#and then he cuts his own hair and leaves to go develop his city alone in seclusion | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ateezmakemeweep · 3 years

Text

lights out.

neighbor!yunho

word count: 7k

angst, fluff

you had three requirements when searching for your first apartment: a good location, an all pets allowed policy and access to the rooftop.

it seemed a little unusual, that you’d really find the perfect place, all the other check marks and lovely amenities secured, and just say no because you weren’t able to escape to the roof.

but it was a place you always found solace in.

cold nights overlooking the city or warm, spring days in the sun - and when you first moved in a few months ago, overjoyed to check out your new daily view, you saw one of your other neighbors also had an affinity for the rooftop.

he was softly humming to himself as he looked out over the roof, his tall, broad figure covered in a yellow hoodie. just the profile of his face alone had your cheeks warming, faded light blue hair peeking out from under his hood.

a peaceful look covered his face, all the light in eyes and softness of his features making him look boyish and sweet.

and then as if he sensed your presence, or more like your fascinated stare of admiration, he looked to you and his lips pulled into a bright smile.

“hi.”

you bit down on your lip at the realization you got caught, a slight blush on your cheeks as you shot the handsome stranger a shy smile.

“hi,” you said softly, your eyes moving from him to the view behind - all very picturesque and pretty, tall skyscrapers and a clear, blue summer sky. “i’m sorry if i interrupted you.”

“not at all,” he hummed, his arms crossed carelessly over the edge.

an awkward silence hung in the air, unsure if you should stay grounded in your place or make a move closer to him; you chose the former, in case the handsome stranger was weirded out by your closeness - but he seemed to take it another way.

“are you scared?”

your eyebrows pulled together at the teasing smirk on his face, an interesting contrast to the slightest hint of concern in his eyes.

“of what?” you ask in confusion, looking from the view to his cute, questioning face. “you?”

a smile crosses his face that has your heart jumping in your chest, the sun shining down on him and proving that he really is just as perfect as he seems even from afar.

“i was thinking more the heights or the view but i guess the fact that you’re on the roof with a stranger could be scary too.”

an awkward chuckle leaves your mouth, not so much because of his comment but because you don’t know how you’ve managed to develop a crush on this man in less than 60 seconds.

you hesitantly make your way over, your eyes shining with nerves and slight amusement.

“actually, i’ll have you know, access to the rooftop was one of my three requirements for getting a place.”

“oh yeah?” he asks, a smile on his face as he turns his body toward you. “did you just move in?”

he’s pressed up against the concrete without a care in the world, eyes roaming your face and not once dipping toward your dress-covered body.

“i did,” you smile, “about an hour ago.”

“no shit,” he smiles, the profanity leaving his mouth a stark contrast to the sweet smile on his face. he makes his way over to you, his large form towering over you making you swallow nervously - he’s far too handsome and big, two factors proving to be a major weakness for you.

“i’m yunho, apartment 304.”

“y/n,” you smile, the way it lights up your face making yunho’s heart jump in his chest - you’re even prettier looking this happy and excited. “apartment 305.”

you should’ve known then that the handsome man on the rooftop was gonna turn out to be the kindest neighbor you’ve ever had.

he welcomed you into the building with open arms, invited you to a dinner party with his friends mingi, wooyoung and san who also lived on the same floor as you two.

he was always quiet and considerate of the people around him, making sure his tv and music was low by the time 9:00 came around - and even when it wasn’t, you couldn’t help but mind because it was always sweet, soothing tones of comedic chatter or soft pop music.

he always lended you extra butter or milk when you needed, the first time he saw you in your messy ponytail and pastel pink apron the time he realized he might have a little crush on you.

that the times he got excited seeing you down in the lobby or in the elevator were more than just his heart having random palpitations.

the knock on his door that day was soft in a distinct pattern of two, opening up his embarrassingly messy apartment to see you standing there with flour in your hair and a sheepish smile on your face.

“hi neighbor,” you smiled sweetly, your small hand with chipped nail polish waving to him. “do you have an extra egg you can spare?”

“depends,” he smiles, leaning his head against the doorframe cooly. “what are you making with it?”

“pumpkin bread,” you inform him cheerfully, just about the only festive, fall food you’re able to make apart from sweet potato soup.

“ooh that sounds good,” he smiles, his large hand ushering you inside. “come on in. excuse the mess.”

it was your first time stepping inside his apartment, messy and properly lived in but a nice, clean scent in the air - like laundry, home and men’s cologne.

he had a large sectional to fit his crazy group of friends he told you about once in the hallway, a large tv perched on the wall and a small dining room table with rickety folding chairs.

you could tell immediately that it was an apartment that was like a home rather than a house, the same type of warmth in it that shines through the man taller than his own refrigerator.

“i wish i could say my apartment isn’t always this messy but that’d be a lie,” he says, one egg in hand as he makes his way over to you. he looks down at you with a smile, his eyes going back to the cute little apron adoring your body.

“that’s okay, so is mine,” you say, far too guilty of skipping your sunday cleaning day for the past three weeks.

you can’t help the way your eyes trail over his soft brown ones, everything about him and his aura only making you develop a stronger crush on him. he just seemed like such a sweet and genuine person, always looking out for you and going out of his way to send you a smile.

no one has ever made you feel so welcomed in a new place before nor have you ever seen someone with such a sweet, soft smile and kind eyes.

“so just one egg?” he finally asks, breaking the silence and the way your eyes roam over each other intensely.

“i.. oh- yes! yes, thank you, just one,” you stutter out, taking the cold egg from his large hand. you never noticed how nice his hands were either, veiny and large with long fingers and clean nails.

there doesn’t seem to be anything about this man that isn’t perfect, apart from maybe his disaster of an apartment.

“i’ll be sure to bring you a piece of bread when i’m finished,” you say sweetly, the man smiling down at you teasingly causing your heart to jump.

“and if you burn down the complex?”

a mock gasp leaves your mouth as you hit him lightly, his soft chuckle ringing through the air as he watches you turn to leave his apartment.

“forget it then!” you squeal jokingly, knowing right when it’s done, you’ll be rushing over to make sure it’s still nice and warm for him.

his eyes linger on the bounce of your hair and your messily tied apron as you disappear into the hall, letting out a small sigh when he feels the remaining hints of butterflies in his stomach.

“are you ever gonna tell her?” his best friend mingi asked, the two of them going down to san’s for thanksgiving dinner a few weeks later. “you’ve known her for three months now. that’s a reasonable amount of time to have a crush, she wouldn’t be weirded out.”

“i know but we haven’t really like... talked talked, you know,” the tall boy explains, a bowl of mashed potatoes in hand. “we have... neighborly chats in the hallway or in the elevator, sometimes even on the roof if we’re both there, but we really don’t know each other that way.”

“okay and that’s what a date is for, the fuck?” his younger friend spats, a small chuckle leaving his mouth; he wishes it really were that easy for him.

“do you just wanna give her eggs and sugar for the rest of your life?”

the tall boy lets out a sigh as he looks at his friend, the dramatic, playful flair of his body causing him to bite back a smile.

“and it’s obvious she doesn’t have a boyfriend, you would’ve seen him coming and going by now,” mingi continues, their loud footsteps stomping further and further down the hall. “you really have nothing to lose.”

but he kind of has everything to lose.

he likes being the friendly neighbor you can get eggs from or see on the rooftop.

he likes being the person who’s made you comfortable here, helping as you adjust to a new, intimidating setting.

he likes being a friend to you, one that genuinely cares for you and doesn’t have any ulterior motives because he may or may not have feelings for you.

“i don’t know, maybe one day,” yunho says, knocking on san’s apartment door with his free hand. “but today is not that day. today is not the day i confess my tiny, small, minuscule crush to-”

the door opening causes his words to halt, potatoes nearly slipping from his grasp when he sees your smiling face and the light brown sweater dress clinging to your body.

“y/n,” he smiles, shocked but pleasantly surprised to see you here. “hi. i-i didn’t know you’d be here.”

san comes out from behind you less than a second later, throwing a friendly arm around your shoulder as he smiles at him connivingly - yunho knew he was gonna regret letting his little crush on you slip when he and san went out and got shit-faced at dinner together.

“i heard she made delicious pumpkin bread so she had to make the cut,” san said, bumping your arm teasingly when you turn to narrow your eyes at him.

“oh? you heard i made good pumpkin bread?” you question, remembering the events from a few weeks ago very differently. “or you demanded to be let into my house for a bite after you smelt it through the walls?”

“eh, tomato, tomahto,” he says quickly, ushering in mingi and yunho who are holding in their loud, contagious chuckles. “come in, we’re fucking starving waiting for your slow asses.”

you catch yunho’s soft gaze moving to you, smiling at him sweetly and heart fluttering rapidly when he smiles back.

“hi, neighbor. surprised to see you here.”

“yeah,” you chuckle out awkwardly, not wanting the man to think you’re intruding on him and his friends after your short time knowing them. “i hope it’s okay. once san smelt the bread and heard i wasn’t doing anything for the holidays, he kind of, basically, insisted that i-”

“oh, no, no, i’m... i’m happy you’re here,” he says, his words rushed out and awkward but full of sincerity. “i’m really happy to see you here.”

your heart jumps at the sentiment, a soft blush on your cheeks that you’re somehow ignorant to on his face as well. you bite down on your lip to control your smile, giving him a small nod before offering to take the potatoes from his hands.

when you turn to bring the bowl over to the dining room table, your back to the two giant boys watching your retreating form, you miss the way yunho’s blush becomes darker.

you miss mingi elbowing his friend obnoxiously and mimicking his cute, flustered “i- i’m really happy to see you,” resulting in yunho elbowing his friend back roughly.

he’s able (aka cuts off, both, wooyoung and san) to secure a seat next to you at dinner a few moments later.

he tries to ignore the way your elbows bump all night, the two of you awkwardly giggling and apologizing with soft smiles before finally allowing your arms to just... touch.

remain close to one another and find comfort in the way your skin is warm and soft on each other.

he tries to ignore the way your fingers graze as you wash the dishes and he dries them later that night, what feels like electric sparks shooting through your skin every time you touch.

“that was really good,” you tell yunho softly, your eyes observing the boys throwing left over remnants of food at each other or picking through the netflix movie selection. “you guys are good cooks.”

“like your bread wasn’t demolished in three minutes,” yunho huffs, pride and assurance in his tone that causes you to smile sheepishly; there’s a few beats of silence, embarrassed by the compliment, before he begins to speak again.

“our first thanksgiving together was also the first away from our families,” he shares quietly, ignoring the way his heart jumps as he takes a plate from you. “we didn’t know what the hell we were doing and completely fucked up the turkey.”

you let out a giggle as he recalls the disaster that was thanksgiving day two years ago, airing out the smokey apartment and waiting for their thanksgiving feat of chinese food.

“well you guys definitely redeemed yourself, it was all very good,” you compliment proudly, a pretty smile stretched across your face. “one of my best thanksgivings.”

“did your family not celebrate?” he asks absentmindedly, watching the way your face falls for a split second before masked by a small smile.

“not really,” is all you share, both of you quickly pulled away by wooyoung’s incessant demands to “hurry up so we can bust out the second desserts.”

you both try to ignore the slight tension in the air as you walk back to your apartments that night, arms bumping and soft giggles echoing through the walls.

it feels as if the night shouldn’t end yet, like you guys have been talking in this hallway for hours upon hours because neither of you wanna go inside and separate yet.

a couple of nosy onlookers can’t help but observe the scene, your back pressed against the wall as you talk animatedly about your journey for a pet.

“i wanted a cat but i also want a dog,” you tell him, the light in your eyes as you talk about the possibility of orange tabby cats and golden retrievers. “maybe i’ll get both one day.”

yunho’s smiling down at you with such a fond softness in his eyes, like he’s hanging onto each and every word you say no matter how small or casual.

“they’ll be dating by next,” san says, bumping his arm into mingi playfully.

“nah,” the taller boy says, knowing that while his friend definitely likes you, he’s slower and shyer when it comes to romantic feelings. “give it two months. and that’s if we’re lucky.”

you never considered yourself to be a lucky person, although luck seemed to be on your side when you found this apartment complex in the first place, so you can’t say you’ve been cursed with terrible luck.

but it’s certainly how you feeling right now, in the dead of a january snowstorm and one of the only apartments in the complex with absolutely no power.

“it could be a problem with your breaker in particular,” the maintenance man said over the phone, “someone could come look at it tomorrow.”

but no power meant no heat despite the negative temperatures outside, all of your freshly cooked food rotting spoiled and no means of communicating with your cell phone currently on 1%.

“tomorrow?” you squeak, understanding the horrific conditions outside are making their job difficult but also not wanting to freeze to death. “would it be possible if someone could come-”

your phone light shines on your face before it promptly fades to black and dies, the only source of illumination in your dark apartment now gone as well.

you let out a sigh as you resist the urge to scream, attempting to move around your apartment without impaling your body parts.

you’re able to light the three wick candle on your table with little to no problems, collecting all the blankets and fuzzy socks you can find and placing them on your couch.

you have a long, cold night ahead of you with nothing to do but an attempt at rereading some old books and forcing yourself to sleep.

but it’s then, right before you sit down, that you remember all of the food in your fridge.

you used every last bit of your ingredients for this week’s meal prep, knowing that if you it goes bad, you’re not gonna have that much around the house until next week’s trip to the grocery store.

you guess that’s on you, though, foolishly forgetting to not go to the food store before a massive winter storm.

you notice a faint stream of light coming from under your front door on your journey to the kitchen, lips pursing to the side before you open it up with a squeak.

you peek over at yunho’s door besides yours to see light coming from underneath his - so he didn’t lose power it seems, the lucky bastard.

it takes you just as long to convince yourself to go over and ask if you can store the food in his fridge as it does to pack it all up into two containers, not wanting to inconvenience yunho and his storage any further than you are by asking.

you reluctantly knock on his door with the two containers in hand, forgetting you already have on about three layers due to your freezing apartment.

a smile immediately lights up his face when he sees you standing outside his door, small and cute and bundled up like you’re ready to brave the snow storm outside.

“hi, y/n,” he smiles, noticing the two containers of food in your hand.

“hi, yunho i’m sorry for bothering you,” you begin apologetically, a slight grimace on your face as you prepare yourself to ask him for a favor.

“i lost power for the night and just meal prepped the rest of my food for the week yesterday so would you be able to keep this in your fridge for me?” you get out quickly, for some reason feeling panicked and grimy.

“someone’s gonna come fix it tomorrow but when i tried to ask someone to come tonight, my phone died and now i just don’t want this to go to waste because i stupidly forgot to-”

“hey, hey, relax,” yunho says calmingly, his voice all kinds of sweet and soft as he takes the food from your hands immediately. “of course, y/n, no problem.”

you smile at him gratefully, slightly embarrassed by the desperation in your tone.

“thank you, i promise i’ll be back tomorrow to pick it up. i just don’t want everything rotting overnight.”

the wind howling outside causes both your eyes to widen, a sinking suspicion coming over him after he hears the horribly stormy conditions outside.

“wait... does that mean you have no heat?”

“no, i found a lot of blankets and fuzzy socks though,” you chuckle out humorlessly, gesturing down to your ridiculously layered outfit and purple socks. “also found some candles so as long as my food is taken care of, i don’t think it’ll be that-”

“stay with me, are you crazy,” he says, his eyes looking at you in disbelief. “you can’t sit there in the dark and freezing cold all night!”

“it’s okay, yunho, really,” you quickly insist, about ready to take off and into your apartment because you know how overwhelmingly nice your neighbor is. “i just didn’t want my food for the week to go to-”

“y/n, please,” he begs, the soft, sympathetic look in his eyes tugging at your heart. “it’s too cold tonight. even with blankets, you’ll be freezing. and your phone died, that’s dangerous.”

a small, touched smile covers your face, heart warming at how kind and thoughtful this man is - how could you not have the biggest crush on him still?

you thought after a few weeks that you’d be over it but he just makes it harder and harder the more you get to know him.

“i don’t wanna intrude,” you weakly protest, the heat coming from his apartment far too tempting right now.

“you’re not, i’m inviting you,” he says, dragging you in by the sleeve of your sweater and leave no room for protest.

he places the food back in your hold before his large hand rests on the open front door, peeking his head into the hallway to see your door still open.

you watch as he walks into the hallway before quickly reappearing a few seconds later, the sound of your apartment door closing echoing through the hallway.

“don’t worry,” he hums, smiling at you as he walks back into his apartment and closes the door. “i blew out your candle.”

you let out a soft, amused giggle as you look at the boy, his sweet smile mirroring yours as he takes back the food and walks toward the fridge.

“got any 4s?”

“go fish.”

“got any 7s?”

“go fish.”

“got any aces?”

“go fish.”

“okay, one of us has to be lying!” you squeal from the other side of the coffee table, yunho throwing his head back in laughter at your competitive, feisty side.

he couldn’t help but smile at the way your eyes lit up when you saw the pack of cards on his table, leftover from poker night with the san, mingi and wooyoung that rid him of his last $50.

his smile only grew wider when you told him the one family tradition you had, at least before the age of ten, was to play go fish - especially on nights when the electricity was turned off, although you left that part out.

in all your experience of playing go fish, however, you’d never seen a game go on for this long.

“i’m not, i swear!”

“so you’re telling me the one four i need is in that deck?” you ask, not even realizing you outed yourself until he throws you a wide-eyed, playful look. there’s a silent stare-off, able to hear a pin drop in his apartment.

your eyes are roaming each other carefully before down to the deck in complete ignorance of who’s turn it is to go.

you let out a squeal when chaos erupts afterward, the two of you frantically grabbing at the cards. you make a mess over the table as everything goes flying off, a melodic giggle leaving your mouth nearly causing him to stop his futile attempts at grabbing the next card.

it should be considered unsportsmanlike, really, for you to unknowingly use your cute giggle and wide, happy eyes against him.

you just get even happier when you grab at the desired card, flipping it over and letting out a squeal when you’re lucky enough to flip over the last remaining four in the deck.

“i got it!” you squeal happily, yunho at a terrible loss as he sees all your matches lined up in front of you. he can’t even be sad about it though, accepting defeat as he throws down his cards.

“that was probably the longest game of go fish ever,” he says, stretching out his long arms; you guys had played several rounds but that one had to have lasted over forty five minutes.

probably because you two kept getting distracted, babbling about stories of friends and family or the real pet fish yunho won at a fair that lived for three and a half years.

“i know right,” you giggle, picking up the cards from the floor as you start to tidy up his house. you ignore his pleas to leave it alone and let him clean up instead, your head shaking as you continue to clean the mess you helped make.

you hand him the deck a card a few moments later, your fingers grazing as he takes them from his hand.

“thanks,” he smiles at you, his eyes roaming your slightly flushed face.

he’s never had you in his apartment for longer than ten minutes, never had you so close to him with your bright smile and cute giggle. it’s proving to be very trying for him already, trying to keep you entertained and himself distracted so he doesn’t do something, or say something, he regrets.

a silence hangs in the air as you look up at from your spot on the couch, about to make a comment about something, anything, when your stomach decides to do it for you in the form of a growl.

it’s embarrassing and makes an awkward giggle leave your mouth, a handsome smirk crossing his face as his eyebrow quirks up playfully.

“hungry?”

“just for a snack,” you mumble shyly, in disbelief you’re still hungry after your left over pizza. “i ate about four slices of pizza before.”

he lets out a low chuckle as he rises to his feet, sock-covered feet padding over to see kitchen where he holds up a big tub of chocolate chip cookie dough.

“wanna make cookies? i was prepared for the storm tonight, unlike some of us.”

you’re so excited at the prospect of making cookies that you ignore his snide, teasing comment, letting out a happy gasp as you rush over to him.

the two of you stand side-by-side as you prep the oven and cookies, rolling the cold dough between your hands. he makes the cookies a lot bigger than yours, an obvious difference in who made which ones on the baking sheet.

“they kind of look like us,” he remarks playfully, a loud giggle leaving your mouth as you poke his arm.

you two linger in the kitchen once the cookies are in the oven, sharing shy smiles and softly spoken words with the scent of chocolate and warmth in the air.

you thank him again for allowing you to stay in his warm house for the night, grateful for his ample food and running refrigerator.

“it’s kind of crazy since we’re literal neighbors,” you speak aloud, your hip leant against the cabinets. “i didn’t even know that could happen.”

“i know, right,” he chuckles, his smile and eyes getting softer as he looks down at you. “but i’m happy you decided to stay. i wouldn’t want you there alone in the dark and cold.”

and perhaps that’s the bare minimum. that someone wouldn’t want their neighbor, someone considered an acquaintance or even a friend, to be without heat or food in a snowstorm.

but to you, it’s something you’ve never had before.

you’d spent far too many nights cold and hungry where nobody cared if that was the case. it’s why you so often escaped to the rooftop, away from the loud voices and looming presences that made living there just a little too difficult.

it’s why you blurt out, “why?” not meaning to sound as brash and sudden as you do but it’s just something that gets to you sometimes. how kind and thoughtful and genuinely good jeong yunho is.

his eyebrows pull together but he’s still wearing a soft smile, his body inching just a little bit closer to you.

“what do you mean why?” he questions, cocking his head to the side like a confused puppy. “why didn’t i let you freeze to death?”

he tries to keep his tone light and teasing but feels like it falls flat when you give him a sad smile. he thinks it would’ve fooled anyone else, a person who basically hadn’t fallen in love with your smile in five months, but it doesn’t fool him.

he doesn’t know what or why something is bothering you, how your mood seemed to change after his reassurance, but he just wants to make sure, above all, that you’re okay and comfortable.

he doesn’t realize how close his body is to yours until you’re looking up at him, your head just meeting the top of his chest in a way that makes him wanna protect you even more.

his eyes roam every part of your face, wondering just how warm your skin is or if your hair is as soft as it looks.

this would probably be the perfect time to confess his feelings to you.

to tell you that he wanted you over tonight because he likes you. that he’s really, really come to like you over these past few months of getting to know you and he wants to know you more.

he wants to take you on a date and show you off to the world and maybe one day, if things go well, introduce you as his neighbor turned girlfriend.

he wants to make sure you’re never cold or alone in your apartment again, that you know you could always come to him for anything whether it be reassurance or an egg for pumpkin bread.

but instead, he gives a slightly less intense, cheesy version. for now.

“you’re my favorite neighbor,” he begins quietly, not quite the confession he wants to make right now but the one he settles on. there’s an aroma of cookies and heat around you as you stare up at him, eyes so wide and curious, he has to swallow down a second rushed out, bumbling confession.

“i didn’t want anything happening to you, especially when i’m right here to make sure you’re safe.”

safety is always what you craved. safety and security and warmth, even if just for a fleeting moment.

and your fleeting moment proved to be tonight.

the ding of the oven as you both got the cookies out silently, pulled from a moment you both felt forming but was quickly pulled away from. you ate the gooey chocolate with quiet hums of “mmms,” and “ahhs,” softly padding your way over to his couch when he suggested watching a movie.

he sat on one end and you sat on the other, before your bodies eventually inched closer and closer to share a light blue throw blanket in the middle of the movie.

“this is really nice,” you comment as you touched the fabric, observing the intricate stitching on the soft blanket.

“yeah? my mom made it for me actually,” he tells you, watching closely as you play with the blanket between your fingers. he wants to reach out and just hold your hand, feel your smaller one in his and see just how much they fit.

“when i first moved out, she was slightly distraught,” he chuckles out, remembering the dramatics that were his mom’s tears and demands to visit once a week. “i was the first one to move out and she didn’t know what to make of it. i swear she brought me over food every day for the first six months.”

your heart feels heavy as you hear him talk, not only because of the fond moments between parent and child but because of the love in his eyes as he talks about it.

how, even though he’s complaining about it, it’s obvious there’s a love and affection there that you, yourself, could never understand or reciprocate in your own life.

“that’s really sweet,” you comment, his gaze catching that sad smile once again.

it causes his heart to drop, a slight sinking feeling in his stomach as he tries to understand what made you that way. are you uncomfortable here with him, just a few inches away from each other under the shared blanket?

or is it something more, the topic of conversation regarding parents and living alone and all things deeper and more personal.

“me and my parents were never really closed,” you find yourself saying.

you don’t even mean to blurt out the words but it’s like one second it’s silent and then the next, it’s not.

the next you’re telling him about how you couldn’t wait to get out. how fighting and loneliness and the cold was a big part of your life growing up, how you got so used to it, it’s taken you a while to adjust to a normal life.

you’re still trying to adjust to a normal life, honestly.

“i don’t know why i just told you all of that,” you confess awkwardly, the blush on your cheeks causing his heart to soar in chest - he likes you, he really really likes you and now he won’t ever be able to let go of these feelings.

“but... i just wanna thank you,” you tell him, embarrassed that you somehow managed to make the conversation and vibe like this. “you and san and wooyoung and mingi made the adjustment a lot easier for me. but you, especially.”

“oh? with all my eggs and sugar?”

you let out a soft giggle as some of your anxiety eases, your eyes flicking toward his to see, despite his teasing, his eyes are 100% serious and locked on you.

“yes, definitely that,” you smile, biting down on your lip as you look back down on the blanket.

“but amongst other things too. it was funny meeting you on the rooftop, actually, because that’s always where i felt most comfortable. i’d always escape there but i’d be alone. it was nice... it’s been nice having someone, i guess.”

it feels like you could just about die from embarrassment, oversharing with the most handsome man you’ve developed a massive crush on about your tragic tales of a broken home and pretentious love for the roof.

but then he inches just a bit closer to you, placing his hand atop yours on his mother’s soft blanket, and just smiles at you. everything about him warm and soft and sweet, making you feel the safest and coziest you’ve ever felt in your life.

“if you’ll keep allowing me up there, i promise i’ll come every time,” he promises softly, the pounding in your chest and butterflies in your stomach overwhelming you to the severest degree.

your cheeks are burning and you’re positive he can feel the frantic beating in your chest but you try to keep it together. smile at him with a a breathy little giggle, tell him that while you love that he’s asking, you have no control over who does and doesn’t go on the roof.

he lets out a soft chuckle as he pinches your arm gently, the hand on your arm slowly falling down until your fingers are just grazing.

closer and closer and closer until they’re locked around one another, both of you eternally grateful for the lights being off because of the burning on your cheeks.

he wakes up around 2 a.m. to the bright tv blasting, a heavy ache in his bladder and your head on his shoulder.

it takes him a moment to remember where he is and what’s going on around him, the events of the night quickly swarming back when he peeks down at your sleeping face.

you look so peaceful and at ease in your sleep, eyelashes brushing against your cheeks and your lips pressed into a firm line.

he wanted to kiss you for half the night, every time you giggled or moved closer to him or asked him a question about the movie getting distracted by your lips or pink cheeks.

he felt an immense amount of happiness at the fact you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with him, that you were still here beside him and so comfortably sleeping against him.

told him things about your life and family that make him wanna be there for you even more now.

he doesn’t wanna move, he doesn’t think even the snowstorm crashing through his apartment could get him to tear himself away from you, but the embarrassment of pissing his pants right beside you on this couch outweighs everything.

his eyes roam your pretty, peaceful face on more time, moving a stray piece of hair with his long fingers and watching as you stir. press yourself further into his hand and let out the quietest of groans, he has to stop himself from proclaiming his undying love for you on the spot.

it only gets worse when he remembers he gave you his clothes to wear. noticing just before the movie ended, you were picking at your leggings that stuck to your skin uncomfortably.

“do you want a change of clothes?” he had asked, noticing your discomfort and only wanting a little bit to see how much his shirts engulfed you. “i have sweatpants and a clean t-shirt sitting in my dryer right now.”

you took up his offer for two reasons: your leggings were sticking to your ass and there was nothing you wanted more than to wear this man’s clothes. feel the soft material on your skin and have his manly, teakwood scent surround your very being.

but right now, as he stares down at you and attempts to keep you as comfortable as possible, it feels as if this might’ve been too much for him.

seeing you wrapped up in his clothes and on his couch so comfortably, moving your smaller body so you’re laid out on the cushions and resting your head on the pillow.

your eyes pop open, confused and in a daze, as you look around at the unfamiliar surroundings and sound of movement. you smile softly when you see yunho’s sleepy, pink face at face-level with you, his large body knelt down beside you on the couch.

“sorry for waking you,” he whispered into the dark, the tv and snow reflecting outside the only source of light. “i had to pee and wanted to make you comfortable.”

“it’s okay, thank you,” you mumble, stretching out your arms when you realize the sleeves are well past your hands. “forgot i changed into your clothes.”

“yeah,” he chuckles lightly, not being able to help the way his eyes roam over you.

even sleepy in the dark and the daze that you’re in, you’re able to see the slightest bit of hunger in his eyes. the way they trail over your body slowly and surely, taking in the way his shirt engulfs your figure and looks against your skin.

how if you stood up, he’d see the way the pants are baggy and making your smaller figure looking even more short and petite and cute.

it makes your stomach flip and swoop uncontrollably, your own eyes staring at his lips and picturing what they’d feel like on yours.

“i hope that’s okay. they’re a little big on you.”

you let out a soft, quiet giggle, adjusting your head on the pillow so you’re staring up at him even closer.

“it’s okay,” you assure, tongue peeking out to lick at your dry, hopefully not crusty lips. “i like it. i like them.”

it takes everything in him not to let out some sort of growl, throw all of his sweet and nice boy caution to the wind and confess to you how much he likes them too.

how much he likes seeing you in them and how much more (or less) he wants to see you in them.

but because the time isn’t right, because he knows for sure the time isn’t right and he wants something a lot more pure and honest with you, he doesn’t say anything.

he wishes you a goodnight after a nearly ten-minute bickering fest back and forth, yunho offering you his bed three times before you eventually flipped over and put your back to him.

he let out a deep chuckle as he ran his hand through your hair instinctively, smoothing out the parts that stuck up in your sleep, before bidding you one final goodnight.

it was around 10:00 when he woke to the smell of bacon, eggs and pumpkin bread. walking out of his bedroom to see you there still clad in his clothes and your hair in a messy bun.

you jumped when you noticed his presence perched against the doorframe, a wide smile on his face when you let out the softest but harshest of curses.

“what’s all this?”

“i made you breakfast. and your very own loaf of pumpkin bread.”

a soft smile covers his face when instead of looking over the food that looks and smells delicious, he looks at you. standing there smiley and sweet, in clothes that morph your body and make you smell like him.

he feels grateful for the extra bit of counter space he has when he places a hand on your waist, lifting you off your feet with ease and plopping you right down on the granite.

your eyes are wide and your heart is racing but you’re staring right at him, happiness and excitement swelling in your chest when you catch the look in his eyes - you thought you made it up last night in a dream-like daze but you’re still seeing it right now.

a certain kind of softness mixed with desire and fondness, the way his eyes take in every part of your face before finally landing on your lips. the very same way you dreamed of him last night, with his lips against yours and a sweet smile on his face.

“thank you, neighbor,” he mumbles with a smile, voice low and deep and making your stomach swoop dangerously. “did i mention you were my favorite?”

“you might’ve,” you respond breathlessly, all too aware of the way he’s leaning in closer and closer until you’re pushed flush against the cabinets.

his large body is covering yours but he doesn’t make any moves until you do, your bodies naturally drifting closer and closer together until, finally, you’re the one to do it.

press your lips against his so so hesitantly, scared and unfamiliar about making the first move but wanting him to know you wanted to kiss him - you needed to kiss him, or you would’ve gone crazy.

he smiles against your lips as he deepens the kiss, keeping you perched right on the counter as his hands rest on the sides of your legs. he doesn’t make any moves to touch you further or deepen the kiss, allowing it to be sweet and soft and as chaste as could be.

you both pull back and stare at each other with soft smiles and pink cheeks, silence lingering between the both of you before you let out soft chuckles at the same time.

“do you kiss all your neighbors?” you finally ask, fighting the smirk threatening to make it’s way on your face. “or just your favorite ones?”

“just one,” he says, tapping the tip of your nose gently and feeling his heart jump when you smile widely at him. “just you.”

it’s 2:00 on the snowy rooftop and bright summer sun when you hear the heavy metal door squeak open, turning around to see your handsome, smiley neighbor coming toward you with two mugs of hot chocolate in hand.

you take it from him with a soft “thank you,” pressing up on your toes to peck a sweet, soft kiss to his cheek.

it was only fitting that you had your first date where you two first met, shy smiles and nervous jitters turned soft pecks and loud giggles as you got to know the sweet, handsome neighbor you just knew you were gonna fall for.

tag list: @mochibabycakes @atinyarmyx1 @middle-of-a-wonshua-sandwich @baekhvuns @marksflvr @bunbaebae @markleeyeosang @inkigayeo @nlost21 @hyunjeansuniverse @cherryeonii

#happy bday mr yunho <3 #this was supposed to be 3k jdvkkvd #yunho #yunho fluff #ateez #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #yunho scenarios #yunho imagines

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lavandermin · 3 years

Text

if all stars fell at once (2) | xiao

pairing | xiao/reader

word count | 2.5k

genre | fluff, light angst, developing relationship, overall domestic

warnings | eventual smut

The moon was high behind the peaks of mountains; a deep navy sky clear in display of its many twinkling stars. Though the land was asleep, the crickets softly hummed their conversation and a few fireflies speckled the dark.

Perhaps it’s your high spirits at the change of routine and tender moment under falling stars, but the scenery around you has never looked more magical.

“If you continue to stare up at the sky while you walk, you’ll lose your footing and fall.”

You turned around at Xiao’s comment, face still alight with a grin you were sure made you look like a giddy child. The faint smile on his lips gave away his amusement.

“And if I do, will you be there to catch me?”

“Anywhere, anytime,” Xiao reassured, arms crossed over his chest.

Though it was a rhetorical question, the power his aura exuded as an adeptus solidified his words as not only a confirmation, but a promise.

Approaching the steps that lead further up the village to where your house was tucked away, you paused. Noticing this, Xiao looked up at you and was met with your outstretched hand— patient and waiting. His lips slightly parted in brief confusion, and the innocence his eyes held reminded you of a kitten curiously approaching something new.

Endearment. It pulled your heartstrings in the honeyed melody that had you in its audience.

There was brief hesitation. His gloved hand slowly settled into yours and he quietly allowed you to lead him up the stone steps of the winding hills. The warmth rose high on his cheeks, unnoticed by you as you led the way in your sleep-driven haze.

The exhaustion of the day seeped into your bones as you hobbled tiredly over to the familiar front door. Xiao watched attentively as you sluggishly fumbled around for a vase to hold your glaze lilies while getting ready for bed. Mortals were undeniably limited in their energy— always dependent on slumber and moments of rest to replenish and recharge their energy. However bothersome it seemed to Xiao before, seemed to have a change of heart upon seeing your switch in demeanor. It was… cute, and such thoughts filled him with the overwhelming need to just— hold you safely in his arms.

Gods… he was so touch starved and didn’t even know it. Such strange urges only served to further vex & confuse him.

Kneeling by your bedside, he pushed some hair out of your face. You were comfortably under a sea of blankets, the warmth of them quickly promising to have your wish come true. Through heavy lids, you gave him a goofy grin; mind aloof with lulls of sleep.

“Thank you for watching the stars with me.”

There you go again. Thanking him for such trivial and insignificant things. It flustered him. No— it made the fearsome Conqueror of Demons bashful.

“It’s nothing to thank me for,” Xiao uttered softly, fingers absentmindedly combing through your hair. You only hummed and relaxed into his touch in response, too tired to chide him.

“Did you mean it?” you groggily muttered from under your covers. “Wanting to get to know me more.”

Xiao nodded. “Rest now. We can talk later.”

The yaksha froze in his advances to leave, feeling the faintest tug on his sleeve.

“Stay… please, Xiao,” you begged weakly. “Just until I fall asleep.”

There was an uncharacteristic mix of fear and defeat in those words alone. It made his chest twinge with hurt. The wish you made earlier… Was sleep truly that difficult for you? He wondered what would impede your nights with restlessness. With a defeated sigh, the yaksha settled back next to you.

“Thank y–“ Xiao cut you off with a breathy chuckle, placing his hand over your eyes.

“Just sleep. I’ll stay.”

Not even two minutes had passed, yet you were already fast asleep. So, you were only keeping awake out of stubbornness… Somehow it no longer surprised him. Xiao watched as your breathing became steadier, face relaxed into your tranquil state of sleep.

Though the promise was only to stay until you were fast asleep, Xiao found himself unable to leave— unwilling to leave. To wish for enough sleep… it only left him wondering what the issue there was.

Perhaps a year ago he would have scoffed at the idea of trying to solve a human’s sleeping problem. My, how you've gotten him wrapped around your finger. Still, he sat in the dark room washed over by pale moonlight and stared absentmindedly at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts. Were you a light sleeper? Or perhaps it was insomnia, though it would contradict how fast you fell asleep. The only other possibility he could consider was an external force that came to make a ruckus at night.

Part of him was fighting to just leave. It was none of his business to be a sleep therapist.

I wish to get to know you better.

The wish he made— though he didn’t believe in mortals’ naive, wishful thinking, he truly did want to know you better. That single want was the thread that bound him to his current disposition.

Before he knew it, he had already stayed an hour. Muffled whimpering pulled him out of his thoughts as he glanced back over to you. There was a thin sheen of sweat on your forehead as you shifted around. Your brows were furrowed in discomfort and face in a frown that shifted from fear to stress.

Ah. Nightmares.

Somehow the thought had escaped him, and now he was reminded of the unpredictability of mortal dreams.

Dream eater. That’s what he once was. The memories of his past, the dreams he painfully consumed, were enough to raise bile in his throat in a suffocating feeling. He wasn’t sure how to help you. Comforting others was never his strong suit and the thought of eating your dream… It made his hand tremble. In anticipation or fear, he couldn’t say.

The hesitation was clear, seeping into his movements as his hand slowly drew closer over your head.

“It’s… okay,” he quietly reassured, awkwardly patting your head in what he attempted to be a comforting motion. “I’m right here.”

Slowly, your face eased into a more relaxed state. Your breathing returned to a steady rhythm as you settled back into a restful sleep. Perhaps the nightmare had already subsided for the time being.

Xiao hadn’t realized until now how his shoulders stiffened with lingering worry, nor how he had held his breath to see your expression change. He scoffed inwardly at himself, rising from the bed and descending back into the night to continue his eternal back-and-forth with the karmic debt that hung over his shoulders.

“I’ve long gone past the point of no return.”

——

“Emissary Ganyu, what a pleasant surprise running into you today.” You warmly greeted the busy-bee secretary of Yuehai Pavilion. Her entrance to Bubu Pharmacy was graceful, and she warmly reciprocated the greeting.

Slight embarrassment dusted her cheeks as she privately added, “P-Please, the formality is a little… You don’t have to use the titles. I’m content with just being Ganyu when we meet.” She waved a hand dismissively at herself. “But I digress, what brings you here today?”

With a tired sigh and halfhearted smile, you gestured toward the box of medicine herbalist Gui was packing for you. “Nothing severe. I just ran out of medicine for headaches and remedies for stress.”

Ganyu’s expression softened with knowing concern. “Has sleep become an issue once again?”

You nodded, handing the herbalist what you owed with a grateful ‘thank you’. “Slept rather well last night at least. I feel fine today,” you reassure with a smile.

Being alive as long as she has, Ganyu has known your family for generations and witnessed all that has traversed them for as long as she can remember. The stresses that ail you— the sources of your sleeplessness— Ganyu knew them well.

The sole remaining descendant of your family. Perhaps she saw herself in you, and that’s why she kept her promise to your grandmother of being someone you could rely on.

“That’s a relief to hear,” Ganyu sighed, expression relaxing from its worry. “I came here to drop off licensing renewals and paperwork for Baizhu. If you’re feeling up to it, we can catch up with a quick lunch.”

Ever the busy-body, you mused fondly.

“I’d like that.”

Never a dull moment with her, Ganyu was quick to get you in step with her schedule flow. Luckily, you were rested enough to keep up with her today.

You anxiously fiddled with the napkin on your lap. “Isn't this a bit… much?”

Seated within the highly-regarded Liuli Pavilion, you couldn’t help but feel a little out of place. Such enticing dishes laid out before you… smelled expensive. It wasn’t the first time you’d been brought to eat here with her, and though it was a rarity you were still never one to indulge too much in lavish luxury from the city.

“Not at all,” Ganyu wholeheartedly reassured. “It's my treat for such a rare occasion.”

“You spoil me, Gan…”

As you both idly chatted over delicately prepared meals, you couldn’t help but notice the not-so-subtle glances Ganyu would take toward your lap every now and then. With a half-hearted sigh and a growing smile that betrayed your feigned exasperation, you set down your utensils.

“Okay. Alright.” Ganyu’s eyes sparkled, already knowing you caved. “Just ask what you want.”

“The charm,” she started, eyes intently observing the small charm that dangled securely from your hip. Never one to miss something new about you. The attentiveness from the adeptal blood that flowed within her, presumably. “Where did you get it? Ah! Pardon my prying— I don’t mean to be nosy...”

With delicate fingers, you picked it up, eyes glossing over it. The beat of your heart picked up ever so slightly.

“It was a gift.”

Left next to the vase of glaze lilies, the glint of the charm catching the morning light drew your attention toward it. You delicately picked up the item, tracing the butterfly engraved on the wooden diamond with your fingertip. The piece of amber that dangled from it with an ornate tassel was warm on your palm.

A single note on a small piece of parchment laid next to it.

‘An adepti amulet to stave off evil. Should you need me, call my name.’

“Xiao…” Ganyu started, clasping your hand in hers. “He must truly consider you someone special. It’s not often he gives gifts— despite how surprisingly skilled he is in intricate crafts.”

Warm and fuzzy, your chest pounded with overwhelming emotion. A handmade amulet… It was beautiful in its simplicity, and carried meaning in its subtle details you had yet to decipher. You had to remember to thank him for it later.

“He’s a very gentle person. I’d also… like to get to know him better,” you absentmindedly mused, recalling that mysterious masked boy caught in the thundering rain all those months ago. Though reserved and self-guarded, Xiao was never anything but polite albeit a bit distanced for a while.

It seems they get along well together, Ganyu noted, gaze holding a tender fondness like one would with a sibling. Maybe this was the new walk of life you needed when all other roads were erased.

——

“Can’t I just-”

“No.”

You huffed through your nose, exasperated. “You’re being unfair.” Xiao only raised a brow in response.

“An adeptus prolonging your lifespan would be considered a divine blessing to any other mortal out there,” he countered, pushing you back into bed with a gentle nudge that you didn’t fight back. “Rest.”

Making me go to bed early is some divine blessing... Such sarcasm you would keep between yourself and your thoughts alone.

“Xiao, it’s only nine o’clock! The moon just barely appeared in the sky. And with the Lantern Rite just around the corner, I want to get as much of my part finished.” But your protests fell on deaf ears as he continued to diligently pile on any blankets he could get his hands on. With a defeated sigh, you allowed your body to sink more comfortably into the mattress. “Is something wrong?”

Your voice came quiet, the question lingering with worry as Xiao sat on the edge of the bed— his back facing you. Oftentimes it was still hard to tell what he was thinking, for there was a lot about his past that was unknown to you and it seemed to weigh heavily on his mind recently. He didn’t need to tell you for you to know there were things he wasn’t voicing— not without your encouragement and patient reassurance.

“Can I ask?” Xiao started, his voice rather quiet like he was afraid of overstepping a boundary. “Your nightmares— how often do they haunt you?”

You were taken aback. “A-Ah, you saw…?”

With a silent nod, the bed creaked as he readjusted himself to finally face you. “That night you told me to stay… You looked distressed in your sleep.”

“They only happen sometimes,” you reassured half-heartedly with a dismissive wave of your hand. The subtle, sharpened squint of his eyes told you he saw right through your downplay.

“Lies will do you no good. But in regards to them, I...”

Xiao paused, looking away briefly. The way he avoided your gaze, the jaded look in his amber eyes— there was something he was fighting with himself to say.

“I can get rid of them, if you wish it.”

You blinked, eyes widening slightly in confused curiosity. “You can… do that?”

At this point, you would take any method to end some of your daily exhaustion. But the way his hands balled into fists at his lap suggested he didn’t have a good history with it. Still, he nodded, his eyes closed as he concentrated on grounding himself— convincing himself to tell you. Now that he had propositioned it, there was no turning back. He had to explain it but the memories—the screams— they stopped the words at his throat.

His mind was going a mile a minute in a constant war, the resolve to see through what he had started diminishing. Yet all at once, it stopped and his eyes shifted down to your quiet reassurance— your hand placed atop his fist. He took a steadying breath.

“I’ve eaten dreams before,” Xiao started, eyes closed as he reminisced. “There exist several methods developed over centuries to perform it. Many are painless and safe. A nightmare or a dream—either can be eaten and it would be as if you had no recollection of it afterwards.”

“So… it wipes it from my memory?”

“In a similar concept, yes.”

You nodded slowly, brows scrunched in thought as you processed the idea.

“Do you trust me with doing this, should you have nightmares?”

All it took was a moment. You were quick to melt away his doubts with the warmth that radiated from your softening gaze. And with a gentle squeeze to his hand, you replied.

“I trust you.”

#adeptus xiao #xiao #xiao/reader #genshin xiao #genshin impact xiao #xiao x reader #eventual smut #developing relationship #mii writes #genshin fanfic #fluff #xiao fluff #pwp #ganyu #genshin ganyu #fic: iasfao

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alexaplaysgames · 3 years

Text

Request: “Could you write something in which the mc is starting to develop feelings for Felix but denies them constantly/tries not to confess or accept them as a reality because they fear what would follow if and when they happen to go back to earth later...?”

Here you are! I literally have to fight myself to keep from making every dramatic moment occur at sunset on a grassy plain. This time, I lost. Sorry for the wait, I’ve hated my writing recently. Thought I don’t love this, either, I hope you enjoy it :) I changed to first person for this cause my brain is Like That.

Title: Did you Really Mean it?

Pairing: Felix Escellun x GN!MC (Last Legacy)

Words: 2484

Tags: @demon-paradise @themohawkhelmet @cactus-hoodie @aomiyeon @piningmaybeanartist @another-confused-gay @uselessbeanies @nomnomcupcakesworld @druwuuwu @frozen-daydream @kirakiratears @margitartist @crowtrinkets @fanfic-about-fictif Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed.

The first time, he had been quick to dismiss it.

Felix had asked for your help reaching one of the taller shelves of the library. He claimed he needed access to one of the books, strictly for academic purposes, of course, but you’d judged by the sight of his rosy cheeks that he more so just wanted you to touch him.

Nonetheless, you had risen from your comfortable position on the sofa and accompanied him without complaint, teasing him all the while about his short stature. When you’d pinched his flushed cheek, he’d rolled his eyes with a groan, hoping you didn’t see the goosebumps that had spread across his skin at your touch.

Standing in front of the shelves, you’d wrapped your arms around his waist. This seemed most sensible, rather than vice versa, given how he knew which book to look for. You’d felt Felix’s breath leave him in a rush as your arms slid around him, his ribs contract as he exhaled. He’d shivered as your fingers brushed the bare skin near his hips where his shirt had ridden up.

Yet, he had leaned back into you as if he didn’t want you to let him go. You swallowed. That is what made this so difficult, you thought. You didn’t want to let him go, either. You simply knew that you would have to.

It was surprisingly effortless to lift him to reach one of the dust-covered titles a few shelves above your heads. As Felix had pulled the book off the shelf, a thick layer of dust had been dislodged with it. He’d sneezed, and the force of it made you stumble.

You’d fallen back onto the cushy carpet below with a gasp, Felix landing slightly on top of you with a startled yelp.

“Ouch,” you’d mumbled, rubbing your head, and then burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

“S-sorry,” Felix stammered. He looked quite abashed. You’d only shaken your head with a fond sigh and reached up to tuck his hair behind his ear.

Felix’s breath had hitched at that, his eyes going saucer wide. You dropped your hand as if he’d burnt you. Only now did you realize how close your faces were. You could count every one of his eyelashes, this close, feel the heat of his breath. His gaze briefly flitted towards your parted lips, laden with desire.

“We should get up, now.” Your smile had turned a little tense, which Felix noticed. You’d looked as if you wanted to push him off.

He winced. “R-right. Yes, of course.”

When you’d stood and parted ways, he couldn’t help but feel the slight sting of rejection. He clutched the book to his chest as he watched you walk away.

Perhaps he was over-thinking things.

✦✧✦✧

The next time, however, he was certain something was wrong.

You’d been quite clearly avoiding him as of late, skirting around his company with flimsily construed excuses that you were much too busy to see him.

Felix didn’t mind. Being on his own was something he’d grown to find familiar, if not enjoyable. He told himself that it was reasonable for you to wish to spend some time apart from him, and while a part of him believed that, another part wondered why he wasn’t good enough to hold your attention.

You used to adore him. He could still feel your fingers in his hair, your hands on his skin. At what point did he begin to bore you? Had all your comments of accepting him for who he was served only to pacify his childish, moody self? Did you mean none of it at all?

It certainly felt that way.

Then, one evening, you’d told him you were going out to a tavern with Sage. Though you’d invited him to join you, he’d declined, partially due to his being a lightweight, but also the fact that he wasn’t certain whether you truly wished to see him at all.

Yet, hours later, when you still hadn’t returned, Felix’s stomach churned with worry. He was torn between going to you and offering you the space you so clearly craved.

With a sigh, he’d wrapped a cloak around his shoulders and set off to find you. He simply wanted to make sure you were alright, that was all. It needn’t be more complicated than that.

You were seated in a booth in one of the local establishments, Sage at your side. He could smell the alcohol on your breath the moment you drew near. “Felix, my sweet!” you’d laughed as you saw him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Felix frowned at the pet name. He’d almost forgotten that you used to calm him that.

He had closed his eyes at your touch, melted into the familiar warmth of it. Then you’d frozen, looked up at him with cloudy eyes, and proclaimed that you were leaving.

Felix blinked at you in astonishment. “What?”

You had offered him no reply.

Felix had followed you as you stumbled slightly out the doors and into the darkened streets. He himself had often taken to midnight walks through the city, knowing that he had the means to protect himself. You, however, had no such training.

You’d tripped over your feet as you walked, intoxicated, through the cobblestone streets. Felix grabbed you elbow and spun you to face him.

“Stop this- this tomfoolery,” he gasped. “You’re going to maim yourself!”

“Leave me be, Felix,” you’d pouted, your words dangerously slurred. “I can’t- I don’t want to see you right now.”

Felix’s breath caught; your words sunk through his skin and settled as an ache in his chest. Yet, before he could say anything in reply, you stumbled again. He pulled you against his side to keep you from falling over, slinging one of your arms over his thin shoulders.

Felix is many things, but strong is not one of them- you nearly broke his slight frame with your weight, and he panted while he struggled to hold you. Nonetheless, he managed to guide you through the streets to the nearest inn, conscious of your breath by his ear all the while.

You’d flopped down onto the worn sheets of the bed Felix rented, your hair haloed around your head. The young necromancer’s heart hurt as he watched you, until you’d grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the bed at your side.

“Kiss me,” you begged, the heady scent of brandy curling around the words, and conflict waged war across Felix’s delicate features. “Kiss me, Felix, this might be the last time you get the chance.”

Felix’s grey eyes welled with tears. “I- I can’t,” he choked, feverishly shaking his head against the sheets. Oh, he had wanted to, you knew it even through your haze. You saw how his eyes once more drew towards your lips before he tore them away.

“Then go,” you said simply, rolling away from him and onto your side.

And he had.

Felix wrapped his arms around himself as he walked home through the streets alone.

✦✧✦✧

The third time hurt the most.

“Are you two officially together, now?” Anisa had asked you one evening, and Felix had waited for your response with bated breath, tucked outside the doorway where he knew you couldn’t see him.

Until it finally came, and he wished he hadn’t.

“No.” You said it with such finality, such certainty, he was sure you could hear his heart breaking, the sound of his panicked breaths. “Felix and I… I don’t think we’re a good fit.”

That was it, the final straw. He choked on a sob as he turned away, already feeling the hot rush of tears spilling from behind his closed eyelids.

He had curled up in his study, face tucked into the worn couch, and cried into his elbows, cursing his own stupidly all the while. His tears soaked through the strands of his hair, ran down his face in rivulets, dripping off his chin.

He was so delirious at that point that he allowed Stella to curl up next to him, even stroking his fingers through her soft, silky fur.

“W-why am I like this, Stella?” Felix mumbled, still sniffling around the remnants of his sobs. “It was idiotic of m-me, to think-” Felix flopped onto his back, wiping at his eyes. Then he groaned. “Goddess, and now here I am, conversing with you. A rather pitiful display.”

Stella, as expected, did not offer a reply, though her rumbling purr provided some comfort.

Felix stared up at the ceiling until morning light streamed in through the windows, caught in a miserable state. He is accustomed to being alone- after all, his wasn’t the first time he had his heart broken by someone he was sure he was in love with.

This was the only time, however, that it cut him this deeply. Never had he felt such hurt before, not even in death. In fact, he was certain he preferred that dull, empty nothingness to this.

He sighed, tiredly letting his eyes flutter shut. Stella’s fur tickled his nose, and he whispered, “How you’ve ruined me, my dear barista.”

✦✧✦✧

Things were strained between the two of you from then on. Felix wouldn’t meet your eyes whenever you were near each other. You could tell, by the redness of his eyes, that he had been crying, though for what reason you couldn’t be sure.

He kept his distance, and you chastised yourself for missing him. This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? But you suddenly weren’t so certain. You stomach was slowly twisting into knots of guilt and longing.

You sat with Felix, sifting through more textbooks in an attempt to find a hint as to how to send you home. It served as a reminder, somewhat, as to why you had pushed him away, though as time passed the memory became fainter. You were instead focused on how Felix kept his eyes trained downwards, not once making a characteristically snide or snarky remark.

The silence and the tension stretched between the two of you until it snapped like a frayed string.

“Why?” Felix suddenly asked you, gasped it out as if it pained him. You’d met his eyes, though he still wouldn’t meet yours, his hands squeezed into fists in his lap.

“Why what?”

“Why did you turn me away?” he continued, his lower lip quivering. “I had hoped-” he trailed off, as if he couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Felix finished a moment later with a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “You deserve much better than m-me, of course. I was selfish to think otherwise.”

“Felix-”

But Felix was no longer listening, having slammed his textbooks shut and left your side with tears swimming in his stormy eyes, muttering under his breath about how stupid he had been, desperate to keep you from seeing what a mess he’d become.

You felt awful. You’d been so determined to quell the growth of your relationship that you’d disregarded Felix’s rather fragile sense of self worth. You’d absolutely crushed him, you thought regretfully, and for what? Perhaps what was between you couldn’t last, but you should’ve been grateful for the time with him you were given.

Hours passed. You’d searched the rest of the day for Felix, but you couldn’t find him. Not in his bedroom, his study, the library, not with Sage or Anisa- your necromancer had mysteriously vanished.

Until you’d remembered one evening when he showed you one of his favourite places- a grassy hillside overlooking the sprawling city underneath. With the sun sinking over the horizon, you’d found him there, chin resting on his knees, pulled up to his chest. The wind whipped through his dark hair, cooling the streaks of tears on his reddened face.

Felix looked back over his shoulder at your sudden appearance through one of his trademark portals, then buried his face in his arms with a low groan.

“Felix, listen to me,” you whispered. Coming to sit beside him in the long grass, you gently wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him into your side. You could feel him hiccup, feel him tremble against you.

You settled your chin on his shoulder as the both of you looked out over the world that had once been so foreign to you. The wind once more rippled through the sea of grass around you, the sun reflecting off each individual strand. As the sunlight slowly waned into a single strip, it touched the tips of the buildings below and lit them up like candles.

“I am so, so sorry, baby,” you said, “for making you feel that way. I was worried it would hurt, when I have to leave. I thought I was doing us both a favour by keeping us apart. You did nothing wrong, Felix, and you weren’t selfish.” You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling the dying sun warm your face. “I was.”

“You weren’t-” came Felix’s muffled reply, quick to defend you as always. You shook your head, kissing the curve of his shoulder.

“I was. I thought it would be best for both of us, but I was wrong. I missed you so much, you know. Every day, I always wanted to see you. But I didn’t, and I told myself that was for the best. It was stupid. I hurt us both.”

Felix exhaled. You could feel the tension melt off him in little waves as his shoulders slumped. “You will have to leave, one day,” he murmured. “It was only logical.”

“Then we’ll face that when it comes, okay?”

Felix sighed, closing his eyes, then leaned into you and settled his head on your shoulder. “Okay.” That one word was still rather wobbly, as if he didn’t believe you. His chest rattled with each of his shaky, uneven breaths.

“Now, let me see you smile.”

You suspected you were pushing your luck with that, and your assumption had been proven correct when Felix rolled his eyes and sent you a rather unimpressed look. “No. That’s ridiculous,” he huffed. “I’m not an infant.”

You simply resorted to other means of achieving what you sought. Felix squeaked as you shifted to the side and rolled him onto your lap, laying down in the long grass in a similar position as you had in the library, long ago. This time, however, when his eyes went wide above you, you shot up and kissed him, merely a chaste peck on his plush lower lip.

His blush was more brilliant than the setting sun behind him, a bright, fiery red you couldn’t believe you ever thought to abandon. Though he groaned and stubbornly averted his eyes, Felix couldn’t help but smile- a mere quirk of his lips that was faint enough to miss.

And yet, it was good enough for you.

#Felix Escellun #Felix x MC #felix iskandar escellun #Last Legacy #Fictif #Fictif Last Legacy #Last Legacy Fanfiction #Fictif Felix #Last Legacy Felix #Sage Lesath #Anisa Anka #alexa writes #alexa plays last legacy #interactive games #rime varela #fictif sage #Felix Escellun X MC

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artsyhobi · 3 years

Text

Cursed

Divine Gods!BTS x reader

series masterlist

Chapter one, Calico Cat.

characters: mortal!fem!reader, god of the moon!park jimin, god of the sun!jung hoseok, god of death and darkness!min yoongi, god of the four elements!kim namjoon, god of time!kim seokjin, god of nature and life!jeon jungkook, god of mischief!kim taehyung.

a/n: hello ! i hope you enjoy this first chapter, i actually took inspo from Goblin (which is a kdrama i absolutely loved ;;) and i'm sorry in advance for my poor writing, but english is not my first language ...

trigger warning: mentions of blood, violence and death, curse words.

tag-list: @greezenini, @fangirl125reader, @motherofbludgers

Min Yoongi sat on the throne, his legs elegantly crossed as he rested his forearms on the armrest. He slightly raised his left arm so that the tip of his index finger could lightly brush against his lower lip, his eyebrows mildly furrowed in a focused expression.

The black-haired man continued playing with his lip, then reached for something in the pocket of his silk pants and held the object in the palm of his hand: it was a vintage pocket watch entirely made out of gold, with a ruby located right at its center. The hands of the watch moved mechanically, producing a “tic” sound that resonated in his mind like an irritating echo.

Yoongi hated time. What was ironic, though, is that he had too much of it: he had an Eternity.

Yoongi glared at the antique object once more. A satisfied smirk appeared on the corner of his lips, depicting anything but an innocent smile. He stood up, adjusting his coat and grabbing his black bowler hat in a swift movement before taking some steps forward: as he walked, the dark throne room surrounding him became gradually more distant and, in a matter of seconds, the man was walking in the busy and snowy streets of Seoul. The snow crunched under the soles of his shoes, the snowflakes that landed on his coat immediately melted, and as he passed by, nobody seemed to notice his presence.

The street was crowded with people rushing to purchase the last Christmas presents, couples holding hands, and kids eating strawberry cotton candy. Disgusting, thought Yoongi as he curled his nose.

“One minute and thirty-three seconds.” He murmured to himself, turning into a deserted alley after checking the correct street name on a brick wall nearby. As he walked, the bright white snow became dirtier until there were just a few clusters of it on the side of the path. It started snowing heavier.

“Fifty-eight seconds.”

“I told you there were consequences!” A hoarse male voice shouted in the distance. Yoongi stopped hands into the pockets of his coat. “You’re a worthless bitch!”

There was a loud bang, followed by two others, and a feeble female voice asking for help. No one could hear her, and even if her cries reached someone’s ears, no one would help her since - according to Min Yoongi - humans were nothing but greedy mortal souls that enjoyed the sufferings of others. They were too occupied with spending their money on materialistic goods and developing toxic, violent, and possessive relationships. They were human beings but had no humanity left in their hearts.

He approached the poor woman laying on the ground, her hand resting on her stomach: blood was gushing out of her bullet wounds, dripping down in a pool of crimson absorbed by the snow. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered the same words over and over again, “Help me”.

He crouched down beside her and tilted his head, observing her like a detective inspected a victim. He knew that her time was up and that she was destined to die there, alone, desperately waiting for someone to find her.

“S-Sir…” She mumbled, some blood running down from the corner of her mouth. “P-please help me…” Her hand desperately clutched the hem of his coat, smearing it with her blood.

Yoongi sharply exhaled and rolled his eyes, turning his head to the side.

“Fancy seeing you follow me everywhere I go, Jungkook.” He stated, reluctantly standing up to face a man leaning against the brick wall, his arms crossed.

“Did you miss me?” Jungkook grinned.

He seemed almost like an angel since the clothes he wore were entirely white. His blond hair brushed against his shoulders, and a pair of long crystal earrings hung from his ears, sparkling as soon as they moved. Yoongi, on the contrary, was his polar opposite: his short wavy locks were as black as pitch, and although his eyes were a dull brown, they almost felt like looking into two holes, black as a night without stars.

“Seokjin sent me here to stop you from reaping her soul,” he affirmed, playing with the many rings he wore on his fingers, “It’s not her time yet.”

Yoongi scoffed, slightly amused at his statement. “Don’t you see the three holes on her stomach… Or do you need a magnifying glass? I am the one who decides if she dies today, not that Doctor Strange wannabe.” He took some steps toward him until his face was a few inches away from his, “I don’t take orders from a teenager.”

Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows, the slight grin disappeared. “These are not my orders but his, and you know you must obey him.” He lightly shoved Yoongi’s shoulder without interrupting eye contact with him, trying to remain calm. He kneeled beside the woman and caressed her hair, a sad smile depicted on his pink lips, while Yoongi stared angrily at the two.

“Don’t even think about it, Jungkook, her soul is already mine.” He said through gritted teeth.

“It is, you’re right.” The blond whispered and delicately put his hand on the woman’s chest. “But not now, Yoongi, you will have to wait.”

“Wait!?” Yoongi exclaimed in disbelief, and then frantically ran a hand through his black locks, “This has to be a joke, is Taehyung with you?”

“He is not,” He responded as a gleam of light formed under the palm of his hand, turning brighter by the second, “I haven’t seen him in ages.” This time his tone was lower, and his expression had darkened. Yoongi nodded, having no interest in knowing what had happened between the two friends.

“I suppose you won’t tell me why Seokjin wants to spare her life.”

“He just told me to stop you, nothing more.”

Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “Lies,” he snarled, “you are his little obedient puppy, Jungkook, we all know it.”

Jungkook inhaled the sharp, cold air and smiled as the woman opened her dark eyes. “I’m not here to fight, Yoongi, so you can insult me how much you want.” The blond took the now conscious woman into his arms and glared directly at his former friend. “But nothing will change the fact that you’re on your own now.”

Yoongi turned around, ready to argue back, but there was no trace of Jungkook.

The black-haired man remained still as he watched the empty spot, sighing, a strange feeling at the pit of his stomach.

20 years later

“Chung-Ae, we’ve already talked about this!” You groaned in annoyance, sinking your face into your Pikachu plushie. “I’m happy here!”

Chung-Ae sat on the counter, her arms supporting her as she gave you a stern look. You peeked, escaping the protection of your plushie, noticing that she wore purple lenses - although her stare was as scary as it had always been -.

“You’re a twenty-two-year-old living in an old house, with your three cats, and working in a cat-café.” She emphasized the “and” as if working in such a wonderful place was something to be ashamed of.

“That’s the best life!” You exclaimed as you sat comfortably on your sofa. “I mean, why would I need to move to Seul with a bunch of horny people when I could just spend the rest of my life in peace?”

Chung-Ae sighed loudly.

“They’re not just a bunch of horny people. They are my friends.”

You parted your lips to respond, wanting to remind her about the last party you both had attended, but she cut you off.

“Y/N, you live alone in such an abandoned area, it’s dangerous; it even takes you more than an hour to reach the café.” She slid down from the counter and sat next to you, putting her hand on your shoulder. “Trust me, I know that you’re attached to this place, but it doesn’t work for you anymore.”

She was right, you loved that place. Your grandparent’s house was located in the countryside, in a small rural village that was scarcely populated. The few young people remaining had started moving to bigger cities such as Seul or Busan, but not you. You adored waking up to the sound of birds chirping in the morning and the gurgling of the river. You got used to being alone, and you didn’t mind it. You couldn’t understand why Chung-Ae tried to force you to move with her, but she was rather determined, and you knew she was going to insist.

“Chung-Ae,” you reached for her hand and squeezed it delicately, a small smile forming on your lips. “You know I can’t leave, I promised my mother I would take care of this house.”

“You have to stop living in the past, Y/N.” She firmly stated. “This house is falling apart, and so is your life. Moving to Seul with me is your best option.”

Her eyes stared into yours for a few seconds, and you felt unreasonably guilty. You knew how much she cared about you, and you were constantly giving her “no” as answers. She retracted her hand, reaching for her purse right beside her, before standing up. “You still have time to think about it. You know that, right?” Her hand was on the doorknob.

Your mind wanted to decline her offer, but your heart told you otherwise, so you just nodded.

“Take care, Y/N.” And with that, she closed the door behind her, leaving you alone once again.

You finally took a deep breath running your palms down your face in an exasperated manner. Chung-Ae was your childhood friend, and she had always been by your side. You had met her in elementary school: she was popular amongst your class since her father was a renowned lawyer who worked for big celebrities, but you - on the other hand - weren’t as popular. You weren’t a social butterfly and preferred spending your time playing with the stray cats in your neighborhood.

You stood up and walked toward the kitchen, deciding to make yourself a homemade chicken noodle soup. You put the ingredients on the counter and started to chop the carrots into strings. As you were about to grab something, you heard a strange noise coming from outside: you reminisced Chung-Ae’s words and felt a shiver run through your spine, but you shook your head, mentally reassuring yourself that it must have been a wild animal.

You grabbed the celery from the fridge, deciding that you would drink some strawberry milk while waiting for the soup to cook. However, when you closed it, you were taken aback by a calico cat sitting on the floor, right in front of you. Your eyes were wide open in surprise since your three cats were all black, and you crouched down. “Hello, little one,” you gently smiled as you observed the little creature staring at you with a pair of light blue eyes, “I wonder how you got in…”

You inspected the room looking for any open windows but soon discovered you had closed everything. When you turned your gaze back to the cat, it was gone. Puzzled, you stood back up, massaging your temples. Am I hallucinating? You asked yourself before resuming your dish.

After literally devouring your delicious meal and doing the dishes, you headed to your room, where you found the windows wide open. You didn’t remember leaving them like that, but you also didn’t mind the fresh breeze coming from outside. It was a quiet night of July, and the moon was shining vividly in the sky, its brightness being the only source of light in the room. As you approached your bed, you couldn’t help but notice the shape of a cat on the window ledge, but when you came near, it had mysteriously vanished.

"Okay, Y/N, you're probably tired." You told yourself while sitting on the bed. As you laid down, feeling the freshness of your newly washed sheets, you heard another sound and then a chorus of meows coming from the living room. You sighed, reluctantly standing up, wearing a hoodie before walking down the stairs.

"What is it, guys, did you hurt yourselves?" You asked as your three black cats, Luna, Mars, and Pluto, continued meowing toward the front door. You groaned, "Alright, I will check."

You weren't ready for what you were about to see: you expected nothing but pitch darkness or that calico cat that was apparently haunting you now. But as you opened the wooden door, you froze on the spot at the sight of a man leaning his arm on the doorframe.

Because of the darkness, you could only see his silver hair reflecting the moonlight and a pair of light blue eyes staring at you in curiosity.

"Hello, little one."

#bts ot7 x reader #bts series #kim taehyung x reader #bts imagine #bts x reader #bts fanfic #park jimin x reader #kim seokjin x reader #kim namjoon x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jung hoseok x reader #min yoongi x reader

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your-highnessmarvel · 3 years

Text

From Bleak to Bright Part Four

All other parts on on my masterlist, link provided below.

AN: OOOOH the development of this story makes me so excited for the rest!!! Loki is def in this part babies;)

Warnings: angst, language

Enjoyed this and want more? Send in your requests!

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MASTERLIST

PART FOUR

The evening sun bore down onto the horizon, coloring the sky a myriad of blue and yellow and pink. Like vagabond brushstrokes upon the canvas of the sky. A few, wandering birds called from a distance, lazily gliding in the wind.

The door behind you opened and closed. You turned away from the darkening horizon and saw your brother offering two cups of steaming chamomile tea.

“Steve says they might have a point of entry for you,” he said, but his tone wasn’t into it, as if the week’s dealings bore on his shoulders alone.

When Tony had announced your role as the bait, Bruce had thrown himself at your side. No one would hurt his baby sister, he’d said.

“I don’t think he’s going to fall for it,” you said halfhearted.

Bruce sighed, handing you the cup. You wrapped your hands around the burning warmth. “I think you still don’t fully understand the soulmate bond,” your brother said.

“Huh?”

He sipped on his tea, clearing his throat. “At least for men, it’s not really about how you feel towards that person, albeit that yes, there’s passion.” He scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly coughing. “It’s more the protection you want to have on this person. Their wellbeing is of utmost importance. It’s hard, sometimes, to differentiate between protection and possession.”

A lump formed in your throat. Possession?

“And knowing Loki,” Bruce went on. “Knowing his nature of envy and greed, he’s for sure feeling the effects of the bond as just that - possession. He feels like you belong to him.”

Astonished, you turned away from your brother, both to hide your flaming cheeks and the awkwardness forming between you.

“Has he made anymore...” you hesitated, “demands?”

Bruce shook his head. “No.” Then he looked at the horizon. “But he’s looking for you. He went to your apartment. Your daytime job. Even the school you used to go to part-time in the summer.”

That seemed like so far behind. Like someone else. Not you. That life you’d had barely more than two weeks ago, when you’d accepted to help Bruce. That girl, living alone in a somewhat nice apartment, going to work on public transport, and studying in the summer - that girl seemed like a stranger now. The girl who used to see in black and white.

“So what happens when he finds me?” you asked tentatively.

“We swoop in,” Bruce answered. “We get him. We hand him over to Thor, and he brings him back to Asgard and makes sure he never comes back.”

That word. Never. It rung like a Cong inside your brain. The prospect of never seeing Loki ever again, never talking to him, stroke a cord in you that you wished you could ignore.

During this whole week of scheming, no one had asked you how you felt about all this. He was your soulmate after all. And the idea that, after all this time, you’d finally found him and he was bound for eternal life in prison made you want to scream.

Bruce put his hand on your upper back, as if sensing your discomfort. “Let’s go to bed,” he said soothingly. “Tomorrow is a big day.”

Yes, tomorrow was a big day.

***

You strolled through downtown New York, trying your hardest not to look over your shoulder. It had been a week since you’d been in a huge crowd, and returning to the crammed streets of the city made your belly buzz.

Nat sounded in your ear. “Make it look authentic,” she said.

Right. Because luring a thousand-year-old demi-God into a quiet corner to trap him was the easiest thing in the world. Nat had tried to teach you a few things when they’d all cooped up at Tony’s secret forest getaway, but now, living it, you couldn’t remember how to act benign.

You tried to pretend to be listening to music, the airpods in your ears actually being comms with the Quinjet hidden overhead. You stopped at Starbucks. You pretended to look through the windows of clothing stores. You stepped into a bookstore and bought a novel.

It had been an hour that you were “baiting” and nothing.

Not even a glimpse.

You sighed in defeat, pushing your hair behind your ears. The day’s heat was boring down on you, and you knew your nose was burnt. Your tank top was soaked, your jeans sticking to your legs. Totally uncomfortable would be an understatement.

You saw a glimpse of something gold in the Macy’s window and looked over your shoulder.

“Y/N,” Bruce sounded in your ear. “Come in.”

You remained silent. The crowd before you changed, people walking past you in a hurry. You turned back to the window, muttering to your brother, “I’m fine.”

“Get away from Macy’s, you have enough clothes,” your brother muttered back.

You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What’s funny?”

You jumped, yelping, staring up into Loki’s green gaze. Heart hammering, blood roaring in your ears, you tried to focus on calming yourself. Your hands were sweaty as you reached up to take out one airpod.

He smirked. Under the sun, he was glorious in an all-black ensemble, his raven locks freshly cut beneath his chin, pushed back behind his ears.

“Fancy a stroll?”

You gulped, looking at the elbow he offered. Something shimmered there, around the edges of his forearm. As if he glowed.

He’s not really here.

You remembered from your briefing on Loki, that Thor had said the jester loved his illusion tricks.

“I presume I have to pretend to hold your arm?” you answered, feeling the knot of anxiety dissolve in your belly at the sight of his grin.

“Clever.” He retreated his arm, looked around at the crowd swiftly moving past him. “May we talk somewhere private?” he asked.

Nat had told you he’d say that, and your job was to not look too eager. He’d smell a trap before you’d even agree.

You forced yourself to frown. “You want to get me alone?”

He huffed, his lips pulling into a dashing smirk. God, he really was beautiful. The sun, so warm and overbearing to you, seemed to grace his entire being as if he’d been crafted by the hands of the gods themselves.

“If I wanted to get you alone,” he said, dropping his voice to a lower octave, stepping closer to you, “I would have gotten you out of Tony’s little wayward cabin much sooner.”

He stood close, not close enough to smell him, but close enough that you had to tilt your head to keep eye contact.

There was a quiet turmoil building inside you at his words, someone whispering “Shit” in your airpod. A slight tremor began at your core, echoing out into your limbs. He’d known where you were. He knew what you were doing.

At the sight of your face - you, who could barely hide your emotions - he grinned wildly.

“I am the God of Mischief, or did you forget?” He tilted his head, squinted his eyes.

Your mouth was dry when you answered. “That’s why you’re casting yourself as an illusion?”

“Clever,” he said, again. Then he licked his lips, erasing the comical expression on his features and replacing it with something akin to stone. “You’re mad if you think you can fool me.”

“Takes one to know one.”

He would have laid hands on you if he wasn’t incorporeal. His eyes darkened, chin dipping so that he stared at you along the length of his nose.

“You’re a chipper little thing,” he said, voice laced with venom. The tone, his expression, the way his illusion made the edges of him tremble instead of glow, made your heart speed with fear. “I’m sure the Avengers trained you well. I’m sure your brother thinks he can save you.”

Bruce whispered in your ear, “Son of a bitch.”

Loki’s unmoving expression slipped enough for him to smirk maniacally. “In fact,” he said, “tell him right now that I’ll win. I’ll win this battle of wits. This fucking planet. And I’ll win his sister.”

And then he vanished, leaving you to hear nothing but your drumming heartbeat, like a sea of swarming insects. The only thing that lingered behind was the smell of pinewood.

I PROMISE PART FIVE WILL BE LONGER!!!!!!!!!!

Tags: @subtlemalice @yallgotkik @buckyandlokirunmylife @kaz11283 @legolas-bromance @shylittlemountain @tofeartheunknown @feelmyfckngsoul @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @caffiend-queen @tomhollandsslilslut @lady-loki-ren @nathan-no @rosaline-black @abundanceofcarolines @my-own-oracle @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @marvelouslovely @drbaureid @bored-as-hell-666 @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @theinfinitenerd @toe-vind-ek-jou @ink-and-starlight @blank-bakabane @sunshineonloki your tag doesn’t work bb

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki fic #loki fanfiction #loki imagine #imagine loki #loki oneshot #lokixyn #loki x yn #loki x you #lokixyou #lokixreader #loki x reader #angst #soulmate au

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legends-live-in-memories · 3 years

Text

Just Some Guy

AYO im back with day 3! i got nothing else to say :)

Maribat Masterlist AO3 @maribat-bdbwm

Day 1 2

Word count: 1.5k words

Summary:

Marinette went to school hoping for a normal day.

Instead, she meets her father for the second time. Or perhaps, for the first time.

BD!Bruce Wayne Day 3- Identities

without further ado:

Marinette woke up in the morning with a bad feeling. Nothing was really wrong. She woke up before her alarm and she hadn’t tripped getting out of bed. She finished her homework the night before and hadn’t gotten into any fights all week. And yet, a weight sat in her stomach.

Her mother once said— when she was maybe three years old and landed on her feet when she fell out of a tree she wasn’t supposed to have been climbing— that as she grew up her affinity for the miraculous magic would cause these unfamiliar ‘sensations’ throughout her life. It was more precise than intuition but not nearly as sophisticated as precognition. Her teachers had said she was blessed by the ancestors as most guardians develop this skill only after years of training, not as a young toddler like herself. She knew to trust this feeling. Usually, she knew that this feeling meant something was going to hurt her; except, since living in Paris for a year, this feeling tended to mean that something was going to embarrass her at worst or mildly inconvenience her at best. She hoped it was the latter.

Nothing happened during her normal routine of getting ready and her papa had even made an extra nice breakfast for the family. The weather was perfect and everything seemed to be going right. So why did she have this feeling?

The walk to school was equally mundane and Marinette started to feel jittery. She hadn’t tripped on her way so that wasn’t what was going to go wrong either. Her class was a quiet sea of private conversations. Chloé wasn’t even doing anything beyond tapping on her phone. Though, she wasn’t usually as enthusiastic as she was now. Was that what was going to go wrong?

“Marinette!” her teacher had called. Madame Bustier was an eccentric woman, Marinette had learned. She was only their teacher for a few months but she was someone Marinette grew fond of rather quickly. “I’m glad you’re here early, can you do me a small favor?”

“Of course, Madame.” This was nothing out of place either, the feeling still weighed on her.

“I left some copies of some handouts in the staff room upstairs. Do you think you could fetch them for me?” Standing behind her desk, her posture straight and smile so bright, Marinette found no reason to say no. She agreed without hesitation.

The journey to and from the staff room was, again, uneventful and Marinette was just hoping that whatever Bad Thing that was supposed to happen to her would just occur. The fretting alone is enough to send her to an early grave. Checking on the time back in the class, it was only 8:20. She had the entire day left. Great.

The hours ticked by and it was then the lunch hour. Marinette’s nerves had calmed down in the meantime and she was fidgety for a different reason. Today was Friday and that meant her papa was in charge of her training. The thought alone was enough to lift her spirits. She couldn’t wait to see what he had in store today.

If only she could actually make it back to the bakery. Before anyone could actually leave the class, Chloé commanded the attention of everyone, including Madame Bustier, because she had a ‘special announcement.’

The bad feeling had immediately returned and Marinette felt a chill. This was it. This was what her senses had been preparing her for all day. She looked at Chloé and the curl of her lips, pale lip gloss shining as bright as ever, made a pit open in Marinette’s stomach. She had her undivided attention, hanging off of whatever words she was about to say next.

“A very important guest is in Paris and daddy has agreed that we all get to meet him. Bruce Wayne is coming here today! He’s staying at our hotel—of course— and he agreed to come to the school after lunch to speak to us about business and other boring stuff. All because of me. No need to thank me.” her little speech was decorated with self-congratulatory hair flips and pats on her own shoulder. None of it mattered to Marinette, however. Her brain was too busy rebooting. All her trepidation and egg-shell walking… for this? For this person? He was clearly important if not for Chloé saying as such then for the background chatter of her classmates but it all meant nothing to Marinette. Because…

Because…

Who the heck was Bruce Wayne?

Why would some old businessman want to speak to a bunch of twelve year olds? Well, he was staying at the mayor’s hotel, he probably didn’t have much of a say in the matter. Whatever the mayor’s precious daughter wants she gets. Too bad this man got dragged along for the whole ordeal. But that doesn’t explain why this was what set off her nerves. What could possibly happen in meeting this guy? Marinette could only wait until after the lunch hour to figure out.

Her excitement for her papa’s training was overshadowed by her dread. She could barely focus, distracted by her own hyper-aware senses. The trek back to school was slow, Marinette tried to prolong the inevitable for as long as possible, but she was facing her classroom door too quickly for her tastes. The chatter of her classmates beyond the door, Madame Bustier trying to control the noise, and a deep chuckle that cut through the cacophony, did nothing but make Marinette wish to be able to turn back and run home.

Could she call in sick?

Run away only to return on Monday?

No, a voice rang, her father’s voice, in her head. The only way out is through. Those were his words and Marinette wasn’t going to chicken out on meeting some stranger just because her gut feeling was warning her about something. Whatever it was, she’ll face head-on. She’s the daughter of freaking Batman after all.

She took a deep breath, mind made up, and opened the door with more bravado than she actually had.

Too bad she overestimated how much force she actually needed and accidentally slammed the door open. What was once a rowdy classroom was now a silent audience, peering as Marinette made a rather grand entrance. The tall figure standing next to Madame Bustier had the most unnerving gaze. She was transfixed. Mesmerized. She stared at the visitor, tall and broad, with swept back hair and a pair of baby blue eyes. She knew that face. She knew those eyes!

There were only two times she saw eyes that blue; in her own reflection and in the face of her father. Who was Batman. But… also this Bruce Wayne guy? What?

That’s not right. She would have known if her father was in the city and she most definitely would have known if her father was some guy named Bruce Wayne. Right?

At least her bad feeling was gone.

But why was he here? And why was he still staring at her?

“Going to become part of the decoration, Dupain-Cheng?” Chloé’s snark cut into the silence and called her attention away from her maskless father. That was when she noticed that she was still standing in the doorway. With everyone still staring at her.

She scurried to the back of the classroom to her seat in record speed, not meeting anyone’s eye, ignoring any snickering directed at her.

“Well, class now that everyone is here,” Marinette cheeks felt warm at her teacher’s comment, “Allow me to introduce you all to Mr. Bruce Wayne, owner and CEO of Wayne Enterprises.”

Oh, her father was someone rich then.

“Thank you, Madame. I will admit I was surprised that the mayor personally asked me to be here on such short notice but,” that was her father’s voice but it was the gruff tones she had heard when they met. This was airy, and approachable. “But seeing all of you here today, definitely made it worth it.”

It was so weird.

Marinette didn’t pay attention to anything he said during his visit, and after he left, with an indecipherable, lingering look in her direction, she felt like she could breathe again for the first time in forever. Watching the stone cold Batman prance around, engaging with children, was bizarre. She felt like she was watching another person, and she almost thought he was but she knew that face. She’s seen it before, the night they first met, and those eyes, so much like her own, so she knows that this man is her father. No matter how… cheery he acted. But it was over and Marinette’s day could finally go back to normal.

Putting the whole ordeal behind her, her anxieties quelled and the bad feeling having passed, Marinette was left with one question however.

If Batman is Bruce Wayne, then who the heck are his children?

#mbdbwm2021 #maribat #maribat!biodadbrucewayne2021 #maribat!biodadbrucewaynemonth2021 #maribat events #monthly events #marinette thinks her dad's name is Batman #bruce wayne is just some guy #¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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viperbarnes · 3 years

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The Long Last Summer

[B. Barnes] Oneshot

40s Post-War AU

Summary: With Steve off in America again, Bucky finds himself doing his own version of a USO tour through Italy, boosting morale and friendship, or so they tell him. However, a new stationing in the tiny town of Montecarra gives him more reason to want to stay, when he becomes quickly whisked away by wild, carefree and exuberant you.

Warnings: language, smut, mentions of the war, awful awful Italian probably. The reader has a name, but it's still written as a reader insert.

Note: The reader/character in this fic is a black woman. This fic was originally uploaded elsewhere, so if you're a part of the small audience who read it originally please don't panic, it isn't stolen lol. The story is almost entirely spoken in Italian, but doing italics for every conversation was annoying, so just assume that unless otherwise stated! Thank you for reading!

Words: 19.5k [This is very long.... Sorry...]

The hot Italian sun beats down on the town below, the occasional breeze carried overland from the nearby ocean to the west might have been a blessing if that too weren’t humid and warm. Bucky Barnes thinks it should be a sin for it to be so hot so early in the morning, but he’s long past complaining about it. Leaning against his car door, stopped on a hill overlooking the town of Montecarra, Bucky takes another drag of his cigarette before stomping it out. At least he hadn’t woken up in a filthy, sweltering trench, surrounded by hot bodies after another restless night of gunfire filled dreams. At least he was only required to wear his uniform during official ‘work’ hours.

Giving the town, his newest home, one last look, Bucky gets back in the car and makes his way down.

Being a core member of The Howling Commandos these past years, Bucky had earned himself a certain amount of celebrity, both in America and abroad. Especially in Italy. Given that Steve had returned to the States already, and Bucky had expressed some minor interest in staying in Europe a while longer, Colonel Phillips had happily assigned him as a ‘morale liaison’ while the US and other allies sorted out the peace treaties and demilitarisation of Europe.

It made as much sense to Bucky then as it did now. He had come to realise that ‘morale liaison’ was just jargon for ‘dancing, handshaking, smiling, posing monkey’, seeing as most of his time the past two years had been spent shaking hands while smiling and posing for various photos. Usually with politicians. Bucky hated politicians.

Luckily, his newest post, Montecarra, was far more what Bucky had thought he’d be doing when Phillips had given him his orders; helping people rebuild and reclaim their lives in a post-fascist Italy. As he drives through the small town, Bucky thinks briefly that the bulk of it seemed to be almost entirely untouched by the war, the classic Italian architecture and warm coloured buildings homey and welcoming, the cobbled stone streets and walkways looking every part the idyllic Tuscan town, but then he sees it.

Toward the edges of town, Bucky’s eyes catch on a shattered stone building, utterly destroyed. It’s a small ways from the town itself, a little field between it and the nearest houses, and he can’t help but already feel grateful for the fact it looked to be the only place that had been hit by the violence, though he doesn’t deny the unseen scars that no doubt linger on the people themselves.

He quickly looks away and continues on to his residence.

There was no army base or fortifications in Montecarra, the nearest being in Florence, but The people had kindly offered up a small, newly unowned cottage for the military to house any visiting soldiers in during their stay. When he finally gets to be shown around by the nearest neighbour, a friendly older woman, he’s glad that for the time being, he has it to himself.

He gets himself settled, partially unpacks his bags before getting bored and making his way out to the blooming garden, camera in hand. It had been a gift from Steve, sent for his birthday the previous year when the two had not been able to reunite, and although Bucky had much preferred putting pencil to paper before he’d owned his own camera, he’d found in recent months, as the cold receded and the sun came out, he’d picked up a knack for photography.

The fact that this model was an ‘instant’ model, making it so that after each photo he took, a little slip of paper would spit out and slowly develop the image, certainly aided his newfound love for the hobby. When he had been a kid, his Ma would take the family to have their pictures taken once a year, and the results always took days or weeks.

Lifting the camera to his eye, Bucky peeks through and aims it at a tall bushel of bougainvillea, the bright red against the butter-coloured walls of his cottage making him wish the photos weren’t just black and white.

He snaps a few more floral shots, wondering absently if he’ll be able to buy more photo paper in town. With the sun still high in the sky, he decides that he may as well take a short walk, if not to introduce himself to some of the locals, then to answer his question.

Honestly, the unendingly friendly reception he’d received everywhere he went never ceased to surprise him. Two years ago Italy had been the enemy or the soldiers and government at least. For the most part, the people caught in the crossfire had been weary and scared, but helpful where they could be to Allied soldiers. Still, the warmth they seemed to hold him, and other allied soldiers with was always a little startling at first.

By the time he makes it to the centre of town, he’d been kissed on his cheeks more times than he could count, but interestingly, the people of Montecarra weren’t as clingy as he’d found some other towns and cities… After greeting him, they’d happily left him alone, though with numerous and repeated offers to have him for dinner.

Once unable to stand doing nothing at all, and always on the go, the young man Bucky had once been, had evolved into a quieter, more solitary version of himself. He still liked to have fun, mind you, he’d learnt to take enjoyment and pleasure where he could in the army, but his sniper’s life had taught him contentedness with his own company. Bucky was fine being alone, without chatter or noise to distract him. He’d come to prefer it, actually.

Bucky finds that Montecarra’s central space was a large set of four courtyards, separated by various important municipal buildings and shops, and at the centre point, an old communal well that had been made into a fountain. Without thinking, Bucky lifts his camera to snap a shot of the fountain. He loved New York more than anything, and he couldn’t wait to return home, but damn if he hadn’t fallen hard for European architecture.

He’s still waving the little piece of photo paper back and forth to help it develop when loud laughter and the familiar noise of children playing reaches his ears. It startles him slightly, Montecarra wasn’t exactly sleepy, but it was quiet, and the residence all seemed to be of an older sort, he hadn’t seen many children yet, though a look at his watch tells him that might have been due to school.

A small gaggle of children of various ages come skipping into view across from the fountain, chatting loudly and seemingly unaware of the previous peace that had reigned in the town square. Unlike in New York, however, Bucky notices not a single patron of the nearby outdoor restaurant throws them dirty looks or hisses at them to quiet down, if anything, the people nearby pause to watch for a few seconds, not with disdain written on their faces, but soft, gentle smiles, before they return to their business.

A voice calling out from the back of the group, noticeable for its maturity in comparison to the children’s voices, catches Bucky’s attention and he lets his gaze skip over the scene until it lands on you, and suddenly, he’s breathless.

Bucky Barnes had seen a lot of beautiful women in his time, and had been lucky enough to know a number of them too, but you, you are something else entirely.

It’s your smile he notices first, plush rosy brown lips pulled wide in a joyful grin, so magnetising he finds himself unable to look away. Your hair is long, curly and dark, brushed into waves that the humidity and breeze seemed set on ruining, and with one hand you secure your wide brim sun hat as you chase the kids. Your white blouse is laced around the open collar and both it and the bright yellow of your skirt stand out against your syrupy brown skin, smooth and a little shiny from the sun.

“Here! Roberto, Norma, come sit here a moment! Look at the fountain!” You beckon the children, two strays in particular, over toward the fountain, and much like Bucky, the kids seem magnetised to you as well. You float right up to the water, sitting on the edge as the children all gather around, still chatting and playing loudly, though a little more orderly now.

Bucky watches you swipe a hand through the cool water, smiling and speaking animatedly with one of the children. He wonders if you were perhaps their teacher, but he’s snapped away from his thoughts a moment later.

“That man has a camera! Look!”

Bucky blinks, tearing his eyes from you, even as the children, and you, all now turn your attention to him in varying shades of wonderment. He’s still a small distance away, but it doesn’t matter as not even a second later, he’s being swamped by the pack of energetic youngsters.

“Are you a photographer?!”

“Can I see it?!”

“Will you take my picture!?”

The last request sets off a frenzy, the rest of the children all joining in to ask for their picture taken, and honestly, Bucky doesn’t even think he has enough paper for that.

“Hey! Mascalzoni! Leave the poor man alone!” You appear then, hands on your hips, not even two meters away and Bucky thinks he could faint.

“Oh, they’re—” He cuts himself off, switching to Italian.

“They’re fine, really… I just don’t think I have the photo paper for it…” He explains, trying his best to look you in the eye, but not quite making it. You cock your head in sympathy, and clap once, getting the children’s attention once more.

“Come on, stop it. Can’t you see you’ve scared him?!” You say playfully, though Bucky wants to correct that it isn’t them he’s scared of.

“How are we supposed to get more tourists to Montecarra if you’re all scaring them away, huh?!” You continue, crossing your arms and the kids seem to relent somewhat, whining a little as they back up from Bucky. You give him another, apologetic smile.

“Come along, you all better get home before your mothers’ tan your hides!” You say, making a shooing motion that makes Bucky second-guess his teacher theory. Before any of them can begin to move though, he takes half a step forward, holding up his camera.

“Wait, I can— I can take a photo of you all together…” He says, and watches as even your face lights up, though as the children all begin to excitedly gather in front of the fountain, you step away, to his side.

“You don’t want to be in it?” He asks, throwing you a sideways glance and yep, you’re still just as pretty as before. You smile and shake your head.

“No. Not this time.” he doesn’t know what you mean by that, but focuses back on the children, raising the camera and snapping a shot of the children, smiling brightly.

Chaos ensues once again when the paper pops out of the bottom, further exciting the group as Bucky attempts to hold the picture out of their reach while it develops, unable to stop himself from chuckling at how spirited they were. It had been a long time since he’d seen any kid so carefree. Perhaps that was why the townspeople were so unphased by their noise earlier.

After the picture is passed around for all to see, you clear your throat and jerk your head away again.

“Go on, clear out now.” Far more happily the children bid each other goodbye, a few moving in pairs or trios as they split off in separate directions.

Bucky is all too aware that you’re still standing near him, and he focuses on cleaning his camera lens with his sleeve.

“Thank you.” You say kindly, with a slight bow of your head, and he finds himself shrugging and shaking his head.

“It’s alright, really.” he pauses, and then;

“Are you their teacher?” He doesn’t expect the surprised laugh you let out, shaking your own head vigorously.

“Hell no. I don’t have the patience for that! We were just walking the same way.” Bucky blinks, not expecting your language, though he finds it endearing, a little more grounding. He laughs.

“I see.”

“You’re the soldier, yes? From America?” The subject change catches him out for a moment, but he’s nodding a moment later.

“Sergeant James Barnes, ma’am.” He almost salutes, doesn’t and then thinks better of it, giving you one anyway. You cock your head at him, an amused smile pulling at your lips.

“I thought soldiers wore uniforms?” You fold your hands in front of you, and Bucky blinks, down at his casual civilian clothes, and then back at you.

“Oh, I, well, I do, but only when I’m working, these days…” You laugh good-naturedly at his awkward delivery.

“I was only teasing. I’ve heard from Rome that soldiers spend just as much time out of their uniforms as in them.” You say it easily, with a playful chuckle, but the risque connotations don’t go over his head, his eyebrows lifting high in his surprise.

Were you… flirting…? Or was this just how you were?

“Well, Sergeant Barnes, it was lovely to meet you.” You’re stepping back, giving him another smile (were you always smiling? He wants to know, now), and a little wave before you begin to turn. Bucky flounders at your fast retreat and panics.

“Uh, wait!” You look back, and he swallows.

“What’s… what’s your name?” You chuckle and push your hair behind your shoulder.

“Cristina.” You tell him and he repeats it, trying to roll the ‘r’ like you do, which makes you laugh again.

“People usually just call me Nina.” You offer a moment later and Bucky nods, before giving you his own, more commonly used nickname.

“Bucky?” You repeat, almost unsure, but when he nods, mouth dry at hearing his name on your lips, you smile and nod.

“Bucky. I will see you around, Bucky.” And with that, he watches dumbly, awestruck in his place as you float out of the plaza.

—-

The warm breeze carries through the open windows of your house, sending the scents from the kitchen below wafting around the rooms. You’d already finished your work for the day, and the chores your mother assigned you, and with a slight pep in your step, you finish tying the scarf around your hair and grab your book.

“Mama? I’m going to read!” You call out, pausing for a moment to listen for her reply. You hear a faint humming above the radio and quickly take your leave, skipping down the front steps of your home and out of the walled front courtyard.

Montecarra is hot and warm, like it had been every other day this week, but you don’t mind. The streets you pass through on the way to your nook are quiet, with only the occasional Nonna in her garden, or returning from the markets. There had been more people here once, a long time ago, and in your childhood days you remember visitors, passing through and admiring your home on their way to other places. You missed that deeply, but push it from your mind, trying not to sour your day at the thought of your already sleepy town becoming sleepier.

You reach your normal place quickly, little plaza toward the outskirts of town, many of the houses here empty now. One of the homes, a double storied one like your own, has a tall garden wall that sits in the shade of the tall tree behind it. Midway through the wall, high enough to take some effort to climb, sit a series of three empty archways, glassless windows that give a view of the overgrown garden within, and from the other side of the little square beyond.

Nobody came to this part of town, not anymore, and in recent years, you’d found it the perfect place to sit unbothered. Tucking your book under your arm, you hitch your skirt up a little, and use one of the roots that climbs and decorates the wall with green ivy as a foothold. The archway isn’t high, but you certainly couldn’t get to it without a little help.

Once situated, you lean back against the pillar, bringing your feet up in front of you, and rest your book against your thighs and knees. You lose yourself quickly in the words, devouring the stories of far away places, detectives and mystery and murder. When the Nazi’s had been here, you hadn’t been allowed to freely enjoy such things. You’d been hidden away, scared everyday would be your last, but it had never come. They had left, and you had been safe again once more.

It was why you enjoyed sitting outside, in the sun and warm, basking in a world that was purely yours again.

Well, not just yours.

A quiet, but pointed cough makes you jump slightly, and you whip your head to find the source, shutting your book on instinct before your eyes find him, and you smile.

“Good Afternoon, Sergeant Barnes!” You greet, and the man returns your smile, lifting his hand briefly. You had known he was coming of course, your whole town did. He was helping the men rebuild the old schoolhouse, though he seemed to have finished that task for the day, as you had finished yours.

He was a handsome man, with dark hair and blue eyes, his pale skin lightly tanned on his face and arms from days in the Italian sun. He was young, though older than you, likely nearing his late twenties if you were correct. You hadn’t known who he was during the war, but afterwards, you’d had plenty of newspaper fodder to read. You think most of it must have been trash though, because the man the magazines and gossip columns had labelled as a charming, suave ladies man could not be the same one that stood before you now.

“Bucky. Bucky is fine, Senora Cristina.” He replies, his eyes dropping a little as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Well then you must call me Nina.” You reply, keeping up your smile for when he looks back at you. When he realises you haven’t looked away from him, he quickly averts his gaze again, but clears his throat and looks around the empty plaza, waving a hand.

“Quiet spot?” He asks, and you turn from where your back is pressed against the brick, swinging your legs over the side of the wall to face him properly. You nod.

“Yes. The people who lived in this part left. We don’t know if they’ll come back or…” You trail off, pursing your lips briefly, but shake your head. No. No time to dwell.

“It’s a good place to come to be alone.”

“Oh, I can— I can leave if you’d lik—” Bucky’s face falls into anxiety stricken concern as he gestures with his thumb toward the little road you think he must have come from, but you cut him off quickly, laughing.

“I was not attempting to chase you away!” You tell him, and he drops his hand back to his side. For a few seconds he just looks at you, like he’s unsure of what to say, and so you fill the silence the best you can.

“How do you like Montecarra?” Bucky nods quickly, his body language immediately relaxing somewhat. You wonder if you make him nervous because he’s unsure how to speak to women, or if it might be something else.

“It’s beautiful. I haven’t been able to stop looking, you know? We don’t have towns like this where I’m from.” You smile at his clear enthusiasm, and cock your head. You’d never been to America, you’d never even really been more than a few miles from your home, so you can’t imagine what towns must look like there.

“The people are friendly, I mean, everyone is friendly everywhere, but the people here are… they don’t seem to want to be around me twenty-four-seven.” He adds, and then clamps his mouth shut, as if he’d forgotten who he was talking to. You think maybe he hasn’t been around friends in a while. You shrug, and chortle.

“Oh, that’s just how we are. My Papa used to say that in the cities, nobody can leave each other alone because they don’t make real connections… but here and other small towns, we’re all we have, and after a while, you just get sick of each other.”

Bucky laughs, loudly and heartily, and you think it is a lovely sound. He says something in English, you think you hear ‘christ’, but he sobers, still smiling.

“I’d say that’s about right.”

“Though, you should be wary of signora Cavalli… she’s like a venus flytrap, you know?” You say seriously, but with a conspiratorial edge so that he knows you are only mostly joking. Bucky cocks his head in confusion, but chuckles.

“A what?!”

“A venus flytrap! You know! It’s a plant that looks all bright and colourful, but when bugs land on it it snaps shut!” You clap your hands together in demonstration.

“And then it eats them.”

“Are you… are you telling me signora Cavalli is going to eat me?” Bucky asks, eyebrows high and you take a moment to dramatically look him over.

“No. I don’t think you are her type. But she will start a conversation that will not end until either you or her dies, and trust me, she’s really old.” Bucky laughs again, hand on his belly this time, his head thrown back again, and you can’t help but break ‘character’ to laugh with him.

“Right. Avoid signora Cavalli. Gotcha.” He says as he calms, and again, he seems to have relaxed even more, the little pull that you had noticed between his brow yesterday, and earlier, even when he wasn’t frowning, had all but disappeared.

“Sounds like I need your guidance here. Clearly.” He continues, and you can’t help but feel excited by the prospect. You nod vigorously, and hop down from your ledge.

“Oh, definitely. I have lived here my whole life, I know all there is to know!” You tuck your book back under your arm and step nearer.

“I can show you around! There is more to Montecarra than there looks!” You pause and shrug.

“Well, a little more, at least.” Bucky appears torn for a moment, his face scrunching back into a polite concern as he holds his hands up.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, signora, I mean, Nina…” You roll your eyes and fold your arms over your chest.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, signore, but there isn’t exactly anybody else my age around here… really you’d be doing me the favour…” He opens his mouth, but you quickly beckon him in a direction before he can argue, and you hear a faint sigh, and a few seconds later he’s matching your easy pace.

“I did notice that, actually…” He confirms, and you feel his gaze on the side of your face. His hands are back in his pockets, and he walks a respectable distance next to you.

“Well, there weren’t all that many to begin with but all the boys went off to fight, and the girls either got married and moved away, or left to study somewhere else.” You try to keep your voice light and airy, try not to betray your jealousy or sadness.

You had wanted to move to Paris and study, or London, anywhere, but the shadows of war had already begun, and it had been too uncertain. Looking back, you were reluctantly glad you had not been elsewhere. Your mother had needed you too much.

You come to another small courtyard, with a large tree at its center. It was one of the oldest in the town, and this part of the village had been built around it, as was obvious from the uneven and cracked stone ground, where the roots had grown large and disruptive.

You sling a hand around the trunk, slowly circling it in a careful swing, and Bucky oddly does the same, moving opposite you, so you are always on different sides. Oftentimes you were called childish or immature by others in Montecarra, though they never meant you harm by it. You were young at heart, and always would be. You know it was not proper for young women your age to be so restless, but you couldn’t sit still. Even just walking normally was a little boring after a while. You think it’s nice that this American man doesn’t ask you to stop or to stand still.

“You didn’t though?” Bucky asks, and then hurries to clarify.

“Get married or move away, I mean.” You chortle and lean a little further forward to see his face better as you both continually circle the tree.

“I was not good enough in school,” You lie.

“And no man would have me.” You laugh as you say it, not really meaning it. When there had been boys around Montecarra, you’d had no shortage of prospects, though how many of them would have actually married you was another question entirely.

Bucky scoffs, making an odd noise in his throat, and he fixes you with a look of disbelief.

“Well I know that can’t be right…” You smile, but look away at his kind words, before another thought hits you, and you stop moving, holding onto either side of the tree as you lean around it slightly.

“Montecarra must be exceptionally boring for you.”

Bucky stops moving too, and instead leans his side against the trunk, arms crossing over his chest as he looks down at you casually, eyebrow raised in question.

“To be in such a small town, with no women who aren’t married. Compared to Paris or Rome, I mean.”

You gasp suddenly then, and quickly switch sides, making Bucky have to turn too, and you can’t suppress your cheeky grin.

“Unless of course it’s married women who you’re after. No need to worry about commitment there.” You wiggle your eyebrows and Bucky’s face turns into a molten mess of amusement and bashfulness, sprinkled with pink cheeks.

He uncrosses his arms awkwardly and clears his throat uncomfortably, and you chortle, shaking your head. There was certainly part of him you could see being charming and suave, but for the most part, Sergeant James Barnes just seemed sweet. Eventually he just laughs too, also shaking his head, and he looks off for a moment, before he carefully turns to mirror your hold on the tree, leaning just slightly around it to look at you.

He still wears a coy look of meekness when he shrugs.

“You’re a woman who isn’t married, aren’t you?” He says softly, carefully, as if he’s not sure how you will respond, and does not wish to offend.

Offence is the last reaction in your mind though, instead you feel as if the world stops for a moment, and all that exists is you, this man, and the tree between you. Despite the carefulness of his words, his expression is a little harder, his gaze locked on yours more intense and you have to force yourself to look away, pulling back from the tree just to catch your breath and your rapidly beating heart.

Perhaps Sergeant James Barnes was sweet, but Bucky Barnes was a little more savoury than that. Suddenly, some of the things you’d read make more sense, and you find yourself reconsidering your interactions. Had he specifically sought you out? Or had he just been wandering and it was a happy coincidence. You lean toward the latter but perhaps he had hoped to see you again after your brief meeting yesterday?

You wipe these thoughts from your mind as Bucky too steps away from the tree, and fix him with an innocent smile and a shrug of your shoulder as you begin stepping backwards, ready to move along.

“I am.” You say simply, unsure of what else you even could say, but the moment seems to pass, and Bucky finally tears his eyes from you, watching his step as he makes to follow you again, down another narrow street.

You make light small talk with him as you move into busier parts of town, still a little shaken from his flirting (if that was what it was). He doesn’t seem to mind, and you realise you don’t need to fill the silence all of the time. He seems content to just look and watch, but when you do speak, to tell him something, or point out a particular shop, he listens carefully.

When you make it to one of the central courtyards of Montecarra, near the fountain where you had met him yesterday, you see that the afternoon sellers have set up at the market stalls where you’d been only this morning, helping sell. Jobs and money were hard to come by in your town, everything was so small and insular, and in the aftermath of the war, people had cared less about money to pay for goods and services, but rather taking care of each other in any way they could.

You were luckier than most towns, you’d been spared the massive damage of other places, but with resources still low, and many people still getting back on their feet, feeding each other had become a community job. Bakers would gladly accept trade for their bread, and doing chores or work for others had become a reliable way to not only give back but to earn too. The shops that had managed to remain open were supportive where they could be, and it made your heart swell several sizes to know that the war had not driven your people apart.

Bucky seems to take in the sights and smells of the markets with a dreamily like gaze, his eyes roaming over the leftover morning breads, some meats and vegetables that had not been bought or traded earlier in the week and where now for sale far cheaper.

Your stomach growls, reminding you that you have not yet eaten since your breakfast, and you groan. Usually you’d have set off home for lunch, or brought something with you, before returning to your nook, but being with Bucky had distracted you.

He looks down at you in response to your groan and you scrunch your nose.

“I would suggest we eat, but I left my purse at home.” You explain. Bucky blinks, and looks over at the food, then back at you.

“If you’re hungry, I can, I have my—” You tune him out accidentally as your mind conjures up a thought, and stop suddenly, reaching out and grabbing Bucky’s arm in excitement. He stops speaking and stares down at you.

“I have a better idea…!” You say, grinning widely, and he cocks his head, looking slightly hesitant.

You release his arm only to grab the rolled sleeve of his shirt, pulling him along after you down a sidetreet.

“What— Where are we going…?” He asks, and then continues.

“And why do I feel like it’s going to be trouble?” You laugh loudly, and throw him a look over your shoulder, releasing his sleeve at last when you’ve led him through a maze of tiny alleys and narrow streets and out to the edge of town, near the main road he’d driven in on.

“Trust me.” You say, drawing out the words long and sing-songy.

“Give me reason to…” He mutters, but when you look over at him again, you can see he’s only playing the part of exasperated, his lips pulled up in the corners, and his eyes amused.

He follows you as you lead him up a long road, well away from town and towards where the fields and fields of orchards and vineyards begin. When you veer off the side of the road, toward one of the wooden fences, he stops.

“What are you doing?” He asks, a little more nervous than before, and you turn to face him fully.

“We’re going into the orchard to pick some fruit.” He fixes you with a squinted stare.

“Something tells me that we’re not supposed to do that…” You roll your eyes.

“Nobody will know. Besides, we’ll only take a few.” You bat your eyelashes the best you can manage and watch his resolve crumble. When he sighs, hanging his head while shaking it, you know you’ve got him, so you smile widely and quickly return to making your way up the fence.

Bucky at first seems concerned with you climb, moving quickly over to attempt to lend you a hand, but you hardly need it, lifting your skirt and easily scaling the posts before you land on the other side. Bucky stares at you for a moment longer, before planting his hands on the top piece of wood, and in one large jump, vaults the thing entirely.

You laugh at the sight, and cock your head.

“They teach you that in the army?” You tease, leading him away from where you might be spotted by the road, and into the thick rows of trees.

“Brooklyn, actually.” He tells you, and you spy him repeatedly looking over his shoulder and around, as if suspecting some kind of ambush. You pause, nearly causing him to walk into you, and put your hand on his arm again.

“Nobody is out here. It gets too hot in the afternoons, so they do all their daily harvesting in the mornings.” Bucky stares down at you, the little crease between his brows returning, but he nods at your words anyway.

Turning away from him, you once more gather up part of your skirt, lifting it well above a decent length, to use as a basket of sorts as you start inspecting some of the goods on ‘offer’.

“The peaches are especially good this time of year.” You say over your shoulder, reaching out to gently squeeze a few hanging from the nearest tree.

“I— What…?” Bucky asks, and when you look back at him, you see the vague pinkness back in his cheeks and refrain from rolling your eyes. Instead, you plaster on an innocent smile and hold up one of the fruits you’d plucked from the branch.

“The peaches. They’re very ripe right now. Montecarra always has the juiciest peaches. You can’t eat them without getting your fingers and mouth all sticky.” You look away then, placing the peach into your skirt and fight yourself to keep from laughing. Bucky remains quiet behind you, until you hear him let out a slightly shaky breath.

“Jesus fucking christ…” He mumbles in English, and you wipe the grin from your face before he can see it, as he finally steps closer to join you.

You end up with a nice collection of peaches, apples and some figs. You don’t take much, just a few, and by the time you’re walking the road back into town, your grumbling stomach is sated. You spent a few hours walking along the rows of trees, just talking and eating.

Before you properly enter Montecarra, Bucky tosses your peach pits, and you watch them fly through the air and disappear into some of the empty fields beyond. He looks down at you with a rather cute, proud and expectant smile, and you nod, clapping just slightly.

“Perhaps they will grow and we will have our own orchard.” You tell him, and he sniffs in amusement.

“Or we’ll have to explain where we got the seeds from in the first place.”

“Or that.” You laugh, nudging his side.

You notice he’d stopped keeping quite as large a distance between you when you walked, though you don’t know if it was conscious or not. The late afternoon sun bathes Montecarra in orange and red and shadows, and by the time you’ve walked across town to where you live, the sunset is well and truly in motion.

Sensing your time has come to an end, Bucky slows slightly, stopping when you turn back to him, and point to your house.

“I live here.” You tell him, and he shoves his hands in his pockets with a nod.

“My mama will expect me to help with dinner.” You explain further, though you aren’t sure why. You didn’t need a reason to part with him, it was early evening now and you’d spent the better half of five hours walking and talking and stealing fruit together.

You see Bucky’s eyes drift behind you, past the open archway of the wall that held your home behind it, and then back to you.

“Thanks for showing me around today. You didn’t have to.” He says and you smile, but shrug.

“Of course.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer before he nods, pulling a hand from his pocket to give you a parting wave.

“Goodnight.” He says softly, and turns, beginning to make his way back.

You step forward without thinking too much and call out, making him pause and look back at you.

“I— I work in the mornings, but you can always find me at the same place, where I was reading today. From about midday on. I’m always there… if you ever want to see me again.” You try to play it off cooler than you feel, shrugging a bit and giving him a nonchalant grin, but he only watches you.

Just as you start to feel discomfort creep in her shifts, dipping his chin slightly and cocking his head.

“I would like to see you again.” He says at last, and it’s just like earlier, around the tree. You feel a thick tension form between you, and even though he’s several meters away from you now, you feel like he may as well have been directly in front of you.

All you can manage is a nervous chuckle, dropping your eyes to the floor and anxiously tucking some hair behind your ear.

“Okay.” You say, and he must take that as your approval, because he smiles softly, and gives you one last parting nod before he walks away.

You watch him go for longer than you’d like to admit, right up until he disappears and you hear your mama call you from the front door.

—-

You see Bucky most days. After you had finished with your daily workload, you would return as normal to your little archway, only pretending to read until Bucky arrived. Sometimes he would bring his own book, and sit beside you in one of the opposite arches, but most days you spent walking aimlessly, talking about everything and nothing.

He would tell you about New York city, describing the streets and the buildings and the people in such detail you could see it in your mind. He’d show you pictures of places he’d been, other cities and towns in Italy and France and you’d been unable to keep from fawning dramatically over each.

You’d been warned by a few of the older local ladies, that American soldiers were notorious for the dalliances with girls, they’d have them and leave them, moving on to the next place as if it were nothing. But Bucky is different, you think. You weren’t so naive to think a man set on simply chasing what he wanted would change for just you, but Bucky never showed intention to chase. Not really.

He was kind, and sweet, and he never spoke to impress you like you’d seen with some boys before. He listened to you, asked for your opinions on subjects you spoke about and never assumed that you weren’t informed. You had revealed your love for reading to him, and he’d not complained once when you’d ranted for far too long about the plot of your newest book.

He never even tried to hold your hand, which was beginning to trouble you. You had given him plenty of opportunity, walking accidentally too close, and brushing your hand by his just slightly. He’d always apologised or ignored it, and you were becoming frustrated. It was not as if his flirting had stopped, when the opportunity arose he’d coyly spout sweet things that made your stomach churn something awful.

You look up from the page you’d been staring at for the past ten minutes without really seeing it, and blink. Perhaps you were wrong and he was just this way all of the time… but then you remember the moments of intense eye contact when he’d look at you and it felt like nothing else in the world existed at all.

No. no, you decide that perhaps you will have to give him a little push.

“Has d’Artagnan won the heart of Lady Constance yet? Or is love dead?” The voice, his voice, startles you so much you squeak, whipping around to find where Bucky has situated himself against the same wall your archway sits in, leaning on one shoulder with his arms crossed over his chest.

Today he hadn’t changed from his morning’s work, and you have to simply give yourself a moment to take in his uniform. It wasn’t the dress greens you’d seen on men in the newspapers, instead he wears a greeny-brown colour, the material slightly thicker in appearance, rougher almost. In lieu of the long dress coat, he wears a jacket that ends just over where you imagine his belt might be, cinching in his form rather nicely. His shirt bears the same colour as his suit, but his tie is a familiar khaki. Pins and medals and ribbons adorn his chest and you want to inspect each one up close, but you refrain.

“Didn’t mean to scare ya, sweetheart.” He flashes a smile, letting you know he’d noticed your long, admiring stare. Sunglasses cover his own eyes, refusing you access to their cool colour, and you hope he takes them off. Your mouth feels dry but you force yourself to shift to face him, hanging your legs over the side of the wall once more.

“Startled is not scared.” You correct, and watch as he pushes off from the wall casually, making his way to where you sit. He’s tall enough that should he so wish, he could climb into your archway no problem, but he doesn’t, simply resting his folded arms on the ledge next to your legs, looking up at you. At this angle, you can see behind his glasses, to where his eyes fixate on your face.

“You didn’t answer my question?” He probes and you have to think back, unsure of what he’d even asked you.

“Has d’Artagnan won over Lady Constance yet?” He reminds you, reaching out to pluck your copy of The Three Musketeers from your lap and study the cover.

“No, I was going to read more last night but the power went out again and I don’t trust myself not to fall asleep with a candle burning.” You sigh, pushing some hair from your eyes. Bucky places the book gently back down and hums.

“Did you come straight from work?” You ask, switching the subject, and as if he doesn’t notice his clothing, he peeks down at himself briefly, before he cocks his head and gifts you another grin.

“What, can’t a guy wear his uniform around a gal to impress her?” He counters, clearly joking. You scoff anyway and lightly shove his arm.

“I think I’m sick of military uniforms…” You had meant it as a continuation of his joke, but you mean the words far too much to avoid the melancholy that seeps in.

You force yourself to look away, and take a few deep breaths.

Bucky had gotten around to asking you the obvious question of how you, with your brown skin and ‘ethnic’ features, had not suffered during the war. You told him the truth; that your neighbours had hidden you and your mother in attics and basements for nearly five years.

He’d been quiet and pensive on your answer, before telling you he understood why you spent so much time in the ridiculously hot sun. He’d made you laugh, something that you hadn’t ever thought you could do when speaking about your time during the war.

A hand gently, feather-light, curls over your own in your lap, and it takes everything in you not to jump. When you look back at him, his features are sad and serious and he gives your fingers a squeeze.

“Me too, darlin’.”

You want to say something, to maybe turn your hand over and feel his palm against yours, but before you can he removes it from yours, pushing back off the wall.

“I had an idea earlier, when we were clearing the rubble away.” He extends his arm to you, waiting patiently for you to make the short jump down from your perch. Linking your arm with his, he turns you to begin walking, but reaches out and plucks your book from you, tucking it into his jacket.

“An idea? I’m not helping with the mess…” You tease, and he gives you a sideways look.

“No. Riccardo said if I were truly suffering so much in the heat, I should go to the beach.” You perk immediately, gasping softly. You hadn’t been to the beach in so long.

“The beach!” You repeat, and Bucky grins, pride showing clearly through at his effort to delight you.

“I was thinking we could grab my camera, and head on down for the afternoon. I don’t think I have anything to swim in but even just dipping my toes…” You’re already nodding frantically, pulling away from his arm as you clap and do a little jump. You really couldn’t help it, you hadn’t been down to the water in many years.

“Yes! Though, did he tell you how long a walk it was? We should be careful of it getting too dark, my mama has already started—”

“—We can just drive.” Bucky shrugs, and you pause, blinking. Yes, you knew he had a car the army lent him, you’d seen it once or twice even but…

“I’ve…” You trail off and stop speaking entirely, shaking your head, and trying to plaster back on your previous excitement, but Bucky had already seen the slight fall to your face, and he frowns.

“What? What’s wrong?” He steps forward, toward you a little, his hand absently out as if to take your arm, though he drops it a moment later.

“It’s nothing. It’s silly.” You attempt to brush him off but he only moves closer still, right up to you now, and this time, the tension isn’t the same as it had been before.

His head bows down toward you, his frame nearly cocooning yours, if anybody were to be standing behind him, they likely would not be able to see you. His hand does touch your arm this time, comforting, concerned and all of it makes your heart flutter like a million happy butterflies.

“I… It’s just that… I’ve never been in a car before.” You admit, and it really is a silly thing to make such a fuss over. Bucky must breathe a sigh of relief that your dramatics hadn’t been about something more serious, but you don’t see his expression or body language change at all for a few seconds.

“... Ever…?” When he does speak, there’s no amusement in his voice, no awe at how backwards and small your growing up had been that you’d never been in a car. He just… asks.

You shrug.

“We don’t need them here…” His face does relax a little, and he must realise how much he’s been crowding you because he clears his throat and shuffles back slightly, letting his hand leave your arm.

“Well… I think you’ll like it. It’s fast.” He says, before frowning.

“Not— not too fast.” He adds, and you have to smile.

“Well… Why don’t I go put my book away, I’ll find some bread and fixings and you can go change, and I will meet you at your cottage?” You suggest. You didn’t want to go all the way down to the beach without some sort of food, even if he said the trip would be fast in his car. It would also give you a chance to change from your day dress into something that you wouldn’t mind getting a little wet or sandy.

Bucky nods.

“Yeah. Okay. You know where it is?” You roll your eyes.

“Of course.” He hangs his head a little, and lifts his hands in defeat.

“Small town, grew up here. Got it.” You laugh. He’d mentioned once how even though he’d spent his whole life in Brooklyn, knew the streets and the major locations like the back of his hand, there were still places he’d never know where to even start looking for.

You part ways then, and quickly hurry home, the excitement thrumming through your veins once again. Not only were you going to get to go to the beach, but you were going to ride in a car!

You toss your book onto your bed without a second thought, quickly undressing and slipping on a lighter, older dress. It’s faded pale blue told it’s age, but the fabric was thinner, meaning you would have no problem if it got wet. You decide not to bother with stockings, removing both them and your garter in favour of feeling the sand with your bare feet instead, and slip your shoes back on.

Before you leave your bedroom, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror and pause. Turning your face from side to side, you inspect your features carefully. You never bothered with makeup, it was expensive and you’d only end up sweating it off, but your eyes do linger on your lips for a moment.

Creeping upstairs, you sneak into your mother’s bedroom. She was out for coffee at one of your neighbours, still, you feel nervousness take hold when you find the small golden tube in her drawer. Taking a deep breath, you uncap the lipstick and lean forwards for a better view, before carefully swiping the deep red colour across your lower lip. You follow suit with the upper, fixing it here and there, and swiping to try and neaten it up, but when you stand back to inspect yourself, you groan in frustration.

You didn’t want to look like you were trying too hard, and your painted lips and bareface didn’t communicate that at all. Grabbing a tissue, you quickly work to remove the makeup, rubbing at your lips until the bulk of the colour is off. However, when you stop to check again, you find the red has somewhat stained your skin. It only really adds a subtle flushed red over your usually brown lips, but it's still noticeable, and you panic, grabbing another tissue and trying again to no avail.

Time ticks by and you check your watch, not wanting to make Bucky wait too long, and so you pocket the stained tissues and take a last look in the mirror. Your shoddy clean up job would have to do. At least the stains were on your lips and not around them.

In the kitchen you gather up a small selection of items in a basket, just some bread and butter and homemade jam, and tuck an old blanket over the top to secure it all, and so that you could sit on it later. Checking everything one last time, you slide the basket to the crook of your arm and close up your house behind you.

You have to stop yourself from skipping as you make your way through the streets, smiling and greeting those who pass you politely and not like a mad woman. By the time you make it to Bucky’s little cottage, you can already see him leaning back against the car, waiting. He straightens when he sees you, smiling as you slow down, feeling almost hesitant about approaching the car.

“Here, lemme take this…” You let him grab the basket from you and watch him open one of the back doors, placing it on the floor, behind a seat. When he shuts the door again with a click, he turns to look at you in a both expectant and patient manner.

“Shall we?” He gestures to the other side of the car, and you let him lead you around it, swallowing as he pulls open the front side door for you.

“There you go. You know, you’re lucky this is your first car ride. This is a nice car, apparently.” You let Bucky take your hand to help you in, and for the few seconds after he’s shut your door behind you, and you see him jog around to the driver’s seat, you feel an immense awkwardness settle over you.

When he’s climbed in beside you, he gestures to something above your head.

“Here, that’s your seat belt. I know a lotta people don’t bother with them, but… better safe than sorry, right?” You nod, and reach out to grab the little buckle, not realising that the sun had been baking the metal since it had come up.

You rip your fingers away from it with a hiss, cradling them to your chest. Bucky jerks and is immediately leaning over to help you.

“Shit! Sorry, I— I forgot to tell you to be careful of the— here, look, you gotta grab the plastic part…” Your slightly burnt fingers are all but forgotten when Bucky leans right over you, directly into your space as he pulls at the belt, drawing it down and across your body, to your hip.

You watch him click the buckle together and blink up at him when he leans back, face still pulled in a wince.

“You okay?”

“Yes… I just wasn’t expecting it… it didn’t really hurt that much…” He looks like he wants to say something more, his eyes darting down to where you lower your hand back to your lap, and your face, but he eventually settles with a nod.

“Okay. Okay.” He repeats, twisting to face frontwards in his seat again as he begins readying the car. You watch him fiddle with the keys, jumping slightly when the engine roars to life all around you, but you only chuckle at the look Bucky sends you. He lifts one hand from the wheel, to hold onto a tall gear stick in the center console, shifting it a few times before you feel the car begin to move.

Despite your nerves, you can’t help but feel the excitement in your bones, and as Bucky starts to slowly drive along the outer roads of the town, toward the western most side, you can’t stop yourself from staring out the window.

It wasn’t as if you’d never seen any of these places before, but it felt different now. You feel Bucky’s eyes flick over to you every so often, a low chuckle you can barely hear above the car reaching you, but you’re too enthralled to do more than return his smile briefly.

You settle down a bit as you hit the main road. It's still a very new experience to be moving so quickly down a road you’d only ever been along at a walk. Bucky seems content in the quiet, but about halfway through the trip, he changes his hand on the steering wheel, to reach down for something on the side of his door. You watch him fumble for a moment, before he behinds winding a little lever, and you turn your gaze to where the window now rolls down, filling the car with fresh air and the sound of light wind.

“You’ve got one too,” He briefly takes his eyes from the road to point your own window lever out to you, and excitedly, you rush to unwind it. You laugh then, like a child, and lean forward to get a better view, to feel the wind blow over your face. It doesn’t last long though, the second you feel your hair get thrown about, you yip, ducking away with another laugh, but attempting to smooth back your hair again.

Bucky grins over at you, and he shuffles, keeping one hand on the steering wheel, resting his elbow on the window frame casually. With his spare hand, he rests it on his thigh, fingers tapping.

“Lotta women wear a scarf, to keep their hair from getting wrecked…” He tells you, and you make a note for if you ever ride in the car again.

“You were right.” You tell him, finally sitting back in your seat and relaxing. Bucky cocks his head, briefly glancing at you, but mostly he keeps his eyes forward.

“Hmn?”

“I do like this.”

You arrive at the beach in no time at all, the lone western road leading right down to the water. Bucky brings the car to a stop away from the road, on a patch of grass that separates the rest of the land from the sand dunes. On your right, some ways away, the land lifts, creating a rocking cliffside that encloses this section of beach neatly. You knew from your childhood that there were some caves accessible, but you’d always been told to stay well away.

Bucky grabs the basket from the backseat, and you wait for him to catch up with you before you begin treading down onto the sand. The sand is hot and pale, and the smell of sea water calls you, but as much as you’d love to throw yourself toward it, you direct Bucky to a small cropping of rocks and boulders that rested near the dunes, far enough back that the incoming tide wouldn’t reach them, but near enough to the water to be sure your things would be kept safe.

Bucky follows your lead as you kick your shoes off, climbing to the top of the largest boulder easily, it's jagged surface perfect for climbing, as long as you didn’t step on a spike. The boulder stands almost up to Bucky’s chest, and was quite large from a top side view. You beckon him to give you your basket and he watches as you quickly lay out the blanket. When he can see you settling, he joins you, scaling the rock quickly, and taking a seat beside you, where you’ve now begun to pull the bread and spreads from the basket.

“This is a nice spot.” He says scanning the horizon critically. You see his gaze turn up towards the nearby cliffs, scrutinizing them thoroughly with slightly squinted eyes. His face is so intense, you can’t help but look too, wondering what it was he was seeing, but when you turn back to him, he snaps out of it, plastering an easy smile on his face.

You open your mouth to question what he’d been looking at when he grabs the jame, and turns it over in his hands.

“Homemade?” He asks, clearly excited by the prospect, and even though you still want to know what he’d just been thinking about, you let it go, recognising a subject change when you saw one.

“Yes. My mama is very good at cooking. She cooks a lot for other people.” You tell him, buttering a thick slice of bread before handing it to him.

“Do you?” He puts the jam down as he takes the bread and a butter knife from you, beginning to spread some of the sweet, jellied fruit. You scrunch your nose.

“I don’t cook a lot. Mama says I should do more.” You roll your eyes and Bucky snorts.

“Why?”

“So that when I get married my husband won’t be displayed… or something.” You bring one of your legs to a bent position, like you were crossing your legs but only chose to do one, and shift your center of balance to be more comfortable.

The blanket was a nice touch, but it didn’t make the rock you sat on any more homey.

“I don’t understand… why women have to do so much to keep a man. If they love you, shouldn’t they not care about how well you cook or how clean your house is?” You glance at him, genuinely asking. Bucky was, as you well knew, a man, he may have insight you did not. He frowns, mulling over his thoughts as he chews his mouthful.

“I think some guys want a housekeeper more than a partner. I don’t think a lot of mother’s help that, either.” It’s your turn to frown and you cock your head, gesturing he go on. He adjusts a little, and looks off as he speaks, only glancing back at you a few times as he explains.

“It’s a cycle, right? A lady gets married, she looks after her husband, they have kids, a boy and a girl,” He pauses, takes a small bite, chews, swallows and continues.

“Now, as the girl gets older, mother starts to prepare her for when she’ll get married, so she takes on some of the household chores. The son however, he gets looked after right up until he leaves the nest. His food is cooked for him, his room is cleaned, his clothes washed…” You start understanding what he means, and nod slowly.

“By the time he’s serious about looking for a girl, he thinks they should be how his ma and pa were. I’m sure there’s love and affection, but in his mind, if she’s not doing those same things he grew up with, then how much can she really love him?” He ends with a shrug, looking at you, and you have to admit you’re genuinely surprised by his honest point of view.

But he sits up a little straighter then, and points to himself with the bread still in his hand.

“My mother would never let me get away with that.” He tells you solemnly, and you chortle at his deeply serious, over the top expression.

“Oh?”

“No ma’am. When I was sixteen she showed me how to use the machines at the laundromat, and if my room wasn’t spick and span at the end of the week I’d get it.” You laugh at the thought of a woman with Bucky’s same eyes making him remake his bed.

“And cooking?” You press, and Bucky shrugs again.

“I grew up watching her cook, helping her in the kitchen… I ain’t sayin’g I’m good. But I wouldn’t starve.” You laugh again, his stories uplifting on your general view of how things were ‘Supposed To Be’.

“Anyway, the point is, the only thing that makes a good husband or wife is that you care about one another. Everything else is negotiable.” You grin, and nod, look out at the water as he words sink in, before you sharply side eye him.

“Everything except fidelity. I’d cut off my man’s—” You cut yourself off before you can say too much, but Bucky has already begun howling with laughter, leaning all the way back to rest on his elbows, he places a hand to his chest as he guffaws gleefully.

When he calms down, still snickering quietly he nods several times to himself and gives you a look.

“I don’t doubt you for a second, sweetheart.” Your chest flutters again at not just the pet name, he’d taken to using various ones, but the softness in his voice when he says it. It makes you nervous, it makes your stomach feel like the rolling waves of the ocean before you are happening simultaneously in there too.

“Right, well. Let's cool off, huh?”

Bucky rolls his pant legs up to just above his knees before he treads into the shallows, and you lift your skirt just a little as you join him. You wallow about in the water for some time, talking about nothing in particular. At one point, he realises he’d left his camera in the car, and races back up to get it, returning with a piece of photo paper already developing in his fingers.

“Took one from the dunes. It’s a nice view.” He explains as you lean over to peer at the little print. You can make out your figure, distant in the photo.

Bucky takes several more pictures, of the cliffs, of the long expanse of shoreline on the other side… You let him be for a while, moving back up to the rock and the blanket, perching yourself on the edge as you just take in the cool sea breeze and watch Bucky move about, deeply focused.

It was sweet really, though you don’t know how many of the shots look the same.

The warm sun and your general relaxed mood lull you to lie back, fixating your gaze on the blue skies and clouds above. Your skin grows warm and a little moist under such direct sunlight, but it feels nice. You aren’t sure how long you lie there for, you even doze off for a little bit, but some time later, you hear Bucky approaching.

“Can I take your picture?” He asks as you sit up, shielding your eyes for a moment as you do.

“Me?”

“Yeah.” You want to protest that he shouldn’t waste his photo paper on you, but he’s already stepping back and bringing the camera up to check if he’s too close or far.

“Wait, let me move.” You tell him, shifting to sit side on, with your feet on the rock and your knees bent up, like you would sit in your reading nook. Bucky waits for you like you ask, adjusting a little notch on his camera before he lifts it back to his eye, peering through. You expect him to take the photo right away but instead you see his lips part and his tongue swipe out to wet them as he swallows and draws the device away again.

“Uh, your— your skirt sweetheart, it's…” He trails off and gestures at his own thigh, prompting you to glance down at yourself.

Oh.

With your legs up like this, and perhaps with the help of a little sea breeze, your dress had shifted far up the length of your leg, far more than what was proper or should be photographed, and yet, your mind begins to whir.

You cock your head innocently, and hook your finger under the hem, drawing it back even further, until almost the whole side of your leg was on display. As you do, you pop your shoulder forward and rest your chin on it, grinning widely, invitingly.

Bucky just stares for several moments, and you see him swallow again. He seems to fumble with bringing the camera back to his face, and you see his mouth in what you’re certain is English cussing. It only makes your grin that much wider.

He takes the picture, lowering the camera immediately to catch the photo it spits out, though, he keeps glancing back up at you. You only flutter your eyelashes as best you can and make sure to fix your skirt somewhat. You sit forward again, and rest your hands either side of your legs, leaning toward where Bucky still stands.

“May I see?” You ask, and he jerks, starting toward you right away.

“Y--yeah. Of course…” You note with a quiet snicker how he stands at least two feet away from you when he holds out the photograph, and you take it from him, inspecting it.

“This is a good one.” You tell him.

“Yep. Yeah. It is.” He’s aware you’re teasing him now, and you give him a smile over the top of the picture.

“You won’t throw it away?”

“Why… why the hell would I throw it away?” You shrug and hold it out to give back.

“I don’t know…”

Bucky reaches out for it, but just before he can take it from you, you pull it back.

“On second thoughts, I don’t know if you can be trusted with this.” His face resembles a rain cloud, his frown confused and deep.

“What?”

“I think it might end up in the bottom of a box somewhere… I should keep it.” Your lip quirks, and he can see the cogs turning as he realises you’re only playing. He rolls his eyes and goes to grab it from you again, but you pull it away again.

Before he can corner you where you sit, you jump off the rock, ducking to the side as he lunges, making you squeal.

“Come on, sweetheart, let me have it…” You keep moving backwards, even as you turn to face him, the photo clutched to your chest. Bucky has turned to pursue you, though he’s only walking, hands on his hips.

“You’ll have to catch me!” You take off running, unable to keep from laughing as you do, Bucky’s own chortling reaching you as he gives chase.

You duck and weave out of his reach, and even though he’s far bigger and fitter than you, you were smaller, and the drag of the sand didn’t affect you as much. He almost gets you twice, his fingers grazing your dress, and when he does finally catch you, it’s with his arms around your middle, seizing you mid stride and pulling you back.

The momentum sends you both tumbling to the sand, your back hitting it lightly. Bucky falls over you, though he catches himself before he can crush you proper. All you can do is laugh, breathless from the chase and from the fall, and most certainly from the fact Bucky now lays atop you.

He’s laughing too, his face close and his breathe warm. He shifts to lift one hand and pluck the photo from your fingers, still held to your chest, trapped their by his own body. He’s still smiling when he makes a show of placing the photo in his top pocket, and buttoning it close, and then he drops his hand, resting it back in the sand by your head.

“I caught you.” He says simply, and all you can do is nod dumbly. His eyes fall to your mouth, and you suddenly remember the lipstick debacle. You’re about to make an excuse, or explain what had happened, when he leans in, dropping his lips to your own softly. You don’t mean to, but you gasp quietly, heat pooling in your face when you feel Bucky smile, and hear his light chuckle.

He doesn’t stop though, and you gladly return the kiss at last, lifting your chin so he could reach you easier or have more of you, you don’t know. Bucky shifts over you, his knee digging into the sand as he lifts some of his weight off of you, but before you can complain, he’s holding your face, tilting your head and deepening the kiss.

When you part, reluctantly, you’re all too aware of how heavy you’re breathing, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Bucky’s eyes drop to watch for a moment, and you feel goosebumps crawl over your skin, but he looks away, moving to get off of you.

“Uhm… that okay?” He asks, scratching the back of his head a little awkwardly. You’re still just lying in the sand, watching him and trying to catch your breath.

He stands, and leans down to offer you a hand that you accept. You let him pull you to your feet, and by that time you’ve gotten at least a semblance of your sanity back. He’s looking at you cautiously, concerned maybe, but you intend to rectify that.

He hardly has time to catch you as you jump for him, legs wrapped around his middle, your arms around his neck, Bucky lets out a loud, hearty laugh as he makes to secure his hold on you. You lean in and kiss him again, heated at first, but then softer, until you’re only peppering little pecks to his lips.

“I’m gonna go with that being okay, then.” He confirms to himself. You giggle, like a schoolgirl with a crush, and realise he’d been walking the whole time he’d been carrying you. He sets you down atop the rock, hands gliding under where he’d been holding your legs, before quickly removing them, like he didn’t want to overstep.

“You had better not lose that picture.” You warn, making him chuckle, and pat his pocket.

“Oh, trust me darlin’. It’s not going anywhere.”

The sun had already begun to set, and so you make quick work of packing up the small amount of belongings you brought. As you walk back to the car, Bucky carries the basket in one arm, and with the other, he reaches out to take your hand, firmly and securely, interlocking your fingers, and you feel your whole being ascend.

He doesn’t let go of your hand in the car either, reaching out to hold it there too, your intertwined hands resting on your thigh. It’s all too short however, and far too soon he’s parking the vehicle and helping you out.

“I’ll walk you back.” He tells you and you frown.

“What? No, you’re already home, I can—”

“—I’ll walk you back.” He says again, firmer, but with a playfulness that stops you from arguing further.

You wait for him to get your basket from the backseat, and when he does join you around at the rear of the car, his face lights up in realisation.

“Oh! Wait. Hold this for a sec…” He gently thrusts the basket into your hands and you blink, watching him jog into the cottage.

He reappears a few minutes later, carrying something long and cylindrical in his hand, and as he approaches you again, he flips it, catching it smoothly.

“Flashlight. For… for if your power goes out again…” He drops it in your basket before he takes it from you again, and you’re so genuinely touched by the gesture you’re frozen for a few seconds.

“Sweetheart?” Bucky frowns, cocking his head, but you snap out of it, leaning in to wrap your arms around his neck, only a hug this time. His free arms wraps around you instantly, and you aren’t sure you’ll ever get over how nice it feels to be held.

“Thank you. That’s very kind…” You say when you pull back. He just smiles at you, before offering you his arm, and walking you home.

—-

He takes you on a picnic.

It’s such a quaint idea that when he mentions it to you one afternoon, after kissing you goodbye on your doorstep, you can’t help but feel your eyes light up like two cartoonish hearts.

Bucky had assured you he would source the meal and perhaps some wine, but he’d need your basket once more, and the next day you find yourself lounging lazily under the shade of a tree, in the empty fields outside of town.

He’d brought bread, fruit and a bottle of red wine that you’d be very excited by right up until you’d had your first taste.

Bucky burst out in laughter at your expression, nose scrunched and brow furrowed, and he gracefully takes your glass from your hand.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, it's an acquired taste…” He chortles, and you gladly let him pour what's left of your drink into his own, but you notice he doesn’t really touch it throughout lunch.

You talk for hours, clearing up the blanket so you can lie down next to one another and gaze at the cloudy blue sky. You ask Bucky to tell you once more about New York City, and as he speaks you gaze at him, gesturing wildly with his hands and smiling back at you every so often.

He was so pretty, for a boy, his eyes so blue, hair dark and lovely and smooth looking. Even his stubbly chin and cheeks, where you could clearly see he’d shaved just this morning look nice, and without really thinking, you reach out and brush the backs of your fingers over his jaw.

Bucky stops speaking, turning his head slightly to regard you softly, but you don’t stop. From the way he spoke about the war and missing his home, you think maybe it has been a while since he’d felt such gentle touches.

“See somethin’ you like, darlin’?” His smirk is barely a smirk, it's far too soft for that, but there’s still a hint of cheekiness in his gaze that draws you in. Laughing quietly, you rise to your elbow, leaning into his side where he’d previously been lying a respectable distance from you and press your lips to his jaw, then his cheek, and at last his lips.

Bucky kisses you back immediately, like he always did, lips moving softly against your own, carefully cupping the side of your face and pulling you down against him even further. Your heart races when he sits up without breaking apart from you, pushing you back so your positions are reversed. Out here you were practically alone, and even if somebody did come driving down the main road, with the tall grass nobody would be able to see you.

You wrap your hands up behind his head, tugging him down more, until he’s leaning against you fully, his forearms encasing either side of your head, a knee slipping between your own as your tongue slips between his lips. Your nearly come apart thena nd there when he moans, muffled by your kiss, but erotic all the same, and he seems to move more feverishly, kissing your quicker, bearing down against you harder.

You resist the urge to wrap a leg around him, but instead let your fingers scratch gently at the back of his neck, feeling yourself sink further and further into bliss with each tiny stroke of his tongue against yours, and each press of his clearly hardening length between your thighs.

You almost unhook your hands from his neck to lift your dress when he pulls back. At first he simply lays his forehead against your own, his eyes shut tight, and you watch him with rising disappointment and heavy breathing as he gently shifts his weight off of you, and dips his lips to kiss the tip of your nose, and then chastley at your lips.

“I uh… this probably isn’t a good idea…” You deflate, but push it aside. If he did not wish to go further, you wouldn’t pressure him. Still, the gentle ache between your thighs resists, begging for friction, for satisfaction. Bucky looks down at you, lips kissed raw and pupils dilated and it takes everything in you not to go for his pants then and there. He smooths down what he can of your hair, tucking some wilder pieces behind your ear before he kisses your nose again, and lays back down beside you.

On the walk back, the both of you are oddly silent, and although it isn’t uncomfortable, you still don’t like the awkwardness. You always felt like you could be truthful with Bucky, and you didn’t want to change that now, so tugging on his hand a little you slow your pace.

“I would have had sex with you, you know?” You squint at him and he blinks rapidly, face blushing quickly as he checks around to make sure there was nobody else present.

“Wha— I wasn’t—”

“—I’m not a virgin. I know what I’m doing.” You further assert, and he only continues to cough awkwardly, trying to reign in his clear embarrassment.

“Men aren’t the only ones who like sex. You always think us women are so eager to wait and ‘save ourselves’.” You roll your eyes then, and walk past him.

You don’t look back, but soon enough he’s hurrying to fall in beside you once more, taking your hand again even as he swallows.

“I never said you were, I just… I guess I’m not used to ladies talkin’ about it so… well, at all…” You side-eye him wryly and shrug.

“Look around, Bucky. In a town this small, there isn’t much else to do except each other. But all the boys have left now…” You shrug again, and this time Bucky laughs, letting out a slow puff of air.

“I guess.” He wears a look on his face like he wants to say something else, but he stays quiet. You slow down as you approach your home, and you’re about to ask when he stops just short of the steps leading into your front courtyard, and takes both your hands.

“I guess I wouldn’t want to take advantage. I’d want you to be sure.”

You purse your lips and roll your eyes again.

“I’m not a naive little girl.”

He laughs again and draws you near, quickly checking about to make sure no neighbour would spy the kiss he presses to your lips.

“And I’m not a boy.” The words send a thrill up your spine, and now more than ever you wish he hadn’t pulled away earlier. You swallow as he looks down at you, eyes intense and fiery and this time it’s your turn to swallow.

“I— I know…” You manage, and for a moment you can’t stop staring at one another.

Eventually, Bucky squeezes your hands and nods his head toward your home.

“You’d better—”

“—Oh! Yes… Goodnight…”

Bucky watches you as you make your way to your door and tips his hat when you look back at him before you close it.

“Goodnight.”

—-

Bucky can’t sleep.

It's late, he really should have been asleep hours ago, but he can’t stop thinking about you and what you’d said. As much as he curses himself for not seeking out the moment when he’d had you under him in the field, he’s also glad. You deserved more than a quick rut on a picnic blanket, and yet his mind wanders to Parisian nights, except all the women in his memories are replaced with you.

Would you be loud? Quiet? Would you say his name, drawn out and breathy? He decides he wants to find out.

It takes him no time at all to walk to your house, and when he’s climbed the side wall of the enclosed courtyard into the back garden, he sneaks on around to the open window on the first floor.

Surprisingly, you were either far from asleep yourself, or you had been suspecting his visit. You sit up in bed right away, but smile and hold a finger to your lips as you creep across to the window. Bucky leans against it comfortably, holding your hand when you half climb through to sit on the sill, legs dangling out beside him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, though your demeanour seems to be far more girlish, far more pleased-but-scandalised than you had been earlier, talking so frankly about sex. Bucky gives you his best smile and shrugs.

“Wanted to see you. What’re you doing awake?” He nods to your bed, the book and torch clearly lying amidst your sheets.

“I was reading.”

“I can go if you’d—”

“—No!” You whisper, socking him lightly in the shoulder, as if it were a ridiculous thought to even suggest he leave. In the moonlight he thinks you look lovelier than ever, and he scoots closer, until he’s resting his arms across your thighs and gazing up at you softly.

“We have to talk quietly though, my mother’s room is above mine and her window is also open…” You point, and Bucky looks, see’s the curtains billowing slightly out, and he nods.

“I’d let you in, but I think you might dissolve into a blush.” You tease him, and Bucky immediately perks, eyes lighting up at the challenge. He pulls his arms off of your lap and cocks his head.

“Well I’m here, aren’t I?” He asks slowly, letting a hand gently curve up your calf. Your nightdress covers you from the knee up, but he ignores it, reaching underneath to massage softly at your thigh.

You don’t take your eyes off of him, even when he lowers his gaze to carefully push your knees apart. If anything you seem to lean back on your palms, watching him intently. Bucky meets your eye again when he snakes his hand further, forgoing your leg entirely to press the pads of his fingers against your core, eliciting a sharp inhale from the both of you.

“You don’t wear underwear to bed?” He can’t help but ask, pants suddenly restrictively tight and you breathe out slowly, clearly trying to remain quiet as he lets his fingers simply glide through you slick.

“Only when I’m expecting company.” You tell him, and he chortles, stepping closer and pressing his lips to yours.

Your head angles back for him, letting him set the pace of the kiss and gently, Bucky presses one finger inside. You almost gasp, but he kisses you harder, pulling back again just slightly, so your lips brush when he speaks.

“Gotta be quiet, remember?” You nod vigorously, eyes not even opening to meet his, and Bucky leans back further, content to watch your head lull back and mouth part in the softest breathiest moans he’s ever heard as he slowly pumps his one finger in and out of you.

He’s laser focused on the task at hand, even despite his rock hard cock, and soon he’s adding another finger, slowly letting them sink deep into your velvety wet heat, his pride stoked when you further part your legs for him. He uses his free hand to push your nightdress up around your hips, and he nearly groans at the sight. Licking his lips he sets his eyes back on you, leaning in to nip and kiss at your neck, finally letting his thumb press down against your clit, massaging in circles as slow as his strokes, and he feels your muscles flutter.

A third finger joins the others and this time you seem to reactively grip his wrist, your other hand flying to slap over your mouth as your brow furrows deeply. Bucky knows he’s breathing hard, and after adjusting himself briefly in his pants, he pulls at the thin straps of your nightdress, getting it only half down one shoulder, but it’s enough.

He wraps his lips around your exposed nipple, swirling his tongue and nipping experimentally, feeling your hand wrap around the back of his head in approval. He stares up at you, desperately wanting to see your face when he finally pulls you apart and he’s rewarded only a few minutes later, his fingers fucking you far quicker, his thumb working faster.

When you finish, your cunt squeezes his digits relentlessly in waves of pleasure, and you make strained, soft little mewls as you attempt to remain quiet. Your hips shift and twitch and he doesn’t draw away from your breast until you’re blinking back down at him, gently pulling his hand away from your clit with bashful little laughs.

“At least… at least I won’t have to change any bedsheets…” You pant, and Bucky chuckles, leaning forward to kiss your lips properly, feeling your naked chest heave against his when he does. Your eyes seem dazed, and your face warm, but when he pulls away again you swallow and gesture to his own clearly bulging pants.

“I can—”

“—Not tonight…” And he means it.

“I just wanted… I just wanted to see you.” He says, and your gaze shifts from purely lustful to something softer, and you smile, dipping your eyes away for a second.

Bucky takes the moment to enjoy his view, your dress pulled up to your hips, your pussy still clearly on display, and your sleeves hanging well down to your elbows, breasts bare, nipples hardened and exquisite. He fights the urge to reach out and start all over again, maybe get his mouth on you this time…

“S’alright?” He rests his head in his palm and you chortle quietly, nodding.

“Yes. Yes, better than… than anything with other boys before…” He gets the feeling you aren’t just saying that to stroke his ego, the blissed out look on your face and the oddly bashful demeanour you’ve taken on requiring him to believe that he really had just properly blown your mind. He grins triumphantly, and leans in again, kissing your lower lip.

“I told you I wasn’t a boy.” He kisses you full again, loving the feel of your hand reaching up to hold the back of his head to you.

“I know.” You say when he forces himself back. You watch him as he carefully pulls up the sleeves of your shirt, covering you up again, and then fixes the skirt too, until you’re mostly modest.

“You should get some sleep, sweetheart.” He tells you, and you hum, reluctantly climbing back through your window and standing on the other side. He kisses the back of your hand, but when he goes to pull away, you don’t release your hold on him, tugging him back slightly, and he blinks at you curiously.

Your eyes have taken on that same lustful expression from before and you cock your head.

“Will you think of me?” You ask, and at first, it doesn’t quite click.

“When you wrap your hand around your cock when you get home, will you think of me?” Bucky nearly chokes, nearly climbs right through your window and ends all the tension there and then, but he manages to hold strong, realising you were still somewhat teasing him.

“Darlin’ I will think of nothing but you, soaking wet and waiting for me…” He squeezes your fingers slightly, noting the approval in your eyes even before you nod.

“Okay.”

“Goodnight.”

“It has been, yes.” You finally let him go, watching as he clambers quietly back over your side wall.

And Bucky does think of you when he gets home, he strokes himself to the thought of your mouth and your cunt, and your tits bouncing in his face while he has you on his lap. It’s honestly the filthiest his mind has been since Paris nights drowned in alcohol and women he didn’t bother to get the names of. He knows your name though, sighs it again and again as he thinks of you.

He falls asleep hard and wakes up in the morning the same way, unable to stop thinking about you.

—-

In the days following Bucky’s midnight visit, you feel a giddy sort of happiness thrum constantly through your veins. Even now, as you sit up in your archway, trying to focus your mind on the letter you write to your distant aunt (you think you’ve met her all of once, but she’d written to you and your mother regarding your health and wellbeing in the aftermath of the war, so you felt obliged to reply). You find yourself able to write only several lines before you’d look up, searching, hoping perhaps Bucky would show, but even you know it’s too early… he’d still be working.

Part of you debates going to watch, the idea of seeing him labouring away in the hot sun, hopefully with his shirt removed, leaving him in only a singlet top… your stomach stirs at the thought, but you shake your head, and concentrate harder on your letter.

You manage to succeed too, losing yourself in describing Montecarra to your relative who’d never once left England, as she’d explained. It isn’t until some time later that movement catches at the corner of your eye, and you barely refrain from looking up as Bucky finally ambles into the courtyard. He must sense your buys-ness, because he doesn’t greet you as he nears, he just stops for a moment, before he continues forward.

At first you think he may approach you to wait, but instead he swiftly climbs into the open archway behind you. You take the time to pause in your own actions to peek at what he’s doing, only to find him sitting in mirror of you, his back to the same pillar yours is. After he settles he twists back and nudges your arm.

“Got any spare paper, darlin’?”

You try to pretend you hadn’t been watching him, but his grin says you’ve been caught out. Gathering a few pages from under your small stack, you hand them back to him, his fingers over your far too suspect for you to think it is anything other than purposeful. Still, you can’t help but smile, even as you settle back to finish off your letter, hearing him uncap a pen.

You find yourself referring back to your aunt’s letter to answer and reply to all of her questions and queries, and once again you almost forgot Bucky is there, until tugging on your sleeve draws you out of your reverie. You turn to look, expecting to be greeted with his lovely face, but instead, all you see is his hand, holding a page folded into a little rectangle.

Your chest flutters at the thought he’d been sitting writing something for you, and so your letter is quickly abandoned in favour of taking the little note. Bucky seems to remain as if he were oblivious to his own actions, humming quietly to himself as you unfold the paper and gaze down at the words.

‘Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?’

Again, your heart stutters, and you can’t hide your smile as you put pen to paper, drawing up your response. You refold it and hand it back the same way he’d offered it to you; tugging on his sleeve and holding it out. The page is plucked from your fingers quickly, and you try to distract yourself by turning back to your true task, only to be pulled from this once more when his hand reaches back, searching. You watch for a moment before he wiggles his fingers expectantly and you snicker, adjusting your hold on your paper, so that you can place your hand in his own.

You sit there like that for the rest of the afternoon, Bucky humming happily, your hands interlocked at an almost awkward angle, and you try your hardest to finish writing your damned letter.

He picks you up from your home later that evening, finds you waiting for him out the front. You hadn’t dressed up in a long time, and so when his gait slows and his eyes roam over you as he approaches, you can’t help but feel self-conscious.

You’d worn a simple red dress, but it was the nicest one you owned, the only one appropriate for dinner out. This time you’d committed to the lipstick, painted your lips red and done your best not to talk yourself out of it. You’d left your hair down, let it fall in loosely styled waves, and all together you felt part-movie star, part-fool.

Bucky whistles lowly, just quietly as he nears, and you have to scoff and roll your eyes, hiding your embarrassment as he draws you in, hugging you just quickly before he pulls back, hands on your waist still, to inspect you closer.

“You look beautiful.” He tells you, voice soft and sweet and you know he isn’t pontificating, or trying to woo you.

“Thank you.” You reach out to smooth over his collar and finally force yourself to meet his eye.

“You look lovely, too.”

You feel lost in a slight high as you walk to the only real restaurant in town, in the main square. In the early evening the streets are quiet, only the occasional passerby, but the cafe remains open, seeing to a few quiet patrons, plus yourselves out on the terrace.

Bucky helps you with your chair and takes your order for you, pours you your drink… it's so normal and yet you’d never really experienced an evening like it. When your food is long gone, he scoots his chair around to sit closer to you and holds your hand softly in his while you talk aimlessly. You aren’t at all worried about being seen or judged, in fact the few moments in which you catch a passing couple take a look at you, you see kind eyes and sweet smiles, only making you feel dizzier.

“You enjoyed your meals, I see?” The owner, an older man named Matteo who you’d known to live in Montecarra for as long as you can remember, stops by to clear up your plates, and you nod enthusiastically.

“Wonderful, we’ll have to come back.” Bucky says, squeezing your fingers as Matteo smiles widely and agrees.

“Maybe next time I will have figured out how to work this named record player, then you will have music as well!” You and Bucky both seem to perk as Matteo throws a thumb over his shoulder, and Bucky straightens in his chair slightly.

“I can give it a look, if you’d like?” He offers, eyes already glued to the record player sitting atop the counter only a few meters away. The older man gives him a shrug and a gesture that clearly reads as ‘go for it’, as he finishes collecting the plates and patters back off to the kitchen.

You watch Bucky move over to the counter, fiddling with the player, though you can’t really see what he does. You know he’s fixed it however, when he throws a grin back at you, and plucks a record from beside the machine, pulling it from it’s sleeve and carefully placing it down on the turntable.

Music immediately begins wafting through the air, an upbeat tune you think you’d heard on the radio before, and Bucky comes speeding back over to you, hands held out even as he pulls you from your seat.

“Dance with me?” He asks, though he’s already wrapping his arm around your waist, and you move yours to his shoulder and hand respectively. There isn’t much room between the tables on the sidewalk, and although the song is happy, it’s not a rousing jazz tune, so you find yourselves simply swaying in each others embrace as the French lyrics begin to join the band.

You end up close, so close you forget anything else exists around you, Bucky’s forehead pressed against your own, your chests similarly compressed, as if neither of you could exist apart.

You have to laugh, thoroughly intrigued and enthralled when he begins softly singing the words to the song. It’s so different to hear him speak in a language that wasn’t Italian or English and it makes your chest ache for a reason you don’t know.

“I wish I could speak French.” You say quietly, Bucky’s lips quirk up but you shake your head.

“You must be so amused by how quaint I am… never been in a car, never left my town… never learnt any languages…” You don’t mean to sound so melancholy, but it hits you then, the ache in your heart stems from just how wonderful Bucky is, and how plain you are in comparison. But he’s frowning as you finish, shaking his head and adjusting his grip on you, wrapping you up even further.

“Never. I think you’re worldy in other ways…”

Your purse your lips, but as he opens his mouth to continue you cut him off, changing the subject.

“Can you tell me about New York again?”

Bucky’s expression falters, then lifts into a sweet smile, and you know his mind has wafted away to distant city streets.

“Of course…” He talks for ages about all the shops and stores available, about all the tiny apartment buildings and the decor, and his home block in Brooklyn. He tells you about the parks and the weather, and a place called Coney Island.

“... I think you’d like it.” He finishes, and you hum, having closed your eyes now, head to his shoulder as you attempt to imagine all that he describes. You feel him open his mouth to say something, to continue, but he doesn’t, hesitating and then remaining quiet, though he holds you firmer again, and you relish in the warmth of it.

Eventually, you have to let Matteo close up, and you bid the old man thank you and goodbye as you walk away hand-in-hand. Before you can get too far however, you stop, tugging on Bucky’s hand so you have his attention, the warm Montecarran breeze blowing your hair about.

“My mama doesn’t expect me home until morning.” You tell him, seeing instantly how his eyes change.

“Why’s that?” He manages to ask, stepping close again and you smile, shrugging.

“I told her I was watching some children in town overnight.”

Bucky hums at your reply, frowns as if in thought.

“Sounds as if you may need somewhere to stay, in that case.”

Bucky takes you back to his cottage, all quiet laughs and lingering touches as he leads you inside, placing his coat and keys down on the table, but any pretence is lost as soon as you kiss him. Clothes scatter around the small space, a gingerbread trail leading to his bedroom where he lays you down and peels the last of your underwear off.

Oddly, you feel less nervous about him seeing you naked than you had in your dress, maybe because he’d already seen you mostly this way, or maybe because at least naked it was real and you couldn’t pretend or hide, it was more honest.

You itch to touch him, but you don’t get the chance right away, his kisses leaving your lips quickly to travel down and soon you’re gasping, hands clutched tightly in his hair as he buries his face between your thighs, hands holding your legs apart as his tongue and lips work quickly over you, bringing you over the edge faster than you even thought possible. By the time he’s kissing you again, your mind is a haze of filth and desire and you guide him into you quickly.

Bucky is an excellent lover, his pace and angle perfect, his weight above you welcome as he thrusts into your warmth, desperate and wanting. He isn’t boring either, doesn’t end the night quickly, instead nearing his pleasure and stopping each time, drawing it out. He instructs you in various positions, making your belly spark with his knowledge of the female body, nearly sending you into a fritz when he takes you from behind, leaves you scrambling to hold on to something as you cry out into his sheets, his cock relentless as he fucks you through your orgasm, finally finishing with you, his hands curled around to pinch at your nipples, making your cunt bear down on him even more as you fall into a sweaty, moaning and panting heap.

He fetches you water, helps you fix back your hair in your still slightly dazed state, and pulls you near again, skin to skin as you drift off to sleep, lips pressed to one another even as your mind begins to wander.

In the morning you wake him with your mouth around his length, swallow him back as much as you can as he’s drawn from slumber by the pleasure, his hand reaching down to messily clutch at your hair. You watch him come apart for you, eyes fixed on his tilted head, creased brow and open mouth as he jerks into the back of your throat, hot warmth spilling forth that you swallow with ease.

He swears and curses as he rubs his eyes and you crawl up to lay beside him once again, finding his eyes looking at you as if to make sure you were real.

“Good morning, Sargeant.” You tease, only to have him cuss more, his chest heavily quickly up and down. You chitter and brush the slightly damp hair back from his head, a kiss to his cheek as you withdraw from the bed.

“Where’re you goin’?” He asks, blinking himself properly awake and you throw him a glance as you hunt for all your belongings.

“I have to go home, my mother does expect me at some point…” You explain, and he rubs a hand over his face once more, seeming to deflate a little.

“Right. Of course.”

You’re fully dressed when he manages to pull himself to sit on the edge of the bed, still naked, still just as fine as the evening previous. He looks up at you as you step nearer, braiding back your hair before you place both hands on his shoulders.

“Thank you.” You say simply, leaning down to peck his lips chastley. He hums against you, kissing you back and quickly you’re no longer pecking his lips, your hands roaming down over his shoulders appreciatively, his hands reach up the back of your skirt, pulling your underwear to the side and—

You gasp, giggling as you pull out of his reach, shaking your head and wagging a finger at him like a naughty child.

“No! No, I have to go home!” You tell him, even as he sighs, falling back to lie on the bed again. You can clearly see his hardening length and you fight yourself to just climb atop him once more.

“I will see you later!” You say pointedly, tossing a shirt onto his lap, to hide him from you, and you see him grin, chortling even as his hand travels lower, removing the shirt and wrapping around— you turn your back, flustered and tempted, but you leave his little cottage, determined to get home before your mama woke, so you could wash and change.

—-

Somewhere in the back of Bucky’s mind, he knew it wouldn’t last forever, but the end comes sooner than he’d expected.

He stares at the small pile of pages in front of him, their words all making sense in his brain, he understands what they all say, what they’re telling him, but at the same time, he comprehends absolutely nothing after the words ‘The United States Armed Forces herby discharges you with honourable service records…’

He was going home. They were sending him home.

At last he’d be able to hug his mother, see his sister, Steve, all the other fellas… he’d get to go home and really start his life post-war. He’d been waiting on this letter for months, a year even, more perhaps. At one time, it had been all he’d wanted. And yet, all that fills him now is a sense of dread, muddled with a bit of guilt, because he knows he really does miss his family, but…

When he sees you later that afternoon, sitting up in your nook like always, he can hardly bring himself to return your smile, sparkling and bright as always, for him. You pick up on his mood immediately, even if you poke fun. He knows he can’t delay, they expected him on his flight home from Rome tomorrow. The army loved their damn punctuality.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, face falling a little when he only half-heartedly chuckles at your joke, his eyes downturned, afraid to meet your own. He swallows, and shoves his hands in his pockets, squints into the distance.

“They’re sending me home.”

A beat passes.

When he finally looks back at you, he catches the tail end of devastation leaving your features, replaced instead with a hopeful, sincere grin.

You grab his hand, pulling them from his trousers.

“Bucky! That’s wonderful news!” You say excitedly, but he can only purse his lips.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that! You don’t want to spend your whole life here, do you!?” You snort a little as you knock him in the shoulder, and he smiles thinly.

No, he didn’t want to live the rest of his life in Tuscany, but he’d been getting used to having a little slice of it around lately.

Your over-excitement fades, and you lean in to him cupping his cheek.

“You’ll get to see your mother, and your city… I know you miss them all…” He can’t help but frown at a spot on your dress, avoiding your eyes like a pouting child.

“I’ll miss you, too, though.” He mumbles, and you smile, scrunch your nose and shake your head.

“In no time at all this will all be a happy memory.”

Bucky wants to protest, lifts his gaze to argue with you, but the sharp, almost panicked look you give him as you shake your head again stops him.

“No, Bucky… Don’t. Please don’t make this sad… you’ve made me…” Your voice is cut off as you sniff, the shininess to your eyes spilling over just slightly, even though you smile softly.

“You’ve made me very happy, for quite some time. Let us leave with that.” You wrap your arms around his neck, hiding your face away and Bucky sighs, pulling you closer too, and resting his head atop your own.

He glares, frowns aimlessly at a nearby wall, barely even seeing it, focusing all his energy on swaying gently with you.

“Alright.” He says, voice a little rough. You sniff into the collar of his shirt, and he smooths his hands down over your back.

“Alright.”

—-

“We rented out your room to a shoemaker. You’re gonna have to sleep on the couch until we can convince him to leave.” Becca says flatly, half her words muffled as she’s drawn into Bucky’s chest. He holds her there tightly for several seconds before pulling back.

“Oh yeah?” He rubs at his chin.

“Don’t think the shoemaker will sleep heads to toes with me?” He wonders, and Becca scrunches her nose, laughing at the image.

Winnie Barnes shakes her head and lightly taps her daughter.

“Becca don’t cause trouble. Bucky, we left everything exactly the way it was.” His mother tells him, before hugging him for the sixth time since he’d landed. He just grins, and hugs her back each time. He’d missed her. So much.

They eat dinner together, Steve and Peggy come too, and afterward, the blond makes Bucky pull out his camera. After quickly pulling some choice images out of the pile, he lets Becca and his mother rifle through, telling them about each photo as he remembers it, the act rather therapeutic. He really had been gone for so long.

“Oh… who's this?!” Becca coos, half reading, half awed, and Bucky absently leans over to get a look.

His heart stops for a moment when he lays eyes on you, your smile wide and full of glee, the wind blowing your hair wildly about, your hand lifted to hold your hat on your head. Maybe he takes too long staring, maybe it’s just something about a sisters’ intuition, but Becca whistles, then gasps as she plucks another photo from the pile now tipped on the floor.

“Here she is again! And here too!” Even his mother gives him a sideways glance, but he can’t bring himself to feel too bashful.

He clasps his hands under his knees where he sits on the carpet and hums.

“Nina. I met her in a little town called Montecarra.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“She is.” he confirms, as Becca continues to find photos with your face peppered throughout. He should be embarrassed about the amount of pictures he took of you, even ones where you aren’t doing anything but reading, but he really doesn’t.

“She your girlfriend?”

“Becca!” Winnie scolds, glaring at her daughter, but Bucky only laughs.

“I wasn’t lucky enough for that.” He shrugs, and his mother fusses.

“James Barnes, any woman worth her salt—”

“It’s not like that Ma… it’s just…” He trails off. He doesn’t want to say something to suggest he didn’t want to be here with them, because he desperately did. But he missed you.

“Well… I came home.” He shrugs, and his mother’s eyes fill with understanding. She purses her lips but frowns thinly, reaching out to squeeze his arm.

Becca frowns too, but she recovers quickly, pulling out a new photo and asking him about the features in it.

She pulls out the ones of your face, but she doesn’t mention them again.

Bucky settles in. He truly comes home. He stops feeling like he’s living out of a suitcase. He finds a job, granted it isn’t hard, with the SSR setting up an office in the city, he barely had to ask for a job. On Fridays he went dancing with Becca, acting more like a chaperone than a participant, and on Sunday’s he went to church with his mother, holding her hand through the service and making nice with the old ladies after.

He settles in. He’s home.

And then, there’s a knock on the door.

It’s well after any kind of appropriate hours for visitors, but not late enough into the night that anybody was in bed. Winnie sits by the radio in the living room, listening to her stories while Becca scrawls out a letter. Bucky had been reading when the knock came, and he waves a hand towards the women when he stands.

“I’ll get it.”

“Who on earth calls at this time?” He hears his mother wonder aloud as he makes his way down the hall to the front door.

Swinging it open, Bucky feels ready to send off whoever it is, but he stops dead in his tracks. All sense leaves him, aside from sight. He’s only able to stare slack-mouthed as you blink back up at him.

He’s never seen you in so many layers before. It was winter in New York, but Montecarra seemed to be perpetually hot, so the most he’d seen you in was a light jacket… standing before him now, on his front steps, you have a coat, a scarf, gloves, a hat and he thinks those might even be earmuffs around your neck.

“I… Hello…” You begin, your voice heavily accented when you speak English, and even though Bucky shakes himself out of his stupor, he’s still dumbfounded.

“Hi…”

“I… I’m new to the city, and I thought perhaps you will… show me around?” You seem to be thinking hard about your words, speaking slowly to articulate them. You scrunch your nose when you finish, clearly unhappy with the outcome.

Bucky can’t even bring himself to respond. He’s down the two steps separating you in seconds, hands cupping both your cheeks as he kisses you, again and again, in quick succession until you’re laughing against his lips.

“What— how— what are you doing here?!” He stops and starts, but eventually gets some version of his thoughts out. He speaks to you in Italian, not wanting you to feel limited, and you shrug, gloved fingers splayed across his chest.

“My Aunt… the one from England… she offered for me to join her in America, for better opportunities…” You trail off, and Bucky decides you could tell him any reason and he’d have been satisfied.

“I’ve been learning English.” You say, and he nods, thumb stroking over your cheek. He can’t stop looking at you, he can’t believe you’re here.

“I can see that.” He replies, in English, and watches as you slowly understand.

“Buck? Who's at the door— oh! I- I’m sorry, I—” Winnie, with Becca just behind her, stops in her tracks at the door, cheeks tinged red at catching such an intimate moment, but Bucky can’t bring himself to pull away. He see’s Becca’s eyes flash with recognition, her face lighting up.

He forces himself to pull back slightly, guiding you forward.

“Mama, Becca, this is Nina… from Montecarra.”

——

“I thought you said you’d worked in all the kinks!?” You whine, only slightly impatiently, though Bucky can understand why.

“Worked out all the kinks, baby. ‘Out’.” You roll your eyes and mutter in Italian.

“I’m going to work you out in a moment…” You say louder, and Bucky relents, holding up his hands as he finishes fiddling at last.

“Okay, okay. I’m coming! Get ready!” He tells you, quickly rushing around from one side of the camera he’d set up on a pile of books, the little wired control he holds in his hand flashing red.

“Come bambino, please smile for Mr Camera!” You bounce the tiny baby boy on your lap, earning a bout of giggles, just as Bucky slides in next to you on the stairs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, and placing his free hand on his son’s back.

“Ready?”

“Five minutes ago…”

“Say ‘Montecarra’!”

He presses the button, and the camera flashes.

Thank You Very Much For Reading!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes/you #bucky barnes au #40s!bucky barnes x reader #Story: The Long Last Summer #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic

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valdomarxxx · 3 years

Text

Trying something a little different today for @whataboutthebard. Another tale. Another life, one that was lived by other people*. On the subject of sex pollen. Consent is freely given. A grand total of 3k words. Rated M/E. Enjoy, my darlings.

There is a shining golden band around Oswald’s finger. This is a recent development, and everywhere he goes people ask him about it. He wishes they wouldn’t. He should be happy, he knows; should be full of that fizzing, new-love excitement.

But he feels nothing. It had been a suggestion, paired with gentle pushing from his mother and significantly less gentle pushing from his father. He should have said no, he knows. He’s a bard, for fuck’s sake, he should have followed his truth or his desire or whatever the fuck it is artistic types are supposed to do.

But he didn’t say no. He said yes, because all he could think of was what the alternative might be. A life lived in solitude, forever. He’ll never have what he wants - who he wants - and perhaps it might not be so bad. Perhaps a loveless life shackled to another will be better than a loveless life alone.

The band squeezes his finger, cutting off the circulation.

It is Belleteyn eve. This should be the night for celebrating love. He’s horribly aware of this; and horribly aware that his fiance is elsewhere this evening. He should be more upset about that than he is. He wants to be alone.

He wants to be with him. Larkspur, they call him. It’s what he calls himself, having shrugged off the name his parents burdened him with when he was born.

Usually, Belleteyn is celebrated with bonfires and dancing and singing, mingling with crowds. Tonight, a party of perhaps a dozen artists have snuck from the city walls towards the forest a few miles beyond. They say that magic happens on Belleteyn night, and while there are a few cynics amongst their numbers, it promises to be a wonderful evening.

Larkspur leads the way - he’s well-versed in magic, he claims, thanks to his travels up and down the Continent.

“Who knows what could happen?” He trills, looking over his shoulder at the group. “Anything could happen.”

His gaze lands on Oswald. Often, that gaze is mocking or antagonistic. A threat. A challenge. Today, it’s like a question. Oswald doesn’t have time to probe before he’s looking away again with a laugh - a floating, melodic noise that makes Oswald’s skin tingle.

He nervously fingers at the band around his finger. His fiance has never met Larkspur. She would hate him. She would really hate him, not just in the way Oswald pretends to.

He’s struck with the sudden urge to tear away the maddening ring and hurl it into the Pontar.

But he doesn’t, of course.

The forest beyond the city is wide and dark and sprawling. Oswald cannot help but feel nervous as they step between the trees, looking for seasonal chaos. He sniffs cynically at Larkspur’s assertions that anything could happen; he is sure he knows what will happen. Drinking and laughing and singing. He has already picked out the couples in the group that he is sure will sneak away for more traditional Belleteyn celebrations, and he is not amongst them.

They are seated on fallen trees, passing around a bottle of mead, when there is a hand on Oswald’s shoulder. He looks up. It’s Larkspur, eyes shining in the low light of their tiny bonfire.

“Come with me,” he says.

Oswald sniffs. “You’re going to lead me into the forest to murder me,” he says. “To be rid of the competition before next week’s contest.”

Larkspur grins, his teeth shining. “You know me so well,” he says. He turns away. “Are you coming or not?”

Oswald passes the bottle to their nearest friend. He stands. “I want it known,” he says, “that I want a dignified death.”

“Noted.”

The forest is dense enough that the chattering of their group fades away eerily quickly. It is dark - yet not too dark - and the odd silence is oppressive. It seems they can both feel it, and slip easily into bickering to fill the quiet.

“Perhaps you intend to do away with me,” Larkspur teases. “It would be easier to kill me than win by your own merit.”

“You invited me out here,” Oswald spits, pushing past him and taking the lead. “Unless I tricked you into that, too?”

“Perhaps you did. I would not put it past you. You used some psychological trick on me to lure me here.”

“Hmm.”

“You surely have nothing to fear,” Larkspur says, “only last week you said I had no talent. Does that not make you confident that you will win?”

“I will win,” Oswald says, pushing aside a branch and pausing to allow Larkspur to follow before letting go, “and on my own merit, not because I eliminated the competition. Besides,” he edges through the trees, “I didn’t say that you were untalented, just that you were— oh.”

He stands in a clearing perhaps a few meters wide, the leaves and debris beneath their feet giving way to soft, springy moss in an unnaturally bright green. The trees here are green, too, covered in sprawling vines, the leaves shimmering. It smells of honey and syrup, of living things. Larkspur bumps into him from behind, equally enraptured.

Surrounding the edge of the clearing - bursting from the vines and hanging from the boughs and even sprouting from the moss - are hundreds of enormous flowers.

For all the world, they could be enormous daffodils, although Oswald has never seen daffodils in these colours. They glow, like sunlight is seeping from them, the air around them shimmering with heat. The one closest to him is a vibrant cerise, the corona darker and the petals fading to a pearlescent blush. He reaches out, desperate to feel it, to see if it's as warm and soft as it looks.

It is. It feels alive beneath his fingertips, and as he brushes his hand across the petals the flower shudders, as if responding to him. Little motes of pollen shake on the tip of the stamen like water droplets dangling from a rooftop.

“Have you ever seen anything like this?” He breathes, keeping his voice low.

“No,” says Larkspur, taking a step towards the one closest to him, the petals an iridescent green colour. “Never. They’re…” he reaches out too, stroking the corona with a single finger. “They’re incredible.”

There’s a breeze, carrying with it the smell of sap and applewood. The precariously clinging pollen shivers, then gets caught on the wind, dancing like dandelion seeds. A speck of it lands on Oswald’s doublet, staining the baby-blue silk yellow.

He brushes it away with a little sniff. He feels warm, like his clothes are suddenly too tight, suddenly aware of all the places the silk and satin touches his body. There’s a minute noise beside him, and he turns - Larkspur is staring at him. His eyes are wide, his pupils huge and round and black.

“Are you all right?” Oswald says. “You look… different.”

There’s a florid flush spreading up Larkspur’s cheeks. His chest, neatly framed in the vee of his unbuttoned chemise, is equally pink.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he says. “I—”

He doesn’t get to finish that sentence. The wind picks up - unusually turbulent for the season - and the flowers around them shake and they’re both suddenly caught in a cascade of pollen, the dusty clumps raining down on them like sweet-smelling snow. Oswald sneezes as it flutters around him, sticking in his hair and tickling his nose. When finally the wind stops, they’re both coated in a fine yellow powder.

It tingles in every place it touches his skin. He feels…

He feels hot all over. Like the fever he contracted when he was a boy, but different. Better. The fever made him feel shuddery and sick, but this… this makes him feel like his skin is lit up, like he’s made of fireworks, the butterflies in his stomach transformed into birds. He can smell the pollen on him, sweet and heady. He can sense Larkspur standing beside him in a way he couldn’t before. He can feel the space he takes up, sense him moving as if through the vibrations in the air.

Oswald looks back at him, his brown hair turned golden. His lips are parted. His tongue - pink and probing - licks at his lips, taking some of the yellow flecks with it. Oswald is struck with the desperate need to taste; to taste him and the flowers, all at once.

They both step forwards together, brightly-painted mirror images of each other. Oswald is no stranger to desire - certainly no stranger to desire for this man - but now it's heightened. The feeling he’s been able to repress for a long and painful decade is now unstoppable. Holding it back would be like trying to stop a tidal wave with his own body: it would batter him, drown him, drag him along regardless.

Larkspur says something. It might be Oswald’s name. He’s too lost in the way his lips move to hear the word.

He forces himself to focus, despite it all. There’s a look of recognition on Larkspur’s face.

“I know what this is,” he mutters, lifting his hands to examine the pollen. Each word sounds like it takes a considerable effort to say. “Eric told me about them last Belleteyn. We were near fae country, and he said…” his eyes go a little unfocused. “What did he say? It only blooms this time of year. It’s powerful. Magical. He told me to avoid it, that I shouldn’t touch it, because the pollen…” he blinks, and Oswald realises there’s dust in his eyelashes, too, clinging like absurd tears. “The pollen is a— a—” he snaps his fingers, frowning. “It’s an aphrodisiac. I told him he was being stupid. I said—”

He looks up. Something shifts in his expression. “I said…” he trails off, unsure.

“Lark…” Oswald says. It’s barely more than a whisper, an exhale.

And then they’re kissing. He doesn’t know how it happens - one moment they’re staring at each other, and the next they’re locked together in a desperate embrace. They’ve kissed before, of course, but this is different. Larkspur sucks at Oswald’s lip, his hands tangling in his hair, and Oswald melts into him, like they’re one person instead of two.

It feels like it could last forever, until Larkspur makes a strangled noise and pulls away, throwing himself backwards, colliding with one of the flower-covered trees. His lips are red.

“We can’t—” he gasps, hand scrambling at his chest. “It’s not right, not like this. It’s not real.”

Oswald’s fingers tingle. “It feels real.”

“But it’s not. I cannot—” Larkspur closes his eyes, pressing his hands over them, taking a deep breath. “It’s not right. I will not—” a short, choking breath, “—I will not take advantage of you because of some stupid fucking flowers.”

“How are you taking advantage?” Oswald shoots back, the tingling growing into an ache, into a burn. “Tell me how.”

“You don’t want me. It’s the fucking pollen. You don’t want me.”

“Yes I do—”

“Don’t say that!” Larkspur is shouting. Pollen falls, dislodged by his yells.

The tingling, rushing, scorching feeling twists around something else in Oswald’s chest - something hard and rusted over. Something he’s forced shut for too long.

“I’ve wanted you for years,” he says, and he’s shouting too, “Of course I have!”

“You’re engaged!”

“Unhappily!”

Silence descends. It’s the first time Oswald has said that out loud. No one was supposed to know. No one was ever supposed to know.

“What?”

He tries to swallow it back, but something has taken over his tongue, and he can’t. “I do not want it,” he says in a rush. “I do not— I tried— but I don’t…”

“You don’t love her?”

Oswald shakes his head.

“You… you want me?”

He nods.

“You want me, or you just want to fuck me?”

His boldness sends a heat to Oswald’s belly, stirring his prick, quickening his pulse.

“I…” He finally regains control of his tongue. “I just want to fuck you.”

[Liar.]

Oswald steps forward. Larkspur is pressed against the tree, but he could flee if he wanted to. He could step aside. He could push him away; they both know he’s stronger. When their chests are pressed together, he sighs. Oswald can smell him: mead and spice and lingering magic.

Larkspur moves first. It isn’t as torrid as before, and he kisses slowly, cautiously, his lips pillow-soft and moist. Oswald lets him into his mouth, sliding his eyes shut, allowing himself to be moved, making himself pliable.

They’re on the ground. The moss is spongy beneath them, soft as a featherbed. Larkspur leans over him, his knees to either side of his hips, and tugs away Oswald’s doublet. He’s moving faster now, and the seams tug, but Oswald doesn’t care about the stitches and the silk when Larkspur is looking at him like that - like he’s going to eat him alive. The doublet is thrown aside, between the darkness of the trees, where it—

[Vanishes. Forever. I never found it again]

—melds into the shadows on the ground beyond the clearing.

Oswald cannot bear it. He surges up, pushing Larkspur back so they’re face to face, tearing his doublet up and away. He doesn’t even pause before he gets to work on the thin undershirt beneath, pulling it over his head and tossing that away too so he can finally touch.

Larkspur’s hairy skin is hot as coals, sheened with sweat. Oswald brushes a thumb over one of his nipples, and he gasps and bucks against him. He pulls his own chemise away too, so he can better feel Larkspur’s skin against his own, so they can touch in all the places he’s desperate for them to touch. Larkspur strokes his hands down Oswald’s arms, tickling in the bend of his elbows, leaning forwards to press open kisses to his forearms and wrists.

When he gets to his hands, he pauses. Larkspur is still straddling him, and he twists their fingers together. He tugs Oswald’s left hand closer, never breaking eye contact.

He sucks his finger into his mouth, slowly. Oswald can feel his tongue pressing against the underside of the digit, wet and unbearably warm. He slides further, taking Oswald’s finger fully into his mouth, until his teeth chink against the gold.

When he pulls back, the ring is gone. He grins, and it’s shining delicately and obscenely between his teeth. He spits it to the ground, where it lands on the moss with a soft thump.

[I remember the argument about that. I lost it, I say. In the woods. I don’t remember how. She asks if we fucked. I cannot find it in me to lie. She ends it. I laugh.]

Oswald leans back. Larkspur follows. The pollen sticks to their sweaty skin like paint, smearing in sunshine streaks across their chests. When Larkspur kisses him, from his lips to his jaw and down his chest to his stomach, he rises again with gold daubing his mouth like a smirking god. When they kiss, it blurs between them. It tastes like spring.

He wants to know how Larkspur tastes, too. All of him. As they kiss, he twists around, spinning their twined bodies so Larkspur is pressed to the moss beneath him, hair splayed and eyes wide. He grins up at him. He laughs, and it’s like music.

Oswald kisses all of him he can reach. His fingers desperately scramble at the waistband of his awful burgundy breeches - the ones he hates - and soon he’s pulling them away. Larkspur is magnificent. Oswald is a poet, he should know the words for this, he should put it to song and sing about him until the sun sets for the last time… but right now all he can think is how much he wants.

When he takes Larkspur in his mouth for the first time, he swears into the sacred space, his hands gripping in Oswald’s hair.

[Did you know you bruised my scalp? I didn’t care. I didn’t tell you, either.]

Osworld works him till he’s a panting wreck, till he’s close and begging, then he stops - rises - slides kisses up his skin. Larkspur gasps into the kiss, slipping his hand between them, finding himself blocked by the fabric of Oswald’s breeches.

“Get rid of these,” he pants. It’s the first thing he’s said in half an hour. Oswald does as he’s told, for once.

When they’re both naked, sprawled on the verdant forest floor, there is a moment of stillness. They’re absurdly coated in pollen, hair in tangles, eyes dark. There is a bruise forming on Larkspur’s neck in the shape of Oswald’s teeth.

“Fuck,” Oswald breathes.

“Yeah.” Larkspur agrees.

Oswald takes him in for a moment, despite the tickling urge in his hands to reach out and finish what they've started. He may never get to do this again.

[I will never get to do this again.]

“You look sad,” Larkspur says, suddenly breaking him from his thoughts.

“I’m not sad,” he says.

[LIAR!]

Larkspur tugs him down. “You think too much,” he chuckles. “You’ll make your wrinkles worse.”

He kisses him soft. He kisses him hard, reaching down between them again, taking them both in his hand. Oswald buries his face in Larkspur’s neck, tonguing at his skin, taking short, laboured breaths as he draws them both out.

It’s hands. Mouths. Fingers slick with spit. They kiss until they cannot breathe any more. They crest together, like the sun rising, as pollen scatters in the air, catching on the wind of their words.

“Fuck, Jaskier Larkspur—”

“Valdo Oswald—”

Afterwards, they lay sprawled on the ground. The flowers still glow, casting them in their warm, comfortable light. They’re in the middle of the forest - full of monsters and dangers that Larkspur can ramble about for hours - yet they’re safe, here. Nothing can reach them in the clearing. This is Belleteyn, after all.

The magic really is powerful, just as Eric had warned Larkspur last year. Even as they lie curled together, regaining their breath,Oswald can feel the urge creeping back up his chest, the press of Larkspur’s naked body against him thrilling him again. He can fill his sensitive cock stirring in interest once more.

“Lark—”

It’s all he manages to say before he’s being kissed again.

Belleteyn night is long, and full of secrets. This is one they can keep. The next morning, they emerge, rumpled and marked in yellow streaks. Their friends ask where they’ve been, when they find them early that afternoon. They peer at each other, but keep their mouths shut.

Next Belleteyn, Oswald is on the coast, and Larkspur is travelling with his— with Eric. The flowers in the woods fade. Oswald wonders every year if they’re still there. He never goes back to check.

#what about the bard #sex pollen #*This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons #living or dead #or actual events #is purely coincidental.#it is a good job i wrote this #before i opened this second bottle #dont you all agree

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solinarimoon · 3 years

Text

Fields of Wildflowers

Chapter 14

A Sihtric x OC story

AN: We’re coming to the close of this story. There will be one more chapter after this. I may do a few more one-shots with Cwen and Sihtric and depending on how season 5 plays out I may continue their story further. Thanks for reading everyone! Moodboard made by the wonderful @serasvictoria

Previous chapters here

My masterlist

Warnings: Canon style battle imagery, trauma response from previous abuses, I believe that is all

Word Count: 4,217

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cwen ran through the streets of Winchester until she reached the back entrance to the kitchens. Stopping in the doorway, she quickly scanned the room for any sign of Eadith. Cwen did not spy the fiery headed woman in the main kitchen and she was nowhere to be found in the halls most closely surrounding the kitchens either. Cwen had no idea how much time had passed since she left to bring Storria her food. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Quickly, Cwen made her way back to the kitchens, seeking out Frig.

Spying her near the stove, forming loaves for the next day's bread, she swiftly walked over to the large woman.

“Frig, do you know where Eadith is?”

“Who’s Eadith, girl? You think I know your names?” Frig was tall and wide. Cwen would have wagered she would make an intimidating opponent in a battle. She certainly commanded attention and obedience in the kitchens.

But Cwen did not let the woman’s gruff demeanour stall her search.

“She’s my friend. The redhead.”

“Oh, her. I sent her with rations for the prisoners. Come to think on it, she should probably be back by now. She left close after you did. Now wait here, girl…” but Cwen wasn’t listening as Frig called after her. She raced out of the kitchen and along the corridor towards the chapel, eyes scanning everywhere for any sign of Eadith.

When she reached the chapel, she rapped her palm on the heavy wooden door and whispered loudly through the window for Lady Aelswith before trying to slow the hammering in her chest and catch her breath.

She gasped, realizing that she still had Eardwulf’s blood staining her hands. Glancing down at herself, there were traces of his blood all over her clothes. The sight brought back the panic and Cwen felt her breathing becoming erratic once again.

“Cwen,” a voice broke through her thoughts, “Cwen, what is it?”

She shook her head and realized Lady Aelswith had made it over to the door and was trying to get her attention.

“Cwen, dear, you’re trembling. What has happened?”

Cwen stared through the bars of the window in the door for a moment before speaking, her mouth dry.

“I...I’ve killed Eardwulf,” Aelswith’s eyes snapped up to meet Cwen’s face, shocked at her admission. Cwen continued, her words coming out in rushed breaths, “He was trying to force the King’s hand to act. And… and Sigtryggr was there.. He knows I am here as a spy, but… he let me go to find Eadith.”

“The boys, Aethelstan, Sigtrygr took them. Did you see them, Cwen?” Aelswith’s voice was strained, trying to remain composed but clearly she was worried about the boys.

“I did. They were with him. He’s...,” Cwen struggled to find a way to describe her encounter with the man who was responsible for taking Winchester from the hands of Saxons. “He does not want to harm them. He told me so. I tried to keep them with me, but…,” Cwen paused and looked into Aelswith’s eyes, urging her to believe her, “I believe he truly does not want to harm them. Or any of us, if he can avoid it.”

Aelswith didn’t reply, but neither did her face hold to typical rebuke and scorn that Cwen would have expected.

Shaking her head, Cwen asked, “Eadith? Did you see Eadith? She should have brought you food, but she has not returned to the kitchen.”

“She hasn’t been here,” Lady Aelswith sighed.

Cwen felt a tingling sense of dread creep back up her fingertips and into her chest. She took a shaky breath and grasped Lady Aelswith’s hand around the bars in the window.

“I need to keep looking for her.”

“I know. Be safe, Cwen.”

Cwen turned and marched back the way she had come, sneaking past the kitchen and into the courtyard.

Thinking Eadith may have heard about the events on the ramparts, she headed back towards the Eastern gate to be met with a startling sight.

Lord Uhtred was being ushered in through the gate behind a self-satisfied looking Sigtryggr.

Cwen started forward towards her friend, but slowed to look at Sigtryggr. Silently, he gave her the slightest of nods before she sped forward to embrace Uhtred.

Speaking into Cwen’s hair, she heard Uhtred’s muffled voice, “You are alright? Let me see you.” He stepped back to take in her appearance, her blood stained clothes and hands. Uhtred took her chin in his hand and turned her so he could better look at her face, scowling at the scratches along her brow from where Eardwulf had pressed her bodily into the stone of the parapet.

Ignoring Uhtred’s hardened stare, Cwen spoke to both Sigtryggr and Uhtred in turn, “The boys? Athelstan. Are they alright?”

Before Uhtred could speak, Sigtryggr’s voice answered her concerns, firm yet gentle.

“Both children are back in their father’s embrace. Your Lord, the Dane Slayer has traded himself willingly for their release,” he folded his hands behind his back, stepped closer to speak in a lowerer tone, and added, “It would seem the gods saw fit to indulge my wish to see them unharmed.” The man stepped back now, meeting Cwen’s eye.

Uhtred watched the exchange silently, before addressing Sigtryggr.

“The boys are unharmed, but what about Cwen? Look at her face, her hands and clothes. Is this how women are to be treated in your Winchester?”

“Cwen has the heart of a survivor. Not a battle warrior perhaps, but she is strong. Aside from the scratches, the blood belongs to her enemy. A man lower than a snake,” Sigtryggr spoke with that same calm, yet commanding voice.

“That enemy was your ally,” Uhtred’s voice grew louder, etched with concern and irritation over how Cwen had been treated.

Now it was Cwen’s turn to speak, cutting off Sigtryggr's reply and trying to still the rising tension.

“I was offered care and a chance to clean up, but I refused. I needed to find Eadith.”

“And where is she?” Uhtred questioned, only then turning his studying gaze from Sigtryggr to Cwen once more.

“I do not know,” her voice was desperate and wavering, “ I was coming here to look for her. She should have brought food to Lady Aelswith, but she never made it there.”

Cwen held her fingers up to her lips, turning to scan the streets, looking for any sign of Eadith. Her breaths began to quicken once more and she turned round, wide eyed to look at Uhtred.

“I am sure she is alright, Cwen.”

“You can not know that,” Cwen cut him off.

“Excuse me, both of you,” Sigtryggr interjected, “but Uhtred must come with me. We did not allow you into the city to go on a goose hunt. You are here to meet and discuss with me.”

“Sigtryggr is right,” Uhtred agreed, cutting Cwen off before she could protest further. But turning to face Sigtryggr, his voice leaving no room for argument, “but Cwen will come with us. I will not risk another I care for being vulnerable in this city.”

“As you wish,” Sigtryggr acquiesced with a nod, then turned on his heel to walk back towards the palace, clearly expecting Uhtred and Cwen to follow him.

Alarm and panic lacing her voice, Cwen protested giving up the search for Eadith.

Uhtred took hold of her arm and began to escort her alongside him, “Winchester is large and I will not have you look in the streets alone. His lord or not, Sihtric would have my head.”

Cwen paused, gently pulling her arm back to stop Uhtred from moving further.

“My Lord, how is he?” Her words were small, anxious.

Uhtred bowed his head before looking up and taking in Cwen’s concerned expression.

“Sihtric is in agony, Cwen. The man has done nothing but fret since you left his sight, walking into the city,” Uhtred paused. His grip on her arm loosened and moved to squeeze her shoulder in comfort, “Seeing you up there has nearly broken him. He will fight every man here, Saxon or Dane, to see you back in his arms.”

Tears welled in Cwen’s eyes as she listened to Uhtred’s words. She reached her hand up to hold Uhtred’s arm on hers. Sniffling, she wiped a stray tear away.

“Come along, Dane Slayer.” Sigtryggr’s voice brought an irritated sigh from Uhtred as he and Cwen resumed their path.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cwen lifted her head groggily and sat up from the bench she had been resting on.

After arriving in the throne room, Uhtred and Sigtryggr had commenced to fight, throw insults, and banter back and forth before coming to common ground. The rest of the night consisted of developing plans to help formulate negotiations and division of lands.

It would seem Sigtryggr really did wish to be a better man than his forebears. He wanted only land and a chance for his people to thrive. A chance to prosper.

At some point, a woman had brought them food and Cwen had asked for some water to wash the blood from her hands and clean up her face.

Feeling slightly less soiled, she had laid down upon a bench pushed against the side of the hall. Almost immediately, she had felt the exhaustion of the day's events wash over her. Her body and mind were fatigued, both in equal measure.

Fretful, Cwen succumbed to sleep. But her mind was not fit for restful slumber. Flashes of images raged across her dreams.

Eardwulf’s face as blood pooled out of his mouth, his eyes full of shock and anger.

Feet, her own - she could not tell - running along city streets, turning this way and that.

Her hands clinging to a dazed Aethelstan. Still flecked with dried blood, they moved to cover the child’s eyes.

And Sihtric. His eyes. Watching her, his face stoic and careworn. Those eyes that covered her like a gentle blanket, usually full of care and comfort. Now shifting as his face broke into screams, cries filled with torment and sorrow.

Slowly, Cwen felt herself relax back into wakefulness. Her heart, along with her limbs, felt heavy. Leaden. As if she had not slept at all. The images from her mind continued to play over.

Only the knocking on the great oak doors just moments before had awoken her.

Still dazed from sleep, Cwen stood to walk over to Uhtred’s side, her hands running over her face, trying to erase her dreams..

Lord Uhtred stood bent over, his fists resting against the long table scattered with maps and documents.

“I am glad you were able to rest.”

“My body betrayed me. It was not a conscious decision,” Cwen voiced, “Nor would I consider it restful.”

Uhtred turned to look at the woman, placing a comforting hand on her back.

Cwen offered him a small smile before looking down to the maps. She reached out a hand, absentmindedly tracing the length of some river.

At that moment, Sigtryggr returned with news from his guards. Edward had attacked the city and would soon breach the walls.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Urgently, Sigtryggr, Uhtred, and Cwen moved along the hallways of the palace and out into the courtyard, followed closely by several of Sigtryggr’s oathmen.

The city gates had already been breached and Saxon warriors were flowing into the courtyard to be met with the shield and swords of the Danes scrambling from all corners of the city to join the fray. The clamor of battle, swords and axes crashing against shields, men screaming and yelling with battle lust was deafening.

Cwen was met with Uhtred’s arm pushing her to stand behind him while he pleaded with Sigtryggr.

Frantically, Cwen scanned the crowd searching for Sihtric. Or anyone of her companions. But the scene was utter chaos. All she could make out was blurs of bodies whirling and clashing in a bloody dance.

Cwen’s attention was snapped back to the men in front of her as she heard Sigtryggr order one of his men to kill Uhtred if he should harm any Danes.

Next thing she was aware of, Cwen was thrust aside by large hands as Uhtred and Sigtryggr’s man began stalking their way through the fight towards King Edward.

Cwen righted herself and continued to search the crowd, looking for him. She watched the chaos as Sigtryggr prowled like a wolf on the steps beside her.

Her heart hammered in her chest and she felt the clash and reverberation of the fight in front of her ringing in her ears. The adrenaline and fear pulsed out along her limbs as she felt the grip of panic racing through her blood.

She winced when Sigtryggr called for the shield wall to be formed.

His cry lost amongst the din of the violence, Cwen covered her ears instinctively and watched while a horn blower signaled the shield wall and Sigtryggr called once more, his voice now louder and impassioned.

She saw as Edward raised his sword arm and called for Saxon’s to form the wall as well.

It felt like time slowed as Cwen watched the melee stop and the shields form the barrier along both sides of the fight.

A man stepped out from the Saxon line reaching towards something on the ground. It was Finan. Cwen watched as he stooped to pick up a figure. She recognized Eadith’s red hair and gasped as she watched men part for Finan to retreat carrying her limp body.

Then there he was, closing the hole after Finan, beside Osferth.

Cwen grasped onto Sigtryggr’s arm, from behind where he had stepped in front of her protectively.

He turned and observed her gaze, locked onto Sihtric.

“It is your man?” Sigtryggr questioned.

Not daring to take her eyes from him, Cwen gave the slightest nod.

“Come with me,” he instructed as he began moving down the stairs, Cwen continuing to hold onto his arm as they moved through the warriors.

“You will let us pass,” Sigtryggr commanded his men who shuffled out of their way to form a slender path.

Breaking through into the clearing between the shields, he saw her. His face was a mask of fierce battle rage, but his eyes softened when they met Cwen’s.

He took a step forward, pulled to reach her, before Osferth’s sword arm blocked his way.

Cwen still stood slightly behind Sigtryggr grasping his arm.

The man looked back to her, “Go,” he said. Cwen dragged her eyes away from Sihtric to glance at Sigtryggr. He nodded his head in the direction of the Saxons, towards Sihtric, “Go on.”

And the next instant, Cwen was rushing into Sihtric’s arms, crashing into him.

Still prepared for a fight, Sihtric stepped to the side, bringing her around himself, saying, “Behind me, Cwen. Stay behind me.”

He kept her arm in his grasp as she stood behind his right side, hands grasping at him, clinging to his armor.

Cwen felt him pull her hand up to his mouth, pressing a firm kiss against her knuckles and squeezing. His hand still gripped his axe as well and the feel of the wood crushed against her fingers was bruising. But it did not matter. Being back where she could find his grounding touch, Cwen felt her world right itself finally.

She pressed herself firmly against his back. Peering around his shoulder, she could see Edward and Aethelflaed had approached the center of the courtyard along with Uhtred. Sigtryggr and Edward stood staring at one another. The tension was thick as the leaders sized each other up.

Eventually, Edward and Aethelflaed agreed to enter the palace with Sigtryggr and begin negotiations.

Once the respective parties had shifted inside, the opposing armies slowly melted away to opposite portions of the city.

Cwen felt the tension slowly release in Sihtric’s shoulders as he lowered his shield and slid his axe into his belt.

She heard Osferth from somewhere nearby, questioning Sihtric. Cwen kept her eyes closed, hands fisted into his mail and leather, gripping anywhere she could find purchase.

“Where would Finan have taken Eadith?”

“Hild,” Sihtric replied, his voice low and husky, “likely, he took her to Hild.”

Without another word, the three moved along the streets passing other soldiers and frightened townsfolk milling about.

Sihtric’s arm never lost contact with Cwen, but his eye kept scanning and searching. Cwen imagined he was still on the watch for a fight, a threat. Or looking for Finan and Eadith. But she desperately yearned for his eyes to find her again.

After many twists and turns along wide streets, Cwen having no idea where they were leading, they stopped outside of a church.

Osferth only paused, noticing that Sihtric had stilled with Cwen.

Glancing between his two friends, Osferth’s lips twitched upwards into a small grin before he turned and continued up the steps and through the large oaken door.

Sihtric turned, taking Cwen’s arm in his hand and led her to the alley beside the church.

Once he turned the corner, he swept Cwen into his arms in a crushing embrace and lifted her off of the ground.

Cwen felt the seams of her composure that had been slowly unraveling rip apart. She threw her arms desperately around his shoulders as she buried her face against his neck. Strangled sobs overcame her and she started voicing incoherent apologies and fears.

Gently, Sihtric lowered her feet to the ground and ran his fingers soothingly through her tangled, chestnut hair, giving her the time to be broken.

Cwen pulled her face back from his body, her hands moving to rest along his jaw and bringing his forehead to rest against hers.

“It is alright, Cwen. I have you, now. I have you,” he chanted over and over.

In time, Cwen’s breathing slowed and her sobs ceased to wrack her entire body, to be replaced with still slightly shaky gasps.

She felt as Sihtric’s lips placed soft kisses on her forehead, down to her eyes, wiping away her tears.

Finally, his kiss found her lips. And she felt the world pause as they both melted into one another, his fingers tracing soothing lines where he cupped her neck.

When they pulled apart, Cwen met his eyes.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His lips pulled into a wide grin, but she continued before he could respond, “I do. I love you, Sihtric. And I am sorry for leaving with harsh words or feelings,” but it was Sihtric’s turn to hush her with a kiss.

When he pulled back, he made sure to look into her eyes before speaking.

“Do not apologize. What you have done takes courage. There are more ways to be strong and brave than by wielding a sword or an axe. I should not have spoken as I did. I was scared for you and let it cloud my mind and my words.”

“But you were right to be frightened,” Cwen interrupted him, “Eardwulf…” Her voice quivered when speaking his name, betraying her.

“Is dead, Cwen.” Sihtric took her face in both hands. “He can no longer harm you. You have freed yourself of him, my love.”

His eyes burned into Cwen’s own with such an intensity, she dropped her face to rest on his chest, overwhelmed.

“I was so afraid, Sihtric.”

She felt as Sihtric rested his chin on top of her head before he replied.

“Cwen, I have been in more battles than I can remember, escaped death.” he placed a kiss on the top of her head before he continued, “but I have never felt fear like that before.”

He pulled her back and took her chin in his hand, tilting her face so he could brush his thumb over the scratches and bruises forming along her cheek and brow.

“I was terrified that I would lose you. But you saved yourself. And we are together now.”

Cwen smiled at him, “I used your knife and what you taught me.”

Sihtric kissed her fiercely before he remarked, “When this is over, we will find time alone where I can love you. Where I can show my woman how she is cherished.”

Cwen felt heat rise in her cheeks. “You cherish me?” She questioned, leaning her face back towards him.

“I do, my lady,” he answered with a smirk before kissing her once more and chuckling as he felt Cwen hum against him deep in her throat.

“Do you think Osferth found them?” Cwen pondered when they finally broke apart.

Sihtric laughed, “He must have or he would have come and awkwardly interrupted us.”

Sihtric took her hand, leading her back towards the entrance of the church.

“Who is Hild?” she questioned.

Sihtric answered her as they walked, “A friend. An abbess. The first time I met her, she was sawing the head off a Dane.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cwen’s mouth was still hung open in shock when they entered the church to be approached by Osferth and an older woman with dirty blonde hair, dressed in the plain robes of the clergy.

“Cwen, this is Hild, a friend.” Osferth introduced the woman who took in Cwen’s expression and appearance.

“Was Sihtric just telling you of the first time we met? Trust me, it was not as bad as you imagine. The Dane was already dead.” Hild’s smile was genuine and caring. Osferth and Sihtric both laughed good naturedly at her jest.

Still smiling, Hild brought Sihtric in for a hug, “It is good to see you, Sihtric.”

“And you, Hild. Is Finan here?”

Hild answered him, while stepping back to stand by Osferth once more, “He is. And the lady, Eadith. I have patched her up as best I could.”

Cwen interrupted, concern lacing her voice, “will she be alright? Was she badly injured?”

“Not too badly. Some bruised and maybe broken ribs, but that is all. She needs rest, but will be fine,” Hild took hold of Cwen’s hand as she spoke, giving it a comforting squeeze, “would you like to see her?”

“I…” but Cwen hesitated.

Guessing the reason for her hesitation, Osferth interrupted, “She knows about Eardwulf, Cwen. She was more concerned with your well-being than with grief over her brother.” Cwen frowned and looked down at the floor for a moment before looking back to Hild, who gave her hand another comforting squeeze and nodded her head.

“Come on then. Follow me,” she said while releasing Cwen’s hand and turning to walk back the way they had come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They entered the room to find Eadith sitting up with some bandages wrapped around her torso. She was holding onto Finan for support to stand. Cwen noticed the care and concern etched in the Irish warrior’s face as he stood firm by her side.

She stopped short when Eadith looked up from the floor at their entrance. But Cwen did not have long to ponder any hard feelings Eadith might hold against her for killing her brother.

Eadith exclaimed, “Cwen, oh thank God,” as she reached out the arm not steadying herself on Finan, beckoning her friend towards her.

Cwen let out a little laugh, fighting back yet more tears as she closed the few steps between them and gingerly embraced Eadith before stepping back and taking her hand.

“You’re safe,” Finan interjected, placing a chase kiss to Cwen’s temple, never losing hold of Eadith’s waist.

“As are you,” Cwen commented nodding to Eadith, “I tried to find you after,” but the words died on her lips as she met her friend's eye.

To Cwen’s amazement, Eadith gave her a genial smile before she spoke.

“I lost the man I called my brother some time ago, Cwen. I am happy you are safe. Truly, my friend.”

Shaking her head to clear the emotions rushing to her face, Cwen took a breath before their reunion was interrupted by Hild, who cleared her throat before speaking.

“I can offer you all a bit of bread and may be able to find some cheese. It won’t be much, given the siege, but I know you must be hungry.”

Osferth replied for the group, “That would be lovely, Hild. Thank you. But we also should see if we can find out how things go with Lord Uhtred.”

The companions agreed some food would be best before Sihtric and Osferth would leave to find out how negotiations progressed.

Cwen tried to protest and go with them.

“I do not wish to be parted from you again,” she whispered as Sihtric took her aside by the arm.

“I know, Cwen. But you are exhausted. A moment ago you were almost asleep on your feet. Finan is staying to care for Eadith. You will not be alone. But you need rest.” Sihtric’s voice was low and soothing. His face close to hers and she felt the tenderness and concern in his words. “Let Hild care for your face and find you some clean clothes. I will come back to you as soon as I can.”

The idea of clean clothes and rest compelled Cwen more than she would have anticipated. But the weight of the past days events was still heavy on her and Sihtric was right, she needed the rest.

“Ok, but please don’t be away long.”

“I won’t, love. Believe me.” He kissed her softly before leaving with Osferth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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