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kalee60 · 3 years

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i wish you would write a fic where jock!bucky seduces twink!steve, maybe he hits steve with that pec flex guys do that is both dick-ish and insanely hot at the same time?

Oh Manda - you absolute gorgeous gem! I very much like what you're asking me to create here 😘 I also love, love, love that you sent me a prompt!

I immediately think of sun, summer, ice cream, boys at the beach playing frisbee and our gorgeous Smol!Steve and Jock!Bucky as friends mutually pining (Ha - it's me, it was never going to be anything but this story!)

Once again, my quick little drabble (that I wrote today when I woke up {thanks to my sprinting buddies in discord}) turned into a 4k fic... But I mean - I think that's okay (more stucky for us - right?)

I hope you like where I took this, maybe in a slightly different direction than intended - it's also on ao3 here (with all tags necessary) if you prefer to check them out and read there instead, it'll be part of my stucky bingo fills - Beach and rated M for mild sexual content 😉

If you'd like a fic - here's the post - I wish you'd write a fic... (It might take me a little bit to write - but I will get there!)

Steve was in hell, literally. It was hot, he was sweaty and he was being tortured. Honestly, Steve really loved summer, but at the same time he loathed it. And most of that had to do with the fact he had to sit around in his large group of friends and watch Bucky fucking Barnes sans top and wearing only a small pair of running shorts frolic over the sand at the beach.

Life was unfair.

How could somebody like Bucky actually exist in real time? He was a complete jock for starters, his looks and size perfect for being naturally great at sports, earning him a football scholarship of his choice (of course). And Steve, well Steve Rogers was as far from a jock as anyone could get. Not that he was horrible in the fitness and muscular department, but he was too little and his asthma still played up to join rugged contact sports. Being 5’4 also didn’t particularly endear him to any of the coaches at college who were scouting for star players. Plus studying to be a high school teacher probably wasn’t sporty enough, and he was leaning towards a specialist English role, not Gym.

So Steve joined the campus gym instead of a sporting team, did weights and classes and enjoyed it immensely. It was where he met Natasha, and that fateful meeting brought him to Bucky and his dickish jock ways and friends.

Though if Steve was to be fair (of which he was - usually) not all jocks were dicks, even if Steve had preconceived notions from high school what college boys would be like. He'd been pleasantly surprised to find that the captain of the football team was not only gorgeous, cocky and a bit of a douche, but also very smart, kind and had a smile that could make Steve’s legs turn to jelly with only a small half tilt.

But it was as he sat on a towel under the shade of a large umbrella that Carol had stolen from her parent’s garden shed, that Steve really felt the heat, and it had nothing to do with the blazing sun above him and the burning sand beneath his feet.

It was all Bucky Barnes and his chest, his slim waist, his tanned olive skin, the breadth of his shoulders, the thickness of his sinewed and muscled thighs that tapered down to calves that bunched up as he jumped and landed to grab the frisbee aimed at him.

Steve sighed heavily as his gaze lingered on the brunette. Bucky Barnes was every mans wet dream, every girls perfect prince, and Steve pulled his dark sunnies over his eyes again, ignoring the pounding in his chest, the throbbing in his groin as he watched Bucky behind dark lenses spring up and prance over the sand, laughing with a wide mouth that could do sinful things to Steve’s body. The worst part was that Bucky was doing all of this with no knowledge that Steve harboured the biggest crush of his life.

It really was unfair.

Sitting back to lean on his hands, stretching his legs out, he saw Bucky glance over at him, and gave a smile. Bucky grinned back and then grappled Sam to the sand to yank the frisbee from his grip. Life wasn’t unfair because Bucky didn’t date guys, he did, very much so, and girls too from what Steve had seen, it was just the guys Bucky dated were typically more like… jocks.

Steve hunched over, trying to not stare too long and inadvertently get turned on, finding it an impossibility as his eyes wouldn’t tear away from Bucky’s frame as he bounded effortlessly over the soft sand, something Steve couldn’t do. He’d almost lost a lung from the trek over to their secluded spot earlier that day. Soft sand was the enemy - that was fact.

“Heads up.”

Startled from his thoughts by Bucky’s deep voice urgently calling out his way, Steve looked up only to see the frisbee coming straight for him. With a reaction that even surprised himself, Steve raised his hand and caught the flying disc with nary a blink of an eye.

Bucky was skidding to a halt on his knees before him a second later.

“Shit, Steve. That was epic, you sure you don’t want to play? You can be on my team - my secret frisbee weapon.”

Steve’s mouth went dry as he tried to listen to the words leaving Bucky, because the delectable man was less than two feet away and the smell of sunscreen, sweat and something virile and uniquely Bucky entered his senses. Steve knew that if sitting next to Bucky in the dining hall was torture when Bucky was wearing his spicy cologne, he’d keel over being enveloped in his sweaty beach scent for longer than a minute.

God he wanted Bucky to fill him, everywhere. Make him forget his name, take him over and over.

He realised that he still hadn’t answered and heat crept into his cheeks, managing to blurt out, “I’m good for now. Nat’s grabbing ice creams and I don’t want to get a stitch.”

Steve then gave Bucky what he hoped was a soft and cheeky winning grin, but the way Bucky faltered, swallowed tightly, face impassive made Steve wonder if he’d missed the mark on trying to be flirty.

He really was as hopeless as Darcy continually told him.

Steve’s eyes trailed down to Bucky’s broad and lightly haired chest, finding himself breathing quicker, wondering if he’d remembered to pack his inhaler. No, he was sure it was in the pocket of his backpack. Thank god, he might need it in the face of Bucky’s glorious muscles moving in his vision all day.

“If you’re sure,” Bucky finally said in a deep steady voice.

“Maybe later,” Steve stammered, holding up the frisbee with a shaky hand. He had to get a grip.

“Alright, later then, I’m holding you to that.” And Bucky took the disc from Steve’s grip and was off bounding towards Sam, Carol, Thor and Maria.

While Steve recalibrated his thoughts, Nat came back holding only one ice cream cone, licking it slowly with a sparkle in her eye as Clint trailed behind, wearing Nat’s beach bag and carrying the rest of the ice creams, and Steve worried she’d overestimated his balancing skills. But if Nat asked, Clint would do - it was kind of amazing the power she had over him without even trying. Although they weren’t dating (yet), Nat was never cruel, she was playing the long game and really liked Clint, but had been hurt before by some Russian asshole, and Steve knew that Clint, when Nat finally agreed to go out with him would never be the same man again. He’d be lost in deep shock and joy. They were perfect for each other.

A pang went through his gut as Steve watched them, taking a cone from Clint, wishing he had someone that wanted him as much as they wanted each other.

“Vanilla,” Nat commented with a scrunch of her nose at Steve’s choice as he took a lick of the creamy goodness, the chill on his tongue welcome under the heat of the day. “You’re so very basic, Rogers.”

“Hey there is nothing wrong with that. I happen to love vanilla.” A rich voice said from right in front of Steve as Bucky flopped down on the sand, kicking up little grains that stuck on Bucky’s thighs where he was sweating. Steve shut his eyes against the picture before him, once again pleading to any God or Goddess that would listen that it wasn’t fair, that they had to find him someone one day. He just hoped it would be soon, else his dick drop off from Bucky unwittingly giving him blue balls.

“You’re one to talk, you didn’t even want ice cream, just a soda. And a club soda at that.”

Bucky looked over to Nat, flashing her a wide grin, and Steve immediately started to lick his ice cream just to do anything but stare at the crinkling in the corners of Bucky’s eyes, or to watch his lips as they wrapped around the bottle tip. He only half listened to their banter as they kept teasing each other, Nat and Bucky having been best friends from childhood, the reason how Steve inadvertently fell into the group of jocks, for a lack of a better term to encompass all the fit people he was now surrounded with.

Nat had introduced him to everyone after they’d hit it off at the gym in first semester, and Steve had waited for the inevitable teasing to commence about his small stature, but it never came. He was always included, never mocked (unless it was called for, because he was a facts man and couldn’t help correcting people when they were clearly in the wrong) and it was such a novel experience, so how could he not fall immediately in lust with the football captain? One who had smokey blue-grey eyes, sinfully full lips made for kissing among other fun activities and a personality that you could fall into and live inside forever.

“Err, Steve… your ice cream, it’s ummm, dripping.”

“What?” Steve asked, realising that he’d been swirling his tongue over the top of the soft confectionary and that his fingers were now completely sticky as the ice cream dripped over them on to his thigh. “Oh shit.”

Steve immediately switched hands and started to lap at his fingers, tongue darting between them to catch all the creaminess, sucking them into his mouth one by one, only looking up when he heard a muted groan. Bucky was moving before him, squirming in the sand, and as his eyes landed on Bucky, he startled, surprised to find Bucky’s hooded gaze directly on Steve. But his eyes hadn’t landed just anywhere, they were trained to Steve’s mouth, and as Steve swiped his finger through the sweetness that had dribbled on his thigh, Bucky’s gaze followed that finger's movements. Steve without thought, heart thumping hard, confusion and awe flowing through his veins, stuck the digit in his mouth, licking off the stickiness.

Thankfully, Steve had his sunglasses on, hiding his expression, but he knew his face was burning red at the brash and overt display. Bucky was watching him intently, the rise and fall of his gloriously thick chest heaved, and Bucky’s skin flushed from the exercise or maybe the sun. Steve wasn’t sure.

But it was as Steve licked around the base of the cone again, the ice cream melting quicker in the heat than he could swallow, Bucky’s pecs twitched.

Steve stopped all movement, caught at the tick of flesh, the way it bounced taut, watching with abject lust and desire as Bucky did it again - knowing exactly where Steve’s eyes were trained.

It was such a fucking dick move, a power move to get attention and Steve hated jocks who flexed like that, but on Bucky… on Bucky it was god damn mesmerizing. And it was after the third time Bucky’s pecs jumped, Bucky stood up abruptly and fled saying in a higher pitch than usual that he was jumping in the water, that Steve realised he might not have been doing it on purpose.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bucky was dead, he was going to die from being hard for... how long had he known Steve Rogers, six months maybe? Well, that was how long he’d survived with a non-stop boner for the blonde man. And he was at the end of his tether.

Steve was everything Bucky ever wanted in a partner, smart, strong, intense, funny, handsome and a person that he could fall into, spend time with - love.

So it didn't help his little issue to be at the beach that day, watching Steve sit under the huge umbrella on brightly coloured towels in his swim trunks and a loose tank with arm holes so big he could see all the way through to his muscular chest and pink nipples. It was driving him fucking insane.

Sure he’d seen Steve wearing an array of items at the gym, but he’d never witnessed him so carefree as he was at the beach. He was smiling more, relaxed, joking while big sunglasses hid those gorgeous eyes that would give the ocean a run for its money as to what was bluer.

But what killed Bucky that particular day over every other day he lusted after Steve, what made him clench and twitch all over was watching Steve lick up his ice cream. It was downright obscene, Steve shouldn’t be allowed to do that in public, or at least he should have a warning sticker on his person.

Steve had a mouth made for sucking cock, and Bucky wanted, no, he needed to know what having those lips wrapped around him felt like. Christ, he wanted to know what it felt like to be buried in Steve, maybe even have Steve press into him. Fuck.

There was only one thing for it.

He had to seduce Steve, and he had to do it soon.

But that begged the question - how?

How did Bucky capture the attention of the smartest, funniest, quick witted and grumpiest man on campus? Not only that, but to have Steve take him seriously? Bucky was aware that people thought he was only a dumb jock, that all he had to offer the world was to play ball and shit talk other teams and work out in the gym. Which, yeah of course he did all of those things - but he really was so much more. He was studying economics, was thinking about trying to specialise and work as an international trade specialist after college, and although Bucky really loved playing ball - it wasn’t his whole life. He’d never go pro - well, not without a hell of a lot of luck and persistence, and he wasn't sure he really wanted to take something he enjoyed and make it a living in that way. He’d seen how broken some sports stars bodies were after a career, and he still wanted to be able to walk at forty without having had three knee reconstructions.

But Steve, Steve saw through all of that, he spoke to Bucky like an intellect, like he had something worthy to say, to add to the conversation. Even at the gym after Nat had introduced them (Bucky begging to know who the gorgeous guy she was chatting to on the rowing machines was) Steve and he worked out together, had fun catcalling each other for being weak and helped each other with their forms - something Bucky largely did just to get hands on Steve even though Steve’s form was perfect.

Bucky had been taken with the slight man from the first moment he’d seen him, always under the impression that Steve was too smart to even think about dating a meathead like him, even if he truly wasn't what his physique made him. So he stuck with friendship, but now he wanted more. Was going to ask for more.

“Whatcha thinking?” Nat asked as she swam out to float in the water next to him.

“Nothing much,” He replied, ignoring her knowing hum. He hated that they’d been friends forever and she knew all his tells.

The much needed cold water had soothed his itching skin, and from his vantage point he could look back at their rag tag group of friends, able to stare unabashadly at Steve as he laughed with Clint and Thor about something, staring up at Thor as he... as he fucking flexed in front of Steve.

“Easy boy,” Natasha grabbed his bicep that was taut from clenching his fists, “Thor’s with Jane remember? Steve’s not interested in someone like Thor anyway.”

Bucky’s eyes swung to her immediately. “What do you mean? Because he's a jock?”

Nat let out an exasperated sigh. “No you idiot. Because he’s interest lies elsewhere.”

“Oh,” Bucky’s chest squeezed tight, wondering who had Steve’s undivided attention. And he couldn’t help but watch Steve as Carol held out a hand to pull him to his feet, and suddenly Bucky forgot his disappointment when Steve pulled his tank off, revealing a gorgeous toned body in all its glory. Bucky’s dick stirred. Thank fuck he was hidden in the water.

“You are a colossal idiot. You know that right?” Nat deadpanned.

“I have to ask Steve out,” he blurted. “I need to… I need to be with him.”

“I know,” Nat said with a smirk, and Bucky looked at her gratefully, if she helped he would be fine. “But that really sounds like a you problem. Have fun with that.”

“You horrible cow,” Bucky sniped back, ready to splash her, but she was already under the water stealthily swimming up behind Clint, only to dunk the unsuspecting man.

Bucky’s attention suddenly caught on movement on the shoreline as Steve stood knee deep, testing the water and with no further hesitation, dove in, coming up for air not far from where Bucky floated. Bucky watched mesmerized as the sun glinted off Steve’s wet eyelashes, before he wiped the droplets from them, smiling at Bucky.

“Oh god, this water feels amazing.”

“So would you,” Bucky whispered.

“Huh?” Steve asked.

For a long moment, Bucky stared at Steve, realising that sound carried over water differently and Steve most likely caught what he said. Seducing someone was hard, even though he hadn’t even tried yet.

Instead of answering, Bucky ducked his head so his mouth went underwater and swam towards Steve like a shark, deciding that he just had to ask him point blank, no messing around with seduction. Slipping up out of the water at the last moment he put on his most predatory smile, Steve’s eyes widening and he looked around, face flushed and Bucky hoped he wasn’t looking for an escape.

He quickly darted behind Steve, wrapping his arms tight around his lithe body, trying not to linger too much as Steve was the perfect fit, felt so good against him; and when he heard the small gasp from Steve’s throat he launched him into the air. Flinging Steve into the water a few feet away.

“You fucker,” Steve exclaimed laughing as he came up for air, and Bucky smirked.

Suddenly with a smirk of his own that made Bucky inhale sharply, Steve disappeared under the water, Bucky feeling him come up underneath his body and with a strength that belied Steve’s small stature, completely turning Bucky on more than it should, he was pushed up out of the water, throwing him completely under as well.

“Jesus, Steve. You should join the team.” Bucky spluttered when he came up for air.

Steve grinned back, pushing wet hair out of his eyes and Bucky stared, lost in how stunning Steve looked in the sunlight, that he was there before him alone in the ocean full of people, “I mean they already have you and Sam as Captains. Wouldn’t want to put either of you out of a job.”

Bucky laughed, “I don’t doubt you’d do it too, Stevie.”

And when Steve stopped smiling, Bucky realised what he’d said.

“Shit, sorry - you don’t like that? Nicknames?”

“No I... I do…” Steve answered softly, and Bucky became lost in a blue that matched the water they were treading.

“Would you get out with me?” Bucky blurted.

“Sorry? Get out of the water?”

Bucky internally facepalmed himself. “No, I mean go out.”

“Out. With you?”

Bucky nodded.

“Err, why me?” Steve asked in a small voice lost on a gust of wind.

Looking at Steve, who stared back at him with questions in his eyes, Bucky wanted to explain how much he’d desired it for months, to tell Steve all the ways he wanted to make him happy, and as a multitude of words sat on his tongue, Bucky suddenly understood Steve might not listen to his reasoning, might not believe him. So he decided to show his intent instead, and swam closer. Steve’s eyes were wide, guileless, Bucky seeing a small spark of something more, and hoping he wasn’t triple jumping over a line, he swam up behind Steve. He felt Steve tense up, anticipating to be flung into the water again, but instead, Bucky pulled him closer so that Steve’s back slotted against his front and leaned in, mouth only an inch away from Steve’s ear.

“Why you? Oh Stevie, you have no idea how gorgeous you are. How much I want you.” Bucky pressed his nose against the back of Steve’s ear and inhaled deeply, sunscreen, salt and Steve’s shampoo filled his senses and he lost his head for a moment, especially when Steve let out a high pitched groan and wriggled back into Bucky. “I want to spread you out beneath me, I want to lick all the sweat off your body, sweat that I'm going to cause from working you hard, making you work extra hard for my dick, because Stevie - I want you, I want you bad, and I think you might want me back just as much.”

Bucky hoped he wasn’t completely off base with his desires, that Steve really was just as interested, and when Steve ground back against him, skin sliding against Bucky’s, letting out another moan at the friction when he felt Bucky hardening up underneath him, Bucky knew it was going to be ok.

“Yes…” Steve whimpered as his shorts caught against Bucky’s dick, pushing backwards.

“You want that baby?”

“Fuck. Yes, I do.”

“How much?”

Steve spluttered, and Bucky couldn’t help chuckle at the noise. “What do you mean?”

“How much do you want it?” Bucky knew he was being a prick, making his pec’s tense against Steve’s back, pulling him onto his lap as they floated in the water, before wrapping a leg around one of Steve’s pulling it to the side, making Steve gasp gorgeously.

“A normal amount,” Steve husked back.

“Oh, you want me a normal amount - is that all?” Bucky smirked before licking a sloppy stripe up Steve’s neck at the same time as he snuck a hand down the front of Steve’s swim trunks, gripping his dick tightly, feeling the impressive length and girth for the first time. Fuck, he was definietly not taking switching of the table. But not anytime soon. First, he wanted to take Steve apart in every way conceivable.

Steve meanwhile, was liquid in his arms, going slack as Bucky took his time to explore while they floated in circles not far from the shore, but far enough out they wouldn’t get in trouble. He hoped.

The moans tearing from Steve’s throat were getting louder though, Bucky loving every noise punched out of Steve as he stroked harder under the water, the friction and pressure of the water making him slower and more languid than usual. And Bucky wanted to make Steve call out with no thought or boundaries, nothing to stifle his pleasure, he needed Steve coming in his arms, again and again.

“I think you might just want me a little more than that.” Bucky rasped against Steve’s neck, sucking a bruise onto his pink skin, giving Steve’s dick another sharp tug and before he knew what was happening, Steve was shaking in his arms, whimpering out a release and Bucky was speechless. Utterly speechless as he continued to stroke Steve slowly, carefully as he jerked in his hand.

“Holy fuck, you’re stunning, gorgeous, the absolute best,” Bucky rambled into Steve’s neck, nipping kisses and pressing his lips against him in absolute awe at what had just occured.

Suddenly Steve moved, spinning himself around to straddle Bucky and he went under for a moment as their weights shifted and came back up spluttering, only for Steve to launch himself so his lips pushed against his. Steve took over, devouring his mouth, and although Bucky was the one in control, holding them both up, he’d never felt so out of control as Steve writhed and ground down as best he could in the water. Shit, Steve was going to be a handful and Bucky was there for it.

As he kissed back, grabbing the back of Steve’s head, holding him still as he pressed his tongue in deeply, a huge beach ball smacked into the side of his face. They jumped apart with a gasp.

“Don’t make me go get the hose!” Nat yelled out as she and Clint swam around nearby. “It’s about time you dolts wised up, but this is a public beach with you know - families.”

Bucky watched as Steve’s face flushed a perfect shade of red, and he couldn’t help but grab him again, giving him a quick intense kiss, claiming Steve until he struggled for breath, to show Bucky’s intent was clear and true. It was pure perfection.

“We’ll pick this up again later.” Bucky promised.

“Later.” Steve replied breathlessly.

Suddenly Steve pushed himself away from Bucky, grabbing and throwing the beach ball, hitting Clint dead on the nose. The surprised yelp from both Clint and Natasha made Bucky laugh.

“Oh it’s so on, James,” Nat yelled out.

Steve piped up from his side, “you wish, Romanoff - we’re gonna take you down!”

Bucky beamed.

“Yeah!” he called over to them, dodging the ball that came directly for him as Nat and Clint shit-talked. And as he and Steve swam out to retrieve the ball floating behind them, Bucky turned to Steve and gave him an overtly salacious wink. “And once we take them down, I’m going to take you home and show you what going down is all about.”

Steve burst out laughing. “Really? That was incredibly lame, especially for a savvy sex-crazed jock.”

“You’re not interested in my proposal then?”

“Oh I’m interested,” Steve grinned, licking his lips and Bucky caught his breath. “But if you’re going to use dad jokes on the regular - I might have to start calling you something else in the bedroom.”

Steve then threw the ball, Nat ducking at the last minute, and Bucky didn’t even feel when the returning pitch slammed into his head; Steve’s words creating a delicious cacophony of images and filthy thoughts in his mind instead.

Bucky had always known that Stevie Rogers was going to be both the life and death of him, and as he rubbed his head, grasping the ball in one hand, ready to throw it, he couldn’t wait to see where their adventure would take them.

But first - Clint had to pay.

#stucky #mywriting #friends to lovers #college #bottom Steve #implied switch #beach and fun #melting ice creams are a real issue for libidos #gift for Manda - the best and brightest of them all #prompt game #kalee answers

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( SOMETHING COMFORTING. )

Jeon Jungkook loves Overwatch, drinking games, and Halloween. What he loves more than that? You.

pairing. gamer!jjk x named f!reader.

genre + rating. idol!au set in room filled with bunnies and a cotton candy machine that’s exploded. it’s just that fluffy. (but also explicit cause why not.)

tags / warnings. established relationship, gaming (overwatch), dorky weeb references, mentions of drinking, yugyeom makes an appearance (!!), fingering, soft soft soft love making in the shower.

wc. 9.7k

beta reader(s). the lovely @kerikaaria read through this to make sure i didn’t get too nerdy. tysm! 💛 i may like further changes once my beloved @hobi-gif gets her hands on it but i’m a potato who wanted to post this quickly. oops...

author note. this fulfills the “jeon jungkook” square of @btsholidaybingo‘s bts holiday bingo 2020 and this is the couple from angels & airwaves. while this story isn’t super plot-driven, it’s meant to be a little peek into the lives of a couple that live in my mind rent-free and continue to make me soft and gooey inside. i hope you enjoy it!

You don’t know how he talked you into it or how it really happened. You remember, faintly, the mention of a party. Something about it being a small thing - just a few close friends, the members, etc. He’d said it so offhand, like commenting on the sky or asking for another package of Choco Boys, so you hadn't given it a second thought. If it was important, he’d bring it up again and if not, well, you hardly remembered it anyway. Win-win or whatever.

So you’d given up some intelligence points, traded them for space to fit more gaming knowledge. Somewhere along the line went your memory too - the conversation wiped from your brain like Will Smith had lasered it clean.

“Zarya’s one! Zarya’s one—“ You’re not sure how many times you can repeat yourself, shrieking through comms to a team that doesn’t seem to want to listen. You’re blasted into oblivion, Mercy’s prone body launched across the map as you watch your Rein fall too. There’s an irritation bubbling in your stomach, fizzing uncomfortably like the Japanese honeydew soda you’d had at lunch. “Zarya’s actually one!”

No one cares. She’s healed by the time you respawn and make it back across the map.

“Jesus—“ Your push-to-talk remains off for that flippant comment, distaste colouring your words a bitter shade of blue. You almost want to let your Ashe get headshot by the enemy Widow, only switching the stream from damage boosting to healing when your teammate starts spamming their hotkey.

I need healing! I need healing!

What you need is a team that listens to your calls or at the very least communicates in some way. Doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen though. There’s near radio silence in the voice chat, the only other person remotely helpful being your bouncing booping Lucio that’s trying to keep a flanking Tracer off point. Stupid. You almost feel bad for him, Guardian Angeling to him when no one else seems to want to offer any support.

Ah, the life of a support player in masters ranked. So infuriating and yet— nope. Just infuriating.

You lose the first round with 1:56 to spare, to no one’s surprise. Okay, maybe to your Reinhardt’s surprise. He’s being surprisingly chipper in text chat, sending WP and a dorky smiley face. You think he must volunteer at the local animal shelter and buy coffee for the people behind him in the drive-thru. He’s far too well-adjusted, not shooting off a single accusation to anyone on the team. A silver lining, you suppose.

Your second round starts well enough. Your comp is solid - as much as it can be in the current off-tank dominated meta. Hog, Zarya, a private profiled GM Widowmaker, Tracer, Lucio, and you as Ana. You’d prefer to play Mercy - find the most comfort in her skill set - but on an attack map, you’re not risking a headshot right out of spawn. Broken maximum damage good stuff means healers are squishy and you don’t have your usual DPS to boost. (He’s off doing god knows what - maybe filming an ad for Samsung or breaking the internet with his permed man bun.)

You make it through the choke without much ado. The enemy Rein is wildly out of position, eager to make some big brained play that goes terribly wrong. Your Lucio chuckles through voice and you join him, tossing a nade when your Zarya looks like she’s about to die to a poorly executed 360 shatter.

“You winning?”

It’s your boyfriend peeking over your shoulder, so close you nearly scream, mouse launched across your desk with the intensity of your reaction. You hadn’t heard him come in, the stupid sneaky bastard as quiet as a mouse.

(It’s not your own fault. He knows you can’t hear anything when you’ve got your headphones on, the noise cancelling in your state of the art Sennheisers not something to scoff at.)

“Jeez, Kook!” You want to be more mad. Really, you do. You’re scrambling across your desk to retrieve your mouse, squeaking a quick apology into team voice when your hero stays in one place for too long. Luckily, Hog - previously sweet kind Rein - throws his big fat piggy self directly in front of you, effectively saving you from an otherwise miserable death at the hands of Torbjorn.

“What?” Jeon Jungkook has the audacity to look scandalised, shiny eyes so wide and innocent they feel more as if they belong in an early 2000s anime.

You’re not even looking at him when you huff - too invested in your Overwatch game to give him the hell he deserves. All you manage is a swift don’t scare me like that! as you pump your tanks back to full health.

You notice Jungkook hasn’t moved away, still peering curiously over your shoulder. You know he hasn’t had much time to play lately, too involved with appearances for their comeback, his schedule too packed even for you some days. You don’t blame him when he pulls his chair up behind you, rolling into place so he’s just within your periphery.

It’s a little distracting; he smells good, like his - and by extension your - favourite laundry detergent and a fruity, nectarine-heavy shampoo you’d picked up for him when he’d run out of his usual. You notice then that his hair is wet, just the wrong-side of too damp with droplets beading over his neck. Moisture soaks into the top of his shirt and you think it might be more soaked than you can see; it’s hard to tell when it’s a jet black shirt, one of the many he keeps in your closet for the nights he stays over. You realise then that he must’ve been home far longer than you’d thought, if his freshly washed pink cheeks are any indication. (Because he takes seriously long showers, nearly doubling your water bill in the year you’ve been together.)

You want to ask what he’s doing here - you’d sworn he was busy for the next few days - but can’t find the adequate brain power to do so. You’re playing an incredibly high skill character (your words) and if you don’t get this goddamn shot on your Lucio to keep him up, your team is going to die (your ego’s words).

‘Ask Kook about his day’ gets scribbled on a paper on the desk in your head and filed away under To Do Later in your overflowing brainiac filing cabinet.

“Can we pleaaaaase focus their Zarya? She has grav.” Though you offer the tidbit of information, you don’t assume it’s going to be relied upon. Your team is well on their way to taking first point - surprisingly - and there’s still nearly three minutes left on the clock. If the six of you idiots can keep it together and kill that goddamn Zarya, there’s no doubt in your mind you’ll win the game.

Alas, fate is but a cruel mistress and said Zarya gets said grav off, sucking your own Russian tank and Tracer-turned-Soldier into her hell void. Not even your well-timed nade can save them from the Genji that dragon blades directly into their faces. Your poor Lucio dies to the same ult and you imagine you or your Widow are next. Your Hog’s just respawning, his lumbering silhouette not even on screen.

“Rip,” says your boyfriend - like the sound, not the letters - from beside you, a droplet of water splashing across your wrist when he shakes his head. He looks disappointed - as if he’s the one that’s lost the match. It makes you laugh, the sound tripping off your tongue despite the overwhelming rage you’re currently battling.

“Rip is right,” you mumble back, tossing yourself off the map. If you’re gonna die, it'll be on your own terms. Jungkook chuckles at that.

By the time you respawn, both you and Widow are joining a fight that looks like it’s going surprisingly well. There’s no one on point and you’re capping uncontested. Widow even headshots a wayward Moira.

“You should go top left.”

You don’t turn your head. Jungkook’s always been a bit of a backseat gamer, whether he’s watching your stream while he’s out of town or sitting right beside you. Sometimes, you love it; other times, you hate it. Most times, though, he’s right. He has surprisingly good game sense, despite being lower ranked than you (something you remind him of constantly, without shame).

“Can we go top left?” You parrot into your speaker.

For once, your team listens, most of them running up the sidewall with Widow right down main. Not for the first time you wish you were playing Mercy, if only to be able to damage boost your sniper while she distracts the enemy team. Still, you make due, taking your boyfriend’s next piece of advice when it comes, unsolicited. “You should be back right by the stairs. You can see up the hall and still heal Widow on top.”

You’d kiss him if you weren’t so intently focused, unable to tear your gaze from the screen when the enemy team seems to pluck their strategy directly from Jungkook’s skull and hold conservatively on point. Amazing.

“Your Zarya has grav. She’ll probably throw it on point so you should nade as soon as you get in and Widow can pick them off without full charge.”

If he were anyone else, you’d probably be giving him hell for mansplaining your favourite game to you. As it stands, you follow his instructions to the letter and the Team Kill marker flashes across your screen.

“Told you,” he quips, ever the snooty dork you adore.

“I was going to say thank you.” Just not right now. You can’t multitask quite like he can.

If you could look over, you think you’d see him grinning from ear to ear, buck teeth and dimples on full display. “I know.”

As it stands, the other team has trouble getting on point fast enough and you’re left with a whopping 3:56 left on the clock. Thank freaking god. You can win this, you think. Easy. No problem.

“Go Ana on defense.” At some point, Jungkook had gotten up to find a snack and he returns now, bag of shrimp chips in his hand and packet of matcha Pocky held between his teeth. You open your mouth for a stinky tasty treat and he shoves four crisps in, unceremoniously and with his signature dummy grin.

You manage to crunch crunch crunch through it all but shoot him a glare the entire time. He only smiles wider, all perfectly white enamel and enough cuteness to make your heart skip a beat.

“Do you just want to play?” You don’t mean it seriously. You don’t mind him watching and you know he enjoys pretending like he’s better than you. It’s a strange give and take but one that’s uniquely yours, built over nearly a year of online friendship and another year of a real-life relationship.

“Nah, I’m snacking.” He punctuates his response as a child would, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. You wonder, briefly, why you love him so much when he’s a certifiable goon.

The third match begins and you’re not too proud to say you spend most of it following Jungkook’s directions. He tells you to sleep the enemy Genji trying to scale the right wall - you do. He tells you to nade once their Rein gets in because your own Rein is going to shatter - you do. He tells you to do the macarena and— okay, that, you don’t.

You sweep the match, leaving the other team without a single tick.

When it comes to the final round, he seems to have lost interest in the game, instead rolling himself back to his computer with a parting, wayward ruffle of your hair. You don’t blame him but you thank him nonetheless, blowing a kiss before he settles his headphones over his ears.

You, of course and unsurprisingly, win the game. There’s nothing like using a Sym portal onto point when they’ve got a Bastion set up off point and no shield to protect him from the back.

Satisfied, you don’t bother requeueing and instead force yourself into your boyfriend’s personal space, draping your arms across the idol’s neck as he scrolls through YouTube like a zombie. “We won,” you sing-song into his ear, proud and a little smug.

“Of course you did.” He sounds equally smug and you suppose the win does belong to the both of you. He’d been a great coach.

“What’re you doing here?” It’s pure curiosity offered in the form of a kiss to his cheek, fingers locked across the broad expanse of his chest. He’s delightfully warm beneath you, familiar and unyielding as you sink over the back of his computer chair. (You can feel the chair creaking as it reclines. You don’t care.)

“Whaddya mean?”

The look he levels you with makes you think you’ve grown a second head.

“Your schedule said you had a thing tonight.” You remember, because you’d been disappointed. Halloween was one of your favourite holidays and all you’d wanted was to watch some campy horror movies and use him as a personal eye shield and security blanket combo.

“We have a thing,” he states, like he’s talking to a moron. You know it isn’t meant meanly, too emphatic and amused to hurt your feelings.

When you echo his words (“We?”) you swear you see him roll his eyes in the reflection of his computer screen. Luckily, he laughs, sweet and cracky, somewhere high in his throat - a barking hyena. It’s so cute - your favourite thing in the world - that you don’t have it in you to shame him for it.

“Yeah, we,” Jungkook repeats around something close to a snicker. “Halloween party, baby. Seriously— you forgot?”

It’s then and there you have two crises: (a) you don’t have a costume and (b) Halloween party? You didn’t think idols had those. Weren’t they all too hip and cool to get together to dress up and act stupid?

(You know the answer is no. Exhibit A being the costume-wearing dance practices BTS put out.)

“I don’t have anything to wear.” It’s truly the one thing holding you back, creasing the soft skin between your brows to resemble a peach. It’s also nearing seven in the evening and you’re absolutely certain you’re not going to find something so late in the day.

To your surprise. Jungkook looks flabbergasted, that same you-have-two-heads stare wrought across his face. It’d be endearing if it were directed at anyone else but with it trained on you, it’s rubbing you and your confusion the wrong way. Why’s he looking at you like that? Why’s your memory so bad? Why hasn’t he said anything to answer all of life’s questions?

“You said you’d go as witch Mercy.”

All at once, you’re pulled back to the offhand conversation, the pleading in his eyes, your half-asleep acceptance. It’s the memory you’d lost somewhere along the way in upgrading your in-brain video game storage. A conversation had in bed, his cheeks so big and full of joy they’d waned his eyes into crescents, and your uncoordinated answer because you’d just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything after indulging in a few too many mochi cream buns.

“I— don’t remember that.” You’re lying through your damn teeth. Your parents would be devastated, all their hard earned money wasted on the braces-straightened enamel that was now letting lies pass.

“But you did!” He’s like a kid being denied candy, rounded bottom lip dropping into a pout that should, frankly, be illegal. It’s far too powerful on him, paired with those Bambi eyes that scream don’t eat (hate/deny/etc.) me! You can only scowl at him, because you know your own puppy dog eyes only work 100% of the time half of the time whereas his track record was immaculate.

“Okay, but I forgot to get the—“

“I have it!”

Jeon Jungkook has an answer for everything, it seems.

“I picked it up on the way here. It’s in your room along with my costume.”

The knowledge of his own intrigues you, squarely centring your curiosity on that and not the fact that you apparently need to get tested for early onset dementia. “Who’re you going as?”

“You’ll see.”

Your costume is spectacular. You can’t even find it in yourself to put up much of a fight when your boyfriend reveals it like you’ve won the lottery, throwing his arms wide in a flourish.

It’s incredibly well made, intricately tailored in a way that makes you worry how much it costs. (When you bring it up to him, Jungkook simply shrugs. You think it’s as much a gift for you as it is for him.) It’s witchy and eye-catching, the belt hung across your hips clipped with an actual book - hollowed out, thank god but also poor thing. The hat that sits on your head is neatly crumpled, sitting at such an angle you worry whether you’ll need to avoid too-low door frames. Your wings - well, you’re almost too afraid to touch them; Jungkook has to help you pull them over your arms, falling into near hysterics when you twitch your elbow the wrong way and smack him right between the eyes.

“I don’t think I can pull this off,” you state, somberly, despite the fact that you’re not terribly self-conscious. (You were, once. Being in a relationship with someone that worships your body has helped with that.)

The top of your outfit is fitted, boned and ribbed and snapped together in all the right places. Leather stands in stark contrast to your skin - summer-soft and gently golden - and hugs curves that don’t quite exist, falling short in a way that has you glaring down at your own chest. You’ve never wanted a Playboy body but in this sort of costume, it practically demands it. (You try not to dwell on the fact that you’ve been conditioned to want to look like an impractically designed video game hero.)

From the foot of your bed comes a snort, a derisive sound that draws your attention. Jungkook’s unabashed in how he admires you, stare roving over every inch like he’s about to devour you. You’re not sure how you can feel so soft for him when he looks completely the opposite, jaw set and expression sharp. A Greek god carved from hardened honey, dressed in Balenciaga blue. “You look great, angel.”

Your heart skips a beat - plays a funny little game of tag with itself - and you can’t help the smile that comes, brought to life by his reassurance. It isn’t necessary to rebuff him then - eyes rolling, laugh spilling - but you do it anyway. “You have to say that. You’re my boyfriend.”

“I don’t have to say anything,” he retorts, levelling you with a look that has your insides molten. It’s the look that reads don’t test me but also I love you and you’re my idiot. It’s your favourite look in the world, lending wings to your flimsy heart. “You look great because you always look great, no matter what.”

“What about when you found me in the shower ?”

Jungkook hesitates then. He’s no liar and he had almost had a heart attack the first time it’d happened. He’d been minding his business, half-asleep and battling the need to piss, when he’d noticed you curled up in the bathroom. How he hadn’t realised you were missing from bed, he’s not sure. All he knew was that you’d terrified him, mentioning something about invading refrigerators when he was pulling his dick out of his boxers.

His scream was what had woken you up; yours was what had him bashing his head into the wall, foot slipping on the soft pink bathroom rug. You could laugh about it now but at the time, you’d thought he’d cracked his skull right open, shouting his name so loudly the neighbours had complained.

(Lucky for you two, they were a nice elderly couple who sometimes had you babysit their grandson. They’d laughed it off when you’d apologised with a loaf of fresh bread and a bandage wrapped around your boyfriend’s head.)

“Okay— that was scary. I thought you’d crawled out of the drain or something.” A shudder rolls through Jungkook’s body, shaking him from his shoulders all the way down to his knees. It’s a strangely adorable reaction from someone who looks like he could bench press you.

“You’re calling me the Grudge?” You’re deeply offended, gloved hands clasping over your chest as if to pull out the treacherous dagger he’s just lodged there. He only rolls his eyes, leaning forward to catch you in his arms; he’s relentless as he drags you to him, side of his face pressed to the bare skin of your thigh. His cheek’s searing but you’re not surprised; Jungkook ran hot, keeping you warm in winter and sweltering in summer. (Ah, the price you paid for love.)

“Yeah, you haunt me in my dreams.”

“That’s not the Grudge, Kook.” Your scoff earns you a pinch, right where the top of your stockings end. It blooms red beneath his fingers, a little reminder of his competitive I’m-never-wrong nature. You swat his hand away, not too bothered when it only finds a home elsewhere, hooked behind your knee. Jungkook had a habit of needing to be in constant contact. A little quirk of his you adored.

“I’m serious. You look—” You should clock the look on his face, the wiggle of mischief up his nose. A dead giveaway shining bright - a beacon. “—bewitching.”

If the book weren’t attached to your hip, you’d be clobbering him with it. Instead, you’re left to whack him with the equally intricate Caduceus staff, booping it over his shoulders. You feel like a certain shamanic mandrill, Jungkook the idiotic lion that’s asking for an earful.

“Shut up!” You’re laughing despite yourself and he is too, holding you so recklessly close it’s hard to hit him without hurting yourself. All part of his plan, you suppose. “You’re so freaking corny.”

“It’s because I’m a-maize-ing, ang—”

Another wap! to the head, shielded only by a tattooed hand that curls over his ear.

“Okay! Sorry!” Except he doesn’t look very sorry. More pleased that you’ve stopped the assault, dark hair pushed back from his forehead as he stares up at you. You hate how he’s so handsome - how you forget yourself when he smiles that smile, nearly yeeting your whole heart directly into the sun.

“Are you going to put on yours yet?”

It’s quarter past nine already and all you’ve done is rope him into eating some chapaguri - you’ve been obsessed with it since a few weeks ago - and play real life Witch Barbie. You have a feeling if you don’t get him into his own costume soon, you’re never going to leave the apartment. (Not that you really mind.)

Your boyfriend - bless his heart - pretends not to hear you, suddenly intently focused on an indiscernible spot past your hip. It’d be more believable if he was glued to his phone or doing anything remotely interesting. Instead, you stare down at him and count the seconds until he realises just how silly he looks. It usually comes around six, paired with a forced chuckle and that lisp you love.

Today, it comes after the fourth count.

“You’re gonna think it’s lame.” Well, of course you will. As his girlfriend - and one of his best friends, you’d like to think - it’s your relationship-given right to shame him for his more often than not absurd ideas. It’s what you deserve for suffering through all his bad jokes and 3 AM Instagram spams.

With a hand on his cheek, you squeeze the apple like you’ve seen a certain member do a million times. “So?”

He’s not really sure how to respond to that, mouth drawn into a pout that reminds you of children’s television show about penguins. It’s unfairly adorable. Still, you push. Jungkook’s bad at saying no to you - always has been, even before he really knew you. From “one more game!” to “bring me bingsu”, you always got what you wanted.

(Which wasn’t to say you asked for a lot. You were happy - more than that, ecstatic and over the moon - with the bare minimum. A selfie while on the plane, some shoddy cinematography during dance practice, a voicemail to wake up to. You didn’t love Jungkook for all the things he gave you; rather, you loved him for who he was, who he’d always been even before you knew who he really was.)

“Don’t laugh.” By the look on his face, you’re worried it’s something awful. The cheesiest thing in the world come to life to haunt you on your beloved spooky holiday.

It turns out to be the opposite: one of your favourite characters realised in the form of your achingly handsome boyfriend. He looks so good you’re not certain whether it’s your attraction to him or him in that particular guise that’s stronger. You figure it doesn’t matter one way or another. For tonight, they’re one and the same.

“Joker? Seriously?” You can’t hide the delight. It colours every syllable, sets them glowing like a neon sign.

Your boyfriend only rolls his eyes, as if he’d predicted this reaction. Dressed as he is, the movement is impossible to miss, brought into focus by the white domino mask. “Don’t sound so excited.” It’s an actual concern of his. He’s seen you sink upwards of ninety hours on the video game, playing it in the early hours when he’s fast asleep and you’re battling another night of insomnia.

Once, he’d asked whether you loved him or Joker more. He hadn’t liked the answer (joking as it was) and had spent the better part of the evening pouting.

This time, you’re sweet as pie, eyes so dark and twinkly he wonders whether he’s staring at the night sky. You wonder the same yourself almost every night, lost in the constellations of his irises. It’s the most intimate form of stargazing you can afford, a luxury you indulge in frequently. You’ve mapped the different formations, named them in honour of all the special moments you’ve shared; you think to label one for this night too.

“You look so good.” You don’t hesitate to brush his hair from his eyes. It’s still relaxing from the perm he’d gotten days ago, curling like classic calligraphy over his eyes. It’s surprisingly soft between your fingers, silk despite the constant heat styling. Bastard. “I can’t believe you’re going as Joker. You don’t even like Persona 5!”

By how Jungkook looks at you then - the same way he did the first time you met standing on the street corner in Dotonbori and a hundred more times since then - you realise it doesn’t matter. He’s dressed this way because you like the character.

“Oh,” you say, because there’s not much more to say. Nothing that needs to be said as he grins down at you, so heartbreakingly handsome you’ll never get used to it.

“Yeah,” he parrots back, a little smug.

Bangtan’s golden maknae is having the time of his life. He’s four cups deep into a game of beer pong that’s played like the Wimbledon classic, back hunched, jaw set. You’d think he was battling it out for the title of God of Beer Pong if you didn’t know better. (You suppose he is.)

“Angel, come here!” He’s giddy - slightly glazed in the eyes - as he waves you over, a red-gloved hand beckoning you to his side. Despite how good he looks in the costume - every weakness of yours encapsulated by the intricate dress shirt that hugs him like a second skin - the gesture is decidedly adorable, an eager puppy seeking unconditional love. There’s simply too much affection in his voice, so much sugar-spun love that you can’t deny him (even as you consider jumping his bones at a party full of people).

He’s shining as bright as the sun and you want nothing more than to live within his warmth.

With your fingers twined, he pulls you to him, drawing you tight against his side like he doesn’t need that same hand to throw another ball. You don’t mind. You know he’ll sink it even with his left hand.

“I’m winning,” he states, as if it weren’t wildly obvious by the fact all cups remain untouched on his side.

Across the table, Yugyeom’s eyes roll so far back you want to laugh. Jungkook’s competitive side is endearing at best and infuriating at worst. Luckily, his competition is enjoying himself too much to give him shit.

(He’s also probably too drunk to, given how badly he’s doing.)

“I see that.” You’re not a big drinker yourself but you like seeing Jungkook in his element. He thrives in this sort of setting, showing off all the talents he has and then some. It’s just another stage to him, somewhere he can prove himself (even if it’s over something as small as how good his bounce-shot is). “How many games have you won?” Because he’s been at this table for the last hour, dropping his competition like flies.

“All of them.” God, his ego. You know you shouldn’t stroke it but you can’t help it, brushing a hand through his tousled hair in the way he likes best. Fingers over his scalp, thumb rubbing soothing circles across the nape of his neck. He nearly melts then, tilting his head into the gentle caress.

“Good job, Kook.”

You’re so lost in your own little world that poor Yugyeom has to pull you both from it, launching a poorly-aimed white ping pong ball at the two of you. To no one’s surprise, it careens past your heads, hitting the wall behind you and disappearing off to god knows where.

“Can we play?” Again, that eye roll, visible just past the bandages that loosely wrap his cheeks. You know he’s only teasing, that he’s actually quite a fan of your and Jungkook’s dumb coupling (he’s told you), but you return his mockery with a raised hand, thumb and forefinger waving in salute.

“Losers don’t get to complain.”

The idol throws a hand to his chest, the gesture bordering on sloppy from the liquor that threads his limbs. Still, it’s cute, earning a sweet laugh from you and a witch’s cackle from your boyfriend. (How fitting.) “I’m hurt, Yoojin-ssi.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to tease, brattiness flipped on like a haywire lightswitch. “No, you’re just bad at games!” He’s a sniggering schoolgirl, lines wrapping the delicate skin of his nose, streaking joy into the wrinkles beneath his eyes. Slightly-too-big front teeth are on full display, his expression the embodiment of an “uwu” emote.

That riles Yugyeom up, powder puff of hair bounding over to you before you have time to blink. In the next moment, your boyfriend’s half-wrestling with him, their arms locked around each other like some sort of weird four-limbed octopus. (Video game protagonist vs. hot mummy— who will win?) You jump back just in time, avoiding a wayward fist and laughing merrily. Idiots, the both of them.

“You guys have fun.” And then you’re gone, off to busy yourself with people who won’t accidentally give you a black eye or knock over the nearest thing not bolted to the ground.

You can still hear them tussling when you latch yourself to the back of a certain blond. He’s dressed like one of your greatest nightmares - an actual clown, drawing inspiration from a certain 2017 blockbuster - and yet somehow still manages to look good. You don’t understand it and frankly, you’re a little envious, but such was life.

“Jimin-ssiiiii.”

“Ahhhhhh, stop!” It’s the same reaction he always has, paired with wiggling shoulders and sweet laughter that bounces around the room and stirs to life your own. Indisputable and lovely, the sound is brighter than the sun or the lights that currently swing through the chandelier lights above your heads. “You two are ridiculous.”

“He’s ridiculous, not me!” You know it isn’t true. Separately, you and Jungkook were idiotic enough, finding humour in the silliest things (funny threads on r/Relationship_Advice and four year old Vines). But together? It was a two-person circus, graduate professors at clown college.

You absolutely loved it.

“Sure, sure,” the dancer hums, delightfully disbelieving as he takes another shot. One of three lined up across the counter, clear in little orange cups made to look like pumpkins. A whiff tells you they’re strawberry soju - your least favourite flavour. You decline with a wrinkled nose and waving hand when he offers you one. Jimin shrugs and downs the next, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth when he misjudges the pour. “Aren’t you drinking?”

You wiggle the half-empty Cass bottle in your hand in response and receive a scoff, different bottle - green, unopened - thrust into your other.

“Drink this!”

“You want me to drink an entire bottle?” You’re incredulous. Jimin’s seen you on the edge of intoxication and more than a little sloppy, giggling like a schoolgirl. It’s not unbecoming - you know better than to get blackout - but laughable nonetheless. Something to record and post on Snapchat with a voice-altering filter.

“It’s Halloween!” The pumpkin shot glass makes you go cross-eyed before he’s knocking it back too. “Live a little!”

Who are you to say no to the recent birthday boy? It would simply be bad manners and you were nothing if polite (though, you’re sure some might beg to differ - Yoongi, maybe?).

The remnants of your beer are swallowed down in the next moment, so quickly you almost choke on it. Your life flashes before your eyes, Jimin’s hand on your shoulder as he beats breath into your body. “Don’t die!” He cries, despite the fact that it’s his fist that’s making it worse, doubling you over with hacking coughs.

“K-Kook’s g-going to kill you—”

“No, you’re fine.” He’s reassuring you just as much as himself, laughing too loudly as you straighten up. You wonder how red your face is when he takes your place, slapping his own knee as he shakes with amusement. “Your face, oh— Your face.”

It’s not meant to be offensive but your buzzed brain demands payment for each giggle.

The base of the green bottle collides with the back of his knee - gentle, gentle - just hard enough to have him properly toppling over, collapsing onto the carpet like a frail old grandpa without his cane. You can’t help the snicker that careens off your liquor-laden tongue.

That is, until he’s pulling you down with him and the two of you are a giggling, giddy mess, tucked beneath the edge of the bar as you laugh together. It’s a chorus of sound, unrelenting and building the longer you both sit on the floor. Jimin’s practically hunched over, head caught between his propped up arms. You imagine it’s a funny sight - two people in their twenties acting like college freshmen.

“Baby?” It’s your boyfriend, amused and confused as he stares down at your and Jimin’s prone bodies. He’s got that dent between his brows, the colour of his eyes all but swallowed up by the way his cheeks press wide with his smile. “What’re you doing down there?”

“Just hanging out,” you answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. At your side, Jimin’s still trying to collect himself, parroting your words around his lungfuls of quieting laughter.

“Are you drunk?”

You’re not, but that doesn’t stop you from gasping, overdramatic and with your unopened bottle of soju held aloft. A modern day olive branch. “No?”

Jungkook snorts and then all at once, he’s close. Too close - smelling of beer and your favourite cologne of his, citrusy and woodsy and every other nice thing you like. It fills your senses just as his smile does, blindingly bright and bunny-like. Even behind the mask, his good looks take your breath away. You must be staring up at him idiotically, all one hundred and sixteen pounds of ooey gooey tenderness. “You sound drunk, angel,” he teases, warm red-covered palm coming to cradle your cheek. It sears heat everywhere it touches, guiding the same hue over your skin. It creeps up your chest and over your ears, standing in contrast to the material of his gloves. “Pretty.”

(He really is, you think.)

“Get a room,” comes Jimin from beside you. There’s no malice in his voice - just soft affection for a couple of lovesick idiots.

“That’s the plan,” Jungkook replies, as if he’d been waiting for the moment. It skips off his tongue and settles into your ears, tipping your head curiously as you stare at him. He’s never been very shy about wanting you - at least, not since you’d made things official, so many months ago - but you’re surprised by the insinuation. When he speaks again, you realise your brain has been rolling around in the gutter, fallen out of your ears like candy from a worn pillow case. “Want to head home?”

You do. You really, really do.

When you stumble into your apartment - the same one with the polka-dot welcome rug and crisp white paint - you realise you were perhaps wrong about how drunk you are. Everything’s coming at you quite quickly, the ground beneath your feet somehow suddenly rushing at you like Mach Five.

“Whoa—” There’s an impossibly solid warmth against your back, fingers locked around your wrists that feel more like flimsy chicken feet. “Careful.”

Your boyfriend’s keeping you upright while stepping out of his boots - impossibly expensive supple dark leather - and you’re giggling all the while, practically sinking against him as he does his best to shuffle his shoes away and get you further into the hallway. “Sorry,” you offer in a terrible stage whisper, smiling wide when you catch sight of his, small and endlessly amused. It slips across his face even as he tries to bite it back, warring with the patience he holds in spades.

“Let’s just get these off.” He means the boots - the intricate, vaguely absurd things that creep up almost the entirety of your leg, neatly wrapped and knotted midway up your thigh. Dexterous as he is, it’s a task to unravel the strings and thread buttons when you’re weighing on him like a bag of bricks.

You’re fumbling for the tops, haphazardly smacking his hands away. “Here, let me.”

Somehow, you manage to get them off in what feels like record time. (In reality, it takes a good five minutes of futility before they’re left on the ground and Jungkook’s swept you into his arms, seemingly over waiting for you to do much else.)

“Oh, my prince charming,” you tease, clinging to him like a koala. You’re locked around him, practically suffocating him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s used to it when you’re this way, just a little too much liquid courage turning your level of affection to eleven. “Or are you the court jester? That’s what Joker is, right?” It’s a joke and a bad one at that. Still, your boyfriend indulges you, depositing a forced laugh against your shoulder as he navigates to your bedroom.

“You’re drunk.” He says it more kindly than you expect. Perhaps even more kindly than you deserve. You know he’s not exactly sober himself, his gaze verging on heavy-lidded. There’s sleepiness blending seamlessly with intoxication, softening the edge of his jaw, the narrow of his stare. It’s terribly tender, skipping your heart when you look at him dead on.

It comes without thought. You have to tell him. Your drunk brain and your puppy dog heart demand it. “I love you.”

Jungkook returns the confession with humour, eyes sparkling despite the haze of alcohol that dims them down. As always, he indulges you, giving you support in the form of his heart and his hands. (Literally, he’s still holding you even though you’ve reached your destination.) “Love you too.”

“Is it time for bed?” You’re surprisingly tired, despite the fact that you’d slept until late in the afternoon. You certainly wouldn’t mind falling face first into your mattress.

“You need a shower first.” It’s a simple statement of fact, you know that. You’ve got at least ten pounds of makeup on and your hair’s the furthest thing from soft and silky, carefully coiffed to mimic Mercy’s signature style. You still pretend like you’re just a bit offended, scowling into the face of your boyfriend even as he rolls his eyes, already somehow able to read the words written into your expression. “I meant we and no, I’m not calling you stinky.”

He’s stolen your thunder, as he so often does. You pout, as you so often do.

“Okay,” you relent, finally, moving to rest your head against his shoulder. You could get down - walk on your own two tired feet - but you’re enjoying the closeness, how warm and real he feels in comparison to the swimming surroundings. “Will you wash my hair?” You don’t really need to ask but do anyway, because you like the sound of his voice when it’s so close.

“You know I will.” Because he always does when you shower together (and it falls on a designated hair washing day - that was important).

You offer your thanks with a kiss, laid right over the jumping pulse in his neck. When Jungkook hums in acknowledgment, you feel the way the muscles constrict, his Adam’s apple jumping beneath your lips. You zero in on it with laser precision, mouthing over his throat. Somewhere above you - against the shell of your ear - he exhales a laugh, breath hot.

“We’re showering, baby.” As if that’s meant to stop you. He, more than anyone, should know how adamant you get, singularly focused on whatever’s got your attention. He’s been on the receiving end of it more than enough times, strung into playing another one, two, ten matches of Overwatch or hunting down the limited edition Funko Pops that now sit proudly on your white shelf (and behind your plants and on the ledge by the front door).

“We can shower and have fun,” you mumble into the expanse of his chest. He’s so pleasantly warm, unyielding and firm and so, so comfortable. You think you could live in the feeling of his arms. (You’re lucky you get to.) You don’t even mind the sudden cold of the counter or the space that forms between you when he sets you down, because he’s still caging you in where it matters most. “Right, JK?”

It’s a nickname you rarely use now - one that only comes out in times of desperation. You’ve never quite understood why it affects your boyfriend the way it does, stuttering the rhythmic beating of his heart, but you love it nonetheless. It makes you grin, high on power and giddy with nothing but sweetness.

He’d explained it to you once. Jay was how you’d met him, the version of himself you’d loved first. Jungkook was the side of himself he’d wanted to give you but couldn’t. JK was the in-between - the chaos and the calm. Hearing you say it brought back all the memories of year one and he liked that. You could only laugh at his sentimentality and tuck the piece of knowledge somewhere deep, to be pulled out in instances like this.

“Right, angel.” You don’t miss the colour on his cheeks - so pretty you reach your hands out to cup them, squishing them between your palms like an old grandmother testing a watermelon. You continue to hold him until he pulls your hands from his face, guiding them to the edge of the counter with gentle pressure. “Gotta get undressed to shower,” he chides, that twinkle in his eye that makes it hard to look away.

Really, how can he expect you to do anything when he’s got an entire unexplored galaxy hidden in his irises? It’s an absurd ask.

“Or I’ll help you.”

Your clothes fall away while you’re still staring up at him.

First, the gloves, peeled from your fingers with utmost care. Kisses fill the spaces between each finger, passed from knuckles to wrist, all the way up to your elbow. You squirm when his teeth graze the sensitive underside of your bicep. He stifles a snicker into the skin.

Next goes your cape and wings, hung on the door handle. His mouth warms the suddenly bare skin, pressing affection into the line of your shoulder, up over your neck. You don’t squirm this time, instead humming a noise of delight. You hardly notice when the corset goes next, undone by surprisingly nimble inked digits. There’s hardly a moment to savour the freedom - you can finally breathe - when his hands replace the cups, palms eager over your chest. He doesn’t hesitate to hold you, pinching your perked nipples with a sly grin.

“I thought we were going to shower.” The words are barely out before turning breathless, stolen by the way he easily palms your breast, dropping his face into the crook of your neck.

“We are, angel,” Jungkook teases, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, other hand moved to splay across the now-bare small of your back. It’s almost embarrassing how easily you fall into him, drawn against him like a moth to a flame. “Just need to get you warmed up first.”

“The shower’ll be warm,” you say - or think you say, anyway. It isn’t quite articulated, half your brain left somewhere at the party (or maybe caught dead centre in the coil that’s tightening in your stomach).

“Do you want me to stop?” It’s so quiet you almost miss it, too distracted by how he slips the rest of your costume off. Shorts, thong, stockings, silly witch’s hat. “Tell me if you want me to stop, baby.” Ever the gentleman, he’s patient, meeting your glazed stare with something close to concern. You almost laugh in his face then - stopping short only when you note just how serious he is, the tell-tale set of his jaw shining like a familiar beacon.

You return your hands to his face, palms cradling his chin like he might break otherwise. “I never want you to stop.”

That’s all Jungkook needs before he’s slotting himself between your legs, mirroring your motion with hands creeping up the side of your neck, fingers ascending into the roots of your hair. He holds you close and kisses you like it’s all he’s ever wanted. “I love you,” he breathes, speaks against the corner of your mouth.

You parrot the words back at him and he grins, stepping away in the next moment. He laughs when you pout, offering a kiss in apology as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping the soft cotton off. You stop then, entranced by the revealed skin, how it shifts with each adjustment of muscle, sinew tight over his arms and shoulders. You wonder, not for the first time, how you’d managed to luck out so spectacularly.

“Start the shower.”

You hop down with the direction, slipping past him to do exactly that. You don’t miss the way he rotates, brings himself closer as you move away. The magnetism is undeniable - always has been.

“I love you,” he states, again, bare against your back as you hover by the edge of the glass door, one hand stuck past to test the slow-warming stream. He’s solid, familiar and comfortable, as he slinks his arms back around you, heat burning the shape of his hands over your ribs, the shape of your hip. You think he might mark himself there, just as neatly as the floral ink does. You wouldn’t mind.

The water is welcome, bathing the both of you in steam when you step inside. It’s an incredibly relaxing feeling, being caught between the spray and the hard body behind you. You hum a noise of pure delight, turning your face toward the one that nuzzles itself into your neck, and bring your hands to rest over his, fingers slotting between ink.

“Hair?” You’re not in a terrible rush but you like redirecting his attention (pretending to, at least) - the teasing that formed the base of your relationship presenting itself in the quiet reminder. It earns the laugh you expect, muffled into your hair, featherlight over the delicate shell of your jewelled ear.

“Patience, baby.” It’s something Jungkook tends to say a lot, whether waiting in queue in Overwatch or in bed, with you a complete mess. He repeats it easily, like he’s the poster boy for the virtue. (He isn’t.)

“What am I waiting—” The question dies, swallowed whole by the gasp he draws from you with a wandering hand. Fingers slip across your stomach, digits deftly seeking out warmth as if you weren’t already enveloped in it. It’s a touch that’s tantalisingly slow, unfairly light, but it still makes you keen when it drags over your lips. A single digit pushes past muscle - so shallow you’re not sure you’re not just imagining it - before retreating, dragging your slick back up to your clit. The moment the pad of his finger makes contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves, you almost jump. Would, if he weren’t caging you with his other arm.

You feel the cold of his teeth bared against your neck then, the throaty laugh that pulls out of his chest and deposits itself into your hair. “Patience,” he repeats, swirling his fingers over your clit, his mouth moving in tandem with the twist of his wrist. He peppers love and affection in the form of kisses, presses devotion with the edge of his teeth, soothes all your nerves with a sweep of his tongue.

“Kook,” you sigh, already well on your way to being a boneless mess. There’s tingling in your toes, fizzing in your stomach, butterflies in your chest. A whirlwind of emotion and sensation that he stirs to life effortlessly.

“Relax for me.” You do so because it’s easy, because he’s so devastatingly good to you.

The figure eights skating over your clit cease, fingers dropping further down to nestle against your cunt. He pauses there, almost experimentally flexing against the muscle that aches and clenches around nothing, eager for more. You think he’s smirking by the way his lips form with his kisses, a little lopsided and devilish. (You wish you could see him.)

A single digit enters you then, to the third knuckle as if your body was made for this, for him. (It was.) He coos against your neck when a garbled mess skips off your tongue and nearly laughs when another slips in alongside it, turning the mess into nonsense. Despite how badly you want it - need it, really - it’s a sensation that’s too much and not enough all at once, toeing the line between pleasure and pain.

It was how Jungkook loved you - recklessly, shamelessly, in no half measures. With more love than you could ever hope for, giving you things you didn’t even know how to ask for.

“Relax, angel,” comes as he begins scissoring both fingers inside you, stretching you out with an otherworldly amount of care. Even your neglected clit is given some sort of relief - anything to ease the sting of two long fingers - his thumb gliding over it with each stretch of your walls. He knows exactly where to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and you’re melting, lost in the feeling.

When he’s had enough and he curls his fingers within you, seeking out that particular spot, you’re trembling, caught off guard. Heat builds quickly with the precision of which he taps against that spot; it starts low in your back, climbing each vertebrae of your spine until you’re quivering in his arms.

“K-Kook.” It’s both a plea and a demand, nonsensical as he guides you through your orgasm, keeping you upright against him when your knees feel like they might give out.

“I’ve got you.” And he does - hook, line, and sinker. He holds you steady as the pleasure crashes over your head, keeps you anchored to the here and now and the pleasure that rolls through you like a relentless wave. It sinks beneath your skin, settles heavy into every atom, and he never lets you go. He’s got you.

When sensation returns - slowly, so slowly it feels like you’re stuck in the Twilight Zone - you only want to turn. See him, hold him, whisper sweet nothings as you kiss him silly and thank him for his service. Instead, you’re held in place, two hands firm upon your hips even as you crane your neck to look over your shoulder at him. You should recognise the look on his face. “Kook?”

“My turn.” It’s a statement more than anything, a kind heads-up as he nudges you forward. There’s that same twinkle in his eye, the only source of light around the pupil that’s blown out, otherwise engulfing the constellations he so normally offers you. It’s a black hole and one you’d gladly get lost in. “Hands on the wall, baby.”

You’d never been one for shower sex - it’s too small a space, too much happening at once, a guaranteed freak accident waiting to happen - but you can’t deny him when he asks so nicely. (It really hadn’t been that nice but you were a certified sucker for one Jeon Jungkook.)

Hands find themselves on the wall, palms flat, fingers splayed. In the same instance you wiggle your hips, there’s a ghosting touch over your spine. It trails up and down, soothes the residual heat that lingers, and then slips higher, palm gentle over your throat. His thumb rubs reassuring circles over the nape of your neck, pressing gently into the sensitive spot behind your ear. It’s distracting and you realise much needed when he sinks into you with one fluid press of his hips, filling you so full you can’t help the gasp that bounds past your lips and bounces around the glass enclosure. “Oh fuck,” he sighs, his grip on your hip tightening incrementally.

He sounds like sin and feels like heaven.

“Always so good for me.” Another thing he says, often and without prompting. It still feels just as good the umpteenth time, sparking pride deep in your chest as he pulls out and drives himself back in, staring in rapt fascination at where your bodies meet. “Always so perfect for me.”

“Because I love you,” you quip, more than a little out of breath and jostled by the way he thrusts into you, measured and with enough force to shake your legs.

“Love you too, angel.” He doesn’t need to say it back - you know, can feel it by how he holds you, drives you to brink of insanity with his cock - but he does it anyway. He always says it back, no matter what, even if he’s half-asleep or distracted. He’ll never stop saying it.

The hand on your hip falls, slinks across your hip and between your legs, and you’re pushed further forward, his feet gently kicking yours further apart. Jungkook assaults your clit then, timing each pass with each thrust. An attempted glance back has fireworks going off before your eyes, specks of pleasure lighting up your vision; it’s a technicolour lightshow, framing the way his face scrunches, brow set and jaw hard. He’s determined, focused on bringing you to another orgasm before he hits his own high. You assist him as best you can, swiveling your hips and grinding back against him even as the coil pulls impossibly tight in your stomach, barely held together by threadbare strings.

“Kook,” you whine when the tension becomes too much, hands scrabbling across the wall of the shower. The same overwhelming tingle sparks beneath your skin, entire body trembling like a leaf when the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you at just the right angle.

He doesn’t relent, rhythm turning almost punishing as he drives you over the edge, launching you headlong into your second orgasm. You’re not sure how you stay upright, near sobbing when you crash into euphoric bliss, neither his fingers nor his thrusts ceasing. It’s almost too much and yet you know how close he is, so you push back, whimper words you know he wants to hear.

“P-please, Kook. Please.” You’re reaching a hand back, desperate to interlace your fingers with his. He gives in easily, catches your hand in his own and plants it on the swell of your hip as he chases his own release with desperation. “Come for me, Kook. Fill me up.”

Jungkook does just that, balls tight as he spills himself inside you, hand at your throat so tight you’re seeing stars. Somehow - with the feeling of him grinding into you, overcome with so much sensitivity - you come for the third time, crying very real tears as the sensation washes over you. It’s weaker than your first two but unravels you all the same, seeping the energy from your limbs. You’re grateful for how well he knows you and the fact he catches you before your arms collapse, pulling you to him with gentle movements.

“I love you,” he whispers against your temple, out of breath and sweat-slick despite the water that rains down upon you.

“I love you,” you answer, pressing a kiss to the hand that still twines with yours. “But I still need you to wash my hair.” It’s cheeky and you know it so you don’t even mind when he bites into the meat of your shoulder, leaving a pretty red mark that’ll bloom for the next few days. “Ow!”

“You’re a brat.” Said even as he’s reaching for your shampoo bar, teasing it through your roots with practiced movements. He’s careful despite his scathing tone, gentle despite how he glares at you from the corner of your periphery. Each tangle is neatly undone and not a single bubble gets in your eye, much to your joy.

“I thought I was an angel.” You’re taking a page out of his book, speaking in fluent pout.

He catches your lips with his own, pushing your lathered up head beneath the steady stream when he withdraws and speaks. Suds run across your cheeks, eyes shielded only by the hand he keeps steady along your hairline. Even so mean, your boyfriend is still terribly nice. “You’re my angel - but you’re still a brat.”

You can’t argue with that.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi

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murderousginger · 4 years

Text

Where is your boy tonight?

John Shelby x Russian Maid

Warnings: Alcohol. Drugs. Cussing. Explicit. It’s a Russian orgy party. They’re criminals guys, they do bad things.

Word Count: 3,432

Note: ... Well this went raunchy fast. I’m not a smut writer... so like... I’m sorry ahead of time. I’m posting this before I lose my nerve. In other news, I see you John girls, and I absolutely adore you. I’ll be working on prompts as quickly as I can. <3

"Remember ladies,"

Tatiana Patrovna strutted around the room of half dressed women in her lace lingerie, running her fingers along one maid's back as she bent over to put on stockings, across another maid's arm as she straightened her skirts, looking over each and every woman. Each woman had to be perfect. The princess resembled a general overlooking her troops before war. In a way, Anna supposed she was.

"These men don't know Russian women. They think women are soft. Vulnerable."

Tatiana's wild eyes danced along every strap, every lace garment, every painted face in front of her. The duchess had hired the best whores as maids, and paid them well when the entire family left Russia to come to England.

The staff already knew what was expected of them. The family was rich, bored. Bored Russian royalty was dangerous. The staff sated every whim. England would have crumbled by now if not, Anna mused as she watched Tatiana flit between each girl. She was already bored of this pep talk.

"Be who they want you to be," Tatiana's wide eyes shone dark as they darted around the room. "But when they cry in passion, learn from them. Then bring it to me."

Tonight was not a regular night. Three brothers were to join the festivities and every woman was to be on guard. Men often talked when their balls were empty and the lights were low. Men told secrets they wouldn't admit under torture. Men were weak that way.

Anna was just another maid. Another whore brought over from the old country, here to entertain the wild family and whomever else she was instructed to. She had been with them for years, watching the parties grow wilder with each passing phase.

In England, the family no longer seemed bored. Instead, they seemed like they could no longer return to what society would deem a normal life. Too many orgies, too many nights with a gun to their head laughing and hoping to find the correct chamber, too often feeling the rush of adrenaline and subsequent crash of psyche that came with the roaring highs of the drugs and sex. They were unhinged, mad with power, and she had decided long ago that she was fine with watching it play out.

Anna's dark hair and features that were common back home held a sense of wrongness in England. They stuck out against those that looked carefully enough. So far she has only been allowed outside of the house once, to get food from the market. Her dark eyes had watched all of the England common folk bustle about with curiosity. How did they live in comparison?

She had eyed a man with a fruit stand, watching him carefully as she traced over the options with her lithe fingers. He had nodded good morning to her and she smiled, lifting an apple from the stand and taking a large bite. She rolled the sweet fruit over her tongue as she decided to play with him. Why? Because why not.

He started to tell her the price of the apple, and she gulped the bite down, playfully spreading the apple juices that ran down her hand along her exposed throat. Now it was his turn to gulp.

She came back from the market late, with a bag of apples that she did not pay for and the knowledge that English men were far easier than she had imagined.

"Anna," Tatiana snapped, and she jerked her head out of her daydreams. "What did I say?"

Anna assessed the woman in front of her as she hiked her leg onto a chair to put her stockings on. She did not bother to have them perfect; they wouldn't be on long anyway. Tatiana watched her with cold eyes as she stepped in between her legs, her fingers dancing along Anna's knee and up the stocking to her inner thigh. Her fingers lazily played with the fabric between her legs as she waited for an answer.

"You want us to fuck the three Englishmen within an inch of their lives, so they are ruined from their wives and tell us every boring secret they have," Anna sounded, completely ignoring the cool fingers that traced her.

"No."

Tatiana teasing fingers swatted her. Anna flinched as the princess turned away and walked into the middle of the room.

"I said, the leader, the one that goes by Thomas, is mine."

Tatiana glared at every woman in the room, waiting for defiance. None spoke up.

"The other two, do whatever they want," she waved away the harshness she had just possessed. "What might blow their mind could be silly to you. Do it anyway, and do it with ferver."

A round of mumbled agreements echoed. The princess nodded, more to herself than the girls, and left without another word. The men were coming, and she had to get ready herself.

Anna finished putting on her maid skirt and top and sat in the seat, waiting as the other maids got ready and gossiped among themselves.

What could be so interesting about three Englishmen?

----

The Englishmen came through the doors with the princess and the duchess hours into when the party began. Murmurs between help warned that they had already been welcomed with mind games; the two royal women had stripped the brothers down to assess them, the men tearing buttons from shirts like wild animals. One or two maids had been given the shirts to mend already.

Russian men had already started on vodka, cocaine, and women that morning. The party had already risen to the haze of fucking in the open, half naked women parading around as they like by the time the three Shelbys eyed the room.

Anna had already entertained some of the men, but easily sloughed off their advances as the newcomers arrived. She had even managed to keep her maid outfit on. The stockings, however, had been long tossed into the fireplace.

She watched the men, bug-eyed by the general activities of the den.

"Fucking hell, Tommy," one breathed as he ran his hand along his neck.

"Remember, play nice," the dark haired one said, clear blue eyes coldly looking around.

Anna held her breath for the few seconds his eyes had looked at her. They were so calculating. That had to be the one Tatiana was after.

"Sit with me, Tommy," Tatiana simpered, taking the dark haired man's hand and leading him to a couch.

Another maid appeared beside the older looking brother with the mustache, leading him toward a chair. She brought him his own bottle of vodka. The last brother continued looking around the room, giggling uncomfortably but looking at everything like it was Christmas morning.

Anna slipped past the duchess, who took her place by the fireplace to watch, and picked up an almost full bottle of vodka from a bucket of ice that sat beside one of the couches with an maid and a Russian man fucking slowly. She ran her hand along the Shelby brother's bicep and squeezed, a coy smile across her lips as he whipped his head around to see who had approached him.

"Would you like some company? Vodka?" Anna said, lilting her accent at him.

His eyes looked over her outfit as she handed him the bottle of liquor.

"Yuh," he said stiffly, eyes not leaving her hem as he cleared his throat, "sure. I was just about to ask those two men if I could enter their poker game."

"Then you will need me," Anna said as she wrapped her arm around his and led him to the table. "It is strip poker. The girls undress as you play."

"I didn't realize," he said, looking over the two bearded men sitting at the table with half dressed women on their laps. "Name's John. Yours?"

Anna pulled the chair out for John, motioning for him to sit. As he did, she made herself comfortable sitting on his lap, moving his arm to her waist.

"He wants to play poker with you," she said to the men in Russian. "Deal him in. Let him win."

The men laughed amongst themselves and complied, throwing their cards in the center to start a new game. The women chittered on their laps but made no move to put clothing back on. Anna leaned against John, twisting to put her hand on his chest and her mouth to his ear.

"They're starting a new game for you now," she said, feeling him gulp as her lips brushed his ear. "And you may call me whatever you like, John. Who do you want me to be?"

Anna trailed a finger along his neck as she leaned away to look him in the eye. John's blue eyes were wide and watching the table where his cards lay. With a deep breath he met her dark eyes with his bright blue ones.

"Let's start with your name, yeah?" A playful smirk appeared on his face as his grip tightened on her waist. "And we'll go from there."

"Anna," she deftly moved his hand from her waist to her thigh along the hem of her short skirt as she leaned forward to pick up his cards and handed them to him. "Better drink to catch up. The men don't like sober players."

"Fucking hell," he breathed, handing the cards back to her and picking up the bottle he had sat beside his chair.

He guzzled it down and the men made cheering noises, squeezing their women to their laps. One woman was completely topless, only her skirt and panties on while the man bounced her on his knee to watch her tits jiggle. The other woman had only her top and panties on, but her man had become impatient and was groping through her clothing as she giggled.

Anna innocently shifted in his lap, trying to tempt John as he drank nearly a third of the bottle. His hand squeezed her thigh as a warning and she laughed as he set the bottle down.

"That enough for you fucks?" He growled as he took his cards roughly from Anna's hands. "Let's play."

Anna would move occasionally in his lap, but used the game to watch the room. To watch the other brothers.

"I sewed your buttons back on," the maid said as she ran her hands across the older brother's chest, "I wanted to make sure I did a good job."

Arthur took a swig of the bottle of vodka in his hand as he watched her hesitantly.

"You did a good job," he breathed.

She lifted a button up, circling it in her fingers deftly.

"No, I did not."

The maid took the older his hand and guided him up from his chair and out of the room. Anna smirked.

The other one, Tommy, the leader, was leaned on a couch, Tatiana laying against him under his arm. She looked bored.

"Why do you play games with people with no benefit to you?" Tommy asked, annoyance across his face as he took another drink from his glass.

"In Russia because we were bored," Tatiana said succinctly. "In England because we don't know how to stop."

Anna moved on, ignoring the rest of the conversation to stop herself from rolling her eyes. She looked back to the table as John cheered, his arm squeezing her closer as he threw his cards at the table.

"We won, Anna," he cheered again as she looked to the two sullen Russians for confirmation.

"That means," she said, softly pressing his arm to release her, "that I no longer need my top."

Anna grabbed the fabric and lifted it above her head, throwing it to the topless girl on the other side of the table with a giggle. John's hand stilled on her thigh as he leaned back with a frown.

"When you win here," Anna said, twisting in his arms to face him, "your whore loses clothes, not your opponents."

His ears turned a light pink as she shimmied at him with a laugh, her head thrown back.

"There's rarely a game that doesn't end in fucking."

John's eyes were fixed on her, and she gave a throaty chuckle as his hand grabbed blindly for the bottle at the floor. He was attracted to her, at least. The pressure in his pants would not lie about that. He took another large gulp of vodka as the cards were dealt again.

Anna watched as one of the men, the one with the girl who only had panties and a shirt on, began whispering in the girl's ear. She nodded, stood up and turned around to kneel before him and undo his pants.

She looked back at John, who tried to ignore the scene in front of him as he picked up his cards, but his eyes wandered to her bobbing head.

A quick sweep of the room told Anna that Tommy and Tatiana were also gone. These brothers are shy, she noted.

The Russian men began muttering as John threw his hand at the table.

"Won again," he said and looked at the Russian who muttered in front of him, his hands grabbed the back of the woman's bobbing head to bare her down on him as he gritted his teeth. Anna smiled, earning John's gaze that couldn't help but flicker to her chest before he met her eyes again.

"Lucky for you," she said as she stood in front of him, topless with her hands at the waist of her skirt. "I have no underwear."

She stepped out of the skirt and stepped closer to sit on his knee. His eyes were wide and his mouth slack as she straddled his leg facing him. She playfully grinded against his thigh, letting his eyes be glued to the motion, before she leaned back and took his new cards from the table. She stretched, watching his gaze travel up her naked body as she fanned his cards in front of her face to hide her smile. He was too easily shocked.

"What happens if I win again?" He panted, licking his lips as he reached for the cards.

Anna pulled them away from his reach and pushed herself up his thigh, twisting so their cheeks touched as she showed him his cards.

"You, my Englishman," Anna said breathily into his ear. "Win all three of us, or whoever you wish. I can promise you, you want me."

John's eyes started to dilate as his mouth parted.

"Oh."

The game, -- what little it could be called that -- was short lived. One man was completely engrossed in the lips around his cock, the other taken to pinching his maid's nipples until she screamed as she bounced on his knee, and John was uncomfortably frozen under Anna as she writhed on his thigh and moaned into his ear, completely breaking the concentration he was trying so hard to have on the card game.

When the men finally threw all their cards down, John turned pale when the other men grumbled again and quickly became engrossed with their women.

Anna looked over her shoulder to the cards on the table and smiled a Cheshire cat grin.

"You won."

Before he could answer, she lifted herself from his soaked pant leg and grabbed his chin. He stood, meeting her eyes as she led him backwards, blindly reaching behind her for the door to a side den she knew was there.

"You seem to be the type to want privacy," Anna purred. "Should I call the others?"

"No, no," John breathed, looking into her black eyes.

"As I thought," she said and opened the door and led him in. She let go of his face as he stepped through the threshold.

John took a deep breath as he turned and closed the door before he turned back to her. She was still so close, he went to take a step back and hit the door.

"Look, I--"

"Tell me what you like," she whispered as she pressed against him.

"Have a wife, Esme--"

"She doesn't have to know," she said, leaning to run her tongue along the shell of his ear, "unless she likes to know about these things."

"No, she's just had a child--" he stuttered, trying to grab at Anna's forearms and push her back. Just a little space. To breathe. She was so close.

"So you've been without, poor man," she pouted mockingly, pressing against his hold. "Let me make it better. Do you love this wife? Do I resemble her?"

"Well you're both dark haired--"

"Do you love her?" Anna's eyes flashed as she smiled, grabbing his hand and pressing it toward her neck. "Do you hate her? Have you ever just wanted to squeeze the life--"

"Stop!" He bellowed as he pushed her back. He stomped past her, near the fireplace in the room, as he paced, muttering to himself and rubbing his face with his hands.

Anna heard "fucking Russians" and "Tommy said they were fucking insane" mixed in with the rumblings, his tone frantic. He was coming undone at the seams, she thought, too much pressure and he'll break -- but not how Tatiana wants him to.

She rushed to him, hushing him as she stopped his pacing.

"That's enough, John," she soothed, his eyes wildly looking around the room at anything but her. "I'm only here to make you happy. What will make you happy, hmm?"

"Just let me fucking breathe, woman," he snapped as he stormed away from her.

"Alright," Anna said as she crossed her arms and looked around the room. She shuffled in place uneasily, rubbing her arms as she began to notice the chill of the room.

"Oh for fucks sake," he muttered, looking at her and then darting his eyes away as he took his jacket off. "Here, wear this, come to the fire. You must be freezing prancing around like that, yeah?"

She hesitantly came forward and allowed John to drape his jacket across her shoulders before she murmured a thanks and wrapped it tighter.

After a few moments of silence, Anna dared to speak.

"What now, then?"

John exhaled shakily, scratching his neck and stealing a sideways look at the Russian in his coat.

"They expect you to fuck me, don't they?" He whispered. Anna hesitantly nodded, earning a nod in return as John ran his hand over his face.

"And my brothers will never let me hear the end of it if I don't," he mumbled.

"Do you… not like girls?" Anna said slowly. "I can call in one of the men--"

"God no," John laughed. "I just… it don't feel right…"

Anna shifted.

"Is it me?"

John's eyes softened as he looked at her and smiled.

"You're bloody gorgeous, darling," his smile turned lopsided. "It's not that."

Silence filled the air again. John exhaled.

"How about this," he said, his hands pushing the air down to the floor. "How about we walk out there and say we did. I'll tell them all that you sucked the soul out of me cock with those lips of yours, and you can tell your princess I cried like a little baby, or whatever will make her happy, yeah?"

Anna nodded.

"We'll go out there, you can continue to be my girl for the night, and no one knows any different. Keep my coat till the morning if you like."

"Alright, John."

His face brightened and he held out his arm. Anna stepped forward and slid under it, smiling at the odd man at her side.

"Let's go back, then."

----

"The old one," the maid said as she stood beside Anna as Tatiana ate breakfast at the table, "Arthur. He was hesitant but bred me like a dog. I think he whimpered a few times, but it only made him rougher."

Tatiana hummed as she drank her tea.

"And the other?"

"The youngest one is named John," Anna said with a yawn.

He refused to fuck me because he loves his wife, Esme, and they recently had a child. One of many. He was polite and attracted but wouldn't budge.

"What about him?" Tatiana snapped. "Out with it."

Anna frowned.

"He was a fast lay," she said. "He came in my mouth after two strokes. He was so spent he never touched me after. He cries when he cums."

"How boring," Tatiana laughed. "I suppose I did save the best for myself."

"Yes, princess," the maids droned. They were dismissed with a wave.

#john shelby #tommy shelby #john shelby x reader #arthur shelby #tatiana petrovna #tatiana petrovna x tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic

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allstarsstorymode867 · 3 years

Text

All-STARS -STORY MODE- CHAPTER 18 PART 2

Part 3

Part 1

This is a continuation of the first part.

-Back to the rest of the Group in the hardware store-

10:48

“Do any of you believe in the existence of evil?”

Ash had asked the whole group that question after they got back without U!Takeo, after they had to explain what had happened back in Wonderland Plaza. “A force of nature capable of giving rise to all things wicked?” his back was back to everyone with his hands on his hips when he asked further, waiting for an answer.

“Most of us do.” Primis Richtofen answered as he was seated on a crate he shared with the Engineer, “Back in 1918, before the end of World War I, me, Doctor Maxis und our men had gone to Excavation Site 64, we had uncovered an ancient tomb vith large amounts of Element 115 inside, from vhat ve had found is very likely from zhe middle ages, zhe statues zhat looked exactly like us und elemental stones zhat can be used by staffs.”

“It was long before we got involved, German.” Primis Nikolai growled in anger as he glared at him, “You and others had uncovered and created something that should never be unburied and undisturbed but you went ahead and unleashed the evil upon the land with no second thoughts!”

Diego was silent as Ash turned around to face them with his arms crossed, Engineer then spoke up “Before all of this, we had met and seen things on every Halloween, most of it was normal before but some of ‘em ain’t good.”

Ash looked at everyone as he explained “Guys, listen to me and what I had gone through in my own experience, alright?”

“It happened 30 years ago, my friends and I spended the night at the cabin,”

[Digitally drawn by Meaghan “Icefir” Halter, images, screenshots and movie poster belongs to Sam Raimi and the one and only; Bruce Campbell.]

The walls shown the memories of Ash’s younger years with his former girlfriend, a friend with a girlfriend of his own, and his sister in the car riding into the woods and arriving to the old cabin behind everyone as they settled to listen to his story

“We shouldn’t be looking but we have found the book… Necronomicon Ex-Mortis, Book of The Dead. Created by the Dark Ones as it was inked in blood and bound in human skin. Having the power to resurrect demons and summon the powers of darkness.” as the scene of these memories changed into a book, like Ash had said himself; the book was bound in human skin and flesh, and it was inked in blood of the fallen to write and drew the book in as Ash and his friend, Scotty, looked at it before they found a reel-to-reel tape player with the type left behind.

“The professor, Raymond Knowby, long before we got there, had taken it to the cabin to study but when he read the box’s text out, he was never seen again.”

Scene had rewinded to an elderly man, Professor Raymond Knowby, his wife, daughter and assistant wandering into the ruins of a castle until they discovered Necronomicon Ex-Mortis and along with a dagger, both of them were covered in dust before it showed the cabin once again as the windows was glowing light through them.

“When we played the tape Knowby left behind, we unleashed something dark, something evil that lasts for centuries that lives in the woods.”

Then we are shown a flashback of Ash having pinned his possessed hand onto the floor with a knife in order for it to stay in place while he uses a chainsaw to sever it while blood- his blood, sprayed onto his face as he screams in agony.

“It got into my hand and went bad so I lopped it off.”

We then saw into the evil entity's point of view flying and dashing through the forest as it was going towards the same cabin and it broke down the back door, flashbacks shown the images of Scotty, Sherry, and Cheryl had been possessed; Cheryl was the first one to be possessed, locked in the fruit cellar of the cabin as she was banging under the chained up cellar door for most of the night. Sherry was then the next unfortunate victim of the Kandarian Demon when she was attacked in her room and eventually Scotty was too the next one to go as he was severely injured when he tried to find an alternate route back to the outside and he was eventually resurrected into a Deadite.

“It then got to my friends, twisting them, changing them, they made them… less than human. And Linda, she…”

We are then presented to one more flashback of Linda in her night gown as an unseen force breaks through the glass while she screams and then presented to the now Deadite Linda being decapitated by Ash with a shovel and her head flew upward and back down to him in a struggle.

“...And then soon, things escalated quickly after that.” he finished.

“Escalated quickly?” Primis Nikolai commented on Ash’s story, the way he looked at him now as the Russian suspects that this Necronomicon Ex-Mortis may have something to do with this and Ash Williams may somewhat be involved with it.

“A lot of sh!t, I was the only one that managed to escape and now all because of a screwup I’ve made; read from that book, one lousy time, evil has found not only me but all of you somehow. and I am now, as I was thinking, responsible for all of this.” Ash somewhat confessed with his hands raised and then fell down onto his sides, everyone looked at him as silence remained until U!Dempsey said “Huh, funny that you were the reason why we are here in the first place.” as he gave him the stink eye while Ash then remarks “You don’t think to catch a rabbit once it’s on the wrong foot, do you?”

“Okay, that’s it; I’m shooting him.” before he got out a pistol and then aimed it at Ash who got his “Boomstick” out and the only one that prevented this was the Engineer who stood between them and said “Hold on, let’s not make it worse, boys.” with his hands raised in a gesture of calming the situation or an attempt to calm it down.

“There’s gonna be other theories, if what Ash says about the Necronomicon story didn't have anything to do with this then what we are dealing with is worse than zombies and Deadites.” Shaw had to explain as he stood up from his place towards the standoff between El Jefe and the marine.

“Examples?” Corporal asked as he still was looking at Ash, “Stanton may have a point.” Primis Richtofen added with must, “Apothicons are the second one to be on the list, as of now the Book of The Dead is top of it but now with other theories that anyone want to share?”

David Tapp then spoke up with raw rash, “Jigsaw may be behind this zombie outbreak but now when I think about it, I don’t think that kidnapping people through interdimensional means was a way for him to act out his games on.”

More and more theories are coming up more in people's minds as Ash and Tank had to lower their weapons to listen.

“A part of us believed that the Order was somewhat behind all of this,” Diego finally spoke up before two of his teammates could, “If this was their plan the entire time, then we must surely do something about it.”

“Maybe Saxon’s mistake,” Medic suggested, “He might have caused a universal rift in our universe to yours.”

“Stop, stop, stop!” Miss Pauling interjected, “It could be Gray Mann, he is the only one that is advanced with machinery and technology, maybe he could be responsible for all of this.”

“But it doesn't explains how those creepy-looking f*@#ers that brought us here, ones with jack-o-lantern faces.” U!Dempsey had poked a hole into these conspiracies'.

“Still,” Bill finally spoke after they all talked, “Last thing I remembered was turning on the generator to help my teammates to get away from zombies and then getting the wind out of me before things turned back.”

David Tapp, up until now, looked at Bill with concern and said with hasite “Did you think that you’d died?”

“I think so, Detective.” Bill Overbeck had confirmed and then the store went still, silent, “I think I had died too but how are we even alive?” David said as he placed a hand on his forehead as if he was pressing against a headache.

“How the hell are you even here, breathing, not undead?” U!Dempsey asked, adding further questions but Primis NIkolai already figured out how, “You were both resurrected. By something.”

“Resurrected?” They both said, not believing the Russian but before he could say anything, a knock was heard and he honestly had no idea who got out a shotgun as a bang was heard and split the wooden door and a yell was heard.

“Engie!” Ash yelled to whoever saw him with the Frontier Justice, “Sorry, Ah panicked!”

“Stand down!” A familiar voice was heard from the back of the door, their ears perked up as P!Richtofen questioned “Takeo?”

As if it was automatic, Pyro had gotten a flamethrower and then walked over to the door as P!Nikolai tried to stop them but Spy stopped him. “Don't recall what happened in the Wonderland Plaza.”

Nikolai looked at him for a moment and said “Do you think Mercer had found us?”

“Oui., I believe so, if I am wrong, it could be Takeo.”

Pyro slowly grabbed the handle and then slowly pulled it open and pointed at whoever it was on the other side of the door with the weapon. On the other side was Frank West who had his hands up and beside him was Ultimis Takeo who tried to ushered to the pyromaniac but then realized two reasons: his encounter with the shapeshifter with biomass and his allies may had relayed this to the rest of the group.

“Pyro, lower the flamethrower, we are not like him.” he reasoned as Pyro looked at U!Takeo with suspicion, he carefully walked over to the Pyro as slowly as possible. When he got close only for Pyro to see more than Frank, and then rolled his sleeve a bit for the same vine to present a flower for them as proof.

It was good enough for Pyro but not for Frank West yet the Samurai were able to have their back turn and they talked quietly as the photojournalist watched rather dismayed with tribulation.

“He?”

“Hai.”

“But what if he’s?”

“He’s not Mercer, if he’s him, he could’ve consume me rhen he had the chance but he didn’t on rhe rhole way here.”

“He’s not him?”

“Iie, his name is Frank West-san, not Alex Mercer.”

Frank examined the private conversion between the two with loathsome pause while these two whispered to each other with no end it seems, Pyro seemed to be in two minds on the dilemma until the delay that took 5 minutes they finally turned to Frank West, saying nothing but Pyro moved and lets Takeo in, he turned and looked at Frank before saying “Are you coming?”

Frank was a startled at first as he was be bit suspicious of this before he cautiously walked into the hardware store, so far on his first day; he had countered a mad man known to him as a Psycho in form of a gun shop owner when he was out trying to find more unlucky survivors in the zombie after he helped Brad to try take down a terrorist reasonable for this.

He was thinking that these people could have something to do with this outbreak as well when he entered the store and there were people inside, he recognized them right away as they were with the other townspeople before the barricade was broken in but there are two old-aged men who are unfamiliar.

“Well, hello there, stranger.” Diego was the first one to greet him, “Hey, you must be the ones from the Entrance Plaza, I guess they did get away rather all.”

“And you are?” Ash asked as he crossed his arms while he looked at him. “I’m Frank West,” Frank introduced himself, “Right now I rather want to know than exchanging pleasantly.”

“Right on the spot,” Bill said as he stood up, “Are you writing a story about this?”

“I’m a photojournalist, just listen, your friend has led me here, I guess to convince all of you to come with me.”

“To where?” U!Dempsey said with suspicion, “As I recall nothing in this mall is safe.”

“There is,” Frank rebuked, “An security room was wielded shut so none of these walking corpses could get in.”

“Welded shut?” Scarlett perked up, that caught their attention so the Engineer urged “Is it true?”

“A Janitor, Otis, had wielded it shut with a blowtorch to make sure none of them would get in, that would be the only place left that could be safe.” He explained to the group who were interested in this conversion.

Miss Pauling looked at him before pulling Primis Richtofen, and Scarlett away, “Guys, a word please?” and they were on the other side of the store right away. “What do you zhink, Frank vas telling zhe truth or…?”

“If he was lying, he couldn’t spill it out. There’s hardly a window there and…”

“If the door was wielded shut from the inside, how did he manage to get out of the room?” Scarlett had to inject the two, “And I want to know how.”

“Still, better than being here with the dead.” Miss Pauling as she and P!Richtofen looked at her with treaty, “If ve follow him, he could-”

“He had said rhe “helicopter” ras coming,” another voice joins in the meeting of theirs, they looked and saw him, Takeo who was watching them with arms crossed across his chest.

“Vhat/what?” the three said at once.

Ultimis Takeo walks over to them, stopping once he got close enough to them, “He had spoken of his “ride ``coming rithin three days. Rhis is how he had planned; find the story to make sure it will be worth for these three days.”

“Why can’t it be three hours?” Miss Pauling thought with hefty impatience, they were silent for a moment and soon, Richtofen said “Is his escape route reliable?”

The warrior nodded, “Hai, story was the reason he is here.”

The three looked at each other with the thoughts, possibly thinking it over about it but you could ask why couldn’t Primis Richtofen use the Summoning Key?

Well, he had tried earlier but for a shocking reason, Key didn’t open up the portal like before. He had tried and tried but it failed each one time.

Primis Nikolai had berated him on this but it wasn’t honestly his fault, the key wasn’t working and something was very wrong.

This seemed to be the only option for them now, much as he doesn’t like it but he had to agree to the deal. “Alright.”

“Okay.”

“Sure.”

U!Takeo looked content with their decision, but not before Richtofen stated “But if ve all had to vait for three days for it to arrive, ve'd need supplies.”

“Brad’s gonna handle that.” Frank had came around the corner where the four were, “Frank, you see-”

“I kinda heard the whole thing, Tak,” Frank had confessed, no joke, he had listened to what he said, U!Takeo felt a bit bad for what he had overheard and looked at him to say something but Frank continued “I'm gonna check if everyone could fit inside the helicopter, afterall, my guy is reliable.”

“Well, Brad is going to need help with supplies.” Scarlett suggested, “Where is here now?”

“Well…”

12:14

Two hours it took for a few of them to get in the security room with much supplies they needed but of course, they had to share them with the survivors Frank had rescued for the three days as Tank had tied his jacket around his waist as he had a black tank top with his dog tags is standing guard of the vent, making sure that there won’t be any shambling zombies won’t get inside the room through the vents.

Brad had got back with more supplies as Tank was pressing his back against the wall close to the door to the monitor room, Brad looked and then said “Yo guys! Gimme a hand here!’

Dempsey and Frank walked over to Brad who had the supplies in a box that was sitting inside the air duct, Frank grabbed a cola from it but Brad gently grabbed him by the arm and made the photojournalist look at him.

“Wh-what gives?”

Brad grabs the soda and pulls it away from him, “Considering the helicopter, bringing more hands here and all, we have to work together.” Brad said as Ultimis Dempsey nodded and added “But that doesn’t mean that we all tell you anything of what was going on.”

“The corporal had the point; things are classified for security reasons and things that, if we do tell you, cannot be printed as necessities.”

“Yeah?” Frank sledded with his arms crossed, “So?”

“So, we just want you to appreciate the situation.” Brad answered as he and Tank looked at him, Frank looked up at the ceiling and said “Well, we are all trapped in a mall with a bunch of zombies.” before looking at them again “Yeah, I think I appreciate the situation just fine.”

“Zombies….” The Afican man looked down at the floor before looked back to Frank, “I still can’t believe all of this is happening, you know, it seems unreal.”

“But this is reality, we know how to take them out.” Tank blissfully thinks as Brad gives the cola back to Frank West and carries the box to the monitor room as the marine goes with him.

“Ya alright there?”

“Yeah, we got it.” Dempsey answered as he opened the door to let Brad and himself in while Frank opened his drink and sipped it down.

Dempsey went into the hallway as where the rest of the group was, Shaw was making another batch of Acid Bombs with Ash looking over at his work before looking over at the old man and greeted with “Making new friends, already?”

“Hahaha, go f*** yourself, Ash.” mocked Dempsey with a sneer as he walked to P!Richtofen with Scarlett and Pauling on what they will be doing once the rescue arrives. Tapping him on the shoulder, making him jump a little but realized that it’s Dempsey.

“It was a tiring day, too bad that the stuff we could use is back at the hardware store.”

“Ve could always come back to it vhen ve go out of zhe room vhen ve still can but on limit of three days,” P!Richtofen recounted with the 1940’s marine, “Ve sleep for about 4 hours per night to switch shifts, ve vill figure out more by morning.” he then turned to walk over to his own living place with little supplies he had carried with him as U!Takeo nodded in agreement.

4:56

Four hours passed with David Tapp, P!Nikolai and Richtofen and Engineer kept awake, ready for action while others slept. U!Dempsey was up to get ready for watch as he cracked his knuckles as Miss Pauling was up as well with her legs against her chest, looking down.

“Your turn was up, German.” It was Primis Nikolai who looked over and said this to Richtofen to rest, with a nod as he got and then walked away so Ultimis Dempsey could take watch. He looked back and saw David Tapp doesn’t let anyone have a turn, just kept watching that lead having five of them, one being the Pyro, sat with them.

“He must’ve been determined.” he thought as he walked over to his sleeping quarters, gently sitting down on the floor and sat down with ease next to Bill. The old man looked at him and said “Did you figure out what the hell was going on?”

P!Richtofne looked at William with confusion at first, “Hmm?”

“The whole “Interdimensional Time travel” bullsh!t?”

“I do not know yet, William.”

“Not even the parts on how me and Tapp are still alive?”

“I do not know about zhat either, if I do know, I vould.” P!Richtofen replied with skepticism. Bill looked at him with his arms crossed, he had been through hell and back in a form of war through Vietnam and Green Flu zombies with his teammates whom he will now consider them as friends and he hoped they are still alright right now after… What he must do to ensure their safety.

“Doc,” Overbeck insisted, “I am not that stupid, if this… Whatever is happening, did those “App-o-con” creatures have something to do with this?”

“I believe so, William-”

“Just call me “Bill,” Ed.��

“Bill,” The Doctor corrected himself, “As much as I vould love tell you everything about vhat had been going on und vhy zhis is happening in zhe vhy is has been, I couldn’t find zhe words for that. Time travel und all zhat had happened, vhy zhe dead vas resurrected but as a normal person, not a zombie is beyond my level of reasons.”

Bill seemed to get that but then said “Maybe it was out of no reason whatsoever or just brought me and David back to live on purpose, a bullsh!t purpose.” before turning over to Richtofen before he lays down.

“Besides, I didn’t sign up to be in this hellhole but I’m here anyway.” before closing his eyes and then starts trying to close his eyes to sleep.

Primis Richtofen looked down at the floor as he wondered back at what had happened at the hardware store. “But it doesn't explains how those creepy-looking f*@#ers that brought us here, ones with jack-o-lantern faces.” U!Dempsey had poked a hole into these conspirities.

Frustration, irritation and condemned in this dimension, he groaned in fervid and furious at this sudden change to his plans to save the universe as something had not only brought him and his fri- Allies to do god-knows-what, but everyone else getting involved in this agenda as well. He fully believed that Dr. Monty would do something about this but…. A thought came to him, it should’ve been sooner but his mind had heaved it from it too late; Why wasn’t Dr. Monty doing anything right now? Putting a stop to this?

Edward was amazed yet uncertain by it. If Dr. Monty knew what was holding him and his team up and figured it out, he could do something to cut this situation short, get everyone home and resume what they were doing but why wasn’t he?

Maybe, just maybe, something must’ve figured out that Dr. Monty could try but must’ve shuttled him out from this strange modern dimension as a precautionary measure if he did find out what was going on. Or maybe it had found him, Dr. Maxis, Samantha and-

“Nein, Edward, do not overzhink it…” he swallowed those thoughts before they could get more avid. Shaking his head at this as he closed his eyes to let out a sigh.

“Hopefully soon, ve could be able to get back vith zhe rest of our groups und figure what is going on yet most critically: vho vas behind it all.” he whispered to himself as he laid down at last.

Using a handbag filled with clothes from the store as a makeshift pillow for his displeasure yet usual slumber, it took him a jiffy for him to find comfort on the floor until he eventually found it and fell off into a slumber….

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yoificfinder · 4 years

Note

Hi! Hope you’re doing well! Do you have any recs for Magic AU fics? Thanks in advance and stay safe! 💖

Hi nonnie, here are some fics where they have magic--categorized into HP/Hogwarts AU and Other Magic AUs (I excluded superhero AUs tho as there's already a masterlist for that):

HP/Hogwarts AU

Canis Major by @yuripaws [G, 8K]

Viktor Nikiforov: Head Boy. Quidditch Captain. Outstanding in all his O.W.L.s. Excelling in all his N.E.W.T. classes.

Something about his eyes reminds Prefect Yuuri Katsuki of the strange dog that likes to patrol the corridors with him at night.

darling, we both know by @astoryaboutwar [E, 31K]

You can grow up with someone and be simultaneously better and worse for it.

(Or: the HP Wizarding World (not set in Hogwarts!) AU where they meet as preteens, fuck as teenagers, fall in love as adults, and occasionally find time to magically figure skate.)

Defying Gravity series by rinsled05 / @dreaming-fireflies [T and E, 58K]

Summary of first fic:

Imagine if Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, after the demise of you-know-who, started accepting foreign students in an effort for greater unity among wizarding communities around the world. Imagine that, in this changing climate of diversity and social acceptance, Hogwarts also decided to host an exchange programme with select students from Durmstrang Institute and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic for a semester.

Imagine, then, if a young Japanese wizard by the name of Yuuri Katsuki had transferred to Hogwarts to escape his past, just in time to meet a Russian Quidditch player who would blow open the very doors he was trying so desperately to close.

A story of love, magic, and teenagers trying to find themselves.

Falling For Your Charms by Reiya / @kazliin [T, 32K]

Professor Katsuki’s crush on Professor Nikiforov is supposed to be a great secret.

So naturally, the whole school knows

Open At The Touch by @kiaronna [T, 6K]

Maybe Nishigori got ahold of a lock of Viktor's hair, and some Polyjuice potion. Maybe it's all an elaborate prank. With this as his only reasonable explanation, he steps forward, snags Viktor by his robes and tugs him in.

"Nishigori," he says in Japanese, "this prank isn't funny. Your English is better than when I left, though."

"Ah," says the fake Viktor Nikiforov in English, voice dipping, and is he blushing? "What was that?"

"Maybe I got hit in the head by a Bludger," Yuuri muses. Viktor's smile grows ever wider, tightening at the edges. "Maybe I never came home from my international Quidditch competition. Maybe I'm lying in the hospital right now, hallucinating."

There has to be an explanation, mystical and magical or medical, for the best Seeker in the Quidditch world showing up at his door; something besides his portrait, which won't stop talking to Yuuri anyway.

Technical Support by @possibleplatypus [T, 18K]

Research had needed a new field-tester (they always needed new testers, as most Aurors would “test” an artefact only once before screaming to be reassigned), and thus the most decorated Auror in recent history was currently shouting into a modified “smart phone.”

Viktor was quite certain that phones were not alive, so he did not understand how they could be intelligent. He found that when it came to Muggles, it was best not to think too deeply into things.

“THIS IS NIKE,” Viktor bellowed into the thin, rectangular case. “CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?”

The Dance of the Veela by @satbiym [M, 17K] *WIP

Listen, Victor has a lot on his plate, not only is he dealing with the dreaded Veela Maturity in a den of iniquity (ahem Hogwarts ahem), but he also has to find an appropriate Consort for his upcoming Veela Maturity Ball, held during the Winter Solstice, amongst the hundreds of people he is surrounded by everyday.

But How Does He Know?

A Fairy Tale in 3 Arcs.

Viktor is Luna Lovegood: The AU series by seventhstar / @pencilwalla [T, M, and E, 33K]

Magical theory nerd Viktor is determined to win quidditch prodigy Yuuri Katsuki's heart. Luckily, Yuuri is too busy crushing on him to notice his throngs of admirers.

warm-up hogwash series by antikytheras [G, 16K]

Summary of first fic:

Viktor Nikiforov is a genius. He tops the level without having to study and he can perform most spells without his wand. He was the second-ever first-year Seeker in the school, and the first Slytherin one at that. He’s a Parselmouth and he’s tamed the other basilisk hidden in the school’s plumbing. He has washboard abs and really defined hipbones. He’s the only son in a long line of pureblood Slytherins and he’s half-Veela and he can speak Mermish and he was born as Voldemort’s secret daughter which is why he’s prettier than half of the girls in school and—

‘Where do you even get all these?’ Viktor asks, eyebrows drawn together in bemusement. 'I'm not even a pureblood, I'm Muggleborn.'

Other Magic AUs

And Miles to Go Before I Sleep by @orchids-and-fictional-cities, @iruutciv [M, 41K]

Katsuki Yuuri has been cursed to spread misery and grief to those who dare to come close to him. Viktor Nikiforov has been sentenced to wander the earth, unable to die, granting wishes to mortals in the hopes that one of them might give his life meaning in exchange.

They meet in a tempest of April snow.

in distant castles mirrors broke by lily_winterwood / @omgkatsudonplease [E, 7K]

Yuuri had discovered his powers at a very young age.

For as long as he remembers, people have talked in hushed whispers around him, about him. About how the Northern Lights had shone at the hour of his birth, about the stars that had burst into existence alongside him. Yuuri has known, from a young age, that he’s destined for some sort of greatness.

The problem is, he’s not sure what sort of greatness it is, or if it’s even really greatness at all. After all, everyone says that sort of stuff about princes.

in which there is a moving castle by @fireblazie [T, 3K]

When Viktor opens his eyes, Yuri is staring at him with a horrified expression.

Granted, Yuri greets him with that face every time Viktor opens his mouth, so Viktor doesn’t quite grasp the gravity of the situation at first. But then it comes to him in stages: a gradual ache settling in his lower back, a peculiar stiffness in his joints, and, most horribly of all—

He runs towards the nearest mirror and freezes at the reflection that gapes back at him.

His hair.

Viktor screams.

(A sort of Howl's Moving Castle AU.)

My Name On Your Lips by @feels-like-fire [E, 108K]

Yuuri Katsuki has been betrothed to the High King's son, Victor, since he was just a child; furthermore, as an omega, he's forbidden from practicing magic in combat. For years, he's been able to put off the former because the Prince was traveling abroad, and gotten around the latter by practicing with his mentor in secret.

Now Victor Nikiforov has finally returned home, and Yuuri is being summoned to the capital for their wedding. He needs a plan to put off marriage long enough to find a way to break the betrothal, while keeping his practicing from being discovered.

If only the Prince didn't have other ideas.

Roses of May by @cuttlemefishwrites [E, 46K] *WIP

At age five, all children are assessed for talent and beauty in the City of Hasetsu and the other eight cities of the Empire. Every year, five are branded with the mark of a rose before being carded off to the Emperor’s palace where they are trained to become Roses, or sacrifices to be sent every May to the Ice Spirit that lives in the castle at the top of the mountain. Roses never return, except for Katsuki Yuuri, who shocks the Empire when he appears again two years after his departure with a silver crown on his head and a blond baby in his arms, demanding the Emperor step down or face the wrath of his husband, the Ice King. But, not everything is what it seems.

to the water's edge by @ebenroot [T, 84K]

Once upon a time, in a secluded tower that rests upon a cliff and is surrounded by tall trees, there lives a young man that faces a certain conundrum:

Katsuki Yuuri has fallen in deeply in love with a man he has never met.

Your Breath, My Skin by @lavenderprose [T, 5K]

"What did you do?" Yuuri mutters as Viktor takes off his coat and scarf.

Viktor's mouth moves soundlessly for a moment, then gestures for a pencil and pad. Yuuri yanks his way through several drawers and finally finds a grocery list pad and an old charcoal. He throws them in Viktor's direction and shuffles into the kitchen to turn the kettle on. Viktor tugs on his sleeve eventually, like a timid child, and Yuuri turns to see what he's written.

"A succubus?" Yuuri demands, teeth going on edge. "Viktor, oh my God. What did you do?"

Or: Viktor needs to stop finding new and creative ways to get himself hexed. Yuuri is Suffering.

---

ETA - Other people's rec:

A Story of Withcraft and Wizardy by @sophialala1 (She also recs other magic/fantasy AU fics in the replies and here's her ao3)

Magic & Ice by @ajwolf84

when the ice melts in the snow (that's when you'll love me) by lilithiumwords / @amberstarfight

Thanks for the rec, @alistairvt! ❤

#yuri on ice #yoi #yoi fic rec #victuuri #harry potter au #hogwarts au #magic

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csykora · 4 years

Text

[A newspaper photo of Sergei (front, tits out) and other members of the Soviet national team running on an outdoor track around their training compound.]

[A newspaper photo of the players taking a quick break, skates and socks on. Tretiak is standing over them and Sergei is seated in the middle, smiling at someone out of frame.]

“Camp” was literal. For nine to eleven months of the year, the players lived in compound inside 12-foot wrought iron walls in the woods of Arkhangelskoye, which had once been the country getaway spot for Moscow elite.

Coach Tikhonov viewed physical development as the first, last, and only priority. He took notes on everyone’s progress, or failure, constantly, in little notebooks. For lack of any other mental stimulation, Igor started to take notes, too. While Coach catalogued them, Igor watched him.

On the first floor were Coach’s office and rooms for certain ‘staff’, who never did much of anything but went everywhere with the team. Everyone knew who was KGB. Upstairs, players bunked with a roommate. “Each room is big enough for the two beds, a night table, a lamp, and not much more.” Eighteen rooms per floor. “Toilets? Of course: two per floor. Telephones? A private one for the coaches and trainers, and two more—one per floor, at the end of the hall, for the 70 soccer and hockey players.” The phones were available for an hour a day--for everyone. One of the players’ phones would be out of order for the next nine years.

They woke up by 7:15 AM. At 7:30 they started a daily program of weights, carrying cement blocks or each other, and running, lap after lap in the bare grass and mud around the walled compound in the high summer sun or snow. Breakfast at 9. Then more weights and skating until they were released at 7PM for dinner, and then they were really free to race each other to the shared phone. Back to bed at 11PM. “Goodnight, Igor. Tomorrow you can do it all over again.”

[Krutov and Fetisov performing bodyweight sit-ups in the field outside CSKA's practice facility]

Sometimes they mixed it up. In the short summers they had less ice time, more weights, and more running. Before tournaments they ran less and skated more. “Variety,” Igor notes, “is the spice of life.” Depending on the season, you were supposed to be rationed a day off to drive home every ten days—as long as you were back by 7:30 the next morning.

Unlike Americans and Canadians in the NHL, the Soviet players were all officially amateurs. That was how they were allowed to compete in the Olympics and World Championships when professional NHLers were banned. During the season they received the equivalent of $60 US a month as a stipend for food and housing, with a bonus of about $16 dollars if they won.

In the season Igor waffled since the initial offer, Tikhonov had almost changed his mind: he wanted to put Igor between his second line wingers, but those two turned out to play better apart. “That left him with a problem: he had me. Now what was he to do with me? Put me between Makarov and Krutov on the first line, or on another line he was in the process of forming?”

“There are still doubts,” Tikhonov told everyone, “about this Voskresensk boy.”

The doubts weren’t about Igor’s play—at least according to Igor. Weirdly enough if you’ve got a Russian dictionary and you look up “balls-to-the-wall confidence,” it’s just a picture of Igor Larionov. It’s cross-indexed with “death wish.” The doubts were about Igor’s body, and Coach’s judgement drew attention.

Always short, he admits he was almost skeletal, nothing like the other boys. He hated weight training, and when he arrived he rarely ate meat, afraid that bulking up at all would ruin his fine skating. Zhluktov poked and teased him about it, which only cemented Igor’s desire to crush him and beat everyone else to the top line.

“Partners! Partners! The boys who with their skill and character would compliment each other and me, to help me rise to full height. I needed partners like I needed oxygen.”

Before arriving in Arkhangel for training camp Igor had reassured himself, “I knew I had one friend waiting for me, one comrade-in-arms….I would need help, support in word and deed. Instinctively, I probably waited for his supportive shoulder.” But Vova had learned enough in the last year to be more cautious than Igor in drawing attention or changing the dynamics of the room. At first he “was warm, but nothing more.”

Still, Igor reassured himself, “I knew—and I was not ever wrong—that when I truly needed him, he would be there.”

Sergei, an unfamiliar star, preoccupied Igor even more. Still charming in every photo from that time, his hair is perfect and he poses with arms Igor could only envy around his teammates. But Sergei struck Igor as if he was holding some things back. It had been only days since Kharlamov’s death, though Igor had no way of knowing how much that meant.

Lyosha was big and gentle, with easy advice. He treated Igor like a bit of “an ugly duckling,” unlikely to make the first line—unless he could listen, learn fast, and fit into Coach's plan. Coach had found Igor and the rest of them when no one else would, after all.

Slava seemed to be watching him across the room. As Igor began to prove himself in practice, he had the feeling Slava’s expression changed, that maybe, Slava was silently rooting for him.

At the end of the summer the three boys were given a try together. Igor, Sergei, and Vova were such similar skaters that they were able to pull into tight formation, a literal line, almost on top of each other, the two wingers escorting Igor so closely his legs were sometimes sliding between the others’ and he could bounce the puck up and down between the three of them. Then, all five. He and Slava were similar thinkers, staying out on the ice long after the others. Like music, he wrote that he didn’t have to look behind him because he wouldn’t ever mistake the rhythm of Vova’s skates for Sergei’s, Slava’s or Lyosha’s. Igor was finally issued a green practice sweater to match theirs.

"Our line could never be evaluated according to primative arithmetic addition: the innovation and steadfastness of Fetisov, plus the reliability and self-sacrifice of Kasatonov, plus the elegance and refinement of Makarov, plus the fearlessness and pressure of Krutov, plus the [center] position of Larionov.

No, no, as long as we were together and we had the same intentions, the line was transformed into a force far stronger that which you would get by adding up our merits and abilities.

It was a joyful, undeniable fact: the Greens were made for each other."

The five of them found they could play, or talk, for hours. But they never planned or replayed mistakes off the ice, and promised not to ever blame each other after. That was the only way they could take the risks they did. They fought sometimes, more and more like a little family: Slava and Lyosha always took each others’ side if one of the forwards fucked up a play in practice. The other two forwards would leap in on his side, but then one of them would forget which friend he was favoring and flop sides, so by the time practice was over every argument ended just as easily.

Soon they were doing everything together, including pickup soccer and volleyball against the second-best unit of players from Dynamo. They won, because Igor was bad at soccer but liked winning everything all the time, and the others indulged him.

[Sergei playing soccer in a field outside the barracks in his underwear. I’m not picking ones of Sergei on purpose, he’s just the one who has the most dedicated fan pages. You can see the rest of them topless in a minute.]

Only sleeping separated them. Igor was jealous of Sergei and Vova’s respective roommates. He wished the three of them could be like Slava and Lyosha, who got to room together, and talked long after lights out.

“As a nice girl dreams of a handsome fiancé, so do hockey players cherish the dream that at some time they will fall into the company of such fellows, with whom they will know how to forge together THE squad, a deserving squad, in which everyone on the line will blossom.”

[My artistic interpretation of what Igor just said. An old newsprint photo of him kneeling on the ice with Sergei and Vova on either side, with the text “ferda booooys” in very large pink font.]

In September 1981, the national team headed to Canada with its newest member and its silent escort to avenge Coach Tikhonov’s Olympic loss. The Soviets hadn’t cared too much about the first Canada Cup invitational tournament five years earlier, but after 1980, this one was a gift. When active NHLers didn’t play in the Olympics or World Championships, the idea of the Cup was to bring together all the very best players in the world--in Canada, of course. Alan Eagleson, then head of the NHLPA, masterminded the tournament (also a lot of fraud).

The Swedes landed in Canada feeling smug about their almost-entirely NHLer roster, and thought they were the favorites. The Americans had beaten the Soviets last year, and were sure they’d do it again. And of course Canada thought they could win it all with a “Dream Line” built around their own new weapon.

The Green Unit debuted on the international stage eight weeks after meeting each other, and they crushed it.

The final was a showdown between Canada and the Soviets. Coach Scotty Bowman told his players, “We really are favorites in the final. Nobody in this country will tolerate a loss."

Coach Tikhonov told his, "Today you’ve got to play so well that the entire Canadian population will talk about you afterwards and remember you for a long time. Play so well that the Canadian fans, when they will leave the Forum, will wait for you when you get on the bus after the game and admire you."

This is the one time I’ll say Coach Tikhonov was right. I guess you can call him hockey’s biggest fan.

Main

Next >>

#green unit #igor larionov #sergei makarov #vladimir krutov #slava fetisov #alexei makarov

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defges · 3 years

Text

He was a captain on the Wisconsin team

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dlamp-dictator · 3 years

Text

Allen X Rambles about Chapter 7

“I hope Episode 7 is focused on only 2 or three characters with little distraction... Amiya maybe finding out that Ch’en is slowly becoming Infected and helping her come to terms with that. Ch’en revealing her past to Amiya and the two connecting over losing so many close to them due to Oripathy. The two standing up to the political corruption of Lungmen, shoulder to shoulder, as women that refuse to see another life lost due to the indifference of a city’s politics.”

-Allen X, October 2nd, 2020, Rambling about Chapter 6

Man... I’m starting to believe it when they say Arknight’s story mode is longer than the Harry Potter series. Things are getting crazy in Chapter 7 and crazy-long to in terms of length. This chapter really had me on the edge of my seat as I read through it and as I played through because 7-16 and 7-18 were a bitch to get through that require some of the most precise timing I’ve seen in this game yet. That aside, I enjoyed a lot what I read and experienced.

And I wanted to talk about it a bit.

But first, as always, a synopsis.

Coming off the heels of Frostnova’s death and the realization of Wei Yenwu’s purging of the Lungmen slums, tensions are high and trust has been fractured between Rhodes Island and Lungmen. However, in the midst of Ch’en hot temper and Amiya’s cool head, Reunion is plans to send the Russian Ursusian city of Chernobog on a collision course with Hong Kong Lungmen, giving Ursus a cause to make war against Lungmen and its great region of Tawain China Yen. However, through some rather amazing political maneuvering and passionate words by Wei Yenwu’s wife Fumizuki, Rhodes Island agrees to mobilize in order to save Lungmen, the Infected, and the beloved daughter of Lungmen, Ch’en. But beyond Chernobog lies Patriot, Reunions greatest commander next to Talulah herself, who’s rage toward his daughter’s death is only matched by his disciplined mind and even more disciplined soldiers. It’s a fight to the center of the Chernobog to save as many lives as possible, even at the cost of this great general’s life.

An Addendum to 7-18

So between my venting about 7-18 when I talked about some fun Arknight’s lore a handful of people wanted to give me some advice on how to conquer that stage. Admittedly that venting was said out of anger and was much more acidic in tone than my usual essays and opinion pieces. I have since beaten that stage and I can give some of my thoughts on this advice. Some of it was helpful... some of it.

“AmIyA cAn TaNk PaTrIoT’s SpEaR tOsS!”

This is technically true and I was technically wrong. When Amiya’s S3 is active she gained increased Max HP and can in fact survive with a sliver of health. However, Amiya’s S3 takes quite a long time to charge even with her talent, and unless someone is actively blocking Patriot her can honestly spam his spear through for how long it takes Amiya to get prepped for her S3. This is more of an issue of Amiya’s balancing than with the game, but I’ll talk about that later.

“jUsT sTaLl PaTrIoT tO kEeP hIm FrOm UsInG tHe SpEaR tOsS!”

This would be pretty viable advice if Patriot didn’t one-shot my units. Yes, defenders like Cuora, Nian, Hoshigumi, and even tankier vanguards like Zima and Siege can tank at least one hit from Patriot without dying, meaning a squad of healers can just focus-fire on them while they do chip damage to Patriot and stall him out. However, Patriot’s phase 2 has him do constant damage to nearby units with his aura ability, so if he can get lucky enough, he take someone down to a sliver and let his poison damage finish off your staller before they get a chance to be healed. That strategy needs luck and some damn smart unit placement. Neither of which I honestly have.

“uSe SpEcTeR aNd DeBuFfErS!”

Again, this is also a pretty good strategy. Specter’s S2 makes her immortal for a limited time and pairing that with healers like Breeze and Celycon who reduce stun damage isn’t a bad idea. Characters that ignore or lower defense like Pramanix, Shamare, and Meteor are also good. This doesn’t work for me however since I only have Pram and the other debuffers are way too underleveled and not on my priority at the moment, and E2-ing units this late in the game just to take out one boss feels like madness.

“f12 CaN dOdGe ThE sPeAr ToSs!”

F12, W, Jessica, and FEater have a dodge chance. Their dodges are not guarantees. Yes, Patriot will target the ranged operator furthest from him and there are range tiles pretty close to his spawn point for that purpose. However, some of those operators have some pretty damn expensive DP costs and waste that on a chance to survive isn’t worth.And feeding Patriot ranged units that take over 30 seconds to redeploy is a waste of DP in general. And those either dodge chances aren’t viable. Them surviving isn’t a strategy, it’s a fluke, and you can’t depend on flukes in auto-deployment.

“Allen, you’re being kind of an asshole to what’s actually sound advice.”

Yes, I am.

I don’t care.

7-18 does things to a person, man. That stage breaks people. I lost sanity IRL just doing that stage or 20 times with a guide... dear lord this stage.

Anyway, moving on.

Story Notes

My, this story sure was thick, wasn’t it? It’s been while since I’ve been on a ride that wild. And this time around I don’t have any small issues to bring up. All the characters felt in character without breaking my suspension of disbelief. There weren’t multiple character arcs going on at once. And I even tolerated Kal’tsit berating the Doctor for reasons beyond his understand since she wasn’t discussing too many things that were above my head as the player.

No... I only have big issues.

But before that, I wanted to hit on some actual important notes that were very good and smartly written.

Rosmontis and Child Soldiers

This was probably the biggest takeaway for me. I know the Arknights community likes to poke a lot of fun about the child soldier thing and how Kal’tsit is harboring slave children, but... man, it makes so much since now.

These kids aren’t just kids, they’re all infected people with some rather scary abilities. Popukar has a history of mental instability coupled with monstrous strength. Ifrit has powers she can just barely keep under control and could set Rhodes Island ablaze at any point. Frostleaf and GreyThroat are deeply traumatized from their past. The Ursus Self Government are full of kids with hatred, resentment, and fear of both the world and themselves. The list goes on, but the fact is that these kids all either have abilities that would be a danger to themselves and others if they aren’t trained, or have emotional hang-ups that might very well have them lash out at innocent people if not put on a leash. Wouldn’t it be better to at least give them some training and let them hack and blast away at the actual bad guys? Wouldn’t it be better to at least make them a weapon for some kind of greater good? And would anyone else really treat these broken, powerful children as anything but weapons and warriors anyway?

I know this is about chapter 7, but I remember in Children of Ursus Rosa asked Zima why she fought, and Zima casually answered that she just liked fighting. It’d be far better to have someone with that mindset working for an organization like Rhodes Island than ending up in Ursus’s fold and blindly hacking at something she shouldn’t.

And I think it’s important to remind everyone that Amiya is the head of Rhodes Island and not Kal’tsit. She’s a big part of the organization, but it’s the bunny in charge. And the bunny that is herself close to a living nuke and is also has empathetic superpowers understands this probably better than anyone else, which is why she okays it.

Patriot and Reunion

As much as I despise, and I do mean despise, how cagey this series can be with it’s portrayal of Reunion’s morality I can understand why a lot of its members can see the group as being just. Patriot is a warrior of such renown and praise, and Talulah has so much charisma and power that I can see the group overlooking characters like Mephisto and W when the other two do so much for their members and general people. The Guerillas under Patriot behave like soldiers. They don’t rampage, loot, pillage, or harm everyone in sight, only those that halt, stagnant, and harm the infect. Talulah has a charisma about her and attracts people, and seems to come from some sort of royal/noble line to match. And while Faust wasn’t mentioned much in this chapter, he was a soldier that started at the bottom, worked his way to the top, and made sure to play by rules that kept his moral high ground. Mephisto seems to be the only outliner here for some baffling reason.

But... there are some major issues with this story. I hint at them every time I talk about Arknights’ story, but I’ll go into depth here. And I’ll present these two issues I have in the form of a two question:

Who is the Doctor?

I don’t mean this the sense of the story, but what is his function as a character? Is he a self-insert for the player, or his own character to be explored and examined?

And either answer, to me, is wrong.

The Doctor Isn’t a Self-Insert

It’s straight up impossible for the Doctor to be a self-insert character. Most self-inserts are blank enough to let us place our own personality onto them and the situations their in the choices they make are meant to be more or less choices we’d make or at least a general audience could make barring some specifics. Their personalities tend to be blank or at least bland to let us, the players, live through them and project our personalities onto them.

The Doctor isn’t this.

There are too many moment where our choices are clearly pointing to one conclusion and most choices, though varied, give a clear idea that the Doctor is someone that care about the operators’ wellbeing deeply and hates seeing them used, abused, or manipulated. They are strategist and commander, but they have enough humanity to not see people as tools. They are passionate when they see other operators and especially Amiya in harms way and tries to come up with strategies to minimize lost and causalities. Awhile we, the player, feel the same in this regard the Doctor has dialogue that feels more conversational and toward specific directions than what a player would likely want and gives us some bits and piece about what they’re actually like.

The Doctor hates Kal’tsit and wants little to do with her, only tolerating her presence as much as she is with the Doctor. The Doctor is a bit of a bleeding heart that doesn’t fully grasp that they are constantly in a warzone despite their strategic competency. The Doctor has an extremely weird diet and eating style, devouring live animals and ingesting foods that would probably need to be probably mixed and brewed before consumption. The Doctor still sees Amiya as a child despite her mature nature.

The list goes on, but there’s enough there for me to say the Doctor is more like Hakuno Kishinami of the Fate/Extra series, a character that seems like a self-insert but has a number of traits and character tics that keep them from fulfill that role. However Fate/Extra, for all I have against it, makes Hakuno work by giving them their own internal thoughts outside of the player’s actions that explain their dialogue choices and actions outside of the player’s control. The Doctor doesn’t, so them being a self-insert feels really weak and irritating when the dots stop connecting.

But despite this...

The Doctor Isn’t Their Own Character

Too much of what the Doctor does is passive. For a clear as their personality is, at least to me, they don’t have much agency in the plot. Not enough for me to call them their own character at least. They commander the battlefield, but they don’t have a place on it. They don’t have much reason to interact with characters like Patriot and Talulah unless its on the metaphorical and literal chessboard we’re playing on.

Every time the Doctor says something that advances the plot in some way I feel like it could be said by another character and work better. Amiya trying talk down Patriot and explain that Frostnova fought bravely did not need the Doctor’s interjections, especially when Patriot shoots them down in the same manner. In chapter 6, being trap with Frostnova would had worked much better with Amiya since that chapter was giving them parallels anyway. The only thing that really works is the Doctor trying to call out Kal’tsit for her treatment of Rosmontis as a soldier despite her age, as that’s only something that someone who didn’t have the full context could do.

But... Jessica, Frostleaf, Frostnova, Melantha and several other Operators are young teenagers and even children. Specter and Lappland are clearly just as mentally damaged and still going into battles. The Doctor knows the kinds of people that fight for Rhodes Island, so isn’t this just another young fighter like Popukar and Suzuran? Hell, in chapter 6 we canonically had Beagle and Fang in a stage where they had to fight and tank Faust, why is the Doctor so surprised that someone like Rosmontis exist and works for Rhodes Island?

See?

See how trying to give this character separation from being a self-insert and actively slot them in the active story does more harm than good?

I think games like Girls Frontline and Honkai Impact 3rd do this better, where the player character is clearly more behind the scenes and is only a passing influence, if any.

But that leads me to my next question, which is...

Who is Amiya?

Amiya falls into the trope of being a cute anime girl with a mysterious past and dangerous powers. More accurately, she has a mysterious past and powers to the player, but everyone in Amiya’s inner circle seems to have a clue about it. I don’t mind this being a mystery, but... when our main character’s plot revolves around things the player doesn’t know, it’s curious at best, and infuriating at worse.

Folks, I’m not someone that looks to theory-crafting. I’m not someone that reads every scrap of dialogue in this game to find out more about its lore. The lore, to me, is just fun and interesting. I honestly do not have the time and energy to spend on making theories and predictions that could be wrong and a waste of mental energy. However, with all this stuff about the King of Fiends just feels like a waste of time, or at least a last minute addition to something I could had been added properly in Chapter 8.

A lot of it feels like you had to know about the Darknight Memoir side story to really get a feel for what’s going on. The Sarkaz civil war, Theresa, W’s role back when Rhodes Island was Babel, a lot of things that don’t come up in the main storyline. Especially with that bombshell about the Doctor maybe killing Theresa.

I don’t like it when a story expects me to have read the spinoff to understand the mainline story. This is why I don’t like the Dragon Age series and I’m really getting annoyed with Arknights right now.

This bombshell of the King of Fiends also kind of sours a bit of Amiya’s character as this young child who rose through the ranks of Rhodes Island as a charismatic leader being able to steel optimism with the reality of war to forge ahead as a proper leader through her abilities as both a commander and an empath. Instead it’s beginning to come across that her skills as a leader comes from something more supernatural, or at least something more forced than "small child is a good leader and can lead an army,” which is surprisingly more believable and nuanced given how seriously the series takes Amiya’s character.

That said, I recognize this criticism is more my wish of what was rather than an issue of what is. I completely understand that essentially wishing for my own fanfic and limited fan theories to come true isn’t a sound criticism, but it's a criticism I have regardless.

But moving on, there’s one more issue that bugs me.

W’s Importance

I’ll keep this brief since I already discussed my bigger issues of the story and this is an admittedly small portion of the story:

W wasn’t utilized much in this story despite being a main feature of it in the promotional material. She has a pretty lengthy intro, disappears from the story for most of it, then reappears at the last bits of chapter 7 to make mean looks at Kal’tsit and the Doctor before being literally shoved offscreen again. I’ve already discussed my issues with the Doctor’s agency so I won’t bother here.

W’s banner should had been during Darknight Memoir, it just makes more sense given she was the feature character of it and her high physical damage would had been a goodsend among all the arts-resistant Sarkaz units of that series of chokepoint-heavy maps, similar to Weedy’s inclusion her is helpful as a lot of these maps could use a good pusher, especially 7-16.

Speaking of, Weedy, the other operator on this limited banner, has no presence in the story at all. Need I remind you in the last limited banner Aak and Hung at least had cameo-esque appearances in the Ancient Forge event. Weedy’s inclusion feels like an afterthought because they didn’t want the limited 6-Star to have a good chance to be pulled for the whales.

Anyway, I believe those are all the big issues I had with this story, so...

In the Future

As I always tend to say, I don’t like the idea of trying to fix something that has already been made and has already passed. It’s too late to change the past, but I see nothing wrong with asking for things to happen in the future as a way of giving feedback.

To that end, I still have hope that Chapter 8 will have a focus on Amiya and Ch’en tackling Talulah together. From my understanding of some spoilers this is more or less what is going to happen. I also hope that we’ll have a more detailed idea on this whole King of Fiends thing is about. As much as I personally don’t care for it, it’s already be discussed in the story so I at least hope we get the full idea on what’s going on with that plotline.

I also hope the Doctor either plays less a role or becomes their own character outright away from any player influence. Us speaking through a character that already has a personality feels weird to me and I’d rather not have it at all.

Anyway, that’s it for me folks. Next time... maybe I’ll talk about anime or something, who knows.

#your dictator is speaking #arknights

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winterromanov · 5 years

Note

College Bucky taking her home to meet the fam!!

pairing: bucky x reader (set in the same universe as this fic and this fic)

You’d never met Bucky’s parents and sister in the flesh before, but you might as well have done by this point. Ever since Bucky had told them he’d been dating someone they’d been dying to meet you--to the point where Bucky can’t Facetime home without his mother demanding to pull you into the frame and Becca Barnes regularly messages you on Facebook.

So when Bucky finally invites you over to his family home for the weekend, you’re really not as nervous as you’d expect to be. Sure, there’s a vague sense of anxiety that stirs your stomach at the thought of how concrete and real this all is because, well. You’ve never had a proper boyfriend before. But Bucky’s mom has his smile and his dad has his eyes and Becca seems to be the best bits of all of them, so why shouldn’t this be anything but good?

“My mom is asking me if you like Mexican food,” Bucky says, phone in his right hand, sat cross legged on your bed. He’s supposed to be helping you pack. The most help he’s been was throwing one of his socks he’d found down the side of the bed right at your face. “I said yeah. We ate enchiladas once, right?”

“I’d use the term we loosely. I made the enchiladas and you ate them after you’d had practice.” You raise an eyebrow as he sheepishly looks up from his phone screen. “I don’t remember actually eating anything that night.”

“Well.” Bucky shrugs, smirking and deliberately looking away from you. “I had a great meal that night. Not just talking about the enchiladas, either.”

Okay, so now it’s your turn to throw a dirty sock at his features. You watch as he makes a show of spluttering and acting disgusted like you’ve just thrown a tonne of raw sewage all fucking over him. “You’re the worst.”

“I know you are,” he says, teasing, scrambling over to wrap the sock round your neck like a scarf. You squeal, giggling as you try and push him away--because his football socks are gross, come on--but he only laughs louder as you struggle, pulling you closer and closer. “But what am I?”

His face is just so damn kissable even when he’s being annoying beyond belief. You have clothes to pack away, dinner to assemble (well, he’s the one that’s supposed to be making the dinner) and Netflix to watch but you let your giggles subside, curl your fingers round his jaw, let your lips collide.

“You’re still the worst,” you murmur against him. “But I seem to find that endearing, somehow.”

“Touche, sweetheart. Touche.”

It’s not exactly difficult to get to Bucky’s childhood home from university. He’s lived in Brooklyn his whole life so it’s just a matter of traveling there from Upper Manhattan on public transport. You have a feeling he’d not invited you sooner because he’d worried about whether you were ready--if things were going too fast, if you’d get intimidated standing in the front hall of the house he’d grown up in. But when he’d shyly suggested it walking through Central Park on the day of your fourth month anniversary, you’d squeezed his hand and let him know that yeah, you’re kind of okay with meeting the family he fucking adores.

The house itself lies in a fairly innocuous and relatively expensive looking neighbourhood, with tan brickwork and big windows and a bright red front door. A couple of cars sit in the driveway and flowers burst through borders trailing from the front yard into the back. You’d barely wheeled your suitcase up to the steps when the door flies open, two extremely excitable women rushing down to meet you.

“Oh, (Y/N)!” The older one--Bucky’s mom--gushes immediately, grabbing you into a hug before stepping back to take a proper look at you. “Oh, honey. You look just like all the pictures James has sent me. Becca, isn’t she just beautiful?”

“So beautiful!” Becca confirms, blue eyes glittering. She looks so much like Bucky it’s unreal. “Where did you get your boots from? I’ve been wanting a pair--”

“Hey!” Bucky jokingly breaks in between the three of you, running a hand across your waist. “Stop hassling my girl! I am here too, you know. You could show a little enthusiasm.”

Bucky’s mom slaps him on the arm in teasing and the two women fall under his arms, clutching his waist. His eyes close as he hugs them, squeezing them as tight as possible. Despite the closeness in distance it’s been a few weeks since they all last saw each other, and you can see it in the way he holds them. He’s home.

“Miss me, then?” Bucky says, tongue poking out between his teeth. Becca responds by burrowing closer into his side, while his mom reaches out to clutch your hand.

“Of course we missed you. We miss you every day.” His mom looks at you with a gaze of gratification and what...what might be relief, so you smile and squeeze her hand back. “I am just glad that this one has clearly been looking after you.”

“He looks after me, too, Mrs Barnes.” Bucky’s expression is warm, loving, face slightly tilted to the side as he falls in love with you just a little more.

“Please, call me Winifred.” She assures, before gesturing towards the open door. “Come on in. It’s freezing, and your dad can’t wait to embarrass you.”

Winifred lets go of your palm and trots up the stairs, Becca bounding excitedly behind her. Bucky rolls his eyes, picking up your suitcase, but it’s all done in jest.

“They’re going to be like this all weekend, just so you know.” Bucky informs you, ushering you up the steps in front of him. “If it gets a bit much, just say. They’ll get it.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m more interested in all these photos you’ve been sending your mom of me.”

Bucky groans and you laugh, not so secretly pleased by it all. His heart is so full to bursting for you that he sends his mom photographs. It’s, as Sam would surely put it, absolutely sickening.

Bucky’s dad is just as intrigued about you as his mom and sister are, but in a calmer, drier way shown through his bemused expressions and quietly funny comments round the dinner table. Where Winifred and Becca are thrumming with energy, he peacefully sits through the storm--exchanging measured conversation with his son and watching as you deal with Winifred and Becca’s near incessant questioning.

“(Y/N),” he says, quite suddenly, passing you a bowl of salad. “James says you’re the reason he passed Russian Literature last semester.”

You flush a little, not quite meeting his gaze as you pile lettuce onto your plate. “I wouldn’t go that far, Mr Barnes. Buck--I mean, James, is probably one of the smartest people I know.”

Becca snorts with laughter before masking it with a cough, and Bucky kicks her leg under the table, his mouth crammed full of enchilada. It’s funny, watching him interact with his younger sister. It’s like you’re getting a glimpse into the childhood they shared and you were never part of. The scuffed knees and pretend games and play fights that got out of hand.

“He works hard, and that’s all I ever ask of my children.” Bucky’s dad smiles warmly and proudly, eyes crinkling. There’s the blue, where it came from. Bucky’s dad has the same bright blue eyes, like the rough sea on the English coastline. Bucky’s cheeks burn pink and his hand finds your knee under the table, his fingers flexing over the fabric of his jeans. “And if he finds someone who works as hard as he does, well... I’m going to be a happy man.”

Bucky winks at you. “Good thing (Y/N) is the smartest gal I know, then.”

Winifred chooses that moment to bring out a pecan pie she’d made from scratch because Bucky said you’d like them and for half a moment you think you might burst into tears, because four months into loving their son and they’ve accepted you like you’re their own. There is no subtle (or unsubtle) judgement, no tripping up, no how can you possibly be good enough for our boy.

He loves you, so they love you. It’s as simple as that.

Bucky’s childhood room only has a twin bed so you both curl into it like a tin of sardines, limbs entangled and breaths confused, cold feet pressed together under a red striped duvet. There are still teddy bears on top of wardrobes and piles of superhero figurines stacked in boxes, comic books and Star Wars memorabilia and posters of his favourite football stars. Photographs line his wall of him and Steve and Becca and old high school football teams, pinned up with flaking sellotape.

“I don’t think I have enough wall space,” he says, on the edge of sleep, face burrowed into your neck. You don’t turn but trail your hand up his arm until it meets the back of his head, fingers twisting round the hair that grows there.

“Enough wall space for what?”

“For you,” he hums gently, “You’d fill every centimeter of it like you fill every cell of my body.”

He falls asleep, like he often does after delirious muted declarations of love, but that’s okay. You don’t have to fill his wall. You’re happy existing merely in the thrumming, heady organ within his ribcage. It’s all you’ve ever wanted, and everything he’s always given.

In the morning Bucky shows you the sights of his home borough, Becca insisting on tagging along for the ride. You look over Brooklyn Bridge and eat hipster pizza and giggle amongst a crowd of serious tourists in Brooklyn Museum. Becca eventually meets a friend and disappears off into the city, so Bucky takes you to Prospect Park, beautiful and gloomy in the harsh January frost. It’s not long before you encounter the pop-up ice rink that appears for the winter season and, really, it would be a shame to skip the opportunity. It’s not half as busy as the rink at Rockefeller Center.

Weirdly, Bucky’s more erratic on the ice than you are. His long limbs stutter and stumble as he tries to regain his balance and you laugh, grabbing onto his gloved hands.

“This sure is a bonding experience,” Bucky’s voice wobbles as he almost takes out a small child with his right leg, “You trying to hold the weight of a six-foot tall football player while also on ice.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” you reply. You pull him violently so he, again, doesn’t knock a group of little schoolchildren like bowling pins. It gives him such a fright that both of you end up tumbling to the ground, frantically reaching out for each other’s hands to gain any semblance of balance.

It doesn’t work. You just end up lying on his chest, on view of the whole of fucking Brooklyn, and he has the nerve to fucking kiss you.

“What?” Bucky shrugs, not looking the least bit ashamed. “Wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.”

“It’s a good job you’re so cute.” You half-smile, trying to roll off him and onto the ice so you’re not holding up the rest of the skaters. He struggles to his feet, palms scraped but otherwise unhurt--but the pout on his lips says hot chocolate over another turn round the rink, and you’re not in a position to refuse.

On your last evening before reality resumes once again you and Bucky cook dinner. Well. You watch intently as Bucky throws the ingredients for a chilli in a pan, making sure he doesn’t accidentally do anything wacky (which he does an awful lot). He chases you round the kitchen with fresh chili on his fingers but Becca eventually teams up with you, whacking him with a spatula into submission. His laugh is so carefree it’s magical. You wish you could keep it forever, keep it like this.

(Your stomach swoops dramatically at the thoughts of what the future could hold if this--if this were to last forever.)

The food goes down well. Winifred gazes at you dreamily before gathering up the plates with Becca and Bucky, leaving you and his dad at the dinner table.

“I’ve...been worried about him,” Bucky’s dad admits in the quiet, the only noise faint giggling coming from the kitchen. “About James. About college. Because there have been times when he’s come home and there looks like there’s nothing left inside of him. But I look at him now, and...he’s not just living. He’s thriving. And I think that, at least in part, is because of you.”

You blink back at him, not sure what to say. There are not sufficient words in the English language to reply to that, the tenderness and gratefulness Mr Barnes shows in his expressive eyes and kind mouth. It clicks why Winifred looked at you with relief when you’d first met. They’d been so worried about him.

“You make him so happy, kid.” Bucky’s dad’s smile is crooked, just like Bucky’s own. “I’m just glad you found each other.”

You can only smile back. But sometimes expressions say all the words you need to, so. Bucky’s dad gets it.

You hold him a little tighter in the twin bed that night. Face to face rather than back to back. Watching Bucky Barnes breathe is a privilege, but loving him is a responsibility. He will never be empty or lonely while you can feel his skin beneath your fingertips. He will never be anything but him.

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lost-in-sokovia · 4 years

Text

Lightning In A Bottle

back at it again with #CaptainsWeeklyChallenge ! this week’s challenge was a song fic, so i chose “Electric Love” by BØRNS because it’s kinda a bop. i did take the peppy song and put a dark twist on the lyrics so please beware. anyway, please enjoy this bucky fic, it’s a lil dark but i enjoyed writing it🤍 (this is dedicated to my girl @lookalivefrosty . i got you some bucky, sis!)

Warnings: dark and heavy theme, fighting, kinda violent, not the happiest ending (and please check out my note at the end about the picture at the top!!!!!!)

How could a few words turn a night so wonderful into a night of terror?

Your heart beat against your chest as loud as the thunder outside. You layed in the damp hallway of the crappy apartment which was now close to destroyed. A thin mattress that someone used to call a bed was now scorched and the only thing somewhat securing you as you hid. The concrete chilled you to the bone as a forming puddle slowly soaked your hair as rain dripped through the cracks.

You exhaled shakily and shivered, trying not to move that mattress. You heard footsteps echo and gunshots ring throughout the hall. Closing your eyes tightly you tried to keep calm and remember the way things were before those simple yet horrendous words were spoken...

You’d been doing so well. Steve couldn’t keep up with all the assignments from Fury by himself, let alone deal with SHIELD being taken over by Hydra, so Steve had given you the mission to try and make as much progress with Bucky as possible. This mission was completely unknown to SHIELD and basically something private Steve had trusted you with. It was a process, trying to convince Bucky you weren’t there to hurt or exploit him. You had to learn a whole new language just to have incase English wasn’t his preference in intimate conversation (even though he never really replied to you anyway, so you gave up and used English for your own comfort but had to put a Russian accent to use.) Steve had trained you to give a well versed and thought-out backstory that was supposed to hopefully keep you covered and Bucky convinced.

It was terrifying the first day of your mission. The soldier spoke very little and his blue eyes were narrowed when he would eye you suspiciously. When you’d introduced yourself he had responded in Russian, leading you to basically fumble your whole greeting with a sloppy Russian-English mix. He was probably wondering what kind of Russian immigrant was so horrible at their own language, and he was on your back for a little while about it. Bucky would get very irritated when you would show up at his door day after day, trying to talk to him and spend time with him. It wasn’t like you wanted to bug a high level security threat though, you had to mentally and physically prepare yourself for anything before showing up.

And after countless days of determination the soldier eventually warmed up to you, letting you join him while eating and just spend plain time with you. He found you as someone who could listen to him and relate with, even when there was no talking going on. You however tried to coax everything you could out of him, even having to try and offer over his memories while he tried his best to think and convey. You knew it was probably hard for him; Hydra did basically everything to wipe his memory and trying to regain those thoughts that were buried deep inside him. Your mind ran around him every single night after leaving, pounding in your head as you couldn’t wait to visit another day and make more progress.

You had even began to develop a small crush on the Winter Soldier. You knew you shouldn’t and it was definitely not something you wanted or was planning on having, but who can control their emotions? He was really sweet down below all the Hydra programming, and you knew that’s who he was. You thought about all the stories Steve had told you about 40’s Bucky and you longed to meet that Bucky. You imagined how sweet he was probably back then, and you worked yourself tirelessly to try and bring him back. You knew he was quite the ladies’ man back then and had such a lively spirit, like a firecracker. And even when Bucky wasn’t speaking his blue eyes would pull you in and drown you, the windows to his soul pouring out the emotions that weren’t spoken.

“Soldier, do you remember your name?” You asked one night. The two of you sat on the floor of the small apartment one night while rain pattered against the newspaper-covered windows. Bucky exhaled, concentrating at the floor. “B-...” He sounded out quietly as he racked his brain for a name. Your nodded eagerly and watched him closely. “...Bucky?” He answered unsurely. You smiled, holding back all the excitement you could. “‘Bucky’ is your name?” You verified. He grunted lightly. “I think...” He muttered, both confused and slightly sad he could only verify with himself.

Your heart pounded against your chest that night, proud with accomplishment. Every time Bucky would begin to recall something, you kept it bottled away inside you. And then once you had it, you couldn’t afford you nor Bucky to let it go and forget. Part of your assignment was to also adjust Bucky to more modern life so it wouldn’t be as much of a culture shock. That part was definitely difficult; you could only pass off so much while acting like an immigrant and living in Romania. You had decided music was a good start, especially since that was probably a luxury that a highly-trained Russian super soldier wasn’t graced with but the real Bucky Barnes knew all too well.

You had pulled a few strings and was able to get a small CD player and a few disks, compliments of a very stressed out Captain America back home. (Steve was a nervous wreck back in the states. He knew you were in possible danger there and would be responsible for anything that might happen to you, along with the fact you were staying with someone who could go from zero to one hundred with just a few micellaneous words.) When you’d introduced it to Bucky he was a little excited about it.

“We can play music on this?” He’d asked quietly as his blue orbs stared at the tiny machine. You nodded and pulled out a few CDs. “This is some of my favorite music,” you replied as you slipped the thin silver disc into the player. A few songs started playing and Bucky raised an eyebrow. “This is American,” he pointed out skeptically. You blinked a few times and shrugged. “It’s better sounding,” you brushed off as you tried to exaggerate your fake accent.

Over time Bucky became very obsessed with the player. He was always playing music and concentrating on it very hard. He became so vulnerable and open and it made your heart pitter-patter like rain. And the one night you let your guard down was the night your mission seemed to end.

Over the course of the mission you had been required to update Steve as discreetly as possible. You kept him updated both on you and the state of his best friend. It was routine; you were to report back to your room at 9PM every night (the time Steve was available and alone) and give a report. One night you let Steve know you weren’t going to be reporting back at your normal time. Despite his protests you argued that Bucky was the most alert you’d seen him. He was finally seeming to recall most everything and be the real him, not the Winter Soldier. You’d been with him for nearly a month and a half and you told Steve that you deserved some fun with him.

After Steve finally giving you permission you walked to Bucky’s the happiest you’d been during that mission. When you walked into his apartment the CD player was already playing the music Steve had sent. You shut the door behind you and quickly skipped over and stopped the music. Bucky looked up at you to protest as you switched out CDs. “This is my favorite song,” you commented as you pressed play. The beat of drums began to play through the speaker as you pulled the soldier up and began to move his arms in dance.

Bucky blinked as you continued to dance. “Come on Bucky, dance!” You urged as you let go and danced around. The lyrics of the song danced in your head while you moved; baby, you’re like lightning in a bottle. I can’t let you go now that I got it. Bucky was your lightning in a bottle. You were doing everything you could to keep the Bucky you had now that you found it.

As you continued to dance the door suddenly busted down and gunshots rang in the apartment. You dropped to the ground as the music came to a halt as bullets hit the machine. You gasped as you tried to hide behind the couch as more men entered. The table was knocked over, glass was shattered on the floor, and the player was now in pieces on the floor. You looked around for Bucky who was now held by the arms of two men. He wiggled and tried to yank his arms when an unarmmed and unusually calm man walked in, holding a small red book. You stared with wide eyes as your heart pounded against your chest.

The man halted right in front of Bucky and eyed him for a moment before holding the small red book up to his face. You went pale. No, that book couldn’t be-

“Тоска ржавая,” he began slowly in Russian. Your eyes widened in horror as Bucky shook his head aggrivatedly. “No, no-“ “семнадцать.” The man ignored Bucky’s pleas. Bucky tilted his head back and clenched his teeth. “рассвет, печь, девять...” Bucky began to groan loudly and angrily as you quickly scrambled out of the apartment. You ran down the hall as you continued to hear Bucky’s trigger words being spoken in Russian and him screaming.

Before you could get any farther, a bomb went off near you outside and flung you against the concrete wall. You landed harshly on the floor as objects flew past you and a wall broke. Rain poured through the broken wall as you heard people screaming, doors being kicked down, and gunshots firing. You grabbed your aching side and inhaled sharply, crawling over to the corner of the stairwell and grabbed a dirty mattress.

That’s where you found yourself after trying to think of anything but where you were. There were a few bodies laying in the hallway just below your eyesight as Bucky stomped around and shot. Your heart wrenched, knowing all the progress you made was probably lost. You shivered and inhaled shakily, wishing there was a way to contact Steve. You cursed yourself for breaking Steve’s rules. If this was going on while you followed guidelines, you and other people could’ve been saved relatively soon. You prayed that the team was somehow contacted already... they had to be with Hydra activity going on. Steve probably had a close eye on this location, right?

You held back a sob as your mind darted and imagined scenarios that probably weren’t going to happen. Crying wasn’t an option, you thought to yourself. What could you do to keep from crying a little longer...

A lightbulb went off in your head. You sniffed as thunder rolled in the sky. “Candy... she’s sweet like candy in my veins...” you whispered to yourself as you heard a woman’s scream and a gunshot. You flinched. “Baby... I’m dying for another taste...” Bucky’s footsteps made their way out of the hall and into the stairwell. You wished to go back in time to when you were still unlocking more memories with Bucky. You looked out the small crack and watched him glance around. “And every night my mind is running around her...” You basically mouthed as your anxiety rose.

You curled yourself tighter together as the footsteps landed right in front of you. Bucky kicked the mattress away and held a gun right in front of your face. A tear rolled down your cheek as you wished he would somehow remember you and break away from the brainwashing. You stared into his blue eyes and uttered a weak as desperate “Bucky.” His hold on the gun tightened as he cocked it. You clenched your eyes shut and heard a loud “(Y/N)!” being called from outside.

The gun fired.

wow, bummer. i don’t write fics like this a lot but it’s nice to venture out. so did you guys like the art at the top?? that was done by my very close and wonderful best friend @ghostofkiwi !! she’s mega talented and is so wonderful! we’ve been friends since 5th grade and she has such a passion and gift for art! please go check her out and give her a follow to see her wonderful work! you’ll be seeing more of her work in some of my fics so i really hope you consider following! thanks again for reading!🤍 ( @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @donutloverxo )

#captainsweeklychallenge #bucky barnes x you #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #winter solider fanfiction #the winter solider x reader #the winter soldier #winter soldier imagine #captain america winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #sebastian stan fandom #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine

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pappydaddy · 4 years

Text

Part Two: Mr. Brightside

A/N: Here’s Part Two! I don’t know when Part Three will be out, but I’m sure it’ll be out soon, I’m almost done the part and the songs for it! Check out the playlist!! If anyone wants to make an Apple Music version, just DM me!

PLEASE TAKE A SECOND TO LOOK AT MY PINNED POST, SIGN THE PETITION AND REBLOG IT IF YOU CAN!!

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Henderson!OC

Fandom: Stranger Things

Warnings: Guns, violence, life-threatening situation, aggressive talk about Russians (evil Russians, not all Russians), belittlement, feelings of inferiority, feelings of weakness, deprecation images of oneself, SPOILERS!!!

I Wanna Be Yours Playlist (Spotify)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three - Coming Soon

masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation

- not my gif -

Steve hid behind the plastic plant in the middle of the food court, the binoculars pressed around his eyes, surely leaving a noticeable red ring around his eyes. He was supposed to be looking for the evil Russians that the boy crouched beside him keeps rattling off about, but he couldn’t stop watching them. He really did try to pull his focus away from the two teens standing way too close, but his eyes just pulled towards them like a magnet. “See anything?” Dustin asked, poking his head up over the plant. The two stood out like sore thumbs, proving that they were shit at stake-outs.

“Uh, I guess I don’t totally know what I’m looking for.” Steve admitted, pulling his eyes away from the couple to scan over the other people occupying the mall. His mouth hung open, his eyes drifting back up to the second floor where Ophelia and Brett stood, leaning against the railing.

“Evil Russians.” Dustin told him as if it were simple.

“Yeah, exactly,” Steve exclaimed, not even trying to pull his eyes from Ophelia as she laughed. “I don’t know what an evil Russian looks like.” Steve muttered, his binoculars following Ophelia and Brett as they walked along the second floor.

“Tall? Blond? Not smiling,” Dustin listed off suggestively. Steve only hummed, squinting into the binoculars, watching as Ophelia bent down to grab a drink of water from the water fountain, paying attention to how Brett snuck a look at her butt, her dress riding up dangerously. His blood started to boil at the sight of him shamelessly eyeing her like a piece of meat. “Also, look for earpieces, camo, duffle bags, that sort of thing.” Dustin looked over at him as he hummed along, not paying attention.

“Right, okay, duffle bags,” Steve repeated, following the pair as they walked again. If looks could kill, Brett’s arm (which was wound around Ophelia’s waist) would have been killed brutally. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Steve muttered in disbelief when Brett leaned down to whisper something in Ophelia’s ear making her pull away, a blush darkening her cheeks as she giggled and hit his chest playfully. The smirk Brett wore made Steve want to knock his lights out. It was a smirk that told Steve his true intentions. He just wanted to get in her pants and he thinks he’s almost there.

“What?” Dustin asked, trying to follow the line of the binoculars to see what Steve saw, thinking he saw a Russian.

“Your sister,” Steve told him as if it was obvious. “I have no idea why she would even think about going out with a guy like Brett Morris. She can do so much better than that weasel, god-” He ranted, his top lip curling into a snarl at the sight of him pressing a kiss to her cheek, the blush coating her delicate cheeks deepening. “He’s a sleaze.” Steve grunted, looking at the tall hockey player in disgust. Dustin’s eyes snapped towards his sister, watching Brett interact with her.

“I don’t know, I don’t see anything wrong with it, they’re on a first date and he’s being nice?” Dustin shrugged, not seeing what Steve was all worked up about. Steve pulled his eyes from the binoculars, keeping them in place so he didn’t lose the couple.

“Nice? You see nothing wrong with it,” Steve asked, bewildered. “Dude! That’s your sister and he’s smirking like he’s about to bang her!” Steve nearly cried out. Dustin’s lips turned down in a disgusted frown as he fought back a gag before turning his attention back to his sister and her date who made their way down the escalators, still in each other’s arms.

Dustin watched Brett smile down at Ophelia as she gazed at all the sights, seeing what was going on. He shrugged, looking back at Steve who watched the same scene with a snarl. “Dude, he’s smiling like he likes her,” He shook his head at the older boy. “Why do you care anyway? Do you like her?” Steve pulled away from the binoculars again, furrowing his brow at the younger Henderson. Dustin twitched an eyebrow at Steve, waiting for an answer.

“I don’t like her,” He denied, his voice filtering almost like it knew something he didn’t. Of course he didn’t like Ophelia. Those were old feelings. She’s his best friend’s sister. The girl who fought demogorgons, demodogs and Billy Hargrove alongside him. The girl who always comes in and brightens his day with her smile and laugh. The girl with bright eyes that seemed to swirl with stars. She was the girl who he felt a strong need to protect, to shield away from the world that was hell-bent to destroy such a beautiful creature. The girl who kissed him in grade nine during a game of spin the bottle. Steve certainly did not like Ophelia Henderson and her certainly didn’t find himself thinking back to that quick little peck of the lips at Hannah Hanson’s party. He scoffed, looking back through the binoculars and letting panic settle into him. “Shit! Where’d they go-” He was cut off by someone snatching the binoculars away.

Both Dustin and Steve jumped, looking up at a fuming Ophelia; the binoculars grasped in her hand. Her body nearly shook with the anger coursing through her. “What are you two mouthbreathers doing? Spying on my date?” She asked, her fingers wrapped around the binoculars turning white from her grasp. Steve’s lips parted, his brown eyes looking up at her. It wasn’t like he set off to spy on her date, it just kinda happened. Dustin grabbed the binoculars back from his sister, making the angry girl shift her eyes to him.

“No-” Dustin snapped, holding the binoculars to his chest. “We were looking for evil Russians, Steve is just a horrible spy.” He told her, bringing the binoculars up to his eyes. Steve whined at the younger boy’s comment, but otherwise remained silent.

“Evil Russians? Why would you be looking for evil Russians in the food court?” Ophelia turned her nose up, looking at her brother as if he were crazy. Dustin sighed, pulling the binoculars from his eyes to give her a look. Steve furrowed his brow at her until he remembered that she had left them last night before they discovered the Russian transmission came from the mall. Heat bubbled in his chest, remembering why she had left them. His jaw clenched, his brown eyes hardening on the wall across from him, hoping that his stare could make it crumble.

“The Russians aren’t in Russia, music from the Indiana Flyer was heard in the background of the recording, blah blah blah, there you’re all caught up-” Dustin grumbled, peering through the binoculars again, leaning forward as he looked at each person mulling around suspiciously. Ophelia opened her mouth to retort, but Dustin cut her off. “Now go back to your date so that I can actually spy - unlike somebody.” Dustin shot the last part towards the older boy who sat there, stewing in his anger.

With a groan and a roll of her eyes, Ophelia turned on her heels and strutted back towards Brett who now held a pretzel and a drink in his hands. Steve watched as he greeted her with a smile, handing her the drink. His now free hand slipped along the small of her back as he guided her towards one of the empty seats. “Ugh, he doesn’t need to be so handsy.” Steve grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest, his lips pouting.

“Oh my god, I don’t get why you can’t just see it, are you really that blind?” Dustin asked Steve, not taking his eyes from the binoculars. Steve looked over at the busy-haired pre-teen.

“See what?” Steve snapped, trying his hardest not to look over at Ophelia again, just knowing he would be greeted by the sickening sight of her giggling for another guy. Just the thought of another guy making her laugh like Steve does made his stomach churn. He felt like he was standing out in a field as the world around him turned cold, the blue skies swirling into a dark gray - just seconds before the cold rain poured down on top of him.

“See how you actually feel about Leah, you Dipshit,” Dustin exclaimed, growing tired of Steve’s blindness. “Everything you’re seeing with Brett being an ass is all in your thick head, fueled by your jealousy!” Dustin told him. Sure, Dustin hadn’t noticed the crush that his friend harboured for his sister, but the second that Ophelia told them about her date, Steve had changed. It had become obvious to Dustin. All the time Steve just suddenly dropped by the Henderson household with Ophelia’s favourite movies in his hands, the fact that Steve was always parked by their curb in the mornings to drive them to school.

“I feel like she’s a friend, you Dipshit,” Steve argued back, his top lip rolling up into a sneer at Dustin's suggestion. The fact that everything in his life had suddenly become a downcast blue since Brett had asked Ophelia on a date didn’t mean he liked her. Just because he felt like his heart had been struck with a hammer does not mean he liked her. “And I am not jealous, I am quite positive if I do say so myself.” Steve liked to view himself as Mr. Sunshine. Full of positive light and energy. Though, he couldn’t shake the images of them after their date. Brett’s fingers trailing along the curve of Ophelia’s side as their lips mashed together. The hockey player’s fingers slipping under her skirt, running along her thighs. The mental image hurt him so much he could have punched a wall.

“Come on Steve! You like her, why else would you be so obsessed over her going on a date with Brett?” Dustin pointed out. Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes. Why was he even fighting with Dustin on this? Dustin was a kid, he doesn’t understand the complicated world of love. He doesn’t know the arch of a heart, he doesn’t know the pining and the angst. He has no idea what he was talking about.

“Because Brett Morris is a dirty sleezeball and Ophelia shouldn’t be on a date with him!” Steve told him, his arms moving frantically even though he knew Dustin wasn’t going to pull his eyes away from the binoculars to watch him.

“Sure,” Dustin hummed, finally pulling away from the binoculars far enough to turn his head to look at Steve. “And the fact that you can only refer to Brett as Brett Morris has nothing to do with jealousy?” Dustin posed the question. Robin and Dustin all refer to him as just Brett in a nice, casual tone, but Steve always spat his first and last name as if it was venom he had just ingested, his face always screwing up as if he had just referenced his arch nemesis.

“I just don’t like him, I know his type.” Steve avoided, his head swirling from Dustin’s interrogation. Why did he not like Brett? Steve never really talked to him. Sure they were both popular, but Steve hung close to the basketball crowd while Brett spread out a little more within the high school groups. Brett and Ophelia ran in the same crowd, being involved with multiple organizations in school. Without an explanation, Steve had developed a hatred for the tall hockey player from the first time he saw him and Ophelia talking in the school hallway as they stood at her locker, why back when Nancy was in the picture.

“You like her and if you don’t figure that you soon, you’re going to have to figure out how to forget her because she’s not going to wait around for you.” Dustin shrugged, telling him how it is. Of course he knew how his sister felt, he figured out how to pick the lock on her journal two years ago. He knew everything about her, and some of it, he didn’t want to know.

“I don’t like your sister dude!” Steve gave up trying to make excuses, knowing that Dustin will just mess with his head someway, making him question if he actually did like Ophelia.

“Yes, you do.” Dustin stated pointblank.

“No.” Steve denied again. Dustin shook his head, peering through the binoculars once again.

“Yes-” Dustin sang back, pleased with knowing that he was right once again.

“No-”

“You do!” Dustin shot back. Steve glared at the younger boy.

“She’s not my type, okay? She’s too nice, too sweet, too pretty - too perfect.” Steve trailed off towards the end, not being able to find the correct reason why she wasn’t his type. When he was King Steve, he was positive that Carol and Tommy wouldn’t have any problem listing reasons why she wasn’t his type, but now he wasn’t sure. She was gorgeous, funny, insanely smart and caring. She was everyone’s type.

“What’s your type again? Girls who don’t like you?” Dustin perked an eyebrow at him when he pulled away from the binoculars once again. Steve shot him a sharp glare for the comment. Steve wasn’t sure what his type was in all honesty, but he was sure that Ophelia wasn’t it.

“Thank you,” Steve forced the corner of his lips up in a sarcastic smile before they dropped back down into a straight line. “For your information, Ophelia is still in school and that’ll be weird for me to date someone who is still in high school and she-she is nice to the weird-o’s like Robin. She’s on the prom committee and homecoming committee, and she likes hockey players apparently - hockey players are the bottom of the sports food chain.” Steve ranted, searching his mind for his next point.

Dustin looked at him once again, rolling his eyes at his reasons. “Now that you’re out of high school, which means that you’re technically an adult, don’t you think it’s time to move on from primitive constructs such as popularity - which Ophelia is popular.” Dustin suggested, trying to get Steve to see the world that’s outside of all the worrying about fitting in.

“Oh, primitive constructs? That some stupid shit you learned at Camp Know-” He paused, shaking his head, trying to come up with the name of the camp Dustin had went to this summer. “Nothing?” He settled for an insult, his defence mechanism starting up.

“Camp Know Where, actually. And no, it’s shit I learned from life,” Dustin told him. Nerds, with all that they have to put up with from the popular people, have learned things. They’ve learned that you shouldn’t focus on making other people see you as cool, instead you should focus on making yourself happy. Steve hummed, looking away from Dustin to scan over the people walking around. “Instead of dating somebody you think’s gonna make you cooler, why not date someone you actually enjoy being around,” Dustin suggested. Steve blinked, thinking about it. He did like being around Ophelia. She made his day brighter and just the thought of her made a smile stretch onto his face. “Like me and Suzie.”

“Oh, Suzie-” He mocked, bouncing his head. Dustin gave him a look, pulling the binoculars back to his eyes. “Yeah, you mean ‘hotter than Phoebe Cates”, yeah that Suzie, and, uh,” Steve paused. “Let’s actually think about it, how exactly did you score that beautiful girlfriend,” He posed the question, scratching the side of his face in faux question. “Oh yeah! With my advice,” He reminded him. “Because that’s how this works, Henderson. I give you advice and you follow through - not the other way around, all right, pea-brain?” Steve shot at him. Dustin gave him a look before resuming his search.

***

Ophelia walked towards Scoops, a dazed look on her face. The feeling of Brett’s lips on hers was still fresh. The odd feeling she felt in the bottom of her stomach returning at the memory. His lips felt odd on hers, they didn’t feel as pillowy as she imagined them to be, instead they were chapped against hers. His lips had touched her so gently, almost as if he was scared that she’d shattered under him any second. Normally, she would have found his gentleness romantic and endearing, but the kiss was almost just his lips hovering over hers, just barely brushing together like he didn’t even want to touch her. It was like that for the entire date, his fingertips just brushing against the small of her back or his arm barely touching her shoulders.

She found her mind wandering off to Steve and if he would have done the same thing. Would he have barely touched her, would his lips just skim over her’s in a short kiss? Would his fingertips ever so slightly touch her body? Maybe Brett just didn’t want to touch her? He hadn’t even mentioned a second date before he scampered off for his shift with blushing cheeks. She sighed, her heels scraping against the floor sluggishly. “Does he even like me?” She whispered to herself. She heard thudding feet running towards her, making her lift her head to see Steve and Dustin rushing out of Scoops in search of someone.

They ran towards her, Steve’s hand reaching out to grasp her small wrist in his, yanking her along with them. She let out a squeak of surprise as she was spun on her heel and pulled towards the center of the mall. She tried to ignore the tingling and the heat that crawled up her arm, spreading throughout her body at his grasp. Steve came to an abrupt stop when they arrived at Robin who stood on the bench wrapping around the center planter’s box that held an assortment of fake plants and a tree, a wide eyed look on her face as she looked down at the three of them. “Robin, what are you doing?” He asked, walking closer to the blonde, his hand still wrapped around Ophelia’s wrist.

“I cracked it.” She said, a hint of excitement in her usually monotone drawl. Ophelia furrowed her brows, glancing at Steve’s hand still on her wrist. His grip, it wasn’t just hovering over her like Brett’s was. His touch felt different from Brett’s. His touch was just something brushing against her body while Steve’s ignited warmth in her that spread throughout her body, like a fire burning under her skin.

“Cracked what?” Steve asked, prompting Robin to jump from the bench - Steve and Dustin’s eyes following her. The sound of her sneakers slapping the tiled floor made Ophelia look at her.

“I cracked the code,” She couldn’t help the smile that consumed her face. Ophelia smiled, proud of Robin for cracking the seemingly impossible code. Robin brushed past the group, glancing down at Steve’s hand encircling Ophelia’s wrist. “Oh, um, Steve?” She turned around, walking backwards with a smirk on her face.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, his eyebrows jumping up as he turned his body to look at Robin, waiting for her to ask him something. Her eyes jumped from between Ophelia and him with sparkles of amusement dancing in her vibrant blue eyes.

“I think you can let go of Ophelia’s hand now.” She beamed at the older boy. Instantly, Dustin and Steve’s eyes dropped down to see that Steve’s hand still held Ophelia’s wrist, making Dustin snort and slap his hand over his mouth to stop his chuckles while Steve nearly choked on his own spit - a blush covering his cheeks. His hand dropped Ophelia’s wrist, the warmth she felt from his fingers grasping her wrist still burning throughout her body.

“Thanks.” Ophelia smiled, walking towards Robin, leaving Steve and Dustin behind. Slipping his hand from his mouth, Dustin looked at Steve who stared at his hand, clenching it in a fist before stretching it out, feeling a weird tingling that felt like he just grabbed an electric fence. Steve’s brown eyes looked up at Ophelia who talked to Robin about how she managed to figure out the code. Her hair bounced behind her as she tried to keep up with the slightly taller girl, her heels clicking against the clean tile.

“Yeah, you definitely don’t like her.” Dustin mused, giving Steve a look as he shook his head. Steve looked over at him, still fisting and unfisting his hand.

“I don’t like her!” Steve denied making Dustin hum and walk away, joining Ophelia and Robin. Steve rolled his eyes, trudging after the group.

“So, Leah,” Dustin cut into the girl’s conversation, earning pointed glares from both of them. “How was the date, from what I saw, it went pretty good.” Dustin inquired, stealing a glance at Steve who glared at him as well. Ophelia glanced at her brother, before glancing at Steve who dropped the glare and gave her a smile instead.

“Yeah, Leah, how’d the big date with Brett go? You were so excited yesterday.” Robin easily changed the subject, knowing that she had the rest of the day to explain her thought process and the plan she was cooking up in her mind. Ophelia shrugged, glancing down at her feet.

“Uh, it was okay. We just kind of walked around after the movie, we shared a pretzel and sat by the fountain, that’s about it.” Ophelia waved them off, her tone less excited. The date was good, he made her laugh, paid for everything before Ophelia could even think about it, but she couldn’t help but let the kiss and lack of talk about a second date put her off. Steve sensed her downcast mood, his heart itching to cheer her up. He couldn’t stand to see her so down, but he also couldn’t help but to feel delighted at the thought that her date didn’t go well.

“Did he kiss you? Is there a second date?” Robin pressed, glancing at Steve from the corner of her eyes as he waited for her answer with baited breath. Ophelia shook her head, a heaving sigh leaving her lips.

“He did kiss me, but it was weird and I have no idea if there is a second date, he didn’t even talk about a second date,” Ophelia admitted, looking at Robin. Robin simply looked at her with wide, confused eyes. She was shocked, Brett seemed to actually like Ophelia. “I’m fine, really. Brett’s cute and nice, but I think we might just be better as friends.” She brushed off Robin’s sympathetic eyes.

“Still, that must suck, Leah. I know how important this date was for you.” Robin rested her hand on Ophelia’s shoulder softly, offering her support. In a private moment with Robin last night when Steve was scooping ice cream and Dustin had been in the bathroom, Robin had made Ophelia crack, admitting her feelings for Steve along with her hopes that this date would help her get over the goofy dingus. Hoping that Brett would be the antidote to the poison that was her crush flooding her veins.

“It’s no biggie, he has my number. Maybe he’ll call me, maybe he won’t - who knows,” She continued to deflect Robin’s support. They all walked into Scoops, seeing barely anyone in the store. Robin opened her mouth to talk to her, but she cut her off. “I’m just going to change into sneakers, I want out of these shoes.” The words were heavy with a lack of emotion, a huge contrast to her normally sweet voice and cheery disposition. Steve watched her as she walked sluggishly into the back room, his heart hurting. He didn’t want to see her so sad. He wanted to see her bright smile, to hear her laughter bouncing off the blue and white striped walls of the overly cheery parlor. He was snapped out of his trance by both Robin and Dustin whacking the back of his head.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?” Steve grumbled, looking at Robin and Dustin who glared back at him.

“For being an idiot.” Dustin retorted, walking around the counter, grabbing a sample spoon and skimming the top of one of the ice creams.

“I did it because I’m tired of this,” Robin threw her hands in the air, also walking behind the counter, closing the screen, but not before peeking in at Ophelia who sat at the table slowly putting her shoes on. “She is upset because she’s trying to move on.” She shook her head, speaking mostly to herself, but she wasn’t aware of Steve standing on the other side of the counter, hearing the words.

“Move on from what? She broke up with her last boyfriend back in September, she’s not still caught up on that asshole, is she?” Steve asked, making Robin whirl around in surprise, not wanting Steve to hear that. Dustin and Robin shared a look before glancing at Steve. A mix of emotions flurried around Steve’s mind like a blizzard, making him mad. Why would she still be hooked on the asshole who barely paid attention to her? Couldn’t she see that she deserved more.

“Why would that matter to you, Steve, you don’t like her.” Dustin sneered, reminding him. Steve jolted back at Dustin’s sudden aggression. Dustin felt protective over his sister. She was obviously crushed that her date didn’t go well and from what Robin just said, it wasn’t because she liked Brett.

“I care because she’s my friend. I don’t need to like her romantically to care for her,” Steve bit back making Robin groan, stomping her foot against the floor in frustration. Steve was just as thick as the layer of product in his precious hair. “What? I shouldn’t care about her?” Steve asked, his eyes wide as he tried to pinpoint their emotions based on their reactions.

“Let me ask you a question Steve,” Robin paused, placing her hands on the counter by the cash, her hard blue eyes looking up at him. “Were you upset about Ophelia going on a date with Brett?” Robin threw the question up in the air, already knowing the answer.

“I wouldn’t say upset-” Steve was cut off by Robin raising her hand at him.

“How did you feel about her going on a date with Brett?” Robin rephrased the question, her hand slapping back to the blue counter, waiting for Steve to answer. Steve blinked, thinking.

“I guess I was a little upset, I mean, Brett Morris is not good for her. She can do so much better than him.” Steve answered, growing upset at the thought of her not realizing how great she was and underestimating what she deserved.

“Okay, so what type of guy is good for her?” Robin bounced back instantly with another question, trying to get him to figure out that he liked her.

“I don’t know,” Steve muttered, thinking. With a sigh, he placed his hands on his hips. “I honestly can’t think of any guy who is good enough. They’re all shit,” Steve confessed. Robin raised her eyebrows, giving him a look. “Alright! I was upset that she was going on a date with Brett Morris, happy?” Steve exclaimed, admitting defeat.

“You hated it so much that you couldn’t stop spying on them, Steve. You were ready to kill the poor guy.” Dustin chimed in, trying to bring Robin’s point home.

“Yes, I spied on them and I might have made some comments about how much I don’t like the guy, what’s your point?” Steve asked them, kicking his leg out to the side, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip. Dustin groaned, his forehead hitting the top of the cooler.

“My point is you like her Steve and you have the power to make her feel better. I know it’s killing you to see her so upset so could you just take a second, try to let the realization penetrate that thick skull of yours and figure out that you are head over heels for her?” Robin pressed, gesturing towards the backroom where Ophelia still hid. Steve scoffed, shaking his head at their antics.

“I don’t like her, okay? I’m not even looking for a serious relationship - not after what happened with Nancy.” Steve denied. Robin and Dustin grew even more frustrated by his denial. Robin rested her elbows on the counter, leaning down as she clasped her hands together in front of her. She licked her lips, glancing down at the counter before back up at Steve.

“You’re just going to stand there and tell us that not even a tiny little part of you realizes that you like Ophelia?” Robin asked him point blank. Steve blinked at her. He thought about it. Did he really like Ophelia? The way Robin had phrased it and the way she said it made him question how he really felt. Had he been denying how he felt about Ophelia because he was scared of being hurt again? His heart did practically leap out of his chest at the sight of her. Seeing guys shamelessly flirt with her day in and day out made him feel like he was continuously running into a solid brick wall with his heart tapped to his face. Oftentimes, he would find himself imagining her smile to calm him down when he’s sad.

“I-I don’t really know,” Steve stuttered, unsure of himself. He shook his head, righting his posture. “Even if I did like her, she probably doesn’t like me. I am the furthest thing from what she deserves.” Steve argued back.

“You won’t know if she likes you if you don’t ask Steve, I know you know how you feel about her,” Robin’s tone was soft and comforting. “We know how she feels about you, but it’s not our place to tell you that. If you want to know how she feels before you realize your feelings, you’re going to miss her - she’s not going to wait around if she likes you.” She told him. Steve looked at her in confusion.

“What?” Steve blinked, not understanding what she was saying.

“I’m saying that if you don’t just figure out your feelings for her, you’re going to miss your chance with her,” Robin was handing him the answer of Ophelia’s feelings for him on a silver platter and it was up to him to figure it out. “And if you don’t figure them out fast, you’re going to mess up.” She warned.

***

Rain poured down on them as they laid on their stomachs, watching a storage room being loaded up. Ophelia rested her chin on her hands that laid on top of the concrete parapet in front of them. “Look for Imperial Panda and Kaufman Shoes!” Robin instructed Dustin from beside Ophelia. She pulled her hood up over her hair, her bare legs that her dress didn’t cover becoming cold as they got soaked with rain. She could hear one of the delivery guys whistling over the pounding rain, but because of the distance, she couldn’t see anything through the pouring rain.

“They’re with that whistling guy, ten O’Clock!” Dustin exclaimed from the other-side of Steve, his binoculars once again pressed to his face. Lazily, Ophelia let her eyes move towards the direction Dustin told them, seeing a man with a yellow raincoat pushing a trolley with three boxes on it into the storage unit. She also couldn’t help but notice the two large guys dressed in black, both holding rather large guns.

“What do you think’s in there?” Steve asked, his eyes squinting as rain fell on his head. He was the only one without a proper raincoat, but that didn’t surprise Ophelia, he wouldn’t be one to own a rain jacket.

“Guns, bombs.” Dustin suggested.

“Chemical Weapons.” Robin also suggested. Steve’s eyebrows jumped as he licked his lips. He wasn’t pleased to have Ophelia with them, not wanting her mixed up with this. It was starting to get dangerous.

“Whatever it is, they’re armed to the teeth.” Dustin announced, his eyes dropping to one of the stern faced guards. Thunder clapped overhead as Steve rubbed his eyes that were irritated from the rain.

“Great,” He commented, nodding his head as he pulled his hand away. His eyes were screwed shut in hopes not to get any more water in them. “That’s great.” He grumbled, opening his eyes. Ophelia reached up to his shoulder, patting it twice before letting it rest on the concrete once again. Her eyes squinted when one of the guards started to move, trying to see what he was doing. She was so focused on what the man was doing, she jolted back in fright when the storage room doors suddenly opened.

“Hey, what’s in there?” Robin perked up, also noticing the doors opening.

“It’s just more boxes.” Dustin told them. Ophelia nodded, watching as the delivery man pushed the trolley into the now open room.

“Let me check it out.” Steve told Dustin, reaching his arm up to grab the binoculars blindly. Dustin pulled the binoculars from his eyes, his grip tightening around them.

“No! I’m still looking!” Dustin pulled back on the binoculars, trying to get Steve to let go of them. Steve simply slapped his other hand on them, trying to wrestle them away from the younger boy.

“Lemme see it.” Steve pressed, pulling harder. Ophelia scooted closer to Robin, not wanting to be hit by Steve’s flailing elbow. A flash of lightning temporarily blinded them as Dustin and Steve continued to tug on the binoculars.

“Hold on!” Dustin argued, giving a sharp tug to the binoculars just as Steve let his hands go - making Dustin hit one of the metal pipes, a loud bang sounding over the pounding rain. Ophelia and Robin jumped at the sound, their eyes jumping from Dustin before looking down at the guards.

“Shit!” Ophelia cursed when she saw the guards glancing towards their direction, their hands reaching for their large semi-automatic guns. All four gasped, fear making their blood run cold in their veins. Ophelia was almost positive that her heart had stopped beating for a second.

“Duck!” Dustin cried as they all dropped to lay down. Ophelia flopped on her back, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her head rested against the slope of the parapet uncomfortably, a dull ache already making itself present in her neck. She had barely noticed that Steve had grabbed her hand tightly in the middle of the mess until she felt the same heat crawling under her skin that she felt when he grabbed her wrist earlier. It was a welcomed contrast from the cold rain pelting her like bullets, but she couldn’t let the sensation distract her from the fact that they could very well die right then and there.

“We gotta go,” Steve whispered harshly. His mind raced, trying to figure out how they were going to get themselves out of this situation. “We can hide along that.” He pointed towards the larger structure attached to the roof entrance. He didn’t even wait for them to argue before he started to move, tugging Ophelia along with him. He hadn’t even noticed his hand in hers, he was too occupied with trying not to die. They all awkwardly ran, pressing themselves up against the tin siding of the structure.

“I hope this plan works because we don’t have a plan b.” Ophelia panted, letting her head fall back against the wall, her eyes closing. Her chest stung from the panic and running, her lungs burning as they continued to grow greedy for air. She could feel herself shaking, but she wasn’t sure if it was mostly from the cold or her pending death which was rapidly approaching.

Nobody said anything as they all tried to calm their wildly beating hearts in hopes to control their loud breathing. The faint but rapid clang of heavy boots hitting the stairs was muffled to their ears, but detectable none-the-less. The heavy door slammed against the tin making them jump. Ophelia pressed the palm of her free hand to her mouth, her heart rate picking right back up. She found herself trying to plead with every higher power there was to just let them make it out of this situation alive, even wishing on the stars she knew were hidden behind the thick black rain clouds. She hoped that the planets and stars were aligned just the right way so that they all could live another day.

Thunder clapped, overhead making Ophelia suddenly start praying to Zeus of all people, hoping her name was a good enough reason for the mythical god to help the four of them. Steve squeezed her hand tight, nearly cutting off the blood flow to her fingers, but she didn’t care, she just squeezed his hand back equally as hard. They listened carefully, trying to hear any sign of movement over the rain splattering against the concrete of the roof.

It felt like an eternity before they heard the door swing open and slam shut, followed by the sweet sound of heavy boots hitting the metal of the stairs. “We should wait here until we know for sure he’s gone.” Dustin whispered, anxiety filling him, making his mind race. For all he knew, the guard could be waiting to catch them at any second, successfully catching them in his masterplan.

“Good idea.” Steve nodded. Robin and Ophelia looked at them with hard eyes.

“Well then how do we know when to leave? It’s not like he’s standing out in the pouring rain, he can wait there for hours!” Ophelia pointed out a flaw in Dustin’s wait-it-out plan. Just as she said that, they heard the guards loudly talking to each other in Russian, their voices booming over the rain. Dustin smiled at his sister.

“That’s how we know.” He remarked, darting towards the door. She rolled her eyes as the rest of them moved after him, their hearts still racing a mile a minute. They filed into the stairwell, their panting breaths echoing off the wall along with the squishes and squeaks of their sneakers against the clean floors. They were all drenched from head to toe, their clothes a soaking mess that clung to their skin uncomfortably. Ophelia’s hair hung in clumps around her head, a few clumps sticking to the back of her neck and allowing water to trail down her dry back. For the most part, Ophelia, Dustin and Robin’s clothes were somewhat dry thanks to their raincoats protecting them; the protection of the rubber coats stopped the second the Russian guards discovered their presence, their hoods sliding off their heads, their unbuttoned jackets flopping open to expose them to the cold rain.

“Well, I think we found your Russians.” Robin declared the second they reached the back corridors that connected all the stores to the loading dock. She glanced between Steve and Dustin as they all rushed back to Scoops, wanting to be safe once again. Steve continued to hold Ophelia’s hand, tugging her along behind him as he sped walked to Scoops. Robin glanced at their intertwined hands, sharing a look with Dustin who also noticed.

***

Robin was long gone, having biked home so that she could sleep off the memory of nearly dying, something the other three had unfortunately faced twice before. Dustin retreated to Ophelia’s car, but forced her and Steve to get his Camp Know Where hat that he accidentally left behind in the backroom of Scoops. Ophelia and Steve walked in silence, Steve’s mind wrapped up in trying to figure out if he actually liked her. “So, that was kinda scary earlier, huh?” Steve asked, his voice coming out squeakier than he wanted, as he pulled the door to the outside open, the sound of raindrops hitting the wet pavement meeting their ears.

“Yeah, just a little,” Ophelia nodded. She had sensed his rigidity around her. It was like he was constantly on edge, overthinking everything he did. She felt fear settle into her chest at the thought that he had figured her feelings for her. He was probably trying to figure out how to let her down gently or how she could have possibly misread his signs of friendship for something more. “We’ve almost died a lot of times, but this is the first time we’ve almost died from guns.” She tried to carry on the conversation as if her heart wasn’t threatening to rip itself in half.

Stepping into the pouring rain, their barely dry clothes were instantly wet again, weighing down on them along with the crushing silence beating between them like a pulse. Even with the cold rain drops pelting them and thunder rolling over their heads, they still took their time walking to their respective cars. Despite the suffocating silence that bathed them, they still wanted to spend time together. “I don’t think this is a good idea - not after what happened on the roof.” Steve suddenly stopped, turning to face her. Ophelia dug her heels into the ground, whirling around to face him with furrowed brows. He didn’t know what prompted him to say that, the thought of not wanting her to get hurt pressing itself to the forefront of his brain - begging for attention.

They both ignored the raindrops rolling down their faces at high speeds and the rain beating at their faces, their eyes blinking rapidly. “What do you mean? You don’t want to figure out what they’re doing anymore?” She asked, confused. Steve was stubborn, he never gave up on anything. It wasn’t like him to back out of something.

Steve shook his head, water spraying from his hair at the action like a dog. “No, no,” He breathed out so softly Ophelia almost didn’t hear it over the rain. “No, I don’t want you to be involved in this anymore.” He told her, gesturing his hands in the small space between them. They stood so close, you could barely fit another person between them. Ophelia blinked at him, her mouth opening and closing as she processed what he had just said.

“Why not? If you haven’t noticed, I’ve dealt with things a lot scarier than Russians.” She shot back, her hands flying through the air. They had been through so much the past two years, they had been through hell and back and there was no way she was going to bow out at Russians. Last time she checked, they weren’t some unknown force from another dimension.

“Did you not see the giant semi-automatics they were holding Ophelia? That’s a lot harder to avoid than a monster,” Steve’s voice boomed, his blood pressure building. He didn’t want her to get hurt; he didn’t want her to end up with a bullet in her. He wanted her safe, far away from this. Monsters were one thing, but these monsters had guns and a ruthless urge to kill. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” He admitted, his voice quieter, but scratchy - realization hitting him. He felt like he had been hit by a tonne of bricks. The world was spinning around him like he was standing on a spinning top that was spinning out of control. His stomach churned, making him want to throw up, but the dizziness made him feel like he was going to pass out. He liked her. Here he stood, in a deserted parking lot with rain pounding down on him, starting a fight with her because he liked her.

Steve watched her face, a mixture of sadness, hurt and anger perfectly blended to match the storm swirling overhead. She chuckled dryly, shaking her head as she folded her arms over her chest. Licking her lips, she set her watery, but hard eyes on Steve who seemed to be caught up in his own thoughts. “You don’t want me to get hurt,” She echoed like she couldn’t believe the words he spoke. “Do you not remember who saved you from being killed from demodogs and Billy Hargrove last year? Oh, yeah! That’s right,” Her tone picked up to fake enthusiasm. “It was me.” Her tone dropped dangerously.

“Billy was different and you ended up right next to me on that floor, Ophelia,” He reminded her, his voice raising as well, his voice strained. “I can’t do that again, I can’t see you laying there barely hanging on to consciousness again!” His body shook as he screamed into the night. He was screaming out silently, hoping that she could hear what he was trying to tell her.

“And you think I want to see you being beaten to a pulp again? No, but I’m not going to try and stop you from potentially saving the world again and you shouldn’t try to stop me!” She screamed back. She was trying to get him to hear her, to hear her true meaning in the words that she spoke.

“I can take care of myself, you-” He cut himself off, his mind stopping his mouth from talking before he put his foot in his mouth. “You-” He tried to come up with something else quickly, knowing that what he wanted to say was a complete lie. She could take care of herself. She had proven that multiple times. “You-” He tried again, but she cut him off with a stressed cry.

“I- What, Steve,” She asked, her eyes dancing with fire despite the water that pooled in them, trying desperately to smother the fire. “I can’t defend myself? I can’t take care of myself, huh,” She asked, choking back a little sob as her heart pulled itself apart slowly. She had always been undermined, nobody letting her do anything because she wasn’t strong enough, because she was just a little fragile thing that would break if the wind blew too hard. She listened to his silence, his eyes darting to the wet pavement guiltily. “God Steve! I thought that you of all people wouldn’t look at me like that, but I guess you’re just like everyone else.” She spat, tears finally breaking through the wall, sliding down her cheeks along with the rain.

Steve noticed instantly, his heart feeling like it was being held together by a single thin string that was seconds away from snapping at the sight of the tears. “No, Ophelia, that wasn’t what I wanted to say-” She cut him off once again.

“Then tell me,” She stated, sniffling slightly. “Tell me what you don’t think of me like a porcelain doll that will crack at the softest touch,” She prompted him. Silence banged like the thunder over their heads. Steve’s mouth hung open, wanting to say something, but he couldn’t, his mind blank. He really didn’t see why she couldn’t continue this with them other than the fact that he likes her and will go insane if something happened to her, but he couldn’t say that. Not yet at least. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” She muttered bitterly, wiping at her face. “Think what you want, Harrington-” She spat his name as if it were a bad taste in her mouth, sending a dagger into his heart - severing the string holding it together. “I’m doing this whether you like it or not.” She told him, turning on her heel and speed walking towards her car where Dustin sat.

Steve stood there, hair hanging in his face as he watched her. The warning Robin gave him earlier echoing through his head. “If you don’t figure them out fast, you’re going to mess up.” Steve sighed, kicking the ground and walking to his dark car. His thoughts were consumed by Ophelia, wondering how he was going to fix this and his new found feelings for her. He had always felt it, he just finally realized it. Ophelia Henderson could take anything she wanted from him, even his beating heart from his chest, and leave and Steve would just be happy to see her smile.

She was always there for him. She gave him shelter when his dad and him were fighting about College and he didn’t feel safe to be home for weeks. She held him, gave him food, cared for him when his parents wouldn’t. When he felt like he was losing everything, like he was drowning, she was the one keeping him afloat, keeping his head above water. She was the reason his head was still above the rising water levels of his life. She was the reason he was still hanging onto hope that his life will get better. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t able to protect herself (which he knew full well that she could), he’d still rather give his life for her because she’s saved his life more than once and he knows that she’d do it all over again, even if it meant giving her life for him. She was the reason he was still there, being able to be there for Dustin. She pulled him out of his darkest time, of the period of his life where he honestly couldn’t picture himself in five years because he thought he’d be dead. He didn’t understand how he couldn’t have realized his feelings sooner, how he so clearly liked her that even Dustin noticed it before him. He could have avoided doing the one thing he never wanted to do: hurt Ophelia.

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ohtobeoneofbuckysplums · 4 years

Text

Some Friendly Competition [BUCKY BARNES X READER]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader // Avengers x Reader

Summary: The first time you ever interact with Bucky Barnes is over a game of beer pong.

Word count: ~1.7k

Contains: just some good ole fluff and a bit of PG-13 language

A/N: My first fic/post on this blog! I really hope you guys enjoy this, and let me know your thoughts/give me some feedback! Requests are open, so feel free to send me some ideas or just say hi!

–––––

“Friday, chill sesh in the main apartment,” Tony calls out as you guys walk out of the meeting, “I’m gonna dock your pay if you miss it!”

–––––

The hangout is already in full swing when you arrive.

“Lady Y/N!” Thor booms when you walk in, raising his drink to you, and you wave back laughing. Tony’s outside at the bar next to the pool, playing bartender. You walk over.

“What can I get for you, kid?” He asks, throwing a dishrag over his shoulder.

“Surprise me, old man,” you shoot back.

After grabbing your drink (he made you a Margarita), you head to the ping pong table at the other side of the pool where Sam and Steve are talking.

“What’s up, Y/N,” Sam greets with a hug.

“Great job on the mission,” Steve says, patting you on the shoulder.

“Easy peasy,” you say with a nonchalant wave of your hand. Your gaze catches on the red solo cups on the table.

“Wanna go a round?” You ask Sam, shaking the ball that’s clutched in between your fingers.

“No way, Y/N. Remember the last time we played?” he asks, and you cackle at the memory of finding him the morning after going sixteen rounds of beer pong (all of which he lost but continued to call for rematch after rematch) in a neon pink speedo and asleep on the unicorn floatie on top of the pool. You used up half of your phone’s data taking pictures of him, all of which you sent to the team group chat.

“Stevie?” You asks, jutting out your bottom lip. He laughs at you.

“Nice try,” he says while shaking his head. Since he can’t get drunk, you guys usually play with a forfeit. Last time he had to let you pick his outfit for one day. The look on everyone’s faces when Captain America walked into the mission meeting in a hotdog suit brings a smile to your face every time you think of it.

“You guys are no fun,” you say with a pout.

“I’ll play a round with you Miss Y/L/N,” Peter pipes up from the couch in front of the fire pit. You raise a brow and Sam laughs, but you throw him a ball anyway.

“Good luck kid.”

“Okay, okay cool, I’ve only played like once at a party, but I don’t know if that counts since we didn’t have beer, so we used cranberry juice, but I feel like––”

Bucky plucks the ping pong ball out of Peter’s hands. “You and me,” he says to you. You raise your brows, surprised that the Winter Soldier decided to even come out to one of these hangouts. You talked to him before, basic pleasantries on missions and around the tower, but haven’t really had a full on interaction with him. You ignore that though. The tequila is beginning to work its way into your bloodstream and he looks especially good in a simple black tee and jeans and you kind of want to see how good of a beer pong player the famous Winter Soldier really is. You look at him for a beat longer, giving him time to change his mind if he wants, but he simply quirks up a brow.

“Okay, you’re on Barnes.” He flashes you a smile that makes your cheeks warm.

“You don’t want to play her Barnes, she’ll smoke you,” Sam warns him.

Steve folds his arms across his chest, his face adorned with an amused smile. Because honestly, he doesn’t know who would win. A super soldier with a bionic arm against an assassin with deadly aim. Each has an equal shot.

“Eye for eye,” you both say in unison, locking eyes while tossing each of your balls. Yours makes it in while his bounces off the rim of a cup.

“Next time, sweets,” you say with a wink. He cracks a smile and rolls his eyes. You make two of his cups, and now it’s his turn.

Flicking his wrist, the ball plops into the cup at the center of the triangle. Your mouth melts into an evil grin.

“Pants off.”

His eyes sharpen. “What?”

“You made the center cup on your first try. Pants off.” His mouth opens, about to argue.

“Those are the rules man,” Steve says, eyes crinkling at the corners. Bucky gives him a glare that would make any other man piss his pants, but Steve just shrugs and beckons him to undress. He lets out an annoyed huff, but proceeds to unbuckle his belt. When he finishes pushing down his black jeans, he’s left in a pair of tight black briefs. Someone whistles. You can’t help your eyes as they wander down.

“Eyes up here, Doll,” he says with a smirk, and your mouth drops open. The dimple on the side of his face deepening when he sees your flustered state.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Barnes,” you say, trying to ignore the way your stomach twists when he calls you “Doll.”

–––––

You’re currently in the lead when Nat walks over, six shots held impressively between her fingers. She hands you two of the them, gives two to Sam, and downs the last two herself.

“I would have gotten you two oldies some, but then I remembered that you guys only drink gross whiskey,” she says to Bucky and Steve.

“How considerate,” Bucky says dryly, arms now crossed against his chest.

You hiss when you feel the vodka run down your throat, and you scrunch up your face at the taste.

Sam laughs. “One of the best Russian trained assassins can’t handle the taste of vodka.”

“Fuck you Big Bird,” you wheeze out, flipping him off. Sam’s mouth pops open comically. Bucky chokes on air, and Nat howls, clapping her hands together.

“Big Bird? Big Bird?” Sam asks, eyebrows to his hairline. You all continue to laugh even harder at his affronted expression, and he scoffs.

“The utter disrespect. Big Bird? Come on, I need a drink,” you hear him mumble to himself as he walks away.

“I love you!” You yell. He waves you off, and you blow him a kiss. Nat’s still giggling when your favorite song comes on.

“Your turn Barnes––oh my god, I love this song!” you exclaim. Bucky gauges the shot, and he’s just about to release the ball when you raise your arms above your head, swaying your hips to the music, and his eyes laser in on the small strip of skin that’s uncovered when your shirt rides up. His hand falters, and the ball flies to the left and bounces away and onto the ground. You smirk and wink, and his eyes narrow.

“Distracted there, Bud?” Steve murmurs. Bucky glares at him. And out of spite, he tosses the ball while still glaring at Steve. It splashes straight into a cup. Steve raises his brows and his hands in mock apology.

You’re both down to your last cups. He’s a formidable opponent. It’s his turn, and he makes it. You’re not worried though.

Okay just gotta make this shot, or he wins. Easy peasy. You take a breath and release the ball. It soars in a nice arc, hits the rim, and…

rolls off the side of the cup and bounces off the table.

Your mouth pops opens in surprise while Bucky’s stretches into a triumphant smile.

“Rematch,” you demand.

“Uhh, I don’t think so, I kinda like being the king of beer pong right now. Maybe another time,” he says with a smug grin. Your shock turns into a begrudging laughter.

“Okay fine. Good game, good game,” you say, offering up your hand, which he takes, warm hand and rough callouses rub against your skin deliciously.

You grab his tumbler of whiskey sitting on the table and down the rest in one gulp. He raises his brows, eyes focused on a drop of liquor at the corner of your mouth.

“I’m gonna hold you to that rematch,” you say before sauntering off. He watches you leave before seating himself down on the couch.

A hand offers him a refilled glass of whiskey, which he takes. He can’t get drunk, but it’s familiar, and Tony’s collection tastes nice. Seconds after, Steve plops down next to him.

“So, what do you think of Y/N?”

“She’s cool. I like her,” he says simply, not taking his eyes off the way you’re drunkenly dancing dangerously close to the pool’s edge with Natasha. Steve narrows his eyes, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

“Shut up, punk,” he says

“I didn’t say anything!” Steve exclaims, raising his hands in defense.

“Didn’t have to,” still gazing at you. You’re now braiding Thor’s hair, and his stomach clenches with something akin to jealousy and something else when he sees you throw back your head and laugh at something the lightening god says, wishing that that person who was making you laugh was him. That the hair you’re combing your fingers through was his. That he could laugh that easily with you.

“Okay, whatever, I won’t push it,” Steve says, clinking his own glass to Bucky’s.

A few moments of peaceful silence.

“Bucky has a crush!”

“Oh fuck you, what are you twelve?” Bucky says before pushing himself off the couch.

“Hey––where are you going?” Captain America calls after his best friend.

“Away from you!”

Steve shakes his head as he laughs, raising his glass to his lips before hearing Sam’s shriek followed by a loud splash.

“Fuck you Barnes,” Sam sputters once his head breaks through the water. Bucky just flips him off as he walks back inside.

“What the hell did you say?” Steve asks, wiping the water droplets off of his face.

“I just asked him why he was smiling so much!”

#Bucky Barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #marvel imagine #marvel #winter soldier #captain america #sam wilson #thor odinson #Tony stark #my fic #my writing #avengers #avengers x reader #peter parker #spiderman #natasha romanoff #black widow

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sirjustice1370 · 3 years

Text

Want to get my words dude

Ask the devil who is controlling stima around ya using control as of a toy drone push in front or pull back remote and get their names and warm them if posible, if they refuse ask the devil on ways u can harm them and even kill ya cause the best as they will not stop disturbing you and ask in which USA states got mud houses with baths inside, with decor roofs, ceiling, tiles and in-between mud metallic posts and side plastic bars to hold the soil and in Which Eu or Asian nations again to puzzle some folks dude

Want to get my tongue and my next word by poverty stricken words as to gauge what u want if i still got and me only suitable to steal dude

Ask if these is NELSON NORTHWHITEHEAD mother and where she was from and her sisters and brother and what part of body she bought and all people he knew in time past as in the link below

https://littlespaceofficer.tumblr.com/post/640672197858492416/a-small-comfort-zone-drawing-c

Ask what if one do Your nation grows this crop and that if u r citizen or not and with another nation as well and all the consequences and whatavyou u got to do or this mineral surface to the top soil or nears or what can u do to bring corpse up from the grave and who when have gotten to a far land spoils the fertility of such lands and those tribes ans well and their intentions to combat them

Jayden say ameroca mit kaliech gi piende, or liech mit gi yiwe, while jacky 10 says Kenya rach ka simba Gi tunge, while, tony, thesays, u ganda mit kadiep moole mo kata mokete popo juice, while kate says Russia MIT ka blanket mokete remb thiang while alfonse says Lassia mit ka liech mawinyo obete ewiye or thiang moninde epaka, while tanzania mita kaka popo manumu mokete ewi-antelop, to france mit ka dhinag moketi popo kata hay ewiye to nigeria mit ka rombo moketi avocado ewiye kata winyo moketi ewi rombo, malta mit ka rombo mothiegi sperms ewiye, meaning the above as ask the devil what u got to do as with the above to grow any cash crop or food crop u wanna as with middle east chop cat on wood soaked in milk on Mt Kenya and boom wheat land 4 middle east while 4 North Africa chop hay and mango on wood in millet sack in gone down much curve within a plane like in Kano, Kenya and boom wheat land and ask with any other crop u want and how to create cattle and wild animals in the boom process and given and ask how much each gives to a nation who have such and the related consequences and ask what if u do and how to block it 4 a nation u hate to dry like with they did to the USA

Why they love the luo, Green-man spoke the same and were wise, so they think of the same dude.

Even with knowing where one will kick the ball ask the same as above if u r goal keeper and the all players so u play good and ask which teams have employed such to gain advantage over others and even in exams so return the cup 4 the team they defeated and even where one keeps accessories dude ask and all shall be given unto ya, the above make betting firm thrive and when the predecessor has learnt the same reduces on chances 4 the people who liaise 4 they chances be fixed get bogged off to want to kill themselves as 1 diseased narrates deeply unto me. If this unearth ask 4 remedies to diffuse the same on all players in the playing time so they use their own mind not guide spirits and even in any sports as NBA and boxing and even tennis and hockey. Hooligans can lead with the same and in Military I told Russians as i remember and their rudeness as it shield their airplane against another and no need 4 the radar as they discern the same now baffled as even their enemies knows the same dude to make them per lest the forge an alliance as they done to channel anger to 1 person which is me who told them the same they pay me but now wanting from me, dude, how appalling is that bro

Ask what combination of things if u do block all free online money platform as 2goinvoice and any and their related consequences to you and to the firm and if still rude if u operate the same what happens to ya to stop the same dude as what if u eat as combine or chop or infuse

And ask what can u employ to make combination padlocks that u can change the combination digits or numbers as u wish with every lock and of sim button like or rotated one as is the best padlock ever as devaura tells me dude

In heaven their is no black and ask which race is the best and which u can opt 4 and why odhiambo chui was destroyed completely as what he did or opt 4 and those around him were thinking and who told them dude

Ask all free monies related online a/c like the invoices belongs to who or which nations in conjunctions operates such and how it can be stopped and how many nations currently trying to make theirs and ask if people know every each other in a nation the repercussion and the consequences of such groupings to a nation

And ask what Solomon ate or Archimedes to be cleaver or true lies and ask 4 any combination of things if u eat as option u became the same and even what northwhitehead eat and in which year and why and who he was with ad do the same to be wise like him not ya own making dude of lies homies

Ask at which school a son drunk water with her mother to have wide body though was slim and ask why and ask ways to be tall, wide or small head, big body, legs, hands what combination of things u need to partake to be as u want above and people who have done the same list dude

And ask if u hurl tusker bottle on rust iron sheet as fence the repercussion on 1 eating modern day cough drops or eating ugali alone and more u can think of dude

Ask if HINDU sees things in their eyes while now all of them sees not but one sees is he Hindu or more than Hindu and now what they want dude as with the devil talking as above to ya ears, the coded voice response be doubt while machines they have kept truth to build their ego while built with the same person meaning they hate him and wants to destroy him, are they deemed 4 annihilation bro and even the step on as pertaining theology they have rubbished still chit chatting as though they are superior dude

And ask what if u do gives a woman this booty shape and that and even breast, waist as u can select the best from the photos and ask if u smear blood on door post above what if u do kill this tribe and that tribe that disturbs humanity and more opts and remedies to each consequences displayed and go 4 it dude instead of amicable solution they will not fathom/understand not dude even 4 ages yet wanna be well ahead of you b4 resorting to mocking ya sexuality thinking u want their own or to get by or get ya into their acts which if u refuse they threaten u with voodoo which now u know better than them to still now want ya food as they locate if u r eating which if u not they say u r grown up and need to take care of 1 b4 they bring u, their kids not knowing u hate them in the 1st stanza dude. How can it be solved while Russians do it but with their women, which if u refute, kinda, they are heated u r stripping their self hoold, dude, advice let your women be prostitutes in urgency way, good dude

Ask how to take out toxic impurities out of ya soil after u have asked which one was placed and why and with who and now which lands were drying but now fertile and what they did to the soil as the combination and who did such and why and all given dude, instead of wanting this land and that land dude and ask who destroyed Africa and Latin America to have red soil and why and the curse on him

Ask who have made Condom inscribed in cushion or any other machine, food or accessories and where sold in store or in which nation and how much as in chain store ask this product cause how much to make/produce and how much should be on shelve as the devaura told them but made it expensive to make Kinda, the building wants to bulge so they correct the same and get to another chain store as u give them super-normal profits enriching other lands yet u get depleted dude

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bittysvalentines · 4 years

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The Science of Crushes

From @17piesinseptember

To @jackzimmermemes

Happy (Bitty's) Valentine's!! I hope you have a fantastic day.

Justin/Tater, general rating, no archive warnings

Justin is in the middle of packing-up when a man rushes into the museum's lecture theatre, startling him. Thankfully, he was only holding a packet of balloons and not one of the more lethal accessories he uses in his science demonstration.

“Can I help you?” Justin asks, starting to gather the balloons now scattered over the table.

The man’s figure is shadowy. The stage lights are on but Justin switched off the audience lights after everyone left. The only thing Justin can discern is that the man is tall.

“Have I miss the show?” the guy asks. He has an accent that Justin thinks is some kind of Eastern European. It sparks something in his memory but he doesn’t know why.

“Yes, sorry. I just finished,” Justin tell the man.

The man says something in a foreign language. Justin doesn’t know exactly what but he’s certain it’s a swear word.

“You have another today?” the man asks, walking toward him, every step bringing him more into the light. Not only is he tall, but he’s broad as well.

“No. Sorry,” Justin apologises, still gathering balloons. “I’ve got two tomorrow though. One at eleven and the other…”

Justin trails off as the man comes fully into the light and Justin realises why the voice was familiar.

The man is Alexei Mashkov, former Falconers player and Justin’s celebrity crush all through college.

Seeing him in the flesh brings a flash of the old attraction back and Justin’s heart speeds up despite him being fifteen years out of college and not having watched a game in years.

"The other?" Alexei prompts.

"At two."

"Okay. Will remember."

Alexei turns and walks out before Justin can quite process that he was in the presence of Alexei Mashkov.

True to his word, Alexei turns up to Justin’s 2pm show the next day.

Sure, Alexei asked Justin about his show times, but Justin didn’t really expect the man to turn up. Which adult comes two days in a row to the same kid-centric science and technology museum?

Justin deals with Alexei's presence by trying to ignore him and stick to his script. It doesn’t work. Alexei is the odd one out in the audience, not only because of his height and his fame (and Justin’s rekindled college-days attraction), but because he sits and takes notes during the whole show.

After the big finale with the liquid nitrogen and a balloon, the room clears quickly. Except for one person.

Justin swallows, throat dry, as Alexei approaches with the notebook in his hands.

Justin should have a better grasp on his hormones after having lived with them for 37 years. He apparently doesn’t.

“No kid?” Justin asks, because of the not-having-a-grasp-on-his-hormones thing, and it seemed better than blurting out that he used to have a poster of Alexei in his college dorm.

Alexei frowns, but responds. “I don’t have children.”

Justin’s stomach twists in embarrassment. “Sorry. I wasn’t asking that. That’s unprofessional. I mean, no kid here with you?” Justin isn’t making things better. He decides biting his tongue is the solution.

“Ah.” Alexei’s expression smooths out and he shakes his head. “Is no kid. Just me.”

“You came to the kids’ science show by yourself?”

Will biting his tongue was unsuccessful. He’ll have to try something else.

“Yes. I come to learn.” Alexei holds the notebook up. “Then can go back and tell niece about show.”

“That’s sweet,” Justin tells Alexei, while his brain is flipping out to see Alexei’s sweet side up close. It was always part of the narrative during his time in the NHL; ferocious on the ice and a big teddy bear off it.

“Thank you. She meant to be here but a few days ago, she fall badly,” Alexei explains. “Now can’t walk while healing.”

“That’s rough,” Justin empathises, surprised Alexei is still standing here engaging him in an actual conversation.

"Yes. Spending holidays in hospital not fun."

“Which hospital is your niece at? If you don't mind me asking."

"Royal Far West."

Justin nods. "I know it. I did a rotation there when I was in med school."

Alexei looks at the table covered with Justin's props. "You have gone to med school?"

Justin laughs at the look on Alexei's face. "Yeah. Burnt out after ten years though. It's intense."

"Intense. I understand this."

Alexei looks down (down!) at him and Justin feels like he's back in college. No, even worse. In high school.

Alexei holds his hand out to Justin. "I'm Alexei."

Justin catches himself from replying 'I know', finally on top (somewhat) of his hormones. "Doctor Justin Oluransi."

Alexei’s hand is rough and warm. And large.

"Doctor Oluransi." He smiles at Justin.

"Justin is fine,” Justin replies as a shiver runs through him at the way Alexei shapes his name. Maybe his college crush isn't as in the past as he thought.

Not knowing how to act on that, but trying to extend his time in Alexei’s orbit, Justin makes a suggestion. "Look. If your niece is stuck in a hospital bed, I can get in touch with the hospital and arrange to do a show there."

Alexei’s eyebrows raise. "You can?"

"Sure. I've done it before. We have a partnership with them."

"You are a saint,” Alexei says earnestly.

Justin flushes. "Let's see if the hospital approves it before declaring my sainthood."

Alexei throws his head back and laughs. Justin’s stomach feels fluttery and he subtly pinches his leg. Yep. It’s real. Alexei is laughing at something he said.

The hospital is more than happy for Justin to come and do an abridged version of one of his presentations. Then Justin is stuck with how he passes that information on to Alexei. The hospital could have done it for him but he wanted to speak to Alexei again. Thankfully, he's on good terms with a lot of the staff still, and when he explains the situation he's pointed in the right direction.

He finds Alexei's niece in a private room already crammed full of flowers and get well cards. If he didn't know after some late night googling that Alexei was childless and single (not that he's focusing on the second part) he would've assumed they were father and daughter. She has his exact colouring.

Alexei is thankfully in the room and chatting to his niece whose entire left leg up to mid-thigh is covered in plaster. Justin at least knows the language is Russian now, even if he still doesn't understand a single word.

The girl spots him first and says something to Alexei that puts a blush on his cheeks.

"Doctor Oluransi!" Alexei unfolds himself from the chair and comes over to shake Justin's hand. Justin's still not over how towering his height is. It's so rare anyone is taller than Justin. All the man has done is say hello and Justin's already got jelly legs.

"I don't have to do my presentation in Russian, do I?" Justin jokes, holding onto Alexei's hand too long.

"No, no. Sandra first language is English."

"Uncle Alexei is just teaching me Russian for fun," Sandra explains.

Justin turns to her, hoping he appears casual and not flustered because Alexei's now holding his shoulder. "For fun, huh."

Sandra nods. "Yep."

"I get it. I used to try to memorise the periodic table," Justin tells her.

"Already done that," she grins.

"Already--" Justin looks at Alexei who nods at the declaration. The pride for his niece is clear.

Justin must hold Alexei's gaze too long because Sandra clears her throat to get their attention.

"Uncle Alexei, can you get me a coke please?"

"Yes. Of course." Alexei turns to Justin. "You come also?"

"Actually," Sandra interrupts. "Can I ask you some science questions, Doctor Oluransi? Please?" She asks so innocently Justin gets the feeling there's an ulterior motive.

"Well, uh, I guess if it's okay with Alexei?"

Justin can't believe he just used Alexei's name like they're close enough to be on first name terms. He pinches himself. Yep. He really did that.

"Is okay,” Alexei confirms immediately. “I trust you. Plus, am very bad remembering facts, even after writing down. You will do better."

Alexei leaves them alone and Justin takes the seat by Sandra's bed. "What do you want to know?"

"Do you like my uncle?"

So much for Justin appearing casual. "That is not a science question."

"You're a scientist, so it half is,” Sandra points out.

Sandra's intelligence astounds him again. "I'd rather not discuss feelings I may or may not have for Alexei with you."

Sandra pouts. "Fine. Being in here is so boring though."

"So is my love life," Justin sighs.

Realising it's maybe inappropriate to have shared that, he moves on quickly. "I think I can make it less boring, though. I came here to--"

"So you do like Uncle Alexei!" Sandra sits up straight and fist-pumps.

"No.”

“But you just said--”

“I was talking about you being bored. Not my love life."

"Oh." She slumps back against the pillows.

"Right. Well.” Justin worries he isn’t making a good impression with Sandra. Not that it’s something he should be worrying about; making a good impression with Alexei’s niece.

“The hospital is letting me do a science show here on the weekend,” he tells Sandra.

Sandra's face lights up again. "That's so cool. Really?"

Alexei returns then with the coke. "What so cool?"

"Doctor Oluransi is doing a science show here on the weekend!"

"See?” Alexei crosses to them and places his hand on Justin’s shoulder. “You are like saint."

Justin's going to have to be more careful about letting his rekindled attraction show while Sandra's in the room. Thankfully, it’s impossible for her to see how fast his pulse is racing as Alexei’s fingers graze the skin above his collar.

“You forgot the straw,” Sandra pouts at her uncle.

“Ah. Sorry. Think I was distract.”

Sandra sends Justin an indecipherable look at Alexei's words.

“I go get now.”

Alexei shoots an apologetic smile at Justin. As soon as he’s out of the room, Sandra grins at Justin.

"You do like him," she declares, and takes a sip of her coke without waiting for the straw.

Justin doesn’t try and deny it this time.

Justin prepares for the show like he would any other, even though it’s at the hospital and even though he knows Alexei is going to be in the audience. He’s decided that even though he’s clearly still attracted to the man, there isn’t a future there and he shouldn’t spend time imagining one.

Alexei goes with Sandra back to her room after the show. Justin tries not to feel upset by the fact, but even without the daydreaming, a part of him was hoping Alexei would come and talk to him after the show (that part of him may have gone so far as to make Justin dream of that very thing happening last night).

Telling himself it’s for the best, and he should let his interest in Alexei fade, Justin is totally blindsided when Alexei finds him in an elevator on his way out of the hospital.

“Ah-ha!” Alexei exclaims, stepping inside. “I find you!”

Alexei doesn’t press any of the floor buttons. The doors close and the elevator continues taking Justin down to the parking lot.

“You were looking for me?” Justin knows it’s not possible for his heart to flip over in his chest, but it feels like that’s what happens when Alexei nods.

“Of course I look for you,” Alexei tells him. “Need to say how amazing show was.”

Alexei’s eyes are on Justin. His dreams haven’t done them justice. They’re so warm, Justin feels his blood heating just from staring at them.

The moment is broken as the elevator opens and a mother and son enter. Alexei shuffles in closer to Justin to give them room. Goosebumps run up Justin’s arm when their elbows bump. He’s never found his elbow an erogenous zone but there’s a first time for everything.

The child stares at Alexei. Justin sees the moment he realises who he’s in the elevator with. The kid’s jaw drops and his eyes widen. Justin hopes his face wasn’t that transparent in his adoration when Alexei showed up at his show that first time. It mustn’t have been, otherwise Alexei would have run the other way.

“You’re Alexei Mashkov,” the child announces.

“Honey, don’t bother the man,” the mother tells her son.

“Is no problem,” Alexei smiles and crouches down in front of the kid. “You can call me Tater.”

The kid beams. “Can you sign my cast, Tater?” The child lifts his arm. His cast is already half covered with scribbles. Alexei adds his name.

“Thank you so much,” the mother says as they exit at the gift shop floor, leaving Justin and Alexei alone in the elevator again.

Justin is thoroughly charmed by Alexei’s interaction with the kid. The college crush he had on the man that flared up when Alexei showed up at his first show hasn’t gone away like Justin was imagining it would. Every interaction they have, Justin discovers more of Alexei. And it makes him want to know even more.

Justin doesn’t think he’s in a position to ask for that though, not from a man he’s only interacted with a handful of times.

As soon as the doors shut, Alexei turns to Justin. Justin notices they aren’t standing as close anymore.

"Sorry,” Alexei apologises. Justin isn’t sure what for until he continues. “Happens a few time with me. Was hockey player in NHL for many years."

"I know,” Justin tells him.

Alexei blinks. "You know? You know who I am all times we talk?"

“I used to follow hockey," Justin admits.

Alexei shuffles on his feet, ending up closer to Justin. “Used to? Where we go wrong?”

Alexei smiles and Justin laughs. He never thought he'd be teased by Alexei Mashkov. Maybe asking Alexei out isn’t the ridiculous fantasy he first thought.

“You didn’t go wrong,” he assures Alexei. “I did a doctorate and that took most of my brainspace for 3 years. I never got back into it after that.”

“If you want to start again, I maybe get you tickets to a game?" Alexei suggests. "Falconers, of course.”

Justin's jaw drops. "Seriously?"

"Yes. Serious.” Alexei nods. He shuffles his weight again and ends up so close Justin can smell his deodorant. “You do so much for Sandra. You are great, smart, kind man."

Justin's insides melt. He knows it isn't possible, but he can’t think of another way to describe it.

“That would… That would--Yeah. Okay,” Justin stammers. “That's amazing, Alexei.”

“Okay." Alexei smiles. The right side of his mouth pulls up higher. Justin’s enamoured by it.

"And I go with, then. Like date.”

Justin’s brain short-circuits. He’d only come around ten seconds ago to the possibility of asking Alexei out. Now Alexei is maybe asking him out?If twenty-year old Justin could see him now.

“Like a date. Or a date?” Justin checks.

“Ah, I not want to pressure you.”

“I’m a grown man. I can say no if I want.”

“Are you say no?”

Justin is the one to move closer this time. “No way. I'm saying yes.”

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