#In the end. Kitchen Nightmares and my friends exist so I’ll be happy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bibliocratic · 4 years ago

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clear the area jonmartin, post-MAG200 content warnings in the tags

They earn their ending. A happy-ever-after beyond the gaze of any eyes.

Jon endures his abdication. This world has no Archivists, has need of none, the thankless crown of Knowing finally unburdened from his shoulders. The blood washes off Martin’s hands with soap and scrubbing and scalding water. They live.

The end. In conclusion. Fin.

Jon’s new scar, the packaging of his skin split ragged from collarbone to sternum, fades like sun-caught paint. A maw of red pursing to a gummy primrose pink, settling into a rough cartography of white.

The first few months are hard. Brimstone flare-up silences and ice-pick shouting, open-handed forgiveness and closed-fist weeping. They drain themselves to husks with anger and worry and grief until there is enough space for better things to grow there in their stead. Jon’s nightmares were a nightly stormfront to bear, sweated sheets and dawn fanfares of panic and dread, but he is learning now, with the space for his ribs to expand, that it is ok for them to breathe here.

Jon digs up the garden with a rusty trowel until it is a bumpy canvas of mulch and soil, dirt tucked under his fingernails and decorated with smudges up to his elbows. He hums while he irons their shirts in front of the television, thoughtless and senseless with tune.

Martin has tried to, but the sound goes down the wrong way.

Martin is happy.

It isn’t the sight as such, that might sit as a film over his vision to tinge his waking sepia. The reddest thing they own is a terracotta plant plot brimming with raggedy thyme that lives a precarious cliff-top existence on the kitchen windowsill. He observes Jon’s face in all its variations, even pained – when he snags splinters in his fingers, when he stubs his toe on the stone front step and swears damnation – and his response is sympathy tempered by admonishment.

It’s not the sensation, not really, that might tremble on his skin. Martin’s palms tend to dryness inside their homely bubble of creaky central heating, hemmed in by boisterous coastal winds. He handles bread knives and butter knives and steak knives and carving knives without the muscle memory of other blades, and he thinks he might be getting pretty handy with his oven experimentation.

It’s the sound. It wakes him, the noise lingering like the echo of a slap.

The slick punch of metal into muscle. A tooth-bared, tense-jawed gasp.

Resurfacing to shocked consciousness, he would be seized by a frenzy, to know, to check. His scattering hand scrabbling for the lamp with such force he hit it off the nightstand to roll in a giddy clatter, throwing off the covers to rapidly pollute both of them with the outside air. Jon would be rocked from sleep, groggy, panicked, and Martin’s words would not come, a train of thought trying to race full steam where no one had laid tracks, so it would be just the two of them, exhausted and upset and amping the other up in misery.

Now, upon his rousing, Martin knows not to turn on the light. He does not check. The aftermath of punch-gasp curls in his ear, and he inhale-exhale-inhales with the ferocity of mantra, and clamps the threatened tears in the clench of his teeth.

He does not wake Jon.

“How did you sleep?”

“Oh, you know me. Like a log.”

He is happy. He is. Why wouldn’t he be?

Jon rumbles like a rusty mechanism with snoring whenever he drops off on his back, and he mumbles accusatory when Martin coaxes him to his side. Martin finds black hairs on his pillowcase, in the shower plug. Jon is a vista of experience since the Eye left him, who gets hungry and tired and grumpy and drunk and silly and fed-up and giggly. Jon searches him out with the surety of magnets, and loves him, loves him, loves him. He seals kisses to Martin’s new landscape of extensive scars. Their disagreements, when they surface, are as meaningful and lasting as stones skipped on water.

Martin wanted this. He wants this. The rhythms of domesticity fading to foam on an untroubled shore.

He is out of practise with happiness, that’s all. It doesn’t come to him like breathing. He needs to till the earth of it, shelter its seeds from a thousand circling crows until it bears harvest.

He just has to try harder.

Night-time.

An episode or two of something simple, Jon nodding off like a capsizing ship before the credits. Encouraging him up in grousing, unwilling increments, rubbing out the nettle sting of pins and needles up his own arm. Check the locks, the light switches. Brush teeth. Pyjamas. Put his phone to charge, read until Jon succumbs to sleep. Click the light off, pushing Jon onto his side so his mouth doesn’t dry. Jon squirming around like a fastidious octopus until he has at least half his limbs hooked over Martin.

The dark creating shadow play. In the absence, Martin colouring in the gaps with lurid shades of disaster.

A creak – the rattle of a door downstairs, an intruder unfastening the back door, transferring their weight upon the staircase. A unfamiliar scent – the recollection of smoke-stench in his nostrils, the acrid promise of gas, the ferrous pungency of blood. The rain will flood their house to drown them. The wind will blow their roof in. Jon hooks his leg around Martin, the skin void of hair where Daisy’s mouth had almost torn it off, and all he can envision is the ways this could be destroyed as he watches.

Bundle Jon close. Ignore the rain, the itch at the bottom of his stomach, the queasy roil of his fear. Drift into unkind sleep populated with its garden of earthly terrors.

Martin is… not happy. Not exactly. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

Jon is happy.

Jon, rubbing at the compression lines around his hips, the accusatory splay of the top button refusing to budge closed:

“I can’t fit into my jeans.”

Martin enfolds him from behind, planting his palms over the slight paunch of Jon’s stomach, filled out through sensible eating and small indulgences and a hunger that will never be ravenous but has restored its human qualities.

“Hmm. It’s a good look on you. Healthier.”

“Or it’s middle age.”

“Or it’s eating things that aren’t tea and meal-deal sandwiches.”

“Or other people’s terror.”

“Oh yes, you’re right, I completely forgot about your subsistence diet of eldritch and unbidden horrors in a luscious wholegrain wrap, forgive me.”

Jon laughs at that. The sound has not yet lost its novelty for either of them.

He shifts, turns, his arms a buoy around Martin’s stomach.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Must be all the clean air,” Martin quips. “All that healthy living.”

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

When his heart has wound down from the pace of its gallop, he extricates himself from Jon’s grip. It is a laborious task to find the places where they’ve joined in the night and pull them apart, like separating fabric snagged on rosebushes.

He gets some water from the cold tap in the kitchen. Sits heavily on the sofa, the room cossetted by the gloom.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

His hands shake.

He doesn’t go back to bed.

He isn’t happy, but he could grow to be. He could. He could. He just isn’t trying hard enough.

Some days, he feels like he’s waiting for the ice to give under them.

Check the passers-by as they walk. Anyone familiar, any teeth filed too sharp, anything animal or blood-shot, any eyes that glance too deep.

Check the oven. The gas knobs are angled to off but a leak is not impossible in a house this old, their alarm might malfunction, they might fall asleep and some spark from a plug socket could catch and incite a conflagration.

Check the window latches. The opening wide enough for a body to squirm through, the claws of a Hunter marring the sill. Wriggling infestations that invade through the letter box, the keyhole, the gap under the door where the wind can whistle through.

Check. Check. Check.

Jon is happy. Jon has a job, work friends, a hundred small luxuries that he has struggled to earn. Jon is happy, so why can’t he be? He went through so much less, the blood washed off easily with soap, what the fuck does he have to cry over –

Martin has always crafted his masks from scrap, tongue out in concentration, piecing things together in low light, a make-do-and-mend of his own devising. His early efforts, the paper mâché and glue easily cracked before he learned to shore up his constructions. He has a small collection garnered over years.

The quiet-voiced, muffled-stepped, muted-smiled creation of a Good Son.

The zipped-mouth, no-refusals-no-complaints-yes-of-course-how-high earnestness of the Good Employee, the desperation sanded off the edges so no one could see.

The I’ll-get-the-first-round friendliness, the open-handed, open-hearted, too-naïve Good Colleague.

This new mask forms in increments, in the same way a rising mound of dirt marks the extent of a grave being dug.

He doesn’t mean to. It’s just he’s better at not talking about things. He always has been. And it is an ugly, easy comfort, to slip back into bad habits.

And Jon is happy.

All the things Martin does not wish to permit the light to touch he compresses inside like shaken soda. The rot in him deepens structural, the places where he papers over moulds and fungal speckles with the distraction of their new life. His smile parades simple, contented, cheeky, teasing, and there is a meticulous artistry in each. He sketches interest, paints joy, manufactures irritation out of the clay of nothingness that he allows himself to feel instead of the overwhelming rush of everything else.

I love you, his mouth murmurs, laughs, sighs, groans, and that at least is always true.

The mask of a Good Partner slips on tailor-made.

They find their nine-to-fives. Jon’s job is uneventful, boring, and nowhere near an Archive. He works in a registry office for the council, filing and organising and he’s cheerfully lied on his CV in order to get it. He gets the bus and texts Martin grumpy faces and GIFs summarising his mood when he gets suck in the commute or some idiot parks in a bus lane, he has a couple of colleagues he likes and a greater number that he tolerates, he gets a hot chocolate from this universe’s overpriced multinational chain on his lunch hour. When he gets home, he complains with delight at the mundanity of his dissatisfactions, regales Martin with tales of meagre drama.

Martin gets a cleaning job at a school. It is monotonous, dull and safe. Martin loses track of the time easily, quagmired in his musings. The children are wary of him and his visible scarring but it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. The teachers are friendly enough, as well as the other cleaning staff, but he does not make friends. They’ll have to move anyway, if anything finds them here, if the Fears emerge again.

Martin tries not to feel like he’s waiting.

He wants to have a good night’s sleep.

“I’ll have breakfast at the school, don’t worry.”

“There were some leftovers from the canteen, so I’m kind of full.”

“It was one of the teacher’s birthdays, you know, Denise? Heh, might have had a bit too much cake. I’ll pop this in the fridge for later though, it’ll keep till tomorrow.”

“I’m just not that hungry tonight, Jon.”

He feels sharper when he doesn’t eat. It is uncomfortable, a scratched-out, hollowing sensation, but things focus more. He can control nothing else but this, and it feels good, to have this mastery over himself when so much is beyond him.

He drops down notches on his belt and tells Jon it’s all the walking he’s doing.

The world continues to happen to them. He goes to the cinema with Jon and picks at popcorn and encourages Jon’s outraged opinion. He meets Jon’s mildly interesting work friends and plays nice and excels at small talk, and he drinks half a cider that he nurses over the evening because it’s making his head fuggy. His body communicates its sharpness to him and he gains grim satisfaction from ignoring it. He goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep and goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep.

Martin does his best at living, and his mask doesn’t slip.

“You seem tired,” Jon pries his words out carefully, picking them out of his teeth as one would scraps. “Is… is everything ok?”

“Yeah, sure it is. Why?”

“… you seem a bit down today. Recently. Is anything… is there anything you want to talk about?”

“I’ve just been working too hard. Been a while since I had to do double-shifts, heh, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“If you’re sure?”

Jon shifts to a different position where he’s sat on the sofa, his legs tucking up under him. Martin endures his questioning gaze with practise.

“Yeah, I’m all good.”

Martin delivers a hand-crafted smile that’s gilded heavily with guilelessness and reassurance. He watches as Jon believes him and hates himself.

“You know… You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you can – you know you can talk to me, Martin?”

Martin’s eyes focus on Jon’s chest at the point where a knife once sunk in, and doesn’t reply.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

Jon has twisted over onto his back again, rattling like a chain-smoker’s cough with his snoring. They were quiet that evening, tangled up in their own thoughts, but there is none of that distance in sleep. During the night, Jon’s wormed himself out of the covers with a single-minded determination, his restless legs squashing the duvet to the bottom of the bed on his side, encouraging Martin’s to follow suit.

He’s shirtless, his top chucked off to pile unceremoniously on the floor. The temperature is ripe with a burgeoning summer heat, and Jon tosses and complains if he’s overwarm, and Martin didn’t think he’d get to feel the drudgery of another lived summer. He’s shirtless, and the room is palled in sweltering dark that softens the vague shapes of the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, the knickknacks of the life they’re building together. He’s shirtless, and Martin cannot see where the scar is, the only scar of Jon’s he has ever thought ugly, but he knows it is there. That he put it there. That he could just as easily be waking up alone.

His body pains him to live in it. His stomach tight and bottomed out empty.

He is so so tired.

Martin’s heartbeat does not slow down. His chest constricting, and he swallows, a sharp sound hiccupping in his throat. He stifles it with a forceful sniff but more come as a painful spasming wave, and he has to sit up if any air is to dribble into his lungs.

He should get up. He has to get up, do this in the bathroom, doubled-over the sink, stifling his weakness where it cannot be witnessed. He cannot do this here.

Punch. Gasp.

His burning face is soaked as he bunches up his sleeves against his reddening eyes. A calming exhale drains out shaky, moulds itself into another loud sob. He plants his hands over his mouth, screwing his eyes closed, and this will pass, he’s fine, this will pass…

“Martin?”

I’m sorry to wake you, he thinks to say. It’s nothing, go back to sleep, stop looking at me Jon, I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s nothing, it’s nothing…

His shoulders start to shake.

“Martin?” Jon repeats slowly. And the ice creaks and cracks and Martin gasps and then it breaks, and the force of his damned-up grief is tidal, catastrophic and he sobs into his hands.

“It’s… it’s alright – it’s… it was a nightmare, that’s all, ‘s alright…”

“It’s not!” Martin bubbles out, the words mashed to a wail in his hands. “It’s not, it’s not, it’ll ruin this…”

“Hey.” Jon brings his arm around Martin and he buries his head in the bony crook of his shoulder because he does not want to meet Jon’s eyes. “What do you mean? Martin?”

Jon rubs at his back. Martin’s body betrays him in a hundred ways as it collapses around him. His weeping wrings him out, dry-mouthed and headachy and trembling when he subsides into shivery breaths.

“Talk to me,” Jon says. “Please.”

“You’re so happy,” Martin sniffs out. “I-I want you to be happy, god, o-of course I do. Things are, they’re good, they’re good and we won, s-s-so why does it feel like I’m still holding my breath? I-I go to bed and I’m frightened of every noise, and I wake up and I’m terrified that someone somehow could take this all away, and I can’t sleep, and I-I’m tired, Jon, I’m tired of holding my breath, and it’s all – it’s all so much a-a-a-and I can’t – ”

“Oh, Martin – ”

His words fail him then. Jon holds him up and his arms do not loosen.

“We-we’re going to fix this,” Jon says after a long while. “I promise you, together, we’ll – we’ll talk to someone. You aren’t alone in this. Together, alright, we’ll do this together. We’ve survived – everything else, we can get through this too.”

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” Martin says, too drained to avoid honesty.

“…Maybe not yet,” Jon says after a pause. “That’s OK. I can wait.”

I’m sorry, Martin attempts to say but Jon presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jon says. He strokes Martin’s sweat-soaked hair.

“… Can we talk? Tomorrow? You don’t have to tell me everything, but… I’d like to be there for you, if you want me. If you’ll let me.”

Martin nods because he doesn’t trust his gummed-up throat. Jon takes that as an answer.

Dawn comes in slowly enough but they see it in together.

#tma #the magnus archives #cw racing thoughts #cw anxiety #tw eating disorder #tw ptsd #ask to tag #cw nightmares #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #jonmartin #tma spoilers

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hansensgirl · 4 years ago

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here, kitty kitty.

summary | Your sugar daddy wants his wildest dreams to come to life. You, on the other hand, aren’t really into it.

warnings | Dubcon, dark themes, pet play, Dark!Sebastian Stan, Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby relationship, degrading, praise, humiliation, spanking, overstimulation, use of a leash, spanking via a paddle, butt plugs, no this isn’t beastiality; pet play is a kink, she’s not a furry, public sex? (the reader takes her panties off in the car), tail plug, dildos, vibrators, kneeling, cat ears (headband), smut, rough sex, anal play, dacryphilia?, use of a vibrating butt plug, double vaginal, finger sucking, crawling, + more!! this is a dark fic!! if you aren’t comfortable with reading any of these things, then don’t read this fic!! i am not responsible for your media consumption. +18!!!

pairings | Dark!Sugar Daddy!Sebastian Stan x Shy!Reader.

authors note | this is a birthday drabble for the lovely @peachyteabuck. happy birthday bb! i hope your day is amazing, wonderful, special and full of love and happiness!! you’re such an amazing person and friend, and even though i don’t know much about you, i can tell you’re an even more amazing person in real life. happy birthday, ily! also, this is a dark!sebastian stan fic. i am not implying that sebastian would do this, it’s basically an au. it’s fiction, and fiction isn’t real! any hate comments will be deleted and you’ll be kindly blocked, even if you’re a mutual <3 also i am not trying to wipe the existence of alejandra, once again, it’s fiction! it ain’t real. gif credit to my special baby @mypoisonedvine !! ily!

Your dainty fingers flittered over price tags carelessly. Dollar signs filled your eyes, gleaming and glittering with awe and shock. You couldn’t believe yourself. Once upon a time you used to stare at clearance tags over and over, wondering how gravely it would affect your financial situation. Trips to the bank grew frequently and so did the pile of job applications on the wonky kitchen table you owned. You grimaced at the painful memory, there was no way you’d ever be able to go back to that living nightmare. You sighed as you couldn’t find anything you liked in the store. Associates decked down in all black stood in the back of the store, per your sugar daddy’s request. Sebastian Stan, one of the highest paid actors and a complete heartthrob. You remembered how you both had met, you were his waitress at some expensive French restaurant. You were getting an earful from one of his team members and he had swooped in and saved the day. Soon after that came lavish dates and gifts, and eventually the ultimate proposition that changed your life in the blink of an eye.

He made quick work of moving you out of your cardboard box of an apartment and into his regal condo that laid in the Upper Eastside of New York. Your wardrobe was wiped clean with name brands that made your heart flutter. Decadent jewelry was donned as he liked it -- simple, yet elegant. Pearls laid on your clavicle, not too tight yet not too loose. He dressed you himself that day, as he did everyday. He took care of you like a little pet, one that he was very proud of. He stood right behind you, eyes trailing up and down your body as he admired you. You felt shy under his stoic gaze, ducking your head down. “Babydoll, did you see anything you liked?” He asked, placed his hand on the small of your back. You hesitatingly relaxed into it, nervous yet comforted at the same time. He always kept you on your toes. One minute, his hands would be constantly roaming your body, and the next, they’d be gone.

He had done a marvellous job at keeping your relationship private. You knew how paparazzi would camp outside his many residentials, vying for a simple snap of the actor. But he was smart, always one step ahead. “No, Daddy…” You trailed off, your voice no more than a quiet whisper. You were always shy towards him, especially in public. Quite frankly, you were intimidated. And he loved that about you. You always worried that the other workers in the store would judge you, envy you, sneer at you, or even take pictures of you and him. They were paid hush money, a crisp Benjamin would be slipped into their hands discreetly and sometimes along with a ticket to his latest movie or an autograph. An Italian suit framed his body perfectly, slicked back hair and a strong jawline that made your mouth water. It was grey, almost like the muted tones his eyes held in the midst of cerulean. “Poor baby, you want Daddy to choose something for you?” He asked, the name making you whimper.

You nodded timidly, the heat of embarrassment creeping up your cheeks as shame crawled up your body. His large hand came up and rubbed your bottom lip gently, loving the way it had a slight pout to it. “Go to the dressing room, baby.” He decreed, making you nod and walk over to the room that was closed off with velvet curtains. As soon as he heard your footsteps recede farther, his voice boomed around the store. He had heard the workers talking about you, saying degrading things that would undoubtedly make you cry. He was protective, and he wasn’t going to let some measly, ill-mannered people dishearten you. Maybe you did hear their words, that’s why you couldn’t find anything. “I swear to god, I’ll make sure none of you get a proper job for the rest of your lives! You’ll live in your families’ basements and you’ll neve be happy for the rest of your lives. I’ll ruin you all.” He yelled, revelling in the way they all had tears in their eyes. He dismissed them calling the owner to make sure they got fired.

Veins popped out and his face turned red as he desperately tried to calm down. He searched the store for something for his baby, but prevailed with nothing. He stormed to a mirror and smoothed his hair down, checking his suit for wrinkles and swallowed thickly. He walked through the velvet curtains and spotted you sitting on one of the leather ottomans, one leg bouncing with anxiety and your lip between your teeth. You were lost in the deep sea that was your thoughts, not even noticing that your sugar daddy came for you. Strong hands weighed down on your droopy shoulders, squeezing them slightly to disrupt your far too long thought train. “Did you hear anything, baby?” He asked, leaning closer to you. His warm breath fanned against the back of your neck, lips soft against your ear. You furrowed your brows and turned to look at him.

Worry, fury and dominance etched his features. “Hear what?” You asked, pure naivety lacing your tone. Worry morphed into relief, and his frown turned into a small smile. “Nothing, we’re gonna go now. This store is quite -- how must I put it? -- lackluster.” He smiled, ushering you to get up. You followed him like a little puppy, latching onto the bottom sleeve of his suit. The clicking of your heels on the floor were almost in rhythm with your breathing. Long strides managed to keep you up and deep breaths calmed your nerves. You knew anyone could be watching, phones out as they readied to expose you. You could never brace yourself from the sharp teeth of the internet, as they were always ready to tear you both apart. You ducked your head down and cowered behind him as he led you away from the preposterous mall.

He turned around and looked down at you, sternly telling you something. But you don’t pay attention. Instead you chose to ignore him and marvel at the small dog in a stroller. Sure, it was flamboyant in it’s own way, but how could anyone ignore the sight? The dog is a mix between a shih-tzu and something else that you couldn’t quite figure out. You watched as the stroller passed you and headed into the mall, getting lost somewhere in there. “...Are you even listening to me, kitten?” He asked dubiously, raising one of his eyebrows. “Hmm?” You hummed, turning to look at your Daddy. “Sorry, Daddy, there was just a cute dog in a stroller that I saw!” You exclaimed, pouting slightly out of habit. Sebastian took a deep breath before sighing heavily. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried his hardest to not lose his cool.

He had given you a set of rules when your relationship started. They toed at the line of strict and controlling, but after he explained every single kink and reward they were reasonable in your naive, doe-like eyes. You didn’t dare to question them or his authority, knowing that would only end with him engulfing in flames of rage and fury. He had a short temper, one that he had developed over time. Maybe it was the stress and the pressure of his privileged, well-earned life, but you’ll never know. Listening to him was one of those rules, high on the list that he always prioritized over most things. He loathed it when you didn’t listen to him. “I said, go sit and wait in the car. Oh, also, ditch the panties.” He snapped, making you whimper. In the two years of your relationship, you were never fond of his harsh tone. “Yes, Daddy.” You squeaked, walking away to the sleek Jaguar that was parked along with the other luxurious cars. You bit your tongue as you weaved your way through millions of dollars that were on wheels.

You carefully opened the passenger door and sat in the leather seat that had a pink, fluffy blanket covering it. You closed the door and set your small, round, pink Chanel handbag under your seat. Hesitatingly, you reached up your dress and your fingers blindly found your panties. You hooked your thumbs around the lace fabric that was a bit too expensive for your taste. You lifted your lower body up and slowly pulled the fabric down, falling into a jumble at your feet. You struggled to untangle them from your heels, before finally triumphing with a small grunt. You shoved the panties into your purse and bit your lip. Embarrassment gnawed at you as you saw people walking by. But they couldn’t see you at all. The darkly tinted glass was like flimsy armour for you in your eyes. Nobody saw through them, but it still made you feel like you were being watched. Leisurely, you began to get lost in that deep sea of thoughts again.

What would he do? Was he going to take you to another mall? You picked at the ends of your Kate Spade dress. It was fancy, dainty, something a princess would wear once and throw away. It made you look classy and tasteful. Underneath it, though, was a different story. Numerous hickeys, bruises and bite marks littered your skin. The marks made you feel small, submissive and owned. Possessed like a play thing, like his pet. Sebastian loved to see you all marked up, it was like you were his work of art and he was the artist. You shyly spread your legs and felt a sweat beginning to form on your back. Your palms began to sweat too, out of pure nervousness of course. You gripped the seats and sighed, before wiping your hands on the blanket. You looked up and saw Sebastian walking out with two bags in his hands. He clutched the silky handles of the bags and walked in long, harsh strides. A small scowl was on his face, seemingly displeased with the day so far.

He weaved his way through the cars as did you. He harshly opened the door for the driver’s seat as if it wouldn’t cost a fortune to repair. He sat down and sighed, shoving the Tiffany & Co. bag in the backseat. You pouted, feeling the anger radiating off of him like heat. The other bag remained in his hands, but you couldn’t recognize the store name. “Daddy got you a few gifts, okay kitten?” He handed the bag over to you as he spoke. You nodded but didn’t dare to open the bag as he hadn’t given you permission. “Thank you, Daddy!” You giggled, your voice holding innocence He smirked at you and crept his hand up your thigh, slowly but surely. Ring-donned knuckles grazed against your wet folds, bumping up against your swollen, sensitive clit. You let out a whimper at the feeling and slick drooled out of you from his touch.

“Daddy…” You whined, looking down at your lap. “Yeah baby?” He asked, playing dumb to the fact that he was toying with your sensitive pussy. You bit your tongue before you could beg and plead for more. You knew he didn’t like it when you were greedy for more. He pulled his hand away from your pussy and you both admired the way his fingers glistened with your arousal. He shoved the same fingers into your mouth, making you gag and drool. You sucked on them as if you were starved, the sweet yet slightly bitter taste of your slick filling your mouth. He pulled his fingers out with a sounding ‘pop’ that made you giggle. “Good kitten, guess you’re not so dumb after all.” He husked, the mix of praise and degradation making you wetter. He revved the engine of his car and began to pull out of the parking lot, driving ensuite to his Upper Eastside home.

The rumble and vibrations of his car went straight to your pussy, reminding you of the time where he sat you stark-naked on the hood of his car and revved the engine just to tease you. Later that night, he chided and punished you for being a messy little kitten. The vivid, lewd memory made you clench your thighs as you were desperate for some sort of friction. Sebastain’s right hand danced all over your body as his left hand gripped the steering wheel tightly. You both got lucky that afternoon, as rush hour traffic had yet to start. Smoothly, he parked in the private garage that housed some of his other cars. They were all worth more than anything, probably hundreds of thousands of dollars. He led you out of the garage and into the elevator, a sweet jazz tune playing at a low hum that was almost missable. You still held onto the bag that he gifted you and you even dared to try and take a peek inside.

The sparkly tissue hid the gift well from your intrusive, detective eyes. You bounced on your feet as you wondered what it could possibly be. It was slightly heavy, but you partially blamed your weak muscles for that. Sebastian never let you lift a finger when it came to hard work. You barely paid attention to the ding of the elevator as you had reached the floor of his penthouse. Sebastian gently dragged you out, your short steps barely keeping up with his long strides. The click of your heels no longer made a sound as the carpet of the hallways muted them gently. “Now when we get inside, I want you to strip everything and kneel on the floor.” He ordered, voice at a low baritone that made you even wetter. Your noticed that your inner thighs were slightly damp with arousal, your pussy leaking with want.

“Yes, Daddy.” You smiled, easily obeying him. You could already feel the ache in your knees that would come with kneeling on the floor. He opened the door and you swiftly made your way to the bedroom. You swung the door open and was met with the room that you spent most of your time in. Grey hues illuminated under the brightness of the chandelier. You gently kicked your shoes into a corner and quickly shed all your clothes off, gently laying them onto the white divan that was at the feet of your bed. You bit your lip as you wondered whether or not you should take a peak in the bag. But you reminded yourself of the consequences your curiosity always brought you. He knew, he always knew when you let your hands and eyes wandered like tourists in Venice. You hesitatingly set the bag onto the dresser, before clumsily unclasping your pearl necklace. You were out of breath at that point, chest heaving like you had just ran a marathon. You hugged your naked body as you moved back to the divan, kneeling in front of it. On the floor, the fluffy carpet dug into your knees slightly, making you wince.

You looked down at the ground and clasped your hands behind your back. The cool air made goosebumps rise like the dead rising from their graves. Your cunt throbbed with anticipation and neediness, you just couldn’t wait for him. Your heart clamoured wildly as you heard him walk closer to the bedroom, opening the door to be pleased by the sight of you on your knees. “Such a good little kitten.” He praised, loosening the expensive tie around his neck. The blazer of the Armani suit was strewn somewhere in the kitchen and all Sebastian was left with was his dress pants and dress shirt. He rolled his sleeves up as he walked around you, making the hairs on the back of your neck raise. You were undoubtedly nervous for what was about to come. You heard the rustling of the bag from the dresser, the sound reverberating throughout the room. “You’d let Daddy do anything to you, right?” He asked, pulling out the bottle of lube from the bag.

“Of course, Daddy!” You exclaimed, knowing it was another one of his rules. Let daddy do whatever he wants to you. He smirked as he pulled the glittery box out of the bag, carefully setting it down next to the bottle of lube. He grabbed everything else from the bag, leaving only the tissue paper. “Close your eyes, kitten.” He demanded, and you listened easily. You slowled your erratic breaths down and furrowed your eyebrows at a foreign feeling. A headband laid on your head and was tucked behind your ears. Then you felt his hands ghosting around your neck, followed by the feeling of cool leather. Sebastian fastened the collar together and tightened it just enough to have you slightly gasping for air. His hands left your neck and his fingers played with the little bell on the front of the collar.

The sound made you even more confused and lost. But you didn’t dare to open your mouth. “Such a cute little kitten.” He cooed, walking back to the dresser. He hastily opened the box with a loud rip and marvelled at its contents. Headbands, tails, buttplugs, paddles, handcuffs, ball gags, dildo gags, dildos, vibrators, leashes, and nipple clamps of all kinds were at his disposal, all for his little kitten - you. He grabbed the pink leash and unwrapped, it carefully, opening its clasp to attach to your collar. “Now open your eyes, kitten.” He instructed, gripping the leash tightly. You opened your eyes and gasped, panic taking over your body. “Sebastian, what’s this?” You nervously questioned, your bottom lip quivering. The smile on his lips quickly turned into a scowl, as you had broken a rule. Never, ever call him Sebastian. He tugged on the leash harshly, pulling you up. “What the fuck did you just call me?” He growled, clearly in no mood for you to act out.

“S- Sorry, Daddy.” You quickly apologized, terrified of his hell-sent wrath. You hesitatingly reached up to touch the headband. Your eyes went wide as you felt ears that would resemble cat ears. Cat ears, the leash and the collar… You added it all up and gasped as it dawned on you, he was into pet play. “Now listen, kitten. You gotta listen to the rules, and if you don’t listen then I could punish you by ending this little relationship, okay? I know you can’t survive without me, and you should remember that.” He spat, making your throat tighten up with an impending sob. You swallowed it down and nodded, deciding to listen to him. “Good kitten.” He praised, smiling once again. He pushed you down and pulled your ass up into the air, and you let him manhandle you. Your dripping pussy was exposed to him and shame bit you like a snake.

He let go of the leash and walked to the dresser, and for a split second you thought you could have ran away. But as soon as he turned back around, those thoughts went away. The coolness of the lub made you flinch as he poured some onto your ass hole. He carefully spread it around but didn’t bother to warm you up. You shouted when you felt the tip of the tail plug push into your puckered hole. It stretched your ass out painfully and you couldn’t bear the pain. It shot up your spine and made you feel dizzy. You thought you were going to pass out as the large part of the plug forced its way into you. Finally, the excruciating pain stopped increasing. Into died down to a low thrumming and throbbing and soon dwindled into an aching pleasure. You felt full yet empty, which only made you whine pathetically.

“Poor kitten, so desperate for your Daddy, hm?” He snickered, making you shy away from him. Your wetness coated your inner thighs and began to drip from your cunt, the sweet scent of it making him moan. “Before I fuck that tight little pussy of yours, I believe I have to punish you.” He spoke, shrugging his shirt off. You watched from the corner of your eyes as he stripped down to his birthday suit that was always a delectable sight for your eyes only. Your mouth salivated as you saw his large, hard cock in his boxers. You couldn't fight the urge to rub your thighs together at all. The slight friction was euphoric, but it just wasn’t enough. Sebastian picked up the paddle that had the word ‘mine’ engraved on it. He walked back to your bent over form and soothingly rubbed your ass before speaking.

“Count them, and don’t forget to thank me.” He implored, smacking the paddle harshly on your right ass cheek. “One, thank you Daddy.” You squeaked out. He took turns on each cheek, hitting you with the same amount of agonizing strength. Tears streamed down your face as you sobbed after each spank. Your ass was bruised, the word ‘mine’ indented all over it. “Twenty, thank you Daddy!” You whimpered. “You like this, don’t you? Such a good little kitten, all slutty and dripping for your Daddy.” He gently barked, making you nod. His words only added gasoline to the fire that was your shame and arousal. You felt a harsh tug from the leash and suddenly you were on your hands and knees, just like a kitten. Your mascara was leaking, smeared on your face like in those angsty-heartbreak movies.

Sebastian wiped the tears and ruined mascara away, but he only made you l;ook more pathetic than before. He’d love to fuck your beautiful face until you passed out, or to slap your little cheeks until you begged for more. He wanted to break you, to turn you into his little kitten. You gulped down your fear as you waited for what he’d gladly give you next. Your eyes fell to his hard cock, still stuck in its confinement that was his Hugo Boss boxers. They hung right where his intriguing v-line was, the same path that would lead you to your treasure -- his cock. You looked up at him, watching as he sucked his bottom lip between his pearly whites. “Beg for it.” He growled. You knew how much he loved to hear you beg. It made him feel superior, it fed his ego but it made you feel submissive and desperate. But oh, the rewarding praise it would come with was so addictive, like ecstasy.

“Please daddy? I’ll be a good little kitten! I need your big cock daddy, please?” You begged, your voice slightly strained from the screaming and yelling. You looked up at him and unintentionally gave him those puppy eyes that always made him weak in the knees. Glazed over orbs that were slightly sad, begging in their own language that was silence. Sebastian let go of the leash and stalked away from you, keeping his predatory eyes trained on you. You admired the scratches that were stained on his back that your well manicured nails left behind. Just like a kitten. He sits on the bed and crosses his arms, large muscles bulging and the sight makes you whimper -- loudly. You loved the way your small hands would struggle to grip his large biceps as you’d scramble for purchase whilst he’d rail into you.

The phantom feeling of his cock driving in and out of you sparks something inside of you, pushing you into a light, floaty headspace. The loud snap of his fingers made you jump with fear. He pointed at the floor next to him and you furrowed your eyebrows with mystification. You knew he wasn’t going to help you out then, no. You were all on your own. Sebastian raised his eyebrow as he waited for you to crawl towards him, just like how a kitten should. He wasn’t going to help you out, you needed to learn on your own. He longed for you to fully fall into the headspace that would make you all dumb and stupid. He loved to break you, to see you depend on him for everything. “D- Daddy?” You called out, waiting for him to tell you to do something. But he remained as silent as a stone. “Here, kitty, kitty...” The snapping, the pointing, and the waiting… He wanted you to crawl, didn’t he?

You gulped and winced as you put one knee before the other, one hand before the other. You soon met Sebastian's bouncing feet, before looking up at him. All your arousal leaked all over you, and as much as you hated to admit it, the whole thing turned you on even more. The dominance, the degrading, the feeling of needing him, it all made the passionate fire in your abdomen continue to burn. Sebastian turned to face you and ran his thumb across your lips, smearing your saliva around. He pushed his thumb in your mouth and you eagerly sucked on it as if it were his cock. He abruptly pulled it out, making you put. “Nuh uh, none of that.” He chided, feeling his cock stirring in his pants. “Such a good, dumb little kitten. Take daddy’s cock out.” He jeered, and you nearly sobbed. Finally, finally. You swiftly pulled his boxers down, watching as his large cock bounced up and hit his lower abdomen. Thick ropes of pre-cum leaked down the shaft of his cock and you never wanted to suck him off more in your life.

You involuntarily darted your tongue out to lap up all the pre-cum, but a harsh tug on the pink leather leash halted you. “As much as I’d love to stuff your cute, slutty little mouth with my cock, I’m in the mood to fuck you until you’re just a braindead kitten.” He belted, leaving no room for argument or begging. He leans down and captures your lips in a heated, rough kiss. You can barely keep up with the Greek God-esque man. The kiss is dominating; arduous and vehement. His teeth nipped at your wet lips and you whimper into the kiss, only adding gasoline to the fire. He forcefully pushed his tongue into your mouth and you let it explore everywhere. You sucked out it softly, rubbing your thighs together to alleviate the burning ache that just seems to only intensify. He pulled away from you all at once and you felt dizzy. Your lips were throbbing and suddenly you’re thrown onto the bed.

You felt the plug push farther into you -- further shocking you as it already was so deep. It grazed against each and every one of your sensitive spots, making you cry out. It was the kind of pleasure that was also painful, but the kind of pain that made you want to be hurt more and more. You wondered if you were a masochist, if Sebastian had turned you into a masochist. But at that time, that was the least of your worries. From the corner of your eyes, you saw the glint from the glittery box that Sebastian had purchased. He flipped you onto your stomach and slowly pulled the tail out, stroking it every now and then. “Ngh.” You moaned out it was pulled out all the way. Sebastian stared at your gaping hole, wishing he could just stick his cock in you and fuck you into oblivion. He could, but he shouldn’t; not yet at least.

You gripped the sheets tightly, silk slightly slipping from your sweaty hands. A gasp flew past your lips as Sebastian puckered his lips and spat on your puckered hole, before rubbing it in. You fought the need to push your hips back against his thumb, slowly pushing into you. The stretch was just as painful as the plug, your poor ass burning. He pulled his thumb back out before grabbing another plug, one that had a pink tail. He swiftly pushed it in and your eyes rolled back into your skull at the feeling. It wasn’t as painful as before, it was actually pleasurable. You swore you lost your vision for a brief second, and even your breath as well as your morals. Well, you lost your morals a long time ago, to be frank.

You felt him stroke the fluffy part of the tail again, almost trying to soothe you. He fiddled with the base of the plug, trying to find the little nub that was supposed to be there. His fingers flipped it and suddenly the plug began to vibrate. Muted, strong vibrations radiated throughout your ass and up your spine, even reaching to your poor little pussy. You moaned pornographically, bucking your hip involuntarily, humping the air. “Aw, poor little kitten is so needy.” He taunted, even though it was the same case for him. He was harder than anything and it was almost painful. Pre-cum leaked from his aching, silky and dripped down to his swollen balls.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled your hips back towards his and grinded his cock against your dripping pussy. You were so wet that you could smell the slightly bitter scent of your arousal in the air. It was muted, faint, but anybody would have noticed. Sebastian grabbed the base of his cock and bumped the silky, bulbous head of his cock against your clit. You cried out, “Please daddy!” But he only turned up the vibrations and continued to rub the tip against your pearl of nerves. His cock teased your drooling hole, and you just couldn’t take it anymore. “Please fuck me, daddy!” You pleaded. Sebastian sheathed his cock into your wet pussy, impaling you. You wheezed as he slowly bottomed out, his cock slightly grazing your cervix.

You didn’t mind it, though. He stayed still, his cock throbbing inside your core. He reached for the pink hitachi wand and turned it on, pressing it onto your poor little clit. You shrieked at the abrupt amount of pleasure, your hand darting down to where the wand was. You held it in place even though your hands were shaking. Your body held a slight tremor and Sebastian began to pound into your pussy. The sound of skin slapping, both of your moans and the obscene squelching from your pussy filled the room. “Oh fuck!” You yelled, feeling your orgasm building up already. “Fuck, so tight.” Sebastian groaned, thrusting into you even harder. His cock kept nudging against your g-spot, each time making you dizzier.

“D- Daddy… Can I cum? Please?!” You squealed, your voice louder than the banging that came from the bed headboard against the wall. “Fuck- No, hold it.” He growled, before moaning loudly, You clenched around his cock, the pleasure pushing you closer and closer to your release. Sebastian watched as your juices coated his cock, glistening with your arousal. “Please daddy?” You begged, knowing all too well that you might pass out if you don’t cum — at least that’s what it felt like. Your pussy squeezed him with all it’s mine, wetness dripping all over the sheets and you struggled to stop screaming. “Oh!” You gasp as he pushed the plug into you deeper. “Yeah, take in deep in your slutty, tight little pussy. You gonna cum, kitten? Such a good little pet!” He shouted, and you wailed. “Cum, cum all over my cock.” He commanded. The dam inside you broke as you came all over his cock, milking him. “Thank you, Daddy!” You mewled, bucking against his cock.

You babbled dumbly as you soon became overstimulated. Sebastian tugged on your leash and the bell on it rang non-stop. You tried to run away from him, the pleasure becoming too much. But you soon found yourself moving back against his cock, fucking yourself. “Poor kitten, can’t take my cock now even though you fuckin’ begged for it.” He spat, his thrusts growing sloppy. Your pussy spasmed as you came for the second time, your vision becoming darker than usual. You fell against the bed but you didn’t relent your grip on the wand. Your body was on fire, heart clamouring at such a rate that you couldn’t calm it down. “Oh fuck…” He groaned, pulling out of your pussy to stave off his orgasm. Your cum dripped from his cock as he flipped you onto your back and spread your legs wide.

Sebastian plummeted his cock back into your pussy and grabbed the sparkly dildo in the box. Before you could ask him what he was about to do, he slowly pushed the dildo alongside his cock. It wasn’t as big as his cock, no, but it was enough to have you screaming at him to stop. You pushed at his hard chest but he didn’t budge. Instead, he growled at you to stop. “...If you don’t listen then I could punish you by ending this little relationship, okay? I know you can’t survive without me, and you should remember that.” His words echoed in your mind like a memory that you wanted to forget but you were always reminded of it. You both moaned once he stopped pushing the dildo into your stretched out pussy. You were sure that he ruined you for anyone else.

He slowly began to thrust both his cock and the dildo in and out of you. His thrusts were slow but sharp and hard, even though they were slightly sloppy. You came for a third time, your mouth falling open as you let out a silent scream. Tears streamed down your cheeks again and you couldn’t take it anymore. “One more, kitten.” He bargained even though you knew you couldn’t object. His cock and the dildo hitting your g-spot over and over, the butt plug, and the hitachi wand were all too much for you. But they all ruined you over and over, and they all made you cum over and over. “Oh- Oh my god! ‘M gonna cum so fucking hard!” You preened, arching your back off the bed. You unintentionally pressed the hitachi wand harder against your clit, only intensifying your orgasm.

You gushed around Sebastian’s cock as thick, white, hot ropes of cum painted your walls. His cock pulsed in your pussy as he continued to fill you up. Shockwaves were sent throughout your body and you left the conscious world for a few seconds — making a quick trip to heaven. Or hell. Sebastian pulled out and watched as his cum followed both his cock and the dildo. Your sore hole gaped slightly, all fucked out and ruined. He turned the vibrators off and you curled up into a ball. You slowly descended from your powerful high, sighing heavily. You shut your eyes as you ushered Sebastian to cuddle you. But he just chuckled like a sadist. “Oh no kitten, did you think we were done?”

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viperbarnes · 3 years ago

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The Tie That Binds – [Five of Eight]

[B. Barnes, Soulmate AU]

Summary: HYDRA took everything from you, your life, your future, they even burned off your soulmark to make sure nobody would go looking for you. Now the man they forced you to fix reappears in your life, to make amends and to be ‘of service’.

You know that they made him do all those things, that James ‘Bucky’ Barnes is not The Winter Soldier, that he’s innocent. You don’t blame him.

But that doesn’t make seeing him again any easier.

Warnings: Panic attacks, language, talk and depiction of home invasion and abduction, canon level violence, HYDRA levels of torture, angst, fluff, slow-ish burn, friends to lovers.

Note: I hope you enjoy!!!

<- Prev / Next ->

“What time is it there?”

“Same as New York, only it’s day time here.”

You hum softly and try to shuffle over onto your side, phone still pressed to your ear as you settle again. On the other end of the line, you can hear muffled street sounds, the hum of conversation in a language you don’t understand, and the occasional car horn. You remind yourself that Bucky hadn’t been gone all that long, barely three days now, and try not to feel foolish.

“Honey?” His voice is clear through the phone, like you could hear him for real in the room with you.

“Yeah, I’m still here. Was just moving.” You tell him. You can imagine him ducked into a nook of a brightly lit street, phone to his ear, his brow pinched in that worried way it often was.

“Is it helping?” He asks, but you let out a small sigh.

“No.”

Silence follows for a few seconds, and you listen closer to the sounds on the other end, trying to make a guess at where in the world he might be.

“I’m sorry, honey…” There’s more guilt in his voice than you like, and you can’t stop yourself from frowning deeply, despite the fact he can’t see you.

“It’s not your fault. You can’t just stop helping people because your girlfriend doesn’t like being alone…” You huff, rolling your eyes. You hear Bucky chuckle softly, and it makes your own lips quirk.

“I know, but I’m still sorry that you had a bad dream and that I’m not able to be there… I don’t like leaving anymore than you do.” He assures you, and you know he’s speaking the truth. Ever since your relationship had taken a turn for the romantic you’d been inseparable. Rarely did a day go by that you weren’t with one another, and contrary to what you might have thought before, being so used to your isolated existence, it didn’t feel suffocating.

Nothing felt as though it had changed all that much, it wasn’t as if the nature of your time together had really changed. You weren’t suddenly all over each other all the time, but there was a closeness, a tenderness now that underpinned everything.

You moved slow in some aspects, physicality mostly, and fast in others. Since Bucky had first kissed you over a month ago now, you’d started staying with one another through the night. You’d sleep beside one another, and truthfully, you hadn’t had such restful sleep since before HYDRA had kidnapped you. You’d been surprised when Bucky had told you of his initial hesitation, that he hadn’t wanted to wake you up with his own nightmares, but the nighttime company seemed to lend him a sense of calm as well.

Your stomach stirs at the thought of him not sleeping well while he was away either.

“I’ll be okay. I promise.” You assure him, pausing briefly before continuing.

“I just wanted to talk to you… hear your voice.” You confess, feeling rather silly, like a high schooler with a crush. Bucky hums down the line again, but this time, you imagine his sweet and bashful smile.

“I don’t think we’ll be here much longer, but just in case, why don’t you stay at mine until I get home?” He suggests. Bucky’s apartment was in a slightly nicer part of town, the building itself a little more secure and modern than yours.

You smile against the side of your phone, and nod.

“Okay. But you’ll try to let me know when you’re on your way home, right?” You both check and remind him, but you hardly need to. He meant it when he said he didn’t like going away as much as you didn’t.

“You’ll know the second I do, honey… If my phone still works.”

You chortle at the wince you hear in his voice, memories of a mission before last, when he’d used the device as parts in a makeshift bomb.

Reluctantly you bid goodnight, waiting until the very last second to hang up before you feel alone again in your far too empty bed. Unable to stare at the vacant spot next to you any longer, you decide to put Bucky’s advice into action sooner than the morning, gathering together a small bag of essentials before calling a ride service and making your way to Bucky’s apartment.

It’s still lonely without him, but between his sheets you’re able to slip back into sleep, dreaming of far more pleasant things this time.

---

Two days later you arrive home at Bucky’s apartment, cold, tired, and ready to crawl onto his couch and watch some mindless TV.

You’re still halfway through hanging up your coat and scarf when a noise makes you freeze. It was unidentifiable at first, just a sound that wasn’t supposed to be, but as you stop and listen closer, you can make out what you think is a very soft whisper, and some kind of scratching.

Your heartbeat hiccups, but it’s then, as you finish hanging your scarf on a hook, that you notice the dark black duffle bag kicked against the wall, right in front of your feet. This time your heart jumps for a different reason, and you swallow thickly.

“Bucky?!” You call out, hopeful and already moving quickly through the entryway.

“Living room!” His voice calls back, and you can’t help but smile widely as you step out of the hallway and spy the top of his head over the half wall that divided the kitchen and living space.

He’s sat on the floor, for some reason, between the couch and the TV, and at first you don’t think to question him, only freezing again when you move further into the home, and the whole scene is revealed to you fully.

“Hey baby,” Bucky beams at you, still in his uniform. You stare at him, mouth slightly ajar as you attempt to process what you were seeing.

“This is George.” He tells you, nodding down at the space between his crossed legs, where a seemingly very excited pitbull puppy struggles against Bucky’s arm to try and get to you. You blink at the dog, and then at Bucky, whose eyes have turned back to the dog as he softly calms him.

“Come and say hello before he wears a hole in me.” Bucky chortles, and you finally snap out of your surprise enough to inch closer to the pair, eventually kneeling down in front of them, and holding your hand out for the puppy to sniff.

“Hi George…!” You greet, unable to hold back a smile as the puppy immediately begins sniffing and licking your hand. You chuckle as you settle more comfortably on your knees, and lift both hands to give the dog some ear scratches.

“Why do you have a dog, Buck…?” You ask, laughter rolling over your words as the man releases his hold on the pup and lets him bound into your lap, where he promptly tries to climb you to lick your face.

“Woah now, Georgie, that’s my job…” Bucky teases, gently pulling the dog back just a little.

“He’s so happy!” You exclaim, shifting again so that you mirrored Bucky’s crossed-legs, and allowing George to settle between them, calming some as you pet behind his ears again.

“That’s just ‘cause I was tellin’ him all about you on the way home.” Bucky grins, leaning forward enough to press a brief kiss to your forehead in proper greeting. You shake your head and focus back on the puppy, running your finger from the tip of his nose to the top of his head.

“You gonna answer my question?” You prompt, and Bucky eyes you with a shrug.

“Saw a box of them on the street as Sam and I were getting ready to leave. He was the only one left.” He tells you with a little frown, watching George as the pup play with his hand. You get the feeling his story is heavily censored, if not wholly untrue, but you don’t ask.

You don’t want to know.

“So… you decided all of a sudden you were going to get a dog?” You prompt again, and his frown disappears as he fixes his gaze back on you.

“No, I decided to get a second.” He grins, only clarifying when you frown in confusion.

“… A second in command, I mean. Not a second dog.”

You still stare at him confused, though only a little less than before. It’s then that Bucky reaches out, scooping George up in his arms and holding him up to his chest like a baby.

“George is gonna keep you safe when I’m away,” Bucky explains, making your heart skip a beat.

“We’re gonna train him up real good, make sure he gets big and strong,” He looks up from the puppy then, and at you, his eyes softening.

“And maybe we can avoid more sleepless nights…”

You struggle to stop your lip from trembling at the sheer thoughtfulness of it all, but settle for shooting Bucky a watery smile before you lean in to brush your hand over George’s head lovingly.

“Thank you.” You say, leaning even further to press your lips to Bucky’s cheek. He smiles softly back at you as you pull away, and begin fussing with the puppy again.

“Why ‘George’?” You ask a small while later, finishing up a list you’d made of puppy things you had to buy, all the while Bucky played with your new little friend. He’d donated an old glove to the toy fund already, and you watch as the pair play a gentle game of tug-of-war.

“When I was a kid there was this local boxer, the best in Brooklyn, I reckon,” Bucky begins, but doesn’t look up from his game.

“They used to call him ‘The Pitbull’, but his real name was George.” He shrugs then, and throws you a small smile.

“Just thought it suited.”

---

The morning breeze whips against your cheeks, the tip of your nose bearing the brunt as well. It had been a while since you’d not only been awake so early, but ready and willing to leave the house too.

You had a good reason though, a reason you follow closely with your eyes as he darts across the dewy-wet grass, kicking up flecks of dirt as he goes, and you remind yourself you’ll need to give his feet a wipe down before you let him back into the apartment. The pitbull pup had filled out over the past three months, though he’d still get bigger the vet had told you. His grey-black coat had turned more grey than black, and his floppy little ears had become a little less floppy as he’d grown into them.

You grin as you watch Bucky play with him, running back and forth across a small area of the dog park, a large rope toy in his hand. Every so often he stops to let Georgie catch up to him, wrestling the toy from him, and then the chase swaps.

It was so nice to see Bucky completely and unabashedly carefree. Even before Georgie came along, as you’d settled into your relationship, you’d still catch him with a sad look on his face every so often. You would both speak candidly about your pasts, and no matter how your relationship had developed, neither of you would ever be able to change what had happened.

You still wondered if being with Bucky was the right thing. Choice or not, the universe had already dictated his soulmate, and someday that fact would rear its head again. You mostly tried to ignore it, to relish in what you had while you had it, but there was a part of you that knew deep down, it wasn’t forever.

“Brave choice,” A voice speaks up from nearby you, and you turn to find a woman around your age, her own dog sat patiently by her feet. She tosses a brightly coloured ball, and the dog takes off after it.

“Excuse me?” you ask, and the woman focuses back on you. She nods in the direction of Georgie and Bucky, with a not-unfriendly smile.

“A pitbull. It’s a brave choice you know. Lotta work.”

You can tell she wasn’t trying to be rude or condescending, but her opinions rub you the wrong way despite that.

“Not really,” you reply with a tight smile and a shrug.

“Just like any dog. You have to put in the work to get the results.”

“But Pitbulls are naturally more dangerous. That’s just a fact.” The woman’s dog returns to her, dropping the ball which she then tosses again.

“I disagree,” you try to refrain from displaying your own ‘natural’ danger, but your voice still holds a sharpness.

“It’s their environment that determines that.”

The woman hums in a decidedly condescending way.

You’re glad that she decides to run after her dog a fews seconds later, ending the short, but annoying conversation.

You look back at your two boys, your stomach churning, though you aren’t really sure why. Newly being a pitbull owner, you’d seen and heard plenty of shitty opinions online and in person during your research and finding a puppy-preschool course. None of these had really bothered you that much before, you’d usually just dismiss the arguments. Now though, you feel properly upset in a way that makes your hands shake, your coffee wobbling precariously in the cup you hold.

You aren’t even aware that you’re frowning deeply until Bucky pauses, sitting on the grass with Georgie draped over his legs, both seemingly out of breath. He looks around before he spots you, his smile dropping a few seconds later when he spies your sour expression. You look away briefly, trying to rid it from your features, but it’s too late.

Bucky scoops Georgie up, the puppy happy to be held, and collects the rope toy before he begins making his way back to you, concern creasing his brow. You greet you dog first when he’s close, cupping his face and scratching behind his ears, but it’s only a thinly veiled tactic not to look at your boyfriend. It fails anyway, as he sweeps down to peck your lips chastly.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks, kneeling down to place Georgie back on the ground, and connecting his lead back to his collar again.

“Nothing,” you lie, receiving a frown in response.

“Really, it’s nothing. I’ll tell you later.” you brush it off more convincingly this time, and tuck yourself into Bucky’s side as you begin walking. He seems to accept this with a flat hum, but wraps his free arm around your back and presses a kiss to the side of your head.

You walk home sharing quiet conversation, and Bucky seemingly forgets about your glare and change in mood at the park, but you don’t.

It stays with you over the next couple of days, an unsettling and building upset. You aren’t sure if it makes you angry, or sad, or guilty even. It just makes you feel bad, and every time your mind is brought back to it, the weight of the emotions hit you heavily.

You’re standing at your stove, stirring the pasta sauce for dinner when it happens again. Bucky had gone to clean up some time ago, but last you’d checked he’d been lounging on your bed, Georgie cuddled up with him.

It was wrong for people to assume off the bat that your beautiful little puppy was somehow inherently worse, more aggressive or dangerous than other dogs. He’d never hurt a fly, and as long as he was brought up well and lived in a loving household, there was no reason that would suddenly change.

Pitbulls who were abused, or existed in places where aggression was rewarded and therefore exhibiting dangerous behaviours were made that way by human involvement, not by nature. Even then, the amount of stories of rehabilitated rescue pitbulls were more than abundant!

It hits you then, like a sack of bricks.

Bucky was the pitbull.

Not literally, of course, the woman had been explicitly referring to your dog, but internally, your anger and sadness and guilt had been about something else entirely.

It makes you feel even worse all of a sudden, because it wasn’t as if you hadn’t known this. You knew Bucky’s prior life and behaviour was entirely not of his own choosing, you know that HYDRA had forged him into what he’d been, and that with his freedom he’d chosen to change, to do and be better. To make amends.

You knew this, so why did this stupid anaology hit you so differently?

Your initial reaction to Bucky showing up again in your life wasn’t unfounded, you know you shouldn’t feel guilty about that. So where did the guilt come from? Was it only because now you knew him? Because of how things had changed and what you’d become to one another?

No, you realise, again rather suddenly, a second sack of bricks.

With Georgie around now, you got to see Bucky interacting with somebody else he adored, and the differences were stark. With Georgie, he wasn’t hesitance, there was no sense of cautiousness or reproach, but with you, there was.

Bucky was always so careful with you, always soft and gentle and aware. As if he himself wasn’t entirely sure you weren’t afraid.

You swallow thickly and shakily move to turn off the stove.

He almost never touched you with his left hand, if he could help it. The physicality between the two of you only extended to the occasional kiss and the closeness you’d share when you slept most nights. He never pressed beyond that, and while that was fine with you, you see it now in a different light. You don’t want to be in a relationship where one of you always felt like you were penitent.

You wonder if he thinks he doesn’t deserve more.

Slowly your feet carry you towards your bedroom, where you stop in the doorway to take in your view.

Bucky lay against your pillows, one arm tucked behind his head, and the other resting gently on Georgie’s, softly petting. The pup perks when he hears you though, sitting up and drawing Bucky’s attention too, before he gets up altogether and darts towards you.

“Probably thinks it’s dinner time.” Bucky remarks, and you shoot him a small smile, nodding.

“I’ll do it.” You tell him quietly. You quickly go about feeding your puppy, deciding it would be better to have him aside for the time being.

When you return, Bucky is sat up more, his phone in his hand, but he shuts it off and sets it aside when you enter the room. You aren’t sure how to say what you want to say, or even if Bucky would be honest in hearing it.

You don’t say anything as you join him on your bed, quickly curling up into his side.

“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, and you realise he hadn’t forgotten about the day at the dog park. You draw yourself even closer, hiding your face in his shoulder as he shuffles so that he can wrap you up with both arms.

“You still feel guilty,” You murmur, unsure of if that will even make sense, but you don’t know how else to order your thoughts. Bucky pauses, and in your mind you can picture his brow furrowing and his lips turning down in the corners.

“Of course I do,” he says then, and you’re both a little surprised and relieved that you don’t have to explain yourself further.

Lifting your head, you find him staring up at the ceiling, though his eyes turn to you when you raise a hand to his cheek, forcing him to look at you.

“I really don’t want you to,” you tell him, earning you a small smile.

“I don’t think it works like that,” Bucky says, shifting again so that he can face you better.

“It does a little bit… if you think I’m still…” You fetter off, unsure of the word.

“Afraid?” Bucky supplies, and his choice of word confirms your suspicions.

“Buck… if I were even a little bit afraid, you wouldn’t be here right now,” You tell him firmly, needing him to hear you.

“I wouldn’t have let you come back to my home, or invited you inside. Trust me.”

His eyes dart away from yours, and he purses his lips.

“I don’t ever want to hurt you again,” Bucky’s voice is quiet, and you’re glad at least that he was engaging with you.

“I get it,” you tell him.

“But this isn’t going to work if you can’t trust me when I tell you something… and vice versa.”

His eyes snap to yours, and his frown deepens. You see a flash of worry in his eyes.

“If you’re always feeling like you’re walking on glass or that you need to tread carefully, that’s not really respecting my decision to be with you,” you say slowly. Bucky’s frown deepens again, and he swallows, but he nods hesitantly.

“I– I’m not saying that either of us can just forget– but at some point we have to forgive, right?”

Bucky stares at you for a moment, but slowly you see his frown lessen, and he nods again.

“I–” he cuts himself off and clears his throat.

“I never thought about it like that. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head.

“It’s okay. I understand… but Buck, you don’t have to make amends with me anymore,”

Bucky blinks, his face morphing into confusion.

“The past ten years I spent thinking I was gonna die alone, at least now I’ve got a fifty-fifty either way,” you play it off as a joke, and Bucky chortles, but he sobers quickly too, frown reappearing briefly as he cups your cheek.

“That’s a hard thing for me to come to terms with, honey… I don’t know if I’ll ever feel as though I can make up for everything. Not in a way that feels like it’s enough.” His thumb swipes gently back and forth over your cheek, and truly, you haven’t felt so safe or cherished in your entire life.

“Just start thinking about it. If it’s something you’ve never considered before, of course it’s hard to come to terms with.”

You lean up and press a soft kiss to his lips, intending to be chaste, but his hand at your cheek holds you there, and even now your heart flutters. He kisses you no more passionately than usual, but there’s a depth to it now that makes it feel brand new. It fetters off sweetly into shorter kisses, until he pecks you once more finally on the lips, before tugging you closer and kissing the top of your head.

“You may also need to come to terms with the fact I burnt dinner…” you scrunch up your nose as you admit the failure sitting on the stove, and Bucky’s whole body shakes as he laughs. He kisses your head again before his arms tighten around you.

“That ones a little bit easier, honey.”

If you like or enjoy, a comment or reblog is always highly appreciated! Thank you for reading!!!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes/you

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21burritoseavey · 3 years ago

Text

control - daniel seavey imagine

a/n: i hope you enjoy this one, this is probably the longest one i’ve ever done but i still hope you like it. oh also if anyone wants to be tagged in a post just let me know:)

warning: this imagine does describe/mention anxiety. I know that anxiety can look different for everyone but what happens in this imagine is kinda how I have experienced it. It’s nothing too crazy but be mindful and read at your discretion:)

Early in the morning I still get a little bit nervous

Fightin' my anxiety constantly, I try to control it

4:58am

Daniel awoke suddenly, his bright blue eyes snapping open. He felt the uncomfy tightness in his chest, rising and falling with every rapid breath he took, and his eyes darted around the dark room, paranoid that the terrorising monsters of anxiety had escaped from his dream world into reality. The silence of his bedroom and distant chirping of crickets outside said otherwise. Daniel swiftly shifted his gaze to his nightstand, the alarm clock read 5:00, signalling another rough night of sleep for him the third time that week.

Even when I know it's been forever I can still feel the spin

Hurts when I remember and I never wanna feel it again

He sighed tiredly before relaxing back into his bed, trying his best to smother his shallow breaths into his sheets. Daniel was wide awake, and mere seconds later, he slowly lifted his blankets to the side, draping his legs on the edge of the bed and got up cautiously. He walked slowly to the bathroom with quivering hands and approached the mirror in his en suite, grimacing at the sight before him.

Messy hair, damp forehead, ruffled clothing.

Don't know if you get it 'cause I can't express how thankful I am

That you were always with me when it hurts, I know that you'd understand

Daniel reached for the collar of his sweaty t-shirt before pulling it off, distaste etched in the features of his tired face. He tossed it in the basket, huffing lightly as he leaned onto the vanity. He stared blankly into the mirror and let his mind wander from thoughts about work to music to Y/n. Y/n, he thought again, furrowing his brows as he contemplated calling her. His phone sat plugged into the charger near his nightstand, easily reachable. Daniel knew that Y/n wouldn’t mind listening to his unwavering rambles about his nightmares like she typically did, but he still didn’t move from his place behind the mirror. Before anything else could stumble into his mind, Daniel quickly turned the tap on, the cold water flowed easily from the faucet and he rinsed his face quickly, washing the remnants of his horrors away.

9:23am

Incoming call from Y/n/n

Daniel almost grinned eye to eye as he read Y/n’s name on his phone screen and he quickly accepted the facetime, instantly seeing her sunshiny face light up his screen.

“Heyyy!” Y/n said tenderly from her comfy spot on her bed. Daniel’s expression softened as he heard her loving voice through the phone.

“Good morning, honey.” Daniel said sweetly as he pulled out a chair from the kitchen island and sat down.

“How did you sleep?” Y/n yawned.

I don't wanna lose control

Nothing I can do anymore

Daniel paused for a moment, pondering what he should say next, “I slept well.” Daniel grinned before continuing “Did you just wake up, honey?” He chuckled gently.

“Yeah...” Y/n smiled as she rubbed her eyes. She perked up quickly “Are we still coming over to my place later?” Y/n asked sweetly, gazing expectantly at Daniel.

Tryin' every day when I hold my breath

Spinnin' out in space pressing on my chest

I don't wanna lose control

“Yeah...of-f course” Daniel said as steadily as he could as he felt the anxiety boil up in his chest again. “Uh, I gotta go, I have a long day-” Daniel said with a tight smile, “I’ll talk to you later, I love you so much Y/n.” She smiled widely before replying.

“Okay, I love you, Dani.” Daniel tuned into the warmth of her voice before fading out with a quiet goodbye and hanging up. He set his phone down tiredly and got up from his seat to make some breakfast. He worked quietly but quickly, avoiding the reeling thoughts in his head.

Daniel couldn’t get his mind to stop, to just relish in the gift of presence like his girlfriend did. He admired her a lot in that way, in her ability to disregard any negative thoughts and go on with her day with the same soft, happy mood, gentle and steady. In truth, Daniel couldn’t shake the gut wrenching, shameful sense of feeling like a burden. Y/n was the person he felt safest with, but recently, he found himself intentionally suppressing his uneasy thoughts, which only left him with guilt and a distressing pit in his stomach.

3:42pm

The band had been doing interviews since 11am that morning and Daniel felt particularly exhausted from his rough and frankly non-existent sleep the night before. “Okay, listen up. You guys have two more fan meet and greets, okay?” Randy reminded the group while they sat on Daniel’s living room sofa.

Sometimes I still think it's coming but I know it's not

Tryin' to breathe in and then out but the air gets caught

The boys all agreed casually, replying with an asynchronous chorus of “okay”, but Daniel’s face only grew in panic and he shifted nervously from his spot a few paces away from everyone else. It was safe to say Daniel’s anxiety was majorly challenging him today, throwing him into a prison of worry and holding him hostage. He stared deeply into the blank monitor in front of them, his own loneliness reflected at him. The vibration of his iPhone notification piqued his attention and he read the simple message from Y/n with a grin “I miss you”. His eyes remained downcast and he dropped his phone in his back pocket again.

'Cause even though I'm older now and I know how to shake off the past

I wouldn't have made it if I didn't have you holding my hand

It felt like just minutes- no, seconds after they had finished their lunch break but the team were already preparing for the next zoom meet and greet. Daniel sighed deeply and approached the rest of the band before sitting down on the sofa beside Corbyn.

“Okay guys, you ready?” Randy asked, barely waiting for an answer before entering the zoom call. Daniel’s breath hitched in his dry throat, and he felt his body tensing and his heart pounding. He wasn’t ready. Daniel tried to cling onto any steady breath, but there wasn’t one. He felt himself spiralling into even more anxiety and his body abruptly dropped to the carpeted floor.

I don't wanna lose control

Nothing I can do anymore

Tryin' every day when I hold my breath

Spinnin' out in space pressing on my chest

“Dani?” Corbyn asked quickly, kneeling down beside Daniel. His sudden tone of concern sparked almost everyone’s attention. Daniel merely clasped his hands over his head, failing to slow down his heavy breathing.

“Daniel? Hey? Daniel-” The guys stumbled out with jittery voices. Daniel heard their concerned words on repeat but couldn’t get himself to respond. His poisonous anxiety flowed through his blood and soon he found himself heaving through heavy lungs. The boys all scrambled to get Daniel water or a cool towel or anything as Daniel sat sorrowfully on the floor with his knees up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his body. The group’s concern for their best friend’s wellbeing only made Daniel feel even worse and all he wanted in that moment was to leave. The overlap of panicked voices.

The abundance of eyes he knew were on him and the distant echoes of the fans’ voices through the screen all sent Daniel into suffocating overwhelm. In one swift motion, he lifted himself off the floor with all the might he could muster and ran to the bathroom.

The boys stood there stunned and Randy rushed to get his phone “Who should we call? Y/n?” Randy asked swiftly.

“Y-yeah, I’ll call her” Jack said quickly, grabbing his phone from his pocket and he dialled her number.

4:11pm

I need you to know, I would never be this strong without you

You've seen how I've grown, you took all my doubts, 'cause you were home

Y/n leaned her head on the bathroom door and she tried to call Daniel’s name as calmly as she could without letting her own nervous tears fall. “Dani” she said quietly, pushing her ear against the door as if to hear what he was doing. The sound of Daniel’s muffled sobs could be heard from the other side of the door. Her heart broke at that very moment, and she instantly felt sorrowful tears fall silently down her cheeks before she tried again. “Daniel, please, can you just open the door” Y/n said quietly, but Daniel heard and to Y/n’s surprise, he opened the door cautiously.

I don't wanna lose control

There's nothing I can do anymore

Daniel’s red teary eyes and quivering body were immediately noticed by Y/n, and she looked at him with concern carved in every part of her face. Daniel’s frustration and anxiety balled inside him, ravaging his mind with painful thoughts and emotions, finally erupting in front of Y/n. She shuffled over quickly to wrap her arms around him as he cried heavily into her shoulder, panting from pure exhaustion. Y/n gulped down her tears as she held Daniel tightly, whispering quiet reassurances as he let all his emotions out. Daniel clinged onto the material of his sweater she wore, and he let himself be calmed by Y/n’s presence. The sheer touch of her skin made Daniel’s sobs soften with each deep breath he took. Y/n looked down at him sweetly in her arms, “I love you, Dani” she said kindly, with the most genuine affection.

Daniel took a trembling breath before replying tiredly but easily “I love you too.”

(i swear i always end it the same smh, i wrote this so late)

#daniel seavey #daniel seavey imagines #daniel seavey fanfic #zach herron #corbyn besson #jonah marais #jack avery #wdw boys #why don't we imagines #why dont we fanfic #why don't we

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krispytidalwavesheep · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! I saw that you were interested in requests for Zelda x f!Reader, among others, so I decided to send something and I hope you don’t mind :) An idea based on „We all shipped them together before they made it official because she kept scoffing that she did not like her and yet she always looked at her first whenever someone told a joke just to see if she was laughing too” post I saw some time ago. Basically a reader who is much younger, more optimistic and affectionate than Zelda. Zelda initially maintains her facade, of course, and constantly denies being interested in her. However, everyone, and I mean really everyone, can see what it is really like and they are both just made for each other, despite their apparent opposites. Thanks in advance, have a nice day!

I was/am really nervous about this, but thanks for the prompt! I hope you like it, I wrote this in the middle of the night, while being absolutely sleep deprived. Hope you enjoy! ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zelda disliked you from the very beginning, even though she wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was your happy-go-lucky attitude or the fact that you were so damn affectionate with everyone, that it almost made her sick. Well, everyone except herself, but she made sure that you understood that you wouldn't stand for such foolish actions. It was kind of pathetic, you hanging of Hilda as you did, and the way you always cuddled up to Ambrose and Sabrina. Who did you think you were, anyway? Nothing more but a nuisance, that's for sure. Zelda couldn't believe that she caved when Sabrina practically begged her to take you in.

Where exactly you came from was still shrouded in mystery. One day you just appeared in the woods, wounded and with amnesia. Of course, Sabrina had to take you in and now everyone was all over you and it annoyed Zelda to no ends. As soon as you got better and more comfortable around everyone, you were practically all over everyone, like a bitch in heat. You even tried to hug Zelda himself a few times, but she made sure that those notions wouldn't occur again. Still, you were so unbelievably nice and cheery, even to her. Disgusting.

You stared at Zelda, who seemed deep in thought and annoyed about something. You were pretty sure that that something was the fact that you were cuddled up to Hilda for some comfort since your night was plagued by nightmares again. Hilda took care of you when Brina brought you to the mortuary and you felt very much thankful for that. You didn't remember a lot of your life before you appeared out of nowhere and with no memories. All that you knew was that you were deadly afraid and hurting all over. Your body was covered in smaller wounds and half of your face was swollen, but the moment you laid your eyes on Sabrina you knew that you would be okay. She had a chaotic but albeit calming aura so you went with her willingly when she took you to her aunts.

At first, you met Hilda and her aura told you all you needed to know about her. She was a protector and she took you in without questioning, taking care of you as if you were one of her own. You trusted her immediately and especially after she helped you through your first nightmare. You met Ambrose next and even though he was cautious of you, he took to you rather fast. You were simply fascinated by everything he told you about magic and mysteries and he liked the audience. Brina and you became fast friends too, even though you didn't agree with everything she did. But she was sixteen and some teenage drama was expected. Especially after what she went through in the past months.

Brina was rather direct and you quite liked that about her. She was like a little sister to you, and she was the first one to muse that you weren't used to affection, which was why she gave it to you willingly. It was kind of cute to see your reactions to physical affection. She knew that it was unusual to trust someone so fast after everything that happened, but you were practically a cinnamon roll and no one ever sensed any weird vibes from you. Except for Zelda of course. But Sabrina had her theory about that...

When you and Zelda first met, the morning after Hilda took you in, you were captivated. You couldn't remember ever seeing a creature more beautiful than her. Her behavior and her aura were completely at odds around you and you wondered why. Especially since her familiar loved you to bits and pieces from the very beginning. Wherever you went, Vinegar Tom was sure to follow and you couldn't sit down without him jumping in your lap and curling up, demanding to be pet. Of course, that was just one more thing Zelda disliked about you. Everything was just affectionate with you, as you were with them, and Vinny's betrayal didn't make it any better.

But still, every time Ambrose told one of his stupid puns her gaze wandered over to you to see you laughing. Although it made her feel weird, she couldn't stop watching you. Just to make sure that you weren't up to something, of course. But everyone, really EVERYONE, had the audacity to imply that she, in fact, liked you very much. Which wasn't true at all. Not in a thousand years.

Her gaze was drawn to you again, as you made cooing noises at Vinny and played with him in front of the hearth, smiling affectionately.

“You're smiling, Zelds,” Hilda smirked and Zelda gave her the patented death glare.

“Whatever you are implying Hilda, I can assure you that it is all in your head,” Zelda huffed and hid behind her paper. Hilda had the audacity to giggle and Zelda gripped the paper just a bit tighter. She tried to ignore you for the rest of the morning, although she wasn't very successful.

“You want some more coffee?” you suddenly asked and leaned over her shoulder, placing your hand between her shoulder blades.

“Remove your hand or I'll cut it off of you,” Zelda just said haughtily, not liking the tingling feeling your hand evoked.

“Sorry, sorry, won't happen again,” you said and held your hands up in a nonthreatening gesture. Which somehow ticked Zelda off even more.

“Remove yourself from the kitchen right now,” she said for good measure and glared you down. Why the heavens did you get so under her skin with just existing? But what happened next shocked everyone deep down to their core. You started yelling.

“What is your fucking problem? Is the fact that I exist that bothersome to you? Why do you hate me so much, what did I ever do to you?! I go out of my way to stay out of your hair and you still so fucking everything you can to make me feel unwelcome! You agreed to me living here, so what. Is. Your. Problem?!” you yelled and to the mortification of everyone, including yourself, you started crying. You stormed out of the house and into the woods, frantically rubbing at your eyes, and before you realized what was happening, you were lost and the sun was disappearing behind the trees...

“Zelda Phiona Spellman! Was that necessary?!” Hilda yelled and glared at Zelda.

“I-I wasn't-”

“That was cruel, even for you Aunt Z,” Sabrina said and grabbed her coat.

“Oh no darling, you stay here. Zelda can go after her and set this right again!” Hilda growled and ripped the paper from Zelda's hands. She was so shocked that she complied and grabbed two coats before she went outside. It was early spring, but it still got cold at night. And Night it would soon be.

Zelda was shaken to her core. You were right, what was wrong with her? Why was she behaving like this, even though you never gave her any reason to? You have been nothing but nice to everyone, helping out where you could, and yet... Zelda felt not like herself around you and that made her angry. Irrationally so. But why? Why did she feel this way around you, the last time she felt like this was when she first met Mambo...oh. Oh no. It couldn't be... her problem wasn't that she disliked you... The problem was that she liked you a bit too much.

Her sub-consciousness must have been so scared of the fact, that it made her dislike you so much. She walked a bit faster after that realization, she had to find you and set things right with you. Apologize.

Zelda was almost frantically running through the forest, using a spell to trace your footprints, but you were faster than her and she cursed her heels. It was getting darker and harder to see, but Zelda knew the forest almost better than her own house. You didn't though, and Zelda found herself sick with worry. She was such a horrible person...

You were shivering in the cold evening, curling yourself into a ball to conserve body heat. You should have taken your coat with you, but you were so angry when you left the house. What exactly was Zelda's problem with you? What did you ever do to deserve such behavior?

You always noticed Zelda looking at you when she thought no one was looking. You even caught the odd smile, unconsciously thrown in your direction when you laughed or played with Vinegar Tom. You always thought that she was shy or something like that, that she liked you but wouldn't be caught dead admitting to it. You heard Hilda and Ambrose talking about how head over heels Zelda must be over you, with all that secret glances and small smiles and you hoped. Hoped, that when enough time passes and you proved that you could be trusted, Zelda would come to like you. Not necessarily as you liked her, but one could hope, after hearing Ambrose and Hilda talk about it, right?

But all your hopes were dashed earlier, when the situation escalated. You were probably no longer welcome at the Spellman house, but you didn't care. No one ever wanted you. You still hadn't got back all your memories, but enough to realize that you were never loved by anyone. Maybe you were too much. Hilda, Sabrina, and Ambrose would come to that realization too. So you should leave now, as long as it is still kind of your choice, but it was so cold, that you couldn't move a muscle.

“Maybe it is better this way...” you mumbled to yourself and closed your eyes.

“Don't you dare to go to sleep, not when I just found you!” an all familiar voice growled and you opened your eyes in shock, looking at Zelda Spellman herself. You just huffed and closed your eyes again. It was just so much easier.

To your utter shock, you felt warm arms wrap around you and the shock was enough for you to open your eyes again. Zelda lied down next to you, pulling you flush against her and somehow you managed to blush.

“We need to get you warmer so that I can bring you back to the house...” Zelda whispered and put the extra coat around both of you. 'Fuck it' you thought and buried your face in Zelda's shoulder. She smelled so good, and you were so tired.

“Don't fall asleep y/n” Zelda urged you and you huffed in surprise.

“You never called me by my name” you whisper and smile. It sounded good coming from her lips.

“Listen y/n I am... I am sorry for how I treated you. It wasn't fair and I regret deeply that it had to escalate like this before I saw reason.”

“'s okay,” you mumble and snuggled a little bit closer. Zelda's hand started rubbing your back gently and she couldn't get over the fact of how right it felt to hold you like this. She was a horrible person for treating you with such resentment when you deserved so much more.

“What I will tell you now, I will tell you just one time, so you better listen, okay?” Zelda mumbled, still rubbing your back.

“Aaaahh there is the Zelda I know and lo-like,” you smile, almost slipping.

“We'll see how deserving of your affections I am when I told you what I need you to tell,” Zelda said, ignoring what you just said for now, even though her heart started to beat faster.

“I am no easy woman. I lash out when I feel vulnerable and my temper is the worst. I treated you like vermin, and you didn't deserve this. I lash out when I feel vulnerable, and I feel that around you, a lot. Even though I didn't realize that until now. I am not as happy-go-lucky as you are, and I am not an affectionate person. At least out in the open. I was told that I am a stone-cold bitch on more than one occasion and I can't help but to agree. I have been hurt y/n, and it pains me to admit, I am afraid that I will get hurt again.”

“Hilda told me what happened. With Blackwood and Mambo Marie. Don't be mad at her, she just wanted to help,” you whisper and Zelda scoffed. You had to smile at that. You two lay like this for a while longer, until you felt how the numb feeling left your extremities.

“I think I'm better now,” you say reluctantly but Zelda didn't let you go just yet, asking for just a little while longer. You wiggled your arms free and wrapped them around Zelda too, slowly and carefully, not to scare her away. Zelda melted instantly into your arms and you smiled. Seems like you weren't the only one starved of affection. Stone cold bitch my ass, you thought and nuzzled a little closer.

“I'm gonna be brave now, okay? I like you very much Zelda, and somehow I think you like me too, don't think I didn't notice the way you look at me when you feel like no one is looking. The point I am trying to make is, that I wouldn't dream of hurting you, at least not willingly. I can be a massive idiot sometimes, but I want to get to know the real you. The one that hides behind all those walls of fear and hurt and I want to... just be there,” you mumble and to your utter shock you heard small sobs coming from Zelda.

“Hey, it's gonna be okay... Sorry if that was too much, I just told you what felt right!” you say and leaned back to look at Zelda. You were panicking. Did you say something wrong? But Zelda just took your face into her hands and bestowed the softest kiss to your forehead. It felt like an absolution.

“No one ever told me that they wanted to get to know the real me. I can't promise you that I will be able to show you my true self, but I will try,” she whispered and buried her face in your neck.

“That's good enough for me.” You said and cuddled closer... ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Still taking prompts, and since schools are closed due to Covid I have a lot of time to write and imrpove!

#Zelda Spellman x Reader #Zelda x Reader #caos #Zelda Spellman

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jabbagabba · 4 years ago

Text

La La Land

Read Prologue, One, Two

WARNINGS ⚠️

Triggering subjects: disassociation, manipulation, mind control, gaslighting, nightmares, grief, blood (READ AT OWN RISK)

Wandavision: Spoilers (up to episode 9, just to be safe) cheesy sitcom talk, the sixties, Señor scratchy slander, The nickname ‘kiddo’

Leave A Light On

The dream was always the same.

You would be on a beach, whether it was standing or sitting didn’t seem to matter, and the sun would be perfectly overhead. You were sitting this time, the salt in the air touching your lips as you basked in the warmth the sun provided. The waves crashed in perfect rhythm, and you let out a sigh when the water touched your toes, always warm and refreshing.

You were alone, yes, but you felt at ease.

Every worry and memory would wash away; the pain would drown in the never-ending ocean of happiness, and forgotten in the depths of the unknown. You were, to put it simply, in paradise.

But, like every night before, the waves would stop moving. The sun would go down, darkness would swallow the shore, and left in its place would be a field of glass. The warmth of the water would morph into bitter coldness; warping itself around your ankles and pulling you toward it, your skin would slice open the more you struggled against it, the glass under you stained red with your blood.

It was intense and graphic. The memories would come back in flashes, each one more brutal and heartbreaking then the last.

As your body was plummeted down what felt like miles of suffocating water, you tried to cling on to the memory of your father. You tried to picture him diving down after you, his hands trying to claw at you. You tried to imagine what your mother would look like; body and face blurred together as a ghostly hand reached down toward you.

But, you were alone, and no one going to save you.

“Ladies and gentlemen, for my final trick,” Vision pointed the plastic wand at you with a smile and you leaned forward in anticipation. “I bring you the ‘Cabinet Of Mysteries.” You clapped your hands in excitement. A moment passed and you watched as he fumbled a bit, putting his head down with a sigh. “Darling, that’s your cue.”

This morning had been rather eventful, to say the least. Wanda had woken you up with excitement; a cape in hand and tall magician hat atop her head as she revealed her plan for the talent show.

“We need a practice audience.” She giggled, your tired groan making her eyes gleam in mischievousness. “C’mon, Kiddo. I’ll let you in on the secrets.” You had groaned once more, hands pulling at the covers in protest.

“I’m tireeeed.”

The fight was shortly won when Wanda sighed, seemingly in defeat, and walked toward the door. You smiled in content but felt your body be pulled down the bed by invisible hands. She laughed.

“See you downstairs, Kiddo.” Your pillow missed her by a hair.

“Did you say ‘Cabinet of Mysteries’ ?” Which is what brought you here, sitting patiently as you waited for Wanda to be introduced to the “stage”.

“I said, ‘The Cabinet of Mysteries.” Vision flicked the wand again and you watched as a large cabinet, presumably of Mysteries, waddle through the small gap of the stairs.

“Oh, that’s my cue.” Wanda let out a small huff as she pushed it over a snag of carpet.

“Holy Toledo!” It was a rather large box. “Darling, do all the other acts in the talent show have such elaborate props?” You could only barley see the top of her head as she popped out from behind it with a small gasp.

“Are you kidding? Fred and Linda are building a Moet and a fully-functioning portcullises and no one knows why.”

“A Moet!” You can’t help yourself from standing in glee, the excitement that flowed through quickly draining as Wanda looked at you with a small betrayed look. “But this-“ You slapped the door of the cabinet with a goofy smile. “This is a million times better.” She gives you a push to the chair once more.

“Let’s keep going.”

“Oh, yes, yes.” You clasp your hands in your lap and watch as Vision gets back into character. “Where was I? Um....” His eyes sparkle with new found playfulness. “Watch closely as I, Illusion, master of enigma, make my captivating assistant,” Wanda leaps into feign shock and awe. “Glamour, disappear.”

You lean forward, eyeing the inside of the now open cabinet. It all seemed perfectly ordinary; but you were sure if you squinted hard enough, a crack or something would be found within the edges.

How do they do it

Wanda gives a small wink to you as she steps into the small box, her gaze now on her husband.

“You really are very dashing.”

“Mm, thank you, darling.” He closes one of the doors and turns quickly to the other. “Fear not, Glamour.” He turns to you. “For I, Illusion, vow to bring you back exactly as you are.” Wanda shudders, hands waving and you concentrate on the cabinet’s now closed doors. Vision winks in mischief, wand slapping the door. “Abracadabra!”

The sight of the now empty cabinet makes you giddy, hands clapping as a smile spreads across your face. As the back spins, the smile turns into a cheeky grin as Wanda claps.

“Yes, um... Wanda, you’re not at all worried that the audience might just see through this little charade?”

“Well, that’s the whole point!” Wanda replied, stepping fully out of the cabinet. “In a real magic act, everything is fake.”

“Isn’t that a little contradictory?” She waved you off, closing the doors with a soft push.

“Darling, the talent show fundraiser is the most important event of the season and it’s our neighbourly duty to participate.” You stand from the chair and pat down your pants with a small sigh.

“I’m gonna go get a drink, you want anything?” Wanda gives a small smile and waves you off again.

“Oh, wait!” You turned to her with curiosity. “Would you be a dear and move this back?” She pushes the edge of the cabinet toward you and you nod.

“Sure.” You say, “I can’t wait to see the show!”

Turns out it was a lot heavier then it looked; you wanted to rip out the carpet every time you hit a bump, a groan leaving your mouth as you pushed harder.

Now I’m really thirsty

You couldn’t help but give one of the wheels a swift kick, a satisfied grin on your face as you grabbed a glass from the kitchen. The window above the sink was open and goosebumps raised on your arms as the breeze settled on your skin. You filled the glass halfway and the sound of the front door closing fluttered into the kitchen.

“Seems like it’s just us now, Kiddo!” Wanda called from the living room. You didn’t bother turning as she entered, gulping down the icy water as she fiddled around. You both fell into a calm silence; her humming a tune as she wiped down the table and you refilling the glass with water three more times before finally feeling satisfied. You must have been really, really, really thirsty.

A loud thud startled you both, the peaceful bubble popping as you glanced at each other with mutual confusion.

“What was that?” Wanda shakes her head, eyes wide as she reached the door.

“I-I don’t know.” Outside was quiet, birds chirping happily as the wind rippled through your clothes. “You see anything?”

The roses

Your feet marched forward, eyes fixated on the burning bright object atop them. It was something you had never seen before; painted in colours you never even knew existed, and as you reached forward, fingertips inches away from it, you had to steady yourself when Wanda snatched your wrist.

“Don’t.” You listened and stepped away as she held it up in confusion.

S.W.O.R.D

“Look, it’s the star of the show!” Agnes’ voice startles you both, a gasp leaving Wanda’s mouth as the object falls by her feet.

“Agnes.” You both pushed it out of your memory, focusing on the cheery woman before you. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“Oh, I brought my pet rabbit.” She held the cage up with a proud smile, said rabbit glances your way. “For you magic act.”

“Yes, of course! Thank you, Agnes.” Wanda hands you the cage and you try to hide the disdain for the fluffy creature inside, it’s eyes too wide for your liking. “We will take good care of him.”

“Señor Scratchy just loves the stage. He played baby Jesus in last year’s Christmas pageant.” Her bragging is playful and she gives you a pat on the back as you turn down the walkway, trying to get away from the rabbit as quickly as possible. “Don’t worry, Kiddo. He has a soft spot for the younglings.”

You have to stop yourself from throwing it inside.

———

“So, are you ready to meet Queen Cul de Sac and her Merry Homemakers?” Agnes asked with a smile, you all laughing as you stride down the path. You and Wanda were either side of the brunette, elbows linked as she took the lead.

“Agnes, Dottie can’t be as bad as you say.” Wanda replied making her hum.

“Well, you’ll notice her roses bloom under penalty of death.” You both scoff in response. Agnes was rather dramatic and as she pulled away from you both, a look of seriousness etched across her features, you knew it was something you had to get use to.

“Wanda, can I give you a bit of friendly advice?”

“Is it about the way I’m dressed?”

“Yes, but it’s too late for that.” You were finally not on the bad side of fashion, thank God. “Dottie is the key to everything in this town.” She said. “Country club memberships, parties, school admissions...”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Your friend replies with a dismissive chuckle.

“You get in with Dottie and it’ll be smooth sailing from here on out. Just mind your P’s and Q’s and you’re gonna do just fine.” You felt the prickle of a thorn, one of many that surrounded the stem of the rose in your hand. You weren’t really paying much attention to the two women in front of you, tugging one off the bush when Agnes pulled you with them from Wanda’s.

“Or maybe I could just be myself?” Wanda suggested as the rose fell to your feet. “More or less?” Agnes was quick to dismiss her, the laugh making your stomach turn in knots. You rubbed your fingers together, smearing blood between two digits from the small wound.

“Oh, Wanda.” She said. “That’s good.”

Soon enough the ladies wondered out of the house, Dottie leading them down the path as they carried various items for the day behind her. You said nothing as Agnes greeted them, hands waving wildly as they passed. Wanda let out a sigh of nervousness and grabbed on to your arm.

“Here goes nothing, Kiddo.” You made sure to dig your shoe into the fallen petals as you followed.

———

The meeting was - in the nicest way possible - the most boring thing you had ever attended. It was filled with toxicity, gossip and ice tea, and you were miserable. Why on earth did you ever agree to this? You couldn’t remember, but as Dottie droned on about food and dress code and “Mary, I told you not to do this and that”, you imagined soundly sleeping in your bed.

When will this be over

“The Rotary club is finishing the stage set-up as we speak-“ The woman, Beverly, spoke and you were forced back into the moment as Dottie dropped a sugar cube into her tea. “They’ve given the gazebo a fresh coat of paint and will be installing the final decorations all through the town square.” Her enthusiasm was genuine and you couldn’t help but listen, it was simply contagious. “And if you recognise the antique footlights,it’s because they’re from my store.” Unfortunately you had to watch as the sunshine that was Beverly was trampled by the lioness beside her, stirring her tea.

“And the chairs?”

“I’m sorry, Dottie.” She tried not to tremble. “I didn’t ask about the chairs.”

“So you better not ask me if you can chair-“ She leaned forward and you had to dig your nails into your chair to stop from twitching. “-any committees in the future.” The women laughed and Beverly, still trying to be composed took a seat. “The devil’s in the details, Bev.”

“That’s not the only place he is.” You were thankful for the witty distraction, but waved Agnes off regardless.

“As you all know, the talent show is the sole fundraiser for Westview Elementary-“ You glance over when Agnes nudges you with a twinkle in her eye, dropping warm syrup into your tea on the table from her flask.

“I couldn’t.” You whisper but she was quicker then you, raising your glass to your mouth, even dropping a sugar cube in for good measure.

“Trust me.” She murmured. “It’s sweet.” Agnes always had a way with words, and you were sure it must’ve at least tasted a little better then the cider from before. You took the drink from her and smiled sheepishly.

“Thank you.” Agnes winked and took a bite from one of the many cookies being handed out.

It was extremely sweet, so much in fact that you swore you felt your teeth ache as you swallowed down the tea. You weren’t much of a sweet tooth; more of a salt kind of gal, but the tea was one hell of an exception, and when she wiggled her flask teasingly, you couldn’t help but stick your hand out for more.

The minutes flew by and you were having a ball, eating cookies and clapping when the other did. Dottie had turned into background noise and at one point you even found yourself laughing along with the women at one of her jokes. Soon enough, one by one, the women bid their dues, kissing cheeks and sharing hugs and you were the next to go after Agnes.

“Wanda!” Dottie’s voice echoed through the lounge area and you sighed. “Why don’t you help clean up, hmm?” You knew it wasn’t a question and when Wanda gave you a small pleading look, you started to gather the plates nearest you onto a now empty tray.

Who knew how many cookies a small group of women could eat! You alone picked up ten or so tiny plates off the various tables, and you didn’t even bother counting the glasses. Finally - as Dottie droned on and on with “tips” , you put the last of the plates and cups onto the bench, Wanda letting out a groan of her own as she did the same.

“Golly, you’re a whiz at all the committee stuff, Dottie.” She gushed, two cookie holders in her hand as she smiled. “Thank you for choosing me to help you clean up today. I feel so lucky.”

“You are.” Dottie replied. You rolled your eyes, and grabbed one of the cookies, bitting into it to stop from commenting.

“I can’t help but wonder if you and I haven’t gotten off on the wrong foot, Dottie. And I would like to correct that if I can.” You could never understand Wanda’s need to fit in, especially with people like ‘perfectly blonde’ Dottie.

“And how would you do that?” Wanda chuckles nervously, hand patting her hair as you try to look busy. This wasn’t a battle you were too interested to participate in.

“I’ve heard things about you,” She stands, tall and suffocating as her eyes harden. “You and your husband.” She scoffs at the sight of you. “Even your little... friend.” You let the cookie crumble between your fingers.

“Well, I don’t know what you’ve been told.” Wanda edges closer as your round the table, always two steps behind her, it seemed. “But I assure you I don’t mean anyone any harm.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Wanda.

You taste the salt on your tongue, waves crushing over the horizon as you try to catch your bearings.

Wanda, can you read me, over?

The sand is warmer then usual, almost burning, but you push through it when you see her.

Wanda.

She lets the water slam against her feet, back toward you as she watches the sunset in the distance. Her baby blue towel around her shoulders protecting her from the wind.

“Who is that?”

The wind picks up; you watch as her towel floats away from her, carried into sea and she shivers.

“Who are you?”

She disappears into the waves and you watch as the ocean swallows the sand by your feet, knowing that soon you’d join her.

Wanda? Who’s doing this to you?

The sound of Dottie’s glass smashing makes you jump, eyes wide as shards fall from her palm. Dripping down with it the same colour from before, bright and burning.

“Dottie!” Wanda gasps, having to stop her hands from reaching forward as the woman scoffs. “You..” She moves past you toward the closest table, her hands quickly wrapping the napkin around Dottie’s hand when she returns.

“Pop quiz, Wanda.” The blonde stops her with her undamaged hand and you try to swallow down the dread inside of you. “How does a housewife get a bloodstain out of white linen?” Wanda didn’t know what to say. “By doing it herself.”

———

Morning soon turned into afternoon, the sun beating down as you listened to the piano music playing behind you. After Dottie; Wanda had steered her focus completely onto the talent show, trying desperately to perfect everything down to what stockings to wear.

You weren’t much help.

But when you reached the town square you were thankful for her new friend. Geraldine was everything you had hoped Agnes to be. She was smart, funny, charming, even had amazing style and as Wanda paced back and fourth, trying not to panic about the sudden disappearance of her husband, she proved to be a great distraction.

“Glad I don’t have to follow this guy.” She giggled, eyes gleaming as she watched the dancers on stage.

“Huh, what?” Wanda was overwhelmed to say the least.

“Oh, but you’re going to be great!”

“Yes,” You added with a smile. “No one’s even thought about doing magic.” Wanda shuddered, moving to the corner with heavy breaths. “I mean, you know, cause... it’s just so hard to do!” You weren’t sure how to calm her down, choosing instead to step off the small stage and pace by the stairs.

“What time is it now?”

“Mmm, two minutes after the last time you asked.” You stop pacing, a sigh of relief leaving your mouth when you see the familiar man walk - well stumble - into view.

“I don’t know where he could be.”

“Vision!” You gasp. “Thank heavens, we were worr-“ His body practically fell atop of yours, the railing of the steps being the only thing to keep you up as he slides off you with a grumble.

“Sorry, Kiddo.” He slurred. You didn’t have much time to respond as he fell backward again, your hands reaching up his back to stop him from crushing you. “Sorrryyyy”

“Are you alright, Vision?” You grunted, finally able to push him upright. He said nothing, choosing instead to focus on getting up the stairs with his fingers gripped tightly on each side of the banister. He fortunately made it up without further incident.

“Wanda, my little cabbage, you look smashing!” He gritted, a loud grumbling - loud enough to be heard from your place on the stairs - from his stomach made Wanda panic somehow, even more.

“Vis,” She said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Where have you been?” You slowly made your way back on stage, making sure to stay near the railing in case he fell once more.

“Uh, well, me and the boys were playing a rather thrilling game of horses with shoes.” He grinned to himself, body swaying. “No, that’s not it...Shoe Horses! No.” She eyed you from behind him but you were just as confused as she. “Ah! Horse’s shoes.”

“Listen, something strange happened with Dottie.” She beckoned you over as she continued. “Well, something strange happened before that, too. It’s hard to explain. I...”

“I was just playing with his shoes!” You followed his pointing finger and watched as a person in a horse costume walked past, cowboys and cowgirls surrounded them.

How’d I miss that act

“What is going on!?”

“You are!” You all turn to Geraldine, clip board in hand.

“Okay, okay...” Wanda pointed to you. “Kiddo, go find your seat.” You point to the drunk toddler of a man besides you and she sighs. “I’ll handle it.”

You don’t have to be told twice, the fear of being crushed for the third time was greater then any concern you may have had over said man’s wellbeing. So, with a final push from Wanda, you crossed over to the front of the stage and made your way to a familiar brunette.

“Agnes.” She looks up with a grin.

“Hiya, Kiddo.” Agnes pats the chair next to her. “Take a seat.” You nod in gratitude and sit. Dottie says her speech, head to toe styled to perfection as she introduces the couple.

Wanda is the first to go, hands gripping the curtain as she eyes the crowd. She radiates chaos but is quick to put on a show. She smiles, surprisingly bright as she walks down to centre stage, arm stretched as she waits for Vision to enter.

The curtain remains closed a moment too long, long enough for Dottie to roll her eyes and for Agnes to sigh sadly. You guessed it was rather fortunate for him to finally barrel through the curtain, arms wide and a little too confident for a man who only moments ago found it troublesome to stand up straight.

“Hello, Westview! Good afternoon. It’s so lovely to be-“ You cringe as he stumbles to the side, railing digging into him. “I’m so sorry. Excuse me.” Maybe this was just a false start?

“I’m Glamour and this is my delightful assistant, Illusion.” Maybe not.

“I am Glamour.” Wanda corrects, waving her hands dramatically. “And He’s Illusion.”

“Yeah, what she said.” Vision, always the gentleman. “Today, we will lie to you and yet you will believe our little deceptions because human beings are easily fooled due to their limited knowledge of the inner workings of the universe.” You didn’t miss the way her smile dropped, confusion and panic mixing together was never a good idea. “Flourish!”

Wanda whispers something to him but Vision simply scoffs and stumbles away with a dismissive hand behind him.

“And now my wife and I will delight in your dumbstruck little faces. Flourish!” No one had time to be offended, mouths agape as Vision simply started to levitate. You didn’t have to look at her to know that Wanda was just as shocked as the rest of you.

Luckily, for Vision, his wife was rather quick on her feet as it only took a second for a rope to appear behind him, her moving a sign away to real the lever as the audience laughed.

“Wanda, what’s- Oh, no!” Vision kicked around, trying desperately to get back to the floor as Wanda played with the leaver. “Ah! No! Wanda, please! Darling, let me down!”

“Oh.” Agnes breathed beside you, purse clutched in her hand. You could feel the tension of the table, the nervous giggle she made as Vision was finally back on his feet. But you didn’t say anything, afraid you might take away the ‘magic’ of the small respite. So you simply clapped along with the others, ahhing and oohing with the rest as he stumbled once more.

“Oh! Yeah this is... this is gonna be great!” He said as he made his way to the piano’s side, trying to keep the cape away from his arms. “A staggering feat of strength!”

Oh, boy

He lifted with ease, only with one hand just to make it worse and you could feel the tension rise once more in the audience. Vision didn’t seem to notice the shift, of maybe he didn’t care, you couldn’t tell.

“Illusion!” Wanda gasped, the rope forgotten as she tried think. “Illusion, Master of Enigma, allow me.” She took quick strides, hands grabbing the now two dimensional piano from the grumbling magician. She made sure to show off the small handle behind the cardboard, shimmying her shoulders teasingly. “Whoops! You weren’t supposed to see how we did that trick.”

They all clapped again, seemingly too entertained to question things.

“Oh, Sherbert!” Vision called suddenly. “Yeah, this is my old mate, Sherbert.” His top hat is forgotten on the top step, as his body sways down to said friend.

“Stand up, Sherbert.” He slurred. “Say hello to the crowd.”

“It’s Herbert, Herb.” His friend corrects, hands awkwardly at his sides as he tries to play along.

“Pipe down, Sherbie, and pick a card.” Vision lets the cards spread across his hands like a fan. “Any card.” Herb obliged and gingerly took one from the middle. “Yeah, put it back in the deck.”

Again, Herbert played along, putting the card into the deck which was now behind Vision’s back. He turned and shuffled, a smug look on his face as he displayed one proudly for his friend to see.

“Is this your card?”

“Uh, no.” That revelation was the start of a rather bizarre standoff between the two, Vision going through each card, throwing them to the ground to every shake of Herbert’s head while Wanda tried to get him to stop.

“Is this your card?” He asked a final time, the last card of the deck in his hand.

“Oh, it is!” He replied.

“It is what?”

“It’s my card.” Vision was quick to get defensive, for... some reason. You weren’t really sure.

“Well, pardon me, Herb.” He said before pushing the card onto his friends chest. “Have it back.”

“Oh, no. You did the trick right.”

“Well, of course I did the trick right! I’m Illusion!” There seemed to be no right way to calm down the blond toddler in a cape, as he stumbled back to the stage, doing a quick and rather sloppy bow. “Flourish!”

While you knew it was anything but planned, the audience clapped and laughed. It was pretty funny from an outsiders perspective; but knowing how unstable he had become, how unpredictable, you might as well have been trembling next to Wanda on the stage.

“And now, for my next trick....” How long was this going to be? You were left to sigh as Vision scrambled around for his hat, the same one that was directly behind him. “Who stole my hat?” His shouting seemed to have startled the white rabbit - which had been hiding - and you watched as it hopped away from said accessory.“Oh! Oh, stop that Rabbit! I gotta pull a hat out of it.” Wanda ignored his whining, letting the animal rest in her hands.

“Señor Scratchy’s got real star quality.” Agnes pipped up from beside you, a prideful grin on her face. “Don’t you think?” You hummed.

“Well...” You replied. “He did play Jesus.” She smacked your arm playfully in response.

“Maybe we leave the poor bunny out of this one, shall we?” Wanda smiled, giving the pet a quick cuddle before putting it back into its cage.

“Well then.” Vision grumbled as he finally got back on stage, hat in hand. “I will just have to pull this hat... out of myself.” The audience gasped, as did you, but for more of a “Oh no, he’s going to do something” kind of way. Wanda couldn’t reach him in time and she was left to watch in horror as the hat slipped through him easily.

“If only you knew our secret.” She laughed dryly, hand flickering quickly as her husband swayed. Mirrors appeared from the back of the stage, the curtains falling to their respective sides as the audience laughed and clapped yet again.

These were some very easily fooled people, thank the heavens.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, for our grand finale.” Oh, finally! “I bring you, The Magnet of Crysteries!”

“The Cabinet of Mysteries.” Wanda corrected, pushing along the familiar wooden cabinet. From the sigh she made, you knew the feeling was mutual.

Let’s get this over with

“Yeah, yeah, what she said.” Vision turned it to face the audience, the tall doors in view as the couple stood on each side. “I will now make my wife...disappear.” You can hear the whispers of excitement buzz around you like bees. The trick was simple enough, and didn’t even need Vision to do anything but close the doors!

And he did! Only... Wanda didn’t get inside the said cabinet beforehand.

“Are you sure you don’t want an audience volunteer named “My husband Ralph”?” Agnes shouts with her signature snark and grin, the women around her giggled.

Oh, Agnes.

She even made Vision laugh, a look at his wife making him frown.

Right he must’ve thought, the trick

“Abracadabra!” He let the wand smack the side of the cabinet, seemingly forgetting the most important rule of the box. Wanda cleared her throat, a small smile on her face when he let out a small “Oh.”

There needed to be someone in the box first.

“What’s in the box?” A small sing-song question from Herbert soon turned into a loud chant, the tables be thumped by fists as they all sang.

What is in the box? Maybe Wanda, being the quick thinker she always is, transported that obnoxious rabbit into it? You wouldn’t know until the doors opened. Luckily you didn’t have to wonder too much; for rather the first time that afternoon, Wanda and Vision were in sync, both opening their respective sides of the cabinet, and the once empty space was now the holding place of a confused Geraldine, clipboard still in the hand.

She stepped out, knees wobbly as the crowd soared with applause. The couple grabbed her hands and pulled her down to a shared bow. Agnes seemed to be the most pleased.

“That was magnificent.” She said. “Just amazing! Don’t you think, Kiddo?”

“It was... something!” You don’t let her respond, already standing as the trio on stage disappears off stage. “How about I get Señor Scratchy for you?” She nods.

“Why yes, dear. Thank you!”

You ignore Dottie on stage, her speech and the applause being nothing more then loud static as you reach the back of it. He seemed to be sleeping soundly in his cage, the white fur making it seem as though he’s a rather large marshmallow. He even looked a little cute. But when you touched the handle and those large, red eyes stared you down, you remembered why you hated him.

“Time to go home, you little...” You grimaced when he did a small hop. “Rodent.” Agnes met you halfway, hands outstretched for said rodent’s cage.

“Thank you, dear.” You smiled politely.

“No problem.” You watch her leave, not before sending a final wave, and focus your attention on the crowd, trying to see the familiar top hat and cape.

“You two!” Dottie calls, the applause ending as you all train your gaze to where she points. “Stop right there.” They do, Wanda having to drop her hand from the hat atop her head to see the familiar blonde.

“Nothing like what you two just did up here has ever happened in the history of our talent show.” She explains while Vision can’t help but look down in shame.

“Dottie.” Wanda sighs. “We are so -“

“Hilarious.” Dottie scoffs and you can’t help letting in the swell of relief that filters through you. “That was the most hilarious act we’ve ever seen.” She turns to the audience once more. “Wouldn’t you all agree?” They clap - you joining in of course - and you watch as they are beckoned up on stage.

“On behalf of the planing committee, I would like to award you with the inaugural Comedy Performance of the Year.” Wanda giggles, saying thanks as she gingerly takes the small trophy form her hands. Geraldine is given a small push from Vision, grinning all the same and the trio take a another shared bow as the applause fills your ears.

“For the children!” A man shouts and you join in on the chant with glee.

“For the children!”

———

“It was wonderful!” You must have said that the whole walk home, as the two lovebirds just giggled along. “Way better then the moet.” You add as Vision twirls Wanda, the door closing behind you all.

“Well,” You feel the weight of the day suddenly, the bed upstairs calling to you. “I think I’m gonna head up. Goodnight.”

“Kiddo!” Wanda calls and gives you a warm hug when you turn back. “Thank you for being so patient with me. I know I can be a little...”

“Controlling?” You tease and she scoffs playfully. “It’s okay.” She squeezes you one more time.

“Goodnight, Kiddo.”

You bid them both the same, steps slow up the stairs as tiredness fully sets in. Changing is quick and swift, choosing to wear a simple pair of pjs for the night. You stretch one more time, a yawn leaving you as you get comfortable in bed.

In the morning; you will wake to a world filled with bright and burning colour, the same that dripped down Dottie’s hand and the same as the paint on the small toy.

You will dream of the women again, of the crashing waves and warm sun. You will watch her drown once more and you will finally understand why.

But for tonight, and only tonight, you will feel at peace, and sleep will come naturally.

Only for tonight, only for tonight

———

(Tag list, open just ask! You can also leave anytime, just DM)

@y-napotat @white-wolf-buckaroo @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @fruitiseavey @simsiddy @quietly-scrolling-through @mothsnsyrup @i-love-superhero @jdogjdyke @tonystanktheirondad @selluequestrian

A/N

Gasp! Where did lady Jabbagabba go? You may be asking, and well I, cried, slept, ate Taco Bell, cried again, read half of ‘A little life’, sobbeduntil I felt dead inside, tried to find out what kind of cake I would be, slept, had a mental breakdown after eating an entire tray of cookies, and, you guessed it, cried.

#wandavision x you #wandavision imagine #wandavison x reader #teen!reader #marvel x you #stark!reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #daughter!reader

113 notes · View notes

sunlightdances · 4 years ago

Text

Time Has Brought Your Heart to Me (Soulmate!AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, feat. platonic Steve, platonic Tony and a brief cameo by Agents of SHIELD. Rating/warnings: T (for language), mentions of PTSD and anxiety, a little angst. Many of our characters being adorably dense. Words: 14,418 (literally why am I like this) Summary: Bucky Barnes’ soul mark appeared on his left arm when he was seventeen years old. His injury and HYDRA took it from him, but does the mark have to physically exist for the connection to take hold? Author’s Note: Post-CA:CW. Assume Tony helped Steve and Bucky get out of Siberia and finds out the truth about his parents from Steve. AU after that. This idea literally came to me when I was shampooing my hair and I wrote a good chunk of it immediately afterwards. This idea has been done before, but I hope you like my take on it! Disclaimer: I don’t own Bucky Barnes, or canon elements from the movies, tv shows, or comics. All of that belongs to Marvel. Please don’t repost my work on any other sites without my permission. Reblogs are encouraged!

When Bucky Barnes is seventeen years old, a charcoal black swirl of ivy and leaves appears on his left arm.

He spent a lot of time panicking and then trying to find his soulmate, feeling disappointed almost every time he left a date with flushed cheeks and a charming smile only to remember that they didn’t have a mark, or had one that didn’t match his.

He forgot about it as soon as the war was on - bigger things to worry about then.

He enlisted because he wanted to make something of himself, but there was always the possibility burning in his mind that he might meet them. No matter what persona he tries to put on, he’s a romantic at heart. The singing under his breath, buying flowers for pretty girls, romance paperbacks in his back pocket type.

There’s no semblance of romance in war.

His days are never ending - walking, walking, brief bursts of combat. Shouting orders at his platoon, all of them trying to pretend they were feeling more courageous than they were. Still, he spares a few thoughts for his soulmate. When he takes a bullet to his shoulder in France, he hopes they can’t feel it.

He thought that was the worst it could get. He was wrong.

When he’s half conscious in the snow after falling from the train, praying for someone, anyone, to come looking for him, he feels guilt, and regret, and then doesn’t feel anything at all.

It happens in flashes - a medical exam table, a German accent, a shock to his entire body when all he does is repeat his name, rank, and serial number.

In a brief moment of lucidity, he lifts his left hand. He tries to see the mark, one more time, tries to orient himself with the one thing that’s remained constant for almost the last ten years of his life.

It isn’t there.

His arm, gone. The leafy scrawl with it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, to no one, to someone, and then it all goes black.

The sun streaming in the floor-to-ceiling windows of the guest room you’ve been assigned is the first thing that wakes you, followed shortly by a disembodied voice calling your name. You have a brief moment of panic, sitting upright in bed, until you remember where you are.

Avengers Tower.

“Miss?” The kind voice inquires again.

“Sorry. Yes, I’m here, sort of,” you reply, looking-- where do you look when you’re talking to an AI?

“Captain Rogers is requesting your presence in the third floor kitchen.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in a half hour,” you reply.

“He said to tell you no matter your response that you have fifteen minutes.”

You scowl. “Awesome,” you mutter, swinging your legs over the side of the plush mattress. “Tell him I’ll get there when I get there, and he’ll just have to deal with it.”

FRIDAY is silent, but you suspect the message has been delivered. Yawning, you walk to the en suite bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror. Hair? A rat’s nest. Skin? Could not look more dull. You really need to get more sleep, you think, but apparently that’s not going to start today.

Twenty minutes later, you step out of the glass elevator and into the brightly lit kitchen. There’s not many people milling about, and you discover why when you come across a clearly agitated Captain Steve Rogers at the large table, leg bouncing and chewing on the end of a pen.

“Morning,” you say when you get within earshot.

“You’re late.”

“You never told me we had an appointment,” you point out, swiping a muffin from the large plate in the middle of the table where he’s sitting, and slide into the seat across from him.

“I asked you to come here for a few days, didn’t I?” He looks up, revealing dark circles and day-old stubble. He’s got a pile of papers on the table in front of him, and a cup of half-drank coffee off to one side.

You hum in agreement, “And you’ve been very secretive about it all. Barely gave me time to pack a bag.” A wink, so he knows you’re (mostly) joking. “Not very gentlemanly, Captain.”

“Bucky’s arriving today.” He blurts, and your mouth falls open in surprise.

“Steve--” You breathe, suddenly understanding his nervousness.

“I sent Sam to get him a week ago, if he even wanted to come back to New York.” He smiles, but it’s weak. “Figured it might do some good to have someone… non-partial around.”

“This is…” You shake your head, “Wow, Steve. This is good, right?”

He exhales. “It’s-- yeah. More than good.” He meets your eyes, “I need you to give him a physical, just a regular check up. Protocol.”

You’re already nodding. “I’ll get the lab set up, although are you sure you don’t want Dr. Cho--”

“I want it to be you,” Steve explains, “You’re-- well, I think he’d like you, that’s all.” You must be blushing because he quickly backtracks. “I just mean that you’re a friend! My friend. He’ll trust you because I do.”

“Jeepers, Steve,” you tease, “Getting my heart all aflutter.”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay. I’ll have FRIDAY let you know when he’s settled? Don’t want to overwhelm him.”

You nod. “I get it. Just let me know.” Impulsively, you get out of your chair and hug Steve from behind, sort of wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I’m really happy for you.”

He squeezes your hands, a long breath leaving him like he’s been holding it for awhile. “Thank you.”

It’s hours before you’re summoned, and you feel strangely nervous. You don’t really know what to expect. Sure, as trauma-nurse turned Avengers in-house care, you obviously know who Bucky Barnes is, and what he means to Steve Rogers. You were beginning to think you’d never meet him, though.

You follow voices until you get to your “office”, which is really just an open-air lab not dissimilar to the one Dr. Banner has for himself down the hall. Yours is less tech-savvy, though. You have office hours like any other doctor, and typically don’t live at the Tower unless a mission is wrapping up, or you’re on call.

You semi-retired after everything went down with SHIELD, but had been part of Steve’s team there, so you’re sort of contracting for the Avengers whenever things are scary enough that they need a full time physician.

Turning a corner, you see the back of Steve’s head as he sits in a chair across from the imposing figure that must be James Barnes.

You clear your throat and try to make your footsteps a little louder so you don’t interrupt them, but then remember they’re both super soldiers. They definitely have already heard you coming.

Steve greets you by name and introduces you to Bucky, who surprises you with a quick smile and a handshake.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, his voice somehow gruff and gentle all at the same time.

“You too,” you say. “Steve’s filled me in on the basics, but this is just a physical so we have your information on file. Nothing invasive, no needles, and nothing gets touched unless you say so, okay?”

He looks like he wants to smirk at your wording, but you can tell he’s a little tense and nervous too. You’ve thought about what to say to him and how to do this exam. You know he’s spent most of his life doing things without his consent, including receiving whatever poor medical care he was given.

“Whatever you say,” he agrees, and hops up on the exam table when you ask him to.

The entire exam only takes about ten minutes, until the only thing you have left to ask about is the arm. You sneak a glance at Steve, who’s chewing on his bottom lip. He gives you a small nod, so you take a deep breath and turn back to Bucky.

“I have to ask you a few questions about this.” You tell him, gesturing towards his left arm.

He flinches, barely noticeable if you weren’t standing right in front of him. “What do you want to know?” He leans in, voice conspiratorial, and whispers, “This isn’t my real arm.”

You’re momentarily stunned, but a breathless laugh escapes. Okay. Maybe this isn’t going to be as awful as you worried it might be, for him or for you.

Later, you’re in the kitchen with Steve and Sam, a glass of wine in front of each of you as you pick at your dinner. The rest of the Avengers are on a small mission, Falcon and Cap staying behind to look after the newest member of their team.

They don’t say it, but they’re worried.

“Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY interrupts, “Sergeant Barnes is experiencing some distress.”

The three of you stand, but Steve waves you off. “It’s a nightmare,” he says. “I’ll take care of it.” He takes a few steps and stops, not turning around. “FRIDAY will let you know if I need help.”

Sam’s face is tight with worry when he sits back down with you.

“What’s your take on this, Sam?” You ask, “Really. Honest assessment.”

“I think he needs help,” Sam says, and for a second you’re not sure if he means Steve, or Bucky. “He’s been through a lot. He’s a lot better physically, and some mentally, too. But there’s still-- it’s PTSD. He’s been a combat soldier for 70 years of his life, a POW. You can’t recover from that in a few months or even a few years.”

“I’ll try to help if I can,” you reassure him. “If he’ll let me.”

Sam stands up to leave, probably to check on Steve. He squeezes your shoulder as he walks behind you. “I know you will. Thanks, kid.”

You don’t respond, not even to dispute him acting like he’s so much older than you. Your brain is too busy trying to figure out what to do next.

The next few weeks go by in a similar fashion. You take up semi-permanent residence at the Tower.

Bucky sticks to his room a lot, though you see him sparring with Steve or hanging out with Sam in the common room a few times.

He doesn’t seek you out, and you don’t bother him except for subtly asking FRIDAY to let you know if he’s experiencing any distress that requires medical attention.

Now, you’re in the kitchen with Steve, eating at the large island and watching him warily. “Steve. You’re pacing.”

“I know I’m pacing.”

You set your fork down. “Why are you pacing?”

“I’m taking Bucky to Brooklyn today.”

You blink, eyes wide. “Whoa. That’s-- wow, that’s great! Was it your idea, or--”

“It was his, actually.” Steve stops pacing long enough to meet your eyes. “I’m a little worried it might be too much once we get there. Once he sees how much has changed…” He trails off. “I remember when I first went back. It was too much all at once.”

“Can I offer you some non-professional advice? As a friend?”

Steve still looks wary, but he nods.

“You gotta have a little faith in him, Steve. He’s been through a lot, yes. You’re still learning who he is right now. But he was in Wakanda for a year. Recovering only half of that time. He’s had time to catch up, to figure out how to be a person with agency. If he says he wants to do this, he probably does. You have to trust him.”

A movement from the doorway catches your attention and you flush when you see Bucky come into the kitchen slowly, looking a little sheepish. Damn these supersoldiers and their stealth. “Uh-- sorry to interrupt. Bad time?”

Steve smiles, though it’s a little shaky. “No, just talking to Doc here about coming with us to Brooklyn today.”

Your eyes widen as you whip around to face Steve, who sends you a pleading look quickly before Bucky sees him.

“Oh.” Bucky looks a little disappointed, but you don’t take it personally.

“I don’t want to intrude,” you say, “I know you had plans with Steve,”

Bucky waves a hand, “No, it’s fine, really. Could probably use someone around to make sure we don’t kill each other.”

You and Steve both freeze, and Bucky looks back and forth between you. “That was a joke.”

You’re the first to smile, and you’re doing it mostly for Bucky’s benefit, but also in hopes that Steve will relax a little bit. You know it’s not healthy for him to be this worried all the time. You also know that Bucky will never truly be at ease if Steve doesn’t start treating him like his friend again.

“I guess if I’m going to get a tour, I couldn’t ask for better guides,” you say, heading out to grab a jacket and your wallet.

A half hour later, you’re getting off the subway and heading into one of Brooklyn’s old neighborhoods. Bucky appears outwardly calm, but you could see how tense he was when you were on the train, and the way his eyes darted around cooly, mapping out all the entrances and exits. It’s the same thing you see Sam and Steve do, maybe more subtly, when you go out with them.

They all do it, really. The Avengers are battle weary already, and you wish you could give that sense of calm back to them.

“I’m going to grab a coffee,” you tell Steve and Bucky as you mill about on the street. You get the idea that neither of them has thought this through very much - they don’t really know where to go first. “Do you want anything?”

“Two black coffees. Is that okay?” Steve says, looking at Bucky.

“Add a little sugar to Steve’s. He won’t complain but he’ll make a face every time he takes a drink.” Bucky says, and you snort.

“Good to know.”

Five minutes later, you’re interrupting what looks like a serious conversation between the two men with a cautious smile, and with Steve scrambling to grab the coffee carrier out of your hands before you have to juggle three cups.

“Where to?” You ask once they’re both happily sipping hot coffee, Bucky only looking mildly uncomfortable.

“I don’t really know,” Bucky admits. “Guessing our old building isn’t there anymore?”

Steve smiles. “It is, actually. We can go there first if you want.”

You follow behind them on the sidewalk as they reminisce about places they used to go, people they used to know. It’s not sad, more nostalgic, and you’re content to listen to them talk as you sip your coffee.

Bucky shoves Steve lightly as he starts to point out all the places he used to get beat up. “That alley,” Steve points, “and behind that butcher shop--”

“I think she gets it.”

You laugh, “Tony should make landmark signs. We can put them in all your favorite places,” you tease, and Steve glares.

“You’re hilarious.”

You pull on his arm when Bucky suddenly stops right in front of him, keeping Steve from plowing straight into his friend’s back. You feel the mood shift and know this must be the place.

Bucky rubs at his jaw thoughtfully. “Huh. Smaller than I remember.” His voice is a little less confident than it was this morning. You stare at the building with him, trying to picture what it might have looked like decades ago. “This place was a shithole when we lived here--”

“Bucky!” Steve exclaims, but he’s laughing too, turning to face his friend almost for the first time all day. You’re giggling too, and Bucky shakes his head, his smile a little smaller, but still there.

“What? We were poor.” He shuffles his feet a little. “I loved it here. No better place than that apartment.” He inhales sharply before meeting Steve’s gaze, “Wait, no one-- we don’t know anyone who still--”

“No,” Steve says quietly, carefully. “No one we know still lives here. I checked when I first got out of the ice.”

Bucky nods. “I don’t-- I don’t want to know about them yet. Any of them.”

You assume he’s talking about his family, and whoever might still be alive. You feel like you’re intruding on a private conversation, so you busy yourself taking a few photos for your Instagram -- you’re not too shy to admit that this neighborhood is lovely. Old brick buildings and shops with lots of flowers blooming.

(And if you sneak a photo that has the back of Bucky and Steve standing there, shoulder to shoulder… well that’s nobody’s business)

In hindsight, you and Steve should have seen this night coming. The memories prove to be too much for Bucky, and the entire floor nearly shakes over your head when he has an episode in the middle of the night, spurred by nightmares and twisted memories of his family.

Footsteps speed by your doorway and you hear FRIDAY asking you to stay in your room, but you don’t listen. You’re too worried, despite the racing of your heart telling you that this is a bad idea.

You open the door just in time to see Steve sprinting down the hall towards the stairs. He must hear your door (or your heart, you think idly), because he turns to you. An authoritative, “No,” is all you get from him before he’s gone, apparently taking the stairs four at a time.

Not content to be left on the sidelines, you head downstairs to the lab, pausing just long enough to throw your hair into a bun and slip your glasses on, grabbing a sweatshirt off a hook by your door. You have no idea if you’ll be seeing Bucky tonight, but you want to be prepared just in case, even though you think Bruce and Dr. Cho are going to take the lead on his care while he’s here.

Forty-five minutes go by before you hear footsteps, and Steve and Bucky come trudging in. Steve has a black eye, and Bucky seems content to stare at his own feet.

“Steve--” You’re about to ask him to let you look at the bruising, but he holds up a hand to stop you. You’re suddenly filled with dread, wondering if Bucky is wholly himself, but you find it hard to believe Steve would have brought him down here at all if he wasn’t.

“I’m fine.” He smiles at you weakly, “Can you…” He trails off, looking at his best friend.

“I need something to help me sleep.” Bucky finishes, voice rough. “Preferably without dreams.”

You pause, “I can’t guarantee anything,” you give him what you hope is a reassuring smile, “But I can try.”

“Thanks.” Steve sounds exhausted, but Bucky looks worse.

“Can I have a minute alone?” You ask Bucky, but the question is really for Steve. Bucky tenses, and you rush to clarify, “Just want to chat about how we can help you get better sleep. Figured you might be more comfortable without an audience, but Steve can stay if you want him to.”

The two men have a silent conversation before Steve nods, reaching for your hand to give it a squeeze before he leaves you and Bucky alone.

It’s a few minutes before Bucky relaxes enough to talk. You busy yourself taking his vitals even though you know you could just ask FRIDAY to give you the rundown. It gives you something manual to do, so you don’t have to just stand in front of him.

“I’m sorry if I scared you.”

You look up in surprise. “Me? No, I-- you--”

“I know it-- I woke you up.”

You shake your head. “I was awake anyway.”

Bucky cocks his head in question, so you keep talking.

“I have a hard time sleeping. Did Steve tell you much about me? What I did-- before?”

“He said you’re a nurse.”

You nod. “I was a trauma nurse at a hospital nearby. That’s how Steve and I met.” You hesitate before the next part, but you feel like he’ll handle it okay. “I was working the day SHIELD fell. When he was brought in, I was in the ER.”

Bucky meets your eyes, and you can see the guilt swimming there.

You smile, “Turns out a nurse isn’t super necessary for a super soldier.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I suppose not.”

“My job mostly turned into babysitting. He kept trying to leave before he was fully healed, and we really had no idea how long he was going to be there. None of the rules applied to him, and he was way more focused on getting out to look for you.”

Bucky looks down, gunmetal hand whirring slightly as he fiddles with it. “Sounds like Steve.”

“Anyway, after I managed to put up with Steve and Sam for a whole two weeks,” you wink at Bucky, “Steve offered me a job. Thought they could use a medic around. I’d been wanting to get out of the hospital anyway. Some days were… hard.” You try your best not to let the memories get the better of you. “Turns out Bruce is a great doctor but not when he’s-- the other guy.”

Bucky nods, seemingly finding his resolve. He takes a deep breath, “I thought I could handle today. I felt good when we were there. Like I could almost forget--” he waves his hand around vaguely. “You know.”

You nod slowly. “In my experience, recovery isn’t always a straight line.”

Bucky is quiet, but you take that as a signal to keep going.

“I definitely still have days where I can’t see the lights of an ambulance without my heart rate speeding up. I have nightmares, and sometimes when the team is gone on a mission, I’m so anxious thinking about what’s happening to them I can barely breathe.” You force yourself to keep talking, “And then there’s some days where I’m calm. I can handle it, and I feel fine.”

You look up at him so you can look directly into his eyes. He’s already looking at you, and for a second, you feel a zip of awareness hit you in your gut.

“I’ve got something for you. It’ll help you sleep, but it’s really strong.” Quieter, you add, “Don’t tell Steve, but Bruce and Tony developed this for him years ago. He won’t ever admit to having nights like you’ve had. This seemed to help him.” You reach over on the table for a pill bottle and press it into Bucky’s palm. “Read the directions. Don’t take more than one.”

“Yes ma’am.” He murmurs. “Thank you.”

After a brief awkward moment, he leaves the room, and you can hear his quiet footsteps down the hall until the ding of the elevator signals him going back upstairs.

A few moments later, Steve is in your line of vision, and he doesn’t say anything, just gives you this look and it completely breaks your heart.

Wordlessly, you hold out your hand, wiggling your fingers, and he takes it willingly, threading your fingers together. Pulling him close, you stand shoulder to shoulder with the super soldier, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you both pull your thoughts together.

“I knew this was going to be hard,” he says, voice low. “I just didn’t-- I hate seeing him in pain and not being able to do anything about it.”

“I know, Steve.” You don’t have any answers, so you don’t try to give him one. “You need to try to rest.” You tell him instead.

“So do you,” he replies stubbornly.

“One day at a time, Steve.” You remind him.

“Yeah.” He sighs, wiping his free hand over his face. “Yeah, I know.”

When you get to your bedroom that night, you’re exhausted. It’s quiet above you, and you keep replaying the night’s events over and over.

Out of everything, one moment stands out to you - that potent moment of eye contact with Bucky Barnes. You can still feel the electricity crackling through you as you remember it.

That can’t be good.

“Any time, Cap,” Tony’s voice, out of breath, comes through the comms. You’re watching anxiously from your lab in the Tower, wondering again how you got roped into this.

“I’m busy,” Steve replies haughtily, and you hear the sound of two bodies hitting the floor. “On my way.”

The sound of fighting rings out, and you try to subtly eye the man next to you, his posture similar to yours - arms crossed, brow furrowed.

“Do they always argue this much on a mission?” Bucky wonders aloud, and you snort.

“I’ve only been involved in a few, but in my experience: yes.”

The mission is otherwise pretty smooth - Steve and Tony are more than capable of handling a few rogue Hydra thugs on their own, and you’re relieved when Tony lets you know over the comms that they’re headed back, objective complete.

You glance at Bucky next to you, who still stares at the screens.

“This must be a little overwhelming…” you start, not really sure how much you should press.

He shrugs. “Just different. The last time I planned any type of mission I was in olive drab and all I ever had to do was say yes, sir.”

You’re still surprised with how candid he’s being, willingly offering up details about his past, those he can remember, at least.

“Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers have docked.” FRIDAY’s voice interrupts your musing, and you nod at Bucky, who leaves the room to go meet them. He brushes past you, and you feel another zip of awareness when he does, shaking your head to get rid of the feeling.

He’s your patient. You absolutely cannot, will not allow yourself to feel anything other than a clinical attraction to the man. He deserves better than that, and you can’t afford to be distracted, not when he needs your help and is depending on you to get better.

Just earlier that day, you sat down with Steve and Tony for a quick briefing to better plan for the days ahead in terms of Bucky’s recovery and his place with the team.

Steve is tense, rightly so, and Tony is firm, arms crossed over his chest, eyes dark as he looks at the files in front of the three of you.

“You’re saying there’s no way to know if the trigger words are actually deactivated.” Tony asks, though it’s not really phrased as a question.

“I’m saying there might be other triggers. Not just the words, though Shuri insists those are moot. He’s got PTSD, Tony.”

“Yeah, well. Join the club.” Tony mutters, looking out the window. You can’t imagine how difficult this is for him. You know as well as everyone else does that Barnes was responsible for the Starks’ deaths. You’re surprised Tony okayed Bucky’s arrival here at all, though he does have a heart. He knows Bucky was brainwashed, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Steve doesn’t say anything. You get the idea he’s worried to say the wrong thing -- he admitted to you once that he’s obviously biased where Bucky’s concerned. He doesn’t know how to be Bucky’s ally and Tony’s friend at the same time.

“All this is, is a plan for if the worst happens.” You hold up your hand quickly, stopping Steve before he responds, “I’m not saying we’ll ever have to use this, but we have evacuation plans for everything else, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t be prepared for him to relapse. Even if the Soldier is out of his head, there’s still a chance his memories will get the best of him and he’ll have an episode.” You say the last part quietly, meeting Steve’s concerned gaze.

“We don’t even know if he’s going to want to have anything to do with the Avengers,” he acknowledges. “After all this time… for all I know he wants to lay low.”

Tony nods. “If he does… we won’t have him on any field missions until we’re sure he can handle it. Until then he stays here, helps Hill with the comms and he can…” Tony gestures wildly, “I don’t know, be strategic backup or something.”

That option had proved to be more than okay with Bucky, though he acknowledged he didn’t really have any say in the matter. He just wanted to be useful.

In the weeks that follow, he fills in for Maria Hill when she’s called away for other Stark Industries work, and takes to running the team like he was born to do it.

“It’s the squad leader in me,” he tells you one day, a grin on his face. “Though the lot of you are a lot easier to deal with than Army brats.”

He even helps Steve train some new recruits when the opportunity presents itself. Overall, his recovery is on track to be even shorter than you expected. Sure, there are still moments where he loses himself in a memory or has to be shaken awake in the middle of the night when things get to be too much. But you know every single other person in the Tower struggles that way too.

You’re mostly enjoying getting to know James Barnes the person, and not The Winter Soldier, the enigma, even if it is getting harder and harder to ignore the butterflies that take flight in your stomach every time he enters a room you’re in.

You’re killing time in the lab when Tony saunters in, startling you with his Iron Man gear half-on.

“What are you doing?”

“Need a hand,” he says, drawing out the word as he waves at you, thruster firmly in place on his left hand.

“Terrible.” You mutter. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just miscalculated the power of the new thruster and sort of… fused it to my hand.” He says the last part quickly, and you blink at him.

“I’m sorry. I heard that wrong.”

He grins cheerily. “Nothing wrong with your ears! Now--” He claps his hands together with a metallic clang, “-- You got anything for burns?”

Bucky wanders in sometime after you’ve finally gotten Tony to sit down. He watches warily, stopping before entering the room completely, a little curious. “Don’t mean to interrupt,” he says quietly, “but what the fuck is going on?”

Even Tony smiles at that, Bucky’s blunt tone a sure sign he’s had a decent day, as far as moods go. “Experimentation gone wrong,” he says brightly. “Doc’ll get me sorted.”

You glare at him. “I’m not a surgeon. Stop giving me surgeons’ work to do.”

You’re gently trying to pull the round piece of metal from Tony’s palm without completely frying his nerves. Coincidentally, the entire thing is destroying your own nerves in the process.

“Need a hand?” Bucky asks, pulling up a stool.

Tony snorts. “That’s what I said.”

You’re very aware of the heat emanating from Bucky’s side as he watches you work. Normally you wouldn’t let someone this close while you’re essentially performing surgery, but you think idly that it might be a good idea to have a third party here in case Tony starts complaining that you’re trying to butcher him.

“What I need--” you say through grit teeth, “-- is for both of you to shut up and let me work.”

“Yes ma’am.” Bucky says with a smile.

Tony raises his eyebrows in delight at the exchange, but you ignore him.

“Hold still,” you murmur after a few minutes, and when you glance up, relieved that there’s quiet finally, you see a few beads of sweat on Tony’s brow. He’s frowning at his own hand, and you think he’s finally starting to grasp how serious this could have been. “Honestly--” You huff, “Now you’re getting squeamish?”

“I didn’t think about the part where you’d actually have to yank it off,” Tony says defensively.

“I’ve got as much of the metal out as I can, so hopefully I can just…” you mime ripping it off with your free hand.

His eyes widen. “No you will not.”

Bucky sits back, arms folded across his chest with an amused grin at the billionaire.

“There’s nothing for it, Tony. Like a bandaid.”

“Can’t be worse than when I had to give myself stitches in the middle of the woods in Belgium with some dental floss,” Bucky says off-handedly, and both you and Tony stare at him, mouths agape.

“This is the twenty-first century!” Tony protests, gritting his teeth, “This isn’t the fucking Battle of the Bulge, Grandpa!”

“And, three.” You say with finality, lifting the remnants of the Iron glove off Tony’s palm, having used his outrage at Bucky’s bad attempt at bedside manner as a distraction to do the hard part. “Thank you, Sergeant Barnes.” You say primly as he hands you a piece of gauze that had been waiting nearby.

“Devious.” Tony remarks as you wrap his palm. “What’s the damage?”

“You need to keep it clean or it’ll get infected. No more experimenting.”

You let Tony go with the promise - or threat - to tell Pepper about this, and then it’s just you and Bucky there as you clean up.

“Does that happen often?”

You glance over your shoulder at him, “More often than I’d like. He thinks he’s invincible.”

The corners of Bucky’s mouth tilt up. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

You’re momentarily fascinated by how much younger he looks when he smiles, but you force yourself to look away and go back to cleaning up the tray you had supplies on. “Did you need anything?” You ask, remembering how he wandered in on his own nearly an hour ago.

He flushes, scratching the back of his neck. “Just some company.” He admits.

It sends a thrill through you.

“It’s nice to talk to someone who has no idea who I am. Or who I’m supposed to be.” He says, the last part barely a whisper.

You feel so much for him at this moment. You can’t imagine what he’s been through, and still, the man manages to crack jokes whenever he can, and is, on the outside, not completely overwhelmed with being in a new place, finally in his own head.

“I think I’ll head back to bed.” He says, a small smile on his face. “This was… interesting.” He grins. On his way past you to the door, he reaches out briefly and squeezes your free hand. You think he might not even realize he’s done it.

You almost drop the tools in your hand when you realize what’s happened -- the mark on your arm, the one you try so diligently to cover up, is burning.

“Oh, shit.” You murmur to yourself.

You avoid Bucky for weeks after that. You see him in a strictly professional capacity, and you feel like the biggest bitch on the planet for it, but you have no idea what to do with yourself.

After he left you in the lab that night, you inspected your well-hidden mark, trying to figure out why it was suddenly coming to life after years. It was a dull pink color, like you’d been rubbing at it, and even though you refused to accept it, you knew deep down what that meant.

You have no one to ask about it. No one at all.

Soul marks are rare, and they’re rarer still among the bunch you live with. Steve doesn’t have a mark, nor does Sam. You don’t feel like putting up with the shit you’ll get from Tony or Pepper if you try to ask them about theirs.

You’ve read enough about the bond to recognize it for what it is, but your brain is still stuck on one fact - Bucky Barnes doesn’t have a mark. Not that you’ve seen, and not that he’s mentioned.

It occurs to you then that the worst case could be true - you could be his, but he might not be yours. What a nightmare. As if he doesn’t have enough to deal with after quite literally coming back to life. Throwing an unreciprocated soulmate into the mix? No. You won’t do it.

So you avoid him.

You even go out of your way to liaison with the new SHIELD for two weeks, as part of a new partnership Steve and Tony were reluctantly part of with the recently-still-alive Phil Coulson.

“Are you sure you want to go? They have a doctor.” Steve asks as he carries your duffel to the dock as you await the arrival of SHIELD’s quinjet.

“They have a scientist,” you remind him. “They wouldn’t have asked for help if they really didn’t need it.”

Steve scowls, still a little perturbed that a man he considered a friend couldn’t even let them know he was alive, let alone that he was resurrecting SHIELD.

“We need to know what they’re working on, anyway.” You say. “Plus, it’s good networking.”

Steve shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah. Still. What if--” He stops himself, looking away as you reach the hangar. “What if we need you?”

“Then you’ll call, and I’ll have them fly me back.”

You hear what he’s really asking - what if Bucky needs you? You considered it. But you think you need the distance more than being around and avoiding him. He hasn’t needed you in any urgent way in weeks, anyway.

“Fine. But make sure Coulson knows he’s still on my shit list.”

“Steve Rogers!” You gasp. “He’ll be broken-hearted to hear that.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but you’re interrupted by incoming engines, and watch as the quinjet flies smoothly into the hangar.

You’re surprised at how young the team is. Not much younger than you, sure, but still. They’re watching Steve with something like awe in their eyes.

“Captain Rogers.” Coulson says, descending the ramp and holding out his hand tentatively. “It’s good to see you.” He’s sincere, that much is obvious.

“Coulson.” Steve’s tone is curt, but he shakes the man’s hand anyway.

After an awkward pause, Steve turns to you, introducing you.

“This is Agent May, Fitz, Simmons, and Daisy.” Coulson says, and you smile at each member in turn. “We’re looking forward to working with you.”

“Likewise.” You grin at him. It seems impossible to be anything less than genial with Phil Coulson, though Steve is doing his best to prove otherwise, and Tony hasn’t even bothered to leave his office to greet the new arrivals.

“I’ll bring her back in one piece.” Phil tells Steve.

“The alternative isn’t an option.” Steve replies, and you roll your eyes.

“Okay, that’s enough. Bye, Steve. Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”

His expression softens, and you know he’s just being protective in that big-brotherly way of his.

As you’re boarding the jet, you see movement out of the corner of your eye, and see Bucky back in the shadows, leaning against the wall as he watches you leave. You bite your lip in frustration, knowing that leaving after ignoring him is a cowardly move. Still, it’s the only option you can think of while you try to sort this out.

After taking off, Phil turns to you.

“He hates me, doesn’t he.” There’s something like despair in his voice.

You sigh. “They thought you were dead.”

“Technically I was.”

He fills you in on the whole story as you fly to their base, and when you land, you take the first minute you can to get Jemma Simmons alone.

“I was hoping you could tell me more about soul marks. I know you’ve done some research--”

She smiles at you, putting you at ease. “What questions do you have?”

Bucky watches the jet take off, a hollow feeling in his chest. He can’t figure out what he did to drive you away so thoroughly.

Steve stands there with his arms crossed for a few minutes before turning back, shaking his head.

“You trust them?” Bucky asks, and Steve pauses.

“I do.” He sighs, then looks at his friend. “Are you worried?”

Bucky scoffs. “Am I worried that she ignored me for two weeks and then fucked off with a bunch of people I don’t know?”

Steve’s grin is slow, lazy. “Careful, Buck. Sounding awfully protective.”

Bucky scowls. “Shut up.”

One thing that has absolutely not changed since the 40s is Steve’s propensity to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong, and lately that’s been evident in the way he’s been trying to needle out what exactly Bucky is feeling for the good doctor.

He doesn’t even know what he’s feeling.

She’s-- smart. She’s smart and she’s funny, and she’s beautiful, but it’s not like he would ever act on it. She’s his doctor. Probably the closest thing to a best friend Steve has. Bucky’s not going to fuck that up just because he’s noticed that she smells like vanilla and when the sun hits her face just right-- well. He’s not going to fuck it up.

Besides, he clearly made her uncomfortable when he told her it was nice to be around her. That she understood him, in some way that Steve didn’t. That clearly freaked her out.

He would laugh if it wasn’t happening to him. Scared a woman away so thoroughly that she literally got on a jet and took off.

He sighs and follows Steve back to the common area where a few of the others are lingering. They want a report on SHIELD, no doubt.

Bucky is going to do some digging of his own. SHIELD, for obvious reasons, has left the taste of ash in his mouth, and he’ll never forgive himself if it turns out that they’re some kind of HYDRA cell using a familiar face to get close to the Avengers again.

Not to mention his favorite doctor would be caught in the middle of it, and he can’t have that.

He feels… he feels good. It’s unfamiliar. But really, minor episodes and nightmares aside, he feels more like himself than he has in decades. There were brief moments when he was lucid enough in Hydra to remember who he was and where he was, but he thinks being brainwashed was… not a blessing, he’s not stupid enough to consider it that, but the alternative… having to be himself while he did those things… it would have killed him.

Now, he finally has choices.

His first choice was deciding to accept Steve’s help and friendship, and his second choice was to trust you.

He thinks that should mean something.

He thinks back to a moment from a few weeks back, shortly after the Brooklyn trip. You didn’t treat him like he was broken, and he appreciated it more than he could say. So much so that he invited you back to Brooklyn with him, to one of his favorite diners from when he was growing up.

He’s so happy to see it still exists that he can’t wait to have a meal there. Steve is busy, and you just-- the way you smile at him when he asks you to go, he knows he’s made the right call.

“James Barnes?” The older woman at the counter looks like she’s seen a ghost.

“That’s me,” he says, trying to smile. He has no idea how people are going to react to him wherever he goes.

“I’ll be damned,” she whispers. “My grandmother… she used to tell me stories about you and Captain Rogers.”

He smiles. “Good ones, I hope?”

“Only good ones. My grandmother was Ruth Kelley.”

The name fires some synapse in Bucky’s brain that hasn’t been used in years. Suddenly he’s nineteen, sharing a malt with Ruthie at the counter while she was on her lunch break, trying to pretend he’s not pulling out all the stops to make her laugh.

“You look just like her,” he stutters, and she does - the same eyes, the same kind smile.

“Thank you.” She whispers. “Anything you want, on the house today.”

Bucky tries to protest, but you stop him.

“Let her do this for you,” you say quietly.

Bucky nods and the two of you sit in a booth, his mind still working overtime trying to believe that all the pieces of his life could come full circle like this.

“An old flame?” You ask, lifting a mug of coffee to your lips, and Bucky finds himself entranced by the playful look on your face.

“Something like that.” He murmurs. “She grew up in the same building as Steve and I. Used to come bother her while she worked. That family was the best. They’d give us free slices of pie every so often…” He trails off. “Never saw her again before I shipped out.”

You’re quiet, a look on your face he can’t identify. “You must have meant a lot to her. If she told her granddaughter about you.”

He turns to watch Ruth’s granddaughter busy herself behind the counter, her movements so similar to Ruth’s that for a horrible moment, he thinks he might cry too.

On the way back to the Tower, you loop your arm through his, so casually, the touch coming so easy for you, it throws Bucky for a loop. It’s not unwelcome - you’re warm through your jacket, and Bucky hasn’t realized how much he missed human contact until this moment.

He thinks it should be concerning, how quickly you’re inserting yourself in his life. He tells himself it’s purely professional, but he knows it’s a lie.

The annoyingly knowing looks he’s been getting from Steve and Sam seem to suggest that too, not to mention the not-so-subtle threatening from Tony.

He’s drawn to you, and it scares him a little, while at the same time it feels like it’s just… right. He tried to surreptitiously get a look at your left arm the first time he thought… but to no avail. He hadn’t seen a mark. Certainly not one like he remembers, not one that he hoped to see, as fleeting as the thought had been at the time. But he told himself it didn’t matter. His own parents weren’t soulmates, but they loved each other.

Peggy and Steve didn’t have marks either, but they loved each other til the end. It doesn’t matter. Although, truth be told, it won’t matter at all if you stop talking to him completely.

Trying to get his mind off you, he seeks out his friends, finding them in the common area. No sooner has he made himself comfortable on the couch next to Sam then there’s an alarm blaring somewhere, and all his senses fire to life.

Steve is on his feet immediately, as is Tony, tapping away at his tablet as he tries to figure out what’s wrong.

“Steve?” Sam asks, body rigid.

“Suit up,” Steve says immediately. “Tony and I will do threat assessment.”

“Already done,” Tony chirps. “Fun - intruders!”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he’s already moving, striding towards the doors to the command center and sliding a headset on his head - he feels more at home here than he thought he would.

“Check in when you’ve got comms,” he says distractedly, tapping away at the screen in front of him until he pulls up a couple cameras of the lower floors.

He spares a thought to be grateful that you’re not here right now, as he watches a team of men in black bust through the doors to the lab. “Lower two floors. I count eight, maybe ten operatives.”

“On it,” Steve says in his ear, and Bucky watches as his friend skips the elevator and instead launches himself down over the railing.

“Idiot.” He mutters.

“I can hear you.”

He smirks. “Tony, there’s a few more on the outside trying to get in,” he confirms, hearing the now-familiar sound of thrusters as Tony takes off from the launchpad outside the penthouse.

“More company incoming,” Tony replies, and Bucky can hear the sound of an engine through the comms.

Gunfire suddenly erupts almost directly outside the room Bucky’s in, the reinforced glass holding, but Bucky still throws his metal arm above his head and ducks out of instinct.

He knows this is Hydra. This was bound to happen, with Bucky living here. The Asset would never be allowed to live with everything he knows.

Bucky grimaces. “I’m going to need to get to the armory.”

Sam’s voice is next, “Negative, big guy. You’re going to stay right where you are, or else no one else has eyes on us.”

“Seconded.” Steve says firmly.

“I’m kind of a sitting duck up here.” Bucky protests. “This is seventy years of sniper training going to waste,” he adds, and Steve audibly sighs in his ear.

“Take an MG, that’s it.” He says, and Bucky snorts.

“You think I’d try to grab an alien gun? I’m not as stupid as you remember.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply as he heads out the door, eyes scanning this way and that for any potential threats. He hears the fight going on a few floors below, but so far he’s in the clear, and he heads towards the hangar where he can slip in a back entrance to the armory (hopefully) undetected.

“Two headed to you, Buck.” Steve says, sounding out of breath.

“Copy that.” Bucky says, steeling himself for the inevitable fight. He lets himself feel exhausted for approximately one second before he gets to work - his training taking over like he’s on autopilot.

He makes it to the armory door before he’s jumped from behind, though he heard them coming. He knows he can’t let them get inside. He uses their momentum to propel himself forward, flinging one man off his back and sending him careening into the opposite wall.

His other hand rears back out of instinct, delivering a sickening blow to the second man’s face.

Warily, he watches the first man struggle to his feet, a sneer on his face. “Longing.” He says, and Bucky sees red, though not for the reason he suspects the man hopes. “Rusted.”

Bucky pulls back with his metal arm, and delivers one solid punch. “Eat shit.”

Steve comes skidding around the corner a moment or two later, watching the scene in front of him. He clearly heard what the man was trying to do over comms - his face is a mixture of terror and concern.

“Bucky?”

“It’s still me, Steve.”

“Just checking.” He steps over the two men on the floor. “Didn’t need the MG after all?”

“Didn’t make it that far.” Bucky reaches down, straightening the man’s jacket so he can see the insignia for himself. He sighs. “Not going for stealth these days.”

“They’re done fighting in the shadows, or whatever.” Steve replies with a roll of his eyes. “We’ll get them all to lockup - Tony’s got the rest on the roof.”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is going to keep happening. As long as I’m here. You know that, right?”

Steve’s face hardens. “Then we’ll keep fighting them. They’re not going to take you again.” The fierceness in his voice makes Bucky want to weep. This is the Steve he remembers.

He helps get the Hydra agents rounded up with the rest of the team, and then retreats to his bedroom. He feels exhausted, even though he didn’t have to do much - even the fight itself wasn’t as awful as it could have been.

He’s just tired of being hunted. He just wants to-- he doesn’t know, really. Be free? It sounds so trite. But he’s got a chance at a better life now, and he’s not going to let anyone take that away from him. Not Hydra, not whoever they decide to send after him next.

That night he has another nightmare, but this time, it’s about you. The look on your face after you see him in action - it sends you even further away from him, and Bucky knows he’ll never get you back, not after this. Not after you’ve seen the Soldier.

When he startles awake, the shame burning in his chest is a living, breathing thing.

He realizes then what you mean to him, or what you could if given the chance.

It doesn’t scare him as much as it should.

Jemma Simmons is infinitely patient as she explains the research about soul marks to you. It helps that she has a soulmate of her own, one who has a reciprocating mark.

It doesn’t do a thing to quell your guilt about Bucky, though. You still feel like you’d be trapping him into something. He’s never had much of a choice about anything in his life before, and you don’t want to take this away from him, too.

Trying to distract yourself, you throw yourself into research and analysis with Fitz and Simmons. In the few days you’ve been with SHIELD, you’ve helped them learn more about Daisy’s power and biology, your experience working with Avengers helpful as they try to catalog what she can do and what her limits are.

You plan to head back to Avengers Tower by the end of the week, and head to bed that night feeling like the time away from everything was just what you needed, even if you do have two letters to Steve from Phil in your bag that you’re almost certainly not going to give him.

The man is desperate for his apology to be accepted by his hero.

You’re asleep nearly the minute your head hits the pillow.

Annoyingly, you dream of Bucky. It’s not the dream you’ve had before - holding hands at the diner, or making some grand declaration. This is… darker. More real. It scares you.

Someone is hauling Bucky out of the Tower, and Bucky is nearly incapacitated. Drugged or… worse. You feel a shudder run through you as you watch him smuggled out in the dead of night, knowing there’s nothing you can do to help.

You wake with a gasp, and when you pull up your left sleeve, the mark on your arm is an angry red.

Panic slides through you like ice in your veins, and you’re reaching for your phone before you can begin to make sense of anything.

“Hey. It’s the middle of the night.”

“I need you to check on Bucky.” You tell Steve, your tone urgent.

“What?”

“Just do it, Steve.”

“What’s going on?”

“Steve.”

You hear movement on his end, and listen intently as he leaves his apartment and heads across the hall. “It’s been quiet all night,” he assures you. “We had a run-in today, but other than that…” He trails off, and that’s what sets your heart pounding. “FRIDAY, what time did Bucky leave his apartment?” Steve asks the AI, and you feel your heart plummet.

You don’t hear her reply.

“Steve, listen to me. I think he’s been taken.”

“How the hell did you--”

“I can’t explain it. I need you to come get me. I don’t want to worry anyone here, but I can help.”

“I’ll be wheels up in ten.”

A click, and then the line goes dead.

It feels like hours before you hear a knock on the door in the base, and Phil Coulson is there, looking as worried as you are, though you’re sure he’s picking up on the anxiety coming from Steve, and from having an Avenger in his secret base.

“Steve!”

“He’s gone.” Steve says rapidly, “We had a… brief infiltration today--”

“A what?!”

“Don’t worry about it now. Point is - I think they were a distraction. They needed to figure out how to get in and how to get to Bucky.”

“I can find him.” You grab your bag, trying to push past him and Coulson both to get to the door.

“Wait a minute, slow down, how did you even know he was gone? I don’t understand.”

“We don’t have time for this right now, Steve. Who knows what they’ve done to him or are planning to do.”

“Hey.” Steve’s voice is sharp, drawing you back into focus. “I need you to slow down. Explain this to me like I’m an idiot.”

You glare, but force your breathing to slow. “Something’s wrong. I just-- I can feel it, Steve.”

“How?”

“I think I’m-- his,” you choke out. “I-- he doesn’t have a mark, I know that, but I have one. I’ve had one my whole life, and I’ve never felt--”

Steve exhales hard. “Jesus Christ.” Hands on his hips, he looks back at you. “So… you can sense him? Is that it?”

You nod. “Sort of. I noticed it when we first met. An awareness, really. I didn’t think anything of it. I thought I was being overprotective while he was recovering.”

Steve’s expression clears. “The night he had an episode after we went to Brooklyn. You knew something was wrong before I heard him.”

“Steve, I-- I don’t want him to know. We just need to find him. Everything else… it doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is that I can help you find him, and we can help him.”

“Okay.” Steve’s voice is sure, full of conviction. “Okay. We get him back, and we worry about the rest later.”

“Where are the others?” You ask as you, Steve, and Phil walk as quickly as possible towards the quinjet.

“Tony’s on standby. No point in bringing the full team until we know what we’re up against. I don’t even know where to start looking.” He exhales hard. “What do they even want with him? Without the triggers, there’s no point--”

“Hydra’s been trying to pop up all over the world,” Coulson says. “They’ve taken over several old SHIELD bases, some that we didn’t even know about. They could be trying to use the Asset to bring out whoever’s still in hiding.”

“But he’s not the Soldier anymore.” You say, fierce.

“They don’t know that.” Coulson points out.

At this point, other members of his team have gathered, and you try to keep it together before you have to explain yourself in front of everyone. You’d rather suss this out with Steve, first.

“We’re ready to help if you need it, Captain.” Coulson says, shoulders straight.

Steve watches him carefully, hands on his hips. “We don’t even know where to start looking.”

“Any chance Sergeant Barnes would try to send a signal?” Daisy asks, her voice quiet as she interrupts. “If you know what to look for, we could try to hack into any outgoing Hydra communication channels we know about.”

Steve’s expression clears. “Yeah, he might. If he’s not--”

“He’s not compromised, Steve. I can feel it.” You tell him quietly. Steve stares at you, trying to decide if he can trust this. You don’t blame him - you have no idea if this is going to work either.

“Alright, let’s get to work.” Steve says finally.

“You got it, boss.” Daisy says, with a lazy salute, and you watch, amused as her gaze snaps to Coulson. “No offense, Director.”

“None taken. I’m outranked.” He says agreeably.

You sigh in relief at finally having some help. You can’t let anything happen to Bucky. For Steve’s sake, and for your own.

Bucky opens his eyes slowly - his eyelids feel like they weigh a hundred pounds. Immediately he’s on edge. He has a hazy vision of someone breaking down his door, a cloth in his face and him trying to fight them off before he passed out.

Shit, he thinks, Steve’s going to be so pissed. He takes a minute to assess the situation. A dingy, dark room. He’s shackled. Not the most original way he’s ever been held against his will, but whatever.

He spares a thought for you. Do you even know he’s gone? You’re with SHIELD. Steve’s probably trying like hell to keep this from you, so he doesn’t worry you. Bucky feels himself getting angrier the longer he thinks about it - he finally thinks he might be able to work up the nerve to ask you out, or to at least tell you he thinks you’re-- well, it doesn’t matter.

None of it will matter unless he gets out of here.

He feels a little woozy. He wonders what they used to knock him out, because he knows it would take nearly five times a normal amount of anything that would render a normal person unconscious. It makes him a little nervous, but again, it mostly pisses him off.

He tests his left arm - and can’t move. A brief flash of panic runs through him, but he grits his teeth and tells himself to calm down. There’s something in the room - an EMP maybe? Something that’s taken his arm out of commission.

He tests the shackles, and his right arm pulls free.

“Huh.” Suspicious.

The door opens, and in comes one of the two men who greeted him near the armory at the Tower.

“Oh, hello.” Bucky greets.

“Soldat.” The other man says, and Bucky’s eyes narrow.

“What was it I told you earlier? Oh, right. Eat shit.”

“So the rumors are true? The trigger words no longer work. That’s alright, there are other ways to make you comply.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Look, I’m done taking orders. So you’re wasting your time.”

Bucky does, under it all, wonder what the play is here. He’s basically not held down any more, and they had to know the restraints wouldn’t hold him. So what’s the point? He doesn’t know enough about the Avengers to be a threat to their security, and he’s ninety percent sure that the brainwashing won’t work.

He’s banking on it.

In the back of his mind, there’s a buzzing that lets him know he’s still not completely with it. He also has a gut feeling that Steve is already assembling, or whatever it is he calls it when the Avengers get a mission, so he just has to stall enough to catch this goon off guard and get the hell out of here.

“Well, go on then. Tell me about your nefarious plans.”

That earns him a punch on the jaw, and while it doesn’t hurt really, it pisses him off.

“Alright. I’m tired of this. Tell me what you want, or I’m going to leave, and if I have to kill you to do it, well, that’s just too bad.”

His smile is just a touch too wild to be sane, Bucky thinks, right before he presses something in his right hand. Not an EMP, then, Bucky has a second to think before it feels as if his entire brain is being electrocuted, and then he blacks out.

“Remind me again why I’m doing this?” Tony asks Steve the second he lands in the hangar at SHIELD HQ. “Hello,” he says distractedly to the small crowd that’s gathered.

“Bucky’s in trouble.”

“Barnes has been in trouble his entire life.”

“Tony.” You growl, a warning if he’s ever heard one. “We have to help him.”

Tony sighs. “This place is pretty cool, if a little low tech,” he says finally, looking around, his gaze landing on Phil Coulson. “Phil. You’re not dead.”

“Neither are you. Heard it was pretty close for the both of us.”

Tony turns back to you and Steve. “Why am I here but Wilson isn’t?”

“Sam’s already doing recon.” Steve says, his expression hard. “I need you to help with the hacking.”

“Hey!” Daisy protests, not looking up from her laptop. “I don’t need help--”

“I know you,” Tony says. “You hacked SHIELD. They called me about that. I think you owe me an apology.”

She raises an eyebrow. “... anyway. We were able to narrow it down to these two previously unknown SHIELD bases. They’ve been silent for months, but recently had a string of outgoing communications, one of which can be tracked to a location in New York not far from the Tower.”

“He’s around the fucking block and I flew all the way here?”

Steve glares at Tony. “That doesn’t mean it’s where they’ve taken him. Just that they’re operating there.”

“They’ve probably had eyes on him ever since he came back to New York,” you say quietly.

“Christ.” Tony runs a hand over his face. “Alright, get Wilson over there and see what he can shake out. Doc, do you have a plan if Barnes is… compromised?”

You’re quiet. Steve’s quiet. No one really knows what to do if that’s the case. You’re not sure if it’s even possible, not after all the work Shuri did with Bucky’s recovery in Wakanda, but there’s still the possibility… no. You won’t let yourself think about it.

“We could use the containment module.” Agent May says quietly, one of the first things she’s said since you’ve been with SHIELD. “It’s meant to hold the strongest inhumans.”

Tony gets out of the suit eventually and you all start pouring over audio files from the last few days to try to find Bucky.

Eventually, Steve turns to you. “He’s alright?” He asks, softly, worriedly.

You sigh, but at the pained look on his face, you have no other choice. You concentrate as hard as you can, feeling your connection with Bucky like a tether. You’d know if he was gone. Even if it was just his mind.

“I think so.”

Tony gapes. “Does someone want to fill me in, here?”

“They have a connection.” Steve says, flat.

You watch as Tony connects the dots. “Oh, sweet Christ. That explains a lot.”

You glare. “Excuse me?”

He rolls his eyes, turning back to the monitor in front of him, muttering. “Making heart eyes at each other across my lab--”

“It could be that only she has the mark. But it shouldn’t diminish the bond,” Simmons says quietly across the table, her eyes not leaving the papers in front of her.

“You told SHIELD before you told me?” Tony asks, incredulous. “I’m wounded.”

“Are they always like this?” Fitz asks Coulson, not so quietly. You can relate - there’s something about seeing that your heroes are just regular people.

“Got him.” Daisy says suddenly, voice hard. “There.” She points at the map.

“Let’s go,” Coulson directs, “we’re wheels up in five.”

“You’re staying here.” Steve tells you, and you immediately stop in your tracks.

“I’m going with you. Are you--”

“This is a rescue mission.”

“And I’m a doctor!” And I’m his soulmate, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

“Argue later, on the jet now!” May says sharply, throwing a bulletproof vest in your direction. You catch it before you get knocked over with the weight, and slip it on as quick as you can.

On the jet, you watch as Steve Rogers slowly disappears and Captain America takes over, giving orders and preparing for the possibility that the person they’re going to find might no longer be his best friend.

“You’re going to stay on board while we clear the place, got it?”

You scowl, but don’t argue with him, knowing it won’t do you any good. He goes around handing out comms, and everyone checks that they’re working, giving him a thumbs up. Daisy Johnson looks absolutely delighted to be on a mission with Captain America and Iron Man.

It seems like it’s only minutes before you land. Sam is waiting for you when you get there, and squeezes your shoulder as he passes you to confer quietly with Steve and Tony.

“Alright, we’re going to split up into teams.”

While Steve is talking, you’re barely listening, too focused on trying to concentrate on your newly-discovered bond with Bucky to figure out if he’s alright.

“Don’t get any ideas, Doc.” Tony says to you on his way out the door, tapping the comms device in his ears for emphasis as he goes.

You sigh - you hate being sidelined, even if you know Steve is right - you can’t provide the kind of help that they might need.

“Be careful,” you tell the three of them, plus the SHIELD team.

They go down the ramp quickly, leaving you alone with Simmons and Fitz.

Bucky hasn’t really been thankful for his advanced hearing in the short time he’s been fully in control of his faculties, but even in the short time he’s been back with Steve, he’d recognize the sound of a quinjet landing anywhere.

He feels like he’s been knocked over the head with a hammer. His energy has been totally zapped, and he knows he needs to fight, needs to figure out how to get the hell out of here, he just can’t summon the will to get up.

There’s a commotion in the hallway near the room he’s being kept, and when the door finally bursts open, his face falls when he sees Tony Stark.

“Did you disable the power?” Bucky asks immediately, not giving Tony a chance to make what he’s sure was meant to be a dramatic entrance.

“What? No. Why are you on the ground?” Tony asks, irritated, taking a few steps towards Bucky before a now-familiar buzzing fills his ears. Bucky watches, un-amused, as the lights flicker, and Tony freezes, his suit shorting out.

It’s not the same bone-crackling energy that had rendered him virtually useless earlier, but Bucky still grits his teeth at the feeling of it ripping up whatever sensors are left in his metal arm.

“Oh, god dammit.” Tony curses. “Steve is here. He’ll figure it out.”

“They’ve got a device like an EMP. Shorts out everything electrical.” He winces, “Makes me feel like my brain is leaking out of my ears.”

“That’ll mean Wilson down for the count too,” Tony mutters.

Overhead, the lights flicker once more and then they go out entirely. The walls seem to shake with the force of an explosion, and Bucky and Tony barely have a chance to exchange worried glances before they’re plunged into darkness.

Inside the quinjet, it feels like an earthquake.

Jemma doesn’t look up. “That’ll be Daisy,” she says casually.

Fitz is frowning. “That didn’t feel like a quake.” He stands, heading over to one of the monitors where he tries to get in touch with the rest of the team. “Daisy? Coulson?”

You try too, pressing your finger against the comms device in your ear. “Steve?”

You get no response, not from him, and not from anyone else. You start to feel dread prickling up your spine, and you surge to your feet, not able to just sit there anymore.

“I have to go help them.”

Simmons looks up at you, “You don’t have any way to defend yourself! If they’re not responding--”

“What, we’re going to just leave them in there?”

Fitz looks like he’s weighing his options. He moves quickly, digging into his backpack. He pulls out his sidearm, thrusting it at you. “You know how to use this?”

You swallow thickly. “Yes.”

“Then let’s go.” He shoulders his backpack, and you tuck the gun into your waistband.

“Fitz!” Simmons protests. “The Captain said to stay here—“

“Tell him it was my idea,” you say. “He can lecture me after we save his life.” You take off down the ramp before either of them can say anything else, but you’re relieved when you hear their footsteps following.

Inside, you’re immediately on edge at the lack of guards. You’ve got your borrowed gun at the ready, Fitz and Simmons silently behind you. “First floor is clear,” you whisper. On a whim, you press your finger to your ears again, just on an off chance. “Can anyone hear me?”

“Daisy!” Simmons exclaims before racing towards a figure slumped against a far wall. “Daisy? Can you hear me?”

Daisy groans, opening her eyes slowly. “Shit. Simmons?”

“What happened? We thought it was you--”

“It was me, but then there was this-- I don’t know. It felt like it was scrambling my brain. Took the power out. I tried to quake a few of the guards, but it knocked me out.”

“It only knocked out the powered people?”

“It shorted out my gloves,” Daisy says, getting to her feet. “It’s like it reversed the energy I was exerting and put it back at me.”

You blanche. “Steve and Bucky.”

Fitz echoes your worry. “Falcon and Iron Man have powered suits. Might have had the same effect on them, too.”

All you can think of is what Bucky might have felt - his arm literally is fused to his nerves - and you’re suddenly angrier than you’ve ever been. Forcing yourself to take a few deep breaths. You have no idea if Bucky’s realized your connection yet, but even if he hasn’t he’s got to be feeling some residual panic. You force yourself to calm down.

“There.” Fitz says suddenly, pointing towards the one room in the building with a light on. You can hear voices inside. “It’s Coulson.”

You walk up to the room slowly, gun drawn, the three SHIELD agents at your back. Peering around the corner, you can hear what almost sounds like a casual conversation between Coulson and some Hydra lunatic.

“-- what exactly is the grand plan? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s four Avengers here.”

The man scoffs. “A lot of good they are, aren’t they!” He laughs, “Captain Rogers here doesn’t look like he’s much up for anything right now.”

You take a deep breath when you see Steve slumped against the doorway. Slowly, you reach down, checking his pulse. Still alive, you reassure yourself.

“So you’ve got a device that can take out inhumans and the enhanced. What comes next?”

“Don’t forget it disables any man-made technology that aids the enhanced. Gives us a much more level playing field.”

“This is boring,” Coulson says, dry. “There’s no grand plan? You kidnapped Bucky Barnes to… what? To get Steve Rogers here? To get SHIELD here? You had to know someone would come.”

“The more Avengers we can take out at once, the better. And once we build this machine to its full potential, we can take out entire countries' worth of inhumans and the enhanced.”

You’ve heard enough. “New plan.” You say firmly, stepping around the corner, gun raised. Your eyes narrow. “Where’s Sergeant Barnes?”

The man looks unruffled. “I assume he’s in the cell where we left him, considering he’s only got one fully functioning arm.”

You glance over your shoulder at Fitz and Simmons. “Figure out a way to power that down.” Daisy stays out of sight, but you appreciate knowing you’ve got at least one superhero at your back. Gun still pointed at the Hydra agent, they hurry around him, analyzing the panels and buttons in front of them.

“I wondered if you’d come too,” the man says. He holds out a hand. “Alex Harrison. We haven’t met yet. Well, not officially.” He smirks, “Seen you around though, with the Asset.”

“He has a name.” You growl.

“Two minutes,” Fitz says, and you’re aware of Coulson reaching for his waistband, too. Behind you, Steve starts to rouse, and you fight off the panic at him immediately springing into action.

“Even if you destroy this machine, the plans won’t be stopped.”

“You talk too much,” Coulson says, lunging forward and hitting Harrison hard with the butt of his gun, sending him collapsing to the ground.

“Why didn’t you do that sooner?” You ask, and he shrugs.

“Had to find out about their evil plan.”

“What-- what are you doing here?” Steve asks groggily.

“Hate to break this up, but we need to find the others.” Daisy says. She looks at you, “Can you tell where he is?”

You concentrate on the bond.

“I’ve got him.”

Bucky thinks if he could avoid spending any extended period of time with Tony Stark again, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“All I’m saying is… have you noticed her?”

He’s been needling Bucky about you for the last half hour, and Bucky’s about had it. “Shouldn’t we be trying to get the hell out of here?”

Tony glares. “Well, considering I can’t move…”

The door to the cell suddenly bursts open, and both Bucky and Tony flinch.

“Took you long enough!” Tony crows at the unfamiliar woman, holding her hand up not unlike Bucky’s seen Tony do.

“Bucky!”

His head snaps up at the sound of your voice. You’re there, in front of him, real and alive, hair escaping your ponytail in tendrils, clad in a bulletproof vest and a pair of jeans that he thinks he’ll be dreaming about for days to come.

Also, a gun.

He’s never pondered the attractiveness of firearms until now.

“This seems backwards,” Bucky says. “I should be the one attempting a daring rescue for you.”

“He’s not good at being grateful,” Tony mutters.

“Sergeant Barnes,” the woman says, interrupting. “I’m Daisy. I’m with SHIELD. It’s an honor to meet you.” She grabs his good arm, hoisting him to his feet.

“Brought the calvary, then?” Bucky asks you, over Daisy’s shoulder.

Daisy snorts. “Actually, yes, but don’t let Agent May hear you say that.”

“We have to go quickly.” You say, moving to Bucky’s side. “Are you hurt anywhere else? What did they--” your voice is getting increasingly panicked, and Bucky stops you.

“I’m okay.” He says softly. “Let’s go.”

Getting both himself and Tony oriented is a struggle as they fight off the effects of the EMP, but out in the corridor, he finds the rest of the team including Wilson and Steve congregating. He fights not to notice the way you stay close to his side, close enough to touch.

“How did you find me?” Bucky asks Steve.

Steve glances at you. “It’s a long story.”

Outside, on the quinjet, you busy yourself checking everyone for injuries and any signs of trauma from the Hydra device. You’re in your element, and Bucky can’t take his eyes off you.

He realizes how close he came to being done for. If not for the quickness of the team - however they found him - and for the fact that the trigger words don’t work anymore, he would have been lights out without ever telling you that he thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

They land quickly, promising the SHIELD agents a chance to rest up at Stark Tower before they head back to their base.

You head to the infirmary with Bucky, whose arm is still shorted out.

“Let’s see if we can’t get you back up and running, okay, Sergeant?” Your smile is gentle.

“Yes ma’am.”

He watches you work, watches the way your forehead creases as you concentrate and the way you have tiny flecks of light in your eyes.

He wonders if you’ve got someone. You’ve never mentioned it, and he doesn’t think he’s imagining all these little moments the two of you have had together. There’s the matter of the mark. He hasn’t seen if you have one. He’s put off thinking about his own - or the lack thereof - for… decades.

He decides he doesn’t care. Not when you’re smiling at him like that, and indulging his bad jokes, and making him feel like he’s a normal person, not someone to be afraid of.

“Do you have plans tomorrow?” He blurts.

You look startled. “Uh-- no, I don’t think so.”

“Do you want to go out?” He takes a minute to relish in the surprised look on your face. “With me?”

A myriad of emotions flash across your face. One he doesn’t expect to see is sadness. It makes a lead weight settle in his stomach.

“Bucky…”

He’s afraid of what you’re going to say. He finds himself rushing to reassure you. “It’s not-- it doesn’t have to be anything serious. I just-- I want to spend time with you. Just us.”

You’re so still. It doesn’t track with anything he knows about you - the way you’re always moving, always taking care of everyone else.

“You want to go out with me?” You manage. “Like, a date?”

He smiles. “Yeah, like a date.”

“You want to go out on a date with me?” You ask him again, and he laughs, unable to believe that he has to explain why he thinks you’re so extraordinary.

“I’ve felt a connection with you since the minute we met. I can’t explain it, but it’s true. And the way you burst in there to rescue me, all guns and glory…” a wry smile twists his mouth. “How was I supposed to not want you?”

“Oh, Bucky.” You say, watery through your tears. But you’re smiling now, which is a far sight better than when he thought you were horrified by the prospect of being with him romantically.

He continues, feeling a burst of confidence. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this, so I’m sorry if I’m out of practice. I just-- I feel like I know you. I need you to know that even if-- if we’re not soulmates, even if you don’t believe in that shit, I still want you. I don’t see that changing any time soon.” Bucky’s voice is filled with conviction, and he watches as tears pool in your eyes and start to spill over. “Oh, honey, no.” He reaches for you, but stops halfway. “Don’t cry. I’ll-- what do you need? If you need me to fuck off and never be seen again, I know a guy who can make that happen,” he says, trying to lighten the mood.

A choked sob leaves your mouth, but now you’re smiling, so Bucky takes it as a good sign, though he’s still terrified you’re going to turn tail and leave him standing here. “What is it? Why are you-- please don’t cry.”

You don’t say anything, but it happens almost in slow motion. You lift up your left arm and slowly push up the sleeve, and start to take off your watch. Underneath, in faded black ink, is a vine of ivy, trailing around your delicate wrist, small leaves dotting your veins.

His entire world stops. He’s speechless. He has absolutely no idea what to say. His brain is just screaming, you belong to her, you belong to her over and over again.

“I knew I was yours, but I thought that you didn’t belong to me.” You’re saying. “I-- I didn’t want to trap you, I--.”

“Why would you think that?” His voice cracks.

You look confused. “You don’t have a mark, Buck, I’m your doctor, I saw your arm--”

“My left arm.” His voice is hoarse.

“What?”

“My mark was on my left arm. It showed up in 1934, before the war, before… everything.”

The air whooshes from the room.

“What did it look like?” You ask timidly.

He smiles, stepping closer. “Why don’t you tell me?” He takes your hand, slowly, like he’s afraid he’s going to spook you.

“If this is a joke--”

“I would never joke about this.” He says, hoarse. “I got my mark when I was seventeen years old, and all I thought about for years was finding my match.” Feeling braver, he reaches forward, cupping your face in his palm. “They took that from me,” he says. “Kind of fitting the one to rescue me from Hydra was also the one to bring my mark back to me, right?”

You laugh, a little choked through your tears, and he leans down, tracing the pattern he knows so well with his fingertips on his good hand. “There’s a pale pink flower,” he whispers, looking you dead in the eyes. “Right about here.” His thumb presses lightly at the crook of your elbow, where you know a flower sits.

“It’s how I found you.” You tell him, and the pieces start to click into place. “I dreamed about you, but I think it was more of a vision.”

“You were the one to realize I’d been taken?” He asks, feeling his heart squeeze. “Jesus.”

“Called Steve in the middle of the night. Demanded he listen to me and he came to get me from SHIELD.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he says, a smile growing on his face. “In a good way,” he adds. Then, quieter, “I’ve dreamed of you too.” He whispers.

You’re both quiet for a few minutes. “What do we do now?” You ask, and he shrugs.

“Don’t know. I haven’t done this before.” HIs eyes are filled with mirth.

“Oh… you-- shut up.”

He grins - he has a feeling riling you up is going to be one of his favorite pastimes.

“Let me get your arm up and running, and then we’ll talk.” You eye him carefully. “I might have to get Tony for the hardwiring.”

Bucky lets his head drop back as he groans. “Anyone but him.”

You cackle delightedly. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

He brightens at the use of the endearment. He feels - it’s a dream. Seventy years of waiting, and somehow, in the back of his mind, he knew you were different the minute he met you.

He knows you have a lot to talk about - a lot to decide, a lot to work through. He feels almost invincible, though, especially after thinking for so long that he would never find his match if he didn’t have his mark anymore. He still can’t fathom how he got so lucky for it to be you.

You feel like you’re walking on clouds for the rest of the day. After some good-natured ribbing from the team, and from SHIELD - you promised to stay in touch with them, if only to convince Steve and Tony to come around and start working with them again; you quite like Phil Coulson - they mostly leave you and Bucky alone.

You hole up in his apartment for nearly the entire day, talking about everything you can think of. Your childhood, his childhood, even the rough parts that make his voice catch and harden… you sit right there and hold his hand through it.

You can almost feel your bond like a living, breathing thing now. It’s electric when the two of you touch, something that you’d always noticed but tried not to put any weight on.

Now, it seems so obvious.

He kisses you goodnight. It sends a flare of heat through you and nearly makes you dizzy, and you want him to do it again as soon as it ends.

He reminds you that you’ve got a lifetime to sort out what this all means.

A lifetime with Bucky Barnes sounds like a dream.

You can’t wait.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #this is the longest bucky fic i've ever written???#maybe even the longest fic i've ever posted to this blog #WHEW

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frostedfaves · 4 years ago

Text

Sharp Edges

Masterlist

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: “They say home is where your heart is, but what if my heart is six feet underground with you?”

Warnings: heavy angst, grieving, major death, depression, brief mention of implied vomiting, funeral at the end

A/N: sorry if you came here for a good time, but this is not it! based on these Sad Sunday and Fluff Monday blurbs! I’d recommend reading them first since they’re referenced in this, but not entirely necessary. anyway, excited to hear your thoughts! also I meant to post a request today and save this for next week but I started writing this during work and couldn’t stop. so I’ll work on getting requests out next week since I’ve got Sad Sunday tomorrow!

marvel requests?

Wanda Maximoff misses you.

When the news broke that you’d died from your injuries before she could get to you, her body collapsed on the spot. Her mind instantly recalled the memory of the last time she’d seen you truly happy.

For a week straight, your hands were covered in clay. Due to your lack of a childhood, you’d never gotten to experience normal things like attempting pottery in an art class. When you finally discovered it, the team never heard the end of it. You’d annoyed Tony into buying a kiln after coming home with enough clay to build a small village and got to work.

You worked a while on making tiles and carving winter trees and flowers into them, eventually moving onto dishes. You’d perfected plates and bowls but couldn’t figure out mugs, which only made you work harder to the point where Wanda had to drag you to the kitchen and bed each day.

On that seventh day you’d run into Wanda’s room, tackling her into a pile of laundry she was sorting because you were just that excited. You’d finally made a mug worth putting into the kiln, and a celebratory kiss was in order. She’d helped you pick out colors to paint it with, sporting a proud smile and eyes full of adoration.

She pressed repeat on your ecstatic screams echoing in her thoughts, hoping to drown out the cries of pain she’d heard over the phone. You’d been taken by an enemy from her very last mission, someone who had no knowledge that when Wanda disappeared months prior, she left you behind. They could only assume that you would be the easiest way to find her, not aware that you were just as in the dark on her whereabouts.

She’d listened with tears streaming down her cheeks as your captor made you beg, packing her belongings frantically while each whimper of her name turned her stomach a bit more. The regret of leaving her Lovely behind was immense, and she wanted nothing more in the moment than burning her enemy alive and bringing you into her arms forever.

There was a mixture of emotions in everyone when Wanda finally reached the compound, much slower upon receiving knowledge that your body rested there. Broken spirits lay behind defeated and tearful eyes, but looking into Steve’s nearly sent her crumbling to the floor again.

They were cold and dark, as they earned the right to be. The eyes of a man who comforted his best friend for weeks, day and night, when the love of her life deserted her in her sleep. He was no stranger to your heavy sobs in the shower, overheard when he put sweaters in the dryer and left them in the bathroom because you shivered constantly. Your lifeless eyes at the dinner table when he forced you to leave your room. Sitting with you in the medical wing after breaking your wrists on the punching bag.

As far as Steve Rogers was concerned, Wanda deserved every bit of pain she felt.

This thought mixed in with the flashes of his memories of your suffering is what sent her to the floor, gasping for air with a wet face. Through Natasha and Tony’s legs as they approached her she caught him walking away, and it only made it harder to breathe.

Your funeral came days later, and Wanda spent the entirety of the time in your room. The scent of your favorite lotion on her hands pulled her into a nightmare filled sleep, and she found comfort in it knowing that her reality upon waking up was far more painful. After taking a shower and checking with FRIDAY on Steve’s location in the building, she found herself staring at an empty space in one of the kitchen cupboards.

“Wanda, what’s going on?”

She turned at the sound of Pepper’s voice, heart clenching painfully at the sight of her formal dress. “Where’s her mug?”

“She smashed it.”

“What?” She wanted to ask why, but stopped herself in fear of the answer.

“She used it for the first time a month after you left. When she went to wash it, she saw where you’d painted on the bottom ‘Lovely’s Mug, Do Not Use’ and threw it against the nearest wall.”

Wanda pushed past Pepper and sprinted to the closest bathroom, not even caring if anyone walked past and heard the violent act of everything she’d held back spilling out. Gentle hands came a few minutes later, one rubbing her back and the other wrapping any loose hairs around her poorly formed bun. When she’d finished, the toilet was flushed for her and a half empty bottle of water was shoved into her shaky grip.

“Rinse.”

She blinked in surprise at the stern tone, turning her teary gaze to meet eyes much softer than days prior. She stood on shaky legs after following his instruction and using the water, her confusion only growing as he helped her lean against the sink for support.

“I thought you hated me,” she voiced her concern into the quiet room, and Steve sighed.

“I want to, trust me.” He took the bottle from her and used his free hand to scratch at his beard nervously. “I loved--love her like family and when you left, it felt like she left too. Just when I thought I was getting her back, she was taken from me for good. As much as I want to hate you, I can’t. Especially knowing that until her last breath, she loved you.”

He stepped forward again, pulling Wanda into a warm embrace as tears rolled down both of their cheeks. The air grew still, heavy with emotion and silence punctuated with their sniffles.

“I hate that I ruined something she was so proud of making. Everything I touched of hers, I destroyed. Her mug, her heart. I wish I’d never left, and sometimes I wish I never met her. She would’ve done much better without me.”

Her next sniffle was cut short when Steve pulled away just enough to make eye contact.

“You may have made a small part of her life hard, but you spent much more time making her happy. Because of you, she stopped being so afraid of nighttime storms, instead associating it with time to spend close to you. She tried new things and worked harder on missions to help create a safe future for the two of you to exist in. And if anything, she’s inspired me to do the same, for you and all of us.”

Wanda remained silent as she mulled over his words, continuing to do so as she got dressed for the worst event of her life, only tied with Pietro’s funeral. She sat in the front row between Steve and Natasha, a numbness taking over as she listened to everyone speak so highly of you. Her arms held tightly to Tony in comfort as he cried in the middle of his speech, allowing Pepper to take over as she took his place in front of everyone.

“This is--for the second time--the worst thing I’ve ever had to do, but I’m not here to talk about me. I want to talk about my best girl, the one I only ever referred to as Lovely, from the moment I met her. In fact, I’d like to talk directly to her, if you don’t mind.”

She turned her gaze directly above the crowd toward the sky, smiling a bit when a bird crossed her line of vision.

“Lovely, I’m so sorry I left you behind. I thought I was protecting you from the monster I believed myself to be, but instead I just made everything worse. I should have stayed. We never got to finish that show we were binge-watching, and I don’t think that I ever will. Not without you.”

She paused for a moment to breathe, also taking the time to clear space on her cheeks for the next round of tears.

“I should have stayed to be around for the next thing you got into after pottery. You deserve to be that excited about something again. I loved the way you’d say my whole name with that shiny look in your eye that just made me love you so much more, and I remember you telling me that if you weren’t so afraid of annoying me, you’d call me by my full name all the time.”

Her eyes blinked as tears clouded her vision once more, allowing them to fall as she turned to your picture beside your covered body.

“I want to say thank you for being an amazing friend and even better girlfriend, Lovely. I didn’t deserve to have you, but I’m glad I was gifted with being a part of your life anyway. I hope that wherever you are, you’re as happy as you made me, and I want you to know something that will forever be true.”

She cleared her throat as her emotions began to choke her there, hands coming to wrap around the pendant of a necklace you gave her as her final words came out in a whisper.

“Wanda Maximoff misses you.”

Tags: @littlegasps @imnotasuperhero @creepingwolfberry @marie-03

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x fem! reader #avengers x reader #avengers #avengers fanfic #avengers imagine #the avengers #avengers x you #avengers x fem!reader #marvel x reader #marvel #mcu x reader

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the-witty-pen-name · 4 years ago

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Fell in Love in Scotland Pt. 2

Sam Wilson x F!Reader

Warnings: ptsd/trauma related to war; mentions of nightmares; angst; cursing; pining; slow burn; 18+ in later parts (maybe? not sure yet)

Summary: After finding about the new Captain America, the reader goes to Louisiana to visit Sam.

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: So I know this isn’t on my list of things I *should* be working on, but I had this idea today and I had to get it down! This is only going to be 2-3 parts. (Edit: 3 parts!) This is my first time writing for Sam!

I’m taking a small break from working on my other works in progress to focus on getting out as much Sam content as a can before Sam’s (and my) bday on the 14th! Not sure how much I’ll be able to write but that is my hope!

My biggest flex at the moment is sharing a bday with Sam.

This references Civil War, Endgame and Infinity War events in flashbacks but you know, canon is a thing I like to just maneuver around so I’m sorry if there are many major inaccuracies!

This is unedited and please let me know if I missed anything that should be included as a warning.

Taglist is in my bio

The safe house in Scotland was small. A little cottage hidden away in the countryside. Absolutely beautiful, if not for the looming reminders of why you were there in the first place.

You didn’t handle laying low well. You didn’t like not doing anything. Your resolve for handling your thoughts, your problems had always been to just push them aside. Focus your energy on anything but what would pull you down. You couldn’t allow yourself to just exist. Time stopped and there was no fight to be fought, and you hated it.

Fortunately, you were with people who understood. Sam and Steve especially. It didn’t take long for Sam to work his way in. He understood you, and he related to you. Neither one of you really needed to acknowledge it. There was an unspoken understanding between the two of you which made it all feel so seamless.

You were restless, and nights were always the worst. You’d spend several hours tossing in turning on your mattress, unable to get comfortable. You’d bring your pillow and sheet with you onto the floor of your room, and if you were lucky enough to fall asleep, you’d wake up after only a few hours. Sometimes you’d remember the nightmares vividly, other times it was just the feelings that lingered.

Most nights, you’d wait it out in your room watching the clock until it was early enough to “get out of bed.” So, you’d wait until the red numbers on the screen turned to 4am and then you’d sneak your way downstairs to the kitchen or the living room, so you didn’t need to face the idea of sleep.

After a few weeks, Sam caught on to your routine. He would join you in the mornings, help you make coffee and talk about nothing. Just helping you keep your mind off the things that bothered you. He looked as tired as you, and you would insist on him getting more sleep. But Sam never made you go through any of the hard days on your own.

“You get used to it,” he’d say, understanding what you were going through better than anybody.

“I don’t know if I can,” you admit, curled up in a ball on the sofa, the warm mug of coffee Sam made cradled tightly in your hands. The curtains are pulled open, and you stare out the window to your right, watching the sun slowly coming up.

“You should try sleeping in your bed again,” he suggests. You’d recently promoted yourself from sleeping on the floor to the couch. Baby steps. You nod, knowing he’s right.

You get a rental car the next morning and you drive to the address Sam texted you. You’re greeted immediately by two rowdy young boys, asking you if you’re an Avenger like their Uncle Sam. He’s literally Uncle Sam. How could he think he didn’t deserve the shield? Well, you know why. But the coincidence is too funny not to bring up to him once all of this is resolved.

Each of them grabbed you by an arm and drag you to the backyard. You chuckle, following their lead as they ask you a million questions. They call out to Sam when he is in view and he smiles when he sees you. Your heart flips.

“They bothering you?” he asks and you shake your head.

“No, they’re great,” you beam watching them run off.

“You look good,” he compliments you, and you feel like jelly. “You’re sleeping?” Oh.

“Yeah, I mean, for the most part,” you reply, “So do you.” You can’t miss the smile on his face. “So, uh, have you heard from Bucky?”

“I text him all the time, trying to check in, but no nothing. You?”

You shake your head. “I stopped trying,” you admit, “but I can’t blame him. He really doesn’t know me.”

“He’ll come around,” he reasons, trying to be optimistic. “So, I want to show you the boat?”

“You have a boat?” you chuckle, and he grins, nodding like a little kid.

“35-foot yacht,” he teases.

“Of course,” you smile.

It was only just noon when you both arrived at the docks. The air felt crisper, and the sun felt phenomenal on your shoulders. It wasn’t until you were outside in weather like this that you realized how often you opted to stay hidden away in your apartment. The atmosphere just felt more alive, and the air in your lungs felt almost cleansing.

You sat across from Sam on the bow of the boat, your legs dangling over the side. You were sitting close enough to him that your thighs touched, and you were trying your hardest to ignore the feeling. You just felt warm, and you felt more relaxed than you had been since you’d last seen him.

“I just need to ask,” Sam asks, cutting through both of your laughter. You really had spent the day so far just reminiscing, talking about nothing really. “Did you and Cap- were you guys…?”

“Oh god no,” you choke quickly, you stifle another laugh, “Steve was just a really great friend. No nothing like that. I would go to the end of the earth and back for Steve… but no, I didn’t have feelings for him that way.”

“I had thought maybe at one point something was going on there,” he shrugs. Is he serious?

“Never,” you reiterate.

Sleeping in a bed became easier, but the nightmares were something that you just couldn’t shake no matter how hard you tried. Many times, it would be late in the night and you’d be gently shaken awake. Sam would be kneeling next to your bed, trying to wake you up.

“Please stay,” you’d ask, eyes glossed over and your skin stained with tears. He could never say no. You’d scoot over and he’d climb in and settle next to you. It wasn’t even anything romantic. You didn’t cuddle or invade his space. You just needed to feel him next to you, and you’d be able to sleep. The cycle continued for a long while until you were able to sleep through the night without the haunting dreams.

But you missed waking up with him there.

“You need to tell him,” Steve would insist, and you’d shut down the idea every single time.

“No, I can’t,” you’d insist. The only person who knew how you felt was Steve. You hadn’t even told him; he just knew you too well.

“You’re making yourself miserable,” he’d elaborate, “you deserve a little happiness- Sam deserves happiness. He wants you too.”

“Happiness? With me?” you snort, “Steve, think about me, my past- everything I carry around with me. You know as well as I do, I can’t infect him with that when he has his own issues. We’re all too broken- he deserves better.”

“You don’t to be the one to decide that for him,” he counters. “What Sam deserves is the truth.”

“I know, I know!” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself and you can’t look at Steve. “Telling him how I feel complicates things to much. I can’t risk it.”

“Even if he feels the same way?”

“Especially if he feels the same way.”

You rest back on your palms, close your eyes and tilt your head up towards the direction of the sun. Your mind wanders to Steve, and how much you miss him. You were oftentimes too thick headed to take any of his advice but it was something you hadn’t realized you needed.

You decide to just throw out all your apprehension. And just take the advice from Steve you should’ve taken years ago. The timing is perfect. The universe is screaming at you to just tell him.

“I gave up the shield because I didn’t think anyone could follow Steve,” he admits, “I didn’t think I could fill the role- no one can, or maybe no one should.”

“You’re the only person who can, Sam,” you say, looking back over to him.

“When I gave it up, I didn’t think it would be given to someone else. I donated it- to keep it with the rest of what we have left of him. God- if I had known…”

“I watched on television when you donated it, Sam,” you say, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Symbols are nothing without the men and women that give them meaning… I wish you saw yourself the way Steve did- the way I do…”

“That’s not fair…”

“You said we need new heroes for the times we’re in. Sam- the world needs a new Captain America. And you know as well as I do, that man on TV they pushed out there isn’t it.”

“It’s not me, either,” he says, looking down at the water, the reflection of the two of you rippled and distorted.

“I wish you could see how much that isn’t true,” you admit, “I also- I also wish I was more like you… You’re so good at talking to me… people like us and Steve. You show people their value and their worth, and you’re just so fiercely loyal it’s almost annoying. And I suck at that, I’m a terrible communicator, and I can’t vocalize how much you’re worth, and how much you deserve the shield. Feelings are just too overwhelming and I can’t focus them into anything coherent. And you right now need what you give others just so freely, and you’re stuck with me… I know I’m not Steve, and I as much as I try to convince you the decision is yours, but you need to know that you are the only person who can be our new Captain… Steve wasn’t wrong about you, and I just… I’m in your corner.”

“(Y/N) …”

It was safe in Scotland. Quiet, secluded. Time wasn’t looming over you. There was nothing there that was any imminent threat except your own demons that you carried with you. You had a lot of regrets, past mistakes that haunted you whenever you slowed down. It’s why when you left the air force, you joined SHIELD. You were like Steve, kindred spirits plagued by the after effects of war and both of you resolved to fighting rather than be left to your own devises.

Not like Sam. Sam put his focus into helping others. Selfless, and understanding, he was always there. He was thoughtful with what he chose to fight for, which is something you greatly admired. He was morals and loyalty, and everything that made a great man. He was a friend first, and a fighter second.

Which is such a rare quality that you wished you could tell him you noticed.

Steve got very into crossword puzzles. He found a box up in the attic tucked away of old books from whoever used to live here. He’d sit on the armchair in the living room, pencil in hand and try his best to fill in what he knew. He ended up heavily relying on you and Sam to fill in the references he didn’t know.

You and Sam would be on the couch, you tucked into his side, watching television or sometimes you’d both read, old magazines or anything you could find for entertainment. One night you both sat on the floor on opposite sides of the coffee table with an incomplete deck of cards playing Double Solitaire, and Steve would occasionally vocalize a clue he was stuck on.

“Drummer of Duran Duran. Blank Taylor. Five letters,” Steve said, not looking up from the flimsy book.

“Roger Taylor,” Sam answered aimlessly, tapping the card in his hand to his chin as his eyes scanned the columns of cards.

A few minutes of silence follow before Steve speaks again.

“1996 Looney Toons film starring Michael Jordan. Eight letters.”

“Space Jam,” you smirk, and you bite your lip to hold back a laugh. You want to ask him what the theme is for the puzzle he’s working on but you decide against it. You don’t want to embarrass him.

It felt really silly. The three of you, all ex-military crime fighters on the run, couped up together in this tiny living room, playing cards and helping Captain America with a pop culture crossword. Maybe it just felt weird because it was so normal.

You’re sweating. You didn’t realize it until just now. The dampness of the underarms of your t-shirt was all you could focus on. Why were you so nervous? Because again, the universe if giving you every single sign to just tell him. Yell it out so loud it echoes back to you across the water. Tell him. Tell him everything.

Every harbored fantasy of being with him. Tell him how much he means to you and how sorry you are that your fears drive you away from him. He feels so strong, and stoic next to you, it’s making your head spin and you feel like your brain is leaving your body behind. He’s so understanding and patient, and here you are, again, leaving him on another cliff hanger.

“Sam, I need to tell you something.”

No going back now.

Taglist:

@greeneyedblondie44 @witchybarb @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @sassy-kassaay @aynanasstuff @claudiaatje @lieswithoutfairytales @ttalisa @januarystears

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x you #sam wilson x y/n #the falcon and the winter soldier #sam wilson fanfiction #justsamwilson #falcon #slow burn #friends to lovers #anthony mackie characters #mcu imagine

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hornime · 4 years ago

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hq as my discovery weekly | part one

warnings: this is completely sfw, combo of fluff and angst

characters included: kenma, akaashi, oikawa, suna, koganegawa, ushijima, bokuto, kuroo, hinata, kita, terushima, iwaizumi, osamu, kageyama, sakusa

a/n: this was a random idea i thought of but i think it’ll be really cute haha. maybe you guys’ll find some new songs in the process! totally encourage anyone to use this idea if they want cus this was super fun to write!

playing... one through fifteen / sixteen through thirty

↪ “cotton candy lemonade" by blu detiger: kenma kozume

i've been up too long, something's wrong / watch the rising sun / turning all my nights to days

i've been on my own, come find me now / i'm lonely to the bone / but I don't feel so low when you're around / let's run away from home

you'll bе my kaleidoscope, my color in this life / watching thе world fade away

kenma is not the most extroverted and he’s in his head a lot, so he’s someone that might not always see the ‘color’ in things that exist around him. but when it comes to you, well, you’re someone that makes him look up from his screen a little longer than usual.

↪ “love affair” by umi: akaashi keiji

don't overthink this is love / maybe it's just a crush

i hope what I feel is enough / maybe this is just lies

i wanna know how to feel, what to feel, what's right / i never know / 'cause when it gets real, I just run away / and hide from you

akaashi gets anxiety. he used to be certain about a lot of things—his intelligence, his skill, his happiness, but most important to him was his feelings for you. he’s overthinking again, he knows it, but he’s getting an uncontrollable itch that maybe this is all in his head; he doesn’t love you, he just think he does. but when you’re in his arms, breathing even and eyes fluttered shut, he remembers what you always told him: it doesn’t matter what he knows, it matters what he feels. and he feels like the luckiest man alive.

↪ “coke” by iii addicts, danice: oikawa tooru

come closer, i been eyeing you from way over / so it's time i come for some closure

had to let her know that you could lick this / shake it up, it's gonna probably gon' bust

why, tell me why / why am i not satisfied / every time i cross that line / i feel it, i feel it

oikawa feels like tantalus: a man constantly reaching for a goal just out of reach, straining his muscles and screaming his voice hoarse just for a glimpse of an unattainable destiny. he’s desperate to get ahead, and while he may be running at top speed at all times, the finish line doesn’t seem to be getting any closer. his worst fear is that, some time he’ll slow his pace and look back and realize he hasn’t gotten very far at all.

↪ “baby powder” by jenevieve: suna rintaro

i'll put up with you babe / there's somethings I won't take / baby don't feel me false / yeah that turns me off

you're making me so high now / you're everything I'd ever want / you're keeping me so dry now / you're everything I'd never want uh

plastic on the floor but it ain't for me / ima go up to the place that i'd rather be

suna is straightforward. he won’t deal with your bullshit, and he learns that you won’t deal with his either, which makes you so appealing. when he starts letting more and more of you in, he feels you slipping through his fingers. you wanted to be friends, so you treat him as one. he doesn’t remember when he started wanting more.

↪ “chandelier (instrumental version)” by paquin: koganegawa kanji

instrumental so no lyrics lol

koganegawa is bubbly. he’s a bouncer: he bounces between social circles, bounces colors behind his eyes, and bounces back after adversity. he’s an amiable guy, and it’s landed him plenty of friends and opportunities, but best of all, it’s landed him you.

↪ “l-over” by u.s. girls: ushijima wakatoshi

my lover has no heart / magic moving blood around that body / he's cool to the touch / i don't see him much / but when I do, he does nothing for me

can you imagine trying to get / some satisfaction out of a stone?

spare me any talk of your future life / i don't know what I'll do without you

ushijima is stubborn. he’s deadset on achieving his goals for the future, and if you can’t work with them, you better work around them. you’re tired of how he grounds you; you thought it was a blessing at first, having a guy that knew what he wanted and would always act as a constant in your life, but you’ve started to see that he’s not a lighthouse anymore, he’s an anchor. he’s an anchor that’s chaining you to the ocean floor and will drown you if you, even for a second, stop kicking your legs to stay afloat.

↪ “magic!” by リアムMAZE1981: bokuto koutarou

and when you smile at me that way / well you can warm the coldest day / it's magic

and all i have to do is think of you / to make the music start to play / then i dance down the street / and the people I meet stop and say hey hey

and when you want me you just clap your hands / and I'll be with you right away / then we'll float on a breeze / while the leaves in the trees softly say hey hey / magic ways, my friend / you love the girl with magic ways and it's true / i might as well give in

bokuto is bright. he tramps around the world with the light of the sun illuminating his face. there is nothing in the universe that could ever drag him down, especially not with you around. you’ve cast some kind of spell on him, he’s sure of it, because your very presence makes him certain that he’s immortal. he must be, because when he’s with you, he’s withstanding the heat of a thousand suns that erases the darkness in every shadow, corner, and crevice of his life.

↪ “i hope that u think of me” by pity party (girls club): kuroo tetsuro

i hope that you dream of me baby / nightmares are what dreams are baby i-i-i / i think I'm fallin' out of love

you tell me that it's easy to be / you tell me that it's easy to be with me but you lie-i-i / why do you lie all the time?

kuroo is focused. he takes note of everything when he’s working on a task, down to dotting the ‘i’s and crossing the ‘t’s. he often finds himself with tunnel vision, unable to think of anything but the current responsibility at the top of his every-growing to-do list. somewhere along the way, he lost track of you—must’ve loosened his grip on your hand and your fingers fell through empty space. he’d look for you, back in the void, but he’s busy. he keeps moving, unaware that you’ve turned back, walking in the opposite direction as him to find the life before him that you barely remember.

↪ “the leanover” by life without buildings: hinata shoyo

kiss me, break my mind, close the door / black steel, break my mind, close the door

if i lose you in the street / i say, i say, i say, i say, i say, i say / wassup, wassup with you? / wassup with your friends?

hinata is unfazed. he knows that, when things go bad, there’ll always be something there to right them. so when your paths diverge—maybe your schedules don’t work out, your dates get canceled, your nights home become more and more sparse—he’s not worried. not one bit. because at the end of the night, he knows that you’ll always find your way back to one another, and you’ll always greet him with open arms. and he’ll always do the same.

↪ “ladyfingers - edit” by funding secured: kita shinsuke

instrumental so no lyrics lol

kita is polished. he works hard during the day to be with you at night, dancing in little circles in the small kitchen of your shared home. he looks at you with fondness and appreciation, thanking his stars a million times over for granting him with someone like you. he’s a tree, stable in the harshest of gales, but even trees like to sway with the wind sometimes.

↪ “black madonna” by cage the elephant: terushima yuuji

makes no difference here, so let's be real / black madonna, my black flower / nowhere left to run, nowhere left to hide / you're not havin' fun, i think that you should ride

climb so high, don't hear a sound / don't you forget what goes around, comes around / climb so high, tell me how to feel

call me when you're ready to be real / black madonna, my hallelujah

terushima is hedonistic. he’s never concerned himself with thoughts of the future, or of the past, or of anything, really. all he can think about is making each moment as willing to be lived as possible. you, on the other hand, are practical, too practical in his opinion, and he wants you to let loose, lighten up a little bit. maybe in the long run, it won’t be the best idea to let him take you by the hand and on a midnight adventure, but you haven’t thought that far ahead yet. guess he’s already rubbing off on you.

↪ “mother nature’s bitch” by okay kaya: iwaizumi hajime

everybody / please give a warm welcome to / to this current mood

here i am / easy to please / here i am / okay with it

here i am / desperate for attention / here i am / being mother nature's bitch

iwaizumi is hardworking. he does the best he can with everything he tries; sometimes that amounts to something and sometimes it doesn’t. most times it doesn’t fulfill his expectations, as high as they are. when you’re around, his borderline hatred for himself disappears. when you’re there to tell him how great he’s doing, the tension in his shoulders dissipates.

↪ “smithereens” by rasharn powell, ab001: miya osamu

found my power / and my brethren / in a tussle with the world itself

see if I’m david, you’re goliath / there’s some power in defiance / put my heart in a slingshot / we been cycling away for days

searching for freedom always / likeness of an orgasm been had / empty with a peace that just don’t last / petite mort, then born again

osamu is pioneering. he opened a small business and eventually branched out, managing chains of his restaurant across the nation. it may not be a flashy job, but it’s a solid one, and a draining one. there are days of back-to-back shifts, afternoons overwhelming catering orders, and nights spent sleeping over on a cot near the kitchen. when he dreams, curled up with the smell of onigri still lingering in the air, he can only think of ‘what if’ he’d chosen another path, a path with a more obvious end, a more obvious definition of glory. but he still wakes up at dawn, conquering his own corner of the sky, knowing that his life, while it may be small, is not insignificant.

↪ “must be” by lou phelps: kageyama tobio

must be the henny on the ice / must be the diamonds that I buy / might be the shit that I write / whatever a n**** do and say, that's what I like

i'm on the cloud as i walk the front door / that's a boost, that's true, that's loo

yeah, um, i'mma need my space / 'cause you's a bum-bum, can't be standing next to me, uh / forgive me for my sins / don't tell me this is wrong if it feels right

kageyama is cocky. he’s good at what he does, amazing, actually, and he sure as hell knows it. he’s surrounded by people that make him better, people that he makes better, and he can’t think of a place he’d rather be. he’s on his way to carve his way into the moon and he’s not going to tolerate anyone that wants to keep him on earth.

↪ “jealous” by eyedress: sakusa kiyoomi

you could have anyone you want / why would you want to be with me? / you know, I'm nothing special

don't tell me about your problems / if you're not trying to solve them / don't ask me for my help

sakusa is independent. he’s not one to see himself as part of someone else’s orbit, opting to act like a random rock, floating in space with no origin and no destination. he’s worried that, if he gets too close to you, he’ll end up getting drawn in by your gravity and either crash land or burn up. neither seems appealing, and the idea of a safe encounter hasn’t even crossed his mind, so he’s going to keep moving on an endless trek towards the stars.

#haikyuu!!#haikyu #hq #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #kenma #akaashi #oikawa #suna #koganegawa #ushijima #bokuto #kuroo #hinata

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maudeeloise · 4 years ago

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Birthday || Josie Saltzman

Pairing : Josie Saltzman x reader ( platonic )

Warning : None

In which : Josie finds out it’s Y/N’s birthday and Y/N hates birthdays, so they argued and it ended with Josie singing for her as an apology.

A/N : Since New Year is super close and I’m in the mood of writing, so I’m going to write a story with New Years theme. Sorry if there’s any misspelling or incorrect grammar. Hope you like it! Y/F/S = your favorite song. Credit to the GIF owner.

“Today is your birthday?!” That was the first thing she said while bursting into Y/N’s dorm room.

Y/N jumped off the bed in surprise because her bestfriend caught her off-guard. Once Y/N calmed down, she took her headset off slowly and closed her laptop. “What the hell, Saltzman!”

“Happy Birthday?” Josie whispered nervously before pursing her lips. Instead of saying thank you, you gave her a confused look. You never told anybody about your birthday, except for Mr. Saltzman and that was because he was the principal.

“Where does this come from?” You asked while walking up to your bestfriend. “How do you know about my birthday?”

“I was in my father’s office earlier and I looked up your file. I swear, I don’t have any intention to stalk you, but then I saw your birthday. It’s pretty unique that your birthday is on New Year’s Eve.” Josie rambled before laughing nervously at your expression. “Y/N, please say something. I’m really sorry. Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad. I’m just confused and what were you even doing at your dad’s office?” You asked with a higher tone that made Josie flinched back a little which you didn’t notice.

“I-I was searching for my dad a-and I-I got carried away. I-I’m really s-sorry.” Josie stuttered. The brunette looked down as she waited for your next move.

“Sure, just don’t tell anyone about it-”

“That might be too late, I told Lizzie and Hope and MG, but that’s all.” You scoffed at her reply.

“Unbelievable, Jo. My birthday isn’t something to celebrate. It’s a nightmare! So, will you excuse yourself? I need some space.” You snapped which got Josie flinched back again.

“Well, I’m sorry. Why is it such a big deal and why do you even have to act like this?” Josie argued. “It’s just a birthday.” she muttered the last part.

“Well, it’s not just a birthday to me, Jo! You don’t know anything about it, so just please leave me alone!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll leave.” Josie pulled her hands up in defeat as she walked towards door. She stopped right before the door and muttered ,” I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset, just so you know there will be a party for New Year and I hope you join us.”

“I’ll think about it.” Josie nodded before she walked out the door and closed it slowly.

You spent the rest of the day in your room because you didn’t want anyone to remind you that it was your birthday. If Josie just knew, the pain that happened on your last birthday party made you hate birthdays. A vampire killed your entire family, including you. The monstrous creature turned you to be one of their kind. That was the reason why was it so hard for you to except yourself.

Fortunately, there was Alaric, the person who saved you and made you accepted yourself for who you were. Josie was always there with you through ups and downs. You were so thankful to be apart of the Salvatore School. Although, the pain, the memory were still there and you didn’t have any intention to spit it out sooner.

The sun went down a few hours ago, you had dinner. It took everything for you to step out of your room without getting caught by anyone just to get into the kitchen and grab a blood bag. Attention was the last thing you wanted that night. Well, at least, that was what you thought until an hour before New Year.

You got bored and finally gave up, so you decided to join the party and talk to Josie. You walked out of your room and went straight to the party. The loud music and cheers could be heard from across the hall. As you got closer the sound got louder and louder until you reached the room.

You stayed in the doorway for a few seconds as it gained a few stares towards you. You got awkward, but you decided to shrug it off by walking through the sea of people, trying to find your one and only bestfriend, Josie Saltzman.

After a few walks around the room, you didn’t see any sign of her existence. You felt guilty and upset for what you did earlier. Luckily, before you thought leaving the party was an option, Josie walked up the stage and started a speech.

“Hi, I’m Josie and-.” she sighed nervously and within a second her eyes landed on you. She gave me an unsure smile as you gave her an “I’m sorry for I did earlier” smile. With that her smile got wider and you knew she was ready for whatever she was going to do next. “and since today is my best friend’s birthday, I decided to sing for her tonight.”

The crowds cheered for her as the music started. You got nervous for a while, but it lasted once Josie started singing the first lyric. Your jaw dropped. She was singing Y/F/S. The song Josie used to make fun of, but there she was singing the song fully with her heart and she even memorized the lyrics. You were speechless and just with that you forgot what happened earlier between the two of you.

Once the song stopped, the brunette thanked the crowd as the crowd cheered. Josie looked at you one more time before walking down the stage and came up to you right away.

“First of all, don’t be mad. Second of all, what I did earlier was crossing the line, I’m really sorry.” Josie pursed her lips as a sign that she was nervous.

“No, I’m sorry. I should’ve not acted like that. Things weren’t great on my last birthday party and I should’ve never vented out on you or anybody.” Josie smiled widely then pulled me into a long tight hug which I returned a few seconds after. “By the way, about the song, you changed the whole meaning of birthday. Thank you.”

#josie saltzman #josie saltzman imagine #josie saltzman x reader #josette olivia saltzman #legacies #legacies imagine #the vampire diaries #the vampire diares imagine #tvd #tvdu #kaylee bryant #multifandom #multifandom account #imagines #fanfiction #imagine

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glitxhwayventeen · 3 years ago

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Ghostin

Seungkwan: Chapter 2 (A Little Bit Of Your Heart)

Characters: Seungkwan x female reader

Genre/Warnings: multi-member au (different scenarios), werewolf au, fantasy, angst (a shit ton of sadness honestly), semi-unrequited love, death mentions, implied genocide, runaway mates, family fighting, violence. Any others will be put as warnings when future chapters are thought up/written.

Author’s Note: Hi Friends! I recommend listening to Just A Little Bit of Your Heart by Ariana Grande. I think it sets a good mood to this chapter. Well not good mood, but it helps give you an idea of how I want you to feel towards the end f it.

Please remember that all of these chapters and the content within them are a work of fiction! They’re just for fun/entertainment!

Bold= Dialogue Italics= Thoughts

🥀

Ghostin Master List

Chapter 2: A Little Bit Of Your Heart

Over the next week, you continued to have nightmares about your past mate. Sometimes it was the memory of his dying, other times it was a completely unrealistic portrayal of terror with him leading the charge. Each time Seungkwan would dutifully come to your aide and hold your through your ordeal, kissing your head and rocking you back and forth like a baby. Sometimes, you’d lay your palm on him somewhere on his body and you’d suck him right into the dream you were having.

He couldn’t lie, seeing you so upset over another man was destroying him, but he loved you. He knew you’d eventually get over it, or at very least not be so upset over it. That’s what he kept telling himself anyway. But every dream he was thrown into with you made that thought dwindle more and more. He could see how much you loved your past mate still. Everytime you smiled at the other wolf, it broke something in him. Everytime you threw yourself into his arms and begged him to never let you go, he’d wake up the next morning, dart out the door and run into the nearby woods and cry until his throat bled.

He wasn’t like his brothers and how they were with their mates issues, he couldn’t keep up his brave face for long. He couldn’t help but let your past bother him. No matter how much he tried, it always affected him. He was just too emotional a person to have your situation not hurt him. He wanted your attention and love solely for himself. It was just his instincts.

He was never good at controlling them to begin with, but when you came around, what little self control he had went out the window. He couldn’t help but be jealous and angry. He couldn’t stop the tears that flowed down his face every night when he was holding you, hushing you back to sleep. He knew your heartache wasn’t for him. It was killing him. But he would NEVER let you know that. It wasn’t your fault this was happening anymore than it was his. He just wished you would see him rather than want your old partner.

His brothers were all very concerned for him. He was having trouble eating, sleeping, and just being his general happy little self. It was like he was a hollowed out shell. They wanted him happy, but they knew confronting him on it would just upset you, which would in turn, further hurt him. They knew it wasn’t really something you could control, they just wished that you two could get to your happily ever after already. You had started to notice how much of a toll you had taken on him too…

You woke up that morning in Seungkwan’s arms, a ritual to which you had become accustomed to. You felt safe with him, which you knew was probably only because of the mate pull, but you decided that you liked his naturally protective nature regardless. You had began to really enjoy being around him. He did everything he could to make you happy. He always made you laugh. He never let you say an unkind word about yourself. You had started to developed some very strong feelings for him. He was still out cold, he must’ve been exhausted trying to keep up with your horrible sleeping habits.

You nuzzled your nose into his bare chest and whimpered out, signaling to him that you wanted him to wake up. Of course, it worked and within seconds his precious eyes had shot open to check on you. The whites in them were dulled and their usual sparkle had lost their shine. You felt bad that you had done this to him, he looked so worn out that you couldn’t help but let another whine escape your lips. His hair was greasy and unkept, his skin was pale and the bags under his eyes had become prominent, even his voice had started to lose it’s cheery edge that you loved so much. You did this to him. And you absolutely hated yourself for it.

“What’s wrong baby? Is everything alright?” He quickly stated as he shook his head to wake himself up. Despite his tiredness, you were still the only thing he cared about.

“Y- Yeah, I’m okay. I just feel bad s’all” you mumbled against his hand that had found itself on your cheek as he looked at you with a great worry on his face.

“Why do you feel bad baby?” He questioned, bringing your face to his and giving you a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“That you’re suffering cause of me. I’m sorry” you spoke to him with watery eyes. Shit.

“I’m not suffering baby” Liar. He lied to you as he hushed you, laying his forehead against yours as he started to rub your temples softly., “I’m just a little tired is all.” Well, that one at least wasn’t a complete lie.

“Because I won’t let you sleep.” You finally sobbed out and threw your head in your hands.

“I’m sorry. I keep trying to stop. I- I keep trying to take him off my mind, it just- it just doesn’t work. I don’t now what to do! I’m so fucking sorry!” You wailed before he pulled you into his chest, rocking you back and forth like he had the previous night.

“Shhhh… It’s alright baby. I’m alright. You don’t need to worry about me alright. It’s my job to worry about and help you. And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.” He tried to assure you, failing miserably.

“I’m supposed to care for you too. And I haven’t been. I’m sorry” you let the tears freely fall before Seungkwan used his thumbs to sweetly wipe them away and forced you to look up at him.

“Baby, look at me, I’m okay. I’m just a little tired. But I’ll be alright. It won’t be like this forever, just a little while longer, okay? You don’t need to waste your pretty little tears on me. I’m a big strong wolf. I can handle myself.” He said a little too confidently, causing you to let out a chuckle at his joke.

“See, there’s my girl. Now hurry up. Breakfast is gonna be ready any minute and if we’re not down there, we won’t be getting any.” He kissed your nose and jumped to his feet, grabbing one of his shirts on the floor in the process. He took your hand and pulled you up out of bed, making his way to his bedroom door and down the stairs to the kitchen.

The scene in front of you after you reached the bottom of the staircase caused a grin to appear on your lips. All the boys had gathered around the kitchen table and were conversing loudly with each other. You had missed being with a big family, it was nice that now, thanks to Seungkwan, you had one again.

“Morning guys!” Seungkwan chirped as he sat in an empty chair, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you to sit on his lap, making you blush slightly as you weren’t yet used to that type of PDA yet.

“Morning kids!” Mingyu chuckled aloud towards you both as he put Chan in a headlock, fighting for the last piece of bacon on the porcelain plate in front of them.

“How’d you sleep last night Seungkwan?”Jihoon questioned bluntly, his gaze going straight to Seungkwan, completely ignoring your existence.

It wasn’t unusual for him to do that, he was one of the wolves who were closest to your mate. And though he wanted his brother to be happy, he didn’t like the fact that you were still hung up on your old mate. So he gave you a bit of the cold shoulder whenever he could. You didn’t really mind. You understood his anger and thought he had every right to dislike you. The other boys didn’t like seeing their brother so torn up, but they didn’t blame you for it. Just Jihoon.

“We slept just fine, thanks!” Seungkwan put on a fake mile to answer the older wolf’s question, knowing full well that he meant to disclude you. He didn’t like Jihoon’s attitude toward you and he did whatever he could to show him that he wanted him to stop.

“I didn’t ask about BOTH of you, I asked about YOU. How did YOU sleep? Did she force you to stay up again?” Jihoon sneered out while scowling at you.

“Hyung, knock it off. She didn’t ‘force’ me to do anything. You know that. I stayed up because I WANTED to.” Seungkwan shot back, his grip on your waist tightening as he felt your heart beat speed up anxiously.

“Right.” Jihoon added, “because you just LOVE not sleeping for days on end.” He rolled his eyes before huffing, setting his eating utensil down with a loud clank sound.

“Would you back off already!” Seungkwan jolted up, setting you in his place on his chair before leaning over the table to get in the older boy’s face.

“She can’t help her nightmares! But you can help being an asshole!” He growls out, nostrils flaring and eyes turning red with anger.

Jihoon stood up from his chair, pushing it back with a loud screech before slamming his hands down onto the wood table. The noisy bang when he hit the table was enough to jolt you up from your chair.

“I’ll stop being an asshole when she stops playing with your feelings! All you want is Just A Little Bit Of Her Heart and she won’t give you anything more than exhaustion and heartbreak!” He yells out, chest puffing up and down with rage.

The other boys in the house had quickly gathered their mates and had taken them to their respective rooms, fearing for their safety in the event of a fight. All that remained in the kitchen with you three were the mateless Minghao, the nosey Soonyoung, and the Alpha Joshua.

You stood there in complete shock, not really knowing what to do. If you spoke up, you’d only make Jihoon’s anger toward you worse. But if you didn’t, your mate might attack him. Tears started rolling down your cheeks as you looked between the two arguing wolves. Seungkwan sensed your emotions through his anger and turned his eyes to you for a moment. He could see how much his brother’s words were affecting you, so he decided to get you out of there before things got worse.

“Joshua Hyung, can you please take (Y/N) back up to my room? She doesn’t need to deal with his bitchy attitude anymore than she has to!” Seungkwan snarled Jihoon’s way as he pleaded with the only Alpha available to get you out of the current situation.

You weren’t as helpless as the other mates, you were a wolf too, after all. You weren’t even scared of Jihoon, he was only a few inches taller than you in your human forms. In your wolf forms, you’d even be the bigger one out of the two of you. But everyone in the pack knew you didn’t like to fight. You’d rather get beaten bloody than potentially harm someone else with your strength, even if they had started it, you’d never continue it.

But Seungkwan was worried for you. Jihoon had, on occasion, started and finished some pretty gnarly fights. He didn’t want him to try and lunge at you. And he definitely didn’t want his brother to end up hurting you. He would protect you if he needed to, but he’d rather you be taken away from the situation to prevent it as much as possible.

Joshua nodded at your mate before he took your wrist in his hand and began to head towards the stairs to bring you back to your room. It was his job as Alpha to try and keep the peace, but his most urgent job right now was to make sure you, a mate, didn’t get hurt.

“Why would you try to send her away?? She needs to hear this! She should know what she puts you through everyday! She should know she’s killing you and that we’re all pissed at her for it!” Jihoon growls toward you, causing your mate’s fangs to slightly elongate at the older wolf as he did his best to keep his inner wolf from showing.

“Don’t you dare talk to her that way.” Seungkwan coldly said, moving to stand in front of your fleeting figure, blocking you from the older wolf’s view.

“My God! She could at least TRY to hide her pathetic little feelings for a dead guy when you’re around! But she doesn’t! Because she doesn’t love you like she loved him. Wake up Boo! She never has and she never will!” Jihoon jabs his pointer finger into your mate’s chest.

“Why can’t you fucking see through her stupid shit? She’s not worth you destroying yourself!” Jihoon screamed at his younger brother while staring up at the younger wolf, practically drilling holes into his eyes with the amount of fury he was exhausting.

Joshua had tried to pull you upstairs again once the two wolves had gotten closer to each other. The other boys in the room moving into position to prevent the arguing wolves from hurting each other, a sure fire sign that something was going to happen. But you managed to wiggle your arm from his grip. You jetted your way back to the center of the kitchen before you spoke up.

“He’s right Seungkwan, I’m not worth this! You shouldn’t have to destroy yourself for me. I’ll leave!” You jump in, causing all the boys to stop their snarling at each other and turn to you in shock. What?

“W- What did you just say?” Seungkwan whispered, barely audible.

He tried to step toward you with his hand going out to try and reach your arm, causing you to jerk your should backwards. The sadness on his face was enough to make you want to fall to your knees and cry, but you had to remain strong for this. You caused enough damage to their pack. You wanted the boys to all get along again, you wanted things to go back to normal for them, but most of all, you wanted Seungkwan to stop tearing himself apart because of you.

“I said I’ll leave. This isn’t fair to your pack, and it’s sure as shit not fair to you. I’m killing you, and you don’t deserve this.” You say weakly, trying your best to hold back your imminent tears.

“But- But you’re my mate… You- You can’t just leave me… I- I can die if if you go.” Seungkwan sobbed, streams of hot liquid cascading down his cheeks.

You stepped in front of him, quickly cupping his face with your small hand and smiling defeatedly.

“No. You won’t Seungkwan. You have a family who love you enough to tell you the harsh truth, they won’t let you die on them. They love you more than you could ever imagine, Trust me on that. I know you’ll be okay because you’d never leave them when they need you as much as they do. You’ll be okay. I need to leave so you can be happy again.” You speak with shimmering eyes, tears forming at your water lines at the thought of losing him.

Last time you lost a mate, you wanted to die. Hell, you tried to die, more times than you can count. But the thought of losing Seungkwan felt like you already were dead. Your heart felt like it had disappeared from your chest and the air had evaporated from your lungs. Every morsel of your soul ached. But you had to do this, you had to do this for him. He deserved better.

Seungkwan stood there quietly crying his eyes out as you held his fragile face. The boys frozen around him were but a distant memory as he looked into your eyes and tried to find something to say, anything to say, to try and make you stay with him. But all he could do was take the hand you had against his cheek in his and snuggle into it, trying his best to memorize the sensation with everything he had in him.

“Please…” He mustered out, looking at every inch of your beautiful face as if it were the last time he would ever see it. For all he knew, it was.

You moved onto your tippy toes and gave his lips a loving peck before moving yourself back down, a tear dropping down the side of your face in the process.

“Jihoon was wrong on something you know. I do love you Seungkwan, more than I’ll ever love anything in this world.” You let out a small laugh as he shook his head in disbelief, not wanting you to go.

You dropped your hand to his face and let it hit your side right as you made your way for the front door. You reached for the doorknob and turned, pulling it open before you stepped outside and closed it.

You looked back at the house with fondness before shifting into your wolf form and sprinting full speed into the deep forest, leaving Seungkwan and the other boys standing paralyzed with shock inside.

(Updated 8/7)

#seventeen #seventeen angst #seventeen au #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #svt au #seventeen x reader #boo seungkwan #svt seungkwan #seungkwan

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softly-savage-mint-yoongi · 4 years ago

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Allotrope pt. 7 (FINALE)

Genre: Idolverse Pairing: Kim Junmyeon (Suho) x reader Warnings: Smut. Angst, and then more angst. Authors Note: This is it, the final chapter of a story I am so completely humbled to have been able to write. This story means so much to me and has truly helped me grow as a person in so many ways. I hope that by the end of this, it has helped you, too, in some way. Junmyeon deserves the world and I wish I could thank him enough for being my muse. Thank you for reading. prev. Words: 15k.

Panic. Absolute panic is the only way your brain can comprehend the raw energy bouncing around in your gut. Feelings of elation and terror swirling inside the confines of your organs, their chemicals mixing to create something bubbling and new, growing rapidly inside of you so thick and uncomfortable you feel as though you may burst. With your arrival home, you slam the door too harshly, sliding down against the sturdy, cool weight of it and grasp your head in your hands. Head between your knees, your brain gently reminds you, a message in the form of a memory of Junmyeon the last time he said these words to you, present for the last attack. Saying ‘I love you’, no less from him, was the last thing you would expect to trigger one, but that was the irony of having panic attacks; sometimes you never know. You concentrate intently, calming your breath enough to listen for the sound of your watch, reliably ticking away there on your wrist. It is one reason you prefer to wear an analog one, other than your preferences for their history. Tck, tck, tck, tck, rhythmically you listen, breathing deeply over the span of three seconds, releasing carbon dioxide in the following three. Over and over until your heart is beating normally again. Softly, automatic and easily ignored within the safety of your ribs. Then, to clarify and accept, you admit the thought into the quiet space of your apartment. “I love you, Junmyeon.” Reflexively, your fingertips raise to shield your lips, hovering a centimeter away. Your heart beats a little faster with the admission but is easily pacified without much effort. A smile grows on your lips behind them, amusement consuming the panic and coloring your cheeks in a blush for only inanimate objects to see. It feels silly to look around your apartment, knowing there is no one to hear your confession. The following morning you can’t say you feel less terrified of it, your acceptance of the thoughts and ability to keep moving forward derailed somewhere as your mind raced into the future instead of sleeping. Conscious thoughts considered at first all of the possibilities as you had settled for sleep. Good things. Things like a confirmation of his feelings, a mirror of your own, and further ahead such as living together full time and eventually, hopefully a union of your love with matching golden bands on your fourth fingers, or a child you could only hope would have his cheeks and a head full of fluffy black hair. To growing older together and doing whatever pleased you so long as you were together. No doubt your brain decided, all of those beautiful moments were hopes planted without seeds, and you were stuck to watch a barren field grow nothing at all over time. Your fears and anxiety began to take them all away one by one, these hopes for the future you might never have at all, pulled backward through time like you were falling through a nightmare. Forced to see a life of fulfillment and love only to slip back through those times to relive the same life without any of the joy. You awoke this morning, barely able to call it waking at all, full of heartache. Your chest felt so heavy you even skipped your lecture and called out of work. Upon hearing of your absence Soohyun even offered to bring you something to help you feel better, assuming you were sick. No texts that required an answer came from Junmyeon, either. Only one bidding you to sleep well. When you ignored Soohyun’s text and the second day produced the same results from you, his persistence became annoying. You were perfectly malcontent there on your couch in the same pajamas you wore yesterday, and perhaps the day before, too. With hair unwashed, sagging in the bun atop your head and a three-hour old mug of half-drank black coffee in your hands. There on your couch you scrutinized every aspect of your life and felt nothing at all. Soohyun let himself in of course, as he always did when he felt it was necessary. You knew by the sound of the keys outside of the door and the weighty footfalls of his frame it was him. The one person you trusted to see every ugly facet of you because although he was extremely dear to you, he is not the one that makes you feel like his existence is your tether to the world, and therefore, not as scary to face. He says nothing at all. Uncomfortably in the silence, you listen to him close the door, toe off his shoes, and set something in a plastic grocery bag on the counter. He opens your refrigerator and pops the lid on something. You remain silent still, listening to the domesticity of him opening cupboards in your kitchen and the sound of noodles being stirred and plated. The sounds toy with your head, recalling memories of another man doing the same thing, but vivid imagery came with those memories. The sound of the plate gently clacking against the microwave platter and the door closing, buttons beeping and whirring. Stuck in your memory of him, you whip your head around, too enticing to see if it’s really your lover standing in your kitchen and looking back at you with a smile and his arms folded across the thickness of his warm chest. If this is all just a dream. The reality is half the same, the setting, but the way you do not find Junmyeon’s eyes or smile, but Soohyun’s face full of surprise but also worry rip the air from your lungs with a sob. You’re not even sure when you started crying, but the tears continue to blur your vision. “Oh, Y/N.” Soohyun’s cologne fills your senses as he crosses the room to you. He takes the cold coffee cup from your hand, wincing at the stiffness of your fingers as he plucks them gently from the handle, and wraps your wilted frame into his arms. He holds you like this, coaxing out the agony of your bleeding heart. Minutes pass like this, and after your sobbing has quieted to a sniffled dripping of crystal tears from your lashes, Soohyun sets you back onto the couch cushion, “Care to tell me what’s going on?” Your knees automatically rise to your chest and your arms find their way around the top of them. The rational part of you knows talking to Soohyun is what you should do, but it doesn’t make it any easier to persuade the chaotic petulance you feel. Your thoughts internalize, eyes fixated on the basket of blankets in the far corner of the living room, fingers rolling a stray thread from your pajamas around and around. “Y/N, try not to let your head get you all worked up. What’s going on?” your best friend urges, placing the weight of his large palm against your forearm. The action seems to ground you to reality. At least enough to make intentional, purposeful movements. Your eyes find his looking at you as they always do, with so much pure acceptance. “I love him. Really, Soohyun-“ you pause, brows knitting tightly for emphasis, “Like… I’m really in love with him.” The smile that he answers you with irritates you minutely, “Ah, I see. Well,” A pauses lapses between you until he thinks of what to ask, “What is it that’s scaring you about that?” It takes a full ten seconds before you answer, “A lot of things, but mostly because I don’t want to tell him and scare him off. I don’t think I could stomach chancing it just for him to know my feelings, Soo.” Your best friend draws a breath, nodding. Then he stares at you, “Okay. What else?” “Aren’t you going to tell me I’m being ridiculous?” you ask, peeking at him. He laughs a little, “In a minute, but I want to hear it all first. We can work on it all one piece at a time,” he reassures, batting your hand away gently when you take a half-hearted swat at his arm. “I don’t know what to do, Soohyun,” your throat bobs, constricting the words with anxiety as you admit it. More tears well at the edges of your eyes, and you take a deep breath to calm yourself. “I’m afraid, even if I tell him and even if he says he loves me back, I keep thinking for how long?” you voice, croaking the words. Another breath, “How long will I feel so happy and lucky but,” another breath, “how long can I take being suspended on a wire like that waiting to fall? It can’t last forever.” Soohyun coos, even though his expression is sheepish as if he hadn’t meant to slip, “Sorry.” “I just,” you sigh, wiping at your nose with the back of your hand, which Soohyun reaches to replace with tissues, “I feel like it’ll all go away someday. He will get tired of me or there will be some fight or something and I don’t want to hurt him or lose him. I keep having this nightmare that I’ll wake up one day at he won’t be there. That it’ll be like he never existed at all. “But you want to love him,” Soohyun confirms softly beside you, gently tugging until you’re sinking down to lean against his arm, no matter how gross your hair might be. “Yeah.” He hums briefly, considering, “Are you scared of being alone?” Truthfully, “Not really. It’s more like I’m afraid to start a life with him, because it’s so hard to go back to being alone if it doesn’t work out. To feeling that kind of heartbreak.” “What do you mean? Like permanently living together or sharing bank accounts and bills and stuff?” he asks. “Yeah. Like what if we bought a house together and then he decides ten years from now he doesn’t want to be with me anymore and then it’s too expensive for me to own a house alone so I’d have to sell it and find my own place again and it just gets really tangled. I can’t imagine being able to do anything other than just be heartbroken. How does a person move past someone like him?” Soohyun’s silent chuckle is given away by his bouncing chest, “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, but-“ You cut him off, “No, I’m thinking about the future.” He pokes you in the cheek, “Let me finish, please. What I was going to say, is that I think you’re most afraid of the emotional damage that would cause you. I also think you need to look at this from your own perspective.” Raising your head, your confusion is evident after his last statement. “I mean,” he begins, “You’re saying this but what if it isn’t Junmyeon who isn’t happy ten years from now? Have you ever shared a life with someone like that? How do you know if you will be happy or not? And I’m not just talking about a house or bank accounts, Y/N.” Soohyun squeezes your frame as if to emphasize his point, “I’m talking about personally. Are you going to be okay sharing every aspect of yourself with someone else? If you want him to be that future with you, he will be closer to you than anyone has ever been. He will be the one who knows your deepest and darkest moments. Have you two even talked about all of those important things? What plans do you each have for your lives? Marriage, kids, politics, things like that.” Both of you pause and Soohyun sighs, “What if you don’t want to be together anymore at some point. How will you handle that? Do you think you’ll stay and be miserable with him if you wanted out?” “That’s impossible,” you correct. “Anything is possible, Y/N,” he says quietly. Shaking your head, you ignore him and lift your head from him with a face full of resolute determination, “I am telling you, that won’t happen.” Saying the words aloud, they feel right and sure as they form on your tongue. “Okay. Just saying, you never know.” It doesn’t help. He feels you stiffen at the thought, “But I also think he will be the one who has nothing but acceptance and support for anything you may need. He will be the one you lean on and cling to for the rest of your life.” Now that thought is something that blooms warmth in your chest and more tears to your eyes, but in a good way this time. You have already experienced that with him. Every obstacle you thought might scare him away he has done nothing but been patient and supportive of you. However, there’s a slight unease with the phrase ‘for the rest of your life’ that tinges the edge of the sweetness with fear. “Yeah, well,” you comment through the bashfulness, swallowing the anxiety that wants to raise your voice. He laughs, “You can’t argue with me!” The dull thud of your fist lightly thumping him on the chest brings you back to square one, unable to quell your worries for long, “But truly, Soohyun, honestly what if he doesn’t love me the way I love him? What if he doesn’t love me enough? I’m not worried about how much I love him.” you sit up suddenly, eyes wide and hands flurried, “I mean, look at him. He’s a celebrity, and a gentleman and too go-“ Soohyun’s hand clamps over your mouth immediately, “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Stop thinking it in your head, too. Let me tell you something in case you have forgotten,” He stares at you pointedly to be sure you’ll keep quiet as he slowly removes his hand, “He may be a celebrity but do you remember what happened in those first few times you met with him?” “A lot of sex,” you comment dryly, and he smiles. “Well sure, but I remember you telling me so much about not the celebrity but the man with so much love and comfort for others and nothing but bleak loneliness and sadness for himself. About how easily you saw through him and how he told you he struggled with anxiety and his own self-worth. And,” he pauses for emphasis, “How you were there for him every time since you began this relationship. How you have helped him ease his own fears and doubts. Y/N, he needs you, too. More than you think. I think you see through him so easily that you sometimes dismiss his own feelings, even if you don’t mean to.” It helps. A lot more than you’re willing to accept right now while the anxiety still has hooks deep into you, “Thank you.” Soohyun smiles at you, “I think you just need to give it some time. Just because you realize you love him,” he makes explosive gestures with his hands, “Like really love him, doesn’t mean you have to go straight into making plans for rings and a mortgage and babies. Take your time, take it slow.” “Take it slow.” You repeat after him, nodding, lips in a pensive straight line. _____________________________________________ The following morning you wake feeling refreshed physically. Soohyun made sure you showered and that you slurped down a bowl of japchae and a few pieces of kimbap while he started a load of laundry for you. He made you clip your nails while he made you some tea and painted your toenails for you while you binged a new episode of your favorite show. He even made you take a nap, tossing your weighted blanket over your frame and leaving you to a peaceful slumber, locking the door behind him as he left. You’re a bit alarmed that you slept all afternoon, evening, and night. Checking your phone, you realize nearly 15 hours had passed. 05:17a, your phone reads, forcing you to hiss at the harsh light when you turn it over to check the time. You don’t have work until 10, but decide you can’t sleep any longer. Two unread text messages are awaiting you when you open the app. One from Soohyun wishing you a good night and to please call him if you need anything. The second is from Junmyeon, wishing you to sleep well and that he heard from Soohyun not to bother you because you’ve had a rough couple of days. He is worried that you’re so exhausted. Chewing your lip, you send Soohyun a simple thanks, and decide to see if Junmyeon is free to come over and see you later. You don’t want him to worry too much, and if you’re being honest with yourself, even through the anxiety, you still want to hold him and be near him. His response comes while you’re at work, just having woken up you assume. He tells you if he can finish recording before midnight he will come over, but stresses that he doesn’t want to keep you awake. During a quick break, you take a moment to assure him you’ve slept enough and will be wide awake. You don’t forget to add that you would really like to see him. Work goes by in an easy blur. You splurge on a fancy coffee and an extra shot of espresso to keep you awake on your way to the subway station. There is plenty of time to do some cleaning, make a meal and get a long hot shower. You even have time to wrap up an assignment for your worst class, feeling sour but proud that all of the time you spent unable to sleep, you managed to at least get ahead in a class that was otherwise the bane of your existence. When eleven thirty rolls around and you haven’t heard from him, you believe he isn’t coming. A very tiny but loud part of your brain says that’s fine and that you were afraid anyway. The bigger, softer and sensitive part of you misses him to such a degree that you sit on the couch wearing one of his hoodies, leaning on your palm and fighting off sleep with only the light of the table lamp beside you for company. You wake to the sound of the door clicking shut. Blearily, you squeeze your eyes shut at the harsh light from the lamp as you hear someone behind you. With a stiff neck, you turn and crack one eye open to see your favorite person trying his best to stay quiet. He smiles at you when he notices you’re awake, approaching you as he rounds the couch, draping his palm gently over your hair. “Hey,” he coos quietly, voice tinged with affection. Without much thought, you open your arms to reach for him, and he bends down to you. Still sleepy, it takes your mind a moment to realize he has lifted you into his arms as you pass the bathroom door. Your body melts into his familiar body with your arms around his shoulders. Burying your face in the crook of his neck, you inhale the faint scent of his cologne, still fragrant enough from this morning. “I missed you,” you mumble against his skin. “I missed you too, sweetheart.” He murmurs into your hair. He feels you take a deep breath against him, chuckling at the sigh of content that follows. Slowly, he deposits you among your unmade bed linens and pecks your forehead with his lips. A sound of protest rumbles in your chest, your lower lip falling outward in a pout. “Let me shower and I’ll come to bed,” he says, stripping himself of his sweater and tossing it into your clothes hamper beside the door. You hum with acquiescence, “What time is it?” Quietly, through your sleep-laden eyes, you watch him with a soft fondness that settles in your chest. Junmyeon sits at the foot of the bed briefly to peel off his socks and slacks, “Three twenty, sorry I’m so late.” Twisting himself just enough to reach, he kisses your lips. “It’s okay. I’m just glad to see you.” He looks at you for a moment with a lopsided grin and thankful eyes. His hand settles over yours in your lap, rubbing his thumb over your skin. Then, his warmth is gone. Your eyes drift shut again while you wait for him. You’re not sure what kind of sleep spell you are under when he finally crawls into your bed with you, but your body automatically seeks his warmth, asleep but with consciousness floating at the edges. Your boyfriend sighs, wrapping you in his arms and placing his lips in your hair. Snuggling closer, you let your arm fall over his ribs, settling your face into his naked chest. You mumble again, tongue loose in your spellbound stupor. When your brain finally makes sense of your words, you freeze, bolting upright as if cold water had been doused down your spine. Junmyeon groans beside you, already half asleep, “What’s wrong?” “I-“ you begin, covering your mouth with both hands and staring at him. Heat floods your cheeks, worry turns your bones to steel, “What did I just say?” He peeks at you with one eye, lips set in a confused line, “What?” He tries to pull you back down to him by the sleeve of the hoodie. You watch him for a moment longer, realizing he didn’t seem to hear you, “You didn’t hear me?” His slight annoyance at your outburst seems appropriate evidence that he did not in fact hear you at all. “Was I supposed to? I didn’t hear you say anything,” he confirms. “No,” you shake your head immediately, running your hand through your hair with a deep breath to calm your beating heart. “Will you lay down then? I just want to hold you and go to sleep, please.” His request is simple enough. You do as he asks, but it doesn’t stop you from lying awake for what seemed like the rest of the night. Finally, you fall into unconsciousness somewhere around the time the sun begins to open its eyes, easing into slumber as shapes outside your window begin to take form. You dream of Junmyeon. You dream of his hands and his voice and the relentless overwhelming feeling of good he gives you. You dream of his lips on your neck and his fingers blazing a fire under your hoodie, crawling up and up and up until his palm gently takes the globe of your breast in his hand and he moans. Dropping your lips open with a sigh, you can feel your pulse in your core. Your hips seem to roll back of their own accord, body singing without conscious effort in your sleep. “Fuck, I want to get woken up like this every day,” Junmyeon groans. Confused, you will your body to pause, and snap your eyes open. Oh. Whatever dreams you were having must have manifested physically, grinding yourself into your boyfriend to satiate the need. You turn your head just slightly, smiling into a kiss your lover steals the moment the opportunity presents itself. His palm has not forgotten where it lays, giving another squeeze and a soft pass of his fingers over your bud. It pulls a moan from your lips, bowing your spine to push your ass harder against his aching erection where it presses between your cheeks. The delicious friction makes you squeeze your thighs together, further surprising you when you realize how slick you are. “Good morning,” he coos with amusement. You have no time for words- you need him badly, and you need him now. It appears he doesn’t know how wet you are yet, so you show him. His brows furrow in concern briefly as you remove his hand from your chest beneath the hoodie. The expression morphs into a grin when he realizes what you’re doing while you drag his hand down into your panties. You watch, open-mouthed in anticipation when his face mirrors surprise at the first easy slide of his fingers through your soaked folds. “Holy shit,” he whispers, biting at his lip when he sinks two into your heat without any warning. He gives you one deep pump and you absolutely keen, feeling like you’ll burst. “Junmyeon, please,” you beg, falling onto your back the moment he hears your plea, sitting up to find a proper position. He shifts onto his knees quickly and removes his hand from your core. When he lifts his fingers and pulls them apart, you both groan at the thread of your arousal that stretches between them in the sunlight. Flexing your hips at the loss of contact, your lover pulls his attention back to you, working quickly to pull your hips up onto his thighs. He pulls your leggings down alone, just so he can marvel at the state of your panties. Embarrassment floods your cheeks and you push the hem of the black hoodie down in an attempt to cover yourself. With what you would call a soft display of possession, Junmyeon makes a sound of warning in his throat, gently pushing your hands away as he confesses, “You have no idea how hot this is.” “It’s embarrassing,” you whimper back to him. Your body feels hot, too hot. You’ve seldom been this turned on in your life, to the point of tear-inducing hysteria if you don’t find release soon. He smiles at you, his eyes tearing away from the sight of your mess to look directly at you. “I promise you this is nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re amazing, look at how wet you are.” Junmyeon can’t help himself while he talks, eyes drifting back to your cunt and two fingers petting down your folds over your underwear. “Don’t need to see it…” you whisper, throwing your arm over your eyes. He hums, “You’re right. I’m sure you can feel how messy you are.” The two fingers he used earlier find their way beneath the material, pushing it aside to fill you again. “How does it feel, sweetheart?” he asks when you cry out. “I feel like I’m going to burst,” you moan, unable to keep your hips still, meeting his fingers for every deep thrust. Your statement peaks some interest in your boyfriend. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and his thrusts become slower, almost exploratory as he pets them against your walls. The palm of his other hand lays just above your pubic bone, resting the weight of his hand there, but you barely notice. Being filled by something has you reeling in bliss. A second later, he must find what he’s looking for. His digits set an unexpected pace, spearing you in a delicious tempo. You feel so good, “So fucking good, oh my god Junmyeon, yes!” He’s hitting some spot inside of you that spins that coil in you tighter and tighter until you’re right at the edge. Then his fingers are gone, but you’re screaming. Your eyes open and Junmyeon groans in awe at the fluid that has suddenly ruptured from you. Just briefly, but even in your pleasure, embarrassment is stronger. You clamp your legs together tightly, whimpering at the electricity that fizzles in every nerve of your body. “I’m sorry, that was-“ you begin, cut short by the feel of Junmyeon’s lips on yours and his tongue begging for entrance immediately. He's leaning over you now, fingers deftly yanking your panties down and off. You moan into his mouth when you feel the burning length of his cock lay against your dripping core. His lips leave yours just enough to speak, “Never be sorry. I’m happy I could make you squirt.” You smack him in the back, “Shut up!” you complain, still embarrassed. “You are incredible,” he reminds you, hands full of his hips while he pulls his own back precisely enough to tip himself at the perfect angle. You’re well practiced now with each other, able to satisfy efficiently with little to no error. You’re comfortable to give and take from each other without need for conversation, like now. Junmyeon doesn’t ask if you need him to fill you- he knows. He doesn’t ask how you want it and you don’t ask him if this is okay for him. It’s written plainly between you in the blood heating your faces, the sounds spilling between your sweating bodies, the eager yet affectionate way you’re holding onto parts of each other. It's clear in the way you let yourself relax back into the mattress with eyes closed and blissed out. In the way he leans protectively over your body with his own, needing to be closer and closer still when he laces his fingers into yours with both hands. In the way your panting moans grow in octave as your orgasm approaches and roars through you as you pull your hands away only to pull him down, flush atop you while you ride it out. It is clear in the way he, too, seems to melt into your frame, even as he tenses and moans salaciously against the column of your throat when his peak follows. Neither of you say anything for a long moment, catching your breaths together in post coital bliss. You break the moment, feeling sticky and needing to get the bedding in the washing machine as soon as possible. Junmyeon whines the entire time, refusing to get off of you until you nearly roll him off of the bed completely. Grumbling cutely, he helps you strip the bed and takes the wad of linens from you with a kiss. He finds you in the bathroom when he’s finished, stripped and waiting for the showerhead’s water to turn warm. You invite him in with you, washing in content. You don’t speak, but your actions are loud. Loving, in these small moments of care for each other. When you’re finished and dressed and the coffee pot is started, Junmyeon collects your favorite mugs from the shelf and opens your medication, delivering one small pill to your palm with a kiss to your forehead. The affection of it squeezes your heart and drifts a smile across your face at the progress of such an event. Months back, him even knowing these pills existed within your life caused you extreme anxiety. You watch, reminiscing with a small smile, as he pours your coffee first, always the gentleman, before his own. He trails you back to the bedroom in silent happiness, where coffee mugs are placed on bedside tables and new bedding is waiting to be put on. Junmyeon helps you remake the bed, pulling you down into the soft thickness of the comforter when you’re finished. He forces you into his arms against your fake, feeble protesting, humming his comfort once you finally give up and settle into his warmth. Movement beyond the sheer curtain covering the windows catches your attention. “I think it’s snowing,” you murmur, lifting your chin to look at Junmyeon. Your boyfriend turns his head, exposing the expanse of his neck to you, calling you to place a gentle token of affection there with the pink of your lips. He smiles when he feels your lips against him, but lets you out of his grip to rise from the bed. He picks up his coffee and goes to the window. You join him, curious if you had been right as he moves the curtain with the back of his free hand. Surely enough, there are soft, chilled tufts of snow drifting by quietly, down to the street below. You watch, smile broadening at the pretty sight. Junmyeon seems to have gone still and quiet, and you turn to look at him with the feeling of his eyes on you. As if broken from a spell, he blinks at you, cheeks flooding with a delicate pink. He busys himself taking a swig of his coffee and leaning over to place his mug on the dresser beside the window. “You okay?” you ask, smiling at him with a gentle laugh. Your hand rises to his arm where it still has the curtain raised, and you hear him audibly sigh. “Y/N,” he whispers, swapping his arms so he can tug you against him. Wrapping your arms around his middle, you accept his needy invitation for cuddling with your face buried in the fabric of the sweatshirt he wears. You’re content, serotonin hydrating your heart with the sound of your name on his lips. Turning your head, you let it rest against his chest, hearing his heart beat and watching the snow drift from the top to the bottom of your window. “I love you,” Junmyeon says quietly. You realize suddenly how fast his heart is beating in his chest, and you’re frozen in a moment of time. When you lift your head, agonizingly slow, he meets your eyes with a mix of emotions. Some apprehension, curiosity, fear, affection and devotion- all flitting across the galaxy of his dark eyes in a myriad of microseconds. You feel lightheaded, remembering to breathe. It takes several seconds to swallow and gather the strength to speak. “No, you don’t.” His brows shove together and the stars in his eyes die a little, confused, “Yes, I do.” Shaking your head, you break away from his grasp, standing back to look at him. You want nothing more than to run back into his arms and let his words be true. You want to let yourself believe it is that easy. But you have to protect yourself, you need to have time, “You don’t mean that,” you say with more conviction, refusing to meet his pleading expression. Then, he steels his spine, feet planted firmly to the floor, and he sighs in frustration, “Y/N. I. Love. You. It doesn’t mean you have to say it back right now, or at all, or that we have to do something about it. It just felt right to let you know.” You lower your head and close your eyes as if that will help to do something, although you don’t know what. To stop the thoughts racing in your head or the pounding ache of your heart or the tears welling in your eyes or the fear turning your gut sour. To block out the truth of his words or to just let go. “I just,“ you try, exhaling deeply, “I think you should leave. I need to think.” Junmyeon frowns. Of course he is sad, but he does what you ask. His feet move quietly toward the door and you hear him don his shoes and shut the door behind him. He does not slam it, and you almost wish he did. It would make your guilt so much easier if he yelled at you or slammed the door. It would make the echo of his words, said with such blinding genuine care, feel a lot less like a wish whispered down a hollow well. Later that evening, you’re drunk. Drunk and sad, stumbling around in the snow in the park outside of your apartment building. You deliberately walk through a stick drawing of a heart and two initials, feeling rotten and lost and impulsive. Your feet carry you to a messier scene. More snow, divided by a plow, sprayed with dirty water from shoes and cars at the edges of the street in ugly clumps that look the way your heart feels. Annoyance settles over your frown. Your hands are toasty inside of your coat pockets but you have to keep removing one or the other to wipe at your chilled nose. You keep walking, and eventually pass a storefront with industrial steel and wood. It’s the sushi restaurant you went to with Junmyeon back in the spring. Looking up from your parade of snow-kicking, you see one of your favorite parks, with tall iron lamps glowing with their halogen bulbs. The light casts shadows across the small snow drifts, as if painted black with patterns of bare tree branches. Walking closer, a serene calm possesses your weary bones, calling you to take a seat on one of the benches- a small smile tugging your lips at the sound of the snow crunching under your weight. For the hell of it, you twist slightly, snuggling back into the lofty chill of it. The flakes fall slowly around you, still watching the shadows dancing across the untouched white. There’s something soothing in the blanket of silence around you- even in the middle of the city. A stolen moment like this at- you check your phone- three forty in the morning. You let your mind wander, until another presence interferes with your thoughts, unwelcome. Steeling yourself to tell someone off, your head turns slightly to the left to see a tall, skinny man standing under the next lamp with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. Then, he stoops down and collects a handful of snow, packs it into a tight ball, and immediately hurls it at you with half-hearted effort. “Ow, what the fuck?” you groan aloud, flinching away to shield yourself as he does it a second time, stepping closer. He sighs, “Don’t even act like that hurt. I could’ve thrown it harder.” You know this voice, watching for confirmation as he shakes the icy snow from his bare hands and pats them on his jeans. The sharp jawline of none other than Oh Sehun cuts through the shadow, and he is wearing a frown when you finally see his face. He simply stares at you for a long moment before he gives up and his frown deepens, “Fuck it.” In jeans probably more expensive than what you make in an average shift, he sits down on the snow covered bench beside you, hissing at the cold and wet feeling that surely seeps into his skin. You say nothing in reply, still enjoying the tingling buzz of alcohol in your veins, and the bite of chill at the tip of your nose. It’s another five or ten minutes before Sehun pipes up, “Care to tell me how you’re feeling right now?” When you face him, he’s watching you with a mix of apprehension and tenderness. “I’m feeling a lot of things,” you say, sniffling. You elaborate with a kick of your feet through the fluff of snow on the ground, “I’m worried, and scared and happy and disbelieving, to name a few.” Sehun hums, narrowing his eyes and squaring his jaw, “Do you feel inferior or unworthy? Do you not see how much he loves you?” Your mouth twists thoughtfully, “I feel like someday I will stop being enough. Someday I will stop being what he needs and loves. It’s happened before, and Sehun I’m-“ you choke, swallowing around the lump, “I’m so irrevocably in love with him that I am terrified of what that moment will feel like.” “What if that moment never comes?” He watches your face without judgement, and you appreciate him all the more for it. Clearing your throat, “How can I know it never will? I just need time to work up the courage.” He nods, “That’s fair, I suppose. As long as you know he is so disgustingly in deep with you.” His mock discomforted teasing pulls a quiet smile from you, and with it, a yawn. “Come on, let’s get you home. He wanted to come find you himself, but I didn’t think you’d want to be overwhelmed right now.” He pushes against your shoulder, urging you up, “I’m freezing my ass off out here.” “Did you track my phone?” you wonder, complying as he takes your shoulders and dusts the snow from your coat with his hands. He nods, “Come on, I brought the car. Should still be pretty warm.” _______________________________________ The following two days go by in a blur, and the uncertainty you feel ebbs away from your bones wearily, too exhausted to hang on. You go about your routine, you have to in order to stay afloat. You wake, go to class, go to work, shower, maybe do some homework, and then fall into a barely stable state of unconsciousness for a few hours before you’re up to do it all over again. In the back of your busy mind, you wonder, almost without feeling, if this is the moment. If now is the time, so soon, that Junmyeon has decided he is bored or you’re not worth this kind of trouble. You chew your lip instead of the end of your pencil, letting it tap against your cheek repeatedly. What if he is heartbroken by your refusal to accept his confession in the moment because fear made you yank up your walls just as he said the words? What if he has decided to pull his own walls up higher than you’re able to reach. What if this is the end? What if this is just the beginning? What if what if what if, the phrase parades around your thoughts like a vicious merry-go-round. You hate it. On the table, facing down to not be a distraction, your phone buzzes gently. Luckily, the sound it creates on the wood surface doesn’t disturb the other library patrons attempting to study. Stretching your back and twisting your tired neck, you pull your coffee closer, taking a sip and reeling at the warmth of it in one hand while you check the notification with the other. It's your security camera app. A clip of video featuring one fluffy-haired Junmyeon entering your apartment with his key and dropping off a manilla envelope. He lingers briefly beside the kitchen counter, fingers playing with the string of the envelope before he lays it down gingerly. Something seems odd, as if he doesn’t want to leave. After a few seconds, he looks up to the camera, possibly as if he knows you’re watching, gives a tight-lipped smile, and leaves. It leaves a strange feeling in your gut, normally he texts you when he is dropping something off to you. Perhaps now, since the camera was his idea, he doesn’t need to. You’ll see it from your phone. You release your lip from your teeth, soothing your tongue over the deep indentations of your teeth. Looking around, the library suddenly feels like an empty cathedral instead of a cozy place of coffee and books. It is the middle of December. Not many students linger this late in the afternoon so close to the holidays. With a sigh, you accept that your spell of focus and studying is over. Dogearing the page, you pack your bag and head out into the wind and setting sun. You don’t have work this evening, but a bath and a glass of wine to yourself sound like the perfect combination to hope for a restful night’s sleep. Entering your apartment, you eye the envelope on the counter, right where your boyfriend left it. Part of you wants to open it immediately and sate your curiosity. Part of you is apprehensive. There is a weighted feeling of importance coming from such a mysterious package. Perhaps after your bath and wine, you’ll have a second glass at the counter while you open it. Perhaps the first glass will calm you and give you enough courage to face whatever is inside. Decidedly, you do just that. Your phone even coos your favorite instrumental playlist from the counter in the bathroom, deliberately out of your reach. The gentle notes of the piano relax you into the warm suds, breathing deeply while you swallow, cheeks full of a simple white zinfandel. The weight of the chilled goblet in your palm feels just as comforting as the cozy swirls of lavender around your nakedness. Wrapped up in your favorite pajamas and wine refilled, you hold your breath when you reach for the package, swiping it from the counter to open from the comfort of the couch. You set the wine glass on the coffee table with extra care, keying up your anticipation. Peering inside the envelope, a handful of smaller envelopes peer up at you from inside. Odd, you muse, curiously letting them slide from the manilla onto the coffee table. There are six pieces, each labeled with a number, otherwise appearing identical. You take the first in your hands, and open it after another sip of wine. Immediately, you’re met with the familiar sight of Junmyeon’s handwriting. Letters, your mind answers for you. These are all letters. Reading the addressee line, more specifically these are letters he has written to you. ‘Ah… where to begin,’ the first sentence reads. ‘Would you know what I mean if I talked about that feeling you have when you are in someone’s presence and it feels right? Except perhaps a little more? Knowing that in time, you will feel complete while with that someone, but it’s not right away? That feeling of looking forward to building a completeness in your life with that person. That feeling. I met someone last night who gave me that feeling. That feeling that I immediately knew I would be whole with her someday. At first, it was scary. Altogether so vexing and complex I couldn’t do anything other than feel totally stunned every time she came close. I felt terrible for my behavior in those first few minutes. The weight of the passage of time pressed against my ribcage the longer we sat at the table, the less of an unknown length to be spent in her presence was so jarring to me it took all of my resolve to pull it together and start a conversation with her. I’m not usually one who believes in the phrase ‘meant to be’, but I absolutely could not shake the feeling of this woman and the few simple words we shared. I liked everything about her. Beyond the physical, too. The expressions that passed over her face. The fire of her personality and the air of dignity and resolute calm that seemed to carve a home in her bones as she worked. Everything I could assess about her as a person from my seat at the table, I couldn’t look away. She seemed to understand there was some sort of cosmic interference between us. All of the moments where I knew for a fact she wasn’t watching me, the depth of her eyes would catch me in the act of watching her work. They would settle on me, and sometimes I would be overcome with the weightlessness of space, or what I imagine it would feel like. Vast and unending, and at peace. We played a sort of game when I realized, with a great complexity of emotion, she knew who I was. It was more than just my name, and that was not something I had anticipated. The way she spoke to me and looked at me, as if by no great feat, I were just myself. Nothing more, nothing less. Not an idol, but a person. I briefly wondered if I knew her from childhood, but could not gather any substantial evidence in my memory. I did something that I’ve never done in my lifetime. Of my own volition, even. The thought of separating from her without knowing if I would ever see her again was something that I couldn’t accept. As if burned or suffocating. The feeling that causes you to move without thinking to escape discomfort. I invited her to the hotel we were staying in while our dorms were being moved. Normally, I might consider that a ridiculous notion, one I didn’t think I would ever hold myself to entertain while in this industry. And yet… regardless of our intentions if the answer were yes, I needed to know if there was a mutual itch to scratch, only sated by one another. Even without the recollection of her presence still so fresh in my mind, my skin, my bones, I think I could remember with perfect clarity how much she was able to move me. To feel as if I could move mountains with my bare hands as long as she kept looking at me. It's terrifying, and elating. She fell asleep easily, tucked adorably against my side. I hardly slept, too wound up with thoughts racing across the sky in my mind, seeking constellations to tell stories foretold about she and I. Hoping for more minutes with her. Hoping that minutes would turn into hours, to days, to years… To a lifetime. I fell asleep, my mind too exhausted to continue coherent thought. When I woke, she was nowhere to be found. I couldn’t be sure why. Whether it be her own schedule or that we hadn’t detailed what exactly our coupling was supposed to be. All I know was what I am feeling. Sadness, disappointment, even slight shame. Not that what we had done was wrong, but that I couldn’t hold on hard enough to keep her here. I have no way of contacting her, and without knowing her thoughts, I refuse to be the kind of man who shows up where she works. Perhaps she doesn’t want to see me again. I will go about my routines, wondering whether or not I’d hurt her, whether or not she felt regret. I will spend however long it takes, wondering if I might ever see her again, and feeling a hollowness in my chest I hadn’t know was there all along before I felt her filling that void so perfectly.’ You don’t realize at first that you’re crying by the end of the letter. Tears quietly slip from your eyes, and your hands tremble just enough to make the paper move noticeably, the bottom of it smattered with a few wet drops. Clutching the page to your chest, you let your head roll back and your lungs inhale a deep breath. Your heart hurts for him, nearly a year ago as these words he has written make themselves known to you. His thoughts and feelings that first night you met last December. You ignore the question of why he wrote these letters but know exactly the reason why he has given them to you. It feels too easy, too surreal that he knew someday you would question, and he kept these as an investment. Proof of his truth. Pain aches bitterly in your chest at how you pushed him out a few days ago. At how deeply and complexly he knew right from the start how much you mean to him. You empty your wine glass in a series of greedy swallows, needing your empty goblet as an excuse to stand up and breathe for a moment. Wiping your eyes, you have an idea and know just where to put these letters. From the top shelf of your closet, you pull down a small box, running your palm over the black leather with a smile as you place it on the coffee table. You move to the kitchen, returning to the couch seconds later with the half-empty wine bottle. You open the box and a small smile touches your features when you see the items inside. Not many, yet, but small tokens of memories and affection shared between you and Junmyeon. The tickets to the museum back in September, four polaroid photos taken on his camera in his room during a visit. The card he wrote you back in October, along with the bloom of a flower from the same day pressed between it. Obscurely and without his knowledge, a balled-up piece of paper with lyrics he wrote for his solo album on. Somehow, he deemed them unworthy, but you love the authenticity of them and his handwriting. You smile, letting your hand stir a few of the pieces before you set the lid back on it, deciding these letters will join the contents of the box when you’re finished. After pouring yourself another glass and carefully folding the first letter back into its packaging, you open the second. ‘Now it’s April, and somehow, on an errant walk with the peace of my own thoughts, I found you again. At first I hadn’t been sure it was you, or that my eyes were not playing tricks on me. After several minutes of short-circuiting, I was sure it was you on that bench. I hate to sound overly poetic, but you were too picturesque, as if the sun and all of the spring had been placed there just for you. As if you commanded the very season to flourish around your perpetuating serenity. Part of me was torn, not wanting to disturb the scene. The greater part was unwavering in my desire to approach you, if not just to have your eyes find mine briefly. I am too selfish to let you go this time, unless you explicitly demand it. Still, I had to steel myself, apprehensive of your intentions that morning. Luckily, your warmth toward me didn’t waver, and while I wanted to ask outright the questions that so often plagued my mind lately, I refrained. I couldn’t let the joy of the moment be ruined by bitterness. Your stomach growled, and I remember the comfort of falling into step beside you naturally as we walked. The colors of the season are more vivid in my head, and the sharp contrast of your red dress to the green everywhere did nothing but serve as an excuse for me to look only at you. While the food was worth the price, my stomach churned uncomfortably with the questions I needed answers to. The same questions I felt coming from you, and the confusion and hurt and desire. When you finally told me it was not a good idea, I felt my heart crack. Looking back, I wasn’t pleased with myself when I hissed out my reply. The pain was too momentous to control. That was the turning point. The conversations that followed as we went out onto the street. It dawned on me then, that with my own anxiety and shortcomings, you had your own self-doubts. You made it clear that you saw me as the stars, and yourself little more than a spectator of them, out of reach. I realized in that moment how similar we are, and an overwhelming need to know more about you passed through me. I am always thankful and comforted when I think back on that conversation. The relief I felt when you told me you didn’t regret it and that you wanted me as badly as I wanted you. Still want you, for the record. You defended me from even myself so vehemently, all while fighting the idea of indulging in the moment. Not just for your own benefit, but mine, too. It was clear how much you worried over thoughts for the future, and the consideration of my feelings and your own thereafter. I’m very thankful, but I’m sure that must be exhausting. I desperately want you in my life, no matter how busy that is, and I am holding my breath in hope that you’ll want me in yours just the same. The sex… by far, has always been indescribably real. Connecting with you in such a fashion, well, I won’t touch on it, because that isn’t what this is about. Even though I can count our meetings on one hand, this one is my favorite, so far. Not just because of the sex, but the conversation, and the connection I felt with you through all of the planes of existence. I won’t lie, it was insurmountably frightening the moment you looked at me in the shower. More than my face, or my eyes. It took you one second to permeate the deepest center of my heart, and I could feel the warmth and safety of your soul holding mine. Oh my god, I am so cheesy. We shared tender thoughts, and with them, pain and suffering. I like to think it was necessary in order to move forward, and I find myself wanting to grow more and more with you. Slowly, if you accept that. I don’t want to rush into things, and I want to understand you better. I want to do this right. Even in the small, intimate moments while we ate dinner and just laid together, were blissful. I found myself unable to conjure any worries about problems I face, and even the physical manifestation of my anxiety… with you I had no sudden urge to run away and hide it. I had no feeling other than pure acceptance knowing that you were seeing a flaw of mine. You rolled with it, completely and utterly acknowledging of my existence as a person and not just an idol. Perhaps that is why I feel so strongly so soon, and why I am so cognizant of it, rather than terrified as I should be. When I woke the next morning with your scent and your warmth still beside me, I was happier than I anticipated I would be? That sounds so peculiar, I know, but I was- even with the chaos that soon unraveled thereafter. Still, wrapped up in new feelings and rushing to meet a schedule, I scolded myself when I left you standing in the elevator lobby without any way to stay in contact. If there are and powers or fates in this life, I am wishing for them to bring us together again. One way or another, I will find you again.’ Immediately, with as much delicacy as you can muster in your need to keep reading, you fold the pages of the second letter back into it’s envelope with a smile on your face. Reading Junmyeon’s thoughts on your meetings was not what you had expected this package to be. It is a wonderful gift, and one you now know he did for you, even all of those months ago. The third letter is on a different kind of paper and the ink is blue instead of black, but the differences only make you smile at the possibility that he was still thinking of writing this for you when he might have been somewhere else in the world. ‘Even at thirty-eight thousand feet, I am still thinking of you.’ Reads the first line, and you smile knowing your intuition was spot on. ‘I’m thinking of the third time I saw you. Standing still on the dance floor, with brows furrowed cutely and looking around for something. Until you quickly looked up at me, and I felt heat rise to my cheeks when you smiled. The way you jumped as if I had shocked you, I felt it too. All night it drove me crazy the way I could feel this tether to you. Even in a space full of others, at the club, in the car, at the karaoke room- there was a strange sense of presence. As if I could see and hear everyone, even participated in conversations, but from underwater? Suddenly I noticed that perhaps that is how my life has been all along, but the moment we would touch would be as if everything around were in such perfect clarity it felt like I was there for the first time. I know that sounds crazy. It drove me crazy, but I gave you whatever emotion space you wanted. I didn’t push what we were, didn’t try to pressure you into acknowledging the tension between us as more than sexual compatibility. Then, in the darkness of that awful karaoke bar, I broke. I knew Jongdae wasn’t a threat- he has a girlfriend. I knew everything was fine but found myself exiting the room to look for you anyway. Then, you provoked me and I can’t help but wonder if you wanted me to be the aggressor all along. If you wanted me to be the one to break first and make a claim. I’m not upset about it, really. It worked out in the end, right? Still, the thought of you being with someone else the way you’ve been with me is very painful. Luckily, I was and still am confident in what we have. That it is profound. The moment you spilled the truth I felt high. Not like a drug high but untouchable nonetheless. Powerfully, cosmically existent in that moment, and all I could do was kiss you. I knew it didn’t mean we had jumped from point A to point Z, but A to B was still progress forward. I can’t help but smile when I remember the cute, embarrassed way you tried to explain that to Jongin later on. Take no mind- I am not looking to rush into a relationship. I am happy with small steps, and to finally have your contact information.’ You’re smiling and laughing by the end of this letter. You feel a little bit better, and a whole lot more in love with the man who wrote these. Part of you in a little sad at how short this third one is, but he has spoiled you, and you consider his schedule and lack of privacy in writing these. Quickly, with the woeful glee of having to put down the best book of all time, you rush to relieve your bladder of the wine you’ve consumed this evening. A very small wedge of your consciousness notes the way your mood has shifted for the better at this simple and thoughtful gift. At the confirmations of his feelings and his thoughts that you’ve spent months trying to guess. You realize that perhaps you were not communicating as openly as you thought you were. A lot of guessing and assuming about one another over the last year makes you feel a little bit silly, but you smile nonetheless at the progress and growth you’ve done. Situated back on the couch comfortably, you fold the third letter back into it’s envelope with a contented hum, replacing it in your hands with the fourth. This one feels heavier and thicker, with more pages. ‘You are my girlfriend now, as I write this letter.’ He starts, and you can clearly conjure the image of a grin that would be warming his cheeks as he wrote that line. ‘Progress, and good progress at that, feels very fulfilling. Although my schedules keep me from seeing you as often as I would like, I feel satisfied with being able to contact you regularly while I go about my business. The weeks we have spent getting to know one another, talking and texting and video chatting have been nothing short of a blessing. It makes me realize how much people, myself included, can take this kind of simple connection for granted. I spent some weeks without a way to contact you, so I do my best to be more thankful for it now. In the last few weeks, it has felt like war with ourselves and what we could be, and I sincerely apologize if I ever seemed frustrated at you- I am not, and never was. You have always been right to be cautious and you are so considerate of my feelings and then your own, even if the consideration isn’t a good one. It doesn’t matter now, and I can’t say I am regretful that we spent time weighing those things out. It may seem silly or superstitious but I feel like our relationship is deeper and we have a better understanding of what we are to one another now that we have been through that together. Had we rushed into it without more concern, I might be wary of how strong we are. I was embarrassed when I called to tell you about the incident with the interviewer in the States. There was a lot happening and I was not sure on what was going to come of us yet. I was very surprised by how strong the repulsion to lie about us felt, and I failed to keep it off of my face and out of my professional life. Looking back, especially after calling you, I am sorry if it caused you any panic. I had a long discussion with the managers and Mr. Lee when I got back, but it was after I had talked to Jongdae on the plane about it, and he gave me a lot of good advice on how to deal with it publicly. Please do not misunderstand or have doubts about what I told you- I was never pressured or given an ultimatum about you. I told them that being with or without you was not negotiable before it even began. Typically, I am not the one to speak up in such a momentous conversation, but I have only ever been so sure about something twice in my life. First, about being a singer, and second, about being with you. In the end, I was told it would only be a problem if the behavior continued. Eventually, we would have to go public, but I am free to keep my private life as such so long as I can maintain my idol publicity separately. Still, I needed some space from the familiarity and constant reminder of stress. I left, without telling anyone where I was going or for how long, to blow off steam. The shock was pleasant when you told me you were accepting of a relationship. I was happy and thought perhaps you had talked about it to Soohyun, the same way I talk to Sehun. Those two are ridiculous. It helped melt the stress I’d been feeling with work. My feet carried me to your apartment anyway, now that I knew how to get there. Even if I wanted to refrain or resist, I knew you, in any form, would be the balm of relief I needed. I was prepared to hold you and talk and just let your presence ease away the anxiety. The last thing I was expecting was the gift of news you wanted more. I had been back and forth with it in my own head, whether or not I should have even told you. Since the beginning of our perpetual theories concerning the start of a relationship, I knew there was something you were not telling me. Don’t take it the wrong way- I don’t hold it against you, and I don’t expect you to tell me everything right away. Earning enough trust and comfort with me to tell me when you’re ready is enough. That is not the reason I didn’t want to say anything at first. More that you seemed… tense or stressed about your own internal deliberating. I’ve seen first-hand, you’re the type to put others before yourself, so I didn’t want to burden you with that. It felt like taking advantage of you to do so. Then, with the simple confession of wanting this, of wanting me, and wanting me with you, it changed. I trusted you enough to let you in. You wanted to help me, and I am incredibly grateful. You’ve always wanted to help me, and I would be a blind fool if I ever considered that were not a priority for you, even from day one. By the end of the conversation, I felt more connected with you than I ever had before. I’m certain, at least in some sense, that was a bonus in the way you helped me relieve that stress. The way you took care of me, so to speak. Even the sex that followed seemed to have more weight or meaning. That it was more than just sex? When we settled into your bed I had a moment of realization that it was the first night I was sleeping in your bed with you, and that we were in a relationship. I was so exhausted, but I tried my best to remember every detail of your space. Although the way I woke up wasn’t that pleasant, I slept the best I had in weeks. I think I owe that to you. What happened thereafter, I know we’ve talked about it at length and that you’re okay, but I feel like part of your love language are words of affirmation. With that in mind, I will say again that you will never have to be sorry for struggling. I understand, at least to some extent, what you’ve been through. It makes my heart ache to know you’ve been through a similar pain to mine and the perpetual, vicious cycle of hate and doubt and fear within your own head. When I think about it, you amaze me. Having been through that, and perhaps to people outside of you and I, you might appear mysterious or standoffish. Sehun’s words, not mine, but only at first I assure you. I realize it is how you greet the unknown parts of the world, to protect yourself. But then to get to know the caring and tender way you hold those close to you. Be it myself, Soohyun or even now Sehun and the rest of my members. The way you talk about memories of your Father. It fills me with such relief and that feels selfish and wrong. To be thankful that even after all you’ve been through, and to understand it so completely, that you still love. I understand it so well how you’ve guarded yourself and it takes work to peel back the walls layer by layer to let someone else care about you the way you care about your people. I will never push you, but please, please know I am working as hard as I can to gently peel back those layers and to earn enough trust to let me love you the way you deserve, even if you might not think you do. I know that there will be days where you look at the world as if everything is hateful and ugly, and I understand that I might not be able to help you. I really do, but I will never judge you for that. I will encourage you to continue with therapy and taking your medication and to love the world and to let it love you back. Hopefully, one by one, those instances of hate are less and less, replaced by better ones. I will protect you with everything I have and I am scared, too. Afraid that one day when the glimmer of idol life dies and I’m not in the spotlight, that everyone who has ever looked at me with adoration will turn away. That the name Junmyeon will never shine the way Suho does. I know I am not perfect. I never have been and I never will be, and that’s okay. It took me a long time to get through that, with therapy and my own medication. There was a lot of unhappiness and innate anxiety in understanding that when I am retired and finished, I will not be alone. That there will be other people, eight specifically, going through the same thing, right there beside me. Hopefully you will be, too. I remember the bliss of the rest of that morning. The pure, natural contempt to be in your apartment with you, such a place that has you so deeply instilled in every piece I never wanted to leave the safety of it.’ You feel a lump, but don’t let the tears fall from this letter. Looking back on Junmyeon’s last words to you, you wonder if somewhere within this letter is the time he first decided he loved you. He didn’t explicitly write it, but the way he wrote it gives you a sense that it was somewhere in these words. The fifth letter begins with the echo of a phrase you remember hearing him say the first time you woke up with him in his bed. ‘I’m happy. More specifically, I am happy with you. As worried as I was about having you over to the dorm for anything at all, I am pleased how much you fit into that space with grace and ease. Looking back, my worries were baseless. Every challenge I think you’re facing with me and my schedules and my members, you accept them and seem to move through them all without issue. It's relieving to be able to let you share even this part of myself. I know it has been something we’ve been back and forth on since we met, but I had been scared of the idea of sharing a part of Suho for once, instead of Junmyeon. Not that I doubted you- simply that I was uncomfortable, and not ready. With a sudden clarity it makes perfect sense why you were not keen on me being in your space, either. I’m happy we’ve moved past those fears. All of my members accept you, if you couldn’t tell. I have to take care of them, too. I couldn’t be selfish in inviting you into a home that is not only mine without considering their opinions. Even the members that weren’t present were on board with my invitation and happy for us to be where we are. Somewhere in this last week, I think I realized I love you. I’m not sure when, but somewhere between finally going to your apartment and today, I know it. I’m making a promise to both you and myself that I will tell you in person for the first time. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us if it is any other way first, and I know you enough now to be sure I’ll probably be the one who says it first. I don’t even know if I’ll ever give you these letters, or when really they became less of a journal and more of a letter of confession. You can probably tell by the well-worn pages that I’ve read these several times by now. You might laugh if I ever tell you how many times I re-wrote them, too. Y/N, my sweetheart, I can’t even begin to describe how fond I am of you. Please tell me if I ever become overbearing or suffocating in my love for you. Were it not for the reprimanding I’d get, or the fact that we would have to go public (something I never want to put you through), I would shout it from the rooftop and scream it during every ending comment I make, on every stage in every part of the world.’ The fifth letter might be short, but it is sweet and you feel a bigger pang of guilt at having pushed him out knowing how much he loves you, now more than ever. You desperately want to call him. To have him back here in your arms and to tell him you’re sorry and confirm exactly how he feels is the same. Instead, you tell yourself to calm down, and read the last letter. It’s getting later, but you know he will still be awake when you’re finished and there is absolutely no way in hell you’ll be able to sleep without him tonight. So you quell your racing heart with a simple text. It doesn’t give anything away, and you hope you won’t have to wait long after you finish reading the last for him to show up at your door. ‘Please come over.’ You can’t hit send fast enough, and settle right in to reading the final letter. ‘This letter is a little different, because I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to write individual ones. I’m doing my best to remember the last few months with you and all of the memories we’ve made. I worry I’ll forget them if I don’t write them down soon enough, and I don’t know when these will ever make their way to you. I’ll give you all of the ones I’ve written so far once I think you’re ready to read them. I have a feeling a day will come when I tell you how I feel, and you’ll hide. I won’t be upset with you or judge you, I know it’s terrifying, and I think having these letters will be helpful. Perhaps once you see how well-worn some are, and how clearly I’m recalling the moments, you’ll know I’ve written them all with you in mind. How I am always thinking of you. How I love you. For weeks it has been hard not to tell you how I feel every time I open my mouth in your presence. Some moments smaller or bigger than others, but none any less meaningful than the one before it. I think my favorite, of all the adventures we’ve had over the summer, is dinner. The way you described summer and the magic of it- I don’t think you realized how much of that magic came from you. As if your smile were the spell that kept the world from falling asunder. Maybe it was because it was so close to the moment I first realized my feelings for you, only a week later, but it doesn’t matter. I enjoyed the museum a lot, too. More than a typical museum, the fun that we shared, even when things went a little sideways was still full of care and laughter. I don’t know if you could feel the culmination of my feelings brimming over in the rain later that day, or in the way I held you as if you were the world. I hope you felt it. Sometimes I was nervous when I would reach home with my bag and realize there was something else I left back at your place. Not that I minded, but I didn’t want you to feel like I did it intentionally or that I was invading your space. In hindsight it seems to have been perfectly natural, and I remember how shy you were to give me a key to your apartment. That surprising gift was unexpected, but one I keep close. I don’t know how many times I’ve thanked you for letting me have one and letting me be there whenever I want to. I hope you don’t mind if I thank you once more, honestly. You may not know this, but more than just for spending time with you- it is a safe place for me. It’s somewhere I can go and don’t have to hide and I can get away from the members and the constant reminder of the never-ending chaos of idolism. I can sleep and it is silent and if I’m lucky, you eventually appear beside me and I sleep better than I ever do at home. I can remember your fear leading up to Halloween about meeting other people at the company and being in the presence of new people as my girlfriend. I can also remember the taste of you right before that party, but I don’t want to have any… issues, while I’m writing this in the dance studio, so I won’t write about it. We’re working on choreography for some of the new tracks and brushing up on old favorites today. It’s never been a question I thought to ask you, but I’m curious what song is your favorite. I have a feeling, knowing the way you react to me as my alter ego, if Obsession is the answer. Things are going well with promotions. Perhaps I’ve complained a little too loudly about not getting to see you as often to our staff, but I was so shocked when you showed up to our stage yesterday! It was very thoughtful of them to invite you, and I was impressed none of the members got wind of it. What happened thereafter backstage… I hope you understand how much you mean to me and that I never wanted to pressure you like that. We were pushing boundaries all over the place, and while I was admittedly nervous at first to engage in sexual play with you while in that role, I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. I did it for you. It was all about you, and I can’t help but feel like I overstepped and perhaps instilled some doubts about us in you. Please know that was never my intention and I just as connected with you as I always do. I was, and still am thrilled to know you only want me. We both know I can be a bit jealous and possessive, so hearing that was delightful. However, I meant what I said- if it is mutual, I’m okay with it. Healthy, even, to have a little bit of adventure. Please don’t feel guilty about it, it kept me excited too. It’s good for us to talk about all kinds of things, even hard to swallow topics. I’m proud to be able to communicate openly with you, and I think it makes us stronger.’ You sigh, sad to see an end to his thoughts on paper, but feeling a sense of relief at his sentiments about your latest shenanigans, just days ago. Checking your phone, it appears that Junmyeon has read your message, but not responded yet, and you worry if he will or if he is upset. No, that can’t be right. Exactly as his letter has said, he knew a time would come that you would need to have some sort of evidence of his love when he finally told you. This is precisely what you needed him to say, and that he could already tell, even those months ago, that you might need this kind of investment to understand the truth is another piece of his love on its own. This collection of his feelings is so warm and whole that it brings more tears to the brim of your eyes, and you’re faced with the absolute truth that there’s no way he is upset with you. He was strategically waiting for you to return his feelings and the idea that you shoved him out makes the tears fall. You’re surprised to hear when the door opens and closes behind you, and when you turn around to face him, knowing it is him, he only gives you a dazzling smile as he slips off his shoes. Your boyfriend. Your Junmyeon, the one who, as crazy as that may seem, loves you as much as you love him. Gingerly, you set the last letter down, noticing it is still clutched in your fingers. “Hi, sweetheart.” He greets you from the entry. Marveling at him, you’re not convinced he is even real and standing here in your home looking like everything you’ve ever wanted and everything you’ll ever need. He grins, with the apples of his cheeks dusted rose from the cold sitting high and warm on his face. His eyes crinkle with mirth and he whispers, “That good, huh? No words?” You want to punch him for it, but perhaps softly, with your mouth. It doesn’t register for several seconds that you’ve been holding your breath, until you let it out and drag in fresh oxygen. It's enough to spur you into action, bounding from the couch and into his arms, uncaring if your tears stain his scarf. He doesn’t seem to mind, either, by the way he adjust so your arms wrap around him from inside of his unzipped coat. “Are you alright now?” he wonders aloud, not exactly looking for an answer but curiously chirping nonetheless because he wants the verbal confirmation that you are in fact, just fine. When you look up at him from the warmth of his sweatshirt and scarf with eyes full of magic, he is lost and in love all over again, until finally you say what he knows. “I love you.” You announce proudly to him, and the immediate gratification you feel melts any tension from your shoulders. His expression morphs into unbridled happiness, curling his lips into his mouth and scrunching his brows together as if the words were the sweetest thing he has ever heard. “Say it again,” he demands, “I’m selfish and I want to hear you say it again.” You smile, “I love you, Junmyeon.” He absolutely giggles. The pure glee that captures him as you step back with barely concealed impatience while shrugs off his coat and scarf is infectious, or maybe it’s the light and joyous sound of his laughter. In seconds he has scooped you into his arms and kisses you. You can feel his heart pounding right out of his chest where you’re pressed against it. When he breaks for air, he asks you, “Did you like them?” Setting you down on the couch, you refuse to part from him when he gets comfortable, crawling back into his lap and holding his face in your hands. Just to look at him and make sure he is actually here, you let the warmth of your hands flood his skin and he smiles up at you as if you the only thing in the universe worth looking at. There’s no rush to make it more than what it is, and you realize you haven’t answered his question. “I am beyond words to explain how much they mean to me.” You look behind you briefly to see them on the coffee table. “And,” you begin, moving some of his hair from his eyes, “I am so sorry.” His brows furrow together immediately, trying to hush your apology, but you press a finger to his lips before he can do more than groan in disapproval. “I mean it, let me apologize,” you coax. Only when he has settled do you remove your finger from his lips, tickled by his constant puckering to hiss it. “It took me reading these letters to finally learn that all this time you’ve done nothing but look out for me. You have always been there for me, taking all of my doubts in stride with a calm confidence I sometimes took as shallow or lukewarm feelings, and for that I am so sorry.” “In these letters you’ve told me about your own anxieties and fears, and I want to assure you the way you’ve always done for me by saying I will never turn away from you.” You hold his face again, gently cupping his cheeks and smiling sadly at the cute way his cheeks squish his face, “Ever.” You kiss his puckered lips and continue, “I am sorry I ever doubted you, even if you tell me I don’t need to be. It doesn’t feel fair that while I had all of these issues, you were there with nothing but faith, proclaiming with a profound clarity that we would both make it out on the other side, even if I couldn’t see it.” “Stop it,” he fusses gently. “No,” you poke the end of his nose and continue, “So I want you to know how sorry I am and that I promise you when I say I am in love with you- I mean it.” He smiles, “Can I talk now?” Grinning in return, you nod. “I didn’t write those letters to make you feel bad about yourself for having doubts or fears. It’s normal, and I didn’t always have just blind faith. I had my own doubts about how much you felt our connection and how deep your feelings for me were.” He rewards your silent attention with a quick, chaste kiss. “The answer is probably not, but do you know how protective your head is of your heart?” His hand rises to prod at your forehead gently. He explains further, “All of the defense it has created to keep you safe so you don’t get hurt again is not a bad thing. I just had to be patient, steady and sure about my feelings towards you. I knew you would figure it out.” “Looking back over the last year at the progress we’ve made, at least to me, has really made us stronger. Look at how far we’ve come, Y/N. Not just as individuals, but together. I don’t know if it looks the same as mine, but I imagine the colors of your world feel a lot richer with me in them, right?” He looks at your eyes for confirmation, and you nod, “It’s the same for me, too. You make me a better person, and I love you. The good and the bad and the sad and that’s okay. Relationships don’t have to be just good stuff all of the time. There is so much more complexity involved, but we’re supposed to be in it together.” “I know that now.” You affirm, laying your head on his shoulder and snuggling further into him. “Good.” He whispers, kissing your forehead. Already, you want to reread the letters. After a few silent moments pass between you listening to the sound of quiet happiness, you lift your head from his neck to look at him. “Can I tell you something?” you wonder aloud, letting your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He looks up at you and hums, “You’re going to tell me anyway, aren’t you?” It pulls a smile to your lips as you nod, ensuring you have his full attention. Remembering the contents of the letters, you have to tease him as you admit, “My god you’re cheesy!” You’re now sure the sound of your mutual laughter is one of your favorites. It takes a minute for both of you to quell, settling into a pile of happiness. Once more, for good measure, you feel the urge to tell him again. Taking his cheeks in your hands again, you dip your head until your forehead rests on his and a kiss is granted to his lips. “I love you.” End.

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