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fanficimagery · 3 years

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When Enough is Enough pt. II

Imagine being let down one too many times by your best friend, only to end up making some new ones in the process.

Words: 8.5K Author’s Note: Okay so some of you asked to only be added to part 2 of this while others asked to be added everything Bucky.. and a few others weren’t exactly clear. So if you want to be tagged in any future Bucky related imagines please let me know so I can get your blog name written down on my list.

Tags: @aya-fay @70s-chic @sipsteacasually @kaitlyn2907 @scarlettwitch99 @thingsforimagination @mimilh @felicityofbakerstreet @eternalharry @eliwinchester99 @intothesoul @wintershadowkat @b1sexualtonystark @meredeph @miszswan

The Sunday before you are to return to work, you sleep in until nine in the morning. Your thoughts are immediately on Bucky's impending arrival and you couldn't help the butterflies that took flight in your stomach. He's a friend, just as all the others are, but you couldn't help but notice just how attractive this new friend of yours is. But not only does his attractiveness draw you in, his easy-going teasing and protectiveness does too. However, Bucky Barnes is still a man trying to find his footing in this world after all that's been done to him and finally getting his name cleared, and if he finds comfort with you then you're going to try your best and be the friend he needs.

So since you're not dressing to impress, you dress in your favorite lazy outfit after your shower- leggings, sports bra, a faded sleeveless band tee with the arm holes having been cut down to around your ribs, and a pair of socks. Damp hair gets gathered up into a messy bun and you walk around your apartment to pick up some things you had unknowingly left out.

You've skipped breakfast, so when there's a knock on your door and you open up to find Bucky standing there, you groan in relief. He raises both hands with paper bags hanging from each. "I come bearing sushi. Wanda let it slip how much you love it."

"Yesss." You step back, quickly taking in his own comfort outfit of sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt under an opened jacket. "Did you bring plenty of wasabi? And you can just kick off your shoes anywhere."

"Of course." He hands you the bags so he can kick off his shoes and strip out of his jacket before hanging it up. You don't know why, but seeing him in a short sleeve shirt makes you happy, knowing full well he was weird about his metal arm being out in the open. "And plenty of dipping sauce as well. Wanda was more than happy to give me advice."

"Wanda, huh?" You chuckle, leading the way to your kitchen. "You actually told her where'd you be?"

"Apparently I looked very pensive this morning. She asked and I figured she was a better confidant than Steve or Sam who would have made a big deal about us hanging out."

"True." Setting the bags down, you let him empty them while you head to the fridge. "Beer?"

"Yeah."

Grabbing him a beer and yourself a can of Cola, you return to the table and your eyes widen at the sight of all the sushi. "Damn, Barnes. That's a lot of sushi."

"Don't act like you won't eat half of it."

You laugh as you take a seat, handing him his beer and pulling a few trays to your side of the table. You take a container of wasabi and dipping sauce for yourself, and grab a pair of chopsticks to start digging in.

You moan in delight at your first taste, happily shimmying in your seat before taking another. Eventually, you ask, "So what are you going to do when I'm back at work and I can't keep you entertained by getting shitfaced?"

Bucky grins around his mouthful of food before chasing it down with a swig of his beer. "We actually got a mission comin' up so I'll be leavin' around mid-week."

"Well that sucks." You sigh. "Now who am I going to send random pictures to when I have downtime at work?"

He grins. "You can still send them to me. I just won't get back to you until after the mission's complete."

"Yeah, yeah."

The two of you continue to eat- Bucky dodging Steve's texts about where he is and when he's coming back, and you sending the middle finger emoji over and over to Wanda who keeps wondering how your date is going. Then once most of the sushi is gone and Bucky puts what little is left into the fridge, the two of you head to the living room. You immediately flop onto the couch as Bucky takes the plush recliner, only for you to hear him moving the chair into its reclined position seconds later.

"Oh. I definitely need to get one of these."

You laugh as he snuggles down and you pick up the remote to bring up your streaming services. "Anything you've been meaning to watch?"

"Not really. Just show me your favorites."

You start off with some humor by playing the Goonies. It's a movie that no matter how many times you've seen it, it always seems to make you laugh. And it seems Bucky is not immune either when they make Chunk to the truffle shuffle. Titanic plays afterwards, but only after making sure Bucky found it somewhat interesting after reading the movie summary to him. He is interested from beginning to end and doesn't even laugh at you when you shed a few tears for the old married couple who opt to stay in their bed as the room floods.

When a break is needed, you head off towards the bathroom as Bucky finishes off the leftover sushi. Both of you check your phones and read each other the missed text messages from Steve and his worrying behavior.

"Wanna tell Steve to fuck off via video message?" Bucky takes a moment to think on it before he grins and nods. "Excellent. Sit in the recliner. I'm gonna crawl up all in your business. That okay?"

"Yeah."

As Bucky gets comfortable in the recliner, you sit on the armrest before sliding down sideways onto his lap. You bring up the camera app on your phone and switch it to video, sliding your right arm behind Bucky's neck while holding your left arm out to capture the two of you on the screen. "Ready?"

"Sure, doll."

You chuckle quietly and then smirk mischievously as Bucky relaxes his expression into his best resting bitch face. After you hit record, you say, "Hey Rogers, stop being a little bitch and sending us text after text. I'm tryin' to fuck your best friend here." Bucky's expression cracks as he barks out a laugh and you turn to face him while grinning. You share a laugh with him before facing the camera once more. "Only joking, but seriously stop buggin' us. I promise to send him back in one piece."

As you prepare to send the text to Steve, Bucky says, "You're terrible."

"Whatever. Admit it, you adore me."

"Occasionally."

You huff another laugh as the video message finally sends. You and Bucky both watch as the delivered status turns to read, and then those three little dots appear as Steve starts typing his reply.

"Tell Bucky to wrap it before he taps it." You burst out laughing at Steve's text, Bucky's rumbling laughter only fueling yours even more. "God I hate your best friend sometimes." And before you climb off Bucky's lap, because honestly you were getting a little too comfortable, you send Steve a few middle finger emojis before deciding on a third movie to watch.

The third movie you choose is one that never fails to make you laugh- Bridesmaids. You had a moment of hesitancy because of the sex scenes, but you figured they were ridiculous enough that it wouldn't be awkward. Thankfully you're correct and you get the added bonus of hearing Bucky's laughter again during Megan's scenes, especially when they get food poisoning and are all fighting for the bathroom.

You and Bucky take yet another break after the film, just stretching and finding something to drink.

"So what's the verdict, Barnes? Are you enjoying the films?"

He grins. "Your taste is all over the place, huh? That last one we watched was raunchy."

"But hilarious! You need to watch the Hangover trilogy, but you definitely need to watch that with Steve and then watch him squirm at the pictures that roll with the credits."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Jurassic Park holds his attention and he can't help but comment how stupid one has to be to replicate dinosaur DNA and then open up a park with live dinosaurs. You laugh, but don't bother commenting. You'll tell him later there are more movies involved, with yet another idiotic man who felt he could get the park up and running once more.

It's getting dark, but it's still a little too early for dinner. One more movie and then you'll order or go out and pick something up.

"So this last one for the day is a movie that's directed more towards the female viewers, but you did ask for my favorite films and Practical Magic is my absolute favorite."

"Well put it on, doll."

As you press play on Practical Magic, you quickly grab a throw blanket and snuggle in. Instead of watching Bucky, you watch the film and mumble certain quotes to yourself. The magic scenes always bring a soft smile to your face just as Gary's confession to Sally of I wished for you too breaks your heart, and Sally and Gillian's heartfelt sister moment makes you cry.

Afterwards, Bucky hums in thought. "So that's your favorite?"

"Absolutely." You tell him. He's watching you curiously and you grin. "If I show you something, you promise not to laugh?"

"I'll try."

"Whatever. That's good enough for me." Standing up, you walk towards him and kneel, and tell him to pull your shirt sideways by the armhole next to your left arm. There on the back of your left shoulder and forever etched into your skin is a salt shaker, a rosemary plant, a lavender plant, and a heart. You then rattle off one of your favorite quotes to him. "Always throw spilt salt over your left shoulder. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck and fall in love whenever you can."

Bucky chuckles as you get up, retaking your spot on the sofa. "You really are a fan of the movie."

You nod. "As a little girl, I was fascinated by magic. I thought I'd grow out of it, but I only grew more fond of it. And then I found Practical Magic and it had a bit of everything I adored."

"So what's the one scene that just gets you every time?"

"Ugh. You're making me choose?!" You feign being distraught and he grins. As you think about it, you keep coming back to two scenes in particular. "So there's two," you tell him, "and I'm not choosing between them." Bucky nods, awaiting your answer. "Gillian's possession. When Sally calls together the other mothers who were mean to her in order to make a temporary coven to save her sister, and Gillian begs Sally to just let her ghost ex have her."

Bucky hums. "That was a bit sad, doll. I saw you shedding a few tears over that."

"Mhm. And the other scene is when Sally comes clean to Gary and admits that she did a spell as a child to call forth her perfect love thinking it wouldn't exist, only it did. When Gary tells Sally that he wished for her too, it just breaks my fuckin' heart."

"Let me guess, you were one of the girls who cast her own spell after seeing that scene." You stay quiet for a moment and the second you feel your face heat, Bucky laughs. "What did you wish for?"

You groan quietly. "If I tell you, you can't laugh!" He only smiles in response and you know he won't drop it until you tell him. "Fine. So even though I knew it would never work, I gathered the weirdest objects and wished for a significant other with dark hair and colored eyes. He had to be protective and funny and love me for me. Simple."

For some reason you can't seem to meet Bucky's gaze then and you feel awkward the longer the silence stretches on.

"So dinner?" He asks.

"Oh god, yes please. Pizza and wings?"

"Sounds good."

You have the nearby pizza place on speed dial, so after finding out Bucky's preferences you make the call and place the order. It's going to be about a thirty minute wait, so you fill the time sending Steve pic after pic of Bucky who's none the wiser as he scrolls through his own phone and adding the most asinine comments to each picture. Steve thinks it's absolutely hilarious.

Then when the pizza and wings arrive, you beat Bucky to the door and thrust several bills at the delivery boy. He's more than happy with his tip and you hurriedly wave him off before shutting the door. You laugh at Bucky's disgruntled expression and then place everything on the table while gathering a beer for both you and him.

"Don't let me have more than two," you tell him while handing him his own bottle of beer.

Bucky agrees and the two of you dig into your own personal pizzas and boxes of wings once you're situated around the table. As you're eating, Bucky asks about what other movies you hold near and dear. You fill him in on a few others and he hesitantly puts it out there that he'd be up for another movie marathon when you both have a day off. You agree that that's doable.

Halfway through dinner, as you and Bucky are chuckling over the thought of making Steve sit through Bridesmaids, there's a sound of glass breaking from your living room and a muffled curse. The two of you immediately cease making any type of noise and Bucky is up with a gun in hand.

"Where the hell did that come from?! You hiss.

The telltale sound of a window then sliding shut can be heard.

"Shut up and get behind me."

The authority in his voice makes you freeze and your heart flutter at the same time, and you have to mentally scold yourself before you quickly do as he says. You follow Bucky towards the living, ready to duck at the ready, only to sigh and roll your eyes when you see who it is.

Bucky stands tall and lowers his gun. "Parker." You can practically hear the annoyance in his voice.

"Mr. Barnes?" Peeking around his shoulder, you raise your eyebrow at your best friend who's been too busy for you and is now frowning at Bucky. When he catches sight of you, he asks, "What's going on?"

"Uh, well we were having dinner until we thought someone was breaking in."

"Alone?!"

Your brow furrows at Peter's incredulousness, only for him to realize you're not impressed with his tone. You raise an eyebrow at him and cross your arms over your chest. "Did you need something?"

"Oh, um, yeah." He shifts from foot to foot, gesturing to his face where there's a scrape on his cheekbone. "My ribs took a beating too. Can you patch me up?"

"Sure." You sigh. "Why not."

Before you can leave to go to the bathroom to get the supplies you need, Bucky says, "I'll just get out of your way then."

You stop and face him. "What? But we haven't even finished our food. It won't take me long."

"It's fine, doll." He grins when he realizes you're trying to get him to stay. "You gotta hit the hay early anyway. We'll talk soon."

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, sighing when he won't budge. "Well at least take your food with you. No use in it going to waste."

Bucky nods and heads back to the kitchen, collecting his food. You watch him and then follow him to the door, holding his food while he bends over to lace up his boots. Once he retakes his food and you open the door, he thanks you for the time away from the tower and disappears down the hall.

Shutting the door and then heading back into the living room, you tell Peter to get back into his regular clothes so you can get to his ribs while you go gather your medical supplies.

Meeting Peter back in the living room and setting everything down on the coffee table, he says, "So you and Bucky-"

"Don't." You pick up the peroxide bottle and soak a cotton ball in it. "Bucky and I are friends."

Peter manages to keep his mouth shut as you clean the scrape on his cheek and place a small bandage on it. Then when you've checked his ribs and tell him he just needs to ice them, he mumbles, "Friends who apparently lick each other." You snort and think nothing of his sullen tone, but when you look at his face you see he's actually being quite serious. There's no chuckle or boyish grin and for a moment you're absolutely floored at his attitude. "I don't think I'm comfortable with Bucky being alone with you in your apartment."

"Are you- are you kidding me?" You huff and take a step back from him. When Peter just continues to frown, you shake your head at him. "First of all, I'm an adult woman who can make her own decisions."

"I know, but-"

"I'm not finished!" You snap. Peter's eyes widen, but he smartly ceases talking. "I am allowed to have friends whether you like them or not. We have a pact, Petey, and since I'm still abiding by it I would hope that you would too."

"Yeah, but that's for significant others!"

"Significant others or friends, it doesn't matter. And you should be grateful I've kept my mouth shut when it comes to you and Leslie because let me tell you, I've been biting my tongue a lot these past few weeks. Bucky and the others have stepped up since you've abandoned me, so you have absolutely no room to tell me that you're uncomfortable with him or any of them being around me."

"Leslie isn't that bad and I have not abandoned you." You snort, but don't bother opening that can of worms even further. He finally gets annoyed with your quietness. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"You're here because you needed a bandage. Tell me, Peter, where are you going after here? Where are you going after making five minutes of small talk and calling it a night?" He opens his mouth and then snaps it shut, shrugs, and you shake your head at him once more in disappointment. "Exactly. Just go, Peter. I'm so over this conversation right now and I have work in the morning."

"Wait, but we promised we'd never leave a conversation where we were still annoyed with each other!"

"And we also promised we'd never judge who the other decided to spend time with, but here we are." He frowns at you. "Go to your girlfriend, Peter. We'll talk again in another few days or weeks or whenever. I don't care right now."

Peter stands there, gaping, before he pulls himself together and makes his way back towards the window he had crawled through. He glances at you one last time, but you merely keep staring until his mask encompasses his head once more and he lifts the window before taking his leave.

As the window shuts behind him, you sag in on yourself and your breathing stutters in your chest as your eyes fill with tears. You've never been this angry at Peter and the fact that he thinks it's okay to ignore you until he needs something and then has an opinion about who you hang out with was just too much for you to let slide.

You quickly gather everything from your coffee table and return it to its rightful place in your bathroom, and throw away the trash. Your appetite is long gone, so you put up what's left of your food and then head to your room to gather some clothes so you can shower and get into bed.

By the time you've crawled into bed, you're still a bit annoyed. So grabbing your phone, you pull up your text messages and click on Bucky's thread.

To Bucky: Well that was a shit show. I don't think I've ever made Petey leave my apartment while we were still angry with each other.

From Bucky: I'm sorry, doll. Anything I can do?

To Bucky: If he gives you attitude, get a non-serum individual to punch him. You, Steve, and probably Nat will send him flying into the wall.

From Bucky: If I remember..

To Bucky: Well I mean if you forget, I won't complain. I'll probably laugh when he comes crying to me.

From Bucky: You're a terrible human being.

To Bucky: Whatever. You adore me just the way I am. And now I should get some shut eye. I'll talk to you soon. Night, Sarge.

From Bucky: Night, sweetheart.

For the next couple of weeks, you keep yourself busy with work. Bucky and a few others do go on a mission as he said they would, so you keep your texts to a minimum of three each day- a good morning, a random story from that day, and a good night. They're gone for four days and in those four days you've not heard from Peter. The only reason you know he's not completely done with you is the fact he likes your posts that you put up on social media.

But since you're not currently speaking to your best friend and are too exhausted to hang out with anyone else, you're in a bit of a funk and completely caught off guard one evening when the patient a police officer brings in smacks you right across the face. You had been trying to insert an IV into his arm when he completely lost his shit, and then you were hit so hard that you were strewn across the gurney behind you. And in your vulnerable position, a fistful of your hair had been grabbed and yanked right before the police officer had intervened and pulled the patient off of you.

You had been given a bit of time to ice your cheek before you had to get back to work, but your face and scalp were hurting you the entire time.

On your way home, however, you're surprised to receive a call from Pepper. You're heading towards your apartment complex when she invites you to dinner there at the tower since Darcy is finally back in town, and you hate to do it, but you're not exactly up to be around such a rowdy bunch. So you apologize to Pepper and ask her to apologize to Darcy for you, and take a rain check. Immediately she knows something is wrong, but you only tell her you had a rough night at work and all you want is a hot shower and to crawl into bed. She hesitates but wishes you well, and the call ends moments later.

When you get home, you waste no time in locking the door behind you and heading straight for your bathroom. You strip down and take the hottest shower your body is capable of handling, and let yourself relax in the steam-filled room. Afterwards, as you're drying off, you gently dry your hair since your scalp is still sensitive and then get dressed in some of your comfort clothes.

Then heading out into the kitchen, you find some leftovers in your fridge and heat those up, tiredly sitting at your kitchen table and digging in. Just as you're done with your food and heading towards the living room, someone pounds on your apartment door. You sigh, hoping they go away, and have only plopped down onto the sofa when a familiar gruff voice speaks through the wood.

You quietly groan as Bucky tells you he knows you're there and you get up to open the door for him. He's on the verge of knocking again when you swing the door open. "Hey. Pepper said-" He trails off as he takes in your appearance, expression going slack before his jaw clenches in anger. "Who?"

You shake your head, gesturing him inside as you turn around and walk towards your sofa. You hear your door click shut before the footsteps follow you. "Work got a little hectic. No need to hunt down anyone, Barnes. I'm fine."

"Half your face is bruised, doll. You are not fine."

"It's all part of my job." You shrug and plop down onto the sofa once more. Pulling a blanket over your lap, you stare up at your friend. "There will always be a drunk and disorderly patient. I was just lucky he didn't do more damage."

Bucky frowns, but he doesn't push you on it. Instead, he walks over and sits next to you, angling his body towards yours when gentle fingers grasp your chin to angle your face more towards him. "What exactly happened?" He asks as his eyes dart over every inch of your face.

"Some petty criminal did some damage to his head in the back of a patrol car. Police officer brought him in and he seemed pretty docile up until I jabbed him with the IV. He got the drop on me. It happens." Gentle fingers brush along your cheekbone and you flinch. Tears sting your eyes as you sniffle. "I'm fine."

"Just because you keep sayin' that doesn't mean it's true."

Your bottom lip wobbles at his words and you lose the battle with keeping the tears at bay. The moment they fall, Bucky pulls you into a hug and you cry into his shoulder. "Dammit," you mumble. "See what you started!"

Bucky chuckles and he holds you a few moments longer, rubbing a hand up and your back to offer a semblance of comfort. When he lets you go, you fall back against the sofa cushions and wipe the tears away with your blanket. "So what are we watching?" He asks while settling in next to you and draping an arm behind your head.

"Shouldn't you go back to the tower and have dinner with the rest of them? I'm-"

"If you say you're fine one more time, I will drag you back to the tower and let Steve motherhen you."

You sigh. "Low blow, Buckaroo."

"And for that horrendous nickname, you've lost the privilege of choosing what we're going to watch."

You laugh and don't bother arguing with him about it as he leans across you to snag up the remote. When he settles back down and you snuggle into his side, you huff a small laugh when he settles on TLC which is showing 90 Day Fiancé.

"Why this show?" You ask.

"Because it blows my mind that some people are so oblivious and can't see that their chosen partner is only in it for the green card."

As you let his reasoning sink in, you can't help but giggle as you picture Bucky sitting in his own apartment and bad mouthing the TV because he didn't like the decisions the people were making in their love life. You watch along with him, cringing at the more obvious couples that are only headed for future divorce and smiling when one of the couples is actually in it for love.

You manage to almost watch a complete two hour episode when there's a knock on your door, but you're too comfortable to get up and answer it.

"You get it," you say as you nudge Bucky.

He nudges you back. "It's your apartment."

"Yeah, but I don't feel like getting up."

"You could have at least come up with a better excuse."

You grin, finally taking your eyes off the screen and glancing up at Bucky. "M'too tired. Brain's not working fast enough." He continues to give you a deadpan stare until you jut out your bottom lip. "Please?"

The second Bucky's lips twitch, you know you've won. He huffs and roughly pushes himself up off the sofa as if answering the door is a hardship, and you go back to watching TV. At least until you hear a familiar voice stammer, "Uh, h-hey Mr. Barnes. Is Y/N home?"

Your gaze snaps towards the door where Peter is standing out in the hallway, hands in his pockets as he sheepishly stares at Bucky. The man in question turns and raises an eyebrow at you as if saying what do I do and you give him a terse nod to let him know it's okay. Bucky steps aside and Peter readily walks in.

"I should be getting back to the tower," Bucky suddenly says. "You kids have fun."

This time it's your turn to give him a deadpan stare and he smirks right before slipping his boots back on. Then as soon as they're laced up, he's walking out the door and shutting it behind him. Peter, who hadn't stopped staring at the intimidating man, finally turns to look at you. And when he does, his eyes widen.

"What happened to your face?!"

You sigh. "I'm fine. Just had a little incident at work."

"And Mr. Barnes was what? Comforting you?"

"First of all, can you stop calling him Mr. Barnes? You two avenge together and what not. I'm pretty sure that means you're on a first name basis." Peter grins as he takes a seat on the recliner near you, shrugging. "And Bucky was here because when I turned down dinner at the tower, Pepper figured something was wrong. Bucky took it upon himself to check in."

"So are you two like a thing or something?" He wonders.

"We're just.. friends," you say. "For some unknown reason we clicked and we're comfortable in each other's company."

For a moment Peter doesn't say anything, nor will he meet your gaze, but then he's looking at you and sighing. "I'm sorry." You blink at him, surprised to hear the apology. "I shouldn't have freaked out that one night. Who you are friends with and who you decide to date is your business."

You finally smile, even though it's rather small. "Thank you. And don't get me wrong, I know you meant well, but you should have dropped it and just trusted my judgment."

"Yeah. I know," he mumbles.

"Soo.. are we good?" You ask.

"Yeah."

"Good. I was getting tired of you liking my posts and not commenting on them."

Peter snorts. A moment of silence passes and then he says, "So you'll be glad to know that Leslie and I aren't together anymore. I broke it off earlier tonight."

You wince. "Sorry."

"Nah. Don't be. She was totally using me for access to the tower." You're torn between being smug about being right and being sad for your friend who just ended his relationship. "I only realized it earlier when she got upset because Mr. Rogers posted a picture of you and Mr. Barnes together, and she had a few choice words to say about it."

"What? Steve posted a picture of us?" You quickly pull out your phone, checking social media for any notifications. There are none, but as you get on Instagram you check Steve's page and sure enough there's a new pic that shows Bucky staring fondly at you as you laugh at something on your phone. "That little shit didn't tag us!"

As your thumbs move furiously to give Steve a piece of your mind and to comment how adorable you and Bucky look, Peter can't help but say, "You're attracted to him."

Your texting falters and you quickly glance at your friend to gauge his reaction, but when he just looks amused, you shrug. "I mean have you seen him? How could I not be attracted to him?"

"Does he know?"

"I have a feeling he does. Asshole likes to fluster me every now and then."

"Well if it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure he likes you back." You snort and go back to finishing up the comment on Steve's post. "I'm serious. When we stopped talking, he threatened me. He was pissed that I made you cry and said I was lucky. He's actually really scary when you're on his bad side."

It takes a moment for his words to sink in and when they do you can feel your ears heating up, followed by your cheeks. Peter starts to laugh and you groan in embarrassment. "Why is this so weird? Dating should be easy!"

"Well he is an Avenger.."

"I don't care about that! He's just- he's really, really hot. It's intimidating."

"Wait, what?" Peter huffs. "So you're intimidated by his hotness and not because he's a super-soldier with a metal arm?"

"Well yeah."

Expression melting into one of confusion, your friend eventually shakes his head at you. "You're on your own with that. Good luck."

You hadn't realized how much everyone had known about your and Peter's brief falling out until the two of you were laughing together once again at the tower. It seemed like everyone had sagged in relief now that the two of you were poking fun at one another once more, and you had to apologize for apparently making it awkward for them.

And now that your best friend knew of your crush on a certain super-soldier, there was lots of teasing material. Of course you kept him in line when you could, but there was no stopping the force of Peter, Wanda, and Darcy combined.

It's a random Tuesday night when you've driven over to the Tower, Bucky having called you over for dinner with a few friends. You had the day off so you didn't mind heading on over, but as the elevator doors slide open after having ridden up to the communal floor, you yelp in surprise as the small gathered crows that shout, "Happy birthday!", at you.

Steve, Wanda, Sam, and Peter pop confetti poppers as you step out of the elevator, eyes wide as you glance between each of them. "My birthday is not until tomorrow!" You hiss.

"But you work tomorrow." Wanda frowns.

"Mhm." Your eyes then narrow, glancing behind them at the streamers and balloons hanging from the ceiling. "And how'd you guys even know?"

Everyone glances at Peter and he takes a step back when your gaze slides to him. He chuckles sheepishly. "I might have hid your birthday cupcake here and Steve found it."

"Petey," you groan. "Why couldn't you just hide it at aunt May's like usual? You know I dislike birthday celebrations."

"You don't dislike them. You just dislike all the attention being on you."

"Whatever. Where's Barnes? He's the one who lured me here under false pretenses. I got a bone to pick with him too."

Everyone turns around and Bucky's head appears from around the corner. He smirks and you glare at him. "Not false pretenses. We are having dinner," he says. "It just so happens to be a birthday dinner. And it's running a little bit late, so until the food gets here you get to open presents."

"You guys all suck."

Peter and Wanda each take a hand and drag you further into the room, heading towards the kitchen. Bucky fully steps out from behind the wall and you aim a kick at his shin as you're walking by. He laughs as he easily dodges it and then you're standing by the kitchen island that's been cleared of everything other than birthday presents.

You huff a small laugh and shake your head fondly at them. "I love you guys, but you do know you didn't have to get me anything, right?"

"Shut up and open the presents," Bucky says.

"Open mine first," Sam says, reaching into the small pile and pulling out a white envelope. "Unlike the others, I was literally told within the last thirty minutes we were doing this so yeah. It's not the best present, but I think you'll enjoy it."

You smile at Sam as you open it, chuckling at the plain birthday card and his brief personal message written inside. But it's what else that's inside that makes you meet Sam's gaze once more, smiling fondly at him. "Thank you. I can't get enough of bubble tea and I'm sure I can do some damage with this gift card."

"You're welcome."

"Mine next." Peter reaches in for a medium-sized box and hands it over to you. "I know you're not a fan of presents, so I got you something I actually knew you'd enjoy."

Raising an eyebrow at him, you pull the lid off of the box. Then glancing down, you snort before pulling out a bottle of Patron Silver Tequila. "I knew we were best friends for a reason."

Steve groans. "Please drink responsibly."

"Please. Responsible is my middle name, Rogers." Everyone snorts and instead of trying to remain serious and feign offense, you end up laughing. "Sam and Buck are good babysitters. You have nothing to worry about."

"That's to be determined," he says. "Here. Open mine. I honestly had no idea what to get you, but Peter assured me you'd enjoy this."

Putting the bottle of tequila back in its box, you accept Steve's gift. Pulling off the ribbon, you can't help but laugh when you see what's inside. "Cards Against Humanity." Peter cheers. "We're playing this the next time I have off," you say, grinning at Steve.

"What is Cards Against Humanity?" He wonders. "I just picked it up and boxed it."

"It's possibly one of the most confusing card games or raunchy card games you'll ever play," Sam says. "I, for one, am looking forward to it."

"Thank you, Steve. I seriously can't wait to play it."

"You're welcome."

Wanda claps her hands. "Mine and Darcy's next. She ordered online and I had to pick it up earlier. But, um, I'm not sure you want to open it up in front of everyone."

"Oh god. Don't tell me it's a vibrator."

Sam laughs out loud as both Peter and Steve start blushing. Bucky looks rather amused and intrigued as Wanda slides two boxes over to you. She shakes her head, giggling. "Not quite."

For a brief moment you're relieved, but then her answer sinks in and you're hesitant all over again. You groan. "Is yours safer? I feel like it is. Which one is it?"

Wanda only smirks as she pushes her box towards you. You open it, marvel at its contents, and then put the lid back on much to the boys' displeasure. Trying to keep a straight face, you look at Wanda. "How many sets did you get?"

"There's four. All in colors that will look amazing against your skin tone."

"Thank you. I'll send you pictures when I wear them."

"Yes please! Natasha wants to know how they fit as well. She was the one who suggested them."

"I'll send them to the ladies group chat then."

"Well that's not fair," Sam complains. "First for not showing us what's inside the box and then you guys have a ladies only group chat. I wanna be in the ladies only group chat."

"But then that defeats the purpose of it being a ladies only group chat," you muse.

"Come on," Peter then whines. "What was the present?"

Your gaze slides to Peter, but instead of outright saying what it is, you say, "Think back to that one Halloween night where you wouldn't let me out of the dorm until I switched costumes."

It takes him only a minute to understand and when he does, he snorts. "That wasn't a costume! That was lingerie."

"Whoa, what?" Sam exclaims, grinning.

"Lingerie can be worn as a costume?" Steve wonders.

"I was actually a Victoria's Secret Angel, complete with the most amazing set of wings, and Petey forbade me from leaving the room. It was a sad, sad night."

"As much as I wanna get into that," Sam says, "I wanna know what Barnes got you more."

You chuckle and glance at Bucky, smile faltering when you see him tense. But then he seems to shake himself out of it and offers you a grin. "Open the bigger one first."

Wanda clears away the other presents as Bucky slides his two towards you. You feel giddy as you grab the bigger box, untying the black silk ribbons and lifting the lid. There's tissue paper you open up and you gasp, happily giggling. "You didn't?!"

"Well you did say it was your favorite movie, sweetheart."

"Yes!" You glance up, beaming at Bucky, and your heart swells at his own smile being directed at you. "I really, really love this. I can't wait to hang it up."

"What is it?" Peter wonders, trying to peer across the island.

"It's a quote from Practical Magic," you say and Peter huffs a laugh, knowing full well your love for that movie. You carefully pick it up and turn it around so everyone can see it as you read it off by heart. "Always throw spilt salt over your left shoulder. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck and fall in love whenever you can."

"Aw," Wanda coos. "That's adorable."

"I made Bucky watch this movie a while back," you say. "I need to show it to you one of these days."

"I'm looking forward to it," she says.

With nothing else to say, you place it back in its box and set it aside in favor for the second box. It's a little smaller, but you're excited for it nonetheless. Untying the ribbon and lifting the lid, you immediately laugh at the white petals scattered atop the tissue paper.

"Barnes, you smooth sonuvabitch," Sam mutters.

Steve and Peter laugh, but you're so focused on the notecard that's under some of the petals. Lifting it up, you read the note to yourself because immediately you know it's personal. My better half has to be funny, get along with my friends, won't judge me for my past, and has decent taste in movies.

Heart fluttering, you bite the corner of your lip when it feels like you're smiling way too much.

"Well what does Prince Charming have to say?" Sam asks.

"That's none of your business." You close the note and then tuck into your back pocket, chuckling when Sam and Wanda complain. When you meet Bucky's gaze, you immediately flush and mentally curse yourself when you see him smirk in return.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, you center yourself and then part the tissue paper. You look at the second portrait and gasp after you read it.

"What? What is it?" Peter wonders.

This second portrait is of a hand drawn bowl with a tipped over salt shaker, a small bundle of lavender, a small bundle of rosemary, and a heart beneath it. Above the bowl is a swirl of flower petals and inside the swirl of petals, in very pretty cursive writing, are the words I wished for you too.

Did he just- did he confess his own feelings by using a Practical Magic quote? Or was this just you overthinking his present? You glance to meet Bucky's gaze and at his gauging expression your eyes fill with tears.

"What did you do, Barnes?!" Sam scolds him. "You made the poor girl cry at her own birthday celebration!"

But Bucky isn't paying him any attention, instead he's solely focused on you. You set the present aside and walk around the kitchen island on shaky legs, and Bucky readily reaches for your waist as you grab his face and pull him down into a kiss.

You can't believe you're kissing Bucky, but then he squeezes your waist and returns the kiss, and you know you made the right choice.

Someone gasps, but then the following words let you know exactly who it is. "Darcy is going to be so angry she missed this." Wanda. That is Wanda.

"What the hell is going on?" Sam wonders. "What type of present can cause this type of reaction?"

You smile against Bucky's mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth before falling flat on your feet after having been on the tips of your toes in order to reach his mouth.

"It's my favorite quote from my favorite movie," you say. You turn around to address your friends, but Bucky doesn't let you go far. He wraps one arm around your waist and tugs you back so you're resting against his chest and tucked beneath his chin. "It's a movie about witches," you explain. "These two little girls are being raised by their aunts and they see them performing love spells for a local woman. Basically, one of the young girls refuses to fall in love after witnessing a love spell gone wrong and she does her own spell to call forward a love that would be impossible to find- a man who's favorite shape would be a star and who had one green eye, one blue. Years down the road, the sisters accidentally murder a man."

Sam snorts. "How the hell does one accidentally murder someone?"

"Shush." Wanda admonishes him. "I want to hear the story behind the gift."

You and Bucky chuckle, and you continue to explain. "Anyway, they send in an US Marshall to investigate the disappearance and the one who had done the love spell at a young age starts to fall for this man. She ends up telling him about the murder, but he doesn't quite believe her. Then they're on the verge of hooking up when she gets a good look at his eyes- one green eye, one blue."

"Oh my god. That's so cute!" Wanda says.

"It gets cuter. And sadder," you say. "So she explains to this man about her family, the murder, and how she can't be with him because he's only attracted to her because of a love spell she did when she was just a little girl. At first he's skeptical about this spell bringing him to her, but then he ends up believing her. And as he's walking away from her, he stops to tell her I wished for you too."

"So you made out with Barnes because of that?" Sam shakes his head, chuckling. "Wow."

"It's fuckin' adorable. Stop ruining the moment, Samuel!" Bucky laughs at your words and pulls you closer to him.

"So while I'm happy for Buck," Steve says, "I'm still really curious about what Darcy's gift is."

Peter nods. "Same."

Wanda giggles, but says nothing as she grabs the box and slides it over to you. You groan because you know it can be nothing good, but you still open it since everyone is watching and waiting. As soon as you part the tissue paper and read the box, alongside taking in the picture on the box, your face flames as you shove the lid back on. Wanda cackles.

"I hate her."

"She said to give the remote to-"

"Don't!" You cut Wanda off, blushing even further. "I know who she means to have control of that."

"They- they make underwear that does that?" Bucky muses and you die a little on the inside in embarrassment. You elbow him as he starts to laugh behind you.

Sam instantly knows what the gift is now and starts to laugh, but Steve and Peter apparently need some help.

"Lewis got you vibrating panties, didn't she?"

"Oh my god, Sam, if you don't shut up I'm gonna punch you in the throat."

Steve is torn between laughing and trying not to make you even more uncomfortable, but his amusement wins out. "Given Y/N's flustered state, I'm assuming Darcy wants Bucky to have the remote."

"I mean this seems like it could make for an interesting night."

Everyone laughs at Bucky's sudden interest in the box you're doing your damnedest to keep shut, but luckily Peter steps in. "As much I love watching Y/N squirm, can we get ready to eat? I'm starving."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go wait downstairs for it, kid."

Sam and Peter head for the elevator to take them down to the lobby, and you turn around in Bucky's hold. "Help me take this stuff to my car so I don't have to do it later?"

"Sure thing, doll." He grins. But instead of stepping away, he pushes you further into the kitchen island. You smile as he cages you in and then huff a laugh when he reaches for the box behind you. "So exactly how long do we have to be dating before we can test these out?"

You slowly lean upward so your lips brush his as you say, "I'd say very, very soon if you would put your ass into gear and help me move these presents like I asked."

Bucky laughs and presses a quick kiss to your lips. "Then let's get to it."

The telltale sound of a phone's camera goes off and you turn your face towards the sound. Wanda is beaming, her phone pointed towards you and Bucky. "Darcy wanted evidence I wasn't lying. She's going to be so happy."

Bucky turns his face to look at her then, his cheek brushing against yours where he's yet to back off from you. "Tell Lewis I said thanks for the present. I'll give her my review of them in a few weeks."

Wanda's eyes widen and you immediately blurt, "Don't you dare!" But she's already texting and you know the group chat full of ladies is going to be full of messages that you'll have to reply to later. Quietly groaning, you slap your hands against Bucky's waist and push him back. Looking up at him, you shake your head but the corner of your lips turn up in amusement. "You're terrible. I would threaten to withhold sex, but I've been looking forward to that for a while. I'd just be punishing us both."

"Just tell me when and where, sweetheart, and I'll be there."

"Oh no. You guys are going to be that couple," Steve complains.

And without missing a beat, you face him and say, "Fuck off, Rogers!" Bucky snorts.

"You're cranky when you haven't gotten laid."

You gasp as Bucky bursts out laughing right in your ear, but he quickly catches you as you try to lunge for his best friend. "You know what, I was going to be discreet when banging your best friend, but now I'm going to tell you all the filthy things Bucky likes to do just to annoy you. I will go into excruciating detail about the look and taste of his dick!"

Steve blanches as it's Wanda's turn to burst out laughing. "You've done it now, Steve."

And as Steve looks to Bucky for help, he merely shrugs. "You brought this on yourself, Stevie. Hope you enjoy the play by plays."

Relaxing in Bucky's hold and moving so you're hip to hip with him, you slide your arm behind his waist and hook your thumb into the belt loop of his jeans. "We're going to have so much fun."

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #marvel imagine #peter parker #bucky barnes #wanda maximoff #sam wilson #darcy lewis #the avengers #avengers #avengers imagine #marvel

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bestiesenpai · 3 years

Text

tattoo artist sukuna

I am way overdo to get my sleeve finished and I’m already itching to get a full back piece, so this is right up my alley. Gender neutral reader, and if you’d like to see the tattoo style i reference please go to @/novchild.jpg on instagram :)

It was a spur of the moment decision that led you to drive downtown with your friends at nearly midnight, drunk off each other's energy and eager to do something reckless. Speeding down the motorway, you scrolled through Instagram in search of a tattoo artist.

“Are you guys sure about this?” Your nerves had finally caught up to you as the car was parked in front of the studio you all chose. It was a typical brick and mortar building with a large skull painted on the only window to the outside world. There were a few bald men smoking cigarettes right outside the door, scrawling ink covering their exposed hands and faces.

“Yeah, c’mon!” No one waited for you, everyone climbing out of the car in excitement. Slowly, you got out of the car as well, head down as you walked past the men and into the shop.

Loud, blaring metal music met your ears, jarring you upright and tense. There wasn’t anyone you could see at the front desk, the only workers were huddled in a back corner leaning over something and laughing.

“Which one should I get?” Your attention was drawn away from the men in the corner and to the art hanging on the wall, all different flash sheets from various artists. Some were more gory, clearly drawing inspiration from horror movies while other pieces were bright and colorful, like bubblegum pop come to life.

“Hey.” A gruff voice cut through the loud music, and a man was now leaning against the front desk, spiky black hair in a ponytail with a bored look on his face and several piercings in both ears. He was clearly sizing you up, the black bar going across his nose moving as he did.

Unprepared to speak to him, you were happy when someone else stepped in and started chatting about prices. The man at the counter had on a hoodie with the sleeves rolled up, exposing one full arm and hand that was completely blacked out.

“Choso, any customers?” Another shouted, a man wide in stature with long hair. He sauntered up to the counter, tight black t-shirt showing off the traditional Japanese work covering every inch of skin.

“Getou, can’t you see?” Choso rolled his eyes and gestured to your little group.

“I can’t make conversation?” Pulling a face at Choso, Getou leaned his elbows on the counter and flashed a wide grin at all of you. “So, who’s the first to get some ink?” His narrowed eyes looked over your bare skin and you could see the wheels turning in his head.

“I am! I want that one!” One of your friends pointed at the wall, making Getou hum and nod.

“That’s Gojo’s work, he loves to draw the cute shit. I’ll call him over.” As a white haired man walked over at Geto’s call, one by one your friends made their decisions and were paired with artists.

“What did you choose, (Y/N)?” A friend asked, seeing you still stuck staring at the wall.

“I don’t know!” Throwing your head back, you were beginning to regret even tagging along. There were simply too many options and the task of picking something was daunting.

“Having a hard time choosing?” A flash of white crosses your vision and soon Gojo is leaning down into your field of vision, piercing blue eyes staring at you curiously.

“U-uh yeah.” Stumbling back from how close his face is, you realize how tall he is when he stands up straight, hands shoved into his pockets.

“Me and another guy just got done making a new flash sheet, lemme show you.” It takes him only a couple seconds to go back to his station and come back with a piece of thick paper with drawings on it.

Taking the paper, the drawings were unexpectedly cute. A lot of them looked like rough sketches or crayon drawings, simple in concept but intricate in detail.

“I’ll take this one.” Pointing at a mid-sized crayon drawing, your mouth ticked up in a smile as Gojo took the paper from you with sparkling eyes.

“That one is so cute, good choice! One sec!” Tossing the paper down, he dashes away shouting nonsensical words towards the back of the shop where they’d all been huddled up. “Sukuna! Someones here for ya!”

Rising straight up from a chair with a loud groan, a shirtless pink haired man glared sharply at Gojo. Even from a distance you can see the sharp black lines tattooed across his face and down his body, circles on each shoulder, dashed lines across his chest down his stomach and around his wrists as well.

“Geez you can really yell, you know that?” Running a hand through his hair roughly, Sukuna stands up, flexing his muscles and unknowingly giving the whole shop a show of his chiseled physique.

“There’s a client here to get a piece we made together earlier.” Shoving the paper in his face, Gojo points to the piece you selected. Sukuna mumbles a few words and sets his eyes on you, walking over with a swagger that makes you nervous.

“Alright, where do you want it?” Leaning close to you, Sukuna quirks a brow.

“I don’t know.” You sigh softly, looking down at your arms and legs. “I don’t-”

“Your arm, right here.” Grabbing onto your arm, Sukuna turns it outward to expose the flesh of your inner arm. “It would look good right here, about the size of my palm.”

“O-oh okay.” Nodding quickly, your face is burning when he lets go. His touch still lingered on your skin, the edge of his black painted fingernails digging in briefly as they squeezed you.

“I’ll be ready in ten minutes, go sign the paperwork.” Sukuna speaks with his back to you, already walking to the station he had been sleeping at and setting up. Rushing to fill in the proper papers, you wait nervously at the front of the shop for your turn.

The rest of your friends are already getting started, the whir of the tattoo machines adding to the ambience of the shop. With a wave Sukuna calls you over to his corner, still shirtless with a pair of gloves on.

“Hold out your arm.” Grabbing you once again, Sukuna angles your arm in front of a mirror by the table. Rubbing ointment on your skin, he sticks the stencil on and rubs firmly, making you squirm from the tickle of his hand getting close to your armpit.

“What do you think?” Stepping to the side, he looks at you in the mirror. “Little to the left? Right?”

“No, it’s perfect.” The longer you look at it, the longer you love it. Giving you a pat on the shoulder, Sukuna led you to the table, having you lay down and stick your arm out.

“This your first one, I can tell.” He said, adjusting your body how he seemed fit and rubbing more ointment on you.

“It’s that obvious?”

“Oh yeah, only a first timer would get something like this from me.” A cocky grin spread across his face and he gestured to the wall behind your head, covered in realistic black and white portraits. “This is normally my speciality.”

“You drew yourself?” Pointing up at one of the pictures that looked exactly like him minus the face tattoos, you chuckled.

“Nah, that’s my twin.” Your brows rose in surprise and you looked between Sukuna and the picture.

“Does he have-?” You waved over your face and body.

“He’s too scared to get a tattoo, says he’ll get ink poisoning and die.” Sukuna laughed, pouring out the various colored ink into little cups. “Won’t even let me do a tiny dot on him!”

“Safe to say you two are pretty different then.” You found yourself laughing a little as well, eased at Sukunas laid back nature.

“Mhmm, he’s busy going on the straight and narrow while I’m here ‘ruining my body’ as our grandpa likes to say.” Flashing quick air quotes, Sukuna revs up the machine and fiddles with the buttons. “Alright, you ready for this? Won’t have virgin skin anymore after this.”

“Yes!” Clenching and unclenching your fist, you pushed a deep breath through your mouth.

“If you start to cry, I won’t stop. And if you pass out, I’ll just wake you up.” That was his final warning before he leaned forward, using one large gloved hand to spread the skin of your arm taut.

The first prick of the needle against your skin made you jolt, sucking in a sharp breath and making your eyes fly open. Sukuna snorted, wiped your arm with a towel and kept going. Honing in on the marks and exposed pipes in the ceiling, you tried not to twitch from the needle anymore.

“You’re doing pretty well.” Sukuna mumbled, briefly sitting up and dipping in for more ink.

“Really?” Taking a look at the tattoo, you were surprised to see only one line had been done. It felt like at least three were placed into you.

“Yeah, don’t screw it up.” Sticking his tongue out at you, Sukuna went back to work. Transfixed on watching him, you saw the lines go into your skin, overflowing with ink and being wiped away repeatedly. You were also watching the way Sukuna’s arms flexed, the muscles in his body all on display right in front of you.

“Tell me about yourself while you stare at me.” Sukuna said, not looking up from your arm. Immediately, your head whipped away from him and a deep burn ran over your face. Sukuna laughed at your embarrassment, patting your arm with the paper towel a few times.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, you’re not the first one to do it.” That didn’t make it any better. Slapping a hand over your face, you let out an unintelligible noise from the back of your throat.

“Just great.”

“It’s okay to say you have a crush on me, a lot of people that come to the shop do.”

“Sukuna!” Laughing through the shame, you glanced over at him.

“Hey, it’s the truth.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Well can you blame them when you’re built like that?” Feeling emboldened by the late night hour, you took a rather obvious look at Sukuna’s body. With only a pair of sweatpants on, you could see nearly all the tattoos he had.

“Aw thanks doll, I work out.” Sukuna shot a wink at you, briefly flexing both arms and making you blush again. “But enough about me, what about you? What made you come here so late at night?”

“My friends and I wanted to do something spontaneous.” Returning your gaze to the ceiling, the ache from the tattoo gun was beginning to settle into your skin. “And what better way to be spontaneous than to get a tattoo?”

“Ha, I hear that.”

“Why’d you get the ones on your face and stuff?”

“Thought they’d make me look cool, and I was right.” Giggling at his honesty, you quickly nodded in agreement.

“The ones on your face, did they hurt really bad?”

“The ones near my eyes yeah, those hurt the most. But thankfully Choso has a steady hand, so it didn’t last too long.”

Absentmindedly, you ran your fingers over your own face, drawing along the edge of your jaw and eye socket. There was no way you could get your face tattooed as heavily as Sukuna had, if at all ever. You had only just now gotten used to the pain of the needle on your arm and you were still twitching every so often.

“How’re you holding up so far?” Sukuna whispers close to your ear ten quiet minutes later. He’s completely focused on tattooing you yet his face is close enough that if you leaned up a little, you could graze his hair with your nose.

“Fine.” You whisper back, suddenly feeling awkward with the low tone of his voice.

“That’s good doll, real good.” His voice dropped even lower, overcompensating for the song ending over the stereo speakers. Trying not to stare at his serious expression, you look over at the other stations. Gojo is chatting up your friend excitedly, and there’s a number of colorful inks laid out before him. Choso and Geto are hard at work as well, with Choso pointedly not speaking, and a blonde man you’d noticed drinking a large mug of black coffee earlier with his button up sleeve rolled up to reveal two dragons on his forearms.

Just as the pain in your arm was starting to truly burn, the tattoo was over. Sukuna washed it down gently, patting your arm and humming to the song playing. Sitting up with a short grunt, he flicked his head to the mirror.

“Go ahead and take a look.”

Sliding slowly off the table, you held your arm out awkwardly and stood in front of the mirror. Your arm was slightly swollen and stinging, shoulder stiff from being in the same position for so long, but a smile spread on your cheeks.

“I love it.” It looked exactly like the picture: a crayon style drawing of a brown haired girl in a giant green frog, a big pout on her lips while the frog sat on a lily pad.

“Lemme snap a couple quick photos before I wrap you up.” Already with his phone out, Sukuna was quick at taking pictures, posing you like when he’d put the stencil on. “I’ll run down the aftercare stuff with you, also give you a card in case you forget any of it.”

You didn’t hear a thing he said about aftercare. Standing nearly chest to chest with Sukuna while he rubbed ointment on your skin and wrapped your tattoo up, the way his arms nearly wrapped around you to put the cover on, the gentle touch of his fingers pressing medical tape to your skin, even the way he was breathing softly and looking at you - it all had you distracted.

“Alright, you’re all done.” Sukuna patted your arm, breaking you from your trance.

“Thank you so much!” Looking down at your tightly bandaged arm, you could feel the intense heat radiating out of it. You quickly snapped your own picture of the bandage as Sukuna dug around in a drawer.

“And since I could tell you were zoning the fuck out just now, I wrote my number down on the aftercare sheet, so text me if you have any questions.” Holding the paper out to you, Sukuna had indeed scribbled his phone number on the paper in thick black marker.

“Can I really just text you?” Taking the paper hesitantly, you fiddled with it in your hands.

“Of course! I want your tattoo to heal well!” Sukuna nodded, throwing his arms out dramatically. Waiting for you to gather your stuff, he walked you to the front of the shop. “Text me anytime doll, I stay up late.” He whispered right before you got to the front counter, making your jaw drop and ears burn.

“(Y/N), you really got a girl in a frog?” A friend laughed, a bandage wrapped around their thigh.

“It’s cute!” You defended it, holding your arm close to your body.

“The cutest fucking one.” Sukuna added on, slapping the counter and pointing at everyone.

“Aren’t you cold without a shirt on?” Choso mumbled, typing away on his phone in the corner.

“No ‘cause I’m not anemic like you are.”

“It’s still cold outside.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s cold in here!” The two of them quickly devolved into petty squabble, giving each other light hearted shoves in the shoulder while Geto collected the money from everyone.

“Bye, thank you so much!” You all called out as you left, waving goodbye and shrugging your jackets back on.

“I’ll be waiting for that text, doll!” Sukuna shouted right as you stepped out, blowing you a kiss when you whipped your head over your shoulder in shock.

“Text? Were you flirting with him?” A slew of curious looks were thrown your way, making your shock even worse.

“N-no!” You stuttered and immediately grimaced at it, face getting warmer as you climbed into the car. “We were just talking while he tattooed me, he just wants to make sure it heals right.”

“Mhmm, whatever you say. Let’s go to the drive through now, Geto told me to eat something after getting tattooed!”

“Hey check Sukuna’s Instagram story, he already posted your tattoo (Y/N)!”

“Really?” Rushing to pull out your phone, it was indeed true. Sukuna had posted one of the pictures he took of your arm, a few silly frog gifs surrounding it, with the caption ‘painted a pretty doll with a pretty frog, hope they come back for more xx’.

“You two were definitely flirting!” Shouts resounded in the car, everyone giggling wildly at the caption. Giggling along with them, you quickly typed a message to Sukuna.

(Y/N): hey Sukuna this is (Y/N). Thanks again for the frog! And the picture you posted on your story looks really good :)

(Sukuna): no problem doll

(Sukuna): next time you want a tattoo, text me and i’ll draw up whatever you want

“Sukuna said he wanted to tattoo me again!” You announced to your friends, all of them oohing and crowding around your phone. “What should I say?”

“I’ll do it!” Someone snatched your phone before you could say anything, rapidly shooting off a message and tossing the device back to you.

(Y/N): are you free tomorrow?

“He’s not gonna-” Right as you were beginning to shake your head and type another message, he replied.

(Sukuna): for you? of course

#jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen imagines

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buckysnumberonegirl · 3 years

Text

My little girl

Bucky Barnes Fluffy Drabble

Written for an anon sent in to @the-ss-horniest-book-club

Warnings- fluff with fluff on top, will hit you in the feels maybe

Written on mobile so any mistakes are my own, comments and reblogs appreciated 💕

For the first time in 80 years Bucky was safe. A roof over his head, friends… no, family all around him, a place he could call home. But for whatever the reason, he couldn’t sleep. He was going on probably 4 days now. He had moved his bed, changed his sheets, tried the tea and meditation Wanda recommended, nothing. After and hour tossing and turning he grabbed a blank and walked out to the common room. Tony spared no expense on making sure the compound was perfects the common room was no exception, i huge flatscreen that could be in a small movie theater somewhere, couches that felt like a cloud ,anything someone could need.

Throwing the blanket down on the couch he put on Netflix something random the spider kid had recommended, and layed down.

He closed his eyes and drifted off, reminding himself before dozing off to ask Tony where he got this couch.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been when he heard footsteps approaching . He shot up hand going to his hip where he usually holstered a weapon only to find he had nothing…. and was face to face with a child.

The girl couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6 "msowwy." She sounded so tiny, and she was. Her huge brown eyes looked up at him before digging into the pocket of her overalls. “Can you wanna cowwer?” She grinned and held up a large pack of Crayons.

“Uh sure” Bucky looked around, not knowing there were kids on the compound other than Morgan and Peter.

He crossed his legs as he sat on the floor by the coffee table, the girl pulling out several coloring pages from the single overall pocket*. Bucky unfolded one of a cat and began coloring. The little girl began to speak. “I want a kitty” her eyes not leaving her paper as she turned an animated bullfrog pink. “So you should get one” he picked up the brown crayon and colored in the tail of the cat, feeling an odd sense of calm wash over him. “I wanna, but mommy says I can’t until I’m this many” the child held up all ten fingerstgen counted out loud “I like your arm, it’s pretty” the child smiled and continued on. The frog was now pink with blue spots. “Well thank you, where is your mom by the way” Figuring he’d ask before the subject changed, he was to late. “If I had an arm like that I would put stickers on it, do you like stickers? I have at least 10 million that are all different kinds, wanna see?”

Bucky smiled feeling more relaxed than he ever had. “I do like stickers, and I would love to see…” before he could finish a beautiful sticker a Disney princess was pulled from the child’s overalls and carefully placed on his forearm. “That’s Moana, she’s my favorite, mommy knows all the songs. Wow! I like your kitty!” The little girl picked up the page and hugged it. “Thank you for the sticker kiddo, how about I make a hot chocolate for you then we find your mom okay? You can have hot chocolate right?”

The little girl nodded excitedly taking his hand and the pictures they had worked on and tugging him to the kitchen.

Bucky had just finished adding extra marshmallows to hot cocoa, when he heard a voice "babe what did I tell you about running off without me?" the voice is meant to be scolding the girl but it's soft. He looked over to see the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The kid was cute, but she was breathtaking. “Oh mommy, this is my new best friend see?” The girl led her mother over to him. He held out his hand showing off his fancy sticker “Hi, I’m James Barnes, sorry if she can’t have hot chocolate I just figured… uh she said it was fine, but she’s a kid so, I’m sorry”

The woman laughed “it’s totally fine, she can have hot chocolate, I see she gave you a sticker” she smiled. “You should consider yourself lucky James, she doesn’t give stickers away easily.”

“Oh yeah? I’m sure she must have given you at least a few of her 10 million.” The little girl smiled up at him.

“Oh yeah my phone had 5 on the case and I believe our fridge at home has several.. along with someone wall…” the woman looked down at her daughter who decided it was a perfect time to look anywhere else. “Oh my gosh I haven’t even told you my name, I’m Y/N and this tiny trouble maker is Milena”

Bucky smiled at the name “Ah Milena, Loved by the people, gracious, dear one”

Y/N smiled “I didn’t peg you for a Russian mr.Barnes”

“Nor I, you doll, but I’m not Russian I just have a history there I suppose” he smirked and stuck his tongue out at Milena who was doing the same to him.

“Well,” Y/N smiles, placing her hand on her daughter's head “I could use some breakfast, how about you?” She looked at Bucky who nodded, though the little girl answered “only if we can bring my friend” she ran over grabbing his hand

The three walking out of the kitchen together smiling.

—————-

It was Bucky's birthday, he wasn’t really sure how old he was but he knew that this was the eleventh year he was celebrating it.

Y/N and Milena had spent the whole day making it special.

He was so grateful for the little girl who helped him put his life back together. 2 years after meeting Y/N they started dating and after 4 they were married. He treated Milena like his own little girl, showering her with toys and love and anything she could possibly want.

As they all sat down for dinner he looked at the girl he considered his daughter, bouncing with anticipation. Milena looked between Bucky and her mother over and over before blurting out “can I please give it to him now”

Y/N smiled “go ahead honey”

Milena ran out of the dining room returning with a bag and a box. Placing it in front of him “you have to open the bag first”

Bucky smiled, carefully pulling out the tissue paper, inside the bag was a small wooden frame. Inside was a picture from years ago, he was sitting on the floor with his eyes closed and a face full of makeup. His hair was poorly braided and Milena was standing proudly placing a crown on his head.

The frame had a quote on it

Family isn’t defined by last names and blood

It’s defined by commitment and Love

That alone almost brought Bucky to tears but before he could say anything Milena spoke up again “open the box dad, please”

He signed and opened the box, on top was a letter.

For 10 years you’ve been my father. And now if you want to mom and I agree we should make it official. Love you dad ~Milly

Bucky moved the letter and found adoption papers. Already signed by Y/N, all he had to do was sign a few lines.

“I figured it was a good gift before you get to old” Milena hugged Him, tears rolled down his face.

When he had fallen off that train he had lost everything, and for the first time since finding Steve again, Bucky had found his family.

*Authors note if you have ever been around children or have children you know that they can fit so many things in their pockets, this is not a stretch.

#marvel #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #bucky fluff #bucky fic #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #txt fluff #bucky #drabble

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postmodernmulticoloredcloak · 3 years

Text

I decided to watch the Walker pilot so you don’t have to. #2

Because I don’t love myself enough, I guess. Let’s continue.

Recap in case you missed the first part: it’s boring, Jared acts like he stumbled on the set and never heard about it before, Texan law enforcement must wear very pristine shirts and cowboy hats or they will die, I guess, the cinematography wants to be good but I’m not sure it knows how to do it.

The last thing I mentioned in the first post was Jared doing a thing with his mouth but I think you need to see it. It’s basically the extent of Jared’s acting in this show. I had nothing against you, man, I swear. I even got your autograph once. I’m not a hater. I’m just looking at him...

THE TITLE CARD! I had paused the episode riiight before the title card. You have to witness it in all its embarrassing glory

Whose idea was it??

Some shots of the city of Austin. Walker and Martinez (Mexican Lady Cop) are having lunch. She says she’s heard about him, he asks what she’s learnt, she says, I textuallty quote, “I hear you are the edge of the coin”. Again, we are not allowed to have any kind of slight metaphor without the dialogue slapping us in the face with it.

“Not head or tail, just... your way” Jared didn’t even come up with the metaphor in that interview, it was in the script. Unless he came up with that line, which isn’t even a good line.

She basically tells him not to get in the way of her career. Being a Mexican-American cop is hard! Such deep commentary.

They start discussing the case, which I had already forgotten about. The cop who was slightly assaulted and won’t talk about it. “Maybe whatever was in that truck spooked him enough to abandon his oath” maybe it was a monster. god I wish it was a monster so that’d mean I’m watching Supernatural and Jensen is in it. The “oath” thing is kinda icky, like they want to remind us that being a cop is a noble path. It is in some places under some conditions. But we’re talking about Generic American conditions.

He’s like “let’s use the traffic cams to see if we can see something” and he slips right into his Sam tone. Admittedly that’s a Sam kind of thing to say.

It was day, and now it’s night. Walker house. He arrives when his family have already started dinner. Except the daughter isn’t there, she’s out with a friend. “Isabel, some Mexican girl” Walker’s father calls the friend. “Mexican American, dad” the gay brother corrects him, a deep and interesting commentary on ethnicity in the United States, we’re weeping with emotion.

Walker apparently isn’t happy that his mother has enrolled his daughter in a Catholic school, his father snaps back at him. We don’t care. We’re not emotionally invested in any of this.

There’s some awkward dialogue because he mentions the daughter playing basketball, but she’s switched to soccer. Wow, it’s like she’s become an entirely different person in those eleven months he was undercover! Can you believe? Apparently she used to play soccer before, she’s come back to it. Whoa. She’s an utterly unrecognizable person now, it’s going to be so hard for Walker to get to know her again from scratch. Can you believe?

Then he gets a call. He needs to pick up the daughter from the police station. He does some Jared awkward faces and leaves.

The daughter (Stella) was at a party and was arrested for possession. I miss when possession meant demonic possession. Dramatic music plays. She’s there with the Mexican American friend, whose parents arrive and he starts a speech on how they should get to know each other better. It is so not the right context to start making friends. “Epic first meeting” Isabel says. “I’m so sorry, this is so embarrassing” Stella says. “For who?” Walker quips, like a normal person does.

He’s like, let’s go, and the girls hug, which is the only believable expression of affection I’ve seen so far in the episode. Can’t the story be about Stella and Isabel?

Father-daughter conversation in the truck. Apparently we have emotional moments in cars, which we have never seen on television before.

He asks what she was thinking, she’s like, duh what do people use drugs for. She calls him out for disappearing completely. She mentions how it was bad enough that they didn’t have mom. He says “we both got to stop acting like she’s gonna come back and put us right” which makes absolutely zero sense. It’s like someone wrote it on a note for how to develop the characters and they just decided to slap it into the script of the pilot. Remember these people haven’t seen each other for eleven months, he left shortly after his wife died. They didn’t have the time to process the grief together, why is he even saying that line here?

Meanwhile Martinez get home and we meet her boyfriend, a very cute Black man. They’re cute. Why can’t the story be about them?

He asks her about Walker, she says he’s a mess. Oh god. She says he was a Marine, “signed after 9/11”. Holy shit. He’s a Marine who signed up after asdfghjkl can’t you feel the Manly Trauma here????

He’s a Marine who signed up to fight Muslims after 9/11 and now has a dead wife, he’s exactly the kind of male lead character we need right now.

She says she’s trying to figure him out. Her boyfriend is like “dude stop thinking about that guy, he’s not at home trying to figure you out” and she replies “oh I’m pretty sure he thinks he knows everything about me already”.

This is the first scene that hasn’t felt bad so far.

Meanwhile Jared and his brother go to a bar. It’s very ~Texas Aesthetic~, and they’re wearing cowboy hats, of course. You are not allowed to go to a bar without a cowboy hat in Texas. “The brothers Walker” the flannel-shirt-clad bartender says, coming with drinks. Jensen Ackles makes a face somewhere in the mountains.

The brother goes to call his partner and the bartender starts chatting with Walker. She has a conversation with Jared’s awkward faces and she’s like, I guess you left because I couldn’t answer your questions about what happened yo your wife. This is how people converse in real life.

She asks him if he’s alright and he doesn’t answer, instead is like “let’s have a dance”. He doesn’t say he’s fine, but I think it still counts as a I’m Fine Lie Moment #2 because that’s what it is in spirit.

I know you’re bored, I’m bored.

They dance in the Texan bar, I’m distracted by the pool tables and wish this was Supernatural so we’d see Jensen Ackles play pool.

Obviously the dance is interrupted by work - a text from Ramirez who says she’s got something, “office 8am?” so he leaves because he has to wake up early. I’m not kidding.

I was kind of warmed over by Ramirez and her cute boyfriend and by the bar who was kind of nice as a location, when the next scene at the office immediately starts with Ramirez saying “My mom wouldn’t let me play with dolls when I was a kid, so Iearned about cars instead”. I die a little inside. It’s the second time she’s referred to her mother wanting a son...? So she’s badass because she wasn’t raised to be feminine...? Ew.

So they have this lead thanks to her knowledge of cars. They go investigate. I’m bored.

I shouldn’t have said I was bored, because Walker destroys my boredom by having Jared pick up a cross and start talking to “JC” sarcastically asking him for guidance about his kids going to the Catholic school. “Can you stop” Ramirez says, along with all of us.

By the way they’re in a workshop run by an ex-convict who employs former criminals to make figurines (like that cross). I got a bad feeling about this. Former criminal in cop shows is always code for current criminal.

The investigation leads to two guys who work in the store - “oh I know you,” one immediately says when he spots Walker, “you’re the ranger with the dead wife”. Walker is like, what did you say. And the guy is like oh I heard the story of a ranger’s wife biting a bullet near the border, guess you couldn’t protect her uh~~~

They exchange more provocations - Walker calls him some lowlife something and the guy goes to punch him and Walker beats him up. Violently. I’m uncomfortable. We’re supposed to think he’s exaggerating here but... he does get very violent and should not be a cop. Period.

They go to Ramirez’ house because he cut his hand. Her boyfriend is like “baby there’s a dude bleeding on your couch” I want a season of him, exclusively him.

She scolds Walker. Not because he beat up a guy with more force than needed, but because he acted stupid and that’s bad for her career. I’m uncomfortable.

Also, what’s bad is that they’re supposed to work *together*. He says he has his own way of doing things. Yikes yikes yikes.

She says that her theory is that they put them together because he always break the rules. Apparently she read up his cases and he always break the rules. The main character of the show is a cop who break the rules in half the cases he works. Yikes yikes yikes but also did I mention yikes?

No, wait, he acknowledges that he “bends” the rules, like that’s better! Yikes!

More bad dialogue, then Stella’s school calls him. She hasn’t been at school.

He goes to ask Isabel’s mother, who reveals they haven’t their papers yet, so any criminal activity would mean deportation. He talks about it with Ramirez and mentions that his brother who’s a DA could get in contact with the Feds to speed up the papers. Are we supposed to be like “oh what a good guy”? The thing is just creepy to me.

Well, at least Ramirez says something about it, or actually quotes her mother who used to say that the law doesn’t protect us. That’s why she ~burned bridges~ with her family! Apparently because she became a cop.

Ow. Her mother is not speaking to her because for her, her daughter being a cop is like a betrayal. But for her it’s a way to set things right! We’re supposed to think her mother is exaggerated. #notallcops #individualgoodcopscanchangethesystemfromtheinsideforsuredefinitely

Meanwhile their investigation continues. Remember the cross Walker randomly picked up to mock the concept of Jesus? Ramirez stole it. And now they find out there’s heroin in it. Alright... obviously the business that was supposed to rehabilitate former criminals is a cover for cartel drug dealing. What were we expecting. I’m tired.

Ramirez decides to work the case alone and sends Walker to look for his daughter. “I was that kid once, I always wanted to be found”. The impression you get from the scene is that Walker had forgotten about his daughter missing lol. Ramirez insists he goes. I’m uncomfortable with how many times people put on cowboy hats. Someone should count. We’re only 30 minutes in and it feels like it’s happened 80 times.

Alright, a break now! My laptop’s ventilation is running like crazy, VLC and long tumblr drafts are a bad combination. Or maybe it’s just my laptop being allergic to this show.

#cw's jared: legit texan #marghe watches walker for some darned reason

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Level Up, Chapter Thirteen (Branjie) - Holtzmanns

“You know who this is?”

The boxer on Detox’s screen is pretty. Real pretty. Also one that Vanessa knows well, after watching videos upon videos of professional boxers that Brooke would send her for homework when she had first started training.

“Olivia Lux.”

Detox gives her an approving smile. “Ding ding ding. You know who else she is?”

“Who?”

“Your next opponent.”

Hold up.

“Wait, what?”

A/N: Hi, I'm still alive! Slowly but surely still working on this fic. If you're still here and reading and reviewing, I appreciate you tons. Hope you enjoy this chapter, things are starting to pick up. Thank you writ for betaing <3

Vanessa’s not sure what to expect when Brooke asks her to come to morning practice half an hour earlier than usual, but Detox in a bright yellow suit with her Louboutins dangling off the side of Brooke’s desk is the last on her list.

“Look who it is. The prodigal athlete herself,” Detox smiles as she flips her ponytail over her shoulder, and Vanessa can’t help but be impressed by her full face of makeup at six in the morning.

Brooke is an adorable contrast sitting next to Detox, the rumpled sweats and top knot pairing perfectly with the way she hides a yawn behind her hand. “I tried to get Detox to come by in the afternoon, I really did.”

“Please. I have a flight in two hours and a meeting in L.A. at two today with Serena,” Detox takes a sip of her coffee, her lipstick staining the edge of the paper cup. “This won’t take too much time, don’t worry.”

“Who’s Serena?” Vanessa can’t help the curiosity that brews in her chest with every word out of Detox’s mouth.

“Williams, obviously. Who else?”

Vanessa whistles, shooting a look over to Brooke. “Damn.”

Detox has Serena Williams as a client? Serena Williams, one of the greatest female athletes of all time? How on earth did she agree to work with Vanessa, of all people?

Because of Brooke. Brooke, who’s currently resting her cheek on her palm as her eyes are fluttering while trying to stay awake.

“Anyway, it’s been a few months. We’re milking that meme of yours, it’s still going strong for now,” Detox hops off of the table, her heels clacking against the floor as she sidles up to Vanessa. “But it won't last forever.”

“Cool?” Vanessa’s not quite sure what Detox wants as an answer, really, though she doesn’t look too satisfied.

“Not cool. You need to keep the momentum going. Catch the low swinging vines while they’re still in reach,” Detox pulls out her phone, her eyes darting over the screen and Vanessa almost wants to climb on her tiptoes to take a peek, but then Detox turns her screen to face her. “You know who this is?”

“Olivia Lux.”

Detox gives her an approving smile. “Ding ding ding. You know who else she is?”

“Who?”

“Your next opponent.”

Hold up.

“Wait, what?”

Vanessa can’t help the panicked lilt in her voice as she takes a step back, her shoulder hitting the side of the doorframe. Brooke doesn’t look as freaked out as Vanessa feels, which makes no sense because Olivia Lux isn’t another run of the mill boxer. She’s a pro. One of the big ones. She’s at the same caliber that Brooke used to fight at. She has sponsorships and fans of her own, and a damn good left hook to boot. Good enough that she doesn’t even need a last name for everyone on the boxing scene to know who she is. The damn Beyonce of boxing.

How’s Vanessa supposed to fight her?

“This is how you’re going to keep yourself a household name. You’re entering the big leagues, kid."

“But...but…” Vanessa trails off, and maybe she’s fidgeting a little bit but she doesn’t exactly know what else to do, not when Brooke is looking perfectly calm about all of this.

“I’ll get in contact with Olivia’s agent and we’ll drum up some publicity, set up some interviews, get the internet buzzing. Should cause a spike in interest in you, no problem,” Detox types furiously on her phone as she stands up, twirling to face Vanessa. “What are you looking so terrified for?”

Vanessa can’t help but look at Detox as if she has two heads, because really, isn’t it obvious? “She’s gonna beat my ass up, that’s why! You want me to die on national tv for a second time?”

Vanessa’s already gone and humiliated herself enough. Facing someone like Olivia Lux right now sounds like an insane idea, it really does, when Olivia has a penchant for flashing her opponents a grin before absolutely pulverizing them.

“So dramatic,” Detox snorts, waving a hand airily. “I’ve seen your training videos and boxing matches. You’ll be just fine.”

“Fine?” Vanessa’s ready to launch into an explanation of how she’s not going to be fine, thank you very much, not with her level of skill but then there’s a hand over hers, and Brooke’s eyes looking at her all warm and comforting.

“It’s going to be your choice, whether or not you want to do this. Always your choice.” Brooke’s thumb rubs against Vanessa’s hand in small little circles and it slows her heart rate down just a bit, enough to keep it from taking flight. “But if my opinion matters, you definitely have the skills and drive to hold your own against Olivia. You’re better at this than you think you are.”

Vanessa lets out a shaky sigh. “Dunno about that.”

Sure, she can hold her own in the ring at an amateur level, in the easier tournaments where her competitors have a similar level of experience as she does. Someone like Olivia on the other hand, who’s trained for more than a decade and won enough belts to cement herself as a legend on the pro scene...Vanessa wants to cover herself in bubble wrap for protection at the mere thought of going up against her.

She really should have picked a sport like golf. Maybe bowling. Something a little less combat-filled if she has to go up against a pro.

“How about this,” Detox starts, standing up and pulling her trench coat over her shoulders, “give it a week. Think about it, decide, whatever. I’ll put some feelers out, and if you want to do it, we can get the ball rolling. If not, well, you’ll have to break into the professional scene some time or another, doll. Might as well do it at the peak of fame, no?”

“We’ll let her think about it,” Brooke cuts in before Vanessa even has to say anything at all, and she lets out a sigh of relief at the interlude.

Detox blows air kisses in their direction as she heads for the door, a perfect Hollywood caricature leaving in a cloud of perfume that makes Vanessa wrinkle her nose. Detox’s mere presence is an event in itself, one that Vanessa feels like she needs to catch her breath to recover from.

Brooke’s looking at her almost warily, her fingers tapping against the desk with a nervous energy. Quite bold for someone who’d probably do just fine against Olivia.

“D’you really think I’d be able to hold my own against her?” Vanessa finally gets out, because now that Detox isn’t here, Brooke will be honest with her, right? Not reassuring her just to look confident in front of Detox?

“Obviously,” Brooke says with an eyebrow-raise. “Like I said, you’re better than you think.”

“But that last match-”

“You think a pro boxer has never lost a match before?” Brooke asks, before letting out a sigh. “Boxing isn’t about how hard you can hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.”

Vanessa scoffs. “You did not just quote Rocky Balboa to me.”

“Sure did. And it’s true. You’ve lost a match. Cool. Fifty fifty chance of that happening. So how are you going to come back from it in the ring? Are you going to let it keep you from boxing again?”

“No, not that, I just…” Vanessa trails off, trying to search for the right words, “how am I supposed to fight against someone like Olivia? Or try and stage a comeback against a pro?”

Brooke’s lips curl up at the edges, a smile on her face that Vanessa doesn’t quite understand. “Y’know, you’re technically a pro.”

“What? No I’m not. Gassing me up like that ain’t gonna work,” Vanessa scoffs, crossing her arms, but Brooke looks unfazed.

“The definition of a ‘pro’ encompasses someone who has sponsors, who accepts prize money. You’re there, aren’t you? Or did I imagine the billboard of you outside my subway station this morning?”

“Another one?” Vanessa squeaks out, because Jesus Christ. Detox never rests.

“You’re already a pro. And your skill level is rising to catch up with you, too. I really think we can get you to be a solid threat to her, Ness, I really do.”

The sincerity in Brooke’s eyes is almost jarring in a way, because Vanessa knows she’s not joking. Not that she’d joke about something like this, but...still. Brooke believes her own words.

“And you’re really not just saying that?” Vanessa mumbles, because it doesn’t hurt to check one more time just in case she’s going to change her answer.

“I’m really not. Like I said, you’re better than you think you are.” Brooke, to her credit, isn’t looking exasperated with her, despite earning the right to be, and instead, she smiles. “And if you really want to increase your chances of winning, I can always push you a tad harder in the gym, make your conditioning and strength workouts even more intense. Is this your way of asking for it?”

“Now hold on just a second,” Vanessa squeaks, holding both of her hands up in front of herself. “I’m a little too young to experience a heart attack. Still got a baby face and all.”

“You know, I bet Olivia’s pushing herself in the gym right this second,” Brooke says lightly, her smile growing when Vanessa huffs and crosses her arms.

“Well, when you say it like that-”

“Atta girl. Now come on,” Brooke says, sliding herself off of her desk and holding out her hands to Vanessa. “Time to sweat.”

“Lord, have mercy.”

Time is malleable in the professional sports world.

The seconds in between a knockout and the referee making the call can feel like hours, meanwhile months of training can feel like a whirlwind in preparation for a match that creeps up all too soon. Brooke is not sure how two months have passed since Vanessa’s signed on for the fight with Olivia Lux, how their training plan is reaching the peak in anticipation of the match that’s now only a few days away. Vanessa’s everywhere, across from her in the gym and on the advertisements lining the subway cars on her ride home. She’s there when Brooke closes her eyes to sleep and pictures drills in her head that she’ll try out the next morning in practice, and she’s also floating in Brooke’s consciousness when she’s yanked from her dream at 4:30 am by the alarm she’s set to get to the airport on time.

Their flight to L.A is this morning. The match against Olivia is tomorrow. Brooke’s certain that Vanessa’s more ready than she’ll ever be, if her grit at yesterday’s practice is anything to go by.

So why does Brooke’s chest feel full of knots?

The knots loosen a tad when she sees Vanessa stumble out of her apartment building in a losing battle with her suitcase handle, as the sun casts pinks and oranges along the sidewalk. Brooke hops out of the Uber that they’re sharing to the airport to help Vanessa haul the suitcase into the trunk beside her own, and the smile that Vanessa shoots her warms her up on the inside, despite the chilly morning bite in the air.

“Now tell me why we couldn’t book a respectable flight in the afternoon? Why the hell are we leaving at the ass crack of dawn?” Vanessa asks behind a yawn as the car starts to move, and Brooke lets out one of her own.

“Because we need time to drop things off at the hotel, and fit in a training session before weigh-in and media this afternoon, and not to mention heading to bed on time to get a good night’s sleep before the match tomorrow-”

“Oh, I’ll get a good night’s sleep after waking up this damn early, I’ll tell you that,” Vanessa grumbles as she rubs her eyes, and Brooke has to hold back a laugh when she tugs her hoodie over her head.

“Aren’t you used to waking up early for practice, anyway? This is only a couple of hours more.”

“I need every minute of beauty sleep I can get, with all those interviews Detox lined up for today,” Vanessa mutters. “You’d think this was the royal wedding or some shit. Two boxers, united in holy ass kicking, on this beautiful autumnal afternoon-”

“That’s the spirit,” Brooke snorts, leaning back in her seat.

There’s something about Vanessa’s presence that always soothes the nerves tingling along her spine, slowing down the thoughts in her brain that run too fast while on autopilot. Just a smile and a wisecrack from under Vanessa’s breath is enough to let Brooke exhale and relax her previously tensed posture. Even when Vanessa doesn’t believe it herself, she has the tendency to reassure Brooke that everything is going to work out. Or at least, as much that can be worked out when partaking in a pro fight for the first time.

Despite the unspoken pressure of what’s to come Vanessa’s still grinning, quips rolling off of her tongue that make Brooke crack up and cause the other passengers in the terminal’s waiting area to shoot them dirty looks. It doesn’t stop as they board the flight either, if Vanessa’s woop of excitement as they reach their seats is anything to go by.

“You mean to tell me Detox booked us in first class? Bitch, I ain’t ever even sat in Economy Plus before. Shit.”

“Perks of becoming a meme, huh?” Brooke asks, storing her carry-on in the overhead compartment.

“I feel bougie as hell now,” Vanessa whistles, though lets out a huff when the shelf is too high for her to slide her own carry-on bag into place.

Brooke grins, plucking the bag from her grip and pushing it in for her. “You didn’t feel bougie when Prada sent you a PR package last week?”

“Nah, but this is different, y’know? One of those things you always hope to eventually do, even when it feels far fetched. This makes it more real.”

Brooke gets it. She remembers first experiencing the perks of her dad’s success - the sponsorships, the connections, their move from their tiny apartment to a penthouse suite. It was the little things at the time that had made it feel real - like the fact that her dad had stopped buying the value brand juice boxes for Brooke’s lunches, and instead went for the kool-aid jammers that everyone else in her class was bringing in. The smaller, minute differences felt more significant, in a way, with the larger changes in their lives at the time more of a fever dream.

“What’re you gonna watch?” Vanessa asks, thumbing through the entertainment display on the seat in front of her. “I’m thinking Toddlers and Tiaras.”

“Seriously?” Brooke asks, raising an eyebrow on the overly hairsprayed child displayed on Vanessa’s screen. “That show freaks me out.”

Vanessa shrugs, crossing her legs on her seat. “That’s the beauty of it. Can’t tear your eyes from the car wreck.”

“I’m gonna stick with Nashville, I’m already in the middle of a rewatch, so may as well keep going,” Brooke shrugs.

“Ain’t that the show on country music? Lord Jesus, you are so white,” Vanessa shakes her head, tutting under her breath.

Brooke scoffs, crossing her arms. “It’s a good show! You can’t talk, not when you’re watching toddlers with spray tans.”

For as much as Vanessa defends her choice of show, she doesn’t watch much of it, not when Brooke notices her eyes slipping closed and her head starting to lean forward before jerking backwards every so often. The déjà vu that flares in Brooke’s chest when Vanessa’s head settles onto her shoulder is inevitable, when the movement mirrors their trip to that fateful tournament where Vanessa’s boxing journey completely changed trajectories. In a way, some things still haven’t changed - the way Vanessa’s eyelids flutter as she sleeps, the soft rise and fall of her chest. Vanessa snuggles in even more against her shoulder as she mumbles under her breath, and the wave of affection that goes over Brooke is the same as what it would have been on the way to that tournament.

She has to ignore Yvie’s knowing words that worm their way into her brain, the ones that have become more and more prevalent over the last few months - you’re into her, she’s into you, why don’t you just tell her how you feel? It’s that easy, and you won’t have to mope anymore. The words that she always scoffs out whenever Brooke has a faraway look on her face, or after Vanessa leaves their apartment after another movie night. Yvie’s perceptive, a little bit too perceptive for her own good, because she’s seeing things that shouldn’t even be there.

Brooke isn’t into Vanessa, because she can’t be. What kind of predatory coach falls for their student?

The way her heart flutters when Vanessa smiles at her is irrelevant, as is the way that she always puts on Beyoncé for their morning warm up just to make Vanessa happy. It doesn’t matter.

Because any coach would do everything in their power to make their athlete happy. It doesn’t mean anything more.

Besides, Vanessa doesn’t feel the same way. Not when her smile lights up her face with everyone she meets, not when her banter and jokes are the same with Brooke as they are with her other friends. She’s friendly and considerate and perfect because that’s just who she is, not because she has feelings.

Yvie’s often wrong, anyway.

Though it doesn’t stop Brooke from imagining what things would be like if she could press a kiss to Vanessa’s temple as she sleeps, or maybe rub small circles onto her palm with her thumb. Provide that reassurance for the fight ahead even while she’s asleep, keeping an eye out for her the way she deserves. Wrapping her arms around her at night because they can share a bed rather than have separate rooms and hey, Brooke would definitely sleep better if Vanessa was in her arms because she felt the same way and-

No.

She can’t.

Thoughts like that aren’t helpful, not when they have no realistic way of happening. Besides, Vanessa’s type is probably more towards the male athletes at the gym. She’s never indicated anything to the contrary, no matter what Yvie says.

Brooke really needs to stop her brain from running full steam ahead with unlikely scenarios that’ll stay fictional forever. Besides, there’s a fight to focus on. One that’ll be the biggest of Vanessa’s life so far. It would be selfish of Brooke to derail it because her heart flutters a little more than it should when Vanessa smiles at her, or speaks in that soft voice that she only uses when she’s feeling pensive, or-

Christ.

The pilot overhead announcing the impending descent and landing is almost a blessing, because it causes Vanessa to stir against her shoulder and Brooke can push away the idiotic thoughts threatening to take over her consciousness, and instead focus on how cute Vanessa looks when she’s blinking away sleep.

“We here already? That flight was five minutes long, max.”

“That’s what happens when you sleep the entire journey,” Brooke murmurs, resisting the urge to tuck a loose lock of hair behind Vanessa’s ear.

Vanessa yawns. “You make a good pillow. I swear, I slept like a baby. You take reservations for that shoulder, at all?”

“What, you want to rent it out to sleep on? That’ll cost you way extra,” Brooke replies, ignoring the longing in her chest that would gladly let Vanessa rest on her any time she wanted.

“I got venmo and cash app. Your choice,” Vanessa giggles, leaning back against her seat. “It’s part of coaching duties and all, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Coaching duties,” Brooke mumbles.

That’s all it is. It can’t be anything more, not when the chance of it ever happening is close to zero.

Brooke really needs to go back to thinking like a coach.

“Why don’t we live in L.A? We could go to the beach after practice every day if we wanted to,” Vanessa huffs out between breaths, before taking a swig from her water bottle.

The view of the parking lot from the hotel’s fitness room is a far cry from the ocean, but Vanessa remembers seeing a sign during their Uber ride earlier today indicating that they were near a beach. A girl can fantasize.

Brooke drops her hands, her boxing pads swinging slightly. “Two words: L.A. traffic. You’d also miss your mom and sister way too much.”

“I’ll give you that,” Vanessa concedes. “My sister? Nah. My mom, though? Neither of us would cope without each other fifteen minutes away.”

“I think that’s sweet, though,” Brooke smiles, before lifting her pads back up, an unspoken signal for Vanessa to go for another round. “It’s nice that you two are so close.”

“Yeah, until she’s poking around my apartment and folding the clothes piled on the chair in my room, and going on about ‘ay, Vanessa, you’ve folded your socks all wrong and did you call your Tia Luisa for her birthday yet? And don’t forget about dinner next Friday, you better bring the tostones because there’s no way I’m cooking absolutely everything, okay?’” Vanessa tops off her impression with a snap of her fingers. “Nah, I love it, though.”

She really does. It’s nice, the way her and Alexis and her mom have remained such a close family unit, through everything. As much as Vanessa huffs and puffs when her mom begins a lecture two minutes after entering her apartment, she truly doesn’t mind.

“It means she cares,” Brooke grins. “C’mon, one more round and we’re done for the day.”

“Are you sure? Ain’t it not enough?” Vanessa asks, and she doesn’t mean to let her voice waver the way it does, but Brooke gives her that knowing look and grabs her shoulders in a way that tells Vanessa that she’s definitely noticed.

“What have we been doing for the past few months, hm?” Brooke raises an eyebrow, and Vanessa has to resist the urge to huff.

“Training.”

“And how many hours a day have we been training?”

“A fuck ton.”

“That’s what I thought,” Brooke shrugs, before her eyes soften just a tad. “You’re ready, okay? Even past the physical part of it. Do you think I’d make you write an analysis on Olivia’s fighting techniques just for fun?”

“I still can’t believe you made me do that,” Vanessa replies, wrinkling her nose. “I wasn’t my English teacher’s favourite in high school, lemme tell you that.”

At least Brooke hadn’t minded when Vanessa started her so-called paper with ‘let me tell you something,' or when she threw in some barbs about the weaknesses in Olivia’s fighting techniques.

“It did help though, I can’t lie,” Vanessa concedes. “Watching so many of her fights and breaking everything down.”

“You know how often I go on about boxing being as mental as it is physical,” Brooke shrugs. “No point in going into a fight without a plan. We’ve planned for months. You’ve worked on this plan for months. Do you really think you aren’t ready?”

Vanessa sighs. “It’s not that, I just…” she trails off, slumping slightly as the words she’s been trying to shove out of her brain fight their way to the forefront. “What if I lose?”

She’d lost her most recent match and became a meme as a result. What if her so-called career as a pro will be nothing more than getting her ass kicked and getting made fun of? Vanessa’s a sucker for punishment, sure, but she’s also not a clown.

Brooke shrugs. “Then we prepare for your next match. But what makes you so sure that will happen?”

“I mean, I got thoroughly whooped in my last match, and I haven’t fought since then-”

“Then what do you call our daily sparring where I really don’t hold back against you anymore, at all?”

Brooke’s revelation makes Vanessa pause. “Wait, really? You don’t go easy on me?”

Vanessa’s always thought that Brooke fought at an unattainable level as a pro - someone unstoppable, someone that Vanessa should aspire to be like. But if Brooke isn’t holding back against her anymore, then…

“As you’ve improved, I’ve pushed you harder and harder. You don’t think you’re still at the level you were at when you walked into my gym with press-ons, do you?”

The disbelief in Brooke’s expression is mixed in with pride and a twinkle in her eye - a look that Vanessa always strives to get out of her during training, one that makes her stomach flip in excitement.

“So what you’re saying is, I can whoop your ass,” Vanessa grins, and Brooke’s eye roll is immediate.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far. Olivia, though? More than capable of whooping hers. You’re ready, Ness. You really are.”

With the way Brooke is looking at her, part of Vanessa may be finally starting to believe it, too.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanije mateo #lesbian au #boxer au #level up #holtzmanns

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buckybarnesbingo · 3 years

Photo

BBB Week 6 Roundup!

Little bit late, Mod Meg was on vacay over the weekend.

Title: Cute Quaterbacks Collaborator(s): Tori/samandbucky Link: AO3 Square: B4 - Sharing Clothes Rating: Teen Ship(s): Steve/Tony Major tags/warnings: AU, School, Fake Relationship, Protective!Bucky Summary: Steve and Bucky grew up as childhood best friends and are now roommates in college. Bucky dares Steve to bring a date to one of his upcoming football games after Steve suggests he could date anyone he wanted to. Enter Tony Stark. Word count: 1767

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Title: The Curse Collaborator(s): Tori/samandbucky Link: AO3 Square: K4 - Kiss Rating: Teen Ship(s): Bucky/Clint Major tags/warnings: Fluff, Established Relationship, Magic, Curses Summary: Clint gets hit during an alien attack with some dark magic, Bucky and Steve can't wake him, so they go to the only person they know who can undo the curse: Stephen Strange. Word count: 1364

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Title: A Regular Harry Houdini Collaborator(s): Bird Link: AO3 Square: K4 - Prisoners/Captives Together Rating: Teen Ship(s): Sam/Bucky Major tags/warnings: Minor Episode 5 Spoilers, Post-The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Captured, First Kiss Summary: “You know, if Steve kissed me in the middle of an escape attempt, he would bring it up after,” Sam said. “I thought we weren’t talking about Steve,” Bucky grunted, closing his eyes. “I’m going to take a nap.” “I can’t believe you’re pretending to take a nap right now.” “I’m 106, Sam. I’m allowed to fall asleep whenever I want.” Word count: 1365

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Title: K5 Card B096 Soulbond Collaborator(s): Rufferto Link: Tumblr Square: K5 - High Fantasy, Curses, Shiny Sword Steve Rating: Teen Ship(s): Stucky Major tags/warnings: Fantasy Warrior Bucky, Curses, Art, Sword Steve Summary: When Bucky went off to war Steve was cursed into a sword. Bucky managed to find him because they share a bond but he's cursed. Bucky now carries Steve into battle wherever he goes looking for a way to have Steve at his side again. This was done on Hot Press Water Color Paper with Windsor & Newton and Arteza paints. I don’t much like the scan, there’s something always lost when a watercolor image is scanned but I will try some other time to get a better photo of it. Word count: none it is art.

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Title: Benevolent Overlord Collaborator(s): IndigoNight Link: AO3 Square: K1 - Bucky Bear Rating: Gen Ship(s): Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Major tags/warnings: Fluff, PTSD, Codependency, Alpine the Cat Summary: “Hi,” Bucky says, wincing a little at how hoarse and rough his voice sounds from disuse. The kitten just hisses at him again, huge green eyes narrowed into slits. “Yeah, I get it,” he agrees with a grimace and a commiserating nod. Word count: 4921

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Title: I'm James Buchanan Barnes Collaborator(s): e_hytes Link: Tumblr Square: C2 - Art Style: Black and White Rating: Gen Ship(s): No pairing/ship Major tags/warnings: #buckybarnes #wintersoldier #jamesbuchananbarnes #mcu Summary: A drawing of Bucky/Winter Soldier black and white Word count: N/A

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Title: Someone Like You Collaborator(s): Nicnac Link: AO3 Square: C4 - Prison Rating: Mature Ship(s): Bucky/Reader Major tags/warnings: Enemies, Uneasy Allies, Hydra Agent Reader, Negotiations Summary: Taken from their SHIELD prison cell, the reader finds themself alone with The Winter Soldier negotiating for their life. Word count: 2693

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Title: Sambucky Incorrect Quotes Collaborator(s): snowstark Link: Tumblr Square: U2 - Partner-In-Crime Rating: Teen Ship(s): Sam/Bucky Major tags/warnings: Enemies to lovers vibe, Humour Summary: “Bucky, we tried things your way already.” “No we didn’t.” “I did it in my head and it didn’t work.” Word count: N/A

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Title: darling, you’re the one i want in paper rings Collaborator(s): cyanica Link: AO3 Square: C5 - teasing Rating: Gen Ship(s): steve/bucky Major tags/warnings: first time, demisexuality, period-typical homophobia, fluff, friends to lovers Summary: "Okay, I don't know why I’ve never – you know!” Bucky said after a moment, a soft laugh spilling from his lips – something so genuine and bashful, that Steve wasn’t so sure what to make of. “You're just – you're the only one I've ever had eyes for. You're the only one I’ve ever wanted.” Or, whatever deity had constructed the fragmented pieces of their souls together, they were made of the same smithereens, and Steve was sure he had known that as a child, holding Bucky’s slightly larger hand and accepting that they were of the same love, without even knowing what such a concept was. Word count: 1630

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Title: Unexpected Alliances - Chapter 4 Collaborator(s): PoliZ Link: AO3 Square: C5 - Lending a Hand Rating: Mature Ship(s): Stucky Major tags/warnings: Fantasy AU, enemies to friends/lovers, referenced/implied torture Summary: Buckthorn’s refusal to use his fae magic to support his captor’s cause has left him battered and broken; when he is given a dangerous shifter as his cellmate, they overcome their differences to become allies and perhaps something more. Chapter 4: Upon reaching the shifters’ camp, Buckthorn meets another of Stephen’s companions who seems to have a chip on his shoulder when it comes to fae folk. Word count: 1034

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Title: A Story Told in Flesh, Chapter 3: Together In Dreams Collaborator(s): ChrissiHR Link: AO3 Square: B2 - Rocket Racoon Rating: Explicit Ship(s): Bucky x Darcy x Steve Major tags/warnings: Big Swingin’ Dick!Steve, smut, nsfw, dream sex, sex positive Summary: Bucky and Darcy get massages and discuss Aesir medical treatments; Darcy has an erotic dream about Bucky & Steve. Word count: 1270

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Title: Written In The Scars (On My Heart) Collaborator(s): IndigoNight Link: AO3 Square: K5 - Just Do It Rating: Explicit Ship(s): Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes Major tags/warnings: Past Rape/Non-con, In Heat (but not A/B/O) Masturbation, Sex Toys, Mildly Dubious Consent, Body Worship, Self Body Worship, Rimming, Fuck Or Die (sort of), Porn with Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Inability to Orgasm, Body Image, Reference to Past Medical Experimentation, Self-Lubrication, Touch-Starved, Touch-Averse Summary: He swallows hard, struggling with himself one last time and losing. “I need your help,” he manages to whisper, voice cracking. The air in the room immediately changes. The wound up tension drains out of Steve, his posture and voice going soft. “Sure, Buck,” he says, cautiously moving back toward him. Bucky can’t move, his arms locked tight around his knees, and he can’t lift his gaze higher than Steve’s knees either. Steve pauses when he’s still a few feet away, squatting down and angling his head in an effort to see Bucky’s face through the curtain of his hair. “Anything. What do you need?” It’s everything Bucky can do to hold still, every cell in his body vibrating with the need to throw himself into Steve’s arms. He opens his mouth, but his throat sticks and he has to swallow again before he can force the words out. Slowly, by sheer force of will, he drags his gaze up to meet Steve’s eyes. “I need you to fuck me.” Word count: 41k

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Title: Acceptance is the first part of Healing Collaborator(s): Laevateinn Link: AO3 Square: C4 - Denial Rating: Teen Ship(s): N/A Major tags/warnings: 1e3 : Power Broker, TFATWS coda, TW for : implied sexual abuse/assault, dissociation, PTSD, flashbacks, Angst, hopeful(ish) ending Summary: "You good ?" Wilson asks him, after he fought against eight men. "You okay ?" Wilson asks him, when they get to Sharon’s house. "You hurt ?" Wilson asks him, when they get out of the car. Yes, Wilson. All good. Now if the guy could shut up and carry on, that'd be great. Why would he be "not fine" anyway ? It's not as if anything that happened that day hasn't happened before. Word count: 906

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Title: The Maze Stumbler (Moodboard) Collaborator(s): Turtles Link: Tumblr Square: B3 - Labyrinth Rating: Teen Ship(s): Darcy Lewis & Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Major tags/warnings: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Thor, Cocktail, Labyrinth Summary: Something, something, Thor spikes the punch at the party and they all decide to re enact the Maze Runner… or something like that. Sam and Bucky wake up in the middle of a maze, nothing but Darcy’s voice in their ear giving them directions and critiquing their methodology Word count: N/A

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Title: The Maze Stumbler (Fic) Collaborator(s): Turtles Link: AO3 Square: C1 - Stranded Rating: Teen Ship(s): Darcy Lewis & Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Major tags/warnings: Thor's Asgardian Booze, a labyrinth, Dubious Timeline, Everybody Lives, Crack Summary: Don’t drink Thor’s Asgardian booze. Ever. Word count: 1657

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Title: 5 Times Steve Received Plums from Natasha or Sam and the 1 Time Steve Realized the Plums weren’t from Them Collaborator(s): Girl_Back_There Link: AO3 Square: K5 - Bucky/Steve Rating: Teen Ship(s): Bucky/Steve Major tags/warnings: 5 + 1, Bucky and his Plums, Angst and Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug Summary: Steve keeps finding plums in his hotel rooms or his bag. He thinks it is Natasha or Sam trying to be a good friend by making sure he is eating and keeping up his energy in the search for Bucky. Each plum he finds reminds him of Bucky growing up in pre-WWII New York. The times they would give each other a plum as a way of saying “I’m sorry” or “I love you.” Word count: 2998

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Title: Faith and Desire and the Swing of Your Hips Collaborator(s): IndigoNight Link: AO3 Square: U2 - French Kiss Rating: Explicit Ship(s): Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes Major tags/warnings: Crossdressing, Nonbinary Steve Rogers, Oral Sex, Body Dysphoria, Gender Exploration, Supportive Flirting Summary: “You look gorgeous, doll,” he drawls, dragging up as much of old Brooklyn as he can to infuse into the words. Steve startles, even though the doorway and Bucky in it are clearly reflected behind him in the mirror. Steve’s eyes flick to him and away again, his face going pink from the tips of his ears and spreading all the way down to his chest. He fidgets with his skirt, hands smoothing over the folds of it self consciously. “It looks a little silly,” he mutters, chewing on his already chapped lower lip. Word count: 5470

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Title: Stay Collaborator(s): Bird/plutosrose Link: AO3 Square: C3 - Free Square Rating: Explicit Ship(s): Sam/Bucky Major tags/warnings: Post-Canon, First Time Summary: “So, are you keeping the outfit?” Word count: 1919

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Title: It's Not a Miracle You Need Collaborator(s): UisceOneLove Link: AO3 Square: Y3 - At a Crossroads Rating: Teen Ship(s): James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Major tags/warnings: Post-Endgame, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending Summary: Sitting out on the dock of Tony's lakehouse while the others slept, Steve thought about where he was expected to go from here. It's a good thing Bucky's around to help him see where that can be. Word count: 1584

#buckybarnesbingo2021 #bbb2021 #bbb weekly roundup #bbb week 6 #bbb round three

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buckbarnesjames · 3 years

Text

Chapter Eight

Pairings: Bucky x reader

Warnings: Kind of angsty.

Word Count: 2053

A/N: That’s all of the old chapters updated now so I’ll offically be starting work on the rest of the series this week. Taglist is OPEN. Feedback is appreciated!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

The ring on your finger felt heavy as you stood next to Bucky, his arm in it’s usual spot around your waist, in front of your friends and his family. It had been his idea to throw an engagement party. Your stomach was churning and you felt sick, your brain was spinning with worry at how everyone was going to react. You take a sip of wine, to steel your nerves, as Bucky calls attention to the both of you. “Whilst we were away a few weeks ago, I asked the beautiful woman next to me a very important question” he starts and you can hear everyone in the room murmuring between themselves. “I asked her to marry me,” he continues and reaches for your hand, flashing the ring to everyone in the room. They all erupt into cheers, whilst Nat and Wanda rush forward from the crowd to gush over the ring and congratulate you - surprised you had been successful in hiding it from them for so long. For some reason, it does nothing to quell the nauseous feeling in your stomach. You swallow the lump in your throat and put a smile on your face,joining in with the celebrations.

“Is everything okay, doll?” Bucky asks later when Johnathan is driving you back to the apartment. You nod, rubbing your forehead. “Mhmm, I’m just feeling a little under the weather. I think it’s the stress from work,” you tell him, giving him a tense smile. It’s true that work had been much more stressful for you since Bucky had moved things around and created a new division, which you were now in charge of. You now worked with graduates of Stark’s business program who were looking for internships or permanent employment. “Why don’t you take the rest of the week off? I can get someone to cover for you,” he suggests and you shake him off with a wave of your hand, shutting down the conversation immediately. “I’ll have Elizabeth make you some chamomile tea when we get in, does that sound good?” Bucky says, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. You just nod in reply, your eyes dropping with exhaustion. Maybe you were working yourself too hard, but you weren’t going to slow down or take a break. You had heard some of the female staff whispering about you and how you had only gotten your promotion cause you were, quote unquote, fucking the boss and you were determined to prove them wrong.

The next week, you’re not feeling much better but try your best to ignore the nauseous feeling that seems to constantly be swirling in your stomach. You also spend a lot of your time trying to ignore the growing concern in Bucky’s eyes. He was worried about you and pushing for you to take a break which had resulted in a few arguments that you were sure the whole office had heard. You walked into your office - you no longer shared with Bucky, and at the moment, you were grateful for the space from- to find him standing at your desk. “Let’s not rehash the argument from earlier, James, please” you say to him softly, walking over to your desk and dropping a stack of files on it. “I’m not here to argue” he says holding his hands up in mock surrender.”You have a phone call in my office, they said it’s urgent” he says, concern spread across his face. You gesture for him to lead the way and follow him to his office.You immediately saunter over to his desk when you get there and pick up the office phone, “Y/F/N Y/L/N speaking.” Your blood runs cold at the voice on the end of the line. It’s your mother. “Y/N, darling! I just heard the wonderful news. You’re marrying James Barnes!” She gushes down the phone at you. You clench your jaw, willing away the tears that threatened to well in your eyes. It feels as if all your old wounds of rejection are reopening knowing that she hadn’t called to ask how you’d been doing the last few years or how proud she was of the career you’d made for yourself. “Yes, mother. I’m marrying James Barnes. Thank you for your congratulations but I have to go” you say, slamming the phone down on her. As you do , you briefly hear her shout “Wait, Y/N. We need to talk about your father. He’s…” As soon as the phone is placed back onto the receiver you let out a strangled cry. Bucky rushes over to you, enveloping you in a hug. You hug him back and sob into his chest for a moment,before suddenly pushing him away and reaching for the office bin. Bucky rubs your back and utters soothing words to you as you throw up. He hands you a tissue once you stop vomiting and you wipe your mouth.”I know. I’ll have Johnathan come and pick me up” yousay, putting a hand up to stop him as he opens his mouth to speak. You turn on your heels to leave his office before turning back to look at him. He’s sitting at his desk now, typing away at the computer. “Bucky” you say,getting his attention. He looks up at you, a soft smile on his face. “I’m sorry” you whisper, wrapping one arm around your waist and wiping away tears with your free hand. “Sorry for what, doll?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowed. He knew you’d been under a lot of stress lately and that blaming you wasn’t going to fix anything. “I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting lately” you admit. You knew you hadn’t been fair to him recently and had been shutting him out a little. “Don’t worry about it. I know things have been hard lately, for the both of us. Now...get yourself home and get some rest,okay?” You nod and head out of the office, texting Johnathan to pick you up.

Bucky comes home from work a few hours later and finds you hanging on to the toilet bowl for dear life,tears streaming down your face.”Y/N!” he gasps out and runs towards you, kneeling down. “What’s wrong?” he asks, the panic in his voice evident. He grabs hold of your face, his eyes raking over you at a rapid pace. “Bucky” you croak out, your voice raw from having thrown up several more times since you had gotten home.”Please don’t be mad” you whisper and his eyebrows furrow. “I think...I think I’m pregnant” you whisper and start crying again. “We haven’t exactly been careful about protection, Y/N” he chuckles softly, trying to break the tension. “So...you’re not mad” you sniffle and he wipes a stray tear from your cheek.”Why would I be mad?” he says, standing up and taking you with him. You just shrug at him, your gaze cast down to the floor. Bucky hooks a finger underneath your chin and brings your head up to look at him. “I’m not mad. I love you and having a family with you was always going to be on the cards...from the minute you agreed to marry me. It might be a little fast but we’ve never been ones to take our relationship slowly” Bucky’s obvious statement elicits a small chuck from you. “God, you’re so cute...even when you’re sick” he says before kissing your forehead and leading you to bed.

Bucky makes an appointment with the doctors for you and the next morning, you find yourself sitting in a waiting room with crisp white walls and dark furniture. You’re waiting for the results of the test that had been administered to you when you first arrived. There’s a clock on the wall ticking loudly and it makes your head pound and your stomach twist with anxiety. Bucky is sitting next to you and he reaches over to squeeze your hand.”Hey, it’ll be fine” he whispers soothingly. A few minutes later, a Korean woman dressed smartly with a lab coat thrown over her clothes enters the room.”Y/F/N Y/L/N?” she says and you and Bucky stand up slowly. “Come on in,” she ushers you through a door and into an office that’s decorated similarly to the waiting room with an examination table in the far right corner and a large desk in the middle of the room with a silver name plaque front and center, ‘Dr Helen Cho’. She takes a seat at the desk and gestures for you and Bucky to sit down. The room is tense with silence for a moment whilst Doctor Cho sifts through the papers on her desk. You glance at Bucky and he softly squeezes your hand and mouths ‘It’s gonna be okay. I love you’.

“The pregnancy test result came back negative” Doctor Cho says, offering you a gentle smile. “Your blood pressure is a little higher than normal which leads me to believe you’re experiencing stress induced vomiting. Our next step is looking at the lifestyle changes we can make to reduce your stress levels and I would…” Doctor Cho’s voice seems to slowly slip away as you try to process that you’re not pregnant. You try to sort through the emotions you’re feeling and the one that strikes you is your disappointment. You’d truly been prepared to hear that you were pregnant. “Thank you, Helen” Bucky’s voice interrupts your internal monologue. “We’ll make the changes you suggested immediately.” Bucky stands up and offers his hand to you. You take it and he helps you up from your chair. Everything around you is hazy as he walks you out of the office and back to the car.

You don’t say much the whole car ride home. In fact, you’re silent for most of the night, trapped in a daze. You can’t stop thinking about how disappointed you are. You’d never given any thought to having children before Bucky and now all you could imagine was getting married and settling down in a nice big house with the sound of children's feet running across the floor.

You’re lying in bed facing away from the door when Bucky comes to bed. He gently slips in next to you and wraps his arm around your waist pulling you closer. “Hey…” he softly whispers to you and it breaks your resolve and the flood gates open. Bucky holds you as you cry. He doesn’t say anything, he just smoothes his hand up and down your back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying. We weren’t exactly planning on starting our family.” You say once you stop crying.You turn over to face him in the darkness and he moves to wipe the tears from your cheeks. “We could be,” Bucky whispers.”If you'd like to, we could start trying.” he continues as he wipes the remaining tears from your eyes. He leaves his hand on your cheek and you snuggle your face into it, pressing a kiss to his palm. “You’d want that?” you ask, unsure if this is what he truly wants or if he’s just trying to placate you. “With you? One hundred perfect. From the moment I saw you, I thought maybe you could be the one I finally find happiness with” he states firmly then kisses your forehead. “Okay, then we’ll start trying.” The affirmation is all Bucky needs before he’s pulling you on top of him and kissing you hard. “I don’t think Doctor Cho had this in mind when she said I had to relax” you say in between laughs. “It’s a scientific fact that an orgasm is a great way to release stress” Bucky cheekily answers you. You laugh and lean down to kiss him. You kiss each other lazily for a few moments before Bucky flips you over so he’s hovering above you. “We could start trying right this minute” he says as he kisses your neck. You laugh at him again until he kisses the spot on your neck that he knows drives you crazy, and then you’re sighing in pleasure.

As Bucky makes love to you, a smile graces your face and you think about your future together.

#The Arrangement #bucky x reader #ceo!bucky #bucky x reader series

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dreamsafterhours · 3 years

Text

1811: the 166th day of your voyage in space with your sole flight companion, astronaut!haechan, starts like any other.

the mission had been running smoothly, with nothing remarkable on the schedule. analyse some samples, go through any new messages from earth, double-check supplies.

on paper, it was meant to be one of the least eventful days of the week ahead.

you had both been spending time in the gym in your rare overlapping break time, getting your daily exercise; running on the treadmill with him on the one adjacent, in the middle of a contest of endurance to see who could hold out the longest.

the ship spins around to grant you a once-in-a-lifetime view of earth through the windows, just a tiny blue speck against the vast void of space. your gaze locks onto your home, and you let yourself get lost in thoughts of your life. right there, on that pinprick of colour smaller than your fingernail, was everything you knew and loved.

"missing home?" haechan calls out, seeming to have noticed what your attention was on.

you glance over at him with a sheepish laugh. reaching out to slow the treadmill down, you catch your breath before you make to reply as he does the same.

"it's been so long since i've seen my niece," you tell him what you've been dwelling over for a few nights in a row, chest still heaving from effort.

he snorts, wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel. "she sent you a video message just yesterday. what was it about? her new elephant plushie she named after you?"

you can't force the smile off your lips as you recall the very file he was referring to. "yeah, well... you know it's different."

he sucks his teeth and nods slowly. "fair."

"just the thought of her naming a doll after me because i'm not there in person, you know?" you don't need to verbally add that it breaks your heart for him to understand.

"yeah." his eyes fall to the treadmill control pad in front of him. "hey, i'm sure she's super proud of you. she's probably bragging to all her friends that she has an actual astronaut in her family, and they're 'up in space at this very moment'." he holds up air quotes and speaks in a proud, matter-of-fact voice in an attempt to imitate your niece.

your smile breaks wider at the image of her, beaming baby teeth and all. "hey, what about you? who's boasting about you back home?"

haechan opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by your yelp of surprise as your weight vanishes with warning, your stomach lurching with horror as the floor disappears underneath your feet. you register him cursing loudly as his body floats—floats—up, without the comfort of gravity.

you swear the ship has abandoned you.

you were, of course, familiar with the sensation of weightlessness in space—but only when it was meant to be so, and the very implications makes your brain go haywire.

"shit, shit, shit—" momentary panic forces your arms to flail out to grab onto something, anything—and a hand catches your wrist as haechan pulls you into his chest.

"i got you," though comforting, haechan fails to hide his own shock and confusion, "i got you."

he unwraps one arm from around you to gently push off the approaching ceiling, sending the two of you drifting slowly back towards the floor again.

grabbing onto the handlebar of a treadmill (you felt tremendously thankful for the fact that they were fixed to the gym floor), he pulls both of you as close to the floor as possible in case the gravity machine decides to function properly again without warning.

your heart jumps to your throat again as his back thuds on the floor and pulls you down with him, falling onto his chest. neither of you having let go of one another the entire time you spent in unplanned non-gravity. "are you okay?"

your stray hair falls on your face as you push your head off his chest and nod blankly in reply.

"well, that wasn't supposed to happen," he says, though his face shows no sign of joking like usual.

"no shit," you breathe out.

you both flinch when an alarm blares through the speakers, screaming of certain impending doom in the form of a system malfunction.

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cutie1365 · 4 years

Text

Hello Detective Chapter 70

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: How have I written 70 parts of this???? Please keep the love coming, it helps me write. Literally even just a comment saying hi helps. Shout out to @dancingwithlamas this ones for you doll :)

Any and all feedback is appreciated and encouraged!

Masterlist in bio, taglist in reblog.

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“Mr. Magnussen, please state your full name for the record.” Lady Smallwood said, beginning the meeting, if you could call it that. Interrogation was more like it, not that anyone would actually stand up to him. It was a formality.

You looked around the room at the council and up to the translators in the gallery. Lady Smallwood sat on your right, you were meant to oversee the enquiry together. Naturally as she was your senior, she took charge. When it came to Magnussen, you knew when to keep your mouth shut.

“Charles Augustus Magnussen.” He answered slowly, his eyes fixated on you as you broke and looked away. You kept your focus onto the stack of papers in front of you.

“Mr. Magnussen, how would you describe your influence over the Prime Minister?” Lady Smallwood, asked, jumping right in, not holding back.

“The British Prime Minister?” Magnussen asked, making you want to roll your eyes. Of course you were going to have to be more specific, he’s probably got every Prime Minister in the world in his pocket.

“Any of the British Prime Ministers you have known.” Smallwood expanded upon her question. That must be a lengthy list, he’s been in this business for a while.

“I’ve never had the slightest influence over any of them. Why would I?” Magnussen played dumb. Lady Smallwood turned to you with an exasperated look, she wasn’t going to let this go.

“Mr. Magnussen, I notice you’ve had seven meetings at Downing Street this year. Why?” You ask, keeping your tone as kind and impartial as possible. God forbid you come off threatening to the man who’s blackmailing you.

“Because I was invited.” He answered simply, it’s not like he was going to come out and say the true reason he was there or what he had on the PM.

“Can you recall the subjects under discussion?” Lady Smallwood picked up where you left off.

“Not without being more indiscreet than I believe is appropriate.” He smiled with those dead lifeless eyes.

“Do you think it right that a newspaper proprietor, a private individual and, in fact, a foreign national should have such regular access to our Prime Minister?” John Garvie, the MP of Rockwell South asked, his tone hostile. You turned to him with a raised brow, he was stepping out of line, and by his definition, you were also a foreign national. He needed to be careful, he didn’t know who he was dealing with.

Magnussen lifted his glasses from the table and slipped them on. You knew he wouldn’t take kindly to that comment.

“I don’t think it’s wrong that a private individual should accept an invitation. However, you have my sincere apologies for being foreign.” He almost smirked, you shook your head at his remark, what a cheeky bastard. You had to hand it to him, however evil, the fucker was good at what he does.

“That’s not what I meant. That is not in any way...” Garvie tried to cover, looking to you and Smallwood for help. You shook your head to silence him, the damage was already done and now he would have to live with the consequences.

“Mr. Magnussen, can you recall an occasion when your remarks could have influenced government policy?” Lady Smallwood asked, “Or the Prime Minister’s thinking in any way?”

“No,” He answered with certainty, spilling his glasses off to clean them.

“Are you sure?” Lady Smallwood pressed, still not convinced.

“I have an excellent memory.” Magnussen almost smirked, putting his glasses back on. You heard Smallwood sigh beside you, knowing this was getting nowhere.

“Madam Director-General do you have anything to add?” Lady Smallwood asked you, you turned and made eye contact with Magnussen, remembering his words from earlier as he passed you in the parlor.

“Those who speak of what they know find too late that silence is wise.” He quoted ominously and you rolled your eyes.

“Is that a threat Mr. Magnussen?” You asked, unamused.

“Simply a reminder.” He smirked, walking past you, brushing his hand under your chin to lift your head until your eyes met. You pulled away from his touch, wondering how much trouble you’d get into if your hand just accidentally found its way into a fist and completely on accident, rammed into his face.

“No, I do not.” You shook your head, and the meeting adjourned.

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You came home in a sour mood, dealing with Magnussen had that effect on everyone. Sherlock could tell something was wrong when you walked in the door. Your head was slumped, you were quiet and didn’t say anything as you slipped off your coat and hung it on the rack.

“Bad day?” Sherlock asked, looking up from his laptop as he sat in his chair.

“You could say that.” You huffed, that was an understatement. You turned back to Sherlock as he tilted his head at you.

“What happened?” He asked, curiously.

You simply shook your head. You couldn’t just say that the man that was blackmailing you was under investigation for influencing government officials and was going to walk away scott free with your help. Nope, that wouldn’t go over well.

He placed his laptop onto the ground and motioned for you to come to him with his fingers. You slipped off your heels and sauntered over to him. You sat on the arm of his chair, draping your legs over his lap. He rubbed his hand up your arm comfortingly, before leaving in to kiss you. He knew not to press any further when it came to your work. There were some things you couldn’t tell him, he understood that. You smiled after he kissed you, almost instantly forgetting about your horrible day.

“Have you found a case yet?” You asked as he slipped his arm around your back to hold you in place. You knew he's been desperate for one.

“Nothing substantial,” He shook his head with a frown, you stroked his cheek with a sad smile.

“Something will come up soon, it has to,” You tried to reassure him.

“Come on, how about I make us some dinner.” You hopped up off his lap and started to make your way towards the kitchen.

“Marriage has made you domestic,” He chuckled, getting up from his chair. You stopped and turned around, feigning offense.

“For that comment, you’re making dinner,” You pointed at him with a smirk, he raised his hands in defeat, laughing.

For once the kitchen didn’t look like a complete disaster. You grabbed a few things from the fridge and helped Sherlock prep dinner. The two of you moved like a well oiled machine, communicating without words. Sherlock playfully splashed you with water from the sink as you laughed and planned your counter attack.

You knew things were too good to be true. You knew the universe wouldn’t let the two of you be happy for too long.

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A week later Sherlock walked into the flat as you were curled up in his chair with a book on a rare day off. You nearly hadn’t heard him come in, he took the stairs so slowly. You smiled and greeted him once he’d entered through the door, his silence clued you in that something was wrong.

“Y/N...” Sherlock said, his tone was serious.

“What is it?” You asked, closing your book. Clearly something was up, you could tell that he was struggling with his words, and that worried you.

“I have a case.” He said carefully, and you chuckled in relief.

“That’s it?” You smiled, shaking your head, “You had me worried for a second there.”

But his demeanor hadn’t changed, there was more.

“It’s a very delicate case, one that will require a lot from me... from us.” He said vaguely. He was trying to protect you, he didn’t want you to get mixed up in this and get hurt.

“From us?” You asked, not understanding, did he need your help?

“I can’t bring you into this case. It’s too dangerous, and I can’t lose you. You know that, I can’t live without you.” He made his way towards you.

“You’re scaring me Sherlock.” You stood from the chair, now face to face with him.

“We have to make people believe we’ve broken up.” He said quickly, and your jaw dropped. Of all the things you thought he would say, that was not on the list.

“What?” You asked, eyes wide.

“For the case, I have to appear to be single. I’ll have to appear to hit rock bottom, and I can’t get you wrapped up in this.” He tried to explain best he could without giving away too many details. You wondered what exactly ‘rock bottom’ meant, because for him it always came back to one 7% solution.

“Ok,” You said hesitantly, after taking a moment to think.

“There’s one more thing... I may have to pretend to date someone else. I’m not sure what way this will go yet, I’ve determined 43 possible outcomes and I just, I need you to know this before I start working on the case.” He rambled, he was nervous. Though anyone would be if they had to tell their wife that they essentially were taking a break.

“This case is important, I gather.” You assumed, clearly he wouldn’t be going through all of this if it wasn’t.

“Extremely.” He said dryly. There was no hint of joking in his voice.

“You’re not going to get yourself killed are you?” You asked with the raise of your brow. If it was that dangerous maybe you'd be more helpful by his side, after all the resources at your disposal are vast.

“That would be unfortunate, but it’s not my intention.” He retorted.

“Let's keep it that way.” You ordered, you were not ready to become a widow.

“So you’re ok with this?” He furrowed his brows, thinking you were going to put up more of a fight.

“I trust you with my life. I know you wouldn’t be doing this unless it was absolutely necessary. And the fact that you’re including me in your deceptions and warning me is very thoughtful and shows a lot of personal growth.” You smiled, proudly. The Sherlock you knew two years ago wouldn’t have even been giving you this warning, he would have just dumped you to protect you.

“You’re starting to sound like a therapist.” He scoffed playfully.

“I have one question,” You said in a serious tone, earning a nod from him, “How...committed will you have to be to this fake relationship?”

“I may have to kiss her to be convincing, but I won’t allow it to go any further than that, if that’s what you’re asking.” He nodded, of course he didn’t want to be doing this, but at this point all his calculations pointed to this being the best option.

You nodded and slowly unclasped the chain around your neck. You slipped your wedding and engagement rings off your finger and slipped them onto the chain, before refastening it around your neck and tucking it into your shirt.

“I know I’m asking a lot of you.” Sherlock reached forward and took your hand.

“We’ve been through much more than this. We’ve fought bigger demons. We can make it through this too. What’s your anticipated timeline?” You asked curiously, you could handle being away from your husband for a few weeks, your work was keeping you busy enough to take your mind off of it, but you didn’t think you could handle months.

“A few weeks, I’ll know more in the coming days.” Sherlock nodded, of course he’d like to get this case done as fast as possible, but that didn’t seem likely given the delicate nature and number of moving parts.

“Well I guess it’s a good thing I kept my apartment then.” You smiled, Mrs. Astor would sure love to have you back for a little while.

“That is convenient, yes.” He nodded.

“I do owe Charles dinner, that could be good for your narrative. I can make sure we’re seen. I guess I should pack my things.” You looked around the flat. You weren’t sure how public this break up would have to be, would you have to convince Mycroft, or John? Luckily during your tenure at MI6 you’d learned a thing or two about playing a convincing character. This could be fun, like a little game to distract yourself from the fact that your husband would be entertaining another woman.

“No, wait until tomorrow. Tonight I want to show my wife just how much I love her.” Sherlock smiled, grateful that you were on board with this crazy idea.

“She sounds like a lucky lady.” You smirked.

“She’s about to be.” Sherlock chuckled darkly as he scooped you up into his arms. You squealed with laughter as your feet left the ground and Sherlock’s lips met yours suddenly, as he carried you back to the bedroom.

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Please comment and reblog so we can keep this story going! I have more coming but yalls support helps so much!

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copias-thrall · 3 years

Text

Areas of Interest

An upsetting piece of mail arrives, and Suey opens up more than the letter.

⬅️ Previous

*hard sex; mentions of past cancer; mentions of oral*

It’s such an innocuous thing. A plain-letter envelope. White. You get a handful of them a week—everything from credit card offers and random insurance quotes, to politicians asking for money. You often wish there was a no-mail registry.

When Mary tosses it onto your lap with a, “This one looks important, babe,” it doesn’t even occur to you to be wary of the contents therein. You don’t even look at the return address, so convinced are you of it being so much trash.

As your finger slips under the flap to rip the envelope open at the top, you can hear Mary banging around your apartment—no doubt tossing his backpack into your room, washing his face in the bathroom, and digging for gold in your fridge. When part of the paper slices the side of your index finger, you curse and suck your finger into your mouth, then you half rend the envelope in two in your irritation that this missive should mar you such.

Tossing the ripped paper in the direction of the coffee table, you unfold the single sheet of paper, expecting it to be the updated privacy terms of your bank, or your credit card company reminding you to activate the new card no doubt still buried in mail mountain.

When you read the actual contents, you blink a few times, your brain trying to decide if you’re reading English or not in your confusion. It’s as if you expected to be eating lemon custard and it turned out to be banana pudding. A tiny spark of frustrated anger ignites in your stomach, but you push it down and breathe through your nose.

Fucking typical.

You’re still staring at the words on the page—not really seeing them—when Mary plops down on your couch hard enough that the liquid in his beer bottle splashes out and onto his black, long-sleeved shirt.

“Shit,” he hisses as he pulls the wet spot into his mouth and sucks. He half giggles, his head turning to you, “I—” he starts, but cuts off when he sees you staring at the paper. “Suey?” He puts down the bottle and scoots closer to you. One of his hands lands on your leg. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Your burning eyes flick up to meet his gaze. Mary’s face is still glowing from your face scrub, and loose tufts of his hair are still plastered to the damp sides of his hairline. Forcefully exhaling air out your nose—before you really have time to think about the consequences—you flick the paper at him and turn your head to look out at the darkness of your tiny window.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Mary take up the letter, the paper rustling as he adjusts the folds. His lips move as he reads, and his brows furrow the further he gets. It’s not a long correspondence, so when he doesn’t immediately say anything, you know the gears in his head must be spinning.

Finally, he says, “Suey, what is this?”

“It’s not obvious?” you say as you make a plaintive gesture.

He folds the letter and holds it out back to you. “I mean, I understand what it’s saying, but … uh … I don’t understand why it’s giving you poop face. I’ve never had a loan in my life. I sold my blood plasma once. Ok, more than once.”

Taking the paper—only to set it on the coffee table—you huff out a half laugh at Mary.

“Jesus, Mare.”

He shrugs. “Needs must, as mum would say.” He rubs your thigh. “But, what’s got you so upset?”

You look down into your lap. It’s not that you don’t want Mary to know. You just don’t want to have to tell him. If you hadn’t been in a fit of pique, you’d’ve thought better of inviting him into this particular aspect of your life.

Since you’re worrying at the afghan, you’re startled when he crawls over into your space and insinuates himself between your legs. He noses into your neck, and you tilt your head so he can press his lips into your skin.

“You need a happiness injection?” he rumbles as he twitches his hips into you.

And yeah.

Yeah, you do.

Leaning back, you spread your legs so Mary has more room. He sucks at your neck as his hand paws the afghan away so he can slip under your layers to grope your breasts and pinch at your nipples.

Letting out an Ah, you relax into the couch. Reaching down, you grab handfuls of Mary’s ass and push him into you. He rumbles and presses his hard-on in between your legs. When you lock your ankles around his waist, he begins to rut into you, and his mouth leaves your neck to find your lips. Your hands fly up to sink into his hair, and the two of you grind against each other while exchanging sloppy kisses. Every time Mary’s thumb flicks your nipple just right, you jolt into him with a gasp and he bites into your bottom lip.

“Do you really want me to fuck you?” he growls in his lower register.

“Oh god, yes, Mare—please fuck the shit of me.”

He jolts up, yanking off his shirt as he goes, blown eyes still focused on you. You squirm to kick off your sleep pants, twisting around until you’re half lying on the armrest as Mary fumbles to get his pants open. He starts pushing your layers up off your back, but you jerk away from him.

“No, cold,” you whine.

“Just fucking do it,” he snaps, and you let him shuck off your hoodie and t-shirt.

And he’s like a furnace when his back drapes over yours. One arm supports him as the other comes up to fondle clumsily at your hanging tits, his teeth scraping across the nape of your neck. You moan in encouragement and arch into him.

His hand leaves your tits, and you lean forward to rest your forehead on the armrest. His fingers dip in between your lips, and you gasp at the sudden feeling of his fingers on your pulsing clit—but he doesn’t linger; he’s satisfied that you’re wet enough, so he uses his hand to guide his dick into you. His tip has barely breached you before you’re pushing back into his pelvis.

“Shit,” he hisses, both hands flying to your love handles to steady you.

Eagerly, you start rocking back into him forcefully. He slaps your ass, and you gasp in surprise.

“Hey. Just who’s fucking who here?”

“Then make me cum!”

He tangles his hand into your hair, forcing your head back so he can growl in your ear. “You know I’m good for it.”

Mary lets go, and you fall down onto your forearms. He punches into you—slow at first, then picking up speed as he slams his hips into the meat of your ass. You squirm around until he’s hitting your G-spot, and then you let his fingers dig into flesh as he fucks you hard.

Despite the chill, you’re sweating, so when Mary’s chest connects with your back, they slip-slide against each other. He presses you down flat into the couch—growling at you to close your legs together—as his hips continue to pound into you. Your cunt throbs, and you squeeze your thighs together while you grind into the couch as Mary grunts into your ear. It’s not enough pressure to get you there, and you whine Mary’s name.

It takes a bit of fumbling, but Mary gets you both up onto your haunches so he can swipe at your clit while you bounce on his cock. You have one arm awkwardly draped around his neck behind you as he worries his teeth into your neck.

“That’s right, baby doll—” he huffs, “—cum on my cock. Wanna feel you tight around me … wanna cum so deep in you my jizz can’t drip out.”

Panting, you ground down into his lap, the teeth of his zipper biting into your soft flesh. You press your hand into the one of his on your cunt.

“Harder … circles,” you gasp out.

His finger adjusts to your direction.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah …”

Between the stretch of his cock filling you, the press on your clit, and the grind into his lap, you feel your pussy pulsate, and you know your orgasm is a foregone conclusion. Your nails dig into his neck, and you let out a little moan of exquisite distress. He grunts into your neck, his hips trying to work double time.

It’s not quite intense enough to make you squirt, but you bear down like you’re going to and cum hard.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck,” you chant as your body locks right before you jerk and twist in time to the waves of your orgasm. Mary’s arm holds fast around your waist as you thrash.

Like a champ who isn’t desperate to cum himself, he fucks you clean and steady through your climax. You’ve barely even begun to slump when Mary’s leaning you back down into the couch. The fabric of the cushion presses hard into your cheek, and one of your arms flops off the side, but you just let yourself meld into the couch as Mary positions you to his liking.

His nails are hard in your flesh, and his hips smack forcefully into your ass as he chases his climax. He’s always hard—wild—when he’s been holding off until you cum; his lust-drunk brain sees it as his right, and you don’t dissuade him, often encouraging him with purred words and subtle movements.

“That’s right, baby,” you say breathily, “you fuck that thick cock into me.” Mary grunts, never slowing down. “I want it in me so far I’ll be able to taste your jizz.”

His fingers move to shove into your mouth. “I’ll make you fucking taste it. Shove my dick in your mouth when I’m done.”

You suck on his fingers, running your tongue around them. Mary snarls, yanking his hand away so he can pull your hips back onto his dick. As he thrusts deep into you, he pulls with such force on your waist that he accidentally hits your cervix; you let out a little mewl of surprise as his hips twitch with little abortive thrusts into you. Still grunting in pleasure, his grip loosens a bit, and one hand strokes down your belly as if in apology. When he finally relaxes, he spends a few moments catching his breath as his hands rove over your curves, softly caressing them.

“Mare,” you say, squirming under him, impatient to get back under the afghan now that neither of you are creating an excess of body heat.

He lets out one final huff before falling down onto you. You grunt out in surprise, but he just chuckles as his hands wiggle under you to grab your tits.

“Sorry, no escape. You’re at my mercy.”

He kisses the nape of your neck, and you roll your eyes even though he can’t see. You clench hard around his cock, and he yelps.

“Jesus Christ, Suey,” he grumbles as he flinches away from you. “I give you the best dicking of your life and this is how I’m repaid?”

You giggle and turn your head so he can see you stick your tongue out at him. “I’m a bitch.”

He gives you Burt Face as he tucks his dick back into his boxers and shifts to shuck off his jeans.

“I’m gonna pee,” you announce as you slide off the couch. You take the afghan with you, and Mary flails a little as the action almost jostles him off.

“Christ, woman!” he calls after you.

When you come back, Mary’s still on the couch, and he’s curled into a ball. He pulls you down onto him with a, “Fuck it’s cold,” before the two of you tumble into a prone position. You wiggle into his big spoon as he tries to arrange the afghan to its best advantage over you both.

Once he’s settled, you say, “You hungry?” and he snorts.

“Mebbe.” His one hand runs down the hills of your body. “But I just got comfy. Could nap first.”

“Ok.”

It’s not even that late, but it’s been dark since the early afternoon, and your eyes slip shut easily, content in this cocoon of warmth with Mary’s evening breath hot on your neck.

You don’t sleep so much as lie quietly with your eyes closed, but Mary lets out little snuffled snores now and then. It’s only when his hands start roving again do you know he’s back awake. You expect him to jokingly bitch about making his belly full now that his balls are empty, but he just sighs and pulls you closer—which surprises you because he knows he’s risking your biting his arms off to get free.

His lips graze your neck—more of a rub than a kiss—before he starts to speak. “You know. Mum wasn’t even that sick. I mean—you think cancer, and it’s like. Years of chemo and shit, right? Maybe remission in between? headscarves and weight loss?” You fumble to find his hand to fold into yours. “But mum … she had this cough that didn’t go away. She thought maybe bronchitis or walking pneumonia. But it was lung cancer. They gave her four years with an aggressive treatment plan. She was gone 8 months later.”

You wiggle around to face him. His gaze is far away, but his eyes are dry.

“That’s terrible, Mare.” You kiss the tip of his nose and run your fingers through his hair. He kisses your knuckles.

“Fuck. I was 19, and I didn’t know anything about anything. My mom had just fucking died and all of a sudden there were lawyers and medical bills, utility bills and funeral costs, and I just wanted it all to go away. Second mortgage? What the fuck was that? I barely graduated high school, and that was just for mum.”

“What about your … family?” You’re a little embarrassed that you don’t know about any aunts or uncles he has out there. Grandparents?

“What family? If the sperm donor had any, they were never around. Mum … well. That’s a bit of a sordid history.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She was always told she was an oops baby by her parents—her brother and sister were already out of the house by the time she was in preschool—but I guess after they died it came out that she was actually the kid of a second sister. Teenage pregnancy and all that. Died in a car crash from her boyfriend driving drunk.”

“Jesus, Mare.”

“I guess there was always some bad feeling about mum ‘replacing’ their sister that kept them from really connecting. I have vague memories of visiting them and being blown off by much older cousins, but then Aunt Celia died when her appendix burst, and I guess her husband didn’t really see us as family. I could pass my cousins on the street and I wouldn’t know them from Adam. Uncle David got divorced and moved to Florida, where he lived in assisted care because of a stroke.”

You pull him closer. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. “It’s not like I knew them. Mum had a pretty good found family, anyway. Some of them tried to help but … they had their own shit, you know? Even if they did more, maybe it would’ve all went to shit, anyway. Or maybe if I’d known anything about financial shit or loans or whatever, I wouldn’t’ve been out on the street.”

You wait for him to go on. But he doesn’t.

It’s apparently your turn to speak.

“It’s not … I’m not going to be out of the street, Mare.”

“But it must be bad. It upset you.”

You sigh. “It’s not bad … it’s just a fucking slap in the face, is all.”

“Why is it a slap in the face?”

“It’s really not worth getting into. It’s … it’s fine.”

You hope he’ll just drop it—he usually does if you’re insistent enough—but instead Mary huffs out a heavy sigh. “That’s it? I open a vein for you, and you still gotta be Fort Fucking Knox?”

“It’s not like that, Mare Bear,” you rush to say pressing your forehead into his. “It just…” You can’t quite seem to be able to articulate the issue. There’s too much background involved—if you open a vein, you know you’ll bleed all over him.

He pulls you tighter. “I just want you to fucking tell me shit. I think I’ve been pretty fucking patient.”

You would really rather not—you don’t look back on your girlhood with fondness, and if you could, you would like people to just accept you sprung fully formed as a person at 20. And maybe you’re even a little trepidatious that Mary may view you differently. You like how he sees you now.

You feel him start to shift away from you as he mutters, “Whatever,” so you throw your leg over him. He’s still pouting at you (and not in the cute way), but he’s stopped trying to wrangle free. You run your fingers through his hair.

Taking a deep breath, you say, “How about the elevator pitch?”

He thinks about it. “It’s a start.”

Your mind whirs, trying to find the best way to succinctly explain the situation.

“I owe my parents a lot of money because they’re dicks and punishing me for leaving.”

When you don’t go on, Mary blinks at you. “Ok, so that’s super fucking vague.”

“That’s the elevator pitch.”

He rolls his eyes at you.

“Gimme the long story then.”

You bury your face into his neck.

“Do I have to?”

Mary sighs, one hand coming to rub down your back. “I mean. I’m not gonna make you, but I wish you would.” He traces the chain of your necklace absently. “…If that even matters.”

You make a petulant noise and squirm back around.

“Of course it matters, Mare.”

When you don’t get off the couch (like he’s clearing expecting), Mary’s arms come back around you, one hand traveling down to rest on your belly. It brings him joy to always have a handful of you anywhere, so you tolerate the touch.

“Then tell me.”

“Jesus fuck, Mary, you’re persistent. Fucking fine.”

He kisses the back of your neck, and you roll your shoulders at him to convey your irritation.

“Look. First, you have to know that I was supposed to be exceptional. My parents had this whole … plan. I attended this college prep school where I was pushed to take a shit ton of AP classes. I think the aspiration was Harvard, but I was a mediocre kid in a program full of really smart ones (and that was a lot of fun, let me tell you), so I didn’t quite manage Ivy League. My parents saw it as quite the moral failing on my part, but I did get accepted into NYU. Their goal for me was a B.A. in 2 years followed immediately by law school, so I spent that spring studying to test out of my gen eds. Had to make my parents look good, you know.”

“Wow.”

“Yep. And college was like … a full load. In addition to my regular courses, I was also taking accelerated online classes. I didn’t party, I didn’t join ‘fun’ clubs, I was buying Adderall from the kids in my dorm so I could snort it to focus, and I certainly didn’t date. I mean, I still had plenty of sex—” Mary chuckles at this, and you huff at him. “Look, a girl’s gotta let off steam somehow.”

“Yes, I know, baby doll. I’ve been your stress reliever for a while now.”

“Shut the fuck up, Mary,” you say, but it’s without heat, and Mary just presses his face into your hair. “Anyway, occasionally the friends I somehow retained got me out of the dorm, but my only real goal was graduating early on time. With the addition of full summer classes, I did graduate in 2 years, but it certainly wasn’t at the top of my class or with any honors, much to my parent’s horror.”

You drift off, thinking of that screaming match.

“Suey?”

Shaking the memory off, you continue.

“Well. They were extremely displeased I’d cost them bragging rights, especially after the whole Ivy League debacle, but at that point I barely cared. I needed a fucking break, you know? Instead, they forced me to take the LSAT immediately—can’t deviate from The Plan!—and, shocker: I bombed. I mean, maybe if I’d had some time off I could have passed, but I was also pretty sure the law wasn’t for me, so maybe it would have always worked out that way. All I knew was I hated debating, I hated mock trials, and I was always shit at application. Look, I can memorize the hell out of lists and stats … but I can never seem to apply them creatively.”

At some point, Mary had interlocked your fingers, and now he squeezes them.

“I thought my parents would finally fucking let up, but: nope. They said all I lacked was focus, that clearly it was my ‘partying’ that was the issue. Partying. As if I’d even had the time! But they’d completely rewritten history to support their claims. They even said they had proof from the college staff! Like, what? What possible proof could they have had?! And of course they couldn’t show me this ‘evidence’ because they said they didn’t want to betray confidences.”

“Fuck. Gaslighting much?” spits Mary.

“Yes, exactly. It became like DEFCON 1. They were outlining how I was going to stay home, how they were going to monitor me while I studied to take the LSAT again, and how—once I passed—I would have to pick a law school close to home so I could live with them to make sure I stayed ‘focused’.”

“Jesus, what the fuck,” says Mary softly.

You wiggle back around to face him.

“And I just couldn’t do it anymore, Mare. I couldn’t.” Mary’s arms tighten around you, and you realize it’s because you’re trembling. “The thought of one more month, forget another three years …? I was burnt out as fuck, and I basically told them to fuck off. They gave me an ultimatum: our way or the highway. And fuck, that felt so freeing. Like, why hadn’t I considered that sooner? I packed a bag as they screamed at me about respect and obedience and owing them for the roof over my head. They gave me the whole ‘if you leave, don’t come back’ speech and the ‘you’re no longer part of this family’ song and dance. I walked to the station and took the bus to my friend’s—that’s Arry—apartment in the city with literally everything I owned in my backpack and duffel. My parents told me that I’d ‘regret’ my choice, but I just … I don’t know what I thought they meant, but it didn’t seem like anything I’d miss.”

Mary nuzzles you. “That’s my girl.” You relax into him.

“I had the best two weeks of my life where I finally felt free. I had no idea what I was going to do, but it was my decision to make, you know? I’d get a job—any job—and save up for an apartment. I’d live with 12 people if I had to. Maybe I’d take night classes. But … then I got a notice from their lawyers.”

“Christ.”

“My parents were claiming that I triggered a breach of contract or something. Apparently I signed something saying the money they spent on my schooling was conditional on me becoming a lawyer. I honestly don’t remember any such thing, and Arry has maintained they forged my signature … but fuck—maybe I did. God knows I filled out so much paperwork applying to schools while I was burnt out from studying. I just wanted out of that house—I’d’ve signed anything in front of me if I thought it’d help.”

Mary kisses your forehead.

“At first I ignored it—like how could they make me, you know? I just slept on Arry’s couch and applied to jobs. I was a waitress for a week until I got fired for being bad at it. I couldn’t get a retail job because I had no prior retail experience. I thought I was pretty ok at the neighborhood theater box office, but apparently subscribers thought I was rude, so.”

You detect Mary trying to swallow a snort, and you give him a warning poke.

“I even tried those jobs where you stand outside the subway and try to get signatures for world peace or something, but after someone spit in my face and I threw a rock at them, that was out.”

“Oh my god, Suey.”

“Look. I’m bad at dealing with people. We know this,” you grumble. “I thought maybe I could be a SuicideGirl, but apparently ‘alternative’ doesn’t mean chubby.”

“They’re a shitty company, anyway. I’ve known a few—”

“Not the point, Mary” you snap, irritated that of course Mary knows SuicideGirls.

“Sorry.”

You grunt at him, but soften it by smoothing his eyebrow with your thumb.

“I had finally seemed to settle in doing filing for a realty company that didn’t care about how I looked as long as I did my job and stayed in the back—which was fine by me—when the debt collectors started calling. They called nonstop and sent letter after letter. They even phoned the office! I finally reached out to a former professor who ran the mock trial club, and he said there was some precedent for their claims, but even an ok lawyer could probably get it voided. He gave me a list of recs, but it was so hard getting in touch with them. Those that called me back basically told me their cut wouldn’t be worth it for them to take on. It was so much money to me and so little to them; it was so fucking frustrating. I eventually contacted an organization that did pro-bono work, but they said my situation really wasn’t what they were there for.”

“Wait—so, what are they there for then?!”

“I didn’t really ask.” You shrug, remembering how you’d hung up before you could truly start blubbering.

“There was finally one guy who felt really bad, and he said he could send them a strongly worded letter on his stationary—but that was all he could do because of billable hours or whatever—and I said fine. The calls stopped, and I thought maybe, maybe his letter had done the trick … but then I got another missive from their lawyers. This one was an itemized list of everything they’d paid for: the private school education; the exams; the tutoring; undergrad. The paper said that they had concluded my primary school expenses were a ‘gift’, but any cost related to my secondary schooling fell under the agreement I ‘signed’.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “And it’s so clearly bullshit, but I was so tired, Mare. Half a win seemed like better than nothing at the time, and I just wanted to move on with my life, you know? That’s when Arry suggested getting certified as a paralegal. The peanuts I made at the relator wasn’t going to be enough to make my payment plan and save up for first and last and just fucking live in general.”

You huff out a bitter laugh, and Mary strokes your hair.

“In a sense, they got their way. I’m not a lawyer, but.” You shrug, willing him to fill in the blanks.

“That’s fucking awful, Suey. My head is … I can’t even comprehend.” After a beat he says, “Don’t you fucking work for lawyers, can’t you—”

You cut him off, irritated that you’re going to have to explain this again to another person.

“I have tried, Mary. Apparently, because I’d been paying them for years, I strengthened their claim or whatever. Like, paying them back means I acknowledged the validity of the contract. I did try and push for more, but I’m just a freelance paralegal hired to work by the case. I don’t know any one attorney well enough for them to risk getting pinged by their bosses for doing me a favor.”

“No, I can’t believe that. There has to be—”

“Mary. It’s done. I tried, it didn’t work out, and I put that chapter behind me. I … I made peace with it a long time ago. My freedom came with a price. I’m willing to pay it.”

When you don’t say more, the two of you lay there for a time. Mary strokes up and down your sides, and you almost doze off until he speaks again.

“So can I ask about The Letter, or will you eat my face?”

“Oh … yeah.” You sigh again. “So, I’m not just repaying them, I’m repaying them with interest. The letter is to inform me that, due to inflation, the interest rate of my ‘loan’ is going up.” Your head tilts back, and you look up at the ceiling. “I shouldn’t be so upset about it. I’m gonna be paying it off ‘til I’m like 47, anyway. What’s another year or so? It just feels like salt in the wound, is all.” You close your eyes and press your fingertips into your sockets. “Like it just sucks, you know? They’re my parents. The whole fucking thing seems excessive, but whatever. Do they have to make it even harder out of nowhere?”

You hadn’t even realized you were leaking until Mary swipes away your tears with his thumb.

“Want me to fuck ’em up?”

“…what?”

Mary crowds into you further, if that’s even possible. “Want me to fuck ‘em up for you?”

You laugh.

“It’s fine, Mare.”

“Is it?”

You bury your face into his neck and breathe in his pungent musk.

“Can it be both?”

He nudges your head until you’re nose to nose.

“I guess I’ll allow that. For now.”

“Oh, you’ll allow it, will you?”

“Yep.”

His mouth meets yours, and you let him kiss you, his lips hot on your own.

When he breaks away, he says, “But I have a limit, Suey. You’re my girl. Maybe that doesn’t mean anything in Snooty McSnootsville, but where I’m from, we don’t take that kind of shit. You’ll have to hold my earrings.”

You laugh. “Don’t you mean your beer?”

“I said what I said.”

“Don’t be weird.”

“I do what I want, as you say.”

You roll your eyes at him good naturedly.

“Does that include making us dinner?”

Mary fake groans at you. “What? I gotta do all the work tonight?”

You stick your bottom lip out at him. “I’m naked.”

He bites his lip as his eyes flick down to where you’re covered by the blanket. Mary seems on the verge of starting round 2—and you’re almost convinced you’ll let him—but then your stomach growls loudly, and he blows out a laugh.

“See?! I hunger.”

“Fuck, all right, all right. Hope you wanted pasta, cuz that’s what you're getting.”

“With chicken.”

“Do you have chicken?”

“There’s the leftover Kung Pow.”

“Fine, but I ain’t picking that shit out. You’re getting Kung Pow over spaghetti.”

You beam up at him as he extracts himself from your joint cocoon. “Thank you, Mare Bear.”

He waves away your sentiment. “I’m already doing it, you can stop laying in on thick.”

You bat your eyelashes at him and receive an eye roll in return.

“That shit don’t work on me.”

(It does.)

He starts pulling his jeans back on, hissing at their coldness, and you sit up, wrapping the afghan around you further. When he’s all zipped up and re-shirted, he turns and—catching your eyes on him—gives you a soft look.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“Thanks.”

“Whatever.”

Mary smirks, and—only because you’re encumbered by the wrap—you fail to stop him from licking his finger and sticking it in your ear.

“Gah! Mary! Stahp.”

Giggling, he sprints away from you into your kitchen area.

“You’ll rue this day, mister!” you call after him, but he just gives you the finger behind his back.

As Mary half sings, half growls, and intermittently makes drum noises as he bustles around your kitchen, you fish around the couch—and surrounding areas—for your clothes. You watch as he swings his hips in an ungainly manner and beats a tempo on your pots, and a thought that had previously been an errant musing starts to take root.

“Hey, baby?”

His motion stops, and he looks over his shoulder at you with a “who me?” look on his face.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Do you have access to a vehicle?”

He furrows his brows.

“Kinda…?”

“Kinda?”

There’s a hiss of water, and Mary turns to lower the burner to medium heat.

“Um, the band has a van—well, it’s a 70s Mitsubishi Minicab, but we call it a van—for hauling our equipment and shit. Why?”

Smirking, you drawl, “Because I dig a guy with his own wheels.” At the last moment, you shoot him a replica of one of his finger guns.

He narrows his eyes at you.

“Suey … what are you up to?”

You shrug as you adjust the lay of your hoodie. “Just making sure you’re worth it.”

Mary jabs the fork he’s holding in your direction. “I will eat this all myself just to spite you.”

Grabbing his warm beer, you skip over and bite his shoulder. “Just try it, mister.” Mary yanks the bottle from your hold, taking a big swig before setting it down with a thunk on the counter.

While he wipes his lips with the back of his hand, you shift around behind him and encircle your arms around his skinny middle before sliding your hand over his crotch. Mary jerks in surprise and curses when the action causes some of the simmering water to slosh over the side of the pot.

“Suey,” he hisses.

“Want a handjob while you do that?”

He looks sideways over his shoulder at you. “I know what you’re doing.”

Your hand slides down further to cup his balls before you give them a little roll through the fabric. Mary makes a sound in the back of his throat and leans into you.

“Do you care?” you purr.

“Hmm?”

You give his balls one last roll before you slide your hand back up to palm his growing bulge.

“I asked if you cared.”

His head tips back. “Um.”

Your lip curls. “Uh-huh.”

Fingers searching, you grope for the tab of his zipper. As you pull it down slowly, Mary sucks in a breath. When your fingers worm into the slit of his boxes and start to draw out his semi, Mary’s breath hitches. You wrap your hand around his filling cock and give him a loose stroke. When you swipe your thumb over his cockhead, Mary jerks into the stove, and the starchy water splatters everywhere. Now Mary jerks for an entirely different reason, cursing as he stumbles away from the stove.

He rounds on you, stuffing his dick back into his pants.

“Fuck, woman—get out of here!” Mary shakes the fork at you. “Go keep the couch warm.”

“Sorry!” you squeak as you cover your smile with your hand.

“You’re on thin fucking ice.” He motions his fingers to his eyes then at you as you prance back to the couch.

The spaghetti ends up being a little overdone, but Mary’s eyes dare you to say anything about it, and—really—the noodles are just the vehicle for the leftover Chinese. You end up giving him a blowjob in apology for the stove incident and are rewarded when he has you as a nightcap after the two of you snuggle in for the night.

After he passes out, you lie there wondering—not for the first time—if your juices do anything to teeth enamel. You reach over and lightly scritch his head as your thoughts turn back to that seed of an idea.

Hmmm.

Next ➡️

#mary goore #feral cats fic #gutter punk #gritty girl #my writing #original post

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gifted-burnout-archive · 4 years

Text

Jim’s Best Friend

Part Three -The Todd Packer Problem

Word Count: 2098

Author’s Note: ack! Hello readers! So, been thinking that I might put this up on Wattpad, I dunno, I kind of like writing here (like, wayyyyy more). But yeah, anyway, on with the story!!

WARNING: sexual harassment, offensive language

August, 2005.

"Who has two thumbs and hates Todd Packer? This guy." Jim said into the camera, pointing at himself. The sound of Todd's voice came from the office outside, and Jim's face fell. "I hate him."

—

A lot had happened in the two months since the basketball game, since the anniversary of your mother's death. You and Jim had become even better friends, Pam and Roy hit a rough patch and she got drunk at the Dundies, kissing Jim at one point. You and Brian broke up, and then got back together. But above all else, the biggest thing that had happened was, well, Michael got nicer.

Sure, he was still forwarding those inappropriate spam emails and hitting a line between dark humour and flat out racism on a weekly basis, but he had gotten back into inviting you over for dinner and the pair of you spent some time together outside of work. And to the office in general, he was easing up a little. He didn't bash Toby so much, he avoided making jokes at Pam's expense, he even brought in cake when he hadn't messed up in a major way, simply for the joy of sharing cake with colleagues.

But then, the Todd Packer thing happened.

Todd Packer was an old colleague of Michael's, when he was still a sales rep, and every once and a while, the asshat would visit the office and disrupt an entire day's work with inappropriate commentary and digs at Michael.

And not only did Michael take it, he played along, and amped up his own asshole levels to a solid 11. But the problem was, no-one knows when a feral Todd would appear, and you entered the office that extremely hot August morning in a new white work dress, with a black blazer and heel combo, thinking the most reaction you would get was Pam asking for a twirl and Kelly asking where you bought it.

Instead, you entered the office in your black and white get up, your hair styled and your makeup done to perfection you felt worthy of, and received a wolf whistle straight through the door. You looked around for the culprit, wondering if one of the guys in the office was just being funny, and your eyes caught onto him.

Todd Packer.

When you started at Dunder Mifflin six years ago, he had tried to get in bed with you, nicknaming you Jailbait, and once you had refused him for three years, he changed your nickname to Tease.

"Whoa mama! You get a boob job Y/N? God those things look amazing." He said as he walked over to you, throwing an arm over your shoulder and blatantly looking down at your cleavage. "Come on Tease, ain't gonna give your favourite Upper Management official a kiss hello?" He smirked, and you kept a straight face as you sat down at your desk, doing your best not to punch him in the face. Jim looked over at you, his own fists clenched, and gave you a look that asked if you wanted the asshole beaten to death. You shook your head slightly.

"Packer, I have sales to make. Please go annoy someone else." You said politely, dialling you're first number of the day, focusing on the wall ahead of you instead of his clammy hands on your shoulders.

"Always such a spoil sport Y/N..." he said with a sigh, walking away to find Michael, and letting you breathe out the breath you had been holding.

"The one day I dress up and he's here?" You sigh, waiting for someone to pick up the phone. Jim glanced back at Pam, who looked equally as uncomfortable, but the three of you didn't say anything more, getting back to work.

"Hi there, this is Y/N from Dunder Mifflin. I was calling to inquire about your paper supplier?" You said in your best call voice, opening up your computer as you spoke to the new client. "Uh huh, right. Well, I'm aware you are currently being provided for by Staples madam, however the Dunder Mifflin paper stock is not only higher quality, but better value for your money. If I could have just five minutes of your time, I could offer you some quotes for next quarter? Yes? Brilliant. Thank you very much."

You cheered up a little after that first call, making a new client and strong start to the day. You got up to do a coffee run for yourself, Jim and Pam, and Jim took your your arm gently.

"You do look lovely today Y/N. Try not let Packer get you down." He reassured you, and you smiled back at him, grabbing his coffee mug and heading to the kitchen. Once you had filled all the cups, you made your way back out into the office to find Todd Packer in the centre of the room with Michael.

"... got him on bullshit charges of sexual harassment." Was what you heard as you walked in, and you shared a look with Pam. Her mom was meant to be coming in today, the three of you had been so excited about it. Her mom lived around two hours away, and Pam only really saw her at holidays. You and Jim were yet to meet the Pam's mom, both having so many questions about Pam as a kid, about the whole awkward teenage years.

You sighed and headed back over, placing a coffee on Jim's desk, followed by Pam's, before sitting down at your own.

"Y/N, not going to get me one too? Extra sugar?" Packed called, and you turned your chair.

"I make coffee for friends, not parasites." You said with a sweet smile, turning back to your desk, smiling as you caught Jim's smirk from the corner of your eye.

—

"Just a five minute review of the company's sexual harassment policy guys, nothing major." Toby announced, a screen and projector set up in the middle of the office. Michael had disappeared down to the warehouse, and Packer was off for lunch, so you all settled in for the presentation with a relaxed feeling in the air.

"Now, there is a difference between humour and harassment. I know everyone likes a joke, but our job, as responsible people, is to know when we cross a line, ok?" Toby's presentation was more than informative, and for the five minutes you all stayed quiet and listened, Pam raising her hand at the end of Toby's speech.

"Just so you all know, my mom should be coming today, and I'd really appreciate it if you kept more risqué jokes to a minimum if she's here?" Pam asked in a small voice, the office unanimously agreeing.

"Maybe it's a good idea to keep that in mind everyday. Act like Pam's mom is coming to visit." Toby rounded off with a joke, and as people started for lunch or back to work, Michael walked in.

With a blowup doll.

"Is it over? No? Good. Do you all realise what we could lose now corporate is breathing down our necks?" Michael asked, and you ran a hand through your hair. He wasn't doing this all for him, he was trying to impress his 'best friend'.

"Your forwarded emails?" Angela spoke up, and Michael nodded, pointing at her.

"Exactly!"

"I hate them." She replied, standing up and walking back to her desk. The rest of the room slowly returned to work, and Pam came over to Jim and your desks after twenty minutes.

"So, I say we do drinks tonight? Poor Richard's, the three of us? My mom just phoned in, she's got food poisoning and can't make it tonight, so Roy is out with the warehouse guys, and I haven't hung out with you guys for ages." Pam suggested, and Jim and You shared a look.

"You read my mind." You said with a grin, and Jim nodded fast.

"Yes, please. Drinks, 100%." With the plan made, you all went back to work happier, and as the afternoon continued on with little disruption from a certain asshole, you wondered if you might just make it to the end of the day without seeing him.

And then Packer returned, and began telling disgusting stories about incidents at HQ, about his own bizarre sex life. As 4.45 rolled around, you couldn't wait to pack up early and leave, finishing your last call of the day.

"... a room full of perfect tens, right? And then there's this one girl who looks like..." Packer gestured towards Phyllis, who sat doing her work.

"Phyllis?" Kevin asked, and Packer nodded as Michael walked out from his office.

"Whoa, whoa that crosses the line." Michael stopped the discussion, stood beside a rather upset looking Phyllis.

"Ex-squeeze me?" Packer raised and eyebrow.

"Not you. Kevin. Not cool dude." Michael shifted the blame, letting Packer off scot-free as he went on to compliment Phyllis' beauty, and make some borderline inappropriate comments in good faith.

"Let's go?" You suggested to Pam and Jim, who both nodded and started packing up. You bent over to pick up your handbag, and suddenly felt a strong hand grabbing at your ass. You shoot up straight and turned around, backing away from Packer to stand beside Jim.

"What the actual fuck dude?" You said, your heart beating fast from the shock of it all. Pam looked up, confused, and Jim looked concerned.

"Wait, what happened?" Jim asked, and you held onto your friend's arm tightly.

"He just grabbed my ass!" You exclaimed, and Jim looks from you, to Packer, and back to you, his usual happy smile being replaced by a look of complete anger.

"What the Hell man? You don't get to touch her like that." Jim walked straight up to Packer, shoving him back and quickly catching the attention of Michael.

"Tease was asking for it. And what are you going to do, Queer?" Packer taunted Jim, but before punches we're thrown, Michael stepped in.

"Slim-Jim, what's the problem? Why are you attacking our guest?" Michael asked, and Jim took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

"Your best friend Packer just groped Y/N." Jim accused, and Michael looked shocked.

"Todd?" He asked, and Jim eyes rolled as the asshole feigned innocence.

"Your man has it twisted Michael. I didn't do a damn thing Y/N didn't want..." He said, and you stepped forward.

"What is that supposed to mean? You grabbed my ass Packer, it wasn't wanted." You tried to defend yourself, pulling your blazer tighter across your body to cover the form fitting dress.

"Truth be told Michael, last time I was here Y/N and I... Well, long story short, she wasn't complaining about were my hands were the morning after." Todd said, and Jim nearly exploded.

"So, you're using a fake hookup to justify the fact you just sexually assaulted Y/N?" Jim laughed, but Michael had a straight face, looking directly at you.

"Seems like a misunderstanding to me. Let's all just cool off and come back Monday." Michael said slowly, and Pam's jaw dropped in shock. You and Michael went back years, he had been there for you through your mom's death and helped you moved from an internship in the warehouse to a sales post in the office. You had been a team, for years.

But Michael made a decision that Todd was more important than you.

"I did not sleep with Todd, Michael. You know that... So how pathetic do you have to be to believe that asshole over me?" You asked, grabbing your things and letting Jim lead you out of the office, Pam following behind. The three of you walked from the office to Poor Richards, and it was only once you sat down that you noticed your hands shaking.

"I swear I didn't sleep with him guys... You have to believe me." You blurted out, feeling tears on their way. Pam hugged you tightly, and Jim rubbed your back gently.

"Of course we believe you Y/N. God, he's a whole new level of dickhead." Pam reassured you, and you smiled weakly between the two.

"Can... Can we get drunk please? Need to get my mind off of Michael's betrayal." You tried to laugh, but it made you want to cry more. Jim jumped up, designated courier for your booth to the bar.

Tonight was going to lead to an hangover in the morning, but you didn't care one bit.

190 notes · View notes

aloysiavirgata · 4 years

Text

Love’s Austere and Lonely Offices

Title: Love’s Austere and Lonely Offices

Author: Aloysia Virgata

Rating: PG

Words: 5758

Timeline: Season 9

Summary: “ A letter is in fact the only device for combining solitude and good company.” -- Jacques Barzun

Author’s Notes: This fic was written in 2015. I couldn't bear the thought of their only communication in all that time being the "Dearest Dana" letters. (Which I added to just a teeny-weeny bit. Also added a little to Scully's Carterlogue to William.) Scully quotes from (what else?) Moby Dick and Mulder from The Divine Comedy. The title is from Those Winter Sundays by Robert Hayden.

Fe3O4 is magnetite and R2NCl is chloramine. I know my little ads are cryptic, so there's an addendum at the end for those interested parties. (See the end of the work for more notes.)

Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, May 26 2001 In this world, shipmates, Sin that pays its way can travel freely, and without a passport; whereas Virtue, if a pauper, is stopped at all frontiers. R2NCl + H2O = Bellefleur + Braddock Heights? So claims a woman with node at C5 **** Ad placed in the Washington Post Classified section, May 29 2001 These have not the hope to die. Developments? Nothing on my end. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 18 Jun 2001 Things are calm for now and hopefully communication can be somewhat regular for a time. I have a cash-under-the-table job at the moment and it covers basic needs. I know you wanted to come, but this is no life for a child. I will be home as soon as I am able. I know that goes without saying, but it makes me feel better to say it anyway. I have to go now. Tell me about William. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 18 Jun 2001 Mulder, It's so good to hear from you, you have no idea. Have you made any progress yet? There have been strange goings-on since you left, but I don't know what to make of any of it. I don't know whom to trust right now and just tell everyone I cannot contact you. I have not been able to make any sense of my last inquiry and am at a standstill. Please tell me everything you discover and let me know what I can do. Don't leave me in the dark on this, Mulder. You can't protect us that way. Let me be of use. Things are fine here. William eats well and sleeps less well, but I nap when I can. He's growing nicely and can focus his eyes for very long periods already and tracks objects at two feet away. His head control is excellent and he is already making deliberate reaches for objects rather than just grasping reflexively. He makes a gurgling sound if I run my finger up the midline of his foot. In addition to snapshots and videos, I have been keeping a journal of all of his changes for when you get back. My mother helps as much as she can but the truth is I prefer to be alone. She wants to talk, and doesn't understand that I just can't right now. I think she's afraid of the quiet and fills it up with noise. She talks to me but doesn't say anything. You know how to let me be silent, Mulder. I miss that. Frohike says William looks like me and Byers says he looks like you and Langly says he looks like Jack Ruby. Which is pretty much what you'd expect to hear from the three of them. Write when you can. Pictures attached. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 22 Jun 2001 He still looks like Skinner to me, your feeble protestations of fidelity aside. He's got your eyes, Scully, and I wonder whose warped sense of humor he's going to claim. I'm not surprised he's ahead of the developmental curve. You read him Brian Greene while you were pregnant. That sets the bar rather high for a baby. Let your mother in. You're all she has nearby and she won't forgive herself for everything that's happened if you don't. Smile and nod, Scully. You do it better than anyone I know. Learn to let people love you. I haven't found much yet because I don't even know what the hell I'm looking for. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 23 Jun 2001 We can only hope that his sense of humor is all his own. I think our particular brand of amusement wouldn't go over too well with the preschool set. Can you imagine Career Day, Mulder? We're going to have to be vague. Pictures of William attached, including one of him eating my hair. Have to run. Stay safe. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 28 Jun 2001 We'd be a hit at Career Day. You could tell them about your Invisible Guy Autopsy. And you know all the kids would want to hear about my time in low orbit. I'm leaving here soon, so it may be a while before I contact you again. Thank you for the pictures. I cannot believe how William has grown. He looks like his own man now instead of just a newborn. I know I once said I never saw you as a mother before, but I must not have been paying attention. You're beautiful, Scully. I miss you both constantly. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 29 Jun 2001 Mulder, I hope nothing serious has happened to necessitate this move and that you have made some headway. I am still having no luck. I'm going to start teaching at Quantico soon. I feel like I'm abandoning you in some way, Mulder. Abandoning our work. But I can't do field work like I used to - not with William - and Doggett and Reyes are doing a good job. I think you'd be impressed. William has been going to sleep at around 10 at night and sleeping until 6 or so. He is such an easy baby and already a hit with the ladies. I bring him to work sometimes and he's quite popular. Skinner gave him a stuffed McGruff the Crime Dog, but he prefers the doll you gave him and sleeps with it now. He's still rather small for the basketball, but that was never my sport anyway. I played field hockey, so free-throw instruction falls to you. Attached is a video of William laying on Skinner's desk. Stay safe. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 19 Jul 2001 He spit up on Skinner's desk? I could watch that all day. You're damned lucky it wasn't Kersh's or you'd be freezing your ass off in a Minnesota field office right now. And of course he's a hit with the ladies, Scully. Not everyone's as hard of a sell on the Mulder men as you. I made it to Wal-Mart and printed out some of those pictures you sent. Keep them coming. Don't ever feel like you're abandoning the work. The most important thing is that you and William stay safe and chasing mutants and government conspirators isn't really conducive to that. Sometimes the only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that you're okay. The job at Quantico will be good for you both. I'm doing a little air guitar of "Hot For Teacher" right now… **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 23 Jul 2001 Mulder, I'm sorry it has taken me a bit to get back to you. My mother and I took William to the beach for a couple of days. I dipped his feet in the surf and I was reminded that seawater has a similar chemical makeup to both blood and amniotic fluid. We crawled from those primordial seas so many millions of years ago and carry some of it inside of us to this day. I know you get seasick, but I think we are hardwired to crave the ocean and I want to take William sailing when he's older. I think he has the genes for it. You may not be a sailor, Mulder, but you know the unquenchable lure of the unknown and thrill of riding out a storm. I had a good time with my mom and tried to do as you suggested. She asked after you and I am confident that whatever else she thinks of my life, she accepts that you're an integral part of it. I start teaching next month and I must confess to some anxiety. It has been so long since I stood in front of a lecture hall. I've gotten used to an audience of one for my technical soliloquies. And Van Halen, Mulder? Really? What happened to the King? **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 4 Aug 2001 Was it Chincoteague, Scully? It's right around Pony Penning Day, isn't it? When he's bigger we'll get a place out in the country and let him pick out a pony of his own. And hell, I'll take some Dramamine and we'll all go sailing too. Get out your list-making paper and get to work. I'll be back soon and we'll have the rest of our lives to get it done. P.S. - I always kind of got turned on by your technical soliloquies, so you may want to be careful around some of your more discriminating students. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 5 Aug 2001 Mulder, We went to Assateague, actually, but he did see the ponies and we found horseshoe crabs washed up on the shore. Despite 445 million years of existence, they've scarcely changed at all. It makes you think, I suppose. All the work we humans do to better ourselves and horseshoe crabs have attained perfection. And a pony?! That's a pretty heavy upgrade from your fish. I was thinking we could move more slowly from Cyprinidae to Perissodactyla. Perhaps a stop at Rodentia would be appropriate if you want to venture into mammalian territory. (Are you getting turned on by this?) William holds his head up and looks around without any trouble at all. He wants desperately to sit up and is so frustrated that he can't manage it yet. Any news? **** Ad placed in the Washington Post Classified section, August 13, 2001 For where the instrument of intelligence is added to brute power and evil will, mankind is powerless in its own defense. Fe3O4 + R2NCl = ? **** Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, August 15, 2001 And some certain significance lurks in all things, else all things are little worth... I'll let you know if I hear anything. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 20 Aug 2001 Let me know if we can move lunch on Wednesday to 12:30. I printed out pictures from our trip and made you some copies. I will bring William's Celeste Sun toy with me at lunch if that's okay with you. Charlie, Larissa and the kids are coming in for Christmas this year. Talk to you soon. Mom **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 21 Aug 2001 Mom, That would be fine. Thank you for printing the pictures for me, and William will be fine without Celeste until Wednesday. **** Letter received on September 8, 2001 William Mulder 107 E. Cordova St. Apt. 35 Washington, DC., 01833 8-14-01 Dear William, I can only hope this finds its way to you but even if it doesn't, it's something I had to get on paper. Walking away from you and your mother is the single most difficult thing I have ever done in my life. I did it for reasons that I tell myself are right and noble, so why do I feel like I've let you both down? All I want is for you to be safe and I tell myself that leaving and searching for answers is the best way to do that. But the truth is, William, that your old man isn't making much headway here. Your mother sends me pictures and videos of you and sometimes at night I can close my eyes and recall your new-earthling smell. But it's not the same. I know your mother and I know that every night she shows you my picture and tells you I'll be home soon. I don't want to make a liar of her and I promise you both I'm doing the best I can. Every day I fight the urge to let this all go and come home, but I feel I have more to accomplish before I return. One day I hope you will understand all of this. One day I hope I will. I have no real wisdom to offer you, but let me at least tell you this. I have made many mistakes in my life, but through them all, I have tried to do what I feel is honest. And I have learned - as you doubtlessly will - that the right thing is not often the easy thing. I don't know what this world is going to be like when you are older or what role you will have in it, but to thine own self be true, William. I hope to see you soon. And in case your mother forgets to tell you: Elvis > Three Dog Night Hips before hands The Knicks will always be better than the Miami Heat Love, Your father **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 12 Sep 2001 Scully, let me know you're okay. I know you don't work at the Pentagon, but please check in. On the move again, but will write as soon as possible. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 13 Sep 2001 Mulder, We are fine and no one we know was hurt. While it feels as though the world is falling apart, knowing you're okay gives me something to hang on to. There's a long line of people waiting for this computer so I must run, but I got your letter to William. Be careful. We miss you. **** Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, September 17, 2001 There are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke… Quantum suicide? **** Ad placed in the Washington Post Classified section, September 18, 2001 And downward to the secret things we went Biloxi MI - 6/ 86 Camden NJ - 11/91 **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 20 Sep 2001 Mulder, Thank you for your help on the case. Do you have any updates on your end? Not much to tell here. I'm enjoying teaching very much; the students are so engaged and interested. It's a nice change from the endless parade of world-weary cops and agents. Were we ever that fresh-faced and eager? Thinking of you and aching to see you. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 23 Sep 2001 It is no longer safe for me to contact you. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 24 Sep 2001 Mulder, What's going on? Please find a way to let me know what's happening. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 13 Oct 2001 Mulder, William and I baked a cake and we sang Happy Birthday to your picture. We went shopping for presents and William picked out an oven mitt. I tried to steer him towards the Yankees DVD collection, but he was adamant that you needed protective gear. I have begun to entertain theories of genetic memory. Please let us know you're all right. Many happy returns of the day. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 17 Oct 2001 Hey there partner. Wanted to thank you again for the CPR. They don't really cover that in entomology doctoral programs though, so I'm hard pressed to return the favor. I know you're a mother but I assume you still eat so let me know if you want to grab a bite next time I'm in DC. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 19 Oct 2001 Dr. Bronzino, Thank you very much for the offer, but it would not be appropriate at this time. Dana Scully **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 25 Oct 2001 Mulder, I know you can't tell me where you are and I am trying to respect what you're doing but this feels impossible sometimes. Not everything has to be a crusade, does it? You wanted to find your sister and while it wasn't the resolution you wanted, you found out the truth. Isn't that enough? We can have a life now. We have a son who needs both of his parents. Let this go, Mulder. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 4 Nov 2001 Mulder, I don't even know why I'm writing this. I don't even know if you're alive. Attached are pictures of William in his Halloween costume. He went as a skunk and can sit up perfectly. **** Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, November 21, 2001 Lost: Norwegian Elkhound Answers to Heinrich Come home, Heinrich We miss you ****

December 3, 2001

Mulder,

I am so concerned for your safety right now that it is overwhelming. I am trying not to be angry with you - truly I am - but it isn't easy. I know what you've told me, I know we discussed all of this and I know we agreed it was for the best, but the reality is proving far different than the theory. As a scientist, I ought to have expected it and yet I was completely blindsided.

I asked you once years ago if we could just get out of the car and you looked at me like I was crazy and you kept driving. And I stayed. Hundreds of thousands of miles I've traveled with you, Mulder. Endless black ribbons of highways full of nightmares and lost souls and we went after them with badges and guns because we had a job to do.

But I'm asking you now - not as your partner, but as the mother of your child - to get out of the goddamned car. I can't live like this anymore, Mulder, and I will not subject William to it.

I love you but I cannot do this for the rest of my life.

I have nowhere to send this letter.

****

December 15, 2001

Mulder,

William said "Da" when he saw your picture today. I have a video.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 20 Dec 2001

Hey Danes -

Our gang's catching an earlier flight from Puerto Vallarta and I wanted to see if you'd be free for dinner. I'm trusting you to pick a not-shitty restaurant because last time I left it up to Bill he said he knew of a "really good Italian place" and took us to the fucking Olive Garden and I swear to God Tara put some of those breadsticks in her purse.

Can't wait to meet my new nephew (you have a kid, Danes!) and see if either of my rugrats is taller than you yet. They're growing like weeds and Larissa's firm is keeping us in Mexico until the resort's finished, so they're all sun-kissed and blonde and I'm mostly a giant freckle.

Mom specifically told me not to ask about William's father, so I'm asking. This Fox guy…what's up with him? Is he good to you? Bill paints him as a kind of Anton LeVay meets Forrest Gump character, but Bill thinks condoms are Satan's party balloons, so what the hell does he know about relationships?

I'm bringing a case of fine champanya to ring in the new year.

Charlie

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 20 Dec 2001

Charlie,

I can't wait to see you all! It's been far too long since your jet-setting crew has ventured this way. Things with William's father are complicated, but it's due to factors beyond either of our control. I don't mean to be curt, but that's all I can say right now.

Dinner would be great. William still doesn't go to bed until fairly late and can be kept happy with a steady supply of food. He has an excellent pincer grasp.

Did Bill really take you to the Olive Garden? That's classic.

****

December 31, 2001

Mulder,

We celebrated Christmas at my mother's and Bill and Charlie and their families flew in. I have lots of pictures to show you of all of the kids together. William is babbling like a champion and I gave him a crayon to draw a picture for you on the back of this card, so turn it over. I remember New Year's Eve two years ago. Zombies, Mulder. And then you kissed me and here I am wishing maybe the world had ended after all because I'm remembering zombies with fondness and what the hell is wrong with my life and my God I miss you.

There was half a bottle of champagne left and now I'm drunk.

Happy New Year

Putting this card with your other unsent mail.

****

January 1, 2002 Dear William,

One day, you'll ask me to speak of a truth - of the miracle of your birth. To explain what is unexplained. And if I falter or fail on this day, know there is an answer, my child, a sacred imperishable truth, but one you may never hope to find alone. Chance meeting your perfect other, your perfect opposite, your protector and endangerer. Chance embarking with this other on the greatest of journeys; a search for truths fugitive and imponderable. If one day this chance may befall you, my son, do not fail or falter to seize it. The truths are out there. And if one day you should behold a miracle, as I have in you, you will learn the truth is not found in science, or on some unseen plane, but by looking into your own heart. And in that moment you will be blessed - and stricken. For the truest truths are what hold us together, or keep us painfully, desperately apart.

Know this, William, for it is the most important thing I can hope to teach you: It is not a weakness to love someone. There may come a time when it will be the only strength you have.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 07 Jan 2002

Dearest Dana

I've resisted contacting you for reasons I know you continue to appreciate. But, to be honest, some unexpected dimensions of my new life are eating away at any resolve I have left. I'm lonely, Dana, uncertain of my ability to live like this. I want to come home. To you, and to William.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 07 Jan 2002

I am physically shaking right now seeing your words - wishing it were you speaking them to me. I want so badly to see you too, but you are still not safe here. You don't sound like yourself, Mulder, and it's frightening me.

Where in the world have you been?

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 07 Jan 2002

I've seen things I cannot accept and don't know how to change. I feel like the fight has gone out of me and all I want is to come back and put this time behind us.

I will be home soon.

Details to follow in the usual manner.

****

Ad placed in the Washington Post Classified section, January 8, 2002

It was evening here But upon earth the very noon of night.

ncrl

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 10 Jan 2002

Mulder,

I hold no hope you can respond to this. Or that it reaches you. I only hope that you are alive.

I cannot help believing that you jumped off that train because you knew what I now know - that these "super-soldiers" - if that's what they are - can in fact be destroyed. That the key to their destruction lies in the iron compound at that quarry.

I am scared for you, Mulder. And for William. The forces against us are unrelenting. But so is my determination to see you again. To regain the comfort and safety we shared for so brief a time. Until then, I remain forever yours,

Dana

****

Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, January 14, 2002

The whale, like all things that are mighty, wears a false brow to the common world.

Fe3O4

****

Letter received on January 27, 2002

Dana Scully 107 E. Cordova St. Apt. 35 Washington, DC., 01833

1-16-02

Not much time to write Sorry so short saw your note Agreed on Fe3O3 though not sure how yet Love to you both

****

February 2, 2002

Mulder,

I got your last letter and nearly wept with relief to hear from you. I hope this can all end soon. I pray you stay safe until then.

Not sure what the weather is like where you are, but the most beautiful snow has fallen here. William and I have been playing in it at every opportunity and there's a respectable snowman in front of my building now. William likes to eat the snow and blinks when the flakes cling to his eyelashes. He looks more like you every day.

I send regards from Skinner and the Gunmen and my mother lights candles for you.

I wish I had an address to send this to.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 11 Feb 2002

Mulder,

I am hesitant to contact you in this way because I know it is a risk, but I am beginning to fear the worst for William. I don't know what he is but someone does and they are trying to hurt him. I have been working with Reyes and we suspect it all goes back to that artifact I found in Africa, though I can't say I truly understand it. My mother says our son is a miracle and that I must simply accept him as that. But how can I do that, Mulder? After what happened to Emily, how can I not want to know how he came to be whatever he is?

William has been taken from me twice now and I am starting to despair of ever being able to protect him. All the sacrifices we're making right now - what if it comes to nothing? I don't know what to do.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 11 Feb 2002

Sorry, we were unable to deliver your message to the following address.

< [email protected] >

****

Ad placed in the Washington Post Classified section, February 23, 2002

O lady, you in whom my hope gains strength, you who, for my salvation, have allowed your footsteps to be left in Hell, in all the things that I have seen, I recognize the grace and benefit that I, depending upon your power and goodness, have received. You drew me out from slavery to freedom by all those paths, by all those means that were within your power. Do, in me, preserve your generosity, so that my soul, which you have healed, when it is set loose from my body, be a soul that you will welcome.

****

Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, February 24, 2002

Let faith oust fact; let fancy oust memory; I look deep down and do believe.

****

Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, March 20, 2002

All men live enveloped in whale-lines. All are born with halters round their necks; but it is only when caught in the swift, sudden turn of death, that mortals realize the silent, subtle, ever-present perils of life.

Gunmen dead.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 26 Mar 2002

John,

My thoughts are with you and Barbara at this time. Take care.

Dana Scully

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 26 Mar 2002

Thanks Dana. It's been hard but the closure has come as a relief after all this time. I hope you are coming to terms with your own loss as well. They were the good guys.

John Doggett

****

April 20, 2002

Mulder,

I have come to an act of desperation. I have had no way of contacting you - no way to talk this over with you - and so I had to make this choice alone. I have had assurances that our information is to be expunged from every record and I tell myself moment by moment that this is his only chance at a normal life, but what if I have made a mistake that can never be undone?

I vacillate between thinking I have sacrificed my own happiness for his and thinking I have sacrificed him because I am not strong enough to accept what he is. What if that's the case? What if I was just too afraid to see him suffer? Watching Emily die slowly through the glass left me so cold I thought I'd freeze everything I touched, but I didn't know how to grieve for her. They had no right to take those ova from me, no right to create her, and no right to destroy her. She was supposed to be mine and whatever other children were created should have been mine also. But by the time I came to terms with the fact that I was truly her mother, she was already gone. What if the same fate was in store for William? I don't know that I could have stood it.

All I wanted was a child - your child, as the years went on - and I just cannot understand why anyone would create these lives for the express purpose of later destroying them. I don't think we can ever fully know what William means to the Project, but they wanted him dead, Mulder. They wanted to take our son and kill him and would have in time and came close even as I watched over him, and all this before he turned a year old. Jeffrey Spender came to me - terrible things have been done to him - and said that no matter what he did to undo the changes to his little body, William would never have any peace from the men who have been working towards the ends you and I have been fighting.

I believed him, Mulder. I looked into his ruined face and I believe he was telling me the truth and I believe it still. I did the only thing I could think of to protect our son and I can only hope now that you can forgive me.

I don't know what else to do but keep going. It's all I've ever known how to do.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 22 Apr 2002

Dana, what in the hell have you done? Pick up your goddamned phone.

I just got off the phone with mom a little while ago and she's half-hysterical and I'm not far from it myself. What were you thinking? You put your son up for adoption, Dana? That really struck you as the best possible solution? That's what you have a family for. To help you. And no matter how bad things were you should have come to us. I don't know what has happened to you over the years and I don't think I even know who you are anymore, because my sister would never have done something so insane.

We could have taken him in for you if you couldn't deal with being a single mother. God knows where Fox is and why you put up with the crap he dishes out is beyond me, but he has molded you into a woman I don't recognize and I think there is something severely wrong with both of you.

I have faith that you are not beyond salvation, Dana, but you need to cut your ties with him. Come out to San Diego and stay with us. I have already contacted an attorney about having the adoption reversed and because of the extreme emotional duress you've been under he thinks there's a very good shot that Tara and I can get temporary custody while you get your life back together.

It's not too late for you. We love you and want to help, but you have to let us. I am praying for you.

Your brother,

Bill

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 22 Apr 2002

Hey Squirt. Just got an earful from Bill. Mom's too freaked out to be coherent.

I don't know what the fuck is up with you the past few years Danes, but the shit seems to have royally hit the fan of your life. Despite what Bill thinks, you were always the smartest one of us and if this is what you thought was right, well, I guess I have to trust that. I'm just so sorry that you're dealing with this.

We're moving to Marrakech in June for a restaurant Larissa's designing and we have this awesome house with plenty of room for decompressing Feds. Take some leave and come stay for a while.

Worried about you, big sister.

Charlie

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 24 Apr 2002

Dana, I am so worried about you and I think you might need some professional help. Please return my calls. We need to talk.

I love you.

Mom

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 25 Apr 2002

Dana

Please call if you ever need to talk. I am here for you.

Monica

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 25 Apr 2002

Monica,

Thank you for your concern. I'm going to be fine. I will be back to work on Monday.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 25 Apr 2002

I hope this finds you well. Just wanted to see how you were doing.

John Doggett

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 25 Apr 2002

John,

Thank you for your concern. I'm going to be fine. I will be back to work on Monday.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 9 May 2002

Dr. Scully,

My name is John Reits and I am a parapsychologist. I'd like to meet with you concerning a former patient of mine. Please contact me at this address or give me a call at 714-555-0146.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 19 May 2002

Scully -

Do you ever answer your phone anymore? I need to see you in my office at once. Drop what you are doing and get over here now.

It's about Mulder.

****

The End

****

Notes:

Addendum:

R2NCl + H2O = Bellefleur + Braddock Heights? So claims a woman with node at C5

The Warrior Princess Super-Soldier chick had a node on the back of her neck (around the C5 vertebra) and had informed Scully that chloramine was being introduced into the water supply to transform the populace into super-soldiers. Scully was reminded of the water tampering in Braddock Heights (Wetwired).

****

Fe3O4 + R2NCl = ?

Mulder has discovered evidence of a connection between chloramine and magnetite, but isn't sure what it is.

****

Quantum suicide?

Scully's hoping to get some help on the case from 4D. Quantum suicide - as it pertains to the many-worlds interpretation and the case - encompasses the idea that all moments (however unlikely) with possibilities of occurrence greater than zero are experienced in some dimension.

Mulder's reply is just directing her to some related case files. Which I made up.

****

It was evening here But upon earth the very noon of night.

ncrl

Mulder's train will arrive at the New Carrollton train station at midnight

#my fic #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #season 9 #epistolary

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steves-on-a-plane · 4 years

Text

Unexpected Suggestion

For @thefanficfaerie‘s Doctor Who Quote Challenge Words: 1073 Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader Prompt: “Big flashy things have my name written all over them! Not yet. Give me time and a…crayon.” Summary: Reader is trying to unwind and binge watch some TV, but Tony is pacing in front of the TV making that impossible. When he finally manages to get off the phone he surprises reading with something completely unexpected.

“Ugh, what a day.” You huffed as you flopped onto the couch. You were wearing your most forgiving leggings and one of Tony’s old hoodies. It had shrunk in the wash, but still fit you just fine. You held a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream in one hand and the TV remote in the other. You were on your tenth re-watch of Arrested Development and your sixth of Parks and Recreation. You were trying to decide which of the two you wanted to continue when your boyfriend wandered into the room.

“Hmm, I don’t know.” He was saying to Pepper on the other end of the phone. “Do you think we should make the logo bigger? Because I think we could make it bigger.”

“Tony!” You hiss trying to get his attention as he paced back and forth in front of the TV. “Tony!” With no end to his phone call in sight, you tossed the TV remote to the side and started eating your ice cream. It was your favorite flavor, Captain American Apple Pie. A creamy Apple based ice cream with caramel swirls and pieces of graham cracker crust mixed in.

“Pep, who cares if it’s ostentatious?” Tony laughed. “Big flashy things have my name written all over them! No, I haven’t talked to [Y/N] about that. Not yet. Give me time and a…crayon. I gotta go, she’s watching me.” Tony ended his phone call and at last moved away from in front of the TV.

“You and Pepper finalize the designs for the new tower yet?” You ask before popping the Ice cream spoon in your mouth.

“They’re coming along.” He told you before sitting on the couch next to you. “You finalize your Netflix plans for the evening?” He teased, nodding at the TV.

“No!” You pouted. “Someone, wouldn’t get their big head out of the way!”

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to attack my ego or the physical size of my head. Either way, I am unfazed.” He shrugged, reaching for the remote. “I was thinking of re-watching The Mandalorian again.”

“Ohhh, I never get tired of seeing Baby Yoda. He’s so cute!” You leaned back in your seat as Tony started up the Disney+ app on the TV.

“You know technically Baby Yoda is not his name, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, yeah.” You rolled your eyes and waved your ice cream spoon at him. “He’s called The Child.” You sighed. “But I didn’t realize I was living with the Star Wars police. Did you and Pepper buy Lucas film while you were on the phone, Mr. I-Have-To-Have-My-Name-On-Everything?”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea.” Tony rubbed his chin, wondering how much Disney would try to upcharge him for the franchise. “I could give Han Solo the movie he actually deserved or green light that Obi Wan Kenobi show that’s been in development forever…”

“Honey, Disney is not going to sell you the Star Wars franchise, let it go.” You laughed. Your set your ice cream carton aside and snuggled up against Tony.

“Why not?” He whined. “Who wouldn’t want to have my name attached to them? You’d take my name if I offered it you, wouldn’t you?”

“Well that depends. Are you going to offer me as much as you were about to offer Disney?” You kissed his forehead and looked back at the TV.

“Sweetheart, I’d offer you the world if you said it’d make you happy.” He confessed.

“I don’t need the whole world, Honey.” You promised. “You’re the only bounty I’m searching for. Get it, bounty. Like Baby Yoda?”

“Hang on, we’re circling the drain here.” Tony paused the show. He turned and looked at you very seriously. “I love you. Can you give me five minutes to finish something in the lab before we watch this show?”

“Uh sure. Is everything okay?” You asked.

“I sure hope so.” Tony left you alone in the living room. You briefly considered watching the episode without him, but you knew that when he came back he’d just make you re-wind it and start all over anyway. You finished your whole pint of ice cream before he returned.

“Okay, close your eyes, no peeking!” He called from down the hall.

You did as he said. You closed your eyes and even put your hands over them for good measure. You felt him place something light and soft in lap before you were allowed to open your eyes again. When you finally did, there was a Baby Yoda plush in your lap.

“Oh My Gosh! He’s so cute!” You gushed immediately. You gave the plush a tight squeeze. “He even cuddles better than you!” You teased.

“Very funny.” He fake laughed. “I think there’s something under his sleeve, why don’t you check it out?” So, you rolled back the sleeves on the doll to see that it was wearing a black diamond tennis bracelet on one wrist.

“Tony it’s beautiful!” You commented, studying the shimmering piece of jewelry. Tucked into the tennis bracelet was a folded up piece of paper. It looked like the kind of birth certificate that typically comes with a plush from Build a Bear. “Will you help me put it on?” You asked, unfastening the bracelet from Baby Yoda.

“Sure.” Tony crouched down next to you so that he could easily put the bracelet on you. “But why don’t you check that paper over first.

“Okay.” You rolled your eyes. You expected him to have done something childish like officially name the toy “The Child” thus forever prohibiting you from calling it Baby Yoda. But when you looked at the certificate the name section was blank.

“Flip it over.” Tony instructed impatiently. You rolled your eyes again but did what he asked. On the back, in Tony’s quick spindly handwriting was a note.

“When I look over, you’re the only person I want in the co-pilot seat next to me. When I’m with you, I’m the best version of myself. You’ve helped me to understand that I’m so much more than the worst things that people think of me. For the first time in my life, I think of some else before myself. You’re my new dream, [Y/N]. Will you marry me?”

“Are you-is this…is this for real?” You looked over to him with your mouth hanging open.

“It’s very real.” He promised.

“Yes of course, I’ll marry you!” You agreed.

#Tony Stark x Reader #Tony Stark Reader Insert #Tony Stark FF #Tony Stark Fan Fic #Tony Stark Fan Fiction #Doctor Who Quotes Challenge

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tellmealovestory · 4 years

Text

A Year In The Life

Summary: 12 drabbles taking place throughout the year

Notes: Also posted on my ao3. I wanted to try something different and this is what I ended up with.

I’d love to know which one was your favorite - mine was Lost because I had the most fun writing that one.

Warnings: Angst if you squint, fluff, so much fluff, idiots in love, implied sexual content, light sexual content so I’m marking this 18+ only to be safe!

January - Happy New Year

Confetti littered the floor. Colorful balloons hung up on strings and floated to the ceiling. Streamers were strung from one end of the compound to the other. Happy New Year tiaras and party hats dotted everybody’s head, glasses of champagne held in their hands as people clustered around in small groups starting the countdown to the new year. Your own tiara sat crooked on your head, your cheeks warm as you worked yourself around the party with wide eyes looking for Bucky. He had been with you earlier in the night before disappearing, and as the seconds hand on the clock ticked ever closer to midnight you were growing more worried over his disappearance.

“Have you seen, Bucky?”

“Check the kitchen, might not wanna go in there though he looked a little busy,” Tony chuckled.

His words made you uneasy, they cause your stomach to tighten with worry, your heart to race, your palms to sweat. Pushing your way through the cheering crowd as midnight rings out signaling the new year you stumble into the kitchen.

“I can not believe you, Bucky!” You snapped.

“It’s not what it looks like I swear,” he said. His cheeks are tinged pink whether from embarrassment or from getting caught you’re not sure and you’re too upset to care.

“Really? It’s not what it looks like? You know it’s after midnight.”

“It’s past midnight?” Gulping he knows he fucked up, knew it the minute you stormed into the kitchen.

“Clearly you were too busy to hear everybody cheering. You want me to leave you two alone in peace?”

“I’m going to go...,” came the voice of a pretty blonde you had seen once or twice around the compound.

The fork he was holding clinked against the plate as he takes a small step towards you.

“‘M really sorry.”

“Uh huh. That piece of chocolate cake you were devouring says otherwise.”

Offering you a sheepish smile he shrugs his shoulders. Making his way over to you he adjusts your tiara. “Can I make it up to you?”

Tilting your head to the side you pretend to think it over. “I don’t know,” you hummed. “You plan on sharing that cake or?”

“Oh, I plan on sharing more than that cake,” he murmured before brushing his lips over yours in a kiss that’s as sweet as the chocolate frosting that dots his lips. “Happy New Year, darlin’.”

February - Snowed In

“You gonna stand here all night?” Wrapping his arms around your waist Bucky nuzzled his head in your neck inhaling the sweet floral scent of roses that clung to your skin and hair. It makes him miss the warmer weather, makes him miss seeing you in those cute floral dresses you love so much.

“Maybe,” you teased. “Why? You have something more important planned?” Leaning back against his chest you enjoy both the warmth that radiates from his body and the way the snow is falling from the sky blanketing the city in a heavy layer that will have residents locked inside for at least a day.

“Maybe,” he shot back and the teasing that laces his words has you giggling.

“Mm well whatever you have planned it’s going to have to be pretty good to get me to leave this window and your arms.”

Chuckling he pressed a kiss to your neck, his arms tightening around you as he stared out the window. “What if I told you it involved hot chocolate?”

“I’m listening...”

“A movie.”

“Mm depends on the movie.”

“You pick the movie.” He knows you’ll choose something cheesy and romantic. Something you’ve seen a hundred times before and can quote whole scenes by heart. But he doesn’t care. He’d watch anything as long it involved you next to his side.

“Tempting. What else?”

“What? That’s not enough?” He scoffed, smiling when he hears your soft giggles invading his ears. He’d do anything to hear that sound.

“I don’t know, Bucky. I’ve got it pretty good right here. Watching the snow, being glad that I’m inside instead of out there.”

“A warm blanket. Us cuddled together. I’ll even let you wear one of my sweatshirts.”

Turning in his arms so you’re facing him you smirk. “What makes you think I wasn’t already planning on stealing one of your sweatshirts?” Pressing a quick kiss to his lips you untangle yourself from his arms. “It’s a deal. I’ll grab the blankets and you can make the hot chocolate.”

Ten minutes later you’re curled up on the couch next to Bucky wearing one of his sweatshirts, your fluffiest blanket draped across your lap, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in your hand as a romantic comedy played on the television in front of you.

“Okay, maybe you were right and this is better than standing in front of the window.”

“Told you so,” Bucky smirked.

March - Happy Birthday part 1

The kitchen was a disaster. Plates and utensils and glasses and napkins. Boxes and bags and wrapping paper and tissue paper. A half eaten cake. Bottles of alcohol. Streamers that had fallen down from the ceiling cluttered the kitchen table and the floor.

It was a disaster, but as you stood in the doorway surveying the damage you couldn’t help smiling at the mess. The surprise party you had planned for Bucky had gone off without a hitch. It was nice having your apartment filled to the brim with the joyous laughter of your closest friends. But you had to admit it was equally as nice when it was just the two of you again.

Even though you knew you should clean up some of the mess you shut the light off, heading towards the living room where Bucky sat on the couch.

“You’re wrong you know,” you said, plopping down next to him.

“What?”

Brushing a piece of hair out of his face you offered him a small smile.

“You’re wrong. About thinking you don’t deserve this. The party. The presents. Everything.” Gesturing to the coffee table where his gifts were spread out to the kitchen where the clean up still waited. You watched his face, watched the way his lips parted in a sigh, watched the way he frowned, his steely gaze staying locked on the floor.

“You deserve to be happy, Bucky. And you should have at least one fun birthday party. You deserve that too.” Your voice is soft and when his gaze stays locked on the floor you frown hating that even on what should be a joyous day for him he still doesn’t think he deserves to be happy.

It breaks your heart. But you’ve been with him long enough to know that there’s nothing you can say to convince him otherwise, though that doesn’t stop you from trying.

Pressing a kiss to his cheek you get up from the couch, surprised when you feel his hand wrapping around your wrist. Turning to face him you giggle as he pulls you down on his lap, your legs straddling his waist he buries his head in your neck. His breath his warm, his touch bordering on needy as he pulls you close to him, his arms wrapped securely around your waist.

“You’re too fuckin’ good for me.” His voice is muffled against the skin of your neck, but you’re able to make those few words out. When you scoff he tightens his hold on you. “‘M serious, doll.”

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Bucky. And I’ve heard you say a lot of dumb things.” The light and teasing tone of your voice has him smiling against you and after a minute he lifts his head up. You can see the storm clouds passing through his darkened eyes and you think you’d give anything for him to be able to see himself the way that you do.

Pressing your lips against his warm forehead you smile down at him sweetly. “You okay?”

It takes him a moment to answer. A moment that leaves you staring down lovingly at him. The storm clouds that were passing through his eyes earlier have disappeared and been replaced with a doubt that still lingers about his deserved happiness.

When he does finally answer it’s not with words, but with his lips against yours. Tasting like sugar that’s too sweet and chocolate that’s too rich he swallows your moans. He’s the first one to break the kiss and your eyes flutter open at the loss of his touch.

“You’re too fuckin’ good for me,” he repeated, but this time his words aren’t muffled and there’s only a hint of doubt left lingering in his eyes. Squeezing your waist he offers you a smile, his first real one since everybody left. “I don’t know how I got so lucky with you.”

“Luck,” you teased with a shrug of your shoulders. Dipping your head down you capture his lips in another kiss.

“Speaking of luck birthday boy come on, I’ve got one more surprise for you and it’s in the bedroom.” Climbing off his lap you hold your hand out, giggling when he intertwines your fingers you pull him into your bedroom.

April - Caught In The Rain

“What about ice cream?”

“How are you still hungry?”

“Cause it’s ice cream.”

You couldn’t argue with that logic. With a shrug of your shoulders and a squeeze of his hand you glanced up at him, rolling your eyes when you see the smile stretched across his face at your non verbal answer.

Though the night air is chilly and the scent of rain strong you can’t deny that ice cream would be the cherry on top of a perfect night out with Bucky. Walking hand in hand through the neighborhood, your pace slow, the conversation light and filled with laughter.

You’re only a couple blocks away from your favorite ice cream place when the first drop of rain plops onto your head. Glancing up at the sky you frown, your eyes questioning as you glance over at Bucky.

“Was that...?” You started before squealing when another drop lands on your face answering your question for you.

Standing in the middle of the sidewalk both of you are frozen as the cold rain falls down on you, wetting your hair, soaking through your clothes.

“C’mon,” Bucky urged. Tugging your hand his strides are long, purposeful as he pulls you through the emptying streets in search of shelter from the rain.

Struggling to keep up with his pace you gasp in surprise when he pulls you under an awning, your back pressed flushed against the cool brick of a building. His hands run up and down your arms, his touch warming you from the inside out.

“You’re freezing.”

“I’m okay.”

Bucky frowned not believing you for a minute. Despite the hint of a smile ghosting your lips amid his touches he can feel your body shivering underneath his hands.

“You’re shaking,” he pointed out.

“Because you were practically running. You know I hate running.” Pouting you stand on your tip toes moving your lips against his. His lips are warm, wet from the rain, tasting of salt and grease from the french fries you had split earlier in the evening.

“And it has nothing to do with you being cold?” He murmured against your lips.

“Nope. Not a thing.”

For a few moments the noise of the city disappears and it’s only the two of you. Standing underneath an awning on a brisk night in April as the rain pitter patters on the sidewalk there’s no where else you want to be.

You’re not sure how long the two of you stand there, how many kisses are stolen, how many laughs are shared, how many I love yous are whispered, but eventually the rain slows to nothing more than a sprinkle. Enough for the two of you to venture from your spot.

There’s something magical about the ending of a rain storm in the city. The way the sidewalk glitters and glistens when the headlights from taxis hit it. The way the water pools amongst the concrete in small puddles. The way people rush with umbrellas and coats and newspapers hung over their heads in an attempt to remain dry.

“We should get home before you catch a cold,” Bucky said, his arm wrapped around your shoulder pulling you closer to the warmth that radiates from his body.

“Thought you were starving for ice cream?” Tilting your head up you watch his lips curl up into a smile, the sight making your heart swell with love.

“Oh, I am, but you’re cold.” It’s not a question, but a statement, one meant not to be argued with, but that doesn’t stop you from rolling your eyes as you snuggle further into his warm embrace.

“Uh uh. We’re going for ice cream come on.”

“Y/N,” he sighed, a hint of warning in his voice, but when you see his smile widen ever so slightly when you near the ice cream shop you know you’ve won the battle.

“You wanted ice cream and look we’re already here!” Laughing when he shakes his head you stand on your tip toes kissing his cheek before you step out of his embrace, your hand pulling him into the cool shop before he has another chance to protest.

May - Happy Birthday part 2

“Is this really necessary, Bucky?”

“Yes.”

“Seriously? Can’t I ta-.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask!”

“Yes I do and the answer is no.”

Huffing in frustration you listened to Bucky’s deep chuckle. Standing outside your apartment door with a blindfold over your eyes you shifted your weight from foot to foot restlessly wondering what he’s up to.

Sensing your annoyance he lets his lips ghost over your cheek. His voice is nothing but a hushed whisper when he speaks your name and just like that you can feel your annoyance at his secrecy diminish.

His hand is warm in yours as he leads you into your apartment and with the blindfold over your eyes your other senses are heightened. The first thing you notice is the music drifting through the apartment. The second thing you notice is the smell. Inhaling deeply you pick up the scents of melted cheese and tomatoes and something sweeter and familiar. Flowers. Lilacs.

Knitting your eyebrows together you jump at the sound of Bucky’s voice.

“Gonna take this off now.” His touch is gentle, his fingertips barely making contact with you as he unties the blindfold. Wrapping his fingers around the material he swallows.

“Open your eyes, darlin’.”

”Oh, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice cracking on his name.

The lights in the apartment are dimmed, two long candles sitting on the small kitchen table bathing the room in a soft glow. Sitting in the middle of the table is a bouquet of lilacs in a mason jar filled half way with water. Two plates are set out filled with large slices of lasagna that you know came from your favorite restaurant, the one you were supposed to go out to tonight to celebrate your birthday.

As if reading your mind he clears his throat. “I know you don’t like your birthday and I know we had plans to go out tonight, but when you called during lunch and said you were having a bad day I figured we could stay in. The two of us. Have a nice dinner. Maybe watch a movie. Whatever you wanna do. Tonight’s about you.”

Giving a small shake of your head your eyes dance around the kitchen finally making contact with the small cake that sits on the counter. An arch of your eyebrow has you turning back to Bucky.

“From that bakery you like so much.”

“Still not sure that the blindfold was necessary.” Is what you finally settle on. The words are teasing because for once you don’t know what to say and you’re worried that you’re going to start crying with how much thought he put into this. Your heart is bursting to the seams with love and need for the man standing before you. Cupping his cheek with your hand you smile up at him. “This is perfect. All of it.”

“Trust me the blindfold was definitely necessary,” he teased before turning more serious. “Happy Birthday, doll.”

June - Sick

“Get away from me!”

“Y/N...”

“No! I’m serious, Bucky!”

“Darlin.”

“No.”

“Sweetheart.”

“No.”

“Doll.”

“No.”

“Baby.”

“No.”

“Cupcake?”

“Stop it.”

“Was that a laugh I heard?”

“No!”

“Hm. Think it was... honey pie, sugar, flour, butter, mil-“

“Now you’re just naming ingredients.” Pulling the covers off your head you glared at him, your gaze dropping to the bottle of vile he holds in his hand. “I’m serious Bucky get out of here.”

“Sure once you take your medicine.”

“I’m not taking that. It tastes like...” Sneezing you reach for your box of Kleenex laying next to you on the bed frowning when you pull the last one out. “Death. It tastes like death,” you finished, wiping your nose.

“Yeah? How come the bottle says it’s cherry flavored?”

“Cherry flavored death. Have you ever had that? It’s horrible!”

“Anybody ever tell you you get dramatic when you’re sick?” Crossing the bedroom he sits on the edge of the bed, his hand resting on your knee as he holds the bottle of liquid medicine out to you. “Come on, doll, you wanna keep feeling sick?”

Your nose was raw from sneezing and having it run, your throat itchy and sore, your cough seemingly getting worse at night and the cold chills that wracked your body couldn’t even be contained when Bucky wrapped you up in his arms.

Met with silence he smirked as he unscrewed the cap pouring the correct amount into the serving cup. Holding it out to you he gave your knee a gentle squeeze. “Please?”

Glowering at him you reluctantly take the cup. Tipping your head back you quickly swallow the medicine, your nose and eyebrows scrunching up in displeasure as the taste lingers in your mouth and on your tongue.

“Good girl.”

The praise has heat crawling up your neck and cheeks and you don’t miss the way that his smirk widens.

Placing the bottle on the nightstand table he picks up your empty Kleenex box replacing it with a fresh one.

“Ya know even Stevie made a better patient.”

“Take it back!” You gasped.

“Nope,” he said, popping the p.

Scooting over on the bed you laid back down giving him your best puppy dog eyes until he followed suit.

“Yeah, but I’m way better at cuddling.” Curling into his side you rest your head on his chest, the rhythmic beating of his heart filling your ears and lulling you into a peacefulness you haven’t felt since catching this stupid cold earlier in the week.

“Dunno ‘bout that. He was pretty good at cuddling too,” he teased, his lips brushing over your forehead.

“Maybe I should be cuddling him instead of you. I bet he wouldn’t have made me drink death medicine.”

“I don’t think you could handle cuddling two super soldiers, doll. Ya can’t even handle taking medicine.”

“I can handle taking medicine. Just not that.”

“Would it help if I got you something else?”

Lifting your head up from his chest you survey his expression trying to decipher if he’s joking or not. When you see only sincerity reflected in his eyes you offer him a small smile.

“Maybe..., but I think it would help more if you stay here and cuddle me and not make me take any more of that.”

”I’ll stay, but you’re taking more medicine in a couple hours, doll. No more arguing.”

“Fine.”

Laying your head back down on his chest you close your eyes dreaming up ways to get out of taking more of the death medicine.

July - Fireworks

You checked your reflection in the bathroom mirror one final time. With your lips painted red and your white dress with blue flowers you were a vision of festive patriotism perfect for Steve’s birthday party. Smacking your lips together you shut the bathroom light off before heading into the living room where Bucky sat waiting for you.

“Okay, I’m ready now,” you chirped.

“Fuck, doll.”

“Too much?” Doubt crept into your voice as your eyes darted down to your dress. Toying with the hem you bit your lower lip forgetting about the lipstick you were wearing. “I can go change it’ll only take a minute this time I swear.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he growled.

The growl mixed with the squeaking of the couch as he lifts himself up has your head snapping up in his direction. His gaze is dark, predatory and when he licks his lower lip you unintentionally take a small step backwards.

“Uh uh. You were the one telling me we were going to be late.”

“Don’t care.” In two long strides he’s standing in front of you. Gripping your hips in his large hands he pulls you flush against him earning him a surprised gasp from your red lips.

“That’s not what yo- oh,” you whimpered when he dipped his head down to press a kiss to your neck.

Slipping his hands down to the back of your thighs he lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically. His lips linger on your neck alternating between open mouth kisses and little nips as your hands make their way towards his shoulders.

“We’re gonna be late,” you pointed out again your words half hearted this time when he gently lays you down on your bed.

Crawling up your body he smirks, his lips ghosting over yours as his fingertips slip under the hem of your dress. “We’ll be quick.”

“I love you, but you’ve never been quick.”

“Never heard you complain before.“

Rolling your eyes you tug off his shirt. “You’re telling them why we were late.”

“Anything for you, darlin’.”

“Told ya I could be quick,” Bucky murmured against your ear low enough for only you to hear.

“We’re over an hour late that was not quick,” you replied, struggling and failing to keep the smile off your face as you waved to Steve.

“Again I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“Stop,” you giggled.

“About time you guys showed up,” Sam grumbled.

“Sorry we’re late.”

“You guys almost missed the fireworks,” Natasha smirked, eyeing your appearances.

Despite combing your hair before leaving the apartment you could tell by the way she was inspecting you that she knew why you guys had been late and your hand flew up to your neck to cover the mark that Bucky had left.

“Why were you guys late?” Sam asked, causing Natasha to snort.

“We were experiencing our own set of fireworks. In the bedroom.”

“Bucky!”

“Dude gross.”

“You told me to tell them why we were late.”

“I meant lie and say there was traffic not tell them that!” you said, slapping his shoulder.

August - Heat Wave

Fuck New York in August.

Thick beads of sweat rolled down your cheeks and the back of your neck making your thin tee shirt cling to your slick body. Every step you took on the sidewalk felt like walking through hell and nothing helped. Not taking cold showers. Not eating a diet of ice cream and popsicles and drinking nothing but ice water. Not even staying inside with air conditioning not when the city kept experiencing blackouts and when that happened all that was left was sitting in a darkened apartment stifling with heat.

And it certainly didn’t help with Bucky. On a good day his body temperature ran hot, but in August in New York he was unbearable to be with. Standing next to him made you sweat and forget about trying to share a bed with him.

Sweat trickled into your shoes causing you to whine and with every step you took all you heard was a distinct squishing. Wrinkling your nose in disgust your only hope was that the power would stay on long enough for you to cool down.

“Oh thank god,” you sighed. The cool blast of air conditioning hit you in the face as you entered your apartment. Kicking off your shoes you stripped yourself of your shirt, wiggling out of your shorts you turned to see Bucky standing in the kitchen an amused look on his face.

“Don’t judge me.” Leaving your clothes in a pile by the door you walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. Placing the bottle on the back of your neck you let out a sigh. The contrast of the cold against your sweaty skin felt like heaven. Closing your eyes you hummed.

“Good thing we didn’t have company,” Bucky snorted, never taking his eyes off of you.

Cracking open an eye you glanced at him smirking. “It’s hot out,” you whined.

Removing the bottle from the back of your neck you unscrewed the cap drinking half the bottle. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand you took in his appearance.

“And um hello you’re one to talk walking around in boxers that couldn’t possibly get any shorter. Or tighter.” Shameless in your staring you made no point of tearing your gaze away from the bulge in his boxers.

Raising his eyebrow he took a step towards you watching with amusement as you took a step backwards. With your back pressed against the counter Bucky caged you in with his arms ignoring the pathetic whines that slipped past your lips.

“Yeah? Not what you said when you first saw me in them,” he murmured, his voice husky as he skimmed his lips down your sweaty neck.

Despite it being too hot you couldn’t help tilting your head back. “That was different.”

His teeth nipped at your neck and your hands instinctively reached out for his shoulders. “How?” Circling his tongue over the slight stinging he reached down for your hips lifting you up effortlessly to sit on the counter. “Weren’t you the one who said they made my ass look good?”

“I don’t recall.” Threading your fingers through his hair you guided his lips back to yours for a chaste kiss.

“Liar.”

“And it’s too h- fuck not again.” Whining in frustration you dropped your head to his shoulder as the air conditioner sputtered once before whirring to a stop. “I hate this city in the summer.”

“I know, doll.” Pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips he stepped back. “Want me to grab the flashl- Ya know I could have helped you with that.”

Sliding the straps of your bra down your shoulders you shot him a withering look. “Don’t judge me, James! It’s hot in here,” you whined, tossing the offending material to the floor.

“Must be because I’m wearing these boxers,” he teased, shooting you a wink.

“Oh my god, Bucky!” You laughed, hopping off the counter. “Go get the flashlights I’ll get the ice cream before it melts.”

September - Lost

Deep reds, burnt oranges, bright yellows, dark browns, bright blue sky. The smell of burning wood. The satisfying crunch of leaves being stepped on. The gentle breeze that stirred the remaining leaves on the trees to fall and float through the air before drifting in a slow descent to the ground.

As much as you loved living in the city, loved the hustle and the bustle there was something to be said for the quiet peacefulness of the countryside during autumn.

It was magical. The little roadside stands selling apples and pies and jams and hot apple cider and pumpkins. The trunk of the car was filled to the brim with bags stuffed full with goodies you had begged Bucky you needed. And when he had teased you telling you nobody needed five bags of apples you had added another bag to the pile when he had his head turned.

“Now where?” He asked, his thumbs tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel as the two of you sat in the parking lot of a diner.

Flipping through the pamphlets you had grabbed from the diner you hummed reading through the various list of fall themed events that were scheduled through the next few months in the area.

“Ooh there’s an apple orchard in the next town!”

“Doll, you’ve got enough apples.”

“But-“

“Don’t think I didn’t see you add another bag.”

Rolling your eyes you flipped the page. “In my defense we didn’t go and pick them we just bought them. It’s different when we pick them.”

“No.”

“Corn maze?”

“Too easy.”

“I didn’t know I was dating an expert at corn mazes.”

Chuckling he reached over plucking one of the pamphlets from your hand. “Not an expert, but darlin’ they’re too easy, we’d be the first ones done.”

“I don’t care. Please? It’ll be fun! And I’ll make it worth your while,” you cooed, leaning across the seat to brush your lips across his in a sweet kiss. “Please, Bucky? For your best girl?”

Closing his eyes he shook his head giving in when he heard the first please drip from your lips. “Fine. Let’s go.”

“Oh, I’m an expert at mazes. They’re so easy. We’ll be the first ones done, darlin’,” you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest. “What happened to that, Bucky? It’s... 7 at night we’ve been lost for three hours! Three hours Bucky!”

“We’re not lost.” Snapping the map open he stopped in his tracks squinting to see in the dusk. It didn’t make sense. Mazes were easy. He didn’t know where they had gotten so turned around.

“We’re not lost,” he said, again shrugging off his jacket and placing it around your shoulders when he saw you shivering.

“We’ve passed this scarecrow three times, Bucky.”

“We’re lost.”

It wasn’t funny, but you couldn’t help giggling at the situation.

“Glad you find this so amusing, doll.”

“Come on.” Checking in front of and behind you you reached for his hand pulling him further into the maze when you saw no one around. Pressing a quick kiss to his lips your fingers expertly undid the button and zipper of his jeans. Tugging his jeans down his legs you slipped your hand into his boxers giving him a gentle stroke.

“Y/N,” he gasped.

“I figure we have at least two more hours before anybody comes looking for us after you got us lost,” you murmured running the pad of your thumb over his slit enjoying the way his body shuddered and his breathing picked up. With your free hand you tugged his boxers down before dropping to your knees.

“Fuck, I love you.”

“You better Mr. I’m an expert at corn mazes,” you teased, before slipping the tip of him past your parted lips watching the way his head tilted back.

October - Halloween

“Doll,” Bucky whined.

“You promised,” you said, pouting leaning against the bathroom door. “Will you let me see? Please?”

“I look stupid.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

You could hear him shuffling on the other side of the door and just as you were about to knock it swung open revealing Bucky with his hair slicked back. With his face painted white, fake fangs stuck into his mouth and a dribble of fake blood at the corner of his mouth you had to bite back your laugh. It wasn’t that he looked stupid in his white button down shirt, black pants and red cape. Oh, no, he looked hot and if you didn’t have plans to meet up with Sam and Natasha later you would have jumped him.

“God, Bucky,” you murmured.

“I’m changing.”

“No! You can’t you promised!” Giving his hand a reassuring squeeze you smiled up at him. “You look amazing. I told you you’d make a good vampire and look if I have to wear this stupid nurses costume you can wear this.”

“You’re gonna keep this right?” He asked, his voice husky as he fingered the hem of the short white dress you wearing.

Arching an eyebrow you giggled. “Depends. You going to wear this tonight?”

“I guess,” he grumbled.

“Good. It’s settled then. Come on let’s go before all the good candy’s gone.”

“Dude what the hell are you wearing?” Sam snorted upon seeing Bucky.

“Shut up.”

“No, wait I gotta get a picture of this.”

“I said shut up.”

“I gotta know your thought process on this. Was there a sale at dumb costumes are us? You didn’t have anything else to wear?”

“I think he looks hot,” you purred, kissing his cheek as you handed him a glass of beer that he couldn’t get drunk on. His cheek was covered in a bright red lip stain from your lipstick, but you didn’t bother to wipe it off. You kinda liked it.

Letting out a low whistle Sam smirked. “I get it now. You both picked out each other’s costume. There wasn’t a sale on matching couples outfits?”

“Shut up,” you and Bucky said at the same time.

“Oh, there’s Natasha. I’m gonna go say hi real quick. Can I trust both of you to be nice to each other?” You teased.

“You must really love her cause you look ridiculous in that.”

“I do really love her,” Bucky murmured, his eyes shimmering with love as he watched your retreating back move easily through the party to Natasha’s side.

November - Burned

Opening the oven door you peeked in at the pies that were turning that perfect shade of golden brown that meant they were almost done. Wiping your flour covered hands on your apron you lifted your wrist up to your forehead wiping away the sweat that had gathered there.

“Somethin’ smells good,” Bucky murmured, wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling his head in your neck.

Wrinkling your nose in disgust you tried to wriggle out of his arms, but he only tightened his grip. “I love you, but we both know that it’s not me. Unless you enjoy the scent of my sweat in which case I might have to rethink this relationship,” you teased.

“Maybe I do enjoy the smell of your sweat ever think of that?” He retorted, nipping at your neck playfully.

“Gross,” you laughed. Wriggling out of his arms you glanced over at the clock on the stove checking the time before doing a mental check of how much time you had before you had to be at your parents for Thanksgiving. “When the timer goes off can you take the pies out of the oven so I can take a shower and get ready?”

“Sure. How much longer on the timers?”

“Uh like ten or fifteen more minutes I think? Why?” You asked, untying your apron. “No. Uh uh, Bucky we do not have time for that!”

“I can be quick,” he cooed, chasing after you as you ran to the bathroom laughing.

You both knew that there was no way you could outrun him, but that didn’t stop you from trying as your laughter bounced off the walls and echoed around you.

“The last time you said that we were over an hour late and we can not be late today. I’m serious!”

“We’re not gonna be late if we conserve water and shower together,” he pointed out, reaching behind you to turn the hot water on. Stripping his shirt off he let it fall to the floor smirking when he caught you staring at his bare chest.

“What about the pies?” No matter how many times you saw him shirtless or naked the sight still took your breath away. He was built like a Greek god.

“I’ll be quick. Promise, darlin’.”

“Fuck,” Bucky mumbled breathlessly.

Still dazed you tilted your head back against the cool tile of the shower wall a lazy smile curling your lips up. “Mm that’s one way to describe what we just did.”

“No, I mean fuck I forgot about the pies, doll.” Setting you down carefully on the shower floor he grabbed a towel tying it around his waist as he stepped out of the shower and ran into the kitchen.

Still dazed it took you an extra minute for your mind to catch up with what just took place. “Pies? What pi- Oh my god, Bucky!” You yelled. Shutting the water off you grabbed a towel. “You had one job. One job!”

Stumbling into the kitchen water dripping down your body you waved away the smoke that had gathered in the room. Watching dismayed as Bucky pulled out two burnt pies you weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or to cry.

“‘M sorry, doll. I’ll run out and get two from the bakery down the street, okay?”

“That is the last time I let you try and tell me you can be quick, Bucky.”

“Let me make it up to you. I swear I’ll be quick this time.”

“You are the worst!” You said, laughing when he made his way over to you.

December - Surprise

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asked, whipping the bag he had been holding behind his back and hoping you didn’t notice.

“Last time I checked I lived here,” you retorted, with a roll of your eyes. Shutting the tv off you get up from the couch narrowing your eyes when you see Bucky shifting his weight from foot to foot nervously.

He’d been acting weird for the past couple of weeks. At first you had chalked it up to the stress of the holidays and the longer missions he’d been sent on. When he assured you that wasn’t it it had done little to put your mind at ease. And anytime you brought up his weird behavior to Natasha all she had done was smirk at you and tell you it was nothing. Which had also done nothing to put your mind at ease.

“What’s going on, Bucky?” You asked softly, frowning at him when he wouldn’t look at you. Ice filled your veins, worries and doubts flitting through your mind at lightning speed. “Was it... something I did? Or said?”

Gnawing on your lower lip you found it difficult to look at him for fear of what would be reflected in his eyes. Even across the apartment you could hear his soft sigh, hear the thud of his boots when he crossed the floor. Smelling his cologne as he neared you still didn’t look up at him. And when he pressed two fingers under your chin to tilt your head up you still fought against it. Stubborn until the end of time.

“Darlin’, look at me.”

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?”

“Ya gonna look at me?”

“Bucky...”

“Y/N...”

Despite your frustration with the situation, with the childish games that were being played you struggled and failed to bite back the smile that was threatening to curl up your lips. You hated when he did this. Hated how even during an argument he still managed to make you smile or laugh.

“Fine,” you mumbled, giving up and giving in. “Now tell me what’s going on.”

Sighing Bucky shook his head and you felt your heart drop into your stomach. “Tell me,” you demanded, your voice rising with equal measures fear and anger over his secrecy.

“This was supposed to be a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you home so early,” he started. Licking his lower lip nervously he brought out the bag he had tried to hide behind his arms.

“And this wasn’t the way I wanted to ask you. I wanted it to be special. Ya know a nice dinner. Do this right. It’s what you deserve. But...”

“You’re rambling,” you murmured, your heart was racing so fast in your chest you swore you were going to pass out.

With shaky hands he reached into the bag pulling out a small square box.

“Bucky...”

Opening the box to reveal a simple oval diamond ring flanked by smaller diamonds on a gold band you gasped, your hands flying up to cover your mouth. Realization at what was in the box, what he was asking you hit you all at once and you felt your knees buckling. Blindly reaching a hand out to steady yourself you gripped his arm stopping him from getting down on one knee per custom.

“Y/N, wi-“

“Yes! Yes a thousand times yes!

“Ya sure? Don’t even know what I was going to ask. Maybe I was going to ask you to try this on see if it’ll fit Stevie’s finger,” he teased, lifting his thumb up to brush away the few tears that had managed to escape your eyes.

“You’re an idiot, Bucky Barnes,” you whispered, with a shake of your head.

“Here I am tryin’ to propose to my best girl and she’s calling me an idiot.” Lifting up your left hand as if it were made of glass he gently slid the ring onto your finger.

Staring down at the beautiful diamond on your ring finger you smiled. “It’s beautiful and perfect and god Bucky I can’t believe this is really happening,” you rambled, your smile so wide it stretched from cheek to cheek and you knew your face would be sore from smiling so much tomorrow, but you didn’t care.

“Nat helped me pick it out,” he murmured shyly.

“Remind me to thank her later.”

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, leaning down to press his lips against yours sweetly. “And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #my writing

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austennerdita2533 · 4 years

Text

A/N: Just a Literati trifle in celebration of GG’s 20th Anniversary Week. I still have another chapter or two to write but I wanted to get this out before the event officially ended. (Canon compliant + OS + divergences)

Also here: (AO3)

Enjoy!

xx Ashlee Bree

An Archive of Words Between Us

One day, many weeks into it but still no closer to clarity about what it is between them, Rory does what she does best: she makes a list.

Marked at the beginning, from when she and Jess first met, she soon starts to add to it with frightening regularity. A new entry comes any time there’s news, insight, questions, or growing confusion to report. She writes it all down. Out. She compiles everything in a beat-up old notebook she’s taken to carrying around.

Over the years that follow it becomes a confessional of sorts for her, a still developing story. She reaches for a pen whenever the mood strikes, and writes…then writes some more…

Committing to paper all the things they’ve said to each other over the course of their history, as well as many of the things they didn’t.

- i. things we said when we were strangers -

“Hey, Dodger, wait a minute,” she calls out before he disappears behind the gazebo. “Is this a gimmick of yours? Do you always write margin notes in the books you steal from strangers?”

Jess stops. Casts a cursory glance over his shoulder before turning back around with hands in his hoodie pocket.

“Depends, I guess.”

“On?”

“Does it matter?”

Rory shrugs.“You could be a literature-defacing miscreant on the lam for all I know. Your face might be tacked to Wanted posters all over New York City. I’ve got to edge my bets, protect my assets.”

“What,” he says, “you aiming to sentence me without a trial or something?”

“Thinking about it.”

“Wow. I can’t believe you’re going to bust out the cuffs already, Judge Judy,” he chuckles, raising his hands in supplication before rocking backwards on his heels like he’s been shot. “That’s not very neighborly.”

“Sounds like there’s evidence to be had if I dig a bit.” A pause. A teasing quirk of an eyebrow. “Is there?” she asks.

Though he stays silent at this, a spark of something catches deep in his dark eyes as their gazes meet, and Rory's stomach flips.

“Well?”

“You tell me,” he says, all smooth and inscrutable and James Dean cool as hell.

“I’m no Agent Scully at the FBI, but the truth is out there. Don’t think I won’t uncover it,” Rory replies, her wit flowing strong and sure. “If I think it’s warranted I could hire Kirk to lay chase for a while…he likes detecting. Takes payment in Skittles, too. Boxes of which I will have no trouble acquiring, I assure you.”

“Who the hell’s Kirk?”

“Let me worry about that,” she beams back at him coyly, bouncing the book he’d pilfered earlier against her hip.

“Save your Skittles, concerned citizen. I’m clean.”

“Oh, yeah? And why should I believe you when I hold proof to the contrary?”

“Because—” Ambling backwards in the middle of the street, a crooked smirk forms along the corner of Jess’s mouth as he gives her one last idle loll of his shoulder. “I only leave notes for people who might appreciate them. Start with the one on page three, by the way,” he adds with a farewell salute. “It’s a doozy.”

Curiosity piqued, Rory ignores the warmth in her chest as she watches him turn to leave a second time. Instead, she buries her nose in the margins of Howl and peruses. Losing herself in his tiny blocked script the whole walk home.

- ii. things we said because we were lying to ourselves -

Pacifying the town's fears about their friendship isn’t easy.

Especially not after Jess outbids her boyfriend at the basket-bidding festival to win an afternoon of her company. Or the night he shows up on her doorstep unannounced, bearing food and intellectual discussion after she swears to everybody else she wanted to spend the evening alone. Or when he wrecks her car on their way back from a spontaneous hunt for ice cream cones.

Then there’s the time she misses Lorelai’s graduation because she’s stuck on a bus next to some scruffy-looking creep who spits chew into a soda can while he mumbles the names of state capitals under his breath in an Appalachian-sounding litany, Rory having skipped town impulsively to visit Jess in the Big Apple after Luke had sent him packing because of an accident that had no real bearing or blame. At least not unless it was half hers to share in, too, in any case.

She expends a lot of energy defending what they are to people. Clarifying what they’re not.

Pretty soon a truncated version of the truth skips from her mouth like a message she’s spent months concocting, memorizing, and then recording, with her smart enough not to speak it aloud until it sounds convincing. And it does. She makes sure of it.

Tensions abate after that, for a time. Mostly because of the distance.

Mom and Dean, in particular, seem to breathe easier with so much of it stretched between them. They’re much happier once Jess is no longer there to lurk around Luke’s, or clog the aisles of Doose’s, or stake out chalkperson outlines on the sidewalks of town where he can draw her closer to him. Too close for comfort, as far as anyone else is concerned. Even if his only aim in doing so had been to imbibe her in intellectual conversation.

Rory finds it funny how his absence from Stars Hollow makes it both easier and harder for her to placate everyone’s misgivings. The words may be simple to say, but the meaning behind them feels deflated. Half-bodied at best.

Like calculus, it causes her headaches. Forces her to work twice as hard to make everyone believe she doesn’t care that he’s gone and likely never coming back again. That the vacant space he’s left behind doesn’t sting whenever her gaze passes over it, remembering.

Exhausting though it is, however, she does her best. She makes the effort.

She starts by dolling out extra attention and assurances to Dean about her commitment to him. To their relationship. Then she pivots around mention of Jess’s existence to her mom because she knows she doesn’t approve of him let alone agree about any of his good qualities. With Lane, she focuses on school and Mrs. Kim and music they can add to her floorboard collection. And in front of Luke, so as not to burden him with more disappointment, she acts as if nothing is different. Pretends that nothing much has changed.

Omission quickly becomes a habit for Rory. A way of life.

Only once does exposure threaten to spoil everything when her mom confronts her openly one afternoon about a placeholder that’s slipped out of her copy of For Whom The Bell Tolls.

“It’s nothing,” Rory says as she makes a quick grab for it in the kitchen and blushes.

“Really? Because nothing to me looks a hell of lot like a paper plate fragment. One that’s smudged in pizza grease and blue scribbles.” Laughing, completely unaware of her daughter’s wide-eyed discomfort and humiliation, Lorelai hands it back to her without inspecting it closely. “I’m surprised by your choice is all. Messy and makeshift isn’t your typical bookmark M.O., hun.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when Paris accosts you at the break bell. You drop things. People jump, drinks spill. Beloved bookmarks go soaring…”

“Ah. I take it she was yelling in dog decibels again?”

“More like she put out an APB on all aliens living a few hundred million lightyears away and then gave them exact shouting coordinates for where to find her. So same difference, really.”

Her mom snorts. Passes over the ranch dressing.

“She’s a pill, that one. I’m telling you Pink wrote that song with her in mind.” Shaking her head, Lorelai closes the fridge behind her as she bites into another French fry. “So how’d you come by the plate?” she asks, her mouth full.

“It was spontaneous. I was running late so I nicked it from the cafeteria on my way out,” Rory lies, knowing full well Chilton never dispenses paper or plastic dishes for dining.

“Oh.” Her mom considers this. “Well, I suppose there were times even Madeleine Albright couldn’t find anything better to use in a pinch. That was very…replateful of you.”

“What can I say,” she exhales with relief, feigning amusement as her fib is accepted with alacrity, “the Forks was with me.”

“Only the Forks? Don’t tell me you’re leaving out the spoons and the knives. How could you?” says Lorelai, aghast, as she scoops stray kitchen utensils to press them against her chest in a bodily cuddle. “It’s cutlery discrimination!”

“No, it’s punning.”

“Says who?”

“Me.” A pause. A nibble of pizza. “Also, Shakespeare would agree.”

“Psssh, Shakespeare! That old killjoy,” her mom says dismissively, rolling her eyes in good humor as she tucks a box of strawberry Pop Tarts under her armpit and motions toward the living room. “What’s that you have written on the inside there, anyway? French? Calculus? Rolling Stone lyrics? A blueprint for the evil plan you’ve hatched to shoot Grandma to the moon? I’m dying to know.”

Waving her off, Rory tucks the shard back into the spine of her book where it belongs. Hiding it from view. “It’s for school,” she assures her as they settle onto the sofa.

“So tell me about it. I don’t care if it’s boring.”

“Pass.”

“Come on! I could use a good Chilton-instigated snooze.”

“Too bad. No beauty naps for you.”

Lorelai pouts, fake affronted. “Rude!”

(Turns out that ‘shard,’ that ‘thing for school’ which is stuck between the pages of Rory’s Hemingway, isn’t boring at all. In fact, it has a history. A story. The truth is it’s a souvenir she’s saved ever since she and Jess talked books over pizza at Antonioli’s on basket-bidding day.

Toward the end of the meal he’d ripped off a piece of plate so he could jot down his phone number and a quote. Only sliding it into her hand, folded in half, crinkled up like a note passed between desks at school, in the moments before they parted ways and headed home.

It’s stupid she’s kept it. She realizes that now. Stupider still to slip it between the pages of each new book she reads or unfurl it in the privacy of her bedroom to puzzle out if the line he’d included from A Moveable Feast is meant to have double meaning:

“We ate well and cheaply and drank well and cheaply and slept well and warm together and [liked] each other,” it reads.

Stupidest of all, she can’t seem to bring herself to stop looking at it. To throw the darn thing away. A note…a number…a greasy sliver of paper plate!)

“Like I said, Mom,” Rory swallows before smiling over at her convincingly, “it’s nothing. Really.”

- iii. things we said on the verge (of something) -

In early June, Sookie’s wedding day arrives.

Things are static again. Serene. Normal.

Granted, slight changes do sprinkle into the mix here and there because of her dad’s presence, because Dean holds her a little tighter around the waist now than he once did, but mostly it’s the same here as it’s always been. Pleasant people fade into gossip and nonsense while fun blurs into peculiarity.

Life feels simple once more. A tad plain and colorless, maybe, but simple.

Then Jess returns to town on a whim or a fluke or a who the devil knows what he’s thinking and everything goes sideways, pear-shaped, belly-up-and-down in seconds because this is the last thing she’d been been expecting and suddenly the only thing that registers is the length of the grass plus the number of steps it will take to close the distance between them. All that matters is he’s here, he’s back, he’s near enough to touch, and she’s smiling so hard she can hardly breathe as she drinks him in from head to foot like a glutton: her pulse leaping, her heart lurching free from the cage of her chest.

The whole world tilts. Collapses. The pale yellow of the sun shines down like a spotlight so it’s only a rippling alcove she sees. Just him, just her. Just them canopied beneath these flittering fronds of green.

Any rational thought Rory possesses scatters across the wind with the pollen. And then before she knows it, the ground tilts out like a ramp underfoot.

It pushes her forward. Outward. Sliding her toward him until she’s thrust and tangled in his arms with no memory at all of how she got there, or why their mouths feel so hot and wanton like this, so damn unsatisfied. It all seems impossible considering they’re still pressed together in a kiss that can only be described in one way: illicit.

“Not a word,” Rory pants when they stop and Jess pulls back, his jaw taut, his expression shuttered, to nod once understanding.

“Okay,” he says.

“Promise me.” The huskiness of her voice feels at odds with this demand, with the trembling fist she still has curled in the lapel of his jacket, but she cannot think about her stinging mouth or his tongue right now so she clings to desperation instead. “Can you do that?”

“Okay,” he repeats, all eyes, eyes, eyes. And with that single look, she forgets to breathe let alone digest anything he’s promised.

In the end, it’s an impulse that overtakes them not a decision. It’s a moment of clandestine passion they share, not a confession that will alter the circumstances any.

And yet it’s guilt, not regret, that begins to pull like an anchor in her belly until she’s running in shoes that chafe the back of her heels. It’s terror and confusion, not apology, that ripples along her nerve endings until she’s dashing through the trees like a coward or a swindler because she needs to believe behind her there’s still a haven of black and white she can cross with both feet.

Only when Rory stops does she feel the change. Does she discern the difference. It takes one sting, one breathless stitch in her side, for her to know she’s tumbled forward into color without noticing.

Looking down, and there it is. His name already singed across her chest in scarlet letters.

- iv. things we whispered on the hood of your car -

“Tell me something no else knows.”

“About what?” he asks around midnight the following April, the two of them sprawled on the hood of his car at a deserted rest stop off the I-95 on their way back from a concert in the city.

“You, silly.”

“Funny you’re thinking about penning my biography already, Churchill. I’m honored, truly, but aren’t I too young for that sort of enumeration?”

With a roll of her eyes plus a protracted har-har, Rory lifts their intertwined hands, watching, mesmerized, as their fingers thread then unthread as they lay side-by-side parked beneath the Big Dipper in this forsaken parking lot. Though they’ve been together about six months now, prying Jess open has been slow work. It’s like taking a crowbar to cement: one chip, one crack, one crumble at a time.

“Stop deflecting, Mariano,” she warns. “Evasion’s for chumps.”

“Fine,” he sighs. She presses a kiss of reward against his knuckles before curling tighter into his side. “How about this: every year roughly sixteen hundred people in New York City are bitten by other humans.”

“Bitten?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“That’s just it,” he says in his best horror story voice, “could be vampires, could be cranky commuters, could be urban mania or road rage…nobody knows.”

“Oh, please. As if I’d let you off the hook with that obvious dodge. You’re killin’ me here, Smalls!” Rory says with an elbow rib and tsk. “Second of all, you so made that biting thing up.”

When she edges her head back onto his shoulder to look at him, Jess drags his pointer finger down her forehead before bopping her affectionately on the nose, his expression neutral.

“Didn’t you?” He shrugs in that cute off-the-cuff way of his then smirks into her hairline. “That’s unbelievable!”

“It is what it is.”

“So, what,” she says as she throws her leg over his hip to lug him closer, her arm already stretched out across his middle, “is there a case of zombiepox going around that the CDC has neglected to inform us about? Because I’ve got to tell you if that’s so then I’ll need an inoculation ASAP, mister! Frazzled, bloodshot, and half-rotted is not a good look for me. It just isn’t.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Hey!” she exclaims.

“No offense, critter of Frankenstein,” he chuckles, absorbing her retaliatory swat with a grunt and rolling her further on top of him, “but I’ve seen you pre-coffee. It isn’t pretty. We’re talkin’ bolts out your neck, monster glares, frothing purple mouth and everything.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep up your running tally and you might find I bite you next. Rory the Ripper does have a nice alliterative ring to it—you best remember that,” she warns all narrowed eyes and silky breath and arms folded under her chin.

Jess cocks his left eyebrow, brushes his thumb over her bottom lip. “Idle threats don’t scare me, Gilmore.”

“They should.”

“Maybe.” A lazy grin forms at the edges of his mouth. “But yours don’t.”

“Fine,” she blows out a breath. With her head resting in the center of his chest, Rory fixes him with one long steady look, her voice dropping an octave lower as it drains free of sarcasm to assume a more serious edge. “Name one thing that does then. That scares you, I mean,” she says.

He doesn’t answer right away. In fact, he fidgets so long beneath her that by the time he settles with his hands clasped behind his head, lost in thought and translation, peering up at the sky, she’s half convinced that silence or deflection is the best she can hope to expect from him in reply.

Reticence is a quality she’s come to recognize in Jess. It’s one she can reflect back at him in part because they’re both cut from the same quiet, introspective cloth. However, it’s also one that restricts her access to his thoughts and feelings when she most wants it, and that can take a toll. Makes her wonder if they’re parked at different weigh stations in this relationship or not.

It’s bizarre to reconcile how she can understand him so well in some contexts, to the point where she can predict his next reaction or sense a good joke hanging in the periphery that's about to descend; while in others, he’s a total head-scratcher. Like a Sudoku puzzle with numbers that don’t add up to anything.

The silence between them continues to stretch. It becomes an awkward, formless wall.

The stillness, too, which is illuminated only by the light of the moon and the faint din of the car radio, hangs between them until he draws her up his body and folds her over him with a green plaid blanket. His fingers tracing languid strokes up and down her spine.

“Swans,” he says at last, his tone subdued. Scratchy. “Swans scare me.”

“What else?”

“Tennis balls. They’re too small and fast as they zip past. I hate how they can leave imprints on your face like ugly yellow snitches.”

“Okay then. Weird but fair. What else?” Rory asks all warmth and eagerness, her eyes searching his for something he wouldn’t want to slip free.

“Pennywise.” Though she snickers at that, it’s a valid fear. Clowns unsettle her, too. Evil ones especially. She’d had nightmares for eight months after she’d read Stephen King’s It for the first time, and had taken to sleeping with the bedside lamp on for years.

“Anything more?” she asks.

“Cricket bats.”

“Ooh-ho!” Poking him, “So Mrs. Kim got to you, did she?”

“Listen, I tried to be cool and unaffected but who knows what would’ve become of my head if she’d taken a swing with that thing?” Jess shudders at the same time she imagines Humpty Dumpty and laughs. “Jeez.”

“Things would’ve gotten messy,” she adds honestly.

He stalls a moment, then blinks back at her all wariness to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “How messy are we talking here?”

Rory cocks her head and bites the corner of her mouth, musing. “Think pumpkins.”

“Smashed ones?”

“Yep.”

“Figures,” he mutters miserably.

With an encouraging pat, “Don’t worry, I would’ve stepped in before Mrs. Kim buried your handsome yet indignant face beneath the floorboards or behind a brick wall in the catacombs with Fortunato. It’s the least I could do since I sort of like you and all.”

“Sort of?” Jess asks.

“Yeah. I’m no unreliable narrator girlfriend who'd escort you to your doom, you see. I’d much prefer to keep you,” she says with an adoring grasp and swivel of his chin, which he deflects by tickling her breathless as she bends down over him.

“Gee thanks, Casper. Nice to know you care about me.”

“Not about you exactly,” she teases, her flip-floppy giggles still piercing the air. “Just your head.”

That stops him. “My head, huh?”

“Sure.” Still a little breathless, she reaches toward him to fist her fingers through thick black tendrils along his nape. “It’s pretty.” She gives the strands a little tug. “Full of thoughts I’m hoping to pilfer for further study.”

“You know, I always thought there was some hoodlum in your DNA. Now I’m convinced,” he says as he leans over to commence the tickling again. “And you will pay."

The two of them continue to roll then thump against his windshield all elbows and knees until the levity starts to leaden and transform. As Jess reaches over to cup her cheek, their gazes meet in the silvery darkness and hold, kindling like flint.

Quiet washes over them again for a moment. Only this time, it’s bloated; it’s heavy. It’s a mess of a hundred thousand decipherable something’s teetering on the precipice of expression.

A flicker of alarm passes over his features as he frames her face with his hands, palms flat against the car. He hovers aloft, unsure. Indecision mixes with fear to tangle with retreat even as gravity beckons him nearer, his head dropping low enough for their foreheads to touch.

“I sort of like you, too, you know,” Jess breathes softly, his lips lowering to press against her mouth in a quick but lingering kiss. “A lot.” His jaw clenches. “Maybe too much.”

Suddenly there’s a tightrope pulled taut and vibrating in every direction because there’s no shrinking back from the dense electricity pulsating between them. There’s no more room to dance around unnamed emotion whenever it identifies itself in blown pupils, in a bobbing Adam’s apple, in hands that slip and slide until they fit together like aligning planets.

In that instant Rory knows. She knows right then and there she’s falling in love with him, that she’s half fallen already. And it’s both a revelation and a fact so natural she can feel the truth of it whistling from deep in her bones.

Looking nervous, vulnerable, more fragile than she’s ever seen him, he swallows hard then shifts to squint out at the shadowy tree line while scratching at his nape. “It’s just…so many people have treated me like garbage that all I know how to do is spoil things. I destroy, Rory—ruin what’s good. It’s what I do best. It’s all I know. I’m trying here and all, but I…don’t know how to do this,” he says, gesturing lamely between them. “How to do us right.”

“Hey now,” she thumbs his cheek, tries to turn his head back toward her but it won’t budge, and neither will he. “That’s my boyfriend you’re talking about. Go easy on him, will you?” He nods into her palm, softening a little. The tension leaves his body as he gathers her in his arms again, her head conforming to the crook of his neck, but she’s not convinced all is well yet.

“There’s no rulebook or anything,” Rory says placatingly. “We’ll figure it out together, okay? You and me.”

“Yeah.”

“We will,” she says with an emphatic, assuring squeeze. “I know we will.”

With a caustic laugh, a heavy sigh, he runs his teeth over his lip, “I’m a screw up, Rory.”

“Hey. Not true.”

“I am.” Jess sounds so resigned, so convinced, it ties her into knots thinking he sees himself that way.

“Not to me, you’re not.”

“No,” he says with a deadened inflection, with a sad downturn of his mouth. “Not to you.”

Frowning, she feels his cynicism, his self-deprecation, descend like a slash across the gut. Helpless to do anything but try to be a soft place for him and his insecurities to land, she pulls him toward her, embracing him, quieting him, caring for him more with each passing second even though a warning gong goes off in her heart when she leans in to steal another kiss.

“Maybe I’m not a screw up to you yet,” he whispers, “but I could be at another time. On another day.”

“Stop,” Rory declares forcefully, holding her finger against his lips so he knows she means it.

Jess relents. “Okay,” he sighs. “Just know I’ll get it if you change your mind.”

- v. things we cried out at a crossroads -

Strained.

Silent.

Distant.

Those are the best adjectives to describe the status of her and Jess’s relationship as the bus pulls away from the curb a couple weeks later. After the party from hell. From her place on the sidewalk, her chest full of a heaviness she can’t name, Rory stares after it - after him - with little to no regard for the hour’s lateness or for the morning bell which signals the start of homeroom.

It’s the middle of May. That means finals, graduation, and summer loom on the periphery but she doesn’t care. None of it resonates. In the background she can hear Paris barking orders at a few trembling freshman and minted sophomores, but she does nothing to intervene. She makes no move to prevent her frenemy’s yellow journalistic splatter from crushing the innocents to smithereens.

Instead, she watches the hum and bump of the vehicle’s dusty rubber wheels as they roll down the street. She tracks the plume of smoke swirling from the exhaust pipe into the sky, which clouds over with blacks and grays instead of with clearing blues and radiant yellows. She waits until the bus turns left, its engine loud, roaring, to putt around the corner. Disappearing from view.

I hope he calls later, she thinks with a pang, with an iota of hope. We need to talk soon.

Rory’s eyes want to keep traveling with him long after he’s gone. So do her feet. They seek to follow along wherever Jess has gone, to ride beside him until they’re able to make sense of this mess between them and fix it. Fix them again.

Unfortunately for them both, they don’t. And it’ll be some time before they can, let alone before they do.

#gilmore girls #gilmore girls fanfiction #literati #literati fanfiction #ggturns20 #gganniversaryweek #ashlee bree's writing endeavors #it needs editing #but hopefully it's not as awful as i'm imagining it to be #*bites knuckles and hides*

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