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ginnsbaker · 2 months ago

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All Of Your Pieces (26 - Death and His Friends)

Chapter Summary: If she hadn’t looked at you the way she did, whispered your name like it was a prayer, melted into you like you were her home—maybe you wouldn’t be here, drunk, half-mad, half-burning alive just to save the scraps of a life that didn’t exist anymore. She should’ve been cruel. Should’ve been indifferent. Should’ve been impossible to love. But Wanda had been none of those things.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 4.9k+ | Chapter Tags: angst, violence, and more angst Warning: graphic violence suicidal thoughts

A/N: More depressing stuff. Two more chapters after this, and we will close Part 2 :) I'm not thrilled about that because I have a lot of catching up to do yikes // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Warning: graphic violence suicidal thoughts

The night tasted like your own sweat, and then blood that wasn’t yours. It’s not criminal if it’s criminals you were bringing down—one by one. At least that’s what you kept convincing yourself to believe for the past year.

Somewhere between the grit under your boots and the sound of your blade slicing through flesh, you realized that vengeance never tasted as sweet as you once thought it would. It was bitter. The tang of iron lingered stubbornly on your lips a little too long, and even as you wiped your face with a trembling hand, nothing felt cleaner. The city never slept. Nor did you.

Rest seemingly died with Wanda.

Clint was the only one who understood, or at least he acted like it. When you slipped into the shadows together, he gave you the same name he had been carrying around: Ronin. A wandering vigilante without a master. You wondered if you should have been called something else, because you weren’t convinced that you both didn’t have masters. Grief was the master—it’s what kept you both going.

But perhaps Ronin was enough. It meant a directionless sword turned on those who deserved it.

You kept a single suitcase with you, living on the road, never staying in one place long enough to remember which city you woke up in. The suitcase was mostly Wanda’s. Her worn jacket was still there, the threads fraying a bit at the cuffs. You used to breathe in its scent, pressing your face into the fabric just to catch a trace of her perfume. But now, it just smelled of you. And every time you zipped it up, you wondered if you were sealing the last fragments of her inside, keeping them safe, trying not to let them slip away the same way she did.

Sometimes, when the adrenaline faded and your heart pounded so loud you couldn’t hear anything else, you turned that jacket into a makeshift pillowcase, holding it close to your chest as if it could hold you back. It never did. If anything, it only reminded you of her absence, the emptiness next to you that you couldn’t fill no matter how many bad people you put six feet under.

The Snap might have happened more than a year ago, but it felt like it had just happened yesterday. Every morning you woke up to an empty horizon, and every night you sank deeper into your mattress. The need to punish someone—anyone—for taking her away was a drumbeat in your chest that just wouldn’t stop.

You caught sight of yourself in a broken window sometimes: blood-smeared and wild-eyed, unrecognizable. You thought, Wanda wouldn’t want to see me like this. The thought made your chest tighten. It wasn’t enough to make you stop, though. Because stopping meant facing the truth that she was never coming back. Stopping meant letting go of that last fragile hope that she’d appear from around the corner, gentle smile on her lips, her hand reaching out for yours again.

Sometimes you wondered if Clint ever had the same thoughts—if the burn of his grief cut him as deeply. You saw it in his eyes when there was a lull in the fight, that distant look that mirrored your own. But you never asked. Maybe you were afraid he’d say no, and you’d realize you were truly alone in this darkness. Or maybe you were even more afraid he’d say yes, and neither of you would know how to crawl out of it once it was spoken aloud.

“Hey,” Clint’s voice pulled you from the haze.

You blinked and looked up to find him dragging two men across the blood-slick floor. They thrashed weakly in his grip, their faces pale, eyes wide with terror. He shoved them forward, and they collapsed at your feet, trembling.

“You can stop anytime,” Clint reminded you. His knuckles were split and raw, his eyes dark with exhaustion. “Just say the word.”

You shook your head. No words were necessary. The sword was already in your hand again. With two swift strikes, it was over. Their bodies crumpled to the ground, lifeless, and the blood pooled beneath them like ink spreading across paper.

In that moment, you realized just how natural this had become. You barely reached for your pistols anymore. Clint stayed for a moment, watching to make sure you finished the job. When the bodies lay still, he turned away without a word and walked off in the opposite direction. You never discussed the logistics of this arrangement. You didn’t know where he slept whenever you tore through a city, crossing names off your lists. You never told him about the apartments you rented either. Your paths only crossed when there was a target—when you were both doing the work that needed to be done.

When his footsteps finally faded into the distance, your hands began to tremble. The sword slipped from your fingers and hit the floor with a sharp, metallic clang. You buried your face in your hands and choked on a sob no one was there to hear.

Outside, sirens wailed in the distance. The bodies you and Clint left outside were horrifying enough to cause a small panic from unsuspecting civilians who were just trying to get home from a hard day’s work.

Tomorrow, you’d paint the walls red again. But that night, you let yourself break.

For her.

For the life you lost.

For the pieces of yourself you would never get back.

—

You drifted into a dream that felt more alive than the actual world you currently lived in. The sheets were tangled at your ankles. Her hair fanned across the pillow, soft as a sunrise. You had just made love for the second time that night, your skin still singing with the memory of her touch. It was achingly similar to the last night you shared in Wakanda.

Wanda lay beside you, her head resting on your chest, her fingers drawing lazy circles along your ribs. You stared at the ceiling, counting seconds in the silence, wishing you could make time slow down. The battle loomed just hours away, but here—it was just you and her. The world hadn't ended yet.

“You're not sleeping,” she whispered.

You kissed the top of her head. “Neither are you.”

She hummed softly, her breath warm against your skin. “I'm scared,” she admitted. “About tomorrow.”

“Me too,” you said. There was no point in pretending otherwise.

Wanda shifted, propping herself up on one elbow to look at you. She let the sheet fall away, revealing the soft swells of her breast.

“What if,” you began before Wanda’s nakedness could distract you any further. “What if one of us didn’t make it?”

“I won’t let that happen,” she said, voice caught somewhere between a plea and a promise. “Not to you. Not to me.” Wanda used to gamble her own life without a second thought after Pietro died, as though nothing mattered. But that changed when she found you. “I want to live,” she confessed. “Really live—you know?”

You swallowed the ache in your throat. “Then promise me,” you said. “After this—after Thanos, after all of it—we vanish somewhere quiet.”

She gave you a ghost of a smile, brushed her lips against yours. “I promise.”

Then the dream warped. Wanda looked down at her hands, watched them crumble, every piece of her turning to dust. You lunged for her, desperation burning in your chest, but she disappeared like a whisper in a storm.

—

You woke with a start. Your throat felt dry, and the taste of stale liquor coated your tongue. A throbbing headache pulsed behind your temples—there were at least three empty bottles of something you barely remembered opening, scattered near your feet. Your vision blurred, tears mixing with the afterimages of Wanda’s face. For a second, you forgot where you were. Then reality flooded in like poison.

Anger sank its claws into your gut, white-hot and suffocating. You hated everything: this dingy flat you had borrowed for the night, your own useless heartbeat, the hollow echo of a promise that never stood a chance. You hated yourself.

And maybe, in that twisted heartbeat of a moment, you hated Wanda too.

If she hadn’t looked at you the way she did, whispered your name like it was a prayer, melted into you like you were her home—maybe you wouldn’t be here, drunk, half-mad, half-burning alive just to save the scraps of a life that didn’t exist anymore.

She should’ve been cruel. Should’ve been indifferent. Should’ve been impossible to love.

But Wanda had been none of those things.

She was warmth in a world that never gave you much. She was soft hands in your hair after a long day, laughter against your throat, breathless kisses under the covers, sunlight pooling over her bare skin in the mornings when the war felt far away. She was the kind of love that seeped into your bones without permission, the kind that made you forget how to live without it.

And now she was gone. And you hated her for that, too.

Wanda’s jacket lay crumpled on a chair, surrounded by the scattered remnants of her things—the ones you carried with you wherever you went, hauling them from place to place, pretending she was with you.

You swept them all up without pausing to think. You stuffed them into a sack as though hoarding contraband. Your fingers trembled around the lighter. One flick—two—and a tiny flame sprang to life, hungry for something to devour. It tasted the edge of the sack, glowing brighter.

The fire spread. You stood there, breathing in sharp, rattling gasps, tears cutting hot paths down your cheeks. Smoke stung your eyes and finally tore you free from whatever madness had taken hold. Horror crashed into you when you realized you were about to let the last pieces of Wanda burn.

“No… no, no, no!”

You dropped to your knees, slapping at the flames with desperate hands. Your shirt caught fire first, eating its way up your sleeve. Pain lashed at your nerves, but fear of losing what was left of her stung a thousand times worse. You fought the blaze until you choked on the smoke and your vision blurred.

When it was over, the room reeked of burnt cotton and scorched flesh. The edges of Wanda’s jacket were singed, blackened holes marring the pattern she once wore. But it was still there—still real in your arms.

Shaking, you pressed it to your chest, ignoring the burn wounds throbbing along your arm. You sank to the floor and closed your eyes. A gust of wind rattled the window, shifting the smoke in heavy swirls, gathering dust with them.

Eventually, you forced yourself to stand. You swayed like a ghost in your own skin, unsteady on your feet, the jacket pressed against your ribs. You surveyed the wreckage before gathering what’s left of Wanda’s belongings and cradling them into your arms, full of regret.

Wanda had once told you she wanted to live. She had promised you both would run away somewhere untouched by war or duty, but no promise could stand against the universe that swallowed her whole. You felt betrayed by the memory. You felt lost in its wake.

Trembling, you limped toward the sink, your eyes stinging more from grief than any leftover smoke. You tried to douse the throbbing burn on your arm with cold water, but it did little to soothe the ache.

Everything in you felt rubbed raw.

—

Several weeks bled into each other, and you barely noticed.

Your burns had healed just enough to leave angry pink scars across your arm, but they still stung when you moved too fast. The rest of your body wasn’t much better off. A cracked rib that you refused to see a doctor for. A split lip that wouldn’t stop bleeding every time you bit down in anger or frustration. You told Clint it was all fine, but he wasn’t an idiot—he saw how you winced when you swung your sword, how you downed painkillers like breath mints.

He never said much about it, though. Maybe he figured you’d talk when you were ready—or maybe he was giving you the same distance he needed for himself. Some nights you caught him looking at you with something like pity, but you shook it off. You weren’t Clint’s charity case, and you certainly weren’t interested in a pep talk.

This time, the two of you had rolled into a run-down stretch of a town just outside of Bangkok. The main target was some mid-level crime boss with enough hired guns to make it “a real party,” in Clint’s words. He had briefed you on the specifics: smuggling ring, trafficking, a laundry list of atrocities that, a couple of years ago, would make your skin crawl. Now they simply just made you more numb to the idea of writing them off the Earth more convincing and assuring.

Even so, a part of you itched with restlessness. The memory of nearly burning Wanda’s things was fresh behind your eyes. You remembered hating her for leaving you—and then hating yourself more for thinking it. You wondered if letting go was the only way to stop hurting, but you were too much of a coward to do that cleanly. So you kept marching toward every fight like you were daring someone else to do it for you.

You crouched beside Clint in the dirty alleyway, listening to the distant thrum of a generator. The rotting stench of garbage and stale sweat clung to the walls, and broken glass crunched beneath your boots. You felt yourself slipping into that cold, steady calm you had come to rely on during missions.

The plan was simple enough. Clint wanted to get inside the warehouse and dig up every record, ledger, or scrap of intel that could unravel this syndicate from the inside out. You were there to keep the hired guns occupied long enough for him to do it. Neither of you said it, but you both knew you’d be dealing with far more than a handful of guards. And maybe you were counting on that.

It wasn’t just about the mission anymore. A twisted part of you craved the chaos, the rush, the possibility that one stray bullet might make all your nightmares vanish for good. You hated that about yourself—that tiny, traitorous thought kept whispering that maybe, on this night, you wouldn’t bother to dodge when your instincts told you to.

You forced your cracked rib to stop complaining, ignored the dull throb of the burns on your arm. Your split lip had opened up again, you could taste the iron tang of blood on your tongue. Clint glanced your way, arrow nocked. He gave a curt nod, and you returned it.

Moments later, you slipped through the back entrance, steel blade in hand. The first guard never even turned around—by the time he heard your footsteps, your sword was already cutting through muscle and bone. There was no time for him to scream.

Clint veered right, making for the office where he could lock down the ledgers and hacked systems. You pushed ahead, weaving through the maze of crates. Every time your sword cut through the air, you marveled at how weightless it felt. By all rights, your arms should’ve given out—hell, you’d swung this thing over a hundred times tonight—but your body kept moving. Running on autopilot. Running on adrenaline, anger, and a deep, gnawing ache you refused to acknowledge.

Shouts echoed in the distance as more men poured into the corridor. Part of you recognized this was a setup—that they knew you were here. But instead of warning Clint or retreating, you stepped out into the open, letting them see you, letting them surge toward you with guns and knives raised. It was suicide, and you knew it. A hollow part of you almost wished one of them would be good enough to make you bleed out on the cold cement floor.

They weren’t. You cut through them with eerie precision, each blow landing home. Blood splattered across your suit, red mist hanging in the air. Gunfire stuttered behind you, but you didn’t so much as flinch. A bullet sliced past your ribs, carving a fresh line of pain, but you barely registered it. Your focus stayed locked on the next body, the next target—because right now, that was all that mattered.

Eventually, the corridor fell silent except for your ragged breaths. Men lay sprawled across the floor, each one worse off than the last. You stepped gingerly over the bodies as if they were pavement, as you made your way back to Clint.

Out of the corner of your eye, Clint burst from the office, a black duffel slung over his shoulder, stuffed with whatever intel he’d scraped together. He gave you another nod. You didn’t nod back. You just stood there, blood in your mouth, heartbeat in your ears.

And then you turned. A mistake.

A single gunshot shattered the suffocating silence. The impact slammed into you from behind, just beneath your shoulder blade. You had enough time to feel the white-hot shock before your muscles went slack.

Blood bloomed across your suit, warm and sticky. You tried to breathe, but the air refused to come. Your knees gave out, sending you crashing onto the cold concrete. Vaguely, through the haze, you heard Clint’s shout—angry, desperate—followed by the heavy thud of another body hitting the ground.

Your vision swam, black creeping in at the edges. You tried to inhale again, but each breath rattled uselessly in your throat.

In the final moment before you lost consciousness, your thoughts drifted to Wanda. You almost laughed at the idea that you'd ever believed you could hate her. Because the truth was—you'd have given anything to have her there, just once more, before you took your last breath.

For the first time in months, you smiled.

—

You woke to white.

White walls, white sheets, white lights overhead. For a moment, you wondered if you were dead. If this was the afterlife, maybe some waiting room before the pearly gates. But the thought barely lasted a heartbeat. You remembered what you’d done over the past year—how many lives you’d ended, how many lines you’d crossed, all in the name of vengeance that still left you hollow. No way in hell heaven would open its doors for you.

Then you thought of Wanda. If heaven existed, she’d be its ambassador. But the thought turned bitter almost instantly—because if she was up there, somewhere beyond all this, and you were still down here, waiting for oblivion to take you, what did that say? A wave of sorrow washed over you so fierce it almost had you choking on your own breath. You pressed your eyes shut, wishing you had done every damned thing differently.

Your skull throbbed with a dull ache, and your body refused to move in one solid piece. You felt bandages, tight across your chest, your shoulder, the place on your arm where your burns still festered. A monitor beeped somewhere near your head, an annoying reminder that you weren’t free of your body yet.

The door creaked open. Soft footsteps. You cracked your eyes to see a woman in a white uniform—like everything else in the room—walking in with a clipboard pressed to her side. She said something in Thai, her tone calm and professional. You stared at her, blinking, the words tumbling around your already-battered mind.

She paused, probably recognizing your blank expression. Then she switched to English, the smooth shift of her voice almost startling. “Hello,” she said gently. “I’m Doctor Kia. How are you feeling?”

You tried to answer, but your tongue felt thick, your mouth dry. Instead, you managed a small croak, which was enough for her to spring into action and offer you a cup with a straw. You sipped slowly, the water cool against your parched throat.

“Your injuries were quite severe,” she went on, scanning your chart. “The bullet punctured your right lung. There was significant internal bleeding. You also have older injuries—burns, possibly cracked rib that didn’t heal properly. We’ve taken care of the worst of it, but you’ll need time, medication, and rest.”

You didn’t say anything. It all felt surreal—like she was a judge listing your crimes rather than a doctor reading your chart. In your half-dazed mind, you wondered if heaven would put you through the same process if you showed up at its gates. Would they read off every name you’d killed, every line you’d crossed, before slamming the doors in your face? Probably.

Doctor Kia’s voice droned on but you’d stopped listening to specifics the moment she mentioned internal bleeding and fractured bones. She might as well have been describing someone else’s broken body. You had no idea why you were still breathing, anyway.

She stepped closer to the bed, her brows pulled tightly together. You felt her gaze on you like a spotlight, bright and uncomfortable. “How did you get these injuries?” she asked, voice quiet, just above a whisper.

You shifted your eyes away, refusing to meet her stare. A cold wave of anger or shame—maybe both—knotted in your stomach. You didn’t feel like conversation, certainly not about the life you’d carved out of your own misery. She’d leave eventually if you kept silent. Once she was gone, you could slip away too.

But Doctor Kia didn’t leave. She hovered there, determined, tapping her pen against the clipboard. Finally, she said something about women trapped in cycles of violence, about the importance of speaking up, of reaching out for help. Her words dripped with earnestness, like she’d seen one too many battered wives pass through her ward with too many excuses. Maybe she thought you were one of them.

The noise in your head rose to a roar, drowning out every word. The guilt, the hate, the sting of Wanda’s memory—it all churned under your skin. You felt your teeth clench, your jaw tighten. You turned your head, shooting her a look that begged her to stop talking.

She didn’t read the warning. Another sentence tumbled out of her mouth, something about how you weren’t alone in this.

“Stop,” you bit out, harsher than you meant.

Doctor Kia paused, her mouth open, eyes full of concern. For a long second, neither of you moved. You pressed your palms into the stiff sheets, ignoring the pain. You saw her sympathy and wanted to throw it back in her face.

But you said nothing more. She seemed to get the message. Her shoulders stiffened, and she exhaled through her nose, carefully shutting whatever speech she had prepared. Wordlessly, she scribbled a note on the clipboard, turned on her heel, and left you alone with the sound of your own labored breathing.

As soon as Doctor Kia’s footsteps faded into the corridor, you tried to move. You propped yourself on one elbow, teeth clamped against the groan that rattled in your chest. The pain was white-hot—sharp enough to steal your breath. She hadn’t been exaggerating about your injuries. A bullet to the lung, a second degree burn, and a cracked rib weren’t exactly sprained ankles. Right now, you felt every bit of it.

Still, your mind fixated on one thing: escape. You forced yourself upright, hissing at the stab of agony under your ribs. Your vision blurred at the edges, black spots dancing. If you pushed any harder, you’d pass out again.

When you looked to your right, you spotted your bag sitting on a plastic chair. Clint must have dumped it there before taking off. After a second, you reached out, slow and shaky, managing to snag the edge of the bag and drag it closer.

Your hand fumbled with the zipper, every movement a fresh ache. Inside, you found your phone tucked beneath a spare shirt and some other essentials you’d barely remembered packing. Relief flooded you when you saw it was still charged. The screen lit up, one new message glowed at the top:

GONE FISHING. STAY PUT. BE BACK SOON.

Your thumb hovered over the keys, ready to tap out a warning, to say, “Be careful, don’t get yourself killed.” But you stopped. After everything, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell Clint what to do, couldn’t bring yourself to admit you still cared if he lived or died. In the end, you erased every letter you typed and let the phone slip from your grasp onto the bed. The pain was getting worse, demanding you stop moving.

—

You must have dozed off, because the next thing you felt was a sudden prick at your arm. Your eyes shot open on instinct. You jerked away and grabbed the wrist of whoever was leaning over you. The nurse yelped, dropping the syringe. She stumbled back, wide-eyed, clearly not expecting a sedated patient to lash out like that.

Your ribs screamed in protest at the sudden movement, and you hissed in pain. The nurse was already halfway to the door, muttering anxious apologies and something you couldn’t decipher. She fled before you could even get an apology out.

A few minutes later, the door swung open again. Doctor Kia. Her white uniform was rumpled, her hair barely tamed by the clip at the back of her head.

“What happened?” she demanded, glancing from your tense posture to the scattered supplies on the floor.

“I was asleep,” you muttered. “Didn’t know what she was doing.”

“She’s trying to help you, Y/N.” A sigh escaped her, heavy with exasperation. “You’re not exactly making it easy.”

You sank back against the pillows, turning onto your side—the uninjured one—and shutting your eyes as if that might dismiss her. The bed creaked under the slightest movement. “It’s fine,” you said. “Let me sleep.”

Doctor Kia ignored your dismissive tone. She stooped, picking up the fallen syringe and examining it. Then she approached you and started prepping the cotton and alcohol.

When you opened your eyes again, she was poised by your IV stand. “What are you doing?” you asked.

“Pain relief,” she answered curtly. “You obviously need it. Your hair’s soaked with sweat, your lips are white, and your cheeks are pale.” Her gaze flicked over you, calculating. “Your body is telling you it can’t handle the pain anymore.”

“I don’t need—”

Whatever protest you were going to make died on your tongue as she slid the needle into your arm with cold efficiency. It was rather more painful than you were expecting. You caught a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes—smug, almost. Maybe that was her little way of getting back at you—for being such a nightmare of a patient.

The sedative worked fast. Within moments, your limbs felt heavier, and that razor-sharp edge of agony dulled to a distant throb. Exhaustion swept through your veins like a black tide, and your eyelids drooped into a deeper sleep.

—

Two days later, your body finally recovered enough for you to climb down a six-story building. Or at least, you were counting on it. You couldn’t stay here anymore, caged in that white-walled room. So you waited until midnight to make sure there were barely any staff roaming the halls—then slid out of bed with a grunt and stuffed your belongings into your bag.

The second your feet hit the floor, your healing wounds reminded you they weren’t done complaining. Your ribs screamed, your shoulder twinged, and a dull headache pounded in the back of your skull. But you clenched your teeth and kept moving, ignoring the beads of sweat that broke out on your forehead.

You’d just made it to the hallway when Doctor Kia appeared at the opposite end, spotting you with a startled frown. “What are you doing?” she asked, striding closer.

You exhaled hard. “Leaving.”

Her eyes dipped to your half-buttoned shirt, the fresh bandages peeking out beneath. “You’re in no condition to leave. At least wait until we can—”

You cut her off by thrusting a wad of bills into her hand—easily three times what this hospital stay was worth. She looked down at the money, stunned and worried.

“Keep the change,” you muttered. “Use it for…whatever.”

She clutched the cash, glancing from it to you, her eyebrows knitting in concern. “You shouldn’t be going yet. Your injuries—”

“I’ll manage.”

There was a beat of silence. You both knew you were a walking disaster, barely held together by gauze and painkillers. But the conversation ended there. You had no intention of listening to another lecture.

Slowly, Doctor Kia closed her hand around the money. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t try to stop you. Maybe she realized it was pointless. Maybe she sensed that you’d tear your stitches rather than stay another minute.

Without another word, you turned your back on the sterile corridor. Every step jarred your ribs, made your chest ache, but you forced yourself onward. You didn’t look back, and you didn’t let yourself think about how your body was screaming for rest.

This place had never been a refuge—it was just another prison in a world that stopped making sense the day Wanda faded into dust. And so you limped into the daylight, still in one piece, more or less, but not sure how many more pieces you had left to lose.

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cashmoneyyysstuff · 2 years ago

Note

I never really made a request before so that's my first time wish u like it

So I was thinking about some fluff drunk y/n acting all stupid and flirty to bakugo who doesn't like drinking around her because he knows that they both won't have someone to send them home if they got drunk

[Secretly caring]

*Whispering* he also gets a bit touchy if she let's him

*friends to lovers thing*

Wish my explanation was good enough and can't wait for the next chapter of FBRC <3

can't say no to you . . (not that i want to)

katsuki takes you home after a night out

a/n: OUUU this is such a cute idea ! i’m so happy, this is my first request as well so we both have a milestone LMAOOO ! i tried to honour your request as best i could ! <3 (OU and AAAAA im glad you like FBRC ! i hope you’ll keep reading !)

bakugou katsuki considers himself a mature, mostly rational person.

despite what others, media outlets and even his own damn friends might say, katsuki thinks he’s really not that bad.

sure, he’s flipped off a camera man, cursed out another one…and another one—but who doesn’t have a bad day once in a while ?

he’s changed since he was a kid, he doesn’t get set off as easy anymore most days. he’s learned to be more patient, a little more levelheaded. that’s at least something his shitty friends will tell you.

he’s changed from when he was a kid, he’s grown now. he’s a man.

but right now katsuki feels like smashing your head in with a brick.

"kah-su-kiiiiiiiii... m'sleeppyy" you whine, leaning against his shoulder.

katsuki doesn't regret a lot, but he sure as hell regrets accepting to go out for drinks with you. again. you had said something about 'celebrating getting a day off after a while'.

"never should've accepted goin' out with yer ass." he laments grumpily. despite the fact he says this every single time he goes out to drink with you, he never seems to learn his lesson. he never seems to want to learn his lesson.

truth is, katsuki has grown a lot since his UA days but one thing he hasn't outgrown is his giant rampant crush on you. it's embarrassing how tightly you've got him wrapped around your finger, how easily you can get him to do whatever you want as long as you just asked him to.

he complains and grumbles about it but he'll never, ever, say no to you.

which is how he always, always, ends up in this predicament.

katsuki snaps out of his thoughts when he hears you sniffle.

"y-ya don't like.." you sniffle again " ya don't like hangin' out wif me ?"

fuck.

immediatly it's like a switch had been flipped. he moves his arm so he can wrap it around you and have you lean against his chest. you always got emotional when you were a little too drunk, that usually meant it was time to go.

"no—no, s'not that. i—" he sucks in a breath, cheeks heating up despite the fact he knows there's barely any chance you'll remember this. usually he'd remind you of your embarrassing drunk moments as revenge for making him take you home and taking care of your ass because you were too drunk to, but he'll refrain from mentioning this part.

"i do like hangin' out with you, dummy. quit talkin' stupid." he shushes you softly, unconsciously rubbing your arm comfortingly.

"b-but you said, you regretted goin' out wit me" you pout. fuck, you're cute. katsuki has to fight off the urge to lean down and kiss it away.

"i say a lot of stuff i don't always mean, sweets. you know that." he replies " 'f i didn't wanna hang out with ya, i wouldn't."

you hum pensively, leaning against his shoulder as you think. you smell like something sweet, he can't quite track down what it is, but it's making him dizzy. you've always had the ability to make him lose focus. you're so close and you smell so good and katsuki feels like he's drunk.

"mmyeah...guess that's true" you hiccup. you raise your hand up to trace his jaw line with your finger and he refuses to look at you but he can hear the cheeky little smile in your voice "you like hanging out with me, right ? that's why you always say yes when i ask !

he scoffs "i only say yes 'cuz i know you'd just end up goin' out anyway, you'd get yourself in trouble." he's stiff as a fucking board, he feels like if he moves a little too much he'll say something he shouldn't.

"no i wouldn't" you argue, then you reach your whole hand up to squeeze his cheeks "but even if i did, i know you'd come to save me, mr. dynamight" you giggle

he's so sick of you. katsuki's been in plenty of situations where he was this close to death, but he's certain you're gonna be the death of him.

"time for bed" he grumbles. he lifts you by your shoulders slightly until you can properly stand on your feet "m'getting you home, yer too drunk to be up right now" he asserts, chuckling when you pout at him when he flicks your forehead

"you're not the boss o' me ! 'm completely—oops" you trip forward but katsuki catches you with ease, he's always there to.

you look up at him innocently and he looks down at you with one eyebrow raised "you were sayin' ?" he sassed.

you roll your eyes at him and push off him slightly to stand more comfortably, you stick your tongue out at him. " i said—i'm fine..but if you wanna take me home that badly, i guess i'll allow it" you shrug. katsuki squints then shakes his head, smiling to himself. you catch him and giggle, he can't cover up his chuckle fast enough. you must look stupid to the other people in the bar just sitting there giggling at each other, he realizes. then he remembers he could honestly not give enough of a shit about what these other drunk losers thought, the only drunk loser he cared about was right here in his arms.

right where you belonged.

you're out like a light by the time katsuki's brought you back to your apartment, but he doesn't mind, he'd expected it anyway. he carries you like a sack of potatoes to your floor. he's glad he'd managed to grab your keys before you fell asleep, having to wrestle the keys from you and risk you getting cranky at him doesn't sound all that nice right now.

he helps you take off your shoes and he's extremely grateful you're just lucid enough to change by yourself. he helps you clean up and brush your teeth, then carries you to bed even though he knows damn well you could walk just fine. not before getting you to down a glass of water.

you're annoying when you're drunk and sleepy, you're whiny and everything is too much work for you. katsuki grumbles right along with you, calling you a pain in the ass, then promptly taking it back when he sees you tearing up again. he grumbles and complains but he knows he wouldn't let anyone else do it for him. not only because he's sure whoever it is wouldn't even be able to do this half as well as he does, but also because despite his better judgement, despite the fact you piss him off to no bounds, you're his to take care of. and he'd be damned if he let anyone else take care of what's his.

so you whine, and he complains, but he truly wouldn't have it any other way.

you insist on wanting him to stay with you and he knows he probably shouldn't. he likes you too much to just casually stay here with you, he knows he won't be able to sleep and he's just going to keep staring at your lashes fluttering as you dream. but you pout at him and plead him so sweetly, he really can't say no to you.

he likes you too much.

he steals one of your hoodies and a pair of sweatpants (he technically isn't stealing—since they're both his to begin with) and climbs into bed with you. you immediatly latch onto him, nuzzling into his shoulder before thanking him.

"for what ?" he mutters sleepily, slowly wrapping his arms around you.

"for.." you interrupt yourself with a yawn, he chuckles "for always takin' care of me..you're the best."

if you were more sober, he'd simply answer with a cocky "tell me something i don't know." but you're not and katsuki's already too far gone, so he squeezes your waist in appreciation then responds " i'm always gonna take care of you."

he's suprised by how soft and sappy he sounds but you suprise him even more when you lean up slightly to press a feather light kiss to the underside of his jaw and whisper a sweet little "love you."

he lays there for a good long while without response, you don't mind because you chose that exact moment to fall asleep. he lays there and he's sure he won't be able to fall asleep now. fuck you for knocking out and leaving him like this, he thinks. he's trying not to give himself false hope, maybe you meant it platonically. he keeps trying and he keeps thinking all night but he's still impossibly giddy.

he was contemplating not telling you anything about last night, but he can't help himself. he's nervous—god, he's so fucking nervous when you wake up while he's getting comfy in your kitchen like it was his, making breakfast. you look groggy and sleepy and hungover, but to him, you still look adorable.

when you're awake enough, munching away at the breakfast he's made, he tells you about last night and his heart slams against his chest when he mentions what you had told him.

though, when he sees how you choke on a piece of your toast, and how flustered you look, like a deer in headlights, his heart beats hard against his ribcage for a completely different reason.

the next time you go out for drinks, it's to celebrate the start of your relationship.

AAA first request done ! hope you liked this anon <3 if you guys have any request pleassseee lemme know !

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fru1t4fr0gs · 20 days ago

Text

You and Me - Chapter 6

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: The battle in the airport begins. Bucky gets protective.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: Violence, Vague descriptions of injuries, Fighting, Swearing, Reader is injured, Protective!Bucky, Like super protective, Tony Stark is reader's biological father (reader is still a fully grown adult, we make the timeline work because we are in charge), No use of y/n, Please let me know if I forgot anything

Author’s Note: Hope you guys like this chapter! We've got a little bit of everything here. Action, angst, banter, sappy lovey-dovey moments - you name it! Next chapter is gonna be all kinds of angsty, so get ready my friends. As always, feedback is super appreciated!

You’re stationed inside the airport, Sam and Bucky sitting on either side of you. Your backs are pressed against the wall, facing away from the large windows so as not to be seen.

“I just want to let you guys know,” you say, tone casual as you keep your eyes on the screen lit up before you. Sharon managed to bring a few items of yours along with Steve’s shield and Sam’s suit, so one of your surveillance robots is projecting the argument outside onto a hologram at your watch, “that my serum makes me sense a lot of things, and the tension between you two is giving me a fucking migraine.”

You don’t have to look up to know that they’ve quickly stopped glaring at each other, or even that they both shoot you a guilty look. Your eyes are glued to the screen.

Tony sounds desperate. Angry. He tells Steve to turn Bucky in. He demands to talk to you.

And that’s the reason you’re in here, removed from it all while Redwing - one of your favourite creations - searches for the quinjet.

He’s not your dad. Dads drive you to soccer practice and teach you to ride a bike. You never had one of those, and that’s fine. You don’t need a dad. You never did.

But, despite it all, Tony Stark is still family. The rift between the two of you, after everything that’s happened since you admitted who you were to him, hurts. In so many ways, and in so many moments, he wants to be your dad, or at least something akin to it. In some ways, you’ve let him. You’ve worked through problems with him, built machines together, listened to Pepper put him in his place countless times. You communicate through quips and sarcasm, mostly, but you’ve also learned how to translate snarky comments into what they really mean.

And now he’s desperate to keep you from being taken out like the national threat you seem to have become, and you won’t even face him.

Sam and Bucky are looking at you.

“What’s the status on Redwing?” You ask, chest feeling tight.

“”Hey, are you-“

You interrupt Sam, and ask again through gritted teeth. “Status on Redwing. Please.”

Sam wisely drops the subject and clicks a button on his glasses, watching the surveillance. “Still looking.”

Bucky’s hand, cool and comforting, settles gently on your thigh. No pressure. Just there. You relax a little.

Redwing finds the quinjet, and it’s time to move.

You shut down the screen, and drag yourself to your feet.

“What the hell is that?”

“Everyone has a gimmick these days.”

The guy in the red suit bursts through the window, and you don’t have time to speak before shots of…something are being fired your way.

A piece of debris flies at you from behind, and you don’t have to look up to push Sam out of the way and duck low enough that it barely grazes the top of your head.

Red Suit Guy comes out of nowhere, and you manage to dodge a couple of shots of stuff before one of them hits your arm and attaches it to the wall behind you, locking you in place.

“No way, do you have the tingle?” He asks, and holy shit does his voice sound young.

“The what?”

“You know, the…nevermind.” You use the web on your arm to anchor you in place as you kick out, faster than a bullet, but he somehow manages to dodge it. You slam on your captured wrist, triggering your watch to burn through the…web, you guess, until your hand is free. You throw a punch, and he dodges it again. He throws one back, and it’s your turn to dodge.

“Oh wait! You’re Mr. Stark’s kid!” He shouts, making you furrow your brow as you come at him again. You don’t land a single blow. He’s quicker than you. “I’m sorry! I’m not supposed to hit you. I’m supposed to do this.”

More shots of the sticky stuff fire at you, and you’re knocked back against a wall and stuck to it once more.

“Are you making this stuff?” You ask, horror and disgust lacing your voice at the idea that the substance holding you to the wall is some kind of bodily fluid. “Why is it sticky?!”

“Huh? No! I mean, I make it, but it’s not like, coming out of me!”

Before you can respond or even process what the fuck that means, Bucky is there, jumping in front of you and throwing out his fist.

The guy catches the punch. He catches Bucky’s punch like it’s nothing, and exclaims something about his metal arm.

“I am supposed to hit you.” Red Suit Guy says, actually sounding apologetic. “Like, a lot. I’m sorry, Sir.”

Typical.

The rest of the fight goes by in a blur of punches and dodging what you can only call webs. At one point, you’re pretty sure a car is thrown.

When the guy is finally flown outside by Redwing, the three of you are stuck to the floor, exhausted.

“What do we do now? Cuddle?” You ask, still catching your breath.

“Gross.” Sam grumbles. You think you hear Bucky laugh.

You’re running at them. They’re running at you. And they’re not stopping.

You collide with Natasha first, dodging her punch and managing to knock her to the ground in one swift movement. You meet her look of surprise with a smile. “I know. Pretty cool, right?”

“Very.” She says, before catching your legs with hers and knocking you to the ground. Your back hits the pavement, and you make a noise between a grunt of pain and a gasp of surprise. “But fast doesn’t mean good technique.”

“Maybe you can show me some moves when this is all over.” You suggest lightly, jumping back to your feet just in time to dodge her next attack.

“I don’t see why not.” She manages to knock you down again, and you manage to catch sight of Bucky and T’Challa nearby. You reach for your belt, rolling out of Nat’s way just as Clint jumps in to help. The distraction frees you enough to pull out a small gun at your hip, and you fire it with perfect aim at the man in the catsuit.

The taser hits its mark, lighting him up blue as the wires wrap around him like a vice. He goes down, hard, and you can’t help but cringe at the sight.

Bucky is by your side in an instant, and your body creaks in protest as he helps you to your feet.

“You okay, doll?” He asks, eyes inspecting you for injuries even as he starts to pull you in the direction of the jet.

“I just tased a king.” You say miserably, boots thudding against the pavement as you break into a run.

“Good thing we’re already fugitives.” You shoot him a weak glare, no real fire behind it, and run faster.

Your back hits the wall of the jet, and your stomach drops as Steve takes off. Bucky is beside you in a heartbeat, smoothing the hair from your bruised face as you clutch at your side. This time, when he checks you for injuries, he finds them.

“Steve.” He calls behind him, and there’s panic in his voice. A lot of it. He’s pulling at your suit, hands frantic but gentle as he catches sight of the dark bruises already forming. You suck in a sharp breath, trying to bat his hands away, but he persists. “Don’t move, sweetheart. Don’t move.” He says, soft but shaky.

You have absolutely no idea how you made it into the hangar. You remember your legs burning with the effort to keep you moving, seeing the tower crumble and fall painfully slowly. You remember the ground shaking with impact, and Bucky knocking you out of the way. He must not have been fast enough, though, because the next thing you remember is wheezing on the ground, dragging yourself painfully to your feet as Natasha took down T’Challa.

Poor guy is going to be pretty sore with how many times he’s been electrocuted today.

“I’m fine.” You insist, pulling yourself up a little with a hiss of pain. “I heal fast now. Just never had a building fall on me before.” It’s probably a broken rib. Maybe two. Nothing permanent, and in a few hours you’ll probably be nothing more than a little bit sore.

You don’t realize your eyes have fallen closed until you feel Bucky’s fingers graze the scar on your stomach, having pulled your suit down and your tank top up to inspect the angry black and blue marks on your side.

“I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry.“ He’s murmuring, over and over, and you can hear his voice break.

“Buck. Hey, Bucky.” You reach up, cover his hand with your own. “Hey, I’m okay. I’m gonna be okay. Breathe, Sarge.”

He doesn’t look convinced. You pull him to you, press a kiss to his lips, and smooth his hair back. “I’m okay.” You repeat, your eyes meeting his with all of the earnestness in the world. “Seriously. It was just a little building.”

He frowns, and you regret the joke. “Not funny.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You say, pulling him down to sit beside you rather than kneel before you and continue to fuss.

He doesn’t leave your side, holding you like you might break once he finally stops checking you over for injuries. Eventually, you begin to drift off against his shoulder. The jet breaks through the clouds, and Bucky still doesn’t relax.

Right before you fall asleep, you think you hear him tell Steve that he isn’t worth all of this, his fingers ghosting gently over the scar at your side. Sleep’s hold on you is too strong, however, and you’re pulled under before you can wake up enough to hear the rest.

“You’re not coming.”

Your eyebrows fly up to your hairline. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re not coming. You’re still injured.” His tone is final, that of the commanding soldier. Sergeant Barnes.

You prickle, already on edge from the feeling of impending danger waiting for you inside the bunker. “I’m sorry, last time I checked, you’re not exactly my superior officer.” You half growl, but his expression doesn’t waver. “Besides, I’m fine. I’m basically healed now.” That’s not entirely true. You’re still agonizingly sore, body aching as it heals at a frustratingly slow pace. But you can walk. You can shoot. Hell, you’re sure you can fight if need be.

He steps closer, eyes hard as they bore into yours. You don’t back down. “You’re staying on the jet, doll. End of discussion.”

“Don’t doll me right now.” You say, furious. “I’m going, Bucky. End of discussion.”

“Guys, we don’t exactly have time for this right now.” Steve says.

“My thoughts exactly. Let’s go.” You start to move off of the jet, but Bucky catches you before you can take a step. Even as he pulls you to him, he manages to expertly avoid every one of your still-healing bruises. You’d be impressed if you weren’t so irritated.

“I will tie you to that chair if I have to.” His voice is a near-growl in your ear, arms locked around you like a vice. You resist the urge to petulantly try to break free, knowing that doing so would be useless.

You push down your frustration. You know where he’s coming from. He’s scared and guilty, and he’s just as stubborn as you are. You don’t have time to argue, but there’s no way in hell they’re going to enter that bunker without you.

“I’m fine, Bucky.” You say firmly, and you feel his arms tighten around you in protest. “We’re all safer if we stick together, anyway.” You pull back, reaching up to cup his cheek and turn him to meet your eyes. “You and me, right?”

He sighs, leaning forward to touch his forehead to yours. You can sense his mind racing, still trying to find any way to convince you to stay and coming up empty.

“You stay behind me.” He finally says, shoulders relaxing a bit in defeat.

You nod, brushing your thumb over his cheek. He kisses you, firmly, and finally releases you.

“Ready?” Steve asks, looking between the two of you with a raised eyebrow.

“You should have seen him when I twisted my ankle a few months ago.” You joke, stepping off of the jet and into the snow. You hear Bucky grunt in warning behind you, reminding you that he’s still on the fence about forcing you back onto the quinjet.

“Behind me.” He says lowly you as you reach the door, and you roll your eyes as you take a step back.

“Yeah, yeah.” You grumble, checking your belt for your weapons as Steve moves forward to pull the heavy door open.

And with that, you step inside the darkened bunker, preparing yourself to face whatever threat might be waiting.

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Taglist: @vicmc624, @saucysasha2035, @iyskgd

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godmadeaterribleerror · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 8 - What I Can't Have

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Never seen a man fall as fast as Bucky is. Someone help him.

Chapter Title from From Now On We Are Enemies by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 12.6k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Bucky joins game night, and Sam urges you to tell the truth. Contains usual tags, with emphasis on sexual trauma (nothing graphic)

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff

Chapter 7 - Chapter 9

Read on A03!

Sam had to be running some sort of crime ring, when he wasn’t being Captain America. There was no other explanation for how he had enough money to keep fly back and forth between Louisiana and New York so frequently, all while keeping an apartment in Manhattan that he barely even used.

He’d offered it to Bucky. Twice. Said that it was just sittin’ there otherwise—and that Bucky’s apartment was mostly a glorified box, which was rude—so whenever he wanted it, Sam’s too expensive, laundry-included apartment would be Bucky’s.

Everything was expensive in the future. It didn’t make any sense. Bucky had to pay for all the stuff that he and Steve had scraped for in the 40s, but also the internet in his own home—which he’d only done because Sam called him a grumpy heartless fuck for not being able to watch PBS—some sort of toll pass to take his bike on the highway, and fucking laundry.

He’d been doing it by hand, for the past year. Bucky had bought a big bucket, and a lot of soap, and he’d been doing it the way he’d always done it. The proper—but more importantly, free—way.

He didn’t need Sam’s apartment. It wasn’t really his style anyway, looking at the Welcome mat on the floor. Bucky would be perfectly fine with his floor, and no-longer-heartless television, and bucket.

Knocking on the door felt polite. It wasn’t his home, and for all Bucky knew, Sam and Sarah were still out getting groceries. He was twenty minutes early, but he wanted to talk to Sam about more of the Hydra stuff, and being on time would never beat-

The door swung open, and there She was.

It had been an absurd thought, now that Bucky was face to face with Her. There was no universe where he beat Her here. She already had Her shoes off, and a cute little apron on, and there was something smudged on Her pretty cheek. Bucky would tell Her to wipe off if he didn’t feel like all the air was being beaten out of his lungs as he looked at Her, Bucky needed to stop looking at Her-

“You’re here.” Her voice was softer than he’d expected, and Bucky just shrugged.

At least he wasn’t being yelled at or ignored. The thought of that was doing unsettling, prickling things to his skin and gut, but that might just be Her staring at him, the Moon in Her eyes impossibly bright, and Jesus, he really shouldn’t have eliminated the theory of magic beauty so fast-

“What’s that?”

She was nodding to the bag in his hands, and Bucky needed to get his shit together.

They weren’t friends, they just had a mutual friend—or friends, apparently, because Sam had made this sound like a common thing Sarah flew up for—were co-workers, and Bucky wanted to follow Her around a lot and listen to Her talk until things felt better, but She also had a boyfriend. Who’d be here tonight.

He needed to calm the hell down.

He’d seen beautiful women before. Ones who actually liked him, and didn’t drive him out of his mind by hitting all his buttons and resetting him into a confused teenage boy who kept hoping the prettiest girl in class would look at him.

Steve would’ve shrugged and told him that of course the girl would look at him, he just had to talk to her.

Steve had never met Her. She was more than a girl. She was more of a deity, who had focused a lot of Her wrath on Bucky, and boyfriend, She had a boyfriend who was probably already here, and he needed to get his shit together, he’d been staring for too long-

Bucky cleared his throat, and forced his voice to remain steady. “Drinks. Got them from the corner store.”

She raised Her brows. “The corner store?”

“Round the block.”

She hummed, leaning forwards on Her toes, and Bucky swallowed.

She wasn’t enhanced. She couldn’t hear his heartbeat in his ears, or sense how his skin was growing hot again, and why the fuck was he letting this happen, it was unhelpful and escalating too fast, and he couldn’t control it, he needed to control it better-

“That’s a lot of soda.” She said, glancing back up to Bucky, and he gave a short nod.

“There were a lot of options.” He muttered. “I don’t know what’s good.”

“So you bought half their stock?”

He shrugged, a light amusement danced over Her features, and this could be fine. If She wasn’t biting and sneering at Bucky all night, he’d get through it, go home, and maybe seeing Her with her boyfriend would kill these growing and blooming things for Her in his body. The ones he couldn’t seem to weed, and wouldn’t lead to anything good. “You gonna let me inside, Butterfly?”

Something flashed over Her features that Bucky didn’t understand, and She stepped aside with a toothless, full-lipped smile.

It wasn’t a bad expression. She wasn’t really all that good at hiding bad expressions. Her fury would show on every part of Her body and leak into the air, and Her distress would infect Bucky’s nerves and intestines like She was pushing it into his body. She’d look like a feral animal when something was bad to Her.

This just seemed… off. Strange.

He’d read into it later.

He shouldn’t, if he had any goddamn control over his own brain, but he would.

“How long have you been here?” He asked, trying not look directly at Her as he walked inside.

“Two hours.”

Getting here before Her really had been an insane pipe dream. Bucky could see that now. “Why?”

“I’m helping.”

It was all the explanation Bucky got before She was turning on Her heels and walking away from him.

Marching. Gliding. Swaying.

He didn’t really know what to call the way She walked. It had all the same control the battalion marches had, back in the army, but those hadn’t been damn near as graceful. She walked in a way that made Bucky expect wings to burst out of Her back or something.

Control.

He needed to get himself under control.

His name was James Buchanan Barnes. He was at Sam’s apartment, and the walls were a very nice shade of green he was never going to compliment Sam on. He liked that he hadn’t gotten insulted about the sodas, because he’d really damn tried with them, and there were simply too many options for any sane person to keep track of. He didn’t like that his legs felt frozen in the hallway, because if Sam came up behind him and asked why he was being weird, Bucky wouldn’t have a single rational answer.

He needed to move. Now.

He wanted to follow Her in the kitchen, and see what helping looked like.

That was two wants again.

Fuck.

It, at the very least, spurred him into action. Bucky started after Her, and braced himself to remain perfectly fucking neutral and normal around Her all night, where Sam and Sarah could see, and She would barely even give him time of day anyway when they were still sort of fighting-

This had been a horrible idea. A godawful, disgusting, horrible idea in a long line of Sam’s horrible ideas, all designed to push Bucky right to the edge of his remaining, already thin sanity.

Helping meant cooking. It meant She was trailing after Sarah in the kitchen and swaying Her hips to soft music, all while talking so fast Bucky was a little worried She’d hurt herself.

“I think I need new lawyers. My old ones are fucking idiots, I don’t know who hired them, Happy says it was the old CEO, but Jesus fucking Christ, he must have been being blackmailed or something, Sarah. They’ve been asking me for files that they made, and I had to bring in an external firm for the last suit-“

“The one against Fisk?” Sarah asked, neither of them seeming to notice Bucky in the doorway. “With that shelter?”

“Yeah, and we only won it because we brought in outside help.” She sighed, Her lips forming into a small pout. “So it goes.”

“You’re giving up on that one fast.”

“It’s- Not worth it. But if I was in charge-“

“You are in charge,” Sam said Her name, emerging from a fucking shadow and clapping Bucky on the shoulder. “Good of you to show up, Buck. Thought you weren’t gonna make it.”

Bucky gave him a flat look. “I’m twenty minutes early.”

Sam only shrugged, moving further into the room, and Sarah offered him a welcoming smile.

“Hey, Bucky.”

He offered his best I am very comfortable being here smile, and She wasn’t looking at him. She was just staring at whatever Sarah had put in Her hands to work on, and how was She that mad at him, he hadn’t even done anything yet-

“Are you complaining about the lawyers again?” Sam asked, leaning against the counter, and She shot him a glare.

“Don’t say again-“

“This is the second time, kid-“

“Yeah, but again makes it sound like it’s all I’ve been doing-“

“Ain’t it?”

She narrowed Her eyes, Sam’s smile grew shit-eating, and Bucky understood why they’d never invited him to these before. There was a sense of pure, warm ease over the whole room, and he’d had that when Sam and Sarah had invited him to their cookout, but this was more intimate. There were only four of them.

Only four.

The Miles guy wasn’t here. Maybe he wouldn’t be coming at all. Maybe Bucky would have-

Bucky would not do or have anything with Her. He needed to cut that thought off at the head now.

“I’m going to poison your food, Sam.” She snapped, and Sarah snorted.

“You don’t know how to do that.”

She shrugged. “I’d figure it out. It can’t be that hard, I can just get like, rat poison?”

“Hey, if you’re gettin’ rat poison, you should use it on those lawyers, not your good friend Sam-“

She cut Sam off with a shake of Her head. “Too obvious to use on the lawyers. They’d trace it back to me.”

Sam’s brows shot up. “That bad?”

“Yes.” She muttered. “It’s- Fucking Christ, I want to crush their balls with a- something- I don’t know. What crushes balls? A trash compactor?”

“Too big. You’d want a wrench.” Bucky said before he could stop himself, and She looked up at him with wide, doe-eyes.

She couldn’t be doing it on purpose. And She had to have no idea what it did to Bucky when he saw it.

“You crushed a lot of balls, James?”

He shrugged. “Hydra liked to get creative.”

“Huh.” She blinked at him, and Sam made a face in the background.

“That’s gross, Bucky. I don’t need to know what kinks Hydra had goin’ for them-“

“It wasn’t a kink thing.” He muttered, finally putting down the sodas. “I think.”

“You think?”

Bucky shrugged, not really caring to entertain Sam’s shocked words when She’d giggled. She’d understood it was a joke, and She’d giggled at it, and there was still the stuff on Her cheek that no one was pointing out, so maybe Bucky could-

Sarah said Her name, frowning at her phone on the counter. “Can you get the olive oil?”

She nodded, pushing past Sam to the cabinets, and Bucky couldn’t stop himself from following Her movements. It was a habit. It had to be just a habit, developed from the fact that Bucky’s job was watching Her. Watching Her move in that borderline angelic way—even as She shoved Sam aside, she did it like a dance—and when She stood on Her toes to grab the olive oil Bucky could see the curve of Her back, and-

Sam coughed, and Bucky ripped his gaze away from Her to see an open, almost taunting amusement on Sam’s face.

It was mirrored in Sarah’s, even as she looked back to her cooking.

Before anyone could get any bright, stupid ideas and say something, Bucky gestured to his bag.

“I brought soda.”

“He brought sodas.” She said, turning with the bored amusement all over Her face once more.

It was better than the shaking, small, nervousness Bucky had been seeing all week. And it seemed real. She was obviously familiar with the apartment, was comfortable with Sam and Sarah, and the difference was visible. Bucky had known all week that She wouldn’t drop Her perfect, commanding goddess act all week at work, but She’d still been shutting down the moment the doors closed in Her office. Every car ride had been filled with loud music and a tensed silence between them, the bags under Her eyes had only deepening every day, but here, She was full of life that had seemed to wither and die over the past few days.

And Her boyfriend still wasn’t here.

Bucky tried to find a place for that in his log, but it was a little too dark and heavy to fit in anywhere else about Her-

“How many sodas?”

Bucky blinked up, and realized that Sarah’s question was directed at him.

“Uh-“ He glanced down at his bag. “Six.”

Sam snorted. “Damn, Buck-“

“Shut up.”

“He got cherry coke.” She hummed, and it was the soft tone that meant She liked something. Still teasing and amused, but real, and Bucky filed that deep into his log. She liked cherry coke. She’d hopped up on the counter next to Sarah, and Her legs were swinging as She played with her hair-

“C’mon, man.” Sam grabbed Bucky’s bag off the counter, jerking his head to the door. “Help me get shit set up.”

Bucky frowned. “What shit-“

“Trivia.” Sarah glanced over at him with a grin, and Bucky blinked.

He wasn’t good at trivia. He was still catching up on over half a century of information, and there was no way-

“Don’t worry.” Sam started to herd Bucky out of the kitchen, dropping his voice to a mock whisper. “We’re all gonna lose to the cheater-“

“I heard that, Sam.” She shouted after them, and Bucky looked back to see Her eyes narrowed, but not pained. “And I’m not a fucking cheater-“

Sarah said Her name, redirecting her to another kitchen task, and Sam rolled his eyes.

“She’s not a cheater.” He muttered, even as he glanced over his shoulder. As if he was afraid She’d hear. “But I’ve never seen anybody lose to her. If you win, Buck, I’ll fuckin’ kiss you and buy you an island.”

Bucky gave him a flat look. “We both know that’s not happening.”

“What, you winning?” Sam sighed. “Yeah, that’s probably right. Even if you had the knowledge, you wouldn’t want to upset the butterfly.”

“Sam.” Bucky grunted, forcing his words to be a low warning. Sam couldn’t read his mind. There was no way for him to know the panic running through Bucky’s body, because goddamnit, nobody should know how quickly and easily his hatred of Her had twisted into something dangerously close to liking Her, or worse, having affection-

“Ha!” Sam gave him a triumphant grin. “That’s the voice you use when you get caught-“

Bucky scowled. “There’s nothing to catch.”

“You like her. I saw it at her office, and you were starin’ at her-“

“Shut up.”

“Nah, Bucky’s got a crush-“

“Sam.” Bucky hissed, grabbing the sodas out and slamming them down onto the coffee table. “Not now.”

Sam’s grin only grew. “So you do-“

“No.”

“It’s just us, Buck, you can be honest with me-“

“It’s not just us. They’re in the damn kitchen.”

“Yeah, but they’re not listening.” Sam shrugged, dropping onto the couch. “Sarah’s tryin’ to convince her to uninvite the asshole.”

“Micheal?”

Bucky said the name wrong on purpose, to throw Sam off the idea that he cared about Her at all, even though the image of Her looking small and rabid had been haunting him all week, and he’d been trying to work out where this boyfriend fit into his log of Her, and why the hell it kept setting off that twisting, dread feeling in his gut.

Sam just gave him a vaguely amused look. The strategy hadn’t seemed to work.

“Miles.”

Bucky grunted. “He not here yet?”

“Nope. Said he’s got work.” Sam rolled his eyes, and Bucky frowned.

“What’s he do?”

“Fuck if I know. None of us do.” Sam scoffed. “If you ask him, he just says he makes deals, which is some bullshit business talk for I’m rich and don’t do jack fucking shit.”

Bucky’s mouth opened to ask then why the Hell is She with him, because all She does is things, and Bucky hasn’t exactly seen Her tolerate blanket incompetence, but he swallowed the words, because they wouldn’t help anything. Sam would pick even more up on Bucky’s not-crush, and he’d never hear the damn end of it until he killed Sam and himself.

“Bucky-“

“Any updates on the envelope?” He cut Sam off with firm words, because he did not want to talk about it. Not for a second.

Sam just gave him a tired look. “Not yet, but the labs came back empty. No prints, no traces of any chemical, no nothing.”

“You opened it yet?”

“Doin’ it on Monday. We were hoping to have a little more on that first letter, but Jesus, Hydra knows how to make a secret, impossible code.”

Bucky grunted. “I could take a run at it.”

“You have another job. One that I wanna talk about-“

“Any of your other guys know Russian?” Bucky gave Sam a pointed look, electing to ignore the last half of his sentence. “Hard to break a code when you don’t even speak the codes fucking language.”

Sam shrugged. “We’ve got the internet, and some dictionaries. Stop pretending you can’t hear me when I talk about how you are having feelings, cyborg, I can fuckin’ see it-“

“What happened to no hitting on your sister.” Bucky grumbled.

“I meant my biological sister. The one you didn’t have a shot at anyway.”

“And you think I got a shot with-“ Bucky cut himself off as Sam’s grin became shit-eating, and he heard his mistake. “For the record, I don’t care if I do-“

“I think,” Sam drawled. “That you didn’t have a shot with Sarah cause she’s too chill and nice.”

“Shut the fuck up-“

“And,” Sam said Her name with a smug smirk, and Bucky was going to jump out the window. “She’s just the right type of fucked up for you. I wouldn’t be pissed about it. Better than she’s got now.”

Bucky’s jaw was going to break. This was an insane, pointless conversation. She had a boyfriend, and She was fancy and harsh and beautiful, and they weren’t even-

“We’re not even friends, Sam.” He muttered, and his words came out too bitter to be normal. “Not that there is anything, but if there was, which there’s not-“

Sam gave him a flat look. “You know, the more you say it, the more you’re convincing me-“

Bucky ignored him. “She doesn’t like me. At all.”

“Nah.”

“It’s not a negotiation or a question, she just doesn’t-“

“She does, man, trust me.”

“Sam-“

“Look.” Sam sighed, dropping his head to the back of the couch. “Buck, she’s hard to read, and loud, and weird.”

Bucky frowned. She wasn’t really that hard to read at all, there was just a lot to keep track of. And he’d grown to like the challenge of it. It distracted him. Gave him something entertaining to do that also felt impossibly important, when She was only one woman. One loud, weird, beautiful woman who was invading and consuming all his thoughts-

“And she’s good with everyone, but havin’ her as a real friend ain’t easy. It’s more than worth it, but it took her two damn years for her to stop tryin’ to prove that I was gonna leave her.”

“Leave her.” Bucky repeated slowly, glancing to the door. “I’m not-“

“I know her. I know what she does. She’ll tell you everything but the real stuff.” Sam gave him an odd look. “She tell you how she got the Stark job yet?”

Bucky gave a short nod. “Stark met her at a party and offered it to her.”

Sam hummed. “You know why she was at the party.”

“Mentioned a date.” Bucky grunted, and there was something on Sam’s face he couldn’t fully read.

It was cautious, and Sam kept opening and closing his mouth, and if Bucky was missing something he didn’t have a single fucking clue what it was, but it shouldn’t matter, because this had all gotten out of hand already and he shouldn’t care-

A door opened out in the hall, and a voice Bucky had never heard before filled the apartment.

“Sam, you need a place with better parking. I had to use the shitty fucking street.”

Sam’s face twisted like he’d smelled something bad, and the bleak, tight, heavy feeling in Bucky’s gut was yanking on him.

“Sorry, Miles.” Sam called, and his voice was bored and casual, but Bucky could taste his hatred. “Snooze you lose, man.”

“I didn’t snooze, you just have a fucking horrible apartment.” Miles called back, and Bucky’s hands curled into fists.

It was a good apartment. Another one of the reasons Bucky had said no to taking this place was because it was good, too good for him. Only better apartment he’d seen was Her’s, and She hadn’t been fucking complaining.

“C’mon.” Sam muttered to Bucky, pushing off the couch. “We don’t wanna leave them alone with him.”

The gut feeling became like lead, and it was creeping to Bucky’s spine. None of this fit. There had been something cold in Miles’ voice that was never in Her’s, and She could be mean but never rude.

At most She’d spit venom, but only really stung when She was feral. When She was shaking.

When something was wrong.

A hot, furious electricity ran through Bucky’s blood when they got back to the kitchen, and he took in the sight before him.

She was small again. Almost curled into Herself, her arms wrapped around her stomach and Her head bowed, like She was trying to contain herself.

Her eyes darted to Bucky’s for half a second, and the Moon was completely eclipsed. Replaced by only void, and something thin veiling over where the Moon should be turning, but refusing to let it out. She wasn’t the doe or the wolf or the snake, she was the bunny again. And She was smiling, but it wasn’t real. Bucky knew it wasn’t fucking real, because Her actual smile was wide and lit up all Her features. Made Her whole face look alive. All the smiles She’d given Bucky that had been real—whether they were sweet or sharp or harsh or bright—had been so unmistakably authentic it made Her fake, crafted smiles look like the cheap, shit knock-off clothing Bucky and Steve had bought as kids.

The clothing that had given Bucky hives, and Steve had needed to stop wearing, because it damn near killed him.

This smile was going to kill Bucky.

It was going to make that feeling in his gut pull him right off a fucking cliff.

And it wasn’t only because that was the fakest smile he’d ever damn seen.

It was because Miles—if this was Miles, big and broad with a fancy suit at a fucking game night and a smirk that looked like it could make all the stars in the sky recoil, Bucky didn’t need Sam’s sneer and Sarah’s glare to hate him—had draped himself all over Her. Arm around Her body like a cage, hands clasped in over Her stomach like a lock, and Raynor would say Bucky was projecting but Raynor couldn’t fucking see Her.

Bucky wasn’t supposed to comment on Her personal life. That had been part of the not friends thing.

But he was also supposed to protect Her.

And everything in his goddamn body was telling him to rip that man off Her body.

Not his place. Not his job. Not what Bucky was here for.

It didn’t stop the gut feeling from moving up into his chest, until his heart felt like it was being beaten and strangled and choked.

“Miles.” Sam muttered, offering the man a tight nod, and Miles threw back a wide, toothy grin.

All his teeth were white. Straight. Almost plastic looking, and so far Bucky’s log of him was a lot of pure fucking loathing.

“Sam.” Miles hummed, and he sounded like a dick. “Why’d I only hear we were doing this on Thursday?”

“Cause we didn’t know it was happening until Wednesday.” Sam’s words were smooth. Fast.

And Bucky knew that was a compete fucking lie. Sam had asked him to come on Tuesday.

But She was staring at Her feet, Her features impossibly neutral, and Sam hadn’t missed a single beat. That meant She hadn’t told Miles until Thursday, and Sam was-

“Hey. New guy.”

It took Bucky a second to realize he was the new guy. “What.”

Miles’ grin didn’t waver for a single second at Bucky’s low tone. “How you get in with these morons, man. You don’t look like the type.”

Bucky didn’t know what the type was. He had a feeling it was similar to all the ladies who’d asked him why he of all people, hung around with scrawny Stevie.

She frowned in Miles’ arms, Her voice almost haunting soft when she spoke. “Miles, please don’t-“

“Don’t what, honey?” Miles hummed, still grinning at Bucky like an asshole. “I’m just asking what his deal is? You Sam’s friend? Dating Sarah?”

Bucky felt his jaw twitch. “No.”

“Well I know you’re not in with my girl, so-“

“You gotta watch the news more, man,” Sam drawled, exchanging a quick look with Sarah that Bucky was going to have to get to the bottom of later. “C’mon. Use that big business brain of yours.”

Miles’ smile broke for half a second, just long enough to give Sam a venomous glare, right before turning with possibly more artificial light than before.

He was looking at Bucky.

Bucky’s hands curled into fists, just to stop himself from punching the man’s lights out, and Miles’ eyes fell to the movement.

It was visible. The exact moment Miles got it.

Bucky should’ve worn his goddamn gloves.

“Holy fuck, you’re the Winter Soldier.”

“Actually,” Sarah took it for Bucky. He’d send her boys something fun and stupid later. “They call Bucky the White Wolf now.”

Sam snorted. “And it’s a damn stupid name, but-“

“Not as stupid as Bucky.”

Miles’ sneer cut over Sam, and She looked like a fucking mouse. Shaking slightly and giving Bucky an apologetic look under Her lashes and-

“My real name is actually James.” He said, crossing his arms with a shrug. “But Steve called me Bucky when we met, and it’s stuck for a hundred years. Not gonna stop it now.”

It took Miles a second. He didn’t really seem like the brightest guy.

Another thing that didn’t add up or fit. Bucky was almost able to hear Her brain moving, able to see it all over Her beautiful features, and never stopped, and rarely missed.

“Steve Rogers.” Miles muttered after too much time, and Bucky nodded.

“Yep.”

The air in the kitchen was mostly strange, now. Tense and hot as Miles scowled at Bucky, but She was shaking a little less, and the heat was off of Sam and Sarah, and if the guy punched him, Bucky could take it easy.

It didn’t get to that. Sam sensed—or just saw, he’d clearly dealt with Miles enough before—whatever shift had occurred, and clapped his hands together with a plastered grin.

“Well now that we got everyone, it’s game night. No fightin’ on game night. Tonight we got-“

“Trivia.” She mumbled, glancing up a Miles with a nervous expression, but he didn’t say anything.

He was still glowering at Bucky.

“That’s right.” Sam said Her name, and Miles attention finally snapped away. “We got all the damn trivia you could dream of, allegedly random and generated by a Stark program-“

“I don’t like trivia.” Miles snapped, and She seemed to shrink a little further down into Herself. “That’s not even a game, Sam-“

“It is, by definition, the most famous bar game of all time.” Sarah glanced down to the oven. “And we’ve got just the right amount of time to start now-

“I’m not playing.” Miles almost shoved Her away from him, and Bucky’s whole body tensed to lunge and grab Her.

She gained footing quickly, with a hand on the counter. Too close to the oven. Just a little more to the left and she would’ve gotten a damn burn on Her palm.

“Whatever, man, you gonna play or not.“

“I’ve got some work.”

Sam rolled his eyes, his mutter low enough under his breath for only Bucky to hear. “Course you do.”

Bucky’s log of Miles was filling up fast. It wasn’t just the suit and perfect teeth and touching Her that made Bucky hate him. It was the fact that he’d made such a big goddamn deal about late invite to game night only to not play the fucking game. It was trivia. Bucky had more of a right to say no to trivia than anyone—he didn’t know anything, ever, and trivia was the exact place to horribly display that—but here he was. Tolerating it. Letting Sam put him on a team with Her and sitting with his arms crossed on the couch as Sarah explained the rules.

There hadn’t been teams ten minutes ago, and if this was a plot by the evil sibling menaces who wanted Bucky to have a life, Bucky was going to take away theirs.

It was simple enough. Computer gives the questions, different ones for different teams. They’d work together to get all their answers, then the computer tells them what was right and what was wrong.

But this was definitely a plot. Bucky was going to have to sit and talk to Her, and pretend his stupid skin wasn’t warm and there wasn’t an ease to his spine when he listened to Her speak, all while She held a line firm in the sand against him, and Miles stared at his phone in the big, comfy chair across the room.

Sam and Sarah had matching, smug grins as She moved to Bucky’s side.

He was going to kill them.

“Why are there so many categories.” Bucky muttered, frowning at the list on the TV.

“It’s five, James.” Her voice was dry, and Her expression was bored and amused, and it was more Her. A small but wolf-like smirk, the Moon shining—even if it was still a little dull—behind Her eyes. That was Her, not whatever docile animal Miles had been holding. “That’s not a lot.”

“Can be a lot.” He grumbled, and She raised Her brows.

“When?“

“Murders.”

Sam snorted across the room, and Bucky didn’t bother to shoot him a glare. She was rolling Her eyes, and even that was beautiful, making it impossible to look away.

“You don’t have to do anything, you know.”

Bucky frowned at Her. “What?”

“I’ve got this.” She shrugged, spinning their pencil between Her fingers. “Despite what Sam claim, I don’t cheat,” She raised Her voice, glaring across the room. “I’m just better than him.”

Sam flipped Her off, and She laughed, and it was the clear one that made Bucky feel clean. Miles looked up from his phone with a small, tight frown, but just shot Bucky another glare like Her joy was both intolerable and somehow Bucky’s fault. Bucky didn’t understand it, not just because pieces about Her being with Miles weren’t lining up in his head—and a small voice in his head that sounded a little like Raynor sneered that the twisting and hot feeling over his heart was jealousy, and Bucky told it to shut up—but because in the low light of Sam’s apartment made Her look a little like she had a halo, and Her tongue was poking out between her teeth as she scanned over the first round of questions, and Bucky sure how anyone could keep themselves annoyed about that-

“You speak Mandarin.”

Bucky frowned at Her. It wasn’t a question. “Yeah. You know that.”

“How many languages do you speak?” She was glancing between Bucky and the paper—somehow already covered with answers, they’d had the questions for barely a minute—and he couldn’t stop his smirk.

“I thought you had this,” he drawled Her name, and She scowled.

That was beautiful too.

“I’m just asking a question.” She muttered, and Bucky didn’t miss the dart of Her eyes to Miles. “I didn’t know that was fucking illegal in a trivia game-“

“What language do you need.”

“I wouldn’t- I don’t need it-“

Bucky gave Her a flat look. “C’mon. I know you’re angling for something, kid, just say it.”

She flushed, glancing down to the paper, Her voice dropping to a mumble. “Cantonese.”

He leaned forward—keeping himself at a safe, respectable, controlled distance from Her body—and scanned over their questions on Her phone.

“If you don’t, I can guess-“

“Loving heart.”

She blinked at him. “Really?”

Bucky crossed his arms, leaning back with a flat glare. “Why the hell would I lie-“

“I dunno, it’s just- Dim sum is a food-“ She cut herself off with a frown. “But so is spotted dick. Alright. Thank you.”

Bucky grunted, glancing back to Her phone on the table. “There are a lot of questions there.”

“Yep.”

“And you only need me for one of them.”

She stuck Her tongue out at him. “If you want to approve them after, feel free, but I’m right.”

“About all of them?“

“It’s general trivia, James. And I told you, I’ve got this.”

Bucky didn’t doubt that for a single fucking second. There was an almost manic look on Her face, and he’s never seen a pencil move that fast in his goddamn life, but She was looking at the paper and not Bucky, and they were supposed to be a team—Bucky could take team instead of friends—and Sam could never found out that he’d thought that, or he’d never hear the goddamn end of it-

“Scoot.” He grunted, and She glanced up at him with wide eyes.

“Wha-“

“I’m doing my check.”

“I was joking-“

“I know. I’m still doin’ it.” Bucky held out his hand, raising his brows, and he half expected Her to clutch the paper to Her chest and spit it his face.

But She passed it over with slow hands, and Bucky grinned.

“Thanks, Bu- kid.” He’d almost said butterfly. He’d almost forgotten Miles was there.

“You’re welcome.” She whispered, Her eyes wide on his, and Bucky’s grin grew.

Miles wasn’t fucking looking at Her at all.

Bucky really didn’t understand how that was physically possible.

He scanned over the paper quickly, and glanced up at Her with an amused expression. “You know international radio code?”

“Yes?” She sat a little straighter. “Why, did I get it-“

“It’s right. M is Mike.” Bucky shrugged. “All of these are right.”

“I told you-“

“But that one,” he placed the phone down for Her to see. “Is not a question. It’s a fucking riddle.”

“Well, I got it right, so does it really matter-“

“Yes. They,” he jerked his head over to Sam and Sarah. “Have ten questions. We have nine and a riddle. It’s the principle-“

“Man, shut the hell up.” Sam called, and She snorted.

It was adorable.

The list of things Bucky needed Her to do more, or the world might end, grew a little bit longer.

“It’s not fair, Sam.” He shouted back, pretending none of his control had slipped for even a second. “We should get a rematch, if it’s not lining up even-“

Sarah frowned. “Do you guys have the wet question too?”

“It’s a-“

“It’s not a riddle, Bucky.” She kicked him in the shin, and he shot Her a wide glare.

It had barely hurt. But She’d touched him. On purpose.

“Wait,” Sam glanced back down to his own question. “If it is the same one, then I’m with robocop-“

“I told you to stop calling me that-“

Sam ignored him. “Fresh set of questions, to make it fair.”

She shook Her head, grabbing the paper back from Bucky’s hands.

Their knuckles brushed, and warmth spread through his body, and-

Bucky needed to beat his head against a wall until all these fucking sensations and feelings stopped.

“I think if we both have it, it is fair.” She hummed, giving Bucky a firm look. He didn’t understand it. He was still a little dazed from the contact.

“Nuh uh,” Sam said, narrowing his eyes at them. “You don’t get to start shit then not finish it-“

“I didn’t start anything.” She shrugged, scratching something on their paper. “No reset.”

The words finally caught up with Bucky’s brain, and he glanced over to Her with a small frown, but She’d shifted the paper for him to read Her new words.

I’m right. Back me up.

He could do that. His job was to follow Her around and keep Her safe, and that could mean—if he really twisted it around to his favor—backing Her up.

So he gave a tight nod, and when then started to score their answers, She was right.

They got all ten questions, including the riddle, right.

Sam and Sarah got nine out of ten.

“A sponge does get wetter and wetter as it dries-“

She cut Sarah off with a bright, full grin. “No, sponges don’t dry. They absorb.”

“So do towels!”

“Yeah, but they actually dry.” She shrugged, Her grin and glowing expression falling to Bucky, and he liked this game.

It helped that She really was fucking good at this.

They blazed through the history and entertainment rounds, Bucky making low, dry comments for only Her to hear, and he even got a giggle. A breathy, bubbly giggle as She shook her head at the paper.

“I don’t think that’s true, James.”

“Could be.”

“George Washington was not elected in the first decade-“

“He was in the first decade, of the United States.” Bucky leaned forward, tapping the question on Her phone. “Read the question, sweetheart, I’m-“

“You’re not right.” Her words were bored, but shit, She really was smiling. And it was real. Not a predator’s smile either, where Bucky was certain there was a real chance Her teeth would sharpen and She’d rip out someone’s throat.

A smile like a Butterfly. Light and quick and beautiful, and he was sure he was going to break it.

He’d really like to try not to.

Miles had stepped out for some sort of call, and Bucky could almost goddamn see Her blooming the longer he was gone. Sitting up a little taller, no longer looking anywhere but the questions, Bucky, and Sam and Sarah’s matching looks of confusion at their own questions.

Bucky wasn’t really contributing much besides the comments, but She also hadn’t told him to, so really, he was just following orders while the gap they were leaving in the wake of their lead grew larger and larger.

“What’s a Twilight?” He muttered, a little closer to Her ear than he’d normally dare, but She didn’t shove him away.

So he stayed.

“Read the whole question, Bucky.” She mumbled, still writing another answer further down.

Bucky squinted at the page. “Book?”

She hummed, and Bucky glanced over to Her with raised brows.

“Would I like it?”

That got a snort. “No, but I still think you should read it.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and leaned further back on the couch, and She glanced up at him with an almost nervous expression.

“Wha-“

“Do you want to try one?” She tilted Her head at him, angling the pencil in Bucky’s direction. For him to take. “I mean, it is supposed to be a team thing-“”

Bucky shrugged, watching Her carefully. “You want me to try one?”

“I…” She paused, brow furrowing slightly, and when She spoke again Her voice was almost soft. “I don’t want to be… I don’t know. A bitch.”

Bucky stared at Her, and She stared right back, and he wasn’t sure what the hell was happening, or why it felt so heavy over his head. Like an axe waiting for fall.

She wasn’t a bitch. She was harsh and loud and blunt, but Bucky hadn’t classified Her as bitch in his head at all. She had been in the annoying category, and the going to give him a heart attack one as well, but She was far from bitch. Yet She looked so small in front of him, like She truly believed the next words out of Bucky’s mouth would be an agreement-

“Sorry,” She mumbled, and Bucky shook his head.

“For what?”

“I’m not sure.” She started shredding at the corners of their paper, and Bucky leaned forward. Whatever pattern She made this time, he wanted to track it. “In general, or just right now?”

He snorted. “Call it right now. And if it’s being a bitch, you’re not.”

“Bucky, you don’t have to-“

“Lie? I’m not.” He gave Her a pointed look. “If I thought you were, believe me, I’d tell you.”

She just stared at him, Her lips slightly parted, and across the room Sam and Sarah remained completely oblivious to whatever this was as Sarah started throwing shreds of paper at Sam’s head.

She glanced over as Bucky just watched Her.

He never should’ve looked in the first place. It was getting harder and harder to break away.

“You going to answer a question or not?” She looked back to Bucky with sharper words, and there She was.

Not a bitch.

Still a little sharper around the edges than anyone else, and Bucky found another thing he liked about Her. All Her colors were stark and neon, but they were unmistakably Her’s. Even when She wore all those masks around other people, it was like trying to cover a floodlight with a thin linen sheet.

Bucky really liked Her. This loud, sharp, real version of Her that he was somehow permitted to see.

“What have you got for me?”

Her shoulders relaxed, She sat a little taller, and Bucky could feel something dangerous and strong flaring and inflating in his chest. “What famous work did Michelangelo- Wait.”

She scratched the answer down, then looked up at Bucky with wide eyes. As if She hadn’t been able to stop Herself.

It was cute.

“You didn’t even read the full question, Butterfly-“

Bucky tried to cut himself, and it was too late, but She didn’t waver for a second.

“Yeah, but I- I had it.”

“Are you-“

“It’s the Sistine Chapel. I’d bet the Boy on it.”

Bucky clicked his tongue. “That sounds like a serious bet.”

“It is. How about this.” Her nose wrinkled slightly as She leaned down to read off Her phone. “Who wrote the Aeneid?”

“The what.”

“The-“

“What is that.”

“It’s an epic poem.” She shrugged, dropping the pencil into Bucky’s lap with a pointed look. “Write the answer.”

“I don’t know the answer.”

She blinked at him. “Really?”

“Yeah, really, why the hell would I know that?”

“Well I don’t it either-“

Bucky gave Her a flat look. “Yeah, you do.”

She giggled, Her grin looking to almost split Her face. “Yeah, I do.”

“You gonna-“

“Virgil. You want to try the science questions instead?”

Bucky just shrugged, and dared to move a little closer. Not enough to touch Her, but enough that, accidentally, if he shifted a knee or shrugged a little too much, he could-

He needed to get it the hell together. This was getting away from him too fast, and they weren’t friends, but this did feel like at least friendship. Something close to it, where neither of them were braced to run and the conversation was impossibly easy, just like in the diner, and She kept smiling at him while She fiddled with Her hair.

She let him try a few more of the art questions, and he didn’t get one right, but Sam seemed to have done all the art questions of their side—and gotten two wrong—so being deadweight was going around.

Bucky had started to worry it was uneven. She was doing all their work, while Sam and Sarah were evenly splitting their knowledge, Sarah taking history and general, while Sam had done most of their arts and entertainment.

But then they hit science.

And Bucky learned that there was no possible way She was cheating.

“Which legume can be processed to make dynamite.” She read aloud, looking back up to Bucky with a frown. “Peppers?”

“That’s not a legume, sweetheart-“

“Legume means vegetable in French.” She argued. “And peppers are… hot.”

Bucky gave Her an amused look. “Is this trivia in French?”

“No.” She grumbled. “But it- Maybe they’re being fancy.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bucky leaned forward, grabbing the pencil from where She’d dropped it on the paper. “Answer is peanuts.”

She glanced back up. “Really.”

“Yep.” Bucky gave a quick scan over the questions. “And damson and mirabelle are types of plums.”

“Oh.” She tilted Her head to read with a small frown. “What’s the most common name for epinephrine-“

“Adrenaline.” He muttered, and She hummed.

Close to his ear. Her breath was a little warm on his skin.

He must be losing his goddamn mind.

“What’s Cm?”

“Curium.” Bucky glanced up to find Her staring at him. “What.”

“Nothing.” She shrugged, glancing back down to the paper, and Bucky could’ve sworn that he’d seen a flush creeping over Her features. “Taken a lot of science classes?”

Bucky swallowed, and gave a short shake of his head. “No. Not a lot.”

If She somehow connected what that meant—why sure, Bucky knew some random Trivia from a few classes, simply being forced to live a life, and have interests, but he knew about the peanuts because he’d used them and the curium because it was radioactive, and Hydra had always liked their toys—She didn’t say a single thing.

All She did was reach forward and tap the screen, brushing Her arm against Bucky’s for half a second. “I can get that one.”

He frowned at the words. “I don’t even think that’s a real thing.“

“Of course it’s a real thing, James-“

“But if it’s not nocturnal, it’s just up on a normal cycle-“

“And what do we call that normal cycle?”

She gave him a smug grin, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “Alright, Butterfly, if you’re so smart-“

“Diurnal.” She shrugged. “Noct means night. Di means day.”

Bucky frowned. “What does urnal mean.”

“I dunno. I think it’s where men go to the bathroom.”

That one hit him like a goddamn truck. Bucky didn’t even know why, but that fucking got him, and he had to turn his laugh into a cough to avoid Sam and Sarah’s attention.

And She looked proud. Tall and graceful and catlike, smiling at Bucky with the full force of the Moon turning in Her eyes, and this felt like friendship.

He might even entertain it feeling like, maybe, annoyingly, infuriatingly more, if he didn’t know that fucking Miles was just down the hall.

And maybe Bucky was just losing his damn mind like a teenager, after decades of not being allowed to have anything to that. The word he wouldn’t use, that meant he liked Her a little more than just the job, and his body wasn’t just going haywire because She was impossibly beautiful, and his lines had all been blurred and washed away until they were nothing at all.

He could try and grab control back. Grip it by the neck and smother all this down.

He didn’t really want to.

That might be more terrifying than any trains in icy mountains or hums of electrically.

But She was still grinning at him.

Bucky couldn’t find it in himself to look away, or not grin back.

——————

You and Bucky won.

Of course you won.

You always win.

And Sam always accuses you of cheating, and you give him the line to the Stark Industries IT department, and tell him to take it up with them.

“They’d cheat for you,” Sam grumbles, and you give him a flat look.

“You’re such a sore loser-“

“Cause I didn’t lose-“

“Yeah, you actually came in an acceptable second place this time.” You grin at him. “Remember when you got four out of thirty-“

You dodge the first pillow. And the second. But Sam’s fast, Sarah’s mostly just grinning and being incredibly unhelpful, and the most you can do is raise your arms to block the third projectile, aimed right to your face-

“Sam. C’mon.” A cool, steady hand wraps around your arm and pull you out of the line of fire, and Bucky’s voice is deep near your ear as he keeps you upright, and you can feel the heat from his skin, and-

“She’s taunting my honor, Buck, as Captain America that’s all I got-“

“You literally have a vibranium shield. Get over it, Sam.” You turn to stick your tongue out at him, and Bucky yanks you to the side right as another pillow flies.

You’re pressed right to his body. If you angle your head right, you’ll be able to hear his heartbeat, and you’re holding onto his metal arm for support and it’s cold but grounding, because your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest and you really don’t want to make everyone clean up that mess-

Miles is right in the other room. He’s been here, the whole time you’ve been forcing yourself to not laugh too loud at Bucky’s jokes, and you’ve been checking the door in case he walked back in and saw how close Bucky had gotten to your body, and you’ve been stupid all night.

You’ve let your guard down. You weren’t friends with Bucky because of this, because he made you feel a little too comfortable and comfort was always too dangerous. It could be ripped away and replaced with bruises so fast, and you had to be far too careful to keep it.

That’s what the Show is. Bucky doesn’t get to smirk and mutter his way behind the curtain like it’s nothing, when the curtain and its isolation are what’s keeping you alive and the ringmaster—talking on his phone about something he’ll gloat about later, all while refusing to tell you a single detail—is just a single room over.

But you look up at Bucky, and there it is again. The line of his jaw harsh and firm, and are around you to keep you steady, and the command in his voice almost immovable.

Tonight had been the only time someone had looked at you, told you something semi-good about yourself, and you’d almost believed them. Not enough for it to sink into your skin, but enough for you to falter. For the Show to stutter a little bit more, and the feral, raw piece of you to beg for a little bit more of Bucky’s attention.

For him to look you in the eyes and tell you that you weren’t a bitch enough for it to imprint itself on your bones and nerves.

Maybe he’s hold you like this while he did it. Steady and grounding, grabbing all the too fast, too loud, cracking and cancerous parts of you and root them into something because he can see you. Bucky’s paused his fake agreement with Sam to glance down and meet your eyes, and something flashes over his features, and it’s like a live-wire flaying over your skin because he’s not looking away, or revolting, or running-

Miles calls your name, and you almost shove Bucky away from you. He can’t hold you like that. Where the thing in you flutters again, and Bucky’s holding you but he’s holding you—not a puppet or mask of you, he’s still piercing all the way into you—and you want him to keep holding you.

He can’t keep holding you. No matter how many times Bucky smiles at you from his eyes and keeps you upright and secure, you have to adapt.

And you’re being summoned.

So you blink at Bucky for half a second, a tight frown on his face as he holds your gaze, and then—like a fucking bitch—you go to where you’ve been told.

“Fun night, honey.”

It was. But in spite of Miles, not because of him.

Sam had tried to get you not to invite him, and you’d almost given in. But you would’ve had to sneak out, and play it smart, and think of a good reason you were gone half the night without Miles’ watchful eye making sure you didn’t stray too far.

You’re too tired to pull yourself that tight together. To not let anything slip.

Even now, when he was just in the other room the whole time you’d been with Bucky, you’re turning over every word before you say it. Just in case he hears the underlying and unspeakable truth of I wish you’d drop fucking dead, and I could run of into a cool colored sunset and find somewhere to bury myself where you’d never find my body.

You’re not that brave.

And Miles fucking knows it. It’s why he holds you so loosely by your wrist. He knows you’re not going to pull away.

When he leans down for a tight, measured kiss where his tongue traces over your lips and you have to fight not to curl away, you paint a happy and ditzy smile over your face, and offer it with practiced precision.

He buys it. He always does. He doesn’t even know there’s anything you’re trying to sell.

“I’ll see you at home.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “You’re leaving?”

“Don’t miss me too much.” He winks, and you give a breathy giggle that doesn’t sound like your own voice. “I’ve got some work, babe.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll tell Sam-“

Miles cuts you off with your name, his tone sharp, and your jaw snaps closed on instinct. “Be careful around that Solider guy.”

The Show. You can’t break the Show. Bucky has to elicit no sort of visible reaction, and you have to give him an innocent, soft blink of confusion like a baby bird-

“He’s bad news.” Miles mutters. “I’ve seen the news. Tell me if he tries anything, and I’ll handle it for you, babe.”

There’s bile in your throat. You’re good at swallowing it down. “He won’t try anything, Miles, he’s Sam’s friend-“

Miles laughs, and it scratches over your skin. “Well I still think Sam’s going to try and grab something from you that’s mine. I still don’t like that you do these with him, they’re fucking stupid. And that Barnes guy isn’t different. He’s going to push it, I’m telling you now.”

You hate him. If you could, you’d destroy yourself and Miles in the same blow, because it’s bursting up your spine and you fucking hate him-

No screaming or fighting will free you. You just have to keep on the Show.

“I’ve told you,” you mumble, staring down at your hands. “Sam’s like my brother.”

“Sure.” Miles chuckles, and it’s like you’re stupid, and naïve, and you wish you could cut out his tongue without it killing you too, and maybe, really, at the end of the day that would be fine-

“Miles-“

“Get to bed when you’re home.” He says, not glancing back as he pulls open the door, and he’s gone.

You’re stranded in the hallway. This may be a test, an evaluation of your loyalty for Miles to see if you’ll follow him, or it may just be right what it is on the surface. You’re allowed to stay here, you just have to go right home when you’re done. And this is all you get. The only reason Miles hasn’t told you to stop being friends with Sam is because he’s Captain America, and that’s a connection that can’t be replaced.

Even though you’ve know Sam from before that. Even though you look at him and see Sam, who saved you without any dumb wings or shield.

Similar to how you’ve started to look at Bucky and see the man who’s been opening all your doors for you without a bow of his head or a sneer, and who matches the pace your mouth sets without sprinting, and who’s been catching you and still drove you home even when you were a bitch.

But it’s not the same as how you see Sam. There’s no mist with Sam, and there’s no little part of you that only seems to bloom when Sam looks at it and doesn’t recoil away, and-

“He gone?”

You nod, not bothering to turn around as Sam comes up behind you, and he stops right at your side, matching your stare at the wall.

“Good.”

“Sam,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around your stomach. “I’ve told you-“

“Yeah, I know. I’m not tryin’ to talk to you about that. Sarah said she gave the whole usual speech and got nowhere.“

“You know I can’t-“

“Leave him? You could.” Sam’s head turns in your periphery, and his gaze feels like it’s burning into your skull. “Grace would call the whole police department before she let him in your office. Sarah would fly the boys up and stay in the apartment with you, shit, Happy wouldn’t let him in a single Stark building, and you’ve got the cyborg following you around all the time already-“

“Sam.” You whisper, tightening your grip on your own body. “Please.”

You know all that. You really do, and it’s not worth anything because you can’t leave.

It’ll kill you. You did this to yourself, because you were young and stupid and lonely, and told Miles about the bond. Then you told your sibling to move it over to him, because you didn’t want that to be their problem, and you explained to him how it all worked, and now you can never fucking leave.

And Sam doesn’t know that. Nobody knows that but Miles and your family. The bond can’t be advertised. You can’t be advertised. And at least Miles only makes you look into small bits of the future.

You could do more, if he made you. If you pushed him to it. You’re not even sure the limit of it, because you’ve never tried. But the bond exists because without it your body would implode on itself from the power.

The power isn’t something that should be toyed with.

So no one can know.

“You know he’s wrong, right.”

You let out a dry, empty laugh. “About what.”

“Me.” Sam’s voice is firm, serious, and you finally glance over to see his jaw set and eyes narrowed. “Don’t get me wrong, kid, you’re great, but I- Fuck, just the thought is gonna make me vomit-“

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, shoving at his arm, and something relaxes over the air. “I know. And it’s mutual.”

“Good. Don’t think I’ve ever been your type anyway.” Sam’s mouth starts to tug into a grin. “You’ve always liked them broody. Sarcastic. Kinda an annoying fuckin’ dipshit and grumpy-“

You stand a little taller, forcing your voice to remind steady. “I’m going to throw you off a building-“

“You know I’ll just fly away-“

“Your wings aren’t attached to your body, genius.”

“That’s what you think.” Sam shrugs, glancing over his shoulder. “You know he likes you too.”

You give Sam an incredulous look. “Miles just left-“

“And he could be gone for good. And you could be my in-law-“

“You and Bucky aren’t brothers-“

“How’d you know I was talking about Bucky?”

Sam’s smirking at you, and you scowl. “Fuck you.”

He laughs, shrugging it off. “Well for the record, we’ve fought aliens together. We’re blood brothers.”

“That’s not what blood brother means. And if I want to be your in-law,” you give him a pointed look. “I’ll just marry Sarah.”

“Shit, good point.” Sam sighs, although the light in his eyes doesn’t waver. “Gotta go tell Buck he’s got competition-“

“Sam-“

“I’m serious,” he says your name, and goddamnit, why can’t he just let you dodge and talk your away out of this. “I haven’t seen you that relaxed in years. Shit, since I got back from being blipped-“

“We’re not even friends, Sam-“

“Yeah, because you don’t let yourself have anything nice.”

You shoot him a glare. “Stop doing the counselor thing. I hate it when you do that.“

“Well, I hate it when my two best friends feel shitty and act dumb.” Sam jabs back. “And I’m not tellin’ you to ride off into the sunset with him, I’m saying that this,” he gestures around the air. “Cannot be your whole damn life.”

“I know-“

“Do you? You got any clue how long I’ve been tryin’ to get him to watch TV?”

You frown at him. “What, Bucky?”

“Yeah. He kept sayin’ he didn’t like any of it anyway, then he tells me he watched Star Wars.”

“I don’t- I didn’t-“

“Look.” Sam’s face falls back into the fully serious one, his tone dropping to something firm. “If you’re holdin’ out on him cause of that-“

“I’m not.” You narrow your eyes at him, but Sam doesn’t even flinch.

“He ain’t gonna judge you. I know why you did it, and Bucky’s an asshole, not a hypocrite.”

You sigh, dropping your head to stare at your feet. “Sam, I’m- I don’t-“

“Yeah, I know. Just think about it. You need more friends,” Sam’s hums your name, and you give him another glare. “Don’t look at me like that. I ain’t gonna push anythin’ more than that, but you do need it.”

“I-“ You swallow, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I’m gonna go up to the roof for a bit. I’ll be down soon.”

Sam nods, and you offer him a small smile as you pass him to the window.

He’s trying to help. He really is. But you climb up the fire escape up you’re settled on the roof, and you know it’s not going to be worth much.

You want it to be. You want to be able to have some semblance of the life you’ve never been able to afford, where you can have friends, and the past isn’t a skeleton that never even got to your closet. It follows you around like a shadow. You know how all the suits see you. That their gaze lingers because they’re looking for the chance to try and slip in, to revert you back to what you were before.

You won’t be that again. And you’re sitting on the roof, just like you did then, but that’s because it’s the best place to be, when you can’t be anywhere else without caving in on yourself.

It’s like the Subway. Everything is alive around you, and you don’t have to choke on that. There are the blares of car horns on the street, and it’s an anger that’s not directed at you. There are pigeons flying around and over you, but to them, you’re just another human. Thoroughly unimportant, in the way you always should be. The wind is howling in your ears and prickling over your skin, and it’s the same wind that touches everyone else. There are a million blinking lights from a million different lives, and you can stare at until they seem to say hello.

The only thing you’ve ever disliked is that there are no stars. Everyone but you is alive, and you’re not too much when you’re just a body hidden in a shadow, letting everyone else make the noise because you’ve spent so long singing and dancing and never once taking the long breaths you get now.

But there are no stars.

The roof is safe because nobody cares to try and look at you, let alone see you. And as long as you were up here—on this building, or another—you were safe. There was nothing to see you. The city lights seem to say hello, but they aren’t. They’re not looking for you, because the stars are gone, so you’re hidden enough in the shadows that no one will find you-

There’s a sound beside you, and a small shriek escapes your mouth before you can stop it.

Bucky catches your hand before it can hit him, only giving you a vaguely amused look at he lowers it down.

You blink at him, waiting for some kind of Sam sent me up to check on you explanation, but it never comes. Bucky leans against the wall without a single word, staring out of the city, and when you stare at him—trying to read somewhere on his face what the fuck he thinks he’s doing and coming up with nothing—he just turns his head and meets your gaze with raised brows.

“What are you doing?” You blurt, and before you can curse yourself for speaking first, Bucky lets out a dry chuckle.

“Standing on the roof.”

“Why?“

“Didn’t know I needed a reason,” he drawls your name, still not looking away. “Thought it was a free country.”

You give him a flat look. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“If Sam sent you-“

“He didn’t.”

You blink at that. “Then why are you up here?“

“Cause.”

“James.“

“Fine.” He sighs, and you blink at him. You didn’t think he’d give up that easy. “I’ve- I’m gonna tell you something. And you’re not allowed to interrupt.”

You frown, but nod. There’s no reason to not just see where this is going. “Okay.”

Bucky frowns back out over the city, heaving a long breath before he begins. “In the 90s, they woke me up. Sent me out, let me do my job, then put me back in the box. And I remember the guy askin’ me to stop, and some part of me pushing at it, but nothing happening. I wanted to do it. Nothing in my head was louder than the idea that I needed to do it. It... was me. The Soldat. Me. Same guy. And I’m not looking for pity,” his voice drops, his eyes narrowing at the air. “But you said it wasn’t. It is. And I don’t want anyone having the idea that it wasn’t, cause then they don’t know what they’re dealing with.”

“Dealing with?” You keep your question soft, and Bucky grunts.

“The Soldat. He’s still in here,” he taps his head, giving you a firm look. “He can’t be pulled out, but he’s not erased either. They got rid of the triggers. Not my whole damn brain.”

“Okay.” You tilt your head at him. “Why are you telling me?”

Bucky shrugs. “Wanted to. That fight on Tuesday was stupid, Butterfly, and if Sam’s gonna make us keep hanging around each other, I’d rather it be like that,” he nods down to the building, where Sam and Sarah are probably waiting. “Then this week. I know we’re not friends. I’m not looking for another person to fight.”

You swallow.

Sam said Bucky wouldn’t judge you.

And you’re good at being alone, but it’s so exhausting and heavy over your skull.

But Miles doesn’t like him.

And that could be so fucking dangerous, but Miles doesn’t like Sam either, and that’s never ended in anything you’ll never speak about.

Then there’s that little, raw, wired part of you that wants Bucky to hold it. That wants him to look at the cameras, and keep doing more than his job even though you’re not worth it, because he’s looking at you and seeing you, and if he was going to call you vile and leave, he would’ve done it by now. But he’s still here, and he’s talking to you, and nobody made him be here, but he is-

“Nothing to say, sweetheart?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Don’t care. Just don’t go runnin’ around thinking things that aren’t true. I know you’re on Sam’s train of not your fault-“

“It’s not your fault.” You mutter, and Bucky gives you a flat look.

“Were you just not fucking listening-“

“But it’s not.” You snap, standing a little straighter. “We all do what we have to. That was what you had to do.”

Bucky snorts. “Sure, Butterfly.”

“It was-“

“And what do you know about what people have to do?” Bucky snaps, and you feel the Show shatter.

He’s already looked past it anyway. And this can be it. If he turns away here, you’ll never have to fucking worry about it again.

And if he doesn’t-

He will. They always do.

“My mom worked for S.H.E.I.L.D.” You mutter, and Bucky blinks at you. “She was one of their corporate lawyers, but she wasn’t- She didn’t give a shit about us. My siblings and I, we weren’t easy kids, and after my dad, all she could see in us was him. My sibling, Charlie, they had heart issues. Bad ones. And my mom didn’t give a shit.”

Bucky opens his mouth, but you continue before he has the chance to speak.

“I was sixteen, when she brought me to some sort of charity event. Introduced me to Alexander Pierce.” Bucky’s eyes flash, and you give him a grimacing smile as you push on. “I know. Trust me, I know. He… liked me, and he gave me a bunch of gifts, then. You know. And I said he could, but it was- Doesn’t matter. I had enough money to get Charlie the attention they needed. It was a small fucking price. And S.H.E.I.L.D. fell three months later, but I kept going. I- This was how we survived. After my mom died in the whole collapse thing, we needed it more than ever, and so it goes.” You pause, and give Bucky a firm look. “I’d do it again.”

He raises his brows, and you push on.

“It got all my siblings into college. Made things easier for Sam, even if he didn’t know why. It put me in the place where Tony found me. And I never wanted to, but I always did it, and I’d do it again in a second.”

Bucky stares at you, and this is where he leaves. You know what you were, what people called you, and that it wasn’t a moral or feminist or healthy thing to do, but you don’t fucking care, and who gives a shit if Bucky cares-

“What do you want me to say?”

His brows are raised, and there’s something like amusement in his voice as he holds your gaze.

Not running. Not calling you a slut or whore, not asking if you slept with Stark for your spot, and not coddling you like some poor fucking baby that didn’t know what she was doing.

Just looking at you.

You. All of you. That’s one of the last parts of you, and Bucky’s just looking at it, and not running.

“Don’t care.” You whisper, and his mouth twitches slightly.

“Sam ever tell you that your shit isn’t your fault, too?”

You smile at that. “All the time.”

Bucky hums. “You agree with him?”

“I think…” You pause, frowning at the air. “That anyone else would’ve done it, if they were pushed to it. And being a rich-guy-fuck-doll isn’t the same as being forced to murder people-“

“We both had to deal with Pierce.” Bucky grunts. “Jesus, he was a piece of work.”

“Yeah. You know he had a mommy kink?”

Bucky snorts, and it turns into the full laugh, and you didn’t know you could grin this wide.

“Fucking-“ He gives you an open look, and his smile is in his eyes, and this is more than the poker than before. It’s hot and strong and right through your blood, and you never want to move or leave this second.

You don’t care how dangerous that thought is.

The mist is rising up your spine and making you a little dizzy, but if you trip and fall, Bucky will catch you.

“You can’t just fuckin’ say that,” he says your name, and God, his voice is really hoarse and deep. It’s not helping the heat.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

You shrug, your grin growing until it’s overtaking your face. “No, I’m not.”

There’s a long second where you’re just staring at each other. And it’s only the wind and city and Bucky, your head isn’t spinning around or focused on much else but Bucky, and he’s grinning at you, and you can’t stop grinning back, and this should feel fragile if you were smarter, but you’re not.

He can see you. You know he can see you, because you’re barely trying to hide anyway, and the rawness is fluttering right up to your throat, but it’s not nervous.

It’s just trying to move out of you. Let Bucky hold it, because you’re certain he’s not going to break it.

And that should be terrifying. It will be later, in the dead of night when you’re in the bathroom and Miles is on your bed.

But right now, it just feels good.

“We good?” Bucky finally mutters, raising a brow, and you nod.

“We’re good.”

He hums, scanning over you carefully. “You gonna tell me your cats name, then?”

“That depends.” You shrug, not bothering to hide your grin. “You do your book reports?”

“If I say yes, you tell me?”

“Will you be lying?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “C’mon, just tell me-“

“No.”

Bucky starts to say something, but then he pauses. Frowns at you as he scans over your features, and how you’re rubbing your arms, and maybe the wind has started to bite into your skin, but there’s no way he can see the cold, you rub your arms all the time-

“You ready go back down, Butterfly?”

You scowl. Of course he can see the cold. “No.“

“You’re gonna get blown away-“

“I’ll be fine.”

He gives you a flat look. “Stop trying to be dumb. You’re not good at it.”

“I-“ You cut yourself off with a frown. “Uh- I don’t know if that was a compliment or insult-“

“Take it how you want. We’re going back down.”

“James-“

“As your bodyguard.” He raises his brows. “I’m ordering you to go back down. And one of my rules was that you gotta listen.”

“Well my rule was no friends.” You snap back. “So if we’re ignoring mine, I get to ignore yours.”

Bucky blinks at you, and you think he’s a little taller than before. “Are we friends.”

You swallow, fighting the flush on your face as you shrug. Like it’s nothing.

He’ll see through that anyway. It’s mostly for you.

“I guess, yeah.”

“Alright.” Bucky’s lips twitch again, he nods, and that seems to be it.

Friends.

Nothing more.

Somehow still feeling like too much, and not nearly enough.

“Then as your friend,” Bucky drawls. “We’re going back down.”

“James-“

“C’mon. It’ll be warmer, and we can get some food in you.”

You blink at him, unable to fully piece together what that means before Bucky’s extending his arm.

The metal one.

A silent offer to help you back down.

And you don’t really think at all before you take it.

End Note: We're going to start moving into the darker themes of the story, and it's not going to be anything explicit, or that hasn't been warned about previously, but if anything discussed this chapter is distressing to you, I recommend you clock out now, and I will not be offended. For those of you staying, thank you, and I'll see you next week!

Thank you so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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anonymousewrites · 1 year ago

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A Not-So-Disastrous (Book 1) Chapter Eleven

Kusuo Saiki x Reader

Chapter Eleven: Accidents and Reveals

Summary: Saiki has an accident on the beach with the hotel. However, the worst part of his day is having a heart.

(Y/N) walked through the grounds of the hotel. After all day of being with people, they had wanted a moment to themself, and on the beach, they could see the stars, so they walked down to the end of the beach before returning to the hotel. ((Y/N) knew it was the curfew, and they were late, but oops).

They arrived at the beach chairs of the hotel and saw Saiki and Toritsuka. (Y/N) brightened upon seeing them (mostly Saiki).

(Y/N) opened their mouth to call out when they saw Saiki lift a hand and a giant shipwreck floated out of the hole where their hotel should be.

…

In the moment (Y/N) took to (unsuccessfully) process that, the shipwreck disappeared and was replaced by their hotel.

“What the hell?!” they cried.

Toritsuka and Saiki froze. Slowly—nearly creaking—they turned to face (Y/N). Toritsuka and Saiki turned blank, and (Y/N) stared just as blankly back.

“Saiki, they saw!” cried Toritsuka. “Do something!”

“If I try to do anything, I’ll lose control,” said Saiki. Without his receiver, his powers were way too powerful.

“Saiki, did you do that?” said (Y/N), eyes wide.

Saiki was silent, and Toritsuka looked at him nervously.

“I did.” Saiki risked it all and spoke the truth. “I’m a psychic.”

“As in telepathy, psychokinesis, teleporting, and all that stuff?” said (Y/N) slowly.

“Yes.”

Silence followed. Toritsuka looked between (Y/N) and Saiki nervously. Saiki was sincerely wishing he could read (Y/N)’s thoughts.

“Okay,” said (Y/N).

Toritsuka’s jaw fell open. “That’s all?!”

“It’s Saiki,” said (Y/N), smiling and shrugging. “I know he’s a good person, and I’m his friend. This is just another part of who he is. It doesn’t change what I think of him.” They laughed nervously. “Even if knowing he can hear my thoughts is awkward.” After all, I have a crush on him, and he hates that stuff…

“I can’t hear yours,” said Saiki.

“You can’t?” said (Y/N). Then that meant…

“Your earrings mean I can’t,” said Saiki.

I’m never taking these off, thought (Y/N). “Alright.”

“You’re really just okay with this?!” shouted Toritsuka. “Even I thought it was crazy and am scared of him!”

“You’re scared of Saiki?” said (Y/N), cocking their head in surprise. “Why?”

“Because I know what he thinks,” said Saiki.

“Oh, ew, that sounds worse for you,” said (Y/N), looking at Toritsuka distastefully.

Toritsuka laughed nervously as he realized he was drawing attention from (Y/N) and Saiki for all the wrong reasons. “Aha, shouldn’t we focus on the hotel?”

“It’s back,” said (Y/N), shrugging.

Toritsuka deadpanned. He thought they were way too okay with everything already.

“We need my receiver,” said Saiki, pointing to his head where he was missing one. “Or else I might have another accident.” He turned towards Toritsuka. “So what did you do with it?”

“What?” said Toritsuka. “I didn’t take it! I swear.”

Saiki frowned slightly. Toritsuka wasn’t lying. “Then who…” He straightened as he overheard Mera and Yumehara talking in their room. Teruhashi was missing. “It was Teruhashi. She disappeared somewhere with my control device. I’ll find her with my clairvoyance.” Saiki crossed his eyes. “Oh, she’s okay.”

“That’s good,” said (Y/N), breathing a sigh of relief.

Saiki saw a bear in his vision. “Oh, no, she’s not okay!” He looked at (Y/N). “Keep track of Toritsuka while he looks like Teruhashi.” Without any explanation of what that meant, Saiki teleported away.

(Y/N) blinked and turned towards Toritsuka. “What did he…” they trailed off as all they saw was Teruhashi in front of them. “Oh.”

Toritsuka beamed “Do I look like her?! Oh, man, perfect! I can get into the girl’s dorms—”

“Don’t even think about it!” chirped (Y/N) cheerfully.

(Y/N) was relieved when the real Teruhashi returned to the dorm, safe and sound. No one else noticed the change, but (Y/N) had been up all night watching for her, and when a body appeared in her bed after everyone was asleep, they could breath a sigh of relief knowing everything had gone alright. (Y/N) hesitated a moment before taking out their earrings.

Good job, Saiki.

(Y/N) put their earrings back in, satisfied with the message they’d sent, and promptly lay down to sleep. They were exhausted. Way too much had happened today, and, hey, no matter how well they took it, learning that their (best) friend (and crush) had psychic powers changed your perspective on the world. (Y/N) deserved a good sleep to digest that.

Saiki stood on the beach, ready to teleport back to his own house for a proper sleep.

Good job, Saiki.

He paused. Those were (Y/N)’s thoughts. He’d never heard them before. He had to admit, their voice sounded better in his head than others.

Saiki allowed himself a smile. And then he promptly schooled his expression. Something was going on with him, and it was just his own exhaustion keeping him from figuring it out. Saiki would have to confront it soon, though. He had no choice.

The following morning, everyone gathered for breakfast, and no one seemed to have noticed anything amiss from the previous night.

“When’d you come back yesterday, Saiki?” asked Kaidou. “You weren’t in the room at lights-out, were you? Where’d you go?”

Well, people had noticed a bit, but not enough to really worry.

“He went to find me,” said (Y/N), smiling. “I went on a walk down the and forgot about the time.”

“Oh, okay,” said Kaidou.

Saiki glanced at (Y/N). They seemed so…fine, even though he’d probably destabilized their entire view of the world with the reveal of his powers. How were they alright? How was (Y/N) so accepting?

Something in his heart beat a moment quicker. Saiki couldn’t understand (Y/N)’s calm, easy acceptance of him, but he was…glad of it. Just glad.

The pineapple farm visit had gone about as Saiki expected. Mera had eaten a ton of samples and had to be pulled away by Yumehara. Teruhashi was gifted whole pineapples to take back home with her. Toritsuka made inappropriate jokes about fruits (as compared to women’s you-know-whats) and grossed out everyone.

The aquarium also let everyone mess around and just be themselves.

“Whoa! It’s huge!” Nendou stared at the whale shark with wide eyes. “Isn’t that Capture Level for that thing at least twenty?!” (He thought Pokémon and real animals were the same thing, unsurprisingly).

“Hmph. So your world is shrouded in darkness, too, huh?” said Kaidou, smirking as he looked at the “Ecology of Deep Sea Fish” display.

“Wow, the fish are gathering around Teruhashi,” said Hairo, surprised.

An entire school of fish had swum up to the window to just stare at Teruhashi as she smiled and was fawned over as usual.

“They’ve mistaken her for a mermaid!” exclaimed another classmate.

That accounted for all of Saiki’s friends bothers except one. Saiki looked around and spotted (Y/N) looking at a tank of betta fish. They caught his eyes, smiled, and waved him over.

Saiki decided that it wouldn’t be terrible to stand with them (translation: he’d enjoy himself). He walked over and looked at the display they were enjoying.

It was a tank of betta fish swimming around, and they were all beautiful and multicolored.

“Look, that one’s pink, just like your hair,” said (Y/N), gesturing to one and smiling. “It’s a Saiki fish.”

Saiki had to begrudgingly agree that if he transformed into a betta fish he might actually be that color. “It is.”

(Y/N) chuckled to themself and read the display on the fish themselves. Saiki watched them and furrowed his brow. They were acting so normal, and he still couldn’t reconcile what he thought their reaction would be (should be?) and what it was.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He couldn’t help but ask. (Y/N) was…Well, they meant something to him. He couldn’t help but check in on them.

“Huh?” (Y/N) frowned. “What do you mean? I’m fine.”

“With what I told you last night,” said Saiki.

(Y/N) burst out laughing. “Oh, Saiki, of course I am.”

Saiki gave them a deadpan look of disbelief, and (Y/N) shook their head in amusement and waved a hand.

“Seriously, Saiki. I don’t care. I mean, sure, it was a lot to learn about, but I don’t care. The…power thing I can deal with,” said (Y/N), shrugging. “Even if it takes a moment.” They smiled warmly. “But I don’t need to deal with what I think about you. That doesn’t change. I told you that last night, and I was serious.”

“I think you have a screw loose,” said Saiki bluntly.

(Y/N) rolled their eyes. “Saiki, you’re my friend. There’s not much you could say to make that change. And having, you know, unusual abilities isn’t one of those things.”

“You really don’t care.” Saiki stared at them, trying to understand their mind.

“Why would I?” said (Y/N) as if it was the easiest statement in the world. They smiled, and Saiki thought the entire air warmed around them with their kindness. “I care about who you are, not what you can do. And to me, you’re just Saiki. Now you’re Saiki who can do cool stuff. It’s just a new part of you I’m honored to learn about.”

Without another word, (Y/N) happily turned away and walked down to another tank of the aquarium. Apparently, their words felt so truthful and obvious that moving on was no problem.

Behind them, Saiki was left with many more thoughts than (Y/N) had.

They really don’t care. They don’t think any differently of me. I’m still just Saiki. Their friend.

Saiki’s heart thrummed at the word, and he watched them go. He was…glad—no, happy—that (Y/N) accepted him. They meant so much to him, and to know that they still saw him in the same way and didn’t care about his powers meant just as much. It solidified what Saiki had been trying to avoid thinking of for quite a while: what (Y/N) really meant to him.

Friend had been the right word for only a brief moment as Saiki came to accept what he thought. But now, with this reveal on his part and their complete acceptance and continued respect of him as a person, Saiki was forced to reconcile with the beating of his heart, normally so still.

Saiki had feelings for (Y/N). He had a crush on (Y/N).

It was an entirely new feeling, but he knew it was true. He wanted to be around them. He liked their presence, looked for them in crowds, anticipated seeing them. And now, Saiki knew that they understood every part of him and still cared about him—as a friend, he had to remind himself. And that meant the world. (Y/N) was his friend, yes, and he appreciated them as that. But underneath, in his own heart, he cared about them as more.

“(Y/N).”

They glanced back in confusion as Saiki walked up to them again. It was rare he used their name, even though (Y/N) had asked him long ago to call them by their first name.

“Yeah, Saiki?” said (Y/N).

“…Call me Kusuo.” He didn’t try to explain why.

He could lie and say it was just easier, or tell a part of the truth that he had been more honest with (Y/N) than he had been with anyone else in his life. That they were the first person he’d chosen on his own to tell about his powers and he was honored that they respected him still and wanted to acknowledge (Y/N) was his friend.

But Saiki didn’t say anything.

That didn’t matter. He had a feeling that (Y/N) understood as they gazed at him warmly.

“Alright, Kusuo.”

Oh, wow.

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tripleglitchwriting · 8 months ago

Text

Kinesthesis 3

Jazz/Prowl/HumanReader first contact AU

Part 2

I am so sorry this took so long 😭 but I finally got something out! This was written over the course of multiple months so if it’s inconsistent that’s why. Over my impromptu hiatus I’ve grown as a writer and as a person so that will probably change the way this story goes, but not to worry! I still plan on carrying on with this fic.

Be aware that I may not remember things about that last two chapters before this because it’s been a while. If you find any mistakes, let me know!

Also, thank you to the anons that encouraged me to keep going! This one goes out to you.

So, now you have quite a few problems. Not only were the ‘robots’ alive, they were also obviously damaged and asking for your help. Your help. Of all people. You still didn’t know where they came from, if someone was piloting them, how they got here, what that blue liquid was, or why one of them only made weird metallic scratching sounds. That one in particular really freaked you out when it first started ‘speaking’. At the time, you immediately assumed there was a metal demon somewhere coming to eat you.

Instead of that, they were just giant robots asking for your help in the middle of asscrack nowhere. Very simple. Foolproof, even. Nothing wrong there.

“I’m… going to get to work.” You told the one apparently named ‘Prowl’. He didn’t make any sputtering noises at you this time, so you took that as your go-ahead.

He was huge. Well, you knew that, but it was still jarring. You had to literally climb him to get to his wounds. Delicately placing your rag to the injured spot on his neck, you could feel the pump of something akin to a heart under the metal. Now that was weird. Wait, maybe it was just a fuel pump of somesort. He couldn’t… it couldn't have an actual heartbeat, right? Robots don’t have heartbeats.

That isn’t possible.

After a bit of cleaning up blue liquid and trying not to cut yourself on shards of metal, a realization dawned on you. These guys were more complicated than you thought. Really, a robot shouldn’t have this much… everything. They shouldn’t have half of whatever parts are in them. What kind of coding was driving them anyway? What fuel did they even use? The blue stuff?

Oh, who are you kidding. They aren’t robots. They can’t be. They can’t just be robots. They fell from the sky, of course they can’t be robots! Your heart picked up its already erratic pace, yet even with shaky hands, your work took priority.

Soon after there wasn’t a hole in Prowl anymore. Not one on his neck, anyway. You counted that as a win. But seeing as there were way more lacerations, dents, and cuts all over both of them, you definitely had the rest of your work cut out for you.

Simple. Foolproof, even. Nothing wrong there.

—---------------------

Jazz, with his sight still mostly busted, anxiously awaited some sort of indicator that the person helping them was actually patching up Prowl. They seemed pretty stunned earlier. Scared. He had assumed they’d run away and get help. That would be a more reasonable reaction, right?

Obviously it was probably better that they didn’t, this was a completely new planet after all. They’d be scrap if it weren’t for this random person helping them out. This person that is native to this new planet. With… no knowledge of Cybertronian biology- oh scrap. This person had no idea what they were doing!

“W – it! Wa– a - i!” Staticy, barely understandable garble came out of his vocalizer. He heard a tiny peep out of the little guy and a kind of ‘hrmph’ from Prowl.

“What? What is it? Did I do something wrong?” They squeaked in a comically high-pitch tone. “I- I’m sorry, I- know mechanics but this is kind of different and I don’t want to hurt anybody I just-”

“Y- yo- u kno- me- c– nics?”

“Um, yeah, it’s what I do. For school.”

“S- – -ry f’r t--e frig–t, I’m j-st co– m– in’ to–my–sen s- s- ses, an’ rel-i’ed wher– we ar’... an’ I don’ kn- kn- kn- – -w… ca—n– ya- re- – -y fi- x us?”

“O- oh, n- now yo- -y questi- on it?” Prowl commented from the sidelines. Jazz deliberately ignored him.

“I mean, I can, I just need some time to figure everything out… i- it doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“W- Wha-t’s’t sayi- in- ing?”

“A- askin’ i- if it- it- it- hu- – -ts.”

“O- of co- rs’ it h-urts!”

“Wait, what’s he saying?”

Jazz cringed for a moment, realizing just how taxing it’s going to be on him to keep translating. Of course, he decided to use it to his advantage. Why not have some fun in the face of certain death?

“H- he s’ys h’s t—ckl’sh.”

“Oh, um, okay. Does that mean you guys can’t feel pain? Like, can I go harder with this? I have some power tools I can use back in—” Okay. Bad plan.

“N- N- N-O we C- – -N Fe’L It!”

“Oh, um, can or can’t?”

“C- C- C- C- CAAIIIEEEZZZZzzzt!” His vocalizer gave off a pointedly unpleasant sound just before shorting out.

“Is that… should I know what that means?” Jazz took a second to reset his vocalizer.

“N- n- n- o… b- b’t w– fe’l pa’n… i–t h- – -rts…”

“Can feel pain, got it. Um, is your voice okay? I can try fixing it… if that’s a thing I can fix…?” As much as he appreciated the gesture, Jazz wasn’t ready for that kind of operation.

“N- n - o thn’ks.”

“Alright… I’m gonna keep going here then.”

It was then, nearly offline, cut off from most forms of communication, on a completely alien planet, that Jazz realized this might be a little bit too much to handle.

“Y- y- you—re an ‘di—ot.”

“M- ay’e… bu— ‘least I c’n t- t- ta-k to ou- fr’nd ‘ere.”

“It’s Wh—lja’k, o- of c-cou’se I d- di—-nnooowoowOWW!” Jazz heard a loud crash followed by a tiny scream.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry, what did I do? I- I didn’t know, oh my god…”

“Wh—t? —at ‘appe— d?!”

“I- I’m sorry, I think I hit something, I’m so sorry!”

“Pr—ler? P—owl!?”

He got a groan in response. A groan and a new, distinct, clear sound.

“—bbzzzt —- bzzzt ——tobots! This is Optim— —ime. If yo- can hear thi-, heed my call. The Arc is inoperable. Most of you are scattered across an alien world. While I do not know where the Decepticons have landed, I can confirm they are on the planet with us. Do not lose hope here, my friends. For the fate of Cybertron and the remaining Autobots rests in your capable servos. Attached to this message are the coordinates to the Arc, I will be waiting for you there. Good luck—- bzzzt —— bzzzt—-!”

The three sat in silence. While he couldn’t see the hologram that was most likely coming from Prowl’s projector, he heard what the message contained. They were safe. Optimus was safe. And he once again had a goal to achieve.

“Wh- what the hell was that!?”

“Th’nk Pri—us…” Prowl whispered.

“It -as… a- a- f- fri—nd.”

“Oh, okay. What did your friend say?”

“Th— w- we ha— so—me-here t- be.” Jazz attempted to move his body, but was once again denied. “W- we n- n- ne—d to g—-!”

“Hey, woah woah woah! You are not well enough to get up yet! I haven’t even started patching you up!”

“Aau—augh! I- I- kn— Ratc— uh, I- I- I kno—“

“Settle down. I- I’ll be as fast as I can, alright?”

Jazz huffed in halfhearted agreement. Prowl, on the other hand…

—---------------------

He thought this was an incredible waste of their time. Oh, sure, he needed to be fixed, but he was doing just fine now and he did not need help from a mysterious stranger he couldn’t understand. How could he, Prowl of Petrex, need the help of a tiny little creature like this one? There was no such need. The only need he had was to get himself and Jazz functional again, report back to Optimus, and win the war.

He tried to get up. After about half a second of metal creaking, unconscious groaning, and a little squeak from his benefactor, his body gave out. His spark burned with a searing mixture of frustration and stress as he tried to clench a servo. But of course he couldn’t. Of course he was stuck. Injured, vulnerable, and useless. But still, Optimus needed him. Needed them. So he needed to get up!

“C- cal- m d- do— n Pr—‘er… ye’ sca- a- rin’ ‘em…” He could hear panicked chittering from somewhere on top of him. He had half a mind to shoo the thing away, but even if he could raise his servo, he knew this was his only hope. He would never admit that, obviously, but deep in his spark he knew.

He didn’t respond to Jazz. He didn’t need to. He just focused on the little twinge of pain somewhere atop his chassis and a wound being sealed. A familiar feeling. Not too familiar, not like this, but enough to be comforting.

He imagined the medbay in the Arc. That time when they defeated the enemy and no one had to die. They won, and everyone cheered and celebrated and did whatever people do to express joy during a war.

He was unconscious for cycles. Just because nobody died doesn’t mean nobody was hurt. And he was really, really hurt. But it didn’t matter, not even to him. Moments like that are rare, after all. When one could rejoice without mourning the loss of a friend. He’d only expected Ratchet or First Aid to stay with him during that time. Who wouldn’t want to celebrate the spoils of victory? No one is willing to give up a moment of solace like that. No one is stupid enough to pass up the opportunity for happiness. Except Jazz.

Jazz stayed with him the whole time. He stayed by his bedside, refusing to leave once the required surgery was over. He brought glasses of energon for both of them. To share.

Prowl didn’t wake up then. He missed the party and the congratulations and the relief. He missed Jazz telling him stories and about his day. He missed when the rest of the crew stopped by to check on him. When he did finally come out of stasis, Jazz wasn’t there. Not of his own volition, but because he passed out on the floor due to exhaustion. They both got a long lecture about taking care of themself from Ratchet when it was over.

And Jazz is there, now, still with him. Bleeding out and broken, but still there. And Prowl was powerless to help him. His HUD sang one final message in his head before it went suddenly silent, and he fell helplessly into the deep abyss of stasis.

#transformers g/t #transformers #g/t #tripleglitchwrites #jazzprowl #gn reader #transformers x reader #prowl x reader #jazz x reader

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achilles-rage · 1 year ago

Text

Good Luck Charm: Chapter 3

college football player!buck x plus size!reader

summary: a couple weeks go by and you’ve been hanging out with evan daily. you’re starting to let your guard down when a guy in one of your classes approaches and asks for help in class. evan sees this, and can’t help the jealousy that builds inside of him.

word count: 2.8k

previous chapter

series masterlist

A/N: this chapter got away from me, this was so fun to write and i really love how it turned out! from this chapter on there’s a lot of them running into each other on campus which i know is unrealistic but just ignore it! enjoy<3

warnings: lack of experience!reader, slowburn?? slight enemies to lovers???, jealous!buck, no use of y/n, fem!reader, race inclusive!reader

You hang out with Evan everyday for the next two weeks in the library, trying to get the assignment mostly done before either of your classes pile up too much. Each time you spend time with him, you can’t help but open up a little bit more. You can’t help it; he’s just so easy to talk to. You almost begin to think of him as a friend.

This isn’t lost on him either. He’s noticed how your attitude is slowly beginning to slip, and the way you give him that sweet little smile when he says something funny. It makes his insides turn in a way he hasn’t felt before, and everytime he sees your eyes crinkle paired with hearing your soft laugh, he’s sure he’d do just about anything to experience it again.

You’re sitting in the library yet again, at the same table that you sat at the first time you hung out with him. It’s become your unofficial meeting table, as the first person who arrives, mostly Evan, always saves it for the other.

You both have your laptops open, but your assignment is long forgotten. He’s in the middle of telling you a story of when his parents forced him to sign up for baseball at 8 years old, even after he had begged to be put in football instead. He tells you how he refused to participate, and his coach had to call his parents to pick him up in the middle of practice because not only was he refusing to play, he was also sitting in the middle of the field so no one else could play either. You’re laughing softly at his words, your brows raised in disbelief, when you feel a presence beside you. You notice Evan’s eyes trail up as he stops talking, and a frown makes its way onto his face. You turn in your seat and look up at the person beside you, smiling when you realize it’s a guy from your English class. Elijah, you think.

“Hey. Were you in class on Monday?” Elijah asks you as he stands a little too close for Evan’s liking. Elijah’s smile widens when he sees you nod, and continues. “Awesome. Could I get your notes? I have no idea what Professor Curran is talking about most of the time.” he tells you, pulling out the chair on the other side of you and sitting down, his body angled at you.

“Yeah, he can be a little hard to follow along with, but I’ve had him a few times, so I’ve learned to keep up with him most of the time.” you say, chuckling softly. You turn to your laptop and pull up your notes for that class as Evan rolls his eyes, very clearly annoyed that this guy is taking all your attention away from him. You don’t even notice, your focus now completely on helping Elijah out.

“Wait, really? Can you explain the Great Exhibition to me? I don’t get it.” Evan can’t help but scoff quietly and roll his eyes at this guy. He doesn’t understand the Great Exhibition? It was a big building of stuff, what’s so hard to understand? His eyes narrow as he notices the way the guy is looking at you, eyes trailing down your body as you look at your laptop screen, starting to explain the Great Exhibition happily. He’s clearly only over here because he thinks you’re attractive, and this doesn’t sit right with Evan.

“Could we maybe do this another time?” he asks, a hint of annoyance in his voice, despite his best efforts to hide the jealousy bubbling inside of him. He has a fake smile plastered on his face as he looks at you. He knows he really can’t do much about this guy, it’s not like you’re his, but he’s still gonna try.

“It’ll only take a second. I’m sure you can sit quietly for a few minutes.” you tease him softly, barely looking at him before your eyes move from your screen to Elijah, giving him an apologetic smile.

“I don’t know about that, princess. You’ve met me, haven’t you?” This earns a small laugh from you as you finally look over at him, giving him a sweet smile.

“Please?” you say, just above a whisper, your eyes silently pleading with him. You really are interested in the Great Exhibition, so you’re happy to take a break on your assignment and talk about it. He huffs, sinking into his chair, mumbling a defeated “fine” as he crosses his arms over his chest. You give him a wide smile before turning back to Elijah, continuing to talk about your class.

Evan sits quietly for a minute or two, shooting daggers at Elijah as he leans closer to you, taking the chance to look down at the cleavage you have peeking out of your top when your eyes are focused on the screen. God, you seem so oblivious to the way he’s looking at you, Evan thinks. It almost makes him sick to his stomach to think about you hanging out with this guy without him here.

It pushes Evan over the edge when you laugh at something stupid Elijah says and lean closer to him instinctively as you do so. Evan sits up straight, eyes narrowing even further at the man before leaning over to you and draping an arm around the back of your chair as he looks at your screen.

“You’re a good teacher, princess. Maybe you can teach me a few things too.” he says softly, a hint of suggestiveness in his voice. You finally look over at him, fighting back a smile as you catch his tone, momentarily forgetting about Elijah. This makes Evan smirk, his eyes glancing at the man as if to say “I win.”

“Are you really that interested in the Great Exhibition?” you tease softly, not believing for a second that he really cares about what you’re saying. Surely he’s just bored.

“Yeah, I love the Great Exhibition. The Crystal Palace, and all that. Fascinating.” he trails off, which makes you laugh softly. He notices the guy smirk as your chest moves when you laugh, and his eyes narrow for a moment before he continues, really wanting to show the man that you’re off limits. Even if you’re technically not his. He leans closer to you again, putting his other arm in front of you on the table, almost as if he’s trapping you between this arm and the one on the back of your chair, marking his territory. You bite the inside of your cheek softly as he moves, breath catching in your throat as you feel the heat radiating off of him.

He sees Elijah’s stare move between him and you for a moment before he clears his throat awkwardly, as if finally understanding that flirting with you so clearly around Evan may not be a good idea, and knowing that he has lost your attention.

“Well, I don’t wanna take up all your time. Maybe we could, uh, hang out after class next week? You could catch me up?” he tells you, which pulls you out of your thoughts of Evan. You let out a shaky breath and turn to Elijah, giving him a nod as you try to slow your racing heart at Evan’s closeness. Evan rolls his eyes at Elijah’s words, leaning back and squaring his shoulders, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he stares at the smaller man.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course. Or, there’s no lecture in our room before class, so we can just go a little early instead?” you say after a moment, smiling softly.

“I have a class right before ours. Maybe we could walk to the coffee shop off campus together after class instead?” Elijah asks you, licking his lips as his eyes glance down to your chest yet again. This man doesn’t know when to give up, Evan thinks, his mind clouded with jealousy.

“Yeah, that works.” you tell him, bringing your hands together on the table and fidgeting with the rings on your fingers.

“Awesome. See you then.” he replies smoothly, giving you a smirk as he gets up and walks away. You turn back to Evan after a second, being met with a twisted look on his face and his brows raised.

“What?” you ask, laughing softly at this look on his face. Your face grows hot as you turn to look back at your laptop, thinking about hanging out with Elijah next week.

“What? Is that guy serious?” he asks, annoyance laced in his voice. You turn back to Evan, raising a brow. Why does he seem so upset by this? You’re just helping him catch up on class.

“What do you mean?” you ask, tilting your head to the side slightly.

“He doesn’t understand the Great Exhibition? It’s not that hard to understand.” You sigh, shaking your head. He had a point, sure, but why else would he ask you to explain it to him?

“Well, not everyone’s as smart as you are.” you say, a hint of teasing in your voice as you give him a small smile, hoping to change the subject. He doesn’t look amused, though.

“I’m serious. He just wants to get you alone. How much do you wanna bet he’s not even busy before your class.” It’s your turn to roll your eyes. You scoff, shaking your head.

“I’m not talking to you about this. Let’s just work on our assignment.” There’s no way what Evan’s saying is true. And you really don’t want to talk to him about going out with another guy if it is. You turn back to your laptop, pulling back up your assignment document, getting ready to add to it.

“Would you go out with him if he asked?” he asks after a moment, his jaw clenched. He doesn’t like the way you’re brushing him off. Jealousy builds inside of him as he imagines you going out with anyone other than him. You sigh, shutting your laptop, knowing he won’t drop it. After hanging out with him for two weeks straight, you know how stubborn he is.

“I don’t know, Evan. Why?” you say, defeated, straightening your back as you meet his eyes. You’re not really sure what else to say. It’s so out of the realm of possibility, you think, that you don’t even want to think about it.

“Just curious.” He shrugs slightly, pursing his lips. He knows he can’t do much because you’re not his, and he doesn’t wanna be that guy. But God, he doesn’t want you going out with that douchebag.

You duck your head slightly, trying to meet his eyes as you see his eyes look away, but you feel like he’s shutting down. You sigh softly and turn back to your laptop, opening it yet again to continue working. Is he jealous? You can’t tell. This is so far out of your expertise that you’re really not sure what to do other than ignore it.

You hang out for a few more hours and he seems to lighten up as you joke with him, and he feels himself forgetting about Elijah more and more each time you give him that sweet little smile. You close your laptop once you realize it’s almost time for your class, and he does the same, packing his bag up.

“Can I walk you to class?” he asks as he stands up and puts his bag over his shoulder. You nod, zipping up your bag. He picks up your bag once you're done and you furrow your brows, looking at the bag outstretched in front of him. Your eyes soften as he holds your backpack straps up, waiting for you to put your arms through, and you look down, fighting back a smile as you turn and put your arms through the straps. You feel his fingers touching you as he slides the straps up your arms, shivering softly as you feel his breath hitting your exposed skin. You take a step forward once your bag is in place, clearing your throat as you turn your head to look over your shoulder at him and thank him softly.

You walk side by side out of the library and across campus to your next lecture. As you’re walking, he finally speaks again in a soft voice.

“Would you really go out with him if he asked?” You look down, biting your lip softly, too nervous to look at him.

“I don’t know.” you answer honestly. You know he doesn’t make your stomach flip as much as Evan, but you’re also not sure how Evan feels about you. You don’t know if you’d necessarily turn him down, but if both Evan and Elijah somehow wanted you, you know who the clear winner is.

“I don’t want you to.” he tells you after a moment, shoving his hands into his pockets. He doesn’t want to say too much; he doesn’t want to hold you back if you really want to go out with him, but he knows it’ll hurt him too much to see you with him, especially if he knows he could’ve said something and didn’t.

“Why?” you ask, your voice just above a whisper, keeping your eyes straight ahead. You’re too afraid to look. You’re scared he’ll be able to see the feelings you have for him if he looks into your eyes.

“I don’t know. I just don’t trust him. He was looking at you like a piece of meat.” You can’t help the smile that breaks onto your face as he says this. He may not necessarily be jealous, but you can’t help but pretend for a moment. You’re so caught up in your own thoughts that you don’t see the look on Evan’s face. If you were to look over at him, you’d see the clear jealousy across his face, and the way his eyes are silently praying that you don’t go out with him as he stares straight ahead of you two.

“Okay.” you whisper after a moment. Once you make it to the building your class is in, he holds the door open for you. You bite you lip as you duck in, thanking him quietly.

“Okay, what?” His voice is full of hope as he watches you walk into the building, trying to keep his eyes off your ass as you pass him.

“I won’t go out with him. If he asks.” you say softly, licking your lips as you turn to look up at him walking through the door. A large smile breaks onto his face for a second, but it’s gone as soon as it appears, trying to act cool. He nods once, shoving his hands back into his pockets, but there’s still an excited look in his eyes.

“Good.” he finishes. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile so big before, not that he gives you long to study it. You smile to yourself as you turn back forward, walking the rest of the way to your lecture hall. You’re not exactly sure what this means, but you think he might actually feel the same way about you as you feel about him.

You turn to him once you get to the door, smiling up at him, your face still hot.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you ask, and he nods, smirking down at you as he holds the lecture hall door open for you.

“Yeah, princess. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says smugly before nodding his head towards the door. “Go to class.” You nod, looking down as you walk under the arm that's holding the door and into the room. Once you’re a safe enough distance from the door you let out a long sigh, laughing softly to yourself.

Okay, maybe you will tell your roommate about him.

After your dreadfully long class, you finally make your way home, still trying to fight the way your stomach is twisting from your encounter with Evan.

You decide on the walk home that you’re going to make cookies. Ever since high school, when you feel any sort of strong emotions, you bake. You need something to put your energy into, and your roommate knows that. So, when she walks into your apartment later and sees you aggressively stirring cookie dough, she drops her bag and walks into the kitchen carefully, eyes glued to your back.

“What’s up?” she asks slowly, trying not to disturb you too much. Usually when you bake, you’re sad, so she’s careful in the way she speaks to you. She lets out a breath as you turn to her with a smile on your face, jumping slightly as your oven beeps, signalling that it’s at 350°.

“Nothing.” you trail off, and you can’t help the way your smile grows as she narrows her eyes, confusion on her face.

“So why are we baking?” she asks, the smile growing on her face as she takes in your expression. She can almost feel the excitement radiating off of you, and she can’t wait to hear what you have to say.

“There may be a, um, guy.” you start, waiting to see her reaction. She’s known you for a long time. She knows your lack of experience when it comes to guys, so she can’t help the gasp that escapes her lips and the wide grin that erupts on her face.

“Who?” she squeals, sitting down at the island stool, holding her head up in her hand as she watches you go back to stirring the cookie dough.

“His name’s Evan.” you start, beginning to explain how you met and how you’ve been hanging out every day for the last two weeks, working on an assignment. She squeals again, and seems to have an endless amount of questions, which you answer happily. It’s nice to finally talk about him, and most of the rest of the night is spent telling her everything about him. God, you’re screwed, you think. You’ve known this guy for two weeks and he has you acting like you’re 15.

next chapter

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doveentrails · 2 months ago

Text

Heaven Can't Be Sweeter Than This (Chapter 1)

Art: You’re lonely?

Fuck. So lonely, you want to scream. You want to disappear, to drown yourself in your drink. You type back.

**Yeah, honestly, I hope it’s not too pathetic to admit that. I had a bad break up a while ago and I just haven’t gotten things back on track.

Art: It’s okay to admit that.

**Okay good, I don’t want to scare you off

Art: You won’t.

You're lonely. You're bored. You're unsatisfied with your job, still not over your last break up, and your closest friend is your cat. You want someone to hurt you. You want to feel something. So you venture into the depths of a kink forum and start chatting with a mysterious stranger...

This was a fun idea I had that I'm so excited to write! What if Art was a lurker on various weird, dubious online forums looking to lure victims, but then meets someone who's into it, like really into it. He's confused, annoyed, he's into it too?? What could go wrong! Will probably be a little slow keeping this one updated, but I love the idea so much and I promise I'm gonna see it thru!!

Yes, this fic will be very NSFW, but nothing here in chapter one...

Word Count: 3800

All chapters

A mug of tea sits steaming on your desk as you stare at the monitor in front of you. You just have a few more emails to reply to, but you feel your eyes growing heavy. You were swamped with extra work tonight, still on the clock hours after you’d normally be done. Lifting the mug to your lips, you feel the warmth of the apple blossom black tea seep into your fingertips. You take a sip, hoping the caffeine will tide you over. Grogginess pulled at the corners of your vision, but the frustrating part was that without fail, every night when you lay your head on your pillow, sleep was hopelessly out of reach. You’d toss and turn and stare at the ceiling for hours, imagining arguments that would never happen, horrible ways you could die, dredging up old embarrassing memories. It was torture.

The insomnia had been an issue for the better part of a year, and you weren’t sure what the reason for it was. You’d had a sleep study done to not much avail, and you hated relying on prescription sleep aids, though you often had to. The weeks you went without them were brutal, and you’d have to make up for it with an 18 hour crash brought to you by your friends seroquel and nyquil.

People told you it was because you spent so long staring at screens. The blue light messed with your circadian rhythm. That’s what it was. You just had to quit that damn job you always complained about and get outside more. The long hours of screen time, of course, were courtesy of your job as a cyber security operator for a large corporate health and beauty company. You got to work from home though, which you loved. Staying at home with your fluffy, grey ragamuffin cat, Mia, was a perk of the job. The work itself was something you could take or leave. You didn’t care much for being a cog in the corporate machine.

Ever the practical type, you went into the tech field for job security. That stuff has always come naturally to you anyway, and you didn’t mind it. Some of it was actually interesting. Being one of the few women in your field was a novelty that soon wore off though. That’s why you opted for the health and beauty route. It was a company with more women and general diversity than the average cyber security sector. You liked your coworkers enough, even though you saw them almost exclusively through screens. Not much of a people person, you tended to prefer things that way.

You had a comfortable routine, but you had to admit that you were bored. The days tended to blur together, and you’d sometimes go weeks without leaving the house until you’d realize you’re about to run out of something essential and have to go to the store. The cashier would be your only socialization for the month. Mostly, you liked to exist this way, but recently you were finding yourself feeling more and more unsatisfied. Maybe that’s what the insomnia was trying to tell you; something needed to change.

You finished your email replies and signed off for the day, taking another large gulp of your tea, now cooled to the perfect temperature. Getting up from your ergonomic, cushioned rolling chair, you switched your apartment from work to relax mode. It was a distinction you had to make. You hated the lines between work and leisure becoming blurred. The switch entailed turning off all the overhead lights in favor of string lights, kitchy neon signs and lava lamps that filled the apartment with a diffuse, multicolored glow. Next, you put on a record, taking the time to choose something that matched your mood. Tonight you were feeling melancholy and melodic, opting for some acoustic singer songwriter to waft through your gigantic sound system at the perfect decibel. You stripped off your jeans (you opted to wear them to put yourself in your work mindset, even though you didn’t have to), and changed into a pair of pajama pants and your Garfield slippers. Lastly, you took your tea to the kitchen and poured in a shot of brandy.

Officially off the clock, you sat back down at your desk with a sigh. You clicked around your usual sites for a bit, scrolling social media, reading forums and checking ebay auctions for vintage clothing. Your spiked tea warmed you from the inside out. It was your favorite pre dinner ritual. Mia came over and rubbed up against your legs, chirping softly at you. You scratched her behind the ears and cooed back at her. This was your typical Wednesday evening. That nagging urge to search for something more surfaced, and you took another sip of tea.

The dull ache of boredom in your chest propelled you to open the web browser and begin typing. The brandy supplied you some boldness as you navigated to a page you rarely visited: a fetish forum, specifically a heavy BDSM forum. Even though you were alone, you felt yourself blush as the page loaded, and you glanced over your shoulder. Mia blinked at you judgmentally.

Admittedly you had some kinks, quite a few, and you’d never really found a partner who matched what you were into. Once you got into the details of your fantasies, you scared any potential mates away. Some would go along with it, but you could tell they were performing, not being genuine, and that just put you off. It became frustrating, and you dreaded opening up about your unconventional tastes. You had one partner (your now most recent ex girlfriend) who you felt was on your level, and it had been great while it lasted. She let you try things you’d never done with anyone else. She had indulged your fantasies, even yes and-ing you and giving you more than you’d asked. You had thought she was your perfect match, Liz.

But around this time last year, the relationship went up in flames. You hadn’t been seeing each other particularly long, just 9 months, but it was a passionate whirlwind 9 months. Real stereotypical lesbian stuff. She was actually the first woman you’d ever been with. You had gotten tired of men trying to play the tough dom role, laying it on too thick and making you cringe. Liz made it look easy. She was a breath of fresh air. She gave you something you never knew you wanted, and then she was gone. The insomnia started after your break up, your longest relationship since.

Post-Liz, you took a big step back. You were depressed and bitter and entirely uninterested in dating. The handful of times you tried, you got cold feet and backed out, calling off dates or just ghosting them entirely. Liz had really done a number on you. All your friends knew it too. You weren’t very social to begin with, but once you started seeing Liz, your social life went out the window. You were entirely consumed in her orbit. You still haven’t made a full recovery socially, letting the bridges of your friendships atrophy due to apathy and embarrassment. (Surely, it’s been too long to reach out now.)

So here you sat behind a screen, a voyeur into the lives of other kinksters. People who were actually getting some, you thought with no shortage of self pity. You read several discussion posts, questions about bondage, cnc fantasies, people bragging about glorious encounters that made your mouth water. You thought about pulling up some porno, jerking off and going to bed, but something stopped you. Instead, you decided to type a post.

ISO someone with dark tastes. I’m looking for a sadist who will hold nothing back. Someone who will push my limits (Trust me, I’ve yet to discover them - Maybe you can help me?). Aiming for bruises I can’t leave the house with, and stories I can’t tell at parties. The more blood the better. An offer not for the faint of heart, or weak of stomach. (Medical knowledge is a plus!) Reach me here, and we can discuss further, xoxo.

You let the text sit in the type box, looking back at you. Rereading it several times, you still debate whether or not to post it. You get up and change the record, putting on some 80’s new wave to boost your confidence. You deserve this. You can find someone twice as kinky as Liz. Someone who will actually get you to safeword for once. That’s what you're really looking for. Honestly, you’re so bored of everything, so numb and detached most of the time, you just want someone to scare the shit out of you.

You walk back to the computer, holding your breath and hitting post before you can think better of it. Then you slink over to the full length mirror in your bedroom and sexy dance in front of it, hyping yourself up. Internally you repeat the mantra, ‘you deserve hot, depraved sex’. Feeling a little better about yourself, you finish your tea and then make yourself some dinner. You get comfy on the couch with more brandy and some shrimp pasta to watch your usual bad reality TV.

Picking up your phone, you decide to text your long distance friend, Nic. He works for the same beauty company as you, but in regional sales. You met years ago at a large holiday event, and have been friends ever since. Even though you're seven hours away from each other, you talk nearly every day.

Ur not gonna believe what I just did…

Nic: What? Took a shit thru someones sunroof

Lmaoooo nooo wtf

No I posted on KinkBound

Nic: Shut up! Finally! Get some, girl

Nic: Show me what u posted!

Nooo wayy, too personal

Nic: Whatevr I know ur a freak

Well, leave it to ur imagination

Nic: Fine, I’ll just imagine ur into shitting thru ppl’s sunroofs lol

Works for me :-)

You text back and forth for a while as you eat your dinner. Then you finish the episode of trash TV you’re watching, and sip the rest of your brandy. Once the show’s over, you hop in the shower.

You can’t help yourself from fantasizing while you’re in there. You think about all the things you want to try, all the things you’ve been too afraid to ask for. There was stuff you even held back from Liz, though she was the one you opened up to more than anyone else. But you never shared with her the darkest thoughts. The literal torture you’d like to endure, the true breaking point you want to be pushed too. It’s too real, too raw, too heavy for most people.

You’ve always wondered why you’re like this. Why isn’t light bondage and spanking enough for you? It’s all too tame. You want to really feel like you’ve given up control, like your life is in someone else’s hands. You’ve psychoanalyzed yourself about this enough. You could blame your parents for raising you an over-achieving only child, always type A, always with a plan. Nothing was ever up to chance, nothing was ever out of your hands. For once, you want someone to take it all away from you.

And the pain, god you love pain. You couldn’t really explain why. Maybe your safe, comfortable life has made you an adrenaline junkie, an endorphin addict. Everything is always so predictable, and the pain snaps you out of it, makes you feel alive, puts you right back in your body. It’s just so good. You’ve never explored it to the full extent that you’d like to. You want to know what it’s like to get seriously injured. To heal. The body’s ability to heal has always fascinated you.

You know you could get away with it too. Working from home, you’d be able to recover from all kinds of heinous injuries in peace. No one would be the wiser. You just need to find someone willing to inflict that kind of suffering upon you. To rend your flesh, steal your breath, maybe even break your bones. You just want to know what it feels like. This is the shit you don’t tell people. Here you are, scrubbing yourself with eucalyptus sage body wash and imagining someone breaking your leg in a sexual context. Some Stephen King, Misery, type shit.

You towel off and throw back a couple sleeping pills. You don’t want to be up all night thinking about who will reply to your post on the forum. Sliding between the silk sheets of your bed, you feel calm and strangely optimistic. You succumb to sleep much quicker than usual, all the while hoping it could be possible for you to find your freak.

***

Morning comes, as usual, all too soon. You reach for the blaring alarm clock and silence it. Early morning sunlight streams through your window, and your second alarm clock, Mia, jumps up onto the bed and starts pawing at your face. You allow her to curl up on your chest, scratching her head until she begins meowing in your ear for breakfast.

“Alright, alright,” you tell her, pulling yourself out of bed. In the kitchen you procure Mia’s half can of fishy smelling wet food, avoiding taking in a full whiff of its odor. She runs to the dish on her little paws and gobbles it down appreciatively. Then you put on the coffee pot and head to the bathroom.

Slowly, you awaken and come fully into your body, going through the motions of your morning routine. Drink half a cup of black coffee, get dressed, jog around the block, shower, put on your work clothes, and finish the rest of the pot of coffee throughout the morning as you sit at your desk.

The light run, your cold shower, and the strong coffee have you humming to life with your computer like always. Mia naps in the sunlight at your feet. You check your inbox first thing, and see that you have a couple messages from the kink site. You can’t believe it, honestly. It takes everything in you to not open them, and instead direct yourself to your work. Excitement bubbles up inside you, but you quickly remind yourself not to get your hopes up too high.

Weirdos are about a dime a dozen, and that’s bound to be who’s messaging you. But maybe the right kind of weirdo… You steer your thoughts back to your screen, loading up the morning check in meeting. You’ll leave those unread messages as a special treat for once you’re off the clock.

The day drags by, all you can think about are the mystery messages waiting for you. 4 ‘o’ clock can’t come soon enough, and once it arrives, you're navigating to the kink site without a second thought. You don’t even bother to change into your comfortable clothes or switch the lights.

The first message is a bot, and your heart sinks. The second message is from some guy with a handlebar mustache that puts you off immediately and the screen name BigMistressMaster, but you figure you should give him a chance. His profile is full of giantess fetish posts, so you really don’t think he’s who you’re looking for. In no hurry to reply, you get up to put yourself into relaxation mode. You’re going to need a double brandy for this.

Mia follows you dutifully as you change, put on a record and pour yourself a drink. Sitting down at the computer, you type a friendly hello to Mr. Mustache. He tells you his name is Ivan, and even the name makes you roll your eyes. Maybe it’s his real name, you think, telling yourself not to be so mean. You chat with Ivan for a bit, drifting to other tabs and leaving space between your replies. You keep the conversation dry while Ivan flirts and tries too hard to win you over. After a couple hours, you lie about the time zone you’re in and tell him you’re going to bed.

The boredom thrums painfully in your chest again. You get up and walk to the freezer, pulling out your bottle of brandy and pouring yourself another double, neat. You don’t usually drink this much, especially on a weekday. Spending so much time alone makes for a slippery slope, and you make an effort to not form a habit, but tonight you indulge in your disappointment. Walking over to the record player, you put on some whiney, sad boy music and let it fill your deflated heart. You think of Liz and take another drink.

Avoiding the computer, you walk a slow lap around your apartment and decide to water your neglected house plants. Then you make dinner and turn on the TV like always. You send Nic a self pitying text message.

Convinced I’m going 2 die alone

Nic: Online dating not going well huh

It’s abysmal

The one reply I’ve gotten is from the most boring white bread man on earth

Nic: White bread on the kink site?

Nic: That’s crazy

More common than u think

Nic: Why don’t u try a real dating app

🙄 ugh

Nic: idk what u have against it

Dating is just so hard

I want something else

Nic: She’s so mysterious…

Nic: So aloof….

Nic: Not like other girls

Stoppp

I hate 2 admit it but I still miss Liz somtimes

And you do hate to admit it. You hate that you’re thinking of her right now. You wish you could give yourself everything you want, be completely self-sufficient. You try, but some things just can’t exist in a bubble like that. You crave excitement, and you haven’t figured out how to get it without bringing someone else into the picture.

Nic: Aw babe

It sucks

Nic: Don’t drunk text her ok, call me instead

Nic: idc what time it is

Thanks <3

You weren’t planning on drunk texting. Although, those things are never planned. You want to defend yourself and argue that you’re not even drunk, but when you get up to bring your dishes to the sink, the world swims beneath you for a brief moment. No more texting, you note to yourself. Really, you should just delete her number already.

You leave your phone on the couch and go back to the computer, planning to check some clothing auctions you’ve been watching. However, the KinkBound page is still up on your screen, and you see you have another new message. The screen name isn’t anything clever or fancy, just Art. At that you feel some relief, just a normal person for once. You open it, hating yourself for feeling another rush of excitement.

Art: I’m interested in your request.

Short, to the point. There’s no profile picture, which should be a red flag, and the account hasn’t made any posts. Still, you can’t stop yourself from typing back.

Hi, glad to hear you’re interested. Have you been on this site long?

You get a reply right away.

Art: No, not long. Why do you want someone to hurt you?

What a weird question. The answer should already be baked in, but you suppose he wants to know more about what you’re looking for. You’re not completely sure how to answer.

It’s exciting… I like how it feels

Art: Exciting… tell me more.

I guess it’s the adrenaline, you know. I really don’t have a lot going on. I get bored, and I guess I’m looking for something to make me feel more alive.

You can’t believe you’re being so candid. Your pulse pounds in your ears, and you stare at the screen, waiting for Art’s response.

Art: More alive, that’s interesting. You don’t feel alive?

You realize how desperate and angsty you sound. You get up and refill your glass with brandy. Already, you feel like this guy can see right through you somehow. You gulp down the brown burning liquid and start typing.

Well, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but everything just feels dull. I do the same things every day. It’s boring. And honestly I’m lonely.

Dear god. You didn’t even reread that one before you sent it. Well, you might as well lay your cards on the table.

Art: Bored isn’t good.

What do you do when you’re bored?

Art: Oh, I’m never bored. I make sure of it.

Normally a statement like that would make you roll your eyes, but instead you’re genuinely intrigued.

Wow, well that sounds nice. You’ll have to show me how you do it.

Art: Maybe.

What do you do, Art?

Art: You wouldn’t want to know, it’s boring.

Okay, fair enough, my job is boring too

He’s a tough one to crack. Usually these people are spilling every detail about themselves, aiming to impress. Art’s approach is refreshing, and it’s definitely working on you. You swirl your glass, and can’t help but smile as you see him typing a reply.

Art: You’re lonely?

Fuck. So lonely, you want to scream. You want to disappear, to drown yourself in your drink.

Yeah, honestly, I hope it’s not too pathetic to admit that. I had a bad break up a while ago and I just haven’t gotten things back on track.

Art: It’s okay to admit that.

You want to jump through the screen and hug him. Who is this person? Why are you suddenly compelled to bear your soul to him? God, you really are lonely.

Okay good, I don’t want to scare you off

Art: You won’t.

You find that hard to believe, but for now you’ll take him at his word. You check the time and decide to wrap it up for now. You want Art to stay mysterious, living in your brain as three letters on a screen and the promise of something more.

Well, it was nice meeting you Art, do you want to talk tomorrow? Same time?

Art: Sure, same time. It was nice meeting you too.

You close the tab and just sit there for a moment, processing the new, exciting possibilities that have opened up for you. Biting your lower lip you smile to yourself, and then finish the drink that remains in your glass. For a moment, you consider texting Nic, but you decide you want to keep this to yourself, at least for now.

Getting yourself ready for bed, all you can wonder is whether Art will live up to your expectations. You know literally nothing about him, so you try to stop your mind from running out ahead of you, but it’s no use. You’re lying awake, thinking of him, wondering what he could be doing, and if he could be thinking of you too.

#art the clown x reader #slashers x reader #slashers x you #art the clown x you #slasher smut #horror smut

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fr0stf4ll · 11 months ago

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Forge of starlight - Part 6

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 7.7k

warning; /

notes; Pretty big chapter again today, i hope that you guys will like it. I'm wondering if you guys would like me to do open request for azriel or other characters of the ACOTAR universe ? bisous bisous and see you tomorrowwwww //>_<//

here is the link for part 5 or part 7

The first light of dawn didn't had yet to touch the sky when you quietly slipped out of bed, the soft creak of the wooden floorboards barely audible in the stillness of the early morning. The house was cloaked in shadows, the only light coming from the faint, silvery glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. You moved with practiced ease, pulling on your training clothes—a simple but sturdy outfit made for movement and endurance.

Once dressed, you padded softly to Alex’s room, where the young boy was still deeply asleep, sprawled across his bed with one arm hanging off the side. His peaceful expression made you pause for a moment, a soft smile tugging at your lips. But as much as you hated to wake him, you knew it was time to start the day.

Gently, you placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him awake. “Alex, it’s time to get up,” you whispered.

A soft growl emanated from under the covers as Alex buried his face deeper into his pillow, clearly not ready to leave the comfort of his bed. “Just five more minutes, Nana,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “You know we can’t be late for training. Come on, up you get.”

With a reluctant groan, Alex slowly peeled himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. His hair was a wild mess, sticking out in all directions, and he blinked blearily at you, still half-asleep. “Why do we have to train so early?” he grumbled, though there was no real bite in his words.

“Because,” you said with a smile, “this is the best time of day. The city’s quiet, the air is fresh, and it’s just us and the forest. You’ll feel better once we’re out there.”

Alex sighed, but he nodded, already moving to get dressed. “Okay, okay, I’m coming.”

Within a few minutes, the two of you were ready, your footsteps silent as you slipped out of the house and into the cool pre-dawn air. The sky above was still mostly dark, with only the faintest hint of light on the horizon where the sun would soon rise. The streets of Velaris were quiet, the city still asleep, and the world felt hushed and peaceful as you made your way towards the forest.

As you approached the gates of Velaris, you spotted the familiar figures of the guards stationed there, keeping watch over the entrance to the city. These were the same guards you saw every morning on your way to the clearing, and over time, you had come to know them well.

“Morning, Y/N! Alex!” one of the guards called out with a friendly wave as you approached. He was a tall, broad-shouldered male with a beard that always seemed to be impeccably groomed, despite the early hour. His name was Rylan, and he had a reputation for being one of the friendliest guards in Velaris.

“Morning, Rylan,” you greeted with a smile. “Quiet night?”

“Quiet as can be,” Rylan replied with a grin. “Though I’m not sure how you two manage to get up this early nearly every day. I’m just glad I’m the one on watch and not the one doing all that training.”

Alex, still rubbing the last traces of sleep from his eyes, gave Rylan a small wave. “Morning, Rylan. You should join us one day. Nana’s training is tough, but it’s fun.”

Rylan chuckled, shaking his head. “I think I’ll leave the tough stuff to you young folks. Besides, someone’s got to keep watch while you’re out there.”

Another guard, a younger male named Darian, leaned over with a teasing grin. “Don’t let him fool you, Alex. Rylan here used to be quite the fighter back in his day. He’s just gotten soft with all these night shifts.”

Rylan rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Says the one who can barely lift a sword without complaining about his back.”

You laughed, enjoying the banter between the two guards. “Maybe we should all train together sometime. Keep everyone sharp.”

Rylan held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll think about it. But for now, you two should get going. The forest awaits.”

You nodded, giving them both a wave as you and Alex continued on your way, the guards’ laughter fading into the background as you left the city behind and entered the forest.

The path through the trees was familiar, one you had walked countless times before. The forest was alive with the sounds of nature—the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant call of birds just beginning to wake, and the soft crunch of leaves underfoot. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the earthy scent of the woods, and you felt yourself relax as you breathed it in.

Alex, now fully awake, walked beside you, his earlier grumpiness replaced by the quiet focus that always came with these early morning sessions. “Do you think we’ll see any animals today?” he asked, his voice hushed as if he didn’t want to disturb the peace of the forest.

“Maybe,” you replied with a smile. “The forest is full of life at this time of day. If we’re lucky, we might catch a glimpse of a deer or two.”

The clearing came into view a few minutes later, a peaceful spot nestled deep within the trees. It was a place of quiet solitude, far enough from the city that you could train in peace, but close enough that you could return quickly if needed. The ground was soft and even, covered in a thin layer of grass, and the trees around the perimeter provided a natural barrier, shielding you from prying eyes.

As you stepped into the clearing, the first light of dawn began to break over the horizon, casting the forest in a soft, golden glow. The sky above was slowly transitioning from deep blue to shades of pink and orange, and the beauty of the scene was enough to take your breath away.

Alex, standing beside you, let out a small sigh of contentment. “I guess you’re right, Nana. This really is the best time of day.”

You smiled down at him, ruffling his hair affectionately. “I knew you’d come around. Now, let’s get to work. We’ve got a lot to do before the sun fully rises.”

With that, the two of you began your morning routine, the clearing filled with the sounds of training—sharp breaths, the swish of weapons through the air, and the quiet, steady rhythm of feet moving across the ground. The world around you was waking up, but in that moment, it was just you, Alex, and the peaceful solitude of the forest, ready to face whatever the day might bring.

The clearing was bathed in the soft, golden light of the early morning as you and Alex moved through your training routine. The air was cool, refreshing, and filled with the scent of damp earth and pine, a perfect setting for the physical exertion that awaited you both.

You began with the basics, going through a series of warm-up exercises to get the blood flowing and muscles ready. Alex mirrored your movements, his focus sharp and determined despite the early hour. He had come a long way since you first started training him, his small frame now stronger and more agile with each passing day.

Once the warm-up was complete, you moved on to sword training. You handed Alex a wooden practice sword, and together, you began a series of drills, the rhythmic clashing of wood echoing through the clearing.

“Remember to keep your guard up,” you instructed, your voice calm but firm as you parried his strikes. “You’re doing well, but don’t let your focus slip.”

Alex nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration as he adjusted his stance and brought his sword up to block your next move. The two of you moved in a synchronized dance, your swords connecting and separating with precise, practiced movements. After a few more exchanges, you could see that Alex was getting into the rhythm, his confidence growing with each successful block and strike.

“Good,” you said, stepping back to give him space. “Now, let’s try something different.”

You set the wooden swords aside and walked over to a small area of the clearing where you had set up a simple target—a wooden post with a painted bullseye on it. You handed Alex a bow and a quiver of arrows, watching as he adjusted his grip on the bowstring.

“Archery is about precision and control,” you explained, demonstrating the proper stance and how to draw the bow. “You need to find your center, steady your breathing, and focus on the target. Don’t rush the shot; let the arrow fly naturally.”

Alex nodded, following your instructions carefully as he nocked an arrow and pulled back the string. You could see the determination in his eyes, the way he focused entirely on the target in front of him.

“Relax your shoulders a bit,” you advised, moving behind him to gently adjust his stance. “And keep your wrist steady. There you go—now, when you’re ready, release.”

He did as you instructed, and the arrow flew from the bow with a satisfying twang, embedding itself in the outer ring of the target. Alex’s face lit up with a mixture of surprise and pride at his success.

“Nice shot!” you praised, giving him an encouraging smile. “You’re getting the hang of it. Let’s try a few more, and focus on refining your technique.”

As Alex continued to practice, you took the opportunity to stretch, easing your muscles after the earlier sword drills. You moved through a series of stretches, leaning into each one with practiced ease. As you stretched your legs, your body moving into a graceful split, you kept an eye on Alex, offering tips and guidance as he shot arrow after arrow.

“Remember to keep your core engaged,” you advised, your voice calm as you reached forward, your fingertips grazing the ground. “It’ll help you stay steady. And don’t forget to follow through with your shot. Let the energy flow all the way from your feet to your fingertips.”

Alex, now fully immersed in his practice, nodded at your words, making the small adjustments you suggested. His shots grew more consistent, each one landing closer to the center of the target as he honed his technique.

After several rounds of archery practice, Alex finally lowered the bow, breathing heavily but with a satisfied smile on his face. He had clearly made progress, and it showed in the way he carried himself—more confident, more self-assured.

You finished your stretches and stood, rolling your shoulders to ease the tension. “Great job, Alex. You’re improving with every shot.”

He beamed at your praise, though he still looked a little unsure. “Thanks, Nana. But I think I still need more practice.”

You chuckled, ruffling his hair as you often did. “We all do. But that’s what training is for. You’ve done well today.”

Feeling the morning wear on and satisfied with the training session, you led Alex in a series of cool-down stretches, guiding him through each movement to prevent stiffness and ensure his muscles recovered properly. He followed your lead, the two of you moving in sync as the morning light grew stronger, casting long shadows across the clearing.

As the session came to a close, you both stood in the clearing, the sounds of the forest waking up around you. Alex stretched his arms above his head, a yawn escaping him as the exertion of the morning began to catch up with him.

“That was a good session,” he said, his voice a mix of tiredness and satisfaction.

You nodded, glancing up at the sky where the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, bathing the world in a soft, golden light. “It was. But now, I think it’s time we head back home and get some breakfast. What do you think?”

Alex grinned, his earlier grumpiness forgotten. “Definitely. I’m starving.”

With that, the two of you made your way back through the forest, the familiar path leading you back toward the city of Velaris. As you walked, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. The morning had been well spent, and as you returned home with Alex by your side, you knew you were ready to face whatever the day had in store.

After finishing your morning training, you and Alex returned to the house, the warmth of the interior a welcome contrast to the cool, crisp air outside. The shop could wait for a little while longer; right now, breakfast was calling, and you both needed to refuel after the exertion of the morning.

As you moved through the house, you could hear the soft sounds of Alex humming a tune to himself as he washed up, clearly in high spirits after the training session. You took the opportunity to freshen up as well, quickly washing away the sweat and dirt from the morning’s exercises. Once you were both clean and dressed in more comfortable clothes, you headed to the kitchen together to prepare breakfast.

The kitchen was filled with the comforting aromas of freshly brewed tea, warm bread, and sizzling eggs. Alex had insisted on helping, and you were more than happy to let him. He was getting quite skilled at cooking, and you enjoyed the quiet moments you spent together, preparing meals and chatting about whatever came to mind.

With breakfast ready, you both carried the plates to the living room, settling down on the couch with your food. The sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room, and you felt a sense of contentment as you began to eat.

But it wasn’t long before Alex’s curiosity got the better of him. As he took a bite of his toast, he shot you a mischievous look, his eyes gleaming with barely-contained excitement.

“So, Nana,” he began, his tone teasing, “what’s this I hear about you having dinner with Azriel tonight?”

You paused mid-bite, raising an eyebrow at him. “And where exactly did you hear that?”

Alex shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but his grin gave him away. “Oh, you know, just some rumours going around… mostly from you and him talking last night. So, is it true? Are you going on a date with him?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics, shaking your head in amusement. “Yes, Alex, it’s true. Azriel asked me to have dinner with him tonight.”

Alex’s grin widened, and he waggled his eyebrows in a way that was clearly meant to be playful. “Ooooh, a date with the Spymaster! Sounds serious, Nana. You must really like him.”

You felt a warmth rise to your cheeks, but you kept your tone light. “I do like him, Alex. He’s… different from anyone I’ve met before. But it’s just dinner. No need to get too carried away.”

“Uh-huh,” Alex said, his tone clearly teasing. “Just dinner. Sure. But you know, Nana, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s not just dinner to him.”

You took a sip of your tea, trying to hide the smile that was tugging at your lips. “And how exactly does he look at me, Mr. Expert?”

Alex leaned back on the couch, crossing his arms with a smug expression. “Like you’re the most important person in the world. Like he’d do anything for you. I mean, I’m just a kid, but even I can tell when someone’s got it bad.”

You chuckled, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?”

He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “I know. But seriously, Nana, I’m happy for you. Azriel’s a good guy, and I think you two would be great together.”

You smiled softly at his words, feeling a swell of affection for the boy who had become like family to you. “Thanks, Alex. That means a lot to me.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, enjoying the warmth of the morning and the simple pleasure of each other’s company. The teasing might have been playful, but there was a truth to it that you couldn’t deny. Azriel was special, and the thought of spending more time with him, of exploring whatever was growing between you, filled you with both excitement and a little bit of nervousness.

As you finished your breakfast, Alex gave you one last grin. “Just promise me one thing, Nana.”

“What’s that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“If you and Azriel do end up together, you’ve got to let me be the one to give the toast at your wedding.”

You burst out laughing, shaking your head at his cheekiness. “Alright, Alex, you’ve got yourself a deal. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?”

“Deal,” he said with a wink, clearly satisfied with himself.

With breakfast finished, you both got up to clear the table, the lighthearted mood lingering in the air. As you moved about the house, preparing for the day ahead, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation building. Tonight’s dinner with Azriel was going to be special—you could feel it. And whatever the future held, you knew you were ready to face it, with Alex by your side and, perhaps, Azriel as well.

The day had settled into a comfortable rhythm as you and Alex worked quietly in the shop. The clinking of metal and the gentle hum of the forge created a soothing background noise as you focused on your tasks. You were working on a set of generic weapons to display in the shop—well-crafted swords and daggers that could be sold to walk-in customers. Alex was nearby, organising the shelves and occasionally asking you questions about the different weapons you had made.

The morning had passed without incident, the shop quiet but steady with the occasional customer coming in to browse. It was a typical day in Velaris, and you found yourself enjoying the calm after a busy few weeks.

Just as you were finishing up the polishing of a particularly intricate dagger, the soft chime of the bell above the shop door rang out, signaling the arrival of a new customer. You glanced up, expecting to see a familiar face, but instead, a stranger stepped into the shop.

The man was dressed in a dark, hooded cloak that obscured much of his face, only his sharp, calculating eyes visible beneath the shadow of the hood. He moved with a quiet grace, his footsteps almost silent as he approached the counter where Alex was standing.

“Good day,” Alex greeted the man with his usual cheerful demeanor. “Can I help you with something?”

The man’s eyes flickered over the various weapons displayed around the shop, but he made no move to examine any of them. Instead, he reached into his cloak and produced a sealed letter, placing it on the counter with a deliberate motion.

“I have a request,” the man said, his voice low and measured. “Everything you need to know is in this letter.”

Alex looked at the letter with curiosity before glancing back up at the man. “We usually discuss orders in person. Can you give me a bit more detail about what you’re looking for?”

The man’s expression remained unreadable, his eyes narrowing slightly. “The details are all in the letter. The payment will be made upon delivery of the weapon.”

Alex frowned, clearly not satisfied with the vague response. “We typically work on a two-payment basis—half upfront, half upon delivery. It ensures that the materials and work are covered.”

The man didn’t respond to Alex’s statement. Instead, he simply pushed the letter closer to him, a silent insistence that the terms would be followed as written.

You had been listening from the back of the shop, where you were tending to the forge, but the strange exchange piqued your interest. Wiping your hands on a cloth, you stepped out from behind the counter and approached the mysterious customer, giving him a polite but curious look.

“Is there a problem?” you asked, your tone calm but with a slight edge of authority. You had dealt with difficult customers before, but there was something different about this one—something that put you on alert.

The man turned his attention to you, his gaze briefly scanning you as if assessing your worth. “No problem,” he said smoothly. “As I told the boy, everything you need to know is in the letter. The weapon must be crafted according to the specifications provided, and the payment will be made in full upon delivery.”

You exchanged a glance with Alex, who still looked uncertain, but you decided to take the letter and see for yourself what was so important. You picked up the sealed envelope, feeling the weight of it in your hand, and nodded to the man.

“Alright,” you said, your tone firm. “I’ll take a look at the request. But you should know that we don’t usually proceed without a down payment. It ensures that both parties are committed to the transaction.”

The man’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “You’ll find the payment terms satisfactory once the weapon is delivered. The craftsmanship you’re known for will be well-compensated.”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the shop, leaving the door to swing shut behind him with a soft click. You watched him go, a strange feeling settling in your gut. There was something off about the entire interaction, and you couldn’t shake the unease that lingered in the air.

Alex looked up at you, his brow furrowed. “That was… weird, right?”

You nodded slowly, still holding the letter in your hand. “Definitely weird. Let’s see what this is all about.”

Carefully, you broke the seal on the envelope and unfolded the letter inside. The parchment was of high quality, and the handwriting was elegant, almost too perfect. As you read through the contents, your unease grew.

The letter detailed a request for a weapon that was unlike any you had crafted before. It was to be a blade of ancient design, infused with a specific type of magic that was rarely practiced anymore. The materials required were rare and dangerous to obtain, including a metal that was said to only be found in the darkest parts of the continent. The weapon needed to be completed within a week—an almost impossible deadline given the complexity of the work.

You frowned as you read further, noting the vague references to the purpose of the weapon. The client mentioned only that it was intended for use against a formidable enemy, but there were no specifics given. The secrecy and urgency of the request set off alarm bells in your mind.

“This doesn’t feel right,” you muttered, half to yourself and half to Alex, who had moved closer to read over your shoulder.

“What do you mean?” Alex asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“The materials, the timeline, the secrecy… it’s all too much,” you replied, folding the letter and setting it down on the counter. “And the fact that he refuses to pay upfront is another red flag. Something about this feels… dangerous.”

Alex nodded, his expression serious. “So, what do we do? Are we going to take the order?”

You hesitated, torn between your curiosity and your instincts. The challenge of crafting such a weapon was undeniably intriguing, but the risks were high, and you didn’t like the idea of being drawn into something you didn’t fully understand.

“I’m not sure yet,” you said finally. “I need to think about it. Maybe do some research on the materials and the magic involved. But I’m not making any decisions until I know more.”

Alex nodded, trusting your judgment. “Alright. Just… be careful, Nana. This feels like it could be bigger than we realize.”

You gave him a reassuring smile, though the unease still lingered in your chest. “I will, Alex. Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out together.”

With that, you turned your attention back to the forge, the mysterious letter still weighing heavily on your mind. Whatever this order was, it had the potential to change everything—and not necessarily for the better.

——

The evening was drawing closer, and you found yourself in your apartment, standing in front of the mirror with a growing sense of frustration. You had been rifling through your wardrobe for what felt like an eternity, trying to find the perfect outfit for your date with Azriel. The more you looked, the more you second-guessed yourself, and now your room was strewn with discarded clothes, each one deemed "not quite right."

Alex was sitting on the edge of your bed, watching you with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Stellan, your loyal white direwolf, was lying at the foot of the bed, his dark eyes following your every move with what seemed like a judgmental gaze.

You held up a tunic in front of the mirror, frowning at your reflection. "What do you think of this one?" you asked, turning slightly to get a better look.

Alex rolled his eyes dramatically, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Nana, aren't you like, over a hundred years old? And you're struggling to pick an outfit for a date? Seriously?"

You shot him a playful glare through the mirror. "Age has nothing to do with it, thank you very much. And picking the right outfit is important!"

Alex snorted, leaning back on his hands. "Uh-huh. Sure. But honestly, you look good in everything. I don't think Azriel's going to care what you wear."

You sighed, tossing the tunic onto the growing pile of rejected clothes. "Easy for you to say. You don't have to impress anyone."

Alex grinned, clearly enjoying the role reversal. "Oh, come on, Nana. It's just a date. You should be more worried about what you're going to say, not what you're going to wear."

You turned to face him, hands on your hips. "And what exactly do you suggest I say, oh wise one?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I dunno. Maybe start with 'Hey, Azriel, nice wings. Wanna fly me to the moon?'"

You burst out laughing, shaking your head at his antics. "I think I'll pass on that one."

Stellan, sensing that this was a lighter moment, let out a low huff, almost as if he was agreeing with Alex. The wolf’s eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement, and you could have sworn he was judging your fashion choices just as much as Alex was.

You sighed again and picked up a different top, this one more form-fitting. You held it up in front of the mirror, trying to gauge if it was too casual or too dressy.

Alex’s eyes narrowed as he examined the outfit with a critical eye. “Are your boobs bigger?” he asked, completely deadpan.

Your eyes widened, and you turned to him in mock horror. “What? Do I look like I’ve gained weight?”

Alex’s expression quickly shifted to one of concern as he realized his joke had backfired. “No, no! I didn’t mean that! You’re not fat, Nana, I promise!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his flustered reaction, shaking your head as you tossed the shirt aside. “I’m just messing with you, Alex. Relax.”

He let out a sigh of relief, clearly relieved that you weren’t upset. “You had me worried for a second there.”

You smiled warmly at him, ruffling his hair as you walked past him to grab another option from the wardrobe. “You’re sweet, Alex. But seriously, does this look okay?”

You were dressed in a deep, midnight blue tunic that fell gracefully to mid-thigh, the intricate silver embroidery along the edges mimicking the swirling patterns of wind and shadows, reminiscent of the Night Court itself. The sleeves were fitted, flaring slightly at the wrists, ending in cuffs adorned with the same silver embroidery. Beneath the tunic, you wore black, form-fitting trousers that allowed for ease of movement, and knee-high boots made of soft, supple leather, both practical and stylish. A delicate silver chain belt sat low on your hips, catching the light with each movement.

To combat the winter chill, you had chosen a warm, dark jacket to wear over your tunic. The jacket was made of a rich, dark material, lined with soft fur along the collar and cuffs, providing both warmth and a touch of luxury. It complemented the rest of your outfit perfectly, giving you a regal yet grounded appearance.

Alex, who had been observing your preparations with a mix of amusement and interest, gave you an approving nod as you fastened the jacket. "Now that's what I’m talking about, Nana. You look amazing. Azriel’s going to be speechless."

You smiled, feeling a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the jacket. “Thanks, Alex. I think this is the one.”

Stellan, your ever-faithful direwolf, gave a low, approving rumble as if to agree. His dark eyes gleamed in the dim light of the room, his presence a comforting constant.

Just as you finished getting ready, there was a soft knock on the door. Your heart skipped a beat, knowing who it was. Alex, ever the eager one, darted to the door with a mischievous grin on his face.

“I’ll get it!” he called out, clearly excited to greet your guest.

You watched as Alex opened the door, revealing Azriel standing there, but tonight he looked different. Gone were his usual fighting leathers, replaced with something more relaxed yet still undeniably stylish. He wore a tailored, dark grey tunic with subtle silver accents that highlighted his broad shoulders, paired with black trousers that fit him perfectly. A deep, rich cloak hung loosely around his shoulders, the fabric swaying gently as he moved. The entire look was casual yet elegant, perfectly suited for a night out in Velaris.

Alex, not missing a beat, looked up at Azriel with a teasing grin. “Wow, you clean up nice, Azriel. Ready to take Nana out for the night?”

Azriel chuckled, a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips. “I think so, Alex. And you, Y/N…” His eyes softened as they took in your appearance. “You look stunning.”

A blush crept up your cheeks at his compliment, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, Azriel. You look quite handsome yourself.”

Alex, always quick with a quip, shot you a look that clearly said, “Told you so,” before turning back to Azriel. “Make sure she has fun, okay? And don’t worry about me—I’ll be just fine.”

You ruffled Alex’s hair affectionately, laughing at his antics. “There’s food on the counter if you get hungry, and Stellan will keep you company. Stay safe at home, alright?”

Alex grinned, giving you a mock salute. “Aye-aye, Captain. You two have fun.”

With a final glance at Alex and Stellan, you stepped out of the apartment, closing the door behind you. Azriel offered you his arm, which you took with a grateful smile, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort in his presence.

As you walked down the quiet streets of Velaris, the cold winter air nipping at your cheeks, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and anticipation. The stars above twinkled brightly, reflecting off the river as you made your way to your destination.

Azriel’s presence beside you was steady and reassuring, and as you walked together, he glanced over at you with a soft smile. “I’m glad you agreed to this, Y/N. Tonight feels… special.”

You returned his smile, feeling the truth in his words. “It does. I’m looking forward to it.”

The walk through Velaris was quiet and peaceful, with only the soft murmur of the city and the gentle rush of the Sidra River accompanying your steps. Azriel led you through winding streets, each more charming than the last, until you arrived at your destination—a small, secluded restaurant nestled at the edge of the city, overlooking the river.

The restaurant was a hidden gem, its entrance tucked between two tall buildings, with a beautifully carved wooden sign hanging above the door. Soft, golden light spilled from the windows, casting a warm glow onto the cobblestone street outside. As Azriel opened the door for you, you were greeted by the cozy, intimate atmosphere inside. The interior was all dark wood and rich, deep colors, with low-hanging chandeliers that gave off a soft, inviting light. The tables were set with fine linens and polished silver, each one adorned with a small vase of fresh flowers.

Azriel guided you to a corner table near a large window that offered a stunning view of the river, its waters shimmering under the starlit sky. The space was quiet, the other patrons speaking in hushed tones, as if respecting the privacy of each table.

“This place is beautiful,” you remarked, taking in the ambiance as you settled into your seat.

Azriel smiled, clearly pleased with your reaction. “I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my favorite places in the city—a bit of a hidden secret.”

You glanced around, noting the small details that made the place feel special—the soft music playing in the background, the delicate scent of the flowers, the way the light flickered gently from the candles on the tables. It was clear that Azriel had chosen this place with care, and the thoughtfulness of the gesture made your heart warm.

As you both perused the menu, the conversation flowed easily, beginning with the lighter topics of the day. After placing your orders, you found yourself curious about Azriel’s childhood, a side of him that you had never truly explored before.

“So,” you began with a playful smile, “tell me, what was it like growing up with Rhysand and Cassian? I imagine the three of you must have gotten into quite a bit of trouble.”

Azriel chuckled, a soft, genuine sound that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “You could say that. Rhysand was always the leader, even back then, and Cassian… well, he was always looking for the next adventure. I was the quiet one, trying to keep them out of too much trouble, but somehow, I always ended up in the thick of it with them.”

You leaned forward, intrigued. “Any stories you’re willing to share?”

Azriel thought for a moment, a distant look in his eyes as he recalled memories from long ago. “There was this one time when we were barely teenagers. Rhys had this idea to sneak into the Night Court’s library after hours. There was this old, restricted section that we weren’t supposed to go near, full of ancient texts and magical tomes.”

You smiled, already picturing the scene. “Let me guess, Rhys wanted to read something forbidden?”

“Of course,” Azriel replied, his tone amused. “He convinced Cassian and me to come along, promising it would be worth it. We managed to sneak past the guards, and Rhys found a book he’d been eyeing for months. But as soon as he opened it, a magical trap triggered. The entire library lit up, alarms blaring. We barely made it out before the guards arrived.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m surprised you didn’t get caught.”

“Oh, we did,” Azriel admitted with a grin. “And we were punished accordingly. But Rhys, being Rhys, somehow talked our way out of the worst of it. He’s always had a way with words.”

You could see the fondness in Azriel’s eyes as he spoke of his friends, the bonds they had formed over the years clearly unbreakable. It was a side of him you hadn’t seen often—relaxed, open, and willing to share pieces of himself that he usually kept hidden.

“And what about you?” Azriel asked, turning the conversation back to you. “What was your childhood like? I know you traveled a lot with your master, but there must have been some interesting moments along the way.”

You took a sip of your wine, considering how to answer. “It was… different. My master was strict, but he cared for me in his own way. I learned a lot from him, not just about blacksmithing, but about the world. We traveled to so many places, each with its own challenges and adventures. I suppose I grew up faster than most.”

Azriel nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “You must have seen and experienced so much. It’s no wonder you’re as skilled as you are.”

You smiled softly, appreciating his words. “I suppose I have. But I’ve always felt like there’s more to learn, more to explore. That’s what keeps me going.”

The conversation continued, flowing effortlessly as the night went on. The food arrived, each dish more delicious than the last, and you both took your time savoring the meal, the comfortable silence between you punctuated by occasional remarks about the flavors and presentation.

Eventually, as the meal began to wind down, Azriel leaned back in his chair, his gaze settling on you with a mix of curiosity and concern. “So, how are things at the shop? It seems like you’ve been busy lately.”

You nodded, setting down your fork. “Busy is an understatement. We’ve had a lot of orders coming in, which is great, but it’s been a bit overwhelming at times.”

Azriel’s brow furrowed slightly. “Anything in particular causing the stress?”

You hesitated for a moment, then decided to share the details of the strange order you had received that morning. “Actually, there was something unusual that came in today. A man came by with a sealed letter, requesting a weapon that’s… well, different from anything I’ve crafted before. The whole thing felt off, to be honest. He didn’t want to discuss the details in person, just handed over the letter and left.”

Azriel’s curiosity was piqued, his expression serious now. “What kind of weapon did he request?”

You described the contents of the letter, the specific materials required, the urgency of the timeline, and the vagueness of the client’s instructions. As you spoke, Azriel’s frown deepened, his concern evident.

“That does sound strange,” he said after a moment. “And dangerous. You’re right to be cautious.”

You nodded, grateful for his validation. “I’m not sure what to make of it. I’ve been debating whether to take the order at all. It feels like there’s more to this than I’m being told.”

Azriel leaned forward slightly, his tone gentle but firm. “I think you’re right to be wary. Whoever this client is, they might be hiding something. If you’re going to proceed with this, you should be prepared for anything.”

You appreciated his concern, and the protectiveness in his voice didn’t go unnoticed. “I’ll show you the letter when we head back. Maybe you can help me figure out what to do next.”

Azriel nodded, his gaze steady. “I’d like that. We’ll look at it together.”

The seriousness of the conversation lingered for a moment, but Azriel was quick to steer the topic back to something lighter, easing the tension and bringing back the relaxed atmosphere.

The dinner stretched on into the night, with more laughter, shared stories, and the easy comfort of each other's company. The restaurant had thinned out as other patrons gradually departed, leaving the two of you in a peaceful, intimate silence. It felt as though the world had narrowed down to just the two of you, the rest of Velaris fading into the background.

When the time finally came to leave, Azriel stood and helped you into your jacket, the warmth of his hands lingering on your shoulders. As you stepped out into the cold night air, he reached for your hand without hesitation, his fingers intertwining with yours in a way that felt natural, as if they were always meant to be there.

The two of you walked side by side through the quiet streets of Velaris, the city bathed in the soft, silver light of the moon. The stars twinkled brightly above, casting a gentle glow over the cobblestones, and the distant sound of the Sidra River added a soothing backdrop to the night.

The winter air was crisp, and when a particularly cold breeze swept through, Azriel instinctively drew you closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders to shield you from the chill. You welcomed the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm against your side.

As you walked, your thumb gently caressed the back of his hand, feeling the roughness of the scarred skin beneath your touch. You noticed how his breath hitched slightly, and when you glanced up at him, you saw something flicker in his eyes—a mix of surprise and something deeper, something tender.

Azriel’s hands had always been a point of insecurity for him, scarred from countless battles and years of wielding shadows and steel. But you had never once questioned them, never looked at them with anything other than acceptance. In fact, you had always found them strong, capable, and a part of who he was—someone you respected and cared for deeply.

The simple act of you caressing his hand, without hesitation or judgment, made Azriel’s heart flutter in a way he wasn’t entirely prepared for. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes about the way you saw him—not as the scarred, hardened warrior, but as someone worthy of affection and tenderness.

He glanced down at you, his gaze softening as he spoke. “You never asked about my hands.”

You looked up at him, your expression gentle. “There’s nothing to ask. They’re a part of you, Azriel. And I’ve never seen them as anything but… you.”

His heart swelled at your words, and he tightened his grip on your hand slightly, as if anchoring himself to the moment. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled up at him, your thumb still brushing gently against his skin. “Always.”

The two of you continued walking, the conversation shifting to lighter topics as the night unfolded around you. The streets of Velaris were nearly empty, the city’s usual hustle and bustle replaced by the peaceful quiet of the late hour. The stars above seemed to shine even brighter, casting a silvery glow over everything and creating an almost magical atmosphere.

As you walked, you found yourself asking a question that had been on your mind. “Azriel, what do you think life will be like for you in the next few years?”

He paused, considering your question as he looked up at the night sky. “Honestly? I think it’ll be much the same as it is now. My duties as the Spymaster of the Night Court will keep me busy—there’s always something to uncover, some threat to deal with. And, of course, Cassian will never stop making jokes at my expense.”

You chuckled at that, picturing the constant banter between Azriel and Cassian. “I’m sure he keeps things interesting.”

Azriel smiled, his gaze shifting back to you. “He does. But… I think I’m starting to appreciate the moments of peace more, the times when I can step back and just… be.”

“And what about you?” he asked, his tone curious. “What do you see in the next few years?”

You took a moment to think about it, your eyes drifting to the beautiful city around you. “I think I’ll stay in Velaris for a long time. Alex and I have built something special here, and I want to see it grow. The shop is doing well, and I’d like to keep developing it, maybe even expand one day. Stellan will keep us company, of course.”

Azriel nodded, listening intently. “That sounds… peaceful. It suits you.”

You smiled softly, feeling a sense of contentment in the vision you were painting. But as you walked, the conversation took a natural pause, and you both found yourselves stopping, turning to face each other in the quiet street.

There was something unspoken hanging in the air, a tension that had been building throughout the night, and it felt like the moment to address it had finally arrived. You met Azriel’s gaze, your heart pounding softly in your chest as you spoke.

“Whatever happens in the next few years,” you began, your voice steady but soft, “I hope that… we’ll be close. That we’ll be linked somehow.”

Azriel’s expression softened, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Linked, huh? I like the sound of that.”

The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you standing there, bathed in the soft glow of the moon and stars. The night was stunningly beautiful, the kind of night that seemed to embody everything the Night Court stood for—mystery, beauty, and an underlying power that was impossible to ignore.

Azriel’s hand came up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin with a tenderness that made your breath catch. He leaned in slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away, but you didn’t. Instead, you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss.

The kiss was gentle at first, a sweet exploration of new territory. But as you responded, as you pressed closer to him, it deepened, growing more intense, more urgent. His hand slid into your hair, pulling you closer still, and you melted into him, letting the warmth of his embrace and the passion of the moment wash over you.

By the time you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath. The world seemed to have stopped around you, leaving just the two of you in the stillness of the night.

Azriel’s voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke, his breath warm against your lips. “Y/N…”

You smiled, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at him. “Yes, Azriel?”

He didn’t say anything else, just leaned in to kiss you again, his lips claiming yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache. And in that moment, under the stars of Velaris, you knew that this was just the beginning of something truly extraordinary.

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