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yannowhatigiveup · 4 years ago

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My One And Only - Chapter 8

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So this chapter is longer than the previous one and hOpefuLly my writing will get better with each new chapter. One can only hope. And I’m updating this daily cuz I wanna be caught up with all of my chapters so I don’t forget to post one by accident. But the daily updates will unfortunately stop after chapter 13, I guess. For now, enjoy! *totally not debating if I should post chapter 9* also Gabriel, no

Uncle Jagged: Nettie! I got everything ready. Wanna record a bonus track for my new album?

'Oh god'

—————————————————————

Marinette kept rereading the message to make sure she had read it correctly. The message never changed. "Oh Tikki what if my voice sounds horrible? Uncle Jagged will be disappointed and then he won't have me as his designer anymore! He'll probably tell everything to everyone, to Gabriel Agreste, Clara, Chloe's mother and to the whole public!"

"Calm down Marinette!" Tikki flew out the bag and hugged the bluenette's face. "I'm sure you'll do just fine!"

"Thanks Tikki" Marinette said hesitantly. She then approached the hotel doors and towards the elevators. She had felt the gaze of the receptionists and one of them had got up with the intention to talk to her, only to be dragged back down by the fellow receptionist, the one who Marinette talked to yesterday. The bluenette had taken full notice of this but chose to ignore it. She then reached Damian's hotel room and knocked on the door. She heard something metallic drop on the floor followed by a slightly muffled word. Marinette knew exactly what he said but she was confused. She then heard the same voice again though much clearer this time.

"You can come in, the door is unlocked"

~~~

Damian had just finished showering, he was half dressed when he got a message from 'Angel'. He had changed used this nickname as her contact name.

Angel: I got an hour and half till my meeting with Uncle J, you want me to come over?

Damian smiled. Honestly, if he could he would give all his time to her.

Me: Sure, come over whenever you want I don't mind

He was about to put his shirt on when he got an urge to practice with his katana, which he did. He made a mental note about getting dressed soon and he went to the case which his katana was located. He then practiced different stances as well as practicing different motions with the blade. He thought of the bluenette. When he first met her, she struck him as someone defenseless and vulnerable. But he now had the feeling she could take down someone twice her size. Though, that didn't stop him from feeling obligated to protect her. He had become so focused that when someone knocked he tensed. Not that much but enough to loose grip of his katana. The blade sunk into his skin and left quite a deep cut on his upper arm and on the right side of his chest, causing him to drop his katana.

"Scheiße!" He didn't react to the pain, it was the thought of Marinette walking in on this situation. 'Since when do I know German?' "You can come in, the door is unlocked" 'Damn it that's not what I meant!'

Marinette opened the unlocked door to see a shirtless Damian. She probably would've metaphorically died at that point if she didn't take notice to the whole situation. Not only was he shirtless, he was bleeding. 'How did-' she noticed the katana. 'Oh, makes sense now'. The bluenette then sprinted into action. She closed the door behind her, put her bag down quickly but still being mindful of Tikki and turned her attention to the now flustered Damian. She grabbed the arm that wasn't cut and carefully dragged him onto the sofa, she also looked at the katana on her way there while taking some mental notes. 'Looks clean, no rust or scratches that could contain bacteria and seems so have been cleaned thoroughly before use. Great! That makes my job easier'.

"What are you-"

"Hush Shaytan" Marinette interrupted while going to the bathroom, searching for one of those medkits. "Let me take care of you" she said while getting one of the disinfectants in the kit. Marinette then carefully rubbed the liquid into his wounds.

"It stings" he grumbled.

"Awww don't worry little Dami, it will stop stinging soon" Marinette said lightheartedly, as if she was comforting Manon.

"Tt I am not five" he grumbled again. He shifted his body so that Marinette could properly bandage his chest and right arm. After she was done, he flexed his arm. 'She did extremely well' "Thank you, Angel. You really are a life saver". He subconsciously smirked when he saw her face turn a shade of pink.

"Thanks, did I bandage it correctly? I hope I did, oh no what happens if it doesn't heal correctly? What happens if-" she suddenly stopped as Damian had pulled her in close to his chest.

"Honestly you did perfectly Habibti, there's no need to worry" he stroked his fingers through her deep blue hair as a way to calm her down further, but he himself enjoyed it. He knew how Marinette would always think that she's the one at fault and he came up with a way to calm her down. From the looks of it, it was working.

Marinette blushed when Damian had pulled her into his chest, even more so when she felt his fingers brush through her hair. It felt like it had genuine emotion with it, not only just to make her feel better. She took advantage of being close to his chest, his wounds, and used her powers outside the mask to let the wound heal faster. Now knowing that it would heal soon, she enjoyed his embrace, burying herself further into his muscular body. The she remembered something. "So what are we gonna do about your spilt blood?"

"You say that like I deal with this often" he said with a smug looking face. Marinette then had a 'I know you do' face. He jokingly sighed. "I shall clean it and before you object, I feel fine enough to do a simple task such as this." Her giggling brought a smile to his face. "Also have you worked out what Jagged Stone has in mind for you?"

"I'll tell you that after you tell me how you know German" Marinette shifted so that he could get up. "If I recall, you told me that you were fluent in French, Arabic, English and Spanish and that you were learning Japanese. I don't remember German ever coming up" she said in a jokingly serious tone.

"Actually I'm fluent in Japanese now" Damian murmured while getting something from one of his cases, 'Something to clean the blood I suppose' "I was taught an easy way to learn languages, I might have crossed German once before but if so I just forgot about it. Also, how do you know German?"

"Well if you have any interest in learning a new language you'd want to know the swear words, am I right?" She giggled.

"Fair point" he chuckled while allowing his blood to soap into something he brought, a tissue or towel perhaps. "Now, do you know what Jagged Stone's surprise is for you?"

"Yeah, he wants me to record a bonus track for his album"

Damian paused just as he had finished disinfecting his katana. "Wow, that's great Angel!"

"Yes I'm very grateful to Uncle Jagged for organizing all this but what if I sound horrible? I do want to do it for him really, I don't want to turn the offer down but I-"

"Angel, there is no need to worry. If you're not comfortable with it you can tell Jagged, he'll understand. But I'm sure you have a beautiful voice"

"You really think so?" Marinette murmured. Damian nodded. She gave him a thank you smile before saying, "So, what's this quick way of learning a language? I've got 30 minutes"

Damian chuckled. "Well the first thing you would want to know is..."

~~~

'Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the only one in class whose been able to stop herself from getting akumatized. She must be very strong, physically and mentally. My point was proven when she became Multimouse, wearing nearly every miraculous that I've ever heard or come across. Ladybug must trust her greatly. I must find a way to akumatize her'

Gabriel Agreste stood in his observatory after recently detransforming. 'She can control her emotions well but when she's angry, it's incredibly strong. This girl could be one of the strongest in Paris, she could be one that senses auras. I must find a way. I will use her to eliminate all of heroes. All I need is time'.

———

Taglist: @little-bluestar, @miracleofadisaster, @frieddonutsweets, @jjmjjktth, @genderfluidmoma, @starlit-dreaming (ur the one who wanted to get tagged right? I’m so sorry I forget to write your name down so I’m not sure-), @icerosecrystal

#daminette #damian x marinette #maribat #maridami #marinette x damian #mlb x dc #did I get the taglist right please correct me if I didn’t

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juniorgman187 · 4 years ago

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The Bones (Reid Series) Part 2

Summary: After doing an even deeper dive on Valerie’s past, Spencer finally meets her, but his invasiveness isn’t the worst part ... the worst part is he might actually like her.

Playlist: “The Bones” by Maren Morris & Hozier (BONUS: song includes major foreshadowing) Category: Series, Fluff, Soft Angst, Eventual smut and *NSFW content Pairing: Spencer Reid POV x Fem!OC - Valerie Content Warning: invasion of privacy, allusions to Maeve’s death, arrhythmia Word Count: 3.4k

Part 1 |

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

After firmly deciding not to weave Penelope into my tangled web, I was met with the arduous burden of conducting my own research.

Firstly, I would need a computer - yeah ... a computer. That’s how far I was willing to go for this pursuit. I once vowed never to fall victim to modern technology’s clutches, and yet here I was, doing my research on a public library’s computer. To my credit, I hadn’t gone out and bought one, I was merely using my resources.

With the need for a device out of the way, all that was left was the knowledge of what to look for. But that didn’t pose a problem either.

Funny enough, with as many rules and restrictions as there are regarding patient privacy and confidentiality, all it took was matching dates of news stories with hospital records to complete my research. I was fairly certain I was only scratching the surface of information about Valerie as opposed to the sea of things I could’ve uncovered if I asked for Garcia’s help, but there are only so many lines a person can cross in one week.

This was my limit.

Call me naive, but I was actually quite surprised with just how expansive the internet is. To an almost relentless degree, I would open an article and it would lead me to ten more about the same topic. It was this never ending rabbit hole that seemed to spiral on forever. I kept digging deeper and deeper until I could no longer dig.

I’d officially hit rock bottom.

It took me a grand total of just two hours to unearth all the ‘dirt’ I could on a young Valerie Bishop.

Local 16-year-old Wins Nevada’s Statewide Art Contest! Published by Henderson Press.

Valerie, just a sophomore in high school at the time, was donning what any experimental teen girl would’ve worn in the early 2000s - bootcut jeans and a sequin blouse over top of a plain camisole. And if I zoomed in close enough, I could spot the evidence of a sparkly blue shadow coating her eyelids. Surprisingly, though, that wasn’t the first thing I noticed.

It was that smile. That tooth-achingly sweet smile.

Though I never got the chance to see Maeve truly smile, that’s what I imagined it would look like.

The photographer must’ve caught her midway through a laugh, at least that’s what the image of her slightly open-mouthed grin told me. Meanwhile, her two tiny hands were clenching her overbearingly large trophy while her artwork stood behind her as the background.

It didn’t take me long to figure out why her painting won. Simply put, there was no need to see anyone else’s art to know that they couldn’t possibly compete with hers.

Hers was an abstract rendition of what I believe to be a forest of some sort. The detail is what I was most drawn to. It would’ve been unbelievable on its own but the fact that she was 16 when she painted it? That’s what was unbelievable to me.

If that’s how talented she was at that age, I could only imagine how much more talented she became with time. However, I lost the chance to investigate the current state of her skill before a related article from The Cleveland Gazette about Valerie succeeded this one.

From Award-Winning Artist to Henderson’s Hero

Read my interview with 17-year-old Valerie Bishop to find out more about her struggle with arrhythmia and how she turned her pain into a project!

By Kelli Gallagher from the Cleveland Gazette.

Gallagher: Thank you so much for letting me interview you, Valerie.

Bishop: Of course! I’m happy to.

Gallagher: You’ve become somewhat of a hero in Henderson, Nevada, haven’t you?

Bishop: I wouldn’t call myself a hero ... but if everyone else wants to - I’m fine with that. (laughs)

Gallagher: Don’t be so modest! I mean, what you’ve done is so incredible, and you’re only what? Seventeen?

Bishop: Yes, ma’am. I just turned seventeen this past August.

Gallagher: Wow, I can’t believe how young you are and yet you’ve already accomplished so much. I saw that you won a statewide art contest last year. Tell me more about that.

Bishop: That’s a funny story actually. My Grandma Sheila was the one who entered me in that contest. I didn’t even know about it until I won it. She’s always surprising me, though. In fact, she’s the one that surprised me with my first ever art supplies, when I was about eight or so. They were these super expensive oil paints, and I knew she couldn’t afford them, so I told her we should return them and get something cheaper, but she said, “Nonsense. When the bones are good the rest don’t matter. A house don’t fall when the bones are good.” That was kind of her saying.

A house don’t fall when the bones are good.

The bones.

Gallagher: I’m interested to know more about your relationship with your grandma. If I’m remembering correctly, she was also diagnosed with arrhythmia a while back too, right?

Bishop: Yes, she was, but that’s never slowed her down. And as for our relationship, my grandma and I have always been close, but arrhythmia, in a weird way, has brought us even closer. She has always been my biggest supporter and the fact that we’re both on this journey together makes her my biggest supporter even more so.

Gallagher: Absolutely. Now, I also heard that you’ve started a fundraising program to possibly start a gallery and studio in Virginia Beach. If you don’t mind me asking, why Virginia Beach? Is there any special significance?

Bishop: Actually, that’s where my grandma met my grandpa, and they got married and started a family there, too. So if Grandma Sheila hadn’t been there to meet him, she wouldn’t have had my mom, and that would mean I wouldn’t have been here either. I like to think Virginia Beach is where it all started. In a way, it’s where my bones are. That solid foundation in Virginia gave me everything I have today.

Gallagher: That is just incredible. I’m so glad to see your fundraising project is thriving, but I can’t imagine any of this has been particularly easy for you. You were diagnosed right around the time your senior year was starting right?

Bishop: Yes ma’am.

Gallagher: So what brought you from Henderson to Cleveland?

Bishop: Well, actually, I didn’t want to move, especially not before I graduated, but Cleveland has the best cardiovascular hospital in the country and my health is far more important than graduating in the same state I grew up in. So when my parents were willing to move me and my sister out here, I saw it as a privilege rather than something to be sad about.

Gallagher: I am so inspired by you, Valerie.

Bishop: (laughs) Really, why?

Gallagher: Despite everything that’d been thrown at you, you are still so grateful. I hope you never lose that.

Bishop: I promise you I won’t.

Gallagher: So one last thing before I go, what is one hope you have for your future self?

Bishop: I hope, future self, that your ‘bones’ are still strong.

Gallagher: Beautiful. Thank you so much again for doing this, Valerie. I sincerely hope you reach your goal and you get to open up that gallery and studio in Virginia Beach.

At the bottom of the article, there was a footnote from Kelli Gallagher.

Exactly 10 years later, Bishop was able to move to Virginia Beach and open up her gallery and studio.

By the end of the article, I felt a genuine sense of pride for Valerie, and I know I had virtually no right to know these things about her, but I could still be proud of her for them right?

I would never fully get my answer to this question before I crossed the final boundary.

After exhausting all that I could gather from the internet without Penelope’s assistance, the only thing left for me to do was actually meet her in person. However, this would prove to be a bigger obstacle that it seemed. I decided to delay the daunting task until the next day. A decision partially influenced by the phrase, ‘sleep on it.’ I prayed I’d gain clarity on what to do when I woke up the next morning, but even with a night’s rest, I was still undecided as I drove to Virginia Beach once more.

To sit in my car that was conveniently parked right in front of the gallery was a poor choice. Because with every passing second, the temptation to walk in grew, but the fear of regret dampened those impulses. The more I thought about it, the more I psyched myself out. Between my two choices, to freeze or to fight, I should’ve taken the third - to flee. But I was here now and I couldn’t leave empty-handed for a second time.

After a moment’s indecision, adrenaline coursed through my veins to give me the courage to get out of my car. When I felt an outdoor breeze blow over me, I knew there was no going back now. Right when I walked in, the little bell above the door rang, solidifying that I was officially crossing the threshold, and whether I liked it or not, she was going to see me after hearing me walk in.

“I’ll be right with you!” A small voice called out from somewhere in the back. She was hidden from my immediate sight, and somehow that made it so much worse. It was now I that was waiting for her, instead of her unknowingly waiting for me.

As though I were prey getting ready to escape a predator, I stayed put by the door. It gave me a full view of the entire place anyway.

Scoping out my surroundings, I spotted the paintings that were carefully measured and placed on the walls, almost to perfection. I had no time to notice anything more before the person in the back walked out.

Immediately when I saw her, I knew.

“You’re … not Valerie.” I couldn’t help sounding so disappointed but luckily, the woman that came out took no offense to my observation.

“No, I’m not,” She laughed. “But I can get her for you-”

“No wait!” I uselessly leapt forward to stop her from saying, “Vee! There’s someone out here to see you!” But that’s precisely what she did anyway. Evidently oblivious of my previous protests, she politely smiled back at me. “She’ll be right out.”

For the second time that day, I waited with bated breath, anxiously anticipating the arrival of Valerie. And I was almost too focused on subduing the pounding of my heart to realize that she was actually walking out of the back right now.

“Hi, sorry about that!” A new voice chirped.

Valerie.

The moment I laid eyes on her, it became clear to me that the pictures in her files hardly did her justice. Nothing could compare to the real sight of her. I was only able to catch the profile of her face when I saw her in the cafe, but in her entirety, I began to wax nostalgic. Though her face and hair and body had transformed into that of a grown woman’s features, I could still identify the same tooth-achingly sweet smile that a younger Valerie once wore on the front page of the Henderson Press. She was no beast to conquer, she was just a girl, smiling at me in that same gentle way.

Her expression just as well showed no indication of recognition, not that she would recognize me, considering my letter was anonymous and unless she pulled the same stunt I did, she wouldn’t ever recognize who I was.

“I’m Val,” She made her greeting to me while untying her dirtied waist apron, and it was merely the action that caused my gaze to fall to her hips, but when she shed the apron, I was still staring. There was something sort of mesmerizing about the way they swayed as she approached. It wasn’t until they stopped swaying completely that I realized they did so because there was no more distance to advance - she was already right there in front of me, patiently watching me stare.

“Val?” I blinked hard to revert my gaze while also playing into the part that I had no idea who she was.

“Mhm. Short for Valerie,” She confirmed happily. “Like the Amy Winehouse song.”

This time, I genuinely didn’t know what she was referring to, and my confused countenance prompted her to clarify, “You don’t know that song?”

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she began to playfully sing, “Well, sometimes I go out by myself and I look across the water ...”

While she watched my face and waited for the recitation of the song to jog my memory, I was just as much studying her face. I could tell she was only kidding when she sang, evidenced by the laugh that followed her rendition, but it sounded so unironically good that I had to question what other talents she possessed.

“Um, I was actually thinking more like Valerie, the martyred medieval saint, whose name stood for strength and health.” No sooner than the words spilled from my mouth did I recognize the freudian slip - the simultaneous coincidence and confession. The coincidence was that, now, with Maeve’s heart beating in her chest, she lived up to her name - she was newly strong and healthy. But I worried, she would see the correlation I drew between her name and her successful transplant and would realize that I knew more about her than I let on. Did I just give away too much?

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier. What was it?” Her casual dismissiveness of my previous statement did nothing to ease my worries. Was she beginning to piece everything together?

“Oh, right!” I said dumbly. “S-Spencer. I’m Spencer.” I was such a blubbering bundle of nerves that I actually reached out to shake her hand - a stranger’s hand.

“Nice to meet you, Spencer,” She softly laughed, which was hopefully not out of the enjoyment of seeing me squirm. “What can I do for you?”

A loaded question, don’t you think? What can you do for me, Valerie? Well, for one thing, you could’ve answered my letter, but to say something as bold as that would require me to admit the real reason I was here, and how could I do that without mentioning how I found you in the first place?

“Um ...” Whose birthday is the soonest? “My friend Emily’s birthday is coming up and I was wondering if I could possibly buy a painting from you as a birthday present.”

There was the faintest perceptible skepticism in her expression, but that could’ve just been my paranoia talking because in the next breath, she didn’t suggest a proclivity to my deceit. “Yeah, of course! Do you know what her favorite medium is? Or her favorite artist? Or her favorite style of art?”

For every addition to the question, I wordlessly shook my head no. Was my lie already unraveling? Could she see right through me?

“No worries. If you want, you can walk around the gallery and tell me if you see anything you think she’d like.” She made her offer to me sweetly, then disappeared into the back room again. I tried to follow her with my eyes for as long as I could, but from where I was standing, I couldn’t see very far into it. I wandered a little further into the center of the gallery to possibly catch a glimpse of what was occupying her time back there, but when I heard the chattering of two voices, Valerie and the other woman, coming from the same general direction, I realized I was completely alone in this part of the studio.

With no one around to bear witness but these portraits, I could’ve easily slipped out and made my escape, and I might’ve even done it had it not been for the unmistakable gravitational pull forcing me to stay here and walk about the room.

Making my way throughout the gallery, I would pause every now and then when a painting would stand out to me, which was often, considering each picture was impressive.

But there was one painting in particular that piqued my interest. It made me feel something I’d never felt before.

It wasn’t special by any means. By rights, I shouldn’t have even noticed it, for it wasn’t the largest painting, nor the smallest one - it wasn’t even the most average painting. But it felt exceptionally ... Valerie. I had no doubt in my mind that she painted this one - in fact, I had a good bet that she painted most of these portraits, if not all of them - but this one. There was just something about it that I couldn’t put my finger on.

“So,” A draft was created from where Valerie swiftly and unexpectedly joined me at my side. “What do you think?”

“Um, there’s definitely something,” I struggled to find the word. “appealing about this one.” Almost as soon as the word came out of my mouth, I knew it was only a matter of time before she called out the inadequacy of my answer.

“Appealing?” She repeated in mockery. “That’s the best you got? Come on, you’ve been standing here for like ten minutes. There must be something about it you like.”

“I’m not sure.” I honestly admitted with a shrug.

“There’s no wrong answer.” She assured me, but I found that hard to believe.

“So if I said I see a grizzly bear attacking a UFO, that wouldn’t be wrong?”

“Nope,” She popped the p. “If that’s how you interpret it then that’s how you interpret it. Just because someone else sees it differently, doesn’t mean you’re wrong.” It would’ve sounded like complete bullshit or nauseatingly cheesy coming out of someone else’s mouth, but her delivery felt so genuine. It actually moved me.

As she said this, she turned her head in my direction to look up at me, causing her shoulder to brush my upper arm, sending a wave of goosebumps all over my body.

She was so close.

But I was so unbothered by her proximity that I didn’t even notice exactly how close she really was. If someone else had invaded my personal space like that, I would’ve moved in the opposite direction just on instinct, but I didn’t even think to do that with Valerie. I was so comfortable with her being there.

But was that just because a part of her was once Maeve’s? Was the entire foundation of my likening to Valerie built upon that single attribute?

Was that my bones?

“Um,” I began fidgeting with my hands to self-soothe. “I like it. I don’t know why. But I like it. How’s that for an answer?”

There was a pause before her response that compelled me to look at her, but when I did so, she was already looking at me. “I’ll take it,” She nodded. “It’s the biggest compliment to me if my art can make you feel something.”

Was it the art that made me feel something ... or you?

“I’ll tell you what,” She walked over to grab something from the front desk. She came back with a small piece of cardstock. “I’m going to an art exhibition next weekend. Why don’t you come with me and see if you can’t find something for Emily there?”

She handed me the paper, which was actually her business card. “You don’t have to have an answer for me today, but call me when you do.” She seemed to think that was the end of the conversation, but I still had more questions.

“You’re inviting me?” was the first question that came to mind, albeit the dumbest one.

“Yeah, you can be my plus one.”

I gulped to dislodge the lump in my throat. “Like-like your date?”

She furrowed her brows with mild confusion. “Um ... sure, if that’s what you wanna call it,” which was the last thing she said to me before vanishing within the back room again.

I peered back down at the card and tapped it gently on the palm on my hand as though to register its presence really being there.

For all intents and purposes, this card was meaningless. But to me, it was the formal consenting - nay, invitation - to reach out to her again. She was willingly extending this line of contact to me.

No more public library computers. No more files. No more ‘research.’ Just her number - a way to reach her without veering off my moral compass.

Despite this, I still had no clue whether or not I was going to accept her offer.

All that I did know was that I wanted to see her again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

PART 3 COMING SOON!

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kisarastrife · 3 years ago

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Hi! I have be reading the updated chapters of paper roses and I love them. I mean I I read the originals and I loved them too, but I'm digging the vibe of the new ones because the main story is there but its different in vigor. I guess I want to say I really like how they are more focused but that theres nods to things that happen that I don't recall reading in the originals. Thank you for your time in revitalizing this beloved story for us readers!

Hi dear!

Thank you so much for such a lovely message! I know I probably sound like a bit of a scratched record because I say that every time I answer an inbox message, but I really mean it - it gives me such a lovely little boost of happiness every time I get a kind message like this! xxx

I've been writing Paper Roses for literally more than 13 years now and perhaps I'm guilty of looking at the story through my own lens; it's been a constant friend to me since I wrote the first chapter back when I was 17. So it's been a companion of mine from then to now when I'm 30 and it's been a go-to throughout the times of my life when I had the most change (from being a retrospectively-naïve teen from rural Ireland, being a young adult stuck in-a-rut in a job I hated to getting the career I wanted and being an independent mature[hah] adult), so I definitely overlook the fact that my story has been around for so long now that is has been a similar companion for other people too.

I love when I get messages like this and it highlights to me that some amazing people read Paper Roses when it first came out and are still somehow following my fic despite my less-than-brilliant update-schedule.

I am beyond flattered that you not only took the time to read the original story and wait for updates, but that you gave the updated chapters a read too! It genuinely is something I am beyond-grateful for.

I'm hoping the re-write will just 'tighten' things up flow-wise with the story. I mean it was never my intention to span so many years, so some pop-culture references have not aged well, so I've gone back over them and other things too; some plot lines remained underdeveloped in the larger scale of things and just left unanswered, so in going back through it I'm fixing up those loose ends and cauterising them so that the fic reads as one cohesive plot, not the excited thoughts of an teenager meshed with a twenty-something-year-old and then my more realistic thoughts in later chapters.

I know the rewrite isn't loved by everyone, unfortunately, but it's something I feel needs to be done. In fic-writer fashion, when I re-read the earlier chapters, I cringed. Anyone who has ever written fanfic as a teenager can empathise with that feeling. Some of the things I wrote just don't sit well, or the themes were far too big for me at the time. I wasn't old enough to maturely deal with the happenings I wished to address in-story. There are themes of abuse, denial, alcoholism, grief, loss and romance that I know now I wasn't old enough to approach in a realistic manner. So this rewrite is giving me the chance to re-address these happenings with more understanding.

So thank you so much for this message!

If there’s anything else you wanna ask, by all means it’s what I’m here for!!! xxxxx

#thank you so much for this message #really it means a lot #please if anyone wants to ask anything else #it's what I'm here for #paper roses #kisara #bluehsipping #seto kaiba

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recurring-polynya · 4 years ago

Text

a little in love now and then, part 6/? | ao3 | ff.net |

Summary: Abarai Renji doesn’t have a fortune, but he does appear to be in want of a wife, at least in Lady Kuchiki’s opinion. Fortunately, Lady Kuchiki also has a sister, and a woefully eligible one, at that. (itty bitty Hisana Lived! AU)

Rating: T, for minor cussing

This time: The Cavalry: Renji seeks outside advice.

Renji pounded his fist against the doorframe. He waited. He pounded again. “KIRA!” he bellowed. “KIRA, IT’S ME, ABARAI! OPEN UP, I NEED YOU!”

Slowly, the door slid open, and the exhausted lieutenant of Squad 3 squinted at Renji with purple-shadowed eyes.

“Kira, how do noble people get married?” Renji demanded.

Izuru stared at him for a moment, taking into account the hour, the fact that Renji was dressed in his New Year’s best, and finally, the question. He rubbed at his hair and blinked, before realization penetrated his haze of sleep-deprivation. “What have you done?” he gasped, horrified.

“You look bad, buddy,” Renji observed, before he suddenly remembered the probable cause of Kira’s condition. “Aw, cripes, Kira, I’m sorry. I forgot about, you know.”

“My captain being sent to the Maggot’s Nest?” Izuru asked dryly.

Renji cringed. “Something crazy happened and I thought o’ you, and I really wasn’t thinkin’ and I’m sorry. I’ll just go.”

Kira rubbed at his face tiredly and tried to blink his eyes into focus. “You cannot just show up here and ask me how to marry a noble person and then leave again.” He managed a small smile. “Besides, if you and your captain hadn’t cracked open Aizen’s conspiracy, who knows how much worse things would be. I probably owe you one anyway.”

Renji hunched his shoulders. “I didn’t do anything, aside from trying and failing to beat up that Kurosaki kid.”

Izuru smashed a fist into Renji’s shoulder. “Whatever, meathead. The fact is, I am so sick of auditing the last forty years of squad records that digging you out of whatever horrifying situation you have enmeshed yourself in will be a delightful distraction. Let’s consider it a mutual favor.” He stepped aside and waved his hand. “Come inside and tell me whose honor you have besmirched. I’ll put on tea.”

“I haven’t besmirched anyone’s honor!” Renji excused, trailing his old school friend into his quarters. “Lady Kuchiki wants me to marry Rukia.”

Izuru almost tripped on his way into the kitchen and had to catch himself on the edge of the counter. “What?”

“Not, like, this minute. I guess she’s taken a liking to me, probably ‘cause her baby likes me, and she’s been trying to find a nice husband for Rukia, which seems like a terrible mistake, and she’s made an even worse mistake insofar as judging my suitability for this, and I’m trying to take advantage of it before she catches on.”

Izuru squinted at him. “She wants you to marry Rukia because she likes you? Not because of your decades of loyal pining and sad puppy dog eyes?”

“She doesn’t even know about that,” Renji nodded incredulously.

Izuru set the kettle on the stove. “So, let me get this straight. Back when we were in school, right after Rukia was adopted, you came up with this incredibly half-baked plan to distinguish yourself in the Gotei, impress Captain Kuchiki, defeat him in battle, and… you always refused to say the last part out loud. What was the goal, anyway? To see Rukia again? To prove to her that the only difference between you and a man born all of the wealth and advantage you can imagine is a little elbow grease? To ask for her hand in marriage?”

“Something like that,” Renji replied vaguely.

“And you’re telling me it worked?”

“I didn’t even have to fight Captain Kuchiki!” Renji exclaimed, waving his arms. “Which is good, because you weren’t there when he fought Aizen, but even with my bankai, I’m pretty sure he can still kick my ass.”

Izuru shook his head. “You are simultaneously the most blessed and cursed idiot I have ever met.”

“I know it,” Renji admitted sincerely.

“Okay, so let’s talk about what actually happened,” Izuru said, pulling out a pair of fine tea cups painted with elegant blue cranes. “Did they extend you an offer?”

“Huh?” Renji echoed. “No, nothin’ like that.”

“She just said, Mr. Abarai, you seem like a sporting fellow, would you like to marry my troublesome sister?”

“Rukia is not troublesome! And it was more like, she invited me over for dinner, and afterwards, Rukia said, ‘Oh, my sister wants to marry me off because I’m troublesome and she’s picked you’.”

“Because you seem like a chump?”

“I am absolutely a chump, but I am pretty sure Lady Kuchiki genuinely likes me.” He scratched his head. “It’s weird that a person exists who would marry Captain Kuchiki and also likes me.”

Izuru nodded thoughtfully. “Indeed. And how does Rukia feel about this?”

Renji made a face. “Well, she’s not a huge fan of it, but she didn’t shut it down, either. She’s willing to consider it.”

“Hmm,” Izuru replied with mild surprise. “And Captain Kuchiki?”

“He… doesn’t hate me,” Renji shrugged. “I’m not sure he knows what his wife is up to.”

“I see,” Izuru nodded, pouring hot water into the cups. “And what about you?”

“Me?” Renji repeated.

“Yes, Abarai, you get an opinion, too, you know.” Izuru studied his own friend carefully for a moment, before saying, “People can change a lot in forty years. You two didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.”

Renji’s face stiffened. “I know.”

Izuru took a cautious sip of tea. “I didn’t mean anything by it. You’re my friend and I just want to make sure you’re doing something that will make you happy.”

Renji huffed. “Look, I said Rukia wasn’t quite on board yet, and I ain’t interested in marrying anyone who ain’t interested in marrying me.”

“Granted,” Izuru nodded, waiting for him to go on.

Renji stared at his teacup as he spun it in his hands. “I blew it. Back then. I’m not… I can’t…” He let out a frustrated breath. “Of course I want to get to know her again. I’m sure some things have changed. But I can’t screw this up again. If this is my shot, I gotta take it.”

Izuru knew how much it embarrassed Renji to admit things like this. He felt very grateful that, despite the rocks their friendship had hit over the years, Abarai still trusted him this much. He cleared his throat. “Good. I have the landscape of it. You’re interested, Rukia is open. Lady Kuchiki is for it, Captain Kuchiki exists.”

Renji thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Yeah. That sums it up pretty good.”

“So, let’s talk about the mechanics, which is why I suspect you’ve come to me. In general, it is your prerogative, as the guy, to propose. Very noble families, like the Kuchiki, might extend an offer of Rukia’s hand if they were trying to create an alliance or propose a deal with another family. It’s also possible that could happen if someone performed some great service to the family-- they very well could have offered her to that Kurosaki boy that stormed the Seireitei for her, for example.”

Renji’s shoulders went a little stiff, and Izuru realized he had hit a nerve. Maybe not quite a nerve. A soft spot. “He’s not even dead,” Renji pointed out, not sounding very confident that this was an adequate objection.

“Right, and he’s got no status in Soul Society at all, and also, they didn’t,” Izuru reassured him. “My point is, we should expect that the ball is in your court, at this point. There are two halves to this: proposing to Rukia and getting her Clan Head’s approval. Now, if you were rich and powerful enough, and didn’t care about Rukia’s feelings, you could skip her entirely, and go straight to Captain Kuchiki. Rukia would still have to agree, but it would be mostly on her family to get her buy in.”

“I don’t want that,” Renji mumbled.

“Exactly. Plus, you’re broke. You are still broke, right? If you’re not, you owe me 400 kan for your bar tab on Shuuhei’s birthday.”

“You mean when I had to leave early to drag Shuuhei home because he was blasted?”

“It was 600, but I’m giving you the good friend discount.”

Renji made a troubled face. “I am still broke, but I can pay you back.”

Izuru waved a hand. “Forget it, that wasn’t the point. The point is, and I cannot believe I am going to say this, but unless you plan on winning the lottery or passing your captain’s exam in the next few weeks, you are going to need to charm your way into this family. Lady Kuchiki likes you, but I am going to go out on a limb and say that it’s Rukia’s opinion of you that’s ultimately going to sway her, no?”

Renji nodded curtly. “That was my impression.”

“Then all of this is really a lot less complicated than you think. Spend some time with Rukia. See if she’s still the person you remember. Try to stay on Lord and Lady Kuchiki’s good side. Don’t jump the gun. If it’s meant to be, she should be so thrilled by the time you ask, she can help you wrangle the proper approvals from her sister and brother-in-law.”

Renji sighed, and took a long sip of tea. “What kinda odds you think I’ve got?”

Izuru gave a little shrug. “I’m frankly dumbfounded you’ve gotten this far. We are outside of the range of calculable probabilities.”

Renji fidgeted with the sleeve of his haori. “Do you really think… that Rukia might…”

Izuru settled his chin on one hand. “Abarai, in the time that I saw the two of you together, I found you and Rukia to have the most incomprehensible rapport I have ever seen between two people. I found her to be utterly impenetrable and you to be…” He trailed off. “Look, we’re outside of my area of expertise. I hope I was helpful on the nuts and bolts stuff.”

Renji’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah! Yeah, thanks, Kira. You were super helpful. I’ll get outta here now, so you can get some sleep, I’m sorry to--”

“Hey!” Izuru interrupted him. “I didn’t tell you to leave. I just said we were out of my depth. Do you wanna call Momo? I’m pretty sure she hasn’t slept in a month, either.”

“Er…” Renji frowned. “Are you really sure--?”

Izuru was already on the phone. “Hey, Hinamori! How’s the endless cycle of self-recrimination going? Oh, you’re stress-baking again? Perfect. You want to get overly invested in Abarai’s personal life with me? Yeah, come over as soon as they’re done. No, you’re going to have to wait and hear him explain it, you would never believe me if I tried to tell you. Okay, great!” Izuru flipped his phone shut. “Momo’s in. She’ll be here in twenty minutes with dorayaki.” He paused. “You’re not imposing. This is good for us. Let us have this.”

“Ah,” said Renji. “Did you say dorayaki?”

#my writing #bleach fanfic #renruki #byahisa #WELP i guess we're doing this now

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littlemeowyoons · 5 years ago

Text

Bonded

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff(lots of them), Single Dad! AU, College! AU, Introvert! Yoongi, Tutor! Y/n

Word Count:3.4k

Synopsis: Yoongi found a basket left in front of his dorm room one day, and turns out it was his daughter, left alone crying. Puzzled and scared was an understatement. When his 4 semesters roommate Jimin left for his hometown, he was left with the last straw of help, turning to his physics tutor a.k.a friend-that-I-only-know-name-but-have-no-interest-in-knowing-more; you.

Series: Masterlist l Part 1 I Part 2

Part 3: What’s this warmth?

°•. ✿ .•°

It’s hard to believe but you found yourself intercept with Yoongi’s life more and more now. As soon as you realize how deep you got in this mess, you already spent your free time in Yoongi’s dorm, spending time teaching Inara shapes and colours rather than spend some good twenty minutes at your favourite coffee shop on the other side of the town. You don’t mind it, that’s what surprises you the most.

You don’t mind teaching Yoongi physics concepts and basics while his daughter cling onto your thigh, tugging your shirt so that you’ll pay her some attention. You don’t mind knowing that there’s a few pairs of your shirts and pants in Yoongi’s closet, you hardly bother! At one point it scares you how normal this feel like. You feel something shift in you when you look at Inara and Yoongi now, but you can’t figure out what. You blink back to reality when you feel like you had been spacing out for too long. You found yourself staring at the blinking cursor on your laptop, an unwritten essay in front of you.

You sigh and massage the spot on your forehead hoping to release some tension. You know this chemistry essay actually contributes a lot of points in your final results, but the pressure of finishing it in time gives you the thought of ditching some random things in it. A small tug on the hem of your shirt makes you look down, and suddenly, nothing matters anymore.

Inara looks up to you with her round shining eyes, a drool escaped the corner of her mouth. You chuckled as you reach out to tuck a stray strand of her baby hair from her face, which is sticky as it had mixed with her saliva. Her fingers are in her mouth, an early sign of hunger you noted. But she had been trying to eat her own hand for like 10 minutes now. Where is Yoongi?

You glance upward to the kitchen, finding the back view of Yoongi struggling. You sigh, resisting the urge to get up and lend a hand. You had helped him a lot already, it was time he learn to take care of Inara on his own. You just hope it went well. You glance down to Inara when she huff.

“I know, he’s taking forever right? Tell your father to hurry up.”

As then, Inara raised her voice, but it came out incoherent as ever. It’s good that she’s learning to talk but at times, bless your eardrums, or anyone within the 10 meter radius because this kid just loves to raise her voice.

“Ah Y/n, she’s upset!”

You heard Yoongi’s alarmed voice before your eyes catch his head peeked out from the kitchen.

“Oh shit sherlock, you figured all by yourself. How brilliant!”

“Y/n,”, he warned, “ not the time for your shit. Just…entertain her for a moment.”

When Yoongi disappeared again, Inara raised her voice higher, a frown etched on her tiny face.

‘Too late’, you thought. You know she’s gonna throw a fit soon, and distracting her now would only upset her. You saved your unfinished essay and close your laptop, you were thinking of writing at least two paragraphs today, so that you won’t be too far behind the due date. Guess you can throw that thought away now, there’s no way you could even make any progress with the crying kid by your side.

Inara crawl away to her toys, all while crying and leaving a saliva trail on the floor. You sigh, at least she’ll be occupied on her own. You pull down your spectacles and leave it on your laptop, finally decided that you just have to intervene with all this act of feeding one single kid. Yoongi soon came in running, bottle of milk in hand. You scoffed, he looks like he just came back from war, or maybe he did, in his own way?

You walk up to him, “let me feed her, a whining baby is a lot harder to fed.”

But once the bottle is in your hand, your eyes widen.

“What the- Yoongi! Are you out of your mind?!”

You yanked his hand toward you and turn the bottle in hand upside down, a few drops of it fall down onto Yoongi’s arm.

“Ouch ouch, that’s hot!”

“Even you admit it’s hot, how do you ever think she’s gonna take this? It’ll burn her throat, no scratch that the milk will melt her tongue before anything else.”

You hurried into the kitchen, filled a bowl with tap water and ice then continue to submerge the bottle in hop to turn the boiling hot milk to lukewarm before the crying in the living room gets louder. You’ve told Yoongi that you didn’t mind about the constant crying, but what you do mind is the knock on your door after it. The other residence had been complaining about it a few times now, you were afraid Yoongi will be kicked out sooner than later. Yoongi, with that calm as fuck face told you not to worry about them as he’ll handle it, and he sure keep his words when every time someone came knocking on the door, Yoongi said he’ll have a few ‘calm and peaceful talk’ with them. You’re secretly convinced that Yoongi beat the shit out of them, because well he once got a reputation for always getting into fights during freshman year, but once you confronted him when he’s about to throw a fist at a guy yanking your bag in the library, you swear you never heard any news whatsoever about another fight, not even gossip. You were scared you’ll be the next victim, but mostly proud you’re able to change something about someone. It feels good.

On the other hand, Yoongi eyed your figure with much adoration, he didn’t say it out loud but he really really really am grateful for everything that you had done. Who knows what’ll happen to his daughter if you’re not here, he can’t bring himself to say it out loud, but he sure will accidentally kill her daughter without meaning to. You had been a sturdy backbone to him in this mess, he’s scared that one day he opens his eyes and you decided that you’re done with all this shit he’s in, but up to this day you’re still here, beating the shit out of him first before lending a hand. He’s not someone who can display his affection out to public, words are really not his best weapon in hand. He’s afraid that you’ll feel like he used you because he didn’t said thank you out loud. He wanted to, though.

You came back into the living room, pick up Inara and try to feed her. But she had gone hungry for a while, it’s hard to make her open up her mouth and accept the milk.

“Come on sweetie, waiting’s over.”

By the third time you gently push in the bottle’s nipple into her mouth, only then she quiets down, and the world is peaceful as it can be again. Her small fingers curled into a fist, enjoying the bliss of finally being fed.

“I’m sorry your father is a grade ‘A’ kind of fool, but I swear he’s a genius when it’s come to his music.”

“I heard that”

“I wanna you to hear it anyway so what’s your point?”

You take a sit on the sofa and proceed to feed Inara, while Yoongi picked up her toys that litter on the floor, putting it into her basket. He realized one of her block went missing so he went on a little hunt finding it. He bend down to check under the sofa, not there. He craned his neck to check the kitchen floor, not there either.

“Yoongi, what are you searching for?”

“Inara’s block, you know the one with banana picture on it, with the letter C and D.”

“Try checking the dinner table.”

Yoongi walk in silent, eyes widen slightly when he finally spotted the said block, right under one of the chair. He went to fetch it, and his eyes frozen on your laptop.

“You found it?”

You didn’t get a response, “Yoongi?”

“Ah yeah, I found it. Hey, what’s you’re working on your laptop?”

“Chemistry essay, I guess I’ll be staying up late tonight, I’m waaaay behind due dates.”, you sigh.

“Essay? I thought you finished it the first week after we got the task.”

It caught you off guard how Yoongi know about it, you wanted to ask how did he know, but thinking that maybe he heard it from someone around campus. It was no shock you’re not someone who likes to procrastinate a lot, and yes you did finish your essay, but it wasn’t yours, not anymore at least.

“I umm, the file got lost.”

“What, really?”

“Yeah, I left my laptop on all night and umm it shut down. The file got lost.”, you advert your gaze to Inara who’s still drinking her milk quietly, not wanting to make any eye contact with Yoongi.

“That…doesn’t sound like you.”

“I was too tired that night.”

“And you didn’t save a backup?”

“No…”

“Are…you lying?”

Your eyes snapped open, how can Yoongi see through you so easily? If anyone else asks the same question, they stop right after they were told that you lost the file, no further question. But again this is Yoongi, nothing about him is ordinary. You were really taken back how much he can tell when you’re not genuine about yourself, how? Should you be afraid when you’re in front of Yoongi you’re this vulnerable?

The small push on your hand makes you look to Inara again, properly this time. She had finished her milk and was smiling widely to you.

“All full, spark?”

Yoongi scoffed, crossing his arm, “What do you take my daughter as, a puppy?”

“Then I better call the genius world record or something because this will be the cutest puppy ever known to mankind. Right sweet melon? Right? Who’s the cutest? You are, my pumpkin pie, cutest ever!”

“Okay now I prefer Spark rather than you throwing in random nickname for her.”

“I told you, spark is the best, because you know why?”, You picked Inara up so that your eyes stare right into hers, “Inara means light, and light comes from spark! You’re gonna grow up to be the most beautiful girl ever!”

Yoongi wanted to argue, because the most beautiful girl would be the one holding her daughter now, on the sofa, hair let down freely in the most ethereal way Yoongi could ever think of, but yet he keeps his mouth shut.

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ:⠀ ⋆.:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾

It’s not like you never met Jimin, you did before. Yoongi introduced you to his friends, which happen to be Namjoon’s friends too. You met them once when Namjoon, your closest friend in your alpha study group, introduce you. But you weren’t someone who remember name so quickly, face yeah you can recognize but name umm, that’s gonna take a while. You were grateful enough Yoongi introduce you all over again, you’re able to grasp their names by then. But that was all interaction you ever had, you don’t hang around them so much. So it is an understatement that you were shocked Jimin greeted you first. You’re surprised he know you.

“Ah you don’t recognize me huh? I’m Pa-“

“Park Jimin, sophomore best looking dance major. Hard to not know you when you’re in every gossip there ever exist on campus ground.”

“Yeah I guess that can’t be helped huh. I’m a party people after all. You’re…heading to the boys' dormitories?”

“Yoongi’s place.”

“Ah so I assume you know about his daughter?”

“Inara”, you corrected him, “Yes, been taking care of her for a while now.”

“Wow, you even know her name. I don’t get any other info than it’s a she. Hyung didn’t share much with the group, I think I get to know more than just gender considering I’ll be the best ever uncle in uncle history.”, he pouted. Cute, you thought.

“Uncle history?”

“As in the uncle there ever is, I’ll be the best.”

You can’t help yourself, it was a reflect when you let out a small chuckle, finding the boy in front of you really living up to his name.”

“Well, aren’t you charming? You’ll be the most handsome uncle there is.”

“Woah there, not most handsome, Seokjin hyung will kill me if he knows I got that title. More like the second handsome then? Seokjin hyung is a red rose, I’m just a sunflower. I can’t imagine someone choosing a sunflower over roses.”

“It is possible when the sunflower shines bright on its own.”

Jimin smiled down at you, funny that even when you’re in front one of the campus most good looking guy, your mind still thought of Yoongi. How Jimin’s smile didn’t give you the same warmth Yoongi did, is it something to be worried of? Jimin hold out his hand to you, which you take in with your own in a firm handshake.

“Let me introduce myself properly. Park Jimin, the one and only roommate of Min Yoongi. Nice to meet you.”

“Y/L/N Y/N, the one and only unofficial babysitter of the daughter of Min Yoongi. Nice to meet you too.”

“Since we’re heading the same way, let me give you a ride. As a thank you for making sure Min Yoongi still function properly as a human while I’m away.”

“He did that a lot?”

“What, drinking only black coffee and survive on nothing in his system while working on his music? Yeah, that’s the ordinary life of Min Yoongi.”

You frown, you thought the burden of having to take care of a young kid affects him to live normally as a human being but no, Jimin told you it’s just the normal cycle of a Min Yoongi. It worries you, he’ll suffer from malnutrition at this rate.

“Oh but no worries, you changed his habit. Believe it or not, I found him at the newly opened café a few blocks away from the campus and get this, having lunch! I never thought I would live to see Min Yoongi have lunch”, Jimin dramatically put his hand on his heart, looking up to the sky.

“He…didnot have lunch before?”

“Never an early one, always late in the evening or he’ll have early dinner instead, after some serious music threatening of course.”

That’s weird, in your presence, Min Yoongi never miss his meal, if there’s such thing as persuading, he’s the one that persuades you to eat properly. Jimin must’ve been talking about the wrong guy.

☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ:⠀ ⋆.:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾

The knock on the door pulls Yoongi out from his trance of despair. He put away the broken shards in hand into the bin before turning to her daughter who had been smiling at her all along.

“No Inara, in this household we don’t throw mugs.”

The kid offer one of her blocks to Yoongi, to which Yoongi take it, “What am I gonna do with you huh little one?”

The knock came again and Yoongi put down the block, “Stay here, dad gonna open the door okay?”

After getting an incoherent chorus of answer from his daughter, he walks to the door, ready to invite Y/n in, but as soon his eyes landed on the person behind the door, he quickly closes it. The person outside pushes open the door, trying to hold Yoongi from closing it

“You’re dead to me”

“Aww come on, let me in.”

“No”

“I got my own share to see her.”

“Yoongi”, another soft familiar voice calls out his name and soon Yoongi opened the door as wide as it can get, a smile etched on his face.

“Oh you’re here.”

“Sorry I’m late, I met Jimin on the way here.”

Yoongi glance to the person beside you, eyes scanning him from top to bottom, “I figured. Come in, Inara had been throwing mugs again.”

You stepped in pass Yoongi right into the living room to meet a lonely kid playing on her own. She need more toys, you thought. Yoongi, on the other hand, had been struggling to close back the door.

“Hyung come one! I’m your roommate.”

“Was, as in past tense. You really think you could just leave me alone in the dorm and come back just like that?”

“I was at Taehyung’s! He need some company after his first time moving out from his parents. Anyway, not that you’re ever alone though.”

Yoongi stopped trying to close the door and look straight into Jimin’s eyes, his 1 cm difference in height gives him advantage, somehow. “10 minutes max.”

“What?”

“You got 10 minutes before I’ll kick you out again.”

“That’s not fair, I wanna play with Inara”

“Do it in 10 minutes”

He sighs before stepping inside, letting Yoongi closed the door as he walked into the living room. His frown earlier slowly turn into a wide grin upon seeing a small figure munching on kitten squeaky toy in front of the sofa. The kid stop munching when she realizes Jimin’s presence.

“Hello there”, Jimin whispered.

Inara hands out the kitten squeaky toy to Jimin, the snout wet from saliva but even then Jimin take it without second thought. “Thank you, I’m Jimin, your sunflower uncle”, he keeps his voice considerable low, like speaking out loud could scare the kid away. Inara looks at her, her mouth forms into a pout as her small hand touches Jimin’s cheek.

“Hyung, I’m gonna cry”

“Outside, not here. I’ve seen you cry and it’s nowhere comfortable.”

“How can you keep this treasure away from us, she’s such an angel.”

Jimin’s remark earned a loud scoff from both you and Yoongi. “Stay around long enough, I’m sure you’ll rephrase your words. Here Yoongi.”

You offered a mug of coffee to Yoongi, to which he took with a smile on his lips. Jimin watched the whole scene in awe, standing up to take the mug you offered to him then proceed to join Yoongi on the sofa. You sit down in front of Inara with your bag in hand and pull out a green box from it.

“Look Inara”, you shake the box and watch Inara’s eyes grow wider, her attention is definitely on you now. She throw the block in her hand away and unintentionally hit Jimin’s shin.

“Ow!”

Yoongi laughed over, his hand holding his stomach, his laugh sounds maniac to some, even to Jimin at the moment. Jimin leapt over his hyung to head locked him, to which Yoongi tried to escaped helplessly.

Ignoring the commotion behind you opened the box and pull out a cracker before handing it to Inara.” I don’t know what flavour you like, I just brought the strawberry one because well…your father like strawberry stuff, I just thought the gene got passed down.”

Inara took a bite of it before looking up at you, eyes wide and she started to talk, well more like attempt to because it all come out incoherent anyway.

“This is Strawberry flavoured. Straw-bey-ry”, you pronounced it one by one so she understand.

Inara proceed to speak unclearly, basically attacking you with her own words that only she understands. It’s cute if she’s not so aggressively swing her cracker that some of the crumbs fall down.

“You don’t like it? How about pumpkin one?”

She let out a small cry of despair.

“Okay okay not pumpkin, banana?”

Inara suddenly fall quiet, eyes sparkling, mouth open so wide that another drop of saliva fall down.

“Banana then, you really have a thing for banana huh?”

You just watched Inara quietly munching on the rice cracker. Once in awhile she offered it to you so you took a small bite of it, grimacing at the mixed taste of strawberry and saliva. Unknown to you, Yoongi and Jimin had stop their small fight to look at you, well, mostly Yoongi did anyway. Jimin look between you and Yoongi, back to you then to Yoongi again. Slowly, a knowing smile appeared.

He leaned in and whispered, “You should just date her hyung.”

“What”, Yoongi bashfully look straight to Jimin and headlock him. “Stop saying nonsense”

Yoongi didn’t have anything against you, he was sure of it. The warmth that spreads in his chest is nothing, he didn’t turn on the ac, that’s why he was sweating. Yeah, that’s why.

#bts #bts x reader #bts yoongi #bts imagines #singledadau #yoongi imagine #bts fluff #bts x y/n

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hazza-bear-care · 5 years ago

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Babie Crue (3/?)

A/N: This will be the second time I’m writing this because it accidentally got deleted when I went to add tags. I hope this one is more acceptable than the first draft, because guess who didn’t save the first draft.... ME!! I’m so sorry for not only leaving you guys waiting for the third part of this series, but also deleting it on accident. I FINALLY have a new laptop, so hopefully I’ll be able to update everything as soon as possible. Love ya!

Pairings: The Dirt! Motley Crue X OC, Eventual MGK! Tommy Lee X OC, Possible Douglas Booth! Nikki Sixx X OC

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of drug use, smoking, and alcohol. Wowee I’m so pissed at myself for deleting this.

Description: I don’ t remember exactly what happened, but Tommy somehow convinced Doc to let Cam join the Ozzy Osbourne/ Motley Crue tour.

~~~~~~~

“Hey, Doc! This is Cam! She’s a friend of mine from high school!” Tommy screamed over the music blaring through the small apartment.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Cam!” Doc responded holding his hand out for Cam to shake.

“I actually have a question regarding Cam, Doc. I was actually wondering if she and her daughter could join us on tour.” Tommy questioned, ignoring the looks people were throwing in his direction.

“You have a kid?!” Zutaut and Vince yelled, shocked at the revelation.

“Tommy are you serious, man? Look around you! This is not the proper world to bring up a baby in!” Mick yelled. Tommy waved everyone off, staring at Doc and waiting for his reaction. The drummer could see the gears in the manager’s head grinding as he thought.

“Tommy, Gracie and I are fine here. I have a steady job and your parents are angels. I agree with Mick on this,” Cam argued, suddenly feeling small under everyone’s scrutinous gaze.

“I’m sure Doc could give you a job. Hell, he could probably even pay you better than that shitty restaurant ever could! So, Doc, what do you say?” Tommy defended. The manager turned his attention to Cam, the 20 year old mother gnawing on her lip as her nerves began to get the best of her.

“So you work at a restaurant. How old is your daughter?” Doc asked.

“Grace is almost six months old, Doc.” Cam answered, a slight smile on her face as she thought about her daughter.

“She’s so great, Doc. As low maintenance as babies get, Gracie’s probably the lowest of the low. She’s the cutest little bundle. You’re going to love her, Doc,” Tommy gushed. Cam smiled and furrowed her eyebrows, looking at the other Motley Crue guys in confusion. Nikki and Mick beamed, genuinely surprised with the words coming out of Tommy’s mouth while Vince mimicked vomiting behind Doc’s back.

“I don’t know what I can offer you job wise, but I can very clearly see how much you and Grace mean to Tommy and the rest of the guys. So, pack up your clothes and every diaper you own because you’re coming on tour!” Tommy whooped and wrapped Cam in a hug, spinning the girl around as the other guys joined, a group hug ensuing.

~~~~~~~

Tour life was great so far. Having a baby around actually kept the band in check, much to the surprise of Doc and Tom. The raucous after parties halted past 2 am, Cam’s hotel rooms or bunks on the bus were put on lockdown, and late night booze runs had a few additions: diapers and formula.

In terms of parties, Mick was the most considerate when thinking of Grace. The guitarist would usually opt for a bottle or two of vodka, take his pain meds for his back problems, and then pass out in his room.

Tommy was a close second: the drummer would get buzzed enough to be annoying, add a few bumps of coke to keep his high going for a few hours, and he was done. He usually ended up passed out face down, ass up anywhere he lands when his buzz wears off. Cam found him after he broke his protocol one night, face planted in a pool of his own vomit. Trying not to puke herself, Cam got Tommy cleaned up and back on the bus all while he muttered about how sorry he was and if he woke up Grace at any point in the night.

Nikki and Vince, on the other hand, were intolerable when it came to the parties. There were nights where Vince kept the mother and daughter awake with the screaming coming from his room due to the countless groupies he fucked. Nikki sometimes roped Tommy and Vince into trashing the hotel floors that were rented out for the entire band, banging on walls and doors, screaming “wake up assholes!” as the entire hotel was awoken from their slumber.

There were other times where Nikki and Vince used Grace before and after the shows to rope in their chicks for the evening because according to Vince, “there’s nothing drunk chicks like more than a dude who can handle a baby”, to which Cam rolled her eyes and ripped the baby away from them.

The one thing Cam was cautious about was Ozzy fucking Osbourne. Motley Crue had their sober moments, especially around Grace, but Ozzy could never be sober even if his liver and kidneys depended on it. She knew that Ozzy had children of his own, but she didn’t know how exactly he acted around his children. Cameo always made sure that if Ozzy was around, she or a trusted member of Motley Crue always had an eye on the baby, especially when the older rockstar somehow snatched Grace away from whoever she was with.

Mick and Tommy bounced between watching Cam and Grace, because if at any point Ozzy’ s actions bothered Cam, they would swoop in and take Grace from the drunk singer, making up a bullshit excuse like she needed to be fed or changed. Cam knew she would be eternally grateful for the band and everything they had done for her and Grace, knowing 100% that there would be no way to ever repay them.

~~~~~~~

“Tommy! Get your ass back in this chair!” Ruby, the hair stylist, yelled at Tommy’s retreating back. “Can anyone go get him? Cameo? Mick?” Ruby turned her attention back to Vince as Cam stood and handed Grace and her bottle off to Mick, the vampiric man adapting his demeanor instantly.

Cam left the greenroom, heading in the direction she hoped Tommy had travelled down as well. As she ran down the hall, Tom greeted her.

“Hey, Zutaut! Have you seen Tommy? He ran out before Ruby could do his hair.” Cam ran a hand through her hair, trying to regulate her breathing as she waited for an answer.

“Yeah, actually. Keep going down the hall and head towards the stage. He said he wanted to ‘survey the crowd’. Hey, do you want to go do something with me later? I’m sure the guys wouldn’t mind watching Grace.” Cam rolled her eyes, holding her hand up to Tom’s mouth, ultimately shutting up the spineless record label rep.

“Zutaut, have you ever wondered why I call you buy your last name? Or why I never let you hold my daughter? It’s because I don’t fucking like you. So, kindly stay away from my daughter and I and do your fucking job!” With that, Cam turned and ran towards the stage, leaving Tom stunned in the hall.

Tommy was staring out from behind the curtain, the crowd growing anxious. Cam silently shuffled up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder, causing the drummer to jump.

“You good?” Cam asked, silently chuckling at Tommy’s reaction.

“Yeah. Fucking fantastic, Cam.” Tommy mumbled, brushing past her and sitting himself on a sound equipment trunk. Cam joined him and rubbed his back, trying to prevent a mental breakdown from happening.

“What’s wrong, Tommy? You’ve never acted like this before a show.”

“This isn’t just another gig at Whisky, Cam. This is a fucking stadium full of people! What if they hate us? What if we fuck up this show, which will ultimately fuck up our career, and end up breaking up the fucking band?” Tommy muttered, scratching the back of his neck and holding his head in his hands.

“Well, don’t fuck up,” Cam responded, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’m serious, Cameo! This isn’t a fucking joke!” Tommy whisper-yelled.

“So am I, Tommy! Look, this is what, your tenth show on this tour? Did you ever stop to consider that if Motley Crue was as shitty as you say, you wouldn’t still be here? Obviously you guys are doing something right, and you’re pretty amazing at it, so just give yourself a little break, okay? Now, come on back to the greenroom so Ruby can do your hair.” Cam stood and took Tommy’s hand, attempting to tug the man into a standing position. When the drummer didn’t move, Cam sighed and quickly sat down again.

“Cam, I’m not too sure I can do this.” Cam kissed Tommy’s shoulder and laid her head on it, quite a scandalous idea popping into her head.

“Hey Tommy? If you come back to the greenroom and patiently let Ruby finish your hair and makeup, I’ll flash you after the show.” With this promise, the drummer perked up and grabbed Cam’s hand, running back to the greenroom as quickly as he had run out of it.

~~~~~~~

“Before we end our show tonight, we’d like to try something new. A couple months ago, a gorgeous friend of Tommy’s popped up with a beautiful baby in her arms. She is now responsible for rounding us up when we get crazy and fucked up, so we would like to end this show with a special song dedicated to our friend Cameo and her daughter Grace!” Vince came to where Cam was standing backstage and dragged her out into public view, the unforgettable chords of Elton John’s “Your Song” beginning to play in the background.

Vince held her close as the band serenaded Cam, the mother a blubbering and sobbing mess. When the song ended, Cam hugged the singer, thanking him silently.

“Don’t thank me sweetheart; thank Tommy. It was his idea.” Nodding, Vince escorted the young mother backstage as roadies began to disassemble what remained of Motley Crue’s set. They all ran to the greenroom, the party beginning instantly.

“Thank you guys so much! It really meant a lot to me,” Cam whined happily, hugging each of them, spending a little extra time in her embrace with Tommy.

“You’re very welcome, sweets. Now, don’t forget about what you promised me earlier, Cameo.” Tommy whispered seductively in Cam’s ear, causing a shiver to roll down her spine. This was going to be a long night.

~~~~~~~

A/N: Again, guys, I am so sorry that this part got deleted. I tried to piece as much of it back together as I could, and I’ m actually happier with this one than the original. I hope you enjoyed it!

Taglist:

@kellysimagines

#motley crue imagine #tommy lee x oc #tommy lee blurb #nikki sixx x oc #tommy lee imagine #motley crue series #vince neil #mick mars #tommy lee #nikki sixx

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 7 years ago

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Safe with me (Epilogue)

Summary: When an unknown threat enters your life, protection is offered at the highest level. As Bucky Barnes comes into your life, the game changes, and you realise falling for the man tasked with keeping you safe is the last thing you expected.

Characters: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Brief description of smut. Mentions of depression.

A/N: The end has arrived! This Epilogue is a complete homage to CHAPTER 1, so I suggest giving that a quick re-read before diving in.

I am genuinely blown away at the reception this story has received - I never expected it and I’m SO grateful to each and every one of you. I’ve spent six months writing these characters and thinking daily about this story, and I’ll admit I’m feeling a little emotional about the end. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing.

SAFE WITH ME MASTERLIST PREVIOUS CHAPTER

*****

NEW YORK TIMES SUNDAY EDITION Features Section

The measure of a man By Anonymous

James Buchanan Barnes sits primly before me, mismatched hands folded on the table. Pushing a cup of coffee toward him, he unlinks his fingers, clasping them gratefully around the steaming mug.

"I don't really do interviews," he confesses. "Not sure what to say."

"That's okay," I tell him. "This isn't about being perfect or saying the exact right thing. It's just about being yourself."

He makes a face at that. "I don't think myself is something people want to hear about."

Looking into his nervous blue eyes, I give him a reassuring smile. "They absolutely will. People want to know the man behind the mask."

He doesn't like talking about himself, has never been overly comfortable in the limelight. Rolling his shoulders back, he takes a deep breath and gives me a tentative nod.

Like any good story, context is important, so we begin down the familiar route.

"Let's start at the beginning."

******

Crisp morning air wafts through the small kiosk, fluttering the bright covers of the magazines and newspapers lining the shelves. Taking a long drink of coffee, Riz smacks his lips and leans over his front counter, watching Manhattan's morning routine play out around him.

From out of nowhere, a giant stack of newspapers is hurled onto the counter and Riz tumbles back in surprise.

"What the - "

Bucky Barnes stands before him, wearing an old leather jacket and a delighted grin.

"Morning Riz, I need them all today. Oh, and by the way," he digs into his back pocket and pulls out a crumpled sheet of paper, tossing it carelessly on the stack. "Got something to show you."

The black ink is smudged in places, but there it is, the numbered boxes filled with careful block letters.

Last Sunday's New York Times crossword.

Completed.

Riz stares at the paper in astonishment. Looking up, he begins to laugh at the smug triumph on Bucky's face.

"I fucking told you I'd finish one," Bucky says, slapping his hand on the puzzle once more to reinforce his success.

Still chuckling, Riz reaches below the counter and produces a dusty rectangle wrapped in tissue paper. Bucky peels away the layers, grinning happily when it reveals a black picture frame. Riz gives him a friendly slap on the arm.

"My friend, I never doubted you."

*****

He needs no real introduction.

Familiar to anyone who cracked a grade school history book in the last seventy years, James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes is a quiet enigma. The American public first met him in 1943 as Sergeant Barnes, Howling Commando and right-hand man to Captain America. His lopsided smile became so well-loved, a comforting staple in the news cycle, the women on the home front declared it a national treasure. America swooned for him, cheered for him, prayed for him, and ultimately mourned him when the reports came home of his KIA status in 1945.

When he was resurrected in Washington DC, amid a whirlwind of gunfire and explosions, he was another figure entirely. Life ripped to pieces and commandeered for decades by Hydra's brutality, he bore only a faint resemblance to the grainy black and white pictures of America's charming hero.

The history books lean into war, into combat, into the tragedy of his service; it's where the facts are most prevalent, irrefutable and absolute. Barnes' first war was for his country and his second was against it, but both lead to an unfortunate truth – most of his life, has been death.

But, beneath that iron exterior lies something else. Focused on consolidating facts and figures, history so often forgets that war is comprised of a much more important number – the beating hearts and terrified souls of those on the battlefield. Soldiers are the flesh and bone reflection of a generation's ideals and Barnes is no different than the millions who came before and after him. Stretched across the burned-out fields and shattered cities of Europe, his first war was one who's consequences still reverberate decades later.

That was his first taste of battle. It was harsh and unforgiving, but in the grand scheme of things – it was blessedly brief.

His next experience would last a lifetime. As his world careened out of control, his moral compass was broken and recalibrated, setting a man full of soft smiles and boisterous laughter, down a path of unimaginable pain and torment.

Through the course of both his lives, he's been known by a million different names. James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky Barnes. Sergeant Barnes. The Asset. The Winter Soldier. Before we go any further, I want to make something crystal clear.

The man you will meet, is more than a number stamped on a paper-thin set of dog tags, clinking loose around his neck. He is more than the shadowy name in a ledger of Hydra weaponry, carefully and perfectly aimed. He is more than a salacious headline, blazoned across gossip sites for the world to read.

He is more. He is much, much more.

I want everyone to know him, because Bucky Barnes is worth knowing.

*****

Walking through the Tower, Bucky's giant stack of papers grows smaller. Opening every page to the Features section, he leaves copies scattered in every room he visits.

The coffee table in the common room. One in Steve's bedroom. One in Wilson's bathroom. One in Natasha's mailbox, because no fucking way would he try to sneak in her room. A copy in the library. One on each treadmill in the gym. One on Bruce's desk. Pausing outside Tony's lab, he sends the online link to Pepper and asks if she can post it to the official Avengers social handles. She responds with a winky face telling him it's already been done.

"FRIDAY, did you see it?" he asks excitedly, waving his last copy as he plops down on the sofa.

"Yes, Sergeant Barnes," comes the Irish lilt and Bucky wonders for the millionth time, how an AI can sound amused. "I found it to be an inspiring piece. She's a lovely writer."

"Yeah," he agrees fervently. "She's fucking awesome." Rustling the pages, he finds the article and folds it open, swallowing the lump in his throat when he reads the headline. Even though he has your story memorized at this point, he sinks into the words one more time.

*****

"Talk to me about growing up with Steve," I say, turning my phone to record and setting it between us.

Barnes looks to the ceiling and gives a low whistle. "Jesus Mary and Joseph," he says, "that kid needed a leash. Stubborn ass little ball of piss and vinegar, always getting me in trouble."

The pair met in a baseball field behind their apartment complex, when Barnes was seven-years-old, kick starting the most famous friendship in modern history.

"First time I met him, he was getting his ass handed to him. When I tried to pull him away, he was so wound up he took a swing at me. Got an arm around him and the little punk bit me. Still got the scar." Barnes extends his right forearm with a grin, showing me a faint pair of half-moons on his skin. "I knocked him upside the head, and then he wipes his bloody nose on his shirt and apologizes. Been best friends ever since."

Rogers is well-known for diving head-first into any fray, a behaviour an exasperated Barnes maintains he hasn't changed since that sweaty summer day in 1925.

"Look, he's a reckless idiot," Barnes states. "My best damn friend in the world and I'd do anything for him, but he's still an idiot."

Barnes is a colorful storyteller, spinning tales about their adventures through the streets and alleys of pre-war Brooklyn. While he talks, I find myself picking up on a theme, the word future cropping up several times. He doesn't notice until I ask.

"When you were growing up, what did you see in your future? How did you picture your life?"

Barnes raises his eyebrows at the question, falling silent as he thinks. He scratches his fingernail on the edge of the table for a few minutes, trying to articulate his thoughts. When it comes, I'm surprised.

"Not as a soldier. I never wanted to be a soldier." He bites his lip and when he speaks again, his voice is soft. "Guess I wanted what everyone wanted then. Get a decent job, put food on the table, buy a house someday. Find a nice girl to settle down with, maybe raise a couple kids. Grow old together." He gives me a wistful smile. "Always liked learning, would've loved to go to college."

The simplicity of his response is all the more heart-breaking, considering the trajectory he would later be set upon.

"All I ever really wanted, was a quiet, ordinary life."

******

The bruises littering your skin have mostly faded, the rope markings around your neck nothing more than a faint rash. Unconsciously rubbing the scabs on your wrists, you find the pain is gone, leaving behind a dull ache.

It's been over a week since that night and the entire experience still seems like a bizarre dream. There will be plenty of time spent parsing apart the details with a professional, and in fact Steve already booked you several months of weekly appointments with an experienced trauma therapist he knows through the VA. It's a relief to have that on the horizon, someone to help you work through everything.

Behind the walls of your heart though, a strange feeling emerges, one that is deeply frustrating. After everything he did, it kills you to think the traitorous thought, but your brain refuses to cooperate and there it is – there's a tiny part of you mourning the loss of a man you thought you knew. Not the man he really was – Jack deserved his violently bloody ending and you would never take that from Bucky. But Jack was someone you trusted, a mentor and friend, and you're bitterly disappointed in your inability to see the real man until it was nearly too late.

Nearly too late.

"But it wasn't," you say out loud, irrationally proud of the steadiness in your voice.

At Bucky's insistence, you've been comfortably ensconced in the Brooklyn apartment since you came back. Away from the bustle of the city, it's been heaven to hide away, resting and recovering.

Well, and of course – spending every possible minute with the moody, uncontrollable, uncooperative bucket of sarcasm that is none other than James Buchanan Barnes.

Waiting for him to come home, you wander through the comfortable apartment. Picking up his well-worn copy of The Book Thief, you tuck it carefully into the empty slot on the bookcase, tracing your fingers over the lettering down the spine, smiling to yourself.

Stepping back, you scan the familiar artwork on the walls, marvelling again at the cracked and peeling photos, at the beauty of Steve's sketches. Right then, your eye pauses when you notice two new additions.

In a shiny green frame, is an adorably childish marker drawing of a smiling Bucky holding the hand of a little girl with dark pigtails. Everyone is dressed head to toe in pink and the bottom is signed 'Gracie' in bright purple letters. The sweetness of the statement, of Bucky going to the trouble of framing and hanging artwork an adoring kid drew for him, makes your heart flip.

Above the drawing, in a simple black frame, is the other new addition. Peering closer, you find the selfie you took the night of Stark's party. Swallowing hard, you reach to touch the frame, losing yourself in memories of that night. The smooth motion of Bucky swaying, the feel of sinking into his arms, his quiet hums of pleasure sending ripples down your back.

"I had Stark get it off your phone for me," the husky voice is unexpected and you let out a bloodcurdling shriek when strong arms wind around you. Bucky chuckles, holding you tight, mouthing at the soft skin behind your ear. "Sorry, thought you heard me. Least you didn't attack me with M&Ms this time."

"That's only because we're out of them," you grumble, turning in his arms. Bucky grins, rubbing his nose to yours, before catching your lips with a sweet kiss. When he presses you against the wall, you feel every delicious inch of his heavy body and you shiver at the promise behind his hard grip. Smiling into the kiss, you slide your tongue against his, feeling the heat pool in your belly, before reluctantly pulling away. He gives a soft whine at the loss of contact, full lips dropping into a pout.

"Pathetic, Barnes," you sigh and he pouts harder. "Fine, you giant fucking baby. Ravish me then."

"Hell yes," he breathes, lifting you easily and tugging your legs tight around his waist. "Hell fucking yes."

*****

Ordinary was a sweet word, but it wasn't meant to be. Unknown to him, the darkest day of his life was drawing closer, one that would spin him in an entirely new direction.

Searching for more context around that horrifying day, I went straight to the man who saw it first-hand. He sheds the mantle when he talks about this memory, no longer Captain America – here, he is only Steve Rogers, a helpless young man watching his best friend fall to his death.

"I couldn't do anything. Nothing. I just watched him slip away," Rogers says. His guilt is palpable, the musings of a man shouldering far too much. "It pisses him off when I say it, but it's the truth. Won't ever forgive myself."

Barnes shakes his head when I mention this, adamant in his refusal to assign a hint of blame.

"There was nothing he could have done," he states emphatically. "Absolutely nothing."

While Rogers can recount every horrifying detail of that day, in this small fact, Barnes is lucky. I ask him what he remembers.

"It's funny. I remember wondering how the hell my hands could be so sweaty when it was so damn cold outside." He flexes the fingers of his right hand, considering them. "I lost my grip on the bar and I heard Steve screaming. I don't remember the fall itself though, must've passed out on the way down. Next thing I know, I open my eyes and I'm half-buried in snow. There was – the snow was red. All around me, bright red. My arm wouldn't move and I couldn't feel anything from the waist down."

Most of Hydra's files from the start of the Winter Soldier project have been lost, either as they changed hands over the years or through the natural decay of time, but those recovered allude to Barnes suffering catastrophic injuries in the fall that should have left him dead. His left arm was found hanging by no more than a few strips of muscle, his spine was shattered, his lungs nearly collapsed. There was no possible reason he should have survived.

But – running through his veins was something unexpected.

"Knock-off Nazi trash serum," Barnes drily refers to it. During his weeks spent as a POW in Azzano (the Hydra work camp he was liberated from in 1943), Barnes was an unwilling participant in a number of experiments conducted by that same Arnim Zola he was chasing that day on the train.

Laying in the snow, Barnes admits he thought he'd reached the end of the line. Every soldier entertains the possibility they may never return home, and Barnes made peace with that fact.

"Here's the thing. I had a family waiting for me in Brooklyn. A baby sister I promised to give away at her wedding. A best friend I left hanging on a busted train miles above me. I was 27-years-old, lost in another country, and I sure as hell didn't want to die. I kept thinking I had so much damn living left in me, so much I wanted to do."

His words are tragic in their familiarity, a prayer to be repeated by thousands of voices in the decades that followed, from Korea to Vietnam, from Iraq to Afghanistan. Generations of young men and women just like Sergeant Barnes, left broken and bleeding on foreign soil.

He cracks the knuckles on his right hand while he thinks.

"It seemed inevitable though, so I tried to get myself ready. Remember it being dead silent in that canyon, so I had plenty of time to think. Plenty of time to cry. There were definitely tears. But the longer I laid there, I started to feel warm and things didn't hurt so much. So, I thought hell, if I gotta go, maybe this is better than taking a bullet and bleeding out in the middle of a firefight." Barnes gives a hollow smile. "But right as it got dark, I heard dogs barking. Next thing I know, I'm surrounded by men shouting in Russian. Couldn't move a damn finger, couldn't do anything but lay there and panic. Took a boot to the head and passed out."

Here, he gets a distant look in his eyes. "The next time I woke up, it was – I don't understand it, I don't know how, but I guess it was months later. I was strapped to a table and the whole left side of my body felt like I'd been hit by a train." His lip curls. "And there was Zola, looking down at me again. Thought I was having a flashback."

It wasn't a flashback. On that surgery table, was the start of a waking nightmare that would continue unabated for the next seventy years.

******

The first night you spent together was marked with heat and urgency, a clear desperation to feel each other before the moment was lost. When Bucky pushed you away the morning after, it broke your heart, but the night itself, before all hell broke loose – it was beautiful and perfect and right. You wouldn't trade it for anything.

Now, though.

Now.

Fuck.

All his tight control and fervent attention to detail is one thing when he shifts into work mode – but in bed, when he turns that intense focus directly on you, he is devastating. Every stroke of his fingers comes slow and purposeful, building the heat in your stomach. Every kiss drips with love against your sweaty skin, full of unspoken promise. Every move of his body in yours is deliberate, wringing every last drop of pleasure he can coax from your body.

He was the kind of lover you dreamed about, committed to pleasing you above all else, making you feel everything again and again and then once more for good measure.

Never breaking his steady rhythm, Bucky now pulls you to your knees, your back flush against his chest. Wrapping his arm tight across your breasts, his tongue drags a leisurely line up your neck, his other hand slipping between your legs.

Breathless little grunts fall from his lips, warm panting against your skin with each sharp snap of his hips. Closing your eyes, you mirror his movements, clinging to the cool metal at your chest, desire crawling up your spine when you reach down and feel his fingers rubbing quickly.

Murmuring filthy little comments in your ear as he pushes into you, his words spark some unknown part of you that apparently lives for the sound of Bucky Barnes telling you how good you make him feel, how much he loves fucking you. Breath suddenly wrenched from your lungs, you tumble headfirst over the edge with a low, satisfied moan.

"There you go, that's it," he whispers encouragingly, sucking the smooth skin on your shoulder as you tremble in his arms, spiraling further and further.

You hope you never stop falling.

*****

Memories are a strange thing.

Through his time with Hydra, Barnes had his brain repeatedly wiped, cleared and cleaned out again and again. Since his return to the land of the living, thanks to intensive therapy and a determined Captain Rogers, he has broad strokes and frames of reference back in his life, remembrances before the fall settled firmly in his brain. But vestiges of his past still linger, and his time with Hydra has resulted in a sort of shared mental capacity.

"There's another guy in your life," I begin hesitantly and I see Barnes' lips twitch.

"That's one way to put it," he says.

When Barnes speaks of the Winter Soldier, his expression grows grim. The lines of his life are irrevocably tied to this legendary presence, a ghost sitting on the fringes of his mind, something more myth than reality. It is a heavy burden to bear.

"For the longest time, I tried to keep us separate. The Soldier was one thing. I was another. It was easier to blame all the terrible things that happened on him, rather than admit I played any part in it." I remind him he didn't – that's the fundamental issue with brainwashing, and he gives me a patient smile. "In theory, I know. All those years, it wasn't me. I know. But I still did it."

On a personal level, I own a single memory of the Winter Soldier, one that is overwhelming in its complexity. He was everything you've imagined. Hard. Violent. Angry. But behind that mask, I found a man I never expected. Gentle. Confused. Protective. Kind. The Soldier was a kaleidoscope of emotions, neatly packaged in the mind of a man who spent his entire life at the mercy of others.

I will not condone his past and neither will Barnes, but I highlight this simply to signal the opportunity for redemption. Earning that redemption has been a long process, one Barnes started by first bringing back his memories of their shared past. He recalls the experience of remembering cautiously, the process itself a memory that makes him flinch.

"There were days when nothing would happen. Mind would just stay white, it wouldn't show me anything. That was frustrating, but also kind of a relief. If I couldn't remember, then I didn't have to face up to the things I'd done. But other days. God." He blows out a huge breath and leans back in his chair, raking his hands through his dark hair. "They came back with a vengeance."

Sometimes the memories were hazy, surreal fever dreams that felt confusing in their reality. Other times, they were shockingly vivid, nightmares from which he visibly shudders as he recalls.

Not everything was returned, which is both a blessing and a curse. Some things his brain refuses to allow in, a coping mechanism he doesn't try too hard to unravel. He knows there are some things better left forgotten.

But where he can, as much as he can, he is adamant about making amends. He understands it won't change the past. That's not the point.

When he breaks it down for me, I ask a loaded question. Is there a measure of peace that comes with remembering? His nose wrinkles as he thinks, playing with the coffee mug still in his hands. One thing about Bucky Barnes, is that he never delivers a half-baked response. When he finally answers, his words have a philosophical bend.

"Yes. I've come to grips with the fact that all those years weren't something I could control. I don't like to remember, but I think I owe it to people." He nods slowly while he speaks, as if convincing his own heart to get in line. "If remembering is my penance, if my suffering gives others peace, then I guess yeah – I'm happy to pay it."

*****

Sucking tiny hickeys down his neck, you laugh at the sound of his pleased little purrs. Leaving one last purpley-red bruise above his heart, you settle comfortably between his legs and fold your hands across his bare chest. Propping your chin on your knuckles, you study him.

"Do you know my first impression of you, the day we met?"

Bucky raises a lazy eyebrow and grins. "Shock at how devastatingly handsome I was?"

"Don't get cocky Barnes, you're not that good in bed."

"Yes, I am," he promptly replies.

Wiggling against him, you rub your cheek against the bristly hair on his chest. "Hmmm. True. Anyway, I remember that day, you were acting all pissy and annoyed, big shocker I know, and I was looking at your scruffy face – "

"I didn't have time to shave that morning," he interrupts.

"And all your fluffy hair – "

"I was having a great hair day," he confirms.

"And that old leather jacket – "

"It's my favorite jacket, makes me look sexy and intimidating," he says.

"Buck, I'm trying to tell a story here."

"Right. Sorry babe."

"Anyway. You were standing there with your scruffy face and fluffy hair and that leather jacket, and I kept thinking you were the kind of guy who'd screw a girl in a bar bathroom, slap her ass, and never call."

"That sounds very unsanitary," he whispers, tapping your nose lightly. "But if you really want to try, I'll give it a go."

"What a saint."

"I really am."

*****

Just thinking about everything Barnes has experienced is enough to make my brain ache. Imagining what it must have been like for him, is baffling.

"All those years, through everything – how did you cope with it all?"

"I fought it for a long time, until they figured out how to wipe it all out – my memories, who I was. The longer I was out of cryofreeze, the more random thoughts would come back, but it was so confusing. I'd end up trying to compartmentalise it all. Separate it out, put parts of my life and my memories into little boxes in my head. It was the only way I could deal with it.

His ability to compartmentalise and separate himself from the situation at hand, would prove to be useful, a common coping method for trauma survivors. "I'd kind of retreat into myself. I got very good at finding safe spaces in my head." He gives a nonchalant shrug. "Knew if I didn't, there'd be hell to pay."

He must have learned new things then, other ways of coping. What gets him through the days now?

"I guess – it's like, you just put one foot in front of the other. Every day, you get up and do it and at some point, it becomes second nature."

"What was it like in the beginning?"

Rubbing his jaw, he shakes his head. "It was terrible. There were weeks I didn't want to get out of bed. Was terrified of what I might do, who I might see. And everything just felt – heavy, I guess? Not sure that's the right word. It was like my brain wanted to give up, but my body wasn't done yet. I hid from real life for a long time."

Known during WW2 as Combat Stress Reaction, Barnes was familiar with his symptoms. It took no time at all to diagnose him with one of the most disturbingly common conditions affecting those in service: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).

"It wasn't something we talked about back then," he says. "But we all knew what it was. People just tried to deal with it though, they didn't look for help."

The world has changed for the better and now discussions around this topic are no longer taboo. Even then, Barnes says he initially found it difficult, because the idea of it – of help – was such a foreign concept. Now though, he's an enthusiastic supporter.

"We don't talk about it enough," he says firmly. "It's better now, but we need to be more open and honest with each other, so we can figure out how to live." Tipping his mug back, he drains the last dregs of coffee. "Humans are weird, you know? We make things hard sometimes and we shouldn't. You can't be afraid to ask for help. You're not alone."

*****

Bucky picks up his phone and gives a cursory glance at the list of notifications. The screen lights up with message after message, line after line, and he scrolls through nervously, before he realizes what he's seeing.

"Jesus H Christ."

Feeling your heart lurch, you look at him in alarm. "What? What happened?"

Slowly, he turns his phone screen to face you, eyes comically wide, face bone white.

"I'm trending on Twitter."

*****

Part of me expected Barnes to have a limited knowledge of culture and history. He likes to feign confusion at times ("honestly, screwing with Sam Wilson is a highlight in my life"), but in reality, he's one of the sharpest people I've met. Spending so much of his life as an undercover operative, he was required to keep up to speed on the world, always assimilating into new environments.

Finding a work-life balance is key though, so what are the things he does for fun, just for himself?

"Netflix," he declares. "is the greatest thing ever invented. You know Stranger Things, right? I love Eleven, that kid's my hero."

Agreeing wholeheartedly, I push him to expand. What else?

"Um, I like to eat? Tacos, pizza. Snickers. Breakfast cereal. Damn, yeah. Breakfast cereal. I could eat Captain Crunch every single day of my life. Captain Crunch kicks Captain America's ass."

On that note, he has a famous relationship with Steve Rogers, but what about the rest of the Avengers?

"Took me awhile to fall in with the team," he says matter of fact. "Didn't trust them and they sure as hell didn't trust me. But now? I'd take a bullet for any of them. They're – we're family."

Time for our interview is winding down, and Barnes is finally relaxed. With my final set of questions, I struggle to keep the smile off my face, but I can't help myself.

"You know you've got quite the status as a moody broody heartthrob, right?"

His eyes go wide at the question, a red flush instantly staining his cheeks. "What? No. No, that's – no. No. I'm definitely not – no. God no."

The look of horror on his face is entertaining and I wait for him to finish spluttering before I continue. "So, are you saying you're single? A free agent?"

He looks taken aback for a moment, but when realization arrives, along with a sparkle in his eye, he relaxes. He knows what I'm doing.

"I didn't say that."

"So – there's a special someone then?"

Barnes gives me that trademark smile and ducks his head. "Well, there's this girl."

"Tell me about her."

"She's a real pistol," he enthuses. "Smart. Funny. A real ball-breaker. Swears more than anyone I've ever met."

"She sounds like fun."

"She is," he agrees. Tilting his head, he fixes me with an intense stare and his voice grows serious. "She's got my whole damn heart, right in the palm of her hand. It's all hers. I'll spend every day if I need to, making sure she knows that."

At his words, my heart leaps. When I try to respond, I hear my voice crack.

"She's a lucky girl."

"Nah," he replies, bashful at the compliment. Reaching across the table, he picks up my hands and holds them tight. "I'm the lucky one. She makes me feel safe."

*****

"We haven't left this bed for a couple days. Should we go do something?" Drawing random little patterns across his skin, you pause at his nipple and give it a pinch.

"Nope, we're staying put," he says, shoving your fingers away and giving you a stern look. "That tickles."

"Does it?" Tweaking his nipple again, he yelps.

"Woman, don't you listen?"

"Sorry, couldn't hear you over the sounds of someone being a whiny bitch."

With an outraged growl, he rolls you over, using his knee to shove your legs open and pinning your arms above your head.

"Wanna try again?"

Batting your eyelashes at him, you mirror his earlier pout. "I was just saying how devilishly handsome you were and how much I love you."

Bucky grunts his approval. "That's what I thought."

Stretching up, you leave a sloppy kiss on his chin. "So, are we leaving or what?"

"Hard no," he shakes his head. "Made myself a promise, I'm not breaking it."

"Did you now? And what was that?"

"That if I got you back, if I didn't fuck it up again, I was keeping you in my bed for at least a week. Minimum."

"Hmmm," you say, trying to keep your face serious. "Sounds like a solid plan, except what if I want to shower?"

"Excellent," Bucky breathes, eyes lighting up at the question. "Then I'll join you. Never know what kind of trouble you'll find in the shower, when you're all wet and slick and soapy – yep, that's it. You're a dirty, dirty girl. Shower time you hussy, move your ass."

Scrambling off the bed, he tosses you over his shoulder and palms your bare ass, squeezing a handful. Giving you a playful smack, he stalks toward the bathroom, the sound of his happy laughter echoing through the apartment.

******

Recently, there was news coverage around the Avengers taking down a Hydra sleeper cell in upstate New York. The mission was led by Sergeant Barnes and was deemed a success, with the threat being fully eradicated.

That mission, was put in motion to save someone.

That someone, was me.

Here's the thing. In journalism, you need to remain unbiased and when I'm reporting on news, I'll always strive to report the unbiased facts. But if you haven't guessed yet, I have a more personal stake in this story.

Combine everything you know about James Buchanan Barnes, from annals of history to the words I've shared today, and you have a fact-based portrait of this remarkable man.

But facts are not what make up the measure of any human being.

Here's what else I know.

When he gets nervous, his palm sweats. He's terrible at sharing food and shamelessly blames his super soldier metabolism for that fact. When he concentrates, his nose scrunches up and when he laughs you can find little wrinkles circling his eyes. Sometimes when he can't sleep, he wanders down to the local rest home to visit with Alzheimer's patients, because he knows what it's like to not remember. He always keeps a crossword in his pocket because it keeps his brain sharp. He loves Rocky Road ice cream and fuzzy blankets and his favourite colour is actually pink. Bitter black coffee is his drug of choice and he could watch 'I Love Lucy' all day long.

Even now, as I hand you these snippets of his life and let you paint your own picture of the man so many still scathingly refer to as the Soldier, it's only a rough sketch. Like every person on this planet, Bucky Barnes is comprised of more complex layers and subtle nuances than it is possible to describe, a man full of contrasts. Made of unbreakable metal and soft touches, at times frighteningly rough and astonishingly gentle, swathed in despair and brimming with light. He's seen the blackest horrors lurking in the chaos of war and experienced first-hand the depravity of humanity, yet he remains one of the most compassionate people I've ever known.

The first day we met, I contemptuously declared "I don't do soft human-interest stories."

How times have changed.

Here I am, pen in hand and heart on my sleeve, so soft for this man I feel it in my bones. We live in a world where good does not always triumph over evil and where far too often, love is not enough. I am lucky beyond measure to have found Bucky Barnes. So here, at the end of my story, I leave these words, for him and him alone.

If Death sees fit to grant me his heart, I'll offer my own in return. Unreservedly, now and always.

*****

Bucky watches the shadows lengthen through the apartment as the sun sets. Eventually he'll get up and turn on a lamp to chase the dark away, but for now he's content to lay here with you humming sleepily, twirling a finger around his damp hair.

Sprawled together on his bed, tangled up in each other, the word flits through his mind. Bucky understands what he has now, what you gave to him. What it means to be –

Safe.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #safe with me #bucky barnes fic #bucky fic

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kodieoirskott · 7 years ago

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Happy Birthday Daniel (:

Fact: Our little Daniel is 19 in a couple of hours (17 minutes for me) and I hope he enjoys his day to the fullest. Thus the reason for this short. It’s all over the place and even though it’s only 1600 words, it took me two hours to write?? Any way...

Holding tightly onto the valuable box, you hesitantly stared at the doorbell. It was the 2nd of April, and Daniel had turned nineteen today. You and he had celebrated your birthdays together since you met in freshman year of High School, but this year your ritual was bound to be different.

He had a girlfriend- And you were fine with it, he seemed happy to have found someone, but you wished it would’ve been anyone other than her. Cora was a gorgeous girl and had been super kind to you, but you had always felt that something was off about her. She was all over the Daniel Seavey. The one who disappears on international tours for months and the one with a golden voice. That Daniel she knew and adored. The other Daniel, the one you grew up with, the one Christian boy who would talk about life as if he had experienced 90 years of it… Cora didn’t know that Daniel and that was what hurt you. To you, it felt like the Daniel you once knew, was hiding in a place where only you could find him.

“[Y/N]?” Daniel called out from behind you.

Turning away from the doorbell you still stood in front, your eyes fell on the now 19-year-old boy. He was wearing his hiking shoes and sweat was dripping from underneath his baseball cap over his face. You smiled when you realized it was the baseball cap you had given him before he’d gone off on the Invitation Tour.

“Happy birthday!” You smiled, more genuine than anyone ever could be. Rushing to him, you threw your arms around him and hold him close. A content sigh left your lips as you felt his arms around you.

“Thank you.” He whispered, just as content as you were, “You are aware that I’m sweating, right?”

You rolled your eyes as you pulled yourself out of his arms, “Believe me. If it wasn’t your birthday I would have never put myself through such misery.”

He laughed and walked passed you, motioning for you to follow him. “So, I should probably get a shower.” Scratching the back of his neck, his eyes rested on you.

You quickly held out his present, “Just open this first?”

Daniel walked over and allowed you to push the small box in his hands. He grinned from ear to ear as he unwrapped the box. Peeking inside, he frowned lightly before looking up into your eyes again. Pulling out the small red USB, he now wore his eyebrows high. Daniel skipped over to the dinner table before opening his laptop and plugging his USB in.

You couldn’t help but hold your breath as he opened the file. Immediately your voice sounded through the speakers.

“Hey, little D.” As you watched over his shoulder, you felt your cheeks starting to burn. “Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be me confessing my love and asking you to marry me or anything. Instead, this is a fun little compilation of our friendship.”

He quickly turned his head to face you, simply because he wanted to see the embarrassed blush that had crept onto your face and yet he didn’t want to miss the smallest second of the video you had made him.

“But, you should probably hit the shower first. Knowing you, you just came back from a hike and are all sweaty as of right now. So, I’ll be here. Waiting. For you- Oh god, this better not turn into a love confession.”

You pressed on the pause-button when he didn’t. Looking at him with certain expectations, you motioned for the stairs.

He shook his face, “I want to watch this first.”

“It’s twenty minutes.”

“I saw.”

Rolling your eyes, you pressed the play button again, but before the full introduction was over, the front door burst open and an over-excited Cora rushed in.

Daniel put the video back on pause and got up from his feet, a wide smile on his face.

“Happy birthday babe!” Cora screamed perhaps a little too loud as she ran to Daniel. He held his arms out for a kiss or hug that never came. Cora stopped several yards away from him. “You are one smelly birthday boy. Go take a shower and then I’ll give you your kiss.”

From your point of view, Daniel appeared disappointed. Nonetheless, he seemed to cope. He sat back down to continue watching his video, but Cora stopped him once again.

“Babee,” she mumbled, “Come on. In the shower you go,” She paused and winked once, “I’ll give you your present once you’re all clean.”

Hesitantly, Daniel got up and closed the laptop. Smiling once more at you, he wrapped his arm around you as he held his laptop with the other. “Thank you so much, [Y/N].” He mumbled before he disappeared up the staircase.

. . .

Cora had occupied herself with some of her schoolwork which left you to wander around the house. Daniel was usually much quicker with taking a shower, so you ended up in his en-suite bedroom. You could hear soft voices on the other side of his bathroom door and curiosity easily took you to stand right in front of the door, your ear against the wood.

You immediately heard your own broken voice and recognized it from the video on the USB. It was recorded a couple of days ago, meaning that Daniel had nearly finished watching the entire video.

“It wasn’t the best idea to record this part of the video after editing it in its entirety.” You had sobbed quietly, “I- You’re an amazing friend, Daniel. You really are. God- Why am I crying?”

You had expected for Daniel to respond with a soft chuckle or laugh at some point, but nothing came.

“I love you. I honestly couldn’t have wished for a better friend. Happy nineteenth, little D.”

The bathroom door cracked open not long after, and out came the tall boy with his white bathroom towel. He looked up and jumped a step back. You immediately saw his glazy eyes and you had to force out a laugh, just to make the embarrassing scene disappear.

“You cried.” You pointed at him, before giving yourself a lame high-five. “That is what I call success.”

He rolled his eyes and grabbed a shirt before pulling it over his head. He eventually sat down next to you on his bed. His hands were folded together in his lap, something that you hadn’t seen him do for the past months.

“You are the best.” He said, almost embarrassed, as he looked at his hands.

“That’s a fact,” You nodded, confused at how quiet and reserved he behaved. “What’s going on? Did I embarrass you?”

He found your eyes again and shook his face ever so lightly, “No, no. It’s nothing.”

Jumping up to your feet, you grabbed his wrists and pulled him up. “Come on then, the boys are probably up by now and you still need to unwrap Cora’s present.”

But instead of following you, he pulled you back and his arms instantly wrapped around your torso again. “This was probably the best present ever.” He said, gently kissing your forehead.

. . .

“Wow.”

It had been the only thing that came out of Daniel’s mind and it had been repeated about four times now. He just kept pulling out ‘his and hers’ products. There were pillowcases, keychains and most importantly: bedsheets. It was a little odd, especially since it had become a fact that Daniel was a little obsessed with the same grey bedsheets. He wouldn’t get it over his mind to change them, his reasoning being that he liked it clean and simple.

Poor Cora seemed to have no idea that the chaotic bedsheets that stated how little his space on the bed would be, was a terrible gift for his birthday.

“Thank you, Cora-“ He said, sounding somewhat grateful, as she started leaning in for a kiss. Daniel got to his feet. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something, Cora.”

. . .

“You broke up with her?” You frowned, watching how an overall confused Cora was now pushing all the presents she had bought Daniel back into her car. “On your birthday?”

He groaned, “I know. I should’ve done it before she had bought me all- whatever that was.”

“Is Dani Boy being ungrateful?” You chuckled, using the nickname Cora seemed to love so endlessly.

Daniel shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know. Maybe- It’s just… It felt like she went on the first best webshop and ordered all that junk.”

You couldn’t help but scoff, “You cannot tell me that you broke up over a bad birthday present.”

He shook his head, “It’s not that. I just don’t feel as comfortable around her as I do around other people. And I couldn’t help but feel like she didn’t even want to get to know me.”

Biting your lip, you nodded.

“You saw that too? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you didn’t know what to say. “You seemed happy. You finally found someone who you thought you’d want to spend the rest of your life with-“

He cut you off, “I’d want to spend the rest of my life with you too.”

You chuckled, “It’s different with me, you know that.”

[ I AM SORRY I WANT THIS TO BE CONTINUED, BUT I AM TIRED AND DANIEL’S BIRTHDAY IS ALMOST HERE AND I NEED SLEEP. ]

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rkjinwook · 6 years ago

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● SEPTEMBER 2017 SPHERE EVALUATION 나야 나 : IT’S ME ( PICK ME S2 ) : ( 0:00–1:46 )

170923 D-7 | minseo’s voice comes clear through his laptop speakers: “i’d rank you a c.” she’s just finished watching jinwook dance — the video is a few months old, recorded in preparation of sphere’s summer street performances, but it’s the best that jinwook’s ever been. at the time, he’d been quite proud of the progress. still, based on the lack of enthusiasm, he guesses that his little sister is being generous. she’s always had a sharp eye for detail, in which jinwook’s abilities are clearly lacking.

with a sigh, jinwook props his chin up in a hand. “thanks, minnie. c’s not half bad, right?” it’s just about the average grade that jinwook was accustomed to receiving in school. he drags her skype window to the side of his desktop, opening the practice clip again. his technique doesn’t improve much on the twentieth replay. “except.. i won’t sing in my evaluation, so what’s the honest judgment, with no vocals?" he bites his lip, a quiet chuckle sliding by. asking to be ranked à la produce 101 started off as a joke. within five minutes, though, minseo has watched him, judged him, and convinced him to learn the actual choreography from the show. jinwook is already feeling the pressure.

he braces for the worst as his sister hesitates, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. “...well,” she starts after a moment, “maybe it doesn’t matter?” jinwook groans, and laughter brightens minseo’s whole face on screen. “you do have some good facial expressions going for you! like y’know, bae jinyoung oppa was an f trainee once, and he turned out just fine!”

she shakes her head, taking on a matter-of-fact tone. “he’s doing better than fine, actually. he still got to debut. and you will, too.”

debut. minseo makes good points about the song choice, at least. if a hundred idol hopefuls had to learn the dance for a shot at debut, jinwook thinks it’s a fair gauge for his personal rite of passage, too.

at the same time, it’s a gamble. the choreography is difficult, and expectations will be high, and if jinwook can’t keep up, maybe baek jiyoung will send him off the ship entirely. maybe they really will fail him. debut plans shift all the time, and sphere isn’t obligated to honor his commitment just because jinwook told them he wanted it.

so it’s an opportunity to reassure himself as much as it is for his coaches to evaluate. for all his lamenting, he really does feel like his dance skill has been going somewhere since the summer. even if minseo barely gave him so much as a passing rank.

and for all the insecurities about why me and feeling his debut chance is undeserved, maybe this will prove it to himself, calm his worries until the next ones arise;

and if and when jinwook does debut, maybe he’ll rest easier with the shared experience of a hundred others.

170926 D-4 | “i think i should switch to pick me from season one. baekhyun tried to teach me that one last summer. i remember complaining a lot, but i don’t think the girls’ choreography was as hard as this one.” jinwook is frowning in front of his laptop again, rubbing out a sore shoulder. it’s amazing how much a day or two of struggle has managed to change his attitude toward the challenge. “dance bootcamp is just—” he mimes chomping jaws, eyes blown wide. the room is dim, but his teeth flash bright white in the webcam preview. “—it’s trying to eat me alive.”

back in jeju, minseo appears unamused. “it’s barely been two days, oppa.” she tsks. “you shouldn’t give up on yourself so easily.”

he shouldn’t. but he can, and he does more often than not. it’s always been this way — jinwook is disciplined in many ways, but other mountains seem impossible to climb, so why bother making a fool of himself?

“it’s just the way i am... you know that.”

his sister frowns at that, but it’s the barely-suppressed sigh and eye-roll that get to him — as if it’s so ridiculous to even suggest such a thing. part of jinwook is baiting her to prove him wrong. he’s exhausted, so he’s not hiding anything, and besides, jinwook really believes it sometimes. it’s unacceptable for an idol, though - for a group that will be asked, who is the most diligent, where the answer may be murky among the rest of the shining sphere boys, but no one will think of jinwook. maybe they will scoff to themselves as they glance over him in consideration.

jinwook’s eyes flicker to the clock in the corner of his screen. it’s late, but the twins are studying for entrance exams this time of year. they hardly ever sleep, so minseo probably needs the break. jinwook doesn’t feel too bad about it. she’d never ignore a call from him anyway.

she knows that this is when he needs her most often: when he’s home alone after training; when his coaches are too harsh but eve is too understanding; when it’s too late to call his grandmother; jinwook’s little sister will unfailingly give him a fresh perspective. she’ll tell it to him straight:

“that’s just the way you are? you can’t dance because you’re lazy?” minseo laughs with all the spunk of an incredulous seventeen year-old. “like, that excuse is bullshit and you know it.”

jinwook expected as much. he knows that hearing it from her holds him more accountable, but he flinches anyway; sometimes his baby sister can make him feel like the smaller one. “that’s not what i’m really saying.” lazy isn’t the right word. it’s so discouraging, though, to sweat all morning in dance workshops, then come back from lunch only to start from scratch, every step muddled and forgotten. every day the same story. whenever jinwook feels like he has the basics down, the next move throws him for a loop all over again. he’s discouraged. maybe pessimistic, but he would hate to associate that word with his personality.

he swallows hard. the same voice gets stuck in his head every time he starts learning a new choreography. how could minseo understand? his little sister has always been so much more talented, even with things that jinwook taught her himself. everything came more naturally to her. “i know you don’t get it—”

“—and i know you’re not lazy,” interrupts minseo. “for real, is that what you’re gonna say? that i don’t get it because i’m a better dancer than you? yeah, we knew that, oppa.” minseo pauses and finally checks her tone. the sneer falls and a strand of hair flutters with her next breath, making the video stream lag for a moment. when she speaks again, jinwook is relieved to hear something less abrasive. “but how do you think you made it so far already?” minseo softens. “like, as far as i’m concerned, you’ve had to work even harder to catch up this whole time? it doesn’t make sense to give yourself an out now?”

all of jinwook’s heart jumps at her sincerity, yearning to agree. “i know you’re right,” he says, “it’s just frustrating.” he just wishes this past year of dance workshops could feel like it’s worth something when he’s still lagging behind, even in this bootcamp, where none of the other participants specialize in dance either.

his brain tells him his time investment is worth something; jinwook knows this to be true when he digs up archives of older workshops and compares them to his skills today. he prefers to be known for his optimism at sphere too, so to minseo he is eternally grateful for bearing the burden of the more negative moments. his heart still weighs heavier in weeks like these, but he can feel it lighten the longer she stays online with him.

“don’t worry,” he says suddenly. “don’t they get three days of practice in the show?” jinwook tries to let out his tension with a weak chuckle. “i guess i still owe it one more try?”

“yeah,” says minseo, “they do. and you do.” she purses her lips as a long moment of quiet passes, but doesn’t push the lecture further. “wanna show me what you’ve got so far?” she warms her expression with an encouraging smile that has all of her usual energy, but the edges carefully softened. “y’know i learned this one back when it first aired, right?”

170928 D-2 | jinwook sets his laptop on top of a makeshift computer stand and cautiously steps back, checking its balance. this is one of the more remote practice studios in the building, so the wifi range can be spotty — a sigh of relief leaves his lips when minseo answers the call, appears on his screen and waves hello.

“i’ll make this quick,” says jinwook once the connection stabilizes, “since i’m not sure if you’re supposed to see inside sphere. but i’m one of the last ones around tonight, so — you won’t tell on me, right?” he grins. “just calling to show you that i’m all caught up to the evaluation segment on produce 101 now~”

“it took me a little too long to get it down... but today i worked with a coach i’ve never had before — something about her really made things click this time?” less lefts and rights and fluid counts; more about relative placement and movements matched to lyrics. it’d made a world of difference before jinwook even registered the subtle shift in vocabulary. he chuckles sheepishly. “i know that sounds silly. things don’t really click for me, so it probably helped that i’ve been re-learning the same sections all week, though.” jinwook can feel himself rambling but he knows minseo won’t mind. it must be pleasant to see his usual optimistic self after all his doubts prior.

his sister is five years younger but he’s considered her his equal for a long time; in some ways, both minseo and minjae seem more mature than jinwook. he already knows the twins will both do better than him on their university entrance exams. it will only be a year or two from now that they eclipse his education level entirely.

he’s struggled a lot with insecurities there, but minseo never makes him feel stupid even if she can be blunt. she holds an elegant self-assurance in contrast to minjae’s arrogance; one that always lifts jinwook up in the end. “that’s not dumb,” says minseo. her excitement is genuine, eyes bright. he’s grateful that she doesn’t acknowledge his fickle swings in attitude toward the song. “it’s so cool, see? maybe you were only missing the right instructor this whole time. c’mon, lemme see!”

jinwook’s steps aren’t perfect or delicate, but they’re more legible than they used to be. he watches himself in the mirror and tries to stay within view of his laptop’s webcam. one day he’ll fix his body lines and hunched shoulders. for now, he’s content to keep his feet on the ground and a smile on his face. it’s more than a solid start.

there’s lag to the video call, but he knows minseo will humor him regardless. when he returns to his laptop, he sings a line: “please remember this moment~ tonight~~”

“i will remember this moment, tonight~” minseo sings her promise to the same melody, giggling. “you were so much better, oppa. seriously, i think you’ll get the rest done in no time!”

“it’s a big surprise, isn’t it? i’ll do my best.” jinwook is pleased, but can hear sleepiness in her tone now. he tries to wipe away the heartache that comes with that realization. he wishes he could tuck her in or something, but he hasn’t seen her in over a year. “you should get to sleep,” he adds. “thanks for the feedback, minnie. just don’t get your expectations up too high.”

she smiles in a knowing way. “good luck on saturday, i think you’ll surprise yourself even more.” she raises an encouraging fist before disconnecting. “kim jinwook fighting~ goodnight, oppa.”

jinwook dances one last time that night, spontaneously singing over the track along with the choreography. it’s ambitious, given his exhaustion and the song’s high vocal range, but if jinwook doesn’t sound great, at least he remembers all the steps. he’ll forgive himself for that.

he packs up his laptop and plugs in headphones before he leaves. he thinks of sphere and of debut as he runs the choreography in his head: pick me, pick me, up. please pick my heart.

his chest feels lighter on the walk home.

171001 D+1 | he emails minseo the video from his final pre-evaluation practice, watching it back a few times before he hits send.

tonight the star is me, it’s me, it’s me~ the last person to steal your heart~~ ㅋㅋ im ready for my new rank? 🙈🙈

her video call arrives only a few minutes later. jinwook answers and speaks quickly over her greeting: “actually, please don’t judge me. i’ll be happier without knowing.” he laughs, nerves spiking. “i just wanted you to see it.”

“oh— jinwook oppa, are you sure you don’t want your re-evaluation?” he can hear painted fingernails clicking against her desk, and a drawn-out hum of consideration. “i’ll spoil it and tell you that you’re not an f, at least.”

she giggles. “i mean it this time!—” minseo’s eyes curve up when she’s amused, the same way jinwook’s do. “— really, you did well.” 🌸

#rksep17eval #rkship #& sph #& solo #& eval #&& minseo #( major backdate but there's some #family/internal stuff i wanted to resolve #@mods there's no performance info here!!#wc/ 2.3k #&& minjae #& npc

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miraclewoozi · 2 years ago

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hello! i hope you're doing great, just wanted to say hi and that i can't believe that you actually took the time to rb all the interactions on your fic, that's so sweet 🤧 also i know i kinda said it on my rb but i absolutely adored don't sweat it, i actually do want to turn back time and read it for the first time again, that's how good it was, I'll keep looking forward to your writing! and sorry if my english it's kinda bad cause it's not my first language hehe, anyways, take careee , i hope to be back on your asks more often to say hi💗💗

who's bad at remembering to check her inbox?

j is bad at forgetting to check her inbox.

THIS IS ME RN. sitting on my bedroom floor biting my fist w love hearts floating around my head

i genuinely was (see: i still am) so overwhelmed w all the love and all the feedback it received and the fact that it's still getting notes/rbs/tags almost a month later i-/,.fsgfkds I SOUND LIKE A SCRATCHED RECORD SAYIN THIS OVER AND OVER AND OVER BUT I'M JUST SO GRATEFUL AND WHOLEHEARTEDLY PLEASED THAT U GUYS ALL LIKED IT ENOUGH TO INTERACT AT ALL😭 this ask has made my day btw i'm sorry it took me so long to get my ass in gear and respond to it, you are such a lovely lovely lovely person and i will be sending u the best vibes and energy for the rest of forever, friend<3

#fb : don’t sweat it.#i repeat. i am just. some guy. i am merely a speck. i did not expect in a million years for my silly self indulgent words to Do This whfhds #bein alive is so strange and bein perceived is WEIRD but sometimes. it is also so wonderful. bc people like u exist here w me too <3 #i hope ur pillows are cold and your water is crisp for always ;-; <3 #q.

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badrpstories · 6 years ago

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I’ll be real: I was one of those folks who were real shitty to their friends when I was young. Emotional manipulation, victim blaming, stalking, etc only barely scratched the surface of how I hurt people. I was also mentally unbalanced in that I watched far too many yandere animes and took them far too seriously, to the point where I was genuinely thinking about killing people. I didn’t, clearly, I backed off from that ledge before I could do anything else I regretted. But I’ve changed, and changed a lot, as obviously evidenced by the fact that I recognize what I did wrong and am trying to become a better person.

I think this is what people mean when it comes to not giving people second chances but still “moving on”: what happened was, I decided that since we were both graduating high school soon, I needed to set the record straight. This was added to by the fact that another person I hurt came and talked to me, and that inspired me to try and apologize formally and properly, and just /be honest/ with the first person (A). So I sent A an apology message (it was kinda long lmao) but I basically said that I was wrong and ignorant, and that I am sorry for how much I hurt them, and that I treasured our friendship at the time and wished I had handled things differently. I also said that I won’t contact them again after this, bc a rekindling of friendship or whatever isn’t what I’m looking for, because I know it would be toxic for both of us. They responded saying they accept my apology but we won’t be friends and that it doesn’t change what I did, both of which I’m fully aware of. Bc, apologies are NOT meant to erase what happened. Whoever believes that has clearly never seen a villain redemption arc done right, or have never been through the sort of mental trauma that comes from being abused. Apologies are meant to clear the air and to show change. It’s up to the person receiving the apology to do the next thing. And A chose to accept my apology and /move on/. And I’m happy they did, because I needed to apologize to move on from my /own/ demons, and being forgiven makes me feel like “yes. I’ve changed. My change has been validated by the best person who could’ve validated it”.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that you can forgive people who genuinely change /without/ giving them a second chance, in essence, “moving on”. And I think that’s what the anon was getting at. I wasn’t given a second chance but I was forgiven because I showed how much I had changed and how much I’ve matured.

This was really rambly, but I felt like I needed to say it. No you don’t have to forgive and forget, especially when the person hasn’t changed and is /actively/ asking for a second chance. Note that I didn’t ask for one and acknowledged that I didn’t deserve one/wasn’t “owed” one. A also didn’t have to forgive me. I knew that. All I wanted was for them to know I changed and that people change and hopefully, by telling them, I can settle both of our demons.

But at the same time, people genuinely do change. It’s entirely possible to “move on” with your life. You don’t need to let them back into your life, but you can acknowledge that past wrongs will never be right or erased, and that these things have happened. And to accept them. I accept I was bad. And I’m choosing to move on and become a better person. I usually don’t mention this part, but I felt emotionally neglected by A as well, which explains why I behaved the way I did. I never said so to them bc it wasn’t important and I didn’t want to sound like I was making excuses, but I decided that I won’t continue trying to use it to justify and excuse my behavior and thoughts.

It’s hard to do. I can only imagine how A felt when I sent the apology, bc I’ve apologized before (years before), and those apologies were meant to manipulate them into giving me a second chance. But this time I hope I made it clear enough to them by unfriending and blocking everywhere, as well as not messaging back after they forgave me. I just wanted to send an apology, no more than that, no more contact and nothing else. They owe me nothing and I’m incredibly grateful they could forgive me.

So I guess TLDR: you can “move on” without giving someone a second chance. People are entirely capable of change, as evidenced by my existence. No, not everyone changes fast or easily. The first few apologies may well be fake, much like my first few attempts were. But if there comes a day when someone truly changes and apologizes, you have the option to move on without giving them another chance.

Replying to this.

#not a story #abuse tw #I ultimately believe it is an individual's choice whether to move on and that telling somebody to move on is wrong but that's where I stand #-Mod Anna #submission

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toxinfox · 7 years ago

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Templars of Metal

“The fuck am I doing?” Alex muttered under her breath as she passed the gate guards and climbed the stairs toward Temple Hall. Harley wasn’t on duty tonight, and for once she was grateful; if she got into deep shit for this, she didn’t want to have to see him be genuinely disappointed in her. The gentle creaking of her leather uniform jacket as she moved made her feel guilty enough.

She’d lost a bet. Four drinks down at the Horned God, and she’d lost a bet to Reynolds, over a lousy card trick of all things. Fucker had grinned like a Chesire cat at watching the loud American dhampyr get it wrong… Resolving to figure out how that particular magic trick was done and get him back for this later, Alex tried not to look nervous as she strode casually-ish past a second set of door guards, these flanking the actual grand doors into the Templar headquarters itself.

The task Reynolds had laid out for her after wallowing in his success was simple: Go to Temple Hall, in uniform. Go into Richard Sonnac’s office. And perform ‘vigorous’ air guitar atop his desk. Record yourself doing so.

None of the other posted guards in the soaring foyer of the grand hall batted an eye at her as she headed for Sonnac’s office. Agents reported to him at all hours of the day and night, and by now Alex was recognized as a (somewhat unusual) fixture among the ranks. No, going to speak to Sonnac wasn’t noteworthy.

Planting her boots on his mahogany desk and shredding air guitar would be another story.

“Sorry sir, I lost a bet, please don’t fire me or turn me into a research project,” she mouthed to herself, practicing her apologies. A nervous swallow later, she gently shouldered the door to his office open, drawing a breath to explain as she crossed the threshold.

And then she paused, just inside. The office was empty. Sonnac wasn’t here.

Blinking, Alex let the door fall closed behind her. She hadn’t prepared for this possibility. Sonnac wasn’t here?

… did he have to be?

Alex felt the grin start on her face. Reynolds hadn’t said ANYTHING about Sonnac being present. There was no telling how long Sonnac had been gone-- or WOULD be gone-- but she had this one, blessed, solitary moment to make good on the bet possibly without getting fired.

Snagging her phone from within her jacket, Alex started a thrashy metal song, set the phone to record video, and darted across the room, hefting herself up onto her handler’s desk, keeping her boots off of his papers and pens. Taking a deep breath, she quickly opened her coat, showing off her metal t-shirt, and… began aggressively air-guitaring, headbanging and snarling to the tinny cell phone music. Holy fuck, she was doing it. She was air-guitaring on Sonnac’s desk.

“Yeah, suck it, Reynolds. You’ll get yours soon enough,” she muttered, shredding one more glorious guitar riff--

-- when the door opened.

Alex froze, except for her head, which snapped toward the sound.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit SHIT.

Standing in the doorway, brows raised in faint bewilderment.... Was Richard Sonnac.

Fuck. She’d been caught red-handed. Alex winced and hopped down from the desk, mortified, aware of her pulse in ways she usually wasn’t. The cell phone, still growling its tune into the otherwise silent office, only made it worse.

“I trust there’s an explanation for this,” the Englishman said tentatively. His voice was steady, maybe curious. Not angry. Yet.

The wince on Alex’s face turned to a full cringe that continued on into her shoulders and posture. She turned away, scratching her neck awkwardly. “I… lost a bet, sir. I’ll… I’ll get out’a your hair. Sorry.”

Burning with embarrassment, she started for the door, but Sonnac held up a hand to stop her. Alex stopped. Cringed again. Looked up a bit, wondering what he wanted.

Sonnac’s hands settled on his hips, and his head cocked to one side. The whole gesture was too loose to imply condemnation. “You took a bet, where the condition of losing was to dance on my desk?” he asked. His voice was almost amused.

“Air-guitar, actually, sir, if we’re splittin’ hairs,” Alex offered, arms folded, gaze turned to her boots. “I… really didn’t think I was gonna lose that bet, honestly.”

“Mm. I imagine not.” Straightening, Sonnac walked past her toward his desk. Puzzled at his lack of reaction to catching her in such an absurd moment, Alex couldn’t help but look up, wondering what he was doing. Her confusion only deepened as he shrugged off his immaculate suit jacket and hung it neatly on the back of a chair, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Then he opened a drawer in his desk, put away his papers and lamp, and pulled out a slim black object; it looked like a remote control of some sort. Alex cocked her head as he pointed it at a painting on one wall, pressed a button…

… and the sounds of Iron Maiden’s ‘Death or Glory’ thundered through the stone room, courtesy of half a dozen small but potent hidden speakers. Alex’s jaw dropped. Her head snapped back to Sonnac, her eyes wide with surprise.

He was grinning, his teeth a slash of white in his dark face. “If you’re going to enjoy a bit of heavy metal in my office, you should at least do it properly.” And before she could say a word, Sonnac himself hopped upon his desk and conducted his own enthusiastic air-guitar.

Alex stared. Blinked. Shrugged. And joined in.

When the song wound down, her handler hopped neatly down from his desk, turned the speakers back off again, and began rolling his shirtsleeves back down as casually as if he’d helped move a couch. Alex was still grinning, although not without a tinge of nervousness.

“Jeez, Sonn-- I mean, sir. I had no idea you listened to-”

“Metal?” he asked, his tone level, maybe even a bit conspiratorial. “I have broad tastes, actually.”

Alex nodded. He was… taking this strangely well. Scratching the back of her neck again, she watched as he finished with his sleeves and began to shrug his jacket back on. “So… I’m not in trouble then?”

“Trouble? No. You’re far from the first agent to be up to harmless shenanigans in my office, and if we’re being frank, I have an idea of who you lost a bet too, based on the nature of the shenanigans at hand.” His tone and faint hint of a knowing smirk as he settled back into his chair implied that this might not have been a first. Folding his hands on his desk he added, “I wouldn’t suggest making a habit of this, of course.”

She almost laughed in relief, but stifled it for a smile and a salute instead. “Yes sir! Or, uh, no sir! Or, fuck, whatever. You know what I mean.”

Was that a little smile? Sonnac hid it and waved her toward the door. “Go on then. Unless you have something relevant to report. I’m afraid the paperwork that crosses my desk is endless.”

“Right. Yessir. You have a good night, sir! And, uh, thank you.”

Her body wanted to dart for the door, spurred by a combination of nervousness and relief, but Alex forced herself to walk normally-- although she paused at the threshold.

Oh yeah. Her phone. It had stopped playing music several minutes ago, but had it stopped recording?

She glanced over her shoulder as she picked it up. Sonnac’s head was down, reading a report. Had he even been aware it was there? He had to have been; it’d been playing music when he’d entered… She swallowed, then slipped out the door, shoving the phone in her jacket again. Past the guards in the foyer. Past the guards at the door. Past the guards at the gate. She walked normally, heading for home.

Only at home, safely behind closed doors, would she dare to check and see if she had indeed captured video of Richard Sonnac playing heavy metal air guitar on his desk.

Pax was never going to believe this.

* * *

Explanations for those who don’t know:

Characters and setting portrayed are those belonging to the MMORPG “The Secret World/Secret World Legends”. Richard Sonnac is a game NPC, and Alexandra Bishop is one of my characters.

Alex is A) from Brooklyn, NY, and B) is a dhampyr, which in my interpretation means she was bitten by a vampire, but never fully turned, and is ‘stuck’ halfway between being human and being vampire.

‘Harley’ is Harley Trevelyan, a mortal Templar guard that Alex is frenemies with. They sass each other, but still have each other’s backs.

I have no idea who Reynolds is, but he’s going to get what’s coming to him.

Black Jackal (on Alex’s T-shirt) is a fictitious heavy metal band.

Pax belongs to a fellow player, @packetdancer

All artwork is art markers on Bristol. (With the exception of Sonnac’s pinstripes-- they’re colored pencil.)

#tsw #swl #Secret World #Secret World Legends #Templars #fan art #fan fiction #I am not a metal head #I do not profess to know anything about 'good' metal #or what Sonnac's actually tastes would be #i just thought it was funny #toxinfox art #marker

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thebluesideofmyworld · 7 years ago

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The Good Side - A Klance One-Shot

Summary: Alternate Universe. Keith was a musician who broke up with Lance three years ago. Now he met up again with Lance, and he felt like he owed Lance an apology.

(Based on The Good Side - Troye Sivan)

Word count: 2000 words || Rating: Teenage and Up Audiences || Read on AO3

It was still a bit cold for Spring. But at least, the cold was not as freezing as in Winter. As Keith walked on the pavement, he could see the green grass peeking in, like sparks of a new hope.

A new hope of a new life, Keith quietly thought to himself, as his feet took him to the coffee shop.

Keith stopped in front of the once-so-familiar door. He pulled down the hood of his sweater as he looked up at the sign above the door.

It hasn’t changed.

It was weird, but also kind of comforting to find that there were things that remained the same, even after so many other things have changed.

Keith pushed the door open and stepped in.

It was still early, maybe even too early considering it was a Saturday morning. So there were not many people in the coffee shop. There was only an old man, reading a newspaper and didn’t seem to care about the world around him. And of course, there was Shiro, standing behind the counter.

Shiro looked up at Keith from something that he was reading. Once their eyes met, his brows raised up as his eyes widened.

“Keith?”

Keith smiled as he walked closer to the counter.

“Shiro,” he said, nodding at the barista. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Same old thing.” Shiro laughed lightly. “How are you?” Shiro asked back as he crossed his arms over the counter, leaning forward.

“I’m…alright?” Keith said, running his hand over his head a bit awkwardly.

Shiro tilted his head, smiling knowingly. “I thought you have forgotten about me. And this coffee shop.”

Keith chuckled. “No, of course no,” he said as he shook his head. He was not lying. He would never forget how Shiro let him sit for hours in one of the corners as he tried to come up with something good enough for his songs.

“I’m sorry that… I’ve been… you know…” Keith’s voice faltered as he realized he didn’t really know what to say. All the tour and recording session and everything had taken his time. But he was not sure that those were reasons good enough to lost contact with his old friends. He was not sure how to explain how busy he had been without sounding like he was showing off.

Shiro smiled knowingly at him. “It’s okay,” he said. “I know you’ve been busy. And it’s nice, you know? Knowing that you’ve been doing well with your music.”

Keith looked up, meeting Shiro’s eyes and smiled. “Thanks, Shiro.”

Shiro nodded. “Anyway,” he said, rubbing both hands on his apron. “What brings you here today?”

That question made Keith realize his first reason of why he came here.

“I’m…meeting someone here.”

Shiro arched a questioning eyebrow. “Is it someone I know?”

“Lance.”

There was a second of silence once the name slipped from his lips.

Just a second of silence, but enough for Keith to realize how long had it been since the last time he said the name in front of other people, instead of just whispering the name into the silence of dark sleepless nights.

Shiro did not actually look surprised. If there was any expression on his face, it was just a hint of concern.

“Okay, then,” he said, nodding at Keith. “What can I get you while you’re waiting?”

“Just a cappuccino, please?” Keith said, grateful that Shiro didn’t ask anything further.

“Sure,” Shiro smiled. “It will be right up.”

“Thanks,” Keith said. He turned around on his heels and made his way to the rows of tables in the coffee shop.

Keith took a seat on the table in the corner, right next to the window. He fished his phone out, the one that he used only for personal matters. He had another one that he used for work that he left at home. It’s one of his rare day-offs, and he didn’t want to be reminded of the other world where he had responsibilities as a professional in his field.

He had enough of his profession came in the way of his personal life.

He checked the time. He knew that he was early. It was not exactly 9 o’clock yet. And to be honest, Keith did not expect Lance to be on time. He knew Lance.

No, scratch that. I used to know Lance, Keith thought, quite bitterly. It’s been three years. Maybe he has changed.

Keith looked up to the door when he heard the bell rang cheerfully as the door pushed open.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw Lance stepped in.

He froze as he watched Lance walked to the counter and greeted Shiro.

Keith could only see Lance’s back from where he was sitting. But he could still imagine the half-smile that he knew Lance was wearing as he watched Shiro talking to Lance.

He wrote that one song while thinking about that half-smile.

Lance turned around on his heels, and in an instant, their eyes met.

Keith thought he was ready.

He was wrong. Because as Lance walked towards him, that half-smile curling up just a little wider, Keith wondered what it was on his minds that made him decided to walk away.

“Keith! Hey!” Lance greeted him as he stopped next to the table.

Keith stared at him. “Hey,” he said.

For a split second, he wondered what he should do. How should you greet someone who used to be your boyfriend when you meet him again after three years?

Should he stand up and hug him?

Should he shake his hand?

But Lance already sat down on the chair in front of him, folding his arms on the table.

“So,” he said, tilting his head as he kept his eyes level at Keith’s. “What’s up, Keith?”

The smile on his lips was soft and genuine, and his eyes looked warm.

Keith hated to remember that he once made those eyes looked so hollow and broken.

“How have you been?” Lance asked.

Keith bit his lower lip. A strange feeling of guilt creeping in. A broken relationship sometimes was not even.

They broke up, and while Keith signed a contract with a recording company, Lance continued his part-time job in a bookshop.

He moved to New York, where his recording company had a headquarter, and Lance stayed here in this college town where everything was more quiet in Summer.

He traveled the world while Lance struggled with his study before he finally got his degree in Computer Engineering.

“I’m…good,” Keith said, nodding at Lance, trying to smile.

He felt like he owed an apology.

“Good to hear that,” Lance said, his smile didn’t slip away, his eyes kept on shining. “Your songs are everywhere, you know. It’s almost felt like you’ve never left this town,” Lance said and laughed lightly.

Keith wondered whether Lance knew that the songs were about him. That the songs were about them. About a love story that was once so good but had to end anyway.

“How about you?” Keith asked. He knew bits and pieces of what had been happening with Lance from what Pidge told him. But he wanted to hear it from Lance. So he could tell Lance how proud he was of him for all the things that he had done. How happy he was to see that Lance had moved on.

Lance grinned. “I graduated last year,” he said. “And let me tell you one thing, you are now talking to one of the system developers in Altea.”

“Really?” Keith raised his brows. “That’s great! Tell me more.”

Lance grinned. He started talking. And for a while, Keith felt like they were back to the good old times five years ago, when they just had their first date here in this coffee shop, at the exact same table.

More than an hour later, it was Keith’s phone going off that stopped their conversation. The screen showed the picture of the caller, and Keith quickly swiped his finger on the screen to reject the call. But when he looked up at Lance again, he knew that it was too late.

There was something bittersweet in Lance’s small smile.

“So the rumor is true, huh?” Lance said.

The guilt clenched his heart as Keith quickly shoved his phone into his pocket.

“It wasn’t…” he stopped, because telling Lance that it was not like what it looked like would be a lie. What should he tell him then?

That it just happened? That it was not his plan but before he knew it, it already went a little bit too far?

Keith bit his lower lip, frantically trying to find something to say.

But Lance already leaned forward a little.

“Hey,” Lance said. “Don’t worry. I won’t break the news to any gossip magazine,” he said. He grinned like he was joking, but the light in his eyes was too dim.

Keith tried to stretch his lips into a smile. “Thanks,” he said, hoping that Lance would understand.

Lance stared at him in silence for a while with a strange expression.

“Is it true, though?”

Something constricted in Keith’s chest as he gave him a single nod.

“Is he treating you well?”

Keith nodded again, this time with a small smile that he hoped was reassuring enough.

“He is.”

Somehow, Keith felt like a heavy weight was lifted off his chest when he saw the genuine smile on Lance’s lips.

“Good,” Lance said. “You deserve someone who can treat you well.”

Keith’s heart was in his throat and he wished, he really wished that he could tell Lance that Lance did nothing wrong. That when they were together Lance had always made him feel so safe, so special. So loved.

It was his fault, maybe.

Or should he blame it on fate?

Because was it still his fault if their breakup seemed to give him the good side of things, give him things that he had always dreamt about?

“Thank you, Lance,” he said, hoping that Lance knew that what he meant was far beyond that.

(Thank you for everything. And I am sorry for everything. I am sorry that it was harder for you than it was for me)

Keith kept his eyes at Lance. “And you too, Lance. You deserve to be happy.”

(You deserve the good things in life too)

Lance’s smile was as soft as the look in his eyes as he nodded.

“Anyway,” Lance said, glancing at the watch on his wrist. “I really have to go now. I’ve promised Hunk that I will drive him to Chicago today.”

“Say hi to him from me, okay?”

“Will do,” Lance said as he stood up, sliding his hands into his pocket. “It was really nice. Meeting you again.”

“Yeah,” Keith said, returning his smile as he also stood up. “We should do this again sometimes.”

Lance chuckled. “Yeah. Sure. Let me know when you have the time between your concerts and traveling around the world.”

Keith opened his mouth to respond to that, but Lance was faster.

“But really,” Lance said, the soft smile was back on his lips. “Keep in touch, okay?”

Keith smiled back at him as he nodded. “Okay. I promise.”

This time, he knew that it was a promise that he would keep.

Lance took a step forward, and gave him a one-arm hug.

“Good luck with everything, okay Keith?”

A nostalgic feeling fleet in his mind as Keith inhaled the smell of ocean breeze from Lance that once used to be so familiar. He patted Lance’s back then pulled away.

“You too, Lance.”

Lance touched his forehead with his finger and gave Keith a small salute. Then he turned around, and walked away. Keith sat down and watched as Lance waved at Shiro. Lance reached for the doorknob. But then he turned his head to where Keith was sitting. He waved at Keith, then he pulled the door, and disappeared.

***

Author’s Notes: Thank you for reading! Kudos, comments and feedbacks are loved <3.

#Klance #Klance one shot #Voltron #Klance fanfic #Keith Voltron #Lance Voltron #Voltron fanfic

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hunnimaple-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Sinbad x Reader “who she is” [part 1]

Enjoy this lil’ Sinbad x Reader series I’m making <3

My eyes fell half-lidded as once more I was in the middle of an important meeting. Something about the prevention of further wars leading to my country, Almubar, in ashes and debris from the Kou Empire. I was not scared; all we had to do to prevent it was to form an alliance with Kou; from there their customs would sew its way into our country and we would be one with theirs. This very reason was why Mama and Papa were against it, but I had no complaints. Our people would be fed, and their lives would be much better. It sounded like a perfect compromise in waiting! My father constantly scolded me for such thinking, however, reminding me of my age, being only thirteen, and I held my tongue in their stead.

What vacuous thinking their majesties are showing, I thought bitterly, glaring at Mama and Papa. Their jewels jingled along while they shoved out their arms dramatically, declaring their beliefs aloud to the others in this meeting, like my older and younger sisters . The others. Pfft, the other dramatically political snobs.

I felt guilty, having to hate my line of snobbish, stuck-up royalty, but they were nothing but just that: snobbish, stuck-up royalty. As was I, myself, though I should feel very grateful.

"You must not take our riches for granted," warned my mother as she batted her beautiful eyelashes at me with a gorgeous smile, "it's very important to know your worth here, as a princess, and what that means. When the time comes, and if it does-- though with God's mercy I hope not-- your people will depend on you once your elder sisters have to leave us, unmarried at that. You must be determined, and you must have the mindset of a strong ruler."

"Like that of King Hakutoku?" I remarked.

She glared down at me and decided to ignore my reply, walking off to continue her speech with Papa. I shrugged, not caring, and looked out the sole window of the room, admiring the flowers just in bloom outside, when I suddenly remembered something that brought the widest grin upon my face. "My birthday's tomorrow!" I announced, slamming my hands on the desk as I stood up.

The room went quiet and everyone looked at me, shocked at my outburst that absolutely had nothing to do with the problems we were facing in this room right now. And I blushed harder than ever. "I-I-e-ee...." I stammered, pulling at my hair as means to comfort my nervousness, "Do... pardon me. I apologize, I suppose I was just um... dazing off.." I looked down, audibly and visibly embarrassed as my head hung low. My parents coughed, and soon the crowd began to commerce again with the serious matter at hand.

Oh, my God please slit my throat.

-〖w〗〖h〗〖o〗•〖s〗〖h〗〖e〗•〖i〗〖s〗•〖♚〗•〖s〗〖i〗〖n〗〖b〗〖a〗〖d〗-

The next morning I woke up to Leon, my adviser, poking at my cheeks quite harshly. I got up and glared at him before getting dressed for my birthday. We were to be throwing a little celebration, as we always do in royal birthdays. Because my family is full of snobby stuck-ups. I sighed, thanking them nonetheless and enjoyed the day with my people.

And here I sat: a cup of wine in hand, sneakily drinking it in the corner of the ball room. I smiled watching everyone dance and talk. It filled me with pride how kind my family was to their people, masking the troubles we hide in our family with kind smiles and actions. I nodded to myself in content, taking another sip, when someone disrupted my thoughts, saying,

"are you sure you're allowed to be drinking like that at your age, princess?"

I turned my head to face the man who spoke, only to find it was a boy, seemingly my age, smirking at me with beautiful, teasing eyes. I gaped my mouth at him, mockingly. "And who are you to talk?" I taunted, nodding toward the alcohol in his very hands.

He chuckled, puffing his chest with pride. as he spoke. "Sinbad, if you may know. And for the record, I'm sixteen." The purple-ette winked at me as he turned to search for the Queen, and my eyes followed his in curiosity. "My.. Comrade and I are here in hopes to ally you with our trading business," he spoke to me, eyes still in search until he visibly caught something. My mother was there, conversing with a smaller boy with white hair and.. Red strings on his hands. I nodded to Sinbad, though I was aware he wouldn't see it. He continued nonetheless, "We are aware of your countries successes in trades, and we ask to be able to share ideas further on in the future. You do not have to accept, as quite a few have turned us down but-"

"Do you know what this celebration is for?" I asked, turning to him with sharp, analyzing eyes. He nodded to me, smiling.

"Yes, we know. Happy birthday, by the way, any who," I scoffed, somehow maintaining to hold my smirk as he continued, raising his arms out. "Our trading is as well becoming very successful but it's only just the beginning. We hope, with allying with your country, our business becomes of something much bigger than that. Though, I don't know if that should be announced as of yet," he looked at me with a charming smile, sighing once he finished speaking.

And he grinned. His eyes shimmered with the lingering need of adventure and justice. In one look he had me caught in his web. and he was calling out to me. "Of course, forgive me princess. You look absolutely stunning. I was not aware of this kingdom's true treasures and yet here I am, standing right in front of one," he spoke, showing his teeth in a charming smile.

I see.

"How crude," I gasped, smacking him on the shoulder in shock, "I didn't think of you as the type, but I suppose all men of trade are the same." My brows furrowed and my bottom lip pushed out in a pout as I glared at him. To think I wanted to follow this boy! He looked at me in disbelief, reaching out a hand to touch me only to yelp when I smacked it away. Waving his hand to cool it off from my harsh impact, he sighed before speaking again,

"I don't quite understand, my lady, did I offend you somehow? I don't entirely know the culture of this Country so do forgive me.." he trailed, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck as he looked at me, frowning with concern. But his childish attempts to run out of trouble only fueled my anger ever more. I complied to his wishes, though.

"I know how all of you work, dear Sinbad; buttering all of us ladies up so you can woo us into agreeing with whatever you're trying to do. But I can tell you this:" I leaned forward, looping my arm around his torso to push him closer to me as I whispered into his ear, "This little scit-- doesn't work for us Almubans. We're well known for the acts and lies in the trading business."

Once I let go of him, Sinbad's eyes were widened and his face had a wide blush. He stood still for a while, probably due to shock, and I held my head high, analyzing him more as I leaned, putting a hand on my hip. Once he finally broke out of a trance he shook his head like a wet dog and blinked, looking at me with even more concern. He looked down with another shake of his head and sighed, speaking once more, "I'm not trying to do any of that.. I was just trying to be c-courteo-"

"Sinbad!" called a younger voice, and the two of us turned our heads to find the white haired boy from earlier rushing towards us with a wary look. He doesn't pay mind to me, but even then I don't care as I listen in to what he's saying.

"Queen Buvoen and King Olvad do not seem to agree with us, no matter how king I'm being. Honestly I think they're being too stuck up sitting on their thrown like that, as what we have can obviously benefit them. They said we were just a bunch of stupid, unwanted sailors though for that I would have been glad to-" he continued to ramble on while I watched as Sinbad's face paled, and he waved his hands to and fro, frantically trying to prevent his comrade to speak trash any further. I didn't mind, once more, because my God! This kid was hilarious!

"Ja'far!" he finally exclaimed. It seems he had enough, finally. "You're talking trash right in front of Princess (name)!"

Ja'far's ranting stopped right there and he said nothing, his mouth making a sound like that of an alligator eating a treat as his jaw snapped shut. He slowly peeked over Sinbad's shoulder to see me, and his eyes widened comically.

I stifled a laugh. Awe! He's no bigger than little Amlen! I thought, happily thinking of my little sister. "You are alright, Ja'far," I assured, "I'm not as fond of my parents as it is, your bickering became quite amusing. In fact, I thank you for speaking my thoughts all the time."

It was Sinbad's turn to be slack-jawed in shock and with that, I laughed even harder, snorting and covering my mouth with my small giggles. The two just sort of looked at each-other with daisy-pink dusted cheeks before looking back at me. "U-Um.." they spoke, trying their best to figure out what to say. Though they never seemed to accomplish such the deed, as my mother's chiming of her spoon against the glass made everyone look toward her, silent.

"I am afraid to say the hosts of the party are very tired, so all of the kingdom's people must leave the castle in the next five minutes. We have genuinely enjoyed your time here in out castle, and I hope you have as well. Thank you for joining us with such a special occasion as my daughter's birthday." The crowd inside the ball room cheered, raising their glasses before the room began to head out. My two hopeful friends turned to me with smug smiles, and Sinbad bent down to take my hand and kiss it, winking at me.

"I hope we get to meet again, princess. Happy birthday, and it was lovely talking with you," he spoke flirtatiously, flashing me the ole' charming smile he seems to have displayed for only ever.

I scoffed at him, politely bringing my hand back to my side and giving a curtsy as he bowed, not even registering anything as we both bid our goodbyes. The castle doors shut and Sinbad and Ja'far walked off, gloomily talking about the negotiation fail.

AND THEN WAIT IT HIT ME

"Shit!" I exclaimed, sprinting out of the castle. My dress flailed to and fro wildly and I jumped over things that stood in my way. "Sinbad!" I called, holding out my arm in desperate means to reach him further.

The sixteen year old sailor ahead of me stopped in his tracks, turning back to me and smiling widely.

Ouf, my heart.

"I- I want-!!!" I couldn't speak further as my concentration then went on to stopping, and I tripped mid-way. I could hear Sin gasp and he grabbed on to my waist to prevent me from falling, however that only made it worse, and the two of us then fell to the ground.

If it wasn't night time, anyone could see how red I was currently. Luckily though the shade brought myself less embarrassment and I got up as quickly as I could without my dress lifting. "O-Oh my goodness.. I-I am--!" I spoke, as I lifted Sinbad up. I bowed multiple times while sputtering apologies and he just chuckled, saying it was fine. I gulped, looking back up at him.

"So, you were saying?" He suddenly asked, his saffron orbs boring into my own. I snapped out of my still-embarrassed trance and cocked my head to the side, visibly confused.

"Hm?" I asked.

"You wanted to tell me something, right? What was it?" he prodded, giving this time a cheeky grin. He jutted out his hip and supported it with a hand placed on to it, cocking his head, like mine, and waiting as the anticipation only grew.

"O-Oh," I looked away, bashful. "I ah, I wanted to know if I could.." I furrowed my brows, then looking back up at him with a determined face. Wait a second-- no! I'm not shy around some playboy! I am a princess for heaven's sake, I need to act like one! I pushed my legs together, standing up straight and crossing my arms. "Sinbad. I want to come with you on your travels."

I spoke so sternly I guess that it shocked him. Ja'far and Sinbad stood close together, Sinbad shocked and Ja'far with a deadpanned expression. "With all do respect, princess-" Ja'far was quick to interrupt Sin with his own remark, "I don't see any reason why we should take you with us, your highness."

"Well, little one, I think it'd be wise if I just came with you here and now instead of having to walk back into the castle to meet my mother. Even though she'll.. most likely talk about your encounters with her, and from there ask what I was doing being seen next to you though, that would be quite an entertaining story to te-"

"Is.. she?" inquired Ja'far, turning to Sinbad. He didn't need to say anymore to the purple haired sailor as he nodded, smirking. "Yes, she is. Blackmailing."

I grinned innocently, curtsying once more. "So, either I come with you or I go with my mother." I added, extending my hand out. "What will it be, boys?"

Ja'far winced, pulling at his friend's clothes. "Sin.. it's a lose lose situation. I dunno.." he spoke softly, "if we do end up taking her with us what's the point? One, she's not going for any reason but to be a bother," I can here you, you little b- "-And two, if assuming she's making this decision by her own accord she's going to be filed as missing and/or kidnapped by us. I don't know if-"

"Such thinking won't be necessary," a familiar voice spoke, making Ja'far pop up his head. I turned around and smiled politely, nodding my head at the voice who spoke.

"Sir Leon," I greeted.

He nodded toward me, his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. "I've already informed her majesty as to what you were planning, Princess (name), and she seems to have agreed with letting you depart."

Really now..? You thought to yourself, annoyed. Good to know the old hag wants me off her back!

"Though, if you are to be going, I am to as well. Think of us as.. Almubar's ambassadors. Powerful, however. I am a magician, so we won't hold you back much."

I see that we.. Didn't really give the two of them 'options' but I wasn't one to care at the moment. I instead looked toward Sinbad to await for his decision, and grinned to see him nodding after thinking it through.

"Well, Leon, Princess,"

"Speak to her highness fortunate, you uncultured swine," spat Leon,

Sinbad ignored him. "I guess you'll be joining us."

--- did you like it did you love it hope you did. Qotc: Who's your favorite bb of the show? Mines Baby Judal 💕💕

#sinbad sinbadxreader teensinbad readerinsert romance magilabrinthofmagic magikingdomofmagic ja'far princess oc readerxsinbad

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