#And of course I keep Ink Machine close to my heart; without a doubt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

redgillan · 4 years

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Under Pastel Skies - 7

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 6,480

Warnings: none

A/N: This is long overdue, sorry - hopefully it’s worth it. It’s also incredibly long... idek anymore. I want to thank you all for your patience and support. It means a lot to me.

Wannabe sugar daddies, don’t interact with this post.

You grumbled into your pillow when you heard your phone buzz on the bedside table. Cracking one eye open, you lifted your phone and squinted to read the neon numbers showing on the screen.

7:12 a.m.

You had an email notification, nothing important, but it somehow managed to come through the ‘Do Not Disturb’ feature. You knew you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep so you got up and padded barefoot into the kitchen.

A smile curled up your lips when you saw the leftovers from your made-up holiday. There were a few cookies and muffins in a plate, a large bowl of cereals, and two dirty milkshake glasses on the counter.

It had been a fun and relaxing couple of days. You ate, talked, played board games, and watched movies in your fanciest loungewear attire. Bucky sought your touch more than usual and it left you a little confused. Every time he touched you, the line between feelings of friendship and feelings of love became blurred.

Bucky was an early riser, always up before you, dressed in his usual khakis and long sleeved Henley shirts with his hair slightly tousled. He looked effortlessly sexy and always had a warm smile for you even though you looked like a hot mess in your mismatched pyjamas, staggering into the kitchen, blindly following the smell of food cooking on the stove.

Today, the kitchen was silent. Bucky was probably still asleep, so you decided to cook breakfast. Maybe, if you were lucky, you’d catch him in his night clothes.

Wasting no time, you made a beeline for the coffee machine. You filled the water tank and measured fresh grounds into the filter, but your task was interrupted when you heard groans coming from somewhere nearby. You soon figured out that the sounds were coming from the living room.

Curious, you silently made your way toward the sound. The shades were up, and you could see the midnight blue sky fading into pastel hues of yellow and pink with the approaching dawn. Under any other circumstances, you would have been completely enraptured by its beauty, but something else caught your attention.

Bucky was standing upside down with his head on a yoga mat. His eyes were closed and his features were set in an expression of serious concentration. You half hid behind the wall and observed him.

You were impressed, his headstand was perfectly vertical and he was doing it without hand support, meaning that he was supporting his entire weight on his neck. He slowly lowered one toe back down, then the other, before he rested his forearm on the mat and lifted his butt toward the ceiling, his body forming a perfect inverted V.

“You’re up already,” he asked, sitting back on his haunches. “I can hear you breathing behind that wall.”

Busted...

You peeked out into the living room and cringed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you but that was sooo impressive.” You walked into the room and perched yourself on the arm of the sofa, facing Bucky who was kneeling at your feet. “How do you do that?”

He chuckled, his cheeks red from exertion and bashfulness. “Practice. Yoga’s good for building strength.”

He looked up at you with a boyish smile, his hair damp with perspiration. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, rolling too close to his eyes and making him squint.

His pants left little to the imagination, the fabric stretched across his powerful thighs, and his sleeveless shirt clung to his drenched chest, outlining his muscles. Your eyes darted to his left shoulder where his stump was visible.

Despite living with him for over two months, you had never seen him in one of those sleeveless shirts before, though you couldn’t blame him since it was the middle of winter and you hadn’t been wearing any either. It was warm inside the apartment but not enough to walk around bare-armed.

“It’s easier to do yoga when the sleeve isn’t slapping me in the face every five seconds,” Bucky said, looking at his stump. “But I can cover it up if you prefer.”

“No! Of course not,” you rushed to say. “I’m sorry. That was really rude.”

“You were just looking, it’s only natural,” he said. “People are curious. Staring... well, staring is different.” His frown smoothed away and he turned to you with a smile. “Are you hungry?”

You smiled down at him. “Starving.”

“I’m gonna hop in the shower real quick, then I’ll start breakfast.”

“Actually, I was about to start cooking before I got distracted.” Bucky looked away, a slight blush covering his cheeks. “But I think we have plenty of food left over from last night.”

“We’re not eating cookies for breakfast,” he said. “We’ll save them for later. Right now we need something healthy.” He grinned as he pushed himself to his feet and ran upstairs. “I’ll be right back.”

You shook your head at his antics and returned to the kitchen to finish making coffee. After all he’d done for you, it was the least you could do. You knew Bucky liked cooking –and he was damn good at it- but sometimes you wondered if this was a fair arrangement.

He had given you a place to stay, money, food to eat, your own artist’s studio, and you had given him... nothing. Admittedly, you knew that your presence calmed him, comforted him. You gave him the emotional support he desperately needed and it was important, but he could also have adopted a pet.

Too tired for coffee or tea, you poured yourself a glass of orange juice, hoping it would wake you up. It worked but your self-deprecating thoughts were still playing havoc in your mind.

You were fixing Bucky’s coffee when he came back downstairs after his shower, and you were pleasantly surprised to find him wearing a clean sleeveless shirt. You met his eyes and found that he was watching you intently. You offered him a smile and leaned back against the kitchen counter.

“Looking good, James.”

He looked down at his feet with a bashful smile as he crossed the room slowly. You observed him in silence while he prepared breakfast for the two of you. It was a simple breakfast bowl with yogurt, granola, fresh fruits and honey but he somehow made it look like a gourmet dish.

“There you go, angel,” he said, setting your bowl in front of you. “What are you going to do today?”

You took a slice of kiwi and dipped in yogurt. “I think I’m going to paint. You?”

Bucky licked his spoon and you stared at it longingly before you quickly averted your eyes. No, you couldn’t be jealous of a goddamn spoon. Catch yourself on.

“I have an idea for a new book,” he said, running his tongue along his teeth to clean them before he spoke again. “I had a meeting with my agent last week. It went well, my old publisher really wants to work with me again. I’m signing my contract this afternoon.”

“Bucky!” you squealed after swallowing your mouthful of yogurt a little too fast. “That’s amazing!”

“Thank you,” he said, staring into nothing with wide eyes. “I’m nervous, scared and excited at the same time. It’s strange, y’know, all these feelings mixed together. It’s a bit overwhelming and I haven’t even started yet.”

“Don’t think too much,” you said. “You’ve done this before, you can do it again.”

“Yeah,” he replied, smiling.

You scraped your spoon around the bowl and licked it clean. “What’s it about? Is it a novel? Can I be in it?”

Bucky chuckled to himself and you figured that every single writer had friends who begged them to appear in their books. You couldn’t help it, the idea of living forever as ink on a page was too tempting.

“It’s not a novel,” he said. “It’s the third instalment of my series. The style is a little hard to explain but this is what I like to say: self-help book meets Bridget Jones’ Diary.”

“I tried to look you up but I couldn’t find anything written by a James Barnes or a Bucky Barnes.” You playfully narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you a fraud? Or are you using a pen name?”

He pretended to think about it. “I’m a fraud.”

“I knew it,” you mock-sighed.

Bucky took your bowl and placed it in the sink along with his. When he started cleaning them, you joined him and took a dish towel.

“I’ll tell you soon,” he spoke after a moment.

“It’s okay, take your time.”

You knew he wasn’t going to tell you what his pen name was, not now at least. His books were a reflection of his struggles, his success, and his fears, and you could understand why he preferred to keep you in the dark for now.

The people who read his books didn’t know him, they were just anonymous faces in a crowd but you were real. You were his friend, his new friend, and your opinion mattered.

“It’s been a couple of years since I’ve published my last book. My agent said that people haven’t forgotten about me but I still have to,” he made air quotes with his fingers, “’show my face’, just to remind everyone that I’m still writing.” He sighed.

“There’s a charity event next month at the museum of Natural History,” he continued. “It’s a huge event, a lot of important people will be there, including some of the most famous gallerists and curators in the country. You’re allowed to say no but,” he paused and turned to look at you, “do you want to come with me?”

You pressed your lips together while you mulled this over. There was no doubt in your mind that it was a great opportunity, one that you would have never had without Bucky, and you knew you had to say yes. But this was your least favourite part of being an artist.

You didn’t know how to sell yourself and you always felt like an arrogant asshat when you spoke about your paintings, even though you had every right to be proud of your work.

You had managed to persuade yourself that this new life would last forever. Eat, laugh, paint, repeat forever. But it wasn’t real. You had to put yourself out there, even if it made you uncomfortable because painting was only half your job.

Something else bothered you. You didn’t want to be the poor, struggling artist who took advantage of a charity event to make herself known. It seemed wrong and hypocritical.

You voiced your concerns to Bucky who looked at you with a pained expression.

“Yes, it’s a fundraiser but I can assure you that everyone at the party will be talking business and exchanging business cards,” he said. “And they’ll compensate with a huge donation to clear their guilty conscience. Is it false philanthropy? Absolutely, and I’m ashamed to say I’m one of them. You’re not taking advantage of a good cause, we are.”

“You’re nothing like them,” you said. “You’re kind and selfless, you’re a good person.”

“I’m not sure that’s true, angel,” he said with a tight smile.

When you opened your mouth to protest, he leaned forward and cupped the back of your head as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, ending the conversation. He had never done that before and you froze, feeling equal parts confused, incredulous and appreciated.

He pulled back and wiped down the sink with the sponge, acting like kissing you so sweetly was something completely normal, like he was unbothered. Meanwhile you just stood there wondering if you would ever be able to breathe normally again.

You pressed your lips together hard and tried to gather your thoughts but your mind was reeling. You were about to leave the room when your eyes landed on a pile of mail on the kitchen counter.

The first letter was a cheesy view of the Tower Bridge, the words ‘Greetings from London’ written in bold cursive letters across the postcard.

You only knew one person who still sent postcards.

Wanda.

“What’s this?” you asked, nodding toward the stack of mail.

Confused, Bucky looked to you then followed your line of sight and saw the mail. “Oh, Natasha dropped these off last night. She wanted to see you but you were already asleep.”

You nodded distractedly while you picked up the postcard. The sight of it filled you with anxiety. Your sister didn’t’ send these postcards often, but every time you received one it reminded you that things were different now. Gone was the happy and supportive family you used to cherish.

Your breath caught in your throat as you read Wanda’s hastily written words.

I’m coming home.

She was coming home. A wave of nausea ran through you and your breathing came shallow and fast.

“Wow, wow, wow.” You felt Bucky’s hand at our waist, steering you toward a chair, and you realized your legs were giving way under you. “Deep breaths, angel. Look at me. There you go!”

“Sorry,” you said. “See what happens when you don’t let me eat cookies for breakfast?”

Bucky smiled at your poor attempt at humour. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

You debated telling him but you weren’t sure how to voice your concerns so you handed him the postcard instead. You had told Bucky about Wanda. She had disappeared after Pietro’s death, sending postcards from time to time as proof that she was still alive and well.

“Your sister is coming home.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I haven’t seen her for six years. She doesn’t know our mom has Alzheimer, she doesn’t know I sold our old childhood home. She keeps sending those postcards there. I gave the new owners Natasha’s address in case they still receive our mail. They’re very nice.” You let out a humourless laugh. “I had absolutely no idea what I was doing when I sold our house, and they could have taken advantage of me but they didn’t. I guess it’s not every day you buy a family house from a 24 year old girl. It probably screams tragic backstory, uh?”

“You did this on your own?”

“Yup.”

Bucky put his hand on your knee and gave you a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry you had to go through this.”

You looked down at his thumb rubbing soothing circles just above your knee. “Yeah, it wasn’t easy.” You paused, then raised your head to look at him. “Living with you makes my life so much easier. I live in my own little bubble where I don’t have to be an adult. I feel like I can finally breathe. And I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me and all you continue to do.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, shaking his head. “We help each other. We’re good together.”

“Yes, of course,” you said with a smile. “But we both know it’ll have to end one day. It has to, one way or another. I want to be more independent, start my career and support my family. I don’t want to rely on others anymore. I want to rely on myself.”

“But there’s no rush, angel.”

“I know, but nothing’s gonna change if I stay in my little bubble. I have to do things that make me uncomfortable.”

“What are you trying to say exactly?”

“I’ll come with you to the fundraiser.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up in surprise but a smile broke across his face. “That’s great! But what about your sister?”

You shrugged. “There’s nothing I can do. She’ll probably go to our old house, realize it’s not ours anymore. If she’s lucky they’ll give her Natasha’s address. I’m sure she’ll have lots of questions but she can’t show up six years later and act like our bond is still intact. I’m not at her beck and call. I’m only responsible for myself and, Bucky, I’m so tired of trying to please everyone. I deserve to live my best life, goddammit.”

“I am so happy to hear you say that,” Bucky said, his smile blinding. “Celebratory cookie?”

“Yes! Two cookies, please,” you replied, out of breath. “I’m slightly freaking out.”

You spent the next couple of weeks planning for the event; painting, taking pictures of your work, posting them on Instagram, searching for gallerists and curators you wanted to work with and cross-checking the attendees.

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but wonder if Wanda was already in New York and if she was looking for you.

“Check this out!” you exclaimed, shoving a business card in Natasha’s face before you pushed past her to get into her apartment. “It’s official, I’m an artist.”

She laughed as she closed the door, her eyes on the card. “Hi, it’s nice to see you, too,” she deadpanned.

“Sorry, hi.”

“Well, looks like you’re all set. When’s the party?”

“Next week,” you replied, taking a seat on you former bed, her sofa. “I’m a little nervous, but also excited. I don’t know, it’s a strange feeling.”

Natasha pinned your business card onto the fridge using a magnet before she opened the refrigerator door and retrieved a bottle of orange juice. She took two glasses from the cupboard and joined you on the sofa.

“But, yeah, I’m ready. I have over two hundred business cards, I know who I want to work with, and I even bought an external battery pack just in case.”

“And what are you going to wear?” Natasha asked before taking a sip of orange juice. You looked at her with wide eyes, panic written all over your face. “You forgot to buy a dress,” she concluded out loud. “Why am I not surprised?”

“With everything going on, I completely forgot I had to... wear clothes.”

“I’m sure James wouldn’t mind seeing you in your birthday suit.” She laughed when you practically shoved her off the sofa. “Come on, I’ll help you look semi-decent.”

You groaned. “I don’t want to go shopping right now. Plus, I blew all my money on business cards.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s freezing outside, I’m not leaving my apartment,” she replied, reaching for her laptop. “You’re going to rent it.”

“Ew,” you made a face.

You remembered the formal wear store where you had rented your prom dress. The place smelled like moth balls and sweat, and the dress had given you a rash. Not a great memory.

“Trust me, I know this is your first but I’m a seasoned veteran. I’ve been to dozens of fundraisers, and I had to wear dozens of designer dresses. Do you even know how much a Saint Laurent evening gown cost? You can’t wear the same dress twice. That’s a big no-no. And it’s not just the dress. You need a clutch, a pair of shoes, jewelry, a coat. You have to rent them.”

“You’re giving me a headache.”

She opened up her web browser and typed in the website address for the dress rental. As she entered your size and budget, it was obvious that she knew her way around the website and you had to admit that it was a lot easier than traditional shopping.

You looked at the collection of dresses, not entirely convinced, when you found it. You instantly knew it was the right one.

You stared longingly at the beautiful wine-red dress, made entirely of velvet. The bodice was cut on the bias, the fabric draping itself elegantly to contour the shape of the model’s upper body. The skirt was long and flowing, and the waist was cinched in with a thin black belt.

You clicked on the second picture and Natasha let out a strangled gasp. The open back was draped at the waist and weighted with a crystal on a golden chain.

The dress gave off 1930s vibes, it was elegant and refined but the back was daring and sexy. It was exactly what you needed. You paired it with a black wool cape, and Natasha offered to let you borrow a pair of shoes, jewellery and a bag.

The dress and coat arrived the next day. The woman who delivered them was kind and polite, she stayed in the kitchen while you tried on the dress. Once you gave the all-clear, she handed you your receipt.

The dress was yours for an entire week.

On the day of the gala, you were a nervous, sweaty mess. Natasha’s clutch was on your nightstand, filled to the brim with business cards. Your hair and makeup were already done. You sat on your bed in your underwear, staring at the dress hanging in your closet.

“I can do this,” you whispered to yourself.

You were adjusting the fabric around your cleavage, making sure everything flowed nicely, when you heard Bucky shouting from the kitchen.

“The car will be there in fifteen minutes.”

You took a deep breath and smoothed your hands down the sides of your dress, the tickling caress of the velvet calming you almost instantly. You reached for the handle, your heart hammering in your chest, and opened the door.

Bucky was standing at the kitchen island, looking down at his phone. He looked up when he heard the sound of your door opening.

“Hey, are you-” The rest of his sentence died on his lips as he froze. He stood there, staring at you, his eyes roaming your body in a manner that could only be called amazement. “You look-” He shook his head as if he couldn’t find the right word.

You looked down at yourself, grinning. After weeks of seeing you in your big woolly jumpers, pyjamas and painting overalls, you could understand why this was a shock. It was one to you as well.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice sounding strangled.

“Thank you.” He stood a little straighter when he noticed you were checking him out. He wore a dark blue suit with black lapels, a white shirt and a black velvet bow tie. You matched. “You look like a real heartthrob in that suit.”

He laughed and looked away, embarrassed. It was your favourite look on him; when he couldn’t maintain eye contact and his cheeks were slightly red and his nose crunched up a little.

“You’re wearing your prosthetic,” you said, noticing the stiff arm and fake hand.

“Yeah,” he replied, looking at his left arm. “This thing itches like hell, but I don’t blend well in a crowd when I’m not wearing my prosthetic. These people know me, they’ll be looking for me. Let’s not make it too easy for them.”

He finished his sentence with a wink and your entire body threatened to spontaneously combust. Do people still wink? Apparently. You walked over to him and briefly stroked his arm before you walked past him to the bathroom.

It gave him a great view of your bare back and the little crystal nestled just above the small of your back. You didn’t see his reaction but you heard his sharp intake of breath.

You left the bathroom door open while you rummaged through your makeup bag, relief flowing through you when your fingers brushed against your favourite lipstick.

You straightened up and looked at yourself in the mirror. Bucky was leaning against the bathroom door frame, observing you. You uncapped the lipstick and brought it to your lips, locking eyes with him in the mirror.

“Don’t worry, I’m almost ready.”

“I’m not worried,” Bucky replied with a mischievous smile. “Please, carry on.”

You rolled your eyes at his sudden smug expression, trying to look unbothered, but you could feel his eyes on you and you willed your hands to stop shaking. Today was not the day to look like Miranda Sings.

“What’s it called?” Bucky asked from the threshold, spellbound.

“No idea, the label has faded,” you said, rubbing your lips together to smudge your lipstick. “It has probably expired by now, my mom gave it to me when I was a kid.” You blotted your lips and tossed the balled tissue into the wastebasket. “She called it ‘Carter Red’.”

You dabbed the lipstick on your lips. “When we were kids, we used to watch her apply her lipstick. We thought she was the most sophisticated woman in the world. When she was done, she’d turn to us and ask ‘Who wants red lips?’ Then we’d leave the house in our matching red lips.”

Bucky entered the bathroom and took a seat on the edge of the tub. “Did your brothers wear red lipstick too?” he asked with a grin.

You laughed. “Pietro did. Scott was more into nail polish.”

“Do you think I can pull it off?”

You turned to him with a wicked grin and waved your lipstick in his direction. He stood when you took a step closer to him. He seemed to enjoy the playful glint dancing in your eyes. You beckoned him closer like some kind of old witch.

“I’m sure you’d look real cute with lipstick all over your face,” you said, taunting him with your tube of lipstick.

Something in his expression changed, darkened, making you feel hot and cold at the same time. His eyes travelled down your face to your lips, then back up to your eyes. “Yeah, I’d really like that,” he spoke so softly you almost missed it.

It was your turn to freeze. You parted your lips to speak but nothing came out, you just blinked hard and stared at him incredulously, waiting for him to explain what that meant. But he never did, and you took a step back.

Did he just...? Did he just try to kiss you? No! No, that’s silly. Why would he want to kiss you? He was just being playful and you simply projected your own desires onto him.

He took a step back too and gave an imperceptible nod. “The car should be here any minute,” he said, smiling. It was a tight smile and you didn’t like it at all. “I’ll let you get ready.”

After he closed the door behind him, you dumped your lipstick back into your makeup bag and took a long look at yourself in the mirror. You looked deflated, miserable. You sighed... the night was off to a great start.

Bucky waited for you while you finished getting ready. You picked up your clutch, slid your feet into a pair of high-heel shoes, and struggled with your cape until Bucky came to your rescue. To your surprise, his smile was genuine again, and it made your heart soar. Maybe you had just misread the situation and he wasn’t upset, offended –or whatever that tight smile was.

The heels were higher than you were used to, but Bucky gave you an arm to hang onto. The sky was already dark when you arrived at the Museum of Natural History. You walked up the stairs and left your coats in the coat-check room before you took a look around the room.

Hundreds of people were milling around the hall, a glass in their hand as they weaved between the jaw-dropping dinosaur skeletons that were on display. You kept your arm linked through Bucky’s and tried not to stare at anyone.

“Be careful,” Bucky whispered in your ear, making you perk up. “Someone once told me that the exhibits come to life after the sun sets.”

“Remind me to stay away from the Biodiversity Hall,” you chuckled. Then you spotted one of the curators you wanted to work with, you let go of Bucky’s arm and squared your shoulders. “Showtime. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, angel.”

“God, I’m sweating. Is it noticeable?”

Bucky smiled at you. “No, you look perfect.”

You gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks. I hope I won’t make a fool of myself. I hate small talk.”

As soon as you were gone, someone took your place by Bucky’s side. You grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and made your way over to the curator. You didn’t drink alcohol but the glass made you look like you were part of their little group.

It went horribly wrong; you stuttered when you said your name and everything went downhill after that. While you were talking, he subtly looked around to see if he could find a more interesting person to talk to, which made you stutter even more. Then as you opened your clutch and fished out a card, several others fell at your feet in slow motion.

Between the dress, the glass and the shoes, it was practically impossible to bend over. The curator left and you stood there alone.

“Let me help you,” one of the waiters said. He gathered up your business cards and handed them to you.

You sheepishly took the cards and shoved them back in your purse. “Thanks. Can you take this? I’m not going to drink it.”

“Would you like something else to drink?” he asked as he took your glass of champagne.

“No, thank you. I... I think I’m going to go find my friend.”

You smiled politely at the young man but he had a strange look on his face. He looked like he wanted to say something but hesitated.

“I saw you with Mr. Thomas,” he finally said. “I’m not supposed to talk to the guests but can you tell him I love his work.”

“I’m sorry I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Grant Thomas,” the waiter pressed on. “The writer. I saw you two together.” Then he leaned forward and whispered, “He only has one arm.”

Oh...

Grant Thomas was Bucky’s pen name.

Your face broke out into a huge smile and you started giggling to yourself. The waiter recoiled a bit, confused and a little freaked out. You scanned the room for Bucky.

“Of course, I’ll tell him,” you told the waiter. “He’ll be very pleased to hear it.”

You went in search of Bucky, wobbling around in your high heels, a permanent smile on your face. After walking around for a few minutes, you felt more stable and in control, even going so far as to power walk from room to room.

You found him in the Hall of Ocean Life, entertaining a small group of people. You walked over to him, your heels clicking like typewriter keys. You heard bits and pieces of their conversation as you approached.

“Oh, it’s absolutely lovely,” a woman cooed, a hand over her heart. “Who was your inspiration for your new book, Grant?”

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly when he saw you. You gave him a small wave and he held out his hand in your direction. He introduced you to the group, and while it was strange to hear him say your name, you kept a straight face.

“I’ve looked everywhere for you, Grant,” you told him, emphasizing his pen name. “I should have known I'd find you in good company.”

“Oh, she’s the painter,” the woman said. “Darling, I hope you don’t mind me saying this but-” she extended her arms in your direction “wow!”

The woman next to her looked half amused, half exasperated. “It means you look beautiful in that dress.”

“Oh, she knows what it means, Sylvia.” The ‘oh’ woman swatted Bucky’s fake arm. “Grant, isn’t she gorgeous?”

Bucky looked at you with a fond smile. “Yes, she is.”

“Oh, my heart is about to explode,” the ‘oh’ woman squealed before enthusiastically waving to someone behind Bucky. “Sylvia, darling, take her contact details. We need new blood at the gallery. Please, excuse me, I haven’t seen Michael in ages,” she said, stretching out the last word.

She was gone before you could comprehend what was happening. Her laughter echoed through the room. Oh, I hadn’t seen the back of that dress! Sweet baby Jesus!

You found her whimsical and quite intense but if you had to work for her, you’d probably end up looking like her assistant, Sylvia, who seemed at her wits’ end.

She sighed and opened her leather-bound notebook. There were several business cards attached to the pages with paperclips. You handed her one of your business cards as her boss shouted, Oh, Michael, isn’t this party deliiightful? It was Sylvia’s cue to leave.

“Thank you. We’ll take a look at your work and get back to you as soon as we can. Enjoy your night.”

Sylvia rushed to her boss who was looking around like a lost puppy. When she saw her assistant, a look of relief crossed her face. It was a little over the top but it made you smile.

“So, Grant Thomas,” you said, planting yourself directly in front of Bucky now that you were alone. “Cute name.”

“Agh, I wanted to tell you before the party but...” He shrugged. “How did you figure it out?”

“One of the waiters saw us together. He’s your biggest fan. Said you were talented, humble and devilishly handsome in that suit.”

“The waiter said that?” Bucky asked with a frown as he led you toward an empty corridor.

“I think he has a crush on you.”

“I seem to have that effect on people,” he said, linking his arm through yours.

“So humble.” You entered the Hall of Biodiversity together. “What’s the meaning behind your pen name?”

There was a small pause before he answered. “Grant is Steve’s middle name, Thomas is Sam’s. I wanted to honor them. Steve literally saved my life, and Sam... well, he stood by my side even when we barely knew each other.”

“I’m sure they were touched.”

“Meh,” Bucky said with a grimace. “Steve said it sounded like a fake name, and Sam tried to make me use ‘Thomas Grant’ instead. I think deep down they like it.” He turned his head to look at you. “How did it go with the curator?”

You cringed. “Just to give you an idea, imagine an amateur magician performing at their first show. I was sweating, I stuttered, and I dropped my cards. It was awful.”

He laughed softly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m not upset. At least he’ll remember me, right?”

You spent the next couple of hours mingling with a bunch of rich people; most of them were incredibly weird, the others were strangely relatable. You were a lot more cool and collected with Bucky by your side. He always had really nice things to say about you or your paintings, and his words rang true, giving you yet another reason to fall for him.

When you reached the planetarium, Bucky took your hand in his, his eyes sparkling with childlike wonder.

You practically had the place to yourselves, everyone else was either in the Grand Gallery or in the Roosevelt Memorial. Since no one was around, you decided to take your shoes off and walk around barefoot.

You lost track of time, listening to Bucky’s stories about the universe as he guided you along the spiralling walkway.

“We’re just tiny little specks living on a bigger speck, floating around,” he said, gazing up at a model of Jupiter hanging from the ceiling. “Our time here is so limited, our bodies are so fragile.”

“Umm,” you hummed. “At least we’re not at the bottom of the food chain.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that would be a bummer.”

“Do you know who’s at the bottom of the food chain?” you asked. “French fries. I’m starving.”

His laughter rang out, loud and clear, in the silence of the planetarium. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

You headed for the coat-check room, where Bucky left one of his ridiculously generous tips, and stepped outside, shivering from the cold winter night. You looked up at the stars glistening in the dark sky while you walked the short distance to the fast food restaurant.

You ate your fries in silence as you glanced around the restaurant. It was bright and gave off a friendly vibe. There were several other patrons even though it was almost two in the morning, though you and Bucky were the only ones wearing designer clothes.

Your high heels and clutch rested on the booth next to your hip, and Bucky’s bow tie was tied around your wrist. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a tanned, muscular chest and a smattering of dark hair.

Bucky had removed his prosthetic after you’d found a booth. His fake arm rested on the table, scaring the hell out of the waitress when she came to take your order. Bucky apologized profusely, probably mentally adding another twenty to her tip.

You dozed off in the cab, utterly exhausted, your cheek resting against his shoulder. His arm was draped over your shoulders, his thumb sweeping up and down your collarbone. When you remembered that you still had to remove your makeup before going to bed, you let out a whine and nestled closer to him. He rested his head on top of yours, and you closed your eyes, enjoying his closeness.

A few days later, you told Natasha about the party, and she reminded you to be careful, to protect your heart. She wished someone had given her this advice when she’d met Sam.

It had never occurred to you that Natasha might have feelings for Sam, not because he was an awful person. No, it was quite the opposite. He was handsome and funny, always looking for some kind of trouble. She’d mentioned multiple times that he was really good in bed, which honestly didn’t surprise you.

You knew she liked him, but you didn’t know she liked him.

On your way home, you mulled over the things she had told you. About a block away from your apartment, you took your keys out of your pocket and stared at the little angel keychain, wondering if your feelings for Bucky were real. The line between friends and lovers was definitely blurred but you couldn’t cross it. There was too much at stake, you couldn’t risk ruining your friendship.

As you turned the corner into your street, you spotted someone standing outside the building’s front door. You slowed down, dawdled, so you could observe them.

You couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, though you suspected a man. They were carrying a traveller’s backpack on their shoulders, blocking your view. Whoever it was, they had a fantastic ass.

They pushed the intercom button, waited a few seconds and pushed it again. When the doors remained closed, they turned around to leave and you came face-to-face with a man with long dirty blond hair, a bushy ginger beard and striking baby blue eyes. You immediately recognized him from the photos you’d seen on Bucky’s laptop.

“Oh my God, Steve!” you exclaimed, startling him.

Part 8

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

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ghoulciifer · 4 years

Text

submission:

@androgynouswordsmyth: “Hi Tum c: this is for your matchup event! 5’6”, with an hourglass figure, has that broad shouldered goddess energy going on. Used to swim competitively in highschool & still have a nice shape. Would describe my style as athletic comfort meets swamp witch. Love wearing black, it goes with everything. But also one of those people that wears workout clothes because they’re comfortable & easy. An admirer of all things relating to the occult & witchcraft. I have two tattoos small ones on my upper thigh & on the inside of my bicep. Often asks “What’s your sign?” Green eyes & shoulder length brown hair that is dyed seafoam green. I am soft spoken & gentle when I interact with everybody. All about self growth & healing. A huge advocate for self care. Love venting about my dumb corporate job. Deep down I'm a rebel anarchist. Often says things like “I’m just a cog in their machine” or “metal till I die”. My end game is writing fantasy novels for a living writing is my passion. I am a person who gets lost in thought & day dreams, a homebody who is fatigued & curls up in bed with Netflix playing in the background while I write rp responses or some of my own stuff. I have depression & anxiety, which I manage with both medication & therapy. Am attracted to bad boys/girls. Kindness & respect in my relationships are important, emotional maturity & a sense of humor are huge & my favorite color is dark pine green. Someone from BNHA, NSFW. Write what feels right.”

notes: aiden! i’m so happy you participated in my event, also you seem like the coolest person? ever? so of course i had to pair you up with one of the coolest dudes in bnha! your support means the world, thank you so much for being my mutual on this hell app ❥

why i matched you:

» you and dabi would get along exceptionally well, both with how you are and how you present yourself. your inner anarchists would collide beautifully and no doubt lead you two into trouble, but who else would you rather start a riot with than someone like him? he thinks it’s kickass that you understand what it means to be a pawn in society’s game, and has no issue with having you by his side to tear that shit down.

» dabi really adores your aesthetic. he finds it incredibly intriguing and thinks it suits your personality well; your hair, your occult lifestyle, and boy does he love your tattoos. he often offers to pay (w stolen money ofc) for you to get more if you want them - one of the best ways of self expression is covering yourself with art, and he supports it wholeheartedly. he likes to trace the ink on your skin during intimate moments and often finds himself admiring them elsewhere, thinking about how gorgeous you’d look with a few more pieces in places only he could see.

» though he might not be as poetic as you, dabi admires your creativity and urges you to keep up with your passion. he’s going to be super lowkey about it but he shows that feeling by doing smaller things, like picking up notebooks for you here and there or offering to get you better quality pens for when you’re brainstorming a story. he won’t tell you but he sometimes reads your stories at night while you’re sleeping (only the ones you’ve offered for him to read, though), and is always left in awe of how talented his girl is.

» when he’s not painting the town red or burning someone to a crisp, he’s more than happy to stay at home with you and curl up with a good show. despite his wicked, cold demeanor he’s actually very affectionate with the person he chooses to pursue! so expect lots of gentle touches, lazy kisses here and there, soft whispers here and there about how warm you are and how nice you feel against his charred skin. he’s not afraid to show you his love because if you can stick with someone like him, well, that’s proof enough that you’re worth it all.

» dabi never does anything without purpose. every action he takes is a part of the grander scheme of things, and he does so with such a drive that is rivaled by most heroes. so you can definitely check maturity off your list. as far as humor goes? he’s a smug bastard, and his sly remarks and teases are aimed directly at you for the sole purpose of making you smile. sometimes he’ll just sit and say the dumbest things to see how hard he can make you laugh, because in a life surrounded by death and darkness, your giggles really help him see it all in a different light.

» dabi’s experienced enough trauma to understand what your inter turmoil is like, but he’s beyond proud of you for taking charge and handling it however you can. he’ll be your biggest supporter when you need it and is so goddamn protective of you. you’ll never not feel safe, because it’s that constant worry in the back of his mind about how just being with him puts a target on your back that pushes him to take extra precaution. you might have a few close calls here and there because, let’s face it, villains are ruthless - but at the end of the day he’s always able to pull you right back to him and remind you he’ll always come for you.

drabble:

Dabi rolls off of your spent body with a slight groan, the thin sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies glowing in the dim light of the bedroom. Your chests rise and fall to a steady rhythm of labored breathing - and as much as you both loved being tangled with each other mere minutes ago, you need a second to let your sweltering skin cool off and your aching muscles to relax after that particularly tiring session. Dabi catches the exasperated sigh escaping your lips and grins from your slumped form in his peripheral.

He always thought you looked the most beautiful like this. When your eyes were half lidded and pupils blown, skin covered in teeth marks and bruises, hair haphazardly strewn about on the pillows. It was a sign he did a job well done, and the image brands itself into his memory every time he’s lucky enough to see it happen. Lost in his daydream, he doesn’t see that sinfully innocent smile tug at the corners of your mouth when you catch him zoning in on your post sex euphoria.

“Y’know, you’re more than welcome to take a picture… they last much longer.”

He laughs, a short exhale from his pierced nose, “I might just do that, doll. Next time.”

Your smile grows wider and you prop yourself up on your elbows, sliding over the tangled sheets to get closer to him and be able to reach and trace over the stapled skin of his chest with delicate fingertips. He closes his eyes at the feeling before loosely wrapping an arm around your lower back, thumb gliding back and forth just below your ribs.

You bask in this comfortable silence for what feels like a lifetime. This was your favorite part of the aftercare, just enjoying each other’s presence that much more as you regain a stable heartbeat, eventually letting Dabi gather you in his strong hands to lay you over his scarred chest when the cool air overstays its welcome on his skin. Once your cheek meets his chest he leans forward to ghost a kiss into your damp hairline, lips lingering there a bit longer every time. The steady beat of his heart usually lulled your eyes closed with its melody. At this point, it was all routine.

Dabi is the first to break the silence, the deep gravel in his voice reverberating through his chest against your ear, “Y’know… if we’re gonna fall asleep like this, the least you could do is read me a bedtime story.”

“Too tired… s’your fault.” he feels your smile and hot breath against his pectoral, broad chest rumbling in laughter at your quip.

“Hm, guess I need to go easier next time. But you weren’t complaining when I was balls dee-“

“Dabi!” You smack his skin and whip your head upward to look him in the eye with a look of feigned shock, and it's hard to contain the giggle that escapes from your dropped jaw. He chuckles again before craning his neck to leave a peck at your bottom lip, his hand raising to push your head gently down to his chest again, the other finding its way beneath the pillow under his head.

“Shh, just go to sleep, stupid.”

“Shut up… dummy.”

matchups are CLOSED! thank you to those who entered or have been keeping up with this event! remember you can check to see updates on matchups + if your matchup has been posted via the #tumplaysmatchmaker tag!

#tumplaysmatchmaker #nishiikun’s events #dabi x reader #dabi matchup #dabi fic #dabi x y/n #bnha x reader #bnha matchup #bnha fic #dabi bnha

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cryptidcat-stories · 4 years

Text

Ghastly Consequences | BATIM

ah HA! Hello! I am finally home to post the first part of my new Bendy and the Ink Machine AU!

I've always liked ghost like characters, so i’m always happy to read/see ghost AUs! They would always have an interesting concept and plot! And I love it!

So I’ve been working on a little personal AU for BATIM- I’ve always thought of something going wrong in Henry’s revivals, and this is a perfect opportunity do put that idea into action! I'm quite exited on how y'all will feel about it!

So a quick review on Ghost!Henry! - He’s still visible! And solid too! So that wont affect anything plotwise. - He doesn't really know hes become this ghost creature until this point! - He is able to become intangible! However, it only happens with extreme emotions at the moment! - And finally(I think)! Hes able to possess others! He just cant un-possess them, he kills the possessed person if he somehow leaves the body. And hes forced out if the body is killed with him in it.

Anyways! Onto the story! Hope you like it! I’ve got one more short done for ya’ll! It’ll just be put up tomorrow!

A Painful Possession

A crash cracked though the room as Henry’s cart was flung into a wall. The cart Henry was in shattered as he fell to the ground. The wind being knocked out of him from the fall. Henry never knew how he didn’t break any bones whenever he was flung by the Brute Boris.

He groaned as he got up, and he nearly yelped as he dodged when the Brute flung a large box at him. He somehow missed the wood shards as he dodged off to the side. All he had to do was wait for the Brute to stop so he could get himself some thick ink for the mini-ink machine next to the wall.

It was a tedious job to constantly go back and forth from breaking the weak pipes it produced and having to wait for more of the ink. Plus it was painful to have to go though this fight so many times and see his friend in so much pain. As he was the only one to end it for the poor Boris.

-----

The fight was getting long and he was getting close to getting sent back. He didn’t want to have to restart the fight from the start. All he wanted was to end this loop! This wasn't going all too well for him at this time.

Strange things were happening to him in this loop. One, he constantly dropped things he had in his hands whenever he was frightened, he somehow moved faster when he was walking through the ink, and that every now and then an enemy will ignore him even though he was clearly in their sights. It was commonly strikers that ignored him too…

He choked back a yell as the Brute backhanded him once again into a corner. He coughed harshly, keeping a hand over his waist and mouth. His eyes tightly shut in pain.

When Henry opened his eyes, he was cornered by the Brute. He looked up at the Boris in fear, he heard ‘Alice’ cackling over the coms. And if he had to guess, ‘Alice’ couldn't see Henry as he was hidden by the Brute.

He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes again, waiting for the time he was sent back to the well to be revived. But the moment the Boris touched him his vision went static for a split second, and then pain suddenly radiated all throughout his body.

He shrieked out as pain laced throughout his body, the sound he made sounded extremely wrong and garbled. All of his limbs felt heavy and he felt like he was going to lean over. The pain and static subsided, and he found out he was now on his feet. He closed his eyes as he fell back onto his butt as a wave of nausea hit him.

He groaned lightly as he raised a hand to rest on his head. But he froze as he felt something cold hit his hand. He opened his eyes in confusion once again and looked to where his hand felt the cold. But he froze as he felt his head hit the same cold thing and stopped him from moving his head any more than where he had it.

Henry felt his eyes wide when he looked down, and… He saw a familiar snout… He let out a whimper as he held his hands out and looked at them, there he saw the sepia colored gloves of a toon. He brought up his hands to his chest as he looked down, tilting his head to the side. He looked down at the gaping hole that was there.

There in the chest, that he could barely see, was a golden and glowing cartoon like heart. Along with all the organs that sat in the chest of the Brute. The heart looked like it was made of whatever the invisible ink was that was all over the studio.

He inhaled sharply and flinched when he finally registered the voice of the other ‘Alice’ angrily screeching over the coms, “BORIS!” He looked up, his ‘ears’ perking up as he was now listening to the ‘Alice’. He heaved himself up onto his feet to be ready for just in case the ‘Alice’ rushed out at him.

“Why were you ignoring me?” She asked. Henry decided to not make a reaction to ‘Alice’ to play as he was still the Brute and not a somehow possessed one. He seemed to do right as ‘Alice’ continued on, “Ah nevermind. You can't speak anyways. Come back to me Boris, I've got some things I need you to do for me.”

Henry didn’t move from his spot. He didn't know where this ‘Alice’s’ little hideout was besides going up the elevator and back to the room where he first saw her fully. And he was sure that was not her main hideout.

“Well what are you waiting for?” She snarked, “Come back here! Or i'll come get you myself!” Henry of course didn't move, he needed the other Alice to come down here to have Allison kill her. It is how the loop normally went for him. And it's what he needed for the loop to continue on as normal.

However if Allison failed to kill ‘Alice’ he guesses he would have to take to killing her with his own- Er, Brute’s hands.

So while he waited for ‘Alice’ to get down here. He decided to look over this body.

He shifted his feet looking down to the ground. He looked back up looking at his hands with mild curiosity, he looked them over flipping them to look at his palms. He soon shifted his gaze to look up his arms, his eyes tracing the ropes that wrapped around the Brute’s forearms.

He moved to the false ‘halo’ that was over his head. He felt the buckle on the large piece of metal that the ‘halo’ was attached to. And without a second thought, he undid the latch and nearly chucked the item away from him.

It hit the ground a bit away from him with a loud clang. He huffed in anger, his eyes narrowing. He huffed again, going to rest his now gloved hand over his face. That's when he realized that he didn't really have the x’ed out eyes that the Brute Boris usually had. Instead they seemed like normal eyes for a toon.

-----

That when he heard it. The clicking of heels caught his attention, the Brute’s ears perking up in attention once again. The clicking was fast paced, and almost angry sounding. So Henry turned his head to focus on the doorway the sound was coming from, and he stared at the spot ‘Alice would come from.

His face contorted into an angry snarl as ‘Alice’ came into view. ‘Alice’ froze in the doorway at the sight of the Brute. Her face too changed into an angry snarl, as she saw the slight differences of the Brute Boris.

“Boris…” She growled out at him.

Henry clenched his fists and turned his body towards the false Alice. He bared his teeth as he narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Alice’s’ expression darkened when Henry let out a low growl at her.

“Ah-” She started. “So that Henry caused you to defect…” She scowled, “Guess I'll have to kill you. You've become no use to me like that.” Her hands clenched into fists and she reached off to the side, she soon pulled out an ax he had somehow not spotted from the very start.

That's quite bad...

She soon charged at Henry with an angry shriek. Henry roared at Alice before charging and swinging a fist at her.

-----

It wasn't before long until Allison showed up and swiftly dealt with ‘Alice’ by beheading her.

Henry sighed in relief, falling onto his bum with a soft thud. He was breathing hard, and he held a hand over the exposed part of his chest. The ‘Alice’ was able to get a few lucky strikes, and it somehow had hurt quite badly.

Allison was staring at him, one hand tightly gripping her machete and her other resting on her chin. Tom was also staring at him with a hint of curiosity and suspicion.

Henry looked to the Alice and Boris, wondering what they might do. They usually brought him to their current hideout. He tilted his head, looking back to himself.

He never really had much time to process what had happened earlier. How had he possessed the Brute? Can he un-possess it? What in the world has been happening lately?

Henry zoned out while thinking. His 'ears' flopping over, and his hands held open in front of himself.

Henry jumped when Allison spoke up. "Hey. Can you speak?" She asked him.

Henry gained a thinking look. 'Am able to speak like this? I highly doubt that…' Henry shook his head no at Allison. She frowned and returned her hand to her chin, once again thinking.

Henry thought for a second before remembering something from a previous loop.

He smiled and started to shakily sign out something. [I know ASL] It was rough, and he was going off what he could remember. It has been awhile since he signed.

Allison lit up, a smile forming on her face. Tom on the other hand, looked really confused. "Oh good! I know ASL too!" She quickly spoke. [Do you remember who you were before?] Allison signed out to him.

Henry hesitated, [Well] he started off. [I don't know how to explain this, but I guess yes I do. But not all too well] he looked embarrassed of having to lie. But he had to now play off as if he was a Boris who remembered who he was before.

#Writing #BATIM #BATIM AU #Ghastly Consequences AU #Long Post #Fanfic

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meganshinsou-tm · 4 years

Text

Crimson|Ink. (m)

↳ chapter nine: forget it

❧ genre: tattoo-shop/hitmen au | tattoo artist/hitman kirishima

❧ fic warning: major character(s) death; happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: mentions of past domestic violence/abuse, implied reader x character sex,

❧ chapter song: Forget It by Breaking Benjamin

♬crimson|ink playlist | ♧ character profiles | artist credit

[multi-chap masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

“Ah - shit fuck, fuck.”

Sero and Denki both snickered as the needle ran over a tender spot, your foot kicked at the golden-haired man sitting at the end of the chair, nailing his fingers and he hissed but still laughed. It’s like nothing could hurt Denki, if it did he just laughed it off.

“I told you this was going to be painful,” Sero chuckled, wiping the ink off and continuing.

“And Kiri said she was tough, I think he was full of shit,” Denki teased.

You scoffed and nodded, “When is that asshole not full of shit.”

Denki half smirked and crossed his arms, resting his head on them as he sat in the chair before you backwards. His yellow eyes watched you looking off, arms crossed behind your head.

You were chewing on the inside of your cheek, clearly aggravated all of a sudden at the mention of the red-head. It had only been maybe two hours since Kirishima and Bakugou took off. So far Denki and Sero were doing a good job of occupying your mind but of course it couldn’t be helped that the bane of your existence was mentioned.

“You know, you can talk to us (Y/N). Even if it’s literal screaming or total nonsense, we’ll sit here and listen to you.”

“Yeah sweetheart, we got your back. We don’t want to push you like he did, but when something is bothering you this bad ,.. sometimes it’s good to just get it off your chest. You know what happens in the studio, stays in the studio,” Sero assured as he dipped the tattoo needle into some black ink then went back to your skin.

Your head turned, looking back and forth between your two best friends - your family.

It wasn’t like you didn’t want to run and cry on their shoulder because god did you ever but at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel like Kirishima’s friends were being turned against him. They all knew each other for much longer than they knew you. Yet, Sero and Denki had grown so attached to you in such a short time and you to them.

The three of you were so inseparable and did everything together. Movies, going out to eat or shop, spending off days together just chilling and gaming at their place or watching so much tv until your brains were mush, you even stayed over at their place frequently and they never minded a bit and just welcomed you with open arms.

A twinge of guilt slowly welled up in your chest at the thought of how close the three of you really were, how these two men thought they really knew all there was to know about you and they truly did - to an extent.

With a sigh you looked both the men in the eyes briefly, the sound of the tattoo machine buzzing coming to a stop, Sero could tell you wanted to say something.

“What happens in the studio stays in the studio?”

“Yes,” they both answered at the same time.

“Okay, I guess I can start with why I showed up crying already last night, which honestly wasn’t Kiri’s fault, he was telling the truth, I did have a nightmare. You guys know I tend to have them frequently but sometimes they escalate.”

Sero went back to tattooing but nodded to signal he was listening, Denki starred intently and listened as well.

“So, I fell asleep on the way to your place and I had one of these nightmares. Apparently I was screaming and crying so much Kiri had to shake me awake, I remember waking up and he looked legitimately worried, even scared for me. I was a wreck and wasn’t thinking I just wanted to make those images go away for the fucking millionth time and I clung to him and he let me. He held me, calmed me down, made sure I was alright. I told him I was fine and I really was, but you know him, he just needed more information, needed to know why I was so scared and why I was begging for my life. We sort of got into it before I passed out, about him coming to work with that gash and me healing it, about how all of you will come to work sometimes with these questionable wounds and I always heal them but never ask where they came from. He told me it was none of my concern, so when he kept pushing for information about my own nightmares and past I told him it was none of his concern, “ you have your secrets and I have mine ” is what I told him.”

Sero gulped while you talked about how you were prodding yourself for answers about not only Kiri but all of them. Denki couldn’t help but look away as well, rubbing his neck and sighing.

If it were up to either of them, you’d know exactly where all their battle wounds and scars came from but it wasn’t their call. Just as you felt bad about keeping secrets from them, they felt the same, if not worse.

“Guys, before I get into me and Kiri ... I have to tell you something, I have to tell someone, so maybe you can understand more. I know you’re more than curious about my scars and my burns and I at least feel comfortable enough to tell you about them.”

“Question,” Denki held up a finger and you looked at him, “Will we by any chance get to know this asshole’s name finally or are you going to keep it secret?”

Your head shook to answer his question, “Just shut up and listen and you’ll understand why I can’t let you know that.”

Sero smirked and looked over to Denki who defeatedly sighed and nodded.

For the next few minutes you told the two about your nightmare, more so about your past, leaving out any telling details and specifics such as your ex’s name or the tattoo’s of the man who saved you, just for his own anonymity. They listened closely, their faces growing solemn upon hearing how you were betrayed but that it wasn’t much of a shock. Apparently you had known your ex was in something shady for the past few months, in fact you had listened in on a ‘meeting’ and tried to run away before, lots of times, but he caught you and decided you needed a final and solid warning.

Sero and Denki learned of that night in particular, when he had some of his companions hold you down so he could etch himself onto your skin for life, burn after burn, too fast for you to catch up and heal yourself. A reminder that no matter what, you’d never escape him. Denki and Sero were visibly mad and shaken after hearing about all the torture you had to endure at the hands of someone you thought loved you and that they would go as far as to kill you just because.

“Fuck …” Denki breathed out and let his fists unclench, “We had a feeling you’d been through some shit but we didn’t imagine you’d gone through literal hell and back.”

“Yeah, thank god for the man who saved you,” Sero half smiled, “You know Denki ... he kind of reminds me of Yagi.”

The electric male smirked and chuckled, “Right? Selfless bastard.”

You softly smiled and agreed. You knew exactly who they were speaking of.

Yagi Toshinori, the man who was like a father to them all, apparently he was this mountain of a man who had this bellowing laugh. You’ve only seen one picture of him, it was a holiday picture, with all the men gathered around. Denki and Deku both sitting on Yagi’s broad shoulders and the man holding them up with ease. Everyone was in ridiculous Christmas sweaters, some of them had yet to have their neck tattoos so you could barely see any of their others. It was a really sweet picture, smiles all around. It was too bad though because he had sadly died in a bad accident shortly before you had appeared.

“But (Y/N), this guy, your ex, he’s still out there right?”

“Yeah man, I don’t fucking like that,” Denki hissed.

Your shoulders shrugged and you sighed.

“Look, if he finds me then he finds me. I’ve managed to go this long without that happening though and -”

“And it won’t happen because you have us!” Denki interjected. “We’ll protect you (Y/N), no doubt about it, if Shouto and everyone else knew then -”

“No,” you shouted, making Denki shut up and look at you, “No one else can know Denki, please… I - I couldn’t live with myself if he found me and I took you all down with me. It’s bad enough the two of you know but you said what happens in the studio stays in the studio, remember?”

Denki was dumbfounded, did you really expect him to not go rallying up the others and putting a full on 24/7 protection plan on you? He looked to Sero as if asking for his help to reason with you but Sero only shook his head with an empathetic smile.

“Denki, we did tell her that,” he replied and went back to tattooing.

“That was before we knew her life was in fucking danger, before we knew some psycho is still out there and you know damn well that he’s looking for her!”

“Calm down Sparky, just because we can’t tell the others doesn’t mean we can’t still protect her,” Sero replied and motioned that Denki chill, “She’s already one of us and you know we protect our own and we don’t need any dramatic reason to do so. If someone so much as even looked at her the wrong way you know we’d be on their ass. Me and you have to carry this for her until she’s ready to tell the others, and we’ll do just that without any complaints, won’t we,” the raven-haired male eyed his friend.

Your heart really did hurt from how badly Denki wanted to protect you, how he wanted everyone to protect you and you knew that they all would go out and find your ex in no time had you given them the chance but you were done with him. Moving forward is what you wanted most of all and not living in fear, no matter the situation at hand. You made a promise to a dying man and you intended to keep it!

“Fine but from now on, no more pulling the kind of shit you pulled this morning. I know you were upset but if that happens again and we don’t know what’s going on we’ll only think the worst, so please for us at least answer your phone when we call you.”

You smiled at Denki and nodded, “Yes sir!”

“Good,” the male sighed and ran his hands through his golden hair before cracking his neck, “Now you got me all fucking hyped.”

“Well I haven’t even told y’all what happened after we left,” you chuckled, the sound getting cut off when you winced as the needle went over another bone.

Denki stood from his seat and held up a hand, “Let me go piss first, you want something to drink or eat when I come back?”

“Uh - yes but please wash your nasty hands!”

Denki ruffled your hair before walking out of the studio, leaving you and Sero alone.

It was quiet all of a sudden except for the tattoo machine buzzing. You gasped when he placed a paper towel soaked with soap onto your skin and cleaned the excess ink. Sero asked for you to hold up one of your breasts so he could work on the tentacles that spread underneath it. You smiled and did so, giggling at how not awkward this whole thing was, being practically shirtless before these two men and holding deep conversations.

“Hey Ser, thank you. You know for calming him down and for keeping my secret.”

“No problem sweetheart, but I do second his request. Don’t just disappear or be a no show on us like that again without a warning, or else we’ll be busting down your door.”

“I got it captain, I’m sorry about that, I just really didn’t think I had it in me to face him today.”

Sero sighed and rubbed your cheek with the back of his gloved hand, “I know babe but we got you now and we’ll do whatever it takes to cheer you up and you can bet your pretty face that when he gets back you’ll be getting an apology.”

“Hah, I can only imagine the earful he’s getting from Blasty right now.”

Sero chuckled and nodded, the two of you going back and forth, role-playing how it was all going down and dying of laughter.

Before long Denki was back and standing in the doorway, his expression absolutely smitten. You quirked an eyebrow and Sero looked at the man too, confusion crossing his face.

“Dude the fuck are you all googly eyed about?”

Denki looked to the side and tugged on something until there was another person standing next to him, a lazy smirk on the newcomers face and Denki pointing at him.

“This - who is this insanely attractive creature?”

“Ah my Toshi!”

Your free hand reached out and Denki let go of the purple haired stranger. He walked over to you, a smug grin on his face as he took your hand, standing behind your head and leaning down to kiss your lips sweetly.

“Hey kitten, I missed you,” he cooed softly and kissed your forehead.

Sero and Denki looked at each other and snickered, “Hey Denki, looks like Bakugou and Kiri have some competition huh?”

“Oh yeah, just wait till I tell them about this shit!”

You quirked a brow.

“Guys, me and Hitoshi are just really good friends.”

The tired eyed male smirked and wrapped his arms around your neck, letting his head rest on top of yours.

“Yeah, really good friends,” he replied and pushed the side of his cheek out with his tongue.

Sero couldn’t help but cackle and hold his hands up.

“Hey, I’m not judging, all I’m saying is get ready for the cock fight when Bakugou and Kiri get back, they don’t take kindly to someone else encroaching on something they want.”

“I can see where you’re coming from about Bakugou but Eijirou doesn’t want me, he made that perfectly clear last night.”

Hitoshi frowned and kissed the top of your head before playing with your hair. Denki gasped, remembering what it was you were all talking about before he left.

“Oh yeah, you still gotta tell us what happened,” he spoke and went to sit back down in his chair.

You smirked and nodded, Sero went back to tattooing and you filled them in on what happened inside of Kirishima’s truck.

How all you wanted to know was why he was such an asshole to you but he wouldn’t budge and tried to turn it around and poke for more information about you. You explained how it got heated and you were in each other’s faces until suddenly you went from screaming and yelling at each other to kissing and grabbing. Then you relived the part that hurt the most, the blatant rejection and the words he spoke that were full of ice.

“You mean nothing to me,” you relayed the phrase and sounded defeated all over again.

Hitoshi was now seated in a chair beside you, his hand holding yours and lightly squeezing it.

“It shouldn’t affect me as much as it did, right? I mean he’s always been like this towards me, playing these little games back and forth, one second he can tolerate me and the next it’s like his skin crawls just from me being around him. He hates me and he won’t tell me why.“

Sero sighed, shaking his head as he sat back and wiped your tattoo clean again, “He doesn’t hate you (Y/N) ... honestly, it’s the complete opposite.”

“Hmm,” Hitoshi hummed and smirked, his arms crossed and head shaking, “So what you really mean is that this asshole likes her and he’s just being immature about it, right?”

You and Sero replied at the same time, with a ‘no’ and a ‘yes’.

Grunting, your eyes widened in shock, looking down at your friend who shaded in another tentacle. Clearing your throat to get his attention he finally looked up with a sheepish smile.

“Is that really true?”

“Of course it’s true kitten, it’s the whole cliche elementary shit. Boy likes girl, doesn’t know how to handle it so he’s mean to her and when she asks ‘why is he mean to me’ the parents pat her little head and reply with ‘oh that just means he likes you darling’ .”

“Damn dude, you’re pretty ruthless. I like it,” Denki smiled.

Hitoshi smirked and rolled his purple eyes before looking at you, clearly mulling over his words. Your friend was always extremely straightforward and blunt, he never liked to sugarcoat things - especially when it came to you and your feelings. The guy was a definite realist and he held no punches.

Since you met Kiri, Hitoshi had to hear all about him, how he’d insult and tease you one day then actually be a decent person the next. He knew how mad Kirishima drove you, how he got under your skin and also how you just couldn’t quit him. Upon hearing of your recent interactions it only confirmed Hitoshi’s theory.

Kirishima was obviously driven mad by you as well, mad with want and for some reason he was trying to force it back. There were other ways Kiri could go about this that didn’t involve crushing you each time he got cold feet and that’s what pissed Hitoshi off more than anything. The constant hurt you were suffering through but trying so hard to hide. You could try and fool all these guys at the shop with that smile but it wasn’t going to work on the one man who knew you like the back of his own fucking hand.

“Guys,” you finally spoke to Denki and Sero, “Is that true?”

“Yeah cutie, the guy is crazy about you actually, ever since the first day you walked into his studio. You see, Kiri is somewhat of a romantic, he doesn’t look it but he kind of believes in shit like love at first sight and really wears his heart on his sleeve.”

Sero agreed and picked up on Denki’s words.

“Kiri really is a big teddy bear deep inside and he is a damn good guy. So when he started acting out the way he does towards you, we instantly knew.”

Your eyes narrowed, “If that’s how he really feels then what is his damn reasoning for pushing me away?”

“That’s for him to tell you, all we can do is confirm that he doesn’t hate you, he does like you. Trust, me and everyone else has tried to knock some fucking sense into him and tell him to just drop it and go with his gut but - well you know how hard headed he is.”

“No shit, can’t he turn into a rock or something?” Hitoshi snickered.

Denki and Sero laughed as you swatted at the smart-ass then Sero asked that you keep still so he could finish the tattoo. Hitoshi stuck a pierced tongue out at you and received a middle finger in return.

“So what am I supposed to do now? Tell him I know and for him to stop being stupid?”

“Nah, I have a feeling when him and Bakugou get back things will be different. He already wanted to come back here earlier to apologize to you but I told him it would be best to give you space, you both needed space. He really was a wreck this morning (Y/N), he was just about to go out and find you when you finally showed up.” Sero spoke and turned off the tattoo machine before placing it on his tray.

A smirk grew on your face at the thought of Kiri actually feeling something other than resentment for you. “Well I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Yeah but enough about him, how about you check out this fucking masterpiece!”

Looking down you realized that Sero was actually done, in the process of wiping the fresh ink clean with a paper towel. Once he finished, his black eyes smiled at you and he suggested you do the honors of healing it before getting up and looking it over.

With a grin your hands splayed over the warm raised skin, eyes closing as you inhaled and exhaled. A glow beamed under your palms briefly before they were removed and a fully healed tattoo graced your sternum. Hitoshi took hold of your hand helping you stand to walk over to the mirror and examine the ink. You giggled and did a slight happy dance.

A simple octopus graced your skin, the head of it right between your breasts and its long tentacles stretching out and swirling underneath them along your ribs.

“Ser, it’s perfect! Thank you so much,” you chimed and turned around, running to hug his neck.

He couldn’t help the blush that spread across his cheek since you were still shirtless.

“Uh - you’re welcome sweetheart, you can put your clothes back on now.”

After pecking his cheek you went to do just that, Sero started to clean up his station and Denki was eyeballing Hitoshi.

In fact ever since Hitoshi stepped foot in the shop Denki couldn’t take his eyes off the new meat. He was tall and handsome that was for sure, his biceps flexed when his muscular arms were crossed over his chest wrapped in his jacket. Black fitted skinny jeans dressed his long legs, the knees of them torn and cut and his thighs, well - they were Denki’s favorite part. Apart from that, the male found himself captivated by that pair of amethyst eyes, they were tired looking yet so full of depth. He was enthralled and he needed to know more.

“So, Hitoshi,” Denki started, scooting his chair closer to the beautiful man, “I see you have some ink peeking out on your arm there, can I see?”

The man in question looked to his side, a strong brow raising at the question as he scratched the side of his neck and scooted his own chair away an inch.

“Uh - sure,” he replied and unfolded the jacket from his arm, extending it so Denki could see.

Golden eyes scanned the stunning sleeve that was laid out. There was a traditional geisha, her robe made of geometric patterns that flowed down the arm, lotus blossoms floating in their waves. Everything was black and white, said for the flowers. It was all so pretty, making Denki smirk.

“Hmm, pretty ink for a pretty guy,” his chair scooted closer again, followed by Hitoshi scooting his own away once more.

“Thanks.”

“I see there’s a little something peeking out from your collar as well, maybe I can see whats underneath that shirt someday, you know for science,” Denki chimed and winked.

The whole exchange, you and Sero watched, quietly cackling.

“Not that it matters but Ser, is Denki bi-sexual?”

“I think Denki is just ‘people-sexual’, he gets infatuated by attractive, pretty, people. He’s hit on Shouto plenty of times.”

“Oh now I’d love to see that,” you giggled before you turned and cupped his cheek.

He was a little taken off guard but the surprise quickly vanished.

“Thank you Sero, this piece means a lot to me because it was given by you. I’m happy to have it with me forever, no matter what happens.”

Sero took your hand on his cheek and squeezed it, a stern but warm look on his face.

“(Y/N), nothing is going to happen to you, not if we can help it. You said it earlier - we’re your own personal mafia.”

There was a hint of a sinister smile behind those words when they fell from his lips, it made you want to question it but Sero was a jokester so there was probably no meaning behind it. Before thinking about it for too long, Sero leaned over and kissed your forehead. The sound of heavy feet coming your way had you looking to see Hitoshi sauntering over.

“So am I allowed to steal you away now,” he asked while slinging an arm around your shoulder.

“Oh, well the shop doesn’t close for -”

Sero waved, shaking his head.

“No babe go, we got this.”

After asking if it was truly okay to leave you said goodbye to Sero and Denki, giving hugs and kisses as if you wouldn’t see them again for weeks but in actuality it would only be hours. Hitoshi bid his farewells also and dragged you out of the studio impatiently all while Denki yelled out an amusing offer.

“If you guys need a third, you have my number!”

Laughing out the door of the shop, you and Hitoshi set off on your first night together in what felt like years, even though it had only been since you arrived at the shop. It was like no time had passed though, both falling back into the familiarness of each other as you wondered around the city in search of junk food for the night before heading home.

Once back at your humble abode, you both changed into more comfortable clothes and proceeded to the couch, food and drinks in hand, and turned a random movie on the tv. It was more like background noise between your talking back and forth about random topics, how you like the new environment and if you were okay being alone. You assured Hitoshi everything was pretty good considering there was a psycho man more than likely on the lookout for you.

“I gotta say, I’m relieved you found that shop and those guys. I find myself worrying less knowing that they’re around pretty much all the time, I know they’ll protect you. At least most of them,” Hitoshi voiced from the opposite end of the couch.

Smirking, your feet nudged at his chest where they laid in his lap, “Oh be nice Toshi.”

“That asshole doesn’t deserve my niceness and he doesn’t deserve yours either.”

You sighed and took a big swig from your drink, focusing on the warmth that spread down your gullet from the rum, ignoring Hitoshi’s obvious dislike for Kirishima. Of course it was to be expected, Hitoshi had a low tolerance for bullshit and games, for stupidity in general. You didn’t expect him to like the red-headed thorn in your side, all the bad he ever heard outweighed the good.

“The only thing saving his punk ass from me, is you. If you didn’t reciprocate his feelings, I’d have a real good chat with him.”

You went to protest but the look in Hitoshi’s eyes said it all, he could see straight through you and he wasn’t going to hear lies, not from you.

“Toshi, I - I want to hate him, trust me I really do but I just can’t. I don’t know what it is, that spiky haired bastard just does something to me, I feel something there. He looks at me differently than the others. I knew what he said last night was total bullshit but that’s why it hurt so much, to know that he’s lying not only to me but to himself. Then this morning when I got to work, I could tell he was a mess, when he asked where I had been I could see in his stupid red eyes that he was worried sick - distraught even. You don’t tell someone that they mean nothing to you and then have that look in your eyes only hours later.”

Hitoshi smirked, “You’re too fucking perceptive, you know that? Look, if you want to give this guy another chance, see if he really has some kind of epiphany between now and coming back from wherever, then I’m not going to stop you. But, while I’m here I’m not going to sit by and let him walk all over you or let you forgive him so easily, he should be groveling at your pretty little feet and begging for forgiveness. All these other guys have earned your kindness, he hasn’t. If he wants that and more, then you make him work for it. No one gets to treat my girl like shit for a month and then have her heart like nothing happened.”

You smiled at Hitoshi’s speech, it was genuine and from the heart and he was right. Maybe if you were a fraction of what you were in the past, Kirishima would easily have you at the sound of ‘I’m sorry’, but it wasn’t like that anymore.

In a sense you did die that night, the beaten down and submissive girl was still in that basement, rotting away with a blade still plunged into her back. She would keep taking insult after insult, dirty glares and rejection and she’d wait around to be liked, to be loved. A new girl crawled through that space and to the other side though, emerging from that rotting corpse - a girl who wouldn’t wait around, one who would live and love as she pleased to anyone who was deserving of it.

If Kirishima really liked you, if he wanted to deserve your love as well, then he would have to prove it.

With a nod you finished off your drink and reached over to place the glass on the coffee table before sitting up on your knees and walking them down Hitoshi’s body until you were perched on his waist. Hands wrapped behind his head as he rested against the arm of the couch, long body laid along the length of it. His own drink casually hung between the long fingers of one hand, a knowing smirk crossed his face.

“Your girl huh?”

With a chuckle the glass come forward and pressed to Hitoshi’s lips, he downed what was left before sitting the cup down on the floor, replacing it with your hip.

“That’s right.”

His reply was short but enough to send a fire licking up your spine.

Your hand rubbed up his hard stomach and chest until the fingertips of it reached the collar of his shirt and tugged the fabric down, exposing the brushwork dragon that was hiding underneath it. You’ve seen that dragon many times before, the heated memories creeping back into your already hazy mind. How you missed that dragon and how you needed it right now. Needed to sink your teeth into it, to kiss and whisper to it.

A chuckle pulled you from the ink and to that familiar set of lavender eyes as a large hand surfaced from your hip and up your stomach, between your breasts and to the side of your neck. The entire time you had forgotten to breathe, body tingling from the all too familiar touches. A long sigh floated along the tip of Hitoshi’s thumb as it brushed along your bottom lip and between your teeth.

“Come here kitten,” he ordered sweetly and you started to descend.

Still he knew you like the back of his own fucking hand.

#crimson ink #tattoo shop au #hitmen au #kirishima eijirou x reader #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #bnha writing #mha writing #enemies to lovers #slow burn #eventual smut #dark theme

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imagining-sio · 5 years

Text

Escapism VI

A/n: I saw endgame... I'm feeling a lot of things. This story does not reflect it however so everything is fine. Not really but still.

Chapter VI:

Banana Pancakes

I felt the morning sun beam through my sheer curtains, lighting up my eyelids. I moaned in discomfort at the sunlight, turning over in my bed, revelling in the warmth. I hummed in contentment, moving closer to the warmth object. I felt a weight on my side, further envolipng my body in the sensation.

“Hey,” I heard a faint whisper, followed by a small peck on my forehead. There was a lingering sensation trailing up and down my spine, making me abscentmindedly squirm.

“Mmm,” I mumbled sleepily. I heard a small chuckle in response.

“You aren’t a morning person are you?” My neighbors voice rung in my ears. I felt a pair of lips on my exposed neck, kissing a sore spot as gentle as possible.

“Not particularly,” I groaned, my voice hoarse, finally opening my eyes. I smiled at the face before me, not caring for the fact I had realised that the only thing I had on was my bedsheets. My neighbor, now lying in my bed, in the same dishevled state I was in, propped his head up on his elbow.

“So,” he said.

“So?”

“Waffles?” he arched a brow. I rolled my eyes, a fond smile forming on my face. I mimicked his position, pulling the crisp white bedsheet up to cover myself.

“I arleady saw everything, you don’t really need to do that.” he drew circles on the small of my back. I laughed, lazily pushing his shoulder.

“I was thinking banana pancakes.” I eyed him. His eyes lit up.

“Okay!” He got out of bed, the gust of wind from the sheets sending goosebumps up my spine. He put his boxers on, and walked out of the room. I gave a puzzled expression before realizing that he had no idea what I was actually insinuating. I rolled out of bed, grabbing my underwear, which were hanging on the corner of my dresser. A risdual of the events that happened the night before.

I snatched a strewn shirt on the floor in the hallway leading to the stairs. Upon putting on, I found it was indeed not my own, as the hem hung down around my thighs. I took a small sniff of the material, the scent of my gorgeous neighbor prevalent. I could only smile walking down the stairs barefoot.

“Hey, where do you keep the pancake mix?” Bucky peeked his head out of the pantry, his dishevled hair hanging to the side. he had bruises on both sides of his neck, a result of my own accord.

“Third shelf from the top.” I said, walking over to the coffee machine, placing a pod in the brewer. I opened the cabinet above, pulling out two white mugs.

“Ah, thanks.” He grabbed the box, shutting the pantry door. I watched out of the corner of my eye as Bucky took down one of the hanging pans, setting it upon a burner of the correct size. With the flick of his wrist, he turned the dial of the stovetop. The crackle of the electricity like a rhythmic snapping until a flush of flames was heard. Bucky stood beside me as he baegan to mix the pancake batter, bumping my hip in attempts to get my attention. I bumped back.

“So I gotta question for you.” I said, setting the now filled mugs upon the counter top. I pulled out a stool, giving me a glorious view of his topless back. His skin glistened in the mid morning sun, his tattoo sleeve a stark contrast from his toned, taught back. The sizzling of the pancakes was the only sound between us.

“Go ahead.” he replied, bobbing to a tune in his head.

“Do you know what Banana Pancakes is?”

“Yeah, They’re my favorite. Why?” He peeked over his shoulder. I spurt in my coffee, bursting into a loud cackle admist my coughing. Bucky turned around, pan in one hand and spatula in the other.

“I take it that it means something completely different than actual pancakes.” He looked down at the pancakes that were sizzling in the cast iron pan.

“You could say that.”

“So what does it mean?”

“Not telling.” I sipped my coffe, hiding the smirk.

“Just don’t tell Sam.”

“No promises.” I chuckled. I eyed his behind as he turned around, finishing off the pancakes. It was a comfortable silence between the two of us. Nothing needed to be said. After ten minutes, he set the plates down, not before walking to the pantry and grabbing the maple syrup.

“So are you gonna tell about them?” I stared at his left side as I munched on my pancakes.

“Hmm,” he looked at me quizzically.

“Your tattoos.” I elbowed his arm lightly. His expression faded.

“I got them to cover up a scar. Steve actually was the one who inked me.”

“Wait, steve did this?”

“Yeah, turns out he’s pretty good at this stuff. There’s not enough income here for a tattoo shop though. So a friend of ours who went to college withhim let him borrow his shop a couple times.”

“Did you get the scar when you were deployed.” I asked tentitavely. He could only nod his head.

“I wasn’t paying attention. Lost some good people. I paid for it, though.” He pursed his lips. I couldn’t help but empathize with him, taking his left hand in my right one.

“I got tired of looking at my failure. Wanted to make something good out of it.” he shrugged, taking a bite of his pancake.

“And this spot?” I turned his arm, pointing to the blank spot on his arm.

“I’m saving it.”

“For what?”

“Dunno yet, something good, though.” He pecked my forehead. I hummed, letting my head fall to his tattooed arm, planting a kiss on the bicep.

“So, are we gonna talk about the whole sleeping with each other thing?” Bucky asked, his body tense. I looked back at my empty plate, contemplating what to say. I shurgged, finding myself without a thought on the subject.

“Do you think we should?” I looked back at him.

“So you’re saying that this isn’t a big deal?”

“No, I’m not saying that. I’m saying I think we’ve expressed ourselves enough. Though, I would love to see how you try to explain why you look like you got mauled by a vampire to the others.” I giggled as his hand came up to his neck rubbing the numerous marks I had left hte night before.

“I could say the same for you.” He shot back, a smile growing on his face. I laughed in response.

“I highly doubt you even know what concealer is; or how to use it.” I arched a brow. I didn’t even resist when he planted his lips on mine, his arms moving me to his lap.

“Do you really wanna do this?” he asked, tentative in his voice. As if he was scared I would actually say no.

“I really think I do, Barnes.” I cupped his cheek, my other hand carding through his hair.

“Alright then.” He wrapped my legs around his waist, abruptly standing up. The stool hit the floor with a hard thud, and I gave him a questioning look as he walked back up the steps.

“You knew the whole time didn’t you?” I said between the passionate lip locks.

“I’m not a hundred, (Y/N),” he smirked as he kissed me.

“You sly bastard.”

“You have no idea, doll.”

6 months later…..

At this point, I was living on both sides of the street. Almost half of my clothing was in Bucky’s home, and his in mine. There was a mish mash of items as well. He had bought me a toolbox, and was insistant that I learn how to fix things on both my vehicle and his motorcycle. A white helmet was an exact contrast against his black one. The only thing connecting them was a red star on the side as they sat together on the counter.

That wasn’t to say it didn’t go both ways. There were far more succulents in his home now, in little metal wine glasses sans a stem. They were scatted across his home, whether on his counter, window, or beside table. There was a lot more color in his home than the dark tones he had been using since he moved in. Red was most prevalent, given it was now his favorite blanket in the house. It was his only blanket, in a house he kept at sixty-five degrees farenhiet. I needed to work on that.

I no longer worked at the coffee shop, I owned it. Edna and Thomas had finally decided to retire, and left the buisness with me. I took on new help, a local teen, one of Tony’s little geniuses; Peter. He was an absolute sweetheart, took his job way too seriously at first, but he was starting to mellow out. I kept the same work ethic as Edna and Thomas would have, keeping it open mostly in the afternoon. When Thor’s brother moved to town, he asked if I could place him to work here. I obliged.

At first, Loki was extremely difficult and found the job beneath him. But after a stern talking to, and maybe hitting him with a book, he warmed up a bit. He stated that he had gone to culinary school, and I was adamant that he be incharge of the kitchen remodel of the back room, making it so that he could actually cook meals. He was elated at the idea, and had been wokring withhis brother to get the job done. As soon as it was, he hadn’t had a bad day at work since. It was like magic.

Today was no different. The midday rush was crowded, but nothing the three of us couldn’t handle. As peter would take orders, Loki cooked, and I would bring them their desired meal and payment. It was a well oiled machine. Of course, I would be sure to deliver coffee to the shop, every morning upon opening like clockwork. It also helped that I knew evryone’s orders by heart, and I had a wonderful someone to help bring the coffees over. Of course, he practically lived with me so it would seem natural that he would walk me across the street to my work.

As the midday rushed died off, we were left cleaning the dirty dishes, setting the vast amount of plates upon the rack. The bell chimed, signalling someone had entered. I strode out of the back kitchen drying my hands on my apron.

“I’m terribly sorry; but were closin-“ the words caught in my throat.

“Hi, Miss. Do you remember me?” Detective Danvers and her partner were standing in the room.

“Yes, Carol was it?” I closed the room to the back kitchen discreetly as possible.

“We have been mounting the evidence. And the time for the trial is fast approaching. We need you to come with us so that you can testify.” She pursed her lips, her hands shoved in her slacks’ pockets.

“Everything will be paid for. I know this is a dificult subject for you.”

“When do I need to leave with you?” i asked, taking a deep breath.

“Saturday.”

It was Friday.

I nodded my head, gnawing on my bottom lip. She pulled out a small buisness card, a number and an address on the blank side.

“Here’s where we are staying. Our room number is listed below. Don’t be afraid to call me.” She and her partner walked out the door. I looked down at the piece of cardstock, a sinking feeling seeping through my skin.

“Who were they?” Peter walked out the back kitchen. I shoved the card in my back pocket, turning to face him with a smile.

“Just people passing through. They were very sweet. Tell you what, you two can go home early today. My treat.”

“Really!” he almost dropped the plate, his extremely fast reflexes caught it before it fell to the ground.

“Thanks Ms, L/N!” he hugged me bfore he went back into the kitchen, “Hey Loki!”

I tuned out the rest. The small card in my pocket felt like I was withholding a bomb. I waited for them to both leave before I sat at one of the tables, holding my head in my hands as I could only stare at the card. I didn’t stop the tears at all.

I drove home, beginning to set aside clothing that would look professional for a trial. Something that wouldn’t make me look how I portrayed by the media. I was the informant for Danvers, not Rogg’s pet. I was essential to the investigation, not his toy. I went through hell, not his heaven. I woudl show him I wasn’t afraid of him, all while still being petrified.

“Y/n!” Bucky’s voice coudl be heard through the house, the echo reverberating all the way to the bedroom where I was. Each step he took made my stomach sink lower and lower. Dread filled my veins.

“Hey, Peter came by and said you closed early? Is sommething wrong?” He stopped in the doorway, processing the view of my clothing upon my bed, the suitcase of the floor, and my tearful expression.

“Hey, hey, hey” he envoloped me in his embrace, letting me cry into his chest.

“C’mon babe, you gotta talk me through this,” He echoed the words I would use when he had nightmares. His hand stroking the top of my head, his other rubbing along my back.

“I have to go.” I sniffled.

“Where, babe?”

“You know where.”

He pulled back, a hardened look on his face.

“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t be going.”

“Without me he goes free Bucky! I can’t let someone else face the same fate.” I rubbed my eyes. He backed away, hands on his hips.

“You wanna relive all that?”

“I have to.”

“No you don’t. You know it.” he pointed at me, his tone becoming harsh.

“I don’t trust him. After everything you said he did to you, you’re going back? You don’t think he’ll do that all over again, once he finds out what you did?”

“I’m in witness protection Bucky!”

“Then why was he here!? Explain that to me! Why was is it that I met that bastard? How are you safe closer to him than you are here!”

“I’m not arguing over this again! I made up my mind.”

“You’re safer here.”

“What would I be if I stayed?”

“Mine.”

I slammed the suitcase shut, holding back the tears.

“Get out James.” I said emotionless.

“Y/n-“

“Get. Out.” my lips quivered, I couldn’t look at him. I heard him mutter under his breath, stomping down the stairs.

“If something happens to you, don’t come crying to me!” He shouted from the front door, slamming it behind him. The thud echoed through the house, the reverb felt like a bomb went off.I stooped down to my knees, letting the tears flow like gysers. I spent the remainder of the evening alone, and packing what would last for the three weeks that I would be witnessing. Deep down I knew I wasn’t ready, I knew there would be a lot of tears to come. More than ever. Not having him with me would make it worse.

Still, I was done being afraid. I had to take a stand against him. If this was how I had to do it, so be it. My conscience is clear, he needed ot be put away. I did not care.

I dragged my suitcase down my steps, careful not to slip or fall. It was far more difficult with out the help of my boyfirend. I dressed in one of Bucky’s many band shirts and a pair of leggings, my hair in a ponytail. I oulled the card out of my jacket, pluggin the address into my phone for navigational purposes. With my phone in my waistband, I grabbed my cardigan and purse. I took one last look at my interior before walkingout my door.

A simple gaze across the street and I knew he wasn’t home. There was no life from his side of the street, the fog making it appear all the more dead. I sighed before walking to my vehicle. I opened the passenger door, tossing my cardigan and purse in the seat. I set my suitcase down, plugging my phone into the updated radio Bucky had installed in the classic car.

I shut the door, walking toward the trunk, opening the back door. I hauled the suitcase up, the heavy, hard-shelled object landing with a thud; making the car shake slightly. I shut the door with a thud, wiping the sweat off with the back of my hand. I looked up at my humble home. I knew I would return, but a gut feeling in me said I wouldn’t.

I walked back up to the passenger side, pullingout my keys from my purse. I strode up to my front door, triple checking that it was locked.

Just as I was about to turn around, I felt a hand upon my mouth, a cloth covering his hand. Colorform.

I held my breath, elbowing the assailant in the gut. He dropped the cloth, and I swatted it into one of the bushes near the door. I ran toward the car, desperate to grab the pepper spray I still kept in my purse. The man grabbed my torso, forming a chokehold upon my neck. I sturggled to break out of it, flailing widly in order to try and hit him to make the man break it. I pushed on my feet, sending us tumbling backward to the cement driveway with a thud.

I scrambled away from him, my lungs desperately clawing for oxygen. I got to the drivers door, opening it sluggishly. As I stood up, I felt a hand on the back of my head moments before it rammed me into the side of the bronco as hard as they could.

I was out before I even hit the pavement.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine #james buchanan barnes #marvel x reader #Biker!Bucky #biker!bucky x reader #escapism #biker!au #marvel!au #whee #I saw endgame and am dead inside

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buriednurbckyrd · 6 years

Text

Necessary Paradox (2)

*Thank you to everyone that read and liked/reblogged/commented on the first chapter! I’m not sure how many chapters this will have yet, and I still feel a bit like I’m navigating unknown territory with the a/b/o universe... But I’m excited to see where this takes me! Any and all feedback is welcome, it really helps me with the writing process!*

Y/N pulled her hand back and held it against her chest which suddenly felt tight. Steve's wide eyes were glued to her face.

“Um, excuse me. I-I'll be right back.” She said shakily before hurrying off to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and leaning against it.

“What just happened?” Bucky wondered aloud, staring at his friend. Steve shook his head, unable to formulate an answer just yet. His heart was pounding so hard he could almost hear it. His Alpha instincts were screaming at him to go after her. To order Y/N to open the door and…

And what?

“I think she's mine.” He said slowly. The thought made him smile, even though their encounter had lasted all of three minutes. “I think she's my true mate, Buck.” True mates were a concept Steve had given up ages ago as a silly romantic notion. It was the stuff of movies and cheesy paperbacks. Maybe in his youth he had fantasized about it, someone that was destined to be his other half. That would love and accept him for the sickly, skinny little thing he was.

“What?” Bucky hissed. “You aren't serious.” Steve grabbed his friend's arm and forced him to look him in the eye.

“I know it sounds nuts, but I just...” He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He felt overwhelmed by the strange circumstances, his mind whirling with the enormity of what he was suggesting. Somehow he just knew.

Bucky nudged him, interrupting his thoughts. Y/N had opened the door and was coming back out. He drank in the sight, wanting to memorize every inch of her. She was soft and round, all generous curves. Her right arm was covered from shoulder to mid forearm in flowers of every type and color. A graceful peacock adorned her left, beautiful tail cascading down, its head curled on her shoulder. When she nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear he caught a flash of metal. Several studs ran up her ear, and a bar went through the top and out again diagonally. There was also a thin silver hoop through one of her nostrils. He wondered what other tattoos or piercings she might have on the rest of her body hidden under her long gray dress and the thought had heat pooling in his stomach. His Alpha wanted nothing more than to strip her bare and explore every inch of her sumptuous body. He disguised a possessive growl with a cough, scolding himself for the outward display of aggression.

“I'm sorry about that,” she told them with a crooked smile. “It's been quiet here all day and I must have over done it a bit in the storage room.” Steve felt a pang in his chest at her obvious deflection. Bucky stepped forward and touched her arm and he bristled.

“Are you okay? We can reschedule if you need to.” Bucky is a friend. Bucky is not a rival Alpha, he repeated over and over in his head.

“I'm fine, really. I just needed a minute. I have your design here and if you like it, we can get started when you're ready.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze in reassurance. She pulled out two pieces of paper, and Steve crept closer to get a good look at her drawings. “I know you said you liked just the head or face, but I drew up another option just to cover all the bases.” Both men were impressed by her skill. One showed a wolf's head, the face calm and relaxed. The other was the full body, lying down. Somehow they both portrayed a quiet sort of dignity.

“Wow, these are both great.” Bucky told her, scrutinizing both. “But I think I still prefer just the face.” Y/N nodded.

“I thought you would, but I still wanted you to see both options. Let me just go print out your stencil and we're good to go.” She led them back to her station and told Bucky where to sit. “Steve? Feel free to pull up one of those chairs, okay?” His stomach flipped when she addressed him directly and he watched her as she moved around setting up the last few things she needed to begin her work. When she pulled on a pair of black latex gloves he noticed a smattering of faded pink scars littered across her hands. “Alright, time to strip for me.” Bucky chuckled at her teasing tone and pulled his shirt off. Steve noticed the lack of hesitation which made his hackles rise and shamed him. It should have made him happy to see his guarded friend so comfortable around another person.

When she had transferred the stencil to his skin she picked up her machine and turned it on, dipping the tip into a little cap full of ink.

“Ready?” She asked.

“As I'll ever be.” Bucky replied with a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. She made a small first pass with the needle and paused to make sure he was okay with the feeling. “You can't hurt me, sweetheart.” He told her, and she continued. As she worked she kept up a light conversation. She seemed more relaxed with her hands busy. Every time she would gently wipe away excess ink mixed with blood her eyes would flick up and meet Steve's. He felt like she was scrutinizing him in those fleeting moments, but her hands never shook and her concentration never appeared to waver from Bucky's skin.

God, her scent was driving him insane. Sweet, like warm honey and fresh peaches; but a bit of something wild like the hint of a thunderstorm on a summer breeze. He couldn't help his body's reaction to her, but if she was picking up on any of it, she gave away nothing. Bucky read his friend like a book, his annoyed glances becoming darker as a haze of pheromones grew heavier in the space.

After completing the outline, Y/N excused herself for a short break. Both men declined her offer of a cold beverage.

“I'm just going to stretch my legs for a few minutes, and I need to check in with my partner.” She told them and went out the back door. As soon as it closed behind her, Bucky jumped all over Steve.

“What. The. Fuck.” He punched him in the arm. “You smell like a horny teenager!”

“I'm sorry! I can't help it!” Steve flushed bright red. “Do you want me to leave?” Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I don't know, it might be weirder if you just left at this point. You've been here this long and it doesn't seem to be affecting her.” His words made his heart ache. Why wasn't she affected at all? How could Steve be tied up into knots while she was cool, calm, and collected? Except for her quick retreat to the bathroom right after their introduction, she gave no sign that she was feeling the same connection he was.

“I'll try and rein it in,” he muttered. “But I can't make any promises. It isn't like I'm doing this on purpose.” He slumped back in his chair miserably. Y/N walked back in before Bucky could reply.

“I know y'all said you didn't want anything, but I brought a few bottles of water in case you changed your mind.” She handed them each a cold bottle. “Will says 'hello', by the way. And he hopes you'll come back when you're healed up so he can see the finished tat.” Bucky turned away from his brooding friend and smiled at her.

“Of course I will.” He watched her pull on a fresh pair of gloves and swap out the needles in her machine with deft hands.

“Ready for the next round?”

“Damn right I am.”

…

Bucky stared at the finished product in the mirror, lost for words. The details were so sharp and defined, it was like a photo looking back at him. He had harbored some small doubt that she would be able to pull off a white animal on his skin, but with clever shadows and highlights he had a gorgeous wolf etched into his skin. Two bright blue eyes seemed to stare back at him. There was no trace of aggression in the expression, just a sense of serene majesty. He felt tears prick at the back of his eyes and he had to clear his throat a few times before he could speak.

“I love it, Y/N. I just… Wow.” He turned his arm to look at it from a few different angles. “Thank you. I feel like you pulled this directly from my head.” Y/N gave him a gentle side hug.

“I'm really glad you're happy with it.”

“It's beautifully done,” Steve murmured. “You're exceptionally talented, Y/N.” She looked at him, face inscrutable.

“Thanks, Steve.” She replied quietly. She turned back to Bucky. “Now, I'm going to wrap it up and you should keep it covered for at least an hour before rinsing it off with lukewarm water. Do you have any questions about the after care at all?” Bucky shook his head.

“No, you covered everything pretty thoroughly.” He held up the card she had given him. “And it's all here, so I can't screw anything up.”

“I'm sure you'll be fine,” she smiled brightly at him. “But if you have any questions or concerns you can call me at any time.” She started subtly leading them towards the door.

“Thank you again, Y/N. I'll come back when I'm healed so you can get a picture and Will can see it.” He paused at the door before pulling her into a real hug. Steve barely stifled the growl that threatened to bubble up in his throat. Bucky patted her shoulder one last time before leaving, assuming that Steve was right behind him.

“Uh, Y/N?” He said, holding the door. He felt her hesitate before turning to face him. “I was um, wondering… Maybe I could call you some time? We could have coffee or d-dinner?” His face felt like it was on fire, but he couldn't make himself leave without asking her. She was quiet for a just few moments, but it felt like an eternity to him. His heart sank when she shook her head.

“I don't think that's a good idea, Steve.” She wouldn't meet his eyes. “But it was nice meeting you. Have a good night.” Before he knew what was happening, he was standing out on the sidewalk and she was locking the door.

“Come on, Punk! I'm starving!” Bucky yelled, already several yards away. Steve blinked a few times, trying to process what just happened before slowly turning to follow his friend.

…

Y/N practically ran up the stairs to the apartment above the shop. The door slammed behind her and she slid down it, sitting on the floor with her hands pressed against her chest, her heart racing. Tears ran freely down her cheeks, but she wasn't entirely sure why. Jeremiah's Siamese cat padded over to her, meowing a greeting and rubbing against Y/N's legs. She reached out and scratched the cat's head absently, freezing when she caught sight of her scarred knuckles.

“I had to say no,” she whispered to the empty apartment. “He's America's golden hero, and I'm a broken nobody.” She rested her forehead on her arms and let herself cry.

#plus sized reader #omega!reader #Alpha!Steve #A/B/O verse #Marvel AU #steve rogers x plus size reader

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queenofcats17 · 6 years

Text

One Foot In The Grave

So, @liliflower137 asked me to write something based on this, and since @jekyll-doodles has given me many feelings with her art, I decided I’d do it

Also, @masari17 wrote something for this prompt, here

@boxeption wrote something for it as well, here

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Of course, that could be said about a lot of things that happened in Joey Drew Studios. But for once...For once it seemed as though Joey’s magic had done something right. They’d been happy as James. While others hadn’t taken to being fused all that well, Jack and Sammy had been a surprisingly stable and happy fusion. Neither had been in any rush to unfuse. For a few weeks, everything seemed as though it was looking up. Jack had been getting worried about Sammy, if he was being honest. Sammy had been acting rather strangely. It wasn’t anything drastic, which almost worried Jack even more. Sammy wasn’t acting out. He was just acting...odd. There was something just slightly off. But now...Now things were alright. They were happy like this.

“Seriously, how is half of you Sammy?” Wally asked, leaning on his mop. He came by to ask this question a lot. Part of James, the part that was Sammy, was rather irritated by this.

“Oh, give him a break.” Jack would always tell Sammy in their mind. “He just doesn’t know you like I do.”

“He acts like I’m incapable of being pleasant.” Sammy always replied testily. For now, though, James answered Wally calmly.

“That’s my secret.” He hummed, giving Wally a wink.

“But you’re so- so-”

“So...What?”

“I don’t know.” Wally threw his hands up. “Nice? Soft? Generally decent?”

“Well, then you obviously don’t know the Sammy I do.” James turned back to his work. He was stuck on one specific bar, unsure whether to go high or low.

“You’re so weird,” Wally muttered, shrugging and leaving to go finish cleaning. James breathed an unconscious sigh of relief at Wally’s departure.

“I really don’t understand why you dislike him so much, Sammy.”

“He’s grating,” Sammy said. “A thoughtless peon who doesn’t understand what he does.” Jack wasn’t sure what to make of that sentence. Sammy had been saying a lot of things like that lately. It...It probably didn’t mean anything, right? James sighed and put down his pen, resting his head in his hands.

“Everything is fine.” He whispered. “Everything is alright.” Did he truly believe that, though? Or was he just trying to lull himself into a false sense of security?

“No, everything is fine.” He let out a sharp exhale.

“Don’t we sound ridiculous?” Jack laughed nervously. “Talking to ourselves like this.”

“There’s nothing wrong with talking to yourself,” Sammy assured him. Jack relaxed a bit at this. Something about Sammy’s voice always made him feel better when he was doubting himself. But still...He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss.

He shook his head, abruptly getting up. He just needed to clear his head. A walk would do him some good. Leaving his office, he started to pace around the studio. He didn’t pay any attention to where he was going so he was rather surprised when he found himself in front of the ink machine.

“Why am I here?” He murmured. Instinctively, he took his glasses off and vigorously cleaned them, a habit he’d picked up from Jack. He had a sinking feeling in his gut and he wasn’t sure where it was coming from. There was a reason he was here.

“Ah! James!” Joey’s head suddenly popped up. “I was wondering when you’d show up!”

“You were...expecting me?” James’ mouth felt dry.

“Of course!” Joey clamored onto the platform. “Sammy promised he’d bring you both here.” His smile made Jack’s blood run cold. The corners of James’ mouth were starting to turn up.

“Sammy...What’s going on?” Jack’s heart began to pound. “What’s he talking about?”

“We’re going to be reborn, Jack.” Sammy’s voice was soft as silk. James began to laugh, half fearful and half manic with glee.

“You seem rather conflicted.” Joey’s smile only widened. “Perhaps I could do something to help.”

“Don’t you dare,” James said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, Jack.” Joey sighed and shook his head. “If only you could understand.”

“It will be wonderful, Jack.” Sammy insisted. Jack could see all that Sammy had been hiding from him now. It was horrifying.

“You must be kidding!” Jack yelled. “You want to worship a cartoon demon?!”

“It’s so much more than that, Jack. You have to trust me.” Sammy tried to pull Jack close to him, pressing kisses to Jack’s cheek. “It will all be worth it in the end.”

James’ hands went to his head as the two men warred inside of him. Joey sighed and shook his head.

“I wish I didn’t have to do this, but it seems as though you need a little push.” He picked up a fallen board and, without a second thought, hit James as hard as he could. The taller man crumpled to the ground. Joey tossed the board to the side, picking James up and dragging him down to the ink machine.

“Don’t worry,” he purred into James’ ear. “You’ll understand soon, Jack. You’ll understand soon.”

He didn’t want this.

He didn’t want to be this.

Sammy had lost his mind.

He just wanted to go back to the way things were.

He couldn’t let Sammy hurt anyone.

He had to keep the others safe.

No one else could get hurt.

As long as it was just him...

It would be alright

#bendy and the ink machine #fanfiction #jack fain #sammy lawrence #batim james #wally franks #joey drew

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huphilpuffs · 6 years

Text

flares

chapter: 21/? summary: Dan’s body has been broken for as long as he can remember, and he’s long since learned to deal with it. Sort of. But when his symptoms force him to leave uni and move into a new flat with a stranger named Phil, he finds that ignoring the pain isn’t the way to make himself happy. word count: 3343 rating: mature warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain, medicine a/n: a huge thanks goes to @obsessivelymoody for beta reading this for me!

Ao3 link || read from beginning

Dan wakes up alone.

His head is squashed into his pillow, mouth hanging open with drool drying at the corner of his lips, hair matted atop his head. His body feels weighed down, heavy on the mattress. The burn in his chest has faded to a simmer that sparks when his ribs expand around an inhale.

The air grates at his throat. So does the groan Dan lets out when it hurts.

He manages to roll onto his back so he can orient himself. Phil’s pillow is still sitting there, bright and blue and such a contrast to the dreary grays covering the rest of Dan’s room. On the nightstand, there’s a bright yellow post-it scribbled with black that Dan’s fairly certain is a note.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

He shifts towards the edge of the mattress, arms aching in their attempt to move his weight, until he’s sitting in front of Phil’s pillow. It hurts his shoulder, but he leans over and plucks the post-it from its spot. Phil’s messiest handwriting is scrawled across it in black sharpie.

I had to go to work :( I called Taylor to make sure you’re okay so she should be here somewhere. I hope you’re feeling better.

The last few words are tiny, wedged into the corner of the paper. Above that, there’s a smudge of ink that looks almost like it was meant to be a heart.

Dan tries to tell himself it’s nothing, that Phil just pressed the marker to the paper for a moment too long, but his smile still grows wider.

He stares at the note for a really long time.

---

It takes Dan a while to drag himself out of bed.

His legs are still shaky under his weight and there’s a dull ache in the back of his neck that makes it hard to hold his head steady. He finds a pair of pyjama bottoms and struggles to pull them on so that he’s not in just his pants, but his chest still stings when it’s touched.

Besides, Taylor’s seen him shirtless before.

Pressing one hand to the wall for support, he leaves his bedroom, taking slow, steady steps into the lounge. He sees Taylor sitting on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table. Her hair’s thrown back into a high ponytail and she’s hunched over a book he can hardly see, a pen perched in one hand.

She was supposed to be at uni today. Dan swallows against the guilt that comes with the realization.

He manages to stumble halfway to the sofa before she notices him. Her pen clatters against the table as she bounces to her feet, and before he can take another step, she’s dipping under his arm and draping it over her shoulder.

“You could have, I don’t know, called out or something.”

Dan huffs out a laugh. Something twinges in his chest. “I was fine to walk, you know.”

“Phil said you almost fainted.”

“Yesterday. Then I got IV fluids and slept,” he says. They’ve reached the sofa by then, and Dan drops onto the cushions, lets his weight sink into the soft blanket laid over them. “You know my blood pressure does that sometimes, Tay. And then it recovers.”

Taylor shrugs. She drops back onto the floor without a word, and starts fidgeting with her pen. Dan counts how many times she clicks it.

There’s thirteen clicks before she speaks.

“Phil made it sound like you were dying or something,” she says. “I figured it was pretty bad.”

“Oh,” says Dan. “It wasn’t. That bad, I mean.”

He turns his head against the sofa, presses his nose to the blanket Phil got him. When his eyes drift closed, it’s to the image of Phil’s face last night, eyes gleaming with tears, staring at Dan attached a machine by so many wires. It’s to the phantom feeling of Phil’s goodnight kiss dusting across his hair.

“He was worried?” he hears himself ask.

Taylor huffs. “That’s an understatement,” she says. “He didn’t want to leave. I’m pretty sure he was late to work, actually. He just kept going around the house making sure everything was okay. There’s a smoothie for you in the fridge, by the way.”

“He made me a smoothie?”

Taylor hums. There’s a grin drawing at the corners of her mouth, happiness reaching her eyes. She looks good. She looks healthy.

Healthier than she has since Dan’s known her, at least.

Dan smiles back at her. He lets his gaze drift to the textbook that lies open, and it drops.

“More bio?”

“Yeah,” says Taylor. She sets her pen down again, but her head stays dipped towards the book of notes Dan couldn’t even try to understand. “You know how I’m seeing a counselor?”

It’s a whisper, too shy for the girl who would barge into his dorm when he was half-naked to do her homework and keep him company.

Dan forces himself to nod. “Yeah.”

“Well she thinks I should switch courses,” says Taylor. “I don’t know if I’m gonna do it.”

“Oh.” Dan swallows. His chest feels tight again, locked with uncertainty. It shouldn’t be a surprise, he thinks. But Taylor never talked about it, not of her own volition.

Then again, there were a lot of things Taylor didn’t do for herself. Things she couldn’t do for herself.

“I think you should, if it would make you happy,” says Dan.

He might be imagining it, but he thinks he sees her shoulders sag with relief.

---

They sit in silence for most of the day. Morning was already bleeding into afternoon when Dan woke up, and even now, with the day’s brightest sun peaking out from beneath the blanket curtain, he can’t muster energy to do much more than stare vaguely at the TV.

His vision goes out of focus every time there’s a flurry of movement on screen. Dan’s not even sure which movie it is that Taylor put on.

It’s not very good. At least, the bits his brain can pick up on aren’t very good.

He looks away. His neck feels weak and his head bobs a bit when he leans forward, but his gaze settles on Taylor. She’s still sitting on the floor, still reading her biology textbook.

Dan wonders how her brain can possibly be absorbing any of that.

“Taylor?”

She looks up, twisting so she’s facing him. Her eyes look a little hazy, but not nearly as much as they used to. Like maybe the prospect of leaving the sciences behind has reinvigorated her.

Not that the prospect of dropping out had done anything of the sort for–

“Dan?”

He blinks. Taylor’s still staring at him, brows furrowed in concern.

“Geez,” she says. “I thought you were gonna faint on me.”

Dan frowns. “It really wasn’t that bad.”

It’s starting to sound petulant to his own ears, but then his mind flashes back to one of the times he laid in the hospital sobbing as his chest seemed to want to cave in. Lightheadedness, though it makes anxiety curl tight in his gut, is nothing in comparison.

Taylor’s just staring at him now, and Dan wonders when he started feeling the need to explain himself to her.

“Really,” he repeats. There’s a pause as fingers catch at the edge of the blanket and he mumbles: “Did Phil really seem that worried?”

Her eyes go a little somber at that, and her shoulders a little tense. Dan’s hand wraps tighter around the fleece, thumb drifting over tiny furs in the fabric. He reminds himself that Phil bought it for him, tried to make his new home comfortable in the tiny ways he knew how at the time, in all the ways he’s learning to help.

There’s still a smoothie in the fridge for him. One that Phil left there.

“Honestly?” says Taylor, and Dan nods. “I think he was catastrophizing.”

“Oh,” says Dan. His chest feels tight again, because Dan knows what that means. He’s been there. Sometimes, in the darkness of nights where his body aches too much for his mind to drift off to sleep, he still ends up there.

Taylor, he knows, has been there, too.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. He didn’t say it,” she says. “It just kinda seemed like he was scared that if he left you, he would, you know, lose you.”

A lump wells in Dan’s throat. He swallows against it. All he manages in response is another quiet: “Oh.”

Taylor stares at him for a long moment after that, then shrugs one shoulder and turns back to her book.

“I could be wrong,” she says. “I don’t know him all that well.”

Dan shakes his head. He draws the blanket around himself, just a corner of fleece pulled pitifully over his chest because he can’t be bothered to stand and free the fabric from under his weight. Taylor’s not watching to see his eyes slip closed.

She wasn’t there to see the look on Phil’s face when Dan was hooked up to the ECG.

“I think you’re right,” he says.

Taylor drops her pen, turning to look at him again. “You do?”

“Yeah,” says Dan. “I just– There’s one thing that bugged me.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Part of him doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to place Phil anywhere near the doubts that lurk in the back of Dan’s mind. But the memory of the ECG fades into one from before, from back at the flat, Dan’s head still spinning and chest aching and Phil trying to help.

“Well?”

Something’s stinging behind Dan’s eyes, and he hates that he knows exactly why.

“He didn’t wanna go to A&E,” he says. “Like he seemed to get that it was serious, but he wanted to wait and see and I don’t know it just reminded me of–”

He clamps his mouth shut, but Taylor knows. She knows too much, he thinks, about the little things that linger, heavy, on his shoulders, about the memories he can’t entirely erase.

“Your parents?”

It’s a whisper, one they both know is true. Dan nods anyway, guilt twisting painfully in his gut.

She reaches up, rests a hand on his knee. Her eyes have gone soft, her gaze tripping over where Dan’s clutching the blanket too tightly, like a child.

“He’s not like your parents,” says Taylor. “You know that.”

Dan nods, because he does. He knows it so much it hurts, more than the lingering pressure against his ribs and the ache blooming at the back of his head, to doubt it.

Taylor squeezes his knee. “You okay?”

He’s not sure. But then again, Dan’s never sure when people ask him that.

He shrugs, and mumbles: “Yeah.”

---

Dan falls asleep to the sound of a boring film and the turning pages of Taylor’s textbook.

He wakes up to the TV gone silent, different voices drifting past his ears. His mind’s still hazy with fatigue, every thought a little blurry around the edges, mingling with the lingering vividness of some dream about college he doesn’t particularly care about.

He cares about the voices much more.

“Dan and I were talking,” says one. Taylor, he realizes a second later than he probably should. She must not be sitting on the lounge floor anymore because she sounds farther away.

He considers cracking his eyes open to check, but that takes effort.

“He said you didn’t wanna go to A&E,” she continues.

Dan’s stomach twists. If sleep wasn’t still rooted so heavily in his bones he would let them know he’s awake now just so she’d stop talking. In the same brilliance as a dream, Dan can picture Phil fidgeting, reaching up to comb his fringe out of his eyes like he always does.

He wonders if Taylor would notice that, too.

“He said that?” says the other voice, and Dan already knew it would be Phil but something shudders down his spine at the confirmation.

Taylor’s actually telling him about this.

There’s a hum, then silence. Dan wishes he could see. The dread has settled into a morbid curiosity now that he’s a little more awake, a little more aware, so he listens.

“Yeah,” says Phil. “I guess I was a little hesitant.”

“Hesitant?” says Taylor. “Or anxious?”

Dan has to count to keep his breath from catching. Four seconds to inhale and eight to exhale, once, twice, and a third time because his chest feels tight with knowledge he’s not supposed to have.

Knowledge he doesn’t have, he reminds himself. Phil still hasn’t responded.

Dan thinks that might be answer enough.

“I don’t mean to assume,” says Taylor. “I just have a bit of experience with that stuff. You can tell me if I’m wrong.”

There’s more silence. Phil still isn’t saying anything and Dan wonders if he’s staring at Taylor all wide-eyed and nervous like Dan did when she first asked him if he was ill. Or if he’s staring at the table, twisting his hand and letting his fringe cover his eyes the way Dan knows Phil does.

“Does Dan know?”

His breath does catch this time. And then he doesn’t breathe, too scared either of them noticed.

It’s not a yes, but it’s definitely not a denial either.

They must not have. There’s the quiet scratch of the chair against the floor, and a steady tapping Dan thinks must be someone’s foot. One of them, probably Phil, takes a deep breath, and Dan’s reassured enough that he does the same, easing some of the ache burning between his ribs.

“Dan has enough to worry about,” says Phil. “Besides, it’s mostly a resolved issue.”

And that’s it, a confirmation that shudders painfully through Dan’s chest.

“You should tell him,” says Taylor. “He’d want to know.”

Dan swallows. It sounds loud to his own ears, but no one else seems to hear it. His fingers twitch by the blanket still draped over his chest. He wants to pull it even tighter around himself.

He wants to wrap it around Phil and make sure he knows he can tell Dan things, too.

They don’t say another word after that.

Dan counts the seconds ticking by in his head until he thinks it’s been long enough that he can pretend to wake up.

---

Taylor stays for dinner.

Phil orders a pizza that they share as Dan sips at another smoothie. Taylor tells him about possibly changing her course and Phil offers advice far better than Dan could ever come up with. They laugh about how terrible they are at science. Dan joins in on that.

His chest aches afterwards. He’s not entirely sure it’s from the laughter.

When the pizza box is mostly empty and leftovers are being shoved into the fridge, Taylor tells them she should be heading out. She shoves her books into a backpack Dan didn’t realize she’d brought and thanks them for the food and the smile on her face looks real, looks happy.

She hugs Dan goodbye, the distant kind that doesn’t put any pressure against his ribs.

“Feel better,” she says. “And remember that he’s good for you.”

Dan watches her hug Phil afterwards, the tighter kind that has her standing on her toes instead of bending down. She says something against Phil’s shoulder, so quietly Dan can’t make out the words.

“Good luck with school,” Phil says in response.

Taylor laughs as she pulls away. “Thank you,” she says.

She looks like she means it.

Phil might be good for her, too, Dan thinks.

He wonders if either of them are good for Phil.

---

They sit on the sofa again that night.

It’s not even a conscious thing anymore when Dan presses himself against Phil’s side, letting his head drop to rest on Phil’s shoulder. Fingers thread into his hair and rub gentle patterns against his head and Dan stares at the TV screen, at whatever show’s playing now, but his vision can’t focus.

Neither can his brain.

The blanket is draped over both of them now, tucked in against Dan’s side and Phil’s thigh. Beneath it, Dan reaches over to rest his hand on Phil’s knee.

There was a time when that was the only part of Dan that Phil would touch. It seems like so long ago now.

“Can I ask you something?”

Phil looks away from the screen. His eyes look a little hazy. A soft smile curls at the corner of his mouth and makes Dan’s chest go warm.

“Of course,” he says.

Dan squeezes his knee. “How are you?” he says. His voice feels thick in his throat and breaks into a whisper. “I feel like last night was new for you and I just– Yeah. How are you?”

He watches Phil’s brows furrow, feeling something tighten in his stomach at the sight. White tears flash into his mind, a pale face and uncertain frown and Phil’s fingers gripping the hospital bed like he was even more unsteady than Dan had felt.

Dan wonders if his chest had ached, too. If something different had rooted itself between Phil’s ribs that night, took his breath the way pain stole Dan’s.

“I should be asking you that,” says Phil.

His fingers have gone still in Dan’s hair, his smile a little faded.

“I’m used to it, though,” says Dan. “You’re not, right? It was new for you?”

His hand tightens at the back of Dan’s neck. It sends a shot of pain down Dan’s spine, blooming across the back of his head, but he forces himself not to wince. He wants to hear what Phil has to say. He wants to listen, for once.

Phil deserves a friend that will listen,

“Yeah, I guess it was new,” says Phil. “But that doesn’t matter–”

“It matters to me.”

Phil’s eyes go wide and Dan wants to says of course it matters to me, you idiot, you’ve done more for me than anyone ever has, but it feels like too much. It all feels like too much, because Phil’s fingers move in his hair again so he’s cradling the back of Dan’s head.

Dan’s pretty sure he stops breathing.

But Phil just leans in closer and dusts a gentle kiss to Dan’s head.

Again.

He pulls away like it’s nothing, and tugs Dan back against his chest like he belongs there.

It feels like he does.

God, for the first time in so long it feels like he belongs somewhere.

“It was new for me, okay?” says Phil. “And maybe a little scary. Hospitals aren’t exactly my strong suit, and I don’t– It’s scary to see someone you care about attached to machines like that, even if they’re used to it. But I’m fine. I’d go there again tonight if you needed to.”

He sucks in a deep breath when he stops talking. Dan’s pressed so close to him, he can see, can feel the small stutter of his ribs.

“You would?” he asks.

Phil huffs out a laugh that makes no noise, but rumbles through his chest, echoes in Dan’s. “Of course I would,” he says, like it’s obvious.

Maybe it’s supposed to be.

Except no one else has ever been willing to do it before.

“You needed it,” says Phil. “I wanna help you when you need things.”

Dan smiles. His hand is still on Phil’s knee and Phil’s is still in his hair. He watches Phil’s chest rise and fall with a breath and forces himself to mirror it, past the pressure in his chest that burns bright and brilliant and new.

He’s used to a lot of things.

This, Dan realizes, isn’t one of them.

Maybe because, this time, something about it feels good.

He turns his head, hides his face against Phil’s shoulder so he can’t see the TV or the curtains or the silhouette of his hand on Phil’s leg through the blanket they’re sharing.

“I wanna help you when you need things, too,” he mumbles, pressing the words against Phil’s skin.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #flares #callie writes words

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thefloorisbalaclava · 6 years

Note

Okay so I don't know if you're still taking requests but a dear friend of mine just asked me if there were any super smushy romantic fics of John Seed saying the best YES he ever got from the dep was from asking her to marry him and I wholeheartedly believe you could make both of our dreams come true and show us what this looks like in ultimate Cassie fashion.

You flatter me, Fe

I really hope this is what you and your friend (I know who it is haha) are looking for. I made it as fluffy and sappy as possible.

Warnings: None

For the six years he had been down here with her they hadfought, they had loved, they had hated, they had fallen in love. Now he couldn’t imagine his life without her. Hislife before was, well, empty. He was a bad man. Was. She had seen the good in him and had taken the time to bringit out of him.

He watched her as she set the table for them, humming toherself. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling as she twirled and finally sawhim, gasping and putting a hand over her heart.

“John! You scared me!” She threw a dishtowel at him and hechuckled.

“I didn't want to interrupt. You looked so happy. I like when you’re happy.”

She walked over and hugged him, putting her ear to hisheart. “I’m happy with you. Always.” He never tired of the way she felt againsthim, the way she fit in his arms perfectly, the way her hand fit in his. “Imade us something special tonight. To celebrate.”

“What are we celebrating?” he asked, lifting her head tomake her look at him with those beautiful, bright eyes.

“Six and a half years down here in this hole without killingeach other,” she joked.

“You were pretty close sometimes though, weren’t you?”

“Oh, you have no idea.” She kissed him on the lips andlaughed when he tapped her bottom as she walked away. “Hungry?”

“Starved.” He watched her happily as she made his plate andbrought it over to him.

“Spaghetti!” She looked at him waiting for him to try it. Hetook a bite and closed his eyes, savoring each flavor. “Well?”

“I think this is the best spaghetti I’ve ever had.”

“You’re not just saying that, are you?” She folded her armsacross her chest defiantly and he yanked her onto his lap with a laugh.

“Your spaghetti is delicious. I mean it. Here.” He twirledhis fork in the pasta then held it up to her mouth. “You try it.” She let himfeed her and he watched her gladly.

“That is pretty damn good,” she admitted. “I did good, huh?”

“You certainly did.” He pushed her off his lap playfully andmoved his plate away. “Go eat your own. This is mine.”

“Meanie.” She sat across from him and ate quietly, lookingat him every now and then. “What are you thinking about?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing,” he lied.

“You’re a horrible liar, John Seed.” He stayed silent andshe shrugged. “You'll tell me when you’re ready to, right?”

“Of course.” He smiled at her and she smiled back althoughhe could see a slight sadness in her eyes. He tried to never keep things fromher anymore but these past few days he had been holding something back.

He was afraid.Afraid that once they left this bunker she wouldn’t want him anymore. She wouldstart her new life and leave him behind. Just because he couldn’t imagine lifewithout her didn’t meant she felt the same for him. And that hurt him.

God, did it hurthim.

And what would he go back to without her? A life of pain andmisery and pretending to be happy. No. He refused to live like that again.

“John. Sweetie. Talk to me.” He snapped back to the here andnow and noticed that she was looking at him, concern flooding her features.

“Are you happy with me?” he asked unexpectedly. “Like…trulyhappy?”

“Yes, I am. Have I given you a reason to doubt me?” she puther fork down and clasped her hands together nervously.

“I’m afraid of losing you,” he blurted out, gripping thefork in his hand a little too tightly. “Maybe you don’t love me. Maybe you justtolerate me.”

“You stop that kind of talk right now, John Seed.” She stoodand walked to his side of the table quickly. “Ask me if I love you, the answerwill be yes. Ask me if I want you, the answer will be yes. Ask me if I need you, the answer will be yes. Theanswer will always be yes, John.”Tears filled her eyes as she reached out and ran a hand through his hair,pulling his head against her stomach. He sighed and wrapped his arms around hertightly.

He had thought he left that whole ‘say yes' part of his lifebehind but hearing it from her had made his heart race in a way that it neverhad before. All those yeses he had pulled from people all those years ago hadnothing on the yeses he received from her. She gave them to him willingly andwithout coercion. There was no pain involved and he hoped there never would be.

Yet…he felt pain.Pain at the thought of losing her. He looked up at her and tested her theory.“Do you love me?” he asked.

“Yes.” She grinned and pulled him to his feet. “Of course Ido.”

“Do you want me?”

She nodded. “Yes, John.”

“Do you need me…the way I need you?” He pressed his foreheadto hers.

“I do.”

“Do you want to be mine forever?” She nodded, tears rollingdown her cheeks. “Because I want to be yours forever. I want to wake up next toyou every day for the rest of my life and thank God that he brought you into mylife. I want you to be the one I tell my deepest darkest secrets to.” He cuppedher face and wiped her tears away, looking into her eyes. “I want you to marryme,” he said and her eyes widened.

“John…what did you just say?”

He backed away from her and looked down at his hands. “Ijust…I’m sorry. I should have prepared a little better. I’m not expecting youto say yes. You don’t have to sayyes. I would really like if you did but you don’t have to.” He rambled on,failing to notice that she had began to sob into her hands.

“Shut up, John. Just shut up,” she cried. He froze andlooked at her as she walked up to him. “You’re not giving me a chance to speak.May I?” He nodded and she grabbed his shirt. “Of course I’ll marry you, youfool. I’ve only been waiting years foryou to ask.”

“You want…to marry…me?”he asked, unsure if he had heard her correctly.

“Yes, John. More than anything. You’ve just made me thehappiest woman in the world. Yes, I will marry you, John Seed. Yes, I will beyour wife.”

“Oh…oh my God. You said yes? YOU SAID YES.”

“I said yes.”

And there it was. The only yes that had ever mattered. Theyes that he would remember for the rest of his life. The yes that had himcrying tears of joy, that had them both cryingtears of joy.

She had found some liquor to make a toast with and theydrank to their happiness. They drank to a new and happy life. He drank to awhole new meaning of the word yes.

He couldn’t get to sleep that night. All he could thinkabout was hearing her say that she'd marry him. He smiled and shook his headwhen he remembered the way she told him to shut up about not having a ring. Hewould be sure to find her the best ring he could when they finally got out ofthere.

He rolled over and watched her sleep and listened to herbreathe. What a blessing it was that he would be waking up to her every day. Herolled out of bed and turned on the small lamp on his desk, hoping he didn’t wakeher. He reached way back into one of the drawers and pulled out something fromhis past that he could never quite let go of: his tattoo machine. The weightfelt so familiar in his hands and he quickly brushed away the memories of whathe used to do with it. He found the rest of the kit, ink and all, and walkedinto the other room, searching for an outlet.

He hadn’t given himself, or anyone else for that matter, atattoo in a very long time. Turning on the light, he sat as close as he couldto it and opened his kit, pulling out the black ink. He was nervous but hehadn’t forgotten how to use it. Once you learn you never really lose yourtouch. The machine buzzed to life and he spread the fingers of his left handapart, sticking his ring finger out. He sighed and began to neatly tattoo twoletters into the side of his ring finger. The two letters would seem random toanyone who had just met him but hewould know what they meant, what they stood for.

They stood for love. They stood for you. They stood for the dayshe finally trusted him enough to give him her full name. They stood for theday she had made him the happiest man alive. Right now, this was enough. Hedidn’t need a fancy band around his finger to prove he was hers but now hewould carry her with him forever. He smiled down at the initials on his ringfinger and turned the machine off. He quietly put everything back and tiptoedout of the room again.

In the bathroom, he quickly and carefully wiped the tattoodown then covered it in a way that allowed the skin to still be able tobreathe.

“John,” her sleepy voice called from outside the bathroomdoor. “You okay?”

He slipped his hand behind his back and opened the door witha smile. “I’m okay. Are you?”

“I woke up and you weren’t there.” She yawned and stretchedthen reached out for him. He immediately moved to her and walked her back tobed, letting her curl up against him like she did every night. “I love you,”she said sleepily, tucking her head under his chin and falling asleep again.

“I love you more,” he said before kissing the top of herhead. He knew they were destined to walk through Eden's Gate together but hehad to ask himself if he was sure he hadn’t already walked through them. For hehad certainly found his Heaven already.

#I'm such a sap #cry with me #John Seed #Far Cry 5 #FC5 #request #headcanon #persephonethatshit

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sieben9 · 6 years

Text

“queen of hearts” impressions

And today on "Rumplestiltskin fucks things up at a well"...

Goddamnit, Rumple...

Seriously, buddy, twice can be coincidence, three times is a pattern. Maybe watch out for that.

So. Plotty episode, but not at the expense of some really good character stuff, I'm happy to say. Really, this may be one of the best-balanced episodes in that regard. I'd have to go and check, but there's only so much time in a day.

More under the cut

I may have mentioned this before, but I dearly love the dynamic between post-curse Rumple and Regina. They're just... you're both terrible and I love you. Please don't set anything on fire.

THIS STILL COUNTS

But I think any doubt I might have had whether or not Gold is scared of Cora is soundly quashed by now. Closing that portal would have accomplished nothing else and would definitely have put a crimp in whatever plans he still has for Emma. (And come on, he so still has a plan there; doesn't she still owe him a favour, technically?)

And he knew exactly where to apply pressure to get Regina to help with that plan. Henry, of course. Any takers for a bet that he was repeating nearly word for word what he kept telling himself right after becoming the Dark One in that scene? That in order to be better, you have to protect your child and damn the consequences -- or for that matter, the child's wishes?

Yeah, you know what you did...

I like to think that Regina's main motivation was to keep her son safe, rather than to keep Emma away from him, but I don't doubt that it was the combination that made her agree in the end. I honestly thought this was the "other shoe". That this was where her attempt at redemption would go awry, and we'd deal with the consequences for the rest of the season. ...didn't really turn out that way, which I can't really be sad about. And it's because of Henry and his great, big, wonderful heart.

What a good little bean

This is, again, a case of me being certain things would go one way -- namely, Henry condemning Regina for her careless endangerment of Snow and Emma -- which would lead to her throwing away all the progress she'd made, etc. etc. I don't even need to go into detail, because everyone knows that script. And that... didn't happen. The second she changed her mind, and took on the consequences of that choice (and damn, but that green portal stuff looked unpleasant; what did you put in there, Gold?), he completely forgave her. Not only that, he was the one who presented the story to everyone else, and he specifically said "she saved you". Just... yeah. Good kid, that kid.

And maybe because of the relief I felt after that whole thing didn't go horribly wrong, or because it felt like such a huge step in Regina's relationship with Henry, it hurt when she was left standing in that shop. Sure, none of those people have any reason to invite her to dinner (except Henry, but he's a little boy, and doesn't really do the inviting on such occasions), but it still stung. ::looks back at s1:: I wish I had a time machine right now, so I could laugh at myself in person.

As for the Enchanted Forest plot...

...there was a lot going on.

Gotta say, the revelation about the squid ink made the "bedtime story" from last time even better. Not only did he let himself get captured, he absolutely could have escaped every time. Still. I don't think the whole solitary confinement deal did his sanity any favours.

The final battle at the portal was... fine, as these things go, I guess. I did love the reveal of Emma's magic and her subsequent talk with Gold, because I'm happy every time Gold and Emma have tense conversations. They're good at them. It also neatly established the opposing viewpoint to the often repeated "Love is weakness" this episode; even if Emma didn't know on how many levels she was right at that moment when she said "No. It's strength" (...OK, I am a sucker for properly heroic one liners. Not gonna lie.)

The flashback plot was... well, it felt like the weak spot in the episode. The final revelation -- that Regina still loves her mother -- hit pretty well, but everything leading up to it felt a little too by-the-numbers when compared to the rest of the episode. Oh, I wasn't bored or anything, but I wasn't really riveted to the screen during those parts.

Though one honourable mention should go to the flashback right at the beginning, because it plays into the fact that I don't think there are enough words in the English language to express how much I want to hit Hook with a lobster. One with pincers. Not a navy pun.

No, I don't blame him for trying to find out where the dagger was from Belle; perfectly reasonable arch-enemy stuff. But seriously? Trying to murder her when she doesn't know anything? You were just really trying to go that extra mile to douchetown, weren't you?

Also holy crap, look at all those tally marks

And that's without mentioning the ... thing he said at the portal. I really hesitate to call it a joke, because that implies some horrifying parallel reality where that was actually funny. Seriously, how did something that blatant ever fly under the network radar? ::shakes head:: Just... just go away, Hook, I'd rather not see you for an episode or two.

::sigh:: Is a sudden well-placed sea monster too much to hope for? Two birds, etc.

Coda that didn't fit elsewhere:

OK. Look. This isn't my first rodeo. I know what queerbaiting is But I also can't help but think that Mulan recapturing Aurora's heart and then giving it back to her in a strangely tender moment of mutual nervousness and uncertainty is... y'know. Kinda hella gay.

I'll miss them

#ouat #once upon a time #sieben watches ouat #queen of hearts #sieben talks #anti hook #buddy really didn't endear himself this episode #also #anti cora #on general principle

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lnicol1990 · 6 years

Text

BatIM - God’s Toll - Part 2

For @squigglydigglydoo‘s Toon Henry AU.

You can read the first half here.

You can also read this on DeviantArt.

I hope you enjoy.

When Henry woke up the first thing he noticed was a pounding headache. It radiated from the back of his head and it left his vision skewed, everything spinning slightly and out of focus. He shook his head vigorously from side to side and blinked rapidly when he stopped. The headache cleared and his sight sharpened back into focus, making him smile ruefully.

Only in a cartoon could you shake off a concussion. His grasp of toon logic was getting better each time he used it.

Remaining motionless, he looked around to assess his surroundings, and his stomach clenched as he realised he was in Joey’s office. He’d been dumped in a corner, out of the director’s way, and was lying on the floor. To make matters worse, he didn’t need to move to realise that his hands were bound behind his back; he could feel the rope around his wrists and the strain on his shoulders from the awkward position.

Glancing at Joey’s chair, he realised that it was occupied but facing away from him, thankfully. The man was facing the back of the office, speaking to… Alice? No, no it couldn’t be. The angel’s eyes were whole; he could tell that from where he was laying. No, it had to be Alice’s copy; that would explain the enraptured look as the director spoke quietly to her.

Either way, they weren’t looking at him.

It would have been the perfect opportunity to get out before they realised he was awake, if he wasn’t tied up. So, accepting that any escape attempt was likely to fail, he wriggled and strained until he was sitting up and crossed his legs for balance. He watched as the other occupants of the room noticed him moving and waited for them to join him, Alice’s clone taking a seat on the floor while Joey pulled up a chair.

“You know, I didn’t want to do this, Henry, but you really left me no choice,” the director stated, his expression creased as if he was pained by his actions. The older man shook his head at Henry. “And I don’t know what nonsense you’ve filled my toons’ heads with, but it stops now.”

“Nonsense?” the animator echoed incredulously. He stared at his old friend in disbelief. “This place either kills people or it drives them mad! How is that nonsense?”

“I admit that my first attempt at this new world has… not turned out as I’d hoped.” Joey bowed his head and spread his hands in contrition, conceding his failure. He then looked up and stared at the animator with a passionate, but frighteningly wild look in his eyes. “But, we all make mistakes, Henry, and I’ve learned from mine! I know where I went wrong and I can do better next time around! I can make this world perfect for everyone, toon and human alike!”

“No!” Henry yelled, protesting as loudly as possible. He shook his head, panicked. “Joey, you– you can’t just make this better! It’s not some key frame for an episode, you can’t just scrap everything and try again!”

“Of course I can,” the director interrupted, his laughter almost deranged to the animator’s ear. “This world’s just made of ink; all I have to do is return it to the Machine, and presto! I can start all over again on a blank canvas.”

Henry stared at the studio director, his mouth agape in horror. Any words of protest, of argument, were silenced under the indomitable blanket of dread that Joey’s words draped around him. Luckily for him, his old friend seemed inclined to wait for his response, rather than carry on steamrolling, and it gave him a chance to calm down and think.

Any hope of reasoning with Joey –to convince him to stop– had flown out the proverbial window. The man’s mind was set and arguing the point with him was just going to lead to another acetone bath, something Henry wanted to avoid at all costs

But… if he couldn’t change his old friend’s mind, what else could he do?

“Let me go, Joey,” he whispered, bowing his head in defeat.

“Wh–what?” the director half-laughed. He almost sounded shocked.

“Just let me leave.” Henry spoke softly as raised his head and looked at Joey with deadly seriousness. “I don’t agree with what you’re doing –I can’t. And I won’t help you spread this… cartoon reality to the rest of the world. So, unless you’re going to douse me in ink remover, I’m just going to be a thorn in your side.”

He paused to gauge to his old friend’s reaction, unsure of what he was expecting from the director, anger maybe, rage. But, Joey simply sat there, hands folded over one another as if in prayer and leaning against his mouth, hiding his lower face from view and acting as a visual cue that the man was holding his tongue. He was leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and his gaze was unwavering. His eyes were slightly narrowed and his eyebrows were creased into a thin frown.

Was he angry? Was he concerned? Or, was he actually thinking it through?

“So just let me out of here,” Henry continued, keeping his voice low. “I’ll go home. I won’t come back and you can screw around with this thing and… fail, over and over again, if it makes you happy. Just let me and the toons go.”

“The toons?” Joey raised his head at their mention.

“Come on, old pal…” he implored. “They’ve seen what you are. They’ve made their choice, and they’re not going to follow you anymore. They’ll be as much of a hindrance as I would be. And Bendy? He sure knows how to cause a ruckus when he wants to. So just let us all go, and you won’t have to deal with any of us again.”

The office fell silent as Henry finished his plea. The gentle whoosh of the ceiling fan above their heads was the only sound in the room, no song or static from the radio, no clock to tick or tock. He couldn’t even hear his heart beat in his ears, and he held his breath against the suddenly solid air.

Joey snorted into his clasped hands, and then he sniggered. Soon, his eyes were closed and he’d thrown his head back as he laughed as loudly as he could. After gasping for breath and calming down slightly, the director looked at Henry with a smug, knowing grin.

“You must think I was born yesterday,” the man chuckled. “As soon as you’re all out, you’d turn off the Machine and smash it into a thousand pieces.”

The animator grimaced at the accusation, wincing at his plan being seen through so easily. With no words coming to his defence, he sucked in the thick air and offered his old friend a shrug of his shoulders.

It had been worth a shot.

“Although… I am curious about something,” Joey said, frowning in puzzlement. “I understand why you’d want to take them with you. After all, you’ve done very well taking my place in their little hearts.”

“I haven’t done anything of the sort!” Henry protested.

“But what I don’t understand is why you think you can,” the director continued, talking over Henry as if he’d never spoken. The animator’s face must have shown how confused he felt because Joey laughed mockingly at him. “They’re made of ink, Henry, what do you think would happen to them if they were to leave? Oh sure, I have no doubt you’d turn back into the grumpy old man you’ve obviously become, but what about them? What would they turn into?”

Henry didn’t answer –couldn’t answer. He’d previously thought that they would enter the real world as themselves, unchanged because… that’s just how they were. It suddenly seemed very childish, naïve even.

Because Joey was right; real people –living people– weren’t made of ink.

“You know what I think?” the director pressed. Henry looked at him in bewilderment, his mind still trying to process Joey’s previous questions. “I think the moment they enter the real world, and the laws reality touch them, they’ll burst, or maybe even melt… slowly. They’ll become puddles on the floor, unable to move, unable to speak. They’ll cease to exist because that’s just not how the real world is. They’ll be gone.”

“You don’t know that.” Henry’s voice was quieter than he’d intended, and cracked as he spoke. Looking away, he coughed and cleared his throat before returning his focus to Joey. He levelled a hard glare at the man. “You don’t know that.”

“It would be nice to think they’d survive the trip –that they’d see the real world– but I’m no fool, Henry, and neither are you. They will never get that second chance you want for them. You've already failed them once; do you really want to do it again? Do you really want to be the one to put the nails in their coffins?”

He could see it in his mind’s eye, could see them making it to the other side. And he could see the toons melting, their forms failing under the weight of a world that they couldn’t –shouldn’t– exist in. He could see them looking at him, afraid and wondering what they’d done wrong, why this was happening to them. He could see them reaching out to him for help before their bodies collapsed entirely. He could see puddles of motionless ink, the nearest one staining the bottom of his shoes.

He’d promised them. He’d promised himself that he’d get them out. And now…

Now, he’d let them down. Again.

“Now, if I can remake everything, then they don't have to die,” Joey continued when Henry didn’t answer. “Think of it as being... reborn, turned into something greater, better than what they are now!”

“Turned into something that won’t turn on you?” Henry shot back. As dismayed as he was at his own plan falling apart, he could feel a spike of anger rising through him at the thought of the director’s.

He focused on the copy of Alice that sat on the floor beside Joey. She hadn’t said a word nor moved a muscle since the two men had started their discussion, and he’d all but forgotten that she was there. She wasn’t even looking at him, and was instead staring at the director with rapt, unblinking attention. Her expression screamed unending, unwavering devotion.

She’d probably drink a bottle of acetone with a smile and without a second thought if Joey ordered her to.

“Is that it, Joey?” he asked as he looked back at the man. He glanced back at the clone and sneered in disgust. “Is that what you want to turn them into?”

“And what has turning on me done for them, hmm?” Joey retorted, his tone unimpressed. “What has siding with you really caused? Nothing but pain and misery. No… there’ll be none of that next time, I’ll make sure of it.”

Clearly finished with the conversation, Joey stood up. He pushed the chair away into Hammerspace and returned to his desk. He reached out and grabbed something from the surface, raising it for Henry to see. It was a little black book, and the animator could barely make out the tiny silver letters on its cover.

The Illusion of Living.

“Regardless, it’s all a moot point.” The director shrugged casually. He slipped the book under his vest and turned back to his captive. “There’s no way to send you back. The Machine wasn’t built to do that, not permanently. To change that fact, why… you’d have to deal with God, himself.”

He smirked at Henry before returning to his desk’s chair. He glanced at Alice’s copy and nodded slowly to her. When she nodded back, he turned away and set his focus on the door.

The copy rose from the ground and made her way to the animator, positioning herself behind him. A hand rested on his shoulder before moving to rest on his collarbone, while the other one slid across his face, covering his mouth. One set of the copy’s nails rested near his throat, the other lightly scratched his jaw. It sent chills down his spine –more so when he noticed the fingers turning into wicked claws. He could feel the sharp edge of talons threatening to pierce him, to tear him to shreds, if he were to try anything.

His eyes flittered from his own precarious situation to the door, widening them as the handle was turned. The toons were about to come in, and he had no way to get their attention from his dark little corner.

He shifted himself slightly, wincing at the copy’s claws tightening for a moment around his neck in warning. He felt relief wash over him, however, as he pinned his shoe’s heel with the floor and slowly began inching his foot out.

---***---

Joey’s office door was closed, and the room beyond was silent. If not for the fact that the light was on, Alice might have assumed that no one was in there.

She looked nervously at the toon in front of her. It seemed Bendy had calmed down slightly during their walk here but she could still feel it, that same sensation she had felt from him in the mirror room. That his eyes had returned to normal and those… ink stains had dried up didn’t help ease her concerns.

Glancing at Boris, it was clear from his expression that he wasn’t reassured either, not at all.

None of them spoke as Bendy reached out and pushed the door open and, silently, they all walked in.

Joey was sitting at his desk, clearly waiting for them to arrive. He was the very image of everything she’d associated him with, calm, patient, and caring. He smiled at them as they entered his office, his hands wide and outstretched, as if inviting them all in for a hug… as if he hadn’t tried to kill them several times by this point.

“My toons, it’s so wonderful that you’re all here,” he greeted them warmly. “It’s about time we put this little misadventure behind us and move on.”

They joined him at his desk, keeping a safe distance away in case he decided to pull a fast one on them. Alice kept a careful watch of his hands, making sure he didn’t reach for anything, and on the other side of Bendy, she knew Boris was doing the same.

“Spare us the act, Joey. Where’s Henry?” Bendy spat at the director. “And, what d’ya mean misadventure? Ya mean when ya tried ta trick me into pouring acetone on everyone? When ya made copies of us to kill us for you? Or, how about when you up an’ decide yer gonna scrap the studio and us along with it?!”

Alice frowned and looked at the toon demon in concern. He’d never mentioned that last one before, and were they not confronting the man responsible for everything, she’d have grilled him on it. He must have learned about it a while ago, so why was he only bringing it up now? Did Henry know? Did Boris?

A quick peek at the wolf was met with an equally confused and horrified return glance. He clearly hadn’t known either.

The pair of them remained silent and turned their attention back to Joey, who was looking more than a little contrite at the little devil’s words.

“I’ll admit I was… rather careless with how I phrased that. I should have known to say it more delicately.” Joey shrugged apologetically. “But, scrapping the studio doesn’t mean what you think it does.”

“And what does it mean, Joey?” Alice asked, speaking before Bendy had a chance to.

“Everything will still be here when I’m done. I’ll just pull everything back into the Ink Machine –and yes, I know that sounds bad, it sounds absolutely terrible.” The director nodded his head understandingly. He raised a finger, signalling them to wait and be patient, that he wasn’t finished explaining. “But then, I can use the Machine to remake everything, exactly as it was, only better. I can clean up the studio, get rid of those ink puddles and the like. I could use all that wasted ink and make this place even bigger for you while I work on properly expanding this world.”

“And what about us?” Boris interjected. “What happens to us and the rest of the folk in here while you’re remakin’ everything?”

“By now, you all know that my attempts to bring people in here was met with… limited success. No one really adjusted to this place–except Henry and myself.” Joey muttered the last part, but the toons heard him all the same. Before any of them had the chance to ask about the animator, the man continued. “But they can be made to adapt. They just need a little help, and I can do that by starting again. If they go through the Machine, they’ll come out fine next time.”

“You– you mean you want to rewrite them?” Alice gasped in horror.

“Only as much as they need to so they can live in this world,” Joey assured. “Everything that destabilised them, everything that turned them from the wonderful colleagues that they were into the mess they’ve become. That’s all I need to take from them, and then they’ll be fine and they’ll enjoy this toon world with us.”

“And us?”

Alice glanced worriedly at Bendy. She wasn’t sure if anyone else had heard his voice change slightly, distorting on the last word, but she had. She recognised it from the mirror room, before he’d realised that she wasn’t her copy. There was something in his voice –something in him when he spoke like that– that made her feel unsafe.

She was only grateful that it wasn’t aimed at her this time.

“What about us?” Bendy pressed, his voice normal again. “You gonna do the same to us, too? You gonna rewrite us so we go along with everything again?”

Joey pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes contemplatively. He drummed his fingers slowly on his desk and pointedly refused to speak. It almost felt like he was waiting for the little devil to say something else, and that he wouldn’t speak until he’d heard it.

His focus snapped to Boris when the wolf cleared his throat.

“Uh, Joey? To be honest…” He paused, glancing timidly at the other toons. When they looked back at him, his confidence bolstered and he turned back to the director. “After everything you’ve done… well, it’s not my nature to think the worst of folk, but…”

“How do we know you won’t do all of this again next time we disagree with you?” Alice finished, saving the larger toon from his nervous stuttering. “How do we know that we’ll still be us once you’ve finished rewriting everything?”

The angel could feel her halo begin to droop at the thought of being rewritten, of what she could possibly lose if she submitted to Joey’s plan. Almost instinctively, she shook her head vigorously and took a step back.

“No. No, I won’t do it.” Her voice had a slight tremble to it, betraying how much the idea truly frightened her.

Her growing panic was brought to an abrupt halt when Bendy reached behind himself, offering his hand to her. His head was turned vaguely in her direction, but his focus was still the director.

As if he didn’t even trust the man enough to look away.

Without a word, she took his hand and squeezed it gently, feeling him return the gesture. She noticed Boris take the little devil’s other hand and couldn’t help but take comfort in knowing that the others felt the same as her.

“We don’t want you to remake the studio,” Bendy announced. “We wanna leave. We wanna go to the real world with Henry.”

“And just what do you think is out there for you, hmm?” Joey asked, his tone suddenly sharp and challenging. The grandfatherly look was gone from the man, replaced with indignant outrage of a man disregarded. “What do you think the real world is like? It is full of nothing but pain and misery. The real world will hurt you –not for anything you did, no– it’ll hurt you because it can, regardless of the fact that you were not at fault. It’ll take everything it can from you, crush your every hope and dream, and leave you to pick up the pieces. It’ll take everything until you–”

“Make a toon world to runaway to?” Bendy interrupted, deadpan and unimpressed.

“It was here that I found the solution to real world’s greatest problem!” The director slammed his hands on the desk, causing the three toons to jump back in alarm, and rose from his chair. “Look at me! Out there, I was lame, crippled. But in here? In here I’m as fit as I ever was, fitter even! I’m only as old as I want to be. And look at you three! No matter what happens to any of you, it never sticks. You’re never hurt, even though some of the gags should kill you! Everything resets to a perfect, unharmed, status quo.”

There was a look in Joey’s eyes, something Alice had never noticed before. It went far beyond the passionate expression that she had seen previously from him, when the man had explained his plan to them. It was almost an indomitable force, oppressing anything that wasn’t in line with his beliefs, beating it into submission. It silenced the three toons, regardless of any retort they may have wanted to give.

“And you want to leave this perfection? For what?” the man continued, scoffing at the very idea of leaving the toon world. His expression flashed dark and dangerous as the realised their reason. “To be with Henry, the man who abandoned everything thirty years ago and never came back until I sent him a letter? You think you really know him?”

“We know him better than you do, Joey,” Boris shot back hotly. The wolf growled lowly at the director, the hackles on his back rising in a clear –albeit rare– display of anger towards Joey speaking so belittling, so derisively, of the animator.

“Perhaps, though I doubt it.” The director dismissed his retort with a wave of his hand. “And even if he doesn’t abandon you like he did the studio, he will still leave. Sooner or later, he will die, and you will be left all alone in a world you don’t belong. The real world will take everything from you!”

Alice frowned worriedly. She wanted to yell out, call Joey a liar, but couldn’t. As much as she wished otherwise, she realised that –in his own, terrifying way– he was right.

They would lose Henry, no matter what. Of course once they were in the real world, Henry would go back to being a real person and not a cartoon. And once he was real, everything would carry on as the real world did. There was no status quo; everything didn’t go back to a pre-agreed normal state. Real people got older. Real people could get hurt or sick. Real people eventually die, and they don’t come back when they do.

She felt as though she should have understood that sooner. Fear filled her heart with the thought of losing the animator, even if it would be years from now. Desperate thoughts entered her mind uninvited, ways she could prevent Henry, the one person who’d treated them as more than children, from dying, from leaving them alone.

But if she thought like that, she was no better than Joey.

“I DON’T CARE!” Boris roared, startling the angel out of her thoughts. He stormed forward a few paces, even making Joey recoil slightly in surprise. The wolf took a deep breath, as if to calm himself before continuing. “I know Henry’ll die one day, he’s human, and that’s how it is. But, even knowing that, I wouldn’t want to miss out on seeing the world for what it really is!”

“If you even get that far,” Joey scoffed.

“And what’s that supposed ta mean?” Bendy challenged. The demon stepped forward to stand beside Boris, pulling Alice gently along with him.

“What are you three in the real world? Out there, you’re just cartoons, figments of imagination drawn on paper and printed on film,” the director sneered, though Alice sensed it was less directed at them and more towards the world they wished to join. “You’re not real, and the real world will probably turn you all into puddles of lifeless ink!”

Alice tried her hardest not to gasp at the thought, but could not stop herself from trembling, could not stop herself from squeezing Bendy’s hand tightly. As he squeezed back, she realised that he and Boris were shaking as well, ink running slowly down the sides of both their faces –just as it was running down hers as well.

And yet, despite the terrifying image it conjured in all of their minds, none of the toons moved. None of them stepped back or recoiled. It wasn’t as if it didn’t feel like a possibility, like the fact that Henry would die one day. Everything just suddenly felt like the worst case scenario, like Joey was doing everything he could to frighten them into staying, to submit to him through fear of a ‘deadly’ real world.

Everything he’d said had suddenly gone from terrifying to simply unnerving, his possessive attitude towards them suddenly pitiful. The tension between the toons and creator evaporated as the connection snapped, their involvement in the drama turned to apathy. Even their previous trembling had stopped and their ink had returned to its normal state.

As such, they all just stood there, waiting patiently to see what Joey would do next to sway them.

“You would rather risk it all, than let me remake everything?” he asked in all but a hushed whisper. His face fell, aghast as he seemed to realise that he had lost them in every sense of the word. “You would all rather risk everything for a plan that will never work?”

“I’d rather melt than spend another day in here with you!” Bendy snapped.

Anything else the devil wanted to say was cut off by a loud thud and a flash of movement as something bounced on and off the desk. After hitting the floor, the item bounced a couple more times before resting near the large bookcase by the wall. The unexpectedness of the thing grabbed everyone’s attention and the office was silent once the object stilled.

It was a shoe.

Almost in unison, the toons and their creator turned their heads to a corner of the room that had been left largely overlooked by the toons. As they focused their attention, they collectively gasped in surprise.

“Henry!”

The animator was sitting awkwardly on the floor, his left foot missing its shoe and his arms were behind his back in an awkward looking manner. And behind him was Alice’s copy, her hands elongate into sharp claws that were wrapped around the man’s throat and mouth, clearly discouraging him from moving or trying to speak.

The man raised his eyebrows slowly, tipping his head back slightly as he did so, before relaxing. It took Alice a moment to realise that he was acknowledging them, greeting them the only way he could at that moment. Were it not for the precarious situation he was in, the angel might have laughed at such an unusual sight.

Instead, it made her ink run cold.

“Let him go,” Alice pleaded, her voice shaking. She looked back to Joey, who was still staring at his old colleague with an unreadable expression. “Tell her to let him go!”

“He’s really the only one you three care about now, isn’t he?” the director murmured, his words barely audible.

The man’s face fell into something forlorn, heartbroken, and he closed his eyes tightly. For a heartbeat, he did nothing but breathe deeply. But then, after exhaling, he opened his eyes and glared steely at the toons, his expression hard and flint-like.

“Agree to stay here,” he demanded. His expression didn’t soften when the toons looked at him in shock. “Stay, and let me remake everything. If you do, you have my word that Henry will be fine. In fact, I’ll even send him back to the real world before I do anything, so he won’t be involved.”

“No.”

Joey, Bendy and Boris all looked at Alice in surprise; the little devil even released her hand as he stepped away from her. She looked at each of them in return before mutely shaking her head. The men all looked at her in confusion before their faces simultaneously dropped in realisation, and the four of them turned back to the corner.

Alice’s copy was crying, black tears were running down her face. In fact, ink seemed to be dripping from every part of her, as if she was destabilising. The copy was trembling as she shook her head, sending inky droplets flying.

“Why… why should he be allowed to leave? Everything was fine until he came along. Everyone was happy. You were happy, Papa. And now– now everything’s wrong… because of him,” the copy sobbed quietly.

Her face was scrunched up with real emotion, real sorrow, probably the first time she’d ever truly felt. The copy’s hands moved from Henry’s face and throat to his shoulders, as if she was embracing him, and buried her face into the crook of her elbow. From there, she continued to cry, muttering over and over again.

“It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.”

For a moment, Henry looked at the toons and Joey in bewilderment, unsure of how to react to the creature wrapped around his shoulders. But then, his expression changed to concern and his eyes dashed to the copy. He began to move and pull away from her, when he suddenly lurched back into her grip as she tightened her hold on him. The animator’s eyes went wide in realisation and he looked back to the figures by the desk.

All four of them stood there, rooted by shock.

Alice could barely understand what she was seeing as her copy held the man, arms wrapping tighter and tighter around his neck. She watched dumbly as he thrashed, trying to position his feet such that he could lever the immovable creature behind him. She watched him kick out and twist his head in her grip, desperate to find the one position that could help him breathe.

It was only when Henry managed a single gasp that the cogs in Alice’s mind began turning again and she realised that she was watching her copy strangle the man. Fear flooded the angel’s and her ink turned icy from dread.

“GET OFF HIM!” she screamed, rushing forward towards her copy.

As she drew near, the copy raised its head and looked at her. She could see its round, notchless eyes staring back at her from the ruins of her own face and felt her body boil as anger kicked in.

This thing –this thing– was wearing her face while it was trying to kill her friend.

Her halo flared into life, engulfing everything in a blinding white light. She stretched out her hand when she heard the copy cry out in surprise, it sounded so close, and grabbed its arms. Without a second thought, she tore at the creature and wrenched it away from Henry. Only when she heard the animator gasp, taking a long, deep breath, did her halo dim.

As the light dimmed and her vision returned, the copy was snatched away from her grasp and she realised that Boris was there beside her. He had hold of the dripping monster, unflinching as it swiped at him with melting hands. Then, without ceremony, he flung the creature to the far side of the office and away from them.

Before it had a chance to move, three inky spears erupted from the floor, piercing its body and immobilising it. It screamed in shock and pain before falling silent as a tall figure approached it. Its eyes were filled with fear and it opened and shut its mouth soundlessly.

As Alice caught Henry as he slumped forward, his gasping slowing to mere heavy breathing, she looked at the imposing figure.

It was Bendy, tall and gangly. Ink was dripping off him in strange places, some falling to the ground while others began to rise to the ceiling. His horns were elongated and misshapen, with one larger than the other. When he turned to them, maybe feeling Alice’s eyes on his back, his face was drenched with dripping ink. His smile was wider than the angel had ever seen and a lone, beady eye stared at her.

This was what she had faced in the mirror room.

This was Bendy’s other form, unveiled for all to see.

This wasn’t Bendy.

The creature raised a clawed hand and his unwavering stare was the last thing Alice saw before a bubble of ink cocooned her, Boris and Henry, leaving them in pitch blackness.

---***---

An impenetrable abyss was not what Henry had been expecting when he opened his eyes. For a brief moment, he wondered if Alice’s clone had actually killed him, burst his form and forced his consciousness back into the ink. However, he was still breathing heavily and his hands were still tied behind his back, pulling at his shoulders in an almost painful manner.

Within a few moments, a dim light shone into existence, making him flinch slightly. As his eyes adjusted, he turned to the source and found himself staring at two pairs of very worried –and thankfully notched– eyes and slowly Boris and Alice came into focus.

“Are you alright, Henry?” the angel asked timidly, her halo’s glow flittering.

“I’ve been better,” he admitted quietly. He glanced over his shoulder before looking back to the toons. “Could one of you untie me? And what happened? Where are we?”

“We’re still in Joey’s office,” Alice answered as Boris moved to help the animator. “Bendy, he– he put this over us.”

“Bendy did this?” Henry looked around in shock. He massaged his wrists and stretched his shoulders as the rope was removed, silent as he tried to comprehend what the angel had just told him. At a loss, he turned back to her. “How?”

“Henry,” Boris spoke quietly, grabbing the man’s attention. His ears were flat against his head and the wolf was wringing his hands nervously. “Bendy’s… something’s gone wrong. He– he ain’t acting like himself, and there’s nothing of him looking right.”

“You mean he’s completely off-model?”

Henry watched as the toons shared an uncomfortable look before turning back to him and nodded. From the looks on their faces, he understood that this was far worse than anything he had seen from the little devil before.

The man took a deep breath as he stood up and laid a hand on the inky wall that surrounded them. It was as solid as any other wall in the studio, cold to the touch and he could feel the ink moving slowly beneath his palm, lightly staining his skin.

Then, quietly, he could hear sounds from beyond the wall. He pressed an ear against it, flinching slightly at the cold, but endured. He noticed Alice and Boris following suit, clearly curious as to what he’d heard. Though still muffled, Henry realised that he could hear Alice’s voice –her copy, no doubt. It sounded like begging, cries for help, and then there was an almighty scream.

And then silence.

Henry jerked back in alarm and immediately began scouring the wall. He ran his hands across the surface, looking for any indentation, any weak spot he could use as a starting point.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” he muttered. “It would be so much easier of I still had my axe.”

“You mean this one?” Boris asked, pulling the man’s axe out of his Hammerspace pocket.

“Oh, good job, Boris!” Henry breathed a sigh of relief as he took the weapon from the toon. He held the handle tightly and positioned himself with a little distance from the wall. As he was about to take a swing, he looked back to the toons. “You two may want to step back.”

With the vicinity around him clear, the animator brought the axe above his head and then swung with all his might. The blade went straight through the ink and out again, leaving behind it a deep gash where outside light could pour in. After a few seconds, the whole cocoon bubbled and then burst, soaking all three of them with ink and releasing them back into the rest of Joey’s office.

The whole room was covered in ink, spreading out in a spider web pattern across the ceiling, walls and floor. Heavy droplets fell like rain in a torrential downpour, adding to the chaos. And in the very centre of the storm was a tall, gangly figure, stretched and deformed almost beyond the point of recognition.

And he was bearing down on a trembling Joey Drew.

The director was pressing himself against his office bookshelves, almost as if trying to merge with them in a desperate bid to escape. He too was soaked with ink, making his eyes even more noticeable as they widened in terror. He held a single, shaking hand out before him, a pitiful defence and a last ditched effort to beg for mercy as he jabbered useless nonsense to the approaching demon.

Without a second thought, Henry dropped the axe and rushed forward. The ink, ankle deep, sucked at his feet but did not hinder him as he ran to the demon and the director and threw himself between the two. He held his arms out wide, turning himself into a human shield for his old friend as he stared at the obscured face of his dearest cartoon.

“That’s enough Bendy,” he ordered with as much authority as he could muster.

Bendy’s smile, twisted with malicious glee, fell for a moment in surprise. But then the demon’s mouth turned into sour snarl as he leaned down to bring his face level with the animator’s.

“Get out of my way.”

The voice was almost unrecognisable, not simply because it was so badly distorted. The tone, the way the demon spoke… there was nothing of the cheerful toon in his voice, not even his accent. This creature was uncaring, malicious, sadistic, and wholly not Bendy.

But the toon had to be in there somewhere, Henry just had to reach him.

“You don’t want to do this, punk.”

He didn’t have a chance to continue as the demon swiped a clawed hand at him. Sharp talons caught his side and dug into his chest, tearing through his toon body. The force of the blow battered him away effortlessly, sending him flying over Joey’s desk and landing in heap on the floor.

Running on instinct rather than thought, the animator staggered to his feet. He cried out in pain and clutched the gaping wounds, feeling ink pouring out from them. He knew, at this rate, it would only be a matter of time before his body gave out, so he had to be fast. He had to stop this… somehow.

He turned back to the demon and his old friend, watching the sadistic creature slowly approach the older man. It was a game to that thing, a test to see how much terror the man could endure.

“Joey!” Henry yelled at the director, startling the man and demon alike.

Taking the distraction, Joey ran to him and ducked behind the animator, much to the outrage of the demon before them. Henry held his arms out weakly to protect his old friend, struggling to raise his injured side. He made them back away as the demon advanced on them, tossing the desk aside as if it was nothing, making Alice shriek in fright as it narrowly missed her and Boris.

The angel’s scream jolted Henry. He had completely forgotten them in the commotion, and they’d almost gotten hurt as they stood rooted to their spots. As he glanced at them, he saw the terror in their faces, the uncertainty of how to help. Boris was curling in on himself and whining helplessly, whereas Alice was standing there almost in tears, her halo flickering with emotion.

Her halo…

Henry glanced at the demon and then back to them, an idea forming in his head. But, how was he to tell them from across the room? How could he say it without the demon realising it too? There had to be a way they’d understand, an example to reference–

“One-thirty-nine,” he whispered, realising right the method to use. He turned his face to them, grabbing both of their attentions. “Episode one-thirty-nine!”

The toons frowned and looked at each other, silently asking each other the significance. He was about to yell again when Boris looked up to Alice’s halo, pointing to it. Both of them understanding the order, Alice grabbed her halo and stretched it out to three times its original size and handed it to Boris, who began running forwards. Once close enough, he jumped, halo in his hands and above his head.

And he drove it down over the demon’s head and halfway down his body, trapping his arms.

The demon looked down at the sudden restraint. As he fought to free himself, the halo tightened around him; the more he struggled, the faster it held him. The demon roared in anger and pain as the halo began to burn into his ink, reacting to his malevolence like Henry would have expected of a holy object in real life.

He didn’t have any inclination to learn the outcome, however, and grabbed Joey by the vest and pulled him in a run. Boris and Alice were quick to follow and rushed to help. The wolf slung the director over his shoulder, while the angel supported Henry by his unharmed side and they all raced out of the office.

An enraged roar behind them spurred them forward, and Boris –taking the lead– grabbed a door and flung it open. They all piled into the room and Henry and Alice slammed the door behind them, pressing their bodies against it in an effort to barricade it until the wolf came back with something more permanent.

“Hurry!” Alice cried frantically as three claws suddenly broke through the door, inches away from Henry’s face.

The larger toon came back with a table, which they quickly jammed against the entrance and backed away from. They could hear the demon beyond, still banging and hacking away at the door, obviously now free from their little stunt and even angrier than before… if that was even possible. Certain that they were safe –for now, at least– Henry turned to the last person in the room with them.

Joey had collapsed into a heap on the floor where Boris had dropped him, not even bothering to sit more comfortably. He was staring blankly in front of him, tears streaming down his face, and his breathing was erratic.

Henry didn’t care, however, as he stormed up to the man and grabbed him by the vest and pulled him upright. He saw a flicker of fear in the man’s eyes as he glared at him.

“What did you DO?!”

#bendy and the ink machine #batim #squigglydigglydoo #Toon Henry AU #fanfic

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obiwan824 · 7 years

Text

The List- Obi-Wan x Reader (Modern AU)

Warnings: Death, disease, angst.

“Obi,” she breathed, her voice a mere whisper against the hum of the machine.

“Y/N,” he said shakily, closing his eyes for a brief minute before looking at her again. “How are you, my love?” She took note of how hoarse and rough his voice was.

“I'm fine, Obi,” she assured, smiling. “Are you?”

He seemed surprised. “Of course I'm okay, of course. Are you- how- can I get you anything?”

“No, no,” Y/N sighed, reaching out her hand and making a grabbing motion. He chuckled as he took her hand.

“Your condition is stable,” Obi-Wan recited, more to himself than to his wife. “You should be fine in a few weeks, at the most.”

“So I've been told.”

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, squeezing her hand.

“It's okay, Obi-Wan. It's okay.”

It's not okay, Obi-Wan thought bitterly. Nothing is okay.

“Want to check the list?”

She brightened instantly. “Yeah, yeah, yeah!”

They both laughed at her change of mood and childish attitude while Obi-Wan pulled out a few sheets of crumpled paper, worn thin with use and stapled together. Each line on the paper carried an item, some task she wanted to complete with a box next to it. Each side of the paper was filled, filled to the brim with everything she had ever wanted to do- her bucket list.

“We've done all the traveling,” Obi-Wan announced, reading over the list. “Just a few little trips to the library and park and such. I already checked with the doctor, it's fine with her if we go out a few times a week.”

“Yay!” she exclaimed, and Obi-Wan grinned.

“Just a few more things,” he said, flipping through the pages. “We're almost done. Then what?”

She thought for a minute. “We make a new one.”

He laughed. “You should rest. I have to go to work, but I'll be back right after. Need anything else?”

Y/N thought. “I- no. Can I see the list, though?”

Obi-Wan nodded and handed it to her, kissing her forehead and then her lips. “See you soon, love.”

She watched as he left, then looked down to her list, read the items, remembered the times.

Have a spontaneous late-night picnic.

“Obi,” she whispered, a grin on her face. “Obi-Wan, wake up!”

He woke with a start, eyes wide, and let out a sound of surprise at her gentle shaking.

“Love, what are you- how did you- why-”

“Just come with me,” she said softly, tugging him out of the bed. “Wanna get changed?”

He gestured to his half-dressed state and raised an eyebrow. “Where are we going at 3:00 AM?”

“A picnic!” she held up a basket filled to the brim with food. “Now get dressed, sleepy head. I'll be in my room.”

She kissed his cheek playfully and left, making her way back to her own bedroom. She pulled on socks and some sneakers and grabbed her precious list.

A few minutes later, they were in a deserted part of the local park, surrounded by grass and trees and sitting on a soft blanket.

“Coffee?”

Obi-Wan made a sound that was a cross between a yes and a moan of relief. Y/N laughed and poured him a mug. She smiled at the sight of her usually reserved best friend's willingness to come with her on a new wild adventure.

She pulled out the list and checked off the latest item before studying the list again.

“Tired?” she said with a laugh, noticing his half-closed eyes and slouch.

“Just a bit, love,” he assured her, taking a large sip of his coffee.

“Willing to stay up all night?”

He choked on his drink. “Sorry, what?”

She laughed again and held up the crumpled sheets of paper. “For the list!”

He softened. “For the list.”

…

She laughed at the memory, tracing her finger along the words, ignoring the spot of the ink on the pad. She moved onto the next line on the paper, and frowned a bit, biting her lip.

Tell Obi-Wan.

“Next thing on the list,” Y/N announced, trying to scrounge up a smile.

“Is it dangerous?” Obi-Wan sighed. “Or damaging to my health? No more all-nighters, N/N, I love you, but I can't handle anymore.”

She laughed. “It's not. It's.. more serious.” She showed him the list.

“Tell Obi-Wan.. tell me what?”

Y/N took a deep breath. “I- I'm sick, Obi-Wan.”

He was quick to jump up and place a hand on her forehead. “Are you okay? Do you need medicine or an Advil? I'll go get the blanket, and some-”

“No,” she said firmly as he snapped out of his daze. “Obi, I'm- I'm really sick. I have been for a few years now, but I just found out. I'm- I'm not going to get better.”

Obi-Wan paused for a long time, frozen in place. “N/N?”

She stared at him nervously, wringing her hands under the kitchen table.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said finally. “I've loved you for a long time, I always will love you. I know I'm rushing this, but I can't waste time anymore. Will you- will you marry me, Y/N?”

“What?” she said slowly, her eyes filling with tears.

He closed his own eyes. “I don't know. I- I don't want to wait. I adore you. I don't have a ring, but you get the- I'm sorry, I'm rambling, I just love you so much and-”

“I love you too, Obi-Wan,” she said quietly. “Of course I'll marry you.”

He grinned and put his arms around her, bringing her body against his. “Can I kiss you?”

“We're engaged, Obi,” she laughed. “Of course.”

He crashed his lips against hers in a sweet, brief peck. She opened her mouth in surprise, smiling against her fiance's lips. They pulled away far too quickly for her taste.

“That was-” he started.

“Magical,” she finished airily. “Oh! The list!”

She pulled out the familiar pages, grabbed a pen off the desk, and checked off two boxes. He read them over her shoulder, his smile growing.

Get engaged (to Obi-Wan, preferably.)

Get Obi-Wan to like you.

…

Though it started off so sad, by the end of her flashback, the young woman was smiling. She slowly touched her lips, remembering her first kiss with Obi-Wan, and missed her husband terribly. She knew he would be back, but something was wrong. She felt something was off, although she couldn't figure out what. With a shrug, she looked at the next item.

Marry Obi-Wan

“God, you're beautiful.”

“I think I'm supposed to say that to you?” Obi-Wan chuckled, making it more of a question. She shrugged.

“What can I say, my love? You are stunning.”

The crowd laughed, and the priest cracked a smile. Y/N and Obi-Wan stood silently as the priest spoke, remembering their moments together. She smiled at she looked into her love's eyes.

“I do.”

…

She felt her throat tighten, but not with tears. Something was wrong, something was very wrong. She tried to reach for the button that would allow help to come, or her phone to call Obi-Wan, but her arm refused to move. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and read the final item.

Have a child with Obi-Wan.

She worked up the strength to put a hand on her stomach, squeezing her eyes shut again. She imagined the beautiful boy or girl that had yet to come, and let out a sigh, her voice shaking.

Something was wrong. Something was wrong.

Y/N sat for a minute before finally grabbing her phone and dialing Obi-Wan's cell phone number.

She swallowed hard, wondering which breath would be her last. She was praying he would pick up. She needed to hear his voice right now, she knew she couldn't survive without his voice ringing in her ears.

The phone rang once, twice.

Then she heard his voice and breathed a sigh of relief. Her relief was short-lived.

It was his voice mail.

She called as many times as she could, tears beginning to slip from her eyes.

“Obi, Obi,” she cried, finally pressing the button allowing a nurse to come. The nurse ran in.

“Are you alright, ma'am?”

“I don't think so,” Y/N replied, her voice so quiet and strained the nurse struggled to hear her.

Y/N focused on her breathing, keeping her hand firmly placed on her stomach.

“My- my husband,” she choked out. “He's not here. He's not answering his cell.”

“The hospital called him,” the nurse said quickly. “He's on his way.”

Y/N managed a nod, struggling to even move. Her breathing became more labored, and she seriously doubted she would live the day. She thought of her child and wondered what would become of them.

“Will my child-”

“Everything is taken care of, ma'am. You will be going through labor shortly.”

“Oh!” Y/N exclaimed with a soft laugh, hoping now more than ever that her Obi-Wan would be there shortly. She felt her vision going black, however, and tried to alert the nurse.

“It's okay,” the nurse assured her. “Just stay awake, Ms. Kenobi. Stay awake.”

“I- I can't-”

The doctor arrived before she could finish, ready to help her give birth. Y/N, however, wasn't awake to see it. She finally let herself slip into sleep. Her last thought was of Obi-Wan, her best friend, her husband, the father of her child. The man she would love for as long as she could, and the man who would love her for all eternity.

…

Obi-Wan rocked the child gently in his arms, cooing softly.

“Ssh, ssh, princess,” he whispered. “It's okay. Daddy's here.”

The baby cried on, making Obi-Wan roll his eyes.

“Stubborn, just like your mother,” he said quietly, choking on his words. He thought of her again, of his beautiful wife, who always made him laugh, who always made him happy and made him fall more in love with her with every word.

Y/N. He hated himself more every day when he thought of what he had done. How he had set his phone to vibrate when she had desperately called him in her last moments of life. How he had taken a route to the hospital that was always full of traffic when she had given birth to his precious daughter. How he had struggled to find a parking spot when she had died.

How he hadn't been there for any of it, he hadn't known when he left her in that hospital bed it would be the last time he saw her alive. The last time the very sight of her beautiful body didn't make him burst into tears.

He had pried the precious list from her fingers, kissing her forehead and taking her favorite pen from his bag. He had checked off the final box on her list, written in blue ink on the very bottom of the page.

Have someone who loves you with all their heart.

Whether she knew it or not, he would always love her. And he would do his best to do the one thing she had strived to do from day one.

He would complete the List whether she liked it or not.

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