#apologies to everyone waiting on the next chapter of stereo souls

[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

Untitled Roxy x Reader fic (hurt/comfort)

EDIT: A more polished version is now up on ao3. If you're re-reading it or sending it to someone, then the ao3 version is preferred, but it's not changed enough that I would necessarily suggest re-reading it again if you weren't already going to. <3

For some reason, last night, I decided that it was imperative I write and release a Roxy x Reader oneshot before Ruin. (ETA: To be clear I mean I wrote this before Ruin released, therefore it contains NO SPOILERS. <3) It's an idea I've had for awhile and was going to do as a comic but decided to expand it and write it out instead. I may post a more polished version to ao3 at a later date.

Fun fact: Roxy was my first FNAF crush, before SB even came out. So Ruin will have many chances to break my heart.

Word count: ~3200

----

When the Pizzaplex burned down, none of your colleagues had seemed particularly interested in returning to the ruins. You could understand…some of the techs arriving for the morning shift had been caught in the blaze, and while there were no casualties, there had been some injuries. Yourself included.

After a few weeks in the hospital, the burn mark across your face was just an angry red scar, and the singed hair you’d had to cut off had regrown enough for you to wear a slightly uneven pixie cut.

The other techs said you were crazy to want to go back. The future of Fazbear Inc was uncertain, and the animatronics themselves were just that. Animatronics. Machines. Not worth putting yourself in danger for.

But you’d come to consider Roxy a friend. Sometimes you thought she considered you one, too. She didn’t seem like she would readily admit such a thing even if it were true.

She had at least liked you as a tech, if not as a person. You were the only one who could do her pre-show checks and weekly maintenance without ruining her hair, at least according to her. According to the other techs, Roxanne’s hair was always fine.

You quickly learned that to Roxy, “fine” was equivalent to a reprehensible failure. A disaster. A complete horrific mess. 

You didn’t think your experience with costuming (specifically wigs) in your college’s theater club would ever be something you used after you graduated, but life is full of surprises.

You wander through the corridors of your ruined, burned out workplace, flashlight in hand. You have a few guesses as to where Roxy might be. You desperately hope she’s okay. The structure is mostly intact, but there are a few collapsed portions and fallen bits of decor. You think as long as Roxy had been able to avoid the worst of the heat, she’d be mostly alright.

You make your way to Rockstar Row, your workboots crunching on the debris as you walk.

As you approach Roxy’s room, you hear something that makes you freeze.

Crying.

For a moment you wonder if another tech, or perhaps some urban explorer or rubbernecker is in here with you. Then you recognize the voice behind the sobs.

Roxanne is crying? You’re more surprised than you probably should be. But you’d seen behind her mask a couple times. Behind the vanity, haughtiness, and borderline entitlement, you had occasionally glimpsed a profound insecurity. Beneath it all, you don’t think Roxy actually likes herself very much.

You swipe your badge on the door, and it actually dings and slides open. Or tries to. Something jams it halfway and you have to wedge yourself into the doorframe and push the door open the rest of the way.

Roxy, who had been sitting at her vanity, head in her hands, perks up. Her ears twitch as she glances around. “Who’s there?” she calls out.

You open your mouth to speak, only to leave it hanging open in surprise as you see how badly she’s damaged. So much of her exoskeleton is missing, exposing the endoskeleton underneath. Her hair is a tangled, singed mess and her tail isn’t much better. But most horrifying, her eyes are completely gone.

“Who’s there?!” Roxy repeats, a growl in her voice as she stands up and starts stalking towards you. You can hear the servos and joints in her body creak in protest as she moves.

“R-Roxy, it’s me!” you say before hastily blurting out your name.

She stops, her ears twitching and her claws grasping at the air. At first you think she’s baring her teeth at you, but you quickly realize her broken faceplate has put one side of her mouth in a permanent snarl.

She huffs, turning away. She skulks back to her vanity, plopping down in her chair and burning her broken face in her shattered hands. “What do you want?” she mutters.

You tense, taken aback. “Wh-What do you think I want, Roxy?” you ask incredulously, slowly moving towards her. “I-I wanted to know you were okay. I wanted to help you. I was…terrified you’d…been destroyed,” you say quietly, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She pulls away with a growl. “I have been destroyed! Just--Just look at me!” The rage in her voice doesn’t fully mask her despair, nor does it completely hide her fear. Fear of what? Of what could have happened? Of how close she came to being permanently deactivated?

Her command was clearly rhetorical, for she lowers her head further, digging her claws into what remains of her scalp.

“Roxy…all this can be fixed…” you say gently.

“No it can’t!” she snaps. “I already checked. Parts and Services is a pile of rubble now.”

“Well…what about the loading docks? Maybe we can at least find some new eyes for you…”

She scoffs. “Oh good. Then I can see myself. Because feeling all this isn’t bad enough,” she sneers, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Roxy--”

“FINE!” she growls, pushing back from her vanity abruptly. If the chair weren’t screwed into the floor she surely would have toppled it over. “Fine. Let’s just go.”

You flinch nervously, nodding. Remembering her blindness, you quickly say, “Okay. Here,” you say gently putting a hand on her arm.

“Don’t touch me!” she snaps, though she sounds somewhat less defensive and a bit…nervous? Embarrassed? With a huff, she adds, “I’ll just follow your footsteps.”

You bite back a sigh. “Alright,” you say patiently.

You lead the way out of her green room towards the long stairway down to the loading docks. You’re not about to risk trying to take the elevator.

“Here, careful on the stairs,” you say, gently taking her arm again. This time she allows it, albeit with some reluctance as she gives you what probably would have been a withering look if her faceplate had been intact.

It’s a long way down and neither of you want to rush. The sound of your softer footfalls and her heavier ones as you both pick your way down the stairs echoes through the stairwell.

Thud. Clunk. Thud. Clunk. Thud. Clunk.

You watch her carefully. She seems too focused on making it down the stairs to be too sulky for the moment. Small blessings, you suppose. Still, the silence is only stretching out your descent.

“It sounds like one of your knees is out of alignment,” you say eventually.

“The left one,” she confirms a bit gruffly. “I can manage.”

“I can see that,” you say gently. “It took me awhile to notice something was even wrong. You carry yourself well,” you say, smiling a bit.

Roxy grunts in acknowledgement, but doesn’t preen even a little at the praise. That’s unusual for her…compliments usually cheer her up.

“Maybe I can find a new hinge while we’re--”

“Why are you doing this?” she cuts you off.

“W-What do you mean?” you ask, stopping in the middle of the flight of stairs.

“Don’t play dumb. You know what I mean,” she says. Before you can speak, she continues, “This whole place is finished. Nobody’s coming back to rebuild. What’s the point of you patching me up?”

“I told you, Roxy…I was worried…” you start as you resume your climb down the stairs.

“Why?”

“Because I care about you!” you say, exasperated as you reach the bottom of the stairs. You keep your hand on her arm as you make your way down the corridor, and she doesn’t protest.

She snorts. “You care about a pile of scrap?”

You wish she could see the glare you give her at that. “You are NOT a pile of scrap! You’re just a little scuffed.”

“More than a little,” she huffs.

You sigh. “Okay, maybe a little more than a little,” you admit. You force a smile. “But hey…I’m the perfect tech, remember? If anyone can get you fixed up, it’s me, isn’t it?”

You weren’t normally any kind of braggart. Roxy had been the only one to ever call you the perfect tech, though you feel like that was almost more a point of pride for herself rather than for you. As if she were praising herself for being deserving of the best tech more than she’s praising you for being the best tech. But you still liked hearing it…and sometimes it really did seem like she was directing the praise at you.

Roxy turns her head towards you, her ears swiveling forward. It’s hard to read her expression with her broken faceplate, but eventually one side of her mouth ticks up into a small smile. “...Yeah…” she admits softly.

You squeeze her arm gently, careful to not touch any of the sharper broken off bits.

Once you get to the loading dock, you guide her to sit down on a crate while you look through some of the recent part shipments.

The fire had somehow spared much of this place, but the collapse of P & S had rippled partially through the area and several patches of ceiling had fallen, knocking over piles of crates and leaving the whole place in disarray.

Eventually you find a crate that has the P & S stamp on the wooden slats, and figure that’s a promising place to start. You grab a crowbar and begin trying to pry it open in any way you can.

Roxy’s ears perk and she turns towards you. “What are you doing?”

“Trying--urg--to get this crate open,” you grunt.

She stands and walks towards you. “Let me,” she says. She reaches towards you, trying to determine your position.

You take her hand, your fingers weaving in hers for a moment before you guide her hand to the crate.

“Thanks,” you say, stepping aside.

“Well…pretty silly to make a human do all the heavy lifting,” she says, digging her claws into one of the planks. The wood splinters and creaks and is readily ripped free.

You smile weakly. “You’re right…these arms would never have a fraction of your strength,” you say. Jokingly, you lift your arm and flex…only to realize Roxy won’t be able to see it.

Probably for the best. It was a dumb joke anyway.

She snorts, actually preening a bit as she pulls another board free. “Even busted…” she agrees softly. Her tone is slightly melancholy…as if she doesn’t fully believe it.

She pulls another board free, and you put a hand on her shoulder. “I think that’s enough for now,” you say, guiding her back to the crate she had been sitting on before.

You begin pulling the smaller boxes from the shipping crate, cutting them open and rummaging through them, looking for anything usable. 

Once again, the silence stretches on.

After finding nothing useful in the first two boxes, you glance back at Roxanne. Her hand is over her face, her middle finger slowly tracing the cracks near where her eyes had been. The quiet isn’t doing her any favors.

You shove the box you were looking through aside and pull out another, cutting it open. “Roxy?” you break the silence.

“Mm?” she grunts, still more focused on her faceplate than you.

“You…d’you um…remember that time we ran out of driver bots and that angry dad yelled at me?”

She pauses briefly, turning her head towards you. “What about it?” she asks before going back to feeling her faceplate.

“You remember what you said to me?”

“I called you an idiot.” Was that a touch of guilt you detect in her tone?

You laugh weakly, nodding. “Yes. But you remember why?”

“For letting a loser like that get under your skin,” she says plainly.

“Right,” you say, smiling. “I think about that a lot, you know.”

Roxy scoffs. “Really? Freddy said I was too rude,” she says. If she had eyes she would have rolled them.

You let out a gentle chuckle. “Well…maybe a bit,” you admit, earning a slightly sulky huff from her. “But there was truth to it, y’know? And I think about it a lot. It uh…it’s…helped me. Deal with people like him.”

She cants her head, one ear flicking curiously. It’s a cute expression even with her broken faceplate. “It…did?”

“Yeah,” you say, pulling out another box and opening it. “I-I mean…you were right. I knew he was a loser but I still told myself his opinion meant something. But it doesn’t, y’know?”

“Yeah,” she agrees quietly.

The conversation lapses again, and you try to resist the urge to slow your search in order to come up with a new topic. Luckily, it is Roxy who picks the next topic.

“You remember that time a birthday party ran long, and I was late getting back to the recharge station?”

You freeze. Oh you do remember. You remember that evening well. The animatronics tend to get a little quirky when their battery dips below five percent. Something about a power save mode cutting power to random systems. Usually mobility, but somehow, their…inhibitions, for lack of a better term, also seemed to go by the wayside. As far as you know nobody ever quite understood why, but it was a little like getting loopy from lack of sleep, or even a bit tipsy.

Roxy smirks, hearing your stunned silence. “You do.”

“Y-Yeah…I…I wasn’t sure if you did, though.”

“I remember the important parts.” Before you can start to wonder what the “important parts” are in her mind, she continues, “You’d finally used that salon voucher I gave you for your birthday. Gotten your hair done. Actually wore it down. I never understand why you hide such long pretty hair up that bun.”

You fluster a bit. “Th-The dress code--”

“Oh, you do it without the dress code,” she scoffs, flicking a hand dismissively.

You clear your throat awkwardly, pausing to rub at your cheeks as if you can wipe the blush away. “W-What’s your battery at, by the way?”

She snorts. “Just an idle wondering?” she smirks. “It’s twenty-two percent.”

So it’s not her low battery talking…

Roxy continues, “You know…if you can find a set of replacement eyes…I wouldn’t mind seeing your hair down again,” she says, actually sounding wistful, of all things. You don’t know if you’ve ever heard her sound wistful.

You sigh softly, running a hand over your chopped off hair. “Y-Yeah…” you say, noncommittally.

She glances at you questioningly, sensing something in your tone. But before she can comment, you cut open another box, and find it has the spare eyes you’ve been looking for.

“Found the eyes!” you say. Some of the happiness in your tone is genuine. You grab two amber ones, going over to her. “They’re just standard optics, so you won’t see as well as you’re used to, but…it’ll do for now,” you say, guiding her to lay on the floor.

Her smile fades slightly and she nods, reality setting back in. Despite your claims that you could repair her, she wasn’t convinced she’d ever be as good as she was before. “Guess it’ll have to,” she mumbles.

You put a flashlight in her hand and position her arm to shine it down on her faceplate, giving you light to work with. Your toolkit is beside you, with some extra lengths of wire and soldering iron to work with. As you cut away the burned wires, murmuring apologies whenever Roxy flinches, your mind drifts back to that evening.

Her power had been at one percent when you finally coaxed her into her recharge station. Before you did, though, she had leaned down and pressed her lips to yours. You think she had been trying to nuzzle your cheek. Even “drunk” you don’t think she wanted to kiss you like that.

Neither of you had ever spoken of that night again, until today. She must not remember the kiss, you decide. She wouldn’t bring up that night at all if she did.

The truth is you’ve carried a small flame for her ever since then. Or perhaps a little longer, if you were more honest with yourself. Nothing you couldn’t ignore most of the time, of course…but something that had occasionally managed to put a bit of warmth in your heart when you allowed it to.

But none of those silly little what-ifs you’d allowed yourself to daydream of would ever come to pass now.

You wire in the eyes, then carefully fit them into their sockets. As they come online, the attached eyelids blink shut against the light.

You quickly turn away, keeping your back to her as you pack up your toolkit. “Th-They working okay?” you ask. It’s silly to turn away like this. You can’t possibly delay her seeing your scar for more than a couple minutes. Why even bother trying?

She moves the flashlight out of her eyes and sits up, looking around. “Yes,” she says. She pauses. “...Better than I thought. I forgot the standard optics still have night vision.”

You laugh weakly. “Another thing you have over me, then,” you say in what you had meant to be a good natured tone, but you couldn’t quite keep the melancholy from your voice.

Roxy catches it and glances at you curiously. She stands up, then reaches down a hand to help you up.

Well. No more putting it off.

You bow your head slightly as you turn to take her hand, letting her pull you to your feet. When you stand before her, you finally lift your head to look into her eyes, giving a small, tentative smile that borders on apologetic.

Roxy stares down at you, her mouth opening slightly in surprise. “Wh-What…happened…?”

You sigh, glancing away slightly. “I-I…got to work early, and…I was upstairs when the fire started. It…spread so fast I…had to cut through some pretty bad areas. I-I mean. I guess, something like that…I-I don’t really remember…” you say, your voice starting to shake.

Roxy’s hand is on your cheek, turning your face back towards her as she examines your scar.

You feel your face growing warm. “I-I don’t know how I got the scar, really…The EMTs found me passed out in the employee parking lot.”

Roxy smiles sadly. “You were strong enough to save yourself.”

You blush deeply at the compliment, lowering your gaze. “I-I guess so…”

She runs her thumb over the scar, tracing the ridges of the shiny, discolored skin. “Can it be repaired?” she asks, her tone more gentle than you’ve ever heard from her.

You shake your head, resisting the urge to nuzzle into her palm as you do. “Not…really. My hair will grow back and the scar will probably fade a bit, eventually, but…it’ll…probably be pretty noticeable for the rest of my life…” You feel tears brimming at your eyes and force out a weak laugh. “C-Can’t really…uh…s-switch faceplates on a human…y-y’know?” you say in a wavering tone.

Roxy hums quietly, bringing her other hand up to cup your other cheek. “No need,” she says, lowering her head and gently nosing at your scar.

Your breath stills at her words, your eyes widening in surprise. You’re almost not sure you heard right.

She pulls back, smiling down at you tenderly. “You’re still beautiful,” she murmurs, leaning down and pressing her lips to yours.

[alwaysbemymaybe-phff]

Chapter 22

AN: YES! This is the last chapter for this fanfic. <3 I love you guys and thank you for the support! <3 I might release a sneak peek (and possibly a new link) for the next part. (Yes, there is another part.) I love you all!

The Fight is Over

“Henry Charles David, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to lie together according to God’s law in the holy-“

 “Please, turn it off.” Bella said sighing and her mother quickly turned off the car stereo. She bit her bottom lip looking out her window. It still hurt, of course. The thought of Harry marrying someone else hurts her still even though it is the reality of life. We don’t always get what we want but we do get what we need. She thought leaning her head on her window.

 “Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour her and keep her, in sickness and in health? And, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?” The archbishop asked Harry.

This is it. Two words. Just two words and everything is set for him. But, those words seem to be stuck in his mouth. The tranquil silence of Westminster Abbey became tense and yet Harry couldn’t seem to speak. Seconds pass and still he stared at the archbishop.

 “Harry?” he heard Meghan whisper beside him and he looked at her.

 He couldn’t imagine her as Bella. No. He couldn’t live like that. He couldn’t wake up everyday pretending that she’s Isabella Clarke. He couldn’t live everyday thinking that it would be Bella he would come home to or be with or share a life with. He couldn’t pretend. He couldn’t imagine waking up everyday feeling empty- dead. He couldn’t imagine not seeing a glimpse of Bella anymore or even think about the possibility of being with her. And as much as he would love to be the pride of his family for once, he couldn’t push the two words out of his mouth.

 “Sir?” The archbishop then asked taking Harry’s eyes away from Meghan and to him.

 It’s now or never for him. If he marry Meghan now, he wouldn’t be able to be with Bella ever. He cannot treat Bella the way his daddy had been with Camilla. No. He couldn’t do that to Bella and he also couldn’t marry Meghan under false pretenses.

 “I’m sorry.” He suddenly said towards the archbishop and gasps are heard throughout the Abbey but he couldn’t care less. He had made a lot of mistakes the past few months but he realized that making another one is not going to ever change it. And so, he turned towards Meghan who had an astounded look on her face; her mouth open in shock and it seemed that she hadn’t processed what’s happening yet.

 Quite sure of his decisions, he held Meghan’s hand. “I’m sorry but you deserve someone better; someone who can love you fully; as he is body and soul.” He said and he can see tears filling her eyes. He didn’t want to hurt her but doing that would mean sacrificing himself forever. “I truly apologize but we both deserve happiness in this world.”

 Harry can hear everyone whispering as he let go of Meghan’s hand and started walking down the staircase. He saw William smiling at him and he smiled back before his walk turned into a sprint. “Harry!” He heard his father call and he looked at him- he’s still the king, he couldn’t disrespect him and, for a moment, he’s scared that he will tell Harry to go back up there and marry Meghan but the king smiled.

 “Thank you.” He mouthed and continued his run out of the abbey.

 Crowds screaming and cheering welcomed him when he got out and he quickly went over to one of the PPO’s sedans waiting by Meghan and his car. “I need the car.” He told the PPO who only gave him a confused look. “Give me the keys.” He said and the PPO gave Harry the keys.

 “Ah, the irony.” Bella mumbled watching the rain fall hard outside the car as they parked in Heathrow Airport. She took the umbrellas at the back of the car and handed two towards her parents.

 “So..” Her father said handing Bella her small carry on as they stood by the airport doors. “We’ll see you there tomorrow..”

 “Tomorrow evening, San Diego time.”

 Gerard smiled before pulling his daughter to kiss her on the forehead. As determined as he is for her to live, he knew of the possibility of her not being able to survive. And so, he knew the importance of this kiss to her daughter- this might be the last time she steps in England alive. He had to be realistic just like how his daughter is and he pulled away and gave her an encouraging smile. “We’ll see you in a bit, poppet.”

 “I love you mom, dad.”

 And both parents watched their daughter walk through the gates but turned and smiled and waved before it closed. It was like something was stabbed on Georgia’s heart; the sight of her daughter walking away made something in her heart clench and she gave out a shaky breath feeling like her bones turned into jell-o.

 “Shh. She’ll be alright.” Gerard said pulling his wife closer to him. “I promise you, she’s going to be fine.” He whispered soothingly pulling his wife along to go back to their car.

 Harry drove as fast as he could trying to dodge the paparazzi. He knew where he’s going- he knew where to find her; all he had to do is be there on time before she leaves. Quickly, he stepped on his breaks when he got stuck on the traffic just on the car entrance of Heathrow Airport. “Fuck!” he yelled his hand flying to the horn and pressing it hard but when the cars in front of him didn’t move, he slammed his hand on the steering wheel and looked out.

 The rain is pouring hard and, as he estimates his run towards the main entrance of the airport, he realized that he would be soaking wet before he gets there. It’s either you get wet or you don’t catch her. He thought and put on his blinkers and went to the side of the road before getting out of the car and leaving it there. He didn’t care if the car got towed, he didn’t even know if he got the chance to close the door or not but he ran as fast as his feet can take him.

 Numerous windows rolled down and he could hear the squealing of the women and cheers of men as he passed by them. His breath became heavy and his heart raced in his chest but he pushed through- only stopping when he saw Bella’s parents coming out of the main entrance of the airport holding each other; the couple stopped, both looking at Harry extremely shocked. “Hi. I’m sorry I couldn’t talk much but where is she?” he asked out of breath stopping suddenly- almost tripping and hitting the couple. Quickly, he glanced back and saw the paparazzi coming their way towards them.

 “She’s at Gate H51.” Gerard finally answered. “Hurry, they’re boarding.”

 People pointed and stared as he burst in the airport. “Hold off the paparazzi.” He told the security who quickly radioed the request to seal off all doors. “Where’s H51? Where’s the easiest way to H51?” he asked frantically looking around.

 “Go through that exit and turn right- there’s a small alley. You’ll be there in 3 minutes if you run.”

 Bella sighed turning up the volume of her earphones as she sat on the boarding area. She had listened to the gushes of her co-passengers long enough about the royal wedding and their disappointment on missing it. People started falling in line by the entrance of her gate and she sighed. Well, goodbye England. She thought looking out at the window where rain poured mercilessly. Dreary ole’ England. She sat there a bit longer, not minding if she boards the plane last. It couldn’t bother her anymore. Now that her fate is almost sealed, she couldn’t be excited about leaving her country anymore.. and Harry. He must be married now. Finally, she stood and went towards the very back of the line towing her small bag along.

 “Last call for passengers of British Airways flight B456 boarding at Gate H51.” The intercom sounded and Harry quickly started running towards the route the guard had told him.

 Harry couldn’t care less of the people pointing at him or the gasps when they saw him rushing past them. He couldn’t care less if he’s currently the topic of all tabloids or magazines or media. He doesn’t care about what other people will say now- all he wants is to see her; to apologize and tell her that he couldn’t live without her.

 “Bella!” he yelled when he finally saw her by the gate handing over her boarding pass to the stewardess. “ISABELLA!” he yelled again and this time, the stewardess heard him and looked up from checking Bella’s pass with furrowed eyebrows before finally realizing who he is and tapping Bella on the hand and pointing towards where Harry is and she turned; her confused expression quickly turning into shock as he suddenly grabbed her and kiss her- long and hard.

 “Harry. What are you doing here?” she asked pulling away and pulling out the earbuds off her ear and looking at Harry who’s still out of breath. “Why are you here?! You shouldn’t be here!”

 And by this, Harry laughed. He caught her just in time. He ran off from a wedding- his wedding, drove like a maniac, ran through the rain, and ran through the airport and here is Bella telling him he shouldn’t be here.

 “Why are you laughing? This is not funny, Harry. I swear to God-”

 “I love you.” He said making Bella stop mid-sentence with wide eyes. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pretend. I couldn’t lie. I couldn’t wake up everyday and live with maybes- I cannot let you to just always be my maybe.”

 Bella shook her head absolutely shocked. He ran from his wedding. He ran from his wedding for me. She thought. “Harry..” she trailed off. “I must be dreaming. I must be dead or something.” She mumbled.

 But Harry shook his head back at her; stopping Bella from saying anything else. They both stared at each other straight in the eyes and, as cliché as it sounds, the world slowed, the volume of their surroundings suddenly on mute and nobody else existed. “I love you.” He repeated firmly this time. “I will leave anything and everything for you. I love you and I will tell you this even for a million times until you believe me. I don’t care if you tell me that you’re dying because I will follow you to the stars and back. I will love you even if you go. I don’t care. You’re not getting rid of me this time. Don’t even try.”

 And she looked up at him, her eyes searching his and she gave out a breath. It’s real. He’s real. She thought as her hands reached out and softly caressed his slightly wet beard and she smiled. “You just soaked my clothes.” She commented lightheartedly and Harry smiled making her heart skip a beat.

 Harry wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer despite her previous comment about her clothes getting soaked. “I love you.” He repeated closing his eyes as he leaned his forehead on top of hers before leaning in and kissing her softly on the lips right after she whispered;

 “I love you too even after my last breath.”

[winter-soldier-writer-blog]

You Need A Maid? Chapter 1

Fandom: Avengers / Marvel Rating: PG13 Warnings: Swearing Disclaimer: I don’t own Marvel, blah legal stuff. Don't sue me, I'm poor. Songs: Half Life - Whether, I

Chapter Menu

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Checking the time on the LED screen in your SVU you swore under your breath. Where had the time gone? The clock had played tricks with you all day, making minutes seem like hours. Endlessly it dragged on, your list of errands seeming to have no end. Steve had requested five new t-shirts, Tony needed a full restock of the liquor cabinet, and Sam, well, he just wanted more orange juice. On top of that, you still had dinner to make. At least you had that planned already.

Reaching the facility you parked your SUV in the garage, stepping out carefully as to not bump your door against Tony's newest motorized 'baby'. You barely understood why he insisted on getting another car. You had seen him speed off exactly three times in the span of the five months since he had purchased it. Once just because Sam wanted to race it in his wing suit.

It took several trips to and from the car to get all the bags inside. You nearly tripped on the step up into the kitchen carrying in the last brown paper bag of liquor. Setting it down on the marble-topped island you could feel the throbbing ache in your legs and feet. You looked at the sea of bags surrounding you and groaned, knowing if you sat down now there was no getting back up. Things needed to be put away, and dinner needed to be cooked. That was your job after all.

Reaching for a remote on the counter you pressed a few buttons. The stereo kicked on, blasting your favorite songs. Music would definitely make the jobs go by faster and you were certain you would be home alone for a few more hours. You reached for the closest bag, finding yourself getting lost in the music already. Were you shaking your booty a little?

I see your lips are the staircase to your soul Now you're fighting your feelings And fearing the shame that you sown All the times that I blindly followed you Can't believe that I never saw the truth I don't know what to do

You locked your arms around my mouth I don't know what to do, I think I'm turning blue I scream and shout, tear my lungs out I don't know what to do, I can't get over you

They tell you what you want to hear To feed the attention you hold so dear Tread lightly across these lines Playing again and again in my mind

"Hey, need some help?" A voice called out. You looked up, startled. Sam leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, laughing at the sight of you. Arms filled with produce and a bag of grapes hanging from your mouth you balanced on one leg with the other outstretched, keeping the fridge door open. Sam walked over taking the bag from your mouth. "I'm sorry Sam! If I knew someone was home I wouldn't have blasted my music." You hobbled around, making sure everything found it's place before you stopped to finally look up. He flashed his pearly whites down at you and shook his head. "Don't worry about it. You're just lucky you didn't wake Bucky." He turned, reaching for a bag, intending to help you.

"Yeah. Real lucky." A husky sleep filled voice approached from the hall. The sarcasm gave away who it was. Well, shit.

You reached for the remote, frantically pushing buttons until the music died. Silence filled the room, making you feel self-conscious. "I'm sorry Bucky." You apologized, running a hand through your hair nervously. He always seemed so grumpy. Who administered the suppository stick in his ass anyway?

He grumbled something as he pushed past you, grabbing the unopened bottle of orange juice from Sam's hand. "What was that crap?" He asked. "Whether, I." you mumbled under your breath. "What?" He huffed, demanding an answer.

"It's metal."

Bucky twisted the cap off and pressed the bottle to his lips, downing half the contents in big gulps. "That was mine." Sam scolded, grabbing it away. Bucky snorted ignoring him, his attention still on you. "You listen to that..." he paused searching for the right words. "Screaming mess? Nah. I won't believe it." He shook his head, locks of brown hair swinging in his eyes. "You're a bunny." He patted you on the head, careful to use his human hand, and headed in the direction of the living room. "Fluffball bunny." He called out. That was probably the nicest thing he's said since you met him.

You turned towards Sam and he shrugged, his hand stuffed inside what looked to be the last of the grocery bags. "You didn't have to help, you know I-," he cut you off, putting a finger to your lips. "Nah, I don't wanna hear it. Just say thank you." You couldn't help but smile against his finger. Sam was the kindest of everyone at the facility, treating you as a friend.

"Thanks, Sammy."

------------------------------------

You first two months of living with the Avengers was, to be blunt, fucking awful. The only thing that kept you upright was Sam's kindness. He wasn't like the others. He didn't have a robotic arm, super spy skills, and he wasn't a super soldier. Sam was an Avenger in his own right, just like the others, but Sam was just as much a normal person like you. Being an Avenger hadn't made him forget that.

It wasn't as if the rest of the team was mean to you on purpose. They had their reasons to be distant and cautious. You were an unknown. You could be poisoning the food and hiding bombs in the bathroom. Hell, even bugging the TV. What they thought you were doing to their laundry you really weren't sure, though, but you did play with the idea of itching powder in Natasha's underwear after she spilled nail polish on your favorite hoodie. That was almost unforgivable, almost. She hadn't even apologized.

Tony had hired you and had no suspicions, he was just used to being waited on and sometimes talked to you like you were one of his machines. He seemed to forget you weren't a MaidBot but instead were made of flesh and bone. He was dismissive, blunt, and often forgot his please and thank yous. Thankfully, he spent most of his time in his workroom, tinkering away on some new project.

Steve was polite, which you had expected from Captain America. Refusing you call you by your first name, he found it more appropriate to call you 'Miss'. He kept you at arms length just like the others, though. You could see out of the corner of your eye the way he sized you up whenever he thought you weren't looking. Scanning you for potential threats, calculating your every move. Even the way he stood around you like he was ready to pounce if you so much as sneezed wrong. It was really hard to hold in sneezes.

You had hoped Natasha could become a female friend in a house full of males. You had no such luck. You weren't sure if she felt threatened by you, something that was ridiculous. You felt like a sack of potatoes compared to her. Come on, that body, though. Regardless, Natasha remained a blank slate to you, only making the occasional stinging comment. You could see why they called her Black Widow, she was filled with venom.

Then there was Bucky. Bucky was just either stone cold stoic, or rude. Either he rolled out of the wrong side of bed, or the really wrong side. Apparently, his mother didn't teach him to keep his mouth shut if he didn't have something nice to say. Makeup smudged? Bucky noticed. Used too much salt? Bucky complained. Out of cookies? Bucky asked if you were doing your job. Sometimes you wanted to rip his metal arm off and slap him with it. You preferred the days he didn't talk to the days he had a bug up his ass about everything. Those were the easy days.

On the best days, you were exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Most days your body pulsated from all the tension in your muscles. After dinner was served, eaten, and cleaned up, you would ask the team if they needed anything else from you, getting a few grunted no's in return. You would say goodnight and retire to your room, slipping into a hot bath, enjoying your fragrant bath bomb. On the worst days, salty tears would mix with your bath water.

"Should I come back later, or is your moment over now?" Tony called out, a hint of laughter in his voice. You separated from Sam, face turning red. "Tony, I know it's late. I was just about to start dinner. Give me an hour and I'll bring it to your workroom."

"You don't have access to my workroom." Yes, you knew that. Why you had no idea, especially when he complained about coming down for meals. "Anyway, dinner is on me. We're going out, to celebrate!" Sam looked surprised and confused, unsure of what they had to celebrate. Before he could ask Tony spoke again. "Go, Sam, get ready. Wear something nice, no t-shirts and jeans. Go." He shooed him off and turned to leave. Tony looked over his shoulder and winked at you, "Go clean up." He sauntered back to his workroom, and Sam disappeared to his bedroom.

You shrugged and picked up the kitchen a little bit more, deciding to leave the rest for tomorrow. You felt like collapsing. The surprise outing did make things easier for you, now you could settle into your room to relax for the rest of the evening while the team went out. After the long day you had a hot bath sounded like a pretty good idea, and maybe cocoa later. Yes, chocolate would be good. Lots of chocolate.

Your room was comforting, a haven you could retreat to after the day was done. Originally, when Tony had told you about living accommodations you tried to insist on staying in your apartment but it was a twenty-minute drive away from the facility, and he wouldn't let you say no. No was a word Tony Stark just didn't seem to understand. Surprisingly the single bedroom was nicer than the apartment you had lived in for two years. Queen mattress, walk-in closet, and a private bathroom, something that made the team bitter. Natasha and Sam had to share a bathroom, as did Bucky and Steve. Tony had defended it, saying it was only fair for the maid. You preferred the term household manager, like was advertised.

The bath water was running filling the large tub, mixing with the bath bomb you had thrown in coloring the water pale green. Suddenly there was a knock on your door. Not expecting to be disturbed for the rest of the night you had already peeled off your clothes. Thankfully you hadn't taken off your makeup yet. Hastily you threw on a robe and cracked open the door. "What are you doing?" Tony stood dressed impressively in a red button up shirt and suit jacket. You could see Steve walk by behind him, dressed in similar fashion. They must be going somewhere nice.

"I was about to take a bath." You motioned towards the bathroom, where you were sure he could hear the water running. "Did you guys need me for something?" You tugged on your robe, pulling it tighter. They sure had shitty timing, you didn't want to waste a $6 bath bomb. You were pretty sure it was one of the ones with a toy in the middle too. "Aren't you coming?" Your face contorted in confusion. "You're the guest of honor [Y/N], we're celebrating you. Put on a nice dress and get downstairs, we're waiting."

You stood holding the door open for a second, Tony already leaving you to get ready. Celebrating you? What? You shut the door and turned to your closet, going blank. Did you even have anything nice? Frantically you rummaged, pulling out dress after dress, but everything was so informal. Nothing matched how Tony was dressed. "Shit. Why do I never go shopping for myself?" You cursed yourself out loud, reaching the back of your closet. There hung the only thing you could imagine being nice enough to wear.

You slipped the dress on, checking your reflection in the mirror. You frowned at your reflection, prodding at the places on yourself you were less than happy with. You were surrounded by physically perfect super soldiers and spies, you really couldn't compare physically and who wouldn't be a little self-conscious? You snapped out of it, throwing on heels, grabbing a clutch, and heading down the hall to meet the others. Tony had a limo waiting.