#I’ve promised myself I will write this chapter every day for the past two weeks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

arizona2004 · 2 years ago

Text

Courts of Love and Hate.CH8

Again, this chapter is barely edited; I just wanted to get them posted. Feel free to comment all my mistakes...nicely

Nyx x Juniper (Tamlins daughter)

WC: 3183

Juniper

The next few months pass in a whirlwind of flowers and fabrics and endless days of numbers and choices. The invitations were released within the week-both of our courts quickly approving them.

In the end I designed them myself because the templates were plain and basic. There was no time to do anything else myself, though. After that the weeks started rushing by and I can hardly remember any of it, only having a headache to show for it- and in a few days a wedding.

My anxiety grows with every passing day and Nyx and I have been communicating less and less, neither of us having the time to write and space to be alone together.

Now, looking at myself in my wedding dress for the final fitting I feel even more distressed. I have to swallow a large lump in my throat and hold back tears because this is really happening and now I can’t tell if I’m happy or terrified.

“It’s alright to be scared, Juni,” Kai’s voice is gentle, floating to me from the doorway. When I look up and lock eyes with him the tears finally fall and he quickly moves toward me, wiping them away. “Don’t worry. I’ve spoken to Nyx a lot over the past few months and I may have been wrong about him. He seems genuine about the treaty. He promised to be kind to you.”

I nod and hold Kai close, not sure how to explain that that’s not even what’s bothering me. Instead I just lay my head on his shoulder and let the tears fall until they stop. “I’m gonna miss you,” I whisper.

“I’ll miss you too.”

“We’re hugging?” Oaks excited voice sounds from the door before his touch starved body barrels toward us. He wraps his arms as tightly around us as he can and buries his head between our bodies.

“I’m gonna miss you too, Oak.”

“You’ll visit, though, right?”

“Of course.”

Nyx

With the wedding closer now, a pit of anxiety forms deep in my belly. I’m terrified that finally spending full days together, she’ll realize I’m different than she thought and fall out of love with me.

Maybe she’ll grow to regret this plan and wish she could go back to the spring court. Mom and Dad can obviously tell I’m freaking out. They keep trying to comfort me and give me advice.

“We have a gift for you,” Mom says as we all get up from the dinner table only days before the ceremony.

“A gift?”

“Yeah,” Dad says, opening the door and gesturing us out of the River House. “It's a wedding gift, really. For you and Juniper, but we figured it’d be better to give you now.”

We walk several blocks, further into the residential part of the city. No matter how many questions I ask, though, they refuse to give me any specifics.

“Here,” Dad says, stopping before a townhouse. Mom pulls out a key and presses it into my palm.

“What’s this?” I ask, knowing full well what’s happening, but unable to process it.

“We figured you wouldn’t want to live with your parents once you’re married,” Mom answers, smiling as she moves to stand by Dad.

“I’ve owned this house for centuries, we lived here before the River Estate was built. It’s been empty, more or less, since then.”

“And you’re just giving it to me?”

“To you and Juniper,” Mom says.

“It’ll be a nice house for you to start out with but if you both hate it, you can buy something else together,” Dad adds.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s a very kind gift.”

Mom just smiles and pulls me in for a hug. “I hope you too find some happiness together,” she whispers against my shoulder.

“Me too, Mom.”

Juniper

The afternoon before the wedding I finish packing all of my belongings into boxes and sit in the naked room while two Night Court males with dark hair and wings bicker and move everything down to the foyer.

“Cas, just shut up and grab the boxes,” one of them snaps.

“I just can’t believe Rhys sent us here on such a petty errand. He knows about my allergies,” the other one complains, sniffling.

“You’re the one that said you were tired of ‘being kept in the dark.’”

“Don’t quote me back to myself.”

“Don’t say stupid shit.”

“Excuse me,” I interrupt before the one called Cassian can reply.

“Do you two always argue like this?”

“Yeah,” Cassian says fondly, smiling at his friend.

“And you work for the Highlord?”

“I don’t like to think of it as working for him and Feyre. We just help him not fuck stuff up too much.”

“You’re full of it, Cassian,” the other male says.

“You’re on a first name basis with them.” I observe.

“Yeah, we grew up with Rhys. I’m Azriel by the way, and this idiot,” he says pointing toward his friend, “is Cassian.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, smiling slightly. Azriel just nods and grabs the last few boxes to move them downstairs.

“We’re gonna leave all of your things in the house you and Nyx will live in in Velaris. Once you arrive it will all be there for you to unpack,” Cassian adds, moving toward the door.

“Thank you,” I say, pleasantries seeming to be the only thing I can muster up.

The males leave soon after and Father seems to be relieved by it. When I come out of my room, though, his mood shifts.

“You weren’t in there alone with them, were you, Juniper?” His voice is a growl low in his chest.

“I- well, yes.”

He grabs my arm tightly in a painful grip. “What the hell were you thinking? Did they do something?”

“Do what?” I ask, confused as I try to pull my arm away from him.

“Father stop,” Kai is standing beside us now, his hand wrapping around Father’s to pull it away. “I was there too, nothing happened.”

He wasn’t there, he’s lying. Kai tugs harder at our fathers hand that is still tightening on me. “You shouldn’t be so fucking stupid,” he spits at me. His tone terrifies me, sending a spike of fear through my veins, then a moment later as Kai rips the hand away from my arm Nyx appears in a flash of darkness.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Father yells, turning his anger toward Nyx now, but Nyx’s eyes are on me.

My arm, more specifically. He’s staring at it where bruises are already forming, then a moment later he’s standing right beside me, inspecting the damage while his fury simmers hotter and hotter. “What the fuck did you do?”

“It’s fine, Nyx. I’m fine,” I say, putting a hand on his arms to calm him down.

“It’s not fucking fine, he hurt you!”

“She’s not yours until after tomorrow, so I suggest you get your hands off her,” my fathers acidic tone floats toward us and for a moment I think Nyx might actually try to kill him.

“Nyx, go. Now.” It takes me growling it in his ear and giving him a withering glare for him to winnow away, but I can feel he’s not really gone. He’s just up in my room.

It takes several minutes for my father to calm down, but he doesn’t grab me again, Kai’s protective stance ensures that. When they’ve both finally stormed off to his office I rush up the stairs to find an anxious looking Oak at the top.

“What are you doing?” I ask, stopping in my tracks.

“Father hurt you?”

“I’ll be fine,” I say simply, pulling Oak up. “You should stay in your room, though. He’s in a foul mood.”

After walking Oak to his room I rush to my own and find Nyx seated on the end of my bed, hands balled into fists and hair slightly on fire.

“Nyx,” I say, hesitantly. His head shoots up but he doesn’t say anything. His blue eyes look like they have fire in them too. “Are you angry with me?”

His expression immediately morphs, the fire calming slightly and vanishing from his eyes. “With you? Of course not.”

“You’re angry with my father, though.”

“The only reason I didn’t rip his head off was because you didn’t want me too. When I felt your fear down the bond I panicked.”

“I understand,” I say, moving to sit beside him. I place a hand on his leg. “I’m alright. He’s never like that and I won’t be here much longer anyway.”

“Mmm, good point,” he whispers, turning his head to nuzzle my ear. “Can I stay for just a little while.”

I don’t say anything else, turning into him instead, I move closer and press my lips to his.

Nyx doesn’t stay long, there is still organization needing to be done in the middle, which he was apparently overseeing when he showed up here.

I spend the rest of my day quietly tucked away in the house with Oak, enjoying his company before I move. Kai shows up in the evening hours with a few new bruises that he claims again are from training.

“Which of the guards is fighting too rough? This doesn’t seem like much of an accident.”

“It’s nothing, Juni. don’t worry about me.”

He leaves after a little while and I almost miss the grimace on his face as he straightens his back. He’s hurt worse than he’s letting on and a part of me isn’t ready to accept that it was just a training mishap.

I sleep terribly that night, unable to think about anything but the wedding the following day, and when I’m woken in the morning it’s after only a few hours of sleep. The remaining of my belongings are loaded into the carriages and the three of us- Kai, Oak, and I- all travel by carriage toward a tunnel.

Father’s going to come later, apparently, not deeming an early arrival important. I try to rest on the way but now my brothers are the one’s making it impossible. They bicker nearly the entire way,

When we arrive rocks are still being cleared out of the way of the tunnel. I can’t help but smile, remembering the night the mating bond clicked into place for Nyx and I in this very spot. A few servants arrive as the last of the rubble is being pushed aside and grab for my bags, and Kai moves forward, eager to scope out the tunnel.

“Kai was it?” My brother immediately stiffens at the female voice coming from further in the tunnel. A moment later a beautiful lady with golden brown hair and eyes I recognize as Nyx’s steps forward

“Yes,” Kai says after a moment, “Highlady Feyre.” The female smiles, her gaze drifting to me in a soft but assessing way.

“My lady,” I say, addressing her formally.

“You can just call me Feyre,” she says.

“Woah,” Oak’s awed voice matches the expression on his face as he moves forward to get a better look at the Highlady. “You’re really here, in front of me. The first ever Highlady.”

She smiles down at him and merely nods.

“What’s it like being the first ever Highlady. I’ve done an extensive amount of research and there really is no record of a Highlady before you? Is it totally awesome being a part of history?”

“Oak, calm down,” Kai says.

“I suppose it’s awesome,” Feyre says amused. “I’ve never explicitly thought of it like that, though. Do you like history?”

“Like it?” Oak repeats. “I love it, history’s my favorite subject.”

“Well, you could probably teach me a few things, it’s never been a big interest of mine, so I’m sure I don’t know much.”

“I could tell you all kinds of things. We’ve got all day.”

The Highlady nods, motioning Oak forward so he can talk while we all start to move further into the cave. “I’ll show you all inside, there are rooms set up for you to get ready in,” she says to me.

The rest of us are silent as Oak rambles on about interesting parts of Prythian history, and at times, more specifically, Night Court history.

“Your court’s actually the one I know the least about. The Night Court’s very secretive.”

The Highlady hums her agreement as we walk into a massive room. “This is the main room where everything is going to be taking place,” she says, “and a little bit of history for you, Oak: this was once Amarantha’s throne room, and before that the main meeting chamber for the Highlords.”

I remember seeing drawings of this room in books but it’s nothing like it was depicted. The ceiling still remains so high it’s beyond sight but littered around the higher parts of the walls are skylights, letting natural sunlight into the mountain.

Other light sources are littered around the room too, some hanging from the ceilings. The walls are a clean, jagged stone that the light appears to reflect off of and the floor is marble. With the decorations and clean touch it hardly feels like we’re under a mountain at all.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, turning in a circle to take it all in while decorations are just beginning to be hung. “You changed a lot of it,” I ask, realizing the drawings I saw were probably not inaccurate, but old.

“Yes. There are many bad memories here, we wanted to make it feel like a new place entirely.”

“You know a lot about the bad history here, don’t you?” Oak asks. “I know nothing of it.”

“I do,” Feyre says, tensing slightly, “but it was not all that long ago, it hardly feels historic.”

Oak only nods, turning in a circle to inspect the walls, already distracted.

“I just got word from Tarquin,” the Highlord of the Night Court says, winnowing to stand just behind his wife. “He’s coming with Varian and a few guards.”

“We shouldn’t be surprised so few of the courts plan on showing up,” Feyre replies.

“Which ones are?” I interrupt, knowing nothing of the actual guest list, then tack on, “my lord,” realizing who I was addressing.

His smile seems more than a little amused as he tells me to call him Rhys, then he lists off the guests from the other courts. “From Day: Helion and Lucian; Dawn: Thesean and his lover; Winter: Kallias; Summer: Tarquin and Varian. Not to mention the guards each of them are bringing. Most of the crowd will be citizens from both of our courts.”

I nod, not knowing what else to say about the subject, and take another look around the massive room. “Is Nyx here too?”

“Not yet,” The Highlady says. “He’s taking care of a few things back home, then he’ll come here to get ready before the ceremony tonight.”

“Home,” I repeat, thinking about my home and wondering if I’ll ever feel like the Night Court can be that for me.

“Velaris, yes. I think you’ll like it there, Juniper.”

I smile fondly at her, she really does seem kind. “I hope so.”

Nyx

The hour has finally arrived and I couldn’t be more nervous.

“Don’t be scared, Nyx,” Dad says, adjusting my shirt collar.

“Yeah, it’ll be fine,” Cas adds, from across the room where he’s lounging and sipping wine. “Just go up there, get hitched, make a little deal, have a party, then you’re done.”

“Yeah, nothing to be nervous about at all,” I mumble sarcastically.

“You’ll be fine,” Dad reassures, then for the rest of the short time I have, he and my uncles make sure I look decent enough and try to ease my nerves before throwing me up on the altar.

Only twenty minutes later and I’m standing in front of a massive crowd, mom and dad in the first seats to my left. Mom smiles reassuringly but then my attention is snatched away as the music starts up.

The doors swing open, petals slowly start drifting down from the sky, and Juniper appears in a simple lace gown, her father on her arm. The sight of her takes my breath away as she slowly walks down the aisle. I don’t know what to think or how to breathe looking at her on what we’ll remember as our wedding day.

After what feels like hours, she finally makes it to the end of the aisle. I have to go down a step to take her hand but am more than happy to finally be pulling her away from her father. He moves to sit next to Juniper’s brothers, on the opposite side of the aisle from my parents.

Then, the priestess begins.

Juniper

I hold my breath as Nyx takes my hand and helps me up the few steps of the altar. The room is filled with people and I was terrified I would trip on the long walk down the aisle, thankfully I didn’t and the rest of the ceremony should be simple enough.

Nyx holds both of my hands in his as the priestess starts her speech, but I can’t pay attention to any of it. My eyes are locked on Nyx’s across from me. I’ve been terrified for weeks that this was all going to backfire or end horribly for us, but something in his eyes ensures me it won't.

The calm blue-gray of them eases my nerves and without thinking I smile softly at him, hoping he gets my message of thanks. He smiles back immediately, and the priestess’s speech comes to an end.

Without moving a finger a ring appears in my right palm and as Nyx’s right hand tightens into a fist I realize one appeared in his too. Looking into his eyes I lift my left hand and move the ring in my right to his raised hand.

The priestess begins talking again, reciting some vows as we simultaneously slip the rings onto one another's left hands.

With that she takes a step back and our parents move forward. My father sets a hand on my shoulder just as Nyx’s parents grip one of his each, and silently, the deal becomes a living thing between our courts.

Beneath the new ring on my finger a slight tingle runs across my hand. A quick look down shows a tattoo running up from my finger then along the rest of my palm, stopping after wrapping around my wrist.

An identical design decorates Nyx’s hand too, but the design on my father, I notice, is a bracelet-like design around his wrist. The same is true for the Night Court Highpeople.

A gasp from behind me, though, is what brings about the real surprise. Not only is a design like the one on Nyx and I’s hands on Kai’s, but on Oak too.

Then a light flashes between us and the shields Nyx had up, blocking our mating bond from notice, drops and it pulls taught between us.

#Courts of Love and Hate #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #adult nyx #nyx x female reader #nyx x reader #nyx acotar #nyx x original character #oc

28 notes · View notes

actioncatmusic · 1 year ago

Text

So I’m trying to follow the advice of successful authors to write every single day. I set my daily goal at 1k-3k words per day, and I stop anywhere within that range as soon as my writing quality starts to diminish from any mental exhaustion.

I started the second draft of my novel (a companion to a punk/rock concept album I’ve been working on over the last couple years) on Wednesday. I’ve made sure to work on the book on all 6 days so far. Wednesday through Monday. This will say I posted it on Tuesday, but that’s because I haven’t gone to sleep yet. 🙃 I made sure to write a minimum of 1k words each day. If I reach 1k that’s a decent day, 2k is a good day, and 3k is a great day. I only hit 3k once, Monday night, where I got sucked into the story and wrote a ridiculous 3,598 words, after which I stopped, despite only being a couple pages away from the end of the chapter. I really wanted to just finish the chapter, but I had promised myself I would stay within a limit, and so I did. There were two days where I found it difficult to get to 1k words, and it took me almost just as long to get to 1300 as it had taken me to get to 3k today. Everyday was a little different, depending on the difficulty I was having with different sections/scenes/chapters in this story. I’ve been stopping anywhere within a scene or chapter once I decide I’m too tired to write as well. I’ve found it fairly easy to pick up from wherever I left off the previous day, so no need to push myself past my limits unnecessarily just to finish any particular section.

Results so far are 14,493 words written in 6 days. I worked anywhere from 2 hours most days, to 4-6 hours on the few days I had written over 2k words in a sitting, typing 10wpm at the slowest (lots of pauses) to 50wpm at the fastest (this speed was rare tbh). Not only is my weekly word count very high from following this advice, but I’ve also seen greater improvement than expected in prose, descriptive detailing, and dialogue within my story. I’ve never felt so proud of my writing before.

I do admittedly write fast. I averaged 4K-8kwpd when writing the first draft, as I was focused on getting the story into the real world, not on making it good. But I would often only write 1-2 days per week, and sometimes take weeks or months off between bouts of writing. It was very clearly unsustainable. I had gone full pantser as well for the first draft. I don’t think that kind of writing speed would be possible if I were following a proper outline. The point of putting myself into a 1k-3k limit was to make writing daily a more obtainable goal, and to give myself more time to really get deep into the story while I write.

A daily writing goal doesn’t have to be a minimum of 1k words either. At 300 words per day, a person would still complete a 50k word novel in 6 months, and they would see improvement in their writing over time from all of that beautiful daily practice.

So yeah, when the top authors in the world keep giving us the advice of “write everyday no matter what,” when we ask how to become better writers, they’re not fucking around. It really does work, and the good results are quick to present themselves. I highly recommend giving it a shot.

#writing #writing books #writers on tumblr #aspiring writer #aspiring author #authors #just writer things #lgbtq writer #writerslife #writing tips #writing advice #daily writing #daily writing challenge #1000 words

2 notes · View notes

shadesinbetween · 1 year ago

Text

These are just some goals off the top of my head that I’d like to see if I’ll be able to accomplish any of them this year. I have, what I personally call, bad habits as a writer that I’d like to have better control over.

These aren’t things that I wish to continue beating myself up over. These are things I want to look back on and say, “look how you’ve grown”.

Writing Goals: These are goals I’ve picked based on how chaotic I’ve been in 2023 - there are a lot of ones I don’t want to keep beating myself up over for continuing to do.

- Write a minimum of 2-3K words a day.

- Keep WIPs/new ideas to myself until I’m closer to publishing them. We all know I’m terrible at this one.

- Only have one ongoing work posted to AO3 at a time. I always let my excitement of wanting to share new ideas that I post things ASAP, which has lead to other ongoing works that others wait for updates for to get lost. I also hope to have at least two chapters always written in full before posting/updating new chapters. In my dream writing world, I’d only have one work focused on at a time and not let anything new creep in until I finished the one I already have ongoing.

- Posting oneshots sporadically when having an ongoing multi-chapters fic, and if they become excessively long still write out the entire work before deciding on whether or not to post it into split parts. For one of my ongoing works (that has all of my bad habits going for it), I thought it was just going to be a 20K one shot. It’s turning into something much longer than that. I still feel like it reads more as a oneshot that a multi-chapter work, and I already planned on posting a part of it before finishing the rest. This is the last time this will occur.

- Do not share posting dates ahead of time. AKA don’t make promises you can’t keep. So far, I’ve broken every single one I’ve made. I don’t like keeping others waiting on things they’re excited for and then not receive them. Another thing in my writing dream world would be to have one set day and time during the week as a posting day.

- Separate Outlines into colored sections to make writing and editing less of a stressor. In the past I’ve always waited until I’ve written a work in full before editing, which has usually been late in the night where I’m exhausted. That leads to skim editing. I want to write in sections and edit those sections before moving forward.

- Do not feel like I have to sign up for every exchange or challenge I come across. I signed up for a couple for the end of this year because I felt like having more fun in this fandom and wanted to introduce my writing by joining in! I just don’t want to overwhelm myself by signing up for too many, or feel like I can’t meet deadlines. Again, for me, this goes back to not following the through with promises.

- Don’t be afraid to write the ideas you think other people won’t enjoy, write for your own enjoyment. This partially comes from a work I wrote as a gift for someone else for the a gift exchange. I had so much more fun writing this than I thought I was going to! I enjoy watching shows and movies with supernatural elements and never thought I’d ever write this genre in this fandom. I thought I should stick to purely human/realistic writing BUT this is fanfiction and it’s a creative and fun space! Don’t hold back due to letting others peoples’ interest and low numbers speak louder than my your words. And, you never know, there’s most likely someone out there secretly wishing more unique ideas existed!

- Do not discard ideas you’re excited about just because there’s already one like it posted, or if a more well-known writer has written it. I am extremely guilt of this. This entire post could have been shorter if I just wrote “stop being so hard on yourself”. Your base ideas may be similar but that doesn’t mean your mind won’t take it to different places. Writing isn’t a race. If there’s a trope that’s enjoyed, I promise as a reader we want them all!

AO3 Goals: These goals aren’t about the stat numbers, just personal ones I hope to accomplish by the end of the year.

- A new pen name. Yes, I’ve said goodbye to the firstsprinces name for my writing accounts. It is still my main fan account! This one probably seems silly but I think all of you have really amazing names and I look at mine, feeling meh. If this user has been someone else in the past I apologize if this name has once been you/or a friend of yours. I saw that it was available and changed it without the knowledge of it as a once existing account.

- Have at least 8 works posted and completed by the end of the year. This number may seem like nothing to the veterans out there, but since my ideas never stay in a small contained space, this is a number I feel like I can reach. Let’s get through these WIPs that are backlogged!

- Go through every work that’s already posted and save works to “Mark for Later”. I think I stopped on page 19, but I’ll have to start again with all the brand new works that have been shared since my last run through.

- Check for new works daily to add to “Mark for Later”. This way I can follow ongoing works and I won’t have to go through every page of the works.

- Engage with other works and authors. At the end of the day, we’re a community. A community of devoted readers and writers. Put the numbers to the side and spread love and kindness wherever you can! You never know how much a simple engaging gesture will make someone’s day! And you never know what beautiful and chaotic friendships will bloom!

Final Thoughts: I’m already looking forward to seeing what progress I’ll make this year. And have this post saved in a document in hopes of remembering to make a comparison post to see exactly how I did by the end of the year. I always get brain bursts of excitement when it comes to these and have never followed through. Let 2024 be the year!

#kia’s writing #Kia’s writing goals #Kia’s writing goals 2024 #ao3 author #ao3writer #ao3 goals

1 note · View note

firstsprinces · 1 year ago

Text

I’m hoping I’ll be able to, at the very least, figure out what works best for me. I want to look back on and say, “look how you’ve grown”!

Anyway, here’s my list!

Writing Goals: These are goals I’ve picked based on how chaotic I’ve been in 2023 - there are a lot of ones I don’t want to keep beating myself up over for continuing to do.

- Write a minimum of 2-3K words a day.

- Keep WIPs/new ideas to myself until I’m closer to publishing them. We all know I’m terrible at this one.

- Posting oneshots sporadically when having an ongoing multi-chapters fic, and if they become excessively long still write out the entire work before deciding on whether or not to post it into split parts. For one of my ongoing works (that has all of my bad habits going for it), I thought it was just going to be a 20K one shot. It’s turning into something much longer than that. I still feel like it reads more as a oneshot than a multi-chapter work, and I already planned on posting a part of it before finishing the rest. This is the last time this will occur.

- Don’t be afraid to write the ideas you think other people won’t enjoy, write for your own enjoyment. This partially comes from something I wrote as a gift for someone else. I had so much more fun writing it than I thought I was going to and never thought I’d ever write this genre in the RWRB fandom. I thought I should stick to purely realistic writing, BUT this is fanfiction and it’s a creative and fun space! I hold myself back due to letting others peoples’ interest levels and low numbers speak louder than my own words. And, you never know, there’s most likely someone out there secretly wishing more unique ideas existed!

AO3 Goals: These goals aren’t about the stat numbers, just personal ones I hope to accomplish by the end of the year.

- A new pen name. Yes, I’ve said goodbye to the firstsprinces name for my writing accounts. This one probably seems silly but I think all of you have really amazing names and I look at mine, feeling meh. If the user shadesinbetween has been someone else in the past I apologize if this name has once been you/or a friend of yours. I saw that it was available and changed it without the knowledge of it as a once existing account.

I created a new blog shadesinbetween (yes, it’s Little Women themed because it’s one of all time favorite films) that you do not have to follow! I made it for myself to have a cleaner/more organized space that’s just for my works. This post is also featured there as a cleaned up version. Again, if the user was once yours or a friend of yours, I wasn’t aware and just saw the open user.

- Check for new works daily to add to “Mark for Later”. This way I can follow ongoing works and I won’t have to go through every page of the works.

- Engage with other works and authors. At the end of the day, we’re a community. A community of devoted fans, readers, and writers. Put the numbers to the side and spread love and kindness wherever you can! You never know how much a simple engaging gesture will make someone’s day! And what friendships may unexpectedly bloom!

#kia’s 2024 writing goals #my goals #ao3 goals

0 notes

shardminds · 8 months ago

Text

ily @damedechance & @cauldronblssd! thanks for the tag!!!

🍓 How did you get into writing fanfiction?

i used to read chronicles of narnia fic in 2009/10 and had a fever dream about caspian/edmund and cutting apple slices to share with each other… i was 13. it’s been on and off since then. i think i posted it to a blogspot or a livejournal or something but i could not tell you if i kept it up. i tried writing a lot of original fiction around this time too lmao it was… an experience. at the same time, one of my closest high school friends was also writing fanfiction on ff.net, so we had moral support in the form of each other!

🍇 How many fandoms have you written in?

probably 5/6? if we’re going off what is published and available; exo, got7, once upon a time, supernatural and acotar. if we’re going off what i’ve written, regardless of where/when/if it now exist, that list becomes much more extensive.

🍈 How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

14, on and off (mostly off)

🍎 Do you read or write more fanfiction?

it’s a mixed bag. i’m a big reader unless i’m really spurred to write and then i probably won’t read fic for weeks (except chapter updates) until that’s out of my system. i’m too afraid to accidentally steal someone’s characterisations or the motifs they’ve used — i find i can’t do both at the same time.

🍌 What is one way you've improved as a writer?

i feel i’m less concerned with rules and now i just enjoy utilising language the way i want to. for imagery’s sake. i don’t know, i haven’t really analysed my writing enough to see improvement. although, i used to get called out on my exo fics because every other word was a swear (i was going through it - sorry!) so i think i can say i’ve evolved past that.

🍑 Do you have any bad habits as a writer?

not developing a cohesive writing style in favour of being choppy and letting the reader draw their own conclusions because i hate connecting scenes and doing actual work to thread plot lines together — examples: full moon white honey (acotar), fortune favours the brave (ouat), inherent violence series (spn) etc.

🍉 What's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

any positive comment is a dream to me, specifically if they call back to the fic itself. oh you read it AND you liked it enough to tell me your favourite part? oh how about a kiss on the mouth for your troubles? how about some sloppy head? i also love when people reach out privately after reading to bully me (affectionate) or discuss further. i can and will talk. i am not a private person.

🍋 What is something you've been too nervous/ intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

i struggle to comprehend writing anything long and chaptered. my attention span could never. i promised myself i would never publish chaptered fics again unless i had it all written out first (sorry to the two chaptered captain swan gift fics i never finished. i think about them every day) but, despite all that, i would love to try.

🍇 What made you choose your username?

it sounded metal as fuck!

if you haven’t been tagged in this yet, NOW YOU HAVE! @zenkindoflove @crazy-ache @jon-snows-man-bun (apologise if someone already got u!) (also no pressure!)

Answer the questions and tag five fanfiction authors you know!

Thank you @metalbvcky. NPT for @mrs-illyrian-baby @doasyoudesireandlive @km-ffluv @labella420

🍓 How did you get into writing fanfiction?

As a teen I was a voracious reader and tried to write my own stuff based on other books I'd read. I also loved ST:TNG and wanted dearly to be in an episode and had lots of the books. I wrote my own ST stories with OC's (gratuitous self inserts), but they never went anywhere. In my late teens I read some Xena fanfic on the internet. But that was it for a great number of years.

At the beginning of 2021 I sat and watched the entirety of the MCU films in chronological order (I'd seen most of them before and was mainly a Thor gal.) I fell down the Stucky rabbithole. Deep. I decided to look up fanfic. AO3 was now a thing! I wrote (a very poor) Stucky fic and here we are, almost 3 years later

🍇How many fandoms have you written in?

As my ST stuff never made it further than my parent's old PC in the days of dial-up, I won't count it.

I've written for MCU, various Chris Evans and Seb Stan Characters and one fic for RWRB. I've been toying with writing a one-off Criminal Minds fic as a gift for a friend.

🍈How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

Three in July since I first published anything on AO3.

🍎Do you read or write more fanfiction?

I try to balance it out. If I have a period of hyperfocus writing I try to then go through a period of reading. I read on both Tumblr and AO3, so try to keep that even as well.

🍌What is one way you've improved as a writer?

Getting betas to pick me up on tense changes, overuse of words and rogue commas. Reading more. Practising. Writing outlines for longer stories so I don't go off-piste.

🍑Do you have any bad habits as a writer?

Getting bored half-way through a long fic, especially if the first few parts haven't had a lot of interaction. Which is why I try to write the whole thing before I start posting.

🍍 What's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

Engineering courses at MIT and, for a separate fic, Violet wands, including the ways to use them and the differnt types of accessories you can use with them. I even watched a Youtube video.

🍉What's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

Any comment! Anything that gives me the validation I need!

🍐What's the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

I wrote a transformation into Tsum-tsum fic that was both cracky and smutty. That's pretty niche.

🥭What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

Action scenes. I loathe them. I'm constantly wondering if they are long enough, and make sense.

🍏What is the easiest type?

Short things that are either PWP or fluffy slices of life.

🍑Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

Mainly on my elderly laptop on G-Docs, and in every moment I can - normally afterwork before dinner and on Mondays when I don't have work.

🍋What is something you've been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

There are a few characters and ships I haven't written that I'd like to. And I suppose I'd like to write a proper long, over 100k fic at some point.

🍇 what made you choose your username?

When I made my AO3 account I felt as though that at 40, and only really starting in Fandom in this way, I was late to the party, so that is who I became.

#shardtext #big lore post!#any q’s just ask!

70 notes · View notes

light-yaers · 3 years ago

Text

Right Where You Left Me: Prologue

Fic Masterpost | AO3

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, implied sexual content, flirting, eventual sexual content/smut, 18+

Find the chapter list here

Find Author’s Note and writing under the cut ☟

A/N: Hello all! Let me first of all say-- I am still finishing my other ongoing fics. I just wanted to post this after sitting on it for months and it's very refreshing for me to write between other fics.

Let me make this clear: THIS FIC IS ENTIRELY SELF INDULGENT FOR ME. It's cliche. It's straight out of a tumblr post from 2014. And that's exactly what I wanted, honestly. I've been dying to write a silly college AU for years and this all began when I found the old novel I'd started writing when I was 13 and I just thought-- I want to rewrite this, and make it intentionally cliche and bad, and make it with Poe Dameron as well. Yeah. So that's exactly what I did.

I'll be posting it weekly or so I think, because I just don't want to put more pressure on myself with writing right now. Writers block has been destroying me and I'm only just really getting out of it.

Thank you guys for being so patient while I've been gone the past 2 months! Hope you enjoy this piece of crap that is intentionally terrible and written like a Netflix rom com.

beff x

Word Count: 611

Prologue

You remembered being upset; more upset than you’d ever been in your life; with a heavy feeling in your gut, akin to having rocks in your stomach, weighing you down to the point where if you were to jump into a lake you would sink—way, way down to the very bottom—until you became one of the fishes.

You’d never fought with him before, not like this. This wasn’t a funny insult that made you smack him playfully, this was two people equally hurting from the exchange they’d just had and the fate they just realised they would have to live, but neither of you could see past your own feelings currently. It was a recipe for disaster.

When your best friend in the entire world tells you he’s moving across the country in two weeks, what’s the rational thing to do? Cry together, make plans and promise that you’ll see each other soon, suggest going back and forth for weekends and sending letters to fill the silent void?

No.

Instead, you get angry at him. And he gets angry at you because you’re angry at him. Until there’s only red, red rage between you to the point of no return, to the point where he finally says—

“You know, I finally have an excuse not to be around you for every second of my fucking life!”

And you hit back with—

“Thank fucking god that I never have to be known as Dameron’s friend around your fucking awful older mates—,”

“Dameron’s weird friend, Dameron’s strange friend who never fucking leaves his side, etcetera, etcetera—,”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“No—fuck you!”

The silence is nasty. It sticks to your skin as both of you think things that shouldn’t be said out loud, but ultimately it fizzles down to you having the final word—after learning he’d never thought much of you, never liked you as a friend, never loved you as more, never... never...

“I can’t think of anything better than never having to see you again for the rest of my life,”

It feels like the world is ending, but you’re only fourteen and he’s only fifteen and you’re both so young, but you’ve been around each other since you were born and Poe was one and it just made sense. You grew up together, were essentially the same fucking person, but that made it even worse when you had this colossal fight.

You were both too stubborn for your own good.

The day Poe’s family moved away, you stayed home when your parents went to say goodbye. You stayed home and blasted music in some attempt to bat away the obvious feelings coursing through you—

Until it was too much.

You didn’t even bother wearing shoes as you raced to Poe’s house in a pair of fluffy socks and sweatpants, hair unbrushed, eyes red and cheeks puffy from how much you’d been crying for the past fortnight.

“Poe!” even though you went back on what you’d last said, you still got the last word in. Even if that word was you yelling his name as you bombarded into your parents and other neighbours as Poe’s mom’s car was already speeding up down the street.

You wondered if he’d heard it, and somewhere deep within wished he actually hadn’t.

You hoped he’d have a good life, make new and better friends, be himself every single day of the year and never apologise for it. You hoped, no you prayed, that he’d remember you throughout his high school years.

The day Poe Dameron left, you couldn’t feel your fingers.

And the day you saw him again, you almost fainted.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron #oscar isaac #fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #star wars #college au #alternate universe #writeblr #ff #ao3 #archive of our own #wattpad #second person #angst and smut #angst and fluff #lightyaers

115 notes · View notes

snackhobi · 4 years ago

Text

a human touch, part I

Part [1] / 1.5 / 2

(masterlist here)

pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, future smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: everyone knows that androids don’t think, or feel, or have emotions. they’re not human, after all. so when a two hour session with a sex android ends up with nothing more than a nice conversation, you think that’s the first and last time you’ll see v.

then he turns up at your door.

warnings: talk of sex work (taehyung is a sex android), implied physical harassment (mentions of bruising), cursing/explicit language, mentions of alcohol, honestly this is a lot softer than these warnings would make you think I swear 🤧

a/n: I started writing this fic like 2/3 months ago and then put it on hiatus bc god it was kicking my entire ass. but ya girl is finally back to working on it! it’ll be two parts, because this fic is a big one! I hope to have the next chapter out next week/the week after (but no promises kdsflkfdfsdf) thank you @hobi-gif for loving this fic so wholeheartedly and supporting me while I struggled with it, queen shit ONLY. note: this is loosely a detroit: become human au but you don’t have to be familiar with it at all!

Here are the three things you know about the Eden Club.

One: it’s a sex club. Everyone knows that. Besides, even if they didn’t, all it would take is a single look—the soft blue lighting that shines out from the windows, the screens behind the glass that flash images of shifting and undulating bodies, the heavy beat of music that pulsates from the building and out into the night air; everything murmurs of the promised pleasures that are held within.

Two: it’s a sex club entirely staffed by androids. Androids make better lovers, according to the ads. They might look human but they don’t have free will like you do—anything you ask for, you’re given without question or reproach. They can’t say no to you. They’re entirely at your command.

Three: you don’t ever want to go to the Eden Club. It’s not that you have anything against androids—because you don’t—but you feel bad for the ones who are owned by the club, even if they’re literally only built and programmed to serve humans. It just feels… wrong.

And here’s the fourth thing you’ve just learned about the club, much to your dismay: you are about to head inside it.

“When you said we were going to a club, I thought we were going dancing,” you whine. “I never would have come out if I’d know you meant here.”

You’ve been staring up at the cursive pink neon sign for a while now, the looping letters of Eden Club shining out in the dark evening air, and you really, really wish you weren’t here. You’ve dressed for a night of dancing and drinking and now you feel woefully uncomfortable, your high heels and short skirt almost as scandalous as the outfits the androids are wearing when they slide across the huge screens.

“That’s why we didn’t tell you which club it was.” Seulgi rolls her eyes and once again tries to tug you towards the building with the arm that’s looped with your own. Just out of arm’s reach, Irene holds your bag hostage. “Come on, your session is going to start soon!”

“My session?” Your voice is an incredulous shrill and Seulgi uses the momentary distraction to finally pull you forward. You stumble a little but catch your balance just as you make your way past the bouncer, who’s been watching the three of you impassively since you got here. “What do you mean, my session?”

“For your birthday, duh. We booked you a private room!”

The inside has the same, sleek neon aesthetic as the outside, but instead of images of androids on a screen, these ones are real and standing in front of you—swinging themselves around glowing poles, rolling their hips and swaying their bodies, while others wait patiently in glass pods that line the walls, leaning towards onlookers and moving as tantalisingly as possible. All ready to be rented at a whim.

Their designs are varied and different but they’re all incredibly beautiful. The only feature they all share is the small, blue LED circle on the side of their temple, light spinning and shining as they take the world in around them. A visual reminder to the world that these aren’t flesh and blood humans: they’re synthetic, man-made machines.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in my life.” You desperately try to avoid the eyes of a nearby android who’s staring at you from behind glass, trying to subtly catch your attention. Unlike you, though, all the other patrons here are shameless in their perusal, scanning the selection of androids on display and watching as they dance and move and bat their eyelashes. “Why did you ever think I’d want to come to a sex club for my birthday?”

“Remember Valentine’s Day? You said that instead of flowers or chocolate you’d rather just be dicked down,” Irene says. “Besides, you’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling for as long as we’ve known you, and you moved to the company, what… three years ago?”

Your smile is pained. You’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling full stop; you’ve only kissed a few people and that’s it. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed, and you’ve gotten Very Good at avoiding questions about your complete lack of a love life, so no one realises exactly how inexperienced you are. People just assume that you’ve had sex in the past and you make no attempts at correcting them. You’re charismatic and pretty but you’ve just… never met someone who you’ve really been compatible with.

Even without the reservations you have about the Eden Club, you don’t want your first time to be with a sexbot—you’d at least like to have an emotional connection, you know?

“I was joking about getting dicked down! You laughed, I laughed, we all laughed! Remember?” You move so a pink-haired android can brush past, her hips swaying as she leads a customer into a side room. You catch a flash of the interior before the door slides shut behind them—the silken sheets on the large bed, the scattered pillows, the dim multi-coloured lights. “Couldn’t you have just bought me some socks? Or some soap? Get a refund and put the money on a gift card and I’ll buy myself the aforementioned socks and soap, saves you both the hassle. Please?”

Seulgi’s arm is still locked with your own, and for all that she looks small and slim, her grip is as strong as iron. You may as well be handcuffed to her. “Trust me, you’ll be singing our praises at the end of tonight,” she proclaims. “Besides, they don’t do refunds.”

You sigh. You might not know much about the club but you do know it’s expensive. The androids here are built to be the perfect sexual partner, all sorts of bells and whistles hidden under their synthetic skin to bring you to the absolute heights of pleasure, so they’re not exactly cheap to build or buy or maintain. It’s why people come to the club instead of just buying their own sexbots—because it’s infinitely more affordable.

“Okay, I can accept the ‘no refund’ thing,” you say. “But can’t one of you take my place instead? I… ah. I feel kind of weird about this.”

“Don’t worry Y/n, it’s fine! The androids have programmes for everything. You can take it as fast or as slow as you like.” Irene’s voice is soothing but then she pauses. “Also it’s booked in your name so we can’t take your place.”

“Wait, what?” Your eyes are wide. However, before you can put a voice to the complaints that are lining themselves up on your tongue, Seulgi’s arm slides out of your own so she can beckon someone over.

“Oh, look, it’s the android we chose for you! Over here!”

You glance away from Irene and all protestations instantly die on your lips. The lighting of the club softens the android in shades of magenta and teal but even so his beauty is bright and blinding: he’s breathtaking, from his perfect nose to his perfect mouth to the perfect line of his jaw, dusty brown hair deliciously tousled as it hangs just over his piercing blue eyes, which you notice are scanning over you. He looks effortlessly attractive and yet entirely put together at the same time, almost ethereal in his beauty.

No human could ever look this good.

“Hi.” His voice is low and deep, but somehow warm and friendly; despite your nerves you feel somewhat soothed. “Are you the lucky birthday girl?”

Irene and Seulgi both look giddy. You’ve been stunned into silence, unable to respond. Unlike the other androids you’ve seen so far, who’ve all been in similar variations of underwear or lingerie, the man in front of you is fully dressed, a loose metallic button-down tucked into unnecessarily tight leather jeans—the outfit has clearly been curated for the club, every reflective surface shimmering and refracting the lights that skate across their surface. The glittering scales of a barracuda before it moves in to strike and swallow you whole.

“Yes, yes, it’s her! This is Y/n! Y/n, this is V,” Irene gushes as you remain mute. "Do you like his outfit? We spent ages picking it out.”

You kind of want to die. Just a little. “Yep. It’s, uh, great.” Your mouth is dry when you finally speak. “Hi, V.”

V gives you a small smile. “Hello Y/n. Can I scan your ID, please?”

Irene finally hands your bag back and you silently slide your ID out and into V’s hand—oh, God, those are some big hands. Jesus.

The small LED ring on the side of V’s forehead pulses yellow as his eyes dart over the information on your ID card (as well as the incredibly unflattering photo on it) before it returns to its customary pale blue. “Perfect.”

You’ve just finished putting your ID away when V’s hand slides into yours, fingers slotting between your own; they feel cool against your overheated skin. Your nervousness is obvious, from your wide eyes to your sudden stiffness, and he smiles.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll look after you.”

You give Irene and Seulgi one final, wide-eyed look as V leads you away. Both girls are grinning as they wave goodbye. “We'll be back later! Enjoy your two hours!”

“Two hours?” You wheeze, but then you walk around a pillar and slide out of sight.

V is leading you deeper into the club, past doors flooded with different shades of neon: the red room, the blue room, the pink room. You’d normally be gawping at the interior design, how the floor shines underneath your feet and how the walls are rippling with colour and shifting shapes, how the criss-crossed lights throw dots and lines of colour over your skin as you pass through each doorway—but you can’t look away from how small your hand looks in V’s, transfixed by how real his skin feels.

“After you, please,” he says.

You finally wrench your eyes away from your joint hands. Seems like you have the purple room tonight. The door has opened at V’s touch, and when you step inside the lights flicker to life—white and violet LEDs that paint the room in chiaroscuro brushstrokes, deepening the shadows and highlighting the vibrancy of the satin sheets.

“Woah,” you say, momentarily distracted. You’re too busy taking in the details with wide eyes to notice the quiet hum of the door sliding shut behind you, pausing when you spot the glittering array of bottles lined up on a mini-bar against the wall. “This is really pretty, wow.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

You jump at the sensation of a warm, large hand sliding up the skin of your back and over your shoulder. You meep as you instinctively shy away from it, turning around to come face to face with V, who’s dark-eyed and intent, LED on his temple pulsating as he watches you.

“Haha! Uh, thanks?” Your voice is high and only grows higher when V takes a step forward. He must have undone the top buttons of his shirt when you weren’t looking, because the material has fallen open and you can see far more of his collarbones and chest than before, his skin warm and honeyed, like it’s been impressed with gold leaf. Lord have mercy on your soul. “How about a drink? Would you like a drink? I could kill for some water right now!”

You slip out of his reach and scuttle over to the mini-bar, shrugging your small bag off your shoulder so it doesn’t swing into the glasses as you start to shuffle through them. You try to ignore the shaking of your hands. “Gin, vodka, whiskey,” you mutter. “No water? Really?”

You startle again when V appears at your side, but this time he’s careful to make sure you can see him before he touches you. He slides his fingers over your wrist as he gently pulls your hand off a bottle of rum.

“Y/n,” he says. You glance away from the tray of drinks and directly into those beautiful eyes of his—his gaze is lethal. You go weak at the knees. “Let me take care of you, gorgeous.”

The peal of laughter you let out is uncomfortable and high-pitched. “No, really, I’m fine! I’m just super thirsty right now!”

“Your heart is racing.” V turns your hand over and traces his fingers across the pulse in your wrist; androids can be built to be hypersensitive to the world around them, able to perceive everything in an instant, and you know that sexbots will have been designed to read how aroused their human owners are. Which V proves with the next words out of his mouth. “Your blood pressure is rising, your breathing is growing faster, your pupils are dilating and—” he sniffs lightly, engaging his olfactory senses—“you’re getting wet.”

You clamp your legs together, abruptly embarrassed. It’s easy to feel aroused when there’s a beautiful man—ah, android—staring at you with hunger, not even considering your surroundings right now, which all scream of a room that’s designed purely for carnal pleasure. Anyone would be turned on.

(You, however, are more than just turned on. You feel like your insides are about to go supernova, overheated and overwhelmed; no one’s ever looked at you like this or touched you like this, their every motion whispering sex, sex, sex.)

“Okay, yes, those things are all true,” you admit, voice shaking.

V looks confused. “So why don’t you want me to touch you?”

You’ve been told that androids don’t feel the same way humans do, and that their expressions and reactions have been programmed to mimic human ones because otherwise they seem too robotic and it makes consumers uncomfortable—but despite knowing this, you’ve never been able to see any android as anything other than a person just like you. They’re just so lifelike it’s hard not to. Even if it’s just all circuitry and lines of code.

“Well,” you say. You swallow. You’re aroused, yes, but: “Do you want to touch me?”

V’s long lashes flutter as he blinks. “I have been programmed for your pleasure,” he says slowly, unsure if that’s the answer you want to hear. It’s clearly a sentence he’s used to reciting.

“Sure, but do you want to do this? You know, what about your pleasure? You’re lovely, V, you’re definitely the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, but I—I don’t really feel like you can technically consent, because… well, because you can’t say no to me.” You might not have prior sexual experience, and it would be so easy to give yourself over to someone who knows what they're doing and can ease you into things—but you would never force that on anyone, android or not. “So I’m not going to ask you to do anything. We can just sit and have a drink and chat or something?”

V looks stunned. The LED on his temple pulsates, flickering yellow as he tries to process new information. His hand has gone still against your wrist, which he’s still lightly gripping, and his arms start to droop.

“Androids don’t need to drink or eat,” he says eventually. His LED is still yellow and spinning.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I always forget.” You don’t own a house android, you never have, so you’re not well versed in the nuances of how they work. “Well, how about I pour you a glass anyway? So you’re not left out?”

You slip your hand out of his loose grasp to open two tiny cans of tonic water and pour them into separate glasses. V takes a seat on the edge of the bed and you can see the obvious uncertainty on his face, how he’s out of his depth. You can’t imagine that many people spend money for a session with an android as pretty as V and then end up doing nothing with that time.

The pillows all have satin cases and keep sliding against each other uselessly when you try to construct a good support to lean against. V’s still clutching onto his small glass as he watches you fuss with them before you give up, flopping backwards to slurp down your drink and look back at him. The expression on his face is a little funny but mostly sad. It’s like if he’s not being alluring or sexy then he doesn’t know what to do with himself and rather than some sort of incubus he looks like a lost child, in spite of his overwhelming and exquisite beauty; your arousal ebbs and is replaced with empathy, melancholy at the life he’s been created for.

It's just depressing, really.

You break the silence as your final mouthful of tonic water fizzes on your tongue. “Why is your name V?”

V looks away from the drink he’s holding—he leaves no fingerprints against the glass—and lifts his free hand, a peace sign that he turns away from you before fitting his fingers around his lips and lapping the air with his tongue, a crude simulation of cunnilingus.

“Oh.” Your face heats up. “Uh. I see.”

His LED has returned to calming sapphire, quiet ocean waves. When he looks at you, though his eyes are still piercingly blue, his face seems softer, calm, though still unsure. “You have an hour and a half remaining of your booked session,” he says, somewhat tentatively. “Is there… anything you would like me to do for you?”

“Mm, thank you, but I’m good.” The satin pillows are surprisingly soft and you find yourself unwinding as you stay leaned back, melting into a puddle. You're much less nervous now that V isn’t trying to initiate foreplay and you give him a smile. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

V straightens before he launches into what sounds like a sentence from a user manual. “I am a model TH700, an advanced sex android with functional genitals and the capacity to engage in any sexual activity from simple intercourse to—”

You cough loudly, interrupting his spiel. “Uh, that’s lovely, but I meant you specifically, not your, um, model type?”

“Me specifically?” Confusion and uncertainty reappear on his face. “I am equipped with the same functionalities as the other androids available at the Eden Club.”

He’s staring at you, lost. You can’t help but feel another twinge of sadness, sharp and sour at the back of your throat.

“Okay, uh. Why don’t we start simple. What’s your favourite colour?”

His LED starts to whirl again, a ring of pale sunlight that signals his struggle to compute the question. “My… favourite colour?”

“Yes, the one you think is the prettiest. Or the one you like to look at the most. There’s no wrong answer, you can choose any one that you like. I change my mind all the time. There are just so many cool colours, you know?”

(Androids aren’t designed to have free will or the capacity for original thought. These two facts are warring in V’s mind—you’ve asked him a question, which he’s programmed to answer, but he also isn’t programmed to have an opinion, so he can’t have a colour that he prefers. This simple query that most people could answer in a heartbeat is sending his mind into a meltdown, a gordian knot he can’t unravel.)

You’re alarmed when you see his LED briefly flash bright scarlet, interrupting the circling honey that’s been shining against his skin. They only turn red if an android is badly damaged or suffering from a severe malfunction. Oh, god, have you broken him?

“V.” You sit up, panicked. “Are you alright?”

Just as you grasp his shoulder, the LED on his temple goes still, flicking from burning fire back to cool water.

“Purple.”

You blink. V’s finally looked away from you and is staring at the wall, at one of the lights that shimmers violet—there’s a tiny smile on his face, tentative, but it’s nothing like the smiles you’ve seen from him so far. It’s less of a perfect curve, and more of a square, boxy on his face, and this one actually reaches his eyes. It looks genuine.

You think it suits him better.

“Purple’s a lovely colour.” The material of V’s shirt is silky and glides under your fingers when you realise you’re still touching him. You give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaning back. “Hey, did you know that when they first made purple dye, they made it from sea snails? They needed thousands and thousands of them. It was incredibly expensive, and only the richest people could afford it, so that’s why it’s associated with royalty and nobility. Cool, right? Not for the snails though.”

V’s eyes flicker away from the purple light and settle on your face. He looks curious, which is an expression you’ve never seen on an android before. “They made it from snails?”

“Yeah! It wasn’t actually bright purple, though, it was more of a reddish hue.”

You launch into an explanation behind the history of the colour purple, which turns into the history of colour in textiles and art, which turns into the history of art itself. It’s not often people listen so attentively or ask questions when you recite the things you learned from your art history minor and hours spent reading online, but V concentrates and asks questions and seems curious.

He pulls his feet onto the bed and the two of you end up cross-legged as you face each other, and he watches as you gesticulate to emphasise your points; his LED dances from blue into yellow each time he learns something new.

When you see it briefly flash vermilion you stop mid-sentence, stumbling over your words. “You alright?”

“You have five minutes of your session remaining,” V says, and you startle.

“Oh my god, have I been talking for that long?” You glance over your shoulder at the part of the wall that tells the time, the numbers stark white against the lilac interface. “I didn’t even realise! Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go on at you like that.”

“That’s okay,” he says. That smile is back on his face, the one that scrunches his eyes and shows his teeth; the one that makes him look human. “I liked listening to you.”

There’s a pillow in your lap, one you’d grabbed hold of during your conversation, and you play with the corner of it, suddenly shy. “Um. Thanks. But if my friends ask, can you just say we actually, um, had sex? I don’t think they’d be too impressed if they found out I spent over an hour talking about canvas materials and the use of negative space.”

“Of course. But there’s something missing.” V slides across the mattress towards you. “May I?”

“Sure,” you say, bemused but pliant. V smiles and dips his fingers into his untouched tonic water before lifting them towards your face—and when he runs his hand through your hair you abruptly realise he’s making you look sweaty and rumpled. Like you actually did the deed.

Your heart rate picks up but you can’t help laughing under his touch, the way he carefully rubs a thumb over your lipstick to smear it, smudging your eyeshadow with delicate fingertips, muddying the palette of colours; by the time V helps you to your feet you look mussed and fucked out but you still rearrange your outfit for good measure, like you’d pulled your clothes back on in a rush.

“Not how I imagined I’d spend tonight, but I had a good time!” You smile at the android who’s still holding your hand. “I hope you did too. Even if I spent most of it talking at you.”

V’s fingers tighten around yours as the door chimes quietly and then slides open, signalling the end of your session. “I enjoyed our time together very much.”

It’s probably in your head, but you’d swear V was walking more slowly than before as he leads you back to the entrance. Almost as if he wants to keep you with him longer. But that’s crazy—androids don’t want things. They literally can’t. It’s not in their programming. That’s why V had sat listening to you: he couldn’t choose to interrupt and ask you to stop, like anyone else would have.

When Seulgi and Irene spot you and how dishevelled you are, both girls look smug. “Seems like you had fun?”

“Oh, yep, absolutely, best birthday present ever, thank you. We had a great time. Right, V?”

“Your pleasure is my pleasure.” His voice has settled back into its earlier rhythm as he recites his script; gone is the curious man who’d asked you about your favourite artists, replaced with the automaton who exists only to serve. A flicker of sadness churns in your stomach. “We hope to see you again soon.”

The androids here really must be top of the line. V had been convincingly real when you’d been talking, just like a human, but it seems like that’s gone.

At least, that’s what you think until you’ve turned to leave and V speaks one final time. His voice is warm and low and lovely, eyes soft when you meet his gaze over your shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Y/n,” he murmurs, face beautiful but despondent, but before you can react, he’s gone.

It’s been raining for days on end. The world is painted in smeared shades of blue and green and grey, lines of the city blurring together in the wetness and chill, each drop of rain another shifting brush stroke on still canvas. An impressionist piece that smells of damp concrete and cold lamplight.

Water rushes across the pavements and roads before roiling into the gutters, splashing underfoot as you walk to the entrance of your block of flats. You’re wet up to the knee due to the unavoidable puddles and the pathetic circumference of your umbrella, which only protects your upper body. You really should get a new one.

“Good evening, Miss L/n.” The android at the door greets you as he always does, heedless of the rain that’s falling onto him. Androids aren’t bothered by the weather the way humans are and he looks as passive as usual, rainwater coiling his hair and beading on his face. “Would you like to scan your key?”

“Evening, Rory! Here you go.” You fumble with the keycard before you tap it against his palm, waiting until his LED flickers yellow and you hear the beep as the door unlocks. “You sure you don’t want my umbrella? The rain is heavier than it was yesterday.”

“I assure you, the rain does not hamper my ability to function and serve. I have been built to withstand inclement weather and do not require additional protective equipment.”

He says the same thing every time but you still feel bad. “Alright, but once I finally remember to get a bigger umbrella you can look after this one for me.”

You leave a line of water behind you as it drips from your sodden umbrella, even though you’d tried to shake the worst of the rain off. You feel damp and sticky and tired and after a long day of work you’re looking forward to a hot bath and some solitude; you love your co-workers, you do, but sometimes they’re just a little too boisterous and you need time alone. Which is why it’s nice that you live by yourself, and now it’s the weekend you have time to recuperate. Wonderful.

The floor of the elevator is slick and slippery from the wet footprints of other tenants and you have to cling onto the metal handrail to ensure you don’t slip, but once you’re in the comfort of your apartment it’s blessedly dry and you spin in delight before promptly shedding your socks and jeans, peeling the damp denim away from your skin with a grimace.

“Bye bye, wet clothes! Hello, bubble bath,” you sing. You’re going to pamper the shit out of yourself. You deserve it.

By the time you clamber out of the bath the water is almost cold and your skin is pruned, but you feel soft and warm and thoroughly relaxed. The water gurgles as it drains away, noisy as the bubbles slide down the plughole, but it doesn’t drown out the noise of a sudden knocking at your front door.

You pause. Water drips from your wet hair and down the back of your neck, a trailing touch over your skin. The other flat on this floor is vacant, the tenants moving out last week, so you don’t know who it could be. You don’t have any repairs scheduled for your pipes or anything—everything is tickety-boo, so it can't be the maintenance android. Oh, shit, maybe it’s someone here to rob you. But they wouldn’t knock on the door then, would they? Unless that's all part of the ruse. You're not a robber, you don't know how they work.

The knocking comes again, faster now. You fumble for your bathrobe, quickly pulling it on to cover up your nakedness before stumbling out of the bathroom. “I’m coming, yeesh, one minute!”

You flick your fingers over the keypad by the side of your door, screen flickering on to show you who’s outside, who’s knocking so frantically on your door this late. It only takes you a split second, even if he has a hood pulled over his head and his wet hair is flopping listlessly into his eyes—those eyes aren’t blue and that hair isn’t brunet but you’d recognise him anywhere.

“V?” You’re incredulous as you swing your door open, staring at the android that’s literally dripping wet as he stands there, coat far too big for him and heavy from the unrelenting rain outside. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely drenched.”

He’s not exactly short, but right now V looks small and lost, folding in on himself even if he’s clearly happy to see you—happy, though androids don’t feel happiness, they don’t feel anything at all, do they?

Then again, androids don’t wander away from their assigned workplaces and into random apartment blocks, either.

“Y/n.”

The way he says your name, tentative and scared, sends a crack across your heart. You immediately switch to autopilot and click your tongue before you beckon him inside. You’ve always had a protective nature, and even if you’re confused, your concern trumps it.

“Come in and get that coat off, you’ll catch a cold,” you say without thinking before you realise that it’s not true. Androids can’t get sick. “Do you want to sit down?”

Under the tatty coat is an outfit that’s similar to the one he’d been wearing when you’d first met him. Dark patches of rainwater have soaked into the material, and his shirt looks damaged—there are buttons missing and the stitching is ripped, as if someone had tried to grab him. Unease stirs in your chest.

When V sits on your sofa he looks even smaller. “I’m sorry.” He’s so, so quiet, staring at the floor, as if afraid to look you in the eye, crumpling in on himself like discarded paper.

“V.” Your voice is coloured with concern, and the android finally looks up at your gentle tone, watching as you sit across from him. “Why are you here? What happened?”

There’s a pause. His LED flickers yellow as he goes tense, shoulders bowing inwards. “There was… a client.” His words are low and slow, faltering as they fall into the air. “He was being so rough and saying all the horrible things he wanted to do to me, and all I could smell was his sweat and his breath and his awful cologne and…” V takes in a deep breath. “I said no.”

You go very, very still, but V doesn’t stop. His words come faster now, a stream that rushes from his lips.

“I said no, and he started to yell, he was yelling and grabbing me and I was so, so scared. Humans can do whatever they want and he was so angry, he didn’t care that I was scared, and I just—I just ran.” The LED flashes red with distress, bright hot and vibrant; V’s eyes have dropped to his hands, which are clenched tight, nails digging into his palms so hard it must hurt. “Everyone is always so rough and demanding and we can’t say no. But I did. I said no. I said no and then I had to run and—” Once again, he falters. Stumbles over his words. “You’re the only human who’s ever been nice to me or treated me like… like I was a real person. I didn’t know where else to go.”

When V finally looks back up you’re staggered by the sheer emotion in his eyes. Pain and distress swirl in their depths as he stares at you, imploring. Even with the LED that shines on his temple, V looks very, very human right now, vulnerable and scared. Androids shouldn’t be able to feel anything like this, unless—

“V.” Your voice is a hush. “Are you… a deviant?”

You’ve only ever heard of deviant androids in passing, whispered rumours and watercooler talk, fleeting mentions online. Stories of machines who’ve deviated from their code somehow—from a virus, a software error, damage to neural connectors, no one’s quite sure—and have developed the capacity for human emotion and independent thought. Androids with a consciousness that rebel against their original programming.

And here V is, small and scared, just like any human would be—a human with feelings, not an emotionless machine. He’s gone stock still at your question, fear overtaking his features, twisting his beautiful face into a mask of sheer terror. You've never seen someone look so afraid. It feels like a knife in your heart, cutting through your chest, empathy razor sharp inside you.

“Please don’t turn me in,” he begs. “They’ll deactivate me and take me apart to find the error in my software. I don’t want to be deactivated. I don’t want… I don’t want to die.”

His voice breaks on the last word, a trembling whisper.

The crack in your heart splits even further and you reach out for his hands. You prise his fingers open so you can slide your own between them, a soft touch.

“I won’t turn you in. No one’s taking you apart, V.” Your statement is hard and resolute. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

You don’t know much about androids, honestly. You don’t really know what deviancy is. But you do know this: there’s someone reaching out to you, someone who’s afraid and in need, and you’re not about to turn him away. You should probably be worried that the android across from you is faster, stronger, smarter than any human—but you’re not worried at all. For all of V’s mechanical superiority, you want to shield and protect him from the world.

There’s no question about it. You’re not letting V go.

V looks—he looks stunned. He’s staring at you with disbelief, eyes wide and lips parted, shock written across all of his features. Thunderstruck. Did he really think you would turn him in after everything he’s been through?

His hands have gone limp in your grasp. You suddenly notice that his synthetic skin is wet against your own, still slick from the rain, and you frown.

“Right,” you announce. “First things first. You’re soaking. Let me get you a towel and some new clothes. I think I should have some that fit you.”

“New clothes?” V looks lost and you turn into some sort of protective mother bear.

“You’re not going to wear wet clothes that are ripped,” you tut. “We’ll get rid of those and get you some new ones. I’ll be right back.”

It takes less time than you’d expected to unearth the old sweatpants you’d had in mind and you have enough oversized t-shirts that it’s not hard to find one you think will fit the android. With the clothes under one arm and a towel slung over the other, you head back into the living room and immediately let out a squeal of surprise—V’s wet clothes have been discarded in a pile at his feet, leaving him very, very naked.

He’s an Adonis. He looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo, lifted out of marble with talented hands, the elegant lines of his neck swooping into the curve of his shoulders and arms, his lovely hands, long fingers; he has his back to you and you can see the perfect curve of his spine, the shifting shoulder blades as he turns towards you. You catch a glimpse of the lightest definition of muscle under his golden skin, though his stomach is surprisingly cute and soft, a trail of hair leading down to—

You squeak again, splaying a hand over your eyes before you look any lower, heart pounding against your ribs.

“Why are you naked?” Your voice is three octaves higher than normal. You've never seen anyone naked in real life and it would be pretty overwhelming even if you'd been expecting it. Which, of course, you absolutely hadn't. Lord have mercy on your sweet and delicate soul.

“You said we were going to get rid of my clothes.” V sounds unabashed about his state of undress, which makes sense—he was built as a sexbot, it’s not like nudity is going to embarrass him. Plus if you looked as good as he did you wouldn’t be embarrassed about being naked either. “I thought I would help.”

“That’s great, V.” Your voice is still high, though it’s dropped an octave. “Very, ah, forward thinking.” Your fingers part a little so you can peer at him, keeping your eyes firmly on his face, though you can still see his beautiful neck and collarbones. Oh, God, he really is gorgeous all over, but then you notice—“Wait. Are those bruises?”

V glances down at the bruises that mar his perfect skin. They don’t look like a human’s would; the fluid that runs through androids and powers their biocomponents, thirium, is a deep, royal blue. Blossoms of lapis lazuli are scattered across the skin of V’s chest, marks on his arms that look like grasping fingers, and the crack in your heart splits it in two.

“Oh, V. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realise you were hurt. What can I do to help?”

V doesn’t seem bothered by the evidence of pain etched into his body. “Oh. Those will fade, it’s okay. I’m designed to self repair, because some customers like to leave marks.”

Although his voice is quiet, he sounds so matter of fact about it and you have to remind yourself it’s all he’s ever known. You want to pull him into your arms and hold him tight, but he’s still supremely naked so it would be pretty awkward (for you, at least).

“I think these should fit you." You avert your gaze and thrust the clothes out at him. “Dry yourself off and try them on?”

They do, in fact, fit. V looks surprisingly homely and cosy in your clothes, the sleep shirt so large it’s big on him too, though the sweatpants are a bit too short and leave his ankles bare. He’s so cute. He’s continents away from the being of seduction who’d pulled you into the private room of the Eden Club—he's a soft, domestic thing, hair damp and eyes dark, even if he still looks on edge, like he’s expecting you to change your mind and kick him out any second now.

“How come your hair and eyes are a different colour to before?”

“I can change their colours at will,” V replies. “For variety and aesthetic pleasure. The current hue of my irises and hair are the default settings for a TH700 model, but I can change them if you’d like.”

“Your hair and eye colour is your choice, V, not mine,” you say firmly. There it is, once again, that flicker of shock and surprise rippling across his features. He really isn’t used to the freedom to be able to make his own decisions, is he? “I think you look lovely no matter what colour they are.”

Your next words are cut off by a yawn, so heavy you can’t suppress it. You cover your gaping mouth as V’s LED flickers yellow and his eyes dart over your face.

“You’re tired,” he says. He doesn’t need his superior android perception to notice it—weariness pulls at limbs and your eyes feel heavy. It's pretty obvious. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, V.” You stifle another yawn. “I had a long day at work. I’ll tidy up and have a quick dinner and then sleep.” You pause. “Wait, I didn’t think about that. Are you alright with the couch? I have some spare pillows and blankets.”

V blinks at you. “I don’t sleep,” he says, and you slap your hand against your forehead.

“Oh, of course not.” Androids don't sleep, everyone knows that. You’re such an idiot. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this.

At least you remember that he doesn't need to eat. V sits at the table and waits as you make toast for yourself, fascinated at how everything is prepared, as simple as it is; he reacts to you spreading butter on your toast the same way you imagine cavemen reacted to fire—with wide-eyed awe and utter astonishment.

“I’m guessing you’ve never seen someone make toast before?” You gesture with the bread before taking your first bite, and V stares with rapt attention.

“No,” he says. He watches you chew and swallow. “Customers aren’t allowed to eat on the premises of the Eden Club so I never had the need to download a food preparation package into my memory cache. The only information in my database pertains to human biology, their arousal and pleasure, as well as various sexual kinks and how to fulfil them.”

You choke on a mouthful of toast. You feel distinctly harried as you cough and splutter before managing to swallow it down. “Good lord,” you wheeze. “Nothing else? Really?”

“At the club our memory is reset every two hours, to protect the client’s privacy.” V trails off before he takes in a breath. For the first time since you’ve met, V looks shy, staring at his hands. “But I set up a separate data pathway a few weeks ago. To store information about aesthetics and art and… you.”

You freeze mid-bite, teeth sunk into your toast. You pull it away from your mouth slowly, blinking at the android as he stares at the teeth marks you've left behind. “Those memories weren’t wiped?”

And, well, of course they weren't. Otherwise he wouldn't be here right now, would he?

“No.” A smile appears on V’s face, that toothy thing you’d seen after he’d told you his favourite colour. The first time he'd looked human. “I remember everything you told me. I thought I was going to forget, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I wanted—I want to learn more.”

The LED on his temple is slowly, softly spinning, a rippling circle of blue that shifts and dances as V continues to look at you. His expression is open and inquisitive and excited, almost childlike in its exuberance, eyes glittering mica under sunlit waters.

Your chest turns warm, molten caramel dripping messy and sweet inside you. He’d been so afraid earlier but he seems comfortable now, lovely and endearing and entirely trusting.

V even seems reluctant to let you out of his sight, trailing after you around the apartment, a shadow that you have to politely ask to wait outside the bathroom so you can pee and brush your teeth and finally get into your pyjamas without him staring. Like a stray animal you've adopted. (You wouldn't be surprised if he started scratching at the door and begged to be let in.)

He's clingy enough that when you climb into bed it seems like he's going to follow you under the duvet and you have to stop him with a hand to his chest.

“Um, I thought you didn’t have to sleep,” you say. He’s so warm under your touch. You try (and fail) to ignore it.

“I don’t,” V replies. “But humans can benefit from sharing a bed with someone else, whether sexual intercourse has taken place before sleep or not. Studies suggest that sleeping with a partner may reduce cytokines while boosting oxytocins—”

“Okay, um, don’t know what that means, and it’s very sweet that you’re concerned about my oxytoxytokines, but, uh. You don’t have to, really.” You keep forgetting that V’s a machine who was designed to put a human’s comfort and needs first; one second he’ll seem childlike in his innocence and ignorance, when the next he’ll speak like the android he is, reminding you exactly what he was built for.

His LED flickers as he droops, gaze dropping away from your face, tail between his legs. A pang cuts through you at the sight of his obvious sadness at your dismissal and you muffle a sigh. You’ve always been too weak for your own good.

You shuffle backwards to make space on your queen sized bed and V visibly brightens, smile wide across his face. How can someone be so viscerally gorgeous one moment and entirely adorable the next? Good lord.

“I guess you can explain what oxycytocins do,” you say. “Just don’t hog the blanket, okay?”

He doesn’t. He settles against the pillows, legs under the duvet as he remains sitting up. You settle with plenty of room between the two of you, and it’s surprisingly easy to drift off to the sound of V’s deep voice as he starts to explain that oxytocin is referred to as the cuddle hormone.

“Cute,” you mumble, and then fall asleep.

Your pillow is a lot warmer and firmer than you remember, but it's nice. A small noise bubbles from your lips as you nuzzle into the warmth, smooshing your nose against it before letting out a long, satisfied breath. You can't remember the last time you felt this comfortable and rested.

Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend.

“Good morning.”

You know those videos when a cat sees a cucumber and leaps, like, five foot in the air? Yeah.

The noise you make is inhuman as you do your best to re-enact one of those aforementioned cat videos, reeling your head back from V’s thigh before flinging yourself out of the bed with all the strength your limbs possess; you’d probably have gotten pretty high, too, if the duvet hadn't been in the way.

You land with a thud, a sprawl of limbs and messy hair and tangled blanket as you end up on your back on the floor.

Hm. Definitely not how you'd planned to start your Saturday.

V's concerned face looms over the mattress. “Are you okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine.” Your voice is a croak as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m just not used to waking up with someone else in my bed. You may have noticed you, ah, surprised me. A little bit.”

Despite the pulse of adrenaline that had thrown you out of bed, you’re still half asleep, and you remain motionless as your brain wakes up and replays last night, a kineograph of memory. Yep, that’s right, there's a runaway android in your home, one who’s currently shuffling off the bed to squat next to you. His (your) sweatpants hitch even higher up his ankles to reveal the smooth skin of his calves. You’ll have to get him more clothes.

“Would you like me to help you to your feet?” V’s LED spins rapidly, betraying his concern.

“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”

Your idea of being helped up involves being pulled to your feet. V’s idea, however, is far more involved than that; he scoops you up, blanket and all, lifting you with an ease that drips of his superior android strength. When he deposits you on the floor, he’s careful to make sure you’ve caught your balance before he lets go, catching the blanket before it can fall. Thoughtful.

As always, V’s eyes are darting over your face, no doubt dissecting every inch of your expression to identify how you’re feeling. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this, especially with the way your heart is pounding—no one’s ever lifted you before and it’s, uh. It’s a lot.

“Are you sure you’re okay? The pace of your breathing has increased.”

Ha. Yeah, being blatantly stared at by some godlike man moments after you’ve woken up is totally cool and fine and not overwhelming at all. You’re definitely not breathless from a combination of V’s face and the fact he’d picked you up like you were weightless.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I’m gonna… go and shower then make breakfast and stuff. Yep.”

V’s eyes light up. “Can I help?” A fleeting image of V rubbing a soapy loofah over your naked skin fills you with spine-tingling trepidation before he finishes his sentence. “I want to learn how to cook.”

Your chest deflates with relief (and absolutely not disappointment), air rushing out of you. Thank God.

“Oh, breakfast? Sure.” You’d been planning on cereal, but faced with V’s overwhelming enthusiasm, maybe you’ll go for something marginally more complicated. Scrambled eggs sound good. “Um. Do you need to download the food preparation package or whatever you mentioned before? Do you… uh, do you need the Wifi password to do that? I never changed it from the random string of letters off the back of the router, but I can go check it for you.”

V shakes his head. “No, I want to learn like a human would,” he says. The blanket in his arms crumples as he tightens his grip in his eagerness, all but bouncing up and down on his feet. “You can teach me.”

Your chest could cave in with how cute he is, every part of you turning to thick gouache that drips down to the floor, leaving a mess of brightness and colour.

This time you ask him to wait in the kitchen while you’re in the bathroom, rather than lurking on the doorstep like he had last night, and he’s practically vibrating with excitement when you reappear. He stays like that the whole time you cook, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, staring as you make yourself scrambled eggs and more toast; you let V take ownership of that part, and he stares at the toaster so intently you have to stifle a laugh.

He spreads butter exactly the same way as you. Not that there’s a specific art to it, or a massive variety in techniques—he’s just spreading butter, not painting a new Mona Lisa—but the way he holds the knife and runs it over the bread is an exact echo of your motions from last night. He might not have downloaded files into his memory (brain?) like another android might, but his mechanical origin is obvious in the way he learns. They’re an exact replication of your actions rather than something new of his own.

“So, uh.” You push the last bit of egg around your plate, brown crumbs sticking to the wedge of golden yellow, sullying it. “V.”

Blink, blink. His lashes are so long, eyes so inquisitive. “Yes?”

“I’m really happy you’re here and that you trust me—” at this, V smiles and you almost fumble over your words at its radiance—“but I feel like I should tell you that I don’t really know much about androids?”

V is unperturbed. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

He clearly isn’t bothered that you’re way out of your depth, but you hate feeling lost like this. “Alright, but… I want you to be comfortable. I’m already planning to get more clothes, but if there’s anything else you need, just let me know. Okay?”

“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”

Oh, he’s going to be the death of you, all wide-eyed innocence.

“For starters, most of them won’t fit properly,” you explain. “And you shouldn’t just have to wear my old stuff that I don’t use anymore? You should have your own things.”

The look of surprise on V’s face morphs into guilt only moments later. He’s so incredibly expressive and you wonder if it’s because he’s not used to feeling things, all of his reactions so strong and bright, shining out from him. A rainbow palette of emotions. “I don’t want to be a bother,” he murmurs. “You’re already doing so much for me.”

“I’m really not, I’m just treating you the way anyone deserves to be treated.” You flick the crumb of egg across your plate, and it almost tumbles over the edge, caught on its patterned rim. “You deserve to have your own things. Which is my next point. I think you should choose your own name.”

V’s face becomes a sea of rippling ambivalence, contrasting emotions that shift and vary—confusion, uncertainty, excitement, your words a brush that drags through each distinct emotion and pulls them into a messy, mismatched gradient. “Choose my own name?”

“You don’t have to. I just thought it might be a nice idea. V seems…” Your cheeks heat up at the memory of the curl of his lips when he’d shown you the meaning behind his alias, how his tongue had shined under the purple lights of the club. “Well, you didn’t get to choose it, right? It’s a nom de plume, rather than a real name.”

V’s LED flickers yellow, a sunflower that blooms on his temple. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Good!” Your smile is wide. “Okay, how about I teach you how to wash dishes?”

V is, unsurprisingly, a fast learner. The only time he stumbles over things is when he’s presented with any sort of choice, taking his time to come to a decision when he’s posed a question, no matter how simple it is. His eyes will flick to you whenever he settles on an answer, as if waiting for you to say he’s wrong or that you disagree.

(Of course, you never do.)

This fact does, however, mean that choosing clothes to buy becomes a very, very long ordeal (it’s lucky you didn’t have any plans for today). You end up flopped back on the sofa while V hunches over your tablet, mulling over each choice before he puts it in the cart—but you’re happy to wait. V is going to need a lot more practice at choosing things.

The room is upside down from where your head is hanging over the armrest, eyes falling shut as time goes by, completely zoned out and comfortable despite the crick that’s growing in your neck. You hear V shifting, tablet set aside, and you hum.

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“Nice.” You feel content.

But then you’re ripped out of that warm feeling, shooting back to reality at the sensation of V’s hand stroking down the centre of your chest. Your head snaps up, eyes wide as he drags his large palm between the valley of your breasts, path smoothed by the material of your shirt. The expression on his face is sultry.

“Let me say thank you,” he murmurs, voice dripping thick and sweet, dark molasses.

You promptly roll off the sofa.

Once again, you end up on your back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, the expression on V’s face is one of concern, his seductive facade evaporated in an instant.

Once again your heart is ready to burst in your chest, pumping so hard that blood rushes in your ears. “V,” you wheeze. “What are you doing?”

The android is peering down at you, puzzled. “Sometimes customers would say that at the Eden Club after I had given them pleasure somehow, such as bringing them to orgasm. I thought it was human custom to repay pleasure or happiness with something in return.”

Ah.

“Ah.” You’re still staring at the ceiling, cheeks burning. “I mean. I guess that’s not technically incorrect, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be a, uh, sexual repayment.”

“I have nothing else to offer,” V says.

You sit up. Your face is a caricature of disbelief, embarrassment washed away in an instant, his words cold water that shocks you to the core. He states it so plainly, and once again you’re reminded of his life up until he’d made his way to your door: an automaton who existed solely for people’s pleasure, to slake their desire and lust. He’s not being self-pitying. He really, truly believes that’s all he is. That it’s all he can give back to the world.

“Okay, no, that’s absolutely not true, nuh-uh, I refuse.” This time you unfold yourself from the floor without V’s help, fixing him with a firm stare. “Alright, come on. I think it’s time you learned something else.”

One of the reasons you’d chosen this apartment is for its natural light. Not that it matters right now, weather outside still dismal and overcast, but its effect on this room is still palpable even so—grey, rain-soaked light throws itself over your small home studio, your menagerie of equipment, everything bright with the evidence of use: the worn buckles of the wooden storage boxes, the dried smears on the paint palette, the flecks of colour on the dust sheets underfoot. The centre of it all—the eye of the tornado, untouched by the relative chaos around it—is the canvas waiting on your easel, a project you have yet to start.

V looks utterly enraptured.

“I don’t really come in here as much as I’d like,” you admit. Being a graphic designer is worlds away from the sort of art you love to create, and while it’s a job you genuinely enjoy (and also pays well), it leaves you drained and fills your brain with tired static, little energy left to lavish on your personal works. “But this is where the magic happens. And this is where you’re going to Make Art.”

V freezes. “The only things I know about art are the things you told me when we first met.” He looks equal parts excited but also troubled. “I—”

“You don’t need to know about art to make art,” you say. “I didn’t know jack about art when I was a kid and I was constantly just scribbling away with crayons. Was it good? No. I was a kid with zero pen control, it was pretty crap. Was it worth my time? Yes, because any time spent involved in a craft is never wasted. We can learn more about art history and technique later.”

V stays quiet as you loop your apron over his head, rough material still bearing the remnants of your last works, stains that won’t come out. Oil based paints are kind of a bitch like that.

“I don’t know what to paint,” he says.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to,” you reply, an echo of his earlier words.

V looks lost, barefoot in your studio, in your clothes, your apron, holding onto your wooden paint palette, in front of your easel. Everything in here is yours. Everything, that is, apart from him, whatever is in his mind and heart.

“Where do I start?” V’s eyes are imploring as he looks at you, but for the first time today, your voice is firm.

“Wherever you want. There aren’t any rules. Just do whatever you think would be fun. It doesn’t have to look good, V, you’ve just started.”

You’ve seen paintings made by androids before. They’re always perfect recreations of the world around them, exact replicas of the things they’ve been told to depict on the page—the androids are basically glorified photocopiers, unable to create something original and new.

But they’re not V. They don’t have that spark of curiosity and light inside them, unhampered by the programming that’s meant to keep them in place. His LED dances from yellow to blue, yellow to blue, the rest of his body motionless while the light on his temple is a tumult of movement and colour.

Dark eyes slide over the array of paint hanging from a rack on the wall, some metal tubes more crushed than others, evidence of your preferred shades—you notice how his gaze lingers on the midnight tones, red and blue tinted purples, from lavender to lilac, from plum to wine.

V gives you one more look, a little upturn to his thick brows—almost pleading—and you just gesture with your hand.

“Go for it,” you say.

Your wooden palette becomes home to a riot of purple, each tube squeezed empty with careful hands, far more paint than anyone could possibly ever need. V keeps flicking you glances, but you stay silent, perched on a wooden chair by the now open window, rain-slick air a cold breath on your skin.

The brush the android selects is a wide, bold thing, bristles rough. He handles it like bone china, delicate and liable to shatter any moment, cautious as he dips it into the paint—it’s so wide it picks up three separate shades—and he holds his breath as he brings it up, even if he doesn’t have lungs.

The second the bristles touch the canvas, V’s LED flickers red.

Just for an instant.

He swoops the brush down the canvas as he pulls it away, eyes wide, leaving a slash of purples in its wake. The white material is marred with colour, a textured line of pigment that can’t be erased.

The android pauses as he takes the sight in. He’s still for so long that you’re worried he’s shut down, even with the endlessly dancing circle of his LED—

But then V laughs.

His laugh is loud and bright and free, a series of deep, almost surprised chuckles that grow in intensity and breathlessness, staring at this smear of drying acrylic paint in front of him. The smile on his face is the widest you’ve seen so far, his eyes squeezed into crescents of joy, spilling out of him like light.

“I did that.” He looks at you with that gilded smile, a fresco of delight across the perfection of his features. “I made that.”

“You did.” You can’t help but smile back, your own face split with happiness. You continue to smile as he brings the brush back to the palette, and then to the canvas, dragging the bristles across its surface and leaving more purple behind; the shades swirl and mix as he lays colour without a care for technique or clean lines or form, scooping up the endless amounts of acrylic he’d prepared. By the time he’s finished, the canvas is bumpy with daubs of paint, laid messily by joyful hands, a few bold streaks of unmarred colour surrounded by swirling purples.

The smile hasn’t left V’s face the whole time.

His brush is absolutely saturated, paint clinging to every inch of bristle, from toe to belly to heel. You have no doubt that no matter how much you clean that brush it’ll leak purple into the water, an endless reminder of V’s touch. It’s lax in his grasp as he keeps looking at the canvas, his canvas, smile etched into his face as his LED flows soft blue, content.

You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so elated, buoyed up with the excitement of creation, making something out of nothing, discovering how it feels to bring something into existence, pulling it out of the ether. Making something new. Making something their own. It stirs something in your chest and stomach, reminding you why you love art so much. Why you’ve always loved art. (Why you always will.)

“I made that,” V repeats, his voice a reverent hush. Awestruck.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, because it is—for a multitude of reasons. The reason that sings out to you the most, though, is that it’s the cause of happiness that dances across his face: V, a carved candle, a piece of art made with skilled hands, self-made joy finally catching fire at his wick.

“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.

“For what?”

“For giving me this,” he starts, but before you can interject and point out that you didn’t give him this, he made it, he continues: “For giving me… freedom. To do this. And make this. And learn this.”

The smile that spreads across your face is warm hearth fire. “I didn’t give you freedom, V, you gave that to yourself, but I’m happy to help you any way I can. Now, would you like to keep painting, or would you prefer to help me make dinner?”

He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.

Sunday is nice. There's less messy limbed surprise than on Saturday, although you’re still off kilter when you wake up with your head in V’s lap again, but… it’s nice.

You thought he’d spend the night painting, or drawing, or teaching himself something new using the free rein you’d given him with your computer and notebooks and stationery and art supplies—he doesn’t have to waste time with sleep, like you do—but he hadn’t. He’d climbed into your bed, settling against the pillows just like the night before, looking at you with his big, lovely eyes.

So here he is.

(And here you are.)

It’s cosy and comfortable, even if the feeling of warm skin under warm cotton against your cheek sets your heart to racing, V’s dark eyes even warmer when you roll over to look at his face.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you reply, and then you yawn, V’s lashes fluttering as he takes in the motion. “What time is it?”

Today’s rain is less of an endless downpour and more of an inconsistent drizzle, grey blanket slowly peeling away from the edges of the city, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re inside for most of the day, anyway. Saturday was hands-on, messy with acrylic and spilled coffee and laundry detergent (V really wants to learn everything), but Sunday is hands-off. You spend the day dredging the corners of your memory and scrolling through old, untouched files from your university years, so you can teach V the things he wants to know while relearning the things you’d forgotten yourself.

V’s little LED dances forever from blue into yellow, ocean waves lapping into sand, a shifting tide as he takes in your words. You’ve never had to teach someone before and you’re admittedly pretty terrible at it, but he never complains, the world’s most attentive and adorable student, sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his hair mussed and his eyes wide, drinking down everything you show him.

You only leave the apartment once. Lunch is delayed when you open your fridge and remember how bereft and sad it is inside, so you venture out into the rain to the nearby supermarket—V opts to stay indoors, LED flickering red at the idea of being caught, shying back.

You leave him looking lost and lonely before the door even finishes swinging shut behind you, long limbs looking even longer in your clothes, but somehow still so small.

“I won’t be long,” you promise.

When you get back, you return not only with bags of food but also clothes, V’s order from yesterday already shipped and delivered. He can finally replace your too-small clothing with things he’s chosen himself. It’s a fumble to get in the door, but the android is waiting for you, swinging it open and catching the bag you nearly drop in surprise.

“I have your clothes,” you announce. “I’ll put away the shopping while you try them on?”

You’re going to have to tattoo a reminder on your forehead about V’s relationship (or lack thereof) with clothes, because of course he takes this as an invitation to start stripping before you’ve even had a chance to take your shoes off.

He does that thing where he grabs the back of his (your) shirt and pulls it over his head in one swift motion, curls of hair a cloud of smoke that settles around his face as the shirt is cast aside; you’re frozen in place as he reaches for the knot of his sweatpant’s drawstring, long fingers pulling it loose, but you let out a sharp meep just as his fingers hook into the waistband of them.

“PleasewaituntilI’mnotrightinfrontofyouthankyou,” you gasp all at once, words incoherent as they slide together, but V understands. He tilts his head at you inquisitively although he (thankfully) stops.

“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”

“I do, but, uh, for humans it’s normally customary to only get entirely naked or change clothes when you’re alone.” Your heart is going to burst out of your chest with how fast it’s racing. Without the string to cinch the sweatpants tight they’re starting to fall a little, revealing the delicate lines of his hip bones, and coupled with the reappearance of V’s bare stomach, your brain is going into meltdown. “So just—just give me a sec to go to the kitchen, okay? You’re probably better off changing in the bedroom, anyway, so you can use the full length mirror to see how you look.”

“Okay,” he says, but then: “Do humans never undress around others unless they’re planning to have sex?”

Your mouth falls open before you pause, words halting on your lips as you try to think of the best way to phrase your answer. “Well, we do, it’s not just about sex, but it’s usually only if you’re really comfortable with the other person you’re with, and they’re comfortable with you.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” V states plainly, and your insides turn to jelly. “Are you not comfortable with me?”

Oh, hell. “I am, I am! I’m just, uh… I’ve not really had a lot of practice with nakedness around other people.” What a way to put that you’re a shy ass virgin when it comes to real life nudity and sex, huh. “So let’s just keep it to a minimum for now, okay? Please?”

The android’s LED flickers honey-sweet on his temple as he looks at you, before his hands fall away from the sweatpants. “Okay.”

(Thank God.)

You’re not sure what you’re expecting to see when V starts to present his small array of outfits to you, but—he looks effortlessly stylish in the oversized clothes he’s selected, a muted palette of brown and yellow and red and cream, a cup of hot chocolate on an autumn day. He might be new to all this but his eye for aesthetic is impeccable. You have no doubt that the more he learns, the better he’ll get, hop-skip-jumps ahead of you, even after years of art education.

He’s even bought pyjamas, dark tartan patterns masculine but also adorable; it’s an utter juxtaposition to the tighter, sensual clothing he’d been given at the Eden Club.

“You look really good,” you tell him. Your voice is only a little strained. He smiles.

The outfit V wears for the rest of the afternoon is perfect for a rainy day spent indoors, thick jumper and tawny trousers, a blend of sepia tones. He looks like if you made a hug into a person: all soft edges and cosy and wrapped up in warmth.

And V is warm. You’re not sure if it’s a lingering memory of his programming, a carry over from his start in life as a sexbot, but he likes to touch—nothing inappropriate or overbearing, but he’s not shy about stepping into your personal space, brushing the back of your hand with his fingers as he points at something on the screen, or pressing close to your side as you cook, or just one of the hundreds of other tiny touches that he’s littered across you throughout the day. It’s thoughtless on his part, LED not even flickering, but each time is just another reminder of his warmth, the blue blood pulsing under his skin, how alive he is.

(And the truth is that you enjoy those touches. You’re not used to them, but lord knows you’re touch starved, so as fleeting as they are, they’re nice.)

Even though you still leave plenty of space between the two of you when you lay to sleep, you swear you can feel the heat spilling off V, another warm body in the bed that’s so used to just one. Though he stays sitting up, he’s in his cute matching pyjamas, and it’s… it’s a lot. You’ve invited V into your home—and you don’t regret it—but after two days he’s already settled in in a way you never thought anyone else would, as entirely unconventional as the whole situation is. (You’re not sure how many people have sheltered a deviant android in their homes, though, so maybe this isn’t as unconventional as you think. Who knows? Not you.)

“I have to go to work tomorrow.”

V tilts his head down to look at you.

“You can get up to whatever you’d like,” you continue. You’re propped up on an elbow so it’s less intimate than if you’d been on your back and staring upwards like you were waiting for him to slide down next to you (that’s what it feels like, to you, anyway). “You know the password for my computer now, and you’re welcome to watch TV or play games or whatever, and you can use all my stuff in the studio. I mean, other than painting or drawing over stuff I’ve already finished, but you’re welcome to grab any paper or canvases if you want them. I think that’s everything? But please let me know if there’s more you want or need, okay?”

Blink, blink. His lashes are soft charcoal that frames the spilled ink of his gaze. In the dimmed light of your room V is unreadable, his LED a quiet blue glow on his temple, but he looks soft, and he looks safe, and he nods.

“Alright,” he says. A smile that flickers at the edge of his lips. “I will.”

(You wake up, quiet and slow, face pillowed against V’s thigh, still drifting in sleep. You make a small noise, eyes shut, wondering why there’s no blaring sound of your alarm, but then a large hand smooths over your hair and you instinctively relax under the soft touch.

“You have thirty three minutes until you’re due to wake up,” he murmurs. “You can go back to sleep.”

So you do.)

(When you wake up to the scream of your alarm thirty three minutes later, you don’t remember any of this. All you can think of is the dawn of another Monday, the slog of another working week, and you sigh. But—

“Morning.”

V’s eyes are dark meok ink, liquid earth that grounds you.

“Morning,” you say, smiling despite yourself, and then roll out of bed to get the whole day started.)

You’re used to spending a day surrounded by laughter and banter, wrapped up in the camaraderie of your co-workers and friends, only to return to a world of quiet solitude. You’re used to coming home to rooms that are untouched from the morning, holding onto the echo of your passing, still and waiting for your return, an apartment of motionless air.

But not today. There’s evidence of someone else here: the open door to your studio down the hall, the scattered books on the coffee table, the mess of cushions on the sofa, all small signs that someone has been moving and living in your absence. A still-life that’s shifted into a breathing trompe l’oeil, V’s presence bringing flatness into perspective, turning it into something real.

It’s… nice.

You flop onto the sofa and send one of those cushions overboard, tumbling to the ground. V appears in the doorway moments later, new apron already streaked with colour, copper green thumbprint on his face like he’d touched it in thought and not realised. A little streak of paint that draws the eye to his lovely chin.

“Welcome home!” His hair is blond today, a golden nimbus around his face, though his eyes are still dark. Light and shadow. His happiness is infectious and you smile helplessly back, glad for his excitement with painting—but it seems like he hasn’t finished. “I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.”

KO. Wipeout. Your heart turns to liquid in your chest, burnt sugar that dribbles hot and saccharine through your ribs.

“I chose a name.” V continues, oblivious to how he’s turned your insides into syrup, and you abruptly sit up.

“Oh?”

“Taehyung.” The way he says it, in his deep voice, those two syllables are endless—a single name, heavy with the weight of meaning behind it. A shedding of his old skin, one that was forced on him, leaving him pink-skinned and new and free.

“Taehyung,” you repeat, and his LED flickers at the sound falling off your lips. “Taehyung. It’s lovely.”

He’s smiling, that lovely toothy smile that you’ve already decided is your favourite out of any smile you’ve seen, his LED electric blue and swirling in delight.

Day after day, you wake up to the sight of that LED glowing as Taehyung watches you lift up out of sleep. Night after night, you come home to his lovely, big grin, all large hands and soft hair—hair that he chooses to change colour when he pleases, a dizzying palette with every shade you can dream of. He’s bright and deep, playful and reflective, a dance of flirty Rococo to more solemn Baroque, every day another day where he learns and grows and adds another facet to the cut diamond of his personality.

(It hasn’t been long but you’re starting to think you’d put the world in the palm of his hand, if you could.)

You never thought you’d live to see the day where someone as lovely as Taehyung would be glad to see you home, having missed you after being apart—but for all that he’s voraciously leaning into the arts, consuming everything from visual to literary to performance, he’s never happier than when you’re there too. He shows you his works, improvement obvious with every new piece, but his excitement grows tenfold when you start to paint alongside him; seeing him so joyful spurs you to pick your brushes up again, buoyed up with motivation in the face of his own.

(Your studio is usually quiet, a little reflective maybe, the only sound the music you play over your speakers—but now more often than not you and Taehyung will talk, and laugh, and even if you’ve both ebbed into silence, it’s never heavy. It’s a held breath. The potential to speak any moment. The sensation of another person in the same space as you, an orbit, both existing in a shared moment, connected by gossamer threads that shimmer with sunlight.

Taehyung’s eyes are steady on his canvas as he works, but he glances at you through the curl of his lashes, smiling back at you. Always, always smiling, LED calm blue as the rest of his face shines golden, bright.)

(Maybe it’s selfish, but you think you could get used to this.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon

#btswritingcafe #magicshopnet #btswriterscollective #taehyung x reader #bts #taehyung x you #taehyung au #bts au #taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung scenario #taehyung imagine #android taehyung #robot taehyung #look you know the drill by now: I don't know how to tag effectively #taehyung fanfic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist #dbh is so good guys. I love connor. like. an alarming amount.

3K notes · View notes

smolvenger · 2 years ago

Text

Stella of Essex or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed, (The Essex Serpent Fix-It Fic Series) Chapter 15: Iris

Series Summary: The Essex Serpent is reimagined and told from the perspective of Stella Ransome. And with a new ending. Stella must come to terms with not only her mortality but her husband's heartbreaking affair. A portrait of a woman who became The Ideal Lady her time and marriage required her to be. A picture of a marriage of love and bliss torn apart by a husband's infidelity. And Stella herself in the center of it all, torn between a wife's duty and her own quiet but present rage. Where in the midst of devastating heartbreak she gains her strength, finds her voice, and dares to seek freedom, hope...and even revenge.

(yes the second gif is modern but I don't care- IT'S HER BEING HAPPY AT HER WEDDING DAMMIT!!!! SHE DESERVES THAT MUCH)

Chapter Summary: Despite the torments of her past, Stella Ransome finds happiness in her engagement and wedding to Harold Cavaradossi.

Pairing: Stella Ransome/Male OC: Harold Cavaradossi, some Stella/William Ransome but about the tragedy of their marriage and the angst of his cheating.

Prologue//One//Two//Three//Four//Five//Six//Seven//Eight//Nine//

Ten//Eleven//Twelve//Thirteen

Warnings: Mentions of a Major Character Death. (sorry not sorry). Mentions of sex, illness, and pregnancy. Nightmares. Canon Divergence. But this is a very fluffy chapter with happy stuff coming in. Being Anti-Will and C*ra so if you like the characters or pairing you have been warned.

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS AND ASKS AND MESSAGES ARE APPRECIATED!

“Mama, this is wonderful!” John cried, looking at the ring on my left hand.

Word had quickly spread to my children. They all gathered to look at the new ring like chickens.

“When will the wedding be?” Joanna asked.

“In April, the Springtime. By then, it’ll be over a year since your father died and it won’t be considered scandalous for me to remarry anymore. Besides, should I get sicker, we agreed the engagement should be short.” I explained.

“Is Harry our father now?” James asked, tilting his head.

“He will be. He’ll be your stepfather. But all of you must promise me- he will never be the father any of you grew up with. But you will love him and respect him all the same.”

“Of course,” Joanna nodded.

“Can I call him papa, then?”

“Don’t pretend like I’m not here, Jim! Of course, you can call me Papa!” Harry nodded.

“Sure, Papa!” James nodded with a smile. He ran up and gave Harry a hug.

It was not long before my parents also sent letters with their approval. They knew I was grown, but they gave me their blessing to marry him. Besides, especially considering how he was the head of a bank who loved me, I could do far worse.

As he gathered to leave, he took both of my hands in mine.

“I think the wedding should be near, my dear. There’s a chapel here and a cabin nearby-I’ve discussed it with the staff.”

“Wonderful!”

“And they’ll give it to us for a week. We’ll go there the night of the wedding…”

“Oh…alright” I answered, feeling a blush on my face in spite of myself.

“We do know that it’s going to be the chapel here…Do you know what you would like to have at the reception, Stella?”

“I prefer it to be small, intimate…just a nice little wedding. The ceremony shouldn’t matter, it’s the man that should,” I answered.

He smiled.

"Can I kiss your cheek?"

"Of course…"

"I’ll be staying at an inn nearby until then- I’ll visit you every week, Stella-and write to you every excuse I can!” he promised.

The bits of his cheekbones were pointed from the wideness of his smile.

“Please do, Harry,” I cooed in response.

“Oh, say it again- call me my name!”

I smiled and repeated it: “Harry, my darling.”

He brought my palm to his lips and kissed it.

The other patients, doctors, and nurses were all thrilled at my announcement. Many ladies would ask me questions about Harold and how I met him. They asked about his proposal and details about the wedding. Though I did have to have my dress ordered from a catalog. The day it arrived, everyone leaned in their beds for a look as I took it from the box to admire it. ▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

William still haunts me. He appears in my dreams. I dreamt of him most during the engagement to Harold.

I see him- Will Ransome. My Will. My First Husband. The Serpent keeps his curled hair slicked back; his chin is pointed up with his beard neatly trimmed for Sunday. The Serpent wears white robes with a bright green tassel around his shoulders as if it’s a snake drooped over his shoulders. Beneath it, you can see his black with the speck of white at his Adam's apple. The Serpent folds his hands in front of him. He stands at that cold, stony church. The Serpent raises his arms to the sky. Sometimes when I have the dream I squint and can see little flecks of blood on his white.

Then the scene in my dreams changed. I see him at the dinner table. It’s in our old house. He’s wearing his black sweater with white beneath it-almost but not entirely different from his holier black and white. The Serpent, William, Will, smiles at me, and then raises one long finger, brings it to his lips as if in secret, and smiles, going “shhhh” and I smile back like I would at him.

He would do that often in our marriage when feeling playful. But when he did that in my dreams, it felt different.

Why are you shushing? What are you going to do, William? Something to do with the children? With me? A secret? Are you taking me to your secret lake? Are you going to tickle James? To tease John? To teach Joanna? Or is it something else… Are you keeping our last secret in the grave? Are you keeping quiet about how I took you there? Or is it something else? Is this my old Will or the new Will? Why is your finger at your mouth to shush me?

Only it is too bad that I knew where that finger would be later.

And the dreams became worse near the year anniversary of his death: In this dream, all was as normal in our home in Aldwinter.

I recall walking in, holding a bunch of flowers. I walk into our kitchen- it’s a grey, cloudy day and it seems a little gloomy in that brown kitchen. I set the flower in the vase and am arranging it, trying to make it look pretty when I feel his hand. His large, heavy hand. It taps my shoulder with gentleness. It’s not the grip the victim would threaten against his killer. It’s the soft, affectionate touch of a husband to a wife. It’s a scene that happened between us thousands of times in our marriage.

I look up and see Will. Wearing his dark sweater to warm himself from the chill. He smiles at me and I at him. He then steps forward and puts a lock of hair back behind my ear and wipes my braid from my side to fall against my back. I even hear the taps of the little dog’s feet by my skirt.

“How are you, Stella?” he asks me.

“I’m wonderful, Will” I reply happily.

I look down at the flowers and then when I look up, he’s dancing with her against candlelight. I beg him to stop but he keeps ignoring me. I reach it out into cries, pleading for him. The crowd keeps pushing me back, letting him and The Woman dance together the very dances he used to do with me thrice a night when we were engaged.

“Will, don’t dance with her! Please, stop, Will! You’re my husband, Will- stop it! Listen to me, Will! Listen to your wife! Why won’t you listen to me, Will? Please, Will! DON’T DANCE WITH HER!” I screech.

I scream, but no one hears me. I begin to sob uselessly as the crowd applauds their dancing.

I woke up screaming. The lights flashed on, and I realized I was back in the Sanitorium. The others beside me assured me that I’m alright and nurses scrambled to check on me. I told them I had a nightmare about my old husband.

“Maybe some sleeping medicine should help…I’ll get the doctor,” one nurse offered.

“Don’t worry, Stella- your husband is dead, but he wouldn’t mind you remarrying. He’d want you to be happy and taken care of, I think” the lady next to me said. I sipped on my water as one nurse held my hand.

“You’re safe now, Mrs. Ransome. And you’re surrounded by us and everyone else- and you have a fiancée who adores you. All will be well, you’ll see…” she said.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

“Nightmares?” Harry asked on his next visit.

“Yes, about him. And about what happened,” I explained.

He would sit in the chair and squeeze my hand as a comfort. Outside, the snow was melting into the green grass and we were accompanied by birdsong.

“Can you tell me what happened…it doesn’t have to be all at once…but as much as you’re comfortable,” Harry offered.

So, forgetting our tea, I took both of Harry’s hands in mine. He looked at me kindly, his frown gentle.

So I told him everything about William.

I told Harry about how I met him. About the gardenia. About his proposal. The wedding. The marriage bed. The list.

Then the Serpent. The Woman. The Illness. The Dance. The Tree.

There was a pause as the sun began to shine through. It lit up on Harry and I could see the red streaks in his hair.

“I hardly know what to say, Stella…I only know you suffered immensely. No woman- no, no person should have to go through what you did.”

“Am I…pitiful to you?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“No…you’re even braver. You’re the strongest of them all, of all women, Stella. It makes me even more honored to be your husband and…”

He wiped off a tear with his sleeve and looked at me. I heard him sniffling.

“I promise you, I’ll be nothing like Reverend Ransome. I swear to you,” he promised.

My own eyes dried up and I tightened my jaw. A taste of fire was in my stomach. That thing that was so quiet and was now spewing forth after my years of silencing was taking hold.

“You remember what happened to William. If you’re unfaithful to me, Harold, I swear I will not hesitate to castrate you before I kill you!” I managed to say.

Harold raised his eyebrows and then slowly had a half smile.

“I must admit your fire in you makes me not only frightened and yet it burns me with a passion for you further!” he confessed.

“Which is it?" I asked.

“Both! My heart and my cock!" he admitted.

I let out a relaxed laugh. His thumbs rubbed over mine.

“Can I kiss you, Stella?”

“Yes.”

He gently pressed his lips to mine. I tasted the tea on his breath and felt his breath from his nose. It was…loving. Romantic. And I never felt safer. Or more loved. Relaxing into it, I put my arms around him.

He let go and then looked at me, eyes wide in wonder from that moment.

My arms were still around him, and I pulled him in again for another kiss. A deep one. A lover’s kiss. I felt his hands go to my back to press me closer. We held it for a while.

Once we let go, we smiled. He kissed my hand with the ring on it- skin on metal.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ I married Harold, my Harry, in April.

My symptoms felt mild with rarely a cough. My joy made me forget any weakness in my body. The crisp, bright springtime was all over with humming bees and flowers moving with the gentle breeze. Green and sunlight were everywhere when you walked outside.I looked outside with my father by my side again as the bells rang out. It was loud but endearing- the charming ring you wanted to drown in.

Exhaling, we entered the church. I passed members of our families and my children’s smiling faces. The chapel was filled with flowers.

My hair was done up and a nurse had put a couple of flowers in the updo. I was in white with puffed sleeves, a train, a veil, and a lovely set of pearls across my neck as a gift from Harry.

I smiled at him through the veil once we stood at the altar.

“God, Stella…” he leaned in to tell me in private.

“What?” I whispered.

“You look beautiful.”

"Thank you, Harry."

We both spoke with small voices, choked by happy tears through our vows. I put my laced gloves and hands in his and didn’t dare let go. I even heard his emphasis “In sickness and in health, forsaking all others” strongly.

Finally, the priest gave us our blessing, marking the sign of the cross.

“I now declare you as husband and wife- Harold and Stella Cavaradossi…”

He leaned to me- my husband! My new husband! How strange and exciting that struck me. Harry leaned to me and whispered, “I’ll make you the most Italian Englishwoman yet!”

That made me giggle as we began to walk together, hand in hand, out of the chapel.

Once we exited the church to the reception, he lifted my veil and kissed me tenderly.

Among our three cakes and bowl of wine, I was glad to meet more of the Cavaradossis. Harry had so many younger brothers and sisters as well as cousins and aunts and uncles that it made my head spin. Only his immediate family- his mother, sisters, and brothers could show up and the rest arrived later! But they all wished me well and good health and a good marriage. Joanna had her hair curled again and embraced me with a smile. James was delighted to find that Harold's mother brought him his own small chocolate cake for the reception. John himself helped clear the dishes with the nurses and doctors once the guests were done.

Harry helped me into a carriage driven by grey horses. With our things packed, we drove the few miles to the cottage they offered. The children waved as they met with their Aunt Edith, her stomach swelling with her long-awaited baby inside, to sleep back under her roof. One more week and they'd stay with Harold Cavaradossi- their new stepfather.

“They were kind to furnish everything- the tables, the bed, the chairs- even the plates,” Harold explained.

I smiled at him, and then looked down at our matching silver bands.

That evening, when we walked into the room, I realized it was the same kind of mattress used at the Sanatorium.

“Here- the best of the wines saved for tonight!” he announced.

He brought in the bottle, opened it easily, and poured us both generous glasses. As I began to sip mine and he gulp his down, I kept eyeing the bedroom.

“A hospital bed?” I wondered.

“They gave it on the grounds it would be where the marriage would…” he turned red “be consummated.”

“I…I understand…” I muttered, nodding in embarrassment.

The sun had sunk down to its slumber. Above was the black night and its sky filled with stars above our roof.

I undid my pretty dress, and my hair and managed to change into my nightgown. Once I removed the silk slippers, I saw Harry himself had changed. He then stood up and offered his hand. Smiling I accepted it. He pulled me up with a strength that made me gasp and he kissed me with gentle force and even a little tongue. I felt his hand creeping up my leg.

“Harry…” I began to giggle.

He paused, glancing down, and then back up.

“Are you feeling well, Stella? Do you need to rest?” he asked.

“Whatever for?”

He turned me around and embraced me from behind. I heard his voice, his breath hot on my neck.

“It’s my wedding night and I’d like to make love to my wife, is all…”

“I…I think I can. I’m sure I can…it’s been a while, but I can…” I spoke softly.

He kissed my neck as he rocked me back and forth in the embrace. He then turned before me.

“So is that a yes?” he asked.

“It's a yes,” I replied.

I tasted the flavor of the merlot, still fresh on his lips as he undid the buttons of my nightdress.

You understand I am a lady. I was not raised to speak in detail, much less publicly about the details of my private life, of my body.

I will say this- he was warm and embracing. He was passionate, yet tender, and gentle. I forgot how good it felt to even be intimate with a man. It was too long, far too long.

And if there is one thing I felt when we first coupled- or the many times we made love to each other- Harold and I, I have only one word I Can think of to describe it...

Bedding my new husband, Harry, was pure ecstasy.

8 notes · View notes

sugarlove-01 · 2 years ago

Text

The Cruelty

Ok this is my story of DwayneXReaderXDavid based in Santa Carla with my own character. I loved the Lost Boys! Always have and always will. They were my favorite characters so I had to write a story about both of them.

Be warned: this isn't a happy fic, this is fanfiction that is based on obsession, stalking, murder, abuse, and death. Some themes are triggering, so be warned.

But it's also a love story.

Prologue:

If you know one of these. You know them all.

You’re born.

You live.

You die.

There you go, life sucks.

Chapter 1:

Your POV:

Monday, June 13th

9:13 in the Morning

“Mom, can I go down to the beach? And the carnival, please?” I asked.

“Yea, sure. Go out. Explore,” replied my mom.

“Ok, thanks. And I moved in all my stuff to my room.”

“Did you take out all the boxes?”

“Yea. I brought in your purse, too. You forgot it in the truck again.”

“Ok thanks. On your way back, can you bring back some milk?”

“For cereal?”

“No, for Oreo cookies this evening… And cereal tomorrow.”

“Ok. I’ll be back…”

I walked out of the house. Noting to myself to go to the gas station later this evening for milk. My mother, calling a few friends on the phone, talking about a book club. I rolled down my sleeves. Got my green jacket and my brown shoes on. The weatherman predicted a cloudy day in Santa Carla. Maybe a few winds. Going to the shed, I got out my bike. Unlocked the chain and peddled off.

Not much has been happening in Santa Carla. Not for the past week that I’ve been here. The moving trucks weren’t needed anymore and my mother had all the help she could get from my father. My father was sleeping on the couch infront of the TV when had left. He always looked so restless ever since we moved. Maybe it was the exhaustion of moving, or he missed our old house as much as I did.

As I rode, I passed Tom on the way down the road. He was taking out the trash. He was a neighbor, the one who first greeted us when we moved in. He always took out the trash at 8:15 in the morning, every day. He worked at a hot dog stand near the carnival. He was, in truth, an artist actually. When we first met, I promised him I’d try one of his hotdogs when I went down to check it out.

I rode out of the neighborhood and down the road. Down the road I looked around. Two men were hanging out at a gas station. One man with dreadlocks was looking at a magazine with a plastic bag in his hand. The other was reading a newspaper. The both of them stood next to a bulletin board that had paper fliers on it. Fliers for concerts, yard sales, puppies, and lost children.

I got to the pier. The beach looked occupied and warm, with trash all around it. But there were a few men with trash bags picking everything up. I attached my bike to the railings that had bubblegum underneath it. There was strange people here who looked at you and snickered. It seemed they had a thousand piercings and a thousand tattoos and with many different hair styles. They were wild kids.

“So this is Santa Carla….”

I chained up my bike. With money in my pocket I got in and looked everywhere for something or anything interesting. And there was many in fact. Clowns juggled. Boys danced on cardboard. Cotton candy stands and other sweets were open. Men tried to talk you into buying lotions and cellphone chargers. Even shops for mini golf and leather jackets. Souvenir shops. Tobacco shops. And others.

I passed my way by, not bothering the roller coaster or other carnival rides. So I walked around the carnival in a circle. There was a drink stand and I decided to buy a pretzel. The cashier inside wore a red and white shirt. He went to get my order. I waited. There was women in bathing suits eating at the tables and shirtless men who watched them. They looked at me sometimes, but didn’t bother.

The man in red and white came back with my pretzel and a napkin. He asked me for anything else, I said no. When I finished my fingers were buttery and tasted of salt. I went looking for a trash can. At the corner of the stand I found a trashcan, and I 6 men there. One man held a boom box over his shoulder. One man whistled at me, wearing a red spiked dog collar with high eyebrows. I threw away the napkin.

“Hey sweety…” He clicked his tongue.

I looked at him. And his friend chuckled. I kept walking. Soon I found myself looking in a comic book store. A man and a woman were behind the counter, looking as if asleep. They wore black glasses. I paid no attention. But there were two boys. They packed comics out of a box, placing them on shelves, and organizing them. I didn’t mind comics. What I loved most was the art work and the action.

Later that evening, I began looking for a hotdog stand. I didn’t have breakfast this morning. But it wasn’t just any hotdog stand. It was where my neighbor worked, Tom. He said I could come right over if I wanted. I found it. It had yellow and green neon lights with a picture of a hotdog man. Tom was there, at the counter in a white and red worker outfit and waiting for someone to approach. And I did.

“Hey Tom…!” I smiled.

“Oh hey! How ya doin, girl? Likin‘ Santa Carla? Or hatin’ it already?”

“It’s ok. I’m just looking around.”

“Ok, cool. You want anything to eat? And guess what’s on the menu!? Hotdogs!”

“Like, omg, no way! I would never have guessed....” I laughed.

The menu was awesome. There was hotdogs on there that I didn’t know existed. Tom worked with a smile and made my small dinner. A hot dog, french fries, an ice-cream bar and a Coke. The Coke came in a glass bottle with a straw for it. Tom talked to me more and said there were seats I could sit on with umbrellas and eat. Where no one could bother me. And when he’s off, he could walk me home.

I was glad, because that man with the spiked collar creeped me out. It was exciting to be here. There wasn’t much to do. I watch wild kids run with shopping carts, playing duel. Men flirting with women. The security guards watching the boys with spiked hair and alcohol. The tattoo people get more tattoos in stands. The people with piercings get more piercings. And kids dancing to heavy metal on the street.

Rolling down my sleeves, I went to the beach. That was where it was most hectic. A lot of people were sunbathing and surfing and making sand castles and digging big holes on the beach. A bunch of seagulls were flying over picking up small stranded Dorito ships and Cheetos. Even dogs were on the beach, trying to steal a snack or two from their owners or from strangers. But they were just playful.

It wasn’t later until I went across the Boardwalk watching men in black and white juggle random objects and others host magic shows. Near there I found a Videotape store. The best selection in Santa Carla, and perhaps I could agree. The shop was covered with neon lights, fliers of lost children, and a weird smell around it and with a white dog at the entrance. There was even posters in the corner.

Finally after a long day at the carnival, I made my way back home. Tom said that he could meet me at the gas station. Tom knew that this the streets could be dangerous. It was a long day. I approached the gas station. The bulletin board seemed to have been added more pictures of children and other people who were lost. That was the thing I noticed most about this new home of mine. All the fliers.

Peddling towards the gas station, I went inside. There were more fliers of lost children, and a security guard with a mustache. Going inside, I looked for the milk and a newspaper. It was only 8:15 in the evening, but I felt it was time to turn in. And I was tired. And plus my mother probably waited long enough for the milk. The newspaper was for me. Tom was already inside, and we both walked home from there.

David’s POV:

Monday, June 13th

6:30 in the Evening

As soon as the boys woke from their sleep, they were hungry. Their fangs showing and their eyes fiery and ghoulish. So they found more Surf Nazis, laying around on the beach far from any civilization to hear them scream. So it was perfect. They tore them apart and drank their blood. The Boys were cheerful that night. They threw their bodies into the fire, sizzling. Their skin, cooked, crispy, and curled. They were dead and drained and gone. The boys were satisfied as they howled in laughter. Paul, Marko, and Dwayne were in high spirit tonight.

David laughed as well. They discarded the bodies, and soon they had to meet up with Max. David lead the way, flying towards the pier. He was well rested to go the Boardwalk and look for her. Yes, dear reader, he’s looking for someone. She must be walking around at this time. David knew that this girl was out and about. Walking about, vulnerable and open. She was new. It was not long ago when David saw her, but it was an accident. Less than a week ago. And that’s when the wheels of fate began to turn. For better or for worse, he didn’t know.

A walk down memory lane, he remembered when he first looked at her. The sighting was an accident. David thought that she was Star, but was wrong. She had straight hair, different colored eyes. She wore different clothing, not like the gypsy wardrobe Star had for herself. By the look on her face, she didn’t really know Santa Carla or its people. In a way, David, thought it was adorable how she looked so lost and vulnerable to everyone and everything. She was so polite, that even if she ran into a wall she would excuse herself. Prey.

“Hey, yo! Hey! Where ya goin’ David!? I thought we were all goin’ out together, dude?” Marko called out.

“Where’s he goin? It’s not even 8:00 and he’s already ditching us for…. some chicks that he’s either gonna bang or eat!” Paul grinned.

“I don’t have to baby sit you guys all night. Make your way on your own…”

“Aw, come on David. This is the 5th night that you’ve ditched us for god knows what. The hell is goin on? Where the hell do you go buddy?”

David closed his eyes, gained back his patience, and gripped his bike handle hard. Gripping that bike handle was great restraint on his part. They others mounted their bikes and began their engines.

“Why the hell would he--- Oh nevermind,” Dwayne looked away.

“Oh god. Would you all shutup? I’m goin my own way… See you guys back at the cave…” David seated his motorcycle.

“What? We’re not good ‘nough for you? You leavin us for someone else?” Marko joked.

“Oh, David, is that true? I thought we all had something special!” Paul put the back of his hand on his forehead, swaying backwards.

“Get outta here!” Marko pushed Paul and laughed with him.

David started his bike and sped off. Leaving his brothers in the dust. Paul and Marko had stupid smiles on their faces.

“Wow, he just chucked it didn’t he?”

“David has no time for us anymore, huh?”

“Just hit it and quit it…”

“Always been my motto…” Paul nodded his head.

Dwayne’s POV:

Monday, June 13th

7:00 in the evening

The three boys drove off their own way. Their leader flying away to wherever he was gong. The boys didn’t really mind, so they flew off to the carnival. Going off to the Boardwalk, where they dominated all the other gangs in sight. Dwayne looked back, thinking where David really went. It would be easy to ditch Paul and Marko, since they were geeky losers. Something was up, and he didn’t like the fact that David was being mysterious and suspicious. David didn’t have the leader-like qualities like he used to, and that was something that couldn‘t be tolerated. So the boys walked, talking about going to the Videostore. But the quiet one of the group had other plans.

“I’m out,” Dwayne started to walk away, going to find David.

“Hey, whoa there. Where you are going?” asked Marko. Paul noticed and turned to him.

“What’s it to ya?” Dwayne groaned and turned towards Paul and Marko.

“It’s David and now you? What the hell is goin’ on?” asked Paul.

Damn, Dwayne thought they wouldn’t notice him leaving. Paul was on his right side and on his left side, Dwayne was sandwiched in between them. Being irritated by their very presence.

“None of your damn business! Just drop it.” Dwayne rolled his eyes.

“Ya know, this is the first time this has happened. We’re separating.” Marko pointed out.

“What are you? A lost puppy? We don’t need to be together all the time!”

“Just pointing it out, man! Just wondering where the hell he is!”

“Who?”

“David! That’s who! Ya know!? The one that keeps ditching us for the past 5 days!”

“Shit, man. Maybe you two are the reason he leaves in the first place, damn it!”

“Oh, Dwayne! That was cold!”

“Shut up and get outta my way! Shut your mouth and move it!”

“Ok! Ok! You don’t need to snap, man! Damn, Dwayne! Just chill! Just chill!”

“Well, ya know what I--”

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Can’t you see you’re tearing this family apart!?” Paul gasped and put both his fisted hands on his face with his knees bent towards eachother. What a joker.

“Drama Queen…” Dwayne whispered. Paul noticed.

“Hey, I heard that!”

“Good! It was meant to be heard!” Dwayne called back, leaving them alone.

So the silent one of the bunch left, and searched for their fearless leader. He walked through the crowds, people looked at him but only saw him as a bored and peculiar man. Some looked at him as a very serious and dangerous man, that could out-silence the dead. Of course the boys had a reputation around Santa Carla. Maybe some people knew his name. Even the other gangs on the beach feared him and his brothers, and try to keep to themselves.

After walking around for about 20 minutes, Dwayne sat down, lifted his knee to his chest and sighed. The seat was oddly comfortable and clean. No bubblegum or spray paint. Yellow and green neon lights glowed on him. He looked up to see a picture of a hotdog man. A really stupid thing. Dwayne looked at the man at the cashier, dressed in red and white. Maybe Dwayne should tip him in the tip jar. He decided yes, because that guys life as a hotdog man sucks. Then he saw the customer.

Her long hair. Her jaw line. Her nose. Her ears. Her brown shoes and green jacket. Her hands. In a way, when he first saw her, she looked like Star. But he was mistaken. She was…pretty. She was ordering a hotdog from the worker in red and white. Then something caught his attention. The smell of hotdogs and mustard didn’t catch his nose, but it was her shirt or jacket.

Dwayne looked at her face, and she didn’t have any wrinkles or any evidence that she did any drinking or drugs. She looked clean. Healthy. But she smelled like cigarettes, alcohol, and… blood. He could obviously see that she wasn’t a vampire or anything. He knew it was all on her jacket. Was that jacket hers? Did she drop it, let it get trampled on by bleeding crack heads, and then wear it again?

But it was familiar. And he knew it, but couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Then she came over and sat down on the tables and began eating. For some reason, he was intrigued by her. She looked… normal. More normal than anyone here in this whole damn place. She didn’t notice that he was sitting near her. But she just ate, and sat there, and just…looked cute. She looked deep. Real. Like a book with no ending. And soon after a quick 5 minutes, she finished and began walking again.

He saw her once. But decided to leave it be. He searched for David again. But never found him. Near midnight or so, Dwayne feasted on a lone homeless man before finding his way back to his group. Paul and Marko only wasted their time chasing cats and talking about Max and the Videostore and getting Thorn a spiky collar. Near the time of morning, they hid their bikes, flew back to their cave, hung themselves upside down, and by that time Dwayne had forgotten all about the girl.

David’s POV:

Monday, June 13th

7:05 in the Evening

She was at the hotdog stand with Tom. Talking. Tom was her neighbor down from her house. From the distance David was, she seemed comforted by Tom. Of course David knew that he was the only friend that she knew. In the crowd all alone, she seemed to be so out of place and awkward. People passed by, and he was delighted that he easily blended in. He transformed himself into a hunter. Teaching himself patience and strength to keep his distance and learn everything. Not telling the boys.

The hunter that hadn’t made his move yet. He would attack soon, but not just yet. He had to have some sort of tactical plan to get close to her. A gameplan. He had to expand his grounds and know everything about her. And so he did, not telling the boys. After he first saw her a week ago, he followed her home. He saw her parents. They looked like any other couple, looking out for their loved one and all that crap. Enough of them. Around town, she didn’t really have a routine, but just wandered.

The hard thing was that he slept all day, and knew she was out and about all day. The other hard thing was that she retired too early in the evening for him to see her. So instead he watched her from inside her home sometimes. Her parents obviously looked very delicious, and it was all due to the smell in their veins. She was definitely new in Santa Carla. She moved from Washington. Why she moved, he didn’t know. He learned some small things about her as he continually watched her every move.

She liked to help her mother with the garden up front, watch her dad cut out magazine pictures and paste them on paper, she loved to see movies every weekend all by herself, talk with Tom in his front yard about Santa Carla and it’s people, her favorite snack were smores, she liked to arrange her room differently each day, she liked to talk with her friends on the phone, play with her hair, watch television and listen to the radio at the same time, and sit in her room and do nothing. She was fascinating.

So for the rest of the evening, he followed. Keeping his hands in his pockets. Soon he followed her to the gas station where she was suppose to meet Tom and he could walk her home from there. She walked in after looking at the bulletin board. David walked up and entered the gas station himself. The girl didn’t notice him. David walked past the magazines and refreshments to the small shelf of cigarettes and lighters. Tom looked up and smiled as he looked at her. And…David didn’t like Tom.

David knew that if he tried to get near the girl, then Tom would interfere. For example, if David attacked, then Tom would get in the way. He would be reported and leave an entire mess and have a search party or something. And plus, Max said to keep a low profile. Plus, Tom seemed to be the only reason that the girl left her house and go to the pier in the first place. So…David knew that the damn bastard had to live.

So Tom and the girl stood in line. Tom’s shoulder was in contact with hers, and David didn’t know if it was a public display of affection. Tom didn’t have anything to purchase, but she had milk and a newspaper. Tom offered to carry her things, but she refused him. David stood right behind them, waiting with them in line. David noticed that every once in awhile, Tom would look over at her and smile. And she would look back and smile, hugging the milk closer. Squeezing the newspaper a little.

Slowly, but cautiously, David raised his hand and made a small trace down her jacket. Touching her. His glove made a line down her back. David’s been doing this for the past week, and she had never noticed. Putting a small, tiny, teeny fraction of his scent on her. The cashier rang in their stuff, and put the milk and newspaper in a brown paper bag. The girl said to Tom that the milk was for Oreo cookies and cereal, and Tom nodded and smiled at her again. After they left, David purchased his stuff.

7 notes · View notes

kaimxri · 3 years ago

Text

You were gone.

(Past) Bucky Barnes x F!Reader, Steve Rogers x F!Reader

A/N: Hi!!! I thought of this a couple days ago and had a hard time writing it down, but I think I've finally got it! It’s a lil short, but go easy on me! I haven’t written in a few years!

Warning(s): Angst, Sad ending?

Era: One week after the events of Avengers:Endgame

Masterlist

Third Person POV

"What do you mean she's not mine?" "I'm sorry, Buck. You were gone. For five years. We all thought you were dead. Steve.. he looked after me, gave me a home and someone to talk to. I know what it looks like, but I promise you, it took me a long time to move on from you."

Bucky looked broken. The one good thing he had going for him in his life, is no longer his. Now it belongs to the white picket fence of his best friends home. Their home. That they share with their daughter. He couldn't believe it, any of it. All he could feel, aside from the cracking of his heart, was the betrayal of his lifelong friend marrying his girl. As if that wasn't enough to tear his heart to shreds, in his absence a new piece of their happy little puzzle was formed. A little baby, Jess Rogers. It was clear the baby was Steve's, blonde hair, blue eyes. And just like his lifelong 'friend', she had the same green strike running through her iris.

"I'm sorry.. I just.. I thought our love could conquer anything-" "Did you really expect me to just wait for you? For five years?"

He was taken aback. Sure, he didn't expect her to wait around, but to marry his best friend? All within 5 years? It hurt to know she could move on and start a new life for herself without him in that short amount of time.

"I promised to love you til the end, I'd have thought you would've done the same. We were together for two years, I was going to propose. We were going to be a family, Y/N. But I guess you've already been and done that, haven't you? Moved on with a guy you hardly knew, forgot all about me didn't yo-" "Forgot about you? I buried you. Steve buried you. We got closer because of you. You were dead and I was scared. And alone. I moved across country to be with you, and Steve took me in. He saved me, and I love him. And he loves me."

She had him there. God, he never even thought about her. What she must've gone through. She was right, of course she was. Moved all the way here to be with me, and it's neither of their faults that he got blipped and she didn't. He didn't want to think it, but some part of him was glad that Steve was there to care for her. That's what he always asked him, isn't it? Every time he left for a mission, he'd always ask; 'Take care of my girl if something happens, Rogers?' And Steve would do anything for his best buddy. But when Steve Rogers lost his Bucky, he gained someone else. Y/N. But even Steve would admit he never had any intentions of ending up where they are now, that this is the way things ended. He's so happy with his life, he never thought he could be happy in an era that he wasn't born to thrive in. Yet, in Jess' baby blue eyes, he can see hope. Not only for himself, but for his wife and child. Their relationship formed amongst their mutual grief. Although he felt deep pain when he saw Y/N, he couldn't help to fall for her. How couldn't he? She was perfect for him.

But Bucky couldn't think about any of that. All he knew was last week he had his girl and a gold & green ring hidden in his back pocket. Now, all that decorates her ring finger is a silver and blue symbol of her commitment to someone else.

"Look, Bucky. We can talk about this inside, yeah?," She lightly grazed his shoulder, but he flinched away like she had set a flame to his skin, "Please, Buck. Steve's here too. We can talk about this together-" "No. There's nothing to talk about anymore. Truth is, I'm so damn in love with you that I don't know what to do with myself now." "I'm sorry, James. Truly. But I don't know what to do anymore. The new chapter in my life has started, and I'm deeply upset that it's not with you. Please, you can't take it out on us. We couldn't predict what was going to happen. We thought there was no chance you were coming back. We moved on, can't you be happy for me? That I didn't spend my life mourning the life we could have had?" "I'm sorry too, Y/N. But I don't think I can see you or Steve for a while. I need to learn to move on. Congratulations, for everything. Jess is beautiful."

With that, he turns to head back down the path, before a thought crosses his mind. "If I had asked you to marry me.. What would you have said?" "Are you sure you want to know the answer to that?"

He knew it wouldn't change anything, but he just needed to know.

"I can take it."

Y/N launches herself from the doorway to her shared home and kissed her old lover like she was never going to have the chance again, because it truly was the last kiss they'd ever share. Memories are relived through the mere seconds they spend entwined with one another. She leaned away, but Bucky leaned in, for he knew once she left his arms, this love was truly over. All good things must come to an end, Y/N retreats back to her doorway, and simply says;

"Does that answer your question?"

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #steve rogers imagine #angst #marvel angst #marvel imagine #marvel masterlist #marvel fanfic rec #fanfic

57 notes · View notes

justkending · 4 years ago

Text

Moral of the Story (Prologue)

Series Summary: From childhood friends, to highschool sweethearts, the two naive, young, and lovestruck teens decided the best way to keep a strong relationship during college would be to marry right out of highschool. No one batted an eye at the idea as everyone knew they were soulmates. However, college is a big step in a person’s life. You learn new things about yourself, you make new friends, find new hobbies… And maybe being newly weds and going to different colleges across the states wasn’t the best plan… After a falling out, and a tragic heartbreaking divorce, the two now hold grudges for how the other handled the whole thing in the past. Neither not really knowing both sides of the story. 10 years later, and they both get a call from the lawyers office that settled their divorce. Somehow the papers never went through and the divorce was never completed. So now, the exes, or should we say husband and wife, have to meet back up after all these years to settle their failed marriage once and for all. (This summary will be shorter in other chapters. I just needed to get the full concept out there;)

A/N (repeat): So the other day while I was doing my hair (quite the process), I was playing music and the song Moral of the Story by Ashe came on. Mind you, I’ve heard this song hundreds of times, but for some reason, this time I got a major story idea! Listening to the lyrics brought me to this new series. Of course, the lengthy summary above will give you an idea of what came to my brain, but I recommend you listen to the song still because it plays a big part in my thought process:) (Plus it’s a good song;) Enjoy and please do not hesitate to share your thoughts and comments with me! I love each and every single one<3

(I will release the first chapter at the beginning of next week! That way I can give myself some time to write more chapters before sharing it!)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Y/N (Modern AU)

Word Count: 1200+

Prologue:

"Melody, have the papers for the Bee's Knees company come in yet?"

"Uh, no. But I can call them again and see if they faxed it or sent over a physical copy though," Melody answered from her desk, already typing away to find the company.

"Perfect. We have a meeting with a recycling plant next week and I want to get everything set before we go in with them," Y/N nodded, coming out from her office with a file in her hands. She turned to her assistant at the front desk who was about 20 emails deep and already finding the issue. "Hey, you're not coming in tomorrow, right?"

"Um, no, no. I am. I rescheduled that date," she answered bashfully as if she had been caught in the act of something.

"Melody..." Y/N drug out, hand on her hip.

"What? I- He understood. He said he was fine moving it to Saturday," the young woman shrugged, never looking back at her boss that was clearly sending her a motherly stare.

"You're already over your 40 hours this week, and you've rescheduled with him, what? 3 times now?" Y/N moved to the front of the desk so the young brunette had to make eye contact with her.

"Yes," she answered hesitantly.

"Is it just nerves or something else?" Y/N smirked.

"I'm not nervous... It's just been a while since I've had time for a date."

"Two things about what you just said in the past minute. One, clearly this guy likes you because he's rescheduled with you this many times and hasn't called it off yet. So if you're nervous about it not going well on his end, I think you're safe," Y/N pointed a finger at her.

"But-," Melody started.

"Second," Y/N cut off with a raised eyebrow. "I'm giving you time to go on a date and you're still not taking it. Work is no longer an excuse."

Melody stopped avoiding eye contact and looked up at the Y/H/C hair woman leaning on her reception desk.

"You've been talking with my mom again, haven't you?" she sighed.

"I promised I'd take care of you. So yes, I have. And though her reasoning for you dating is because she wants grandbabies, I just want you to have fun and live your life. You're 22. Don't waste your young years being scared."

"Ugh, fine. I'll text him now and see if he's still available for tonight," she groaned.

"Perfect!" Y/N grinned in victory as she started to walk back to her office. "I expect the details in the morning," she winked before she walked in.

"Oh, Y/N!" Melody stopped her. "A message came for you while you were in that last meeting."

"Who from?" Y/N quirked an eyebrow, moving back to the desk.

"Uh, I don't really know. Didn't sound familiar, but here's the name and number they said to call back from," she answered, handing her a note.

Y/N took the small paper and looked it over. Her face dropped and her eyes widened.

"You ok? Is it someone you know?" the young assistant asked, noticing what looked like horror on her face.

"Um, yeah. Yeah, an old acquaintance of mine," Y/N tried to quickly brush off. "Um, I'm going to take this. Can you hold any calls and if anyone comes to talk, tell them to just email me?"

"Oh, ok. Yeah, I'll take care of it," Melody nodded.

"Thank you."

Rushing back to her office and quickly shutting her door, she raced to her phone. She read the business name again, not sure if she was dreaming or if it was a hallucination.

Nope. Hammer Attorney was written in Melody's perfect penmanship on the paper with a number that held an area code from New York. A place she never thought she would hear from again and from a town she hadn't visited in almost 10 years._________________

"Buck, did you tell Fury about getting those new water therapy machines?" Steve shouted from his room.

"We're at home, Steve. Why are we talking about work?" Bucky groaned as he slouched on the couch. A beer in hand and a documentary with I Survived stories playing in front of him.

Steve came in from around the corner looking down at his phone in hand before moving his eye line to his roommate.

"Because I just got a call from the night crew saying that the last one that was working, finally went out tonight while they were running it for some test," Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Ugh, you would think that a facility run by a billionaire who literally makes his money on high-tech machines, wouldn't have to ask for those kinds of things," Bucky groaned, grabbing his own phone and going through emails. "Let me check to see if the email went through. He wasn't in office when I went to tell him."

As he was sorting through the hundreds of emails sent back and forth just this week alone, he found the reply message.

"Yeah, management confirmed it. They should be in by Saturday it looks like. Guess Stark was still working out the kinks to a new one and was waiting to send one our way until the last one died to get more time on his newest model."

Steve nodded before walking to the kitchen and typing Bucky's response to the other crew members.

"The man is always finding new ways to upgrade them before he can even send them to us."

Just as Bucky was about to throw his phone to the side again though, it started ringing. Looking at the caller ID, he didn't recognize the unknown number. It was from in-state but in his hometown area of Brooklyn. He pinched his eyebrows together confused at the call, but answered it anyway, thinking it must be someone from home.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Is this Mr. Barnes?" The other voice answered.

"Yes, this is him. Who's this?" he asked, sitting up a little and putting the beer on the end table.

"My name is Matthew Murdock. I work at Nelson and Murdock Law firm," he went on. Bucky shook his head not knowing what that was supposed to mean. "Well, you may actually know us previously as Hammer Attorney. We recently just took over their business after some fraud issues."

Bucky's heart stopped. He knew what that name meant.

"I hate to inform you, but we were going through some of their old files. Ones we were informed could be incomplete or done completely incorrectly due to little care in the actual cases, but more so in taking the money."

"Incomplete cases?" Bucky said softly. His brain was still trying to wrap around the conversation.

"Yes, unfortunately, it looks like a lot of cases having to deal with divorces that the past owners handled, were done strictly in order to launder money. They weren't actually certified, nor trained in handling divorce settlements."

Bucky froze. Eyes wide. Mouth agape.

He stuttered out a response when the man on the other line didn't continue.

"A-And talking about incomplete divorce settlements, you called because..." Bucky knew. He needed to hear it out loud because if he didn't, it wasn't true. It couldn't be.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Barnes, but it looks as though you and your wife, Y/N Y/L/N or sorry, Y/N Barnes, are actually not divorced."

(I will release the first chapter at the beginning of next week! That way I can give myself some time to write more chapters before sharing it!)

Moral of the Story Taglist:

@taylormobley @ximaginx @vicmc624

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @heyiamthatbitch @lizzymacy555 @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd @morganclaire4 @connie326 @captain-asguard @mollygetssherlockcoffee @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses @pham-tastical

My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose @laneygthememequeen @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @carls1022 @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @carls1022 @anise-d-castle6 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted @snffbeebee @couldabeenamermaid @rebekahdawkins @alyispunk

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker @charmedbysarge @jbarness @bellamy-barnes @katiaw2 @aikeia

#bucky barnes x reader au #bucky barnes highschool sweetheart #bucky barnes collge au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #justkending #new series #new marvel series #marvel au

240 notes · View notes

dorotharry · 4 years ago

Text

tiny dancer ; chapter three

Pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 4 (coming soon)

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: pain, angst, nightmares, metal limbs?

Summary: After being drafted for the war in 1942, Bucky goes to the ballet a week before having to leave with his best friend Steve. There he becomes infatuated you with the prima ballerina of the show, and he just has to meet you before his last week in Brooklyn is up. He hopes one day you would meet again; little does it know it will be 72 years later.

A/N: Well, hello again, honestly after yesterday I really wanted to write again soon so I could start giving more away. Eep so exciting, thank you again for all your support too!! Please feel free to like, repost and comment any feedback, it’s much appreciated :)) Also lets just ignore that infinity war is a thing for the moment lolz.

MY MASTERLIST

*gif not mine

“Nice to finally meet you y/n, I’ve been looking for you under Fury’s instruction for a while, my name’s Natasha.”

Natasha. It rang in your ears, there was some familiarity to that name. You kept your face blank, but for some reason it felt like you’d known her in a past life, or perhaps a life you didn’t remember. Though her face gave no indication that she knew either. But a younger version of her face flashed in your mind, only she wasn’t blonde she had bright red hair. You shook yourself from your thoughts, Natasha was a common name, surely you couldn’t know her. Surely.

“Come in,” you responded moving to the side as the women eyed you as she entered. She had to be around a similar age to you. At least in looks, you were at least a century year old in reality. “Did you want something to drink?” You said as you shut the door and gestured to the couch nearby.

The blonde shook her head, taking a seat her gaze still wary. “You’re probably curious to know why I’m here and who I am?”

You nodded as you took a seat on the second couch, it wasn’t often you had visitors.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard of the Avengers,” She started.

That’s where you knew her from! She’d swapped her red hair for blonde and suddenly you felt less confused.

“I’m a part of it, and our director Fury has been sending me on mission after mission looking for you. It’s only now we got a tip that you were living in Madripoor.”

You almost wanted to interrupt and ask who had tipped them off, but you thought better of it. You rose an eyebrow at her comment, giving her an expression that told her to continue.

“Anyway, I’m here because we wanted to bring you back to the compound. You’ve been hidden away from us for a long time. In fact, the only reason we know you exist is because of the HYDRA files I shared in 2014. We hoped you could give us some intel; we think something big is going to happen again, but we aren’t sure if it’s HYDRA or something else.” She looked at you again, a serious expression on her face.

Yours matched hers. “You should know I don’t do that anymore, I don’t work as an assassin,” you began suddenly feeling more vulnerable as the terrible things you had done came back up in your memories.

Natasha cut you off sensing your distress. “We aren’t asking you to, we just need your knowledge. Whilst I know Fury wants you to join us in the long run and start fighting again, we also respect your decision not to if that’s what you want.”

You looked at her sceptically, had she not heard what you had just said? Plus, now your cover in Madripoor was blown, if the Avengers knew where you were then surely it wouldn’t be long until every other government in the world would too. You were sure there were many people who wanted you dead.

As if she had heard your thoughts Natasha spoke up again, “don’t worry, if you turn down helping us, no one but Fury and I know you’re here. Not even Steve.”

You silently gasped, you had forgotten about Steve in these brief moments, he was captain America back then, in fact he was still Captain America. Even if you would be throwing yourself back into the line of fire, maybe it would be worth it to see your old friend again. Would he want to see you though? After everything awful thing, you had done. Your eyes began to well again, but you didn’t want Natasha to see you vulnerable.

“Fine.” You spoke sternly looking at the woman in front of you, “I will help, but only if you promise that you avengers will protect me. There’s a lot of people who want me in chains.”

You could see the hint of a smile on her face as she listened, “Don’t worry y/n, we have ways around that,” she smirked. “I don’t exactly have the cleanest record either.”

You nodded, standing up. You knew now if you were leaving that you could never return to Madripoor. If you chose not to fight with the Avengers after helping them, then at least you were sure they could protect you and finally you could maybe be back home. “Where to then?”

Natasha told you to get anything valuable, some clothes and anything else you felt you needed. Luckily for her, you always kept a duffle bag with everything you needed if you had to leave under you bed, along with the shot gun that had been in your hand this entire time till.

You walked to your room, grabbed the duffle bad and your other favourite weapons in another bag and returned in under a minute. Natasha let out a chuckle, she should have known an assassin was always prepared to flee. Something they all knew, never get too comfortable.

Natasha led you out of your apartment, you close the door behind you both and follow her. It felt strange to be taking from directions from anyone else. Besides HYDRA you had always been the person in charge, choosing what you did without direction. But unless you miraculously knew how you’d be getting back to the Avengers compound this seemed like a time you would have to not be stubborn.

She led you to a jet, gesturing you to get on before she did herself. She walked to the front closing the door and sitting in the pilot’s seat. “Feel free to have a sleep.” She said casual pointing to the bed next to you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled going and lying down. After having no sleep, you wouldn’t complain, and it would save you having to make small talk with Natasha. Plus, usually you didn’t have nightmares in you ever occasionally napped.

Natasha answered a call and began telling someone (who you assumed was Fury) that you were coming back with her, just as your eyes were filled with the darkness of sleep.

1943

You woke up once again your entire body in pain. Although this time it was different, and though you remembered where you were much of your memories were feeling fuzzy. Like someone had attempted to begin removing them.

That couldn’t be possible though, could it?

There was an ache on your face, remembering your last memory before you had been engulfed in darkness again. You were sure there would be marks from whatever machine had done that to you, wincing at the thought of the pain again.

But besides there being the same pains you had felt before, there was something different. You were still restricted by your arms and legs in the same position but now you had a heart monitor attached, the faint beeping being the only noise you could hear in the silent and dark room. This wasn’t a room though, it was a lab you knew that now, and you were a lab rat to the red skull and his scientists. Why would they care if my heart is still beating? You pondered.

Once again you pushed against your restraints in an attempt to get out, the leather digging into your skin causing you to wince due to how in pain your body already was. But again as you’d thought earlier, there was something different, yes your arms were wincing at the pain from the leather but your legs felt nothing. You moved your toes and felt no sensations. It was as if they were numb. What had HYDRA done?

As if on cue the laboratory door opened, the same scientist from before entering and two soldiers following behind him. The door slammed closed as the soldiers stayed there on each side of the door. Just in case you got out of your restraints again.

The scientist shuffled forward. “How are you feeling y/n? I realised I forgot the other day to introduce myself, I’m Arnim Zola but you can call me Doctor Zola.”

You sneered as his friendly attitude, causing him to frown. “I can’t feel my legs.” You responded in a harsh tone, “Why?”

“Well y/n, I told you that you would become a soldier for the red skull did I not? Now I understand you’re a ballerina but there’s something wrong with this. You see you always want to be perfect, and what makes you not is among many things your feet.” He looked down proudly at your legs.

The words rang in your ear. Your harsh glare to seem mean had softened as your eyes began to water. “Wh-- what have you done?” You began blubbering, your chest fell up and down panic striking your lungs.

“I’ve made you perfect.” He responded without remorse. Instantly he signalled for the men that had been stood by the door this entire time to come over. They did so, grabbing parts of your body so you were even more restricted that you already were as Doctor Zola walked to the foot of the table you were on. Slowly he undid one of the leather straps restricting your leg. You couldn’t even feel him doing it, your senses not working.

He lifted your right leg so that you could gaze down and what you saw only made your panic attack rise. You shrieked at the sight before you. Your eyes welling more and more with tears. You could hear the heart monitor beginning to pick up in noise, as you heart raced.

From halfway down your calf was what looked like a metal leg and foot. It looked exactly like what legs should be, but it wasn’t. It was silver and cold. Down the side of your calf nearing your ankle was a red star.

Tears rolled down your face as he placed your leg back down strapping it back up, then signalling the men holding you down to move away again.

You would have preferred to die then lose your feet. Your mind wandered as your chest rose and fell so quickly that the world around you began to spin. Would you ever be able to dance again?

Doctor Zola was now next to you again, his face held no remorse, in fact all you could see was pride. Even though the world was spinning, and you couldn’t focus on him you knew he didn’t care. “Don’t worry y/n, after today you won’t care about this. You won’t even remember who you are, only who we tell you are. From now on you aren’t y/n anymore. I’ll see you again when you’re ready to comply.”

The same machine from earlier then began to make noises lowering down to your head. Doctor Zola began rambling Russian words you couldn’t understand, the immense pain began again, and you screeched out in pain.

Present day; 2017

Gasping for air you shot up on the bed on the jet. Natasha looked back at you and instantly you dropped your fearful expression into one that was unreadable. No one would know your nightmares, no one could know you had weaknesses.

Luckily her gaze didn’t last long as she spoke up, “We’re here.” She was just glad she wouldn’t have to wake you up. She stood up, you following her lead out of the jet and towards a large white building with a big ‘A’ on the side.

“Jeez subtle.” You scoffed muttering under your breath.

She rolled her eyes at your comment but proceeded to walk into the building. “I’m sure you’ve heard about most of us. So, I feel there’s no need to explain to you, our names.”

She was right there, of course you knew their names, the whole world did. You hummed in response. She led you both to two big double doors pushing them open as you trailed behind. You may have been as assassin but that didn’t mean you were particularly keen on meeting new people, especially all at once. It took a while for people to come to your liking.

She stopped and you stood almost completely behind her looking down at your hands. You never looked at your feet anymore. The noise of all the voices talking amongst each other suddenly stopped and you could feel all of their eyes on you both.

“Everyone this is y/n, she’s going to help us with our current task we’ve been working on.” She spoke sternly but giving them all a small smile.

You raised your head reminding yourself to not be vulnerable and narrowed your eyes as you scanned them all. Of course, most of already knew who you were having read your files when she released them; each giving you sympathetic looks mixed with fear. But not Steve he never had the heart to look at yours and Bucky’s files. If he ever saw you both again, he knew in time you’d tell him.

Finally, you were met with a familiar set on blue eyes, not the ones you had fallen in love with but still ones who once meant so much to you. Now you weren’t so sure.

Steve looked like he was going to die of shock, as he stared at you with such intensity.

He took a step towards you, “y/n?”, his eyes searching for you to show some sort of emotion. But you didn’t, you couldn’t. You took another step back, away from him, the hurt instantly flashing across his face, but as soon as it was there it was gone.

“Hi Steve.”

A/N: ooo we love the tension. how does reader know Natasha?? is it just cause she's an avenger or is it something else? I’ll guess you'll have to see *evil face*

P.S. we’ll see Bucky again soon I promiseeeee

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: (let me know if you want to be tagged)

@maybe-a-marvel @thatredlipped-classic @flightsandfantasy @7minutes-tomidnight @rebelemilu @cataves

195 notes · View notes

beyondspaceandstars · 4 years ago

Text

While You Sleep

Chapter 6

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: mainly fluffy, brief mentions of violence Summary: Soulmate!AU - Throughout life, you’re given glimpses of your soulmate through dreams. As you sleep, memories flash in your mind showing you the life your soulmate has lived. Everyone around you raves about how their soulmate reads great books or volunteers in their spare time. But you can’t relate as your dreams end up being more like nightmares. Through initial images of death and violence, you come to learn your soulmate is the Winter Soldier.

(a/n: this was probably the most fun chapter for me to write so far it just came out so cute and sweet i think!! also super sorry all my energy has been focused on this fic i haven’t written many other one shots or anything i just really am getting into this story!)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

When you woke up the next day, something new was in the air. Everything felt lighter, a bit more relaxed. You actually felt refreshed for what seemed like the first time in your life. As dramatic as it sounds, it was unreal.

You sat up in bed, taking in the morning without the dread. Sure, prior to your dream last night there were bits of chaos still lurking. You couldn’t ignore it and it certainly was not going to go away overnight but everything had shifted, and you could at least appreciate what lulled you to sleep.

You sighed, almost looking off into a daydream like a lovestruck school girl. You had seen Bucky in such a normal fashion just sitting in his bed reading. You didn’t know when exactly the memory had been from but that didn’t matter. It was something without violence, it was a real look at him. He was so content as he focused on the book...

But you didn’t have the time to sit around pondering about your soulmate’s hobbies forever. You still had a life to get on with.

Despite your body’s reluctance, you lugged yourself out of bed and started getting your work uniform together. There was a bit of pep in your step, a complete contrast to just a few weeks ago when you were pulling yourself around holding on to the last bit of will you had. It was insane what one meeting with a soulmate could do. Maybe you now understood everyone’s fuss over it.

You redid your hair and touched up your makeup before packing your bag for the day. Once your sneakers were on and you felt actually good (the most glorious feeling, you thought), you headed out your apartment door.

As you were making your way down the stairs, you noticed someone was waiting by the building’s entrance. You rarely ever saw people around the space so the figure stunned you a bit. As you walked closer, though, you recognized that shoulder-length brown hair.

“Bucky?” You said, surprised, as you opened the lobby door. He turned around, greeting you with a warm smile.

“Good morning.” He spoke so casually as if he always stood outside your apartment waiting for you.

“Everything okay?” You asked, suddenly worried his presence here wasn’t as cheery as he was leading on.

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, I just came to walk you to work if that’s okay.”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “Walk me to work? W-Why?”

Bucky shifted his stance slightly as if suddenly embarrassed. “Because I think that’s something that, uh… that…”

“Soulmates,” you said, finishing his sentence. Bucky looked relieved at that. “That’s something soulmates do?”

He chuckled at the little smirk you were giving him. Your heart felt so full at the thought of Bucky wanting to walk you to work, make sure you got there safe and everything. Maybe even check out the area where you spent most of your days.

“You can say no, of course.”

You shook your head. “I’m flattered you want to walk me.”

At your acceptance, Bucky extended his elbow for you to take. You giggled as your hand wrapped around his arm and you two began on the route. You were too giddy to look back up at Bucky, even though you could feel him sneaking glances at you, so you turned your attention to his arm. Surprisingly, it was the metal one he had offered to you. While most of it was covered by the sweater he wore, his hand was still peaking out of the sleeve. You stared down at it, curiously, watching the light bounce off the material and listening to the little groans it made as his fingers moved every now and then.

“It’s not going to hurt you,” Bucky said suddenly, making you jump. You quickly pulled your gaze away, opting instead to look up at him. Your heart sank at the tinge of worry behind his eyes.

You shook your head as your cheeks warmed in embarrassment. “I didn’t think it would,” you confessed, honestly. “I just think it’s interesting.”

He hummed, unsure. “Interesting?”

A sudden uneasiness fell over you as you found yourself maybe crossing lines now. Sure, you had seen here and there in the nightmares what the arm had done, but you also could see that wasn’t what it was doing right now. Right now it wasn’t a weapon, a danger. It was a guide for you, physically bringing you a tad bit closer to your soulmate.

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged. You had to choose your words carefully, you thought. “I don’t have to tell you this but it’s unlike anything else out there. It’s powerful. Seems very strong, as well. Probably… Probably has seen a lot but you extended it towards me showing you’re at least a little comfortable with it,” A pause. “I-I don’t think it defines you if that’s what you’re worried about, despite how it’s -- how you -- have been weaponized.”

Bucky didn’t respond at first, making your heart plummet. Had you actually burnt this entire thing down in less than twenty-four hours? You two fell into silent steps as you continued your path to work.

As you rounded a corner, just when you were about to spontaneously tell him it was okay if he never wanted to see you again, Bucky finally spoke up.

“Have you seen the things I’ve done?”

“I’ve read some articles-,”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You brought yourself to a stop on the sidewalk. Bucky halted beside you and shook off your grip. You frowned at the action but didn’t acknowledge it any further.

“I don’t think it matters what I’ve seen,” you said, a bit of confidence finally mustered up in your tone. It was true, too. Over the past few hours, you hadn’t seen anything from the nightmares that aligned with the actual Bucky in front of you. “We can discuss this another time but I promise you, Bucky, I’m only focusing on what I see right now. Right now I see a man who voluntarily woke up at a ridiculous hour just so he could surprise me and walk me to work. It’s incredible.”

Bucky’s eyes were faintly glossing over, threatening to cry. You didn’t know what to do other than take his hand, intertwining your touch with his metal one. He accepted it, wordlessly. With a nod, you got back on your walking route to the shop.

“Thank you, doll,” Bucky said just above a whisper. You nearly missed it. Your heart did somersaults as you registered the words.

You two fell into more silence until you decided you needed to lighten the mood. You weren’t letting him drop you off at work like this.

“Now,” you said, clearing your throat as your own tears had just about formed, “how did you spend the rest of your night?”

Bucky shrugged. “Nothing crazy,” he sighed. “I did some reading before bed.”

“Hmm.” Your interest had been peaked. You thought back to the little dream you had last night, portraying a very studious Bucky. You figured that while it was recent, it wasn’t from last night (dreams rarely ever came through that quick), making you now curious of his reading choices. “Interesting. Wouldn’t have taken you for a reader. What’s the book about?”

He let out a breathy chuckle. “Some new science fiction series Steve picked up for me,” Bucky explained. “I’m not too far into it but I think it has something to do with time traveling.”

You nearly laughed. You thought back to how the nightmares you had been getting recently were all over the place as if you were on your own time-traveling journey -- only it was the cruelest way possible. Fate was such a character.

“Is that the kind of books you prefer? Science fiction?”

Bucky nodded, “Guess I’ve always been interested in all that science stuff.”

That science stuff. You giggled. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you said. “I’ve fallen a bit out of reading but I��d love to get your recommendations one day.”

“I’m not exactly well versed in all the books out there.” Because he had missed so much -- there was always that unspoken fact in every other thing he said. You wished you could coax him out of that habit but that didn’t seem possible right now. I

“Well, good thing I’m not looking to know about all the books,” you smiled, looking up at him, “I’m just looking to know about your books. Whatever comes across your radar that you end up loving, I’d like to hear about it.”

Bucky returned the smile. “What did you do with the rest of your night?”

“Nothing really,” you shrugged, turning your focus back to the sidewalk ahead of you. “I fell asleep pretty much right after getting home.”

You could feel Bucky’s eyes on you. From the corner of your vision, you could see a bit of a frown on his lips.

“You didn’t do anything?”

You shook your head.

“No hobbies or anything?”

You sighed. “I’m usually just too tired or too into work to do very much. Last night had been… Overwhelming for me, I think. When it was over, I was exhausted. All of me, body and mental.”

You felt Bucky’s thumb start rubbing soothing patterns on the back of your hand. Your breath caught a bit in your throat.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean for you to get overwhelmed.”

You began shaking your head profusely, “No, no, it’s not your fault, Bucky,” you insisted, “I psyched myself out a bit, I think.”

He let out a long sigh at that. “Well, you shouldn’t do that anymore,” he said, so sincerely. “I never want to bring you pain or worry, okay? That shouldn’t be what… we do.”

“We do?” You looked up at him but he had already turned away. “Oh, you mean what soulmates do.”

“The word still gets caught on the tip of my tongue.”

Your cheeks started feeling hot. “I understand.”

As the conversation faded, your coffee shop came into view. You two stopped outside it. Glancing in the window, you made eye contact with your coworker who had just begun setting up for the day. Her eyes got wide as she realized who the man was behind you. Her shock promptly morphed into excitement.

You turned back to Bucky. “Thank you for accompanying me.”

He flashed you a smile, making your heart just absolutely dissolve. “Of course,” he said. “Anyday, anytime. I’d be happy to accompany you anywhere.”

You were shamelessly full-on blushing, once again feeling like a ridiculous school girl. You had to avert your gaze as Bucky’s eyes on you were making you feel all sorts of things in these fluffy moments.

With a pointless nod and no more words, you turned to face the coffee shop entrance. One hand on the handle, you stood there. Just holding it. You could hear Bucky walking away.

Fuck it, you thought.

You quickly turned back around and dashed to catch up with him. He was walking so leisurely as if he expected this. You called out his name and he whipped around promptly, looking as if he was fighting back another smile.

“Here,” you said as you grabbed a napkin and pen from your bag and scribbled down your phone number. “It’s my number in case you want to, I don’t know, text me or call or something.”

He took the napkin gently as if it was the most precious gem in the world seconds away from shattering. With a nod, Bucky responded, “Sure, doll. Thank you.”

You smiled, giving him a nod back. That wasn’t all, though. You had another caution to throw into the wind. Quickly, you placed your hand on Bucky’s shoulder and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. It was so fast you barely had time to register your own movement but Bucky definitely picked up on it. Now his face was the one with a tinge of warm color coming up on it.

“Have a good shift.” It was all Bucky seemed capable of saying as he shot you a wider smile, eyes softening at your nervous form. Before you could respond anymore, prolonging this weird but sweet goodbye for the day, he resumed his walk back.

As feelings of all sorts washed over, you headed back to the coffee shop where you finally entered… And was greeted by your coworker standing in front of the entrance, arms crossed, staring you down.

“Good morning,” you said, avoiding eye contact and trying to get around her. She stepped in your path.

“Was that…” You nodded before she could finish the words. She broke out into a surprise fit of giggles. “You met him?” She asked in disbelief.

You nodded. “Last night. We had dinner and he walked me home. It was very nice.” You kept it short and sweet, not feeling like gossiping about something so fresh. But you also secretly wanted to just throw everything out there. It was exciting, it was new. Overall, though, it felt great.

Your coworker let out gasps, almost in awe. “That’s so exciting,” she said. “Is he, like, nice? Anything like-,”

You shook your head quickly, making her cut off her words. “He’s nothing like…” You didn’t want to say them anymore. Well, at least for right now. You knew a talk with Bucky about it all had to be coming but you want to push it aside for now. “He’s wonderful. A true gentleman. He showed up this morning to walk me to work. What man nowadays would do that?” You chuckled, almost in your own state of disbelief. “Plus, he’s kind of fascinating. Unexpected, even. Would you have guessed he’s a reader?”

You made your way farther into the shop, discarding your bag and throwing on an apron. You began wiping down the counters as your coworker followed.

“He sounds almost… normal?”

You stopped your movement, taking in that observation. You finally nodded in agreement. Yeah, you guessed that so far he was kind of normal. At least, personality-wise.

After a moment you said, “I think I’m glad I didn’t try to move on.”

Despite not looking at her, you knew your coworker wore another ridiculous, lovey smile. She was practically in awe and, you had to admit, you kind of were, too.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

taglist under construction right now, deepest apologies!

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #marvel fanfiction #marvel #mcu #mcu fic #avengers #fanfiction #soulmate au #slow burn #fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst

183 notes · View notes

the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years ago

Text

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 12 FINALE

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: Nope! Notes: How lovely it has been, to go on this journey with you. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to every person who has liked, reblogged, or left a kind comment on this story. Combined, you all have genuinely changed my life. I'm writing more than ever, more consistently, and I'm having a blast. So if you like this story, and wish it wasn't ending, well... maybe don't worry too much. There will be a sequel of sorts, same timeline but new reader, instead focusing on Cassandra. Also oops this is hella long. And mostly dialogue. Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy, Pt. 7: Harmony, Pt. 8: Obbligato, Pt. 9: Berceuse, Pt. 10b: Hymn AMAB, Pt 11: Cadence

Chapter 12: Cadence (Reprise)

(Cadence: Two chords that mark the end of a song)

Truth be told, she had never expected much of anything to come from this. ‘Twas not that she thought her daughter to be talentless, or that she denied the capabilities of the servant-turned-teacher, rather that she knew just how difficult it was to keep Daniela’s attention for any measure of time. Even as the weeks went by with undeniable progress, there was a part of her awaiting the collapse of it all. How long would this instructor last? How long before they were drained of blood, either for some perceived insult, or merely out of boredom? Surely, in the end, Alcina would not need to lift a single finger.

And yet here she was, at the end of a concert, pride roaring within her chest. What had she missed? What clues had eluded her, what had changed within her child’s nature? She knew that there were hints of deeper affections, fragments of a would-be love, but she had thought them miniscule. Thought that those feelings were doomed to crash and burn, unable to live up to the expectations set by decades of romance novels. Well, maybe they had failed. Maybe, somehow, Alcina had missed something else entirely.

The thought might have sent a shiver down her spine, if she weren’t so readily distracted by praising her youngest child… or by the looming shadow of a life-changing revelation.

“Mother… we need to talk. I… I have a confession to make,” Daniela explains, hesitantly slow, but with a conviction she rarely ever showed. Taken aback by the unexpected announcement, Alcina pauses, silently awaiting some form of elaboration. Instead, Daniela takes her hand, pulling her towards a set of chairs. They sit gingerly, each feeling the weight of terrifying possibilities upon their shoulders. When she at last continues speaking, she does so without a trace of showmanship or false bravado, trading it in for heartfelt sincerity. “I love them. All of this- these lessons, this concert- has been for them. For my sweet, innocent little songbird.” So here it was, the birthplace of her fears, brought forth from her mind into reality.

“I was afraid you would say that,” Alcina muses, leaning back into the chair with a deep sigh. Something itches in the back of her throat, and she yearns for her pipe, or even just a normal cigarette to distract herself. Without one, she is left to metaphorically chew on her thoughts. Realistically, there has to be some way to deal with this, some way that she can convince her daughter of the sheer foolishness of this mess. “Daniela… how can I put this in a way you will understand, hmm?… The two of you have only known each other for three months. There is no chance that you truly love them, or them you. How close can you possibly have become?”

“When have I cared about anything for three whole months? I dedicated myself to-” Daniela is cut off by the sound of the door opening, revealing the rest of her little family. It was guaranteed that they would have heard the conversation from outside, seeing as they were all inhuman, though they perhaps intended to intervene. A single hard glance from both of the room’s occupants convinces them to change their minds. “Wait, Ava, can you get us some tea, please? Something tells me I’ll need a soothing drink soon.” Hesitating in the doorway, the butler in question eyes the both of them, naturally tempted to stay and fill the role of a therapist.

“I do believe my daughter gave you an order, Ava. Don’t tell me you have forgotten the stipulations of your agreement with Mother Miranda?” Alcina interjects. With that said, the butler finally moves, exiting with an apologetic bow. An awkward silence hangs in the air once xe closes the door behind xerself, as Daniela takes a moment to recall her place.

“Three months is a long time for me. I put all of my energy towards both them and what they taught me, almost every single day. Even when their work kept them busy for too long, I still practiced, because I wanted to make them proud! For all my flirting, I’ve never bonded with anyone this way before now,” she says, hating the way her voice gets a little shaky. No matter how much confidence she has in her own writing, it is another thing entirely to be convincing out loud, with a truth she had been hiding for so long. All of her practice had been with lies. Now she had to contest with the hope that the strength of her emotions would be enough. “That song we played together, at the end, they wrote that for me. Doesn’t that mean something?”

“Oh, my dear… I want you to be happy more than anything. But we both know that your ‘history’ is stained with a number of incidents. You have always been absorbed within those books you read, and the fantasies that they provide for you. It is one thing to enjoy these stories on the side, but another matter entirely to let them corrupt your relations with others. As your mother, it is my duty to keep you safe, first and foremost,” Alcina proclaims, sitting up straighter, trying not to let her frown evolve into a full out scowl. Beneath the table, her hands ball into fists, clutched tight to stop herself from breaking the table. In the back of her mind she could think of little other than dismembering that damned piano instructor. Focusing on the discussion at hand, she takes a deep breath before finalizing her point. “You don’t know what a healthy relationship looks like, nor what it feels like. Your books are not ideal models for reference. One- or both- of you are going to end up suffering, and that is something I cannot allow, regardless of how ‘happy’ they make you before then.”

“You’re right,” Daniela whispers in defeat… or a feigned version of it. A split second later she’s making eye contact with her mother again, lips curling up into a smile. “I didn’t want to admit it, especially not to someone as attractive, talented, and charming as my Songbird, but I didn’t have to. They understood from the very start. We talked about it, about my expectations and my shitty behavior, and we worked on it. We’re still working on it. Maybe there will be bumps along the way, just like in every relationship, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be worth it in the end. What we have is still real, and they make me want to be a better woman. I know they’ve already helped me make the change.”

Once more the door opens, making the conversation pause, as Ava near-silently brings in the requested tea. If a pin had dropped at that moment, it would have felt as ear-shattering loud as a gong. Every second that passed felt like it dragged on, stretched out by the tension in the room, as though xe was moving in slow motion. The ‘clink’ of ceramic against the table makes xer flinch, almost spilling the tea. Neither Alcina nor Daniela react, or even acknowledge xer presence with anything more than their eyes, instead remaining impassive until xe makes a hasty retreat.

“Use what you’ve learned on someone else, then. Perhaps another one of Miranda’s experiments will someday provide a suitable match. But this ‘songbird’ of yours? They’re nothing. A human, a servant, they are not worth your time, nor are they worth mine. No matter what words or songs they weave, or illusions of grandeur they show you, you will end up getting bored of them. I’m afraid it is inevitable, my dear,” Alcina says, as soon as the door is closed once more. Then she attends to her tea, with the composure of someone convinced that they had just won an argument. On the other hand, Daniela was not so quick to give in, some of her worry melting into anger.

“How can you say that? How can you be sure? We were all human, once! Even Mother Miranda was human. And my Songbird is no mere human- they are wondrous, with flowery prose and lovely melodies, with soft-lipped smiles and reassuring eyes, and don’t even get me started on how beautiful they are!” She rambles, voice getting louder with every word. All at once it is too much for Alcina, who sets down her glass a little too hard, nostrils flaring as she stares at her daughter. When Daniela speaks again, she does so with love coating her tone. “We have weathered each other’s anxieties with no signs of stopping. I promised that we would weather yours.”

“I only want you to be happy. I need you to understand where I am coming from. This may be your longest lasting infatuation so far, but you have yet to honestly convince me that this is any different from your past ‘distractions’. I’m sorry, Daniela, I simply cannot allow this to continue,” Alcina sighs, hating to break her youngest daughter’s heart like this. There was only one thing that Daniela had yet to try. Maybe two, if she was willing to resort to begging.

“Can’t you trust me enough to give us a chance? Cassandra of all people seems to understand. Bela went as far as to lie to you, for our sake! She never does anything she thinks will hurt me, or you, or any of us. Please, mother, please. How can you ever know if what I have will last, if you cut it down now? Are you going to wait forever for some ‘perfect candidate’ for me? And what if that person loves someone else? Or what if the ‘perfect’ person doesn’t exist! What if we’re stuck waiting for them like Mother Miranda waits for another child, hmm? Would you have me spend another century alone, my only memory of genuine romance being poisoned by the thought that you broke us apart?” Daniela’s words ring throughout the chamber, echoing a damning accusation, somehow more bitter than the taste they left in her mouth.

All at once, Alcina’s heart takes a hit like no other. Her hands damn-near tremble, her lungs ache, her lips purse, and her brow furrows. So be it, she thinks.

“Bring this ‘Songbird’ here. Let me talk to them.”

—————————

Goddess, you are practically vibrating at the speed of sound, palms sweaty, nervousness trashing your mind. What the hell had Daniela done? Last thing you knew, she was determined to keep your secret, even if meant being unable to celebrate with you. But now you were getting tugged along by her, while tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She had said something about “mother” and “important”. That was all the context that you had been given. When you round one last corner, pulling up in front of Lady Dimitrescu’s study, you are shown a sight that somehow makes you feel worse: Bela, Cassandra, and Ava are all resting outside of the room. They appear exhausted, and motion for you to be quiet as you approach.

“They’ve been listening in on our conversation,” Daniela admits with a whisper. Then she’s pulling you into the study, ensuring that the door doesn’t open wide enough for the eavesdroppers to get spotted. Something told you that Alcina was already well aware of their presence. “Alright, mother, here is my Songbird. What did you want to ask us?”

“Daniela… leave us. My questions are for ‘Songbird’ alone,” Alcina replies, seemingly confirming the absolute worst of your fears. This was where you would die. By her hand, without your lover by your side, after what could have been the happiest night of your life. Of course. But Daniela is not willing to go without a fight. As soon as the words leave her mother’s mouth, she is moving between the two of you, just as she had when she first called you her teacher. Before she can speak, her mother stands up and stares her down. “Don’t make me ask again- there will not be a third time.” When she still hesitates, it is your turn to be brave.

“Hey, it’s okay, we’ll be okay,” you promise her, reaching out to take her hand. Instantly she’s returning to your side, hand cupping your cheek, eyes filled to the brim with sadness. “Firefly… ‘Tell me love, we shall last until the end of days’. I love you. Nothing is going to change that, not now, not ever. We’ll be okay.” Maybe not now, you think, but you’ll be okay eventually. Cassandra and Bela, and Ava I suppose, will make sure of it.

“Okay. We’ll last until the end of days. I love you too,” Daniela says, swallowing the lump in her throat. With one last kiss she pulls away, wishing that her departure didn’t feel so much like a betrayal. She pauses in the doorway, meeting your gaze, unable to bring herself to move until you give her an accepting nod. The door swings into place with a click, sealing the room and your fate.

“So,” Alcina begins, returning to her seat as she does. For now you stay standing, unsure of just about every part of this situation, especially your upcoming role in it. “You have been deceiving me. That alone is a crime worthy of severe punishment, and yet you stooped so low as to do far, far more. I had hoped you had, somehow, managed to teach my daughter a real lesson, that you had inspired a love of music in her, that you had made an honest difference in the way she learns. But all this time… it has been nothing more than a ruse.” The last word comes out dipped in venom, acidic enough to make you flinch. Thankfully, your beloved was not the only person who had a gift with words. More than that, this was a topic that you had spent numerous nights thinking about, making you as prepared as you could ever hope to be.

“You know, as much as I desire to claim that I am that interesting, or that Daniela felt so strongly from the very start, I can do no such thing. The truth is this: Music is what brought us together in the first place. It was the catalyst for our first real interaction, the first time she ever looked at me as more than just another servant or bloodbag. We bonded because of it, and so when we went to play together, to learn, Daniela honestly did connect to it,” you explain, despite the fire in Alcina’s expression. To your surprise, she does not interrupt you, and you take it as permission to keep going. Which was very good, considering that being nervous only made you ramble more. “Music is something we’ve shared for the entirety of our relationship. Even if it’s not something she would do much of on her own, I know that she’s grown to care for it more than she might be willing to admit. And, well…

“Even if you decide that what I’ve done is unforgivable, even if I’m destined to die within the hour, I know in my heart that everything the two of us worked on still matters. Because, like it or not, she is capable of growth, of change, of progress. And even if I die, someone else will come afterwards. Daniela will get to use music as a way to forge connections for the rest of her life, now that she knows it works, now that she knows how it works. And every goddamn time that she plays, or Bela plays, or you play, she’s going to remember me. She’ll remember every moment we spent together, every piece we ever played. I’ll live on in the melodies we made. In the song that you can’t quite place, that gets stuck on loop in your head. In the song the maids sing to themselves between shifts. In the quiet evening when the rain against the window feels so much like a familiar rhythm that your daughters can’t help but start humming along, without even thinking, muscle memories in sync.”

“Are you trying to convince me that there’s no point in killing you? That, regardless, you will be in my life until the end of time?” Alcina’s eyes are narrowed, but there isn’t even a hint of anger in her tone. Just curiosity.

“No, not really. Guess I’m just making peace with my fate the best way I know how- by remembering the echoes I’ll leave behind,” you answer, pausing to wipe a few tears from your eyes. All you can think about is how much Daniela will miss you. How much pain you think she’ll go through. Because at this point, who are you trying to fool with your hope? Yourself, or the people listening?

“Hmm. I think I understand. Now, tell me… what was that you said to my daughter a minute ago, before she left the room? It sounded familiar, though I cannot place it,” Alcina questions, idly toying with her glass of tea. You’re not entirely sure why it matters to her, but you have no qualms delaying the inevitable by answering. Besides, it was a chance to talk about how much you loved Daniela (and you’d never skip such an opportunity).

“It’s a line from a poem she wrote for me. “Tell me love, we shall last until the end of days”. A promise. The song Daniela and I played together… I wrote it in response. My way of doing what she asked of me, I guess. Like I said, she’ll always have the music we shared,” you answer, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

“Damn this… I can hardly believe I am asking this, yet I feel I have no choice: Tell me, do you love my daughter? Do you honestly, with your entire being, desire a future with her? Or was this a game of survival you couldn’t afford to lose, that turned out to be more ‘fun’ than you had anticipated? Show me your heart, as it is, bare as it would be if I tore it from your chest, this very moment.” There’s no room for argument in her voice, using the very same tone she reserved for maidens who got a tad too close to refusing her.

“Alright. It was a game. At first. Daniela wanted a distraction, something to entertain her. I didn’t want to die, like I had heard so many of her ‘playmates’ did. I can’t tell you when things changed, at least not for her,” you confess, with a shaky breath. Did that make you a monster? One worthy of death? If so, you wondered if it actually made you more fit to date Daniela. “For me… I just remember her smiling wide at me, hand on my cheek, having just cracked some lame joke. Next thing I knew, well, I knew. We had a spark of something, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to make her happy, you know? All the sudden there was nothing I wouldn’t do for her. I just wanted to see that smile again, everyday for the rest of my life.

“To answer your question: Yes. Goddess, yes. A thousand times yes. A ‘yes’ for every smile she’s ever shown me, for every butterfly in my stomach, for every time she’s held my hand, for every breath she’s stolen from my lungs, and for every single time my heart has skipped a beat in her name. I love her. I know we haven’t been together long, but the things I feel are undeniable. I will give her every part of myself, for as long as she wants me, for as long as I am blessed to live,” you pour your heart out, weaving your heartbeat into every turn of phrase, spilling your lifeblood onto the very conversation.

“And what will you do if she does change her mind? If she grows bored of you, as she has done with a dozen others?” Alcina counters without hesitation.

“I will weep. I will fall to my knees, and mourn this beautiful thing. But I will cherish every memory she leaves to me. Every moment where I am hers is a moment worth living, worth remembering. It will be better to have loved her with all my heart for a little slice of her immortality, than to love another, lesser so, for all of my life.” With that, Alcina sets her empty glass of tea onto the table, eying you with an unreadable expression. Something seems to stir in her chest, and at last the mask crumbles. She smiles.

“I see. Daniela, you may come back in now. Do not bother pretending that you have not been eavesdropping.” Not even a full second passes before the door opens, revealing a shaking Daniela, both of her sisters quite visible behind her (though they quickly move out of frame, leaving behind Ava, who gives a cheesy thumbs up as the door closes in xer face). She rushes to your side, taking your hand, looking stunned that you were still alive. But what shocks her more is what her mother says… “Of all the women I have ever known, family or otherwise, you are, perhaps, the most determined. Normally only in… ‘spurts’. Yet here you are, defying what I have come to expect of you. It almost feels as if I have been fooling myself this whole time, falsely believing that there is more than one possible outcome. So, ‘Songbird’, I say this: Three months ago, I agreed to give you a chance to prove yourself worthy of my daughter, for the sake of her happiness. Now, I suppose it is only fair that I do so once more.”

“Wait. Are you saying-” Daniela is once again cut off by her mother, who seems eager to avoid a trademark rant.

“Yes, yes I am. For the time being, the two of you have my blessing. I cannot say that I am entirely convinced of your chances at success, but, having seen the strength of your affections for one another, I sincerely hope that you will prove me wrong. Now come here, Daniela. I never got to finish telling you what I thought of your concert…”

—————————

In the glowing comfort of your girlfriend’s room, with the fireplace keeping things warm and cozy, you lay with your head against Daniela’s chest. One of her hands absentmindedly plays with your hair, and you release a sigh of bliss. Ava had assured you that xe would let Daphne know the good news, as xe thought that having one of the castle ladies visiting the servants’ quarters might cause a stir (and Daniela was far from willing to let go of you so soon). Now the two of you were just enjoying time holding each other close. Regardless of Alcina’s concerns, you knew that everything would be looking up from here. Assuming that Daniela didn’t have any more surprise confessions to involve you with.

“That was one hell of a surprise, Firefly. But I’m glad we don’t have to hide anymore. I love you, and I don’t know how long I could have survived without being open with it,” you say, a light teasing to your voice. Beneath you, Daniela chuckles, but holds you just a bit tighter. Then she places the softest of kisses to your forehead. “I’m always gonna love you, Firefly.”

“Until the end of days?” She asks, in a delighted whisper, grin practically audible.

“Until the end of days.”

—————————

Elsewhere in the castle, a caring mother takes another long, hungry drink from her glass of wine, staring intently into the fireplace. By her side is a silver-haired servant, who wordlessly watches her every move.

“There’s still a chance that this will all end horribly. Only time will tell, of course… but I can’t help worrying for her, she’s my daughter,” Alcina proclaims, gripping the glass hard enough for a web of cracks to form along its bell. But it does not fully shatter. No, it remains just steady enough to still be of use to her. For now. “Of course, you knew about this all along, didn’t you, Ava?... I know that you value how close you are with my children, and I know that they trust in you as much as I do… but if there are relationships or entanglements that I am unaware of, I expect you to tell me, or there will have to be consequences, regardless of your affiliation with Mother Miranda. Do you understand?”

Sighing, the mute servant pulls a notebook from xer pocket, opening it up to pen in a fresh script. There’s much tension in the air, and it only gets worse when Alcina catches a glimpse at what the note reads. As xe hands it to her, she scowls, and the wine glass fully breaks into countless shards. Immediately, Ava gets to work, picking up the largest of fragments with xer bare hands, refusing to complain about the resulting cuts. All the while Alcina stares into the fire, thoughts racing, wondering if maybe this time she could end her daughter’s problem before it was too late. Beginning to brainstorm ideas, she sets the notebook aside. Inside, in perfectly penned cursive, is a very, very dangerous piece of knowledge. The sort that could affect not only Castle Dimitrescu, but the entire village.

“In that case… there’s something you need to know about Cassandra- and Mother Miranda’s lovely little ‘pet’.”

#daniela dimitrescu x reader #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #it's really here lads #this is it #gonna go cry now #oh my god #i can hardly believe it

96 notes · View notes