#this was before I realized I loved this animal and was just lugging her around for dex completion

[clannfearrunt]

This was the first time I had seen Hyper Beam in this game and it made me cackle. Fuck this horse in particular

#this was before I realized I loved this animal and was just lugging her around for dex completion #Happōn my beloved gigantic octopus... deity of destruction #Con stop yapping #Hapōn is a Live On reference by the way we love Tooru Dolphinboy’s naming schemes

[solecize]

fic preview: save the date | san x reader

from middle school walls to lecture halls, choi san was your ultimate nemesis that, for most of your life, fought to do everything better than you. even worse, there was no escape from him when your older sister and his older brother were childhood sweethearts, disgustingly in love. years later, the inevitable wedding bells had now come around the corner for them and as her maid of honour, you had one goal: making sure nobody fucked up the wedding. specifically, you were not going to let san, the best man, fuck up the big day.

unfortunately, when the ring goes missing less than twenty hour hours before the wedding, you have no choice but to work with the said best man who you drunkenly slept with days before the wedding - yes, the same one that you hated for over a decade - to track down a ten thousand dollar ring. starting from midnight, it's a race against the clock for you and san to go on the wildest chase of your life to, well, save the date. 

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: san/female reader 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. non idol au, academic rivals, enemies to lovers, fluff, slight angst 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. foul language, violence, blood, mention of drugs and drug use, general substance use (smoking and drinking), more to be added 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. n/a 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. tbd.

  being entrusted with the role of maid of honour meant a lot of things to different people, but it was different for you. you happily accepted the title for your sister’s wedding with one main goal in mind: making sure that no one fucks up the big day. specifically, making sure that choi san did not fuck up the big day. 

  unfortunately, with less than twenty-four hours before the wedding due to ring for your sister and san’s older brother, you realized that you were the one that fucked up.

  if someone were to tell you that you ended up dodging a robbery, lugging around a broken e-scooter, outrunning a rabid wild animal, and losing your phone the night before your sister’s wedding, you would have asked them what drugs they were on. and given a year’s worth of stress in anticipating and planning and fittings, you’d likely even ask them to share some. the worse part was that, you’d actually fucked up forty-eight hours before your sister’s wedding and the night you were currently having was just the cherry on top.

  but, that is where you found yourself in a foreign city with no money and no idea how to get back to your hotel at four in the morning. the only thing you could do was stare at choi san, still in his clothes from the rehearsal dinner earlier that night and was preoccupied with nursing his bruised knuckles. 

  san was not a smoker, but he leaned against the wall of a closed coffee shop with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “you think this is all my fault, don’t you?” he grumbled, finally meeting your sharp gaze.

  this was not even the beginning of the story, though. the real beginning of the story begins in middle school circa 2012, when your first ever crush ruined everything before anything could even happen by simply opening his mouth. 

  choi san was the transfer student that all of the girls in your year whispered and giggled about. you only caught a glimpse of him on the first day of school when you could barely make out his face at the school assembly. 

  “he’s so freaking cute! did you get to see him, y/n?” 

  your best friend at the time jogged up to you at lunch and by this point in the day, you’d heard from nearly all your classmates about the mysterious new kid. you were a bit exasperated, feeling as though you were missing out.

  you shook your head. “no. i think i saw the side of his face, but that’s it.”

  “look at his instagram,” she swooned, tapping on her phone until his profile came up.

  you would never admit it aloud, but you thought your heart skip a beat. “that’s what he looks like? oh my god, he plays basketball, too?”

  that pretty much sealed the deal for you. without shame, you pulled out your own phone to follow san on social media, since it already looked like he was gaining mutuals from other people in your school. everyday from then on seemed to be a game of “can you spot your crush” at school and you got the closest when you lingered a little bit too long after gym class, long enough that you left as soon as basketball try-outs for the boys team began. 

  it was 2012 and nothing else mattered to you except crushing over choi san from respectable distance, gangnam style, one direction, and reading all of the hunger games books. it was like this for the first couple months at school, until you and san finally encountered one another.

  you heard from others that san was incredibly bright and academically gifted, so you were hoping that, he too, would join robotics club. it felt like a dream when your wishes came true and san walked into the first meeting of the season.

  “you’re totally staring at him,” whispered yeosang on this day, to which you elbowed him for. yes, you were definitely staring, but he could have just chose to keep his mouth shut.

  you’d avoided directly speaking to san for the first few meetings, just out of nerves alone. eventually, the club’s first major competition was to come around the corner and the club had to brainstorm their plan. 

  as one of the returning members from the year prior, you expected to be met with respect and have your opinions be considered important. the faculty supervisor had even told you that he had hopes for you taking over as captain in the next year, after the current leader, hongjoong, graduates. 

  “i can take charge of the programming team,” you offered, as hongjoong went over the challenge announcement of the competition.

  that was the moment everything went wrong.

  it looked there was no opposition, until you heard a chuckle from the other side of a room. you were confused, not recognizing the voice. spinning around, you saw that it was san and your heart dropped.

  “you? do you even know how to code?” his eyebrows were raised. 

  your jaw could have easily hit the floor, as you narrowed your eyes at him. “what?” was all you could say.

  “you’re a girl, there’s no way you should be in charge of programming.”

  that year, there were only three girls in robotics club, which was an improvement from the two the year before. it was you, who was the only female member with experience in the club, and then sunyoung and yena. 

  sunyoung never fucking spoke, she never even made eye contact with anyone. she kept to herself and was never going to speak up, but you knew that she was the highest ranking student in your year and had skipped an entire grade. you couldn’t believe sunyoung let that slide. meanwhile, yena always insisted that she was “one of the boys” and was the kind of girl to talk your head off about how she hates taylor swift. you might’ve even heard her murmur in agreement to what san said.

  “are you a fucking idiot?” your thirteen year old self snapped at san, eliciting gasps from around the room. 

  of course, your foul mouth came from none other than your headstrong older sister and at the same moment you began forming a life-long hatred for choi san, she was a couple blocks away at the high school, falling in love with choi san’s older brother during chemistry class. it was a classic high school love story, meeting as lab partners and experiencing first love in between shelves at the library. 

  one day, when your sister happily skipped into your room and sang that she now had a boyfriend, it had been weeks since you already declared san your nemesis. from what you remember, she was so head over heels for her lab partner that it was nauseating - she had to have been, since she was now marrying him over ten years later. 

  “he has a little brother your age, you know,” she said, later the same night. “goes to your school, maybe you’ve met him.”

  the two of you were relaxing on your bed, as your sister scooted closer to show you pictures of her new and first-ever boyfriend on her phone. you raised an eyebrow at her, wondering who she was talking about. 

  “maybe. what’s his name?” you asked.

  “san. choi san.”

#choi san x reader #choi san fanfic #choi san scenarios #choi san imagine #choi san x oc #choi san x you #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #choi san fluff #choi san angst #ateez angst #ateez scenarios #kpop fanfic

[eriexplosion]

FINISHING OUT SEASON ONE WITH KAMINO LOST, TIME TO CRY.

Lugging Crosshair around Kamino like a sack of sad potatoes. The way he gets to wake up pinned underneath a fucking steel beam like fucking congrats you tried to kill yourself one way so how do you feel about this significantly worse impending doom?

The voice work on the clone reporting that Kamino is destroyed is fantastic, that poor fucking clone.

GREETINGS CT-9904! YOU SURVIVED THE AERIAL BOMBARDMENT BUT ARE NOW MOMENTS AWAY FROM DROWNING!

Azi is so fucking funny like it's obviously terrible to experience this but imagine doing it with this chipper robot narrating your oncoming demise for you

I have a headcanon that Crosshair has a fear of drowning, because his reactions to possible death elsewhere are nothing like here where he sees the water and starts Immediately trying to actually survive.

Getting Hunter to shoot him? Fine, he'll take that. But do NOT let this fucking planet drown him after all this time.

"WHAT have you DONE" Crosshair do you really think this is THEIR FAULT? You knew the Empire was going to bomb the place!

IF YOU WANT TO STAY HERE AND DIE THAT'S YOUR CALL sometimes you need to lay it out clearly for someone that is intent on throwing a giant tantrum.

The entire tower of pods being submerged fucks me up so much

God but if there's one thing they're good at doing it's animating absolutely devastating destruction in intense detail.

Never noticed before that Echo nearly falls and has to grab onto Crosshair because everything was always moving SO FAST.

Crosshair genuinely standing there looking like he's thinking about just staying there and dying but thinking better of it when he realizes dying here means drowning specifically.

ENDING UP BACK IN THE BARRACKS.

Literally they are safe for like 3 minutes tops and Crosshair plans to spend all of them complaining.

We made a choice, and so did you. Goddddd the betrayal and hurt layered in there. Just. A lot changed when Crosshair said that the chip was out and didn't bother to clarify when. And no one here knows the chip was enhanced to be even stronger. (Except maybe AZI?) Just Crosshair really feels like he admitted he totally tried to kill them under his own power.

"We need to go back" BACK TO W H E R E CROSSHAIR?

Tech's assessment that basically diagnoses Crosshair as Insanely and Incredibly Stubborn. I dub thee an unbearable bitch, but I understand you.

THIS OUTCOME IS SATISFACTORY! while they all look utterly traumatized by the experience.

THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU LET A KID CALL THE SHOTS Crosshair I swear to god. Your plan was to stand there and die so like, I think u need to ease up a bit.

Literally might be dead in a few hours but he WILL dedicate those last few hours entirely to registering numerous complaints and insulting a 12 year old. I love him.

"THAT'S YOUR PROBLEM HUNTER, YOU TAKE THINGS TOO PERSONALLY." This is single handedly the funniest line in the show no intentional humor can beat Crosshair accusing other people of taking things too personally like he doesn't take every single action utterly personally to a pathological degree.

Omega trying very very hard to bond with Crosshair who is blocking her attempts to know him with the skill of an elite goalie.

You know my headcanon is still that AZI took Crosshair's chip out to save his life and that's why Crosshair was the one to say that the droid could do it. Nothing has actively shut this down either and with AZI possibly being the only one to know Crosshair's chip was enhanced I would LOVE for this to come back up.

I understand why Omega has to be in her own tube for plot related reasons but it is SO fucking funny that Echo and Tech are doubled up and SO ARE HUNTER AND CROSSHAIR instead of Hunter being in Omega's tube.

Our Get Along Tube

The sequence of AZI guiding the tubes is actually legit beautiful the GRACE of juggling all of them and the light of AZI's eyes in the dark

Genuinely the way they used AZI at the end of season 2 does not make up for how genuinely devastating AZI falling into the depths i- wait a fucking moment. Why is this so reminiscent of Tech's slow mo fall into the clouds?

Omega watching someone she loves slowly fall away from her. Will she try to save Tech in some way and need to get rescued herself? Hm. Much to think about.

I feel like people do overstate the moment of everyone aiming guns at Crosshair because like it is definitely mentally traumatic to Crosshair but they absolutely had their stun on. Sometimes I see people act like they were going to kill him lol.

Everyone looking at the ruins of Tipoca City because no matter how they felt about it, it was the only home they ever had. Seeing it just utterly in ruins like that, my HEART.

God they tried to give Crosshair a chance to come with them and he's just not READY YET. Well he'll have a lot of time to think about it here on Kamino. Lots of time.

Ughhhhh this is such a heartbreaking ending I need season 3 to end on a high note because this is SO DEPRESSING.

I understand why they wanted to put the Mt Tantiss hook in at the end but godddd does it throw off the pacing, Crosshair watching them fly away is like the perfect final shot.

#the bad batch rewatch

[rainydaydream-gal18]

(The Bad Batch) Tech x Reader: Pause

   Edit: Forgot to include that this was set during episode 2.

Warning: spoilers if you haven’t seen the second episode yet

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

   You emerged from the room, stretching contentedly while breathing in the fresh farm air.  It was a strange combination of scents.  Every now and then, you’d get whiffs of the farm animals, but there were also sweet-smelling plants growing on the property.  Not to mention the faintly dusty yet warming smell of the old wood boards that made up the house.

   Sun rays washed the planks with golden light, and you could see flecks of dust floating in the air.  Suu was cleaning up after the kids’ lunch while Tech and Echo reviewed data in a more shadowy part of the room to view their screens better.  Wrecker stood by one of the windows, adjusting his sun hat.

   It was a nice pause from all the events that had recently transpired.

   You smiled.  “Nice poncho, Wrecker.”

   “Thanks,” he grinned back, resting his hands on hips and puffing out his chest humorously.  “I think it suits me.”  Then, he seemed to notice your change of clothes.  “Heyyy, _________, you look great too.”

   At Wrecker’s response, you saw Tech look up from his holopad out of the corner of your eye.

   “Thank you,” you said.  “I do enjoy kicking butt and taking names, but it’s also nice to be in civies again.”  You glanced around.  “Where’s Hunter?”

   “He went with Cut into town to book a transport,” Tech interjected.

   “Oh, okay.”  You put your hands on your hips, gaze wandering back to Suu.  “Is there anything I can do?  You and Cut have been such kind hosts.”

   “We help anyone we can,” she replied with a smile, pausing to think.  “But if you insist, I could use some help picking vegetables for our last meal here.”

   “Sure, whatever you need.”

   She opened a large cabinet and handed you a basket before grabbing one for herself.  You still had the strangest feeling of eyes on you, and you glanced around to see Tech staring for a moment.  Echo was shaking his head with an amused smile on his face while Wrecker nudged his brother.

   “Uh, Tech?” Wrecker laughed.  “You’re kind of staring.”

   “No, no.”  Tech shook his head, finally tearing his eyes away from you and back to the device in hand.  He began tapping on the screen rapidly.  “I was merely thinking.”

   “Thinking about ________ in her cute farmer civie clothes,” Wrecker joked, giving Echo a nudge this time and causing him to chuckle.  You covered your mouth to hide the bashful laugh that threatened to escape and hurried after Suu as she walked out the back door into the garden.

   The two of you began to walk down the dirt path, and Suu stopped to show you what to look for in these kinds of vegetables to know when they’re ready to be picked.

   “We don’t want the deep green ones.  They’re not ready,” she explained.  “See this one?  It’s more of a yellow-green.  That means it’s good to be picked.”

   “And what do you make with these?”

   “All sorts of things.” Suu told you as she put the vegetable in her basket.  “I’m bringing some with us when we leave.  It has a bit of a peppery flavor, so it is especially good in stew or casseroles.  I also like to dry some out to use during the off-season.”

   “Wow, that’s neat.”  You eyed a large, yellow-green one and looked to her for a nod of approval before plucking it from the stalk. 

    “So,” she paused, raising a brow.  “What was that about back there?  With Tech?”

   You shrugged.   “I have no idea.”

   “It looks like he likes you.  I’ve never seen him take his eyes off a screen for more than a minute at a time.”

   You tried to reign in your hope as you dismissed her observation with the casual wave of your hand.  “He just...stares sometimes.”

   “So he does it a lot?”

   “That’s not what I…”  You placed a few more ripe veggies in your basket.  You recalled a few times you’d caught Tech with his eyes on you.  Usually he was focused on missions, but on occasion when the squad wasn’t in imminent danger, you’d look over to see him already gazing in your direction.  He’d quickly turn his attention back to something else, and you’d try to not think too much into it.  “Yeah, I guess he does now that I think about it.”

   “And,” Suu dropped another vegetable in her basket.  “How do you feel?”

   “Me?” your gaze fell away from her curious eyes shyly.  “I think Tech is a valuable member of the team, and he’s very smart and kind.”

   She shook her head, smiling.  “But how do you feel about him?”

   Where to begin?

   Even though his “incredible mind” was his genetics, it was his hunger for knowledge and his desire to use it for good that you admired.  He may not gush about it, but the love he had for his family was evident in his actions.  He always strived to be helpful with information and tried to do what was best for the group.  Not to mention the big-brother role he had taken on with the squad’s recent addition of Omega warmed your heart.

   These were just a few things you loved about him.  

   Meanwhile, Suu read into your silence, and her smile grew wider.  “I see.  Well, don’t wait too long to tell each other.  When Cut and I realized how we felt, that was it.”

   “You both make a great couple and team.”

   “Teamwork is the only way to make it work,” she said, setting her full basket onto the dirt path to rest.  Her gaze wandered to your basket which was almost too much to carry.  “I think we have more than enough.  Let’s head back to the house and chop a few up for dinner.”

   You were several feet away from the house when Tech emerged, adjusting his goggles with Wrecker following behind grinning.  The two saw you lugging your basket along and pausing to rest for a moment. 

   “Let me help you with that,” Tech said as he walked over.  You gratefully let him take the basket with relative ease.

   “Thank you,” you replied.

   Wrecker approached and kindly took Suu’s basket from her arms, and she offered thanks as he carried it the rest of the way into the house.  Tech walked beside you the remainder of the short trip, only leaving your side to set the basket down on the counter.  You tucked your hands into the pockets of your civie pants and inwardly debated.

    “Hey Tech, I-”

   “_________, I-”  He had just turned around and came face-to-face with you at the same time.  Both of you clamped your mouths shut, waiting for the other to continue.  “Please, go ahead.”

   “Um, well, I…I wanted to talk to you.”

   “Funny,” he said.  “I wanted to talk to you too.”

    “Oh.”  You felt your heartbeat pick up.  “Okay then, we-”

    “We’re back,” Cut called as he walked through the front door.  Hunter followed behind.  “We couldn’t get a transport.  Something about chain codes.”

   “Tech, can you find out what this is all about?” Hunter asked.  Tech gave a nod and quickly took out a holopad.  He paused to give you an apologetic glance, but you smiled and nodded in understanding.  There were other matters to attend to.  The conversation would have to wait.  You watched Tech take a seat at the table in the chair by Suu, and Cut and Hunter took their seats.  You joined Echo off to the side, folding your arms as you listened in.

   “Hmm, it appears all public transport is now restricted without chain codes,” Tech informed the group.

   “Which Cut can’t sign up form” Suu pointed out.  “He’ll be arrested when they realize he’s a deserter.”

   Your gaze wandered back to Tech as the conversation continued, wondering when you’d have another opportunity to talk alone.

Link to Part 2 (Set during episode 3)

#bad batch x reader #bad batch tech x reader #tech x reader #the bad batch tech #tech reader insert #bad batch tech reader insert #tech x you #bad batch tech imagine #bad batch tech x you

[curlynerd]

What He Wants

Happy gift posting day for @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! My gift recipient is @bipridedean! She requested a Destiel, canon-adjacent fic, so here it is! I hope you like it! <3

Word Count: 2.6K Rating: G Summary: 5 times Dean said "I do" and 1 time he didn’t. Notes: Post canon, fix-it fic, oneshot, love confessions, Destiel wedding

Also read it on AO3!

1.

The first time it happens Sam is the only one to hear it. They’re alone in the bunker, surrounded by months and months of tireless research. But finally, finally, Dean thinks they’ve discovered how to get into the Empty.

Dean wants to push through the night and get a portal up and running as soon as possible. Sam insists they both go to bed, pleading with Dean that he won’t be able to concentrate on the spellwork to maintain it without at least a few hours of sleep.

Dean spends most of the night staring at the ceiling, thoughts racing through his head at a hundred miles an hour. This time tomorrow, he could have Cas back. This time tomorrow he can--Dean is almost afraid to think it, afraid that giving form to what he wants will somehow curse it and stop it from ever coming true. After all, the thing he wanted most before this was for Cas to love him back, and that didn’t exactly end rosy.

Still, as Dean finally closes his eyes, he allows himself a small, private wish. He hopes this will be the last time he falls asleep alone.

The next morning, they’re both expecting some sort of bump in the road, some rare ingredient or some missing incantation that will set them back even longer, keep Dean from seeing Cas again for God knows how long. But fortune is on their side, and Sam executes the spell flawlessly.

Dean is armed to the teeth with every weapon and protection spell they could collect on short notice. His plan for finding Cas and dragging him back home sits clearly at the front of his mind. His heart pounds in his ears, fast but steady and strong.

“You know, if this doesn’t work, you could get stuck there. I might not be able to open a new portal.” Sam looks at the pulsating mass of black that serves as the portal to the Empty. Worry is etched deeply into his forehead. “Do you really want to do this?”

Dean thinks of Cas’ face, the way he had smiled as he said he loved him. He thinks of how he was so close to having the one thing he really wanted. How Cas had wanted the same.

There’s no peace in loneliness.

Dean tightens his grip on his angel blade, his jaw set, his eyes determined. He’s ready to get his angel back. “Yeah. I do.”

2.

The second time it happens, it takes Cas by surprise. It’s been a week since Dean heroically pulled the love of his life from the Empty...and also since Dean lost all remaining courage. He choked. His unspoken response to Cas’ confession is a taut tension wire between them, keeping them inches apart, words suffocating in their tightly sealed mouths, both terrified to say anything and risk breaking something that can’t be mended.

Dean hates himself for it. It’s cowardice is what it is. It’s a lifetime of desperately fighting against the things that make him vulnerable. Against wanting things. Against believing anyone could love him. Even with Cas’ confession still crystal clear in his memories, Dean doubts.

He is deep into those self-deprecating thoughts when he finds Cas in the garage, struggling to figure out how to change a flat tire on his truck from a Youtube video.

“Cas? What’re you doing?”

Cas startles and immediately hunches his shoulders in guilt. He wasn’t expecting to be caught. “Dean.” He looks down at the lug wrench in his hand, and Dean can see the wheels spinning in his head, trying to concoct a cover story before he shrugs and gives up the truth. “I was trying to fix the truck.”

“You need to go somewhere? Cuz I can just drive you.” Dean’s heart pounds, his mouth going dry. Cas wouldn’t need to sneak around for a little errand.

Cas shakes his head and confirms Dean’s fears. “I wanted to have it ready. In case I needed to leave.”

“Leave?” Dean repeats, and his blood goes cold.

Cas deflates a little, resigned and sad. “I assume I’ll need to soon.”

“You can’t leave!” ‘Tell him!’ screams in Dean’s mind, but he can’t. He can’t. What if he’s wrong? What if Cas doesn’t love him like that? What if Cas doesn’t love him at all anymore? What if Dean screwed it up by staying silent and Cas realized he deserves to be with someone who can provide a simple answer to “I love you?” What if--

“I don’t want to,” Cas says softly. The pain is evident in his eyes as they flicker to his truck, like he expects to need to book it out of here at any moment. “But I wasn’t sure if you wanted me here after--” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” he amends.

“Cas, this is your home, same as me and Sam.” Cas doesn’t look so convinced. “C’mon man, you really think we don’t want you around?” Dean leans against the side of Cas’ truck to ground himself. “Cas, I want you here.” ‘I want more than that,’ he thinks, and it would be so easy to say what he really needs to say, but he can’t. He fights viciously with his own self-esteem, ripping at it, begging it to let him say more. “Please don’t leave,” he says, small and helpless, and it’s like moving a mountain to say that much.

Cas’ expression softens into longing. His hand clenches at his side, like he’s fighting the urge to reach out to Dean, but he smiles a soft, incredulous smile. “I can stay? You really mean it?”

Dean swallows thickly. A hundred words crowd his throat, fighting to get out, but his own fears win this round and keep them down. Instead all he can manage is a choked, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

3.

The third time it happens, it takes them both by surprise. They’d gone on a hunt, just the two of them while Sam was visiting Eileen, and everything had gone sideways. What they thought was just a troublemaking demon turned out to be an extremely powerful witch, one with more than enough experience in Enochian magic to put Cas in serious danger. And of course Cas was reckless in his desire to protect Dean, and only managed to avoid getting killed by quick thinking and, to be honest, a helluva lot of luck.

The fight left Cas injured, and Dean pissed. “What the hell were you thinking!” he scolds at the end of a cold, silent drive back to the bunker.

“I did what I needed,” Cas shoots back with a steely glare.

“No, you didn’t need to go rushing in like that!” Dean’s worry leeches out as anger, the fear of losing Cas yet again clouding his reasoning that Dean himself would have died without Cas’ quick action. “You could have gotten a lot more hurt!”

“Why does it even matter to you?” Cas yells back, and it’s the note of hysterical bitterness darkening his words that makes Dean snap and say what he’s been hiding for far too long.

“Because I love you, you stubborn ass!”

The words freeze in the air between them, sharp and strong, wedging themself right where Dean’s anger was just a moment ago.

“You...love me?” Cas asks, his voice small, his eyes big.

And like that, Dean’s fears seem so foolish. Cas loves him. Cas died because just admitting he loves him was the happiest moment of his life. Cas has already done the hardest, scariest part for him. Dean doesn’t even have to fear Cas not feeling the same.

Silently, Dean takes a single step forward. Cas is frozen on the spot, staring at him like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He takes another step, and another, until he’s close enough to reach out and tug Cas into an embrace.

“Of course,” Dean breathes. He holds Cas close, tucking his chin over his shoulder and squeezing tight, like he never wants to let go. He doesn’t ever want to let go. Cas is slower to react, but when his arms finally wind around Dean, he breathes out a soft, sobbing gasp and clings to Dean. Dean turns his head to bury his nose in Cas’ hair. “Of course I do.”

4.

The fourth time it happens, Cas doesn’t even hear it. Cas found out about a nearby crafts fair, and all it took was one particularly soulful look from those big blue eyes of his, and Dean was driving them a full hour and a half away to look at homemade pottery and local honey and overpriced tacky mesh wreaths and pretending that the entire atmosphere of the place wasn’t giving him hives.

Cas is having a blast. Dean is carrying bags and lurking in the shadiest spots he can find away from the summer heat while Cas browses. Cas is having an animated conversation about beekeeping with a honey merchant when Dean ducks into a large tent filled with the kind of flowy, bedazzled, polyester shirts he thinks of as “PTA Chic” because they also happen to have a large fan blowing.

“Lookin’ for something in particular, sugar?” The tent owner saunters over to Dean, her Southern accent thick and her top scandalously low. She’s stunningly pretty, and Dean’s eyes and smile light up out of a lifetime of habit. She responds in kind, dragging her eyes down, then back up Dean’s body. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were lookin’ for more than clothes.”

Dean chuckles and flashes her his best charming, but chagrined smile. He feels a little guilty for leading her on, and he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. “Oh sweetheart, if I were single, I’d gladly take you up on that offer, but I’ve already got my special someone.” Dean nods to the honey booth next door.

Her eyes trail over to where Dean gestured, and for a split second her brow furrows in confusion before she laughs just a little, more incredulous than cruel. “You really want someone like that over me?”

Dean looks over at Cas. And, yeah, Dean gets the question. He’s a grown-ass man wearing cargo shorts, carrying a canvas bag with the most obnoxious sunglasses-wearing beach ball Dean has ever seen, and his hair looks like it's been electrocuted. Dean grins, feeling a rush of fondness for his dorky, criminally unfashionable angel.

“Yeah,” he says softly, without an ounce of hesitation. There’s no one else in the world for him but Cas. “Yeah, I do.”

5.

The fifth time Dean says it, Cas is the only other person around for miles. He drags Cas out of bed bright and early one Saturday, forcing him into the car before he’s even fully finished his coffee. Cas allows it, only because he can tell Dean is positively vibrating with nervous energy. Dean brushes off all of his prying questions during the long drive until they finally arrive at a small, peaceful meadow in the middle of nowhere.

He’s packed a lunch, because ostensibly this outing is meant to be a picnic, even though Cas is suspicious on that fact alone. Dean never picnics. It doesn’t really matter though, because Dean is too nervous to even consider eating.

“So why are we really here?” Cas asks after a few minutes of nibbling at his chips. Dean’s sandwich lays untouched on the blanket.

Dean steels his nerve and takes a deep breath. “Do you know where this is?” he asks, fighting the jittery bouncing of his heartbeat to keep his voice steady.

Cas nods. “This is where I returned when Jack resurrected me.” He looks around, smiling down at the flowers surrounding the two of them. The windmill behind him creaks softly in the wind.

“And where I spread your ashes.” Dean’s fidgeting fingers find a frayed edge on the blanket, and he starts picking at it.

Cas nods again and remains silent, patiently waiting for Dean to find the rest of his words.

“And it’s…” Dean pulls a thread out of the blanket and lets it fly away in the wind. “This is where I realized I love you. I’m an idiot who didn’t even realize how much I loved you until after you were gone.”

Cas leans forward and rests his hand on Dean’s knee, warm and reassuring. Dean continues, “At the time I’d thought, ‘I can’t do this. I don’t want to live without him.’ Which was stupid because you were already dead. It didn’t matter what I wanted.”

Cas squeezes his knee. His eyes are gentle. “We’re both okay now.”

Dean’s heart warms. “Yeah. We are. But you know I...That feeling’s never gone away. You and me? I want us to be forever.” Dean reaches into his pocket. There’s no small velvet box, no shimmering diamonds, just a thick band of practical silver he found at a pawn shop. He looks down at the ring with a tender smile. “Man, never in a million years did I think I’d ever be doing this,” he marvels, and when he looks up, Cas’ eyes are wide with surprise.

“Dean?” His normally steady voice wavers.

Dean reaches for Cas’ face, his thumb gently stroking across his cheek. He holds up the ring. “What do you say, Cas? Wanna go legit about this?”

Cas’ expression is impossibly soft, eyes overflowing with love and devotion. He swallows thickly around a lump in his throat and takes the ring from Dean. He slides it onto his finger and stares at it like it’s his own personal miracle.

“You’re serious, Dean? You really want to get married?”

Dean smiles as he leans in close. Just before he kisses his new fiance, he whispers, “Of course I do.”

6.

The sun is setting, casting long shadows down the sand. The shifting winds coming from the sea carry a chill, making the little crowd gathered around them draw their jackets close and huddle together, but the smiles on their faces are nothing but warm. There’s no altar. No stage. No decorations. Just Cas and Dean, standing in front of the ocean, wearing their favorite flannels and jeans, two bright yellow black-eyed susans pinned to their shirts--stolen right out of someone’s garden on their way to the beach.

They didn’t even bother trying to put out chairs for the ceremony, not knowing how many of their friends and family would be able to make the long drive to see Dean get hitched to his angel, but in the end it’s a good thing, because damn near everyone came, and they need to crowd in close to hear them over the wind.

It’s completely and utterly perfect.

Dean grins, unable to take his eyes off Cas while Donna, the only member of his overly-emotional family he trusts not to bawl her eyes out through the ceremony, finishes the last of their vows.

“Do you, Castiel, take Dean Winchester to be your, well, not so lawfully wedded husband?”

There’s a twitter of laughter from the crowd. Cas smiles a sweet, crooked smile and squeezes Dean’s hand. “I do.” His voice is soft, meant for Dean’s ears only, because Dean is the only one his promise matters to.

“And do you, Dean Winchester, FBI’s Most Wanted, thrice dead criminal, and the terribly generous gentleman who will surely be covering our drinks on this celebratory evening, take Castiel to be your husband?”

Dean looks at Cas. Even in the dim light of the setting sun, his eyes are impossibly blue. His smile is so warm Dean knows he’ll never feel cold again, so long as he can see it every day. Dean beams back and proclaims loud enough for everyone on the beach to hear, “Oh hell yes!”

#userstarry #starrynightdeancas gift exchange #bipridedean #tuserari #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfiction #destiel wedding #deancas wedding #dean winchester #castiel #spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #katie writes things

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Irresistible Danger - Part 60

Synopsis:  After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 3,229

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

ID Masterlist can be found HERE

Masterlist of all my fics can be found HERE

Author’s Note: We’re back! Omg y’all...I finally have a path to the ending for this fic! After this chapter, I’m planning for there to be 5 more chapters until the end, which will give ID a total of 65 chapters. I’m still working on writing and editing these last chapters, but I’m pretty confident in that timeline :D I also plan to post each Friday again, so there should be chapters now through September 10th, if all goes according to plan. 

PDA

You woke with a smile the next morning, partially because of the happiness filling your chest like a balloon. The other part was because the warm body behind you, accompanied by a rasp of beard on your shoulder and soft lips on your neck, signalled that you weren’t alone. 

The florid orange rays coming in the large windows told you that it was still early, the sun barely risen above the horizon. Turning over onto your other side to face Negan, you took in his tousled hair and heavy-lidded gaze. 

“Mornin’ doll,” he said, voice raspy with sleep. 

“Morning,” you whispered back, pressing a kiss to his irresistible mouth. “No crack-of-dawn meetings today?”

His lips quirked against yours. “Nope, thank fuck,” he murmured, before rolling atop you and spending a good portion of the morning taking you apart with pleasure, then putting you back together piece by piece with cuddles and toe-curling kisses. 

When he later glanced over at the clock and saw that it was almost 10am, he gave a groan and flopped onto his back with a forearm covering his eyes. “Much as I’d love to stay here all day, I gotta go with a couple Saviors to check out one of the nearby outposts. They reported some concerns about their fucking security measures, and also requested a few more men be stationed out there to help divvy up their shifts, so I wanna go see if there’s any fucking issues for myself.”

While you felt a tiny thrill that he was so willing to tell you this information, to let you know about his duties as leader, you also had a moment of worry about him possibly assigning more men out to work the outpost. “Is that the one you brought Simon in from a couple weeks ago?” 

Knowing exactly where your thoughts were headed, he said, “Don’t get your fucking panties in a bunch, doll. If the outpost needs more hands, I was planning to send a couple of my newer Saviors.”

Pleased at this response, you smiled and leaned in close so your mouth was hovering mere millimeters from his, before whispering, “I’m not wearing any panties to get in a bunch.” 

Before he could react, you rolled out of the bed and strode to the bathroom, putting a little extra swing to your hips. The growl and unmistakable rustling sound of sheets being thrown off was your only warning before Negan scooped you up into his arms and marched into the bathroom. 

An hour later and you were both sufficiently clean (after first getting extra dirty against the shower wall), and you saw Negan off from his rooms with a kiss and warning to be careful. He gave an arrogant smirk at that, which got him an eye roll and playful shake of your head as a response. 

You watched as he strode down the hall towards the staircase, shoulders encased in leather and his whistle echoing off the walls. While they’d never dare ask him about it, you couldn’t help but give a little smile at the thought of his men wondering why the hell their usually punctual leader was almost ten minutes late to leave for the outpost...and why he seemed so happy about it.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Unable to contain your excitement over the events of the night before, you headed over to Ben’s room not long after Negan left. Thankfully he was there, having just returned from finishing up serving breakfast. His roommate was out this time, so you were able to huddle across from one another on his bottom bunk and catch him up on your conversation with Negan.

Ben listened intently, mouth slowly falling further and further open as you went on. When you got to the part about Negan admitting he wanted only you, and called you his partner, Ben let out a whoop of joy and threw his arms around you in a hug. 

“I knew it!” he exclaimed. “That big lug is head over heels for you.” 

The two of you chatted happily for a bit, before you left and wandered back down to your own room. It had felt like forever since you had a chunk of time to just relax in your bed without over analyzing or stressing over something Negan-related. Gone was the weight of that padlocked box of questions, which made both your brain and subconscious very happy. The three of you snuggled up on the bed and spent the next couple of hours finishing your re-read of Harry Potter before it was time to head down to the kitchen for dinner prep. 

Today’s menu consisted of lasagna using leftover deer meat thawed from the freezer, with the signature side of rolls. Trixie had unofficially promoted herself as being in charge of roll duty, making sure the dough was the right consistency and the ovens at the perfect baking temperature. She wasn’t rude about it, but the little bit of authority she showed when instructing another staff member how to properly knead the dough seemed to fulfill her need to be seen as a knowledgeable and important part of the staff. And in all honesty, none of her feedback to the others was incorrect, so rather than reprimand her or say she was out of line, you had caught her eye at one point and given an almost imperceptible nod of approval. This caused her smile to beam so bright that it was a wonder you didn’t need sunglasses. 

As it turned out, you weren’t the only one who had noticed Trixie’s presence and been keeping a stealthy eye on her. Andrew, a member of the food prep crew, had been not-so-subtly following Trixie with his gaze lately, and today was no exception. He was an attractive man in his early 20s with shoulder-length black hair and kind brown eyes, a much more appropriate candidate for Trixie than her previous choice.

It seemed safe to say that Trixie was aware of the attention as well, as she found every reason possible to flounce past where Andrew was busy loading trays of lasagna into an oven. At one point, she even stopped to chat briefly with him, and out of the corner of your eye you saw her toss back her head and laugh at something he said. If it seemed a bit overly dramatic to you, well, Andrew didn’t seem to mind. In fact, her reaction caused him to fumble with the tray of pasta he was holding, almost spilling the entire thing onto the ground. He thankfully saved it at the last second, otherwise you would’ve had to interrupt and lecture the two of them about focusing on their work and not chit-chatting. And you didn’t want to do that, not when Trixie finally seemed interested in a guy more her age who was actually available and seemed to genuinely like her. 

Despite your initial tension with Trixie, you now realized that she had just been struggling to find where she fit in, to feel like an important part of the community. She’d initially been scooped up and led astray by Amber, but thankfully she had found her way back on the correct path and was making progress at getting along with the others, rather than isolating herself and using condescension as an emotional wall. Someone like Andrew, who was kind-hearted and considerate, not to mention absolutely captivated by her, was exactly what she needed. 

Focusing your attention away from young romance and back to meal prep, you spent the next forty-five minutes making sure everything was baked to perfection before sending out the first trays of lasagna and rolls. However, your mind kept randomly returning to Negan, almost unable to contain a secret smile each time you remembered where the two of you now stood. The usual worry and second-guessing had been replaced by the stability of knowing how he felt, and each time you remembered his words from last night a flutter of butterflies went off in your stomach. 

Negan had told you this morning that the outpost he and a small team of men were going to was less than an hour’s drive from the Sanctuary, so he planned to be back around dinnertime. Sure enough, about 20 minutes into when the first round of food was being served, you saw a small group of Saviors enter the cafeteria and settle down at a table. You guessed that they were the ones who had been out on the mini mission, and breathed a sigh of relief at seeing them back safely and with jovial expressions on their faces. You could always tell when things went wrong on a run, due to the overall aura of the men who returned, but this time they were smiling and talking animatedly with one another. Hopefully this also meant that Negan was in a happy, and perhaps affectionate, mood when you went to visit him later...

It was as if your thoughts had conjured the man himself. You were out in the cafeteria with a large water pitcher, making rounds to refill empty glasses for people, when a hush in conversation made you still and look up.

And there he was, standing at the entrance to the cafeteria with his signature leather jacket unzipped just enough so that the edge of a white tee peeked out over the top. He scanned over the tables like a king surveying his domain, looking both intimidating and absolutely delicious with the arrogant way he held himself, as if he had no cares in the world but was also ready to take on anything.

When his eyes landed on you, those sinful lips quirked upwards at the edges, and you swore that even from the distance of half a cafeteria you could see his golden gaze light up at the sight of you. He moved, striding with determination and purpose to close the space between your bodies. The breath caught in your chest at his beauty, at the raw masculinity and almost animal magnetism that surrounded him. 

He stopped mere inches away, and you gazed up at him in both welcome and a bit of confusion. Trying to act calm and unaffected, and not show how much you wanted to grin and launch yourself at him, you said, “Welcome back.” 

Your eyebrow cocked in question when he shook his head with a low chuckle. “Oh no, doll, that won’t do at all.” And with that, he wrapped an arm around your waist and lowered his head...

And kissed you in front of the entire Sanctuary. 

A wave of shock jolted through you, at the same time as your body automatically responded, molding itself to his. Your brain was flatlined on the floor from the unexpected move, while your subconscious ran around it in circles screaming with excitement. 

You could practically feel all the astonished stares from community members, as they watched their all-powerful leader break one of his cardinal rules and kiss you to within an inch of your life. And dear god, what a kiss it was! His lips were firm yet gentle, his tongue just barely tracing your bottom lip, as if he couldn’t help but steal a little taste. He wasn’t holding back, and the primal part of you recognized that he was publicly staking his claim for all to see. There could be no question after this moment that you were his, and that he wanted everyone to know it. 

When he finally pulled back, you could only look up at him with what must’ve been an utterly dazed expression, if his pleased smirk was anything to go by. Glancing to his left and then right, his brow furrowed and expression turned serious as he bellowed, “What the fuck are you all looking at?”

His words had the desired effect, as eyes dropped back to their plates and the community stuttered back to action, obviously trying and failing to act like something monumental didn’t just happen. You’d have given a lot of points to know what they were all thinking, but you didn’t see any angry expressionsand no one had said anything or acted out of line, so hopefully that was a good sign. 

Negan’s warm hand rubbed comfortingly up your bare arm, and it was then that you noticed he didn’t have his gloves on. That also sparked the realization that he wasn’t carrying Lucille, which was strange since he always had her on his person when making an appearance in front of the community. 

Now that you’re thinking about it, did he even have her this morning, when he left?

You thought back to when you had kissed him goodbye and watched as he walked down the hallway. Surely he’d have taken her with him to the outpost...but you honestly couldn’t remember seeing her up over his shoulder. You had to just be forgetting, because there was no way he’d leave her behind. 

That train of thought was brought to a halt when the hand on your arm trailed down along your waist and settled possessively on your hip. “I wanted to put in a request for one of your staff members to bring two servings of dinner to my room, for Simon and yours truly.” 

Before you could ask if he needed time alone once you were done with dinner, he provided the answer. “We need to go over the fucking outpost inspection results, but I’ll come and find you once it’s done.” It was the second time he’d done that today, answering a question before you had the chance to voice it out loud, which was a sign of how well he was coming to predict your thought process. 

You were still a bit in shock at all of this, especially how he was discussing his evening plan with you so publicly and audibly, as if to show that you were more than just his in a physical sense. He was broadcasting to the community that you were what he had already told you last night: his partner. His voice had been low enough that only the nearby tables would’ve heard, but you knew every moment of this interaction would be spread across the entire community within minutes after he left. 

Giving a smile and trying to look like ‘yep, this is completely normal, no big deal, I am totally not internally screaming with joy and wanting to climb his fine ass like a tree’, you replied, “Of course. I’ll have it sent up immediately.”

“Thanks, doll,” he said with a final smirk. Then his face morphed back into the intense, badass expression of the Sanctuary’s leader, and he strode out of the cafeteria. 

You were left standing there, still a bit shell-shocked by what had just occurred, but also giddy as hell over it. That emotional high was only slightly dimmed by the awareness that now, with Negan gone, you were the sole center of everyone’s attention. A quick scan of the cafeteria showed that most community members were trying not to openly stare. However, the lack of chewing and frequent side glances thrown your way as your legs finally unfroze and started back towards the kitchen were proof that they had all seen Negan’s display of affection. 

While the rest of the community might’ve at least been making a feeble attempt not to obviously stare, the same couldn’t be said of the kitchen staff. At least a couple of them must’ve witnessed what happened when serving trays of food, and those members must’ve scurried back to the kitchen to report it to the others. Every single one of them was staring in wide-eyed silence with a mixture of shock and fascinated curiosity when you walked back through the swinging doors. 

Even though your face felt heated and you were a bit off-kilter, you still managed to sound slightly firm when announcing, “Alright folks, back to work. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

You breathed a sigh of relief when they didn’t argue, but a couple of them did give knowing grins, Trixie included, though at least they all seemed good-natured about it. Trying to act as though your world hadn’t just been spun off its axis with that public kiss, you went over to Ben, who was the only one that had stayed fairly composed the entire time. In fact, his eyes danced with mirth and he was obviously trying to hold back a smirk, so you felt only minimally evil when telling him of Negan’s request that two servings of dinner be taken up to his rooms for him and Simon. Ben gave a playful glare when you told him to take up the food himself, saying it loud enough that some others heard, making him unable to say no without looking a bit suspect. 

When the tray was ready to go a few minutes later, you quietly murmured to Ben as he passed by on his way out of the kitchen, “Say hi to Simon for me.” The words caused a hint of pink to flare in his cheeks as he gave a halfhearted glare. You almost felt guilty for teasing him, but knew Ben would more than forgive you when Negan came through on his promise to get Simon his own room.  

Though the kitchen staff still threw glances your way here and there, they quickly fell back into their usual routine and no one made any direct comments. You were safe from scrutiny...at least for now. At least no one seemed to have any extreme concerns about what had happened, making you wonder how many of them had suspected what was going on between you and Negan before now.

Once dinner and cleanup were over, you headed back up to your room. Negan had said he would come find you when he was ready, so you planned to just lay back and relax until then. 

Oh, who were you kidding. After that kiss, you were totally going to sit on your bed and think about all the dirty things you wanted to do to him the moment the two of you were alone. 

Trying to convince yourself that you could be at least semi-productive and pretend to have a hobby other than fantasizing about the leader of the Sanctuary, you pulled the copy of Harry Potter off your bedside table. You were just opening to the first page, planning to restart it again from the beginning, when a firm knock sounded at your door. 

Pulse jumping with excitement, you rose from the bed and didn’t even hesitate to cross the room and reach for the doorknob. It never occurred to you that it might be anyone other than Negan, let alone for it to be the last person you’d have ever expected to see at your door. But things had been going so well today that it was almost as if fate was bored with your happiness and wanted to add some drama to the mix. 

Totally ignoring the warning prickle that ran up your spine, you opened the door with a welcome smile. It quickly died on your lips at the sight of who was standing on the other side, hands on hips and eyes throwing daggers your way. 

It was Amber...and she looked pissed.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

#negan #ash writes #negan's thirst squad #irresistible danger #negan fanfiction #negan fanfic #negan x you #negan x oc #negan x reader #fanfiction #fanfics #twd #the walking dead #jdm #jeffrey dean morgan #twd negan #negan slow burn

[fleckcmscott]

Coffee & Donuts

Summary: Arthur’s thrilled to be part of a crowd. Though the evening doesn’t go perfectly, Y/N’s flirtations make it sweet.

Warnings: Smut

Words: 4,602

A/N: Alright. After the heart wrenching angst of my last piece (which I love, by the way; don't get me wrong! 😂), I had to write another story in which Arthur and Y/N are happy and together. It's inspired by one of Arthur's visions during their kiss. I hope you all like it! Special thanks to @jokerownsmysoul for beta-ing!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Parties and celebrations weren't foreign to Arthur. He'd worked plenty, enough to make him realize what he'd been missing out on. He was well-versed in pin the tail on the donkey, musical chairs, and balloon animals. But as an adult, those activities didn't satisfy. He wanted to be included rather than paid. Connect with people, introduce himself. Discuss his experiences and pursuits. Feel sufficiently at ease to loosen up a little and have a good time.

Now he was a guest - a certified guest - at Patricia Gorman's fifty-sixth birthday party. The first party he'd been invited to since being the weird kid in class who'd rotated between three worn out sweaters and could never afford a gift.

He'd been a tad apprehensive about going to Burnside. Gotham's nicest borough had a reputation for high rents and low tolerance. When Y/N and he had entered 2E, however, Patricia's greeting ("You made it!") and the apartment were thoroughly welcoming. Crocodile brown walls and forest green shag carpet made the spacious living room a cozy hideaway. Marigolds leapt across the polyester of the T-cushion sofa and its easy-chair companion. The floor lamp's amber, crimped glass shades cast the spacious living room in a glow borrowed from warm autumn days.

Patricia's husband, Robert, was out on an emergency call. An HVAC had gone haywire in a residential building in Hinckley. Her daughter, son-in-law, and grandson had been by for lunch. That meant the only other guests were Matt - Y/N's old boss - and a bottle-blonde in a black halter dress and spike heels, who Y/N introduced as Laura. ("She's Matt's ex-wife," Y/N later disclosed. "He's been trying to win her back since I moved to Gotham.") Both shook Arthur's hand when he offered it, and he felt a little thrill whirl his stomach when Y/N laid claim to him by telling the woman, "This is my husband."

A collection of appetizers served as dinner, a fun and novel menu. The slow cooker meatballs Y/N and he had lugged over on the subway were a bit tangy; he still couldn't believe the recipe called for grape jelly. The deviled eggs with paprika, a pleasant mix of savory and sweet, was a dish he'd heard about on television. Cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches were light and airy, a good match for his iced tea. Only the artichoke and spinach dip gave him pause. Its beans and hot sauce made his taste buds wince.

That unpleasant flavor was quickly forgotten when Y/N pulled him to sit next to her on the sofa, so Patricia could open her presents. She proudly showed off the orange, clay ashtray her grandson had made for her. Arthur, having successfully kept the secret of her light smoking from Y/N, chuckled at Patricia fibbing she'd put candy in it. She thanked Matt and Laura for the champagne, wrapped in a silver bow with a simple "Happy Birthday" tag. The bottle wasn't popped. Upon peeking into the large giftbag Y/N placed on her lap, she made a soft sound. The Dazey whirlpool bath, which attached to the side of the tub and had three strength settings, was a hit. She announced her plans to try it in the morning. The dark blue Rexbuilt briefbag was intended to replace her cracked, leather briefcase, Y/N explained. Patricia ran her fingertips along the expanding inner compartments, the personalized planner that included the credential "CLA" after her name, and flipped through the included steno pads, eyes brimming.

She sipped at her cocktail and put an arm around Y/N. Melancholy tinged Patricia's voice. "At my age, the people in your life tend to stay the people in your life. Whether you like them or not." She reached further and patted Arthur's knee. "I'm glad an old dame like me gets to call you all friends." His throat clenched in gratification, though he wasn't daring enough to squeeze her hand and thank her for deciding he was a friend.

Still on top of the world an hour later, Arthur sauntered to the red and white enamel dining table to serve himself a second slice of upside-down pineapple cake. The evening had gone well, better than a guy with a natural inability to mingle could've expected. He bobbed his head to the beat of "Come Fly with Me." It was a happy coincidence that Patricia's taste in music aligned with his. She'd regaled him with tales of seeing Sinatra and Count Basie on her and Robert's honeymoon in Vegas. Arthur took a bite absentmindedly, wondering how long it would take for him to save the money to surprise Y/N with plane and concert tickets.

The daydreaming didn't last long. Matt's plodding footsteps preceded him, followed by a long sigh as he propped himself on the beige stone of the dining area's accent wall, across from the u-shaped kitchen. He held out a Budweiser and smirked. "Marriage is a hell of a lot of work."

Pleased that he was being treated like one of the guys, like a regular husband with a regular relationship who got to speak about his regular wife, Arthur accepted the beer and considered the comment. Matt's sentiment was hard to grasp. Dr. Sally had said marriage could be difficult, and Y/N's first hadn't survived the ripples of her life. But it didn't feel like work with her. Their arguments were minor. Her nagging him to find a primary doctor for annual check-ups, even though he'd survived this long without one. Or back in Missouri, when he'd told her to stop shielding him and trust he could take anything she had to give.

Arthur adopted a similar nonchalant posture and jutted his hip against the table's edge. "I like it. It's easy to take good care of her." He wasn't able to completely erase the smugness of success from his tone.

"You're what? Two years in with the most headstrong woman in Gotham? She's great and all, but she spikes my blood pressure." Matt slapped Arthur's back and let out a hearty guffaw. "Give it five more and you'll be in my office trying to avoid alimony."

"Don't. Say that." Arthur crinkled the can in his grip and glared up at him.

"Hey," Matt started, withdrawing even as he tried diplomacy. "It was just a joke. I didn't mean anything by it."

Flinching, pulling at the cuffs of his red sweater, Arthur fought the surge of anger in his veins. It wouldn't do to lose control and cause a scene. Of course Matt's comment about them splitting up was supposed to be a joke. But Arthur didn't find it one bit funny. Even with his complete faith in her and his firm belief that they were meant to be together, the possibility that she'd stop wanting him hurt. It didn't occur to him that the implication of the punchline could be that he'd get sick of Y/N.

With a muttered apology, Matt walked to the others in the kitchen. Arthur glanced over to see her laugh tipsily, until she grabbed her stomach and swatted Patricia's shoulder, a stark demonstration of how much he and Y/N differed. She always knew how to respond to people, the right comebacks. Appropriate timing and levels of interaction. It seemed she was in her natural element, the loveliest swan on a lake. Whereas after years of therapy and practice with her, he was still a fish out of water, flopping around on the shoreline in hopes some stranger would take pity on him and throw him back into the sea.

Maybe that was the real punchline. Eventually their contrasts would no longer complement each other and instead become a chore.

Scowling, he ambled towards the record player stationed before two double-hung windows. Increased the volume to drown out the intrusive notions. It didn't really work. He settled on a grounding technique he'd practiced, all the while lamenting that he couldn't handle a party without needing it. His attention went to the spinning LP, the needle following its grooves. The bright blue album cover, where Ol' Blue Eyes beckoned him, the scuff marks on the cardboard's corner edges. He acknowledged the spider plants sat on the windowsill, worried a papery leaf until it broke off. He stared out the window, taking in the whole of the city. Pinpricks of light dazzling in the darkness.

"Gotham's beautiful at night," Y/N said from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to watch her approach. Her cheeks glowed with alcohol and good cheer, the collar of her ivory blouse unbuttoned. "There's a life behind every light out there. Ten million of them. Here. Try this." She offered her hurricane glass, filled with an off-white slush.

He sipped the pina colada with cautious skepticism and grimaced as soon as it hit his tongue. The blend of pineapple and coconut tasted of cheap sunscreen and tropical imitations, the kind advertised in smudged brochures for bad cruises to islands with made up sounding names. "No, thanks."

Snorting, she shrugged and embraced his back at the waist. "How are we doing?" she asked, curling into his side. After a few seconds, she prodded him. "Had your fill of Matt?"

"He was just joking." Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.  She set the drink next to the record player and brought her hand to his, trailed it over the inside of his wrist, up his forearm. She pecked his chin and nudged him until he turned to her. As soon as their gazes met, the concern in hers told him she'd continue to pepper him with questions. But he wasn't about to let his misplaced doubts spoil her evening. And he knew the perfect way to distract them both.

A new song started. An oldie that sang of Jupiter and Mars, playfulness among the stars. He cupped her cheek, thumb sweeping the corner of her mouth. "Dance with me," he said. Before accepting his proffered palm, she laid a sloppy kiss on him. With a flutter of her eyelashes, she grinned, and his smile grew to match her own. As he held her side, led her in a slow, swaying circle, he marveled at her. At her ability to soothe every molecule, every lingering ache. Self-assurance welled in him, chased away his earlier dejection. He cradled her to his lanky frame, trembled and felt himself blush. She was the only woman for him. That was as certain as his cigarette habit.

Despite Patricia's reassurances she was fine, that Robert working late wasn't unusual, Y/N insisted on staying until he got home. Though Arthur would have preferred they take their leave an hour earlier, being allowed to smoke inside blunted his grumbling. The disarming flirtations she bestowed on him also didn't hurt. She'd pour herself a drink (four in total, if he counted correctly), help Patricia make a plate of leftovers for her husband, then throw him a wink. Whisper and cackle while cleaning, then kiss his temple.

Around midnight, Patricia put her foot down. Ushered them out with a promise to call and a hug fierce enough to crush his ribs. She raised a brow at Y/N's unsteady gait, grasped Arthur's arm, and said with a wry, tired smile, "Make sure you put that woman straight to bed." His dark brows shot up and held. Had she intended a pun? Or had Y/N's spare caresses caused the interpretation? Either way, he liked being trusted to take care of her. And the hint of arousal that flared in his belly.

By the time they stumbled into their apartment, that arousal had reduced to a dull exhaustion. She kicked off her heels on the way to the bathroom, calling a slurred "night!" as she closed the door. Yawning, he put dish soap and hot water in the crockpot, scrubbed burned bits of sauce from its rim, turned it upside down on a towel to dry. Once he'd brushed his teeth for one minute rather than the recommended two, he tossed his sweater, trousers, briefs, and socks in the hamper, and went to the bedroom. He found his blue pajamas in their usual spot, the chair in the corner, and slid them up his skinny but toned legs. Tucked in next to her, he was carried to sleep on waves of fatigue and her quiet, wet snoring.

~~~~~

A tickle threatened to rouse him. Whispers along the waistband of his bottoms. Heat snuggled his back. Delightfully drowsy, he cuddled deeper into cozy, cream-color sheets, already returning to a pleasant, dreamless slumber. But a rumble of exhaust, likely from a bus that needed a new muffler, dragged him to consciousness. Arthur grumbled and tucked his arm under his pillow, not ready to transition to a world of overcrowding and concrete, commotion and bad jokes.

Yet, Y/N's insistent grazes continued, luring him with promises of placid pleasure. Her toes wiggled at his heel until he made space for her to slip her foot between his ankles. The corner of his mouth quirked. He was reminded of last night's playfulness, her endless teasing. The way he'd held the crockpot as a shield to fend off her advances on the train home, her forwardness to the point that he would've preferred having a laminated card to present on her behalf. Forgive my wife: she has a condition. It causes frequent and uncontrollable displays of affection.

Nimble fingers edged lower, loosened the tie of his pajamas before dipping beneath the loose elastic to lace through his dark brown curls, darker than the chestnut hair on his head. Her knuckles ran over him, lazy caresses full of intent. Up and down, up and down. Delicate. Deliberate. The blood racing to his groin, the pleasant swelling, made his abdomen twitch. Soon full and heavy, the sensitive tip straining the cotton seams, he pressed his lips together. When she skimmed the tender skin resting on his inner thigh, he flexed the muscle at the base of his erection. It bobbed and hit her wrist and she let loose a girlish giggle, more intoxicating than wine.

With her left leg draped over him at the knee, she undulated against his rear. Plush lips brushed the boney knobs of his spine, damp breath fanned the nape of his neck, labored, needy. Pebbled nipples grazed his back through the thin nylon of her nightgown, taunting and compelling. He made up his mind to throw an arm around her, to yank her on top of him. To eagerly take part in her seduction.

But she withdrew from his bottoms to palm his stomach and plant a gentle kiss to the shell of his ear, whispering, "Sleep tight." The mattress shifted and she rolled away from him. He furrowed his brows. She rarely relented this easily - other times he'd awakened, hard and aching, enveloped by the captivating wetness of her mouth. What was she up to?

Covers rustled. Her calf bumped his. And the opposite of what he'd assumed occurred. Instead of light footfalls leading out of the room, there was silence, silence that seemed to stretch on and on...

Until a hitched gasp gave her away.

Touching herself. She was touching herself. She'd just been all over him, acted like he was some sort of model on the cover of Vue magazine, and now she was touching herself. Right beside him! Ecstatic to have inspired such brazenness, he grinned and fisted the pillow. Her fleeting, stifled moans tangled him in knots, implored him to give her what they both burned for.

He flipped in her direction, his hand shooting under the sheet to grab hers. "Gotcha."

Eyes wide, she gaped at him in surprise. But adoration softened her expression as she entwined their fingers. "How long have you been awake?" she asked.

"Long enough."

He stretched to rewind the shades, the diaphanous curtains staying in place. Sunlight diffused over them, wrapped around her face, lent her disheveled hair a warm luster. He twirled a feathered lock and pecked her eyelids. "Finishing what you started on the subway, hm?"

"Me?" Y/N brought his knuckles to her mouth.  "You're the one who came to bed without any underwear."

"Well, it was a late night." The pad of his thumb tugged at her bottom lip to reveal the pink tip of her tongue. He bent to claim it. "I was lucky to find my pajamas."

Chuckling, she broke their connection. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah. The cake was good. And the music. Everyone was nice."

"Patricia loved having you there. She thought you were very sweet." A pause as she mapped a dimple. "Matt said he'd upset you. Something stupid about breaking up?"

Vague shadows of discomfort flashed through Arthur, a frustration he'd mostly moved on from. He did his best to ignore it, waving her concern away. "Don't worry about it."

"He was just jealous, you know." Her nails ran along the small of his back. "He wants Laura to look at him the way I look at you."

Arthur had spent so much of his life yearning for change, to understand his purpose in the world and improve himself. The idea that a man with a good education, a successful career, and no disabilities could ever be jealous of him was, frankly, bizarre. But he didn't correct Y/N, instead locking her praise within his heart, preserving it for when he needed it most. He boosted himself on his forearm and fiddled with her V-neck, traced its button loops as he slipped the plastic knobs through them. "And how's that?'

A hint of scandal glimmered in her irises. She arched into him as he eased a strap down her upper arm to reveal her shapely breast, the lilac fabric momentarily catching on its taut peak. "Like I can't get enough of you."

He huffed at that, fondled her faintly before his lips met the velvety skin of her chest. A tonic comprised of the musk oil she'd dabbed on before the party and distinct sexual wanting wafted to his nostrils. He licked at her nipple, the bumps on her areola, and drew it between his teeth. She whined softly and lifted the bottom of her nightdress to her waist.

Hurriedly, he yanked on the waistband of her cotton panties, pushed them past her knees. She kicked them off while he knelt to lower his bottoms. Straddling her, he pumped himself back to hardness and opened the drawer of her nightstand. He searched haphazardly until he retrieved a small, glass bottle of lubricant. (She'd ordered it from a mail catalog, both of them a bit too bashful to walk into an adult shop, even together.)

She snagged it from him and poured half a teaspoon in her hand, then palmed herself. He moved between her legs and she grasped his length, coating him with the warm, slippery liquid. He pushed forward into her. Gradually, slowly, savoring every millimeter of her enticing heat. He noted the stretch of her mouth, the jut of her jaw, the lifting of her upper lip. "Mmm..." she breathed and begged him to keep going. When he did, her head tilted back into the pillow, eyelids falling shut. A smile cut across her cheeks as she purred her satisfaction. "Arthur, I love you."

His touch wandered down the curve of her thigh. At the sight of her subtle writhing beneath him, the sway of her slightly uneven breasts in time with his languid thrusts, he pushed her knee into the mattress, splayed her wider. He grunted lowly. "Look at me."

Their gazes met but didn't hold for long; hers dropped to where they were joined. She caressed right above his pubic bone. "I love seeing you like this." Her fingertips walked a line up his sternum to his chest. "And touching you like this." She wrapped her arms around his middle and drew him to her, locked their lips in a greedy kiss. "And making love like this."

He snorted. "I think this is the only reason you married me."

"Well, not the only reason. There's your good hair, too."

"I've been thinking about cutting it. Trying something new."

"Don't you dare." She tugged at his loose curls, wore her best pout. "What else would I hold onto when we're doing this?"

Laughing lightly, he bumped his nose to hers. Falling into her was like falling into his old fantasies, the ones that'd sustained him through years of isolation. Dates at diners, at comedy clubs, at donut shops, at home. Their shapes had changed as he'd matured, his role in them, his aspirations and infatuations. But they'd remained a warm comfort nonetheless, a place that felt like belonging. And now he belonged with her. Hunger filled him. Happiness. And love. So much love, more than he'd ever believed he'd carried in him. He bucked a little harder. "You feel so good," he murmured. "You make me feel so good."

A strained cry left her and her pelvis answered his steady rhythm with demands of its own. Her calves rose to squeeze him closer, encircle his narrow hips. They were pressed together so tightly; it felt like they were one flesh. He never wanted it to stop. But a dizzying euphoria had ignited, one that eclipsed the romantic yearnings of his heart, twisting his desire to last all morning into the desperate drive to possess her. Gasping, Arthur raised himself to his knees, delving deeper with each push. Their foreheads met and he grit his teeth at the scald of her, the texture of her walls. She fit as though she'd been made for him.

He supposed she was.

Pressure began in the base of him, building and building in terrific torment. The muscles of his inner thighs contracted inward. Tingling climbed his shaft, his tailbone, his spine. He wove his fingers into the sheet, his grip a vise that wrested its corner from the mattress. She kissed the spot where his jaw met his neck, all the while murmuring encouragements for him to let himself go.

Bliss shot through him, from the tips of his toes to the follicles on his scalp, and his back stiffened as he whimpered and poured into. Fever engulfed his frame, sublime in its frenzy, leaving him in a heady stupor. Aftershocks made him tremble. Once, twice. Until, sated and spent, he landed on top her. He closed his eyes, ribs rising and falling as he forced air into his lungs.

A minute later, he swallowed and looked down at her. "You didn't come."

She carded through his sweaty locks. "It's all righ-"

"Shh." He slid out of her and settled at her side, reached between her legs to swipe at her core. "I'm not done," he declared, tracing the edges of her entrance, slick and swollen. One of his favorite things about getting her off was demonstrating his prowess in bed, how well he'd learned with her. His thumb met her plump clitoral hood, and he felt her throb beneath his ministrations.

Nails biting his bicep, she rocked upwards. A bewitching blush crept up her breast, her neck, spread across her cheeks. Shallow pants hit his face, short puffs suffused with high-pitched whines, utterly irresistible. He circled her nub at a steady cadence, tapping when she'd shiver, and she clasped the back of his hand. He swirled his tongue around her nipple, sucked the pretty peak, and lowered the other strap of her nightgown to bare her completely. A hushed plea fell from her lips. "Please, please..."

Suddenly, her vulva grew white hot and she seized, her hips stuttering with each flutter of his touch to her folds. She thrusts her breasts towards him, a sharp moan caught in her throat. Liquid pooled against his fingers, proof of her rapture that made him wish, with mild amusement, that he could be an unmedicated young man again. He would've gladly taken her a second time.

Giggling and rubbing her temple, she released a long exhale and opened her eyes. He brushed her hair back and grinned, completely smitten, like the first time he'd heard a joke and understood the punchline. The light brown picture frame on his nightstand caught his attention, and he regarded the wallet size photo in it, one of the shots of Y/N from the booth at Amusement Mile. The last thing he looked at before turning in each night. He lay his head her shoulder and hummed, listened to the drum of her heart.

She smooched his hairline and wriggled out from beneath him to stand. Her nightie had been reduced to a crumpled stripe of lilac cinched about her waist. It felt tawdry and shameless and he wanted to see her in it for the rest of the weekend. But she peeled it down her legs, wrinkling her nose when it got stuck on her thighs, and stepped out of it one foot at a time. She dropped it on the floral bedspread and retrieved her bathrobe from the closet. "Meet you in the kitchen," she said, opening the door.

The sun had risen higher, its beams slanting across the covers. He basked in it, catlike, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He pulled on his pajamas, got a new pair of socks from their dresser, and made his way to the kitchen. He washed off the remnants of Y/N's arousal from his fingers, popped open a prescription bottle and took a tablet. He poured water into the coffeemaker, grabbed the can of grounds from the second shelf, added three scoops to the paper filter. Their three-tone brown mugs sat in their spot next to the machine, waiting to be filled.

When the glass coffeepot was half full, Y/N emerged from the bathroom, chuckling to herself. She opened the breadbox on the opposite counter and took out a wax paper bag. "Do you have any idea how dull this morning would have been if we'd never met? I'd have read the Sunday paper, had a drink. Probably worked on a file." He handed her a couple dessert plates, watched her put a donut on each one. "I wonder where you'd be. What woman you'd have breakfast with, what jokes you'd be writing, what magic tricks you'd have learned."

"Um..." At first he wanted to ask where this speculation had come from, if Matt had let her in on exactly what he'd said. But the confident slant of her smirk told Arthur she was teasing. He tried to play along but winced. No matter how appealing, how extraordinary she found him, his gut told him there wouldn't have been another woman. There'd be no more stand-up routines, no more Carnival. He certainly wouldn't be taking care of Penny. He'd likely be locked up in the hospital, maybe even dead. Without an anchor, his life would have lost what little sense it had.

Y/N was one of his anchors now, hooked into the sand alongside his material, treatment, the ability to pay bills. He seized her hand and squeezed it tight, unaware he was squishing her fingers. "I don't wanna think about it," he said quietly.

She sidled up to him and pulled him to her side. Rubbed his flank soothingly and pecked the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry." She took his chin and guided him to look at her. The intimate comfort of her smile helped him believe her next words, even before she spoke them. "I'll always be here."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @fakestreet​ @ralugraphics​​ @iartsometimes​

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck smut #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x female reader #arthur fleck x ofc #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

[yougotthat-write]

Cold (Rafael Barba x Reader)

Word Count: 1,200+

Warnings: Angst; takes place during/after Rafael's last episode (The Undiscovered Country) and the case involved, no major spoilers or details but takes place around the events; also no "happy" ending because I'm lazy :)

Summary: Rafael finds himself needing to leave New York and there's nothing you can do to stop him.

Read on AO3 here!

***

An East Coast winter wasn’t for the weak of heart, soul, or mind. Long days filled with bitter coldness, crunchy snow, and very little sun to rattle everyone’s happy hormones seemed to make everyone miserable. Sure, the holiday season would occupy people with gifts, gatherings, and pretty decorations, but after the new year, the warmth would be extinguished with the endless snowstorms. The winters for you felt even more frigid ever since he left the city.

Rafael Barba came into your life like a wrecking ball that consisted of a sharp tongue, crisp suits, and beautiful emerald eyes. Thanks to the constant shuffling A.D.A.s that Special Victims was going through, Rafael had been sought out to deal with a particular case and ever since, was deemed the go-to A.D.A. for sex crimes. Prosecutors who handled the cases for your team typically started out like the typical stereotypes that everyone had about lawyers - cold, distant, blunt, all about the facts. But once the empathetic tendrils of Captain Olivia Benson and her squad of crime fighters encased whichever A.D.A. was deemed theirs, that prosecutor would slowly find themselves becoming more empathetic, but also more angry.

Angry at the system.

Angry at the laws.

Angry at the world.

When the Householder case had come into Barba’s orbit, it had finally pushed him over the limit of what he could handle. The whirlwind of what he did hitting the news cycle and the fact that he was going to be put on trial made your lungs short of breath and your chest felt like you had been roundhouse kicked.

This was the second scariest moment in your life. If Rafael Barba was found guilty, then he could go to jail. The night before the verdict was announced, you were both sitting on his living room floor. The light hum of his heater filled the air. Back pressed against the couch, you looked over his features slowly. He was frozen in his place, staring at the wall ahead of him, eyes glassy.

Your gaze lingered on his hair. Now flattened from constantly running his hand through it. Whenever he had to speak with his defense attorney, Rafael had to physically restrain himself from quipping back at Dworkin in annoyance. The lines in his forehead seemed to get deeper with each passing day. His eyes - god, his beautiful eyes didn’t have that shine to them anymore. Whether it be of pride or playfulness, they were now a dull green. Still beautiful, but just not as bright. His lips were seemingly always pursed or pressed into a straight line. Tight lipped. You couldn’t remember the last time he smiled a genuine happy smile.

Your gaze continued down his jaw. It was clenched. To soften it, your hand reached up and your fingers caressed his cheek. There was the softest hint of stubble. He would shave it in the morning before heading back to the courthouse.

When your hand touched his skin, his eyes fluttered close. You saw his Adam apple bob. You felt tears prick your eyes but you blinked them away. You felt his tears hit your fingers before you saw them. You turned his face towards you, your thumb trying to wipe away the salty droplets. When he finally opened his eyes with a shaky breath, that’s when your tears fell down your face.

One of his hands rested over the one on his cheek and the other went to your hair, pulling you to him and pressing your foreheads together. The two of you shook with sobs. Your heart thudded against your ribs, threatening to burst through. You and Rafael spent the rest of the night tangled together. You needed to touch him, kiss him, hold him.

The scariest moment of your life surprisingly wasn’t when the jury came back from deliberating for a few days with a verdict. When the foreperson said those words of not guilty, the tears started again. Olivia pulled you into a hug, her own eyes watery. You reached over the short gallery wall, grabbing Rafael’s hand and giving it a squeeze. When Liv let you out of her grasp, he pulled you in for his own hug. It was awkward with the wall and Dworkin yapping away about how Rafael really had nothing to worry about.

The actual scariest moment in your life was later on after the trial. News of Rafael’s resignation to the D.A.’s office had made it rounds. You were certainly surprised, but you understood the decision. You had just pushed through his apartment door with a celebratory takeout dinner and found Rafael standing by the large windows in his living room, looking out into the busy city. He had a glass of scotch in his hand.

He didn’t turn when you came into the room, telling him of the dinner you just lugged home in the bitter Autumn air. You saw his shoulders, squared and tense. He shot back the rest of his drink before turning. His tongue flicked over his bottom lip before he spoke.

“I’m leaving.”

Your brow furrowed as you jerked a thumb over your shoulder, “What about dinner?”

“I’m leaving the city.”

“Right now?”

“This week.” Your mouth opened again to ask another question but he spoke again, “I’m leaving the city. Probably even the state. I need… I can’t stay here.”

There was a long pause. You shifted on your feet and you intertwined your fingers together. “H-how long will you be gone?”

Rafael’s eyes bore into yours, “I don’t know.” He took a step over to his bar area, setting the empty glass there before making his way towards you. He was slow in his movements, like you were a small and skittish animal he found in the woods. You watched him with wide eyes as your mind tried to process his words and his train of thought. You finally spoke when his hands rested on your shoulders, giving a small squeeze. It could be looked at as a soothing action, when in actuality he was holding you still in case you decided to run off.

“What about us?” Your voice was quiet.

You watched Rafael’s face. He was choosing his words wisely. He was always so quick with his thoughts but recently, he’d been thinking them through longer and harder. “I love you,” he breathed, “and I don’t want you to uproot your whole life for me. No criminal deserves that-”

“-you were found not guilty-”

His hands moved to encase your cheeks, shushing you. He stepped closer, bodies pressing against each other. “I need to do this. The city is… tainted for me. This whole thing will loom over me for years and I-” A tear sped down his left cheek and he took a shaky breath, “I need to start over.”

“Without me?” You croaked. Rafael’s eyes squeezed shut so he didn’t have to watch you cry but he felt them spill over his fingers.

“I’ll come back.” He mumbled. “I don’t know when but I will.” He opened his eyes again and looked at you with a mix of adoration and heartbreak. Your throat was dry and you felt light headed. You pushed your body into him and wrapped your arms around his torso. His arms encased you once he realized what was happening and pressed his lips to your hair. His voice was muffled, “I don’t expect you to wait for me. Frankly, I don’t think I deserve it.”

He left eight days later.

#raúl esparza #raul esparza #rafael barba drabble #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba fic #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #rafael barba #rafael barba angst #svu fanfiction #svu fic #law and order fanfiction #law and order #law and order svu #law & order: svu #this is also not edited #:))) #esparz-uh

[nagitoandkokichioneshots]

Nagito X Reader comfort fic

Mod Mikan: So....I was craving a Nagito x Reader comfort fic and what better way to express my Nagito simp ass through writing a comfort story? I’ve had my fair share of dreaded surgeries throughout my life and since my SO irl has been there to comfort me, I thought I’d do the same for my fictional husbando. Ik this isn’t my best, I was kinda distracted today, but I still wanted to get this out. Enjoy! :)

Tw: Hospitals, waking up from surgery, some graphic human anatomy descriptions

“I’m scared, Nagito,” (Y/N) frowned, hugging their arms. Their nails dug into the fabric of the green jacket that belonged to Nagito. But really, it would be easier to call it (Y/N)’s jacket, considering how much Nagito let them wear it. He knew that it put them to ease and his scent and gentle touch would help them relax. He was surprised that someone like him would be able to calm down his precious ray of hope, but he wasn’t one to argue with them. After all, anything they wanted, Nagito would happily do everything he can for them

Speaking of Nagito, the white haired male brought his pale hand towards their cheek, brushing a stray lock of (H/C) hair behind their ear, his thumb stroking the plush skin. He flashed his typical gentle smile, taking in the warmth that radiated from the cheek underneath his skinny fingers, being absorbed into his poor insulated body temperature. God, how much he loved their warmth

“You have nothing to worry about, my hope. You’re so strong and so amazing. I know that you’re going to get through his surgery with ease. And I’ll be here for you when you wake up, okay?” His comforting words fell from his lips, the long thumb of his right hand never stopping the tender circles that were rubbing into (Y/N)’s skin. Nagito blushed, his green eyes darting away from his lover for a second, only to turn back to them to see their eased reaction. Nagito confessed he wasn’t the best at comforting people, but little did he realize that he was quite the peacemaker--especially when it came to his beloved hope

This statement was further proven when a similar kind smile tugged at (Y/N)’s lips, barely succeeding in holding back the sweet tears that had yet to break through the damn that was built between the tear ducts in their (E/C) eyes. They wrapped their arms around Nagito’s skinny frame, their smile pressing against his T-shirt. Nagito let out a small gasp, nevertheless, returned the hug by locking his arms around the love of his life

However, the hug was cut short as the swinging of double doors and soft thump of hospital booties signaled that the surgeon was finished preparing the operating room and ready for (Y/N) (L/N). She swiftly pulled her clipboard from the front of the room, tapping the patient on their shoulder. (Y/N) turned around to see the doctor that had yet to operate on them

“(Y/N) (L/N), I assume?” She asked her, earning a nod from them. She took this as a sign to continue with inviting them into the room “We are ready whenever you are. I am terribly sorry, but your boyfriend will have to wait outside until we are done,” She stated, receiving an identical nod from the previous one (Y/N) gave her. They turned back to Nagito, but before they could greet him off, he pressed a small kiss on their forehead, his patient smile never leaving his handsome features

“I’ll be waiting, my love. You’re gonna do so well, I know it. And after, I plan to spoil you rotten. But only if you allow someone like me the honors,” He winks, crossing his arms. (Y/N) just blushed, their flustered face approval enough for the luckster. With a shaky breath, (Y/N) made their way into the operating room, their heart thumping as if it would come out of their chest mixed with the nervousness from the upcoming operation and Nagito’s plans to make them feel better post surgery

*****************************************************************************************************

So it has come down to this

An hour later, the pale-skinned male was sitting on an empty chair in the waiting room. The area was relatively empty, allowing the other chairs to be free for Nagito to set the shopping bags down near him. He has brought a variety of jewelry, sweets, pillows, fuzzy blankets, stuffed animals, warm compresses, and even aroma therapy candles with felt candle holders for his hope once the operation was over. The clerk even gave him a shocked look, mixed with some confusion as he had trouble lugging all the bags into the waiting room

Then again, his purpose in life was to bring that over so hopeful smile he loved so much on his hope

The luckster knew exactly what his lover liked, so shopping didn’t take long. He was killing the remainder amount of time with reading a novel, smiling to himself. He was paying more attention to his own thoughts, rather than to the words on the page, if he was being honest

My hope is such a brave fighter. They’re gonna do great. And I can’t believe that I’ll be the one helping them recover after it. This is exciting! I--

“Komaeda-san?!”

The white-haired male was snapped out of his thoughts, turning his head to the doctor that rushed up to him. It wasn’t the same surgeon that showed (Y/N) into the operating room an hour ago, but judging from the similar scrubs he was wearing, it was safe to assume he was a part of the operating team that was performing the appendectomy

“Huh? What is it, sir?” Nagito asked the doctor, a worried expression plastered on his face. Some sweat was already rolling down from his forehead and temples, as he got up and held his hand out towards him. The doctor bit his lip, before replying with something that made the already unsettling atmosphere around drop even further

“It’s (L/N)-san. They...woke up during mid operation. They’re thrashing and panicking. If we can’t calm them down, we can’t reapply the anesthesia back on. You are their boyfriend, right? Please calm them down,” The doctor practically pleaded the last part with a hint of concern lacing his words. Nagito didn’t need to be told twice, as he just nodded, following the doctor inside the operating room. The Ultimate luckster hurriedly power walked towards the operating bed, and while his composure was typically calm and patient, it took all his willpower to suppress the paranoia that was flowing through his veins

“NAGITO!!!” A scream of his name flooded the operating room, as (Y/N)’s eyes fell upon their boyfriend, tears streaming down their face. The power walk that Nagito strutted previously quickly turned into running, as he rushed to his lover’s side, kneeling down. His long fingers swiped the fat tears that ran down their face, earning sniffles leaving their nostrils. He frowned, pressing delicate kisses on their forehead and temples. He pulled away after the short series of kisses, pressing his forehead against theirs, his hot brath fanning over their tear stained face

“Oh my hope. My love. My angel. Shush now, shhhh, calm down,” He cooed softly, bringing his whole hand up to repeat the process of stroking their cheek like he did prior to the operation. His heart almost cracked as he was given another set of sniffles and low whimpers of discomfort as (Y/N) expressed their dissatisfaction

“It hurts....It feels so p-painful, Nagito. I...I....” (Y/N)’s blubbering and stammering for a proper choice of words in the dire situation was stopped by Nagito hushing them, his hands rubbing their cheek up and down in an attempt to relax them

“I know, my hope, I know. They’re going to put the anesthesia back on, but you need to calm down for that, okay? Just breath. Listen to my heart and breath,” He took one of their hands that was sticking out from the hospital tarp and held it close to him. He squeezes their hand gently, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss on it. This earned a small smile to form on (Y/N)’s face, but only for a split second as they winced in pain and discomfort again. Nagito was internally beating himself up, believing his luck was the cause of them waking up

Because of you they’re hurting. All you do is hurt them. They sacrificed so much for you and asked for such little in return. And you put them in danger like this? This is how you repay them?

All these negative thoughts flooded Nagito’s mind, almost ready to burst out through his mouth and start self-deprecate himself, as expected. He knew how much you hated it when he talked down about himself, but there was nothing in his brain that told him “Now’s not the time”. He started to squeak out a sound that resembled an “I” but he was cut off my the doctors motioning for him to talk to them. Nagito shook his head from what he was going to say to planting one last kiss on (Y/N)’s hand

“I’ll be right back, (Y/N). Try to breath,” He cooed, going over the doctor. The same surgeon that informed Nagito about the problem frowned and tapped his clipboard, silently telling him that their initial plan for putting (Y/N) back under anesthesia was no good anymore

“We have ran out of the required dose to put (L/N)-san back to sleep. We need to finish the operation, but I am terribly sorry: They will need to be awake for this. Can you keep them distracted?” He asked Nagito, earning a nod from the white haired male. Nagito looked down, racking his brain for a solution to help in anyway. He turned back to the doctor, an “aha” expression plastered on his pale face

“I read this book once were they used a spinal injection in the place of general anesthesia. Since you are removing their appendix, the heavy work is all done in the lower region. Would that work?” He offered, earning a surprised facial reaction from the doctor. Nevertheless, this only lasted for a second, as he was lost in thought for a split second before nodding in agreement. He gestured for the other members of the surgery team and explained Nagito’s idea to them

“You mean a lidocaine? That could work, but the effects only last two hours, probably even less,” One doctor, who Nagito recognized as the lead surgeon that lead (Y/N) into the room to begin with, chimed in with the potential problem. Nagito rested his chin underneath his finger, looking down with how to word the next inquiry

“What else is there left to do?” He asked, making a third doctor flip through the papers that were attached to another clipboard. He snapped his head up to Nagito, a relieved expression painted on his face

“All we have to do is close the appendix incision and stitch them back up,” He answered, nodding towards his colleagues to get the spinal injections ready. Nagito took this as a gesture to return back to his previous actions, which made him kneel once again at your side, cupping your cheeks in his hands. As you were forced to look into his ghostly green eyes, he told you their plan

“Angel, listen closely. The doctors are going to give you an injection in your back. You’re gonna feel numb for a few hours, but you’re not gonna feel anything, okay?” He said in a nurturing manner, making you nod but writhe in pain again. He bit his lip, failing at an attempt to soothe you. He racked his brain, jumping over the self-deprecation that he normally did to compare your hopefulness to how disgusting he was. He knew that didn’t help when you were feeling gloomy. Since you and Nagito were dating for quite some time, he had experience with what can restore that smile he loved so much. Moving one hand towards your hand and hold it, the other still stroking your cheek, he flashed a humorous smile in your direction, as he started to distract you from the doctors turning you to your side

“Hey, (Y/N)? Did you ever tell you the story of how Chiaki tricked Hajime into going to Anime Con with her? She told me that she bet Hajime that he couldn’t chug a whole carton of orange juice under a minute. He, being a stubborn guy, accepted it. After Chiaki got her timer out, he--.....” As Nagito begin to ramble on about the famous story of “Good boyfriend Hajime accompanies his girlfriend to Anime Con” (Y/N) sucked in a breath as they felt s sharp needle being inserted into their vertebrae. With the clear liquid being shot into the veins belonging to the back, (Y/N) felt their lower regions being numb, the already cut insertion that revealed the pink muscle and organs being a thing of the past to worry about. The doctors begin to crowd around (Y/N) again, saved for the space were Nagito kept telling (Y/N) random stories, ranging from funny schemes about their classmates, to hope rants telling (Y/N) that they were so strong and they could get through anything. He expressed the hope that they possessed was so strong and they would be able to push through this as long as they believed in themselves, just he did always did

With a weak smile, (Y/N) placed all their focus on Nagito, their ears being flooded with kind messages and words that came from his heart, expressing that he believed in them. His talk about hope was deemed creepy in the eyes of others, but not in (Y/N)’s. They loved hearing how Nagito had so much faith and an immense amount of respect for them, as well as love

“You’re right, Nagito. I can do this....I know I can. As long as I have you...” A meek mantra of Nagito’s statements fell from his lips, making Nagito’s heart do a small backflip. He cracked an even wider smile, his eyes lighting up from the hope that fueled his love to keep going

“Now there’s the hope that I know and love. That’s the spirit, my hope. Everything is almost done. Come on....” He quietly cheered, not wanting to cause another panic attack to arise from (Y/N). Nagito’s encouraging words and motivational hope raves kept falling out, practically on autopilot, until the doctors pulled the last of the thread they were using to stitch (Y/N)’s stomach up, closing the incision. The lead doctor yanked the surgical tarp from the rest of the covered body, giving the happy couple a proud smile

“The operation was a success! You did well (L/N)-san. And Komaeda-san? Thank you. You did us a huge favor while comforting your lover,” She flashed a smile, handing him a clipboard. Nagito gave her a likewise smile, a serene feeling filling the air around the once intense hospital room. As the white-haired male gently helped his hope into the hospital bed, careful not to move them too harshly due to the raw feeling, fresh out of post-surgery, he signed the papers, handing them back to the surgeon

“It was my pleasure, Miss. Anything for my angel,” He ran a lithe hand through a field of (H/C) locks, earning a blush from his lover. He pressed a quick kiss on the crown of their head, more use to PDA since the beginning of their relationship. He turned back to the doctor, yearning for a closure

“You said the surgery was the success, right? How long are they going to have to stay here?” He asked, snatching a nearby chair, sitting down next to his lover

“A good two and three days. But it is normal, since we need to run a few tests to see if everything else is okay. Would you like to stay with them?” She asked, turning on the lights in the room. Nagito placed his hand over (Y/N)’s eyes, knowing damn well that they hated when a dark room filled with light fast. They tug a sweet smile on their face, earning a similar one from Nagito, followed by a question

“Do you want me to stay with you, hope? I have some presents for you,” He stated, earning a gasp from the (H/C) haired patient. They nodded rapidly, weakly motioning for him to bring himself in for a hug

“Naggie, of course. Stay with me, please,” They pleaded weakly, still feeling the aftereffects of fatigue that flooded through their system. Nagito shushed them one last time before informing the doctor they he will be staying with his lover. With an agreement between them, the doctor went to prepare some final papers for Nagito, leaving him alone with his angel. He turned to them, about to get up. However, he was cut off, feeling a hand wrap around his wrist

“Marshmallow? Where are you going?” (Y/N) asked them, tilting their head. God they looked so adorable, he thought to himself, before answering their question with his typical patient tone

“Oh, I’m just gonna go get your presents, (Y/N). Is that okay?” He raised the inquiry. (Y/N) looked at the bedsheets that were wrapped around them, before turning to him with a delightful, puppy eyed face that they both knew that he couldn’t say no to

“Well...I was hoping....maybe you can stay here with me for a few more minutes. Cuddle for a while?” They asked, hoping that Nagito would say yes. The light-skinned luckster wasn’t the only one that was lucky, knowing that he was weak and couldn’t say no to his angel. He grinned, bringing his lover close to his arms. Careful not to touch their lower regions, he hugged them close, tucking their head under his chin

“Anything for you, my adorable little hope. I’m so proud of you,”

#nagito x reader #nagito komaeda #nagito komeada kin #nagito headcanons #nagito oneshots #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa #danganronpa x y/n #danganronpa oneshot #danganronpa goodbye despair #DV2 #nagito drabble #sdr2 nagito #drv2 #drv2 goodbye despair #Nagito x you

[m-aster-of-spinjitzu]

orange and gold

...I just need more Cole and Vania content, they seem like they'd be great friends.

Basically it's just 'Cole goes to visit her there, they almost burn down the kitchen, and make way too many puns', lol.

Set a few months after Master of the Mountain, but before Seabound or The Island.

Also yeah, I couldn't think of a better title, sue me- I just know that they wear one of the colours at some point, so... 🤦‍♀️😂

Trigger warnings: none I think? Huh-

Also, bingo!! I really need to learn better time management, dear freaking gosh- I hope I'm not too late though? I know it's like half a day late, eek- and I was supposed to post this earlier, but I ended up literally falling asleep while writing it😂

Thank you so much Fabro, for hosting such a cool event!:D Your comments on my fics literally never fail to make my day<3. And I'm so glad that I met so many awesome, really skilled people through this event too - it's been a lot of fun working alongside y'all:D, I wish I'd had more time to interact instead of posting stuff and vanishing lol, but exams be like:////

Prompt: cooking (does baking count as cooking? I realized too late lol-) from @ninjago-bingo 's warm board.

Word Count: 2497

---

Trying to escape from killer dire-bats hadn't been on Cole's to do list today - although the mountains were kind of beautiful.

It was a bit difficult to see them while he was being dragged to his death, but hey, didn't Jay always tell them to be more positive?

That was, until he made the mistake of looking down.

Miles of snowcapped mountains touched the pastel blue sky, but he was more focused on exactly how high he was from the ground.

Great.

Trying to swing back onto the Bounty, he didn't notice a golden-winged blur shoot past the bat, almost dropping their spear in haste.

"Let my friend go, or I'll-"

"Vania?"

She throws the spear at the bird, successfully knocking one of its wings.

Huh. She must've been practicing - throwing with accuracy while flying seemed kinda difficult.

"I'm so sorry!" she replies, grabbing his arm before he fell down too. She winces at the strain on her wings, almost dropping him onto the deck. "I was supposed to come earlier, but there was an issue with one of the mines, and it took forever to-"

"There ain't anything in this world that's managed to kill me yet," he replies jokingly, checking that the autopilot hadn't been damaged. "I doubt an angry bird is going to be the first."

"Didn't you mention that you became a ghost once? Pretty sure that means you were dead-"

"Shh, that's not an important detail," he jokes.

"If you say so," she replies with a grin. "Did I mention that Chompy's been tearing down the palace flower arrangements again?"

"Send my regards to the gardener-"

"Did you just make a pun?"

"Remind me why I decided to visit you again?"

"Because you love me?" she asks stepping onto the ground as the Bounty landed gently.

"I hereby crown you as my platonic soulmate," Cole deadpans, taking her hand. "Vania and Cole-"

"Destined to annoy each other for eternity," she giggles, swinging their hands up and down. "But seriously - thanks. I don't think I realized how much work being a queen was."

"What's it like?"

"I mean - I'm glad that people trust me, and they come to me if they have a problem, but the paperwork is a nightmare. I never get to go outside anymore, I swear."

"Paperwork? Also, you just invited me here for a week. I don't wanna disturb you?"

"Nah, I cleared my schedule, don't worry. And trust me, you don't want to know. Everything requires some sort of official written thing, and it's so boring-"

"Official? But you're the queen?"

"Well, yeah, but I don't really want to change something unless it benefits the people. Not after..."

Her smile dims, eyes straying to the palace walls.

Oh- oh.

"You're nothing like him," Cole says firmly, squeezing her hand. "I mean, if you need to take a break, or you can make your job a bit easier by cutting out something unnecessary, that's just gonna help you become a better queen. You've definitely got the interests of your people at heart, and that's the most important thing, you know? And well, uh, everything seems to be going great so far - you don't have to beat yourself up over someone else's mistakes."

"Thanks," she replies softly, her smile slowly returning. "Speaking of breaks, what do you think we should do this time?"

"You could show me around the city again?"

"You've already seen everything cool," Vania giggles, skipping ahead of him. "We don't renovate much - unlike you guys-"

"Hey, it's not our fault that our city gets destroyed every few months-"

"More like every few days," she teases, tying back her golden hair. "How about we find some dragons to adopt?"

"Tempting, but where would you keep them?"

"They could sleep in my room-"

She breaks off when she notices him laughing. "What?"

"N- nothing," Cole replies, in between laughs. "Jay and I just made a bet."

"On what?"

"How many dragons you've adopted. I bet at least six, he bet fifteen."

"Well, jokes on both of you - I'm pretty sure my advisor's going to throw a fit if I show up with another one," she starts, giggling. "We've got twenty living in the palace right now."

"Twenty dragons?"

"They're so cute! You just look into their adorable little eyes," Vania pauses for breath, continuing her animated gesturing, "and you can't help but wanna hug them!"

"Oh, Jay's going to be so mad."

"Aww, I'm sorry guys. They're just too adorable!"

"...Wanna hear a funny story?"

"Yeah, sure!"

"I actually used to be terrified of dragons-"

"No way!" Vania exclaims. "Y'all have been on a lot of adventures though, so-"

"Nah, we used to have our own dragons at first. They were pretty cool! I just- I'm a simple guy! Huge animals with wings are scary up close when you're barely a teenager."

"Or when you're really short-"

"We're the same height!" Cole exclaims, facepalming in a bit of a fondly exasperated way.

"I'm two years younger than you-"

---

"Ugh, whose idea was this?"

"Yours," Vania grins, sitting down on the kitchen counter.

"You were supposed to help me, not leave me high and dry!" Cole accuses jokingly, staring at all the appliances they'd found in the cupboards.

"'One must always be prepared for new adventures,'" she quotes seamlessly, waving one of- what was his name again? Mulch something? Oh! Clutch! Some explorer he was, leaving them to die in the pyramid - Clutch Powers' books in the air.

"Fine," he sighs, staring at the old recipe book she'd found in one of their back cupboards. "But you've gotta help me? I almost burned down-" "Woah, what? If you finish that sentence with 'kitchen'-" "In my defense, Kai was playing a prank on me-" "In my defense, I wouldn't like to explain how the queen of Shintaro burnt down the palace by teaching one of her friends to cook," she grins, flipping through the pages. "What do you wanna start with?" "Something simple?" "Have you ever tried baking bread before? It's a lot of fun!" "I haven't really had the time, but that sounds kinda interesting."

He skims the recipe, raising his eyebrows. "Wait, why does this take hours? I thought you said it was simple?"

"Trust me, it is," she laughs, adding, "besides, I still wanna hear about all your adventures!" "Uh... okay," Cole replies hesitantly, "but if this fails, I'm so sorry." "Give yourself some credit, you guys literally saved the world! Multiple times!" "Bold of y'all to assume we know how we did it," he laughs, only half-kidding. "Besides. I botched soup once."

"I've botched toast," she mock-sighs, smiling. "Pretty sure that makes us even."

"Lemme get this straight. You've messed up toasting bread, but you can bake it from scratch?"

"Trust me, I don't know either," she giggles, trying to open a brightly coloured packet of... something? Did flour come in packets that small?

"Uh, why are you opening something called 'feast'?" he asks, eyebrows creased in confusion.

"Feast," she echoes, trying to stifle her laughter. "Off to a... rocky start, aren't we?"

It took him a second.

"I already regret this," he jokes, facepalming. "But I'd say that your puns are, uh, gold."

"I've un- unleashed-" breaking off, she half-falls off the counter, laughing so hard her face starts to go red, "a monster."

---

"Uh, is it supposed to look like that?" Cole asks, frowning.

The mixture looked less like the dough he'd been expecting - more like one of Jay's inventions gone wrong.

Badly wrong, he thought, eyes widening at the goopy mess of foam that threatened to spill over the jug.

"The yeast?" Vania echoes, poking her head out of one of the cupboards. "Yeah, all good! It always looks a little gross, and you're gonna doubt ever eating bread again, but at least it doesn't taste like it's fermented-"

"It's what?"

"Yeah," she grimaces, exaggerating her disgust a bit. "If aliens ever fell from the sky, they'd think we were crazy for eating bread-"

"Aliens? I think we're a bit crazy!" Cole exclaims, trying not to laugh.

Vania smiles, then sighs, lugging a huge bag of flour onto the counter. "I can never open these bags properly," she starts, eyeing the the bag a bit warily, "and it always makes such a huge mess all over the kitchen. You'd think they'd make it easier for people to use, right? I swear-"

He jokingly puts his hands over his ears. "I can't hear you!" "But you know that I've sworn off swearing-" she replies, breaking off with a laugh. "Pun not intended - that actually made sense in my head. I swear!"

"No," Cole interjects with a grin, shaking his head. "You don't, remember?"

"See, this is why we're friends-"

"Friends? Is that all I am to you?"

"Oh, be quiet," she shoots back, exaggeratedly dragging a hand down her face. "I mean, sure, just because everyone thinks that we're dating doesn't mean that we-"

Wait. What?

"People think that we're dating?" he asks, clamping a hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to muffle his laughter. "I- I- really?"

"I know, right?"

"Even my friends thought so at first," he confesses, dragging a hand down his face. "I mean, as much as I love you-"

"I love you too," Vania replies, completely seriously. "Even if you'll always be more like an annoying-"

"Hey-"

"Sibling to me than anything else," she finishes, grabbing a pair of scissors. Cole watches, a little alarmed, as she stabs them into the flour bag over and over.

"Is it... supposed to be this difficult to just open the bag? Seems kinda stupid-"

"Well, er, they have this piece of paper with glue that you're supposed to pull away from the rest of the bag, but it never works properly and I-"

"Well, we could always make our own flour," Cole interjects, laughing. "I mean, I've got a scythe? Let's go!"

"Uh, but we don't have wheat growing here. I don't think it'd suit the climate very well?"

"Wheat a shame," Cole sighs jokingly, measuring out the flour (which had, finally, escaped the bag).

"Oh my gosh," Vania deadpans, "you did not just-"

"Yep, I did."

"You're horrible," she giggles, "then again, I was the one who started this whole debacle, so I think we'll share the blame."

"Debacle? Where'd you pick that one up from? Sounds kinda cool-"

"Oh, it's from a book someone wrote about you guys," Vania says casually, pouring a cup of water into the bowl.

"Hey, uh-" Cole starts hesitantly, twisting his fingers back and forth, then breaks off. "Why'd you read all that stuff about us, anyways? Adventure books don't really seem like something you read a lot, since we have similar favorite books. I mean..."

"Well, um..." Vania trails off, clearly uncomfortable. "Uh- I guess, well, it sounds kinda stupid, but I'd never really met anyone my age who wasn't a royal or something. I... er, I didn't want to be left out, you know?"

Cole thinks back to a scroll; a quest, a sacrifice. One that his friends never seemed to really notice, unless it was with horror or flinches. Not that he blamed them, but - joking about how he was much more useful to the team when he was freaking dead than he was before he'd stumbled and fell in the temple?

That had been a bit far, even for his best friend. Locks could always be picked or something, he didn't need to be a ghost to provide some sort of value-

Well, that's not completely true, is it? a small voice questions, and he can't keep his hands from shaking a little.

"Jay here thinks you're the least valuable ninja."

Not enough to be a performer. Now, not good enough to even be a ninja, apparently.

Well, he reminds himself firmly, you don't have to be the best - just stand up to those who are cruel and unjust.

Nothing but a scar that glowed warm orange occasionally left of the whole Cursed Realm ordeal, sometimes it was all too easy to forget - or pretend - that it had never even happened in the first place.

Other times, like when he'd dropped a glass of water on the floor and his hands hadn't stopped shaking for hours, or when he woke up screaming, expecting to fall through his bed again, it still felt like he was trapped as a ghost. Literally - and maybe a little figuratively as well.

Yeah. Yeah, I know.

"Thanks for trusting me with that," he replies softly. "And I'm sorry. That sounds... horrible, but, honestly, you're a pretty cool person, and I ain't just saying that because we're friends. People can be awful, and they can- they can leave, but you don't need to pretend to be someone you're not for people to accept you. I kinda know what it's like, and it's... just, uh, not great."

"No, thank you," Vania says, rubbing her eyes. "You're pretty cool, too. And I'm glad that we become friends, even if wasn't in the- the, er, greatest circumstances."

"Right back at ya. The fall was pretty terrifying, though," Cole says casually, as if memories of that nightmarish plunge into the depths of earth don't still send shivers down his spine.

"No, definitely! I was so sure we were gonna splat onto the ground or something, thank gosh we didn't."

"Yeah..." Cole trails off, reading the recipe they'd been following. "Oh- do we just leave the bowl somewhere for a few hours now?"

"Oh, yeah," Vania answers. "Other than clean up the kitchen, what else do you wanna do?"

"That's kind of you, but, ah, I don't mind. You can choose something."

"I don't mind either," she replies, covering the bowl with a dishcloth. "Seriously, I don't."

"Same here though."

"Really, I don't mind-" Vania breaks off with a laugh, adding, "Well, actually, there is something."

She doesn't elaborate, thoughtfully gazing out the window.

"Well, what is it? Don't keep me in the dark."

"Ugh, it's kinda stupid-"

"I'm sure that it's not- well, unless you want to try to jump off a flying ship with a homemade parachute to prove a bet to someone-"

"Do I even wanna know?"

"...uh, probably not. We're way too crazy sometimes, our Master has a hard time keeping us in check. Your thing, though?"

"Can I give you a hug?"

Cole blinks for a second, expecting some sort of punchline.

"That's your thing?"

"Well, yeah- I mean, I said it was kinda stupid-"

"No no, that's not what I meant. You're so sweet - that's all."

"Well, not more than you-"

"Nah, you're sweeter-"

"Let's just call it a tie," Vania says with a smile, reaching over to give her friend a hug. "Thank you so much, I swear- well, no, I don't, but you know, anyways-"

"Yeah," Cole replies, laughing softly. "I know."

[stayinzencity]

member: park jisung

reader insert: gender-neutral

genre: slice of life, comedy

au: inspired by the anime FLCL, not really a high school or cafe au

warnings: mild violence, mild swearing, you are recommended to read this with a grain of salt (or sugar if you prefer sweet) and suspension of disbelief

word count: 0.75k

synopsis: Maybe it was strange how you spent so much time around Park's younger brother. Maybe you didn't care. Jisung's first kiss- nothing made sense before that and it certainly doesn't after.

a/n: i didn't know i'd write this until it was written. idk how to feel about this... please let me know what you think!

Jisung was so focused on finishing his homework. He reminded you of his brother. The paper he was working on had numbers and letters and symbols that didn’t ring a bell to you. Did they teach you this stuff in school? Well it’s not like you would know anyway. “Do you want to do my homework too?” you asked.

Jisung looked at you and blinked. You were leaning in awfully close. He scooted himself further away from you. Then he went back to doing what he’d been doing before- ignoring you.

You huffed, a little annoyed that he wasn’t paying any mind to you. Your attention shifted to the guitar Jisung had brought to the café. He never played it. You knew the answer yet you asked, “Why do you lug this old thing along wherever you go?”

Jisung stared at you deadpan and shot back, “Why do you come to this café when you don’t even buy anything or work here?” He knew the answer to that too.

You pouted and set the guitar back down, before moving around the table to sit right next to Jisung. “Buy me a doughnut.” You laid your head down on the table and looked up at him.

“No.”

Puppy eyes. “Please?” Plus a hug.

Jisung shrugged you off. “No.” He sounded a little more hesitant than the first time though, so you must be winning.

“Okay.” You went back to making paper boats out of the sheets Jisung had discarded. Would they float in water or sink since they’d get wet? You asked Jisung but he didn’t reply. That’s alright. He’s a good kid. Diamonds were a pretty shape.

Jisung finally finished his work. There were a few minutes until quarter after six. He packed up his things, pushed back his chair and left the building without waiting to see if you would follow. Of course you would.

It was strange to Jisung how you loved his brother though he’d left you behind and moved on so easily. Jisung hadn’t even been sure if you were dating his brother, but you were around so often that you might as well have been. But why were you still showing up everywhere? You were weird. Did you not know his brother had a boyfriend now? Well Jisung hadn’t until his brother sent a text. Would he have to be the one to break the news to you? Jisung shuddered.

You hurried to catch up to Jisung and squeezed him in a hug from behind. He stiffened at first but relaxed once he knew it was you. Then he stiffened again because it was you. How annoying.

You couldn’t see Jisung’s face so you couldn’t notice how flushed he was, however the color of his ears gave him away. You loosened your grip a little. “Let’s go.”

The two of you were on the bridge, Jisung a little ahead of you, when a screaming pink haired person rammed into him with their yellow Vespa.

“Jisung!” You ran over to him but the girl stopped you.

“Jisoo knocked his head so you gotta be careful,” she said as she slapped him.

“Jisoo?” She was kind of pretty. “His name’s not Jisoo.”

She looked at him from a few different angles and gasped. “He’s dead!” She started wailing. “I killed Jisoo! The kid’s dead!”

“Is he?” He just looked like he was sleeping to you. He was still moving a little. “His name’s not Jisoo though.” He looked pretty when he was asleep.

The girl whipped off her goggles, exposing her dazzling eyes. You couldn’t deny she was pretty. Before you realized what was happened the pink haired girl had her lips on his. Your mouth dropped open and you let out a squawk.

At least it brought Jisung back to consciousness. With sputters he shoved the girl off and sat up. His face was pinker than her hair.

“Yay! Jisoo’s alive!” The pink haired girl swung her bass into his face and nearly knocked him out again. You liked Park’s guitar.

You turned to Jisung who was rubbing his forehead. It was alarmingly red. “You should go home.” You handed him a lollipop, and left.

Jisung didn’t want candy. How childish. He unwrapped the lollipop and put it in his mouth. His head hurt. Ugh. Hopefully all his brain cells hadn’t been knocked after all the events of the day. This must be a dream. He walked home.

The lollipop was too sweet. The taste still lingered in his mouth. He didn't like it. There was a lump on his forehead. Damn.

© 2021, stayinzencity

#supermwritersnet #nct-writers #kokonomi #nct jisung #nct jisung fluff #nct dream fluff #nct fluff #nct fic #nct dream fic #nct fanfic

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 14: Dukeceit

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 14 - The first words you hear your soulmate speak are written on you.

Content warning: character with vitiligo, implied rudeness towards vitiligo, Remus being Remus (in a way that could be categorized as intentions for animal abuse?? But not really. It’s not malicious in any way.)

Word count: 1.4k

What’s that on your face?

Every day he was greeted in the mirror by the same, harsh words, etched into his collarbone in startling black ink. He’d heard many variations of the question before in his life, people with too much curiosity and too little impulse control, blurting out questions about his skin before he even properly introduced himself. At this point, he’d memorized the spiel: It’s called vitiligo and yes, I was born this way. No, it doesn’t hurt. No, it’s not contagious. No, it’s not because my parents were different races. That last one still made him laugh sometimes. But, better to laugh at the absurdity than bang his head against a wall in frustration, he supposed.

So yeah, did it suck knowing that the first thing his soulmate said to him would be borderline judgy and annoyingly insensitive? Yeah. But it was just something he’d have to live with. Hopefully, the rest of their first interaction would be uphill from there, because if he got more irritated with his soulmate when they literally just met, that probably wasn’t going to be a great sign. 

With a huff, he lowered his shirt over the soulmark, lugged his book bag onto his shoulder, and exited his dorm room. His roommate had left however long ago to head to his own morning classes, so he’d had a nice peaceful morning with the room to himself to get ready. It was nice not to be constantly on guard, hiding his soulmark. It embarrassed him.

He checked his phone as he closed the door behind him and groaned loudly. Apparently his peaceful morning had been at a cost; he had to make it across campus in five minutes or risk being late to Moresi’s lecture. Moresi was a great prof, don’t get him wrong, but she had a habit of calling out anyone who walked in the doors late, and Janus really didn’t need that. 

Risk walking in late and being humiliated, or look like a fool running through campus? Maybe he should just skip class.

He decided on option two, since this single class was costing more than his laptop, and got a better grip on his book bag before taking off down the path. He struggled to down his granola bar while sprinting over the lawn. You’re going to choke, the voice of his mother shouted in his head, but he ignored it and picked up the pace just a tad.

With twenty seconds to spare, he burst through the doors of the lecture hall and took his seat in the back, one that was never surrounded by people and left him generally alone. He liked his arm space. 

“Good morning, folks. Welcome to another rousing lecture on ethics,” Moresi deadpanned, earning a few scattered chuckles through the hall, “Today we’ll be focusing a bit more on Plato’s idea that-”

The lecture hall door flew open and a figure stumbled through, leaning on his knees to catch his breath. He gave a half hearted wave as Moresi crossed her arms, raising a skeptical eyebrow. Janus didn’t recognize him, but that was to be expected of a four hundred student lecture hall. 

“Remus Kingsley, the only student of my six different lecture classes that I have the unfortunate necessity of knowing the name of. What tale of chaos and havoc brings you so late to my class once again?” The snickers slowly rose.

“I’m only three minutes late!” He complained, still panting, but a small grin was growing on his face. No matter how pissed she sounded, Moresi was never serious in her teasing. 

“That’s three minutes too many. Take a seat in the back, and don’t disrupt my class again.” 

He grumbled under his breath but took a begrudging seat next to Janus. So much for arm room. Janus stared as he gave him an impish grin, before his eyes narrowed slightly. 

“What’s that on your face?”

Janus froze. Gone was his carefully formulated monologue on his skin condition, goodbye to any suave first impressions he’d wanted to make, hello to the awkward idiot that had taken over his brain. Sure, this didn’t necessarily mean this guy was his soulmate, it could just be a coincidental question, but actually hearing the words out loud? It was a lot.

This guy, though (Remus, was it?), didn’t take his deer-in-the-headlights face into consideration and reached a finger up.

Is he seriously about to touch my face? 

Janus was in too much shock to move away as the man poked at his cheek… no. Not poking, exactly. Rubbing…?

He pulled his hand away and Janus realized with a shock that a couple granola crumbs were now resting on his fingertips. Oh, the incredible waves of mortifying embarrassment that now rolled over him. The stranger flicked them onto the ground without a second thought, smiling at him.

“All good now. I’m Remus, by the way.”

An interesting interaction, one where the person touches your face before introducing themself properly. But Janus had the feeling that just kind of summed up this guy as a whole. 

It took him a moment to process that Remus was waiting for him to introduce himself, but just as he opened his mouth, the prof spoke up again.

“I’m sorry, Kingsley, is my lecture interrupting your conversation?”

“Just a tad, Moresi. But you’re forgiven.”

She mumbled something that sounded vaguely like “shit head” before turning back to her lecture, and luckily, Remus decided to keep his mouth shut. 

---------------------------------------

Remus booked it as soon as the clock struck 11:30, so even if Janus were able to speak past the anxious lump in his throat, he wouldn’t have had the time to. So, consequently, that afternoon he had plenty of time to worry about meeting Remus the next time.

Logically, whatever he did end up saying (assuming they were in fact soulmates), would be written on Remus’ arm. But what if he decided on something to say, and then at the last minute changed it? Did he technically have any free will regarding his first statement, or could a last second decision alter that? Would the writing on Remus’ arm change? Could he even say something wrong? Soulmates had always been too vague of a concept for him to think about.

Turns out, he didn’t even have to worry about it. He had decided to calm his raging thoughts with a coffee and a walk around the campus pond, intently watching some turtles sunbathing on a half sunken log, when someone bumped into him. The lid of his coffee exploded, sending the lukewarm drink all down the stranger’s shirt and his own.

“Shit on a stick, I didn’t see you! I’m so-”

Remus. Of course. Janus stuttered to a halt as their eyes locked, Remus’ comically wide, hands frozen in what had been a pitiful attempt to clean his shirt off. Did he think he could wipe coffee away?

With no prompting whatsoever, Remus pulled down the collar of his shirt, twisting his head oddly to read the writing on his skin, in the same place that Janus’ was.

“Yep, that’s it, word for word. Does your-?”

“Yep,” Janus breathed, showing the soulmark in a similar fashion.

“You didn’t say anything to me during class. I assumed you were just awkward.”

“Me? Awkward? A preposterous proposition.”

Remus smirked, rolling his shoulders back, causing the joints to pop loudly. “You’re smart. That’s cute.”

“I agree with the smart, but I abhor the sentiment.”

“Don’t get a word you’re saying.”

“Lovely.”

Now Janus was smiling too, and dammit, he didn’t like when people made him smile. He had a reputation to keep. “I was more shocked at your statement than anything. I thought for sure the ‘what’s on your face’ would be in regard to…” He gestured vaguely to his face.

“What, the vitiligo? No way! My brother has it, actually. I’m an idiot, but not that much of an idiot. I actually think it looks really cool.”

He gave Janus a once over before reaching out a hand, fingers wiggling, and pointing with his other thumb over his shoulder.

“I was just about to go throw rocks at ducks. You wanna join me?”

“Don’t throw rocks at ducks,” Janus reprimanded lightly, taking the outstretched hand with only a moment’s hesitation. 

“Can we just throw rocks, then?”

“As long as we’re not aiming for animals, yes.”

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #dukeceit #janus sanders #remus sanders #ts soulmate au #ts college au #sander sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanderssides #sanderssidesau #sanderssidesfanfiction #soulmate september #soulmateseptember

[trikadekaphile]

Excerpts from one of my favorite Han/Leia fanfics

Dant Solo once wrote a fanfic on the now-defunct TATS website, which was posted in three parts. It was titled "Oblivion" and focused on the missing moments from the period during the NJO (New Jedi Order) where Han and Leia were separated, then when they got back together. Dant Solo did what Kathy Tyers had neither the talent nor the decency to do: gave Han and Leia a proper reunion.

Now, it is no secret that I do not care for the pre-Disney EU, now called Legends. (For the record, I don’t care much for the Disney EU, either.) I flat-out hate much of the NJO, particularly the way it crapped all over Han/Leia's relationship -- not only separating them, but gypping them out of a reunion, and instead giving all the love/personal scenes to the red-gold pestilence and the penis on life support it married Mara and Luke...in the book that was supposed to contain the Han/Leia reunion. Tyers poured salt on the wound by offering a fake mea culpa where she said -- heck, gloated -- that she could have written some Han/Leia scenes, but she wanted to focus on the red-gold pestilence and the penis on life support it married Mara and Luke.

Han/Leia fans, justifiably outraged, began a campaign to get their couple better treatment. It took three years before Del Rey finally delivered something more than a half-assed stopgap measure: "Tatooine Ghost," set after Han and Leia were married, and thankfully retconned some of the most egregious and nauseating parts of the travesty called "The Courtship of Princess Leia."

Anyway, I feel a rant about the red-gold pestilence coming on, and I choose to quash it and refocus on the aforementioned excerpts from Dant Solo's fanfic. The whole fanfic is good, but I have some favorite parts, which are the ones I will post.

Without further ado, here are my favorite excerpts from "Oblivion":

*******

[Han] came to a lift and entered it with half a dozen other beings, traveling downward to an entertainment level.  He found a familiar cantina, one that had been renamed but remained, nevertheless, the same sort of dive it had always been.  He swaggered through the doorway, hand resting casually above his blaster in an old, customary habit.  His senses were immediately assaulted by a musty, hazy smoke that filled the crowded, dimly lit room.  Loud conversation filled his ears, and he suddenly hoped that no one would speak to him.  He wanted a drink and he wanted to be alone.

He ambled to the bar and sat on a lone stool at one end, waving a hand to the bartender, a shiny headed Bith who greeted him enthusiastically.  Grumbling, Han ordered Alderaanian ale, noting the way the bartender slunk away after he provided it.

Gulping the brew greedily, Han's thoughts returned to Leia.  He couldn't remember the last time they had exchanged pleasant words.  He supposed it must have been some time shortly after Sernpidal.  Again, as had been the case for so long, despair flooded him at the thought of his friend and co-pilot.  His eyes closed without him even realizing it, his mind remembering the final moments of the Wookiee's life, recalling the horrible, shattering events against his own will.

Chewie!  No!

Dammit!  His fist clenched around the cold, hard mug of ale, but almost as quickly, it unclenched with a weak, sorrowful acceptance, eyes opening reflexively.

Ahh, Chewie...What am I supposed to do here?  I wish you could tell me.

He knew what the big lug would say...he would tell him to get off his ass and pull himself together.  That there was no use beating himself up over it and that he had wasted enough of his time already.

And he would probably tell Han to go back to his family.  If there was one thing Chewie had always felt very strongly about, it was family.

Maybe if he hadn't been running around with me, he'd be with his family right now.

A futile thought, but Han couldn't help but think it anyway.  He sighed, feeling a shudder pass through him with the release of that breath.  This was why he'd always been a loner.  Granted, Chewie had been in his life for an incredibly long time before he'd lost him, but he remembered vividly the kind of pain that loss of any kind imbued, and he had vowed, as a much younger man, not to risk such loss ever again.

But first there was Chewie and then there was Leia, both taking on a tough edged scoundrel who really wasn't worth it.

Surely, Leia had recently drawn that conclusion in earnest.  He thought of her trip to Hapes, of her time with the dashing, regal Prince Isolder.  If she'd married him instead of Han, she wouldn't be alone right now; she wouldn't have to wonder what would become of her husband, her marriage.  With a distant darkness, Han wondered what had passed between the Prince and his wife.  He was still a handsome bastard; certainly Leia would have noticed that.  Han had left her alone all these months, had in truth mostly left her alone for months before, all the while existing in the same home as her, drinking himself into oblivion.

The idea of Leia with Isolder inflamed Han with a heart clenching, smoldering jealousy that consumed him for a long, violent moment, tempting him to hurl his mug across the room, shattering it against the wall as concretely as the thought shattered his soul.

He pushed the agonizing thought from his mind, forcing it into a quiet corner of his brain, along with all thoughts too painful to bear.

He tried not to think of anything at all, and was barely aware when someone sat on a nearby stool and slid it beside him.  He glanced over to find a tall, curvaceous woman with close-cropped, sun colored hair smiling at him in a flirtatious manner.  He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, smiling inwardly at the realization of who he had turned into since he'd met a young, idealistic would-be Jedi.  Then he returned his gaze to his drink, dismissing the young woman.

"Hi there," she said, turning to face him.

With a tired sigh, he looked at her again, smiling politely.  She was very attractive, he had to admit that.

"Buy a lady a drink?"  She smiled impishly.

Why not?  It couldn't hurt.  "Yeah, sure."  He gestured to the bartender, who hastened over.  "A drink for the lady," Han said with a gesture.

The woman smiled at the Bith.  "Tagorian Tellder wine."  As the bartender reached for the appropriate bottle and began to pour, she turned back to Han and extended a delicate hand.  "I'm Shayna."

Han shook her hand briefly.  "Han.  Nice to meetcha."  He took another long swig of his ale, watching the woman carefully as she received her drink from the bartender and sipped it slowly.

She raised an eyebrow at him before saying, "You look lonely, Han."

Han raised a brow in return.  "Nah, I'm just fine.  I like bein' alone."

"Really?  You don't ever like company?"

Against his will, his thoughts turned to his family.  It had been a long time, up until Chewie's death, since he had genuinely enjoyed being alone.  Now it seemed the only option left to him.  "Maybe sometimes.  Not often."

She smiled coyly.  "I don't like to be alone.  I'm always looking for company." She leaned toward him and the loose front of her blouse slid forward enticingly, capturing Han's gaze for the briefest of moments.

He looked away quickly, guzzling down the last of his ale and signaling the bartender for another.

Without warning, Shayna placed a warm hand on Han's thigh, just as his second ale was placed before him.

"You want to go someplace more private and talk some more?"

Han looked at her for a long moment, holding his mug in suspended animation halfway to his lips.  It could be so easy....to go with this beautiful woman and forget everything for a little while.  His body was certainly willing.  No one ever had to know.  There was no way for anyone to find out.  And in truth, he wasn't sure what was left of his marriage to begin with, so how wrong would it be, really?

Sighing mentally, Han realized that he would always know.  And if he ever had a chance of fixing things with Leia, he wasn't sure he could live with that knowledge.  Without warning, his mind assaulted him with an image of the hurt that would become present in Leia's eyes if he were to betray her.  Trust and fidelity had always been in large commodity between them, something each had always counted on, perhaps even taken for granted.  He could easily imagine how deeply this would cut her; how devastated and disappointed in him she would be.  Hadn't he disappointed her enough already?

It wasn't worth it.  A night with some stranger was not even remotely worth his wife and family, no matter what state those relationships were in.

He reached down and removed the woman's hand from his thigh, squeezed it gently for a second, then replaced it on the bar, noting her confused look of disappointment.  "Sorry, not interested."  He turned back to the bartop.

"You married?"  She asked knowingly.

"Yeah.  You could say that."  He closed up, pulling back inside himself.

"Hmm....you don't look like the faithful type," she said mischievously.

Han glanced at her, eyebrows shooting heavenward.  He supposed she was right, he didn't look the type.  Funny how things changed.  "Yeah, well, you'd be surprised."  He stood up, took one last gulp of his ale, tossed a few credits on the bar, gave the woman a mock salute, and then swaggered away. *******

Han dug into the travel pack he had stashed in a compartment over the sensor console on board the Falcon.  He was still undecided as to whether or not he was going to give Leia what was inside the pack.

He missed her already.  Their time together had been far too short.  After all the nights he had imagined holding her, he was still being denied.

With resigned uncertainty, he pulled out the gift he had purchased for Leia at the Abregadoe-rae spaceport.  It had almost seemed a sign at the time.  He had expected to see her when he arrived at Duro, and when he had seen this, he'd been uncharacteristically compelled to buy it.

The old fashioned book-- the actual flimsiplast sheets bound in a cover of burgundy with gold writing-- contained Alderaanian poetry.  He had stood in the small shop, holding it in his hands almost reverently, trying to decide if he should purchase it.

In a hasty decision, he had done just that.  Now he wasn't sure if he could bring himself to give it to her.  He felt somewhat foolish about the gesture.

He stood and placed the book on the holochess table and removed a bottle of Corellian brandy from a nearby compartment.  He went to the galley and grabbed a glass, filling it halfway with the amber liquid.  This drink was different from the ones he had taken this past year.   He didn't feel he needed it.  He simply wanted it. The rumble of the hatch opening surprised him, and he went to investigate, hand reaching for his blaster.  It was probably Jacen, but in such desperate circumstances, he couldn't take a chance.  As he hurried, he heard the sound of the hatch closing again, and when he rounded a corner, he saw what had to be Leia, removing the helmet of her chem suit.  He holstered his blaster and stared in disbelief as the helmet revealed her lovely face, surprising him yet again.  Around her now shaven head, a white scarf was tied.

She smiled at his dumbfounded expression, enjoying it immensely.  She knew she would have to be processed again in the morning, but she didn't care.  It was worth it.  She had dreamed of being with Han again for too long.  "Surprised to see me, Captain?"  She dropped the helmet to the floor and began removing the chem suit.

He just stared as she pushed the suit down her legs and stepped out of it.  With her hair gone, she looked thinner, the dark circles under her eyes more prominent.  It brought home to him what he had put her through, and guilt gripped his heart.

And here she is, doing everything in her power to be with me, yet again.  What did I ever do to deserve this woman?  He couldn't imagine.

Feeling awkwardly ashamed, he stuck his hands in his pockets and looked to the floor.

Leia picked up the suit and helmet, stashing them in a nearby compartment.  She was absurdly nervous.  Her stomach was fluttering in anticipation of spending time alone with Han.  In an effort to calm herself, she reached out through the Force to touch Han's essence and found him as nervous as she.  It was a comforting realization, and her tension decreased almost instantly.  She turned back to Han and they lapsed into silence.

He returned his gaze to hers.  "You want a drink?"

She nodded.  "Sure."  As she moved to follow him to the galley, she passed the holochess table and spotted, of all things, a book.  "What's this?"

Han stopped and saw her fingering the book on the table. I guess my decision's made for me, he thought dismally.  "Um...well, I got that for you."  He felt his face warming.

She looked up at him in sharp surprise.  He had gotten her a book?  That was certainly unexpected.  She smiled tentatively, sensing the sudden increase in awkwardness that permeated the air around Han.

Han crossed his arms over his chest, looking around the hold, everywhere but at Leia.  "I just...saw it, and...well, it made me think of you.  So I got it for you."  Did he sound as stupid to her as he did to himself?

She picked up the book gingerly, almost lovingly.  She fingered the cover, tracing the title with a fingertip:  The Heart Of Alderaan.  The old, familiar pain surfaced, competing with the pounding of her heart that was caused by Han's presence.

Han watched her, his heart churning.  She opened the cover carefully and turned to the first page.

Han cleared his throat.  "There was one poem..."  He grimaced at the sound of his own voice in the quiet of the ship, shrugging sheepishly.  "I thought it was pretty good. I marked it.  It really reminded me of you."

Leia glanced up at him for a moment before flipping carefully through the pages until she came to the one Han had marked.  Lead Me Back To You.  Warmth washed over her, and in a voice choked with emotion, Leia read the poem aloud.

"Blind and running, not knowing to where

Burning sorrow, from what isn't there

Eyes could not see, you were there for me."

Leia's voice faltered a moment, the words he had so carefully chosen cutting her deeply.  "Despair held reign, keeping me empty.

"Through the dark haze, your light strong and true

Ever shining, leads me back to you

Starlight so bright, a beacon in black

Filling my soul, completing my lack

"Worlds fall afar, hearts cry out breaking

Desperate need, my arms are aching

Moments are lost, lifetime spent running

Lovers are hurt, even the cunning

"Love and beauty, you brought to my life

Soothing comfort, an end to the strife

Further I fall, deep in your embrace

Hearts breathe in time, tears fall from your face."

Tears gathered, blurring the words.  She looked at him, speechless.  This was the most wonderful gift she had ever received.  Just knowing he had thought of her, as she had thought of him, almost continually, filled her with joy.

He stared back, his own expression grave.  "It's probably not the best poem you've ever seen," he began.  "But--"

"It's beautiful," she whispered.  "Thank you."

They stared at each other for a long, emotionally charged moment.  Han wanted to take her in his arms, but felt oddly unable to move.

She offered him a teary smile of encouragement and it was all he needed.

"C'mere," he whispered roughly, reaching out a hand toward her.

With a small sigh, Leia took his hand in hers and stepped close,  her eyes never leaving his,  feeling the unique way his life force called to her.  She wrapped herself up in it, drank it in with her senses.

With an almost inaudible whimper, Han's arms were suddenly around her, clutching her to him convulsively.  His breath near her ear was harsh as he whispered, "I missed you, Leia.  Gods, I missed you."

A waterfall of tearful emotion washed through her.  She held him more tightly and returned the whisper.  "I missed you, too.  Every moment.  Even when you  were at home."

Her words stabbed at his heart, but he understood her need to say them.  Eyes closed, threatening to overflow, Han breathed reverently, "I'm sorry.  I'm so, so sorry."

She pulled back just enough to look at his closed eyes.  She thought she could almost see a trembling to his chin, but was not quite sure in the dim lighting.  "I understand," she said, meaning it.

And he realized she did.  Because she knew him so well, better than he even knew himself.  He opened his eyes and brought up a hand to remove the white scarf from her head.

Her hand flew up protectively. "Han--"

"Shhh..."  He removed her hand, then followed suit with the scarf, dropping it to the deck.  He ran a  hand along her scalp, humbled by the gesture she had made for a few simple minutes with him.  He could barely  release the heartfelt words that bubbled to his lips.  "I don't deserve you.  I never have,"  he breathed.  

She shook her head slowly, eyes filling with bright tears.  "Just kiss me, you nerfherder,"  she said around the tightness in her throat.

His mouth bent to hers, kissing her with all the loneliness, loss and desperation he had felt for so long.  His arms held her tightly once more and he lifted her to dangle above the floor.

It was like coming home, for both of them.  Almost forgotten passion mingled with the joy of rediscovering each other, to carry them away to a haven where nothing else mattered, at least for a little while.

He swung her more fully into his arms, cradling her lovingly.  As he carried her to their cabin---their cabin,  he thought with a soft squeeze to his heart--- he was almost moved to tears by the gentle touch of her hands surrounding his face.

They reached the cabin and he placed her in the center of the bed, staring into her eyes for long, grateful moments.  Then they kissed again, softly, deeply, burrowing into each others' souls, erasing the pain and sorrow and replacing it with understanding and trust.

Their clothes were lost hurriedly, and when they were bared to each other, physically and emotionally, all else was forgotten.  Their mouths sought comfort, their caresses sought solace.  Forgiveness was understood, love granted unconditionally.

Too moved for words, they comprehended each other perfectly without them, sharing thoughts on a level of intimacy that left them both weak.

Crying out in a release that was as much emotional as it was physical, they clung to each other, trembling together, soaring on waves of passionate eternity.

Breath calming, Han held Leia in a gripping embrace, wanting to never let go.  He was overwhelmed by his feelings for her, in a humbling way he knew not how to express.  It permeated his soul, turning him inside out.  The past year had taken a toll on him, and now those feelings surfaced in the most profound way, filling him up, overflowing from within  him.  He was unable to contain them, and felt the tears choking his throat, unstoppable now.

Leia sensed the deep emotion in her husband and reached out through the Force to touch his soul.  When the first sob wrenched from his throat,  Leia held him close, stroking the damp hair at the back of his neck with excruciatingly comforting fingers, feeling his tears trickle a damp trail down her neck.  She reached out to him spiritually, felt him grip her mental touch almost reflexively, as if he did so without even realizing it.  She stroked his mind, doing her best to comfort him in every way she knew how.

He cried as he hadn't been able to since Chewie's death.  Not just tears now, but huge bursts of grief that emanated from his chest, obscuring everything but the soothing embrace of his wife.  He allowed her, finally, to hold him, to share his sorrow, to see just how much the past year had affected him.  He sobbed until he was too weak to continue, finally, blissfully, falling into a deep,  exhausted slumber, the first of such in a long, long time.

Leia held him still, her aching heart at last peaceful in the knowledge that Han and she had made sense of themselves.  The simple act of sharing his pain was proof that he was healing. It might take a bit more time to make him whole again, but they could do it...

Together, they could do anything.

*******

Leia watched her husband lying on his side, facing her.  She was filled with relief and serenity.  She had dozed on and off for the past two hours, while Han remained  entrenched in sleep.  She snuggled close to him, her thirst for his nearness not easily quenched.  After all was said and done, they had found each other again,  both equally unable to sever the bond they had shared for so long.   Pride and arrogance set aside, there really was no reason for them not to be together.

Leia waded in the warmth of Han's sleeping thoughts, like a gentle current.  His mind hadn't been so calm, so at ease, since before Chewie's death.

She sighed at the thought of the big Wookiee, so prominent a part of their lives.   After all the loss she had suffered in her life, she was surprised at how hard Chewie's death had hit her.  Certainly, not as hard as it had hit Han, but hard nonetheless.

She pushed aside that pain as she felt Han's consciousness stirring.  She pulled herself closer to him,  the skin of his shoulders so blissfully warm under her palms.

Stretching his legs before wrapping them around hers, he let out a low breath as his eyes flickered open and his arms surrounded her.  She brought her face to his stubbly cheek, making a soft sound of contentment from deep within her.

They held each other for a long silence, until Han pulled back, a somber expression etched into his features.  He leaned into her and kissed her lingeringly, then looked into her eyes once more, his expression growing slowly sheepish.  "Sorry to fall asleep on you,"  he admitted, looking up at her with raised eyebrows, face tilted downward.

"That's okay," she whispered.  "It just feels so good to hold you again."

"Yeah."  Han swallowed against the sudden lump that rose to his throat.  "I know what you mean."   He leaned against the pillow, raising a hand to stroke the smooth skin of her shoulder, just above where the blanket fell over her.  Her arms felt so good around him, too good to be true. But it was true, thankfully.  Feeling mildly ashamed at his earlier display of emotion,  he watched his fingers caress her skin and forced himself to speak.  "And, uh...sorry  'bout losing it before, too.  I don't want you to think it was anything bad about you--"

"I know what it was," she said softly, understandingly.

He looked back at her, nodding, resisting the urge to ask her to explain it to him.  He felt better now, more in control, more like his old self.  As if he had purged himself of some parasitic demon that had been eating away at his soul.  He relaxed and pulled her down to rest against his chest, tenderly amused by her lack of hair.  He rubbed her head gently, grinning.  "I bet you can't wait till I shave mine, huh?"

She raised her head to look him in the eye.  Happiness bubbled within her at the familiar sight of his charming, lopsided smile.  "Well, we might as well match," she said with a smirk.

The amusement in his eyes slowly faded to reveal a deeper emotion, as his gaze roamed over well loved features that had only come to endear her more to him with the passage of time.  It didn't matter to him  if her gorgeous hair was gone, she still took his breath away.  "You're still so beautiful,  Princess," he whispered.  He smiled wistfully.  "Too beautiful for an old pirate like me."

She laid her palm across his cheek, an unnerving thought creeping into her mind.  It was something she had thought of over the past few months, but had been afraid to truly acknowledge.  She forced a smile.  "You know you're still gorgeous," she said.  Her eyes fell from his to study the hair on his chest.  "I'm sure plenty of women told you so in your recent travels," she added quietly, unable to do more than imply her concerns.

His fingers lifted her chin, firm but gentle.  "Hey,"  he said fiercely.  "There was no one else."

She gazed into his eyes with hopeful uncertainty.

His lips pressed together before he spoke again.  "I swear it.  No one."

Their eyes held for a long, searching moment, and Leia didn't need to touch him through the Force to know he was sincere.  She kissed him softly on the lips before returning her head to rest on his chest.

They lay quietly for a time, while Han tried to think of a way to tell her all that she meant to him.  He had caused her so much pain,  forced her to put up with far more than she should have had to.  "Leia...,"  he began tentatively.  "I don't want you to think I ever stopped loving you--"

Her head rose quickly, meeting his eyes with her own.  "I never thought that.  I know you too well," she said softly.

He bit the inside of his cheek, eyes at her chin.  "Yeah, well..."  After a brief pause, he continued.  "The things I said to you, when I was drinking...I didn't mean them, not any of them."

"I know."

He sighed in a rush of defeated breath.  He closed his eyes and tried to force the words that did not come naturally to him.  "I just couldn't...I couldn't--"

"Shhh."  Leia placed a finger to his lips, stilling the awkward sentiment.  "Don't," she whispered, voice vehement.  "You don't need to explain anything." His lips moved beneath her finger,  his voice heavily laden with pain.  "I hurt you, Leia, everything I did this past year--"

Her lips replaced her fingertip, kissing him softly.  After a brief hesitation, he kissed her back.  When she broke away from his lips, she gazed at him with large, soulful eyes.  "Your fault, my fault...it doesn't matter.  Not now."

Han's brow furrowed.  "My fault.  It does matter."

She shook her head, smiling gently.  "No.  It doesn't."

He stared at her, eyes softly dubious, lips parting as if to say something else.  Then his mouth firmed into a thin line and he leaned up to enfold her in his arms.  He spun her to her back, holding her to him in a powerful embrace.  "I was selfish," he whispered into her neck.

She stroked his hair, thinking of how she would miss its softness.  "You were hurting, you couldn't help it."

He held her more tightly, felt her heart beating a steady rhythm with his.  "That's no excuse."

Gently, she pulled away from him, looking into his eyes with a grim expression.   She didn't want him beating himself up over this.  There was no point to it.  "Han, sometimes circumstances happen.  And we can't help how we react to them.  We cope the best way we know how."

Alderaan, he thought.  It should have broken her, but it hadn't.  Her inner strength was too tenacious.   He always knew she was stronger than he was.  Where he had crumpled, she had only grown stronger.  In the early years, once they had gotten past the nasty taunts and sarcasm, her strength had probably been what he admired most about her.  He nodded to her finally, unable to argue when she would not allow it.  He would carry this guilt for a long time, regardless of her lack of blame.  He almost wished she would tell him off, give him what he knew he so justly deserved.

Leia watched Han's features settle into resignation, then something resembling tender disbelief.

He shook his head very slowly. "How is it that you still love me so?"

She smiled, equally tender.  "How could I possibly stop?"  She asked softly, eyes wide and sincere.

He grimaced slightly, feeling so undeserving of her love and trust.  "I love you, Leia."   The words were barely a whisper.

Even if Leia hadn't been able to bask in the beauty of Han's emotions flowing freely through the energy of the Force, the look in his eyes would be enough.  She kissed him with a fervent passion that they hadn't known since their younger years, and they surrendered to the growing need to drown themselves in the intimacy each had existed without for far too long.  Their bodies moved  together in a timeless rhythm, strengthening their hearts and fortifying their souls.

All around them, oblivion slowly faded.

#han and leia #fanfic which is better than profic #kathy tyers can kiss my ass

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 31

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: The memories come to an end

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

AO3

It didn’t matter that they dragged him, restrained with glyphed chains and shackles, through a glowing portal that had looked very similar to the one he’d first gone through.

It didn’t matter that their headquarters seemed to be an old manor filled with strange artifacts and old furniture.

It didn’t matter that they told him, after throwing him into a basement cell lined with glyphs, that they were a group called the Masters of the Mystic Arts.

They were HYDRA and they were going to use him like they always used him. Bucky expected Colonel Vasily Karpov to walk through the door any moment, but his only visitor was a soft-spoken bald woman. She was pale, unnaturally so, and had a very precise way of speaking. She apparently knew who he was but would only refer to him as “James.”

He hated it. Hated her sweet words given through iron bars. It was no different than how Fairbanks had treated him. Tricked Bucky with promises of hot meals, warm baths, and protection from the guards if he would just cooperate with Fairbanks’ vision.

But that’s not what the woman asked of him. Bucky didn’t know what she wanted. She would visit him, talk to him, ask him questions about his life before HYDRA. His captors had never done that before, had never encouraged him to talk about his past as a human before they managed to burn away his memories and trick him into believing he was a full-fledged demon.

It was confusing, even more so when he was moved out of the cell and into a proper room. He still had to wear the bespelled shackles that left him weak and harmless, but they didn’t beat him or taunt him or force him to feed. In fact, the woman, who called herself the Ancient One like it was an actual title, gave him a tonic that would make the hunger go away.

Bucky didn’t believe a damn word she said. He remembered the last time he’d been offered something like this from Lukin. It had been a salve that had artificially induced his next heat, and he’d been mocked cruelly before Lukin would allow his men to sate Bucky’s cursed hunger.

And now that same hunger grew so strong that eventually Bucky drank the liquid, because nothing could be worse than the agony twisting through his body. To his eternal shock, it helped. Made the searing desire in his gut vanish into a dull ache.

That was when Bucky had finally begun to believe her. This wasn’t HYDRA, and he wasn’t going to be used as a weapon again. When he’d told the Ancient One of his conclusions, she had smiled and said, “I know that must have been very difficult for you, James. I appreciate your trust.”

Bucky wouldn’t go that far, he was a long way from trusting his new captors, but when she returned the stuffed cat to him with the strange advice that he should “take care of precious things,” he was well on his way to tolerating her.

For the next few months, Bucky spent his time relearning how to be a person. He rediscovered his love of knowledge, and the Sanctum provided much of that. The books, especially. He was fascinated by the large, bound tomes that smelled like dust and forgotten time. Focusing on consuming as many books as possible was a way for him to adjust to living as a… well, as a human again.

The Ancient One had encouraged his time in the library once she trusted him with having more access to the Sanctum. The other sorcerers had wanted to keep Bucky contained in the glyph-warded cell, but she told them, “If you cage a man like an animal, expect him to act as a beast.”

Bucky was growing quite fond of her.

For the first time in a long time, Bucky wasn’t hypervigilant and waiting for the next attack, whether from HYDRA soldiers or other demons. He was healing, very slowly recovering from the decades of traumatic memories he had to sort through. It was even more confusing with the “time dilation” he’d experienced in the demon realm. Forty-eight years had passed for him when only four years had passed on Earth. It was 1995, he was in New York City, and his only acquaintances were a sect of secretive sorcerers who kept him locked up in an ancient manor.

Things could have been worse, all things considered.

Something did happen one day to dampen his spirits. It was a warm early summer day, and they were enjoying the sunshine within the Sanctum rooftop garden. The Ancient One was training him to extend his guise around his clawed feet to make them appear as if he was wearing boots. She insisted it was possible, that Bucky had already shown an affinity for magic with his ability to take away, and later they learned, share memories.

But making his demonic aspects disappear was one thing, trying to create illusionary clothing was another, and he was growing frustrated with his efforts, or lack thereof.

“Fairbanks told me my transformation was complete,” Bucky grumbled, staring at his clawed feet as if they’d done him personal wrong. “There weren’t supposed to be any more changes, but now I have to lug these things around.”

He flexed his talons to demonstrate his meaning, grimacing at the animalistic shape of them. At least with his other changes, he’d managed to guise himself enough to look human. Now, with this…

“As if I didn’t already look like a monster,” he muttered.

“Evil men lie. You know this more intimately than most.” The Ancient One seemed almost distracted, staring over the rooftop and toward the city skyline. Then she turned toward him, her smile muted in sadness. “You’re no monster, James.”

Bucky looked away, unable to look at such sincerity for too long. She really did believe what she said.

“This isn’t working.” He sat back with a huff. “I can’t do it.”

Instead of her mild chastisement for giving up so easily, the Ancient One remained silent. Bucky looked up to find her staring off to the side again, her gaze fixed on something that wasn’t there.

“What’s wrong?”

She blinked and turned back to him, giving him one of those small smiles.

“Nothing, James. Why do you ask?”

“You seem distracted.” She was never distracted. Thoughtful and meditative, sure, but never unfocused like she’d been all day.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “I thought I heard a voice.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped, mired with guilt. He’d forgotten all about his own mysterious voice. He experienced the same shade of guilt and grief whenever he remembered what had happened to Steve. Died saving the world, not long after Bucky had been imprisoned. And here Bucky was, alive and whole, and he hadn’t bothered to think about the entity, real or imagined, that had kept him from going insane in the demon realm. It had helped him remember who he was and kept at bay the devastating loneliness.

He could barely remember what the voice sounded like.

He opened his mouth to ask her to explain what she meant, but the Ancient One clapped her hands together and said, “Let us try again. You’re letting your frustration get the better of you. Focus on what you desire and shape it into the world.”

Bucky sighed and unwillingly turned back to his lessons, the weight of loneliness still lingering at the back of his mind.

***

“This isn’t working.”

You watched Bucky struggle, unable to help or communicate with him. Not like you’d done before. Trapped on the demon world, Bucky had somehow been able to hear you. Even talk to you.

You’d almost forgotten who you were in that place. It had been so easy to just be with Bucky, to sink into his mind and be so close you weren’t sure who was who. And then you’d been jostled awake when he’d had leapt through the portal. It had been agony, split in two, and you’d been torn from Bucky and forced back into your own non-corporeal state.

And that’s where you’d remained. Seeing yourself as a child lose your memories. Forced to watch Bucky feed and suffer and then be captured, but when you’d realized who had him, you’d been relieved for the first time since being trapped in Bucky’s memories.

Now that you knew the Ancient One, had witnessed firsthand how kind and gentle she was with Bucky, you were shamed by your previous jealousy. She grew on you, and after a time, you felt like you knew her just as well as Bucky did.

Perhaps that explained what happened next.

“I can’t do it.”

Bucky’s frustration was aimed at the Ancient One, but she paid him no attention. Her eyes were focused directly on the spot where you stood.

The world grew quiet and still. The wizards around you, moving to and from their tasks, were now frozen in midstride. The water bubbling up from a nearby fountain hung in the air like a glass sculpture. Bucky sat half-hunched on the stone bench, glaring at his clawed feet.

Cold fear washed through your non-spine as the Ancient One smiled.

“Ah, there you are.”

You glanced around just to be extra sure she was addressing you, but the world was still frozen. Even the air was a dead weight against your skin.

“You…” Your voice trembled, unused in so long. “You can see me?”

“Of course,” she said, addressing you by name just to make the moment more surreal. “I sensed James had a passenger. How long have you been attached to him?”

Horror, hope, terror, all of it vied for control. Your next words were a messy jumble.

“I… I don’t know. I was, we were just. He was showing me his memories, but they were the wrong ones, and I got stuck—Please, you have to help me!”

The Ancient One raised a hand, palm toward you in a soothing manner.

“It’s all right. There’s no need to be afraid. Take your time, for we have plenty of it.”

You closed your mouth and took a deep breath, allowing the tension to leech from your muscles.

“That’s better,” she said, her voice smooth and her smile kind. “We shall start with something simple. Have we met before?”

“I… no. I don’t think so.” That was something simple? “I mean, I thought you were…”

Your voice trailed off into silence. Were you supposed to tell her she was dead? Or… would be dead. How were you even able to speak to her? Wasn’t this just a memory? You couldn’t affect a memory, right?

“Ah.” She gave you a knowing look. “I see.”

Her gaze drifted down to where Bucky sat, her expression fond. She didn’t seem to be very upset with the fact she would be dead sometime in the future.

“I take it you are important to James? You must be, for him to willingly share his memories with you.”

“I… yes,” you said, following her gaze to Bucky. Even now in a strange, frozen moment, you ached to touch him again. Hell, you ached just to speak with him, for him to see you and know you again. Being a stranger to Bucky was unbearable. “He’s important to me, too.”

“I sense that is true. Perhaps more than you realize.”

After a moment of quietness, she met your eye again. Something had shifted within her, and her tone grew serious.

“To answer the question you wish to ask, this is James’ memory, but it is also your present. You are untethered from reality and trapped in a time-loop.”

“A… a what?”

“It’s very fortunate I found you at this moment, in this place,” she continued as if you hadn’t spoken. “I suspect you would have been trapped, until such a time you would have caught up to the place you had become untethered, and time would have repeated itself.”

Her eyes darkened and the smile was gone. You wanted to retreat but your feet, as they had been from the start, were unable to move.

“Journeying through time is extremely dangerous.” There was thunder in her words, quiet but frightening, and you wanted to recoil. “Who is your teacher? Surely they would not have been so negligent with your education.”

“I—“ You swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. A teacher? For what?”

She stared at you for a hard minute, expression never changing, and in that moment you could sense the vast, unknowable power that lingered within this seemingly frail-looking woman.

“Listen to me well, young one,” she said. “When you return to your present, seek out the Sorcerer Supreme. I will not gaze forward to see who it is, as one should not know too much of their own fate. But when you return, go to the leader of the Order, and tell them I said…”

Her gaze dropped downward, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Even though you didn’t technically had lungs, you could breathe easier now that her dark gaze was gone.

“Tell them it’s their responsibility to shape the future of our kind. No matter what tests they’ve conducted or conclusions they’ve come to, you must be taught our ways. Neglecting to do so will result in consequences like these. Or worse.”

The Ancient One clapped her hands together again, the oversized sleeves pooling at her elbow to expose her thin arms.

“Now, it’s time I send you back, yes? Oh, one last thing.”

“Oh. Uh, y-yeah?”

“When the moment comes and the obvious choice feels wrong…” She looked you directly in the eye, a piercing gaze that went right through. “…trust yourself to find a different answer. Do not doubt yourself, even while others will. Your life, and James’, both depend on it. Do you understand?”

“Uh—no,” you stuttered. “No, I don’t understand—Wait!”

Your protest went unheeded as the Ancient One moved toward you while also remaining firmly in place. A shimmering second copy of her walked across the stone, raised a palm, and shoved you hard in the chest.

Gasping and clutching your shirt, you bolted upright with a cry. You were back in your bedroom, sprawled out on your bed and panting as if you’d run a marathon.

And Bucky was staring down at you with complete and utter horror.

Next Chapter

#branded #demon!bucky barnes #demon!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction

[wkemeup]

Guiding Light (13)

summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra and now, Bucky can’t breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 9.4k  warnings: the final chapter 😭, and a little smut and fluff bc yall really deserve it 🖤series masterlist // series playlist

T H R E E  M O N T H S  L A T E R

“I don’t know about this.”

You winced from the cold compress of the patches Shuri gently pressed against the side of your head; wires connecting to machines on your left, monitoring your brain waves and internal chemistry. She pursed her lips at you, giving you that teenage pout, and pressed another electrode to your temple. She’d told you enough times as it was that this was an entirely safe procedure and it was only to ensure that her good work paid off.

In the three months since Hydra infiltrated the compound back in New York, you’d spent your time in Wakanda alongside Shuri. It was supposed to be an easy process to remove the triggers from your mind since she’d already been successful in doing the same for Bucky, but it appeared slightly more challenging with you. It took a bit of extra time but she assured you all the while that you were safe. You didn’t need to go under ice the way Bucky had done.

It took three months but she was able to successfully pull the words from your head. She just needed to prove it. Which is how you ended up sitting in the middle of her lab, heart racing a mile a minute, as she handed a thick red book to Bucky.

Your words. Your triggers. He was going to say them.

“You should strap me down,” you offered for the third time, eyeing Bucky as he flipped the pages of the red book, studying the handwritten notes. He looked up, slowly, a tight smile on his face.

“It’s not necessary, sweetheart,” Bucky said simply. “Shuri’s tech worked. The words aren’t going to affect you. This is all just to give you peace of mind.”

“Sergeant Barnes is right,” Shuri confirmed, smiling brightly at you as she pressed a few buttons on the computer, machine, whatever it was. This technology was far out of your scope. “You will be just fine. I promise. There is no need for restraints.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” you argued, hands shaking and Bucky narrowed his eyes on the tremors running through. 

He quickly set the book down on the table he had been sitting on and crossed the room to you. He knelt by your side, hand brushing your hair back from the wiring, cool metal resting on the nape of your neck.

“If it doesn’t work, I’ll be right here,” he said carefully. “If it comes to that, I’m here, okay? Shuri’s safe. I’m safe. We’ve got a whole army on the other side of that door.”

“You didn’t put up enough of a fight last time, Buck,” you reminded him, voice impossibly quiet and Shuri took a few paces back, occupying herself with something on the other end of the room.

“I know,” he admitted, leaning forward to kiss your shoulder. “I promise it won’t come to that again. If, and I’m saying if, you get triggered, I’ll make sure you don’t hurt anyone. Besides, Shuri has this place on lockdown. You have to know she has a stockpile of weapons around here somewhere and she’s more than capable of defending herself. She had to knock me out a few times back when getting the words out was trial and error. Isn’t that right, kiddo?”

“It was never boring, I’ll give you that,” Shuri grinned as she continued typing away. Bucky nodded for her to return and she jogged back over to you, offering you a reassuring smile. “Whenever you’re ready Sergeant Barnes.”

“How many times do I need to remind you to call me Bucky?” he laughed, and you knew he was trying to lighten the mood because even Shuri started to giggle and teased him back, but your nerves were skyrocketing and you needed to get this over with. He picked up the red book and flipped the page with your words scribbled on it in messy writing.

“Does it have to be you?” you asked timidly.

Bucky gritted his teeth, an exhale from his lungs. “If we want to be as accurate as possible, yes. A single mispronunciation could throw off the whole sequence. Shuri had to fly in a native speaker last time and I figured since I was already here...”

“Okay,” you nodded, readying yourself. You gripped the ends of the arm rests until your knuckles ached.

Shuri flipped on a switch and the whirl of the machines echoed through the lab. She gave the okay to Bucky and without wasting another second, he began to read.

“Марафон, горький, Бруклинский,” he called out, thick Russian heavy in his voice and you disliked the grind of it as it left his tongue. You took a steady breath and tried to focus on the pacing of his feet back and forth and the clenching of his left fist at his side as he continued.

“скаут, боевой, возлюбленная.” He looked up to you, searching for any kind of warning signs to stop but you were still. You closed your eyes and tried to lose yourself in your breaths. In. Out. Steady and even.

“мелодия, вена, шестнадцать,” his voice continued, nine of out ten. You could still think, still had a steady stream of consciousness which you were all too aware of, worry and anxiety leaving a mark in your thoughts. Your jaw was clenched so tightly, it ached.

“страсть,” Bucky said with an exhale. It was the last word.

You kept your eyes closed, waiting, because even though you had been withering from the pain your head by the third word the last time you’d been triggered in the compound, you were certain Hydra would find a way to pull the rug from under you again, make you believe you were safe before they sprung the soldier back into your mind and nearly made you kill the love of your life with your own hands.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky called, his voice close enough to you to startle a jump in your heart. His hand rested on your thigh, running smooth, gentle circles to coax your eyes open again. “It’s over, Y/n. They had no effect on you. Shuri did it.”

Slowly, you opened your eyes to find Bucky kneeling in front of your chair, the widest, most beautiful smile on his face; one filled with love and relief and sincerity. His hand snaked up against the side of your face and pulled you in for a quick kiss, warm lips against yours and you felt the anxiety slip through you like it had never been there. He pulled back just as Shuri stepped by your side.

“Of course, I did it,” Shuri teased as she started to remove the wires from your temple. “Did you ever doubt me?”

“That was my fault, clearly,” you laughed.

“Don’t worry,” Shuri grinned, removing the last electrode, “you won’t make that mistake again.”

***

In all your time in Wakanda, you hadn’t left the palace, let alone the floor you’d been assigned to and the confines of Shuri’s lab. You were too afraid to be out in open spaces, to risk the chance of anyone finding out those awful words and using them against you. Even with Bucky constantly at your side, gentle encouragements, always reminding you that you were safe here, you couldn't seem to get past the elevator doors.

Now, stepping out into the busy streets, holding his hand, you wondered how you could possibly keep yourself from such beauty. Street venders with fresh fruits and hand-woven garments lined the streets, bustling and crowded, but filled with smiling faces and children playing between the shops.

“You want something?” Bucky asked, looking to the layers and baskets of fruits as you walked by, then to the gorgeous display of handmade jewelry, distracted by the organized chaos of the market.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, smiling up at him, reveling in the feeling of his hand woven tight in yours. “Just you.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not what I meant, sweetheart.”

“It’s still true.”

He led you through the busy streets until the venders sat further and further apart, the sidewalks were a little less crowded, and the buildings started to fall behind you in exchange for open fields and rolling hills. It was gorgeous, unlike anything you’d ever seen.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“You’ll see.”

Bucky wasn’t usually one for adventures. It was always you that dragged him off into the city or to a coastal town or convinced him to go apple picking on the back of his motorcycle. It was you that lugged him along to places he’d only figure out where you were taking him once you got there so he didn’t have a chance to back out. It was unusual for him, but if he was ever going to be the one to take you somewhere special, it would be somewhere like this.

Quiet. Peaceful. With open land for miles and the sun setting over the trees in stunning shades of purples and pinks and reds.

Eventually, you came up on a small cottage, almost a hut from the size of it, the only structured building for miles sitting amongst a sea of green grass and shaded trees. He paused as it came into view, a heavy exhale in his chest of something like relief and remembrance.

“It’s beautiful out here, Buck,” you said softly, realizing what this place was to him, “I’m surprised you ever left.”

“I always did have a hard time saying no to Steve,” he admitted, “but if I stayed here, I never would have met you.”

“Don’t you miss all your goats?” you teased, curling up against his arm as you started walking again, together, towards the cottage. He had told you stories once of his time in Wakanda; how he’d lived a quiet life in the country side tending to small farm animals and finding himself again. Shuri and T’Challa came out to check on him every once in a while, but for a long time it was just him and the animals. It was what he needed.

Bucky smiled, looking to the long metal bins approaching on his left where he would lay the feed for the animals. They’d run so fast, tripping over their legs when they were little, just to find a place around the bin to stick their head in and grab their fill before they got shoved out of the way. It was a fond memory. He didn’t have much of those around the time.

“I made sure they all found good homes before I left, don’t you worry,” Bucky said, pinching at your hip and drawing a short yelp out of you before you started laughing. “Maybe we’ll stop and check on Grant.”

You raised an eyebrow, grinning wildly.

“He was the runt of the bunch,” Bucky shrugged, chuckling, and it was magical just to hear his laugh again, “had to name him after Stevie. I left him with one of the kids who used to mess with me back in the day. That little rascal better be taking good care of him...”

“Oh, I'm sure he’s just fine.” You nudged Bucky in the side playfully and he only smiled back at you.

Coming up on the cottage, Bucky stepped forward and opened the door for you. There were no locks, even after three years, because that was the kind of place Wakanda was, is. If Bucky Barnes could sleep soundly without ten different deadbolts, it had to be the safest place in the world. You had no doubt it was.

As you walked inside, you were surprised to find it neatly organized, almost untouched from the day he left. Bed neatly made though the mattress was hard as a rock, something Sam had explained to you about soldiers when they returned from war feeling like they were sinking into anything that gave to his weight even an inch. Pots and pans hung on a drying rack, like he intended to put them away but never had the chance.

What really caught your eye was the bookshelf; bindings of red and green and black that filled row after row of shelves. You almost hit Bucky on the arm, thinking that he had been working on catching up on the literary work he’d missed before he even met you and had simply indulged you, but as you stepped closer, you realized they weren’t novels at all. They were journals.

You let your hand graze over the bindings, pulling dust from their canvas and turning back to Bucky with an aura of awe and surprise in your features. He nodded, ushering you to look because he knew you wanted to. He didn’t mind. He’d let you into the darkest corners of his memories if you wanted. You’d find a way to turn on a light. You always did.

Pulling a random one from the shelf, a deep purple binging that stood out amongst the others, you flipped through the pages. Crinkles and worn with use and thick black ink detailed on each page, you tried your best to skim. Some pages had images, newspaper clippings that Shuri must have brought down for him. Old memories and trains of thought as they came out, trying to determine what was real and what was told to him.

You flipped to a page with an old, faded photograph from the 1940s. Hand to your heart, you gasped at the image. Bucky stood amongst a line of men in combat uniforms, hard hat upon his head and the straps hanging down by his ears. Covered in dirt and grim and the brightest smile on his face you’d ever seen. Short hair and an innocence in his eyes that shocked you.

“It was before the 107th was captured,” Bucky clarified, stepping closer and looking fondly over your shoulder, “those guys became the Howling Commandos once Steve came around.”

You recognized the men from the exhibit in the Smithsonian. Bucky had asked you go with him nearly a year into your friendship and it had been the hardest question he’d ever asked anyone. He could still remember the sweat in his palm and the racing in his heart when he asked you. Of course, you agreed with a beaming smile and asked Tony if you could take the next jet out.

“You were always so handsome,” you smiled, fingertip tracing over his image.

“You think I should cut my hair again?” Bucky teased, wrapping his arms around you from behind and kissing your shoulder.

“That is not a decision I want on my conscious,” you laughed, leaning back into him. “That choice is all yours, baby. I’d love you either way.”

“Even if I shave the whole thing and start from scratch?”

“It’d be hard, but I’d get through it.”

“A hero amongst men,” Bucky declared, grinning against the skin of your neck. He peppered kisses to your collarbone, squeezing his arms tighter around you. Then, just as your hands started to snake over his, he pulled back suddenly. “Wait here.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously as Bucky pulled open the middle drawer in his dresser, searching around under layers of garments until he pulled out a laptop. You laughed, figuring you should have realized Shuri wouldn’t let him go entirely without access to technology on his own. He winked at you, firing it up and began typing at the keyboard.

“Buck? What are you doing?”

“Just wait, sweetheart. Patience.”

You sighed, plopping down on the edge of the bed, and though it was firm under you, it wasn’t as uncomfortable as you thought it might be. It was familiar, this feeling. Though it lacked the blood stains and edges of springs you’d had while at Hydra, but it was comforting almost, in the way that mattress had been for you.

You remembered Sam telling you once that he slept on the floor most nights after returning home from the war because the mattress was too soft. You suspected Shuri had this one made for him to accommodate his needs.

Glancing back to Bucky, you laughed under your breath to see his eyes light up.

He pressed a single button on the keyboard and set the laptop up on top of the dresser. The soft strums of a guitar playing delicately through the speaker of Bucky’s laptop began to filter through the room. It was a careful melody of chords you were familiar with, ones that incorporated piano gracefully between the notes, and a pair of voices sitting in contrast of one another, one rough and raspy, one soft and breathy.

Listening carefully, your eyes fell to the floor, just getting lost in the gentle melodies and hymns of the first verse. It was a song from the playlist you’d made him nearly four years ago. You wondered if you should be surprised he still listened to it after all this time.

You looked up in awe to find Bucky leaning against the dresser watching you with the kind of warmth in his eyes as if you’d hung the moon and the stars and the entirety of the universe. He extended a hand to you, wordless, and waited patiently until your lips curved up in a smile and slipped cool metal into your hand. You guided his left hand to rest on your lower back, gathering his right in your own as you let your arm hang off of his shoulder.

Falling slowly, eyes that know me And I can't go back And moods that take me and erase me And I'm painted black

You leaned your head on his shoulder, where metal met flesh, and curled against his neck, closing your eyes as you carefully swayed with him. Silently. Listening. Reveling in the feel of his body so close to yours, the steady beat of his heart thumping under your ear, his hand wrapped in yours, the gentle brush of his thumb upon your back as it rubbed tenderly against your shirt.

Well, you have suffered enough And warred with yourself It's time that you won

Needing to feel him closer, you slowly released his hand, wrapping both of your arms around his neck. Face pressed to the crook of his neck as his arms snaked around your waist. He smelled faintly of fresh soap and the lavender fields you’d passed on your way to the cottage. The swaying faded as the melody continued without you and you found yourself just standing in the middle of Bucky’s room, holding onto him like he was all you had.

Take this sinking boat and point it home We've still got time

Bucky nudged his nose against your cheek, urging your face from its home against his neck. Warm breath tickling against your skin as his lips brushed ever so slightly against your cheekbone, moving down in peppered kisses until he captured your lips against his.

Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice You've made it now

The music began to fade to the background, passionate strums of the guitar, fingers gracing along piano keys, voices singing in harmonies that lifted the soul, rendered silent in comparison to the feel of Bucky’s lips on your own, the only sense your body would allow you to focus on. Soft, plump lips as he took your bottom lip into his mouth, sucking sweetly, his tongue tracing along the edge of your mouth until you parted your lips further. Tongues swept over one another, open mouthed and wanting him as close as he could possibly get.

Your hands grabbed against the fabric of his shirt around the collar, tugging at it until he parted from you for an impossibly brief moment to shed himself of the material. Hardened ripples of muscle under your fingers as you trailed your hands down his chest, over his abs, and he shivered.

His hands grazed against your waist, sliding up under your shirt against the bare of your skin, cool metal and warm flesh running along curves. Wordlessly, he began to lift your shirt until you raised your arms for him, allowing the fabric to be discarded to the ground. He smiled, warm and loving, as he looked at you, eyes trailing over your breasts to your face and you reached behind you to unclasp your bra, shedding it to the floor.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Bucky exhaled as he stepped forward, ushering you to lay on the bed. As you followed his lead, settling against the hard mattress, your hair falling up around your head in a halo, you brought his lips to yours.

“You see a lot of beautiful women lately?” you teased.

“None since I met you,” he replied with warm kissed to the corners of your mouth, then down to your neck. He sucked at a spot that made your back arch, seeking more, before he mumbled, “can’t remember any before you, either. It’s only you. Just you.”

Shocked by his sincerity, not an ounce of teasing in his tone, you cupped the sides of his face, bringing him back to your lips and kissed him sweetly.

“You’re it for me, too, you know,” you said, watching as crinkles formed up by his eyes in the smile curving on his lips. “You’re all I want, Bucky Barnes.”

He hovered over you, arms caged around your head, and you parted your legs, giving him space to lay his body weight against you. He kissed your lips, soft and gentle, and then with a fevered passion as you dragged your core up against him, eliciting a moan, deep and heavy. You could feel the length of his hardness between you, confined by the cloth of his pants but prominent with every thrust against you.

Chest to chest and seeking the sweet release of friction between you, Bucky kissed his way down your neck over your collarbone, until he pulled a hardened nipple into his mouth. Swirling his tongue around the bud, you arched against him, hands raking into his hair. He chuckled softly against you, releasing you from his mouth so he could continue his way down to your waist. Pressing kisses to your hipbones, his fingers curled against the fabric of your pants before he glanced up at you.

You nodded, lifting your waist to help him remove the material, sliding it down your legs along with your panties. Discarding it along with the rest of the clothes, Bucky settled back between your thighs, kissing sweetly at your outer lips, at the creases of your leg to your hip.

“Never gonna get tired of this,” he whispered, warm breath against your core and you shivered.

“You say that now,” you laughed, squirming against him as he ran his fingers through your folds. You’d had more nights together than the first, but every time he touched you it felt like no had ever done it before, no one before him, like every movement was brand new and his touch was all you knew.

“I’ll say it every time,” he insisted playfully, leaning his head against your thigh as he looked up at you, his fingers coating in your wetness. 

He began circling at your clit, watching as your eyes fluttered closed, the evidence of his touch present with the parting of your lips and the moan that slipped through.

“Bucky,” you whined his name just as he slipped a single digit into you, cool and solid, metal. 

Sheets bunched up into your hands and a second finger joined. Slowly, steady pumps as his fingertips grazed over the spot, curving against it, that made your head dizzy. He was heaven and solace and every good thing in this world.

With a gasp, you grabbed onto his hair, tugging as you felt the warm heat of his tongue press to your clit. He was too good at that for someone who’d avoided human interaction for nearly seventy-five years. It was muscle memory, you supposed, though he swore he never touched or kissed or made love to a woman the way he did with you.

The pressure was enough, the swirl of his tongue over the bud as he brought it into his mouth, sucking, fingers thrusting, and you came with cry of his name. Pleasure rushing through your core, your legs, panting in your chest, and you felt Bucky kissing his way back up to your lips.

You hummed against him as he kissed you, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“Love you,” you mumbled hazily and he chuckled.

“Figured you might after I did something like that.”

You laughed, shoving him off of you so he flopped onto his back. Mischievous grin on your face, you crawled down to his waist. He wasted no time and helped you remove his pants, pulling the briefs off as well because the anticipation was killing him. He was so hard beneath the fabric, each brush of the material over his cock drawing a wince out of him, too sensitive.

“Y/n, baby,” he mused as your hands trailed along his thighs, nails gliding over thick muscle, “need you so bad.”

“I know, honey,” you cooed, leaning forward and licking a thick stripe up his shaft from the base to the tip. Tongue pressing against the throbbing vein up his underside before you took his tip into your mouth. He bucked up against you, cursing as he tried to restrain himself.

You pressed your hands to his thighs in an attempt to keep him still as you took in as much of him as you could manage. Hollowing your cheeks, you began to bob your head, sliding his cock against your tongue, reveling in the sweet sounds he produced above you.

Bucky didn’t shy away from the noises he made, noises you drew from him because he knew they only spurred you on. They were sinful. Delicious. And they went straight between your legs, leaving you wet and needy and dripping.

“Ah- fuck, sweetheart,” Bucky moaned, fingers snaking into your hair.

He was throbbing in your mouth, so close to the edge and you were more than ready to milk him dry, when you felt him carefully tug you away. You sat back, narrowing your eyes, to find him staring at you dizzily, blissed out.

“Wanna come in you,” he explained, his voice a little sedated and you giggled, nodding as you climbed on top of him, straddling his waist.

His hands sat on your hips, just brushing softly over your curved until you dragged your soaked folds up along his shaft, covering him in your wetness, and his fingers dug into you. He bit down hard on his lip, eyes closing in the sensation as you rolled your hips again. His hands guided your movements, adding pressure with every roll.

Your walls clenched around nothing and you couldn’t stand it anymore. Lining him up with your entrance, his tip brushing against your clit before you aligned him where you needed him most, and you met his eye. Ocean blue eyes stared back at you filled with a kind of awe and love and surrender that made your heart tighten. 

You sank down onto him in agonizing pace, his cock stretching and filling you inch by inch until you took all of him, sitting against his hips and as close as two people could possibly be.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky exhaled, head falling back to the pillow, “you feel so good, sweetheart, so fucking good.”

“I don’t know how I ever survived before you,” you cooed, rolling your hips and pulled a sharp gasp out of him, “don’t know how I got off without you inside me.”

“God, Y/n, you can’t just say stuff like that to me,” he whined, pushing his waist up against you as you moved to lie against his chest. Slow thrusts from under you, meet you half way as you pushed down against him. Friction like thunder and lightning.

“And why not?”

“We’ll never leave this bed again, doll,” Bucky teased, his voice breathy and panting in the exertion, “I’d just keep fucking you and loving you until neither of us can move.”

“I like how that sounds,”

The sound of your bodies melding together filled the room. His hands were all over you, trailing along the bare of your back, pinching at your nipples, running through your hair, grabbing at your ass to pull you flush against him with every thrust.

You could feel your walls starting to clench around him, the pressure building so sweetly between your legs, and you whined, a moan that let Bucky know exactly where you were. He slipped his hand between your bodies, feeling for your clit and began to rub fast circles against the sensitive bud. You gasped, head falling into the crook of his neck as you grabbed onto his shoulders, fingers only able to find give on his right side.

“O-oh God, Bucky, don’t stop,”

He didn’t let up, his pace relentless and exquisite and explosive and your release hit you suddenly with the push of his hips and the circle of his fingers of your clit. The hardest you’ve ever fallen from that height, the pleasure pulsed through you, drawn out in waves of endless rush as Bucky sought his own release. You cried out, squirming and a moaning mess over him, as he gripped hard onto your hips and rolled you onto your back, not daring to lose contact for even a second.

His thrusts became faster then, more erratic and you could feel how close his was, his cock throbbing and twitching with each push.

“Bucky, ah-fuck,” you gasped, your walls clenching again so close to your last release. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. It was perfect and sinful and worth all of the pain you’d been you just to be with him now, to have this moment, to see him above you with sweat dripping from the ends of his hair and a far-gone look in his eyes because for once he felt something other than pain, he felt pleasure.

“I’m so close, baby,” you cooed, urging him on as the pressure built at your core, “so fucking close. Need you to come for me, baby. Ah- God, I need—I need you to—ah, ah, f-fuck!”

Second waves of pleasure rippling through you, your walls clenching impossibly tight around him and Bucky came with a strangled grunt. Warmth spread through you as he prolonged his release, his lips pressing to your neck as his arms curled around you. His chest flush to yours, he rolled his hips lazily until he was too sensitive for more and stilled.

Head on your chest, you raked your fingers through his hair, pushing it aside to find his face. His was smiling hazily, eyes closed, and you pressed your lips to his forehead. Playing with his hair and listening to the grainy sounds of guitar and Ray LaMontagne singing from the speaker of Bucky’s laptop, he started to move, to pull out of you in an effort to clean the two of you up, but you held him still.

“Just stay here with me,” you urged, kissing his hairline.

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart, I swear it,” Bucky sighed, propping himself up off your chest and brining his lips to yours, soft and chaste and perfect. “We’ve got all the time in the world together, Y/n. I’ll give you all of my days if you want them.”

“It won’t be enough,” you sighed, kissing him sweetly, “I’ll want more after that, too.”

“Might have to take that up with the big guy.”

“Not sure what Banner can do about it but I’ll ask.”

Bucky laughed, his chest vibrating against you and he peppered kisses to your cheek, your nose, your eyelids, your neck. He settled back against your lips, giving you one last kiss, warm and familiar, before he said, “You know I’d spend an eternity in you, darling, but someone’s waiting for us.”

You narrowed your eyes, turning to follow Bucky’s gaze to the small wooden cube sitting on the kitchen table. From the center, a light blue light flashed.

“We’re being summoned back at the palace,” he explained with a smile. “It’s how Shuri would get ahold of me back in the day.”

“Ok fine,” you mumbled teasingly, allowing him to pull away and slide out of you. The emptiness you felt without him between your legs was prevalent, but you tried to push it aside. “She’s lucky she single-handedly cured both of us. Not sure I’d be willing to leave this room for anyone else.”

“We can always come back. I want to hear more of that dirty mouth of yours,” Bucky teased, winking as he disappeared into the bathroom.

The sound of running water filled the room and he returned shortly after, a damp washcloth in his hand. He carefully ran it up your inner thigh, removing the traces of himself from your skin, and rested it between your legs gently.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you laughed, nodding for Bucky to remove the cloth.

“I hope you do.”

***

“What do you got for us?” Bucky asked as he sauntered into the room, hand clasped tightly in your own. He dragged you along behind him, still feeling dizzy from the way he’d pushed you against the wall outside of the lab and kissed you just to tease you.

“You two are disgusting, just so you know,” Shuri laughed, pointing her fingers at the two of you and then tapping the monitor above her computer. It displayed the hallway in perfect definition. Your cheeks flushed red and you swatted Bucky on the arm.

“Shuri,” Bucky warned, a chuckle in his voice.

She rolled her eyes playfully and ushered for you to follow her. Pulling to a stop she stood in front of a series of monitors, all black, and asked you to take a seat. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, looking to Bucky for support.

“Please, Y/n, you may want to be seated,” Shuri requested again and you slumped down into the chair behind you. Bucky took his place by your side and you felt his hand grab onto yours, squeezing gently.

Shuri sighed, exchanging a knowing look with Bucky. “Sergeant Barnes requested I do some digging on someone very important to you.”

You looked up at Bucky, confused, and he only offered a warm semblance of a smile, encouraging you to listen. Your heart was racing all of a sudden and you wondered how it was so easy to fall between this feeling and the joy you felt holding onto Bucky just moments before.

“His name was Private Daniel Henry Welch,”

An image of Danny appeared on the screen, arms behind his back, chin up, dressed in his formal Army uniform with the American flag behind him, proud. Your hand clamped over your mouth, stifling the gasp as you rose to your feet, walking towards the image. Tears welled in your eyes as your fingers traced over the screen. He was younger than you remembered, more freckles on his face when it was absent of dirt and grime.

“He would have turned twenty-one last week,” Shuri continued softly as tears fell down your cheeks. She stepped back, giving you space, as you stared to read over the list of information upon the screens she had compiled for you.

He was born and raised in New Harmony, Indiana to single mother named Brenda with stunning green eyes and long blonde hair. His eight-year-old brother Nathan was a spitting image of Danny; all smiles and thick, curly, ginger hair with freckles peppered over his nose and cheeks. He played soccer in high school, but for the town over because his school was too small to form a whole team on their own. He won a scholarship for writing a poem in middle school that he ended up using to buy books for his English class in tenth grade. 

He was as kind and sweet and lost as you’d remembered him and you still couldn’t imagine how a boy so soft had ended up on the other side of the world fighting someone else’s war.

He was the boy who rushed off base to help a stranger start his car.

Bucky came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and you leaned back against his chest. Tears falling freely, you grabbed onto Bucky’s forearms, keeping him as firm against you as you could manage.

“Has anyone told his mom yet?” you asked Shuri and she shook her head.

“He’s still declared as Missing in Action according to the US Army database but it looks like there’s a lot of speculation that he was killed by rebel forces,” Shuri sighed. “They have no proof of what happened and with you as the only living witness...”

You nodded, brushing the tears from your eyes, pulling away from Bucky’s arms. The world still believed you to be dead. It was Tony that advised you keep it a secret from the public until Shuri could remove the words from your head. You’d had your time to heal and find peace and live in paradise with the man you’d only ever dreamed of seeing again after all that happened to you. You had your moment in the bubble.

You turned to Bucky, determined.

“Call Tony. It’s time we go home.”

***

Tony arranged for a press conference the day you returned. He did most of the talking and explained how Hydra had used a shifter to dissuade the Avengers from continuing their search for you. The room had gone up in chaos when you emerged from behind the door as Tony gestured for you to walk out as proof. Hundreds of questions firing at you all at once, loud voices shouting over one another, as flashes of cameras blinded you enough to cause you to wince.

Thankfully, Tony knew enough to keep you at his side, informing the journalists that all questions could be diverted to him. The room was divided. Some asking how it was even possible you were who you said you were while others praised you for your bravery and resilience.

The public wasn’t much different. Message boards popped up all the country filled with conspiracy theories about how you were the shapeshifter and the real Y/n died that day on the live stream. 

Protests outside of the Avengers tower downtown erupted, demanding the truth, while counter protestors walked the streets to show their support. Parades through Brooklyn and celebrations throughout the city took place once the news hit. Half the city seemed to accept what happened, while the other became wrapped up in Hydra’s lies.

Tony explained who Cain was and how he was the mastermind behind the plan, though he was exceptionally careful not to release information on why they had taken you in the first place and how you’d been conditioned into the soldier. The team had enough backlash against Bucky for the crimes he committed under Hydra’s control, they didn’t need the public speculating about your ability to control your own motivations, too.

Even as Tony ushered you away from the reporters and the flashing lights and invasive questions, throwing yourself into Bucky’s arm as he waited for you outside of the conference room, you felt no relief. Announcing you were alive to the world wasn’t what you were worried about. It was a necessary first step before you could do the very thing you’d left paradise for.

It was how you ended up on the front porch of a suburban house with white paneling and green shutters in an impossibly small town in Indiana. You stared at the dark green door, the flowerbeds handing from the windowsills and the wreath made of woven branches hanging at the center of the door.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered.

“Yes, you can,” Bucky said softly, squeezing your hand. “It’s all you’ve been thinking about.”

“What if she hates me? She's going to blame me for what happened to him, Buck. I couldn’t save him and now he’s gone and--”

“Y/n,” Bucky cut you off gently, turning you to face him. His eyes were the most stunning shade of blue. “If my ma ever knew what happened to me, if she knew I survived, and someone could have told her that while I was being tortured and starved and turned into this monster, I wasn’t alone, that I had someone like you to watch out for me and care for me... I can’t even imagine the relief she would have felt. It makes a world of difference.”

You nodded, trying to take in his words. He was sincere in what he said, you knew that much, and maybe you believed it yourself, but the pain of a grieving mother outweighed good intentions. Bottom line was you couldn’t save her son. You couldn’t protect him. You didn’t know if she’d even want to see your face. You just wanted her to know that he wasn’t alone.

Frozen, you tried to will your hand to the door, to knock, but you couldn’t move. Bucky must have noticed because his closed fist extended to the frame and knocked three times. It only took a few seconds of your heart pounding in your chest before the door swung open, only you weren’t met with Danny’s mother.

You stared into the spitting image of Danny, nothing but curly orange hair and freckles littered across his face. He raised an eyebrow, looking your over before he turned to Bucky, eyes narrowing on his left arm. Bucky tucked it into his pocket.

“Um, mom?” he called back into the house. “We’ve got Avengers on our porch...”

Nathan stepped aside, though he kept his stare on Bucky. His nervousness was mixed with a kind of awe, almost an excitement, that seemed to catch Bucky completely off guard. He licked his lips, waiting as shuffling came from the top of the stairs inside the house, and pointed to Bucky’s arm.

“Is it really made of metal?” he asked, tilting his head to try and get a better look.

A smile curved up on your lips despite the harrowing ache in your stomach as Bucky nodded, pulling his hand from his pocket and flexing his fingers for the boy to see.

“No way! That’s awesome!” Nathan exclaimed, reaching out to touch Bucky’s hand. You were surprised to find Bucky didn’t shy away from it and instead started to chuckle as the kid examined the intricacies of the Wakandan prosthetic.

“Nathan? What’s going on?” a voice called from upstairs, his mother, Brenda, and your heart clenched. She walked down the stairs slowly, drying the ends of her long blonde hair with a towel, though she set it to hang over the bannister as she saw you, her eyes widening. “Agent Y/l/n. Sergeant Barnes. W-what are you doing here?”

You gulped and you felt Bucky’s hand squeeze yours, though he took a step back. This moment was yours and yours alone.

“I saw what happened on the news,” she continued, scratching her head, “about how you’d survived Hydra. I know my Nathan was happy to see that. He always loved the Avengers. My oldest... Danny... he did, too.”

Nathan’s face blushed dark red and he shot his mom a glare, though she smiled softly, sadly. She turned back to you.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, wiping the tears from her eyes before they could fall, “what can I do for you?”

“How much do you know about what happened to your son?” you asked as carefully as you could manage, the shakiness in your own voice betraying you.

Brenda shrugged, shaking her head, “not much. All I was told was that he abandoned his base and was... killed by mercenaries.”

You took a deep breath. She knew even less than you thought.

“Ma’am, if you don’t mind, I can tell you more about what happened,” you offered, watching as her face twisted into a kind of pained realization, “I knew him for a while. I was with him.”

Brenda and Nathan exchanged glances, ones of shock, and she nodded quickly, stepping aside to let you in. She led you to the living room and asked you to sit, offered you tea or water or anything else in her fridge and because you suspected she needed something to do, something to feel useful you took her up on her offer for tea.

As she prepared the hot water, Bucky escorted Nathan out to the back yard, promising to show him a few moves and toss a ball while you talked with his mom. The relief on Brenda’s face was evident as she squeezed Bucky’s forearm in thanks as he walked by.

Glancing around the room while you waited for the high pitched whistle of the kettle, you found yourself looking at old pictures of Danny and his brother. Getting lost in smiling faces and the memories hung upon the wall, you barely noticed Brenda walk back into the room and set the cup of tea on the coffee table in front of you. She smiled fondly at you, noticing your gaze on the pictures.

“He was such a handsome young man. So kind, too,” Brenda sighed. “You said you knew him? How is that possible?”

You took a deep breath, grabbing Brenda’s hand in your own and holding it gently. She needed as much comfort as you could give her. Then, you proceeded to tell her everything you knew.

You told her about how Danny had left the safety of his base to help what he believed to be civilians passing by who’s car broke down, how it had been Hydra who took him hostage, not mercenaries. You told her that he had been placed in the cell next to yours and he single handedly kept you sane with his light hearted jokes, his replenishing optimism, and boy-like wonder as he asked you to tell him all about the Avengers. 

He kept your mind where it needed to be, on your family, on something wonderful and hopeful and away from the horrible place you were.

You told her that while a thick concrete wall sat between you, he’d come to be a friend, a confidant, and you cared about him immensely. As Brenda’s eyes welled up with tears, you spared her the details of the days Danny was taken from his cell, how he was beaten for the information on you he eventually gave up.

She squeezed your hand, nodding along as you told her how brave he was in the end. You told her that you were right there with him and that you did all you could to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone, that his last moments were with someone who cared for him.

You didn’t tell her he had been killed as a means to break you, to strip away your last reason to live so your defenses were lowered enough to warp your mind into their making. She didn’t need to know why he was killed; it wouldn’t make any difference in her heart. Her son was still gone. You hoped that maybe just knowing he wasn’t alone all those months was enough to ease just an ounce of her suffering.

It was painstakingly silent as you finished, tears rolling down your own eyes as Brenda tried to gather herself again. After a moment, she slipped her hands from yours and your heart broke, certain that she was repulsed by you, but instead, her palm grazed over your cheek, brushing away the tears.

“Thank you, my dear,” she whispered, smiling sweetly through the tears on her face. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me. Danny admired the Avengers so much. I think that’s part of the reason he joined the Army, thought maybe he could be a hero like you.”

“He was,” you said firmly, sincerely and Brenda nodded.

“It’s comforting to know he had you through it all,” she concluded, letting her hand fall away. “I just wish there was a miracle for him, too.”

You clenched your jaw, knowing she was hoping that her son could come back from the dead the way you seemingly had. There was nothing you could say to change that.

Brenda glanced over her shoulder, looking out the back window to find Bucky demonstrating a right hook in slow motion, gesturing for Nathan to try, before he moved to correct his form. She chuckled softly under her breath.

“He’s a good one,” she said, and you raised an eyebrow. She clarified, “Sergeant Barnes. My Danny always knew he was more than the papers said, knew before all that came out about Hydra’s torture and brainwashing. He was quite proud of that, of how he defended him before anyone else.”

You nodded, brushing away more tears as they fell, a smile forming on your lips because that was so like Danny and it hurt in your chest.

“Mom!” Nathan’s voice rang through the kitchen, followed by the sharp close of the back door. He charged out into the living room, grinning wildly, wanting to show his mom the new moves Bucky taught him. Bucky trailed in behind, an apologetic grimace on his face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “tried to keep him outside but he was really excited to show you his right hook.”

“Check it out!” Nathan shouted in a deep voice that forced a laugh out of you. He demonstrated the move Bucky showed him, doing it about ten times over as Brenda cheered him on. The lingering remorse and grief in the room quickly turned to that of laugher and joy as Nathan tried to push Bucky into sparring with him.

“Ok little rascal, I think Sergeant Barnes has had enough of you,” Brenda laugh, sneaking up to hug Nathan away from Bucky, despite his protests.

“I don’t mind, honestly,” Bucky tried to reassure her but she waved him off. You smiled from the couch, slowly making your way over to Bucky and grabbing onto his hand.

Brenda led you back to the door, hand on your shoulder and she enfolded you into her arms before you stepped outside.

“Thank you,” she said into your ear, pulling back with a warm smile on her face. “Our home is always welcome to you, dear.”

You nodded, not trusting your own voice to speak and felt for Bucky’s hand behind you.

Even as you walked down the driveway, heading to the car you borrowed from Tony, the light squeeze against your palm, you felt a wave of relief swell in your chest. Bucky whispered how proud he was and you wondered if maybe Danny would be proud of you, too.

***

That night as you curled up against Bucky’s side, cool metal fingers trailing in careful patterns down your arm, you wondered if it was possible to be thankful for the worst months of your life. Breathing in the smell of faded leather from the jacket he’d worn all day and the soft thumping of his heart beneath your head resting on his chest, and your months of torture, of pain, of hopelessness and guilt faded away in an instant.

You’d take it again, endure hell and the worst men it had to offer, if it meant you could end up right here, in Bucky’s arms, listening to the gentle humming under his breath as he peppered kissed to your hairline, hands longing to memorize the feel of you against him.

The melody was one you knew well, a song on a list of tracks you'd strung together for him four years prior, and his hums were quiet, vibrating against you. You listened intently as the hums slowly turned to lyrics and his voice was just barely a whisper, low and quiet, but it was there. You curled up tighter to his side.

“Well, the night is still And I have not yet lost my will Oh and I will keep on moving 'till 'Till I find my way home”

You pressed a kiss to his collarbone, just to let him know how much you loved him, how you'd cross the ends of the earth for him, how much you appreciated him coming with you to face the mother of the young soldier who was killed to further Hydra’s vendetta. You could have said it aloud, but he knew, and you didn’t want to interrupt the soft tones of his voice for anything.

“When I need to get home You're my guiding light You're my guiding light”

His hand gently curled into your hair, palm cupping the side of your face, urging you to meet his eye. The most incredible shades of blue stared down at you, filled with an adoration and love and sincerity you’d never encountered from any other man because no man was quite like Bucky Barnes. He kissed you sweetly, chastely, and somehow it still felt like the first time you’d touched his lips, like every moment with him was precious, cherished.

You didn’t realize a tear had fallen down your cheek until Bucky pulled back, concern littering over the warmth in his eyes as he brushed away the tear as it fell.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you replied honestly, smiling though your eyes were watering it, “just thinking about everything we’ve been through, how after all that hell, we managed to survive and now... I have you.”

“You’ve always had me, sweetheart,” Bucky sighed warmly, kissing your forehead, “you’ve had me since the beginning, since you started dragging me on morning runs and through the city.”

You laughed, wiping away the excess tears on his shoulder. “You were the one that showed up in your running gear that morning and asked to come with me, you know.”

Bucky shrugged, chuckling, “well, I couldn’t stand the idea of not being around you. Needed to spend time with you somehow. I would have taken anything. Might have even agreed to go with you to that hot yoga studio in the city you were obsessed with for a month.”

“Careful what you say, Barnes,” you teased.

“Point still stands,” Bucky smiled, wrapping his arms tighter around you. He lowered his voice, a little more serious though filled with the same sincerity and warmth, and said, “I’d do anything for you, sweetheart. Anything."

You knew. It was in the same way you’d do just about anything for him.

You’d watch old movies where the actors talked with an accent from their decades just because it reminded Bucky of his childhood. You’d take him up to the rooftop at three in the morning in the cold of winter to look at the stars when his nightmares got so bad not even you could calm him down with your touch alone. You’d call down to that restaurant in Brooklyn that used to be an apartment building and convince the owner to let you take Bucky upstairs for a few minutes because this place used to be his home and he deserved to see it again.

You’d tell him you loved him for the first time through the barrier of a glass wall as Hydra agents pulled you away from what you were sure was the last time you’d ever see him. You’d resurrect Cain and give yourself over to him to poke and prod and mutilate your body with scalpels and that godforsaken chair. You’d lose your mind to the soldier and commit unspeakable acts. You’d do anything if it meant you ended up here again.

If it brought you home.

Where you belonged.

To Bucky.

Draping a knee over his thigh and settling it between his legs, you pulled yourself flush against his side. Bucky smiled, his hand resuming the gentle patterns on your arm and shoulder. You sighed contently, reminding yourself every moment you could that this was real and it was Bucky under your touch.

A soft vibration in his chest, and your lips curved against him, listening as he started to sing again,

“So lead me on, and leave me strong Like the road I walk on When I need to get home You're my guiding light You're my guiding light”

---

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#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #marvel #bucky barnes x female reader #guiding light

[ducktracy]

183. porky’s double trouble (1937)

release date: november 13th, 1937

series: looney tunes

director: frank tashlin

starring: mel blanc (porky, killer), tedd pierce (narrator), sara berner (petunia)

the end of an era—this is the final cartoon to feature “fat porky”. though he’d been dieting since late 1936 and steadily throughout 1937 with the other directors, frank tashlin was the last one to skinny him up. ironic, since he was such a stickler for streamlined designs! nevertheless, this is an exciting change, as porky is finally completing his transformation into the pig we know and love today.

not only that, this is the final appearance of frank tashlin’s petunia as well. she’d go on a hiatus all throughout 1938, only to be revived by bob clampetts with a totally new design in 1939. unfortunately, she was only kept for two more shorts before being discarded again. parting is such sweet sorrow!

we deal with not one porky, but two: an escaped convict kidnaps porky and steals his identity in order to successfully rob a bank. it’s up to petunia to put a stop to this criminal’s crime spree... or is it?

a silhouette of a pig furtively creeps under a blanket of typography from the title card. the pig isn’t our favorite stuttering porcine, but rather a grisly, stubbly porky doppleganger attempting to escape from prison. he jumps and growls at the spotlight that shines on him, shooting at the offscreen subjects. not only does he whip out two pistols, he even flips them--such a small detail of flamboyant dramatics goes a long way.

prison guards shoot back at the convict, silhouetted against the night sky, illuminated only by the glow of the searchlight and the stylized white bullets raining down below. the composition is stellar, its flatness reminiscent of the backgrounds of the early ‘40s cartoons, primarily from the likes of frank tashlin, chuck jones, and even norm mccabe at times. a whistle screeches as the prisoners run along, rifles in hand. in all, the dramatic opening rampant with silhouettes feels quite reminiscent to the opening of little beau porky, another tashlin entry just a year prior.

callbacks are more blatant as we undergo the signature Frank Tashlin Expositional Montage, footage of cop cars racing out into the street reused from tex avery’s the blow out, while a close-up of a newspaper press is also reused from avery’s porky the wrestler. all the while, a shot of the convict, identified as “killer” by one of the newspapers in the montage, oversees the chaos, his eyes drifting along to survey the action, his lips parted in a sneer. the narration (tedd pierce?) is the cherry on top--often times, narration has a tendency to feel redundant, as if it’s a crutch to support the gags (i.e. some of tex avery’s earlier entries), but here it elevates the theatrics of the entire prison escape.

speaking of narrators, ours introduces us to a gangster hideout--an abandoned all girls school by the name of katz school for girls, a nod towards studio business manager ray katz--no doubt a place frequented by killer. tashlin’s cinematography is in full swing as we iris in on an exterior shot of the hideout before panning along the interior, an arsenal of weapons littering the schoolroom of years past. a smooth, clever transition of pans from the classroom to a grandiose hallway, focusing on a door.

killer’s lackeys crowd around a table littered with alcohol bottles and playing cards, but most importantly, newspapers highlighting killer’s escape. his cronies all mutter words of praise in thick brooklyn accents (”yeah, dis guy’s clever, jus’ like who-dun-y! he can get outta anyt’ing!”). the conversation between the gangsters is surprisingly natural and fun to listen to: one of the lackeys likens killer to “clark taylor”, a humorously false remembrance of actors clark gable and robert taylor combined.

 knocking outside the door prompts the cronies to whip around with their guns drawn, all crowing “who’s ‘dere!?” in unison. outside the door stands a rather spherical caricature of mae west--if there’s a mae west cameo, it must be a ‘30s cartoon! funnily enough, tashlin gets an animation credit on buddy’s beer garden, a cartoon whose mae west caricature is relatively integral to the plot as well.

mae informs the boys that she comes peddling a message from killer. furtively, they all crowd around the door, stacking on top of each other, each peering out of their own peephole door. the silent film inspiration is strong in this shot. not only that, its composition also reminds me of some of the shots in tashlin’s porky pig’s feat, a personal favorite of mine. 

all hesitation to let newcomers in is dropped once the cronies spot their curvaceous company. they’re instantly smitten, batting eyelashes and all, one of the cronies going so far as to stroke mae the messenger’s face. tashlin’s cartoons always had a promiscuous flair to them, especially in the ‘40s--here is no exception. perhaps it’s only natural, seeing as this entire cartoon is one large parody of all of the gangster pictures churning out from warner bros. at the time (marked woman, kid galahad, san quentin to name a few.)

“he said...” mae lunges a haymaker, causing all four cronies to domino together and knock into the door as mel blanc settles out of his falsetto, “NOT T’ FOOL AROUND WITH DAMES, YA LUGS!!!” killer strips out of his outfit (even removing an iron barbell from where his chest is), growling “let that loin ya a lesson!” as always, mel is fun to listen to--his falsetto voice sounds rather similar to the voice he’d use for his lou costello caricatures. 

killer eyes a stray newspaper, gloating “once i was only public enemy numba NINE!” at the sight of his new title as public enemy #1. (it should be noted that in tashlin’s first picture, porky’s poultry plant, another “public enemy” gag is used. gag continuity is always fun to see!) his eyes drift over to an article on the other side of the page (if you look closely, the date is “thoisdays octember 42nd”, the paper addressing the denizens of “porkysville”.):

“hey! what’s dis? da guy looks just like me! he could be me twin brudda!” frank tashlin’s disgruntlement with porky can be felt multiple ways here. not only did he hesitate until 2.5 minutes into the cartoon to introduce him, the underscore is “puddin’ head jones”, a frequent score associated with porky on numerous occasions offering not-so-subtle commentary about his intelligence (or lack thereof.) 

killer ushers his lackey to take a glimpse at his bank-teller doppelgänger, whispering a plan to them involving porky and the bank, the narrator clueing us in that “the evildoers carefully plan another hideous crime.”

it’s not a tashlin cartoon without his signature up-shot: we iris in on an impressive up-shot view of “worst national bank”, a score of “plenty of money and you” and even the extravagant car horn of a limo solidifying that yes indeed, this here’s a bank! inside, porky dutifully deposits the goods of his spherically designed patrons. even by 1937, these mathematically proportioned designs were out of style--i suppose tashlin got the memo, though, seeing as this is the final “fat porky” cartoon, indicating a transition into more modern, streamlined designs. 

bob bentley animates a close-up of porky depositing the cash of a scottie dog. cue the ever prevalent “cheap scotsman” gag, the scottie’s coin purse (a sock with a lock on it) revealing a swarm of moths upon its opening. he deposits a lone dime, porky happily obliging to sign the bank book. the scottie leaves, and it only takes a few bloated seconds for porky’s brain to catch up with him, realizing that he just signed a bank book to deposit a measly dime. he smacks himself in the face, a carl stalling favorite cue of “you’re a horses ass” providing musical commentary as porky glowers into the camera, hand sliding down his pudgy face. stereotypes aside, this is a fun little scene. it gives porky some personality, accentuating his gullibility (a persistent factor of his character, no matter who is directing him), and bob bentley’s animation is extremely appealing. no discretion to volney white, who animates the next scene, but there’s a noticeable difference in bentley’s and white’s styles, bentley’s animation much more dimensional. i absolutely love how he draws porky.

secretary petunia, once again voiced by sara berner, coos at porky to come over to her desk. she wastes little time flirting with him, asking that the two “step out” for the night. volney’s animation of porky is hysterical--his discomfort is exceedingly visible. porky gets cold feet, a stuttering mess (more than usual) as he sputters “geh-eh-g-eh-g-g-gee, miss petunia, i’m, uh, buh-beh-bashful... huh...heh, you’re so eh-peh-purrty, and eh-uh-i’m, uhh... yee-you’re, uh...” cue one of my favorite deliveries ever by mel blanc as the lunch bell rings. porky grins, realizing he’s saved by the bell. he doesn’t stutter once as he declares breathlessly “it’s time for lunch, g’bye!” and rushes off. the comedic timing, both from mel’s delivery and volney’s animation, couldn’t be better. 

porky strolls outside, where he stumbles across killer (disguised as mae west again) hammering away at a car. porky’s good nature prevails, which often leads to trouble: with a polite tip of the hat, he asks if the woman needs any assistance. “would you be so kind?” 

as porky works on the vehicle, killer prepares to strike, hammer in hand. his motives are thwarted as porky turns to offer assurances that the car will be fixed in a jiffy, killer impatiently hiding the bludgeoner behind his back. the charade continues, porky turning and talking, putting a stop to the nefarious deeds. as porky turns to say “eh-nuh-neh-nuh-now, it’s in the beh-beh-eh-beh-bag!”, killer grunts in his normal voice “SO ARE YOU!”, kicking porky under the hood (bumpy ride!) and peeling off in the car to certain doom.

the transition from killer kidnapping porky to killer putting on porky’s clothes (who’s bound and gagged in a chair) is surprisingly snappy, yet comprehensible and smooth. of course, the narration does contribute to the clarity, but regardless, such a quick transition can be difficult to convey smoothly and clearly. tashlin does it very well.

volney white animates killer’s taunts to porky: “and, wit’ your sissy clothes on, i can rob da bank! and YOU’LL take da rap, see!? AHAHAHA!” volney’s animation is fun to watch--before i saw this cartoon for the first time, i only ever saw google images of it, this scene being one of those images. volney’s eye takes amazed me at how anachronistic they seemed, and i remember likening him to joe murray if he made cartoons in 1937. very fun eye takes indeed!

speaking of fun, bob bentley does a neat little scene involving a brawl between killer and his reflection in the mirror. he goes to check out his new pilfered duds (”now i look like da squoit!”), admiring himself in the mirror. suddenly, his reflection grows a life of its own, sticking its tongue out. real killer gets pissed (if you notice, when he does a take of surprise, you can see where the cel of the reflection gets cut off) and punches the mirror, leaving the glass broken, his reflection now touting a blackened eye. while the “reflection becoming sentient” gag may seem tired, i enjoy how interactive killer’s reflection is, all without saying a word. the staging feels incredibly natural and nonchalant.

with that, killer makes his way to the bank, whistling along to the underscore of “with plenty of money and you” beneath the words of the narrator. you can spot a bit of camera trouble as the camera pans out from the sign at porky’s desk reading “PORKY PIG -- OUT TO LUNCH”: the pan janky, the picture briefly turning blurry before resuming to normalcy. it’s more interesting than detrimental, especially considering warner bros never did retakes.

cue a montage of “porky” stowing away the goods of the townspeople into his pocket, pretending to deposit them in the bank. the minor key rendition of “puddin’ head jones” is a nice reminder of killer’s similarities and differences. similar in appearance, maybe, but not much else. 

petunia engages in her routine from before, attempting to seduce “porky”. mel blanc’s genius shines as killer responds to petunia’s calls in a gruff, scratchy “YEAH, WHAT IS IT!?” he catches himself, and responds in an authentic porky voice “ye-ye-ye-yes, wuh-weh-wuh-weh-what is it?” the transition is seamless. whether it was on one take or two separate recordings, i don’t know, but it remains just as entertaining either way. i especially like how killer switches from “yeah” to “yes”--porky’s personality, while still relatively thin at this point, is certainly coming clearer. at the very least, frank tashlin knows that porky wouldn’t respond by saying “yeah”. it’s a little detail, but it says a lot.

and, just like myself, petunia also understands the distinctions between killer and porky--especially when killer plants a kiss on her as soon as she pulls the same “how ‘bout you and i stepping out tonight, big boy?” routine. killer grabs her in his arms, sneering “why wait until tonight, baby?” and gives her a kiss, prompting petunia to smack him and declare “why, you’re not porky pig!” killer’s response is full of careful wit and thoughtfulness as he so eloquently answers: “SO WHAT?”

ringing the burglar alarm, that’s what. petunia discreetly sets the alarms off, prompting a flurry of bullets to whiz at killer offscreen (they sure have good security!). killer retaliates with his own shotguns, but quickly speeds off to his hideout, goods still in his possession.

killer and his lackeys admire the treasures stacked on the table, eager to pounce. a clever pan to porky, still writhing around in his ropes as killer sneers “AND DEY ‘TINK YOU DID IT!” 

tashlin’s artistry strikes again as we peer at the hideout through the bars of iron gates outside. truck out to reveal police officers crowding around outside, crouching on the ground to remain discreet. the shot is composed rather nicely, with the ground level nearing the horizon line, elevating the subjects to the middle plane. even though the shot itself doesn’t linger very long, the clarity is easy to see. a tree placed off to the side cleverly frames the two officers who are on the screen--little things like that make a big difference.

one of the lackeys notices the cops are lurking by, alerts the others, and immediately shoots his machine gun out the window. watch all of the stuff flying out of his pocket as he shoots--playing cards, knives, guns, jewelry, even a wig! definitely a fun scene to freeze frame and pick apart all the details. 

the cops retaliate, and an all-out shootout occurs. a gag reused from i’m a big shot now (another gangster parody cartoon) and porky’s duck hunt ensues as a cop shoots up at the building, the impact from his rifle driving him into the ground as each shot digs the hole deeper and deeper. another rather fun gag includes a woodpecker drilling into a tree, causing the officer in the branch to clutch his heart and moan “they got me!”

in the process, stray bullets from down below shoot out of the floor, conveniently ripping the ropes bounding porky to the chair. a quick bird’s eye view of the hideout, and it’s onto porky to take action. because we all remember porky as a suave, charismatic crime fighter, it’s only natural for him to jump onto a chandelier hanging from the hallway and knock all of killer’s cronies into a door. (do cartoon characters have stunt doubles? surely they do! don’t they?) 

volney white’s animation prevails for the remainder of the cartoon. porky hops down from the upstairs landing, plopping down right on top of killer himself. both come to fisticuffs, volney’s hilarious facial expressions and treg brown’s masterful sound effects combining to make quite the amusing amalgamation. certainly a scene worthy of freeze-framing for all of the funny faces!

perhaps even more amusing, however, is the drastic tone shift as soon as the cops arrive: no time is wasted during the transition between the fight and an armed cop probing “alright, who’s the killer!?” the fight breaks up in an instant off screen, and porky (his voice un-sped) pleading “i’m uh-puh-peh-puh-peh-porky!” the transition is almost too swift, but is comical over everything else, so i’m not too slighted by it. killer insists in his own gruff voice “I’M porky!”

the cop isn’t convinced, and tries again. both insist that they’re porky. that’s when it’s petunia to the rescue, who assures the cop that she knows how to find out. she cozies up to the real porky, once more enacting their “big boy” charade from earlier. as porky flops over his words in all of his collar-tugging glory, petunia gloats “that’s porky.” porky nodding along to her affirmation is a nice, subtle touch.

as we’ve repeatedly discovered, frank tashlin was no fan of porky. even though he outwardly admits that he didn’t like to work with him, there are multiple clues throughout his pictures solidifying his disdain. here is no exception, as petunia outright screws porky over. 

her sultry demeanor changes from reassuring to duplicitous as she heaves a sigh and coos “how that killer can kiss!” porky rightfully grows angry, and, in a pattern we’ll observe in many a cartoon, allows his jealousy to triumph his bashful, reserved nature as he grabs petunia’s arms and pulls her in for a kiss. killer’s eye-boggling, affronted expression and porky’s triumphant, chest-puffing stance after the fact are both hilarious. volney white does a wonderful job of conveying personality through his animation.

here’s the kicker. despite getting her kiss from porky, she still isn’t satisfied. she coldly remarks “i STILL take the killer!” with that, porky can only gawk in awe as petunia and killer march arm-in-arm out the door, petunia cooing that she’ll wait until killer gets out of prison. iris out.

the voice acting steals the show in this cartoon. mel KILLS it (no pun intended) as killer, from the falsetto to the porky impersonation--which is just mel doing his regular porky voice--to killer’s evil belly laughs. sara berner does a fine job as petunia, and tedd pierce’s narration is always a joy to hear. i’m unsure of who voices the lackeys, as they don’t quite sound like mel, but nevertheless, they too are fun to listen to, especially their introductory dialogue. if anything, you should check out this short for the voice work alone.

frank tashlin’s eye for cinematography sparkles as it always does. the opening montage is particularly impressive, especially the use of silhouettes. very bold and striking. his layouts are very well structured, and the cartoon flows very nicely. it’s a snappy one, but it hardly feels like it drags. there’s a lot packed into these 7 minutes! 

though i do pity porky, especially at the end, i will concede that the end IS a good shocker, even if petunia is straight up cruel. porky’s personality is slowly weeding its way out of the woods, with some traits (good natured, gullible) sticking to his character all throughout his career. progress is being made! and, as i said before, as much as i enjoy the fat porky design, i won’t shed too many tears over this being its final appearance, because it marks a new step forward for warner bros. cartoons are becoming funnier, snappier, wittier, the disney influence continually waning. good things await.

i definitely recommend you check this one out. while it’s not my all time favorite tashlin cartoon, there’s a lot to admire, from voice direction to animation to even the layouts. 

link!

#lt #looney tunes #porky’s double trouble #tashlin #reviews #long post