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fanficimagery · 4 years ago

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When Enough is Enough pt. II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, yeah."

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

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

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

"Not really. Just show me your favorites."

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

"Sure, doll."

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

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

"Whatever. Admit it, you adore me."

"Occasionally."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll keep that in mind."

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

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

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

"Well put it on, doll."

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

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

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

"I'll try."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So dinner?" He asks.

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

"Sounds good."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shut up and get behind me."

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

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

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

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

"Alone?!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know, but-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From Bucky: If I remember..

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

From Bucky: You're a terrible human being.

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

From Bucky: Night, sweetheart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh. "Low blow, Buckaroo."

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

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

"Why this show?" You ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What happened to your face?!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah. I know," he mumbles.

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

"Yeah."

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

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

You wince. "Sorry."

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

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

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

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

"Does he know?"

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

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

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

"Well he is an Avenger.."

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

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

"Well yeah."

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

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

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

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

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

"But you work tomorrow." Wanda frowns.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You guys all suck."

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

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

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

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

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

"You're welcome."

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

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

Steve groans. "Please drink responsibly."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're welcome."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whoa, what?" Sam exclaims, grinning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Barnes, you smooth sonuvabitch," Sam mutters.

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

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

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

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

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

"What? What is it?" Peter wonders.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peter nods. "Same."

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

"I hate her."

"She said to give the remote to-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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elizabeethan · 4 years ago

Text

Find Strength in Pain, Find Strength in Me- 1/3 (I Think)

After defeating the wraith, Emma Swan is dragged through the portal they sent it through and suddenly finds herself in the land in which she should have grown up. Lost, overwhelmed, and desperate to get home to her son, she accepts help from the gruesome pirate Captain Hook— and his accomplice.

A Season 2 AU in which Emma ends up the the Enchanted Forest alone, and she and Hook (try to) work together to get to the Land Without Magic.

There are very brief descriptions of near-drowning at the very beginning of this, so if that’s troubling for you, skip the first couple of paragraphs

This fic is all @donteattheappleshook's fault. she also beta'd it, so it would be nothing without her. I think it will have 3 parts but you know... we'll see

Rated T (for now)

Also Available on Ao3

Read my other stuff

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook@therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay

Part 1

The frigid salt water burns her throat and nose, choking her as she struggles to differentiate up from down through the blackness surrounding her. The sudden change in scenery is jolting. Just a second ago she was in Town Hall, and now she finds herself drowning and struggling against the crashing waves.

The irrational part of her, the part that hasn’t recognized how close she could be to death, wonders where she is, where she’s ended up. But a larger, more frightened part of her panics, paddling her arms as forcefully as she can against the strong current that continues to pull her beneath the swell of the water.

She crests over the surface once more, struggling to take in a breath before being assaulted by another crashing wave, her lungs filling with abrasive water as she begins to feel herself slipping out of consciousness. It can’t end like this, she thinks desperately, trying to fight against the warmth she feels threatening her. It would be so easy to give up and let the warm feeling take her. Her body can only take so much more abuse.

She shakes these thoughts of giving up from her mind. Once more, she tries to find the surface so that she can take a breath, but before she can, she takes in more salt water.

Not like this.

She’s fading fast, blackness taking over her vision far too quickly, before she feels a heavy, rough weight thumping against her and circling her arms. As if by second nature, she grabs into the object, unsure of whether it’s a rope or a piece of seaweed, and clings for dear life. It’s her lifeline, or perhaps a security blanket to ease her fears as she succumbs to the death that seems all too impending.

Hugging the thick and heavy object close to her chest, she feels it tugging her against the strong current until she’s out of the waves, the cold air welcome against her hot and freezing flesh. A pair of rough hands grab her beneath her arms and hoists until she’s tossed to the ground.

“Good girl,” she hears from above as she coughs violently. The velvet voice is almost enough to distract her from the fire in her throat. “Get the sea out of your lungs.”

“Who are you?” she rasps, shaking suddenly against the freezing air.

“The name is Hook. Captain Hook. Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger, my dear.”

Panting, she collapses against the aged deck of the ship she’s found herself on, letting her cheek rest against the wood as she finally succumbs and fades into unconsciousness.

~~~~

“She can’t very well eat a meal while she’s asleep, can she, Mr. Smee?”

“N-no, Captain. Of course not, Sir. I merely thought that if the lass were to wake sometime soon, she’d likely be famished.”

“Aye, I’d imagine she would be. But I suppose we won’t know until she wakes, will we?”

“Certainly, Sir. It’s just that she’s been asleep for a day, and I thought she may want sustenance.”

“And have you become a mind-reader overnight, Mr. Smee? Are you able to predict when she’ll wake?”

“Of course not, Sir.”

“No need to waste food on a sleeping damsel, then. Save it for the crew until we know she needs it.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

She lets herself shift on the small, firm mattress, rolling to one side and groaning at the throbbing behind her eyes once the voices quiet and she hears a door latching shut. The moment she makes a sound, her lungs protest and she’s coughing again.

“Ah, she lives,” she hears, and she starts in surprise, grabbing for the thick quilt that covers her and pulling it up to her chin. “Worry not, love, for I am a man of honor. I shan’t look if you’d prefer I didn’t.”

“Who the hell are you?” she rasps, coughing some more. “Where am I?” She’s so disoriented from her experience and the resulting headache that she can hardly tell what sort of space she’s in.

“My dear,” he chuckles. “We’ve had this conversation already. Call me Hook; I’m captain of this fine vessel. You find yourself aboard the Jolly Roger.” He knocks a metal appendage against the wall of the cabin, smiling pridefully.

“The hell is that?” she asks in confusion, unable to stop the venom from lacing her voice. Then she realizes what she saw him do, looks at his arm, and notes that there’s an actual hook where a hand should be. “Wait… did you say… Hook?”

He smirks, raising a brow in such a dramatic way that Emma can hardly believe him to be real. In fact, she must be in some limbo between life and death, because there is no possible way that she’s in the presence of the Captain Hook. She doesn’t remember the damn Disney character looking like that.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me,” he quips playfully.

In an attempt to make sense of the situation she’s in, she changes the subject, unable to give any more mental energy to something so far from possible. “Just—” She coughs once more. “Tell me where I am. I fell… I mean…” She’s certain her words aren’t making sense. She can’t very well tell this stranger the truth, that she was sent here by magic, despite the fact that he seems to think himself a fairytale character.

“You wish to know what land you’re in?”

“Yes.”

“You’re in Misthaven, love. Some call it the Enchanted Forest.”

She groans. The Enchanted Forest. That’s where her parents are from; where she was supposed to grow up. How the hell did she find her way here? (And seriously, did she have to land in the middle of the ocean?)

“Well I need to get home,” she insists firmly, sitting up and pulling the quilt tighter to herself. Her clothes have been removed, likely due to them being completely soaked, and she finds herself in only her underwear and a thin, black linen slip, trying not to think about who put her in it. “And I’d like my clothes back.”

He hums, pushing himself off of the table he was leaning against and walking towards the door. “I’m sure you would. Peculiar outfit you were donning, love. Where, pray tell, might one find such clothing?”

She gives him an indignant look, raising a brow and reaching a hand palms up towards him expectantly. He chuckles, then exits the room to leave her alone and confused.

She looks around the space curiously, noting the windows to her left overlooking the sea that almost claimed her. There’s a table with four leather-bound chairs, the surface decorated with a candelabra and a strange looking navigation tool. Shelving along the windows is covered in maps and books and strewn-about pages. There’s a chest in the corner, tucked away in a way that makes her curious. She’s about to stand and explore, but the door opens once more and the confident captain swaggers back in.

“There we are, lass,” he says, passing her neatly-folded clothes to her with a cocky smile. “It seems we both have an affinity towards leather, aye? I do enjoy the deep red, very… sensuous.” The smirk on his face is somewhat unnerving. The depth with which he stares her down makes her squirm, but she thinks that’s exactly his goal so she schools her features, dedicated to not giving him any satisfaction.

“Some privacy, please?” she asks, although it’s not as if she’ll be taking no for an answer.

“If the lady insists,” he concedes, continuing to smirk at her as he bows dramatically, his coat sweeping the ground as he sinks- but he still doesn’t leave.

“She does,” Emma says slowly, raising her brows and nodding towards the door.

“Tough lass,” he chuckles, stepping away from her. “Very well, love, I’ll give you a bit of privacy. But when I get back, you and I are going to have a little chat.”

“Can’t wait,” she mumbles.

Once he’s finally gone, she can do what she’s been wanting to and explore her surroundings, taking in all of the information about him she can before he returns. She hops into her jeans quickly, nearly dropping to the ground as she does, but determined to find something she can use on him in case he threatens her somehow. Tossing her shirt over her head and dropping the too-sheer fabric to the ground, she scours the room as quickly and silently as she can, opening books and shoving loose pages aside as she moves along the shelving. She finally gets to the chest and opens it up, finding a small, aged piece of parchment resting on top of its contents, as if it was placed there carefully and with loving respect.

She hums, removing it from the chest to observe the detailed sketch, noting the subject’s beauty— her thick curls and her kind eyes— and the doting way the parchment is placed in the chest, as if being hidden and placed on display all at once. She wonders what else this pirate has up his sleeves based on the care he’s used to store this work of art. She wonders where this woman could be; who she could be.

As she ponders the sketch, the ship rocks and the glimmer of sunlight against metal catches her attention. She glances down and sees exactly what she needs: a small, sharp dagger. Perfect.

She hears the footsteps approaching and jumps, rushing to pick up her jacket and hoist it over her shoulders, hiding the short blade in her sleeve as the door swings open immediately after a soft knock. “Decent, love?” he asks as he pushes through holding a small plate.

She answers affirmatively, although it doesn't seem to matter because he’s in the room before she could’ve stopped him. He hands her the plate with a smirk that she doesn’t think ever leaves his face and walks around her to take a seat in a chair. He gestures in front of him-- though she’s unsure if it’s towards the small mattress she slept on or a chair before him-- and commands, “sit.”

She pinches her brows together suspiciously but listens, choosing to step back and sink onto the surface of the mattress. “What the hell is this?” she asks once she looks down at the contents of the plate he handed her.

“Hardtack and salted meat, love. What’s wrong, would you have preferred gruel?”

Glancing back down and the bland, overly beige food, she makes a face of disgust and takes a bite of the dry-looking biscuit she desperately wishes was a strawberry Poptart. She feels the crumbs drying her mouth and throat and she begins to cough again.

He shakes his head and tsks, taking out a small flask and walking towards her to press it to her lips. She takes it from him with force and tosses it back, sputtering again at the burn as the liquid sides down her throat. “Are you trying to torture me?” she demands as she pushes him away. “Don’t you have water?”

With another smirk, he says, “torture, you say? Well, you are my prisoner. Perhaps that’s not a bad idea.”

“Water?”

“All we have is grog, and I’m afraid you wouldn’t like it much more than the rum.”

Picking up the strange, rigid meat by one end, her face sours at the thought of eating jerky offered to her by a pirate who probably hasn't seen land in months and likely doesn't know much of meat preservation. But she’s starving, having apparently been unconscious for a while, and she can’t resist. “Anything’s better than the lava you just forced down my throat,” she says around the salty food.

“Very well,” he concedes, then shouts, “Smee!”

She jumps just slightly, noting the barely-there ringing in her ears as her head throbs as a plump, stocky man enters the room. “Aye, Cap’n?”

“Fetch the young lady some grog, if you please.”

The man nods once, scurrying from the room. The Captain scans the cabin while he’s gone, taking note of the shirt she left on the floor and narrowing his eyes. “I keep a tight ship, lass,” he chastises.

She almost wonders if she should be worried as his gaze reaches hers, hot and angry at the sight of the small mess she left behind. But the man returns with a goblet, handing it to her with a shaky grip and stepping backwards. “Anything else, Sir?”

“That’ll be all, Mr. Smee. Ensure we aren’t bothered.” His tone is bordering on threatening and her pulse quickens in her veins.

He nods and slinks out of the room once more, latching the door behind him. She looks down at the large cup that was proffered to her and doesn’t think it’ll be much better than his rum, as he tried to warn her, but chances it and takes a sip.

It’s awful, completely disgusting, but it’s all she has and it doesn’t burn quite as much as the rum had. She makes a sound of disgust, sticking her tongue out and reaching for the jerky again in hopes of getting the taste out of her mouth.

“Quite dramatic,” he remarks, and she realizes he’s been studying her with a pensive look on his face, right eyebrow never dropping.

“It’s terrible.”

“Water that sits stagnant tends to collect green slime, which I can assure you tastes far worse than that.”

“So instead you add poison to it?”

He guffaws, tossing his head back and pressing his hand to his middle. “A bit of alcohol is hardly poison, love.”

The meat actually doesn't taste too bad, but it’s so salty and dry that she has to pinch her nose and take another swig of his poison water.

“Now,” he starts, still staring at her intently. “What’s your name, love?”

She rolls her eyes, mumbling around the jerked meat. “It isn’t love.”

His eyes narrow and he leans his arms against the table, cocking his head as he says, “understand this: you’d be dead in the water, quite literally, if not for my men fishing you out of the sea. I’ve fed you, dressed you… I’ve kept you alive all this time warding off fever. I owe you nothing. And you’d do well to remember that as an obligatory passenger on my ship.” She sits quietly as if she was scolded by a teacher, biting her lip and looking back down at her food for one more helping. “Your name,” he demands again.

“Emma,” she grumbles. “Emma Swan.”

“Well, Swan, pleased to meet you.”

She gives him a small smile, because she somewhat doubts that but doesn’t think it a good idea to anger him any more than she apparently already has, and nods in return. “Likewise. And… thank you.”

As he breathes out a chuckle, he says, “if I had to guess, I’d say that statement is rare to leave your lips, darling.”

She rolls her eyes again. “Well, you’re right. You and your crew saved my life.” He nods in acknowledgement of her thanks. “Hey, who changed me anyway?”

He laughs awkwardly. “Ah, do you not recall? You were quite fiery indeed, swatting my hand away. I assure you, I neither saw nor touched anything. But I couldn’t leave you in those cold, soaked… clothes,” he says, giving her a suspicious look as he takes in her outfit, apparently foreign to him and to this land. “You were close to catching your death from the cold, but you absolutely refused to let me take off… everything.” With a blush, she breathes out an irritated laugh, unsure of how to react to the fact that this man has apparently seen much more of her than she would have hoped. “I must admit, while the entire ensemble is quite unfamiliar to me, I was particularly perplexed by whatever tiny bit of fabric was covering up your—”

“Okay,” she cuts him off, putting the plate down on the mattress, noting his eyes trailing far too low. “We don’t need to talk about my… tiny fabric.”

With a chuckle, he sits back in his chair once more and nods in agreement. “Very well, lass. Now it’s your turn to answer another question for me.”

“Fine.”

“What the bloody hell were you doing in the middle of the ocean? We’re a good two or three day’s ride from shore.”

She inhales deeply, unsure of what she should tell this stranger. He’s right, of course. He could have left her to die in the water, could have let her succumb to the hypothermia she was likely suffering from. But he didn’t. Instead, he helped her. He himself removed her soaked clothing rather than pawning her off on his potentially touch-starved crew, affirming to her that he hadn’t violated her in any way despite her precarious position. He fed and watered her. He made sure she was warm and comfortable and safe. And, if she’s in the Enchanted Forest, or just outside of it, she can assume he knows something of the magic that brought her here.

“I fell through a… portal,” she finally admits timidly.

His eyes narrow in suspicion and he leans forward again, eyes making intense contact with her own. “A portal?” he clarifies.

“Yes.”

“How did you come across this portal?”

She shrugs. “A magic hat, I guess.” She wonders if he thinks she’s mad based on the manic look in his eyes. “And I need to get back.”

“Aye, I would imagine you do.” He sits back once more, still eyeing her with trepidation. “Tell me, then, from what land were you dragged through this portal?”

“No, I get to ask a question now,” she says boldly, almost childishly, despite the fact that he has only just scolded her for her attitude towards him.

Narrowing his eyes, he concedes and waves his hand before himself. “Very well.”

“What’s your name?”

His confidence seems to waiver as he considers her inquiry, cocking his head to the side and eyeing her up and down before he comes to a decision. “Killian,” he says hesitantly. Then “Killian Jones,” with more grandeur. It isn’t lost on her that he chooses not to include his title, his claim to power. “Now, your turn. From whence did you fall, Emma Swan?”

“Um,” she starts, unsure of how to answer since she was never given any sort of guidebook to the names of all the magical realms. Thinking back to what her parents had called it, she answers, “I guess you would know it as the Land Without Magic.”

He stands suddenly, forcefully moving his chair back and stepping towards her in haste so that she backs away from him on the bed. Once he’s close enough to lean over her, she gulps, letting the small blade slip down her sleeve so she can hold the handle tightly. “Did you say the Land Without Magic?” he asks forcefully, his face inches from her own.

“Yes,” she whispers back. “That’s where I live; I need to get back there.”

His eyes stare into hers with such intensity that it makes her skin crawl. After a moment, he schools his features and backs away slightly. “Well,” he says as he rights his blouse. “Then I offer my ship and my services.”

She drops her jaw, stunned, and utters, “what?”

He nods, making his way back to his desk and taking a seat once again. “I need to get there as well. It would likely be more efficient if we worked together.”

With her eyes narrowing, she stands, tucking the handle of the short dagger back up under her sleeve, and walks around the table so that she’s standing closer to him, looking out the window. He remains still, apparently not fazed by her movements. “Why would you need to get to the Land Without Magic?”

She can’t see his face, standing behind him now with their backs to each other, but she can hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “I’ve heard it’s lovely this time of year.”

She spins, facing him as a thought pops into her mind. This man is a pirate sailing through her parents’ kingdom. Though she knows little about this place, and about pirates in general, she does know that a pirate and a king do not get along. The curse swept up everyone in this realm, and his desire to get to the place where Misthaven’s royalty now reside can’t be a coincidence.

With these thoughts in mind, she lets the blade slip out of her sleeve and grabs him by the hair, holding the dagger up to his neck as he struggles in surprise. “I don’t believe you. What’s in it for you?”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” he stutters.

“Do you know who I am? Tell me why you really want to get to my home.”

He gasps against the sharp metal, trying to pull away, and answers, “to exact vengeance on the man who took my hand.”

She glances down and notes the hook once more, something she’s been trying to ignore because the idea that this man is Captain Hook is too hard to swallow. She lets him go, dropping the blade from his flesh and backing away. Letting out a breath, he relaxes back in his chair again. “Just who are you, Swan?” he asks playfully, practically waggling his brows as he rubs his neck. Apparently, he finds it more important to flirt with her than to worry about the fact that she just threatened his life.

Yeah, she shouldn’t have let that one slip. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Perhaps I would.”

She rolls her eyes. “Listen, I need to get home to my son,” she says honestly. “I don’t have any more time to waste; the longer I’m gone, the worse things could get for him.”

He smirks. “You have a son?” he asks, sweeping his gaze pointedly along her body. She shoves away from him and pulls her jacket tight to her torso. “No need to fret, love, we’ll get you home.”

“I’m not fretting,” she snaps, though she continues to hug her arms around herself.

Noting her evident discomfort, he continues on casually as if to assure her that what she seeks is possible. “I have arranged transport with someone, but her company is a bit… well, it makes me uneasy,” he says with an awkward smile. “She also doesn’t exactly know where this land is, what with the lack of magic and all, so having you as a guide may prove useful in her eyes. Plus, if you and I team up, we can overthrow her, should the need arise.”

With a scoff, she says, “great, I can’t wait to work with someone I should plan to overthrow.”

“Worry not, love. She’s naught but fervidly motivated. You see, she needs to get to her child as well, a daughter.”

“Really?” That peaks her interest and she moves around the table to sit in a chair facing him. “Who is she?”

“Her name’s Cora,” he answers casually. Pursing her lips, Emma tries to recall if she knows anyone in town with that name, but she thinks not. Although, she didn’t have long to learn everyone’s un-cursed personas, so it’s entirely possible that this woman’s daughter, Cora, is someone she already knows.

“And who is this man you’re trying to… exact revenge on?” she asks, repeating his dramatic words.

“He’s known well as the Dark One, but also as Rumplestiltskin.”

“The Dark One?”

“Aye, I take it you know of him?”

“I do, but how could you possibly kill him? Isn’t he supposed to have, like, the most powerful magic ever?”

He chuckles. “Very eloquent, darling. And yes, he is, which is why I must travel to the Land Without Magic. So I can best him fair and square.”

She should tell him, right? She should be honest about the fact that the Land Without Magic does, in fact, have magic now that the curse has broken. About the fact that, if he’s putting all of his eggs in this metaphorical basket, he’s doomed to lose.

She almost feels bad for this man. She knows he’s likely violent and dishonorable, but he’s right in that he’s been nothing but caring and helpful to her. A part of her almost trusts his kind, menacing eyes. And now, he’s offered her help getting home. He may be her only chance to get back to Henry; to keep him safe from Regina.

So she stays silent, nodding in agreement, assuring him that his plan to kill the Dark One using only his skills in swordsmanship is foolproof.

Guilt settles in instantly, churning her stomach in response to his obvious excitement at the prospect of having a chance to exact his revenge.

But she needs to get home.

~~~~

#find strength in pain #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #my writing #cs ff #cs au #once upon a time fanfic #ouat ff #season 2 #drowing tw #I guess

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honeys-fiction · 4 years ago

Note

HEYY! Can I please have a pirate dabi x siren reader thank you. 💕💕💕

Hi! This one took me a bit to spin, but I hope you enjoy it!

-Honey

Warnings: Slight angst depending on how you read it, hinted soulmate au, mentions of drowning and gore

Pirate Dabi x Siren Reader

You were beginning to understand why your kind hated pirates so much. Ever since you were a small child (no larger than a cod, no less), your parents warned you about ships that reeked of blood, whose masts bore the dreaded Jolly Roger. By the time you were old enough to strike out on your own, your head had been filled with stories of sirens whose songs were somehow ineffective against the sailors, who then speared or captured their predators.

But that information did little to help you when food in most regions became scarce. Most common vessels were hesitant to travel alone, and it was much harder to lure men overboard when more than one ship was present. It wasn’t uncommon these days for ear plugs made of cork or wax to be found on board. Your prey had become wise to your kind’s tactics.

That left you starving. The ships who filled their crew’s ears were able to fish more freely without worry in large fleets. What large fish you could survive off of were harder to come across, and what smaller fish were left weren’t large enough to satiate you. If humans could get smart, you could too.

Your most successful strategy of late was to tie the fishing nets that trailed behind the vessel to tap fish as they went to the bottom of the ship. It was easy to snag the rope along the barnacles that grew on the waterlogged planks. Then, you’d wait for them to send someone down to free the nets, following them deep beneath the waves to avoid detection. Occasionally, they’d just cut the nets loose and move on. But if you did it enough times, they would be forced to free their remaining nets in hopes of returning home to make a profit. You’ve gorged yourself of plenty of individuals who were tasked with freeing the nets.

Unfortunately, that leaves you in your current predicament. You had gotten cocky with your recent successes, that you didn’t take into account the fact that eventually, they’d catch onto your trick.

You barely gave the ship a once over as soon as you saw the nets that trailed along the sides of it. Your stomach growled, leading you to hastily approach the nets. What you didn’t see was the damned black flag flying proudly atop the highest mast, and just how shallow the nets actually were. Your vibrant scales were all too visible to eyes that were already searching for you.

The moment you gripped the edge of the rope, a larger net whose opening was tied with weights was dropped on top of you. Within moments, the rough texture of the net threatened to tear your scales from your body and strangle you the moment you moved. All you could do was struggle and hiss as the net was lifted from the water.

They dropped you harshly against the wood of the deck, various sounds of triumph echoing around you at your appearance. You growled, tail thumping against the wood threateningly. If they weren’t careful, you could easily crush their fragile bones under the powerful muscles of your tail.

“My, my! I apologize, I thought I taught my crew to treat our guest better,” a deep, weathered voice crooned. A man, whose large hat and stature made it impossible to see the top half of his face, stepped out in front of you. His towering frame was intimidating, somehow dwarfing yours.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am called All For One, my real name is of no importance. I am the captain of this lovely ship. And you are?”

You hissed as he stretched a hand towards you, claws raking into the deck. He pulled his hand away with a chuckle. “I understand that we are different species, but surely you don’t treat your fellow sirens so rudely?”

He turned to a scrawny man with unruly grey hair, no doubt his second in command. "Have her taken down below deck, I bet we can make a fortune off those scales of hers."

You shrieked as men began moving closer to you, tail whipping out at their legs. However, all that did was further restrain you in the mass of tangled rope. It was all too easy for them to pin you to the deck and restrain you completely. Yet, through the mass of sadistic smiles and raggedy appearances, one pair of eyes caught your attention. You'd only caught a glimpse, but what you'd see nearly made you pause your struggles. Vibrant blue eyes gazed at you through a part in the mob of men struggling with your thrashing form. There was a strange pull that stung your chest as soon as your eyes met. They seemed solemn, a look so out of place it distracted you from resisting.

With a harsh shove of your head into the weathered wood, you were out cold.

When you came to, splintering wood replaced the sky where you lay in a heap on the floor. They had taken the liberty of laying you in a shallow dip of metal built into the flooring. It was rusted slightly from the salt water that was barely two inches deep. If the metal clasps that kept you firmly rooted to the floor were anything to go by, you weren't the first siren they'd caught.

You could barely lift yourself off the floor into a seated position. Craning your neck as far as you could, you looked over your tail for any signs of missing scales. It was a little worse for wear, a few of your scales were loose, most were covered in scratches and dirt from the deck. If they were really going to skin you, they hadn't started yet.

A door opened somewhere in the room. You winced as a bright light from the crack of the hatch blinded you momentarily. The spines on the back of your tail rose as you hissed, baring your sharp teeth to your potential assailants. But only one man entered, and the sight of him completely disarmed you.

Those same staggering blue eyes from above deck once again took your breath away. Their vibrancy reminded you of beautiful, clear tropical waters. You swore you could swim in the depths of his eyes.

With the oil lamp in his hand and the lack of humans beating you into submission, you were able to get a better look at him. His hair was black as night, yet from the crimson roots you could tell it was dyed. His face was marred with ragged, rough burns. He had a few piercings, and wore mostly black. He was a little taller than some of the humans you'd eaten, but you weren't sure if he was even worth eating. It looked as if he'd missed a few meals.

He eyed you with a seemingly bored expression.

“S’matter? Not what you were expecting?” His voice was raspy and harsh, as if he hadn’t drank water in days.

Your eyes narrowed into slits, a low hiss thrumming deep in your chest. He rolled his eyes, setting the lamp on a small nightstand near the doorway. He held a bucket in his free hand, tossing its contents over your drying form. You would have screamed if it wasn’t fresh ocean water that hydrated the portion of your skin and scales that rested above what little water lay below you. He crouched in front of you with his hands resting on his knees. You appreciated the motion, as it allowed you to watch his every move without having to fear a sleight of hand. Not like you’d be able to do anything if he did decide to harm you, the chains keeping you tightly to the deck left you defenseless.

“Listen,” his hand went to rub the back of his neck, a low sigh of frustration leaving him. “I hate this as much as you do, and since I’m nearly dead anyways, I figured we could make a deal.”

You cocked your head. That wasn’t anything close to what you were expecting from this encounter. A pirate going against his crew? Nearly dead? It was hard to believe.

“What kind of ‘deal?’” You were hesitant to accept any kind of deal from him, but if he was being sincere, it was better than getting your scales peeled off.

He hummed at your willingness. “Obviously, I haven’t had a good relationship with my employers. Since I’m out the door any day now, as soon as that sadistic bastard makes up his damn mind; I wanna make life a little harder for him.”

“You’re doing this out of spite?”

“Pretty much. I’ve been working on this for quite a bit now, helping you is the final nail in the casket. So? You interested?”

You were certainly intrigued. What kind of horrors had this man faced to turn to a siren to help get back at his own crew? For all you know, this could be a trap. Yet, something about those eyes… The clouded, dull pools of blue with a slight spark of something rippling across its surface…

You didn’t think you could’ve said no even if you tried.

“Okay,” you answered with suspicion. “I’m listening.”

From what you could tell, a day had passed since the man you came to know as Dabi told you his plan. If he could start a fire somewhere on the far side of the ship, then all you had to do once you snapped the weakened chains, courtesy of Dabi before he left you that night, was slip through the hole he’d create with one of the bombs he’d pilfered. Then, since they would be too distracted to wear earplugs, you’d sing to them, luring as many as you could into your territory. As for Dabi, he stated he didn’t care what happened to him after that. Whether he died on board or drowned or perished in the explosion, he couldn’t care less.

The strange tug in your chest from before had returned when you spoke to him the night before. It was a strange feeling you couldn’t quite place, but you thought his eyes seemed...nostalgic. That stinging feeling in your chest only intensified when he left, turning into a pang that nearly kept you up all night.

Your nails scraped the metal beneath you in anticipation. Any minute now, and you’d hear the crew begin to panic as a fire started above deck. And then, hopefully, an explosion that would release you back into the sea. You examined the link in the chain he’d pried open. He’d done it to all the chins that bound you. All you had to do was pull them, and you’d be free.

The more you were left to wait, the more you began to wonder. Were you really okay with Dabi dying? Would you really be able to leave him for dead at the hands of a furious crew, or to drown in the ocean? You didn’t have an answer to any of those questions. You’d only known him for a little over a day and already you didn’t like the thought of him leaving.

A loud shout echoed throughout the ship. Followed by a series of what sounded like gunshots and curses that trailed to the other slide of the ship. You flexed your tail, preparing to spring free from the chains. Something fell into the water on the other side of the wall to your left, and then the wood splintered with a great bang. You would have been too stunned to tug yourself free if you weren’t expecting it. Sea water began to flood the hole in the hull, making it all the more easier to slip through the side.

You felt as if you just had a breath of fresh air, sighing as salt water rejuvenated your poor skin and scales with sweet, sweet relief. Swiftly, you swam to the opposite side of the ship and lifted your head above the surface. The front half of the ship was consumed in flames, and the back half was slowly beginning to dip below the waves. The night air began to sting with smoke and ash. Pirates were screaming and shouting, shots firing in the dark. Remembering your deal, you produced a sweet gentle melody.

After a few moments, the first head leered over the gunwale. The sailor looked dazed, gaze clouded by your song as he all but fell over into the water. He was then promptly crushed by a falling mast that had caught flame, sinking him far below the surface.

The next couple managed to stay a float longer, but all that fell were eventually drowned by the water they unknowingly inhaled. If only you weren’t consumed with worry for the scared man, you would have eaten well.

Minutes went by since the last body fell into the murky depths, so you fell silent. You weren’t sure what you were waiting for, you’d done your part. There wasn’t anything left for you here, not among the accusing crew, nor amidst the final throes of a ship going down.

You then saw a familiar back hit the gunwale. Jet black hair hung ragged against his scared neck. Dabi Appeared to be talking to someone on deck, a pistol gripped loosely in one hand. You wanted to call out to him, but before his name could leave your lips-

Three shots rang out in the cold, dark night. The back of his white tunic was splashed with red and torn by three separate holes. He keeled over backwards, seemingly in slow motion, falling motionlessly into the sea.

You couldn’t help but cry out, diving down to him. Blood was already pooling in the surrounding water where he drifted. Hooking your arms under his, you tugged him a ways away from the vessel where you wouldn’t be spotted.

“Dabi?! Dabi!” You shook him, holding his cheeks between your scaled palms. He was still breathing from what you could tell, each breath growing more shallow than the next.

“H-hey doll,” he sputtered, eyes drooping open. “How nice of you to hang around…”

Tears filled your eyes, making him smile sadly.

“Come now, don’t cry on me. We both knew this would happen.”

You shook your head, sobbing as you watched the color drain from his face.

“It’s strange… but I get the feeling I knew you before.” He coughed, blood spraying into the water. “Not that it matters now, but…

“I’m glad that it was you,” he smiled weakly, “that helped me take em down…”

His eyes fell close, head slumping forward. Clutching him tightly to your chest, you began to weep, wails echoing across the sea. Despite how final his last moments felt, you couldn’t stop your mind from going a mile a minute, trying to think of some way to prevent the inevitable. But as the beat of his heart began to slow against your chest, a thought struck you.

There was a process to turn a human into a siren. It had to be willingly on both ends, but if you could just get him to that place-

You gripped him tightly to your chest, dipping back below the waves and swimming swiftly towards your destination. With any luck, you could save him from his wounds.

#dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #mha #mha x reader #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #bnha mermay #mha mermay #late mermay

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starbuckie · 4 years ago

Text

𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲

challenge: 1k celebration by @marvelgirl7

pairing: mobster!bucky barnes x reader

words: 1,460 words

warnings: sadness, angst, some mentions of violence, i think there’s like one sexual innuendo, and a little baby bit of fluff

summary: bucky comes back for his girl, and they leave together.

a/n: this is for @marvelgirl7‘s 1k celebration! congratulations on 1,000, darling! this is a one shot for @southernbell91, and it’s a continuation of their amazing mobster!bucky one shot, which you can find here. i also made a little banner for it, and it was so, so much fun. as always, thank you to my beta @transparentfestivaltiger, and i hope you enjoy reading this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it! love you<3

main masterlist || sebastian stan characters masterlist

“Hello, doll, you miss me?” His voice rang in your ears. You thought you’d never hear it again after you ran away three months before, but it seemed that you never could escape it. Whether that was a good thing or not, you didn’t know.

Tears filled your eyes, and you turned around to face James Buchanan Barnes. God, he looked tired, but still every ounce as handsome as the day you had left him. Deep bags surrounded his eyes, and he had grown out a beard at this point, but the steely blue eyes you had loved your whole life were still there. You could see the wet marks tracing his face left by the tears that had fallen, and you knew that he was as relieved as you were seeing each other again. “Hi, James.” You sniffled out.

In moments, the tall man had dropped to his knees in front of you and buried his head in your stomach. His muscular arms wrapped around your waist and you ran your hands through his now long hair. His sobs and your sniffles rang out in harmony around the small apartment, and though you had the love of your life wrapped around you right now, you could only stare at the door ahead of you, which still hung wide open. While, yes, you were ecstatic to see Bucky, you had no clue as to how he found you or why he was there. Perhaps your father and Tony Stark used his high tech security to search for you, and they wanted you back so they could kill you, which scared you to the bone. It was no secret that mob bosses were harsh, but after witnessing your father shoot a man through the head at your own dining room table when you were six, upsetting any of them was your greatest fear.

You had been promised to marry Bucky before being traded to the Stark family, as after their marriage with the Potts family, the Rogers family got bumped down to the fourth wealthiest in the city. Once you had found out that you were the peace treaty, you fled quickly and without a word, leading you to this shitty Montana apartment.

“Buck, why are you here? Who sent you?” His arms dropped to his sides and you took a step back. As much as you wanted to stay in his arms, you knew that it was potentially dangerous, as he and his family were still good allies with your father.

“No one sent me, Y/N. The trade is over.” He smiled briefly at it, tears still leaking from his eyes. You gasped. It was over?

“What did you guys negotiate?” You were curious, They hadn’t even told you about your own trade, yet here Bucky stood, telling you that all four families had come to an agreement.

“Well, our best boy Stevie has himself a wife now.” Your eyes widened as Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, he and one of Tony’s associates, Peggy Carter, got married, so now the Rogers and Starks are in cahoots. Tony and Pepper agreed to back out on your trade.” He grabbed your hands and pulled you into his chest. His hands desperately pushed into your back, trying to bring you as close as possible, until you grinned, feeling something by your legs.

“Is that a gun in your pants, Barnes, or are you just happy to see me?” You giggled lightly, and he just rolled his eyes, but was secretly happy that he could get your smiling again.

“That’s a gun, sweetheart,” he smirked and pulled the gun from his belt, making your eyes widen immensely. “So, now that you aren’t being forced into the Stark family, what do you say? Will you come back home with me?”

His smile, the one you loved so much, was so hopeful, but you were upset that you were the one to make it falter. After a few moments of silence, he spoke up again. “Y/N? You can’t be seriously thinking about staying here.”

Tears filled your eyes again as you met his blue eyed gaze. “I can’t go back, Buck. You saw how easy it was for my dad to get rid of me, and for what? So his friends and allies could stay rich? So his reputation wouldn’t be ruined? Bucky, to my father, I’m not a real person. I’m an object, a pawn, that he uses to gamble and play with. As long as I stay in the business, in the family, I’ll never truly be able to live out my own life. Sure, I was promised to you, but these past three months made me think a lot about the past twenty nine years of my life, and I’ve realized that I have never once made a decision for myself. I need an out, Bucky, and this is it!”

Taking a deep breath, he voiced his concerns once again. “Y/N, you realize how dangerous this is right? If you walk out now, there’s absolutely no coming back. Hell, your dad might come looking for you again! He’s almost got you right now, doll. He hit me a few times trying to get information on your location, but I didn’t know where you were until T’Chaka’s kid, Shuri, came by after hearing about your escape. One of her drones got footage of you outside a McDonald’s, and I found you from there. It’s not safe to leave forever. You’ve seen what our parents do, and they won’t hesitate to blow our heads off. If we go back now you can still have forgiveness, you can still-“

“No, Bucky! I’m not looking for forgiveness, and I’m way goddamn past asking for permission. All my life, I have wanted out, and if this is one chance I get, then I'm damn well taking it.” You tasted the salt from your tears as you sobbed your next words. “I’m leaving as soon as you make up your mind on whether you’re leaving with me or not. I won’t judge you if you go back, I’m sure you wouldn’t want to leave it all behind.”

The money. The power. The endless girls that would throw themselves at them, but through it all, he only wanted you. You, Steve, and him had grown up rough, all of your fathers being mob bosses and deals being made about your futures to ensure the security of the wealth that came from your families, but Bucky had never wanted that. Falling in love with you was the one of the only choices he had ever made by his lonesome, and he would follow you to the ends of the world.

“Where are we going, doll?” His eyes glittered, and his signature lopsided smirk stuck on his face. As you stared up at him, he grinned even wider. “I heard that California is real pretty during the fall, and I’ve always wanted to see the Golden Gate Bridge.”

Grabbing your packed duffle bag from the table in front of the moldy couch, you laughed with glee. You were going to spend the rest of your life with the man you loved, freely, and doing whatever you wanted. No pressure, no rules, no parents, no more mob. Just you, Bucky, and the rest of the world to explore.

You threw the keys to the apartment on the table, and walked out with Bucky. “We’re gonna need new ID’s, Buck. Our parents will try to track us down for the rest of their lives, we’re now traitors to the mob bosses of Brooklyn.” The thought made you high on adrenaline.

“I already have some.” Walking down the empty street, you stared up at him with a confused look on your face. “I have many, many, friends, sweetheart, both in high and low places. We’ll need to get you some as well, but for now, it’s time for Ricardio Montalbaum to take a Californian trip with his fiancée.”

He flashed you one of his ID’s, and sure enough, it said Ricardio Montalbaum. Giggling, you took a long sigh and rested your head on his shoulder. The sky was getting darker now, almost night time, and the sunset was a blur of colors in the distance. People scurried around, and for once, it was nice to not have people cowering in fear. It was just Bucky and Y/N, a nice young couple taking a stroll down the streets of Montana.

“Well, Ricardio, we better get some sunscreen then, because if I burn, I will not hesitate to beat your ass.” He smiled and pecked you on the lips quickly.

“That’s fine with me, doll, as long as I get to spend forever with you.”

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one-piece-drabbles · 4 years ago

Note

Can you please do one with Rodger knowing about ace's execution and maybe ace being saved by luffy and reacting idk alive or dead. This doesn't even makes sense but anything like this will work.

Y’know, it’s not really what you’re looking for, but I figured an answer to this ask was better than no answer at all. Between rewriting an old Ace time-travel fic of mine, I’ve been working on a new Ace time-travel fic with...different goals. If you don’t mind, I’ll be using your ask an excuse to post about it.

So if any of y’all out there have facts about Roger and/or his crew (I’ll take headcanons too), send them my way! I could use some inspiration. Read on if you want a taste of what I’ve been up to with all of this.

“This will be my final order as your captain!”

Ace slowed to a stop. Final?

“It’s time for us to part ways! You must all survive and return to the new world!”

Someone was yelling, begging Whitebeard to say he wasn’t planning on dying here, but it was plain on the old man’s face: he was making himself the last sacrifice.

“I’m a relic of a bygone era!” Whitebeard declared, silencing the complaints. “No ship can carry me into the new age! Get away from here, my sons!”

His next quake rocked Marineford, nearly throwing Ace off his feet. Luffy was still tugging him along towards the ships, but Ace couldn’t tear his eyes from his father.

“Pops!” One last word. One last look. One last something.

Whitebeard grinned in the face of the entire navy bearing down on him. “It’s been a long journey. Let’s finish this once and for all!”

All of Marineford was crumbling, the massive structures little more than paper in the face of Whitebeard’s power. The ground rumbled like the sea in a storm, but through all of it, Whitebeard was an unshakeable pillar of destruction.

Haruta broke rank. “We can’t leave you behind, Pops!”

Whitebeard’s response was swift and catastrophic, stopping Haruta in his tracks. “Can’t you follow your captain’s orders?” he roared. “Get away from here, you lousy brats!”

The tide of pirates began to retreat. It pulled at Ace, but he remained rooted to the spot, that pounding need for just one more look crystallizing into its true shape. He broke from Luffy’s grip and took one step towards his father. His only father.

“Ace!” Luffy cried. “We gotta go!” And then, words that cut like knives: “Don’t let the old man’s sacrifice go to waste!”

That was exactly the problem. Ace glanced back at his brother. “Don’t worry, I won’t.” He turned back to the horde of marines closing in on Whitebeard, the heat of his own flames swirling around his fist. It would have to be enough.

“Out of the way!” His hiken tore through their ranks like a torrent. As the flames died down, so did he, dropping to his knees and bowing his forehead nearly to the ground. Tears built in his eyes and he squeezed them shut.

Somehow, impossibly, Whitebeard’s words carried across the distance between them. “I have little use for soft words…but tell me one thing, Ace.” The tears threatened to break through. “Was I good father?”

The damn broke. “Of course!” he cried, his whole body shaking as his voice cracked.

Whitebeard just laughed. Ace, bowing even lower, swallowed and climbed back to his feet, finally heeding Jinbe’s order to get to the front, only for a new voice to cut through all the noise.

“You free Ace and then turn tail and run, huh? The Whitebeard Pirates are a pack of cowards.” Time slowed. “But considering who your leader is, that’s no surprise! After all, Whitebeard is nothing but a loser from a bygone era!”

And suddenly, he wasn’t heeding Jinbe at all. Rage flared high in his chest and his tears burned up. He turned to face the admiral—

But Akainu wasn’t there. Uncomprehending, Ace stared at the tropical forest where Marineford had been. Five distant peaks stretched into the sky like fingers, but there were no buildings, no fortifications. Instead of walls bearing down, palm fronds rustled in the calm breeze while waves gently rolled onto shore behind him.

Even the air had changed. There was no smoke, no gunpowder, only salt. The fallen marines and pirates were gone. He turned around again, but Luffy and all of his crewmates were gone too. No ships sat on the glimmering waves. No ice held fast the sea.

“P-Pops?” His voice sounded strange to his ears. The breeze came again. A coconut broke free and tumbled the long way to the ground, only for it to get stuck in the sand. “Luffy?”

Another spin didn’t change anything. There was no one around. The sun wasn’t even in the right place. It hung high in the sky, dead at its zenith.

His balance rocked and he sank to his knees. Was this a joke? A Devil Fruit? He brought his arms up to hug himself, only to notice something odd about his left. There was no ink in his skin; his ASCE tattoo had disappeared. Yanking off the tank top that had materialized on his torso and tossing it aside, he craned his neck, fingers pulling on his skin to bring more of it into view, but no matter how he looked—over his left shoulder, over his right shoulder, around his sides—his Whitebeard tattoo was nowhere in sight. It was like it had never been there at all. Even his necklace was gone.

He held out his shaking hands, only then realizing just how small they were. His gaze drifted back to the trees. Were they really that big, or was he…

He was. Shaking harder, he tried to summon some fire, any fire, but nothing happened. There was no response at all. When he dug his nails into his palms, though he could feel it just fine. He could feel everything—the breeze tousling his hair, the sand shifting under his feet, the sun warming his skin. The odds that this was a dream or a nightmare were dwindling with every second that Ace spent hoping this wasn’t real.

Something crashed through the underbrush just past the tree line. Ace froze, then scooped up his shirt and gave chase. Branches lashed at his skin, but even though he hadn’t been this small in years, he still remembered all those days crashing around Goa Island. This place didn’t hold a candle to those wild forests.

The shadow darted left. Ace hooked a hand around a tree’s narrow trunk and swung after it, but he overestimated his reach and fell comically short. He tumbled to a stop, backside stinging, pride bruised.

As he raised his eyes from the ground, he met the gaze of a wild boar. It blinked at him, then, with a huff and a snort, turned and walked away.

That was what he’d been chasing? Ace let his head fall and scrubbed a hand through his hair. What was going on?

“And why am I a kid?” he mumbled. Sure enough, his voice came out way higher pitched than he was used to. Letting his hand fall, he tipped onto his back and stared up through the canopy. He hoped Luffy was okay. His sworn family, too. If they’d come all that way to save him only for him to disappear in the middle of it…Well, Pops would probably keep everyone in line. Marco, too.

He squinted as the sun came out from behind a cloud. What did he know? He was a kid again, for some reason. He was on some island he’d never seen before, for some reason. And, of course, he didn’t have his powers anymore, for some reason. The strategy he’d used to escape that island with Deuce wouldn’t fly here.

As the edge of another cloud took the edge off the sun’s glare, Ace’s skyward gaze fell on the mountains punching over the horizon.

Any kind of vantage point was better than nothing, right? At least he could see if there were any other islands nearby. If this was an archipelago, there were probably people on one of them, and where there were people there were ships.

Getting to the mountain was the easy part. As small as he was, and without being able to rocket himself upwards with his devil fruit, he found himself struggling to actually get up the mountain. Strength wasn’t the problem, but something as simple as a handhold being a couple feet out of reach was enough to stymie him until he found another way up.

By the time he got to the top, he was sweaty, dirty, and tired. He’d scraped his knees and bloodied his fingers before he’d realized that he could still use haki to protect himself from the damage he’d been able to ignore as a logia user.

He sat down hard, drawing in deep breaths. That had unequivocally sucked, but at least he was at the top now. He’d picked the shortest and closest mountain, figuring that anything out of sight from its peak would be out of his reach anyway. Once he had his breath back, he pushed himself to his feet and peered out over the ocean. The wind was much harsher up here, and he had to use a hand to shade his eyes from the sun. The light bouncing off the cresting waves was still bright enough to hurt.

No matter how long he looked, he only saw those waves. It was ocean as far as the eye could see. No other islands, no chain, and no people. Even though he’d kind of expected it, frustration still curled his lips into a frustrated scowl.

What was the point? Why was he here?

Releasing his irritation in a huff, he turned to start the long climb down. It would probably be easier than coming up, since he could use his haki to absorb some of the longer drops from ledge to ledge.

A blurry smudge near the horizon gave him pause. He stopped and peered out at it. Was it a cloud? No, it was getting closer. It was on the water.

His heart lifted. It was a ship.

He threw caution to the wind as he scrambled down the mountainside. His rushed haki didn’t save him from everything, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins numbed the pain. He landed hard on the forest floor, rolled to his feet, and then tore through the trees. He needed to give that ship a reason to stop at this island in case it was just sailing by. A kid waving from the beach would catch anyone’s eye, right?

Panting, bruised, and bleeding, he broke through the tree line, stumbled on the sand, and limped up to the water’s edge.

“Hey,” he croaked at the approaching ship. “Hey!”

He drew breath to yell a third time, but as he did, the wind changed. The ship’s crimson sails filled out, its flags snapped out horizontal, and Ace got a good look at the symbol emblazoned upon them all. His voice died.

A mustached skull and crossbones.

The Roger Pirates.

#ask opd #one piece fanfiction #Portgas D. Ace #roger pirates #one piece #opd #Anonymous

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redbirdbella · 4 years ago

Text

@clintasha-week Advent calendar Day 9 - Emotions

Very angsty. CW - guns, illusions to suicide, Avengers Assemble canon character death, drug use, talk of mind control. (If there's any more please tell me but those are the ones i can see.)

It takes Natasha 45 minutes to decide Clint's been alone long enough.

It takes two weeks for her to find him.

Phil's funeral had been tough on everyone, her archer especially. He'd been a broken man, tears staining his cheeks as he carried the casket. Natasha to his left, holding his hand as she helps bear the weight.

Barton, Romanoff, Rogers, Hill, Fury and May carrying the weight of a brother, a comrade and a true patriot July 1964 til May 2012 (or at least that's what the grave will say).

She gives him space, room to grieve, to bury his head into his hands and weep until shes worried he'll shrivel up. Like he'll faint from dehydration like when he was hungover that one time in Vegas. Happier times. Hill supplies the tissues and Steve the rousing speech. It's tasteful, Phil would appreciate it. But there's no flowers to hide the casket, just his stupid Captain America trading cards on, the ones that make Natasha's heartbreak.

Clint asks for space. After it's all over, once the coffins gone behind the red velvet curtains and the music plays. She agrees, resigned to him running. She can play the game. Follow where he leads.

Two weeks. Two damn weeks it takes. Europe, the Americas, Africa. She even checks in with Barney. The infamous Hawkeye is gone with the wind.

She goes on a whim. On a shadow of a memory of Tokyo. Of him stitching her up. Of safety and warm alcohol. A disconnected safehouse. Off the grid. Shelter, nothing more.

It's not there, replaced by a luxury high-rise. Last few units remaining the realtor declares. Great, he'll be near the top then.

She hacks the database. It's easy enough. Flat 804.

It's quiet. Eerily so, and she prays to whatever deity will listen to not have another funeral so soon.

She knocks hard, demanding a reply, but she's no surprised when no one answers.

Simple locks make simple work, the door creaking open in spite of her pleas for quiet.

He's up and in the doorway. He's armed, fingers gripping to his old Glock. Simple, effective but not if he looks so indecisive. Like its somehow difficult choosing between the intruder and himself.

"Clint" She whispers, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth letting his stubble scratch against her, "It's ok. Just me."

"Tasha" he breathes, taking her head into his hands. She holds them, noticing the way they shake, the way it makes it easy to dispossess him. Too easy. She notices the razor burn on his cheeks like he'd tried, tried to find himself amongst the rubble, "He's- I'm- I've fought so hard Tasha"

"I know, you've been so brave, but you don't have to be. I'm here, together yeah?"

He nods, letting her push her way into the apartment. The way she moves past the bottle piles and cracked walls with an effortless grace ignoring the smell of BO and alcohol. The lingering stench of rock bottom.

"Let's get you clean huh?"

He nods leading her to the bathroom. The flat has a bath graciously untouched and running hot water that leaves Natasha whispering a silent thank you to the powers that be.

She's well packed, well versed in Clint and all his emergencies. Magnesium enriched Epsom salts with lavender and chamomile, to soothe his sores and the anxious energy in his muscles. Clint recognises the box and nods reluctantly.

"Want to put some in?"

He doesn't, but he doesn't stop her adding a healthy amount. He strips down without her request, he isn't scared of being naked. Not with her. She's seen worse. She's seen the bodies on the floor, even helped organise the men that had taken Phil away, leaving the red smudge that seemed to imprint into his mind.

"Hey" She whispers kindly as if the past didn't hang so heavy between them "the water should be warm enough now. Go on, it won't bite"

He nods and steps in, if only to see her smile his last connection to humanity reflected back to him.

"Should we lay down?" She asks but she's already slowly lowering herself letting her arm dangle into the water.

He follows her. A little less steady but it's a start. She kisses his head, "Whatever you're on its strong"

Clint shrugs. Not strong enough.

"How long?"

"How long?" Natasha echos "long enough that I've missed you"

"No, how long in here?"

"Until I say so"

There's no quip just a nod and Natasha's heart breaks just a little more. She clings to the outside of the bath under his watchful gaze, humming songs she remembers from better times. Before gods and monsters and mayhem.

It takes a while for the salts to work their magic, making his limbs grow heavier, back to his control. The bath should be cool, if Natasha hadn't constantly refilled bringing it back to a good temperature. The one that melts the trickster god's ice.

"There, I've got something to get you dry" She whispers when he stands, requesting to be let out. She'd got it at the airport, so it's still fluffy with its new novel smell. He wraps it around his waist and she throws his clothes into the water left in the tub. Cleaning the air of the smell and giving him no choice but to choose the fresh clothes she's brought. He agrees to the pants, black with a purple stripe out the outside leg, the pair he always wore for long nights in.

"That's better" Natasha praises, directing him to the toilet, seat down, "you tried to shave-"

"I look like him" oh the original him. Barton Snr. The only man she hated more than Loki.

"I only see my partner" she whispers pressing another kiss to his cheek, "let me show you-"

She brings out a kit. A long-forgotten kit, one that only comes out for him. Her Barbers kit from her time attending to the soldiers. It's not the same, her tools had been blunted through use but the idea is still there. Buried deep through countless repetition.

Clints not like the soldiers. Even now he fidgets putting himself at her mercy. It's a long process, a Turkish shave, but each time it's worth it for the way he smiles, blushing under her tender touches. It's different this time, there's no more smiles but he shuts his eyes letting himself be pampered.

"There." She whispers placing a mirror into his hands once the act is done "There you are. Back again"

He nods, avoiding the man that glances back at him and she places her hands against the back of his neck.

"You cant ever ask for space again"

He nods.

"Not until I say so"

He nods. He's taken something, something strong. Detoxing will be a bitch but that was tomorrows battle.

"Bed?"

He doesn't nod, but he doesn't object either just leads her there as if she just wanted to see it. To check for proof of its existence.

There's no more fresh sheets, but the spare bedrooms untouched. Natasha's doubt's he'd left the living room much, not in this state.

He lays on the bed and waits for her to follow. Then he surrounds her, hands desperate to touch, to reassure his trembling grip on reality.

"I'm here. I'm here" she soothes

"You've been here before" he counters.

"Not like tonight"

He's quiet until he can't contain anymore "They took my mind"

"And I took it back"

"I killed him.

"Loki killed him. You were with me"

He nods, "You would have saved him."

"I made my choice"

"It wasn't your choice to make!"

They settle into the silence that follows. She doesn't expect an apology, she doesn't need one. She knew what it was like for someone to take your brain and play.

"Did you really think I wouldn't know you? That I wouldn't come looking" She whispers "I fought a god for you."

"And do you like your prize?"

"Now you sound like him"

"Cause he's still in there! I'd blow a hole in my head to let him out! to make it stop!"

"Don't- I need you" She's not beyond pleading, not for Clint.

He's quiet, until the tears come. They burn his freshly shaved skin so she stems them, blotting them out with her fingers.

"I'm here, it's ok" she's writing cheques she can't cash, making promises she can't keep "It can stop now, let me take it from here"

She offers out her arms as he'd done all those years before. His arms were bigger. It wasn't such a tight fit but her skills lay elsewhere. She lets her hands creep down his bareback. Recalling every last detail she can remember about her massage class back in Russia, when they'd promised her only gentle hands could wiggle out secrets. Before they corrected the lie.

He startles as she begins, if the sobs that shudder against her shoulder are any indication.

She shhs him, cradling him like a child

"It's just me"

She draws circles against his back, letting him strain away when she touches somewhere tender.

"Please, please don't fight me like you do him"

She lets her own tears slip away as he surrenders to her touch, feeling each muscle relax against her.

Until he surrenders to the deep sleep that pulls him under.

There's no more need to fight, for she grants him rest.

#clintasha advent 2020 #clintasha angst #clintasha #idk guys #is it good or am i just having a breakdown

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avengingnomad · 4 years ago

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Day 3- Movie

“Natasha, you ready?”, Steve shouted toward the ceiling, where Natasha was changing. He pulled the popcorn out of the microwave and set it aside. He placed a mug of butter in to melt and poured the popcorn into a big red bowl. He popped a handful into his mouth. “Hm, needs salt,” Steve mumbled to himself and grabbed the shaker from the cupboard. He cranked the shaker a few times, making sure to get every inch.

“That much salt could kill you, you know.” A voice said an inch from his ear. Natasha. She loved to sneak up on Steve like that a lot. When they first moved in together, his instincts and training would kick in and he’d be ready for a fight, grabbing whatever was closest to him, ready to use it as a weapon. But these days, he’d be surprised if she hadn’t been standing behind him.

“I’d like to see it try.” He replied without looking at her. She hopped up onto the counter beside the popcorn.

“Aw, come on, Steve. Can you at least pretend to be scared when I sneak up on you? It makes me feel like I’m not a good spy anymore.” She looked at him, eyes wide and lips pouted, pleadingly.

Steve turned to face her. “Okay, try again. I’m ready to be surprised.” He turned to the bowl again picking up the salt again. He started humming to himself.

“You’re a terrible actor, Steve, but I appreciate the sentiment anyway.” Her voice came from farther away this time.

“I’m a better actor than you give me credit for, Nat.” He turned around, popcorn bowl in hand, offering it to her. But she wasn’t there. His eyes shifted back and forth, scanning. Okay she was good, but he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction this time. So he proceeded to the family room and plopped down on the couch.

Seconds passed. A minute. Two, three, seven, eleven minutes. Still no Natasha. Still he didn’t want to let her win, so he stayed glued to his seat, and turning on the tv to pick the movie. “I guess I get to pick the movie tonight since you’ve decided that trying to scare me is more fun than using me as a pillow!” He said into the open space above him. Still no Natasha.

Okay, seriously. Where is she? he thought. He had a plan tonight. He found what he was looking for: The Corpse Bride. He pressed play and settled in, putting his feet up on the coffee table. The opening song began and Steve focused in on it.

Another minute or two passed, and then Steve felt a dip in the couch.

“You know, I was just about to come look for you.” Steve glanced sideways at her.

“Oh I know. I could sense it.” Natasha replied.

“You sensed it, now? Did you get bitten by a radioactive spider like Peter?” He asked with feign surprise. “How could you keep a secret like this from me? I thought you loved me, Nat.”

“I hate you sometimes,” she said smiling at him.

“I’m sure that’s not true, Natalia.”

Natasha laughed, shaking her head. “Damn it, Rogers. I do love you. You make it too easy sometimes. So stop it.”

“Never.”

They turned their attention back to the screen. Victor was in the forest, practicing his vows. Steve began...

“With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine...”

He continued, turning to Natasha.

“With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine.”

Steve got up from his seat and quietly as he could and knelt down in front of Natasha. Her eyes met his, her eyebrows knitted together, and then shot up when she realized what was going on...

“Natasha.” Steve said quietly, taking her hand in one of his. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“Steve, I— yes, I will marry you!” Natasha pulled Steve up off of his knee and pulled his lips to hers for a kiss.

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers #captain america #natasha romanoff #black widow #romanogers #stevenat #the corpse bride #the avengers #halloween otp challenge #spooktacular halloween #otp challenge #otp

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justanother-unluckysoul · 4 years ago

Text

Working My Way Back To You 6/10

Killian gets captured. When Emma finally rescues him, he’s traumatized and nearly broken from the torture he endured. Angst and h/c galore as Emma helps him through it.

I tried to go easy on the whumpy side of it since it’s supposed to be for Comfortember, but it’s me so I probably failed lol

Merry Christmas to my lovely readers! Hope you all are having a lovely time. Here’s a bit of fluff before we get back into the heavier angst. For the prompt “baking.”

Unbetad as always so mistakes are all mine.

Tagging @cocohook38 as requested :)

Read this chapter on AO3

Working My Way Back To You

Baking

Killian’s certain he’s never going to get over the marvel that is hot running water. Showers continue to be one of his favourite things about this realm – that and toilets. Basic hygiene had never been so easy. In fact, everything is easy. He can flip a switch and flood the room with light far more powerful than any lantern. He can turn a knob and the metal plates on the counter heat up without a fire. Never mind such amazing things like washing machines or heaters or even cars. And this thing called a mixer, which whisks ingredients together at the flick of a switch. Henry is grinning at him as he demonstrates this, and Killian tries to wipe the expression of astonishment off his own face.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Henry says, “Much faster than doing it by hand. Otherwise we’d never get this done before mom gets home.”

It had been Henry’s idea to bake these biscuits today, on Christmas Eve, while Emma was out dealing with some “grinches” who were apparently trying to ruin Christmas. Killian didn’t know what that meant, but Emma had given him a quick kiss and promised she would be back soon, and he’d decided he’d question her meaning later. He’s honestly quite relieved that she feels he’s finally recovered enough not to need her constant supervision. His stitches were removed earlier in the week, and he’s reluctantly been to see Archie after further insistence from Emma. Though Killian wasn’t comfortable sharing much of his trauma with the cricket, and even less of his feelings about it, Archie had treated him with nothing but kindness and understanding, which Killian supposed shouldn’t have surprised him, but it had. And Killian’s beginning to feel a little better, both physically and mentally. Some things are still problematic without the use of his still-splinted fingers, but Killian is nothing if not adaptable, and he’s discovered there are a lot of tasks that can actually be managed, albeit awkwardly, with just his hook and his thumb. So here they were, Henry’s enthusiasm for his self-appointed task having quickly garnered Killian’s interest, leading to this moment, which is Henry explaining no we have to do it like this with flour smudged across his cheek and Killian giving him a raised eyebrow as he challenged does it really need that much sugar? He’s starting to get the feeling that for all Henry’s knowledge on these modern kitchen tools, the lad may not have actually made this particular cuisine before.

“Yes,” Henry says firmly, a tone that leaves no room for further questioning.

Killian lets it go. Emma does like sweet foods, and since Killian hasn’t ever made snickerdoodles before, he thinks he probably should allow Henry to take the lead on this; however much it pains him to watch Henry pour that much sugar into the bowl. But he can’t resist making one last comment-

“Are you sure you’re not just making this up as you go, lad? Because ‘snickerdoodles’ doesn’t sound like a real food.”

“I’m not making it up,” Henry insists, “I’ve helped mom make them before.”

“Then where’s the recipe?”

“I read it on wickapeedia.”

And Killian’s lost again. He hasn’t a clue what a wickapeedia is.

“On what?”

“Oh, sorry. It’s a website. It has information on everything. Like, an encyclopedia, but on the internet.”

“Do you always get your recipes from this wicka… whatever?”

“Of course not.” Henry looks affronted before turning his attention back to their task. “Now, crack two eggs into this bowl. I’ll get the salt.”

Killian takes two steps away to grab the required eggs before he remembers, and he grimaces at the realization, shame washing over him.

“Henry, I… I can’t…”

“What?”

It takes Henry a moment, the room falling into silence – well, not quiet silence because there’s still the ever-present festive music playing somewhat discordant strains in the background, because Henry insisted on it. It’s a long, agonizing moment of scrutiny and Killian’s explanation dies on his tongue, an intense discomfort creeping up his spine. He can’t bring himself to put to words how useless he is.

“Oh, crap,” Henry says intensely, finally, wide eyed, “I’m so sorry, Killian, I forgot. Uh, you…” he casts his gaze frantically around the kitchen for something Killian can do with only a thumb and a hook, and apparently comes up with nothing.

Killian looks away, swallowing hard. He had thought himself crippled all those years ago when the Crocodile took his hand, and all the painful days following it as he struggled to learn how to function as less than whole, his body and soul wrecked in an instant by Rumpelstiltskin’s callous actions. He’d thought at the time that was the worst fate that could have been laid on him. But now he doesn’t even have the use of his right hand and he’s the most useless he’s ever been. Killian is struck with a desperate need to get away. Perhaps he will find some calm on the Jolly Roger. He glances out the window. There is a bank of clouds gathering in the distance, but the sun is still shining brightly.

“Never mind, lad, I can-”

“No, wait, you’re in charge of the mixer. Here, let me just-”

Killian watches rather dejectedly as Henry places the necessary ingredients in the bowl and sets it in place to be mixed, leaving Killian with the meagre job of pressing the button. While he appreciates Henry’s attempt to include him, it hasn’t done anything to alleviate his feel of inadequacy. Damn the men who did this to him, to the deepest depths of the Underworld. Simply leaving them locked in a brig seems an insufficient penalty for what they’ve done, and Killian muses on better ways to punish them while he watches the mixer whisking the ingredients together. He gets some satisfaction out of his rather grisly fantasies. But he knows they’ll remain only fantasies. As badly as he desires to hurt his torturers like they hurt him, he’s better than that now, and he forces his thoughts away from it.

Once the “snickerdoodles” are in the oven, Killian settles onto the couch. There’s not much he can do around the house yet, not until his splints are removed, so he distracts himself by playing a game of chess with Henry. It feels good, getting him out of his own head again. He slips easily into verbal sparring, and he’s taught Henry well because the lad is almost able to match Killian’s quick wit during their banter – but he still can’t quite match Killian’s ability to win at chess. He’s just about to trap Henry into a checkmate when-

“What the hell is that?” Killian will never admit how high his voice went in his fright, as the house is suddenly filled with a deafening screaming sound.

Henry bolts to his feet and bumps the chess board roughly in his haste, sending pieces flying.

“The snickerdoodles!” he shouts over the noise.

Killian’s fairly sure it’s not the snickerdoodles. He can’t be certain, of course, but creating baked goods that scream seems a bit odd, even for this realm. But smoke is billowing out of the kitchen. Killian doesn’t know how neither of them noticed until now; apparently, they’d been too immersed in their chess match. Henry’s frantically trying to rescue the biscuits, or something, and Killian’s at a loss for what he should be doing. Perhaps they should abandon the house. Perhaps he should call Emma.

“Open some windows! We have to clear this smoke!” Henry shouts, and he’s coughing now, and Killian continues to stand by helplessly because he can’t even unlatch a bloody window.

“Henry, I-”

“Damn it,” says Henry, and then a quick “Sorry!” for his language before he scampers around opening the windows himself.

If she were here, Emma would have pulled him up on it. Killian thinks they have more pressing concerns at this point. It seems the snickerdoodles are beyond saving.

“How do we turn this bloody thing off?” Killian asks.

“There should be a button on it. Or something.” Henry looks frazzled, flapping his hands about as if he can shoo the smoke out the window faster by doing so.

Killian looks up at the offending object, a white disc fastened to the ceiling, and his mind finally settles into a strategy.

“Henry, use a dishtowel to move the smoke,” he instructs.

He uses his hook to drag a kitchen chair into place under the still-shrieking disc, giving him the height he needs to… He can’t see the button Henry mentioned and the close proximity to the horrid noise is making his head feel like it’ll burst. Ah, well, time for a new plan then. He jams his hook into the side of the disc, close to the ceiling, and yanks hard downwards. The disc comes loose with a cracking sound as something gives way, and the screaming cuts off immediately. The broken disc clatters to the floor, just as the front door bursts open.

“Henry! Killian!” shouts a remarkably familiar voice, and Killian instantly regrets his hasty plan-making.

“Mom,” Henry splutters, “Uh, we were… Um, just… Oops?”

Killian quickly clambers off the chair. The smoke has abated somewhat, thanks to Henry’s waving of the dishtowel. Emma’s eyes are wide, her breaths a little quick, her phone in her hand like she was about to make a call. She looks frightened.

“Apologies, love. It seems the snickerdoodles required a little more attention than we gave them,” Killian says lightly, hoping to put her at ease.

“I saw all the smoke and I thought…” she laughs shakily, clearly struggling to pull herself together.

“We’re fine, mom, really. It got a little smoky, but it was nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Henry gives her a reassuring smile. Thankfully, seeing them unharmed seems to be enough to calm her, because she doesn’t even complain about the acrid smell of burned biscuits still pervading the kitchen. She shoves her phone back into her pocket and pulls them both in for a hug instead.

“Killian, you destroyed the smoke alarm,” she says with a shaky laugh when they break apart.

Killian looks at the item in question.

“We were certainly alarmed enough about all this, without its infernal screaming,” he says wryly, “But I admit, I may have a been… a little hasty with my method. Henry told me there was a button that would silence it?”

“Yeah. It’s right there.” She points out the button on the disc, easily noticeable now that Killian’s not being deafened by it. “But it’s okay. We can replace it.”

Once the blackened snickerdoodles are sufficiently cooled, Henry takes them out to the trash, and Killian pulls Emma into another embrace.

“I am truly sorry for scaring you, love,” he says softly, “Henry wanted to give you a surprise gift, and he said you would enjoy these biscuits. We were playing chess while we waited for them to cook, and time got away from us. But there was no fire. We were actually quite safe, despite how it must have appeared.”

“It’s okay, really. I overreacted.” Emma sighs heavily, her fingers curling gently around the back of Killian’s neck, content just to be held for a moment. “Ugh. I do love it, but all this Christmas stuff is so stressful.”

Killian coaxes her chin up with his thumb so he can kiss her, just briefly, because Henry will be back shortly and will undoubtedly make some comment about how gross they are if he catches them in such a position.

“I’m sorry I’ve added to that stress,” he says remorsefully, still so close, his mouth reluctant to let go of hers.

“It’s fine, Killian. Hey, did I ever tell you about that time…”

Emma launches into a colourful tale of a past Christmas endeavour, and of mistakes far greater than the snickerdoodle incident, and when Henry returns, he too shares some hilarious anecdotes. And they end up laughing until Killian’s sides hurt and Emma is wiping tears from her eyes, and Henry has collapsed on the floor in a fit of giggles. Killian wishes he could just stay in this moment and this feeling of pure joy for the rest of his life.

After dinner, all three of them settle onto the couch, basking in the warmth of the fire and the twinkling of the lights on the tree in the corner of the room. Emma’s chosen a movie for them to watch, one that is apparently a “Christmas classic.” Killian hasn’t seen it before, but he doesn’t find it very captivating, though he doesn’t let Emma or Henry know that. He is extremely appreciative that they are including him in their holiday traditions, though he doesn’t quite understand this whole Christmas thing. It seems rather like a bunch of disjointed stories all strung together, and Killian still doesn’t get the connection between the birth of a god and an overweight man climbing down a chimney to deliver gifts. But no matter. He’s all warm and cosy, and he feels completely safe – a feeling that has been all too rare recently. And he wonders how he got so lucky to find such a family. His family. By all the gods, he’s a lucky man. Despite everything he is, everything he’s done, they love him. And come tomorrow, Snow and David will visit with their child, eager to celebrate Christmas with them. The thought makes Killian feel both elated and terrified, because they want to spend time with him and Emma and Henry and he’s so fortunate to have people like that, but they probably both know how broken he is and he won’t be able to stand their looks of pity.

When they wake to Henry knocking on their bedroom door loudly and gleefully shouting that it’s a white Christmas, it’s barely daylight.

“We’ll be out in a minute,” Emma calls out, her voice a bit hoarse from sleep.

“Okay!” and they hear him rushing down the stairs.

Outside, there’s the strange sort of quiet that heralds the falling snow, and Emma only burrows deeper into the soft blankets surrounding them, clearly having no desire to leave the cosy warmth of their bed. Killian props himself up on his elbow, a small smile curving his lips as he looks at her.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispers, sleepy, and utterly gorgeous.

He really wants to kiss her right on the mouth, but he knows from past experiences that it’ll make her pull away from him, because ‘morning breath’ and all that. So Killian kisses her cheek instead, soft and gentle, and a calm warmth settles in his chest. His heart has never felt so full.

“Merry Christmas, Emma.”

#comfortember 2020 #cs ff #cs fluff #cs christmas #killian whump #(but there's no actual whump in this chapter)#angst #captain swan #captain cobra swan #killian jones #emma swan #henry mills #my fanfics

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somebridgesburn · 5 years ago

Text

the moral of the story (it is cruel my dear)

So I wrote a fic and finished it, I don’t know who I am anymore. Jokes aside though, this might not only be the longest but also my favourite fic I’ve ever written. Also, I should probably have edited it properly but I was way too excited not to share it, so yeah.

warnings: angst, full on angst that I hope will rip your heart out (what else do you expect from me), also slight smut, language (and badly written dialogues)

7,137 words (yeah I don’t know how that happened either)

summary: How comforting it is, Steve thinks, that there are 14 million universes out there. How comforting it is to know that there must be a universe where he gets to love you.

He closes his eyes and lets his knees give in.

(there´s a lot of things Steve Rogers wishes he would have done differently)

How comforting it is, Steve thinks, that there are 14 million universes out there. How comforting it is to know that there must be a universe where he gets to love you.

He closes his eyes and lets his knees give in.

Life is easy at the Tower.

Steve wakes up at 5am sharp every morning and drinks two protein shakes before going on a run. He showers in a shower that is almost as big as his and Bucky's whole bathroom back in Brooklyn used to be. He ignores Tony's snarky remarks and pretends to understand Clint's pop culture references. He storms Hydra bases with his new team. He doesn't flinch anymore when Natasha appears out of nowhere.

Life is good. It's not the way it used be; with Bucky and the Commandos and their dirty jokes and laughter around camp fires all over Europe, but it's not his apartment in DC anymore either, with its walls that always seemed to be caving in on him, or doing Hydra's dirty work. Steve can work with that.

You're young, that's the first thing he notices about you.

Tony recruits you on a whim and before Steve even looks twice, you've moved into the Tower and you go on missions and you attend team game nights.

See, usually Steve would be mad, except that he can't be when he sees you; sees you fight, sees you with the team. Truth is, you fit right in.

You get all excited discussing science stuff with Bruce over dinner, measure your biceps against Thor's when he pays you one of his random visits, making his laugh thunder down the halls of the Tower, meal prep (whatever the fuck that is) with Natasha on Saturdays and Wednesdays; you're part of the team before Steve can even say you're not, and honestly, he can't even be mad about it.

Steve likes you. Until he doesn't.

***

See, you're nice, you're charming, everybody likes you, Steve likes you. You don't always follow orders and you have butted heads with a couple congress men before but that's okay. It's not good, but it's okay; Steve can work with that.

What he can't work with, however, is half-truths.

It all starts with a routine mission.

Storm Hydra base, get intel, blow it up; it's easy enough. You and Steve take the west wing, knocking out Hydra agents on your way down. Steve kicks one of the agents in the gut, tries to pry the arms of the other one off his throat, when he calls out for you for backup.

You don't answer.

He finally escapes out of the agent's choke hold and knocks him out, panting heavily, eyes scanning the room for you. You were on the other side of the room just a minute ago, but now you hover over another Hydra agent and you- you don't do anything. You look at him, gun hanging loosely by your side, as he says something to you, urgently, thoroughly.

Steve calls out your name again. You startle, as if pulled out of a daze and put a bullet through the agent's head. Steve furrows his brows, shooting you a questioning look. You look away.

“What was that”, he asks you, as you board the quinjet. You've been carefully avoiding him for the rest of the mission.

“What?”, you ask, looking up at him, slightly limping.

“You know exactly what I mean” His voice is harsh, your eyes widen, but these are the facts: He saw you hesitate. Those few seconds could have cost somebody's life.

“I don't think I do, Captain.”

“You hesitated!”, he grits out, “You hesitated taking out a hostile!”

“I- I was just out of it for a second, Cap”, you shrug, smiling a little and Steve doesn't believe a word you say.

“Don't lie to me”

“I-”

“Hey, hey, hey, what's going on?”, Tony interrupts you. He's looking between you and him, eyes furrowed.

You've gathered the attention of the whole team now, Natasha looking up from bandaging Clint's side, Bruce watching you from the cockpit, Thor awkwardly wringing his hands together.

“Oh, I don't know, I'm just wondering if she's compromised!” He gestures at you. Steve's irritated, angry even and his arm hurts where he got shot because you didn't cover him.

“What?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Hey, hey! Calm down everybody!”, Natasha barks, ”Steve?”

“She hesitated- she froze. A Hydra agent was talking to her and she listened! I could've-”

“She froze?”, Tony asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes.”, Steve says, tightening his jaw. You stare at the ground. He knows there's more to it.

“Well, happens to the best of us! No need to be a pussy about it, Capsicle”, Tony snaps and wraps an arm around you, telling you to sit down so he could examine you leg.

***

So, you used to be Hydra. Kind of, at least.

After the mission you sit down in the common room - the common room, not the conference room – and you have a pillow in your lap and offer cookies you baked yesterday as if you were going to have a girls night and talk about ex-boyfriends.

Clint is sprawled on the coach and pushing his feet in Natasha's lap, while she pushes them back down again. Steve balls his fists and raises his eyebrows at you. You take a deep breath; and then you spill.

You used to work as a scientist for an institution, completely oblivious to the fact that it was knees deep in business with Hydra. Then you found files, files about Hydra, files about your work being used by Hydra. You panicked. You didn't know any better and you panicked and you wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, so you quit.

“I was stupid”, you sigh, “I knew too much, probably even without having found the files. They took me before I could even leave the building.”

They know the rest, seeing as it actually is in your file. You were used as a test subject by Hydra, causing you to develop your powers. Months into your captivity you were rescued by another handler that wasn't better by much; there are aren't a lot of pretty things in you file.

Then Tony found you in Berlin, battered and bruised. It's a sob story, really.

“Why didn't you say something?” Steve's the first to break the silence after you finished.

“I didn't want to talk about it”, you say, stirring your tea with a spoon, not even looking up.

“You didn't want to talk about it? That's it? That's why you lied to all of us?”

“I didn't lie”

“You said you- ”

“I didn't say anything, you assumed” You press your lips together. You're angry now, too, Steve realises. “also, Fury knew.”

It's not a big deal to Natasha because she knows, because Steve probably doesn't want to know about all of the half-truths and lies she serves them on a regular basis, it's not a big deal to Tony because Tony loves you, Tony put his eyes on you and basically adopted you and it's not like anything bad happened, Cap and it's not a big deal to anyone else either because apparently all you have to do is laugh a little and bake a couple cookies and it's all forget, forgive.

Well, guess what. It's a big fucking deal to Steve.

Maybe he's over-reacting. He knows better than to assume that what stands in Natasha's file is always accurate and he's pretty sure there's more to Clint than he knows, too.

But still, there's more to it. Steve knows there's more and you're still not telling everything. And he doesn't know you long enough to trust you despite of it- or maybe he doesn't want to in the first place.

You're everywhere.

The following days Steve tries to avoid you, tries to be civil about it in the most middleschool-ish way he knows because he might just yell at you again when he sees your face and he's trying not to do that.

But you make it damn hard not to.

You're sparring with Natasha when Steve wanted to and you're cooking breakfast when Steve wanted to make himself eggs and then he's done because Sam cancels their morning run on Thursday; Sam can't go on a run with him because he wants to go running with you because he's concerned after hearing your sob story and wants to make sure you're alright.

Maybe it's not even just about that one mission – maybe it's also about how you just made yourself part of the team, how you invaded every part of their lives from to without asking and now you can't even be trusted, now you endanger missions, now Steve has to write longer mission reports because of your goddamn recklessness (“as if you're the one to talk, Rogers-”).

There's nothing about you that doesn't annoy Steve anymore.

He doesn't think you're adorable. He doesn't think you're funny. You're too sarcastic and too much of a know-it-all and Steve doesn't even get half of your jokes.

It's different now. Team dinner are tense because you either had a fight before or he is pissed at you for making Natasha smile that much. Briefings are tense, missions are tense, everything is tense once you and Steve are in the same room.

He knows he should feel sorry for it, feel sorry at least for everyone else, but he doesn't. You roll your eyes at him when he asks for the salt.

***

He wishes he could say it happened differently.

If he were a better man, if he were the man everyone thinks he is, maybe he could. But he isn´t, so the first time he kisses you is the first time you fuck, and the first time you fuck is against a wall and it hasn´t anything to do with love or feeling and everything with the fight you just had. It´s fast and rough an it´s dirty and in hindsight, he hates himself a little for it, for not giving you what you deserve, for ruining it from the start (it probably was already ruined way before that).

***

So you fuck now.

Not routinely, not exclusively, but you do. Who would have thought, huh.

It's mostly just getting rid of boiled up frustration, blowing off steam after a mission or a fight or, most of them time, both.

You're more civil with each other now at least, too. You still snap, you still argue, but not to a degree where it's uncomfortable for anyone to be around the two of you.

You're still annoying but there are other ways your mouth actually can be useful, Steve found out and he's okay with that.

***

“You knew him”, Steve says as he's kissing down your neck.

“What?”, your voice is breathy and he knows you're not really paying attention. It's low, using sex to get information out of you but he had to, he saw an opportunity and he had to take it.

“The Hydra agent. At the warehouse. You hesitated, you knew him.” He's still trailing kisses down your body, travelling lower and lower but you stiffen underneath him.

“Steve, stop”, you say, pushing at his shoulders, “what the fuck?”

He stops at your belly button, looking up when he says, “what, you used to fuck him?”

You freeze.

“Fuck”, Steve hisses, jumping from the bed, before you can open your mouth, trying to deny it. “fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He hadn't meant it as a serious question, hadn't even considered it as a possibility. He din't even know what had gotten into him, it was supposed to be just another insult, irritating you.

“Rogers”, your voice is quiet and cold, eyes calculating as you watch him pace. You're still naked from the waist up.

He's been looking for a reason to mistrust, to dislike you for so long now but he didn't want to find one, he realises now.

“I didn't-”, he starts, running his fingers through his hair, “fuck!”, he yells again.

You don't say anything. The door slips shut too quietly after him.

You find him in the kitchen. It's just past 3am when he hears your light footsteps on the hardwood floor. He doesn't look up, only hears you sit down on the kitchen aisle, one seat between you.

“He was a co-worker. We started going out three weeks after I started working there. I liked him, I really did.”

“I thought liked me, too, you know, I though it was really something. But turns out he was just keeping tabs on me the whole time.”, you add quietly. Your voice doesn't quiver but Steve can hear the heartbreak, the betrayal netherless.

“It sucked, making all of these friends, trusting all of these people only for it to turn out they'd solely been using me the whole time.”, you sigh, “What I want to say though- I know you're going to tell everybody and you got every reason to. You're not going to trust me at all anymore and I understand it, I do, but I just- it doesn't change anything. This team, it- My loyalty is with you.”

“Does Fury know?”, he asks, finally speaking up.

“I don't know”, you shrug, “probably”

You both sit in silence for a long while after that.

As it turns out, Fury does indeed know.

Steve steps out of the elevator, just having come back from his office and he sees you pouring a cup of coffee, laughing with Bruce at Clint's antics.

Fury knows, Steve figures. The team doesn't have to.

***

“Fuck”, Steve swears and the corners of your mouth curl upwards.

“This isn't funny”, he spits out, pressing your hips further into the desk.

“Sure it isn't, Captain.” Lazy smile still forming on your lips

“Stop it. Stop pretending everything is a joke to you!”

“I'm not.”

“You endangered the mission. Do you even know what that means? What could have happened?” He rips off your blouse, ignores you snarling when buttons spring off, and discards it on the floor.

“I didn't. Endanger the mission.”

He huffs, unbelieving and turns you around, hands tracing over your ass, grabs a handful when you start speaking again.

“I- uh- would have gotten the job done either way.”, you say between breaths, hips rocking into his.

“Yeah, but you could have gotten yourself killed”, he hisses.

“As if you care about that”

“Of course I care about that!”Steve grits out forcefully and freezes.

You use that moments to flip you around, Steve now presses to the edge of the desk.

“I care about my team”, he retorts lamely, when he finally recovers.

“Whatever you say, Captain”, you snort and push down his pants, stealing any further words out of his mouth.

***

You still haven't stopped. In the back of his mind, Steve knows you should. You shouldn't even have started this whole thing in the first place. But the thing with your co-worker, that should have put it to an end for good. It didn't though.

It took a few days for you to stop dancing around each other to go back to normal again, took a rather strong disagreement on tactics and Steve bending you over the conference table for you to go back to sarcastic comments and borderline hostility again.

But still, it changed something.

“I still don't get why you hate her, man”, Sam says, sipping his beer, after Steve snapped at you.

He catches himself before he can say me neither.

He thinks about what you said. About him caring about you. He thinks about it, a lot (too much).

Here's the conclusion he draws: it's strictly professional, of course.

If you die, he failed as a team leader. If something happened to you, the mission probably wouldn't be accomplished. If you got killed, it would add further conflict among the team, which is the last thing they need.

He finds himself looking for reasons to get angry at you so he can feel you smooth skin underneath his hands again.

He thinks about you, more often than not. Your hands, your hair, your lips, your laugh- he shakes his head, no.

He jerks off, determined not to go to you, determined to not think of you and still, still his mind wanders to your lips, your hands tracing his chest, the little sounds you make, the little smile on your face afterwards when you thought he wasn't looking – he spills into his hand.

“Fuck”, he says to an empty room.

Here's the ugly truth: you matter to Steve and he doesn't want you to.

And maybe the reasonable, sensible approach would be to stop whatever the two of you are doing; no more hate sex and spiteful comments.

It's what Sam, or anyone with some resemblance of common sense, really, would tell him to do but Steve can't bring himself to do it, can't bring himself to actually tell Sam about it either though because he's ashamed.

Instead he pushes you into a closet, manhandling you roughly, when you do something thoughtful for Wanda.

He wants to hold your hand and squeezes your thigh under the table instead.

You laugh against his lips when he stumbles over a box lying on his floor and Steve thinks IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.

He kisses you frantically before the words can spill out of him.

(Captain America's healthy way of dealing with feelings 101)

“He was everything”, Steve says quietly and meets your eyes. You're close, too close. All things considered, you have been a lot closer and it shouldn't matter but this feels different.

This is different, with the two of you the only ones left in the kitchen, Bucky's files spread out on the table and Steve's heart on his sleeve. You're inches away and really, in comparison, it's nothing to freak out about, but now, you're looking at Steve, really looking and it's soft, tender, almost- loving.

It's so intimate that Steve feels like he has to ruin it with mean comment but you take his face in your hands and close the gap.

It's slow that night, for the first time, it's slow. You squeeze his hand when it finds yours.

***

You choose Tony and Steve doesn't know if he can blame you for it.

He knows that he wants to, but there's still enough righteousness in him left to remind him that there might be a lot of things Steve wishes to be to you, but there are only a few that he is actually is.

And then he thinks of Tony and your ever-ongoing banters, him nudging your shoulder playfully, all the times he's found the two of you sitting at the kitchen counter, each nursing a cup of coffee at ungodly hours, just having resurfaced from the lab. Steve wasn't the only one to spend nights with you in some way or another and somehow he can't help thinking that Tony and yours were much more precious.

He doesn't know a lot about your and Tony's relationship, never cared to ask, but he knows that you don't have any family left and Stark got you out of a really ugly situation; he sees the light teasing and easy smiles and fond-yet-exasperated looks shared between you (and everything else yours and Steve´s relationship lacks).

Tony's like a father to you, and nothing that Steve is could ever come close to that.

Of course you'd choose Tony and Steve has no right to be mad about it.

If it were for anyone else picking Stark's side, it'd be no problem. Steve´s put all of them in this position, Steve understands, doesn't blame them, doesn't take it personal.

But with you, it stings. It stings more than he's ever willing to admit.

***

Being on the run changed him. He can see it in the mirror, his hair and beard longer now than they've ever been, he can feel it when they are storming Hydra bases and he strangles a man with his bare hands without batting an eye and he can see it in Natasha's eyes when he meets her gaze afterwards.

He´s vicious and ruthless and angry. Steve is so angry it burns in his bones and ignites the pit of his stomach and there is not a number of Hydra members he can kill or hours of sparring he can spend with Natasha that are ever going to ease that feeling. He´s angry at the government, at Tony, at Hydra, at Zola for doing this to Bucky, at a god he stopped believing somewhere between when everything he fought for, died for turned out to be a lie and aliens started to fall out of the sky, at everything, at anyone (at you, at you, at you).

***

He sees you again in Stockholm and for a moment he panics.

It's a small bar and you spot him immediately, beard and ballcap be damned. You haven't been looking for him though, he can tell by the look of surprise swiftly crossing your features.

“Here to arrest me?”, he jokes without humour when you take a seat at the bar next to him.

“No”, you answer, completely serious, “I won't”

Because you could. You could call someone right now and in a matter of hours they'd be behind bars. Or you could give them a head start and tell on them when you were back in New York.

Hell, you probably should, God knows what trouble you could get into if someone found out you'd let him go.

But you won't, Steve knows you won't.

You're starring at him, but Steve knows he's no better himself. Your hair's a little shorter now and you look tired.

“What are you doing here?”, he asks, only to break the silence, to force himself to stop starring.

You smile. You can't tell him and he knows.

When your hand finds his, he laces your fingers together before he can top himself.

“I miss you”, you whisper so quietly Steve would have missed it if it weren't for his enhanced hearing.

You brush your thumb over the back of his hand before he feels your hand slip out of his. You're gone a moment later.

“You know it's okay if you need a weekend away”, Natasha suddenly says from behind him. He didn't hear her coming and honestly, he hasn't had it in him to be surprised by that for a long time now.

A weekend away. He knows what she's implying and he almost smirks because for once, Natasha is wrong. Still, he allows himself to think about it for a moment, you and him, hauled up in a hotel room somewhere in Spain. Wanda has hers in Scottland, Natasha has her in Iowa. He could have his with you. He can't though, he can't.

“How do you know?” No one knows. They've always kept quiet, but really, he shouldn't be surprised, it's Natasha.

She snorts, and takes another gulp of his whiskey, obviously not planning on answering. When she looks up again her smile turns wry, and maybe a little sad, “your eyes, Rogers, your eyes.”

“It's- we're not- we've never been-” he says, sighs and honestly, what surprises him even more is that Natasha seems to be surprised at that.

“Oh”, she says, and after a moment, “you're angry at her.”

“Yeah”, Steve sighs, and he feels every single one of his hundred years on this earth, “Guess I'm never not”

Natasha breaths out through her nose and it's silent for a moment.

“Yeah, I get that”

The words are so quiet he almost doesn't hear them. He doesn't understand for a moment but then he thinks of Peggy's funeral and the bitterness in Natasha's voice, says he's retired, and of the hotel room in Vienna and the cracks in the screen of her phone after she threw it against a wall, says he's taking the house arrest.

He reaches over, squeezing her hand and Natasha looks up to the ceiling.

***

You meet again in Wakanda.

“Steve”, you say, nodding your head. Your hair is shorter now, not even reaching your shoulders and Steve, Steve has images, memories in his head of your hair falling around your face when you sat on top of him, leaning down to kiss his chest, your hair tangles in his fingers, your hair-

He says your name in return and he hates how it sounds a little to breathy, a little too low and most of all he hates how he knows that you know.

You fuck again that night.

Maybe it isn't the rational, the right decision to make, but the world is ending and you show up at his door in the middle of the night, hair tangled and just as unable to find sleep as him and Steve would be lying if he says that he hasn´t missed you like a starving man.

The first time is for getting it out of your system. Hands reaching, clinging, grabbing, desperate, so, so desperate, and fast and angry and almost violent. So many years missed, spent thinking, longing for this, for you.

The second time is for holding on.

It's desperate in different way. Soft and clinging, refusing to let go, refusing to let this be the end.

End of the world sex, Steve thinks and he almost wants to laugh at that except there isn't anything to laugh at left.

“What's up”, he asks, half propped up on his elbow, staring openly at your naked form, sitting on the edge of the bed. Your head is buried in your hands and your back is turned towards him and you are so, so beautiful.

You lift your head up at his question and look at him for a long time with a look in your eyes Steve doesn't recognize. You kiss him then.

The third time is for saying goodbye.

It's slow and feverish until it's fast and soft. You kiss him, god, you kiss him and he can't get enough, he can't get enough, it will never be enough except this time, it has to be. This time might just be the last time he'll feel you shaking apart in his arms.

He remembers when he longed for something like this, something, anything, that would make him feel.

Back when he still felt so stuck in a time he didn´t belong, felt so stuck that he couldn´t breathe; back in his apartment in D.C. and with this job at SHIELD that wasn´t really anything but better than nothing and instant noodles for dinner.

Back when he had this life that wasn´t much of a life; but at least he still could believe that what he was doing what was right, at least he could still fill his days with dreams about Peggy, a matching gold band on her finger and Bucky living next door. A distant ache, bearable, at least, and just enough to make him feel something.

He looks at your sleeping form now, brows still furrowed in your sleep and he thinks his heart might just shut down. Now, Steve feels and he feels so much that he almost wishes it would just stop again.

Someone should have told Steve Rogers to be careful what he wished for.

***

Maybe it would have worked with the two of you, Steve remembers thinking, lying in that bed in Wakanda, your warm body pressed into his side.

If things wouldn't have turned out the way they did, if you hadn't hurt, hadn't damaged each other this much.

Maybe it would work now, he had thought, if you both made it out of here alive, maybe it would work then.

***

Half of earth´s population is gone and Steve Rogers has lost Bucky Barnes yet another time.

You are descending from the Quinjet, bruised and broken, all hope drained out of you.

You haven't looked each other in the eyes since it's all been done. The dust, your friends, are still stuck in your hair and Steve feels sick.

You are descending off the quinjet and there's a guy running towards you. Steve's confused for a moment but then he wraps you into a bruising hug. He pulls away a little, says something that makes you nod and slips his arm around your waist, gripping your hip in a way that Steve doesn't like.

“This is Jonathan”, you say and Steve feels like he is falling.

***

The four years are long.

At first he doesn't even try. Gives in to his grief, his self-pity, Natasha only puts a stop to it when he starts growing out his beard again.

They lost. He lost Bucky, he lost Sam, he lost Tony. He lost and half the universe died.

He lost you, too. Except that's the one thing Steve doesn't blame himself for, not when he can blame you, not when he can be angry at someone else.

Steve Rogers is a lot of things and he doesn´t like all of them, but he is not a cheater. He is honest and good, if flawed, but he is not a cheater and you made him one.

(He doesn't know how to forgive you for that)

(Most of all, it hurts that you took something, that night, that had been something so precious, almost sacred to Steve, to you, too, he had thought, and turned it into something dirty, something to regret)

He runs. He founds a self-help group. He moves into a place downtown because he can't look at Sam's old coffee cups every morning. He talks about Peggy because people want him to talk and Peggy's an old ache, painful but manageable, not the flaming white pain Steve feels when he thinks about anything else these days.

Natasha sometimes drops your name in conversations, saying something like “She and Jonathan broke up”, almost as if she was testing the waters, as if she was provoking him a little, gauging his reaction.

Truth is, he doesn´t know how to react. There are feelings over feelings in his chest when he hears your name and he doesn´t know what do with them.

***

You do not apologize.

Steve doesn´t see you for two years after the day on the platform (after you left with Jonathan, fucking Jonathan, who had his arm slung around your waist)

You are somewhere in Europe and he doesn't know what you are doing because the last time Natasha told him something about you, in that not-so-subtle-casually-dropping-your-name-way (She bought brown curtains last week as well and-).

And Steve really doesn't want to think about you or your stupid curtains that you probably hung up in your living room in a small house with an open kitchen and a front yard somewhere in fucking Europe, while Jonathan cooks you dinner.

The curtains in your old room were red.

You show up in April.

You are standing in the middle of the room, leaning against the table, arms crossed in front of your chest, casually conversing with Rhodey like you hadn't been gone for two years.

Steve can feel the anger in his chest rising just looking at you. You are wearing black boots and a blouse and your hair is pulled back neatly and you do not look like you've been depressed or sleep-deprived or affected in any way, of course.

You are living somewhere in France or Austria or the Netherlands with your boyfriend and two dogs and your fucking brown curtains (he knows you like cats more, he knows that you and Jonathan broke up, but still) and you are fine, while all of them are struggling, suffering, barely making it through the day, but still trying to hold everything upright.

You just upped and left without a single care in the world about, oh, you know, half of earth's deceased population, all of its consequences, the Avengers, all of the dead Avengers (about Steve).

Steve knows that maybe his isn't being entirely fair, but maybe he also doesn't give a single shit about fair and right at the moment. At the moment, he's just angry.

He's still standing in the door, watching you, ignoring Natasha's prying gaze burning through him.

You still haven't seen him yet.

(He wonders if you ever really will)

You do not apologize.

Not in the weeks to come, probably won't ever. You stay at the Compound, help Natasha out, try to settle in a new routine. You're back, just like that.

As if the world didn't end and you just left all of them without a second thought, as if you didn't use Steve, didn't cheat on someone with him, as if nothing had ever happened.

You're indifferent to him. You're polite but don't seek out conversation, you ignore his jabs and offer him dinner when he comes to do his laundry.

You're real mature about all of this and it pisses Steve off to no end because he's the mature one, he's the one who usually knows better.

It pisses him off because he's in pieces while you don't care.

It pisses him off because you hurt him, he let you in and you hurt him and now you pretend nothing ever happened.

Maybe you figured it didn't count, on the verge of death. Maybe you thought you'd die anyways so you wouldn't have to deal with the aftermath. Maybe you figured Steve would die and never find out.

Or maybe, maybe you just didn't think, like you always do, maybe you were just reckless for a moment and now Steve's paying for it (like he always does).

***

“I can't forgive you”, he whispers against your lips and you probably know that already because you don't react, don't flinch, don't answer, just pull him into an even harder kiss.

His words don't sting and he's starting to think maybe he wants them to.

Wants to hurt you, a little bit. Not physically, Steve isn't that low of a man, but maybe he wishes his words would sting, would hurt you, haunt you, like every syllable from your lips does with him.

(maybe he just wants to see that you care)

***

Perhaps he hates you, Steve thinks, while he is swivelling the drink in his hands, and he almost wants to laugh at the irony. You've come a full circle now, he's hated you, then he's loved you and now he hates you again (only that he hasn't stopped loving you either and he hasn't entirely worked out how that is supposed to be possible, how his heart is supposed to take that).

Someone else's hands are tracing over his chest, someone else's body is lying on his mattress, in his bed and he can almost feel you.

He hopes that you can hear him fucking another girl.

He imagines you lying on the other side of the wall, listening to her moans, his grunts, his name rolling off her lips, all breathy and high on pleasure.

He hopes there's anger and regret cursing through you, eating you up and the thought of it is enough for him to get it up. (No, he has no interest in exploring that thought further)

He says your name when he comes.

(And it hurts, it hurts that he still loves you despite it all)

***

He misses Bucky.

That's what the Snap did, he thinks bitterly, it took away half of the people he loved and made him hate the rest.

***

Steve looks at you smiling at Natasha, cutting up onions, half-heartedly trying to get back into meal prepping and he wants to say fuck you. He wants to scream it off the rooftops, in your face, in front of the whole team. Fuck you, he wants to say, fuck you for using him, for doing this to him and still claiming his heart. The words taste bitter when he swallows them down.

You are staring at the file lying on the table and he is staring at you.

You huff, shaking your head a little in frustration before you meet his eyes again and Steve wants to say kiss me, please, please, kiss him, kiss him so you can forget, kiss him so you can make everything alright again but he doesn't, he won't and the words are eating him up alive.

You are looking at the photos of Morgan Pepper sent and your lips in curve in a funny way and your eyes crinkle and Steve's not sure whether you're holding back tears or laughter and it's right there on the tip of his tongue, because most of all, most of all he wants to say I forgive you, you're not sorry but I still forgive you.

***

He's punishing you.

Except that you don't care and he's really just punishing himself.

***

“This needs to stop”, Natasha says three months after you moved back into the Compound.

He just snorts in return, not bothering to look up from the stack of papers in front of him.

“Steve”, he hears her sigh, feels her settle next to him on the couch, “you know this isn't helping anyone.”

“What? You're on her side now?”

“No, I'm on no one's side, Steve. I'm just saying the shit you're pulling right now is hurting you, the both of you.”

He thinks about your cold, neutral demeanour, you not looking at him

“It doesn't”, he retorts without missing a beat.

“It does”

“What do you even know about any of this”, he hisses, but then he thinks of all of the voice mails he's heard Natasha leave on Clint's phone late at night and he wishes he could take it back.

Natasha huffs, “Just... Just don't do something you'll regret”, she says in the end and Steve thinks it's much too late for that.

***

He finds you crying. Curled up on the gym floor, knuckles bleeding, sandbag ripped open.

You flinch away from his touch, finally meeting his eyes. Your eyes are watery, cheeks tear stained and Steve's has never seen you looking so vulnerable, so hurt (so beautiful).

Maybe he isn't the only one who is suffering after all.

He doesn't feel the satisfaction he thought he would upon that realisation.

“Are you content now?”, you snap, as if reading his thoughts.

Steve finds he can't bring himself to say yes, wonders what he is even doing all of this for then.

***

“You used me!”, he yells, his voice echoing off the empty walls.

“I didn't” You are not loud but there is so much venom in your voice that it silences Steve all the same, chest heaving, jaw clenched.

“I didn't”, you repeat, “but you are too full of yourself to ever stop for a moment and think that maybe you aren't right”

“Oh, enlighten me then! Enlighten me on how you could possibly be the victim here again!”

You open your mouth and he could scream at your self-rightousness after all of this you still can't admit that you fucked up.

“You know what, don't. Don't even try to talk yourself out of this, I don't even wanna hear it.”

Rhodey's phone rings, cutting through the deafening silence.

You are gone the next morning.

***

You're back together with Jonathan. He overheard phone calls and there's a sinking feeling in his chest he has no right to feel but it's okay because Steve has a lot of other neglected grief and emotions to deal with in an unhealthy manner first.

Natasha doesn't want to tell him anything this time around and it's probably for the better.

“You don't wanna do that to yourself again, Steve”, she sighs and starts cutting up sandwiches because Steve is way too old to have that big of a food-equals-happiness-reaction but he does and she's smart like that.

***

“I do not owe you anything”, you say out of the blue, as you stripe on your suit, “after all of this I really don't.”

Your hair is much shorter now, too short to pull it back.

Steve hasn't seen you since he yelled at you two years ago, didn't think he would ever again, but then time travel was a real thing and Tony gave him his shield back and you were leaning against the countertops, talking to Bruce.

You look tired. There are the faintest wrinkles around your eyes now and you are tired to your bones but you are doing this anyway.

He opens his mouth, snarky remark on his tongue, when you speak again.

“Jonathan was never really something before Wakanda.” You meet his eyes, almost as if challenging him and Steve can't think of a single thing to say.

All this time, all this missed time, spent hating you, when he could have just loved you.

He knows then that this, whatever this is between the two of you, is done. It should have been for a very long time now, but truth is, it never was.

Even when he hated you, hated you with all of his being, it was always you Steve Rogers imagined whispering dirty things in his ear. Even when he didn't want to, hated himself for it, would have denied it to his last breath, he loved you.

And god, he still does and maybe you do, too, but Steve knows in this very moment that you will never, ever want to again, not after all of the hurt he's caused you, not after he's crucified you for nothing for all of these years. He feels sick to his stomach, with the finality of it all.

It takes him a moment to regain his voice, it's hoarse and rough, when he speaks, “not really something?”

“I'm not saying I'm innocent – but I sure as hell didn't deserve all of that shit.”, you say, shrugging.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Would you have listened?”, you retort and he hates that he knows the answer.

“You could have tried harder”, he says then, voice still hoarse, because he's still not entirely done with not taking any of the blame.

You zip up the rest of your suit. You are going to travel in time. It doesn't sound right, no matter how many times you repeat it.

“Yeah”, you say, a strange look crossing your features and he knows you're not just talking about Jonathan anymore, “we both could have.”

***

“He loved you in every single one of them”, Strange says and Pepper smiles and Steve thinks he´d be content if he´d get just one of them, if he could just love you in this one.

***

Steve knows he´s too late when he starts running.

He watches you fall, blood splattering and he can feel the vomit coming up his throat. He can hear someone screaming and it takes him a moment to realise that it's him.

There's smoke everywhere, bodies everywhere and his lungs are burning, his feet stumbling, almost giving out from under him.

He's almost there, almost there and still not close enough, when your limp body hits the ground.

There's blood, so much blood and Steve is too late.

How comforting it is, Steve thinks, to know that there are 14 million universes out there. How comforting it is to know that there must be a universe where he gets to love you.

He closes his eyes and lets his knees give in.

(The moral of the story is that they loved and it didn´t matter)

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers smut #steve x reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers reader insert #clintasha #writing #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #endgame #infinity war

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rosethornewrites · 5 years ago

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Fic: The Rebellion of Adrien Agreste, ch. 11

Characters: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, Lila Rossi, Jagged Stone, Plagg, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Luka Couffaine, Penny Rolling, Anarka Couffaine, Rose Lavillant, Juleka Couffaine, Kagami Tsurugi, Alya Césaire, Chloé Bourgeois, Wayhem, Nadja Chamack, Nathalie Sancoeur, Sabine Cheng, Tom Dupain, Tikki, Fang, Principal Damocles, Caline Bustier, Ms. Mendeleiev, original minor character, Alec Cataldi, Lila Rossi’s Mother, Sabrina Raincomprix, Roger Raincomprix, Mylène Haprèle, Le Gorille | Adrien Agreste’s Bodyguard, Nino Lahiffe, Nooroo

Tags: Lila Rossi salt, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Teenage Rebellion, Swearing, Bad Parent Gabriel Agreste, Crack Treated Seriously, Lila Rossi’s Lies Are Exposed, Cuddling & Snuggling, Luka Couffaine Needs a Hug, Paparazzi, Parentification, Marinette Dupain-Cheng Needs a Hug, Gabriel Agreste Needs an Aneurism, Uncle Jagged Stone, we’re all queer here, the spirit of punk is sometimes just being allowed to be yourself, Kagami Finds Her Groove, punk rock fashion, Savage Kagami, Marinette protection squad, Good Parent Sabine Cheng, Good Parent Tom Dupain, Protective Kagami Tsurugi, Protective Luka Couffaine, Bisexual Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Pansexual Luka Couffaine, Sharing a Bed, Pet Names, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Instagram, Bullying, Social Media, Anxiety, Makeover, Hugs, will cure your acne, Face Punching, Bad Ass Juleka Couffaine, Rumors, Protective Juleka Couffaine, Protective Adrien Agreste, Lawyers, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Holding Hands, accountability, mental health, Jagged Stone’s well-paid pet shark, How to Make the Evening News, Sexy eyeliner for days, one fish two fish Lila is a screwed fish, How to have fun and piss Gabriel off, Fuckery, sweet litigious karma, Alya sugar, lawyer shark doo doo doo doo doo doo, Schadenfreude, Bad Ass Alya Césaire, Gaslighting, abuse denormalization, Jagged likes his lawyers like he likes his pets: toothy af, Blood in the Water, Everything you didn’t know you wanted and some things you did, Gabriel Agreste is shark bait, Denial, Consequences, Principal Damocles salt, caline bustier salt, the impotence of Gabriel Agreste, snarky Nooroo, lies and the lying liars who tell them, Lila’s brain is a narcissistic hellscape, Lila’s mind is built like an Escher piece, Alec Cataldi salt, Adrien Sugar, wholesome salt, Fu Salt, Kwami Shenanigans, Nooroo is a little shit

Summary: Snuggles and Pastries: An Interlude

Notes: Jagged ships it.

AO3 link

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

Adrien woke to find that he’d moved close enough to Luka in the night that they were snuggling, one of Luka’s arms over his chest, and Adrien’s head tucked against his chest. Their legs were tangled together. He’d never experienced this sort of thing before.

And it was wonderful.

Luka was warm and soft, and while Adrien was worried he’d be offended or embarrassed, he wasn’t inclined to move.

He was halfway back asleep when Luka’s phone alarm went off, and the other boy stirred.

Adrien felt him grope for the phone and the alarm silenced… but Luka didn’t move further, just settled back with a soft sigh.

Adrien figured it was only a matter of time before Luka woke further and pushed him away. He felt selfish as he stayed still and tried to enjoy the closeness.

Nino had once called him “touch-starved,” referring to how he liked being close to people, and he wasn’t wrong; having been starved of people and with an unaffectionate father did that, apparently. He craved it. An arm around the shoulder, hugs… anything, really. This, though, was a special sort of torture—accidental instead of on purpose, the sensation without the meaning.

“Why so tense?”

Luka’s voice was so unexpected Adrien couldn’t stop himself from jerking back, gasping.

“Shit.” Luka propped himself up on one elbow. “Didn’t mean to startle you. You okay?”

Adrien nodded. “Y-yeah. Sorry. I guess I snuggle in my sleep.”

That got a soft chuckle. “You aren’t the only one. Don’t worry about it.”

“I know, but…” he sighed. “I don’t want to cross your boundaries.”

“Hey, I like cuddling. It doesn’t have to mean anything sexual unless the participants want it to.” Luka smiled. “And anyway, it’ll give everyone the idea we want them to have.”

Adrien nodded. “Yeah. I just hope I’m not inconveniencing you. I mean… I know you’re interested in Mari, and if you’re fake-dating me, you can’t real-date her.”

Luka sighed softly. “Marinette’s heart is elsewhere, Adrien. And she may never see me the way I see her. And, anyway, I want to help you.”

“I know… but last night you said Mari does what you do—hides her feelings,” Adrien bit his lip. “I just… let me know if anything bothers you. Your feelings matter, too.”

The soft look Luka gave him made his heart flutter a bit.

“Thanks, mon étoile,” Luka murmured, pulling him into a warm hug. “It’s… not easy, but I’ll work on letting you know.”

This snuggling was real, and Adrien let himself relax, snaking one arm around Luka. He was drifting off again when Luka’s phone alarm went off again.

“Secondary alarm,” Luka told him. “We’ll have to get up if Jagged’s going to have time to do your kohl.”

Adrien grumbled, but grudgingly extracted his limbs from Luka’s. “Do you think it’s okay to wear the jeans I wore yesterday for photos?”

“Probably not. Wear one of the distressed pairs—it’ll piss your dad off more, you wearing clothes with holes in them.”

That got a giggle from the blond. “‘We are not paupers, Adrien. You will dress appropriately,’” he mocked, using an approximation of Gabriel’s voice. “That’ll be perfect for the media frenzy.”

After they’d gotten video of the three of them jamming and posted it to social media, Jagged had sent hotel staff to get pajamas for the two of them. Fortunately Chloé hadn’t started pounding on the door until after those were delivered, so they had all ignored her. Adrien hasn’t been ready to face her, or to put Luka through that. She could see him in the morning like the rest of Paris.

It didn’t take either of them long to dress, and then an espresso-chugging Jagged demonstrated on himself how to apply kohl before doing it for Adrien.

“Decided less is more for you,” the rocker said. “Just enough to make your eyes pop. Makes you look like… I dunno. Otherworldly or whatever.”

In the mirror, Adrien could see what he meant. The kohl lining his eyes contrasted the green in a way that made them almost gem-like, giving him a fey appearance.

“I like it,” he said. “Should I wear the leather today, or the hoodie?”

“We want to sneak you into school, so the hoodie might be better,” Luka said. “So we don’t get intercepted.”

Jagged grinned. “You’ll both be in the limo and we’ll pull right up to the school. The leather gives a bigger statement.”

Adrien pulled on the leather.

“And we’re picking up Marinette, as well,” Penny added. “I’ve called her, and asked her if she’ll dress up for effect.”

“Are you sure?” Adrien asked. “Father might go after her.”

“He does, he has me to contend with,” Jagged muttered. “And anyway, we gotta get you in some of her designs. Even if your bullshit underage contract—which I bet wouldn’t hold up in court given the fact that it was forced on you by your shithead dad—says you can’t model for anyone else, Instagram isn’t a modeling gig.”

Luka patted his shoulder. “And she wants to, anyway. You know how stubborn Marinette can be.”

Adrien smiled, thinking about that. “She really is. It’s endearing.”

“Sometimes. Other times you just want to help her, but she won’t let you.”

He felt his smile fade, reminded of what Lila had done, how Marinette had shouldered it all herself.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “Definitely. She does do that.”

Luka offered a wry smile. “We’ll help her. And we know Jagged and Penny will too.”

“Damn straight,” Jagged said. “And we best get going.”

Adrien blinked. “Um… Shouldn’t M. Dupain and Mme. Cheng also be part of this?”

“Penny called them earlier, while you two were still cuddling, and they are. They got part-timers who’ll cover while they go to the collége with us. Lawyer’s at the bakery already. Tom and Sabine have breakfast waiting for us, even.”

Jagged chuckled. “Oh, and I’ll send you lot the picture I took later. Cute as hell, you two are. Might be good for Instagram, eh?”

Adrien felt his cheeks heat, and Luka had a blush that he was sure matched his own.

“Anyway, Penny’s waiting in the limo with Fang. Got André to clear the route through the hotel to the limo, so we’re good.”

He handed each of them a pair of sunglasses—replicas of the ones Marinette made for him. “Ready to do this in style?”

They made it to the bakery without issue, and were joined by Marinette, Tom, Sabine, and a stern-looking woman in a skirt suit.

Marinette was wearing ripped fuchsia leggings and a pair of black high-waisted shorts with two rows of silver buttons. Her top was a crop-top, a long-sleeve black fishnet over a pink sleeveless shell that matched the leggings. All were obviously her own design.

She blushed when she saw Adrien and Luka staring. “Um, I designed this but hadn’t had a reason to wear it yet. Though I put the rips in the leggings last night before bed. Figured it was more rock ‘n roll, and I can make another pair later.”

“Definitely,” Jagged told her.

Tom handed out pastries from a large box while Marinette passed around coffee. Jagged showed Sabine how to pet Fang—who was pleased with the attention.

“Kagami’s meeting us in front of the collége, too,” Marinette told them. “We’ll be able to greet her and then she’ll confirm our story to the press.”

Jagged turned to Luka. “After your public goodbye to your boyfriend, the limo’ll take you home. Anarka knows what’s going on, too. Been harassing the paparazzi—she’s good at that. Bet she’s run some of ’em off.”

Luka nodded, then pulled Adrien and Marinette in for a hug. “We can do this.”

A flash surprised them, and Sabine lowered her phone. “You do. And we have your backs, kids.”

Adrien took a bite of his pain au chocolat, glad Marinette had thought to bring his favorite breakfast. He was ready for this—as ready as he could be.

It was time to meet the press.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfiction #ml salt #miraculous salt #my fanfiction #The Rebellion of Adrien Agreste #adrien agreste #jagged stone #uncle jagged #luka couffaine #lukadrien #sabine cheng #tom dupain #kagami tsurugi #anarka couffaine #gabriel agreste #gabriel agreste’s a+ parenting #lila salt #marinette dupain cheng

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archangelgabriellives · 4 years ago

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Rich Appreciation 2020 Day 2

Word count: 1000

Fandom: Driven

Pairings: Eventual Roger x Reader (maybe)

Warnings: Fight scene

A/N: This works because I say it does

<<-- Chapter 1

Chapter 2: First time

How fast can a person dial 911?

The question idly bounced around Y/N’s mind as she blinked dumbly at the woman on the other side of her counter.

“Where is he?” the woman asked, her voice still rumbling too deep to be normal.

“I-I don't know who you're talking about.” Y/N jumped suddenly when the woman slammed her fists on the steel countertop, the glint of a small knife in her fist catching Y/N’s eye.

“The hunter!” she screamed. “Where is he!? Or would you rather take his place?”

The thought of 911 ran through Y/N’s mind again, albeit a little more frantically than before. Too bad she realized her phone wasn't in her pocket right now. Ok, maybe she could try and talk this person down. Obviously they weren't in their right mind, but damn it was all she could do right now.

Y/N opened her mouth, body shaking and not even knowing what she was going to say, but was cut off by the sound of the bathroom door opening up down the side hall. She heard footsteps, light and easy; he had no idea what he was walking into! The woman’s devilish smile perked up again, nostrils flaring as she scented the air again.

God, that’s so creepy.

Roger rounded the corner, completely oblivious to the danger out in the front area. He stopped in his tracks, paper towel frozen in his hands. Amber eyes bounced between the two women in the lobby.

“Oh, shit.”

The woman raised her knife, let out an inhumanly loud screech, and was on Roger in a flash.

He almost wasn't ready for her. Roger’s leather satchel was whipped around just in time, and a well aimed swipe knocked the woman off balance. Y/N heard the knife skitter across the linoleum floor as she ran to grab her phone.

Even though she was disarmed, that didn't mean this nasty woman was powerless. She punched, clawed, grabbed as Roger fought back as best he could. A well timed punch sent Roger flailing back onto a table, and Y/N had barely hit the little green call button to call 911 on her phone when she saw Roger come back with...was that a salt shaker? Did he just throw salt at someone throwing punches?? The weirdest thing was that it looked like it really did some damage.

The woman reeled back, screaming in pain as she tried to wipe the tiny salt crystals from her face.

“911, where is your emergency?” The tinny voice of the 911 operator filtered through the speaker.

“SILVER!”

Y/N eyes whipped over to Roger again. “What?!”

“I need something silver!” he yelled, finally getting a little bit of an upper hand and grasping the still struggling woman in a headlock.

“Hello? Ma’am?”

Abandoning the phone, Y/N frantically scanned through her equipment behind the counter. Chrome, steel, more chrome. Ugh!

“Can't you just knock her out?!!” Y/N yelled.

Roger growled as the woman flailed even harder. “Uh, she’s a little worked up for that right now.”

Y/N ran a frustrated hand through her hair; nothing looked like it would work.

“Come on!”

“I’m looking!”

Finally, up on the walls, Y/N saw something that would work. An antique silverware set that her mother had gifted when she opened her doors to her business. Been in the family for generations, she had said. Now all she could do was hope that her ancestors weren't cheap-o’s or liars.

Y/N climbed up on the rickety stool, her fingers just barely reaching along the edge of the shadow box. This had better be worth it. Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N saw the two of them still struggling. The woman broke Roger’s hold on her, turned quick, and landed a kick right between his legs.

Roger let out a sharp moan of pain, and Y/N flinched in sympathy, hissing through her teeth. The woman gave him no time to recover, though, as she pulled her arm back and punched him square in the jaw. Roger fell to the floor, and the woman turned her anger to Y/N, still standing on the stool, shadow box in hand.

Before the woman could take a step towards her, Y/N smashed the box to the ground, Roger’s pained groans still filling the air. Well, at least he hadn't passed out.

Heart beating furiously, Y/N, as carefully as she could, sifted through the shattered glass to grab the biggest knife in the silverware set. Shit, it was a three inch butter knife. Not even sharp. But Y/N held it in her shaking fists like it was her only hope.

Because maybe it was.

“S-Stay back!” The tremor in her voice was prominent, but she tried to hold the small knife with some sort of conviction.

“Maybe you’d like to be one of us, eh girl?” The woman leapt onto the counter with no effort at all, sending Y/N jumping back. She cackled at Y/N’s obvious fear, stalking forward to crowd against her, Y/N’s knife pressing onto her chest. “You,” she crooned, “would love it.”

“Her mouth…”

Y/N and the woman both turned back to Roger, standing on his shaking legs and supporting himself on a table.

“What?” Y/N asked.

“Put the silver in her mouth!”

Y/N and the woman turned back to each other, Y/N’s wide eyes meeting the narrowed angry ones of her attacker. She took in a sharp breath, and lunged forward, pressing the knife to the woman's lips. There was a sizzling sound, and the woman opened her mouth to scream in pain. When her lips parted, Y/N jammed the knife in further, a white light burning up from her throat.

She screeched even louder, her body tensing up before she crumbled at Y/N’s feet.

There were a few moments where Y/N could only hear the rain falling, a gentle static that kept her from screaming herself. Her breaths came out in ragged pants, and she idly thought this day couldn't get any worse.

“Congratulations.”

Y/N turned her head, slowly looking over to Roger, still recovering from the swift kick to his manhood.

“You just exercised your first demon.”

“Wha-?”

“For lack of a better word.”

@nongaberichbang

Everything tags

@doctor-zyre @ourloveisforthelovely @authoressskr @superwhoavengelocketc-blog @mscrazycatbitch @emmii4 @redberrysweets @space-time-paradox @tgpanther @anxietywontmakethewordsgo @I4life @l4life @acarpouschimerical @warlockwriter @geekymagicalpotato @mir567 @azlinh @justa-crayon @turkeycleverness @shaylybaby2032

#rich appreciation week 2020 #driven #driven fan fiction #roger x reader #maybe #first time #it works because its the first time exercising a demon #and im counting it #fight scene #damage to the family jewels #ouch

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yet-another-fan-girl9 · 4 years ago

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Mandy’s 200 Follower Celebration Masterlist

I’ve reached 200 followers on Tumblr!!

For reaching 200 followers, I have decided to put myself through hell by writing 200 200 word drabbles with The Fake Redhead's prompts.

The order of drabbles goes in the same order my Masterlist lists them but sometimes I have to switch them around if the prompt doesn't work (eg: "How did you get the car on the roof?" doesn't work with GOT or POTC characters)

NEVER MIND THAT I’M JUST WRITING FOR WHO EVER NOW (12/30/21)

If you want any of these drabbles to be extended, just ask!!

(I’m also not doing LoTR because it’s been a while.)

Masterlist

#1) Bucky Barnes - “You say ‘potato’, I say ‘damn it, put the ray-gun down’!”

#2) Steve Rogers - “All I’m saying is that if you blow up the house, you are so fired.”

#3) Loki - “Yes, but last week a dragon set my hair on fire, so it’s your turn to negotiate.”

#4) Natasha Romanoff - “Look, I’m sorry I missed your inauguration, but I was stuck in 1754.”

#5) Peter Parker - “I’d agree with you but then we’d both be wrong.”

#6) Wanda Maximoff - "You know what they say, panicking burns a shit-ton of calories.”

#7) Pietro Maximoff - “My boss came into work wearing a T-rex costume, and the day got worse from there.”

#8) Jessica Jones - “Are you… crying?”

#9) Jack Thompson - “Cats don’t have eight legs.”

#10) Grant Ward - “But why is his brain green?”

#11) Daisy Johnson - “I’m going to need chicken blood, salt, five candles, and a bottle of vodka.”

#12) Dean Winchester - “You always think you know what you’d do when faced with the end of the world.”

#13) Mando - “I grew up in the desert, I don’t know what weather is, let alone snow.”

#14) “But why is the moon gone?”

#15) “My leg just got dematerialized and you want me to calm down!?”

#16) “This plan of yours is going to get all of us killed. Of course I’m in.”

#17) “It’s just that he has a great reading voice.”

#18) “I still want to know how you got the car on the roof.

#19) “I’m not going to help you take over the world.”

#20) “When you wake up, you must give me the message.”

#21) “Did you open the package?”

#22) “What was it like to die?”

#23) “The only thing scarier than the unknown is me.”

#24) “Woe is me.”

#25) “What’s the word for that infestation of tiny creatures over there?”

#26) “Hey man, nice tattoo.”

#27) “Oh, look at all the pretties!”

#28) “If I go through with this, I die.”

#29) “Can someone tell me why this coffee tastes like apples?”

#30) “The surgery was easy.”

#31) Getting over a wall.

#32) God and the Devil are having a conversation.

#33) My best friend is now my guardian angel.

#34) “I’ll accidentally navigate us off a cliff.”

#35) It all started with a glitter bomb.

#36) “Just, take a deep breath or something!”

#37) “What’s our exit strategy?”

#38) “Oh my god, I had the exact same dream!”

#39) “We have five people trying to kill us right now.”

#40) “Really? They still have cliques in heaven?”

#41) “The first circle of hell has a day spa.”

#42) “You don’t get to pin this break-in on me.��

#43) Waking up with unexplainable bruises.

#44) “I was going to say something mean about them, but I won’t.”

#45) “Is that blood?” “No?”

#46) “This is all your fault.” “I hope so.”

#47) Loki - “

#48) Natasha Romanoff - “

#49) Peter Parker - “

#50) Wanda Maximoff - “

#51) Pietro Maximoff - “

#52) Jessica Jones - “

#53) Jack Thompson - “

#54) Grant Ward - “

#55) Daisy Johnson - “

#56) Jon Snow - “

#57) Robb Stark - “

#58) Sansa Stark - “

#59) Daenerys Targaryen - “

#60) Dean Winchester - “

#61) Sam Winchester - “

#62) Castiel - “

#63) Lucifer - “

#64) James Norrington - “

#65) Billy Hargrove - “

#66) Steve Harrington - “

#67) Bucky Barnes - “

#68) Steve Rogers - “

#69) Loki - “

#70) Natasha Romanoff - “

#71) Peter Parker - “

#72) Wanda Maximoff - “

#73) Pietro Maximoff - “

#74) Jessica Jones - “

#75) Jack Thompson - “

#76) Grant Ward - “

#77) Daisy Johnson - “

#78) Jon Snow - “

#79) Robb Stark - “

#80) Sansa Stark - “

#81) Daenerys Targaryen - “

#82) Dean Winchester - “

#83) Sam Winchester - “

#84) Castiel - “

#85) Lucifer - “

#86) James Norrington - “

#87) Billy Hargrove - “

#88) Steve Harrington - “

#89) Bucky Barnes - “

#90) Steve Rogers - “

#91) Loki - “

#92) Natasha Romanoff - “

#93) Peter Parker - “

#94) Wanda Maximoff - “

#95) Pietro Maximoff - “

#96) Jessica Jones - “

#97) Jack Thompson - “

#98) Grant Ward - “

#99) Daisy Johnson - “

#100) Jon Snow - “

#101) Robb Stark - “

#102) Sansa Stark - “

#103) Daenerys Targaryen - “

#104) Dean Winchester - “

#105) Sam Winchester - “

#106) Castiel - “

#107) Lucifer - “

#108) James Norrington - “

#109) Billy Hargrove - “

#110) Steve Harrington - “

#111) Bucky Barnes - “

#112) Steve Rogers - “

#113) Loki - “

#114) Natasha Romanoff - “

#116) Peter Parker - “

#117) Wanda Maximoff - “

#118) Pietro Maximoff - “

#119) Jessica Jones - “

#120) Jack Thompson - “

#121) Grant Ward - “

#122) Daisy Johnson - “

#123) Jon Snow - “

#124) Robb Stark - “

#125) Sansa Stark - “

#126) Daenerys Targaryen - “

#127) Dean Winchester - “

#128) Sam Winchester - “

#129) Castiel - “

#130) Lucifer - “

#131) James Norrington - “

#132) Billy Hargrove - “

#133) Steve Harrington - “

#134) Bucky Barnes - “

#135) Steve Rogers - “

#136) Loki - “

#137) Natasha Romanoff - “

#138) Peter Parker - “

#139) Wanda Maximoff - “

#140) Pietro Maximoff - “

#141) Jessica Jones - “

#142) Jack Thompson - “

#143) Grant Ward - “

#144) Daisy Johnson - “

#145) Jon Snow - “

#146) Robb Stark - “

#147) Sansa Stark - “

#148) Daenerys Targaryen - “

#149) Dean Winchester - “

#150) Sam Winchester - “

#151) Castiel - “

#152) Lucifer - “

#153) James Norrington - “

#154) Billy Hargrove - “

#155) Steve Harrington - “

#156) Bucky Barnes - “

#157) Steve Rogers - “

#158) Loki - “

#159) Natasha Romanoff - “

#160) Peter Parker - “

#161) Wanda Maximoff - “

#162) Pietro Maximoff - “

#163) Jessica Jones - “

#164) Jack Thompson - “

#165) Grant Ward - “

#166) Daisy Johnson - “

#167) Jon Snow - “

#168) Robb Stark - “

#169) Sansa Stark - “

#170) Daenerys Targaryen - “

#171) Dean Winchester - “

#172) Sam Winchester - “

#173) Castiel - “

#174) Lucifer - “

#175) James Norrington - “

#176) Billy Hargrove - “

#177) Steve Harrington - “

#178) Bucky Barnes - “

#179) Steve Rogers - “

#180) Loki - “

#181) Natasha Romanoff - “

#182) Peter Parker - “

#183) Wanda Maximoff - “

#184) Pietro Maximoff - “

#185) Jessica Jones - “

#186) Jack Thompson - “

#187) Grant Ward - “

#188) Daisy Johnson - “

#189) Jon Snow - “

#190) Robb Stark - “

#191) Sansa Stark - “

#192) Daenerys Targaryen - “

#193) Dean Winchester - “

#194) Sam Winchester - “

#195) Castiel - “

#196) Lucifer - “

#197) James Norrington - “

#198) Billy Hargrove - “

#199) Steve Harrington - “

#200) “

9 notes · View notes

yehet-me-up · 5 years ago

Text

The Play’s The Thing

Pairing: Jongin x reader

Genre: theater/actors!AU, friends to lovers, fluff

Rating: PG13 for language

Word Count: 2,683

Request: "I can't take making love to anyone but you" NINI SMUT FAMKS

‘Fanny! You are killing me!’

‘No man dies of love but on the stage, Mr. Crawford.’

‘You seemed almost as fearful of notice and praise as other women were of neglect,’ Daniel says to you, with undue pomp and circumstance.

He carries on with the rest of his monologue, so seriously and stiffly that you want to snort. You catch Jongin’s amused look from where he stands and almost cave. For weeks he’s shown an almost supernatural ability to make you lose your ass and laugh at the most inopportune times.

But this isn’t your first rodeo; nor is it your first overly self-important acting partner, and you refuse to break character. Fanny Price would be proud indeed of your composure.

Other than Daniel’s overacting, the dress rehearsal goes off without a hitch. Tomorrow night you’ll be on stage again, this time in full costume and make-up, living your dream. The thought makes your stomach buzz with excitement. No matter how many plays you do, it never gets old.

‘I don’t know how you keep a straight face,’ a male voice says in your ear later, in the dressing room.

His breath teases the skin of your neck and you grin involuntarily. You can’t help it, no matter how professional and composed you try to be Jongin has a certain effect on you. When you turn he’s slinging his bag over his shoulder and raising a brow at you.

You turn off the lights at your dressing station and give him a wink. ‘Patience you must have, my young padawan.’

He turns off his own and folds his arms, leaning a hip on the table. ‘Want to run lines tonight?’

Your grin fades. ‘I think we’re both as ready as we’ll ever be,’ you reply quickly. Best to keep your distance from him, now that this is almost over.

Instantly you regret the words as you watch his face fall. Dammit, he looks like a sad puppy dog and all you can think about is kissing his stupidly handsome face. Therein lies the problem; if you go to the bar down the street, or to his apartment or yours, one more time and run lines with him... you might officially fall in love with him.

Which is definitely not going to happen.

‘We could just get a drink then? To celebrate opening night tomorrow?’

You sigh, caving and hating yourself for it. ‘Alright fine. But you’re buying.’

‘Deal.’ He smiles - so easily, so brightly, you wonder how on earth he’s remained so untainted by the world that joy comes so easily to him.

The walk to Mulligan’s down the street is your hell and your heaven all in one. It’s an exquisite torture to be walking down the sidewalk in NYC with such a handsome man beside you, watching the sky paint a colorful sunset

His arm is warm and strong slung casually around your waist. The way he meanders in an out of conversation with joy. Both would make it seem like you’re a couple to anyone passing by.

You sigh as he holds open the door and escorts you to the familiar booth you usually occupy in the corner.

He even orders for you. Not in a possessive asshat way, like he knows best. But with an ease bred from the fact that he knows what you like. It should shock you, that you’d be fine with someone else taking control, but by this point you’re used to being surprised by Jongin.

‘Are you excited for tomorrow? Or nervous?’ you ask him conversationally once the drinks arrive.

He takes a drink and considers the question, his brows tugging together. ‘Hmm, mostly excited. It may only be my second official rodeo, but I think I’m ready.’

‘That’s good, I’m glad. You’ve been working your ass off. If I didn’t know you were still a rookie I’d have thought you’ve been doing this for years.’

He bows dramatically in thanks. ‘What are you most looking forward to about the opening tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow I get to catch you in flagrante delicto with Jennifer Rogers and try not to laugh my ass off on stage. So that will be fun.’ You joke with him, but inside the thought makes you want to punch something.

‘Oh, come on. You know I can’t take making love to anyone but you,’ he counters with a cheesy grin.

His eyes are teasing, but they also drift down to focus on your lips briefly and you feel that frisson of heat that stirs annoyingly whenever you think about kissing him for real, off stage.

‘Easy tiger, Fanny Price is a lady,’ you say with a hair flip. ‘The most she does on stage is kiss. Thank you very much.’

‘She does kiss two different men though,’ he says with a waggle of his brows. ‘Scandalous.’

‘Jerk.’ You laugh and throw a sugar packet at him.

He dodges it easily. ‘So. Who’s the better kisser, me or Daniel?’

‘Who’s the better kisser, me or Jenn?’ you counter rapidly to avoid letting him know how much you love to make out with him on stage.

He holds up his hands in surrender. ‘Touché.’

The waitress stops by and he orders another round and some french fries.

‘You know, I saw her and that AADA prick who plays Mr. Rushworth making out in the props closet last week,’ he says conversationally.

Your eyebrows shoot up. ‘Well, at least it’s on brand, right?’

He laughs easily and takes another swig of his beer. ‘They seem happy. I’m glad for them.’

‘Kind of cliche, don’t you think? Falling in love while performing Mansfield Park,’ you say.

He runs his thumb along a deep groove in the wood of the table, his brows pulling together in thought. ‘I think it’s nice. Life imitating art and all that. Especially when it comes to love. More love is never a bad thing.’

You laugh, too loudly for the moment, and take another sip. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, his lips tugging into a lopsided grin.

‘I know, you think I’m too sentimental,’ he says, holding your gaze.

One day you’re going to sit down and figure out how the hell he gets behind your miles of armor, you think. How he undoes you and makes you more vulnerable and exposed than you’ve ever been. As if there’s something in his cologne or on his touch that makes him your truth serum.

‘No, it’s not that at all,’ you say and swallow around the feelings rising in you. ‘I think it’s sweet that you believe in love so much.’

‘There are as many forms of love as there are moments in time,’ he says dramatically, waving an arm broadly out to his side.

‘Okay fine. I’ll give you that,’ you say pointing at him with the hand holding your beer.

‘You must believe in it to some degree. Even the most cold hearted actress has to have a bit of a soft and sentimental interior. You have to, to do what we do.’

‘Yes, of course.’ He knows how much you hate talking about feelings, but you decide to indulge him. ‘I love my family dearly, natch. My friends. My cats. And I love acting. I’m so blessed to be doing this full time.’

You look around at the dive bar; the faded neon lights, the bikers playing pool in the corner, the waitress carrying a gigantic plate of nachos. You think about your self-described heart of stone and wonder what you’d qualify as love.

‘I love queso, no question. A damn fine cup of coffee. Walks through Central Park when it’s snowing. I love discovering an amazing musical off- off- off- Broadway and knowing it will blow up soon, but I saw it first. Still can’t say I’ve ever personally experienced the kind of love ol’ Jane was so keen on.’

He ponders that while he watches you, a question working its way around his face and you know it’s going to hit you hard when he asks.

‘What kind of love do you have for me, then? Am I on par with queso?’

He doesn’t say it in a smart-ass way. Nor does he say it in jest. There’s something so sincere and open in his face when he asks that your mouth falls open slightly.

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry, and in that moment you see a million ways this could play out. Your creative mind can’t help but imagine endless possibilities.

You could slide back into the guise of the whip-smart, sassy woman you’re comfortable with and tell him he’ll need to buy you more than a few beers to earn the level of queso. Then he will stop looking like every romance lead ever and you’ll put him permanently in the ‘devilishly handsome, talented, and kind, but just friends’ category and all is well.

You could tease that he’s far too delicious to be just queso; that he’s perhaps an expensive dark chocolate. With sea salt. Maybe you’ll watch him with bedroom eyes and lick your lips. Maybe he’ll invites you back to his place and you will have sex, finally. Maybe you’ll get part, but not even close to all of what you secretly want from him.

You could tell him he makes your heart sing and causes you to want all the stupid things you swore you’d never be naive enough to want from a man.

You could tell him you love him more than New York city, damn near more than acting. You could tell him you’ve fallen head over heels for him over the past few months; that you’d even be willing to follow him back to LA when this play wraps.

But… no. He’s not some manic pixie dream boy, here to charm you out of your tough outer shell; or some hero, riding up on his white horse to save you from another night alone in your bed.

He’s just a man who couldn’t possibly want you back, who can’t know how much this question makes you long for things that will never be.

So you look down at your beer to escape the intensity of his gaze and shake your head slightly.

‘Yes, Jongin. I love you like I love queso. You’re equally as good with a beer.’ You give him a warm smile and click your bottle to his before taking a sip.

He chuckles to himself. ‘Are you going to leave me and run off with our oh-so-formal Daniel? Will I be cast aside just like Henry Crawford.’ He clutches his chest like the thought pains him.

‘Excuse me, you’re hardly Henry Crawford.’

He scoffs. ‘What, aren’t I as handsome? As impulsive? As romantic?’

‘Hmmm. Handsome, impulsive, and romantic? Yes, that’s definitely you. But a bastard and a cheat? Nah, you could ever be that.’

The joking leaves his eyes and he watches you curiously. You wonder what he sees.

‘So, you think I’m handsome then?’

You choke on a sip of beer. Shit. ‘Umm. I’m pretty sure anyone with a pulse would know you’re handsome. Aliens on Mars know it. Prehistoric fossils know it.’

He shakes his head, suddenly more serious. ‘No, but you think I’m handsome?’

The change in tone makes your heart race and you awkwardly brush your hair behind your ear. ‘Of course I do. Why does it matter though?’

He looks relieved and leans back in his chair. ‘Because I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world and I just wanted to make sure you weren’t joking.’

He says it so matter of factly you struggle to accept the compliment. Surely he’s just being dramatic. ‘Ha ha, very funny.’

With a noise of frustration he grips the table and pulls his chair around so he’s sitting side by side with you. He holds your gaze and rests his hand on your knee.

With anyone else you’d be driven mad by how casual and touchy-feely he is. An arm across your shoulders at read-throughs. Nudging your feet with his when you lean against opposite couches at your place. The way he toys with the hair on the back of your neck when he thinks you’re focusing too hard.

‘I’m not kidding. I like you. A lot. You always laugh it off when I say something romantic, so I just assumed you weren’t interested in being more than friends.’

Your mouth falls open. ‘Are you fucking with me?’

He makes the damn puppy dog face again. ‘No, I’m not. I even tried to kiss you once, for real, remember? Backstage after that long night of blocking scenes last week?’

You frown and try to remember. ‘I mean... you helped me fix that necklace that was tangled. And we were standing close, but I absolutely would have remembered you trying to kiss me.’

He looks up at the ceiling and smiles, closing his eyes as if he’s asking for divine guidance. When he looks back at you he seems older, wiser, and more resolved.

‘No, I had my hand resting on your jaw and leaned in. Then you started talking incredibly fast about remembering to face center stage during my monologue and I took that as my queue you weren’t interested.’

‘Oh.’ You laugh to yourself. Has he honestly been just as into me for weeks and I didn’t see it? ‘I figured you were just being nice. You’re really interested in me?’

Once your initial confusion and surprise have passed you get back to the important point at hand. ‘But you live in LA and I live here. I’m older than you.’

Now that you’ve started talking it once again doesn’t feel like you can stop. ‘And I probably make more money, which bothers a lot of men. I’m a morning person and you’re a night owl. And-’

In one smooth motion he lifts his free hand to cup your face and kisses you, cutting you off. He swallows your noise of surprise and works his lips against yours in earnest, his thumb massaging the skin behind your ear.

After a beat your surprise fades and you melt into him. You’d forgotten how amazing kissing someone is when it’s for real and not on the stage.

Then again, you’ve been kissing him for weeks as Fanny Price and he tastes just as true and wonderful as he always does. The way his hand slides up to hold your thigh, however, is definitely not something he’d ever be able to do as Mr. Crawford.

You lean forward and fist a hand in the shirt at his chest, tugging him closer. He smiles into the kiss and you feel his rumble of laughter.

When he’s not being professional as an actor he certainly kisses like he means it. On stage the kisses are prim and proper. Five seconds, timed to perfection. Smudge-proof lip stain, for both of you.

But now that you’re alone he kisses like an earthquake, steady and powerful, decimating your doubt and asking entrance into your heart.

When you pull back, what feels like a second an an eternity later simultaneously, you’re both breathing heavily. He gives you another megawatt smile and you lift your finger to stroke down his neck, in awe of him and the fact that you missed, well, all of this.

‘Does that help your concerns?’ he asked, smug and pleased.

You laugh and kiss his cheek. ‘We’ve got a lot of practical details to sort out. But for now, yes, it does.’

He nods, seemingly unable to stop smiling. ‘Good. About time, too. I’ve been flirting with you for ages.’

‘Well, loverboy. Make good use of those flirting skills and get over here and kiss me some more.’

He laughs and reaches for his wallet, looking for the waitress. When he makes eye contact with her he turns back to you and winks. ‘Let’s go to my place. I want to kiss you in a way that’s far too inappropriate for how much you hate PDA.’

You shake your head in amusement at how well he knows you. ‘Deal.’

#DRABBLEPALOOZA #jongin x reader #kai x reader #jongin fanfic #kai fanfic #exo x reader #exo fanfic #jongin fluff #kai fluff #exo fluff

191 notes · View notes

sweetness47 · 5 years ago

Text

Risks

Pairing Dean x Vampire!Reader

@heavenandhellbingo – Silver/Salt/Holy water

@spndeanbingo – vampire

@spngenrebingo – enemies to lovers

@spnkinkbingo – purgatory! Dean

Warnings!!! MATURE 18+ READERS ONLY!!! Smut, angst, language etc…

Summary: Dean’s in purgatory, and in trouble…but from the monsters or his own heart? Written from Dean’s POV.

Jesus, the monsters were never ending! I’d lost track of Benny, but managed somehow to stay alive. There was no rest, no time to relax. Just hiding, running, fighting. I was tired, but I couldn’t give up. I had to find a way back home, back to Cas, back to Sam.

I didn’t hear the damn leviathan come up behind me, but he wasted no time in trying to tear me apart. I barely managed to avoid the teeth, squirming constantly in a vain attempt to get myself out of his powerful grip. I could feel my ribs begin to bruise, they were close to breaking, but he was so strong, and I was tired.

Just as I begin to lose consciousness, she came out of nowhere, ramming into the huge monster, knocking all of us to the ground. The leviathan scum focused on the new threat, his growl menacing, trying to scare her. But she stood and stared him down. He charged. She evaded. He charged once more, she grabbed his arm as she sidestepped, and ripped it right off it’s body. The creature howled in pain, mixing with the anger he felt as he attempted once again to attack. She easily avoided his charge, then did a quick turn around, thin blade in hand, and decapitated the creature.

I did a double take. This was too good to be true. A hot chick, and I mean H.O.T!!! Even with pain in my chest from the ribs, my dick was more than willing to test her features. But, after watching her fight and take that thing down, I was hesitant. While she cleaned her blade (it was one hell of a blade by the way), I pulled a flask of holy water from my jacket and poured some on my hand.

She reached out to help me up, and I accepted the offer, first using the regular hand. She was way stronger than a human, there was no strain at all as she helped me to my feet.

“Thanks for the assist.” I managed, holding my torso.

“No problem. I was in the neighbourhood.”

My cock twitched. Her voice was something out of a fantasy dream. Soft, pliable, sweet like honey.

Fuck!!

“I’m Dean.” I said, holding out the test hand, the one with the ‘water’.

She reached to grab it. “YN.”

A hiss escaped her lips as her hand made contact with the holy water. “Fuck!” She jerked her hand back and looked at the blistered palm.

My saviour was a freakin’ vamp.

I raised my blade. “Why did you help me?”

She sheathed her katana. “Easy. I’m not looking to kill you. I might be a vampire, but I didn’t choose this life. I hate what I am. I kill these freaks here for fun. And I’ve never killed a human.”

I raised a brow. “Ever drank blood?”

“Only the occasional lycanthrope. I hate the taste. I drink only when I find my energy is low.”

“Huh.”

If she was lying, she was doing a damn good job of it. I believed her. And it wasn’t just because I thought she was hot.

Leaves crunching broke the awkward silence. “We should move. I know a place where we can hide out.” She motioned me to follow her, and since the options were rather low, I went.

My ribs were aching something fierce, but I kept the pace, knowing the dangers we could potentially run in to. By the time we got to her safe location, I was all but wheezing. I was sure one of the ribs were cracked, possibly more.

She saw my discomfort as we entered the shelter. “I need to look at your ribcage, and bind them. You need to rest.”

I gave her a sideways glance. “I suppose you’re a doctor?”

She nodded. “Yes, actually. Before I was turned, I was an emergency doctor.” When I didn’t move right away, she added, “I promise I won’t hurt or bite you.”

I sighed carefully and nodded. She helped me remove my jacket and shirt, then examined my torso. I looked down at the bruising. It was bad. I winced as she felt them, checking for breaks. The last one made me actually grunt and pull away.

“This one is definitely cracked Dean. Wait here, I’ll grab something to bind them.”

I wasn’t going to argue. Truthfully, it felt good to sit, although I was pretty sure sleep would be non existent. Purgatory didn’t have any pharmacy stores. So I was shit out of luck for Tylenol. She came back with some ripped up blankets and did my ribcage up nice and tight.

She helped me lay down, removing my boots for me. Then she went and grabbed me some food. It wasn’t overly lavish, but it was filling. I tried to relax, ignore the pain, but it was really bad. Then, as if hearing my ribs screaming, YN produced a bottle of T3’s, and a bottle of Jack. I looked at her in awe, and she only shrugged.

“I was on my way home from the store when I got sent here.”

I took two of the pills, and a long swig of the whiskey. The burn felt good. “Thanks.”

YN smiled. “Your welcome.”

“I’ll make a deal with you. We’ll help each other for now. You watch my back, I watch yours. But if you turn against me or try to bite me, I end you.”

Nodding, she agreed. “That’s fair.”

She moved to her makeshift couch to lay down, and I hated the idea that she’d be sleeping on that piece of shit. “You could lay here beside me. There’s plenty of room.”

YN looked over at me. “You trust me not to hurt you?”

I nodded. “If you really wanted to, you’d have done so already. So, yeah, I trust you.”

She came over to where I was lying down and joined me. I tried again to close my eyes, desperately willing my body to relax. The whiskey/Tylenol mix was starting to kick in, taking off some of the edge, but it still hurt like a son of a bitch.

“You ok?” she asked.

“Yeah, just waiting for the drugs and alcohol to kick in.”

She laughed. “That’s probably not a good combo, but I’m not judging.”

I chuckled, and grimaced. “YN? Thanks again. I would have been monster chow if you hadn’t shown up.”

She leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Your welcome.”

I stiffened at the gesture. She immediately apologized. “Oh my god, I’m sorry.”

Shaking my head, I replied, “No worries. No harm done.”

My body moved on it’s own then, turning gently on my side to face her, then my hands pulled her close, lips seeking another kiss. She responded, moaning into the lip lock, hands roaming over my stomach, lightly grazing my torso. She stroked the hard bulge in my jeans, and it was my turn to groan. I went onto my back once more as she removed her clothes, then my jeans and shorts. She straddled my groin, and my hand guided my throbbing erection to her waiting entrance. She sank slowly onto my shaft, and I swore I’d gone to heaven.

She was so tight, but man it felt good. She took my entire length, adjusting to my girth, her walls stretching to accommodate. I would have sworn she was a virgin.

She rocked her hips back and forth, doing the majority of the work while I enjoyed the benefits. There was mild protest from my ribcage, but it was slowly dulling, drowned out by the beautiful goddess riding me like a stallion. We climaxed together, her cries and mine mixing in the air.

I slept then, and woke feeling somewhat better. YN was already up, and had some more food waiting for me. I ate after she helped me sit up, then we made love once more before dressing.

I never thought I’d ever go near a vamp for anything other than to kill it, but she was different. If her story was to be believed, she wasn’t given a choice about it, and hated herself because of it. We ventured out with caution, making sure there were no unwanted visitors. We needed to find some firewood and some more food for me.

Our hike was interrupted by footsteps. YN pulled me down behind a large boulder covered by moss and bushes, and we held our breath, waiting for whatever it was to pass by.

It was Cas.

YN tried to stop me, but I went anyways. “Cas!” I yelled.

Cas turned. “Dean, thank heaven. Sam and I have been worried sick. Are you ok?” he asked as he embraced me. His senses didn’t miss the grunt of pain as he hugged my ribs. “You’re hurt.”

“Mostly bruised, one is cracked I think.”

Cas put his hand over my chest area, dispersing healing angelic light from his palms. YN stood in awe. “What is he?”

Her question had me back on the reality train. “Sorry, Cas, this is YN. She helped me bandage my ribs up. YN, this is Castiel. He’s an Angel.”

Cas went to shake her hand, but she hesitated. I explained. “She’s not human Cas. She’s a vampire.”

An angel blade appeared instantly, Cas’s body taking a defensive position. “Relax. She’s ok. She helped me. I promised to take her back with us.”

Castiel lowered his blade but not his guard. “Dean, it could be a trick.”

I nodded. “True, but she’s had plenty of opportunity to turn against me, yet she’s kept her word about not attacking me. I already had a talk with her about what happens if she does.”

The angel mildly relaxed and stowed the blade for future use. “I have an open rift for us to get out of here. YN, you can come as well, but any betrayal…”

She finished the sentence, “I know, will be the end of my existence. Trust me, I have no intention of hurting anyone, least of all Dean.”

We began walking briskly toward the rift, home. Then we heard company behind us, and not the friendly kind. This wasn’t Mr. Roger’s Neighbourhood. We took off running, and got about 10 feet from the rift before they caught up with us. I unsheathed my blade, and watched as Cas and YN did the same. The three of us stood back to back, while the rift floated like a vision just mere feet away.

There were a lot of them, all kinds, shapes and sizes. And they weren’t here for tea. We began slicing and stabbing what we could, all while keeping an eye on the way out. It began fizzing and sputtering shortly after, and we knew it was closing.

“You and Castiel have to go! I’ll hold them off!”

I shook my head. “No! You’re coming too!” I yelled back.

“Dean don’t be a stubborn ass! I’m not even human! I’m a monster for fuck sake! You have a life, a purpose! Don’t fucking throw it away because of me! Let me help!”

The rift fizzled again. “C’mon Dean. We have to move!”

Cas pulled my arm as I took one last look back at YN. She yanked a large werewolf back by the scruff of the neck, tossing him far from the shimmering opening. I could hear myself calling her name as I was dragged through before it closed. She looked back once more, smiling, then horror replaced the smile as a group of leviathans took huge chunks from her side.

I couldn’t get her off my mind. I’d only known her for a day, but it felt like a lifetime. She will always be in my heart. My YN.

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