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the7thcrow · 3 years

Text

600 degrees

pairing: bang chan x (fem) reader

summary: you can’t cook. like, really can’t cook. good thing your cute neighbour is here to help clean up the mess.

word count: 5.1k

genre: neighbours au. strangers to lovers. the fluffiest of fluff, slightly suggestive.

warnings: a make-out session, bad humour, minho being a twat of a roommate, and tooth-rotting fluff.

rating: 14+

a/n: hi guys! hope you enjoy this one, it’s so much more wholesome and fluffy than what i usually write, but I'm pretty happy about it. don’t by shy to send me an ask or leave a comment. anything you have to say, I would love to hear. :)

...

“Fine. Since you won’t come, at least enlighten me on how you plan to keep yourself busy?” Minho asks, casually leaning against your kitchen island. He stares at you, with that familiar condescending smirk you’ve seen far too many times.

“I don’t know,” you state, rolling your eyes. Rising to your feet, you head over to your shared refrigerator, pulling a bottle of Sangria out of the fridge. “But I’m sure I’ll find something.”

“You know, if you want to drink, you could at least do it at the party.” Minho approaches you from behind, placing both his hands on your shoulders. “It’s a lot less sad that way.”

You slap his hand away, letting out a frustrated groan at the laughter he lets out from his own joke. “I get out plenty, quit acting like I’m some lonely cat lady,” you say, grabbing your favourite wine glass from the cupboard. “I like parties, I just don’t like Jisung’s parties. They always get way out of hand.”

“But Y/N,” Minho wines, picking up your freshly poured glass and taking a sip, earning himself a glare. “I never said you were a cat lady, just the lonely part.”

At that you snatch the glass away from his hands. Not wanting to deal with this torment any longer, you walk back to your comfortable, worn-in spot on the couch.

“You know I’m right,” he says, continuing despite the fact you begin to turn up the volume of the television. “And the only way you’re going to change that is by accompanying me to Jisung’s loud, out of hand parties.”

You turn to face him, raising your eyebrows. “Somehow, I doubt my soulmate associates himself with Han Jisung.”

“Well that can’t be right, because I associate myself with Han Jisung?”

“Shut up, Minho.”

Your roommate snickers to himself as he opens the fridge, taking a quick glance at everything - or for a better term, lack of anything - inside. “What are you even going to eat? There’s nothing leftover from last night.”

“I’ll make something,” you say. Frankly, you had expected the outburst of laughter, but that didn’t do anything to simmer down your growing annoyance.

“Make something?” Minho laughs, giving you an incredulous stare. “Y/N, I’ve lived with you for two years and I don’t think I’ve seen you cook anything once.”

“Hey, I can cook,” you return, wrinkling your nose. “But why would I, when I have you to do it for me?”

At this, it’s Minho’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yeah, okay, I take that back. I don’t want you to come, have fun curling up on the couch alone with your three cats.”

“They’re literally yours.”

“Whatever,” he says, opening your front door. “Just don’t burn the apartment down, alright?”

As he closes the door, you flip him off. At first, you aren’t sure if he saw, but you’re given your answer as his laughter echoes down the hallway, fading as he walks further away.

You scowl. Of course you can cook. Well, at the very least, well enough to make a meal for one on a saturday night. Minho didn’t know what he was talking about.

Minho. Your best friend and roommate for the last two years. Man, does the guy have a way of pushing your buttons. You love him, of course. In the weird, bickering, just short of volatile friendship sort of way the two of you had developed.

Still, you can’t deny that even with his painfully irritable nature, he is still a good friend. No matter how many times you say no, he always offers to take you anywhere he goes. He pushes you out of your comfort zone. He’s there to console you when a date goes bad, or you failed a test you studied hard for. He makes all his meals for two, just because he doesn’t want you to live solely off shitty take-out.

He’s your rock. Your platonic other half. Your closest companion.

Which means you are going to prove him wrong, and then rub it in his face as much as you possibly can. Of course, because that’s what friends are for.

~~~~

Then again, maybe you wouldn’t. Or, at the very least, it was going to be exceedingly more difficult now that your apartment was full of smoke.

Covering your nose with one hand, you take the tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. If you can even call them that, as they now held a far closer resemblance to that of hockey pucks. Both in looks, and what you could assume in taste, as well.

Okay, you know chocolate chip cookies don’t really count as a decent meal, but they are the only thing you remember how to cook from when you lived at home. Or maybe you didn’t remember, based on the tray of failure sitting in front of you.

Then, to make matters even worse, your fire alarm starts going off.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath. Now you are going to have to go to the front desk, let them know everything is okay.

Maybe Minho was right, you should’ve just went to Jisung’s stupid party and eaten something there. Putting all the other painful aspects of Han’s parties aside, Felix was his roommate, so the horderves were always excellent.

They were better than your hockey puck cookies, anyway.

Letting out a disappointed sigh, you open your apartment door, prepared to get a rough scolding from the lady working the front desk. However, you are surprised to find a man standing in front of you, his hand in the air, as if he were about to knock.

“Hi,” he says, awkwardly putting his hand back down at his side. He has messy platinum blonde hair, and soft eyes. He’s cute, and the realization quickly makes you recognize him.

“You’re my neighbor,” you say, pointing a finger at him. It’s not until he doesn’t respond immediately that you realize it was a strange thing to say. Obviously, he knows he’s your neighbor, and he might be a little offended you didn’t recognize him immediately.

Then again, the two of you had never really talked before. Everytime you would pass each other in the hall, he’d always give a polite nod and continue walking. Sometimes you’d try to say hello, or start a small conversation, but he always disappeared quickly. It had gotten to the point where you assumed he had some strange, unwarranted grudge against you.

So, it was safe to say that you were more than just a little surprised to find him at your door.

“Uh, yeah, I am. Are you okay? I thought I smelt something burning, and then I heard the fire alarm go off.” He asks, peeking behind you into your apartment, seeing if he can catch sight of any flames.

Instead, his eyes land on your tray of butchered cookies, and he… smirks?

“Oh,” he says, attempting to hide the smile growing on his face. “Having some cooking trouble?”

You stare at him for a moment, watching as his lips pursed together, stifling a chuckle. “Are you...” you begin, your jaw dropping slightly. “Are you laughing at me?”

“No,” he looks down at you, finally letting his grin free. “I would never.”

“Yeah, okay,” you frown, already not enjoying that sarcastic look on his face. You thought you’d be able to avoid that humiliating look considering Minho wasn’t here, but apparently not.

“As you can see, it’s nothing. So if you’ll excuse me,” you continue, attempting to move past him. “I need to go get my neck rung by the lady at the front desk,” However, he doesn’t budge from his place in your door frame. You cast him a glare, which only makes his smile grow wider.

“Nah, don’t worry, I’ll go let her know,” he says, already turning to walk down the hall. You open your mouth to object, but he casts a glance over his shoulder, snickering. “You focus on cleaning up whatever those black lumps were supposed to be.”

You stand in your doorway, dumbfounded as your neighbor disappears down the complex staircase. Who did this guy think he was, openly laughing at your current predicament? Sure, if the roles were reversed, there’s no doubt that you would do the same. But that isn’t the point.

No. The point is that you are not impressed by the audacity of this stranger, and you are going to make sure that this distaste is known.

Grumbling to yourself, you dump the still smoking cookies in the trash can. It’s a shame, really. You’d thought you were doing so well, too. You thought this would be your chance to prove Minho wrong. Minho. Oh, he would be having an absolute hay day if he were here right now, and the thought only makes your scowl deepen.

“Well,” your neighbor calls from behind you, causing you to jump slightly. He reappears in the open door frame, sticking his neck inside, but not fully crossing the threshold into your apartment. “She’s not thrilled, but the alarm didn’t trigger the main system’s sprinklers, so you’re good.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

The man smiles. “If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly were you trying to make anyway?”

An embarrassed blush casts itself over your cheeks. “Chocolate chip cookies,” you mumble, not meeting his eyes.

He lets out a burst of laughter, smiling widely. You can’t help but notice that he had a cute smile, dimples on both of his cheeks, eyes crinkled. Not that you were looking. Not that you cared, obviously.

“How’d you manage to mess up chocolate chip cookies that badly?”

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging your shoulders helplessly. “You tell me.” You gesture towards the oven. Your neighbor smirks, walking inside your apartment. He bends down in front of your oven, before taking a look inside.

“Well, nothing seems to be wrong in there…” he starts, before glancing up at the set temperature. “Oh,” he states, before looking back at you, his eyes full of pity. “Oh boy.”

“What?” You ask defensively.

“The temperature. You forgot to convert it from celsius to fahrenheit. See?” He says, leaning away from the oven to give you a closer look. “So you thought you were cooking them at 350 degrees fahrenheit, when in reality they were at over 600 degrees.”

“Oh my god,” you say, smacking your palm against your forehead. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I don’t know,” the guy shrugs. “You could have burnt your apartment down, so I’d consider it a win. You’re lucky I got here on time.”

You cast him a scowl, although you can’t seem to relinquish the faintest hint of a smile creeping onto your lips. You know damn well you wouldn’t have started a fire, and that the man showing up really didn’t stop anything but an uncomfortable conversation with the front lady. You are also sure that he is fully aware of this too, which makes your smirk grow wider. Alright, you’ll play along.

“Right, what ever would I do without you?” you say sarcastically, causing your neighbor to playfully roll his eyes. He leans against your kitchen counter, relaxing slightly.

“Does my saviour have a name?” You ask, opening the fridge to take a look at what’s inside. You feel your stomach rumble, taking a glance at the clock to see that it was already past 9:00.

“It’s Chris,” he smiles, leaning over your shoulder. “So what are you going to eat, now that you’ve successfully butchered the easiest recipe known to man?”

“Hey!” You snipe. “That is certainly not the easiest recipe known to man.”

“Fine, fine,” Chris says, putting his hands up in defense. “Maybe not the easiest, but it’s definitely up there. But putting that aside, what are you going to eat? Because I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever seen a fridge so empty.”

You want to quip back at him, but he’s right. Minho usually does the grocery shopping, but because of Jisung’s party tonight he wasn’t planning on cooking anything.

“Good question,” you sigh, closing the refrigerator door before leaning your back against it. “Maybe I’ll just order some take out. I don’t think my pride can handle another failure.”

Chris smiles. “Or, I have an idea,” he says, his eyes glinting. He heads over to your apartment door, and for a moment you worry that he’s leaving.

No, you’re not worried. You’re curious. That’s all. You were curious whether or not he was leaving, nothing more.

When Chris returns, he has his arms full of ingredients. Spinach, penne, tomato sauce, cream, a variety of spices. The list goes on, and he stumbles slightly, almost dropping the surplus of food onto your kitchen floor. Imagining the mess, you rush over to help him, placing the load of groceries onto the counter.

“I don’t know if you couldn’t tell before,” you say, motioning to your overflowing counter. “But I really can’t cook. I have no clue what to do with any of this.”

“That’s no problem,” Chris smiles, already separating the food into different groups. “I’ll help you.”

“No, no, no. I can’t ask you to do that,” you say, waving your hands in protest. You step in front of him, squeezing yourself between his chest and the kitchen counter, preventing him from reaching any of the ingredients. “You’ve already dealt with the desk lady for me, and brought over all these groceries. You’ve done more than enough.”

He smiles, gently placing his hands on your shoulders and effortlessly moving you to the side. “Why would I bring you these groceries if I knew you couldn’t do anything with them?” When you don’t respond, he continues. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. Don’t worry about it. Just let me help you.”

You sigh in defeat, ignoring the way your heart begins to beat faster in your chest. “Alright,” you say, grabbing Minho’s cutting board from the cupboard. “Let’s do this, then.”

~~~~

An hour later, you find yourself sitting on top of your kitchen counter, Chris stationed by the stove working on the pasta sauce. You had genuinely tried to help in the beginning, you really did. But after Chris criticized your (awful) cutting technique, and said he didn’t exactly trust you to do anything else, you gave up.

Besides, you don’t have a problem watching him work. Over the last hour, you’ve come to learn that Chris is an absolute whiz in the kitchen. Moving from place to place, adding spices by intuition and nothing more. This wasn’t something you could have managed to make yourself in a million years, and it’s obvious that if you tried to assist him right now, you’d only get in the way.

Of course, you’ve learned a lot more about Chris in the last hour than just that. Where he grew up, his hobbies, what he was currently studying at the university. Music theory, as you’d learned. As cool as it sounded, Han had managed to tarnish your image of music majors, but you suppose you could give Chris a chance.

“It’s almost done,” Chris says, glancing over his shoulder to look at you.

“Thank God, I’m starving,” you reply, leaping off the counter to stand beside him.

“What, no ‘thank you, Chris?’ No, ‘what ever would I have done without you, Chris?’” He mocks offence, placing a hand on his heart.

“It’s not even done yet. I’ll thank you after I try it, I promise.” You laugh, rolling your eyes.

“Ah, so you’re only thankful if you like it. I see how it is,” Chris says, crossing his arms in front of himself, pouting his lower lip slightly.

“Guess so,” you say, crossing your own arms mockingly. Chris smiles, those cute little dimples of his dancing across his cheeks.

Then you feel it, that little jump of your heart. The faintest skip of a beat that you’d familiarized yourself with over the last hour. That little hint of anticipation that makes you decide that you are, even if only slightly, a bit interested in Chris.

After all, he’s funny and sweet. Can carry a conversation well, and to understate it, undeniably easy on the eyes. That’s more than enough to give him a chance.

Most of all, however, you like that little flare between the two of you. The sarcasm, the banter. It doesn’t feel the same as when Minho does it, slightly condescending and done purely to harbour your annoyance. No, this is different. It is a challenge. He wants you to quip back, to push further. To make him smirk, or laugh, or roll his eyes.

“Alright, fine then,” he says, taking the large wooden spoon and scooping up some of the pasta sauce. “Tell me if this is up to par, your majesty.”

You aren’t sure if he wants you to take the spoon, or let him hold it for you as you take a bite. You decide to take the gamble, gently moving your lips around the spoon, tasting the sauce. You glance up at Chris, a small look of surprise on his face. However, you don’t miss the flash of something behind his eyes. The faintest hint of affection, interest.

The sauce itself is delicious. A perfect blend of tomato, basil and cream. You hum contently, giving him a thumbs up.

“Chris, this is amazing,” you praise, admiring the small blush that sprinkles his cheeks.

“It’s really nothing,” he says, diverting his gaze and rubbing the back of his neck, shyly.

“No, seriously,” you say, taking the spoon from his hand and scooping some of the sauce up yourself. “Try it.” You hold the spoon out in front of him, and he raises his eyebrows slightly. Your gaze remains firm. A challenge.

Hesitantly, he takes the bite, not breaking eye contact as he does so. You stare at him, watching the way his lips move around the spoon, the intensity of his gaze. The action itself should be innocent, yet you feel a warmth rise to your cheeks.

Chris swallows, taking his lips off the spoon. For a moment, neither of you say anything. You can feel the change in the atmosphere of the room. The spark between you two being brought alight.

You swallow hard. “So?” You ask quietly.

“Yeah, it’s good. Very good,” he says back, his voice low and raspy. He goes to take the spoon from you, and his hand lingers a moment, his thumb trailing the skin of your knuckles.

You feel yourself lean in slightly, fully prepared to take the leap, when suddenly he breaks away from you, eagerly taking a few steps back. He looks away, placing a hand on his face, as if he were ashamed.

“Shit. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I know you’re seeing someone, we shouldn’t be doing this. I’m sorry,” he babbles, completely turning away from you.

You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out. Seeing someone? Where the hell could he have possibly gotten that idea?

“Seeing someone?” You ask, incredulously voicing your thoughts. You grab him by the shoulder, turning him around. “Why do you think I’m seeing someone?”

Chris still refuses to meet your eyes, instead focusing intently on the wall behind you. “The guy that lives here- Minho - aren’t you two?”

“Minho?” You gape, contorting your face in a look of pure disgust. “Ew, gross! No! Believe me, I am not dating Minho, I’d genuinely rather stick this spoon in my eye,” you exclaim, lifting up the utensil.

At that Chris finally looks at you, wearing his own look of pure confusion. “Wait, really? But whenever I hear you guys out in the hall, the two of you are always so… flirty.”

“Flirty?” You laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement. “If by flirty you mean he teases me literally every god damn second of every day, then yeah sure, I guess. But believe me, there is absolutely nothing romantic about that. Not in the least.”

Chris shakes his head, a smile forming at the corners of his lips. “Wow. I am such an idiot,” he sighs, a rediscovered lightness to his tone.

“No, no. Don’t worry about it,” you reassure him. “Anyone could make that mistake, I guess. It’s really no big-”

“No, it’s not just that,” he cuts you off. “That’s why I’ve never talked to you before now.”

“You never talked to me because you thought that me and Minho were dating?” You ask, slightly confused. Even if you were dating, you didn’t see why that would stop him from starting a conversation with you. “Why?”

“Well,” he sighs, his cheeks reddening further. “I thought you were pretty, and based on the way you always quipped back at him, clever and funny as well. I don’t know, it just felt wrong to try and build a friendship with you, knowing how I already felt a little....”

You smirk, drawing yourself slightly closer to him. “A little what?”

His smile transforms itself from embarrassed to a sly grin of his own. “A little into you, I guess.”

“It really is a shame,” you shrug, trying to hide the excitement building in your chest. “Because here I was, thinking my cute neighbor had some irrational grudge against me.”

Chris leans in, so the two of you are only inches apart. You can feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell the strong fragrance of his cologne. Sharp with lemon zest and mint.

“We could always make up for lost time, you know,” he says, his eyes flashing with mischief.

That is all the invitation you need to break the space between the two of you. You press Chris’ lips against your own, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other along the line of his jaw. His lips are soft, you notice. Tender in the slow rhythm the two of you develop.

He runs his hands up along your figure. One of them finding itself locked in your hair, the other placed firmly on the curve of your lower back. Gently, he leads the two of you away from the stove, placing you so that your back is pressed up against the kitchen counter.

You run your hand down along his chest, reveling in the groan he let’s out as your fingers trail down his lower abdomen. The sound is electricity pulsing through you, charging the room and igniting the atmosphere around the two of you.

His lips leave yours, trailing your jaw before making their way down your neck. Each individual kiss is slow and sultry, sending a shiver down your spine. You take a deep breath to stable yourself, and it does not go unnoticed.

Chris smirks, shifting his gaze to meet yours. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown out with desire. “You know, if we keep this up, the pasta sauce is going to burn,” he says, letting his fingers trail along your collarbone.

“Let it,” you shrug. “I wasn’t hungry anyways.”

Chris laughs at this, leaning forward so his face brushes the crook of your neck. “Yeah, right,” he says, allowing his lips to dust your skin. Suddenly, he bites down, not enough to break through the skin, but certainly enough to leave a small mark.

You laugh, running your hands in his hair, half-heartedly pulling him off of your neck. “Hey! That hurt,” you exclaim, only half serious.

“Sorry,” he grins, before crashing his lips into yours once again. The pace between the two of you is much faster now, each kiss more passionate. More promising. Your desire rings through you, clouding your mind in a hazy fog of lust. It is dizzying, just how much you want him at this moment.

You're certain he feels the same way, given in how tightly he grips your thigh, his breath ragged every time you break apart. It is messy. Greedy. The two of you so deeply wanting more. More of each other.

You’re about to ask if he wants to move this to the bedroom, when suddenly the apartment door swings open. It’s almost comical, how quickly you and Chris break apart, springing to opposite ends of the kitchen.

“I hate to say it, but you were right,” Minho calls as he walks inside, not yet glancing up from his phone screen. “Shit got out of hand. Someone managed to break the pool table, don’t even ask how, I don’t know either. Almost gave Felix an aneurysm. I swear the kid was about to cry, poor guy. Han had to shut everything down. So you really didn’t miss out on-” Minho stops as he sees Chris, a confused yet bemused expression crossing his face.

“Oh, hey Chan,” he says, causing you to give Chris a look.

“A nickname,” Chris mouths to you, as discreetly as he possibly can.

“What are you doing over here?” Minho asks him, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. He has that smug smirk on his face that makes you want to punch him.

“Oh, well…” Chris starts, casting you a glance. “Y/N made some food, and there was too much of it, so she invited me over.”

“Really?” Minho asks, caught off guard. He walks past you and Chris, staring at the pasta and sauce currently sitting on the oven burners. “You’re saying Y/N made this?”

“Well, yeah?” Chris says, feigning confusion. “Of course, I wouldn’t lie about something like that. Why?”

You have to stop yourself from laughing, looking at the expression of utter bewilderment on Minho’s face. Minho glances at you, narrowing his eyes, before sighing.

“Well then, I guess you proved me wrong on two things tonight, Y/N,” he says, grabbing a bowl from the cupboard.

“What are you doing?” You ask as he begins to scoop some of the penne into his dish.

“Oh, you said there was a lot,” Minho responds, raising one eyebrow. “Can I not have some?”

“Sorry, go ahead,” you say, still slightly flustered by the abruptness of his entrance. Minho finishes filling his bowl and takes a seat at the kitchen island. As he begins to eat, the room is filled with a rather tense silence. You and Chris share an awkward look, unsure of what to do next.

Minho looks up from his dish, glancing between the two of you.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, grabbing his bowl and standing up from his chair. “I’m going to go eat this in my room. Have fun you two.”

Before you can say anything, Minho disappears around the corner, down the hallway leading to his room. You turn back towards Chris. The two of you stare at each other for a moment, before bursting out into a fit of laughter.

“He’s a bit of a mood-killer, huh?” You say, grabbing two bowls from the cupboard, offering him one.

Chris nods in thanks as he takes the bowl from your hands. “Just a little bit,” he laughs, beginning to scoop some of the pasta into both of your dishes.

The two of you take a seat at your counter, spending the meal talking and laughing. Nothing else, the moment has passed, but that doesn’t bother you. You enjoy Chris’ presence. His quick humour and thoughtful conversation.

It really is something that you could get used to, you decide.

After you’re done eating, you walk Chris over to the door, handing him his surplus of spice bottles and leftover spinach.

“Thank you for doing all this, seriously. The food was delicious, you’re seriously gifted. And also, thank you for covering for me, I really didn’t feel like listening to Minho die laughing over the burnt cookies,” you admit.

“It’s no problem, really,” Chris smiles. He shifts all the spices over to his right arm, letting his free hand fall down to his side. Softly, he takes your hand in his, letting your fingers intertwine.

“Listen,” he continues, shyly looking up from your hands to meet your eyes. “If you’re not doing anything tomorrow, you’re welcome to come over for a proper dinner. You know, so I can show you what I can actually make when it’s not a last minute attempt at salvaging a meal.”

You smile a goofy, genuine grin. “That sounds good to me,” you say. Hesitantly, you lean forwards, planting a soft, innocent kiss on his lips.

As you break apart, he hums contently. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, thanks for today. You made my night, Y/N.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Chris.” You watch as he walks over to his apartment door, which is of course, only a few meters away from your own. When he disappears into his own apartment, you sigh, closing your own door behind you. You lean against the frame, letting out a shaky breath, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. It’s been so long since you’ve held any genuine interest in someone, you feel almost giddy.

That is until you see Minho, leaning against the corner of the kitchen wall, watching you with his cheshire smirk.

“Dinner tomorrow, huh?” He asks, walking into the kitchen and scooping himself the last of the pasta.

“What about it?” You retort, not giving in to that pestering look in his eyes.

“Oh, nothing. I’m sure it’ll be good, considering Chan clearly made this,” Minho says, shoveling some of the pasta into his mouth.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, grabbing two wine glasses from the cupboard.

“Save it, the lady at the front desk told me you almost set the apartment on fire,” Minho laughs as you pour the wine.

You let out a groan, handing him his glass. “God dammit.”

“Don’t blame her though,” he smiles, leaning back and taking a sip. “I wouldn’t have believed you could have cooked that anyway.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

“Had me fooled for a second there though,” he says, patting you on the head. “But more importantly, you like Chan huh?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right. Nice hickey, by the way,” he smirks, raising his eyebrows.

You pull up the collar of your shirt, casting him a glare. “Okay, maybe I do,” you shrug. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing,” he replies, before taking a second to think. “Just please don’t fuck him or anything tomorrow. Walls are thin.”

You laugh, taking your glass of wine and flopping yourself back down on the living room couch.

“Shut up, Minho.”

thanks for reading loves <3

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writingtoforgetreality · 3 years

Text

New World Order - TFATWS Rewrite Chapter One (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

[Marvel-Masterlist], [TFATWS Rewrite-Masterlist]

Next Chapter

Summary: You were an Avenger. That was how the world viewed you. Nobody else knew about your past & it was for the better. After all, you had Sam. You had Bucky. That had to be enough. At least for now.

Words: 6,214

Warnings: language, sarcasm, expect some sort of slow burn, there are hints already, this is a Bucky fic, which means that it'll focus on his scenes more, spoilers for TFATWS, (Y/E/C) = your eye color

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

You were no superhero. At least, you would never say you were one. Your past was filled with actions you regretted. None of it was your fault. It was not your decision to be the child of the leader of a HYDRA base. It was not your decision to grow up like a warrior. Fighting. Killing.

Your father was the bad guy. You knew that now. As a child, you did not see through his facade. How could you? He was your dad. Someone who was supposed to love you endlessly. Those years had shaped you. Into the person you were today.

Deep down, you wished there was a way to make you forget. Forget about your past. Forget about the pain. Forget about it all. Hell, you were a laboratory experiment. Those powers did not come from nowhere. No. They came from tons of needles, pumping a toxic serum into you veins. You should not even be alive anymore. Not by what now flowed through your body. Apparently, it was for your own good. That was how your dad put it. Absolute bullshit. Growing up isolated from the world, being trained to fight, to kill, daily. Your own good my ass. If it did one thing, then it ruined your damn life.

But at least you had powers, right? Blue flames you could control. Those blue flames that were hotter than anything else in this world. It took an awful lot of time to fully have control. Truthfully, you hated that part of you with every fiber of your being. It had been the cause of one too many deaths. You had been the cause. But weakness was not in your nature. If you did not show strength you would be a disappointment. Something you really did not want to be.

Bucky was the reason you got out of this life. He was the one to rescue you out of this hell hole. He was the one to show you an entirely different part of this world. And for that, you could never thank him enough. If it were not for Bucky, you would have gone insane ages ago. Who knew if you were still here today?

The Avengers were aware of your past. Of you being a part of HYDRA back in the days. Yet, you had never elaborated this any further. If there was one thing you were good at, it was keeping things to yourself. No need to burden others with your struggles. And you did struggle. Every single day. Because your mind was filled with memories. Memories you had tried to burn. Memories you wanted to erase. Memories of you being the bad guy. Just like your dad had been.

Your life changed when you were introduced to the Avengers. They did not trust you. Not right away. But during the fight with Thanos, the one after the Blip, you proved yourself to be worthy of their trust. Especially Steve. He had been there for you. When everyone else failed to believe in you. He was gone now. And it hurt like hell. Giving up was never an option. And the universe did not plan on giving you a break anytime soon. For now, you had to bury your feelings as deep as possible. Your focus should solely be on the new threats of this world. Threats, that seemed to increase daily.

“Bucky is an asshole.” you were on the phone with Sam & the fact that the super soldier had been ignoring him for a while did not leave a good feeling inside his chest.

“What a revelation.” sarcastic comments were part of your life. It was your way of coping with everything. Frankly, it worked. More or less. “Give him some time.”

“More time? No.” sighing loudly. “I have other things to focus on.” he was referring to the mission he was about to perform.

“You sure you’ll be fine on your own?” it was not like you did not believe in his abilities. Just, life had not been the same ever since billions of people came back.

“When have I ever not been?” you could think of a few times but Sam ended the call before you even had the chance to answer. Typical.

Luckily, Sam usually told you about his missions. And you were proud of him. You really were. The situation you found yourself in? With Bucky & him? Well, it was everything but good. Bucky called you. You called Sam. Sam called you. You called Bucky. A circle you kept alive. And it sucked to be their only way of communication. For now, though, both of them were too stubborn to change anything about it.

“Enjoying the Tunisian sun I hope?” whenever Sam went on a mission, you had him call you after it. Simply because he knew you worried.

“You know it.” in the far background you could hear him working on something.

“Is everyone alright? That trainee of yours? What’s his name again?”

“Torres.” he sighed, frustrated by your question. You had asked him about a million times & apparently, you still had no clue. Truth was, you just liked messing with him. “Redwing is hurt.”

“Naaaw, poor baby.” giggling slightly. That man cared more for a piece of tech than he should.

“Shut up.” okay, better not mess with Wilson if it came to Redwing. Got it.

“When are you coming back?” your voice turned serious again. Having him gone for so long did not stick right with you. Obviously, you knew he was doing it for the greater good. But still. “I swear to all the Gods, if you say when we’re done here…” mumbling quietly but loud enough for him to hear.

“When we’re finished here.” a chuckle could be heard from his side. By the way it sounded, you assumed Torres was laughing as well. Rolling your eyes at his antics. He could be such a child sometimes.

“Oh, fuck off, Wilson.”

“Hey, language!” Sam had fun. Yeah, you were the one cracking jokes all of the time but he could deliver, too.

“Okay, you know what? Bye. Text me when you’re back.” now, it was you who did not give him enough time to respond. After all, he would have clapped back with another snarky remark & you were not in the mood for it. At all.

“Steve represented the best in all of us. Courageous, righteous, hopeful. And he mastered posing stoically.” everyone chuckled at Sam’s description. Of him. Steve. Rhodey was standing right next to you. In that suit of his. The one that made him look way more approachable than you. No need for people to approach you. They did not know who you were before. And they sure as hell did not need to. It would turn things complicated. Humans did not like complicated. You did not like it. “The world has been forever changed. A few months ago, billions of people reappeared after five years away, sending the world into turmoil. We need new heroes. Ones suited for the times we’re in. Symbols are nothing without the women & men that give them meaning. And this thing…” he paused briefly, let out a short chuckle. The shield. “I don’t know if there’s ever been a greater symbol. But it’s more about the man who propped it up, & he’s gone. So, today we honor Steve’s legacy. But also, we look to the future. So, thank you, Captain America. But this belongs to you.” the crowd erupted into cheers. Applause was filling the room & you felt out of place. What was he doing? When Sam asked you to join him here today, he left out the fact that he wanted to give away the shield. The shield Steve had trusted him enough to own. And the people surrounding you? They…celebrated him for it? This entire speech was proof enough that Wilson was worthy of this job. So why the hell did he make that decision? Watching the shield being put into the showcase, you could hardly hold in the tears that formed at the corners of your (Y/E/C) eyes. Rhodey nudged you, sensing that something was wrong. Head hanging low, you ignored him, walking out of the room as fast as possible. If you stayed here any longer, Sam would have bruises for sure. Bruises caused by you. You would not risk that. Though, he kind of deserved it.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” Sam asked Rhodey when he finished with the press. You had told him you would wait here for him. There was no sign of you.

“Left a while ago.”

“What do you mean “Left a while ago.”? Did she say where she was heading?” why did you decide to leave? Had anything happened while he held his speech? All Rhodey could do was shrug. An explanation was not given by you. And he knew better than to ask.

“Take a walk?” Rhodey suggested, completely unaware to your weird behavior. The two of you were not that close. So he did not know you like Sam did. You were an adult, after all. If you wanted to go somewhere without asking someone first, then you were allowed to do that.

Disappointment was flooding through your body. Friends told each other stuff like that, right? So why did he keep it a secret that he planned on giving away the shield. With that action, he broke Steve’s trust & you were livid. If only Steve were here right now. You missed him. So much. Next time Sam met you, you could not promise anything. Because anger was all you felt. Anger & disappointment. Grief. But that one you could keep to yourself. At least for the time being. Shit. Bucky. One hundred percent did he watch Sam giving away the shield. Oh, he would be filled with hatred. Compared to that, you were only a small threat. Bucky was the one Wilson should keep an eye on. Well, he had been trying to get a hold of him. So far, without luck.

A gunshot blasting woke Bucky up from another night invaded by nightmares. His changed hair did not put his demons at bay. His look was different but there were some things he could never get rid of. His past. The past he dreaded as much as you did. Probably what you two had in common. Being part of HYDRA & all. His breathing was irregular & there was no way in hell he could go back to sleep. It was in the middle of the night & he hated himself for relying on someone else. But he would go insane if he did not call another person right now. If he did not call you. The only one who seemed to understand what he was going through. The only one who never judged him because of his nightmares. The only one who made him feel like he was a good person. Not the killer he once had been. When HYDRA controlled him. Back, when he was called “The Winter Soldier”. Would he ever move on from that? Grabbing his old phone, he did not overthink too long & dialed your number. One, he knew by heart. Because he had called you so many times. It stuck in his head.

“Buck? Is everything alright?” concern was present in your voice. Usually, when you got a call in the middle of the night, it was him. And you were fine with it. If he trusted you enough to help him with his demons, than you were more than happy to come to his aid. No matter the time.

“I-I…it’s just, ugh, I-“ still shaken up from his nightmare, you did not need him to finish his sentence. You had been in this exact situation so many times. You knew what he needed. Your presence. Your voice. Your comfort. You.

“I’ll be there in a few.” assuring him, you were already grabbing the stuff you needed & walked out of your apartment. Only one destination in mind. Him. “Do you need me to stay on the phone?” it was a simple question. A stupid one, too. Usually, he would not say a word until you were with him. But it felt right to ask him what he wanted you to do. Needed you to do. When he did not answer for a few moments, you guessed he only nodded, not realizing that you could not see his motions. Yet, he did not hang up. Neither did you. Your breathing was enough for him. At least until you were in his apartment.

Knocking softly, as to not wake his neighbors, the door opened almost immediately after. Squeaking ever so slightly. Taking in his appearance, you could tell that it had been a bad nightmare. No, not a nightmare. A memory. You knew that because it was the reason you woke up most nights as well. If it were not for him feeling miserable, you would have drooled by the sight of him. No shirt. Hair sticking around so beautifully. Eyes you could lose yourself in. But it was not the right timing. Besides, Bucky & you were just friends. That was it. Just friends. Though, you would lie if you said that you did not feel butterflies whenever he shot you one of his charming smiles. Whenever his body brushed against yours on accident. Yes, he did have that effect on you. Hell, that was not what he needed right now. Your feelings could be dealt with later on. Bucky was all who mattered now. There was no conversation. No words exchanged. It was enough for him if you were with him. A sign that he was not alone. That he still had you. Even after everything. Even after calling you, night after night, disturbing your own rest. Not that you got much to begin with but he did not need to know that. It had always been a mystery to him. Why you stuck around still. Though you had assured him thousands of times that you were in this for good. If he needed you, you were only one call away. And he appreciated you for it. More than he would ever like to admit. Friends. You were friends.

“So, Mr. Barnes, are you still having nightmares?” another session with Dr. Raynor. Another dreaded session. It was stupid to Bucky. But there was no way out of this. He had to. Seconds of silence went by before she spoke up again. “James, I asked you a question. Are you still having nightmares?” what kind of question was that? A stupid one. That was for sure.

“No.” simple, short. Sufficient. Not for his doctor, though.

“We’ve been doing this long enough that I can tell when you’re lying. Well, you seem a little off today. Did something happen recently?”

“No.” what an answer to move this session forward. Clearly, he was not in the mood to talk today. Not even you were able to get his mind off of things. Though, you definitely made his night easier.

“You’re a civilian now. With your history, the government needs to know that you’re not gonna…” her hand motioned stabbing. Awful action but who were you to judge? Bucky nodded with that look on his face that showed how completely done he was with this situation. Yet, she kept going. “It’s a condition of your pardon. So, tell me about your most recent nightmare.”

“I didn’t have a nightmare.” well, it was worth a try. After taking a deep breath, she grabbed the pencil, ready to start writing into that notebook of hers again. “Oh, come on. Really? You’re gonna do the notebook thing? Why? It’s passive aggressive.” looked like the two of them were going back to the roots.

“You don’t talk. I write.” Bucky sighed at that. He knew he would not get out of this.

“Okay. Okay. I crossed a name off the list of my amends yesterday. Don’t worry. I used all your three rules. Senator Atwood. She was a HYDRA pawn for years. Helped her get into office when I was the Winter Soldier. And after HYDRA disbanded, she continued to abuse the power I gave her.”

“So, rule number one, you can’t do anything illegal.”

“All I did was give some intel to the aide to convict her. And I wasn’t involved in anything else.”

“Rule number two?”

“What was rule number two?” his gaze drifting off, showing he thought about it deeply. How ironic.

“Nobody gets hurt. It’s a big one.”

“Then why isn’t it rule number one?” he did have a point there. No room left for arguing about that. “I didn’t hurt anybody. I promise.”

“And what about rule number three?” Bucky’s mouth opened, yet, nothing came out. “The whole point of making amends is to fulfil rule number three.”

“You know, you’re a cynic, Doc. Of course, I completed rule number three. I am James Bucky Barnes & you’re part of my efforts to make amends.” words followed by that smile of his. That smile everyone could tell was fake. Almost creepy. But efforts, right? It was all about the efforts.

“So, you did it all right, but it didn’t help with the nightmares.”

“Well, like I said, I didn’t have any.” Bucky Barnes, everyone. Still trying to fool his doctor.

“Look, one day, you’re gonna have to open up & understand that some people really do want to help you & that they can be trusted. People like (Y/N).” the mention of your name made his eyes snap up.

“I trust more people than her.” it sounded more like he tried to convince himself more than anyone else.

“Yeah? Give me your phone.” an order. Grabbing it out of his pocket to hand it over. A short look was enough. “You don’t have ten phone numbers on this thing. Oh, & you’ve been ignoring the texts from Sam. Look, you gotta nurture friendships. I am the only person you have called all week. That is so sad…Oh, that’s not right. You called (Y/N) last night. Anything you wanna tell me about that?” closing the flip phone, she threw it over to Bucky which he caught with ease.

“What? Do I need to justify calling a friend?” chuckling & shaking his head slightly, he brushed his hands over his thighs.

“If you call that friend at 3 am, then yes. Because you should sleep at that time. Except if you had a nightmare which you claimed that you didn’t.”

“We just talked. That’s all.” he thought that brushing it off as if it were nothing was enough to get her to shut up. Hell, he had brought you up during his sessions way too many times. After all, he still wanted the situation between you guys to be subtle.

“You’re alone.”

“A minute ago, you said I had (Y/N).” he tried arguing but his attempts failed.

“You’re a hundred years old. You have no history, no family…” right, pouring salt in the wounds. That usually worked.

“Are you lashing out at me, Doc? Because that’s really unprofessional, you know? When did that start? Yelling at your clients?” she seemed to have enough & again went for the little book next to her. “Oh, the notebook. That’s great.” sighing deeply, he braced himself to take her more seriously. “All right, give me a break. I’m trying, okay? This isn’t…This is new for me. I didn’t have a moment to deal with anything, you know? I had a little…calm in Wakanda. And other than that, I just went from one fight to another for 90 years.”

“So, now that you’ve stopped fighting, what do you want?” he had an answer in mind right away. Never ever would he say it out loud. It took him a second to reply. Because what he was about to say came in union with his first thought.

“Peace.”

“That is utter bullshit.” what a nice way to bad talk his answer. Maybe she was expecting something else from him. Maybe she knew the answer just as much as he did. The real answer.

“You’re a terrible shrink.”

“I was an excellent soldier, so I saw a lot of dead bodies, & I know how that can shut you down. And if you are alone…”

“Which I’m not because I have (Y/N).”

“…that is the quietest, most personal hell. And, James, it is very hard to escape. Look, I know that you have been through a lot, but you’ve got your mind back, you are being pardoned. I mean, these are good things. You’re free.”

“To do what?”

Wednesday. Bucky usually went to Izzy. Today, he asked you to join him & Yori. Why he wanted you there with them? No clue. But it was not often he asked you to go somewhere with him so you agreed on meeting them there.

“Take a look.” Yori was a cute, old man. Reading his newspaper like a good citizen. Bucky had yet to give you an explanation as to why you were here right now. But for now, you just sat next to him, quietly observing your surroundings. “Nobody made it past 90 this week.” it was funny, to see Bucky trying his hardest to sound interested. Like he understood.

“So young. Such a shame.” his words made you scoff. Apparently, once you hit the 100 mark, you turn into a sarcastic piece. If you were not one before. If you ever made it to 100? Only the Gods knew what would come after that. Most people called you a sarcastic asshole now. Could that be topped?

“You guys didn’t order the usual, huh? Feeling a little adventurous?” the woman behind the counter directed her words at the three of you.

“Um, actually, I’ve never been here before, so…” you chuckled to avoid the awkwardness that would sure as hell build if you kept quiet now.

“You should ask her out.” Yori leaned over to Bucky & you almost choked on your food at his words. Bucky asking her out? Her? Yeah, she was beautiful & all. But her? Really? Seemed like that Yori dude did not know Bucky as well as he claimed to. You, on the other hand, were aware that nothing good would come out if it. Besides, they would not even make a nice couple. Shit, were you jealous? Oh no. Glancing over at the man next to you, his face showed just how much he despised this idea. At least something.

“Mm-mmm…” shaking his head frantically, he shot you a quick look but before his eyes locked onto yours, your gaze fell down to your plate. Slightly embarrassed. Scared that, if he looked at you, he would notice something behind your look. Something more. Something, that you wanted to keep hidden. For everyone’s sake.

“He would like to take you out on a date.” oh fuck off, Yori. You had nothing against this man but he was pushing your buttons. Could he not see that Bucky was incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of going on a date? With her? “Maybe to bingo or a night of pinochle.” hiding your laugh behind one of your hands, you could not believe that he was serious. Bucky & bingo? Well, it was for old people so you guessed it fit quite well. Not with her, though. Oh no, you really were jealous.

“I’m really sorry about him.” Bucky apologized for his friend’s behavior. Yes, you were sorry for him, too.

“Why are you sorry?” of course, now the woman was flirting with him. It got better & better. Taking a deep breath, you tried to keep your emotions at bay. You could not lash out in the middle of this restaurant, after all. Even though you were this close to doing just that. Deep breaths, you got this. “I’m game.” sure she was.

“Wow.” really? Bucky was impressed? By this? Oh come on, why would he settle for less when he could have so, so much more. But it was not your decision. He was not yours. You did not own him. Neither did you make the decisions for him.

“Tomorrow night, then?” Yori leaned over the counter.

“Tomorrow night’s great.” she replied with a bright smile.

“Hey, I just remembered something.” you spoke up all of a sudden. Bucky’s eyes met yours now & he saw that you were uncomfortable. Though, he could not pinpoint why. “Um, I-I need to go. See you, Buck. Bye guys.” sprinting out of the restaurant, you hoped nobody would follow you. Not in the mood to deal with anyone right now. All you wanted was to be alone right now. Your mind the only one keeping you company. But your mind was not really the kindest to you. Not in this particular moment. So what? Bucky had a date. You knew that would happen sooner or later. He was a good looking man. More importantly, you just wanted him to be happy. Genuinely happy.

Fucking great. Who could you talk to? You still were not done being mad at Sam. And now you were mad at Bucky for something he did not even do. He sort of did. He could have said no. If he really did not want to, he could have said no. Bucky was enough of a man to speak his mind, you knew that. Maybe he did want to go on a date with her. What was her name again? Not that you cared too much. But still. Blinking away the tears that had formed at the corners of your eyes, you kept on walking. Without a real destination. You were stupid. Friends. Why could you not accept this? Usually, you would call Steve in such a situation. Or even Tony. But it was too late now. They were not here anymore. You had to deal with that sooner or later. Whether you liked it or not. Contemplating calling Sam, you eyed your phone carefully. One more button. But nope. The anger was bigger than the need to talk to someone. Stubborn you. Wilson could make you feel better. But you would most likely end up yelling at him. And you knew you would regret your words later on. So might as well stay silent for the time being. Until you calmed down enough.

It was 10 pm. Date time for Bucky. That same restaurant. Being the gentleman that we was, he even brought her flowers. Like it used to be back in the 40s.

“Well, if that’s not the most adorably old-fashioned thing anyone’s ever done.” Bucky felt lost. In her company. “Grab a seat, I’ll be done in a few.”

“Okay.” he could up & leave. It would not be too late. All he knew was that it felt wrong.

“So, have you dated much since half the fish in the sea came back?”

“Not really. I, um…tried the whole online dating thing. (Y/N), the girl who was here with me yesterday, she set up a profile for me because I didn’t understand a single thing.” laughing at the memory, he thought back to when he called you to ask you for a favor. How you laughed at him for wanting to try this whole bullshit. “It’s pretty crazy. A lot of weird pictures.”

“What kind of weird?”

“I mean, tiger photos? Half the time I don’t even know what I’m looking at. It’s…It’s a lot. When I showed (Y/N), she simply said that this was what I signed up for.”

“You sound like my dad.” definitely something a man did not want to hear while on a date. On the other hand, he did not even want this to be a date. “Wait. How old are you?

“A hundred & six.” only he could make it sound so casually. Like it was the most normal thing on this planet. Both laughed at his words. Simply because it was so absurd.

“What’s up with your big gloves?” a sensitive topic she just touched.

“I, um, have, uh…poor circulation.” sure thing.

“Hmm…Hey, what is it about this (Y/N) girl & you?” his eyes widened at her question. What was she getting at?

“She’s my friend. Why?” his dumbfounded expression made her chuckle.

“A friend, huh?”

“Um, yeah.”

“You sure about that?” an eyebrow raised. A questioning stare was sent his way.

“Why does everyone think I don’t have friends?” throwing his head back in frustration, he let out a long sigh.

“It’s not that.” she stopped briefly, thinking about her next words carefully. “Just, you guys seem pretty close.”

“Well, we’ve known each other for years.” he reasoned, gesturing with his hands to bring his point across.

“Yeah? And the looks you’re shooting each other when the other one’s not looking?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You two aren’t really subtle about this, you know?” she wiped the counter & did not even look at Bucky. He, on the other hand, started sweating.

“Subtle about what?”

“Oh, come on. Who are you kidding? I don’t even know why you’re here right now.”

“Because Yori set you & me up on a date.”

“And why did you agree?” she crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for an explanation from the man in front of her.

“I-I don’t know.” he responded truthfully. Because he thought it to be polite? Because Yori was the one who suggested it? Honestly, he was not sure.

“That’s what I thought. Look, you’re a nice guy & all but…just, listen to your heart from time to time. It’s late. You should head out. See you.” she turned around & walked further into the restaurant. Leaving Bucky alone with his thoughts. It was clear what she intended. Did not mean that it made this entire situation any easier. Bucky left without another word. Fresh air would help him think straight.

Your phone rang & you sighed when you checked who decided to annoy you. Bucky. Of course. But wait. Should he not be on his date right now? Did something go wrong? Not that you wanted it to but if you were entirely honest, you would not be mad about it either.

“Hi Buck. What’s up?”

“I need your help with something.” there was no hesitation in his voice. Just him being straight forward.

“Please don’t tell me you need help on how to get the girl.” it was your way to lighten the mood. You did that because you could tell that he was incredibly serious. Usually, this was never a good sign.

“Can I send you an address? Can you meet me there as soon as possible?” his voice was low, deep.

“Um, sure thing. But just to set things clear…I won’t join in on your fun, Buck. That’s between you & her.” again, sarcasm was your way of coping with emotions. Though, it was not the right time to use it right now. His next words were proof enough. You should not mess with him. Not in this moment.

“Can you be serious for a second?” he raised his voice a little. It was not much but it was enough to leave you confused. Bucky was not the person to yell at you. Especially not like this.

“I’m sorry…Um, yeah, tell me where & I’ll get there as fast as I can.” gulping down, you waited for him to give you more information.

Arriving at an unfamiliar building, you could make out Bucky’s form in front of it. Why would he want to meet you here? Where was his date?

“Buck?” your voice barely above a whisper. The night sky only illuminated by the moon that shone brightly. Providing just a tiny bit of light. Enough, to let you notice your surroundings.

“Thanks for coming.” you could tell that he was stressed, tough, you were not sure why.

“Is everything alright? Because I swear, if that woman did anyth-“

“No, she didn’t. Promise.” his warm smile was encouraging enough. It was clear that he was not lying to you. “Just…didn’t work out. But that’s not why you’re here.”

“Okay?”

“My last nightmare. Do you remember?” nodding for him to continue. “How I killed that innocent man?”

“It wasn’t you, Buck. You were being controlled.” touching his shoulder softly, squeezing it to reassure him.

“Whatever…That guy, it was Yori’s son. I want to, need to, apologize. Even though the apology comes way too late.” you nodded at him, your eyes meeting his briefly. Now you knew why he called you. He did not want to do this alone. No. He wanted you by his side. To support him through it. Entering the building together, Bucky led you to the apartment Yori lived in. His hand raised to knock on the door. Surprisingly, he did not waste any time. He wanted to get this over with. Understandingly so. No words were exchanged. You being here, with him, that was more than enough.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Yori opened the door, his face showed confusion by the appearance of you two. “How was the date?” you could not help but roll your eyes at the old man in front of you. Looking at Bucky, you were worried when you saw him having an internal conversation with himself. Mouth opening & closing again. No words coming out. Risking a look inside the apartment, you noticed a small picture frame with who you assumed to be his son. The one Bucky killed. No. The one the Winter Soldier killed.

“It was…It was good.” Bucky mumbled.

“Bullshit.” you followed after. None of them heard you, though. Luckily.

“Forgot I owed you for lunch.” Bucky handed him money. If you were not mistaken, this was not a form of apologizing. He had a hard time, though, that much was obvious. Afterwards, Bucky turned around & walked away without another word. Which left you alone with a confused looking Yori.

“I’m sorry for the disturbance, sir. Have a good night.” plastering on the sweetest smile you could offer, you followed Bucky outside. Jogging to keep up with the super soldier.

Back outside, you saw Bucky holding his little notebook in his hands. You knew about it. Because you were the only person he talked to when it came to his therapy sessions. A look over his shoulder could tell that his eyes were trained on the name being circled. His body was tense. That was not what he planned.

“It’s okay, Bucky.” your hand stroked over his lower back in a comforting way. Your forehead rested against his shoulder, hoping, that it would ease him a little. You could feel him calm down at your touch. “Give yourself some time.” you mumbled quietly, knowing he could hear you clearly due to the calm night. You just hoped that he would not beat himself up too much. Not more than he already did.

You were back in your own apartment. Still no words from Sam. But that was nothing new. Sometimes, he would go radio silent for a few days but after that, he would always check in with you. Maybe he figured that you were mad at him. For giving away the shield & all. And he probably was busy with work. The work he did with Torres. If he needed your help, he would call you for sure. Your TV got your attention again. Something told you to watch closely. So you did.

“Unrest, in the wake of recent events, has left us vulnerable. Every day Americans feel it. While we love heroes who put their lives on the line to defend Earth, we also need a hero to defend this country. We need a real person who embodies America’s greatest values. We need someone to inspire us again, someone who can be a symbol for all of us. So, on behalf of the Department of Defense & our Commander-in-Chief, it is with great honor that we announce here today that the United States of America has a new hero. Join me in welcoming your new Captain America.” the crowd cheered loudly & someone walked through the door. You could not believe what was happening. Please, this had to be a bad dream. When would you wake up form this hell? A man, wearing his suit, holding his shield, greeted the people. Looking at your hands, you could see small, blue sparks forming at the tips of your fingers. That only ever happened when you had no control over your emotions. Right now, you were everything but in control. Of course he had to wink at the camera like the sick person he was.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…” breathing out lowly, you put your head into your hands, completely ignoring the sparks there. You did not feel them anyway. If you ever met this son of a bitch it would not end well for him. And the next time you would meet Wilson? Fingers crossed he could deal with your angry & disappointed self. Because you were seething.

~to be continued~

Next Chapter

Published (04/02/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @taina-eny, @tanyaherondale, @cool-ultra-nerd, @toribentleyva, @buckyandlokirunmylife, @annadier, @howlongtillidie, @mizz-kraziii, @theetherealbloom, @millenniumloki, @marvelbros-oneshots, @ajbwasnthere, @bilesxbilinskixlahey, @mystictimetravelcolor, @dbrees256, @sxpxrnxturxl, @dreamydreamerwriting, @dolllstyles, @angelicastiel, @prettysbliss, @infinitelyforgotten, @sweetserendipity65, @lilystilinskicullen, @partypoisonsblog, @btdsprayberry, @sarai-ibn-la-ahad, @deamus-liv, @simplybarnes, @sethcohenluvr (let me know if you wanna be tagged <3)

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nightswithkookmin · 3 years

Note

chile i'm so glad i came across your blog, the amount of "i'm not going to assume they're dating" or "we can only draw certain conclusions but i can't say for sure" "we don't know their sexuality, BUT" type blogs i follow is getting kinda wack lmao. while i appreciate their perspective and nuanced takes i need to strike a balance. like let's get a lil delulu every once in a while. 💀

lol the im-not-a-shipper-but-call-jikook-boyfriends-every-other-post blogs are the funniest to me. the shipping hierarchy, so to speak is so weird. maybe just because im not a "shipping real people is bad" person i don't see the big deal. gonna get called delulu anyway, might as well go full out. they is gay/queer and they're fucking. i'm so sorry.

*also can we touch on the fact that shipping in this type of fandom (kpop) is kind of inevitable and unavoidable??! these boys are the other people we see them with day in and day out, interacting with each other and no one else. i feel like it's natural to ship when there's no other people around to break up everything, idk maybe someone can articulate this better than me. and people who are made to feel stupid for thinking that 2 members could actually be dating is so dumb. like is it really out of the realm of possibility that two people (jikook, cause all them other ships are....😬) who spent almost every waking minute together for like 8 years could fall in love. really?

/rant

It's the delulu hat for me

Lmho.

I guess for me being queer, I feel it's gaslighting for these people to be saying things like that. As silly as it is, it inadvertently deny and invalidate the existence and queerness of gay individuals and so I struggle with it.

This is the consequences of straight people in gay people business. They like defining gay parameters for us and it's like who asked you?? I feel people who say things like that are just plain ignorant or tone deaf or willfully homophobic.

I don't think everyone in BTS is gay but it makes me feel safe to see half the community assume them to be and celebrate them in that way. They are not cussing at them and threatening to leave the fandom or cancel them for this assumption and that is huge inspiration to me.

Those parts of the fandom are a safe space to be in as a queer army.

When people assume a person's queer sexuality they are simply admitting to themselves at the very least that LGBTQ EXISTS. This is important to me because I grew up in a community where LGBTQ didn't even exist in the collective consciousness of the people and EVERYONE IS AUTOMATICALLY ASSUMED TO BE STRAIGHT AND EXPECTED TO BE.

People read people's sexuality all the time and have done so since time immemorial and a lot of the time when they have had a sexuality read it's in the lines of straight, cis, rich, poor, superior or inferior. And that is a problem for some of us too because that discrepancy in the assumptions is as a result of homophobia and heteronormativity.

That whole don't assume a person's queer sexuality debacle sounds to me like a boujee way of denormalizing and preventing the normalization of queerness disguised under care, disguised under intelligence and disguised under wokeness. Especially when straightness is the default setting in this giant blue bulb.

We need to radicalize that. We need to change the cis straight default setting and if you are perpetuating this narrative you really aren't helping the situation. SIT DOWN.

I'm rarely assumed to be queer in certain circles and while that makes me feel comfortable within those circles it often times make it hard for me to admit my queerness openly in those circles too because I fear I will lose that comfort and respect and love and privileges that comes with being percieved straight in those spaces.

When I started my blog, I noticed some people assumed I was white and would use certain black descriptors as slurs when describing other people to me. I quickly had to switch the formal way in which I wrote to a much casual tone so my blackness would show through. Don't get it twisted. She black. She blackidy black black.

Then on the other hand, I was hesitant to let my queerness be known too because being black, I was marginalized as it is- you is black, or sound black💀 you know how it is- it's that intersectionality of oppression at play. Double double homicide.

When certain people realized I was black POC minority, their attitude towards me changed. I had those who didn't so much understand what black language is or perhaps wasn't used to being in black spaces and were uncomfortable with my blackness- these would take offense at me saying certain things in certain ways. Like chilee relax Karen, all I said was these motherfukkers gay as shit and they gay. Why you acting like I called them twinks or sommin. Right there, I'm cancelled for calling Jikook motherfuckers. They get sirens and everything😭😭😭😭😭😭

Same vein, I struggle destraightening myself or correcting people who assume I'm straight because I fear they will treat me differently if they knew I wasn't.

Straight privilege exists in the same way as white or even pretty privilege may exist and because these exist there's that automatic conception of queer, poc, ugly, fat disemfranschismet to run along side it.

People treat you differently based on how they perceive you. That's a fact. And for queer people, perceiving us as straight is the only way we get to be treated as human by the masses. And a lot of us embrace that- straight until proven gay am I right 🤣🤣🤣🤣

It's the duper's delight for me. Untill you catch me with a 5'8 melanin skinned silk pressed auntie on my left nipple good luck proving I'm gay.

It can be fun, I akekeke when some people around me are totally oblivious to the fact and even sometimes defend my straightness with their dying breath when nasty friends throw them shades or try to out me unprovoked.

A lot of us don't want to admit we are gay because we don't want to be disenfranchised.

I speak for myself when I say this.

But 'Don't assume someone's sexuality' is a double edged censorship used for and against queer people. It seemly offers protection on the surface of it for queer people but underneath it promotes heteronormativity and standardizes straightness and it is also used to promote closet culture, under the disguise of care and concern for the autonomy of queer people but that is a fallacy because our autonomy has never mattered to anyone since the dawn of homophobia.

And I don't know where this interpretation comes from. Why do people not want to assume queer people's sexuality but it's ok to assume straight people's???

It feels like a hijacked movement to me.

THIS IS THE ACCURATE MOVEMENT AS FAR AS I'M CONCERNED.

Don't assume all people are straight. It's ok to assume some people are queer because queer people exists too.

It is wrong however to assume queerness based on how a person talks, walks, dresses or even on their body type. That is stereotyping. And stereotyping is wrong.

When it comes to Jikook, Jimin is often stereotyped as gay more so than Jungkook because they have different body structures. Jungkook is stereotyped too solely because of the way his wrists hang, or based on moments he's femininity shines through.

But I don't think shippers stereotype Jikook in that way at all. I dont think shippers believe Jikook are dating eachother simply because Jungkook applied setting powder to his face that one time. They assume they are gay only because they believe those two to be dating eachother. That is not stereotyping. If those two were heterosexuals I don't think people will accuse their shippers of stereotyping.

It's one thing to assume Kai is gay because he looks skinny and dances well. It's another to assume he is gay because in a relationship with Gdragon. And if people can't tell the difference between the two, they should get some education and stop talking about things they know nothing about or only know because they stumbled across user69 on Twitter. They are not helping.

Untill people get offended when people assume others are straight, that rhetoric doesn't matter in its inequality. If you ask me, everyone is gay until proven straight.

Yet how many people will take offense at that?

Assuming people can be gay is not delulu.

It's ok to assume people can be gay. It's wrong to stereotype them as gay. If you can't assume they are gay, don't assume they are straight and don't assume at all. Run with this sis.

Wait, they don't ship Jikook but they call Jikook boyfriends???????👀👀👀👀👀

The fake woke syndrome will kill people in this fandom with these mentally confused thought crisis bunch💀💀💀💀

Jikook themselves are shippers💀

Smh

GOLDY

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vemuabhi · 3 years

Note

Hii! It´s me popping here again! How are you doing? So, I would like to ask if you have a favorite Sanji moment and outfit (if it´s possible to chose hahaha) <3

Author san~~~ I'm doing good. How are you. And.... this ask... it took a long while for me to collect the pictures and scenes. I had so many scenes but I tried so much to cut them down to some of the scenes.

This is going to be a long freaking post. With cusses and spoilers.

Sit back and play a song for feels!

My Favourite Sanji scenes!!!

Warnings : Simping, Please be aware I sometimes cuss at that man because I love him. That is how I really am. I cuss the person that I love idk why. But not all the people I cuss are the ones I love. There will be a lot of difference and I'll respect that.

Disclaimer: This is solely my pure opinion.

There are just so many moments like when Sanji saves Otama or tries on his raid suit and all those but Tumblr won't allow me to post more than 10 pictures sadly. So I did the only scenes part here, I'll do outfits in other post and make sure I'll link it here too. Check it out also!

So.. yeah... here it goes. My favourite scenes of Snooj!!

1) Sanji VS Enel

the 1st thing I always remember about Sanjis Coolest scenes is the one at skypiea. Sadly its one of the underrated scene of the anime.

Sanji in this scene protects Ussop and takes the hit. See his smile at the end. Wait for it. The SanUso moment is so pure where ussop understands Sanjis feelings completely.

He stands still even after receiving the hit and then takes a puff of his cigarette and says "Thanks, I needed a light", then falls down. Please... why isn't he given more credit. He is an amazing chef and yes I know you see it but... he has his amazing fight scenes too.

I absolutely adore the way Sanji always thinks about so many things while he fights. I mean... he plays with the mind too. You see, in this same scene he made sure to ruin enels ark from the inside. He is like this in another movie too. Not only that, a scene in alabasta arc too, where he enters into the base of Mr. 3 and talks to crocodile.

2) Sanji saving the Vinsmokes

Even after facing so much of abuse, he still saved his father and siblings. Looking at them after saving their asses is a delight to watch.

This is the moment they all realise that Sanji won... he has become stronger without their genes and techniques.

3) Sanji shouts at Luffy for Ussop

As Ussop and Luffy start to argue about merry, Luffy almost says to pack up and leave but he was stopped in between because Sanji kicks gim in the face and shouts at him for almost saying Ussop should leave.

Sanji never lets anyone to talk about leaving (even though he left and had a huge ass arc for him). He really cares about his crew and hates and it is really shown here. Not only the ladies. He definitely cares about the guys of the crew too.

4) Sanji uses Knives to fight

Cmon... its the only fight of Sanjis that he uses knives. The person being a chef and using food to fight made Sanji even more angry. He was already trying to find Robin chan and got into this shit where another chef keeps his kitchen dirty and uses food, pissed him off.

He decided to teach him a lesson and got into the fight by using Knives (Improvisation on spot!) Isnt he excellent here.

5) Reunion with Luffy

Getting back to his King, his Captain Luffy was the only scene where Sanji smiled truly after coming to the Whole Cake island. Its way too adorable. Him realising what he truly wants and to know that his nakama would save him definitely if he is in any problem.

Their smile is definitely the most precious. Infact for me... their smiles are the one piece for me. The most valuable treasures.

Bonus scenes

* Sanji saving the Maid of Vinsmoke family

Never he lets anyone harm a lady. Its not him. I could add Kalifa scene here but... this is also a good scene. One of the reasons why I really respect him. Yeah it gets annoying some times but... still its just how he is.

* Him saving Tashigi because he heard her cry.

I know its Extra af but cmon, we are dealing with Sanji here. Its going to be like that.

* Sanji's Surgeries

He is the best plastic surgeon ever. I won't step back on this opinion. He just makes people to completely change their faces. There were 2 of these who were shown in the anime. I really wanna see more people though.

* AceSan and ZoSan moments

I definitely love these scenes so much. The Ace scene is just so beautiful + dreamy. He was so daamn polite and so nice with Ace. Yes Sanji is good with everyone if they are polite with him.

The ZoSan scene is perfect + precious. Yes this is the thirst quencher for me. I adore this moment very much. Please they could've kissed.

The next one is kinda personal and not that needed. So I suggest you to skip this.

Like Comment and Reblog this! And share your favourite moments of Sanji with me!!!

XOXOXOXO

But if you wanna read then go ahead.

* After Sanji and Pudding Kiss and also pudding cries.

This scene was so emotional and personal to me...

Its weird but... when she was crying, I was crying too. Idk why These feelings were there but... It was the moment I realised I liked that jerk Sanji. And... I actually dont like pudding. Everything about her felt a bit odd and not trustworthy. But... when she cried. I cried too. When I was rewatching that scene now again, I cried. I myself don't know why I cry watching that scene. I get so many mixed emotions and my feelings are not even clear to me. I don't know.

If you did read this. Thankyou for reading.

Like Comment and Reblog this! And share your favourite moments of Sanji with me!!!

Wait.. you say you didn't read my post on "my favourite outfits" then click here!!!

#one piece #sanji x reader #sanji #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #sanji imagine #one piece x reader #one piece strawhats #zosan #whole cake island

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gingersnappe-9 · 3 years

Text

Quisiera: Growing Pains (2)

Javier Peña / F!Reader; Post Narcos

Masterlist || Series List || Taglist Form || PREVIOUS || NEXT

1.9K words

Summary: You have a lot on your mind. You never expected Javi to be one of them. But that's nothing a good soak can't fix, right?

Warnings: mention of loss of parent & degenerative diseases, minor depictions of sexual thoughts, minor profanity

A/N: because I'm a major dork, and no one asked, I created the floor plan for the reader's house and my friend @followwhereshegoes designed it in Sims for me. The photos are at the end of the chapter. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

Your hair blew in the wind as you drove your work-beaten Ford F-250 home. Papers from a long day of checking up on animals and livestock fluttered beneath your now empty thermos for coffee. Your head bobbed with the familiar bumps and turns of the road as you drove home. The ride wasn’t unlike it had been any other day, but as you pulled into your driveway and peaked to the left and you knew he would be there. You had known for a few weeks now that Javi had been back. On a courtesy visit for Don Jesús -- Javi’s dad -- he had mentioned his son might be returning to Texas soon. That had to have been roughly two, maybe three months ago?

You never thought you would see him again. The kid who always thought he knew best. The one who was so sure of himself and that the world was his oyster. You weren’t surprised that he didn’t recognize you though. That was Javi you grew up with. This Javier was different. It was plain to see that he carried a weight with him. Knowing the things he knew, holding on to whatever he’d done in the back of his mind now and forever. He wasn’t the bright and shiny version of Javi you once knew, but he was still as golden as ever.

As you hopped out of the car and twirled the keys on your finger, you were beyond satisfied at your decision to postpone your reunion with Javi. Crossing the threshold of your house you recalled how panicked he looked. The quick flashes of “oh shit” in his eyes before he masked his uncertainty with precision and a charming smile. To others, he played it off fine, but you knew Javi before he was Agent Peña. You’d practically grown up with him so you were privy to those subtle tells.

Javi’s abuelos moved to be closer to their son and his family. His grandparents and your parents met in English class after they moved to America and the families stayed close ever since. Javi’s family was from Mexico, and yours came from Colombia. Each of your tíos and tías helped watch and raise you and your primos. While most of your blood relatives were still in Colombia, you loved your found family here in the States. All of the birthdays spent in one another’s backyards with copious amounts of candy that came pouring out of piñatas. Big Christmas gatherings with mountains of food like ponche, pozole verde, and dulcitos like your favorite manjar blanco. Above all, you remember the laughter.

You laughed so much as a child. Someone could look at you in such a way and you would have burst out into a fit of giggles and happy squeals. It was a bittersweet thing to recall. Things were just… different now. You grew up. Life changed, you certainly had.

This was the home your parents had built not too long after they came to America. You still felt like a little kid playing house sometimes. Being the sole occupant felt strange after the years you spent growing up with the place bursting with laughter, people, and above all love. But life changed. Your mother had died of a heart attack the year before you finished vet school. Ten years back, your father was diagnosed with early onset dementia and it was left to you to make the hard decision of placing him in a nursing home. You couldn’t care for him with the hours you worked at the clinic, and you didn’t think your heart could bear seeing the man you admired slowly fade away. It made you feel awful to admit, but there was only so much a heart could take. It could’ve been different if you still had your mamá, but it was just you.

Your body hitched a bit as you bent over to pull the dirt caked boots off your feet. Growing up is fun, they said. They never mentioned anything about rapid onset aches and pains once you passed thirty. You loved being a vet, you loved taking care of horses and all manner of livestock; being there for the folks who relied on you, but man alive was it taxing on the body.

As you padded your way into the study just to the left of the front door, you dropped the excess paperwork and lunch pale on your desk; your boots onto the old mat so as to not spread anymore dirt in the house. Trying your best to properly file away your paperwork, billing receipts and lists of future visits, you found your mind wandering back to Javier.

The wonderful way his bone structure had sharpened with age. Yeah he was a good looking teenage boy -- a bit on the thin side, but strong in body and mind -- but this version of Javi was a stud. His skin was naturally tanner than some, but it was even more bronzed by the sun from his time down in Colombia. A man with strong looking hands that wrapped the circumference of the tumbler glass filled with neat whiskey meanwhile yours could only manage to get around halfway. You were extremely annoyed at how he could pull off a damn mustache without looking like a creep. Finding that you were spending far too much time thinking about Javier Peña rather than getting your ass ready for bed, you set off on your nightly routine.

Pushing yourself up and out of the desk chair was more tiresome than you would have liked to admit, but not impossible. You then opened the door that led into your bedroom. It still felt a bit weird to call it your bedroom after all this time.

You had redecorated the place to your tastes. The main bedroom now had a beautiful four post bed with pleated gossamer drapes around the posts. The warm wood bureau and doors matched the deep trim of the window sills and frames throughout the house. You removed your everyday jewelry and placed them in the little wooden dishes you had bought in Colombia the last time you visited. You had just turned twenty two then, and didn’t care to remember how old you were now. Admiring the fine artistry of the delicately carved lines and lacquered scenery of a village always brought back fine memories, summers spent in a home away from home. Peeling off your work clothes proved a bit more challenging now that your muscles and bones had started to stiffen from the wear of the workday. You walked into your bathroom as naked as the day you were born, a small perk of having moved into the main bedroom since it had an ensuite bathroom.

After the long day, a shower just didn’t seem like it was going to cut it. You pivoted to the left and began to draw a steaming hot bath. A few drops of essential oil were splashed into the piping hot water. Your abuelita did always say, “Medicina cuando la necesita, pero los remedios naturales siempre son los mejores.”

Medicine when you need it, but natural remedies are always best.

Once the tub was filled as high as it could go and still accommodate your body, the taps were shut off, and you slipped into the warm bliss. The water worked its magic while you turned on a small radio that sat on the windowsill. It was tuned in to some station based in Mexico that always played música rancheras. You were a self-proclaimed “old soul” and loved your parents' generational music. It was a not-so-guilty-pleasure for you. Even when you were younger, some of the other kids made fun of you for not liking the more modern music. But your mom always reassured you it was because you were un romántico. A romantic.

The soulful melodies and elegant guitar echoed through the steam from the bath as your aches and pains were softly pulled from your bones. The sky outside the window was a dusty pink muddled with orange. The heat from the bath was wonderful. Your mind wandered ever farther as you sunk deeper into relaxation. Tonight was one of those evenings you imagined someone else in the tub with you, it was one of the reasons you’d thrown in a couple extra bucks when you redid the bathroom. You imagined leaning against their chest, them running their hands up and down the inner part of your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you wanted their touch the most.

Big and strong hands. Ones that weren’t afraid to leave an imprint, a reminder of their presence. Your cheeks flushed at the thought of them gently pressing and squeezing into your thighs, chest, and hips. The fantasy completed itself when you put a face to this mystery man.

Warm brown eyes, a well-defined jaw, somewhat pouty lips that practically begged you to kiss them with a fucking mustache of all things. You imagined the sound of his voice right next to your ear, whispering dirty things while he continued to paw at your body with confidence. The fresh recall of your most recent conversation made the day dream seem all the more real. It was intimate, enticing. You hadn't had any real boyfriend in a while and with the luscious way the water lapped over your skin, you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together unconsciously as his conjured words echoed in your mind.

You feel so soft, Armorsita. Do you like when I touch you here, baby? Oh, you do. I can tell. Mi dama. Tell me. Tell me how much you like it, how much you love being mine. Let me have you, all of you. Let me show you just how much I love touching you right…

Your mind snapped back when your head slipped from its perch on the back of the tub. The room felt steamier than it had before even as the water temperature had dipped to lukewarm.

Was I really just fantasizing about Javier Peña of all people?

It was official then. You needed to get into bed and sleep off whatever delusions these were and come back to reality.

Fully washed and dried, you finished your routine by lathering yourself in your favorite lavender body lotion. Your body felt much better without the thin layer of Texas dust smothering your skin. Something different, however, clouded your mind, or rather, someone. It was a bit alarming how easily Javier permeated your idle thoughts. The encounter suddenly became very clear.

Why did you say goodnight as sultry as you did? Was that even sultry? Why do I keep thinking about it being “sultry”?

Your mind recalled the brief moment your lips touched his cheek. It wasn’t unlike any other time you kissed a friend goodbye. You’d been doing it forever. It was how you said goodbye. You knew that, and so did he. So why did it carve out its own special place in your mind? Why were the sensations so clear and vidid? Why did you so badly want to do it again and again without pause?

Of course your mind would fixate on the person who had just recently come back into your life. It was only natural. Humans are designed to notice differences. It’s a survival technique. To pay attention to possible threats. And you had yet to make up your mind if you considered this version of Javier Peña a friend or foe.

Taglist: @hnt-escape @betti-book @mcueveryday @athalien

#pedro pascal characters #narcos au #narcos #narcos fanfiction #javier peña

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angelicmichael · 3 years

Text

living after midnight

Brooke Thompson x Montana Duke

Summary: Brooke and Montana get a bit intoxicated and get a bit carried away while going night swimming. Based off this post I made a week ago hehe

Words: 3.1k+

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and also vague mentions of weed, stripping (no nudity tho LOL), lotssss of sexual tension, lots of fluff, slowburn, friends to lovers, weird yearning angst for like .02 seconds lmao

A/N: Hey guys, sorry if this is random but I got random inspo for brotana so.. here this is lmao. Believe it or not I did try to make this under 1k words but.. I got carried away so I’m sorry that’s it’s long 😭. But the fic happens sometime after Brooke and Montana meet but before any camp redwood fuckery happens lmao. Anyway I hope y’all like this!! This is also probably the fastest I’ve ever written a fic so I hope it’s atleast decent haha. Anyway enjoy <3

A gentle breeze danced against Brookes exposed skin. The midnight air cold on its own regard but it seemed to blend perfectly with the extensive heat that radiated from the bonfire she sat in front of.

The night was entirely pitch black. The moon was vacant from the sky, leaving the only source of light to come from the giant fire that sat at Brookes shoes.

It was admittedly a bit unsettling being in almost the total darkness, especially with how many girls had recently gone missing in L.A as of late but the beer in her system had mostly put those thoughts to rest. Plus, being with three men and Montana was also reassuring. Even if she didn’t exactly know Xavier, Chet or Ray that well but.. she knew Montana.

It was nearly impossible to forget about how they met.. in the girls locker room in the showers and well; it’s not as if things were any less weird now. Showers or not.

It’s not as if Brooke and Montana were best friends or super close, because that definitely wasnt the case; but they weren’t acquaintances either by any means. The weird tension and ‘playfulness’ that lied between them ruled out being friends.. or that’s Brooke liked to think anyway when she had one too many things to drink. Like now.

Her legs twitched a bit restlessly; content at the ambience that surrounded her but not content with her current state of being. Like how she knew she should be enjoying herself, drunk, not caring about particularly anything at all but instead all she could do was fucking care. Her thoughts were purely infiltrated with Montana and it was embarrassing, to say the least but now that she was intoxicated there was really no harm in fighting it. No matter how annoying and taunting those thoughts truly were.

After all, Why should she not think about how nice it would be to feel Montana’s hands (which she knew had to be soft and delicate) on her waist and down her back? Why should she not think about Montana’s soft lips moving against her own, a few strands of her bleached hair (which definitely had lost it softness due to excessive over bleaching) brushing up against her face accidentally?

That was a rhetorical question; because she knew exactly why she avoided those type of thoughts on a normal day to day basis. Not because it would make things awkward between them but because it was beyond fucking painful to imagine scenarios that would never happen.. Never.

The smell of the fire and the sounds of the wood crackling, which was far too dry and poorly stacked (neither Xavier, Chet or Ray could build a proper fire to save their life), helped bring Brooke out of her thoughts and bit more into reality. So did the gentle sway of the tree branches which she could see in her peripheral vision, since they were right on the cusp of a forest that cut off to a beach. Ocean waves which slowly dragged across the sand were also soothing to listen too, albeit distant over the sound of Brookes friends screaming and laughing and being heavily intoxicated over what was more than just alcohol and weed.

Brooke reached down and swiftly grabbed the beer can which was previously lodged upright in the sand. Lifting the can up to her lips and cringing and unconsciously tensing up as she swallowed until the can was nearly weightless - wiping her mouth with the back of her hand just to see-

“Montana?!” Brooke nearly yelled. Both alcohol and temporary shock making her speak way louder than what was realistically needed.

Montana, who was previously standing several feet away with the boys was suddenly seated right next to Brooke on the log with no warning. Probably having moved over while Brooke was poorly chugging the alcohol she hated.. but she couldn’t help but to notice that their thighs (as well as basically their entire sides) were touching as she tried to wipe the alcohol that had embarrassingly dripped down her front in a frenzy.

Chet and Xavier looked back at them from a few feet away as they smoked what Brooke knew had to be a joint. Briefly laughing and giving the pair of women an amused glance before turning around and immersing themselves in whatever conversation they were previously having.

Brooke sheepishly met Montana’s gaze, feeling her cheeks grow nearly unbearably hot at the awareness that she was now being watched.. studied almost.

“Sorry,” Brooke added with a giggle.

Montana responded with a slight upturn of her lips; amused with Brookes actions not because she found it necessarily funny or pitiful, but for the sole reason that.. it was cute and endearing that Brooke couldn’t really hold her alcohol for shit.

It made her unique and different from everyone else Montana acquainted herself with. People that Montana had to basically learn to keep up with.. but Brooke on the other hand was different.. She was a breath of fresh air, and that’s why Montana assumed she was so attracted to her (besides her looks, of course).

Montana tried her best to ignore and not be bothered by the fact that Brooke was wasting perfectly good alcohol by wiping it off herself (alcohol that Montana wouldn’t necessarily mind licking off Brookes lips.. or her neck, or really anywhere else off of her). Instead focusing on how suffocated she felt here.

It wasn’t necessarily anyone’s fault. After all; she loved Chet, Xavier and Ray dearly but.. they were also undoubtedly preventing anything from happening between her and Brooke.. and that needed to change.

Montana huffed. Her deep brown eyes quickly flickering at the flame and then Brooke before speaking.

“Im bored,” she announced. Suddenly standing up and not letting her eyes break the gaze she suddenly held with Brooke.

Brooke responded with a simple hum. Her jaw quickly dropping once she noticed that Montana’s bright red nails quickly darted down under her own shirt. Hooking the material under her fingertips before quickly raising the shirt up and over her head. Throwing it back somewhere behind the log Brooke still sat on.. somewhere where Brooke was almost certain Montana wouldn’t be able to locate later.. which was probably done on purpose.

Brookes jaw still stayed ajar when she saw Montana’s hands automatically fly down to the small jean shorts she was wearing. She could do nothing but watch as she saw the button unhook- wait.. what exactly was happening?

“Montana, what are you doing?” Brooke asked with a laugh.

Brooke tried her best to fight the urge to look at her friend who was now well.. in her bra and underwear, out of what she was trying to convince herself was respect, but it wasn’t working. She knew for a fact her cheeks had to burnt bright fucking red; she tried to laugh off the feeling but Montana still stared.. her smile slowly growing wider until sudden laughter momentarily broke the tension again.

Brooke and Montana both looked behind them just to find the boys laughing and whooping as well at Montana’s sudden lack of clothes.

Brooke smiled back at them but it only lasted a second before she found herself overtaken with a emotion she never really felt around Montana before.. was it jealousy?

Just the sight of them staring at Montana (who obviously didn’t give a fuck, or was thriving off the attention more than anything) was enough to make Brooke stand up.

“Go swimming with me?” Brooke suddenly proposed. More than certain that her sudden impulsivity was coming from the alcohol more than anything.. it had to be, right?

Brooke looked Montana in the eyes again as she watched the other woman’s expression suddenly change at her words; looking utterly shocked and.. maybe a bit thrilled.

“You want to go swimming?” Montana nearly sneered, her tone reeked off utter disbelief, “and what are you gonna wear?”

Brooke laughed at what the other woman was implying. Her dark brown eyes slipped down to admire the rest of Montana’s body that she dared not to look at previously. Only looking for a second at the matching cherry red set that Montana wore. A bra which was most definitely too tight and cut a bit small, along with a thong with sat a bit high on her hips which only accentuated her figure even further.

She didn’t have time to think; her eyes darting back up to meet Montana’s which she knew were watching her.

“I’m not going naked-“

“You don’t have too. It’s not like their gonna see us anyway once we get away from the fire. Here.”

They both spoke in hushed whispers. Weirdly paranoid that maybe the boys would overhear and wanna join which- was something they both clearly didn’t want, although unspoken.

The distance between them was minimal enough due to alcohol (and other substances in Montana’s case) running high in their systems. Making personal space something that was now nonexistent.

Montana extended her hand out to Brooke to take. She quickly grabbed her hand, hoping desperately it wasn’t sweaty from how close they were to the fire and also.. just from the situation she was bound to find herself in. But due to Montana’s reaction (or lack thereof) she knew she had nothing to worry about.. sweaty palms or not, she knew Montana wouldn’t judge her. No matter how insane the circumstance; Brooke always felt safe around Montana. That’s why she supposed she was currently following her into the pitch black - her vision getting more and more sparse as they walked away from the fire and into some nearby trees that framed the beach..

“Are you sure they can’t see me?” Brooke asked, trying her best to look through the trees and see if any of her friends happened to be looking but - she couldn’t really make out anything besides the subtle outline of her surroundings which included Montana.

“They can’t see you. Relax,” Montana said with a giggle. “Now do I need to help you undress? Your taking forever and I’m hot- and it’s not like I haven’t seen you wearing less-“

Brooke tried her best to look offended and shocked by her reference to how they met. She knew that normally with nothing in her system she would’ve easily sidestepped Montana’s ruthless flirting but.. something felt different about tonight. After all; why should she keep trying so hard to resist something they both felt? And it wasn’t like anyone could see them anyway..

Brooke quickly turned her head to where she knew Montana was and stepped closer until they were barely a foot apart. Her feet nearly stumbled on Montana’s from the proximity; biting her lip to prevent herself from stupidly giggling once she felt hot breath on her cheek.

She grabbed Montana’s hands which first held hers back limply but briefly held hers tighter before Brooke directed her hands on her shirt.

“Take it off,” Brooke uttered. Her voice barely audible but not quite loud enough to be discerned as a whisper.

Montana didn’t hesitate as she quickly took Brookes shirt off, barely feeling the soft fabric against her fingertips before she quickly threw it behind them into the forest. Montana didn’t wait for Brooke to say anything before her fingers were quickly undoing the button and the zipper of her jean shorts which were only thrown somewhere in the forest as well (hopefully near her shirt.. Brooke could only hope).

Brooke tried her best to not look bothered by her sudden lack of clothes but she also knew that was purely idiotic since they were in the pitch black.

Nevertheless she looked down at herself, trying to discern whether her figure was actually visible or not but Montana grabbed her hand again. Making her gaze snap upward as she led her out. She knew they were going out to the water now; the sand under her feet and the fire now visible from a distance as they continued to go out. The sand becoming more grainy and nearly painful to step on as they got closer to the water.

Brooke quickly looked over her shoulder before she took the first step in - still holding onto Montana’s hand. She quickly glanced to see if any of the men they had came with were watching but surely enough they were still talking and laughing as if they didn’t even notice they had gone missing.. and they probably hadn’t given how fucked up they were.

Perfect.

She continued to hold onto Montana’s hand as she went further and further into the water; not phased by the sudden coolness she felt as the water wrapped around her legs.. submerging her further and further until they both finally stopped. The water lapping around Brookes waist, and well, nearly Montana’s chest since she was a few inches shorter than Brooke.

The water seemed to be a perfect temperature despite them being at the ocean; and the rocks had since disappeared under their feet and changed back into soft sand which also made the current situation a bit more enjoyable.

Brooke tilted her head back a bit, worried momentarily that her hair might get wet but it was worth it. It was absolutely breathtaking.

The night sky which previously looked completely black and void of any light whatsoever was now painted with what looked to be a million stars.

“Do you see this?” Brooke asked.

“What, the stars?” Montana answered, her voice holding a bit of amusement to it and almost as if she was trying to hold back a laugh.

“Yeah,” Brooke affirmed with a nod. Still keeping her gaze fixated to the night sky.

“What about them?” Montana asked.

The water rippled a bit as Montana started to a take a few steps closer towards Brooke, dissatisfied at the distance between them.

“Nothing. I just- it’s beautiful. I never do things like this,” Brooke responded, tilting her head down to make eye contact with Montana as she finished her sentence.

Montana smirked.

“Never?” She asked with a laugh. “C'mon. I’m not wet enough, let’s go deeper.”

Before Brooke could protest, Montana grabbed both of her hands and pulled her deeper in the water.

“But I didn’t bring a towel!”

“Your not gonna need one. We can warm up by the fire, remember?”

They continued to keep wading until the water almost spilled over Montana’s shoulders. The water barely touching Brookes collarbones but getting some of her hair wet regardless.

She hesitantly let go of the other woman’s hand in the water, intent on using her hand to help her gain balance since a few rocks were still on the ocean ground but - the exact opposite happened.

Brooke didn’t even have time to gasp or scream before her left foot quickly slid on a random rock that just.. of course.. had to fucking be there. Her hands quickly landed on Montana’s shoulders; the rest of her body accidentally falling into the other woman’s but she only felt Montana’s hands suddenly grab gently at her back. Holding her in place against her body.

Brookes eyes instinctively closed shut but when she slowly opened them and reluctantly lifted her head higher up (silently cursing herself for accidentally getting her hair almost entirely wet now) she noticed.. how close they were to each other.

Her nose was only centimeters away from Montana's shoulder.. which meant-

“Are you okay?” Montana asked softly, speaking unintentionally right next to her ear which made a shiver run up Brookes spine.

“Mhm,” Brooke responded.

She rose her head up further - her vision fully black now due to closing her eyes so tightly and being disoriented from slipping, but she knew from hearing Montana’s voice that she had to be close. Very close.

Moving her head a bit to the left.. almost microscopically, not wanting whatever ‘this’ was to necessarily be clumsy but she knew she didn’t necessarily have a choice in the dark.

“What are you doing?” Montana continued to whisper.

Brooke couldn’t help but to smile and let out a giggle that made her sound far more drunk than she actually was. She knew exactly where Montana’s lips were now due to her speaking. Thank god.

“You’ll see.”

Brooke leaned in slowly. Briefly bumping noses before catching Montana’s lips with her own. The feeling so heavenly and overdue - not enough but simultaneously far too much to take in all at once.

The taste of dull, gut wrenching beer started to flood her mouth. It was all that Montana basically tasted like.. that and a bit like smoke but Brooke didn’t mind. If anything it made the feelings of infatuation temporarily stronger. Brookes nails started to pierce the other woman’s back; wanting nothing more than to just have.. more. More of Montana; her taste, her hands, her touch.. the feeling was both pathetic but impossible to fight any longer.

The mere thought that this was something she was previously holding herself back from having was almost laughable but- that would be something to think about for another time.

Montana’s lips softly broke from hers.

“Eager.. aren’t you?” She teased.

Brookes eyes still refused to adjust but she knew Montana had to be grinning.

“Sorry.. I just-“

“Don’t be sorry. You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” Montana said lowly.

Montana suddenly leaned in with no warning. Her hands softly grabbed Brookes shoulders; leaning in to pull her bottom lip with her teeth.

After she let go, the feeling to kiss her again was strong but.. she thought of something better. The thrill of the chase was something Brooke always enjoyed, after all.

Brooke took a few steps back suddenly before quickly heading for the shore. Not really going that fast at all due to the resistance of the water pushing up against her legs but she laughed regardless.

She could hear Montana laughing and calling her a jerk in the distance but it was all just noise at this point. Her voice, the water rushing, the fire and their friends (which grew gradually louder as she approached) all started to sound the same.

Maybe the alcohol was finally kicking in.

Even though Brooke definitely felt tipsy, she still felt nervous the closer she got from being fully submerged out of the water. Maybe it was due to the fact she wasn’t certain what was going to happen at the fire, or if their friends had even heard anything but she knew atleast now she would have Montana. Exactly how she had Montana was something to be determined later, but as she finally stepped out and away from the nearly black ocean waves and ran up to the fire to go wait for Montana - she was comforted by the thought that things would now never be the same and forever would be different between the two of them.

Which had to be a good thing; right?

Taglist: @michaellangdonstanaccount @langdonsexual @jimmason @blakescoven @dark-mei-rose @9layerdevilfoodcake @prophecy-is-inevitable @matildaofoz @beautyiswithinchaos @frenchlangdon @king-with-no-crovvn @melodylangdon @littledemondani @celestialrequiem @sojournmichael @ritualmichael @waitinvain @twilightzone24

Let me know if u would like to be added or removed to the taglist hehe

#brooke x montana #brooke thompson x montana duke #brotana #ahs fanfiction #ahs fanfic #my fic #will post to ao3 soon 😌#did I procrastinate my Andy fic to write this?? maybe lmao #I’m almost done w my Andy fic tho I swear 😭#i know I never talk about brotana so this is probably random asf but I just wanted to write something wlw 😌

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loth-wolffe · 3 years

Note

About that Fox post: i absolutely love you for writing it, thank you for that

Also, for your consideration:

- Where were you during the zillo beast attack?

- throwing a surprise birthday party for him?

- going shopping together

- I have a scenario that him dating an investigative journalist would be very chaotic, any thoughts?

- what's the friendship with his brothers like?

- why do i fell he would be good with kids? Like your nephew or something

- on that note, does he get the dad genes from Jango?

- post-war AU? in the timeline where Palpatine chokes and dies like he's supposed to

- Getting!! Married!! (eventualy)

many Fox thoughts today, many thoughts

sorry this is so long, I have little self control and a lots of love for fox. i love u so much for asking this and letting me explore what a life with fox would be like.

also I apologize for being a h*rny bitch and not controling myself, so nsfw thots are marked like this so if u wanna skip that's fine.

and uh, first I'm gonna answer the investigative journalist hc and base everything about this in that solely thought because that's a galaxy brain thing to say.

I have a scenario that him dating an investigative journalist would be very chaotic, any thoughts?

AHDJSJ I LOVE THIS. okay okay but I feel like because of this job this is exactly why you guys met, like you needed some info and you asked some shiny but he didn't know a thing and you were like "is there someone I can talk with about this?" and when he's about to reply, Fox enters in action and he's like "need anything?" but sO COCKY.

he hates journalists mostly because some of them treat the clones very badly and never talk about the casualties or that kind of stuff about war, right.

like, it would turn into this-- banter filled with sexual tension that would've ended up in a make out session if 1. fox didn't have that much of self control and two if he weren't wearing his bucket.

it'd be like

"listen man-"

"it's commander for you." a pause, "or sir."

or like

"i need to do other things if you don't mind."

"i can think of a few you could be doing right now." and the way your eyes run through his entire body, even if he's all covered in plastoid but damn you if he isn't the hottest man walking, and he actually shivers, and gulps, because it's not like he wasn't thinking about that either, pushing down your pants and railing you right then and there in that fucking filthy alley. he is well aware how his suddenly codpiece feels too tight, but you only smirk and go, "you know, like giving me the information I need?"

KDJSJ IMAGINE THE POWER. THE POSSIBILITIES.

it'd be so ridiculous, but you also caused this impression on him that when you turned away to go on your business he was dEVASTED, but he didn't want to let u know he actually liked you. He's stubborn, that man.

So by some miracle when you're investigating something, you guys run into each other bc he's on patrol or something and he's GIDDY. but also frozen in place bc he didn't think he would ever see you again, mostly because Coruscant is big and has too many people in it. and you're like

"ah, commander fox, isn't it?" and he quickly resumes to say something that shows how aNNOYED he pretends to be, but he ends up tagging alone because "these parts are not safe"

"oh?"

"you'd need protection."

and the smirk you have is sO ARROGANT because it's not your first rodeo.

"you wouldn't want to have a civvie getting killed or something on your watch now, would you?" and he clears his throat and nods sharply. and you give him this innocent eyes and bat your lashes, "my hero."

and if you think those words didn't do aNYTHING to him, you're mistaken u hear me, he's instantly hARD.

so anyways after that YOU ask him out, and he's like, stuttering and saying yes and all.

now some random thoughts on this magnificent hc.

• if it can't be himself, he would always have the men he trusts the most going on patrols around the zone you're around in case something happens.

• he lOVES when you rant about something new you discovered, and when he asks for mOre info bc he's a, how do you say chismoso?, he loves gossip??? anyways and you're like "nu huh, you gotta wait till tomorrow, foxie"

• he aLWAYS makes sure to read/see your job, either if you work for some newspaper, magazine, etc or if you're on the TV he nEVER misses it.

• if you work for the TV, his brothers are always like "fOX YOUR GIRL IS ON THE HOLONET LIKE RN!!!" and he gives them this bitch face because he kNOWS THANK YOU.

• alright but imagine going on dates with him and being like "did you know there was an investigation last year around this part that–?" ROMANCE AT ITS PEAK.

• if his shift ends before you even think of going home, he definitely joins you on your investigations.

Where were you during the zillo beast attack?

uhh, I think you'd be home, like maybe you turned in early and fox maybe didn't know, so he was almost in tears when he called you after the whole thing happened because he was so worried.

of course, during the attack, he tried to push the thought aside, bc I think all clones have this, uh, switch, that makes them not worry during missions that much? just like, have this thought here and there but nothing serious that would make them paralyzed and have a panic attack right there. but every second he thought of you and hoped you were alright.

unlike you, that were worried sick because you saw the chaos unfold, the troopers arriving in shuttles and the jedi doing whatever they were doing and you just heard destruction. you DID cried a bit and when fox called you, you cried even harder. and he was like "it's alright, I'm alright baby."

that night he hold you SO tight, whispering sweet nothings on your ear and never stopped kissing you once. you barely got any sleep because you were so afraid of waking up only to find out the other died on the attack and it was all a dream.

throwing a surprise birthday party for him?

AAAAAH THIS IS SO CUTE.

now, clones don't exactly have a birthday???? but he did all these nice things for your birthday (he and the boys baked you a cake that was sO UGLY and tasted a bit weird) so you thought you could surprise him too.

it's most likely he gives you the date when he graduated from Kamino or something and for all the years you're with him, you never miss his "birthday" at first you did something quiet, like a dinner at your place, bought him something nice, gave him a bath or something and spoiled the shit out of him.

so for the second year, you threw him a party in his office, made him this cake or whatever and decorated with red and white balloons and invited a few troopers that wanted to help you and he was stoic for a moment, but then you were like "hAPPY BIRTHDAY!" and hugged him so tight and he relaxed under your touch and whispered this small "thank you baby"

everyone congratulated him and he was a bit awkward but when they start telling all these stories of them and fox on the job, he starts to loosen up a bit, so while everyone is eating cake he hugs you from behind and chuckling lowly in your ear as he listens to his brothers.

he dOESNT like pda like I said but he forgets for a moment because he just loves you sO SO SO SO MUCH. it's also easier for him to whisper filthy things into your ear and mumble how good you are for him, that he doesn't deserve you, that he can't wait for everyone to leave cause he wants to have his present (you) nipping your earlobe and making u all hot and bothered and would def fuck you nice and hard on his desk. yup

going shopping together

imagine, jUST IMAGINE, he'd look like your personal bodyguard 😭😭 like, he'd be behind you carrying most of your bags and people would look at you wondering who are you, why are you sO important to have the commander of the Coruscant guard with you???

but like, you don't care and fox doesn't even notice, and he'd be so attentive, faking to be both annoyed and uninterested but he'd see this nice shirt or dress or whatever and grumble something like "you'd look good on this" i just-

and like when you pass by the lingerie store, dUDE, he'd make you model for him, him sitting like he fucking owns the place, getting harder and harder every time he sees you in a new pair of underwear and when you show off this cute little red set. damn.

if you go to the market or something, he'd always love to show you these things like "look at that" or just pull you towards this stall and you'd adORE to show him stuff like, "ohh, fox here try this" or "what you think about this?" and stuff like that.

what's the friendship with his brothers like?

i think it'd be very easy-going and light, they would tease you sometimes, but they really like you, mostly because they see fox isn't as stressed as before and they see how happy he is when around you.

they think he deserve it, to have somewhere where he's free and loved, so yeah.

they sometimes ask him about you and never miss a chance to say hi when you stop by the office.

the boys absolutely ADORE you.

why do i fell he would be good with kids? Like your nephew or something. does he get the dad genes from Jango?

HE WOULD AND HE DOES.

like, I think at first he'd be very hesitant when it comes to children, like he'd be nervous when you introduce him to your niece and when you ask him if he wants to hold her, he says a quick no and just prefers to watch you, heart feeling funny when you make faces at the little baby in your arms.

at some point he dOES hold her, with such care and a gentleness that makes your heart flutter, and he coos softly as she sleeps soundly in his arms, rocking her with a delicacy you thought impossible from such hard man, and when he looks at you his eyes shine with this flash of something you can quite place but makes your heart skip a beat and think of how much you'd love to have this, with him, a little family, a baby that has his curls and maybe your eyes, a mix of your skin color with his and maybe his stubbornness completed by your charisma. a perfect little thing for you two to hold and care and love.

he'd be such a good dad, but then again every clone would be the most fantastic dad bc it's literally in their genes.

if you have a nephew that is, u know, older but still a kiddie, like 5 or 6, the lil boy would be aMAZED by fox, he'd love him so much, like imagine, always asking for the commander, wanting to play with him, asking fox to carry him eVERYWHERE, and at first fox would be like, shy and uncertain and he wouldn't know how to act until he accepts the fact that this little boy really likes him and looks up to him and fox becomes The Cool Uncle™

post-war AU? in the timeline where Palpatine chokes and dies like he's supposed to and Getting!! Married!! (eventualy)

well, in my post-war AU, clones get Rights™ and get paid and have vacations and stuff, sO, maybe you get to have Fox for a little more time and his schedule isn't as bad as it was during the war, so maybe after the war you get home to a nice dinner and fox using this silly apron and sometimes you come home early just so you can cook with him.

maybe you go on holidays to these nice places, going to the beach or the woods and finally settling somewhere quiet, start a family in this nice house or if you don't want kids then it's just the two of you and maybe a few pets.

i think the wedding would be officiated in Coruscant, of course, so his brothers and your fam can go, he'd definitely cry when he see you walking down the isle or when you put the ring on his finger and he'd be so so so happy, dancing with you all night, being so clingy because he's just Over the moon, y'know, kissing your cheeks and neck, whispering how lucky he is and how much he loves you, and how good you look, never leaving your side and always leaning over with pouty lips for you to kiss him.

when he proposed it was during one of your sweet, soft times with him, maybe in the aftertaste of your sexy times, as he holds you close to his chest, fingers running up and down your skin, as he stares at the ceiling and the question comes out as if he were talking about the weather, his heartbeat is slow and steady and it's one of those times he feels confident and sure.

you have talked about a future together, so he knows you'd say yes.

it's more a statement than a question, really.

"marry me." he would say, so quietly, almost a whisper. and when you look up you only find this beautiful emotion filling his eyes.

"what?" you just want to make sure you heard right, he'd smile softly, cup your cheek and as his thumb caresses your skin he'd whisper.

"will you marry me?"

you oBVIOUSLY say yes while ugly sobbing.

#ANYWAYS #i love fox #i love him your honor #I LOVE HIM #commander fox x reader #commander fox #headcanons #ted talks with ari

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sorrelchestnut · 3 years

Text

EVERYBODY’S PICKIN’ UP ON THAT FELINE BEAT, PART 37

holy shit I finished a scene. We’re really close to the end now, y’all. That being said: this definitely ends on a cliffhanger. Fair warning.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9. Part 10. Part 11. Part 12. Part 13. Part 14. Part 15. Part 16. Part 17. Part 18. Part 19. Part 20. Part 21. Part 22. Part 23. Part 24. Part 25. Part 26. Part 27. Part 28. Part 29. Part 30. Part 31. Part 32. Part 33. Part 34. Part 35. Part 36.

Title: everybody’s picking up on that feline beat Author: Sorrel Fandom: Fallout 4 Rating: Mature Warnings: None Relationships: Deacon/Female Sole Survivor Series: Part 3 of everybody wants to be a cat

Coffee helps; fresh air and sunshine helps more. For someone who spends a significant majority of her life inside, underground, nocturnal, and/or just generally skulking around in the shadows, Whisper can be surprisingly solar-powered at times. By the time they're over the river she's in almost obnoxiously high spirits, singing "Anything Goes" in a squeaky falsetto that makes him think longingly of the roll of duct tape in his pack.

"The world has gone mad today, and good's bad today, and black's white today, and day's night today-"

"Whisper, I swear to God-"

"And that gent today you gave a cent today once had sev-er-al chateaus!"

"Alright, Cole Porter, that's enough." She grins wider and opens her mouth, and he hastily slaps a hand over it before she can start the next verse. "No."

Her lips tickle against his palm as she grumbles, "You're no fun."

"What, because I like living? You're going to bring down every raider in the greater Boston area, the way you're caterwaul- ow! Fuck!"

She tucks her thumbs in the straps of her pack and gives him a cheerful, empty-headed smile, showing off the pearly white teeth she just sunk into the base of his thumb. "Talk shit, get hit."

"Jesus, you're aggressive." He studies his hand but doesn't find any sign of bleeding, just a neat row of stark white tooth marks rapidly flushing back pink. "Whatever happened to licking my hand to gross me out?"

"Sometimes I can really tell you were an only child," she informs him, shaking her head faux-mournfully. "You gotta go big or go home, that's my motto."

"Good thing we're going home, isn't it?" When she squints at him, he smiles sunnily and holds his injured hand a couple inches above her head. "I mean, 'big' isn't exactly your strong suit, so..."

She launches herself at him with a war cry.

Bickering aside, they straighten up when they come into sight of Diamond City, falling into character as a pair of road-weary mercenaries coming off an all-night hike and desperate for a shower and some sleep. (Which, to be fair, isn't that far off from the truth, all things considered.) They're both in costume already, not that that took long. All Whisper had to do was slick back her hair and throw on a pair of sunglasses and hey presto: Olivia Bailey, ruins-rover extraordinaire. Next to her all Deacon has to do is look suitably grizzled and road-weary, so he pretty much just tossed the least-disgusting raider's jacket on over his travel clothes and smeared some dust artistically through his stubble and called it a goddamn day.

It certainly works well enough on the second-shift gate guard, a pockmarked woman with nicotine stains on her fingers. She waves them through with a disinterested nod, already going back to her book before they even clear the gate. Deacon squashes down the contrary impulse to make some kind of scene and just nods back, professional and cool, as he wraps an arm around Whisper's shoulder. She gives him a little sideways look that says I know what you're doing but doesn't bother to pull away until they're in the tunnel.

Deacon looks around and then back to her, pointedly. Whisper huffs a laugh.

"What now?"

"Nothing," he says, and waggles his eyebrows. "It's just… here we are again. Where it all started. Back to the site of our fateful first meeting."

Her eyes narrow. "Weren't you the one who said-"

"Mm, yeah, but I've had time to think about it, and I think you made a compelling point. First contact is definitely the first one that counts."

"You just don't want to 'fess up on just how long you were following me around."

"Why, partner, I'm hurt that you would think of such a thing," he says, and moves swiftly on before she can call him on the obvious evasion. "You know, you keep bringing me back here, I'm going to start thinking you've got a secret romantic streak." She gives him a look. "Very secret."

"That's me, all hearts and flowers," says quite the most ruthlessly practical woman Deacon's ever met. "Besides, if I was going to start up with romantical remembrances at this late date, that wouldn't be the one I'd pick. I was so sleep-deprived I'm lucky I remembered my own name."

"Couldn't tell to look at you," Deacon says, in massive understatement. She was all easy swagger and magazine-cover grin, on her way to bigger and better things. She sure as shit didn't look like she was running on the ragged edge of her endurance - but then, he knows better than most just how well she can lie with a smile.

She glances over at him as they break out of the tunnel, her gaze shrewd over the rim of her shades. "You remember it pretty well, huh?"

Nope, nuh-uh, not going there. "Your hair was longer," Deacon says, tweaking the end of one of her curls in a transparent bid for distraction. "I remember that for sure."

"Well, yeah," she says, ducking neatly around a kid that seems really intent on wherever she's running. "You told me to cut it."

"I did?" He definitely doesn't remember that. "When?"

"When we were prepping for the Covenant op. You said blonde, I said I had to grab some bleach, and you gave me that 'oh honey' look you do when people are being particularly stupid and told me to just cut it off, you had a spare wig lying around someplace."

That does sound like him. "And you just did it?" he says, because Whisper is a lot of things, but 'obedient' sure as shit isn't one of them.

"You were brandishing a knife when you said it," she admits. "It seemed easier to give in than argue."

Yeah, that definitely sounds like him. Especially then: that must've been, what, their first week together? Back then everything was one long haze of exhaustion, staggering from one crisis to the next with barely enough time to take a shit. Hauling her into the Covenant op was a desperation play, pure and simple: he needed backup, and anyone had to be better than Glory. He hadn't known, then, what she could do with nothing more than a smile and a little room to work.

Though he figured it out pretty damn quick.

"I'd say it worked out," he says, and tweaks her dark hair again. "You do make a fetching blonde."

She gives him a look over the tops of her shades, knowing and a bit amused. "They do have more fun."

Aaaand now he's thinking about their first time, that silver dress pushed up around her thighs, blonde wig spilling across the mattress above her and blue eyes begging him in the dark. He clears his throat. "You want to go talk to Valentine?"

"In a bit," she says, and wraps her arm around his waist. He automatically puts his arm around her in turn, and she leans her head on his shoulder, a picture-perfect image of a lovesick spouse. "Need to make the rounds, hit up a few of the merchants first. It'd be weird if I didn't."

"God forbid we look weird," he agrees, and laughs at her elbow in his stomach.

~*~

She does break off eventually, slips away to discuss things with Valentine and leaves him with a key and strict instructions to take care of dinner. Deacon makes a quick loop of his own, touching base with the runners they placed last time and offloading some of their scav while he's at it. Myrna's girl has been promoted to working the afternoon shift solo, and is more than happy to take a few extra minutes dickering in order to fill him in on the local gossip. He rounds it off with a visit to the Dugout where the cocky one is still serving drinks - Deacon makes a note to collect the ten caps from Whisper later - and picks up some dinner to go on his way out. Never let it be said he can't follow orders when it suits him.

He's setting out the plates when Whisper follows him in just a few minutes later with a slammed door and a cheerful, "Hallo the house!" from the far end of her little warehouse.

"Kitchen!" he calls back, and a moment later she appears, weaving her way through the stacked boxes and dropping a noticeably emptier pack on the floor by the stove.

"Need a hand?"

The food's pretty much done, so he tilts his head to the table with a hopeful, "Something to drink?"

"I've got just the thing," and she grabs her pack again, fishing around inside until she comes up with a couple bottles of Bobrov's homebrew. "I tried to catch you at the Dugout but Vadim said you just left. Good enough?"

"We-ell, everyone knows a dry white pairs best with seafood, but for day-old mirelurk I suppose it will just have to do."

"You're trying to ruin my appetite but it's not working," she informs him, nose in the air. "I'm so hungry I'd eat a mirelurk raw."

He laughs and nudges in behind her as she turns to grab a bottle opener. "C'mon, darlin', don't be like that. You know it's only the best for my girl."

"Flatterer," she says, nothing in her voice now but laughter. "You talk any sweeter, I'm gonna be forced to check those lips for honey."

"Aw, babe. You say the - ha ha - sweetest things." He buries his nose in the back of her neck and inhales. "I get the cigarettes, but why do you smell like one of Tom's experiments? Hot metal and burnt wiring," he clarifies, when she gives him a truly weird look.

"Oh, I stopped by Piper's after I talked to Nick," she says, all offhand as if she's not talking about the biggest gossip in the Commonwealth.

Deacon unpeels himself from her back and takes her by the shoulders. "Whisper," he says, seriously. "Do we need to have a conversation about operational security? Because I feel like you may have been out that day."

"Oh, so you want her to come by and harangue me in person? Because that is one hundred percent what she'd do if she heard I was in town and didn't go see her first."

Okay, so maybe she has a point. The thought of Piper fucking Wright showing up at his door - well, Whisper's door, whatever - demanding to know his intentions toward her friend… Yeah, no. That's gonna be a haaaard pass.

Whisper grins at him, the devil in her eyes. He knows that look. "Whisper-"

"Ohhhh, I see what this is about."

"Fear," he assures her, trying to head whatever this is off at the pass, "this is a very healthy and reasonable level of fear," but she's on her way to a punchline and won't be deterred.

"You're a fan!" she declares, over his groan of protest. "Aww, sweetheart, why didn't you say something earlier? I could totally arrange an introduction for you."

"Ahhh, no thanks," Deacon manages, through the bolt of terror that thought inspires. "Little-known fact, spies are in fact allergic to reporters? Like, clinically. The hives are brutal."

She takes pity on him and gives way with a laugh, her eyes crinkling up at the corners. "Don't worry, babe, I'll protect you."

"You're the best."

"And don't you forget it." She pops open one of the bottles one-handed, handing it off to him with a cheery flourish. "Besides, you don't wanna bitch too much about my girl Piper. Her caps bought you this booze."

"I take it back, she's my new favorite person. After your radiant self, of course." He takes a swig and passes it back, enjoying the flush of boozy heat down through his chest as he turns back to the stove. After a moment's consideration, he adds a couple extra tatos to the pan. If they're drinking Bobrov's then he definitely wants to lay down a hearty base. "Something interesting afoot?"

"Mhm?"

"Your payout from Wright. Anything I should know about?"

She wobbles her flat hand side-to-side, a wordless eh. "Not really. Just a side project I've been working on."

Interesting. It's not as if they tell each other everything they get up to - he certainly has any number of moving parts at any given moment she's not read in on, and this business with Hancock gave him a good idea about how much he doesn't know about her adventures - but the fun stuff, yeah, that's usually share and share alike. Then again, maybe it's a leftover from her little enforced vacation back in August. He's mostly kept his nose out of whatever she was up to those weeks in hopes she'll do him the same courtesy, so there's a gap in his intel.

"Very mysterious," he teases, nudging a little. "C'mon, not even a hint for your faithful partner?"

She refuses to be nudged, only smiles faintly and hunches one shoulder into a lopsided shrug. "You can read it in the paper tomorrow like everyone else."

"Way harsh."

"That's me, cruel and unusual." She passes him back a plate with an absent kiss to his scruffy cheek. "C'mon, quit fondling that pot holder and get me some supper. I'm starving."

~*~

It's a good night, maybe the best he's had in a while. Deacon sort of figured she'd be distracted, mind on her mission tomorrow, but instead it's the opposite: for the first time in what seems like weeks, he has her full and undivided attention, and he basks in it like winter sunshine. They trade stories and quips, mostly things they've told each other a dozen times over but still fresh, still funny, still so much fun to watch her trying out a new spin, a new angle. She's so fucking good at that, always has been. Yet another thing Deacon never needed to teach her, but damn does he never get tired of watching her reinvent herself on the fly.

Deacon, for his part, finds himself mugging shamelessly for her attention, chasing her approval as fervently as any junkie he's ever pretended to be. And unlike a junkie Deacon gets what he's craving in spades, because she's as generous with her smiles as she is with her stories, lounging back in her chair with her glass in her hand, thighs sprawled wide and her voice gone syrup-slow with that insinuating smirk that only ever spurs him on.

Later, he doesn't entirely remember how they end up in bed. The booze turns everything smeary and soft-focus, like light coming in through a stained-glass window, and his memory preserves only a series of snapshots: pulling Whisper into his lap, her startled yelp of laughter muffled with his mouth. Making out on the landing, one foot braced a step down to put him closer to her height, his fingers busy on her shirt buttons and hers on his belt buckle. Tumbling into bed in a snarl of limbs, laughingly disentangling them until Whisper tugs him up over her in the dark. Burying his face in the sweat-slicked curve of her neck as he works his cock inside of her, her blunt nails scoring lines down the length of his back and her heels digging into the backs of his thighs to urge him on. The flicker of the candlelight playing across her lush mouth and her dark, shadowed eyes, her damp hair clinging to her forehead as she tosses her head back against the pillows. The low breathy rasp of her voice, "Deacon," murmured against his ear, "Deacon, Deacon, please-"

And then when he wakes up, he's alone.

The radio downstairs is playing “The Wanderer,” and Deacon lies there for a moment, listening to the clatter of the rain against the windows, experiencing an overwhelming surge of deja vu.

Then he hauls himself out of bed, picks up his boots, and goes in search of his wayward accomplice.

Unlike last time, there's no pint-sized partner clattering around in the kitchen, cooking breakfast and dancing around like temptation on two legs. The room is cool and dim, only the faint mid-morning sunshine straggling in through an upper window to light the way, and the only sign of habitation is the soft strains of the radio. Deacon does a quick check in the warehouse section just in case - have the boxes been breeding back there? - but the only sign of life in here is him. Most damningly of all, Whisper's pack is gone from the hook beside the door, leaving his looking lopsided next to the empty space where its partner used to be.

Do not project onto an inanimate object, Deacon my lad, he tells himself, and checks the counter next to the radio, where he previously saw a pad and a pencil half-buried under a precarious stack of ammo boxes. Sure enough, there's a note there, torn loose from the pad and folded into thirds with John scrawled across the front in unfamiliar handwriting that must belong to Liv.

She's just keeping cover, not stupid enough to write anything else out here in the open where anyone could walk in and see it, but Deacon still stares at it for a long moment, that single syllable knocking around somewhere at the bottom of his ribs. Then he shakes his head at himself, reaches out, and unfolds the note.

hey handsome, you looked so peaceful i couldn't bring myself to wake you. at least one of us should get to sleep in, and nick had me up with the sun. (you know what he's like when he's on a case!) shouldn't take long though, just a quick run down to goodneighbor and fingers crossed we'll be back by supper. take care of my best guy while i'm gone. xoxo, liv

The radio changes to “One More Tomorrow,” and Deacon glares at it as he folds up the note. Reading between the breezy, heavily fictionalized lines, it's clear enough she decided to handle this Kellogg business solo. Which is… fair enough, he supposes, but something about it doesn't sit square. Did she think he would have told her no, if she asked him to stay put? He thought he made it pretty clear the whole thing was hers to handle or not as she saw fit. Or maybe she just thought it'd be too awkward, having him up in her business like that? Maybe after their last op, she's about had her fill of personal. He couldn't blame her if that's the case, but he hopes she knows the last thing he'd ever want to do is make things harder for her.

Well, there's not much he can do about it either way, not with her at least a few hours ahead of him, judging by the sun, and definitely not with her clear instruction to sit tight. Waiting isn't much his favorite part and he didn't really plan to be hanging out in Diamond City all day, but Deacon's an adaptable fellow; he'll find a way to keep himself occupied.

The market is bustling at this hour of the morning, and Deacon lets the crowd carry him along, thinking vaguely about picking up some noodles for breakfast and then maybe having a wander around. It's not great for his cover to spend so much time out and about on his own, but with the right sidelong look most people will probably assume she's sleeping off a wild night, which would be great for his ego, at least. Besides, there's really no substitute for market gossip when it comes to keeping a pulse on the goings-on in the Commonwealth, which is what he plans to tell Dez if she gives him shit for the wasted day. Not that she will, because if Deacon has his way she'll never hear about any of this, but he likes having a contingency plan in place. Makes him feel all nice and comfy.

It's when he's looping around the counter in search of an open stool that he catches the familiar sound of Piper Junior hawking her wares at full volume. Which is funny, 'cause by his calculation they're not due for another issue for at least a week. Normally Piper's pretty regular with the print, except-

Deacon gets a sinking sensation in his chest.

-except when she has something too juicy to wait and damn it, Whisper, what the hell are you up to?

Normally the last place he wants to be is anywhere near someone named Wright, but since his partner has been up to shenanigans without bothering to inform him first, he figures that in this case 'better safe than sorry' means getting out ahead of whatever nonsense Whisper's been cooking up rather than running the other way. He makes sure to pull his cap low over his eyes, hitches his pack higher on his shoulders, and sidles over towards the Public Occurrences like he just doesn't have anything better to do.

"Extra, extra, read all about it! Minutemen General has the tell-all of the century!"

Oh, it's Minutemen business. Geez, why didn't she just say so? If she's running some propaganda job for Garvey, the last thing he'd want to do is get in her way. It was obvious they needed something after the trip to the Slog the other week, and throwing Piper at the problem is probably the most efficient way to get the word out. Half the damn Commonwealth reads her paper at some point or another, even if it's just so they can tell themselves how wrong she is.

Still, Whisper did tell him he'd find out today, so she probably expects him to read up on whatever it is. He snatches a paper off the top of the stack and flips it over, scanning for the headline.

Woman out of Time: Savior of the Minutemen Tells All About Life Before the Bomb!

"-not the current General," Little Wright's saying, when Deacon manages to stop staring at the paper and drag his attention back to the real world. "The first one, the one that retook the Cast- hey!"

Deacon finds the paper snatched right from his hands, a pint-sized version of a familiar glare beaming up at him. "You gotta pay before you read," Little Wright informs him. "We're not running a charity here!"

"Uh, right," says Deacon, who still feels like he's hearing everything underwater, slow-motion and echoing strangely. "What's the deal with this General, then?"

"Didn'tcha see the headline? She's from before the War! Vault froze her in cryo, right here in the Commonwealth!"

Vault 111. Oh, fuck. Ohhhh fuck.

"So you gonna buy or just stand there and stare?" Little Wright brandished the paper at him. "Hot off the presses! Only ten caps, and you can be the first to know!"

#fallout 4 #deacon #female sole survivor #deacon/female sole survivor #fic #everybody wants to be a cat

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harleykeenerdeservesbetter · 4 years

Text

one beat at a time

This is based off this prompt by @derplord

https://derplord.tumblr.com/post/616944155973861376/buddie-prompt-buck-is-in-love-with-eddie-but

Summarized prompt: Buck and Eddie were meant to hang out but what happens when Buck walks in on Eddie and Ana on a date instead? Broken Heart Syndrome, of course.

It is 5AM but I had to write this, hope you like it!

——————————

The fact that it had been a long and dreadful week was an understatement. The two twenty-four hour shifts they hard were draining and bleak, the wretched weather adding to the solemnity of the long hours. One too many thunderstorms had caused several car accidents ranging from minor to fatal and heart wrenching. If the 118 were any less of a family, they would’ve struggled to push and trudge through the graveyard shifts and somber silences that came after a rough call. However, the long week wasn’t the only thing that had troubled Buck. Last week, Eddie had started dating Ana Flores, Christopher’s beautiful and striking English teacher. Buck was happy for his best friend, he really was. At least that’s what he told himself every night since he found out. It’s not that he didn’t like Ana, no, that was far from the truth in fact. Ana was lovely. All smiles with those dark curls, of course Eddie fell for her. It wasn’t Ana that was the issue. Maybe it was the fact that Evan Buckley was helplessly and hopelessly in love with his best friend.

So hopeless in fact, that when Eddie invited him over early on in the week for a boys night since Chris would be at a sleepover on Saturday, he barely took a moment to breathe before saying yes. The smile that stretched over Eddie’s face at his reaction blossomed something in Buck’s chest and the infectious grin succeeded in bringing an automatic smile to his face. For a moment, and only a moment, Buck allowed himself to step away from the role of the supportive and encouraging best friend and let himself indulge in his own fantasy. A fantasy that was, and always would be, just a fantasy.

Walking up the few steps leading the Diaz household, Buck couldn’t help the smile that graced his face. He would be lying to himself and everyone in existence if he said that tonight’s plans weren’t what got him through the entire dreadful week. Buck and Eddie hadn’t really gotten a chance to just be Buck & Eddie in these last two weeks, what with changing shift schedules and long hours, and now with Eddie seeing Ana more and more frequently. Buck wasn’t complaining, he was grateful for every moment they could get, but he was starting to miss his best friend and the loneliness had began to creep back into his bones and the forefront of his mind from where it had buried itself in every nook and cranny it could find. So caught up in his own thoughts and excited for the night to come, Buck didn’t realize he had knocked on the door until it swung open to reveal a very well dressed Eddie. Buck was confused and his expression likely showed it, but he certainly was not complaining because Eddie looked breathtaking in that dark green button up and black slacks.

“Buck, what-” Eddie started in confusion before a spark of realization overtook his face and his eyes widened. “Shit I-” he swore, trying to regain his bearings and stumbling for words as he managed to open the door wider and sidestep to let Buck come in because he couldn’t just leave him on his doorstep like that, not after he had forgotten about their plans.

Taking a step into the threshold with furrowed brows, Buck didn’t have time to get a word out before a very distinct, very female voice called “Eddie?” from deeper within the house. It was in that moment that Buck finally looked away from Eddie and saw Ana seated at the dining table in a very flattering light pink dress, plates of food laid out in front of her completed with glasses of red wine and a now empty seat with its chair pushed out, obviously recently vacated. A weak “Oh,” of realization left his lips before he could stop it. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, shaking his head and taking a half a step back even though it was him that had plans with Eddie. His best friend, no scratch that, his best friend and the man he was in love with was on a date with his girlfriend and Buck had just walked into the middle of all of it.

“Buck, I’m so sorry,” Eddie quickly apologized, looking nervous and a bit sad and Buck hated both those expressions on Eddie and wanted them to go away immediately, no matter how badly his heart was tugging at his chest.

“We were talking and got caught up and she stayed for dinner, I completely forgot about our plans,” Eddie continued, trying to explain himself, make this better. It almost didn’t occur to him that he was steamrolling over the entire conversation in an attempt to apologize and explain himself, he was only focused on Buck.

“I’m sorry, if you guys already had plans I can definitely head out,” Ana interjected, already standing up and setting her napkin on the table, feeling suddenly bad for imposing on their guys night. “We can always do this another time,” she spoke, grabbing her purse.

Buck knocked himself out of his stupor and forced a small smile in Ana’s direction, gesturing with his hand to get her to sit back down. “No, no, it’s okay,” he assured, looking from her back to Eddie, and back to her because looking at Eddie was growing increasingly harder. “You’re already here and you guys are all dressed up, it’s fine really, don’t let me ruin that,” he said, already taking another step back and now in the doorway again.

“Buck, really, it’s not- Ana and I can-” Eddie started but Buck cut him off with another wave of dismissal.

“It’s fine, Eddie, really, you two have a good time, I’ll see you on Monday,” Buck said, each word like another shot to the heart as he looked between them both. “Have a nice night,” he nodded with a slight smile once more, more so at Ana than Eddie, before he promptly took another step back out of the house. He ignored Eddie’s soft and heavy “Buck wait,” and turned on his heel, walking back to his car and letting the Diaz household, Eddie now on the front step, shrink in his rear view mirror as he drove away.

***

Buck thought a walk around town would do him some good so he parked his jeep on a side street near a park and did just that. He thought maybe he was being irrational, too sensitive, too something. He and Eddie were best friends and that’s all they were, as simple as that. Except it wasn’t that simple because Buck may have been just a best friend to Eddie but Eddie? Eddie was everything to Buck right alongside Christopher and Maddie. And now Buck couldn’t help but replay the night over and over again in his head. Seeing Ana at the table had hurt like someone had dumped ice over his head, bucket and all. It was stark, sharp, cool and a sudden realization that yes, Buck was living in a fantasy all on his own. Eddie would never love him the way he wanted him to, not in the way he needed and craved and longed for so selfishly. What had really hurt the most, what felt like a nail puncturing his chest cavity and twisting its way through his heart, was seeing Eddie dressed like that, so handsome and so stunning, all for someone who was not him.

Buck knew that he should’ve at least congratulated Eddie on the date like a good wingman and now have let his disappointment slip through. A good wingman would’ve smiled and clapped his best friend on the shoulder with a wink or something, anything, before leaving and inquiring about what went down the next time he saw him. That’s what a good wingman would do.

But Evan Buckley was not a good wingman. He could never be a wingman to the man he loved, watch him fall in love with someone that wasn’t him, watch him get married and maybe have another kid, watch him slowly extract himself from his life as he reformed his own, this time without him in it. No, Buck could never be the support Eddie needed, but he could pretend.

A bitter scoff fell from Buck’s lips, too lost in thought to care about who may or may not give him weird look. What really got to him was the fact that sometimes, sometimes he thought maybe, just maybe. Maybe he wasn’t imagining things when he thought Eddie kept his gaze on him for longer than necessary. Maybe he wasn’t wrong that his eyes held something else behind them when he watched Buck play with Christopher in the living room and make his pancakes in the morning when he stayed over. Maybe those slight reassuring and comforting touches lingered too long to be solely categorized with a ‘best friend’ boundary. Too many maybes, not enough certainties, too many odds pointing against them. It didn’t matter that Hen would tease him when she caught him staring after Eddie once he left, or how Chimney would call him ‘lover boy’ whenever he explained how awesome whatever Eddie had done was, or when Bobby always raised his eyebrows knowingly when he saw them together. Maybe it was in Buck’s head the whole time, his own little fantasy that would always remain, a fantasy.

Buck didn’t realize where he had walked or for how long because he had swept up into the tornado of his thoughts, of Eddie. He rubbed his chest in discomfort, the muscle tight and constricting, but he attributed the feeling to the crying he had been unknowingly doing for god knows how long. He closed his eyes and stopped walking, his hand over his heart as he focused on taking deep breaths, thinking maybe he was working himself up into a panic attack. It became clear to him that this was no usual panic attack when a sharp pain sparked in his chest and up his arm and neck, his breath coming in short gasps as his knees buckled underneath him as he tried to call for help, muscles restricting and tightening painfully. Hitting the ground harshly with hand clutching at his chest, he vaguely registered hazed figures over him before spots creeped up and swirled his vision, plunging him into darkness.

***

Maddie Buckley was an absolute force to be reckoned with as she stormed through the ER doors and made her way directly to the front desk with a desperate, “Evan Buckley, please, I’m his sister,” as Chimney rushed to keep up, half jogging, half texting the others to get to the hospital, it’s buck. They don’t have to wait and neither of them know whether that’s good or bad news, but they don’t have a chance to discuss either before a doctor is calling Maddie’s name and beckoning them over, Chimney leading his girlfriend with a soothing hand on her back.

“How is he? Is he okay? What happened?” Maddie asked quickly, forcing herself to breathe as she squeezed Chimney’s hand. When the hospital called, they said it was serious and to come down, but they hadn’t said anything else and jesus her baby brother needed a break.

“Mr. Buckleyy suffered from Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy, more commonly known as Broken Heart Syndrome,” Doctor Jameson spoke, watching their expressions carefully as he continued. “It’s temporary heart muscle weakness caused by intense emotional or physical distress and it essentially mimics a heart attack,” he explained, the former nurse and current paramedic and firefighter listening in understanding but confusion.

“So he got heart failure from stress?” Maddie asked incredulously, slowly, in disbelief. She didn’t know he was so stressed, how could she not have known? Deep down, Maddie knew this wasn’t from what she was thinking. Something else had happened.

“Not just any stress, he likely experienced a sudden, very stressful and emotional event and that’s what brought this on,” Doctor Jameson replied, taping his clipboard once with his pen. “Mr. Buckley’s lucky there were people around who called 911 otherwise things may not have turned out the way they did. These cases are often fatal, but Mr. Buckley is going to be just fine,” he explained, a soft reassuring smile on his face.

Chimney couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He couldn’t comprehend any of it really. Buck, a heart attack? None of it was making any sense. He could only find the right words to ask, “Can we see him?”

“Of course, right this way,” Doctor Jameson nodded, leading them to where Buck was resting. Once they were in the the room, he left the couple alone after informing them to come get him if they needed.

“Oh Buck,” Maddie breathed, inhaling a sharp breath of air as she hurried to her brother’s side and took his hand up in hers, using her free hand to brush his blonde curls away from his forehead. She didn’t realize she was crying until she hiccuped a wet laugh of relief when she saw those baby blues, although glossed over, looking lazily at her. “Hey, little brother,” she said softly, stroking her thumb along his birthmark.

“Hey Buckaroo, you’ve already outdone me in hospital visits, you can stop now,” Chimney joked, coming up next to Maddie with a hand on her shoulder. He could easily tell that Buck was out of it from the medication but focusing on the EKG and the steady rhythm it beeped out. Chimney didn’t even want to begin to think about how that very same heart almost gave out.

While they didn’t push right away, it didn’t take long for Maddie to softly ask Buck what had been so stressful for this to happen. Neither of them were expecting Buck’s dazed eyes to become glossier with tears as he weakly explained what had happened, stopping and picking up again as he tried to focus through the haze. It was an understatement to say that both Chimney and Maddie didn’t know what to say to that, it was so obviously clear how deeply Buck cared for Eddie.

Buck, who couldn’t help but wonder if Eddie had his date interrupted once more because of him.

“I’ll go see if the others are here,” Chimney announced, bending to press a kiss to Maddie’s head and giving Buck’s ankle a squeeze through the blankets on his way out. He knew they were already there since he got Hen’s text, but he figured the Buckley siblings needs some time alone. As soon as he walked back into the waiting room, he spotted the rest of his teammates and family.

Athena is the first to speak, standing up before Chimney can even finish walking to them. “Is he alright?” she asked, her tone serious but her worry shining above all. Athena cared for Buck as if he was her own and to get the message that he was in the hospital again? She was considering wrapping him in bubble wrap.

Chimney nodded, clearing his throat and glancing down before looking at all of them again. Athena, Bobby, Hen, Eddie. Thankfully no Ana but Chimney wasn’t about to comment on that. “He’s uh, he’s gonna be fine,” he said with a deep breath. “He had stress induced Cardiomyopathy,” he explained, hoping more questions wouldn’t be asked because he didn’t need to air out Buck’s feelings for all of them.

“Broken Heart Syndrome,” Hen said knowingly, her head tilted down and to the side a little to expression her confusion, her concern.

“Yeah,” Chimney exhaled reluctantly, his hands on his hips.

“Ana and I saw him just a few hours ago, he was fine then,” Eddie said in disbelief, shaking his head slightly with his lips downturned in a frown. Heart failure? He was fine, he’d been fine, he was fine.

Hen couldn’t help the deep exhale that escaped her, her shoulders slumping as she shared a look with Chimney, and Bobby, and then Athena. They all knew, of course. They’ve all seen the way Buck looks at Eddie, like his smile was the reason the sun shined and like he stole his last breath.

And he almost did.

“Can I see him?” Eddie asked next, already about to make his way around Chimney who stops him with a hand on his chest. “They’re not letting us see him?” Eddie asked, that being the only logical explanation for Chimney stopping him.

“Eddie, um,” Chimney started, lowering his hand and trying to explain it to him as lightly as possible. “It’s best if he doesn’t see you right now,” he confessed, knowing nothing else would stop Eddie Diaz from finding his best friend other than his own best friend. He knew Buck wouldn’t want his secret aired out like his but Chimney made the executive decision that this couldn’t go on. He couldn’t risk Buck getting hurt even more by Eddie waltzing into that hospital room.

Eddie is silent for a moment, his eyes searching Chimney’s face for any indication that this was some kind of joke, some twisted misunderstanding. Turning his head abruptly, he saw the others looking at him sadly, their expressions low. He locked eyes with Bobby who nodded the slightest bit and although Eddie was silent, he heard an avalanche in his head. “No,” he denied, his face betraying him as it twisted painfully and he took a step back, legs hitting the waiting room chair and causing him to fall right into it helplessly. He did this? He did this. Of course he did this. How could he have been so stupid? He should’ve known better. He knew what a genuine Buckley smile looked like, had seen it countless times around Christopher, let alone the entire 118 family and their children. A Buckley smile was blinding, captivating, enthralling. An Evan Buckley smile made Eddie feel like whatever was going wrong in life would work itself out and everything would be okay because at the end of the day he had Chris, he had his family, and he had Buck. The smile he saw at his house earlier was forced, fake, nowhere near his usual smile. After the pipe incident, he had decided to give Ana a chance when she asked him out because why not, not considering the one face aside from his son’s he saw over and over again when he thought he was going to drown.

Eddie had been lying to himself for a long time. He lied to himself when he thought reenlisting was a good idea. He lied to himself when he thought he and Shannon could work out. He lied to himself when he thought maybe, just maybe Buck’s touches lingered too long to be only that of a best friend, or that when he survived the tsunami he fought to get back to him. He lied to himself when Ana showed interest, told himself that he could get lost in her when there was always someone else in the back of his mind, another name slipping from his lips whenever he recounted a story. And worst of all, he had lied to himself when he saw heartbreak behind Buck’s forced smile, convinced himself Buck wasn’t sad over him being with Ana, he’d imagined it. Eddie had been so focused on trying to get his own shit together, to figure out what he wanted when he already knew, to let himself love someone that had never ceased to give one-hundred and fifty percent, that he missed the signs leading up to this dreadful night.

Ana had called earlier in the day and asked if he wanted to do dinner and he had quickly said yes and that they should talk, momentarily forgetting about his plans with Buck later that night. Eddie had seized the opportunity as soon as he saw it because he couldn’t express what he needed to over the phone and figured a final dinner would be the best way to do it. They had just sat down, a mildly uncomfortable silence between them when Buck knocked on the door. He had seen the heartbreak behind Buck’s smile and normally would’ve denied it, but as he turned around to face Ana, Edmundo Diaz decided that he had been lying to himself for too long. The soft, sad smile on Ana’s face meant that she knew that they were both caught in a lie.

“Five minutes,” Eddie practically begged, now standing outside Buck’s room, Hen and Athena across from him, both women looking wary and uncertain. “Please, just five minutes and if he wants me gone, I’m gone,” he assured, voice pleading and strained. He needed to see him. He needed to fix this. Buck needed the truth. When Hen and Athena glanced at one another, Eddie knew his five minutes started now. He thanked them profusely and entered the room when they let him, his eyes landing on Buck’s tall frame that looked uncharacteristically small in the bulky bed. Bobby and Chimney had gone on a coffee run and now it was only Maddie and tired looking Buck who watched his every move.

***

“I’ll give you two some time,” Maddie said, standing up from her chair with a stretch and patting Buck’s hand before giving Eddie a stern look as she passed him and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Eddie sat in her vacant chair, leaning forward slightly and watching Buck watch him carefully. When the other man made no indication that he didn’t want him there, Eddie set his hand on the bed but not on his hand yet.

“Sorry about your date,” Buck said hoarsely, looking at him with sad eyes he couldn’t control this time. He was tired of keeping it in, tired of pretending to be someone he’s not.

“I’m not,” Eddie said automatically, looking up from the bedspread to meet his eyes. “I’m not the best communicator,” he started, pausing to see if Buck said anything and when he didn’t, he moved on. “So this is on me,” he said, shaking his head when Buck opened his mouth to protest because that was so characteristically Buck. “I need to say this, and you need to hear it,” he clarified at his confusion. “When Ana came over tonight, it was supposed to be our last dinner,” he explained, meeting blue eyes again and holding their gaze. “I realized that I was lying to myself, you know? When Shannon came back, with Ana, I was always getting caught up where I didn’t need to be, trying to put something together that wouldn’t fit. I couldn’t stop talking about you even when Ana and I were alone. Since we got here, every memory has you in it,” he confessed, clearing his throat and blinking his eyes because now it was catching up to him again. What time he had wasted, what pain he had caused. “When I was down in those tunnels and thought I was going to drown, you and Christopher kept me going,” he admitted out-loud for the first time. “I broke up with her when you left tonight but we both knew it was coming, that’s why she asked for dinner in the first place,” he explained, filling in the gaps. “I hurt you for nothing when I loved you this whole time, and I’m so sorry, Evan,” he finished, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, blinking viciously but it was no use, he was crying anyway.

Buck listened to every word that came out of Eddie’s mouth, drinking them in like water. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he moved his hand into the one still resting on the bed. He didn’t miss the way Eddie’s head snapped down in surprise and Buck gave his hand a squeeze to reassure him. “We really need to work on communication, huh,” he joked, his voice better now than it was before and a soft smile on his lips, especially when Eddie laughed wetly and nearly started crying again. Buck couldn’t deny that knowing that the dinner was a breakup one for a relationship that hadn’t been as deep as he thought was very relieving, and he especially couldn’t deny the way his eyes watered when Eddie explained what he meant to him. How it had been not only Chris, but him that brought Eddie back to them. While Buck was at surface level crawling at ground and being held back by the others, he was down fifty feet under with Eddie in spirit. Knowing that Eddie had been pining as hard as he had in similar ways, except for the dating part, eased his mind. And finally, hearing that he loved him soothed the ache in his chest considerably. His fantasy was not fantasy, but reality.

He and Eddie were not the same person. They both had their own trauma, their own scars, and their own insecurities and they dealt with them in different ways. Buck was more accepting, more willing to embrace it and throw caution to the wind and fall right in while Eddie fell slowly and carefully and worried along the way, unfortunately diverting from his intended path. Buck knew it was would take some time to heal, both physically and emotionally, but they would get there with this revelation.

“I love you, and only you,” Eddie said with a smile, eyes still wet and face still red but he leaned forward nonetheless and pressed kiss to his forehead, not wanting to push, just wanting to heal.

Buck tilted his head up slightly, letting him know it was okay and catching his lips with his. They would take things slow, yes, but things like this would speed up the healing. They had a lot of lost time to make up for, after all. “I love you too,” he said with a soft smile, saying the words that made his heart flutter in a good way, hearing the same words repeated over and over to him and soothing the ache away one heartbeat a time.

When the others popped their heads in later to check on them, they found Eddie now in the bed with Buck, both of them sound asleep and tangled in each other. The sound of the EKG machine was faint but the reading was strong and steady.

One beat at a time.

——————————

Thank you for reading!

#buddie #911 on fox #911onfox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #firefam #this is a RIDE #angst #happy ending

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live-long-and-time-warp · 3 years

Text

It’s hard to leave your toxic friends... but it’s so worth it

I don’t normally do this, but as I sat in a Saturday morning meeting thinking about all of the things I felt this past Friday, I felt compelled to share my story.

A brief background: throughout college and for several years afterward, I considered my tight-knit group of college friends as some of my closest. In addition to my best friend of 20 years, some friends from high school, my work team, and some other dear friends scattered across the globe and throughout the U.S., this group of college friends was who I considered to be my foundation. This group of friends was extremely important to me, but it was not without its bumps in the road.

In my senior year of college, I had a falling out with one of these friends, the ringleader I’ll call her. I say this because she is quite honestly the source of 95% of my problems with this group. She is a master manipulator, and an expert gaslighter. There were a few others that contributed to this too, but she was by far the worst.

I can’t elaborate on every single thing that this person said and did over our 7 year “friendship” but a brief summary would be: asking me point blank if I thought I might be a lesbian after coming out as bi (to this friend group and in her presence, I might add) only several months prior; asking me how much money I spend on books about “Chernobyl” every month with the implication that she’s concerned about my finances; telling me that my resume may not be as impressive as I think it is (I’m the deputy director of a nonprofit with both state-based and national projects and had been for close to a year prior to this conversation); would clean up the crumbs from in front of me while I was still eating and comment on my messiness; told me that one of our mutual friends doesn’t like discussing politics with me because I get too fired up (again, I work for a nonprofit that deals with social justice); telling me that crying while comforting my friend who had just lost a loved one to suicide after they began crying was weird and that I “stole her thunder” (we were slightly drunk, I’m an empath, and she was talking about some deeply personal things that moved me and crying was my natural response... and oddly, she was appreciative of my tears because I was “the only person that actually stayed with her”); and so much more that I know I’m forgetting.

There were many other things more insidious, including gaslighting me about my inclusion in several group activities and why it should have been obvious why one friend disliked me enough to not invite me to her wedding after years of claiming cluelessness.

In our senior year, I left that friend for the first time after she humiliated me at a party by commenting loudly and with condescension on my weight. When I cut ties with her, I felt as if I had just left an abusive relationship, and for a while I didn’t want to seek a friendship with her again.

But the other friends in our group still hung out with both of us, so eventually I allowed myself to be sucked back in.

In the years after we graduated, I thought that this person had actually changed- I worked abroad for a year after college, and after returning I saw a marked difference in her demeanor and how she interacted with us. She seemed more self-aware of how her words and actions adversely affected other people, and I thought that maybe the ugliness of that horrible portion of my senior year was now just a faded scar.

But then things escalated very quickly. Over the course of several weeks at the beginning of this year, I started to feel myself questioning whether I had made the right choice in rejoining the group: I was so sure of how I felt after I left it the first time, I felt so empowered and free. So why did I allow myself to rejoin them? Was it really the right choice?

I got my answer a week after the insurrection at the Capitol. One friend who already had a history of saying hateful things about women (which I tried to put a stop to to no avail) finally went full white supremacist asshole, and instead of joining me in calling his comments unacceptable and defending me as he mansplained my job to me, the ringleader criticized me and told me that “I can work in activism and politics and be wrong”.

That’s the moment I finally woke up.

I left the chat that very moment. Every time they added me back without my consent, I left again.

Every time I got message from the ringleader that was full of gaslighting comments and false apologies, I didn’t say a word. Just deleted the message. Finally, I was able to gather the strength needed to block those toxic friends from all social media and my phone. One of these friends was someone I tried to make like me for years after I was told that she hated me for no reason, by her own admission.

Some may not agree with this approach, but I made the choice to cut contact and go radio silent on my own after consulting my friends, specifically my best friend who had been there for me during the incident my senior year.

As weeks went by, some of the true friends from that group reached out, and then immediately backed off after my polite request for space, indicating that I was welcome back at any time and they were always here for me.

The ringleader chose the opposite approach. She continued to gaslight me, made a group chat with myself, the white supremacist, and herself. She sent me messages from her second account, one that I remembered to unfriend but forgot to block. She told me that if I don’t “course correct” by a certain date she would block me on my account (too late, bro) and that “we wish you all the best”. This implies that it was on behalf of the entire group, something I know three of them would never do. However, at this point, I have had to distance myself from all of those friends so as not to give the ringleader the attention she wants from me.

I lost over half of my closest friends over night. It felt like my skeleton had been torn from my body. I considered giving in several times and reaching out to them. But now, over a month later, I understand how necessary it was to excise what was essentially a malignant tumor. The Chernobyl researcher in me wants to compare it to Acute Radiation Syndrome (ARS): an unseen poison that slowly infiltrates every part of your mind and body and rots them from the inside out.

2020 was an extremely hard year for me, as it was for so many. I am so lucky and privileged to have been in the financial situation that I was and had the support of my genuine friends and family.

But it was still the worst year of my life. I have suffered from pretty bad OCD for most of my life, and while I usually keep it under control, last year it became nearly impossible to do so. I also fell very deeply into clinical depression, and worked to the point of burn out and exhaustion. The primary thoughts I had during this depression were:

“Why aren’t you working? You’re lazy.”

“You’re a failure, you’re 26 and haven’t applied to grad school yet.”

“You piece of shit, still living with your parents? What a disappointment.”

“What is wrong with you?”

It was unbearable. I’m honestly not entirely sure how I survived it, but I think a certain 3-year-old goddaughter of mine and a few close, real friends had something to do with it.

I worked very hard with my friends, a therapist, and a psychiatrist to overcome this depression and get my OCD back under control. Now, I feel like such a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I still have depression, and the OCD will always be with me (like a bad habit... literally?); but I am so much more happy with myself and my life, as I should be.

And I am very, very, very well aware that therapy was not the only reason I have recently begun feeling this way. It’s very hard to see that you’re being manipulated while it’s happening. Because of my trusting nature, sometimes manipulative comments would be interpreted as heartfelt guidance.

It wasn’t until I started the journey away from them that I saw just how much this group and their negativity (because even the best of them weren’t always the kindest) impacted my mental health.

The event that made me want to share this story is this: yesterday was a rough work day. As a full-time community organizer, I am pretty much burnt out all of the time. Breaks are taken, but with projects addressing issues from COVID relief to systemic racism and police brutality, it never feels like enough.

I had to officially take a step back as a sole lead on an annual event that I organized for two years, and it was gut-wrenching.

Now, I cry often, but I don’t usually get to have therapeutic cries. You know what I mean? Like, as you cry, all of the tension that built up in your body by negative feelings is finally being released with every breath and sob?

Well, the dam finally broke in a team meeting on Friday. I started sobbing and couldn’t stop. And my colleagues were so, so kind. They let me vent, they let me cry, they would not accept my apologies for crying. They told me that I was strong for setting up boundaries, and that they were here for me.

We spent a lot of time at the end of the meeting each talking about our self-care routines. And as I sit here typing this, I am actively trying not to cry at the purity of their support.

This experience has taught me what real friends are. Real friends do not put limitations on your emotions and fears.

Real friends do not give you deadlines for processing your feelings.

Real friends do not criticize you for things that, while they may not agree with, do not affect anyone’s health or marginalize anyone.

Real friends don’t marginalize vulnerable communities.

Real friends help and support you with constructive criticism (when it’s asked for) and love, not patronization and manipulation.

I thought I knew all of these things before, but I know now that I am still learning... and that that is perfectly okay. I don’t regret most of the times we shared together. I am appreciative of the positive memories that their friendships gave me.

Three of the friends in this group are actually good people, and maybe one day when the dust is settled I’ll reach out to them and establish one-on-one friendships with them (if they want to).

And I have to thank my real friends, including @tryingtobealwaystrying, for all saying the exact same thing: you deserve so much happiness and fuck all of those guys.

So, the point of this post is to tell everyone this: you can leave your toxic friends. It’s incredibly difficult, stressful, and honestly traumatizing. And there’s no shame in needing time or feeling unable to leave those friends now. There’s also no shame in returning to those friends.

But please know, from this nerd to the reader: anyone that makes you feel any less than the beautiful, amazing human being you are and doesn’t want to help you become an even better human on your own terms is not a true friend. They don’t deserve you or the light you can bring into their lives.

And every agonizing step away from those friends is a step closer to a happier, healthier life.

#toxic frienship #mental health #living with ocd #depression #storytime

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aforrestofstuff · 4 years

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What do you think the OPM characters' guilty pleasures would be? I feel like Tatsu loves soap operas and Atomic Samurai secretly loves a really popular boy band, like SMAP

Thanks for your request, anon! Sorry this took me so long to get to, you were buried in my inbox lol. But I hope this was worth the wait because oh boy this required all 3 of my brain cells.

Tornado of Terror: As you said, soap operas. She also loves candy apples in canon. But...she also is a HUGE fan of those really cheesy Cosmopolitan magazines that have all of the personality quizzes and the “which hot male celeb would date you” scenarios. She doesn’t fall for it one bit. In fact, she hate reads those fuckers in the same way that people pay to go see bad movies. It’s fun.

Silverfang: Yoga and following along to some cheesy-ass 80s workout videos. I’ve said he likes yoga in a previous headcanon, but he also likes to exercise along to some obnoxious 80s pop while some dude in a leotard instructs him on what to do from a TV screen. He wears sweatbands and legwarmers, too. The whole shebang. He only does it when he’s alone, though. Sometimes he’ll try to teach yoga to his disciples as a way to help them decompress after a long training session, but his workout tapes are his best-kept secret.

Atomic Samurai: I don’t know what a SMAP is, but he’s definitely got some questionable music choices going on considering he’s... well, the way that he is. I’d say he likes to listen to old country, like Marty Robbins and Glen Campbell. It’s really funny because you’ve got this intimidating man from Japan (or a fictional universe basically set in Japan) with a badass katana and shit but inside that empty head of his, there’s just a faint “out in the west Texas town of El Paso....”

Child Emperor: Picking at scabs. He’s often on his knees fixing shit in his lab, and he probably gets burned all the damn time from playing around with lasers so he’s undoubtedly always has a wound healing somewhere. Whenever he’s working on something, he’ll just absentmindedly pick at his scabs. It’s a bad habit and he knows it, but nothing beats the feeling of peeling off an entire patch of that shit. So satisfying.

Metal Knight: Buying books. He doesn’t even read them. He just buys bigass novels with smart-sounding names to fill up his library because he thinks it’ll make his dick grow another three inches or some shit. One of the few things he likes in this world (besides homicide) is the smell of a new book. If he’s feeling particularly pissy, he’ll go into his library and just ssssssnnnnnnnnnniififfffffffffff. He spends an outrageous amount of money on it. If he has anyone over (which is unlikely, but hypothetically speaking) and they mention his library by asking something like “have you read all of these?” It’ll be one of the few times in his life that he’ll feel shame.

King: Reading and writing fanfiction based on his favorite video game/anime series. Nobody knows he does this except his small following online, of course. And even more so, nobody online knows he’s an ultra-popular S-Class hero who’s friends with the most powerful man on earth. He’s actually a pretty decent writer, he just doesn’t take himself too seriously so the plotline to his stories tend to get a little haywire and overly self-indulgent. Let him have his fun. He just wants to be a Sailor Scout.

Zombieman: Singing. He actually used to be a good singer (he sounded like a discount Steve Perry back in the day), but constant smoking really fucked up his voice. He might as well have lungs the size of grapes because he can’t carry a note for more than 2 seconds without wheezing like an accordion with asthma. He’s never sang in front of anyone before because he thinks it’s silly thing that isn’t worth showing off. Play anything from The Eagles though, and he’ll have a hard time resisting.

Drive Knight: He likes to open up panels in his arms and legs to play with the wires (basically a robot’s version of nerve endings, I’m assuming) just so he can feel something. It’s kind of sad because he doesn’t experience pain or the cold or being tickled... (I know what y’all are thinking and you’d better STOP). So he sometimes takes it upon himself to dick around with his insides and dip his toe into what it feels like to be human, even if it’s just for a little bit. He’s super secretive about it (he’s just secretive about everything, really) because he doesn’t want anyone to know that he desires something outside of being a weapon of mass destruction justice.

Pig God: His whole schtick is basically indulging in a guilty pleasure — pigging out on delicious food with no regard whatsoever for one’s overall health. Other than that, however, he does like to collect body pillows. There, I said it. All he fucking does is eat and he’s too much of a big boi to be going out 24/7, so he’s gotta be on the internet/watching anime/playing video games/reading manga during all of that downtime between his stints of doing hero work. His bed is fucking ginormous to handle all of that big boy-ness and on it, he has his body pillow nest. He rests on a throne made for kings. A true icon.

Superalloy Darkshine: Also working out along to some cheesy 80s exercise videos. His hero outfit was inspired from what those ravishing instructors would wear on the television. Well, it was supposed to be a full leotard but it ripped every time he flexed just a tiny bit so the speedo is the only thing that’s left. He’s gotta hella rhythm and keeps up with the music using little to no effort. Although, he can’t go too hard because he’s also a big boi and he’ll literally shake the entire building if he gets too turnt up. Dance muscle boy, dance.

Watchdog Man: Eating too many dog treats lol. Sometimes while he’s stationed on his little podium thing, visitors will leave him little offerings like dog treats and other miscellaneous food items/toys. He never takes them or eats them in front of people, but he often brings everything home with him after a long day just to gobble that shit up. He’s gained a little weight since he started doing it but you can’t even notice it because his suit is hella bulky. Some of it is due in part to stress-eating because being a dog and dude at the same time is hectic, but it’s honest work.

Flashy Flash: Racing shit. Whenever he’s on his travels during, say, assassination missions or hero work, he gets hella bored really quickly. So, to help with this, he’ll often race birds or planes flying in the sky on his way to his destination to see who’s quicker (it’s always him). Sometimes he’ll even play catch with himself by throwing a pine cone or something and running to the place he guesses it’ll land before it even touches the ground. He just does a ton of weird speedster shit whenever he’s bored and he’ll deny it if anyone asks.

Genos: Purposefully putting a little bit too much oil on his joints after each upgrade so he’ll be as slick as a salamander. It’s a really funny feeling to be able to move your limbs with little to no resistance without having to worry about popping or breaking anything. It just makes him feel so agile despite being like, a hunk of actual metal. If he wasn’t so uptight, he would loosen the screws in his fingers to he can bend them almost all the way back (he’s actually thought about it a few times), but both Dr. Kuseno and his 3 remaining braincells attested to that. He just likes to tinker around with his body and see what weird shit he can do. It’s a bad habit because it’s led to a few things being broken on multiple occasions.

Metal Bat: Zenko’s shitty pop music. Whenever he drops her off at school or piano practice, he’ll immediately go home and blast that shit on full volume (because he’s practically deaf from always jumping out of falling buildings and continuously blasting music in his earbuds) while doing chores and the like. He’s one of those people that HAVE to have something going on in the background as they’re getting shit done. He’d rather be caught dead than listening to the OPM equivalent of Taylor Swift because he knows Zenko would never let him live it down.

Tanktop Master: Wearing suits around the house when he’s not even going anywhere. He’s got to wear his tanktop 24/7 whenever he’s in public to keep up The Image (which he has no problem with, he genuinely loves the tanktop ideology) but he also needs to feel fancy every once and a while. So, if he happens to have the time while in between appearances, he’ll prance around in a suit tailored just for him. Because he’s so fucking huge that he had to pay someone a large sum to custom make an outfit that actually fits. He is 7-motherfucking-feet tall. 7.

Puri-Puri Prisoner: Making Valentine’s Day cards all times of the year. Listen, it gets boring as hell in prison. Sometimes the guards will let all of the inmates have a little glitter and glue to keep themselves busy because no harm can come of a little arts and crafts, right? He likes to make cards on the daily just to let all of his lovers know how much he appreciates them. If they express even the slightest amount of disdain for his creations, he’ll spent the next week crying in the darkest corner of his cell block. He also likes origami. Origami is huge in prison because it’s hella time-consuming and guaranteed to calm a busy mind. His favorite things to make are little unicorns.

Amai Mask: Bath bombs. There have been several mishaps in which he’s used a poorly-made bath bomb and came out of the tub looking like Shrek but he’s grown and lot since then, okay? After a long day or a particularly stressful concert, he’ll sink into some hot water and drop a ball of lavender-scented goodness in there. It’s become a bit of an addiction because he’s got multiple cabinets dedicated solely to his collection, but at least he always smells divine.

Iaian: Shakespearean dramas. Kama got him hooked on theater shit and he’s since ripped through all of the most well-known plays. He thinks in iambic pentameter. It wasn’t always noticeable since he’s a quiet, well-reserved guy but his fellow disciples and Kami have recently noticed that he’s developed a bit of a dramatic flair. Even worse, he’s started calling himself a knight whenever he puts on his armor. Everyone prays it’s just a phase but seeing as how stubborn Iaian is, that seeks highly unlikely. Kami is dying inside because he can’t handle another drama nerd.

Okamaitachi: Soap operas, like Tatsumaki. Kama is the most dramatic out of all of the disciples so it’s only natural that she’d like the most dramatic genre of any show out there. She doesn’t exactly watch them religiously though. She’s the type of viewer to drop off the face of the earth for three seasons and come back without knowing what the fuck is going on (because the disciples have limited access to cable due to Kami’s dumbassery and ignorance to anything technology-related), but still cry during the finale anyway because oh no these people are so hot and one of them is deaaaaaad and the other one is that person’s long-lost sister....

Bushidrill: Taking alcohol from Atomic Samurai’s stash every so often. Bushidrill knows what the good shit is and he could buy it himself if he wanted to, but why would he when there’s a perfectly good alcoholic to steal from living right down the hall? He only takes in small doses because, believe it or not—he’s smart, but Kami isn’t gonna notice regardless of whether or not Bushi takes 1 or 5 bottles at a time because the old shit couldn’t spot a purple raccoon if it was 3 feet in front of him. There have been times where Bushi has opened bottles of Kami’s alcohol right in front of him just to play God and he always, without missing a beat, says “Oh, we have the same taste. How neat.”

Fubuki: I’ve said this before in a previous headcanon, but she has a mild obsession with Victorian aesthetic. She’s got a small collection of semi-authentic ballgowns that cost upwards of a-fuckton-of-money each, but anything’s worth it to be able to play dress-up with Lily. Fubuki’s favorite thing is making Lily feel beautiful because everyone has been an insecure teenager at one point and she knows how it feels to not be comfortable in one’s own skin. This isn’t exactly a guilty pleasure because she’s not guilty about it, but it’s almost gotten to a point where an intervention is needed. She’s got so many damn dresses and sooooo much fine china....

Saitama: Retail therapy, lol. Saitama is only good at budgeting because he has no choice given how fucking poor he is, but give this boy even a little bit of leeway and he’ll buy the ugliest clothes (to which he thinks look poppin’) and the best meats without even batting an eye. His entire manga collection is the product of him having little to no self control the moment he realizes he’s got a bit of money to spend on himself. This is also the only time he’ll experiment with cooking because now he can actually afford to fuck up, literally.

Mumen Rider: Sweets! I’ve said this in a previous hc but he has a major sweet tooth. You can substitute salt for sugar in any given recipe and he’ll see it as a major improvement because he just goes absolutely buckwild for anything sweet. His pancreas is suffering, but he believes nothing feels better than curling up under the covers on a rainy day with a heaping helping of milk chocolate. The only thing that makes him feel better after getting beat to shit is a kiss on the cheek and box of his favorite cookies (and some bananas, lol).

Sonic: Like Flash, he also likes racing things. But, in addition to that, his guilty pleasure is doing his own hair in elaborate hairstyles (when it was longer). He’s pretty much homeless so he’s got a lot of time to himself in between murders. This is when you can find him sitting in the woods somewhere braiding flowers into his hair and tying it off with a moss ribbon. He’d never admit he does this because he’s a big macho man and he’d probably cry.

Garou: Spicy chips. I’ve said this before in a previous hc, but he absolutely inhales his food without even tasting it half the time so it’s not even like he gets to enjoy the flavor that much. He just likes the burn because he’s a shithead. He also doesn’t fear death or a torn-up asshole, so he’ll eat an entire family-sized bag of the OPM-universe equivalent to Takis without even batting an eye. He’s been beat to shit so many times that the agony that comes with downing so much spice is lost on him. He doesn’t even need water. It’s insane. Someone stop this madman at once.

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movedto-jewishbucke · 4 years

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summary: Following a bad breakup and an overdose, TK Strand starts to reevaluate his life with the help of his therapist and he realizes the relationship with his father isn’t healthy… for either of them. Concerned that he might relapse due to his father’s over-involvement in his life and needing a fresh start, he decides to relocate to Austin, TX. author’s note: this is not an anti-Owen Strand blog or fic

updates: every other Tuesday; chapter 2 will be up May 12th tag list [comment or send an ask if you’d like to be added or removed]: @cupidmarwani

available on ao3

Something he likes about his therapist is that she never pressures him to talk if he doesn’t want to. Unfortunately, this means a lot of their sessions consist of them staring at each other, waiting for someone to break the silence - like now. He knows what he wants to say, what he has to say, but he’s scared because voicing it to another person makes it more real and means he actually has to follow through. Right now, he doesn’t know if this is something he actually wants because it’s such a big step, but he knows this is something he needs if he wants to get better.

“I think I need to start over.” He lets out a deep breath, because it’s like a weight has been lifted from his chest. TK slowly shifts his attention from the flower painting hanging behind his therapist’s head to her warm brown eyes.

Is it weird for him to think she seems more motherly than his own mother? Maybe that’s another issue of his that he needs to bring up… with a different therapist.

“Okay.” She nods slowly and adjusts her notebook so it’s balancing on her knee, which gets his anxiety spiking but before he can say something, she starts talking again. “What does starting over look like for you?”

In the two weeks he had been thinking about what he needed, he had never gotten into the planning stages. He knows he needs to start over, but he doesn’t know what that looks like or where to begin.

“I just…” He sighs, tearing his gaze away from her, choosing to look outside at the Manhattan traffic which seems way less chaotic than his life feels. “I love my dad,” he says, still refusing to look at her, “but ever since I overdosed, he has been a lot to deal with.”

That’s not entirely true and TK knows it, so does Dr. Cohen because she’s the one who very gently pointed out that their relationship went beyond a normal father-son bond. Why she would point this out when Owen is paying her bills, he doesn’t know; maybe she pointed it out because she cares more about his well-being than her paycheck.

“I know he loves me and just wants to make sure I’m safe.” But he’s an adult with a career, an apartment, a drug addiction, and a codependent relationship. It’s too much to deal with, and now that he’s aware of their codependency issues it’s a lot harder to ignore all the ways Owen violates his privacy for the sake of “protecting” him. “Sometimes, he makes me want to relapse.”

At this, he chooses to look over at her to see if she gives a hint as to what she’s thinking or how she feels about him saying he thinks about relapsing because of their relationship, but her expression is blank.

“What does he do?”

What doesn’t he do? He shows up at his apartment uninvited and with no warning, which is bad in and of itself but it’s made worse when TK has a guy over.

“One time, he went through my apartment to make sure I didn’t have drugs.” This had happened about three months ago, after he had overdosed for the first time in years, and at the time he had made excuses for him and downplayed his own feelings. Now, he’s angry at himself because he allowed him to violate his privacy in such a monumental way, and he wishes he had brought it up to Dr. Cohen when it had happened instead of brushing it off as “not a big deal.”

More recently, Owen has shown up at his workplace which would have been fine if he had at least asked or given him a heads up, but he didn’t. “Before my overdose, he would always show up to my work unannounced and it was fine, but now it seems like he’s invading my privacy.” He shrugs slightly and slowly meets her gaze. “Maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing.”

“What you’ve just told me are very obvious privacy violations,” she says, flashing him a small smile that is gone as quick as it came. “I can’t imagine anyone who would be okay with these things happening to them.”

TK focuses on a stain on the floor, mulling over her words and trying to decide if she’s right about him not overreacting. “I’ve tried talking to him about these things,” he mutters, seemingly to himself because his eyes are still trained on the stain. Is it a coffee stain? He hasn’t ever seen her drink coffee during their sessions though. “He didn't… he told me he was just worried about me and that any parent in his shoes would do the same thing.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have brought this up because it’s draining to think about, let alone talk about, and he’s starting to get the feeling that she might be judging him. He can’t say she would be wrong to judge him; he’s an adult who lacks any sort of independence from his father and sometimes he judges himself for that.

“Your father is very prone to… ignoring boundaries, as we’ve discussed in previous sessions, and that is not your fault.”

She pauses, taking a deep breath and shifting in her seat, and this gets him to look up at her instead of the stain. What kind of stain is it?

“I don’t know your father but I think he sees his actions as normal, healthy behaviors so when you confronted him, suggesting they weren’t, he chose to double down instead of consider the possibility that he has been unintentionally harming you.” She pauses again and he thinks she’s giving him time to process her words, but he’s not quite sure. “I think your father can’t let himself consider that possibility because based on our conversations, he has made keeping you safe and alive his primary purpose in life.”

He wants to object, to point out that Owen is a firefighter and that is his primary purpose in life: to save other people, not his family. But he knows that isn’t true and hasn’t been true since his first overdose eight years ago.

Instead of commenting on Owen’s other behaviors or acknowledging what she said, he chooses to do what he does best when the current topic starts to be too much for him to handle: change topics.

“I just think I need to start over.” He sinks into the plush chair and pops the string of his hoodie into his mouth, which reminds him he should invest in one of those fidget toys he sees his students with so he can stop ruining his $30 hoodies when he gets anxious.

“Why do you think you need to start over?”

Another thing he loves about her is that she handles his topic changes smoothly and doesn’t force him to talk about shit he doesn’t want to; he’s given the freedom to process his problems at his pace, not hers.

“I love this city,” he states, glancing out the window to watch the traffic again. “But if I don’t leave, I don’t think I’ll ever get a shot at being my own person,” he pauses and looks back at her, a frown tugging at his lips when he says, “or recovering.”

Owen is trying his best when it comes to dealing with all of his baggage, he knows this, but it’s too much sometimes and as much as he hates to think it, his dad threatens his recovery more than helps it.

“You said it yourself in our third session,” he starts, leaning toward her, propping his elbows up on his knees, “we’re codependent.” TK pops his hoodie string back in his mouth as he thinks over his next words, trying to figure out what he’s wanting to say. “We need space,” is what he finally comes up with, blurting it out the second it comes to mind.

For a few minutes, the only sound in the room is the ticking of the analog clock that sits on her desk, and he’s not sure if she’s wanting him to say more or she’s trying to figure out what to say. Then, she speaks.

“And you think relocating is the best way for you to get space?” She sounds skeptical which gets his anxiety going and he starts chewing on his string again, worrying that he voiced the wrong solution to his problems and upset her.

Truth be told, he doesn’t know what to do to get out of this rut he feels he’s in, because every decision he comes up with he feels is the wrong one but moving is the one idea that doesn’t seem bad. He wants to scream but he’s not sure how that will help the situation, so he stays quiet until she speaks again.

“Walk me through it, TK. How do you think relocating will help your recovery, your relationship with Owen, and other issues in your life?” She doesn’t sound angry, she sounds like she genuinely wants to understand his thought process, but he still feels like a child who is being forced to explain his decisions so he can understand how idiotic it is.

“I just can’t juggle my job, my recovery, and a dad who is too invested to the point that I want to relapse,” he says, flinching a bit at how loud he spoke. He wants to scream but he’s not sure how that will help anything and it might just make her kick him out, even though they still have thirty minutes left and the session was paid in advance.

“Everywhere I look I’m reminded of what I don’t have, what I lost.” He pulls his foot up into his lap, picking at a chunk of dried dirt on the sole. “When we broke up, I lost my friends because they were his friends first.”

The only friend he has is the fifty-year-old German librarian at his school, but it’s a stretch to call her his friend because he sees her more as a grandmother figure than someone he’s going to watch the 15th installment of Fast & Furious with.

“I love my students.” This year he’s teaching freshman English and they’re not quite as bold in how they address him like his senior class was the year before, but he still enjoys teaching them. He loves hearing their feedback on each unit and their thoughts on how he should make it better for the next class or year and he enjoys reading their essays on the books they’re forced to read because his students are funny and a little mean.

“I love the Jewish bakery on 7th because they make the best bagels and lox.” He has been going to their bakery every morning before school for four years now and he knows the family quite well, but the most they know about him is that his name is TK and he likes sesame seed bagels and iced caramel coffee. It’s weird, because he knows their only daughter died in a car accident three years ago and they’re raising their 9-year-old grandson, and that Mr. Goldstein went into remission three weeks ago. It’s not because they haven’t tried to get to know him, though. They have, but he has shut them out because he doesn’t want them to get too close or they might realize he’s a fuck up.

“I love my Iranian neighbor.” She was the first one to welcome him with a plate of an Iranian dish he can’t remember the name of and a warm hug when he moved into the apartment complex. When he realized she was alone he started visiting her. Every Saturday, they go to the park to watch the birds then they stop by the market so she can stock up on groceries. She teaches him her family recipes and her language, and in exchange he offers her his company which he knows she appreciates because of the way her face lights up when she sees him. No one has visited her in five years and his heart aches to think that she will be alone if he leaves.

He sighs, flopping back in the chair and focusing his attention on a crack in the ceiling. “I can’t go to the Italian restaurant on 4th anymore because that’s where I proposed.” It’s not like he’s banned from the restaurant, he just feels like throwing up every time he passes by the storefront because he’s reminded of the worst and most embarrassing moment of his life.

It’s not just the restaurant, though.

It’s the spin cycle place where Alex used to go and where he met the love of his life; it’s the Mediterranean place they’d eat lunch at on Tuesday; it’s the bookstore on 4th where they met; it’s his own apartment where they would steal kisses in the kitchen as they danced around each other trying to get dinner prepared, or the bedroom where Alex would spoon him while they watched old horror movies.

If it’s not reminders of Alex and the life they could’ve had if he hadn’t cheated, it’s reminders of his failed overdose and everything he has lost because of it.

“My job doesn’t know I’m an addict.” But they do know he isn’t a good fit for the school and isn’t able to perform his duties effectively anymore, so he’ll be out of a job at the end of the academic year. He can’t blame that entirely on his addiction though; the school has been looking for a reason to fire him since his first year when parents complained about him being openly gay. Unfortunately, he gave them the reason they had been looking for because after his overdose his job performance tanked to the point that his students were behind the rest of their grade and parents were, once again, complaining about him. (But at least this time it wasn’t about his sexuality.)

“I need to get out of here,” he whispers, closing his eyes and folding his hands across his stomach. “I need to start over somewhere new, somewhere I can be independent, somewhere I can focus on my recovery, somewhere I can… I don’t know.”

He just needs a fresh start in a new city where no one knows his name or his grocery list of fuck ups.

#tk strand #911 lone star #911ls #mywriting #fic: new beginnings #i feel bad cause i didn't edit this but i just didn't feel like it lmaooooo #anyway i wasn't sure if i should put this in the tarlos tag or not since this chapter is literally just tk strand goes to therapy :)#mine

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deniigi · 5 years

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I had a really bad day (I wont say why because I wouldnt want you to feel like I'm guilting you into anything) and I was wondering if maybe you had a dfv/lfv or inimitable verse drabble you havent put up or one on here you really like you could point me to (navigation is hard on mobile) or even just some like hcs. If not its totally ok! You dont owe me anything. But I thought I'd ask and see if that's ok.

Oh no!

Sorry that you had a rough day my dear. I don’t have much in the works for those verses right now (I’ve been hammering my head against a wall, trying to write out a piece exploring Gwen and Murderdock’s relationship–it’s not working tho, so I’m stopping). Of course any of the Clint-based pieces are fun in those verses if you need a pick me up, but I am equally fond of Chapter 13 of Sidebars.

But! If you don’t mind a little piece from Lying by Omission/The Sprawl I’ve got cute little bit of Jack and Ben going out to dinner with Matt and Peter?

I’ll put it under the cut if you’re down

—-

“Dad, let’s go out to eat.”

Jack didn’t trust that. Jack had been scarred by the durian. Permanently scarred. He was never coming back from the durian. He was etching a durian with a big ‘X’ through it into the top of his next coffin for future archaeologists to find and have absolutely no questions about.

Matt, sensing that he was presently not receiving the amount of attention that he could be receiving, oozed out of the kitchen and draped himself over the back of the couch, right behind Jack’s shoulders. Jack glanced to the side and noted that he was wearing shoes.

He wasn’t chancing it.

“No shoes on the couch,” he said.

“It’s my couch,” Matt hummed, already migrating over to the couch’s arm, no doubt to burrow his way under Jack’s own arm.

“It’s a couch.”

“My couch,” Matt hummed, plucking Jack’s phone out of his hand and tossing it callously to the other side of said couch. He then executed the burrow and wriggled himself over so that he was the sole occupant of Jack’s lap. He waited, as sweet as could be, until he had Jack’s more or less undivided attention.

The kid was heavy. Jack couldn’t tell if he knew just how heavy he was.

He suspected that he was more than aware of it.

Matt beamed at him. He did not pull his shoed feet over the couch’s arm.

A sign of obedience. Or perhaps a buttering-up technique.

Tricky, tricky.

“Why do we need to go out to eat? What’s wrong with what’s in the fridge?” Jack asked Matt’s untrustworthy grin.

It faded a little because there was a pout which needed doing.

“I’m tired of eating potatoes,” Matt huffed.

“Take it back,” Jack scolded him. “I won’t hear any raggin’ on tatties in this household.”

“I want rice.”

“I’ll make you rice, Matty.”

“I don’t want your rice.”

Picky little shit. Just like his mother. She’d been the type to refuse a peanut butter and jelly sandwich if the slop wasn’t equally distributed.

Jack’s rice was perfectly fine. It even had bits of onion in it. If he was feeling real fancy, he might even cook it in broth or something.

“Fine, so make rice yourself,” he said. Matt squirmed up and wrapped arms around Jack’s neck. He put his cheek against it and immediately made the skin there it itch.

“You need a shave,” Jack huffed, reaching back for his phone. Vanessa was doing battle with her replacement: Bella the cat. She was giving their zombie group the play by play of the her and the cat’s opposing campaigns to win Wade’s favor. Thus far, Bella had broken a plate and gotten scratchies and kisses for it. Vanessa was outraged.

It was an outrage to behold.

“Daddy.”

Not this again. This was no reason to bring out the big guns.

“Get your shoes,” Matt whined.

“Baby, you can go out. I’m not stopping you from going out. No one is stopping you from going out, god help us,” Jack told him.

Matt abandoned his neck, stretched out, quick as a whip, and snatched the phone on the other cushion. He crammed it into his shirt and then replaced himself and his face-broom against Jack’s pulse point.

Yeah.

Yeah, Jack didn’t know what he’d expected to happen here.

“Matt,” he warned.

“Dinner.”

“The last time we went to dinner, you broke my heart, soul, and trust.”

“I won’t do it again.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, right. ”

“I won’t,” Matt promised, pulling back to add puppy eyes to the mix.

That was unfair. Uncalled for. Totally underhanded.

“Why don’t you go out with Foggy?” Jack tried as a last-ditch effort.

“Because I want to go out with you,” Matt emphasized. “My pops. My old man. We gotta bond. It’ll make me more well-adjusted. The internet says so.”

Jack was confiscating the internet. The internet was a know-it-all snitch.

“DAD.”

“Fine, for fuck’s sake, boy. Get off, you’re drowning me here.”

Jack would go out to dinner on one condition.

Two conditions actually.

1) There was to be no durian. Anywhere. At all.

2) He got to bring moral support.

Matt was more than cool with that because it meant that he could replace the durian with another creative element which would equally torture Jack.

So Jack asked Ben Parker to come along. Parker was sharp as a tack. Compared to Jack, he was a man of the world. A reasonable and sensitive body with respect for his fellow humans. He promised to help Jack identify potential threats to his person flung his way by his uncaring and mischievous son.

Unfortunately, to that end, Matt insisted that they take Ben’s nephew, Peter, out with them too.

Jack knew from the start that this was Matt inserting his chaos element into what might otherwise be a perfectly tolerable and uneventful night out. But he also held out hope that Peter would be the sweet, kind-hearted boy he appeared to be.

It really was too much to ask for.

Peter latched his whole body onto Matt within seconds of their two parties meeting up and the two of them immediately set to whispering which bode poorly for everyone else involved.

“I believe we may have made a mistake,” Ben observed, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin.

Matt wanted rice and Peter wanted something sour enough to leave ulcers in his mouth, so the two of them decided that Thai food would achieve both of these effects. Jack was suspicious. Ben told him that Thai food was very tasty and he had little reason to fear, except.

Except.

“Peter hates durian, it’s fine, he won’t be setting up any conspiracies around it,” Ben promised him.

Mm.

They’d see about that.

Foggy had said something similar when he and Matt had dragged Jack out for Filipino food.

Jack was pretty sure that Peter just wanted a lime. He was 90% sure that all Peter’s cravings could be satisfied with a lime right now.

Matt, however, in an unlikely turn of events, convinced him that he should get food-substances to accompany his burning desire for limes. Peter grumbled at this and deferred to his uncle for support in the face of this logic.

Chaos element, located.

“Pick a carb,” Ben directed.

“Sugar is a carb,” Peter argued.

“Pick a carb in a less refined form,” Ben countered easily.

“If it’s raw sugar, it—”

“Veg, noodles, or rice,” Ben offered him.

Peter scowled.

“You said a carb,” he pouted. “I want sugar.”

“I have good news for you, sweet child of mine,” Ben said fondly. “There is sugar in everything served in the United States of America. You will have your sugar. Pick its structure: veg, noodles, or rice.”

Ben made Jack feel like a shit dad sometimes. Although, to be fair, Jack hadn’t been a dad as long as Ben had.

Peter, outwitted and bitter about it, agitated Matt to help him.

Matt saw no need for that.

“You’re gonna be hungry in an hour and then you’re gonna whine about it,” he declared.

Peter scowled at him and then turned his lethal puppy eyes onto Jack. Jack set up a menu between the two of them because he was not strong enough to cope with that.

Peter whined behind it.

Things were going too smoothly for too long. Jack did not trust the decent behavior happening at this table. Ben got a kick out of his paranoia, which was great because someone needed to.

“What are you hiding?” Jack asked Matt. Matt scoffed.

“Chill, old man,” he said. “We’re literally just having dinner. Maybe try to have a good time, huh?”

No.

Something evil was afoot.

Peter snickered. Matt swatted at him; he easily dodged the hand.

Trouble.

Dinner was eaten and paid for and Jack eventually gave up and settled down. Begrudgingly, he had to admit that Matt was right. Thai food was nice. No incidents had occurred. There was no durian. Ben and Peter made for good conversation, even if everything led back to Peter’s obsession with sci-fi films.

Ben told him that if he kept mentioning them, the aliens would hear him and his name would start to move up higher up on their list of potential captures.

The kid was horrified.

Matt helpfully started counting off the number of times Peter had mentioned aliens in the last week and Peter had briefly looked like he was going to cry.

“Is your wife not going to hear of this?” Jack asked Ben as they walked after the trouble duo who had determined that they were finding dessert at a different location. They seemed to know what they were after, so Jack and Ben left them to it.

“Oh, she will,” Ben said.

“And you don’t mind?”

“She encourages it. She’s convinced him that if you leave a tv on static, aliens can pick up on your watch history.”

Interesting parenting techniques going on here.

Ben laughed.

“Well, I guess we just figure that if you’ve got a weird kid, it’s easier on everyone if you just lean into it. My brother probably wouldn’t be so down with it, but he’s not here, so whatever.”

Ah, right.

“Peter’s your brother’s son, then,” Jack noted.

Ben hummed.

“I…guess,” he said uneasily. “I—it’s hard to explain. I mean, biologically, yeah he’s Rich’s son. But, you know, me and May’ve raised him for longer than Rich and Mary were ever in his life, so, I dunno. Is it fucked up that I kind of think of him as my son?”

No. Not at all.

“My eldest brother pretty much raised me,” Jack told him. “My mama couldn’t be assed to do anything more than scream at the drop of a hat and my daddy was busy drinking himself to death, so Bill was the one who got me up and dressed and off to school in the morning. I always thought of him as a mix between a brother and a mom.”

“No shit?” Ben said. “Where is he? He still around?”

Uuuuuuuh.

“We haven’t talked for a long time,” Jack said.

“Oh? Well, now’s your chance you know.”

Jack tried not to wince too sharply. Ben caught it anyways.

“Or not,” he said. “You don’t have to if its painful or something.”

Oh, buddy.

“We’ll see,” Jack decided. “I’ll need to think about it.”

He didn’t know how Matt would react. Hell, he didn’t know how he would react to seeing Bill again.

Matt and Peter presented Jack with a drink that had evil hiding in the bottom of it.

He should have known better to think he’d escape that night uninjured.

–

I hope this cheers you up my dear and that things get easier for you soon!

#fic #jack murdock #matt murdock #ben parker #I need to do smth for the sprawl for real #ficlet

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kewltie · 4 years

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How do you come up with so many new ideas for stories? I feel like I’m constantly stumped and stuck with cliches (and while those are fun and I absolutely love them) I can never really think of something to make it my own? When I see your writing I feel like you’re able to take cliches and make it your own so much it no longer feels like one, I’m always so worried about making a story to similar to another when trying to put a spin on a classic trope, also! Hope youre doing okay during this time

hi anon!!!

such a good question to bring up! for me, personally, inspiration comes really easy bc im really easy. that sounds weird but i basically consume any form of media across various genres that would catch my interest. i read, watch, play (games mostly lol), etc and maintain a variety of interest in like all sort of things so i pull ideas from a lot of diff places. like, i REALLY REALLY love animals and nature documentaries so i like to incorporate that into my stories w/ in the form of post-apocalyptic mermaids au (what happen when majority of humans leave earth and those left behind returns to the oceans bc i watch a fake nature doc about mermaids which are apparently sea ape and how how all live originate in the sea) or plant au (where the earth is living entity and try to take back the planet w overgrown murderous plants and descend into a world of nature taking REVENGE etc). i also really REALLY like watching doc about history of conquered so that influence my writing a lot lol. so yea, i take inspo in all these media i consumed and turn it into something i want to read. so having all these various interests that are all over the place i dont have a problem jumping from one genre to the next and never really get bored! you can see me talking endlessly about the various media i have consumed (i.e shoujo/shounen/yaoi etc manga/webtoon, asian dramas, games, tv shows) and im always open to new ones too!! being open minded to try out things not in my comfort zone was such a huge help for me and now im like ok that sounds cool i’ll try it lol.

also, i really what i call genre mashing like combining two things that dont usually go together automatically like ??? post apocalyptic mermaids??? the princess bride but steampunk?? OR beauty and the beast au in space?? LIKE all are ideas i have talk huge amount about bc i love putting familiar ideas and throwing it some weird wild settings and just HAVE FUN. if you have something you think been done a millions time before (which is not WRONG AT ALL) just think how you could do it different this time around or look at it in a diff perspective. like, i wrote a hundred arrange marriage royalty au AND I APOLOGETICALLY LOVES THEM and each time im like i already did desert setting so i’ll go for some winter setting this time around; or i’ll make them childhood friends last time, i’ll go for enemies; in other fic i explored theme of duty vs heart, now i want to explore war themes etc so like i dont intentionally try to make it diff but i just think how the story & chars may go if i take on a diff direction and sometimes that little change can have a rippling effect and turn into a whole diff story. so yea, dont be afraid to ask yourself WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF–? bc who knows where it take you!

this also translate to when im reading fanfics of other ppl and I READ A LOT. LIKE A SHIT TON. if im not writing im usually reading something. when im reading other ppl’s fic i get to see their take on certain tropes or how they address certain that i may really like a lot and i want to tackle it on my own but that also lead to if i run into a branch in the story where the author does it certain way but i think myself hmm…. what if this happen the other way and THAT GIVES ME IDEA. like, dont let hold yourself back from reading other fanfics bc you’re afraid you get similar ideas when the whole of fandom is about inspiring each other. inspiration =/= carbon copy. i openly talked about my ideas all the time and not possessive about it bc sometimes ppl would ask me if they can write something base of it and i 99% say yea go ahead bc the way they write it would be diff from how i write it even though it’s the same concept, how i write the chars & the themes may be diff from how they view it. you can HAVE THE SAME IDEA BUT DIFF EXECUTION. that’s the most important part!!! it is not plagiarizing bc seeding an idea is like part of fandom and it becomes trend a lot the way ABO gets around the fandom like wildfire lmao.

last but not least, be THE FIC YOU WANT TO READ. this is why you usually see me starting a conversation w a i really, really LOVE/LIKE etc and ramble away about an idea and how it’ll go. a lot of my stories are a reflection of my interests like how im always talking endlessly about kingdoms, war, and rulers and conquerors bc im just really fascinated by it lmao /o. and there’s also all those single parents fic i wrote bc i deeply empathized with it due my childhood being raised by a single mother. and there are times when things that matter to me i put in my stories, like im hitting my 30s soon and im still single. i think i dont mind being like that but i want to have children so how would that work out?? things that plague me in real life i address in fics in term of surrogacy & sperm donation bc it’s something i consider about wanting a family when you’re single and dont have a partner. every fic or idea i have ever written or talk about you can see my fingerprints all over it bc they’re things i deeply, truly care and am interest about that i want IT TO EXIST IN THE WORLD so i write it out. i algo get really annoyed when im there’s a trend in fandom to take a trope in certain direction and i just dont like it lmao (i.e. villain!deku im more focus on izuku getting his redemption and how & yandere au WHEN THEY ARE EQUALLY CRAZY ABOUT EACH OTHER) so i put my frustration and complaint into a fic. you can see this clearly in a lot of my ABO fics where i tend to put omegas often on top bc that’s just my particular taste. i dont try to buckle trend just to be contrary but i do it when my taste doesn’t match theirs and ya know be the fic you see in the world basically lol. just bc something is popular by the mass doesn’t mean you have to follow it even IF YOU THINK YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO LIKE IT, let assure you’re wrong. there will always be someone who taste clicks with yours OR you can persuade them just by writing a kickass fic and just stand by what they wrote. sometimes, i find myself falling in love with a story i would never consider reading at all bc i dont like the trope or themes just bc the writing is v v v good or the writer CLEARLY LOVE WHAT THEY WROTE THAT THEY PUT THEIR HEART AND SOUL INTO IT and i can see it in their writing and im swayed. so yea, don’t think of putting a new spin on old cliche but try to think of as making it your own by doing it how you WOULD GO AT IT. how would you write the million abo fic? what do you like to see? HISTORICAL, SCIFI, FANTASY? how would you categorized ABO?? go for classic alphas rules society and omegas are lower class? or do the total opposite?? like DON’T FORCE yourself to be diff, just let it come to you and im sure you’ll be able to make it your own bc look there’s like a million fics on ao3 AND EVEN MORE THAN MILLION original novels in real life. you’re not going to invent anything new that had never seen before so dont try be diff but be yourself and soon you’ve have something that is solely your owns and nobody else and that’s the best advice i can give.

a;sjdf;as sorry this is such a incoherent mess but i LOVE, LOVE cliches just as much as i like trope breaking them and it doesnt matter where you fall on the line as long as you can enjoy what you create that’s all that matter! i hope whatever i said help you out a little and lighten your worry just a bit. and thanks for the question bc it really is intrestingl !!!!! and i hope you’re staying safe and please take care bc im doing ok for now lol!!

#Anonymous

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a-wanderin-whirlybird · 4 years

Text

First Sight: A Sole Ender Fic

Summary: Ryan tried hard to ensure he was never seen without a mask. And if that failed he always kept an extra eye patch on him. The recent stint with the FAHC had turned onto a permanent partnership and Ryan knew he would have to either tell the crew about his "condition" or they would find it themselves. Sadly it seemed that the latter would be the case as a stray bullet decided.

It was a simple job really. Go in, kill a man, steal some data for Gavin, then leave. They had planned and over planned to hell and back. It was an easy job.

But when was anything ever easy or going to plan with the FAHC? They lived and thrived on chaos and uncertainty. It was part of the reason Ryan even accepted the offer to join permanently.

As the Vagabond working alone, he made his own fun. But it always felt hollow, being alone felt hollow. Though it was all Ryan had known for a long long time. The experiments never left room for socializing not when it was only Ryan in a room with a bunch of Pricks.

Still it was nicer to hear others groan at bad puns or laugh at cheesy one liners while storming a bank or glaring down an enemy. It was, nice. Odd, and a learning process for sure but damn if it wasnt nice to have something like a family. Which was why he was extra careful.

Ryan knew that the experiments he survived left their mark. Black and purple veins or skin patches were easy enough to hide with make up. Avoiding water was disguised as a quirk, though for bathing Ryan made absolutely certain to run the shower while he wiped himself down with wet wipes. Not ideal but it got him clean enough. As for teleporting and staring well... he made sure if he did teleport no one saw, and the crew thought he was leaving his sparkles around to annoy Gavin. He was able to pass off his hatred and anger towards staring and eye contact as personal and the crew respected that.

But he could not hide the eye. His left eye had morphed into something else decades ago, right at the beginning of the experiments. His right eye was blue and looked perfectly normal. His left... it had no whites, just black ink and a large nearly matching purple pupil. It moved on it's own sometimes, something Ryan never fully figured out how to stop. And it watched everything. It showed the weakest points in objects, where Ryan could just pluck a cube from whatever it was. It showed veins and important artery locations in a potential victim. It was a culmination of everything the fucks back at the Program had wanted.

But Ryan hated it. Seeing the samn thing not only hurt, but infuriated him. Even decades later it made him feel weak and helpless. And worst of all, it was like a brand. Impossible to hide without heavy cloth or armor, its eerie black glow seeping through everything else. Ryan was only just starting to settle with the FAHC he was actually starting to enjoy himself. Like hell he was going to let something as stupid as an eye fuck that up!

But he knew, eventually he would have to tell the crew. It was either that or they would find out... It had been a simple fucking job and of course that would be where it all unraveled.

"Turn left! Left you Dolts!" Gavin's voice cracked over comms as Jeremy and Ryan sprinted through the corridors of the former safe house. A trail of bloody foot prints spread out behind them as they sprinted down and through the halls. The lights flashed red and an alarm blared loudly.

They hung a left, Jeremy skidding a little as he went.

"How the Fuck did we miss that camera? I thought the system was down!" Jeremy growled as the two rounded another corner. Ryan had pulled out a shotgun and held it close and ready as they raced for the exit.

"Bastards probably had a separate system. But that would mean they expected company." Ryan offered lowly so that the comms heard him but not those around him.

"Shit! Take cover!" Gavin shouted over comms as the battle Buddies finally reached the exit.

Jeremy dove down and Ryan jumped back into an open door as several shots fired past them. Jeremy crawled into the closet with Ryan, cocking a pistol.

"Fuck, how many Gav?" Jeremy asked.

Ryan popped his head out to return fire and popped back in as the sounds of bullet tearing flesh ripped through the blaring alarms as blood oozed out over the floor.

"I caught sight of 3 total. One is down so 2 left." Ryan supplied as Jeremy nodded and ducked out to shoot.

Ryan silently cursed, he could teleport, but he never teleported with someone, itd likely kill Jeremy if he did. But perhaps he could get behind the enemies...

There was a loud crash from the opposite end of the hall and a curse from Gavin.

"Hurry up! They have back up coming!" Well fuck. Ryan pulled a bewildered Jeremy into the Closet and shit off his comm.

"Stay here and please dont ask any questions." Ryan practically begged. Jeremy nodded quickly and gasped when, with a Vwoop! Ryan vanished leaving a small shower of sparkles.

Ryan appeared behind the first man, knife out and swinging. The blade dug into the back of his neck as a groan caught the other man's attention. As Ryan pulled the knife out he teleported again, letting the first fall limp and struck out at the other's neck as he pulled out of his teleport. A quickl slash and the throat was cut and the man fell.

Ryan only had time to barely catch his. Breath as sharp pain ripped through his left eye and the world went white for a moment. When the world partially swam into focus Jeremy had Ryan slung over his shoulder and was making a beeline out the exit. Tyan couldnt quite hear what he was saying and didnt get the chance to figure it out as he drifted into painful unconsciousness.

Jeremy had to say that he figured the Vagabond was weird. Tucker wore a mask for everything and the few times the media even got a glimpse of them without it they had a fucking eye patch and face paint! But then he joined the crew and it became apparent that the Vagabond was like the rest of the crew, weird, pissed, and chaotic as fuck. So sure, Jeremy expect quirks from Ryan.

Then the Motherfucker went and teleported in front of him! Jeremy still wasnt sure if that was what actually happened or if it was the adrenaline playing tricks on his eyes. Then a bullet struck Ryan in the eye and Jeremy didnt have time to think.

He ran out and grabbed his teleporting Battle Buddy and sprinted for the getaway vehicle. Jack was waiting outside and sped off the moment both boys were in the car.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gav fo we have anything back at base for Bullets in eyes?" Jeremy asked desperately over comms. Gavin scrambled on the other side muttering this and that.

"Well get the fucking bullet out first before we get there we might actually be able to do something then!" Jack called from the front as they sped out onto the highway.

"Fuck! You're serving all over the place you think I'm going to be able to dig a bullet out like this?" Jeremy snapped.

"Just fucking try!" Jack shouted, as they swerved around an eighteen wheeler.

Jeremy cursed and began to remove Ryan's mask and then his eye patch

"Sorry buddy." Jeremy whispered as he lifted the patch and frozen. "Oh what the shit?!"

"What? If he is missing an eye dont gawk!" Jack scolded.

"He's not missing an eye but its janky as dicks! Its black and purple and shit." Jeremy shouted as he tried to figure out how the hell he was going to dig a bullet out of his friend's ... uh... eye.

"Thay sounds unhealthy." Jack deadpanned as the car pulled into the headquater's garage. Once stopped jack came around to the back. "Alright move the fuck over you useless-Holy fuck you weren't kidding!"

"Yeah! No shit!"

"Whatever move! I'm getting that bullet out." Jack said, Shoving Jeremy out the otherside of the car. Jeremy yelped as he hit the concrete and popped back up, his eyes catching a patch of black skin peeking through smudged make up.

"Got it!" Jeremy tore his eyes back to Jack who was holding up a bullet covered in a thick black liquid with swirls of red dripping within.

"Great, now help me get this fuck inside." Geoff said jogging up to Jack from behind Jeremy. Jeremy was still frozen as the two Gents carried Ryan up to his room. Gavin and Michael approaches Jeremy.

"The fuck has you spooked?" Michael asked. "He's a tough fucker. Ryan'll be fine."

"Dude did you see his fucking blood? Its black! His eye is purple and moving on it's own! He fucking teleported!" Jeremy exclaimed. "Either that all just happened or I'm fucking high as balls. Neither outcome is good."

Gavin shrugged. "Well, do drugs we all see that."

Gavin pointed to the car where a small pool of black and red flecked blood glistened in the lights. The three lads stared at the pool in silence until michael spoke.

"Well son of a bitch."

Ryan came to in a bed. His own at the penthouse. He blinked a few times feeling the sting of a healing wound in his left eye as he did so. Having super human healing paid off more than it didnt.

Ryan sat up hand raising up to his face, expecting a mask or eye patch... only to meet fresh bandages.

Panic hit Ryan like a truck.

"Shit." Ryan cursed loudly as he went to stand only to flop over the side of the bed. "Fucking healing fatigue. Fucking legs, fuck!"

"Well good to see you're awake." Geoff's smooth drawl was cracked with stress and exhaustion.

The man was slouched against the door frame a cup of tea in hand. His hair was a mess and his eyes had bags that looked like they were dripping down his face

Ryan turned his face from Geoff's feet down to the floor on which his gave rested. A grumble was released into the floorboards then Ryan slowly picked himself back up onto the bed, his left eye still covered. Geoff shot him a knowing look as he stepped in and closed the door.

"Gavin and the lads are with Jack in the Kitchen looking for an update on you. Figured I'd be the first to talk to you." Ryan huffed as Geoff spoke with more authority than Ryan liked. It sounded too familiar.

Like a Scientist trying to get answers.

"Alright no need to growl asshole Jesus fuck." Geoff held up his hands in mock surrender and Ryan felt his shoulders relaxing a little.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Ryan hissed. "But I'm not some specimen to interogate."

"Well that answers that." Geoff said and Ryan tensed again. "Fuck right look I'm pretty sure a glowing black and purple eye ball ain't natural and yes we saw it you had a bullet in your eye and we didnt know it would heal on it's own. Dont care about that if you want it to stay covered it can stay covered. I'm more curious about Jeremy saying you fucking teleport."

"I can only teleport myself. Itd kill anyone else." Ryan said sheepishly as a sigh of relief escaped his lungs. "I can also take cubes of shit out of anything."

"People to?" Geoff asked, Ryan nodded. "Holy fuck what the hell kind of experiment were you a part of?"

Ryan shook his head and Geoff nodded.

"Right later if ever. Moving on, you alright?"

"Just tired. Healing takes a lot of energy." Ryan explained and Geoff nodded.

"Need water or anything?" Geoff offered and Ryan shook his head again.

"Burns. I'll just go out myself..."

"You sure? I'm sure the guys all have a million fucking questions." Geoff said as Ryan slowly rose up.

"Better now than later." Gwoff laughed.

"Fucking true. Though I have one more question." Ryan sighed.

"Shoot."

"Those sparkles Gavin's been collecting, do you make those?" Ryan laughed.

"When I teleport, Yeah. Dont know how or from where. But I do know Gavin has been using them on his nail polish and and eye shadow." Geoff busted out laughing as the two walked out into the penthouse living room. The lads shot up with Jeremy racing up to Ryan with Gavin close behind. A million questions poured out. But it was good.

#fahc #Sole Ender AU #fic #Ender!Vagabond #Its rough but Im on Mobile #the moment I get home im adding the read more and spell checking

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