#But i am COMITED now... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thebarneschronicles · 2 months ago

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Steady (Closer To Home)

A Closer To Home side-story

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.7k

You and Bucky have been dancing around a fragile intimacy for months—close to comitting, but never crossing the line. Despite being somewhat settled, Bucky still has his bad nights—haunted by dreams that tear him out of sleep and away from your arms. But this time, when he returns home shaken and silent, the rhythm between you shifts.

What begins with coffee and warmth turns into a conversation that redefines everything—labels, love, and the future you're building together. From a phone background to a blushing soldier, to a question that changes it all, this is what it means to choose each other, every day.

Trigger Warnings: Bucky Barnes (he needs a warning of his own); nightmares and implied PTSD; references to emotional trauma and past violence; fear of loss and emotional vulnerability; intimacy; light sexual content (implied foreplay, heated kissing, groping, innuendo); mild possessiveness, dominance, and suggestive dialogue; mentions of bruising from prior sex; discussions of romantic labels and commitment anxiety.

Closer To Home Masterlist

Author’s Note: Surprise, surprise: I have returned after an insane few months. I am so sorry it took me this long, but genuinely, life took over in a way I couldn't even comprehend. I missed these two so badly though and hopefully you have too. Give me your thoughts! Love, B xx

It was too early. That strange, in-between hour where the world was still waking, where the sun barely stretched past the horizon, and where the warmth of your bed felt impossible to leave.

And yet, here you were—blinking sleep from your eyes, drawn from the comfort of your blankets by the faint sounds coming from the kitchen. The quiet clatter of pans. The slow scrape of metal against a skillet. The low hum of something that might have been a sigh, or just the house settling.

You knew the real reason you were awake.

Bucky had a rough night.

You felt it before you even opened your eyes—the restless way his body tensed behind you, the sharp, ragged breaths fanning against the back of your neck. When the tremors had started, you didn’t hesitate. You turned into him, wrapped yourself around him, grounding him with your warmth, your steady hands, your quiet presence. For twenty minutes, you held him, whispering soft reassurances into the space between you, running your fingers through his damp hair, waiting for his breathing to slow.

And then, just like that—he was gone.

Slipping from your arms. Pulling on sweatpants and a hoodie with that blank, withdrawn look that made your chest ache.

You didn’t stop him.

Because sometimes, Bucky just needed to go—to run, to move, to fight against something only he could see. It was still dark when he left, and though part of you wanted to stay awake and wait for him, sleep eventually pulled you back under.

Now, the smell of coffee and the quiet rhythm of him moving through the kitchen had pulled you back into wakefulness.

Bucky was already making breakfast by the time you dragged yourself into the living room, still swaddled in one of his old sweaters, your feet tucked beneath you as you curled up on the couch. He hadn’t noticed you yet.

He was lost in thought, stirring scrambled eggs absently, his vibranium fingers tapping against the handle of the pan in an absent rhythm. His hair was damp from the shower he must have taken when he got back, a lone strand falling across his forehead. His shoulders, broad and still faintly pink from the heat of the water, flexed slightly as he worked. He was shirtless, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, and the soft winter light streaming through the window caught on the metal of his arm, making it gleam in the quiet morning air.

You watched him in silence.

It was rare—these quiet, introspective moments where he wasn’t a soldier, wasn’t fighting, wasn’t running from something unseen. Just Bucky. Barefoot in your kitchen. Lost in a world of thoughts you weren’t sure you could pull him from.

If he needed you, he’d come to you.

If he wanted to talk, he would.

And if he didn’t? You’d sit here, offering him the kind of company that asked for nothing in return.

But God, he was beautiful like this.

You reached for your phone without thinking, lifting it just enough to snap a photo. He still hadn’t noticed you, the faraway look in his eyes making it easy to capture a few more. The quiet intimacy of the moment was too much to resist—the way the golden morning light softened the sharp edges of him, the way the steam curled from his coffee, how utterly real he looked, standing there.

But then—his gaze flicked up.

He caught the movement, blinking like he was just now registering that he wasn’t alone.

"What you doing up?" he mumbled, voice rough with sleep, still thick with whatever weight sat heavy in his chest.

You grinned, tucking the phone away. "Missed you," you admitted easily, offering him a lazy, sleepy smile from your spot on the couch. "Was worried."

Bucky huffed softly, shaking his head as he grabbed another mug from the counter. "You didn’t have to be," he said, pouring a second cup before making his way over.

You took the coffee from his outstretched hand, watching as he sank down next to you, his arm draped along the back of the couch, close but not yet touching. He smelled like soap and fresh air, a little like the night still clinging to his skin.

You turned slightly, pressing a kiss to the crease of his elbow, your free hand wrapping around his bicep, thumb skimming the underside of it where smooth skin ran over hard muscle. Bucky let you, saying nothing, but his fingers found the back of your hair and flexed slightly, just once.

You hesitated, debating whether to push, before deciding against it. Instead, you just said what you already knew.

"You had a nightmare."

It wasn’t a question.

Bucky sighed, nodding reluctantly before tipping his coffee to his lips. Vibranium fingers gripped the mug, and you didn’t miss the way he used the motion to shield the slight downturn of his mouth.

You caught it anyway.

"Yeah."

Your voice softened. "Hydra?"

"No."

That made you pause.

Most of his worst nights—the ones that left him trembling, breathless, drowning in memories he couldn’t control—were tangled up in his past. But if it wasn’t Hydra…

Your grip tightened slightly around his bicep, thumb brushing gently against smooth skin over strong muscle. "Should I ask what it was, or should I leave it be?"

A muscle ticked in his jaw. His gaze flickered to yours, and for a second, you weren’t sure if he was going to answer.

Then, quietly—"It was you."

You stilled.

"Me?"

Bucky exhaled sharply, his vibranium fingers tracing along the rim of his mug, eyes fixed on a point on the floor. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. "You were… gone."

Your heart clenched.

You swore you felt his words crack something inside you.

“I couldn’t— couldn’t help. Couldn’t bring you back." His throat bobbed, and when he spoke again, his voice was rougher, quieter, and you had a feeling he was sparing you whatever gory details had sent him running into the night. "I kept trying, I looked for help everywhere, but you—” Bucky’s eyes squeezed shut. “You were gone. It felt… real."

Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest.

Bucky had lived through nightmares most people couldn’t even imagine. He’d been broken, controlled, forced to be something he never wanted to be. But somehow, the thought of losing you was what sent him running into the cold morning air, like it was something he could outrun.

You set your coffee down on the table, shifting closer, tilting his chin toward you so he had no choice but to look at you. Fingers warm from the coffee, you scratched against his stubble, eyes locked on his.

"I’m right here, Buck."

He blinked slowly, eyes flickering over your face like he was memorizing every detail, every breath, every reassurance. His fingers found the nape of your neck, threading through your hair, and you let him pull you closer until your foreheads touched.

"I know," he murmured, but there was something fragile in the way he said it, like part of him wasn’t convinced.

You pressed a lingering kiss to the bridge of his nose, staying there for a beat, letting him feel it. "I need you to hear me," you whispered against his skin. "I am safe. I am healthy. No one will hurt me. And I’m not going anywhere. Not in your dreams, not in real life. You’re stuck with me, James."

The corner of his mouth twitched—just the faintest ghost of a smirk. You saw it. Felt it.

"Lucky me."

Your heart swelled with quiet relief, and you huffed, nuzzling against him, letting your nose brush his. "Damn right."

Finally, finally, his arm slipped from the back of the couch, wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into his warmth. You tucked yourself against his side, letting your head rest against his chest, feeling the warmth of him, the solid weight of him against you.

Silence settled over the two of you, thick but no longer heavy. You traced absentminded circles against his chest, and slowly, you felt the tension in his body ease, the tight coil of anxiety unraveling bit by bit.

He was safe. He was here.

The quiet almost had you drifting back to sleep, but then his voice broke through it—low and rough, like gravel.

"I’m sorry I left the bed."

You shook your head, turning your face into the crook of his neck. "It’s okay. You came back."

And that was what mattered.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just tightened his hold on you, like he was testing the weight of those words—you came back—letting them settle over him like a blanket.

You waited until his breathing evened out before speaking again, this time with a teasing lilt. “But if you ever leave our bed at four in the morning again, I’m chaining you to me.”

You felt the shift before you heard it—the way his chest shook just slightly beneath you, the subtle way his lips pressed together like he was trying to contain it.

Then, a small huff of laughter.

Quiet. Barely there. But real.

“…Kinky,” he murmured.

“Bucky!” You gasped, swatting his side. “You’re hanging out with me too much… I’ve corrupted you.” He chuckled deeper this time, the sound low and warm against your skin, vibrating through you in a way that sent something heady curling in your stomach.

And this time, when he tipped your head up and kissed you��slow and deep, fingers threading into your hair—it wasn’t about grounding himself.

It was about you.

–

Weeks had passed since that quiet morning, but the warmth of it still lingered, wrapping itself around the two of you like an unspoken promise.

Things between you and Bucky had settled into a rhythm—soft, steady, something unspoken but deeply felt. He still had bad nights, but he came back to bed more often. When he needed space, he’d at least leave you with a kiss, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t running from you—just from the ghosts that still clung to him. And when he was ready, he’d let you pull him back, let you ground him in the safety of your arms.

Sometimes, you caught him staring—like he was trying to make sense of it all, trying to understand how he had ended up here, with you, with something so… real. Little did he know you wondered the same.

Life felt easier than it had in a long time—like the universe had finally pressed pause, giving you both a moment to breathe. The world, always so chaotic, had granted you this reprieve, a chance to settle into the simple, domestic routine of being together. Bucky continued to spend more time at your apartment, despite your attempts to make his feel more like home. He always had a counterargument—yours was better, cozier, you had a bed, and more importantly, you were there.

You couldn’t quite argue with that one.

And so, you let yourself fall into what it meant to be loved by Bucky Barnes. It wasn’t perfect. There were moments when you felt helpless, when his mind dragged him somewhere you couldn’t reach. There were nights you worried—worried that one day he’d wake up and decide he didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve you. But still, you held on. Because it was good. Because he needed good. It was calm. And he needed calm. It was loving. And god, did he need to be loved. It was passionate, and that—well, that was something you both needed in equal measure.

You felt, for the first time in a long time, like a teenager—caught in the all-consuming pull of something new, something that made the rest of the world feel distant, insignificant. He was everywhere. In your bed, in your arms, against your skin, in your thoughts. It didn’t help that he was also, technically, your boss—your sort-of, kind-of boss. But that didn’t stop the way your world seemed to orbit around him.

And somehow, without you realizing it, he had even claimed a place on your phone.

The picture you had taken of him that morning had slowly but surely become your favorite. It had started small—just something you’d pull up when he wasn’t around, a quiet reminder of the way he looked in the soft morning light, lost in thought but undeniably beautiful. But as the days passed, you found yourself reaching for it more and more, until finally, you caved and set it as your background.

It felt silly, juvenile even, but you let yourself have this one thing.

It never even crossed your mind that he’d see it.

It never even crossed your mind that you’d be the reason he’d see it.

You didn’t even think about it, leaving the phone on the bathroom counter after you got out of your shower. You were practically done getting dressed when you remembered, calling out to him from the bedroom.

“Buck? Baby, could you get me my phone? It’s on the bathroom counter!”

There was a pause, just long enough to make you wonder if he hadn’t heard you, before he answered. “Yeah, I got it,” Bucky called back.

You went back to pulling up your panties over your hips, dragging one of his hoodies over your head and dragging a hairbrush over your tangled locks while you heard the quiet scuff of his socked footsteps. It wasn’t until he crossed the threshold of your bedroom that you realized something was… off.

He had your phone in his hand, sure, but he wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were locked on the screen, brow furrowed, lips just slightly parted like he was in the middle of trying to figure something out.

“Is this… me?” he asked, voice lower, slower, as he lifted the phone just enough to show the screen.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Heat rushed to your face and you scrambled for something, anything, to deflect. “Uh—no, it’s… uh—”

Bucky arched a brow, tilting the phone toward himself, as if double-checking. “It’s me,” he said again, this time with something different in his voice. Not teasing, not mocking—just curious. Maybe even a little surprised.

You hesitated, caught between embarrassment and the sudden, crushing realization that—honestly? This was a big deal. Or at least, it was starting to feel like one.

You sighed, crossing your arms, leveling him with a look. “Yeah, it’s you. Don’t make it weird.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, that barely-there almost-smirk that drove you insane, but his eyes told a different story. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t mocking. He was curious.

“I’m not making it weird,” he said slowly, his voice quieter now. “Just… didn’t expect it.”

That, you believed. Bucky wasn’t used to people holding onto him like this. Keeping pieces of him close. He wasn’t used to the idea that he was something someone wanted to look at, to remember.

Your chest ached a little at the thought, but you brushed past it, rolling your eyes to cover the sudden rush of warmth in your face.

“Well,” you muttered, turning away, “I like the picture.”

Bucky hummed, glancing down at your phone again before lifting it slightly. “When’d you take it?”

You kept your back to him, rifling through your dresser for socks as if this was the most important task in the world. “A few weeks ago.”

“When?”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the fabric in your hands. “...After you had a nightmare.”

The room went still.

You could feel his gaze on you, heavier than before, as if he were working through something in that head of his. When you finally turned back, your stomach gave a sharp twist—he had stepped fully into the bedroom now, standing in the doorway like a force of nature. Unshakable. Unstoppable. Your phone was still firm in his grasp, but he wasn’t looking at it anymore.

He was looking at you.

“Why’d you put it on your screen?” His voice was closer, softer—but no less insistent.

Your pulse jumped.

Jesus, what was this? An interrogation?

“What’s with the Spanish Inquisition?” you scoffed, laughing a little too nervously. You turned back to your socks—because if you kept looking at him, you knew you were going to combust—clumsily yanking them on before you darted past him, making a beeline for the door.

You almost made it. Almost.

But before you could slip away, before you could pretend this conversation had never happened, his hands were on you.

Large palms gripped your hips, pulling you back into the solid heat of him. You yelped, your momentum halted so suddenly that you barely had time to catch your breath before he was right there, pressed against your back, his voice low and teasing in your ear.

“Hey, now—wait a second.” His fingers tightened slightly, grounding, steadying. “I have questions.”

“Oh my God—”

“Let’s talk about this.”

“No, let’s not—”

“Let’s definitely talk about this.”

You grunted, trying to wiggle free, but it was useless. His grip was firm, unrelenting, the sheer strength in his arms making any escape attempt laughable at best.

“God, you’re so—annoying!” you groaned, shoving at his forearm, but there was no real heat behind it. You were just embarrassed. Embarrassed that he caught you being soft, caught you simping, caught you—

Bucky chuckled, breath warm against your neck. “Annoying, huh?”

“Yes!” You twisted in his grip, but that only made things worse, because suddenly, your ass was pressing back against his front, and—

Oh.

A sharp inhale left you, and Bucky—that bastard—must’ve noticed, because his grip on your hips tightened.

You cursed under your breath. “What do you want me to say?”

Bucky was quiet, waiting. Watching.

You exhaled sharply, closing your eyes for a brief moment, before finally turning your head slightly to glance at him. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those damn eyes—were burning.

You swallowed. Hard.

“That you’re handsome?” you muttered, voice quieter now, a little breathless. “That I like looking at you? That I miss you when you’re not around?”

Bucky’s fingers flexed against your hips.

“That I wanted something of yours to keep?” Your voice dropped even lower. “That I need a visual for when I—”

You caught yourself just in time, slamming your mouth shut, but it was too late.

Bucky stilled.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you, thick and charged.

Then—

“When you what?” His voice was deeper now, slower. Smug.

You gasped, immediately trying to pull away, but his arms caged you in.

“Oh, no, no, no—”

“None of your business, Barnes!”

Bucky laughed, actually laughed, and the sound of it sent a rush of warmth flooding through you.

“You absolute menace—let me go!” You struggled, bent forward in a desperate attempt to pry his hands off you, but in doing so, your ass pressed firmly into him again, and—

Oh, fuck.

There was definitely something there.

Bucky let out a low grunt, grip tightening, and—shit. That was not helping.

“You were saying?” His voice was rougher now, the teasing edge still there but undercut with something else. Something darker.

You clenched your jaw, mortified. “Fucking super soldier serum,” you grumbled under your breath.

Bucky grinned. You felt it against your skin.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured, lips brushing just below your ear, the heat of his breath making you shiver. “Just tell me.”

Your resolve wavered. God, he was so unfair.

“I cannot have this conversation before I’ve even had my coffee,” you argued, exhaling dramatically as you gave up and went limp against his arms. If he was going to hold you hostage like this, you might as well get comfortable. Your eyes fluttered closed as you felt him—solid, warm, inescapable.

Bucky chuckled, arms tightening around you, pressing you more firmly against him until you were practically weightless in his hold. “I’ll let you have your coffee…” he promised, voice dripping with amusement. “But we’re discussing this while you drink it.”

He huffed, shifting his grip, turning you around and before you could blink, he was lifting you. You gasped as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, arms locking around his neck as he carried you with frustrating ease.

“That was nice,” you sighed, unable to help the giggle that slipped out when he effortlessly adjusted his hold. You nuzzled into his neck, voice muffled against his skin. “Remember when you weren’t a menace?”

“What do you mean weren’t?” He pulled back just enough to shoot you an indignant look. “I’ve always been a menace.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight your smile. “Yeah, but it was more of a brooding, dangerous menace before. This?” You gestured vaguely between the two of you, still wrapped around him. “This is a smug, cocky menace and I don’t know if I like it.”

Bucky smirked. Smirked. “I think you do.”

You scoffed, burying your face into his shoulder, squeezing your arms around him tighter—not just to shut him up, but because you could.

And because… you needed a second.

Because there was something in the air between you now—something shifting, stretching, growing. Something unspoken but suddenly very loud.

Bucky was looking for something. Waiting for something. You could feel it. The careful weight of his gaze, the way his arms settled so securely around you, like he wasn’t just holding you but keeping you. And the realization that he had been thinking about this—about you, about where the two of you stood, where you were going—it shook you.

You knew this wasn’t casual. It never had been. Not after everything in D.C., not after what you both admitted—what he admitted. Not after the way he loved you.

And now? Now he wanted to talk about it.

Shit.

You barely realized he had walked you both into the kitchen until he set you down on the cold surface of the island. The moment your bare thighs made contact with the freezing countertop, you yelped, clinging to him instinctively.

“Could’ve warned me!” you cried out, squeezing your arms around his neck in retaliation.

Bucky laughed. Full-on, unabashed laughter. The warmth of it curled through you, but you refused to acknowledge it, choosing instead to scowl at him as he pulled back slightly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” He didn’t sound sorry at all.

“You’re pushing your luck, Barnes,” you grumbled, reluctantly releasing him as he stepped back, heading toward the coffee maker.

“I’ll take my chances,” he sighed, shooting you a smirk over his shoulder.

You huffed, watching him move around your kitchen like he owned the place. Which, honestly, at this point? He practically did.

No matter how much effort you’d put into making his apartment feel like a home, he spent more time here—left his boots by your door, tossed his jacket over your chair, claimed half of your closet without even trying. And you let him. Because no matter how much you pretended to be exasperated by it, the truth was, you loved it.

“Here.” Bucky’s voice was warm as he handed you a steaming mug, his fingers brushing against yours for just a second too long. “Drink up.”

You accepted it with a grateful murmur, curling your fingers around the ceramic, letting the heat sink into your skin. You took a sip. Then another. Then a third.

He didn’t move.

You frowned, glancing up at him over the rim of your cup. He stood right there, hands planted on either side of your hips, his body caging you in—not in a way that made you feel trapped, but in a way that made you feel… held.

His blue eyes were locked onto yours, unreadable, steady. Waiting.

Your stomach flipped.

“So…” His voice was casual, but there was nothing casual about the way he was watching you. “The picture.”

Your fingers tensed around your mug.

God, he was relentless.

“You are insufferable,” you muttered, taking another sip, as if coffee could save you from this conversation.

Bucky tilted his head, lips twitching. “And you’re stalling.”

You groaned, setting your mug down beside you. “I told you—I like the picture.”

He nodded slowly, gaze unwavering. “And?”

You frowned. “And what?”

Bucky let out a soft huff, stepping closer, the warmth of him pressing against your knees. His hands found your thighs, rubbing slow, lazy circles into your skin. The touch was grounding, familiar, dangerous.

“And why’s it your background?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

“I—”

“Just tell me the truth, sweetheart.” His voice dropped, softer now, rougher. “Let me hear it.”

Your heart pounded.

He wasn’t teasing anymore. There was something in his voice—something careful, something raw.

Your breath hitched as you exhaled slowly.

“Because you’re handsome. And I miss you when you’re not here,” you admitted, voice quiet but unwavering. “Because I like looking at you. Because it makes me feel… close to you.”

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t blink, just listened.

You swallowed, suddenly so aware of the weight of the moment.

“It’s… the 21st century equivalent of having a picture of your girl on your wallet. It’s just… something romantic partners do.” The words were out before you could stop them, and your stomach plummeted as realization crashed over you.

The air between you shifted.

Bucky’s fingers flexed against your thighs.

“What’s this about romantic partners?” His voice was careful, cautious.

Your grip on the coffee mug tightened.

You hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t meant to throw it out there like it was nothing when it was actually… everything.

You cleared your throat. “You’d catch on to that, wouldn’t you?” you muttered, eyes darting anywhere but him. “It’s not like we’ve, uh, talked… about labels.”

Bucky studied you, pulling back, arms crossing over his chest, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he worked something out in his head.

“Should we?”

Your breath stalled.

“Bucky—”

“It’s a genuine question,” he cut in, his voice lower now, almost grumbly, like he was bracing himself.

You exhaled slowly, rubbing your temple with your free hand. “We don’t have to,” you said, finally setting your mug down. “It’s not a requirement. And I wouldn’t want to do it if it’s something you’re not comfortable with.”

Bucky shifted, leaning in a little, closing the distance between you, fingers curling along the edge of the counter like he needed something to anchor himself. His voice was even, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were so intense you felt like you were drowning in them.

“But it is something people do nowadays?”

You squinted at him, trying to pinpoint exactly what about this had him all twisted up. His expression was blank—frustratingly so, that careful, calculated mask he wore when he wasn’t sure how much of himself to show, but it was clear his mind was working through it.

“It’s something people have always done,” you pointed out, tilting your head. “Didn’t you ever discuss going steady with your dates back in the day?”

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Doll, back then, if you went on three dates, you were practically engaged.”

You blinked.

“Excuse me?”

He smirked, leaning in just a little. “You heard me.”

“That’s insane.”

“That’s the ‘40s, sweetheart.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “Were you ever engaged?”

His smirk softened, turning into something smaller, something almost shy.

“I never got to the third date,” he admitted, and you couldn’t stop yourself—you pinched his waist.

Bucky jerked slightly, laughing, his hand grabbing yours to stop you from doing it again.

“That’s ridiculous,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“What?” He grinned. “The ‘three dates’ rule or me never getting to the third date?”

“Both.”

His fingers grazed the curve of your hip, slow, thoughtful.

“So,” you drawled, narrowing your eyes at him. “By your standards, I should already have a ring on my finger?”

The second the words left your mouth, you saw it.

The way he looked at you—how something flickered across his face. His throat bobbed slightly as he swallowed, the tips of his ears going pink.

Oh my God, he’s blushing.

Your breath hitched.

And fuck.

There it was again.

That shift.

That unspoken thing hanging between you, thick and undeniable, inevitable, something you hadn’t named but had been building, piece by piece, since the moment he walked into your life.

Bucky wet his lips, fingers still tracing slow, absentminded strokes against your hip. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quieter.

“Would that be the worst thing?”

Your stomach dropped.

The air changed, the teasing burned away in an instant, leaving something raw and exposed in its place. You could feel your pulse in your throat, a heavy, thudding thing, your heart hammering against your ribs.

His fingers flexed against you, just slightly.

You hesitated, inhaling sharply. “New… relationship rule,” you muttered, heat crawling up your neck as you lifted a finger and poked the center of his chest.

Bucky barely moved, but his eyes flashed.

“You don’t get to joke about marriage,” you told him, voice firm despite the warmth in your face.

His lips tugged, but there was something else there now—something dark and interested.

“Who said I was joking?”

Your stomach flipped.

“James, I swear to God—”

He was looking at you, watching, like he was working something out in his head. Like he was measuring the weight of this moment, testing the limits of what could be said.

And then—

“Do you wanna go steady with me?”

Your lips parted.

Your brain stalled.

Bucky Barnes just asked if you wanted to go steady.

It should have been funny.

It should have been outdated.

But the way he said it—so serious, so low and real—made your entire body go up in flames.

He must have caught the way your breath stuttered because he pulled you forward, closer, his grip tightening just a little around your thighs, grounding you, steadying you.

You swallowed thickly, fingers curling into the fabric of his henley.

“You’re serious,” you murmured.

Bucky nodded, his gaze unwavering. “Yeah, sweetheart. I am.”

Your heart thundered.

It wasn’t just the words—it was everything behind them.

It was the months of falling asleep next to each other, the mornings making coffee, the way he always grabbed your hand in a crowd like it was second nature. It was the fact that he already had half his shirts living in your drawers, the way he kissed you like he was memorizing you every damn time.

The truth was, you’d already been his.

This was just the part where he made it official.

Bucky, the menace, pressed again, voice quieter now, more certain—like saying it one more time would make it real:

“Do you wanna go steady with me?”

Your head was spinning.

Not just from the question, but from him. From the way he stood there, broad and unshaken, all squared shoulders and tension, like he was gearing up for a no. Like he’d been so damn sure before, teasing and smug, but now—now, he was nervous.

Even after everything.

After the nights tangled together, after whispered confessions in the dark, after the I love you’s that had slipped from your lips more times than you could count now.

Even after that ridiculous jealous fit you’d thrown over Sharon Carter in D.C., after all the ways you’d reassured him that you weren’t going anywhere.

He still had doubts.

Your heart clenched.

You wanted to press yourself against his chest and tell him a thousand times over that yes, of course, yes. That there had never been a moment where you weren’t his.

But instead…

You decided to tease him.

Because why not?

You shifted slightly, arms wrapping around his neck as you tilted your head, feigning deep thought.

“What does ‘going steady’ mean exactly?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, the blue suddenly sharper.

“You know what it means.” His voice was gruff, but there was a flicker of amusement in his gaze, something that said he knew exactly what you were doing.

Still, he indulged you.

His hands gripped your thighs and spread them further, stepping between them like he owned the space, pressing himself against you.

Heat licked at your spine, curled low in your belly, but you forced yourself to keep your composure, lips twitching.

“Hm, do I?” You cocked your head, your fingers toying with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. “I’ve never dated an old man before. I don’t know what that entails.”

Bucky’s hands tightened on your thighs.

“Why don’t you give me some examples?”

He exhaled sharply, and you could see the moment he decided to play your game.

“Alright, doll,” he rasped, tilting his head, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. “Going steady means I get to hold your hand whenever I damn well please. Even if it’s just to steal your warmth. Even if it’s just to feel you.”

His fingers traced down your arm before intertwining with yours, squeezing gently, like he never wanted to let go.

“It means I walk you home, make sure you get there safe, even if you swear you don’t need me to.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “It means I take you dancing—if we make it out the door. And when we inevitably don’t, it means I’ll just have to sway you around the living room instead. Press you against the wall. Whisper things in your ear that’ll make you blush.”

Heat flickered low in your belly, sharp and insistent. Your breath hitched as he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression suddenly raw.

“It means I’m the guy who shows up when your shower isn’t working, who carries your bags even when you argue you can do it yourself, who remembers how you take your coffee…” His thumb brushed against your cheek, voice dipping lower, more certain. “It means I’m the guy who gets to kiss you whenever I want. Wherever I want. It means I get to have you under me, above me, wrapped around me, moaning my name like it’s the only one you know.”

A shiver skated down your spine. Your thighs squeezed around his hips instinctively, and he smirked, eyes dark, amused.

His voice was a husky promise when he leaned in closer, lips barely brushing yours. “It means I’m yours, and you’re mine. No second-guessing. No wondering. No what-ifs.”

His gaze burned into you, steady, unshaken. “It means you never have to doubt where I stand, 'cause it’s always right here—with you.”

Your teasing resolve cracked, shattered under the weight of him—his words, his presence, the way he was always so damn steady.

Your throat felt tight.

“Oh,” you whispered.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah,” he murmured, dropping his forehead to yours, breathing you in. “Oh.”

Your fingers curled around the front of his shirt, clinging. He was so close, so warm, so Bucky that you couldn’t remember what life was like before him, and you didn’t want to.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he murmured, his voice lower now, almost testing.

“What was your question again?” You breathed out, shaky.

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose. His patience was running out, and still… “Do you wanna go steady with me?”

This time, his voice was different. Lower. Rougher. The kind of voice that sent heat curling down your spine, settling deep in your stomach.

You bit your lip, letting your nose brush against the rough stubble of his jaw before pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the pulse point in his neck.

“James Buchanan Barnes...” you murmured, your voice teasing but thick with emotion. “Are we boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Bucky inhaled sharply, chest rising against yours, his breath hot as it left him in a slow exhale. His hands on your hips twitched slightly, fingers flexing as if he was resisting the urge to pull you in even closer.

“Am I not too old to be a boyfriend?” His voice was low, edged with something rough.

You grinned against his skin, pressing another lingering kiss just below his jaw, loving the way his grip tightened instinctively at the contact. “Would you prefer manfriend? Would that fit you better?”

A low sound rumbled in his chest, a mixture of amusement and warning. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” you whispered, lips barely brushing his skin now, your breath warm against the column of his throat.

The teasing evaporated.

The air shifted.

Bucky wasn’t nervous anymore.

His blue eyes flickered over your face, your lips, your throat, dark and heavy with intent. His grip flexed at your waist, thumbs brushing just under the hem of your sleep shirt, a silent tease of what was to come.

“You didn’t answer me,” he murmured, his voice lower, deeper, dripping with quiet authority.

Your heart pounded.

He was right there. Close enough that all you had to do was lean in, tilt your chin, and—

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his Henley, fisting it tight as you pulled him in until there was nothing left between you but heat and the electric charge that hummed between your bodies.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice unsteady.

“Yes?” His gaze flickered to your lips, his thumb grazing your hip bone, slow and deliberate.

“Yes,” you repeated, softer this time. “I’ll go steady with you, Buck.”

His breath left him in a slow exhale, something shifting in his expression, in his body.

And then—

He kissed you.

Not slow. Not teasing. Fierce. Unrelenting. Like he’d been waiting forever and couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, and his hands tightened on your hips, tugging you flush against him. His lips were warm, insistent, like he was staking a claim—like he wanted to make damn sure you knew exactly what you’d just agreed to.

His lips were warm, insistent, claiming you in a way that made your stomach clench and your thighs tighten around his waist. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty—just Bucky pressing himself into every inch of you, as if trying to brand the moment into his skin.

And then his hands started moving.

Slow. Purposeful.

Dragging up the hem of your hoodie, rough palms mapping the soft skin beneath. A shiver rippled through you as his fingers teased higher, sweeping over your ribs, grazing the underside of your breasts in a way that made you gasp against his mouth.

Bucky groaned, low and deep, and you felt it everywhere.Your legs locked tight around his hips, drawing him in until there was no space left, no room for doubt—just the heavy, aching pressure of him, firm against the heat of your center. A shaky sound slipped from your lips, and Bucky swallowed it with a kiss that was nothing short of greedy.

His hands never stilled—one sliding slow beneath your hoodie, fingers memorizing the soft give of your waist, the curve of your ribs; the other gripped under your thigh like he needed to anchor himself to something before he came undone. He rocked into you with a controlled grind that had your head tipping back, your breath catching.

He chased the sound like it was the only thing keeping him grounded, his mouth trailing down your throat in open, possessive kisses that made your breath catch.

“Jesus, Buck,” you gasped, your voice hitching on a laugh that dissolved into a quiet moan. “Is this what claiming me looks like?”

You said it at his ear, half-teasing, half-breathless—just as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties. He froze, just for a beat, then let out a short, rough laugh against your skin.

“You did just agree to date me,” he murmured, voice low and threaded with heat. “You really surprised I’m taking that seriously?”

You pulled back to look at him, a grin tugging at your lips as your fingers slid into his hair. His cheeks were flushed, his pupils blown wide—but behind all that intensity was a softness that made your chest tighten.

“Sergeant Barnes,” you whispered, nose brushing his, “I think you’re drunk on commitment.”

He let out another low laugh, one that sounded like it shook something loose in his chest. His lips curled into a smile before he pressed a kiss to your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“Yeah,” he said, voice quiet now, certain. “I think I am.”

Then he kissed you again—slower this time, no urgency, no second-guessing. Just a man who knew exactly where he belonged.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fanfic #sebastian stan

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youryanderedaddy · 5 months ago

Text

Summary: Your sins catch up to you. After all you can't keep running forever. tw: female reader, bully!reader, gray!reader, obsession, insults, hinted jealousy, love/hate, dub-con, death threat

He's looking at you now. Truly looking at you - not averting his gaze, not hiding beneath glasses and layers upon layers of shame.

You in your soft, warm princess bed, all rosy and pink at your big age - and you look just like an angel, squeezed between the silk and the satin. Your hair is perfectly still, perfectly combed, perfectly light to the touch. You reek of vanilla and fondant and something tooth - rottingly sweet. He wonders if your skin alone tastes like honey.

He's looking at you now. At those big, angry eyes filled with fire and mockery - even now, when he's holding your life in his palms, all you can give back is a measly bark of a laugh.

Painful memories flood his broken psyche. Him on his knees, merely 13 years old, surrounded by older boys - all laughing, all kicking and screaming at him to stop crying; to stop being a pathetic loser. And you, towering above it all - as if you're so much better than those lowly human creatures. As if you weren't the one who made them do it, with a quick snap of your carefuly manicured, perfectly sharp nails.

He's looking at you and he wants to strangle you.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my room?" You shout, sweet feminine voice breaking into something twisted, high - pitched and ugly. You're completely immobilized, tied up tighter than a high - level criminal before the electric chair - and yet your mouth knows no rest from scorn and vile. "Do you know who my daddy is? He will fucking kill you." You hiss through venomous eyes, and he thinks, you really haven't changed at all - but he already knows that.

He already knows everything there is to know about you. You don't have a job - you've never had one, you simply leech off your parents' fortune. You don't have a boyfriend - you change men like tissues, growing bored after a week or two. You scream at servers and cashiers, you spill coffee over waiters when they take too long - and you throw away pretty green bills when things go sour. You've never gotten a ticket, despite countless drunken crashes. You drink too much gin. You smoke two packs a day, Golden Sherry, always. And you should look worse - much, much worse, for the sins you've comitted. But alas, you remain an angel - at least from the outside.

But he knows who you are.

"If you don't untie me at once, I am going to ruin your miserable little life, do you hear me, freak?!" You keep screaming manically, as if you're incapable of understanding the danger you're in - the fact that you're all alone with a man much stronger than you, who obviously hates your guts enough to break through your million - dollar security system through sheer force.

And he stops dead in his track, taken aback by the insult - freak. You used to love to call him that - any time you saw him in the hallway, when your lackeys were beating him up, when you drenched his only clean uniform in milk and whatever they served for lunch that day - to the point he could hear it in his dreams, in his nightmares. And that sound, that word, it never truly left.

He shakes his head, trying to banish the dread away. He is no longer that poor weak boy with an empty stomach and a broken heart - and he's killed men for less than what you did.

"You already did." He whispers, inhaling sharply. He can't let his emotions go just yet - even when his teeth itch to break into your skin, when his hands ache to wrap around that vulnerable, naked throat. "What?" You bite back, sleazy confusion written all over your small pretty face. God, he wants to smash your head against the concrete - mess it up for good, so you can never deceive again with those lips, those lashes, those cheeks. Nature is cruel, he realizes, adorning predators with the most luscious skins and the sharpest claws underneath, leaving those little bleating sheep to die in the trenches.

"You already ruined my life." He repeats slowly - carefuly, so your cruel, tiny brain can comprehend each word. You remain oblivious, pouty lips ajar - so he finally takes off his mask, sighing. Every inch of his body is begging to let go and tear you into pieces, but he can't. Not yet.

Your eyes widen.

"Daniell?" You gasp, chest tightening. "You, what happen-" Before you can finish the sentence, his palm connects to your cheek with a loud clap, but the pain doesn't register - it's his wet, burning gaze that truly sinks in the reality of your situation.

"Do not," The man shrills, nostrils flaring like a wild beast's. "say that name." He's taken a step closer to you, chest heaving up and down rapidly. "He died years ago. You killed him." He slowly raises your head with a single finger - and you try to look away, but his eyes keep you pinned in place. "W-what do you want from me?" You whimper, lower lip shaking in terror.

He wants to enjoy your fear, wants to slurp it up like air, to cling to it like a lifeboat, he wants to derive pleasure from it - but even this small comfort, this solace, is painfully ripped from him as he realises he's too far gone, too broken. He doesn't want to see you scared - he wants to see you dead. Only then can he sleep again, only then can he be whole.

"I want nothing from you." He smiles, a crooked, hollow smile - it somehow makes you feel even more uneasy. "What could you possibly give me? You're just an empty doll." Daniel says to himself, reaching over for his knife. Cold steel folder, heavy metal, French - a very beautiful blade indeed, and all for you. All eight inches. "Still, I need you gone." He whispers, looking at his own reflection. He looks nothing like his past self; he's a giant, a cyclone, all rough edges and pure muscle. He could absolutely destroy you - beat you red and blue, and leave you deformed, nailed to a wheelchair with thousand needles in you just to stay alive.

He thinks, that would be a fitting punishment for a wicked bitch like you. Death feels too lenient, like an easy escape. If he takes your beauty, your youth, you'd be ruined forever, gone for. You'd be unrecognizable to your parents, your friends - and the halo protecting you would shatter, finally. But he can't bring himself to do it - and it burns him from the inside.

"Please don't kill me." You plead softly, black mascara running down your cheeks through the pearly tears. They stick to your wet lashes like sparkling jewels, and you try to lean towards him, offering a defeated pose. "I am so sorry, Daniel-“ You keep begging, but he cuts you off with another slap so sudden your head bounces back. Now - now you're truly shaking.

"I just told you," The man spits out each word like it's poison, grabbing your hair into a fistful. He pulls at it until you're arching your back, neck pressed to his lips. "not to say that name. You don't fucking deserve to even feel it on your venomous tongue." He whispers in your ear, pulling even harder. "Say it again and I swear I'll cut it off. I'm sure I will do everyone a favour if I finally get you to shut the fuck up for once in your life." He continues, voice as sinister as can be. You tremble all over, a fresh wave of tears tightening your throat.

"And stop fucking crying. Don't think for a second that I believe those big crocodile tears of yours." Daniel shakes you up all over before finally shoving you backwards. You lose your balance, falling on your back. "God, you're pathetic. This will be even easier than I thought."

He picks his knife again, crawling towards you, and you instinctively hug your knees together, trying to protect your stomach and chest. He’s walking slowly, dragging the moment as much as possible before finally kneeling before you. As you wince, expecting insufferable, scorching pain, you feel his gloved finger slowly stroke your cheek.

“Tsk, it’s such a waste.” He mumbles quietly, getting a hold of himself. You blink through heavy lashes, barely lifting your chin, his mood too unpredictable to bet on. “Your skin is so soft…” He starts off, still grazing your side with his cold touch - your heart sinks to your knees. “And that face…” He groans, conflicted. On one hand, he wants nothing more than to jam the sharp end of the dagger deep into your breast - to twist it more and more until it probes a bone. He wants to go down nobly, as a hero; as the only one who didn’t give into your deceit, your curse. On the other hand, you’re all alone now. You’re tied up. You’re squirming on the floor like a filthy worm stuck to a pin needle - and for the first time, you’re all his.

And he’s never had anything of his own. Not friends, not a family and certainly not love. Hell, even his adoptive parents abandoned him the moment the government checks froze up. So maybe, just maybe, he deserves this for once.

“Spread your legs.” The man commands hoarsely, pushing you down with one hand as the other reaches to unbutton your flimsy white shirt. Your cruel little eyes widen in fear, and he shudders at the sight of you oh-so-defenceless. You used to be his biggest nightmare, the very scorching bane of his existence, but here in his arms, trembling and afraid, you're just a frail, fragile little girl. You haven't changed - you haven't become kinder, better, stronger. You're still a demon under all that makeup, under the fake smile and the bougie ten - carat laugh, and he's a hero. And he will take what he fucking wants, what he deserves, because he's the hero of this story and you're just a pesky little nighmare that's been stuck at the back of his brain for far too long.

"L-let me help..." You mumble through tired, shaky breath and reach to pull down your panties, little hand trembling at the pink lacy elastic band on top. "I don't need your fucking help to rape you." The intruder grunts with fury, but lets you continue with your pitiful attempts.

"God, how easy is it for you to just lay down and take it? Fucking whore." He snarls, fists tightening around your hips with little passion, and when you gain the courage to look down, his own body is equally disinterested at the promise of brutal, emotionless intimacy. It's his brain, his wounded pride, that keeps pushing. "Makes me wonder how many have had you... Aren't you even going to pretend to fight back?" His voice turns crazed, unstable - and he tears your underwear apart, throwing it across the floor. "I am going to violate you, and you are just going to allow it?"

Your breath stills completely, so silent you can hear a needle fall.

"What's the point?" Your forehead creases slightly, voice barely above a whisper. Your breasts are moving up and down rhytmically, but your heart is beating rapidly - and yet, you can't find the strength to keep fighting. "I always had a feeling you'd come back for me, Daniel." You sigh deeply, your naked insides staring at you from below. "Just get it over with and let me sleep in peace once again." You pronounce slowly, spreading your legs just a bit further as you look to the side - hoping it will end quicker just like all those other times in the past. Can't be so different, you think. It's not like the boys in the club or any of your hundred one-week boyfriends were ever sweet or gentle, so.

But Daniel doesn't touch you, doesn't reach in to stroke the inviting skin. He looks at you once again, so intensely he might eat you whole with his eyes, and then he laughs. And again and again and again - then he grabs your chin, nails sinking in. Until they draw blood.

"You really think this," He gestures to your shivering body with disgust, twisting your chin so you look at him as he's looking at you. "Would change anything? That it will make me forget, that it will make me forgive?" His eyes darken and he squeezes you more, harder, hoping you'll vanish like the nightmares, like your face, like your body, like your very existence will be squished between his rough grubby fingers, and perish. "Don't make me laugh." He spits out, letting go of you with such force you bounce back down.

"Then why come here at all?" Your voice is back full - force, bolder, stronger, reassured that he too, just like you, lacks the strength for action. That he's all bark and no bite - same as you. That you're still so similar, so synced, it makes you hate him once again.

"Because I hate you." The man suddenly screams, pinning you down with two heavy hands on your wrists. "Because you broke me down and made me weak," He eyes you with savagery so severe your cheeks flush. "And even now you make my heart ache. Looking at you, it's like you never left. It's like you're still in my brain, breaking me further."

Now it's your turn to laugh - a short, mocking laugh. Just like before.

"So do it. Fuck me." You quickly wrap your hands around his neck, pulling him in while he's still distracted, fully convinced you're out of danger now. Fully convinced you can talk your way out. "Who knows, maybe being inside me will help you forget." You whisper into his ear, pressing your naked breasts against his strong arm, letting him feel your warmth. The only part still human about you, perhaps.

"Or maybe," You let your lips linger over his left cheekbone, lipgloss leaving a rosy stain. "You'll truly go off - the rail. Maybe you'll hear me when you're all alone." Your hand strokes his thigh - but the man himself is frozen. "Maybe you'll see me in the dark. Maybe my name will sink into your heart until it pierces whatever's left of that rotten mess." Your nails graze his chest. "Maybe you'll fall in love with me, tragically, and never learn peace. So why try fate, hmm?"

Daniel screams - choked, terrified as if he has seen a monster, but all he sees is you. You in your beautiful, cruel, absolute glory, your madness sucks him in once again.

"Get out of my head!" He yells, drawing his knife close to his chest before pointing it to your neck. His hand shakes, hesitant, but unrelenting. "I should have done this from the start - you are nothing, but a parasite."

"Go on then, do it. Avenge your pain. Show me just how strong you've become." You whimper, pained as the very edge grazes your soft skin - playing the game to the best of your abilities. "Kill me, if you must. But just know, whether in life or death," You grab his hand, directing the dagger towards your heart. "You will never have me."

The knife falls down with a loud thump, bursting dust all over the floor. And then he kisses you, with a fatal ferocity, he kisses you - as if to prove you wrong, as if to prove you right, he kisses you with teeth and claws all over your body, sticky and sick, and yet he kisses you for as long as he can hold his breath. Your lungs heave slowly - trying to calm your breathing.

And you do nothing to stop it.

#yandere #male yandere #yancore #male yandere x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere x you #yandere male x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader

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rubysunnday · 8 months ago

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but who could stay?

a/n: i'm erasing colin's 'lover boy' atttidue (or however you describe it) because it was the least colin thing i've seen imo. like, my man travels bc he doesn't want to be the ogling of the ton... anyways

summary: Every time Colin Bridgerton returned from travelling the world, there was always an urge inside him to run away again as soon as he could. There was only one woman who could make him stay. Y/N Barrett waited for Colin, but he never stayed long enough for her to tell him her feelings. Now she is engaged and about to enter a loveless marriage arranged by her parents. All she wants is for Colin to stay in London long enough to realise the truth of their relationship.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

masterlist | tip jar

Every year, after the debutantes had walked in front of the queen, there was a garden party. Open to everyone, it gave the debutantes an opportunity to further make their mark on the ton as well as allowing other attendees to catch up with friends after a few months away from London.

Colin had been away for longer than just a few months. As soon as Anthony had married Kate, he had been on the first ship over to France.

It wasn't that he didn't like London - he did. Nothing would ever compare to his home city - the gas lamps in the November fog, the bright blue skies after days of endless rain.

Yet, he never felt at peace in London. There was always an urge inside him to up and leave. To travel as far away as he could and not stop until he fell off the edge of the world.

Perhaps it was fear of comitting to a life in one place. Perhaps he was just trying to escape the future that had been planned out for him since he was born.

Perhaps, he had yet to find a reason to stay.

Now that he was back in town, the urge to leave had resurfaced once again. Everywhere he looked, women were staring at him, debutantes were waving and gaving him coy smiles.

Colin awkwardly smiled back and then promptly turned around. He always felt uncomfortable when the attention suddenly became solely on him. He wasn't entirely sure why - he liked women and he liked flirting - but when every woman in the ton came at him at once, it felt predatory.

He knew they were only interested in him for his money (or what he had left of it) and his name. None were interested in Colin the Explorer or Colin the Writer.

Except one.

"Colin!!" Y/N Barrett exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as he walked toward her. "You are back at last!" She reached up and wrapped her arms around Colin's neck, pulling him in for a tight but quick hug. "You could have told me!"

"Apologies," Colin said, smiling at her as she stepped back. "I only just made it back in time for Francesca's debut."

Y/N's gloved hand trailed down his arm. "I am glad you are back," she told him, squeezing his hand once more before letting go. "It has been dull without you."

"Anything exciting happen whilst I was gone?" Colin asked, offering his arm to Y/N - a silent invitation to promenade around the gardens.

"Well, Alice Carey got married to Lord Carlson and then promptly gave birth to a son about four months later." Y/N raised her eyebrows at him. "Easy math there."

"Indeed," Colin muttered. "Has anyone called her bluff yet?"

Y/N shook her head. "No, she has been 'unwell' the last few months and has yet to reappear amongst the ton." She tilted her head to Colin and lowered her voice, "but rumour says she is pregnant yet again... with another man's baby."

"Has Lady Whistledown written of these rumours?"

"You and I both know she will not," Y/N replied with a quick roll of her eyes. "Not only had she not been seen since last season, she has changed her column entirely and now writes exclusively in support of the debutantes! I do not understand how you can go from writting rumours and scandal and causing the public downfall of several well known figures to... well, promoting other women!"

"Perhaps she has had a change of heart," Colin suggested.

"Leopards rarely change their spots, mon ami," Y/N said softly. "Anyway, enough about scandal and rumour," she extracted her arm from his and turned to face him, "how are you?"

Colin stopped walking. He looked at her, her gentle smile, her bright eyes. "I am... okay."

"Just okay?" Y/N asked, her brow furrowing slightly.

"I want to leave again," Colin admitted quietly. "Already, women are staring at me and eyeing me up as if I am their dinner. It makes me incredibly uncomfortable, to be honest. I know that all they want is Colin Bridgerton and not just Colin."

Y/N gave him a sympathetic smile. "Does it help that I am only interested in Colin?"

Colin found his lips curving up into a smile. "It does," he told her, "more than I can say. Which reminds me."

He reached a hand into the pocket of his coat - a coat that Hyacinth had kindly nicknamed his 'pirate coat' - and pulled out a dark velvet bag pulled taught by a silver tassel. Colin held it out to Y/N and she took it with her lilac gloved hands.

"You bought me a present?" Y/N exclaimed, holding the bag as if it was glass.

"I did not want you to feel left out," Colin said, his smile widening as Y/N stared in awe at the bag.

"Colin, it's beautiful!"

"Oh, the bag isn't the gift," Colin said quickly. "The gift is inside the bag."

Y/N's cheeks burnt with embarrassment. "Oh, yes, of course."

She carefully pulled open the bag and turned it upside down, tipping whatever was inside into the palm of her hand. Out tumbled a pair of silver embroidery scissors, engraved to look like a bird.

"Oh, Colin, they're gorgeous," Y/N whispered. "Where did you find them?"

Colin's smile grew. "A shop in Spain. They had other types but... well, they were different."

He had to confess, he was utterly delighted at her reaction. He knew Y/N loved her embroidery - she had endless baskets of thread and material and often sat in the park working on her current project. For his birthday, Y/N had gifted him a hand embroidered waistcoat featuring different birds and flowers from across the globe. Colin had taken it with him on his travels, wearing it as often as he could.

So, when he had seen the little embroidery scissors in the store, he knew he head to buy them. He had carried them around for six months and now, finally, they were in her hands.

"I have needed new scissors for a while," Y/N told him, her eyes still focused on the scissors. She gently turned them over in her hand, the metal glinting in the sunlight. "Thank you, Colin."

A voice interrupted the moment, carrying across the garden. "Y/N, my love."

Y/N looked over her shoulder, giving the man who had called her name a smile.

"Who is that?" Colin asked, looking at the man - who was signifcantly older than Y/N.

Y/N sighed as she turned back to face him. "Mr Catesby. The man I am courting," she told him softly. "Mama set us up. I have been out for three years and she expected me to be married in year one and having a baby by year three."

She was trying to smile but Colin could see that it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Do you love him?"

"I do not think love is possible," Y/N told him, glancing over her shoulder again. She turned back to Colin. "Friendship, perhaps but never love."

Silence fell around them for a moment. All Colin wanted to do was reach out his hand and hold hers. But he knew he couldn't. This was how it would be from now on - always near his side but just out of reach.

"I should go," Y/N said softly. "Thank you, again, for these. I will cherish them, I promise."

Y/N turned around and, with one last glance over her shoulder at Colin, walked toward Catesby and her future with him.

Colin couldn't look away. He knew he should because, really, what was staring going to do.

Y/N didn't look happy or sad as she stood next to Catesby, putting her arm through his. Whilst she smiled and laughed, none of it reached her eyes. She was pretending and Colin was the only one who could tell.

"You have to look away at some point," Francesca said softly, appearing at his side.

Colin swallowed heavily. "I know."

Francesca reached down and held his hand gently. "Why won't you?"

"I don't know," he eventually replied, forcing himself to look away and at his younger sister. He forced himself to grin at her. "Come along, I'm hungry."

Days turned into weeks and soon Colin hadn't spoken to Y/N for over a fortnight. He had seen her across the room at parties and balls, always at the side of Catesby.

Even though she wasn't happy, she still looked beautiful. Her dresses shimmered in the candlelight and when she did laugh, Colin could just picture her smile along with it.

Ever since he had found out she was being courted, Colin had retreated into himself. He spent long hours in his study, writing and drawing and wondering about what could have been.

His heart broke that little bit more the night of his mother's ball when Catesby announced their engagement. Y/N had smiled, sparkling under the lights once more in a dark blue gown and matching silk gloves. But Colin knew better. He could see how tense she was, how loosely she held Catesby's hand in hers - the way her eyes kept straying over to him.

Benedict and Anthony flocked him as they approached to give their congratulations. They bowed together and Colin was grateful that his brother's did all of the talking - speaking loud enough and quick enough so that neither Catesby nor Y/N's parents noticed Colin's silence.

Y/N did, though. She held his gaze the entire time and there was so much sadness within it, so much regret, that Colin nearly ripped her from Catesby's grip and pulled her to his side, threatening the man with a duel if he dared come closer.

Instead, he maintained his silence, giving a brief bow when they were finally dismissed. Colin refused to look back, focusing his gaze on the table of lemonade and sweet treats jutting out from the far wall.

"Colin, are you alright?" Benedict asked, raising his eyebrows slightly at his silent brother.

"Yes, why would I not be?" Colin said, picking up a glass of lemonade from the table.

"You are being unusually sullen and silent," Benedict replied.

Colin turned around to face his brother. HIs gaze flittered past him and over to Y/N. "Nothing's the matter."

Benedict caught Colin's wayward gaze and turned his head. His own gaze softened a little as he turned back to his brother. "It isn't too late," he said quietly.

Colin laughed humourlessly. "Really? She is an engaged woman, Benedict."

"Were you even around last season?" Benedict raised his eyebrows. "Anthony almost married someone else entirely - he got as far as the altar, Colin."

"That was different?"

"How so?"

Colin let out a frustrated sigh. "Because it just was. Who is to say Y/N would even be interested in my hand?"

"Who's to say she wouldn't?" Benedict looked at his brother. "Answer me this. Every time you come home, you immediately have the urge to flee again. Do you still have that urge when you're with Y/N?"

The silence that followed answered Benedict's question perfectly, Colin knew that. He eyed his brother. "I cannot do that to her, Benedict. I cannot."

"Well," Benedict sighed, "you are a better man than me, brother." He squeezed Colin's shoulder and turned to go, leaving him alone by the refreshment table.

Colin looked over at Y/N again. She had moved and was now walking onto the dance floor, hand in Catesby's. It hurt him more than he was prepared to admit. Yet, it would be so easy to walk over to her and take her hand from his - to confess all his feelings in a flurry of words and doe-eyed expressions. But the scandal that would cause - the ramfication's that could have on Y/N... Colin couldn't do that to her.

It would also be easy to simply walk away, leave the country and pretend he had never met her. Colin knew that nothing he did would ever mean he could forget her. He thought about her everywhere he went, from the churches of Florence to the waters of Athens.

Colin groaned quietly. He tilted his head back and swallowed the rest of the lemonade in a big gulp, wincing at the bitter taste. He set the cup down on the table and stepped away from the wall.

Weaving through the crowds, he spotted his eldest brother standing by the open french doors, Kate by his side. Colin heistated for a second, not wanting to darken Anthony's door with his issues. But the last time he had struggled with issues of the heart, he had given him some startlingly clear advice and he needed that again.

"Colin!" Kate exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as he approached. She pulled her arm from Anthony's and hugged Colin tightly.

Colin squeezed her back as hard as he dared, knowing Anthony was watching his every move like an over-protective swan. "How are you?" He asked, reluctantly letting go.

Kate puffed out her cheeks, hand straying to her stomach. "Coping," she replied. "He, however," she nodded at Anthony, "is not."

"I am allowed to be stressed," Anthony muttered, hand resting against Kate's waist. "It is very overwhelming, but exciting," he added, noting his wife's worried look.

Colin instantly felt guilty. He knew Anthony was overwhelmed. Trying to run the household, keep an eye on Francesca and Eloise all whilst being concerned for his wife and unborn child was more than enough trouble.

"What's wrong?" Anthony asked, noting Colin's distant gaze.

"Oh, nothing," Colin told him with a shake of his head. "Sorry, I should -"

Kate reached out and grabbed his hand by the wrist, pulling him back to them. "Colin, stop." She gave him a gentle smile, cupping the side of his cheek with one hand. "Come, let's go for a walk."

Kate put her arm through Colin's and let him lead her out into the gardens of Bridgerton House. It was still daylight, though the sun had descended. A few couples stood around the grass and patio but it was otherwise quiet.

"I assume this is about Y/N," Kate said, pulling her purple silk shawl tighter around her arms.

Colin nodded, leaning against the stone balustrade. He crossed his arms, a heavy sigh escaping him. "I do not know what to do. I should have stayed, made my intentions clear but I did not and now... now I do not know."

Kate pushed herself up and onto the balustrade, sitting on top of it, her feet dangling down. "What is your heart telling you to do?"

"To steal her away from him and marry her tonight," Colin admitted. "But I cannot do that."

"Why not?"

"Because she is engaged. I cannot bring that scandal to her, Kate, I just..." Colin closed his eyes. "What if she does not return my feelings and I ruin her one chance at marriage?"

"But what if she does?" Kate said softly. "What if she does return those feelings and she spends the rest of her life with you rather than a man she does not love?"

Colin looked at her. "Can I take that risk?"

"Anthony and I were plagued by scandal last year," Kate said quietly, hand resting on her slightly swollen stomach. "Things should never have gone as far as they did but it did not stop us from finding our true happiness. If you want her, Colin, then go and get her. She is right there, waiting."

Five minutes later, Colin was back inside the house, searching everywhere for any sign of Y/N.

He still wasn't sure if he had the courage to tell Y/N the truth. Whilst he knew she wasn't happy, happiness was a minor issue when it came to marriage. The status and money Catesby would give her was more than Colin could ever hope to offer in a lifetime.

But he could give her happiness and he could give her love. Surely, that was worth something?

Yet, as he stood against the landing wall, watching Kate and Anthony waltz together, he knew what he had to do.

Y/N stood by herself, near the table laden with food. Colin spotted her as soon as he walked down the stairs. She wore a dark green gown, one that matched his jacket perfectly.

He tried to approach her first thing but his mother grabbed his arm and whisked him off in the opposite direction, gabbling at him about eligible women and debutantes and flowers.

Y/N had noticed Colin as soon as he'd walked in the room. His jacket matched her dress and all she wanted to do was approach him and ask him to take her far away from here.

She was overwhelmed with wedding preparations and plans for her to move to Catesby's estate in Dorset. Her mother had not allowed her a moment's peace. Sleep refused to come at night and Y/N lay awake, regret and panic growing inside her as the date of her wedding grew ever closer.

The engagement had been a shock. Y/N herself had not actually spoken the word 'yes' aloud, her mother had done that for her. She had blindly followed along, allowing Catesby to place the ring on her finger and brag to his friends that he would soon be a father.

A father. Never mind a husband or a man in love. Just a father.

Because, whilst he was not a bad man, all Catesby wanted was a son to continue his line. That was all Y/N was to him, all this relationship was to him - making an heir.

Y/N had known this marriage would never be one built on love. But a foolish part of her had hoped that, maybe, they would find love together. Seeing Catesby now, flirting with other women and bragging to his friends, she knew that there would never be love.

She plastered a smile to her face as yet another person approached her to congrulate her on her engagement. Exhaustion was beginning to pull at her body, the sleepless nights and endless trips to the modiste finally catching up with her.

"You could at least try and look happy," her mother muttered, suddenly appearing beside her.

Y/N sighed softly, blinking the pull of sleep away. "Sorry."

"Honestly, when was the last time you slept, you look dreadful."

Thank you, mother Y/N thought, trying not to roll her eyes.

"I need you to look beautiful for this wedding," her mother continued, "there is a lot riding on this marriage for this family. Do not mess it up. Ah, Lady Cowper!" Y/N's mother crowed, rushing over to greet her friend.

Y/N needed to leave. She glanced around the room, checking that everyone was preoccupied and then made a swift dart for the corridor running behind the stairs. The room had been warm when she'd walked in but it had only gotten hotter in the hours since. Her head was aching, her heart was pounding and her hands would not stop shaking.

She didn't know what had come over her. There was no reason for her to be acting like this - all she was doing was getting married. But there were so many things wrong with the marriage and with Catesby and with her mother's obsession of wanting a grandchild that Y/N could not go through with it.

The corridor was quiet and signifcantly cooler than the ballroom. Y/N leant her back against the wall and took a deep breath in, desperate to calm herself down and reinstate her happy facade.

"Y/N."

Of course, Y/N thought, turning her head and watching Colin Bridgerton approach her. Of course he appears now.

"Colin, I do not -"

"I have to talk to you," Colin said firmly, coming to an abrupt stop at her side. "Please."

Y/N closed her eyes. She felt sick. The pounding in her head was only getting worse and she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten anything.

"Please, Y/N, I beg -"

"Yes, alright!" Y/N exclaimed, silencing Colin. "Come with me."

She led him back up the stairs - not an abnormal sight since many guests had seeked solace in the front room of Bridgerton house - and down the corridor into an empty room.

"Colin, whatever you want to say to me, please make it quick," Y/N told him, pushing him into the room and pulling the door to. "I cannot disappear from my own engagement party for long."

"You do not love him."

Y/N frowned at Colin. "I told you this earlier -"

"Just... say it again."

"No, I do not love him," Y/N told him, her voice soft. "But that does not mean I can walk away from this marriage."

"What if you had someone else to walk to?" Colin asked, moving toward her.

Y/N stared at him. "Colin, what do you... why..."

"The reason I travel, Y/N, is because I have never felt at home anywhere," Colin said. He took a deep breath in, steeling his nerves and forcing himself to not back down. "Every time I came back, I would have the urge to run away again until I reached the edge of the world. But each time I came back and I saw you, I suddenly felt as if I finall had a reason to stay."

Y/N felt as if all her air had been stolen from her. She stared at Colin - that was all she could do. Here he was, confessing his heart to her and all she could think about was how angry her mother would be, how much scandal it would cause and also how much the room was beginning to spin.

"I could not let you go off into this marriage without giving you a choice," Colin continued, moving a step closer. "I love you, Y/N, I have done for a long time. I wish that I had not spent so long away because maybe things could have gone differently. Perhaps this would be our engagement ball instead. Perhaps it still can be.

"I know that this is asking a lot of you and I know that with this choice scandal will come. But I will stand by you through it all, Y/N. No matter what the ton say, no matter what they do, I will not leave your side. You deserve to be happy and you deserve the right for this to be your decision."

Y/N looked at Colin. Hope was clear as day in his eyes. She had wanted this confession from him for so long and here it was. The circumstances were awful and scandal was calling and her parents would hate her and the ton would give her the look they reserved only for the worse offenders and -

"Y/N? Are you alright?" Colin asked, concern replacing the hope in his eyes. Her skin had lost colour dramatically quick and she was beginning to sway.

Y/N swallowed, nausea growing. She blinked, looking past Colin and at the window. No, that too was spinning.

"Is the room spinning for you?" Y/N asked, her voice quiet.

Colin frowned. "No. Is it for you?"

"A little," Y/N admitted. "I think I might need a moment."

She took a step forward but the room tilted dramatically to the side and hazy black spots filled her vision. Y/N mentally braced herself to hit the carpeted floor and for her body to ache but hands wrapped around her waist, guiding down.

Colin knelt on the floor, resting Y/N's back against his chest. He was never great when it came to dealing with poorly people - his siblings could attest to that. He himself was a terrible patient, incapable of waiting until he was better and always pushing himself before he was ready.

But this was Y/N - his Y/N. Her skin was clammy and lacking colour and her hand was shaking as she tried to grip his. And he had no idea what to do.

They couldn't simply stay in here, someone else might walk in and then there would be a whole other scandal.

Then, an idea came into Colin's head. There was one place he knew no one would stray into. One place that would shield them for just a little longer.

"Come on," Colin whispered. "I've got you."

He put one arm around her shoulders and slipped his other under her legs, lifting her up into his arms. With one foot, he nudged open the door. The upstairs corridor was quiet. Colin snuck out, keeping his footfall as light as he possibly could.

His bedroom wasn't far away. In fact, it was only three doors down the corridor. As he pushed open the door, Colin thanked his past self for forgetting to close the door properly.

It was cooler inside than it was anywhere else in the house. His windows were open, the net curtains blowing gently in the summer breeze. A small fire crackled in the hearth, giving off enough light to chase away the darkness.

With as much care as he could, Colin lay Y/N down on his bed, laying her head on his pillow. He absently brushed his fingers along her cheek as he straightened and her eyes slowly opened, looking up at him.

"Has the room stopped spinning yet?" Colin asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand resting against her leg.

Y/N hummed softly. "Partly," she told him. "I still feel awful."

"When was the last time you ate?"

"I do not remember," Y/n replied. At Colin's raised eyebrows, Y/N let out a tired sigh. "Mama has kept me so busy and I have hardly slept these last few weeks. Oh, Colin" she said, her head finallycatching up with what had just happened, "I can only apologise for -"

"Do not be silly," Colin told her, reaching up and taking her hand in his. "Our bodies can only handle so much."

"But fainting? That is just... mortifiying!"

Colin chuckled. "When I was in Spain, I fainted in the middle of dinner with a very important noble because I had spent too long in the sun and not looked after myself. My face was bright pink and sun burnt and I felt awful for days after." He shook his head, laughing softly. Colin squeezed her hand. "What I am saying is that we all forget to look after ourselves sometimes. You have a better reason than me, however."

Y/N pushed herself up, letting Colin pull her forward until she was sat cross legged on the bed. He kept a steady hand on her upper arm until she gave him a reassuring smile, confirming that she wasn't about to spontaneously collapse again.

"If this engagement is making you this unwell," Colin said quietly, "is it worth it?"

Y/N sighed softly. She rubbed the pad of her thumb back and forth across Colin's knuckles. "No, it is not."

"Then what is holding you back?" Colin asked. He leant his head forward, seeking her gaze. "Tell me."

"I am scared," Y/N admitted with a small shrug, looking down at the bed. "I am scared of the consequences that will come with calling off this engagement."

Colin gently tilted her chin up until she was looking at him. "What else? Because there is something else, I can tell."

Y/N swallowed heavily. She closed her eyes for a moment. "My mother is determined to make this work," she said softly, opening her eyes again. "She keeps reminding me about how much is riding on this marriage, the things it will do to our family. I am terrified of her reaction if I do not go through with it. What if my family disown me? That will be an even bigger scandal than calling off the engagement!"

"What if she does not?" Colin suggested. "What if everything falls into place?"

Y/N shook her head. Her eyes were glistening with tears as she looekd at Colin. "But what if it doesn't?" She asked quietly, her voice almost lost to the night air.

"Then I will stand by your side no matter what," Colin replied, taking both her hands in his. He held them as if they were the most precious things in the world - because they were. "No matter what happens, you will always have me and you will always have my family, I promise you."

Uncertainty still lingered in Y/N's eyes. Colin knew he was asking much of her but she deserved a happy, loving marriage with someone who loved her. She desered to have a choice.

"You deserve to be happy, Y/N," Colin said softly. "Do not ever think otherwise."

"You promise to stay?" Y/N asked, her voice quiet and small. She looked at him. "Because, every time I thought I was ready to tell you I loved you, you disappeared, Colin. Then, I wouldn't see you for months and... I cannot do this if you are going to leave me again the moment we are married."

Colin leant forward and pressed a kiss to her forehad, his right hand holding the back of her neck. "I promise," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers, "to never leave you again. Together until the end of our days."

Y/N smiled at that, relaxing into Colin's hold. "Okay," she said, her voice certain for the first time all night. "Are you going to ask me, then?"

Colin released her and stood up from the bed. He moved over to his desk and pulled out a drawer, rumaging through it until he found what he was looking for.

"I picked it up in Florence," Colin said, coming back over to the bed. "Because I had decided that when I got back, I would take your hand as mine. I thought for a moment I would never get to do this but..."

He trailed off, looking up from the ring box. Y/N was still sat on his bed, her smile slowly growing. Colin clicked open the lid and knelt down on one knee, extending the box out to her.

"I know I left and for that I am deeply sorry," he said quietly. "It took me this long to realise that you were my reason to stay. So, Y/N Barrett, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

Y/N nodded, her smile reaching her eyes and crinkling the corners. "Yes," she whispered, holding out her left hand, "of course I will."

Colin pulled the golden band out, the moonstone set in the centre catching the light of the fire. He slipped it onto her finger, pleasantly surprised to discover that it fit perfectly.

"Perfect fit," Y/N said, holding her hand up. She looked back at him. "It is as if it knew."

Colin grinned. He took her hand in his, thumb trailing over the ring. "Perhaps it did."

#bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton fluff #colin bridgerton x fem!reader #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fancfic #colin bridgerton angst #colin bridgerton imagine #colin bridgerton x reader

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girlrandomstuff · 29 days ago

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What if I say that Haymitch's "I'm content where she's content, like geese, we mated for life" gives me the same vibes that Lucy Gray's "you're mine, I'm yours, it's written in the stars" and Katniss' "Gale is mine, I am his, everything else is unthinkable".

"You just hate romanticism" no, actually, in fantasy I really like this "fated mates" "soulmates" "destined to be" couples "only loving a person for life" stuff, BUT, this ones feels a bit not only cringy but also feels off, wrong and then we, the audience, the readers know for a fact, these statements are/become FALSE.

So, in this little assay I try to explain what's wrong, or at least- what my problem is with this quotes.

“Gale is mine, I am his. Everything else is unthinkable”

Like I have say it before, there's a whole video on this topic from content creator Rachel A Ramras, in her video she explains how Katniss' statement comes from a place of guilt because she feels like doing all this is betraying Gale and their relationship and what they had lived together is what she should stick with, because he was her first love, or at least the first person outside her family to built a deep conection with, a person who she met during one of the most vulnerable moments in her life. And maybe I'll get a bit personal and reflecting but talking as someone who's going through her first relationship and have been struggling with it for the last couple months, I don't want to feel like I have to stay in a relationship that is not making me feel confortable enough just because he was my many firsts, or worst, because I feel like I won't find anything better for me. I think that's a really unhealthy point of this relationship, of this mindset. Then in Mockingjay, we got an entire paragraph of Katniss telling us why she choose Peeta over Gale and I think that's beautiful, because she describes exactly what does she needs.

“You're mine, I'm yours. It's written in the stars"

I think no one needs an explanation about what's wrong with this relationship, but yeah, kind of the same thing with this one, it's also a declaration rooted in trauma. Sadly many people got Coriolanus "politeness" as human decensy, but it was just a manipulation thing to get the best of every situation for him. Besides just imagine staying with a violent and possesive partner just because you think you are meant to be, of course we then see Lucy Gray take her choice to leave Corio when she sees the first signs of his madness and cruelty.

“I'm content where she's content. Like the geese, we did mate for life"

My problem with this statement is kind of the same that with Katniss' statement, or at least with the romantization of it, the stick to first love issue, and I'm saying this as someone who loves and romantize first loves and young lovers a lot, I think it's beautiful being certain of your feelings or comitments to another person, BUT I'm also realistic or try to be, and I know first loves rarely get a "happily ever after" because of course you are young, there's a lot to get to know, what you want, and there's not scenario in which Haymitch gets reaped and his and Lenore Dove relationship would work after their teen year, even if Snow hadn't killed get their relationship would start to worn out and fracture for many many reasons (I have say it in others post so I won't get deep into it). Also we now for a fact that GEESE DO NOT MATE FOR LIFE.

So, what this three quotes have in common?

1) the meaning or implication that without the other you just can't be or have a life, 2) that they all come from a place of guilt and trauma, and 3) the same characters making this statements contradicts it.

Katniss choses Peeta over Gale.

Lucy Gray leaves Coriolanus.

Haymitch's "the walls of a person's heart are not impregnable, not if they have ever known love" + geese don't mate for life.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #catching fire #sunrise of the reaping #sotr spoilers #thg #katniss everdeen #lucy gray baird #haymitch abernathy #anti haydove #???#maybe. i feel like i haven't reached the anti or hater step but i'm really so done with the romantization of “we mated for life” quote #i know that tbosas implies a lot of flaws for lucy gray but i still think she deserved so much better #snowbird #anti everthorne

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ultrabean · 12 days ago

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Hi.

I just want to preface this by welcoming all my new followers, and to also apologise for your subsequent disappointment upon reading this. I also want to thank all of my past followers for all the love and support, happy 2k. It'll probably stay there after this, I bet.

Now, I know many of you have seen my vent posts, especially those where I thought of comitting suicide. I thank you for the concern, I apologise for upsetting a lot of you and I think I owe you some kind of explanation for why I felt that way and also the lack of updates. When I'm stressed or anxious I tend to crash out impulsively. One of those ways is just blurting out my frustrations somewhere until I calm down.

One of the main reasons I've been holding off of Redeemer's Path is because I lowkey want to wait until Deltarune is fully completed, because with the new lore in chapters 3 and 4 it's given me some ideas on how I can continue my AU but the unfortunate part of that is that now there's a lot of plot holes in my comic that I have to retcon. That and also my impostor syndrome has been leadng me to think I'm a bad writer and an artist. If it's not perfect then it's nothing.

So in the meantime that's why I've been trying to work on another part of my AU. Still the same story, just a different point in time.

I know a lot of you have said that I don't have to please you guys by constantly posting updates of redeemer's path and that I should focus on my life, prioritise my mental health and whatnot. Now, I completely understand that what you mean.

However.

It's not just you that I want to make this for. I'm also doing this for me.

I have a lot of high expectations for myself.

If my quality and output doesn't live up to my standards then I am worthless.

A while back I recieved an anonymous ask that got me thinking.

The anon said that I didn't need to earn my place in fandom through art and writing, and while I understood what they said, that statement also deeply terrfied me. To an almost absurd and irrational extent.

You see, when I first discovered Undertale in mid to late 2022 I was 16 at the time. I was going through an extreme mental rough patch at that time and it brought me so much joy and levity, not just the game itself but also watching comic dubs, and all the art that came from the fandom.

I loved it so much that, then and there I staked my entire mental wellbeing, my happiness and sense of self on enjoying it to it's fullest extent, and that to me, meant engaging in everything and anything I could possibly do in the fandom. Making fanart, shipping, making AUs, whatever. To 16-year old me, I had basically convinced myself that I had found "my calling". I MUST enjoy doing anything UTDR related, I HAVE to create something and express myself rather than just... sit on my ass and do nothing about it.

It's because of those feelings I got that I genuinely wanted to create something for myself. A story I (and my teenage self) would have wanted to see. Not only to bring myself a sense of fulfilment by proving I was here but also giving others the same feeling I got when first getting into this game and its fandom.

I, stupidly, selfishly want to effectively cram a decade's worth of human experience into my output because I feel like I missed out on so many things.

It's stupid.

It's not possible, and it's never going to be.

But you have no idea how fucking badly I want it.

It's because of this that I forced myself to think that doing this can and should make me happy, and without it I basically have no purpose.

I love to draw.

I HAVE to draw.

I am no one if I don't draw, because outside of strict obligations just to live I don't think there is anything I actually, from the bottom of my heart, truly want do do more than just create. If I stop drawing the person who typed this out is effectively dead. A literal ghost. Nothing. I am nothing without creating.

When I was a kid I was like, ass-deep in fnaf. And I also wanted to make comics for it, it's just that at that time I had no social media, nor did I have any proper methods of digital art.

I made them by drawing in random notebooks with a pencil. They were probably really shit, but I remember I loved doing it. Then, the moment I hit a roadblock where there was a panel I couldn't draw due to my skill level, I'd just... give up entirely. And then forget about it. Which probably speaks to the quality of the ideas I had, which is to say I had no ideas. I would literally just write it at the seat of my pants with vague ideas of important scenes I wanted to include. Basically like how Scott himself wrote fnaf lol.

The main issue is that now, I have a great idea. A genuinely amazing one that I love so, so goddamn much. And that thakfully, a lot of you seem to as well.

It hurts, because it feels like I'm scared I might not be able to execute it. I'm terrified, because I fear that as I am approaching adulthood I may never be able to find my 16-year old self's fulfilment.

I'm worried that I won't be able to achieve hapiness before my soul is utterly eviscerated with college, work and adulthood (that part's happening already, I wish I never woke up again after 2019). Before I get too old and creepy and it's considered problematic to write romance between teenagers.

It's also the reason I get so frustrated whenever I hit a wall during production. It's because I know it will take time. And I don't think I have time. Not before I start feeling miserable.

And I know this sounds selfish of me, but seeing so many other unfinished AUs gives me such existential dread. Those which were never completed because their creators either moved on, or got sick of the thing they used to love so much, or just life itself getting in the way. Those AUs which never could have reached their fullest potential simply because the people behind them burned out from doing it.

It reminds me that despite everything, even in the face of my hopes and dreams I am not a machine. I am not a god. Fate will come for me too, and I will never find that lovecraftian sense of fulfiment.

The problem is that I imagined my audience as myself, with my own expectations. I wanted so badly, to never make my younger self feel disappointed that the thing they enjoyed consuming so much was suddenly cut short, or fell short of his expectations.

The main issue is that, after both breaks from my pre-university foundation year I found myself too burned out to properly get into the full swing of working on Redeemer's Path. And I fear that once uni starts it will be the same. And I'll be stuck forever.

I don't want to admit I'm losing interest.

I don't want to admit I feel miserable while making this. I'm not supposed to feel this way, I'm supposed to be happy.

Because if I do admit it it's acknowledging that I've lost.

That I've failed you.

That I've failed myself.

That I am a disappointment.

That in the past one and a half months, during this gracious second chance I'd been given to actually lock the fuck in, I have been sitting on my ass and doing nothing.

What if I never come back?

What if I just up and leave without ever perfecting everything I'm supposed to do?

I look at different AUs all around me, all made just by regular people but loved by millions. I don't know how some of them even manage to break 200 pages. I don't even know how some people even manage to finish doing this shit.

I know so may of you think I'm being ridiculous.

I know so many of you have told me to be kinder to myself, to think positively and keep going.

I know so many of you have told me "there is no set pace, only the pace you go at."

I know this is a byproduct of a childhood growing up under a capitalistic grindset, forcing me to think that I NEED to make more, and make it faster.

But I'm really struggling to do that when the perpetrator of these thoughts lives inside your own skull. Thinking positively usually works for a short while until my brain stops believing me and I need external proof that what I'm thinking has merit to it.

So... blabbering aside, what does this all mean for Redeemer's Path?

Well, this is a word I hate using of because the way I've seen it being used it usually means bye bye forever.

I'm going on a hiatus.

I don't know how long.

Or if I'm even coming back.

I may work on things behind the scenes a little, but I don't know.

Again I would like to apologise, not just to all of you for this disappointng news, but also to my younger self.

I failed you.

For all your daydreams and enthusiasm I failed to give you a fulfiling release.

To all the uh, comic dubbers who have reached out to me (especially you, Paramasquerade, it's been damn near an eterinity since our last chat) I'm sorry that you caught wind of my AU at a really bad time. Pun somewhat intended.

I think, as stupid and as wish-fulfilling as this sounds I genuinely wish I got into undertale when I was a kid, with all the skills, tools and knowledge I have now so that I'd just have more time.

I feel ashamed to keep the masterpost up like some sort of fucking clown, but if you want it, here.

So, this is goodbye for now. I really don't know what more I can say.

#redeemer's path #deltarune au #undertale au #utdr au

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