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maylovexhs · 4 years

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everytime - DELICATE (Chp. 32)

Author’s Note: Sorry I postponed this a few days. I had it all written and tumblr gave me problems about posting it. (Thank god I didn’t delete the Google drafts). Anyways this is the last chapter of everytime for September. I’ll be back with more chapters a week before Halloween. See you soon and hope you enjoy - May

Catch up on everytime here

NYC. October 30, 2019. 1 PM.

How can you trust someone? How can you trust someone with your heart when they can walk out the door any second? How can you fall in love with someone when it could fall apart so easily?

I wasn’t afraid of all that. At least, I used not to be. I used to be so excited in a new relationship. Spending almost everyday together. Listening to your favorite music together. Showing them your favorite hidden places. Introducing them to your friends. Them being there for you on all your hard days. Getting to share your life with someone else. . . Who wouldn’t be excited by that?

I guess over the years with each relationship I had, I lost more and more of that excitement until I learned to expect disappointment. And now I felt that way with Ashton.

I like Ashton, a little more than I should but I do. He makes me feel like no one else. He makes me happy -too happy. I shouldn’t feel this happy. At least, not yet. It’s been less than a month I’ve been dating Ashton. It’s too early to be feeling this happy, or too attached. It was still new. I shouldn’t get attached so easily to things that could break, especially to people who can easily leave.

BRINGGG. BRINGGG.

I walked over to the little chair in my closet. I picked it up, seeing it was Harry calling. I pressed the side button of my phone, silencing his call.

I didn’t mean to avoid him. I just been too busy and I had a lot on my mind. I didn’t have the energy to talk to him. The last time I talked to him was last week, the day after my date with Ashton. Ever since then, I’ve been too busy catching up with family and friends to answer his calls. He knew that. He knew I would never avoid him on purpose. Well, he knew I don’t do that anymore.

I looked at my shelf of hats. I picked my black baker boy hat from the shelf and walked over to the mirror in my closet. I adjusted the hat on my head. It tied my blue jacket with my black jeans and boots.

Anyways, I was too busy getting ready to go out with Ashton to answer Harry’s call. I asked Ashton to go out to a museum with me yesterday. Of course, he said yes. I felt as I should confront my fear of being too attached by spending a day with Ashton. I didn’t know why I was so nervous around him but maybe today will shake that feeling out of me. Besides, Ashton was Ashton. He wasn’t like any of my exes. I had good reasons to trust him. I shouldn’t have to worry about him . . . but I did.

DING!

My heart stopped for a second hearing the elevator bell chime through my apartment. Ashton was here.

I looked in the mirror, shaking my head.

I have nothing to worry about. Completely nothing. I was nervous for no reason. It was all in my head.

“Y/N?” I heard Ashton call out for me.

“Coming!” I yelled out to him.

It’s all in my head. It had to be.

2:30 PM.

We were at the MOMA. The Museum of Modern Art. I’ve been countless of times here but each time was different than before. First time I came here was when I was seventeen with Ali, Jie Lin and Jessie. Next time I came, I was on a date with my first boyfriend, Lev. He was nice to be with him until he cheated on me. So much for first loves . . . A few times and a few boyfriends later, I’m standing here with Ashton in front of Louise Bourgeois’s spider sculpture.

“Okay, I get that the spider is protecting the cell. . .” Ashton spoke. “But did it have to be a spider?”

I looked to him. One of my exes said the same thing.

“What?” I asked him. “Are you afraid of spiders?”

“Well, if they’re that big . . .” Ashton said, looking up at the sculpture. “Yes”

I smiled, shaking my head.

“Spiders are a symbol of protection” I said. “Feminine protection. It’s a mother protecting her home and children”

Ashton squinted at the sculpture.

“Still didn’t have to be so creepy” Ashton said.

I rolled my eyes at him.

“I actually looked into her work after the first time I came” I told Ashton. “She draws from her trauma to make art. She didn’t have a good relationship with her mom. She was scared of her but her mother always protected her”

“Hence the spider” Ashton said.

I nodded at him.

“The spider” I said. “Intimidating yet protective”

I walked away from the sculpture, exploring more the museum. Ashton closely followed behind. I walked past a few artworks, stopping in front of one of my favorites in the museum. On the wall, there was a series of black and white photos, showing a woman wearing a dress made from only gloves.

“Lorraine O’ Grady. Untitled” Ashton said, reading the title work on the wall.

Ashton squinted his eyes, looking at the photos.

“So, Lorraine took these photos of her?” Ashton asked.

“Not quite” I said, shaking my head. “The woman in the glove dress is Lorraine”

“She made the dress out of gloves on purpose” I said, pointing at Lorraine in the photo. “She was a beauty pageant queen before she became an artist. The gloves represented class, acceptance. But since she was Black, she didn’t have that. Her work is mocking that”

Ashton looked to me.

“You told me you majored in business in college” Ashton said. “Did minor in art?”

“Actually, music” I said. “But I do still have a great memory of an art class I took sophomore year”

Ashton shook his head.

“Okay, I don’t buy that” Ashton disagreed.

“You don’t?” I asked him.

“No” Ashton said. “I can’t even remember my senior English class. There’s no way you saw this in an art class and remember it ten years later.”

“I didn’t say I saw it in my art class” I told him.

Ashton looked at me, staying silent. He bit his lip.

“I just come here a lot” I admitted.

Ashton crosses his arms.

“How many times?” He asked me.

“A few” I said.

Ashton didn’t drop his gaze from me.

“Fine, more than a few” I said. “But definitely under ten”

“So, who do you usually come with?” Ashton asked me. “There has to be someone who is willing to come here ten times with you”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly only one person” I said. “But Ali only came with me three times . . .”

“So, you came with other friends?” Ashton asked me. “Did you come here for dates?”

I looked up to Ashton, afraid to answer him. I could tell him I’ve been with almost every boyfriend of mine here. I could tell him it’s my favorite place on Earth and I wanted to show my exes it. I could tell him and he would understand that I wanted to share my favorite place with him now. Or I could tell him and he wouldn’t understand. He could think I was stupid for making my exes come here. He could think he wasn’t special enough for me since I took him somewhere I’ve been before. He could think that and want to break up with me.

“Y/N” Ashton said my name.

I blinked at him a few times, snapping out of my thoughts. I let out a little sigh.

“Would you hate me if I told you I brought some of my exes here?” I asked him.

A little smile formed on Ashton’s lips. I didn’t know if it was the museum’s lights reflected in Ashton’s eyes but there was a certain glisten in them. A familiar one I’ve been lucky to see before.

“You had dates here” Ashton said. “It’s a museum. Why wouldn’t you?”

“You’re not mad?” I asked him. “That I’ve been here before? With my exes?”

“Of course not” Ashton said. “You wouldn’t be mad if I told you you’re not the first girl I played my guitar for?”

I smiled at him, feeling a little better.

“No, no” I said. “It’s just this place is special to me and I wanted to share it with you because . . .”

Should I say it? Should I tell him I love him? Wasn’t it too early to tell him those three words? What we had was delicate and I didn’t want to risk it that soon. But maybe . . . he felt the same way. From the look in his eyes, he had to. He did fly to Paris to see me after all. What did I have to lose?

“I think I love you” I said. “I don’t know if it’s too early to say that but . . . I felt that way for a while. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t feel it. The last thing I want is to make you feel weird”

Ashton’s smile grew bigger.

“But I love you” I said. “Enough to care what you think love”

Ashton looked at me for a moment, his smile not flinching a bit. Suddenly, Ashton leaned into me, pressing his lips to mine. I closed my eyes, feeling taken back by him. I felt Ashton’s arms around my waist. I titled my head to the side, cupping Ashton’s cheeks. Ashton pulled me closer to him. I would have began to take off his jacket if I didn’t remember we were in a museum. I slowly pulled away from him, still keep my hands on his face. I opened my eyes to see Ashton smiling down on me.

“I love you too” Ashton said.

I blushed, letting out a little sigh. Ashton removed his hands off me. I let go of his cheeks.

“Umm . . .” I began to speak, catching my breath still. “Do you want to go to a party with me tomorrow?”

“A Halloween party?” Ashton asked me.

“Yeah” I said. “I’m going with my friends and maybe you would like to meet them. You don’t need to get dressed up if you want.”

“Really?” Ashton asked me with slight sarcasm in his voice. “Because I was planning to go as a character from a show. Miraculous Ladybug, you heard of it?”

I raised my eyebrow at him.

“Just say yes” I told him.

“Yes” Ashton said. “I would love to meet your friends and see you in a costume”

I smiled at him.

“Should we continue to look around?” I asked him.

“Lead the way” Ashton said. “You’ve been here before”

I took his hand in mine, dragging him along as I walked.

“Off to the escalators”

October 31st, 2019. 8 PM.

The elevator doors opened in front of me. I walked out and into the hallway. I walked down the hall, stopping at the door to Ashton’s apartment. I knocked hard on the door a few times. I stroke a pose in my costume, waiting for Ashton to open the door. Instead, Brayden, Ashton’s roommate, did.

I flashed a smile at him.

“Hi” I said to him. “Is Ashton ready?”

“Yeah, he’s taking a last minute piss” Brayden said.

Brayden looked up and down at my costume.

“Nice costume” Brayden said. “What are you?”

“Oh, I’m a superhero from a tv show” I said. “Probably don’t know of it but I’m Ladybug from Miraculous Ladybug”

Brayden looked as he lost interest the second I said superhero.

“What?” I asked him. “Don’t like superheroes?”

“Oh, I do” Brayden said. “Comics version at least-“

“I’m here” We heard Ashton say.

Brayden turned around looking at Ashton behind him. I smiled seeing who Ashton dressed up as.

“Oh my god” I said. “You’re not-“

“Luka” Ashton said. “Coincidently, we have the same hair color”

“You didn’t have to dress up” I told him. “And not from someone from a show I watch and you don’t”

“Who says I don’t watch Miraculous Ladybug?” Ashton said.

“You got into it?” I asked him.

“Adrien is seriously blind to Marinette’s feelings” Ashton said. “Luckily, Luka isn’t”

I smiled at Ashton. Brayden rolled his eyes at us.

“Are you two leaving or staying for a drink?” Brayden asked us.

Ashton looked to me.

“You’re in charge, Ladybug” Ashton said. “You choose”

I looked to Brayden. I think he suffered enough from our Halloween’s costumes.

“My friends are waiting for us” I said to Ashton. “We should get going”

Ashton walked out of his apartment. Brayden closed the door as Ashton and I started to walk to the elevator. Ashton pressed the button for the elevator. A DING was immediately heard the second he did. The doors opened for us.

“You really should know,” I said, walking into the elevator with Ashton. “I really ship Marinette with Cat Noir”

“Aw,” Ashton said, pretending to sound hurt. “I should have dressed up as him then”

“Oh, don’t worry” I said. “I feel like Luka will be fine for tonight”

Ashton pressed the lobby button on the side of the elevator. The doors closed in front of us. I felt the elevator began to move. I looked to Ashton, smiling at him.

He loves me. Enough to even dress in a stupid costume for me.

“What’s that look for?” Ashton asked me.

I looked away from him.

“Oh, nothing” I said. “Nothing at all”

London. November 1st, 2019. 6 PM.

*HARRY’S POV*

“Guess who finally learned to play Falling on the piano” I said into my phone.

I sent my voice message to Tom, sending a video of me playing the piano too. I looked at my phone, waiting for Tom to text back. After a minute of nothing, I set my phone down on the piano.

He was probably busy with Jenny or his family. They were a cute little family. Tom would always bring his son into the studio while we were writing. I smiled to myself, remembering one day when Tom’s son wouldn’t leave me alone. I wished to have a family - someday. I liked the fact that I got to build and share a life with someone. Having a family meant I got to share my life with more than one person. I couldn’t wait for that day.

I picked up my phone again, unlocking it. I went to my messages, feeling as I should call someone. I scrolled down, stopping at Y/N. I didn’t talk to her in a few days. From when we last spoke, she was excited to see her friends back home.

I tapped on her name. I held my phone to my ear, waiting for Y/N to pick up. She didn’t.

She was probably busy. Probably with Ashton too . . . Was she?

I looked down at my phone, tempted. I stared at the Twitter app on my phone. I tapped on it, giving in. I immediately searched Y/N. Pictures of her and Ashton were the top tweets.

STOP Y/N AND ASHTON MATCHED I CAN’T

OKAY BUT THE FACT THAT THEY WENT AS Y/N’S FAVORITE SHOW IF THIS ISNT LOVE IDK WHAT IS

LOOK HOW CUTE THEY ARE THEYRE LITERALLY TWO DORKS TOGETHER

I scrolled more down, seeing more photos and videos of Ashton and Y/N. They were pictured out at a Halloween party together, both in costumes. One photo was of them leaving the party, holding hands. Y/N was smiling at Ashton. One video showed them talking at the party. Another picture showed Y/N, Ashton, Ali and Ezra.

I locked my phone, setting it back down on the piano.

He met her friends. Of course, he would meet them. He is her boyfriend after all but . . . isn’t is too soon?

I shook my head.

What am I talking about? Y/N’s relationships were none of my business just as mine weren’t hers. Besides, I introduced Camille to my friends soon after I dated her. I shouldn’t even care that Ashton met her friends quicker than I did.

I looked down the piano keys.

He met her friends before I did. It took six years for Y/N to introduce her friends to me. It only took him a month. I don’t understand it. What does Y/N see in him? What does she see in him and not in me? She trusts him so easily when I have been here for six years. I’ve always been there for Y/N and still, she couldn’t trust me enough around her friends.

Granted, there was reasons. Y/N and I always were too busy with our careers. We never could spend more than a few days together without the other having to leave. And I remember what Y/N said that night on her balcony a few months ago. She said so herself she had a hard time trusting people when we met but what about after? We’ve been friends for six years. She could have introduced me to her friends sooner than she did. She could have.

I sighed, feeling frustrated.

What did she see in Ashton but not me? She knows how much I’ve been there for her. She knows how much she means to me. I’ve shown it over and over again. I was there for her when Ashton wasn’t. Did she tell Ashton about her terrible parents? Did she tell him how she almost got married by mistake? Did she tell him about her miscarriage? She could tell me all that but won’t see what I have to offer?

I stared at the piano keys. I gently pressed on one key.

Maybe I was jealous. But I had the right to be. I’ve known Y/N for longer. I’ve been there for her. She knows that but refuses to accept it.

I pressed on the same piano key again. And again. And again.

I had the right to be jealous. I had the right to be angry. I felt used and lonely. I had the right to be.

I pressed down on the key once more.

“I know that you don’t. . .” I said. “But if I asked you if you loved me, I hope you lie to me”

#harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #hs imagine #hs imagines #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #everytime chapters #everytime HS

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atinywriting · 5 years

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Bloody Pen | Wooyoung Serial Killer AU Chapter 4

For the Love of Art

As Hongjoong turned his back and left to question the officers, he was unfortunately unaware of the smirk on Wooyoung’s face. Wooyoung released the breath he held in and curled his fingers. The tension in his body relaxed.

He couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. No one would suspect him.

There was no doubt Hongjoong was smart from the various cases that Wooyoung had worked with him. But... it was also quite easy to manipulate logic. It was easy to fabricate the old trio tale of “motive, means, and opportunity”. After all, the best way to tell a lie was to tell parts of the truth.

Wooyoung was honest and truthful as long as the case didn’t involve himself. If it did involve himself, who would suspect a person helping out with the investigation? Especially one who had helped solve many cases for a long time. No one. No one could ever guess, not even fathom with the idea that he himself had tampered with the evidence.

Wooyoung took a few steps back to admired his handiwork. It was actually the first time he had killed in such a meticulous way.

And he found it... much, much more fulfilling. More gratifying.

Usually, he’d use a knife. A simple slash to the throat or a few stabs to the abdomen would always do the trick. Strangulation was nice occasionally. Guns weren’t the most interesting weapon. It killed too quickly, but he sometimes used it.

This time Wooyoung had planned it out only minutes after drugging the victim. He had only 8-10 hours before it died from hanging upside down. As soon as it woke up, the fun began.

Since it was hanging upside down, the blood would rush to it’s head and keep it awake. There would be no chance to faint from the pain. Wooyoung slowly dragged it out; cutting, slicing, and slashing into the flesh. It was satisfying hearing the screams, begs and cries. And the final blow, the thing’s eyes popping out of it’s head and gurgling as he cut into the neck. The light leaving its eyes as the blood gushed out and flowed down.

But, it wasn’t just more fun. This kill was also special. It would be the first murder in the project he proudly titled, Bloody Pen. Inspired by you and in dedication to you.

A gift for you, his lovely muse.

He remembered what you had shown him on the second date. Your new book would be about a serial killer whose trademark would be riddles and puzzles.

As he read your words and spent time with you, he couldn’t help but feel something familiar in you. A kindred soul? Just like how you enjoyed writing stories of crime, Wooyoung enjoyed orchestrating a story with each kill he made to pin it on someone else.

Gang related violence. Domestic abuse. An accident. Out of defense. Suicide. Overdose. Poisoning. A drunkard killing their significant other. A crime of passion where one killed out of a fit of rage. Revenge. Jealousy. Greed.

Each kill had their own small details that made it a unique story. And this time, he would weave in your story. He’d end this theme after the fourth or fifth one and continue after sometime.

Indeed, he was having more fun than usual. But, he’d get caught after a while. It was the mistake of many murderers to unconsciously establish a repeated pattern.

Wooyoung hummed as he sealed up each piece of evidence in their proper containers. His job was done. Now, he only needed to transport it all to the forensic center. Another would come by soon to properly preserve and transport the body to the lab later.

Thankfully, Wooyoung wouldn’t have to do any extra work with tampering. The rain from two days ago had diluted and erased all of his traces.

He whistled a cheerful tune as he walked to his vehicle. After dropping the evidence off, he went home and slept peacefully till the alarm clock rang.

The sky was clear. The sun was bright. The birds were singing. Another day. Another kill. Another day he got away scot-free.

As he ate lunch, he hummed as he flipped open the pages to your second book. He only had read the brief summary on the back, but he was already hooked by the premise. In fact, it was inspiration for the next kill.

A serial killer who turned all of their lovers into dolls to keep them company.

In one hand he held a pencil, outlining and sketching the plan out onto his notebook.

Salt. Baking powder... He stopped. Huh, he’d have to do a little bit of his own research into this.

Ping!

He picked up the phone and your name popped up.

My apartment at 1? For help, if you’re not busy please? ^^ I’ll text you my address.

Wooyoung paused, contemplating to himself. He’d most likely be called back to the lab around 3-4 pm. Then again, just two to three hours with you sounded nice.

You bit your lips as you waited for a reply. Hopefully, you weren’t being too annoying. You jumped in your seat as a text came in.

Only for a few hours. Then I gotta work orz

Yes! You quickly sent your address and slumped against the couch. Closing your eyes and enjoying this small moment of happiness—Wait. Your eyes snapped open and looked around your apartment.

It was trash. Utter trash from your laziness to clean up. You also looked like trash with your messy appearance and your rats nest of a hair. And... you only had an hour left till 1.

You immediately rushed: picking up whatever you could into the recycle or trash can, dusting, and sweeping the floor. You glanced at the clock. 5 minutes left. You threw on whatever looked nice enough.

A ring and a few knocks had you running to the door. You smoothed over your hair once more and opened the door. And there stood Wooyoung with his usual bright smile. Your eyes glanced down to his hand. An envelope? He handed it to you and you took it with a questioning look in your eyes.

“The diagrams you wanted,” he explained. “I drew up how different types of wounds looked. I even have bullet points on the back to describe each one. You like it?”

At those words, you practically ripped the top of the envelope off. You slid the papers out and carefully went through it all.

It was bloody. It was disgusting. It was gory with its details.

“I... I love it,” you whispered as your fingertips stroked the papers. You clutched the diagrams close to your chest. Pulling all nighters just to search up the most minuscule of details were practically over. You had Wooyoung now.

“Please marry me.”

Your eyes widened and you covered your mouth. Why did you say that? You peeked up to see him equally surprised before his face had formed the smuggest grin you had ever seen in your life.

He was enjoying this.

“I, uh, I mean...” you fidgeted under his gaze.

Why? You screeched in your head. You wanted to crawl into a ditch. You wanted to curl into a ball and never see the light of day again.

But, Wooyoung was already here in front of you. There was no escaping embarrassment.

You were snapped out of your dazed state when you felt his hand stroking the top of your head. You flushed under his attention.

“Baby steps,” Wooyoung drawled with the ever present smirk on his face. “But I wouldn’t mind marrying you—“

Before he could say any more, you stepped back and flailed your arms. Heat rose to your cheeks. “Do you wanna just come in!?” You squawked.

Wooyoung chuckled and took his shoes off as he stepped in. Your reactions were honestly adorable.

The apartment felt warm and welcoming with cozy simplicity. He sat down on the couch and looked up to where you still stood trying to calm down. He tilted his head. “Are you not joining me?” He asked with a slightly teasing tone. “I can’t help you if you’re all the way over there.”

Right! You scurried to take a seat beside him and flipped open your notepad.

“Tell me exactly how to make the deaths more interesting.”

Wooyoung began, “First of all, I noticed the way you write deaths are either vague or not descriptive enough. You might as well just be saying ‘He stabbed her and she died’. Which isn’t wrong, but that’s also really boring.”

You grumbled with a pout, “Well, it’s not like I could Google this up. Literally, no website goes into detail on this kind of stuff.”

You were dedicated to having as much accuracy as possible. Which was why details were the most agonizing thing to write. Most of the time on the Internet, you could not find it. Either turning up with a vague answer or a blank result. As much as you hated it, you couldn’t dwell on it because it would take forever and you’d probably die before publishing anything. You could only continue on. But now, it was becoming a glaring problem that needed to be fixed.

“Well.” Wooyoung smiled. “You have me for that now.” He wrapped an arm over your shoulder causing your heart to beat faster. “Secondly, how does the killer feel?”

You blinked. “How does the killer feel?” You repeated.

Wooyoung nodded. “When people are reading about serial killers, they’re interested in how a person can be so warped. They hang on to every word. What they think. What they feel.” He gestured to your notepad. “With that in mind, try rewriting your first death scene in the manuscript.”

You pressed the pen against your pursed lips. You ran back and forth to get your manuscript for reference. After minutes of thinking, you wrote it down, occasionally drawing a line through a sentence and scribbling out some words. You handed the notepad to Wooyoung and fidgeted with your fingers.

“Better now?” You looked at him, trying to assess his reaction.

He scanned the small passage. His eyes and mouth was wide. Shivers went up Wooyoung’s spine. He could feel goosebumps rise up on his skin. His breath was taken away.

The room was dimly lit and dead silent. She was strapped to the table. Her mouth stuffed with cloth, her eyes bulging out. I studied my toolbox. Yes, the scalpel would do. A smile crept on my face as I caressed the blade. Her flesh was calling for me. Her fearful face reflected onto the blade before I cut a perfect chunk of flesh out.

He lowered his head, so you couldn’t see his face. He gritted his teeth and bit his lip. The tapping of his leg grew more agitated. It took every fiber of his being to hold his blood lust in. He finally took a deep breath, relaxed and exhaled.

You were incredible.

“Much, much better,” Wooyoung breathed out as he handed the notepad back to you. “I actually felt chills.”

“Yes! Progress!” You screamed. You tackled him, wrapping your arms around Wooyoung and resting your head against his chest. “I love you. I mean—” You quickly corrected yourself. “I love how you’re helping me. Not that I don’t love you, but like it’s way too early to say that when we’ve only known each other for a few weeks and...”

He chuckled hearing your rambles and stroked your head. You really were like a puppy learning new tricks for treats and affection. Your adorableness was such a sharp contrast to the small dark passage you had just written. Honestly, if he hadn’t known you, he would’ve thought you were the same as him.

You released him and cleared your throat. “Anyways, what else could I do to improve?” You asked.

“Not any other obvious thing I can think of.” Wooyoung put his hand to his chin and nodded. “Yeah. Your only real problems was around the deaths. You have the backstory, the motive, the mystery. And now, you have a better idea to write out deaths and you have me for details to spice it up.” He smiled and patted your head. “You’re doing a great job.”

A giggle bubbled from your throat at the praise and affection. You looked at the clock, surprised to see that it had already been past 2 pm. Did time really past that quickly?

It suddenly then dawned on you, you didn’t really know much about him. Other than his profession, you didn’t know why he was in it. Nor did you know his interests. You didn’t know anything about him personally. Wooyoung had work soon, didn’t he? Maybe you could get to know him a bit more in the little time you had left.

“Why did you decide to do forensics?” You felt Wooyoung jump up a little and he stared at you in surprise. “Um, did I accidentally ask a personal question?”

He blinked a few times before replying softly, “No... I’m just surprised you’re interested in me enough to ask. You really want to know more about me?”

“Of course.” Why didn’t he think you would be? You were slightly confused but you brushed it off.

He finally answered your question. “I was always interested in the human body. How it moved. How it functioned. The anatomy. I did so well and had such a knack for biology that a teacher told me I should try out forensics.”

“I see. Don’t answer if you don’t want to, but can you tell me about your family?”

Wooyoung frowned. Family? He looked down at his feet and back at you. His eyes widened.

What?

He stared at you. Flashes of her face merged with yours. No. She was dead. You weren’t her. Sweat beaded his forehead. His body trembled. His breath stuttered. His throat tightened. Why was it getting hard to breathe? He clenched his fist, digging his nails into his palm.

A gentle warm grasp of his hand snatched him out of his state and his eyes snapped to your alarmed eyes.

You rubbed your thumb on his clenched fist. “Are you okay?” You softly asked.

Wooyoung quickly stood up. He had to leave.

“I... I think I need to go out for a bit,” he faintly said. “Get a clear head before working.”

Without a word, Wooyoung went straight for the door. Just as he was about to step out, he almost jumped feeling your warm hand grabbing onto his arm. He turned to meet your soft, concerned eyes.

Why did those soft eyes and your warm touch start to feel so familiar now?

“I’m here for you whenever you need some comfort, you know?”

Wooyoung numbly nodded and you stared as he ran off. You groaned as he finally left your sight. Thoughts swirled through your mind as you closed the door.

You cursed yourself. Way to go me. You royally have screwed up now.

Hopefully, this didn’t change anything between you two. You’d hate to lose him because of this.

You would have to apologize to him later. For now, you’d give him some space unless he came to you first.

#ateez #ateez wooyoung #jung wooyoung #wooyoung #wooyoung x reader #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #jongho #ateez imagines #ateez scenario #ateez imagine #kpop imagine

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beckzorz · 5 years

Text

PREMONITIONS 2 (5/8)

or, Adventures in Pursuit of a Seven-Year-Old Seer

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Words: 2483 Summary: It’s been over a year since you met Bucky, and you couldn’t be happier. If only you could figure out why your precognitive niece is burying you in abstract crayon art… Warnings for part 5: Mild swearing, mild violence

Canisteo. Steuben County, New York. Population: 3,254.

Distance from the city: 300 miles.

Expected travel time? Five hours.

How long does it take you to get there?

Seven. Fucking. Hours.

A semi-trailer truck crashed on the highway an hour out of the city, blocking all three lanes and setting traffic to a standstill. You’re stuck in the same spot for almost forty minutes. After that, things pick up, but just barely. The cars inch along until, finally, you beak free of the bottleneck. With every minute that passes, you can’t help but imagine what horrors your family is going through. It’s an effort to unclench your hand from the wheel to change gears, adjust the heat, try to listen to the news…

Every minute is torture.

When you finally pass the “Welcome to Canisteo” sign, your heart leaps. Finally! You can swoop in, find your family, save them…

Find your family…

Main Street is quaint, almost disturbingly so. Light, colorful buildings with detailed facades line the sidewalk. The last snow was a week ago; what remains has gone gray and yellow. Weak winter sun streams in through thin clouds overhead.

You drive up and down Main Street, passing banks and restaurants and people wandering around during the lunch hour. No one is familiar. The sun on the snow is blinding, and you alternate between squinting and blinking.

After your second U-turn, you pull over. You peel your hands away from the wheel and go into park. Your hands are stiff, stiff with cold and terror. They tremble as you pull the key from its slot. You shove your hands between your legs and press your forehead against the steering wheel, vision blurring.

You’ve followed Gemma’s map. You made it to Canisteo. But what are you supposed to do now?

Well, sitting in your chilling car isn’t going to accomplish anything. You check the signage—yes, you’re good to park here—and stuff the map of Gemma’s drawings into your backpack. The bag is a solid weight on your shoulders as you wander through the center of town. Things seem as tranquil as they appeared at first glance. The restaurants aren’t too busy, the sidewalks are neatly paved, traffic is limited. After a lifetime spent in the city, the serenity is more disturbing than anything. Even if your neighborhood is relatively quiet, there’s still the hum of the subway, the cars and taxis…

This place feels halfway dead.

Every person you pass gives you a look, and you prickle under their stares. Sure, you’re a stranger. What of it? There’s no harm in city folk visiting small towns.

Your shoulders are around your ears by the time you duck into a cafe for a bite to eat. You haven’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon, and your gut is cramping. You force down a sandwich. Nausea curls at your gut as you eat—more wasted time! these twenty minutes might be the difference between life and death!—and you try not to cry into your tea.

If you get so hungry that you pass out, you’re no help.

But having eaten, you have to come to terms with the fact that even sated, you don’t know what to do.

What if Canisteo isn’t the right destination? There’s no message for you here, not that you’ve seen, and you have no idea how to grill the locals. Interrogation is a skill you don’t have, be it as a good cop or bad. You don’t know how to weasel information out of people—being honest is what you’ve been taught, what you know. How the hell are you supposed to magically discover the—lair? Hideout? Maybe they’re upstairs in this very building. Who the hell knows! You sure don’t.

You bite your lip hard as you stare down at your empty plate. You will not cry in a cafe. You will not.

“Are you alright, miss?”

You flinch and stare over at the older man looking at you from the next table. Your heart races. Why is he bothering you? Does he know? Is he one of them?

“Y-yeah,” you manage. You unclench your fists, force a smile. “Just trying to figure out where my brother got to.”

The old man nods and turns back to his bagel and newspaper. Your hands shake as you gather your things. Is the man watching you? Are the eyes you feel on you malign or concerned?

Are you even thinking straight?

You flee the cafe, not once looking back until you’re locked in your freezing car. From here, you can just make out the man at the cafe window. And all he’s doing is sitting there, bagel and newspaper in hand.

You sag in your seat, breath coming as heavy as if you’d just run a marathon. Through the windshield, Canisteo’s tranquility laughs at you.

Why did Gemma summon you here? What are you supposed to do?

Were you even supposed to come?

Hands shaking, you pull out your phone and try Bucky. You haven’t tried since the last call before you left, and he hasn’t gotten back to you. But it’s been almost eight hours. Maybe now…

“The number you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message at the tone.”

You let Bucky’s voicemail message finish before hanging up. You don’t bother leaving a message. What is there to say? ‘Hi, Bucky, I drove halfway to Canada because Gemma’s abstract art looks like a Google map and that definitely means I’m in the right place!’

Right. Because that sounds so convincing.

You bang your forehead against the steering wheel and stare mindlessly at the dashboard beyond. The plastic of the wheel is cold against your face. Focus, dammit. There’s no point in letting yourself get paranoid. Gemma’s never led you astray before.

Astray, no. Into trouble?

Your hand drifts to your side, where under your jacket and shirt a scar lingers. The one time Gemma had led you into trouble, you’d been shot saving Bucky’s life. You were fine, in the end, and you’d gotten a dream boyfriend out of it to boot. For whatever reason, the assassin had never come after you, and nothing like it had ever come up again.

But now?

Kidnapping isn’t the same as murder. But as much as you’d stopped the bullet, it was Gemma who’d put you where you needed to be.

Your breath catches. Slowly, you sit up, tension clogging your throat. That fateful night was well over a year ago, but revenge is a dish best served cold.

Is this kidnapping to do with last Halloween?

“Oh god,” you whisper.

The silence is deafening. Your heart thumps in your chest. No wonder Bucky’s been off the grid. Of course he’s been ignoring your calls. If there are assassins involved, he’d certainly try to keep you out of it. He was apologetic about you getting shot even when you were a stranger. Now that you’re dating…

Certainty settles over you like a wet blanket. If anything happens to you, Bucky will blame himself. And you aren’t about to let that happen to the man you love.

The man you love?

Your lips part and your eyes widen.

Well, shit.

Sure, you and Bucky have been dating for almost a year. You’ve teased each other, shared longing looks, and reached for each other in moments of distress. But neither of you have ever mentioned love.

Maybe you’ve told him you love his body, or his hair. Even his arm, with all it can do. But not him.

Hell, it took months for you to even put a label on each other. You can still remember the summer day you took Gemma upstate when Bucky first called you his girl.

Your throat burns; you clap a hand over your mouth. Oh god, why didn’t you realize it before? Of course you love him—he’s perfect. Funny, beautiful, smart, sexy… And he’s had nothing but respect for you from day one. Not like so many others, who roll their eyes at your boring job or wince at your cheekiness. Bucky just grins.

Before now, you’ve never really worried about his superhero status. By the time you see him after missions, he’s back to his usual fantastic shape. The things you’ve worried about are more mental than physical.

But now?

If you hadn’t been there, if Gemma hadn’t brought you to the right place at the right time, Bucky might have died last Halloween, gunned down in the street with his milk and his phone. Steve would have arrived too late. You… you never would have met him. Your heart clenches at the thought. You can’t imagine life without Bucky Barnes. He’s your everything.

You take your phone in hand again, your finger hovering over Bucky’s name. He might not answer now, but he’s bound to listen to your messages at some point. You tap on his name and press your phone to your ear, your jaw set.

“The number you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message at the tone.”

This time, you don’t hang up right away. Instead, you wait for the tone.

“Hi Bucky, it’s me. It’s, uh, around one pm. I know you’re busy, but I w-wanted—” Your voice shakes. What if this is the last message you leave him? What if he doesn’t feel the same? You swallow away your fear. “Sorry. I wanted to tell you I love you. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but no matter what happens, I love you. So damn much, Bucky.” Tears are pricking at your eyes. You’re sure you sound wrecked. “Please be safe. No matter what happens to me, please take care of yourself.” You sniff. “Bye.”

You hang up.

---

The next four hours, you drive around Canisteo and the surrounding towns. There’s no sign of Matt, Sarah, or Gemma, let alone any assassins. With every hour, your heart drops. Isn’t there supposed to be some special time window for finding kidnapping victims? You can’t remember it off the top of your head, but it’s been close to twenty hours.

What about Sarah’s morning vitamin? What about Gemma’s? It’s the middle of winter—are they warm enough?

Are they even alive?

You try not to consider that.

The sun sets around five, and you go back to Canisteo to grab dinner. Maybe there’s a villain at the convenience store. Maybe it’s the woman with the pink hat and bubblegum, or the skinny teenager with skin-tight jeans.

Probably not the teenager.

Hopefully not. No teenager should have to be involved with anything remotely connected to this—but then you think of Gemma, and what she is going through at age seven, and you can barely muster a smile for the cashier.

There’s a hotel five miles away, and you drive to it with a heavy heart. For all your determination at dawn, today has been nothing short of wasted. What good has your upstate adventure been? You haven’t found your family, nor even a hint of them. Bucky and Steve are on the case—what was the point in getting involved yourself? You’re no detective. You certainly aren’t a hero, either.

You check into the hotel. When you get to your room, you pull the curtains tightly closed and dump the contents of your backpack on the bed. Gemma’s folder, your laptop, some granola bars, and a water bottle is all you thought to bring with you. You don’t even have a toothbrush. And of course, you’ve forgotten about the granola bars until right now. Great. More money wasted.

You open your laptop and log into the spotty wifi. You put the rest of your things back in your bag and stuff it under the bed.

It’s been over four hours since you called Bucky. There’s no harm in trying again, right?

“The number you are tryi—”

You hang up. There’s no point in leaving another voicemail. He’ll get it eventually. You curl up on the bed with just the bedside lamp on and search Google maps for likely lair locations. A warehouse here, an abandoned building there… They could be anywhere, and you just don’t know.

You hate not knowing.

An enormous yawn cracks your jaw. You don’t know how you can be tired after everything that’s happened. Then again, terror is exhausting. And you’re no help to your family right now. Tears come again to your eyes—you’ve never cried this much in twenty-four hours—and you wipe them on the stiff pillowcase.

Then your phone rings.

You sit up so fast your vision blacks out. You feel blindly for your phone. Your vision clears as your fingers finally catch hold of your phone.

It’s Bucky. You answer in a flash.

“Bucky,” you breathe. “Oh my god.”

“Darlin’, what’s going on?”

Bucky’s voice fills your ear. Tension you didn’t even realize was there seeps out of you at the sound. God, you love that sound. You hold the phone with both hands, fingers curled around it as though Bucky could feel you holding onto him.

“Are you okay? Did you get my calls?” you ask.

“I’m okay, yeah.” He sounds exhausted. Has he slept since last night? “I saw you called. Didn’t listen to your messages yet, figured I’d just call back. What’s going on? Did the police get back to you at all?”

In the background, you can hear someone else talking. Steve? It’s impossible to tell.

“No,” you say. You bite your lip. “Do you have any news?”

“We tracked them upstate, but we don’t know exactly whe—”

“Finger Lakes?” you interrupt.

Bucky’s brief silence is tense. “How do you know?”

“Because Gemma left a map,” you say, gaining confidence as you continue. “The art she left me—it was a map, Bucky. A map to Canist—”

A bang on the door cuts you off. You stare in horror as the knob turns, gray plywood splintering against the dark rug.

“What’s going on?” Bucky demands. “What—”

“They’re here,” you gasp. You scramble off the bed and run to the bathroom, locking yourself in as the front door slams against the wall. Your hands are shaking so bad you can’t even tell if Bucky can hear your harried whispering. “I’m in Canisteo. No, the hotel near it—Gemma’s map is under the be—”

You scream as the bathroom door bursts open. A man in dark clothes and a scarf and goggles over his face rushes at you. The phone drops from your hands as you careen back, and you can dimly hear Bucky yelling at you through the phone.

The man grabs your neck and slams you against the wall. You see stars as your head ricochets. The man lifts his foot and slams it down on your phone.

The screen cracks. The line goes dead.

The man slams you against the wall again, and then you see nothing else at all.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine #the premonitions story #becca writes

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escailyyy · 7 years

Text

Sweeter than fiction (SherlollyFicExchange2017 @darnedchild)

Mary would be the first one to admit that motherhood softened her embarrassment threshold, that was one explanation for it, domesticity had apparently made it mentally acceptable for Mary to indulge in the hobbies of middle aged housewives that Sherlock would roll his eyes on. (Joining the ranks of the type of women that made fifty shades of Grey a best seller) so she couldn’t exactly share her new hobby with him.

So when Molly Hooper caught Mary reading something called ‘Warstan gets Naughty’ by username: WhatzonDkink, Mary not only was way too eager to talk about her latest obsession but also had no shame in admitting it was an obsession. Sherlock probably would have expected more from Mary! She blamed this on Rosie, if as a woman she no longer had an issue with having baby vomit on her shirt when she went grocery shopping, then obviously she wouldn’t have it with sharing her smut preferences with a friend during girls night either.

“Let me get this straight, people write about you and John, just because they saw you on the telly and mentioned in John’s blog” Molly hummed over her second glass of wine “they write about you the way people write about Clara Oswald and the Doctor, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley kind of thing?”

“Like Posh Spice and David Beckham” Mary nodded “I found this site dedicated to real people fanfiction it’s quite big, there’s a section for royalty, politicians, sports players, celebrities and crime fighters, people consider us the second best pairing in that category, they write all sort of thing featuring John and me” she grinned proudly while Molly giggled

“Let me see” Molly peered at Mary’s tablet while reading out loud “ this one is called "Make me scream” by username Bby8R2D2, John Watson comes home from a day chasing a serial killer to find his wife wants to leave him, unless he can prove to her why he was nicknamed 'Three continent Watson’ ….“ Molly burst out laughing opening the link and skimming over it "Mary I’m not sure paragraph five is anatomically possible”

Mary nodded scrolling down “just wait, paragraph ten defies the laws of physics and some of chemistry’s” feeling emboldened Mary opened another file and pushed it into Molly’s eyes “this one is a particular favorite of mine”

The fan fiction was called “Duty to Love” by LaD-GG-romnuv,and Molly read out loud “ An: I wrote this while sleep deprived working through rocket science and assembling an IKEA bedroom set, John Watson is Captain America and Mary Morstan is Black Widow having a hot affair, their love will be put to test when John has to choose between his love for Mary and his duty to Rehabilitated Winter Soldier Sherlock Holmes” Molly perked up with interest opening the first chapter and reading through “wow this is…this isn’t bad, you’re..very in character, oh look I’m in here too… Molly Carter-Hooper agent 221” this brought a smile to Molly’s face, then she let out another gasp “Oh John how could you!…Mary, you know him better than this….No, Sherlock, that’s a bastard move”

“I know right, the writer hasn’t updated in ages” Mary groaned putting her hands to her face “I have half a mind to track down their IP and ask them if I John will ever see me again now that he joined the group fighting Lokiriarty in Asgard and I am single-handedly heading S.H.I.E.L.D” she also didn’t mention that special Agent 221 and the Winter Soldier were also having awkwardly adorable encounters as a ‘side pairing’ and that she wanted to know how it ended, but that was neither here nor there.

“Aaaand thanks for the spoilers” Molly glared at Mary who shamelessly raised her glass, surreptitiously closing the link

“Some people write things that you wouldn’t believe in the NSFW rating…let’s just say I’ll spare you the details of 'Watson Gang bang’ and 'Blood kink Mary’ because you’re not ready for that type of darkness”

“ what? Really?” Molly’s finger hovered over the rating button but Mary stopped her with a glare

“Yes, really, but back to my favorites, there’s an angsty one that’s very on demand recently. "Bone Marrow,” I think, apparently John met me as a patient, we had a collection of one night stands turned dates and now I only have weeks to live because the writer of that fanfiction is a sadistic ass"

“Do you end up together though?”

“I have no idea!” Mary groaned “ I swear Nick Sparks could use a tip or two from the hyperactive teenage girl that’s writing about my imaginary terminal illness”

Molly snorted patting her hand “speaking about angst, does John know about this?” She motioned to Mary’s tablet

Mary rolled her eyes and shook her head “He doesn’t want to hear about our fictional sex life, apparently it’s not fair that his fan fiction persona is better stud than he is, and a better doctor, actor, polo player, international pilot, astronaut” Mary ticked off her fingers “You don’t see me complaining about the superhuman professional skills that those fans give me” “That’s actually kinda…sweet, if a little disturbing” Molly settled in comfortably in her lounge seat while she ordered another round of margaritas when once again Mary’s tablet beeped with a notification

“Hey Mary what’s "Sherlolly finally does it” about? It’s by username Sherlicks-lollies and it looks promising….“ but Mary had already grabbed the tablet out of Molly’s hands

"Yeah no you can’t read that, nope not at all” Mary as a rule never looked nervous unless she wanted people to think she was nervous, but the face she made at the very mention of that fan fiction was…actually the same face Mary made whenever something unexpected happened to Rosie’s nappy

“Mary” Molly eyed her tablet suspiciously “what is in there?”

“Nothing, just more tawdry things about me and John….if you’ll excuse me I need to leave a proper commentary review on this work of art” her face was turning a bit red and as far as Molly was concerned, Mary’s face had just passed dirty-nappy territory straight into buying-condoms-for-Mrs Hudson level of uncomfortable.

“You do know that I also have Google on my phone don’t you?” The tiny pathologist said in a threatening tone taking out her serviceable smartphone and waving it in front of Mary’s face

“You wouldn’t dare” her friend replied as nonchalantly as someone hiding smutty fan fiction could

“Google it is”

“Molls you’re not ready for the world of RPF, trust me”

But Molly Hooper was a brave soul, a brave, intrepid and possibly drunk soul who was capable of sawing through the rib cage of a dead body without batting an eyelash and also once gone on a date with Moriarty, she hung out with Sherlock! and somewhere, one day if she ever needed to change jobs, those things were going to be stamped in her CV under 'work experience’. So she wasn’t afraid of fan fiction.

Or so she thought “You don’t intimidate me Mary Watson” Molly whispered ominously

Finally as if hit by a very mischievous idea Mary’s face did a 180 and a rather creepy smirk graced her face “Fine, Google the word Sherlolly, go ahead Hooper, I dare you, I’ll let you read this if you do” And so Molly did.

Mary who was now shamelessly enjoying herself again covertly turned on her tablet’s camera and carefully took pictures of the progression of emotions crossing Molly’s face, shock, disbelief, despair, embarrassment, flattery, embarrassment again, and finally plain mortification.“Mary I’m in the dictionary”

“I know”

“Sherlock and me…we’re in the bloody Oxford dictionary”

“Next to the definition of Shipping, yes” Mary passed Molly another margarita in mock sympathy “Oxford, but only the updated version, nobody over twenty reads the updated version anyway”

“Sherlock and Molly” More disbelief “Sherlolly…”

“I warned you” Mary nodded, then since she might as well rip off the band aid completely she added “there’s fanart too”

The horror dawned “People draw…people draw Sherlock and me together”

“And they’re quite talented at it too, all sort of situations, oh don’t look so terrified Molly, the fan-art isn’t that bad, the fandom thinks you’re both Kawai or something, not all of what they draw is porn”

Molly cursed something so colorful it made Mary feel proud “tell me Sherlock doesn’t know”

“Oh he knows it exists, he probably just hasn’t thought about it very deeply” Mary shrugged “Like Greg’s name, fan fiction is probably not relevant enough for his nibs”

“And thank God for his little mercies” Molly hissed “Someone drew us sailing with the Queen!”

“must be a new member, usually your shippers are more into drawing the insides of St Bart’s or imagining what your flat looks like” Mary was enjoying herself Furthermore she wanted Molly Hooper to enjoy herself so she tried a new approach “hey don’t be so shocked, the shippers love you, they buy any science magazine you’re mentioned in, it’s not all about Sherlock for them”

“They like an imaginary version of us” Molly was not appeased

“And we liked the airbrushed versions of Prince Charles and Princess Diana when they were a thing so I don’t see how it’s any different, cheer up Missus Pathologist” Mary encouraged in her best 'mom’ voice trying her best to make her friend see the bright side “Carpe Diem and all that”

And that’s how Molly Hooper discovered the world of Real Person Fanfiction, at first Molly was reluctant to see the website again, after all any sane person would be a bit miffed if they found out that other people played around with the details of their life like grown children with action figures. But curiosity won out, the next time she felt bored in the tube she pulled out her phone and decided to give them the benefit of the doubt.Soon she came to realize that the so called shippers were not really malicious or ill intentioned. In fact, most of them had in one way or another become interested in her romantic life because they’ve been previously impressed with something during the course of her career and looked her up online.It was somewhat ridiculous, these people knew nothing about her life (or so she thought) but apparently, they decided over the course of who-knows-how-long-this-had-been-going-on that she and Sherlock Holmes were either going to make a good couple or were already a good couple behind the scenes.

Anderson’s crazy conspiracy group had probably only proved these people right when Sherlock was gone and….. Oh damn, it got worse.

There were fanfics about that too. (Username ‘Notr3a11yAnderson’ wasn’t even subtle when it earned the website’s award for reviewer of the month)

“How many variations of Sherlock snogging me after falling from the rooftop can exist?” Molly muttered to herself glaring a bit at her phone, a quick refinement in the ‘advance searching’ gave her an answer that had her cursing again.

Ten million? Really?.

But Molly couldn’t find it in herself to hate them, when her mortification died out over the weekend amusement replaced it, after all, if she was allowed to silently wish Mycroft and Anthea would snog already, then why judge the shippers for romanticizing her extremely ordinary life in their heads. Mary was probably right in taking a relaxed approach.Outrage would serve her for naught, it wasn’t as if these people were like Kitty Riley or her ilk, fan fiction was still considered a widely taboo hobby in most places and the so called 'shippers’ didn’t seem to be doing it for personal profit. To these perfect strangers imagining her and Sherlock together was just…fun, so they kept doing it.

A phone call from Mike interrupted her musings and when she went back to her phone like most Internet browsers hers allowed a pop-up ad on the fanfiction website latest updates to blink on her phone screen.“Sherlolly Saves the endangered Koalas” Molly hummed reading through one of the fanfics suggested by the pop up, apparently the Sherlolly shippers were very dedicated fans, of course there were other suggestions, an N-sync fan fiction that featured the band’s most popular members getting together and someone wrote Tiger Woods and Serena Williams having a super powerful tennis playing golfer baby. Mary and John were popular too with a multitude of different scenarios straight out of a Hospital Soap being the favored fanfic inspiration. Molly bookmarked the one marked as a ‘Letters of love in Afghanistan’ because it sounded like something she wouldn’t mind reading, even if the author’s bio made Molly think he really needed a hug.

But the fanfiction about the endangered Koalas taunted Molly again, it wouldn’t hurt to click it just once.

How bad could something tagged #fluffy-super-fluffy be? The summary promised two people in a Koala rescue, really it wasn’t as if she’d be reading anything rated NSFW. The tube wasn’t going to get any faster and she was curious.

One click became another, then another and before she knew it Molly was making BogusRPFwebsite.notcom part of her daily routine in the tube and slowly started replacing her paperback novels during her relaxing time. Sometimes she could even ‘deduce’ who the writers of certain stories were but she tried not to, things might get weird in real life if they turned out to be people close to her (She was pretty sure leg-in-a-cast Polly Turner and Nurse Roberts from upstairs were writing that collab, where Sherlock and Molly had a host of quintuplets and labor, was a sneeze for Molly’s vagina).

Also, the more she read, the more questions she had, like:

Why were her first borns always either girls or twins most of the time? Were the authors aware that little boys made cute fantasy babies too?.

What was the obsession with Sherlock’s hair? I mean yes Molly knew that his curls were unusually perfect and had fantasized about pulling them as much as the next girl but really, they all made it sound as though he used unicorn blood in his shampoo and it was starting to get to Molly in real life.

Why did every girl that liked him with the exception of Molly turn out to be a serial killer or a criminal of some kind?.

Also, why was everyone in fan fiction always extremely attractive? Had the ugly people been abducted by makeup scientists?.

Why was Sherlock’s shirt always open during his fictional interactions with her?.

How exactly did time work in fan fiction? Nobody ever seemed to own a clock in fictional London.

And with these type of questions in mind, Molly pretended that it was someone else in those pages, someone else who was pretty, witty and adorable who was in love with another Sherlock who definitely wasn’t her Sherlock because this was all fan fiction and it didn’t count as real life.

Some writers made it really easy for Molly to compartmentalize her denial, writing either Sherlock or her out of character was a sure fire way for Molly to keep her plausible deniability while enjoying a bit of escapism, it didn’t hurt that Sherlock was in France for an overnight case with John and wouldn’t be back until he solved another seemingly impossible puzzle and Molly didn’t have to SEE him.

Sure he texted her with crime scene pictures and called her every once in a while to talk about incompetent French coroners but so far so good Molly was keeping real life Sherlock out of sight and out of mind while the multiple incarnations of RPF Sherlock gave her a good source of amusement and that was fine with Molly Hooper.

It was hard for embarrassment not to turn into flattery after some days swimming through the #fluff and #morefluff tag, I mean what woman didn’t like the idea of being cool enough to inspire people to writing glorified romance novels in obscure corners of the internet, Molly didn’t think either Sherlock or her deserved half of the unspoken admiration these writers had for them, but nevertheless it was…sweet (if a little disconcerting).

Fanfiction was one of those things that were ignored when one saw another person doing it, like reading the newspaper, people never paid much attention to another’s reading materials unless the topic was broached and as such Molly’s new pastime could have gone largely unnoticed had it not been for one thing: Sherlock Holmes did not like it when Molly didn’t pay him attention and Two weeks later when he got back from France, Molly Hooper knew she had a problem.

“Molly, I need access to a good set of kidneys, before noon if you please" was the first thing Sherlock said when he got back from his case, John at his side rolled his eyes, expecting the pathologist to at least greet him with her usual bright smile, but Molly surprisingly didn’t even lift up her head from her computer.

“yes Sherlock, I’ll get it to you later”

“and a good femur, for some reason Mrs. Hudson threw away my last one"

Molly who was still clearly engrossed in whatever she was doing barely managed an “of course Sherlock”

“And some eyes, preferably without much cornea damage" Sherlock frowned at her “Molly are you even listening or is the usual game of Solitaire taking up too much of your time?”

But even then he only managed to make Molly separate herself from the computer long enough to pull a notepad from her desk drawer and slide it in his direction “write a list of the body parts you need and I’ll deliver them at Baker Street after my shift” and then she was back to what had her so busy.

Molly tried to ignore Sherlock’s presence, easily opening the tabs for a couple of vaguely interesting autopsy reports to justify herself in case he decided to snoop in her files and went back to reading more fanfiction completely tuning out the real life consulting detective of her dreams.

The fanfiction that had her giving Sherlock auto pilot responses was titled “Celebrity Romance” in it Sherlock was written as an actor in a BBC series called ‘Benedict’, the TV show he starred in followed the life of fictional Hollywood darling Benedict Cumberbatch ( Sherlock apparently had been at it for five seasons) who was married with kids and held a demanding life as a sought after celebrity, and Molly, in turn, played a secondary role in his show as one of Benedict’s equally famous friends, progressive feminist actress Louise Brealey. What had Molly intrigued was that in the fanfiction despite the fact that on screen Sherlock and Molly’s characters were only good friends, with story lines that rarely overlapped, off screen they were actually falling in love and bonding over Starbucks coffees. (privately Molly rather liked Loo’s minor suffrage-style story line just as much as she liked Ben’s love story with his wife Sophie, but that was just her)

The point was that Molly was really invested in the plot of that story, the author was making his characters jump through rings of fire to get that happy ending…..Aaaand “Excuse me Sherlock did you say something? I was a bit distracted with this autopsy report” Molly said, eyes snapping out of her reverie to catch the tail end of one of his deductions on the state of Lestrade’s NSY passwords.

Molly saw a muscle in his jaw twitch with exasperation “Yes, I can see that” Sherlock said with narrowed eyes “if you tried to get any closer to the screen you would be in danger of merging with it”

Molly nodded distractedly making the same face Sherlock usually did when he was texting behind his back “Of course Sherlock, merging, that’s great for the victim” in response Sherlock calmly walked to the power outlet in the corner and unplugged her desktop “HEY” Molly snapped glaring at her blank computer and turned her whole attention to Sherlock Furiously, now she would never know what Happened after fictional Molly tweeted about how her character Louise needed to get more screen time.

“Body parts? Assistance in the lab?” Sherlock said without flinching watching Molly’s petulant glare melt into her usual friendly smile

“I gather you brought a sample of evidence with you" She replied easily getting up as though she hadn’t been not paying him attention for the last fifteen minutes, privately she resolved to find that fan fiction again when she got home “let’s see it, if it was worth bringing here it must be something big”

Sherlock handed over the evidence bag and for all intents and purposes that should have been it, she was back to the usual, except it wasn’t.

Because that week was the week Molly ventured into the deep dark hole that was the smut rating. And Sherlock being Sherlock, noticed the change immediately.

Molly began distancing herself from him and he didn’t like it.

She was distracted almost disinterested in him every time he saw her, she answered his questions in sentences that might as well have been recorded on an answering machine and had started spending too much time on her emails. To everyone else, she looked and acted like the normal Molly but Sherlock knew that something was going on in her life.

Normally this kind of behavior would lead him to deduce some new sort of paramour in her life, but a deeper look at the details of her social life showed no variation in patterns, her flat showed no sign of new visitors staying longer than what was considered appropriate and a quick call to Mycroft reassured him that she hadn’t been anywhere else in the past month.

Browsing through her phone and computer gave up similarly uninspiring results, other than a mountain of random pages and articles on things he didn’t care about Molly hadn’t logged on to any new dating website or media equivalents.

The only detail he could see was that Molly’s strange behavior coincided with the recent scheduling of her weekly nights out with Mary and like a dog with a bone, Sherlock had to investigate further. So using his master detective skills he roped John into trying to spy on his daughter’s godmother and on his wife (John was naturally against it citing that for very obvious reasons spying on a retired secret agent like Mary was almost impossible, also according to him spying on girls during their girl time was something teenage boys did, not men) but Sherlock eventually managed to convince him .

Meanwhile, Molly felt she couldn’t be around Sherlock anymore and it was all Mary’s fault.

“I ran away Mary, I said I needed to wash my hair and ran, like a coward” Molly complained bringing her hands to her face “ I can’t look at him in the eyes, I’ve tried!”

“I hate to say it, but: I told you so” Mary chuckled patting her hand “tell me again how bad is it?”

“On a scale of one to ten, eleven, I can’t seem to stop reading them" Molly wailed not daring to take her hands off her face “maybe I’ve turned into a pervert”

“you’re not a pervert Molls, people that send pictures of their privates to unsuspecting strangers on chat rooms are perverts, you’re just you know….sexually frustrated” the chuckle turned into a full blown giggle.

“Thank you for stating the obvious Mrs. Three Continent Watson" Molly grumbled “They like Sherlock’s penis! A lot and my breasts, just look at them Mary” Molly pointed to her modest chest “They are not a big deal, but out there in the big wide internet there are strangers that…have a very artistic view of my breasts”

“And of Sherlock’s penis,“ Mary reminded her laughing

“Stop laughing this is serious, I need help” Molly then pulled up her phone “hear this one” Molly cleared her throat “Prince Sherlock wasn’t supposed to be fucking his niece’s Fairy godmother, but he couldn’t help himself, the christening was almost over and he just had to know what it was like to taste her dewy pussy, to be inside her and hammer his member so deep she cried with pleasure, his manhood was made for her, hard red and angry his shaft was painfully aware of how beautiful she was and he just wanted to rip off every single item of frothy fabric covering her and her, gloriously hard nippled small breasts, see his little fairy naked and open just for him, while he made her miss the christening of Princess Briar Rosamund”

“Oh wow, what talent”Mary was holding her sides in laughter “Remind me to invite whoever wrote that to the christening of my next baby”

“MARY” Molly almost started crying “that one had a plot I enjoyed and now I can’t stop thinking about…”

“Sherlock’s rock hard penis?”

“STOP SAYING IT” Molly hissed “this is all your fault”

“Hey my friend I told you not to do it, you didn’t listen"

“you knew I would do it anyway" Molly wailed “Now I can’t stop thinking about how it would be like to actually have sex with him, not that I didn’t before, but these people are graphic Mary, VERY, graphic, now every time I look at Sherlock I wonder which one of these people hit the mark, is he rough in bed, does he take it slow, does he like his hair pulled, or does he do the hair pulling, is his penis as big as they claim it is or is that just normal smut exaggeration” Molly began ranting while Mary kept trying not to spill her drink with her giggles “I mean I’m pretty sure some of these people have access to his medical records from his druggie days so one has to question if it’s true, I for one like to be dominant in bed and now it’s affecting my relationship with Sherlock because I can’t look at him in the eye without wondering what it’s like to spank his perfect ass with that bloody riding crop he likes so much”

“Oh Molly, you really need to have sex and soon" Mary advised wisely patting the petite woman’s head, then she turned around on her stool and looked at the pair of old men that were sitting at the table behind them “By the way, John, why don’t we head home and leave Sherlock and Molly alone, I think you’ve heard enough”

“Mary Watson that move just cost you a friendship” Molly looked genuinely betrayed but Mary didn’t look one bit regretful

“You need him out of your system and you Mr. Clark Kent…“ She said pulling Sherlock up and divesting him from the trey wig and bad prosthetics "need to stop being a tosser over the fact that Lois Lane likes Superman better” and with that Mary swanned out of the pub with an apologetic John in tow, leaving Sherlock alone with Molly

minutes ticked down.

Another minute.

Sherlock still was looking at her like he’d never seen her before. “So it was fan fiction all along”

“Yes"

“That might present a problem for us” Sherlock said awkwardly

“I’m aware”

“Molly I….”

But she cut him off deciding enough was enough “Just say whatever you need to say Sherlock” Molly glared at him “I’m tired, I’m hungry and extremely sexually frustrated so if you’re going to be a bastard about this get it over with, I need to find a stranger to shag tonight preferably”

that got his attention really fast, no, the only man Molly was going to take home was going to be him “you’re embarrassed when you shouldn’t be, I was merely thinking about the next course of action one should take when a woman one has fantasized of fucking confesses the same thing”

“I was not expecting that" Molly eyed him suspiciously before downing whatever drink she had in hand before shrugging and eyeing her phone “you know what Sherlock, any other day I would be very accommodating talking about what you want and why this isn’t a good idea, but right now, I can’t think clearly when your shirt buttons look like they want to pop out so here is what will happen” She stretched to her toes and grabbed him by the collar watching his eyes grow dark with want, taking his hand and pressing it to the waistband of her skirt “I have questions about how we would be in bed, you have answers, it ends tomorrow and it absolutely doesn’t mean anything”

“we could start with those fan fictions you were reading, you seem to want to investigate which ones are accurate and which ones are entirely poppycock" he murmured in her ear making her shiver, desire pooling in her belly

“I have a long list”

turns out that Sherlock was in fact not as disgusted with Molly’s fan fiction problem as he’d been with Mary’s, he was positively pleased by it and it was a frequent source of both amusement and role-play ideas any time he went to Molly’s flat or had her over in Baker street.

The flowery language in the smut section only made Sherlock more aware of the tiny details of Molly’s body that he could use to his advantage, it was like having a cheat code on how to sexually please Molly.

And in turn, he found himself pleasured by her in many wicked ways.

“I think we might have to extend this arrangement” Sherlock murmured into Molly’s hair for the umpteenth time, he was sated and she looked happy, he wasn’t going to ruin a good thing.

“An Extension?” Molly replied with a yawn cuddling into his chest “How big?”

“Depends, these people publish stories every day, how about until they stop writing?”

“That could take forever"

“Good thing I’m a patient man then" He replied kissing her lips.

And yes it turned out that Sherlock, was so much better at everything he tried in real life than he was in fiction, especially when it came to Molly.

#sherlolly #sherlolly fic exchange #@darnedchild #promptfill #fanfiction about fanfiction #the writer makes fun of herself here #pure crack #and satire #my Tumblr mobile sucks

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news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog · 5 years

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Here's what you need to know about those CGI influencers invading your feed

Human influencers like Bella Hadid and Kendall Jenner might want to secure their positions in the influencer realm before they get ousted by glorified Sims.

That's right: There are now computer generated images that do exactly what human influencers do. There's a human behind each one — coming up with captions and manually generating the content — though it can be unclear who exactly that person is. The financial threads are equally hazy, but you can be sure that someone is making money off of these "people."

According to CBS, the digital influencer market is set to reach $2 billion in the next two years. The scariest thing is just how convincing these artificial influencers really are: 42 percent of people who were following a digital Instagrammer didn't realize it wasn't a real person, according to a recent study by the media company Fullscreen.

SEE ALSO: 'Alita: Battle Angel' is relevant for cyborgs and humans alike

I set out to understand who exactly these new influencers are, and why they exist. That involved interacting with them — or at least trying to. The feeling of being left on read by people who don't exist is a unique one. It also made me feel like they're hiding something. But here's what we know ... so far.

Rest assured, they'll either save us from the digital malaise we’ve all scrolled ourselves into, or destroy us further.

Lil Miquela, 1.5 million followers

Lil Miquela, or Miquela Sousa, is a perpetually 19-year-old girl from Downey, California. She has all the necessary ingredients for Insta-success: good looks, flashy clothing, a nonexistent yet bottomless bank account, and a passion for activism. It's easy to forget you're looking at a bot when reading her captions, which are sprinkled with witty remarks and relatable musings. "No lie, I wish I’d been assembled in the ’90s ..." she quips, echoing the very human desire to be from another time. It's part of what makes her so popular — and so uncanny.

View this post on Instagram

So am I just going to have crushes on everyone this year? That’s how it’s gonna be, huh? Cool, cool.

A post shared by *~ MIQUELA ~* (@lilmiquela) on Jan 4, 2019 at 5:08pm PST

The algorithmic babe was named one of the 25 most influential people on the internet by Time last year, alongside Busy Philips and Logan Paul. (She was the only non-human to make the cut.) It's safe to say the integration of bot personalities into the mainstream has begun.

In addition to being an influencer, she’s also a singer and merch seller. Miquela has around 52,000 monthly listeners on Spotify. Not bad for someone who doesn’t exist in the physical realm.

And the merch? Socks from Club 404, Lil Miquela's overpriced swag brand, will run you $30 for two pairs.

But wait a second, why CGI influencers?

Before we introduce more of these new age avatars, it's important to understand how they came to be. Cue Brud. And Cain Intelligence.

Brud is the LA-based tech startup credited with Miquela's existence. It's described as a "transmedia studio that creates digital character driven story worlds," whatever that means. Other than that, it's pretty much a mystery. We do know that it was founded by two people: Sara DeCou and Trevor McFedries, neither of whom could be reached for comment.

Cain Intelligence is even more of a mystery. Founded by Daniel Cain, who may or may not be real, the company is another startup. It describes itself as "the industry leader in Conscious Language Intelligence (CLI), a type of Artificial Intelligence that allows for humans to engage with our specialized robots in free-format, natural language." The website feels bleak and dark, something a villain in a spy movie would create. (It's also pro-Trump.)

If you're reading this and you're confused, that's sort of the point. Lil Miquela and Blawko, another CGI influencer, are characters created by Brud. Bermuda, also a CGI influencer, was made by Cain Intelligence. Allegedly. But wait: Bermuda now has Brud's Instagram page tagged in her own bio, followed by the message "Look closer"; likewise, Brud's bio identifies Bermuda as a client. Seems like Cain was a marketing hoax to launch Bermuda and her right-wing agenda? As a scheme to get attention for the entire CGI universe Brud has created, it seems to have worked.

The only person I was able to get in contact with about these three CGI influencers was Jemma Litchfield from Huxley, the creative agency that represents Miquela, Bermuda, and Blawko. In an email, she said she "looked after Miquela." She said they weren't doing interviews, but she'd fact check for me, if I'd like. She didn't offer any clarification about Brud or Cain Intelligence, but instead shifted some sentences around and corrected my first-draft grammar.

Perhaps the enigmatic nature of Brud and Cain is the reason their influential prototypes have become so successful and so followed. Curiosity today usually leads to a Google search. But when there's no information available beyond what you already know, it can prompt a fascination. Or frustration.

Anyway, meet Miquela's digital squad: Bermuda and Blawko.

Bermuda, 133k followers

Bermuda is a controversial blonde known for stirring the digital pot. She's pro-Trump and describes herself as a "robot supremacist." She also once hacked Miquela's page, which gained followers for both of them, pushing Miquela past the 1 million mark, a milestone that opens up a lot of doors in influencer world, including lucrative brand deals with prominent designers.

Now Bermuda and Miquela are friends who hang out, go to lunch, and put makeup on each other— digitally.

View this post on Instagram

💚💚💚 Decided to give Twitter another try. I’m BermudaIsBae there, too. 💚💚💚 In a great mood today and I hope you all are, too. Mwah!

A post shared by Bermuda (@bermudaisbae) on Nov 12, 2018 at 5:27pm PST

Blawko, 135k followers

Miquela and Bermuda are joined by another Brud-born character, Blawko, whom they both seem smitten with. Just like Miquela and Bermuda, he offers an eerily authentic personality. He plays video games, goes on dates, and doesn't clean his room. As for the bizarre love triangle between him, Miquela, and Bermuda ... Are we supposed to imagine them in compromising positions? Is this a clear representation of CGI flirtation by default? We're not really sure!

View this post on Instagram

heaux heaux heaux

A post shared by 🅱️LAWKO (@blawko22) on Dec 20, 2018 at 3:34pm PST

Aside from the Brud crowd, there are other CGI influencers out there in the digital space.

Lil Wavi, 12.1k followers

If you squint, Instagram user @lil_wavi might seem like just another Soundcloud rapper-looking hypebeast, dressed in the latest streetwear and spattered with tattoos. Upon further inspection, you'll see he's a digitally-rendered avatar in human clothing. His graphics give off an edgy early-2000s Sims vibe. Since he "lives in a computer," he can get his hands on expensive pieces of designer clothing that he describes as "the drip" and cites as his main draw. "I’m all about innovation, encouraging creativity, pushing minds to think out of the shitty boundaries," he — or, rather, the unidentified human speaking for him — told Mashable over email. "I want my fans to be influenced in that way. It’s important to me that I am sending positive vibes out to them all."

View this post on Instagram

Flameboyyyy 🛸🏴‍☠️ yuhhh my $$ fly 💸💸💸 y’all ready for merch?

A post shared by 🛸LIL WAVI🛸 (@lil_wavi) on Jan 28, 2019 at 10:05am PST

Noonoouri, 279k followers

Brand deals and fashion show appearances abound for this influencer. It's unclear how a digital avatar can attend IRL events, but a quick scroll of her page will show her doing just that. Noonoouri takes her role as influencer very seriously. When Vogue Australia asked about her favorite beauty products, she answered, "I love KKW Beauty contour and highlight — they truly work!" Since she's done ads — on YouTube and on Instagram — for KKW Beauty before, it's no surprise that she would plug the products. What's surprising is that a digital persona who looks straight out of a Pixar short is using makeup and getting paid for it.

Joerg Zuber, Noonoouri's creator, spent several years making her before debuting the influencer on Instagram. A visit to her page suggests she was recently in Africa for a number of fashion-related appearances. And she's from Paris, France, according to her Instagram bio. "I am who I am. If I can help or support others I am very happy. I believe in swarm intelligence. In times like these we need to share and not to hold back," she told Mashable via email.

"I have a real soul," says Noonoouri.

Image: Joerg zuber

Shudu, 172k followers

Self-identified as "The World's First Digital Supermodel," Shudu was created by beauty photographer Cameron James Wilson as an art project. She blew up when her image was featured on Rihanna's Fenty Beauty Instagram page. In the photo, she's modeling one of the buzzy beauty line's lip products and smizing for the ... computer? Though she's more model than influencer, her likeness is used to sell, too. Shudu doesn't have a personality, per se, but it's because Wilson hasn't come across a human that could do her justice — yet: "Only someone similar to Shudu would be appropriate to tell her story, and really shape who she is as ‘person,’" he mused to Mashable via email. He supports the movement to create more digital supermodels like Shudu: "It doesn’t matter who you are, if you study art and learn how to use 3D programs, you too can be a 6ft tall virtual runway model!"

View this post on Instagram

Shudu @thesavoylondon trying on beautiful #EEBAFTAs outfits, complete with @atelierswarovski earrings. 6 days to go till she shares #redcarpet looks with you all. . @ee @BAFTA . . #3D #3Dart #digitalsupermodel #worldsfirstdigitalsupermodel #virtualinfluencer #BTS

A post shared by Shudu (@shudu.gram) on Feb 4, 2019 at 11:07am PST

Barbie, 6.2 million subscribers

Here's a familiar face. The uber-popular icon that is Barbie has a digital counterpart, and she's a vlogger. Her first video, in which she introduces herself, went up in 2015. In it, she talks about being from Wisconsin (who knew?) and having a sister. "I've always just been curious about things," she shares earnestly, her huge animated eyes blinking like those of a human YouTuber. Since then, she's uploaded over 75 vlogs, most of which include her sister Skipper and boyfriend Ken, to the YouTube channel owned and operated by Mattel. Barbie is the OG influencer — she's known for doing a million different jobs and having fun while doing them. Why reinvent the wheel?

youtube

Balenciaga's digi-models

While you can't follow these influencers, they're worth mentioning. To show off their Spring 2019 collection on Instagram, Spanish fashion house Balenciaga utilized shape-shifting digital models made by artist Yilmaz Sen. In a series of short video clips on Instagram, the digital models sparked questions about the future of technology in fashion. With cool haircuts and names like Elsa and Ruben, everything about them screams high fashion. However, unlike human models that walk down runways, these models stand in place and distort themselves like they're made of rubber. Because all haute couture should be shown on computer-generated contortionist models!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Balenciaga (@balenciaga) on Nov 14, 2018 at 1:53am PST

What's next, then?

Tapping around on these digi-fluencer's pages provides an exciting, if not unsettling, look at the future of technology and the part it may play in pop culture. Some question the validity, appeal, and purpose of these bots. Perhaps it's performance art. Or maybe it's all just an elaborate stunt to leverage consumer action? YouTuber Shane Dawson has a popular video dedicated to uncovering the identity of Lil Miquela. He even calls her on the phone — only to be met with a clearly auto-tuned voice who's careful not to give anything away, or falter at all.

Liz Bacelar, a tech expert, mused to Forbes that we could potentially find ourselves living in a world in which we all have a digital avatar. And with facial recognition being insidiously installed in mundane places (like gas stations) in order to advertise, secure, and identify us, this may be sooner than we think. Just imagine, we'll be in self-driving cars, scrolling by digitized avatars trying to make us use their discount codes. Or perhaps we'll allow our digitized selves to live for us, like we've seen in futuristic movies like Ready Player One and Wall-E.

Think of your new CGI friends as the pixelated pioneers of a new, formulated frontier. Who knows? Maybe our human selves could be rendered virtually useless. For now, though, we can just keep an eye on Instagram.

WATCH: Dunkin' and Saucony release running shoe ahead of Boston Marathon

#_category:yct:001000002 #_lmsid:a0Vd000000DTrEpEAL #_uuid:8b8db620-cdb5-39b6-b9bd-f5de5787ae55 #_author:Harry Hill #_revsp:news.mashable

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bruciewayne · 5 years

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tell me about the stars [7/20]

masterpost

[ao3]

Friday, 21st December

“Come on Stevie-boy, up and at ‘em,” Bucky declared, throwing open Steve’s curtains and tearing back his covers, revealing an annoyed Steve Rogers clad in sweats and a pirated-from-Bucky hoodie. He threw his arm over his eyes, tattoos peeking out from under the sleeve. Stop thinking about kissing every single tattoo he has, god, Barnes.

“No.” Steve pouted, with pink-pink lips, voice rough and hoarse from disuse over the night. Bucky rolled his eyes, fondly, he knew exactly how to get him out of bed (his problems were getting Steve into bed. With him.).

“Stevie, I got you a caramel frap-” his reaction was almost comical: he shot up like a man possessed and made grabby-hands in the general vicinity of Bucky’s voice, god knows how bad his, eyesight was. Bucky, in what was not a good move for his crush admiration, picked up Steve’s glasses from next to a day-old glass of water and slid them onto his face, an incredibly bad move because somehow, it had slipped his mind just how good Steve looked in glasses. Because damn Steve looked good in his glasses.

He hadn’t noticed that they’d gotten closer until Steve blinked up at him, “Hi.”

Bucky swallowed but didn’t move back, “Hey, Stevie,”

“Where’s my coffee?”

Bucky laughed, ducking his head and grinning at him, “Kitchen, your highness,” and Steve pouted again, adorably, “Too far,” he said, decidedly and made to flop back onto his mattress but Bucky, in one swift move, grabbed his arms and pulled him forwards and off the bed. Steve stumbled forwards, into Bucky’s chest. He was muscly and he smelled nice.

Steve, not being a morning person, at all, and it being fucking six am, the sun barely above the horizon and because he hadn’t had any coffee, wasn’t thinking especially straight. As if he could be straight anywhere near Bucky.

And also not fully aware of what he was doing. Or what he was saying.

Meaning he’d said that Bucky was muscly and smelled nice out loud. FUCK.

But Bucky just laughed, it was early, Steve had no idea what he was saying, and tried to tamp down the hope that maybe he actually believed it. He told him to thank his gym membership and Axe. He also told Steve to get dressed and because he needed to go and get the rental, while Bucky took their bags and the presents down twenty million five flights of stairs to ground level because he refused to give Steve an asthma attack.

Even if it meant that the roads of New York were going to be slightly more dangerous because a one Steve Rogers drove like an absolute fucking maniac. Maybe the road trip wasn’t the best idea in that sense, but Steve absolutely refused to step on a plane.

Twenty minutes later, Steve was dressed, his coffee had been drunk, and he’d headed out in the pale, early morning, barely-there winter light to go to the warehouse. Meaning Bucky had about half an hour to go to the art shop, King, on the edge of Brooklyn run by an old Jewish guy, Jack Kirby, that Steve loved.

When he got there, he went in search for the set markers he’d seen Steve linger over the last time they were there, eventually picking brushes and some other things that he’d desperately needed to replace over the markers.

He found them and took them over to the counter, Jack, the owner, greeted him with a friendly smile, they came there pretty often, “Ah, Bucky, it’s good to see you, how’s your boy?” and at Bucky’s confused look, “Steve, skinny little blonde guy,”

“Ohh, uh, we’re not, we’re not together, I mean, we’re still friends, but we’re not together-together, y’know?”

Jack cut off his rambling with a look , the very specific look relatively elderly people give to younger people when they're being particularly oblivious and/or stupid. “Ok, it’s ok, you two always were slow. Anyway, this is for him, yes?”

“Yeah, Christmas present,” a million things flowing through his head, the guy was probably just saying vague, broad, non-applicable to Bucky’s life, statements, the way relatively old people did sometimes. But, could it mean something? Probably not.

“You want it wrapped?” Bucky nodded, pulling out his wallet to pay.

Just as he was about to leave, Jack called out, “Don’t give up on him,” and under his breath, that Bucky just about caught, but maybe misheard, “They’re happy in this one, no alien shit, but still not together, morons”

Yeah, he probably misheard.

He managed to get home in time to take everything down, the subway ride and walk clearing his head, and greet Steve, who pulled up by their apartment block. They put everything in the boot and slammed it shut, the resounding bang barely making a dent in the soundscape of the city.

Steve held out a hand, loosely curled into a fist, “Rock, paper, scissors who drives first.”

Steve won. He grinned and made his way to the passenger side of the car and slid in. Bucky just chuckled under his breath and got into the driver's seat.

Steve had already gotten comfortable, feet up on the dash and fiddling with his phone, connected to the car’s Bluetooth, on Spotify. Bucky set up google maps, and just as they were about to drive off, Steve stopped him, “Wait,” he tapped a couple more things on his phone, “ok...GO!”

He drove off to ‘Fairytale of New York’, and at his confused look, Steve waved his phone, “Shuffle.” Sure why not. Just chance.

They drove in silence, the car filled with Christmas songs from Steve’s playlist, he spent most of the drive sleeping or messing around on his phone.

He was napping when Bucky woke him up, this time by tapping incessantly on his face. “Wakey-wakey Stevie, we’re at a service station,” Steve, without opening his eyes mumbled, “Get me coffee, surprise me,” and slid further down in his seat. “‘Kay, but you’re driving now, so stay awake,” Bucky said, getting out of the car and going into the Starbucks.

Steve stayed as he was for another minute before getting out, stretching, taking a deep breath and getting into the driver’s side. He leaned over the console to get his smaller, A5 sketchbook and a mechanical pencil. He doodled out some ideas, most of them vague concepts, a couple of things that could go in his portfolio.

Exhausted out of ideas, he dated the page and flipped to another one. drawing out ridiculously familiar shapes, tracing out long, curved lines, and short flicks, eventually forming Bucky’s grinning face, his hair up in a man bun, some of it falling out, framing his face. God, he was so whipped.

He saw Bucky walking back, holding two coffees and a bag of cookies, out of the corner of his eye, quickly flipping the page back and pretending to shade and render some of the ideas.

Bucky slid into the passenger seat, handed him his coffee and settled into the same position Steve was in, legs bent at the knee, a was significantly taller than Steve, after all. To the average straight and/or tall person, it might seem uncomfortable, but, as literally, everyone else knows; it was very comfortable.

As soon as Steve finished his coffee (peppermint mocha, he was pleasantly surprised), they were off, driving for another three hours, this time with Bucky napping.

He woke up just before Steve pulled into a Denny’s, “You couldn’t find anything better?” Steve pouted adorably, “I want Denny’s,”

“No one in the history of ever has ever wanted Denny’s. Ever.” Bucky said, incredulously, “next place, c’mon.” Steve looked over at him and then the Denny’s in front of him. He put the car into reverse and pulled out to Bucky’s cheers, god he was adorable.

It took them a couple of minutes until they found a diner, that looked like it was straight out of the 50s. Steve gave Bucky a look, “Good enough?” He grinned and nodded, “Yup,” he paused for a moment, thinking, “hey, Stevie, do you think we should do some more dating practice, I mean, according to Riverdale, diners are meant to be romantic.” Dating practice? wtf Barnes!

“I can’t believe you’re going off Riverdale for romantic ideas, but yes, honey, let’s go have lunch,” Steve said, slipping easily into the role, the pet name falling naturally from his lips, not that he’d been thinking about this since way too long.

They walked into the diner, hands linked, swinging slightly between them. The bell rang out clearly in the pretty quiet diner, there were three pretty big guys, maybe mid-thirties in one corner booth and what looked like a college-aged couple on a date, the way the guy looked at his girl, like she held up his world, and the way the girl looked at him, like he’d saved her from hell, they both looked like they would go to hell and back for each other and although Bucky was pretty sure they were about pre-grad aged, they both looked like they’d been through shit. He hoped that they were happy.

“Babe? Earth to Bucko, Bucky?” Steve waved his hand in front of his face, jerking him out of his thoughts, “what d’ya want?” Bucky, eloquent as always, “Uh,” he looked down at Steve, who was smiling softly at him, eyes filled with laughter, fuck, he was beautiful.

Bucky kept looking down at Steve, unable to tear his eyes away from him, he wasn’t even doing anything spectacular special? How… why...

“Oh. My. God. they’re useless, abso-fucking-lutely completely and utterly shit-stinkingly useless.” Bucky was snapped out of his thoughts for the second time in a minute, but this time by a guy in a red and black mask and a matching suit with... swords? strapped to his back.

“Hey, buddy, you got lost on the way to comic-con?” Oh no.

Steve had turned around and was glaring up at him, but the guy just laughed, “Aw, that’s just fucking adorable, small fry, good to see that’s still the sam-” he got interrupted by a middle-aged, kinda jacked guy with a metal arm, who also looked like he should be at comic-con, the middle-aged guy grumbled about needing to keep ‘Wade’ (he assumed that was the red guy’s name) on a dog leash and pulled him out of the diner, much to Wade’s dismay.

Steve was still angry, so he did what any good fake boyfriend would do, he slipped an arm around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Even though he knew it was for show, the way all of Steve’s anger dissipated and the way he leaned into Bucky, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just possibly if any of it was just for show.

“I’ll just get you boys the same thing, go grab a booth, it’ll be there in five minutes.” They were broken out of their little bubble by the waitress, they nodded and made their way to a window booth, sliding in opposite each other.

“So, that was strange,” Steve said, leaning across the counter, resting on his elbows. Bucky mimicked him, so they ended up incredibly close, unintentionally, of course. “Yeah, but strange people are everywhere, there would’a been twenty strange people at the Denny’s,” “Yeah, I know but-”

“Here are your burgers, boys and a shake, on the house, to share, young love like yours is something to be celebrated.” They were interrupted by the waitress placing a tray on the table and a vanilla shake, topped with whipped cream and a flake, with two straws.

They both turned, grinned at her, and said “Thanks,” in a creepy sort of synchronisation. She just chuckled under her breath, well used to couples like them. “You’re welcome, enjoy now,” she said warmly, walking away back behind the counter.

They both turned back to each other, yeah, they could sell it.

The rest of their drive passed without any more strange people, although Steve’s perceptions of strange were wildly different to Bucky’s, Steve spent most of his time stabbing people with needles (and not in the life-saving way) on various body parts and Bucky spent most of his time astrophysics-ing at a university.

But even he would say that during the rest of their drive, they didn’t meet any strange, probably-got-lost-on-the-way-to-comic-con people.

It passed in a haze of Christmas songs, a blur of cities and fractions of conversations about Bucky’s family and before they knew it, the hours had flown by, and Bucky was pulling up to his parents’ house.

“You scared?” Bucky asked, turning to Steve, who shrugged, “Do I got any reason to be?” Bucky grinned at him, “Nope,”

“Let’s get this bread.”

The second they knocked on the door, it burst open, and Bucky was gathered into his mom’s arms, to her utterances of “It’s been too long,” and “You look tired,” and “You work too hard.”

She eventually let him go, after he said: “Mom, mom, this is Steve, my boyfriend, remember I told you about him.” She turned towards him “Ohh, it’s nice to meet you, Steve, I’ve heard a lot about you,” Steve shot a look to Bucky, who just shrugged in return.

“Uh, it’s, uh, good to meet you too Mrs. Barnes.” Steve said, suddenly nervous. Bucky’s mom just laughed and pulled him into a hug as well.

“Call me Winnie, dear, or mom,” she said, winking, laughing at them when they turned red, Bucky sputtering and trying to say something about ‘holding off the wedding bells’.

After they’d calmed down, Bucky slid an arm around Steve’s shoulders, kissing him softly on his temple when he leaned into him. Bucky’s mom smiled at them and told them to put their stuff in Bucky’s old room.

“And no funny business in there,” she called after them, laughing at them when they turned red and sputtered again.

Yeah, he’s gonna marry him, she knows her boy well.

#my fic #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #stucky #stevebucky #roadtrip #fluff

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