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seb-owns-these-tatas · 5 years ago

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Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 10)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 9

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Geralt has found a djinn as your ticket for your way home. Though, some conditions doomed his fate. Your confession for the witcher got him climbing down towards the goal of sending you away; reconsidering what could happen when you stay for a week or maybe more. Howbeit, your panic-stricken confession lead into unlocking the Djinn out of its confinement and thus, leading you into becoming one possessed human and giving Geralt factual reasons as to why he was destined to you.

Warnings: Possessed reader. A gushing reader who managed to accidentally confess her feelings for the witcher. Upset Cirilla. Weird shit going on. Soft, hardheaded but smiley and frustrated Geralt all at once. A VERY MUCH NOT accurate words of Elder speech. AHONHONHON. I’m sorry in advance. Mention of blood. LOTS of Geralt Gif’s because…why not?

Words: 5.9k

A/N: You’ll have tension on the next chapters. When I mean tension, I mean sexual tension. I can hear y'all screaming and waiting for this moment to shine. HAHAHHAHAHA. I hope the wait is worth it.

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren’t from moi as well. GIF’s INCLUDED ARE CREDITED TO THOSE WHO MADE THEM! I DO NOT OWN THEM!

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

You understood everything now. Very perfectly. Geralt was acting weirdly soft to you because he was finally throwing you away.

That was a more reasonable explanation to his sudden supple treatment towards you as you remembered how he was avoiding you the day before you were captured by those asshats. Though, it stopped there. He saved you and that was it. That was the only thing you remembered aside from the blurry image of you confessing something heartfelt to the witcher as he carried you to send you off to some healer.

You didn’t tell him anything ridiculous, didn’t you?

Those cheeky, dashing smiles he tries to give whenever he catches you staring made you narrow your eyes once you timidly avoided his beams like a blushing baby.

He was probably just happy that you were going to be out of his majestic hair once you wish for a genie to take you back home. It hurts to know that the witcher was happy and basically twerking inside his head about shooing you away.

Truly, your heart was feeling heavy because of it. The heavy feeling being brought as you had your steady hike with his family. Those lips that were jutted out in a pout was ineradicable even till the moment you’ve arrived at a tranquil looking lake.

Geralt took notice of your vexatious pout that was permanently carved as he threw the fishnet out in the lake. Dismissing your attitude with a faint shake of his head at the wonder why you were looking downright dejected when it was finally the time you could go home and leave the havoc that you were in.

“So, a Djinn is a fish? Since you’re using a fish net…” he’d heard you question the bard that was leaning on a dead tree, arms crossed like an executive in some company as he watched Geralt trawl for your Djinn. The witcher tugged on the rope of the fishnet and pulled; seeing no pitcher yet that had a Djinn and only an empty bottle of wine that was thrown out in the lake. He frustratingly exhaled a breath and ceaselessly tossed the fishnet back in the water.

Cirilla and Kolby were crouching down beside the swamp as they were playing with the water in their hands. Patiently waiting for whatever you were finding.

“Haven’t you heard of genies?” Jaskier bellowed, making your eyebrows twist together in ire for his attitude. You crossed your arm and gave yourself a second before a loud cajole left your lips, “—The mystical creatures that grant you three wishes?”

Your frowning self promptly turned the opposite as you remembered a movie that you’ve loved back in your laptop, “Oh! The one from Aladdin! Will the Genie come out of it? Is it a smoke of blue?!”

The bard let out a perceptible loud sigh, eyes focused at the witcher who was mindlessly cussing to himself for finding his Djinnie-Djinn-Djinn that took three hours already. He gave you a look that consisted of abounding judgement.

You shrugged to yourself; dusting off his sarcasm, “I suppose not,”

“—The last time it came out, it attacked my throat and gave me the ill-fate of having no voice to talk nor sing. I’ve been brought to a healer—thanks to Geralt and his selfless virtue, and been brought to an orgy which eventually; Yennefer–” Jaskier’s chatters were ceased by Geralt’s stern tone that echoed a meter away as he was hauling over his fishnet, audibly groaning as he felt something heavy that has been caught.

He hoped it was no monster or anything.

“That’s enough, Bard.”

Jaskier leaned off the dead tree, hands on either side of his hips as he looked offended by always being cut-off in the middle of his chitter-chatters with you, “Why do you always cut me off when it’s about the mage from Vengerberg?” a teasing pause. “—It’s like you don’t want me mentioning about her because the small rat is around,”

The witcher gave no response other than a displeased hum, not giving his amber eyes while the fish net dripped as he dragged it out to see some type of vase that had a peculiar seal, “Hmm.”

He’d heard a clap and it was from the bard, “Oh, a pitcher! It’s the Djinn!” before his voice suddenly upturned into a softer tone like he was avoiding something. The leaves crumpled beneath his shoe as you felt Jaskier discreetly side stepped away from you or everyone like a frog in the mud, “I’m just going to…give you space and peace like you hoped for,”

The message was for Geralt as he slowly but surely hid behind a tree where Cirilla and Kolby was. A distance which is still coherent for him to hear you both from a distance. You’ve eyed him like he was going loco when he gave a thumbs up behind the tree and peeked with only his head showing to the both of you, a beam on show.

“Don’t forget to make three wishes when the harsh wind hits you! Also, make it fast so it doesn’t thwack you in the neck!”

Geralt held onto the pitcher, inspecting a different seal in his hands. Much more different than the one they had decades ago. It was an eight figure hand clustered in a circle with random stars all over.

“Are you sure this wouldn’t be a snake in the grass, Geralt?” the witcher heard the bard speak from behind the tree, loud enough for you to hear his question thrown. There was a moment of silence as Geralt studied the pitcher a lot more closely, trying to understand and remember what the seal meant.

He’d finally taken the chance to voice out to the bard in a gruff tone, “As long as she doesn’t wish for anything that would mutilate anyone,”

You gave them looks; back and forth as they went on to their talk like you weren’t there with them. It’s not like you could understand whatever magic or terms they were even talking about. This was the problem for living in a world that you weren’t familiar with; not a single thing that you were used to besides the cooking. Other than that, their world was living in history that you somehow didn’t wish to have lived in.

With magic even involved in their lives like it was a normal thing.

“What if this backfires, Geralt? You know..like it would give her a tumor in the neck and then you’ll go find a healer again and—” Jaskier cut his sentence in haste when the witcher gave him a scolding glare. He’d shut his mouth, contemplating on what his next words would be.

“—You sure it’ll give her what she wants?”

“It can grant the most far-fetched wishes,”

“So, when you wished for peace prior to that day; giving me tumor is the best idea for your Djinn?”

Geralt gave him a mocking smile, one that consists that his patience was wearing thin again for the talkative bard who asks too much questions like he was the person who came from another world and not you, “But, it quite helped, didn’t it?”

The bard rolled his eyes back at him, puffing out a breath as he emerged behind the tree and leaned his shoulders on the dry wood; his face contorting in anxiety as he saw Kolby crouched in front who was giving him those puppy eyes.

You were too engrossed from their talk and didn’t notice Geralt who was now in front of you; handing over the pitcher where a Djinn was kept.

“As long as she’s the master, the Djinn won’t hurt her.” he reassured for you; feeling your agitation take over as you were realizing that there was a risk that their genie could hurt you. Though, those glowing eyes of his that resting on you; giving an unfamiliar tenderness of his gaze was simply telling you that it won’t happen.

But, the stingy feeling inside your heart wasn’t helping those warmth within his eyes.

“Make your wish, Midget.” he simply said, dropping his gaze for a second before returning back on your glum filled eyes, “—Once unbarred and has three of your wishes, the djinn is set free,”

You loosely held onto the pitcher like you were hesitant. It was there now. Your way for home. One of the options that can get you coming back from where you came from. Away from their chaotic world that had too many fremd explanations about their way of living other than earth where having a stable job was the only problem you had.

Not for the fear of monsters and people selling you off to some duke or king.

“—and…you are also..” the witcher drawled out his words, seeming to be in deep thought as his features turned stony and inexplainable, “—free. Back to where you came from,”

He sounded like he was choking when the witcher continued his speech; or maybe it was just you who wanted to think he actually didn’t want you leaving?

Shocking to say, you actually didn’t want to. His family was extraordinaire and caring. The type where they wouldn’t blink just to save you from danger even if it would involve them bleeding to death.

Geralt’s family was one of a kind. Thus, you realize how much of a family you had back in earth. A family who let you work overseas to help them in their lives as you work your ass off so they could pay their bills. It’s not that you weren’t thankful that they’ve taken care of you when you were a kid and even paid for your college fees, but sometimes working abroad can be depressing when you have no one around.

No one to hold and share your sadness with.

“What if I…” Wish to stay? your thoughts were in a mess. You trailed off and anxiously bit the insides of your cheeks as Geralt waited for you to finish your sentence. Yet, you clicked your tongue and changed what you wanted to say instead, “—What if it hurts me? As much as how it did to Jaskier?”

Geralt’s shook his head, frowning as he does so, “I won’t let that happen, midget.”

The way he said it; soft and reassuring like he promised that this option you had involves no pain. Leading you into yearning for something that seemed to be unreachable and utterly fantastical for it to happen in reality. That is; if their world was really your reality.

Nevertheless, you could feel every sorts of emotions and feelings. It was frustrating you to the point of being unreasonable by wanting to stay.

Jaskier faintly smiled as the bard realized what you were already holding. This was it. The last time to have you around. He was indecisive about it despite of him not wanting to welcome you warmly on the first day since you were hunted by an Alghoul. However, it seems like the latter had a change of heart and actually began to appreciate your annoying, little presence. Definitely like a cute rat that he probably feeds when nobody is looking.

“Should I bid you a goodbye right now?” he solemnly muttered as he fidgeted with his fingers. An action he does when he was anxious or thinking about something. You gave him back a gloomy smile and felt your chest feel even more heavier than it ever did.

The princess had her nose scrunched to its extent. Eyebrows furrowed in total bewilderment as she was trying to understand what was happening behind her back. “Why do we need to say farewell? To whom?”

Jaskier mustered up the courage to tell her, expecting for another set of her tantrums because of the sudden decision that Geralt has made for you, “—To Y/N.”

With just two words, it was enough for the princess to squeak and protest, completely objecting at the plan ahead as she gave the witcher a furious glare. “What? Geralt!”

She’d hopped forward against the muddy ground, hissing as she does so while Jaskier tried to catch her but she was too quick for him to slide away from. Geralt heard her heavy marches, closing his eyes in fatigue and stress as he murmured, “I shouldn’t have brought you both with me,”

It took five seconds for Cirilla’s steam to blow like a train; throwing angered protests at the witcher that was bound to protect her till the day she dies, “How dare you not tell me this?! I demand for her not to leave!”

“Princess.” Geralt firmly stated, a sigh leaving his lips as he does so and continued, “She doesn’t belong here,”

“I don’t want her to leave!”

“She belongs to her rightful dimension,”

Cirilla gave out a frustrated huff of her breath, snobbishly crossing her arms before the witcher as she gave him a scowl, “Don’t act like I didn’t see you both together in your bed last night, hugging her to sleep!”

Jaskier blinked repeatedly at that; giving the witcher a double take and also making you narrow your eyes at them from what they were pointing out.

The princess knew. She knew what she saw when she wanted to check if you were already awake yet and saw Geralt sleeping like a baby. Beside you with an arm surrounding you close as his palms rested along the middle of your back; intentionally avoiding the wounds before it could even open up itself.

It was the first time she ever saw the witcher having to sleep like a deadbeat without waking up due to his heightened senses because she tried to peek. He was completely vulnerable and seemed like to be in deep slumber; cuddling another person in his arms like it was his comfort.

“Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon.” Geralt snarled, giving her the sharp eyes as and a tone that tells her to stop before he doesn’t talk to her for weeks end. He’d used her full name for the first time in forever and simply to say; Geralt was pissed.

Cirilla’s voice wavered, feeling her throat run dry and eyes seem to appear cloudy as she took in Geralt’s hostility towards the truth that has been said. He was always like this, pushing people away when he seemed to feel like they were finally having a connection; fearing for being attached and for what outcomes it may bring.

“You are certainly an idiot, Geralt.”

The witcher’s nose flared in discontent, her narks immediately went straight to his head as he wore a nasty scowl; letting the irritation straight out of his mouth as he starts spitting ire at everyone who seemed to make his life a little more difficult, “Are you done talking shit now?”

The princess went on with her glares, peering up at the witcher with a piercing glint of her eyes, “You never fail to disappoint me,”

“Thank you, Princess. I always do plan to disappoint people. Comes in becoming a witcher,” was the only sarcastic remark that the witcher managed to reply with a rough grouse and an obvious roll of his eyes.

In between their heated argument, Jaskier even had the guts to butt in like what he always do; his face sketched in opposition for the sudden decision at hand like Geralt wanted it done in haste, “Do you really need to go back? I mean, I’ve talked to Geralt about it last night! He’s just one stubborn witcher and trying to push you away because he’s scared of being attached! We can always keep your Djinnie-Djinn-Djinn and just use it when you feel like going home—”

The latter was harshly cut off by a gruff sputter of Geralt’s warning, “Bard.” his nose flared even more, “—Will you fucking shut up? Even just for a minute?”

You didn’t know what to do. Everyone was telling you not to do it yet, even your heart as well. It was crazy, to even choose between living in a dimension that was full of peril or a world where it keeps you depressed because something was hugely missing in your life back in earth.

There was someone intensely staring at your face and you knew it was the angered witcher, no doubt because he seemed like he wanted you away already, “Wish for what your heart desires, midget.” he lowly hissed and gave a nasty grimace to the two pair of people who was strongly ceasing the progression of you going home to where you belong.

Everybody didn’t dare to make any form of noise except for the Hirikka who was looking at you in curiosity; never knowing what was going on. Jaskier shook his head in disappointment at the witcher, giving him a look that was pure of dissatisfaction and it was the first time that the bard ever did. He was trying to make Geralt feel guilty for his decisions or whatsoever.

“Final words for us before you go, small rat?”

Your heart was downright heavy as you began to send off your final messages to the people who did nothing but be kind enough for letting you stay despite of not knowing who you are. You gave Cirilla a look full of warmth, faintly smiling back at the princess who was now sobbing because the only person whom she felt a different type of connection was now leaving. The idea of not being able to see you again because you didn’t belong to their world was giving her distraught as you were the only person she connected with that involved with a woman’s touch.

“To Cirilla,” you choked in your own words, feeling the hesitance in your throat as you evidently swallowed. “—Hey, don’t cry. You’re going to be the strongest and bravest woman I can ever know. With a witcher by your side, he’ll mold you into becoming a better person as well,”

Your voice was faltering like a thin sheet of paper. Silently, the witcher stared; feeling the heat of his gaze grazing on the side of your face as you continued to bid your goodbyes.

“Jaskier,” an acknowledge that made the bard scoff with a forced grin, trying to make the situation lighter for everyone, “I know you’re utterly enamoured by my singing, small rat. Now is the perfect time for your confession!”

You managed to roll your eyes a him, “Keep annoying everyone. I hope Kolby bites you in your sleep,”

“I shall die a brokenhearted man!”

Last but not the least, a message for the witcher who has always been saving you like a knight in shining armor. An expected knight in your fantasies.

Never even expecting to like him in a way that you wondered how it would be like to be his lover. Nonetheless, the thought was a blur because he wasn’t just a mere human. He was a mutated one and a person who takes his job very seriously as a monster-slayer.

Maybe being his other half would be pretty much an adventure.

“Geralt,” you turned your heel to face him, considering the distance that he was an arm away from you. He’d given you an apathetic gaze, masking in whatever he was feeling right now as you couldn’t see right through him as of the moment, “—I’ve seen this in the movies too much and I understand why you’re handling everything in silence,”

He was just that type of person. You knew because there has been lots of people you’ve encountered who had his type of personality and you understood his character completely.

Hence, the type of person he was needed care because they weren’t used to people caring for them. He needed the conciliatory affection because he craves for it even though he hardly says he don’t; and even when he does receives it, the brightest way to do it is to push that person away because he knew he didn’t deserve the tender care.

“You’re no monster for me,” you genuinely spoke with all your heart. Geralt’s stoic expression seeming to waver as you’ve given him a look of appreciation for everything he did for you, “—You’ll never be because I know you have a good heart,”

He gazed at you even longer than he should, eyebrows in a pained twist that created a frown etched on his face. What were you even saying? Your mind was literally a ball of yarn right now as you stand in front of him; thoughts flying elsewhere as you started to panic because you wanted something off your chest before you go. Permanently.

Therefore, your mind thought it was the right moment to confess such feelings that you knew it wouldn’t ever be said once you go back, you snapped your head away as you cringed for your stupidity, “—andthatIlikeyoubutnobodyneedstoknowthatbecauseIneverconfessedtoanymanever! Like really really like you. My heart is just–just pounding like a drum whenever you’re around—”

It was fast. A mere whisper of your heart being a YOLO little bitch by speaking out your feelings like a crazed woman offering some type of sacrifice as you were citing spells to your own; that type of fast talking that won’t get any normal person to understand the heck you wanted to comprehend.

You were idiotic enough to forget that he wasn’t any type of normal.

Geralt’s hum seem to stop your panicking mental state. His hum sounded perplexed and utterly…amused.

You swallowed the nervous jitters down your throat before opening an eye to see him cocking his head to the side, judging your embarrassed self and probably judging you from even confessing despite knowing it would be a one-sided affection from the witcher.

“Midget.” you’ve heard your conscience speaking to you, his tone somewhat quieter but still in that gruff voice of his that made your insides tingle. Your eyes was squinted shut as you looked away, avoiding his stares and went on with your audible monologue, “Oh my God, I should’ve wished first before confessing like a lovestruck high school girl,”

Geralt couldn’t help but subtly clear his throat. You always never fail to amaze him in terms of your panicking, clumsy gestures. He raised a surprised brow, thoroughly understanding what has happened prior to your rants.

“Midget.”

“You didn’t hear anything!” you squealed and held onto the handle of the Djinn, furiously tapping it with your index finger in sheer embarrassment for the failed confession. The witcher clicked his tongue, shifting on his own burly weight and keeping his teeth together as he tried to think of an answer to your sudden confession.

“Hmm.”

“What do you mean hmm? IT WAS JUST A WHISPER!?”

Jaskier had his forehead furrowed in utter curiosity, just hearing the soft mumbles and your yelping kept his curiosity at bay. Yet, he’d heard you screaming, “Small rat, don’t you know that witchers have heightened senses and he understood you a lot? Probably even hear your heart pounding fast every time you’re—”

You’ve snapped your eyes open, realizing you were covering your face away from the witcher who was faintly smirking down at you with an unfathomable twinkle in his eyes that weirded you out. However, Jaskier’s words seeming to whack you in the head for being stupid and not asking more for what the witcher’s abilities consists of.

“Wait, what? He can even hear my—I SHOULDN’T HAVE SAID THAT!” His super hearing caught you off-guard. You didn’t expect that he had that kind of skill because all you knew was that he was strong and exceptionally good at using his swords.

Well, the news definitely shocked you to the core. You were mouthing words at Jaskier as the bard narrowed his eyes back, not understanding a thing from your silent mouthing of words as you wanted the ground to eat you alive. “WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME, THEN?!”

Your hostile reactions was surely bewildering the bard, “Why? What did you tell him, Y/N?”

“Midget.”

You’ve heard Geralt’s stern baritone pitch of his, thus igniting a fast shake of your head as you could feel the heat travelling up in your face like a jet plane, ignoring the witcher who stood tall before you, “NOTHING, Jaskier! I’m so stupid!”

“Your reaction doesn’t mean nothing…”

The discomfort was making you deal with a lot of things. Rejection, anxiety and being a butter finger. Your eyes caught the Djinn wrapped around your fingers as you tried to cover your face from the witcher. So, you’ve did the inevitable and ungracefully held onto the seal before giving Geralt a once over.

Hence, you didn’t know what he was thinking when he suddenly ceased your wrists from doing so.

His bright amber eyes looked at you in warning, meeting yours in a reluctant shadow of his emotions when you’ve held onto the seal looking like he had a change of heart and didn’t want it to happen.

Maybe, it wasn’t too bad to let you stay for a little more while. Just a week or maybe more. His consciousness spoke at the back of his Ivory head. He wanted to make sure of something; if it was really destiny trying to play with his emotions for whatever bullcrap he was feeling when he’d heard your confession.

“Midget!” roughly scolded Geralt as he’d realized you already had opened the seal before he even stopped you. Jaskier had Cirilla and Kolby behind a far end tree as they watched you both struggle from trying to open the Djinn prior to your confession.

Both of you held onto the seal. Eyes locked onto each other; his in utmost dismay and worry as the pitcher was ajar from the seal, currently unimpeded from its body. Then, there was a strong ripple of the brisk wind clawing down your feet, crawling up the curves of your bodice in a way that could frighten you because it was not any normal.

The whistle of the wind came in with hushed voices that you couldn’t understand nor recognized. An invisible phantom of cold fingers reaching your head like it wanted to crush your skull as the voices whispered louder; like a spell that you couldn’t comprehend.

Your knees were giving up from the pain it wanted to bestow. Those eyelids of yours fluttering shut as the spirit was trying to suck on the energy you only had. But, you didn’t flop on the ground as you could feel tangible warmth surrounding your body; not letting you fall nor letting go.

The cluster of wind became stronger. You’ve heard him yell back, keeping you as close as he can and felt strong, calloused fingers grab onto the side of your face; shaking you awake as he kept you standing still, “Make your wish!” he loudly demanded amongst the rustle of everything.

The pitcher loosely lost its touch from you as it fell to the ground. A wish. You needed to make wishes. Your eyes drooped, blinking in a daze as your vision caught the only thing in your fore sight.

A medallion. His medallion. A witcher’s medallion that was currently vibrating on his chest like something alarming was happening or was nearby.

“I-I wish…” you whispered more so to yourself, hearing the witcher groan out loud as he tried hard to keep you still. The force trying to keep you both apart but Geralt wasn’t backing down nor did he plan on letting go.

Jaskier, Cirilla and Kolby had their palms over their ears from the harsh wind encircling them. Keeping still behind the huge Oak tree. Then, the winds abruptly ceased as they were crouched behind for cover.

You were unconscious for one second; your whole weight given to the witcher as he had an arm on the small of your back, your face tightly smothered on his hairy chest that you awfully find endearing and pleasing. You’ve inhaled a long breath like you weren’t given oxygen, batting your eyelashes up at the witcher who was supporting all your weight with his strength.

A listless look for the witcher was all it took for him to narrow his eyes back at you, checking for any signs that you weren’t you. Though, none. You were okay and…you were still there with them.

The bard peeked his head out, checking what happened when he seen you with complete limbs and being hugged by the witcher himself. Jaskier shrugged to whatever the hell happened and hollered, “Well, that was pretty much an anticlimax for the second time.”

Gently, the witcher pulled you away from him. His strong fingers clasped upon your shoulders as he eyed you very seriously. The sudden shift of the wind keeping him uneasy as he didn’t trusted the harmless process of having your wishes. “What did you wish for, Midget?”

You shook your head from the delicate pain in your head; sighing as you wearily told him, trying to give him a smile that appeared thoroughly forced because you kept on wincing and holding onto your temples, “Don’t wishes shouldn’t be told? Because it never comes true when it does? Especially when you wish upon the stars? I’m not telling it—”

Your words were cut short by a shrilling scream that made Jaskier, Cirilla and Kolby jumped from behind their tree; hastily striding to where you were. “Stay back!” the latter ceased them from coming any closer as you fell on the ground, back flat and your back arched in a horrifying way.

The veins in your throat was throbbing as you felt pain in the valley of your breast. A part that was scorching hot like you were being burnt alive. You painfully whimpered as your body felt fluid, desperately grasping onto your chest to relieve the pain or try to take off whatever causes it but there was none.

You yelped another loud scream; feeling it boring holes inside your body and in your heart. Geralt hurriedly knelt in panic, the panic suddenly crashing him like a freight train as his face was stern in confusion. He’d held onto the side if your neck, his thumb stroking your jaw which got you hissing as the pain incredibly added another; like a gas to the flames as you’ve moaned from the intolerable pain.

“Cáerme,” You’ve suddenly hushed, hearing the unfamiliar voices violently ruining your peace; making everything hurt as you whispered it out loud.

The witcher couldn’t help but stare you down in ponder and utter worry. He heard you. A word that sounded familiar but he didn’t quite understand as it only took a person who was an expertise in it that could interpret the words you started to say.

“Saov,” Geralt’s breath hitched, golden eyes agape and his expression in thorough shock as he tried shaking your body to wake you up from whatever is trying to possess you.

It was like fighting for something you could never see.

“Y/N!”

Amber eyes. Chalky white hair. A distinguishable face was the only image in your head as you could hear Geralt’s angered voice screaming ‘no!’ in the background; a blurry image sketched inside your head as he was fighting knights and unfamiliar people surrounding his family who came with him.

Including you.

With Jaskier and Cirilla who had blood staining their clothes as the night swallows her loud cries.

“Raenn,”

Despite of the witcher’s warning, the bard scooted off to where you were; dragging Cirilla with him as Kolby trailed like a pup. Howling at the same time as you screamed once more, “Geralt, what’s happening?!”

You’ve suddenly snapped your eyes opened as you threw your head back, the color of your eyes giving Jaskier a fright as he also knelt before you, his eyes bulging out of his eye sockets as he saw black. Raven black.

“Certainly not the small rat!” the bard shrieked before pulling away from peering down at you, falling onto his back as he gave Geralt a once over.

His brawny physique was crouched beside you, his wild, disheveled hair framing his face as he loudly groaned out loud like he was also in deep pain, seeming to hold onto his chest like he was having a toxic heart attack.

“Aep.”

Your words. It was used for magic and spells. Next thing Geralt knows is that he was suddenly pushed off the ground, his back hitting the ground with a loud thud as he felt phantom fingers keeping him steady and still. He harshly breathed through his nose, struggling with the force that was keeping him down.

Though, to no use; he couldn’t. It was some sort of potent spirit.

“Yn.”

Every word you say was filling vile inside his chest. It hurt as much as you did. But, he could withstand the pain more than you do as he was roughly growling beneath his chest.

“Geralt?!” Jaskier and Cirilla yelled out in chorus when they’ve seen him get hauled back by some unforeseen creature. Their focal point on Geralt that they didn’t notice you hurriedly crawling towards the witcher like a possessed woman.

You sat on his shredded, prominent torso once you’ve reached the witcher, tilting your head to the side as your eyes were completely pitch black. His eyelids fell shut once he was dragged down; Geralt was unconscious. You’ve held a palm in front of his face before uttering one last speech that certainly didn’t come from yourself. It was a bedevilled version of you that had no control over your system.

“Vatt'ghern.”

With that, you’ve leaned down very closely to his face. Warm breath hitting his face as you were tilting your head like a single strand of string can only be passed onto both of your lips together. The witcher sighed as he does so, face in a peaceful state as an unpredictable line of dark smoke escaped your lips, streaming down his ajar lips of the witcher who was down and unconscious.

Jaskier and Cirilla couldn’t move. They were dumbstruck at the scene that unfolded before them. All of your energy was taken from you as the possession has started and so, you’ve dropped dead on the ground. Closely beside Geralt as a blurry vision of you dropping on the rocky ground in the night sky ended your consciousness.

It was a blurry image that had you seeing Geralt run over for you, his face covered in grime and blood as he appeared to be on the verge of crying.

As your head fell on the ground with a soft thud; without warning, the witcher snapped his eyes open. Thick, robust fingers grasping onto his medallion that laid on his sturdy, bewhiskered chest. His eyelids drooping in total weary as he remembered a short event that concluded when he’d shortly fallen off in unconsciousness; giving him a dream as to why you were bound to him; destined to be with him forever.

The witcher saw a future with you. It wasn’t just any ordinary dream that he had because this time; he was euphoric in it. Utterly happy and smiling with you in the picture.

Destiny really never fails to fuck him hard for the second damn time.

YES. THIS IS ANOTHER ONE OF MY FAVE CHAPTERS THAT I’VE WRITTEN. Guess what midget wished for?

Taglist: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007

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ghostinthebau · 5 years ago

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Super Fanfic Rec List -- Iron Dad Edition (because I just wanna share the love)

I’ve had such a blast reading fanfic of the IronDad and SpiderSon variety over the last 6 months or so, and I thought I’d just make a rec list of some of my favorite stories. Most of them are angsty, with whump and hurt/comfort because that’s what I live for.

This is in no particular order or in any way complete because there’s just way too many amazing fics/authors in the Iron Dad fandom, but it will still be hella long, so....here goes!

First off, @yellowdistress:

What We Are series - Bio-dad Tony series that goes all the way through Infinity War. Endgame AU.

Someday I’ll Make it Out of Here series - Adoption AU! It’s so good.

The Missing 92 Days - A take on HYDRA Peter that destroyed me emotionally.

Reviving Peter Parker - This about killed me. Peter actually died during his fight with Toomes and SHIELD brings him back a la the TAHITI project like they did with Phil Coulson.

A Sailor Went to Sea - Gut-wrenching Endgame fix it.

Double, Double

@losingmymindtonight:

Webcams and Webshooters series

I Never Lived ‘Til I Lived In Your Light series - !!! TISSUE WARNING !!! Peter dies, but there’s another one shot with a happier ending if you need it.

And You’ll Blow Us All Away - Adoption fic! A lovely one at that.

5 Times Peter’s Mental Illness Made Him Stumble And The 1 Time He Refused To Falter - I really love a well-depicted take on mental illness, and losingmymindtonight delivered 100%.

If You Can’t Catch A Breath (You Can Take The Oxygen Straight Out Of My Own Chest)

Cyanide? In My Shawarma?

@justme--emily:

The Guardian - Adoption AU with a lovely Loki and Peter friendship!

Radioactive - Peter endures the after effects of the spider bite, and scares bio-dad Tony to death. Lovely, lovely, lovely.

The Good Fight - Peter gets hurt at the airport in Germany instead of Rhodey.

@iron--spider:

ever in your favor - Hunger Games AU and an epic work of art!

Lazarus, come forth - The Endgame fix it before Endgame. Peter will break your heart.

dear mr. fantasy

this isn’t a game - Highly underrated fic based off the PS4 Spider-Man game. I’ve never even played the game, and I loved this story.

what if there is no tomorrow? - This story actually made me kinda like Justin Hammer, if you can believe it.

blindness

@tempestaurora:

hydra’s not a home series - HYDRA Peter, and also bio-dad Tony and bio-mom Pepper!

i’ll find you in the drift - Pacific Rim AU, and I have never seen PR, but I adored this so much.

it’s okay, we’re okay [whumpvember 2018] series

@jolinarjackson:

Lights To Guide You Home series - Another adoption AU. They are my weakness, and this is one of the best out there.

... and when you can’t crawl ...

Damaged At Best (Like You’ve Already Figured Out)

@blondsak:

No Life But This

come morning light (you and I’ll be safe and sound)

Burying Grounds - Eeeek! Tony has to choose between saving Peter or Pepper and it hurts.

hold on, hold on

Something the Soul Needs

@madasthesea:

turn back the clock (and I’ll try again in the morning)

when my body won’t hold me anymore (where will I go)

They have so many other lovely looking fics--including an adoption au series (which I, of course, love), but I just haven’t gotten around to reading them yet. I’m pretty sure anything they write is golden. :)

@signofuncertainty:

It’s Always the Little Things

I’m sure their other fic, The Third Option, is fantastic and I really, really wanna read it but I’m trying so hard to wait until it’s complete! It’s really difficult to wait, though, tbh....I may give in soon.

@upcamethesun:

Twelve Days Of Peter Parker - So cute and fluffy, and then it kills you at the end.

5 Times Peter Made Tony Laugh Out Loud

5 Times Tony Didn’t Need To Worry About Peter

5 Times Peter Pretended To Be Tougher Than He Was

@frostysunflowers:

Between how it is and how it should be - This story made me love a Peter and Bucky friendship.

@kitcat992:

Identity Theft - This was one of the very first Iron Dad fics I read, and it was a doozy. Full of whump, medical accuracy, and hurt/comfort! The author is posting a sequel now, too: Identity Crisis. :D

For Pete’s Sake!

@camelot-queen:

Goner - A perfectly heartbreaking kidnapping fic, but heed the warnings!

Who Saves The Hero

Never Meet Your Heroes

i’m the satellite (and you’re the sky) - Tony is Peter’s bio-dad but Peter doesn’t know it. I haven’t actually finished this yet, but it’s good. So, so good.

@peter-stank:

built from scraps - YOU GUYS, this is one of the best fics I’ve read on AO3. It’s a ‘Tony gets dusted instead of Peter’ AU, and it’s got such an amazing dynamic between Peter, Pepper, and Morgan. It’ll also make you tear up a few times, at least.

@geekymoviemom:

Sins of the Fathers - So, I’ve only read the first 5 chapters of this epic length (303k words@) adoption AU so far, but I’m LOVING it so I wanted to add it here. They also have an even longer bio-dad Tony with added Stony bonus series, Pieces of Echoes, that they’re posting the 3rd installment to right now. I’ll definitely be checking it out!

@too-many-bees:

let’s kick it

like a bridge over troubled water

@jbsforever:

it’ll be over (and I’ll still be asking when)

@tnyystark:

where the memories reside

@whumphoarder:

Quieting the Void series - Peter kinda has an eating disorder due to the spider bite, so take care if you read!

Poison Apple - Loved how medically accurate this was, and Ned’s reaction to Peter’s condition was heartbreaking.

@seek-rest:

It Hurts to Become

Someday We’ll Know - This is a Walk to Remember AU, so there’s MCD. I’ve gotten about halfway through, but I can only read it when I’m in the right mindset. But it’s lovely and so well done.

This author has so many fics that I’m sure are amazing, and they’re on my ‘to read’ list when I’m in the mood for beautiful Spideychelle stories.

@caraminha:

The Primary Reason Tony Stark Would Throw Down With an Anti-Vaxxer in the Street - Hella scary depiction of Peter with tetanus, and it’s SO GOOD.

@tonystarkstan:

it all comes back to this

skeletons series

to build a home series - I love recovery fics, and this was a beautiful story of Peter dealing with the aftermath of being snapped and coming back.

lay your weary head to rest

@foolscapper:

Exploding Head Syndrome - Everyone comes back when the snap is reversed, but Peter is sort of catatonic--stuck between the living world and the soul stone where he’s with Gamora. It’s such a lovely fic.

@alice-in-ink:

It’s a Little Bit We Do

Danger Pizza

@legalassie:

oh, darling - Peter’s kidnapped and Tony frantically searches for him--one of my favorite things. Peter uses his smarts to help him get out of the situation, too, which is also one of my favorite things.

don’t think about tomorrow.

@blackwatchandromeda:

Broken Thoughts (I Remember Everything)

Leave Me to Dream

A Nightmare to Remember

@emma--anacortes:

Accepting the Tides - Here I am with another adoption AU. Can you see a pattern yet? I love them, and this one has danger and whump and comfort as well.

@ardenskyedarcy221b:

they are standing in the garden - This hurt. Several times the author had me tearing up and there’s a few lines that will stay with me forever. It was just immensely lovely to read.

@iamallyetnotatall:

At the Start of the Universe - This was so much better than I was expecting! Peter is an Angel, and he knows Tony from the very beginning of the universe. It’s different, but absolutely gorgeous.

@starktowr:

somewhere outside my life - I don’t wanna say too much, but just read this. It’ll break you and you’ll love it.

@jessicagoddamnjones:

too bad (but it’s the life you lead)

@silver-bubbles:

The Fire’s Out (But Still It Burns)

@day-dreamer176:

Like A Strike of Lightning - I kinda took this as a demonic possession a la Supernatural, but I don’t think it actually was. Either way, it was fantastic.

fifty-four

five, tops

The World Stopped

@ambivalentmarvel:

Into His Fold series - Where Thanos brings Peter back from the ashes to make him into his new son (a la Nebula and Gamora).

@notaparty-trick:

Doom and Gloom - A ‘Peter doesn’t get dusted’ AU, filled with whump and Iron Dad and an awesome Carol Danvers. Angst!!!

Dust and Blood - Peter is hurt much worse when Toomes drops the building on him. More angst!!!! This author does angst very well.

@ema--vee:

You don’t have to hold your head up high - Peter can’t thermoregulate! I love that trope.

@forensicleaf:

All the Things We’ve Lost (And All the Things We’ve Gained) - This one gutted me, and then made it better. But there’s pain to be had before the comfort!

They just posted the first chapter of a new WIP that looks AMAZING, too: Can’t Part the Sea, Can’t Reach the Shore.

@plnkblue:

foolish, fragile spine - Peter’s severely injured in his fight with Adrian Toomes and Tony finds him.

@helloitisiafellowgay:

god did not craft us as altars, but as dying gods - Okay, guys. This one is heavy. It deals with Skip coming back into Peter’s life, and it’s not pretty but it’s handled superbly. It’s a tough read, but one I definitely recommend if you can handle it. Take care of yourselves first and foremost, though. <3

~ ~ ~ I’m not sure if the following authors have a tumblr, so I just linked their AO3 pages ~ ~ ~

eccentric_artist_221b:

Only for a Little While - This is a Titanic AU, and it’s AMAZING. There’s several scenes that just took my breath away and brought me to tears (not an easy feat). They’re also working on a WWI sequel!!!!

tiaylasglass:

the one who made it out - Short, simple in a gorgeous way, and poignant.

And finally, I thought I’d humbly add my own little contribution to the fandom. So far, I’ve only written the one fic, but I hope to write more in the future!

@ghostinthebau:

For Want of a Dad (in need of a son) - There’s a bit of blood, and a very distraught Tony at one point, so warning for angst and injury!

Again, this list is probably severely lacking, and if someone has a rec that’s not on here please please please reblog this and let me know! I’m always in the mood for more fics.

And I hope anyone reading this finds something they enjoy!

I’m sure you will.

ilu 3,000

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kaffeinic · 5 years ago

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Delayed | Bang Chan

Hello! Can you do a headcannon of meeting Chan in the airport and bonding over a flight or something? Oh and a question. Who is your SKZ bias and fav song?

- @woo-for-woojin

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Pairing: Teacher!Reader x Bang Chan

Genre: Neutral // Romance

Warnings: None

Preamble: You’ve finally achieved your dream of becoming an English teacher in Korea. Unfortunately, your flight to your new home has been delayed - for ten hours. With a handful of cash, some eccentric shops, and an unlikely friend, you might find that mother nature’s forces are, at times, serendipitous.

Imagine him in this outfit with a black face mask please.

Your finger rapped nervously on the arm rest next to you. You were sitting on a very uncomfortable chair in the waiting area of the airport, hearing the announcer call all of the other flights. Yours was already fifteen minutes late.

The stark white walls of the airport were anything but welcoming, and the grey and black chairs were filled with an airplane’s worth of people who were nervous, annoyed, or a rotten combination of the two. You had strategically sat yourself next to an elderly woman - who was snoozing peacefully beside you - and placed your bag on the chair to your left. With any luck, you wouldn’t be disturbed.

You were awaiting your flight to Seoul, South Korea with a bittersweet feeling. You had been offered a job as an English teacher for one of the high schools. You had put off the job after hearing that your grandfather had fallen ill. Recently, though, he passed, and you had nothing holding you back. You were depressed because of your loss, but elated to start a new chapter in life; It was bittersweet.

As you sat in thought, a curious man with a black face mask cocked an eyebrow at you.

“Hello?” He said, waving his hand in front of you. You perked up and looked at him quizzically. “Sorry, I don’t think you heard me. Is this seat taken?” He asked, pointing to the one where your carry-on lied. You glanced at him, and then your bag, internally pouting as you shook your head.

“No, you can sit.” You said, removing the items. He bowed and thanked you, seating himself. His hair lied in a curly blonde mop on his head, small pieces tickling his nose. His dark roots poked through, creating a bit of depth. He whipped out his phone and scrolled through his feed, smiling at a video that played. He glanced over at you and cocked a brow.

“Is there a reason why you’re eavesdropping?” He asked, visibly annoyed. You looked away.

“No, sorry.” You replied. You could feel his eyes on you, which made you shift uncomfortably in your chair. You made yourself appear busy by unlocking your phone, doing nothing in particular.

“Very interesting.” You heard the blonde man’s voice echo in your ear at a close proximity, your hair moving a bit from his breath. You jumped out of your skin, blinking at him a couple of times.

“Were you eavesdropping?” It was your turn to ask. He nodded.

“I figured I’d return the favour.”

“I-” You didn’t know how to answer that. “Okay.” He smirked at you, which was the first time you had seen him stop scowling. You couldn’t tell if he was in a bad mood, or if he just had a naturally bleak expression. The announcer’s voice suddenly rang through the waiting room.

“Due to strong winds, Flight 000 has been delayed. Passengers can refund their tickets, or wait for the next flight in the waiting room. The next available flight is in ten hours. Please ask an employee for a complementary cot and blanket if you choose to stay.” Once the intercom beeped and silenced, the room was immediately filled with a chorus of whines and groans from unhappy passengers, yourself included. The man next to you grinned.

“I needed a nap, anyway.” He said. “Food, too.” He added. It’s possible he was the only one happy about this. You frowned.

“I’d be surprised if anyone else is staying.” You muttered to yourself. He looked at you quizzically.

“Me, too. Are you staying?” He asked. You nodded.

“I would have to stay in a hotel if I didn’t, and I don’t have the extra money on me.” You explained. He hummed and looked around.

“I’m hungry.” He stated. “What about you?” You looked at him with curiosity. This was the same man who gave you a death glare and some attitude for absent mindedly looking at his phone. It also struck you as odd that his face would be covered for as long as it has. You almost felt like you recognized him, but shook it off. All of these things made it hard to trust him.

You nodded before answering. “Yeah. I’ll go look around.” You picked up your bag and your teaching handbooks, trying to balance everything in your two arms. He grinned at you.

“I can watch your stuff while you get some food.” He offered. You shook your head.

“I’m fine. I’ll take them.” He rolled his eyes at your stubborn attitude and stood.

“If you say so.” He said, walking off in the direction of the food stands. You hoped there was something good to eat. Taking a few moments to balance everything, you slowly made your way to the food court. There were some fast food places and some restaurants, both of which had very few employees and customers. You walked over to a cheap restaurant, waiting at the hostess table. You were greeted with a suppressed giggle at your stuggling form, and led inside.

The establishment was nearly empty, only a few people dotting the dining area. As the hostess began to seat you, you heard a familiar voice call out to the both of you. It was the man from earlier.

“She’s with me.” He said. The hostess nodded and brought you over to the table. Once seated, - which was difficult with all of your belongings - you cocked an eyebrow at the man.

“What was that about?” You asked.

“I don’t like eating alone.” He replied. “I’ll pay for your meal if it helps.” You shook your head.

“No, thanks. I’ll get it.” You said. “I don’t like leeching.” He looked at you and hummed. Part of you was excited because you’d finally be able to see the face under the mask. You grinned at the thought of knowing why he was so familiar. You had previously noted his Australian accent, but it could have been anyone. Both of you sat in awkward silence for a minute or so before your server turned up with the menus. They asked what you’d like to drink, and you both went with a good old glass of water.

The restaurant’s selection was an absolute mess. There was Italian food, Mexican food, Chinese, and every other type of popular cuisine you could muster. You heard the man scoff.

“They serve fried chicken,” He said, ��and on the back, it’s also says they serve caviar.” You immediately rolled your eyes.

“If you’re opening to a chicken and egg joke, I swear-” he looked up at you, and you could tell he was smiling from the crinkles around his eyes. You giggled, too. The server returned with the two glasses of water you had both asked for.

“I kid, I kid.” He raised his hands in surrender. You grinned. The server asked for your orders, which you both gave, and walked away.

“So, why don’t you like to eat alone?” You asked. He paused for a moment to think.

“I don’t know. It’s just better to eat with someone.” He replied. “Can I ask you a question?” He asked. You looked at him and nodded.

“Sure.”

“Why are you going to Korea?” He cocked his head to the side like a curious puppy when he asked, making your heart flutter a little bit.

“I got a job there. What about you?” You asked. He smiled through the mask.

“It’s where I live. I was visiting some old friends here.” He explained. You hummed in understanding.

“Can I ask what your job is?” You tried to figure out why you knew him. He immediately looked away.

“I-” He started, but stopped himself. “I’m in the entertainment industry.” He said. You noticed him fiddle with his face mask. He was hiding his identity on purpose. You immediately ran through a quick mental list of the Korean artists you listen to, failing to put his face and voice to any of them. You listened to a lot of music, but didn’t really go looking up many singers or bands. You kind of wished you did. Resisting the urge to look up Korean-Australian performers, you smiled.

“That’s vague, but okay.” You replied. You watched as a weight seemed to lift off of his chest. He was worried you’d found him out. You mentally wondered why he would ask you to eat with him if he didn’t want his identity known. “Is that why you’re wearing a mask?”

His relief was short-lived, and you observed as he squirmed where he sat. He looked at you with panic settling in.

It was going to be an interesting night.

Hey~! I turned this into a fanfiction, just because it seemed like I could do more with it that way. I hope that’s okay~~ Thanks for sending in this awesomely fluffy request!

My bias is the amazing Christopher Bangnaldo, also known as Chanana, the boy who cried blonde, MalefiChan, (I’m looking at you, @jorgofthejungle.) or the rubber ducky enthusiast. I’m sorry. I don’t have a favourite song. What about you?

As always, if you enjoyed, please leave a like and reblog to show your friends!

* DISCLAIMER: I do not own any gifs/photos used in this post. I do own the written content. Do NOT repost/edit. *

🏷 @punk-pan-bih-yeets-thru-life • @hoshithehamster • @woo-for-woojin • @deceased-pumpkin-babe • @ethereal-chanracha • @midnatwlp • @royalhvangs

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shreddedparchment · 6 years ago

Text

Man and Wife Pt.09

The Surprise Visit

04/23/2019

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Word Count: 11,982

*Masterpost in Notes Warnings: violence, language, a smidge of angst, pregnancy cuteness, pregnancy scariness, pregnancy cuteness again, spilled tomato sauce

A/N: So, I asked myself; Do they want it now? Or should I make a third pass of edits? I thought you guys might say, “NOW!” so, I’m posting it now. I’ll edit again tomorrow however, so, heads up! I hope you all like this one. You asked for less angst and I give less angst but there’s still some because come one, it needs to be there, story wise. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo P.S. I’m so sorry I didn’t respond to the comments for part 8! I love y’all!

“Excuse me? Miss! Shit. Hold on.” The chair squeaks loudly as Bucky rises, making himself as small as possible as he lumbers towards the redheaded waitress who’d just left you.

Your heart shakes as you watch him chase after her; tall, strong arms, milky skin. She’s beautiful. You force yourself to focus on Bucky instead. You know why he’s up and you remind yourself that he’s here with you.

Your lips curve up into a small smile as you watch Bucky try hard to be as nonthreatening as possible but still the waitress gasps when she turns around and falls against the register. Bucky holds his hands up and you can tell that he’s apologizing. His cheeks flame red and you feel a twinge of deep affection at his cuteness but also the sting of pain because people are still afraid of him.

He tucks his metal hand behind him, holding it away from the waitress as he gestures towards you and then moves back as the woman sidles along the counter and back into the kitchen of the small sandwich shop you and Bucky had come to for lunch.

You reach down to tug your shirt more tightly over your still teeny tiny bump. You’re not really showing yet. Everyone who doesn’t know you might think you’d just had a big lunch. But to your friends, they see you and they know instantly.

You’re still small enough that your shirt fits loosely around you but because you know the baby’s in there, you fuss over your stomach. The jean cut-off shorts are shorter than you normally wear but Spring seems to be heating up quickly and your hormones must be raging because you’re hot a lot of the time now.

You fuss with your shirt more, thin black and white striped shirt with three-quarter sleeves, making sure not to let the loose cuff around your forearm dip into your ranch. A small stack of sliced tomatoes just waiting to be dipped beside it.

You grab one, holding it carefully between your thumb and index finger, dip it lightly, and savor the flavors as they fall across your tongue.

Moaning with contentment, your stomach fluttering as your hunger pangs grow stronger, Bucky turns towards you at the sound. Even all the way across the shop he can hear your whispered cry of satisfaction.

He smiles at you, watching you chew, then turns back to the redhead as she holds out a small white bowl for him to take.

“Thank you!” He says, too excited but he hurries back towards you and slides into his chair, making it squeak against the floor again. “Here you go, kitten.”

He places the bowl of pickles beside the one with tomato.

“Thank you.” Being this happy with Bucky again…you hadn’t thought it would be possible. You watch him pull his plate closer but after every adjustment he makes to his food, he reaches over and fixes something on your plate. Or he grabs you a napkin and places it on your too exposed legs. Or he pushes your pickles closer. Or he assess the fullness of your lemonade.

You finally chuckle. “Bucky just eat. I’m fine.”

He stops, staring at you as you shove another tomato into your mouth, quickly followed by a plain dill pickle slice and you can almost see the swell of pride as he sits up straighter, breathes in deeply, and then relaxes.

“Okay.” He sighs and finally takes a bite of his sandwich.

The walk into the park is nice. Bucky shoves his hands into the pockets of his black jeans to keep from reaching over and taking your hand.

It’s only been two weeks since you and he “made up”. Things aren’t exactly right yet but they’re on their way and you’re happy. Well…you’re happy until-

“You’re Bucky Barnes, right?” A cool sweet voice stops the two of you in your tracks.

You told him that hat wouldn’t hide him.

“Er…yeah.” Bucky replies, staring at the young brunette. She’s petite, tiny compared to him but the curve of her body tells you she’s woman enough.

“Can I take a picture with you? My cousin has such a crush on you!” She gushes not sparing you a glance.

“Oh um, okay.” Bucky replies nervously and you quickly move aside as the girl settles into the crook of his right arm.

You swallow hard, trying not to let this upset you. She’s a fan. No big deal…right?

But you can’t watch as two more girls hurry forward, friends of the first apparently. You turn away from them and keep walking.

It’s silly. It’s stupid. It’s embarrassing and completely unexpected, but you’re crying as you walk away. The ache in your chest cannot be silenced.

His jogging feet shift along the cement pathway, creating a consistent scrape, scrape, scrape, sound as he catches up with you.

“Sorry about that, I-Y/N?”

You look away from him as he leans forward, trying to get a look at your face.

“Are you crying?”

“I think I wanna go home now.” You mumble, your voice thick around the lump in your throat.

This isn’t your first date with Bucky. For the first he’d really stuck to the cliché. Movie, dinner, and then drinks after, though that had been tea for you and a soda for him. When you’d asked him why he wasn’t going to have a real drink, he shook his head.

“I don’t drink anymore.”

“But…you can’t even get drunk?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Why are you crying?” He asks, moving to stand in front of you to stop your progress.

Angrily you wipe at your cheeks, hating your body for betraying you like this.

Bucky’s head scans the people behind you. “Is it because of those girls?”

You say nothing, afraid of sounding stupid or worse, like a jealous wife. It’s only when Bucky’s warm hands burn through the sleeves of your shirt that you look at him.

“Y/N? Please don’t shut me out. You’re upset. Tell me why.”

He’s right. You shouldn’t keep this to yourself. Not like before.

“Is it really okay f-for me to tell you?”

“Of course, kitten. If I’m doing something or if I’ve said something-”

“I don’t like you taking pictures with hot girls.”

Bucky looks over your head again, searching for his fans.

“Hot?” He asks, confused. He takes a moment, he’s so silent that you think maybe you’ve angered him but when you look at his face, you see the pucker between his eyes as he thinks. “Okay.”

“Okay?” You ask, still staring up at him.

“Okay.” He nods. “No more pictures with fans. Female fans.”

Your mind explodes with glee and then you can see the reality of what you’re asking him. You can see the forums and comment sections of articles and pictures of Bucky with male fans. You can almost hear the disdain on tumblr and Instagram as his intense fan base spouts hate because his controlling wife is so jealous that he won’t take pictures with girls anymore.

“No.” You sigh, shaking your head. “No, Bucky, you can’t do that. They’ll hate me.”

“Who will?”

“Everyone.” You rub your belly, protective of the little one within. You know it’s stupid to fear these faceless people. They don’t actually know who you are, but they know he has a wife. You hate the idea of anyone sending you negative vibes with the baby coming. “I just wanna go home.”

You stare at his chest, unwilling to look up and see the disappointment in his face. Hot hands cup your cheeks, strong thumbs—one cool, one blazing—rub rough circles as they wipe away tears. The gesture does what he wants, it makes you look at him.

“I love you, Y/N. Please don’t doubt that.”

“You’re expecting too much from me, Bucky. You cheated on me. I saw you in bed with someone else. Our bed. I can’t erase that or how it made me feel. I already thought I wasn’t good enough for you-”

He growls but it’s not directed at you, he steps closer, all care of who may be watching flying out the window. “I love you. I’m sorry that you had to see me that way. It’s not something that I ever thought I would do—I won’t make excuses because I can’t but please never say that again.”

“Say what?”

“That you aren’t good enough for me. You are so good, Y/N. Too good. It’s me who doesn’t deserve you.” He suddenly straightens up and sees that a few people are watching. He renews the distance between you and sighs. “Are you free next Wednesday?”

You’re so fucking free. Since quitting your job, you’ve taken on some editing gigs to tide you over but you’re officially out of a job. You nod.

“I want you to meet my therapist. I want you there at my next session.”

“For what?” You wonder, excited that he wants you at something so private but also worried that the doctor will tell you that you’re the reason everything went wrong in your marriage.

“Because I want you to see me, Y/N. And I want you to see the way I see you.”

“Hello again, Y/N.”

“Hello, Dr. Garza.” You take your seat to Bucky’s right. He’s already sitting but he pulls a pillow over for you so that you can lean back against it on the long black sofa. “I’m okay, Bucky.”

“Sorry.” He says and pulls his hands back between he knees. He looks so handsome in his dark gray jeans and bright red t-shirt.

As you fix the pillow, you look up at the doc to see her watching Bucky with keen eyes. You’ve been here three times already and you definitely understand Bucky much more. You see his self-hatred and that alone breaks your heart.

You heard all about his worries for you and can see yourself through his eyes a bit better but mostly that just makes you feel like you’re weak and still—despite his reassurances—ill-suited for him.

“Why are you fussing over Y/N, Bucky?” Dr. Garza dives right in, no waiting and you still beside Bucky, looking to him as you and she both wait for his answer.

Bucky blushes. “I…just want her to be comfortable.”

“What made you think she wasn’t?”

“Nothing. I guess I-I feel guilty.”

You’re in utter awe at the way Dr. Garza can pull these words out of Bucky. He’s getting better at telling you things clearly. Speaking his truth. There are way fewer misunderstandings between the two of you. Less bickering though women are still a problem. And men.

~~~~~~~~~~

You struggle in the aisle, reaching up high to try and grab the large box of paper. Buying in bulk is a necessity. Since you’re on your own now, you have to pay for the expense of printing out manuscripts on your own.

You groan, pushing yourself up higher on your tiptoes and manage to get the box to the edge when it suddenly comes barreling towards you, twenty pounds of premium no-smudge paper. You let out a squeak of fear, throwing your arms up over your head but curling in on yourself to shield your tummy from harm.

The box never lands. You feel hot heavy breath hit the top of your head and strong body heat wrapped around your right side. Relief warms you; Bucky had saved you!

Only it wasn’t Bucky. Just a man. No one you know. He’s taller than you, not as tall as Bucky, a soft body—this guy is like you, he doesn’t work out. His blonde hair is long, though nowhere near as long as Bucky’s. His startled brown eyes stare down at you with worry.

“Are you okay, miss?”

You nod. “Y-yes.”

“Hey!” Bucky’s voice cuts through the aisle and you jump, startled by it. Almost as if you were caught doing something wrong.

He’s at your side instantly, moving between you and the man who saved your head. You watch his face and see him glare death at your rescuer.

“What happened?” He asks, then turns his eyes on you, full of concern.

“I was trying to get the box and it fell.”

“I just caught the box, man. She’s okay.” You can hear the tremble in the man’s voice and feel bad for him. Today, Bucky has made no attempt to hide his metal arm. He’s wearing an old black t-shirt, the sleeves cut off and a pair of gray joggers pants.

Bucky takes the box from the guy’s hands roughly, standing much too close to you—not that you mind too much. He looks really fucking good in that shirt and those pants—clearly displaying his claim.

“Yeah, thanks for saving my wife, bud.” Bucky’s words are kind, but his tone is a downright threat.

All sweat and stutters, the man nods, gives you a nervous smile and when Bucky drops the box of paper into your cart, the man jumps then turns and scurries away.

“That wasn’t nice.” You tell him. “He was just trying to help me.”

“I know he was.” Bucky says, and in one of the only moments that you let him show you affection, he reaches up and tucks your hair behind your ear, slipping his hand around your waist. “I thanked him.”

“You threatened him, Bucky.”

“You’re impossible to resist protecting. You bring that out in people, you know that? Especially guys.”

“Don’t be stupid.” You scoff and turn away from him to push your cart into the next aisle. He falls in step behind you.

“I’m serious. It’s like people can’t help it.”

By people, you know that he means Henry. You can hear the drag in his voice as he tries to sound as nonchalant as possible.

You stop, turn to face him, leaning against the cart so that the long handle pokes into your back.

“Bucky, I only slept with H-” His eyes are ice-fire, searing and angry. “-with him because I’d known him for so long. I used to like him. I wanted to be with him at one point. I’m not going to sleep with some random guy I just met.”

Of course, the irony of the sentence you just spoke is not lost on you and Bucky’s eyes soften. The fire of rage extinguished as he laughs once.

You laugh too. Squeezing your eyes shut before you open them again to watch him smile.

“No.” Bucky agrees but he moves towards you and turns you around so that you start to walk again, pushing the cart. He leans in towards your ear, his hands and arms right beside your own on that cart’s handle. “Not again, huh?”

You give in, the moment too good to pass up. You lean back, letting him walk with you, relishing in the comforting warmth of his hard chest. “Never again.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Why?” Dr. Garza wonders.

You try not to look at Bucky when he’s baring his soul. He doesn’t need the added pressure of you staring at him.

“Because of what I did. Sleeping with P-” He stops, like you did in the office supply store, knowing that hearing her name will bring you pain. “-with that other woman.”

“Y/N?”

You look up, surprised to be addressed when all the sessions before had taken place as if you weren’t sitting in the room with them.

“Yes?”

“How does Bucky’s fussing make you feel?”

You swallow hard, hesitant about speaking the truth.

“There are no secrets in this room, Y/N. We don’t hide how we feel. We speak it aloud. From what I understand, you’ve always had a problem with telling Bucky how you’re feeling?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Why?”

“I was afraid.” You admit, staring at Dr. Garza and only her. You can feel Bucky’s eyes on you though, his body angled towards you.

“Of what?”

“Of making him angry. Of-fighting over nothing. Of being a nuisance?”

“You’re not a nuisance, Y/N.” Bucky rushes to say. “How can you-?”

“Bucky.” The doc says sternly, and he clenches his jaw, shutting himself up. “Let’s not interrupt Y/N when she’s talking. I want you to really hear her, okay? And wait until she’s finished before replying.”

Bucky nods.

“Why did you feel that way, Y/N? What made you think that you’d be a nuisance to Bucky?”

You laugh once, a scoff more than anything, but it isn’t bitter, just an exclamation of exasperation. A duh. “Look at him.”

Even with his face all scrunched up, body curled toward you as he fights his urge to reach out to you, he’s visual perfection. Guy that look like Bucky don’t date girls like you, much less marry them. Or so your experience has taught you.

“Bucky is the most handsome man I’ve ever met. And he married me? It’s-I’ve pinched myself a million times trying to see if it was a dream.” You shake your head.

“Is that the only reason that you married Bucky?”

“No! Of course not. His…I didn’t even like him when I first met him. I thought he was a pervert.” You admit, and this time you smile.

“Why?”

Bucky’s also smiling and he meets your eyes. The two of you laugh and Bucky clears his throat. “We sort of met in an unconventional sort of way. I tripped and went headfirst into her chest. She was wearing this low pink V-cut bathing suit. It was pleasant for me. Not so much for Y/N.”

Your cheeks burn. “I didn’t fall for him until he showed up with a bandage for my foot. I’d skinned it when I was walking around the lazy river ride, with the tubes? I’d been limping around on it and Bucky found me. Apologized for the way we met, and then dressed my foot.

“I knew who he was. I’d been a fan before. His story, although I’ve learned more details recently about his experiences, it moved me. So, when I met him, I wasn’t afraid of him like some of my friends in high school had been. All I saw was this sweet guy trying to apologize for shoving his face into my boobs.

“It was that more than anything that drew me in. He was so careful with me, so easy with his smile. I really did fall in love with you that day, Bucky. And when I agreed to marry you, I-I knew that it would be hard, but I never expected this to happen.”

And suddenly, you’re crying, your chest burning with pain and remorse because you did it to him too. You hurt him the way he hurt you. And yours…it feels worse because from what he’s said, the woman he’d slept with had been convenience. She’d just been there.

Henry for you had been deeper. A buildup and culmination of four years of pent up attraction. Emotions had been involved there. You’d liked Henry.

“So,” Dr. Garza says carefully. “How does Bucky’s fussing make you feel, Y/N?”

You turn to look at her, tearing your eyes away from Bucky as your tears continue to pour, rapid falls carving salty divots.

“Guilty. I hurt him too. I should have done more. I should have told you that I don’t like being away from you for days on end. I should have told you that when you leave me in the mornings, it feels like you’re choosing other people over me. I shouldn’t feel that way because I know that Steve and Sam are important to you. But it was too much. You were gone for days and then you still chose to be with them over me when you were finally home? And I should have told you that it was hurting me.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” Bucky’s face is contorted with agony, his right hand reaches out for your left and you take it, you squeeze it. You hold on for dear life because this man is everything. He’s your life, your family, your home, and he’s hurting too.

“I should have told you that I wasn’t well.” He speaks in a whisper, the room already so quiet, it’s easy to hear him. “You had already done so much for me—I wasn’t having nightmares anymore. I was able to get through the day without a spazzing out, but I still wasn’t safe for you. I was still terrified of hurting you.”

“Why then? Why did you sleep with her?”

Bucky shuts his eyes and hangs his head, squeezing your hand tighter.

“It’s like you handpicked her to check all of the boxes for everything that I’m insecure about. I know that I’m not athletic. I can’t fight someone off. I can’t lift a twenty-pound box over my head. My muscles are soft and I’m not as fierce as you wish I was.”

“You’re perfect, Y/N. Just.As.You.Are.” Bucky insists, gritting his teeth as tears fall from his eyes too. They pool at the edges then spill over, falling on your hand. “I-For a moment I did wish that you were stronger, that you were l-like one of the agents I work with if only because I can’t bear to leave you unprotected. I told you the other day that you bring an instinctive urge out in people to want to protect you and in me…the thought of anything happening to you fills me with so much dread that sometimes I can’t sleep at night.

“Every moment that I spend away from you feels like a lifetime. I am not at ease unless I know that you’re safe and that is on me. It’s not a responsibility that I should have tried to put on you. I love you, just as you are. You are all that I want. Every single moment I spent with that woman was torture. I just needed to stop thinking. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He pulls your hand up to his lips and kisses it, clinging to your hand as if his life depends on it.

For a few minutes the two of you simply cry together.

“Y/N?” Dr. Garza pulls your attention back to her. “Do you believe that Bucky loves you? Truly?”

You look back at Bucky and the blue in his eyes seems to swirl and melt, pained adoration flowing from them as he stares right back at you. You nod.

“Yes.” You weep, inhaling a shuddering breath.

“Bucky? Do you believe that Y/N loves you?”

He’s already nodding. “Yes. I do.”

You don’t know why that makes you so happy. Your chest tightens and then bursts with relief. You scoot closer, and Bucky already knows what to do. He leans in, the two of you kiss, just a quick fierce peck, before he pulls you tight against his chest.

Your weak arms, wrapped around his torso, squeeze him harder than you’ve ever squeezed before. And you know that this doesn’t fix things. You know that there is still going to be so much struggle and hard work to overcome. The thought of Bucky sitting next to a beautiful girl still fills you with terror just as another man saving you from harm must fill him with agony.

It’ll be a work in progress but for the first time since you agreed to give Bucky a chance again, to go on a date with him, you feel confident that he will choose you and not because of your baby, but for you.

The idea of going back to the apartment, of moving back into that place where your world ended, is unthinkable. You don’t go back.

At six months pregnant, you and Bucky are doing much better. You see him nearly every day. His presence at Casey’s is starting to grate on her nerves but she’s a good sport about it and tries not to glare at him too much.

Physical contact has returned too. Bucky can take your hand and you don’t pull it away. He can hug you, rest his hands on your belly over your shirt, and it’s alright.

He talks to the baby. A mystery because both you and Bucky have decided to wait until the they’re born to find out if it’s a boy or girl. It doesn’t really matter either way. You’re both just happy to have them coming.

Since that day in Dr. Garza’s office however, you and Bucky haven’t kissed again. You’re not sure who among the two of you is resisting. You don’t know if you would tell him no again, and Bucky doesn’t try.

It’s been weeks since Bucky’s gone out on mission. He’s doing it for you. You know he is. Sometimes, when he’s visiting at Casey’s, he gets a phone call and moves to your window to stare out at the front of the building.

He does it again today. He’s laughing, his lips pressed against your bump as the baby in your belly moves. “Ooh, that was a fart.”

“No, it wasn’t!” Bucky protests. Refusing to believe that his baby is farting all day in your belly.

“Yes, it was.” Another small bump pops up, right against his lips. “Eeewwwwwww! The baby just farted into your mouth!”

Bucky throws his head back and laughs, his hands placed on either side of your tummy, the white t-shirt stretched taught over your swollen belly. He’s laying to your left, leaning over your thighs so that he can caress his baby comfortably.

You chuckle with him, your laugh quieter as you enjoy the vision and sound of his melodic laughter. A deep baritone, smooth and easy.

His phone rings, and your laughter dies almost instantly. Bucky’s trails off slowly as he reaches into his pocket to fish out his phone.

The shift in his eyes as he reads the name on the screen would be imperceptible to anyone but you. A hardness ices his blues. He kisses your belly one more time then scoots to the edge of the bed as he swipes his fingers across the heated glass.

He’s on his feet, moving towards your window as you push yourself to sit up straight against the headboard of your bed. Your hands move along your tummy, smoothing the wrinkles of your shirt.

“Hello?” Bucky looks at you and smiles as the other person on the phone talks quickly.

You return his smile though it doesn’t reach your eyes.

He mouths, Sorry.

You shake your head.

“No.” Bucky says sternly, turning his back on you to look out the window. “I said no, Steve. I’m not going.”

You can see the tension roll down along Bucky’s wide shoulders. He holds the phone with his metal hand, his right held up against the windowsill as he squeezes the wood. Steve must be trying to convince him to go on whatever mission they’re about to run.

“Bucky-?” You probe, intent on telling him to go. He’s been by your side long enough. He has to do his job. He might not like it all the time, but it’s in his blood. And you’ve learned more about Elias and this fight is personal for Bucky.

Bucky had confessed not long after that breakthrough session with Dr. Garza that Elias was Swiss. He’d been found by an unknown party in the back room of the same Siberian Hydra facility where Zemo had lured him, Steve, and Tony to.

He’d killed all the other Winter Soldiers before they’d even arrived, save for one, hidden in a back room behind a secret door; Elias. Fucking Hydra and their secret doors.

The difference between Bucky and Elias is that Bucky at his core is inherently good. He wants to help, save, build, and love. Elias had been plucked from some criminal group, already an elite trained assassin, and made more deadly with Super Soldier Serum.

The Avengers have been chasing him across Europe for the better part of a year. Now, with your one-year wedding anniversary weeks away, Elias had snuck into the States and after you and Bucky reconciled, have been pursing without Bucky’s help.

“I’ll come look at the tapes, Steve, but I’m not going. I’m right where I should be.” He says, almost angry. “I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up and you sit up straighter, resting only your right hand on your stomach as Bucky turns back towards you.

“You have to go?” You know he does.

“Yeah. It’s getting late anyway.” Bucky sighs, clearly hesitant to leave your side. “But I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Bucky,” You reach out for his hand and he takes it. As you sit up, throwing your legs over the edge of the bed to sit, he sits beside you. Right beside you, and your heart flutters. He intertwines his fingers with yours and you love it so much you sit and enjoy it for a few silent seconds.

“I don’t wanna go.” He assures you.

“I know that.” You sigh lightly and pull your eyes away from his hand tangled with yours. His own eyes are searching, his rose-pink lips slightly parted. “But you should go with them.”

“What?” He’s surprised. Why? You know why.

“You should go with them. You’ve spent the past two months with me. You haven’t gone on any missions-”

“Because I want to fix this. I want to show you that you’re all I want.”

“And you have, babe. But I don’t want to feel like I’m taking you away from your own life. You had one before you met me, and I never wanted you to feel like I was trying to make you give that up. I just wanted to be included.”

He looks down at the floor by your feet, a pained frown overtaking his features. You let his hand go and reach up to wrap it around the back of his head, gentle fingers trailing into the short soft tufty hairs at the nape of his neck. He shuts his eyes, his face relaxed of all stress with your touch.

“And you have included me. I know why you tried to keep me at a distance now. We can work through that. It won’t be easy but I’m willing to try if you are.”

“Of course, I wanna try.” Bucky sighs. “But what if I come back and I’m…that night we fought, when I yelled at you-what if that happens again?”

“It might. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

He meets your eyes, blue fire boring into your soul. He scans your face, memorizing the shape of your brow, the plump of your lip, the curve of your nose. You do the same. He’s so damn beautiful. Even in his pain and uncertainty, he’s not perfect. And you love him for it.

“Next time.” You sigh, giving up. As his left hand finds your belly, and his right arm wraps around your back, he nods. “I’ll go to the next one. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Bucky’s been gone for a hot minute. The night is late, and you can hear the emptiness of the rooms around you. Casey always stays with Sam the night before a mission, not that you blame her, but you also hate the solitude of the empty house.

You move back down the hallway, headed back to your room after having to pee for what feels like the tenth time tonight. You caress your tummy but yawn and speak. “Move off my bladder, ducky, mommy wants to sleep.”

With half-lidded eyes, you meander back into your room, sit on the bed, and yawn once more. You reach over to shut off your lamp when a shift in the dark corner by the very same window that Bucky had stood by earlier today catches your eye.

“Bucky?” You ask hopefully, stupidly, because if Bucky were here, he would have come found you in the bathroom or he’d be waiting on the bed. Why would he be hiding in the corner?

Your heart stops and restarts at supersonic speeds as a large looming man steps forward wearing tattered brown rags that might have been a uniform of some sort at some point, a ripped vest with the distinct marks of previous bullets hitting the armor, and no shoes. His skin is dirty, covered in patches of black tar? Dirt, dried blood, and his blonde hair stands at hard odd angles, crusted with grime.

Your eyes quickly find his bright green eyes, piercing, the color of lethal toxin set ablaze. You get no comfort in his green like you do in Casey’s. You can feel the hate radiating off of him, the ill-intent, the violence to come.

Your left hand flies to pull open the drawer of your nightstand, Barnes sitting just inside.

As your right hand flies for the gun, a disgusting dirty one grabs your wrist, squeezing so tight you cry out. You let your instinct drive you and pull your left leg up hard and fast, driving it between the man’s legs.

He groans and drops your hand. You grab the gun, but you don’t get to lift it as the full force of his back-hand swing throws you clear over the bed. You don’t think. You just curl. You wrap yourself around your stomach as your body falls hard against the wall then onto the floor. Something is broken. You can feel it. A finger? Your whole arm? You’re a body of bruises already from one single stupid hit.

Gasping you pull yourself up weakly, Barnes still clutched in your left hand. It takes all the strength in your body to pull yourself up to sit, to lean your arms on the bed and aim. You pull the trigger and it echoes around you filling the air with the acrid burn of gunpowder and the rust of blood.

The man cries out as he reaches up to grab his shoulder. After a long glare at you, his green eyes full of enmity, he disappears through your bedroom doorway. You don’t hear his exit, but you hear the front door burst open.

How long you stay like that you don’t know. You’re shaking, terrified, crying, hurting, and frozen. It feels like hours before you’re finally able to move.

You cry out as you straighten up and then curl in on yourself as you move around the bed, limping because you’d hit your right foot hard against the wall. You’re still sobbing as you find your phone, your hand still a vice around Barnes.

With your phone held tight in your right hand, and the shaking index finger of your left hand, you scroll through the names on your phone and look for The Perv. Barnes’s metal hits the edge of your phone because there is no way that you are letting it go.

He picks up after one ring.

“Hold on, Steve. Y/N? What’s the matter, baby? Can’t sleep?” You’re not unaware of how relaxed and happy he sounds, finally around his friends after devoting himself to you so wholly these past two months. However, you can’t help the wracking sobs that tear through your lump ridden throat at the sound of his voice.

“Y/N?!” He yells, the worry making his voice rise.

“What is it?” Sam asks.

“Bucky?” Nat.

You’re finally able to find your voice after a few unending seconds of loud, harsh sobbing that tears at your throat. “Bucky!”

It’s like his life is over. The sounds you’re making fill him with a fear that he’d never known he could feel.

Compared to the fear of you leaving him, this is worse. The terror in your cries turns his heart to lead and it falls into the pit of his stomach.

He’s running before he even knows where he’s going but there’s only one place you can be. What if you were kidnapped? What if you’d been taken away from him by force?

The nearest exit is the glass doors to the balcony by the living room. He throws them open and leaps, falling three stories without fear. He tucks himself in as the ground rushes up to meet him and he rolls then springs back up onto his feet.

Bucky’s legs have never moved so fast. He’s struggling to breathe when he reaches town. Three a.m. means the streets are deserted, only a car passes him as he flies along the pavement. Your front door sits wide open, several people are standing in your walkway, others are standing on their stoops, glancing towards your and Casey’s house with looks of shock and concern. Bucky doesn’t stop.

He shoves people aside; something must have drawn them out of their homes. What?

The sounds of sirens begin to fill the air as Bucky takes the stairs four at a time. He slides on the top floor landing but turns into your room and nearly falls to his knees at the sight of you howling with tears, kneeling, your bare right foot bright red, turning purple. Your left hand, the heel of your palm pressed against your forehead, is curled around Barnes your pinky twisted into a painful position. It’s broken.

Your entire body is curled protectively around your stomach and as Bucky heaves and struggles to breathe, his shoulders rising and falling violently as he moves towards you, you turn to him and open your arms like a terrified toddler.

Bucky drops to his knees, and pulls you close, holding you tight as you wrap your arms around his neck, almost choking him in your desperation, and bury your face against his thudding pulse as you continue to cry.

He tries to speak but his voice seems to have left him. Instead he breathes out a ragged croak. He shuts his eyes and wills his heart to stop pounding so hard. He inhales deeply through his nose, the gunpowder from the gun sharp and stinging, he can also smell a hint of blood in the air.

He runs his hand along your body, searching, but the faintness of the smell already tell him that the wounded is long gone.

“I’ve got you, kitten.” His voice is still strangled, struggling to come out louder than a whisper. It doesn’t matter however; the timber of his voice seems to relax you. You keep your arms wrapped around him tightly, but he can feel you melt against him.

Running feet pound up behind him but Bucky is so familiar with the gaits that he doesn’t turn. He does however scoot his metal arm underneath your knees and with ease he lifts you up. He turns with you in his arms as Nat, Sam, and Steve stumble to a stop by the doorway.

Steve moves inside, Sam following as Nat holds back, disappearing into the darkness of the house to check the rest of the rooms probably.

“Is she-?” Steve begins.

“She’s okay.” Bucky assures him. “She needs Cho.”

Sam is out the door, his hand on his ear. “Get the jet. Call Helen, tell her we need her in the med bay A-Sap.”

Bucky could have carried you to the compound, but he would prefer the safety of the jet too. He’s silent the entire ride back, his arms holding you carefully, and with you in his lap he’s able to place his hand on your tummy. He rubs it gently, grateful that you’re in one piece if only slightly broken.

Your racking sobs have turned into quiet sniffles and Bucky’s heart aches but also soars at the way you cling to him for comfort. He leans in and kisses your head, offering as much as he can.

As the jet lands, Sam moves towards him but reaches for your left hand to relieve you of your gun.

“Don’t.” Bucky warns him, but Sam tries anyway.

Bucky can feel you tense up and feels your hand wrap around the gun harder. You try to move your pinky and it makes you whimper. With a hiss Bucky gets to his feet and walks towards Sam, a threat in his eyes.

Sam backs up a step holding up his arms to show Bucky he means no harm. “Sorry, Y/N. Sorry.”

Bucky sidesteps him and moves off the jet, into the elevator, and all the way down to the med bay.

“Y/N? Can you hear me? Come on, baby, open your eyes.” His voice is so tempting and warm, you reach for him.

Something isn’t right. Your pinky won’t bend. You groan, your right foot also hurts and feels too tight.

“Bucky?” You whisper, your voice hoarse. Why is it-? “Bucky!”

You shout, sitting up so quickly your back cracks and protests against the sudden movement. Your mind floods with the scramble for your gun, the sharp pain of a harsh hit, the crumble of your fall, and then the panic as you called Bucky and all you could do is scream for him.

“I’ve got you, kitten. I’ve got you.” Bucky's arms are around you, and you quickly wrap yours around him again. He repeats those words, over and over, rubbing your back over the soft, over sized pink cotton shirt you wear to bed. “I’ve got you, kitten. I’ve got you.”

You stay there, in his arms, unwilling to let go because the fear coursing through your body is paralyzing.

When Bucky speaks again, his voice is proud, he squeezes you once and then resumes rubbing your back. “You shot him.”

He already knows who it is that attacked you? “Who?”

“Elias.” Bucky sighs, his voice tells you that crinkle between his eyes is prominent. “We think he noticed my absence. He and I have more in common than I’d like to admit. Maybe not fundamentally but he was made like me. Only difference is he enjoyed it.”

“The other Winter Soldier?” You whisper, realization hitting you smack in the face—no, that was Elias’s hand. You must look like a walking bruise.

“So, he came after me?” Your fearful hitch makes Bucky push you back a little if only so that he can stare into your eyes with anxious blue steel.

“No. I think he was looking for me. He followed me there and was probably curious. When he saw you-”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Did you reach for your gun first, or did he hit you first?”

“I reached for the gun. He stopped me, hurt my wrist.” You pull your arm up and look at the skin, bruised, swollen slightly too. “I was worried…about our ducky and I just reacted. I didn’t think. I kicked him and then I grabbed the gun but then he hit me, and I remember hitting something hard,”

“The wall.” Bucky says.

“-and got up and shot him. I couldn’t even hold up the gun, Bucky I’m such shit to protect our baby. I had to rest my arms on the bed to keep them steady. What if he’d hurt our ducky?”

“You did amazing, Y/N. You fought him off. And the baby is perfect. Helen says that she’s never seen a baby so healthy and perfect, but she called Dr. Carroll for you and she checked you over too.”

“Dr. Carroll was here?” Shock widening your eyes.

“She was.” Bucky smiles, reaching up to tuck your hair back, caressing what feels like a massive bump that stretches along the entirety of the right side of your face. “She said she understands now why the baby always seemed to have a heartrate much faster than normal. She seemed kind of impressed when I told her I was your husband.”

You watch as Bucky’s eyes grow distant for a moment. It’s scary, that wall he hides behind. You haven’t seen it in two months and there it is.

“What, Bucky? Did she say something?”

“No, I just…”

~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little surprised.” Dr. Carroll reaches down to press the small wand of the much more competent ultrasound machine to your exposed tummy.

“Why?” Bucky asks, his eyes peaked with interest as he watches the screen for his baby. He can already hear that quick thrumming. His little one’s heart! He could kiss the stupid screen for giving him this moment.

His elation is quickly followed by sorrow. He’s missed so much already.

“Ooh, there!” Dr. Carroll sounds a little too excited to see the baby. The image is stunning, 3D, and Bucky can already see that the baby has your nose. The rest of him or her, looks a little like it’s still forming. He can see eyebrows, patchy, like they’re still filling in, shut eyes, big ones. The chin is too small still and the cheeks still not puffed like he’s seen some babies get.

“Is that our baby?!” He asks excitedly, forgetting his sorrow.

The baby suddenly twitches and Dr. Carroll smiles then chuckles. “They like your voice.” She says, explaining the sudden movement.

“My voice?” Bucky doesn’t understand why, or how the baby would even know to distinguish his voice as something to like. He’d missed out on the baby’s first four and a half months. At six months, with only a collective two and a half months of hearing him and the first month of that sparingly because he was always away on mission, he finds it hard to believe that the baby knows to like him.

“Yeah. See.” Dr. Carroll adjusts the wand so that the baby is on display on its side, profile clear and that is definitely your nose! “Try and say something.”

“Uh, hey little one. I’m er…I’m your daddy.” Bucky says nervously.

The baby twitches again, kicking their little legs and at the same time, Bucky can see the kick on your stomach. Bucky’s eyes water. How is it possible that the little one knows it’s him? He looks at you and leans his forehead against your temple. Your face, swollen, beaten, and asleep looks peaceful, despite the purple and red-blue marks on your right side.

“I told you our ducky wasn’t farting.”

Dr. Carroll is silent as the thrumming continues to fill the room. When Bucky finds it weird that she still hasn’t said anything, he looks up at her, sitting up straight again. She’s staring at him and you, her eyes narrowed slightly.

“How long have you two been married?” She wonders.

“Almost a year.” Bucky tells her. “Just under two months left.”

“I didn’t think she had a husband. She never mentioned one when she first came to the office. I felt so bad for her, nervous thing that she was, I figured it was a one night stand or—something worse with how terrified she was? I tried not to ask. But she took two pictures.”

Bucky nods. “She gave it to me a few weeks ago.”

Then because curiosity overwhelms him, he asks, “Why didn’t you think she was married? Why did you jump to the conclusion that she must have gotten pregnant under different circumstances?”

“Well,” Dr. Carroll removes the wand and Bucky is almost heartbroken to have the thrumming stop. However, if he strains his ears hard enough, he can hear its little murmur. “She just seems so-”

“Helpless?” Bucky offers. Dr. Carroll laughs, just a huff, as she nods.

“Yes. Plus, no ring.”

“Huh?” Bucky asks, confused now. And then it dawns on him what she must be talking about and even though he makes the connection she explains anyway.

“No wedding ring. She wrote ‘Mrs. Y/N Barnes’ on the paperwork for the office but lots of unwed mothers do that, just in case they may be judged.”

Bucky feels like an utter ass for realizing, just a little under two months before your one year wedding anniversary, that he has yet to get you some FUCKING wedding rings. He sinks into his seat as Dr. Carroll cleans up and Bucky’s still staring at your wounded face when she pats his shoulder.

“Congratulations, papa. You’ve got a strong, healthy bun in the oven, and a momma who can kick ass to defend her baby.”

Bucky gives her a tight smile because she’s right. You might be passed out right now, the shock probably pushing you into unconsciousness, and you may be timid sometimes and unathletic and an adorable bookworm, but you are strong. You’re so smart and a survivor. And you’re perfect, just as you are.

~~~~~~~~~~

He runs his thumb over the ring finger of your left hand, but you don’t notice the movement. You can only stare at his nervous expression.

“I never got you wedding rings.” He explains, blinking slow before meeting your eyes in fear of upsetting you. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Bucky…” You smile, ignoring the way it makes your face sting. “I don’t need rings. I know you love me. And I love you, so much.”

You see a set of defiance in his expression. He disagrees about the rings and you’re not sure if it’s because a wedding ring on your finger might somehow deter big men trying to help you? Or maybe he wants to make sure that you know that he isn’t ashamed to broadcast that he’s married? Or perhaps it’s his old fashioned notions which he tries hard to hide, that are telling him that if he wants to make it really official, he better get you a damn ring.

Sometime during the day Bucky winds up beside you, laying with you, arms wrapped around you with your head pillowed on his strong fleshy bicep. A knock on the door pulls the two of you awake and as it opens Bucky looks towards it as he tightens his hold on you and you bury your face into his chest because the light that streams in from the bright hallway shines bright in the dark recess of your recovery room.

“What?” He asks, somewhat rough with his tone, his voice muffled and making his chest vibrate as he speaks.

“We caught him on camera, fleeing towards the Canadian border. It’s time to go.”

You don’t like the sound of that one bit. You don’t like the way he’s talking to his friends either. Something’s not exactly right with Bucky still. However, you have no time to delve into that because Bucky sighs and carefully gets up.

“Y/N, I gotta go.”

You want to hold him close, keep him here in your arms. But you can’t. So, you sit up as he sits and pulls his shoes back on.

“Please tell me you’ll be safe, and you won’t try to do anything stupid like retaliate for last night?”

“I can’t make any promises, kitten. The goal is to get him in alive but after last night-”

“Bucky,” You say, chastising him and wishing more than anything that you could tie him down and keep him here. “We’re here, waiting for you. You can’t do anything stupid because I can’t raise this baby on my own, you got that?”

Bucky looks at your tummy and hurries back onto his feet. He takes hold of its sides and presses kiss after kiss against the swollen tummy. “I’ll be back, ducky, I promise.”

He looks up at you and for a moment you forget the upset. You forget that Bucky cheated on you and he forgets that you did too. You forget the ignoring and the shutting out all for just a few perfect moments of staring into Bucky’s eyes before he runs out and puts his life on the line again.

The danger you felt last night, the trauma you’re sitting with here now, it’s all part of his chosen experience but also forced on him too.

“I promise.” He whispers and as much as the moment wipes his and your debts clean, it doesn’t last. He leans in to kiss your forehead, the awkwardness keeping him from really kissing you goodbye.

Bucky feels like a failure. He feels inadequate. He feels like he let you down. His disappointment is a black hole, consuming any and all positivity from your recent reconciliation.

He has you in his life. Maybe not how he wishes you were, but you hadn't asked him for a divorce which had been his worst nightmare. Losing you and his baby and you also shunning him and refusing to let him see his ducky is his idea of hell.

Yet, despite the pit of despair he's fallen in from having failed to catch Elias, he smiles. Sitting with his elbows on his knees, leaning forward with his hair a greasy curtain from not showering for several days and his skin coated with the filth of the mission, he looks across the jet, at empty seats. Sam and Steve at the front letting Bucky have his space so that he can decompress.

The smile is small due to the memory of the first time you used the term ducky to refer to the baby growing inside you. His baby. His perfect little angel. Like you.

It's been almost two weeks since he left you to chase Elias with Steve and Sam. The bastard had led them on a winding chase, jumping back and forth over the Canadian border.

Your pinky will still need lots of time to heal and your ankle had only been sprained. You should be up and walking around without the need for crutches. Your bruises will probably be almost completely faded. He sighs, a heavy worried breath as he pulls his phone from his pocket.

He looks for your name, scrolling slowly with his flesh thumb. He stops at My Kitten and swipes his finger across the name. When he presses it to his ear, it's already ringing. You answer after two rings.

“Bucky?!” Your voice is like a salve on his fretting heart. He shuts his eyes, the sound of you beautiful even with the worry thick and heavy, and enjoys the moment, knowing that even though you've moved out, you still love him.

“Hey.” He whispers, his voice weak and exhausted. He can’t even remember the last time he slept. “God, Y/N. It's so good to hear your voice.”

There’s silence on your side and Bucky reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Baby?” Bucky probes.

“Where are you?” Your voice cracks and Bucky knows you’re crying. He hates the thought of you with tears streaming down your cheeks.

“What's the matter?” Bucky demands, sitting up straighter, more alert. Sam turn to look at him and Steve steals a glance.

“Ugh, nothing! I’ve been crying over everything lately. This baby is kicking my hormonal ass.”

Bucky's heart leaps, his eyes relax, and he slouches against the synthetic leather seat. With a wide smile he presses the phone closer to his ear, wishing he could hug you tight and kiss your tears away.

“Oh. I’m sorry, kitten.”

“You should be! This is all your fault.” You’re not crying anymore and for once this is something Bucky is definitely happy to take the blame for.

“Bucky where-?” As your voice cuts out, he pulls the phone away from his ear. Lost signal.

“Damn.” He grumbles quietly.

“Lost signal again?” Sam asks, amusement in his voice.

Bucky glances up at him and then looks back at his phone as he opens up his messaging app. “Yeah. I’ll just text her.”

Sam shakes his head. “I told you to just ask Tony for one of his new phones. We get signal everywhere.”

Bucky frowns as he types a quick message telling you he's on his way and should be home in an hour.

“Mmmm.” He acknowledges Sam's suggestion but otherwise ignores his advice. He doesn’t like asking Tony for things.

“Was Y/N okay?” Steve asks, his brow furrowed with worry.

Bucky looks at his reflection in the glass and nods. It still throws him for a loop at how protective the team is over you. After the break in at Casey's, even Tony was frantic to get the townhouse upgraded with top if the line security.

Sam was ecstatic.

“Yeah. Yeah, she's just…the baby's making her hormones go a little bonkers. She was crying so, I got worried.” Bucky flips the phone a few times leaning forward once more to place his elbows on his knees again.

“You guys still doing okay?” Steve probes carefully. He's surprised Bucky is so calm, and Bucky can see the caution in Steve's storm blue eyes.

After what happened at Casey's, after feeling the beastly fear of losing you—to Elias, not the cheating—somehow, he can hold onto that and it manages to outweigh the buzzing in his brain.

“Yeah. We’re good. I just-” He blinks slowly then looks at his phone as it buzzes.

My Kitten: I can’t wait to see you. I’ve missed you. And the baby won’t stop kicking! My heart is pounding and our ducky is flipping out. LOL!

Bucky smiles again, running his fingers over the text. “-I can’t wait for her to come home.”

When the jet finally lands, Bucky knows that it isn’t likely, but he goes to his room. He’d been unable to contact you until today, but he’d hoped that you had chosen to stay on the compound.

The room, as he had expected it to be, is empty. No one has been in here since the last time he’d slept here which had been before he’d nearly fucked everything up by sleeping with Penny.

He wants to see you and he wants to see his ducky, but a shower might be better first. He’s disgusting.

He’s slow as he walks to his apartment door, reminding himself the whole way that he cannot fall asleep. He can’t let himself give in to his exhaustion. No matter how many days he’s gone without sleeping, he needs to see you first.

Falling against the door, his forehead pressed against the cool and carefully painted metal, he shuts his eyes and clumsily presses his right hand’s thumb to the teal green panel. It beeps and the door clicks. With a groan he pulls it open and stumbles inside.

He only makes it three steps when he realizes that something isn’t right.

The large shared living and dining room light is on. Although the entryway is dark, there’s light spilling out of the kitchen too.

There’s a sudden shattering of glass and a gasp. Bucky races towards the kitchen, dropping his bag by the door.

His heart nearly stops then begins to pound as his eyes take in the most magnificently gorgeous sight he’s ever seen.

“You’re home!” You gush and Bucky can almost count the sparkles in your eyes. You’ve never looked so happy to see him and it feels like finally the world has been put right. “I’m-I was making some spaghetti. I…dropped the sauce. Serves me right for not making it from scratch, right? And…now we’re out of sauce. But I can run to the store! I’ll get some more, and we can have spaghetti and meatballs. I took the recipe out of that little book you keep in the drawer by the sink.”

His mom’s recipe!

“Shoot, I should clean this first.” Bucky scrambles forward, throwing his flesh arm out towards you in a stupidly dramatic ‘stop’ motion.

“No, wait. I’ll do that.” He flips his hand over and instead motions for you to move towards him with two flicks of his fingers. “Come here. Be careful. Don’t step on the glass.”

He looks at your feet, you’re barefoot and beautiful. Is it possible to fall in love with you further?

You take a gingerly step towards him, but Bucky moves towards you, stepping on the smooth black granite flooring where there is no sauce, and as soon as you’re within reach he wraps his arms around your waist. He takes care to support your belly and lifts with ease, twisting you back around towards him and the entrance to the kitchen.

He can smell the pan overheating. If he doesn’t turn off the stove there’ll be a fire, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about is the fact that you’re here, in the apartment. Finally, home.

“Let me look at you.” He sighs, and you smell so damn good, like fresh Freesia and clean linen. It’s like your dress was infused with the scent because you’re wearing a sleeveless dress, blue skirt with a white and pink floral pattern, the top—just above the curve of your pregnant belly—a sharp block waistline separates the white top.

Bucky can see that the bruises on your face are almost fully faded. Your pinky is still in its tiny splint. Your ankle still wrapped but looking much less swollen, and there are minuscule red spatters of the sauce on the white but you’re perfect and you’re beautiful and he really wants to kiss you but you’ve got that nervous look in your eyes so he can’t so instead he pushes your hair back and pulls you into his chest.

You wrap your arms around him and it’s like he’s flying. “Does this mean you’re coming home?”

The silence that follows this hopeful question worries him but then you’re sniffling, and he chuckles, pulling back to look at your sobbing face.

“Ugh!” You actually stomp your foot and Bucky really wants to fucking kiss you! “Stupid hormones. Yes! I’m home. I’m home.”

When you wrap your arms around him, he pulls you close once more while waves of heat waft towards him as the pan you’d been cooking with bursts into flames.

Bucky’s trying to coax you into the bedroom, but you don’t make it any further than the entrance of the hallway. He’d already showered and you’d already washed the dishes even though Bucky had told you that you didn’t have to do them, but with all the joy of finally coming home, you can’t make yourself move towards that stupid room where your life was torn apart for a little while.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks, adjusting his metal hand so that he can intertwine his fingers with yours instead of letting you pull your hand out of his like you’re trying to do.

“I don’t think I can go back in there, Bucky.”

“What?”

You can see the disappointment on his face. He has to understand though, you can’t make yourself go back in there when what you saw ruined you forever for the beautiful bedroom you’d had before. You’ll sleep on the couch before you sleep on that horrible bed.

“I-I just can’t.”

“Y/N,” Bucky begins, moving closer, pulling your hand up to hold against his chest. “Do you trust me?”

With my life? Yes. With other women?

“Don’t answer that.” Bucky shuts his eyes tight and laughs without humor at the stupidity of his question. “Will you please, trust me? With this?”

You consider his expression, the gentle pleading, the worry, the blue of his eyes and his freshly washed hair. God, he smells like a rainforest waterfall with the slightest hint of cucumber.

“Okay.” You give in, unable to help it. His dark grey t-shirt, the black sleep pants, the damp tendrils of hair sticking to the sides of his face, it all mixes into an irresistible cocktail of manly perfection.

His face blooms with ecstatic happiness and he pulls you towards the bedroom, your bedroom, adjusting his strength when your feet start to resist.

“I was hoping you’d come home some day and when you did, I wanted you to be comfortable and…I made a stupid mistake, Y/N. An unforgivable one and somehow you forgave me.”

“Bucky…I made that same mistake-”

Bucky shakes his head. “But if I hadn’t pushed you away so hard you would have never been driven towards him. I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving to you that you forgiving me was not a mistake and hopefully this can begin to make amends.”

He pushes the bedroom door open and you’re immediately assaulted by the lighter palate. The room is dimly lit, silver lamps with black sconces on burnt chestnut-brown beside tables cast diffuse yellow light on the golden taupe wallpaper. The pictures of you and Bucky rest around the lamps and on new dressers one to the left of the bed and one to the right in the same burn chestnut-brown as the bedside tables.

The bed itself, rather than pushed up against the wall to the right of the room lays straight ahead, with the large windows on either side, currently covered with shiny black thermal curtains. It’s just as big as before, king size, with a white patterned upholstered platform bed frame. The sheets are soft gray with new plush pillows in black cases to match the black high thread count comforter. At the end of the bed is an elegant art deco bench also in white and black.

Immediately to your right however is the pink chair that Bucky had bought for you, on it a small stack of clothes that you’d left there months ago. And to the left the full length black mirror you’d examined your bruises in once upon a time when Bucky had rushed to kiss them to apologize for putting them there in the heat of passion.

Your eyes are streaming with tears again, obviously, because the baby seems fit to make it so that you cry at the drop of a hat and Bucky completely redid your bedroom. He replaced the darkness of your room and made it bright.

Bucky assess the look of surprise and happiness on your face then smiles and gives your hand a squeeze.

“Welcome home, baby.”

You’re propped up on your new bed, chuckling as Bucky recounts the moment that Sam realized he’d forgotten to open his wings after a particularly high jump. It actually sounds really freaking dangerous, but the way Bucky tells it, you know that nothing happened.

“Anyway, that was probably the only good part about the mission.”

“No Elias?” You ask, fretfully rubbing your tummy over you’re the soft white spaghetti strap top of your pajama set.

Wanda had given them to you just after your discharge from the med bay and you’d saved them for this very moment. For when you and Bucky could be together again.

“We saw him, almost caught him a couple times but he keeps slipping us. I’m not sure what to do anymore. How to catch him? I’m so tired of chasing after him.” Bucky admits, focusing on your tummy as his own hand bumps into yours and he quickly catches your hand, brings it to the base of your stomach, and holds both you and your ducky there.

“So, then stop?” You hate how tired he looks. You hate that the circles under his eyes are so dark. You reach up and stroke them then slip your hand into his hair to push it back away from his face.

“I can’t. We can’t. He’s too dangerous. And after what he did to you, I need to get him off the streets, Y/N. I won’t relax until he’s locked up where he can’t get to you again.” Your heart flutters with the intensity of Bucky’s determination.

In response, your ducky kicks and the shirt over your tummy moves. You chuckle, forgetting all your worries with the baby’s kick.

“Is our ducky excited?” Bucky wonders.

“No. Not really. Just…you-” You stop, biting your lower lip because you don’t know if you want to admit how much he still makes you nervous.

“Me?” Bucky asks, wondering, also nervous.

“You make my heart flutter sometimes.” You admit in a rush. “The baby responds to that feeling in my stomach, you know? Those tumbles?”

Bucky grins. “Oh, I know those tumbles.”

Your face must look worried or confused—because you are. Is he thinking about you when he talks about tumbles in his stomach or someone else?—because Bucky is quick to push himself up a bit higher, closer to you. He sighs wafting tart mint against your slightly open lips.

“Hey…” You can see the anger within his eyes. Anger directed at himself. You know it because you feel it whenever you think about what you did with Henry.

Suddenly he’s scrambling off of the bed. “Bucky?”

“Hold on, baby. I’ll be right back.” He rushes out into the hallway and you can hear him thumping around the living room and then two minutes later he’s hurrying back towards you.

He steps up onto the bench at the end of your bed then falls to his knees and crawls across the mattress towards you. He drops back down onto your right side, resting on his metal elbow as he opens his flesh hand. Inside rests a small shiny black box with a velvet covered pearl on top. There’s a small seam straight through the middle that tells you it opens to the sides.

Your breath catches because you know what’s in the box without needing to open it.

“Bucky…I told you I don’t need rings. I know how you feel, and I-I hope you know how I feel?”

“I do.” Bucky assures you. “I know. But I could never forgive myself if I didn’t do this for you because our marriage is just as valid as everyone else’s. The people who date for six years before they tie the knot and us, for two weeks? We deserve to celebrate the way everyone else does. I never want you to doubt how much I love you and this is just that, a reminder. I will never hurt you like I did again, Y/N. You are my love and my life and my only salvation in this long-ass life that I’ve lived. Plus, I’m kinda hoping the ring will help other women to see that I’m taken.”

It’s not like you hadn’t thought about that yourself but it’s so silly. “That doesn’t stop all of them, Bucky.”

He knows you’re right. He doubts whether anything could have stopped Penny, but it gives him some comfort. It helps him remember too that somewhere in the world there’s someone waiting for him, someone who needs him. There’s someone who wants to see him and spend time with him and love him.

“Open it.”

You do. Inside of the pretty box rest two rings, both platinum, but one large with sleek brushed metal at the center and shining silver on the edges; Bucky’s ring. The second is much smaller, feminine in its beautiful vine and floral design and within every leaf and every flower petal is a single diamond. Tiny but altogether, they shine brilliantly in the soft glow of the room.

Bucky takes his and slips it onto his right ring finger, then he takes yours and waits for you to press your left hand on his.

You bite your lip as you watch him slip it onto your finger. Then he sighs. Content.

“It’s beautiful, babe.”

The baby kicks again and Bucky smiles wide while you chuckle. He reaches down to the base of stomach and takes hold of the hem of your shirt. “Can I?”

You nod. Carefully he lifts the shirt and with a bit of self-consciousness, you try to hide the stretched skin marks that litter the base of your belly.

“Our d-ducky grew kinda quickly. And I haven’t been as vigilant as I should be with the cream.” Not that it always helped. But Bucky doesn’t seem to notice your stretch marks. He’s too busy watching your baby kick over and over as your heart flutters the longer Bucky stares.

He leans in and kisses your tummy, skin to skin, searing hot kisses as the baby goes wild.

He looks up to meet your eyes and if you’re honest, until this moment, things hadn’t felt right. They’d been on their way and the two of you had been trying but it’s not until right now, when Bucky’s steel blue eyes darken to silver as he holds your gaze, that things feel good. Finally, things are right.

Unwilling to lose the moment, Bucky leans up to press his lips softly against your own. You whimper, having missed his kiss so desperately. His hand slides from the top of your exposed stomach to your side then up, up, up, until he’s wrapping rough calloused hands around your soft bare back to lay you down carefully as he strips you and then himself to express his serenity at finally having you home.

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themagiciansreccenter · 6 years ago

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Author Spotlight: @hoteldestiel

Every week we are going to be interviewing a writer from The Magicians fandom. If you would like to be interviewed or you want to nominate a writer, get in touch via our ask box.

First things first, tell us a little about yourself.

Yo! I’m Tor, 20s, pansexual, emotional about too many things, obsessive about characterization, and a sucker for chaotic goods and theater gays. Words are, for lack of a better way of describing it, my everything. They get me through the darkest times and help me celebrate the lightest ones. Creating worlds, and making people feel with what I create… there is no way (that I’ve found yet) to properly explain how much it all means to me.

How long have you been writing for?

My grandpa tells me I’ve been writing stories since I could form sentences. I believe him. I have a little “book” I wrote in kindergarten about a princess who refused to be “saved” when the prince showed up so clearly strong female characters have been my jam for like, ever. Honestly, it’s been my Defining Thing for as long as I can remember.

What inspired you to start writing for The Magicians?

The depth in the characters, the depth of the relationships, the real way it tackles mental illness and trauma. The emotional rawness of the show. It’s all a fanfic writer’s dream tbh.

Who is/are your favourite character(s) to write? What it is about them that makes them your favourite?

Eliot is my bb. He’s so much more complex and deep and dark and twisty than he gets credit for, but I think what I love most is the way he’s willing to fall on the sword for those he loves a thousand times over. He doesn’t want to be the hero, necessarily, but he refuses to let those he cares about down, and I dunno, that just breaks my heart into a trillion pieces. I also really like writing Fen, again, I think she’s a lot more layered than she gets credit for a lot of the time, and I like exploring that.

Do you have a preference for a particular season/point in time to write about?

Not yet. I’m obsessed with the mosaic, but I love exploring where they are at different points in the series as well. Check back with me in like a month when I’m officially dying about season 4 and just need to write my way out of that hell hole of emotion ;)

Are you working on anything right now? Care to give us an idea about it?

I am! I’m continuing to work on my multi-chap mosaic/canon divergent fic, Peaches and Plums, and I’ve got several oneshots in the work, some POV studies of an emotional scene, a who-knows-what-it’ll-turn-into where the monster can key into Eliot’s attraction to Quentin, and of course my 39 Graves timeline.

How long is your “to do list”?

Embarrassingly long lol. There’s so much I want to do!!

What is your favourite fic that you’ve written for The Magicians? Why?

Peaches and Plums is my baby right now. It’s the first Magicians fic I wrote, and it’s the one that gave me the confidence that I could portray these characters in a true-to-them way. Plus, mosaic flashbacks and an Eliot Depression Monster I mean come on.

Many writers have a fic that they are passionate about that doesn’t get the reception from the fandom that they hoped for. Do you have a fic you would like more people to read and appreciate?

Not yet! I’m still kind of new to the fandom, but I’m sure I’ll have a list before the month’s out haha.

What is your writing process like? Do you have any traditions or superstitions that you like to stick to when you’re writing?

I write best when I have headphones in and a cup of hot tea or coffee beside me. Whenever possible, I like to write by hand for my first draft. Something about it just gets me in a better flow, and then I get a built-in editing pass when I transfer it to the computer! I don’t know if it’s a superstition or not, but I have a certain kind of pen I like to use most (anything that’s like the sharpie pen), I’m convinced it makes me just a tiny bit more creative.

Do you write while the seasons are airing or do you prefer to wait for hiatus? How does the ongoing development of the canon influence and inspire your writing process?

So I only started writing between season 3 and 4, but based on my other writing life decisions, I tend to be a slave to the muse. When an idea strikes, I have to at least start drafting. I actually kind of love getting inspired by a cliff hanger or a character development and using that to write my own version of what happens next. Seeing what happens in canon after is a) hilarious and sometimes b) prophetic in which case I feel like a total badass.

What has been the most challenging fic for you to write?

My 39 Graves fic, there’s just so much to balance!

Are there any themes or tropes that you particularly like to explore in your writing?

The found family thing is so my jam, characters dealing with trauma in unexpected and nontraditional ways is another, and the many forms that love can take is another theme I like to explore. It works SO well with these characters and the ways in which they love one another, too.

Are there any writers that inspire your work? Fanfiction or otherwise?

I mean it’s hard not to be inspired by ohmarqueliot (sorry, had to!), and OneEyedDestroyer (again, had to!) The work they do is so fantastic. I love czarrish (vharmons on Ao3) to death. In the non-fanfiction world, Maggie Stiefvater has floored me time and time again with the way she builds worlds and tension and characters. The woman writes pure poetry.

What are you currently reading? Fanfiction or otherwise?

Fanfiction: Sharing Skin and Modified Aspect Ratio.

Non-fanfiction: The Magicians (look I need as much inspo for this 39 graves fic as I can get!)

What is the most valuable piece of writing advice you’ve ever been given?

Make people feel something. Also, using “said” 99% of the time as opposed to other speaking descriptors. When you just use “said,” you’re forced to paint their emotions in other ways, and it makes the scene so much more alive.

Cringe time:

Are there any words or phrases you worry about over using in your work?

Chuckling, eyebrow-arching, scoffing, and waving of hands dismissively. I’m CONSTANTLY afraid of overusing those, especially because I write so much from Eliot’s point of view. Honestly, laughter, in general, is a dangerous line I walk. It can become such a space-filler, but I’m working on it!

What was the first fanfic that you wrote? Do you still have access to it?

Oh god, I think it was HP fanfic, and it was in like...junior high. So alas, I do not.

Rapid Fire Round:

Self-edit or Beta? Combo, but I LIVE for a beta.

Comments or Kudos/Reblogs or Likes? Comments! I love seeing what others think of what I’m creating.

Smut, Fluff or Angst? Is all of the above an option? No? Angst probably pulls at me the most.

Quick & Dirty or Slow Burn? Slow. Mother. Effin. Burn.

Favourite season? Favourite episode? 3. A Life in the Day

Favourite book(The Magicians books)? I just started the series!

Three favourite words? (this is really freaking hard!) electric, fuck, home

Want to be interviewed for our author spotlight? Get in touch here.

#the magicians #the magicians rec center #author spotlight #author spotlight: hoteldestiel

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is-i-halloween-yet · 6 years ago

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Mayor Damien Day 06: During WKM

Warning: ANGST, BAD EDITING, BUT HOLY SHIT IT WAS FUNNNN, also it starts to get longer

(AN: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I LOVE this and the next part, also also I am sorry I am a million days late.. You do not have to reblog this but it was fun to write!! I wanted to finish it...Final? Part? Tonight? Or Tomorrow?)

“Mark.” You smiled brightly, hugging him tightly as he tensed slightly, “It is so good to see you.”

You could feel Mark tense under your arms, not hugging you back only pulling away, his whole being shaking as he looked you up and down, “You are not supposed to be here Y/N… You didn’t get an invitation… You’re not supposed to be here! What are you doing here?”

“I haven’t heard from you in years brother.” You forced a smile though your words broke at his words. Still you grabbed his arm, more for his support than yours, “Brother? What is wrong? Are you ill?” You were moving your hand to his forehead to feel for a temperature, but he caught it, squeezing it tightly before you could even reach, “You-Your freezing...”

“You NEED to leave.” Mark squeezed tighter as his words got harsher.

“Mark... Mark you’re hurting me...”

“YOU NEED TO LEAVE NOW Y/N!”

“Sorry I am a little late.” The voice of Damien caused both of you to jump, Mark dropping your wrist and Damien handing you your bag, “You left it in the car. Mark! My dear friend.” Damien held out his hand, grabbing Mark’s still shaking palm before he could even reply, “Hopefully this is not an issue, you said i could bring a plus one and i assumed your sisters invitation got lost in the mail so... Are you alright old friend?” Damien dropped his hand walking closer to Mark as his feature expressed concern, “You’re as pale as the dead.”

Mark said nothing, only forced a smile as he backed up the stairwell, a strange laugh being released from his mouth, “I am fine! Just got to get ready! Ha! Go have some drinks I will be right down! Ha-”

“Mark wait-” You caught his hand, squeezing it tenderly with one hand and reaching for the chain around your neck , “Mark we have something we need to talk to you about. Something by private…”

He sighed placing his free hand over yours as he smiled gently before making a elegant show of shoving it away walking to the top while mumbling, “Later darling sister. Later.”

Defeated you sighed, clutching the staircase as both exhaustion from defeat and your aching head drowned your bones, your other hand clutching the chain as Damien came from behind you practically sensing your distress, wrapping a hand around your waist and placing a hand on your forehead as your hands played with the chain gently. He sighed, pulling you into his chest were you rested your head weakly, “I thought you said you were going to go to the doctor?”

“No time.” You replied gently, a small smile on your features, “I wish I could understand why he won’t talk to us… Why he didn’t send me an invite?”

“You weren’t exactly subtle. Not that I mind.” He smirked, pulling the chain out of hiding, his hands falling to the ring, “You are however, still sick… Get some rest. We will talk to Mark later, but you look like you are going to be sick again. Butler!” He hollard and guided you to the man, “Take her to our room please? I will fetch her later.”

But you stopped, ushering the butler away, waiting till he was out of earshot before you grabbed one of Damien’s hands, his free one going to the already devolved bruises from where your brother had gripped you, “Are we... I mean-?”

“Yes.” He cut you off, “We are. This is the best choice. All of us will be happy should he consider this. And he will.” He leaned foreword and kissed your forehead, trying not to shutter at the heat it radiated but he still pulled away with a smile, “Rest now. Worry later. Benjamin!”

The butler nodded as he came back into view and shoved you away, Damien shifting awkwardly with his cane until the detective approached him, boring conversation about town ensuing until someone came into sight.

“Oh hello old friend! How are you settling into your new office?”

“Y/N don’t go in there.”

You were exhausted, weak, still in your night clothes as you did not leave your bed since the night before and you were more concerned about your hunger than the words and harsh stares you were getting. Some were questioning but from the DA and Butler they were full of pity, Damien stepping in front of you to prevent you from walking into the room. This, however only made you push further.

“This isn’t funny you guys, Damien, I would like to get through please.”

Damien did not reply only grabbed your shoulders and massaged them though you kept shoving, “Y/N-”

“Let. Me. Through.” You spoke weakly, forcibly shoving past him with the last bit of energy, falling to the ground, my head hitting the ground harshly, whining and Damien kneeling beside me, slowly pulling me into him but not before I saw the corpse in front of me.

“Hey... Y/N..”

But I did not listen, or could not hear as I crawled to Mark, checking his pulse, but was repulsed at how cold and grey it was, pulling back my hand as I crawled to the nearest garbage can and vomited.

“Y/N.” Damien tried again, his voice delicate, gently kneeling beside me and wrapping his arms around me with intent of picking me up, though I gently attempted to move away but to no avail, “Y/N I am so sorry.”

You tensed as he picked you up, “Is this a joke?” You looked away from Damien, having only briefly seen his sad eyes so you settled on everyone else, “It’s a really realistic mannequin. I will give you that.”

“Y/N-”

You chuckled darkly , struggling against Damien's strong and loving embrace, full of support you couldn’t bring yourself to accept but he wouldn’t let go, “Awh where is Will? He organized this didn’t you?”

“Y/N-”

“Just come clean... Or better yet come on out. Mark! Mar-”

“Y/N!” Damien spoke loud but firm with no form of malice. It was enough to pull you out of your panic and up into his teary eyes, quickly echoing his tears as you leaned into his chest and wept, his lips meeting the back of your head, “Sh... Will you excuse us?”

But he didn’t say a word, just walked you into your bedroom and held you for an hour until you fall asleep.

“Yes we are engaged! Yes we came here to ask Mark to break things off with Celine, but he was my brother and I hadn’t heard from him in years, I would never harm him. Ever.”

The detective snickered, clearly not believing your words as Will held you back, “Well clearly-”

“Enough!” Celine exclaimed in range, “Come with me Y/N we need to talk.”

You looked to Will as he let go of you, nodding gently to you as you weakly followed her into the library to which she promptly shove you against the wall by your neck, “I warned you to stay away. And you even have the the audacity to come into my home and ask my husband-”

“You.. Don’t… Love him… Wh- Is F-f-f-ine bu-b-b-b-but you broke his-hear-” But you couldn’t continue from lack of air, bile rising up, and hands getting tighter.

You thought this would be the end, you were almost certain of it when Damien burst into the room and Celine dropped you, leaving you crawling to a garbage nearby as you began to vomit, Damien going to you to hold your hair back. “What is the meaning of this?” Celine said nothing only walking out of the room leaving the two of you alone, “Y/N? Are you alright?” But you couldn’t speak after you finished, only leaning against his chest whimpering as you closed your eyes, the world going dimmer, “Will! Someone get in here! Get in here! Take her to her room!”

But none came and the darkness grew, your vocals suddenly returning to say a final, “I love you.” to Damien before it all consumed you.

The complete panic on his face being the last thing you saw.

“What are you doing Celine?” Damien stared at his sister with as much anger as he could muster at his twin, “First Y/N, then the DA? Are these things you are meddling with?” Celine said nothing, only gesture for Damien to sit as she held out her hand, “I will not help you with these games until you ans-.”

Celine grabbed Damien’s hand forcing him into the chair with strength he did not know she had, her other hand placing Dark’s over the ball. “There is no other choice.” She murmured and with a final glare and smirk, Damien was trapped and surrounded in darkness, his last thought going to Y/N.

“This is the only way.”

#mayor Damien imagine #mayor Damien x reader #mayor Damien week #mayor Damien imagines #mayor damien #markiplier #who killed markiplier #wkm #markiplier egos #celine #william j barnum #celine the seer #abe the detective #darkiplier

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azure-et-aurum-blog · 7 years ago

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The Final Days of Shintaro Tenryuu IV: Freesia

((Continues from Coils of Darkness )) ((The soundtrack for this one is Hyrule Castle - BotW edition )) (( This is the final chapter of Shintaro’s story, asides some small tales and epilogues that I will write from now on. If you read some or all of them, you have my eternal gratitude. If you only read this last one, you can find my whole story here and my side stories here )) ((It is a huge amount of text, but it was impossible to just break down into another chapter, so it is under the cut. Please reblog and like if you enjoy it. It will mean a lot to me.))

“Welcome back home, Shintaro of the Tenryuu Family. Len of T’ien-mu family. It is somewhat eschatological, don’t you think? Both of you were born in this place. It is only missing my dearest Musume... let’s never forget her.” The monster laughs. An abomination. He had a face on the head, similar to the one he was using before.But now, he reveals another... head... sprouting from his chest, the nose twisted, eyes where the nipples should be, a mouth where the stomach would be. “I take this form makes you feel ill? Good. I decided to reveal my true nature for you, Shintaro.”

“Musume is freed from your control, monster” Len angrily discourses.

“I beg to differ. She would never be out of my control... you merely... contained it.” His steps are heavy, slow. He is coming to our direction. both me and Len get ready to battle. Her stance puts both shoto in front of her, legs half flexed, ready for a jump attack.

“All this won’t matter when I finish you, Inunaki.” I speak boldly to the evil being. My sword is still sheathed, my style is a contained one, I will focus my Iai and unleash a decisive attack. If I can figure out where is his weak point. But I have guess of where might be it. I look to Len. I merely know this girl. I have little to no memories of her in my past. However there she was, fighting alongside me. For honor. “Are you ready?” I ask her.

“I am. To die, to win, whatever it comes.” Len speaks seriously.

“There will be no more deaths today, Len. This is a battle I won’t lose. We won’t lose.” I answer, nodding with my head to the small raen.

The beast laughs again and leaps over Len opening its leather wings and trying to grab her with his feet. Len manages to dodge, barely. Even being big and apparently clumsy, Inunaki is really fast. Probably his legs give him strength to leap towards great distances with a good speed. This is an opening that I was waiting for.

I deliver a slashing strike on the ankles of the monster, ripping through the wind and creating a sparkle from my blade. The blade of my katana is different from the regular ones now, it evokes an ancient stream of lightning. Even a foul body made of pure void and darkness like Inunaki’s would be wounded by this blade. He felt. He backed to the front of the house.

“What is this? This... energy I feel coming of your blade!” He seems startled. I smile. “Answer me, little man.”

“Raijin-no-Tsurugi” I give him the answer.

“What?”

“You recognize it, don’t you?” I direct my eyes to the center of the beast, his speeches are coming from the mouth in place of his belly. I focus my aether once more in my blade, making the sparkles flying in more quantity and speed. “The legendary spirit blade, used by the bushi Raiden, to face a cursed sword by the name of Zantetsuken.”

While I am talking to Inunaki I was also trying to distract him from the fact that Len found a higher ground. Making my aether explode, I deliver a Flash of light, blinding the creature for a few seconds. More than enough to Len jumps like a bird floating in the sky... I know that move...

“Waterfall drop!” She yells and I feel a burst of aether coming from inside her. “HEEEEEYAAAAAAAAH!”

Her double strike ripped flesh and ear from the upper head of Inunaki’s monstrous body. The monster screams in pain, his wounds are not regenerating like before, this is the real thing, the real demon. No more illusions or deception.

“GRRAH! This... is impossible. I am not going to be defeated now. You are nothing compared to the great power the void allows me to harness!” He growls, revealing a immense maw from his belly. I feel a dark energy gathering, he is preparing to deliver a huge blast of attack!

The monster is sucking everything around us, generating some sort of gravitational field. The air is getting heavier and heavier, harder to breathe. I rush to take Len out of the way, but it was too late, the monster had completed his cast and a pilar of Dark Energy emerges.

“GRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!” He screams while emanating a disruptive energy breaking bricks and floor alike, shaking the structures of the whole old manor. We take it full force and it explodes where we are. The pain is the same I felt before. We made a mistake thinking that we had the upper hand, and now this could cost Len’s life. Or both of us... unless..

“Shintaro!!!” I hear Len screaming in the middle of the explosion. I try to gather my aether to create a defensive barrier, but I can barely manage to hold together. I see Len trying to move and there are some burns and bruises over her skin.

“Keep away, Len, don’t... don’t come too...” I falter, the barrier is fading more and more. “Don’t come too close!”

“No... I will help you!” She touches my chest and start concentrating her own aether into mine. She is making the barrier becomes whole again. I am underestimating her. I should trust her, trust in what she can do. I... I barely know her! Of course! What do I know about her?

“Len... when this is over, do you want to have some tea?” I speak, smiling to her. “Do you like... peach tarts?”

“Oh... what...?” she seems surprised. Of course, that wasn’t the best time to ask such things. But she looks at me and smiles back “H-hai... I love tarts...”

“Good.” I turn my body to face Inunaki, close my arms still feeling Len’s hands on my back. I manage to clench my both hands in my Katana. I am feeling that I am making a comeback against that awful energy. The same that defeated me before.

“Yoooooooooooooouuuuuu.... whyyy do you fightttt...?”“ The voice echoes through the energy blast. “I broke your... armor... your blade... your mother’s naginata... your body should have been obliterated... but still, you fight! Your soul should not have held that long!” He is faltering now.

“My soul...?” I ask. “MY SOUL?! You will never be able to destroy my soul, Inunaki. I learned from the best of how to be a person whose will should be like a diamond! The person that stands behind that door! Even if she is not able to see me, or hear me. Or even be alive to witness me destroying you, I know that I would never fail to her, not again, never again.”

“Shintaro! It’s working!” Len takes her hand out of my back and tries to move forward. She intents to deliver a blow to the monster!

I only hear the wind blows and the sound of metal. She is lightning fast, perhaps more than myself! I could barely see her delivering a attack. The back of the monster is slashed and hurt, making him lose his concentration. The energy dissipates in a pillar of light and darkness and I almost fall to my knees. But I hold myself up. I gather my energies once again and deliver a flurry of attacks against Inunaki. Against his arms, shoulders, legs, chest. Each attack he screams, he weakens, he falters. And I continue more and more, feeling nothing but will to finish this off. To deliver the final blow.

“No... no... what is this pain...?” The monster complains.

“This is all my rage, my need for freedom. Freedom for this people, from your evil presence... you will not win here. I promised that.” I continue the fight while the monster only blocks. Len strikes through the flanks, making the monster confused. It was a rain of metal and lightning, unrelenting assaults. I nod to Len with my head so she can continue the attacks while I focus one last time my aether on my blade. I think about my friends.

Khutula, the Azalea.

Kakero, the Orchid.

Len, the small daisy.

I think about the friends in Eorzea, the companions I met through my journey, Laurana, Barlfargyr, Kiriya, Erulisse, Jaliqai, the Warrior of Light. And I think about you... you that are reading this diary right now...

Misaki of the Kyuusei family, my snow flower.

You once asked me why I called you snow flower and I answered saying that it was a... weird trait of mine, giving flower names to the most important people of my life. And I dubbed you “Snow Flower, “Edelweiss”, because you are the rarest and the strongest of all flowers. Because your skin was like snow and you delicacy was incomparable.

Then you asked me, if I was to give one flower name to myself what would that be? I didn’t answer by that time... but now I know. I can give you my answer.

“I am Freesia.” I focus the aether on the tip of the blade and Len opens the way for me. The air cracks and sparkles in thousands of small balls of energy. Inunaki murmured something, almost as if he asked for mercy. I see my mother in front of the gate, he is trying to use her again, but I won’t fall for that. I drop a tear with the thought that she will finally be free, all of them. “Midare.... RAIJIN SETSUGEKKA!!!!”

Reaching the fastest speed that I ever got, and delivering the most powerful strike I’ve dealt in my life, I created a huge bolt of Lightning, hitting whole on Inunaki. He tries to escape but it was already too late. His essence is disappearing, his void and dark energy too. The energy of my blade and my aether makes the air to compress in an unbelievable force, obliterating his body and his soul.

Inunaki was no more. It was finally over.

I am tagging here @celestial-opposition and @lady-of-crowns for both being mentioned. The other two mentions are kinda away from Tumblr but they will see this too later as I will send them.

The ending theme is Daisuke Ishiwatari - Freesia

#ffxiv #story #Shintaro #Len #Misaki #Kakero #Khutula #Musume #Inunaki #Erulisse #Jaliqai #Warrior of Light #Zantetsuken #Raiden #Final Days Arc #Thank you for playing! Presented by Jlaweez!

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emmaswanchoosesyou · 7 years ago

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CSBB: Part of the Narrative (4/17)

Emma Swan just wants to write the follow-up to her bestselling debut novel, that’s all. But when she gets off to a rough start with her new editor, Killian Jones, she knows it’s not going according to plan. Then, an unexpected figure from Emma’s past reappears and life begins to mirror the crime thriller she’s penning. Suspicion and secrets abound–but love might too. A writer/editor AU with a thriller twist.

Rated E. Story warnings: sexual content, kidnapping, some gore, violence, and minor character death–not to mention salty language! On Ao3 here.

Chapter warnings: more plotting and lying, and mentions of unpleasant time spent in foster care.

Happy birthday to me! Today I’m going to make like a hobbit and post this chapter (though I’ll let you decide how much of a gift that is, haha.) Just know that your comments and likes and kudos and reblogs have been cherished and squealed over. Thank you to @captainswanbigbang for all you’ve done to make this possible, and all the support you’ve given. Sophie @shady-swan-jones made the delightful banner and another photoset that I adore. Kayla @bleebug did some incredible art for the first chapter, which you can check out here. And all the love and thanks to Kris @sambethe for beta-ing this and making it a ton better.

[Ch. 1] [2] [3]

Chapter 4

Emma turns in some first drafts, and Killian sees another connection between them. His realization of how much her book means to her sparks a realization of his own.

Killian

Killian pressed his hand to his temple, willing the headache to stay away. He hadn’t seen Emma since his meeting with her at Granny’s a couple weeks before. They’d exchanged emails back and forth, terse on her end and exceedingly polite (he might be compensating for something, his brain whispered) on his.

But today was the day he’d asked for her prospectus and an outline. It was due at the end of the day, which was rapidly approaching. He glanced up at the clock, wincing when he saw that it was nearly three in the afternoon.

Then he heard a knock on his office door. “Come in.”

“Hey,” Emma said, poking her head around the door. You could have knocked him over with a feather, he was so surprised to see her.

She looked lovely as always in her simple plaid dress, leggings, and leather jacket. She was even wearing glasses, and he felt some of his frustration draining away at the sight of her. “Er, hello, Swan.”

“I brought you a present.” There was something cautious in her voice, softer than he was expecting given their previous interactions.

“Oh, whatever could it be? Flowers? Chocolates?” He grinned at her, hoping to play his eagerness off as light-hearted flirtation and teasing.

She rolled her eyes, but he saw the ghost of a smile at the corner of her mouth as she walked toward his desk. “No, Jones. A draft.”

“A draft?”

“Of the first chapter. I have the outline and abstract-y thing you wanted too.”

He glanced up at her sharply. “Well, that’s exciting. I was only expecting the latter two.”

“I got extra inspired,” she said, shrugging.

“Then I’m excited to read it, after I look over the outline and, er, ‘abstract-y thing’ as you say.”

Emma sat down, her hands falling to her lap. “I--listen, I figured you might want to take a look at a sample of an earlier draft of my writing, and we could see how to work with it together from there.”

Keep your face neutral, mate, he told himself, inwardly dancing for joy at the tentative olive branch she was offering. Outwardly, he said, “That’ll be excellent, lo-Emma.”

Her face broke into a full grin. “Lo-Emma, huh?”

“Just doing my best to abide by our new no-moniker rules, but old habits are hard to break.”

“No, it’s cool. I think it’s how I’ll introduce myself from now on.” She was smirking, so he took her gentle mockery as a good thing.

Shaking his head, Killian feigned a dramatic sigh. “I see how it’s to be.”

She looked like she was about to say more, but then she started. “Oh! Before I forget--” She placed a small thumb drive on the edge of his desk. “Here’s the drive that has everything on it.”

He leaned forward and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Wouldn’t an email have been simpler?”

“Simpler, maybe. Certainly less secure.”

“Ah, you fear hacking?” He was intrigued. She didn’t seem like the paranoid type.

“Well, my website was hacked once a few months ago.” She shrugged. “And my work in bail bonds taught me that the less you keep online, the better.”

He picked up the thumb drive and inserted it into his laptop. “Hang on, I didn’t realize you actually worked in bail bonds. I thought you tailed had one for a while.”

“And here I’d have thought you’d have done your homework better,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “No, I worked in bail bonds for a few years. It helped me pay the bills and get a feel for the world of law enforcement, since that’s what I wanted to write about.”

“And you did a magnificent job. Your knowledge of the criminal underworld and the people involved with bringing them to justice certainly came through in the text,” he hurried to reassure her.

A wry look he couldn’t quite decipher crossed her face. “Uh, yeah. Thanks. I learned a lot over the years.”

“Your first book was excellent, Swan. It’s plain to see that a lot of research and knowledge went into it.”

That finally drew a genuine smile from her. “I’m glad you think so. Fruit of my labor and all that jazz.”

“Ah, yes.” He shook his head and carded his fingers through his hair. “Which explains why my initial approach went over like lead in water.”

She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Yeah. But you’re right, there’s room for improvement.”

“Nonetheless, I apologize for my rudeness and the way I expressed myself. It was...ill-advised.”

Emma snorted but gave him a small smile. “No shit. But thanks for the apology. Besides, I could have handled the situation--and the criticism--better.”

He waved that aside. “You behaved as most people would when their child was attacked. And your book, as you put it, being the fruit of your labor…”

That same indefinable look from earlier came back to her face, but she pressed on. “Fair enough. So, should we, I dunno, let bygones be bygones?”

“Sounds excellent,” he said, clearing his throat. “Oh, one last thing--in light of said disagreements, I was hoping that we could be a bit more collaborative in our approach. If, perhaps, I was able to find a good, secure server for us to work on, would you be fine with putting the any future work there?”

She hesitated. “Um, if you can? But I want to okay it first, if that’s all right.”

“Certainly. I still have some military and and journalistic contacts who need higher degrees of security, so I’m sure they’ll have something to recommend.”

She bit her lip, mulling this over. “That should work.”

Killian told himself not to let his gaze drop to said lips. “Excellent. Would you like me to get in touch if I find something?”

“Sure. You can call or email.”

He relaxed back into his chair, some of the tension draining from him. “Wonderful. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

&&&

Killian worked at home the next day, having received permission to do so occasionally. After all, today was about doing his first read-through of Emma’s draft, and he wanted to be comfortable while doing so.

After she’d left his office the previous day, he had let Cleo, August, and Regina know that she’d met the deadline. He’d met with a variety of reactions, from Regina’s “Very well, keep on,” to August’s enthusiastic response and desire to be kept in the loop entirely, to Cleo’s subdued but measuring acceptance and comment that she was glad they’d found a way to work together. He’d been tasked with looking over some promising manuscripts, so had spent the rest of the afternoon doing just that.

And now his reward--getting to sit in his comfortable but spartan apartment, drinking coffee and rum while he edited from his favorite chair.

The blasted thing had finally arrived from the UK, one of the few items of furniture he refused to part with in the move. Honestly, it was a monstrosity, an old reclining wingback chair, but it had been Liam’s. For all its resistance to classification, it was comfortable. He’d spent many an hour in the ridiculous thing. On his own in a sullen, drunken fog. Sitting next to Milah in the daintier chair she’d selected, or his favorite of all--when she’d slipped onto his lap and they’d snuggled in the chair.

(The usual dull ache was still present when he thought of Milah, but its sharpness was starting to fade. Killian wondered what that meant.)

Pouring himself a small glass of rum and carrying that and his coffee with him over to the chair, he situated himself with a blanket and pulled up Emma’s summary and outline.

An hour later, he was immersed in her outline, writing notes and comments for parts he wanted to talk about and hear more about. He couldn’t wait.

As he continued to read, he came to a realization--only someone who had lived through the foster care system could write about it so knowledgeably and so passionately. This wasn’t just a plotline for Emma. This was more--this was her life.

Killian bit his lip, regretting some of his previous comments and assumptions about her and wondering how he should proceed. He wanted--no, needed--to make sure she knew he would support her. And that he understood, perhaps better than she knew.

He debated calling or texting her, but finally settled on an email, giving her space so that she didn’t feel obligated to acknowledge or respond to him.

He hesitated, unsure of how to begin.

Swan--

Right now, I just want to take the moment to tell you how thrilled, how in awe I am of your talent and skill with words.

I have comments, queries, and edits, but before I go over that, I needed to let you know how excited I am for this novel. (Oh, and as an aside, a friend showed me a server that I think will do nicely for us. I’ll be in my office tomorrow if you want to check it out, but you can always call if you’d like to make sure I’m there.)

Not only does your book promise to be well-written, but you’re handling this sensitive topic amazingly well.

Confession: I was in the system myself (albeit in the UK), along with my brother. My mum passed away when Liam and I were quite young, and my dad ran out on us a couple years after that. I was all of nine years old, and Liam was just fifteen.

We muddled along for the next few years. Some of the homes were pleasant enough, while others were...well, hell. Liam joined the military at eighteen to try to take care of us, and I was able to leave the system at sixteen. I can’t imagine the struggles that would come with being in for even longer.

Having shared all this personal information--and my apologies if this makes things awkward--I am beyond relieved to see how you plan on handling the topic of foster care and foster children.

If you ever want to have a chat about this, you know where to find me. My personal number is 555-687-9305, in case you ever need another perspective or to share stories (excuse my presumption if I’m wrong).

Killian hesitated, trying to decide on the best way to end the missive, as he was already toeing the line between professional and personal.

Best, Killian

P.S. I particularly like the depth of characterization for the main character and the sense of doom and offness that’s present even in the first chapter.

There. That should do it.

He clicked send and hoped Emma wouldn’t be too put off by his email.

&&&

Killian awoke feeling vaguely nervous and apprehensive about work. He hadn’t checked his email yet, but he hadn’t received a reply from Emma the previous day. He knew it was too soon and that she might need time to see his message, let alone respond. But still, it made him anxious.

To keep himself distracted, he’d responded to a text from Robin Locksley, taking him up on an invitation to meet him at a little pub that Robin swore was just like those at home. Hearing familiar accents had been a relief, a balm for his somewhat weary soul. And Robin seemed like a good sort, for a detective. He was a widower, his wife had been good friends with Milah in the early years of their careers. They’d grown apart, but the tenuous connection had provided some good bonding between him and Robin. They’d drunk just enough to do their country proud but not so much that either would be hungover today.

After greeting Ariel cheerfully (well, with as much as he could muster--no match for her levels, to be sure) and nodding politely to Cleo when he passed her in the hall, he slipped into his chair and took a deep breath as he turned on his computer. He opened his email, and…

Nothing.

Nary a short “okay” from Emma, not even a single, pointed word. Dammit.

He rubbed his hand over his face, not having realized how much he’d hoped she would recognize him as a kindred spirit, a fellow lost boy to her lost girl. He was so distracted by his thoughts, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a short knock on his door before. He looked over to find Emma poking her head into his office.

“Hey. Am I interrupting anything?” She frowned, her forehead wrinkling making her look uncertain and a little wary, and nothing short of perfect.

He nearly tripped, stumbling to his feet to greet her. “No! Not at all. Come in, come in.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. She handed him a coffee cup and lifted her own in acknowledgment. “Thank you. For the feedback and the email. And for telling me about the rest.”

“Oh, er, right…” he fought the urge to scratch behind his ear. What was it about this woman that made him feel like a teenager all over again?

She seemed to pick up on his awkwardness. “So yeah. Thank you.”

“I--it was really no trouble, Swan. I meant what I said la--”

“I’m here to ask you on a date.”

“--st ni--pardon?!”

Emma looked at him, the crease in her brow deepening at his lack of comprehension. He clearly had thrown her off with his stuttering response. She took a breath. “I’m asking you out?”

“Oh!” he said, scratching a finger at the lid of his coffee cup. “Er, as long as it’s not a question...er, yes.”

She smiled then, one of her brilliant, full smiles, and he felt as though he’d been blinded by the sun. “Awesome.”

He smiled back, unable to stop himself. “I have just one condition--let me plan the date.”

“Hey, I was going to show you the town,” she pouted.

He laughed and took a step toward her. “No offense, love, but while you are the one I’d turn to for a well-crafted paragraph, I think planning romantic outings might be more my area of expertise.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but the corner of her mouth still twitched. “You still can’t call me ‘love’.”

“Fine, Emma,” he sighed dramatically, trying to fight off another grin.

She stepped closer, narrowing the distance between them. “Lo-Emma, though,” she said, tapping a finger against her mouth, “that’s cool.”

“Good to know.”

She took a step back. “Cool.”

“So...shall I let you know when I’ve made plans for our date?”

Emma nodded at him happily, smiling serenely as she bid him farewell for now.

&&&

By the time he was able to organize something that worked for both his and Emma’s schedules, it was nearly a week later. Killian hoped the evening would suit her. He just wanted a good way for them to get to know each other better.

And they had been. Getting to know each other, that is.

While they hadn’t had a chance to see each other again, the days had been filled with texts and emails between them. Most were light, casual things, but a few...well, Killian was reminded of his near-celibacy since Milah’s death (other than a brief, alcohol-fueled spell where he had gone home from the bar with a different woman every night, which had ended abruptly when one had stolen a vintage compass that had been a gift from Liam).

Now, as he buttoned his vest in preparation for their date, he felt his gut churning. It was mostly excitement, to be sure. Being around Emma--it was to know life, excitement, both things he’d forgotten about in his grief and anger.

But he couldn’t pretend that part of what was bothering him wasn’t guilt. It had been almost two years since Milah’s passing, and he knew it was time to move on. Milah would want this; he knew that on an intellectual level. He and Emma had something that he wanted to explore.

But was he betraying Milah’s memory? Was he ready?

And then there was the other part of this that left him uneasy...his obligations to August. Now, more than ever, he regretted agreeing to August’s schemes and subterfuge. It made him feel dirty, and however she’d feel about Emma, Milah would hate this.

So would Emma. Actually, hate probably wasn’t strong enough--she’d loathe it, and she’d be right to never speak to him again if she found out.

He had to find a way to end this foul partnership and distance himself from August, even if it would cost him his job and whatever was growing between him and Emma. Even if he had to return to his apartment in London, with the intimidating blokes watching it…

But he would do it, because it was the right thing, and it was time for him to make better choices.

&&&

“I’m done,” Killian said without preamble.

“What? What are you talking about?” replied the voice at the other end of the line.

“I’m done keeping tabs on Emma, done spying on her for you. From now on, you’ll get the same updates as Cleo and Regina.”

There was a long silence, and then August spoke. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Jones? My...partner...won’t be happy to hear about this.”

“I’m sure.”

“I hope you haven’t forgotten that you owe us. For getting you out of the mess you were in, and for getting you settled in here. We can make things very unpleasant for you.”

He gritted his teeth. “I’m sure you can, but I’m also confident that I’m the best choice for editor. I’ll continue doing my job,and I’ll repay my debt. Just not like that.”

August snorted. “Emma’s gotten to you, hasn’t she? Graham liked her too. If he’d lived, the two of them probably would have made a go of it. For all I know, they were going at it--”

“Enough. Emma’s past is her own, and her present is hers to decide. Do what you’d like with me, but leave her out of it.”

“You can’t afford the price to be paid, Jones. And you’re too much of a coward to try to pay it anyway. It’s part of what made you such a good choice.”

Killian hung up, the vein in his forehead throbbing. “We’ll see,” he said. “We shall see.”

He smiled grimly at his reflection in the mirror. It was time to meet Emma for their date, and he had to get himself in line. She didn’t need to know about his turmoil, about this mess of a situation. She couldn’t know.

#cs ff #captain swan #csbb #cs au #cs mc ff #cs fanfiction #and back to killian's pov!#this one was fun #i love my confused children #amber writes #part of the narrative

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years ago

Text

Title: The Confession {5}**

Chris Evans x Best Friend Reader

Warning: Cursing, Angst, PLENTY OF WORDS, Moderate NSFW, Moderate SMUT, DO NOT READ AT WORK

Words: 6.3k

Summary: Not this time.

Note: Thank you for reading lovelies! 😘😘

Thank you guys so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Mildly Interactive***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

-Chris-

“You did what!”

Scott gaped at him as he sat on the couch in the backyard.

“You’re shitting me. You did not,” Scott continued. His shock was evident. He looked at him as if he’d said something even more surprising. Scott gulped down his beer and slammed it to the wood top of the table between them. Then he slid to the edge of the seat to gape at him some more.

“My God, stop it already!”

“Excuse me for being astounded that you actually told her.”

Crinkling his nose, he looked at Scott with his brow raised. “Actually told her? what does that mean?”

“Oh come on. Did you think I didn’t know that you’ve been in love with her for most of your life? Come on, Chris,” Scott finished fanning him off before he walked to the cooler to retrieve another beer.

“Wait, wait, hold the fuck up. you knew?”

“Yes, I knew. I knew, mom knew, Carly, Shanna—brother, this has been the worst kept secret.”

He groaned and dropped his head back, staring into the blue sky. It was a beautiful day. He heard Scott’s “humph” and looked to see him holding out a beer for him.

“Thanks,” he said as he took it, opened it, and drank half down.

“Wow. Why didn’t anyone say anything?”

“We all thought you would get it together eventually. We thought you’d both have this “duh” moment, and that would be it,” Scott explained.

He couldn’t believe his ears. His entire family knew how he felt; all these years, they knew and never let on. He could have laughed, but he was too on edge after everything. It had been two weeks since your talk, two weeks since he sat in your living room and told you everything—well, mostly everything. One week and you hadn’t called, stopped by, or texted. Nothing.

“I don’t know if I should have told her. I think I fucked up—bad.”

Scoot took a deep breath and sighed out before he took another swig of beer. When he lowered it, he didn’t speak. That made his panic and fears increase.

“What if I’ve ruined everything?” He grabbed his head and scraped his scalp.

“Why the hell did you wait so long?”

Springing to his feet, he paced around the couch. “I was scared. Have you seen the guys she’s dated? Jesus Christ, business tycoons that have billions of dollars and corporations, athletes that are built like no one’s business. All these guys are just—not me.” Voicing one of his fears felt more difficult than any of the stunts he’d done in his career. This was something he’d thought about for years, and it always gave him anxiety and stress.

“Are you serious right now?” Scott scoffed and shook his head. “You’re a world-famous movie star. You’re Captain fucking America! Even then, you know none of that matters to her. It never has. What’s the real reason.”

Dropping back into the couch with a loud groan, he finished his beer in one raise. Sitting with the words in his head, he was reluctant to voice them. If he said them out loud, then they’d be facts, irrefutable facts.

“Spit it out!”

“She deserves better,” he blurted out before he brought his face to his palms and continued. “She’s seen everything Scott, all my--.”

“Whoring ways?” He could hear the amusement in Scott’s voice.

“Not funny.” His voice was impassive.

“It is—from the outside looking in, hilarious.”

He sprang to his feet again and paced back and forth. “She’s seen the women. She knows how I’ve treated them. She knows my Dorian Grey, and you know my Dorian Grey is seriously ugly.” As he spoke, every dirty thing he’d done over the years flashed through his head, the women, the experiences, the cheating, everything.

“Ah, I see. You’re afraid she knows too much and knows you too well to see you any other way than a complete male gigolo out for sex.”

Turning around to give Scott another warning look, he rolled his eyes. “You’re still not funny.”

Scott chuckled and leaned back. “I totally am.”

“She deserves the world, Scott,” he began rubbing the back of his neck as he sat at the edge of the couch. “I’m sure I fall short,” he finished in a crestfallen tone. There it was.

A few moments of silence passed before Scott spoke again. “Wow. Wait, you’re being serious? You really think this?” When he didn’t answer, Scott continued. “Chris, we want the person we end up with to know everything about us. We want them to understand we’re not perfect, that we’re human and want to be better with them, for them.”

When he didn’t look up, he heard Scott’s footsteps before he dropped on the couch beside him. “Listen to me. You want her to have seen your ugly so she can weigh it with your good. Look, I’m your brother, and yeah, your ugly is ugly, but you’re a good guy. Shit, you’re the best man I know, next to dad. Y/N has seen it since we were kids.”

He knew he should have known this, but when it came to you, it was a different case.

“I was always afraid to hurt her. I was scared I’d fuck it up somehow, and because of it, fuck us up,” he confessed.

“So you just kept quiet about it. I’ve always known you were in love with her. I just knew one day it would come out naturally, and the two of you would fall together like natural clockwork. You weren’t supposed to wait until she had a fiancé, you jackass!”

Groaning again, he nodded. “I know, fuck, I know.”

“What were you expecting?”

What was he expecting? He’d asked himself this question since that ill-fated night he texted you the words. He hadn’t come up with an adequate response.

“I don’t know. I was drunk when I did it, drunk and wallowing,” he began. He thought back to the night in your living room then straightened up. “When I looked in her eyes as I said it, Scott, there was something there. I saw it.”

“What’d you see?”

The words teased his tongue as they’d teased his mind the entire week. He hadn’t said them out loud because what if he was wrong. The more he thought back to the look in your eyes, the more he knew that he couldn’t have been wrong.

“She has to love me too. Right?” Looking at Scott for confirmation, he was met with an unsure look.

“Let’s say she did. What do you expect to happen?”

Crinkling his nose again, he gave Scott a crazy look. “What? Obviously, call off the wedding so we can be together for real,” he plainly declared.

“Have you thought that through? What if right now, with the idea of her being married off to someone not you is playing with you, making you feel like you want this relationship? What if this is the draw of what you can’t have?” He’d thought about this long ago but dismissed it before it came up again. He didn’t feel like that was it.

“I’m not like that,” he professed.

“How do you know? This is the first time you’re in this situation,” Scott countered.

“Scott. It’s Y/N.” That was all he felt he had to say.

“Exactly. I know another reason why you held on to this for so long was because you were afraid of this. You were afraid that once you got what you thought you wanted, you wouldn’t want it anymore, and then it would have been too late. How do you know?”

Bringing himself back to the night it all became clear for him he clued Scott in. “I was sitting there thinking about her, and I knew Scott. I knew.”

Scott nodded and took his words in.

“Okay.”

“I don’t want her because I can’t have her now. It’s not because I’m scared of losing her to someone else. I’m not nearly as self-centered and narcissistic enough for that. I want her because—because I love her,” he responded with certitude. He felt this in his bones.

“Okay.”

“We used to talk every day, several times a day, all day even. I haven’t spoken to her since that night at her place. She won’t answer my calls or messages.” It hurt to say. It hurt a hell of a lot more than he ever imagined it would. It felt like rejection, a rejection he had no experience with that was made worse because it was you.

“She needs time, Chris. You just dropped the mother of all bombs on her for crying out loud. It’s not just any bomb; it’s an atomic bomb that complicates her life. She has a fiancé. She planned a wedding, one that is happening in six weeks,” Scott reasoned.

He knew all of this, and he’d even tried to drill it into his own head, but it never stuck.

“Give her some time to get her thoughts and feelings in order,” Scott finished.

He looked down at his entwined fingers and sighed. “I feel like I’m losing my shit just waiting around. I feel like I’m waiting on a judge to decide the rest of my life,” he spoke. The silence stretched between them, and his anxiety reached its peak.

“I don’t know what I’ll do if I fucked everything up, Scott.”

~~~~~~~~~

-Y/N-

“I love you, Y/N. I love everything about you.”

Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump.

“I love how you are my family.”

Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump.

“You’re my home, always have been. I’m in love with you.”

Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump.

“The sight of you together kills me.”

Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump.

“I want you, Y/N. I always have. That hasn’t changed since we were sixteen, and it will never change. I love you.”

Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump.

“I can’t lose you.”

Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump.

“Y/N!”

The scent of roses, lilies, and cedar filled your nostrils and bringing with it your current reality. You took a deep breath, but one wasn’t enough. You took several more. It had been a hard week. You should have still been floating on could nine, and part of you was, but it was an exceedingly small part. The rest of you was in suspended animation tangled with stress, anxiety, and confusion. When you got like that, the only thing that seemed to help was work.

However, no matter how much work you did, you didn’t forget. You didn’t forget the words he said to you, didn’t forget the look in his eyes as he crowded you in the kitchen. Didn’t forget the way his fingers on you felt exponentially different than they had before. You couldn’t forget how your skin tingled, or how you didn’t move right away. When you got there, you blamed it on shock and nothing else.

“Y/N. Do you need help?”

Pressing your forehead on the cold glass, you took your final breathes and plastered a smile on your face before you walked out of the dressing room. As soon as you did, everyone gasped and fawned all over you. After stepping onto the pedestal, you looked at your reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror and nearly toppled over. You wore the wedding dress you’d picked out two months ago that was now half altered. The A-line ballgown was massive but gorgeous. You loved how it made you look as if you had no waist and plenty of hips, and not to mention the bustline did wonders for your breasts.

“My god, Y/N, you look incredible,” your mother sighed out as she clasped your hand. You could see the unshed tears in her eyes. She’d dreamed of this day probably since the day you were born. Every mother plans her daughter’s wedding in her head the moment she takes her first steps. She’d been with you through this entire process lending you strength and guidance.

“Thank you, mama.” You looked at yourself again and took another deep breath to let it out in a rush.

“Don’t like it anymore?” The question belonged to Jaxon’s mother, Anita. Smiling, you looked at her.

“No, I still like it.”

“Jaxon said when he came in the other day, he was tempted to look at it before he paid for it,” Anita informed.

Turning to her fully, you cocked your head to the right. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Calm down, Y/N. He didn’t look. The superstition is intact,” Anita remarked.

“No, no. Not about him seeing it. He did what?”

Anita stopped smiling and gave you a confused look before she continued. “He paid for it,” she said matter of factly like it was no big deal. The bubble of anger you felt raise within you rose so quickly smoke nearly shot through your ears.

“What’s the problem? My son makes a lot of money. He has influence and the means to do what he pleases. You know that is one of the reasons you agreed to this—expedited wedding,” Anita slid in.

“Excuse me?” You took a step forward, forgetting you were on a pedestal.”

“Y/N,” your mother cautioned making you stop in your tracks and bite back the insult you were going to return back to her.

“Jaxon has assured me it’s not because you’re pregnant, so it leaves this. No?”

You had the sudden image of leaping off the pedestal right on top of her and wrapping your hands around her neck.

“Anita,” your mother began stepping toward her. “I know we don’t know each other well, but you will soon come to realize that I go to bat for my baby with anyone who dares disrespect her. Listen here, your son asked her to marry him, not the other way around. You’ll do well to remember that when you speak to her and remember that it’s a good thing when a man finds a wife—that is if they don’t cheat and find another younger one.”

Your jaw dropped. She took - it - there. Your mother didn’t shrink back or cower; she held her head high and puffed out her chest. You pressed your lips together, pleased at the reminder that you were her daughter. Anita had a high and mighty look on her face before she slinked away to the seats. Once there, she sat.

“Let’s also remember that love is why we’re all here, Jaxon’s and Y/N’s for each other,” your mother finished. When Anita didn’t speak again, your mother turned back to you and gave you a nod.

“Let’s carry on.”

Soon after, your sister Sharice arrived with your niece Adella along with your aunts Florence and SherryAnne. Once they arrived, the tone of the parlor drastically changed. They laughed, joked and chatted as if they didn’t care where they were. You didn’t mind; it distracted you. For the remainder of the appointment, the seamstress worked her magic pinning, measuring, and altering according to your specifications. You always had a glass of champagne in one hand and your phone in the other. Just because the majority of the day was dedicated to this didn’t mean you wouldn’t work.

Halfway through, Anita made an excuse to leave. Before she left, she pulled you in to a hug and kiss while making you promise to make it to the mayor’s mansion for dinner one night during the week. Reluctantly you agreed, and she pranced out of the parlor as if she hadn’t disrespected you in a significant way.

Once she’d left, you dropped onto the couch with all the flounce of the dress around you.

“Ignore her. She’s just mad her precious only son puts you above her. She’s jealous,” Sharice said.

“Jealous or not she should get the fuck over it. she purposely told me about Jaxon buying the dress. He’s told her about how I act about him doing things like this.”

You were angry and had every intention of ripping him a new asshole for doing what he did plus telling his mother something that was between the two of you.

“Your man is well off, enjoy it. You’re going to be married, what’s his will be yours,” your aunt SherryAnne explained.

“I understand that Aunt Sherry, I get it. That does not mean he can throw his money at me. I’ve worked hard for everything I have, and yeah, I don’t have millions or a mother who is a Mayor that comes with connections and pomp, but I sure as hell have my own. We talked about the dress. I said I was going to pay for it. He undermined me and did it behind my back. He didn’t even tell me,” you ranted.

“Maybe he doesn’t know how serious you are about it,” your mother hypothesized.

Rolling your eyes, you knocked back the remainder of the champagne and held out your hands, a silent plea for them to help you up. As they did, you all giggled.

“Are you sure you want this dress?”

“Yes. Don’t worry; I’ve already eyed the reception dress,” you announced as you walked back to the dressing room to change back into your clothes.

Ten minutes later, you reemerged dressed and ready to go. The group of you walked out to the sidewalk and said your goodbyes. When they all walked away, your mother turned to you and studied your face before she gently caressed your cheek.

“Are you alright, baby girl?”

Sighing you thought if you should unburden yourself, but the second you thought to, you decided against it. What was the purpose?

“Yeah, I’m fine, just tired.”

She nodded and pulled you in for a hug. “Maybe go hang out with Chris for a few hours. He always works magic with ironing you out.”

The sound of his name filled you with so many conflicting emotions that you knew he was the last person you needed to see. When she pulled back, she kissed your forehead and tapped your cheek before she walked to her car. Waving goodbye, you watched her car drive off. Checking your watch, you saw you had fifteen minutes to meet Jaxon at the market as you’d promised. After the events at the parlor, that was the last thing you wanted to do. Part of you didn’t trust yourself well enough not to blow up at him in the middle of the produce department. Resigning yourself to your fate, you hailed a taxi and got on your way.

Thanks to traffic, by the time you got to Whole Foods, you were running a little late. As you got out of the taxi, you saw Jaxon standing outside talking on your phone. You took a deep breath and approached him. When he saw you coming, his smile widened as he held his hand out for you. Deciding against taking it, you held onto your purse with the hand he reached for instead. Not picking up your cue, he leaned in to kiss you, but you turned your cheek and continued walking into the store.

Jaxon tried to wrap up his conversation, but after a few minutes, you could tell he was being roped into an even longer dialogue. Pushing the cart through the aisles, you placed items in while he trailed behind you. When he put his hand on your hip, you pushed forward, breaking the contact. Every time he tried to stop you from moving, you didn’t allow it.

After almost ten minutes of this, Jaxon abruptly ended his call. “Okay I’m done, they’re gone. It’s just you now. Tell me how was the dress fitting,” he began wrapping his arms around you, making you face him.

“Call them back. I’m fine. I don’t need your attention,” you said, pulling from him and walking ahead.

“You don’t—what?” His hurried footsteps echoed behind you before he was pulling you back to him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lied.

“Bullshit. I’ve known you long enough to know when something’s wrong. What did I do?”

“Interesting you know you did something,” you slid in before walking away again.

“Come on, Y/N, don’t play games. If I fucked up tell me what I did so I can make it right.”

“How? By throwing your money around some more?”

The way he looked at you said he knew what this was about. When he opened his mouth to no doubt explain it away and brush it under the rug, you walked away yet again. Turning down another aisle, you looked at the products as you passed them, trying to remember just what you had on your list. When you got halfway down the aisle, Jaxon fell into step with you.

“Let me explain,” he began before you cut him off.

“Explain how you undermined me and went behind my back to do something you knew I wouldn’t want? Explain that?” The impatient look on your face only grew to one of annoyance.

“Baby, it wasn’t like that.”

“This is not the place to talk about this. Let’s just get this over with and get out of here,” you suggested while putting products into the cart.

Before Jaxon could speak again, you heard a familiar voice call your name. Your back stiffened.

“Chris, my man,” Jaxon began.

“How you doing?”

“Good, me and the soon to be Mrs just getting some groceries for dinner,” Jaxon informed. Slowly you turned to face him. He wore a low tipped baseball hat, his signature incognito look. It was stupid. You’d told him before that it was his beard that got him recognized.

“Hey, DeeDee,” Chris said. You nearly snorted out loud hearing your nickname.

“Hi.” Again it was barely above a whisper.

“How are you?”

“Great--I mean good--fine,” you stuttered.

Silence fell between the three of you, an awkward silence.

“So come over for dinner tonight, Chris,” Jaxon petitioned. Your head snapped to him, confused how he’d deduced that you being angry at him meant to invite a third party to dinner so you couldn’t talk. The man was nuts.

“Uh—are you sure? I don’t want to impose,” Chris began before Jaxon cut him off.

“Nah, no imposition, right babe. Any best friend of my other half is a best friend of mine. Plus, I’m sure you guys would love the time together. I know the planning of the wedding is keeping this one busy, so yeah, we’re sure,” Jaxon monologued.

Another thing you hated was him talking for you. He’d toned it down over the months, but every now and then, it would spark up. Chris was looking at you as if he was waiting for your final word. He knew how you hated being spoken for. While you wanted to tell him that tonight wasn’t the night the puppy dog look in his eyes broke your heart. Sighing, you nodded.

“Come to dinner. You gotta eat right.”

“Okay. Dinner. Your place?”

“No, we’re at mine tonight,” Jaxon corrected. “Don’t worry, in a few weeks we’ll have it together in the new house,” Jaxon finished.

“Uh, we should go if there is any hope of actually having dinner ready,” you voiced, turning away from both men and walking away toward the checkout. This was going to be a long night, you thought to yourself.

When you got back to Jaxon’s place, the argument that was had went on for nearly an hour. It was really one-sided. He listened to your gripes, apologized, and promised to check himself when he felt the urge to spoil you. The way he didn’t even put up a fight made you feel like he wasn’t listening to what you said or considering it in a real way. He said all the right things, but he’d done that before only to flip and do the offense again.

You went your way to the bedroom, and he went his to the kitchen, and that was where you remained for the next forty or so minutes. You needed the time to cool down. You knew you’d grown up differently and knew you two had different ideas of gender roles, but you didn’t think it was a major discrepancy or too much that you couldn’t work through it. This recent move had you wondering if maybe it was something that couldn’t be worked on.

As you stared at yourself in the walk-in closet, you closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose. You could feel your migraine and wanted to do nothing but sink into a hot bath with a cup of lavender tea. One man was giving you a headache from his lack of care about what mattered to you and the other from his overabundance of caring at the wrong time.

You felt arms wrap around your midsection, which jarred your eyes open. For some reason, you expected to see Chris.

“I’m sorry, really, really sorry. You can’t be mad at me anymore. I can’t take it. You know how I feel about leaving things unspoken and holding on to slights. Things like that can seriously hurt a relationship.”

You knew he was reminiscing on his parents. Their fairytale marriage fell apart because of one too many unspoken things and slights that created caters between them that turned into separate bedrooms and his father’s affairs. Sighing, you dropped your head back onto his chest, allowing him to kiss your bare shoulder.

“Forgive me?”

You remained silent and just stared at him through the mirror. His hand moved from your belly to your pelvis, where he raked up your skirt.

“What’re you doing?”

“Sssh,” Jaxon softly lulled, continuing what he was doing until his fingers were softly scratching a path on your inner thigh in an upward motion. “Let me make it up to you.”

“How?”

“By taking that migraine,” Jaxon answered before his fingers slid underneath the material of your underwear to rub against your sex. Groaning, you attempted to move, but he kept you where you were by pinching your clit. Sucking in a breath, you locked eyes with him.

“Let me do all the work, darlin’.”

Once the words were spoken, Jaxon wasted no time with teasing. He intently circled your clit in tight, quick motions. You leaned against him, sighing out, quickly getting used to how good it felt. Every few seconds, he changed the direction he swirled his finger and the speed of which he did it. After only a few minutes, you were close. With your eyes closed, your moans and pants echoed in the closet as Jaxon’s free hand held you tightly at your hip. You felt his finger leave you, which made your eyes flutter open to see him sucking it clean. In the same breath, Jaxon stepped before you then dropped to his knees.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated before he lifted one of your legs and draped it over his shoulder and kissed your bud.

You groaned and dropped your head back and focused on the pleasure he was giving. Once your eyes closed, the face you saw was not that of your fiancé, the man on his knees before you giving you pleasure. It was Chris’s. You saw him as if he stood right before you. He was watching you, his eyes boring into you, looking deeper into you than anyone had ever seen—just him. You gasped and held onto Jaxon’s head feeling your orgasm get closer and closer. Still, Chris in your mind, stared. It was as if he was taunting you, silently asking if this was what you wanted if Jaxon was doing it for you.

Feeling the pressure of Jaxon’s suck increase, you whimpered and began bucking your hips riding his face. The slurps echoed in the closet, and Chris’s stare intensified. The blue in his eyes beckoned to you, spoke to you, told you that you were making a mistake and that you should stop pretending. When you felt your orgasm whip through you, you felt an urge stronger than any you’d ever felt before to scream his name—Chris’s name. Biting your tongue, you rode the wave until you shook, and your knees buckled. As you fell to the floor, Jaxon’s arms caught you.

“I got you, sweetheart.”

When you opened your eyes, you saw Chris’s face and not Jaxon’s, and that was what fueled your actions.

“Make love to me,” you whined while trying to remove his pants.

Jaxon didn’t protest, he obliged and quickly undid his pants to free himself from his undid zipper. When he slid into your slickened heat, neither of you went slowly. There was a time to take your time, and this wasn’t it. Jaxon moved your body with the strength he possesed and fucked you with frenzied thrusts. It was what you needed to unsee Chris's face, to push aside the unrecognizable desire you felt for your best friend. The desire wasn’t only for him, though.

Feeling the power of Jaxon inside of you, you knew it was him you were making love to, you knew it was him your body was reacting to, but you also knew Chris was also causing some reaction. Planting your feet onto the floor, you sped your movements, not wanting the ability to think properly for the next however long. You’d worry about what this all meant later—much later.

~~~~~~

-Chris-

He hated it here. At your place, he saw pieces of your life with him, but here he saw the other pieces that put together the full picture. There were framed photos everywhere, along with boxes that Jaxon explained away, stating you were in the process of moving into your new house—together. It was a painful thought, one he tried to push to the back of his mind. This was the first time he’d been here. He was always able to get himself out of coming by, but tonight it seemed like his luck had run out.

When they made it to Jaxon’s mancave, he saw accolades, accomplishments, pictures galore of all the influential people he knew, and even awards. It all presented like he was a good guy. It only made him want to hate Jaxon even more, but he hadn’t mistreated you in the time you’d been together. He couldn’t remember a time you came to him crying about something he’d done or how he’d hurt you. There was no representation of his bad character. He had no reason to hate him, none but one—you. This man had you.

When he first walked in, he could smell him on you. You didn’t smell like your usual self, and that told him all he didn’t need to know. From then he had to pretend that the sound of his voice didn’t make him sick, that the pictures of how happy you were together didn’t boil his blood and the thought of you in his kitchen cooking for him night after night didn’t give him the strongest bout of jealousy he’d ever felt. He was an actor, but he doubted he was playing his part well tonight.

“Dinner!”

The two of them made their way back to the dining room to see you’d filled the table with the food.

“Smells amazing, baby.” Jaxon wrapped his arm around your waist and kissed your cheek.

“Let’s eat,” you rushed out, breaking contact with Jaxon to get to your seat, a seat he pulled out. He nearly vomited in his mouth.

Dinner was awkward and painful. He expected it to be, but it was increasingly so. Jaxon kept a hand on you at all times; he could see his grip on your bare thigh through the glass dining table. As he spoke about everything under the sun, he noticed you looked distracted. Every now and then, your eyes met and lingered before you looked away with a guilty look in yours. He wondered what you were thinking, what you were feeling. Every time he tried to read your body language, it told him nothing, but you were tense. Was it the dinner, or was it something else besides what he’d told you?

Like clockwork, every few minutes, Jaxon found a way to make even more contact with you than his hand placed on your thigh. He’d either lean into you to kiss your forehead or an exposed shoulder or even pull you in for a kiss. He could see the tension in you increase every time Jaxon attempted affection. All the while he sat there watching the two of you, he knew what he felt and why he felt it, but it didn’t make it any easier to handle. It broke him.

“So you know we’re moving, the move is happening in a little while. Can we count you in to help?”

“Jax, god, we have the moving people for that,” you began.

“Yeah, but you even said you didn’t want them moving everything. I’m talking about those things,” Jaxon clarified.

“No, Chris is busy. He’s not here to be at our beck and call. He has a family to spend time with.”

“I thought as your man of honor; he’d want to help out,” Jaxon continued.

“Man of honor?”

You slapped your forehead and closed your eyes.

“You hadn’t told him? She didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” He looked at you and waited for you to explain.

“I was—it’s nothing.”

“No, it’s something. What?”

You sighed and finished your glass of wine before continuing. “I was going to ask you to be my man of honor the next time you were in town. Then—things—yeah,” you trailed off.

His heart sank. You wanted him to stand beside you over your sister or even all your friends.

“It was stupid,” you continued.

“You don’t want it anymore?”

“What?”

“Would you rather someone else do it?”

Your eyes locked, and he was able to read you clearly for the first time in weeks.

“No, I want you. Only you,” you whispered. It felt like you meant something else.

“So whaddya say?” Jaxon’s voice broke the moment.

“Uh, let me check some things, and I’ll get back to you,” he said, barely above a whisper as he avoided your eyes. This night had just gotten one hundred times worse.

Once dinner was finished, Jaxon retreated to his office to take an urgent call, which left him to help you with the dishes. When he walked into the kitchen with the last of the dishes, you were finishing loading the dishwasher.

“Dinner was great,” he professed.

“Thanks, you whispered.

He stood beside you in silence for a few moments. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he began.

“Not avoiding. Busy.”

He scoffed. “We’ve both been busy before and still managed to talk all day. You’ve been avoiding me. Why?”

“Chris, I have a lot going on with work and this wedding.”

“So cancel the wedding.”

Your head snapped to him so fast he nearly laughed out loud.

“What?!”

“You heard me. Cancel the wedding,” he repeated.

“Why the hell would I do that?

“Because I love you and you love me.”

You rolled your eyes and looked back to the dishes. “Of course, I love you. you’re my best friend.”

“You’re in love with me,” he flat out said, not caring if anyone heard.

“Chris. Stop. I love Jaxon. We’re getting married in six weeks.

“Are you in love with him? You and I both know there is a difference. I don’t think you are,” he cockily said though he didn’t feel so confidant in his declaration.

“Yes, I am,” you answered. Again, his heart sank.

“And me?”

You looked at him again, and he saw the conflict in your eyes. There should be no conflict where resolution resides, he thought before he took a step to you, closing the distance between you.

“Y/N, come on,” he pleaded before you took a baby step back.

“This is not the place or time. Jaxon is in the other room.”

“I don’t care like at all. How do you feel, Y/N?”

“Fuck, I don’t know how I feel. I don’t know what I feel,” you blurted out in an urgent fiery whisper.

“Yes, you do. Okay yeah, it was a shock, but that was two week ago. You know how you feel, how you’ve always felt I’m suspecting.”

You rubbed your forehead and sighed out. “Jesus, okay. Let’s say I did know. What does it matter? I’m engaged to be married to a great guy.”

“Why would you marry someone you don’t love in the right way? Why would you resign to live the rest of your life with someone you don’t profoundly desire on every single level? Why would you want that especially knowing there is a better choice, the one who loves you as fiercely as you love him?”

He could have just pulled you to him, something said you wouldn’t have stopped him, but he didn’t know if he had that level of asshole in him—not right now.

“I’m sorry about that,” Jaxon said as he walked into the kitchen, breaking the bubble, making you move away from him to approach Jaxon. Once at his side, he watched on as Jaxon kissed you. It hurt to see, especially when his hand gripped your hip in a possessive manner. While it hurt, it also showed him what he wanted. He knew, without a doubt, his reasons weren’t for anything other than you were the woman of his dreams.

It was clear what he had to do now. He had to prove it to you. He had to up the ante and prove to you that he really felt what he felt. He also had the double task of showing you that you loved him as much as he loved you. He had to prove to you that he was the better choice for you, not Jaxon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TagList:

@chaneajoyyy @sonjashuterbugjohnson @kikimiyazaki @bellaamor88 @toniilaney @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @ajspencer1892 @ashanti-notthesinger @90sinspiredgirl @titty-teetee @evemej @areubeingserved @theskullgoddess @caramara3 @champagnesugamama @minton131 @pananegra @scoop93535 @try-n-pronounce-it @dumbchick @behindthesehazeleyes27 @blackmissfrizzle @nervousninjatheorist @dangerouslovefanfic @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls @thinkxlovexloud @chris-butt @starlite-starbrite @momobaby227 @alyxkbrl @angrybirdcr @d1ff3r3nt-b34uty-official @twinx007 @a-dizzle777 @ab-baybay @patzammit @kreolemami @aysha1447 @cutewylie @disaster-rose @wondersofdreaming @lo-cheu @livinglifeformemyselfandi @magdelen69 @snowpiercer21 @renfrewscorner @thevelvetseries @mery-be @hakunalive4eva @anandalambert @youurkryptonite @mizcaptainphoenix @bobbdylann @emilykjhgsj @littlepreciousangel @ssaarroonn @thummbelina @sweetlittlegingy @art-estrange @torntaltos @rynabarnesrogers @rororo06 @anotherblackfangirl @bernie-k @theonewithherheadintheclouds @hista-girl @coldmuffinbanditshoe @jennmurawski13 @deathstroke-terminated-deez-guts @maxcullen @shadyskit @someone-really-bored @thejemersoninferno @itsallyscorner @cristinagronk16 @shakemeupthanks-blog @acciolove724 @straightforwardly @zsuzstyina @acevansss @evansgirl7 @rdjparker @deadlymistress24 @sunkissedebony97 @turn-thy-paige @jovanaprime @amelatonin @nerdybitchpudding @amennariee @shar74nett @likesfairytales @vintageembrace @maverickabull @est1887 @periodtcevans @thotti3par7on @productofchina @winchwm @jesseswartzwelder @pivictorious @anat2507 @euh-say-what-now @raveviolet @actorinfluence @sadishdelray @ljstraightnochaser @041802 @evermcfearless @tashawar @dwights-new-plague @miss-jackson500 @jd-now-jq @renfrewscorner @baby-iyania @brwnsugababe @evansshine @spideydobrik @laketaj24 @munteanhore @priya212 @euh-say-what-now @richonne4life @cyntgefel01 @brownskinafro @chrissbabybunny @night-of-the-living-shred @simply-heaven @queenoftheworldisdead @chrisevansfanfic @bforbbgirl @wowthatsbrazy @thejeneralvicinity @doublesidedscoobysnacks @richonne4life @cyntgefel01 @supernaturalvikingwhore @blackgurlkillinit @fanfictionaffair @nervousninjatheorist @wonderlandfandomkingdom @partypoison00 @rynabarnesrogers-reading @lady-x-red @ibe-erynn @nakusaych9 @madixii @chrisevansdaddycap @zsuzstyina @kittykatlow @queenshikongo3 @beccacupcakesxo @nakusaych9 @xoxloaveasre @naturalthrone22 @blackgurlkillin @littlepreciousange @queenshikongo3 @blackmissfrizzle @supernaturalvikingwhore @littlepreciousange @purplehairgawdess @wowthatsbrazy @tenaciousperfectionunknown @marvelatthis30 @chaos-crusader

***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.

#the confession fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x black reader #black fanfiction #angst fanfic #slow burn fanfic

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vidderinserts · 7 years ago

Note

Hey, so I absolutely adored what you wrote for my last request. Can I request more of Jackaboy with a pregnant reader, please? Maybe they've been trying for a while and the test is finally positive and Jack just can't wait to announce it to the world? Thanks in advance!

It was time. The minutes had passed, you kept your eyes clenched tight. Sean was pacing outside the bathroom door. The last three tests - in about as many months - had been negative and you weren’t sure your little heart could take it again.

“We can always go to a doctor to help us?” jack called through the door, his ceaseless fidgeting quieting for the moment. “If it’s negative, I mean. See if maybe it’s something wrong with one of us?”

Your heart broke a little at the anxiety in your beloved’s voice, knowing he was just as desperate for the little plus sign as you. If not more.

Playing Dream Daddy did seem to have increased his desire for a child.

“Darlin’?”

You took a deep breath, neglecting to answer in favor of slowly turning the pregnancy test to look.

“Oh my god.”

Your voice cracked and you let out a tiny sob. Assuming the worse, Sean flung the door open. Tears were already threatening his ocean blues, and he wrapped his arms around you. “Oh sweetheart… I’m sorry. Tomorrow we can schedule-”

“Sean, look!”

•

Four months passed and the Septic fandom had noticed you were reluctant to come on camera. Had you been harassed or something? Were you and Jack having problems and you didn’t want to be involved with them anymore?

Many were worried, sending you messages on social media, drawing cute pictures of you in attempts to cheer you up.

“They’re so sweet,” you commented one night, curled up in one of Sean’s hoodies. He was editing a RYC, and you were munching on your favorite snack. A mug of peppermint tea was on standby, as was coffee for your fiancé. “Someone drew me and Sam.”

“Aww, look how cute!” He grinned at you, kissing your cheek. “Just like you.”

“Have you told Mark or the others?” You asked after a moment of comfortable silence. You’d been prompted by a Dark and Anti fanart, which had ended up in your tumblr tag. Probably because you jokingly said you preferred Dark.

“Felix knows, and I’ve been hinting it to to Mark and Ethan but I dunno if they just haven’t figured it out or if they think it’s me saying I want a kid.”

“Bet you a coffee Ethan gets it first.”

“Only if you get decaf.”

•

They were getting really concerned now. You were mentioning feeling sick and tired in tweets and Jack was saying you just didn’t have the energy to sit and play a game with him right now.

Were you seriously ill?

Jack would’ve told them, right?

Was it leading to an Anti reveal?

You laughed at that theory, reblogging it with no tags just to watch people set things on fire. “They think Anti’s gonna kill me.”

“Maybe they think Anti’s gonna take you over?” He suggested, setting a bright purple mug in front of you. A fan had given it to you after your engagement to Sean had been announced. On it was a large Sam Septiceye, and the words Mrs. Septiceye in radioactive green cursive.

It was one of your favorites.

“Ooh I like that idea, let’s do something with it.” He laughed at you, nudging the ginger tea towards you. The morning sickness had mostly subsided - it hadn’t been super horrible but neither of you were fond of vomit- but the ginger helped a lot.

“Maybe after our wee bab finally joins us?” He suggested, turning back to the tv. “We should tell them though, you are over halfway along.”

You sipped from your mug with a grin. “How should we do that, Mr. Eye?” Sean sat back, an arm around your shoulders.

“A video probably. Let them know you aren’t dying or somethin’. We can Vlog going to buy baby furniture and not tell them it’s for us until the end.”

•

“How’s my favorite preggo?”

“You can’t just call her that, Ethan. That’s rude.”

“It’s okay Mark-”

“You gotta ask how miss preggo is!”> Ethan and Mark dissolved into giggles on the screen, and you sighed. Sean was giggling too, trying to hide it in his coffee mug. Amy looked sympathetic, flicking Mark’s ear.

“For real though, you’re doing okay right?”

At that, the boys settled and sat eagerly. You smiled at them all, nodding. “Yeah. Doc says we’re both healthy as can be, and my delivery shouldn’t have any complications.” Ethan looked relieved suddenly, and it dawned on you.

The boys had been nervous for you, but hadn’t wanted to stress you out.

“We just filmed a trip to the furniture store too,” Sean cut in. “To announce the baby ya know?”

“At last!” Mark giggled. “Jack’s been so patient but all I’ve heard is how excited he is to tell everyone.”

A look of betrayal took over your fiancé’s face and he leaned close to the camera so the others could only see his bright eyes. “Traitor.”

•

The video went up not too long after that. Your stomach was kept out of frame for the most part, but was hidden under an oversized sweater when it was shown.

“So what color is the nursery?”

“I think the light grey and purple they showed us?” You answered, referring to the people you’d gone too for paint samples. “So maybe a purple bedset for the bassinet?”

“It’ll go with the big ass teddy bear Felix bought.”

“I found the cutest pajama thing!”

“Sean that’s… okay, yeah that’s pretty cute.”

“We’re getting it.”

It wasn’t until you guys were back at home, and you led Sean into the spare-room-turned-nursery that the pieces finally came together.

You guys weren’t shopping for someone else’s baby, but your own.

“Surprise!” You both shouted, standing beside a large sign with your due date plastered in green and purple letters.

I love doing the pregnant fiancée thing! For @foxinaforestofstars 💚

#jacksepticeye x reader #my writing #requested

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cyberstabbing · 7 years ago

Text

Sci-fi/Dystopian future/Danger Days/idk

Heaven’s Not About Your Reputation - Desolation Row AU. The Tipper Laws have consumed the nation; more and more freedoms are being restricted every day. After getting thrown in jail for causing a riot with their illegal punk show, My Chem decides to do the logical thing: cause even more trouble. 28k

In Repair - "Shit,“ Frank mutters, and shoves both hands through his hair. He looks around the kitchen like he’s gonna find what he should do scratched into the old linoleum, then looks back at the bot. He gnaws on his lip. Fuck it. He already knows what he’s gonna do. He’s just gotta do it.

Getting down on his knees, he braces a hand on the edge of the crate and leans over the bot. It’s dressed in a plain white tee and matching drawstring pants like an escaped mental patient. Frank rolls his neck and cracks his knuckles, shaking the ache out of them before carefully laying his palm against its cheek. He’s pretty sure his voice is steady when he says, "Activate.”

Nothing happens. Fucking shitty packaging– the thing’s busted. But Frank keeps his hand where it is, jumping a little when he feels the surge of energy beneath it. The robot’s skin goes from room temperature to lukewarm, then warm. Frank watches it open its eyes, the light behind them adjusting until they’re a pale sort of brown. It looks at him and asks, “Am I dead?” 33k

sing it for the n00bs - Gerard would be killing twice as many dracs right now if his fucking spacebar would quit sticking. (Gamer AU, wherein the Danger Days universe is an MMORPG.) 17k

I was rereading this on a bus in France with my stepsister. She asked me what I was reading and I just squirmed around in my seat. So she shouted “FANFICTION??” And I was like … Well, I mean, yes–but hear me out!! And so I told her about Danger Days, the Killjoys and the whole gamer au concept.

She actually thought it sounded pretty cool. Or maybe she just wanted me to quit gushing about it and leave her alone.

The point is, if someone who just heard a second-rate description of this fic still thought it sounded interesting, that means it’s HELLA RAD. And it is. So. Read it.

The Way They Fly - Frank is a robot. He is in love with his genius creator, Gerard, who doesn’t realize that Frank is capable of real feelings. Frank starts breaking down, getting ill, and Gerard doesn’t know what to do to fix it - all his methods are completely useless, none of the programming explains why this is happening to his Frank - but it’s because Frank has a broken heart. 17k

Of Another Kind - Gerard is an alien on a mission–to find a human mate on Earth. He’s decided on Frank Iero, but his database doesn’t give him all the facts he needs to win over his future companion, and there are just some things he will have to learn on his own. 17k

Let The Darkness Lead You Home - Vampires are in charge and most of the humans on earth are prey, so Frank Iero’s parents have him train as a cyber tech to protect him. Leaving the family he’s born into may have saved his life, but his parents never could have expected the lengths he’d go to in order to find a new family to call home. 49k

The Chasing of Moons - The biggest dilemma in all of this is that Frank slept with his future husband. Now Frank’s just got to make sure that the future with him stays intact, but it’s not so easy when present day Gerard seems to hate his guts. 110k

Might I Have a Bit of Earth - Gerard took things. He didn’t used to take things; he used to ask before, say please and may I and other things his parents taught him, because that was what you did. You didn’t just take. 14k

Space pirates :D !!

Are You Broken? (from the Robot!Gerard series) - Frank gets sick and Gerard doesn’t understand. <1k (the series is 7k)

Lovely Way to Burn - Frank is no stranger to sickness. He’s been wheezing his way in and out of hospitals since he was a kid, but things are different now. He was already pulled from two assignments due to illness, and the third time is the charm. Three strikes and you’re out. 4k

video girl - This is a space AU that has more random worldbuilding than actual porn in it. In which Frank wanders into a virtual sex video booth. 1k

Reaching Through The Mirror - The one where Party Poison and Basement!Gerard have sex. 5k

(part one of Time Travel ‘verse)

James Cameron Got It Wrong - In which 2005!Frank and Fun Ghoul get it on. Then Frank accidentally winds up in 2019. 56k

(part two of Time Travel ‘verse)

yoooo i just found some really really REALLY good fanart. .. unbelievably good. and six years after the fic came out! that’s amazing!! anyway, here it is.

EDIT #2: found some more! Man, that fic just keeps giving.

EDIT #3: Damn it, the artist’s blog (second one) is marked as having “sensitive content”, so I couldn’t view it anymore on this account. So here is the post reblogged on a sfw blog for y’all youngins, and here is a screenshot juuust in case the sfw blog deactivates and that link stops working, too.

The Science of Sleep - It’s 2011 and Frank Iero’s life is pretty average until the night where he starts getting dreams about a strange, apocalyptic California where there’s rayguns, grey corporations and terrorists who use art and color as a weapon. Interesting and fun at first, but the more he dreams about this world, the more he starts to wonder if it really is a dream… and the deeper he gets into this futuristic world, the more it seems to affect his life in the present day.

And just how exactly does everything all seem to link in with that douchebag black-haired artist who sits in Starbucks every day?

(Set in the Danger Days world but not necessarily following the cannon established by the album and music video’s.) 93k

Killjoys Never Die - No description. 2k

i want to die i want to die i want to die

Up Against Your Will (HERE is the chapter index) - Stepping into a world so different from their own, Frank and Gerard struggle to survive. 18 chapters

this was amazing, but also hard to read in some parts, bc of the non con and gore :/ not my cup of tea, but I did love the word building and the fic overall.

Fogs, Sheets and Thunder - Not as grey as it seems. A post-apocalyptic postal service AU. 5k

And ze art!

The World Famous Extraterrestial Diner - Sure the menu had a picture of literally everything in it, causing the menu itself to be ten pages in total, but that was for the foreign visitors. And not just the ones from other countries, according to the owners.Gerard worked at a diner located directly on the famous ‘extraterrestrial highway’. The pictures were more for if any actual aliens ever came by Earth for a good meal and couldn’t speak English. They had the pictures to see exactly what was on offer. Even the beverages had their own separate pictures.Not that they had had any extraterrestial visitors since, like, ever. 8k

Born to Motorbabies - Here's the thing with having a crush on a mysterious DJ; it's kind of an inconvenient place to hang your affections. 12k

The person who’s rec list i snagged this from (can’t remember who, sorry!) added “affectionately referred to as the dishwasher fic” which is v cute so I’m putting it here too.

...the weapon - Tattoos are one of the ways they measure out the time between getting ghosted. Inspired by Art is... 0.2k

Code Red - In the fall out of a fire fight, Party Poison goes looking for medicine, and finds pretty much the exact opposite of that. 2k Ship: Party Poison/Korse

Workplace Appropriate Attire - Korse is a creepy boyfriend. 1k

Ship: Party Poison/Korse

This was fun to read, but some lines made me go OH SHIT, because ...... well if you read this you will know what I’m talking about.

We Got Machines - There are questions on the lips of everyone with eyes or money on the arena. Who is this kid? Where’d he come from? Who trained him? BLind’s got no records on him, meaning he’s a Zonebrat returning to the grasp of the city of his own volition. Another anomaly. That a 16 year old nobody could waltz in out of nowhere and turn the system on its head is... concerning to BLind. <1k

Part 1 of KJ/Griefers 'verse (3.5k in total)

Ship: Deadmau5/G3rard

xoxoxoxo - Party Poison wakes up somewhere he's never been - but there's plenty that's familiar here. 1k

Ship: Party Poison/Korse

Looking for Satellites - Galaxy-hopping alien trader Gerard has business on space station Perseus Four. Getting to know station administrator Grant is a nice bonus. 25k Ship: Gerard/Grant Gerard is a sexy, telepathic and open minded (heh) alien and it’s great.

the only hope for me - Korse has never been one to show his emotions. 1k Ship: Korse/Party Poison

your kicks don't hit, so we remain the same - a battery city ambush goes somewhat wrong. korsepoison. 0.8k Ship: Korse/Party Poison

Methane Skies - Run, run, bunny, run. 3k

Hot damn this is some creepy and suspenseful stuff. Ship: (implied) Korse/Party Poison

mutilate, maim and destroy (just a tad) - For clarification, this fic is about Gerard Way the actual person being tortured by Korse in the Killjoys universe. Like. Hnng, you'll see nevermind. Ship: Gerard/Korse

A Room Full Of Suicides - His jaw was clenched and his whole body quivering. He looked right at Korse with those huge, transparent eyes. “Do what you want to me. I don’t give a shit, Korse.” He drew in a breath that shook. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s about standing up for what you believe in.” God, the kid was adorable. Korse couldn’t wait to make him scream. 4k Ship: Korse/Party Poison, Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (implied)

Of All the Places in the Universe - Gerard, an alien with a severe case of anomie and wanderlust, crash-lands in Jersey while traveling the galaxy. A chance meeting with a creature his studies had told him didn't exist leads to a surprising turn of events. With time, Gerard comes to call Earth home, and finds love with the adorable punk who found him--Frank, an energetic puppy of a werewolf who's really more bark than bite. 30k

"You know The Smiths?"

Gerard grinned. "Oh, yes! They're one of my favorite Earth bands."

Thank You For The - Just an alien in New Jersey, looking for a mate. 0.5k Ship: Gabe Saporta/Mikey Way

"Have fun," Gerard said, even though he'd just told Mikey he couldn't have fun because he needed to be careful. Mikey wished his venom sacs were fully developed. He would spit on Gerard's shoes.

Double Exposure - “The worst part was the confession. Well, the explanation sucked too.” Written for prompt 38. Frank/Mikey - Frank and Mikey bodyswap during tour and have to play shows as each other. 2.5k

Frank isn’t part italian in this fic. He’s part alien! :D Ship: Frank/Mikey

#frerard #frerard fic #frank/gerard #rec list

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chiimei · 8 years ago

Text

A New Path - Chapter 12

Whooo, I got the new chapter out already! :3 Please reblog this ml fanfic as well if you like it~ ^-^ Without further ado, enjoy reading~

C.1 | C.2 | C.3 | C.4 | C.5 | C.6 | C.7 | C.8 | C.9 | C.10 | C.11 |

FF | AO3

“Wait!”

She suddenly grabbed on the arm of this fox hero without even realizing she did so. She didn’t know what was coming over to her, why she stopped someone she didn’t know. However, there was this tingling feeling inside of her. As if she needed to say something to him. It was on the edge of her tongue, but the words wouldn’t come out.

There was this silence between them. Vulpino turned around when Chloé stopped him and expected her to say something to him. However, she didn’t say a single word after stopping him. He wondered why she would even stop him if she got not to say.

She looked at him in such a… strange way. Her mouth opened sometimes and closed again, her eyes pierced into his. As if she didn’t want to let go of him. She looked somehow desperate. There must’ve been something on her mind that she needed to tell him. He never saw her like this before, it just made him wonder… If she was maybe having a fever? Her cheeks were soft red, her eyes looked so tired. She didn’t look well at all, though she did say that she wasn’t feeling well during school. Yet she was somehow around the Eiffel Tower, instead of being at home. She sure was a strange girl.

“T…”

Almost, she was almost able to say it. She slightly looked away, feeling very ashamed about what she was about to do. She never felt like this before. What was this feeling? She was feeling nervous. Her left hand, which was her free hand, was grabbing on her own pants, trying to clench on something. She didn’t realize that her cheeks were glowing red, while she was trying to gather some… courage?

“Th…thank you for saving me.”

Done, she finally said it. It was so embarrassing to do so though. It was as if she lost a bit of her pride when she said something like that. Even though she was mumbling it, she hoped that Vulpino heard what she said so she didn’t need to repeat it.

There was this silence between them again. They could only hear the soft rustling of the trees, which was caused by the wind. From time to time they could hear some cars pass by.

The silence was killing her. She didn’t even dare to look up to Vulpino. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Shouldn’t he be like “no problem” in this situation and just leave? Why was he still standing there? Why did this even make her feel so uncomfortable? Maybe she shouldn’t have thanked him after all. Maybe she was indeed ill, this was so unusual of her.

“Pfft.”

Chloé looked up when she heard that soft chuckle. She saw that Vulpino was holding back his laughter, which made her feel very confused. However, she was mostly offended. She didn’t realize she was still holding on to Vulpino, but she eventually let go and instead she clenched both her hands into fists and glared at this so-called hero.

“What are you laughing at?!”

He chuckled once again, before clearing his throat. He didn’t mean to offend Chloé, at least not now when she was being quite nice. It would be nice if she could be like this to everyone else as well.

“Nothing, I was just taken aback to be thanked. I’m sorry that I laughed. I feel very honored to be thanked by you.”

Of course, he was being quite sarcastic with the last sentence. Though if he would say something like that, Chloé would forgive him. She was quite easy to figure out after all.

“Hmpf, you better be. I usually don’t thank someone.”

Well, that wasn’t a good thing, was it? Though this was still Chloé, it would be very weird if she did thank people regularly. Which made him slightly worried if she was really alright. Since he was worried, he took a step closer to her to inspect her.

“W-what?”

As soon as Vulpino took a step closer to her, she automatically took a step back. Why was he even getting so close to her anyways? And he also got this weird expression on his face. Even though she couldn’t see his eyebrows, she could see him frowning at her.

“I think you should ask a doctor to check on you just in case. Your face is totally red; I think you have a fever. You also look very tired. You should head to bed right away… Well, I will be leaving now then. I hope you will get better. Bye.”

Vulpino turned around while waving her goodbye. He hoped that she would let him leave this time. Luckily she did leave him alone so he could go home. Weird. He was actually worried about Chloé. Well, maybe that was because he was a hero, so he should care about everyone? It would be nice thought if Chloé could act nice more often instead of being some spoiled princess. Oh, well, instead of thinking about her, it might be better to think about what he should do with Marinette. She said she was having a crush on Adrien. Adrien was a great guy, but so was Chat Noir. Marinette seemed to hold some strong feelings for Chat as well. Maybe he should ask Adrien what he thought about Marinette before he would try to bring Chat and Marinette together. He told himself that he would support Chat, but… what should he do? Marinette and Adrien were his friends as well and if they would like each other… Then… Well, he wouldn’t know who he should support.

Chloé was still staring in the distance after Vulpino left her. What was this feeling? It was as if something in her heart was melting. She felt like she somehow softened up to people… Her father always told her that she should hold her head high and be prideful. “Never let them show your weakness,” he said. She always thought that kindness would be a waste. Once you were kind to someone, you could also get easily taken advantage of. Adrien was proof of that. He was too kind to everyone. That kindness would lead to doom. Not everyone deserved kindness so easily. It was not something you could get for free. When someone was kind to everyone, that person could easily get broken…

At least… that was what she thought.

Heroes were always liked by their kindness and selflessness. In the end, heroes always won. Ladybug, Vulpino… They were both so kind to her, they both saved her. Vulpino even cared about her health. However, those kinds of heroes would always get a weakness. Family, friends, people they cared about. Once they were in danger, they would give up everything. Then it would be the heroes’ loss, right?

Was being kind enough to win over someone’s heart? Many cruel people lived in this world. Once they saw their flaw of those kind people, they could attack them without hesitation. That was why she should be confident, prideful and… maybe mean. Besides, no one deserved her kindness anyways. And if they would break down just because some of her criticism, that would only proof how weak people could be.

But…

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be kind to some people. Vulpino seemed to care about her as well. Well of course everyone cared about her, Sabrina was even all over her. Though she never truly opened herself up for someone, but somehow, she felt like Vulpino could understand her. Maybe it was alright for her to open up to him.

Besides that, since Vulpino was still new, the chance of becoming his buddy would be higher. How fantastic would that be, to be friends with a hero? She would become super famous! No one would ever speak against her anymore if she had a hero friend backing up for her!

Just thinking about what great things she could achieve with a friend like that made her laugh. She was already excited to meet him again. He already cared about her today, when they met each other for the first time if the other incident didn’t count. Maybe he was already falling for her charms. Then that would be even easier to let him do what she wanted. She could totally brag this to everyone and everyone would admire her again! They would all over her like some servants to a queen.

Maybe she should try to akumatized someone, so she would be able to meet Vulpino again. Though that was a very horrible thing to do and she wouldn’t like that. Another option would be to search on the internet or the Ladyblog to see if there was any information about him. Maybe she could let someone make some merchandise of him and then sell it. Not only would Vulpino get famous, she would also get rich! Not that she was poor or anything, but gaining some more pocket money wouldn’t hurt. She always wanted to buy some new shoes or more limited edition Ladybug figures.

Besides, adding some Vulpino merchandise to her collection wouldn’t hurt. Maybe she could ask someone to first draw her something, like a design for some merchandise. However, once she looked on the blog, there didn’t seem to be many pictures of Vulpino. Many were just some vague pictures of him. It would be difficult to find any good reference then.

“So even Alya wasn’t able to capture a good picture of him huh… What a disappointment. Well, I didn’t expect much from that girl.”

She sighed and thought about something else. Maybe one of her classmates saw him and took a good picture of him… Wait, maybe Nathaniel could even draw Vulpino if she described him. And he was in her class as well when Vulpino appeared for the first time, right? Maybe he could draw a design for her!

“Chloé, you’re just a genius like always.”

Chloé went to bed early and had her beauty sleep. The next day, she felt great. She grinned to herself when she thought about her brilliant plan to get closer to a hero. And besides that, she realized something very crucial. If she would get closer to Vulpino, she could also get closer to Ladybug! Sometimes it even surprised her how intelligent she could be.

She was also in better terms with Nathaniel now. He treated her better yesterday than before, what he should’ve done in the first place. But she would forgive him for that if he would draw her Vulpino. She secretly prayed that he saw that great hero too. Or else she would just wait at night and call for him when she would see him patrolling in her neighborhood. She sometimes saw Ladybug and her sidekick patrolling at night, though Ladybug always seemed to ignore her whenever she called for her. Well, maybe it wasn’t ignoring, maybe she just didn’t hear her.

“Ah, good morning Chloé. You seem to be in a better shape now, huh.”

Nathaniel said as soon as Chloé approached his seat again. He only glanced at her for a second, before looking away. He wondered if this would become some daily thing. Every morning she would come to his seat. Though he hoped she would just leave him alone after yesterday. Didn’t he already apologize to her? What else did she want from him? Well, however she would act to him, he could handle it. He didn’t want to pay much attention to her, so he was just doodling in his sketchbook.

“… Move aside, I will sit next to you.”

She wanted to see his drawing skills after all. Even though she already saw them once with that drawing of him and Marinette, but maybe his art style changed or improved. Besides that, she was curious if he was still so head over heels about Marinette. She didn’t understand why he would like someone like her. So, even though she was curious, she secretly hoped that she wouldn’t come across a drawing about that baker girl or else it would piss her off.

Nathaniel almost dropped his pencil when she said that. Did she like to torture him so much? She wanted to sit next to him so she could torture him even more? Why would she even go that far? He was being kind to her yesterday! Was this his fate or some kind of punishment? Would she always stick her nose in his business from now on? And she was even ordering him around. He wasn’t her servant or someone like Sabrina.

“Hold on, what right do you have to order me around? You can’t just- “

Chloé was getting slightly impatient, so she just pushed him aside and sat next to him. She glared at him, which made him shut up for a while. Then Nathaniel just sighed and leaned on his hand. It didn’t seem like he could chase her away, so he would give up.

“What about Sabrina?”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

Sabrina only had her as friend, so she would never oppose to her decisions. Sabrina would surely understand her. It wouldn’t be a big deal for her to sit on her own only for today.

“So? What do you want from me this time?”

Of course, Chloé wouldn’t just sit next to him for nothing. She wasn’t like that. They were not having some tea time with each other after all. And before yesterday they were like enemies to each other. He wouldn’t think that just because he was just a bit nice to her yesterday, they were all friends together now. Ugh, that would even suck. He didn’t want her to cling to him like how she did with Adrien. Not that that would happen in the first place. She seemed like the girl who would go to people and befriend them when it would also benefit her.

“Can’t I just sit here without wanting anything?”

“No.”

That answer made her slightly annoyed and she felt offended by that as well. However, he wasn’t wrong. She did sit next to him because she wanted something from him. Maybe she should still play nice though. Nathaniel was quite a complicated guy. Though Marinette was even worse.

“Fine, I just want to see what you’re drawing. I’m someone with great sense of art, I could give you some critics to become even better. So, feel honored and hand me over your sketchbook.”

Did she even hear herself talking? Nathaniel couldn’t help but look dumbfounded at her. He would love to push her away and hope she would never bother him again. What was with her and ordering people around. Couldn’t see at least ask nicely to him if she was just curious about his drawing? Geez, what a drama queen.

“No way, why would I show you my sketchbook when you’re ordering me around like that. First you forced your way to my seat and now you’re demanding my sketchbook? Besides what critics? I remember the last time when you looked at my drawing, you were making fun of it and said something embarrassing while the whole class was listening. I bet you never felt so ashamed as I did on the day you saw that drawing of me and Marinette.”

What, now he was blaming everything on her? How could he blame her for only pointing out that it was him and Marinette? At least she didn’t tell him to go to the headmaster for doodling during class.

“Well, excuse me for just pointing out the obvious! You shouldn’t doodle during class anyways!”

“Says the one who’s always on her phone during class. As if you pay any attention to class!”

“You both should pay attention to my class.”

Miss Bustier went to their seat and put down some papers with assignments in front of them. Even though she was annoyed by their conversation, she still sounded nice and calm. More than being annoyed, she was being worried about their future. As a teacher, she was also responsible for them paying attention to the classes.

“Hand over your sketchbook and phone please. I will give them back later, though you should stay here after school and finish those assignments before you can go home. Really now, not only are you two always arguing with each other and not paying attention to the lessons, your grades are also horrible. I’ve made some assignments for you which would be useful for the next test. And Chloé, I’ve talked with your father before. He will leave you in my care, so there’s no need for you to call him later. For now, pay attention, alright?”

Miss Bustier smiled and went back to the front of the class teaching her lesson after she took Nathaniel’s sketchbook and Chloé’s phone. Once she left their seat, Nathaniel chuckled.

“Pfft, now you can’t go to your daddy and complain about it. Life is not fair huh, drama queen.”

“Ugh shut up you tomato head. She also took your sketchbook, in case you forgot. And we both have to stick together to make those stupid assignments.”

Nathaniel picked up the papers and looked over the assignments. Then he looked at Chloé with a grin.

“Ah, I can solve them in no problem. So, I will go home earlier. Kinda sucks when Sabrina does all your homework huh.”

“You know… I really want to hit you, stupid tomato boy.”

Nathaniel softly chuckled once more and looked in front of him. At least he planned to pay attention to the class now. Besides, once he would work on something serious, he could do it.

“Heh, you call me stupid? I think you’re more the stupid one. I bet you can’t solve any problem without having a headache.”

Even without looking at Chloé, he could already feel her anger boil. Ah, somehow it was pretty fun to make her so mad. Serves her right. He knew that Sabrina would do all her homework, well, everyone in class knew. He quite respected miss Bustier for acting instead of just seeing her students fail. Maybe he should just do his best on his tests as well to make her happy. Well, he would usually do better in her classes than in science classes anyway.

“I will show you I can do it.”

Chloé mumbled angrily and looked in front of her. She tried to pay attention to the class as well, but she easily got bored listening to everything. How come her plan was totally ruined? All she wanted was to see his drawings and request him to draw something for her. She thought they were on good terms, but now they end up fighting again. Ugh, she could not get along with this guy at all. Maybe she should’ve hired some other artist in the first place. That would be way easier than dealing with him. And now she even had to stay longer at school! Without her phone, class was so boring she could fall asleep. However, before she would even fall asleep, she needed to say one last thing to Nathaniel.

“I really hate you, Nathaniel Kurtzberg.”

Nathaniel glanced at Chloé for a short moment and then smiled. Maybe it wasn’t so half bad to hang out with Chloé. She could be amusing when she couldn’t fight back to him and gets all frustrated because of that.

“Don’t worry drama queen, I hate you too. Seems like we got at least one thing in common.”

[ Next Chapter ]

#miraculous ladybug #nathaniel kurtzberg #chloe bourgeois #adrien agreste chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #chlonath #ml #ml fanfic #vulpino #A New Path

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