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ismokechurros · 3 years

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misunderstandings - ao3

When his mark first appeared, he hated it. He was five and didn't quite like that the first thing he would ever hear his soulmate say would be

"I'm sorry."

What did that mean? Would his soulmate hurt him? Would that be the very first thing they did? That can't bode well for a long term relationship.

Besides that depressing thought, another issue he had with it was how common it was. People apologized every day, how was he supposed to find her?

His first mistake was thinking it was his kindergarten teacher, who apologized after he ran into her feet. It was hard to explain to his parents why he got sent to the principal's office on his first day of school, hugging a teacher's leg and professing your undying love for them isn't exactly a common offense.

After that, he tried not to get too excited when he heard those words. And as time went by, he succeeded. Slowly, his head stopped shooting up everytime someone near him apologized, his heart rate stopped skyrocketing when a passerby said sorry, he grew to feel the general disdain and doubt most feel in accompaniment with apologies.

Those two, meaningless words scrawled at the top of his right bicep were left ignored and he went on forgetting they existed for the better part of 17 years.

----------

She was five when her mark appeared, too, though that seemed to be a common age for the mark's development so she wasn't exactly surprised. What she was surprised by was the

"You're okay."

now sprawled on the bottom right side of her neck. An odd place for an odd mark.

In her five-year-old indignation, she resented the fact that her mark was telling her what she was. She could be not okay if she wanted to be, who was her soulmate to tell her that she wasn't!

A stupid fight to pick, and one she dropped after about two minutes. That was how long it took before the girl next to Nancy screamed and then started crying. Apparently, Amy didn't like that the first words her soulmate would say to her would be asking for her starbucks order.

Nancy decided it could be worse.

---------

Working at The Claw can't be that bad, Nancy thinks as she enters the restaurant for her first day at work. She needs to get her mind off of her mother's death and making a few bucks in the process couldn't hurt. Plus, it would help ease the financial burden of college- if she still stood a chance of getting in, that is. Her senior grades (and attendance rate) weren't exactly "Columbia Material", no matter how good her essay was.

Walking from the door to the back room, Nancy makes sure to take into account everything she sees on the way. Two truckers eating greasy cheeseburgers at the counter; a woman drinking coffee alone at a table; a family celebrating their daughter's graduation in a booth. Another reminder of the life Nancy won't get to lead.

Reaching up, Nancy rubs the side of her neck where she knows, under several layers of foundation, there's a reminder that she's okay. Her soul mark has grown to be something of a saviour for her these past couple months. A reassurance everytime it seemed her demons were getting a little too close to snuffing out her light, her crutch at her most debilitating moments. Nancy thinks, whoever her soulmate is, they must be a decent person if they’re able to give her this much comfort.

“Drew! Your uniform’s in the back, I’m not paying you to stand there and look pretty! You did enough of that in high school!”

Ah yes, George. No matter how many times Nancy tries to proclaim her innocence, George refuses to believe she didn’t play a part in spreading the rumors that ruined her life in high school. And honestly, maybe she was right. Nancy may not have spread any rumors, but she definitely didn’t stop them. Maybe she does deserve George’s wrath. Besides, what’s another person added to the list of “People Nancy Drew Has Failed”. George can go right under her mom.

At this rate, she might need to put more foundation on her mark.

“Now, Drew!”

Eh, she’ll do it at lunch.

-----------

One month in and Nancy thinks she’s got the job down pat. She’s at least doing better than some people.

Dishes clatter in the kitchen as pots hit the floor.

“Oops! Sorry!”

Speak of the devil. Nancy goes to the kitchen to help Bess, because Bess has needed nothing but help since the day George gave her the job, but when she opens the door she's met with a peculiar scene.

Bess, the endearing clutz she is, is on the floor trying to pick up the pots but somehow making a bigger mess. Ace, on the other hand, is just staring.

Nancy hasn’t known Ace very long, hasn’t even talked to him directly, but from what she’s seen he’s at least helpful. He cleans up after himself, stays late to do inventory, cleans out the grease traps, all without complaining. Yet here he is, staring at Bess on the floor and doing nothing.

Nancy wants to call out, ask why he isn’t helping, or at the very least say excuse me on her way to help Bess collect the pans, but oddly enough she can’t find the words. She just stares at him with that confused look on her face.

It seems she doesn’t need to say anything, though. As if the question on her face was spoken aloud, Ace snaps out of his reverie and bends to help Bess. He’s smiling at her a little too much, and Nancy can tell where this is heading before he even opens his mouth. She decides to make a clean exit before she’s forced to watch him try and fail to shoot his shot with her royal waitress Bess.

------

Nancy just needs a minute. She needs a second to breathe. Serving her high school friends and having to listen to their patronizing and pitying tones while she can hear them laughing the second she turns around is not what she signed up for.

To make matters worse, she’s about one more rub away from her mark making its presence known and she doesn’t need the added stares today. She doesn’t quite understand the taboo of revealing your soulmark to others, but today may not be the best day to tackle generations worth of unnecessary forced modesty.

She rushes through the back door, the mocking sounds of laughter cut off as the door swings shut behind her. Apparently god isn’t on her side, though, because the second the door shuts, the freezer opens and Bess exits carrying boxes stacked a good foot higher than her. Boxes that topple over as she tries to close the freezer behind her.

Normally, Nancy would help Bess out. God knows she’s gotten used to it, and Bess is a nice enough girl that Nancy doesn’t totally hate doing it. But right now, the noise from the boxes is too loud and sounds suspiciously like laughter and Nancy can’t really breathe so she doesn’t think getting near the cold, thin air of the freezer is gonna help her.

And so she ignores Bess’ apologies and pleading eyes and instead barges through the backdoor, hoping to get some much needed air in the alleyway behind The Claw. Instead, she faceplants into a cotton cladded wall.

“I’m sorry.”

She maneuvers around the person she ran into, avoiding eye contact and desperate for some space. She reaches the wall across from the door and puts a hand on the cool brick hoping it’ll help ground her. Leaning forward against the wall, the other hand immediately goes to her neck.

“You’re okay.”

Suddenly, struggling to breathe is less of an issue than not breathing altogether.

Nancy slowly turns and stares at the man who she is destined to spend the rest of her life with.

Ace slowly blinks back.

“Are you okay?” He asks, concerned. Nancy can’t really respond, considering the fact that she can’t breathe.

“Woah, Nancy. You don’t look so hot.” Great, my soulmate thinks I’m ugly. Nancy urges herself to use her actual brain for a second instead of whatever it is she’s using now because obviously that one isn’t working.

Still, she says nothing. Ace takes the silence as an invitation to lean against the wall across from her. They continue to stare at each other; her like a deer in the headlights and him entirely too mellow for someone who just found their soulmate. Unless he didn’t.

That’s not a thought Nancy wants to have. But now that it’s out there, she can’t stop thinking about it. Does it work like that? Can the whole soulmate thing go unrequited? Some memory escapes the precipes of her mind, a brief chapter on soulmate history she had to read for class. It was her senior history class, so she didn’t really pay attention, but she does remember reading something in there about a rare percentage of the population that had one sided soul marks. She also remembers thinking about how sad of a life they must lead.

And it's not like she's wrong about this, especially since Nancy’s heart feels like it’s about to explode and she instinctively knows the only thing that can calm her down is standing there, staring at her with glazed eyes.

“Want one?” Ace asks, materializing a blunt out of seemingly thin air. “They always help calm me down.”

Now the glazed eyes make more sense. Nancy reaches for it without thinking, the brief touch of their fingertips as the weed changes hands works wonders for calming her down. She is finally thinking a little clearer, breathing a little easier. She stands taller and some of the tension escapes her body.

“See? Works wonders for the nerves.”

If he wants to attribute her abrupt demeanor shift to his weed, she won’t correct him. Instead, she thinks about how this is the first real time he has talked to her. She wishes it happened sooner, his voice reminds her of waves crashing on the shore and when he talks she thinks she’s found her happy place. She’s never hated herself more.

Taking a hit, she passes the blunt back to him and relishes in the little contact that brings about. How lame is it that she’s pining for a guy who is destined to be with someone else.

“You seem more relaxed now, if you wanted to talk about anything, I’m here.”

She does. She wants to talk about how she feels more at ease and safe with him, here in this alleyway, than anywhere else; how she hasn’t felt peace like this since her mom died; how he has a calming effect on her that she wishes she could use like a drug; how she’s scared it might become one.

But she can’t talk to him about that at all, because she knows that though her soul finds peace with his, his soul fits better with someone else's. She doesn’t want to guilt him into any half-assed relationship, figures it would be better to become his friend and get to experience the safety and comfort he exudes at a safe arms-length away.

Instead, she talks about the ways everything has gone wrong in the past year (she avoids bringing up how he could have been her first right thing in a while). He listens as he smokes through the whole blunt, his eyes getting heavier as she continues. She’s confident he won’t remember anything tomorrow, thankful she won’t have to explain her near-meltdown. But above all-else, she’s sad. She really is doomed to go through life alone, she doesn’t get anyone to help shoulder her pain. Maybe she doesn’t deserve it.

When she finishes her sob story, he thanks her for sharing it with him. She nods but doesn’t say anything, afraid of what she might reveal if she opens her mouth again.

“DREW!” An angry George calls from inside.

“That’s my cue.” She makes to leave but is stopped by an arm on her hand. She tries to ignore her heart screaming.

“Hey, I really liked talking to you. We haven’t really done that before.”

She nods, trying to make it seem like she just doesn’t want to talk and not like she physically can’t (not while he’s touching her).

He doesn’t let go, though. Instead, he stares at her with more consciousness in his eyes than she thought he would be capable of by now.

“You’re not alone. I don’t know why, but I feel like you need to hear that.” His voice is soft and quiet and warm, low tide at sunrise.

Nancy’s eyes widen (though her heart warms) and he let’s go. She heads inside without another word, hand rubbing her neck on the way in.

Nancy decides to invest in neck ties.

#ndcentral #plz tell me what you think #im desperate for validation #nancy drew #nace #ace x nancy #nancy x ace #soulmates #hiatus week one #also i dont know how to work this app #someone tell me how to post a preview #also please dont judge me too hard i TRIED #nace fanfiction

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

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Good Omens - Taking the Cake (Rated G)

Summary: When Aziraphale decides to host Warlock and Adam's 12th birthday down at his shop, he tells Crowley they'll be doing it without magic. That's all well and good until Crowley is called upon to finish decorating the cake... (1551 words)

Read on AO3.

“Ho there! Mmph... angel? Ngk... ” Crowley grunts, stuffing himself through one door of Aziraphale’s bookshop, the other holding stubbornly to its frame. He barely makes it through, lugging copious bags bulging with party gear, his long fingers curled around handles strained thin by the weight.

"In here, dear," Aziraphale replies, giving no indication that he's coming to help. Crowley picks an aisle and starts walking, navigating the narrow expanse between late 18th century classics and Roman philosophy.

“I got everything on your list," Crowley says when he spots his husband. "Goodie bags, balloons, streamers, poppers… “ He pauses inventorying when he comes up behind Aziraphale, deeply engaged in the creation of a buttercream rosette.

By hand, no less.

Aziraphale insisted they throw together this entire party like natives, and that meant no magic whatsoever. Crowley couldn’t understand why. Miracling together a party is literally a snap. They'd done it hundreds of times over the years. It's how they hosted their wedding.

With a snap.

That did, however, create a mountain of paperwork, which led to Gabriel and his henchmen finding out about their shindig and showing up uninvited. Surprisingly, they didn't cause much in the way of trouble. They snickered a little, made a few snide remarks, but they mostly spent their time "observing" from a table in a far corner, mingling with no one as if above it all.

Crowley tensed when they arrived, but having a few party crashers didn't go too badly... until the karaoke began.

“Is that the cake then?”

“Yes. I’m almost done.“ Aziraphale pinches his tongue between his teeth, steadying his hand as he adds a peony this time.

"It's gorgeous," Crowley says in awe. "Truly stunning."

"Thank you, my dear," Aziraphale says, glowing from his husband's praise.

"But... "

Aziraphale's shoulders instantly go rigid.

Crowley hates to do this to him. The cake really is a masterpiece of confectionary construction. But it needs to be said. "Warlock and Adam are turning twelve."

"And... ?"

"Don't you think they might appreciate something a bit more... I don't know.... befitting of a pair of former antichrists? Like a zombie with bleeding eyes? Or a raven with sharp, pointy teeth?"

Aziraphale glares over his shoulder at Crowley as if insanity has finally set in. "Ravens don't have teeth!"

"I know! That's why it would be terrifying! Right up their alleys!"

Aziraphale shakes his head, going back to his peonies. "This is a birthday cake! Not a Halloween cake! Besides, I only know how to make flowers. Anything else would require magic, and you know how I feel about that. Besides, I'm certain they only care about the insides anyway, and it's crammed full of chocolate. I don't think they'll mind a crocus or two."

"Fair enough," Crowley concedes.

The clock in the corner chimes, and Aziraphale sighs. He looks over at it, then double-checks the time on his pocket watch. Crowley checks the time on his watch, too, although he doesn't know what for.

"Three o'clock," Aziraphale observes. "Damn."

"Wot's wrong?"

"I’m afraid I’m running a bit behind.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Crowley asks, piling his sacks on a nearby chair.

“As a matter of fact, I have to pop out for a few," Aziraphale says, handing Crowley the piping bag, "but this cake needs one final touch.”

“And that is?” Crowley holds the bag between his fingers the way he would a dead rat, wary that he might be called upon to construct the same delicate flowers Aziraphale has. Without his magic, Crowley doesn't have anything near Aziraphale's talent with icing.

Warlock and Adam may just get a gruesome cake after all.

“I just need it to say 'Happy Birthday Warlock and Adam'.” Aziraphale bustles about, grabbing his coat off the tree and throwing it on. “The handwriting doesn't need to be immaculate, just legible. Could you do that for me?”

“Pfft. No problem," Crowley says, secretly perceiving a problem. "Piece of… “

Aziraphale stops on his way out the door to give his husband an exasperated look. Crowley snickers.

“Well, you know,” Crowley finishes, shooing Aziraphale out the door. "Ta-ta now. Mind how you go."

***

"Damned antique dealers and their damned negotiations! Ignorant bast---" Aziraphale stops short of cursing. It doesn't matter what happened, which was extremely upsetting. There is no need for bad language. He hurries down the crowded sidewalk, going over the details of the past hour-and-thirty in his head. "I was doing them a favor, and look how I'm repaid! I'm late to the party I'm hosting! There's a fine how-do-you-do! Ungrateful humans! See if I stop another Apocalypse for you, in your tacky grey suits and your cheap pointy shoes... "

Aziraphale stomps up to his door, keys in hand, but stops outside when he hears laughter on the other side. He peeks through the dusty glass, and his shoulders sag.

The party is for the kids. He knows. But he was so looking forward to celebrating with everyone from start to finish. That and he didn't think he'd take this long, so he neglected to relocate his first editions somewhere secure.

He fears for their safety.

Icing is notoriously difficult to get out of parchment and ligament, even through the use of miracles.

He should have never taken that stupid meeting to begin with. He had a feeling it wouldn't pan out.

Oh well.

No need wasting any more time on that than already has, he thinks, bucking up and unlocking the door. Time to stop feeling sorry for myself and start celebrating while I still have the chance...

Aziraphale takes a step in, ready to announce his arrival, but stops dead when he hears jazzy scatting in a sonorous voice.

A voice that doesn’t belong to anyone he knows.

Aziraphale walks in further, scanning those gathered, and makes a minor correction to his original assessment - doesn’t belong to any human that he knows. His eyes blow wide, his cheeks burn red, and his husband's name explodes off his tongue before he even opens his mouth.

"Anthony J. Crowley-Fell!"

Aziraphale doesn't say anything other than his name and Crowley starts apologizing. "I'm sorry, angel!" he says, running across the shop to greet him, but not looking the least bit sorry.

"I gave you one task!" Aziraphale bellows, snapping his fingers and slamming the door shut, his no-magic edict flying out the window. "Just one little thing! And you couldn't do it!"

"I'm no good at writing!" Crowley defends with the shadows of an infuriating grin on his face. "My hand gets all wobbly! I didn't want to risk ruining any of your lovely flowers!"

Aziraphale, splotchy-faced and buggy-eyed, glowers. "You couldn't write a simple Happy Birthday, so you enchanted the entire cake!? That was your brilliant plan!?"

"I'm a demon! Of course, that was my plan!"

"Crowley!"

"They showed up right after you left! I had no time! I panicked!"

Aziraphale drops his head into his hands, shaking it slowly back and forth. Crowley reaches out to put a comforting hand on his husband's shoulder until he hears him counting backward from one hundred... in Akkadian. Then he creeps his hand to his side and quietly steps off.

Aziraphale breathes in deep through his nose and out through his mouth, struggling to ground himself. He has no one to blame but himself. That's the painful part. In the back of his mind, he knew something like this might happen.

He's impressed it isn't worse.

He should have never left his husband alone.

Next time, he'll hire a sitter.

Aziraphale continues counting, continues breathing, and as he does, he pays more attention to the goings-on around him.

The cake singing is quite unsettling, but the children are gleeful, the adults joyful. Joking, teasing, and enthusiastic conversation fill the spaces in between.

Much like their wedding reception, except there isn't an archangel in sight.

And Crowley's magic was instrumental in making that day memorable.

Maybe Aziraphale overreacted with that 'no magic' rule. Crowley's face fell when Aziraphale told him they'd be hosting the boys' birthday at his bookshop sans magic, but he'd recovered quickly. The streamers and balloons Crowley managed to toss on the walls look plenty festive, but they don't compare to what could have been had Aziraphale allowed Crowley to tap into his imagination.

Their guests are having a grand time despite the modest decor, but it could have been so much more. They are an angel and a demon! Between the pair of them, they could have whipped up a true spectacle, if for no other reason than they still owe poor Warlock after last year's fiasco.

What would have been the harm of calling upon a little divine intervention?

An alarming thought pops into Aziraphale's brain, and his head snaps up. “They’re going to cut into that, you know. Is that when the enchantment ends?”

“Nope.” Crowley rubs his palms together. “That’s when the fun begins.”

"Uh... "Aziraphale's jaw drops. "Good Lord," he moans, Crowley cackling when Adam runs to fetch the cake cutter. Aziraphale's mind whirls with thoughts of what fun could imply, but there's no time to ask. While Crowley starts laying a drop cloth, Aziraphale puts his coat away and relocates his favorite books into his back room for safekeeping.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 4 years

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NSFW (whole alphabet) for Captain Rex? 🥺🥺

A/N: Hell yes! Sorry this took so long for me to get to. I love Rex so much, words cannot describe. I hope to do my favorite Captain justice. And as a reminder, REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS!!! These take just as much time as drabbles and the tags hate me.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Can you say, soft? Because Rex is soft. He’ll do whatever you ask; run a bath, rub your sore muscles, hold you close, whatever you want. He is the sweetest man after sex.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Rex honestly has a hard time picking his favorite part about you. His first instinct is to say your legs, but then he thinks about it and say the part where your legs meet your back. Actually, that whole area. That, and above it...

For himself, Rex is actually really proud of his back. You’ve playfully giving him a few wolf whistles when you’ve seen him doing pull ups without a shirt on. He knows he’s strong and if the way your nails dig into his back when he takes you against a wall is any indication; you appreciate his strength too.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He always ends up leaving a mess whenever he cums. From lack of experience, he hasn’t quite got the timing down on pulling out and so it often spills half inside you, some on your skin and some on the mattress. There are times you wonder if he does it on purpose. There have been a few times he openly moaned at the sight of his cum dripping down your inner thigh.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He does cum in a mess on purpose. He apologizes every time and helps clean you up. However, that doesn’t stop him from getting hard all over again at the sight of you blissed out of your mind and stained with his cum.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

We’re going to say none before you. Like seriously. I don’t know where is Dom-Captain Rex came from in the fandom, but that is not this man’s M.O. His devotion is 110% to the GAR and we see how awkward he gets in social situations outside anything having to do with the army or his brothers.

So, yeah, Captain Rex is a virgin the first time you have sex. You cannot convince me otherwise. Luckily for you, he’s also a man who learns and adapts quickly. ;)

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

You on your back with your legs draped over his arms as he pounds into you. He gets a perfect view of everything; your bouncing tits, your eyes, the way his cock slides in and out of you, plus the option to grab hold of the headboards and really go to down.

A close second is pinning your back against the wall with your legs wrapped around his waist. He loves the feeling of your nails down his back as he fucks up into you. And gravity does the work for him when he pulls out and sees his cum going down your leg.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It takes him a while to loosen up in bed. When you guys first start having sex it’s like he’s on a recon mission; what works, what doesn’t, testing his own endurance as well as yours, that kind of thing. It’s only when he gets a full inventory on how to make you feel good as well as himself does he start cracking jokes. It’s not the norm, but it reaches about 30%.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He doesn’t really do much down there until he meets you, besides keeping it clean. After you guys start sleeping together, he starts to trim it down and experiment a bit. He even shaved all the hair off at one point, but you assured him he didn’t need to.

Also, he had dark hair down there. No, he is not bleaching his pubic hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Rex is focused on you the entire time. He wants you to know he’s paying attention to you and listening to your wants and needs. It’s more a sliding scale of how emotional it can get, often depending on how much of his own emotion and tension he’s keeping bottled up.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He’s done it plenty of times before he met you and continues to do it after you get together; his fantasies now just focus on you and you exclusively. Privacy is an issue in the GAR so often he has to wait late at night to get the showers to himself. However, he prefers it when he gets a chance to take the time alone in his own bed. It’s really the best way he knows to fully relax without you there beside him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Rex is still exploring his kinks, but he’s finding he gets a certain thrill out of cum play. Eating you out with his cum still in your pussy is not something he’d ever thought he’d enjoy until one night he couldn’t help himself and ended up cumming on the mattress while you came again on his tongue.

And, I’m just going to put this headcanon to bed. CAPTAIN REX IS NOT A DOM, HE IS A SWITCH!!!

Yes, he likes it when you call him Captain or Sir in bed. Yes, he likes giving you orders and having you obey them to the letter. But if you’re telling me he doesn’t get off to the idea of you riding his face and using his body in any way you choose to find your own pleasure; then you and I are not talking abut the same character.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Your apartment Like I said, privacy is an issue on more GAR ships. The Clones have quarters on Coruscant, but it lacks the personality of your place, not to mention you have thicker walls. It also means he’s off duty and doesn’t have to be worried of being call to the bridge at any given moment. He can fully relax and focus on you and himself.

Now when it comes to where in your apartment, literally anywhere to a flat surface. He’s not picky.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You calling him “sir” or “captian” in public. To give him some credit, it’s not only the words, so much as how you say them. If you say, “yes, sir” like you’re out of breath or worse, if you look up at him through heavy eyelids, he’s going to need a minute to straighten himself out.

There’s also this spot just on the edge of his hairline on his neck that melts him. All you have to do is brush that spot with your finger or your lips and he’s going to groan.

And cliche, but I have to say it; any time he sees you kick droid ass or even just verbally destroy somebody in a debate. Your his cyar’ika and he’s going to let you do whatever you want to him that night.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Water play. He found it by accident when researching different stuff to try. He thought it would be like shower sex and it’s...not. The moment he realized what it was he was disgusted and told you immediately that was going on the “no” list.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Split 50/50 between preferring to give or receive. God knows how many times he’s gotten himself off to the image of your lips wrapped around his cock. He loves how your fingers dig into his thighs as you take him all the way into your mouth. And seeing cum drip down your lip is enough to get him hard again in seconds.

On the other hand having your perfect thighs wrapped around his head as you fuck is face is as close to heaven as he can imagine. He can stay inbetween your legs for hours reveling in your taste and the way your tremble around him every time he makes you cum. His current record is making you cum three times in the row with just his tongue and fingers before you pushed him away just so you could breath.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He can do either or, but he leans more on the rough side. No matter how slow he might start, by the end he’s gripping your thighs like a vice and pounding into your cunt as he loses all sense of control.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Only if he knows he’ll get to have you all to himself later that night. He thinks of quickies as just a preview of what’s the come, rather than a done deal.

That all being said, he’s not keen on them. For one, he doesn’t want to risk getting caught. Two, he would never, ever, have a quickie while on duty. Which leads to three, if he’s already off duty he might as well take you to bed right now.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Like I’ve said, Rex lacks a lot of experience, but he’s adaptable and a fast learner. You guys have a list of different things you want to try and are slowly working your way down, checking what you like and crossing out ones you don’t.

The only thing he won’t risk is getting caught in the act. For one, he would never hear the end of it from the rest of the 501st. And second, he thinks it would reflex negatively, not only on himself as a solider but on the rest of the GAR.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

As a genetically enhanced soldier, his stamina is insane. Granted, it takes him a while to hold off his own orgasm the first few times you have sex. But, his recovery time is amazing.

He’s good for about three rounds on an average night and once he gets the hang of things, he can make those three rounds last hours.

Your current record is him cumming five times in one night while you lost count once you reached the double digits.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Captain Rex would not be caught dead having any toys with him. Not in his bunk, not in his apartment on Coruscant, not anywhere. He cannot imagine how he’d explain that to anyone if they found out.

However, you have a perfectly nice little collection at your apartment. You guys have been experimenting.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He tries, but he’s not good at it. When he gets into his, “Captain” mode, he does like the idea of keeping you on the edge, but it never lasts. As soon as you buck your lips and the first little, “please” leaves your lips, he’s done. He has to give you everything.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not quiet, but he’s not going to scare the neighbors. He’s a talker, surprisingly. It’s like whatever filter he has as a commander just slips away the moment he buries himself inside you. He praises how you feel. He mumbles curses and promises until they turn into delirious grunts and groans just before he cums.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Everyone in the 501st knows you guys are fucking the moment you start, even if Rex never tells anyone anything. He is terrible at hiding his feelings toward you. Add that to the fact both Fives and Jesse noticed the not so subtle hickies all over his body, and it’s not hard to guess where he got them from.

Rex denies it whenever it’s brought up, but everyone knows the truth.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again; EVERY SINGLE CLONE IS HUNG WITH A THICK EIGHT INCH DICK! And since all of them don’t really have a frame of reference as to what’s “big” or not, they all assume they’re average size (at least until they get someone in bed).

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Not crazy high, but after he meets you it’s like his sex drive just triggered into over drive. It could also be because you guys are apart so often. But, either way you’re having sex almost every night you’re together. Maybe after the war things will calm down, but not before then.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Almost as soon as you guys finally decide to call it a night. He’s fallen asleep a few times while in the bathtub with you, is all I’m saying.

#captain rex #captain rex x reader #star wars #the clone wars #star wars imagine #the clone wars imagine #lemon

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elisela · 4 years

Text

marry me, eddie diaz buck x eddie, fluff, for @madamewriterofwrongs who wanted a domestic proposal

He’s never agreeing to take another half-shift immediately after a 24 hours shift again. It’s been suspiciously quiet; it’s not uncommon to go through days where he’s man-behind because ninety percent of the calls are med-only, but he’s crawling his way towards hour thirty-one and at this rate his eyes will turn to dust by the time the clock decides to idly tick over to 9:00pm and he gets to leave.

There’s nothing left for him to do. He’s stocked all the med kits, taken inventory of the supplies in the closet, chopped up every single vegetable in the refrigerator and searched the internet high and low for a new shopping list for Bobby, one with everything he could possibly need typed out neatly so Buck didn’t have to try to decipher his untidy scrawl next time they went to the grocery store. He’s gone through instagram, facebook, reddit—every social media site until the images and text bled together and he was stuck in an endless cycle of scrolling.

“Buckley!”

He rolls his head towards the back of the couch when he hears his name shouted from downstairs, frowning, because it sounds like Eddie, but Eddie had left at 9:00am with a pitying look and a clap on Buck’s back, but—

It is Eddie, standing at the foot of the stairs with Chris, and—

“Oh, no way,” he says, happily launching himself off the couch and stumbling in his haste to get down the stairs. Maybe he should take the pole, that would be faster. He grabs Chris up under the arms, squeezing him tight, and doesn’t bother to control the look of complete adoration on his face. “You brought Moo’s. Eddie. This is amazing, I wanted barbecue so bad this morning—”

“I know you did, I was there when you wouldn’t stop talking about it,” Eddie says, grinning. “Come on, Chris threw some blankets in the back of the truck, let’s go eat outside before an alarm gets you.”

“Dad got key lime pie,” Chris whispers in his ear as they head out, and Buck turns towards Eddie and beams.

“Eddie Diaz,” he says, “I’m going to need you to marry me.”

Eddie laughs, loud and sweet. “You’re not getting my slice, Buck.” But he leans over and presses a kiss to Buck’s cheek once they get into the truck bed, so Buck figures it’s a start.

Eddie curses beside him, a sudden, forceful exhale calling Buck’s attention, and he looks over sleepily. “Sup, Eds?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Eddie shakes his head. “I forgot Chris had a check-up this morning and I double-booked. The tire place had a last minute opening and I’ve been putting it off long enough, it’s not really safe to drive on them anymore—”

“So take my Jeep,” Buck says, knocking his knee against Eddie’s. “Problem solved.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says. “I’ll call and cancel—”

He frowns. “Eddie,” he says, shaking his head, “you take Chris, I’ll take the truck in. It’ll be, what, two hours tops? I’ll just meet you at your place to switch cars when everything is done. Not like I’ve got much else to do.”

“Right, not like you usually nap after a shift,” Eddie says, raising an eyebrow. “I can’t ask you—”

“You didn’t,” Buck says. “I offered. Come on, Eds, let me do this for you.”

There’s a pause, and Eddie’s hand lands on his thigh, squeezing, and a thrill runs up Buck’s spine. “Thanks, Buck,” he says. “Not sure what I would do without you sometimes.”

“Me neither,” Buck agrees, grinning. “You should probably lock me down and marry me already before all this is snapped up by someone else.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Eddie laughs. “How about we start with forgetting the ‘your place’ and ‘my place’ thing and just make it our place? Then it would be easier—”

Buck twists and lets himself fall, grabbing onto Eddie and bringing him down on the couch with him—not something he’s supposed to be doing at work, but his boyfriend just asked him to move in and he figures that surely the explanation will get him a pass this one time. “I don’t need convincing,” he says, kissing Eddie on the nose before ducking his head down and pressing their lips together softly. “If you’re asking, I’m in.”

“What do you mean, you need your credit card?” Eddie asks with a frown. “You’re supposed to be doing your taxes, not shopping.”

“I need to pay to file it,” he says, gesturing at the laptop, and pulls his hands away when Eddie turns the screen towards himself.

“Buck,” he sighs, “you’re single—”

“Hey!”

Eddie gives him an unimpressed look. “You file your taxes as single—idiot—you don’t have any dependants—although maybe I should just try to claim you as one this year, God knows you need someone looking out for you—no investments—”

“You don’t know that,” Buck says, even though Eddie’s right. He could have investments, he just—doesn’t.

“—all you need is a 1040A, and you shouldn’t be paying for that,” Eddie says over him. “Look, just give me your documents and I’ll do it for you, okay?”

Well, insults or not, Buck isn’t going to turn the offer down. “You’re amazing,” he says, and he closes the laptop and tosses it onto the couch next to him. “I should put a ring on you before it’s too late. Let’s drive to Vegas tonight and get married, it can be really classy, we can get Elvis and everything.”

There’s a long silence, and then, “you do that a lot,” Eddie says, looking over at him strangely.

“I do what a lot?”

“Ask me to marry you,” Eddie says. “I know it’s just a joke, but I feel like—” he stops and shakes his head, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck.

“Feel like?” Buck prompts, when it’s obvious that Eddie’s not going to continue on his own, and adds “don’t say it doesn’t matter,” when Eddie opens his mouth again, because he knows exactly how this conversation usually goes. “Come on, Eds. You feel like what? Pressured?”

“No,” Eddie says, quietly but firmly, looking down, “no, I feel like—I wish you would mean it.”

Buck’s always figured that when people say something caught them by surprise and they stopped breathing that they were exaggerating, but it’s only the way his throat starts to burn after a few seconds that reminds him to pull a breath in. “I do mean it,” he says, reaching over and taking Eddie’s hand, tugging until Eddie’s eyes meet his. “I meant it every time.”

Eddie smiles and shakes his head. “We weren’t even together when you started,” he says. “You asked me to marry you after our third shift together, after I let you borrow my shirt.”

“I still meant it,” Buck says. “If you had said yes—Eddie, I would have printed off the papers for a license and filed it before you even had time to regret it, I swear.”

“Funny that you think I’d regret it,” Eddie says, squeezing his hand. “But, uh, if you’re asking, then—”

“No,” Buck blurts out, and Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. “No, not that—yes. I’m—I will ask. Soon. But you deserve better than this, just sitting here talking about taxes, God, Eddie, no.”

“This,” Eddie says, waving a hand around, gesturing between them, “is us, Buck. I don’t need anything more than that.”

He squeezes Eddie’s hand—too tight, probably, but God, he loves him. “Maybe not,” he says, “but I want to do the whole speech and everything for you, so just let me. Saturday, okay? 8pm. I’ll ask you then.”

Eddie looks at him for a moment, lips pressed together, tongue pushing his cheek out like he does when he’s trying not to laugh. “Alright,” he says. “And I’ll say yes at 8:01pm.”

#buddie #buddie fic #911fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #proposal #fluff #just so much smushy-wushy love

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willddheartt · 3 years

Text

24 Days | Wilbur Soot

30 days to fall in love with someone? Sounds easy right? It would be if that person wasn’t so unbelievably annoying in almost every sense.

You’re not sure how you found yourself in this situation, but you were positive there was no backing out now…

Series Warnings: Mostly fluff and angst, and a very poorly constructed enemies to lovers plot.

Word Count: 1685

Masterlist Series Masterlist

24 Days

It was Friday, you were in the middle of doing your two-hour-long stream that you did every Friday. Since you took weekends off from your own streams you did a long one every week. It worked out, you seemed to get a lot more views on Friday anyways. All the donos seemed to ask about you and Wilbur, you forced a smile to tell everyone you guys were well and that you’re very happy together. The viewers seemed to be happy with your responses and didn't catch you falter. You were on the DreamSMP cleaning up things and repairing things from any creeper explosions, as having holes in the walkways annoyed you to no end because it didn't look pleasing to the eye. Many ties you were passed by Fundy, Tubbo, and even Tommy. The in-game chat stated to be spammed by Tommy, VC 2 VC 2 VC 2 over and over again.

“Well chat, let’s see what Tommy wants,” You giggled and switched to discord. “Hello Tommy,” You smiled, wondering what type of shenanigans he was up to today, you noticed he was also streaming so you knew it was something that was going to be very entertaining to the stream. “Y/N!” He yelled “Tommy!” You yelled back, matching his energy. “How do you do?” His sudden calm tone almost made you burst into a fit of laughter. “I do well, Thomas. What are you up to tonight?” You asked, smiling to yourself when using his full name. “Well, you see, Y/N. See here’s the thing. I am out of supplies, I don’t even have iron to my name Y/N-” “Do you want me to help you get some?” You offered, cutting him off “Well, actually I was hoping you could just give me some.” “Tommy,” You laughed, “That’s- unfortunately, that not how it works my friend.” You paused, taking a sip of your water, “I am more than willing to help you go mining, I know a pretty good spot actually, but I’m not going to just give you stuff for nothing.” “C’mon Y/N you could write it off your taxes as a charity donation,” You had to give it to him, although Tommy could be annoying at times he was so effortlessly funny, you were almost certain that he didn't even have to try.

“Ah yes, hang on let me see what I have to give to Tommy’s charity fund,” You laughed, looking through your inventory, pondering for a few moments, making it look like you were going to give him half your stack of iron only our stream before clicking to the three seeds you’d picked up some time ago and throwing them at his feet. His character's head went from looking at you to the seeds, then back to you and back to the seeds again, you pulled up his stream on your other monitor so you could see his face, trying so hard to not burst out into laughter when you saw his unamused look.

Feeling bad you pulled up a donation, giving Tommy Five bucks so the text-to-speech would work, “Tommy Charity Fund.” You sent and waited for it to go through. He paused, hearing the dono tts voice, before looking back up at you in the game. “Fuck you,” He said running away. You couldn't suppress your laughter any longer and it all fell out at once, chat exploded into laughter and emotes, everyone found it hilarious.

A few seconds after you were still in the voice chat with Tommy, he had ventured off to go mining, I guess stealing from people wasn't going well. Since the last war, nobody has really been gathering supplies, taking a break from the lore to just get things done around the server. Tommy still bringing up the ‘charity fund’ you found it hilarious.

“You’re a bitch you know that,” He mumbled, you knew he was only joking, with Tommy you never took anything to heart, if he had a true problem with you, you know he would message you privately. “Tommy,” Wilbur's voice came over discord, making you jump slightly. “Hi Wilbur,” He said, sounding like a little kid when their mom gets them in trouble. “Apologize to Y/N.'' Wilbur's voice was playful, yet stern, sounding exactly like the older brother who was put in charge of his younger siblings.

After a second, you could see Tommy bow his head on his stream that was still pulled up on your other monitor. “Sorry, Y/N. You’re not a bitch.” He said “It’s okay Tommy,” You chuckled “Thank you.” Spoke Wilbur before leaving the voice chat.

You and Tommy stayed on call until his stream ended. You were left alone, talking to your chat. Without anyone else there to keep a consistent conversation you started to daze off, forgetting you were on stream, yawning and leaning forward onto your desk. Your back hurt from how long you’d been sat in front of the monitor.

Your discord made a noise again, but this time you didn’t bother tabbing out to see who had joined. “Hey, Y/N,” Wilburs soft voice came across your headphones “Will,” You smiled, sitting up “You look tired, how long have you been up?” He asked

You looked at the clock, it was only 11 PM but you could have sworn it was later. “Since one,” “AM or PM?” Will asked You looked down, “AM,” You mumbled. “You should go to bed,” He said You sighed, knowing he could break you eventually, as your eyelids were drooping shut and your eyes were burning. “Its not even that long, Wil, I’m fine.” You argued

“How long have you been streaming?” Wilbur asked “I’m almost at my five hour mark, I’m like forty-five minutes away,” “End your stream early and get ready for bed than we can chat,” His voice was soft and warm speaking over your stream, your chat exploded, loving Wilbur and you together. “But I’m so close, just a few more minutes,” You sighed, tabbing out of your game and switching the stream to a full face cam. “I’m sure they wont mind if you end a little early, you've been streaming for a while, love.” He continued, slowly wearing you down. “I can even entertain your chat for a bit while you go get ready for bed, or even make yourself a cup of tea, then when you come back, it will be close enough that you can end the stream, how does that sound?” You sighed, knowing he had won. You looked at chat and back to the timer of how long you've been on stream, “Okay.” You nodded.

“Alright Chat, I’m sorry for ending early but you heard the man. Next week will be extra long to make up for this, I promise.” You said, looking at the chat, everyone was spamming ‘goodnight’ and ‘goodbye’ “It was nice spending this fine evening with you all, but I must go now, I will see everyone Monday. Bye!” You ended stream

“Hi, Wilbur,” You smiled to yourself after ending stream “I’m going to call your number now, and you can go get ready for bed, okay?” He said “Alright, Wil,” you nodded, closing all the windows you had open on your pc.

After shutting everything off you grabbed what you needed and went to the bathroom. Wilbur called you halfway through taking your makeup off, you had eyeliner smudged all around your eyes when you answered his facetime. When his face popped up on your screen, he was wearing his glasses and a big smile, his hair was a mess and he was already in bed.

“Getting ready for bed?” He asked, as if he didn't already know. “Of course,” You shook your head, leaning closer to the mirror making sure you had all the bits of makeup taken off before washing your face with warm water Picking up your phone you held up a peace sign, making Wil laugh and attempt to take a sneaky screenshot. “Hey, no, delete that, I look terrible.” You quickly argued after hearing the noise. “You do not.” He was fast to respond. “You look refreshed, you're glowing.” you shook your head at him as you walked back to your room through the dark house.

Your roommate had already gone to bed, close to an hour ago. You were always the last person up, being an internet person with many American friends who are in a different time zone and a night owl at heart. You flopped down into your soft pillows, pulling your duvet over yourself and propping your phone up on your laptop so you could still see Wilbur and he could see you. You pulled the corner of the blanket up to hide your face.

“Don't do that, I want to see your face,” Wilbur frowned. “No you don’t,” You shook your head “Yes,” He spoke, “I do.” You moved the blanket so it wasn't all the way covering your face but it was still pulled up enough that your shoulders were covered. “You realize next week you’ll be here for your stream?” Wilbur said. “I do now,” You pinched the bridge of your nose, “I’m sorry, I didn't think of that,” “Its okay, you can stream from my computer,” He smiled. “It will surprise chat,” “Oh my god, can you imagine, they're going to go crazy,” You chuckled “They will,”

Wilbur continued to tell you about how he was truly getting excited to have you meet him in person, but his soft voice had been lulling you to sleep, your eyelids struggling to stay open and your warm bed weighing you down. Eventually you were out. Wilbur didn't notice until he asked you a question and did not respond. Your laptop screen was still shining light on you, and he saw you were asleep against the black screen, smiling at you. He snuck another screenshot, making sure the sound was off this time.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He said sweetly before getting comfortable in bed himself and slowly drifting off.

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skullrock · 4 years

Text

the young lovers - Steve x Reader

pairing: Steve x Reader

request: I was thinking of Steve and Reader having immediately been attracted to one another and had a first sexual encounter kind of spur of the moment. and while they really like each other and want to go on dates, they also have a very hard time resisting not just bonking each others brains out because it is very fun. I'm wondering if you could write something that plays with that tension, really affectionate and teasing, also probably smutty cus we out here. anyways, bye, i love you!

summary: Being with Steve brought a lot more sex than you ever thought possible.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: smut n swearin’

a/n: I regret nothing

=====

If you had a bucket list of all the weirdest and inappropriate places to have sex, you’d have crossed them all off within a few months of seeing Steve.

Diner bathroom? Check.

Movie theater bathroom? Check.

Pretty much any bathroom in the Hawkins area? Check.

Tourist attractions? Yep.

Shower? Of course.

You tried not to – you really did. You tried to just talk for one date, just one date. But Steve looked so god damn cute all the time, doing anything, eating anything, wearing anything.

It would start pretty innocently. A cute dinner date. He is telling you about his life, something silly he did when he was 5, and he giggles. That’s all it took for you to go to the bathroom, him meeting you there a few minutes later, going completely crazy while leaning against the sink.

You weren’t reckless, of course. Well, maybe a bit. But not too reckless.

“We can’t keep doing this,” you moan as he kisses harshly and quickly down your neck, tugging at your shirt for it to come off.

“I don’t see why not,” he mumbles into your skin, gripping onto you, soaking every part of you in. He’d throw your leg around his waist and run his hand down to your underwear.

“You’re right,” you laugh, and he laughs back, and you both pause to stare into each other’s eyes before he continues, saying “I love you” without ever having it leave your lips.

You’re at the movies, and the two main characters would kiss, and you look over at Steve while he looks at you, and that’s all it takes for you both to speed home and jump each other’s bones, giggling the entire time. You wonder in the morning how the movie ended, and Steve offers to take you to see it again, but you both knew you’d never ever finish it.

You visit Steve while he is working a closing shift, offering to help him put away the new inventory while Robin spends the night with her girlfriend.

He bends over to put a few movies on the bottom row and you walk by, smacking his ass, earning a surprised yelp from him. You keep walking to another aisle, putting away some comedy movies. He comes up behind you suddenly, pressing against you while reaching up to put a movie away – it definitely didn’t belong there, but it didn’t matter, as long as you felt him behind you. He walks away as quickly as he came, winking at you while you look after him, brows furrowed and heart racing.

A few minutes later, you emerge before him with a VHS in your hand. You throw it carelessly behind you, looking back and saying, “Oops!” before bending down and picking it up, your shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of skin. Steve swallows hard, ears turning red, and you straighten.

“You’re killin’ me,” he says, voice hoarse, feeling the strain in his pants.

“You’re saying that like there’s nothing you can do about it,” you reply innocently, looking around. “I don’t see anyone here.”

“Are you crazy? I’m on the clock.”

“That’s too bad,” you tsk, walking past him to grab a few more movies, but he grabs you and pushes you against one of the display shelves.

“Jesus!” you laugh, “You’re going to make this topple over, dude –“

He pulls away, looking stressed, as if there isn’t a back room with a table. You grab his hand and pull him into the break room, clothes off in seconds, and you’re back at square one with him – fucking instead of doing anything productive.

“If I’m on the clock while we fuck, is it technically prostitution?” he asks when you finish, and although it makes your eyes roll painfully, it also reminds you of how much you like him.

Back at the movies with Dustin and Robin, having to leave midway because you’re “not feeling well” when in reality, you’re feeling great, just very horny. Steve’s hand resting on your knee, the warmth of it radiating up, thinking about what he must be thinking about while his fingers rub circles onto the fabric of your pants – it was a bit much. One shared look is all it takes for Steve to lean over to your friends, explaining that you don’t feel well, despite no words being shared between you. Robin and Dustin would raise their brows and share a look.

“Be right back,” you say, strained, and Steve would help you out of the theater with his hand on your lower back, both of you giggling and getting a few harsh shhh!’s thrown your way.

“Young love,” Robin says, shrugging to Dustin. “You’ll get it one day.”

Steve takes you to the quarry with a picnic. It’s sunset, and he knows just the place. He wants this date to be good – he’s going to tell you he loves you right when the sun hits the horizon, tinting everything a spectacular golden color. He packs some healthy stuff, a bottle of cheap champagne from the supermarket. You both dress up for the occasion and you are giddy the entire way there. Finally, a night of just you two, talking – no banging allowed, as you both agreed upon.

You talk and laugh, teasing each other, just like always. You’d been together for a while now, and each day, you get happier. You don’t know if you believe the concept of soulmates, but Steve must be yours. It’s like your souls have always known each other. His hands always fit perfect in yours, lips always fit nicely against yours – other things fit nicely, too.

The sun hits the horizon and the quarry lights up with a golden hue. The sky is light blue, and orange, and lilac. There’s a slight breeze, and you can hear the trees rustling behind you. Steve’s hair blows lightly around his face, pale skin shimmering with the light of the red sun, and your heart skips a beat.

“Hey,” you both say simultaneously.

“Me first,” Steve says, sitting his plastic cup of champagne down. He clears his throat and throws his hands out, flexing them, palms sweating. “I have something to tell you.”

You nod eagerly.

“I – I have known you for a while. And ever since our first encounter at that house party, I have never felt more complete. I feel like… I feel like you’re a part of me, you know? I know that sounds dumb or whatever –“

“Steve.”

“Right, sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “Look, Y/N, I don’t know what it is, but every time we are together, it feels right. It feels like everything makes sense, like everything… was supposed to happen to bring me here. To you.” His eyes light up and he smiles softly, grabbing your hand. “I used to think I was in love before, but I don’t think – I do think you’re it. I think you’re – I think I love you. No! I do love you.”

Your mouth falls. You knew that. You knew he loved you, and you knew you loved him, but hearing it while his skin shines in the sun – it was the best thing ever.

And, also, sexy as hell.

You pounce onto him, cup of champagne spilling onto the blanket, but you don’t care. Neither does he – he’s pretty pleased with this reaction.

“I love you,” you confess between kisses.

“I love you,” he says back.

Your lips move slower than usual, more meaningful than your usual kisses. He flips you over gently, propping himself up on his elbow. It’s uncomfortable, but most of your spontaneous encounters were.

“Thought we said we weren’t going to do this tonight,” you say against his lips, and he giggles.

“We said that about fucking, not making love,” he quips, kissing slowly down your neck.

“Shut up,” you say, hitting his arm, moaning when he sucks on the perfect spot. His free hand comes up to cup a breast, rubbing his thumb over the fabric, making you squirm. Every touch his gentle, igniting a fire within you that you hadn’t yet felt before.

He pulls back suddenly. “We’re about to fuck at the quarry.”

You pause. “Yeah?”

“Kinda weird.”

“We have fucked in worse places,” you remind. Smirking, you add, “Like that time we fucked in the reference section of the libra—”

With a groan, he attacks your lips again, still meaningful but faster. He grinds his hips into yours, making both of your hips buck. His hand slips under your shirt to palm at your breasts, and yours sneak up his shirt, resting on his broad chest. After a moment, you slide your hand down to his waistband, tucking your fingers into it. He lifts his hips for you to unzip him, pulling his pants and boxers down just enough to expose him. He groans into your neck as you start to pump.

“I love you,” you whisper again, smiling happily.

“I love you,” he replies. “I promise I’ll – fuck – this’ll be better once we get to a bed –”

“I want you now,” you say, laughing softly. “Like usual.”

Steve opens his mouth to respond, but groans again at your hand, so soft against him. He thrusts himself into it and sits up quickly, hands flying to the hem of your dress. He lifts the edge up and pushes it around your hips. He slowly takes your underwear off, groaning again just at the sight of you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he sighs. “I love you.”

“That what you tell all the girls?”

“Only the one that matters.” He props himself up again – damn, his arm is tired – and he runs a finger loosely through your folds. “This wet already?”

“You say that every time – God, Steve,” you moan as he gently pushes a finger into you.

“You say that to all the boys?” he smirks.

“I don’t call all the boys Steve, Steve – fuck!”

He adds another finger and kisses your neck again while you continue to pump. He pulls back to stare into your eyes, warm and inviting, making his heart flutter.

“Steve,” you groan. “Condom?”

“Oh – you want to have sex or something?”

“You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever loved,” you sigh as he reaches into his back pocket, fumbling to get the condom out of his wallet.

“My pleasure,” he says, tugging it on. He flexes his arm one more time before propping himself on it again. He laces his fingers through yours.

“I love you,” he says, and kisses your forehead. He slowly slips in and you grip his shoulders.

“I love you, Steve.”

He starts his rhythm, purposeful and meaningful, hips colliding with yours. You don’t think you both had ever had sex this purposeful before, but you like it, and the love within each push makes your stomach flip. You unlace your fingers and pull him down to your lips, muttering confessions against each other again as he continues his pace, slow and gentle and passionate. His hand runs down your body and finds your clit, rubbing it in slow circles. It’s dizzying, and you’re happy he listened to you when you taught him where the fuck it was; he’s pretty good at giving it attention.

You reach your climaxes together, muttering how much you love each other as you come undone, his forehead resting against yours. At this point, the sun is almost completely down, most of the light coming from the rising moon. He rolls off of you, pulling you to him.

“Can’t wait for Hopper to arrest us for all the public sex we’ve been having,” you joke.

Steve groans. “I don’t want to think about Hopper right now.” He pauses before adding, “Prison sex sounds kind of hot, though.”

“I love you,” you sigh happily. “I love you, Steve Harrington.”

“I love you, too,” he says, smiling, happy to finally know what it’s like to be with someone who loves him back.

===

taglist (join here): @harrington-ofhawkins @comedy-witch @harringtonisadingus @sassisaluxury @gothackedalready @willowrose99 @pxtrickhxckstettxr @wolfish-willow @harringtown

#steve harrington #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things oneshot #stranger things imagine #stranger things smut #wig!#my fics

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join-the-joywrite · 4 years

Text

Hamish & Vera soulmate au headcannons

Part three of the first words au suggested by my girl, Sima, as anonymously demanded in an ask politely requested in the notes sjsjjs.

Will I cry? Maybe. Will YOU cry? Hopefully Probably. They'll be happy tears tho. I think. I hope.

(Wtf does Hamish even study, guys) Hamish always feels like there's something missing. The apartment doesn't feel like home. It feels strange and alien. He doesn't know what he's missing. Or maybe it's a who? Late in the night, Hamish will check his wrist and he'll wonder when he'll hear the words. He wonders what sort of situation they're going to be in. The days feel monotonous and like they drag on for years. Something is missing.

Vera doesn't go home for anything other than sleep. The past few years, drifting away from Hamish, wasn't so bad. She still went home, albeit very late, and she still didn't have much of a problem delaying leaving. It felt nice to be at home and remember the days when she had enough free time to lounge around with Hamis. Now, going home brought guilt with it. Everywhere she looked, he was there and she couldn't face knowing she had done it to him. Part of her hoped he'd never get hid memories back. She hoped she could live with Hamish having no idea who she was, but she knew she could never live with Hamish hating her. Vera often sits alone in the reliquary, staring at her wrist. Remembering the day she watched the words write themselves. For weeks, Vera didn't look at her wrist because she knew soulmates changed and she knew that Hamish might find someone else without all his memories. She sits behind the desk and fiddles with a ring handing from a chain around her neck.

The day Hamish gets his memory back, he doesn't know what to feel. Jack is very vocal about how pissed he is at Vera and Alyssa, more than the Order as a whole. Lilith just shrugs it off. She never expected anything different from them.

Randall waits until Jack and Lilith have left the den, probably to hunt down their knives that they'd both had at one point. "Hamish --"

"Don't, Randall."

"We don't know if she really wanted--"

"She's the Grand Magus. She holds the highest authority. Don't make excuses for her."

Randall leaves quietly. He knows how stubborn Hamish can get.

"We're going to make them pay," Jack tells the knights after they've been inducted. "All of them."

Hamish glances back to see Alyssa walk by. Yes, he thinks of Vera, all of them.

They need the necklace. They need to get a copy of it.

"Let me," Jack says, "I'll--" "No, I'll do it."

Randall is rightfully Concerned™. "Dude, are you sure? It could get--" "Ugly? Painful? For her, I certainly hope so."

Lilith, as Hamish leaves: So, um, is now a good time to ask about what happened during the ambush last year or . . .

Randall: you know what, I think you should talk to Hamish about this one......

I am a strong woman, Vera thinks to herself when Hamish walks in with a drink. I will not break, I will not break, I will not break.

Ultimately, she gives in anyway a few days later. Not to say that she's blameless. Hamish, despite all his burning hatred, still loves Vera like before. He's intrigued at how he can love and hate her at the same time. Is this what people mean when they say, "it's complicated"?

"Bring me something in a tall glass," she says, absently clicking the heel of her shoe against the floor twice. I want your attention.

"What happened to you?" "NOTHING. What-- what happened to you?"

Randall's still wary of the demon summoning, but he's noticed the look on Hamish's face. He hasn't seen that look in years. Big gasp from Randall. Big glare from Hamish.

Later, once the excitement is slowly dying down for Hamish and he settles down to watch his young friends thoroughly enjoy entertaining themselves, Randall scoots up to Hamish. "You are so weak for V." "Am not." "You've got her lipstick on your face." "Shit, really? Did Jack and Lilith notice?" "HA!" "Fuck you, Randall ..... don't tell them anything." "My silence costs twenty bucks." ".......fuck u"

"Let me dispel the rumours. We are all going to die." Hamish's amused snort is quickly silenced by the withering glare Vera gives him.

When Vera comes to and notices Hamish taking care of her, she's almost relieved. Then she remembers the threat, Alyssa, Kepler and most importantly, no getting close to Hamish until everyhting is all sorted.

"So . . . what's all this talk about wolves?"

Honestly, at this point, Vera thinks she's going to glare hard enough that her eyeballs pop. "You fucking IDIOTS! You lying fuck, you actually got me thinking you genuinely cared. And you, you little shit . . . . you -- you -- you -- fuck you. Where is my inventory?"

"It was stolen from us." :|

"Oh, so you lost it. No surprise there."

"That's a little harsh, V." "I told you not to call me that, Randall." "Sorry. Look, we'll get the sickles back. We won't--"

"Too late."

Losing Lilith only makes Hamish worse. He wants to blame Vera and the Order, he really does. But he can't. He knows Vera and he knows she's not selfish enough to do this for her own benefit. Fuck feelings, they just make everything so damn complicated.

Vera is pissed at Hamish for being so petty. Hamish is pissed at Vera for the blatant betrayal. Vera is pissed with herself for allowing everything to come to this. Hamish is pissed at himself for being unable to resist Vera. They're both pissed and not talking to each other and frankly, it's starting to weigh on Randall, the only one who really knows what's going on behind closed doors.

"You know, you really should talk to Vera." Gabrielle appears out of nowhere. "About what?" Hamish and Randall: terrified screaming for about half a second until they finally spot the tiny Acolyte.

"Nothing." "You two are up to something. I wanna know what it is." "Are you blackmailing us . . . to spend time with us?" "No. What d'you need to talk to the Grand Magus about?" "Getting you some heels so we can see you when you're approaching." "Very funny, Randall."

When Vera attacks the Prometheans (and Jack) with her emotional amplifier, it's not just the desperate cries of a baby ringing in everyone's ears. Among it all is Vera's own voice, her always doubting that she'd done the right thing in erasing the Knights' memories, her thinking about how much Hamish was going to hate her and that was a price she was willing to pay to keep him safe for as long as possible.

Among it all are nights where a very young Vera would cry alone, wiping at her eyes with a bare wrist. And then a much older Vera, hiding away in a vault, refusing to cry as she looks at the words on her wrist.

"I don't need your pity, Mr Morton," Vera says, hoping and praying that Jack doesn't care enough to put all the pieces together. "I'm sorry about your daughter." Vera doesn't turn back to face him. She's okay. She really is. And then a very quiet, very whispered, "and Hamish." Vera leaves before Jack can see her strength fail.

"Are either of you going to tell me why you're all on first name basis with the Grand Magus?" "It's a Knight secret, Gabby, sorry." "Fuck you."

Hamish is still being Petty and Pissed, so when Vera gives them the contract and Randall gets super upset, Jack's the one to tell him to lay off a bit. "I think you're overreacting." "And I think you're protecting Hamish's girlfriend."

Hamish, low warning tone and Vera, high yell: "Randall!"

"Am I wrong?"

"About which part?" Jack mutters, glad the joke makes Randall laugh. He can deal with one angry werewolf. Two is way too much a burden.

"Have you seen or heard from Hamish this morning?" "Why would you ask me that?" Jack gives her a deadpan look. Big sigh. "No, I haven't."

Hamish being missing shifts Vera's entire outlook. She's wasting all this time being mad and angry when she could have been using it to try and mend her relationship with Hamish.

"Is everyone okay?" Hamish grins because he knows that as pissed as they are with each other, she worries for him just as much as he worries for her. Vera would have to hit a very high bar if she really wanted to break off every tie she had to Hamish and Hamish is sure Vera doesn't want to even touch that bar.

Vera is completely stunned when Hamish literally throws Angus out of the room. In all honesty, she shouldn't have been, but still. She expected a little more restraint, given Hamish was still visibly pissed with her. On the outside, anyway.

"I'm sorry, Vera. I saw Angus and I just reacted. I almost died yesterday and now it seems like I might die anyway. Part of me wishes we never got our memories back. I could just go back to being . . . happy."

Vera doesn't turn back. "Would you really? Be happy, I mean. You have all the answers now. You know all the right questions. Would you really be happy?"

"Ignorance is bliss." "Not always."

And then the tartarus eruptions begin.

Jack runs into Alyssa at a Praxis location and the Knights recover a third of the Order's inventory.

"Tell me about these puppies." Obviously, Vera wants information about what Praxis is up to, but Randall deadass adopted the puppies so now Vera is subject to being lectured about the puppies. Okay, not lectured, she's somewhat invested in her new grandchildren. Hamish has a small smile on his face because Vera's still his Vera. Strangely fond of Randall despite all his annoying flaws -- just like Hamish himself.

Vera makes the three of them Magistratuses on the spot and Hamish looks like he's beaming at the promotion but really he's just so thrilled to see Stubborn and Petty Vera go up against Kepler.

"I'll order some wine." "Champagne, please. We're at war with Praxis, not good taste." And she's apparently retained what he taught her about drinks!

No matter what she does or what she acts like, the very core of who Vera is, her innermost self, will never change. And Hamish is glad for it, because that's who he loves. And the words mark her forever, so she'll never forget it.

"It's all right to let someone care about you." Vera shakes her head, because she's done horrible, horrible things and some would even call her irredeemable. She wants to argue and fight with Hamish because away from her is the only place he'll be safe. "V. . ."

Hamish is better at saying things when he doesn't talk. So he takes hold of her hand and gives it two small squeezes. I love you. He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and trails his hand down to her chin before lifting her head, guiding her to look at him. His fingers tap on her neck. One, two, three times. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here for you.

And when everything dies down, Hamish swears to protect Vera. He and the rest of the Knights will protect her secret with their lives. Even if she weren't their Grand Magus, she's Hamish's soulmate and given how important Hamish is to them, it's no surprise Vera automatically is, too.

Besides, Randall kinda likes the Mom Vibes he gets from Vera. Gabrielle is jealous.

Vera finds Hamish taking a nap under the tree. He squints at her. "Don't make me look like an idiot. Get down here."

Vera smiles and joins Hamish on the grass. "I love you," she says softly, finally, finally finding the peace and joy she had before she and Hamish started drifting. She looks at the words on his hand, then the words on her own.

Soulmates. Someone who is always going to be there for her, no matter what. It's nice to have one, even though for most of her life, she thought she would never find one.

But the special thing about Hamish is that they had something really special long before they discovered they were soulmates. Vera smiled in the knowledge that Hamish wouldn't have done a damn thing different even if she still had s blank wrist. He loves her, she loves him, and frankly, nothing else matters.

FINALLY COMPLETE!!!!!! I trust this is satisfactory, my loves??

See other soulmate AUs that make me cry

#vera x hamish #hamish x vera #hamish duke #vera stone #the order #netflix #the hermetic order of the blue rose #the knights of st christopher #the knights of the blue rose #the knights of saint christopher #soulmates #soulmates au #please just give me the soulmate au i want #soulmate #soulmate au

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the-headbop-wraith · 3 years

Text

3 _ 47 A Goodbye Letter

Kingsman Mechanics didn’t usually pick out supplies with smaller distributors, but occasionally Arthur would roll around to collect some of the less essential equipment which had a habit of wearing out. Sometimes it was worth it to spurge a buck if the use was versatile enough, while other equipment had components that wore out regularly and it required periodic maintenance. Other assets he did like to snag spur of the moment, typically for his personal work such as on his arm, or when he needed inspiration for new gear that was hitting the market.

It was always such an outlet to head out of town and browse the techno shop, supplied with quality parts and computer components for modest prices. One division of the shop displayed aisles of industrial shelving, with test gadgets up top for casual shoppers. Other portions of the store dedicated inventory to domestic living, or industrial distribution. It was likewise one of the nearest shops that carried valued craft supplies for largescale modeling, such as welding and do-it-yourself engineering. For Arthur’s needs, he was aiming for some new soldering parts to boost the efficiency in a refurbished arm.

There were advantages to a custom made mechanical arm. Dealing with corroded bolts and nuts or working with a stubborn, over twisted bolt was not the issue it used to be. However, it wasn’t a real arm, some of the angles he used to twist into for reaching sections of a car was now troublesome, and his false arm had limits different to a limb of flesh and blood. The circuits and servos didn’t mend on their own over time, if something inside the arm ceased altogether the whole arm crapped out. He couldn’t call for ten and give the arm a chance to heal, anything that needed fixing Arthur did so in his spare time. To avoid those complications, rotors and gears required maintenance; the harder the work, the more frequent the checkups. Circuits burnt out due to overuse – sometimes it overheated – wiring frayed of came loose from the excessive movement and prolonged abuse.

And dear gods, did he abuse his arm.

He moved down the large lane, checking his phone and comparing the listing to the names and brands of spooled wires in bins. A metal with a higher heat tolerance was more expensive, but it would endure more hours. However, he needed to construct a better housing for the circuit line to prevent the insulation getting snagged. One of the first arms he built, he totally forgot to factor in gravity and momentum; the wires were not secured like they should’ve been and the model was short lived. He didn’t even make it through the first (return to) paranormal case, they didn’t even arrive to the destination before the thing died.

With a shudder, he tossed the elected spool into his basket. Within, some large crates of craft metal for repairing cosmetic areas of the shop. Some lowkey cheapy materials he bought offhand, rather order wholesale. Some test gear to burn through before reaching out to large distributors for orders.

Next, he ventured to the aisle for hosing and insulation components. A new building line for storing energy for the battery would extend the functionality of his arm. The only thing he could do while resting was recharge the internal battery, big whoop.

On his way to the aisle, Arthur dithered and gave his space a brief examination. The creeping sensation that someone was watching, or someone followed him. It was no mistake, he knew that sensation better than a burn. No way this was paranoia. Never would he attribute his instincts to paranoia.

For now, he played it cool. It was more to the hope that being out in public would deter something malicious, but he wouldn’t let on about his suspicions. Once he reached the parking zone, he’d have to be on his—

In his ruminations, Arthur almost didn’t react in time to avoid the basket that eased out into his path. However, his reflexes remained uncontested, and he managed to swerve despite his gimp arm.

“Holy crepes! I’m so sorry, excuse—” He shut up, and mayhap his face drained of what little color it had. In his path stood….

MAMMA PEPPER!

The stern face, the tight shoulders, the imposing aura. Arthur purposefully avoided the Pepper Paradiso, the whole Pepper Bushel – save one vengeful spook – nononononononononononononononononononoNO! Why is she here? He avoided all the grocery stores in all their small town, save for the few times he had to go out and pick up foodstuffs because his Uncle was too sick or swamped with work, whatever – he couldn’t let Uncle Lance go out, even if he insisted he was fine – she couldn’t be here, not in the sacred mechanics haven. The last frontier of casual shopping, and freedom from the accusing eye. This was inconceivable!

Arthur opened his mouth, but words abandoned him. His throat generated an eerie whine. “Ack.”

“Arthur,” Mamma Pepper spoke, voice icy, but somehow heated and thick. “I haven’t seen you in some time. You and Vivi, don’t come by anymore. Do you?”

Any shape or form of human vocalization was beyond Arthur. He clenched his jaw, choked back a swallow, and tried for a syllable. “Uh.”

“Are you all right? Should I leave you?” She pulled the basket backwards, though there was plenty of room for Arthur to move onward.

“No,” squeaked Arthur. “Uh… it’s all right. I mean, I’m fine. It’s okay.” He took a breath. Without a word, Mamma Pepper stood, rigid and impassive. “Yeah. It’s fine. Um, Vivi… she uh, she—” He stalled when Mamma Pepper raised a hand.

“I see. I didn’t mean to intrude.” She tightened her grip on the basket. “I try not to push, but I also don’t want you both believing you are not welcome. You are always… welcomed at the Pepper Paradiso. Does it help when I remind you?” She peaked one critical eye at Arthur.

He nodded. “It… yes. I appreciate the offer.” He glanced aside, then, checked the supplies in the basket. Industrial Gas Connectors, among other parts and pieces from gauges to replacement dials. “How’s the restaurant doing?” Mamma Pepper seemed to frown. Seemed to. And sighed.

“Business as usual.”

“I didn’t mean the business,” Arthur interjected. “I was talking about your equipment. I meant to call and ask, if you… needed some maintenance work? I could come by sometime. I can bring, eh… Vivi. She’d like to come by too, I think. I’d have to ask. She’s been, um…” reflexively, he reached over to grip at his metal wrist, “been doing, erm… well. Yeah. I wanted to ask….” He stalled.

Mamma Pepper’s stare became harder, more critical. But there was an underlying softness he could scarcely discern.

For the past month Lewis spent the bulk of his time at Vivi’s apartment, while she was out at work or checking in with Arthur during days off. Though she recognized Lewis wouldn’t remain the whole time locked away or secluded from the world, he left notes when he was jamming off and for how long he intended to be. Where he went remained a mystery, which she was not super eager to inquire about but she did remain curious. She was more apt in reading his nonverbal cues and perhaps a little underestimated in her abilities, given her experience with paranormal creatures.

Today was one of the first times she hauled Lewis out, though he was foremost invited to change up his ‘routine’, whatever that consisted of. For a bit, he pretended to give the offer some thought – while he hovered midair looking pretty relaxed. It wasn’t a huge surprise that he went along, not that he had a schedule or anything to keep on task with. Aside from shopping runs, a task reserved for the evening, with funds set out for his personal use, and having no real needs of his own. He spent the money on making sure Vivi was well stocked, so poor-poor Mystery wouldn’t have to watch his partner drink those awful canned teas.

This day was not one to be in any particular place, with an established time to return on. It was a rare day to get out there and go nowhere, spend time in each other’s company.

And Vivi felt like she was getting to know a Lewis better. She wasn’t certain which Lewis she was becoming more aware of, since there was a difference between Lewis Pepper when he was living, and the Lewis postmortem – if she was to put it indelicately. There were not enough notebooks and folders in the Box which gave her insight into Lewis Pepper, not enough pictures to rekindle memories stolen from the pools of reflection. It didn’t matter so much that she remembered who he was, but that she knew who he is. It bothered her that she lost what once was, and might never be able to take it back.

A braided crown of stems and flowers alit on Vivi’s head. She took it down and gave the hoop shape a brief scrutiny.

“Not my best flower crown,” Lewis admitted. “But not a lot of flowers ‘round here.” He held a short stem between his teeth, and gave a comical southern draw.

“Is it imbued with special, mystical properties?” She turned the crown over and over. Lewis’ voice hitched, as he cackled.

“No, Vii. Not everything needs special secret magic to make it special.” He grinned. “It’s an old fashioned, unremarkable, flower crown.”

Vivi set the crown back upon her head. “Plants always have a charm about them, through the winter they endure. I don’t know what it is. The dormancy, the anticipation of reawakening post a harsh and relentless season, something previously viewed as unsightly, reviving, blooming. Hmm… I hope we can have a snowfall before the cold ends.”

Lewis shrugged. He leaned back against the tree they sat beneath, shaded from the sun by the thin branches brimming with miniscule buds. “One more snow fall wouldn’t be too bad, though I always love the colors of spring. I’m eager for the return of some color.”

Across the open field of the park, Mystery darted by like a bullet. As if a vengeful spirit was snapping at his tail. Like he was racing his own shadow.

Vivi reclined back and rested her head on his thigh. “Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“When you leave your notes? Do you actually go out somewhere, or… do you sometimes rest too?” she pondered. “I get this feeling you’re not gone completely. Like you’re still there, but unresponsive. Resting?”

Lewis reached a hand up and scratched at his cheek. “Uh, perceptive much? Sometimes I am a little weary and can’t fully manifest, like the way you… know. Since I can’t just be, I don’t want you to worry. Other times, I’ll find my way to the van. It… is a place where I feel at peace. Dunno why that is.”

Vivi pulled her hands up and folded them over her middle. “Hanging around with the living still overwhelming?”

“It’s a lot of energy to deal with. I can’t really escape it.” Vivi smirked.

“And how’s the van coming along?”

Lewis wheezed, “Slowly.”

Vivi tilted her head back further and gazed into the rich azure sky. “What about you? Not that it matters right now, but you’re not casting a shadow. That only happens when somethings on your mind, or you’ve pushed yourself a little too much.”

Lewis reached over and tucked back a loose hair under the woven crown. “That’s nothing to worry about, I’ve been more active than usual. I guess it’s not so noticeable when we’re doing the travel gig, and you’re focused not on me.” He offered a sly waggle of his brow above the sunglasses, and Vivi responded by squinting back suspiciously. “Mi queria, don’t worry so much. If I thought something was off, you’d be the first person I’d go to.”

Vivi scoffed. “You better, buster.”

Mystery sprinted over and gave pause, long enough to tumble down beside Vivi and roll in the scraggily grass. “Mystery!” The wily hound snatched the crown from her head and took off, his yapping suspiciously rebounding like cackling laughter. “You give that back!” Vivi flew up, scrambling to get on her feet. Lewis was up immediately, skiing forward.

“Oh! I absolutely will catch you! Don’t you doubt it!”

The ears and hair on Mystery shot up, and he was off faster than a beam of light. Lewis dove after the dog, zigzagging in wild patterns and grabbing at thin air upon every duck and slide Mystery pulled. The grass beneath Lewis’ heels scorched upon every twist; try as he might though, the pup was unattainable.

Before Vivi could fully devote herself to the chase, the muffled hum of her phone went off. She almost went ahead and left the phone beneath the tree, tucked away safely in the backpack, but decided better and picked it up. “Arthur?”

“Hey,” replied through the phone.

“Didn’t expect a call from you. Is everything okay?” She spun around and watched as Mystery made a wide turn, with Lewis hot on his tail. Literally. When Lewis spied Vivi on the phone, he abruptly broke out of his glide and jogged over. “Hmm?”

“What was that? Is Lew there?”

“Yeaahhh… Lew’s here.” She grinned up at the aforementioned specter. Lewis’ appearance flashed and shimmered, he set his hands on his vest and tugged. “Arthur says hi.”

“Tell him… hey, back for me?”

“Lew says Hay.” Arthur laughed. That was a good sound.

“I was callin’ to see if you were busy tonight, I have something I wanna ask.”

Vivi stepped back into the shade and leaned on the tree. “You can’t ask right now, over the phone?” Mystery padded around the side of the tree, lil crown looped over one ear.

“It’s ahh… a lil complicated, to talk about. Actually, you and Lew both.” Arthur didn’t sound super fortified himself, but his words came through. “Would Lew be willing to come by? If not, that’s okay too. It’s up to him. But he can come by too, I could talk to him.”

Vivi looked over to Lewis and hit the mute button on her phone. “He wants to see you.”

“I got that.” Lewis’ appearance dimmed, the burning eye behind the sunglasses glistened in the shifting fractures of his projected appearance. For a moment, Vivi thought he would vanish or lose his grip.

“You can say no,” she affirmed. “You don’t have to give a reason. He’ll understand.”

Lewis snatched her hand before she could work at the phone screen. “No, espera. I’d like to see Artie.”

“You sure?” You and he… you think you’re up for it?”

“Yeah.” Lewis took the little stalk of grass from his mouth and tossed it. “If he’s cool, I’d be down for a visit.”

Vivi unmuted her phone. “Hey Art, you still there?” Arthur replied with a hum. Some background noise came through his side, it sounded like traffic or machinery. “What would be a good time for us to swing by?”

“Around seven, a little after,” he offered. “I’m running some errands, so no rush. You don’t sleep, do you?”

“Mmm,” Vivi mocked contemplated. “It’s not in my schedule.” A sound akin to static emitted, and she took it as Lewis best attempt at clearing his throat. “Sounds good.” She wondered briefly, but dismissed the thoughts. “We’ll see you then.” She clicked off the phone and made certain it was closed out.

To Lewis, “He sounded tense and anxious. I didn’t want to ask.”

Lewis went over and took the crown off Mystery’s head, and set it back on Vivi’s blue hair. “If there’s a problem, I can duck out. Not that I mind a meet, some nonbusiness would be a nice change.”

Vivi peered at him quizzically. “I don’t think there should be. He’s put a lot of work at the shop, and that helps. But we’ll see.” She began walking, with Mystery picking up the pace by her side and Lewis at her shoulder. “Anywhere else you wanna roll by and check out?” She fitted her hand into Lewis’ and gripped his fingers.

In a flash of embers, Lewis lost his very convincing living appearance and stood frozen mid stride. At least the park for the time sat empty.

Vivi stiffened. “Fuck!”

Another crate of supplies went into the back of the work truck on loan. The parts and materials sat on high value, even the copper was an easy swipe if some lowlife happened by and recognized the glossy hull. With all the valuables packed into the front seats, Arthur shut and locked up.

Paths of sidewalk wound around the patches of desert xeriscape and clumps of cactus, cutting the sidewalk and parking zone into jagged portions. An expansive patio rolled out from the building entrance, fitted with a wide awning and short fence to divide the patio from the walkway. A few tables sat, awaiting company on the chilly day.

Arthur moved through the opening of the fence, his gaze taking in faces, his apprehension spiked higher. He didn’t see any familiar faces, but that didn’t reassure him. It was chilly, and his metal arm shifted in the sling; the only arm covered at this time. It would be best to leave, this wasn’t a good idea. He’d call, apologize. She’d understand. He hoped she’d understand. He took a step back. On the thoroughfare traffic picked up, though none of the vehicles cruising by slowed or pulled into the parking lane. Not yet. But soon….

The entrance to the café swept open and a familiar face glided out. Arthur grimaced, but hadn’t given his legs the memo to relocate. That would’ve been hella rude.

“I’m glad you could make it.”

Arthur put a hand to the low top of the fence at his side, but reframed from leaning. He was certain if he did anything but stand, he’d collapse.

“Yeah. I had a,” he stammered, struggling to collect his words, “a last pickup. Have you been waiting long?”

Mamma Pepper stood stock still, statuesque. “Not long at all. It’s chilly outside, I have a table waiting.” It sounded almost like she was inviting him into her own restaurant, though Arthur wasn’t sure why this out of the way café.

He checked the area over before stepping forward. One foot, then the other, steady. “This place. It’s new.”

“I assisted the owner’s in getting set up,” Mamma Pepper supplied. She held the door for Arthur, until he ventured in of his own pace. “Sometimes my family offers taste testing, and vice versa.”

Arthur concealed the little twinge that ran through his spine. “Awesome.” The interior was not splendid or over done, but simplistic with a homey charm. At the furthest side of the room, logs crackled and churned within a brick fireplace. From the ceiling, rustic lanterns hung. The dim light competed with the sparse interior tables, and the little candles flickering. One table at the furthest wall harbored a mug of steaming liquid.

“Take your time, if you choose to order,” Mamma Pepper spoke. “There’s no rush.” She left him and weaved around the tables, until she reached her target. She pulled a chair out, and then took her seat at the table across from the vacant chair. A blatant invitation, if he ever saw one.

Despite a line, Arthur went ahead and made an order. After the barista took his name, he ventured over to the location Mamma Pepper claimed. She was sipping at the beverage. “I never gave that sorta theme much thought,” he admitted. “They offer some interesting… mixes.” Concoctions sounded rude.

Mamma Pepper nodded and hummed. “Coffee and tea blends, with traditional staples. I wanted to tell you about it sooner, but I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Ah.”

“How have you been?” She squinted one eye at Arthur. “I expect well.”

“Y-yeah. We… uh, Vii and I, we’re still at it.” He rubbed the back of his head with the heel of his palm. “Doing investigations. Y’know that.”

“Nothing stops that girl.” A hint of a smile graced Mamma Pepper’s face. “I’m glad to hear.”

The barista brought by Arthur’s beverage, exchanged conversation on how the two were doing, and left. It was a joy to focus on something else, if even briefly.

“What did you get?”

Arthur gave the warm liquid a try. “One of the trademark Hy-blends.” He wasn’t a stranger to abominable tea and coffee concoctions, or anything to spark his brain and keep his eyes open on the longest of long roads between towns. But this was really good, the appropriate balance of strength to mellow, with perhaps too much cream making it thick like ice-cream. But good nonetheless. It wouldn’t keep his heart beating, but it was flavorful.

His mind worked to bring forth the questions, to inquire about how a family went on in the absence of a loved one. How did one approach the topic, and when was it an appropriate time? There was no reason to approach that at all, no reason to drag it forward if he could avoid it. He sipped his beverage, trying his darndest not to quake.

“You have a way with the machinery,” Mamma Pepper went on, through the absence of substance. “The equipment gets fixed – mind you – everything works without hitch, but it’s not the same. I can’t put my finger on what’s different. Your help was appreciated.”

Arthur slunk down in his seat a bit. “Yeah. Mn, sorry ‘bout that. Not, uh….”

“Arthur,” she stated, firmly. “I’m not disappointed. I’m trying to explain that we missed you. We missed Arthur, not Arthur the mechanic. Just… Arthur.” She sipped at her drink.

“Oh, right.” He looked around at the dimly lit space, the steady stream of customers. “Have you helped other restaurants get opened up? It’s pretty sweet, nothing like the Pepper Paradiso. Er, it’s more… rustic, I guess?”

Their exchange seemed to fall into place after that, with Mamma Pepper going lightly over a few changes at the Pepper Paradiso. The two caught up on how they were getting along, while skittering aside from the topic involving Vivi. Arthur wasn’t certain how to approach that grape vine, but Mamma Pepper’s questions were careful. It almost felt normal, like he wasn’t cowering under some terrible weight and suffocating. He could breath a little easier, his replies coming with minimal hitch – when he didn’t think about the now. She did admit her family kept up to date with Uncle Lance, which surprised him. Lance never let on he stayed in touch with the Peppers, though given his Uncle’s pokey (though prying) it was a little obvious.

As the minutes ticked by, Arthur did become comfortable with a topic delving into how Vivi was keeping. He didn’t want to elaborate a whole lot, but he wanted to assure Mamma Pepper that in the least, the blue-headed investigator sleuth had asked about the family. He wasn’t sure where to go from there, but Mamma Pepper filled in the blanks. She offered cheerful accounts of how the girls were growing so fast, what grade they were in now, and the mischief. It was all good conversation, pleasant and cathartic about the little things. Mostly mundane, and some entertaining and exciting. And when Arthur talked about the hamster he adopted, and built prosthetic wheels for, Mamma Pepper even smiled.

It was a little after six and the sun was in full set, when Vivi biked her way up the sidewalk beside Kingsman Mechanics. With her trotted the Mystery, prancing like a gazelle and very undog-like, but who was paying attention? Staff hadn’t cleared out completely, though the garages had long been shuttered and locked; barring the entitled customer from trying to get a simple (two hour) fix done on their car at the last minute. Vivi coasted up the empty carport and set her bike beside one of the sign poles for reserved parking, and latched the chain. Then, went over to the entry door and knocked. While she waited, Mystery turned his nose down and gave the area a brief scout.

“I know you can open the door, but I’m not keen on sneaking in.” As per usual, she wore one of the work backpacks, and in the side pocket sat a snug flashlight.

To Mystery, “You can run off for a bit, if you need. I think we’ll be fine.” This time, she gave the doorbell a buzz.

Mystery raised his head and gave Vivi one of his, “give me a break,” looks. He trotted back over.

In due time a wobbly, hazy form swelled beyond the dim barrier of the door. The door unlatched and opened; Uncle Lance stood there, somewhat surprised. “Aye, hey Vivi. Mystery.” He nodded to the dog as he padded by, welcoming himself in without prompt. “Arthur expectin’ yu?”

“Yeah,” she gasped. Upon entry, Uncle Lance secured the door behind them and pocketed the keys. “We’re a bit early… I had a few stops to make. Is he not in?” She fell in step behind Lance as he led the way, through the dark passage. Most the lights through the main workshop remained off, only the soft lamps offering radiance, enough to keep people from stumbling into each other or getting lost.

“Naw, been out all day.” Lance rolled his shoulders and stretched up one arm, gripping at the socket. “I should replace both arms,” he muttered. When he lowered that arm, he checked his watch. He didn’t wear a watch. “Not too worried. Ceptin’, I don’t have a ride out of ‘ere.”

Vivi couldn’t help but set a hand over her face and stifle the snicker. It was usually her or Arthur winding up stranded due to shared vehicles, if her bike was not available (though Arthur would first eat a healthbar than ride her bike). Now, it was Uncle Lance’s turn.

“I’m so sorry about that.”

Mystery yapped. It was a distant reply, given that he was now patrolling the work garage.

“Can’t be helped. I’m just glad whatever nonsense yu get involved with, you came out safe.”

Vivi grimaced and bit her lip. “Yes, very glad. It could’ve been bad.” Unbeknownst to Vivi, the flashlight flickered sporadically, until it sputtered and went out entirely. Crackling webs of fuchsia detached and dispersed off through the murky air.

Lance swung away from heading toward the office and gestured. “Something up with that flashlight?”

“Huh?” Vivi twisted herself in order to view the aforementioned electric torch. “Uhh?”

“I seein’ you haul that there thing around.” He tugged on his beard, in thought. “Well, not lately…. You’re not planning on doin’ no spook snoopin with Arthur? Ya’ll are on break from that job-work, eh? A vacation, ain’t it called?” He fixed Vivi with a ferocious, accusing glare – the shadow around his eyes intensifying to the tenth power. “Ain’t it, girl?”

Vivi sweated. How was it possible for someone so opposite of tall, to be so imposing. “N-no, Uncle. We… I swear….”

“I pay Arthur to do one of two things.” Uncle Lance counted them off on his fingers. “Work. An’ Rest. Ya got that!”

Vivi grabbed at her scarf. Oh sweet mother of gods, Lance looked set to unite with his rifle. “No! Absolutely NOT! Er, I… it needs to be looked over. I forgot to hand it over to Arthur, it was my fault! I was careless!” Lance’s features became more relaxed, and she risked a breathy exhale. Crisis averted.

“Ah. Groovy.” He pivoted and began walking, saying over his shoulder, “Call me when he gets in. And if you need somethin’, there’s chicken wings in the fridge.”

Vivi waved after him. “Kay! Thank you!” And then raced off, shooting into the corridor and charging up the stairs. Down the hall, the door to Arthur’s work room awaited ajar, and she barreled in.

A flash of embers all but blinded her. The rose-tinted blaze faded out leaving a hard, burnt fragrance throughout the room. “Lewis! Again?” She wobbled aside when Mystery shoved his way in through the doorway. “How does this keep happening?!”

“I thought you were Uncle Lance!” came the disembodied retort, somewhat crackly.

Vivi shut the door and checked the corkboard with the pinned schematics. “Why didn’t you wait then?” None of them were burnt, which was good.

“I got bored.” In a fuchsia surge of flames, Lewis shape reappeared. A skull and death suit, and then a fizzing surge of embers swirled about the skull and fitted the spirit with cheeks and a jaw, a living memory. “And… I kind of wanted to check the place out.”

Vivi studied Lewis for a moment, but said nothing. That was fast, though he hadn’t shed the death suit yet. “Okay. I’ll send Art a text, let him know we’re here. Make sure we don’t surprise him.” She set the backpack on the couch and rummaged through it. Mystery hopped up onto the cushions and curled up, his eyes tracking Vivi’s work. Up until she pulled up the laptop and her phone. “Aw. No power.”

She and Mystery turned their eyes to Lewis.

The spirit glanced aside and tugged at his tie. “You did ask earlier, didn’t you?”

Vivi pointed to her little phone. “There is a battery in here. It has only so much power.” Mystery growled and yipped.

“Be thankful your apartment covers utility costs.”

Vivi grumbled under her breath as she rooted around her backpack for the charger. “I forgot it. I know better.” Mystery bounced off the couch, within seconds he was back with Arthur’s charger clamped in his teeth. “Thank you. I probably have to hook up my laptop too.” She tsked, this was cumbersome and she knew better.

“I’m sorry!” Lewis swiped off the embers crackling at his vest and shirt sleeves, the same way someone would straighten out wrinkles.

“No you’re not,” Vivi snapped. “You shouldn’t be. It’s not your fault.” Thankfully, she never took the laptops charger out of the backpack; let alone disconnected it. She hooked it up to a surge bar and plopped down on the couch once more. Lewis sat down beside her.

“Watcha lookin’ up?”

“Emails. There better not be emails in my damn emails.” She went through the mail icon and sighed. “Of course, it’s from Duet.”

“Joy o joys.”

“A list of assets for review.” She closed out the email. “I’ll look at those later.” She pulled up a new tab, and began researching how to stop spirits from syphoning battery life on the Paranormal Corner site.

“Maybe… I should go for a bit.” Lewis glided out of his seat, up until Vivi caught the tail end of his vest and hauled him back down. “Or not….”

“Atta boy.”

#mystery skulls #mystery skulls fanfiction #mystery skulls fanfic #msa fanfiction #msa fanfic #mystery skulls lewis #mystery skulls mamma pepper #mystery skulls vivi #mystery skulls lance #mystery skulls mystery #mystery skulls arthur #mystery skulls ghost

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tripleaxeldiaz · 4 years

Text

all was golden when the day met the night

chapter 3/5

read on ao3

start from the beginning

“...and then we saw the lions, but they were sleeping so they weren’t very scary. And the otters were so cute, and they came right up to the glass when they were swimming underwater!”

Eddie smiles as Chris recounts their day at the zoo to his parents over FaceTime. The monthly calls had been their idea, a way for them to stay up to date on Chris’s life in between holidays and summer visits. It was also their way of having a scheduled time to nitpick Eddie’s life from 800 miles away.

He loves his parents, he does. He just loves them more when they aren’t speaking.

“Your face looks a little red, sweetheart, were you wearing sunscreen today?” his mother asks, face getting too close to the camera as she inspects her grandson.

“Yeah, Dad put some on me when we got there.”

“Did he put on any more during the day?” Her eyes shifted to Eddie, perched next to Chris on the couch. “You know you need to reapply every two—”

“Yes, Mom, I did. And it’s getting late so we should really get going, say goodbye buddy—”

“Wait! I didn’t show them my snakes!” Chris rifles through his backpack underneath the coffee table, yanking out a folder and flipping through it until he finds the drawings he and Buck worked on. He holds them up triumphantly, angling them so his grandparents could see. “Buck helped me with them!”

“And Buck is…”

“Dad, you know who Buck is. My friend that owns the tattoo shop?” He tries not to ignore how calling Buck his “friend” feels like a disservice to all that he really is, how it tastes like sand in his mouth.

“He’s an awesome artist,” Chris pipes in. “He has huge books in the shop of all the stuff he can do, and sometimes he lets me watch when he’s working!”

His parents blanche at that, and Eddie is really not prepared to have this argument right now. He and Chris had a great day together, a rare day when he wasn’t in the shop for any reason, leaving it in Hen’s more than capable hands. They had a lot of fun at the zoo, were getting ready for a Marvel double feature in their living room, and Eddie was in an honest-to-god good mood, for once not plagued by lingering stress or ambiguous sadness. He’s not about to let any outside judgements ruin that.

“I think it’s time to go. Chris, can you say goodnight and go get your pajamas on?” Chris waves as he grabs his crutches and heads to his room. Eddie turns back to say a quick goodbye, but his dad clears his throat before he can speak.

“You leave your son alone in a tattoo parlor?”

“He’s not alone, Dad, he’s with Buck and all the other adults that work there. Plus it’s only in a pinch.”

“Eddie, do you really think those are the kind of people you should be leaving Christopher with?” his mother asks, a look of contempt masked by concern on her face.

Eddie takes a slow breath in and out through his nose. No use in giving them more ammo by getting angry. “Just because you don’t like their business doesn’t mean they’re bad people.”

“We just want to make sure Christopher is—”

“He’s fine. He’s happy when he’s learning to draw with Buck. I’m not going to take that away from him just because you don’t like it. Now we have to go, we’ll talk to you later.” He hits the red end button before they can protest any further. He tips his head back to rest on the couch and scrubs a hand over his face, his good mood now tinged with prickly frustration.

He thinks his parents mean well, but they’ve always been forceful when it comes to Chris, especially after Shannon left. It’s like they knew, somehow, how lost Eddie was on his own, how scared he was that every little thing he did was setting Chris up for failure, and took every opportunity to fix something he was doing or tell him he was wrong. That he didn’t actually know what Chris needed since he had been gone for so long.

Eventually, Eddie started believing them.

But when Mrs. Negrelli gave him the money to start his own shop, he didn’t just see it as a fresh start for himself, but for Chris too. Eddie would be able to take them anywhere, away from the looming disappointment of his parents, and give himself the opportunity to figure out how to best be the dad that Chris needed. And if the past year is any indication, he knows he made the right choice, a credit he isn’t usually able to give himself. He’s not perfect, still second guesses himself constantly, but Chris gets invited to birthday parties and sleepovers and gets As on his report card, so something must be working.

Chris comes back from his room, Spider-Man pajamas on, handing Eddie the remote to queue up the first movie. He’s happily chattering about all the cool things Spider-Man’s costume does in the movie, and as he settles into Eddies’s side, head resting on his chest, Eddie feels the prickliness subside, replaced by the contentment he only ever feels around his son.

They’re good here. Chris is happy here. That’s all that matters to Eddie.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sundays are Eddie’s favorite days in the shop — traffic is usually slow, so he has time to plan out orders for the rest of the week and make sure their inventory is in check. It’s a little monotonous, but it eats up about four hours of time and gives him a break from any real thinking, so he feels almost relaxed by the time he’s done stocking cases. He has the added bonus of Chris and Buck’s conversation in the back room as background noise, interspersed with the occasional yell and slap of the table and Buck teaches him a new card game. The melody of Chris’s laugh and the harmony of their voices soothes him even more than usual, quiets some of the lingering annoyance from his call with his parents.

As he heads into the back room to grab the last boxes of peonies, Chris beckons him over to the table where he and Buck have been stationed since breakfast. It’s become a bit of a tradition: Buck brings muffins or bagels from Bobby and Athena’s bakery on Sundays and hangs out until the afternoons when his earliest appointments are scheduled (I refuse to tattoo anyone while they’re hungover from Saturday, Eddie. It’s not good for them and the extra complaining is certainly not good for me.).

Maybe that’s another reason Sundays are his favorite days. Add that to the list of secret feelings involving Buck that are following him to the grave.

“Dad! Look, I colored Buck’s skull purple!” Chris says as Eddie comes behind his chair, bracketing him in with his arms on the table. Chris giggles as Eddie kisses the top of his head, leaning over him for a closer look. Buck’s latest tattoo is indeed a bright shade of purple, the roses surrounding it colored in blue.

“I told him I like cooler colors and he ran with it,” Buck says. Eddie’s eyes shift to Buck’s face, and he feels his heart stutter when he sees the soft, fond smile directed at Chris. It stutters again when Buck’s eyes meet his, that familiar warmth settling over him as Buck’s smile gets bigger, and he feels good enough, relaxed enough, that it actually soaks into his skin. Buck’s gaze flits down to Eddie’s arm where it’s still bracketing Chris, a crease appearing right between his eyebrows. The urge to lean over and kiss it away is unbelievably sudden and strong, and Eddie silently congratulates himself for keeping it together.

“Your ink looks a little faded there, Eds. I can fix it up for you, if you want.”

Eddie looks at the script on his arm, twisting it back and forth to see the whole thing. Buck’s right, the ink does look duller. Makes sense for a tattoo he got on his 18th birthday that he definitely didn’t take care of properly.

Fortalecer la mente y superar el cuerpo. Strengthen the mind and overcome the body. When he was young and invincible, that seemed like all he needed. A clear head, clear purpose, clear desires, and he’d be able to do anything he wanted. If he followed the rules and did everything right, he’d get a happy ending.

But, once again, it hadn’t been enough. And now, looking at that tattoo just reminds him of the ways he’s failed. How he hasn’t been able to make his mind into anything resembling strong, how there are days when he’s so weak even basic functions take too much effort. How a happy ending is feels so far away he can’t remember what one even looks like.

He shrugs, hand rubbing the tattoo unconsciously. “Maybe, I kinda just want to let this one fade out though. Maybe get a different one somewhere else.”

“Well, my offer of a free tattoo still stands, just name the day.” Buck says.

Chris gasps and twists around in his seat, eyes bright with excitement. “Can I help you pick it out? Can I draw it? I’m good at lots of stuff now, and Buck can help!”

And he’s not sure what it is — the smile on Chris’s face at the idea, Buck’s matching one, the lingering frustration with his parents transforming into rebellion (something he hasn’t felt since he last got a tattoo), or a combination of the three. But before he can think too hard about it, he hears himself saying:

“You know what? Why not. I’ll get another tattoo, and you guys can design it.”

They cheer and high five each other, Chris hugging Eddie tight around the middle.

“But,” Eddie says, “I do want final approval. And no cartoon characters.”

“I promise, Dad, it’ll be the best tattoo ever!” Chris grabs his nearby notebook and starts doodling, chattering happily about what he thinks will look good. Buck catches his eye again and winks, and Eddie’s returning smile is the easiest it’s ever been.

He grabs the boxes he came back for and goes to the front, still smiling as he hears Buck and Chris very seriously discuss the details of what Eddie should get. He’s not nervous, really, but he does say a silent prayer to whoever is listening that they don’t pick something too big or too bold. He loves them both, but not that much.

~~~~~~~~~~

They take about a week to design it and are so secretive they might as well be planning a jewel heist. It seems like every time Eddie walks into a room, they’re there with their heads pressed together, whispering over sheets of paper and pens. When Eddie tries to sneak a peek, they quickly hide everything away so he can’t see. Buck throws his whole body on the table at one point just to cover up the sketches.

Again, he’s not nervous. But the anticipation does start to get to him.

Finally, after a busy Saturday full of wedding deliveries, they announce that the design is complete, and Eddie is scheduled at Armageddon the following Friday evening. Chris already has a sleepover with Denny that night and won’t be able to come, but he makes Eddie double pinky promise to send pictures to Hen as soon as it’s done.

It’s Friday now, and Eddie is all set up at Buck’s station in the back of the shop, waiting to see the final product of Buck and Chris’s hard work. He is a little nervous now, but he mostly blames that on Buck, who keeps looking over the sketchpad, pen in hand like he wants to make last minute changes, or like something isn’t quite right.

“Just show me, Buck,” Eddie says after a few minutes of watching Buck bite his lip in worry. Whatever the design is, he’s sure he’ll love it, if for no other reason than because of the two people who made it.

“Okay, okay. You can be honest if you don’t like it, but I think you’re gonna like it.”

He flips the paper over, turning it towards Eddie. It’s a crescent of flowers, an unfinished wreath, featuring moonflowers, Eddie’s favorite, with their starburst centers spiraling open, and ox-eye daisies, which he knows Chris loves. Sprigs of lavender and thyme fill in the gaps, and there’s a small bee floating around the center. It’s beautiful and a little chaotic, but it’s perfect. Reminders of his son and peace and courage that he’ll be able to carry with him always, that he’ll be able to look at when he forgets that he is capable of bravery or deserving of peace. He stares at the sketch, taking in every detail, for who knows how long. Buck clears his throat to get his attention.

“Chris thought the daisies and moonflowers would look good together, and they’re both white so no need for color. I thought the herbs would be nicer than just plain leaves. And he wanted it in a ‘C’ shape, you know, for Christopher.”

Eddie laughs and shakes his head. “And the bee?”

“Chris thought that would be cute, too, but you can nix that if you want.” There’s a faint blush dusting Buck’s cheeks as his eyes track down to the bee in question. “So, what do you think? Any major changes? You can tell me if you hate it, I won’t tell Chris.”

He looks up and Buck’s eyes are excited and worried all at once. Eddie would do anything to take the worry away, but at least this time it’s an easy fix.

“I don’t hate it, it’s perfect,” he says, handing the sketch back to Buck and settling back in the chair. “Let’s do this.”

Buck smiles brightly as he grabs an antiseptic wipe, holding Eddie’s right arm steady as he wipes down the area just below his elbow crease where the tattoo will go. Eddie knew he wanted it there as soon as he’d agreed to get one — he’d be able to see it easily when he needed to, and he liked that it matched the placement of his current one, would almost be replacing it if the words ever fully faded away. Once it’s cleaned, Buck puts a temporary transfer of the design there to trace over, starts up the tattoo machine, and loads the ink. The low buzzing of the machine mixes with the music playing and soft conversation coming from other clients in the shop, washing over Eddie like white noise.

Buck takes his arm again, machine in hand, and locks his eyes on Eddie. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

“You can yell if it hurts too bad, just try not to pass out.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, says “It’ll be—” before cutting off with an involuntary hiss as the needle touches his skin. Buck snorts, and Eddie does his best to glare but feels it fall short.

He hadn’t worried about the pain — he vaguely remembered the sensation of being stabbed over and over again and didn’t remember it hurting that bad. He had also been shot before, so he figured he’d be able to handle it.

What he hadn’t taken into account was that for the next two hours or so, he and Buck would be very close together, close enough that Eddie can feel Buck’s breath on his arm as he traces over the outline, feels his strong hand on his wrist as he keeps Eddie from twitching. He had never been this close to Buck, had never allowed himself to be, and now that he is, he’s not sure how to act. He tries to look anywhere else, takes in the art on the wall, watches the other clients with Maddie and Chimney. He tries to make a to-do list for the weekend in his head, go over the things Chris will need for school next week, mentally figure out the designs for next week’s orders.

It’s all in vain, though, because no matter what, his eyes always drift back to Buck. From here, he can take in everything, and for once, he lets himself, because who knows when he’ll have this opportunity again.

Buck’s brow is furrowed in concentration, blue eyes dark as they focus. He can almost count every eyelash, and his birthmark stands out even more than usual, almost glowing under the fluorescent lights. Eddie itches to reach out and touch it, feel how soft he imagines Buck’s skin to be under his fingertips. His cheekbones and jawline are sharp and beautiful, and Eddie wonders again how anyone could resist them. How someone could look at this man, have even one conversation with him, and decide they didn’t want more. He’s biting his lip as he finishes the first moonflower, and it turns and even darker pink as he releases it. Eddie gets a little lost imagining how those lips would feel on his, how gentle and warm and good. He imagines feeling them on his shoulder as they wake up on a Saturday morning, sees them laughing as they both make breakfast, trading kisses as they go. He wants to taste them, feel them moving down his neck, down his chest, wrapping around his—

He inhales quickly and shakes his head, because this is not the time nor the place to go down that particular road. Thankfully, Buck’s still in his own little world, eyes never leaving Eddie’s arm. He must mistake Eddie’s movement for discomfort, because he moves his free hand down from his wrist until they’re holding hands, Buck’s thumb moving slowly back and forth in comfort.

“You can squeeze if it hurts too bad,” he mutters, still not looking up. Thank god too, because Eddie can feel his face go bright red and his heart start working overtime.

The first pass takes about an hour, and they take a break so Eddie can stretch his legs and Buck can get more ink. There’s still some detailing left to do, but Eddie already can’t stop staring at the tattoo. It looks even better than the sketch, and having a tribute to his son literally branded on his skin fills a fiercely paternal part of him like nothing else ever has. There’s also a smug part that’s still 17 years old and can’t wait to see the looks on his parents’ faces when they have their next video call.

Buck finishes getting set up again and Eddie settles back in the chair. It’s quieter now — they’re the only two on the floor, Maddie and Chimney having finished up and moved to the back room, and the music playing over the speakers is something slower, stripped down, seems to filter into the room and soften all the hard edges of the world. Buck catches his eye from where he’s sitting, asking silent permission to start. Eddie nods, and he feels his heart swell when Buck automatically grabs his hand again.

He’s got maybe 45 more minutes in this proximity to Buck, and he takes full advantage: notes the way his curls are starting to fall loose after a long day, tries to catalogue each shift of his face, every twitch of concentration, the shadow of his stubble growing in. Getting to study him like this — memorize the details of the beautiful face that houses an even more beautiful soul — makes all the feelings Eddie’s been trying to fight for months now bubble to the surface, fizzing inside of him like pop bubbles.

But there’s a chill that settles in as well, because despite his heart desperately pulling him towards this man, he reminds himself once again that he can’t have this. He can’t let himself have this, can’t do that to Buck. He’s supposed to be forgetting about his feelings, releasing them so they can both be happy — Buck with someone who deserves him and Eddie...alone. With Chris, but still. Alone. And now he has to wrestle with that while a slide show of Buck’s every facial feature plays through his head on a likely infinite loop.

He can’t forget as easily as he thought. If he’s honest, there’s a small, hopeful part of himself that doesn’t want to forget, that never wanted to forget, and it’s getting louder and harder to ignore with each passing minute.

“Done!” Buck says as he turns off the machine and wipes away the last of the excess ink. Eddie looks at the finished product, a soft smile settling on his lips. He looks up and sees Buck watching him, looking hopeful. “What do you think?”

Eddie’s finger hovers over a daisy reverently. “It’s beautiful,” he whispers, smile spreading as he meets Buck’s eye again. “Thank you, Buck.”

Buck returns the smile, squeezing Eddie’s hand where they’re still clasped together, neither of them moving to let go. They’re still in each other’s bubble, close enough that Eddie can still count Buck’s eyelashes, and he watches Buck watch him for a moment. His eyes roam his face like he too is cataloging Eddie from here, and that hopeful voice is convincing him that from where they’re sitting, it’d be so easy to lean in and confirm exactly what Buck tastes like, how his lips would feel under his own. Just six inches away from allowing himself to be happy, because he can’t imagine being anything else with Buck.

His phone goes off from his pocket, immediately bursting the bubble, both of them flinching as the loud trill fills the shop. They both know it’s Chris, but he still looks at Buck apologetically, like it’s his fault for shattering whatever atmosphere they’d just been living in. Buck just waves toward the phone, squeezing his hand one more time before letting go to clean up his station. He talks to Chris for a bit, showing him the tattoo from every angle, and Chris talks to Buck as well, gushing about what a great job Buck did. Buck blushes at the praise, and that tug of want pulls at Eddie again.

They hang up and Eddie gathers his things while listening to Buck’s strict aftercare instructions, both heading to the front door so Buck can lock up.

“Are you sure I can’t pay you?” Eddie asks.

“I told you it was on the house and I meant that. Plus it’s nice to work on someone I actually care about.”

Eddie feels his face get warm, hopes the neon lights in the window are bright enough to cover it up. It gets warmer as they continue looking at each other, neither willing to break their little bubble again. He thinks he sees Buck move more toward him, like he wants to get closer, but he stops himself before following through, leaning back on his heels instead, looking sheepish.

“Goodnight, Eddie. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah, we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Eddie waves as he leaves, stepping into the cool night to walk back to the apartment. He keeps glancing down at his arm on the walk and while he’s getting ready for bed, thinking of the care Chris and Buck both put into creating it. That small voice in his head keeps nagging him, saying Buck wouldn’t do something like this, something this personal, for just anyone. He complains about his clients enough for Eddie to know that’s true.

Maybe the voice is on to something. As he falls asleep, Eddie lets himself think that maybe, maybe, on top of everything, on top of two years of friendship and flowers and looks that make Eddie’s insides flutter, maybe these feelings he’s been trying to ignore aren’t as one sided as he thought.

Maybe he has a chance.

#eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #9-1-1 #9-1-1 fox #buddie fic #9-1-1 fic #YES this is the longest chapter because i can't stfu about buck #WHATEVER

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midnight-moonlight-and-mars · 4 years

Text

Closed In

Pairing: Shy!Bucky x Reader AU

Warnings: None

Summary: Bucky was in love with his best friend Agent Y/n but always was too shy about well anything when it came to her. When Bucky confesses his love to her in a cramped situation, will Y/n feel the same?

“I don’t think that’s a good idea...” Bucky said to Y/n a bit concerned about her intense enthusiasm.

“Come ON Buck it would be suuuper fun. You’ll love it I promise. Pretty Please??” Y/n said dragging Bucky along nearly begging.

“I guess I can try it.” Bucky sighed giving in.

Y/n squealed with excitement at his surrender and proceeded to pull Bucky by the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

They trailed down the winding halls of the new S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters to a secluded room on the left. Swiping their cards to open the door, it only opened to more but darker hallways. Finally reaching their destination, Y/n swiped her card once more to open an inventory room with highly classified confiscated weapons and even ones considered too dangerous for using without specialized training.

Y/n ‘s mouth was nearly drooling at the sight of them. She wasn’t there to steal anything, as she was asked to test them. She was there mainly there for having explosive weapons in her hands. Y/n brought Bucky along because she wanted a back up in case something went wrong but also Bucky is her friend.

"Make sure you put this suit on. This is just a precaution if we find anything radioactive or with dangerous chemicals." Y/n tossed Bucky a spare suit while quickly slipping hers on.

"I can't believe they have this many just sitting here... You could weaponize an entire army with these." Bucky nervously gazing at the rows upon rows of shelves stacked with sealed black cases.

"Its amazing right?? Grab anything that hasn't been checked already and just have at it. We've got a lot to cover." Y/n said already picking her fair share of boxes.

Y/n traced the shelf with her fingers looking aimlessly for the perfect one to play with scientifically test for inventory. Bucky on the other hand was carefully reading each label on every box to see what would be fitting to test.

As Bucky finally picked out sonmething that appeared to be a glorified flamethrower, the S.H.I.E.L.D. red alarm went off. Sirens filled the room and echoed throughout the whole facility, causing the lights to dim and the walls to be painted with red flashing.

The red alarm means there is an intruder or a hostile situation like an attack or a fire on the premisis. Following the balring alarm sound, an announcement came over the P.A. system calling all available agents to the control room.

"Shit" Bucky and Y/n both said simultaneously muttered quickly trying undress out of their hazmat suits and seal away any weapons they moved or opened.

Just as Bucky was about to head out the door, he looked over Y/n to see she was struggling to get her suit off.

"Seriously?!! It's fucking stuck!" The suit zipper caught her clothes and began to rip them as she tried to untangle. The more she struggle the more the rest of the suit tangled as well causing her to fall over.

"Hold on." Bucky rushed over and swatted her hands away as he braced to ferociously rip the zipper off her clothes. Normally this would work, but of course in an emergency, it doesn't. He tried one more time, but instead just pulling the zipper off, he ripped her shirt in half. Great.

"Uuuuh.... Sorry." Bucky sat there frozen as he noticed the large chunk of cloth still caught in the zipper and a large part of Y/n midriff exposed.

"Seriously??! You had to just freaking destroy my clothes too??" Y/n said trying really hard not to hit him. After a moment of cursing and untangling from the suit, Y/n finally stood up and reached for the door.

Its locked. The door is locked. The door is FUCKING LOCKED. Refusing to believe her luck is this bad, Y/n shook the door handle, kicked it, tried hitting the now blocked window on it, and ultimately failing.

"Great. Just great. You know I was having so much fun already ya know? This is just the cherry on top." Y/n at this point was a nervous but angry wreck trying not to cry.

Bucky trying to be optimistic tried kicking the door doen and using his metal arm to punch a hole through but it barely scratched the surface. In such a high security room like this, they would obiously be using high security doors. It would be no use to swipe their cards either because those systems would be shut down or minimized to select areas.

Basically they were now stuck.

"Should we use the weapons? I'm sure there's something here we can use to break this door down." Bucky said looking towrads Y/n for confirmation.

"It'd be pointless. Most of the heavy duty weapons are connected to high tech cases that will shut down immediately following a lockdown. This room is also designed to withstand damage as powerful as a nuke inside and out. We're safe in here, but we're sitting ducks." Y/n leaned against the wall and slid to the floor thinking about how long they were goimg to be there.

"Great. So we're stuck for god knows how long when people are probably getting killed out there and there's nothing we can do." Bucky threw one last ear splitting punch to the door that still sustained no damage. Finally giving up, Bucky plopped down right next to her.

A moment of silence filled the space between them as the siren still sounded in the background. Bucky took a breath, then letting the reality of his situation finally sink in. He's stuck in a room with her. There is no one in the world he'd rather be with. Everyone knows the cliche story of people that like each other getting stuck in elevators together and how they confess how they feel and etc. This could be his chance.

He looked over to her and took in her features. Despite her looking dissheveled, sweaty, and exhausted, she still looked so beautiful. Every time he's around Y/n he feels shy but happy every time they spend time together.

Bucky's heart started racing just thinking about her and being alone with her in a closed space with lives on the line. This is not what he had in mind for his evening but he wasn't entirely against it. Everything he's tried to say suffocates him to silence. This was going to be a long wait.

"Wanna play a game?" Y/n said turning to Bucky at last breaking the tense silence like a knife.

"What kind of game?" Bucky said taking a breath of relief at something to do.

"Never have I ever?" She said willing to take suggestions

Like an dorky idiot, he regretfully agreed. Games like these lead to personal things and sometimes intimate things and Bucky wasn't entirely sure he was ready for that.

At first it was playful and even funny. Like never having sushi, or getting a parking ticket. Then, as always, gets deep and personal.

Without trying to sound pitiful or depressing, Y/n spoke on hee next turn. "Never have I ever... been in love."

Bucky was taken aback by her words. She seemed to say it playfully without realizing how it sounded. As he thought about it, she's never mentioned a boyfriend before or girlfriend for that matter. It also discouraged him to think that she might not have feelings for him after all.

"Really? Like ever?" Bucky asked just to be sure she wasn't just exaggerating.

"I mean I have wanted to be and wished I was but I've never really was sure of my feelings and being unsure feels the same as not. I have never lied about my feelings like I used to. The last time I did I hurt them and I don't want to do that anymore ya know? Doesn't mean I don't have feelings now, but I can a bit closed off..." It felt good to get something like that off her chest, even it stung a little.

"And that's fine, you're not obligated to and you can't force it either. But I have been in love and I think I am right now to be honest." Bucky said visibly nervous now but smiling thinking about just how much she doesn't know.

"Oh yeah? Who does the Winter Soldier have in mind?" Y/n pressed inching closer to him.

"Aw man she's amazing. She has this amazing smile and such a bright personality. She's also fiery and can have a temper sometimes but she still manages to have the biggest heart. Everything she does just makes me laugh and or feel butterlfies. I feel like she knows me better than most people and is always there when I need her and even when I think I don't she's there anyway. I wish you could to know her and see what I see when see her... she's imperfectly perfect." Somewhere along the lines he got carried away and wasn't shy when he talked about her as someone else. It was like confessing without implicating yourself, or in this case, someone else.

"Wow. Sounds like you're head over heels for her. She's lucky to have you. I bet she feels the same way about you Barnes. I mean she's gotta right?" Y/n said trying to guess about who he was talking about.

"Well we've always been just friends so I'm not usually this outward with my feelings about you..." Bucky said without realizing he just gave it all away. When he did, he felt his heart drop into his stomach like a stone. The siren still going in the background was the same sound that rang through his mind.

"What?So wait you're talking about me? You have feelings for me is what you're saying. You are joking right?" Y/n couldn't believe it. This whole time he was... maybe this was new or just a misunderstanding or... or... she doesn't know!

"Shit. Im sorry this is not how I wanted to tell you I was gonna wait to be sure if you felt the same it just slipped out and I'm sorry I didn't want this to be in the way of anything I just..." By now Bucky was crouched on the floor with his head in hands shaking. He couldn't talk anymore he would just make it worse for both of them so the best he could was try not to cry. He had a strong face but inside he felt weak and sick.

Y/n took a deep breath and made her way over to him. She stood there for a moment trying to find something to say but instead she just took him in a warm embrace. Bucky was suprised but didn't hesitate to hug her back. When she pulled from his embrace she finally spoke:

"I may have never loved before, doesn't mean I can't now. I would be lying if I said I never thought about us or how I feel about you. I don't know how far my feelings go, but I know they've gone the farthest and is still going. Hearing you talk about that girl you liked I admit I was a bit jealous thinking she was getting all of you're attention. Finding out it was me actually made me really happy on the inside. So if I'm being honest I think I might be in love with you too."

Now facing each other, Bucky couldn't help but kiss her and she most definitely kissed back. They might have gotten carried somewhere along the lines but thankfully it didn't go too far. Yet.

Pulling away to breathe, they held on to each other laughing at their messy hair and uncomfortable position on the floor and stood up.

As soon as they got their feet, the sirens and the lights go out and the lights brighten up the whole room. The doors slowly unlock and all the weapons cases whirr in electrical sounds as well as the other systems.

Bucky and Y/n jump and cheer and excitement that leads to celebratory kissing. To be honest, they forgot there was any danger at all.

The metal security doors finally slid open to reveal a very confused Steve Rogers seeing the two of them making out and parts of Y/n clothes ripped off along with both of thier messy hair.

"Sooo... Fondue?"

Tagged: @imaginechick

A/N: I took some liberites on this one. If anything is spelled wrong I apologize but im not fixing it lol i have edited this thing long enough. Hope you enjoy and please give me feedback! Thanks for reading💘

-K

#marvel imagines #bucky imagine #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #the winter soldier #steve rogers x reader #the winter solider imagine #the avengers #marvel's sheild

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tysonrunningfox · 4 years

Text

Toothless: Return to the Black Pony of Second Chances: Part 7

This is fast but also I am practicing.

Ao3

I didn’t expect Astrid to actually come find me the next time she has to go into town.

Honestly, I expected her to pretend that we never ran into each other in the barn. And she basically did, barring the fact that she now critiques how I pet Toothless at least once a day.

I picked his feet. He didn’t like it at all, and I wish I’d spent longer practicing with Stormfly. I’d risk going into Stormfly’s stall when Astrid isn’t there, except I already feel endangered by the fact I’m aware of her summer school status. I guess Fishlegs is still alive, but also, he’s been on chicken coop duty for the last three mornings, so I don’t want to trade.

Anyway, I didn’t expect an invitation to town when Astrid found me after morning chores.

She looks the best and the scariest that any teenage girl has ever looked with mud smudged under her jaw and in her hair. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her clean, or not since church lunches a decade ago, because by the time I’m up she’s already halfway through her pre-morning set of chores. Seeing her clean would be like seeing Heather without dark makeup and chipped nail polish. Maybe mud and cow poop is just the Wyoming version.

I don’t expect Heather to text and I don’t know how to feel about that. I don’t really want her to when Astrid might get nosy again.

“Ok, can I trust you to drop the stack of orders in the back at the post office?” She looks up abruptly, opening the truck door and climbing halfway out before I can even attempt to answer. There are muddy handprints on the back of her thighs and hay sticking out of her back pocket and I look away at the stack of envelopes in the backseat.

“Do I look like I’m six?”

“You act like it,” she counts a stack of money in the envelope she pulled the list out of, frowning a tight frown that would make me feel bad for her if she weren’t always on my ass. “Meet me in Gobber’s store when you’re done.”

“You trust me to cross the street all by myself, it’s an honor, Master Hofferson—”

“And don’t talk to anyone in there,” she cuts across me without looking, “we need them to like us in case we need any favors.”

“I’m glad you reminded me because I was going to ask each and every individual about their cows.”

She shakes her head and walks off without saying anything else and I hate that more than anything. I’m pretty sure only one person has ever been done with me before and that was my mom when she drove me to the airport because she couldn’t handle me anymore, but that took a hard-fought decade. Astrid’s past that point in less than three weeks, her steps smooth and unaffected as she opens the door to Gobber’s store, picking up a basket inside.

I do what she says and go to the post office, dropping the stack of bills and packages on the counter and waiting for the man behind it to check each one for proper postage.

“Stoick’s boy, right?” He asks, checking an address like it’s his job and not someone else’s problem.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Heard you were back for the summer,” he looks up and grins slightly, “you don’t happen to remember me, do you? I babysat you once, you were barely knee high.”

“I…sorry, I don’t,” I look back at Gobber’s store, hoping Astrid is coming out after efficiently getting everything we need and giving me an excuse to exit this conversation.

I miss anonymity. Already. I miss notoriety being a choice even more. Here everyone stares because I’m Stoick’s son and because they all remember the accident and because I’m new in town and that practically makes me a bigger tourist attraction than the world’s biggest cow turd or whatever passes for interesting around here. I could drop my pants on the side of the road and if anyone was around to see it they’d just pass it off on the city ruining me, when really it’s an almost insufferable lack of self control only made worse by the fact Astrid sees me as a responsibility to keep busy and out of trouble. And the fact is that when everything is boring, trouble is obvious.

“Bucket,” he taps the side of his head and it clangs like skulls don’t, “old army nickname, you might remember that at least.”

“Oh yeah,” I lie, because the only thing worse than people acting like my leg doesn’t make me different is acting like I should feel the same, “I bet I got a kick out of that.”

“All the kids do,” he finally drops the packages in a bin behind the counter, “I’ll let your father know if he gets anything else in, maybe I’ll see you again when you come to pick it up.”

“Yeah, sure. Maybe.” I feel like I’m supposed to say goodbye because it doesn’t matter what I do, it all feels rude in some way. Like I’m in a minefield of backcountry etiquette laser triggers and tripping one means one of those bored, withering looks from Astrid. And probably an assignment to clean the next most disgusting poop to what she already made me clean.

“See you around!” Bucket does wave and I sort of raise my hand as I’m opening the door and stumbling out into the wind-blown parking lot.

There’s an honest to god tumbleweed against the tire of the truck and I sigh, opening the door to Gobber’s store and flinching at the loud bell that jingles and announces me. Astrid and two guys I don’t recognize all look over and she’s the first to look away. One of the guys is younger and behind the counter, leaning on his elbows like he needs to see Astrid’s list. The other is older and the first person I’ve seen wearing anything but filthy jeans since I crossed the state border. It’s just slacks and a button up shirt and tie, but it stands out as much as the fact that he’s the kind of attractive that only appears in proximity to girls as hot as Astrid.

That’s how it always was with Heather, at least, the zone ten feet around her in all directions instantaneously populated with GQ rejects and aspiring young actors or influencers or whatever other title inspires a guy to wake up and do a thousand crunches.

Astrid glares at me as I approach and I almost want to warn them both, like yes, she’s unreasonably pretty, but at what cost? Don’t they realize they’d have to deal with her personality too? And that she snoops and bosses and if you’re ever randomly, instantaneously better than her at something she seethes about it for literal weeks.

“I mean, normally, shipping on that would be an extra twenty bucks to get it here by Friday, but I think I can take that off as a discount,” the kid behind the counter types something into the geriatric computer and it whirs ominously, “for you, especially.”

The man in the tie looks irritated.

“Thanks Gustav,” Astrid flips through her list, apparently clueless and not even looking at me as I walk up to stand next to her, “did you get the mail sent?”

“Yep, Bucket clanged his head for me and everything.”

“Mr. Haddock’s son, right?” The man who is even more clearly not a boy when he opens his mouth and literally talks in a British accent like this all isn’t already ridiculous holds his hand out and I shake it, trying not to wince at that unnecessarily bruising grip. “I heard you were coming back to town. I’m Eret.”

“Back to town? It doesn’t quite sound like you’re from town.”

“He’s with the bank,” Astrid says flatly, setting her list on the counter and looking back at me, “and you actually saw Bucket put the envelopes in the bin? He didn’t just leave them on the counter?”

“I think I know how to mail things.” It feels oddly like being chastised by my dad in front of people, and more than that, people who apparently don’t like me just for standing reasonably close to Astrid and talking to her.

“You’re lucky to have Astrid watching out,” Eret, the mysteriously well-dressed British banker man who is honestly reading like a glitch in the Wyoming matrix, says like he wants nothing more than for Astrid to break that unusually bland even for her expression. “I don’t know how anything would get done without her around.”

“It wouldn’t,” the guy behind the counter, Gustav, apparently, agrees, giving me a similar glare. “She practically keeps inventory around here.”

I feel vaguely like taking off my once white sock and waving it like a flag of surrender.

“That’s because you don’t,” Astrid rolls her eyes and she’s either mean to everyone or literally so clueless I shouldn’t be mad for her telling everyone that Heather is my girlfriend because maybe she actually thinks that.

It’s a little weird to see, honestly, because I’ve seen Heather surrounded by hopeful guys dozens if not hundreds of times and she always knows. She always looks at them differently and ends up with something from the experience, like a date or a free meal or tickets to something impossible. But Astrid is just standing there, her usual angry, uptight self, like she doesn’t realize what’s going on at all.

It might be halfway endearing, like all that hard-working self-sacrifice is actually the result of nothing going to her head, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s practically impossible. She has to know, she has to have some sort of opinion about it.

Either that or she’s literally incapable of any opinion but annoyance and unattainable expectations.

“So, ah…” Eret pauses and looks at me like he’s just remembering I’m unfortunately still here. I know that face too, the one where he’s trying to tell if I’m just incomprehensibly lucky or if I’m following Astrid around like a lost little duckling.

The answer is neither, and I almost want to tell them that. I am merely a referee and witness who will probably be on their side at the trial.

“Hiccup.”

“Hiccup, right, how long will you be around?”

“Hopefully just the summer.” I try to sound bored. I succeed. Astrid digs into her pocket for the stack of bills my dad gave her and counts them carefully.

“That’s what I said, now I’ve been here a year,” he says like he’s claiming some sort of badge over me and I take a step away from Astrid, like proximity is enough to re-state the disinterest my expression obviously isn’t yelling loud enough.

“I’ve been here fifteen,” Gustav says smugly, counting Astrid’s stack of twenties, “and you’re a little short. Sorry.”

“Here,” she reaches over the counter and pulls a pack of socks out of one of the paper bags, “how’s that?”

“I can just delete the socks from the inventory, you know, it’s not like anyone counts it around here.” Gustav looks worried, for a second, glaring at Eret about something other than standing too close to probably the only girl who’s going to come in here today.

“Like I’m going to let you get away with that,” Astrid scoffs, and I don’t think I’ve heard her closer to joking. It’s not close, by any means, but it’s better. Less wooden and bossy and proper and it makes me uncomfortable how much it shocks me.

“True,” Gustav sighs, “five dollars and twenty-five cents is your change.”

“Thank you,” Astrid puts it right back into the envelope from my dad instead of pocketing it, like five dollars or a pack of socks matter in the long run and I don’t know the last time I’ve felt more out of place, which is really saying something. “I’m sure I’ll be back like…tomorrow, with how much we run out of things.”

“I’m not working again until Thursday, if you could like…wait,” Gustav smiles. I feel for the kid, because at fifteen I sort of was him, thinking Heather would turn around and look if I was there reliably enough.

And I don’t know Astrid, not in any of the ways that matter, but I also know that giant, attractive, misplaced, well-dressed Brits almost always take precedence over kids willing to steal socks or gum or banana rum shooters from the corner store.

“Right,” Astrid picks up one of the bags and practically drops it into my arms before I’m ready and picks up the other two herself, “we have to get back, the last couple of cows should be calving any minute and I left Ruffnut all alone with them.”

“Sounds serious,” Eret moves like he’s going to open the door for her, but she kicks it open before he can, rolling her eyes when I barely slip through before it closes.

She buckles the jug of orange juice into the backseat so that it doesn’t fall on the bumpy road and I’m surprised that I know that, that something weird and pastoral and every day is sticking into my mind. The same way that I know the name of three or four different brushes that all look almost the same and I know how to check Toothless’s gums for how hydrated he is.

Maybe this is how someone comes here for the summer and ends up staying longer.

Astrid is buckling her seatbelt when Eret comes back out of the store and practically jogs to her side of the car. She frowns before rolling down the window, and maybe there’s something to the absolutely, untouchably frigid act because he sticks that package of socks through.

“Here.”

“What are you doing?”

“They were seven dollars, just take them, it’s the least I can do.” He says it like there’s some veiled importance, like in his year of study he’s learned that packages of calf-length women’s athletic socks are important to Wyoming mating rituals. Astrid crosses her arms.

“I’m not a charity case.” She turns the key in the ignition and jams the truck into reverse like she’s actually going to peel out of the parking lot and take his arm with her. And as much as I’m inherently uncomfortable in this situation, I’m more uncomfortable being an accomplice to a crazy person literally running someone’s anachronistic, dress shoe clad foot over, so I hold out my hand.

“I know where her dresser is.”

He frowns. He tosses them to me anyway and I actually manage to catch them. He lingers for a second longer while she refuses to look at him and then pats the side of the truck before walking away.

“That took longer than it was supposed to,” she rolls up her window as soon as she’s back on the road, turning the radio up a few clicks like attacking me with some ridiculous song about stomping in a corn field is going to keep me from asking questions.

“That’s what happens when you stop to flirt for fifteen minutes.”

“What?” She looks at me, half confused and half her normal accusatory.

“Come on, even you aren’t that clueless,” I toss the package of socks into the backseat with everything else, “Mr. Statutory and ‘I’ll embezzle for you especially’ Gustav.”

“Embezzle?” She frowns, turning too fast onto a dirt road and spewing dust up behind us. It’s the same sort of confidence she has with Stormfly, like she’s not actually doing anything dangerous because she’s done exactly this so many times that the boundaries are more like brick walls to her. I don’t think I’ve done anything that repetitively ever and no wonder she’s insane. “Gustav’s just a kid, and the only kid who would let Gobber hire him instead of making more money on a ranch somewhere.”

“Because he wants to talk to you, obviously,” I don’t know why I’m doing this, it feels more like advice than an argument, so I turn it back around, “just like the attractive British guy who, of course, would only brave the tiny square of this state that’s directly next to you.”

“Eret works for the bank.”

“Yeah, and you have so much banking business to take care of, right, that’s why he’s buying you socks, to win responsibility for your assets.”

She grits her teeth, signaling again even though there’s no one around and turning left onto another dirt road I don’t think I’ve been on.

“You really shouldn’t talk about things you don’t understand.”

“Yeah, and I really appreciate you telling everyone I have a girlfriend that I don’t.”

“You’re still on that?” She scoffs, “I said I was sorry.”

“And it felt so authentic, really. I’ll be the bigger person and not tell everyone that you’re practically sharing expenses with Mr. Statutory—”

“Stop calling him that, he’s like twenty-three or something,” she glares at him, “you sound crazy. He’s just someone I know because he works at the bank that has all of the loans for land around here.”

“Because teenagers know so many bankers.”

“Why do you care so much?” She turns again, past the first fence line I recognize as Haddock property. “Don’t you have anything better to do than worry about who I talk to in town?”

“Not really. There’s literally nothing else to do, I don’t get why no one else understands that.”

“There’s plenty to do, did you forget that you’re the only one who can touch a dangerous horse that’s taking up food and resources? That’s something to fix, right there, something no one else can even bother you about.”

“Right, because I know so much about training horses.”

“You could ask,” she scoffs, “I’m sure someone taught you to do that at some point.”

I almost blurt out that I’ve never really needed to but that’s a bad idea when there are no witnesses and she’s already mad at me.

“Who would I ask?”

“I’ll help you.” It’s less of an offer and more of an order, “I have an old saddle you can use.”

“Ok, fine.” I shrug and look out the window at those two warped trees by my dad’s dingy, wind-blown house.

“Don’t tell anyone I talked to Eret,” her voice is a little softer, a little more unsure, “Ruffnut’s all about him, I don’t want to deal with that today.”

00000

I grew up hearing about how beautiful baby animals are.

And yes, the cow that I helped um…retrieve from the rear of a groaning cow is cute after the cow licked all of the…stuff off of it, but it didn’t seem beautiful, necessarily. Useful, maybe. Important.

More important than handing out flyers outside of a meat-packing plant or avoiding chicken nuggets, but not beautiful.

Functional.

Gratifying, especially when Astrid left me alone with it for a second to check the other cow. Like she might trust me. Like proving that I can in fact give stacks of letters to a person actually did start to establish some base layer of trust.

Of course, that all proved false the next morning after mucking stalls when she announced it was time to start training Toothless.

“Do you know if he’s green-broke?” She asks, hanging the pitchfork back on the wall and wiping her palms on her jeans, seemingly unaware of the hay in her hair.

“He’s…black.” I say, pointing through his stall bars.

“No, is he—green-broke means that he’s comfortable with a saddle.” She clarifies, already a bit annoyed with me, and honestly it’s more familiar than her being halfway trusting, so I’ll take it.

I shrug, “I wouldn’t know.”

She takes a frustrated, determined step towards his stall and Toothless’s nostrils flare, whites of his eyes showing as he tosses his head.

It seems like Astrid can’t think when she’s standing still.

I get it, in a way that I think it might be the only glimmer of a thing that we have in common, and she shoves her hands into muddy pockets, looking at me like she hates that she’s depending on me for the concept of a landline.

A landline she probably doesn’t believe in because what wire survives the wind howling outside.

“Why are you helping me?” I ask, the question that’s been on my mind boiling over like the milk Ruffnut didn’t buckle in yesterday when she volunteered to fall on the flirting with Gustav sword.

It catches Astrid off guard and she sputters for a second before taking a step back from Toothless’s stall, and shrugging.

“You’ve been…surprisingly non-whiny.” She shrugs, gesturing pointedly at my arms, sunburned and peeling slightly where they peek out from under the sleeves of my torn H&M flannel that’s rolled halfway up my forearms. “All things considered.”

“All things?”

“For a city kid, you’re surprisingly useful.” It’s more backhand than compliment, but I don’t hate it, necessarily.

It’s honest.

There’s no commentary about potential or effort or how I’m wasting either.

“Useful.” I echo the word that’s never been applied to me before.

“You can’t tell if a horse is green-broke or not but…that’s not your fault.” She pulls the insult like it’s heavy for her and she expects me to help her heft it and maybe the frosty, general inaccessible thing has its charm, because right now it’s like she’s gesturing to a hay rope that I might even be allowed to access if I weren’t so scrawny.

“It’s the city’s fault, I know. Can’t fight the corruption of places being open past 8pm with biceps like these.” I flex.

She blinks at me, exhausted, and I don’t know why I suddenly realize that she always has been. She’s all dark circles and scowl, all slightly too skinny angles in her cheeks, like I always felt when my mom insisted on a stricter than usual vegan kick with no more cooking lessons than she’d had previously.

“Come on, you can learn on Stormfly.” She waves me after her, purposeful again, boots clunking heavy on the barn floor as she takes Stormfly’s halter off of its hook. “We’ll deal with Toothless when you know some of what you’re doing.”

She says the name with the same tone that her eyes had when she acknowledged my arms and my jeans and my general unacceptability. Like she accepts it, despite initial reservations.

Acceptance. Yet another word I don’t know I’ve had directly applied.

It’s heavy, like the saddle she promptly plops into my arms. Which I drop.

She doesn’t laugh and it feels like an assignment.

#t:rttbposc #hiccstrid fic #httyd fic #modern au #horse girl hiccup #i remembered that it's ok to let your characters bond at 30k words #lol

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fandomtrash465 · 4 years

Text

Time Fluff: Chapter 3

A/N: Hi lovelies! Sorry that this chapter took a little bit longer to get posted, I just wanted to make sure that this one is really good with the action and everything. I hope that you guys still like it as much as the other two chapters! And special thanks to all of you that commented on my last post, luv you all <3

Summary: Bucky x reader. Bucky and reader have liked each other for a long time but they’re both in denial of the other’s feelings. What will happen when Tony’s new invention accidentally brings 40sBucky and 40sSteve to the present? If this were to go in the actual MCU timeline it would probably be sometime before infinity war and before they actually figured out time travel. And for anytime that 40sBucky or 40sSteve are mentioned I used * to make it less confusing for which Steve or Bucky it is.

Word Count: 1595

Warnings: Like two swear words

Other Chapters: Time Fluff Masterlist

*Howard Stark’s lab, 1943*

“I’d be careful with that if I were you pal, you’ve got no idea what you’re messin’ with over there” Howard says this to Steve when he starts looking around the area at all of the contraptions.

“How do you keep track of all this? Do you even know what everything here is?” Bucky asks while holding up a small metallic object.

“I-“ Howard begins to respond but a faint blue light coming from the wall catches his eye before he can finish his thought. “I guess I don’t?” He cautiously walks toward the wall, gaining the attention of Bucky and Steve.

“What the hell is that?” Bucky slowly reaches out to touch the growing light.

“No, Bucky stop!” Steve shouts and grabs Bucky’s arm, but it’s too late and by the time that Steve had a hold of Bucky the blue circle of light had already sucked them in, and they disappeared.

*Tony Stark’s lab, present day*

“Oh my God! What was that thing!?” Bucky exclaims while trying to catch his breath and takes in his surroundings.

“I have no idea what that was or where we are. What is all of this? This is even crazier that Howard’s lab” Steve gets up from being thrown on the floor, also trying to regain his breath. He starts to hear footsteps coming toward the door, a benefit of the super soldier serum. “I hear someone coming, quick Buck, hide” Bucky runs to grab something that looks like a gun and hides behind a large machine. Steve is just barely able to grab something to defend himself with and hide behind the big object near Bucky before the door to the lab starts to slide open.

*Reader’s POV*

In the middle of having a delicious dinner with the whole team we all heard a loud bang come from the lab upstairs. I took a quick headcount of everyone at the table and noticed the others doing the same, no one was missing so who could have made that noise? “Did we leave something on?” I asked Tony and Bruce in a quieter voice than I normally would have.

“Not that I know of…” Bruce answered cautiously.

“I’ll go check it out” I say and begin to get up when Bucky gently touches my arm.

“I’ll go with you, we’ve got no idea what’s down there” He says and rolls up his sleeves.

“I’ll come too” Wanda adds, knowing that if there is a threat that she will be one of the most powerful people to have up there. We start heading up normally and get quieter as we approach the door.

“Be careful” I whisper as quietly as possible to them. Just before I open the door I hold up my fingers and do a countdown from three down to zero. I push the door open silently and hold out the gun that I almost always have on me. The three of us look around and I notice something off about the time machine, whereas before we only needed one more part now almost the entire thing has been demolished. I suddenly gasp and aim my gun as I see a figure crouching behind one of Tony’s inventions.

“Who are you and what do you want?” Wanda asks calmly when she notices what I have. The figure slowly starts to move to a standing position and I can now see their face.

“Oh my God you freaking jerk. How did you get down here before us?” I ask as I now come face to face with Steve Rogers*. I set down my gun and roll my eyes at his prank even though he for some reason looks confused. I look over to Bucky as he’s been oddly quiet and I notice him staring at a different machine of Tony’s.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, ma’am” Steve* says politely as if he doesn’t even know me.

“Who’s that?” Bucky asks in a small voice and as the figure comes out he falters a bit because of how shocked he is at staring at himself from 70 years ago, the “other Bucky*” also looks very shocked. My eyes widen and I look between the two of them and Steve* trying to make sense of everything.

“Okay what is going on here?” Wanda looks just as confused as I am, if not more so.

“Friday? Please tell Tony, Steve, Bruce, Natasha, and Vision to come into the lab” I ask Friday without taking my eyes off of Bucky* and Steve*. She doesn’t respond and I figure that that’s because she didn’t want to frighten Steve* and Bucky*, but I knew that she had told the rest of the team because I could faintly hear their rushed footsteps.

“Y/N! Friday told us that you needed us” Steve bursts in, immediately followed by all of the others. He takes a quick inventory of the room and freezes when he sees himself dressed in garments from the ‘40s. “What is this? Who are you?” They ask each other at the same time.

“My name is James Barnes, his is Steve Rogers, but I have a feeling that you already have that figured out” Bucky* says and looks all of us over, I notice his gaze lingering on himself, Steve, and I a bit longer than the others.

Tony comes up behind me and says quietly “I think that the time machine worked” My eyes widen when I finally put the pieces together.

“How did you guys get here?” I ask, now wondering how they would have traveled over without us making anything happen.

“The jerk over here decided to touch this glowing light coming from a wall in Howard’s lab” I can almost hear Tony’s breath hitch at the mention of his dad’s name.

“Alright, well to be safe and make sure that you’re telling the truth I’m going to go set up a lie detection test” Natasha says with her arms crossed and gives me a look that says ‘you owe me an explanation’.

“With all due respect Miss Romanoff, I could do a scan of these two and find out what timeline it is that they are from” Vision suggests while raising a hand to interject.

“That’d work, thanks Vision” Nat responds with a smile and looks relieved that she won’t have to set up an entire interrogation when we all already feel the need to believe the two of them. Vision rises up and starts to visibly scan the pair while they look absolutely terrified, and rightfully so seeing as the craziest thing that they’ve seen science create is Steve.

“Scan complete. Their DNA suggests that they are indeed from 1943 and are telling the truth” Vision sinks back to the floor while giving his evaluation.

I sigh and rub my head for a moment and try to stay calm, especially because both Steves and Buckys look like they’re about to lose it. “Okay, Tony and Bruce? Can you go explain all of this and everything that we were doing to Steve and Buck, our Steve and Buck. Vision, go tell everyone else what’s happening. I’ll explain everything to Nat and then I guess I’ll have to show these two around the compound seeing as with this thing the way that it is they could be here for a while” I say and end with a gesture towards the charred-up time machine.

“That is if you two are comfortable with me showing you around?” I ask Steve* and Bucky* to make sure that they’re at least somewhat okay with how we’re trying to handle this situation.

“Of course, doll” Bucky* says and nods in my direction politely with a small smile and it feels odd to be called ‘doll’ by someone other than the Bucky that I know. I notice Bucky almost glaring at his younger self but I don’t think much of it.

“Okay then. Let’s go people” I say and everyone goes in their respective directions. I pull Nat aside and begin quickly explaining everything to her.

“So, you spent almost two weeks huddled up in this lab figuring out time travel?” Natasha recaps while deadpanning after I finish explaining myself.

“Yeah pretty much” I say cautiously, unsure of how she will respond.

“I honestly don’t know what else I expected. I mean it was you, Tony, and Bruce in here for two weeks, I’m kind of surprised you didn’t get done with this sooner” We both exchange a light laugh “But seriously, be careful with those two, especially with Barnes 2.0, don’t want a jealous super soldier on our hands” She finishes with a wink before walking out and I blush a bit at the thought of being able to make Bucky jealous.

“Okay you two. You have basically no idea what is going on, do you?” I ask while trying to ignore how weird it is talking to my two friends as if we’ve never met before.

“I’ve put together that we somehow time traveled to the future and there is somehow a Bucky and me here that look almost exactly the same as us” Steve* tells me kindly as if he can tell how close I am to freaking out about this whole thing.

“Yeah, and why does future me have a metal arm and looks like he’s homeless?” Bucky* asks curiously with a hint of concern in his voice.

“I’ve got a lot to explain to you guys” I say while looking between them both.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #40s bucky #tony stark #natasha romanoff #40s steve #steve rogers #vision #wanda maximoff #time travel #marvel #avengers #mcu

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builder051 · 4 years

Text

Fill the holes (with more cement)

Powers/No powers. Bucky vs. Depression storyline.

__________

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” Steve says into the phone. Across the kitchen table, Bucky cringes. He wants to drop his forehead to the table, but that seems like the wrong thing to do. It would probably hurt, but that doesn’t matter. Steve wouldn’t like it. And that kind of does.

“I’m,” Steve sighs. “I’m literally out of options. I have...” He checks his watch. “Like, an hour of sick leave left. I can be a little late, but that’s it.”

He glances up from pen and paper he’s fiddling with, but Bucky doesn’t meet his eye.

“And I can’t teleport,” Bucky hears a female voice reply on the other end of the line. “I’ll be there, ok? And I’ll speed. But it’ll still take a couple hours.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Yeah. Ok.”

“Is he safe alone?” the woman asks.

Bucky cringes as Steve squeezes his eyes shut. “Laura, I don’t have a choice. At first SHIELD was pretty accommodating with FMLA and stuff, but they’re at the end of their rope with me. I’m about to be let go for attendance problems, and my part of the project’s getting fucked up-- ”

“Steve.”

He wrings the hand not holding the phone to his ear, then brings it in to rub his eyes. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Get him settled. I’ll be there.. I can call you from the road if that helps.”

“Can’t,” Steve says apologetically. “But thank you. You’re amazing. You’re my savior.” He clamps the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he picks up his work bag and tries to button the top button of his shirt at the same time.

“Shut up. Go to work. I’ll be there.”

The call ends, and Steve tosses the phone into the front pocket of his bag. He closes his eyes and takes a breath, then turns to Bucky, who is still refusing to look at him.

It’s not that Bucky minds being talked about like a dog or a little kid, because he knows that’s about what he’s worth. He just wishes he wasn’t letting Steve down so badly. Project be damned, it’s his life that’s getting fucked up. And it’s all Bucky’s fault.

“You wanna come sit? Watch a movie?” Steve coaxes hurriedly, turning on the television and flipping channels until he finds something in black and white. “Get your mind engaged in something?”

He’s trying. Bucky can’t fault him for it. But there’s just about nothing he’d like to do less than scoot back his hard wooden chair and drag his feet across the carpet to settle in the corner of the cold leather sofa.

Steve throws a blanket over the pale leather upholstery. “Come on, Buck,” he says, almost pleading. “Just come over here and sit. You’re nice and safe.”

Bucky turns his head a fraction of an inch to get a better look at Steve’s face. He can read in the lines between his eyebrows exactly what he’s not saying. You’re far away from the knives. The pills. The bathtub and the sink and the cord for the weedwhacker.

And that’s what makes him break. He feels sorry for Steve, frantic and caring and protective all at once. He feels bad because it’s all his fault. Sour guilt burns at the back of Bucky’s throat and threatens to wash up into his mouth.

He grits his teeth and slowly nods. Getting a move on would be more respectful, more considerate of Steve’s situation. He could say, “of course, babe, I know you have to get to work.” But that would involve cobbling together words he doesn’t have and speaking with a voice he doesn’t seem to possess.

“Hm,” Bucky manages when he finally sinks into the nest Steve has created at the end of the couch. He means to say “thanks” as well, but his mouth is stringy with spit, and it comes out as just, “Ks.”

Steve creates his own interpretation and leans forward, gently petting Bucky’s hair and planting a kiss on the top of his crown.

It feels comforting. Too comforting, so Bucky pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head.

“Alright,” Steve says softly, a note of hurt in his voice. “Laura will be here soon. She has a key, so she’ll just let herself in.”

“Hm.”

“Ok. I’ll see you this afternoon? Well, tonight, probably, with this dumb project...”

Bucky watches Steve shake his head, as if clearing water from his ears so he can focus. He does need to focus. On the actual important things.

“K.”

“Love you, Buck.” Steve gives him a soft smile, then all but sprints out the door.

Once the sound of Steve’s bike leaves the driveway, Bucky lets his body go slack, his stump shoulder burrowing into the crack between the back of the couch and the arm. The blanket rumples and creates a makeshift pillow, and he brings his knees up against his chest, securing them loosely with his right arm.

He feels shaky; his teeth are chattering even though he’s not cold. Bucky wants Steve to come back, to lie beside him and make everything that’s wrong feel right again. He also wants Steve to stay away, maybe never come back at all. Because Bucky doesn’t deserve him. He doesn’t deserve anything. He doesn’t deserve the air he’s breathing. He doesn’t deserve to live--

Time must’ve passed as he sat there, curled against the arm of the sofa and wondering where in the house Steve had hidden his prescriptions this time, because it seems like barely a second later the door is opening and a soft, high voice is calling his name.

“James?”

“I’m--” A bubble of thick saliva bursts in Bucky’s throat and steals the rest of his sentence. Or at least it would’ve if he’d had any more he wanted to say.

“Yeah,” Laura says. “I see you.” Keys and grocery bags hit the counter, then soft slippered feet approach his couch nest.

Bucky doesn’t move. He isn’t sure he can; he has no drive, no energy. The force required to sit up and say hello seems equal to that needed to swallow a handful of pills.

“Can I sit with you?”

Bucky doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t need to mull it over, but the words still take a long time coming. “’S fine.”

“Alright.” She sits, then pauses. “Is it ok to touch you? Put my hand on your shoulder?’

“Hm. K.”

“Ok.” Laura gently lays a hand on his back, just behind the joint. The pressure is light, but the presence makes him feel lighter. A little bit, anyway. It’s possible to lift his head without the assistance of a forklift, so Bucky does and blinks up at her with glassy eyes.

“Hi,” Laura whispers to him.

Bucky mouths the word back, but no sound comes out.

“You’re all scrunched up in the corner,” Laura says, nodding to the wrinkled blanket bunched under James’s head. “Do you want to try lying down?” She takes a throw pillow from the opposite end of the couch and offers it to him.

Bucky blinks slowly and takes inventory. His lower back is beginning to protest the tightly curled position, and while it makes him feel warm and safe, it’s no longer worth the mounting level of discomfort.

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

“Ok. Here you go.” With a feather-light touch, Laura sits Bucky up and removes the blanket from beneath him as he scoots down and re-settles in a properly reclined position. Her hand slide past his armpit and the other catches the base of his neck. Laura frowns.

“James?”

“M?”

“You’re really warm. Are you feeling ok?”

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek until it hurts. “Not...not really.”

“I mean...” Laura carefully brushes Bucky’s bangs out of his face to feel his forehead. “You’re definitely feverish. Are you feeling sick?”

“I...don’t know.” Bucky’s so used to feeling terrible that he’s forgotten how to differentiate the mental from the physical.

“It’s alright,” Laura says. She kneels on the carpet at Bucky’s shoulder and folds her arms on the edge of the couch cushion, then rests her chin on the backs of her hands. “Do you want to take inventory?”

“Like, make a list?” Bucky asks slowly. It’s a technique emphasized in his therapy sessions. He wonders if Steve’s gotten to Laura and suggested she work with him specifically on it. Or if Laura’s been to therapy. Or if it’s just a good idea to begin with and Laura’s a smart cookie.

Bucky has to stop thinking because it’s making his head throb.

“Sure, like a list.” Laura smiles. “Now, how’s your head?”

“Hurts.”

“A lot or a little?”

Bucky pauses to think about it. Nothing like a migraine, but it’s not peanuts either. “In between?”

“Stuffy nose?” Laura continues?

“Uh.” Bucky sniffs. There’s no dripping snot, but his breathing does feel slightly constricted. No wonder he’s been feeling like he’s been caught up in ropes wrapped round his chest. “Stuffy...” He gestures vaguely from his forehead down to his sternum.

“Ah,” Laura nods. “The sinuses acting up? Maybe a bit of chest congestion to go with it?”

Bucky blinks his affirmation, deciding against nodding should his aching head take the opportunity to play up.

“Ok. Stomach?” Laura looks at him in all seriousness.

As if on cue, Bucky’s gut seems to fold itself in half, making a low rumble and sending a warning shot of hot sourness up into the back of his throat. He isn’t sure if Laura heard it, so he surreptitiously wraps his arms around his abdomen and presses his vibrating teeth together.

“James?”

“Hm. Not, uh. Not good.”

“Do you feel like you could throw up?” Laura isn’t phased in the slightest.

Bucky swallows hard at the mention, then gives a minute nod.

“Ok.” Laura rises to her feet. “Give me one second.”

She disappears for a moment, presumably to the upstairs bathroom, because when she returns, she has the trash can, the thermometer, and several bottles and boxes of medicine.

“Alright,” Laura says, resuming her crouch. “I gotta know how high that fever is.” She removes the thermometer’s plastic cap.

Bucky shakes his head. “I’ll--” he starts, already beginning to gag.

“I’d rather you blow before I medicate you.” Laura gives a sideways smile.

Bucky reluctantly lets her slip the device into his mouth. As expected, saliva pools immediately, sour and gummy around his teeth. An attempt to swallow without moving his tongue sets off a choked retch, and before he’s fully aware of what’s happened, he’s hanging off the edge of the sofa, spitting bile and mucous into the bin while Laura pats him between the shoulder blades.

“101,” Laura says when he’s finished.

“Huh?” Bucky drags a shaky hand across his mouth.

“Your temp.”

“Oh.”

“Think you can manage some pills?” Laura asks. She flips over a few options to check the dosing, then hands him five assorted tablets and gel caps.

“Really? I’m allowed--” Bucky breaks off in a wet cough.

“Well, I’m watching you, aren’t I?” Laura reminds him softly. “Extra meds are necessary sometimes. You know that.” She makes her way toward the kitchen, where she pulls a case of juice boxes from one of the grocery bags. “You’re not hurting yourself, and you’re not getting high. And you’re damn lucky my kids don’t like strawberry kiwi.”

Bucky tries to smile, but all he can do is pull his mouth into a straight line. Better than a scowl, he supposes. He guesses he just looks sick.

“What’re you gonna--” Bucky pauses to clear his throat as Laura hands him a drink and looks pointedly at the pills in his palm. “What’re you gonna tell Steve?”

“That he needs his radar system recalibrated,” Laura says with a laugh. “No, really. That you’re not feeling well. And that you’re not feeling well.”

“Hm.” The meds sting a little as they pass down Bucky’s raw throat.

“That’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. Then he coughs. “I guess.”

“It’s a good guess,” Laura replies. “Because I know.”

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