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maple-the-awesome · 10 months

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We'll Meet Again...I Know When || Chapter 27

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN Reader

Words: 4,779

Overview: Given your old-fashioned personality and obsession with all things 1940s to 1980s, it’s no wonder that most people refer to you as an ‘old soul’ who would’ve rather lived back then than in the modern era. Little do they know, you already did, but with your previous life as Hollie Stark cut short, you’ve been left with some…unfinished business, to say the least. Top of your list? Finally getting to marry your thought-to-be-lost fiancé.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: GOODNIGHT AND GOOD MOURNING

Bucky counts two rings of the doorbell and six knocks. Second ring in case the first wasn't heard, six heavy knocks in case the doorbell might be broken, and yet despite this extra work, he never actually had any real expectations for the door to open on its own. Unfortunately, he gave up hope on that a few weeks ago.

Setting some bags down by his feet and cursing when they immediately tip over, he uses his new free hand to fish through his pocket, succeeding in not only finding his keys, but the correct one to unlock this blasted barrier before him.

Per usual, he's greeted with an eerily dark hallway that seems fitting for the start of a horror movie. Shuffling through the door with another curse as the same pesky bags get caught on the handle, he kicks it shut behind himself then calls out into the darkness as if it would reply, "Hey...It's me!"

Unfazed by the greeting of silence, he leaves his boots and coat there before making a b-line for the kitchen, pleased to leave all his grocery bags there to officially free himself of their incontinent weight. He goes to the fridge first, not to put anything away, but rather to grimace at the barren sight inside. Some condiments, a little bit of milk, veggies that look past their expiration date, and a half rack of beer…Good thing he went shopping.

Walking around the bar and into the living room, Bucky almost makes the mistake of going further which would've taken him right past the couch and, more importantly, the motionless lump lying there. When he does spot it in the corner of his eyes, he sighs - for some reason he still has a reason to sigh despite this having become a despairing routine as of lately.

Slowly, he steps over the few empty beer bottles on the floor and squats next to the couch where his frown only grows deeper as he pokes the lump, "It's past noon...You should get up and eat something - You need to get up and eat something."

He only gets a groan in response, but at least that's better than continued silence.

"I bought groceries. I can make something if you want?" Nothing, "...Or I can even order some take-out. Anything particular in mind?"

"...I don't want anything..."

Bucky inhales, although he tries not to make it sound so sharp. Standing upright and grabbing the empty bottles, he heads back into the kitchen, “...You’ll make yourself sick living off of beer alone, you know?”

"For your information, I had ramen yesterday."

"I'm proud of you," He's truly sincere, not that you'd believe that, "That means today, we can have something other than beer or ramen. Now, what do you feel like? I was thinking we could just do a simple, early dinner. I got some frozen pizza. Maybe we can have that and do a movie night or somethin' - just enjoy an easy going, lazy day. What do you say? I wouldn't mind another marathon of Lord of the Rings. You still keep the extended cuts under the TV stand, yeah?”

He’s rambling and normally, you find it enduring, however today - and for the last few weeks - his voice has been a distant echo in your head; nothing but a dull mumble against the terrible thoughts that overtake your care and concern. It makes you feel shitty in every way possible. Bucky visits every day without fail, armed with unlimited patience and kindness that he somehow manages to smother you in without actually smothering you (it’s been painfully obvious that he’s desperately trying to give you some space while still being present).

"Oh yeah, and I also got your favorite. They had it next to check-out. 'thought you'd like some," Even when a candy bar is waved in front of your face, your eyes barely shift to it before disappearing from sight when you curl further into your blanket sanctuary.

"...No thank you.”

Although his smile does wobble a bit into a frown, Bucky forces himself not to break; not here, not in front of you. He’d be an absolute hypocrite to complain, after all, it was him who spent several years moping which (unintentionally) dragged you into quite a lot of trouble. You pulled him from that hole, giving him the support he needed to move on from his past as hard as that had been. Now it’s his turn to return the favor.

Still - and he’s afraid he might be thinking selfishly with this, but there are days where he just wants to pick you up, throw you over his shoulder, and force you to go outside for once because the worry is eating away at him right now. It’s been weeks since the Snap - Well, five years for everyone else, but only a few measly weeks since the two of you had been thrown into this whirlwind of events that have left you both shaken.

It’s strange to think you can close your eyes and find out five years have passed. It’s even stranger to be thrown into a war for the universe immediately after, receiving no chance to process everything going on until you’re left with nothing. Natasha, Tony, Steve…The people who you cared for are gone and you never got to say goodbye - not in the way you wanted.

You were so damn happy, too. At long last, you had fixed your life, surrounded by people who were close to Hollie or at least understood that you were once her. No more pretending nor biting your tongue; you were free to just be you, both as Hollie and (Y/n). To think, you were actually excited for your future for the first time in, well, years - decades, even…then it all came tumbling down within mere minutes…Now you’re left with the shattered remains yet again and can’t help but ask yourself: how many more times? When will you have suffered enough?

"...(Y/n)...” Bucky breathes your name and you notice the crack behind his voice as he kneels down beside you, gently moving a strand of hair away from your face, “I’m not asking for you to be okay or to move on. I’m just asking that you take care of yourself a little better. You’re not eating, you haven’t left the apartment in days - I don’t even think you’re really sleeping either. I -...I’m getting really worried about you, darling…”

He has a point. You know he has a point because this isn’t the first time you’ve been here. If anything, you should be an expert on grief and recovery, having learned from experience that wallowing doesn’t bring anyone back…so why do you still feel like utter shit then? You should be a productive member of society, counting your blessings and moving on because you’re lucky enough to even be here. So many people have it worse than you. Bucky, for example. He lost Steve, too. He tries to brush it off, but you see the pain in his eyes. Steve didn’t die or anything. He just…left. He left both of you willingly despite the suffering you’ve already been cursed with…He abandoned you both with it and while you want to be happy for him and happy that he got to be with Peggy in the end as they both deserved…you can’t help feeling pissed…betrayed even…

Bucky has a right to be mad, too. He should have his own time to grieve for himself instead of being stuck in this dark apartment babying you. Even if he has already moved on (not that you’d believe it), that would be all the more reason for him to go live his life. Why does he keep fussing over you when he should be taking care of himself?

“I’m getting really worried about you, darling…”

…You wish you could make Bucky happy. You want him to be happy, having moved on from all those awful things HYDRA had done to the quiet, simple life he desires, yet selfishly at the same time, you don’t actually want to let him go. You’re stuck in this awful limbo where you want to throw in the towel and give up on everything you’ve worked so hard on throughout the years, after all, it sure didn’t take long to crumble around you, but at the same time, you’re so tired of feeling alone…You don’t want to go back to that life even if it means desperately grasping at strings and dragging poor Bucky down with you…

At long last you peek out from behind your blanket, lazily gazing up at the man in question. There was once a time when you would shamelessly swoon at the thought of having his affection and admittedly, you’re heart still flutters at hearing his concern for you, however after the Snap, you can’t help feeling numb inside as if your heart is covered in frozen ice that even Bucky can’t chip away…at least, that's what you had begun to believe until finally getting a good look at him.

Your heart speeds up so suddenly it makes a wave of nausea run over your entire body, making you feel a bit more awake than you had been before. For once you find energy for something and that's to wiggle your arm out from under the blankets, reaching until your fingers manage to touch the top of his head.

"...You cut your hair," You observe so stupidly, avoiding his eyes as you focus only on his new haircut which is quite the change. Yesterday he had his hair pulled back into a bun while complaining of the heat, however today, his long locks are gone, leaving a rather short yet soft fluff behind.

"Yeah...'got it done this morning," He slightly bows his head down towards you more, burning through all his willpower not to fully lean into your touch. He’s as cautious with his movements as he is in watching your expression and asking the question, “Do you like it…?”

You finally allow yourself to look at his face, your fingers just barely running along his cheek on their way to falling limb against the couch again. For a brief second anyone could miss, your lip quivers, but you do good to press it back the same way you blink away any tears threatening to make an appearance. Maybe Bucky notices, maybe he doesn’t.

"...It’s a good look on you,” You inhale, eyes drifting over his facial features to catch every detail because at this point you’ve abandoned all caution. You’ll accept in this moment that you’re being selfish and you’ll also decide not to care, “...You clean up nicely, Barnes. Who would’ve guessed?”

Bucky beams - quite literally, he beams with a boyish grin and glitter to his eyes after hearing you say something more akin to your usual self. Oh, how he’s missed your teasing. Sure, your voice is cracked and barely more than a whisper, but it’s progress he won’t object to. He also doesn’t object to you slowly sitting up while running a hand through your own messy air and sighing at your headache.

“So, um…A movie marathon, you said?”

“Unless you have anything else in mind?”

You press your lips, never letting the hand fall from your head. There’s a voice inside who tries to argue, reminding you that it’ll only end in more heartbreak if you try yet again to pick up the pieces of Hollie’s life, but God, it’s so damn difficult with Bucky’s adorable, hopeful smile. He’s attached to you even without understanding the truth. He cares for (Y/n), he worries about you…That’s supposed to be a good thing, right? You wanted that - wanted to know that he could love you as you, not as just Hollie, however there’s a side of you that doesn’t feel quite right about it for some reason…some reason you’ll ignore.

“...No. A movie night sounds fun…”

Baby steps - that’s what it took for you to start functioning again after Bucky’s supposed death seventy eight years ago; lots and lots of baby steps. Misery doesn’t disappear overnight which is a cruel truth that hasn’t changed between then and the modern era, although misery does fade overtime if you can successfully focus on the things you like and the things you still have.

You might not have your family to pull you out of this funk like last time, but at least you have Bucky (a bittersweet switch, if anything). He’s kept you distracted with different movies he wants to watch and recipes he’d like to bake. He’s always around, in fact you’ve already told him he can keep that spare key to your apartment because honestly, neither of you can remember that last time he’s actually stayed at his own.

Once you stopped stubbornly pushing him away, Bucky was allowed to bear witness to some of the demons that have been haunting your mind since the Snap. It’s safe to say you’ve done your fair share of crying in front of him, letting your frustrations slip as you curse Thanos and the universe and anyone who can possibly be linked to causing your current pain. You’ve expressed your anger with Steve, your sorrow over Natasha, and mourning for Tony.

You’re thankful that, no matter what sobs or curses have escaped you, Bucky has never filled the gap with unrealistic promises that everything will ‘be okay’. You’ve grown tired of hearing that from others, so it’s been refreshing to have someone instead hold you during your moments of vulnerability while promising that they’ll always be there for you when life gets rough.

Thanks largely to Bucky’s encouragement and support, you’ve gotten better. Not ‘better’ as in fully fixed, but ‘better’ as in you can find the strength to go on errands into town and ensure you’re maintaining a healthy diet again.

Life seems to have returned to a small sense of normal again, strongly reminding you of your stay in Romania which you had treasured so much. Coffee together in the mornings, afternoons discussing each other’s day, movie nights, and take-out dinner…It’s no wonder that your parents have inquired about your ‘boyfriend’. Your relationship sure seems to be leaning that way from the outside looking in (more than it ever has before) and, despite how desperately you try to ignore it, sometimes you find yourself drifting too far into the domestic bliss the same way you had in Romania, dangerously letting your guard down until you’re ripped back into reality by an unwanted and awful reminder…First it had been Steve appearing in your apartment those seven years ago, now this…

“You know…” Bucky’s voice easily gains your attention, earning a pleasant hum as you curl your head closer to his chest in acknowledgment.

It’s hot out today meaning the air conditioning’s been blasting with a box fan rumbling mere feet away, yet you’ve still filed no complaint towards cuddling close to his side on the couch while binging an entire season of The Office.

Despite your patience waiting for a response, it doesn’t come too promptly. Instead he awkwardly adjusts his arm around you and swallows before speaking, “...We should go out to dinner tomorrow night.”

You’re both blind and deaf to his shyness, merely perking an eyebrow without taking your eyes off the screen, “Why tomorrow? Are you on a diet that says you can’t eat dinner on Tuesday nights?”

Usually he’d chuckle at such a comment, and he nearly does, a short sound making it past his lips which he quickly bites back, “N-No, I mean, we’ll still eat dinner tonight obviously, I was just trying - I’d like to go somewhere nice together. Sit down dining, type deal.”

Finally understanding the hint, you become a bit nervous yourself, “How ‘nice’ are we exactly talking? Red Robins kinda nice or um…make a reservation nice?”

“Nicer than Red Robins…” He rubs the back of his neck with a shrug, although you don’t get a chance to voice your concerns because he skillfully spots them first, “Don’t worry about money or anything like that. I’ve been saving. I was thinking I’d treat ya’ - take you out to dinner someplace special for the evening…I promised after all.”

Bucky’s eyes widen in surprise when you push away from him so quickly that you almost fall off the couch. It would be one thing for you to just turn and look at him, however your movements are desperate as if his touch had suddenly burned you. The way you’re actually looking at him doesn’t help, either. You appear as if you’ve seen a ghost, face pale and eyes wild as you stare.

“W-When?”

“Huh -?”

“When did you promise that?” You whisper rather cautiously, only further confusing the poor man.

“In Wakanda? A week or so before you came there I promised that when we see each other again, I’d take you out to dinner - as a thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” Bucky frowns, visibly concerned about your behavior, enough so that he hesitates to reach out to you, “Are you alright -?”

“- I…I don’t know if that’s a good idea…‘sounds kinda like a date, don’t you think?” You try to calm your heartbeat through deep yet casual breaths, even attempting a poor laugh at the end of your sentence, however it’s clear such struggling is useless; that damage has already been done.

Bucky bows his head in shame while slowly retracing his hand, “...Would a date be so bad?”

You open your mouth only to close it, fearing the nausea that bubbles within your stomach. This isn’t how you expected your reaction to be. You’ve been dreaming of this moment, desperately hoping for the day Bucky asks you out so that you can finally rekindle that relationship you once had and miss dearly. It would have to be by his own terms, you decided long ago, not wanting to push him by making the move yourself, however secretly, there has been another reason for waiting - a certain anxiety that has interested in relevance over these last nine years.

"The second I get back, I'm taking you out to dinner - a nice place, too, I've been saving.”

“Let me do this for you, Hollie. Eight o'clock sharp. Houghton's. I'd say wear something nice, but you look dazzling in anything."

It isn’t easy having lived two lives. It isn’t easy having the memories of a different person - although still you - who remains in pieces only inside your mind and personality. You’re Hollie. You’ve maintained certain traits of hers and you continue to love all that she had…but you’re also (Y/n). You don’t look the same and you endured a new childhood, in a new world, with a new family…While in your own eyes, you’d argue that this change is minimum, equivalent to the way a child changes into a teen and a teen into an adult, there’s has always been a fear hidden within your heart that others might not see the same.

What if someone who knew you then doesn’t like who you are now?

You were able to set that question aside for the others. Steve knew Hollie as a friend. You were close, although your interactions were limited and rarely were you alone. Frankly, you became closer during your time as (Y/n) when each other's support was needed more than ever. Tony knew Hollie as an aunt when he was very young. His image of you was built upon four years of vague memories with your care and support being at the forefront; that’s all he expected from (Y/n)...Neither of them truly compared to Bucky, a man who loved Hollie in more ways than one and got to know her best despite your short time together.

What if he doesn’t like who you are now?

Bucky loved Hollie - he still loves her. You saw her picture in his wallet once when he brought groceries over. You’re okay with that part alone, however you worried that if you immediately told him from the very beginning that you’re the same person as that girl in the photo - from that first day you found him in DC - would he have only loved you because of Hollie? Because the concept of being with you was his only chance of being with her again?

It’s ridiculous and foolish. You act jealous of yourself, although you honestly believed it to be in the best interest for both of you. You don’t want to exist solely as a living memory, not an individual, and you don’t think it would’ve been healthy for Bucky, either. He needed to love you for who you are now. He needed to move on in some way.

He has moved on. Hollie’s still kept close to his heart, yet he’s sitting here now asking for you. He’s spent months - no, years probably - loving you and looking to you as a means to finally be happy. This is exactly what you wanted…so why do you still feel so shitty inside?

"(Y/n)!”

You turn your head. You can tell by his eyes that Bucky didn’t mean to raise his voice, but at least it gained your attention at last. Cautiously, he reaches for you again, this time committing to the action. It’s only when the cold metal of his thumb runs along your cheek that you realize you’re crying.

“...It doesn’t have to be a date. We don’t even have to go. Don’t -...Don’t worry about it, alright? It’s not that big of a deal?” Oh, but it is. Bucky’s such a terrible liar. If it truly wasn’t a big deal, then why did his voice crack with a dejected undertone?

“I-I’m sorry…I’m sorry. I’m just…being emotional for no reason at all,” You huff mostly to yourself, miserably attempting to rub the tears away with the edges of your sleeves. Bucky has much better luck at it, carefully using his thumbs and palms to catch your tears. All the while, he searches your eyes for any sign of harm which almost makes you forget your sadness…almost…

Meeting his gaze, you move a hand of your own to his cheek, smiling softly, “I’d love to go on a date with you, James.”

“But -”

“- I’m afraid.”

His mouth snaps shut after your whisper and it takes him a second to meet it, equally as silent, “...Why?”

You don’t answer too promptly yourself. A keen eye would notice your hesitation as you heavily debate your next action, although you hide it well behind the admiration you seem almost drunk on while running your hand back into Bucky’s much shorter hair. For years you’ve bit your tongue and danced around your inner thoughts which has been a tiring endeavor for sure, enough so that in a moment like this, you’ve lost the willpower to keep the act up, choosing to instead speak directly from your heart regardless of the risk.

“...You’ve always been so good to me, James. ‘a real knight in shining armor…You know, I was so alone before I met you, not thinkin’ I’d ever find someone who could keep up with my nonsense. Others figured me to be crazy, that or they were intimidated by me being too ‘unique’, as my family put it. Whether I tried to change or not, it didn’t matter because if I wasn’t different to the world, I was different to myself. There was no winning and my displacement only seemed to grow with age. ‘started to believe the universe cursed me for some reason - that I must’ve done something terrible in my past or perhaps I was simply too happy at some point, leaving an overdrawn balance now…I didn’t want to do it anymore, but then you came around again. You gave me hope - meaning, even.

“I feel happy with you - very happy, as if I can breathe easy and just be myself without ever worrying about judgment again because as long as you like me, that’s all I need to know that I’m not crazy,” Bucky opens his mouth, but he doesn’t get a chance when you gently place a finger to his lips, “You mean sooo much to me, James, in fact I don’t think you’ll ever be able to truly understand the full extent of my love for you…and that’s what scares me. There’s…Well, there’s something I need to tell you, but I’m afraid that whenever I do, you’ll push me away. Whether it’s because you don’t believe me or you get mad at me -”

“- I could never get mad at you, darling -”

“- You say that now and I'm sure you believe it, but once you hear what I have to say, you might change your mind -”

“- I don’t think that’s possible -”

“- James -”

“- You said that I might not understand the extent of your love, but I don’t think you understand mine,” He interrupts more sternly, slowly grasping your wrist and lowering your hand over his heart. He holds it there and doesn’t let go, a hint of shyness in his eyes, “You mean a lot to me - you have meant a lot to me for a while now. Around you, I feel relaxed a-as if all those things HYDRA had done never happened. I start to think that I might actually deserve a happy life by your side and even if I don’t, then fuck it, I don’t find myself caring. I want to be with you anyways because every second that I’m not, I’m restless like a piece of me is gone…Being here with you, I…It’s a feeling I haven’t felt in a long time…There’s nothing you could say to make it suddenly go away.”

You chuckle apprehensively with a shake of your head, letting your gaze finally fall from his, “...I bet I could…”

“I highly doubt it,” He rolls his eyes, leaning close enough for his own quiet laughter to be felt. You steal a glance at his lips, nearly giving into your own temptation to touch them, although you hesitate there instead.

“You don’t know -”

“- I don’t need to then -”

“- This is serious, James!” You plead weakly, trying to pull your hand from his and move off his lap where you just now notice he’s brought you, yet it should be of no surprise that he’s stronger than you and won’t let this matter drop so easily without resolve.

Your actions cause his concern to return and he becomes serious once again, his stormy eyes watching you so very carefully with his bottom lip puffed out in a pout, “...What’s really wrong, (Y/n)? I don't get it. You just said that you love me too and that must be true - I believe that it's true because, I mean, why else would you have stuck by my side after all the shit I’ve dragged you into? I-If I have to do more to prove my love for you, I will, if that’s what has you so worried - Or if you’re not ready for a relationship yet, that’s fine, too. Just…tell me what’s wrong so that I can fix it. No more beatin’ around the bush…Please, darling…”

Suddenly, your eyes feel so stern watching him despite the tears that fill them as you slightly bow your head in what you would deem as shame, although he might mistake it for anger given how persistent and strange you’re behaving. He’s all ears, though. Maybe slightly taken aback by your vulnerable speech, but this isn’t the first time you’ve expressed your inner thoughts with him since the Snap and he’s here to listen without judgment as he’s always been. He just hopes he didn’t make you uncomfortable by overstepping.

Usually you're the one to make him flustered. He thought all of your prior flirting meant he was safe to ask you out, however he’s now starting to second guess all of that. He hasn’t dated since Hollie, after all. He’s been out of the game for so long, it’s completely possible that he read the situation wrong. Then again, you just admitted to loving him, so what’s stopping you? You had assured long ago that you have no actual fiancé, he's certain you aren't dating anyone else at the moment, and you've both gone in public countless times together, so surely you aren't ashamed to be seen with him even despite his muddy past. Is it too soon after the Snap? Are you just not ready for commitment? Why are you suddenly acting so hesitant as if you haven't spent the last several years longing for each other?

"...Bucky," He shallows somewhat nervously when you whisper his name, meeting eyes once again, "...I'm Holiday Stark..."

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fiveais · 3 months

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Unfinished Lethal League Blaze Fic: Unauthorized Maintenance

i started this fic. some time late last year, and i unfortunately ran out of steam while polishing it, but i still would like to share it (it's not written well enough for AO3). it's just about all headcanons despite my best efforts to capture what little there is to their canon personalities, so who knows how well i did there lol. i hope, if u choose to read, u enjoy it nonetheless

Rating: probably something like PG

Warnings: mild self harm mention, oblivious robot friend, fictional programming jargon, and robot body horror(?)

Characters: Raptor&Switch, with a tiny bit of Latch

“So when we do this- could you turn around for a minute when I take it off?”

Switch took a step back and scanned the setup they had made in the communal living space they allocated for this. The couch sat at a slightly lower height than what he was hoping for. He opened up the part of the architecture suite that handled spacial contradictions and disparities- it all came back with a positive return. He slid the chair forward anyway and then turned to face Raptor.

He was talking about his face.

Raptor sighed, hand tentatively posed to itch his arm, but he held back “dude, it’s not a big deal, I’ve seen your insides before”.

“No, man you don’t get it. Like-” He couldn’t explain it. The thoughts snagged and gummed up right as they were coming to a head. Some he could make out and others were harder to find specific words for. He floundered- bits and pieces of half broken syllables and snipped consonants were all that he was able to get out before he gave up entirely on the endeavor with a dejected sigh.

“Please?”

Raptor shifted his weight from one foot to the other and then back. He felt something bubbling under the surface and it burned his throat. Switch looked on at him in that way that he did when he expected a response, but his question had left a hot coal in the pit of his belly. It bothered him that this bothered his best friend. He thought they trusted each other more than this. He thought they were close. He thought they were really close.

“Okay, but can I ask something?”

That took him by surprise, “yeah, man, anything”. He eased into the chair they decided to use for this.

He took that to heart and braced himself, “are you scared what I might think? That I’ll think you’re weird or something?” The questions hung heavy between them.

He took a moment to think- mulling the questions and how he felt. When he melded them together- Raptor brought the malformed thought to light. What he felt was something like that.

“Yeah.”

“Huh? Are you okay?”

He tried again “yeah, dude. I’m scared. I don’t know how to explain it. But I think if you see me without the-“ he made a vague gesture around his face “-piece here, you might- you know. I don’t know.” He kind of did, but mostly he didn’t really want to think about it.

“What? See your robo-skeleton face and freak out?” He gave him a light shove. “C’mon man- it’s just a face. We all have skeletons and it’s not like you have gross stuff like blood or whatever. Just get it over with.” He felt the stress ease out of his shoulders as he turned to sit on the sofa, eying the tools.

Switch flexed his fingers one at a time, releasing them, and then all at once until his joints creaked “can you, like, promise to not freak out. Like, seriously, don’t freak out.”

Raptor raised one of the cleaning tools. Huh, he doesn’t remember this one. “No, I won’t freak out. Can we do this already? I’ve been ready for this since you asked. We kind of need to do this fast-“ or else all the old gunk and dust that built up might just stick to him forever and who knows what that would do weeks or months from now.

There was a series of clicks and a several latches unhooking from the inside- a pneumatic pressure gauge hissed as it retracted. He kept his attention on how everything undid and unlatched and separated away from the rest of his body. There was no turning back now. Next thing he knew Raptor had gently lifted it out of his grip, and held it while just looking at him. A cacophony of uninsulated clicks and whirls were made as he failed to look anywhere else that wasn’t directly at the human that stood over him. He made an attempt to turn his head, but the rollers silently spun uselessly in place. He imagined that this is what a camera on a tripod must feel like. Except he has bare exposed lenses that were out on display in the open along with all the delicate wires and circuits and motherboard; meanwhile Raptor was right there holding his face-

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. He chanted to himself as Raptor sat across from him, setting his now dimly-lit casing aside on the couch cushion next to him, not really taking his gaze off of Switch.

Raptor ran a hand over the tools and slid one of the smaller ones out of its pocket. With a soft microfiber brush tip and squeezable cleaning barrel, it was the first one to use for small sensitive parts. He peered up and beckoned Switch to lean a little further down and forward so he didn’t have to strain to keep his arm still as he worked. Switch inched ever forward in the chair- it groaned and half of his face was now cast in a column of bright warm sunlight, his lens contracting and throwing deep shadows where the light caught on his face.

Raptor’s jaw slackened and his hand got sidetracked. This was his friend, he’s had this face when he was made. It was just under the case that protected it this whole time. When was the last time he took it off? Did he ever get cleaned up like this? Was there anyone to help him then?

Getting a closer look, it reminded him of the old guts of a computer tower with the anatomy of one of those electronic skeletons found in toys. There were several tiny circuit boards- wires that were bundled with electric tape- some in neat tidy strips and others in a haphazard mess, a couple little fans that sputtered in frequent bursts, a couple little speaker-looking parts, a large mess where his mouth would be- it didn’t even look like a speaker, and to his surprise, two lens that were locked onto him.

In a smooth and methodical motion he looked for a place to start, circling around his eye area. The cleaning solution that would clear any dust off and polish his eyes gleamed in the mid-day sun as he closed in on Switch’s face.

He heard the soft clicking and whirling of camera lenses as Switch focused on him and tried to distract himself “is it bad?”

Wow, that brush was getting close to his eye.

He leaned away slightly.

Raptor stopped and hummed “not as bad as we thought it was gonna be.” He raised a brow “can you feel this?” The brush met the outer rim of his eye- tiny raised text caught the cleaning mixture which condensed into a crystalline droplet that slid into his view. Switch flinched back before realizing what it was. He really needed to chill, he could trust Raptor with this- it was difficult to fight off his fraying nerves when a slew of different hardcoded self-preservation functions poked him every few nano-seconds- one after another. In succession.

He leaned back forward, hands resting on his lap in loose fists “no- but-” something in his hindcode itched. He took a glance at it. It was a loop of the company variety. Again. “Just be gentle?”

Raptor seemed only a little annoyed, brush held in the air, “trust me, dude, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you” he slowly returned with gentle contact- Switch heard a series of soft scrapping sounds coming from seemingly right inside his audio input receptors. Everything in him screamed that this was unauthorized, that it was potentially damaging, that he might just explode and die a fiery death (which wasn’t going to happening, but the company maintenance made vague threats like it would). He decided to authorize Raptor as a technician right then and there- he just hadn’t thought about how he had never done this before. He opened a system option and accessed the manual bypass for personnel intel and security. It was so broken and frail it didn’t care that he was the one talking to it. Only the thing had completely ignored him when he reached for the input prompt list.

Wait.

He went after it, but it didn’t even go near the route programs he usually had corralled them to.

>> System: return address; null function; else return “error”;

> error; return data type; void int;

What.

Then he heard it.

“REGISTERING TECHNICAL CLIENT FOR AUTHORIZATION. PROCEED?” Oh that was loud. It lacked all the inflection of what he usually sounded like, too. Actually, exploding right about now didn’t seem so bad. Maybe even an astroid hitting him where he sat.

Raptor froze and went pale, he was stopped whatever he was saying and doing. That was never good. He went straight for a backdoor, deciding not to waste time confronting it.

“Switch?” He said in a small brave voice.

“PROCEED?” The voice asked again. Piece of shit was scaring Raptor, he needed back in right now. But just as the system didn’t care that he accessed it, it didn’t care that he needed a fast way to find the lead to where this program was coming from. Terminate. Terminate you stupid piece of shit software.

Raptor looked lost and terrified like his best friend was taken over by some kind of virus and was about to eat him.

A moment passed. Then another. He slowly took his hand away after realizing nothing was going to happen, and regarded him carefully, ready to launch off the couch if he needed to. He swallowed thickly and then followed the body-snatcher’s lead.

“Proceed?”

“TECHNICIAN DESIGNATION” the voice prompted in its flat buzzy voice.

“Raptor” it didn’t have any of the charm of when they first met, but he found some small sense of bemusement in this second first meeting.

“REGISTERING “RAPTOR”. BYPASSING CONFIRMATION CODE 405.” Almost there. He had a feeling the lack of company server was what even let Raptor interact with the program like this.

Raptor seemed less scared and more confused and concerned “Hey, Switch, are you in there?” For all he knew this thing was now Switch and that the friend he knew was gone.

He wrestled the voice command away “hey, yeah, I’m here- sorry” he would have crawled behind the couch and manually erase all of this if he could.

Raptor gave him a pointed look “dude, that was not cool.” He paused. Oh, his hand was shaking now. Shit.

Switch slowly reached up to try to reassure him.

“I’m okay, don’t worry about it” he didn’t look or sound okay.

“I’m sorry” he elaborated “I was… it was…” he made a learned frustrated sound “I just authorized you as my main technician. You can access everything now” he continued “I didn’t know that was gonna happen. I thought it was all boring internal company stuff and you could work while I deal with it” it was easier to tell when he looked off and away to the side “I know that was loud.”

Oh. This was a Citynetics thing. Switch didn’t ever really talk about them.

“It’s cool, we’re cool… What do you mean by everything?” Getting back to the task at hand, Raptor took one deep breath and then another. He shook his hands out and took a drink. He felt a little better. Everything was okay, it’s alright, Switch was still Switch.

“Everything as in everything” he made a motion with his hand “you know, coding and parts and all that.”

“Oh. Cool.” Raptor didn’t grasp that Switch had just handed him, but that was okay, he would figure it out later.

He picked up the brush once more, gestured for Switch to return to his position, and then started on the other side of his face. He rested his left hand across on the collar of Switch’s neck and used his right forearm to prop up his hand up just below his wrist. Barely squeezing the plastic barrel for more cleaning solution and being as careful as to avoid exposed wire and metal and glass, he went to work. His hand still held a slight tremor- then he noticed Switch clench his fist just a fraction “do you have, like, popups that yell at you or something?”

“Well. Yeah, I guess. Most of the time I can ignore it.”

“That sounds like it would suck.” Raptor snapped the cap back on the brush- saving solution from drying, and reached for the little blue can of electronic air duster. There was a ton of light grey dust built up in little mounds around the fans and boards. He gingerly started working on the tiny metal fans as he held the brush with the attachment up to them.

Switch tried to relax. In the undercode that ran behind his awareness there was a constant stream of now approved movements that Raptor was making. It was weird. There was now something that tracked every move Raptor made and a new library of statements that revolved around ID’ing him. Was this always there and he just now noticed it? He doubted it. Suddenly it disappeared and Switch made a startled noise as Raptor came back from opening a window to air out the room.

“What’s up?”

When he looked at Raptor something popped up in the undercurrent and he went to check it out.

He didn’t need another full-body possession twice in one day “hold on… when I authorized you something weird happened and it’s trying to track you”.

“Wow, creepy, but okay” Raptor said lightly, the ice cubes clinking together as he took a refreshing sip.

Switch sounded distracted “it’s trying to do something here… oh.”

“Oh?” Raptor casually turned over their small can of all-purpose 3-in-1 oil.

What exactly did he open up when he went to authorize him.

“It’s trying to give you some kind of title… you’re my… handler? Creation buddy? Another ex-worker? I don’t get what this is trying to tell me, it’s written in another language from everything else.”

“Dude, you’re bilingual?”

“Something like that, yeah. It’s a computer language that I don’t know” he focused on the oil can, it was new. Where did he get that from? “I should know all of them, so I’m not gonna lie, I’m kinda worried about what’s going on.”

Raptor tried to wrap his head around what he was saying “so the thing that talked to me is speaking to you in a language you don’t know even though it’s your mind- and It’s trying to give me a label even though you just said I’m you ‘technician’”? He grabbed a microfiber cloth and tipped a dollop of oil onto it. It would protect the raw steel from rust “why would it try to call me anything other than ‘technician’?”

Switch wondered why, too. It was broken and twitchy and when he gave it his attention it pinged him. Or it moved. He only understood a fraction of it even when he looked into the transistor part of his code (which almost overwhelmed him to even make the call for in a terminal screen). It kept updating and changing and when he moved it moved with him. Weird.

Then he tried something- bypassing the input-output he spewed a line of code right at it.

Mid-questioning everything up until now, just like that, he was gone.

When he came to- his system already went through the on-off system check. This is not where he was expecting his day to go. Maybe Raptor accidentally snapping off a fan or a bundle of wires coming loose and disconnecting something vaguely important? Well yeah, but not this. Last thing he remembers was sending a line of code that would have crashed that thing that was hanging out with him in his head- oh.

Raptor stood at his side, hovering over him. It took a minute for his vision to clear up entirely. He knew that look.

Now that he got the chance, he noticed that he was on the floor on his side- he tried to get up, but a hand pressured him to stay. What happened?

Raptor’s face was weird and puffy. It left him feeling uneasy- it was off and looked uncomfortable and almost sad? Angry? There wasn’t a lot of red in his face, it was mostly wet like he was crying. Something bad must have happened while he was out. He checked his history bank. It wasn’t there, actually looking for it now- it was out of his reach. He felt like he should be more worried, but Raptor had to come first, he could worry about his system later. How could he make this better? Raptor probably thought he had off-lined him. More than anything he felt guilty- he really messed up this time.

He stammered out a “sup”

Seriously. That was the best he could think of? Try again- what does Raptor need right now.

“I really fucked up, this time, I’m sorry” his voice sounded tinny and crackled. Was his face still on the couch?

Raptor’s voice sounded mildly stuffed up “Latch’s here”

Oh.

He heard someone adjust on the couch, clacking away at a keyboard out of his view “hey” it was cool and impartial. That was Latch, alright.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“You terminating your own code mid-process is what’s up- do you see this?”

Something gave him a jolt and forced itself into his view. It took up his whole vision “yeah, but now I can’t see you”

“Good. Just follow it.”

“So following your responses from that program it looks like your sentience stems from somewhere in the system options and augmenting area of your code. To make this short: you were talking to yourself, but because it was a fraction of an already broken code you fractured more of it and made a kind of mirror of code. It probably acted strange- does that sound right?”

He would have nodded “yeah! It tried to get my attention and kept saying weird half-gibberish to me”

Latch motioned with one hand “think of it as your subconscious- it wasn’t you per se, but rather, like a more complex low level thought process. You have the memory for it.” He paused “I had wrote a user-based function that should keep that from happening.”

He turned to Raptor “it was like a snake eating its own tail, but I made it so he knows not to do that again, right?”

Latch gave him a look that could freeze summer over

“Right”

Was he the system options? Is that where he came from? It was a lot to think about.

Raptor cleared his throat “I owe you one, Latch”

Latch huffed as he hopped down from the couch and brushed himself off

“I know who to bill, you bums don’t have a penny to your name”

“Heh, got us there”

“Thanks, Latch”

“No problem, kid. Next time he does something stupid like that, you can plug him into your laptop, he can figure it from there.”

Raptor saw him out, Switch watched from his position on the floor- Raptor then closed and locked the door behind him and turned and came back “I thought I killed you- you know”

“I’m sorry-“

Raptor exhaled with a shuddered breath “I tried everything, nothing worked-” he started to pace, not really looking at Switch. Words barely tapering off above a hoarse whisper- grabbing at his hair with one hand and positioning his other near his mouth “-I thought you forgot to charge, but plugging you in didn’t work. I thought-“ his eyes were getting shiny and his words started to choke up and all thought was devoured by a wall of emotion that he had holed up in his the entire time that Latch getting Switch to just turn on. He held onto hours of storming thoughts when Latch managed the first time he boot up where Switch wasn’t really Switch. Then they tried again. The second time looked promising, but it still wasn’t clicking in place. By the third he was starting to lose grip with his nerve, hands turning numb as he tried to keep his cool. He had obviously mostly failed on that front from the looks of it.

He never told Switch, but sometimes he’d wake up in the middle of the night with this specific dream- one that when he sat up he felt as though the wind was knocked out of his body and the floor was pulled from right under his feet. Like a waking nightmare coming true. Like Switch never turning on from a crash.

“I thought you were dead- you. You weren’t coming back. That-“ That he was gone and the only person who had given half a damn about him had left him alone in a world where no one cared what happened to some kid who played ball and had nothing else to his name but a bat and a helmet.

“Raptor-” he faltered, thinking on the best words he knew. The ones that’ll balm Raptor’s hurt- he kneaded and mulled over the words in his mind that would reassure that he would never leave Raptor like that, but his own stupid mistake and shallow foresight had almost lead him to his end. Again. He would be the master of his unmaking and he felt helpless to the knowledge. It made for some choice alerts in his under-code that paid attention to every little thought that crossed his mind. Nonetheless, even if the logical pathways left errors- he chose to ignore them for the one good solid truth he knew.

“Raptor, I’m still here.” It was all that he could afford.

He propped himself against the couch with his arm outstretched as an open invitation for Raptor- a small plea to close the gap. Raptor haphazardly collapsed in the familiar angles of Switch’s embrace. He melted into his side and pressed himself as close he could as he was wracked with a quiet upset.

“I’m here” his voice had tempered into something soft and warm and solid and repeated it until Raptor lulled himself into a stupor. Limp as he was held Switch noticed the little wells that his teeth left on his arm and the red angry skin around his sutures.

What was he thinking doing that to some part of himself he didn’t have a clue about. He should have ran a diagnostics to see what that even was. At the very most they would have called Latch together ofr him to have to section off that part of his system options. It would have been annoying, but nothing compared to this. He gently scooped Raptor up with very little effort- reaching behind himself to unplug some wires he was still hooked up to. Raptor only stirred a little, but some light coaxing got him to settle down. He eased him onto the couch, working off his helmet that he then laid on the coffee table next to their mess.

When that was done he closed the couple laptops Latch was using earlier, wrapped up the cords in a neat little bundle, and made space for himself on the floor by the couch. If there was anything left from cleaning his electronic components- they were quickly forgotten about. There would always be another time for that. Settling down Switch let his arm rest on the cushion next to Raptor. He took comfort in the sensor that gauged the mild influx of psi as it rested well, a nudge had let him know that there was the tiniest bit of resistance against it. Raptor was pressing himself up against his arm.. After a few more minutes he then picked up on the gentle slow snoring. It was late afternoon- almost time for dinner if he had to be frank, so it would probably be next to impossible for Raptor to go to bed on time, but after this, he figures one personal day wouldn’t hurt. He’d help Raptor catch up on any of his homework if it came to that.

With the dying light and the sulfur lamps blinking on one by one he let himself sink into the thought of tomorrow and the day after and the day after.

#my writing #asper writes #lethal league blaze #llb switch #llb raptor

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imagine-this-life-143 · 2 years

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Kim Taehyung - Artistic Ability

“Can I have everyone’s attention?” Your professor stood at the front of the studio, everyone’s eyes towards her. “That’s it for the class today, you’ve all done really well in this session. I must say, I have seen some real improvement in some of your pieces, it’s evident you guys have been listening to my advice.” She praised, your fellow peers grinning from ear to ear with the uplifting words.

“But I must remind you, it’s the weekend. You’re all young. Go out, spend time with your peers, friends, partners. Get out of the studio, out of the work mindset for a while. Remember, real progress only happens when the balance in life exists.” She paced around a bit, smiling at the students who glanced at their friends, obviously excited for the weekend. “Art is the embodiment of your experiences, your memories, your souls.” With that, she walked out of the studio, a resounding ‘thank you’ following her.

You turned back to your workstation, picking up the painting palette you had been toying with. The painting sat, waiting for your brush.

“Hey Y/N! You heard what Professor said! Come out with us?” Sana questioned, leaning over the bench that separated your and her workspace. Turning to her, she immediately picked up the apologetic look in your eyes. “Seriously? I’m sure your work can wait just one night,” she pleaded, hopeful of your change of mind.

“Sorry Sana, I’m spending time with my cat tonight, we’re watching a movie.” You apologised, dipping your paint brush into the palette.

“What Bear? I’m sure he could go one night without you,” Sana begged. “Please?” The puppy dog look spread across her face, her hands clasped together tightly.

“He’s a needy boy, sorry.” You apologised, trying to stop the grin that spread across your face at the thought of your Bear.

“Boo,” she acquiesced, walking over to some of your other classmates. Their cheers and chatter fading as they left the studio, walking down the corridor. You grabbed your headphones, eagerly turning your music back on before turning back to your painting.

It was something you had been working on for a while, inspired by the journey to self-love that you had fought long for. You had decided on this topic for your final assignment, something that told a story, and spoke words to any young female. The art-in-community committee at your school had even heard of your idea and assembled you and a few other students to put together a showcase to present to the community for mental health week. Which made this now a very important piece of art.

Hence your eagerness to continue working on it. You knew you wouldn’t be able to perfect it, that, like self-love, it’d never be finished. But you were prepared for that outcome, having already had several in-depth conversations with your teachers, peers, and people from the community.

Everyone was excited to see how it would turn out, to if you could pull off such an important and difficult topic.

One person you knew definitely believed in you, your Bear. Taehyung had faith in you, he knew that you could pull this off. And he told you that every day without fail. “You’ve got this Y/N, you can do this.” The words played on repeat in your mind as you smeared another bit of paint on the canvas. You’ve got this.

Jin’s song Epiphany came on as you grabbed a bit of brown paint, gently brushing it along the underside of the navel, creating the illusion of a stomach roll. Something that was so innocent, and illusively beautiful, was horror for so many people. The small roll of skin looked so soft and squishy, innocent. Hopefully, your audience would see it too.

You took a step back, listening to the song whilst looking at the painting. There were many flaws, many things you wanted to fix with the small amount of time you had left. But you knew that wasn’t the point, that it was supposed to look raw and unfinished. Just like self-love.

“It looks incredible Y/N,” you turned around, startled by the voice. Your earphones fell from your ears, pulling your phone with them. The room was now filled with music, the end of Epiphany playing loudly. Taehyung stood there proudly; his eyes crinkled with his boxy smile. “You’re amazing,” he praised, eyes glistening as he looked over the painting.

“I’m nowhere near finished yet, there’s still a long way to go.” You admitted, dipping the paintbrush back into the palette of messily mixed paints.

A pair of arms snuck around your waist, making you jump at the sudden, and somewhat unexpected contact. Taehyung’s head came to rest on your shoulder, his face filled with emotion as he continued to stare longingly at the painting.

“I think it’s almost ready actually. It’s raw and emotional, but deceptively beautiful at the same time.” You looked at the painting again, trying to look at it from the audience’s perspective. Out of the corner of his eye, he could still see you critiquing your work. “Y/N stop. This is perfect, I know you don’t see it, but from where I stand, it captures your theme perfectly in a beautiful way.” Taehyung calmed you, smiling gently as your head came to rest back against his shoulder.

“Thank you, Tae,” your voice was quiet, barely audible even from his close proximity. “You always know what to say.” He smiled, hugging you even tighter whilst pressing a kiss to your cheek. In the background, the song changed to Pied Piper, an absolute favourite of yours. Taehyung, knowing this piece of information, pulled away and turned you to face him.

“Dance with me,” he offered, holding out his hand. You giggled as you took it, yelping as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer. For the entire duration of the song, you slow danced around the studio, Tae singing along gently to the song as you relished in the moment.

“I know sometimes that you think that your work sucks, or that you’re a fraud, and I know the feeling. But you’re not a fraud, and your work is amazing and thoughtful,” Taehyung whispered as you continued dancing through the next few songs. “I am so unbelievably proud of you for coming so far with your work, the improvement you’ve made is incredible.” He continued to praise, eyes glancing at some of the pieces that you had hung up on the walls. “You’re perfect.”

#kim taehyung #bts cute imagines #bts reactions #taehyung fluff #taehyung cute #taehyung

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firespirited · 1 year

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Today was derailed (in a good way) I was doing futher desk buying research as the stuff I'm seeing online looks kinda flimsy and M was passing by and goes "hey I don't like my desk, can we swap?" so I spent the day on the floor dismantling desks.

Lily the dog insisted on hazardously getting in the way of any and all furniture moving including a point where we all got trapped in the tiny corridor and had to lift the item and gently kick the dog forwards.

She was furious when I closed the door on my room which could only be navigated like one of those sliding puzzles. Pretty sure she thinks she's the foreman and doing important supervision. I love having her around but she likes to nick dremel bits and screws.

I'm too sore to say if the new desk (it's actually super old) is any better so it'll be a few days but at least it's another size to try in case I buy later. M's happy with mine at least.

The finale of Quantum Leap left us on a vague single sentence cliffhanger. I was starting to enjoy it and the cast but it was only 8 episodes. Hope it gets renewed, the format is great for tuning in to a different story and perspective every week.

Decided to not watch Warrior Nun, I'm burnt out on the binge watch season with cliffhanger episodes. There have been some great ones this year: Midnight Mass and Paper Girls are just the most recent but I remember thinking "oh hey it would actually be more fun-fun and less pushy-stressful-fun to rewatch something like Stargate Atlantis."

I'm thinking about the GdT curated Cabinet of Curiosities or Archive 81, it fits my current taste for the episodic and might have some decent smart horror. I really enjoyed the Monsterland anthology in 2020.

Speaking of, Something In The Dirt from the Benson and Moorehead cosmic horror and very relatable characters universe is out, go see it if you can. It'll be on streaming at the end of the month but I just know it'd be amazing on the big screen. Watch The Endless on netflix if you want an idea of what these two storytelling friends do on a budget.

Will put together small postage and parcel postage posts of baldies and unfinished projects after the second more agressive sweep. Below cost or for trade: black saran, vivid or pastel hq nylon colours, nylon strands for building a swatch, good acrylic paint and medium, new gloss as mine is old and seems to break down a few weeks after painting when I've used watered down paint. Maybe interesting textured or coloured yarns for when I get to be able to do 40 mins an hour at a time. Yikes, We're not even close to rebuilding my lower back yet lol I'm already planning how to get back to creating.

I've talked a lot in the past about how I dislike twitter for how it made me feel and having to navigate back through the quote tweets to get answers feels like in jokes you have to learn (this is a feature missing from mastodon because they believe it promotes dunk/cringe content culture instead of direct communication) . But I hadn't really talked about the fascinating people who used to study twitter, large scale moderation, harm reduction on current events (think 'not naming school shooters guidelines' but for a host of issues). I really hope some of them get hired by tumblr on how to engage hate speech and put them into contact with deradicalization programs, not just nazis but the gender essentialists of the terf, pro choice and red pill types are in cult-like communities.

Love to everyone who's feeling the autumn in their joints and american friends not looking forward to the ungrateful work of making thanksgiving happen. ❤️🌸❤️

#saf #Ramblings

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crimsun-n-clover · 1 year

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me, 14, straight a student, little darling of teachers, enemy of administrators (also secretly the one fucking with the teachers too but they never caught on), overworked, crying on the kitchen floor:

“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD LET ME DROP OUT BECAUSE I WANT TO HURT MYSELF”

me, 17, family disappointment, just another tortured artist archetype, basically a dropout, graduating on a technicality but even then i have shit to do that i can’t even do, also crying on the kitchen floor:

“…. welp. what now”

it’s like nothing makes it better. i still feel just as fucking hopeless, because even though the highs are higher, the lows are just as low and i can’t even see any sign of relief during the lows. logically, i know i will feel better, but i just can’t wrap my head around it because i’m just so lost.

i can’t do anything to myself. at least nothing permanent.

i’m not letting my kiddos go unprotected in schools that hurt them and homes that don’t love them enough.

i’m not letting my friends be lonely.

i’m not letting my baby cousins think they can imitate me with this one.

i’m not letting my relatives deadname me at my funeral.

i’m not letting everyone mourn someone who wasn’t even all that great anyway.

i’m not letting my cat think i don’t love him.

i’m not letting the original misfits lineup concert be entirely old guys in the crowd.

i’m not letting my campaign go unfinished.

i’m not letting people i love miss out on the things i would’ve done with them.

i’m not letting my memory ruin things that people love.

what will my kiddos do without someone behind them to say “damn, as long as they swing first, kick their ass. remember how i taught you to throat jab? yeah, use that one first. don’t break your fingers, be careful, plant your feet, and run if all else fails.” or “hey, im proud of you. you were way better than anyone else. wanna go get ice cream? i got some quarters if you wanna try the claw machine again.” because their parents didn’t show up to their recital.

what will my friends do without someone to call them at 11 pm to rant about something completely inconsequential and encourage them to dress outlandish if they want to? they’re all out of the way types who need a looks god in the eye type to keep them in check. they also need to hear about how ghostbusters 2 is a fucking masterpiece.

what will my baby cousins, the ones who idolize me, do if i set this kind of example? mind you, i’m already a bad role model, but this is awful. they won’t have anyone to slide them extra birthday money under the table even after they get their gifts. they won’t have someone to do the other half of our secret handshake with. they won’t have anyone to introduce them to shitty horror movies as they get older.

what will the jehovah’s witnesses call me when they put me in the ground? what will they say about me next week during their kingdom hall meeting? how will they demonize me when i’m not there to rock their shit and teach their kids slightly rebellious things?

god, i can’t write the rest of this. you get the point. i just want out. usually saying that gets me sent to a ward, but you’ll have to take me kicking, screaming, thrashing, clawing, biting, sobbing, and swinging at you. i can’t go back, they hurt me too much there.

i miss the weird little kid i looked after there after his foster parents couldn’t be bothered to pick him up. i may have been dreading every waking moment, but having a little kid cut his jello into noodles to slurp them obnoxiously after the nurses already yelled at us twice? fucking amazing. we watched scooby doo, played jenga, and that kid made me laugh so hard my stomach hurt. i watch him go to call his parents to beg them to pick him up, they say they’re busy, he has to pretend like that doesn’t hurt more than anything, and he walks back to the table i’m sitting at and goes “hey, wanna help me name the plants outside the window in the rec room?” if his foster parents don’t want him, i sure fucking do. this poor kid was maybe eight years old and said something about wishing he could disappear at school, and now he’s locked up here, doing everything in his power to make me laugh, even though the nurses are probably trying to kill us with their brains.

there’s too much to give up. but there’s also too much for me to just power through. someone help me.

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lebenspurpur · 3 years

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AN: Helloo, wrote this because I spent today suffering through my post-drunk-vandalism hangover. Guess it's deserved but still, it sucks. After eating chicken broth my dad made, unsalted if I may add, for an hour straight I am now ready to be creative. I really don't know what this is.

Have the link to my Larry playlist while we're at it:

Pairing: Larry Johnson x reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of alcohol

Wordcount: 1744 words

🤍🧷💀⛓🔪🏁🕷🤍🧷💀⛓🔪🏁🕷🤍🧷💀⛓🔪🏁🕷🤍🧷💀⛓

Larry looks really, really stupid right now. Stupid and sick.

His tall form slumped over in defeat, big blanket wrapped around him but not too tight, otherwise he'd feel too hot, too feverish, he still needs some air. There are tissues scattered across the couch as well. Fucking hell.

Usually, this would disgust you but it's Larry, you think you've seen worse.

Small sniffles come from where he's laying, whenever he clears his throat hoarse croaking leaves his mouth and he cringes every time he hears it. He can feel your judging gaze on his body, hear your arched eyebrow without even lifting his head.

His radio is blaring some kind of metal music, you don't recognize the band. Technically, the music is useless since the TV in front of Larry's bed is playing an old horror movie, bloody screams only adding to the grimy ambiance in the room.

"I-", you start but Larry lifts his hand before you can even consider continuing.

On any other occasion, you would've noticed the rings adorning his slender fingers, the metal accessories leaving a trail of dark smudge on his hands. Damn, did he have some nice hands.

Thankfully today wasn't a normal occasion. The metalhead in front of you had worse problems than you drooling over his fingers right now, one of them being the sickness he caught.

"Don't you dare say 'I told you so.'", he croaks out while he finally lifts his head, bloodshot eyes meeting yours. He looks immensely tired. You can sense his annoyance at this sickness, this hellish treatment he's in and can't seem to escape.

You take a deep breath in and drop your bag next to his opened front door.

"Alright. I won't."

You close the door quietly and deposit your jacket as well as boots next to it.

His mom always screams at Larry to finally get something for visitor's shoes and bags but he never does. Too busy, too lazy, he figures his visitors get it. Who even visits him, anyway?

The floor is, as usual, covered in stuff he hasn't cleaned yet. Unfinished drawings, sketchbooks, take-out cartons, empty booze bottles, you keep wondering how he manages to create that kind of mess in a timespan of not even two days.

You tiptoe over them, careful as to not to step into something. Earlier experiences have taught you to never mistake one of these seemingly empty cartons as really empty. Just last week you stepped into a fucking pizza the man in front of you didn't finish.

You sigh as you sit down next to him and Larry tiredly raises an eyebrow.

"Dude, I know you don't want to move but Jesus, we really need to get you to bed.", you then state, voice comforting yet firm. You use the moment to stare into his eyes, adore the brown, thick, deepness of them.

Larry groans loudly, voice breaking from how raw his throat is. His head falls back and he closes his eyes, a pained expression on his features.

"Don't wanna.", he grumbles quietly and you involuntarily crack a smile. Larry always managed to do that, even in the most unbelievable moments.

"I'll join you if you do."

One of his eyes slowly creaks open, observing your face to look for any kind of sarcasm or irony. As soon as he doesn't find any, the other eye opens as well and he leans forward again, blanket clutched tightly in his fists.

"Alright."

You grin at his quiet answer, hand reaching over to pull him with you. He obliges, warm, slightly clammy hand tightly grabbing yours. He follows you through the messy room, his blanket leaving a trail of destruction behind the two of you.

You kick open the door leading to his bedroom. Immediately, the familiar images of various album covers greet you. The air in his room is colder and less damp and you hear him take a deep breath.

Turning around, you mention for him to wait while you walk over, grabbing the blanket on his bed. You shake it a bit, readjust the sheets as well the pillow, all while Larry's eyes never leave your back.

"There you go, sweets.", you add as you finish, quickly turning around to see Larry standing the same way you've left him. Tired, slumped, and emotional. The need to hug him starts boiling inside of you but you try and hold yourself back. First, you have to make sure he gets into bed.

Larry slowly stumbles past you. During the last few baby steps, he drops the blanket around his shoulder, faceplanting right into the freshly made sheets. He's not even wearing a shirt and you huff at his stubbornness.

Larry's back looks strong like this, muscles contracting beneath his skin as he tries to get more comfortable. Your eyes glide over his spine, his wide shoulders, the small bumps where his ribs encase his organs. His olive skin is sweaty and long, brown hairs cling to it.

You cringe at that, knowing the feeling all too well.

Softly placing a hand on his back, you move closer, forehead scrunched together.

"Larry, darling."

He grunts into his pillow, a muffled questioning sound.

"I got a hair tie here. Mind lifting your head real quick?"

Larry obliges and lifts his head quickly, taking a deep breath while he does so.

Your fingers find his scalp and start collecting all the strands, securing them afterward with the tie around your wrist.

The man beneath you hums in appreciation as the cold air hits his neck, sweaty skin finally being able to breathe. You kiss the small space beneath his neck real quick, a short sign of comfort before you stand up again, hands leaving his skin.

Larry whines the second you do so, all while quickly turning around, sending you a pleading look.

"You said you'd stay.", the whiny tone only makes his voice sound more hoarse and you can't help the small grin from appearing on your features.

"In a second, sweetie. You need some water and medicine first, alright?"

He whines again but the thought of something fresh and cold going down his throat is enough to soften the pleading look in his eye. You blow him a kiss and then quickly walk into the kitchen, which is right across from the brunette's room.

It's surprisingly clean but what did you expect? Larry never uses his kitchen unless he has to. Which isn't all too often.

Grabbing a water bottle and placing it on the counter, you keep searching for the small broth packets you'd bought exactly for this kind of scenario. You find them in the fridge, the only thing in this room that Larry actually uses.

Chuckling you get some water cooking, all while pouring the powder into one of the giant cups Sal has gifted Larry a while ago. According to the masked man, everything tastes better if it's being eaten out of a cup and so, everyone has their own sets of cups, a premium gift from Sal Fisher.

Soon, everything's done and you maneuver your way back into Larry's room. Said man is awaiting you, eyes still opened as he watches you creep towards his bed, hands full with water, soup, and medicine.

First, you feed him the medicine. Normally he'd do this himself but you know that he'll just ignore the bitter juice unless you force it down his throat. Stubborn motherfucker.

Larry's sitting up now, back propped up against one of the many big pillows he has. You hand him the broth and he inhales it in less than two minutes, apparently, this is the first thing he's eaten today. Shaking your head at the thought, you tug a few strands of hair out of his face, smiling at your lover's appetite.

Finally, after gulping down half of the water bottle, the brunette leans back and smiles, for the first time this evening.

"Thank you.", he croaks out and you touch his arm as an appreciative gesture, "Does that mean you're allowed to join me now?"

You're about to nod as you notice the faint traces of eyeliner on his skin.

"Did you take off your makeup when you got home?", you ask, throwing a teasing smile his way.

Larry clears his throat, embarrassed that you caught him. A faint blush raises on his cheeks and you feel your heart swell at the sight.

"I might have forgotten about it.", he answers, gaze slowly meeting yours again, "But please, let's just do this later, dude. I am so fucking tired."

Huffing, you roll your eyes at his answer but you nod anyway. He'd be fine with the makeup for a few more hours. You just have to remember taking it off tomorrow.

"You're lucky I love you."

Larry grins at that, the usual wide, blinding grin, that makes your stomach tingle with fuzzy feelings inside of it. His fingers find your arm and he tenderly pulls you down to join him. Soon, your head is placed on his chest, and his arms cradle your shoulders, pulling you into his body.

You can hear his relaxed breathing as he finally settles down, nuzzling his face into your hair.

His skin is warm against your cheek and you smile into it. It doesn't matter how often you've done it, laying on his nude chest always makes you flustered.

Larry's fingers start to draw stuff on your back, the feeling more than a delight for you. Humming, you snuggle closer and the metalhead next to you smiles.

His eyes already start to close slowly, lack of sleep finally catching up to him. The quiet sound of the ongoing movie in his living room, as well as the metal music, make for a great background sound and you both listen intently.

You notice the way his heart beats, slow and steady, beneath the tanned skin. Unknowingly, you start to synchronize your breaths with his. In and out. In. And out.

Soon, your eyes close as well. Damn it, you don't want to fall asleep. Though, you suppose it doesn't matter as the man next to you pulls you closer, his breath warm against your ear. He wouldn't let you leave anyway.

The thought makes you feel giddy, excited, in love. Smiling widely, you try to press yourself closer into him, and soon, you too, fall asleep, enveloped by the arms of the boy you love most. Your favorite boy.

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader (part 9 - FINALE)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8)

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself. except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.

word count: 7.2k

warnings: smut (oral f receiving), semi-public sex (in a parked car) angst, arguments, implied smut, sappiness, time skips, some alcohol consumption here and there, lots of talking about issues including bucky's ptsd, I really have no idea how to warn for this but IT’S THE END SO STRAP IN FOLKS

Since that night, it had been like a stand-off in a Western movie, none of you saying anything because you had no idea what to say. Whenever he tried to start the conversation, you brushed him off.

You took a cab home from the event. He slept in his own room for the first time in months.

Finally, suddenly, you were ready to talk about it nearly 30 hours later, knocking on the guest room door and entering to find Bucky on his bed, re-reading Flowers for Algernon. He sat up quickly and shut it, setting it aside. “Hey,” he greeted softly, hesitant like you were a deer in a clearing and he was extending a handful of grain in his palm.

“Hey,” you returned, already fighting back your emotions. “I think I’m ready to talk.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “I’m ready to listen.”

“I just… I want to make sure that you understand this is a really big deal.”

He nodded again.

“I had to do a lot of damage control to prevent being banned from all HFPA events— that includes the Golden Globes, you know, I can’t exactly skip those just because my boyfriend went fucking nuts at a party.” And there was the anger again— you had tried to wait until you could be neutral about this but it barely lasted, mainly because you were still embarrassed about the way you’d handled yourself that night. “You’re lucky not many people saw; you’re lucky no reporters were there! Can you imagine if someone had a fucking picture of this? There were cameras everywhere, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking!” he defended. “I saw you with him and he was touching you and I just… I saw red.”

You sighed slowly. “That’s not a good thing. That’s really, really concerning.”

“I know, I agree— you’re right. I need…” he trailed off, taking a breath before starting over. “I need to work on that.”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I just… I can’t really be a part of that. You need to work on that on your own.”

He stood up instantly, almost looking… afraid? Terrified, really, and heartbroken. “On my own, like what? What does that mean?”

“It means that I think maybe you should go back to your own apartment for a while. I just… need to be alone for a bit.”

“You need to be alone?” he repeated. “Or you need to be away from me?’

“Both.”

His head fell into his hands instantly. "Please don't tell me I fucked this up," he whimpered. "Please don't tell me I ruined this."

"I— I don't know."

"Please, please, please," he sighed, just louder than a whisper, suddenly stepping forward, grabbing your hand and clutching it to his chest. "Look at me," he begged.

You did, hesitantly, fighting everything in you that wanted to cry (and not doing so good of a job at it).

"Please, I lo—"

"Don't," you grimaced. "Don't say that."

"But it's true."

"It doesn't matter!" you yelped, surprising both of you with your volume.

“Are we going to have a chance to talk about this again? Am I going to get a chance to make it up to you?”

“You don’t make it up to me, you fix it. And that takes time.”

He shook his head, looking shocked and confused and completely blindsided which made you feel sick to your stomach. “How long?”

“I don’t know…” you mumbled.

“Am I not going to see you at all, for however long it takes?” he pressed.

“I… that’s sort of the idea.”

He shivered and pulled you into a hug. “Please don’t hate me forever,” he whispered against the top of your head.

“I don’t hate you,” you promised, doing your best not to hug him back even though all you wanted was to wrap yourself around him and feel safe in his arms again.

“Then don’t make me go,” he pleaded as he pulled back, clutching your face. “Let me stay and we can work through this together.”

“That’s not how this works,” you reminded him

“But I don’t know how to be without you,” he explained shakily.

“That’s not really my problem!” you yelped, and he turned away like he’d been slapped, dropping his hands from your face. A long, heavy silence fell between you as you watched him stand there, contemplating.

“If this is my last chance,” he finally spoke softly, barely breaking the silence, “to say everything I want to say…”

“It’s not,” you assured. “We’re going to talk about this again, but you need to go now.”

He nodded, his adam’s apple bobbing with a swallow of nothing. When he looked at you again, you hated how much bluer his eyes looked when they were bloodshot and filled with tears. “Can I kiss you?”

You shook your head. He bit his lip and turned to walk away; you stared at your feet because you couldn’t watch him go.

You heard him grab his backpack, shoving a few things from the drawers into it; he set his key on the table, walked into the open hall, and as soon as you heard the front door open and shut you were plunged into solitude and silence. With a whimper, you crumpled to the floor and cried, the look of betrayal on his face burned into your mind.

It was obvious, to your horror, that he really hadn’t seen it coming; he hadn’t packed his things, or prepared in any way for the conversation going like that. He had been waiting for an olive branch and got a switch to the face instead. You didn’t know anything about working on relationships, repairing broken things… when something went wrong, all you knew how to do was bail.

You knew how to do a new take and say the line right this time. You knew how to take off your eyeliner and start over. You knew how to kick unsuspecting C-listers out of cars because you already got yours. But you didn’t know how to stay, and work, and frankly you were just too scared to try. Last time you tried to make it work, you got burned. And as much as a logical part of you knew that wasn’t Bucky’s fault or responsibility, your heart just couldn’t survive another relationship where you put everything into putting the pieces back together while the other person stood there and watched you just to pull them apart again.

It had to end at some point, right? It was you, it was him… and that’s just how these things go.

He knew it was too good to be true. He knew you were too good for him. Anybody with at least one eyeball and half a brain could see that. But still, he hadn’t been ready to let you go.

Being in his apartment felt like stopping in a ghost town; there might as well have been a tumbleweed rolling through the living room. It was beyond a bachelor pad: it was more like an unfinished work site, considering his ‘couch’ was cinderblocks and a few two-by-fours, and his bed was a mattress on the floor.

One toothbrush. No books. A half-empty shampoo bottle in the shower and some hard water stains he needed to scrub away at some point.

This place didn’t feel like a home, it barely felt like a livable space. It was a three-dimensional homage to how empty his life had been before you, and he realized that was only his own fault.

Then again, this was all his fault.

But still, he had let himself obsess over you, turn you into his whole world and it made him into somebody he didn’t want to be. He had been working so hard to keep you happy, inspired more than anything by his fear to lose you, that he’d forgotten to give you space and now here he was… giving you so much more space than he ever wanted to, or knew how to deal with.

But he wanted to use this, if he could. As much as it was tempting to binge on junk food, drink too much and watch porn for an hour, as much as he wanted to run away from everything he was feeling, he owed it to you and to himself to face it all and learn from it. He wanted to be the man you deserved, if that was even humanly possible; he wanted to be who you used to think he was.

The next week went by in a blur: a blur filled with shitty romcoms, Ben & Jerry’s straight from the carton, and phone calls ignored.

It would all be fine with time, you knew that, but god, it fucking hurt now. It made you want to call him and at least apologize for having sex with him when you knew he wouldn’t have wanted to if he knew you were upset. More time and distance from the situation made you appreciate that it was manipulative, even if it by no means justified the way he grabbed you, or shoving anybody in the first place.

Truth was, you were scared of Bucky long before that happened. You were scared of how strong your feelings were for him; and, in turn, you were scared of how strong his feelings were for you. You felt loved by him, and you didn’t know what to do with that. So you self-destructed.

Just in time to tear you out of your spiralling thoughts, the intercom buzzed from the front gate. You furrowed your brow, wondering who it could be, and got up to check the camera feed.

You couldn’t see the face of the driver, just his arm, but you’d recognize that Rolex on his wrist anywhere.

“What do you want?” you asked coldly, holding down the intercom talk button.

"Let me in," Sam instructed.

"And why should I?"

"Cause if you don't, I'll press charges against your boyfriend."

BEEP BEEP BEEP! the gate announced its opening.

You took the time while he parked his car and walked to the door to throw out the wrappers from all your questionable “meals” (i.e., candy and ramen), change into slightly nicer sweats and splash your face so you looked slightly less dead. Just as you came downstairs from your rushed primping, Sam knocked on the door and you turned off the TV, tossing the remote aside. “It’s open!” you called out.

He turned the knob and stepped in with just one foot, peering around.

“Is the Terminator home?” he asked coyly. “Cause I actually think I’ve been assaulted enough for one week.”

“No, he’s gone. And don’t call him that.”

“What?” he shrugged, finally coming all the way in and letting the door swing shut on its own, taking his shades off and sliding them into the collar of his v-neck shirt. “It’s a compliment, and you really invite the killer robot comparisons when you’re part robot, look like a killer, and act like a thug.”

“He’s sensitive about the arm, okay? It’s one of the reasons he… it’s part of why we waited so long to go public.”

Sam glanced down to beside the door, where three pairs of your shoes were haphazardly lined up while his boots were noticeably absent. “And the fact that he’s moved out? When’s that gonna go public?” He always had an eye for these things, the bastard.

“I… I don’t know,” you sighed. “What do you want, exactly? Because honestly, I really can’t handle you right now.”

“I’m just trying to be a friend,” he explained, stepping closer again as you leaned against the breakfast bar.

“You seemed a lot more than friendly on Saturday,” you reminded him. “God, Sam, why did you have to do that?”

“So it’s my fault, then?” he rolled his eyes.

“No, of course not,” you assured, “but you knew I wasn’t single. I was actually happy… did you even want me back? Or did you just want to fuck with my life?”

“I did want you back, really.” He paused for a moment, more serious than he almost ever got. “I still do.”

You scoffed, looking away. “What happened to just being a friend?”

“That’s not why I’m here, this time. I’m just here to tell you that I’m worried about you.”

You took your weight off the bar and circled it into the kitchen, Sam mirroring you by following around the other side. “Do you want something to drink?” you asked, opening the fridge. He opened his mouth to answer but then leaned in as he stared at your hand where it was right in front of his face gripping the refrigerator’s door handle.

"He did that to you?" Sam pointed to the bruise on your wrist. You let go of the fridge and pulled your sleeve down to cover it again but that was answer enough. "Jesus, babe, this guy's fucking crazy."

"He's not crazy, and don't call me that," you frowned. "I don't think he meant to, really— his prosthetic is powerful and it was in need of a recalibration. He shouldn’t have grabbed me, but, he probably didn’t mean to do it so hard.”

Sam didn’t seem too convinced by that explanation, but didn’t say anything.

“Believe it or don’t, Sam, but either way it’s none of your business,” you frowned.

“Right, I know,” he nodded. “I just want what’s best for you.”

“And that’s you?” you pressed with an incredulous raised brow, opening the fridge again to grab yourself a green juice (because you were, again, trying to look like you had your shit together) and starting to walk away.

“I’ve changed, believe it or not,” he explained as he followed you out of the kitchen again. “Occasionally, people are capable of that.”

“If that’s true, then I owe it to Bucky to wait for him like I said I would,” you shot back. “I told him to leave so we could work on things separately. Not so I could entertain your come-to-Jesus moment.”

“It’s not a ‘come-to-Jesus’ moment, it’s just a ‘give me another chance’ moment,” he corrected as you took a long sip of the juice, “it’s a ‘maybe we ended things too soon’ moment.”

You looked at him in silent judgment as you kept drinking, and the way he was looking at you made you glad the glass bottle was keeping your lips occupied.

“It’s an ‘I’m still in love with you’ moment.”

Before you could stop yourself, you spit the juice right onto him, covering your mouth in shock just a moment too late.

For one of those indefinite moments, you were just staring at each other while you both contemplated that you had said he loved you and you had spat juice onto him.

“Okay, I was prepared to get shot down,” he admitted. “This is… worse.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you rushed, trying not to laugh, “I… I’ll get some paper towels, I can get you a new shirt, but it’ll have to be one of the ones Bucky left behind…”

“Oh god, it’s sticky,” he grimaced, as he tried to peel his shirt from his skin, “can I just use your shower maybe?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” you nodded, “upstairs and down—”

“I remember where it is,” he reminded you as he stepped past you to make his way to the bathroom. “I knew I should’ve waited to say it until she was done drinking…” you heard him mumble to himself before he disappeared and you heard the bathroom door shut.

But truthfully, it wasn’t really the fact that he said it, or the concept of Sam loving you at all that made you spit out your drink. It was that when he said it, you realized you were in love with Bucky. Which, yes, would’ve been obvious to anyone else but it came as quite a shock to you.

It made you realize that you wanted to make this work. You wanted to be vulnerable, you wanted to try, even if it ended just as badly as it nearly had last week; even if it meant dealing with all the shit that you’d pushed down for so long.

You wanted to have another chance, this time knowing how hard it would be to be without him.

Just as you pondered what to do with that realization, a knock at the door startled you. Who could have made it to the door without buzzing the intercom?

Somebody who has the gate code already, you realized, and your heart sank. You weren’t ready to see him again— specifically, you weren’t ready to be seen by him again. Sure, cleaning up the trash and splashing your face was enough for a guest like Sam, but you had been imagining that when you saw Bucky again you’d be all dolled up looking like you were doing better than ever, like you were thriving without him just to rub it in that you were the best he ever had.

Couldn’t he have just waited a few hours after your realization so you could go to him on your own terms, with your whole speech prepared and everything? As an actress, you were much more comfortable reading lines than improvising.

Another knock made you sigh and set down the half-empty bottle of green juice, running up to the door to answer it.

“Hi,” he greeted soberly when you opened the door.

“Hey,” you nodded back, “listen, now’s not a great time…”

“Listen, I’m not here to cause any problems, or ask you for anything, I just need some of my stuff back,” he explained.

“Okay, it would’ve been better if you had come at another time—”

“I know, I’m not trying to invade your space,” he sighed. “I shouldn’t have used the gate code, I didn’t mean to surprise you, honestly it was just second nature but I realize now I should’ve called first— well, I don’t think you’re taking my calls right now—”

“Bucky, please, we can talk later,” you assured, trying to shut the door.

“Can we?” he sighed. “I mean, will we?”

“Yes, but I’m busy right now,” you explained.

“When?” he asked, voice full of hope. “Soon?”

“I— I don’t know, sure,” you shrugged.

“You’re just saying that to get me to leave,” he realized flatly. “I understand, I don’t blame you— god, I just hate how scared you are of me. I’m everything I never wanted to be. I just wanted to keep you safe and now I can’t even do that, now you think of me as a threat. You should have the gate code changed, if it’ll make you sleep better—”

“I sleep fine, just go and we’ll deal with all of this soon— really, I promise!”

“You promised before and this week without you has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do!” he returned, getting more emotional as he gestured with his hands. “I’m not saying this should all go away in a week, there’s so much more I have to do, but… but not being able to see you at all is killing me. And it’s not like I don’t see you, your movies are on every fucking channel, but you know, I don’t get to really see you, talk to you— that’s what I miss, I miss when we would talk for hours.”

“I miss that too,” you agreed, “it’s all going to happen, it’s just that I need you to go right now—”

And of course, Sam picked just the right time to come running down your staircase with only a towel around his waist.

Bucky tensed up as he saw Sam, jaw tightening. "Oh."

You had no idea what would happen. Was Bucky going to attack him again? Would Sam try to hit Bucky? Were you going to drop dead from sheer embarrassment?

Instead, Bucky just sighed a little and looked to the ground, almost laughing though he seemed anything but amused. “You’ve got a funny idea of what ‘being alone’ means,” he sneered.

“Sam was just—” you began to defend.

"No, it’s okay, I see how it is," Bucky informed you quietly, coldly. He didn’t even seem angry anymore, just defeated. "I'll leave. I'm sorry that I… I'm sorry."

And he turned to leave, you reached out and grabbed his arm. "Wait, it's not—"

He shrugged your hand away as he kept walking, forcing you to chase him.

"Don't leave, please— Bucky, I love you too."

He stopped, but didn't turn around yet; you just stood behind him, staring at his back as it rose and fell with a slow breath. When he looked back at you, his eyes were red, brimming with tears and heartbreak. "Don't say things you don't mean."

"I mean it," you promised.

“And what does that mean for us?”

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted.

“I don’t think I’m ready to come back yet. As much as I miss living with you— and as much as my apartment is so gross—”

You giggled a little, glad you could laugh with him again even if just for a second.

“I need more time. I’m not going to subject you to me until I know I can be… stable, again.”

“Okay,” you smiled. “Whatever you need.”

“But maybe we could… go out sometime? Somewhere where there aren’t paparazzi, ideally?”

“Uh, Vermont?” you offered jokingly. “I’ll find somewhere, though. We’ll talk this all out.”

He nodded slowly, swallowing a little. “Okay.”

With obvious hesitance, he leaned in slightly and gave you a kiss on the forehead. You wanted more than anything to get up on your tiptoes and kiss his lips, but it was probably too soon. He smiled down at you slightly before he turned to walk away, and you did the same as you made it back into the house.

“Hey, listen,” you began as you found Sam still waiting in a towel looking completely lost.

“That doesn’t sound like the beginning of good news,” he sighed.

“I’m so glad you were honest with me and I’m still really sorry for spitting on you, and for Bucky shoving you, and for everything awful that went down between us. And some part of me is always gonna love you, but—”

“I know,” he nodded, clearly disappointed but resigned in a peaceful way. “It’s okay. I had my chance, I blew it, and if this Bucky guy has his then I just hope he isn’t taking it for granted.”

You smiled a little. “He’s not.”

“Then I’ll get dressed and go. Please direct me to his favorite shirt, so that I may steal it,” he requested formally, making you laugh, but you weren’t ready to let it go just yet; instead, you stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.

“You’re a good friend, Sam,” you mumbled against his bare chest.

“Yeah, kinda wish I wasn’t though,” he sighed as he hugged you back.

“Kinda wish I’d made you get dressed before hugging you,” you admitted, the awkwardness of his nudity finally catching up with you.

“Yeah…” he agreed in a whispered sigh.

His palms were actually sweaty; well, at least one of them was. He hadn’t been this worked up about a date since high school.

But there was so much more riding on that now than there was then. If he blew this, you probably would dump him for good, and he’d become ‘that guy Y/N Y/L/N dated for a minute’ to the rest of the world.

And there was so much more to him than that— he was learning to really let that shine after three weeks of therapy on Mondays and Thursdays— and so much more to his relationship with you, but it would still be pretty humiliating. More importantly, he would be heartbroken if he never got a chance to hold you again, kiss you again, tell you he loved you not during a fight…

His eyes glanced to the door instinctively when someone stepped in, but it still wasn’t you. He checked his watch and closed his eyes: it was still a few minutes early, you probably wouldn’t be here until 6:30, since that was when you’d agreed to meet when you discussed all this over text. But the length of time between 6:27 and 6:30 just seemed to keep getting longer and longer.

When you finally walked in, it was like one of those movie moments where everything slowed down, the ambient noise and background music faded away, and all he could see was you. If this was it, at least he got to see you like this one last time.

He waved you over, watching you walk closer and feeling his heart race as you pulled him into a hug.

“I missed you,” he blurted out right away.

“Missed you too,” you mumbled back, pulling from the embrace as he moved to pull out your chair for you.

“So,” he began as he sat down, “do you… want me to go first? Or do you want to go first?”

“I love you,” you said instantly, and he couldn’t fight a wide smile.

“I love you too,” he whispered back.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” you grinned, “I think you should go first.”

“Well, now that you say that suddenly I forget everything I’ve been practicing in the mirror all day,” he chuckled. “I already told you I’ve been in therapy, and they finally got me on stuff for my PTSD… it feels weird to say it, to talk about it like I really have it… but I do, and I’m working on not being ashamed of that. What I am ashamed of is the way I treated you that day, how I let my anger get the best of me and how I hurt you when you’re the most important person in my life. You didn’t deserve that. And if I haven’t said it enough, I’m truly sorry.”

“I know,” you nodded, “thank you. I’m glad you’re getting help… I don’t want to see you like that for your own sake, too.”

“Just because you don’t hate me doesn’t mean you have to forgive me. And just because you forgive me doesn’t mean you have to take me back,” he reminded you softly.

“But I do forgive you, and I do want you back,” you promised. “And I want to apologize, too, for the things I did wrong… obviously it’s basically impossible for me to hurt you physically, you’re so much stronger than I am, but I hurt you with how I handled some things and I regret that.”

“It did hurt, but I still reacted poorly at basically every turn. I shouldn’t have gotten jealous of Sam in the first place, if you and him have something going on then that’s none of my business—”

“Of course it’s your business, Bucky, you’re my boyfriend!” you laughed. “You don’t need to be jumping for joy when I talk to my ex, you just need to not be that aggressive about it.”

“Am I your boyfriend?” he asked sheepishly. “Is he your ex?”

"When you came over the other day, and he was there… nothing happened, really. He came over, I told him I didn't want to be anything more than friends, he asked to use my shower… I don't know how to prove it to you—"

"You don't have to," he shook his head. "If you say nothing happened, then nothing happened."

“I mean, we hugged,” you remembered. “And he took your Fleetwood Mac shirt.”

“He what?” Bucky yelped, but then calmed himself down immediately. “Whatever, it’s fine, the point is that I have a lot of shit I still need to work on. Because the truth is, you’re not mine—”

“No, I—”

“Really, you’re not. You’re your own person. That’s what made me fall in love with you in the first place, I love that you’re independent and strong and… maybe a little crazy, but you’re exactly who you need to be. You don’t belong to me.”

“I don’t mind belonging to you as long as it’s fair, Bucky; as long as we belong to each other.”

“Sweetheart, you always had me,” he laughed. “From day one.”

“Then let’s figure your shit out. Believe it or not, I’ve got shit too… commitment issues, abandonment issues, daddy issues—”

“Ooh, I have that one too!” he beamed, making you laugh. “You know, when I was talking to my therapist, she had me do this thing where I talked about my hopes and stuff and, I don’t know, maybe it’s dumb but I wanted us to do that. I want to know what you’re hoping for for this.”

“Okay,” you nodded, “well, I’m hoping that you’ll move back in soon but not right away, maybe in a few months? I want us to get better at being apart, it’ll come in handy when I have to go to far off places for filming and stuff.”

“Totally with you,” he agreed, “might have to start buying some real furniture for my place though.”

“What about you?” you prompted.

“I’m hoping that you still think I'm cute enough to put up with some of my crap," he smirked, "if not all of it."

"Definitely," you grinned.

“I’m hoping that in the future, if you’re upset, you’ll tell me and we can work it out, and then have make-up sex," he added.

“Deal,” you chuckled.

“And, if I’m being honest,” he continued, leaning in closer and lowering his voice, “I’m hoping that I can take you home tonight.”

It was so simple, but it made a shiver run down your spine. This distance had caused more than just your heart to grow fonder, and you were craving his touch more than ever. “Where’s home?” you asked coyly.

“It’s wherever you wanna go,” he purred. “Your place, my place, the back of your car—”

“That one,” you nodded eagerly, “definitely that one.”

You wanted to go right then and there but he made you sit through the whole dinner, with all the trappings of wining and dining, though for you it sometimes felt more like whining and dying because you needed him so bad you couldn't think. But he stayed patient, keeping up the conversation, asking more about a new project you were tentatively linked with, telling you more about the newest improvements to his prosthetic.

He picked up the check, which was absurd to you but he insisted, and escorted you to your car as if his intentions were just gentlemanliness even though you knew it was far worse than that.

He (gently) pinned you up against the side of the car, kissing you slowly, making you melt like it was no effort for him at all. As his lips made their way to your ear, he whispered to you darkly, "get in the back and spread your legs for me."

You were sure you'd never obeyed an instruction so fast, hopping in and happily watching him climb in behind you. He instantly knelt down between your spread legs, holding you by your thighs as he pushed your dress up, and you were already lifting your hips up to let him pull your panties down to your ankles.

"So eager," he whispered happily, kissing his way up one of your legs and never breaking his gaze away from yours. Your mouth fell slack as you watched him get higher and higher, closer to where you were already dripping with need. "Been wanting to do this since that night, however many months ago, where I had to watch somebody else do this to you," he admitted with a grin that nipped at your inner thighs. "I know I've tasted you a thousand times since then, but I wanted to do it here."

There was a lot you could say to that, but it was all lost to a gasp as he licked one long, thin stripe right across your entrance and over your clit. Already you were shaking and grabbing his hair— he'd grown it out just enough that you could really dig your fingers into it, but even so he kept his teasing pace.

He kept going, that slow and torturous cycle where just as your clit got some much-needed attention, he started back over at your leaking opening again.

"The fuck are you doing down there, trying to figure how many licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop?" you finally groaned, making him chuckle at how demanding you'd become.

"I'm just making sure I do this right," he dismissed. "Want more, baby?"

"Please," you shuddered. "Need your tongue inside me."

He grinned and put you out of your misery, really latching his lips onto you now as he pushed his tongue inside and curled it against your g-spot. It was enough to make your back arch dramatically and your fingers clench on his hair, a little growl echoing out of his mouth and into your body in response.

Your legs were accidentally clamping down on his head each time he sucked on your clit, but he didn't seem to mind, if anything it egged him on.

"C-close, so close," you chanted our warning as his hands tightened on your thighs he gave wide laps to your throbbing button.

"Say you love me baby," he mumbled his demand against your skin.

"Bucky, yes, I love you," you whimpered. "Love you so much, fuck, I'm gonna come…"

He nodded as he wrapped his lips around your clit and kept sucking, harder than ever, until your whole body was literally quaking and you weren't sure if you had closed your eyes or if your vision just went black for a second. As if that weren't enough, he kept going until you had to push him off of you by his forehead, shivering and catching your breath as aftershocks rocked your body.

"You're so amazing," he groaned huskily as he sat up and pulled you into a rough kiss, the taste of your pleasure coating your tongue as it tangled with his. Just as you were about to reach down and attempt to operate his belt buckle with your tingling fingers, he pulled back from the kiss a moment too soon. "And now you get to drive yourself home," he grinned, patting you on the cheek reassuringly.

"What? That's it?!" you squawked.

"You just came so hard you nearly blacked out and you're asking me if that's it?" he smirked incredulously.

"I just thought you would want to, you know… go all the way," you explained, cringing at the immature phrase.

"Hey, I'm a gentleman, and this is still our first date," he reminded you.

"But aren't you, you know…?"

"Oh, I am," he nodded quickly, leaning in to bite at your neck. "Don't worry about me, princess, I can take care of myself." He chuckled at your whimper and pulled back to look right into your eyes. "But it's not about me, is it? You want my cock all for yourself, don't you?"

You nodded, making him giggle sweetly.

"Well, you're just gonna have to wait," he cooed, poking the tip of your nose with his finger and laughing harder at your needy whine. "We'll go out again next weekend and maybe if it goes well, it'll lead to something more, alright?"

"Okay," you sighed, "I can wait a week. I think."

He smiled and kissed you again, helping you pull your panties back up and rubbing your thigh appreciatively. "Goodnight," he whispered against your lips, slipping out of the car and shutting the door behind him.

You sighed and let your head fall back against the seat, watching out the window as he walked back to his bike. You hated to see him go, but you did love watching him walk away.

two years later…

“Will the Six Million Dollar Man be joining us?” Sam asked with a smirk as he glanced to the door of the bowling alley, checking to see if anyone had walked in.

“When he gets off of work,” you promised.

“Why do you call him that?” Natasha asked Sam innocently.

“You’ll see,” Sam promised, kissing his girlfriend on the cheek, but you figured there was a pretty good chance she wouldn't get the reference anyway.

Right on cue, Bucky appeared in the doorway and you and Sam waved him to the correct lane. “Hey guys,” he greeted, “hey babe,” he pulled you into a quick kiss. “And happy birthday, Sam.”

“Shh, keep it down, we don’t want any Hollywood people to find out that I’m aging,” Sam joked. “Are you gonna join the game or just observe?”

“I’ll join, if it’s not too late,” Bucky decided.

“Since when do you bowl?” you asked him, raising an eyebrow.

“Since I got the prosthetic recalibrated to throw the perfect strike every time,” he winked.

Beers and turns went pretty quickly after that, light conversation interspersed in between, until the more raucous parts of the evening died down and you left Bucky for a moment to join Sam at the bar.

Sam nodded to acknowledge you as you leaned beside him, and you ordered yourself one more drink before you called it a night.

“So, Natasha,” you started the conversation, watching the way Sam couldn’t hide his smile. “She’s great.”

“Yeah, she’s really something,” he agreed. “I wanted you guys to meet her sooner, but you were gone filming for so long and all.”

“Don’t fuck this one up, Sam,” you threatened.

“I’m trying not to!” he defended, before looking around like he was trying to make sure no one was looking. As you furrowed your brow and wondered what he was up to, he pulled out his phone from his jacket pocket and showed you a picture: a ring, with a massive diamond and accents of citrine.

“Holy shit…” you sighed, pulling the phone closer to get a better look.

“Had it custom made, I’m gonna pick it up tomorrow,” he explained, putting the phone away. “I don’t even know how I’m gonna ask her yet… I just know I need to snag this one before she slips through my fingers.”

“You’re really like a whole new man,” you realized aloud.

“I’m telling you, this girl… she really changed everything for me,” he sighed wistfully, and you nodded because you knew what that was like.

“I knew you just needed a good woman to straighten you out, Wilson,” you joked, patting him on the shoulder, “my only mistake was ever thinking it was me.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I thought it was you, too,” he smiled softly. “I really loved you, even when I was stepping out on you… and I think I needed to love you, and to lose you, to be here now. So, thank you.”

“Uh, you’re welcome, I guess,” you laughed a little, taking a slow sip of your drink.

“And if she says yes, I’m gonna need all the marriage advice you have to offer,” he bargained.

“I mean, we’ve only been married for a month,” you chuckled, “I don’t think we’re far enough into it to really provide significant guidance.”

“And you’ve already gone through so much together. Is he doing alright? You know, his nightmares and stuff…”

You glanced over and where Bucky and Natasha were chatting, admiring how at ease he looked; he usually had a harder time with new people. “Yeah, it’s been a lot better, he’s on new meds… how did you know about that?”

“He talks to me sometimes,” Sam admitted. “And as someone who has played a PTSD-striken veteran in not one, but two major motion pictures, I’m sort of an expert,” he winked, but then got serious again. “I would’ve asked him how he was doing myself but he wouldn’t let me ask him personal stuff on my birthday.”

“I bet he’d let you ask him for his opinion on the ring you just showed me.”

“Um, why would I want his opinion when he bought you that?” he grimaced, pointing at the ring on your finger. “I mean, sapphires? Really?”

“Cut it out,” you laughed, shoving him on the shoulder.

“Okay, fine,” he relented.

“Are you coming to my premiere tomorrow, by the way?” you asked. “I have it on good authority you were invited, since I demanded it.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” he nodded, “Nat really wants to go, too. She’s a big fan of your work.”

“Well, tell her she was great in that one about the missing girl,” you replied.

“I’ll be sure to tell her exactly that.”

“We should head home, you know how early premiere prep starts,” you sighed with an exhausted roll of your eyes, finishing the last of your drink before grabbing Sam on the shoulder. “Good luck with however you decide to pop the question with Nat. Let me know if you need anything.”

He nodded and let you go, and once you got Bucky’s attention and said goodbye to Nat, the two of you made your way out back to the car.

“I’m glad you and Sam get along,” you reminded him as you squeezed his hand.

“What gives you that impression?” he scoffed.

You shook your head and smiled, letting him walk you to the car in silence.

Less than 24 hours later, you held his hand in just the same way as you sat beside each other in the screening auditorium, watching your latest film fade to black and hearing the crowd at the premiere— mostly cast, crew, and critics— erupt into applause.

"I have a little surprise for you," you whispered in his ear as the credits began to flash.

"I am not gonna let you blow me in this crowded theater," he instantly scolded.

"No, not that," you giggled, although you secretly wondered how much less crowded the theater would have to be for him to let you try it. "Just wait until my name comes up."

Written and Directed by Hope Van Dyne

A Paramount Pictures Film

In Association with Europa

And then there it was, in big white letters, just as much of a trip to see as the first time you saw your name on the big screen. But something very important had changed.

Y/N Y/L/N-Barnes

Everyone at the screening was clapping and cheering, but you were so focused on him that his whisper was the only thing you heard. "Sweetheart," he gasped, and you smiled wide. "You didn't have to—"

"I wanted to."

"It's just a stage name, if you want to keep it the same—"

"Buck, really. I want your name there with mine."

"But your credits…" he protested, though the break in his voice made it clear he was tearing up. "You're an actress and you've established your career already and it's so important to you—"

"Hey," you soothed, reaching up to brush your hand over his cheek, forcing him to look at you. "Your wife is the most important thing I've ever been."

#bucky barnes x reader #bodyguard!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes bodyguard au

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thetravelerwrites · 3 years

Text

Courtship of the Headless King: Chapter One

Rating: General Audiences Fandoms: 忘却の首と姫 | Boukyaku no Shirushi to Hime | The Princess and The Forgotten Head Relationship: Female Human/Male Headless King Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Political Marriage, Power Dynamic, Headless King Words: 4366

This is not my original work!

This is a fan retelling of one of my favorite mangas, Boukyaki no Shirushi to Hime, whose original mangaka sadly passed away in 2014, leaving the series unfinished. I will start at the beginning of the manga and go through the entire story that has already been written. Once I reach chapter 20, which is the end of the published chapters, I will have to start extrapolating and imagining how the story may have played out. I hope I can do the original story justice and not disgrace the original author.

I will say that I will be fixing a few things that made me uncomfortable about the original manga, in that the female protagonist was 15, which I didn't like. Otherwise I will try to stick as close to the original story as possible, though I will be arranging it so that it's a bit more linear.

I hope you enjoy!

“Blessings to you, my lady,” The visitor said, bowing deeply in greeting. “My name is Aquamarine. I am a servant of the high king of Banfarie and a chosen attendant to the future queen.”

The summons wasn’t necessarily a shock, but it was definitely a surprise. Lilya, the third princess of the former kingdom of Tritsia, had come of age during a bloody war between kingdoms to either side, and her small, impoverished land had been caught in the crossfire. Tritsia had been absorbed by the victorious kingdom to the east, Couliea, and was now a vassal state. As such, the royal family of Tritsia were now hardly more than paupers in their own kingdom.

Lilya assumed that she would no longer be eligible for the marriage interviews that were famously, or perhaps infamously, conducted five times every month in the largest empire in the continent, Banfarie. The interviews had been happening since before she had even been born, but as of yet, no queen had been selected. Or rather, no woman had accepted.

The rules for who would be chosen for the interviews was standard for most monarchs looking for a queen: a woman of royal or noble blood with proof of lineage, at least eighteen years old but no older that twenty five, no previous marriages or engagements, no children, and… well… consent.

Lilya met most of the criteria… except for one thing: she wasn’t a high born woman anymore. Her family’s royal status had ended when the kingdom was absorbed into another. Besides, even when her father had been king, they had never exactly been what anyone would consider proper royalty. Her father worked in the fields with his people, doing the same back-breaking labor as his subjects. Back then, she could hardly be called princess, but now she was nothing more than a peasant farm girl, more suited to feeding chickens and mucking out stables than attending grand balls and high teas.

So there had been quite a stir when their unusual guest came to deliver the summons. She was a woman who appeared very young in age, no more than perhaps sixteen, though she spoke as if she were a far older creature. She had a short bob haircut and a thick fringe, but it wasn’t enough to hide her pointed ears, her sharp eyes, and her upswept eyebrows, belying a nature that wasn’t human.

Her cloak was plain, but well-made and of fine cloth, likely silk or satin. She had all the hallmarks of a servant of a wealthy, prosperous nation. She had been given entrance to the house by the only servant Lilya’s family employed, Sebastian, and was standing in the receiving room with Lilya’s mother and aunt.

“I come with greetings from my Lord King, to relay a question and to present a gift to you, beloved princess.”

Lilya tilted her head. “A gift? His Majesty didn’t need to send a gift.”

Aquamarine simply chuckled and bowed. “From his Majesty, with his kindest regards.” From her cloak, she produced a velveteen box and opened it, revealing a tiara of breathtaking beauty. Sizable diamonds and sapphires lined the circlet and rose up to create a lovely sloped and winding style like that of wind on water. It was a crown that would suit any head it rested upon.

“Oh!” Lilya breathed. “It’s breathtaking!” She rushed to her mother in delight. “This is the answer to the famine on the outskirts in the south! If we sell the tiara at the biggest market in the neighboring kingdom, we could feed the farmers for months, maybe a year!”

“Lilya!” Her aunt exclaimed in horror. “How could you suggest such a thing? This was a gift from a king, for goodness sake, you can’t just sell it!”

“But, Auntie, I can’t hoard something like this when people are starving!”

“You would not wear it?” Aquamarine asked, her face shrewdly assessing. “Is it not to your liking?”

“Oh, no, that’s not it at all!” Lilya insisted earnestly. “It’s lovely, more so than anything I’ve ever seen. I’ve never worn anything so extravagant. But… truly, for me to wear it would be like putting silk ribbons on a pig. It would be far less useful as a trinket in my wardrobe and better as a tool to feed the hungry. I’m afraid that Couliea doesn’t pay much attention to our struggles, so we have to fend for ourselves. This,” Lilya gently took the box from Aquamarine and turned it so that she could see the tiara properly. “This is indeed a kingly gift. This will save lives. There is no more noble a gift as that.” She bowed her head and handed the box back gingerly. “If his Majesty would not be pleased with my conduct, I understand, but I would hope he would see the sense in my actions.”

Aquamarine laughed a little. “I do not think his Majesty will be displeased. Quite the opposite. Even still,” Aquamarine set the box down on the table and carefully pried a dangling jewel from the very center, threading it through a silver chain she had worn around her own neck, and placed it on Lilya. “His Majesty will want confirmation that his gift was received. This will suffice.”

“Then I shall wear it to the marriage interview,” Lilya said, patting it fondly.

Aquamarine’s head cocked back in surprise. “I had not even had the chance to ask you, and yet you’re agreeing to go?”

“Well, yes,” Lilya said. “That’s why you’ve come to call on me, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Aquamarine said with a smirk. “But usually it takes much more convincing on my part. I don’t believe I’ve ever met someone so… eager.”

“At the very least, I have to thank him for his generosity,” Lilya said. “Even if he decides I’m not a good match for him, I have to express my gratitude in person.”

“You’re not scared? I’m certain you’ve heard the rumors about my Lord King.”

“Well… yes,” Lilya admitted. “I won’t lie and say I’m not apprehensive, but kindness like this can’t go unacknowledged. It’s only right that I meet with him.”

Where Aquamarine’s smile had been playful and mischievous before, it was now wide and warm. “I will happily go now and inform his Majesty of your decision. My sisters and I will return in a fortnight to collect you for your interview. You may bring a guest with you, if you wish, though I assure you that you’ll be quite safe in our care.”

“I have no doubt that’s true,” Lilya said, bowing. “Would you like some refreshments to take with you on your trip back?”

“How kind of you, dear, but that won’t be necessary,” Aquamarine said, patting Lilya’s cheek. “We shall return in two weeks. You make sure you take care now. Our Lord King would be much distressed should something happen to you in the meantime.”

Aquamarine snapped her fingers, and there was a flash of light from which everyone in the room had to shield their eyes. When they blinked, the young woman was gone.

“Witch...” Sebastian said in horror. “My Lady, you can’t meet with this monster! What kind of king employs such demons?”

“Likely someone who understands that people like them also need to earn a living, I’d imagine,” Lilya said reasonably. “Besides, I’ve already agreed and accept his gift. I can’t go back on my word.”

“I can’t believe you’d actually sell such a treasure,” Your aunt said disapprovingly. “You’re so like your father.”

She didn’t mean that in a good way. Lilya’s mother’s sister, Kiya, had always disliked her father and resented him for being too weak a king, unable to protect his people during the war. She had also resented Lilya ever since she had been born. There was worry that Sophie would not be able to carry another child at her age, and that the royal line would end as there would be no male heir to Tritsia.

The birth of Lilya’s little brother shortly before her father’s death was not enough to warm Kiya to Lilya. In fact, it seemed to drive the wedge even further, as Sophie and her brother were both terribly weak afterward and there was concern they wouldn’t survive. Kiya had gone so far as to blame Lilya, telling her that it would have been her fault if they died. As a nine year old, she couldn’t imagine what she’d have done to cause such a terrible thing, but now she understood it was just her aunt lashing out.

Perhaps it was because Lilya resembled her father the most out of all her siblings, or because she was most like him in temperament, but she doubted Kiya would ever view her favorably. She was still family, though, and Lilya tried not to take her criticism to heart, though her aunt’s cutting eyes often wore into her painfully.

“I’m doing this for our country, even if it no longer exists,” Lilya said, determinedly putting the box away in a case so that Sebastian could take it to the neighboring kingdom for appraisal. “The king has called for me. The least I can do is answer.”

“Lilya’s right, Kiya,” Lilya’s mother, Sophie, said reluctantly. “It would be improper for us to take his gift and ignore him. Though I can’t say that I’m pleased with the idea of this.” Sophie sighed unhappily. “Lilya would have been expected to marry soon as it is. I supposed we couldn’t hope for better than a king.” Sophie took her daughter’s hands in her own. “Still, I’m very worried. I should come with you.”

“No, Mama, they need you here. You’ll have to be the one to make sure that the tiara gets a fair price and oversee the distribution of the food to the needy. I’ll be fine on my own, and besides, Aquamarine said that she and her sisters were part of the Queen’s guard, and I liked her very much. I couldn’t be any safer.”

Lilya’s mother grimaced. “That doesn’t make me feel better. You have many lovely qualities, my sweet child, but being a good judge of character is not among them. All anyone needs to do is tell you a sad story for you to want to take them under your wing, regardless of their true intentions.” She smiled fondly. “You’re much like your father in that respect.”

Lilya smiled in return. “Father was not a good king,” She said sadly. “But he was a good man.”

“With that, I cannot argue,” Sophie said, but she frowned in distress. “You’re elder sisters had married before they got the summons, so I’ve never met with the king. Your father met with him only once, during a conference of kings, but he never told us anything about him other than he found him to be… striking. I think he didn’t tell us more because he want to frighten us.”

“Have you heard much about him?” Lilya asked anxiously.

“Reports are varied and hard to believe; that the king is a headless monster, thousands of years old, ten feet tall, winged and hulking, who eats the women who refused him. I’m not sure I believed any of that, but the rumors are still enough to make me trepidatious.”

Sebastian grumbled, his mustache shuddering. “It is the rumors that could be true that make me uneasy.”

“How do you mean?”

“I am an old man now,” Sebastian said. “Well into my seventies, so I remember when the interviews began sixty years ago. In all that time, and no queen of Banfarie has been chosen. It concerns me. The king himself may now be an old man.”

“Is that why he’s being turned down?” Lilya asked.

“No, young madam,” He said. “You see, even before the interviews began, Banfarie had no queen in nearly one hundred years. In fact, since that time, no new kings had been crowned, either. The king from one hundred years ago was an elusive man who few had ever met, and those who did were terrified of him. If the current king is that man’s successor, it’s certainly distressing. But if he is the same man, then he is a creature of deeply evil magic, and Lady Lilya should stay far away from him.”

“Even if he were the same man, which should be impossible, his reputation is less than ideal,” Sophie said pensively. “The house of Banfarie is known historically for it’s cruelty and harsh punishments, even of neighboring kingdoms. It instituted a law that allowed Banfarie to make judgments on the conduct of royals, indict them criminally, and even sentence retribution against them, up to and including execution. The neighboring kingdoms pushed back against this, of course, but eventually they all fell in line and wrote it into their countries’ laws. I don’t trust any man who could wield that level of power over others.”

“But think of what that level of influence could do for Tritsia!” Kiya said. “A king with that kind of power could protect us and provide for us!”

Sophie shivered. “I don’t want to know what he would want in return for that protection.”

“Well, I would think that’s be obvious,” Kiya said, looking pointedly at Lilya.

Sophie, normally a mild, even-tempered woman, grew angry. “And you’re alright with that, are you? You’re willing to sell my youngest daughter to a monster if it benefits you?”

“Sophie, don’t be sentimental,” Kiya said, folding her arms. “Political marriages are common for royalty. If we had been a stronger country, this would be completely normal, even for a third daughter.”

“We’re not royalty anymore,” Sophie said firmly.

“But we could be, that’s the point!”

“Please, don’t fight,” Lilya said, getting between the two sisters. “I’ve already made the decision. Kiya is right; if I were to marry His Majesty of Banfarie, our kingdom would then be his responsibility rather than that of Couliea. However he treats that responsibility, it can’t be worse than the wanton destruction from the war or the indifferent cruelty of Couliea. If he accepts me, even if it is only a political marriage and nothing more, it would greatly benefit us both. He would at last gain the queen he’s been searching for and our country will be protected. I will meet him. Perhaps the rumors are wrong.”

“I can only hope,” Sophie remarked grimly. After throwing an angry look at her sister, she pulled Lilya away from Kiya and spoke in an undertone. “But… is this what you really want?”

“I want my family and people safe and well above all,” Lilya said. “If this king can offer that, then I can ask for nothing more.”

“If this is what you wish,” Her mother said slowly. “Then I will respect it. But… it is not what I would wish for you.”

“I know, Mama,” Lilia said. “We don’t always get what we truly wish for. But this is as close as I can get.”

“If the king accepts you,” Lilya’s mother remarked sadly. “We may never see you again.”

“That may not be true. I would hope that his Majesty wouldn’t prevent me from seeing my family once I settle in.”

“Just be careful, my love,” Her mother said, pulling her into a hug. “Be careful.”

As promised, Aquamarine returned in a fortnight to collect Lilya to take her to the capitol of Banfarie, Rukruf. A carriage had come with them for Lilya’s comfort.

“Couldn’t you transport me like you did the day you first came?”

“I’m afraid that’s a rather disorienting way to travel for humans, My Lady,” Aquamarine said, taking Lilya’s luggage. “It would require some degree of acclamation, and I don’t think his Majesty would want you to be sick during your interview.” She lifted Lilya’s bag up with one hand. “Is this all you’re bringing with you?”

“This is all I have,” Lilya replied simply. “You admit that you’re not human?”

“I was never attempting to hide it. I’m a spirit, specifically an stone spirit, as are my sisters. There they are now.”

She jerked her head toward the carriage. There were two more women identical to Aquamarine near the carriage, one in the driver’s box and another holding open the door to the carriage. All three women had short, pale lavender colored hair and large, glittering eyes. They wore identical uniforms similar to that of an attendant, but the skirts were rather short, stopping just below the knee, giving them a freer rang of movement. Each one had a dagger hanging from their hip.

Both new sisters bowed deeply as Lilya approached.

“My lady,” They said in unison.

“Garnet,” Aquamarine said, pointing to the driver,and then to the coach-woman. “And Peridot.”

“I don’t doubt the three of you are sisters; I can’t tell you apart,” Lilya said.

“Ah, but see?” Peridot said, pointing to a white bow on the right side of her hair in the shape of a butterfly. She then pointed to Garnet, who wore a black butterfly bow on her left side, and to Aquamarine, who wore no bow at all. “Even people who know us well have trouble distinguishing us from the other, so we’ve taken to wearing these. Only his Majesty can tell us apart without them.”

“Here, my Lady,” Peridot said, swinging a beautiful, fur-lined, snow-white cloak around Lilya’s shoulders. “We’ll be going through the mountains and it’s likely to get cold. His Majesty had this made for you.”

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Lilya said, petting the soft, veltvety collar that ruffed around her neck. “I’m starting to get anxious about meeting him.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” Peridot asked ash she helped Lilya up into the carriage.

“I can’t tell,” Lilya replied, laughing nervously.

“Don’t be nervous,” Peridot said as she came in and closed the door behind her, rapping sharply on the roof before settling. “His Majesty is only a threat to humans.”

Lilya looked at Peridot in alarm.

“It was a joke,” Peridot assured her, giggling. “…mostly.”

The carriage lurched forward and Aquamarine put a hand out to steady Lilya before she fell out of her seat.

“When will we arrive?”

“Around sunset tomorrow,” Aquamarine replied. “We’ll continue on through the night rather than stop at an inn. His Majesty is eager to meet you.”

“Won’t you be tired?” Lilya asked.

“Not to worry,” Aquamarine said. “Spirits like us don’t need much sleep, only a few hours a week. We’re all rested up.”

“That’s amazing. I wish I could do that.”

“Yes, it is awfully handy,” Peridot said rather smugly. “Are you hungry? We’ve brought things for you to eat.”

The two days passed pleasantly and Lilya spent the time having long, friendly conversations with all three sisters. Lilya had never had lady friends her age, and though the women were spirits and likely far older than she was, they seemed to enjoy her company and asked her many questions.

“Oh, Lady, come and see!” Garnet said, pointing out of the window. “You can see the capitol city from this vantage!”

Delighted, Lilya looked out of the window where Garnet was pointing. “It’s huge!” She exclaimed. “I can’t even see the end of it! It must be as large as my entire country!”

“Your country is larger by about fifty miles, in fact,” Aquamarine said. “It’s the smallest country on the continent.”

“Yes, that sounds right,” She sighed. “I mean, I didn’t know that for sure, but I’m not surprised.”

“Are you sad to be from such a small country?”

“No,” She replied. “My country is beautiful and my people are good. I just wish we were better able to defend ourselves.”

“Well, you may not have that problem anymore,” Aquamarine said. “We’re nearly there.”

“Will I meet his Majesty today?”

“No, you will be tired from the trip and will rest for tonight. He will conduct your interview tomorrow after you have your breakfast. His Majesty has instructed us to see to your every comfort.”

“That’s just going to make me more anxious,” Lilya said.

“The best things are worth waiting for,” Peridot said.

That evening, they arrived at the castle, which was every bit as colossal as described. Over it was a cloud of purple, blue, and pink particles, as if it were perpetual sunset over the castle.

“What is that?”

“It’s called the Aurora,” Garnet said. “It’s a magical field that has existed over the castle for hundreds of years and is the source of the royal family’s magical power. It ascends and descends over the castle, depending on how the king feels. It’s highly reactive to his emotional state.”

“Oh, goodness,” Lilya said. “It’s rather low right now. What does that mean?”

“Hmm…” Garnet said. “I believe he may be feeling rather withdrawn.”

“I wonder why that would be,” Lilya mused.

Standing at the front steps of the castle as they pulled up were two young men in uniform, one blond and one dark haired. The blond wore glasses and seemed to be the junior of the two. They bowed as Lilya exited the carriage.

“Miss Lilya, these are the King’s personal attendants, Larima,” She gestured at the dark haired one first, and then to the blond. “And Raba. They are meeting you in place of his Majesty today.”

“Does that mean his Majesty is watching?” Lilya asked, looking up at the windows.

“Whether he is or is not,” Larima said as he straightened. “We are pleased to meet you, My Lady. Please allow us to show you to your room.”

“Yes, thank you,” Lilya replied. Curiously, she noticed as they turned that there appeared to be leaves growing out of their hair.

The sisters were following behind her at a short distance. “Are they spirits, too?” Lilya asked them in an undertone.

“Yes,” Peridot said. “They’re tree spirits. All of the staff employed at his Majesty’s main castle are not human.”

“Why?”

“His Majesty distrusts humans,” Aquamarine replied.

“But isn’t his Majesty human?” Lilya asked in confusion.

“Yes,” Peridot responded.

“And no,” Garnet said.

Lilya made a noise of uncertainty under her breath.

“Don’t worry, my Lady,” Garnet said. “You’ll understand tomorrow.”

“This is all very ominous,” Lilya said uncertainly.

“Yes!” Peridot said. “Isn’t it exciting?”

Before she could answer, she was lead to an opulent guestroom, far larger than any of the rooms in her home, filled with luxurious furniture and carefully crafted decorations.

“This can’t be my room,” Lilya said with a laugh. “What would I do with all this space?”

Raba and Larima exchanged looks. “Do you dislike it? We have a number of other rooms. You’re free to choose any one of them.”

“Oh, it’s not like that,” Lilya said hastily. “It’s beautiful, I adore it. Please, it’s not that I’m ungrateful, I just feel like… I don’t know… isn’t it wasted on me?”

The triplets sighed sadly, having become used to Lilya’s unusual behavior, but the men continued to look confused.

“You do realize that if his Majesty chooses you and you accept, you’ll be queen?” Raba asked. “This,” He gestured at the room. “Is nothing compared to the queen’s suite.”

“Oh…” Lilya replied, a little disconcerted. “This will take some getting used to.”

“I understand,” Larima said. “You’re the princess from Tritsia, correct? The smallest, poorest kingdom on the continent, now a captured vassal state of Couliea. I suppose you must not be accustomed to living so resplendently.”

“Larima!” Aquamarine hissed. “Don’t be so tactless!”

Lilya laughed a little, relieved. “No, it’s alright. I’m not used to this at all, that’s true. Will that bother his Majesty?”

Larima smiled and shook his head. “No, I shouldn’t think so. Don’t worry so much about what’s appropriate and just enjoy your time here. Come.” He lead Lilya inside and showed her two cords right next to the bed, a small blue cord and a larger red cord. “The blue cord is attached to a bell in the queen’s attendants’ quarters. If you need for anything, just ring it and one of the triplets will be here in an instant. The red one is an alarm. If you pull it, bells will go off all throughout the castle. Ring it only if it’s an emergency.”

“I understand,” Lilya said. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

Raba and Larima bowed and left, and the triplets ushered Lilya into an adjacent dining room to have dinner.

After a restless night of sleep and a breakfast she barely touched, Lilya was dressed in a lovely blue gown that complimented her hair, which was pulled back with matching ribbons. The bodice was tight but comfortable, the cut of the dress was simple but elegant, and for the first time, Lilya felt like a proper grown woman.

A knock on the door revealed Raba.

“His Majesty is ready for you and is waiting in his office,” He said.

Lilya stood and clenched her hands to stop them from shaking and followed Raba out of her quarters with Garnet and Aquamarine following behind her.

“Don’t worry, my Lady,” Garnet said. “I think the king will like you very much.”

“You do?”

“Oh yes,” Aquamarine replied. “We’re more concerned whether or not you’ll like him.”

“Why wouldn’t I like him?” She asked.

“Well…” Garnet began regretfully, but then stopped.

“Here we are,” Raba said, gesturing to a set of large double doors. “One moment please.” Raba knocked on the door. “Your Majesty, I have retrieved Lady Lilya for her interview. Are you ready?”

There was silence, though Raba tilted his head as if he were listening.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Raba opened one of the doors and stood aside. “You may enter.”

Gulping, checking that the pendant was in place, and taking a deep breath, Lilya stepped inside.

There, standing rail-straight behind a desk, was a tall, thin man wearing elaborate garments in keeping with his status as a king and emperor, as well as a sash and badges of his station. Almost immediately, one of the many rumors about the king was confirmed with Lilya’s own eyes.

His Imperial Majesty, the king of Banfarie, had no head.

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Boukyaki no Shirushi to Hime #The Princess and the Forgotten Head #Manga #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Manga Fanfic #Manga Fanfiction #Exophilia #Headless King

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heliads · 3 years

Text

The Football Player (Part Two)

Based on this request: “Bucky is a football player and you are a fan of the team but you’re also really shy. Secretly Bucky also developed a crush on you. He sees you getting mocked by some idiots and he gets in between to stand up for you. Later then he asks you for a walk and he kisses you.”

part one / masterlist

To be honest, you’re not entirely sure that the last couple of days have actually happened. Bucky Barnes, star football player and receiver of about a thousand crushes from all of the girls at your college, asked you out? If you’d heard that a week ago, you would have laughed, but it’s real. All of it.

Your friend was over the moon when you told her. She had grabbed you by the hand, dragging you away to some isolated corner of the campus so you could go over everything, detail by detail. Honestly, she might have a bigger lot in this date than you, and that’s saying something. You’re pretty sure that the high pitch of her excited scream upon hearing the news could shatter glass, or possibly just your eardrums.

Now, all you have left to do is plan out exactly what you’re going to wear and do on this date. You’d asked Bucky what you’d be doing, but he’d just winked and said that he had a plan. You’re not entirely sure what that means, but the excited grin tugging at his lips had convinced you that it was going to be absolutely perfect, just like him. Just like the idea that he loved you and you loved him, and everything was going to be alright.

In the end, you meet him in the late afternoon, just before the golden hour of dusk when everything takes on an additional shade of rose and mystery. Bucky had picked you up outside your dorm, driving you off campus to a spot he’d picked out earlier. You had your doubts beforehand, half convincing yourself that none of this was real and it would end up being a study date or something, but the look in his eyes when he saw you coming out was like none you’d ever seen before. Either he’s an amazing actor, or he’s truly head over heels for you. When he presents you with a hand-picked bouquet of flowers, you’re pretty sure it’s the latter.

Now you sit beside him in his car, watching him tap absentmindedly on the steering wheel as you wait for the red light to turn green. You feel like you have an entire storm of butterflies making themselves a home in your stomach, but you’re too excited to even think about turning back.

Eventually, Bucky comes to a stop in a parking lot that’s more gravel and sand than asphalt, helping you out and into the fading sunshine. A light breeze toys at your face as you look around you, recognizing the wind-washed slats of a nearby boardwalk. You turn to Bucky with a smile as he holds up a slightly battered notebook the size of a cell phone. “I’ve got it all planned out here. First, we walk around the shops, then we get ice cream at the place down the block, and then we can head down to the beach until it’s too dark to see anything.”

You can’t help but laugh, letting the sound ripple away from you, carried away by the breeze. “I’m impressed. You planned all of this out?” Bucky nods, tapping the notebook against his hands. “It’s Steve’s notebook, actually, but this was a very important occasion so I borrowed it.” You raise an eyebrow, unable to hide a grin. “You stole your friend’s notebook for the date?” Bucky loops an arm around your waist, guiding you towards the boardwalk. “I had to make sure everything was perfect. I’m sure he won’t notice.”

In the end, it turns out that the sacrifice of Steve’s notebook is indeed for a worthy cause- Bucky has planned out every detail, every shop. You find yourself laughing harder than you have in a long time, watching as the setting sun brings out copper highlights in Bucky’s hair and eyes that you never noticed before. He seems reluctant to let go of his touch on your arm, choosing instead to escort you around like a proper gentleman. You can’t find it in yourself to have a problem with this.

Later, when you feel like you must have walked miles up and down the time-worn wooden slats and poked your head inside every small antiques shop and brightly-postered tourist trap, Bucky points out the ice cream store at the very end. It’s such a walk from the entrance that not many visitors have taken the arduous journey down to its front stoop, but Bucky swears by it and so the two of you slip inside, smiling at the bright ring of the bell affixed to the door.

The chill of the air conditioning, albeit arriving only in irregular cycles, is a welcome balm and you enjoy the simple feeling of Bucky’s hand linked around yours as you peruse the menus taped to the walls before ordering. The two of you take seats outside underneath a striped awning, watching the other beachgoers play on the sands below. When he attempts to steal a bite of your ice cream, you fend him away with your spoon, imagining the defending swoops of plastic against plastic to be the clash of metal swords in an all too crucial duel.

Once the sun has begun to slide beneath the horizon, you walk with him down to the beach, slipping off your shoes and holding them in your hand. The feeling of the cool waves against your feet soothes the dim heat of the sand, and you let the night breeze cool your temples. Bucky picks you up, twirling you around in the air before kissing you. You can taste the salt air on every breath, and you can’t help but hope that this night will never end.

Eventually, however, the sky darkens from rose to indigo to inky black, and stars begin to spangle themselves across the horizons. You hold out for as long as you can, but eventually one well-cursed yawn tears itself from your lungs and Bucky holds out his arms, ready to take you home. You lean against him as you walk, letting your head slump against his shoulder. You feel him press a kiss to your head, and curl into him a little more.

You’re only a few feet from the parking lot when things take a turn for the worst. Perhaps the universe sensed that things were going too well for you tonight, and wanted to balance out the scales. Regardless, when you see the silhouettes of a few rival football players emerge from the shadows of the closed-down shops, you can’t help but know that this won’t end well.

You go to Mid-Capital University, home of the Avengers, and if there’s one thing you know it’s that the MCU football team has a long and lasting rivalry with Pierce University, home of the Hydras. Most colleges have rivals, that much is true, but there’s nothing like this one. You’ve heard stories of the Hydras crossing fans of your school and giving them trouble, or breaking into the MCU locker rooms to steal gear and damage property. Judging by the look in the eyes of the Hydras in front of you, they both recognize Bucky as a star player on the team they hate and are eager for retribution for their latest loss.

Bucky recognizes them too, and you feel him stiffen beside you. His arm gently unlaces itself from yours, guiding you to stand slightly behind him. He speaks to the football players, making sure to keep his voice light. “Hey, boys. Mind if we pass through?” The leader of the pack, Brock Rumlow, steps forward. “Afraid not, Barnes. We’ve got unfinished business.”

Bucky tilts his head to the side, brow furrowing. “We don’t want trouble, not tonight. Let us through.” Brock folds his arms across his chest. “What, you don't want to get into a fight in front of your girl? Too bad, Barnes. We’ve been waiting for this for a while.” Bucky turns to face you, jaw already set. “Get to the car, now. I’ll be right behind you.” You don’t hesitate, taking in the determined look in his eyes as the rival football players draw ever closer, and dodge around the Hydras to get back to the parking lot. They let you go, but they do eye you in a way that makes you pull your arms closer around yourself.

Once you make it back to the parking lot and stand anxiously by the car, you find that you don’t know what to do. There were only a couple of them, and Bucky’s stronger than them by far, but the odds are definitely against him. You don’t think any of Bucky’s friends on the MCU football team would arrive in time to help him, and Bucky specifically told you to get to safety, so you can’t involve yourself. Besides, you dressed for a cute date, not a fight. You’re not sure your shoes would support you against football players whose biceps are the size of your head.

This being said, you hate the idea of just standing here and waiting to see what happens, so you pick your way back through the line of cars to see what’s going on. From the first glance, it looks bad. Bucky’s managing to hold his own, but there’s only so much you can do when the fight is three to one. As you watch, one of them brings his leg down hard on Bucky’s left arm. Even from here, you can see that the impact is brutal, and hear the groan of pain echo across the empty boardwalk.

You must have made some sort of sound, maybe a gasp of horror, because Bucky’s eyes fly to you. They linger on you for a second, and then a new wave of determination floods through them, and he stands back up again to take on the football players once more. As you draw closer, you almost trip on a large rock next to your foot. A sudden idea enters your head, and you pick it up, tossing it once or twice in your palm before launching it at one of the football players. It hits his hand hard, and you can hear the impact of stone against bone even from where you stand.

The Hydra grimaces in pain, turning towards you in a mixture of rage and surprise. Bucky takes advantage of his sudden distraction to hit him one last time. The Hydras look at each other, taking in the bruises and weakened arms already lacing their features, and without another word, take off into the night. The second they’re gone, you run over to Bucky, eyes flying to the way he hugs his left arm as if it’s been seriously hurt.

Bucky just laughs, the sound echoing off into the night and rattling off of the closed shops. “You have good aim, doll. Maybe you should try out for the team too.” You smile at that, although you can’t shake the worry knotting in your gut. “What about your arm? What if it’s really hurt and you can’t play?” Bucky considers it, moving it stiffly back and forth, then shakes his head. “I think it’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me, Y/N, I’m more worried about you. All my planning for a perfect date and you had to see that.”

You scoff, surprising yourself. “I’m not a delicate daisy, I can see a fight and move on. I wasn’t the one who had to fight off three guys at once.” Bucky manages a grin, brimming over in a mixture of surprise and pride. “Maybe so. I’m not intending on doing it again any time soon, though.” You tilt your head to the side. “I’d hope not.”

The two of you end up driving home, and you let Bucky into your dorm through the empty hallways so you can see to his arm. It ends up being fine, just requiring a few bandages to keep it in place so it can heal properly. The mixture of gray doctor’s tape and bandages reflects off the light, making it look like it’s almost made of metal. You look up at him, worried. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

Bucky smiles, gently touching the side of your face with his good arm. “I’m sure of it. I’ve got you to look after me, don’t I?” You let yourself smile at that. “You do indeed.” Maybe it’ll hurt him a little longer, maybe it won’t. You intend to stay by his side to see it through.

marvel tag list: @mycosmicparadise

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #winter soldier #winter soldier imagines #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier oneshot #avengers #avengers imagines #avengers x reader #avengers oneshot #marvel #marvel imagines #marvel oneshot #mcu #mcu imagines #mcu oneshot

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sunflowerspecter · 3 years

Text

ghost of cases past (a.h.)

summary: friends can be found in strange places.

warnings: mentions of death, ghosts

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

words: 1.8k

note: lmao this is 100% born of my love for julie and the phantoms and also might turn into a series? let me know what you think of this one AND if you would like more! (also if you’re on my taglist and don’t want to be, no hard feelings! just leave a message or an ask!

~~~oOo~~~

Emily was staring at him like he was crazy.

To be fair, he probably was.

“What do you mean you saw a ghost?” she said, crossing her arms. He looked helplessly across the empty bullpen, the office dark and unsettling in the late hour. The only light came from the lamp on Emily’s desk and the lamp in Hotch’s office, which poured dimly down the stairs.

“I mean that I saw someone walk towards my office door, assumed it was you, opened the door, and then saw nothing.”

“Like, you had just imagined it?” Emily sighed, looking down at the watch on her wrist. “It’s almost 3 in the morning. You’re sleep deprived. Let me drive you home.”

“I’m still on London time,” he said. He and Emily had just arrived back from a rather brutal consultation at Interpol. The man had been on the run for nearly a decade, and some of Emily’s old friends suggested the BAU. Strauss couldn’t afford to lose the entire team, so just Hotch and Emily had been sent, although the use of the entire team probably would have been helpful.

“Yeah, and even in London time, neither of us have slept in three days.” Hotch crossed his arms, and Emily just raised an eyebrow. He wouldn’t fight her on it. “Come on. If there’s really a ghost, you can look for it after you sleep.” He just nodded, gathering his things. She watched as he did.

He followed her out of the bullpen, sparing only a glance over his shoulder as they waited for the elevator. He could have sworn he saw someone.

He yawned.

Maybe Emily was right.

Finally, the door opened, and Emily ushered Hotch in. The doors closed, and then they were in Emily’s car, and then she was walking him inside his apartment, and then he was asleep.

He dreamed of someone he had never seen before. Someone who felt familiar. He couldn’t name them, though.

~~~oOo~~~

Three and a half weeks later, the team sits hopelessly around the conference room table. The current case had no leads, no sufficient evidence, and nothing to base a profile off of. They also had a woman missing, and no hope of finding her before time ran out. The team was scrambling to come up with something, anything, and the tension in the room was going to give Hotch a heart attack.

“I’m going to take a breather,” he said quietly, standing. Everyone watched as he left the room, walking briskly through the poorly lit hall and through the darkened bullpen, trying to find someplace to ground himself. They tried to work without him, but really, they had all noticed him falling apart the last couple of weeks.

“Should we send someone after him?” Morgan asked, looking around at his teammates.

Emily shook her head. “I think that’ll just stress him out more. Give him a minute.”

Meanwhile, in a corner somewhere between Garcia’s office and the elevator, Hotch was leaning against a wall, closing his eyes as tightly as they would go.

“Aaron,” you said quietly, and Hotch snapped to attention, looking down the hall. Near Garcia’s door, there was you, wearing dark pants and a t-shirt with the name of a band he didn’t recognize.

“Who are you?” he called, but you ducked into Garcia’s office. He raced down the hall, throwing the door open, just to find the room completely empty.

From behind him, you gave him your first name. He spun around, his eyes narrowing. “That’s alright, I wouldn’t expect you to know me.”

“You, you can’t be here,” he said, taking a half step back. “This building is federal, federal…” he trailed off, squinting his eyes as he stared into yours. That was when he noticed it, the fact that your eyes were different. Not just a strange color, but no color at all. Your eyes were solid black, as if you were a demon in a horror film. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

You frowned, blinking, and suddenly they looked human. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “Sometimes they do that. I wasn’t aware of it until an old friend of mine pointed it out.”

He looked down the hall again. “You really can’t be here, I’m afraid I’m going to have to see you out.”

“I don’t think anyone would really mind that I’m here,” you said, turning and walking down the hall, past Garcia’s office. He followed you, his pace brisk and his stride wide as you seemingly floated ahead of him. “I’m not really here, after all.” He stopped, but you kept going, so he reached forward to grab your arm, and found that he couldn’t touch you; his hand went right through your body. He took a step back, shocked and appalled.

“What are you?” he called. You turned around to him, shrugging.

“I’ve been called many different things. Technically, I’m a ghost. I believe there’s something involving unfinished business that qualifies me as that.” Hotch takes a breath, shaking his head. “Oh, I’m your first ghost. That’s okay, I can answer all of your questions.”

“I think I need to see a doctor,” he said, turning away from you.

“It won’t help,” you called after him. “I’m very real.”

But he was already gone.

~~~oOo~~~

He didn’t go to work for four days, after they finally solved that case. Called in sick. Everyone knew it was a lie (Hotch hadn’t had a sick day in years) but no one dared protest.

On the fifth day, he showed up at eight in the morning and didn't leave his office until everyone had left. At nearly 12:30 in the morning he began to pack up his things, but then he heard a knock on his door.

“You know,” you began, stepping through the door. “You really shouldn’t work so much.” He stared. He blinked. He stared again.

“Who are you?”

“I already told you my name.”

He huffed, crossing his arms. “Alright, what are you doing here?”

You hummed, crossing your arms to match his, leaning against the doorframe. To his surprise, you didn’t fall (float?) through it. “I don’t know. One day I was living it up with some skaters in the In Between, the next I’m walking the halls of this building.”

For a moment, everything was silent but for the incessant buzzing of the walls. You supposed he was trying to figure out if he believed your story or not.

“Can you leave?”��

“Well, that’s just rude,” you said with mock-offense. He shook his head and you raised an eyebrow at him.

“No, no, I mean,” he took a breath. “Are you able to leave?”

You turned the thought over in your head. “Yes, I believe so. I’ve never heard of a case where someone couldn’t leave. Those skaters knew a lot.”

“Have you tried leaving?”

“Only a few blocks down, though. There isn’t much to do when you’re dead.”

He was stunned into silence for a few moments, and then, “How did you know my name?” He knew how you knew his name; it’s on his door, it’s all over this office, spoken or written. You knew what he really wanted to ask.

“It’s everywhere,” you said quietly. “Including on your door.”

“Why are you talking to me?”

“Because you’re the leader of this team.”

“Once again, why are you talking to me?” He wasn’t annoyed or harsh with his words, but he was straight to the point; he was kindly demanding answers.

You sighed, taking a seat across from him. He watched you move. “Because I think my unfinished business has something to do with a case you’ve worked.”

“Unfinished business?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Like,” you sighed. “Like, why I’m here. Why I’m a ghost. Something that happened or didn’t happen in my life that I need to solve.”

“Oh,” he said, turning in his chair and opening a drawer. “Which case?”

You hesitated, just for a moment. “I don’t know. I worked a lot of them.” He froze, his eyes meeting yours. “I was a detective. In Boston.”

“Wait—”

“I was killed by an officer under duress during the Reaper case.”

“The Boston Reaper,” he repeated, looking down at his hands, and you nodded. He met your eyes again, and shook his head. “That case was closed.”

Your eyes widened. “The Reaper was caught?”

He’s too quiet.

“I killed the Reaper.”

A beat.

“Who was it?”

Another beat.

“George Foyet.”

“The first survivor.”

Two beats.

“Yes.”

You hummed. “It’s always the ones you least suspect.”

“Amen to that,” he muttered. He shook his head. “But Foyet is dead.”

“You killed him,” you said, tilting your head. He nodded.

“He killed my wife. Ex-wife, that is.” He met your eyes, and you almost shook your head. “Did you know her? Is she in your world, the Between or whatever you called it?”

The hope in his voice broke your heart. “What was her name?”

“Haley. Haley Hotchner. Or, or Haley Brooks.”

“You’re kidding,” you mumbled, your eyes widening. “Haley Brooks?” He nodded, his eyes lighting up. “I knew her. Not in the In Between, before I died.”

“You knew her when she was alive? How?”

“It was a long time ago. She was a friend of a friend and needed a place to stay for the weekend. She and her son… your son. They stayed with me for a weekend. She was… she was nice. She and I kept in contact until I died. It was actually around a year later when I died.” When you finished, he just nodded.

“If I have the timeline correct, she probably died around a year after you did,” he said. He looked up at you. “Can other people see you?”

“So far, just you,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning back in your seat. “I tried talking to that boy in the sweater vest, but he couldn’t see me. And neither could the blonde girl, JJ, I think?” You hummed, lifting the corner of your lips. “That pretty one, Morgan, I think. He couldn’t see me either. Shame.”

Aaron grumbled at that, but you pretended not to notice. “Well, you can’t stay here. You’ll die of boredom.” You raised an eyebrow, and he added, “Again.”

“Where would you suggest I go, then?” you said, and his eyes flicked to yours.

“Well, I mean. I have an apartment that you could. I dunno. Do you sleep?”

“I mean, it’s not exactly necessary, but I do get tired, so yes. I’ve been sleeping in Garcia’s office. Are you offering to let me stay with you? What about your son?” You glanced at the picture of the boy on his desk.

“He may not be able to see you.”

You turned the offer over in your head. “I mean, I suppose until I find out what my unfinished business is, following you around wouldn’t be too bad.”

“Then it’s settled,” he said. Then he looked back down at his watch. “It’s really late. Er, early.”

“Let’s get going, then.”

taglist; let me know if you wanna be added or removed!

@quillvine @winterscaptain @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @andreasworlsboring101 @roses-and-grasses @averyhotchner

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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marmolady · 3 years

Text

Homecoming: Part Two

Continued from PART ONE

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC, Graleister, Variego

Summary: Endless Ending. Back on La Huerta for the first time since the world's resurrection, there are some heart-to-hearts with old friends in order.

Word Count: 4680

Chronology: After 'The New Taylor' and 'A Ride to Remember', sort of midway through 'Inheritance'.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove @mauvecatfic

Thanks for reading!

“Howdy there, pilot. Have you thought of a name for her yet?” Taylor asked as she stepped into the cockpit, squinting as she adjusted to the bright light that shone through the large windows as they soared over the Caribbean.

“You comin’ in here to annoy me is just part and parcel of my La Huerta jobs now, ain’t it?”

“Oh, Top Gun, so sentimental,” she teased-- but really, like she could talk.

Jake rested his hands behind his head and looked out over a familiar green spot in the blue expanse, now fast approaching. “Well, she’s no ‘Delilah’, that’s for sure. If something comes to me, it comes to me. But like I say, it ain’t the same. It’s not as if you people are about to let me hide from the world with this baby as my only friend.”

“Damn straight.”

“Thought as much. Well, everything’s reading as normal; think we might make it, sans freaky storms this time.” Jake turned to his visitor with a smirk. “I’m still gonna want you to get your ass in a seat. A landing’s a landing.”

Safely in her seat-- Estela by her side, and little Fenix in a pet carrier tucked against the seat in the next aisle-- Taylor felt her stomach doing violent flip-flops as the green spot in the ocean came closer, beginning to take on detail. Rivers she’d bathed in snaking out to the sea, Atropo looming, and the now-abandoned Celestial-- still standing by all appearances unchanged-- in its shadow.

Estela was calm and quiet, contemplative as the small plane descended. So much about this journey was familiar, and yet, everything had changed. This time, marching towards her destiny wasn’t a lonely trail to a foregone violent conclusion; this time, the future was all a big unknown other than the fact that it would be anything but lonely. She wove her fingers with Taylor’s, feeling nerves flowing through, and gently squeezed.

“Almost there, querida.”

With a gentle bump, the plane was on the ground, and Taylor gave a small sigh of relief. She didn’t want to be rude about Jake’s flying ability, but until that point, she’d finished every ride with him in either a crash, a near crash… or plummeting into the sea. That she was something of a nervous flyer was, she thought, pretty damn reasonable.

In no time at all, the cabin door had been swung open, and the warm Caribbean air welcomed the small group home.

“And here I was worried I’d need to replace another plane. It seems the pilot can fly one of these things after all; that’s a fiver I owe you, Grace.”

“He of little faith,” Grace laughed, though it was quite clear she was at least somewhat giddy with relief. “Jake knows what he’s doing.”

No sooner had Taylor set her feet on La Huerta soil than a familiar figure was running towards her, streaking out of the cover of the foliage at the side of the runway.

“Diego! Ohmygod!”

Diego flung his arms around his friend and held her tight. Last he’d seen her, she’d only just clawed herself back from death’s door; Taylor was going to get hugged, and she was going to get hugged hard.

Estela set out into the humid air, immediately aware of the sounds of the jungle; insects and birds, rustling of leaves. Even the smell of the soil was distinctly La Huerta. She hadn’t expected to feel like this, but… she was home.

_____________________________

An almost comically deep miaow made Estela jump. Engrossed in what she’d been writing-- and the frustrated doodles she’d been swirling on a separate piece of paper-- she hadn’t noticed Taylor’s cat, Madam, joining her on the wooden bench outside their home.

“I must be making myself crazy, hey Mierdita? I guess you’re here to make sure my senses stay sharp… or you’ve come to complain to me about Nixie.”

“Mow.”

Estela giggled and scooped the little cat, presently bright orange in colour, though that was subject to change, and hugged her to her chest. It was nice to have the company. Taylor was down on the beach, catching up with Diego for the first time in far too long. And what Estela was doing… for the most part, she needed to be left in her own space to do it. The little cat might have been a distraction, but from the number of doodles Estela had scribbled, it looked as though her productivity had already peaked for the time being.

“You’ll just have to learn to forgive Taylor. You know she likes to surround herself with lots of friends.”

Madam nimbly climbed her way up onto Estela’s shoulder, and enthusiastically rubbed against her face.

“I’m glad I can make you feel better. I guess I wasn’t getting anywhere with writing this anyway….”

With a little sigh, she tucked the unfinished letter in her hoodie. She’d written so many letters to her mother-- one for every week she’d been working here on the island-- but to find the words to say goodbye, to get some kind of closure, did not come easy. Maybe with a little more time to think….

“Hello?”

Estela looked up to see Varyyn outside the front of the house. “Haalta, Varyyn. I’m round the side.”

With a low growl, Madam ducked down into Estela’s hood and pressed herself against her neck. She eyed their visitor with great suspicion from her perch.

“It looks like your little friend is happy to have you back,” Varyyn said as he approached, “--and less pleased to see me.”

“Don’t worry; she has a lot to say, but it’s all talk. She won’t bite.”

Varyyn, rather daringly in Estela’s view-- though he did regularly hang around with a hulking smilodon, so maybe he was just good with cats-- reached and tickled Madam under her chin.

“I have been wanting to find you,” he said. “Diego had told me you were preparing a memorial for your mother.”

‘’S a long time coming,” Estela grunted. “And maybe it’ll be a long time still; I don’t want to do anything extravagant, but it’s got to be right.”

“That is fair. I hope I am not disturbing you.”

“No, no. I don’t mind,” she said, gentler. “So long as it’s in progress. Finally. I couldn’t exactly get any kind of closure until I’d dealt with Rourke, and then… I needed to go home. I dunno… maybe it was easier to feel it as anger, because the sadness was too much to bear if I let it take its place. When I let myself really feel it….” A tear rolled down her face, and she brushed it away. “I don’t know if I can say I’m at peace with it all… I don’t think I ever really can be. But I’m better. I brought over the letters Mom sent me when she was here on the island, to bury. And I then thought of writing again… to say goodbye. All I’ve gotta do now is find the words. Anyway,” she finished hurriedly, “you wanted me for something?”

Varyyn nodded sagely. It wasn’t lost on him the intimacy of what was being shared. Perhaps the violent death of his own mother had given Estela a sense of tragic kinship with him?

“Seraxa and I talked at great length. It had… troubled me that there had been no acknowledgement of your mother’s sacrifice. She must have felt very alone standing against the Hydra, but we will not see that bravery forgotten now.”

He reached into his satchel, and brought out a neatly folded set of clothes.

“To wear the traditional uniform of our warriors is the greatest of honours. We wish to pay tribute to your mother as a hero to the Vaanti, if you will accept this gift.”

Estela’s eyes grew wide, and her bottom lip wobbled. “I--- um, thank you.” That’s the best you can manage? “I… don’t know what to say. Thank you.” In Varyyn’s nod of understanding, the look in his eyes, it was plain to see he felt the depth of her gratitude.

A gentle smile came to Varyyn’s face, as though he was relieved. “It is your choice whether you would like to wear this in her honour, or simply keep it as part of your memorial.”

Her cheeks flushed, Estela hugged the folded uniform to her chest. There were just… no words to adequately say what the gesture meant. For Estela’s own protection, any trace of Olivia Montoya’s connection to Everett Rourke had been wiped from record; and with it, all evidence of the courageous last stand taken. But here she was remembered.

“I don’t think I’ve told you…,” Estela choked out after a little while. “I mean, it’s not as if I’m the best conversationalist… I don’t know what to say to people half the time.” She shook her head. “But, anyway, I always found you impressive. When your mother died… it was sudden, and brutal, and somehow you had the strength to honour her by taking up her mantle. Immediately. And you always seemed so together, however much you were crumbling on the inside. You had to be.”

“I had good friends to lean on. And I had Diego.” Varyyn chucked darkly. “It is terrible, but when you all came back through the gate, as much I was very sad for you all, and for Diego, that everything you knew and loved was gone… there was a very selfish part of me….” He stalled.

“Fair enough,” Estela said, not about to force him to finish a clearly uncomfortable sentence. “It had only been a couple of days. How’s anyone supposed to bear that much loss? While carrying the expectations and fears of your people? Diego gave you comfort when you needed it most. And… then you gave him the same.”

“Yes.”

Having that shoulder; it made all the difference. It made living through the worst of horrors bearable, and then, somehow… it made the act of living on, in hope, possible. Varyyn had Diego. She, Estela, had her Taylor. And they all had one another.

“We’re lucky we found the right people.”

___________________________

As she slogged through the soft white sand, Taylor wasn’t sure what was going to give out first, her legs or her lungs. Using her best friend’s hand as an anchor, she kept on putting one foot in front of the other.

“Hey, Taylor, you know, it might be easier to have a real conversation if we sat down for a bit.”

Diego was polite and tactful, but what he meant was clearly; ‘You are an absolute wreck; sit down before you put yourself in an early grave’.

Taking the hint, Taylor flopped down heavily, squinting against the bright sun as she tried to get herself comfortable. While she struggled to get her breath back, Diego sat himself down close by, patiently letting her recover.

“I swear the beaches in San Trobida aren’t so much of a work-out,” Taylor said apologetically. “Not as soft. I have actually gotten a lot fitter, if you can believe it.”

Diego put a hand on her shoulder. “I can actually. You did a pretty good job of covering up how much you were struggling those last few days you were here, but I really don’t think you were fooling anyone. You do look better. Last time I saw you, it was hard not to get the impression that one stiff wind could have you over.”

Taylor snorted with laughter. “Damn, and I thought I put up a good front.”

“Not remotely. You are incredible, my friend, but a talented actor you are not.”

This was wonderful. The warmth of the sun of her body, and the easiest of company. Taylor reclined back, her arms propping her up in the sand from behind.

“Well, now that I’m not having to focus on not falling over… how’ve you really been?”

Diego stared wistfully out to sea, all the while playing with a little lock of his hair that Varyyn had braided for him. “’How have I really been’ as in not the brush-off, ‘oh, I’m good’ answer?”

“Yep. And I promise I’ll keep my own bullshit in check as fair trade.”

“Okay. If that’s how we’re doing this.” Diego fiddled with his hair for a little while longer as he contemplated his answer… and where to start. “I’m good.” As Taylor rolled her eyes, he added quickly; “ I am good.”

“Yeah?”

“Going back home was the best thing I could have done; it made me realise just how much I actually belong here. I’ve found my people. And Varyyn. I don’t have to tell you how cut up I was to be away from him; you could see it. Heck, even Grandma Bhandarkar saw it-- I have never been force-fed so much in my life, and I grew up with my abuela!”

Taylor chuckled. She was eternally grateful that the extended Catalyst family had been there for Diego when she couldn’t be, through one of the most pivotal periods in his life. “Did you… did you manage to talk to your parents at all?” she ventured gently.

With a sad smile, Diego shook his head. “I called from Raj’s place. I did speak to my dad, and honestly it was better than I expected. But he said Mom’s not ready.”

“Oh, Diego….”

“No, I knew she wouldn’t be ready.” He gave a little sigh. “That big, scary conversation’s done now, though, and I feel kind of… lighter. Like… I can start to accept how things are. If Mom and Dad were ever going to accept who I am, you’d think the year and a half I’d disappeared off the face of the earth would have done the trick.”

Taylor put an arm around Diego as he sniffed. “You know it’s all them, yeah? None of this is on you.”

“Yeah… I know. I came back here and… Varyyn just looked at me like I was the most beautiful person in the world. I could not have felt more loved. So, yeah-- I’m good.”

“So,” Taylor said gently, “what happens next? Do you still want to come back to Hartfeld with us in September?”

Diego huffed out a long exhale. Now, that was a question.

“The only really honest answer I can give you is… I don’t know. Could not be more conflicted.”

“That’s… that’s fair.”

“I keep thinking about that vision we saw when I took my action figures from Vaanu. I didn’t think it was possible for me to be that comfortable in my own skin, but it wasn’t like I was just seeing it-- I could feel it.”

“Yeah. It was kind of, just… radiating off you. You were just one-hundred percent genuine Diego, no holes barred… and everyone just loved you for it.”

“Look, I know that whole thing was just Vaanu trying to manipulate you into sacrificing youself--”

“Diego--”

“No, it’s okay. Because even if that’s all it was, it doesn’t matter. The more time I’m here with Varyyn… and people are respecting me as me-- you should see the queues of kids that form when I re-tell the original Star Wars trilogy….”

Taylor chuckled fondly.

“...The more I realise that, actually, that could be me. If I wanted it.”

“That really could be you. Without a shadow of a doubt. It would just mean…”

“Leaving Varyyn? Shattering both our hearts into a million pieces? Yeah, that’s the sticking point.”

Putting her head on Diego’s shoulder, Taylor offered what support she could. “What… what does he think?”

“He really loves me, so he’s unhelpfully understanding about the whole thing. It would be so much easier to know what I should do if he’d just say he’d rather I stay here!”

“So inconsiderate.”

“But, well, he said how much I light up when I talk about what I saw in that vision. And he lights up when he talks about that,” Diego said with a resigned laugh. “He says if I stay here, I shouldn’t be giving up every part of me.”

“He’s right,” Taylor said. “It’s you he fell in love with, and it’s you the hordes of Vaanti children seek out whenever they need smiles put on their faces. One way or another, I think you should always feed the real you. ‘Cause that guy’s pretty great.”

Diego glanced away, bashful, but unable to hide his smile. Again, he started playing with his hair.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough, Taylor. How about it’s your turn. Do you have a plan? I guess Vaanu didn’t bother showing you what a future on Earth could look like, hey?”

Taylor gave a soft humph. “No, they certainly did not. That’s something I’m just going to have to figure out myself.” She frowned. “They just showed me enough to put the pressure of ensuring the happiness of everyone I love on my shoulders,” she said bitterly.

Catching her tone, Diego raised an eyebrow. “That’s really getting to you.”

“Yeah,” she heaved. For a moment, she considered what she wanted to share. “Look, I haven’t exactly talked about this before…. All those visions I saw, just about all of them showed you guys rocking your dream careers. Except for, well….” She trailed off, sadly.

“Except for Estela and Aleister, right? Now you mention it, that does kinda say a lot about the impact Rourke had.”

“Exactly. It makes me so… so angry,” she said, than added with a dry laugh, “I don’t have the energy to be angry. Seeing you all die in my dreams doesn’t help either; all I can think is that he did all that. ”

“So, you’ve put it out there now. Maybe that’ll help you move past it?”

“I sure hope so. Letting that fester isn’t going to be healthy for me, and it sure as hell won’t do Estela any favours. She’s been amazing. There’s been so much she’s had to move through. I think I’ve been so focused on her that it only just recently sank in how much I’m simmering in hate for that bastard. And I don’t want to let it out and feed into her own feelings. Does… that make sense?”

“That sounds pretty natural,” Diego assured. “Being protective of your family is pretty much wired into you; kinda makes sense that it would get you all fired up-- and that you want to shield Estela from even more hurt and anger. I’m here, you know. If ever you need a best friend to off-load on; I’m your man.”

“Thanks,” Taylor said softly, and boy, did she mean it. A little smile came to her face at the sound of Furball yipping as he chased a euphoric Fenix up and down the shoreline. Bad feelings passed quickly, for there was just too much beauty in the world she had fought for and won. “All things considered, I’m doing really well. Since I ramped up the self-care, I’m getting less nightmares-- I know they’re not proper nightmares, it’s just my brain replaying memories that aren’t even all mine. But they’ve gotten better.”

Diego shook his head, incredulous. “Honestly, I don’t know how you managed to sleep with that going on at all.”

“With great difficulty is how,” Taylor laughed. “Poor Estela is now pretty used to me waking her up, screaming and crying.” She smiled softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without her; she has this magic way of just… chasing away all the horrors. I guess it’s because I feel safe when she’s holding me.”

“N’aww!” Diego’s eye twinkled. “I really am the best wingman around. I’ll happily accept tips for match-making services given.”

Taylor snorted. “I feel like we can take some of the credit, but fine, thanks for the help. I’ve seen hundreds of different versions of me and Estela falling in love… and it’s surprising how many times it was you who gave me the push.”

“So, you really do owe me one.”

“I really do.”

Fenix ran over, panting heavily, and flopped down into Taylor’s lap. A little way behind, Furball trotted after.

“Hey, Diego?”

“You’re missing your buff wife?”

“That, and I’m absolutely starving. You wanna head back to Catalyst Village?”

Diego looked out at the darkening sky. This day had flown. No doubt, the days to come would fly too, and in no time at all he’d be faced with leaving Varyyn… again. Then his stomach growled loudly.

“Apparently, you’re not the only one. Come on-- d’you need a piggy-back?”

Indignant, Taylor plopped Fenix down in the sand and got to her feet. “I certainly do not.”

“Okay… reframing that. Would you like a piggy-back?”

Ooh, that smirk. “Oh, all right,” she relented. “In the time it would’ve taken me to walk back, I’d have already died of hunger.”

So, they made their way back up the beach; Diego giving a more-weary-than-she’d-care-to-let-on Taylor… and their two furry companions leading the charge, drawn home by the scent on the wind of food being cooked over an open fire.

___________________________

“A toast!” Aleister pronounced loudly, holding aloft a glass of Breath of the Moon. As his friends and family around the fire raised their matching cocktails, he thrust his own glass ever-higher with slightly-tipsy gusto. “To new beginnings! To reuniting with comrades! To bringing about justice!”

Estela leaned over and whispered in Taylor’s ear. “You see why I thought you should only take a little sip of this stuff?”

Taylor sniggered. “I’d make a toast to the fact that we have a whole house to ourselves again.It’s gonna be a lot easier to get our sex on when your brother and sister-in-law aren’t in the next room.”

Giving her wife an exaggerated wink, Estela huddled closer, delighting in the giggle she stirred. Somehow, everything felt easier here. It was is if just to be in this place brought her back to the best of herself, to the sense of peace within herself that had once felt like an impossibility. Now, with Taylor, in their home and surrounded by people they loved, it was an inevitability. This time would refresh her-- it would them both-- and ready them for the greater steps that lay ahead.

It seemed the feeling was catching,for everyone was relaxed and laughing as they cooked skewers over the crackling fire and sipped their cocktails. In the firelight, Varyyn’s face seemed to glow with affection for his beloved husband beside him-- who himself was bubbling over with the simple pleasure of being surrounded by friends. Estela wondered about the two of them… what the future might hold. A year could go by so quickly-- she learned that the had way when she’d been counting down to Taylor’s self-sacrifice-- but away from the one you loved, time would stretch agonisingly. She did not envy the choice Diego was faced with; that they were now with him to offer support though that… that mattered.

Opposite them, Jake was back to ribbing Aleister, something even more fun now that the target was a little sozzled. No amount of back-and-forth teasing could hide the genuine --rather unlikely-- friendship that had formed; Aleister, blessed with both wealth and contacts in high places, had made himself a pivotal force in the fight to clear Jake’s name. The more Estela had gotten to know her unexpected sibling, the more it became obvious to her that at his heart, Aleister was driven by the same protectiveness of those dear to him that powered her. It was something, she’d come to realise, that Rourke had cemented into them both-- not through any passing of genes, but by fierce resistance to the poison he’d inflicted. It had taken time… and it had been painful, but in their budding kinship, Estela had found undeniable comfort.

Taylor took Estela’s hand, and laid a weary head on her shoulder.

“Hey.”

“Hey, you,” Estela laughed softly. She could feel the smile on Taylor’s face; so open and radiant, full of tenderness for the people surrounding her, and it spoke wonders.

With her free hand, Taylor gently chinked her glass to Estela’s.

“Cheers. To being home.”

“To being home.”

#endless summer #playchoices #estela montoya #estela x mc #diego soto #varyyn #variego #aleister rourke #jake mckenzie

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inmyownlaine · 3 years

Text

Cages: John Murphy x OC Fanfiction

GIF//

SPOILERS: If you have not finished the series proceed with caution!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1664

Chapter: Two

Summary: After falling asleep, Aerie wakes up to a foreign source of light. The sudden disturbance of peace causes underlying issues to come to the surface. Murphy steps in, making matters worse.

────────────────────────────────────────────

Aerie didn’t remember falling asleep. Murphy was rolled up in a ball, turned away from her. She rubbed her eyes carefully, trying her best to keep the sand out. It was still dark, the sun nowhere in sight.

She loved mornings like these. The ones where it seemed like everything was asleep, even the earth itself. Where she could disconnect from reality and imagine herself in another universe. Aerie could encounter a million mornings like this and still feel the same exact way: completely at peace.

Aerie began to stretch out, her back craned with her chest pushing towards the stars. As she tilted her neck back, preparing to loosen the cramped muscles, a sudden flash of light exploded against the indigo sky. She straightened herself immediately, leaning forwards and scrambling to her knees.

She was no astronomer. She wouldn’t even consider herself knowledgeable about space. But she knew enough to reasonably conclude that this was no shooting star. It’s lasting glow remained in the sky as it slowly traveled to the ground, dipping and diving over the uneven terrain.

It was something foreign. Maybe even magic.

Eyes wide with horror and mouth clamped with fear, she nudged Murphy awake.. He groaned aloud and flopped on his back, sticking his arms straight up in the air. “What?” he grumbled, sounding eerily similar to a moody teenager.

Aerie didn’t even have to reply. Through closed eyelids, Murphy saw the incoming brightness. He threw his arm over his face, providing very little shade from the beam. “Aerie?” he yelled, almost as if he expected her to have any answers.

Of course, she didn’t. Rooted to her spot, she squinted in the light’s direction, curiosity taking over her better instincts. Though she had never seen anything like this, it felt familiar to her. As if she had experienced this herself.

“What are you doing?” Murphy’s arm latched onto her forearm, tugging with enough force to move her a couple inches in the sand. It was then she realized how dire the situation was, clambering to her feet and retreating with Murphy back to the huts.

The commotion caused the rest of the group to come outside. They were clearly feeling the same way as Aerie: frightened, yet curious. Just as things were feeling safe, another freak phenomenon had to ruin what they were building.

“What’s going on?” Raven questioned, ponytail swinging from side to side as she frantically tried to look at everyone at once.

“Run!” Clarke replied, ignoring Raven completely and entering survival mode.

They had only gotten to the edge of the sand when the light stopped above the sea foam. It levitated before slowly descending to the ground. Everyone stopped, clinging onto one another for support. If this was going to end in war, they were going to fight it together.

The beam started to dissipate, resembling that of a tamed firework. Sparkles of gold and yellow swirled in a cylindrical pattern before finally coming together to form a silhouette. They started disappearing at the top, moving downwards as a body took its place. First a mop of curly brown hair, then a dark pair of eyes, warm enough to thaw the heart of any villain, outsider, or wrongdoer.

Aerie watched in awe as a man with a white robe stood in front of them, seemingly calm and inquisitive. It was a look she didn’t get to see much. He was always worried about protecting his friends and being the perfect leader. It was nice, for a change, to see him in a state of tranquility. No matter how anyone felt about his newfound beliefs.

“Bellamy,” Octavia whispered, face contorting into disbelief and sadness. Echo took a step towards him, but stopped herself after the first one.

He gave a small smile, nodding in her direction. It had been a long time since any of them had seen Bellamy. Aerie could sense the tension radiating from Clarke. The last time she was with Bellamy, she tried to kill him. Aerie questioned why he would return to a group of people that was so hostile towards him.

“Why did you come back?” Echo asked.

“Now you can’t transcend,” Aerie added. She knew that he wanted it more than anything. She remembered the look in his eyes when she left him last. It was full of hope that had been drained from his body long ago. Aerie was one of few that decided not to take that away from him.

“You can’t,” he corrected, hands folded patiently in front of his stomach. “You were saved by grace. But I believed.”

“So, what? You’re going to come here and rub it in our face?” Clarke retorted, arms crossed across her chest.

Bellamy wasn’t fazed. Instead, he stared at her deeply with his dark brown eyes. Lips pursed together calmly, studying the nature of a person that had lost everything. He knew it wasn’t personal.

“Madi is fine.”

Clarke’s lower lip began to tremble as she fell backwards, grabbing onto Murphy’s shoulder. He placed his arm around her lower back, eyes wide with surprise. Carefully, Murphy lowered Clarke to the ground as tears fell from her eyes.

“In fact, I would say she’s thriving. No more war. No more fear. It’s the perfect place for her.”

Aerie knew Clarke disagreed. The perfect place for Madi, in Clarke’s eyes, was with her. Yetshe couldn’t afford to be selfish. Madi didn’t have a life on Earth. There were no children for her to socialize with. There was nothing to help her grow. She would be the only human her age in a world of terror.

“And I forgive you,” Bellamy spoke, nodding towards Clarke.

“I don’t need your forgiveness,” she spat, the corners of her mouth pulling down towards her chin. “If anything, you are the one that needs redemption. I lost everything because of you. Everything!”

The birds scattered from the trees as she wailed aloud. Everyone standing had a story to tell. No one’s life was easy. But Clarke’s seemed to trump them all.

Aerie lost her parents in seconds, along with most of Skaikru when the Ark fell from orbit. She still wasn’t over it, and never truly would be, but at least her father wasn’t floated. And at least her partner wasn’t murdered. And at least her mother’s body wasn’t stolen. And at least she was able to transcend. The atrocities continued on for Clarke Griffin.

“Whether you do or don’t, just know you have it.”

“Out of all the things I want to have,” Clarke scoffed, “your good graces are not on my list.”

With that, she pushed herself off the sand and headed towards the forest line. Bellamy’s fingertips pulled towards her, but the rest of him remained. Raven chased after Clarke, calling her name as they disappeared into the trees. Silence fell as the rest of the group shared awkward glances with one another.

“Why are you here?” Echo finally asked. The sockets of her eyes were flushed pink, holding back a flurry of emotions. She made it perfectly clear how upset she was with Bellamy the first week Skaikru spent together. She couldn’t believe how he could betray the people loved.

But beneath all that rage, she was mostly hurt. Hurt that he chose faith over her. That she wasn’t his main priority in a world where everything was uncertain. In a time where everyone needed each other to get through. She felt used.

“I have unfinished business,” he stated simply. Bellamy’s head dropped, but beneath hooded lids, his eyes fixated on Aerie. Octavia noticed this immediately, a cackle escaping her lips.

“Of course,” she jaunted, throwing her hands in the air. “You came for your savior. Not your sister. Not your girlfriend. Her.”

Aerie scoffed in response, insulted by the obvious venom Octavia was spitting. She had every right to feel upset, but not at Aerie’s expense.

A tear trickled down Echo’s cheek as she bit the inside of her cheek. Fearing loss of control, she spun around and ran to her hut. Bellamy’s mouth opened, a silent battle raging in his head. He wasn’t allowed to love. It made him weak. It clouded his judgement.

It didn’t matter. The door slammed behind her, shutting him out for the time being.

“Save it, big brother,” Octavia grumbled.

“Knock it off, Octavia,” Murphy spoke up. It caused Aerie to tense up. She forgot he was standing beside her. Come to think of it, she forgot there was a whole crowd of people watching the dramatic scene.

“What? My own brother comes back to earth and instead of wanting to see me, he wants Aerie.”

“Well if I were Bellamy I would probably avoid you, too,” Murphy countered. “Who was the one that supported Clarke’s decision?”

She charged at him, but Levitt wrapped his arms around her torso, pulling her back as she yelled profanities at Murphy. He wasn’t the least bit fazed. Instead, he stood in front of her, arms crossed defiantly across his chest. Octavia continued to kick around in an attempt to free herself.

“Are you done yet?” Murphy asked, unamused.

Octavia let out a blood-curdling scream. It was something she had gotten particularly good at after becoming Bloodreina. There were a lot of awful events that spawned from that moment in time, but she did learn how to let out a gruesome battle cry.

Indra stepped in between the two, signalling for Gaia to help Levitt take her away. She did so immediately, trying to comfort her in the process. “It doesn’t matter!” Octavia yelled. “Bellamy died a long time ago! He died!”

Bellamy’s face scrunched together, an expression of anguish easy to see. He didn’t let it linger, relaxing his muscles quickly before addressing Aerie. “Is there somewhere we can go? To talk?”

“Yeah,” Aerie answered, already leading the way. Bellamy trailed behind, leaving the others to gossip among themselves.

“You and I have a lot to discuss.”

#john murphy #writing #the100 #love #john murphy fanfic #the 100 #the 100 fanfiction #john murphy imagine #john murphy x oc #john murphy fanfiction #john murphy fic

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p-antomime · 2 years

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kiki, do u have any tips when it comes to writing a series ??? like how would they start their series and how can they not get carried away by other ideas (like they want to stick to a certain part ??? iykwim?)

hmmmm, ok, lezgo in parts here, yeah? i have a lot to say about this topic...

i think the first two things you should do when we are talking about writing a series is:

1. Who exactly are you writing for? (Because that defines who you want to reach with your writing, y'know?)

2. What is the general theme of what you're writing? (and by theme I mean: is it a high school romance? a detective novel? a slasher? a horror? an enemies for lovers style romance? A slowburn? A dark romance? Fantasy? Etc!)

these two are the most important ones you need to ask yourself before making a series, for example: taking from my own experience, before I started writing Cosmic Dust I already knew I wanted to write something with a Greek mythology theme, but I still didn't know if i wanted to write with haruchiyo & rindou or haruchiyo & mikey - and i ended up choosing rindou 'cause i think he with haru could be an interesting duo if we extended their personalities a bit more to fit the story and the plot.

another thing that can help you when starting a series is to have it CLEAR and very specific what the central issue of your series is, for example, is it a betrayal? Is it an evil plot by the villain? Is it unfinished business from the past? Is it one person (and here, it can be the main character or not) wanting to win the love of another?

another tip i'd give is: please make an outline of the story before you start writing it, this helps a lot to clarify your thoughts and ideas when the tension of the plot rises and tightens! also, keep in mind that: the best way to start a long story is not to try to run over the information and want to dump everything on the reader at first sight, take it easy, in the first chapter, for example, it is always good to try to only announce the characters and ONLY INTRODUCE the problem, if you want to get a sense of how to do this, please read from the middle to the rest of this here (i used the basic model of classic literature to write, so, it's very difficult that I have run away from the proposal I am presenting you).

now, on to the most difficult part, in my opinion...

how not to be carried away by other ideas...

honestly speaking, AND REALLY HONESTLY!

there is no fixed mold for this. but, for me, what works is: try to write as many chapters as i can in a day, but this can be exhausting for those who are not used to writing a lot during the day! (like, man... i literally wrote 5 chap's with 3K+ words of cosmic dust in a day in january)

and if that's your case, i have a tip: try not to distance yourself from your story, from the essence of it and with this i mean: try to reread the chapters of your story at least 3 times PER WEEK (you can increase this number to days, if you deem necessary) so you don't lose your inspiration and motivation and also don't end up dropping the pen for what should be 2 hours and turned into 2 weeks, know what I mean?

and that's all! i hope this help you, my babe <3

#(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅) — kiki's answer ᵎ

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hes-writer · 4 years

Text

Exclusive Content

this is a master list of all one shots, blurbs, series parts, and unfinished content that i have posted on patreon (so far)! click the title to read the sneak peek (if i’ve posted one)

———

*+VALENTINE’S DAY

the one where harry has an eventful day

“Shit! Are you crazy?” Y/N gasped in surprise when the passengers seat was occupied, the door opening and slamming shut all while the car moved at a speed of 15 km/h —cursing her forgetfulness for not clicking the locks shut.

“Keep driving!” The passenger shouted, looking back through the windshield.

* ACHY BACK

the one where y/n’s back hurts and harry draws a bath

“Took too long,” Y/N mumbled as they met in the middle, knuckling tiredly at her eyes. A pout sat on her face as Harry stopped himself from ducking his head and catching her plush lips with his, craving the sweet taste of her and her strawberry lip balm. Her arms wrapped around his snatched waist, halting his breath at the tightness of her embrace and settling for a kiss on her forehead, the scent of her shampoo wafting in his nostrils, knowing that she had taken a shower hours prior. Her back had been aching since then, the pain barely bearable for her stature, causing a crease in between his brows.

+ A LETTER TO THE MAN I’VE LOVED

the one where harry receives a letter from y/n

Is it really worth it to look back in retrospect about ‘what had been’ when she can think about ‘what could have been’ if both of them realized their faults? Granted, he was more resilient in that sense than her, but he was no better at the time. She made mistakes and it had haunted her to this day, practically killing her with each moment she spent without him by her side.

+ UNWAVERING (1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

the one where harry cheats (another version of ‘a cheat’)

"I-I'm in a bit of a rush, baby.” He took a step back, increasing the distance between them. "I have a meeting today. Lots of work to be done," Harry responded his tone suggesting that he didn’t want to talk anymore. Y/N nodded to please him.

"Right. Maybe we can go out tonight to grab some dinner," She suggested, a hopeful glint in her eyes and he almost felt guilty for putting her at the back burner of his mind.

"I really have to go, baby," Peeking his head around her frame, he spotted the untouched toast and apple juice resting on where he should be. "I'm sorry."

+ ALL I ASK

the one where feelings aren’t mutual and hearts are broken

“I don’t want to be scared of what will happen tomorrow or if all we have is right now because we’ll have nothing left but I am,” A sob ripped through his throat, emotions were heightened tenfold because she was so close yet so far and they were still Harry and Y/N but at the same time they weren't. They’ve changed over the span of one night. “All we have is tonight,”

* LITTLE PRINCE

the one where harry and y/n are 7-year olds

Harry gasped in horror, crouching to his knees and getting his knee dirty beside the girl.

"Y/N? Y/N! Are you okay? I'm so so sorry, I didn't mean for that to happen. I swear I wasn't mad at you, I was just jok- Why are you smiling?" Harry yelped, panic evident in his shrill voice. His hands wandered towards her face, tilting it left to right, up and down, searching for any visible and invisible injuries besides the bump on her forehead.

RENEGADE

the one where y/n teaches harry the ‘renegade’ dance

“What are y’doing?” Harry asked, his eyes wide as his large palms ruffled the fluffy towel on his damp curls. The steam from the bathroom escaped to your bedroom where you were panting with effort, your chest heaving so hard that the peaks of your breasts rose with each breath.

“Uh, what are you doing?” You retorted slowly, hiding your hands behind your back were your fingers gripped your phone. Your thumb dug hard on the volume bottom, frantically trying to decrease the music from the phone speaker.

DROP THE TOWEL (m)

the one where harry does the ‘drop the towel’ challenge

“Hey, babe,” He greeted, walking closer to you in a towel that made him feel liberated. You hummed in a silent greeting, giving him a smile before doing a double-take at his appearance. He dropped the towel on the floor, his length hanging proudly between his legs.

You gasped at the sight, the knife clanging on the marble counter, “Ooh, hi there,”

He smirked cockily, watching your eyes observe his body, tongue subconsciously peeking out between your lips until you snapped your head to the window, “Oh my god! There are people out there, Harry,” You wailed in alarm, bending over to hand him his towel.

DREAM WITH ME (exclusive content as of right now) - this fic will be posted on Tumblr when I return from my hiatus

the one where y/n has trouble falling asleep

Harry’s admiration gets interrupted when a sudden jolt took over Y/N’s body. He dropped his mouth open a little in shock, rubbing her back soothingly when she whimpered quietly, “Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe with me,” She must have had experienced one of those moments when she was falling until her vision drooped to a shaded black.

DIGRESS (1) PROGRESS (2) REGRESS (3)

the one where love fails

What happens when love fades away? How do you cope with the feelings disappearing slowly like a blot of dark blue paint diluting with every stroke of a ruffled paintbrush? Y/N wondered if there was a chance to fixing what has been lost--what has disappeared as the canvas soaked through in a permeated osmosis. Coating the brush of blue with white paint took several layers to completely cover the mistakes. There had to be an effort in wanting to make the faults and errors completely opaque from the eye; the bleary, watery irises soaked with tears, dampening her lashes in a thick haze as she cried.

ROUTINE (1) (the first part will be posted on Tumblr when I return from my hiatus. following parts will be patron-exclusive content)

the one where harry is a camboy

In a blink of an eye, Harry’s toned body was showcased on the screen, allowing him to view what his viewers had the pleasure of seeing. The ‘LIVE’ sign blinked repeatedly.

“Hello,” Harry drawled out purposefully using a deeper tone to set the mood. “How are you today?” His fingers stayed hung over the armchair, griping it slightly when comments started rolling in.

NOTES ON CAMP (1) (2) (3) (exclusive content as of right now) - this fic will be posted on Tumblr when I return from my hiatus

Y/N plastered a smile on her face as she shook Belle’s hand. “Sorry but I need to steal Harry away,” Belle tugged on his tattooed arm, fingers clasping around his wrists as he started walking along with her. “See you, Y/N!” Harry greeted, turning around with his arm draped over Belle’s shoulder.

“See you,” She whispered under her breath, looking at his retreating figure towards the cafeteria. Y/N couldn’t help the disappointment she felt, her shoulders slouching at the realization that it was too good to be true. Of course, he had a girlfriend. A gentleman with chiselled features and a caring personality complimenting her? No way. Still, she wasn’t too sad about it. It wasn’t like they’ve known each other for long. Plus, they were co-workers! It would feel wrong to start a relationship anyway.

STRESSED OUT

the one where y/n is stressed and harry wants her to take a break

“What d’ya mean I don’t get it?” He closed the paperback, making sure to clip in his bookmark to save his spot.

A pregnant pause slithered the room. Her fingers typing against the keys of her laptop ceased as she shot him a glare, “You’re not studying, are you? All you do is write songs, fiddle with a few instruments and sing it in front of people who adore you,”

Harry physically pulled his chest back. He felt like he had been shot. He knew she didn’t mean it though, but it still hurt to hear, “O-oh. I didn't know y-you felt that way,”

She continued, “You don’t know what it’s like having to spend hours researching so you don’t get anything wrong. Sleepless nights to perfect one paragraph that my professor nitpicks to the bone,” Y/N penned a few words on her notebook, not noticing the pout plastered on Harry’s face.

DESSERT

the one where harry wants something else

She pulled away, shaking her head adamantly, “No way! I spent all day cooking and you’re not gonna skip it just to eat my pussy,”

He the corners of his eyes squinted in offence at her description, “Your pussy’s top tier, baby.” Harry ‘tsked’ his tongue, “If yeh didn’t know that already, then I’m doing a horrid job,”

PET NAME

the one bff!harry just wants y/n to call him by his pet name

“Am I, Harry? Seems like you’re putting me at the back burner nowadays,”

He was speechless; had he? Harry didn’t mean to make her feel this way but he wasn’t aware that he was actively blowing her off for Ruby. And why won’t she call him ‘honey’? That was his nickname, wasn’t it? H stood for Harry but it was also the pet name Y/N had given him.

His voice emulated a soft, syrupy tone that lingered in the air whenever he spoke. He was the colour honey itself--golden and yellow like the colour of the sun. Harry was bright in its sense of intelligence and the way he illuminated the whichever room he entered. His kindness catered to everyone’s needs and left pieces of his heart wherever he went.

Harry was honey.

ROOMMATES SERIES (3) (4) (5) (6)

the one where harry and y/n are roommates

updates every 2 weeks!

will not be posted on Tumblr until the series is finished

Y/N gasped at Harry’s proximity, lids snapping open with her hand reaching over to pat along until she found her phone which was blaring with an alarm that she had set. Harry gulped, eyes wide as his mind ran through what the hell just happened.

“What are you doing here? Get out!” She yelled, tugging the sheets higher on her body.

“I-I was just waking you up so you can make us dinner,” Harry stuttered out, his excuse sounding lame but he patted himself on the shoulder for making it up on the spot. Well, that was his intention in the first place until he got distracted.

FRIENDS DON’T MINI-SERIES (1) (2) (3)

“Is this okay?” Her doe irises searched his. Harry raised his head lazily to make eye contact, nodding his head with a bit lip. Y/N clenched her inner thighs together at his already blissed-out state, his pupils slowly becoming larger with arousal. “Friends don’t touch each other this way,” She purposefully drew out her statement, giving Harry an out of the situation if he needed to.

“More than okay,”

FIC EXTRAS #1 - TEASE

the one before ‘under the table’

“Fuckin’ dirty,” He spat, the pads of his thumb tracing circles on her hipbones, not feeling a trace of clothing resting on her hips. “Wearin’ a short dress with no panties,”

Y/N hummed, arms slanting behind her to support her upper body so that she could spread her legs further, making room for Harry’s hand. “Didn’t feel like it,”

“Y’just waiting for me to find out, hmm? You knew I couldn’t resist myself when you look so goddamn pretty,”

UNFINISHED DRABBLE #1

the one with fratboy!harry

“Y’alright?” Harry’s husky breath barely made its way to her ears, only then did Y/N feel the hand palming her lower back, another one gripped around her shoulders. Her front flushed against his own, feeling his hard chest on her heaving ones. She peeked one eye open, looking around at her angled stance, then to Harry who wore a concerned look scanning her face. Y/N nodded in response, blinking rapidly, her nipples hardening at a sudden cold breeze beneath the thin fabric of her dress, surely poking him through his shirt. She blushed at the thought and his brief glance over her where they touched, his eyes dilating the tiniest amount.

UNFINISHED DRABBLE #2

the one where harry’s a cheating asshole

Harry wormed his way through his delectable voice and his ever-present words that somehow scorched your shield to the ground. Again. He promised never to do it again and your love-sick heart trusted him. Again.

But your trust wasn’t something that was particularly valuable to him. To Harry, it would always be there, lingering like the stars in the night sky; always present, always gleaming. Harry was very sorry for what he was doing to you. It was ironic, really; he hoped and prayed every day that you wouldn’t find out but his carelessness left everything out in the open.

TEXT MESSAGES #1

the one where y/n has silly thoughts

TEXT MESSAGES #2

the one where harry and y/n share the same class

#harry styles one shot #harry styles #masterlist #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #patreon exclusive #harry styles smut

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excelsi-or · 3 years

Text

just a little sweeter (pt. 10)

HELLLLOOOOOOOO~~ are you guys still there? LOL, it’s been like a month and a half since I last posted on here. The end of the semester just really got intense with projects, presentations, and finals. But I’m here and back for at least two weeks. I wanna see if I can bosh out the rest of this series before I move onto another one.

I hope you’re all well. If you wanna update me on what’s new with you all, I’d love to know. I applied to grad school. I have one more semester left before graduation. Vaccinations have started in my area of the world. I started playing Hollow Knight (if anyone wants to talk about THIS GAME, please do. I love it.) Think that’s kinda it.

BIPOC reeeeeccccc: N. K. Jemisin’s The City We Became is EXCELLENT. Diversity, racism, feminism, LGBTQ representation. I love it so much. One of my favourite books of the year, hands down. Nicole Crowder on IG does like upholstery and interior DIYs and content. I’ve been wanting to upholster these two chairs in my home and she put up a whole 2 min tutorial on how to do it.

w.c. 3k (lol, it got really long oops! fluff and mature content, not quite smut, but it was definitely getting there. The first draft of this part was basically just smut, so I chopped and fixed it LOL. hope you guys still like it.)

pt.1; pt.2; pt.3; pt.4; pt.5; pt.6; pt.7; pt.8; pt. 9

“What do you mean you haven’t had sex with him yet?”

She rolls her eyes and sets a bowl in front of her previous roommate. Soobin had moved out months ago, shortly after she’d met Jihoon.

“It’s going really slow.” She slips into the seat across the table. “We haven’t really said I love you yet either.”

“What do you mean ‘haven’t really said’? What? Just ‘cause Woozi’s an idol he doesn’t know how to treat you right?”

She motions for Soobin to tuck into the food. “Jihoon is treating me wonderfully, thank you very much.” She pauses, her chopsticks hovering in the air. “It’s just… slow.”

“He has a whole child!” Soobin chews her noodles as she continues. “You’ve already passed the point of going slow.”

“It’s not as if Eunha is my child.”

“The kid spends more time here than any of our friends or your family.”

“Jihoon’s been busy.” She shrugs. “It’s easier for him to leave Eunha here than take her with him. Plus, you know the Terror likes her.”

Soobin chuckles. “That little horror of a brother of yours likes everyone.”

She smirks. “Okay, fair.” Then she waves her chopsticks between them. “But Eunha’s probably the reason why he’s going slow. We need to see if we’re compatible.” She meets Soobin’s gaze. “The man has a child.”

“It’s been months!” Soobin quickly cuts in before any interruptions. “Seven months to be exact. You would think that the next step at analyzing compatibility is whether you guys vibe in bed.”

She hums. She doesn’t want to admit out loud that yeah, she’s been having fantasies about Jihoon. However, she hasn’t gotten any clear signals from Jihoon that he wants to pursue anything further than making out on her couch after a date. And before she can broach the topic, he’s off to go get Eunha. If Jihoon never wanted to have sex with her, she wonders if that would be a deal breaker. But she really has no idea.

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“Sex? No.”

“So, what do you guys talk about?”

She throws her head back with a laugh. “You say that as if the only thing you and Jae talk about is sex.”

“Well, it came up a lot when we first started dating.”

“That’s because you guys started off having sex.” She sighs, turning her noodles with the tips of her chopsticks. “This relationship is really different. I don’t know how to gauge it.”

“Do you love him?”

“I haven’t told him.”

“But you do.”

“Yeah.”

“And does Eunha put you off wanting to be with him?”

She rests her cheek in her palm. “I honestly thought she would, but she only makes me love him more.”

“Then talking about sex, even if you’re not having it, is the next step.” Soobin gauges her friend’s reaction. “Even if Jihoon is the type not to want it. You should at least know that. He’s obviously done it at one point.”

There’s a pause before they both say, “The child.”

She nods. “You’re right though. We should talk about it.”

Seungcheol knocks on the studio door. “Hey. You needed me?”

Jihoon turns in his chair and nods. “Yeah. I need a second set of ears on this song. Bumzu hyung and Soonyoung are busy.”

Seungcheol nods and falls into the seat next to Jihoon. He notices the book on the desk. It’s been sitting there for a while. “You finish it?”

Jihoon glances at the book. “Oh.” Then, he resumes clicking through the excessive number of files open on his screen. “Yeah.”

And you haven’t returned it?”

“She reads it when she comes over.” Jihoon hands over the headphones and finally catches Seungcheol’s expression. “What? Is there some big meaning behind that too?”

Ever since he started dating, Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and basically everyone in the building has found various meanings in his songs and life that allude to how ‘in love’ he is. He’s not about to tell everyone he’s in love—she doesn’t even know that yet—but not everything going on is about his relationship.

Seungcheol shrugs as he adjusts the headphones on his ears. “You seem to think there isn’t.”

“God.” Jihoon sighs and turns in his chair. He drops his cheek into his palm. “Enlighten me.”

“She’s a big reader and doesn’t like to leave books unfinished. If she’s letting you hold onto it for her, for when she comes over here, that says something.”

“So does leaving my daughter in her care, but we all have something we need taken care of.” He turns back to the screen. “Now, listen to this hook for me.”

Seungcheol settles back into the seat. He bops his head along to the melody until the lyrics play clear in his ears. Wide eyed, he turns to Jihoon and pushes one headphone off his ear. “We’re not putting this on the album, are we?”

Jihoon looks over at him with an eyebrow lifted. “Why not?”

“This is such a… a bedroom… sex song.” Seungcheol shakes his head. “We can’t put this on there.”

Jihoon frowns. “What?” He looks at the file name and feels his cheeks heat up. “Whoa. Not that one.” He quickly closes the file and makes sure that it’s closed. But his checking gives Seungcheol time to see a folder with her name. There’s one for Eunha that none of the boys want to ask about, but his girlfriend? She’s fair game.

“You have a folder of songs for her?” He acts horrified. “And that was one of them?”

Jihoon tries to think of any way out of this conversation and realizes that due to his carelessness, he can’t. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

“How many songs are in there? Do they all sound like that?”

“I refuse to answer those questions knowing that everyone is going to know by tomorrow and it’s already embarrassing that you know about one of them.”

“Hey.” Seungcheol’s voice goes soft. He likes to tease, but he recognizes touchy subjects when he broaches them. “Sorry. I didn’t realize. You know you can talk to me, right?”

Jihoon side eyes him. “I don’t want to admit how I feel about her to you when she hasn’t even heard all the songs on there.”

“What’s the folder for?”

“Just… inspiration.” Jihoon leans back further in his chair. “The songs on the upcoming album have come out of there. At least the less… perverted ones did.”

“There are other songs like that.” Seungcheol tries not to sound too surprised.

Jihoon’s cheeks are so warm that he takes a sip of his iced coffee. “Lately… yeah.”

“Have you…” Seungcheol shakes his head. “No. How could you? You always come home for Eunha.”

At this, Jihoon looks at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well… just that if you guys were having sex, you wouldn’t come straight home to your daughter, would you? Not when all of us would know.” Seungcheol narrows his eyes. “Right?”

Jihoon doesn’t even know how to respond to that except with the truth. “Fine. No. We haven’t yet.”

“Because of her or because of you.”

“Things are going slow. I don’t know… how to broach the topic.”

“Why can’t showing up to her door with passionate kisses be enough?”

“And what? Leave Eunha with you guys overnight?”

“Yeah, why not?”

So, Jihoon does just that and it turns out so much better than he expected.

“Why does this shirt,” he mutters between kisses, “have so many buttons?”

She giggles against his lips and steadies his hands in hers. “You’re excited. Like a child. Calm down.”

Jihoon hums, obsessed with the taste of her lips and her hands around his. She guides him through the motion of unbuttoning her shirt. Once they’re undone, he pulls away slightly. She tips her head. Jihoon is gentle with her shirt, sliding it off her shoulders. Her eyes watch him the entire time, watch him admire her body as the fabric falls to the floor. His hands start from the sides of her thighs up her body, skimming over her underwear, and holding her under the arms, hands right by her breasts.

“You’re really gonna tease,” she chuckles. She closes the distance between them, kissing him and fumbling with his shirt. His shirt is easy, his sweatpants he practically steps out of. It’s once they’re both just standing in their underwear that she stops him.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Jihoon kisses her shoulder and up her neck to the base of her jaw. “Why would I want to stop?”

“Eunha?” she hums. The child’s face is prominent in her mind, but becomes hazy every time Jihoon sucks a spot on her neck.

“She adores you. Which gives me permission to also adore you.”

She smirks, arms wrapping around Jihoon’s neck to force him back to her lips. “I’m glad I pass the test.”

Jihoon scoops her up and carries her to the couch. She gasps in surprise, which forces him away again. Spread along the couch are a lot of her art supplies. When she turns back to him, there’s a grin on her face.

“I wasn’t expecting you to jump me tonight. I was planning to paint, so…”

“Do you want to clean first?” he chuckles.

She shrugs.

Jihoon snorts and picks her shirt up off the floor and hands it to her. As much as he wants to sleep with her, it seems tonight may not be the night. He finds his sweatpants and pulls them on then helps her move her art stuff. He sits on the coffee table while she manoeuvres her piece from the floor to the desk.

“Do you want to paint?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “I want to spend time with you.” She moves some stuff to make space for her piece.

“Do you want to teach me to paint?”

She peers over her shoulder at him. “Really?”

“Well, I’m impossible to teach, but I don’t want to leave yet.” Jihoon glances at her bare torso, as she hasn’t bothered to button the top. “And I like the view.”

She rolls her eyes, an amused smile on her face. “Are idols allowed to say stuff like that?”

Jihoon looks around her home. “Unless you have a listening device and turn me in, I’m confident to say how I feel about you.”

A smile blooms on her face at hearing that. She pulls one of her watercolour pads off the desk and motions for him to join her on the floor. She flips past the first two pages, but Jihoon still catches glimpses of them.

He grabs her wrist to stop her. “Were those of Eunha and me?”

“Oh.” She tilts her head and flips back. “Yeah.” The first page is from the night he had come over to learn to cook. The second was their first date.

Jihoon looks to her expectantly and she can only shrug.

“I draw what I like.”

Jihoon doesn’t know why he finds that embarrassing, but his ears feel warm.

She tips her head back in a laugh. “Of everything that’s happened tonight, Jihoonie, I don’t think you need to be embarrassed to hear that I like you.” She returns to the one with Eunha on it and pulls the sheet. “I wanted to give it to you, but I thought maybe it would be creepy if you knew I was painting you and your daughter from memory.”

Jihoon stares at the paintings. He can see Eunha’s expression in them; how happy she had been with the meal and the dessert. If this is what he’d look like that night, he had been extremely relaxed. His finger traces over the skin, amazed at how seamless it appears.

When his eyes lift to meet hers, she seems surprised to see tears.

“What’s wrong?”

Jihoon shakes his head. “Nothing.”

She slides closer to him and her thumb brushes his tears away. “You’re crying.”

Jihoon sighs and his head tips back, as he tries to keep the tears in. “I… it’s just that…” Jihoon’s gaze rests on her again. “No one else has seen Eunha like this. The members do, but they helped me raise her. Which is why sometimes she’s an absolute menace.”

She smiles.

“But…” Jihoon studies the painting, at his baby so beautifully depicted. “I don’t know. This kind of reminds me that maybe I’m doing okay if she looks like this.”

“Jihoon, you’re doing great. She’s happy and she loves you.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’m failing her all the time, and…” The tears appear again. “And I feel like I lost some of who I am, because I had her.”

She eases the sheet of paper out of his hands. Jihoon uncrosses his legs so she can move between them, draping her legs over his thighs. Her hands plant on the floor between them as she leans forward to press kisses to his face. His eyes close at the sensation. “Jihoon, she is all you. Your music is who you are. You live and breathe Seventeen. Just because you became a father doesn’t mean you lost any piece of the Jihoon that was there before she existed.”

Jihoon lifts a hand to the back of her neck to pull her closer. Painting is put on the back burner, as they get lost in the feeling of kissing each other. Jihoon’s legs curl behind her to prevent her from moving away. His free hand slips inside her shirt and finds home on her hip. His thumb moves back and forth across the skin there.

Meanwhile, her hands have pulled him as close she can get him, her fingers tangling in his hair. When she gives the hair at the base of his neck a small tug, he groans. This lets her slip her tongue into his mouth. He tastes like her coffee, unsurprisingly enough. And she has to admit, it tastes better on his tongue than in the cup.

She can feel his growing hard on through his sweatpants. When she pulls away to breathe, she asks, “So we’re not painting then?”

Jihoon hums something incoherent, because she latches her lips against his neck.

“Wait,” he breathes.

She slows her assault on his neck, but doesn’t stop.

“No hickies.”

“Simple enough,” she breathes against his skin.

Jihoon finds himself falling back onto the floor as her kisses trail all over his body. Her hands explore every muscle and memorize them. Jihoon enjoys the treatment, his eyes closing while he lets his other sense take over. She wiggles him out of his sweatpants again and then returns to his lips.

“Bed?” She adjusts her body over his, putting pressure against him, which makes it impossible for him to reply.

Jihoon looks up at her and his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. She sucks a spot on the soft skin near his jaw, but stops before it can leave a mark. He manages to roll them over.

“You’re making it really hard to think.”

She slides a leg between his, which seems just enough friction for him to grimace. “You’re thinking with something else.”

“Where’s your bed?”

Her eyes dart to her left. He helps her to standing and then lifts her. Her legs wrap around his waist. If there had been other objects in the way, he would have knocked into all of them, because she starts kissing him again. And it seems like his brain shuts off as soon as she does that. He presses her against her bedroom wall and when he ruts against her, her breath catches.

“So, you are needy.”

“Lee Jihoon, you are literally between my legs,” she manages between kisses. “Yes, I’m needy.”

Jihoon pulls away for a moment. “But you’ve seemed so calm and collected tonight.”

She rolls her eyes and gently kisses his cheeks before saying, “If I was ready to pounce on you when you walked in here, would you have wanted to fuck me?”

Jihoon jumps at the blatant term, but he pivots so that he can lay her on the bed. One of his hand sneaks between her legs, his other arm propping his body over hers, and drags his fingers over the fabric. When she squirms beneath his touch, he says, “Maybe not. But… I’ve wanted this a while.” He meets her gaze. “So I don’t think too much have scared me away tonight.”

Her head tilts back as he begins to rub his fingers in circles. He watches her carefully.

“Stop staring,” her breath hitches, “and kiss me.”

Jihoon smirks. “Make me.”

She snakes a hand behind his head to pull him down towards her. Her kisses stutter depending on the speed of his fingers. His kisses trail down to her neck and nibbles the soft skin on her collar bone. She presses her hands into his shoulders to try to keep her bearings. When he kisses back up her neck and sucks the soft spot of her jaw and she moans something beautiful, he knows that’s a sound he’s going to have in his mind long after this is over.

He slows his fingers down. “How close are you?”

Her breath is heavy; she can’t even answer him. Her rut up into his hand is good indication though.

Two of her orgasms and one of his later, he returns from the bathroom with a washcloth and gently cleans her off. Then he lies on top of her again, her hands go to massage his temples.

“So, you’re going to tell your daughter we… coloured when you came over today?” she teases.

Jihoon rests his cheek against her chest, listening to her heartbeat slowing down after the exertion. “I told her she was staying with the members because I was coming over here for a play date.”

She laughs. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

Jihoon can’t help but smile as he falls asleep.

#woozi #woozi scenarios #woozi imagines #lee jihoon scenarios #Lee Jihoon #seventeen scenarios #Seventeen #seventeen imagines #Svt

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