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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

Prompt: Vampire Chris drunk on blood?

CW: Drunkenness, drug addiction, blood drinking, vampirism, creepy abusive comfort, WWI-period-appropriate xenophobia and brief vague possible homophobia reference, dehumanization, war whump

"Now, that'll get you blotto faster'n French liquor," Kirk says, sinking back against the muddy trench wall, careless for the dirt caking itself into the hair at the nape of his neck.

His helmet lay beside him upside down on the ground, and his brown hair was free to explode in its wealth of curls, a kind of halo around his head. He had one arm out, sleeve rolled back. His hands were caked in mud and smeared with drying dirt - above the line of his sleeve, though, the skin was paper-white, almost clammy.

It was this white skin that the vampire's fangs were buried in.

"Shit, Holden, y'gotta have 'im bite you, too." Kirk's grin widens. The shells had gone silent but every man flinches, now and then, hearing a phantom sound or feeling a rumble beneath their feet.

At least it's finally stopped goddamn raining.

The venom rolls through Kirk's veins, soothing his jangled nerves. He can barely feel the trembling in his hands and it feels like his mind, when it's in him. He's a farm kid from western Nebraska, the second son and not needed so much as the first to bring the crops in. So here he is, learning to love the feeling of teeth in his skin.

Maybe when he gets shipped back home he'll stick to the cities. They say the vampires have their dens there, where they can hide. You can buy venom enough to quiet your mind for a day or two, the city boys tell him.

They're in it as deep as he is, now.

Feels like half the American army is itching for venom these days.

"No thank you. I'm not gonna get sent home and start chasing fangs like the rest of you." Holden squints, looking up into the dark sky, the rolling clouds that seem far too close to the ground. "It'll rain again soon."

"When isn't it going to rain again soon? Oh, right, when it's already bloody raining." That's a Brit, they just call him Tommy. No one knows his real name.

He claims to hate them all, but since half his unit was blasted apart two days ago, he's hung with the 'Yanks' close enough. Kirk thinks he's fond of them, even if he won't admit it. Or just scared to be alone. He can understand that. He's terrified of the thought himself. "Shove the little vamp over to me, Kirk, I want some."

The vampire pulls his fangs free, licking over the wounds he's made until they close. He's a skinny little thing, pale as paper with bright red hair they stuff under his helmet when he's running medic checks in No Man's Land, trying to make him less obvious. Sure, he can't die from gas, but he can be blown to bits by a whizz-bang fast as any living soldier can.

"Please," The vampire says, turning big green eyes up to Kirk. "I, I, I'm tired, please, can I sleep?"

He's got heavy dark circles under his eyes. It's kind of cute.

"No," Kirk answers, curt, shoving the vampire away by his head, watching him fall into the mud. His uniform is marked with it, now, a dab of dirt over the 'V' sewn next to his medic's cross. There's a satisfaction, in Kirk, just in seeing the little thing laid low.

He won't die in this war, and Kirk probably will, but before that happens he can at least hurt something he can see. You can't see old Fritz when you fire on him from a distance - but you can see a vampire flinch in the dirt. It's not much.

It's something.

"Must be daytime," Holden speaks up, still staring up at the clouds. "You can't tell, weather like this, but if the fangs're tryin' to sleep, must be day."

"He sleeps when we're done with him, and not a moment before." Kirk's voice is a murmur, eyes half-closed. He's drifting in it, the way the venom dulls and deadens the eternal ache in his back and legs. The Germans could come roaring over the bags right this second and Kirk wouldn't give a damn at all. Let them kill him, at least he can go with venom in his veins, not as a basket case carried off the field. "Not a second before. Go on, bloodsucker. Get over to Tommy and help him get some shut-eye, huh?"

"I've been drinking all night, pulled some rations off someone," Tommy groans, rubbing his fingers at his temples. "It's done no good at all." It's a funny little gesture, so oddly normal and casual. Reminds Kirk of home.

His throat tries to close, homesickness bowling him over. The wish to return to his mother's worn smile, sit down to dinner and have her ask him about his day, when his problems revolved around the harvest and the hard backs of the pews in church-

He takes a breath, forcing it back, and gives the vampire a vicious kick in the ribs, listening to his high-pitched cry and how he curls around himself with a smile of his own.

Oh, he'll die, probably. The others from his town already have. But he can remind himself he's still alive, for now. One way or another. He can cause pain he can't feel himself, for once.

"I said get over to Tommy and smooth out his sharp bits, bloodfuck."

"Yes, um, y-yes, Kirk," The vampire says, pulling himself onto his hands and knees. His fingers are smashed into the mud deep enough to nearly disappear. If they could only get a few days of sunlight to dry out all this dirt, it wouldn't be such hell.

As it is, his socks've been damp for weeks, his boots feel like they're caging his feet in a swamp. He's worried about trenchfoot and trying not to think about it. He stole these boots off a dead German when his own started to fall apart, anyway.

He could've probably gotten new ones, but... it had felt good, taking something from Fritz after Fritz took so much from him.

Kirk tries not to remember that the German soldiers he fights have never caused him a single moment's harm on purpose. They're only fighting for the same reasons he is - because someone higher up who doesn't give a damn about them said to.

Kirk had been all gung-ho for the war until he'd been sent over here to fight it. All those articles in the newspapers, all the speeches given by men standing in town squares... it had all made it seem so patriotic.

They never tell you, Kirk thinks bitterly, that you'll be sent into a slaughterhouse. They don't tell you you'll spend your day breaking a vampire's fingers one by one just to watch them heal back into place and listen to his little cries.

Just to pass the time.

"Trade me your flask while the fangs takes care of you," Kirk says, and Tommy hands it over easy enough.

He watches Tommy grab the vampire by one arm and yank him over, vicious and violent, making the vampire boy cry out again. The sound is starting to grate on Kirk's nerves. It makes him sound too human. He hates being reminded that every vampire used to be a person.

He drinks whatever's in the Brit's flask, and it burns down his throat just the way he needs it to. Wipes out his worries, relaxes shoulders that seem always to be tensed up nearly to his chin.

His mama's a teetotaler, back in Nebraska. He'd been one, too, until the first bombardment. Now he drinks anything he could get his hands on, and the officers mostly looked the other way.

"Bite," Tommy orders. Kirk raises his eyebrows when Tommy doesn't roll up his sleeve but pushes the vampire's face instead towards his neck, turning his head to the side to bare it.

His eyes meet Kirk's, and he smiles, bitterly. "Works faster this way," He explains. Kirk just watches as the vampire's fangs glint in the eternal dim twilight, hesitating before they bury themselves in Tommy's skin.

The little monster's back arches, pressing them chest-to-chest. A low rumble comes from somewhere deep inside, the animal sound the vampire makes during a good feed. He doesn't do it much with the regular unit any longer, they mocked him for it and one day he stopped.

The vampire's throat works as he drinks, and Tommy's arm slides around the monster's thin shoulders, forcing him closer. He's nearly kissing his forehead, this way.

It's an embrace, and altogether more intimate of one than Kirk thought he'd ever see from the cold, standoffish Brit. He feels a blush creeping up his neck and his cheeks as Tommy lets his head fall back, groaning softly in a kind of contentment as the venom hits. The sound isn't quite like a groan at all, it's more like-

"Fucking hell, Tommy, are you an invert?"

"Invert suggests I give a damn what bites me," Tommy replies, without opening his eyes. His slurred speech deepens, goes slow. His hand curves around the vampire's shoulder, holding him tightly. "I'm after oblivion, lads. I don't care what parts the fangs have that give it to me."

"Fang-chaser," Holden says, good-naturedly. Clearly not bothered the way Kirk is. Maybe that's just his farmboy past talking, that he's even unsettled at all. Maybe Tommy's got a point - who cares what's between a vampire's legs if you're only interested in the damn thing's mouth in the first place? "Fucking fang-chaser, that's what you are. End up in a den getting your hips bit like Oscar Wilde."

"Who's Oscar Wilde?"

Holden laughs. "You should try reading a book or three sometime, Kirk."

"Sure, sure, whenever I get the damn time in-between running over this blasted nothing. In any case, Tommy's definitely a fang-chaser."

"Guilty as charged... just like you two." Tommy's hand slides up into the vampire's hair, gripping tight and gently pulling backwards. The vampire's fangs slide free, and it laps at the wounds, rapidly. Tommy groans again. Kirk finds himself unable to look away at the bob of Tommy's throat. How good does it feel, in the neck? He's never thought to try it. He thinks about it now. "Turn me in to face discipline for unnatural relations with the fangs and I'll do the same to you."

"Yeah, yeah, we got it. Fucking Limey bastard." There's no real animosity in Kirk's voice. He's too distracted, drunkenly considering the vampire boy's mouth. Wondering if he knows how to kiss. "You shared your liquor, I shared our bloodsucker, we're both of us in it to our necks."

"Not me," Holden says, innocent and pure as the driven snow. As if he weren't the one to give Kirk the idea to use the venom in the first place.

Kirk throws a clot of mud at him, which he dodges, laughing. They're all laughing, soon enough, except for the fangs.

The vampire lays there, his head pressed to Tommy's chest and forcibly held in place by his arm. His eyes are slightly wide, unfocused, and Kirk leans forward.

"What's this, then? What'd you do to the fangs, Tommy?"

"Hm? Nothing. Oh, I'm pissed as can be, do they feel the liquor in your blood?"

"I'm guessing they sure do. You drunk, fangs?"

The vampire's eyes drift over to Kirk, move too far to one side, come back again. He swallows, thickly. "I... I think I, I, I am," He says, and tries to push back against Tommy's chest, to free himself.

The Brit's arm crushes him back into place, his other hand moving up to run through the vampire boy's dirt red hair, petting him like one of the ambulance dogs. Kirk and Holden laugh at the vampire's weakness. "Stay right where you are," Tommy murmurs. "Or I'll run you through with my bayonet and let you squirm all day."

"Christ," Kirk says, blinking. "That's a bit rough, isn't it?"

"He's not alive, what does it matter?" Tommy lets out a bitter little laugh. "Might as well get a preview of our own ends, shouldn't we?"

"You two, maybe." Holden crawls into the dugout, the little bed-space, a kind of cave dug in underneath the upper layers of the trench. He lays down on his back, closing his eyes, hands behind his head. "I'm going to go back home and never think of you lot ever again."

"I pray every night to make it home," Kirk says, nodding along. "Not sure anyone's listening, but I got to try, don't I?"

"What happens to the fangs, anyway?" The Brit looks up, rocking a little back and forth. As if the bloodsucker were a baby needing soothing. The vampire boy has relaxed against him, the liquor-laced blood he drank lulling him into a complacent bonelessness. Kirk watches the vampire boy's fingers start to tap over the Brit's chest, a strange movement he's seen the boy do before in his few relaxed moments between the scream of the shells. He hums, low in his throat, tuneless.

"Huh?" Kirk blinks. "What d'you mean, what happens to him?"

"After the war's done. What are they gonna do with the bloodsuckers? Can't exactly pin a bloody ribbon for valor on them and send them on their way, now can they?"

"Nope. I don't know what happens. Maybe they'll just stake them all and have done with them."

The vampire shudders, giving a little whimper. Tommy leans down, lips moving against the vampire's hair. "Ssssshhhh. Not to worry, little fangs. War's not over just yet, now is it?"

"N-... no. Not, not, not, not yet." The vampire's eyes close, pink-tinged tears creating pale tracks in his dirty face. He's a sad drunk, then, Kirk figures.

Aren't they all, these days.

"Maybe you'll outlive us all, and make fools of us for keeping you." Tommy speaks with a patronizing affection, as mocking as it is tender, petting through the creature's hair still. It's... unsettling to watch. Kirk had figured the Brits and French probably killed all their vamps, since they were all disturbed by the sight of the vampire medics when the doughboys first arrived in Europe.

This, though... this makes it seem like Tommy's known a vampire or two himself, in his life. And he's sure as fuck not unfamiliar to what venom is good for outside of giving relief from agony to the injured.

Kirk frowns, thoughtful.

He's turned into a thoughtful drunk, too, thanks to this goddamn war. Sad and thoughtful. What a fucking waste.

"Sleep," Tommy says, almost gently, to the drunk little vampire. "I've got you. Sleep, little one."

The vampire's eyes slip closed. He doesn't breathe - there's no sense of his chest rising and falling. Kirk has to look away before the sense of wrongness, watching Tommy cuddle a corpse, makes him sick.

He takes a long, long draught from the flask, and relishes the burn that reminds him he's human, and alive.

His own eyes slip shut, and he prays for an hour or two of sleep before the next screaming shell bursts overhead.

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

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gaysimpsstuff · 3 years

Text

Fatgum As a Dad

This was inspired by a conversation I had on a discord server, we all have daddy issues and want Fatgum to adopt us so here’s all the shit we collected.

There are some serious themes in here, mostly regarding the biological parents of the kid, but it’s vague as possible. If anyone wants me to add a trigger warning please let me know.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It all started when he was a kid, when he learned what an orphanage was. One of the kids in his class mentioned being from one, so when he got home he asked his parents about it.

“Mom, what’s an orphanage?”

“Well, Taishiro, it’s where children that don’t have parents go. Then people can come and adopt the children. Why do you ask.”

“A kid at school said he’s from one, when d’you think he’s gonna get adopted?”

“He might, not all children get adopted. Some of them stay in the orphanage until they’re adults.”

“BUT THAT’S NOT FAIR!” he shouted. “EVERYONE DESERVES A HAPPY CHILDHOOD!”

“Well, honey, life’s not fair. And not everyone gets a happy life. It’s how most villains are made, actually. They were hurt more than everyone else and couldn’t handle it anymore. Not all villains are like that but many are. I think you should stay away from that kid, Taishiro. He might turn out a villain.”

But he didn’t stay away. And he made it his mission to become a pro hero so he could make a ton of money and help as many people as he could. He’d help even villains, keep them from doing something dangerous and inspire hope in them.

Then, he’d adopt any kid who needed a father. All the orphanages and foster programs would be empty. Homeless children off the street and in his house, being fed and clothed. He’d care for each and every one of them, not wanting a single person to feel like they didn’t belong.

He finds most of his kids at pride parades. He walks around with a shirt that says ‘FREE DAD HUGS’ and a box full of candy. He remembered one of the kids walking up to him slowly.

“Um.. are you Fatgum?”

“Yes I am!”

“Can I have a hug?”

“Yes you can, Kiddo!” he got down, and the kid put his arms on his stomach (Fatgum’s too big for anyone to fully hug, the dude’s taller than Allmight!) he wrapped his arms around the kid before he heard sniffles. He looked down and saw that the kid was crying.

“M-my parents never hug me like this!” they exclaimed. “They haven’t since I came out. They want to kick me out when I turn thirteen!”

“Can I have their number? I’m going to... talk to them.”

He ended up taking the kid’s family to court, and since the parents were going to just kick the kid out anyways, they let Fatgum adopt them, but they kept nagging him about how he was ‘going to be raising a little demon.’

“Then call me Lucifer.” he spat right back. Now, that kid’s grown up, has pride flags all around their walls, and doesn’t ever doubt that they’re loved.

Fatgum probably bakes with his kids. Helping them up onto the counter to mix ingredients and play with the dough. If they mess something up or break a glass, it’s fine. He doesn’t yell at them or sigh and shake his head, he just kissed the kid on the forehead and helps them clean up the mess.

The food always turns out amazing, and Fatgum always tells the kids that. All of his kids are now Gordon Ramsay level chefs and have probably met Gordon Ramsay.

No matter what their body type is, Fatgum tells his kids their handsome/beautiful and are model worthy. If anyone comments of one of his kid’s body, whether it be negative or... ‘positive’ in a creepy way, you can expect that they’re getting slammed into the ground. No questions asked.

One of Fatgum’s kids is really good at make-up. Like, really good. So Fatgum did the only thing a rational father would do.

Ask for a make-up job.

It didn’t end all that well...

“Hold still.. I gotta get the eyeliner on.”

“Gosh, Kiddo it’s making my eyes water.”

“I know, just hold still... aaaand...... done! Now don’t touch it or it’ll smear!”

“Wow, that looks great! You’re really good at this!”

“Thanks, dad- you smeared it already didn’t you?”

“....Nope.”

Fatgum: I'm not gonna do it, it just seemed like a good option.

Fatgum not even two seconds later after seeing a trans kid crying: now carrying said child on his shoulders while his spouse is chuckling in a corner after signing adoption papers I did it.

This man would get his kids almost anything they wanted. Especially kids with ADD/ADHD/Autism/Tourettes/Anxiety who need stim toys.

Kid: chewing on their nails.

Fatgum: here take this stim toy, and this one, you chew this one so that might help-

Kid ends up with more stim toys than they can count.

Fatgum: just doing his job

The Daddy Issues Gang: Hi dad- oh shit wait- Hi- I- fuck- trauma ensues. crying

Fatgum: grabs the daddy issues gang we're going to the nearest courtroom say hello to your new father its me im the father ok lets go.

Kid: um, dad can I talk to you?

Fatgum, turning around quickly: yes?

Me: ‘he moved so quick, he's mad at me, I'm gonna get yelled at’ Sorry, sorry!

Fatgum: uh, no. I'm getting you ice cream and a new stuffed animal no questions asked

He'd just know when something's wrong, and he’d be great at comforting.

His usual style of comfort is to let the kid sit on his stomach and tell him what’s wrong. His body is one giant pillow for his kids to lay on, he can fit at least eight of them if they cuddle in closely.

Once filmed a commercial dressed as the Cool-Aid man, and all of his kids were in the commercial.

Fatgum: Busts down wall “OH YEAH!”

Director: “And CUT! Okay, try a little more aggressive-”

Fatgum, in tears: “I don’t wanna scare my kids.”

As stated before, if anyone makes his kids feel bad he’s punching them to the ground, but sometimes he’s not in a position where he can do that. Like if a Karen mom ever comes over.

"Linda stop bringing lemon squares if you're going to talk about my son that way because they're just as sour as your attitude."

Fatgum but he slaps the toxic members of your family and tells them to do better or he's taking you.

Then takes you anyway because you prefer him.

Fatgum with a sweater that says ‘mr dad guy on it’

Fatgum definitely watches ATLA, and quotes Uncle Iroh daily. When his kids are minding their own business they suddenly hear

“Leaves from the vine... falling so slow...”

INAUDIBLE CHAOS AND PANIC

Fatgum agency cosplayed ATLA characters on Halloween.

Fatgum was Iroh.

Kirishima was Sokka.

Tamaki was either Momo or Appa.

Maybe get a couple others in on it too, Mirio could be Aang and if Kirishima convinces Todoroki to join for a while he’d totally be Zuko.

Fatgum lets his kids squish his face.

Fatgum used to work with a hero who was hard of hearing, so he learned sign language to help them, and he’s got the skill saved in case one of his kids might be deaf.

So one day, Kirishima invites Bakugou on patrol with him, and we all love that headcanon of Bakugou going deaf, so when he gets pissed at something, he starts insulting everyone around him in SL.

Fatgum notices and starts signing back to him.

YOU’RE ALL MOTHERFUCKERS AND I HATE YOU ALL!

Hey, now, let’s calm down and not call everyone motherfuckers.

FUCK YOU TOO

Bakugou...

Everyone thinks that they’re doing magic, because they’re making all these shapes with their hands and keep looking offended at each other.

Now, Fatgum tries his gosh darn hardest to keep up with the memes, so when his kids come home with good grades, he says “That’s so pog, Kiddo!”

All of his kids are embarrassed.

In the middle of a battle, he throws Kirishima at a villain and they both scream “YEET!” the villain afterwords forever lives in fear of the word ‘yeet’ because he thinks it’ll result in a human rock being thrown at his face.

Fatgum can’t text very well, because his fingers are just too damn big-

sonhsisntextsblooklikehthis'

Translation: so his texts look like this

you learn to understand his texts

Someone better get him a large tablet instead of a phone

If he gets married after he adopts the kids, there’s going to be a huge competition over who does the rings and who does the flowers etc.

If any of his kid’s ever bring home a romantic partner, you can bet your ass he’ll be all over them.

“What’s your average grade?”

“E-eighty percent sir!”

“And do you take sports?”

“No sir, I wish to be a biologist.”

“I see, I see...”

“DAD, YOU AREN”T INTERVIEWING MY PARTNER, ARE YOU? YOU SCARED OFF THE LAST THREE I DON’T WANNA DEAL WITH THAT AGAIN!”

“SORRY, KIDDO! I’LL LET THEM GO NOW! I’ve got my fucking eyes on you. Don’t screw this up.”

Hope y’all enjoy this, if y’all want I can write some headcanons for if Fatgum’s kid becomes a villain-

#fatgum #taishiro toyomitsu #fatgum bnha #fatgum mha #mha fatgum #bnha fatgum #dadgum #fatgum as a dad #fatgum is a dad #daddy issues gang

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quirklessidiot · 4 years

Text

Title: coward :: obliviousness Pairing: Y/N x Miya Atsumu Genre: angst, romance, and very slow burn [ex to lovers au] Warnings: Cursing, alchohol, mentions of unprotected sex, unplanned pregnancy, and mentions of abortion

Synopsis: Atsumu seems nicer these days and you seem to see him more than before. Meanwhile, your kids meet someone they probably shouldn’t have.

notes:

three more chapters till the end!!! I’m so happy by all of the love! really! its definately been one of my favorite fanfictions to write since its angsty and im in love with angst stories skjsksksksks

i think this chapter is the shortest one amongst the rest idk shhshshshs anyways i hope yall still love it wuwuwuwu. Hope you all are doing well and ilyasm!!!! have a gweat day!!!

previous next masterlist

You thought you’d never see Miya Atsumu again but here he was, in your son's sports club, helping out Sugawara. Wasn’t it supposed to be volleyball season? What was he doing here? Helping the kids and picking up volleyballs? Didn’t he hate kids?

“...We train every morning and I personally train every night. You know my sched, it's what I did back then in college too.” He shrugs nonchalantly, “Plus I wanted to personally apologize to the brats too because of what ‘samu and I did.”

You tilt your head in curiosity, “What did younger Miya-san do?”

“Beat’s me, your brat told me that ‘samu made you cry when he confronted you,” he blinked, recalling the first meeting he had with the kid, come to think of it, they did had a pretty good reason to be wary of him from the start, “Must’ve said something really shitty if you cried, L/N-san. You never cried except that night at the frat party when I first actually got to talk to you.”

Nostalgia hits you when you recall that day, it was a shitty day indeed. The only upside was seeing and talking to Miya Atsumu for the first time and getting him to bandage your leg.

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed.” the blonde stated, wiggling his eyebrows, “He’s just overprotective sometimes which is weird since we used to get into fist fights. Doesn’t excuse him for being an asshole to ya though.”

“He was being rational.” You expressed, watching him pick up the last volleyball.

“He has no right to though.” he retorted, annoyed that you were letting it slide, “Let’s be honest here, who did you left six years ago?”

“What-”

“You left me.” He cuts you off, giving you no chance to talk, you’d think he’d sound bitter by it but he anything but that. It was as if he was proving a point, “And I’ll admit I was angry at first by what you did and how it ended but that doesn’t give my friends and my brother the right to intervene. I’m not a fucking kid, I know what I got into when we started dating.”

“Miya-san, I-”

“So let me make it up to you, alright? Before we started dating, I was your friend first. Now that we’re both responsible adults and you’re a single mom at least let your friend help you. You can handle that shit right?” He replied but before you could even agree to him, your kids went out of the comfort room, fully changed to dryer clothes.

“Kaasan!” They yell in unison but immediately stop in their tracks when they see Miya Atsumu standing next to you.

“What’s this jiji doing here?” Yuuto spat out bitterly, looking the other way. The younger twin followed suit and looked the other way too, making Atsumu laugh and bend down to their level, “I heard from your kaasan that you like to eat cake. How about a truce? I know a good place that sells good cakes.”

Yuuto and Youta eyed him warily and you patted the oldest twin’s head, “Baby don’t you have something to say to Miya-san too?” your voice was softer towards him, Atsumu still couldn’t get used to your personality switch with the twins. He watches in amusement as the twin tries to sputter out a sorry.

“S-so...sorry…” he frowned, “I should’ve been a big boy and not call you names.”

“Youta, you too.” You urged the younger one.

The other twin frowned and also had trouble apologizing to him like his twin, “S-Sorry...I won’t do the same…” he apologized under his breath.

Atsumu couldn’t help but laugh at the dynamic they seem to have created, at least they weren’t as close-minded as they were before, “No sweat, kid.” He said, “I’m sorry for making you feel bad and for what my brother did too. Now, let’s get that cake shall we?”

You hold Yuuto on one hand and Youta on the other as you head to his car, after helping the kids at the backseat, he opens the front seat for you, “Oh, um…” You blinked, the sudden feeling of embarrassment creeped in, “You didn’t have to-”

He rolls his eyes in reply, “Get in, L/N-san. I don’t bite.”

The boys were quiet at the back first until Atsumu tried to strike a conversation with them, “What made you guys like volleyball?”

Youta, being the more open one, suddenly jumps on his seat, “ ‘Kaasan has an old volleyball at home! We saw it and started asking her about it!”

“Oh?” he stops at the traffic light and stares at you, quite surprised since he never pegged you to keep something of his after the break-up, “Didn’t know you kept my old memorabilia with you.”

Yuuto’s eyes seem to widen when he hears that, “No way, that was yours?” he sputters out, shocked.

“Yeah.” he laughed, starting the car again when the light turned green, eyes crinkling in amusement, “Your ‘kaasan and I used to be very close before. I used to sleepover and leave some of my stuff at her place.”

“Hm.” you clicked your tongue, recalling those times when Atsumu would just come in your home unannounced like you both lived together, “He was incredibly all over the place and messy like you two.”

“Wow!” Youta grins, seemingly excited, “What was kaasan like, jiji? I bet she was super nice and caring and a super good friend!”

The look of amusement never left his face as he agreed to the young boy, the rest of the ride was filled with Youta being overly-excited and asking Atsumu about you during college and about how you met him, “We were in the same class.” You replied, seemingly indifferent by it. You were used to this question before.

“Nope.” He replied, popping the p, an amused smirk worming its way to his face as he recalls differently since he never told you how he met you, “I saw your mom around a lot during the first few months of school.”

You were turned silent by his story, you didn’t know this part. You always thought that the first time you and Atsumu got acquainted was in that minor class you took during the second semester, “...I had also accidentally hit your mom with one of my serves while she was looking for a friend.” He recounts, parking the car in front of a very aesthetically-looking cake shop.

Your brows furrowed in deep thought, that was him? How come-

“Your ‘kaasan’s too famous, she probably doesn’t even remember the minimal interaction we had.” he joked, feigning hurt.

“Wow mom, I bet you must’ve hated jiji when he hit you with those super powerful serves!”

“She probably would if she remembered.”

You take the kids out of the car but Youta was still too entranced by Atsumu that he went ahead and wobbled next to him. The tall volleyball player was nice enough to match the younger one’s pace as they walked towards the shop, “Traitor.” You heard Yuuto mutter as you trailed behind him.

“I thought you forgave him.”

“Won’t stop watchin’ at him though, ‘kaasan.”” He grumbled but you can tell he was starting to slowly soften up to the blonde.

Atsumu (after much persistence) paid for the cakes and even got you a sugar-free one, Youta was very elated as soon as his cake was served and Yuuto was muttering something about how unfair it was as he started to stuff on hiw own slice, the blonde laughed at the contrasting personalities. They were so alike yet so different at the same time.

It reminded him so much of ‘samu and him back then.

“Oh, wait a moment. I have to pick up this phone call. Would you mind watching them for a sec?” You asked, Atsumu shakes his head to the side and he watches you exit the shop and take the call, the familiar expression of your creased forehead and narrowed eyes coming into play.

“Jiji, have you ever met our otosan?” Youta suddenly asks.

Atsumu feels his heart waver, this was such a heavy topic to ask but Youta didn’t seem to know the weight of his words. Yuuto was quiet this time too, observing him intently, the blonde setter suddenly cleared his throat, “I heard your kaasan met your otosan right after she graduated early and left me suddenly.” he tried to smile, looking unaffected, “So no, I haven’t met him.”

“Is that why you're mad at ‘kaasan?” Yuuto suddenly asks, head tilt to the side, “Because she left you su-suddenly?” The boy seemed to have a problem with longer words but he seemed very perceptive for his age. ‘Gee, were kids always this nosy?’ the blonde setter thought.

“Did your mom tell you that?” Atsumu lilted, dodging the question well, munching on his cake.

“She said that she broke something really bad that you owned.” Yuuto disclosed, brows furrowed together as if he was thinking very hard about what you said, “And that she deserved it”

Silence engulfed the table for a moment as he felt his throat dry up with the new load of information, “Your ‘kaasan is a very strong woman,” he began. The boy's eyes,especially Yuuto’s, lights up at the compliment they heard, “And she doesn’t deserve anything bad. So when someone tries to do something bad to her, even me, make sure you give’em a good spike.”

“Really?”

“Really, kiddo.” He hums in agreement, “You have to protect your ‘kaasan since your otosan isn’t here anymore.”

Youta’s eyes flicker at the mention of their father, “Jiji, you’re so funny.” he laughs very suddenly.

Atsumu’s brow upturns at the sudden statement of the twin.

“Otosan isn’t dead.” Atsumu feels his shoulder tense at those words, it seems like the twins were giving him such a field day today with questions and new information, “ ‘Kaasan says that he’s off somewhere following his dreams and he’ll come back soon.”

Atsumu wants to ask about a lot of things.

He wants to ask about what Youta said, he wants to ask who the fucking asshole was, he wants to ask why you’re waiting for him when he left you hanging by a thread there with two kids.

He really does but when he drops you off at your home and a sudden troubled expression graces your features when you see an older woman standing there, he knows that it isn’t the right time. Instead, he quietly says goodbye and watches the interaction closely from a distance. A bit of worry filling him since he didn’t like that expression you were showing.

The twins didn’t seem to know who the older woman was but judging by her body language she knew you very well.

Come to think of it, her features were very familiar. Cold eyes, (h/c) hair, a very familiar facial feature.

Could it be-

“Y/N…” she tries to call out but you immediately walk past her, paying her no attention. He feels nervous, “Y/N, please don’t ignore me. I’m your okaasan-”

Suddenly he realizes why he has never met your family at all.

Judging by the interaction he sees, you were anything but close with them and that your relationship with them was stagnant (it probably worsened since you got kids at an early age and the father left you to dry). The kids probably don’t even know who that woman was, you continue to ignore her as you sons look at her warily.

When she starts to get physical, he gets out of the car and tries to stop the women from getting any closer to you and the boys, “What are you doing? Don’t you know who I am-” the woman tries to yell her way through but the blonde notices how you flinch away from her as soon as you hear her loud voice and hide the kids behind you as if you were protecting them.

“She doesn’t want to see you or have her near her kids, so please leave before I call security.” Atsumu tried to calm the situation down, not wanting to raise his voice, he could be wrong about his assumptions and he didn’t want to let your mom see him in a bad light.

“You don’t understand-”

“Obaasan.” his voice was anything but nice and friendly now, he wanted to try and respect the woman who brought you to this world, he really does, but right now he wouldn’t mind calling the cops on her if she resorted to making a scene here, “Please leave before I call for security.”

Your mother grips on her expensive handbag tight and with one last glance to you, she immediately walks away. You don’t notice how you’re shaking and that Youta is crying behind you while Yuuto is trying his best to calm his twin down by insulting him and calling him a crybaby.

“L/N-san, are you-”

“I’m fine.” You cut him off, taking in a few deep breaths to calm you down, “I’m fine.”

He grabs your wrist and stares at you dead in the eye, “You’re shaking, Y/N.” He suddenly says your name softly, you're scared that if he goes nearer, he’d hear your ranging heart beat so you take a step further back and let go of his hold.

Atsumu narrows his eyes and tightens his lips at your response but decides against it, instead he turns to Youta and Yuuto, “I have a game next week and I got extra tickets, would you like to watch? The adlers and I will be playing, I heard one of ya likes Tobio-chan so much.”

Youta finally stops crying as soon as he hears the mention of free tickets and turns to a bundle of excited energy. Yuuto even starts jumping up and down at the mention of Kageyama Tobio.

Atsumu still has a lot of questions for you though, about your family, why you haven’t mentioned them, or the fact that their asshole of a father just left you to fulfill his dreams (he’s angry, very angry especially about this one) yet when he sees the small smile on your lips as you watch your kids jump up and down.

He holds back.

Those questions can wait another day.

taglist [closed]

@fortheloveofiwaizumi ; @svtbitch ; @kiyoomile ; @lovedanii ; @juno-multifandom ; @gyubit17 ; @saeranoppa ; @nixxona ; @kyomihann @shorttstackk ; @intoomuchfandoms ; @yammmers ; @mx-minxx @itsmattsunshinehere ; @missingmystogan ; @volleybloop ; @imcravingyou ; @yams-wants-that-booty ; @liathachcapricious ; @pinknugget @seikamuzu ; @marigoldthoughts ; @sillykittt ; @baejinoffcl ; @alluring-akaashi ; @bnhasstuff ; @jungshookmeup ; @intheawks ; @bokuakadaily ; @agaassi ; @yams046 ; @dope-squish ; @chrisrue15 ; @vermillionwaves ; @demursv1ogs ; @just-snog-already ; @angmarwitch

@misosamu @Etherynaw @ryaaaax @differentballooncollection @keniloveshaikyuu @allysasteaparty [hi, i can’t seem to tag u guys, i think you need to open your tags uwu]

#haikyuu imagines #haikyu!! fanfics #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu imagine #miya atsumu scenarios #miya atsumu fanfiction #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu imagines #atsumu x you #haikyuu angst

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deaddovecoterie · 3 years

Text

confessions

co-written with @whoseblogsthis

Peeta Mellark x Fem!Reader

Prompt: “Isn’t it obvious? I’m in love with you!”

Fandom: the hunger games

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.6k

Warning(s): swearing, unedited, two oblivious dumbasses in love

Genre(s): angst, fluff

A/N: LMAO HI GUYSSSS. so i had the INSANE privilege of writing with my mutual, friend, and insanely talented writer, @whoseblogsthis, ky. i obviously couldn’t have done this without her and im so so blown away by her and her talents. this is basically our child and baby and so im basically screaming right now cause we just finished this and its 1:01am. ANYWAY i really really hope you guys love this as much as we loved writing it <3 mwuah love you all

main stuff -> y/n (your name)

-> e/c (your eye colour)

-> y/l/n (your last name)

Peeta Mellark.

He was your constant; your rock. You could rely on him for anything and everything.

He was the steadiest thing you’d had in your life for a long time now, but as he took your wrist and led you upstairs away from the party, you couldn’t help but feel the anger bubble up in your chest.

“Peeta, what—”

“Why?” he nearly shouts. Peeta is mild mannered. He’s many things, actually; polite, charming, and personable, but angry was not one of them. It didn’t scare you like you’d always expected it to, but rather frustrated you.

“Why what, Peeta?” you hiss back.

He looks at you as if you had just grown two heads, his brows knit together in disbelief.

“You’re joking,” he breathes. You shake your head, not understanding what he is trying to get at. You defensively cross your arms, knowing the juvenile element would annoy him, but having nothing to do with your hands increases your already anxious state.

“That guy,”

“That guy?”

“Yes, y/n, yes. That guy that was just a little too friendly with you? So close to you that he was practically crawling under your goddamn skin? What were you thinking?”

You laugh at him, unable to contain it. “I can handle myself perfectly fine. Why are you being such an ass?” you all but shout at him. “It’s none of your business anyway?”

“Hm, let’s see y/n, he could’ve, god, I don’t know, taken advantage of you?”

You scoff, unable to handle his cliché statement.

He brings his hands up and pushes his hair back, looking up at the ceiling as he exhales heavily through his nose. You squint at him, unable to read the emotions on his face.

“What is up with you?” you whisper, not quite sure if he was able to hear. Your eyes narrow, unsure of what his next words might be.

“For someone so smart, you can be so goddamn oblivious sometimes, y/l/s.”

“Oh my god, what is with all the stupid riddles tonight? I can’t read your mind! You can’t expect me to just know things,” you exasperate, throwing your hands out in front of you. “For someone who’s supposed to be good at communication, you’re doing a pretty shitty job of displaying it,” you spit, throwing his words right back at him.

“Fine,” he hisses, starting to move towards you.

You cock your eyebrow at him, your bodies coming closer, nearly closing the gap.

“Fine?” you question.

“Yeah.” he huffs out, repeating the word with an heir of finality, “yeah.” His breath warms your face, the scent of vodka invading your senses.

Your cheeks heat up, suddenly very aware of his proximity. You watch his adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly. He can’t meet your eyes, his heart hammering against his chest so loud that it feels as though you can hear it. His head drops along with his gaze, studying the floor before chancing a glance at you. Peeta lets go of a breathy laugh as words tumble out of his mouth.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he breathes, his words choked, hardly audible, him now looking you right in the eyes. Your stomach does a flip once, unsure of his next words. Blue eyes stare at your e/c ones that are clouded in confusion. You can feel his frustration start to build as he takes a step back from you, his voice rising and hands coming from his sides.

“I’m in love with you,” he bursts out.

Oh my god.

You stare at him in shock, his proclamation stunning you. You blink once, twice, as his words echoing through your head.

His hazel eyes bore into your e/c ones, willing you to say something, anything, to let him know you heard him. But yet you stand there, unable to find the words.

Nothing is coming out.

Say something, you beg yourself, wanting to scream out an answer, yet your mouth continues to remain shut. You swallow hard, your tongue feeling like sandpaper. How could you be so oblivious to his feelings? You and him have known each other since childhood, yet there you are, standing only inches away from him, the truth finally known. It seemed

The look in his eyes is absolutely heart-wrenching; if you hadn’t just heard him, you’d have thought he had lost his best friend. In a way, you guess, he had.

Peeta just shakes his head softly, shrugging his shoulders in such a way that makes you want to reach out and take his hand. His dark waves fall over his eyes and he turns around, facing the door.

“I—” you begin, but you know it’s too late.

“Just, um, forget it, y/n,” his voice soft, small, “I’ll see you in environmental studies.”

He opens the door and steps out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. You want to scream, to tell him to come back.

“Dammit!” you exclaim, throwing your red solo cup as hard as you can at the wall. The contents spill all over, some of the liquid splashing on you but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You reach to pull at your loosely braided hair, a habit of yours that came out whenever you were experiencing an excess of negative emotions, before you realize where you are. You harshly rub your eyes with the heels of your hands as you remind yourself to breathe.

In, out . . . In, out.

“Get it together,” you tell yourself, taking one last deep breath. “Okay.”

You turn to head back downstairs to the party, nothing on your mind except finding Peeta and setting everything straight, hoping at this point that that was even a possibility anymore.

God, you hated this part. You hated having to make up. Saying sorry was never your strong suit, your pride always getting in the way. But this? This was not a matter of pride. This was about finally coming to terms with the truth that you so desperately tried to avoid for years.

You almost trip as you descend the stairs, looking everywhere for Peeta but unable to find him anywhere in the crowd.

Spotting a head of wavy bronze hair by the water cooler, you rush over to your english lit classmate, who is also a friend of Peeta’s; Finnick Odair.

“Hey Finnick,” you say once you reach him, trying to keep your voice even. He greets you with his signature smirk before bringing his cup to his lips and taking a sip.

“Ah, y/n, having a good time I trust?”

“Trying to,” you grumble. Finnick gives you a quizzical look before you proceed; “Have you seen Peeta?” You can’t help but notice the slight crack in your voice when you say his name.

“Yeah,” he confirms, “I saw him leave a few minutes ago. Seemed pretty upset.”

“Yeah, wonder why,” you mutter bitterly, knowing he wouldn’t hear your words above the music.

You bite your lip, weighing the option of asking Finnick to help you find Peeta. Half of you wanted to go and find him yourself, your need to get the weight off your chest as quickly as possible, the other half of you wanting to stall for as long as you could.

“Could you text him? Ask him where he is?”

“Why can’t you?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, your cheeks burning. “Because, I—”

“Wait,” Finnick’s smile widens. “Wait, are you the reason he’s upset?”

Your silence is enough for him. His dopey smile falters for a moment, an emotion that you could only define as realization sweeping over his face. He shakes his head softly, pulling his phone from the pocket of his hoodie and opening his texts. His thumbs glide swiftly across the screen as he compiles a message to send to Peeta.

You can’t have been standing there for more than a minute when his phone dings. Finnick flashes you the screen.

From: Pita Bread

I’m fine... at the pond.

“Thank you, Finnick, really,” you breathe.

He just nods, taking another sip of his drink.

You rush out of the frat house the party was being held in, running across the street to Panem University’s main campus, willing your legs to go faster.

The pond was at the northern end of campus, smack in the middle of Tribute Hall and the Coriolanus Snow Study Center. You see a silhouette sitting on one of the few stone benches surrounding the body of tranquil water, tossing handfuls of what you can only assume is trail mix at the ducks that liked to take up at the pond.

You slow down, bringing your footfalls to a trot, then silently padding your way over the grass towards him. Your chest is heaving from the exertion as you try to make your breaths even.

“Peeta,” You call out, your voice void of any venom as you stalk towards the boy. You’re almost inclined to slap him because of how he acted. No rational person could expect someone to give them an answer to a question as heavily weighed as that right away.

He stands up once you reach him, refusing to look you in the eyes. For a fleeting moment, you catch the grief-stricken look in his usually bright eyes and it’s enough to keep you from raising your hand at him.

“Why did you leave like that?” you breathe out. He shrugs a shoulder with almost casual indifference. “Peeta.” you nearly plead, looking at him as your eyebrows knit together.

“What did you expect me to do?” he says feebly.

You look up at the night sky, inhaling deeply as you hurriedly send off a prayer to whatever higher power that you can say everything you want to say to him, in the way you want to say it.

In a way that says something to him. Means something.

The stars seem to twinkle brighter, almost like they received your message. God, this is so hard.

Peeta is still looking anywhere but at you, his focus now on the ducks idling in the water.

“You could have waited for me,” you say. “I mean, come on! That was… big. A big thing to drop on me,” you add, “so of course I was shocked. But if you had just waited for me . . .”

“What?” he snorts, finally looking you in the eyes. “What would you have said that couldn’t have possibly made me feel like more of a fool than I already was? What—”

“I love you,” you blurt.

Here it goes.

“And not in a ‘you’ve always been there for me, so I’m kind of indebted to you’ kind of way but in a way that’s like, ‘I want to do cheesy stuff with you because I know it will make you smile.’ That’s like, I would do anything, anything to prove to you that I’m worthy of your love. Peeta, you’ve seen everything I was and everything I am, and it just— I just couldn’t believe when you said that . . . But I— I trust you with everything in me and it frightens me, because you know I’ve been hurt before, but I can’t deny that everything feels right when I’m with you. I just. I want another chance. If, if you’ll let me.” You breath the words out, hardly anything but air coming out.

“Y/n, breathe.”

“Right,” you exhale, your mind swirling around, making vertigo seem like a walk in the park.

“You’re not . . . unworthy of love,” Peeta begins but he stops, trying to figure out his words. “What Cato did to you, it doesn’t mean you’re undeserving of love. He’s.. an asshole, who’s going to get what’s coming to him. I— I’m sorry for dropping it on you like that, but seeing you with that guy, he just reminded me so much of Cato, and it made me so mad because I didn’t want you to go through that again, and I.. couldn’t help but think it was my final chance to tell you how I felt.”

“Final chance?”

“Y/n, I’ve loved you since like year six.”

“Peeta, you absolute dumbass!” you exclaim, quickly going to cover your mouth as your own words shock even yourself. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . wow,” a laugh nearly escapes your lips. “We’re both oblivious fools, huh?”

Peeta’s brows furrow in confusion, as you let out a soft chuckle. His head is tilted slightly to the side, his soft curls falling into his blue eyes. This moment is one you’ll always remember, you think to yourself, already trying to commit it to memory. The way the trees slightly sway from the late summer breeze, the moonlight reflecting off the water; best of all, the glint in Peeta’s eye when your gazes meet. It’s so cheesy, really, but you couldn’t care less. You’ve played it over and over in your head for years, different scenarios always being formulated, but nothing you could have ever dreamt of could compare to this moment.

“I’ve loved you since year seven,” you tell him, every word of it true. “I can’t believe it took us both this long. Could have avoided the whole Cato fiasco of year twelve, I suppose, if we had just . . . had the gall to tell each other back then, I guess,” you say, the last sentence mumbled.

“Yeah.” Peeta laughs, a genuine deep laugh that reaches his eyes. It rouses the butterflies that have been in the pit of your stomach, the fluttering making you nervous as you watch him scratch the base of his neck almost embarrassedly.

“So,” you say, dragging the ‘o’ sound. “Pretty sure this is the part where most people would kiss.”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

“No, not you, Peeta. I was talking to the duck behind you,” You frown, unable to contain the scoff that passes your lips. “Yes.. yes, I want to kiss you,” you breathe, your pulse hammering.

You step forward, your hands reaching up, gliding against his cheeks, his hands resting on your waist. In a moment of bravery, you place your lips against his. They’re soft, and he tastes like cedar and bread, and it’s like coming home, being in his arms as his lips move against yours, the breeze chilling your skin but his warming you.

There are no words spoken between the two of you as you both pull away. His eyes are still closed, his long eyelashes resting against the tops of his cheeks; the corners of his mouth are pulled up slightly.

God, he’s beautiful. So beautiful. That word is usually reserved for sceneries, sunsets or pretty dresses, but in this moment, you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

“Finally!” someone shouts, causing the both of you to jump back from each other, acting like two first years getting caught passing notes in class. You look around before your eyes land on Johanna Mason, leaning against the statue of the university founder Alma Coin that’s off to the left of the entrance of the study center. Finnick is with her, his signature smirk gracing his elegant features once more. “We were wondering when you two would have the balls to tell each other how you felt.”

“It seems everyone knew but you two,” Finnick adds with a deep chuckle.

“Alright, Finny, I think we should leave the two lovebirds alone.” Johanna says, turning away. “Be safe, you two!”

“If you need anything,” Finnick winks at Peeta. “You know where to reach me.”

You laugh softly, leaning your head against Peeta’s chest. His arms wrap around you, encasing you in him. His cheeks rests on the top of your head, his breaths evening out as you listen to his steady heart beat.

This is it. This is home.

#thg #the hunger games #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark x y/n #thg fanfiction #thg fandom #suzanne collins #haley writes #ky tag #fanfiction #fanfic #thg fanfic #the hunger games fanfiction

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

Note

so sorry im late asking this (i was waiting for you to get more, super surprised you didn’t get more asks tbh) but could I hear more about your wips “I have a crush on Barbara Holland” “baby fic” and “HOH Steve” also if it’s not too much “girlyfriends” and “cali house” and “medical emergency” ik ik that’s a lot but I’d honestly want hear about ALL of you wips in that list if i could. thank u in advance

It’s alright anon! I’ll accept these asks until I run out of WIPs to talk about!

I have a crush on Barbara Holland- This one is a soulmates au, where Steve has his soulmates initials, B.H., on his wrist, and he is whole heartedly convinced that that person is Barb. He’s very much in love with her, and there’s lots of talk about how pretty and nice she is (hence the title lol) but eventually she reveals that he isn’t her soulmate. Before she had hid the initials on her own wrist under a watch or a chunky bracelet, but she feels guilty, and shows Steve that her mark had long ago faded, because her soulmate passed away when they were in elementary school. Steve decides, despite how much value he used to hold in the whole soulmate thing, he doesn’t care about who some stupid mark says he should be with, so him and Barb date until her death. He’s heart broken, but the sadness very quickly turns into so much anger after Billy Hargrove, another B.H. rolls into town with a little S.H. on his wrist. He feels like the universe or whoever is even in charge of this soulmate bullshit is spiting him for thinking he could fall in love with someone he wasn’t destined to be with, so he rejects Billy for a long, long time, even after he himself figured it out that Steve is his match. When he does start to feel that way about Billy, he struggles with so much guilt and has to go through a very long grieving process to be comfortable with his feelings, because he’s not even sure if they’re his genuine feelings or the work of this soulmate bond. Very long and very angsty.

baby fic- Nancy gets pregnant that first time at the party with Tommy and Carol, and her and Steve try really really hard to make things work out for their baby, but it just isn’t meant to be. They make an arrangement that the Harringtons are very not pleased with, where Nancy has the baby at the Byers house half the time (because let’s be honest I think the Wheelers house is not really a safe place to be raising a baby) and Steve has her the rest of the time. Because it was like, a much more mature breakup without the cheating and the drunken confessions, they’re still pretty close friends. When the upside down starts making an appearance again, they have to try to figure out how to navigate it with this little four month old baby, and that means getting some help involved. Billy shows up at the Byers and instead of a fight, Steve’s all exhausted like oh good, you’re finally here, and gives him the worlds fastest run down of this monster fighting shit with a crying baby on his hip, and like, Billy just can’t say no to him asking him to go into the tunnels while he watches the baby. There is eventual Harringrove after a while, but it’s a slow burn for sure. This is also probably the least serious and least angsty thing I have ever started to write.

HOH Stevie- They’re all in the government hospital getting their post Starcourt once overs, Billy and El of course being rushed into surgery, and Steve’s about to get discharged when he gets addressed by name and just, does not respond at all. The doctor is like hmm, and checks his ears, and they find out he has almost no hearing in his left ear, and only about forty percent in the right. All that head trauma from the Russians and then all of the explosions of the fireworks, it leaves him deaf.

Everyone tries to be supportive, but his dad refuses to let him get hearing aids because he doesn’t believe he actually needs them (Steve’s a diagnosed hypochondriac) so for the next several months while his parents are still home waiting for their next trip, he’s struggling. He basically gets iced out by the party because he just can’t hear anything they’re saying, and the kids get tired of repeating themselves, and Nancy got insulted the one time he told her her voice is too quiet, and Robin wants to do things right for him, but she forgets sometimes, and will ramble on about something without looking at him and everytime he’s like great, I didn’t catch a single word of that, lovely talk though. It’s very frustrating and isolating and nobody seems to want to make accommodations for him.

The very same day that his parents leave for their latest vacation, he goes back to hospital. At first he just has to get more testing done, since it had been upwards of six months since the last time they saw him, and on his way out he notices Max in the waiting room chairs. He hadn’t seen much of her at all since Starcourt, so he checks on her, and at first she tells him to go away, because her friends have said some not so nice things about how much time she spends at the hospital, and assumes Steve is there to tell her Billy isn’t worth it too. Because that’s not the case, he ends up going in the room to visit Billy with her.

They do the small talk, the awkward, sorry about the fact that you’ve been in the hospital for six months now and nobody wants to come see you thing, and at some point Billy realizes that Steve can’t hear a damned thing he’s saying. He tests his theory by saying Steve’s name when he’s not looking and just waiting for him to answer but, surprise he doesn’t because he didn’t hear it at all, and Billy’s just like, you’re deaf aren’t you?

The progression of the fic is basically Steve coming to visit Billy everytime he has an appointment for his hearing (and more, but Bill doesn’t know that) but the day of his last appointment to make sure his hearing aids are functioning as well as they ever will for how bad off his hearing is, Billy’s acting different.

When he’d first walked into his room Billy had been surprisingly bright eyed and bushy-tailed for what he went through, but now he’s just acting all mopey. Max makes him tell Steve what’s wrong, and he confesses that he feels like he’s going to get left behind now that Steve’s all better, because then he has no real reason to visit him anymore. But Steve has one very good reason, and the rest of the story is him making sure Billy knows it.

girlyfriends- This’n’s sort of a non-canon compliant character study about aromantic! Billy, focusing on how awful and uncomfortable he felt with his past girlfriends, messing up dates and never going as far as they wanted him to, which at the time he pinned on liking boys instead, but then after he gets with Steve, he feels like this is different and he likes it, but he’s still not too big on all the lovey dovey, romance stuff. He rationalizes it as like, maybe just being a side effect of him being an asshole or something, but he‘s actually super insecure about how he is in relationships. There is a fluffy resolution though where he embraces his identity, it’s really not all doom and gloom, boo hoo I hate myself stuff.

cali house- Years after Starcourt, the boys have moved to a decent house in California using their government hush hush money, and they’re there for only about a month when Billy’s mother shows up at their door.

She says she caught wind that her son was back in town and wanted to come see him, after all this time. Billy of course lets her back in his life immediately, his mom meant so much to his recovery process and now that she’s here, he can’t turn her away, but Steve’s a little suspicious of her intentions.

He thinks that if she wanted to see Billy, she would’ve done that years ago before he ever even left Cali in the first place, or that you know, she wouldn’t have fucking left him behind. He tries to bring it up with Billy gently, but he won’t hear it, and he feels beyond hurt by the suggestion because he thinks Steve is just jealous that he’s spending time with his mother, who he hasn’t seen for upwards of fifteen years at this point.

They fight and avoid each other for a few days until Billy’s momma admits when he brings it up, over lunch or something saying like, “Steve thought you were using me or something, isn’t that crazy?” and she’s just like “Well, actually...”and tells him that money was tight, and she needed a little extra money, so Billy and his disability checks and his rich (boy)friend seemed like the perfect opportunity to get some.

He goes back home to Steve and expects him to be mad, to rub it in that he was right, but he’s really not, he’s super supportive, and you know, Billy finally realizes he doesn’t need to have this bullshit family thing with his mother, because he already has one, Max and Steve and his friends and all the people that actually care about him.

medical emergency (tw attempted suicide)-

Billy, who’s living on his own in an apartment downtown after Starcourt, deliberately doesn’t get his prescriptions refilled because he’s so done. He’s weak and he’s hurting and he doesn’t feel like himself anymore, and he just feels like he wouldn’t care if his body gave up, if he suffocated in his sleep or had another heart attack. So he doesn’t take care of himself, and when he runs out of oxygen he just doesn’t go get anymore, but he’s halfway to choking on his own blood when he realizes he doesn’t want to die.

He calls Steve, because he’s not calling the cops and he can’t remember anyone’s numbers in his panic, but Steve’s is written on his calendar, scribbled there because they were supposed to make plans for something with the kids. Steve takes him to the hospital, having to fight him to put the CPAP on him to make sure his lungs didn’t collapse before they could get him to Hawkins General, and Billy’s just, so bone tired.

They do all their treatment stuff and get his body back under control, so Steve finally asks him what happened, if maybe he needed someone around to help him remember his meds and stuff, and Billy just, he breaks, like a dam overfilled he just pours out with all of this helplessness and sadness he’d been feeling, how he doesn’t want to live the way he does or at all anymore, and Steve’s heart just breaks for him.

He moves in with him, nobody’s willing to leave him alone after what happened, and Steve (along with Billy getting a new therapist because the old one was incompetent enough to not notice how bad off he was) helps him to realize he has something to live for.

#answered #anonymous #ejs wips #ej writer #yeah theres no such thing as sending it late #if y’all want to ask me just ask me! dont worry about it!

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orionwhispers · 4 years

Text

Feels Like Home // Bucky Barnes 🍂

(a/n- ok holy shit ive finally finished my first bucky oneshot. its long as fuck but im so so happy with it. pls let me know what you think. i have lots of requests and peaky stuff coming up as well. love you guys SO much) probs loads of mistakes but its 12k words and im exhausted lol. (also this is inspired by the song feels like home by bea miller and jessie reyez. highly recommend)

warnings: slow burn, friends to lovers, HEAVILY implied smut, so much fluff your dentist will kill me, angst and canon level violence.

Bucky Barnes had thought a lot about death.

He thought about it often during the war. Wondering if perhaps a bullet would pass through his gut as he ran through the trenches, or a bomb would explode under his feet as he walked across the battlefield. It was everywhere he looked, his fellow comrades bandaged and bloody, the nurses in the infirmary tent smelling of saline and strong, sweet, copper.

He thought about it more than anything with Hydra. Wishing that the torture would send him over the edge, pleading for the sweet release that death would give him. Thinking that what was waiting for him on the other side surely couldn’t be worse than what he was already dealing with.

Even when he moved into the tower, and into a routine with people who understood and trusted him, death had followed him for so long that it was like a friend.

He always thought his death would be something violent; something carnal and savage, almost poetic for him to die the same way that he had lived.

But who would have thought his demise would have been at the hands of the sleepy eyed, honey lipped, gentle girl that made him coffee and brought him raspberry donuts?

You turned his world upside down on a Thursday. He remembers it well, and thinks back to that autumn morning like it’s a picture he keeps in his wallet or a well thumbed book next to his bed. It doesn’t matter what the circumstances are - he could be in battle, bloody and bruised, or five thousand miles away from you on a mission in the depths of some town he doesn’t know the name of, feeling himself start to crumble - and the thought of you is enough to steady him, your light luring him back to rationality, his girl.

His sweet girl.

He owed it all to you, and the way you changed his life on that rainy, dreary day and made him realise that home wasn’t a place, it was a person.

The compound was quiet. The Avengers all in a state of limbo; exhausted from hours of travelling, the ghost of bruises and cuts on their knuckles and blood under their fingernails. But more powerful than anything: the red hot relief to finally be back in the tower after two weeks.

The rest of the group fell into their own routines, their own little grooves that they had mastered over the however many years they had been saving the world. The showers were turned onto the highest setting, the smell of Sam’s ridiculously expensive mango shower gel and Nat’s deep, woody body scrub lingering across the floor. Comfort food was made in the kitchen, the throaty sound of laughter and bare feet on the tiles as popcorn sizzled and snapped on the stove. Blankets were draped across the sofas, mugs of hot chocolate and cans of sweet, dry beer passed around and over tangled limbs.

It was something they needed - something they craved. That comforting, warm feeling of family, something so trivial and domestic that it was enough to dull whatever they had been faced with, that for the evening they could think of terrible rom coms and laughter and teasing, rather than civilians dying and the smell of blood and the sound of gunshots. For those stolen moments of happiness after days of heart ache and exhaustion - it was enough.

Well, it was enough for almost everyone.

Whilst the others were arguing over the remote and whether peanut M&Ms were better than chocolate, Bucky was in his room with the lock bolted, methodically cleaning his weapons with surgical precision. He had been at the compound for almost six months, and despite the amenities and luxuries that came with his new home, he felt anything but comfortable.

He liked the people he lived and worked with - and most of them liked him too, but that didn’t do anything to dull the ache in his skull and the uncertainty deep in his gut. After so many years of not being in control of his own mind and body, of having his thoughts and feelings altered by people who saw him as nothing more than a weapon, he was struggling to adjust to his new life.

Amongst all of the chaos though, he had Steve.

The familiar sunshine haired boy that helped ease the storm. His best friend, his brother. The once scrawny teenager that he would follow to the end of the world, all guns blazing, no questions asked. Deep down, he knew that the golden boy was perhaps the only reason he was still at the tower, blending in with all the rest of the wonderful, shining eyed superhero’s around him, making him stick out like a sore thumb.

He knew they thought he could change, but he wasn’t so sure. Sometimes - like the times when he found himself grinning at something Clint said in the back of the jet, or when Nat patted his shoulder in thanks when he covered her in battle, or when he sat on the roof with Steve, talking about faded memories of pin up girls and Coney Island, he felt like perhaps he could be the man Steve thought he was. But then he caught sight of himself in the reflected surfaces of his bathroom, or felt the ricochet of his gun against his shoulder or the blood coating his hands and dripping down into his boots - and he remembered that sometimes people just don’t change.

He listened to the rain as he folded away his weapons that day. Listened to the way the patter of the water muffled the noises of laughter and playfulness coming from the lounge and dissolved into silence. It was too early to retire into bed, and besides, after a mission like the one they had come from sleep wouldn’t be on his mind for a while, his body was still racing with adrenaline.

Then, amongst the patter of raindrops and mingle of voices, he heard something.

A commotion in the hall. His body was finely tuned to pick up anything out of the ordinary, and he could hear the magnetic whir and clang of the elevator as it reached their floor. Everybody was crowded in the living room, which meant it would be somebody from outside the inner circle, and usually that would send cold chills down to his spine, but for some reason this time it didn’t.

Ghosts. Premonitions. Fortune telling. All a load of horse shit to him. He might have been to space and been frozen in time and met some really, really, bizarre people - but there were some things he just didn’t believe in.

Until that rainy day.

It was like a magnetic pull inside of him, when he wanted to lock himself away and not speak to anyone, something inside of him made him want to get up and join the rest of the crew in meeting the stranger.

Even before he saw your face you had him, hook, line and sinker.

So he begrudgingly got to his feet and stood in the doorway, his shoulder leaning against the frame, metal arm out of sight. Steve glanced at him quickly with his eyebrows raised but he ignored him, focusing his eyes on the elevator as it slowly started to open.

Tony looked up suddenly as the doors opened , furrowing his brow at the semi circle of avengers watching him intently. Rather then question it he rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly and stepping forward, gesturing wildly with his arms. “Gather round, gather round, circus freaks. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Because Tony’s personality took up almost the entire room by himself, he had to step to the side for everyone to even get a glimpse of who he was talking about. They waited patiently, with crossed arms and gentle smiles as you stepped out of the shadows.

Bucky felt himself freeze.

You looked so... scared. Not in the traditional sense, not like you were terrified of them or fearing for your life, but the kind of alarm that always trudged through his blood, the feeling of unease and instability, as though you didn’t really belong.

Everybody fell into their roles the way he knew they would. You were young, probably not much older than the Parker kid, and that was why Nat and Steve stepped forward instantly, very protective of you before they even knew your name.

Your hair was mused and loose, eyes wide and lips puffy, as if you had just woken up. You were dressed all in black, baggy clothes and no makeup, your fingers interlocked, your rapid heartbeat pulsing in his ears.

And for some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Everyone, this is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Tony said, one arm resting gently on your shoulders, pushing you forward.

Bucky had to stop himself from saying your name aloud, wondering why he wanted to taste it on his tongue.

As everybody spoke, introducing themselves with just enough reservation to make you feel comfortable, your eyes met, and his heart stopped. Your eyes were more white than not, a little glossy and swimming with uncertainty, and he felt the urge to do something, anything, to make you feel even a little bit calmer.

The feeling was so foreign that he stepped back, tearing his gaze away from you, suddenly unnerved. He didn’t miss the way you exhaled, and he pretended not to notice the way his body seemed to pine for the warmth he had felt when your eyes met.

Bucky heard him whisper to Nat, his usually sardonic voice dripping with genuine concern. “Keep an eye on her, for me, please.”

And although he knew Tony would never ask that of him, he knew that without a doubt, he would.

—————————————————————-

Those next few days, you stayed hidden in your room - which just so happened to be opposite his own.

Despite that, he never saw you. Not even once.

You weren’t at any team meetings or debriefings, you were never nestled in one of the chairs in the lounge, never sat on the balcony watching the sunrise or slicing up strawberries and grapes in the nook in the kitchen.If it wasn’t for the small, barely there noises you made every so often, he would have thought you had left.

Through the vents he could occasionally hear the whine of your door and the gentle sound of your footsteps at midnight darting to the kitchen. Sometimes he heard Wanda speaking softly to you, so kind and gentle that he could even hear the anxiety leave your voice for a little while. He’d hear Tony’s loud and obnoxious knock in the middle of the night, the two of you leaving for the lab under the cover of darkness.

Bucky hardly slept. It had never come smoothly to him, slipped through his fingers too easily like grains of sand. He used to train to block out the noise, attacking a punching bag until all he could hear was the steady thump, thump, thump of his knuckles. Steve had taken him running whenever the nights got too long or too loud, sweating out the frustration he felt as they darted through the streets at midnight, but now he found another way to pass those hours in the dead of night.

There was something oddly comforting to him about laying upright in his bed, reading whatever novel somebody had leant him and told him was a classic, listening out for the shuffle of your footsteps from the other side of the hall. He remembered what it had been like for him when he first moved into the tower. He knew how hard it was, moving into a space that wasn’t your own.

So now he found solace under the breeze of his ceiling fan and the slow drip of that one leaky tap that he still hadn’t fixed and the low hum of whatever sitcom you were watching vibrating through the walls.

He liked to make sure that you were safe. You were obviously scared of something, or someone, and it made him feel better that he was keeping an ear out for anything out of the ordinary. He told himself that it was for the benefit of the whole tower, but that didn’t explain the ease he felt in his chest when he finally heard the quiet, even snores coming from your room, and the way that it made his own eyes start to close.

The next time he saw you in the flesh was almost a month after you had moved in.

He was in the lounge with the rest of the avengers that had slept most of the morning away, Sam nursing a cup of vanilla coffee and Steve watching the news as he made some kind of bizarre and disgusting protein shake. Bucky sat on the sofa with his back ramrod straight as he did the daily crossword, something about filling out the empty boxes comforting him.

It was a rare free day and he had slept in a little longer than usual, only falling asleep after he had heard the squeak of your bed frame and the whir of your fan flittering in his ears. When he had woken up your room was still, and he assumed you were still asleep as he headed out for his run, but by the sound of your voice in the stairwell you had obviously slipped out unnoticed, and he couldn’t help feeling impressed.

He perked up instantly when he heard you. He listened to the soft way you spoke against the sharp click of Pepper’s heels against the floor, his eyes darting to the doorway as he heard you approach. He saw the girls first, the three of them flanking you like a security detail. Wanda and Natasha at your sides, Pepper walking slightly ahead; gesturing with her jewellery clad hands as she spoke to you.

You faltered as you stepped forward, eyes widening like a deer in headlights as you noticed the boys watching you from the other side of the room. Sam awkwardly removed his hand from where he had shoved it down a cereal box, waving kindly with lucky charm marshmallows stuck to his fingers. Steve - ever the gentleman - gave you his classic golden retriever smile, greeting you as though you were an old friend.

You relaxed a little at that, and Bucky felt himself deflate. He would never be the most warm and welcoming person, not anymore, and he wondered why that bothered him so much when it came to you.

Pepper gently placed a hand on your shoulder, and you leaned into her touch like a cat. “Boys. You remember (Y/N).”

You looked up, waving a hand that was hidden by your oversized sweater sleeves. “Hello again.”

A shy smile. Big eyes. A voice like melted chocolate. Bucky felt fourteen again.

He wanted to say something to you, but he couldn’t get any words out. Pepper was on a mission though, perching her hand motherly on your shoulder and escorting you forward. “Right. The lab. This way!”

Bucky’s gaze followed you all the way down the hall, not stopping even when you faded into nothingness. He turned slowly, feeling Steve and Nat watching with matching smirks on their faces, their eyes flickering with childish glee.

He scoffed.

“Shut up.”

———————————————————

As the weeks passed, Bucky hardly caught a glimpse of you. He didn’t even realise he was searching for you, his eyes just flitting over the empty chair at meal times or trailing through the gym, wondering if he might make out the bounce of your hair or the curve of your lips.

Not that he had been thinking about your lips. He definitely hadn’t been thinking about your lips.

You had piqued his interest though. He thought of the way he had been when he first moved into the tower, and knew that the first few weeks were always the hardest. You spent the majority of the time in your room, occasionally leaving for Tony’s floor or the lab, but always hiding in the night and the shadows, falling just out of reach before he got lucky enough to see you.

Fortunately, there were enough recon missions to fill his days. He found distraction in snow capped mountains and dry, dusty deserts, searching for old HYDRA bases or intel that might have been missed. His mind was filled with coordinates and strategy plans, and that worked for a little while. Until the jet landed and he found himself wondering if you would be there with the rest of the team welcoming him back, and every time he was left feeling a quick, pang of disappointment when you weren’t.

Eventually though, things started to look up.

At three in the morning, like clockwork, he began hearing your door squeal as you opened it, and then the sound of sock clad feet padding through the hallways. The first time it happened his heart leapt and he jolted upright, convinced that something bad had happened. He didn’t relax until he heard Natasha speak, voice crystal clear despite the early hour.

“You ready?”

He soon discovered that Natasha had taken you under her wing, and was helping you spar at the times you felt the most comfortable - when the rest of the building was asleep. He knew he wasn’t the only person who was curious about you, wanting to know if you had any powers, and Nat had stopped Steve from asking a million different questions about you.

He didn’t want to make you retreat once again, so he left it alone.

Eventually, you started sleeping in, getting more comfortable and leaving your bed much later than before. The others still kept their distance, entering the gym just as you were leaving, drenched in sweat and smiling. The first time that Bucky saw you smile like that was after a run with Sam, and he swore his knees almost buckled at the sight of you, wide eyed and sparkling like a diamond, sucker punching the air right out of his gut.

It was just about dawn when he next saw you, the sun barely risen, the compound bathed in a golden, ethereal light. No matter how many early mornings they had had, the kitchen still smelt like triple shot espresso and cans of red bull every day, sleepy eyed avengers mumbling and grumbling as they fought over who got to use the coffee machine first. Bucky smiled smugly across his mug of instant grounds that Sam had so tastefully called, “disgusting cheap crap,” as his $3 coffee capsule got crushed once again.

Steve made some quick joke as he towelled off his hair from his shower, but his words crumbled into TV static when Bucky saw you coming off the elevator. You were limping, just a little, but enough to make his heart thunder in his chest. You were smiling though, wide and happily. As bright as the full sun, and Bucky wanted to stay in your warmth for a little bit longer. Natasha held onto you as though you weighed less than a newborn baby, and the two of you stumbled towards your room. Before you disappeared you shot a small and hesitant smile at the boys, one that pierced through Bucky like a steel bullet.

He wanted to keep quiet but he couldn’t. Not after he had seen you.

“You don’t think Natasha is being to hard on her?” He said finally, clearing his throat in an attempt to sound nonchalant.

“Why do you care?” Sam had asked, halfway through a breakfast burrito that was dropping more food on his shirt than into his mouth.

“Camaraderie.” He quipped.

“Camaraderie my ass. Remember that time I almost broke my leg sparring with you? You made me walk myself to the clinic.”

“That’s because you were being whiney and dramatic.”

“Oh? Well I’ll tell you what I think. I think that Mr Barnes here is - ”

“Alright. That’s enough.” Steve said finally, cutting the conversation short, knowing exactly where Sam was going with his thoughts and not wanting to put his best friend through any embarrassment about his... interest in you.

Sam gave him a glare that said that the conversation was definitely not over, but Bucky ignored him, his eyes trailing the hallway you had walked through, his belly aching and flipping from the way that you had looked at him, filling him with a warmth that didn’t dim even long after he had fallen asleep that night.

——————————————————————-

Things really started to change at midnight. When the sky went black and turned into a blanket of obsidian and twinkling stars, that was when both of you came alive.

The nightmares were back, and they were bad. Blood. Metal. Rust. The pain that felt as though his bones were snapping one by one. Gasping for air. Sweat. Fists. Gunshots. No longer could he stay asleep listening out for you, his body didn’t want him to feel comfortable, safe, whatever the way you made him feel. He wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of something as sweet as you. He was not a man that deserved good things, and he knew he certainly didn’t deserve you.

The compound was so big and he felt so small in his bed. Sometimes he swore he could feel the walls closing in, even though he knew his quarters were more than triple the size of some of the hellholes he had been trapped in. He needed space. He needed air. And that was what led him to wander the hallways like some kind of spectre as the city roared and thundered and thrived below him.

The rooftop had always been his favourite spot. Tony loved using it for parties, setting up a bar and filling the hot tub with champagne and hiring some idiot to blast stupid music that made Bucky want to smash his head against a brick wall. But it was often just used by the team, swimming laps in the pool and laughing under the summer sun, strawberries and wine in the spring and late night swims in the rain in the winter, making Clint jump in the frozen water naked after he lost a round of poker.

It was one of the rare places that Bucky felt truly safe. Out in the open air, watching the water sparkle teal under the stars, the city so big and beautiful, lights flickering and horns blaring. He came up when things went bad, losing himself in the noise and the ice cold air. He often pulled a chair out to the edge, drinking a beer that had no effect on him but somehow made him feel a little bit lighter, just watching the world go by.

He hadn’t been up there in a while. The nightmares had stopped for a while, incidentally the same time you arrived, but recently they had started to trickle back in, like rain at the end of summer.

He was in a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a henley with far too many holes in, cradling a mug of cocoa with a shot of dark rum as he stepped off the elevator, stopping suddenly when he noticed the outdoor lights shining brightly. He knew that everybody else was asleep, and his field instincts kicked in quickly, until he noticed the soft lilac hue of your satin pyjamas glistening under the moon.

Perhaps he should have left. He knew that you liked to keep your distance and God, did he understand that, but his feet seemed to stay cemented to the floor. You were luring him like a ship to a lighthouse, beckoning him to follow you, and who was he to resist?

You were bent over a row of plants and flowers, watering them from a buttercup yellow can, your fingers stained with mud. You moved gently, tentatively fondling the leaves and petals and clipping away any stray stems and weeds. He watched you with curious eyes, amazed at how something so simple could show so much about your character. After so long of not seeing you he felt lucky to catch a glimpse, and he didn’t want to do anything to scare you off.

That was, until his foot caught the edge of one of the sun loungers.

For a trained assassin, he could really be a dumbass sometimes.

You looked up quickly, eyes as wide as dinner plates, your face just starting to flush. He held up his free hand, all the air leaving his lungs like a balloon. He stepped back to leave you in peace, but then he heard you softly say:

“Wait.”

So he did.

You looked nervous but enchanting, with your mussed hair and fluffy slippers and long eyelashes. You smiled timidly, but warmly, and looked at him. Really looked at him. And something about that made him feel truly seen, for the first time in a long time.

“Bucky, right?” A pause lingered in the air, he was suddenly face to face with you and somehow all of his words dissolved into the night air. You mistook his turmoil for something else, and straightened up, the trowel in your hand spilling dirt onto the floor. “Oh I’m so sorry. Do you prefer James? Or...”

“Bucky!” He said, almost shouting, and then calmed himself down. He could feel a blush rising up his throat from his outburst, but if it meant you would look at him the way that you were, then he would happily embarrass himself forever.

A moment passed, the stars overhead round and full despite all of the pollution in the city air, and for once Bucky didn’t find them the most beautiful thing he had seen.

“What are you doing?” He asked before he could stop himself.

“Oh, um.” You were a little flustered, the apples of your cheeks rounding and your lips twitching up, like you were laughing at a joke he so desperately wanted to be a part of. It was infectious. You were infectious, and the ice cold assassin felt the frost around his heart start to thaw.

“Tony got them for me.” You said, barely meeting his gaze. “After everything.” You stopped awkwardly and cleared your throat. His interest was piqued but he knew better than to probe you, instead letting you ramble. “He thought it would be good for me to have something to take care of. Something to look after, you know?”

He nodded.

“It’s not much, but sometimes coming up here and watering them just takes my mind off of things, you know?” You said, somewhat absentmindedly. He watched as you stroked the petals, pushing your finger into a droplet of water on the leaves. He wasn’t much of a gardener but he recognised a few of the potted plants. Forget me nots, African violets, buttery yellow primrose and icy purple orchids. You had other things too, sweet mint and thyme and rosemary, and budding stems of strawberries and blackberries and tomatoes.

It was amazing how much life you had grown along the usually industrial looking balcony. It was rare to see something thrive amongst the smoke of the city,

“I like it up here too, it’s peaceful.” He said, looking out at the skyline and smelling the crisp, cool air.

You mistook his honesty for an annoyance at breaching his personal space, and held your hands up apologetically. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” You were about to make excuses and leave, not wanting to upset the very handsome man who had occupied far too much of your brain anymore, but he stepped forward and said quickly:

“No! In fact, I er - I think I like it much more now.”

You smiled, and oh boy, did Bucky know he was done for.

———————————————————-

Bucky started to like the nights.

After the first midnight meeting it somehow became unspoken for the two of you to meet up on the rooftop. Bucky never wanted to overstep or make you feel uncomfortable, but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to see you again in the privacy of the twilight, the moonlight casting gold flecks into your eyes.

It should have been awkward. An ex HYDRA puppet and a girl with a blurry past that had just joined the biggest crime fighting organisation in the world should have found it hard to open up to one another, but somehow that didn’t happen.

You both kept the conversation light, the silences were warm and comfortable, and everything felt bizarrely natural. You’d often be preening your plants and Bucky would be sat on a lounge chair, reading a book and sneaking glances at you. You talked about the city, he told you how much it had changed since the 40’s, and you told him about the crappy apartment with no heating and a nest of owls you lived in before Tony took you in.

Family never came up, it was a subject you danced around and Bucky respected your privacy. He told you about his though, it slipped out accidentally when he saw you preening foxgloves the colour of ripe and juicy plums - and how they reminded him of the ones his mother once had in the window box of their kitchen. Somehow the memory hit him like a sucker punch to the gut, and you expertly swerved the conversation onto something else. It lingered in his mind for the rest of the night, only dimming when he came home from a workout the following morning and saw a little vase filled with purple petals and a book titled “Caring For Foxgloves” left outside of his door.

His smile didn’t fade the whole rest of the day, even through Sam’s relentless teasing.

He remembered you talking about your favourite cafe off campus, and the white hot chocolate and raspberry donuts you would kill for, and took an hour detour from his running route to pick them up for you both to share later that night.

It was amazing, how this girl he only knew through the sounds from his wall was now sitting with him in the early hours of the morning, talking to him like he was a real person and not just some shitty science experiment. You exchanged books, giving him ones that you thought he would enjoy, and he devoured them in less than a week, finding traces of you between the pages.

The two of you never sat right beside one another. You knew his past and you were cautious not to overwhelm him, always leaving generous inches and metres between you both. For the first time in a long time Bucky didn’t want somebody to give him space, he craved those moments when your fingertips would brush as he helped you pot a plant, when your thighs would touch as you leant over him to watch the stars, when he could feel your warmth orbiting him like a planet.

He used to loathe the night time, but now, he spent the whole day aching for the sun to set so he could be with you.

Eventually, as you grew closer with him, you also grew closer with the team, and soon you were joining them sporadically for movie nights and “Friends” marathons and training. You mainly stayed with Wanda and Nat, the two girls sparring with you and showing you the ropes and coming from a place you could understand the best, but you always ended up back next to Bucky - and he loved it.

The rest of the team noticed too. The way that you brought Bucky out of his shell and he helped you to feel grounded. Steve instantly saw that the smile on his best friends face was wider than it had been in fifty years, and he enjoyed watching the two of you together, happy his best friend was happy.

Bucky felt his own change, too. He was no longer a blushing, stuttering mess around you, (well, not completely. He was still a wreck when you smiled at him, or laughed, or did basically anything) but he had found a comfortable middle ground in your friendship, the two of you able to tease and joke with each other like old friends. Finding ways to talk the whole night and day away, watching the sky turn from obsidian to sweet purple and then milky blue, both of you wondering how you had managed to once again miss an entire night quicker than a snap of fingers.

He knew that he was in deep when you got cleared for your first mission.

He remembered waking up, running with Steve, drinking coffee and making eggs, all whilst pretending he wasn’t looking over his shoulder waiting for you every few seconds. Sam came in with a smug smile and stole a slice of toast, buttering it until it was dripping and eating it in seconds, his brow furrowing a little as he watched Bucky.

“What?” Bucky asked, shooting him a curious glance.

“Aren’t you gonna say goodbye to your girl?”

“She not ‘my girl’.” Bucky said through a mouthful of coffee, hating how the words made him feel.

“Oh, right. Of course not. It’s not like the two of you don’t spend every second of every day and every night together, and it’s not like you’re totally head over heels -”

Bucky decided it would be easier to just cut him off, taking his frustration out on the eggs he was now whisking a little too hard. “Why would I say goodbye to her?”

“You didn’t hear?”

He shook his head, suddenly feeling a million tiny needles prickle his skin.

“Bruce signed her off. She’s heading to Madrid with Nat.”

“She’s what?”

That was all it took for him to leave, Sam watching him closely and smirking to himself. Not noticing until it was too late that the pan had started smoking, and the smell of burnt eggs wafted through the air, and Sam was left alone to grab the fire extinguisher and coat the meal in clouds of white foam.

Bucky stormed through the halls, he wasn’t quite sure what his plan was, his mind felt like a bowl of alphabet soup and he couldn’t quite place his anger or frustration, but that didn’t stop him from tearing through the rooms with a face like thunder. He found Tony in the conference room, finalising the mission plans and murmuring under his breath. Bucky feet moved him forward before he could even compute it.

“You signed her off?”

Tony exhaled loudly, and with obvious frustration spun round on his three hundred thousand dollar shoes.

“I was wondering when you would pitch in your two cents.”

“Do you think she’s ready?”

“Yes I do.”

“What if -? What if something happens? What if something goes wrong? What if - ”

“It won’t.”

“What if it does?”

“Look, Barnes. I know you and (Y/N) have been getting on well, and I know that she’s opened up a lot because of you -” He paused, mulling over the distaste in his mouth. “... As much as that might irritate me. But you don’t know what she’s like on the field, she’s brilliant.”

Bucky didn’t doubt that for a second, but his blood was as cold as ice. Missions went wrong all of the time, even a simple recon with Clint ended up with them both littered in bullets, and the mere thought of that made his head spin. He had no real reason to be so overprotective of you, but he truly couldn’t help it, everything in him was screaming at him to keep you safe.

“Are you even sure that...”

“Bucky?” He felt like a scarecrow shoved in a pool of mud, stuck straight and stiff as you said his name and rendered him totally tongue tied. He wondered how much you had heard, and he felt like there was an ice cube trailing down his spine.

“Aha! There she is! Superwoman!” Tony said, clapping his hands together, always knowing how to diffuse the tension.

He turned around and felt his heart jack hammer in his chest. He could see Nat, but his eyes totally passed over her, because you were there: your hair tied up and back from your face, subtle makeup with long eyelashes and syrupy lips, a black and powder pink tactical suit that fit and hugged every curve and bow of your body. His brain totally let him down, short circuiting at the mere sight of you. You looked so happy and healthy and glowing, and also like you could knock him out with a single punch - and good god would he let you.

“Bucky I was erm, I was looking for you. I wanted to say goodbye.” You clasped your hands together, appearing so sweet and shy, a total contrast to the femme fatale you portrayed.

“Natalia!” Tony said quickly, and for once Bucky was grateful for his interruption. “Come and look at this strange bird with me.”

All of you knew it was quite possibly the worst fake distraction ever but you ignored it. Nat just rolled her eyes and followed Tony to the balcony, but not before wiggling her eyebrows at Bucky.

You moved forward tentatively. “I wanted to tell you this morning but I couldn’t find you.” You weren’t quite sure why you were so cautious and apprehensive, desperate to speak to him. You had been travelling and fighting for as long as you could remember, you had spent many years alone and entered the battlefield countless times - and yet, that morning as Bruce gave you the all clear, the only person you wanted to see or speak to was Bucky.

“I was running, I’m sorry.”

You smiled, and it made him smile. “Well I’ve found you now.” You stepped forward, Bucky inhaled air so sharply it almost sliced the back of this throat. “I wanted to say goodbye, and that I’ll see you soon.” You paused, then blinked up at him almost cheekily. “Would you do me a favour? If you have time? Could you water the plants for me?”

He grinned, toothy and white. “Already on it.”

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

He put his hand on your shoulder, and he swore he could feel you melt into his touch, or maybe that was his knees buckling at his stupidity and the way that you were looking up at him. He wanted to say a million things, but instead he settled for: “Goodbye, (Y/N). Be safe, okay?”

“Of course.”

He watched as you packed your things and headed to the jet, the rest of the crew coming out to say their farewells and wish them luck. His eyes were trained on you as you spoke to Tony, nodding your head as you listened to him. He felt Natasha sidle up next to him, her hair shining copper in the sun.

“She’ll be alright, Barnes.”

“I know. But - ”

“I’ll take care of her. Promise.”

“Thank you, Nat. Good luck.”

“Don’t need it!”

Three hours later and he was in the gym, punching out his excess energy. The bag was splitting at the seams, and sand trailed sadly onto the floor. Bucky ignored it, his hits getting harder and faster, his blood pounding in his ears. Since you had left he had taken to pacing the floor and biting his nails down to the wick, hovering over Steve as he spoke to Nat through her wire. He only left when he realised that he was driving everybody else crazy with his obsessive twitching and marching, taking out his frustration on whatever he could rip apart with his fingers.

“Tony’s going to kill you if you break anymore punching bags.” Steve said from behind him, his voice echoing around the dark room.

“Hmph.”

He couldn’t stop. His hands were red raw and his knuckles were scraped but they would heal soon, and he’d go back to tearing them up all over again, anything to get rid of the adrenaline and nausea that had been swimming in him since the morning.

A minute passed. And then two. And then three. He exhaled, pausing, his hands midway in the air. He was about to say what he had always known, right from the second your eyes met that crisp autumn day, and Steve was the only one he could confide in.

“I think I’m falling in love with her.”

Steve hardly even blinked, just clapped a hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting, his brother.

“I know.”

Because of course he did. He knew it from the way Bucky smiled, the way he was lighter, brighter, like you had made him switch on and appreciate the little things around him. He had seen Bucky doe eyed and loopy over hundreds of girls back in the day, he knew how he got, but this... this was something bigger, magnetic, the clash of two electric people.

There wasn’t much Steve could say, he was great at saving people but not so good at the more personal side of things, he still turned into a puddle when Sharon looked at him. Instead he laughed, his teeth white as snow and his eyes playful and teasing. “You got it bad, dude.”

Despite everything Bucky smiled. Because yeah, he did.

————————— ————————————

You came back from the mission unharmed and euphoric.

And the second. And the third. And the fourth.

Bucky still tracked mud across all of the carpets and tapped his feet mindlessly for the entirety you were gone, but he was getting better. Steve had even bought him a joke present of a pear shaped and scented stress ball, but Bucky had ripped it in half when there was gunfire in the background of your coms, followed by an apologetic “Sorry!” from Sam. Bucky had then poured all of the tiny fruit smelling beads under the duvet in Sams bed, and then put all of his toilet paper on the holder backwards, knowing how annoyed he got about it.

Every time you came back you were exhausted and elated and beaming, and after having a nap and a shower you spent the rest of the day with the team, but the nights were reserved just for him. You grew even closer together. Steve had watched from the rooftop doorway gobsmacked one evening when he had left his phone up there, watching the way you two interacted, the way that he curled into your touch, never away from it. You got electric shocks when your fingers touched, you would blush when his knee playfully nudged yours at something stupid somebody had said at dinner, and you found yourself falling asleep to the image of chestnut hair and ocean eyes. You had crushes before, but this was all consuming, the kind of thing that made your stomach erupt in butterflies and your eyes turn into hearts.

You were worried that it might be one sided, but Bucky was totally, completely, smitten.

He watched you. Noticed the way that you smiled and laughed and tucked your hair behind your ear. He thought of the girls in the forties, with their painted lips and curled hair and immaculate clothes, and how you blew all of them out of the water, even in just your flannel pyjamas and bunny slippers. The coil in his belly when he looked at you reminded him of being sixteen and holding hands at the pictures, but that had just been a flicker, and this was a forest fire.

The first mission with the rest of the crew was when things went sour.

He got to see how you acted first hand. The way that you were quiet in the jet, but smiling strawberry red, taking in all of the orders that Steve meticulously laid out, your eyes wide and eager. He watched you as he helped Nat set up the guns and stock the ammo, the way that you toyed with the knife in your boot, the gears in your head turning and working on something he was desperate to discover.

He hadn’t been on a mission with you, not only because they way you looked in your suit and the way that you grinned would have led to him inadvertently getting a bullet in his head, but because from what he had heard, your fighting styles were totally different. Your powers and your skills were a mystery to him, one that he badly wanted to solve, but you kept that side of you hidden and guarded with barbed wire, and he respected that.

You were paired off with Sam. Nat with Clint. Bucky with Steve. Wanda with Vision. It was a simple mission, there was some intel locked in a safe of a seemingly abandoned factory in the south of Russia. Tony had discovered the place crawling with hidden members of a gang that specialised in human trafficking and organ farming, and he needed what was hidden below to help blow it out of the water.

It was going to take a lot of skill. There was no doubt that the enemies would be heavily armed, possibly even with illegally manufactured weapons, and all of you had to keep your heads straight the entire time. He had wanted desperately to be paired with you, to keep his eye on you, (not that you needed it) but he knew it was out of the question. Instead, as you all split up a few miles away in the woods, he grabbed your hand quickly and rubbed his finger across your knuckles, looking at you intently, his eyes swimming with sincerity.

“Be careful.” He said, his gaze locked on yours.

You smiled. “Always.”

He stuck his middle finger up at Steve’s smug face as they headed towards the factory.

Things were going well. As well as they could be when they were covered in blood and sweat and surrounded by the sound of gunfire and cracking bones. Nobody had been hurt so far, the coms quiet as the pairings cleared their sectors and worked their way down to the basement. Bucky had just pushed the last man over the railing and onto the concrete floor below when he heard the crackle of panicked voices in his ear, his eyes darting to Steve.

“Shit! Fuck!”

“Sam?”

“It’s (Y/N)! Fuck! One of them took her!”

“What?” Steve said instantly, switching straight from solider to captain, immediately alert.

“There was too many, it was an ambush!”

“Sam just stay there and - ” Steve tried to keep his voice steady and level, but it seemed as though the walls were closing in. To make matters worse, he saw a blur of black in his eye line, and watched helplessly as his best friend tore down the stairwell, his footsteps a clap of thunder. “Fuck! Bucky!”

Bucky knew that he was going to get one hell of a lecture and probably some six week course in impulse in the force, but all that he could think about was you, his blood was ice cold, his body numb and his brain conjuring up a million different pictures of you that made him feel sick to his stomach. He leapt over the bannister and landed haphazardly on the floor, his gun cocked and ready. His eyes were nothing but jet black pupils, scanning for your face through the halls.

He knew that you and Sam had been working through what used to be the laboratory, and that was on the other side of the building. His legs and arms moved almost mechanically, determined to get to you as quickly as possible, taking out anybody that stood in his way. He could hear Steve calling from behind him, and the sputter of the others in his earpiece, but his focus was on one thing. You.

The men were big and brawny and mean. Tattooed arms and shaved heads and gold teeth. Bucky shredded through them like they wore nothing. He flung them over tables, threw them through doorways and dragged them up by the roots of their hair. They were strong though, laughing at him through coffee stained teeth, loving his anger and desperation.

“Where is she?” He snarled at one particularly vicious thug brandishing two assault rifles.

“Who? Your whore? Dead.”

He snapped his neck like it was nothing but a twig.

He ran from room to room, his boots squealing across blood and stray bullets, his breath as ragged and sharp as glass. Everywhere was empty. Rows of vials and big glass cylinders and cages for animal testing, there was nothing, the place completely ransacked and bare. He hissed, getting ready to fight his way through another floor until he heard exasperated grunts and the clash of metal from a small room off to the side.

He skidded into the doorway with his rifle up at his shoulder, his finger right on the trigger, ready to shoot somebody’s fucking head off. Instead he paused, his mouth agape and his hands lowering, the whole room standing still. There was a freezer. Probably for samples and test tubes and whatever crazy fucking thing they kept in a place like this, but they had used it as a cage, the handles tied with thick copper chains and padlocks. Sam was using the butt of his gun to smash his way through, and they were old and rusty and starting to crumble easily, and Bucky watched helplessly as he finally busted in, clouds of ice puffing around him.

Bucky didn’t know why he couldn’t move. Couldn’t help. But his feet were as heavy as cinder blocks, and his heart was thundering in his ears. There was a small squeal, broken and half hearted, void of anything other than exhaustion, and then the smell of tears and blood, followed by sweet mint and wildflowers. Unmistakably you.

He wanted to run forward and scoop you in his arms, press your head against the crook of his neck and get you far, far away from this place, but he couldn’t move, and so he watched as Sam tugged you into him, running his fingers through your hair, cradling you like a child, soothing you as you cried hot, wet tears into his suit. And Bucky wished with everything in him that it was him instead.

He stayed back as you flew home with Sam. He kept away when you were in the hospital with Bruce, lurked in his room when you went over everything with Tony, locked himself away when you confided in Steve. He felt as though he had failed you, no matter what the others said. He felt as though he had let you down, and the noise you had made when Sam tugged you from the depths of that tiny little box, it played in his head like a warped record, haunting him and his dreams.

For a week he kept to himself. For a week he ran a different route and trained at a gym down by the water. For a week he took his motorbike out to a shitty diner in the bad part of town and ate soggy pancakes instead of having dinner with the team, for a week he did everything he could to not see you, thinking that would ease what you had been through, but instead it left you feeling torn and hurt and completely alone.

Tony made him come in to test out a new reloading system and so he reluctantly snuck down to the figuring range under the cover of darkness. He allowed himself to get lost in the sounds of carnage and the smell of metal, until he heard soft footsteps from behind him.

“You’re avoiding me.”

You seemed so sad, and that made his heart clench.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

Silence. That had never been awkward between the two of you, ever, and yet now it was so thick you could cut through it with a knife.

You wrung your hands together, your eyes flitting around the room, never quite landing on his face. That hurt. After a moment you cleared your throat, using the toe of your sneaker to kick up dust from the floor. “Do you - do you know? I mean, has anybody said anything to you? About me?”

He shook his head. “No.” There had been a million times when it was on the tip of his tongue to pry the truth from Nat or Steve, but his respect for you was stronger than his need for answers.

He felt his stomach flip when you finally blinked up at him. You looked as though you hadn’t slept and he knew he looked worse. You were still so beautiful though, looking so young and angelic under the harsh lights and surrounded by all the weaponry. Like a powder pink rose amongst giant, violent thorns.

Unable to stop himself, he blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

“You said that.”

“Not for avoiding you. For letting you - For not being there for you.”

Your mouth was open, brows furrowed as you took in what he said. “What?”

“I should have helped you.” There was desperation in his voice, and he turned to face the targets rather than look at you, not wanting you to see him so weak.

You were silent for quite a while. It was difficult for you to digest his words, like swallowing glass. You had been under the impression that seeing you tearful and cowering and broken had scared him off, had made him look at you differently, but now you knew that he blamed himself. “Bucky...” You said, biting back emotion. “Its not your fault.” Your tone was definite. Strong. You wouldn’t let him feel guilty for something he had no control over.

He brushed you off, shifting his weight, turning playful. “Yeah I know. It was Sam’s.”

You rolled your eyes.

He clicked his tongue. He set the gun down on the table and turned to face you fully, his eyes solid and unwavering. “I am so sorry you got hurt.”

“I wasn’t - I.”Finding the right words was hard. You had so much you wanted to tell him but no idea how to, the sentences sticking to the roof of your mouth like peanut butter. “It was just...Can we? Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“The roof?”

“Yeah,” You smiled, and Bucky swore even the strongest industrial lights couldn’t even match your spark. “The roof.”

Under the stars and above the city as the cars raced and the sirens blared, you told him everything. Growing up as a lab rat, twisted and moulded by scientists and pumped full of chemicals. You told him of finding your powers and being forced to use them for vile things you couldn’t even repeat, and when he heard the tremor of your voice and saw the gloss on your eyes his whole body vibrated and turned a shade of red that it was almost black. You told him how the people that created you had wanted you back, and how Tony had saved you from being taken again, how you owed him your life.

He wasn’t good with comfort. He wasn’t good with words. He was good at tearing people apart limb from limb and shooting them from distances and breaking their bones like they were toothpicks, but for you, he would try. In a move so unlike him that it felt as though he might have been brainwashed once again, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close.

You froze at first, but eventually thawed and melted into him, grateful for his touch. You had wanted to be close to him since the first time you met but you held back, and now everything felt right, like the missing piece of a puzzle slotting into place. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he gave someone a bear hug, his nose buried in your hair, his fingers locked around you, desperate to keep you safe. Perhaps it was way back then, a time of uniforms and alleyways and candy floss and city smog, a time he used to long for with everything in him.

But now the memories of the past didn’t even compare to what he felt when he held you.

———————————————————

Everything came to a head on the first mission you had alone together.

Two months passed. Two months of subtle touches and shared smiles and inside jokes. Two months of rooftop laughter and midnight meetings and eating ice cream straight from the tub as you sat under the stars. Two months of utter, dreadful, aching, slow burning, and it was driving everybody else crazy.

Mostly Sam.

“I’m just saying,” Sam had murmured to Steve over chocolate eclairs one morning as they watched you teach a wide eyed, love struck Bucky how to play Mario Kart. “Can’t we just lock them in a room? Force them to kiss?”

“No.”

“It’s just so gross.”

Wanda flicked a grape at him, smiling cheekily as it bounced off his nose. “It’s sweet.”

He cocked a brow and tilted his head, his eyes filled with mild disgust. “Is it?”

Steve flicked through the files in his hand and licked whipped cream from his fingers. “He’s happy. Leave him be.”

“He’s a dumbass.”

“They both are.” Natasha interjected from behind them, wiping sweat from her brow and pulling off her boxing gloves. She was monotone and her face was straight, but even the black widow couldn’t bite back the smile she had as she watched the girl she now thought of as a sister and the once murderous, unbeatable assassin arguing about blue shells on the sofa.

The first mission you had been assigned together was in a small town in the Midwest somewhere. There had been unusual sightings in an airfield in the middle of nowhere, and a fugitive from Germany had been spotted in the bars that bordered the little village. Tony didn’t want to send too many people and blow the cover, just your powers of manipulation and telekinesis to apprehend the subject, and Bucky for added strength and precision.

Initially Tony was hesitant on pairing the two of you together, but there was no denying that you both worked brilliantly together. You understood one another on a level that nobody else did.

Bucky didn’t get nervous before a mission. In fact, he hardly felt anything. He spent the hours in the jet preparing himself and his weapons, going over maps and plans until they were drilled in his brain. But as the two of you took off, you with your rose blossom lips and eye watering suit and soft laughter, Bucky felt a warmth coiling in his stomach.

Apprehension.

You were staying at a cheap hotel a few blocks from the airfield. Tony had thought of everything and booked the two of you in rooms the opposite end of the hall from each other. Three floors apart. Bucky had slipped the receptionist a twenty for the room next to yours. For protection, of course.

Working undercover could be mind numbingly boring. Hours sat in a parked car in the dead of night, freezing to the bone as you watched an apartment from the bushes, trailing a suspect for days on end - but any time with you was a blessing for Bucky, even if it was sat behind the wheel of a cheap car with painful seats and broken heating.

The mission was a quiet one at first, you’d spotted the subject and had been following him, but all he seemed to do was eat crappy diner food and watch hours of cartoons. You both remained a safe distance but you managed to eventually bug his apartment when he spent the evening at a strip club. Tony and Steve updated you often, they had intercepted his phone calls and learnt that he was sending out a shipment late one night, and the two of you needed to stop it before it reached the air.

The rain was torrential when the two of you left the hotel. You smiled secretly to yourself as you walked through the slick streets, noticing how Bucky always made sure you were on the side away from the road, and how he moved so that you never got your feet in puddles. You were in the middle of nowhere following a criminal who spent far too much time eating potato chips and watching Rick and Morty, and yet you struggled to think of a time when you had been more content.

It meant everything to you.

Staying up late to listen into his apartment, Bucky buying practically the entire vending machine, the two of you pigging out and talking about nothing. You had breakfast at diners and communicated at night through knocks on the wall. Whenever you were out and the air was ice cold, Bucky would always move in close to you, his arm brushing against yours, his body your own personal heater. He wanted nothing more in those moments then to pull you into him and warm you up some other way, but instead he kept his eyes fixed forward, and bit the inside of his cheek until it bled.

You arrived at the airfield at midnight. The moon was high and the sky was dark and you both had to crouch low to be avoided by the overhead lights. You saw the suspect speaking to someone on his phone, and not long after a large white van pulled up towards him, the driver getting out and opening the boot.

“That’s it.” Bucky said pointing at the wooden crates. His voice was right by your ear, and you tried to ignore the way you shivered.“You ready?”

You nodded, smiling up at him. “Always.”

What happened next was mostly a blur. The two of you kept your heads down and your hands on your weapons, the pounding of the rain disguising your footsteps. You made it across the tarmac with Bucky covering you, his eyes alert and prepared for any imposing danger. You lifted your hands, ready to snap your fingers and apprehend the man rooting around the boxes, but before you could even feel the warm buzz of your powers through your veins, six men leapt out from the back of the van, guns raised and smoking.

“Fuck. Fuck! It’s a set up.”

Without even a second thought, Bucky pushed you aside. His body totally covered your own, and he hissed and swore, firing back at the bullets rapidly charging at you. You swung your hands and fought back, sending out flickers of fire and air, setting one of them alight and watching as he howled in pain. Bucky shot at everyone he could, sharp pierces right in the skull, always one hundred percent accurate, but his brain was whirring a mile a minute. He was trying his best to keep his eyes on you, his only goal was to make sure you were safe.

It wasn’t like he thought you were weak - far from it. He had seen you out on the field, been knocked on his ass from the aftershock of your powers more times than he could count, and he knew he had no real reason to be so worried but that did nothing to stop the prickling feeling across his skin like a million tiny little flames at the thought of you getting hurt.

You were determined to keep him safe as well though.You tossed back bullets and threw your knife through the air, smiling as it slashed through on of them, leaving him crumpled and crying on the floor. The two of you worked well together, playing off of each other’s attacks and combining your skills to get as many of them down as you could. Right when the last man hit the floor, you exhaled, and Bucky allowed himself a soft smile, looking beautiful and bruised in the middle of a rainstorm.

“Are you alright?” You heard him say, but his voice faded into static in your ears. Behind him one of them had struggled to his feet, blood spurting out from his neck, his face filled with nothing but venom, his eyes wild and vicious. You didn’t even blink, thrusting your hands forward and sending a wave of power through the air.

But it was too late.

He had already lifted his gun, a ripple of bullets flying towards you both. You leapt in front of Bucky, pushing his head down and trying to soften the impact, but his hands curled painfully around your waist, dragging you onto the floor and under him. The bullets missed the two of you by centimetres, piercing into the airplane behind you both. Your surge of power had knocked the man back and he was down once again, his body now pale and lifeless. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, and Bucky’s. He was fully on top of you, warm and solid and absolutely seething, his chest rising and falling above your own.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Bucky...” You inhaled, trying to get him to calm down and look at you but he merely shook his head, his body vibrating blood red.

“No. We’re leaving. Now.”

———————————————————-

After the ambush, it was too risky to return to the hotel, and so Steve sent out coordinates for a safe house an hour away. The ride there was completely silent. You didn’t even try to speak or diffuse the tension, you could practically feel Bucky’s anger, and the steering wheel had even started to bend from his grip.

The safe house was a small cottage. The only heat was from a tiny wood burner in the lounge, and the only food on the shelves were tinned peaches and cans of custard. Everything was oddly cosy. Pink knitted throws and round plush cushions and mismatched sofas, dried lavender tied to the wall and exposed brick and white, ceramic milk jugs. In any other circumstance you would have been happy to spend the night, but Bucky’s sour mood was quick to dim your spark.

You sighed as he threw his duffel bag onto the table, angrily heading to the sink and twisting the tab, exhaling loudly at the thin dribble of water that came out.

“Bucky.” You started to say, but he held his hand up as a warning.

“No.”

“Yes!” You snapped, needing him to understand you. “You have to listen to me.”

He dismissed you, too overcome with annoyance to even process your words. You could have died tonight, and you were acting as though it didn’t matter. “You were a goddamn idiot out there.”

“No I wasn’t!”

He slapped his hand on the wooden counter, a slap ringing through the small room.“You jumped in front of a bullet -“

“You almost got shot Bucky!”

“You almost got shot.”

“It was what was best for the mission.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the mission! I only care about you.”

“What?” Your voice was soft. A whisper. You could hear everything around you, feel him before he even stepped forward. Your breathing was shaky, adrenaline spiking through your body. The man you were in love with looking at you desperately and longingly, as though there was a physical ache inside of him.

He shrugged, because what else was there to say? He was looking deep into your own eyes, wanting to drown in them. His face was stern and hard and he was pissed, and yet, strangely, none of what had happened seemed to matter. He stepped towards you, his gaze running across your figure, looking for any cuts or bruises one of those fuckers might have left on you.

“Are you hurt?” He said finally, his face millimetres from your own.

“No.”

“Good.”

He kissed you. His hands went up and into your hair, his chest pressed against yours, his lips were warm and soft and hungry, ready to devour the one thing he had wanted since the very first time he laid eyes on you. You melted into his touch and he smiled. The kiss got more intense, teeth clashing and hands under sweaters and his body rolling against yours. You moaned in his mouth and he bit your lip and your pulses synced and raced and leapt. This was six months of pure longing and frustration and the need to portray everything that had gone unsaid for far too long.

It wasn’t long before you ended up on the floor. You were both too greedy and touch starved to even stop or make your way upstairs, you both needed the other like air, like addicts desperate for another hit. His lips were all over every bit of skin he could find, you lasted like sweat and cinnamon and vanilla and he swore he would give up everything he had if he got to feel you like this, whining and writhing and grabbing him, tugging him closer and kissing him like an angelic little devil.

He had once been a Casanova. He had once made ladies swoon and mothers blush and fathers clench their fists. Then he had been shattered, rebuilt in a way that wasn’t quite right, his body used for torture rather than pleasure. And yet, with you, the rain pelting the windows and your bodies intertwined and your lips tasting like summer strawberries and everything that he had ever dreamed of - he felt whole, for the first time in a long time. The noises you made were sinful, and his thoughts were nothing but you,you,you, the girl he had fallen in love with through the sounds in the wall and with the flowers on the roof, the girl that occupied his brain more than anything else.

Everything was too much and not enough, his head was buried in your neck, your legs were around his waist, pulling him tighter, urging him to go deeper. He had dreamt of this moment for a long time. He had imagined a candle lit dinner and red roses and awkward touches and itchy dress shirts, he wanted everything to be perfect, because you deserved the world. But in the living room of a safe house in the middle of nowhere, covered in sweat and blood and surrounded by thunder and clashing furniture seemed oddly magical for a couple with roots like yours.

After, you were cradled in the crook of his arm, with your hair splayed across his bare chest. Bucky was having a hard time controlling his rapid pulse and heavy breathing because holy shit he had just slept with the girl of his dreams, but one look at you under the moonlight looking ethereal and exhausted and everything else just dissolved into wisps or smoke.

He wanted to tell you in a better way, but he just couldn’t keep it in any longer. His brain was fizzled with pleasure and dizzy with euphoria, and he just wanted, needed you to know everything.

“I’m in love with you. I have been since I first saw you.”

You froze. After a beat, you buried your face into the flesh of his chest, your soft laughter tickling his abdomen, his fingers trailing loosely across your spine. You smiled like a child, looking up at him with big eyes and heart shaped lips.

“God. We’re both idiots. I’m so in love with you too, Buck.”

He grinned, and he felt like his heart might tear in two.

—————————————————————-

You arrived back at the compound with interlocked fingers and matching grins and Sam nearly collapsed with relief. Tony almost went into cardiac arrest.

For the first time in fifty years, happiness followed Bucky wherever he went. Things were easy, light. You were his. You crawled into his arms at the end of a bad day and you laughed into his shoulder and you held his hand and kissed him and killed him and resurrected him all at the same time. He had never felt home in this modern world, and now he looked forward to each day and whatever strange and inane adventure the two of you would end up on. The anvil that had been crushing his heart for so long had started to lighten, and he owed it all to you.

Still, there were hard days. When he woke up slick with sweat with eyes wider than the moon and an urge to wrap his hands around something, or when you thought of the past and became consumed by the memories, tears falling down your face before you could stop them. He got jealous, and he had multiple stern talks with Steve about “not threatening the interns just because they speak to your girlfriend,” you could be stubborn, take on more than you needed, return from a mission with a limp you tried to hide, one that eventually led to an argument about your reckless choices. But nothing ever lasted more than a day. You were always there for one another, with open arms and gentle smiles and the unconditional love that people would kill for.

He had been in a million different situations where he felt like he was drowning. Like something was pulling him under the depths, crushing his lungs and shattering his oesophagus. But nothing compared to how he felt around you. Nothing could match the way you consumed him completely. the electricity that coursed through his veins when your fingers brushed against his, there was nothing quite like the way his heartbeat would slow when you were around, the way that he suddenly felt warm and full whenever you laughed.

He had spent so long alone. He had spent so many years fighting a war he never signed up for, and he was exhausted. He was starved of attention but terrified of exposing himself, and he lived with a chain link fence around his heart. Your soft voice so soothing, the sweetness in your eyes and the innocent bat of your lashes disarmed him better than any soldier ever could. There was something about you - something magnetic, magical.

Your sweetness went straight to his brain. One look at you and his mind dizzied, a sugar rush that only you gave him.

Whenever somebody asked where he was from, he thought partly of Brooklyn, of his mother and Steve, of cobbled streets and dog tags and ink stained newspapers. He thought of darkness. Of being moulded and reshaped deep down in the depths of bad places, of iron and rust and metal, his hands coated in blood.

But mostly, he thought of you. Safe and warm and sweet and so good. How expensive mattresses and dim candles and hot chocolate didn’t make him feel half the way that you did. How you grounded him, calmed him, made everything feel light and coated in sunshine when he had spent so goddamn long being frozen.

So when somebody asked where he was from, he thought of you, because you were home.

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #marvel imagine #bucky barnes x reader #marvel oneshot #sebastian stan imagine #orionwrites

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sheepfulsheepyardinspace · 4 years

Note

Do you have any Star Wars fanfic recommendations, or have a link to someone else's list? I really wanna veg out.

oh my god, DO I. this may have been the best ask in the world. i’m not really sure what u want a feel for, so i threw together some of my favorite longfics for maximum veg time from the ot/pt and links for swr and swtcw recs. they’re pretty much all luke-anakin/vader centric, since that’s kinda my bread and butter.

let’s start with frodogenic, who wrote the first longfic i ever read in sw and might be one of the funniest authors ever. they once reviewed my fanfic & i nearly cried from joy. anyway.

The Father, 284k+, complete. “Ten years after ROTS, tormenting nightmares of his unborn child drive Darth Vader to extraordinary measures with unexpectedly drastic consequences. Clearly, experience has taught Darth Vader nothing...”

this is my og star wars fic and boy oh boy is it amazing. i will never get over this. i don’t want to spoil anything but when i say the final chapters are great? i mean they’re legendary. sometimes i still think about them & wish upon a star that i could be such a great writer. vader’s amazing, han is spectacular, and the ocs are fantastic.

Far More Than Rubies, 70k+, complete. “Nine years after AOTC, tragedy revisits the Lars Homestead. Little Luke Skywalker is suddenly plunged into chaos as the rebel movements discover a secret military project that may make a crucial difference in the war with the Empire.”

the spiritual twin of The Father, FMTR takes a look at padmé’s character and relationship with both luke and anakin/vader that’s hard to beat. it’s darker and heavier than The Father, but it hits those same sweet, sweet emotional beats while raising the age-old question: if padmé had lived, what would she have done?

The Family Tree, 12k, complete. “In which Luke Skywalker is stranded in a tree waiting for a flash flood to recede. Too bad he's got company...”

okay, i admit, this isn’t a longfic, but it is a longshot, and it’s amazing. the imagery and description always blow me away, and the interaction (canon-compliant) between luke and vader just [chef’s kiss] get me. vader’s in full, glorious form, and it makes it all the harder when luke wrestles with the knowledge that vader is his father.

Sibling Revelry, 25k, complete. “After Bespin and before Endor, Darth Vader is shocked to discover that Luke and Leia are twins. He's even more shocked when Imperial Intelligence reports that Organa and Skywalker are, erm, a tad closer than previously suspected.”

this is complete crack and humor in the best way possible. it’s crack treated entirely seriously, and you will be in stitches, i promise. no matter how many times i’ve read this i break down.

KittandChips (@kittandchips) writes what i can only describe as food for the soul. the luke-vader interaction is insanely amazing, the world building of daily imperial life and imperial governance is amazing, and vader just has a special je ne sais quoi that u must read to understand––tragic, funny, and so, so fatherly. they’re currently rewriting the Force Bond Series to fit in with newer canon, so i will joyously binge reread the entire again (including the new Force Bond: Mustafar Weekend).

Force Bond 1: Orphan, 47k, complete. “After Owen and Beru are killed by a mysterious stranger, young Luke ends up as an orphan on Coruscant. It's a race against time as Obi-Wan struggles to find Luke before Vader realizes the boy is his son.”

Orphan kicks off the series, which tracks vader and luke’s relationship through the perils of luke’s teenagerhood while growing up under the eye of the emperor and imperial court. it’s filled with slow growth, struggle and misunderstandings as darth vader tries to single parent, and pay off in every installment. the entire series clocks in around 777k+ and is the most joyful, fulfilling reading you’ll ever have. promise.

darth-nickels (@darth--nickels) writes darker, twistier, and terribly, terribly heartwrenching aus. they’ve got a whole host, but let me introduce to my two favorites. also, check out their faux-academia on vader. it’s amazing and i love it, but i admit i am an academia hoe.

Dooku Captured, Pt 2, 16k, complete. “Dooku is taken alive onboard the Invisible Hand, and Sidious' web is torn. The Sith Lord wonders if death might have been preferable to clumsy interrogation by Anakin Skywalker.”

Dooku Captured is a longshot au told from Dooku’s pov which takes the beginning of ROTS and throws it on its head. it’s a fascinating outside perspective of anakin and obi-wan’s relationship and such and interesting examination of dooku’s psyche and especially his complex relationship with the jedi order, qui-gon, yoda, and palpatine. i cannot rec this one enough.

Black Mirror, 90k, incomplete. “The Ghost crew returns to the Lothal when they hear the Empire is investigating the Jedi Temple there. They learn Vader is alone and decide to take him out-- but what they find could change the course of Galactic history.”

Black Mirror diverges into swr territory, but make no mistake: this is entirely an examination of vader and, later, obi-wan as well as ahsoka. luke makes his appearance later in the game, and boy oh boy will you love luke’s portrayal is a microcosm of luke and vader’s relationship within canon. heed the tags, though.

jerseydevious ( @jerseydevious ) is, first and foremost, one of my favorite people on earth. secondly, though, she’s an amazing writer with a deep understanding of vader’s character and psyche, a flair for beautiful depictions, and the true ability to wring every emotion out of your body.

Two and a Half Men (with a baby), 13k, incomplete. “After a long day of bargaining with Hutts and attempting to ignore his past, Darth Vader is nearing the end of his rope. When he discovers his two-year-old son, it's the straw that breaks the semi-rational Sith Lord's back; in a rash act worthy of the Skywalker name, he scoops his son into his arms, steals a shuttle from his own fleet, and punches in random hyperspace coordinates to a destination on the other side of the galaxy. Unfortunately, father and son are not the only ones on the ship.”

Two and a Half Men will stick with you, dude. like no other. i promise. it’s a whirlwind ride with obi-wan, vader, and piett and as funny as it is heartbreaking. it touches on some heavy issues and doesn’t shy away from looking at the damage done to vader––again, heed the tags.

Helioseismology, 4k, complete. “Luke gets shot down on a supply run and caught in an ice storm. It's extremely lucky that his father followed him there.“

i’ll admit. im completely biased about this one because it was a birthday gift to me and i am sucker for litcherally anything when jd puts pen to paper, but believe me when i say you will be awed by the depth and tangled relationships between these luke and vader that jersey can illustrate in a stroke of the paintbrush. im love. always.

izzythehutt ( @izzythehutt ) i am blown away by the intricate dialogue and characterization, always. and the latin puns? im sold. im also a sucker for latin puns, but that’s a story for a different time.

In Loco Pirates, 34k, complete. “A down-on-his-luck Hondo Ohnaka manages to capture the unicorn of all bounties--Luke Skywalker, which sends Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith, on a painfully familiar trip to the planet Florrum to collect his prize. The failed negotiations leave Vader in the awkward position of being stuck in a besieged pirate bunker, trying to balance keeping his wayward child safe (and in his custody) with controlling the tongue of a loose-lipped pirate who--to the surprise of no one--has a bad habit of telling 'amusing' anecdotes from the Clone Wars.”

hondo, aka the best character of swtcw, is brought to life just as vividly on paper as on screen. his entire personality brings luke and vader’s difficulties in a sort of incredulous light, which makes it as funny as it is vulnerable and tragic. the sequel, Palpatine Ad Portas, brings piett into the spotlight, and oh man do his interactions with palpatine and vader bring u all the uncomfortable vibes. relish in it.

sparklight ( @littlesparklight ) man. lemme introduce u to an amazing prolific and detailed writer. i will never get over the series they’ve written & neither will u.

Where Our Intrepid Hero Doesn’t Get Away, 122k, incomplete. “One-shots surrounding either AU situations of canon/legends works where Luke would normally have gotten away (or Vader is simply inserted into the action to come pick his child up) but in these instances doesn't, or completely new scenarios of the same. There are no deep ruminations on consequences of the situations here, just our awful Sith dad picking his son up when he'd rather not be.”

exactly what it says on the tin. u know those glorious moments of fanfic where luke’s gotten captured and ur on pins and needles, waiting for vader to show up in a moment of dark glory? here’s the moment. here’s all the moments.

Space Race, 122k, incomplete. “Owen gives in to Luke's wish to attend the Imperial Academy and Obi-Wan is too late to avert it, though he's not too late to make sure Luke leaves Arkanis before Vader can gets his hands on him. Luke spends over a month running around the galaxy before his father gets him, and from there...”

this story relishes in chase and boy is it fun. it will keep you on the edge of your seat and it’s an amazing ride.

The Suns of Tatooine, 85k, complete. “Luke ends up on a moon swamped in dark side energy after a mission goes wrong, then his father appears... and then they go on a bit of a learning experience. This could've been the only thing that would come of getting through a Sith complex with his father, but thanks to going to free Han earlier than the gang did otherwise, more revelations are had. Will that change anything?”

this series is a thoughtful, contemplative piece examining the nature of the force and the relationship the skywalkers have with tatooine. the descriptions are beautiful, the inventiveness is amazing, and you’ll be thinking about it for long afterwards.

an additional few…

Between Flight and Longing; 34k, complete. “Luke Skywalker and Han Solo journey to the planet Balen'ar on a desperate mission and find more than they'd bargained for.”

a classic and it is for a reason. the interaction between han, luke, and vader is so spectacular and the slow trudge of going through the forest with your greatest enemy and best friend is something hilarious. the end is bittersweet and fantastic.

The Sith Who Brought Life Day, 13k, complete. “An Imperial officer loses a bet and has to get Darth Vader a present for Life Day.”

somewhere between terrifying and dull, this fic presents a canon-compliant look at the hunt for luke and the grinding wheels of the empire. the oc is amazing and it echoes in true star wars spirit: sometimes it’s just some dude who can change the galaxy.

Quintessence, 5k, complete. ‘“Well, Master, I think I’ve found the one positive aspect of this situation.” “Which is?” “The Temple won’t have to pay the costs for our funeral pyres.”’

pure hilarity and shenanigans abound in pre-aotc obi-wan and anakin hijink goodness. lemme tell u––u will deeply sympathize with mace windu afterwards. additionally, check out the rest of the author’s oneshots! they’re deeply thoughtful and the interactions the author writes between obi-wan and anakin are always gold.

some extras & shameless self-promotion

here’s a full list of recommendations for star wars rebels fanfic in case this is what you’re looking for (remember when this used to be a swr blog, lmao)

i’ve also written sw fanfic, both swr and luke-vader centric. drop by and tell me if it’s any good!

#also if anybody knows these authors' tumblr accounts pls lmk so i can link them #guys remember piett?#i miss piett #firmus piett #star wars #star wars fanfic #sw fanfic #sw fic #three two one boom #jerseydevious #luke skywalker #darth vader #anakin skywalker #star wars rebels #late-in-the-day #idk if any of these r new at all to anyone #but they r my faves :)

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mischiefandi · 4 years

Text

A Shitty Love Song (Part 1) - Stiles Stilinski

Wild Ones

A/N: hey everyone! this has been a long time coming! thank you for lovely comments on my previous post, im super happy to finally be posting this. a HUGE thank you to @duskholland for helping me out so much with this series, ily to death bitch. enjoyy yall

Summary: Y/N is a 17 year old girl who struggles in an epic battle against herself. Whether it is amor’s icy grasp or life’s unexpected course that forces her to finally open up, only one thing is certain. The truth cannot be long hidden.

Warnings: underage drinking, party times, maybe a couple of swear words but im not sure haha

Word Count: 5,3K

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Reader (Y/N)

Series Masterlist

(picture is not mine -> credits to @ pechka on unsplash)

Seasons before, in the early fall where the leaves don’t yet want to leave their wooden hooks, Y/N had just started her junior year of high school. Being the new girl in school, she was afraid of being alone - something she had always been - but not this year. Whether it was chance or fate, she happened to fall upon a curious but wonderful group of people who quickly became her friends.

At its center, Scott McCall, young lacrosse player with a boyish charm and a heart of gold and by his side, Stiles Stilinski, an eccentric and spirited young man. Surrounding them were Lydia Martin, the fiery and confident genius, the sweet yet lethal huntress, Allison Argent, and finally Isaac Lahey, charming Mr Mischief himself.

This pack of wild cards had found a new companion, and Y/N fit in like a puzzle piece filling in its designated spot. She got along with everyone in the group, forming indestructible friendships with these eccentric teenagers, and she felt fortunate beyond belief. More often than not, she would eat with them by the walnut tree outside of the school. The group would share stories and food, complaining about the soporific lessons from the earlier period, or excitedly planning the next outing, the next party. Every week, the teenagers would go hang out in the woods by the mystical ruins of the Hale House, doing more of the same. Life was light and good.

The group had planned on hanging out by the Hale House one quiet September afternoon, but the universe likes to play tricks, and somehow Y/N and Stiles were the only ones to show up. Deeming it a happy accident, the pair walked through the damp woods together, talking about their day and slowly letting each other in. Laughter echoed between the trees and the wind turned.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

A little more than a month had gone by and Halloween was just around the corner. Classes seemed longer than usual, bigger stacks of schoolwork forming daunting piles on Y/N’s desk. But school was the last thing she could think of when she got home after a long day of concentration. The only thing that mattered, was Stiles. Video calls, phone calls, and late night texts that seemed to never cease took over the second Y/N’s feet passed the threshold of her home. And nothing compared to these conversations.

“I’m sorry but no.”

“Stiles, stop, seriously.”

The mole-speckled boy lunged forward in front of the screen and passed a shaking hand through his spiky hair.

“There is no way you like the second trilogy better than the first one. It’s just not possible.”

“Well it is possible, because I do,” Y/N retorted, her unfazed expression gleaming back at him.

“Literally how? The group dynamic alone should make you see reason. I mean come on. Han and Leia? Han and Chewie? Han and Luke?”

“You do know Star Wars doesn’t exclusively revolve around Han Solo right?” she asked, her lips breaking into a smirk.

“First of all, no. Second, give me one single reason why the second trilogy is better than the first,” Stiles said, “I dare you.”

“One reason?”

The boy nodded, serious as a statue.

“Hayden Christensen.”

Stiles groaned deeply, his face buried in his large hands.

“Can’t even have a serious discussion about Star Wars with someone rational.”

“I’m not sorry.”

“You’re the worst.”

Y/N paused, holding a finger to her chin.

“Hmm, agree to disagree.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Hey! How can we have an intelligent debate about anything if you use swearing as a last resort.”

“I have given up on us. It’s over.”

Y/N laughed profusely against her pillow, shaking her head.

“You’re a drama queen.”

“FRIENDSHIP OVER!” Stiles bellowed and Y/N shot her head back, unstoppable laughter erupting from her stomach.

“It’s going to make things awkward at the party, Friday,” Y/N said between chuckles, her laughter quieting down.

“Who said you were even invited,” replied Stiles, adjusting his shirt, revealing a tiny patch of skin just above his sweats. Y/N’s eyes flicked over to the screen but the second had passed.

“Funny. Listen, I gotta get some sleep otherwise I’ll pass out in math or something.”

“Yeah, I should probably also go to bed sometime soon.”

“Hopefully before tomorrow morning.”

“Har-har,” said Stiles, smiling at the camera, his chocolatey irises beaming at Y/N.

“Goodnight nerd.”

“Goodnight loser.”

Y/N stuck out her tongue at Stiles before hanging up the call.

That night, as she carefully brushed her teeth and got her clothes ready for the next day, Y/N thought back on her video call with Stiles, a warm smile spreading on her lips.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

The week passed so slowly, each hour lasting an exhausting eternity. School, demanding as ever, while keeping Y/N busy, was the reason why time seemed so lengthy. The nasty side-effect from tantalizing hours is the amount of thinking you do to keep busy. So Y/N did just that. She thought about how much she cared for her group of friends, she thought about the fact that she had never felt like she belonged like she did then.

She thought about how nice it was sitting by the Hale House, enjoying each others’ company, how life is so much lighter when you feel surrounded, how much she had learned about herself after meeting the pack. She thought about the band Stiles and her liked so much. She thought about Star Wars. She thought about the sound her computer made when Stiles sent her a message. She thought of his hair, his moles, his neck. She thought about how thrilling it was when he sat next to her. She thought about how much he mattered in her life, just like the others mattered too.

Y/N did so much thinking that week. But the funny thing is, amor has a way of tricking your mind. Your body believes one thing but your mind has been bewitched, and no amount of thinking you do can remove the fog clouding over your eyes.

When came Friday, Y/N was happy to be done with school, bursting through the doors of the establishment, excited to go home and get ready for Danny’s Blackout Party. She was thrilled about going, however nervous she felt.

She had never been to a party like Danny’s rave before and she had no idea what to expect. But more importantly, she was afraid of crowds. She had tried going out to packed bars with people from her old school, but the chaos and the drunks surrounding her made her feel beyond uneasy.

“Y/N! Wait up!” She heard Allison exclaim, and she slowed down her pace, allowing the brunette to catch up with her.

“Are you excited for tonight?” asked Allison, her light brown eyes gleaming brightly.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be...crazy.”

“You okay?”

Y/N forced a smile and nodded overenthusiastically.

“Yeah! Just tired. It was a long day,” she replied.

“Same here, which is why, we need to let loose tonight! Let’s get ready at Lydia’s, so we can all head over there together.”

“Sure. Quick question though, how did Lydia get us invited in the first place?”

Allison giggled, nodding her head towards Aiden and Ethan standing by their motorcycles.

“How do you think?”

The girl’s laughter echoed through the cool autumn air and disappeared with their cars. It was going to be a night to remember.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

As Y/N and Allison reached Lydia’s house, Y/N couldn’t help but feel more and more anxious, tightly gripping her bag filled with clothes and makeup. The party was starting to worry her.

People had been whispering about it all day back at the high school, talking about the numerous illicit drinks that would be served and the intriguing entertainment. It seemed like the Danny had gone all out for Halloween. Still, not knowing exactly what to expect practically terrified Y/N.

She was outgoing, but big crowds and chaos were things that made panic bubble up inside of her very core, quickening her heartbeat to a frightening extent. She loved dancing and partying, and much like other people her age, she loved a good drink every once in a while, but huge events and big blowouts, she had never been a fan of.

Putting on a brave face, Y/N shut the car door and walked up the stairs to Lydia’s front porch, ringing the doorbell as Allison locked the car. After what seemed like mere seconds, Lydia opened the door, letting the excited girls in.

“Finally. I thought I was going to have to get going without you,” she said, smirking at the pair.

“Y/N couldn’t decide what to wear,” replied Allison, sending Y/N a look that made Lydia scoff.

“Excuse me if I've never been to a neon-themed rave. How am I supposed to know what to wear?”

“Well the name of said rave could be a pretty good indicator,” mocked Lydia as the girls walked up to her bedroom, shutting the door behind them.

“Ali, what are you wearing?”

Allison giggled with a smirk and did a demonstrative twirl, showing off her burgundy flannel shirt and black jeans.

“This!”

Lydia raised her eyebrows at the brunette, a confused expression etched on her face.

“Am I the only one here who understands the term “neon”?” she asked.

Allison shook her head then slowly unbuttoned her shirt, revealing a neon pink bra.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. This stunt was definitely orchestrated for someone special.

“Wow. Isaac will love it.”

“It’s about time you two did something about your situation,” joked Lydia, reaching for an eyelash curler.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied Allison with an innocent shrug and a slightly less innocent wink.

“Well now that Allison’s outfit is sorted, it’s your turn, Y/N. Let’s see what’s in this enormous bag of yours.”

The strawberry blonde bent down and grabbed Y/N’s bag before she could say anything, emptying its contents in a flash.

“No, no, definitely not, no…Y/N, why are all of these clothes black?” inquired Lydia, with a look of disgust she had difficulty hiding.

“Lyds, I told you, I don’t know what to wear to a rave.”

“Show me your bra.”

“What?”

“Show me your bra. If it’s the right colour, we can just pair it with some of my clothes.”

Y/N reluctantly removed her white shirt, revealing an electric blue floral lace bra, much to Lydia’s delight. Allison whistled approvingly.

“Okay here’s what we’re gonna do.” Lydia walked over to her closet, carefully studying its contents. Allison and Y/N exchanged a glance as Lydia clapped her hands together.

“This goes with this, and you have to tuck it in, like so,” she said, “okay, try this on. Now.”

Y/N looked down at the outfit her friend had put together.

“Yes ma’am,” she mumbled, her face as white as a sheet.

Y/N walked to the corner of the room as the girls chatted and finished getting ready. Her heart thundered as she passed her neck through the bottom of the sheer black top Lydia had handed to her. Looking herself in the mirror, all she could see was a blushing dishevelled mess. Her bra covered most of her chest, but the curves of her breasts were only slightly hidden by the black mesh material she was wearing.

“Okay, this is okay…” she muttered to herself, trying not to panic.

Bending down, she grabbed the black layered skirt she had brought with her and brought it up to her hips, tucking the top inside. The skirt helped balance out the outfit, but still Y/N wasn’t fully convinced.

“How are you feeling?”

“Kind of nervous honestly.”

“I meant how do you feel about the outfit- but you’re nervous? Why?” asked Lydia, walking over to Y/N in front of the full-length mirror.

“It’s just- I’ve never been to a big party like tonight, much less looking like…this,” Y/N reluctantly replied.

Lydia bit her lip and sucked in some air before smiling widely at Y/N and taking a step forward.

“By “looking like this” I hope you mean by looking incredible. Y/N, look at yourself. You’re tall and confident, the outfit looks amazing on you. Your look is not the problem,” she said, gently.

“Then what is?”

“You tell us,” replied Allison, walking over to the girls by the mirror.

Y/N exhaled deeply and turned around to face her friends.

“I hate crowds. I love partying don’t get me wrong, I just- I get really really panicky around big crowds of people. The noise, the warmth, all of it, just terrifies me. I’m worried that I’ll hate it and freak out or something. I’m sorry, I probably should have said something before.”

As soon as the daunting words had slipped through her lips, Y/N felt a weight lift from her weary shoulders, a wave of relief passing over her entire body.

“Hey, it’s okay. Everyone’s got something they’re uncomfortable with. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” said Allison, sweetly.

“I know, it’s not that I’m ashamed, I just- didn’t wanna be a downer. I really am excited for tonight! I’m just nervous.”

Lydia placed her hands on Y/N’s shoulders and smiled brightly.

“Look, you’re gorgeous right now. Even without my help, you’re gorgeous. And tonight, we’ll be around the whole time. If you feel freaked out or you start to panic, we’ll go outside and get some fresh air. We don’t mind.”

“Exactly, we’re your friends. You know you can depend on us on occasion,” Allison joked and Y/N laughed, shaking her head timidly.

“Seriously, Y/N, we’re gonna have a ton of fun tonight. And if you need anything, whatsoever, we’re both here,” added Lydia.

Y/N’s heart swelled and she felt her eyes filling slowly. Blinking the impending tears away, she smiled widely, her radiant eyes following suite.

“Thank you, both of you. You’re the best.”

��Agreed. Now, that’s sorted. Are you comfortable with the outfit?” asked Lydia.

Y/N looked at herself in the mirror, analyzing every detail of her figure, taking in how “out there” the outfit was. After a few seconds, she nodded to herself and smiled.

“You know what? You only live once.”

Allison giggled and rested her arms on Y/N’s shoulder.

“Tonight is going to be amazing!”

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

As Lydia’s car pulled into the parking lot in front of the venue - a large concrete building comparable to a construction site - Y/N sent a text to her friend.

Y/N: we just got to danny’s party

Y/N: u guys here?

The girls looked up at the windows on the top level, the neon lights shining through catching their attention, the music already reaching their ears.

The group excitedly entered the building, Y/N’s heart thundering against her ribcage. Allison noticed the worried look on her friend’s face and she slipped her hand in hers, sending her a warm smile. Y/N took a deep breath, and the three beautiful girls went into the otherwise empty elevator. On the way up, Y/N’s phone vibrated against her palm and she looked down at the screen.

Stiles: we aren’t there yet

Stiles: Scott needed to go get something

Y/N’s heart couldn’t help but sink a little. She had hoped the boys were going to be there already, though why, she couldn’t say. Her phone interrupted her thoughts again.

Scott: by smth, Stiles means someone

Scott: and by someone, he means Kira

Scott: also we’re late because of the jeep

Scott: ;)

Y/N chuckled and texted him back, Lydia and Allison sharing an inquisitive look.

Y/N: figures :))

“Who is that?” asked Allison as the elevator doors opened.

Y/N winced slightly and turned to Allison.

“It’s the boys. Scott was just telling me they picked up Kira…”

“Oh.”

Lydia looked from Allison to Y/N, and back, the awkwardness beyond tangible.

“Are you okay?” asked Y/N, worried that the news had killed the mood.

“Honestly? I don’t love the idea of partying with my ex and his new girlfriend, but we broke up three months ago. We’ve both moved on. Besides, I really like Isaac. I’m not gonna let this ruin my evening,” Allison answered, a soft smile on her lips.

“Allison has Isaac, Scott has Kira, Stiles- well I don’t know about Stiles. That leaves you and me, Y/N. You can help me avoid Aiden tonight,” said Lydia, straightening her dress.

“Aiden, as in, the guy you hooked up with who just so happens to be the guy who invited you to this rave?”

“Precisely.” Lydia walked away hurriedly, and the girls laughed, entering the venue.

The grey concrete in the hall was uncharacteristically bland compared to the other-worldly burst of colours inside of the venue. Neon blue, pink, orange, yellow, and green exploding in every direction, paired with blaring purple lights attached to the concrete beams above the dancefloor where what looked like at least 70 people were jumping up and down to the beat of Losing It by FISHER. Strands of white UV tubes hanging from the ceiling all around the dancefloor lit up every white item of clothing in the room, turning the pure colour into a bright purple.

This giant nebula of chaos and colour made Y/N’s blood pump ten times faster throughout her body. That or the the bass blasting through the giant speakers by the DJ. Either way, the thrill of it made Y/N shiver, her whole body completely frozen in place.

“This is crazy!” Allison gasped.

“Danny really went all out,” said Lydia, staring at the dancing figures in the center of the room.

Y/N’s phone buzzing woke her from her trance and she read the text.

Stiles: be there in about 20 minutes

Stiles: can’t wait to embarrass you on the dancefloor

Y/N: oof

“Let’s go get a drink,” Lydia urged, walking over to the large snack table with numerous bottles. Y/N read the labels and nodded, impressed by the wide range of drinks.

“Wow. Jack Daniels, vodka, a shitton of beer, wine coolers, rum, Jagermeister…Danny really did go all out.”

“Pass me a cup,” said Allison.

As the girls filled their glasses, Lydia eyed Y/N’s cup.

“Y/N, are you sure you want to start with a triple shot of vodka?”

“Yeah, it’s fine!” Y/N exclaimed, downing the drink before anyone could stop her and gasping as the strong liquid burned its way down her throat.

“Ohkay, take it easy,” said Allison, shooting a worried glance at Lydia.

“I’ve got it under control,” replied Y/N as she refilled her cup.

“Let’s go dance!”

Allison dragged the girls away from the table, walking over to the dancefloor. Y/N downed her second drink and nodded wearily.

“Yesss, let’s do this!”

The looming herd of party-goers, intimidating as it was, seemed a little less daunting now that Y/N was actually at the party.

“How bad could it be?” she thought to herself before treading through the mass, occasionally bumping against people energetically throwing their limbs around.

In the middle of the chaos, Allison stopped and started moving her hips in sync with the song, Lydia quickly following suit. Y/N bobbed her head along to the beat of the bass, her arms swinging awkwardly on either side of her body. Allison laughed and grabbed her friend’s arms forcing the movement to flow through Y/N’s limbs. Lydia busted up and down, moving her waist so naturally it seemed like she had been born for this very moment.

Closing her eyes, Y/N tried to focus on the music vibrating throughout her body, the memory of the colours surrounding her floating behind her eyelids. Allison sang along with the lyrics of the current song, shouting out the words as she moved from side to side. Y/N slowly started to lose herself to the music, letting go of her inhibitions, forgetting the world around her.

When the beat changed, her feet jumped up and down, as if they had a mind of their own. Her head felt heavy yet no thoughts crossed her mind. The music had gotten rid of all concentration, the only thing left was the bass flowing through her veins, making her entire body pulsate to the beat.

Beads of sweat trickled down Y/N’s neck as she kept dancing, her feet starting to ache with every jump. It had only been about fifteen minutes, but to the dancers, it seemed like a wonderful eternity. Finally, Lydia tapped on Y/N’s shoulder and shouted by her ear.

“Let’s do some body painting!”

Y/N nodded profusely, a wide smile on her lips.

“Ali went to dance with Isaac!” Lydia shouted as the pair pushed through the crowd.

“Where’s the paint?” shouted Y/N, trying to hear her own voice over the music and failing miserably.

“Over there!”

A tall blonde boy holding brushes with purple and pink tips smiled as the girls reached him, his charismatic grin turning Y/N’s cheeks bright red.

“What can I do for you ladies?” he asked, his pearly white teeth a bright purple as his grin widened.

“My friend over here needs a lot of paint. Emphasis on lot,”Lydia insisted.

Y/N shook her head, giggling stupidly.

“Not too much paint,” she said warmly.

The boy smiled with a wink.

“Let me worry about that.”

Y/N removed her mesh top, holding it with her right hand, patiently waiting for the boy to start painting across her chest and back. She shivered as she felt the cool wet tip of the brush meet her sweaty skin, sliding a few inches down, a thick stripe of paint spreading across her back. Y/N giggled at the cold feeling, the alcohol in her system reaching her head. She closed her eyes and bent her neck to the side as the boy continued his line up to her collarbone.

“What’s your name?” she heard him ask.

“What’s yours?” she chose to answer, smiling wickedly.

She heard him laugh as he started painting little dots up her back.

“Jeremy.”

“Nice to meet you, Jeremy.”

“You know most girls like a proper introduction before getting this close,” he said over the pulsating music, his breath fanning over Y/N’s neck as he painted small strokes down her shoulder. Y/N grinned mischievously.

“I’m not like most girls,” she teased as she turned to face him.

“No, I guess you’re not,” the boy replied, his eyes darting towards her lips and back up.

“I’m almost done with your body- I mean with the paint,” he said, shaking his head with a grin. Y/N giggled and stepped closer.

“I’m all yours…” she replied.

Jeremy’s deep blue eyes lingered on hers before focusing on her chest. Y/N thanked the universe that he wasn’t looking straight at her, otherwise he would have seen her cheeks fill with red for the second time. He delicately placed pink and orange dots up and down her chest, careful as to not stain her bra and she watched him, observing his concentration with admiration. Finally, he looked up, smiling at her.

“My masterpiece is done,” he declared, placing the paintbrush on the body paint stand.

Jeremy reached for a mirror and handed it to her. She admired the strands and dots painted across her body in a chaotic waltz, the hot purple and pink clashing against her skin. Looking up at him, she grinned widely.

“You’re talented,” she said.

“It’s easier when you have such a good canvas to work on…” he replied, sending her a look hot enough to melt her.

Momentarily remembering the outside world, she looked around and quickly realized Lydia wasn’t there anymore, probably off dancing or looking for Allison. Y/N turned back to Jeremy.

“I’m sorry, I should probably go check on my friends…” she said, biting her lip as she slipped her mesh shirt back on.

“Of course. Maybe later, we’ll bump into each other on the dance floor?” he replied, a nervous smile etched on his lips.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Y/N winked at him and walked away, trying her best to keep her cool.

“Well that was something.” She thought to herself, a wide grin planted on her face.

Looking around, she couldn’t find either of her friends, nor could she find Isaac. Slightly disappointed, Y/N walked over to the table and poured some vodka in an unused cup before knocking her head back, letting the burning liquid run down her throat.

She eyed the dancefloor and thought back on her previous conversation with Jeremy. She was beyond nervous. She’d never actually kissed a boy before. The opportunity just hadn’t ever presented itself. But now that she was here, feeling tipsy as ever, a few feet away from the cutest boy at the party, she couldn’t help but think, why not?

Wiping her sweaty palms on her skirt and downing her fourth - albeit, strong - drink of the night, she nodded to herself and walked over to the dancefloor.

As Five Hours blasted through the speakers, Y/N pushed her way through the sweaty crowd once again, making her way to the center of the dancefloor. Ignoring the world surrounding her, she closed her eyes and gave in to the music, feeling every beat of the song pulsate throughout her entire body.

Colours, flashing lights, the feeling of people’s skin against hers, her head spinning and swaying in every direction, it made her feel alive. As the last drop of the song reached its peak, Y/N jumped with the crowd, knocking her body against complete strangers, feeling the warm and sticky air fill her lungs with every breath.

The song Too Much by Curbi started to play and Y/N felt someone’s body against hers. Closing her eyes, she turned around and felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist. She sighed lightly, enjoying the feeling of her skin against the boy’s. His fingers treaded down her back, firmly settling just above her ass, holding her steady in a sea of bustling bodies.

She danced against him, turning around again, her back facing his front. Moving against his body, she felt his arms tighten around her, pulling her in. His hot breath fanned over her neck and she moaned slightly, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

Suddenly, time seemed to stand still when his lips lightly touched her warm skin. Y/N inhaled sharply, her eyes still shut. The only thing she could hear now was the sound of her heartbeat furiously thundering against her ribcage. Slowly caressing the boy’s arm, she allowed further access to her neckline, moaning loudly as she felt his feverish lips plant warm kisses on her neck, inching higher and higher. Y/N’s hands reached for his and she tugged them closer to her body, her hips still moving against him. His lips danced furiously across her neck, leaving dangerously beautiful marks on her skin.

The music seemed only to heighten her senses. Her legs almost gave out when she heard the boy groan lightly against her ear, her response, a small whine at the loss of contact with his lips. She turned around and tried to open her eyes, the bright lights bursting through the gap in her eyelids. Squinting at his face, trying as hard as possible not to lose herself to the music again, Y/N’s eyes caught a glimpse of the boy’s face.

Bright pink dashes stained his cupid’s bow and the right corner of his bottom lip, the paint from her neck helpless in the face of a passion like this one. Y/N’s eyes scanned the rest of his face and widened slightly when they met amber irises, warm and inviting and so familiar. Her fingers threaded through his damp dark brown hair, her brain trying to comprehend what was about to happen.

His chocolatey eyes looked deep into hers and he licked his lips slowly, the world around them fading. Y/N felt her vision blur as she inched closer to him, her nose picking up the scent of old leather and pine trees and rain. His lips lingered over hers and she felt a chill as her name echoed through the air.

“Y/N…”.

Their lips connected in a frenzied blur, sending sparks of pleasure throughout Y/N’s entire body and the chaos surrounding the pair completely swallowed them. His teeth slightly bit her bottom lip and she deepened the kiss, ardently giving in to his deliciously demanding mouth. Unable to control her body, she steadied herself against him, tugging at his shirt with one hand, the other cupping his face as he sucked on her delectable lips.

Their bodies so unbelievably close disappeared in the crowd of dancers, the whole world somehow a thousand miles away.

Time, a forgotten concept.

A/N: I seriously hope u enjoyed this!! if u did please reblog :)) (would be super helpful especially with tumblr acting up w the tags and all that) <3 part 2 coming soon!!

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 3 years

Text

I Taste Honey but I Haven’t Seen the Hive - Chapter Four

Ao3, Masterpost, C.1 C.2 C.3

Relationships: eventual queer-platonic intruality, mentioned platonic relationships

tumblr edits out my italics when i copy/paste, and its midnight on a school night, so. italics arent in the tumblr version of this chapter cuz im not manually replacing them rn :P

Warnings: Taxidermy, swearing, fights (verbally, not physically), mentions of death, sexual innuedo (thanks remus), sympathetic everyone but there is Conflict.

Word Count: 2,645

Patton had learned, in his many years of emotion-filled life, that every person interacted with others uniquely. An obvious thing to learn, maybe, but in his younger years he felt like it really wasn’t made clear enough.

When it finally hit Patton that other people didn’t feel things in just the same way he did, it came with slow disbelief. Shocked was he to learn that not only were people so vastly different inside, but that he might’ve been one of the most different of all- even with the other sides. After all, each of them had seemed to understand all their differences like it was second nature, while Patton tried to come to terms with the information.

And come to terms with it he had, throughout Thomas’ late teens to early twenties. It was just Patton’s nature to try and learn about his friends, and that didn’t change when the task got harder. If anything, he’d become furiously determined to know how to care for all his family better than anyone, even if it more than once sent him spiralling in thought.

Logan, for example, was at his best when he was around other people; calmly talking, debating, doing work in the same space, anything that amounted to time spent together. So, even when Patton didn’t know what he was going on about, he did his best to at least be someone Logan could talk at. Which must’ve have worked somehow, because Patton couldn’t even count the times anymore he’d realized it had been hours after starting a conversation with his best friend, the both of them grinning and talking and enjoying each other’s company. Color Logan understood!

Roman, an even easier case to crack, didn’t really care what kind of attention he got- as long as it was positive. Which Patton was of course happy to provide! Though Roman became easily suspicious of any signs of friendship, Patton liked to think he’d weaseled his way into being a close companion, if the amount of times Roman dragged him off on adventures was any indication. Roman, too, was a check!

Virgil had been harder to figure out; not enough support and he got nervous, too much and he’d get overwhelmed. Fine balances did not come easily to Patton, so there had been more than a little trial and error. He’d eventually landed on treating him not unlike a wild cat: to just exist in the same space and let Virgil do whatever he wanted in his own time (a method that had found resounding success!). Virgil, much as he wanted to seem mysterious, was also marked off the list of understanding.

Janus was deceptively easy to work out. He just needed someone to challenge him, all in good sport, to be friendly and frustrating at the same time. Call it environmental enrichment, but with people! Patton was more than happy to be one of those people, pushing and pulling in equal parts banter and genuine conversation. Janus, surprisingly, was clear as well.

Patton wondered if it was weird to think about it so much. He thought about all of them, and he wondered if they took time to decode him, too. Or maybe they just knew already- they saw the heart on his sleeve (or chest, as it were) and had him all figured out right then.

He liked to believe they did spend time thinking about it, though. It was nice to think he wasn’t the only one that cared enough to take the time, and he knew that they cared about him already! Even if they didn’t say it as much as he did, even if they showed it all differently, and even if sometimes it felt like they didn’t understand him…

They still cared. The hoodie around his shoulders said so. The card framed on his wall said so. The stray dog dander on his clothes said so. So long as he had that, who needed the luxury of understanding?

Patton shook his head, no, he wasn’t worrying about all them right now. Right now, there was someone else to worry about.

Remus. Remus, who always chatted on and on, but sometimes went dead quiet for no reason at all; whose expression never seemed to match his words, who laughed when he was happy and when he was angry, who yelled when he was bored and when he was overwhelmed. Remus, who threw himself around a corner for a cheap jumpscare every five minutes, limbs broken and wrapped in ragged, punk-style clothes. Who would also drape himself all the way across Patton gently and calmly, wearing something baggy and impossibly soft (but still neon as ever), talking and talking and acting like it was all perfectly normal. Remus, who Patton wasn’t even sure was officially his friend yet.

Patton wanted him to be. But there was still… something in the way. Some kind of frustrating, tense, unknowable barrier that left him on edge around the trait. If Remus could just tell him something, anything, or give him any hints at all about what Patton was supposed to make of him, then it wouldn’t be so downright impossible. But he was inscrutable, an open book written in a language Patton didn’t know.

Whenever Remus walked into the room, it was almost like nothing had even changed since his acceptance.

Speaking of-

Patton barely had time to dodge out of the way as Remus leapt onto the couch, landing in a sprawl and taking up as much space as possible. He looked out of breath, so he’d probably booked it down the hallway and stairs, too. Just as probable was him having no reason for doing so at all.

“Hello,” Patton said.

Remus, from his laid down position, arched his neck up until he was peering upside-down at Morality. He had a reserved look in his eyes, but it was obvious he was fighting not to grin.

“Guess what I did.”

Patton paused. There were… a lot of ways that could go. Most of them weird.

“Um-”

Remus made a disturbingly accurate buzzer noise, exclaiming, “Took too long!”. He flipped over onto his stomach and propped himself up on his palms, his legs draped over the arm of the couch, and rocked back and forth excitedly. “I made you something!”

The worry slipped out of Patton’s mind, replaced by curiosity. He hummed, smiling, and asked:

“Like a gift?”

Remus beamed.

“Something like that!”

As Patton laughed by response, he ran his thumb compulsively over his bead bracelet (that he hadn’t taken off even once since getting, of course).

“That’s so sweet!” he chirped, “You didn’t have to do that.”

The Duke puffed out a breath, ruffling the white section of his hair. He rolled his eyes and shifted around, pushing up until he sat upright.

“Yeah, I know. Haven’t we done this dance before, Morey?”

“Okay, okay, I know,” Patton shrugged, his expression turning sheepish, “What is it, then?”

Remus’ grin widened in that almost impossibly way of his, and something about the glint of his teeth was distinctly threatening. It probably wasn’t intentional, but Patton could never really tell, when his claws tapped impatiently against his leg and something mischievous wormed into his expression.

“Well, you have to close your eyes, first!” Remus clapped his hands together, and there that glint seemed to get brighter.

“Oh, uh-”

“It’s not gonna be my dick, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Patton yelped, covering his face with his hands in embarrassment.

“Well I wasn’t worried before you said that!”

Remus shrieked with laughter. Patton didn’t move his hands from his cheeks, a flush of discomfort starting at his ears and pricking his skin.

“You’re hilarious, but no- not this time, at least,” -Remus winked- “But just close your eyes, okay?”

Patton took a couple deep breaths, glancing up to give Remus his best approximation of a stern glare. He then let his hands drop to his lap, palms up, and squeezed his eyes shut.

There was a soft whoosh, and something small was dropped into Patton’s waiting hands. He ran the pad of his thumb over its surface, tracing something like fur. Soft, short fur, but when he pressed it was far too stiff to be a plush animal.

“Remus,” Patton felt along the object with both hands, jolting when he felt something scaly at the end, “What-”

“You can look now!”

Patton did as told, staring down at his lap.

There laid a rat.

A dead one, to be precise. A dead, taxidermized rat, posed up on its hind legs like some goofy little cartoon character. It’s eyes were impersonal glass orbs, but its skin was perfectly, horribly real.

Patton looked up, his eyes wide with disgust, to see unfiltered excitement shining on Remus’ face.

“I made it myself!” His pride echoed in the words, that grin stretching his lips looking all the more unnatural.

It was then that Patton’s body caught up with his brain, and he realized what exactly he was holding. He dropped it- all but threw it, actually- kicked it and scrambled back and anything to just get away.

The gift fell to the floor with a dull thump, toppling under the coffee table and out of sight. Patton pressed his hand against his mouth, the other one tightly fisted in his lap. He felt sick- sick enough that his brain was leagues away from rationality. Because he’d really touched- held- that corpse, that thing that used to be a cute little critter, what was now a homemade trinket of horror.

He turned his attention back to Remus, and a million thoughts and feelings rushed him. Betrayal, horror, fear- and weirdest of all was surprise.

Remus’ smile twitched, and he tipped his head from side to side.

“You dropped it,” he pointed out, “I thought you liked rats?”

The noise Patton made was something between a gasp and a cry.

“I like alive ones!” He exclaimed, pushing himself back until there was a good cushion’s distance between himself and Remus.

Remus’ smile dipped lower.

“Well, this way you don’t have to take care of it! It’s all of the cute with none of the trouble!”

“You think this is cute?!”

He couldn’t believe this was happening, after everything- he hadn’t gotten through to Remus even a little? It was all still a game for him to terrorize Patton? To shove dead things into his lap and laugh about it?

But Remus wasn’t laughing, strangely. In fact, he was very still.

“You don’t like it?”

In hindsight, Patton would look back on what he said with remorse so strong it gave him headaches. He had scores of memories like that, of course, but this one’s sting would never fade, not even long after they’d moved on from it. But in that moment of fear, of revile, he could not think about anything else but the feeling of being tricked by his almost-friend laying heavy in his stomach.

“Like it? Is this- are you joking? Remus, you made me touch a dead animal! I thought we were starting to be friends, but- oh my God, what is wrong with you?!”

Patton was sure he stopped breathing right after he said that, his voice choking out. In the silence that followed, you could’ve heard a pin drop.

Remus stood up, and everything about the way he moved showed a woundedness that didn’t suit him. He looked at Patton with an awful intensity, his ruby-red eyes practically glowing. There was nothing vulnerable about him when he was hurt, nothing at all like how Patton would respond to something like an argument. There was only anger and tension.

He didn’t smile, but his voice stayed pitchy. Gleeful.

“Everything,” Remus hissed, “I thought you’d catch on before now, but.”

Remus spun on his heel, and the floor beneath him bubbled with oil and acid and plague as he sank into the ground and out of the living room. The carpet shriveled, sick-green, in his wake.

That was when the understanding hit him. A lot like a train.

“Oh, no,” whispered Patton, “Oh, no.”

Patton struggled to his feet, as if on autopilot. Was he going to go after Remus? No, no, that definitely wouldn’t go over well. He was probably halfway into the Imagination by then, anyway, ready to take his anger out on his creations and not do any talking at all.

Patton tore his eyes away from the spot where Remus had sunk out, stumbling over to the coffee table instead. He crouched, reached his hand under it, and let his fingers touch the fur of his discarded present. He grabbed it, looked down at it. The wave of nausea when he saw the little rat was now less disgust, and much more regret.

He cradled the preserved creature in his hands with all the gentleness he could. There was a slip of thick, yellowish paper attached to it, that in all the upset had gone completely unnoticed. It was folded in half, tied with twine to the rat’s neck.

Patton looked into the rat’s shiny, empty eyes for far too long, watching his reflection be distorted by the spheres. He took a shuddering breath, then, and thumbed the edge of the paper, felt its grain, and flipped it open.

“This is Jenner. You can have him, because even if you’re a priss, if you can handle me you can handle having cool shit like this. Plus, you’re weirdly nice to me, so I guess I don’t mind being nicely weird to you.

-R (the funnier one <3)”

Patton read the note once. Twice. Three, four, maybe six times the words ran over each other in his head.

The paper slipped from his fingers. He held his rat in both hands and stared down its coffee-brown snout. Patton couldn’t help bringing the figurine to his chest and hugging it tightly, like it was the thing he’d hurt so badly, serving as surrogate. Its sharp fingers and tail poked through his shirt like needles, but he ignored it, holding the irrational hope that the inanimate object could forgive him somehow.

Jenner was creepy, that was probably intentional; his proportions and pose were so uncanny it couldn’t have been an accident. And it was so, so very Remus of a thing that Patton couldn’t stand to hate it. His shift in view was so sudden, and in some sad way he realized that the conflict had been the final piece he’d needed. What let that understanding crash into Patton’s mind, painting the picture of somebody layered.

The picture of Remus, who he was, had finally clicked into place- and at the exact worst time for it to do so.

Patton had fucked up. Massively.

He didn’t react how he thought he would when he realized it. He didn’t grow weary and exhausted, desperate to apologize and then collapse into unthinking sleep for days. Gone was the emptiness of making promises that he hoped he could hold true on, just wanting to have gotten it right the first time. No, Patton felt something burning under his skin, something itching him to take action because he’d learned from a mistake. He knew exactly what he’d done, and he was ready to do better right damn now.

Patton breathed in deep and exhaled sharp, because first…

He sunk out to his room, Jenner tucked into the crook of his elbow. He rose up at his bedside and shoved a handful of knickknacks off the nightstand. With enough space cleared, Patton set his rat down on the table and stood it up on his alarm clock, facing the bed. And then, as just a final touch, he smoothed back the fur of its head and gave it a peck on the forehead.

Now, he had some planning to do.

Chapter Five

Taglist: @shrimp-crockpot @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob

#sanders sides #ts #intruality #my writing #fanfiction #fanfic #platonic intruality #qpr intruality #patton #remus #ts fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction

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