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erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Text

Crackin’ the Code

prompt: Harry and YN tie the knot in a beautiful castle off the coat of Italy. Harry reflects back on his life before his love. YN has past insecurities creep on on her before the wedding.

note: this is the necklace that YN receives as (one) her wedding gifts from H and she wears it during the ceremony.

word count: 9k

warnings: smut

***<-- click for visuals throughout (super important for this one shot!)

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The world expected an extravagant wedding with week-long festivities, celebrations in destinations only the richest could afford, and all the big names of the business world who ran in his circle.

The media outlets were just waiting, quite impatiently, for the day that the richest man in Europe settled down with a significant other. They would have news stories for decades when it came to the couple.

Of course, Harry Styles was going to marry a household name - the public thought.

Whether it be an heiress, a model, maybe even an actress? The choices for the most eligible bachelor were limitless.

Any time he was at an event, usually a charity gala or black-tie dinner, paparazzi would take candid pictures of him with any female and then the following day publish an article about how they were a couple.

However, what the world didn’t know was that he’s been in a relationship for a year and a half, has already been engaged after the eight month mark, and moved into pretty soon after but that was hushed.

Nearly no one except a few key employees and family members knew about the couple. Everyone in his office building in the heart of London had to sign NDA’s at the beginning of their job - though almost all of them didn’t know she existed.

Harry did not put any limits on YN for the wedding planning.

No price, no expectations, nothing. If she wanted ten-thousand people or zero people in attendance that was her call. If she wanted to drop ten million dollars on a wedding or a hundred that was fine too.

The CEO never fantasized about a wedding.

Well he had but no in the terms most do. He didn’t sit and imagine the venue, the food menu, or the decorations.

No, he didn’t care about any of that, he daydreamed about the fact that he and someone would commit themselves to each other for the rest of their lives.

Harry wanted to marry his fiance after their first date.

He was usually a very patient man, couldn’t have gotten where he was if he wasn’t. When it came to this, each day he wasn’t married to the love of his life felt like torture.

Since he proposed to her in his briefs in their bedroom, he had imagined her looking immaculate in whatever she chose to wear, exchanging vows of devotion, and then being tied together for life.

He never thought he would get here. He’d never felt a connection with someone like he had with the feisty waitress who bumped into him. Begin to believe that he was broken or lacking emotion because no matter how sweet the girl was he couldn’t see himself with the person.

Don’t get him wrong.

He took many women out on dates that were downright awful. Asking him about money, suggesting he take them on expensive vacations or buy them a designer item, being too forward and palming his crotch in the middle of dinner.

One of the last dates he went on before he gave up was the one that made him stop looking all together, about six months before he ran in YN.

---

It was an expensive restaurant in the heart of London. It had a waitlist for months but one call and they could magically make an available booth for the billionaire within the hour.

The girl he was sitting across from was a so-to-speak blind date.

A set up by one of his business partners who stated that they would be a good match. Harry had rolled his eyes at that but couldn’t come up with an excuse fast enough to say ‘no.’

Her name was Aria, she had a respectable job at a local law firm as an assistant to a very well-known lawyer in the area.

She was beautiful in the way of looking just like an instagram model with long dark extensions, false eyelashes that made it hard to determine what color her eyes were, and an outfit that made Harry a bit embarrassed to be seen with her - short and low cut at a five-star restaurant.

“Yeah, I just got back from Mallorca with a group of friends,” She tells him, flipping through the photo album on her phone to show him pictures.

When she ‘accidentally’ swipes (and slowly swipes) again so that Harry definitely gets a glimpse of a nude selfie.

Harry internally groans, couldn’t be less turned on by that, and doesn’t acknowledge it - much to Aria's disappointment.

She was fishing for a compliment, maybe a request for him to take the phone and look closer at the picture like most men would.

Instead he sits back, takes a sip of his wine, and nods curtly, “It looks like you had a good time.”

She stumbles for a second, confused by his sudden standoffishness, and clicks her phone locked before putting it next to her on the table, “Did I offend you?”

He was already done with the date, with the dating scene, with fucking everything honestly.

What a goddamn waste of a night.

Harry barks out a cruel laugh, “It takes a lot more to offend me than a picture of y’tits but it’s a bit offensive that y’think so little of yourself that you think that’s how y’going to impress me. Those tits didn’t impress me much, darling.”

Aria’s eyes narrow in blatant disbelief at how much of an asshole he was being.

Granted, she did feel a bit of embarrassment creeping up in her stomach about thinking showing him that picture was a good idea but still, he didn’t need to react like that.

“It really makes sense why you don’t have a girlfriend, it’s because of what an asshole you are,” The girl sneers with venom as she tucks her phone into her clutch, swigging down the last drops of the expensive wine.

He shrugs like he’s unbothered, a nasty feeling quilling in the pit of his stomach as he keeps an outward expression of nonchalance and ease, it make the raven-haired woman even more furious as he replies cooly, “I’m not being an asshole, honesty hurts sometimes. Maybe if you think the way you attract someone is by nude pictures, you should try Tinder or Bumble.”

“I hope you have fun living the rest of your life alone. You may have your money but you’re going to end up alone and it will be all you fucking have,” Aria tells him before pushing out her chair and leaving before the main course even arrives.

Harry sits there for a moment, swallowing and pleading with himself to not let the nasty words set in because they felt too real and too personal - she had actually struck some type of chord within and it had his stomach churning.

When he pays the bill, apologizing profusely for leaving dinner before the entree arrives but with an excuse of a company emergency - it’s eerily quiet in his car as he drives home to his massive home with no one in it.

It doesn’t happen often.

He should call his mum, Gemma, Dorothy even to talk it out but he feels so fucking alone because he can’t get it right. He can’t connect with anyone and it is starting to feel hopeless.

He is angry, so angry at himself, that he can’t shake the feeling of it and he feels like he’s losing control because he never fucking talks about his emotions.

A beautiful set of dishware was sitting out his dining room table, the housekeeper had carefully unwrapped them earlier in the day.

They were imported from Beijing, decorated with real gold, and handcrafted. It had cost him nearly forty-thousand dollars for a set of fucking plates and bowls.

I hope you have fun living the rest of your life alone. You may have your money but you’re going to end up alone and it will be all you fucking have.

It is repeatedly on a loop in his head, glares at the items on the dinner table like they’re mocking him, and he has no wits about himself before he’s taking one of the beautiful bowls and throwing it against the wall as hard as possible.

I hope you have fun living the rest of your life alone. You may have your money but you’re going to end up alone and it will be all you fucking have.

By the time he’s done, his chest is heaving, and his face is red.

When reality starts to set back in, every single item from the set is destroyed on the floor, the wall’s paint chipped from where he’d hurled them.

He was so fucked up.

Harry couldn’t help but relieve the feelings of that nasty flashback. He couldn’t believe that he had been at that point in his life - not when he had the most all-consuming, amazing in every single way woman laying next to him in his bed.

YN had shown Harry that he had never been broken, he had just been waiting.

She was his soulmate and he had been waiting for her since forever. He truly believed that as he looked at the girl next to him with enough emotion his heart might burst.

She was just...everything.

YN was so fucking funny - the funniest person Harry had ever met. She was loving in a way that made you feel like you belonged. Compassionate in a way that makes you want to be more selfless yourself. Intelligent enough that it was breathtaking and unreal - and that was just the tip of the iceberg.

She was uncaring of who Harry was - in the most perfect way.

Money wasn’t a personality trait that she defined him with. She loved him for who he was at the bare basics, stripped away from his public life.

She was confident in a way that girls rarely were.

Bared face and more beautiful than the highest-paid models.

Her body was her own, embracing every curve and inch of it without any shame. Let herself be authentic in front of Harry which made him feel like he had won a secret lottery.

Right now, she was fast asleep next to him in bed after stuffing herself full of oreos that she was dunking in milk. She ignored Harry’s looks of disgust at the soggy cookies and munched away happily which made him happy in turn.

She still had a dark crumb on the corner of her puffy lips, her mouth parted just the slightest amount, and her face smushed halfway into the pillow.

The shirt she had on was so oversized she was swimming in it and a pair of soft pink cheeky underwear.

Currently, she was the farthest thing from graceful and Harry loved that so fucking much.

As they lay mere days away from their wedding, remembering that nasty flashback, he can’t help but remember their first date and how he had known from them that he had finally found a spark, a connection to another human being.

Harry cannot remember the last time he had been nervous.

Maybe back in his teenage years? If that.

It was an unsettling feeling that was currently pooling in the pit of his stomach as he changed his outfit for the third time before finally being somewhat satisfied with the suit he had picked out - tighter black jeans, black button-up, black blazer - couldn’t go wrong there. ***

YN had texted him asking what she should wear for their first date when Harry told her he was going to keep it simple and take her to a restaurant.

He had to dress nice, it was an expensive restaurant that he had not taken any other dates to before, it was right outside of London - going towards the countryside with a beautiful view of a meadow and stream.

When he had arrived in front of her apartment, well he had never been on this side of town, and it quite frankly looked like the roof of her building was about to collapse at any minute. It was rough to say the least.

Harry had picked out a car he thought would impress her. He remembered her saying the doors of his Lamborghini were stupid so he picked a car with normal doors this time. It was his new Audi Quattro that had cost him upwards of 170,000 pounds. ***

YN had popped out of the front door, her face didn’t read impressed when she saw the car like he had hoped. It was interesting before YN, he did not care whether or not his dates were impressed by him - now he craved it.

She looked extraordinary in a form fitting silky black dress that hugged every single curve of her body perfectly while accentuating them at the same time. Minimal makeup, loose waves, and simple high heels - it was like a dream that he was taking this girl out on a date. ***

When she slips into the passenger seat, the smell of her floral yet cinnamon perfume makes the car smell heavenly, she looks over at him and says, “You didn’t even come open the door for me. We’re off to a bad start, Harry.”

His heart sinks, fuck - he had been blindsided by her beauty that he wasn’t even being a proper gentleman, “M’so sorry, I wa-”

She chirps out a tender laugh, patting his arm, “You’re face, oh my god. I was just fucking with you.”

Harry’s frown turns into a pout, “S’not nice, pet.”

YN shrugs before a bit self-consciously adjusting the fabric around her midsection, “Erm, I hope this outfit is nice enough? It’s really the only semi-decent thing I own.”

He shakes his head in disbelief, “Y’look absolutely stunning. I can’t even believe y’real to be honest, so fuckin’ pretty.”

YN gives him a shy, unsure smile but he can tell she’s preening at the compliment internally (which she totally is).

The restaurant is one of the nicest in England, let alone London.

There wasn’t even a menu, they just served eight courses over a few hours time by servers in suits with bowties on.

YN had never felt more out of place.

As they sat down, Harry was proud that he was able to show off his abilities for a good date, YN was looking around nervously before looking up at the server and saying, “We didn’t get menus yet.”

The man gives her a humorous expression before telling her, “We don’t do menus here, miss. Your date is a regular, I am sure he can fill you in. However, we are starting off with a Cabernet from 2001 imported from Napa, California.”

As he pours the wine into their sparkling glasses, she asks unknowingly, “I don’t really like wine. Is there any way I could get a Coke?”

Harry frowns when the server laughs meanly at her, “Ma’am this isn’t McDonald’s. We do not carry soda. I can provide you with water, if you so wish.”

Harry can’t help but snap at the waiter, “Oi, she’s never been here before. Lay off with the attitude alright?”

“My apologies, Mr. Styles,” He murmurs obediently before finishing the pouring off the whine and retreating from the table.

YN is trying to hide how uncomfortable she is but it is still obvious with how she fidgets in her seat, doesn’t quite know what to do with her hands as she doesn’t even bother to reach towards the wine glass.

“This isn’t really your scene, is it?” Harry murmurs, embarrassment with his failure to impress her with an expensive car and dinner.

It was falling flat and it was the only thing he knew how to do - flaunt his wealth, everyone else had always been impressed.

“No, it isn’t,” She agrees quietly, fingers folding the edges of the cloth napkin to keep her anxiousness directed somewhere, “I appreciate this, er, dinner. I thought we were going to go somewhere like Mary’s.”

Mary’s was a restaurant that was considered ‘nice’ to the commoners in the city. It was a bit more expensive than a pub and the attire was a bit fancier than if you were going out to a bar.

For someone like Harry, that was not considered a fancy restaurant.

However, YN was not him and this was not something that she had ever been accustomed to. He now definitely felt like an idiot.

It’s made even worse when a massive plate is put in front of each of them.

The plate is huge but the dish is merely one scallop with a lemon sauce and sprinkle of parsley on top. YN can’t even try to hide her confusion at the food.

“I’ve mucked this date up,” Harry sighs, nearly thirty minutes into the actual date.

YN had taken a small bite of the scallop before setting down her fork and not touching it again - it tasted like dirty feet. Did rich people like that taste?

She decides not to answer directly, “I already know you have money. It doesn’t ‘wow’ me. I was hoping for a fun date, this is….nice but quite truthfully, not for me. I prefer a pub or bowling - this feels more like a business meeting.”

Harry usually doesn’t have dates that are this honest with him.

He feels embarrassed but he really did appreciate her honesty. He should have known to do something different than this but he was comfortable with his normal pattern.

“Can we get out of here?” YN asks, placing the napkin back on the table and gathering up her small purse to swing over her shoulder.

He feels defeated as he nods, paying for the meal in full as he accepts that he’s fucked up the date beyond repair by being an arrogant, ignorant asshole who doesn’t truly know how to talk to a girl he likes.

It’s quiet as he starts the car and pulls back onto the road, he startles a bit when YN points to a glowing sign of a golden arch and demands, “Go there.”

With a bit of confusion, Harry pulls into the McDonald’s parking lot and then to the drive-thru as she motions for him to do so.

God, he hasn’t been to a fast food joint in years now if he was being honest.

When they pull up to the screen, YN leans across and shoots out their food order with ease before sitting back with a smug smile, “We’re going to have a date my way.”

Harry sighs with relief when he realizes the date isn’t over - but really just beginning. They sit and chat in the parking lot. He is thoroughly impressed when YN manages a box of nuggets, a fry, and a milkshake without shame.

Not like she should be shameful - just usually on dates women were hesitant to actually eat and instead picked carefully at their food instead. Their conversation in the car is bright, at some points deep and meaningful, but refreshing. It made him feel young again.

After they finished eating, she’s ordering him to drive a bit further out into the country where he can’t help but make the joke, “Are y’taking me somewhere to kill me?” YN smiles happily with a wide grin, “You’ll just have to wait to see.”

It ends up being a lake. A beautiful body of water that was surrounded by trees that were being reflected into the ripples with the light of the moon. The only sounds were of crickets chirping and the light lapping of the water against the small shore. ***

“I used to come here a lot in the summer in high school,” YN murmurs as Harry takes in the scenery of everything. It had been so long since he had appreciated nature - not the bright clear waters in the tropics but something like this.

“S’beautiful,” Harry replies, can’t help but observe this girl he’s infatuated beauty in the moonlight.

Her skin looks like it’s glowing, the moon sparkling off the twinkle of her iries, and she just looked...ethereal. Like she belonged in the beauty of the wilderness.

He couldn’t believe his eyes - had to blink harshly a few times to make sure he’s not imagining it when she pulls the thin straps of her dress down her shoulders and shimmy the garment down her body until she’s left in a delicate lace bra and cheeky pair of underwear.

Harry, always the gentleman, keeps his eyes (with effort) on her face. Unsure of what is going on in her mind before she turns around with a little run and dives headfirst into the deep waters before popping back up and giggling, “Jump in!”

She’s just so...carefree, adventurous. Harry hadn’t felt free in fucking years.

It has him shucking out of all of his clothing, just down to his tight black briefs before he’s diving in, right next to her, and feeling around. He wraps his hand around her ankle to teasingly tug her under with him before they both surface.

As they wad in the water, YN swims over to him, and wraps her legs around his waist, arms around his neck. Her soaking wet hair was dripping and he was breathing heavy, feeling his ribcage expand against her soft tummy.

She murmurs quietly over the light lapping over the water, “You haven’t even looked at me once.”

Harry swallows, feeling like a schoolboy again, “I...I didn’t want to without permission.”

“I want you to look at me,” YN replies, letting her nose nudge his and her eyes searching into his nervous ones.

He nods, closing his eyes when he feels her lips brush his, letting his large palms grip at her sides and pull her closer to his chest. Their lips not breaking when his hands begin to explore the intricate, plush curves of her body.

They don’t do anything else, don’t go any further but he groaning when she traces her fingertips down his muscular, defined abs and thumb rubbing over the trail of light hair leading into his briefs.

After a swim, filled with splashing and dunking, they retired to lay in the grass. Both of their backs, looking up at the clear night sky, moon full and stars glittering against the stark darkness that surrounds it.

YN wriggle until she’s tucked into his side, hand running up and down his chest, as she says, “I’m sorry your date didn’t go as planned. I ruined it.”

“Y’didn’t ruin anything. I...I haven’t felt like this in a long time,” Harry admits as he gives off an embarrassed laugh, “I..I’m a little bit scared, to be honest.”

“Scared? Of what?” YN asks, lips pressing against a tattoo on his bare shoulder.

“Because I already am falling for you,” Harry utters, heart racing and his eyes glued upwards and pointedly not wanting to see her interaction.

“That’s a relief.”

His eyebrows shoot up, “A relief?”

“Yeah, I would say. I’m falling too,” YN whispers before leaning up to connect their lips once more as the moon rises further in the sky and the crickets sing a little louder. They lay like that for a very long time.

Harry went home that night for the first time not feeling the empty weight of his loneliness, instead he feel asleep imagining the beautiful, spontaneous girl next to him in his bed.

It wasn’t going to be the wedding everyone expected for The Harry Styles. **

There was not many invites set out for this event. It wasn’t the wedding of the century or the most expensive wedding of the decade.

Harry would have let his wife-to-be have this day however she wanted without complaint but could say he was very happy that it was going to a be a low-key event. It was going to be some of YN’s family, though she didn’t have much, and Harry’s extended family. No one from work or business. Just family.

They had just gotten finished with the rehearsal dinner, the couple being ordered to separate rooms for the final night before they were married. It was tradition.

Harry had walked YN to her hotel room, they were staying at the venue, and pressed her up against the door. His hand coming to weave into her meticulously curled hair and cupping the back of her head, bring her mouth to his.

He wastes no time in letting his tongue find hers, hips coming to press her further back against the aged wood, and his teeth nipping roughly at her plump bottom lip, “Baby, y’gonna be m’wife tomorrow.”

YN’s eyes twinkle up at him like they did during their first date, “I can’t wait. I can’t wait to spend forever with you.”

His fiance laughs kindly as he gets a bit watery eyed, her thumb coming to swipe under his eye, she jokes, “Are you regretting proposing now?”

“Just never knew I could be this happy,” He murmurs against her lips, can’t help but reach around to grip a generous amount of her backside and pulling her flush against him where he’s hardening quickly.

“Mm, down boy. You don’t get the goods until tomorrow,” YN scolds, hand wrapping around his wrist and squeaking when he squeezes harder to get the point across - how much he wants her, all the fucking time.

“Want it now, pet,” Harry whines lowly, grinding his hips forward into her, “Give it t’me, y’mouth, y’cun-”

“Alright lovebirds! Separate now!” Gemma barks to interrupt with the laughter of their childhood friend Chloe.

They pull Harry by the back of the shirt and push him forward towards his room, Gemma smiles back at YN, “Make him put a ring on it before you give it to him!”

“Gem!” Harry scolds with a whine, giving his fiance puppy dog eyes and a pouted bottom lip, “Baby, don’t let them take me!”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, I love you!” YN shouts back, waving and smiling to herself as she opens up the door to her room and then locking it after she steps in. It feels weird being in a hotel room without him but she was a bit sweaty and her nerves were wiry so she decided a nice bath would be a good idea.

It’s past two in the morning and she was no less ready to find sleep. The worries of whether everything will be set up properly, if she’ll stutter during her vows, there were just so many things that could go wrong.

Life didn’t even seem real at this moment.

She was marrying her husband at an amazing castle on the coast of italy with family to surround them in love. She had the perfect dress, the perfect flowers, the perfect partner. ***

She had never had it easy. Never thought she would deserve something like this. Harry had made her feel worthy of all this, they deserved to have a happy ever after.

When it hits three in the morning, she can’t stand the quiet of the italian countryside anymore, and is swinging her legs over the bed. She pockets the keycard Harry gave her earlier in the day in her cotton shorts before sneaking out of her room.

After she taps the card to the sensor, the large oak doorknob clicks, she slips in and closes the door as silently as possible. YN steps in to the room, Harry's asleep in his bed on his stomach, face smushed into the pillow.

Harry’s facial expression and body language while he was awake was so severe, serious, intimidating. In sleep, his face was lax and his limbs loose. He looked more boyish when he was dreaming.

YN’s heart aches at how much she loves him, pulling the covers up, and crawling under them until she’s jostling him unintentionally, waking him from his light sleep with a mumble, “Baby, y’okay? Wha’s wrong? Y’alright?”

She giggles at his dazy panic, “I just missed you.”

“Mmm,” Harry agrees, pulling her all the way down and rolling on top of her, “Missed y’more.”

“You’re like a toaster!” YN squeals as he’s encompasses her, laying on her with his weight. His lips finding her pulse point and gently sucking. He was barely awake and he still couldn’t stop himself from her finding comfort in her body.

“I’m warmin’ y’up,” Harry growls against her neck before giving her a lick which has her giggling even more and pushing him off until he falls on his back and she’s swing her legs over his waist, straddling him.

“Y’breakin’ the tradition, m’heart.”

YN shrugs, humming while he palms at her belly, and she (much to his disappointment) ignores where he’s hard and waiting for her.

“I want t’sleep with you,” She pleas sheepishly, leaning all the way over to connect their lips in a quickie peck before she’s moving off of him and into his side.

“Never say no to you, y’know that, dovie,” Harry replies as if it’s obvious (it is).

“We’re getting married tomorrow,” YN whispers into the dark, like it’s a secret just between the two.

Harry nuzzles his nose against her temple, “Never wanted anythin’ more than I want you.”

YN can’t help but sniffle softly, overwhelmed with emotion and love, “You’re so good to me. I don’t deserve you.”

“You saved me. You saved me from myself, from where I was going. You gave me hope, feeling again. Y’are m’heart, it fuckin’ beats for you.”

It may not be tradition but YN wouldn’t of had it any other way, sleeping in a magnificent castle on the ethereal coast of Italy in a classic hotel room, and the excitement of their wedding rumbling in both of their stomachs.

“You sneaky bastards!” Bethany screeches, door flinging open with Gemma in tow as they intrude into Harry’s room - finding the couple curled up under the covers with Harry spooning YN with his face tucked into her hair.

“Fuck off,” Harry groans, pulling his fiance closer into his chest as she wriggles awake and whimpers lowly, “Mornin’ lovie.”

“Out out!” Gemma shoos, pulling the covers off of them and the sisters showing no mercy while they yank YN out of the bed and titter about how she needs to start getting ready, no time for cuddles, breaking traditions.

“Bring her back!” He whines childishly, hurling a pillow at his sister’s retreating back as they guide YN back to her own room.

“You’ll see her in a few hours!” Gemma shouts back before slamming the hotel room door and leaving Harry to doze off for just a few more minutes.

Hair and makeup went fast.

It was getting closer and closer to actually walking down the aisle towards her soon-to-be life partner and she’s never felt more nervous.

Rosemary and Bethany were all rushing around - attempting to get ready in the midst of getting the bride ready.

YN didn’t want to look like a doll or have any intense makeup. It was a soft champagne smokey eye with dewy skin and a glowing highlight. A nice lip with a bit of glittering gloss.

Her hair was in big, loose curls that cascaded down her back with the front pulled off of her face. A real white flower holding it back.

Then it was the dress. She was anxious about whether Harry would like it or not. She wasn’t sure what he was expecting her to wear - a massive ball gown, a form-fitting mermaid, or something less over-the-top?

It was a show-stopper that had her memorized when she had first seen it - could automatically imagined herself getting married in Italy with this on her body.

It was also one of the only times she didn’t even care about the price tag - she knew this was it. Yes, it was absurd to spend fifty thousand pounds on a dress but it was the one time she took advantage of Harry’s wealth.

It was flowy, reminding her of the soft waves that lapped at the coast of the italian beaches. It was sophisticated, classy with a sharp starch white that billowed into a dreamlike beauty.

What had made her fall in love was the sheer, detailed sleeves that gave the dress more of a vintage, glamour appearance than the modern tight-fit, overly sexy gowns that most brides wore nowawadays. ***

The train was long and sleek. It would trail beautifully down the aisle before being bustled for the reception. It made her feel confident in a way that an item of clothing next had made her feel before.

“Your tits look amazing,” Bethany compliments before giggling when their grandmum pinches her arm for her crude language.

YN couldn’t find it in her to laugh. She felt like her voice was stuck in her throat and it wasn’t moving.

It started to feel real.

The fact that Harry had proposed, had planned a wedding with her, that he was agreeing to marrying her today.

It was starting to scare her - no, not cold feet but anxiety that he would realize that he could do better than the lowly waitress.

Now, on a normal day, she wouldn’t be having these irrational thoughts. Today was different and it felt too good to be true.

Rosemary and Bethany sense the tension in the room, rub her shoulders, and respect her wishes when she asked for a moment alone.

YN debates picking up her phone, knowing he was busy with his bigger side of the family in the groom’s suite.

She finds herself picking up her mobile, dialing his number, and waiting with bated breath for his syrupy, warm voice to pour through the speaker.

“Everythin’ okay?” He answers, she can hear Anne and Gemma tittering about in the background, yelling at him to get a move on.

“I’m scared,” YN whispers, she holds back her tears because the last thing she wanted to do was ruin her meticulous makeup.

“Leavin’ me at the altar?” Harry jokes lowly, stepping away from prying ears.

YN giggles at his teasing tone, “Never. I…I feel like this is all too good to be true. Like it’s a dream and I’m going to wake up.”

Harry huffs, “Sweetheart. Y’my soulmate, if y’wake up - I’m right there with you, okay? God, if anyone is dreamin’ it’s me. I get t’marry the most beautiful, intelligent -“

Gemma’s voice interrupts him, “You already seduced her into marrying you! We don’t have time for this sweet talk!”

The line goes dead but YN feels much better now.

—

Rosemary was going to be the one walking her down the aisle to her new husband. It didn’t feel right to have anyone else do it as she was the one who raised her into the strong, independent woman she was today.

YN knew she wanted to have an outside wedding.

What would be more perfect than a cool evening in Italy? It was what she had dreamed about since she was little without the idea that it would ever happen.

The weather was absolutely perfect. There was a slight warm breeze that would keep the guests from being overheated, the sun was peeking in and out of vibrant white clouds that complimented the blue sky.

She knew exactly where Harry would be standing.

Underneath a beautiful, dated archway with intricate designs about.

The old material had lovingly grown luscious ivy that kissed the walls in a swirling, natural design.

YN would never forget how beautiful that ivy had looked on her wedding day, encompassing the magnificent that was her soon-to-be husband.***

The venue was open, airy but still gave off an intimacy. There weren't many rows of chairs because not many were invited to share in such an ethereal experience where soulmates have found each other and were announcing their commitment to the world.

“Are you ready, my daughter?” Her grandmother had asked quietly as they lined up behind the expansive, old brick wall that hides them from the rest of the ceremony and crowd. She could hear the whispering as people took their seats.

YN nods, her vocal cords refusing to cooperate as she imagines Harry just as nervous on the opposite side with his family.

When the twinkling, traditional music begins from the small orchestra off to the side - the realization hits her - it is actually happening, right now.

Bethany puts her bouquet in front of her, giving one last meaningful smile at her sister before she takes her cue to turn the corner and begins her walk down the aisle.

It meant Harry was up there, watching as she was about to appear.

Then the orchestra’s melody became louder, more grand in the signaling for the guests to stand and turned toward the back of the room - awaiting the bride’s entrance to the ceremony.

Rosemary takes the initiative to hook their arms and guide her past the wall.

YN clutches onto her own flowers as if it’s her lifeline. ***

Every fear, insecurity, moment of self-doubt dissipates when her eyes connect to Harry’s. There is no longer a doubt in her mind that she wasn’t enough. It was a deep, unbreakable stare as Harry’s mouth parts in a gasp of awe.

He was in a suit that was undeniably him. It displayed how fucking regal he was, how it looked like he was handcrafted into the italian design, how it fit him just perfectly.

It wasn’t a normal tuxedo. It was a perfectly tailored, custom (of course) Gucci suit that excentuate his broad shoulders and the nip of his narrow hips *** ***.

YN can’t even hear the noise of the guests - whispering about how beautiful she looks.

All she can see is her future husband, who swallows harshly as an unexpected sob wracks through his chest at the sight of his bride.

The guests can’t help but look with wide eyes as the man they know - who they’ve barely ever seen smile, let alone cry, cannot control his emotions.

Gemma, who was his ‘best man’ which they deemed ‘best woman’, rubs his back soothingly with a watery smile herself at seeing her brother so estastatic as he looks at the woman of his dreams.

Harry rubs his eyes before meeting hers again.

YN is holding back her own tears as she reaches the end of the aisle.

In tradition as old as time, Harry steps forward and Rosemary passes her hand over to him in a signal that she trusts him to take care of the girl she’s spent meticulous time raising and cultivating into the person she is today.

“I trust you to take care of my girl, she is now yours,” Rosemary tells Harry, her tone is calm and full of emotion as she allows Harry to lean over to kiss her cheek softly.

Harry nods, his usually stable voice shaky as he replies, “I promise, I’ll take care of her until the day I die.”

Rosemary nods before patting his cheek and finding her seat in the audience.

When they are finally standing face-to-face, YN reaches over to thumb off a stray tear that was sliding down his cheek before he turns his head to kiss her thumb then kissing her palm.

Harry didn’t even acknowledge that there was anyone else watching - it was just him and her.

“Y’look breathtaking, can’t believe y’mine,” Harry murmurs trembling, his chest moving faster than usual and it felt like it was nearly impossible for him to catch his breath as he looked at the woman in front of him.

When it comes to the vows, Bethany hands over her small piece of paper that she had scribbled onto and scratched out multiple times - never quite able to get the wording just right and she says just that.

“I couldn’t find the right words to explain my love for you,” She starts, voice raspy as she looks up to see Harry watching her raptly, eyes intense and only focused on her.

“And maybe there aren’t even words to explain it because nothing felt like enough. It is how I feel a lot of the time with you. I’ll never have enough of you because you’re all-consuming to me. I have never felt happiness like I have with you.”

YN is trying to stifle her tears as she continues, Harry reaches out to rub her arm in reassurance then he lightly brushes over the new necklace he had gifted her, “You’re by far the most complex, closed-off person I have ever met. I feel like you’ve allowed me to crack the code and once I did, I wasn’t disappointed. I’ve cracked my own code, you see.”

“The code to explaining my feelings for you will come with my dedication, love, loyalty to be your wife for the rest of our lives.”

Harry can’t help what he does next despite it not falling in line at the ceremony.

His hands come up to cup her jaw and he sears his lips to hers, kissing her with all the passion and emotion he cannot seem to keep in any longer. It’s too much, has to show her in that moment how much he loves her.

A few of his uncles whistle from the crowd as their wives smack their chests in warning.

YN giggles, returning the kiss before pushing him off.

The look in his eyes is one she knows extremely well - it sends shivers down her spine and makes her hair stand on end -, the stare down of lust and want.

“Mr. Styles,” The officiant redirects, nodding towards the piece of paper he has in his hand.

“Yeah, sorry,” Harry mumbles, unraveling the wrinkled notecard he had tucked in his inner suit pocket.

“I knew I was in love with you the moment you spilled that drink on me and undressed me in that dodgy employee bathroom,” Harry says with full sincerity, smirking at YN’s blush when he brings up the way they met.

“I tried to talk myself out of it. It was impossible to fall in love in mere minutes of meeting someone but it was the truth. I knew after our first date that I wanted y’to be m’wife. I knew after the second that I wanted y’to be the mother of my babies one day. And by the third date, I was planning on buying you a ring.”

“It sounds insane because it is. I’ve never been an impulsive, spur-of-the-moment, hopeful person before you. You made me throw all that out of the window, you make me feel alive, and when I tell you that you saved me. You saved me, m’love.”

“There is a lot of uncertainty in this world but I can tell you one thing that is absolutely fuckin’ certain -”

“Harry,” YN hisses with an eye-roll at his crude language.

“The one thing that is absolutely certain in this world is that I will always love you, always take care of you, and always do everythin’ in m’power to make you happy.”

The guests in the chairs are quite speechless.

They’d never heard such passionate, meaningful vows from a couple.

This was not what they were expecting of Harry who had never once put his heart on his sleeve and right now he’d laid it all out on the table.

“YN LN, do you agree to take Harry Edward Styles as your husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until the end of your time on earth?” The officiant asks, voice ringing against the walls of the castle.

YN has to take a big breath before she replies in a strong, firm voice as her eyes bore into Harry’s, “I do.”

“Harry Edward Styles, do you agree to take YN MN LN as your wife? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, until the end of your time on earth?” The officiant repeats.

Harry, in ever typical fashion, in his loud, booming voice replies, “Of course I fuckin’ do.”

The guests in the audience laugh lightly as the officiant states, “I now announce to you, Mr. and Mrs. Styles. You may now kiss your bride.”

It doesn’t take more than a second for Harry to step forward, grip her face and pull her in for a kiss, it doesn’t matter that their family is there to him as he licks into her mouth which is bordering on obscene before YN brings it back to a softer, more appropriate one.

He whispers against his lips, barely audible, “Can’t believe y’my fucking wife, m’fucking heart.”

As people are moving towards the reception area, Harry manages to find a secluded area of the outside gardens where there is no one in sight.

“Baby, baby, y’married me,” Harry is nearly chanting, like he’s in disbelief, at the same time he’s cornering his new bride up against the brick wall with his mouth trailing sloppy wet kisses down her shoulder.

“Mmm, it was everything I ever imagined, it was so beautiful. Everything I had imagined for our day,” YN replies blissfully, hands running carefully through his meticulously styled hair.

When he bends down and lifts up the bottom of her dress, she giggles when he ducks his head underneath all the tulle and fabric, finding a very skimpy pair of white lace panties that are supposed to be saved for later.

“Harry,” YN scolds half-heartedly, it would only take one person to find them in this undeniable inappropriate situation but she willingly let him push her further against the brick and take one of her legs over his shoulder.

“Baby, these fuckin’ panties,” He groans, muffled by the barrier of the heavy fabric, and she hisses when pulls them down to the thick of her thighs and his mouths finds her center within moments.

“Fu-fuck,” She hisses, trying to keep her moans down as he wastes no time in pushing in two thick fingers to curve towards her front as his tongue laps quickly and sloppily on her clit until it feels like she’s about to explode.

“S’right, fuckin’ m’cunt. I have it f’the rest of my life, found the best one,” Harry mutters against her wet skin, almost to himself like he can’t even believe the words, before he’s back to speeding up his fingers to match the rhythm of his mouth until she’s quivering for a whole other reason now.

It takes a few minutes for Harry to calm himself down enough to be able to go into the reception, he tells YN that he can’t even look at her right now because if he does he’ll be perpetually hard throughout the whole thing.

The reception is more of a dinner than a party.

Fairy lights strung above the two long tables where decadent, mouth-watering food was served with the orchestra playing light, melodic music in the background. ***

It was perfect.

Their family drank, laughed, ate, and were merry.

Everyone was basking in each other’s company, congratulating the new couple, and enjoying all the beauty that was surrounding them at the castle.

There is not much more to say than that.

The honeymoon suite was located on one of the highest floors of the castle, away from all of the other wedding guests and staff.

YN was sure it was beautiful but from the moment she was carried over the threshold, she didn’t see anything but her new husband - he was blinding in his beauty. His skin was glowing, a slight sheen of sweat from the reception, and the still warm bite in the breeze. ***

“Sweetheart, baby. Please let m’undress you, y’my wife,” Harry pleas softly, his hands are everywhere - her face, her shoulders, hips - continuously wandering as if it’s impossible to find one place to settle.

“Please, c’mon. I need you, H,” She agrees, letting him take down the zipper on the side of her gown.

The expensive garment discarded on the floor in a pool of fabric as he fully takes in her lingerie set. ***

“Fuck me, darlin’,” Harry chuckles in amazement, fingertips tracing over the delicate lace that was stitched by Alessandro Michele himself for the bride, "Y’body is a god damn dream, look at you. - fuck.”

“Please,” His wife whimpers, voice desperate as his light and careful touches are no longer enough.

She needs him close, she needs her husband.

“Okay, okay,” He simpers, moving her back until he can have her right where he wants her, on her back in the middle of the massive, blanket-ridden bed - her white lingerie standing out against the dark duvet.

Harry had always imagined this night.

To have someone laid out underneath him.

No rush, no urgency but to truly, physically show that person through touch that you love them.

He starts near her collarbone, feathery heated kisses that warm her skin as she welcomes him with heavy weight on top of her so eager he wasn’t even undressed yet.

When his mouth finds her nipples through the sheer fabric, she pushes her chest up in encouragement as he bites at the nubs with sharp but careful teeth that wet the fabric.

“It feels so good, baby,” YN mewls, letting him nip and suck for a moment before pushing him up until he’s rid of every inch of fabric that had been covering his body.

“M’always gonna make y’feel good. I’ll fuck you wherever, wehenver cause you’re m’wife,” Harry grunts, impatiently reaching behind to unclasp the corset until her breasts spill free and jiggle in a way that makes his mouth water.

“Wait, wait,” YN puts a hand to his cheek when he already has his mouth darting out to lap at her hardened nipple.

“Don’t make me wait, m’heart,” Harry grumbles with a furrowed brow, his hand still unable to stop from reaching up to palm at her full breasts, thumbs rolling the nipples as he stares fiercely up at her.

“You know how you got me a present?” YN murmurs, biting back a whimper when a zip of electricity shoots from her nipple down to where she’s already dripping for him, “I got you something too.”

Harry’s face relaxes, it’s like he finds his grounding again, “Baby, didn’t need t’get me anythin’. Y’the best fuckin’ gift I could have gotten. Does look beautiful sittin’ between y’tits though.”

His new wife giggles, “Well I really hope you like mine….it’s non-refundable.”

He looks at her with confusion even more so when she wriggles down her panties and flips on her belly with her arms resting under chin.

Of course, Harry finds it immediately and she can tell by the deep, pleased growl he emits from the back of his throat, “You fuckin’ didn’t.”

“I did.”

It was his name, small and cursive right on her bum cheek.

After they got engaged, he went out and got her name tattooed on his pec - much to her dismay.

She had never talked about returning the favor and had kept it the ultimate surprise.

“I think I almost just came from this,” Harry rasps, his fingers tracing the small ink over and over in awe, “Baby, y’put m’name on your bum. It makes y’look like my property, sweetheart.”

“I am yours,” YN giggles, yelping when she feels his teeth graze the sensitive skin before he’s suckling and licking at his name - can’t take his eyes off the beauty of her.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ are,” He agrees whole-heartedly, his hands calming to cup and palm at her cheeks as he fawns over his wedding present, “This is the best present I’d ever fuckin’ received, fuck - never goin’ to get over this.”

He doesn’t want to look away from the tattoo but knows how he wants to fuck his wife for the first time so he flips her onto her back once again, lips finding hers.

She whispers, hand wrapping around his cock, “Still have to pay you back for earlier.”

“No blowies tonight, pet. We’re goin’ to do it the right way, m’gonna make love to you,” Harry murmurs, his lips finding hers as he bats her hand away to grasp at his thick base. He teases the sensitive head over her clit and entrance a few times before slowly sinking in.

“Ohh, been ready for you all day. You looked like a fucking wet dream standing at the alter, waiting for me,” YN sighs happily, wriggling her hips to adjust a bit before she spreads her legs and lets Harry rest in between them, “Ever since I saw you in the suit, I’ve been waiting.”

“Yeah, baby? I can tell, y’so wet, warm f’me,” Harry praises, his movements are slow and unrushed, their hips meeting gently as he pushes in each time with care, “Can’t believe y’gonna let me have this for the rest of m’life.”

“I love you so so much,” She utters breathlessly as he continues to make her feel so fucking full - emotionally and physically, “Best husband ever, can’t believe it.”

Harry chuckles tenderly, “Baby, I need y’to come soon. I’m so close, never come this quick. The thought of y’being my wife is making it impossible to last then with the tatto-”

YN soothes his hair in understanding, pushing up to meet their lips and allow their tongues to dance as he lifts her thigh against his hip to thrust in with a bit more force. His thumb comes to her clit to spur her along which doesn’t take much with how aroused she’s been all day.

Harry follows right after, much to his embarrassment of his lack of stamina but can you blame him? He has the hottest fucking wife on the planet.

“Round two?” YN smirks as he leans down to pepper kisses all over her cheeks. She knows the night has just begun.

“Mmm,” He agrees instantly, “Now that we made love, m’gonna fuck y’from behind so I can watch my name jiggle on your arse.”

And that’s what he does. It takes nearly no rebound time, flips her on her belly again to gaze and worship his name as he fills out in no time again. His fingers occasionally dip back between her thighs to tease at her entrance before he swipes her own wetness on the tattoo to lick it off.

She’s tired, exhausted from the events of the day but wants to reach that last orgasm before sleep overtakes them.

On her hands and knees, Harry doesn’t pound into her like he normally would.

Instead, he eases back in with eyes darting between his wedding present and where they’re connecting, his thumb diligently rubbing hard and steady circle on her nerves.

“C’mon wifey, need y’to not be stubborn,” Harry goads, feeling his release coming again - he pinches her clit with just enough pressure that has her whining before Harry has to hold her up by the waist as she quivers.

It has him finishing right after with a gentle smack to her bumcheek, the skin already tender and sore from all of his attention on the spot as it was.

“I loved your vows,” YN murmurs against his chest. He had wrapped her up in one of the plush blankets and he had pulled on a tight pair of briefs and they were laying on a lounge chair on the blacony under the italian stars.

“I loved yours just as much, y’did crack the code m’love ‘cause now I’m yours forever,” Harry rumbles, his voice raspy with drowsiness.

Little did they know that in a few short years, they would be back under these italian stars with knowledge that they were growing a little product of their love in her belly.

A litte baby named Ivy, just like the beautiful, lucious nature that had decorated the place in magneificent as they spoke vows - dedicating their lives to each other.

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whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years

Note

could you please do a scenario or fic on brian totally crushing on a shy runt of their group? like i feel like he’s be a little bit of an ass just teasing them whenever they’re all just laying around the temp house to get a reaction out of the poor girl possibly ending in nsfw. whichever length you vibe more with and is easier~ dont push yourself <3

Water Bottles and Intolerable Heat

[Hoodie/Brian Thomas X GN!Reader]

[Warnings: like, none?]

[AN: no NSFW, but it's plenty flirty. 988 words to be exact.]

Brian isn’t sure why he likes you, only that he does. He sees you and his heart begins to flutter alongside the butterflies in his stomach. You make him happy, and he’s not quite sure why.

It goes against everything he’s ever believed as a proxy - to not date those in his ranks or his fold. You’re technically a runt, replacing Kate who had been considered a middle child up until this point, and that’s not enough to keep him away. In fact, you draw him in ever stronger.

Perhaps it’s your shy nature. You fold at the smallest of grins. Can’t even make eye contact with him for more than a few minutes before you’re a heated mess, giggling and smiling like a school kid.

He likes toying with you when those moments happen. He knows it’ll make heat rise to your cheeks.

“Hold the gun like this,” he says, stepping beside you.

You glance upwards for a moment and immediately feel engulfed in his tall form. “Like this?” You readjust your hands.

Brian chuckles and shakes his head, honeyed laughter bubbling up from his throat. “No, like this,” he hums, his gloved hands reaching upwards to cup yours.

You almost drop the pistol you’re working with when he touches you, your eyes averting strongly when he smiles down at you. His touch is so warm and gentle as he repositions your hands, molding it so it feels like you’re a natural. “Oh, thank you,” you say as he finally removes his hands.

“Shoot.”

You pull the trigger.

Bull’s eye!

Brian teases you whenever he gets the chance. For instance, it’s hot as all hell in the temp hour, midsummer, and the air conditioning is out. Tim refuses to get it fixed today so all the windows are open and everyone is essentially hoping for the best with the passing breeze.

“Gods this is miserable,” Kate mumbles as she fans herself with a magazine.

“D-Ditto,” Toby mutters back, sprawled out on the couch like a cat, his legs resting on Kate’s lap.

“We’ll get it fixed tomorrow,” Tim says with a small groan as he rummages through the fridge for something cold before finally settling on some iced water. Anyone want a bottle-”

A chorus of ‘yes’ reverberated throughout the room, making Tim chuckle under his breath.

“Toby,” he calls out before tossing a bottle to Toby’s waiting hand. “This one’s for Kate,” he continues, hurling over another bottle to Toby’s once again waiting hand.

Toby palms the icy bottle like liquid gold before handing it over to Kate, the both of them relaxing in the cool touch from the plastic bottles.

“Hood?”

“I’ll come get it,” Brian says as he stretches from his seat, his midriff peeking out from his shirt. He passes by you, his fingers lightly tracing the arm of your chair. “You want me to get you one too?” He asks with a small purr.

Heat rises to your cheeks at an instant. “That would be nice, thank you,” you manage to answer.

Toby glances over at you from where he lays on the couch before looking at Kate, who flashes him a knowing grin.

Brian smiles and then heads over to the fridge where he’s tossed two bottled waters from Tim. “And you’re sure we can’t call some guy out this evening?” He inquires as he begins his way back to you.

“The state of this house is atrocious, we clean first, then call some guy up,” Tim deadpans as he closes the fridge before twisting off the cap of his water bottle. He takes a long, languid sip before taking a seat in the living room.

Brian rolls his eyes with a soft giggle before finding himself at your side. “For you, darlin’,” he hums.

You take the bottle as your heart races in your chest. Did he really call you that? “Thank you,” you squeak as you finally take the bottle.

“No problem,” Brian grins. He looks over his shoulder to see Tim’s taken his original spot, a knowing smirk on his lips. Whatever. “Gonna join you over here,” he notes as he briefly heads back to the kitchen, picking one of the chairs up like it weighs nothing and setting it down beside you.

“How nice of you to join her,” Kate teasingly says, her eyes sparkling for a moment with mischief.

“Tim took my spot,” Brian replies as he sits down, lightly slouching in the chair and twisting off the cap of his water bottle.

“Y-You also j-j-just like b-being near t-them,” Toby quips, briefly moving his head up to look over at the two of you.

Brian’s lips pull upwards at the corners as his teammates add in their commentary as he rests his elbows on the arm of your chair. ‘Can you believe them? How right they are?’ He starts in what’s lovingly referred to as ‘headtalk’.

Your eyes glance over. ‘Hm?’

‘That I want to be next to you,’ he says dreamily, head tilting towards you. His hazel eyes longingly look over at you, a smirk shining on his lips. ‘You’re just so irresistible,’ he continues, watching as you grow warmer and warmer. ‘Probably raised the temperature-’

“Oh my gods, you’re gonna kill them,” Tim loudly laughs, throwing a pillow over at Brian who deflects it.

“Yeah, ease up, Casanova,” Kate giggles.

Toby points over at Kate and Tim, nonverbally saying that he agrees with them.

Brian fully looks at you. You look like you’re walking in a dream, head floating and body about to levitate. “Gonna kill them for saying the truth?” He knowingly directs towards you.

You puff your cheeks out for a moment, quickly unscrewing the cap of your water bottle, breaking its seal and gulping the cold liquid down. “Had to cool down because you’re too hot,” you mumble bashfully under your breath.

Brian’s eyes widen, a blush blooming on his cheeks.

#hoodie #hoodie x reader #hoodie headcanon #creepypasta hoodie #brian thomas #brian thomas x reader #brian thomas headcanon #marble hornets #marble hornets x reader #marble hornets headcanon #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta scenario #hoodie scenario #kate the chaser #ticci toby #masky #tim wright

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rose2jam · 3 years

Text

Why It Was Practically Inevitable That Severus Snape Would Join A Cult, an essay by Rose Jam

So, let’s talk about Cults. Disclaimer: This is just information I’ve gathered over the years from my personal fascination with religious cults. I’m in no way an expert or a psychologist or whatever. This is just my personal understanding from the research I’ve done.

A cult is started when a wildly charismatic Leader feels like they have a purpose, a higher calling, or a mission to be fulfilled (or they could also just be an egomaniac). Maybe they really do feel like what makes them special comes directly from a higher power, be that God, or the Heir of Slytherin, but either way, this person has a pathological need to be worshiped, and they need followers in order to do that.

So, how does one obtain Followers easily? By finding the misunderstood misfits of society, and promising them something. The people who feel like no one else understands them, or their ideologies. But this Leader? This Leader GETS IT, MAN! The Leader understands them perfectly, vindicates them, and makes them promises along the way. Like, if they stick with the Leader, then not only will they finally be understood, but they themselves will also be revered. That they will rise above all of the others who have put them down for so long, and will come out on top as a superior being.

Any of this sounding familiar?

Charles Manson preyed on young people in the middle of the hippie movement, mostly women, who were feeling lost, lonely, and in need of guidance, or in terms of the men he recruited, seeking power over others. Not all of these people were poor or helpless; some of them came from middle class, or even rich homes and families. Yes, some of them came from broken homes, but all of them felt “broken” themselves, in some way. So Manson used their desires to have a family to draw them in. He then used LSD and other drugs to keep them under his control, and he created a manipulative environment where the members of his “family” felt they could never leave him, and if they didn’t follow his commands, something horrible would happen to them. I’m not going to go into full detail on the Manson Family Murders, but if you’re personally interested, check out the Podcast “Cults” on Spotify.

So back to basics, this Leader draws in Followers with flowery promises of community, power, family, or whatever. But once the Leader has that following, the terror will begin. Cult Leaders are usually master manipulators, and have completely brainwashed their followers into believing the “us vs them” mentality, that the outside world is evil, that the outside world will only harm them, that the outside world would never understand what they’re doing on the inside. And that the Leader is the only one who knows the truth, so they better stick with him. Or maybe the Leader has gaslit his followers so completely, that they become dependent on him for everything, to the point where they don’t know how they would possibly function without the Leader. Or, the Leader has created an environment that’s so hostile, that Followers are too afraid of what might happen to them if they tried to leave, or didn’t do what the Leader commanded. Typically, it’s a combination of all of the above. Destructive cults will either hurt others outside of their circle (The Manson Family, Sect of Nacozari), harm themselves (Heaven’s Gate, The Ant Hill Kids), or both (The People’s Temple, Aum Sinrikyo).

Now that I’ve laid this foundation, I’m going to tell you why it was practically inevitable that Severus Snape would join a cult.

Snape’s childhood ultimately laid the foundation for the mental state he would be in when he decided to join the Death Eaters. He grew up in an abusive household, where his father, the muggle, had his magical wife so thoroughly whipped, that she couldn’t (or chose not to) use magic to defend herself, or her son (1). Eileen had obviously told Severus about magic, about Hogwarts, about what a wonderful place it was, and what a wonderful gift magic could be. Severus also watched as Tobias beat the magic out of her. (I know it’s debated whether Tobias actually physically abused his family, but he certainly verbally/mentally/emotionally abused them, so the term “beat” could be used figuratively as well). I don’t think it’s unreasonable to believe that Severus developed an extreme hatred of muggles with “burn the witch” mentalities from a very young age because of this.

Enter Lily, perhaps the only other magical person in his life besides his mother up to this point. He sees her using magic out in the open, perhaps recklessly, for fun, and he sees an opportunity to make a friend (and, admittedly, to be smarter than someone about something for a while). He was so eager to tell her all about magic, because getting to learn magic, and go to Hogwarts, has possibly been the only thing keeping him going in his young life. And now he’s made a friend, a real friend who doesn’t think he’s weird because he’s magical. Unlike Petunia, yet another muggle who makes fun of him for being weird (2). And Lily actually seems to like him back. For a kid who probably hasn’t received a lot of affection in his life, this is monumental. This friendship is everything. Why wouldn’t he love her?

So the time finally comes to go to Hogwarts. Severus gets to escape his abusive household, and finally has an opportunity to embrace magic for the first time in his life. But almost immediately, he’s met with a hic-up. Specifically, James Potter and Sirius Black. So Severus is no longer facing abuse exclusively from muggles who think he’s weird, but now he’s also getting it from other magical people who think he’s weird (3). And this started on the fucking TRAIN before he even GOT to Hogwarts. You can’t tell me that wouldn’t sour a kids dream right off the fucking bat. And then, when he finally gets there, he’s separated from his only friend, by being sorted into different houses (4). What a way for a life-long dream to be thoroughly dashed in less than 24 hours.

Let’s look at Snape’s Hogwarts experience. He’s a good student, and he pours himself into learning as much magic as possible, and at being the best he can possibly be, probably motivated by a desire to be better than what his Father thinks possible. During this time, he is regularly bullied and abused by the Marauders. Sometime before his 5th year, the Incident at the Shrieking Shack took place. It definitely sucks to have been so thoroughly fucking duped, and put into a life-threatening situation involving a goddamn werewolf (5). But perhaps even worse than that, the salt in the wound, was that no one fucking did anything about it (6). He saw Sirius and James and Remus get out of that situation without facing any sort of proper punishment (as in, they all still stayed at the school as opposed to being expelled like they DEFINITELY SHOULD HAVE BEEN (At least Sirius should have been)). Dumbledore was looking out for the Marauders, but no one was looking out for Severus. On top of that, Severus isn’t allowed to TELL anyone about it, not even Lily. So, he goes through what was possibly one of the most traumatic experiences of his life, and he can’t even tell anyone that it happened.

So, what sort of support system does Severus have during all this? He has Lily, sure (who literally told him he should be GRATEFUL to James, one of his abusers). But, what he really has, is Slytherin House (7). I’ll say it plainly: Severus was sorted into a house that was already full of existing cult members. McGonagall says in Sorcerer’s Stone that “Your house will be like your family” (she at least says it in the movies, I’m too lazy to get up and reference my books rn lol). So, Severus’ family, his support system, for 10 months out of every year, is a house that is already full to the brim with pureblood elitists with prejudiced ideals, who would absolutely vindicate Severus in his dislike for muggles. As a kid first getting sorted into the house, it’s obviously not unreasonable to become friends with the people you’re literally living with. His dorm mates became his family. So, when his dorm mates started to become Death Eaters… This is headcanon, I fully admit, but like, fuck, Severus didn’t have a lot of friends, and was probably already drifting apart from Lily. Do you really think he was going to tell the people he had to live with every single day, not to mention the only people that had been supporting him for years, to go fuck themselves for using Dark Magic? Especially when he was probably feeling like he was on the verge of thinking that their rhetoric made some sense?

On to Snape’s Worst Memory (8). At this point, he’s spent 5 years in Slytherin House, with fellow students who casually throw around the M word. He gets attacked by James and Sirius, he’s practically defenseless, and then the girl who he’d considered his closest friend for so long… has to force herself not to smile when he’s thrown upside down and exposed to everyone on the grounds. Sure, she was trying to defend him at first, but she also fucking nearly smiled at his humiliation, his pain, his abuse. So he hurls the one word that he knows is going to cut the deepest, that will hopefully hurt her as badly as she has hurt him. And it works.

Severus had been beaten down his entire life. By Muggles and Magic Folk alike. And finally, he’s betrayed by Lily, his last lifeline to the light. He betrayed her as well, of course. But he did try to show remorse. And she doesn’t forgive him (9), which was her prerogative, of course.

So. Who does he have left?

I’ve placed little (numbers) throughout my writing here. Each of those numbers denote the specific events that led Severus to becoming an angry young man, who hates muggles, hates (some) magic folk, and resulted in him feeling weak, helpless, and desperate. For what? For power, for a family, for a community. For a world where he is no longer the weird one. For a world where he’s respected, strong. For the world he thought he was going to be a part of, when he arrived at Hogwarts in his first year.

And it just so happens that this is the exact world that Voldemort is (allegedly) trying to create.

Severus Snape was angry, and vulnerable, and as such, he was practically the poster child for the type of person who would be susceptible to falling for a cult. Maybe he was recruited by his friends in Slytherin House. Maybe he was recruited directly. Either way, charismatic Tom Riddle came along, understood how he felt, where he was coming from, told him he deserved better, and offered him all of the things he never had in his life. And being at rock bottom, being the lowest of the low, to Severus it must have seemed like a miracle of an opportunity, or perhaps, like the only chance he had left.

Now, let me be extremely clear; everything I’ve written is not trying to EXCUSE Severus Snape for his actions. There is always a point where personal responsibility must come into play. Except for children born into cults or victims of kidnapping, nearly every person who has ever joined a cult has made the personal decision to join it. I’m just trying to express how unbelievably easy it is, for a Cult Leader to find people with damaged lives and low self-worth, to suck them in with promises of a fulfilling life and grandeur, and for those people to be easily swept up and brainwashed into believing that what they are doing is right. (Or that what they are doing is required, because the alternative is more horrifying.)

The type of people who joined the Death Eaters are the same type of people who joined Heaven’s Gate, or The People’s Temple, or yes, The Manson Family. Now, I’m just going to say, from my own personal point of view, I do not vilify anyone who’s ever joined a destructive cult. On the contrary, I feel sorry for them. Because most people who join a cult, don’t necessarily do it signing up for the… end result of what happened to them. Some of them totally do, like Heaven’s Gate. Most of them knew that the end result was going to be the “evacuation of their earthly vessel”. But the people who joined the Manson Family, for instance, did not initially join it KNOWING how it was going to end. They were part of the family long before Manson even came up with Helter Skelter, and by the time the Tate-LaBianca Murders took place, they were already too far gone to go against it.

I highly recommend anyone who’s interested in a humanizing view of former cult members, to read the essay “Leslie Van Houten: A Friendship” by John Waters. https://www.huffpost.com/entry/leslie-van-houten-a-frien_b_246953

Or, at the very least, listen to this 7 minute NPR interview with John Waters about the essay https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=111585116

It’s the story of how notorious film maker John Waters, became friends with former Manson Girl, Leslie Van Houten, and about how she broke away from the cult after her conviction, how she’s spent the last 51 years of her life recovering from the psychotic influence of a maniac who’d promised her the world, and how even though she was convicted to life WITH a possibility of parole, it’s never been granted to her, despite the fact that she has done literally everything possible to try and atone for her crimes.

Maybe I’m just a bleeding heart. I’m pretty much the only person I know who feels sorry for Leslie Van Houten and other cult members who were brainwashed, abused, and manipulated into doing a lot of the horrible things they’ve done. But there are people in the world, who have committed FAR more heinous crimes than the Manson Family murders, and who are far less repentant than Leslie, but because those crimes weren’t as notorious, they get to walk free.

Addendum: When I first posted this, I had a few people point out to me that they had always associated Voldemort and the Death Eaters with Hitler and Nazi Germany. This is a perfectly fair point, but one that I personally don’t jive with, and the reason is simply the numbers. There were literally millions of people in the Nazi party during WW2. Death Eaters don’t even reach triple digits, as far as I’m aware. As I hinted at in this essay, I consider Voldemort and the Death Eaters to be MUCH closer to Charles Manson and the Manson Family. The Manson Family 100% had Nazi ideology, of course. "Helter Skelter” was Charles Manson’s prediction that there was going to be a massive race war; one that the Whites were going to lose, and that he and his Pure White family would emerge from it in order to rule over the remaining Blacks. Kinda... sounds like a Death Eater thing, huh?

Sorry. Back to Snape. There is a lot we don’t know about Severus’ actual time as a Death Eater. I think it can be reasonably assumed he’s never actually killed anyone before Dumbledore (In Prince’s Tale, Severus questions if his soul would be safe from killing Dumbledore, and Dumbledore implies that his soul would not be damaged by helping an old man avoid pain and humiliation. This leads me to believe that Severus never committed any soul-damaging murders before this). Beyond being a sneaky spy and delivering the prophecy to Voldemort, his time as a Death Eater is all up for conjecture.

Severus does make one important deviation from the typical cult member mold, however. In the end, he manages to break away from the cult. The scales fall from his eyes. In a figurative sense, the LSD has worn off. What made him sober up, was the threat to his last lifeline to the light. The one good fucking thing he’d ever had in his miserable life. He was brought back by genuine love. Ya know, the ENTIRE MESSAGE OF THE HP SERIES. And not only did he leave the cult, but he then spent the rest of his life actively attempting to destroy it, and atone for the mistakes he’s made, in an effort to bring back the world he’d been excited for, as an 11-year-old kid, so full of hope.

#Snape Meta #Severus Snape #Pro Snape #Snapedom #Snape Community #This will be the TRUE test of the tags #Essay Jam #Why It Was Practically Inevitable That Severus Snape Would Join A Cult

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ciarawritesmarvel · 3 years

Text

four sunrises (+ the one you missed) - bucky x reader

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Canon-typical descriptions of Bucky’s past (mentions of violence, trauma, therapy), Endgame is discussed and the grief that comes with it, all with a fluffier ending

A/N: Hello loves! It’s been a long, long time. I’m by no means ‘back’, whatever that would mean, because I don’t know if this is a one off bout of inspiration or if it will stay with me. Fingers crossed. Regardless, I’m sending each and every one of you so much love and light and happiness. I hope you enjoy this little one shot with little pockets of fluff throughout <3

---

one

There was so much fire, it was a wonder you even noticed the sunrise. But still, your eyes were drawn past the death and the destruction and the wasteland laid bare before you and to the large semi-circular portion of the sun just peeking above the horizon. The new light signalled the start of a new day, a new era maybe, but there was little hope that came with it for now. Not with the wrecked sobs carrying through the air and to your ears from Tony’s body just a few hundred yards away. Not with people combing the battlefield for friends they can’t find. Friends they won’t find.

You keep your eyes on the rising sun and bite the inside of your cheek just enough to hurt a little.

“Hey.”

The voice is soft, hardly meant to be heard above the crying and the shouting and the crackling fires that surrounded you. Still, when you looked to your left at the sound, you found Bucky Barnes stood a little behind you, bruised and solemn. You looked back to the sun. You’d already had to deal with Steve and Thor and Bruce (new, hybrid Bruce) staring at you like you were some sort of ghost when you had ended up side by side at different points in the battle. You weren’t sure you could stand it anymore.

Then again, you had no idea whether Bucky had even been here. Had he been gone? Last you saw him, he was running ahead of you and into the fray in the heat of Wakanda. You’d lost him, lost everyone, once Thanos arrived and hurled you into the trees like you were nothing. And then, all of a sudden, you were nothing.

“Hi Bucky. You okay?” it was reflex, but you winced as soon as you said it because of course he wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay. You looked back at him, seeing he had now stepped up beside you properly, “Sorry, stupid question. It’s good to see you, though.”

“And you,” he said sincerely, glancing between you and the horizon, “I’m glad you’re okay. Well, not okay, but-”

“I get it, Buck, don’t worry,” you said, just a small smile on your lips. He returned it. There wasn’t any light in his eyes, but yours were likely dim too. You were trying your best.

“Were you-” he began speaking, but stopped quickly, his eyes now trained on the sunrise instead. He couldn’t look at you, “I mean, were you...here? Or did you…”

He trailed off. It wasn’t as if he needed to continue anyway. He was asking you whether or not you had watched yourself turn to dust a few hours ago and then been woken up by a sorcerer who told you that it had actually happened five years ago. If he was asking, then it meant he’d been gone too. You hadn’t spoken to any of the others who’d been gone yet.

“No, I haven’t been here. You were gone too?”

You saw his body sag beside you in what looked like relief. You supposed perhaps there was a fear that you had been here the whole time and were still unbothered seeing him beside you. Maybe you should have hugged him by now.

“Yeah, I was...gone.”

He still hadn’t turned back to you yet. You threaded your arm through his and shuffled a little closer, a flare of pain shooting through your ankle that you’d forgotten about for an hour or so now. Even so, it was worth it just for a little contact with another human being. Bucky tensed underneath you, but you felt him ease up soon enough. You’d visited Wakanda a few times during his time there so you considered him a friend, whether or not the sentiment was returned.

“I don’t know what to say,” you mumbled, hoping he’d hear you anyway. The sun was well over halfway above the horizon now, looking huge and predatory as it took up its position in the rapidly brightening sky, “Not just to you, either, but to anyone. They’ve been living this whole time and we’ve just been dropped back into their lives again. Now Nat’s gone and Tony’s…”

You trailed off, lump firmly lodged in your throat. There was an unspoken question in your rambling: Where do we go from here?

“You don’t have to say it,” he said gravely, “I don’t know either.”

You looked over your shoulder, just briefly, just because you couldn’t stop yourself. You wished you hadn’t. Before you could look for too long, Bucky’s shoulder was nudging yours and you looked back up at his face. Dark eyes. An almost imperceptible shake of his head. You understood immediately. The sunrise was better for now.

When you turned back to it, Bucky’s shoulder was right next to your head, and you were so tired, so when your temple hit the leathery material of his jacket you decide to let yourself have this one. Again you feel the muscles tense, but a few seconds later they relax, and you try to do the same.

“Maybe we stick together, at least a little. Might help us get used to whatever world we’ve come back to?”

There was a pause. Then a little weight that felt a lot like he was resting his head on your own.

It was as close to a yes as you were going to get.

---

two

“If you don’t let me in, I’ll just use my key, you know. The knocking is a courtesy, Barnes!”

You were shouting a little louder than you wanted to in an apartment complex at six in the morning where the walls were thin and the tenants were cranky, but you’d been knocking on Bucky’s door for at least five minutes now and he still hadn’t let you in. He was definitely in there. Without a doubt.

This was proven not twenty seconds later when there was a few clicking locks and the door opened just a crack. There was a sliver of Bucky’s face in view, enough to notice that he hadn’t been shaving and his eyes looked more tired than you’d ever seen him. It was hard to keep the pity from flooding your features.

“What do you want, Y/N?”

“To let me in, genius, come on! I’ve got breakfast,” you shook the bag of takeout in his eyeline and watched his face fall. You tried not to take it to heart.

“Maybe some other time,” his voice was defeated and you were lucky that you saw the door slam coming before it happened. You stuck your foot out into the gap and winced when he shut the door right on your foot. His eyes widened, and so did the door as he backtracked, “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

Ignoring him, you walked inside. He was still in the middle of apologising for your foot, but stopped short when he realised it was part of your tactic all along. Resigned to his fate, he sank down onto his couch while you busied yourself in the kitchen getting plates out for the breakfast.

“I tried bringing dinner last night, but you didn’t answer,” you said nonchalantly, whether he was listening or not, “Thought I might try and get you early morning and see what your temperament was like then.”

“I’m sorry.”

It was empty, but you didn’t mind so much. He might not have been sorry for his behaviour now, but you knew he would be eventually, when he pieced himself together a little. That was enough to keep you around, along with the little moments that made it worth it. Last week, you’d forced him into a walk through a park and mentally screamed with glee when he laughed at two squirrels chasing each other.

“Don’t be, we’re here now,” you said easily, “We’re going to eat breakfast on your tiny balcony and watch the sunrise like the world’s okay - okay?”

No response.

Still, the breakfast was all set so you brought both plates out onto the balcony and balanced Bucky’s on the rail while you tucked in to yours. You’d had to wait for him to join you before and you’d happily wait for him again.

It took him seven minutes. You were counting.

He nibbled at the food to start with but soon ate a lot more ravenously. It was likely a while since he’d had anything other than the box of cereal you’d seen in his bottom cupboard. Sam texted you yesterday to ask how he was since Bucky wasn’t replying to his texts, but it was difficult to say how he was. You’d both missed five years, but he’d missed a lot more over the last century. Sometimes it was hard for him to see what he still had.

“Why are you here?”

It was a question he’d asked you before. There was only one answer.

“Because I want to be.”

There was nothing else to say. You stood and watched the sunrise over the rooftops in a swirl of pinks and oranges until every last shade melted into the brilliant blue of the daytime. Bucky watched too, and even if his mind was elsewhere, you were just glad he was here. With you. You hoped eventually it would be enough.

---

three

“We shouldn’t be here,” your whispers were harsh in the dark room and Bucky glared at you until you lowered your voice further, “We cannot be here right now.”

“If we don’t do this, nobody will,” Bucky reminded you, still glued to the window as he kept watch of the road. Technically you and Sam were meant to be resting and your watch didn’t start for another half hour, but you were nervous and awake and the silence was beginning to get to you. Sam’s soft snores from the other room were a lovely reassurance that he was safe and peaceful, but it still wasn’t enough.

“Maybe nobody should, Bucky,” you insisted, coming over to lean against the wall he stood beside so that he had to face you, “We were just starting to get somewhere back at home. You were just starting to get somewhere, you know, with the therapy and the amends and everything. Now we’re off chasing bad guys like we’re Avengers again!”

His look towards you was sharp.

“I was never an Avenger.”

You huffed out a breath at his indignance.

“You could have been,” you said, quieter still, “You should have been. But now, after everything, I don’t want to be that anymore. I quit. I quit a long time ago.”

“Then go home.”

“You really want me to?”

It was an unfair question. You knew he didn’t, but you also knew he was too proud. That he didn’t like to think about the fact that he was the sole reason you were here, risking your life again in the pursuit of a justice you’d all but given up on. Guilt was enough to poison your conversation beyond repair, if you let it.

“I don’t want you to be anywhere you don’t want to be,” he said instead, a fact rather than a real answer. A cop out. You shook your head, frustration seeping out of you as you turned your back to the wall and tilted your head back against it to stare at the ceiling. You could see Bucky’s gaze still trained on the road outside, refusing to even spare you a glance. It was infuriating.

“And I don’t want you here but we don’t always get what we want, Barnes.”

He didn’t respond right away, but you did see his eyes flicker over to you then back to the road, and it felt like a little bit of progress. It was a good few minutes before he spoke again.

“I think the therapy is helping too,” he whispered, not reacting when you rolled your head to the side to stare at him again, “But it’s not enough. Nothing ever will be. Doing stuff like this, saving peoples’ lives? That’s the closest I can get to making up for what I did.”

“It wasn’t you-”

“I know. Doesn’t matter.”

You wondered whether you would ever be able to convince the man in front of you that nothing he had ever done to hurt others was even remotely through fault of his own. Wondered if all the therapy and the coaxing and the amends would fall short of that one simple task. Guilt was enough to poison your mind beyond repair too, if you let it.

You were beyond determined not to let it.

“Matters to me,” you said, soft and forgiving, “And to Sam. And to Steve too, when he was here. Matters to a lot of people.”

There was something else on the tip of your tongue. You matter to a lot of people. It felt too vague. Not enough and yet too much for the humid European hotel room you were holed up in. Bucky was silent again, but this time you could see that he was just getting his thoughts together. You could see the faintest tremble in his hand as he held the blinds at just the right angle for his vantage point.

“Thank you.”

You...hadn’t been expecting that. It was much more usual for Bucky to show his gratitude to you and to others over the past few months. He brought by extra groceries when he got his own, squeezed your shoulder when he got up to grab drinks from his fridge, even bought you flowers that one time. It was rare of him to say it, though.

“What for?”

“Wanting to be here.”

You scoffed at that. It couldn’t be further from the truth, and yet here you were. Maybe he was onto something. You doubted you’d still be saying that in a few hours when the so-called bad guys showed up and you had to actually fight them. For now, there was a truth to his words you hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.

“I don’t,” you said, deadpan and teasing all at once, “Want to be here, that is. But you’re welcome anyway, I guess.”

You saw his lips turn up in a smirk or a smile, it was hard to tell from this angle with only a small square of filtered light on his face from the window. Sunlight. That meant sunrise. You moved closer to the window and manoeuvred so that you could see through the slats. Sure enough, the sky was a shade of dawn peach, even if the sun was hidden from view by the cityscape.

The last sunrise you’d seen was over six months ago and had been shared with the same man. The same silence. This one was just slightly more comfortable.

“I don’t want you to go home,” he murmured, no more than a breath of air leaving his lips, “Just, by the way.”

It was your turn to smile or smirk or whatever it was. You had already known, of course, but it was nice to hear him say it. It was a good job Sam was asleep or he’d be telling you to ‘get a room’ again.

“I know,” you said with a small nod, then your smile became a grin of pure mischief, “You want to play I-spy?”

A loud groan.

“I’m not playing I-spy with you, Y/N-”

“Why not! I won’t cheat this time, I promise-”

“You say that every time, and yet-”

“Okay, I do not say it every time you-”

“You say it every time!”

When Sam walked through from the bedroom later and found you defending your choice of the word ‘Darkness’ as Bucky sat slumped with his head in his hands, he wondered why he’d let either of you take watch in the first place.

---

four

A year. A whole year. There was a lot you could do in a year. You could build a business. Grow a herb garden in a series of ill-fitting plant pots on your balcony. Learn a new skill. Forge a new friendship. Fall in love.

You could also miss people. A lot. So much, in fact, that when the date that you lost them rolls around again, any progress you made in that last year is rendered insignificant.

Especially when you’re sitting on a park bench and they’re not sat beside you.

You missed Nat. You missed Tony. Missed Wanda and Vision and Steve and Thor. Some of them weren’t even gone, just out in the universe somewhere, yet to return. You weren’t sure they ever would. Part of you hoped they had found something wonderful, something to eclipse all the grief and the loss and make them whole again. Then they’d never have to come back and see you so different to the person they used to know.

You were vaguely aware that somebody had sat down in the space next to you now, which frustrated you more than you’d admit to anyone. You pressed the palms of your hands into the wood of the bench until the contact stung.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Bucky. Of course. Your hands relaxed without conscious thought. When you turned, there he was, looking at you with just the slightest tinge of apprehension. Like he knew he was intruding, but he did it anyway. He was growing his hair out again. It was nice.

“You know me that well?”

“This is the fourth place I came to,” he admitted, looking down at his shoes as he kicked at a particularly interesting tuft of grass, “But fourth isn’t bad, right?”

“Fourth isn’t bad,” you assured him, “But you didn’t need to come. I’m fine.”

“You’ve been out all night, Y/N,” he said gently, like he was the bearer of bad news. In fact, he was, because you had no idea it had been that long. When you looked upward and saw a murky grey instead of the pitch black that had stained the sky when you sat down, you shivered, “You’ve been here the whole time?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“You know that’s a bad idea, especially today. We should do something else.”

“Like what?”

You gave him a withering look that he didn’t deserve, but he took it in stride. He hopped up from the bench and held out a hand to you, leaving it there when you didn’t take it right away.

“There’s a fair in town a couple of blocks away. We’re going.”

“A fair? Are you kidding?”

“Nope,” he said seriously, no room for argument in his tone. He even reached forward and grabbed your hands from the bench, pulling you up to a stand despite your groan of protest. It took a few moments to stretch out your legs before he let go, “We’re going to a fair. You’re going to crash into me on the dodgems enough times for me to want to press charges, then I’ll buy you all the cotton candy you can eat.”

“Is this really the right thing to do on the anniversa-”

“What would they want us to do? Sit on a park bench and wish they were sat here with us?”

You glared at him, but it was meek. Tony would laugh at you for doing this. Nat would roll her eyes at your sentimentality. It would just make Steve sad to see you sad. Bucky was right, even if you refused ever to utter those words in that order.

“Will you win me the biggest teddy bear we can find? Because if not, I don’t see the point of going.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but he offered you his arm nonetheless and you took it as you started walking in what you could only assume was the direction of the fair. You briefly wondered how many dates he might have taken to the fair back in his day, how many had hung off his arm and grinned at him all night. None of them had been with this Bucky before though, you reminded yourself, this new rough-around-the-edges Bucky, trying-his-best Bucky. Shiny, polished 1940s Sergeant Barnes was far less your type anyway.

“You know, if I do try and win you a teddy, it’s going to look like we’re on a date.”

So clearly his train of thought had aligned with yours. Without much care for the consequences and with a courage that only came from the thought of missed chances, you slid your arm out of his and took his hand instead, sliding your fingers through his gloved ones. It was his metal hand, you could quickly tell, but you weren’t going to let him pull away when he realised which hand you’d latched onto.

“Would that be so bad?”

He looked down at you like any second now you were going to realise which hand you were holding and want to swap sides, or like you were going to throw him away and ask for a new one. You held firm. When he realised you had no intention of changing anything, you felt his hand push a little firmer against your own, his fingers slot further into place. You really wanted to pull the glove off and entangle your fingers with the metal underneath to make a point, but you decided that could wait a little longer.

“So...this is a date?”

He just had to spell it out. You’d just held his hand, but he still had to check. It was endearing honestly, so despite your reluctance to share too much, you knew you needed to be forthcoming for him to believe that this was anything real.

“I would really like it if it was, Bucky,” you said, in an attempt to be as clear as possible. You curled your other hand around his bicep and suppressed a wide grin when you saw the smile your statement had brought out of him. He was trying to keep his cool too.

You were both failing miserably.

“Well, that works out then.”

You laughed, squeezing him a little closer and relishing in the fact that he didn’t move away, but instead pulled you into his side. The shadows of the street were brighter every minute that passed, even though the actual sunrise was hidden from view by the apartment blocks and skyscrapers that surrounded you.

And if the newfound warmth you felt was from the sparks that flew each time your shoulder bumped his rather than the break of a new day, you weren’t giving anything away.

---

+the one you missed

“Bucky?”

You’d managed to get the door open with a little more effort than it should have taken. Your muscles were still sore from training the new recruits yesterday, though you wouldn’t have had it any other way. The fact that Sam had found something so perfectly suited to your skill set without the danger you had been trying to avoid was something you were still trying to repay him for.

Now, you were up on the roof and stretching out your left arm as you looked around for some sign of the man who’d called to invite you here last night and insisted that, yes, it was necessary to meet this early in the morning and no, he couldn’t tell you why.

“Over here, genius.”

You turned. There he was. A blanket was set out next to him and when one corner of it folded over in the chilling breeze, he scrambled to smooth it out again. You chuckled quietly as you made your way over to him and gestured to the little oasis he’d created for the both of you.

“What’s all this, mister?”

“Our anniversary, baby.”

It was a newfound nickname, one that still sent a thrill through you every time you heard it. The fondness laced within it was something you hadn’t even gotten used to yet, but you could see yourself wondering how you ever lived without it sometime soon.

“We’ve been together for four months, Buck, I don’t think we have an anniversary just yet,” you said, just a little nervous that you were forgetting something. Bucky looked smug enough that you thought he was more likely to be concocting a scheme instead, but you took his hand and let him lead you to sit down anyway.

“I haven’t told you what anniversary it is,” he assured you as he sat down beside you on the other cushion, pulling a picnic basket from behind him into the center of the blanket. You hoped that he wasn’t about to pull out a plate of chocolate covered strawberries, because the idea of him feeding you anything was enough to put you in stitches.

It was a pleasant surprise when he pulled out two styrofoam cups that smelled chocolatey. When he passed you one and you took an eager sip, you hummed at the hot chocolate in the cup. When he then pulled out a couple of plates and a half and half pizza that suited both of you, the elated laugh you let out was practically involuntary.

“Whatever it is, can we have this anniversary more often?”

You both laughed and although you wanted to push more on what the occasion was, Bucky plated up your pizza for you and you ended up fully distracted by the delicious food and the dashing company.

There was a comfort that came with being by Bucky’s side that you weren’t sure you’d ever found previously. A certain sense of pride came too, from knowing that you could provide some of that same comfort to Bucky in return. Sam was sick of the two of you already. Of course.

“You want to play I-spy?” you asked quietly once you’d finished eating, lying back on the blanket and tugging on Bucky’s jacket to encourage him to join you. He grumbled slightly, but he soon lay back beside you until the back of his fingers were just brushing your own. You didn’t tangle them together just yet, because the anticipation was still so sweet.

“You know I don’t.”

“What if I promise not to choose ‘darkness’?”

“Let me guess, you’re thinking of something beginning with U?”

“Oh come on- wait, how did you know?”

He rolled his head to the side to look at you and you mirrored his position, noses just an inch from each other.

“Y/N,” his voice was soft and you could feel the words against your lips, “You can’t see the universe.”

You were ready to argue your case, but Bucky’s face was just too close to your own. Letting the discussion go (only for now), you leaned in and pressed a series of chaste kisses along the underside of his jaw. You were only cut short when he became impatient, cupping your face in both hands and bringing you into a kiss that made your toes curl in your shoes.

You had to turn over onto your side properly, shuffle around on the blanket a little, but the kiss still felt pretty perfect. When he sat up, he took you with him, pushing further into you as the kiss grew heated. One of his hands was in your hair, the other wrapping around your waist under your shirt, the cold metal contrasting feverish skin sending sparks up your spine. You tugged on the hair at the nape of his neck and grinned at the groan that escaped him as he pulled back just enough to breathe.

“It’s been a year,” he panted out urgently, like he’d been waiting all night to tell you because he had been waiting all night to tell you. He’d been waiting a whole year, if he were being honest.

“A year?”

“Since I fell in love with you,” he explained simply, only continuing when you stared at him dumbfounded and didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything, “That day I wouldn’t let you in and you brought me breakfast. We watched the sunrise in silence and that...that was it for me.”

You’d exchanged ‘I love you’s before, just a few weeks ago. Not that it was intended, but he had sent you a postcard while he was on a week long mission - an actual postcard, full of innocuous details about the location rather than anything mission related. A cheesy little ‘wish you were here’ at the end that made your heart swell. It was inevitable, really, when you called him three minutes after you read it and told him you loved him.

You got his voicemail, but you said it anyway, and the reaction you got from him when you were finally reunited a few days later told you that you’d made the right call.

However, him telling you exactly when he’d fallen in love with you? That was new. Unexpected. Another part of his soul laid bare before you even though you were content with the pieces he’d already shared. You had always kept them safe, tucked away in your top pocket, close to your own heart. Now you had another piece of him to carry around with you and you couldn’t feel more honoured.

“You…” it was natural to want to question it first, but you stopped short. Accepting what he’d said first time would be a much better sign of your trust, and you needed him to know how much you reciprocated everything, “You’ve been it for me for a long time.”

You were still short of breath, but there were no complaints when he pulled you in for another kiss. Softer. Slower. The heat from before now spread through to your fingers and your toes and became an overwhelming warmth instead. It was a warmth that Bucky had brought into your life ever since you’d decided to stick together amongst the death and the destruction.

Some of that warmth might have been from the sun, which was steadily rising and painting the dark sky and with a whole new colourful palette. Bucky had chosen this time in the morning specifically so that you could create a new tradition of watching the sunrise every year just like this, had planned to create something that the two of you would remember forever.

He only realised this about half an hour after the sun had fully risen but it didn’t matter. The memory was already carved in stone and outlined with gold marker in both of your minds.

---

Thank you for reading this far! <3 I’m not tagging anyone, because it’s been a long time and I’d hate to suddenly pop up in people’s mentions without any warning after so long when they may not want me there. If this has found you anyway, then I count myself super lucky to have you here, thank you!

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes drabble #bucky imagine #bucky oneshot #bucky drabble #bucky fanfic #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel fanfic #marvel imagine #four sunrises

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dreamescapeswriting · 4 years

Text

Going The Distance ~ MYG [Request]

↬↬↬Word Count: 3.4K

↬↬↬Genre: Soulmate AU, angst, happy ending

↬↬↬Pairing: Yoongi x Gender Neutral Reader

↬↬↬A/N: I hope you enjoy this my love!!! Hope this is okay for you and it meets your dreams expectations

Staring down at the small counter on your wrist you smiled as the distance between you and your soulmate seemed to grow shorter instead of further away. Instead of being thousands of miles apart from one another at least now, you were in walking distance of one another but it still didn't tell you who your soulmate was. That you were still left in the dark about since it would be far too easy for the universe to give you to one another, there had to be struggles along the way.

"That's the last one, and here are your keys." You smiled at the landlord who handed you some keys to the dorm building and your dorm room key. You'd moved to Korea for the year to study abroad, it was part of your studies and you were glad since South Korea had been one of your dream places to visit growing up.

"Thank you so much for everything." Once he was gone and you were left alone you looked around at the apartment deciding that now was a better time than any to unpack, you had weeks until your studies started back up again.

Yoongi stared at the counter throughout the last two days watching as it slowly decreased as whoever his soulmate was coming closer to being with him, going down from the thousands to mere hundreds.

"You've done nothing but stare at it all day, what could they possibly be doing to make you stare-" Namjoon stopped himself as Yoongi turned his wrist to show his friend that you were finally closer than ever before. At least now you were in the same country as one another and you could finally progress to being with one another.

"Have you spoken to them today yet?" It was something that Yoongi had started doing the moment the distance counter appeared on his wrist at the age of sixteen, he began talking out to anyone he didn't know how it was supposed to work so he would talk to the moon believing that you were on the other side talking back to him and you were. From the age of 16 when your timer appeared you felt someone was with you everywhere you went, trying to talk to you so you would talk to the moon at night - an old tale your grandmother told you that soulmates used to do to keep in contact with one another even if they weren't sure on who they were yet.

"Just like every morning and every night," He lowered his wrist and looked down at the paper he was writing on, he was trying to work on a new song but the thought of you being so close was distracting him.

"It's getting late, you heading home soon?" Namjoon questioned as he watched Yoongi closely he knew he wasn't going to leave until later into the night but it was worth a shot.

"I'll head home soon, save me some food." He laughed looking down at the paper once again and putting the top of his pen in his mouth trying to focus on something other than the timer.

It was 3 in the morning and your jetlag was starting to hit you like a brick wall, you couldn't sleep and you had a hankering for your favourite flavoured ice cream so you took the map from the top of your kitchen counter - the landlord had supplied you with everything you could need to get around Seoul.

"Perfect." You whispered seeing a 24-hour supermarket just down the road from you so you grabbed your purse and phone and headed out onto the streets to see if you could put the map reading skill you had to good use.

"Where are you going? It's 3 am." Yoongi whispered watching his wrist as he walked, you were getting closer to him. He was on his way home from the BigHit building but was going to stop off at the supermarket to get him and the boys something for breakfast but he noticed how close to one another you were. He put his hands into his pocket trying to ignore the thought of crashing into you but the thought alone was making his heart pound, the thought of finally meeting you after all these years of being apart it was making it hard for him to keep a straight face as he walked into the supermarket.

The whole time he was inside he avoided looking at his wrist, it was saying he was 0 miles away from you which meant you were right inside of the building but it was impossible, no one else inside was an Idol, like him. He was so focused on trying to figure out who you were that he hadn't even noticed you walking right into him and almost stumbling back onto the floor.

"Sorry!" You bowed to Yoongi as you bumped into him you were about to explain yourself that you hadn't been looking when the counter on both of your wrists made a ding to signal that you had found one another. You frowned looking at your wrist and up to Yoongi who was glaring at you trying to figure out who you were, he'd never seen you anywhere before so you couldn't have been famous like him.

"Oh...Hi," Your voice came out shakey as he stared you down, his eyes were making you nervous as he continued to stare at you without saying a word it was unnerving.

"But you're not special." You felt your heart take a hit as he said that right to your face before shaking his head and laughing loudly, you could already tell he was laughing at you as he looked you up and down.

"You don't have to be so mean about it," Selfconsciousness took over your entire body the longer he stared at you, then he began to look at what you were holding and you felt even worse. You had an entire basket full of ice cream - all your favourites you were planning on stocking the freezers for when you went back to classes and wouldn't have the time to come out anymore.

"You're nothing, are you? You're just someone ordinary and boring." Every word he used made it feel like someone was getting a tighter squeeze on your heart so you looked around hoping no one could hear the way he was speaking to you. You couldn't even find the words to talk back to him you just put the basket down and headed for the door but he wasn't over this yet. He followed behind you to see where you were going.

"You're a student?!" He called out when he watched you walking towards the student accommodation he shook his head at you everything he'd been dreaming about for all these years was washed away within seconds. You were nothing he wanted. You were supposed to be special and different to everyone else and yet here you were just another gold digger that was out for him and his money.

"This is stalking you know." It was all you could come up with right now, you were too busy trying to focus on not crying in front of whoever this guy was. You'd never seen him before in your life and he had the nerve to yell at you like this, hurl insults as if he'd known you your entire life. Opening the door to your building you hoped he would get the hint and leave you but he followed you inside until you got to your apartment door.

"Leave me alone you creep!" You tried to yell but he clapped his hand over your mouth making your eyes widen in fear that you had no idea who he was and that he could just kill you if he really wanted to.

"If you let anyone know I'm here I'll end you." You nodded your head reaching behind you with your shakey hands to open the apartment door, he headed inside after you and scoffed looking around.

"Can't even afford a decent place? Just what I thought, gold digger." He spat at you knocking one of the boxes over - it was an accident, he'd been trying to walk further into the room but knocked it over with his bag breaking whatever it was inside.

"What are you even doing in Korea? Huh? Did you follow me here!? You just want to the fame don't you?!" He questioned looking around, he was trying to find any signs that you had any idea who he was but there was nothing. No posters, no magazines and no albums displayed anywhere just some books and clothes you were still in the middle of putting away.

"I had to get stuck with someone normal didn't I?!" He yelled finally losing his temper, he didn't know if he was mad at you of if it was just the entire universe he was mad at for pitting him with you.

"W-We don't even have to be together-"

"You're so fucking dumb!" He screamed throwing something he'd picked up from your kitchen counter and threw it behind him, how could the universe had fucked it up this badly?! Give him his dream life and yet he was stuck with you for his soulmate.

"P-Please stop," You begged him but it only seemed to irritate him more as he threw one of your books at the glass cupboard above your sink smashing it into tiny pieces. He walked over to you getting in your face so you would see that he meant every word he was saying to you.

"I never want to see you again, as far as I'm concerned you are nothing to me, the universe got it wrong." He spat at you your breathing hitched as he stared into your eyes, the longer he stared at you with those hate-filled eyes the more you grew weaker, your legs buckling as soon as he slammed your front door. You dropped onto your knees sobbing into your hands as the timer on your wrist vanished and left nothing but a faint unfilled love heart tattoo - if your soulmate and you were together and in love, it would be filled in with red ink but yours was so faded the ink that outlined it was almost pink. You whimpered into your hands as you tried to ignore the pain in your chest, it felt as though someone had ripped your heart right from it and left you with a giant hole where it used to be.

Three days passed until your landlord had you admitted into the hospital, he'd heard the screaming that night and had just made it into your apartment to find you crying on the floor almost sitting in the broken glass. He'd come by every day to check on you until he finally got sick of seeing you so ill and admitted you to the hospital himself. You felt awful, your chest felt empty but as though someone had laid a weight right on top of you to restrict your breathing.

"When can I leave?" You whispered to the nurse who was holding your wrist, she was applying the blood pressure machine to you when she saw the heart on your wrist. Her eyes landed on yours and filled with tears as she realised what was happening to you.

"I need to speak to the doctor first." She whispered to you filling pity for you as she walked away trying not to look back at you. Everyone knew what the hearts meant and everyone knew what happened when a soulmate rejected you.

"Yoongi! How you feeling?!" You groaned hearing yelling coming from the room across from yours, whoever it was inside of there was always having super loud visitors at inappropriate times. One snuck in at 4 am that morning with food for him since they knew how much he hated the hospital food.

"Awful, like something inside of me has been ripped out." One of the men with him laughed and you turned over to face the window wanting nothing more than to just go back to your dorm room but you still felt sick.

"Who's that?" Namjoon asked looking away from Yoongi, Yoongi had been staring into the room across from him since the boys walked inside the hospital.

"I'll go." Jungkook laughed getting up from the chair and walking towards your room before Yoongi could even beg him not to - not that he had the energy to anyway. Yoongi knew it was you inside of there, he'd begged the nurses to move his room so you wouldn't see him but you'd been too busy staring out of the window or drawing in a sketch pad to even notice he was in the same hospital as you.

"Hi, I'm Jungkook." Your eyes looked the boy up and down, he was dressed in a hoodie and some jeans holding out his hand for you to shake but you just smiled at him not wanting to pass on what you thought you had. You had no idea that the soulmate rejection was a thing.

"I'm Y/n, w-what are you doing in my room?" You stuttered out sitting up in the bed and looking at him, he pulled the chair out and sat down crossed legged.

"You didn't look like you had any visitors so I thought I would keep you company, you're already much more interesting than my friend in there." He pointed over to Yoongi who then hid his head so you couldn't see it was him,

"Seems shy," You laughed softly and Jungkook shook his head,

"He would be, he's done nothing but stare at you since he got admitted two nights ago." He watched as you reached out for the glass of water in front of you and that was when he saw it, the faint heart that you had it was the exact same one on Yoongi in the place where his counter had been.

"Excuse me a moment." His voice broke as he got up to leave and rushed over to Yoongi demanding answers from him.

"Here," You looked behind you as someone walked into the room and placed something down onto the bedside table,

"What...What are you doing here?" You stuttered out as the boy who had been your soulmate sat down on the chair beside your bed where Jungkook had sat earlier,

"We're here for the same reason," He showed you the wrist and you frowned clearly not following along with it and he sighed.

"When a soulmate rejects you...When I rejected you I made us both sick. Clearly the universe wants us to be together." You scoffed at him pushing the food away that he'd brought you, you weren't going to take food from someone you barely knew and didn't want to get to know either.

"You trashed my apartment-"

"I had a short temper." You nodded along with him but scoffed once again,

"If you're going to scoff at everything I say we're going to be here for a long time." You shut your mouth and he smiled softly at him looking down at your wrist again his heart sank as he realised he'd been the one to hurt you this much that you were stuck in a hospital.

"I need to explain myself," He looked away from your wrist and up at you, you were already staring at him wondering why the universe had given you someone like him.

"I'm...It's going to sound bigheaded no matter how I say this, I'm famous...I'm a big deal here and almost...everywhere I think, that's why I reacted the way I did."

"It doesn't give you a right to treat people the way you did to me-"

"I know I'm sorry," He cut you off, he knew how right you were about it but he'd built his dream life on the thought of his soulmate being someone famous like him. Someone who he would be able to relate to in ways he couldn't with other people,

"I had my expectations high-"

"Sorry I couldn't meet them." You snapped at him and he sighed, he could see he was getting nowhere with the way he was trying to explain it to you and it was frustrating for him.

"Please let me explain myself...Then you can decide if you hate me or not I promise." You slowly nodded at him and he smiled softly looking at you as you allowed him to speak even though you shouldn't have. If it was him he wouldn't have even given him the time of day to speak about it, to even be in the same room as himself.

"I was a cunt-"

"Correct," He laughed softly as you agreed with him but you waited for him to keep going and let him try to explain his way out of this.

"People use me for my money and fame all of the time...I just assumed you would too." He whispered looking down at his hands as he opened up to someone that wasn't in his life, someone he didn't know who didn't get it.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that." You whispered to him watching as he wiped his eyes, he was crying over it so you could that it seriously hurt him somewhere inside and that it was coming out in ways he didn't want it to, like lashing out on someone he didn't know and smashing up their dorm room.

As time passed in the hospital you and Yoongi grew closer to one another, no one knew he was here except for the paparazzi but they were all locked downstairs in the main entrance with no idea what was happening upstairs. The nurses were sworn to secrecy as to what was happening with patients so Yoongi had nothing to worry about,

"What are you thinking about?" You questioned as you walked into your room to see him sitting on the window and looking down at everyone on the ground floor, you were so high up that everyone looked like tiny dots you could just make out the colours of their clothing. Over the last couple of days together you'd moved past Yoongi being an arrogant asshole when you first met him and you began to get to know one another on a personal level.

"How I have to go back soon," You glanced down at your wrist you were both starting to feel better and the hearts on your wrists were beginning to fill with every moment you spent together.

"Is it a bad thing?" You questioned sitting opposite to him on the window ledge handing him a bottle of water that you'd gotten from the vending machine. He leant his head on the window and then looked at you, you were so filled with hope that this could work despite what he'd done to you that it pained him a little.

"It won't be easy." He whispered watching as you shook your head at him,

"We'll make it work...We made this work." You whispered to him as you pulled your knees into your chest and put your chin onto them to rest, he smiled softly at you at how sweet you were about everything. Willing to give anything a shot even with everything he'd told you about his life and what it would mean for you if you started dating.

"We'll make it work." He promised reaching out to take your hand in his and smiling as you locked your fingers with one another.

"I promise I'll replace everything I broke," He said as you looked up at the nurse, she was coming into the room with your discharge papers and smiled at you both happy you were both doing better than you were when you first arrived in her care.

"I know," You smiled kissing his cheek, you weren't going to let him get away with smashing everything up and not replacing it and he liked that you weren't just going to let him move away from this like he'd done nothing at all.

"Call me." You whispered to him as you walked over to your bed, picking up the bag you'd brought along with you to the hospital.

"I will." He promised, sliding off the window ledge and walking with you towards the door so he could give you a real kiss goodbye when the nurse left you alone.

"I'll see you soon." He whispered tilting your chin up to him and leaving a small kiss on your lips.

Tagline:

@snowy-meowl @jooniesdarlingdimples @lyoongx @fan-ati--c @mitzwinchester @rjsmochii @callingmyangel @kneel-begyourpardon @taestannie @innersooya

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revengeoftheantichrist · 3 years

Text

Such Selfish Prayers

Warnings: Blasphemy, Catholic high school setting, teasing, inappropriate use of a chapel AO3

Friday morning mass had to be the most boring part of the school day. Listening to the priest go on and on about some bullshit parable made you want to run into traffic. You had zoned out until your head of year got up to make an announcement. “Ladies, those of you in Mr. Jones’ theology class are expecting some new students. Due to timetable clashes, some of the boys from Holy Cross will be joining your lesson until your exams. Please do give them a warm Sacred Heart welcome, and do not forget we are good catholic schoolgirls, so behave.” You rolled your eyes and tried not to huff. That was your theology lesson that was about to be invaded. The boys of your brother school were known for their abhorrent behaviour. Of course, the girls in your school weren’t angels, but you knew when you needed to behave; you had a reputation to maintain. You hoped they wouldn’t be too disruptive; you were already re-sitting final year and could not afford any fuck ups. //// Catholic theology; final period. The last hour between you and spending the weekend stoned or drunk, whichever came first. You were stopped by Sister Catherine on your way up to the lesson. “Y/N if I have to tell you one more time to pull your skirt down, that’s two weeks of afterschool detention, you know the rules.” You rolled your eyes and muttered a quick ‘yes sister’ and pulled your skirt down. As you walked into the classroom, you noticed that your friends were sitting in different spaces than usual. Mr Jones explained that he had rearranged the seating plan, to immerse the new boys into the classroom, and prevent a divide. You knew what he meant, you Politics lesson had a clear split between boys and girls, hurling insults at each other across the central aisle. You would be sat one boy and one girl; your seat being in the back corner, just behind your best friend Claire. You sat down and began to chat to the girl in front of you, the lesson couldn’t start without the boys and they were late. 15 Minutes had passed before they decide to show up. “Ah gentlemen, I’m glad you could make it,” said Mr Jones. “We’re sorry we’re so late sir, we got lost,” said the boy. The conversation in the room stopped at hearing his honey like voice. An American accent? Rare in your small English town. There weren’t any official government offices here so he couldn’t have been a diplomat’s son. Strange. His blond hair was perfectly styled, his uniform pressed to perfection. He looked so much more put together than the rest of his peers. You should know, it was the same school your younger brother went to, they never enforced uniform rules. You were surprised the boy wasn’t bullied for how nice it looked. “Well, don’t let it happen again, I can enforce detentions,” finished Mr. Jones. He started reading names and assigning them seats. The American boy was the last one standing and the seat next to you was the only empty one. You knew already he would be difficult; you weren’t here for it. “And finally, Mr. Langdon you will be sitting next to Miss. Y/LN. She just has a resting bitch face but I’m sure shell take good care of you,” said Mr Jones. The boy smirked at you and sauntered over. He sat down and unpacked his bag, taking over almost the whole desk. He finally turned to you, holing out his hand for you to shake. “Michael Langdon, nice to meet you.” You stared at his hand before shaking it, it was surprisingly soft. “Y/N,” you replied, tuning your attention back to the teacher, taking back your half of the desk by pushing his things to the side. You felt him staring at you. This was going to be a long lesson. //// Finally, the lesson was over. Michael had spent the whole time elbowing you and loudly bantering with his peers. If it wasn’t for you being in class, you would have hit him. You began to pack your stuff to leave, Mr Jones mentioning homework for Monday. Fuck, you’d have to see them first thing on Monday too. You resisted the temptation to leap through the window. The boy sat next to Claire turned to you,” your brother said you’d be a colossal bitch.” You furrowed your brows, “I haven’t even said anything to you, where’s this coming from? Also, my brothers in year 10 what the hell are you doing talking to him?” “You’re sat next to boy wonder over here and you haven’t said a word, he can pull conversation out of anyone,” replied the boy. You shook your head, “this is by far the stupidest conversation I’ve had in this classroom. Even stupider than the ‘is the anti-Christ sexy?’ one that we had last week.” It was Michaels turn to speak, “and what was the conclusion of that one.” Claire replied, “okay so, we thought ‘yes’ because he’s supposed to lead people into sin, right? So, you have to be sexy if people are lusting after you. Also, Satan was an angel so there’s that factor too.” “Girls!” shouted Mr Jones, “do not start that debate again we wasted a whole lesson on it already, go home its Friday I have shit to do.” You both laughed and left the classroom, not paying any mind to the boys behind you. //// Monday had arrived; the worst day of the week. To say you were hungover was an understatement. You walked in just before the lesson started, saying your good mornings before taking a seat. “you look like shit,” said the new boy. “I didn’t ask,” you replied. Mr Jones started talking to the class, “as the boys were late last week, we didn’t get to do introductions properly, so turn to your partner and tell them three things about you. Not including your name.” You rolled your eyes. “If you keep rolling your eyes, they’re gonna get stuck to the back of your head.” “again Langdon, I did not ask,” you huffed. She shot you a sarcastic smile, clearly annoyed by your short answers. “well then, what three things do you want to know about me?” “preferably nothing, but to make it go faster, where are you from?” “Los Angeles,” he replied. “ooo, California beach boy, are we? What brings you to this little catholic school in England then?” you asked. “My father sent me here, as for what he does, that’s classified.” “I wasn’t going to ask. Anyway, what’s your favourite food then?” “French toast,” he smiled. These three answers told you nothing about him, you didn’t want to admit it, something made you want to know more. “what do you want to know about me then?” you asked, not really wanting to give him any personal information. “what’s your favourite food?” “fettuccini alfredo.” “here’s what I really want to know,” he started, moving closer to you. “Who shoved that pole up your ass?” You raised your eyebrows and blinked slowly. Who did he think he is? “Why? Do you have something better?” “I might,” he replied, trailing his tongue over his teeth. “sorry. I’m not into blonds,” you finished. Turning back around to face the board. “I’m not finished asking questions,” said Michael. “I’m done answering them.” Mr Jones interrupted the class before he could argue. You hoped the class would fly by. You sat resting your chin on your hand, trying to listen to Mr Jones. Suddenly, your arm was elbowed out from beneath your chin, making you smack your chin off the table. Michael had elbowed you. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” “MISS Y/N!” “Michael elbowed me!” you said. “actually sir, her hand slipped,” Michael interjected. Mr jones looked pissed, “You know what? I really don’t care. Both of you are going to clean the chapel after school on Friday.” You sat there; gob smacked. You really did not want to spend any more time with Michael at all, but this was your final behaviour warning. Michael seemed surprisingly giddy; he was enjoying this far too much. //// Throughout the week, it seemed that Michael was doing anything he could to piss you off. Pushing you in hallways, taking your usual seats at lunch and in the library, even sitting behind you in mass, kicking your seat. “listen here you little blond bimbo bitch, if you don’t stop kicking my seat, I swear to god I’m gonna kill you,” you seethed. “Y/N! turn around were in the middle of mass!” your head of year whispered to you, trying not to disturb the priest. Michael kicked your seat even harder for the duration, even pulling your hair on occasion. How old was he? This wasn’t primary school. //// You were dreading the theology lesson today; it was the beginning of the two hours you would have to spend with the boy wonder. You took a breath to calm your nerves before walking into the classroom. ‘Revelations’ written on the board in red ink. You thought this was the most exciting book in the bible. Michael was already seated, grinning at you as you made eye contact. You moved to the other side of the aisle so he couldn’t attempt to trip you over. “Are you excited Y/N? you get to spend the next two hours with me you lucky thing.” “As soon as I see you outside these school gates it’s on sight mickey,” you replied. “Mickey?” “You look you’re an intellectual property of Disney,” you argued. “so, you think I look like a Disney prince then. I’ll keep that in mind princess.” “More like a prince of darkness, you’d be the villain actually.” He looked at you like you’d told him the funniest joke in the world, “you’re not far off,” he finished. What the hell did he mean by that? You decided not to press any further. “How do we think the world will end? Using biblical references,” Mr Jones’ voice broke through the silence. Michael had a glint in his eye, as if he knew something the rest of us didn’t. “how about Y/N? what’s your answer?” Had God decided that you were going to spend the rest of the year getting picked on? It seemed like it. “Erm well, the revelation about wormwood could easily refer to a nuclear bomb or something, looking at it in a modern context,” you gave your answer. “That’s a really good answer, nice to know your listening,” Mr Jones turned back to the class, leaving you be for the rest of the lesson. //// The lesson had ended. Mr Jones was walking the pair of you to the chapel in the convent that was connected to the school. It was silent. Just before you could walk in, Sister Catherine had spotted you again, “Y/N! SKIRT! PULL IT DOWN!” she shouted at you. You looked her in the eye, and slowly pulled it down, finishing with a smile. “This is a catholic school, I don’t know where you girls got the idea that short skirts were now acceptable,” she huffed, before leaving you alone with Michael and Mr jones. The chapel was beautiful. It was all white marble, stained glass and hardwood pews. Fresh flowers and statues of the virgin decorated little alcoves. Above the alter, the image of the crucifixion. You felt judged under his sombre gaze. Mr Jones handed you both the materials and gave you instructions on the cleaning. He’d be back in an hour. You were left alone with Michael. He made his way to the pews and sat down, putting his feet up and his hands behind his head. You rolled your eyes and got to dusting your side of the chapel, no way in hell were you going to do his work for him. You could feel his gaze on you as you dusted away. You stopped briefly to remove your blazer. You bent over to pick up a prayer card dropped by the alter. The prayer to Saint Michael. Unfortunately, the Michael in the room was anything but. “wow, your skirt really is short,” he said. You tried to get up to pull it down, but he was behind you. “Don’t be a perv and do your tasks!” He pulled you back against his chest, his arm around your waist and you head on his shoulder. “what the fuck Langdon!” you shouted. “You are far too mouthy princess,” he brought his hand around your throat, squeezing as a warning. He started to trail his fingers up from your knee. “You know,” he started. “I never got to ask that third question last week.” His fingers reached the hem of your skirt, slowly making their way underneath, making you shiver. You swallowed. “w-what did you want to know?” He had bunched your skirt up around your hips, exposing your legs. His fingers started to trace the hem of your panties. “I want to know if you’re a virgin y/n? Is he the only man you’ve ever gotten on your knees for?” he asked, nodding to the image of Christ. You had had ‘almosts’, but never the whole nine yards. His palm came across your ass and you squeaked. “Answer the question princess.” “Y -yes,” you replied, your skin heating up. He let go of you and you breathed a sigh of relief; reaching to tug your skirt back down. He gripped your wrists before you could, turning you around to face him. “I’m not finished with you yet.” His face was so close, you could smell the mint gum he liked to chew loudly. Something made you want to lean in a little further and kiss him, but you hesitated. “I’m going to be your new messiah from now on Y/N,” he said, pushing you onto your knees. His thumb stroked your cheek, before putting it in your mouth. “Don’t bite, or there’ll be consequences,” he warned. He ran his thumb along your tongue, before replacing it with two of his fingers; thrusting them in and out your mouth. You were too captivated by his eyes to respond. The low lighting of the chapel illuminating his golden hair like a halo. He finally pulled his fingers out, connecting to your lips with a string of spit. “Keep your mouth open,” he ordered. He reached for his belt, unbuckling in. You started to shift around, the marble hurting your knees and your arousal begging for attention. He said a quick ‘sit still’ before finally pulling his cock out. It was actually really nice to look at. He gripped your jaw, forcing you to open your mouth even further, before slowly sliding it in. He hissed at the sensation of your warm mouth. “This is the best was to shut you up.” He pushed until you gaged, the sensation so foreign to you. “C’mon princess, use your hands, I’m not here to do all the work,” he said. You took the base of his cock in your hands, moving it in time with your mouth. Michaels moans echoed throughout the chapel, adding fuel to your own arousal. You felt him twitch in your mouth. He grabbed your head and pulled you off, panting. You watched his wet cock bob against his clothed abdomen. “Get up” he ordered, so you did. He pushed you back, so you were lying on the alter, looking up at the frescoes on the ceiling. The image of God looking at you in disgust. Michael put his hand around your throat, “Look at me, I’m your god now.” He peeled your panties off, pocketing them. Pervert. His hands held your thighs apart, inspecting the wetness of your folds, before running his finger through. The sensation made you jolt and whine. “Keep quiet or they’ll hear you.” You nodded. He brought his fingers up to show you your arousal, you tried to turn your head away in embarrassment, but he had gripped your throat again. He continued to toy with your clit, bringing little gasps out of you. You cried out as he thrust two fingers inside. It felt so good, his touch was electric. “You’re so tight, I think I might break you,” he grinned. He noticed the prayer card still in your had, getting an idea. “Read that little prayer out while I defile you on the alter, your final prayer to your old god,” he commanded. “I- I can’t,” you managed to squeak out. Tears were welling in your eyes. He pulled his fingers out of you, licking them clean before humming. “You will,” he stated. He lined himself up, looking at you, waiting for you to start. "S-Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us i-in battle.” He pushed in, groaning as he did so. “Be our protection against… against the wickedness and snares of the d-devil.” He began to move, thrusting into you, making you forget your words. “You’re so tight, like you were made for me,” he panted out. “May God rebuke him, we humbly pray,” you managed to get out. Michael squeezed his hand around your throat. “And do thou, O Prince of the H-Heavenly Host.” He gripped your hip hard enough to leave bruises, picking up the pace. “By the power of God,” you couldn’t think anymore. The only thing on your mind was him. He slapped your ass, “by the power of god? Finish it.” He brought his hand down, rubbing circles around your clit, you squeezed around him. “Thrust into hell S-Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world for the r-ruin of souls.” Michael grinned, his eyes turned black and his skin pale. You were too far gone in your pleasure to scream at his demonic face. He reached under your shirt collar, yanking your gold crucifix off your neck. You could feel your release coming on fast, Michael could too. “Let’s finish the prayer together hmm?” “Amen,” you both moaned at the same time. Your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. Michael wasn’t too far behind, coating your insides with his seed. Slowly pulling out of you, watching your mixed fluids drip onto the alter. Coming out of your haze, you finally realised where you were and what you had done. “What are you Michael?” you whispered. “You read about me an hour ago,” he said, tucking himself back in, his face back to its normal state. Your eyes widened, it finally clicked. The Anti-Christ. You looked up to the crucifix above you, the statue crying blood. The faces in the stained glass twisted in sorrow. The statues of the virgin weeping blood. A wave of nausea hit you. Michael pulled you up, putting your skirt back in place. He smirked at you and pulled you in for a kiss, his tongue invading your mouth. He took your hand and placed your necklace in your palm. The cross had been inverted. “I’ll be over tomorrow, just introduce me as your boyfriend. You still have some more repentance to do.” With that he left you in the chapel. Leaving you clean up the mess, alone.

#my writing #Oneshot #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader

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thesunshinydays · 3 years

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[insert blaseball fic title here]

a wip for @blaseballwipamnesty about lenny marijuana learning how to deal with splort related anxiety before her first game, all as part of my scheme to put more real sports things into blaseball content. theres a lot more that i want to add to this including scenes from the game itself, but i just havent gotten around to it yet. also, this is @waveridden ‘s sister!lenny because thats my favorite lenny. overall id say it isnt even halfway done, though i do intend on finishing it at some point

i put it under a readmore because it needs content warning for food and a very frank discussion of dealing with a nervous stomach

“Okay so, I’m not nervous,” Lenny says, feeling like she might throw up at any moment. She’s looking down at what would normally be a perfectly appetizing waffle. It has a chunk cut out, separated from the rest with a fork stuck in it. She had tried to take a bite. She really had. But the idea of actually having to eat it was making her even more nauseous, so she is staring at it instead, as if that will let her passively absorb the calories she needs to pitch her first real game out of the shadows. She is pointedly *not* looking at Mike Townsend sitting across from her as she continues speaking: “But let’s say, hypothetically, I know someone who is pitching their first game today and is nervous about it. What advice would you suggest I pass along to them?”

“Well, first,” Mike says, “it’s normal to be nervous, so your friend shouldn’t feel bad about that. Any athlete that says they’ve never been nervous for a competition is a liar.”

“Really? I’ve never been nervous, ever,” Lenny lies.

“Oh, obviously. But for your friend: the secret to maximizing personal performance isn’t about not feeling anxious, it’s about learning how to work with that anxiety in a productive way and knowing that you can perform your best even while nervous,” Mike rattles off rotely.

“Why does this sound familiar?” Lenny asks.

“Because it’s in the presentation that the splort psychologist gives during every preseason training camp, which, I might add, your friend would know if she didn’t, hm, I don’t know, fall asleep in the middle of it,” he says.

“At least I don’t know it word for word,” she snaps back.

“I thought it was your friend who needed advice?” Mike looks a little smug and Lenny kicks him lightly under the table in retaliation. He laughs.

“Are you gonna give me real advice or what?” Lenny asks. She tried to make it sound biting or sarcastic, but she’s not sure it worked. She looks down again at her waffle chunk and pushes it around the plate. Teddy had worked hard to talk the hotel manager into opening up the waffle station at around four in the afternoon for the team, since it was normally reserved for complimentary breakfasts. She knew this wasn’t the team’s standard operating procedure. Normally, they’d go wherever they wanted for lunch, but Teddy had suggested this today instead. She feels shitty having to let the effort go to waste. She looks back up at Mike and says, “Quit it with the stupid psycho babble and give me something actionable, I feel like I’m gonna hurl.”

“Well first off, milk is the wrong choice,” he says as he takes her barely touched glass of whole milk and pushes his untouched glass of orange juice toward her.

He thought something like this might happen and got the juice for me in the first place, that fucking sneak, Lenny realizes.

“Second,” Mike says, ”stop trying to force yourself to eat if you feel like you can’t. It’s better to snack throughout the day if your stomach won’t settle than to eat a bunch at once. The ideal would be dried fruit and jerky so that you get carbs and protein to give you energy in the moment and through the course of the game, but we can make trail mix work.”

“Can’t, peanut allergy,” Lenny says.

“We can get you one with granola and almonds. Also, if you really, really can’t eat during the game, at least make sure you’re drinking a sports drink. It’s a lot of sugar, but it’s better than nothing and will keep you hydrated. Also, if you’ve recently had a lot of dairy, you might think about taking a lactaid.”

Lenny squints at him. “Those pills for lactose intolerant people? But I’m not--”

Mike cuts her off before she can finish. “I know, but it might help digestion go smoother and faster anyway, or at least placebo effect you into thinking it’s working.”

“Okay, I was giving you shit earlier but this is actually really helpful.” Lenny’s impressed. Somewhere along the line she had starting thinking of Mike as her weird mom friend -- her mind briefly supplies “adopted brother” but she stomps on that line of thinking before she can let herself analyze it -- and had forgotten that he was also one of the most famous (or infamous) pitchers in the ILB with half a dozen or so seasons of experience.

“My stomach isn’t quite as bad as yours, but I did used to get really nervous for games,” he admits.

“Used to? What changed? I thought you said anyone who says they never get nervous is a liar?” she asks.

“It’s not like I never get nervous, it’s just that… after enough games you start to get used to being nervous. That and well, after everything that’s happened, my perspective has shifted.” He gives a small shrug and looks past her out a window.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She knows she shouldn’t even have to ask. She asks anyway.

“The only games I get really, really nervous for anymore are eclipse games,” Mike says, still looking away, “‘Cause how I perform determines how long we stay on the field.”

#blaseball wip amnesty #blaseball #seattle garages #lenny marijuana #mike townsend #brief mention of teddy as well #SunnySpeaks #writing #wip amnesty was a good idea it made me get more work done on this and its fun reading everyones stuff #*rubs my sporty little hands together* yes more relatable athlete experiences in blaseball my evil agenda #its the olympics and im taking it out on fake people

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joaquinwhorres · 4 years

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Best of Friends (Ch. 1) {Bucky x Reader}

SUMMARY ››››› When your best friend steals marries Bucky's best friend, the two of you are left with only one solution: to become best friends yourselves.

PAIRING ››››› Bucky Barnes x Reader

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,916

WARNINGS ››››› There is no abuse in this story, no drug use, no depression, and as the only warnings worth putting up throughout the series, will be based around major plot points and surprise, I’m just going to rate certain chapters on the movie scale. This is chapter PG.

A/N ››››› So I love and adore this story so much. I originally wrote it as an OC story and you can find those versions of the chapters on AO3 or FFN

The pounding on the door was seriously the last thing you needed right now.

The first thing you needed was a drink.

Unfortunately there was no way on God's green earth you were going to successfully parallel park that UHAUL, and the idea of going to a liquor store within walking distance of your new place seemed about as safe as letting in the person on the other side of the door. Something told you it wasn't the UPS guy causing the door to rattle against the frame.

You sent up a silent prayer that whoever it was would just go away and leave you to the excellent pity party you had been throwing herself.

The banging grew louder. Which was about right for today.

Since dying probably couldn't make you feel any worse than you did right now, you strode across the apartment and wrenched open the door. In the next second, you were pushed back into the apartment as someone hurled themselves at you.

"You're here!"

Thank goodness. Bernadette.

Your shoulders dropped as you wrapped your arms tightly around your best friend, squeezing your eyes shut and willing yourself to relax into the wave of relief. "Hi," you mumbled.

"Took you long enough to open the door," Bernadette complained, but you could hear the smile in her voice as she rocked you from side to side.

"I thought you were a crazy person."

Bernadette let out a wild laugh right in your ear, and you flinched but refused to let go.

"She is a crazy person," a male voice interrupted your moment, and you opened your eyes to find two hulking figures leaning against the wall behind Bernadette. The brunette smirked at you--or maybe Bernadette--as the blonde seemed preoccupied with scanning the hallway.

"Fuck you, Bucky," Bernadette lifted her middle finger for him to see without releasing you from the hug.

Bucky just laughed in response. "I suggested texting you that we were on your way, but she thought you'd enjoy the surprise." His eyes glimmered with amusement as your eyes rolled on their own accord.

"And you did, right?" Bernadette asked, pulling back enough to look at you eagerly.

"Maybe we should get out of the hallway," the blonde suggested, putting a stop to the bickering and saving you from having to pick sides.

"Yes!" Bernadette's attention shifted as she released you from the hug. "Let's see it!"

Your stomach constricted. "It's pretty rough."

"Of course it is. You just got here like thirty minutes ago," she dismissed, pushing past you. You sighed, opening the door and letting the men enter.

“Hi Y/N. Sorry we didn't text,” the blonde greeted, giving you a quick hug on his way in.

“It's fine, Steve,” you patted his back before dropping back down onto your feet.

“Your Honor,” Bucky grinned, entering the apartment.

“Your Bestness.” You smiled back, following him in and closing the door behind you to keep anyone else from seeing the depressing state of your new reality.

The three quickly fanned out to survey your apartment.

"This is a .....nice place," Bernadette smiled too brightly as she circled a pile of boxes in the kitchen to flip on the tap water. You watched as it sputtered a few times before picking up into a yellow-ish stream. She quickly flipped it off, turning to face you and see if you had seen. Making eye contact, she shrugged. "That clears up."

Bless her. She had to be the best friend to ever exist. Because if you were her, you totally would have hit her with an 'I told you so' by now.

Bernadette had warned you that an affordable single apartment was suspicious. That sometimes landlords blurred the neighborhood lines. That you may need to fix it up in order for it to even be considered a fixer-upper. Everything she warned you about was true.

You had thought you were going to Williamsburg. Instead you were in Bed-Stuy.

The picture on the listing must have been from like 10 years ago. Or maybe it was a neighbor's place. Or straight photoshopped. Because exposed brick was one thing but crumbling walls were another.

Add to that the three locks on the door and the fact that you were eight hours away from pretty much everyone you knew and loved, and you were feeling super great about this life decision.

"Does it?" you asked, making your way over to the living room area where about half of the floor seemed to have been ripped up.

"Sure," Bernadette nodded, moving out of the kitchen. "And if it doesn't, that's what Brita is for."

"You locked the truck, right?" Steve asked from where he stood by a window, staring out to the street below.

"Stop, the neighborhood's not that bad," Bernadette waved at Steve. She made a show of rolling her eyes as she moved past you to open the door to your bedroom."You did lock the truck, right?" she paused to whisper in your ear. You hummed a yes and turned to follow her.

The bedroom was less depressing than the rest of the apartment in the way Mount Everest was less dangerous than K2. It was still a fucking mountain.

"Interesting paint job," Bernadette remarked, staring at the wall which was half royal blue and half blood red. And not even artsy diagonal halves. No, of course not. Vertical halves. "I think I've seen something like this on Pinterest."

You groaned.

Bernadette tilted her head slightly, considering the room. "I think you probably have enough room to fit a twin and a dresser in here if you line them up against the wall."

"It's terrible," you whined. "The whole place is a complete shithole."

Bernadette gave you a sad smile. "It's better than I thought it would be," she brushed past you, walking back into the living room.

"There's a random hole in the kitchen ceiling!" You flung an arm out gesturing vaguely towards the kitchen.

"It could have been way worse. I was expecting it to be like a fourth of the size or for there to be a random dude you had to share it with. And anyway, Bucky's handy."

Your eyes flicked to Bucky, who was surveying the hole in the kitchen ceiling.

"You can't see into the apartment upstairs, so that's good," he commented and Steve snorted. Bernadette slipped off her shoe and chucked it at Bucky. He ducked, and it hit the wall of the kitchen, knocking loose part of the wall.

Whatever.

Bernadette winced. "Sorry," she apologized to you, meekly, shuffling across the apartment to retrieve the shoe from Bucky's outstretched hand. Taking the shoe, she whacked him in the arm with it. Bucky laughed again, making eye contact with you and shaking his head. You allowed a single exhale of amusement to escape you. But that was pretty much all the humor you had to spend on the situation.

"Do you have the keys to the truck?" Steve asked, and you nodded, patting your pockets before finding them and offering the small keychain to him. "Alright, Buck," he nodded with his head towards the door, and Bucky moved around Bernadette, giving her a wide berth as he went to follow Steve.

She started to follow when Steve stopped her.

"We got it. It's just the heavy stuff, right?" he asked you.

You nodded. "Yeah, I got most of the boxes up before you came."

"Are you saying we can't handle the heavy stuff? Did I secretly marry a misogynist?" Bernadette asked, putting her hands on her hips.

Steve shook his head, smiling. "We need someone to watch the stuff up here since the door's going to be open."

"Steve--" Bernadette started to protest again. You weren't sure if she was about to argue about her physical prowess or the apartment's safety, but regardless of the argument this eternal optimist wanted to make, you were fairly sure Steve was right.

"That'd be great, you can help me figure out where to put things as we unpack."

Bernie brightened at the prospect. "I'm glad you said that, because I already have some ideas." She turned back to face Bucky and Steve.

"Bucky, make sure he doesn't overexert himself. I need him fully functional tonight." You hoped that everyone mixed the grimace that crossed your face. Steve blushed slightly, and leaned down to whisper something in Bernie's ear. A grin spread across her face, and you were very thankful Steve was not one of those people who couldn't whisper.

"Ah newlyweds," Bucky made eye contact with you again, and you couldn't read the look on his face. He seemed almost like he was waiting for you to get the punchline of a joke. Maybe if your brain was operating at all correctly, you would have gotten it. Instead, you snorted before turning to Bernadette.

"Kitchen should be easiest and least in the way, right?"

"As long as we get it done in time for Bucky to take a look at the ceiling. And the bit of wall he knocked off."

You knew Bernadette well enough to see the red herring for what it was. You were not going to get distracted with holding her accountable for further destroying your shitty apartment.

"I'm not going to ask Bucky to fix my ceiling," you said, gathering the utensils out of the box and sticking them in a drawer by the stove.

"It's not a big deal--" Bernie dismissed, crossing paths with you to take the utensils and stick them in one of the mason jars you'd already unpacked.

You shook your head, "It's weird to ask one of your friends to fix my ceiling--"

"He's your friend too," Bernadette argued, taking the napkins out of your hands and disappearing with them.

"I've met him twice."

Bernadette came back and rustled through the open boxes, the sound of glass clinking and metal shifting against each other in her wake."Yes, but the second time you spent four days practically attached to the hip with him."

"Because he was the best man, and I was the maid of honor. It was our job to be attached at the hip and make sure everything went well."

"Was creating cute little nicknames part of the job as well?" Bernadette asked, pausing to pin you with a look.

"It's just an inside joke, and they're not that cute."

"Oh, they're pretty cute," Bernie smirked, bending back down to go through a box. "Where did you put your dish towels?"

You stood up from your box, coming over to join her in looking through the box. "I mean he calls you Bernie."

"Everyone calls me Bernie now," Bernadette dismissed. "Besides he has two nicknames for you."

"K is not a nickname. It's a taunt."

"You mean flirtatious teasing."

"I mean a jab at how I'm a shit texter."

Bernadette looked you dead in the eyes before shooting you what was probably supposed to be a sultry wink. " 'k."

You threw the dish towels you'd just dislodged at her and she laughed, picking them back up from where they fell in the box, and moving over to the open drawer. "Setting aside the two nicknames and their quality, he volunteered to come help you. I don't think he'd mind taking a look."

"Maybe," you conceded, knowing Bernadette wouldn't stop until she'd had some measure of success. It's what had to make her such a good law student. You had given in enough times on the promise of maybe that with a glint in her eye she dropped the subject.

It took Bucky and Steve a little over an hour to unload all of your things from the truck. It was another forty-five minutes of Bernadette reimagining the floor plan and forcing the four of you to continuously shuffle the furniture around before she was satisfied. When all was said and done, the apartment did look marginally better. At least some of the punched in outlets were hidden and the worst of the floor was covered.

"Well," Bernadette said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "That's it. You're officially a New Yorker."

"And you can officially stop sending me those sketchy Craigslit ads and Monster listings," you nodded, placing your hands on your hips and surveying the apartment.

"Neither of you are New Yorkers," Bucky shook his head, navigating the words around a hair-tie as he fixed his bun. Bernadette turned to glare at him, and he laughed, slipping the hair-tie around the bundle of hair.

"You married in. Doesn't count."

"Excuse you, I’m fluent in Subway Announcement and I’ve had a rat steal some of my food. If that doesn’t make me a New Yorker then I don’t know what does,” Bernadette huffed.

"You're a New Yorker," Steve soothed, putting an arm around her, and kissing the top of her head.

"Well," you sighed, hoping to stop another bantering fight from breaking out between Bucky and Bernadette. "I need pizza. And beer. And to get out of this apartment. Anyone else?"

"Oh," Bernadette's face fell as she glanced quickly up at Steve and then at you. "I wish we could, but Steve and I have reservations. I wasn't even thinking when we made them, and it's such a long wait list…" she trailed off, frowning sympathetically "I'm so sorry, babe."

"I'm free," Bucky offered. "And I actually know a decent place that's not too far from here. Since I'm a real New Yorker." The jab effectively stopped the sly grin that was growing on Bernadette's face.

"I--"

"What line did we take to get here?" Bucky asked, and Bernadette sulked. "It just slipped out."

"It's a tourist mistake," Bucky shook his head, tsking. "The green line."

"Well," Bernadette hmphed, "Steve and I are going to take the G train back home to get ready for dinner." She moved over to you, placing a kiss on your cheek. "I will see you for lunch sometime soon because we can do that now that we live in the same city!"

You smiled, and reached up to hug Steve as he bent down to say goodbye.

"Bucky, please do not take my best friend to any godforsaken hole in the wall back alley pizza joint that's definitely just a front. I don't care how good their pizza is," Bernadette cut off his protest and he smiled, shaking his head.

"You're missing out on all of the best food."

"Ok," Bernadette dismissed, her disbelief dripping from each syllable. She took Steve by the hand, and you and Bucky walked them to the door. "Love you both." And with that, Bernadette and Steve were gone, leaving you alone in your apartment with Bucky.

He sighed, running a hand through the roots of his hair, despite the fact that it messed up his perfectly done man bun.

"You don't have to get pizza with me," you said, flashing a quick smile at him.

"Trying to get rid of me?" Bucky asked, looking down at you amused.

You shook your head, turning away from him quickly to try to locate your purse amongst the boxes. "No, I just--didn't want you to just come along to be nice. Or because you felt bad that Bernadette ditched so I'm all alone."

"How could I feel bad when you put it like that?"

"I didn't mean it like--" you started, stuttering and Bucky stopped you, coming up beside you with your purse hanging from his finger.

"I know. Just rest assured that I'm happy to put up with you for pizza."

You snatched the purse from him, slinging it across your body as Bucky laughed at you. "Ready?"

You nodded and the two of you headed out the door.

For all of the inconveniences and tragedies that had befallen you today, the walk to the pizza place was not one of them. In fact, second to seeing Bernadette at your door, it was probably the best part of the entire day. The walk was short, and the September evening air was pleasantly warm. With Bucky and his MMA fighter build next to you, navigating through the neighborhood didn't wrack your nerves as much as it could have. Although, it might not have been Bucky's muscles as much as his easy conversation that provided the comfort. He told you about his job, where to find the best bodegas, and one embarrassing story of Steve growing up. By the time you arrived at Tony's Pizza Spot, you had almost forgotten about how awful your day was.

"Hey Tony," Bucky called out, entering the place, and the owner looked up from where he was cutting a pizza. He jerked his head up in a nod. It was a small wood paneled shop with no tables or counters to sit at. Instead, there was one large display case with different meats and breads. You looked up at the simple menu, and Bucky stood closely next to you despite the fact that you had a feeling he didn't need to look at the offerings.

"Pepperoni and sausage ok?" Bucky asked, and you nodded, scanning the drink refrigerators for any sight of beer. "And for your milkshake?"

You raised your eyebrows at him. "I'm getting a milkshake?"

"You are," he nodded.

"Well," you looked up at the board. "Cherry vanilla."

"Excellent choice," Bucky smiled, approaching the counter as Tony tied off the pizza box with twine and then approached.

"What can I getcha?" he asked his eyes flicking between you and Bucky.

Bucky placed the order quickly, and Tony nodded, quickly tallying it up on the register. You reached into your purse for your wallet, but Bucky waved you off. "I got this."

"Pretty sure it's customary for the person who just subjected you to two hours of moving stuff to pay for the pizza. "

"Nah," Bucky shook his head, already handing the cash over to Tony."Think of it as a housewarming gift."

"Just moved to the neighborhood?" Tony asked, passing back Bucky his change, and you nodded. "Welcome."

"She's right down the street," Bucky said, dumping the change into the tip jar and stuffing the bills back into his pocket. "Figured I'd show her the best pizza spot in town."

"Damn right," Tony grinned, moving away to grab out an already prepped cheese pizza.. "How's Clint doin'? Didn't see him last week."

Bucky shook his head. "Broke his wrist last week, so Kate's placed him under house arrest to make sure he doesn't make it worse like last time. I'm guessing one of them will be in soon."

Tony had the same look of exasperation as Bucky as he ladeled sauce onto the pizza. "It's always something with him. Broken bones. Concussion. That boy's a walking accident."

You sorted through your memories trying to remember if you had met Clint at the wedding or either of the times you had been up to visit Bernadette at school. The name sounded familiar enough, but you couldn't picture the face. If Bernadette was here she could jog your memory. She'd remind you who Clint was give you a few facts about his life and a quick story so you felt like you knew him already. But she wasn't here. She was off being married, and you were in this tiny pizza shop with a boy you hardly knew who was doing his best to keep you company.

"You ok?" Bucky bumped shoulders with you. You hadn't realized their conversation ended and Tony had moved away to make the milkshakes.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you shook your head trying to clear your thoughts.

Bucky shot you a very disbelieving look. "I can't tell if you're a bad liar or just too tired to try to be good at it."

Your shoulders dropped. Frankly, it was both. "It's nothing...it's stupid," you dismissed.

"Bummed you're stuck here with me instead of Bernie?" Bucky guessed. Very correctly.

"No," you sighed. "I just wish she was here too."

"Yeah, I get it," Bucky nodded, facing back forward to watch Tony making the milkshakes.

You felt bad. After all, Bucky had volunteered to give up his Monday evening to helping you move in. He probably had a whole list of things he'd rather do after work than lug a bookshelf up your stairs, but he'd done it, hadn't complained, and then treated you to pizza. And here you were wishing he was Bernadette.

"It was kind of rude of your best friend to steal my best friend," you commented with a half smile.

Bucky snorted. "Sorry, your honor, but your best friend stole my best friend."

"What?"

Bucky looked back down at you. "You weren't there. He was gone long before she was. Pretty much the second he met her it was over for him."

"What, and you were there the second they met?" you sassed back, placing your hands on your hips.

"Actually, yes," Bucky said, reaching forward to grab a milkshake Tony placed up on the counter. He peered into the top of the cup and passed it over to you. "Steve volunteered both of our services to move in Bernie's stuff."

"I didn't realize you were there," you said, accepting the dessert from Bucky. "She only ever mentioned Steve."

"Maybe he did steal her away fairly instantly then." Bucky shrugged. "Anyway, you realize there's only one solution to our problem, right?"

You gave him a flat look. "I'm not going to kill them."

"Holy shit, no," Bucky laughed. "That's where you went first?" Your face heated up, and you quickly busied yourself with a sip of the milkshake which was very good. Better than alcohol good. "And?" Bucky asked.

"It's delicious," you said, returning for another sip before looking back at him. "But what's the solution?"

"We'll be best friends."

"You want to be my best friend?" you asked, with a small smile.

"More like I want you to be my best friend," Bucky said. "Steve's been doing a shit job recently, and you moved all the way from North Carolina to be with Bernie--I like that kind of effort."

You laughed, and Bucky grinned back, taking his milkshake from off the counter.

"Alright," you agreed, feeling a little bit lighter. "I'm not replacing Bernadette though. You'll just have to be the substitute for when she's not up to par."

"I can work with that," Bucky nodded. "And as my first act as your substitute best friend is to demand to throw you a housewarming party. Don't make plans for next Saturday."

The smile slid off of your face. "No, thank you. I don't want anyone walking into my trap house apartment."

"Your apartment is not that bad."

"Bucky. It's terrible."

"Your Honor, Steve and I shared a glorified closet for our entire sophomore year of college. We couldn't both stand in our kitchen." Bucky leveled you a glance. "And our friends still came over to visit us."

You mulled it over, stirring your milkshake with the straw. It wasn't a terrible idea. It was bad,, uncomfortable, ill-thought out, and overall not good, but it wasn't terrible. You nodded. "Alright, Your Bestness. Saturday."

"Excellent," Bucky grinned, grabbing the box Tony slid across the counter. "We'll discuss details over pizza."

Masterlist

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes au #mcu fic #modern!au #marvel fic #marvel imagine #best of friends #bucky fic

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jamestrmtx · 3 years

Text

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Twenty One | It's Showtime! (Part 3 of 3 | His POV)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

"Should I… Should I give up Frisk's custody?"

"What?"

Having that be the first thing the human asks when arriving at the Judgment Hall surprises him the right amount to make that 'what' come off as a shout. It resonates throughout the echoey room, giving rise to the noise and causing them to flinch and stop walking. At that, Sans sighs and excuses himself; strain arrives in his voice as he corrects himself with, "Why do you think that? Isn't the kid happy with you?"

They avoid his irises and stare at the newly laid-out benches around, these a product of the changes being made to the Underground, and ones they suggest sitting on while they talk. It's obvious they're stalling for time, so he doesn't speak and only follows them there. One glance at the bitter look in their eyes and the sheer uncertainty of their frown makes him stay that way -- waiting for them to act first. Not even the bright light that seeps into the room is enough to shake them out of their distant gaze. Their steps are soft and slow, barely causing an echo as they walk, vastly different from his own set of footsteps. Being any more cautious and quiet would mean they would disappear out of the room entirely. Were he not walking along with them, their presence would be hard to distinguish from the vast emptiness of the place. Even the benches don't suffice to fill out the space surrounding the Hall.

"I'm not sure anymore," they finally reply, tone as icy as their choice of words. He sits next to them and lays a hand over their knee, one he squeezes tight as a way of comforting them. "Toriel seems like someone better fit for that role, so if she holds the same feelings she had about adopting Frisk as she did the first time, then maybe… That's all for the best?" Their voice trembles, though they continue with, "What do you think, Sans?"

The monster pulls his hand back and lets their question simmer in his thoughts for a while.

"Do ya really wanna know?" he asks, meeting their gaze.

"...Yes." Their reply is as weak as the light in their eyes.

Again, Sans gives himself some time to think, needing that more than ever now that they hold him up to such a delicate question. He doesn't want to sugarcoat anything, but -- similarly -- he doesn't want to hurt them further than they already appear to be. A happy medium would be the best choice, though he doesn't know what that is, exactly. Truthfully, he was growing biased whenever it came to talking about them; he was besotted, no doubt, and -- if matters kept on this way -- he had to scold himself for letting his feelings conflict with his job. Seeing them blue was the last thing he wanted, but some things are easier said than done. If they required an honest answer, he had to deliver it. Masking faults wouldn't do any good, in the long run.

"I think you're a pretty wonderful parent. It's the overthinking and overprotective part that you've gotta work more on. Other than that, then you should take that promise you made seriously, so that you can improve and find more strength to avoid those doubts." His hands make their way to their waist as he brings them closer to him. He then sits them on his lap, smiles, and leans in, looking up with that same, yearning visage afterwards. "...And someone easy to love, despite that stuff." His desire to kiss them grows stronger by the second, yet he's aware it's best not to try that currently -- not now, of all times. The human was still healing; his wants could wait for their needs. "I like being around you -- with you. And while I know Tori's a good mother, you're a good parent, too. You deserve to keep being Frisk's parent, just as they deserve having a parent like you."

By all means, this has to be the riskiest move he's pulled so far, and with awful timing, too. He overlooked plenty of factors before placing them on his lap, and -- now -- he's beginning to consider if that's the best thing he could've done. Their hands have difficulty finding a safe area to land on without making him tense up, and the same goes for their sitting position, this one just as stiff as they try to get comfortable without doing the opposite to him. Still, they stay firm in place and smile back, something that doesn't last long when they say, "I've made too many mistakes, and I've... I've bothered way too many people. I can't even feel mad about arguing with Brenda without then feeling guilty seconds later, k- knowing she did so much to pull me out of that bog. I don't deserve to be forgiven." Their hands press against his chest and grab tight onto his shirt, squeezing at the fabric to tug him closer against them. "It's not right."

The monster tries to catch another look at them, though the human refuses by looking down, gaze cast on their lap. "That's on the people you've hurt. You don't get to decide whether you deserve their forgiveness. Or do ya?"

Their hold on him roughens. "Of course not."

"Then why think that? What makes you think Frisk doesn't like you -- or Brenda? Or pretty much... anyone else?"

Sans gets even closer, leading them to press a hand against his shoulder in a weak attempt at gaining that space back.

They look at him afterwards, eyes focused on his teeth. "Do you want to ki-"

He does that before they can even finish with their sentence.

The reminder he's yet to adjust to physical contact dawns on him when he kisses them.

His pulse skyrockets, and it's a challenge not to grow dizzy by his own actions. His hands lay awkwardly on their lap, but he tries to explore elsewhere to prevent that, making him end up holding their lower back. The warmth and softness of their body is a grand contrast from his, something he can feel to be more pronounced when his hand strays to their waist, pudginess felt sharply against the roughness of his touch. He's lost track of how long the kiss has lasted, yet -- right as he's thinking about ending it -- they return it with twice as much fervour, tongue slipping into the space left between his parted teeth. Clumsy movements turn clumsier as he wonders what to do now that they're going beyond a quick and simple kiss, though he doesn't push them away. His soul fastens and he can hear their heartbeat with how close he is against them, the sole obstacle to keep him distanced being the reminder this is the last action he'll get for a while; if again, at all.

He shouldn't be doing this, and while his mind has that thought on repeat, he wants more.

"Doin' mouth-to-mouth again, are we?" an infamous voice comments, this one heard from close by. "Didn't know getting so touchy-feely and tongue-heavy was part of the process."

They get off his lap and stand up; their actions are immediate, even more so than his own. A guarded, almost wary look overcomes all the hard-earned calm they expressed before. Not an ounce of reluctance stays in their posture, and -- in comparison -- they appear plenty more defiant than anything else.

"You've fought all the way here, just to surrender now?"

Sans almost believes he's said that himself with how similar that voice is to his; it's rough and booming, and it arrives from the door of Asgore's old garden.

"This was all one cheap ruse, wasn't it? You never really were angry with any of the monsters, were you?" the same voice asks, his figure emerging from the door. "You've 'fought' with people like Toriel just to make yourself seem like you actually give a shit about your child, but you don't care at all." It's the same man from the bus; a small but no less weak army stands behind him, allowing him to act more confident than before. "If you did, I'm sure as hell you wouldn't be kissing a complicit in murder. You just want to hand the kid over to the first idiot you see and be done with them."

"Hey, bud," Sans says, standing up. "Watch it."

He takes a few steps forward until settling in the middle of the hall, preventing those by the door from getting any closer. "We came here for some quiet n' privacy," he then adds, zeroing his gaze on the man. "So please leave, so I can talk with 'em."

"You should watch what you say," one of the crowd says, stepping from behind the man. "Just what do you mean by 'privacy', exactly? Gonna get it on with that human? Though you were doing that just now, and you've done that before, too -- It makes no sense for you to want any 'privacy' now."

"I don't think I need to explain why me giving 'em CPR and me kissing 'em are two vastly different things." The skeleton continues to get closer, noticing the crowd's doing the same. "And I mean privacy, as in: what we need to talk about 'ere ain't none of your business," he states, gaze narrowing at the woman. "Leave us alone."

"As if we'll let you go," a different man says, joining the woman's side. "You might have (L/N) fooled with your 'feelings', but we're aware of the truth, and we refuse to let whatever this is keep going. Whatever cheap sob-story you told them to try justifying your actions won't work on us."

He glances back to the human when noticing they've grown quiet. They're still standing near the bench, though they soon face the crowd and say, "If you have a problem with that, you can talk to me directly. He has nothing to do with this." Then, they glare at the man, who remains unfazed even as they walk forward. "He's-"

Thud.

The sound follows right after he shields the human from the object hurled at them.

It rests in his hand, large, oval, and porous -- one of Asgore's heaviest garden rocks.

"Stop that."

Thud.

Three are thrown at the same time. Two Sans catches with ease, though one slips right past him and ends up hitting his company with a loud thunk. Worry over them being hurt fades when he looks to their side and sees they've caught the rock in their hand, creating a bruise in their palm -- one they hide in their pocket after shaking the pain away.

"Leave us alo-"

A crash follows before the third thud, leaving shattered glass by the opposite spot to where the man and his crew stand at. Shoes aid with not being cut by the shards as he gives his back to the crowd and inspects the source of destruction, though it's made clear the thud's come from another rock, this one the human didn't turn out successful in avoiding. Blood drips from the side of their face down to their neck, while the rock lays stained by the floor. Regardless, they say nothing and cover the wounded area with a piece of cloth they retrieve from their belongings. The cold look from before returns, but with ire and distaste -- all of that directed at the crowd rather than their own self.

"Say something," the man from the bus says, words aimed at (Y/N), who stays quiet all the while. "The hell's wrong with you?"

"Ditto." they state, lips straight and eyes dull. "You have no business being here. This is-"

"Then your Halloween-edition boyfriend has no business living up there, either."

"That's not what I meant." They approach the monster's side and stay close to him. "This place is dangerous. The walls are cracking, the ceilings are crumbling, and the floors are giving in. The only reason why the Underground isn't available to you is 'cuz it's being made a safer place for you to be in."

"Then why are you here, of all people?"

"I'm here to learn the truth before I decide what to do with Frisk's custody."

Sans tries to stay one step ahead of them, remaining wary over any other attacks. The man glares at him, though the greater part of his attention resides on (Y/N). Still, he nods at one of his companions to keep an eye on him, reminding the monster he hasn't yet forgotten about him.

"So why did you ask about giving up their custody?"

"Because I know I'm not adept enough to raise them with my current state of health. They deserve better."

Anger strikes in the man's eyes. He clasps his hands into fists and clenches his jaw. What keeps him from getting any closer is seeing Sans do the same.

"So you call Toriel better?" the man questions, words spat.

Something unknown ignites in the skeleton's soul, and while he assumes it's because two people he thought fondly of were being spoken ill of, the strength of that feeling makes him believe there's more to it than that.

"Asks the man who threw a rock at (Y/N)," he intervenes, against biting back his tongue.

Sans takes their hand and helps them sit back down on the bench, though he keeps an iris on the crowd and a thick shield around the human.

When finished, he stares back at the man and adds, "You have a minute to wrap things up and leave this place -- before I call for backup."

"Can't fight us alone, skelly?"

"I don't intend to."

He holds the human up in his arms and takes them to the first location he thinks of, all while ignoring those who try to challenge him as he teleports them out of the Judgment Hall.

• • •

"Are you and (L/N) safe? Please give them my deepest apologies. Truth be told, it has been rather difficult to communicate more often, now that my... jail sentence has doubled."

He rests his back against the wall, slumps, and closes his eye sockets for a moment.

"I'm fine," Sans replies, toying with the strings of his jacket. "They got hit by a rock, but other than that…" He glances at his bed, where they lay at as they hold an ice pack to their wound. They give him a quick thumbs-up, allowing him to continue with, "They're okay."

Asgore breathes out a sigh in what he can only assume to be relief. "Be sure to mention my name, if they ever require medical care."

"Got it. See ya later, old man."

"Farewell, Sans."

He sets his phone down and stares at it, gaze blank as he contemplates the situation.

(Y/N)'s question clings to his mind no matter how much he tries to convince himself they're fine.

If someone so devoted to their role as a parent had a thought as wild as that one, then what was keeping them from holding themself back?

What was keeping them from giving up the one thing they found a purpose in?

And if they hadn't brought it up, what would happen then?

"What did he-" The human interrupts themself with an 'ow' when they try to stand up. "What did he say?"

The monster sits next to them by the edge of the bed and leans in, using one hand to hold their cheek while the other keeps him stable -- hovered over their body. "Don't stress about that now," he says, voice quiet. "Just relax."

They smile and keep their cheek in his hand, though theirs places itself over his as they rub their thumb against it. "Worried?"

"It's the third time you've fallen ill in less than a year." He chuckles. "What do you think?"

"I think you need to join me in bed, then." They brush his hand away and extend their arms out -- as if waiting for a hug. "C'mere, babe."

He approaches them without dither, though he's careful not to be rough as he lowers some more and embraces them. Their arms grab his waist and lay him on the little space remaining next to them. The space he lacks they make up for by bringing him close -- enough for him to hear their heartbeat, along with each breath they take. "So are you still going by that agreement letter? Or did you really just bodyguard me?"

"Bodyguard?"

"Don't judge my word choice." They grin. "I'm dizzy and tired." A curious glint reaches their gaze when pulling their attention away from him to look around his room. "You're almost done moving, aren't you? The place looks empty."

"It's better now that you're here, though."

"You never miss an opportunity to do that, don't you?"

He winks. "That's about the last thing I wanna do when I'm around you."

They roll their eyes, only to then grab him by the shoulders and pull him closer. Their breath is overwhelmingly minty, revealing they've just about chewed the entire box of gum he'd seen them take out of their bag. Thankfully, it seems to have worked to some extent, as they don't seem as weak as they did when first arriving at his room. The mint's strength is what's keeping them awake and fighting the nausea shown after escaping through the use of his magic. "Are you really fine?" they ask, smile still there; it weakens, however, and they appear to recall something, confirmed with, "A- And God, I'm sorry. You said you weren't comfortable with making out, and I doubt you mentioned anything beyond kissing on the cheek, too, right? And yet, I… I went ahead and-"

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I did something you clearly stated you didn't like before."

Sans pokes at their nose with his index finger, gaining an annoyed huff from their part. "And that was around two whole months ago," he says, grinning. "I barely knew much about my feelings back then, but now I understand them a lil' better, and… And what I'm comfortable with, also."

They don't humour him. On the contrary, they grab his finger and soon his entire hand as they force it into a fist. "But it's still important enough for me to remind myself of it." Finally, they push it away and lour. "You don't need to do any of this." Their forehead wrinkles and their body stiffens. "I was in the wrong-"

"For asking me if I wanted to kiss you? I was the one who cut you off mid-question for that."

He stands up and helps them do the same.

"Let's calm down for a moment and think this through."

The skeleton then places his hands over their thighs and looks up at them. "I'm still figuring myself out, but one thing's for sure: I like you. Even if I don't exactly know to what extent those feelings go, what I'm willing to do, and what I'm not, I like you, and I want to explore these feelings with you." They nod and stay silent as he adds, "The one who punched me at the bar -- that friend I told you about -- they had a crush on me for a long time, but I never really was one to care much for that kinda stuff. Then there's the occasional, rare crush I had on other people, but… It was always hard for me to distinguish whether those feelings were romantic or not." He stops to assess their expression and sees intrigue in their eyes. "I was more guarded at the time, since I still had that job at the Hall, and that involved me being a hell lot more distant than I am these days. But now that I've got more freedom to live and just, well… be, I've been able to figure things out about myself -- like how much I enjoy even the thought of having you by my side."

When something cold falls on his hand, he looks up at them to see tears in their eyes.

"Were you that worried about this, puddin'?" He can't contain a laugh when he sees them shed more tears after being asked that question.

They nod and press their lips tight together, holding themself back. "I don't want to screw this up. I… I like you, too, and it feels like… like I overstepped a lot of boundaries for a minute there."

"A kiss that you asked me about first?"

"But then I returned it and did things I wasn't supposed to."

"Did you actually ever ask me if I liked it or not?"

"Well, uh… No."

Sans takes their hand and brings it against where his soul can be felt beating.

"I was, frankly... overwhelmed, but it didn't feel gross or anything like that. And I didn't feel a need to stop or tell you to, regardless." He feels his face burn, and he's sure there has to be some evidence that his face is turning red, yet he doesn't hold back. "Did you forget what we went to the Hall originally for?" His smile widens. "Or did you forget to keep yourself in mind again?"

"It was to talk about my dream from earlier."

"But you still ended up talkin' about Frisk instead. And then I sat you on my lap and kissed you." He then brings their hand to his cheekbone. "Sounds selfish when I put it that way, doesn't it?"

They don't answer and choose to hide their face away against his chest. "Maybe? I… I wanted to kiss you, too, though."

"I did it knowing that dream you had was related to me -- and in a negative way, to boot."

Their hand lets go of his cheekbone and goes to place itself close to where they rest their face at.

"So let's plan something," he adds, holding their back. "Once we're done signing Frisk up in Tori's school, and once you settle things out with your job… We go on another date like the one we had at that hotel, and from there on, we can talk about that dream for real. You'll avoid bringing up stuff that's not directly related to your situation, while I'll avoid my urge to kiss you."

They let out a laugh. "Tell me more."

Sans complies with a grin. "So if everything's sorted out better by then, we can celebrate that accomplishment by having our actual first date -- but at my new place."

"You sure want me to visit you, huh?" they ask, smiling. "Is there… Is there maybe something important you want to tell me, teddy bear?"

He chuckles, winks, and pulls them closer with an arm around their shoulders. "You've read right through me, puddin'."

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

• • •

IMPORTANT NOTICE

**TL;DR near the end of it**

Sans's (assumed) age (mentioned in Chapter Two) will be bumped from 22 to 29 to better fit his character and overall personality, as well as to complement the passage of time in both this story and its spin-off more adequately (more on that can be found on the author note in Chapter One of said spin-off).

The Reader's/you're meant to represent someone younger who's still learning how to live life and how to overcome slips ups and screw ups. Sans being 4 years older helps portray not only his character as someone who used to engage in science better, but to make the difference in knowledge and wisdom more evident between both the reader/you and him. So basically, if you've played Stardew Valley -- for example -- he'd be around the same age as maybe Harvey, Elliot, or Shane, since they're the most... mature-seeming of the bachelor bunch. Sam and Alex come off more as late teens, while Sebastian is more accurate to describe the age I once gave Sans in this story (don't quote me 100% on this topic, though -- I married Emily in the game and I'm pretty awful when it comes to comprehending videogame lore). A more obvious reason is that Sans seems more mentally sound despite the roughness of his circumstances in the game, something that can be hard to achieve if you struggle with mental health.

**TL;DR: Sans's age has been bumped up a few years to better fit his character and the plot of both stories.**

This was something an Ao3 reader brought up recently, too, so they essentially inspired me to finally make these changes! Please, help me.

• • •

Tag List (Comment or message me if you want to be added to [or removed from] it!)

@the-simp-express

@nektotersh

@disastrous-l0vebug

@therealchickenjoe

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#sans x reader #undertale x reader #lgbt #lgbt themes #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #mother reader #father reader #parent reader #chubby reader #long fic #romcom #adventure #mystery #platonic relationships #slow burn

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the107thh · 4 years

Text

Written for @starkly as a part of the Starker Kink Exchange 2020 ( @starkerkink) This was a ton of fun to write and I hope you love it! 💕

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark

Summary: He felt his cock twitch in the tight constrains of his jeans, a wave of nauseous arousal swelling in him at the thought. And that, well, that was new. Tony had certainly never thought about fucking his son before, but now that he was… and now that his son was Peter… there was something shamefully hot about the situation, about the thought of fucking his own kid.

Tags: Incest, Parent/Child Incest, Accidental Incest, Established Relationship, Implied Age Difference, Blowjobs, Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, Spitting, Praise Kink, Wet & Messy, Rimming, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Rough Sex, Mild Size Kink, Coming Untouched

Read on AO3

Tony knew the rumors- he had heard the whispers, the murmured implications about his and Peter’s relationship. He’d been in the spotlight for too long to miss it, to be blind to what others said about him. But he also knew how to ignore it. Too much had been said about Tony Stark throughout his life, too many nasty, hurtful things, for the little rumors to affect him any more.

Peter, though, he was new to this. Sweet, doe-eyed Peter had never experienced the vitriol that an angry reporter could come up with, or the baseless accusations that a paparazzo would hurl to get a reaction, and those same whispers hurt him, hit him somewhere deep.

That was what made Tony do it, had made him anonymously send off a sample of their saliva to be DNA tested. He would do anything to protect Peter… and this seemed like the next natural step.

Because it wasn’t just their age gap that had caught the press’ attention, it was that coupled with Tony’s practically unaccounted for, but certainly promiscuous, twenties. Their matching brown eyes didn’t help, and neither did the distinctive slope of their noses, or any other of a million traits that the press had pointed out.

The evidence was damn near undeniable, but Tony knew better. He would’ve known if he had a kid, if he’d gotten some girl pregnant. Plus, Mary Parker had been married, a good girl, and Tony didn’t fuck married women… most of the time. Either way, Peter wasn’t his kid, no matter how much he called the older man Daddy, and Tony was going to prove it.

He’d set the manila envelope on top of a dozen others scattered on his desk, unopened and waiting for Peter to arrive after his classes were over. Tony already felt guilty about sending the samples off without telling his boyfriend, and he figured the least he could do was have them open the results together.

So he waited.

He got lost in a million other projects that needed his attention, hunched over his desk and music blaring.

Soon enough, Tony’s concentration was broken by the quiet ding of the elevator, and Peter bounding into the workshop. He immediately went over to the older man, drawing him into a gentle embrace as he pressed their lips together.

“Hey sweetheart,” Tony murmured, pulling Peter closer and tightening his arms around the boy. “Gotta surprise for you.”

“Mm, yeah?” Peter replied, pulling back to make eye contact, smiling gently as he spoke, “Got a present for me?”

“Not quite,” Tony drew back, reluctantly breaking the embrace to reach for the manila envelope sitting innocuously on his desk, “Thought we could finally put those rumors to rest, get some reporters off our back.”

Peter chuckled, sliding the envelope open with one slim finger. He pulled out the results, skimming over the printed words before his face suddenly went pale.

“Tony… this, this isn’t funny,” Peter whispered, a splotchy flush rising on his cheeks.

“What do you mean, sweetheart?” Tony asked, brow furrowed in confusion at Peter’s reaction.

“It… it says you’re my Dad. That… that can’t be right.”

Tony grabbed the paper from Peter’s weak grasp, scanning his eyes over the paper- and- “Fuck.”

He looked up to see Peter staggering away from him, trembling as he moved towards the couch that sat in the middle of the workshop.

Peter sat down heavily, shock radiating from every pore. “You… you’re actually my dad,” He looked up at Tony, cheeks flushed and eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“Baby-“ Tony began, voice low and hoarse, “It’s gonna be okay, we… we-“ But he didn’t know how to finish that sentence, didn’t know what exactly they were going to do. Because what did you do when you found out that your boyfriend, the man you love, the man you’ve been fucking, is actually your son?

He felt his cock twitch in the tight constrains of his jeans, a wave of nauseous arousal swelling in him at the thought. And that, well, that was new. Tony had certainly never thought about fucking his son before, but now that he was… and now that his son was Peter… there was something shamefully hot about the situation, about the thought of fucking his own kid.

But now certainly wasn’t the time to think about that, Peter was still hunched over on the couch, red faced and trembling, and Tony had to do something, anything, to fix it.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” Tony murmured, moving to kneel at Peter’s feet. “It’s gonna be okay, we don’t have to tell anyone, we can just keep denying the rumors as best as we can.”

Peter nodded tremulously, still not daring to look up at the other man, so Tony did what he did best and kept rambling to fill the silence. “I love you, Pete, this isn’t going to change that. We can just keep doing what we have been, dating, and just… try to forget all of this.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Peter asked, voice quiet as he finally looked up at Tony. The older man’s heart stuttered in his chest, his whole body going cold with fear. “You… you want to break up with me?”

“No! Tony, God no. I mean…” Peter paused, clearing his throat nervously and reaching out for Tony’s hands, clutching them tightly within his own. “What if I don’t want to forget? What if I… like that you’re my Dad?”

Tony’s breath stutters again, but for a different reason this time, as he is suddenly, painfully, hard in his jeans. “You… you like that I’m your Dad?”

“I know it’s weird, I know… but, yeah?” The younger man shifts in his seat, but not nervously, like Tony had thought before… more like, like he was hard, like he was as desperate for it as Tony was. He could practically feel the tension filling the room, the mood changing as he shifted where he was kneeling. Before he could respond though, Peter kept talking.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, it- it’s fucked up, I shouldn’t… be thinking like this, I just-“

“Peter, baby, it’s okay,” Tony interrupted, squeezing the young man’s hands tighter within his own.

“But it’s not!” Peter replied, frantic and breathy, “You probably think I’m some kind of… of freak, and I-“

And no, that’s not right, Peter’s freaking out, panicking, and Tony’s kneeling there hard in his jeans and he doesn’t know what else to say so instead of saying anything, he pulls Peter’s hand down, uncurling his fingers and pressing his hand into the stiffness of his cock.

Peter’s mouth closes with a snap, blinking confusedly as he stares up at Tony, “You…?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t… Maybe we shouldn’t be thinking like this, but I like it too, sweetheart,” Tony murmurs, pushing forward into the squeezing warmth of Peter’s, of his son’s, hand.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby,” Tony leaned forward, lips brushing against the curve of Peter’s ear as he whispered his next words to him. “Don’t know what it is, but I fucking love it, love the idea that you’re my son, that I’ve been fucking you with the cock that made you, and the whole goddamn time you’ve been calling me Daddy and we had no fucking clue.”

Peter moaned brokenly, twisting his head around to press his lips desperately against Tony’s, already needy and desperate as he melted into the kiss.

Tony returned the kiss viciously, licking and biting his way into Peter’s mouth as he pushed him to lay on the couch, pressing him into the cushions with his own weight.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Tony groaned, huffing out the words as he moved to bite along the tender skin of Peter’s neck, “Wanna get inside of you, wanna fuck that sweet little hole.”

“Please Daddy,” Peter mewled, pushing his hips up and into Tony’s, “‘M made for you, Daddy, made to take your cock.”

“Yeah you are baby boy, perfect little body, just for your Daddy- But that’s not what you wanna call me, is it? ‘Cause I’m not just your Daddy, am I, Pete?” Tony practically growled the words, pressing his hips down in a filthy grind that had Peter’s eyes rolling back in his head.

“Fuck,” Peter exclaimed, choking on the word as he twitched beneath the other man, already overwhelmed by sensation.

“Say it,” Tony murmured, lacing one hand into Peter’s hair, pulling his head back and forcing him to make eye contact, “Go on, baby, what do you wanna call me?”

The boy whined, clenching his eyes shut before choking out the words, “Dad, please, fuck me!”

“That’s it,” Tony growled, sinking his teeth into the tender expanse of skin between Peter’s shoulder and neck, “Beg for your Dad’s dick, baby, beg for the cock that made you.” He ran broad hands up the Peter’s sides, slipping them under his shirt and pulling, tugging until it was off, and Peter’s chest was bared beneath him.

He immediately turned his attention to the delicate buds of Peter’s nipples, sucking the left one into his mouth as the boy struggled for words beneath him.

Peter laced one hand into Tony’s hair, pulling him closer as he whined at the stimulation, “Please, Dad, want it so bad, ‘m so hard for you, I can’t- I can’t wait anymore, please!”

“Good boy,” Tony murmured, relishing in the shiver that wracked the boy’s body at the praise, “Your Dad’s gonna give it to you, don’t worry sweetheart.” He pulled back reluctantly, kneeling over Peter with a knee on each side of his hips. Peter looked wrecked already, flushed and wanting, his lips spit slick and swollen.

“So pretty for me sweetheart…” Tony ran his hands down the pale expanse of Peter’s sides, savoring the feeling of the smaller boy beneath him. “Wanna suck my cock, baby boy? Wanna get a taste of your Dad’s dick?”

Peter mewled at the thought, gripping Tony’s hips and leaning forward eagerly, desperate for whatever he could get from the older man.

“Easy, baby, Daddy’s gonna give you what you need.” Tony shuffled forward, moving to press Peter’s shoulders into the couch with his knees, before unzipping his jeans and pulling out his throbbing cock, dripping already with precum. “Open up for me sweetheart.”

Immediately, Peter opened his mouth, extending his tongue and looking up at his Dad with pleading eyes. Tony leaned forward, slipping two fingers into the wet warmth of his mouth and spreading them into a V, stretching Peter’s cheeks and framing his tongue with his fingers. “Good boy,” he murmured, before spitting directly into his mouth. Peter whined at the feeling, bucking beneath Tony’s weight.

Tony withdrew his fingers, wiping the spit on them alongside Peter’s jaw before thrusting his cock into the boy’s open mouth before he had a chance to swallow. Peter immediately moaned around the intrusion, eliciting a responding groan from the man above him.

“That’s it, baby, take it for me, take your Dad’s cock,” Tony thrusted shallowly in and out of the boy’s mouth, letting him get used to the sensation before pushing deeper, beginning to fuck Peter’s face in earnest. Spit was seeping out of the corners of Peter’s mouth, slicking the slide of his Dad’s cock as he fucked his face. Tears were pooling in his eyes, beginning to trickle down his face before Tony reached down, smearing the wetness across the boy’s face before pushing all the way down, burying himself in the warmth of Peter’s throat.

“Fuck sweetheart,” Tony grunted, grinding deeper as Peter choked helplessly around his cock, “Gotta be careful or you’re gonna make me cum, and I have plans for that sweet cunt of yours.” He pulled out of the boy’s mouth, wiping the spit slick head of his cock across the plumpness of Peter’s lower lip.

Peter whined at the loss, looking pleadingly up at Tony. “Hush baby, gotta get at that sweet little hole now.” The older man shifted, yanking off Peter’s jeans and groaning at the sight of his hard and flushed cock, and the way it curved up to bump against his toned stomach. “Beautiful, baby boy, should’ve known you were my son all along, with a pretty cock like that.”

”Fuck,” Peter groans, his voice choked and hoarse with arousal. “Please Dad, I-“

“Hush baby, your Dad’s gonna take care of you,” Tony gripped Peter’s hips, rough and bruising, and pulled the boy up, tilting him until he was balanced on his shoulders, pressed into the couch with his legs resting on his Dad’s shoulders. “Just gotta get my mouth on you first, taste my son’s sweet little cunt.” Peter mewled, canting his hips up further, eagerly opening himself for his Dad.

“Good boy,” Tony murmured, hushed and reverent before he leaned forward to lap across the twitching pucker of Peter’s hole, grinning at the moan it pulled from the boy. He licked sloppily around his opening, moaning at the taste in a way that has Peter’s toes curling, his heels pressing harder into the broadness of Tony’s back.

The older man is hungry, greedy as he pushes his tongue into Peter, making a mess of them both with his spit before reaching up to add a finger, pressing slowly into Peter’s warmth.

His son whines at the intrusion, pushing back in a silent plea for more.

“Fuck, Pete, wanted to take my time, give this pussy what it deserves,” Tony groans, shifting to lower Peter back down, splaying his legs open and making a space for himself between them. “But it’s too greedy, huh? You need your Dad’s cock too bad for that.”

Peter nods frantically, wrapping his legs around his Dad and pulling him closer. “Give it to me now, please?”

“Let me stretch you out a bit more, baby, still too tight to take your Dad’s big cock,” As he spoke Tony was leaning over, grabbing the bottle of lube that they had stashed under the couch after one too many lube-less workshop trysts. He quickly lubed up two fingers, sliding them into the tight warmth of Peter’s ass, already loosened from Tony’s tongue.

Tony knows its probably too much too fast, but he also knows that neither of them care, that they’re too worked up and too on edge for anything that’s not rough and on the verge of too much. Peter moans, murmuring pleas and curses as he pushed back against Tony’s hand, nearly incoherent with the need for more.

He scissored his fingers, stretching the boy as best as he could with what patience he had left. “Wanna take me now, sweetheart? Hmm? Wanna feel your Dad’s cock stretch that tight little hole?”

“Fuck, Dad,” Peter whined, cock twitching visibly at the thought, “Please, wanna feel your big cock stretch me out.”

Tony groaned at the thought, swiftly withdrawing his fingers to lube up his throbbing cock instead. He gripped himself firmly, lining himself up before pushing into Peter, moaning at the tight squeeze of his son around his cock.

“That’s it,” Tony murmured, panting as he buried himself in Peter, the boy’s eyes rolling back in his head as he moaned, clenching tightly around his Dad. “Take it all for me, baby.”

“It’s so big, Dad,” Peter whined, his words slurred with pleasure, “‘M so full.” Tony grunted at his words, beginning to fuck roughly in and out of him, the slick squelch of lube and spit filling the room. He tilted his hips as he did, pulling and arranging the boy so that he was nailing his prostate on each thrust.

Peter practically screamed at the sensation, clutching Tony’s arms and digging his nails into the firmness of the muscle there.

“Yeah? You like how your Dad’s cock fills you up?” Tony questioned, tightening his grip on the boys hips, pulling him back against him to meet his thrusts, changing the pace into something quick, brutal. Peter nodded helplessly flushed and thrashing beneath the older man. “’S gonna make me cum, Dad, ‘m gonna cum on your cock.”

“Fuck, sweetheart, wanna feel it, wanna feel you cum on the cock that made you,” Tony growled out, feeling his own orgasm building within him at the thought, at the anticipation of seeing his son cum just from his Dad’s cock fucking him.

Peter cried out, cursing as he threw his head back, cock spurting untouched between them as he came. He clenched down around Tony as he did, causing the older man to quicken his thrusts before he came, filling up his son as he groaned out his own release.

Tony leaned down, hips still twitched helplessly as he connected their lips in a sloppy kiss, exchanging air more than anything else but content in the intimacy anyways.

“Love you, Tony,” Peter murmured, lacing his fingers through the older man’s hair before pulling him closer.

“Love you too, Pete,” Tony replied, grinning, relieved and sated with his son in his arms.

#StarkerKink2020 #Starker #peter parker x tony stark

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skzsauce01 · 4 years

Text

In Fair Verona︱Chapter 5

Synopsis: Jisung knows he is the Romeo to your Juliet. He could wax poetry about you all throughout rehearsal and even a little after. Except Hwang Hyunjin is the one playing Romeo in the school play, not him. Jisung is just another tech crew member that you don’t know, but he’s determined to win your heart... by any means necessary.

Warning: none... yet

Word Count: 2.2k

Pairing: fem!reader x Jisung; fem!reader x Hyunjin

updates every Wednesday and Sunday @ 11 PM PST︱chapter list

Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

I do bite my thumb, sir.

Jisung spends the entire weekend brooding and checking you and Hyunjin’s social media for updates. Hyunjin posts a picture of you sitting across from him with a cup of pink yogurt and a cup of lavender yogurt in the middle. You hold a pink plastic spoon in your hand and smile at the camera. “Romeo and Juliet, but they eat froyo instead of poison,” reads the caption. Jisung almost hurls his phone against the wall.

When Monday rehearsal arrives, he’s relaxed enough to have a civil conversation with Hyunjin. Hyunjin compliments his shirt while waiting for his cue in Act I, scene I. Jisung jokes that his shirt looks nice as well, and they both politely laugh. Once his back is turned though, Jisung places his thumb between his teeth. Flipping him off would be too direct. Analyzing this stupid play in freshman year finally has some use. He does it again when Hyunjin exits the stage.

“Is your thumb bleeding?” Yugyeom asks. “There’s band-aids in the classroom.”

Jisung swiftly takes it out of his mouth. “I’m fine. I was just… thinking,” he lamely says. “I’m gonna go wash my hands now.”

He tells Changbin, who in turn tells him to hurry because the scene is going to end in a few minutes. Then, against the rules that have hardwired into his brain, he runs down the hallway to the bathroom. As he lathers his hands in soap, he wonders how else he can express his hatred towards Hyunjin without anyone knowing. Deliberately place props in prime locations for tripping over? “Accidentally” hit him with set pieces during blackouts? He turns on the faucet and rinses the soap off.

He makes it backstage just as the lights go out. He doesn’t even bother with his headset; he helps Changbin with the couch as Ryujin and Yugyeom roll out the fake windows. When he’s back in the wings, he sees you chatting with Hyunjin while you wait for your cue. He waves hello to you, but you’re too preoccupied with the conversation to notice. His hand drops to his side, and his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He puts his headset back on and resumes his usual activity of watching you perform. He spots Hyunjin doing the same. It feels like a competition now: who pays attention to and adores Y/N the most?

“She’s a great actress,” he says out loud. “Don’t you think so, Ryujin?”

She looks up from her phone and out onto the stage. “Lady Capulet?” she asks incredulously.

“No, Juliet.”

Hyunjin visibly perks up when he hears your name. Or rather, your character’s name.

“Oh. She’s good, I guess,” she shrugs. “Probably why she has the lead role.”

“She’s, like, Olivia Hussey good. She portrays Juliet well.”

Jisung barely knows what he’s saying, but Ryujin seems to buy it. She nods before turning her eyes back to her phone screen. Jisung feels himself inflate with pride as Hyunjin doesn’t say anything. He waits for him to turn around and agree, but he just continues to wait for the next scene to begin.

The tide quickly turns as the party scene approaches. Jisung drives himself mad wondering if you and Hyunjin will actually kiss. Stage kisses are the norm in JYP Academy Theater, but Ms. Park demanded real kisses last Friday. Will the kiss simply be skipped over like usual and only performed during the main shows? Will you let him kiss you? Jisung’s head spins with the word ‘kiss,’ and he envisions Hyunjin placing his lips on yours in front of an audience. His own lips curl up in horror, and he taps his foot against the floor in a panic.

When the moment arrives, he finds himself walking towards the edge of the stage again. Changbin, used to his antics now, grabs the back of his shirt to stop him. Meanwhile, you and Hyunjin touch palms, and Hyunjin leans in, eyes closed, mouth pursed. His other hand cups your face, blocking the audience’s view. Jisung can’t see from where he’s standing, but based off of the collective “Ooh!” in the comms, there’s a kiss happening.

“What happened?” he frantically asks. “Did they actually kiss?”

“I think they did it,” says Jeongin. “It’s kind of hard to tell from back here. Hey, Mr. Gi, did they do it?”

“I don’t know,” is his short reply.

The rest of the conversation fades into white noise, and Jisung feels his heart splitting into two. It’s a just possibility, but one nonetheless. He’s hyperventilating now, and he heavily presses a hand to his chest in a weak attempt to stop his lungs from heaving. It only makes him even more aware of his devastation. The second kiss of the scene is almost a repeat of the first, but he can’t look away from the trainwreck that is his love life.

There’s no redos, and Act II begins. You’re waiting for scene two, and no one’s nearby you except for Yugyeom, who always looks like he wants to die of embarrassment whenever he’s around you because of the changing incident. Jisung quickly walks up to you and taps you on the shoulder. You turn around.

“Hey. You were really good out there,” he tightly says. “Especially the party scene.”

You have the same look on your face as Yugyeom. “A-ah, thanks. It was my first time doing something like that.” You look like you’re ready to bolt.

This is his chance to find out the truth, so he follows up with, “I heard first stage kisses are difficult.”

You can’t confirm or deny it because scene one ends, and you have to get up onto the balcony set piece. With clear relief in your voice, you whisper, “Sorry, gotta go,” before running out, taking the stairs two at a time.

Jisung swears under his breath and bites his thumb at Hyunjin, who is comparing you to the sun again. To his annoyance, Hyunjin has improved and no longer sounds like he’s reading off of notecards. You seem to be enjoying his monologue, and he sees you trying to hold back a grin. Your pleased, rosy glow softens your normal high noon sunshine to a golden sunset, and even Ms. Park seems satisfied by the acting. She has only praise for the balcony scene, and you and Hyunjin beam with pride.

While you disappear to change — Jisung’s so glad that scenes three and four are long enough that you can change in the dressing room — he devises a plan to eat dinner with you and potentially give you the chips he wanted to give on Friday. The only flaw of the plan is that you have to finish changing before Hyunjin, so he can spend time with you before Hyunjin inevitably comes in and ruins everything.

When dinner break is announced, he jumps out of his seat and walks as casually as possible to the classroom. The microwave line is beginning to form, and Jisung brushes past them. There’s no unclaimed seat at your table, so he sits nearby. He discreetly moves his belongings to his new location and pulls out his dinner. He purposely brought ramen, so he could have an excuse to start a conversation with you. If he has to eat it for the rest of the week, then so be it.

He watches the door as he slowly prepares his meal. Where are you? He can only hope Hyunjin doesn’t show up first. Luckily, you walk in a few minutes later with no Hyunjin behind you. You sit down and push the textbooks to the side. You pull out a container from your lunch bag.

He twists his body, so he can face you better. “Fried rice again?” he teases.

“I decided to borrow your idea. Instant jajangmyeon.” You unsnap the lid and proudly reveal the unmistakable black package. You rip it open and let the noodle brick slide into the container. “I told Hyunjin about it, and he thought it was genius.”

“Oh!” It comes out more high pitched and strained than he anticipated.

“Yeah.” You pour hot water from your own thermos and let it cook. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. I wouldn’t have had to eat fried rice for five days straight. And this tastes way better, too.”

“Was this your after rehearsal food on Friday?” he asks, though he knows the real answer.

“You remembered that? No, I had froyo with Hyunjin. Ms. Park said we should hang out outside of rehearsal, so we could be more comfortable with each other.” You bite your lower lip. “For the, you know” — your voice drops to a hush — “kiss scenes.”

He feels more relieved now, knowing that Friday night was more like a homework assignment than a date.

“Did you really kiss him today?”

You shift in your seat, uncomfortable by his question. He feels a pang of guilt, but he really, really needs to know.

“It was a stage kiss.”

Is that disappointment in your voice?

Whatever your feelings are, he’s just happy that nothing happened between you and Hyunjin. He reaches into his backpack and takes out a crushed, but unopened, bag of chips. He holds it out to you, and your uneasiness from earlier is replaced by amusement.

“You still have that?”

“I left before Jeongin could find me. Do you want it?”

“Well…”

“Take it.” He tosses the bag at you, and it lands on top of your container. “You’re not gonna be able to eat anything until your noodles finish cooking. We can’t have Juliet starving.”

“Okay then.” You hesitantly open the bag and place one in your mouth. As expected, it’s a fragment. “Thanks.”

Hyunjin doesn’t show up for dinner, and Jisung gladly spends the rest of the time with you. He eats from his own bag of chips and politely asks to try one of yours in exchange for one of his own. You let him try your first attempt of making instant jajangmyeon using the Jisung method, and he approves. The two of you discuss the best snacks at the convenience store, and he’s delighted to find out that you like strawberry Pepero too. When rehearsal resumes, Jisung feels like he’s walking on sunshine.

The rest of rehearsal goes by in a blur. When you had your quick change on stage, he faces the wall again and listens to the conversation you have with Ryujin. He doesn’t even care that you and Hyunjin share scenes with each other and seem to be flirting with each other. You have more in common outside of theater with him than Hyunjin. Without a care in the world, he openly throws up the middle finger at Hyunjin when Ms. Park calls for a rerun of the balcony scene. Yugyeom looks confused at his actions but says nothing. Changbin, however, does.

“Jisung, what are you doing?” he asks. “Do you hate Juliet or something?”

He’s a little offended that Changbin came to that conclusion. He doesn’t tell him the truth though. “The balcony. I just remembered trying to build those stairs. Screw those stairs.”

It’s not a full lie; he does hate the balcony with a passion because building those stupid stairs was an absolute pain.

Changbin laughs. “Ah, good times. You looked like you wanted to kill Seungmin when he used your wood.”

“Still do.”

Tech notes are an even distribution among sound, lights, and stage crew. Jisung doesn’t receive any specific criticisms, but Mr. Gi does send the floor crew to respike the floor to meet Ms. Park’s new demands about set piece placement. Tech crew is dismissed for the night, and Jisung goes to get the spiking tape from the classroom while Changbin and the freshman crew member wait on stage.

The actors are still getting notes, so he quietly opens the cabinets where the tape is located. He rummages around for longer than needed while trying to find out if you are watching him. He decides to bring out all five rolls of fluorescent tape with him, wearing them on his wrist like a stack of bracelets. He hears a chuckle, and when he turns around, he realizes it’s coming from Hyunjin, who has a hand over his mouth. Jisung leaves the room and mouths a curse at him.

He finishes spiking the new locations, and by that time, Ms. Park is done with notes. It’s a familiar scene — you sitting on top of a table, sipping water. Only this time, you have a bag of chips in your other hand.

“Aren’t you glad I made you take them?” he teases as he puts the tape away.

“Yes,” you admit. “Do you want any?” You hold out the bag, and he can see that it’s mostly crumbs and dust.

“I’m good.” He shoulders his backpack and picks up his hoodie from where it has fallen to the floor. “Are you waiting to be picked up?”

“Yeah.” You crumple up the now-empty bag. “See you tomorrow?”

He realizes his mistake: he looks like he’s leaving when he just wanted a reason to be next to you. “Yeah. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Instead of driving home right away, he goes to the convenience store for strawberry Pepero to give to you tomorrow. They do say that the way to a person’s heart is through their stomach.

~ ad.gray

Prepare to be baited. Apologies in advance.

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agoodgoddamnshot · 4 years

Text

The Pox - Geraskier & Ciri

[Gif isn’t mine]

Originally posted to my AO3 account

Bad luck has a nasty tendency to stack. Out of many lessons learned throughout his already too-long of a life, that’s one that Geralt sees occurring again and again. With Nilfgaard accosting the south of the continent, sending refugees scrambling upwards, that now seems to be the least of people’s worries.

Refugees can be housed and fed. Geralt watches from their booth in the local tavern as another small wave of them laps inside, shepherded in by the tavern owner’s daughter. The group – a family, Geralt guess – looks as weary as the rest of them. The rooms upstairs are all gone. They filled up a couple of days ago. But while he imagines the rest of them will stay, Geralt is pretty keen on moving from the town in the next few days.

But someone brought word into the town that an illness was starting to spread; and if that’s true, then that rumour has spread faster than the illness. And that could cause issues. If townspeople knew that refugees could be ill, could be carrying a disease with them, they might turn them away. And that will just lead to bodies surrounding the gates of towns and cities, attracting all sorts of creatures to come and feed.

“A smith’s wife told me that a warlock working for Nilfgaard conjured it, and then let it loose on some trading village. The damn thing spread like wildfire,” Jaskier says, plucking at the strings of his lute. The inn is pretty quiet, with most people – locals and refugees alike – all content to sit in silence. Whether or not anyone has an issue with the bard in the corner strumming a couple of notes, no one voices them. Then again, Geralt doubts they would say anything, knowing that an armed Witcher sits next to the bard.

“It’s the pox,” Geralt grunts, handing a bread roll over to the man. He’s heard whisperings about the illness, and everything he’s heard so far would suggest it’s the pox: sweats, fever, coughing, rashes and spots on the skin.

Jaskier hums, setting his lute aside. “To you, maybe. It can kill a mortal man.”

Geralt arches an eyebrow. “And when were you talking to a smith’s wife?”

The bard laughs softly. “Towns like these are ripe with gossip and those who like trading in it.” One of Jaskier’s hands settles on his thigh. Geralt sighs as Jaskier squeezes firmly. “I’m yours, and you’re mine. You don’t have to worry about some woman spiriting me away.”

Ciri keeps her head down, slurping at the overly generous portion of stew that another of the tavern keeper’s daughter had provided them with. Your father dealt with a cockatrice who’d been causing some issues around here a couple of summers ago, the tavern owner said, ushering them over to a booth near the back of the inn. It was secluded enough to keep them out of prying eyes. Since sitting down, their table has been laden with bowls of stew, bread rolls with pots of freshly churned butter, and tankards of ale. The keeper had returned a few moments later, handing Geralt a key to what he was assured to be a spacious room for all of them.

The word still stalked around in Geralt’s head. Father. He doesn’t know what he is to the girl. He’s never been able to find the right sort of word for it.

They eat the rest of their dinner in relative peace. Jaskier mentions other things about the supposed enchanted disease spreading throughout the south; what it seemingly does to people, how it spreads, how long people last once they contract it. Geralt huffs. It’s the pox. He knows it. A dangerous thing, of course. As Jaskier said, it can absolutely kill a mortal man. But it’s been a long time since he’s had to worry about something like the pox.

Jaskier and Ciri, on the other hand.

“Keep an eye out,” he says softly after a time. Even though sheltered away from others in the inn, Geralt tentatively brushes his hand along Jaskier’s. Most towns aren’t fond of this kind of interaction: something they’ve experienced in the years of travelling together. Fleeting insults are always quickly chased away when Geralt turns, seeking out the pitiful excuse for a man that hurls them. They usually scurry away like field mice. But even then, he’s careful.

Jaskier reaches out with his index finger, snagging Geralt’s. His skin is warm, Geralt notices with a slight shiver. Suddenly, weariness from the past couple of days on the road slinks upon him, slumping over his shoulders. Geralt looks over to the other side of the table. He nudges Ciri’s knee with his own. “Both of you.”

The girl looks up, and nods firmly. “I’ll be careful.”

Something is out to get him. Some god or deity or power just doesn’t like him at all. He can understand why; his very existence must be an insult to the natural order of things. No creature made of the earth should live as long as he does. If he were a god, tasked with creating things and putting them in a sequence, and he saw someone tampering with it, he’s pretty sure he’d go out of his way to make that thing’s life a fucking misery too.

All it takes it for Geralt to hear one cough – a clearing of the throat – for his hackles to rise. The market of the town is packed with people. A town that normally houses two to three hundred now is holding what seems to be ten times that amount. It’s nothing, Geralt thinks. It couldn’t have spread that quickly.

But apparently, it has.

A couple of hours later, when the sun has long since fled behind the Blue Mountains, and the moon has taken its place, something wakes Geralt up.

Moonlight streams in through a small gap in the curtains. Streaks of white, watery light crawl along the floorboards and reach for the foot of their bed. Geralt grunts, rubbing a hand over his face. Along his back, curled around him, Jaskier still sleeps soundly. For a moment, he isn’t entirely sure why he’s awake. They’ll be moving out of the town in the morning, and while he can go longer than most without sleeping, his muscles and bones are complaining about not getting rest. He waits for a second, ears tuned to the sounds of the inn. Floorboards creak as the nights grow cold, and someone outside staggers through the hallway, eventually falling into what must be their own room.

The arm that Jaskier has around his middle tightens. “What are you doing?” the words are mumbled into Geralt’s shoulder blade, raspy and sleep-laden.

Geralt hums, content to settle his head back down on to the pillow and let sleep wash back over him. He’s almost gone, when he hears it again.

A cough. Followed by a whimper.

He sits upright, dislodging himself from Jaskier’s hold. The bard grunts, throwing his arm over his eyes. “Geralt-”

Even in the minimal lighting, Geralt can see perfectly fine. He looks over to the other bed. Curled up and cocooned in bed linens and furs is Ciri. He can barely see the top of her head, sticking out of the nest she has made for herself. Geralt is out of bed in seconds, padding over to the other cot. “Ciri,” he says softly.

“’m cold.” The words are shaken out of her. They’re barely audible; Geralt notices her face buried into one of the pelts that had been for the foot of the bed.

Geralt makes a noise in the back of his throat. Behind him, he hears bedclothes shuffling. “What’s going on?” Jaskier grunts, wiping the last of sleep from his eyes.

Geralt perches on the edge of Ciri’s bed. He presses the back of his hand against her forehead. He clicks his tongue. “You’re not cold, Ciri. You’re sweating.”

The shivers wracking through her body say otherwise. Her teeth chatter, despite a sheen of sweat sticking to her forehead and the apples of her cheeks. Geralt seeks out his bag, fishing through it for some herbs he had bought from the town’s apothecary. She had given him the last of what she had, saying that with whispers of an illness spreading, most of her wares had been cleared quickly.

Elderflower, yarrow, calamine, and celandine. The hearth on the other side of the room is still burning, albeit, grey ash sits on top of still lighting embers. It still carries heat. Geralt can feel the warmth of it even at the other side of the room. But it won’t do for tea-making. “Find the innkeeper,” he says tightly, “ask for a kettle of hot water, but make sure no one comes up with you.”

Jaskier doesn’t move for a second. When Geralt looks over his shoulder, ready to ground out the order again, his eyes soften when he sees the bard watching Ciri tremble. But Geralt’s words seemingly catch up with Jaskier, and within seconds, he’s gone.

When Geralt turns back to Ciri, two blue eyes blink blearily up at him. “Am I sick?” Her voice barely holds together. “Do I have what the others have?”

Geralt clicks his tongue. “I’ll have to take a look at your skin,” he sighs. “But if it is, I can help you. You’ll be okay.”

She nods. Another cough fights its way out of her. It sounds watery and tacky, and almost has her folding in two. Geralt winces. He sets his hand on top of the mound of blankets she has around her, silently hoping that whatever it is that’s infected her will leave peacefully.

Jaskier comes back within minutes, a copper kettle in one hand. Geralt turns, holding his hand up. “Have you had it before?”

The bard’s brow furrows. “What?”

“The pox, Jaskier,” Geralt grunts. “Have you had it before?”

“When I was a child,” he answers, brow furrowed. “We all had it in my family.”

“You’ll be fine then.” Geralt directs him over to the hearth. Settling the kettle over the embers, there’s enough heat there to keep the water inside simmering. Geralt adds the leaves, stirring and steeping them until he can scent the aromas in the air. It’ll have to stew for a couple of minutes, but until then, he has to look at Ciri’s skin.

Jaskier follows him throughout the room, gathering a change of clothes for Ciri as well as some bed linens from a nearby wardrobe. When Geralt returns to her bedside, the girl whines. She’s still shaking like a leaf, but he’ll need to bring her fever down. The tea will help, but until then, Geralt sighs. “You can’t have that many blankets around you, Ciri. You’ll overheat.”

“But I’m so cold.”

“That’s your body trying to help.”

“Well, it isn’t doing a very good job.”

Despite his best efforts, a small smile tugs at the corner of his lip. “Pox can’t survive in warm conditions,” he explains, recalling on things a healer told him decades ago. “Your body is just trying to burn it out.”

Jaskier sets the clothes and bedding at the foot of Ciri’s bed. He still wears a concerned look, watching the girl closely. He shares a brief look with Geralt. The kind of look they’ve shared quite a lot recently. Since acquiring Ciri, and finding Jaskier again, they’ve become a quaint little unit. A family, one could dare to name it. Jaskier loves the girl just as much as Geralt does. They would both lay down their lives for her. But it’s fine to say all of that when the threat is physical – monsters or soldiers or bandits, all vying for her life in one way or another. But when it’s something like this, an illness tearing her apart from the inside, they’ve never felt so useless in their lives.

The kettle whistles from the other side of the room. Jaskier turns to tend to it. Geralt finds the edge of one blanket, tugging it away from Ciri. “Come now,” he gentles, “I can’t help you if you’re hiding in there.”

It takes a moment to get the blankets away, but once Ciri’s cocoon unfurls, Geralt tosses the linens and furs to one side of the room, far away from her. If it’s pox, then the sheets are infected. She’s still so small; something that Geralt can’t seem to do anything about. No matter how much food she eats, or how hard she trains in the mornings, she can’t seem to put on any amount of muscle. But she looks even smaller now, trembling and sweating and teeth chattering.

Geralt sits, gesturing to the sleeve of her nightshirt. “Can I?”

Ciri nods, helping Geralt roll her sleeve up towards her shoulder. Even without the candles around the room lighting, Geralt can make out her skin just fine. And he swallows the lump forming in his throat. Tiny, barely-there splotches, speckled all over her skin. Some of them are redder than the others, rising up slightly like oil spots. Geralt sets his jaw. “I need you to listen to me, alright?”

Ciri nods again, looking at him expectantly.

“You are not to scratch these,” he gestures to the spots. “No matter how much you want to.”

Jaskier makes a sound from the other side of the room. “The only scar I have was caused by one of them,” he says simply, stoking the embers of the fire. Ciri tilts her head. Jaskier smiles, pointing to his jaw. “It’s small, but I scratched a pox spot, and it left a mark.”

“It also just makes the rash worse. So don’t scratch,” Geralt says. His tone is one he uses when they’re out in the forest, teaching her the difference between plants, and how to properly hold on to a sword. Ciri looks at her arm, taking in the map of marks left by the illness.

“I won’t,” she says.

“Good. Do you feel able to walk?”

“I think so.”

“Take this,” Geralt places a couple of chamomile leaves into her hand, “and make a paste out of it in the washroom. Spread it all over you.” He picks up the bundle of new clothes from the foot of the bed. “After that, change into these. You’ll feel better.”

In the time it takes Ciri to do what he’s asked, the pungent smell of the tea settles over the room. Jaskier lifts the lid of the pot, inspecting it. His nose wrinkles. “I remember when the nursemaid made this for me,” he groans. “Horrid stuff.”

Geralt shushes him. “She needs to drink it.”

When Ciri steps back into the room, she does look slightly better. The tea will chase away the fever, and hopefully, the paste will cool the spots from getting worse. Geralt beckons her over. They’ve changed the sheets on her bed, and when she slides in, Ciri’s body shakes slightly again. “You’ll warm up in a bit,” Geralt assures her.

The tea helps. Whether it’s the herbs themselves or the warmth of the water seeping through her, Geralt has to pluck the cup out of her hand before Ciri falls back asleep. This time, to his relief, her body lies still, with her chest filling steadily with air. Geralt reaches out, brushing some of her hair back from her forehead. Her hair is still sleeked with sweat, but she’ll have to have an oatmeal bath tomorrow, so she can wash then.

It all looks so calm now.

Geralt sets the cup to the side. He has enough herbs to make another brew in the morning. After that, he’ll have to seek out the farmers living just outside of the town, asking for a bucket of oats. Or whatever they can spare, now that winter and a war seem keen on settling over the continent at the same time. It won’t cure her spots. They’ll go away by themselves. But it’ll help with the itching, once that niggle starts.

Watching her now, from his perch on the edge of his own bed, Geralt finally breathes. The room lapses into silence. The air settles. Every so often, it’s broken by a slight wheeze from Ciri. Geralt tries not to wince at the noise. But she’s breathing, and sleeping soundly.

It’s torture. Worse than anything he ever experienced in Kaer Morhen. Geralt flinches slightly when arms wind over his shoulders. Recognising the touch, he leans back, sighing when his back presses against the firm wall of Jaskier’s chest. “It’s probably a stupid question to ask,” the bard mumbles, settling his hands over Geralt’s chest and torso, “but are you alright?”

Geralt huffs a dry laugh. “Not at all.”

Jaskier clicks his tongue. Hugging the Witcher closer to him, Jaskier hooks his chin over Geralt’s shoulder. “She’ll be fine,” he reasons. “Children get sick all the time. And rather she gets the pox now, than later when it can do her more harm.”

He knows. Of course, he knows. Some distant, logical part of him knows. But it just happens that that particular part of his brain hasn’t been communicating very well with the rest of his mind – especially where Ciri is concerned. He wonders distantly if this is how all guardians feel when their charges are in danger.

“It seems the White Wolf has grown gentle,” Geralt mutters. Whatever fear that had been coursing through his veins is being chased off now. The warmth radiating along his back from Jaskier sees to that.

The bard hums. “A wolf’s single most important duty is to protect its family, isn’t it?” Jaskier murmurs. Gesturing to Ciri, Jaskier continues. “She’ll be up and about, gallivanting off into forests and caves with you again in no time at all.”

Geralt turns his head. His nose brushes along the arch of Jaskier’s cheekbone. Setting his lips against the ridge, he sighs. “Thank you for helping,” he mumbles against skin, turning in Jaskier’s hold.

“I know that in the grand scheme of destiny, she belongs to you,” Jaskier sighs, tilting his head when Geralt’s lips move towards his neck. “But you belong to me. So, by proxy, I guess she’s mine, too.”

Jaskier has to swallow a hum when he feels a puff of a laugh against his neck. “It seems so.”

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queenofheaven82 · 3 years

Text

PART IV -- Dance Parties and Broken Hearts

Thanksgiving came a few days later. It slipped up so quickly Lacey nearly forgot about the holiday until the day before, when her mom suddenly yelled, "It's snowing! Finally! And for Thanksgiving!"

Thanksgiving had never been a particularly big holiday for the Primmers. Her mom usually ordered a turkey and fixings from a nearby grocery store in lieu of cooking, and mostly they sat in front of the TV watching football with Stuart as they ate. But this year, Darlene seemed to have something different on her mind.

"I found some autumn china at the Dollar Tree -- can you believe it?! -- and that's what we're using this year. At the table. With my old goblets I got at my wedding shower when I married your dad."

Lacey swallowed. Why didn't Mom know by now that mentioning her dad around her was a huge mistake? She reached up under her hair to finger a small strand, willing herself not to pull.

So Thursday came, and as snow came down in sheets outside the townhouse window, Lacey's mom spread out a tablecloth at their rarely-used dinner table and worked on some very well-done place settings. Stuart's usual cheerful personality was dampered slightly by the fact that it was Davy's mom's turn to have him over the holiday, but Lacey could tell he was trying for the sake of everyone else to keep his spirits up.

Her mom also went through the trouble to put the takeout in serving dishes, so Lacey almost felt like she was having Thanksgiving at a totally different house. But it was nice.

Just as they were sitting down to eat, however, the doorbell rang. Ariel, ever nosy, jumped up first and made a dash for the door.

Stuart's brow furrowed. "Who could that be?"

A moment later, they found out. Max followed Ariel, who rolled her eyes at Lacey, into the dining room.

"Hey! What's doin'?" he inquired enthusiastically, coming over and giving Lacey a forehead kiss. "My old man's in a mood, so I thought I'd just come over here. That okay?" He took off his scarf and coat and draped them across the back of Lacey's chair.

Lacey was speechless. Max rarely liked coming to her house. To what did she owe this?

Her mom looked none too happy. "Well... come on in, then." She stood up and grabbed a paper plate, evidently short on the dollar tree china, and pulled over a stool from the corner of the kitchen.

"Thanks Ms. P." Max wedged himself between Lacey and Halen. "So how's it goin?"

Stuart could always be counted upon to be polite. "Ah, very well! Nice to have fresh snow on Thanksgiving, isn't it?"

Max loaded his plate up, and shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. I think the same thing happened last year."

Lacey wanted to melt into the floor.

"So I hear you played a good game against Eden Hall a couple weeks ago, scored quite a few goals. Congratulations," Stuart passed the yeast rolls.

"Banks was taken out, so that helped alot." Max ate a fork full of green beans.

"Adam Banks? I'd bet. He's a tough one to go up against, isn't he? Davy says hardly anyone stands a chance."

"Yeah, well," Max smirked. "I think he's losing his edge. Orion benched him halfway through the game because he was skating like a forty-year-old. Maybe he's preoccupied with girl problems."

"Watch it," Darlene remarked. "I'm getting there, Max."

"Girl problems?" Ariel asked, smiling.

Darlene gave her a look. "No, smartypants. Forty."

But Lacey had zoned out of the banter. She wanted to say something, she just wasn't sure what yet. However, her mom afforded her the opportunity.

"That boy is probably just like his dad. Full of ego. Maybe being benched will take him down a knotch or two," Darlene muttered.

Lacey set her fork down gingerly. "I don't think Adam should be blamed for what his dad's like, you guys. And maybe something's genuinely wrong with him that caused him to not be at his best. We really don't know that much about him."

Max stared at her a moment. "Well, you apparently know enough to call him 'Adam.' What's with that? He's always been 'Banks' to everybody else."

Lacey felt her blood pressure rise slightly. "Well, his name is Adam. And I'm pretty sure he's a human being before he's a hockey player and Phil Banks's son."

The table went quiet. Everyone stared at her in disbelief except for Stuart, who ducked his head down, continuing to eat.

"I'm... just saying, I guess, that if he was benched, something might really be wrong. So we could show a little compassion." She looked at Max as she said this.

Max turned wordlessly back to his food and began to eat again, but more slowly this time. Lacey fidgeted with her napkin and slid to the edge of her chair, wondering why she'd bothered to say anything if it was going to disrupt the entire dinner. She squeezed the napkin hard.

After a few minutes of silence, Stuart stood up and left the room. Lacey wondered for a moment if she'd upset him, too, even though to her memory he'd never said one bad word about Banks.

But the reason he left became clear after a moment. "Hey. I think I hear something," she heard him call from the living room. "It's coming closer. Anybody else hear it?"

Ariel and Halen paused their eating and looked up at Lacey, who couldn't suppress her own smile.

"Oh God, not now, Stuart," her mom rolled her eyes. But it was too late.

Suddenly the dramatic intro chords of Poison Arrow by ABC sounded throughout the house.

"Alright, Girls! Let's see some dancing!" Stuart called in.

Quick as lightning, the twins jumped up, giggling, and ran into the living room, followed by Lacey. Stuart's dance parties and the girls' enthusiasm over them were infectious.

"What the--?" She heard Max questioning behind her.

Stuart grabbed Lacey's hands as soon as she entered the living room and began twirling her to the beat of the synth pop. She laughed. "This isn't a twirl song, Stuart!"

Ariel and Halen were leaning in, singing into one another's faces:

"Who broke my heart? You did! You did!

You think you're smart? Stupid! Stupid!

Shoot that poison arrow to my heeeeart!"

They danced around in no specific style, jumping up onto the couch and grabbing remote controls and the cordless phone to use as microphones. Lacey couldn't help laughing at their antics while dancing with Stuart.

She happened at one point to spot Max in the doorway staring at them all with a furrowed brow as though he couldn't understand what the big deal was.

"Stuart's British dance parties," Lacey laughed breathlessly after it was all over. "He springs them on us sometimes."

"Ugh, I feel like I'm gonna hurl," Ariel winced.

"I guess you do!" Lacey's mom called from the kitchen. "Dancing in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner..."

Stuart's actions blessedly lightened up the tone of the rest of the meal, but Max remained quiet despite having filled his plate twice more. After the pumpkin pie her mom had bought frozen from Publix, Max stood. "Thanks Ms. P, that was awesome. Lacey, walk out with me?"

Lacey stood, sensing something in Max's tone she wasn't sure of. She put on her scarf and coat, pulling the fur-lined hood up over her head before heading outside.

"Babe..." Max took a deep breath. "I don't know what's been into you lately, but it's weird. You just haven't been yourself. And, I mean, I don't know what to make of you taking up for Banks all of a sudden after the way his dad has treated your mom. How is it you know him? Seriously?"

Lacey felt her ire rising. "I don't, Max, good grief! He came into the cat shelter earlier in the week to bring in kittens, and just... we talked some. He's not the jerk you say he is. But it's not like we're best buddies or anything."

"Oh, okay," Max quipped. "He brought in cats, so now he's suddenly this standup guy. You're obsessed with damn cats, so no wonder."

"So what if he was a standup guy? How does that threaten you? I have as much right to think him decent from our conversation at the Cat's Cradle as you do to think he's a jackass just because he's a better hockey player than you."

The moment she said it, she knew she'd made a mistake. Max tightened his jaw and narrowed his eyes.

"Okay. I don't get what's with you, but you know who you've been reminding me of lately?" Max leaned in. "Loosey Lacey from middle school."

Lacey's mouth went dry and she felt her insides tremble with rage. For a moment, she couldn't speak.

When she finally did, she knew she couldn't take it back.

"Go. Just go. And Max? Don't come back."

Max's expression changed to one of surprise.

"It's been coming for awhile now, so let's just end this, okay?" Lacey turned to go back inside.

"Oh. Alright," Max threw his hands up. "I tell you the truth about yourself and you wig out and decide to throw the whole thing in the trash can."

"It's not just what you said, Max," she whirled around. "It's about your ego. Everything is always about you. It's about you pushing me to have sex. It's about you wanting to tool around at State while expecting me to sit here waiting for you. I just... I want something different."

Max stared at her for a long while. "Okay. If that's what you want, it's over. But with all your issues, Lacey? Good luck finding anybody else. Unless you want to give Banks a go. You seem pretty taken with him."

Lacey shook her head slowly. "If anybody's obsessed with Banks, it's you, Max. You can't stand to have any competition, can you?"

With that, she turned and went back into the house, wiping angry tears. She made her way back into the dining room, trying to look nonplussed, but everyone was quiet as she took her seat again and she sat staring down at her plate.

"Lacey?" Stuart spoke gently. "Did it not go well?"

"It's done," Lacey finally spoke.

Awkward silence perpetuated until she heard the sound of chair legs scraping linoleum as Stuart got up and came around to put his hands on her shoulders. With that, she began to cry again..

It wasn't so much that she was devastated at losing Max, but the fact that he called her someone she believed she no longer was -- someone she hoped she would never be again. It hurt down to her bones to remember that frightened girl, and why she had become that. Worse yet, she worried Max was right: that girl never left.

Lacey stood up and fell into Stuart's arms, hot tears spilling down her cheeks.

"He's a falling leaf, Lass. They're a dime a dozen. You'll recover and find an even better lad, I just know it."

She held onto Stuart tightly -- the only man she'd dared to consider a father, and the only man who had ever thought her to be good enough just like she was.

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

Adam had done Thanksgiving with his parents, plus Travis, who was in from Chicago. He and his brother had never been particularly close, so he knew it probably wouldn't bother him for Adam to return to Eden Hall that evening instead of spending the night at his house. Several of the Ducks did the same, feeling in many ways closer to their team members than they even did their biological families. And some, like Mendoza and Portman, had too far to travel and had just stayed. So they'd all planned to meet back at the dorm after family activities, except for Julie, who had opted to spend the night at Connie's.

"Red hair," Portman stretched out on the couch in the day room. "You get a woman with red hair and green eyes, you know she's gonna have that sassy edge. So make it that, for me. Red hair, green cat eyes and a sweet a-- oh wait, can't say that word. It would hurt Kenny's pure ears."

The guys laughed and Kenny Wu turned red, rolling his eyes.

"Banksie, your turn."

They all looked over at Adam, who had known this question would come around to him eventually. "Let's see." He looked at the ceiling. "I don't really care what color it is, but long hair for sure. And brown eyes."

"Brown?" Charlie turned around to him, interested. "Let's think who has brown eyes. Maybe we'll finally narrow down who Adam's got a radar for," he smiled at his friend.

Adam shook his head. "No, I guess I was just thinking..." he reached over for the bag of Frito's. "Shipley's girlfriend has big brown eyes, and they're kind of... hooded in the outer corners. Reminds me a little of chocolate drops," he added, thoughtfully.

He should have counted on the whole room cracking up the minute he said the last part.

"Oooh, 'chocolate drops.'" Tyler tossed his dirty overshirt at Adam. "Banksie's a romantic, you guys. Come on, we always knew it!"

Adam caught the shirt, smirking as he threw it back.

"Whoa, whoa. You got your eye on Shipley's girl?" Luis's eyes went wide. "That the latest play you've got against the Rockets?"

"Well here's the question, when did you ever see Shipley's girl up close?" Goldberg inquired.

Adam shrugged. "She volunteers at a cat shelter. I had to take a couple of them over there after they were left at my dad's rental property on Green Street. I just recognized her."

"You been talking to Max Shipley's girlfriend?" Fulton was incredulous.

"No! I just said she has nice eyes. Jeez," Adam replied, feeling mildly defensive for some reason. "And by the way, her name's Lacey."

Averman whistled. "Classy."

"She is pretty," Guy remarked. "Can't deny it, even if she is a Rocket groupie."

"Yeah, we'll be sure to tell Connie you said so," Portman chuckled. "But nah, nah, I hear you. Nice full lips, too. Like, just enough."

"Alright, alright," Adam smirked again, trying to ignore that last part. "Averman? Let's hear yours."

Not that Adam didn't legitimately want to hear what kind of girl Averman might like -- it was bound to be entertaining -- but his thoughts turned inward. Obviously he wouldn't make a play for Lacey, but even just thinking about it for a minute was a little disconcerting.

And this was why Adam didn't date or allow himself to even think very seriously about it. Everything he had was going toward being good enough for the NHL draft. And that meant no distractions. Plus, what Travis had always told him might be right, even though he hated hearing it: when it came to girls, Adam was a little shy. He wouldn't know exactly how to go about pursuing one. Charlie had done a much better job of this with Linda, and he'd felt a little envious at the time.

But no reason to think about all that right now. Lacey Primmer was just another pretty face, and not his. Meanwhile, it was time for bed... and the IcyHot he'd filched from his mom's medicine cabinet. She didn't use it anymore, so he didn't feel too guilty.

He had been out of Percocets for days, even though he'd tried hard to ration them. The next few days, he'd have to do whatever it took to roll out of bed and move normally, despite the constant, agonizing pain that had overtaken his entire body like a cancer.

#adam banks #mighty ducks #trichotillomania #1990s nostalgia

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