#please live in my shoes for a couple months. maybe a year. you’ll quickly realize why i can’t do your lifestyle

[xoxo-teddybear]

Just Stay - Bakugou Katsuki

Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings: ANGST, Cursing

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

Pt.1 Pt.2

Summary: It’s almost splits-ville for Bakugou and Y/N, but Bakugou’s not ready to let go.

“Hey....can we talk?”

Bakugou looked up from his seat on the couch and paused the TV to look towards Y/N. He took notice of her attire. Jacket and shoes on with her purse nearby.

The couple of 3 years had been on fighting ends for the past few months. It was always over little things and recently they had just gotten into their biggest fight over Bakugou’s jealousy. He had been wrongly suspicious of Y/N and her boss sleeping together and demanded she quit being a hero, claiming if she did he could take care of the both of them with his earnings. They fought it out with harsh words and plates being thrown across the kitchen, but eventually they made up. In the end, they were still cuddling in bed and giving each other kisses, and life was once again blissful. At least, to Bakugou. Y/N was in a different state of mind.

She had grown tired of the constant fighting. She missed her old Katsuki. The one who trusted her even with his insecurities and communicated. Now, he bottled everything up and constantly yelled. She felt like she was living in a war zone and she was losing, so she surrendered and made her decision. It was time for her to go.

“Sure babe. What’s up?” Bakugou said sitting up a little straight with a smile on his face. He felt nerves rising in his chest but he was hopeful it was nothing. He loved Y/N. Truly. Just seeing her or thinking about her gives him butterflies. He intends to marry this girl, but he can’t help his own problems. He’s been trying to deal with it himself but no progress has been made.

Y/N noticed the smile. It made her heart ache. It was the smile he always had on whenever he saw you, and it was also the smile that never stayed longer than a few minutes. After those minutes, his screaming would be introduced.

“Bakugou. Please don’t call me that right now,” Y/N said with shut eyes as she bit her lip and took a seat next to him. She didn’t sit close by like she usually did. She put some distance between them and when Bakugou tried to move in closer, she raised a hand to stop him.

“...Why can’t I call you ‘babe?’ And why the hell are you calling me ‘Bakugou?’” He seethed out. He was already pissed and it hadn’t even been 5 minutes. “Y/N! What’s going on?” He asked with concern. Y/N took a deep breath before she sighed and looked at him with sad eyes.

“I think we should break up.”

Bakugou’s eyes went wide and his anger turned off. He did a complete turn as fear and an uneasy feeling entered his system as those words left your mouth. He looked at you for any signs of weakness.

‘Maybe this is a joke. There’s no way she’s serious. She has to be lying!’ Bakugou thought to himself as he continued to shake in his seat.

“W-What?” Was the first thing he could put out. “Heh...I-I...No, you’re..you’re kidding, right?”

“Bakugou..”

“Please don’t call me that, Princess. I-It’s Suki, Katsuki, Baby, please anything but that!”

“I’m sorry....” you said with your head down and hands in your lap.

Silence fell upon the room and you could hear Bakugou’s little whimpers of weakness from time to time. You saw in your peripheral vision that he was shaking and you noticed how his eyes glistened with tears.

“Why?” He asked with a whispering voice.

“It’s just...it’s not the same anymore Bakugou. All we do is fight and yell and yeah there’s some good times in between but the bad outweighs the good,” your tears began to fall because this hurts you just as much as him. “I don’t feel like the same person anymore, Katsuki! I used to be so happy and confident and ever since we’ve been fighting I’m always upset and I feel so weak and I’m always second guessing every move I make in fear of making you upset! ....I can’t live like this anymore.” You whispered the last part.

“Do you not love me anymore?” Bakugou asked with a shaky voice. Your head snapped as your jaw dropped in shock.

“I- I love you so much! Too much! I love you so much that I’ve been destroying myself just to stay with you!” You explained.

“So then why do you want to leave me?!” He screamed.

“I don’t want to but I have to!” You said as you stood, “This isn’t healthy anymore and I’m not as happy as I used to be and you’re not the same! You’re always mad now, you’re always yelling and I don’t want to feel like I’m in a war with my own boyfriend. It’s supposed to be me and you against the world, but recently its been feeling like me vs. you.” You said.

“Then I’ll change!” He began, “I’ll do better. Work’s been stressing me out and I’ll stay home more and spend more time with you! I-I’ll stop yelling and I’ll...I’ll be nicer and be better just please stay!” He stood as he spoke. You looked up to him with tears streaming down your face and you saw as his tears fell from his cheeks and went to the floor.

“Please Y/N! You can’t do this to me, I need you so much. I love you so much, I’m begging you not to go, PLEASE!” Bakugou knew this was so belittling of him, but he couldn’t care less about his ego. He couldn’t afford to lose you, the girl he courted for so long and spent years with.

“Bakugou-“

“Katsuki!” He corrected. “It’s Katsuki to you!”

“....I have to go,” you said and gathered your things as you stood up. Bakugou shook his head and repeatedly said “no” as he ran after you and held you by your waist from behind to keep you from going.

“Let me go, please Bakugou.”

“Please! Please Y/N look at me!” You bit your lip to hold in your sobs as you turned to face him. It was the least you could do after he dropped his guard and held no dignity for himself in the moment.

“I’ll let you walk out that door right now, and I’ll leave you alone for the time being ONLY if you promise me you’ll come back to me. Please! If you need a break, I can give that to you but please don’t leave me permanently!” He offered. “You don’t even have to go! I’ll go, and I’ll find my own apartment to stay in until you’re ready for me again but please PLEASE stay in my life......I need you,”

His tears fell as his eyes were blood red and he held back his choked up sobs. You sighed as you went in to hug him one last time. He took it as a sign of agreement and settled the slightest bit as his arms quickly wrapped around you. But this was going to be your last hug for awhile.

“I’m sorry Suki. I love you so much...but I can’t stay here anymore,” you said as you looked up to him and placed a hand on his cheek. “Maybe some time in the future if things change and become different, I’ll come back to you, but right now, I need to get away.”

“No Y/N, please-“

“We’ll be okay. This is what we both need. We have to get away from each other.” He cried even more at your words and you followed his actions. “These past 3 years with you have been amazing, Katsuki. And I feel so blessed to have known you for as long as I have, but I just need a break. Please give me that.”

Bakugou looked into your eyes as he came to a decision. One that would break him.

“I can’t.” He said and backed away from you shaking his head, “I can’t allow myself to willing let you leave me. I love you so much and I need you in my life Y/N. I’m always going to beg you to just please stay...but I can’t stand to see you like this.”

Bakugou showed a sad smile before he spoke.

“So I won’t ‘willing’ let you go....but I’m gonna turn around. I’ll turn around and hopefully a certain amazing, beautiful, powerful goddess won’t try to get away. But if that goddess ever decides she wants to come back, I’ll be waiting for her with open arms.” Bakugou said and then turned, showing you his backside. You gave a sad smile as you realized this was him giving you the chance and break you needed.

You quickly ran up to him and wrapped your arms around him, giving him a hug from behind. You pecked his cheek and noticed his eyes were closed as tears fell.

“Bye Suki,” you whispered and walked out the door, leaving Katsuki alone with his back still turned and tears still falling like a flowing river.

“Bye Princess.”

#bakugou blurb #bakugou x you #bakugou scenarios #bakugou thirst #bakugou x black reader #bakugou angst #bakugou oneshot #bakugou imagine #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo angst #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #mha #mha bakugo x reader #my hero academia bakugou #my hero academia #bnha bakugo x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugou #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha katsuki

[king-finnigan]

5 times Jaskier didn’t realize Geralt was giving him a gift for his birthday and 1 time he did

As part of my 500 followers celebration! Masterlist

***

I.

Jaskier practically falls down on the chair opposite Geralt, giving his cheering audience one final wave, before he turns his back to them, dumping the coins he earned on the table, setting his lute down next to him gently.

“Well, that went swimmingly,” Jaskier says, and Geralt rolls his eyes at his wide grin, but can’t stop a small smile from appearing on his own face, as well.

“Hmm.”

“Oh, please, Witcher, even you can appreciate a good performance when you see one, no need to be so dismissive of my charms and talent.”

Geralt rolls his eyes again. Usually, he would’ve simply hummed noncommittally, and dropped the subject for the evening, but today’s Jaskier’s birthday. It’s been nagging at him all day, especially because Jaskier hasn’t even said anything about it. He knows humans like their birthdays, like to celebrate another year lived in this damned world – and he would’ve expected Jaskier to be prancing around all day, demanding special treatment and gifts and attention.

But he hasn’t. And that confuses Geralt. It’s not like Jaskier’s forgotten when his own birthday is – hell, he let the date slip a few months ago, so he certainly remembers, but he simply hasn’t mentioned anything about it, today. He doesn’t even seem particularly happy about it.

If anything, he seems almost sad. Which makes matters worse, because what kind of human is sad on their own birthday? Certainly not the kind he expected Jaskier to be, of all people.

So he’s conflicted. On one hand he wants to say something, but on the other hand, Jaskier doesn’t seem to be in the mood for it.

Also, he doesn’t really have a gift he can give. Hell, he doesn’t even know what kind of gift someone expects for their birthday, it’s been so long since he’s celebrated one.

He does get an idea all of a sudden, and clears his throat. Jaskier, already distracted by a fair maiden on the other side of the room, turns back to the Witcher, eyebrows raised. “Something the matter, Geralt?”

The Witcher purses his lips, shakes his head, decidedly staring at his own ale, instead of meeting Jaskier’s eyes. “Uh… You’re right. Good performance.”

He looks up right in time to see Jaskier’s face light up like the morning sun, and the bard reaches across the table, softly pushing at Geralt’s shoulder, leaving a trail of fire in his wake when he pulls back again. “Why thank you, Witcher! I knew even you could see that.” He throws Geralt a wink, before he downs his ale, standing up and sauntering over to the lady on the other side of the room, who welcomes him with open arms. He doesn’t have the strength to watch them leave, so he retreats to his own room, and hopes the compliment he gave is enough of a gift for Jaskier. At least this year.

 II.

It’s Jaskier’s birthday. Geralt only remembers because the bard seems sad again, which means that, unfortunately, this time he’s as unprepared as he was last time.

So he spends the entire morning desperately looking around, searching for ideas for a gift – though, he comes up basically empty-handed. What he does notice, though, is that Jaskier seems to be limping slightly.

He frowns down at the bard from where he’s sitting on Roach, before he pulls her to a halt. Jaskier walks a couple of steps more, seemingly lost in thought, until he realizes he’s walking alone, and turns around, looking confused. “Why have we stopped?”

“What’s wrong with you?” He closes his eyes, mentally cursing himself when Jaskier’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, face indignant.

“Ex- excuse me, Witcher, but-“

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he interrupts Jaskier before the bard can go on a long, offended tangent about how absolutely rude and uncaring of his feelings Geralt is, or something similar. “You’re limping.”

Jaskier shrugs, the slight hurt disappearing from his face again. “Ah, well, yeah, I sort of sprained my ankle this morning when I went to the river to wash off. It’s nothing really, but- Geralt, what are you doing?”

Geralt’s feet hit the dusty path, and he steps to the side. “Get on Roach.”

“I- what?”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Get. On. Roach.”

Though still clearly very confused, Jaskier obliges, and gets on the mare. “Not that I don’t appreciate this, but- why? You never let me ride Roach.”

If Geralt could’ve blushed, he would’ve right now, as he takes Roach’s reigns and starts walking again, pointedly looking at anything but Jaskier. “You’ll just slow us down.” A blatant lie, but he hopes Jaskier won’t be able to tell. At least the bard seems a little less sad now, and he hopes that it’s enough of a gift for Jaskier. At least this year.

 III.

The next time, he’s still very unprepared, and he starts to doubt that he ever will be. He’s also run out of ideas for gifts for Jaskier, and frantically tries to figure something out before the day is over. But it’s well past dinner time, and he still has no idea what to do.

Worse than that, he has no clue where the hell Jaskier even is.

Well, until he walks out of the inn, and hears a raised voice coming from the alley.

Well enough, there Jaskier is, against the wall, three men surrounding him, shouting something about how the bard slept with their sister or something like that – because of course he did. Honestly, it’d be a miracle if Jaskier could stop sleeping around in every town they come across for a week.

He rolls his eyes, the little tendril of fear that had been awakened in him at the sight of Jaskier getting threatened by three men slowly dying down when he sees that none of them have weapons. Really, the only thing they can do is beat the bard up a bit. Though, unfortunately, that doesn’t mean Geralt won’t step in – he always fucking does, for some reason.

He walks forwards. “Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?”

One of them turns towards him, fear creeping into his slightly rancid smell. “He slept with our sister, Witcher.”

He looks at Jaskier, eyebrows raised, and the slight guilt and exhilaration in the bard’s eyes tells him the men are right.

He sighs. “Not possible, he’s been by my side the entire night.”

“But Witcher-“

“Are you saying that I’m lying?”

The three men look away. “No, sir. We’ll… we’ll go.”

“Hmm.” He watches as the brothers hurry past him, before turning towards Jaskier, who’s smoothing down his clothes.

The bard looks at him with a shit-eating grin, and Geralt rolls his eyes again. “Thanks, Geralt! Knew you’d come save me. There does seem to be a slight problem, though…” He looks down at his bare feet. “I forgot my shoes in her room. Maybe I should go back and-“

Geralt shakes his head, then turns around, motioning for Jaskier to follow him. Any other day, he would’ve let the bard fetch his own shoes back, but today is not just any day, he knows. “I’ll buy you a new pair,” he grumbles. He hopes that it’s enough of a gift for Jaskier. At least this year.

 IV.

The next time it’s Jaskier’s birthday, he’s a little bit more prepared – but only barely, still. He’d realized that it was coming up soon a week before the actual day, and had gone to the market in a dingy nowhere town shortly after that, while Jaskier was busy at the inn, cleaning his lute. (Geralt hadn’t been sure in which way Jaskier was cleaning his lute, but he’d decided that it didn’t matter.)

An old woman at a jewellery stall had told him humans liked objects for their birthdays – preferably expensive. Unfortunately, they were short on coin, so Geralt had asked the lady what kind of non-expensive gift he could give his long-time travelling companion and friend.

She had pointed to a ring, silver and engraved with waves. It had cost him a fair deal of coin, still, but he’d taken it – after all, silver protects against monsters, and he figures it’s both practical and, as Jaskier prefers things, nice-looking.

However, that did leave him with one question: when and how is he going to give it to the bard?

It’s been plaguing him all day, that simple matter. At first, he thought it best to give it at breakfast, but they had been attacked by a small pack of Drowners, so that hadn’t been an option. After that, he decided it would be best to give it at lunch, after they had arrived at the next small town. Except, Jaskier was nowhere to be found – at least, until Geralt walked past the blacksmith, and heard soft gasps in a familiar voice coming from behind the building. He’d walked away as quickly as possible, ignoring the small jab in his chest.

And now it’s already dinner time, and Jaskier’s performing and showing absolutely no signs of stopping, even though it’s well past midnight. So should Geralt give it to him afterwards? Or should he wait until tomorrow? Or should he toss the ring away, dig a hole in the wet dirt outside, bury himself in it, never to be found again? He decides the last option is the best one, but unfortunately, he doesn’t have a shovel and there’d be no one to take care of Roach.

Eventually, he decides to just head to bed. All this worrying and the heat of the tavern has got his head pounding, and frankly, he can’t wait for all this gift-giving bullshit to be over. He’s a Witcher, for crying out loud. Witchers don’t give gifts. Except he still bought a silver ring for Jaskier, last week.

He sighs, downing his ale, heading up the stairs. He pauses for a second in their shared room, when his eye falls on Jaskier’s bag, sitting in the corner. He strains his ears, hears that Jaskier is singing ‘Toss a Coin’ – which is always the last song for the evening – and decides he has to hurry up. He quickly opens the bag, burying the ring at the bottom of it, before he closes it again.

He’s barely stood up again, when the door to the room opens, and Jaskier walks in, lute in hand, grin on his face. “Ah, Geralt! Was wondering where you went…” he muses, setting his lute down in the corner, pulling his slightly sweaty doublet over his head. “So, what’d you think? Another stellar performance, I presume.”

“Hmm.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Geralt rolls his eyes, and quickly takes off his clothes, laying down in the bed. After a short while, Jaskier joins him, laying down on the other side. He doesn’t say anything except a “goodnight, Geralt”, and his mood seems unchanged – still slightly sad – so Geralt assumes he hasn’t found the ring yet.

A few days later, his eye is caught by something glistening in the afternoon sun. It’s a silver ring, engraved with waves, on Jaskier’s right hand, and Geralt barely suppresses a small smile at the sight. The bard seems in a particularly good mood as well, and Geralt hopes that it’s enough of a gift for Jaskier. At least this year.

 V.

The next year, he’s prepared. A month beforehand, when they stop in Oxenfurt for a few days, he goes to a little shop, tucked between two tall buildings while Jaskier catches up with some old friends in a tavern nearby.

He buys some bath salts that smell of roses, some soap that smells like red berries, some lavender oil against irritated skin, and, for good measurement, a lemon candle. It’s a pretty hefty sum, but he buys it all anyways – he tells himself it’s because they’ve been doing well monetary-wise lately, not because Jaskier’s smile is worth all the money in his purse and more.

Once again, he still doesn’t know how he should give it, though, and he simply hides it in Jaskier’s bag on his birthday again. He keeps a close eye on the bard, that evening, as he rummages through his bag for soap and bath salt, after Geralt suggested they could afford the luxury of a bath tonight, and offered Jaskier to go first. The bard had looked at him weirdly, but Geralt had pretended he didn’t notice.

“Oh!” Jaskier exclaims, as he fishes rose bath salts and berry soap out of his bag. “Huh. Must’ve forgotten about these.” He shrugs and stands up, closing the door to the adjacent bathroom behind him. Geralt smiles softly as he hears Jaskier getting into the bath, hears him humming softly. He seems in a good mood – more so than he did this morning. Geralt hopes that it’s enough of a gift for Jaskier. At least this year.

 + I

This time, he’s prepared months in advance, when they visit Novigrad. He finally has an idea of what Jaskier might want for his birthday, and as soon as the bard is gone to find a tavern to perform in, Geralt hurries to the nearest instrument builder.

There, he buys an expensive set of lute strings – once again, because they’re doing well monetary-wise, not because he wants Jaskier to be happy and is willing to pay any price for that. As soon as he gets back to the inn, he hides them at the bottom of his bag, smiling slightly when he imagines Jaskier’s face when he gets them. Though, he’ll need to find a way to actually give Jaskier his gift this time. Or maybe not. Maybe he’ll chicken out again and hide it in Jaskier’s bag, waiting for the bard to find it. He’ll see.

It isn’t until a few months later, on Jaskier’s birthday, that he knows for sure he’s going to chicken out again.

At least, that is, until Jaskier starts rummaging through the Witcher’s bag. Geralt pales, his heart sinking to his feet, and he’s ready to tell the bard to get his fucking hands out of that bag, for the love of the gods.

But it’s too late.

“Geralt, have you seen my chemise somewhere? The white, frilly one, with the metal buttons and-“ He stills, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape as he looks down into Geralt’s bag.

Geralt can only stare in horror as Jaskier pulls the lute strings from the bottom of his bag. “Geralt, why do you have these in your bag?” He doesn’t give him time to answer. “And they’re expensive as w- Geralt why do you have expensive lute strings in your bag?”

If Geralt could’ve blushed, he would’ve, and he looks away. “Uh… They’re uh… For your birthday, today.”

Jaskier simply stares at him, eyes wide. “How do you know it’s my birthday?”

Geralt shrugs, rubs at the back of his neck, trying to get rid of that uncomfortable feeling in his spine. “You told me, a few years ago.”

“And you remembered.” He says it flatly. “Even though I don’t celebrate it, you remembered that one time I mentioned my birthday years ago.”

He shrugs again, looks away.

“Wait, then why would you give me something this year, but not all the other years?”

Geralt bites the inside of his cheek, still looking at anything but Jaskier. “I did, but-“

“You did? I don’t remember…” This time Geralt does look at Jaskier, and sees the bard staring at him, so wide-eyed it’s almost comical. “The soap,” he whispers. “I didn’t buy that myself, you did”

Geralt nods, then shrugs.

“And the ring? That was you, too?”

Geralt nods again, and Jaskier shakes his head.

“Why the hell didn’t you just give it to me, instead of sneaking it into my bag like… like some- some reverse thief?”

“Because I thought you didn’t want any gifts. You always seemed so sad on your birthday, and you didn’t mention it, so I figured you don’t want to celebrate it.”

Jaskier suddenly laughs, and stands up, lute strings clutched to his chest as he walks towards Geralt. “I’m always sad because I don’t get any gifts. I never did. My parents were horribly against it, saying I would get spoiled or something, and I never mentioned it because I didn’t think you’d give a shit.”

Geralt feels a sharp pang in his chest, as the realization kicks in. “But I do give a shit.”

Jaskier laughs again, looks at the lute strings, still in his hand. “Clearly. I just wished you would’ve said so sooner.”

“I thought you knew.”

Jaskier scoffs, looks at him with eyes the colour of the sky and a smile that would make the sun hide away in shame. “Well, I didn’t. If I did, I would’ve kissed you sooner.”

Geralt furrows his brow. “Wh-“ His breath hitches in his throat when Jaskier lays a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him closer, their lips separated less than half an inch – so, so painfully close, but not yet touching.

“May I?” Jaskier whispers.

Geralt doesn’t respond, but merely closes the gap between them, kissing his bard softly. Jaskier smiles into the kiss, and the witcher can’t help but smile as well, as he pulls his bard closer. Too soon, it’s over, and they’re leaning their foreheads against each other, breaths intertwining.

“So,” Jaskier whispers to him. “When’s your birthday?”

Geralt grins. “Don’t even think about it.”

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #500 followers #drabble #5+1 things

[thetomorrowshow]

i will make the sky collapse

Next - Read on AO3!

A/N: Hi, and welcome to my first ever fic for the Newsies fandom! This fic focuses on Crutchie’s time in the Refuge and will be six chapters long. Eac chapter will be cross-posted on my AO3. Content warnings will be posted at the beginning of each chapter, but this whole fic will be full of violence and angst.

CW: blood, intense scenes of violence, non-descriptive (but for sure uncomfortable) references to past deaths of children, a rat is eaten

~

There were only two boys who were by the entrance when they hauled in the new kid. Bart and Twig, eleven and thirteen respectively, were meant to be scrubbing the floor in the hall at that time, on punishment and missing whatever scraps had been scrounged up and thrown to the other kids.

News traveled uncommonly slow in the Refuge, but it was barely an hour before everyone knew. It was even less when Harley heard of it. By that time, there were already rumors spreading--some said the newcomer was barely three feet tall and no more than a sack of bones, others claimed they’d seen him walk in at a proud six feet and show himself to Snyder’s office. One thing that everyone could agree on, though, was that the kid was a newsie. Harley was sure that this kid was just like any other poor nobody who got thrown in here, but he’d have to wait until after his orientation was properly over to assess the boy.

The Refuge needed leadership, and that job had been Harley’s since Spud was freed a month before. Without a kid to keep them in line and hand out hope, the boys turned on each other, snarling and biting like they were no better than Snyder himself. The first month they hadn’t had any fight-related deaths was under Spud’s rule, and the kids were generally happier for it. With someone in charge, they had a person who would listen, a person they could blame, a person who would stop them from killing each other. Right now, that was Harley.

The kids got something else out of it too--ranks. It was amazing how much someone’s morale could be lifted just by telling them they were the treasurer, or the secretary, or the first mate. Every boy in the Refuge had a position, and each one played at pretend business like their lives depended on it--which they did. It was nice to have them cooperative, instead of nasty like they’d been before. 

Working together was better than working for oneself, but it had made it harder in some ways. Just last week, they’d lost six-year-old Mark to pneumonia. If Mark hadn’t been assistant to the war general, nobody would have cared or noticed. Now they cared too much, held a service in the middle of the night with a nicked candle, and averted their eyes from his bunk that was too big to be empty at a time when they were already squished three to a bed.

Now, though, whispers were traveling through the hundred-some kids that were scrubbing at the endless grime around the building. “Newsie,” Harley heard, and “Jack Kelly.” That one came filled with wonder, excitement even. Jack Kelly was the only one of them to get out and come back with help. Jack Kelly was the kindest guy anyone had ever known. What did he get out of stealing clothes and food, then risking his own skin just to bring it to them? Nothing, but he did it anyway. And he was from before the camaraderie of hierarchy, so he really didn’t have any reason.

It was possible that the new kid knew him, but Harley wasn’t about to be caught pinning all his hope on some random boy. It wasn’t like Jack Kelly was going to break everyone out of the Refuge for one kid.

Most everyone was outside today, digging endlessly with calloused hands as the sun beat down on them. There was no purpose to the holes, other than graves. Mostly they just dug them up and then filled them back in, though it had been only last month when a guard had pushed in Justin and made them fill it up over him. Justin had been sick, though. He was going to die anyhow.

Harley tried to wipe over his eyes, only succeeding in mixing more dirt with his sweat. He hated the hours spent with the splintering shovels--they all did--but it was better than the chemical water used to clean inside. He’d had to give up a couple of meals to save Stink, who had been forced to swallow a mouthful of it by a guard.

Speaking of guards, one left the building, quite literally dragging the new kid behind him. Harley made a pretense of shoving his dirt into a neater pile, watching carefully. The boy was average-sized, maybe blonde, face too covered in blood to really tell anything else. Harley felt a slight sense of relief. A broken nose was a rite of passage here that most got from Snyder or a guard, but some (like Harley himself) had dodged it only to wake up his first night to a circle of preteens ready to sock him.

There was no real way of discerning that this kid was a newsie, other than the fact that his clothes looked a bit nicer than most of those here. Still, that didn’t mean anything. Without a newsboy cap, Harley wondered where the rumor had come from.

The guard dropped him by the two spare shovels and growled something at him, likely a command to get to work. Some of the other boys had stopped to look around at him, so Harley made a show of dropping into his hole and digging vigorously.

After an hour or so, he risked a couple of glances around. Three guards were watching them lazily, occasionally smacking a boy for working too slow. The new kid was far too slow, though, and as a result, was targeted by the guards. Harley looked away when he heard a stifled cry from his dig spot, not too far from his own. There was nothing he could do to help right now.

Eventually, though, the new boy had been beat to the ground and wasn’t getting up. Most everyone had paused in their work, glancing at him, then away, then back as two of the three thugs kicked at the boy. Dry, rasping breaths came from him, and once again, Harley turned away, back to his own backbreaking work. He’d learn soon enough that he couldn’t stay down.

But he didn’t, and less than ten minutes later, Harley was watching again. He saw as a guard stomped on the kid’s leg, earning a muffled whine, and wondered--oh. There was something wrong with his leg, he realized, as he saw how twisted the foot was. He couldn’t stand, no matter how badly the guards threatened him.

And now that Harley had noticed, he could understand the words the boy was choking out.

“My crutch, please,” he whimpered. “I ain’t gonna be able ta work without it, please, I can work, I just needs my crutch. . . .”

“Jump,” one of the guards taunted. “Jump, and we’ll let ya have it!”

The kid struggled to get up, wiping at the tears that were making the dried blood on his face run again. He couldn’t even stand, though, let alone jump. The guards kept kicking him back down, pushing him into the shallow dent he’d managed to dig so far, mocking him with the same words. It turned into a threat--”Jump, you’ll jump if ya know what’s good for you!”--then to a compromise--”Just one little jump, and we’s leavin’ you alone for the rest o’ the day.”--to a dream--”Jump, crip, and we’ll let ya go tonight!”

But the boy couldn’t jump. He couldn’t stand. Harley watched, sick, as the boy’s eyes slid closed and his grimace hardened as the guards kept whaling on him. Then he turned away again. He couldn’t worry about some new boy with no name. He had to keep his clan strong.

Eventually, the thugs got bored of beating up a kid who wasn’t responding. One of them wandered inside, the other two left to taunt Billy, and Harley let himself steal one last look at the motionless pile of rags. As he watched, the kid’s eyes flashed open and met his. Slowly, one eyelid flickered down in an unbelievable wink, accompanied by a strained grin.

That was a newsie, for sure. The rest of the kids on the street had learned to never smile years ago. Harley looked away for the last time and got back to his work. He couldn’t waste time if he didn’t want the same fate.

-

The guards hated this kid, dragged him to the cellar instead of to the bunks for the half loaf of bread that had to be divided up between them all. One less mouth to feed, he rationalized. They didn’t have enough to feed themselves, let alone to spare for a new boy.

Stink managed to catch a rat, crushed with the heel of his thin shoes, and was attempting to roast it over a candle when the boy got thrown into the room. All the boys went silent at a hand from Harley, then watched the new kid as he lay, breathing heavily. Eventually, his head raised, looking around the room with watery eyes.

“What’s a guy gotta do ta get a welcome ‘round here?” he rasped. No one answered. A few of the younger ones looked to Harley, including Red, who had arrived just two days prior. After a moment, Harley nodded at Twig. Twig motioned for some other boys, all members of the welcoming committee. They were proud of their jobs, and would treat him well. They wouldn’t do anything to help him proper, but they would get him a bunk and a sip of water, and what more could a man ask for?

They boy’s name was Crutchie, they found out when Twig announced it, and he was indeed a newsie, as well as crippled. He did know Jack Kelly, and said something about a newsboy strike. He said that Snyder had taken his crutch after beating him with it, and now he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to get around at all.

The welcoming committee carried him to a bunk, which, from the gravelly protests, was apparently not much appreciated. The boys all returned to their own business, which was mostly whispering among each other or trying to get a bit of the dirt off before sleeping. Harley watched the new kid, now sitting on Mark’s old bunk, from across the stuffy room, before stepping around the huddled masses to get to him.

“Name’s Harley,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand before seeing how swollen Crutchie’s fingers were. Probably stomped on; he withdrew quickly.

“Crutchie,” the kid said with another painful smile. “You was lookin’ at me outside, huh? My face that good?”

His face was terrible, to be perfectly honest. Caked in blood and dirt, Harley could just barely see the purpling lumps on his forehead and the shallow gash along his cheek.

“Nah, I’m in charge ‘round here,” Harley answered seriously. “I’s got the job of checkin’ out the new meat.”

Crutchie frowned. “Jack says there ain’t a ‘in charge’, just kids.”

“Jack Kelly?”

Crutchie nodded, and Harley chewed on that piece of information for a moment. This kid clearly knew the guy well enough that they had spoken before. Maybe he would be worth something. He wondered how much Kelly would be willing to trade for one of his own.

“Yeah, well, things is changed since Jack Kelly was here last,” Harley answered, then left for his own bunk. He’d always wondered if he was meant to say more than that, but Spud hadn’t exactly left him with a book of instructions.

He had no place for a cripple in his ranks, but he couldn’t exclude anyone or else the guys would start doing the same to each other. Spud had always said that for unity, everyone had to feel important. He’d have to think on it.

“Stink! Gimme some o’ that,” he whispered across the room. Stink sighed and tore off a pinch of the greasy, undercooked rat and dropped it into Harley’s waiting hand. The others were clamoring for some too, but not the new kid. No, Crutchie was still laid up in the bunk, gingerly checking over himself and tearing off bits of his own shirt to wrap some of his worst wounds. There was a scarily deep cut across his ribs, surrounded with swollen bruises that were barely visible in the candlelight. Harley winced. That was ugly, especially for a kid’s first day.

Something sank in his stomach, and Harley knew. That kid wasn’t going to make it out of here. He’d be lucky to survive the week. Sure, he must’ve been a survivor to make it as a newsie, but this wasn’t the streets. This was the Refuge, and that kid was just another fly caught in the Spider’s web, about to be devoured.

#newsies #newsies live #newsies fanfic #newsies fanfiction #crutchie morris #jack kelly #fanfic #fanfiction #been a while since i posted any of my writing! #to those of you here for my ts sides content: #that has not gone away!! #i still have several wips in my ts folder #i watched newsies two weeks ago and woke up 18k words later #to those of you who are new to my blog: #welcome! #i write angst almost exclusively! #i update fics on tuesdays #and otherwise just reblog memes #livesies #newsies crutchie #mas writes #not ts #musicals #idk what else to tag #it's so weird posting for a new fandom #love you guys

[antihero-writings]

The Boy with the Unspeakable Name (Ch11)

Fandom: Harry Potter (and the Chamber or Secrets)

Fic Summary: Tom Riddle may have won his battle with Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, but there were a few unforeseen consequences; loss of Tom’s memory being the most obnoxious of them. Is it possible to stop Tom’s past from becoming his future? Or is the young Tom Riddle doomed to repeat his mistakes?

Notes: Alright everyone I'M BACK ...And I'm so so SO sorry that I took so long to update. Over the past few months I took my first real break from posting fanfiction overall in a long time.

Before I posted this chapter, I actually ended up heavily editing some of the previous chapters, which I'd like to inform those who read the originals about first. (Currently only the Ao3 version, and the reblog version of this fic with the picture on top are up-to-date.)

* I made Tom overall more polite. I was of the belief that his politeness was not an innate trait, and without memory, he would be a bit more unpleasant, and then we could see him grow with time. I do still believe it's not an innate personality trait, but a couple things made me realize he really should act differently in my fic. * I made Snape treat Tom better in the interrogation chapter. Both at the beginning and end. I liked the ending with the Levicorpus spell, and I do kinda miss it, especially because it informed Harry's reactions, but I think it was just too mean, especially because of something I'm going for later. * I added a conversation with the other boy in the hospital wing. (By the way, if you go back to read that and can think of more things they should talk about, don't hesitate to let me know!)

...I think those are all the big things! Feel free to offer feedback on the changes if you read them!

I'm so sorry to everyone who was hoping for faster updates. I truly do appreciate your comments and support deeply, and hope that you will continue to read and still enjoy it. I would still love to hear what you think!! <3 <3

Chapter 11: The House of Books

“The summer? With you? And Harry Potter?”

Tom had been examining the objects Snape had brought him—objects which had apparently once belonged to him—and blinked, raising his head to look at him.

“Believe me, I am not thrilled about it either.”

“No, it’s not that—well, it is—it’s just…” He paused, running his fingers along the clothes laid out on the bed before him, then squinted up at Snape. “I’m trying to discern why this is a good idea.”

Snape looked away, seemingly wondering that himself.

“I think, with time, you’ll find that our headmaster has a very unique sense of what is good for others. He believes uncomfortable situations often serve for people’s betterment.” He looked off to the side and muttered, “Whether or not they agree.”

“What sort of ‘betterment’ does this serve?”

“I suppose he would like the three of us to…”—He exhaled—“get along.”

Tom raised an eyebrow a second time, as if to say Us? Really?

“Futile though it may be,” Snape added.

Tom bit his lip, internally assessing the situation as he also returned to assessing the objects.

It wasn’t ideal—that didn’t need stating. Tom had a difficult time fathoming why Dumbledore—who seemed to bear him no ill-will—would want him to live with one person who had a rather insurmountable grudge against him, and another who didn’t seem to like him much better. He wanted them to ‘get along?’ `Surely that couldn’t be it. There had to be more to it.

Was Dumbledore really so naive as to think they’d grow closer instead of hate each other more? Not that he quite understood why they hated each other in the first place.

“Is there a reason I can’t stay here over the summer? I wouldn’t mind.”

Clearly Snape would have preferred that as well.

“You no doubt heard at the Feast that there has been some question as to whether Hogwarts is entirely safe. The Board of Governors likely wouldn’t approve of a student staying over the summer until they are able to deny these suspicions. Also, the headmaster wants you to learn magic over the summer, and due to few teachers possessing a proclivity to stay at Hogwarts during this time, we must make other arrangements.”

Tom’s breath bated at the reveal that he’d be learning magic, his mind beginning to buzz. He tried not to let his excitement leak into his voice:

“You’ll be teaching me magic?”

“Do keep up.”

“So…” He sat back. “What’s Harry going to do?”

“Mister Potter will be…taking up space as usual, I presume.”

Tom stifled a laugh; he hadn’t been expecting such a response from a professor.

“You don’t like Harry, do you?”

“I’m not…particularly fond of him.”

“Is it too forward of me to say it doesn’t appear you’re particularly fond of me either?”

“I pains me to say you’ll have adequate time to learn there aren’t a great many things I feel an extensive amount of fondness for.”

Tom could already see it now.

“Consider it a trial period, of sorts.” Snape swept around the room as he altered the direction of conversation. “If you are able to succeed over the summer, you may continue your schooling at Hogwarts when the next year begins. How much you learn, and how quickly, will determine the year in which you are placed. That is, if you’re placed in any year at all.” He looked down his hooked nose at him like that was both the most likely option, and the most preferable.

Tom could tell hidden behind his words was the idea that this ‘trial period’ was about more than just how adept he was at magic. He’d didn’t need telling that he’d have to be careful in more ways than magical.

“Do you have any other business to attend to before we leave?”

“Wait, we’re leaving now?”

“I don’t come to the hospital wing for pleasant chats if that’s what you’re asking.”

Tom bit his lip. In all honesty he would have liked to stay and explore the school more, but he could tell Snape wasn’t the kind of person one could negotiate such things with.

He turned back to the items that were supposed to be his.

“Is this really all I have?” He asked softly.

Sure all the essentials were there: clothes, books, toiletries and the like, but nothing more personal. No pictures for his nightstand, or even a keepsake to remind him of home, of family. Nothing that could tell him a little more about himself.

Snape paused a moment before he replied: “All of which I’m aware.”

Tom didn’t say anything. Merely put everything back in the trunk and followed Snape to the door.

“Don’t you have anything to bring home with you?” Tom asked.

“Don’t you think a skilled wizard such as myself would have methods of sending it to its proper location?”

They spent the walk across the grounds in silence, which could probably be considered steely, though Tom didn’t mind. The grounds around Hogwarts, and what little he saw of the castle, were altogether beautiful, and empty conversation would only have dulled his enjoyment. He turned around, walking backwards, a smile creeping upon his face upon at the sight of the castle in its full glory. He came to find this wasn’t a school, this was a palace, a haven.

A—

The word home rose to the surface of his chest.

It occurred to him this was the first time he’d smiled since he lost his memory. Really and truly smiled.

The feeling wasn’t half bad.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “You like it?”

Tom cleared his throat. “It’s nice I guess.” But he couldn’t stuff the smile down, couldn’t quite figure out what this feeling was.

He must be a student, surely. Otherwise, why would he feel such fondness for the place?

He didn’t think Snape would reply, and was surprised to hear, barely audible, “I always thought as much.”

They arrived at a wrought iron gate with winged boars on either side—(really living up to the name, Tom supposed. All they needed was a decent amount of warts on them). Once they had passed through it, Snape stopped abruptly and held out his arm. It seemed he was expecting Tom to take it.

Tom wasn’t quite sure why he ought to do this, (and was rather offput by the thought of touching this man). Still, he did as he was told and—

He felt like he was being pigeonholed through a pipe. When the journey ended he was in an entirely new location, and wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t feel sick.

"Apparating for the first time can often make one feel unwell,” Snape informed the doubled-over Tom in a way that didn’t signify he really cared.

As Tom regained his bearings, he thought for a moment, in the same way he quite liked the walk along the grounds, he probably would have rather enjoyed traveling across the countryside. It struck him, that, while this sort of travel certainly got the job done, if wizards had a type of travel more like flying; allowing one to see the view, but also get where they needed to go quickly, he would like to learn it.

The new location, however, was far drearier and less pleasing to the eyes. Rather than an enchanting (and probably enchanted) forest, bordering sunny grounds, and a castle whose majesty was unmatched (at least in his current memory), this was a grimy, cobbled street, like a dull pencil: grey, disappointing, and without its sharpness.

He was almost certain the place was non-magical in nature. He couldn’t believe anyone magical would allow their cities to collect this much grime and…boringness. Identical brick townhouses lined those streets, their chimneys spewing smoke into the air, causing a low cloud of what could be either smog or fog to hang over the place, making the air warmer and more humid than necessary. Snape’s house was the last in the row, (at least, he assumed it was Snape’s as it was the one they were heading towards), and across from it he could see a black river winding through the mist.

Snape flicked his wand, unlocking what was presumably his front door.

Often houses have a certain, indefinable smell to them, but when Tom stepped inside this one, he found it wasn’t so indefinable: parchment, and old shoes, and maybe a little bit of neglect.

He could have fooled himself into thinking he’d walked into a bookstore. The walls were lined with books, the sofa and armchair in the corner creating a false sense of coziness—(‘false’ because nothing about this man said ‘cozy’). It had the air of being one of those spaces that is cluttered, but to call it anything but ‘neat’ would be an insult. Like a library of a devout scholar: cluttered with knowledge, yet, despite the fact that the shelves are puking pages, it all seems somehow perfectly in place.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Snape said in a tone that told him he didn’t want him to be comfortable at all. “Take care not to touch anything that isn’t yours.”

Tom’s eyes lidded. “So…don’t touch anything at all?”

“You’re catching on.” Snape smirked.

Tom rolled his eyes, not entirely sure Snape was joking.

“I’ll show you to your room.”

The words ‘your room’ were clipped, like the thought that it would belong to him for even a summer was repulsive. Though Tom could tell that before they arrived.

He opened a small door in the wall, which Tom would have thought another room, or perhaps a closet, but turned out to be a set of stairs.

After journeying up them, a hallway whose wood was in dire need of staining, dusty portraits whose stern eyes followed him as he walked by, and a decorative table with an empty vase upon it, greeted him.

The advertised room was small, and a bit stuffy, and a few of the floorboards creaked, but something told him he’d slept in worse conditions before.

Though it was a small house, they were able to keep to themselves. Snape was busy resettling into his house, and disinclined to give him a tour, and Tom, not having much to get settled in the first place, spent the time exploring his new surroundings.

He wandered around the library that was the downstairs, and the dingy hallways that were the upstairs. He took care not to enter what he assumed to be Snape’s room, as well as a few other locked rooms. He didn’t want to get on his bad side…if he even had a good side.

He quickly found he didn’t mind being around books. He had affinity for them, especially when their contents had to do with magic.

“Are these all about magic?” He asked Snape when he passed by.

“Some of them. It may surprise you to find most of them aren’t.”

“May I read them?” He asked, remembering Snape’s warning not to touch anything, as well as the fact that this was a ‘trial period.’

“If you cannot find ways to entertain yourself.”

“I’m sure I can. But you seem like the kind of man who appreciates silence.” He put his hands behind his back and smiled too pleasantly.

Snape pursed his lip.

They spent their time regarding each other as wolves encroaching on each others territories: they weren’t happy to be sharing the same space, but they couldn’t do anything but growl low until one of them made a move.

Later, when Snape made dinner, the action drew his attention from his book. Tom watched with fascination as Snape waved his wand with ease, and the ingredients floated and melded together of their own accord, like Snape’s wand knew what to say to them.

“Will I be able to do that?”

“A whole world of magic and you want to be able to make dinner?”

“Well—” Annoyance flared in Tom. “Of course I’d prefer to know much more exciting, dangerous things…but yes”

“Children are not allowed to use magic outside of school until they come of age…but, yes.”

The word ‘children’ in that condescending tone didn’t make him feel less annoyed.

“How come I’m able to do it, then? You’re able to teach me during the summer.”

“Dumbledore has his ways.”

Tom could tell he wouldn’t get any more information than that.

While they ate, Tom chanced a few more questions, and was surprised to find that it tasted quite good, and he thought he remembered someone once telling him good food does wonders for the soul.

He was glad to find that, despite Snape’s obvious distaste for him, and seemingly all things his age, he was cordial enough, and he certainly didn’t mind keeping to himself.

Tom was just thinking about asking when he’d start learning magic that evening, when a stack of books almost as tall as him landed on the table.

Flicking his eyes across the titles, he saw that each and every one of them something to do with magic.

“I expect you to have these read before before Potter arrives. Only then will I start teaching you magic.”

Tom leaned to the side to look at Snape and tried not to smirk.

“You sure this is everything? It doesn’t seem like quite enough.”

#harry potter #tom riddle #Severus snape #Harry Potter fanfiction #the boy with the unspeakable name #hp #hp fanfiction #hp fic #hp fanfic

[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.14

A Special Visitor

11/03/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 5,660

Warnings: language, mentions of sex, angst, a teensy bit of fluff

A/N: Okay! Here it is. The chapter that most of you have been expecting. There was supposed to be more in it but it was getting too long and I thought it would be better to divert the rest to the next chapter. I hope you like it! If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work!

TAGS ARE CLOSED FOR THIS STORY!

You’re eating when Peter thrusts your bedroom door open.

Mid-chew, toast with delicious raspberry jam freshly made sent up with a big pink bow tied around the rim of the small silver dish it was placed in—a gift from his Majesty apparently, the first of many Natasha assures you—you look up, your other hand still stroking the locket around our neck in contemplation.

The necklace is confusing, a weighty reminder of the painful first six months of your marriage and the promise that his Majesty made last night about giving you space.

His words of love. His declaration that he might not love you the way he loved Margaret, but that he loves you all the same.

You’re not sure what that means exactly. Is it not romantic? Does he not see you as a woman? Maybe you’re like a sister? Or some other kind of relation to him?

What if you are with child like you’ve been suspecting? Will he stop coming to your bed?

Not that you’d been enjoying yourself with him. His love making had been routine. Enough to get the job done. There’d been a few sweet caresses. A couple scandalous licks and suckles, but for the most part his Majesty had kept his head nestled in your neck.

He’d never once kissed you or looked you in the eyes the way Thor had.

Would a life without romantic love really be that bad? As long as you and his Majesty feel together, like a real family, does it matter that he won’t love you the way you’ve been loving him?

Your mind roams to Thor, his hands curled around your thighs as his head disappears between your legs.

The utter excitement of that moment, the wish that it was his Majesty’s head there making you feel the way Thor did makes you sigh.

You want his Majesty to want you. You want him to ravish you the way Thor did. To make you feel good. To stare into your eyes with that unbridled desire.

You want him to hold your hands, to caress them like he caressed it last night when he gave you your necklace back.

You want him.

But you’re angry.

And you hate him a little for all of the Margaret talk. He hadn’t realized he was doing it, but you don’t care.

You may be little, and unimportant, and poor in your own name, and as common as the dirt beneath your feet…but you’re woman enough that your pride is wounded when the man you love, your husband, compares you to the woman whose shoes you’ve been expected to fill.

Shoes you refuse to fill.

You aren’t Margaret. And you won’t try to be.

His Majesty seems to get that now, or so you hope.

“Peter?” Natasha asks, getting up from her seat by your freshly extinguished fire.

It’s hot in your room.

“They’re back.” He gasps, and Nat’s eyes widen.

“Where?” She demands.

“They’re coming up the Southern gate.” Peter swallows hard, catching his breath.

“Stay with her Majesty.” Nat orders, and sweeps from the room as she raises the yellow skirt of her dress to move with haste.

Slowly you rise, putting your bread down as you lick your lips.

“Who-?” You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that you’d almost forgotten! “Bucky?”

Peter nods. “They’ll be here in minutes.”

“Does he have the old woman with him?” You wonder, your heart suddenly pounding.

“Yes.” Peter smiles then hurries to your side as your legs grow weak.

“Oh, my goodness!” He exclaims, catching your arm and wrapping his around your waist to help support you. “Are you okay?”

You nod, clinging to his offered arm as he helps you sit.

“Just a little dizzy.” And overwhelmed. You’ll know in minutes. Minutes. Whether you finally succeeded or not.

You’ve felt so terrible all these past few months, night after night of his Majesty coming to you and still you weren’t pregnant.

What if there’s something wrong with your body? What if you can’t give him an heir? He'll leave you for sure. Find a more fertile woman to bear his sons.

“Shall I get you some wine?” He asks, glancing at the decanter by your bread and jam.

“Water.” You sigh. “I’ll get it.”

You make to get up, to fetch your own water but Peter flicks his hand down towards your feet, forefinger and pinky extended, his thumb holding his two middle fingers down against his palm.

Whip! You hear, and stumble back into the chair but look down at your feet.

They’re wrapped up in sticky web, preventing you from moving them.

It had happened so quickly, between the moment you pulled your dress up to rise and falling back down, Peter had immobilized you.

“Peter!” You complain.

“I'll get your water." He moves to pour you a glass then hands it over, squatting down to cut your feet loose.

“How did you do that so quickly?” You ask him.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just do. Things move a little slow…but fast at the same time for me. I’m not sure how to explain it, your Majesty.”

He smiles at you then gets up to peek out towards the second set of doors to your room into the hallway.

You’ve been in Peter’s company for half a year and he had yet to show you his capabilities. Despite knowing who he is, what he can do, you’re suddenly aware of how modest he’s been about said abilities.

In fact, he’s tries his best to be as normal as possible. Almost as if he’s trying not to draw attention to it.

Still reeling from Peter’s display, you’re caught off guard as Nat crosses in, smiling, gesturing towards you as the weathered and kind familiar face from the mud pit comes shuffling through.

She stops in your doorway, Nat moving aside, Bucky moving around to stand behind Nat, his hand finding its way into her own.

He looks tired—his hair hanging limply, unwashed for the two days that he’d been gone, probably, still wearing the same clothes—but happy to be with his redhead.

You stand slowly, setting your glass of water aside as the woman narrows her eyes at you.

It takes her a moment but just as a light of recognition shines in her eyes, you find your voice.

“Hello again, grandmother. I see you never bought yourself a new dress.” You sigh, smiling at her fondly.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” She moves towards you and with coarse wool gloves, the fingers cut off leasing frayed fabric, she caresses your cheeks. “I have been thinking on you since the day King Anthony abducted you.”

Nervously you look up at Nat as a small look of confusion overcomes Bucky’s face.

Nat’s pleased grin is replaced with understanding. She nods then turns to push Bucky towards the door.

“Okay, you’ve done your duty. Out.” She orders.

“Nat, what are you doing?” Bucky complains. “I wanna-”

“Her Majesty doesn’t care what you want. Give her some space. Why don’t you go bother Steve? He’s been pouting all day.” Nat turns as she gets him out of the room finally and shuts the doors with one final smile at you and a reassuring nod.

“Grandmother,” You sigh, reaching up to take her hands. “I-”

“I won’t tell anyone where you come from, don’t worry.” She pats your hand and you pull her towards the fireplace where you help her into one of your light blue seats and then take the other.

“Thank you. I don’t know what his Majesty would do if he found out that I’m not…”

The old woman leans away from you slowly, narrowing her eyes as she looks you up and down.

For a long moment, you hold your breath, waiting for her to say something. Anything.

This is why you had her brought here. This is why you wanted to see her and no one else.

He reaches up to press her right hand against your cheek then reaches down to place her left flat against the stomach of your dress.

She’s absolutely still, and with you she waits.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” She says, and you inhale, heart breaking because you’re wrong.

You must be wrong because there’s no way she would sound so sad if you had succeeded.

Your lip quivers, eyes burn.

“You’re going to make a wonderful mother.” She states, and you half laugh and half cry as you cover your face with both hands at the sheer burst of joy that flares through you. “But you are unhappy.”

That’s why she sounded sad?!

You get a hold of yourself a bit, push your tears back but you can feel them hovering on your lashes.

“Oh, grandmother, I’m so happy.” You sigh, losing all strength in your legs.

She helps you sit down again, then takes the simpler chair in front of you.

“You can’t fool me, girl.” She says sternly, disapproving but you aren’t lying!

Pregnant. Finally. You can fulfill the last duty that you had as Queen of Broklin. And maybe you might be a fool for thinking it in the moment, but you know that his Majesty will be happy when you tell him that you’re finally with child.

“But I am happy. I have been so worried that there might be something wrong with me. His Majesty was able to begin a family with his first wife-”

“And you were afraid that you wouldn’t measure up?” She frowns. “He’s made you unhappy.”

That you can’t deny.

“I…marriage has been difficult. I never saw myself marrying to begin with. I thought I could live my little life out in my home. I never wanted much.” You lean back against the chair, tired. “I didn’t need a lot of money or fancy clothes. I would have been happy with maybe a few more jobs so that I could eat every day, but even that was not necessary.”

“You’re a fool.” The old woman says.

You meet her eyes and the scolding in her eyes is clear.

“Are you some meager waif?” She demands, her withered hand in a fist on your table.

“I-”

“Did you pull yourself out of obscurity so that you could let some spoiled, self-serving King walk all over you?”

“He’s not-” You begin, but she slams her hand on the table and it startles you so badly the words die on your lips.

“Why are you withering?”

Withering? You think back to when you first arrived, the excitement you’d felt. The eagerness to begin your new life.

All of that had disappeared over time.

You look down at your hands in your lap, carefully tracing the nails of your right hand with your left. Ashamed to look at the old woman because she saw you fight for yourself. You’d been completely different back at home.

Why have you let this defeat you?

“I…I didn’t expect to love my husband.” You admit, biting your bottom lip. “I was curious before we met but once we did, he was nothing like the men back home.”

“Just because he’s showered and dressed in silks does not make him superior, girl.” She scolds.

“It’s not that.” You give her a small grimace, a shake of your head as you think back to the small things that had made you fall hard. “With others, he was different. He loves his friends and does everything that he can to ensure their happiness.

“He was considerate, even if he didn’t speak kindly with me. His words were harsh and unkind, but he’d make sure that I was comfortable. When he learned that I could not read or write, he brought the best scholars to teach me.

“When he learned that I enjoyed jellies and jams, he asked the cooks to make more of it so that I never had a breakfast without it. I’ve wanted for nothing, grandmother, save for his love in return.” You bite your lip, wondering if you should admit this to someone…you didn’t even tell Thor…

“I—I saw him a few times, watching me. A soft expression on his face. I don’t think he knows that I saw him, but when he would look at me in that way, I thought that maybe he was beginning to like me? Perhaps he might someday even come to love me?”

“And he has not?” She asks, uncertain.

“He says that he does.” You sigh. “I ran away.”

“Oh, everyone knows that the Queen of Broklin went missing. Rather, they know that she suddenly disappeared. Some speculators were certain that the King had killed her himself.” She states.

You’re shocked though you really shouldn’t be. Gossip can be terrible, and you know that not many people like you. None of the nobility anyway. Not in Broklin. Your friends are the poor and the wretched.

That’s where you fit in the best.

“People are terrible.” You frown.

“They saw his dislike for you. He has only himself to blame.” She waves her hand, unimpressed with his Majesty it seems and although you’re grateful that she’s so resolutely on your side, you also feel a surge of protectiveness towards him.

The urge to defend him.

You bite the inside of your cheek and will yourself silent. His Majesty doesn’t need you to fight for him. He fights for himself well enough.

Saying nothing, you wallow once again in the pit you’ve managed to crawl into with his Majesty pushing you away all this time. Only now do you see how his neglect really affects you.

Only someone who knew the old you would see it to point it out.

“There, there, dear. I mean nothing by it. But I didn’t swear to your mother on her deathbed that I would look out for you only to have you wilt into submission for a man. King or not.” She nods, firm, decided.

She’s so strange. She doesn’t speak like the beggar woman you thought she was. She almost sounds like nobility herself.

“Will you stay close by?” You wonder, hoping that she’ll remain in Broklin. “I don’t know what to expect with the baby, and I would like you to be here when I give birth.”

The old woman smiles, finally, a bit of kindness for you though you know she means well with her chastising.

“Of course. I have no one else who depends on me.” She reaches for your hands again and gives them a squeeze before cackling, voice raspy and rough as you join her with a chuckle.

“So, will you tell your husband?” She wonders and you don’t need her to clarify what she means.

Your own smile slides right off. Knowing your answer already after thinking about it for two days.

“No.” You sigh. “I want to tell him. I want to make him happy, but I also don’t want to see him. I don’t want to be near him. If I tell him that I’m with child, he will want to be around, and I need a rest. I can’t keep listening to him compare me to her.”

Grandmother nods.

“I’ll wait a little while. Just until I know I can face him again and hold my chin up.” How long that will take, you have no idea.

~~~~~~~~~~

You move Grandmother into a small cottage on the castle property. It’s past the garden, nestled into an outcropping of forest. Shrouded in moss, vine, and pretty yellow wildflowers that make you smile.

She refuses as long as she can, but you insist longer.

You don’t want to ask his Majesty for anything, but with Grandmother here, you need a reason to give him.

My King,

I know that I asked you to keep your distance for my own respite and I had no intention of contacting you, but I was wondering if I might hire a woman to help me improve my health?

She was one of my tutors in the school my father sent me to, and I would greatly appreciate having her close by. I am still not well and could use the assistance.

And because you didn’t want to see ungrateful or uncaring…

I hope you’re well. And that you’re eating and sleeping. I know you pace…

Too much, Y/N.

Regards,

Queen Y/N Rogers of Broklin

If there was one good thing that you felt about writing your letter it was that you finally had a true task to use your schooling on.

Your letters are still a little clumsy. They’re nowhere near as beautiful as Nat’s or your tutor’s, but they are legible.

You’d had to look up a word or two to remember the spelling, but you’re proud as you hold it out to Nat and watch her raise her eyebrows then smile at you.

“I’ll deliver it right away.” She’d said.

His Majesty had replied within half an hour. It felt eager.

Y/N,

Of course, you may hire a new maid, you are entitled to your own servants and may hire a staff as large as you please.

I hope that you are not straining yourself and that you are eating well. You must eat to gain your strength back, my pigeon. Please, do not deprive yourself. I’ll have food sent up every hour in case you get hungry.

Shit…did someone overhear you and Grandmother about being pregnant? You haven’t even confirmed it for Nat.

No. That’s excessive. I’ll have them bring two servings at mealtimes for you, in case you are hungrier than you anticipate.

If you need anything. Don’t hesitate to ask. If I can do something to help…I love you, my darling.

Your stomach flips and your heart erupts into uncontrollable flutters that travel down along your arms and make your fingers numb.

I know you don’t believe me yet, but I’ll keep trying. I’ll never stop trying, Y/N.

You look over at the table with a freshly picked bouquet of peonies, a new pale red cloak—not pink just muted—and a book about the different types of flowers that grow in the region.

Thank you for sending me a letter. Your writing has gotten so much better and your spelling is impeccable.

His gushing has your neck all hot, your ears are on fire, and your damn heart is hammering against your ribcage.

Whatever you want, I will give you. But if I might? Please don’t leave me.

 Yours forever,

Steven G. Rogers

You’d sat there in stunned silence until Nat finally came in leading a group of maids to serve your dinner.

You’ve spent two weeks avoiding his Majesty. You miss seeing him for more than just a few seconds. You miss being around him, but he’s respecting your wishes and you are grateful.

“Will you see him today?” Nat asks, setting your tea down before sitting down beside you.

“No.” You shake your head.

“Y/N…” She begins, and you know that tone.

She’s going to fight for him. Try and convince you.

You’re not sure what state he’s in and you don’t want to know. The few times you’ve seen him, he smiles at you. Trying to reach you. His eyes glittering blue pools pouring hope and what you think might really be love but you don’t know because you’ve never seen it in him.

Luckily, your doors are pushed open and you turn to look as Tony and Pepper hurry in, preventing Nat from pleading for his Majesty.

You get to your feet and smile, then it falters as Pepper rushes to put her arms around your shoulders and hug you close while Tony stops only two steps into your bedroom, a tick in his jaw, dark eyes full controlled rage.

This is the first time you’ve seen them since his Majesty carried you into the castle.

Those moments are a blur. A mixture of drifting in and out of consciousness and clear images of him looking down at you in concern as he pleads with you—“Please, Y/N, please. Don’t leave me.”—and the flashes of other familiar faces.

“Well?” He asks, and Pepper turns in your arms to look at him.

“Tony,” She begins, moving to your right while she keeps her left arm around your waist.

She looks so beautiful, her red hair gathered up on her head, a small silver tiara with large yellow diamonds along the front.

“No, mother. I-I deserve his anger.” You swallow hard, trying to push past the lump in your throat. “I shouldn’t have run away.”

“No.” Father says, “You damn well shouldn’t have.”

You want to square your shoulders and protest being chastised again like a child, but you know what you did.

“I’m sorry.” You shrink, but Pepper’s arm tightens around you and she gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“If you were struggling here, if you needed a break, we would have come for you. We would have taken you away from here. Do you have any idea how worried we were?” Tony demands, his voice intense but not a shout.

It’s nearly shaking.

“Forgive me. I didn’t think. I just…I wanted to stop doing the right thing…the proper thing for a while. I wanted to feel what I was feeling and not consider the consequences.” You sigh, frustrated with yourself and the way your marriage had taken a nosedive at that point.

“How’d that work out for you?” He asks, but most of the anger is gone now. “If something like this happens again, if you cannot stand being here, we are a day’s journey away. All you have to do is write and we will come and fetch you.”

His promise is genuine and finally you look up to meet his eyes.

You have no time to really look at him though because he’s already crossed over to you and pulled you into a tight hug.

“I wasn’t joking when I said you were a daughter to me.” Father whispers into your ear.

You can feel mother’s hand stroking your shoulder and then father’s arm to comfort him too.

“She’s alright, Tony. Look at her. She’s much better.”

“I could just kill him.” He fusses. “Make it look like an accident? Extend Malibia with this kingdom? It would be really easy.”

You huff a small laugh and hug him back, feeling warm and safe in a way you haven’t since the death of your parents.

“I really am sorry, father.” You sigh, regretful of the sorrow you must have caused them.

“As long as you’re alright,” Mother says, “We’re alright. We only want you to be happy.”

Father finally pulls back to look you over.

“I know what I asked of you. If he’s not making you happy-”

You smile at him, reaching down to take his hand and mother’s in your other.

“It’s getting better. And…” You drag your teeth along the already bitten flesh of your bottom lip. “…I love him.”

You feel a wave of shame and disappointment. He’s treated you so…what if you’re wrong to stay?

“King Steven is a good man.” Mother offers, seeing the torment you’re in. “I was very angry at him this past month, but he’s assured me that he will begin to treat you as you deserve. He’s had to deal with a lot since Margaret died and I think he’s finally ready to move on.”

He loves me. But not the same.

“What if I can’t make him happy?” You worry.

“To hell with him, then.” Father growls. “Come home.”

“Tony.” Mother chastises him.

She elbows him, pushing him aside as she takes your hands and moves to sit you down and sit across from you.

“Marriage is one of the hardest things you will ever do. Sometimes, he’ll drive you crazy. So crazy that you’ll think about leaving him. It might not be a lasting thought. Sometimes, it comes and goes in a second. But it will test you. Life with another person can be messy. You are both separate people with needs and wants that may not always be the same.

“I have no doubt in my mind that you can overcome this hurdle. If you do love him and if he loves you as much as he told me he does, I’m certain that you two will overcome all of the obstacles that life might throw you.” She reaches up to stroke your cheek and you lean into her hand, still nervous but your heart is a little more at ease.

“Thank you, mother. I will try hard to be a good wife.” You promise.

“Just be happy.” Father grumbles, moving to stand beside mother.

He wraps his arm around her shoulders and draws her attention up to him.

“When did you want to leave me?” He asks, pouting a little.

“Tony, don’t start.” She sighs, winking at you as she gets up and moves to your tea table where Nat is already serving her a cup.

“Darling, If I did something to make you angry, I need you to tell me what it was so that I never do it again. You can never leave me.” His eyes are wide, and he really does look as if he’d be lost without her.

You watch them for a minute, the gentle smile that crinkles the corners of mother’s eyes as father takes her in his arms as she tries to pull away to sit down at the table.

They play like that for a bit but then a thought occurs to you.

You look around towards your bedroom doorway.

“Where’s Morgana?” You know she’s home. Or she’s been home.

Shortly after you were married, she came home.

“She’s on her way now. She’ll be here tomorrow at noon.” Mother says, finally managing to sit down.

“Where is she?” You wonder. “Why didn’t she come with you?”

“She had lessons to finish up that she missed when she was off running away—maybe they’re really related!” Father says, turning wide eyes on mother.

“She’s travelling alone?” You worry, fretting over the teen.

“Not like she hasn’t done it before. But no, she’s coming with someone. A friend.” Father assures you.

“Thor?” You ask eagerly.

Father narrows his eyes at you. “How did you-? Yes. He was coming back in from Asgard and offered to escort her.”

Like sunshine, the news that Thor is coming back after not having seen him since your return, warms you pleasantly. Your body is absolutely humming for him. You miss him. After spending more than a month with only him, he’s become indispensable.

Suddenly, tomorrow looks much brighter than today.

~~~~~~~~~~

Steve isn’t feeling well.

He hasn’t been feeling well since you came back home and told him that you didn’t want to see him.

Every lingering gaze, every moment you’d tried to take his hand, all those quiet moments when you’d wanted to talk to him, and he could sense it in the air had been taken for granted.

You’d wanted him then. You’d wished he would let you in. You’d wanted to be a part of his life and now…now you can’t even look at him for more than a few seconds.

He waits with pained anticipation for you to come out of your writing and reading lessons, just so that he can cross into his council room and pass you as he does.

His heart pounds as you stop when he crosses in front of you. He stops and he bows, it’s not exactly a warm greeting, but he wants you to know that he respects you.

You’ve given him no indication that he might greet you any other way.

You curtsy back. Then you meet his eyes for two seconds. They’re endless and too fast all at once.

Not a word has passed your lips and he’s glad to see that you’ve at least gained a little weight since coming back home.

You’re eating. You don’t look as tired as you used to.

He could kick himself for having made you restless.

He misses touching you.

He might not have shown it because Margaret was always there, pressing herself in between the two of you as he laid on top of you and took you.

Every moment he spent sheathed within you, Margaret’s face danced behind his eyes.

That didn’t make him blind to you though.

The way your skin felt pressed against his. You were never completely naked, and he hates that he never let you enjoy yourself. He prevented the two of you from connecting and he hates that now that he’s willing to let it all fall away, the damage he’s caused is done and you don’t want him anymore.

He had you. You were right there, in his hands, and he let you go. He actively prevented you from coming close and all he wants to do now is wrap you up in his arms and kiss you.

Fuck! He hasn’t even kissed you.

And you’re so healthy now. Lips looking luscious and just begging to be devoured and he just knows that Thor kissed you. He must have. How could he have resisted?

Steve sees red. Murderous rage and agony tear at his chest as he reminds himself that he has only himself to blame. He pushed you into someone else’s arms.

He regrets all of it. He regrets everything that he did because he couldn’t let go of Maggie.

You’re in his every thought now. As much as Margaret was. No. You’re in his head more. When he wakes, he wonders if you’ve eaten. When he lays down to sleep—on the days that he manages to coax himself into bed—he pictures you laying beside him. Cuddled up against his side.

Had you slept beside Thor when you were out of the castle? You must have. He would have held you in his arms probably.

Steve sighs, slamming the side of his fist against the top of his desk sending quills scattering and an inkwell tossed over from the hit.

“Sure. Take it out on your desk. It’s all the desk’s fault.” Samuel chides.

“Let his Majesty express his discontent, Sam.” Bucky says, moving towards that special corner that Steve had made up for Margaret so long ago.

“Stay away from there.” Steve orders, looking up at Bucky before rising to his feet and crossing the room to verify that the thick white curtains he’d had installed are still shut tight.

“Why did you close it off?” Bucky asks, dropping his hand just as Steve cuts in front of him.

“I didn’t close it off.” Steve says, “I’m remodeling. I’m not ready to show it to anyone.”

“You’re getting rid of Maggie’s corner?” Sam asks, sounding surprised but also impressed.

“I have to.” Steve sighs. “I can’t keep clinging to the past. Not if I want to make things with Y/N work.”

“Can you make it work?” Bucky wonders, moving to sit on the edge of Steve’s desk.

Steve looks at him, hands still holding the curtains shut.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be able to?” He demands, upset at the implication that he can’t.

He must. You’re his. You’re his wife. No one will take you away from him. He’ll make sure you know that you’re all that matters…even if he slips up. He’ll hid it. He’ll bury his grief for Maggie down deep so that you never have to feel like you’re not enough again.

“You shouldn’t rush it, Steve. If you need to let go, let go at your own pace. Her Majesty will-”

“What?” Steve demands. “Understand? I compared her to Margaret, Buck. Every day. All day. I can hear myself now. Margaret wouldn’t do that. Margaret did this. Maggie liked that. Maggie hated this. Maggie, Maggie, Maggie. I hadn’t even realized I was doing it until the night she left me. For the sake of our marriage, I need to put Maggie behind me.”

“We understand that, Steve.” Sam pipes in. “We’re not saying that you shouldn’t try and move on, all we’re saying is that you should give yourself a little bit of a break. You and Maggie were…what you two had was not something that you find every day. Losing that is hard.”

“Losing Y/N is harder.” Steve sighs, turning to face the curtains. “My life is full of tough choices. Darkness surrounds me. Hydra, Pierce, Rumlow, Hand, and all the others…Evil is everywhere. Y/N is everything good that I keep fighting to preserve. Did you see what she did with the people? The poor?”

“Yes.” Bucky nods. “She’s done a lot for the people of the Kingdom.”

“Margaret didn’t have time for things like that. Her life was all about the evil. She made it her job to help me eradicate it and I hate to admit it, but the Kingdom floundered with both of us focused elsewhere.

“Then this girl comes out of nowhere and she…she reminds me that it isn’t just me and the evil. It’s more. She depends on me. There are millions of other people who depend on me. I-I already knew that, but she showed me that there was more that I could do. I don’t have to be the Captain only. I can be Steve Rogers, King of Broklin, and make a difference in a very significant way.” Steve can’t believe what he’s about to say, but it’s true and he can’t deny it.

“She’s the Queen this kingdom deserves. The Queen that Margaret could never be. Y/N is the woman that was meant to rule at my side. I love her.” Steve nods, smiling lightly as he accepts what he’s been afraid to admit to himself, to his friends, and to Margaret’s memory. “And I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure that she knows that.”

Bucky meets Sam’s eyes. Softly, they smile.

P.S. I was going to include these, cut up and placed where they are in story but as I was adding them, I began to worry that maybe not everyone would be able to read them so I decided to include them in their entirety at the bottom instead. I spent WAY too much time working on these. Anyway, enjoy.

#king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #medieval au #arranged marriage au #medieval fantasy #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #marvel au #pseudo princess #avengers x reader

[halitophobia]

Blind Eye - Four

Parings ⟶ OC x Hank's Daughter! Reader (TEMPORARILY) , RK800! Connor x Hank's Daughter! Reader (EVENTUALLY)

A/N ⟶ Ha...so let’s just pretend that I haven’t been gone since...dude I don’t even know...September? Yeesh...well, I haven’t forgotten about this story that I started and have not lost interest...I’ve just lost motivation. For ten months. Anyways, here’s part 4 and I hope you enjoy it. I appreciate everything and if you’re here, having read the past parts, welcome back! Long time no see...Alright without further ado, please enjoy :)

Much love.

Disclaimer ⟶  over the century I’ve been gone, I have not established ownership over DBH characters

Warnings ⟶ swearing, violence, mentions of death, stubborn reader, stubborn Hank, spoilers...?, slow burn, sLoW bUrN, SLOW BURN, alcohol abuse (Hankster), angst, toxic relationship, eventual....fluff, happiness, cute stuff, flustered Connor, flustered Reader, all the gushy-ness, and ?????smut?????

Word Count ⟶ 3228

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

----

NOV 6th, 2038

AM 10:53:11

    The sweet, comforting sound of middle-aged men arguing about an empty milk carton wakes you from your beautifully sound slumber.

    With one eye open, you tenderly lift your arm to flip over your phone. The blue light screams at you so invasively, you almost forget to check the time. As it renders in your brai-

Shit.

    You hurl the covers over and yank yourself out of bed. You have exactly seven minutes to get out this motel before they charge you another night. You hiss as the unnecessarily freezing floor hits your soles, then drop down beside your suitcase. Toiletries and clothes are strewn somewhat near, quickly finding their way into a miscalculated arrangement. You collapse onto the case flap for strategic compression, swearing as you catch your hair in the zipper. Once the suitcase is successfully shut, you stand triumphantly...and realize you are definitely not wearing pants. Comedically, you stare at the wall ahead of you, truly contemplating whether it's worth scavenging the depths of your now clumpy suitcase to find your sweatpants, or to run out in the bite of winter...

    With legs spread out around your luggage, you dig through, trying to cause the least amount of disturbance. However you forget the whole point of searching gently once you feel the familiar fabric and jerk them out not so gently, creating a volcanic explosion.

No, no thank you. Thank you for giving me this chance to further fuck up my belongings...

    As you seal the case shut with great difficulty, you quite literally launch it toward the door. You check the bathroom to make sure you're not missing anything, then race to your bag. With a cute jig, you shove your shoes on while fumbling with the door handle. As you slam the door behind you, you pause, seeing a completely calm and silent hallway.

Ba-da bing, ba-da boom...

Fixing a few strands of hair, you give your room a lock and sign out of the motel.

----

PM 1:10:45

"I'm home!" you holler, expertly chucking your keys towards a bowl on the kitchen counter. You watch as they collide with it and thrash the contents inside, bringing everything to the tile floor. Nice...

    You move through the kitchen (which functions as a hallway), into the living room - corner as you like to call it. To your left sits an aged leather couch, pillows deformed and flat. Across that is the ancient one; the almighty TV3000, surely made three thousand years ago...A rickety window directly in front of you allows natural light to flood a small area of wall below the completely meaningless picture Ben insisted on hanging. Speaking of, there he lays limbs strewn out, trickling down the couch. His jaw, fallen down, reveals a gaping hole which projects a discomforting grumble and snort. You study his breathing pattern, then let your eyes wander to his hands; one lazily rested atop his stomach, and the other hanging off the couch with the neck of a bottle between his thumb and index. You scoff.

"Ben," you test, with a nudge to the couch. "Ben." you repeat.

You sigh, moving beside him and crouching down to his level. "Wake up."

He grumbles in response, swiping his lips with his tongue.

"Ben, you've got a shift in twenty. Get up, shower, and go."

"Shhhhhhh..." he starts, "too loud."

    You swallow, lowering your gaze to the cracked hardwood floor. "How much did you drink last night?"

    Your eyes narrow as he shakes his head, adjusting his position. You stand, leaving to your shared bedroom. Ignoring the much disturbed bed and clothes dotting the floor. You dig around the closet, clutch a certain bundle, then return. You drop the clothes with a hint of 'you're a shit' energy, then watch as he frustratingly awakes.

"What the fuck?" he snarls.

"Get up, shower, and go." you repeat, accenting select words.

"Fuck you." he mumbles, sitting upright.

    He groans, letting his head still from the commotion, and with his eyes closed, he reaches for your thigh. He rests his head against it and sighs.

"How was the shift?"

"Good. Got a good bite that'll last us a couple days or so." you answer, involuntarily playing with his hair. He doesn't need to know how it really went and how you practically begged to be paid. Let's be honest, what did you contribute last night?

He yawns, "Then I don't have to go in for work."

You frown, pulling away. "Yes you do. Aaron said you're done unless you clean up your act."

"Yeah, yeah. Take a joke, will you?"

    He uses your thigh to stand, draping an arm around your shoulders. He places a lazy kiss to your forehead and grins. It's scratchy and rough due to his ignorance for lip balm.

"You're great, Y/N." he states, wandering to the bedroom.

    Your eyes close as you hear the shower running. Letting yourself fall back on the couch, you run a hand through your hair. It's been like this forever. You can't remember life before simply because you can't imagine this one being nearly as lively. You can't remember having to crunch out bills like this. You can't remember a floor that doesn't wail at you. You can't remember feeling so full that you need to un-button your jeans, or a silent neighbourhood with that one family that invites you over every Friday.

    That life you lived before seems so un-reachable, so beautiful, that it's become imaginary. You love Ben. You do. He makes you smile. He makes you laugh when times are tough. He holds you through bits of the night and tells you he loves you. Though he's changed. When you touched his lips, young and naive, he knew excitement. Hunger. Want. When alcohol touched his lips, plentiful and cool, he knew ease. Numbing. Solitude. You weren't a stranger to this behaviour, you'd seen- you see it with your father. You know how to handle it.

He doesn't mean that.

He's got other things that are worrying him.

He's just stressed.

He's just tired.

He loves you.

He does.

"We need more shampoo."

    Your eyes open, and are met with his, looking much younger and fresh. You nod, "I'll add it to the list."

"When uh, when does my shift end?" he asks, touching up his hair.

"Six-thirty."

    His nose scrunches, and with a sniff, he turns to you. Instantly knowing, you stand, meeting him at the counter. He offers a small smile, acknowledging the tired in your eyes. He looks good; showers always fix the bags. Maybe last night had a lighter mood...

"You get some sleep, yeah? I cleaned the bedroom a bit."

    You nod, returning his smile. He juts out his chin, looking down at you through his lashes. You lift, keeping you arms by your sides as you meet him for a kiss. He places his hand on your crown, pressing his lips on your hairline.

"See ya at nine."

"Nine? You get off at six-thirty."

"Stopping by Jordy's." he states, grabbing his keys that are on the floor with yours and a pack of gum. "Love you."

You frown, the door nearly secure in its frame-

"Pick up dinner, okay? I didn't get anything while you were out."

Now it's secure.

    A scoff leaves your lips as you look to the crack embedded into the doorframe. You've convinced yourself it grows deeper and longer, his eager 'goodbyes' being the cause. Succumbing to yet another pause, your eyelids flutter shut once again; though not for long. Now that Ben's gone, you have duties.

    Number one. Count empty bottles. Six and a half. Number two. Search for anything out of the order. A slightly bloodied rag partnered with a slightly bloodied countertop. Seems like someone was eager to open a bottle... And finally, get rid of his secret stash.

    Thankfully, he didn't stock up much. Maybe just enough for the weekend or a 'stop by Jordy's'. With a small exhale, you clutch two packs of beers, heading for the door three to the right.

"Ben?"

"Huh? Oh, I-what are you doing with those?"

"What are you doing with that?"

    His eyes follow yours, the expedition ending at his first two fingers. Between them burns a cigarette, merely used if not freshly lit. He left ten minutes ago...is this not his first?...Your eyes slender as the layers of thin paper slowly recede. The air is thick; squeezing both of you tight and still. The start of a lecture bubbles from your stomach while a story fabricates in his. The creases buried beneath the stillness of your face emerge, your lips quivering to expel words.

Though, yesterday's events rattled you enough.

"If you leave now, you'll arrive only minutes late."

    A low sigh seeps from your body as you step forward. You gingerly press your palm upon his lower side and your other on his fist. Nimbly, you dance your fingertips along his knuckles and with your eyes on his, you swipe the cigarette from his hand. It falls and you listen for the minuscule bump it'll make as it collides with the concrete.

    He thought that was the end of your show, but the respite was only an intermission. You tighten your hold on his abdomen, then crush the embers beneath you, a quick twist or two becomes music to your ears. His jaw tightens and his throat bobs. If only you knew how many more have touched his lips; blackened his lungs.

"Put those back."

    His voice slices the silence, but your hardened stare adds more. This is the first time he's caught you, but if only he knew how many more bottles have been sold to the neighbours; dropped by their door.

    He's relieved. You have yet another tear in your perfect image. He's usually one to slip up, this moment adding to his endless list of mistakes, but now, he concludes, you've got a growing list of your own.

    A change of emotion from your face doesn't come, and you turn around toward the door. Your fingers curl on its handle and you send him a side glance, entering the apartment. With that, he stares where you once were, swears and threats swelling his tongue; he could storm back in there and he will.

    But he needs this pay check. He needs this money. You don't need to know why.

----

PM 3:08:30

BZZZzzz...BZZZzzz...

    Your eyes snap open, a brief gasp travelling your throat. A quiet curse entangles with an exhale as you reach for your phone. Whoever's on the other end won't be receiving a cutesy 'hello'...you were napping so peacefully.

"Yes?" you offer, rolling onto your back.

    You're on your side of the bed; the clean side of the room, dragging your gaze over the popcorn-styled ceiling. As the caller begins to speak, a headache begins to form. Captain Fowler.

"Detective Anderson..." he pauses and you simply close your eyes, "I'm surprised you actually answered." he chuckles lightly, though you hear a more pressing undertone, indicating he has business to express.

"With all due respect, Captain...get to the point."

    He replies with a grumble, and you hear his chair squeak through the phone. It's a discomforting pause for him, but a moment to rest for you.

"I have a new shift an-" he starts.

"I'll save you the time. No."

"Y/N..."

"No."

"Look, you need to get back out there. Your position here is wavering. I have been easy on you for too fucking long and that desk can be filled quickly..."

    His voice is firm; comforting to you since it's all you've known. You smile softly. He's trying to threaten you.

"Fill it." you jest.

"You're willing to let that go, eh? Even to an android?"

The curve of your lips flatten and suddenly you're upright. That's fucking cold.

"Fowler you-"

"Hank was chatting it up an' everything. They have a common ground for dogs."

"Shut up."

"The thing was wigglin' in your chair, leaning back in it,"

"Shut up."

    This isn't fun anymore. This is getting too close to home. You're seething. The anger in you reaches your ears, pink from your sleep, now red from your wrath. You storm with rage, huff hot, heavy air...though this time, there's more to it. Not only are you raving...you're hurt.  

    It's that easy? That easy for you to be replaced? You never thought your skirmishing would come to this. Androids have taken everything from you. From both of you...and he does this?

"Y/N."

Leashed and choked, you're brought back to your senses.

"If I do this, will you discard of it?"

"Of...what? Th-oh. The android."

    Your jaw clenches, the skin around it bulging while you wait for his answer. You snicker. Hank's traded you for a piece of plastic. A rancid, putrid, self-centered-

"Get out of your head and listen to me,"

    None of those thoughts left your lips; you wouldn't let that spill. He can't know you're hurt. Because you're not. No. You don't care.

"Take the job."

"If you trash it, I will."

You won't budge. It's you or it.

    There's silence. A sigh, nearly a growl. Then a crackle through the line signifying a shift in his position.

"I'll see to it."

    It's an accomplishment. Hank's a downright fuckhead and he'll be the one to apologize. To make amends. In the meantime, you'll climb that tower and set his work ablaze. You'll fight against him. Make him pay for everything he's done. He'll watch, clutching onto his beloved robot as you succeed like he once did.

"Well?"

    Right, Fowler's still on the line. You aren't surprised he's hanging on. He's a soft spot for you ever since the incident; you and Hank, but you're more personable. You take advantage of him though. His calls, offering work. Shifts that you and Ben survive on. You'd be rubble without the cold Captain, surely. You don't deserve any of it, but on the other hand, the pride clouding your head traps the gratitude. Or maybe you can't find the words. The second sounds kinder, but you're not sure if you yourself even believe it.

"I don't have money for the trip." you bite.

'Thank you...'

"Your pay check will cover it."

'You're welcome...’

    To your surprise, a smile finds it way to your lips. He can't see it. You don't want him to. For the first time through this treacherous hike, there's rope for you to hold. It's frayed at the ends and secure to nothing but twigs, but it's presented itself and you take your chances.

"So when do I start?"

"Leave now. A Lieutenant plans to head out to a case and I direct you to join." he takes a moment, "This situation is critical and it requires you to be local."

    You nod. You know what he means. You'll need a place to stay. The first place that comes to mind is the motel you left earlier today...but even after getting this temporary job, it's expensive. Too expensive...

The Captain acknowledges your hesitance, predicting your setback.

"You know there's someone here with a home. And a dog..."

"Where do I meet the Lieutenant?"

    Fowler stops his pushing, but only this time. He speaks as you begin to pack while scribbling the address down. You sit on the suitcase an- oh...I should probably...

'Can't talk now. Leave a message.'

"Ben, I..uh...Fowler's offered me a job," subconsciously, you start to fiddle with the zipper on the case, "Well, temporarily...but it's still good money. So...I'm leaving now and uh...well I have to stay there for a couple days. I don't know how long um," you take a breath, suffocating your bag and the grudge you held, "look I'm sorry for today, I'll put some cash on the counter for dinner and...I'll give you updates. Um...see ya."

     A groan escapes your lips and you head for the door. Leaving this place doesn't tug or heavy your steps. You do this all the time. You're not attached to any places anymore...always sleeping in different rooms, organizing clothes into different compartments, dragging your luggage onto busses. It helps, in a way, knowing you don't have strong ties to one place other than...Ben. He helps too. Lets you know there's a sense of being somewhere. It's with him. You think.

    The doors of the bus slide open and you step in with ease. This is routine. You know this. The bus accelerates pulling you back, but it feels different, like this time, you might regret leaving. This time, you'll come back changed. Or you won't...come back.

----

PM 3:52:10

    The elevator ride is intruding. Clicking, clunking, rattling...hell you can't even think. You can't prepare yourself; put your mind at rest and focus on the case. Then, like bird shit slapping the top of your head, you realize...you have no idea what you're going in to. You don't know who this Lieutenant is, nor what the case is about. Is it in your area of knowledge? It has to be. Fowler wouldn't put you on foreign grounds. He is an ass though...he could do it to make a point.

    Your damned anxiety dances over you like a sugar plum fairy. Can this elevator go any faster? Your right leg starts to shake. It's a habit. Just get it over with. Just get it done. Just let it go. The words you feed yourself are no use. You're just regurgitating them back. It's pathetic, really. You've seen the worst of the worst, yet you shrivel at the thought of working with a stranger on an investigation you have no idea about. Cute.

The ding invades your mind and you bite the inside of your cheek. Hard.

Fuck it. Right? Fuck it!...

    A loud scrape sounds before the doors even budge. They part and you're face-to-face with a poorly papered wall. To the left, you look, is another wall, and to your righ-

"Mmph!"

    Adrenaline crashes over you while a person crashes into you. A heavy person. Before you can process, your chin's scaping the chipped floor and your arms are pinned from behind. Legs tighten around your hips while a hand presses your cheek. There's a halt in movement allowing you to assess the position and its gaps. Your eyes slam shut; you have to think and think quickly. You recognize a space between the legs and yank your top knee through, driving theirs to the wall. After creating an opening, you heave yourself out, bucking your shoes into their chest. Scrambling to stand, your ankle's caught in an excruciating hold and a growl from you is the first verbal sound. The skin on your left cheek burns again as it’s raked on the ground. You're being hauled back. You feel legs return to your torso and hands tearing yours apart to each ear. With your back flush on the floor, you finally look at your attacker.

What. the. fu-

"Connor! Hold them tig-Y/N?"

You glance back and forth at the two.

"Oh for fuck's sake."

----

#connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #detroit connor x reader #dbh #dbh fanfic #dbh x reader #dbh connor #detroit become human #connor #rk800 #hank anderson #hank x connor #Hank's daughter #Bryan Dechart

[beckzorz]

At Kimberly’s Door (one-shot)

Pairing, Words: Bucky Barnes/Reader, 2.4k Prompt/Warnings: Bucky Barnes finally reaches out. A/N: Written by a prompt from @randomfandompenguin for extended Drunk Drabbles with @the-ss-horniest-book-club! As usual, it got a bit long ;-) Thanks to @jewels2876​ for her readthrough! Hope you enjoy!

The internet’s a dangerous place.

With a few clicks—at least, a few clicks for Bucky—he knows his great-niece’s favorite cereal, her shoe size, her bra size, her favorite shows, the concert she was at last Thursday. Her phone number, the type of phone she has, how much she pays for internet and electricity every month month. The electric bill goes up in the summer, apparently.

Oh, of course, Air conditioning.

Her address, let alone her face, is nothing.

Less than four hours after arriving in New York, Bucky is at Kimberly’s door.

He’d’ve started with his Rebecca, but her address… isn’t one he wants to go to alone. Kimberly’s closest to the airport, and from her search history Bucky knows she’s looked into him.

Wondering, probably, where he is.

He doesn’t know if she’s hoping he comes—or stays away.

The younger generation seems less bothered, at this point. So… it’s worth a try.

Kimberly lives in an tall house with four apartments. He can hear music and giggling from the open window on the second floor—her floor. Is that her laugh? It’s a nice laugh.

Bucky steels himself and rings once, holding the doorbell down a second longer than necessary.

Feet pound down unseen stairs, and the door yanks open, and—

It’s not Kimberly.

Bucky’s shoulders sag in the split second before he recognizes your face. You—you’re a frequent guest star in Kimberly’s photos, not just this year but years past, for a decade if nothing. He’d liked your face then, and he likes it better now, or he would, if he wasn’t choked up on his own nerves.

You’re smiling, inviting, but he can’t think of the words.

“Can I help you?” you ask.

Bucky clears his throat. That had been you laughing, not Kimberly. Nerves be damned, he does like your face. Likes the sound of your voice, your eyes, your smile… He clears his throat again.

“Is Kimberly home?”

You open your mouth, then your eyebrows draw together in a frown. You look at him, tilt your head to the side, and—

“Oh my gosh!”

You reach for him, and Bucky’s eyes widen in shock and a split-second of hope before you pull your hand away, covering your mouth with wonder all over your face. “Sorry, sorry,” you blurt, and glance back at the stairs up. “She’s not home, but she should be soon. Let me—give me a minute, would you? And please don’t run off.”

Bucky nods. He can’t say no. How could he say no? Refuse you? Refuse you? He couldn’t.

You run back upstairs, loud and quick, the front door still open. Through the window, he can hear you ushering people out, using all the right words to make your friends do your bidding. Clever and kind, suggestive and loving—it’s like he’s fallen through the looking glass, away from worry and nerves. It’s like all that wonder that had been on your face has trapped him, and he can’t bear to think he might ever be released.

Soon enough a gaggle of young women trickle by, eyeing him curiously. You’re last down, but you stop halfway.

“Come in, come in,” you call, and rush back up.

Bucky lets out a breath between his teeth. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but this was not it. Kimberly, anxious or eager or furious—that’s what he was expecting. Not a stranger whose very manner is an invitation, whose whole self is a beacon.

He heads inside slowly, closing the door behind him—the knob locks automatically, at least—and staring up after you.

You’re a witch. You’ve got to be. He doesn’t even have the wherewithal to check if he’s being followed, let alone watched. He wasn’t before he knocked, but who knows now? Certainly not him.

The entryway is dark, but once he’s out of it, the whole place is light and cheery. Art and posters on the walls that he can see at a glance were chosen by at least two different people, fairy lights strung up in the wide open doorway between the living room and kitchen, colorful dishes and furniture.

“Kim should be home in, like, twenty minutes,” you tell him, passing by with five cups balanced between your two hands. “You can sit down, I’m just putting all this away.”

“I’ll help.”

“Oh, you don’t—”

But he’s already got all the plates stacked and the orange juice—he takes a subtle sniff, not orange juice, mimosa—pitcher in hand. If he helps, maybe you’ll sit with him. Talk to him. Soothe him, now the nerves are back. Being in his great-niece’s home brings it all back. Had his sister come here? Did she climb those stairs, drink from these cups, sit on that couch? Can she even walk or drink on her own?

Have you seen his sister?

Bucky hands you the plates and pitcher, drinking in your face.

“Thanks,” you murmur, and turn away quickly, setting it all down.

No, crap—he didn’t mean to—

But you turn back, expression gentle even with your brow slightly furrowed. You wipe your hands absently against your hips. “That’s good enough for now. I should… call Kim.”

Bucky swallows. “Yeah,” he rasps. He clears his throat. “Okay.”

He lets you guide him to the living room and into a chintzy chair. You don’t linger, but he can hear the phone ringing from his spot even when you settle against the kitchen counter, watching him as he watches you. There’s still wonder in your eyes, even clouded as it is with concern. Are you worried? Is he making you worried? Are you worried about Kim? Worried for her?

Impossible to tell, impossible to look away. Those two and a half rings stretch into an eternity, and when Kim picks up you both flinch.

“Hey, what’s up?” Kim says. She’s a little out of breath, like she’s rushing.

You look away from Bucky. “Are you on your way home yet?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve got… a visitor.”

“Who?”

You look back at Bucky, expectant, worried still, and he realizes he’s never so much as introduced himself.

“Bucky,” he mouths.

“Bucky,” you repeat, so soft and tenderly that his breath catches in his throat.

“Oh my god,” Kim says. “He’s there? He’s really there?”

“He’s here,” you tell her, but you’re still gazing at him. “He’s here.”

—

“Back when we were in college, I went to her for Thanksgiving. I’m not from around here, but I couldn’t go home, so Kim said I could come with her.”

You’re sitting cross-legged and barefoot on the couch opposite Bucky, telling him about his own sister. It’s a strange feeling, like you’ve met someone at a funeral and you’re swapping stories—but Aunt Rebecca is still alive. Still sometimes herself, even.

Sometimes.

But beyond all that, beyond Aunt Rebecca and the bizarre fact that her brother, a hundred years old, practically, looks only a bit older than you and as perfect as any human has a right to be. And… he’s not scary. You hadn’t known what to expect, but from the moment you knew it was him—you weren’t afraid.

But it’s not just a lack of fear. It’s… the presence of something else. Not comfort, not exactly. He’s a stranger, for heaven’s sake! A stranger and a… a… not a celebrity, that’s not right, but he’s world-famous at this point. Yet he’s sitting in a chintzy chair, basking in your words with a rapt look on his face. He’s looking at you like you’ve got the moon and stars in your eyes—but you can’t blame him. You must be the first one who’s spoken to him about Rebecca firsthand in far too many years.

That’s got to be it.

You don’t dare let yourself think it’s anything else.

“When did you last see her?” Bucky asks.

“A couple months ago, for the holidays. Kim brought me along to the family shindig.” You smile sadly. “That was the first time she didn’t always recognize Kim.”

He opens his mouth, blue eyes wide, but before he can speak, you can hear Kim pounding up the stairs. You surge to your feet, clasping your hands together, still looking at Bucky as Kim works her key into the lock. He stands slowly and swallows.

“I—”

Kim bursts in, sees Bucky, and bursts into tears.

You leave them to it, not daring to look back.

They’re family. You’re not.

Simple as that.

—

Later, sprawled on Kim’s bed, you hear about their visit to Aunt Rebecca. A happy reunion, if sad for Bucky, Kim says.

“But he handled it really well,” she continues. “I swear, he’s more well-adjusted than anyone else in the family.”

“He seemed it.” You fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “I think it’s easier to seem normal around people you don’t know, though. Hopefully it holds up long-term,” you tease.

“Ha ha,” Kim deadpans. She nudges your thigh with her foot. “Careful, wouldn’t want to spoil his good opinion of you.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh please, Kim.”

“I’m serious! He said you were wonderful.” She nudges your thigh again. “Which I already knew, but it’s still nice when other people validate my opinions.”

“But did you think you were wonderful?”

Kim laughs, you laugh, but as you tuck yourself in, you wonder.

—

You don’t have to wonder long.

Two days later, your doorbell rings in the hour when you’re home and Kim’s not. This time, you’re home alone, just you and the cars honking down the block, the wind rustling the shades, the kettle rumbling as it heats to a boil.

And the doorbell.

That same ring, a touch longer than you expect.

You set your phone down on the kitchen counter slowly while your heart pounds like a baby rabbit’s. Is he back so soon? You only just got home ten minutes ago; Kim won’t be back for nearly an hour.

If it’s even him.

It couldn’t be him.

But it is.

Bucky Barnes stands at your door, a wrapped bouquet of flowers clenched at his side. He’s dressed nondescriptly, boots and jeans and a jacket, but there’s nothing nondescript about him. Not him, or his hopeful little smile, or his beautiful blue eyes.

You swallow. “Hello…?”

“I wanted to thank you for the other day,” he says, holding out the bouquet. You take it, speechless, as he goes on, his cheeks tinged pink. “I didn’t know what to expect when I came here, but you’re just what I needed.”

Your smile is automatic, but his words are a punch in the gut. You knew he didn’t mean to look like he was worshipping you with his eyes, but the blatant truth in his past tense hurts. “I’m glad. I can’t imagine going through that. I’m glad I could help. If I helped.”

“You did,” Bucky insists, stepping closer.

You’re breathless. He’s close, too close, so close that if you leaned forward you could touch him. You could kiss him, if you dared. But you don’t dare. The bouquet is a barrier, at least, from letting him come any closer.

“I’m glad.”

It’s the only thing you can say, and Bucky sighs. He runs a hand through his dark hair, making it stick up on end, and looks everywhere but you.

“Look, I didn’t expect to meet you, but now that I have, I can’t not do anything about it.” He takes a deep breath and looks back up. His eyes are bright, dark, determined. “Can I take you to dinner?”

Your jaw drops. If you didn’t have tendons, it’d be on the floor. “Dinner? You want to take me to dinner?”

Bucky shifts his weight, cheeks nearly red now. “It’s crazy, I know. You’re Kim’s roommate, it could get awkward, I know. But you’re somethin’ special. I can’t pass that up. Pass you up.”

“I hadn’t even gotten past the fact that you want to take me out to dinner!” You’re grinning so hard your cheeks are already starting to hurt.

Bucky chuckles, scratches the back of his neck. “So… will you? Tonight?”

“Tonight?” You glance down at your outfit. Nice, presentable, no more flashy than his.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and you catch his eye. “You look amazing.”

He’s entirely serious, and by the time you can speak again, you’re entirely serious too.

“Did you talk to Kim about it?”

Bucky blushes all over again.

“Yeah, a bit. She doesn’t mind.”

One of your neighbors comes into view, and you realize how long you’ve been standing at the door with Bucky outside.

“Come inside.” You tuck your hand around his elbow and nudge him upstairs; watching him go up ahead of you is a marvelous view. But when you shut the door and turn to face him, he’s close again, and the bouquet is out of your hand, abandoned on the counter.

Bucky cups your face, his eyes as full of wonder as the other day. You’re putty in his hands, gazing up at him, lips barely parted and your heart pounding all to pieces.

“Can I?” he breathes.

You turn your head just enough to kiss the inside of his wrist, not taking your eyes from his. “Yes.”

—

“Ahem.”

You leap off Bucky’s lap, horrified, but Kim’s snickering.

“Damn, Bucky, you waste no time! What happened to dinner?”

“Dinner is now,” Bucky says firmly. He stands up and grabs your hand—a perfect fit. “See you later, Kim.”

“Bring her home in one piece,” Kim says. To you, she gives a gentler smile. “I have no idea what’s going to happen, but if I got to get a new family member right now, I’d sure as hell want it to be you.” She gives you a hug and shoves you both of the door.

Downstairs, outside, under the tree by your front door, Bucky holds you tight as you tremble from Kim’s words.

“Do you know,” he says quietly, “I don’t know what’s gonna happen either, but I know one thing.”

You pull back enough to look at him. “Oh?”

“Kim’s right. You’re a keeper.”

Bucky kisses you under the leaves and the wires and the cloudy sky, the world spinning but for you, in that moment, it’s totally still.

No one knows what might happen, least of all you, but here, in Bucky’s arms, you think that maybe, just maybe, it might be a happy ending after all.

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #winter soldier imagine #becca writes

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Musical Tryouts (1/31/2021)

Please pretend I posted this chat log a month and a half ago when it actually happened, sob.

Valera @autokrates is leaving an audition for Hell’s first production of Hamilton, and runs into Alastor, waiting for his turn to audition. They hang out and chat until it’s his turn—which marks the first time in forever they’ve had a full conversation that wasn’t Incredibly Awkward the whole way through. Hooray for progress.

Chronologically, this chat log happened between this (note: art of extremely hilarious outfit) and this (note: art of another hilarious outfit)

Alastor

Alastor hasn’t auditioned for a show since the seventies, and hasn’t auditioned and *cared* about it in almost a century. He’d like to think he doesn’t look nervous, but he knows he’s reread his typewritten lyrics about a hundred times and every couple of minutes he catches his leg bouncing again. That’s fine, he’s in disguise, he isn’t supposed to look like himself anyway. He can look a little nervous.

When he realizes he’s more staring a hole through his pages than actually reading them, he forces himself to lift his head, slouches back in his cheap metal chair, and looks around the makeshift backstage waiting room. Maybe he can figure out if anyone else is trying for his parts, drag them into the back alley, and mangle them. It would defeat the purpose of showing up in disguise, but it would burn some nervous energy, and anyway he’s already seen one would-be Angelica pin another down and slit her throat. His gaze scans over the other hopeful actors.

Valera

From the stage comes the muffled sound of someone singing, as expected. But the singing gets louder as the voice approaches the door, and it certainly sounds like Not A Musical Number. It sounds a lot more like someone who needed to be accompanied by someone torturing a piano with a series of small hammers. Was that a Will Wood number? Why yes, yes it was!

Through the curtains and round the corner comes the fish supreme, bedecked in enough frills and frippery to lose an orphan in with their 18th century french fashion, belting out lines from I/Me/Myself as they saunter towards the exit with barely a glance for the other hopefuls waiting for their call. Barely a glance at all, until their eyes land on Alastor. Then their jaunty tune is cut off with an uncanny impression of a record scratch crossed with a chicken being strangled, head whipping around for a double take as they freeze mid stride. Holy fuck what was he WEARING???

Alastor

Alastor’s ears threatened to perk up beneath his temporarily shapeshifted hair at the sound of a very familiar and very beloved song from another performer—he’d almost considered performing that one himself, God was he lucky he’d decided to go with “Modern Major General”—and he turned to see who it was with the spectacular taste in music—

“Valera?!” What the hell was Valera doing at a musical audition in Hell?

Valera

It WAS Alastor! They KNEW it! They gasp, pointing at him as their eyes boggle. "Al--" And just as quickly, a hand is clapped over their own mouth, teeth clicking as they clamp their mouth shut. Okay, try that again, *without* ruining his disguise.

They stride over to where he's sitting, leaning in slightly before hissing. "What are you WEARING?"

Alastor

Alastor plays the sound of something crashing over when Valera starts to say his name—the other waiting performers look around to see which props just toppled over—and hops out of his seat to meet Valera in the middle when they approach him. “Do *not* expose me,” he hisses, flinging an arm around Valera’s shoulders. “Nobody here knows I’m the Radio Demon and if this is going to work, nobody *can* know.”

Then he looks down at his own outfit. “A disguise.” Obviously. “I asked my listeners, ‘What’s the last thing you’d ever expect me to wear?’”

Valera

Oh, great, he's touching them AND he's already mad at them for something they'd already avoided. This seemed like par for the course, might as well get through this as painlessly as possible. Valera's face tightens into a stiff little smile, stomach already twisting into knots. "I've got no plans of exposing you, it would be a shame to ruin the work you put into your... outfit."

A slow exhale from the nose, and they force their shoulders to relax. Can't have the other actors see the two of them at odds, they're clearly just a couple of friends running into each other! A funny coincidence! Their voice raises back to a normal speaking tone, all sunshine and cheer as they give Alastor a pat on the back that falls short of actually touching him. "I take it you're here to audition for a part, then?"

Alastor

Alastor wheezes a near-silent laugh. “Isn’t it hideous?” he whispers. “You should see what the full leggings look like, they’re horrible.”

He lets go and steps back. “I am! I was seized by a wild burst of inspiration, and auditions happened before that inspiration ran out. I take it you... *already* auditioned.” Which raises a whole slew of questions, but Alastor starts with the most important one: “Which part?”

Valera

Valera sends up a silent prayer of thanks to any God listening, hands folding behind their back as they admire Alastor's grotesque attire. "Unfortunately, I kind of love it. It's vile, but with a few tweaks it could be a genuinely good outfit."

They clear their throat at his latter question, rolling back on the heels of their new shoes. "Washington. I didn't come to Hell today expecting to audition for anything, I was just here buying shoes. But I heard music, saw the theater, decided to pop in and see what was going on. And hey, why not try out? Didn't expect to run into you of all people."

Alastor

A little tension drains out of his shoulders at the answer. He glances down to idly check out Valera’s new shoes. “Oh, good! I don’t have to duel you for a part.” He almost instinctively starts playing a snip from “Ten Duel Commandments” to underline the comment, but catches himself. He is, after all, trying not to blow his cover—he’s even consciously suppressing the radio distortion to his voice, he nearly sounds like a normal person. “The feeling’s *entirely* mutual. You’re about the last person I’d expect to try out for a show around here, so far from home!”

And he’s not sure how he feels about it yet. He’s been trying to avoid talking to Valera—can’t get in trouble after interacting with them if they *don’t* interact, can he?—and now here he is doing the opposite of that... but they haven’t started another stupid argument. Yet. “What are you doing if you actually get the part? You’re committing to being in Pentagram City on a near daily basis for—goodness, months at least!”

Valera

They don't know how they feel about seeing him here either. It went from being a fun little spur of the moment tryout before icecream into an UNEXPECTED INTERACTION with A PERSON THEY DON'T KNOW WELL. But no, they have to tamp down on the urge to make their excuses and leave, things would never improve between them if Valera did nothing but avoid him after all.

"IF I get the part! I haven't been in a production in years, I'm rusty compared to plenty of the actors here today, I'm sure." A hand waves, lazy and dismissive. "But if I do pull it off, I've been planning on spending more time in Hell anyway. This is just a convenient excuse."

Alastor

“Hah, I haven’t tried out for a show since—well, since before you were born.” And then, he’d just been doing it as a lark, too—something to attempt to keep his mind occupied. He hadn’t actually *wanted* to be in a production this badly since he lived in New York, before he gave up on making it on Broadway and went into radio. “But how many of *them* can launch into a full musical number at the drop of a hat!”

Valera

Right, it was easy to forget that Alastor was old enough to be their dad. Or Grandpa. Probably? They'd done the math at some point..

"Hatched." They correct on reflex, reaching up to fuss with the feather on their hat. "Who are you trying for? Lafayette? I could see you as a Lafayette." They're saying it because of the French, but they will NOT say that out loud.

Alastor

Great-grandpa, easily. Maybe even great-great grandpa if a few generations got early starts.

His face brightens. “Let’s hope the casting director thinks so, too! Yes, Lafayette and Jefferson—the same actor played them both in the mortal realm, why shouldn’t one person play both down here, too?”

Valera

Great-grandpa Alastor, the spryest old man in the nursing home. Eating the interns when he gets bored... That sounds like a typical older Veci actually.

They hum, looking Alastor up and down in his getup. "You'll get the part, or I'll eat this silly chapeu. I've seen the competition you're up against. They're good, don't get me wrong, but..." A vague gesture at him. "Nobody could compete!"

Alastor

"You flatter me!" All the same, he's beaming widely. "But I was hoping that would be the case, what with when they scheduled auditions. January's a bad time for, well, *most* people's schedules. I'm afraid I missed all but the tail end of your performance—spectacular choice of song, though!"

Valera

"Why thank you! Will Wood doesn't fit the show's theme in the slightest, but it certainly shows my singing chops! Though if I'd planned for this audition I might have gone with an outfit a bit less.. *French*." They grin, shimmying their enormous sleeves. Unrepentant in the slightest. "Might. I could see Washington's doughy self in this getup."

Alastor

Alastor examines Valera’s getup. Was that French? It just looked old-fashioned to him. “Well, hopefully they’re not going to judge based on fashion!” He glances pointedly down at his own outfit.

Valera

Another glance at his outfit, and they give a thumbs up. "You've got a bowtie on, you'll be fine."

Oh. Would it be a supportive friend thing to do to sit and wait for his call with him? Or would that be somehow rude? They couldn't just ask, if it *was* rude he'd probably be offended by the notion, but if it wasn't... Something bad. Probably? Maybe they're being unfair. A quick clearing of the throat, and they gesture towards the door. "Do you want to sit down? I've got time to kill before. Uh... *Mon Cerf Rouge* arrives with my ice cream."

Alastor

*Oh right*, he’s wearing *Valera’s husband’s* bow tie. His hand flies up to cover it as if that will prevent it from being identified, and he quickly forces his hand back down. “Well! I wasn’t going to show up to an audition underdressed, was I?” He laughs thinly. Don’t act suspicious it’s fine.

Is Valera hanging out with another Alastor? He wonders which one. How is it that every version of himself manages to get along with them but him? It wouldn’t be so galling if *none* of them could get along with Valera, but if it’s something he uniquely is doing wrong—no, don’t worry about that right now.

His first inclination is to turn down the offer, they’ve had a cordial conversation so far and he can’t mess it up if it ends right here; but there’s a chance they’re about to both end up in the same show, isn’t there? Polite avoidance might not be an option for long. Better get to work on getting along. “Sure! It’s a bit yet until my turn.”

Valera

What a reaction! They will politely pretend they didn't see him have a miniature panic over being seen wearing Pentious' bowtie. Far too busy inspecting their gloves, for some reason. How convenient.

Well, now they've done it, they're stuck here. Though it's surprising he accepted the offer, maybe it'll be okay? If he really wanted to avoid them he could have turned the offer down. They're probably overthinking it. A quick nod, and then they perch on the edge of a seat so their fuckoff huge tail can actually fit amidst the mounds of ruffles. On the plus side, nobody but Alastor was going to be taking the seats next to them anytime soon, unless they wanted to fight the tide of frills.

Time to.. Get along? Polite chit chat? "Is this the first production of Hamilton in Hell? It's a fairly new musical, and I know there's a bit of a delay getting things down here."

Alastor

“The very first! In fact, this production company is the one that got the first recording smuggled down from the living realm! Online there’s a few amateur recordings of recent arrivals singing the songs they remember, but so far that’s the only presence Hamilton has had in Hell. Anyone who gets in this show has an opportunity to *define* their roles in the eyes of the public.” Oh, he’s getting a little starry-eyed just thinking of it. “I suppose you’ve probably seen the original production in the mortal realm?”

Valera

"I did, though that was long before I met you or I'd have invited you along!" They're going to take the hat off, it's very silly and the feather keeps floating around in the corner of their vision. Plus, now they have something to hold in their hands so they can't start doing anything weird with them. Win win!

Alastor seems genuinely excited about this production, he'd gone through all the effort to get an outfit, come for tryouts.. And they just sauntered in on a whim. Thank the gods they weren't trying out for the same part, Valera would have had to bow out immediately. "I wonder if any of the actual founding fathers have survived long enough down here to see the show. Wouldn't *that* be something?"

Alastor

“Wouldn’t it just! I can’t think of *anything* I’d enjoy more than prancing around on stage making Jefferson look like an absolute damn fool while the real deal seethes in a front row seat!” He laughs. It’s not a terribly friendly laugh. “But I don’t know if any are down here. I don’t pay close attention to that sort of thing—and anyway, most *important* people who end up damned either find themselves on the receiving end of a deluge of assassination attempts or else change their identities fairly fast. A founding father could show up and audition to play as himself and we might not know.” A thoughtful pause. “Although I doubt any of them would get the part.”

Valera

"I'd assume they wound up here, considering the whole owning slaves and starting wars thing. Good PR post mortem doesn't absolve you of shitty behaviors in life, unfortunately." Yes. Very unfortunate. That's why they're grinning so toothily. "Imagine if we got the actual King George on the roster? Though I'd rather see Pentious try for the part, personally." There's no way George was still around, he'd gone batty enough in life that he'd probably wandered onto the nearest angelic spear first thing. But they could dream!

Alastor

“One would hope! But no one’s ever sent me the rule book on what does and doesn’t get you access upstairs, who knows for sure? I can tell you what I think *should* get you down here, but I can’t tell you with complete certainty whether or not it does.”

Oh, his eyes light up at that. “Just imagine him in the full raiment of a king! But no. Getting up on stage to have hundreds of people laugh at him for dressing and acting like royalty? He’d hate it.”

Valera

"He'd look glorious in a crown! But you're right, he'd never want a comic relief role, even if he WOULD get to sing about sending battalions after people." Alas and alack, King George ala Pentious would have to live in their dreams. But they smirk, leaning a fraction closer to Alastor to whisper. "But we might be able to get him to sing it privately, at least, and wouldn't that be lovely?"

Quickly pulling back, they cross one leg over the other and put on that cheerful grin again. "What do you think *should* qualify to send people to Hell, my fine fellow? It's a broad question, so we can skip it if you'd rather not open that can of worms."

Alastor

Wouldn’t it be lovely, indeed. He smiles uncomfortably and glances away.

“Oh, skip it.” He waves a hand vaguely. “I find the topic as sanctimonious as it is futile. It may not be for *you*, perhaps—for you, it’s little more than an interesting thought experiment on alien morality—but for us? What’s the good of debating why people should be damned when we’re *already* damned? It’s not going to help us get out of Hell. God isn’t going to take our suggestions into consideration. All the topic does is make one bitter that the powers that be don’t appear to be judging people to one’s personal moral standards—or else it inspires one to assume that God *is* operating in line with one’s personal understanding of justice, and try to pigeonhole everyone one meets into the crimes one believes are worthy of damnation. I’ve run into countless people down here who *don’t know why* they’re damned—and yet they *are* damned, which means they’ve done something that *is* damnable even if they themselves don’t believe it. If people can’t understand their own sins, how can they be trusted to judge anyone else’s?”

Valera

They lean back as Alastor skips one can of worms for another, watching him as he broke down his reasoning. It was interesting, insightful, even if they didn't have much to say to him in response. He was right, after all. For them it was an alien concept, a novelty to roll around and discard when they were bored, just like so many other human notions. But not everyone was so lucky. A nod of agreement, and they flick their tail.

"You're right. My apologies, Alastor, it's easy to forget how... fortunate I am, to be in the position I'm in." A side eye at the other actors, who PROBABLY couldn't hear the conversation, but even so. "Something lighter, then. Have you had a chance to work on restoring your deathday gift yet? You did a fine job with Alexander, he's as glossy as the day you *finished* him."

Alastor

“Oh, that’s just to be expected. How many people have a chance to measure their lives up against the dead and damned, anyway? We’re not given opportunities to interact with anyone but our fellow prisoners and our jailers, and that’s by design.” He’s occasionally side-eyeing the other actors himself, but none seem to be paying attention.

“Oh—yes! Cleaned out the guts and got off the worst of the grime of age. I need to get a few cleaning supplies to finish the job, but soon the both of them will be spick and span!” Look at him beaming, the proud father. “How *is* Alexander? I wanted to talk to him while visiting your place, but his time seemed to be monopolized by someone else the whole trip!” He really did feel bad about that. He feels like he’s got something a duty to Alexander, but so far he hasn’t been able to meet it.

Valera

This was a MUCH better topic. Radios and mutual friends, much safer. They let their shoulders relax under the jacket, chirping as their fins waggle. "I'm sure they'll be as good as new by the time you're done with them, mon collègue. You'll have to show me how they come out. A beautiful antique is always twice as radiant when restored with care, and those radios were gorgeous."

Ah.. Alexander. Their face twists, a frown tugging at the corners of their mouth. "Alexander is.. alright, I suppose. Nothing terrible has happened, and I've been trying to work with him on his manifestations with generally mixed to positive results." They shrug, sighing through their nose. "I think he misses other humans. Or former humans, I suppose. We get along well, but he'll see something and start talking about.. Ponzi? Or his mother writing to him from the" Airquotes here as they squint "Dust Bowl?" What the fuck is a dust bowl? They don't know, it sounds like something a chinchilla would roll in. "And he loses me completely."

Alastor

“I’ll have Vaggie take pictures some time.”

Alastor’s eyebrows shoot up. “That poor man got tangled up with Ponzi *and* the dust bowl? Goodness, what an unfortunate life he lived! But you’re right, he really needs more humans to talk to, doesn’t he? I’ll—“ A pause, and then he says thoughtfully, “I’ll see whether I can contact him myself. If not, I’ll let you know and we’ll arrange a play date. If it works, though—you’ll probably hear about it from him.”

Valera

Contact Alexander himself? Valera opens their mouth to ask how, then it clicks. Right, radio to radio transmissions. Could Alastor reach radios outside of Hell? Maybe it would be easier if the radio was haunted, a bit closer to the fuzzy boundaries between Heaven, Hell, and Earth. Or, Okkylk in this case. Hm.

"I'll take your word for it, I haven't got the foggiest about what either of those are. What the *devil* is a Ponzi?" They've heard "Ponzi Scheme" said in movies, but maybe it wasn't even the same Ponzi! Maybe Ponzi was a normal human thing. Like a brand, they do love their brands... "But thank you. I think he'd benefit from having more than one very alien being to talk to."

Alastor

“Charles Ponzi! A con artist! He convinced a whole slew of people to give him a mountain of money to invest in what he claimed was some post office money-making scheme and that he’d double their money in a month or two. Instead, he pocketed the money, convinced *another* slew of people to give him money for the same scheme, used that money to pay off the first wave of suckers—and rinse and repeated until he’d scammed thousands and stolen millions! Spent a few years in prison, got out and tried another scheme, got arrested in dear old New Orleans trying to flee the country! You knew you weren’t going to be bored any time he showed up in the papers!” Alastor loves a good con artist story. “The Dust Bowl, I missed myself—just a little bit after my time—but from my understanding it was a big drought in the middle of the States that dried out a bunch of farmland. Lot of farming families starved those years.” Alastor loves a good con artist, but starving people are just sad.

Valera

This Ponzi guy should have gone into politics, hot damn. Valera makes a low whistle, nodding their approval. "That DOES explain why he thought about Ponzi, we were talking about the weird political scams my predecessor left me on the hook for when I snuffed him out. Though I think that Charles there pulled it off with more flair than that bird brain ever could have. What a character! I've got to respect that kind of daring."

Probably best not to comment too much on the dust bowl, that sounds like a downer. But, they did bring it up, and if they're talking about Alexander.. "That does explain it. I believe his family was based in that middle area." A nod, and they immediately jump to something less negative. "Let him prattle on at you about his electronics store, he'd love it. The man talked my fins off for twenty minutes about something called a Perikon Detector a regular asked him to order and I STILL don't understand why he was so exasperated about it."

Alastor

“Oh, did he ever have flair! There’s a story I heard about when news of his scams started hitting the papers—all his investors swarmed his offices to demand their money back, he went around to them one by one offering coffee and donuts and smiles, and charmed them so well they *left* their money with him!” Alastor laughs.

Perikon Detector? Alastor stares off into space a moment, trying to dig the term out of nearly-century-old memories. “... Probably because Perikon Detectors were replaced by vacuum tubes before ninety percent of the nation ever even *heard* of radios. What the hell did someone want a Perikon Detector?”

Valera

They laugh, clapping their hands together. Charles Ponzi, was it? They'd have to look the fellow up later just to see the details of his escapades, maybe forward the information to a certain lawyer they knew. But for now, their potential costar has been oddly silent..

Alastor in a state of blank befuddlement was a rare treat, and one that Valera enjoyed while they could before he seemed to snap back into focus with his scrabbled knowledge in hand. "You'll have to ask him for specifics, but judging by the choice of insults, this person had a habit of asking for obscure, outdated parts rather frequently. Maybe a collector? Upcycler?" They shrug. "I still have no idea what a Perikon Detector IS. It sounds like a little bauble they'd use in a bad sci-fi show."

Alastor

“Well, it detects perikons, obviously!” He pauses. Dead silence. “Right, forgot I gave the laugh track the afternoon off. You at least know what vacuum tubes are, right? They, uh...” Has Alastor ever actually learned what it is, *exactly,* that vacuum tubes do. He knows how to use them. He knows how to tell which one he needs. He’s put them in radios. He’s *made* radios. But his eyes glaze over whenever he tries to learn what exactly it is the electricity *does* in there.

“Well,” he says confidently, “they control electrons, you see. You’re not getting very far in electronics if you can’t control electrons.” There’s a smattering of laughter. “Shut up, you’re all on break. Anyway, you’ve got vacuum tube radios and crystal radios—there’s a crystal in a Perikon Detector, see—and vacuum tube radios actually need some electricity to power them—which means you’ve got enough electricity to also power a speaker. Crystal radios are powered only by the very radio waves they pick up, but you’ve got to squeeze headphones against your face to hear it—so not very useful if you want to use a radio while doing anything but sitting in one spot very quietly with your hands over your ears. A Perikon Detector is just one brand name of crystal detectors that pick up radio waves.”

Valera

Alastor's initial joke is delivered, and Valera rather wished it hadn't been. In fact, they'd like to file a formal complaint with the verbal post office, they seem to have delivered an auditory assault instead of pleasantries. Silence reigns between them, oppressive and all consuming like an unjust monarch, three eyes staring silent judgement at the Radio Demon for his awful, terrible, no good dad joke levels of comedy. Jingle the bells on your little jester hat, old man-- Oh wait, he's talking again.

Valera stops squinting, rolling their eyes with a groan. He's still telling bad jokes. Those are only funny when YOU'RE the one telling them, the bastard. But they're going to completely gloss over his evil sense of humor and focus on the technical talk, and if there's a little upward twitch of their lips it's his imagination. Shut up. Dad jokes aren't funny. "Interesting! I'd never even heard of a crystal radio before, humans upgrade their technology so quickly that it makes the mind reel. One of their.. Your? Finer features."

Alastor

Alastor is goddamn hilarious and a gift to the microphone and the world is better for him and his humor having been in it, if we’re not counting those murders he did. “It *is* one of our more impressive parlor tricks! Although, truth be told, only one we picked up in the last century or so!” A pause. “Last *two* centuries. I keep forgetting the 1820s aren’t a hundred years ago. Anyway, we’ve really picked up the pace lately, relatively speaking! I once heard someone say—I don’t know how he knows, but I’m sure someone looked it up—that for several thousand years, the human *pelvis* evolved faster than the plowshare! And then all of the sudden, boom! Factories! Steel! Trains! Airships! Radio! How did people before the nineteenth century not bore themselves to death, I’ll never know.”

Valera

Valera cocks their head to the side, mind casting back. "From what I recall about sixteen hundreds France from my earliest visits, there was a lot of interpersonal drama and dying from preventable diseases to keep people busy. Much less interesting than the industrial revolution. Though the water was also a lot *cleaner* back then." A dissatisfied scoff. "Late eighteen hundreds London was a foul, foul place. Only went once and I had a cough for a week."

Alastor

"Oh, *that's* right! *Human drama!* Entertainment at its purest! I would have been an insufferable gossip, I'm sure." His smile broadens with satisfaction at figuring out what he would have done before radio.

Valera

"Oh don't sell yourself short, Alastor. I'm sure given the chance, you could be an insufferable gossip now, too!" They flutter their lashes dramatically, fanning themselves with their hat as they titter like a fine court damsel. Okay, enough of that. "They should be calling you soon, no?"

Alastor

“You flatter me! If more people shared gossip with me, I *would* be!”

Oh, right. He’s here for the first audition he’s cared about since dying. He sits up a little straighter, ears almost lifting out of his absurd disguise hair as he strains to listen to the current audition on stage. Sounds like it’s wrapping up. “Probably.” He looks down at his printed lyrics again and, predictably, forgets how to read.

Valera

Valera glances at Alastor's paper, humming as their hands rest on their hat. Was he *nervous*?

"Are you nervous?" Wait they said that out loud didn't they. Well, shit. Better commit. "What did you say you were doing again? The Major General's Song?"

Alastor

He's gonna ignore the hell out of that first question. "Yes, Modern Major General—and I learned a couple of songs from the show, more or less. I don't know what they're going to ask for. I figured at a minimum Modern Major General would show I can sing fast enough for the parts, if they don't want anyone to sing from the show."

Valera

If he'd actually answered the question, Valera would have probably accused him of being an imposter. Alastor wasn't known for admitting to his emotions unless you happened to be a Victorian steampunk snake, and even then. A sigh, and they lean back in their seat as much as their tail allows. "They let me sing Will Wood, so I think your selection should be perfectly sufficient. You even went with another musical theater song!"

Valera

Even then, he only just sort of failed to deny straightforward accusations. Kind of like what he just did. "I'm glad I didn't go with Will Wood," he mutters.

Yep, there's no more singing or talking from the stage, they're definitely wrapping up. Any second now.

Valera

It sounds like Alastor's turn is coming up, and good timing on that. They had no idea how to respond to his mutterings beyond pointing out that no casting director in Hell was likely to have heard of a semi obscure avant-garde jazz musician. Which might not even be accurate, maybe he was popular down here.

Out comes the phone, the ultimate distraction to ignore a potentially awkward silence. Better to end the talk on a positive-ish note, considering they're going to be seeing this garishly dressed man on the daily for possibly months. Sit next to one Alastor, text another, barely suppress snorts when the second gets confused about "phish food" being an ice cream flavor. As a fish does.

Alastor

The most recent actor comes backstage again, and another demon calls, “Next, uh... Lass?”

Alastor hops to his feet. “That’s me! That’s my name.” He turns to Valera. “Stage name. Drag name, usually, but as long as I’ve got the hair and the dress today—Anyway!” He claps a hand on Valera’s shoulder. “Tell me to break a leg!”

Valera

They glance up from their phone at the name call, sliding their eyes back down as Alastor hops up. Off he goes then? Maybe not, he's talking now, they should respond--

They make a very undignified BWAGH at the unexpected touch, hat flying off their lap as their whole body jumps. Then immediately pretends it didn't happen, clearing their throat noisily. What? No, they didn't just jump out of their scales. "Break a leg, Alastor."

Alastor

*Wheeze.* He doesn’t apologize but he *does* quickly take his hand back, which is probably as close as they’re gonna get from him. “Thanks!” He startled the hell out of someone and got a quick laugh out of it, that does something to steady his nerves. He folds up his lyrics, tucks them away god-only-knows-where, and strides out. Showtime!

Valera

Valera watches him go, shaking their head as they stand. Well, that's one radio demon out of their hair. Time to go willingly throw themselves at another one! The hat is plucked off the floor, and off they go. Not too shabby a day, not too shabby at all.

#chat log #autokrates

[echo-bleu]

down to breathing (3)

Part 3 of this 4+1 Manes Brother series. Four times their father's shadow was too large for them, and one time it isn't. Alex, Greg and Flint over the years.

I meant to post this a lot sooner but I took a much needed break from writing and fandom. I’m back. A little bit, at least.

[edited to add CWs because I was somehow too tired to remember, sorry: mentions of abuse, Jesse Manes being a shit father, post-injury including loss of limb, mentions of ableism and homophobia, mentions of hospitals]

3.

Greg crosses the physical therapy gym in search of Alex and finds him by the changing rooms, being helped into his jacket by an attendant.

“Everything okay today?” he asks his brother.

Alex doesn't meet his eyes. “Can we just go home?” he asks, struggling to move his wheelchair with his one good arm.

Greg nods at the attendant, who is still hovering, and steps behind Alex to take the handles of the chair. “Sure,” he says. He's starting to recognize Alex's moods, and to get better at letting him handle them on his own. This is his tired, defeated 'rough day' stance, not his 'bad news' attitude. There's nothing for Greg to do but watch out for him.

He's showered and wearing fresh sweats, at least, so they won't have to endure that process at home. The loss of independence is the hardest thing for Alex to accept, and he sees having his brother help him bathe as humiliating. Greg has tried to make it as painless as possible, but it's never easy.

He lets Alex sulk until they're both in his car. “How's the pain?” he asks casually.

“Same,” Alex mutters. “Doesn't let up.”

Greg reaches out to squeeze his thigh, avoiding his injured shoulder. If nothing else, they've grown more tactile in the last few weeks than they've been since they were kids. “It will,” he says.

“It might not. I looked it up, for some people phantom pain never goes away.”

“And for the large majority of people, it goes away or reduces significantly over the first couple of months,” Greg says. “I tried to read about it too. The odds are good.”

Alex sighs. “I'm just tired. Nothing helps.”

“I know.” Alex has been out of the hospital for three weeks, and while the heavy-duty painkillers he's on help with his broken neck and his torn shoulder, nothing even makes a dent in the nerve pain coming from his amputated foot. It's been truly rough, and Greg keeps wondering if he's really equipped to give Alex the help he needs. He didn't hesitate to offer his place and his time to his brother−deep inside, it's an opportunity to atone in a small way for letting their father abuse Alex so badly−but he feels so helpless to alleviate Alex's pain and grief.

Greg parks into the one handicapped spot in his street, which is unfortunately half a block away from his entrance. He helps Alex back into his wheelchair and starts them on their way, but he freezes when he looks up.

“What is he doing here?” he mutters under his breath.

“Flint?” Alex frowns.

Their brother is standing awkwardly on the steps in front of Greg's building, wearing fatigues, a backpack slung over his shoulders. He startles when he spots them and scrambles down the steps.

Greg can see the way his face falls when he takes in Alex's wheelchair, the sling and the brace around his neck, and finally the empty, rolled up pant leg. He closes his eyes briefly and takes a shaky breath before attempting a smile. “Greg,” he says, nodding. “Alex.”

“What are you doing here?” Greg asks, sensing Alex's discomfort mounting quickly.

“I finally got leave, and I−I wanted to see Alex,” Flint hesitates.

“About time,” Greg spits out. They all know Flint could have asked for a few days to come see Alex in the hospital, but he didn't try. “Even Clay came before you.”

Flint glares at him. He opens his mouth, but before he can come up with an answer, Alex shifts in his wheelchair. “Can we not do this in the middle of the street, please?” he asks, his voice low and pained.

“Of course,” Greg murmurs, for his benefit only. “Move over,” he adds coldly for Flint.

Flint frowns until he realizes that he's standing between them and the ramp, and steps aside. Greg pushes Alex up to the door and punches in his code, purposefully using his body to hide it from Flint. None of them say a word as they cross the small lobby and ride up the elevator to the third floor.

Greg's apartment is badly lit and still full of boxes−he found it in a hurry and moved here while Alex was in the hospital, to be able to welcome him in an accessible place. He set up all the essentials−living room furniture, kitchen, and Alex's room−but he still sleeps on a mattress, since he only owned one bed in his old place. Flint raises an eyebrow at the lack of decorations and the boxes in the corner, and Greg dares him to comment with a glare.

He brings Alex up to the couch and lets him transfer on his own, then work on removing his coat and his shoe. Alex needs every bit of independence he can manage, right now. Greg takes the coat from him. “Need anything?”

“Water and meds,” Alex mutters. “Please.”

Greg ignores Flint, who is hovering by the door, in favor of grabbing a glass and Alex's pill bottles from the kitchen. “There you go,” he sets them down on the coffee table.

“Come sit down,” Alex ushers Flint closer. His tone is kinder than Flint deserves, in Greg's opinion.

Flint shrugs off his backpack and obeys hesitantly. “How are you doing?” he asks, his face growing softer as he really takes in Alex's state.

Alex shrugs with his good shoulder. “I've been better.” He offers a small smile, before bending with a wince to grab the glass of water.

Greg considers leaving them alone, but he decides he's not done giving Flint a hard time. Besides, Alex might still need him as a buffer, especially if the subject of Dad comes up. He plops down beside Alex on the couch, careful not to jostle him. Alex flashes him a quick smile.

Flint is staring. Alex meets his gaze steadily, with a courage that Greg can only admire. “Everything will heal, except for the...leg,” he says. “That's gonna take a little adjusting. But I'll be okay.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” Flint breathes, stilted and awkward but with real concern in his eyes. “I'm sorry I didn't come sooner,” he adds, glancing at Greg briefly.

“I understand why you didn't,” Alex says softly. Greg almost intervenes, because Flint really doesn't deserve this forgiveness, but Alex goes on. “To be honest, I'm not a fan of hospital visits. I was pretty out of it anyway.”

“Dad was there several times,” Greg explains. “Clay, too. Well, once.”

Flint hears the “you should have been there” loud and clear in his tone, and he glares. “I couldn't, okay? I was on a assignment.”

“Bullshit. You just didn't want to see Alex like that.”

Flint has the good grace to look ashamed. “I would have come if I could,” he still insists.

“Dad started blaming Alex for getting injured,” Greg spits out. “I could have used some back up to make him stop.”

“He wouldn't have helped,” Alex whispers. Greg turns his head to look at him, and immediately feels guilty at the sadness on his face.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, don't you know? Dad and Flint are good friends now.”

“Alex−” Flint starts to protest.

“Tell me it's not true,” Alex stares him down. It's impressive in itself that he can do that even in his current state.

Flint looks away.

“What happened?” Greg asks.

“I don't know, they were all buddy-buddy at my last promotion,” Alex rolls his eyes.

“I'm not his buddy,” Flint says through gritted teeth. “We just worked on something together.”

“You watched him go at me in the fucking bathroom for bringing a date and you just smirked.”

“You did what?” Greg stammers in shock. “He did what?”

There is little more important to Dad than decorum, and his sons certainly aren't. For him to go at Alex in public, he must have been truly enraged.

“I didn't let him come close,” Alex shrugs his good shoulder. “Found out just how satisfying it is to outrank him.”

“Good for you,” Greg smirks. He rounds in on Flint again. “What the fuck?”

“Alex had it handled,” Flint shrugs, but he's still averting his eyes.

“Fuck you,” Greg mutters.

“It doesn't matter,” Alex says. “I don't need either of you to protect me.”

Greg forbids himself from looking at him doubtfully. Alex is right, objectively. He's the best ranked of them all, in their three different military branches. He made something of himself, despite their father, despite everything he's endured. Even now, weeks away from a major injury and facing a life change Greg can't even imagine for himself, he's more emotionally rational than either of them. And that's three days after being officially diagnosed with PTSD.

“Do you know what you're going to do now?” Flint asks Alex quietly. “You're gonna take the discharge?”

“I don't know yet if they'll give me a choice,” Alex says. He looks at the same time younger and much older than he really is, the vulnerability striking on his face. His eyes are full of shadows, now, full of grief. Greg took him to the Purple Heart ceremony last week, where Alex received his own, but also had to hand two medals out to the families of his fallen comrades, Dawson and Karl. His best friend, and his lover, Greg knows.

How are they still here, a decade later? Greg thought he'd be out of the Navy as soon as his enlistment was up, and yet he signed up twice more. Alex was never supposed to enlist at all. Clay is the only one of them who had any wish to follow in their father's footsteps, but somehow Alex is the one who's paid the high price for it.

“Will you stay, if they allow it?” Flint asks.

“Maybe,” Alex admits. “I only have nine more months, they can probably let me ride a desk.”

Greg nods. It would be easier than him having to find another job right away, if nothing else. Alex has the kind of skills the Air Force won't throw away just because he was injured.

“You'll, um, you'll get a prosthetic or something, right?” Flint asks uncomfortably, looking at anything but Alex's leg.

Alex stares back at him, with a sort of defiance in his eyes. He looks more lively than he has in weeks, in some ways. “Yeah, we'll start the fittings in a month or so. Don't worry, in a year or so I won't even look disabled.”

Greg shudders at the echo of their father's words, the constant admonition to never appear weak. What's important is that it won't be visible, he said in the hospital, when Alex could barely look at his stump without throwing up.

Flint closes his eyes. “That's not what I meant,” he murmurs.

“Isn't it?” Alex challenges. Flint just shakes his head mutely, looking honestly apologetic, and he deflates. “Sorry.”

“I'm not Dad,” Flint says.

“No, you're not,” Alex admits. Greg nods along, because it's a fact. Even Clay has yet to reach Dad's levels of cruelty. He wonders where the line is. Which one of them will take a wrong turn, in these murky waters, and lose himself. They all know that their grandfather was probably even worse than Dad, and his father before him. It's the Manes way.

They'll never be free of that.

They'll never be the kind of brothers who hug and chill together, so they sit rigidly and a frozen pizza, their backs straight, never touching and never relaxing, until Alex's painkillers start to make him woozy. Greg helps him through his evening routine while Flint lays a comforter and a pillow on the bumpy couch for himself.

“Is he really gonna be okay?” Flint asks very quietly when Greg comes back out of Alex's bedroom.

Greg sighs. “I don't know. But he'd tough. Tougher than any of us.”

Flint nods. “I really am sorry,” he whispers. “Dad got in my head again.”

So that's the real reason for his absence.

“He does that,” Greg murmurs, like forgiveness.

#roswell new mexico #alex manes #gregory manes #flint manes #roswell nm #manes brothers #echo's fanfiction #mine #down to breathing

[hamiltalian-creates]

Cuddly Dukexiety Fluff

(Someone on Discord asked for some Dukexiety fluff, so here it is!) 

Summary: Remus sneaks into Virgil's room in the middle of the night for fluffy cuddles. Virgil seems to be the only one even considering possible repercussions.

Pairings: Virgil x Remus, background Logicality

Words: 1,702

Warnings: None

Was there a better time than 2 in the morning for cuddling? According to Virgil, anytime was better. Unfortunately, his boyfriend had a different opinion.

It was about 1:45 when Virgil woke up to the sound of tapping on his window. At first, he thought it was his imagination because, obviously, that wasn’t a typical noise to hear. It took about thirty seconds for him to realize that it was not in his mind and that someone was actually at his window which, unsurprisingly, made Virgil’s stomach plummet like a rock. Until he heard the accompanying voice.

“Psst, Virgil! Virgil, it’s me! I know you’re a light sleeper, spider bite, let me in!”

Virgil groaned and sat up, leaning over his bookshelf to open the curtains and unlock the window while regretting his entire relationship.

“Thank you!” Remus hummed as he stumbled in, trying not to break anything or make any noise as he hopped from the window to Virgil’s bed, closing the window behind him.

“Why are you at my house at,” Virgil quickly paused to check the time. “1:47 in the morning?”

Remus shrugged. “Your house is warmer and my house doesn’t have you and your cuddles,” he explained as he pushed himself beneath the blanket.

Virgil sighed and laid back down, accepting his fate. “Alright, but if my dad finds out you’re here, I’m telling him you broke in.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” Remus kissed Virgil’s cheek before wrapping his arms around his waist and sighing. “Now isn’t this nice?”

Virgil would be lying if he said he wasn’t. He reluctantly relaxed into his boyfriend’s arms and leaned against him. “It won’t be when I wake up with a boner against my side.”

“I can’t control my dreams, Mr Grumpy Pants.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, but he was honestly trying his hardest to hide the tiniest smile. Maybe the time wasn’t ideal, but he did kind of enjoy having his boyfriend over. Was Remus insufferable at times? Yes. Did people look at them and wonder how they got along as well as they did, much less how they began dating? All the time. But he really loved Remus and all of his grotesque, yet oddly childish, sense of humor and his undying lack of shame in every aspect of life, just as Remus loved Virgil’s constant strings of conspiracy theories and undying fear that everything was going to go wrong at every second ever.

“Why don’t you ever sneak in through my window?”

“Because you live on the second floor of your house. And because I’m not insane.”

Remus tutted. “I’m a loving boyfriend who prefers to sleep with his arms wrapped around his amazing boyfriend. Is that so wrong?”

“You’re a huge dork is what you are.”

“I know, but I’m your dork,” Remus hummed as he buried his face in the crook of Virgil’s neck. “Thank you for letting me in. Honestly, I was about to give up.”

“And miss the chance to have you keeping me warm? Not a chance.”

“How are you not already warm when your dad keeps it this warm in here?”

Virgil shrugged. “It’s not the same. The heater doesn’t hold me. Plus, when I wake up sweaty, I feel less gross knowing that someone as gross as you is here.”

“Flawed logic, but I’m not arguing,” Remus said with a shrug. “As long as I get to be here with you, I’m fine.”

Virgil fought back a smile. “Just go to sleep, dork..”

“With you here, no problem.”

“You say that as if you aren’t in my room,” Virgil muttered before shutting his eyes.

Remus kissed the back of his head before doing the same, sighing as he finally fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, Virgil was the first of the couple to wake up, groaning as the sunlight hit his face.

“I need to get darker curtains...” he muttered before remembering that he had blackout curtains. Immediately, he remembered the events of the night and turned to see that Remus was still peacefully sleeping. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t be a problem, but Virgil’s father had a tendency to walk into Virgil’s room to wake him up, since the curtains were typically closed and Virgil was still fast asleep in his pitch black room by the time breakfast was ready. Which made for an obvious problem.

“Remus,” Virgil whispered, shaking his boyfriend awake.

Remus shushed Virgil and put a hand over his face. “Five more minutes..”

“I might not have five minutes, my dad’s going to walk in any minute to get me for breakfast. He’s going to flip if he sees you here, you have to go home.”

“But it’s so early,” Remus whined, pulling Virgil against his chest. “Just tell him it was my fault, it’ll be whatever.”

“Remus, if you don’t get up, I’m telling Roman that you gave me his Nightmare Before Christmas posters.”

Remus’s eyes snapped open and he got his shoes from the floor, putting them on and getting ready to go. “Just threaten my life, that’s normal boyfriend behavior,” he grumbled, a clearly joking tone in his voice.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Just hurry before-”

“Virgil?” his dad interrupted, knocking at the door. “Are you awake already?”

“Hurry up!” Virgil whispered harshly, practically shoving his boyfriend out of the window.

“I can only move so fast!” Remus whispered back, stumbling as he fell through the window.

Virgil shut the window and laid back down, trying to look nonchalant as his dad opened the door.

“Were you talking to someone in here?”

“Uh... Remus. Yeah, he just called to ask if I could hang out with him today, no big deal.”

Virgil’s dad raised an eyebrow, but shrugged. “Well, breakfast is ready when you are.”

“Okay, I’ll be right out.”

His dad nodded and began to close the door, stopping himself. “Oh, and Virgil?”

“Yeah?..”

Virgil’s dad grinned knowingly. “Feel free to invite your boyfriend to breakfast, if he doesn’t have any other plans.”

Realizing he was caught, Virgil’s face grew red as Remus answered from the window.

“I actually don’t, thank you Mr Dee!”

As soon as his dad was gone, Virgil silently let him in.

“Well, that was a pretty nice offer, don’t you think?”

“Uh.. Yeah.. Aren’t you afraid of what your parents are going to say?”

Remus shrugged and hopped back to Virgil’s bed before standing up on the ground. “What are my teenage years if I don’t spend so much of it being grounded?”

“... Wisely spent?”

Remus just laughed and walked out of the room, Virgil following behind him.

The two went down to the kitchen and served themselves the food that Dee had made for them, thanking him as they sat down.

“So, did anything happen that I need to know about?” he asked as soon as they did, looking between the teenagers.

“Remus showed up unannounced and I let him in.”

Remus nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

Dee nodded, believing them for now. “Well, it’s good to know you understand that you’re always welcome, Remus. Perhaps you could choose a more convenient time next time?”

Remus shrugged. “I do what I do when I do, but I’ll try.”

Virgil looked between the two suspiciously. “Am I grounded or something?”

“I don’t know, are you?”

He wasn’t. Dee knew that Remus was kind of the black sheep of his family, the punk in a family of preps, as he’d once put it himself. Of course, his fathers loved him and he got along fine with his brother, but Remus always loved being around his emo boyfriend and his goth dad, somewhere where he fit a little better. And, of course, he knew that Virgil would be too nervous about being caught to think of such an idea on his own.

Remus put his fork down as his phone vibrated in his pocket. “Excuse me, that’s probably my dads. Or Roman. Not sure who I’m more afraid of at the moment,” he hummed before walking off, taking the phone call. “Hello?”

“Remus, your dad is afraid that you left in the middle of the night to join a cult. Can you please explain that you snuck over to Virgil’s house again?”

Remus held back a laugh. “What if he’s right? Maybe I’m in a cult right now.”

“Then you’ll be grounded for a month instead of a week.”

“Virgil’s dad invited me to stay for breakfast, it would’ve been rude to refuse. Besides, I left a note.”

“Patton, you said there was no note,” Remus’s father said, a heavy sigh in his voice.

“I thought he was trying to get us off of his trail!” his dad said defensively.

“Yeah, that sounds like something I’d do,” Remus said with a shrug. “I’ll be home soon. Please tell Roman that I’m not dead.”

“Dealing with Roman’s melodramatic response is part of your punishment. I’ll see you when you get home.”

Remus groaned as his father hung up, not looking forward to trying to convince his brother that he wasn’t trying to kill him with heartbreak. He went back to the table and sat down. “Well, my father took it well enough, but my dad and my brother are both convinced I’m trying to kill them through shock.”

Dee chuckled. “How Logan deals with all of you, I’ll never understand.”

“It takes lots of coffee and a lot of hiking trips so he can scream into the wild and let out his frustrations.”

“Yes, that sounds about right,” Dee hummed before continuing his meal.

“I told you you shouldn’t have snuck over here,” Virgil muttered.

“I live with them too, it’s not like I’m not used to their drama,” Remus reassured, grabbing Virgil’s free hand beneath the table. He knew that Virgil wasn’t too comfortable with showing affection around anyone, not even his own dad, so that was Remus’s way of saying that whatever trouble he got into was worth it to spend some time with him.

Virgil blushed lightly, understanding their silent language and squeezed his hand back. No matter how much he may have complained, nothing meant more to him than time spent with Remus.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #remus sanders #deceit sanders #ts virgil #ts anxiety #ts duke #ts deceit #ts remus #logan sanders #ts logan #ts patton #patton sanders #duke sanders #dukexiety #dukexeity #remus x virgil #virgil x remus #fluff

[rohad93]

Authority Online: chapter 8

Tuesday evening Blanche sat in her living room with Jaune, who had made another surprise visit on her way home from work.

She was quite glad for the company. Until recently her only child had been rather scarce, burying herself in her work and the office. 

“I hope you realize I am not happy with the stunt you pulled last weekend.” Jaune said out of the blue.

Blanche looked up from her glass of wine to look at her daughter who was giving her an agitated look, but really, when did Jaune not look agitated? 

She took a long sip from the glass before and setting it aside she turned her full attention to the frowning blonde. 

The way she was sitting, straight backed in the wing chair across from herself, arms crossed and brow sitting heavy over her eyes, Blanch was immediately reminded of another blonde who once occupied that chair on a nightly basis, always looking just as serious.

 She ignored the pang in her chest that often accompanied such thoughts and smiled at Jaune.

“How did you know?” There was no sense denying what Jaune already knew.

“She saw my pin and was reminded of yours.” 

“Ahh, I should have known. She was very sweet and complimented it.” She smiled, reaching up to touch the piece of jewelry pinned to her blouse. Jaune sighed.

“What exactly were you trying to accomplish?” she demanded, sharp amber eyes narrowed in clear anger  

“Oh, I was just curious, Jaune. I can’t remember the last time you were so head over heels for someone…” The blonde flushed. “...and so quickly. I had to see her for myself.” She held a hand up to her chest.

Then a thought occurred to Blanche.

“Was she upset?” she asked, carefully. She hadn’t intended for the younger woman to learn who she was and hadn’t taken into account that she may not be thrilled with essentially being, ‘scoped out’ as they say. 

“No, thankfully she wasn’t. She didn’t even seem to consider that she should be upset. I had lunch with her yesterday and we made plans to see each other again this weekend.” Jaune continued to frown and for all her bluster Blanche was well enough aware that she could have very much ruined her daughter’s tentative new relationship with her curiosity.

“I’m sorry, Jaune. I shouldn’t have gone,” she admitted. Jaune seemed surprised by the seemingly genuine apology.

“I appreciate that mother, though I’m hardly the one you should be apologizing to,” she grumbled.

“You’re right.” She nodded. “I’ll make my apologies to the young woman herself.”

“Wait, what?” Jaune sat up in the chair.

“I’m having a little outdoor party Sunday, some friends and acquaintances. Bring her, she might like to see where you grew up and I can make my apologies in person.”

“I realize we’ve only known each other about a month, but I’m not sure Celeste would be interested in one of your garden parties.” She hunched over, elbows on her knees as she regarded her mother.

“Do sit up, dear. Watching you makes my back hurt, and it couldn’t hurt to ask, as you said, you haven’t been seeing each other very long. You never know.” 

Jaune sighed heavily through her nose as she straightened up. 

“I’ll ask,” she relented with a grunt. 

“Wonderful” Her mother smiled, clapping her hands together. 

~ ~ ~

Once she got home she pulled out her phone and typed out a quick message as she slipped out of her shoes, she walked into her bedroom.

“Are you free to talk?” 

A few minutes later her phone began to ring.

Seeing the expected caller she hit the little green button and put it on speaker.

“Hi” She smiled to herself as she slid off her suit jacket.

“Well, hello yourself.” that lilting accent came through the phone with a hint of laughter and in the privacy of her bedroom, Jaune grinned stupidly at the sound. 

“About this weekend…,” she started.

“Hmm?”

“Please, feel free to say no, but my mother wanted me to invite you to a little party she’s throwing Sunday afternoon. She also wanted to apologize to you for showing up at the bakery last weekend.” Jaune rolled her eyes at the last part as she popped the buttons on her shirt open. 

“There’s nothing to apologize for, she didn’t do anything except buy candy and make small talk,” she said and Jaune could hear some quiet shuffling sounds.

“Yes, but she went to spy,” she sniffed, dropping the shirt into her hamper and pulled at the buckle of her belt. 

“I feel like it would be rude to turn down her invitation… what kind of party is it?”

 She could hear the curiosity in Celeste’s voice.

“Her version of a garden party, outside, food, and the like.” She shrugged to herself, forgetting Celeste couldn’t see the gesture.

“It doesn’t sound like it interests you much.” the voice sounded knowing. Jaune hummed.

“She’s been doing them since I was a child and they were incredibly dull, being the only child around a bunch of adults with their heads shoved up their…,” she stopped, catching herself and suddenly Celeste’s laughter was wafting out of the phone and it made Jaune stop what she was doing just to enjoy the sound. 

“I see…,” she giggled. ‘Well, maybe they would be less dull if you weren’t all by yourself?” The suggestion was clear and a smile pulled at the lawyer’s lips. 

“Maybe.” 

“So, we’re going?” Celeste asked.

“If that’s what you’d like to do. I’ll let her know tomorrow.” 

They talked for two more hours. It was just so easy for them to fall into comfortable conversation. Eventually Celeste took note of the time and had to get to bed. 

“Good night, Jaune.”

The soft way she bid the lawyer goodnight made something in her turn into a puddle of hot goo.

“Good night, Celeste.” she echoed back and the line went dead.

She sighed, flopping unceremoniously onto her bed.

Her mother was right. It had barely been a month, but she was absolutely infatuated with the Celestine Carrick.

She dragged a hand down her face, sighing.

She might be in trouble if it went on at this rate.

Yet she couldn't stop the smile pulling at her lips.

~ ~ ~ 

"Saturday is generally our busiest day, and we're closed on Sundays." Celeste explained as she walked around the kitchen with her newest hire. 

She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but Pearl White hadn't been it.

The woman was tall and rail thin with short, upward swept hair and a prominent nose.

Celeste couldn't help but notice that she moved around with a light gracefulness, making little sound as she moved about.

"When I'm not around Sky can answer any questions you have, she's been here almost as long as I have."  She gestured to her assistant at the tables, kneading balls of dough. She looked up and smiled.

It was impossible to see where she was looking, her eyes always hidden by the dark brown hair in front of her face. 

"She's going to show you how to make a few of our most popular recipes while I work the front today.

"Oh, perfect." She clapped her hands together and trotted over to the other baker.

Once they were engrossed with the logistics of measuring flours and sugar she walked out to the front. It was still fairly early on Saturday morning but the farmers market a few streets over had opened for the first time this year, so it was a little slower than usual. Letting her man the front while Sky taught Pearl the basics. True, they were her recipes, but it might be a little more relaxed if Sky taught her. Someone who wasn’t technically her boss. 

She checked out the one older woman who had been perusing the cases and when she left the store stood empty. 

She pulled out her phone to see a message from Jaune. She must have sent it while she was walking Pearl through the shop

"I'll pick you up at 3pm tomorrow."

She smiled and began typing out a response.

"Sounds good. What does one wear to a garden party?" 

Since it was Saturday and Jaune was off work, a response came only about 30 seconds later.

"In my experience, something excessive and pretentious,"  was the reply. Celeste chuckled.

"I'm not sure I have anything that meets that criteria."

She leaned over the counter resting her chin in her palm, waiting for a reply 

After a few seconds the dots that indicated the blonde was typing appeared.

"Dressy casual will have to suffice then."

Celeste rolled her eyes and moved to start her own message, but the bubbles quickly reappeared.

"I'm sure you'll look nice in anything though."

"Flatterer" she quickly tapped back.

“It’s hardly flattery if it’s true.” Came the quick response.

"Are you talking to Jaune?" 

Celeste jumped, looking up. Her sister had silently walked out of the back and around to the front counter without her noticing. 

"What makes you say that?" She stood up, sliding the phone into her apron pocket.

"Because you're staring at your phone with the dopiest lovestruck smile I've ever seen." She grinned wickedly and Celeste turned bright red. 

“We were just confirming our plans for tomorrow afternoon,” she mumbled, looking anywhere but her sister. 

She was so busy trying not to look at the teacher she didn’t notice her creeping closer till a lightning quick hand was lifting her phone out of her apron pocket.

“Rose!” She scowled as the younger woman ducked around the counter, phone held out in front of her, looking at the last couple of texts.

“Looks to me like you’re flirting,” she laughed as Celeste snatched at the device. Rose let her have it.

She knew when and how far she could push it before even her rather patient sister reached the end of that patience. 

“Never imagined I’d see you go all ga-ga over someone…I mean, your last few relationships weren’t like this.” Rose looked at her curiously, leaning against the counter as she slid the phone back into her pocket. “What is so special about Jaune Roche?” she finally asked.

Celest’s lips pressed into a thin line as she thought about the question. She has been wondering that herself.

“I don’t know.” she finally admitted. “It’s… just so easy with her. We can talk for hours without hardly noticing, I can even just be comfortably silent in her company.” She turned to her sister. “RIght now, I just know that I like being with her.” 

“Those are as good a reasons as any.” She smiled almost knowingly. 

And she did know. She knew her sister was falling head over heels for the tall blonde. Quickly, too. 

“How’s Pearl doing?” She changed the subject. 

“Fine, Sky is teaching her a few things right now.” 

"What do you think?" 

"I'm not sure what I expected. She's different," she answered honestly and Rose chuckled, nodding. 

"Yeah… ya know, now that I'm thinking about it. That could have gone really sideways for me." 

"What could have?" Celeste blinked, confused.

"Taking your phone. Based on that look you had, you two could have been sexting for all I know," She called out the last part as she ran back into the kitchen laughing hysterically.

"Rose!" The baker's face couldn't have possibly been redder. 

~ ~ ~

Celeste was waiting inside at the counter when Jaune pulled up in the street outside Sunday afternoon. She carefully brushed her hair over her shoulder and walked quickly out to the car.

Jaune would never admit to the immediate jump in her heart rate at the sight of the baker in the knee length, white sundress speckled with blue flowers and the strappy, roman style, white sandals. 

"Hey" she greeted the blonde with a smile as she climbed into the car. The subtle smell of leather and coffee, just as prevalent as it had been last time.

"Hey, you look very nice."

"Well I'd hate to disappoint after you were so sure the other day." She grinned and Jaune smirked back, amber eyes narrowed, the amusement was clear.

"I never had any doubt," was the quick retort.

"I see that you can be a little more casual.” She observed, settling into the seat and looking over the blonde. “I like it.” 

Dark gray chinos and a jacket the same shade over a black v-neck shirt. It was simple but Celeste suspected the lawyer could wear sweat pants and still look more professional than most people she knew.     

“My mother dresses extravagantly enough for the both of us at these things,”she assured with a roll of her eyes behind her sunglasses as she pulled out onto the road. “But thank you…” 

They didn’t talk much on the drive, but Celeste didn’t mind. It was a comfortable silence, it was one of things she very much liked about Jaune. She didn’t feel the need to fill every quiet moment. 

She watched the city slowly thin out to rolling fields, some with grazing horses and cows. 

It was probably twenty minutes out of the city when Jaune finally turned off the main road into a drive with a large iron gate with a large ‘R’ cut out in the middle. What really caught her attention was the absolutely massive house a couple hundred yards drive down the way. 

“I’m assuming we're here…” She mumbled, looking over at Jaune as she reached up to hit a small device clipped to her sun visor and the gates opened. 

“It’s obscenely large… I know…” she grumbled.

“Just based on her car and the way she was dressed I figured your mother had money but…” She peered up at the house with wide eyes, not noticing the sudden tenseness in her date.

“My father was a successful lawyer in his own right, but he came from old money. My mother is a retired cabaret dancer,” she was stiffly informed, as they stopped in the driveway full of cars, all of foriegn make.

Jaune made no move to get out of the car though and Celeste watched her with a curious stare.

“This… my family’s financial status… isn’t a problem for you, is it?” she finally asked after a few tense seconds. 

“A problem?” she questioned, eyebrows shooting up and Jaune no doubt read her confusion as offense. 

“I don’t mean that to say anything about you, Celeste…,” she quickly said, her grip on the leather steering wheel tightening till it squeaked. “It’s just… it has caused issues in my relationships before…” She didn’t elaborate and looked so tense, as though she were made of stone. Her voice held a tone that Celeste couldn’t read.

Slowly, as though she might frighten, she reached out and laid a hand over the white knuckled stranglehold, Jaune had on the steering wheel. 

“I don’t care about money. I like you, Jaune,” she assured gently. 

Before Jaune could say anything there was a tapping on her window, making both women jump. 

A woman in a maid outfit and her hair in a pair of buns stood outside the passenger side door, looking contrite. Jaune rolled down the window with a frown.

“Yes...?” she ground out. 

“I’m sorry, Jaune,” the woman said quietly. “She sent me out to see what was taking you so long and to hurry you along.” The woman looked very apologetic and Jaune sighed.

“It’s alright, Penny. We’ll be in shortly.” 

The woman nodded and hurried back inside the house as Jaune rolled up the window.

“My mother’s maid… she’s impatient today.” Jaune grumbled, running a hand through her hair. 

“Then we shouldn’t keep her waiting.” She smiled and was quite pleased with herself when the corners of the lawyer's lips began to draw upwards.

“Right…” They finally climbed out and started for the door. 

“I imagine she’s had Penny on lookout for us. She did the same thing when I was a teenager because my father wouldn’t let her stand in the window,” she mumbled and Celeste smiled. 

They walked in and Celeste couldn’t help but admire the lavish house. It was, ss Jaune put it. ‘obscenely large’ but it was very beautiful on the inside.

The house seemed to be done in a black and white theme with natural wood floors.

“The backyard is this way.” Jaune pointed down a hall and she followed her. They ended up in what looked to Celeste like a solarium, the ceiling and an entire wall made of glass, looked out into the garden and backyard where she could see about fifty people milling about with drinks and food. 

But something else happened to catch her eye. A wooden shelf against the wall filled with framed phones and trophies. She stopped to look and the first photo her eyes landed on was a very familiar looking blonde.

“Is this you?” She turned to ask, making Jaune stop to look at whatever she was looking at. 

“Oh god…” She frowned, seeing what had caught Celeste’s attention. “No…” 

“Of course it is!” A new voice sounded and both women looked up as Blanche walked in through the glass doors that lead out into the garden. Her bright red painted lips pulled into a smile as she glided across the room to them. 

Jaune was right. The older woman was dressed up enough for two. Her white, sparkling dress was similar to Celeste’s in style but that was where the similarities ended. The Roche matriarch wore tall black heels with a deadly looking point to them that clicked loudly on the wooden floors. The black fur shawl she was wearing draped elegantly off her shoulders, perfectly framing the diamond necklace laying at her throat. 

Jaune rolled her eyes. 

“Mother…,” she greeted, doing her best to make her annoyance at having Penny sent out to the car clear. 

“Hello, dear.” It was completely ignored and she turned to Celeste with a smile. Jaune huffed. 

“Celeste, this is my mother, Blanche Roche. Mother, Celeste Carrick.”  

“We didn’t really properly meet before and I’d like to start by apologizing for that. I was just so curious about what kind of woman had Sunshine all in a twist.” She smiled brightly, eyes closing.

“Sunshine?”

Jaune flushed, scowling at her mother. Celeste couldn’t help but grin and when amber met blue the lawyer turned an even darker shade of red. 

“I see you found her trophy shelf.” Blanche directed the baker's attention back to the wooden shelves, much to Jaune’s ire.

She picked up the photo Celeste had been looking at. 

A teen Jaune, about 15 or so, holding a plaque and smiling at the camera, braces on full display.

“She had a horrible overbite.” her mother informed Celeste. The blonde only frowned, pursing her lips. 

“Are these all yours?” She looked at her frowning date. 

“They are,” she sighed. 

“Jaune was in quite a few groups in school. Speech and debate, mock trial… oh and I believe chess club for a time.” Her mother helpfully listed. 

She glanced at the awards and ribbons, naming Jaune for a variety of the activities Blanche had listed. 

“Oh, you were…,” she paused, looking for the right word.

“A nerd…” Jaune helpfully supplied.

“No…” Celeste turned to her, hesitating as she thought. “Academically inclined...,” she finally said with a certain little grin. 

Jaune smiled at her ruefully. Not believing her for a second.

“Why don’t we head out to the party now?” Blanche suggested, holding a hand out toward the garden. Just like that, the blonde was frowning again. More so at her mother’s interjection in their moment then the looming social interactions, though she wasn’t thrilled about that either. 

“If you’re ready.” She turned to Celeste who smiled. 

~ ~ ~

An hour and a half later and Jaune had had enough.

Somehow the parties hadn’t really changed since she was a child. They were still dull affairs with a bunch of clueless, wealthy aristocrats who for the most part didn’t have a clue. 

The only difference now was she could drink and put in only the barest amount of effort to avoid offending anyone. 

Unfortunately though, since she had driven and had Celeste with her, drinking wasn’t an option. So instead she had to grin and bear it, stone cold sober. 

Celeste didn’t seem to be having a much better time as she interacted with some of her mother’s friends and acquaintances. Many of whom were older and the way they looked down on Celeste was apparent. To be fair they looked down on everyone though, but it still made Jaune’s blood boil. 

Her mother would appear every so often and introduce the baker to some old family friend or another as her girlfriend and they certainly didn’t look impressed. 

“How do you do this?” Celeste mumbled to her when they found themselves alone, partially hidden by a large rose bush in the corner of the party.

“Usually I drink.” She shrugged. “As a child, I would hide.”

“Maybe we should hide…,” she laughed. 

That gave the lawyer a brilliant idea.

“I know the perfect place.” She smiled and held out her hand. “Trust me?” 

Celeste blinked, surprised, and looked at the offered hand, taking it almost without thinking.

“Of course.” 

They quietly left the garden, heading down the hill, away from the house toward the woods on the edge of the property.

“Where are we going?” Celeste couldn’t help but ask at seeing the smile on Jaune's face.

“Patience” Was all Jaune said, looking over her shoulder. Partially hidden by the grass was a worn dirt path, weaving between the trees, they followed it, weaving through the thick foliage until even the giant house was obscured by leaves and tree trunks. The chirping of birds and the low hum of various insects filled the air around them.    

After a few minutes of walking a new sound began to tease at the edges of her hearing. 

“What is that?” she mumbled more to herself but the way Jaune smiled told her that she also heard it and knew exactly what it was.

Finally she realized what she was hearing just as they rounded a bend in the path.

“A river?” Celeste gasped, looking at the gently rolling water that cut through the woods and traveled well out of sight.

The water flowed at a gentle pace, creating a small, relaxing sound.

Celeste wasted no time moving toward the banks with Jaune right behind her.

“It’s so beautiful,” the baker mumbled over the gurgling of the water as it flowed past them.

Jaune hummed in agreement with a soft smile, watching Celeste. 

“I often came here after school or when I grew tired of those parties.. .or when my mother was just being too much, as you saw” She glanced at Celeste and smirked. 

“Your mother is lovely.” Celeste playfully slapped her arm. 

“In small doses,” she grunted and Celeste laughed. They carefully sat themselves on a large rock at the water’s edge.  

The sun filtered through the trees, reflecting stray shafts of light off the water’s surface, creating a brilliant sparkling effect that bounced across their skin from where they sat in comfortable silence. Celeste finally spoke up after several long moments of peaceful quiet.

It was so beautiful and peaceful and she found her affection for the blonde at her side bubbling up, but she was still incredibly curious about something.

“Can I ask something I suspect is personal?” she asked after a long quiet moment. Jaune hummed an affirmative. 

“You said before that your family's wealth caused problems in previous relationships…?” 

Jaune sighed, leaning back on her hands and glanced at Celeste out of the corner of her eye. 

“When I was in college I briefly dated a woman who was… very uncomfortable with my family's wealth when she found out, and accused me of leading her on. That I was…’slumming it’ for fun,” she grimaced at the memory. “We broke up and she spread it around campus, it was actually a secondary but no less valid reason for why I transferred out in my last semester. It caused… problems,” she grumbled. 

“That’s awful!” Celeste leaned forward. “I’m sorry that happened, Jaune.” 

“It's hardly your fault,” Jaune grunted. “Disclosing my family’s wealth always feels so precarious ever since…,” she admitted, turning back to look at the quiet bubbling water.

“Well…, you don’t need to worry about me. As I said...,” She scooted closer to the blonde, their knees now brushing against each other. Jaune looked at her curiously. “ I just really like you…” It was a quiet statement that sent a tingle up Jaune’s spine and her heart into a double beat.

She swallowed thickly and leaned over, Celeste meeting her half way, their lips meeting in a soft kiss.

Fingers slowly slid through soft, blonde locks, making Jaune hum against her lips and suddenly her hands were resting gently on the baker’s hips.

Finally they seperated just enough that amber and blue met wordlessly.

Neither one was really sure who moved back in first, but it didn’t matter as they were locked together again, this one, rougher, more frantic then the first, interrupted only when Celeste gasped, as she was suddenly nearly dragged onto the blonde’s lap. 

Jaune looked up at her in silent question, breathing heavily through her mouth and with her now mussed hair, Celeste couldn’t help herself from dipping back down, capturing the lawyers lips again and slanting her head to deepen the kiss, tugging at short blonde hair. The fingers digging into her hips slid upward to her back and to tangle in the hair at her neck, pulling her closer.

She moaned when a tongue slid across her bottom lip, startling them both apart, gasping.

They stared at each other for several long seconds, catching their breath.

“I really like you too…” Jaune finally breathed against her lips. 

Celeste blinked before bursting into giggles while the lawyer just grinned. 

~ ~ ~

“Do you think she noticed we were gone?” Celeste asked as they walked back toward the house, her arm threaded around Jaune’s. 

“I guarantee it,” she said. “She always did when I was a kid. She could just never find me.” She grinned. 

The party seemed to have thinned while they were gone. 

“There you two are!” They both looked to Blanche as she approached them. “Where have you been?” She looked between the two of them.

“I was just showing Celeste the grounds, but I really need to be getting her home now.” Jaune informed her mother.

“Oh, so soon?” Blanche pouted, turning the silver haired woman.

“My days start at three a.m. I'm afraid.” Celeste explained.

“My, that is much too early my dear. I understand, it was lovely of you to come.” She smiled.

“Thank you for having me.” She nodded graciously to her host.

“Call me when you get home, Sunshine.” Were the older woman’s parting words as she and Jaune rolled her eyes but nodded.

“Of course mother.” 

Celeste chuckled quietly at her side, making the blonde grin at her.

The drive home went by much too quickly for both of them and before they knew it Jaune was parked in front of the bakery and Celeste found herself wishing she didn’t need to get up so early. She wasn’t ready to part ways yet. 

Jaune seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

“I wish you didn’t have to go yet,” she admitted. “Rather than my mother’s house I would have liked to take you to my place…” she said unthinkingly.

“Oh?” Celeste grinned as the suggestive statement. Jaune caught on quickly and turned beet red.

“That’s not what I meant!” she quickly defended. 

Celeste laughed at the flustered face she was making. 

“Maybe next time you’ll show me your place...” Celeste said, but it hung in the air like a question.

“Maybe next weekend you could come over for dinner… though, as a fair warning, my cooking is only just passable,” she admitted, looking sheepish. Celeste grinned at the adorable face.

“Perhaps I could come over and we could cook together?” she suggested. 

“I’d like that.” Jaune smiled. 

“I’ll call you,” Celeste promised, leaning over the console. Jaune met her halfway in a chaste kiss before she climbed out of the car and waved as the goldenrod Mercedes drove off.

Maybe her sister was right.

Maybe she really was lovestruck.

She’d never felt so strongly for someone, nor so quickly. They just fit together so effortlessly, it was almost scary.

She sighed as she walked into the shop. She had only just driven away but already she found herself longing for Jaune’s company. How silly. 

“Was that a good sigh or a bad sigh?” a sudden voice made her jump with a shriek.

Rose was sitting in the kitchen, a butterscotch bite held between two fingers. 

“Sorry” her sister frowned. “Didn’t mean to scare you. How was your afternoon?” she asked before popping the food in her mouth.

“The party was… dull to be polite,” she mumbled, sitting at the butcher block table with her sister. “Time with Jaune though, was wonderful.” she smiled wistfully. 

“Oh yea? Why, did you make out with your girlfriend at her mother’s house?” she laughed, teasing, but Celeste only pursed her lips. “Oh my god, did you?!”

“It wasn’t at the house...,” she trailed off, decidedly not looking at Rose.

“Oh my god!” Rose slapped her hands to her face. “Tell me everything!” She grinned, leaning forward.

Celeste just smiled, exasperated, but she retold the tale of her afternoon in the woods.

#bellow diamond #yellow diamond #blue diamond #white diamond #pink diamond' #steven universe #AU #fic #Authority online

[blog-sliverofjade]

Of Doms & Subs 9: Rock and a Hard Place

Pairing: Angus Hopper x OFC

Summary:  What’s a submissive female to do when she fights her nature and goes on the run as a Lone wolf to avoid being assimilated into a pack?

Word count: 1905

Of Doms & Subs Master List

Getting slammed by four hundred pounds, give or take, is painful no matter who you are.  Being caught between this freight train of flesh and a stone wall, such as the one surrounding the grill setup, is taking the term “between a rock and a hard place” to its most agonizing extremes.  Once the tweety birds spiraling my head dissipated, Alan and Mickayla filled my gradually returning vision.  Angus stalked off to go bash some heads together, judging by his face.

“Anybody get the number o’ that Mac truck?” I groaned, my accent thick from the pain that was already setting in.  Where’s shock when you could really use it?

“Can’t be too bad if she’s making bad jokes,” Mickayla said to Alan.  Then to distract me from his poking and prodding, she said with a roll of her eyes towards where I assumed Ian and Gordon were.  “They’re just like teenage boys when they’re trying to show off.”

“There’re easier ways o’ getting’ my attention.  ‘Hey, you’ works fine.”  I hissed through clenched teeth when Alan inspected my shoulder.  “Dislocated, probably torn rotator.”

“Amongst other things,” he agreed mildly as he did something that should have been a violation of the Geneva Convention.  “Couple of cracked ribs, mild concussion.  Ever dislocated anything before?”

“Nope, but’s gonna hurt like a mother.”

Alan nodded to Mickayla and before I could react, they set the joint back in place with a sickening crunch.  The world swam in a nauseous haze, but I didn’t pass out.  Woo!

“Lemme know when I can return the favour,” I groaned.  “In spades.”

“The rotator’ll heal on its own in about a week.  Compared to months for a human.”  Let’s hear it for regeneration.  “But your scapula’s split, and even if your joint’s set, your shoulder’s still messed up.”

“That the medical term, doc?”

“Recovery will still take weeks.  If you shift, you’ll heal faster.”

“No.”  I shook my head too fast and the world wobbled.

“Tell me, is this normal?”  Alan carefully lifted my right, injured arm.  Around the blinding agony I dimly hard disturbing sounds that should be coming from a cereal bowl instead of a person.

“Fuck all ya’ll,” I panted when I could breathe again.

“No thanks,” he said blandly.  “Cute as you are, I don’t want to fight the others over you.  The longer you take to shift, the more you’ll heal wrong.”  We both knew that improperly healed rotator cuffs are a bitch and can take a year or more of PT to correct.  That’s not even taking into account complications from broken bones knitting without being set right.  Logic and experience said that he was right.  The only problem was that the wolf wanted to come out and play too much.  And there were too many humans.  Pain and panic, exacerbated by the wolf coming to the fore, paralyzed me till I could only shake my head faintly.

“Don’t make me use the Dommy voice,” Mickayla said sternly.  I opened my eyes to let her see the fear that chilled me.  Or maybe that was finally shock.  Could werewolves go into shock?

A pair of familiar suede loafers stood at the edge of my vision.  A moment later Angus crouched to fill my field of vision, which was threatening to narrow again.  “Ellie, stop this nonsense and shift.”  There was no power other than the natural force of his personality, but the order allowed me to stop worrying.  His casual tone of authority reminded me that they would keep me from gorging on a human buffet instead of potato salad and burgers.

“Come on, you don’t need an audience for this.”  Mickayla moved to help me up.  Angus beat her to it, scooping me up in his arms so that my shattered shoulder wasn’t pressed against him.  This unnatural strength still took me by surprise.  Of all the places, he took me inside the house and downstairs where he set me on the edge of a bed.  There were shining metal bars over the narrow windows set high in the wall.  Pretty comfy digs for a cage.

“My safeword’s ‘apples’,” I panted as my body settled into its new position with no small amount of complaints.

“Good to know.”  The dry bit of humour coming from Angus was so unexpected that I giggled and immediately regretted it when the motion rippled through my battered body.  Alan and Mickayla helped me undress while Angus stood over us, a statue of controlled rage.  I tried to protest the men’s presence, but was immediately shot down by all three.  Resoundingly so.

“Please be gentle, it’s my first time,” I said tightly as they drew off my pants and underwear.  You never realize how much you move any part of your body until it’s injured and you try to move it.  Once I was naked, that was when I freaked out.  “I can’t.”

“Sshh,” Angus said soothingly as he carefully held me against his chest.  It was like a warm brick wall, but far more comfortable than the one I’d just been introduced to.  My mind and hormones swung back and forth between embarrassment and pleasure at being naked in his arms until I sensed Alan crouching on the bed behind me.  Damn, he still had to set the shoulder blade.  I didn’t even have time to tense before his deft, quick hands crunched the pieces back into place.

After awhile I realized that Angus was saying my name and stroking my hair.  “To shift you have to let the wolf take over.  You’ll not likely have control, nor will you be able to change back for several hours.  We’re going to have to lock you in so you don’t hurt anyone, or yourself.”

So many things had been spinning out of my control I wasn’t ready to relinquish any of it.  But the wolf didn’t care.  She wanted to come out and meet Angus and the pack.  The instant I seriously thought about passing off the reins she seized the chance.  I quickly closed my eyes not only because it hurt like a bitch, even worse than my short lived career as a wrecking ball, but because I couldn’t stand watching my own flesh ripple as muscle and bone crunched and reformed.  I almost wondered if letting everything heal relatively slowly wouldn’t have been preferable.

They were making soothing noises and urging me to be quiet at first, then they realized I was cursing under my breath in between soft whimpers and whines.  “Son of a mother biscuit eating cracker” made them laugh.  You can’t curse in front of patients, even if they’re coding.  Instead you get creative with alternatives to four letter words.  At some point the torture ended and everything went black.

“What were you thinking?”  To an outsider, my voice would be deceptively soft.  Ian and Gordon, as did the rest of the pack, knew better.  The two males knelt with heads bowed and necks bared.  My wolf wanted to rend that soft flesh.  They were dirty and still battered from when they were separated with more force than was strictly necessary, but was entirely appropriate.  “I’ve known newly Changed wolves with better self-control than what you displayed today.  If you had hit Moira instead, she could’ve lost full use of that arm.”  They winced as my voice sharpened and cracked across them like a whip.

“Because of your stupidity, Ellie is undergoing her first intentional shift locked in the safe room after everything I’ve done to disprove the half-truths that crazy Lone fed her.”  I leaned in close and whispered, “If she chooses to leave because of your idiocy, I’ll take it very personally.”  Their already white faces blanched even further before I straightened.

“You will beg Ellie for forgiveness.  You are her slaves for the next week.  You are not to look her in the eye.  I don’t want to see her lift anything heavier than a glass of water.  If she asks you to jump, one asks how high and the other holds the hoop.  You will wash, dry, iron, fold her laundry, and shine her shoes.  You have one week to arrange for repairs to the barbecue.  For the rest of the weekend, the two of you are on cooking and dish duties.  The pack cars, Ellie’s Jeep, and my car could all use detailing.  Oh, and I expect the house and grounds to be spotless by the end of the weekend.”  They’d be so busy they wouldn’t have the time nor the energy to lose their heads again.  And by working their tails off, everyone would be reminded that this was a warning for anyone else who might do the same.

“If the rest of you find yourselves at the mercy of your instincts, you will take it elsewhere and handle it in the usual fashion.  If not, then you are a liability and will be dealt with accordingly.”  I glared expectantly at the two boys, who were old enough to know better.  They quickly muttered, “Yes, Alpha” before scrambling to their feet and scattering for one of the many tasks given.  I desperately wanted to give chase and slaughter them for injuring what was mine.

I gave a brief nod to Tom, who acknowledged with a bow from the neck before herding everyone inside.  Once everyone was gone, I stared at the broken bricks and patio stained with Ellie’s blood until Ian and Gordon approached hesitantly with a hose, soap, and stiff bristled brushes.  I snarled at them as I strode back towards the house.

Alan was sitting in the armchair outside the safe room.  A man with an impossibly large sword faced a dragon on the corner of the paperback he was reading.  Only the delusional would fight something like that with a melee weapon.  The alleged “hero” would be barbecue before he got close enough to swing that tool of overcompensation.

“Hey.”  He set down the book and sat up from his slouch.  “Passed out still, but she’ll be fine as long as she doesn’t hurt it again any time soon.”

“Thanks.  Go on up.  I’ll sit with her.”  I scrubbed a hand through my hair and touched my pocket to ensure that my phone was there.  Nervous habits that I’d never quite managed to shed.

“Sure thing.”  Alan looked like he would offer to stay until he saw my expression.  “Too bad they couldn’t spare the brain cells if you knocked their heads together.”

I smiled despite my murderous mood.  That was the magic of a submissive, although I never felt calm around Ellie.  Frustrated, annoyed, fiercely protective, half-crazed, yes.  At peace, no.  Then again, she had yet to feel entirely safe or comfortable since the Change.

“Alan.”  He paused on the stairs.  “Have Ian and Gordon bring down meat and water.”

“Aye, aye.”  He’d been spending far too much time with Mickayla.

I settled into the chair and picked up the dog-eared novel he left behind.  The main character had barely finished his backstory when Tweedledee and Tweedledumb placed their offerings in the safe room before locking it back up.  Ian set a cup of coffee, two cream, on the small table beside me before slinking away.  They stank of fear.  Good.

The handsome, virile Chosen One had just met the feisty ingénue, who was of course a princess in hiding, when Ellie woke up.

#my writing #fan fiction #mercy thompson series #patricia briggs #werewolves #pack dynamics #original female character #angus hopper #urban fantasy #werewolf culture #pack bonding #pack alpha #modern fantasy #werewolf character #cw injury #tw injury #injury #slow burn #werewolf #eventual romance #eventual smut #eventual happy ending #fanfic #fantasy #mercy thompson #alpha and omega series

[thefallennightmare]

Therapy

Parings: Sebastian Stan x Reader.

Words: 5281

Warnings: swearing, mentions of miscarriage so please read at your own risk. implied smut. so much angst that it broke my heart writing it. Will there be a fluffy ending or will your heats break too? Guess you’ll have to read to find out. 😉

Summary: Reader and Sebastian will do anything to work through their problems. Even if it meant bringing up past issues they swore they would never speak of again.

A/N: First off I want to say how thankful I am to everyone that read Home. It means the world to me that so many people loved it so I hope you all love Therapy. As always, feedback/comments are appreciated.

Also, this gif does things to me. Naughty things.

‘I may be a little late. These interviews are taking a lot longer than I thought.’

I roughly chewed on my bottom lip as I read the text from Sebastian before replying with a curt ‘okay.’ Slamming my phone onto the counter, I took a few deep breaths before sauntering up the stairs of the brownstone towards our bedroom. The room that felt so empty and cold ever since Sebastian returned home.

He had surprised me by coming home a month earlier than I had expected, the movie he was filming wrapping up way ahead of schedule. Believe me, I was ecstatic that we had more time together however all the extra time was poured into him preparing for the next movie or the countless interviews he had promoting Avengers: Endgame. Which led to me only seeing him when he arrived home, sometimes as late as two in the morning.

I never questioned why it was always so late; I trusted him. Yet the lingering thought was always in the back of my mind. Did he find someone else? Am I enough for him?

Shaking my head, I looked at my reflection in the mirror before deciding to keep the outfit I already was wearing; black leggings and one of Sebastian’s sweaters. It was as close as I could get to him lately. He had been home for almost two months now and the only intimacy we shared were good morning/goodnight kisses which were nothing more than quick pecks. It was putting a huge stress on our relationship and the media was not helping.

There were rumors circulating online after I was seen having lunch with Chris, one of Sebastian’s good friends, and all the headlines read were ‘Y/N and Chris Evans seen cuddling at local bar’ or my personal favorite ‘Y/N dating both Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan. The love triangle everyone is talking about.’

Sebastian had seen the article but he swore it didn’t bother him, he trusted me, yet the touches and conversations between us became less and less. Which is what leads us to tonight; couples therapy. I had been the one that suggested it, hoping it would bring the spark back between us. Sebastian agreed wanting to work past our issues but it was hard to believe he wanted this, seeing as he was going to be late tonight.

Unknowingly playing with the band on my left ring finger, I let out a deep groan as I mustered up the courage to call Sebastian. He never liked when I called while he was working but I needed to know exactly how late he was going to be, in case I needed to reschedule.

He answered after the eighth ring.

“Y/N? Everything okay?”

A small smile came to my lips when I could hear the hint of concern in his voice. “Everything’s fine. I was just wondering how late you’re going to be. Should I reschedule our appointment?”

I could hear rustling on his end before an audible sigh came through the speaker.

“I’ll only be a few minutes late. We should be wrapping up the last interview soon. I can take a cab to meet you.”

“Okay. It’s at six o’clock. You have the address right?” I questioned, already knowing the answer.

“Can you send it to me?” I could barely hear the quiet laugh that came from Sebastian.

“Already did. Six o’clock.” I stressed.

“I’ll be there,” Sebastian yelled something before his voice rang in my ears, “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you at six.”

“See you later.” I breathed.

We both stayed on the phone for a few more seconds, wondering who would be the first to say it, those three words that hadn't been uttered in months. After realizing that he wouldn’t be the one too, I sighed while hanging up the phone.

The hands of the clock, slowly ticking away, was the only sound I heard in the small room. Sitting on the edge of the blue couch, I gave another apologetic smile towards the therapist before glancing at my watch. I felt my blood burn when I noticed that Sebastian wasn’t a few minutes late; he was a damn half hour late.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized for what felt like the tenth time, “Maybe we should just reschedule.”

Our therapist opened her mouth to say something but closed it when a flustered Sebastian came through the door, a sheepish smile on his face.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. There were some fans outside and I lost track of time,” Sebastian sat on the couch next to me and laid a soft kiss to the side of my head.

I didn’t show him any signs of emotion, my anger fuming at the realization that he was here on time yet decided to stay back with fans instead of trying to save our relationship.

“Y/N, you seem a little tense,” Our therapist, Megan, noticed. “Why don’t you say what’s on your mind?”

I ran my clammy hands on my legs before letting out a shaky breath. “I mean that should just explain what’s our problem. He was here on time but chose to be with the fans instead of here.”

“Y/N, you know I can’t ignore them,” Sebastian stressed.

“And I’m not telling you too. I just think that maybe for once you think of me first, that’s all.” I defended.

“I always do.”

I scoffed before averting my gaze from the floor to Sebastian’s and couldn’t help but realize how tired he looked. I suppressed the guilt for keeping him here after his long day.

“Really? Are you even going to take this seriously?” I squinted my eyes at him.

“I’ve had a long day. Don’t start with me,” Sebastian said pinching his eyes closed.

“I haven’t heard that before,” I muttered while crossing my arms.

Megan held up her hands before Sebastian could get in the next remark.

“Why don’t we talk about something good? For instance, how’d you two meet?” Megan suggested.

I couldn’t help the small smile that played at my lips when the memory came to mind.

Five Years Ago

“Bucky! Get your ass back here!” I yelled at my pit bull who had gotten loose from his leash and ran into the park across the street. 

I felt my heart in my throat when I watched him run in and out of traffic before making it safely to the park. Looking to my left then to the right, I quickly ran towards the park and found Bucky at the other end of the park, sniffing a mans shoes before slowly lifting his leg.

“DON’T YOU DARE PEE ON HIM, BUCKY!” I bellowed before running faster to my dog.

Thankfully Bucky lowered his leg when he had heard my voice.

“You are so grounded, old man,” I hissed when I approached my dog, who was getting a ton of love from the man sitting on the bench. “I am so sorry. Clearly he’s a friendly dog.” 

The man laughed as Bucky gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek and my heart fluttered at the sound. The man then looked away from my dog and I felt the wind get knocked out of me as our eyes locked; his ocean blue eyes boring straight into my soul. I couldn't put my finger on it but something about this man rang familiarity in my mind.

“You don’t have to apologize. He’s adorable.” The man’s deep voice caused my insides to tingle.

“Thank you. He’s such a pain in the ass though,” I snapped my fingers and Bucky reluctantly left the man and came to my side, “I adopted him a month ago so we’re still learning each other.”

“What’s his name?” The man questioned. 

“Bucky.” 

The man broke out in a huge grin; the one where your eyes crinkle at the sides. “Well it’s almost like we were supposed to meet big man.”

Bucky trotted back over to the man and accepted another round of butt scratches. I couldn’t help the confused expression as I watched the two, something suddenly clicking in my mind; the beard, long hair that was pulled into a low bun, and those ice blue eyes.

“Oh my god,” I muttered, “Bucky Barnes!” 

The man broke out into another huge grin. “You can call me Sebastian.”

“I can’t believe my dog, out of all the people in this park, ran up to Sebastian Stan.” I muttered in disbelief.

“Call it fate,” Sebastian snickered.

“I really am sorry he ran up to you. I know how some people can be about Pit Bulls.” I apologize once again.

“You don’t need to apologize. I love every type of dog,” Sebastian cooed while looking into Bucky’s eyes; well eye.

“He used to be a fighting dog. He got rescued from one of New York’s biggest dog fighting rings. He was one of the best, so I’ve been told. But he still lost his eye in one of the fights.” I answered Sebastian’s silent question. 

“It sounds like he had a pretty rough life,” Sebastian sympathized. 

I nodded before taking the empty spot next to him on the bench. “He spent the last two years in the shelter, no one even showing interest in him because of the one eye and cancer.”

“Cancer?” Sebastian questioned while giving Bucky belly rubs. 

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I gave him a quick nod. “It’s terminal which is why I wanted to give him the life he deserves. They gave him two months and that was right after I adopted him.”

Blinking away the tears, I tried to regain my composure but failed as a tear fell down my cheek. Sebastian noticed and gave my hand a tender squeeze and I couldn’t ignore the spark that ran through me.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian muttered, “I’m sure he’s living his best life with you.” 

Bucky howled at our feet and I giggled, knowing that he agreed with Sebastian. Blowing out a large breath, I stood before motioning towards Bucky. “Alright bud, let’s stop bothering Sebastian and head back home.”

My 80 pound stubborn pit bull didn’t move an inch, staying planted right at Sebastian’s feet.

“I think he likes me,” Sebastian laughed. 

“Bucky, we can’t stay here all afternoon. I’m sure Sebastian has other things he has to get done today than giving you belly rubs,” I snapped my fingers but to no avail, Bucky stayed in his spot. 

“I don’t,” Sebastian's eyes met mine, “I’ve got a free afternoon today.” 

Biting my lip, I motioned over my shoulder to a cafe that was right down the road and was dog friendly. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee then? Since my dog nearly peed on your shoes.”

A lovely laughed erupted from Sebastian, who nodded before standing up, Bucky immediately standing with him. “Deal.”

After clipping Bucky’s leash to his collar, Sebastian and I slowly started walking towards the cafe.

“You know,” Sebastian started, “I never got your name.” 

My face flushed in embarrassment. “Uh..Y/N. My name is Y/N.”

He repeated my names a few times and suddenly I found myself loving the way it sounded coming from his lips.

“And, uh, Bucky lived for another six months before the cancer took him. Sebastian stayed by my side through all of it, even when I had to put Bucky down.” I explained to Megan with a small tear in my eye. 

Sebastian hesitated before placing a hand on my knee and gave it a small squeeze. All these years later and the thought of losing Bucky still punches me in the heart.

“He wanted to make sure you were left in good hands,” Sebastian smiled. 

Mirroring his own, I blew out a shaky breath before looking at Megan. “We don’t fight all the time. It’s only been bad the past couple of months.”

“When did you notice the divide between you?” Megan questioned. 

“About a month before I came back home,” Sebastian answered. “She was seen hanging out with a friend of mine.” 

My eyes snapped over to him. “I thought you said it didn’t bother you that I was hanging with Chris. I even asked you before I met up with him.”

“It didn’t, the first time.” Sebastian shrugged. 

Sucking my lip between my teeth, I avoided his gaze. Chris and I had hung out quite a few times a month before Sebastian came home and I knew I shouldn’t had been seen with him so much. But I was loving the feeling of someone wanting to talk to me and see me. Mine and Sebastian’s communication had ceased to almost nothing that last few weeks of filming and I had just chalked it up to him being busy not thinking that he was upset about Chris and I.

“How long have you guys been married?” Megan questioned. 

A small sigh left my lips. “We’re, uh, not married. We’ve been engaged for four years.”

“Do you have plans too?” 

The tension between Sebastian and I was incredibly thick when none of us wanted to answer the question. We truly didn’t know the answer, us not talking about marriage for quite awhile now.

Megan could tell that neither of us wanted to answer the question but she still pressed on. “Sebastian, let me ask you this. When you talk about Y/N, do you say she’s your fiancé or girlfriend?”

“Fiancé,” Sebastian answered so fast I knew he wasn’t lying. 

“Why do you think you two haven't gotten married yet?” Megan jotted something down on her pad of paper before looking back at Sebastian. 

He ran a hand over his jaw. “I’ve just been busy with filming my last movie and now Endgame is about to be released. I’ve barely had time to even think about the wedding.”

My heart dropped. “So everything that I would send you, you would ignore it?”

“It would always be while I was filming so I couldn’t look at it.” Sebastian defended.

“Why did you even ask me to marry you?” I questioned, my voice breaking. 

“Because I wanted too,” Sebastian admitted. 

“Wanted?” I stammered. 

Sebastian ran his hands through his hair before leaning back into the couch. “I want to marry you, Y/N but you have too wait a little while longer. I told you, we can start planning after Endgame.”

“Bullshit,” I spat, “That’s what you said after The Bronze then you started filming Civil War. Once you were done, you swore after Destroyer then promised me after Infinity War.”

“This time I mean it, Y/N. I don’t have anything planned starting next month. We can start then.” Sebastian stated. 

“Right, was that going to be before or after you told me you’re flying to Paris in a few months to start filming another movie?” I scolded. 

Sebastian gave me a confused look. “How do you know about that?”

“You weren’t even going to tell me?!” I turned my body to face him, my anger emanating off the walls. “The script for 355 came in the mail yesterday.” 

“Does he usually keep things from you?” Megan’s voice spoke.

It was then that I nearly forgot that we were still in therapy. “No. We tell each other everything or I thought we did.’”

“Sebastian, why didn’t you tell Y/N about Paris?” Megan looked over to him. 

He hesitated before answering, not meeting my eyes. “Because I knew she didn’t like one of my co-stars.”

I was quiet for a moment, trying to think who Sebastian was talking about. I never had an issue with any of his co-stars. They were all nice to me when I would meet them at premiers.

“Who?” I asked, truly confused. 

“Jessica,” Sebastian spoke quietly. 

Suddenly, everything made sense. My heart hammered in my chest when I realized the reason why Sebastian didn’t tell me he was going to Paris was because he would be working with the one girl that I felt would have no problem taking him away from me.

Jessica Chastain.

“Oh,” I mumbled, not finding the right words to say. 

“There’s nothing between us, Y/N. She’s married for fuck’s sake,” Sebastian exasperated. 

I remained silent, my insecurity floating to the surface. He knew how afraid I was of losing him and he still was planning on spending months in Paris filming alongside her. Maybe there was something between them?

“Sebastian can I ask you something and give me an honest answer?” Megan asked. When he nodded, she continued, “Do you have any feelings towards Jessica at all? Even a little?”

My eyes locked with Sebastian’s as I waited for his answer.

“No. She’s a good friend of mine, that’s it.” He looked directly into my sad eyes. “You’re the only one for me, Y/N.” 

“Y/N, can you answer this question honestly for me?” Megan directed towards me. “Do you have any feelings towards Chris?” 

At the mention of his friends name, Sebastian placed his arm over the back of the couch and after letting out a deep breath, his eyes glared over to me. I knew it was wrong to insinuate there was something going on between him and Jessica when I was spending a lot of time with Chris.

“Honestly? I think I’m attracted to the fact that Chris makes time for me. He’s there when I need someone to talk too or when Sebastian is gone for work and something breaks in the house, I know Chris will be there to help.”

“How often is he at the house?” Sebastian demanded. “Do you sleep in our bed together?”

“Excuse me?” I scoffed. 

“Do you love him?” Sebastian’s eyebrows rose. 

Licking my dry lips, I nodded. “Yes, as a friend. You know how much he has done for us, for me.”

Sebastian’s eyes softened when he realized exactly what I was talking about.

Megan could see some secret was behind left unsaid so spoke up. “What exactly has Chris done for you, Y/N?”

“I, uh,” I cleared my throat, trying to gain the courage to tell her,  “About two years ago, we found out that I was pregnant. Sebastian was actually home for about six months when we found out so we both we’re incredibly happy.” 

Seb’s fingers trailed over my shoulder and giving it a small squeeze.

“I was almost three months along when one night I was experiencing these terrible cramps. I could barley move from the couch. Sebastian wasn’t home so I tried calling him over and over again.” 

“I was out with my mom shopping to get stuff for the nursery and my phone had died,” Sebastian explained while pulling me into his chest, allowing me to stain his sweater with tears. 

“But I didn’t know that. I knew with the amount of pain I was in that it wasn’t good. Everything I read mentioned only one thing; I was having a miscarriage,” I sobbed. 

Megan gave me a look of sorrow and my lips trembled, remembering all of the blood that ran down my leg.

“Seb still wasn’t answering so I called Chris. On the way to the hospital, he told me where Seb was,” I breathed, “Chris stayed with me while we finally got a hold of Sebastian.”

“I still blame myself for not being there for her. I still resent Chris for being the one to comfort her,” Sebastian admitted.  

“It wasn’t your fault, Seb. I’ve told you that countless times.” I reminded him. 

“That should have been a moment between you and I. Not Chris,” Sebastian ran a hand over his chin. 

I never knew exactly how much it upset Sebastian that Chris was the one there for me that night, not him. He would always say I’m glad someone was there for you or He’s like a brother to me. I’m thankful it was him. 

“You know for the longest time I've wondered why you called Chris? You could have called my mom but you called him.” Seb asked. 

All I could do was shrug. “He was the first one that came to mind. It wasn’t anything to do with my feelings about him.” 

“Feelings?” 

I looked over to Megan and sighed. “Sebastian thinks that I have some underlying feelings for Chris. Like I said before; I love him but as a good friend of ours.” 

“Have you ever thought of Chris in a more intimate way?,” She asked.

I could practically feel Sebastian's eyes drilling into the side of my head, awaiting my answer. “Never.”

Sebastian let out a noticeable breath of relief and ran his hands over his jeans.

“Sebastian, you seem to be relieved at her answer,” Megan noticed, tucking a strand of her grey hair behind her ear. 

“I may not show it all the time but the idea of losing Y/N scares the shit out of me,” Sebastian admitted. 

Our gazes locked together and I gave him a small smile, letting him know he had nothing to worry about.

“Well,” Megan stated, setting her pad of paper on the table next to her, “I think we’ve covered enough for tonight. I’m going to give you two a homework assignment.” 

Sebastian couldn't help but give her a genuine laugh. “I haven’t had homework since high school.”

“I want you two to go home tonight and do something you hadn’t done in a really long time. It can be anything; watch a movie, cook dinner, have sex.” 

My face burned at the last choice and I cleared my throat. “Thank you, Doctor Ramina.”

She nodded. “Same time next week?”

I opened my mouth, ready to tell her that we would have to look at Seb’s schedule but his voice stopped me.

“We’ll be here.” 

The car ride back home was unbearably silent. While we both agreed that therapy would be good for us, we never expected old issues would have been brought up during the first session. 

Yes, we’ve talked through some of our problems but the big ones still remain; Sebastian didn’t like the idea of Chris and I hanging out alone and I wasn’t too happy that Sebastian had lied to me about Paris. 

Following him into our brownstone, I sighed before nodding towards the stairs mumbling something about getting ready for bed. It was still early in the evening but after our session, I was exhausted. 

“I know you’re tired,” Seb’s voice stopped me on the sixth step, “But would you be up for some takeout and a movie?” 

His hands were stuffed deep into his pockets while he waited for my answer. 

“Don’t you have to work early tomorrow?” I questioned. 

Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck, “I actually canceled the rest of the interviews I had. I thought we could spend the day together.”

My lips pulled up in a smile as I nodded. “I’d really like that, Sebastian.”

“So is that a no for tonight?” His blue eyes shone with hope. 

Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I couldn’t help but give in to his puppy dog eyes. “Fine but I’m not making any promises about staying awake during the movie.” 

Sebastian’s laugh echoed through the apartment and my heart fluttered at the sound of it; it had been ages since I heard that laugh. 

“Why don’t you take a bath while I run and grab some food from our spot?” He suggested. 

“Extra fortune cookies?” I eyed him. 

“Anything for you, love.” 

We both stayed glued to our spots, staring at each other, before Sebastian threw a thumb over his shoulder, saying he would be back as soon as he can. My eyes watched as he left, locking the door behind him, before making my way up the rest of the stairs and towards our bedroom. 

As soon as the water had become cold, I stepped out of the bathtub and quickly dried off before slipping one of Sebastian’s shirts over my head. Walking back into our bedroom, my feet came to a halt at the scene in front of me. 

Candles were lit all throughout the room, the lights completely shut off, and on the nightstand next to my side of the bed were a bouquet of my favorite flowers; Calla Lilies. On the bed sat the bag of take out food with a small yellow post it taped to the front of it. 

Had to take care of one more thing. Choose whatever movie you want.

Immediately recognizing Sebastian’s handwriting, I wondered where he could have went as I started scrolling through Netflix. A few minutes had passed, after finally deciding on some random rom/com movie, and Sebastian came back into our room, dressed in a pair of black sweats and nothing else. 

Biting back a moan at his bare chest, I mentally smacked myself for forgetting how good he looked shirtless. 

“Like what you see?” he smirked while sitting next to me on the bed.

My cheeks burned red, getting caught staring, and I merely shrugged my shoulders. “I just can’t remember the last time I’d seen you without a shirt.” 

Seb’s face fell at the realization that we both hadn’t been intimate since he came back home. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been home as much as I should be. I feel like I’m going six different directions that I forget my main direction is you,” he gently laid his hand on my knee, rubbing small circles on the skin. 

“It’s partly my fault too. I should be more understanding about your work. You’re promoting one of the biggest movies of the summer. I should have known from the start we wouldn’t be able to spend time together,” I sighed. 

“I could have made more of an effort,” Sebastian admitted. 

“I think we both could have,” I argued. 

He smiled and hesitated before cupping my cheek, his warmth spreading through me. My hand ghosted over his, drinking in the feeling of his touch. Sebastian’s eyes left mine briefly, landing on my lips for a quick second before met my eyes again. 

“You know I trust you, right?” His breath fanned over my lips. 

“Of course,” my voice croaked. 

“You are the only one for me, Y/N. I can’t imagine myself with anyone else. 

Slowly licking my lips, my hands slid around Sebastian’s waist and pulled him closer to me. He reciprocated by lifting me gently and placing me in his lap, his hand running through my damp hair. 

“Nothing ever happened between Chris and I; nothing ever will.” I promised while brushing my nose against his. 

A small whimper left my lips when I felt Sebastian’s body shift, his dick pressing into my bare thigh. 

“I know. I’m sorry I ever doubted that.” Sebastian’s fingers dug into my hips. 

The desire was thick between us, swirling around like a dark cloud. The last time we had sex was almost four months ago, right before he left for filming and that was just a quickie since he was on his way out.

My breath hitched when I felt Sebastian's calloused hands slip underneath my shirt and over my back, pulling me closer to him. I ghosted my lips over his jaw and down his neck, leaving small, barely there, pecks all over. I could feel exactly what Sebastian was thinking, his boner pressing hard into my thigh.  

“Y/N,” He breathed against the crook of my neck, “I’m not sure how much longer I can last like this.” 

I felt a puddle form in my panties at the desire in Sebastian’s voice. He lifted me off of his lap, gently laying me on the bed on my back, and pushed my thighs apart with his knee. His body molded into mine as he brushed his clothed hips against my own. 

My body shuddered when I felt his lips suck and bite the skin of my neck, leaving his mark. I ran my hands up and down his bare back, nails digging into his skin. Sebastian hissed at the familiar feeling, his teeth nipping at my flesh before looking into my eyes. All I could see was want and desire. 

“I was going to tell you about Paris,” he confessed, eyes softening. 

“When?” I questioned. “Before or after you got there?” 

Sebastian knew I was still upset about him hiding it from me so he propped himself up on his elbows, looking directly into my eyes. 

“I should have told you from the start that Jessica wanted me for this movie.” He said. 

I shook my head, cupping his cheek with my hands. “Do not let my insecurity get in the way of your dream. I’m trying to work on them, just like you are.” 

Sebastian hesitated, wanting to say something, but he shut his mouth as soon as he opened it. 

“What?” I asked. 

“It’s nothing,” he said, going back to leaving purple marks on my neck. 

Biting back a moan when he found the familiar sweet spot, I reluctantly pushed him back and made him look into my eyes. “Tell me.”  

Sebastian let out a breath before reaching over to his nightstand, pulling something out of the drawer. He handed me some papers and I sat up in bed to read it over. 

“This is a plane ticket. To Paris,” I muttered. 

“I want you to come with me,” Sebastian begged. 

My eyes darted from the plane ticket to his before looking back at the ticket. Reading it more carefully, I noticed that he had purchased the ticket months ago. 

Had he kept it in the drawer this entire time? 

“I bought two tickets the second I found out I was being casted in 355. It’s been sitting in my drawer for awhile now but I could never find the time to tell you about it,” Sebastian informed, as if he read my mind. 

“Seb,” I sniffled. “You didn’t have to do that. I know how much you hate mixing your work with your personal life.” 

His fingers lifted my jaw to look at him. “It’s about time I start. You’re going to be my wife. I need to start thinking about you.” 

“Oh, Seb,” I praised. 

It was then I noticed a stack of papers that was folded in with the plane ticket. Opening it, my eyes scanned over a whole week’s worth of things that were already booked/planned out during our time in Paris. 

“The first week is work but the last two weeks are just you and me. No one else. I know that the last couple months haven't been easy for the both of us but I thought that we could use this time away to rekindle whatever we lost.”

My eyes watered when I realized that Sebastian had this whole entire trip planned out, even when we were in a low point in our relationship. I thought he hadn’t care when in truth, he cared more than I ever thought he could. 

Sucking in my bottom lip, I placed the ticket on the nightstand before reaching up towards Sebastian, gently covering my lips with his. It was a small, passionate kiss but it felt like it was our first one all over again. 

“Thank you,” I breathed. 

Sebastian gave me another kiss, letting his lips linger a few seconds longer than our last one. 

“I love you.” He mumbled those three words that I had been yearning to hear for months. “Always.” 

“I love you too. Always,” I breathed before pushing him down on the bed, immediately straddling his hips. 

#sebastian stan #sebastian x reader

[hotforharrison]

Meet & Greet ch 6

Chapter 5 <-- Series Masterlist --> Chapter 7

Pairing: Tom Holland/Reader

Summary: You missed out on a Tom Holland meet and greet, but a stranger, who you are pretty sure is a Tom Holland lookalike, rescues you from your pity party for one.

Word Count: 2,028

Warnings: More smut, but that’s not all this time!

A/N: I originally intended this to be nothing but irredeemable porn, but then the beginning of feelings happened, and I just went with it.

You were a bit nervous that someone would see you with Tom in the hotel and take a picture to post online. You didn’t want him, or you for that matter, to get the level of hate that tended to happen with those sorts of things.

“You’re checking out early. Was there anything wrong with the room?” the hotel desk clerk asked.

“No, it was fine,” you quickly answered, stumbling a bit over your words. “I just had an, uh, unexpected change of plans.”

The clerk tapped at the computer keyboard in front of her. “Since you didn’t cancel with 24 hours notice, you’ll still be charged for the room for tonight and tomorrow night. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you agreed, desperate to get this over with and far away from the hotel.

“Now, I’ll need the key card, and we can finish checking you out.”

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself. Tom had taken the key card to grab your suitcase. You thought of all the online hate you could create for what amounted to an extended hookup and decided it wasn’t worth retrieving. “I, uh, lost it.”

She seemed unimpressed. “There’s a surcharge for that.”

“That’s fine,” you said, not really caring how much it was.

As she was tapping the keyboard, you were tapping your foot.

“Okay, you’re all checked out now. Have a nice day.”

“Thanks, you too.” You walked out to the parking lot, night air still humid and heavy from the rain. You quickly glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention to you. Fortunately, no one seemed to be.

You walked to the right side of the car out of habit before you realized that the seats were reversed here, and hurried over to the passenger side to get in. You shut the door behind you and heaved a sigh of relief.

“I have the keycard.” Tom held it up.

“I told them I lost it,” you confessed.

“Why?” he asked.

“I was afraid someone would take a picture of you with me at a hotel and make all the wrong, well, I guess technically right, assumptions. I don’t want you to have to deal with that.” You stared at the floorboard.

“No one was paying attention to us,” he reassured you, taking your hand and stroking his thumb over the back of it. “It’s sweet of you to be concerned, and before we get there, no one camps outside of my apartment late at night to take pictures of me. I’m not that famous.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little, then looked up at him. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m being silly.”

“You’re not. The paparazzi is an issue sometimes, but they don’t follow me everywhere.” He let go of your hand and started driving. “I’ve been with girls after I was cast as Spiderman without it being in the tabloids. Just have to have some discretion.”

Curiosity got the better of you. “So you don’t lead a life of celibacy?”

“Hardly. I was serious, though, when I said I don’t hook up with every pretty girl I meet. There’s been…” He paused in contemplation. “Maybe half a dozen or so, in the past couple of years? The last one was a few months ago at a party after I had a drink too many. I don’t usually enjoy one night stands as a rule.”

“So a longer-term friend with benefits?” you ventured.

“Something like that,” he agreed.

“You were willing to break your rule for me?”

“Sort of. It was probably presumptuous of me, but you had no concrete plans, and I thought you might be willing to spend a couple weeks with me instead of a couple hours,” he admitted.

“Not really presumptuous.” You glanced over at him. “I’ve had a crush on you for ages.”

“Am I living up to all your hopes and dreams?” he asked cheekily.

“I definitely imagined you’d be a less generous lover. I figured that being a movie star would have made you feel more...entitled? I’m not sure if that’s the exact term I’m looking for.” You shrugged.

“No, I get it. There are definitely some actors who let it go to their heads. I’ve heard plenty of horror stories. I try really hard to be the same person I was before Marvel came into my life.”

“I didn’t know you then, but you seem completely grounded to me.”

“I’m glad, although I have almost two weeks left to disappoint you.” He smiled over at you.

You weren’t sure you’d ever get over his smile. It made your knees weak. Well, really, he made your knees weak. You weren’t sure how long you watched his profile in the dim light, but it startled you out of your reverie when he parked.

“Okay, we’re here.”

You both got out of the car. You couldn’t help glancing around to see if there was anyone watching. He retrieved your suitcase from the trunk, carrying it for you.

“Such a gentleman,” you commented.

“I try,” he replied, drily.

You walked up to his door, and he paused. “Before we go in, you might end up taking back what you said about me being grounded.”

“Why would you say that?” you asked, curious.

“I have some Spiderman memorabilia.” He paused. “Not a ton, but, well, enough.”

You laughed. “That’s not a big deal.”

“You say that now.” He unlocked the door and ushered you in.

You walked in and looked around. There was a modest amount of Spiderman memorabilia, but it didn’t bother you. If you were in a movie, you’d want your merchandise, too.

He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a takeout menu. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll place the order.”

“You don’t have to get me dinner,” you started.

“No, I insist.” He handed you the menu.

You glanced over it, picked out your favorite dish, and gave the menu back.

He tapped at his phone for a few minutes while you watched idly, and then turned his attention back to you. “Should be here in around 45 minutes.”

“What can we do for the next 45 minutes?” You glanced over at his TV, wondering if people in the UK had Netflix or Hulu.

“I might have some ideas,” he said from behind you.

“Oh?” you wondered aloud.

“Actually, quite a few ideas.” He wrapped his arms around you, sliding a hand down your shirt to the waistband of your pants.

You were definitely on board with whatever ‘ideas’ he had in mind, but 45 minutes didn’t seem that long. “You can’t answer the door naked.”

“Who said anything about me being naked, darling?” He drew out the last word at the same time he slipped his hand inside your pants and panties.

“Oh god,” you moaned.

“Already so wet for me,” he commented as he slid a finger through your slick folds, rubbing circles around your clit without actually touching it, teasing you. “I can’t decide whether I want to get my mouth on that delicious cunt of yours again, or fuck you with my fingers and tell you all the filthy, filthy things I want to do to you for the next 13 days.”

“Please,” you begged, not caring what he chose, as long as he chose it soon.

“Bed first.” He led you to his bedroom. You kicked off your shoes and lay on his unmade bed.

He made quick work of taking off your pants and panties. “I’m gonna try something, but tell me to stop if I hurt you, or you don’t like it. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed.

He nudged your thighs apart and slid on his stomach between your spread legs. You draped them over his shoulders, soft material of his shirt against your bare skin. You stroked your fingers through his silky curls, and it definitely felt nicer dry than wet.

Like the last time, he dove in eagerly. His tongue quickly found your clit, and this time, he didn’t seem to want to tease you. He sucked your clit into his mouth again, flicking his tongue over it, but this time he didn’t stop.

Your orgasm hit quickly, and you felt a single finger press into you. It felt bigger than his tongue had, and definitely deeper, and a bit more uncomfortable. You didn’t really have time to process the feeling before he crooked it, and pleasure sparked in you, sharp, bright, and incredible.

You screamed his name and bucked hard against his face, fingers tangling in his hair and unconsciously tugging it.

He didn’t stop until you stilled, and then pulled his face back, finger still buried inside you. His face was glistening with your wetness. He was breathing hard.

“Are you alright?” you asked, concerned.

“Yeah. Looks like you like g-spot stimulation.” He moved his finger and crooked it again.

The spark of pleasure returned, and your hips thrust involuntarily again.

“I might be able to get you to squirt. We’ll see. How does my finger feel?”

You thought about it for a moment. “It felt really big and really deep at first, but now it just feels good. I think I might want more.”

“Maybe another finger?”

“Yeah. I’m a little nervous, but I trust you.”

He collected some of your wetness on his middle finger and pressed it gently against the index finger, still buried in you. You sharply inhaled when the tip breached you, pressure turning to a bit of pain and an uncomfortable stretch.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, stilling.

You gulped, knowing that his cock was never going to fit in you if you couldn’t even take a couple of fingers. You knew you didn’t have all the time in the world with him, and you wanted to make the most of what time you had. “No, don’t stop.”

“You’re doing so well, love, absolutely perfect. Just a little more.” He worked his middle finger in slowly, rubbing soothing circles on your hip with his free hand. “I promise it’ll feel much better soon. You’ll be taking my cock in no time, sweetheart.”

Although they didn’t spike your arousal the way he called you ‘darling’ did, the pet names made your heart flutter. When his palm finally bumped into your skin, you breathed a sigh of relief. After giving you a little time to adjust, his thumb started rubbing your clit in unhurried circles. The stretch and ache were still there, but you stopped noticing as much when your arousal flared again.

Your orgasm came quicker this time, but no less bright or intense. While you chanted his name between moans, he thrust both fingers in and out. He gradually built up speed, brushing your g-spot every few times, and driving you absolutely crazy.

The pleasure distracted you from the uncomfortable stretch when he occasionally scissored his fingers slightly. The stretch soon became a satisfying fullness, something you definitely wanted again. You were very, very glad your previous fears had been unwarranted.

“Such a good girl for me.” He withdrew his fingers as your orgasm subsided. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head. “No. It hurt at first, but then it felt really good.”

He started to lick his fingers off slowly again, making sure you were watching. “I love the way you say my name when you cum. I want to take you apart for hours, get you off on my fingers, my mouth, my cock, until we lose track of how many times you’ve cum, but I still don’t think I could get enough.”

Your already pounding pulse found its way to your clit again, and you couldn’t help the whine that escaped you.

“I promise I’ll take such good care of you, darling. I’ll-”

The doorbell rang.

“Shit.” He quickly wiped his face off on the back of his hand and adjusted himself in his pants. “You can get dressed again, and we’ll have dinner.” He paused for a second, thoughtful. “Or don’t. I’ll leave it up to you.”

He hurried off to answer the door, leaving you lying on his bed, utterly and completely sexually frustrated.

Tag list: @drown-me-before-dema-does @tom-hollands-blog @tylers-ankles-beebos-forehead @moorehollandplz @delicatepeterparker @thollandss

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland imagine #tom holland scenarios #tom holland fic #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #tom holland story #tom holland writing #tom holland reader #tom holland reader insert #tom holland you

[probablyqueerrpgideas]

Prompt: Write about how magic is the norm. Some excel at it, some are only okay, and others are against it completely, despite being able to use it. Your main character is the latter.

Everything comes at a cost. For a while humanity forgot that. But I am intimately aware of it... I still my pen for a second to collect my thoughts. The wording has to be just right.

"Hi hotstuff!" my best friend's smiling face suddenly appears floating in front of me. Magically, of course. I rush to cover the paper from sight. Her image is slightly obscured by a watermark of MagiCorp.

I sigh. "Amy, I asked you to stop doing this. At least use the ritual I showed you so it has a chance of being secure."

Her smile falters. "But....I missed you. And all that chanting business! It's just so...messy."

I close my eyes and take a breath. I resist the urge to have the same conversation we've had 20 times before.

"I'm kind of in the middle of something, Ames. What do you need?"

"What? Speaking to my best friend more than once a month is too much to ask now?" her voice is teasing, but I detect an undercurrent of hurt.

"No, listen. I've just been really busy with work. and things. I promise I can talk more after things calm down." I want to tell the most important person in my life about my work over the last couple of months, but I can't, especially not with the MagiCorp logo looming over me.

"Oh? Things? is that why you've been so secretive Taylor? Is there a special someone I should know about?"

I laugh in spite of myself. This is the first shred of human interaction I've had this week. "No, Ames. No special someone. I've got a pet project I've been working on. I might tell you about it later but-" I point to the MagiCorp logo.

She smiles indulgently. "Yes, I know how you are about your precious data."

I grimace. If I get myself arrested they'll have all the data they could ever want. And if I don't, there may not be many more conversations with Amy left. "Hey, listen. I've got some time off from work tomorrow. What do you say you and I got shopping together tomorrow? Wherever you want. My treat."

Her face lights up. "Really? Oh TayTay! I'd love to! Okay, well why don't I come pick...."

She continues talking but I'm already checked out, absently nodding along to whatever she says. I enchanted a parchment to record the last 5 minutes of conversation, so I can go back and look at that. Now I've got to finish this report before sunrise and...pack? I guess? I've never been on the run before, so I don't really know how it works.

As I say goodbye and cleanse the room, I pull out my paper and pen once more. The handwriting is sloppy and childish, but I can't trust even the spells I invented to be invulnerable to MagiCorp's reach. This is too important. I push away thoughts of tomorrow and begin to write again.

The next morning I find myself traipsing through broken sidewalks of our once beautiful city. For Amy it still is. She's wearing LookingGlasses™ which "enhance the urban experience to it's fullest potential". It means she doesn't see the dilapidated buildings and dark skies. It also means she doesn't see the homeless who have to huddle in imaginary statues and dark alleyways to avoid being ran into. I lock eyes with one of them. "Sorry" I mouth. They look away.

"Taylor? Did you see the new lampposts they added? Aren't they just quaint?"

I have to look up at her even though technically speaking I'm taller than her. "No." She floats several inches off the ground, her shoes enchanted with WalkSmart™.

She takes a break from glancing around in wonder to notice me several paces behind her picking my way through pot holes and around overgrown weeds. "Oh, honey, why don't you let me buy you a WalkSmart™ subscription? Here."

She begins making a series of gestures.

"Ames no!" I manage to make my way to her and grab her arm before she makes the final movement. She looks at me puzzled. "It took me forever to find shoes that weren't woven with magical ore, and even then it took me two weeks worth of cleansing rituals to get it completely mundane."

"Really? It's really that important to you?" her eyes take on a suspicious glint.

I nod solemnly and let go of her arm.

"Alright. Well, if this is the only day I'm going to spend with my best friend for the next 20 years, then there's no sense in me zooming ahead while you straggle behind." She moves too quickly for me to stop her and claps quickly twice.

She drops quickly to ground level and her knees almost buckle. I steady her.

I smile, warmed at the gesture. We're still being tracked, I know, but it's the thought that counts. "Well, if you're going to do that you'll want to-" I tap at my mundane glasses.

"Oh! Yes, I suppose that does make sense."

As she takes them off, she stops in her tracks. "Wow, I guess...I guess I hadn't realized how long it had been since I had been through here without magic."

I smile sadly and nod, "Yeah, since all of the people they cared about were wearing LookingGlasses™, they didn't really bother to keep the infrastructure up."

Her face falls some more.

"But hey! We can still have a good day! I do it all the time!" I loop my arm through hers and hope she can't tell how fake my enthusiasm is. I can already tell it's going to a long day.

I look in the mirror of one of the few mundane shops left in the city. Amy gasps. "Oh Taylor! It's gorgeous!"

She's not wrong. The hat makes my cheekbones look higher and my eyes look almost iridescent.

"You have to get it."

I begin to agree but then I pause. I won't have room to take anything that isn't absolutely necessary, and I need to save what little cash I could get my hands on.

Reluctantly, I place the hat back on the rack and shake my head.

"No, not today. Maybe some other time."

"Are you sure?" the shopkeeper asks, "All of our products are handmade and that one's sure to go fast. There's no guarantee it'll be here."

I nod. "I'm thinking about downsizing. And I have plenty of hats."

Amy doesn't say anything.

My breaths are shallow as I run through the darkened city streets. I just cast the spell that would transmit a permanent copy of my report into every office space, living room, and public park in the country. I was almost there. Most police departments use LookingGlasses™ so I had at least 3 minutes to get to the point where I had transit waiting. I was almost there.

"I knew something was up with you." Out of the shadows appears Amy. My beautiful, naive, loving best friend.

"Ames I've got to go. If they catch me..."

She gives a small smile. "I know."

"Please don't try to stop me. I had to do it. People had to know."

"I know." she says again. She steps closer to me and entangles her fingers with mine. "I'm coming with you. Of course I am."

She pops the hat on top of my head.

I take a second to gather my thoughts and squeeze her hand tight. "Okay. Let's go."

#writerblr #gay #pride #nonbinary #nblw #filled prompt #spilled ink #i think im calling this genre magic punk #thanks for coming to my ted talk

[remember-that-one-blog]

The Three of Us

Y’all, it has been a hot minute since I have posted anything and I am so sorry for that. I’m finishing up with school and I am getting married in less than three months and everything has been hectic BUT I am finally posting something that I had promised a while back. STUCKY X READER SOULMATE!AU it is here and there might be more than one part, we’ll see what happens. However, in the mean time I hope you all enjoy. Happy reading!

~~~~~~~~~~<

You sighed as you stared out the window. It was late and almost everyone had left the building except those who live there, yourself included. Knowing almost everyone was gone you untucked your shirt from your pencil skirt and rolled the sleeves up. You kicked your heels off too and slipped on a pair of house-shoes you kept under your desk. Once you were comfortable, you looked down to the mark on your arm, the mark that was suppose to help you find your soulmate. You wanted so badly to find them, but now, at your age, you knew it was less likely and maybe, more than likely, you were an obsolete or an error. It was extremely rare, but it was possible. You just stared at the simple roman numeral, III. You rubbed your thumb across it as you kept staring out the window.

 When someone meets their soulmate or, sometimes, soulmates their mark was supposed to change colors. The catch though, you had to physically touch them in order for the mark to turn. Yours had remained the same grey color all your life. About six years ago you just started keeping it covered to avoid the conversation that always followed seeing your mark was still grey. You didn’t need any more false hope. When someone did see it, you just opted to tell them you were an error, it kept it short and no one asked about it and avoided the topic around you after that.

 You weren’t unhappy with the way your life was now. You had been with Stark Industries for two years now. Tony found you when you were fresh out of college with your degree in chemical and biomolecular engineering. Tony informed you he just had a position open up and you jumped on it like a pack of dogs on a three-legged cat. You were so grateful for the opportunity and were excited to move out of your small southern home town. You loved it, but you had no future there and maybe, just maybe, you would find your soulmate in New York where Tony wanted you to work. Two years in and no luck, but you loved your job and wouldn’t change a thing that has happened. You were so lost you didn’t hear the knock on your door. You jumped when you heard someone clear their throat. You turned around in your chair to come face to face with Sargent Barnes.

 “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, but your door was open, and I needed some help.” Bucky held up his mechanical arm and you notice his hand was turned the wrong way and kept twitching. You raised an eyebrow. Bucky rubbed the back of his neck with his flesh hand. “Yeah, mishap in training earlier. I was looking for Tony, but then I remembered he was out of town. I know you work with him a lot and I was hoping you could help.”

 “Of course.” You stood up and rolled your sleeves down to hide your mark; but left your shirt untucked. Rounding your desk, you waved for him to follow you to the lab down the hall.

 “I like your slippers,” Bucky chuckled as you walked in front of him. You chuckled a bit as well.

 “Thanks.” You opened the door to the lab and walked over to your desk. “Now, how did this happen exactly?” You looked up at Bucky waiting for an answer. His face became as red as a beet and you knew immediately it didn’t happen at training earlier. “You know what, never mind. Come on over so I can get a look at it.” Bucky shuffled over to you and sat on the stool you pointed him to. Looking at it, you realize it was an easy fix, but some of the wires needed replacing. You started your work by gently taking off the hand so you could replace the wires and you stayed in silence for about twenty minutes until Bucky spoke up.

 “I’m sorry to keep you here so late.” You gave him a soft smile.

 “Don’t worry about it.” You were in the middle of replacing a wire when the door to the lab opened. You quickly glanced up to see Steve Rogers making his way toward you and Bucky.

 “I was wondering what happened to you. You okay, Buck?”

 “Yeah,” Bucky stopped realizing he didn’t know your name. You said it silently for him and Bucky gave you a soft smile. “She’s taking care of me, Tony is out.”

 “I forgot about that.” Steve leaned down to give Bucky a quick peck on the temple. Your stomach clenched. You wish you had that. You straightened your back as you sat up to get another wire to replace. “I’m sorry he’s keeping you, I’m sure you’ve got someone to go home to.” There was that clench again. You swallowed hard before you answered.

 “Don’t worry about that, Sargent Barnes needed help.”

 “Call me Bucky.” You just nodded and finished replacing the wire. “Do you have far to go? We can take you home. We wouldn’t want your soulmate to worry.” Your stomach dropped through the floor. You cleared your throat.

 “They won’t be.” Bucky was quick to protest.

 “They will, I know I do when Stevie is even five minutes late.” You closed your eyes for a minute before you replied.

 “They won’t worry, because I don’t have a soulmate. I’m an error.” Steve and Bucky were both shocked to hear that. You were so kind and they had only talked to you face to face a handful of time and knew that. It couldn’t be, surely you had a soulmate. You cleared your throat again

 “To answer you other question, no, I live on the tenth floor. I don’t have far to go.”

 “You live here,” Steve asked. You nodded again as you finished the wire and put the hand back on the correct way.

 “Yeah, I have for the last couple of years. You’re all done, Sargent Barnes. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go to my room. I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”

 “At least let us walk you there, it’s on our way, we’re on the eleventh floor.”

 “I know.” They both stared at you. You stood there awkwardly and scratched your head. “You, um, you live right above me. Y’all aren’t exactly quiet all the time.” Both of their faces flushed. “Dammit, I’m sorry, I’m an awkward human, I’ll just go. Y’all have a good night.” You unconsciously pulled your sleeve up a bit and rubbed your mark. This caught Bucky’s eye and before he could even process what he was doing, he gently grabbed your arm. You went to say something, but he pulled your sleeve up to reveal your mark fully. All Bucky could do was stare.

 “Stevie.” That was all he said. Steve looked down to see what he was staring at and his mouth fell open. There on your wrist was the roman numeral for three. It looked just like theirs, only yours was still grey. They didn’t notice the tears running down your face until they heard you sniffle.

 “Please, can I have my arm back.” You were so embarrassed and distraught, so you just stared at the ceiling. You barely knew these men and they were just staring at your soulmark. Steve quickly realized this and held his own wrist out as Bucky hurried to do the same. “Just stop, please.” The tears were coming faster now.

 “Sweetheart, look at it, please?” The cracking in Steve’s voice got your attention. You looked down to meet his eyes and there looking back at you were watering blue eyes. You looked down to the wrist he presented you with and all the air left your lungs. It was your mark, but on their own respective wrist. One outside of one end was blue and the other was red, the middle one, however, was still grey. You stared for a minute before meeting both of their eyes. You didn’t know what to do, so you did the only thing you could think of.

 You ran.

 ~

 The next day you didn’t go to work. You stayed holed up in your apartment not willing to risk running into either of the two super soldiers. Your entire life you assumed you were an error and then last night you met, not one, but both of your soulmates. It was a lot to take in. You were walking around in your kitchen clad in and oversized hoodie, shorts, and fuzzy socks. You were currently talking to yourself while you made a late breakfast.

 “I shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve said something. What would I have said though? I mean I didn’t think I’d ever find a soulmate, let alone two.” You heard a huff come from behind you. You turned to see your pitbull, Othello laying on the floor with his head cocked to the side trying to figure out what you were saying. “What would you have done, O?” He yawned and laid his head on his front feet. You rolled our eyes. “So helpful, Othello.” Just as you were finishing up breakfast you heard a knock on your door. Othello ran to the door and immediately started sniffing at the bottom crack and wagging his tail.

 “You do know not every person who visits is here to see you, right?” The bully pit just looked at you like you should know better. You gave him a fond eyeroll before opening the door. What you opened the door to made you freeze and suck in a breath. Othello picked up on your shift in mood and placed himself at attention and stood between you and the two sets of eyes staring back at you.

 “Will your dog bite,” Bucky asked taking a small step back from the pitbull. You narrowed your eyes.

 “Don’t discriminate against him. He’s harmless, unless he thinks someone is going to hurt me.” Bucky threw up his hands in surrender.

 “I wasn’t, I swear. He just seems a little tense is all.”

 “He is because I am. What are the two of you doing here?”

 “You ran off on us last night,” Steve spoke for the first time. You could see the hurt in their eyes. Knowing this conversation had to happen at some point you rubbed your hands down your face before looking them in the eyes.

 “I just finished making breakfast. Why don’t you come inside, and we’ll talk?” The two of them nodded but didn’t move because Othello was still staring them down. You reached down to pat his head. “It’s fine, O. They’re okay.” With that Othello starting wagging his tail and went over to greet the two at the door with butt wiggles and kisses.

 ~

 After Othello made new friends the four of you made your way into your living room. Othello was on the couch with you while Steve and Bucky sat on your loveseat. It was quiet and tense for a while before Steve spoke up.

 “Why did you tell us you were an error?” You sighed and started petting Othello to calm you down.

 “Think about it, my entire life, I had never met my soulmate, or soulmates. My mark has always been grey and I was finally starting to make peace with the fact that I was more than likely and error.” Steve nodded in understanding.

 “Why did you run?”

 “Like I said, my whole life I thought I was an error, then out of the blue I meet my two soulmates. It turned my world completely upside down. The two of you have always had each other, but I’ve always been alone.” It was like Othello knew what you said and bumped his head against you, you giggled at him. “Not always alone, O. I couldn’t forget you.” Othello seemed to approve of this and laid his head back in your lap. You looked back up to the two super soldiers on your loveseat. They seemed to be having a conversation with their eyes.

 “Did your mark change when I touched you last night,” Bucky asked as he turned to look at you. You slowly shook your head. His face fell a bit.

 “Bucky, you have to physically touch the person. You grabbed me with your left hand, so technically, I never touched you.”

 Realizing this, the two got up and made their way to you. They crouched down in front of you. Steve held out his hand first. You took a deep breath and grabbed his hand. The three of you watched as your mark finally started to change. One end of yours turned blue and the middle on yours and Steve’s turn purple. Tears gathered in both of your eyes. You turned to look at Bucky, he had tears in his eyes too. This time you held out your hand to him and with his right hand he took you hand. The other end of your mark turned red while his middle turned purple like Steve’s and yours had. The three of you just looked at one another for a while before you spoke up.

 “It’s gonna take some time for me to get use to this, I thought I was going to be alone forever.” They both nodded.

 “We completely understand, doll.” You nodded your head and squeezed their hands. Then Steve looked up to you.

 “What do you, sweetheart? You ready for a new adventure?” You gave them both a small smile before you answered.

 “Hell yeah.”

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve imagine #captain america #captain america civil war #captain america x reader #Winter Soldier #winter solider x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #stucky #stucky x reader #soulmate!au #soulmate #the three of us