#cause these are always the same damn people who claim they can’t read books cause they ‘can’t focus on them’

[cetoddle]

i not only don’t understand people who will read endless amounts of fanfic with crazy high word counts but refuse to pick up a single actual fucking book but i also kind of hate them

[sunkissedpages]

instead of you [part seventeen]

pairing: [best friend’s brother] tom holland x college!reader

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol +sex

word count: 1.5k

series masterlist

The flight from Naples to Tokyo took fourteen hours, not including the two and a half hour layover in Istanbul, meaning you had sixteen and a half hours to sit in awkward tension-filled silence next to Sam. The tension was one-sided, of course, but it was still agonizing to endure.

You had been able to push your anxiety aside during your last day in Italy because it had been so busy. There had been a power outage in the middle of the night, causing everyone to oversleep and miss the ferry for one of your tours that morning. It had been a scramble to get back on schedule and do as much as possible with the time you had left. The boys had been hungover and their parents were tired of wrangling them. You had dozens of photos on your camera roll of Sam and Harry bickering when they were supposed to be posing for a nice picture, and even more of Tom flicking them off. 

But now you were stuck alone with your thoughts, unable to use distraction as a means to escape. You tried reading your book, but found yourself unable to concentrate on the words on the page. After staring at the same paragraph for over fifteen minutes Sam noticed and asked if you were okay and you finally decided to call it quits. 

You almost wished the Hollands hadn’t scheduled in a day and a half to adjust to the time zone change. You’d rather exhaust yourself with the nonstop tourist bullshit than have to cope with the reality that you had gotten off to thoughts about your best friend’s brother. Not to mention living with the secret that the same best friend’s brother had kissed you not long before that. 

If Sam noticed anything was off, he didn’t mention it. He probably chalked it up to lack of sleep, or perhaps was too tired himself to care. 

“Which one of us do you think will be randomly selected in customs today?” Harry asked, stretching his arms above his head. 

You were standing in the aisle waiting to deplane, placing bets on who’d get searched by border agents this time. Somehow each time you traveled to a new place one of you was always chosen to get pat down or have your carry-on searched. Tom had yet to be the lucky winner, and you suspected it had something to do with his celebrity status. 

“Y/n,” Tom answered easily. “She has the U.S. passport.”

You rolled your eyes. “Like England has a squeaky clean record with Japan.”

“At least we didn’t-”

“Bro, you can’t say the b word on a plane,” Harry interrupted.

“Even when the plane’s on the ground?”

Sam shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Whatever,” Tom continued. “It’s definitely going to be y/n.”

-

“Would you mind stepping out of line, ma’am?” 

You sighed, not even bothering to look back at the boys. You already knew they were grinning like idiots and you didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. The agent ushered you to the side behind a glass partition, but not before you heard another agent repeat the same question to one of the Hollands. You smiled to yourself, happy not to be the only one singled out.

Behind the privacy screen another agent greeted you and asked you to take your sweatshirt off, explaining that it was too baggy and needed to be checked. You saw other people in baggy clothes who weren’t getting pulled out of line, but assumed they didn’t have the red flag of “U.S. Citizen” printed on their identification that would be cause for any additional suspicion. You complied with the agent’s request and pulled your sweatshirt off for them to further inspect.

You were glad you’d worn a sports bra underneath your sweatshirt because you usually didn’t wear anything underneath them. As soon as your head was out of the pullover you immediately met by Tom’s polite smile. 

He averted his eyes as soon as he saw you, pausing his conversation with the official to mumble a quiet ‘sorry’ to you as he was shown to the spot next to yours. 

You zoned out as they spoke, only aware of him again when he started unbuckling his belt. You caught his eye this time. 

“Forgot to take it off,” he explained.

“Sweatshirt’s too loose.”

You both faced forward as the customs officials proceeded through the motions. You were stuck standing there half-naked with your arms wrapped around your chest self-consciously while an agent pat Tom’s legs down. 

“Dad said we can meet them at baggage claim,” Tom said after a few moments of silence between the two of you. “They went on without us.”

“Okay,” you squeaked back in response. 

You knew it wouldn’t take long, but it still made you nervous to be alone with Tom. Sam was like a safety blanket, or a buffer between you and him and without him you were afraid it would be painfully awkward. 

The woman handed you your sweatshirt back and you had to wait for Tom outside of the screening area. He joined you a minute or so later.

“They find any dirt on you?” you asked from where you were leaning against the wall across from the exit. 

“Nope, you?”

“Yeah, actually I’m in custody right now. Can’t believe you missed the handcuffs.”

“Man, what’d they get you for?” 

“Identity theft,” you sighed. 

“Damn, that’s a bummer,” Tom replied, false sympathy rolling off his words. 

He cocked his head in the direction the rest of his family had went, indicating that you should get going, and held out a hand to pull you upright. You took it hesitantly and let him help you. 

“I was actually hoping you could bail me out?” you went on, continuing with the bit. 

Tom made a sound through his teeth and grimaced. “I’m kinda broke right now.”

“Aren’t you an actor?”

“Sorry, but I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“No, you’re definitely the guy!”

“You’re thinking of Tom Hiddleston,” he insisted.

“Remember that IOU you gave me? I’m cashing it in now.”

“That’s not how it works!” 

You laughed. “No, but if I ever actually get arrested I’m using my IOU to get you to bail me out of jail.”

“I don’t think that a kiss and getting bailed out of prison are comparable, but I didn’t put any conditions on that postcard, did I?”

“Nope!” You smiled happily.

“Well that’s on me, so...”

You took the shuttle together to the other side of the airport where the rest of the Hollands were waiting and finally found them with all of your luggage at the furthest carousel from the entrance. 

“It’s about time!” Harry yelled over the crowd as soon as he saw you. 

Sam grinned when he saw you and you couldn’t help but grin back. He wrapped an arm around you instinctively and you relaxed into his shoulder, relieved to be with him again. It hadn’t dawned on you until that moment just how attached you were, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it because the other Hollands were all looking at you expectantly.

“Did everything go okay?” Nikki asked. 

Tom nodded. “They made y/n strip, but it was uneventful otherwise.”

You pursed your lips, cheeks burning. “It was just my sweatshirt!” you hissed to Sam. 

“Yeah, but you never wear anything under your sweatshirts!” Sam hissed back.

“I had a bra on this time.”

“Oh, so it was just another night at the bar for you?” You wrestled yourself out of Sam’s grasp at that and glared. “Am I wrong?”

Sam’s dad cut in before you could respond. He had a habit of calling “family meetings” in the middle of public spaces to finalize plans and get everybody on the same page, which was always an experience. 

“Alright, gather up, gang!” he said, beckoning you all closer. “So we’ll be staying at... this hotel,” he explained and turned his phone around to show you the name of it. “And the thing is, we have two rooms to share between the six of us. One for your mother and I, and another for you four.”

“What?” Sam asked. “You’re going to make us stay with them?”

“I thought we were getting three rooms like every other time,” Tom chimed in.

“We were meant to, but I made a mistake when booking it,” Dom clarified.

“How?”

“The entire website was in Japanese, Sam. I don’t know Japanese!”

“Dad, Google has a translate webpage option!” Harry groaned.

“Well no one told me that while I was booking this entire trip by myself!”

You traded a look with Tom, who looked just as panicked as you felt. But it would only be for a week. You would find a way to manage. You didn’t really have any other option.

“I’m sure it’ll be fun,” Sam tried, forcing a smile.

“That’s the spirit!” Dom cheered. “We’ll make it work.”

sorry she’s short this week :( but lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

forever tags: @mischiefmanaged49 @bookingbee @cloverrover @captainbuckyy @perhaps-he-schnapped-blog @awkwardfangirl2014 @the-queen-procrastinator @tastingthestarz @sleepybesson @everythingbooknerd @sunshine96love @bitchymathematician @livingincompletesilence @melsbooktrash @swim-deep-or-die @fizzy828 @spider-slutt @theamuz @nedthegay @astroasethic @stuckonspidey @darlingtholland @sgtbookybarnes @tinyplanet-explorers @mildcockandballtorture @uglypastels @gennyld @devin-marie @r-wooooosh @hell-yeah-peter-parker @itssnowingandimstuckinside @relise-thefury @osteporosis @legendsofwholock @peterunderoos @fuckyeahhomerun @nobelwarriorheroes @delicately-important-trash @thwip-it-real-good @claryfray101 @softholand @tomhollandseverything @cool-ultra-nerd @jillanaholland @dinasaur36 @farfromhaz @hanlons-wp @moon-390 @parkerstylesperalta @httpchrisevans @screeching-student-unknown @almondholland @noisyzineeggsbandit @5sos-microwave @quackson-love @smilealways19 @quackeroos @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @wolvesofwinter @mukesnugget @mytonycinematicuniverse @itsjusttor @percysmcu @peterquillzsblog @lovewolfspirit @biebsmylife95 @a-disappointing-teen-author @justanotherusername80 @b-buckys @sunkisseddreamerr @hufflepuffprincess24 @princessxcryxbaby @tinyyoungblood @holyfrickfracks @amii-nyc @clara-licht @veryholland @captainamirica @ultrunning @cocoamoonmalfoy @nellbellzz-blog @bookfrog242 @honeymoonlover @nellabellaa @its-the-solar-system @spiitfiires @tomhollandfangirl1 @parkeromanoff @randomstufflol29 @pogueslandia @hollandswife @bunnyweasley23 @determined-overthinker @madz-holland @hi-yekaterina @rinaaa334 @elishi03 @abcxrandomx @hiraethenthusiast @marajillana

send me an ask to be added/ removed from a taglist

[rrickgrrimes8]

hi! i was thinking if you could write an imagine of reader being rick and lori's daughter and sister to carl, rj and judith. i don't have a specific idea in mind, but just her before and after the time jump, struggling with being there when lori and carl died, and looking for rick with daryl, her relationship with her siblings and michonne, maybe maggie and hershel too (i was thinking since carl was 10 when it all started, she was 7 so now she's 17) thank you so much, and btw i loved your imagines i've read so far 💞

Being a Grimes ~ Rick Grimes x Grimes!reader

thank you so much for requesting i really enjoyed making this one. i also have a series kinda like this about Jacey Grimes which i’m currently making a book two for.

warnings: alluding to sexual assault or rape, suicide, death, gore (lemme know if i’ve missed anything off here)

sorry if there is any mistakes please tell if there is and give me feedback i’d love to here back from yall

masterlist

request guidelines

request are open

It was strange for y/n. This world would be strange for anyone really. But she was different. At only a mere 7 years old when the world went to shit she struggled as did many others. With the recent loss of her father - one she didn't entirely understand - still protruding through her heart, it was hard - so hard. 

When it happened she was at daycare. The teaching assistant tried and successfully ate the teacher in front of her. She was next and was so close to being eaten until Shane rushed in. He kicked Ms Twune and grabbed y/n. Her mom sobbed at the sight of her, covered in blood and the tears smothering her daughters face. Carl was shocked too. He wanted nothing more than to protect his little sister. His dad always used to tell him that that was his duty - his job. And he hated how he had failed in this moment. 

They made it to the quarry soon after. Y/n thought the group was nice - well mostly. The Dixon brothers scared her was what she told her brother or any of the children she had befriended. But she was lying. Yes, she was scared but only of Merle. He was creepy and mean to anyone he saw. Daryl was somewhat the same but he always found himself being nicer to the young child. And often kept her company when Lori and Shane went for a ‘walk’ in the woods. Glenn was another she found herself drawn to. He unlike Daryl happily invited her company. Glenn was sweet and funny. He never failed at making her laugh till she felt like she was going to pee. They were good friends which came to a fault when he had to go on runs. She’d scream and cry and refuse to let go of him because she was afraid that what happened to her father would happen to him. 

That’s what happened earlier that morning. Glenn and a few others were going into Atlanta, despite her dismay. Glenn assured her he’d be fine, which she didn't believe and continued her tantrum. 

“Can yer’ shut that damn baby up?” Merle spat covering his ears. 

Shane shot him a threatening glare while Glenn stayed preoccupied with the distraught girl. “Hey, it's okay. I’m coming back,” He insisted holding her tightly at his hip, “I promise you, sweet girl.” 

“No, b-b-but dada promise too a-a-and h-he,” She stopped herself, sobs erupting from her small body. 

“I know sweet girl, I know. But I’ll be back I know I will.” Glenn placed her on the back of the RV, “I tell you what I’ll bring you back some of your favourite sweeties, huh? Would you like that?” 

Giddily she nodded at his proposition, “Yes! Yes!” 

“Alright, then I’ll bring back some for you, okay?” She nodded smiling cheerfully, “I love you, kid.” 

“I luv you too, dumbass,” y/n giggled. 

Glenn looked around cautiously hoping no one heard that “Hey sweet girl you can't say that.” 

“W-what? Why?” the child began to cry again, “Y-y-you say it.” 

“I know b-but its adult words okay? Not y/n words. When you're older, alright?” She nodded her head again kissing his cheeks softly and hugging him. “Thank you, sweet girl. I’ll see you soon,” He kissed the top of her head and started towards the car smiling as she shouted, “With sweeties!”

The group returned hours later bearing a new man instead of Merle. Y/n waited patiently for Glenn and the aforementioned sweets. "Gen!" She screamed happily still unable to say his name fully. The man sprinted over to her, pulling her into a much-needed cuddle after the day he had. 

"It's Glenn, sweetheart," He chuckled while correcting. 

"Oh sorry Gen," She wrapped her dainty arms around his neck. 

"That's okay, sweet girl. I missed you." 

"I missed you too," She whispered before letting out a longwinded 'ew', "You stinky, Gen." 

The man smelt his shirt and nodded as the potent smell of walkers reached his nose. "I know yucky right?" 

"Yucky!" Y/n buried her face in Glenn's shirt ignoring the stench and just enjoying his company. She always became clingy like this after coming home from a run. He loved it. On runs, if he ever encountered a life-threatening situation - like the one today - he always finds himself realising how much she means to him. Glenn saw her as a little sister - one almost replacing the ones that were cruely ripped from him when this began. 

"How was it?" She inquired. 

"Not fun, sweet girl. But I got your sweeties and a nice man helped us out. Saved us," She beamed. 

"I like the good man. I'll give him two kisses when I see him. Maybe even one of my sweeties," Glenn chuckled. 

"Why two kisses, y/n?" 

"One for saving you. Two for bringing you hom," Glenn grinned contently and kissed her forehead. 

"Its home bubs with an e on the end." 

"Oh," She mumbled burying herself again. 

"Oh my God," Someone muttered as they exited the van. 

"Dad! Dad!" Carl screamed causing Glenn to snap his head in their direction. Carl came running towards the man, Rick, who had saved them in Atlanta. Y/n hadn't moved yet as she feared it was only a dream. That her dada wasn't really here. 

"Sweet girl," He pulled her out of his neck, "Look it's your dad." The child gazed over to where her brother had run to. Sure enough, it was her dad. He held Carl as he cried, looking to Y/n wanting to hold her too. 

"Dada!" She screamed jumping out of Glenn's arms dangerously. The girl scraped her knee on the way down but continued throwing herself into the hug. 

"Oh, Carl! Y/n!" She kissed all over his face childishly, "I luv you, dada." 

"I love you too, baby girl."

~

The years hadn't been kind to Y/n. She lost so much. Too much in fact that it had driven her to the depts of insanity and made her do things to herself, to others that she more than resented. The first loss was her mothers. She wasn't there like Carl was but the grief burned through her still. Y/n was too young to understand it really. Just how she was when Rick supposedly died. Y/n couldn't understand where her mom had gone she just knew she had a little sister now. One she swore to protect. 

She thought she had failed that when the prison fell. The young child was on her own. Injured and lost. She wandered through the woods for days until she stumbled across a group. The group were mean and despite her resistance wouldn't let her go. They hurt her in ways she didn't and wouldn't speak of it even now. But that all changed when Daryl showed up. He protected her - stopped them from hurting her. And eventually led her back to her family. Where for the first time she began to fear her father. 

Terminus was next. The people there snatched her from her family. She was forced to watch from afar as they were guided into the crate. Rick fought against them, Carl too but it was to no use. They had sectioned her off in a playroom. Every once in a while an older woman came in to fed and played with her. She hated it. Being in this world for more than a year now she knew that people like them didn't just want to play even if she did. She learnt that from the Claimers. 

Carol found her. Although having never have been all that close to the older woman - the only relation being the closeness between y/n and Sophia - seeing her after so long made her cry out of joy. Carol was happy too as she rushed out of that place to take her to safety. The pair ended up in the woods. Carol had stopped a moment ago to clean the dirt from her face, "lemme help." 

The girl sat up from where she was put down and cupped some water splashing it on Carol's face. Carol flinched as the water hit her, "Uh thank you." 

"Welcome," She looked away getting distracted by the nearing sound of footsteps. 

"Get behind me, y/n," Carol ordered to which she shook her head. 

"No it dada," She ran away from the woman and towards the group. 

"Y/n come back here!" Y/n continued ignoring Carols pleas and crashed herself into the back of Rick's legs. 

The father shot around and began to cry as he saw the child he thought he lost at his feet. "Oh, baby!" He collected the girl in his arms. Carl rushed to them too happy to see her alive after Gareth claimed he killed her. "Oh y/n, never leave me again, okay?" He looked directly into her matching blue eyes, "Promise me." 

"I promise, dada." 

Later Carol led them to Judith. Y/n was over the moon and refused to let her out of her sight, which was exactly what Rick was doing too. They found the church a while after. There they had some semblance of peace. She was glad to have Glenn back - Maggie too. Along with the new people although Eugene was a bit weird. 

At the church was also when the questions started. Daryl had told Rick about the group they were with and regretfully had to inform the father how she was there before him. Rick asked y/n - begged her - to tell her what happened. But she refused. She couldn't say what happened. What they did, which just made Rick fear more. Eventually, she spoke a little about it. She was vague and could barely string two words together without crying. He hated it. He hated how this was a reality for his daughter. He saw the bruises they left. And he couldn't understand how someone could touch his child. Or how he could be so powerless to stop it. 

Bob died. She didn't really know the man but it still upset her. Beth too. Although she was a lot closer to her. Beth was one of her only friends and was someone who would look after her when her father couldn't. They bonded and now she was gone. 

After Beth's demise, they spent lots of time on the road. They suffered, almost died countless times but they prevailed. They got stronger - she got stronger. And they eventually found Alexandria. There everything was good again like how it was at the prison or even before this hell. She liked it there and didn't understand why the others were so sceptical. 

Though that didn't last for long. Y/n began to hate the place when Carl got shot. Alexandria almost stole her brother from her. So she despised it. She refused to leave her brother's side as he adjusted to his injury. Yes, he found it annoying how she wouldn't leave him be and he often snapped at her. But she was there when he needed her. Despite the age difference and the many years of memories they had lost to this fight, she understood his pain. When he saw himself as ugly, a monster even, she made him think otherwise. She kept him afloat, which he was eternally thankful for. 

Glenn was next. 

She didn't believe it even after she was forced to see it with her own two eyes. She was next to Glenn in the lineup. She had to watch up close. Y/n had to be mocked by that man. She had to stay the whole night with her best friends brains on her face. After that night she blamed herself. She told herself that if Negan was just one person off she would be dead and he would live. He would get to see his child born and grow old with Maggie like they had spoken about. She wholeheartedly believed he deserved to live over her. 

The war with Negan shook her to the core. At the time his face filled her nightmares. He just looked so normal. He looked nice even. Yet he hurt and he hurt and he hurt. 

He killed her Glenn. And then Carl. It wasn't Negans fault although she did blame him. Carl had gotten bit. Y/n held his hand as he died in that tunnel as the home they had built above them fell. She got a letter too - even though she would rather have preferred to have her brother back. In the letter, Carl told her how proud he was of her - how thankful he was to have her as a sister. He told her to protect Judith, their dad and Michonne, who she had recently begun to call momma. 

After Carl's death, y/n shut herself from the world well everyone except her father. For days she would cry until she couldn't anymore. She would scream and scream until her voice was gone. She just didn't understand why it had to be Carl? Why mom? Why Glenn? Why Beth? Why was it never her? The following weeks she found herself wishing it would be her next. She could never bring herself to say it out loud but with any battle, any fight, anything, she wished it would be her. 

So when she lost her father her whole world fell apart. He was her consistent so why did he leave her? She was at the bridge that day. Daryl held her crying frame as Rick set off that final shot blowing him and the walkers off the bridge. Y/n Grimes' father was dead. 

She stayed in Alexandria for a while afterwards. For the sole reason to protect her siblings. Yes, siblings - plural. Somehow through all the bad some good came from it. She just wished her father and Carl could've seen it. RJ Grimes came into this world 9 months later. And he was perfect. For months she would assist in taking care of him as Michonne wasn't doing the greatest without the love of her life. Truth be told neither was y/n she was just better at hiding it. 

Until one night it all became too much. Y/n didn't know how it happened but she found herself balancing on the edge of her window. She wanted to jump - to end it. But she just couldn't will herself to do it. And when Daryl showed up she knew she couldn't. "Hey step away from ta window, alrigh'," The man ordered as he saw her shaking frame rocking back and forth. 

"I-i can't," She sobbed. 

"Ye' ya can. Jus' step back I'll catch ya," Daryl moved closer but paused when she shouted to stop. 

"I can't, Daryl. They're all gone. They're all dead," The tears clouded her eyes. She shut them tightly picturing her families faces wanting so badly to join them. 

"Please jus' step back, y/n. Yer' not alone. I'm here," He croaked the tears floating down his cheeks, "Don't jump." 

"I love you, Daryl." 

"I love ya too, okay? So step away from the window," He watched as she turned her head slightly catching his eyes. 

"I love you but I can't. Tell mom, RJ and Judy I love them as well." 

Suddenly she went to fall forward but Daryl reacted quicker. He gripped her waist pulling her into the room unwilling to release his grasp. "Yer' not leaving me," He told her as she cried into his shoulder, "Yer' cant leave me." Overhearing the chaos, Michonne entered her daughter's room to see the window wide open and the two of them crying. Daryl looked at her. The look telling her all she needed to know. Michonne began to cry herself and joined them on the ground. 

"Y/n?" A small voice called from the door frame. 

"Judith go back to bed, okay?" Michonne told her but Judith continued towards her sister. The girl said nothing as she wiped her sister's tears and held her hand.

It was 5 years later now. After her attempt, she left Alexandria with Daryl in search of her father. She didn't believe he was alive despite everything inside her wanting to. But Daryl did and after what happened they became a lot closer. He was happy she joined him. Even though the act of being out there was gruelling at times he was glad he could look after her. And if something would've happened to her while he was gone he could never have forgiven himself. Understandably Michonne was angry that y/n decided to leave. Y/n was her daughter and Michone her mother. They needed each other but she was willing to let Y/n leave to figure that out. It brought her peace looking for her father. 

The silence was her favourite and as Daryl wasn't much of a talker she got lots of it. They got a dog too, which Daryl cleverly named Dog. Everything was a messed up version of okay but it was still good. Being out there made her find her purpose. She went home a lot more than Daryl did, which pleased her siblings and mother. It was always for a few days never longer as she feared she'd stay forever and she couldn't. As much as Alexandria is good it also drives y/n to a dark place. One she was in that night. She lost so much there. And staring at those four walls drove her insane. It didn't help how Negan was imprisoned there. Just thinking how close he was made her skin crawl. She knew how Rick visited him when he was alive that he believed Carl was right about the killing. That it had to stop. Y/n knew he was right too but she could never bring herself to one admit or two face Negan. 

It felt like a story she read as a child when the Whisperers showed up. Like Negan, they scared her. So when she was told about his escape she only assumed the worst. The Whisperers took so many from them. Like Enid for example. Her story was cut short because of them. The two never really spoke but she understood how she and Carl felt for each other at a time. So ultimately it felt like she lost her final piece of Carl when she died. Y/n wished she had spoken to her when she could've. She wished she could've heard the untold stories they shared. She needed to know about Carl's final years with her. But now she's gone too along with those memories. 

The war with the Whisperers took everything from them. The Kingdom. Hilltop. Alexandria. Along with the lives they lost in the process. With the group separated she found herself protecting Judy and RJ. Michonne had gone. Where she had gone to, y/n had no idea. For a messed up reason, she began to prepare herself for her mother's death before it was even announced. That was until she got the call. She was okay and... apparently so was Rick. 

Disbelief was what hit her first. She couldn't hear his voice nor see his face so how could she know it was true. Michonne didn't know either she couldn't if he was really there, still alive. That night of the call she left. Without hesitation, she kissed RJ and Judith's heads, told them she loved them and told them to tell everyone else that and left. She left in the direction Michonne had told her. 

She left to find her father. And she knew she wouldn't return until she did. "I'm coming, dad."

[cjsinkythoughts]

Ocean Eyes, Cherry Lips, Ivory Keys

Pairing: 40s!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2747

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of alcohol, I think that’s all

A/N: This is a headcanon I’ve had for a while that I’ve been wanting to write about 40s!Bucky, pre-War. I kinda want to write a series about it, so that might happen. For now, enjoy this little tidbit I’ve written, with the prompt of Occasion for HBC’s Lucky in Love Day 18! (This isn’t beta’d so please excuse mistakes.)

He’s something of a celebrity. A living legend. A God amongst humans. Starting as a kid in Brooklyn, his fanbase rapidly grew, expanding to Queens, Manhattan, even parts of New Jersey, just in the past few years.

You don’t get it. So what if he’s got cool blue eyes, soft chocolate hair, and a charming smile? Who cares if he’s got smooth moves and even smoother words? He’s just a man - a human being - with flaws just like everyone else. A talented and gorgeous man, who has all of New York wanting to fall to her knees to please him, but still just a man.

James Buchanan Barnes.

Most everyone knew his name, but there was a lot of mystery surrounding the actual character. 

You just don’t see what all the fuss is about. You’ve never personally met him, or even seen him, but you know people who have. Your friend’s cousin even claims to have danced with him once. Not that that would be hard. You hear he’s never danced with the same bird twice, and, considering most start dancing in their teenage years, that’s a lot of dames.

It’s not that you’re not curious about him - if he’s actually as dashing as they say - but you’re not about to stop your life for him like some of your friends. They’re obsessed with getting his attention. With seeing if they’d be the one. The one to finally chain him down and tame him. The one he’d go steady with.

It feels like that’s all you ever talk about anymore. It was amusing at first, but now it’s just getting annoying. It’s been three years since that day in March of 1938, when your roommate ran into your room, plopping down onto your bed, before ranting and raving about the new ocean eyed piano player at her favorite bar. And since then, he’s been in your life without actually being in your life.

Speaking of, here you are. Listening to Lucy, MaryAnne, and Jean gushing over the man, trying to enjoy your milkshake.

“I heard from Sally that Thomas said that he knew the brother of one of his friend’s in high school!”

“That can’t be true! I heard from Billy, who heard from Martha, who was told by Ben, that he only had, like, one friend in high school.”

“You’re kidding, right? There’s no way a man like that had only one friend.”

“I hear he does boxing and that’s why he’s got a body sculpted like a Greek God.”

“Oh my God! MaryAnne!”

You rub your temples, resisting the urge to roll your eyes as the three burst into fits of giggles. If you have to hear one more word about-

“I heard he’s going to be playing at Georgie’s on Friday!”

Gasps echoed around the table. “No way! Georgie’s?”

You raise an eyebrow, this actually intriguing you. Georgie’s is a popular little hole in the wall, on the edge of being a speakeasy, which doubles as a pub and a dance hall in Brooklyn. It’s one of the best hang outs for kids like you and your girls, but it isn’t very high class. Maybe that’s why it’s one of the best. “Isn’t Georgie’s a little…cheap for him? He’s been playing at the best bars and restaurants for a while now.”

“It’s a classic in Brooklyn. Near his home, probably.”

“Do you think he lives near there?!”

“Ooo! Maybe we could find out!’

You scoff. “That,” gesturing to Lucy with your glass, you take a sip of your milkshake. “Is called stalking, my friend.”

Jean waves towards you dismissively. “I think he lives near Tin Pan Alley. That’s where he plays the most, after all. Georgie’s was probably just an old hang out for him and his pals.”

“Wait, wait,” you shake your head, a thought popping into your head. You turn to Lucy, confused. “How’d you find out he’s playing at Georgie’s anyways? Isn’t part of his whole act not telling anyone where he’s playing?”

Giving you a smirk and a wink, Lucy shrugs. “I’ve got my connections.”

You roll your eyes again, turning your attention back to your milkshake. “So?!” MaryAnne squealed. “We’re going on Friday, right?”

“Hell yes!”

“Absolutely!”

“Not.” You mumble, causing the other three to stare at you incredulously.

“Not?!”

“I’m not wasting my Friday night going to see some fella you all have a crush on. Especially when he might not even be there.”

Your friends groan, exchanging glances. “And what’re you gonna do?” Jean crossed her arms with a pointed look on her face. “Sit down and read a book like you always do?”

You huff. “I like reading, sue me. I don’t get a lot of time to myself. You know that new girl’s been gumming up the works and I’ve had to stay late to fix her mistakes all week.”

“This is exactly what you need, then! Come out, have a drink, jive a little-”

You look up at that, an amused kind of smirk on your lips. “Jive? Me and my clumsy ass?”

You all laugh. “Okay, so maybe not dance, but c’mon! It’ll be snazzy, you’ll see!”

“Fine, fine.” Standing up with a sigh, you collect your things, smoothing down your dress with your hands. “I’ve gotta scram.”

“We’ll see you on Friday, right?”

You give a small smile, shooting them a wink. “I guess I can make it.”

***************

Friday comes a lot faster than you anticipate. You dress up; a navy blue dress going to your knees with white, heart shaped buttons and a bow around the waist. The shoes you’re wearing are your nice black and white Mary Janes. Lips painted deep red, and hair pinned back in loose curls, you glance over yourself in a mirror. You’ll admit; you look damn good. You don’t wanna go, but you might as well try to have some fun since you are.

It’s a cool evening, early May meaning the summer humidity hasn’t hit just yet. You didn’t even think about bringing a coat, but you start to regret the decision as you start walking. MaryAnne, who you actually room with, already left, being way too excited to stay put.

It doesn’t take you long - you live on the border of Queens and Brooklyn - but your feet are more sore than you’d like when you arrive.

“I knew you’d come!” Lucy grins, coming up besides you and linking her arm in yours. MaryAnne comes up on your other side and does the same to your free arm.

“Where’s Jean?”

“Where do you think? She already found a Joe to swing with.”

You laugh. “Of course she has! So is your dreamboat here?”

The grins that are immediately on their faces answer your question and they quickly drag you inside.

It’s hot and crowded and dim. Skirts with their beaus, guys with their broads, swinging and dancing to the lively music of the band on stage. Smoke from cigarettes, pipes, and cigars is evident in the air as they neared the bar portion of the building, mixing with the boisterous sound of laughter and chatter.

“Everyone’s talking about it! He’s here, but he hasn’t played yet. We’ve been trying to catch a glimpse of him, but we think he’s in a back room.” The dramatic sigh MaryAnne gives makes you laugh a little.

“Okay, khaki whackies. Let’s get a drink.”

You, just as you thought would happen tonight, are left alone at the bar by your friends who quickly found partners to dance with. A few men asked you, but you have never been a good dancer.

You’re lost in thought, running a finger gently around the rim of your cup, when a voice sounded besides you, pulling you out of your thoughts, a slight rasp to the otherwise mellifluous voice.

“You gonna drink that, doll, or just stare at it all night?”

You raise an eyebrow at the jest, turning your head, only to have your breath hitch. What a specimen. Ocean blue eyes, fluffy brown curls, cherry pink lips. A white dress shirt is pulled over his broad chest, gray dress pants hugging thick thighs, matching suit jacket across wide shoulders. He has a blue, black, and white plaid tie around his neck and you can see the edges of his blue suspenders under his blazer. He’s put together, but it’s nothing special, a normal Sunday best suit, that much you can tell.

“Uh, not all night.” You look back to the drink, before looking at the clock with a hum, tilting your head playfully. “Maybe another hour.”

He chuckles, gesturing for the bartender. “Tell me this, sweetheart. What is a beautiful dame like yourself doin’ drinking alone?”

“I’m not very good on my feet, I’m afraid.” You laugh nervously, taking a sip of your drink.

“Don’t come here often, then?”

“Only for special occasions.”

“What’s the special occasion this evenin’, sugar?”

You shrug. “My friends dragged me here. They’re practically in love with this guy who’s supposedly playing the piano tonight. James Barnes. Have you ever heard of him?”

He chuckles, a grin pulling his lips upwards. “Yeah. Yeah I’ve heard of ‘im. Not a big fan yourself?”

“I’m sure he’s fine. I just don’t understand the fascination with him. Let the man be.”

“I agree.” He hums with a nod, grabbing the glass of whiskey the bartender set in front of him. “I actually know him.”

“Really?” You look at him in interest.

He tilts his head with a smile towards you that makes you melt. “Yeah. He feels the same. He just likes playin’. That’s all. He didn’t want all the attention. He gets enough without that.”

You raise an eyebrow, finishing off your drink. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m Bucky by the way.”

You eye his hand, grabbing it after a second, letting him bring your knuckles to his lips. “Y/N.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, mama.” He shifts his body more towards you, running a hand through his hair. “You said you ain’t fond of dancin’?”

Shaking your head, you quickly defend yourself, “no, no. I like dancing. I’m just not very good. Got two left feet.”

He smirks, tongue poking out to run over those plump lips of his. “Well, with the right partner, it doesn’t really matter.”

“Are you asking me to dance, Bucky?”

“Not if you’re gonna say no.” He responds with a toothy grin, leaning his elbows on his knees.

You sigh and shake your head. ��I’m afraid tonight’s not your night, pal. I just can’t seem to get myself in the mood.”

He hums, leaning back. “Is it the music? Too fast for you?”

“I wouldn’t mind if they slowed it down some, I suppose.”

He smiles cheekily. “I can help with that. Hold on.”

You grin at him, nodding. “I’ll be here.”

Watching him stand and make his way over to the stage, you quirk an eyebrow. He seems to know the band well, if the handshakes and the claps on the back have anything to say about it. He says something to the lead, who nods with a grin, shooting him a wink. Bucky laughs, but you can see a tint of pink dusting his cheeks, making you wonder what they were saying.

He makes his way back over as the band shifts tones, the animated swing changing to a slow jazzy number. Bucky beams at you, holding out his hand as he approaches. “Care to dance?”

You purse your lips, narrowing your eyes, but taking his hand anyways. “How’d you do that? Do you work here?’

“Uh…somethin’ like that.” He states vaguely, leading you to the dance floor with the other swaying couples. Pulling you as close as appropriate, his hands resting politely on your waist, he starts moving you side to side. 

“That’s not ominous.” You place your hands on his shoulders, following his lead as you stare at your feet.

He chuckles, hooking a finger under your chin to lift your gaze. “I’ve gotcha, doll. I won’t let you fall.”

“I’m going to step on your feet.” You explain.

“Nah. You’re doin’ great. You just need to get outta your head. Relax a little. Tell me something about yourself.”

You hum. “Like what?”

“Anything.”

“Uh, okay…I have a roommate who is one of the girls who begged me to come, I’m a secretary - I know, boring - and…I dunno. I like reading.”

His eyes lighten at this. “Reading? Whaddya like to read?”

“Different things. Depends on my mood. I’m re-reading The Hobbit for, like, the twentieth time right now.”

“I love The Hobbit.” Bucky grins, making you smile back. “I read it almost as soon as it came out.”

“Me too! I was planning on reading it tonight but,” you gesture around. “Here I am.”

Bucky lips pull up softly, his hold on your waist tightening ever so slightly as he pulls you closer. “Well, as much as I love that book, I’m glad you came out tonight.”

Giving him a little tease, you tap your chin thoughtfully. “Eh…I think I’d rather be at home.”

He pinches your side gently, making you squeal and squirm. “That hurt, sugar. That physically hurt me. C’mon, mama, your gonna say you aren’t havin’ a good time?”

“I just met you ten minutes ago.”

“Well, sweetheart, if you think we’re movin’ too fast, I won’t introduce you to my folks just yet.”

You laugh, blinking up at him. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Buck.”

The two of you rock for a little while longer, before the band stops, announcing they’re taking a break and a special guest is going to play a little something.

“Maybe James Barnes is here.” You say, a bit of intrigue lacing your tone, trying to see through the crowds of people who started gathering around the stage to catch a glimpse of the charming pianist. “I see why he would be over the attention.”

“Yeah.” Bucky sighs, almost sadly, giving you an apologetic look. “Listen, I’ve gotta go work for a bit, but I’ll be right back.”

You smirk. “So you do work here?”

“Um…kinda. You’ll see.”

You raise an eyebrow at his words, but he’s kissing your knuckles and walking away. You frown, but can’t think more on it when three young women are on you, babbling about their dates.

“Who were you dancing with, Y/N? He was cute!”

You roll your eyes, feeling yourself heat up, and not because of the many bodies in the vicinity. “Just…some guy.”

“C’mon, c’mon! We’ve gotta get a good spot to actually see him!”

You huff, letting the drag you through the crowd, shoving their way towards the front just as a familiar deep voice spoke. 

“Thanks for comin’ out, everyone. I hope your havin’ a good night. Let’s get this hop started, yeah?”

Your eyes widen when you finally catch sight of the man sitting at the piano with a polite smile on his features. He catches your eye and shoots you a wink, before his fingers start flying over the keys. The beam that he gets while tickling the gleaming ivories, his azure eyes lighting up, and you can’t fight the smile you get. He looks so relaxed, so invigorated, that it makes you happy just watching him.

“Oh my God! Weren’t you dancing with him?!” Lucy shook your shoulder obnoxiously, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, mesmerized with the way he played like it’s the only thing he wanted to do with his life. Which, as you remember his words, ‘he just likes playin’. That’s all.’ you figure it is the only thing he wanted to do with his life.

You just danced with James Barnes…and he’s just as perfect as everyone says.

You’re still trying to wrap your head around it, your friends jumping around you, trying to get every little detail of him from you, when your heart skips a beat and your brain malfunctions. Bucky had started up another song, slower and more intimate, and he’s looking right at you. 

You find yourself doing something you never thought you would; you’re swooning over James Barnes, smiling like an idiot, heat blooming up your neck and flaming your face. And yes, he’s just a man - a human being - with flaws just like everyone else. But he’s a talented and gorgeous man, who has all of New York wanting to fall to her knees to please him.

And now that includes you.

[spacedikut]

(nearly) lost love ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: “hi idk if you’re taking requests but if you are i’d love to read something where the reader ends up getting hurt somehow (maybe by an unsub) and is in the hospital and spencer is super worried about her and maybe confesses his feelings for her bc he thought he was gonna lose her?? idk just something super fluffy with a little angst if you’re up for it” 2890 words

a/n: im gon na be honest idk how to write angst so i just went where the story took me????

masterlist

Spencer was proudly stood in front of his geological profile in the Austin precinct when the frantic call was made over the comms.

“Agent down! I repeat, Agent down! We need a medic!”

It was Morgan’s booming voice, firm and commanding, and Spencer first felt relief knowing at least Morgan was safe. But fear follows, prickling through his entire body when, oh no, someone on his team has been injured.

Morgan kept his comm connected. Spencer could hear all the chaos on the other end – he picked up that JJ was counting bodies, there was at least four medics requested, and, the most gut-wrenching for Spencer, was listening to Morgan repeat variations of, “Stay with me Y/N. Don’t close your eyes – listen to me, baby, stay with me, Y/N!”

You. You were the agent down.

You, who, less than two hours ago, laughed at your own joke so hard you couldn’t get it out. You, who made plans with him to go shopping for Halloween decorations that weekend (which Spencer was way too excited about, by the way). You.

You, who Spencer recently realised he’s in love with.

Why does he feel like this is his fault? He knows, logically, it isn’t – the obvious reason is because Spencer wasn’t there (which, a little voice in the back of his head says well maybe if you were there this wouldn’t have happened…) and it’s likely that this is entirely the ubsub’s fault. He attacked and you were the unlucky target.

But the history of Spencer’s love life shows there is a definite risk to being associated with him.

Is this the world’s way of telling him he shouldn’t love you? He shouldn’t tell you he loves you?

Was the big speech Derek gave him, the month they spent building Spencer’s confidence up, all for nothing? Because Spencer’s cursed?

This isn’t about you, Spencer, he thinks, angry at himself. God, you’re hurt, injuries still unknown, and he’s floundering because he’s convinced himself he’s cursed.

“Reid? You there?”

It’s Morgan, still talking through the comm, and it knocks Spencer out of his head. “Y-yeah, I’m here. Y/N? Is it Y/N? Is she okay?”

Morgan’s voice is calm and collected, as always, “Hey, kid, chill. She’s with a medic on the way to the hospital. You wanna-“

“I’ll meet you there.”

Spencer dashes out of the room.

+++

When he arrives, Hotch and JJ are waiting for him at the entrance. JJ expected Spencer to be worried, a little agitated, but she didn’t expect him to look so dishevelled and distressed. His hair, usually so well-kempt, sticks up in all directions. He abandoned his jacket and satchel at the station, obviously in a rush, and now his shoelace is untied and it’s giving JJ anxiety.

“Reid,” Hotch greets.

“How-“

“She’s fine, she’s okay,” JJ immediately says. Spencer has always said JJ knows exactly how to soothe him. “A nasty knock to the head, but she’s been taken care of and she’s resting now.”

Spencer’s whole body sighs in relief.

He sounds fragile when he asks, “Can I see her?”

JJ gives a small, bittersweet smile, then gestures for Spencer to follow her. He stays close, basically standing on her heels, the entire way to your room, where Emily is leaving.

He struts straight in, acknowledging no one, intent on seeing you and seeing you only.

You lie there, lifeless. All he can hear is the haunting sound of the heart monitor, combined with your chest minimally moving up and down being the only signs you’re alive. You’ve lost all your usual colour – Spencer recalls JJ mumbling something about you losing a lot of blood – and the whole sight makes his stomach lurch.

He walks in, and walks right back out.

Everyone shares looks of bewilderment. He did a complete 180, hardly sparing you a glance, and ran straight into the hospital’s bathroom where the team hears the distinct sound of retching.

Derek sighs and follows him. Their gazes meet: Spencer’s head barely lifting from the toilet bowl, Derek shutting and locking the bathroom door with pitying eyes.

“I’m sorry-“ Spencer starts.

“Don’t apologise. How you feeling?”

He groans in response, leaning against the wall. He begs himself to not think about all the germs and diseases that are probably infesting his body as they speak – his heart stings too much in his chest for that.

Spencer swallows the stone in his throat, grimacing at the remnants of bile, “Seeing her like that..”

“I know.”

“I never thought I’d see her like that. I’ve never wanted to see her like that and-and.. I couldn’t be there to protect her and help her-“

“None of this is your fault, Reid. It’s not your fault, or her fault, or anyone’s fault except the guy that did this. And he’s dead. And she’ll be fine. Please,” Derek warns, “Don’t guilt yourself into mayhem. I know you, and I know her, and all she wants is for you to be the first thing she sees when she wakes up. If not, or if she finds out you’re beating yourself up over this, she’ll kill you, man. With her bare hands.”

Derek’s smirking at the end of his speech because he’s right and Spencer knows it too. And Spencer can’t refrain from grinning a little at the thought of you, just gaining consciousness, and leaping from your bed to smack some sense into him.

You’re incredible. Which both pains him and makes him fall for you harder.

When Spencer rises and starts swirling his mouth out with water, Derek gives him a firm pat on the shoulder and leaves, Spencer not far behind.

This time, he won’t run out of the room like a weakling. Because it’s you and you need him to be there for you.

It’s what you’d do for him. And before that thought can go any further, he’s taking a deep breath and opening the door.

You’re still resting, looking exactly the same as when he first saw you, and his stomach jumps into his throat again – it pains him to see you like this.

But Penelope is leaning over you, fingers brushing your hair back with the trademarked tenderness that is Penelope Garcia. You’ve always called her your Fairy Godmother, your guardian angel, the true love of your life.

Maybe you’d rather see her when you first wake up.

So he stays back, lingering by the entrance of the room, until Rossi nudges him and he stumbles to the top of your bed. Right by your face, your oh-so-gorgeous but bruised face, and Spencer stares.

He can’t explain how glad he is that you’re okay. You’re here, a little beaten up, but he knows that in a couple days, maximum a week, you’ll be back in the bullpen with your quirks and nudges and warmth that is so you and he’ll never let anything come near you again.

(He knows he can’t actually do that. You wouldn’t let him. But he still thinks it, because he loves you and he’ll do anything for you)

The team silently agrees that Spencer will be the one to stay with you. At least until you wake up.

(Why? You might ask. Because you drunkenly told the girls that you’re convinced the closest thing to heaven on Earth would be waking up and Spencer Reid being the first thing you see every day. Ever since, they’ve committed themselves to trying to set you two up)

Spencer sleeps next to your bed, cramped in the uncomfortable and tiny chair, until about seven am. Then he recites some books in his head, just to pass the time. Then Penelope calls.

“I’m on my way with baked goods, Doctor. Would you like me to pick something up for you and the sleeping beauty?”

Spencer goes to decline, before looking at you, “I think Y/N would appreciate a burger. Maybe two.”

Garcia hums down the line, “You know, she’s always been full of good ideas. I’ll buy too many burgers then be on my way. Kisses!” Then hangs up.

In the meantime, Spencer scrolls through your conversation on his phone. He’d never been one for texting, or technology (notoriously), but you always send him things you think he’d like – maybe an article (he’s read every single one you’ve sent, even the one about the monkey using a frog to masturbate), a picture of a cute dog (this one looks like you, spence!!!!!!), and anything else that catches your eye.

For example, a comprehensive list of way too many “why did the chicken cross the road?” jokes.

They’re your kryptonite. Even after you explained the joke to Spencer, in depth, he still doesn’t quite understand the appeal. But you love them.

So he reads them to you.

He knows you can’t hear him. Being asleep is obviously very different to being in a coma, where people have claimed to be able to hear the people around them, but it passes the time and eases him a little. Cause he also knows that if you were awake you’d be chortling away, happy as can be. And that’s how you should always be.

Happy.

Spencer hopes he makes you happy.

Damn, he loves you.

Damn.

He has to tell you he loves you.

It feels like this need, this obligation – if he doesn’t tell you when you wake up then when will he tell you? The next time you’re injured?

The thought sends him reeling.

No matter the outcome, you need to know. He needs to tell you.

“Why did the rooster cross the road?” He reads aloud, “To cockadoodle dooo something.”

He’s cheesing at his screen, at the audacity and stupidity of these jokes. But they’re sweet, just like you, and they take everyone prisoner when it comes to making people smile.

“That was a good one.” You heh.

Your voice is croaky after not being used in hours, but it’s still the same dreamy voice Spencer loves to hear.

You’re awake. And already smiling, which is one hell of a win in Spencer’s book.

“Good morning.” He whispers.

“It’s morning?” You ask, moving your head slowly to see outside your window. “At least I got a full night’s sleep for once.”

“Should you really be joking in your condition?” Spencer teases, leaning to fluff your pillow when you wince.

You exhale deeply, “And what is my condition, exactly?”

“You look as sexy as ever, buttercup.”

Garcia’s grinning from the doorway, Derek the same from behind her, two bags of food in her hands.

You’re ecstatic when you say, “Penny!” Trying to hide the pain when she hugs you. You’re too happy to see her to turn down her love.

She dishes out the burgers and, as expected, you ask if there’s another in there for you. You chomp happily, despite the dull ache still present, chatting jovially with the three of them.

Penelope gets caught up in telling you about the most recent documentary she saw. When he notices, Derek nods towards the door, making Spencer furrow his eyebrows in confusion. What does he want?

Derek does it again and Spencer gets it. He lifts from his seat the same time Derek does, saying nothing until they’re out of the room and the door has shut behind them.

“I’m gonna make Penelope leave-“ Derek begins, and Spencer stutters.

“What? Why? Is everything okay?”

Derek chuckles at Spencer’s reaction, “Kid, everything’s fine. You just gotta tell her.”

Spencer doesn’t even try to pretend he doesn’t know what Derek’s referring to. He peeks through your door’s window, staring directly at you as you giggle at something Penelope says.

“Do I?” He ponders. “It could-“

“Nope. We’re not doing that “it could ruin everything” spiel. You’re an adult, she’s an adult, and adults don’t play around with feelings like this. Tell. Her.” Derek’s got both hands on Spencer’s shoulders, grip tightening and loosening sporadically as he talks. He looks like a football coach giving a pep talk before the big game, and Spencer feels invigorated.

“Alright.” Spencer nods once, “Let’s do this.”

“I will remove Penelope Garcia from the premises.”

They nod at eachother and move back into your room.

+++

When Penelope is pulled from your room by Derek, stumbling and muttering and stuttering, all you do is blink in confusion.

“What’s going on there?” You say, speaking out of the side of your mouth, as if you’re sharing a secret.

Spencer doesn’t answer. You turn to look at him, another question on your tongue, but the words die when you see his facial expression.

It’s so tender. So soft, and gentle, the littlest of smiles on his lips as his cheeks darken.

“If I tell you something really dramatic right now, do you think you could handle that?”

Your head tilts, brows furrowed, looking far too endearing with your bandaged head.

He clears his throat, “I just-just need to make sure it won’t overwhelm you.”

You don’t know what to expect, but you agree anyway. Is this why Derek and Penelope left?

“I vomited when I saw you in bed. In this bed. In hospital.” He begins.

“Oh, thanks, Spence,” You tease.

“No- no. Hear me out!” He gives a little laugh, hands coming up in defence. “I don’t have a script, and statistically, both men and women speak around sixteen-thousand words a day – I want these ones to be special. Because you’re special.”

You’re still visibly confused. You clasp your hands together in your lap, “I’m listening. You have my full attention.”

Having your full attention is terrifying and electrifying at the same time. Spencer wants you to know that.

“You make me feel things, you know.” He reveals, “Things I’ve only ever read about, fantasised about – you know… things.”

This is going terribly. For a man who’s read the dictionary more times than he cares to count (he does care to count – twenty two times), he is very much struggling to explain himself to you.

Deep breath. From the start.

“It’s alright, Spence,” You console, hand resting on his closed ones. “Take your time.”

He does. He takes a few more breaths. “I don’t know where to start so- so bear with me.”

“Always.”

Why do you have to make his heart race like that?

“What?”

Oh. He said that out loud.

Well. Might as well repeat it.

“I said,” Louder this time, “Why do you have to make my heart race like that?”

“I’m sorry?”

“No. No- I like it. I like you, that’s what I’m trying to say. Maybe not like since Derek told me we’re not in high school, kid,” He lowers his voice to impersonate Derek, “But the l word is scary, especially when I don’t know how you’re gonna react. But whatever you say, however you react, we’ll be okay. I know we will. I just need you to know how you make me feel and how-how good I think I’d treat you, I guess.”

It feels like your silence goes on forever. Then you quietly ask, “And how do I make you feel, Spence?”

“Like I’ve never felt before. I meant it when I said you make me feel things I’ve only read about – you’re so easy to love, you know that? Infuriatingly so. And you’re so open – I think that’s what drew me in at first. You knew nothing about Doctor Who, but you heard I was asking around for someone to go with me to that convention and you said you were available if I wanted you and I… I had to practice how to ask you in the mirror for three days straight. Of course I want you, Y/N. I think I always have.”

His voice is timid when he asks, afraid of what the answer might be.

“Do you think you want me too?”

“Are you crazy?!” You cry out.

The volume makes Spencer jump. Then he registers what you said and slumps, rejection seeping in.

“Spencer-“ You say, exasperated, “You’re the most incredible person I know. I tell you all the time cause I mean it.” You give a short laugh, “How could you even think that I wouldn’t feel the exact same? I’m kind of obsessed with you, Spence.”

The shock on his face melts into pure joy. Is this really happening? You..

“I want you an embarrassing amount, Spencer Reid. I always have and I always will.”

He doesn’t know what overcomes him, but he leaps forward and smashes your lips together. It’s messy and a little clunky, teeth hitting together and mouths unable to stop grinning, but it’s perfect. Everything you could’ve asked for in your first kiss with Spencer.

It’s perfect. He’s perfect.

And he thinks the exact same of you.

He pulls back, heart racing and entire body burning, strong hands cradling your head. It doesn’t take a profiler to realise the two of you, foreheads leaning against eachother, are the happiest you’ve been in a long time.

“You taste like burger.” Spencer breathes, soft and low.

You giggle. “You taste like coffee and burger.”

His lips quirk, raising an eyebrow, “You like it?”

You hum, rubbing your nose against his, “I like it a whole lot. I like you a whole lot.”

Spencer kisses you again.

And again.

“Glad to know we’re on the same page.”

[bamf-jaskier]

I’m reading a non-canon short story written by Andrzej Sapkowski about Geralt and Yennefer’s wedding called Something Ends, Something Begins and my heart is literally so full. Even Asaps has to get tired of having so much angst so this short story is a literal fluff-fest and I love it so much. 

So I thought I would share some of my favorite quotes from the story and if you all want to read it, here is the link. 

"One day she'll break her neck," growled Yennefer, watching Ciri galloping in the splashing water, bent, firm in the stirrups. "One day your crazy daughter will break her neck."

Geralt turned his head and without a word looked into the sorceress's violet eyes.

"All right, then," smiled Yennefer, without averting her eyes. "Sorry, our daughter."

She hugged him again, pressing herself against him firmly, bit him in the arm again, kissed him, and bit him once more. Geralt touched her hair with his lips and carefully pulled her gown over her shoulders.

I am literally...I swear, we finally get domestic Yenralt and it isn’t even in the canon universe. I am literally going to fight someone. This is so damn cute and the way Yennefer is like “our daughter” my goddamn heart. 

The list of the guests wasn't that long. The engaged couple compiled it together and charged Dandelion with sending the invitations. Soon it turned out that the troubadour lost the list before he could even read it. Because he was ashamed to confess, he used a cheap trick and invited whomever he could. Of course he knew Geralt and Yennefer well enough that he didn't miss anyone important, but it wouldn't have been him if he didn't enrich the list of the guests by an admirable number of quite random persons.

Why does it just make sense that Dandelion would fuck this up? It’s so in-character, putting him in charge of the guest list was the first mistake. 

No one invited the golden dragon Villentretenmerth, because no one knew how to invite him and where to look for him. To the general astonishment the dragon turned up, of course incognito, in the form of the knight Borch Three Jackdaws. Of course, where Dandelion was present, one could not speak of any incognito, but even so few believed when the poet pointed at the curly-haired knight and claimed it was a dragon.

The image of Dandelion just pointing at this dude and yelling “He’s a dragon!” is fucking hilarious, especially when you consider most people don’t know dragons can shapeshift. 

"Was it you who invited

Triss Merigold?

"No," the witcher shook his head and silently praised the fact that the mutation of his blood system didn't allow him to blush.

"Not me. I think it was Dandelion, even though all of them claim to have learned about the wedding from the magical crystals."

"I don't want Triss to be present on my wedding!"

"But why? She's your friend."

"Don't make a fool out of me, witcher! Everyone knows you slept with her!"

"That's not true."

Yennefer's violet eyes narrowed dangerously.

"It is true."

"Is not!"

"It is!"

"All right," he turned around angrily. "It is true. So?"

The sorceress was quiet for a moment, playing with the obsidian star on the black velvet ribbon around her neck.

"Nothing," she said at last. "I just wanted you to admit it. Never try to lie to me, Geralt. Ever."

I love the little bickering. Also, like, even though Triss and Yennefer are friends try valid of her to not want her at the wedding. She slept with Geralt!! Love how Geralt tries to deny it at first but gives up ten seconds later. Geralt really tried to pull the “just friends” card and Yennefer was having NONE of it. 

The doppler accused Villentretenmerth of racism, chauvinism and lack of knowledge on the discussion's topic. Therefore, the insulted Villentretenmerth changed for a moment into his natural dragon form, destroying several pieces of furniture and causing a general panic. When the situation calmed down, a fierce quarrel began, in which humans and non-humans accused each other of lack of open-mindedness and racial tolerance. 

A quite unexpected twist in the discussion came from the freckled Merle, the whore who didn't look like a whore. Merle announced that the whole debate was stupid and pointless and didn't concern true professionals, who don't dinstinguish between such things, which she was willing to prove on the spot (for an adequate reward, of course), even with the dragon Villentretenmerth in his natural form. 

In the silence that fell abruptly in that instant they heard the female medium proclaim that she's willing to do the same, and for free. Villentretenmerth quickly changed the topic and began discussing safer topics, such as economics, politics, hunting, fishing and gambling.

Everything about this sequence is perfect, absolutely prime. Dragons and Dopplers fighting, Merle saying she would fuck a dragon in dragon form. This has EVERYTHING. 

"I'll get going right after the feast," Ciri repeated. 

"I want... I want to feel the wind in my face on the back of a galloping horse again. I want to see the stars on the horizon again, I want to whistle Dandelion's ballads at night. I'm longing for a fight, the dance with a sword, I'm longing for the risk, for the delight victory brings me. And I'm longing for solitude. Do you understand me?"

"Of course," Geralt smiled sadly. "Of course I understand you, Ciri. You're my daughter, you're a witcher. You'll do what you must. But I must tell you one thing. One thing. You can't run away forever, even though you'll always try."

"I know," she replied and cuddled herself closer to him. "I still have hope that one day... If I wait, if I'm patient, then I, too, perhaps will live such a beautiful day like this... Such a nice day... Even though..."

"What, Ciri?"

"I've never been pretty. And with that scar..."

"Ciri," he cut her off. "You're the most beautiful girl in the world. Right after Yen, of course."

"Oh, Geralt..."

"If you don't believe me, ask Dandelion."

"Oh, Geralt."

Ciri telling Geralt she wants to travel and move on is just heartbreaking but it makes sense. She has more adventures to go on. Geralt’s story is ending. Hers is beginning. Also Ciri feeling insecure about her appearance and Geralt being a good dad and comforting her? Amazing. 

"I have unfinished business there," she hissed. "For Mistle. For my Mistle. Even though I avenged her, but for Mistle one death is not enough."

Bonhart, he thought. She killed him out of hatred. Oh, Ciri, Ciri. You're standing on the edge of an abyss, daughter. Not a thousand deaths would avenge your Mistle. Beware of hatred, Ciri, it consumes like cancer.

"Watch out for yourself," he whispered."I'd rather watch out for others," she smiled ominously. "It pays off more, it works better in the long run."

I will never see her again, he thought. If she leaves, I will never see her again.

"You will," she answered unexpectedly and smiled with a smile of a sorceress, not of a witcher. "You will, Geralt."

When Geralt asks what Ciri plans to do on her travels she literally says: I am going to avenge my dead girlfriend and murder some people. Which is not a healthy coping mechanism but damn if the idea of a gay revenge story doesn’t sound good to read. 

The priestesses Iola and Eurneid also sobbed, when Yennefer refused to put on the white wedding dress they had made for her. Not even Nenneke's mediation helped. Yennefer cursed, threw around hexes and dishes, while repeating that she looks like a fucking virgin in white. 

The enraged Nenneke began yelling, too, and told the sorceress that she behaved worse than three fucking virgins at once. Yennefer responded by conjuring a ball of lightning and demolishing the roof of the corner tower, which had its good side, too. The crash was so terrible that Caldemeyn's daughter got shock from it and her diarrhea stopped.

Once again, this scene has EVERYTHING. Yennefer getting so pissed it demolishes a tower. The shaking being so bad it stops diarrhea. Also, why does Asaps use diarrhea so often in his books? You know what, I don’t want to know. 

Triss Merigold and the witcher Eskel from Kaer Morhen, were seen again, sneaking, arms linked, into the garden summerhouse.

Is that...IMPLIED TRISSKEL?? OKAY THEN. All the Trisskel friends out there: They hooked up at Geralt and Yennefer’s wedding I don’t make the rules. 

"Yen..."

She looked breathtaking. Black wavy locks, curled up with a golden tiara, fell in a shining cascade over her shoulders and the high collar of a long white brocade dress with black-striped sleeves, pulled together on a bodice with countless drapes of lilac ribbons.

"Flowers, don't forget the flowers," warned Triss Merigold, all in dark blue, and handed a bouquet of white roses to the bride. "Oh, Yen, I'm so happy..."

"Triss, darling," sobbed Yennefer all of a sudden, upon which both sorceresses embraced and kissed the air around their ears and diamond earrings.

"Enough of those endearments," ordered Nenneke, smoothing the folds on her snow-white priestess dress. "We're going to the chapel. Iola, Eurneid, hold her dress, or she'll kill herself on the stairs.

Triss and Yennefer’s friendship is so sweet sometimes. Like, they would literally murder each other but they would also murder FOR each other too. 

Yennefer approached Geralt and with a hand in a white lace glove she straightened the collar of his black cloak, embroidered with silver. Geralt offered her an arm.

"Geralt," she whispered into his ear. "I still can't believe it."

"Yen," he answered her in a whisper. "I love you."

"I know."

I don’t know is Asaps is purposefully referencing Star Wars here but either way this had me tearing up. Geralt and Yennefer deserve a happy ending and even if it’s not officially canon the author wrote it so this is canon in my head. 

The wedding was splendid. Ladies and maidens cried collectively. Herwig was the master of ceremony, a former king, but still a king. Vesemir from Kaer Morhen and Nenneke stood in as parents of the betrothed couple, Triss Merigold and Eskel as witnesses. 

Okay but why is Asaps sneaking in the Trisskel? I want more of it and this pairing definitely intrigues me. Also Vesemir and Nenneke as their parents? That’s so damn sweet. I swear to fuck this entire short story is too damn cute and I want more of it. 

I cannot stress how much I love the energy Merle brings to the table. Saying she would straight up fuck a dragon. The power of it all. 

[prettywordsyouleft]

The Cowboy - Part 13

Summary: Leaving the city for a rural area called Blayne seemed simple enough. Your task was to convince the people to agree with selling their land for a resort redevelopment. But once there, you soon realise that your city ways are entirely different to theirs. Winning their trust was going to take some effort, and when you start to fall for a local cowboy, you wonder if you really needed Blayne more than the city life after all.

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x female reader

Genre: cowboy au / drama / romance / if you squint there’s some enemies to lovers up in here.

Warnings: Jung Jaehyun is a cowboy, need I say more? (a bit of angst and drama, and it sometimes might feel like you’re reading a Nicolas Sparks book, so I’m told lol)

Word count: 2450

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

“This is crazy!”

Glancing at Natalia next to you in the car as you neared the border for Blayne, you grinned. “I thought you grew up on farms?”

“The kind near the city. Nothing like this. There’s just a whole lot of land out here.”

“I would ask if you want me to turn around and take you back, but after travelling for this long, I want to just be done from being in this car.”

Laughing, Natalia craned her neck to use the side mirror. “I think the truck behind us might find that a little burdensome too.”

“I’m amazed that truck of his made it to the city and back.”

“Aren’t you glad Jaehyun came for you?” she wondered, and you couldn’t hide the genuine smile that spread out your lips immediately. “You’re smitten!”

“You’ve seen him. How could I not be?”

“Blayne’s livestock sure are made of fine specimens,” Natalia teased, and you laughed heartily.

“They do claim to have the best pigs in the nation, but I’m not so sure if that relates to all the men they have, Nat.”

“Well, the two I’ve seen…” She trailed off to kiss her fingers. “Total chef kiss.”

“Avery is single, too.”

“I never asked.”

“You didn’t need to. I could see the wheels turning from here.”

“Do you reckon he’d want a country Belle or-”

You grinned. “For Avery, I think he likes women in whatever way they come.”

“That doesn’t speak much for my chances.”

“Why not, Miss Natalia?” you chimed, and your best friend swatted your arm. “He didn’t even refer to me like that when I met him. Should I be sad?”

“Stop trying to snatch my cowboy away from me. You already have your own.”

Suddenly the truck signalled its horn behind you and you glanced up into the rear-mirror, noticing the indicator of the truck now on. Turning your attention to the side of the road, you couldn’t help but laugh at that gas station you had gone to all those months ago appearing again.

You didn’t need any gas, but it seemed Jaehyun’s truck needed the pit stop. Getting out of your vehicle, you noticed the smoke coming out from under the hood. Walking over to Jaehyun’s side, you gasped noisily. “Looks like it’s finally died on you.”

“She’s not dead,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair agitatedly after popping the hood. “She needs water.”

“And a retirement,” Avery added on, leaning on the side of Jaehyun’s truck whilst shaking his head. “You and your stubborn ways.”

“I’m not giving up on her,” Jaehyun announced, and you frowned with the level of emotion you heard in his tone. He groaned. “Though, I think I might need to leave her here tonight so she doesn’t overheat further.”

Avery nodded. “I’ll go sort it out with Mick inside the station.”

Kicking the tire gently, Jaehyun turned to look over your shoulder, not quite meeting your eye. Stepping in and placing your hands on his hips, you shot him an encouraging smile. “We’ll come and pick your truck up tomorrow.”

“We?”

“Well, I’d offer to tow it, but my car won’t handle that. I’m sure Avery’s truck will, though.”

“I’m starting to feel nervous,” Jaehyun confessed, and you blinked curiously. “At your return. People are going to talk.”

“I hope they’ve been talking up a storm. And that they are still willing to talk even when I’m there. Nat and I will rely on that talk to get things moving.”

“You’re so certain about this,” he observed, and you nodded once. “Why?”

“Because this is my project. I invested a lot of my time and energy into Blayne and found the deficit too glaring to just forget about it all when your Dad ordered me to leave. Further, I can’t just stop loving you either. You and I still have a lot to discuss.”

Jaehyun nodded thoughtfully, his signature lopsided, dimpled grin appearing. “You’re a formidable woman, Miss Adaptable.”

You didn’t make a big fuss about sitting down for that chat right away once you were back in Blayne. There was a lot to be done, especially around your new residence. You weren’t staying on the Jung’s property this time, even though you wished nothing more than to wake up in your bedroom at the homestead.

Instead, you were the first guests since 1983 to inhabit the inn.

“You sure there’s no ghost stories associated with this place?” Natalia queried as you both ate breakfast in the kitchen a few days after your arrival.

Grinning at your best friend, you shrugged. “Who knows? But if there are any more co-inhabitants here with us, they ought to pick up a broom and give things a good sweep or dusting.”

“We’ve been clearing cobwebs for days. How is this town going to be a hub of change, Y/N?”

“Nothing worthwhile comes without any effort, Natty. This place is kind of charming if you put aside its outdated décor.”

“Charming, you say,” she mentioned, pointing to the dripping tap in the kitchen. Even if the room now sparkled as best as it could from your combined cleaning, you still had repairs that were pressing.

“It could be very charming,” another voice mentioned, and you grinned at Avery’s cheeky appearance. “Sorry for intruding. The back door’s always been easy enough to get in through.”

“So it’s not just your cousin who’s good with getting in and out of places they shouldn’t be.”

“Where do you think I learned it from?” Avery admitted with an easy laugh, and after sending Natalia a wink, he placed a toolbox up on the countertop. “Leaky tap, huh? I guess I ought to fix this for you before it drives you nuts.”

“Will you?!” Natalia asked, graciously smiling in his direction. “It’s not the only one needing repairs, admittedly.”

“It’s a good thing I ran down to the hardware store a town over for some new faucets then, isn’t it?”

“Where’s Jaehyun?”

As he looked for the right tool, Avery answered. “On the ranch.”

“He okay on his own?”

“Sure, if you call being in the company of my grouchy uncle after us leaving Blayne last week caused him to get behind in work, being okay.”

“I actually have to go see Mr Jung today,” you announced and smiled at the pair who stopped staring flirtatiously at each other to look in your direction. “It’s time to get things rolling, don’t you think?”

“Will you be okay?”

“If Jaehyun’s handling his father, then I think I’ll go assist him. I’m half at fault here.”

“I don’t agree entirely with that, Y/N.”

Natalia agreed with Avery. “You aren’t at fault at all.”

“There’s a lot of things I want answers to and a whole lot of information I will need to pass on to him now that I’m here to work on the redevelopment of Blayne for housing.”

“He has a temper.”

“That much I’m aware of already, Avery,” you replied with a grin, picking up your coffee and raising it in a gesture of farewell. “Nat, you stay here and help point out the areas for Avery to work on.”

“Sure, I can do that,” she answered and turned to mouth a thank you at you.

Chuckling as you stepped outside and over to your car, you stopped when you saw Dorothy crossing the road towards you.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Everyone said you were back, but I didn’t believe it until these eyes of mine saw it in person!”

Taking her hand fondly, you cocked your head to the side. “Did you truly think you could get rid of me that easily?! I have work to do here!”

“Are you staying in the inn, Y/N? I’ll make sure to send my Jacob over to help with anything you might need repairing. Lord only knows how that place is holding up.”

Pointing to the building you had just departed, you smiled. “Avery is inside fixing some taps already.”

“Really? Well, he didn’t wait long. I thought everyone was instructed to stay put until Old Jung stopped punishing his boy for bringing you back.”

“Is that how everyone is seeing it?”

“Did I speak out of turn?!” Dorothy asked with a gasp, and you shook your head firmly.

“Not at all, Dorothy. I’m grateful for what you just said. Do let everyone know it was June Jung who I called in regards to returning to Blayne about, however. She’s the one who let me and my best friend into the inn, after all.”

“June?! She’s never the type not to follow along with her husband’s word!”

Shaking your head again, you patted her lower arm. “There’s a lot to Mrs Jung that Blayne folk seem to not know about.”

Greeting June when you arrived at her home shortly after, you grinned brightly at her. She laughed. “I was worried after a few nights in that inn you might decide to leave.”

“It’s nothing like the homestead, but I can see with some effort put in how it can help with our plans.”

“He’s not exactly thrilled.”

You nodded. “I doubt your husband is.”

“But he is listening. I told him to wait for you in his office. He gruffly headed in there five minutes ago.”

“I won’t keep him waiting then,” you assured June, smiling again before taking the same pathway you had a couple of weeks ago.

Inhaling a deep breath, you pushed forward into the office, Mr Jung looking up at you. You smiled politely. “It’s nice to see you again. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m Y/N, Blayne’s new town building specialist.”

Mr Jung ignored the hand you held out to him and cleared his throat but didn’t answer. Deciding to take his silence as not a complete refusal, you sat down across from him and pulled out the proposal you had drafted up for this meeting. And without any hesitation, you launched into it.

He didn’t interrupt your speech, even picking up the copy of the plans you had placed on the table midway through and flicked to the page you were talking about. By the time you reached the end of your planned speech, you were a mixture of relief and curiosity.

You had no idea what Mr Jung was thinking.

Heaving out a breath when you were finally done, Mr Jung nodded softly. “Very well.”

“Is that all?” you asked, and Mr Jung stared over at you. His gaze didn’t make you uncomfortable, rather, vulnerable. It was as if he was trying to pick a way into your brain and figure everything out about you.

Sighing when he didn’t seem to find whatever it was, Mr Jung looked out the window. “My family has been here for generations.”

“I looked into it when initially setting up here,” you confirmed, and he smiled swiftly.

“I suppose you know about my wife then.”

“I do. I believe it’s why she’s been supportive of my stay here.”

“She tells me that you remind her of herself. I don’t entirely see it, though I’m aged and weathered now. My son, however, he’s young.”

“We don’t have to discuss Jaehyun if you are going to berate and accuse me of-”

“My son is the next generation of the Jung family line. He’ll inherit this ranch when I leave this earth, and I hope his children in the future continue to help Blayne remain a fair and happy community. When June and I found we couldn’t have any further children, where I come from a line of ten, I foolishly believed if I shaped Jaehyun from an early age to take on this place, we would continue a successful line. My parents entrusted this ranch to me, the only son. Perhaps if I had daughters too, I would have softened. But I only had one child, and I was too harsh.”

“Why did the fire happen, Mr Jung?” you asked softly, and the man rubbed at his face before leaning back in his chair.

“I told Jaehyun he couldn’t ever leave Blayne. That kid is something else. He always has been. He’s good with the cattle, he’s even better upon a horse. His school got him into rodeo early on, and I thought it would only shape him to have a competitive streak to help our ranch. The first time I saw him do a run, I knew there was more to his riding, though. But he was only twelve then. Teenage years would come, and I assumed he would choose new interests, or feel the weight of the work around the yard. Jaehyun didn’t let go of the barrels and would train even at night if he had to. He never failed to do his chores first, and I grew exasperated that I couldn’t find a way to stop him.”

“As a parent, shouldn’t you encourage his pursuits?” you pointed out, and Mr Jung nodded loosely.

“I was real proud of my boy. He had more trophies and rosettes in that bedroom of his than he had anything else. When he got scouted, he was beaming from ear to ear. I was selfish. We didn’t have anyone to take his spot here if he was going to be away. My father preached to me about how this ranch has been handled by Jung hands for decades. What you assume I did next is correct.”

“You took him out of barrel racing.”

“I thought it was for the best. And then he ran away from home. He caused trouble for a few families here with their kids following him. Avery was almost sent to boarding school because May was worried Jaehyun corrupted him. I had a township to maintain the peace with too. So I took the wrong approach with Jaehyun and cornered him further.”

“Why a fire, though?”

“I told him his only place on earth was Blayne. He said he wished Blayne would stop existing. I didn’t think he’d actually do anything about it. But he broke into the theatre that night, and the fire quickly took hold of our town.”

You merely sat there, trying to battle through Jaehyun’s past anguish and understanding the father who carried deep remorse for his actions.

Mr Jung noticed and smiled sadly. “I tried to take the blame. After all, I had driven my son to choose that path. But the people knew better. So my only approach to Jaehyun, who was racked with guilt, was to use that to hold him here. He’s never thought of leaving or doing anything else.”

Mr Jung stared at you with an indescribable expression. “Until you arrived, Y/N.”

_________________

Part 14

All rights reserved © prettywordsyouleft

[NCT Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [Request Guidelines]

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

Oh great, McGonagall’s back to being a bitch again in this new TLSQ 🙄

Is anyone ready for another rant? Because I've got another rant.

My friend messaged me after this quest came out and simply said "Tell me this quest pissed you off too." I hadn't seen it yet, so I went to watch the footage. Having just finished...oh god.

Going into the quest, I wasn't angry. At first, I was mostly bewildered. Unlike the Torvus TLSQ, this one doesn't really beat you over the head with mean-spirited guilt-tripping. But it does follow the interpretation that MC is to blame for the chaos. And that idea is so ludicrous that I was genuinely laughing. To hear McGonagall say "Be that as it may, your actions have caused this." Was unintentionally hilarious. What actions? MC was a bystander. They were just hanging out with their friends. Badeea is the one who painted the Portrait, and it was painted for Jae. MC didn't do anything. But the rest of this quest will send them on a wild goose chase to appease everyone else.

Here's a question. Why does Badeea all but disappear from the plot when she arguably had the most agency in this problem? Why do Jae and MC get threatened with detention...and not Badeea? She literally painted the offending Portrait. That's not even getting into how silly it is to blame the students for this fiasco in the first place, but as long as you're going to...why hold Jae and MC accountable, but not Badeea? Why does MC have to paint the portrait that will be used to distract Sir Cadogan? Badeea says that it's because her paintings are what started this mess, and she's afraid of causing more trouble. Fair enough, but that doesn't really change the fact that she is the only character who knows how to paint enchanted portraits. She is the only one with any skill in this. That said, I wouldn't change this for the world because the fanged puffskein is adorable. Let me hug him. Let me hug him! He reminds me of my kitty.

The Portraits are to blame for this mess. That much is as clear as day. And yet no one is willing to hold them accountable. No one voices the idea that maybe this is their fault, and that maybe we shouldn't be prioritizing their wishes. This is the Peeves Arc of Year 5 all over again, and people didn't just hate that arc for being filler. Why is the Fat Lady not chastised for leaving her post? Why must we cater to her demands? Why must we go on a scavenger hunt that takes all day, why do we have to play by their rules? Pick up the damn portrait and shake it until the Fat Lady and the others take the hint. Hold the damn thing over a fire if you want to really scare them. (Ruthless? Perhaps, but Gail would do that. She wouldn't actually burn the Portrait but the Fat Lady doesn't know that.) Better yet, McGonagall could solve this pretty easily by invoking teacher authority. Even if that failed, at least she couldn't very well expect two students to solve the problem that she couldn't solve...which uh, why were MC and Jae expected to solve this again?

There are countless Portraits in t his castle. Why did the Fat Lady and others decide out of the blue to leave their posts for Badeea's latest painting? This is far from the first time she's made one. This can't be the first time a painting of the Three Broomsticks has crossed Hogwarts' halls. The Three Broomsticks also isn't that exciting considering that you can paint just about anything. Why is Gryffindor Tower sealed like a Cursed Vault without the Fat Lady? Can't Dumbledore open it with magic? Can't they get another Portrait to stand in? Y'know, like they did in POA when the Fat Lady left her post? There are obvious solutions here, and unlike POA, the Fat Lady isn't exactly fearing for her safety. She's just throwing a tantrum. Couldn't McGonagall dismiss her, or at least threaten to, over something like this? The question that burns in my throat again and again is "Why is this our problem?" The quest tries to create a justification, but mostly it doesn't really care to. The reason we have to help isn't because it's our fault, it's because McGonagall will punish us if we don't.

The Portraits are whiny and entitled in this quest, but that's not even the worst part. Holy uncanny valley, Batman, what in god's name was up with that art style? Violet and the Fat Lady look genuinely disturbing, like they came out of a horror game. And you have to spend extended periods of time talking to them. I won't lie, I got uncomfortable. At least it was a distraction from the madness that was this plot. Once it got to the part where MC had to recite a poem to "Percival the Prat" I just kind of put my tea down and had a moment of reflection on how far this quest had taken us, and all of the stupid nonsense that MC was doing to appease these portraits. And all because they were threatened with detention if they didn't sort all this out, even though it wasn't their problem...deep sigh. There's a theme in this quest about listening to your friends and respecting their wishes...but this is not realized well at all. MC tried to do a nice thing for Jae and had no way of knowing it would all collapse. This situation did not arise because they failed to specifically ask Jae if he wanted their help. (He kind of hinted that he did, in the first place.)

Jae. Oh Jae. You were pretty whiny in this quest, yourself. Moping about at the start and then blaming everything on the person who checked in on you. Look, on one hand, I felt genuinely bad for him. McGonagall threatening him with detention on his damn birthday when he's always in detention and specifically opened up about how this was the one day of the year that he didn't want to be stuck there...and what he do, exactly? Not what did he do that was wrong, what did he do, at all? He was given a present. He didn't ask for it. He was simply given a present, that happened to go extremely wrong. McGonagall, what on earth are you playing at? Jae literally did not do anything, and he's a Gryffindor, so he's just as screwed by the Fat Lady's desertion as the others. I know I sound like a broken record at this point, but wouldn't it have made far more sense for the teacher in this quest to be Snape? Might have taken a bit of tweaking, but it would have been worth it. Speaking of, they had the nerve to reference not only the Dragon Club quest, but the Torvus quest. Trying my patience, game...

But even though I felt bad for Jae at first, my sympathy evaporated when he was passive aggressive, and later directly aggressive toward MC. As if any of this was their fault. Okay, so they had the idea to try and help Jae on his birthday. So? What does that have to do with the Fat Lady abandoning her post, or the other Portraits refusing to play ball? What does that have to do with the obscenely unreasonable terms that McGonagall issued? She didn't just stick this task on Jae's shoulders, MC was roped in as well. They're in this boat together and Jae blaming MC, even in the low-energy way he goes about it...just rubbed me the wrong way. I know this day was important to him...and maybe my personal opinions are shining through, but...it's only a birthday. You can celebrate your traditions tomorrow, or the next day, just as easily.

Wasn't a fan of the ending either. I couldn't believe my eyes when McGonagall asked MC to describe "what they had learned" and that she would listen, and then "decide their fate." I beg your pardon but what?! That was not the deal we made. At all. By this point MC has been running about the castle, working their ass off, just to fix this problem that has nothing to do with them. They did everything McGonagall demanded of them. They actually succeeded at this fool's task. After all of that, McGonagall is still considering detention? I could ramble about how unreasonable that is, but I think that's pretty obvious. So instead I'll just ask...aren't Gryffindors supposed to be honorable? Isn't McGonagall the Head of Gryffindor? She's still claiming the moral high-ground as she breaks her word?

Beyond that, I hate this. I hate being told to kneel and kiss the ring. Might be taking this a bit too seriously, but it's the same nonsense as the Torvus TLSQ. The same final insult, where MC is forced to write up an essay about what they learned, about why they were in the wrong, and the asshole who started all this was in the right. Not only did MC have to put up with this endless nonsense, they have to show that they "learned their lesson" and agree that what they went through was right. Or it's off to detention with them. This is why I couldn't enjoy the final party. I wasn't invested in Jae's happiness, or in saving his birthday traditions. I didn't care. I don't even imagine Luca going, I think they'd just wish Jae happy birthday and head back to their dormitory.

Y'know, I'm not sure what they're trying to do with McGonagall. I've always said that Luca's character involves them eventually growing to distrust and dislike the Hogwarts staff, minus Flitwick. And I've always struggled to justify including McGonagall in that group. Because if you've the read the books, you know she's fucking awesome. But as of recent quests...I don't think it's going to be hard for me to justify it anymore. HPHM has given me plenty of ammo, plenty of reason for Luca to dislike her. After this, and the Dragon Club quest...The Teacher Appreciation TLSQ feels pretty sour.

[swan-of-sunrise]

The Winter Soldier (Chapter Four)

Summary: (Y/N) and Sam worry about their new super-soldier friend after it’s revealed that he’s on the run and wanted by S.H.I.E.L.D., the very agency he’d dedicated himself to.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Four (Previous Chapter)

“It’s such bullshit! Captain America’s a criminal now?!”

“I know, Greg.”

“They haven’t even said what he’s done!”

“Yep, it’s ridiculous…”

“How can they organize a manhunt for him but not say what he’s supposedly done?!”

(Y/N) pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a frustrated groan. “Greg, you’re my friend and I love you but I can’t keep having this conversation with you.”

The line was silent for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve been having the exact same conversation for almost a half an hour! You can’t believe that Cap’s a criminal, I agree, you complain that they haven’t said what he’s wanted for, I agree, then you start going all ‘Law and Order’ on me!” She exclaimed, immediately regretting her outburst; with a sigh, she sat down in her desk chair and rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry, Greg, that was rude. I don’t like what’s going on either; Captain America stands for freedom and honor, he always has, and it just seems…wrong that he’s the subject of a manhunt. I seriously doubt that Captain America of all people did anything to break the law.”

“Wow, when did you become such a big Cap fan?”

“I went to his exhibit when I was at the Air and Space Museum yesterday, and I guess it got me interested.” (Y/N) half-lied, fidgeting with the sleeve of her sweater as she pressed her phone closer to her ear. “Anyway, the reason I called was to tell you that it might take me a little longer to get the draft of my book to you; I still need to look over the last couple of chapters and with everything happening…it might be hard to focus on writing today.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mike’s busy reading through a nine-hundred-page thriller that was sent in this morning so that’ll give you some time. Sorry to cut this short but I’ve gotta go, I have to check on mine and Mara’s dinner reservation for tonight, so I’ll talk to you later, (Y/N)!”

“Talk to you later, Greg!” (Y/N) hung up and set her cell phone down on the desk with a sigh. Ever since she and Sam turned on the television at breakfast and saw the breaking news, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong; Steve Rogers wouldn’t be on the run from S.H.I.E.L.D. unless he had a damn good reason to be. I’m sure he’s fine, he’s probably been through much tougher scrapes than this, she thought to herself with forced optimism as she turned on her laptop and began typing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Humming along to Billy Joel’s ‘Movin’ Out’, (Y/N)’s fingers flew across her keyboard as she typed and she smiled, proud of the fact that her writer’s block from the week before was now officially over and that she was so close to completing her very first novel. Not bad, not bad at all, she thought, hitting the ‘save’ button and stretching her arms over her head to relieve the build-up tension in her shoulders.

“Now this is good music, Booksmart!”

She spun her desk chair around to see Sam standing in the doorway of her bedroom and raised her eyebrow as she turned down her music. “Oh, so Billy Joel’s okay but everything else I listen to is garbage?”

Sam gave her a teasing eye-roll. “I never said that your music was garbage, I just said it was weird. How’s the writing going today?”

“I edited twelve pages and just spent an hour trying to describe a Soviet Cold War-era missile, so it’s been okay. How was work?”

“It was good, I didn’t have any meetings scheduled so I spent most of the day playing chess with the old timers. I swear, I think Gary cheats but I can’t figure out how he does it…”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Or maybe you should just accept the fact that you’re terrible at chess and the old timers take great pleasure in seeing you lose.”

“Ha, ha, very funny. You still cool with driving me to the shop to pick up my car?”

(Y/N) got up, turning off her computer and unplugging her MP3 player from her speaker with a grin. “Of course! Driver picks the music, though!” She laughed and practically skipped out of the room as Sam let out a groan of defeat and followed her. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Birdbrain, it’s not like I’m making you listen to a CD of ambient throat singing!”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if you had some of that…”

Five minutes later, they were on the road and the two of them were singing along to her one of Panic! At The Disco’s newest singles at the top of their lungs; out of the corner of her eye she could see other drivers shooting them odd looks but she couldn’t care less, she was enjoying herself far too much.

Sam chuckled as the song came to a finish. “Damn, their new album is good. You know, I didn’t start listening to alt-rock until I met you.”

“Then you should be thanking me for bringing such good music into your life!” Giggling, (Y/N) turned down the volume and glanced over at the cheerful man sitting beside her, her smile faltering as she asked, “Do you think he’s okay, Sam?”

Her roommate’s expression grew serious and he shook his head. “I really don’t know. I saw on CNN earlier that inside sources claim he’s wanted by S.H.I.E.L.D. in connection to the assassination of their director, but I don’t buy it. The guy we’ve met, who’s so dedicated to his job that he hasn’t bothered getting a life outside of it, wouldn’t be a part of something like that. I think something else’s up and I’ll bet anything he’s out there trying to figure it out.”

(Y/N) bit her bottom lip, nodding after a moment. “Yeah, me too.”

“Just you wait, this whole mess with S.H.I.E.L.D.’ll be cleared up in no time. I’m calling it right now, Steve’s gonna ride up to the VA on his motorcycle and dramatically whisk you off your feet, and the two of you are gonna ride off into the sunset together while one of those sappy love songs you pretend not to like plays in the background.” Sam's teasing smirk widened when her cheeks flushed. “C’mon, Booksmart, you both were mooning over each other like teenagers after the meeting yesterday; I felt like I was in the live studio audience of a soap opera taping.”

“You know, I could always kick you out of the car and make you walk all the way to the shop, if you'd prefer.”

“And I'd still get there before you ‘cause you drive like a grandma...”

Soon after, she pulled into the auto repair shop’s lot, parking under the shade of a tree before turning to Sam with a smile. “Did you want me to stay just in case your car isn’t ready yet?”

“That would be great, actually, thanks!” Sam gave her a grin before getting out of the car and heading into the shop.

(Y/N) rolled down the windows and sighed when she felt the soft spring breeze against her skin. Taking advantage of the peaceful moment, she let her imagination wander and began brainstorming different stories and characters in her head. You should probably finish the book you’re writing before you start on another one, she thought with a playful eye-roll. Her childhood dream of becoming a published author was in the middle of coming true, and she couldn’t be any happier about it.

Just then, her eyes drifted to a silver truck that was driving past the parking lot. It was going fast so she couldn’t get a very good look at the driver, but for a split second she could have sworn that the man driving the truck had the same blonde hair and chiseled jaw as Steve Rogers. Chalking it up to worry for the runaway super-soldier, she closed her eyes and murmured, “Whatever he’s up to, I hope that he’s staying safe.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4BenknAqQQnOWY8NmSa23V

Tagging: @mrs-obrien​ @lahoete​ @awkward117​ @cminr​ @momc95​ @awkwardnesshabitat​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @khuang3​ @supersouthy​ @benakenalove​ @brooke0297​ @hufflepeople​ @becausewelie​​ @outoftheregular @supreme-tantrum​

Chapter Five

“The Winter Soldier” Masterlist

[moving-wright-along]

bury me in your mind

this started as a sort of high school AU but it just turned into a whole nother beast. its a little over 4k words. i apologize in advance. Ticci Toby x a gender neutral reader warnings: mentions of violence and a fuckload of cursing. kinda angsy? but only towards the end

Toby hates high school and he hates every stupid fucker in the whole damn building.

The only exception to his burning hatred is you.

His English class is the only class that keeps Toby sane throughout the day, because it’s the class he gets to sit next to you. People naturally steer away from him once they notice the occasional twitches and jerks of his body, like their tiny brains have an alarm that goes off whenever they see anything that might not be ‘normal’. Toby decided a long time ago that it was probably for the best, and started to avoid everyone else as much as they avoided him. Yet on the first day, you sat beside him without being forced, and with plenty of other seats available.

At first he thinks you’re weird, but you don’t try to talk to him and you don’t flinch or lean away from him when he twitches, so you’re cool in his book.

Toby starts admiring you after about a week into the semester. He’s sitting in his seat, minding his own fucking business because he’s apparently one of the only people in this whole town that can, when some dumbass jock comes up and starts throwing out insults disguised as ‘friendly’ questions about his conditions. Toby immediately has to shove down the urge to sucker punch the idiot in the nose, but he promised his mom to try not to get into fights this year. And hell, he’s a mama's boy at heart still so he’s trying to indulge her. But goddamn is it hard.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” It takes a moment for Toby to register that you were the one that just spoke up.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than insult people over things they can’t control and be fucking annoying? Get a hobby.”

And- Wow, Toby really hopes he’s not as slack jawed as the other guy is, cause he looks like an idiot with his mouth open like that. The guy tries stuttering something out but it's drowned out by several people laughing and a few of the guy's so-called friends jeering him because 'damn dude, the quiet kid just owned your ass’. The teacher steps in and everyone quiets down, their attention thankfully taken off your corner of the room. 

Toby has the decency to stutter out a quiet 'thanks’ that you just shrug off. You instantly became way more than just 'cool’ in Toby’s book.

He wants to say so much more than thanks, like how you’re the first person to stand up for him besides his sister in a long time, and how pretty he thinks you are, but he keeps his stupid mouth shut and his head down. The two of you don’t talk again until a few days later. 

There’s a substitute teacher that day, but they’re clearly not very good at their job considering the class is way louder than usual. Toby grits his teeth and just tries to focus on his worksheet, resisting the urge to clap his hands over his ears. Every noise- every high pitched laugh, every pencil thrown across the room, every scrapping of chair legs on the floor- seems to send him further towards a total breakdown, every one of his senses completely overloaded. He jumps when he feels a soft poke on his arm. You hold out your other earbud to him. 

“Wanna listen?” You ask. He stares blankly for a moment, and he guesses that he waits too long to reply because after a moment you roll your eyes and hold out your hand a little further. 

“Come on man, I don’t bite unless I have to.” You smile a little, and it takes him a second to realize you’re joking. He’s quick to react after that. 

His heart pounds hard as he takes the earbud from you and jams it into his ear, trying not to think about your fingers brushing together for a split second. He spends the rest of class silently noting the titles and lyrics of songs on your playlist as they pass. He ends up listening to those same songs when he gets home, his mind replaying the encounter over and over. 

The two of you could almost be considered friends after that. You share your earbuds with him frequently, you lower your voice and whisper comments or jokes to him occasionally and he always has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from snickering too loud. At first you only talk about assignments and whatever book your class is reading but soon you’re talking about all kinds of things.

Toby notices a lot of little things about you around this time. You sit a little closer to him than before since your earbuds don’t reach that far, and you spend more time zoning out and doodling in class than you do paying attention. You say you hate english but he’s starting to think you just say that to have something to complain about, because you’re not nearly as bad at it as you claim to be. 

Unbeknownst to Toby, you notice things about him too. He shies away when you get a little to close and his breath hitches when you poke at him or whisper to get his attention. Everyone seems weary or even scared of him but you quickly find out that he’s… kind of a dork. He likes to read and loves sci-fi and adventure stories and he blushes when you discover that he likes the occasional romance as well. He talks a lot when you get him going about a topic he enjoys and then gets bashful when he realizes just how long he was talking. He lives close to the woods and he loves being outside and has a strange amount of knowledge about the local flora and fauna. He apologizes too much and keeps his mouth shut tight when other people are around and his voice is naturally kind of soft even though he has a tendency to be louder than he thinks he is. 

You like him. He’s sweet. 

Toby still struggles with people in other classes and in the halls every-fucking-where else, but at the very least he has English with you. 

The year passes quickly. Toby gets you a Christmas gift after the holiday break is over- a pair of new earbuds because you had texted him complaining about your current ones giving out and you feel bad because you didn’t think to get him anything. You buy some random candy since you don’t know what he likes and give it to him the next day and even though you feel like an asshole for not giving him a real gift he smiles at you like it’s the best thing he’s ever received and you silently vow to get him something better for his birthday.. 

You buy him a box of Valentine's chocolates but chicken out before giving them to him so you just lie and say that you got them from your mom and you share the kind of gross candies in the back of class and try not to let the shame show on your face. He gives you a pink frog plushie with a messed up eye and claims he got it because he thought it would make you laugh and it does. You really wish you’d just given him the stupid box. 

You’re getting ready for bed a few days later when you get a text from him. You raise an eyebrow as you cross the room to your phone and look it over. 

‘Need to get out of the house for a while. I was gonna wander around in the woods like a dumb teenager, wanna come?’

You roll your eyes. You imagine that if you looked out the window right now you’d spot Toby outside your house already. Your friend knew you had a hard time saying no to him and abused his power to no end. 

'its a school night dummy.’

'and almost midnight’

‘Yeah… Anyway, how’s that science project that’s due tomorrow coming along for you?’

Shit. You totally forgot about that. 

'asshole’

‘Haha. You could always skip and finish it tomorrow.’

'ugh’ ‘you let me forget on purpose’

‘You have no proof of that.’ ‘I’ll buy you an energy drink and snacks?’

'open with that next time. omw’

At least you were right about him already waiting for you. Toby grins at you a little and you punch him in the arm lightly once you’ve successfully climbed out of your window. True to his word, Toby buys you a Monster and teases you about your flavor choices. 

“The original monster is fucking gross-” You say, scrunching your nose up at the very thought of it. 

“It’s- It’s not that bad! You’re j-just a baby.” Toby argues back as he wanders down the aisles, grabbing whatever snacks and candies catch his or your attention. 

“You’re not even supposed to drink Monster, loser.”

Toby shrugs, ducking his head and hiding his smile behind his hood. You wish he’d smile a bit more openly. 

Toby pays the gas station attendant for your haul and the two of you start walking in the same direction as his house, wandering past it and into the nearby woods. You’re a little freaked out walking around the dark woods at night, but Toby seems totally at home. Although, he practically grew up in these woods, so you suppose it’s only fair. 

“Why the fuck is it so cold? It’s spring.” You complain. You thought it’d be warmer and you’re practically freezing in your long sleeve shirt. 

“It’s barely March.” Toby retorts. 

“Whatever.”

“Wanna wear my jacket?” Toby offers, although he pales when you look up at him and he turns his gaze away. The dark hides his expression, but it’s pretty easy to tell that he’s embarrassed. 

“Sure.” You answer, trying to sound casual. Before you know it you’re wrapped up in his jacket. It’s already a bit too big on him cause he’s way skinnier than he should be so it hangs off your frame and covers your hands. It’s nice, though you try not to think too hard about how much you enjoy wearing it, or how it smells like that awful body spray he uses that you can’t seem to complain about.  

“You sure you’re not cold, though?” You ask.

“Eh. C-CIPA stuff makes feeling temperature we-weird anyway.” He shrugs. You forget sometimes that he doesn’t feel pain. The following silence is awkward and you’re still trying not to focus too much on the fact that giving someone your jacket is an inherently romantic gesture, so you decide to bully him a bit to take your mind off it.

“Where’d you even get this thing anyway? Who in the right mind sells a brown jacket with striped sleeves and a blue hood?” You ask and he snorts. You’ve made it clear before through teasing just how silly you find his jacket’s design to be. Toby rolls his eyes.

“W-Wasn’t always a blue hood. I fell out of a tree once and ripped the original h-hood on the w-way down. Lyra just took the hood off-off one of her old jackets and s-sewed it on.”

You roll your eyes and chuckle. He’s the only person you know that would have a story like that. 

The two of you wander around together and talk, and as you walk you wonder what his reaction would be if you just reached out and held his hand. Too bad you’re too much of a coward to try. 

As if on cue, Toby pauses in his tracks and reaches out to grab your sleeve. He tugs you gently in a different direction. 

“Come on. T-This way.” 

“Where’re we going?” You ask. 

Toby glances over his shoulder at you, and you notice a hint of a smile across his face. 

“There’s this o-old tower th-thing close by. I like hanging out there sometimes.” 

Toby leads you into a clearing, and you find yourself in front of a tall red tower. 

“What is this thing?” 

“D-Dunno. I guess it use-used to be a climbing wall or something.” 

You stare at some of the graffiti on the outer walls as Toby walks around to the other side. 

“Come on!” He calls. You follow him around to the back of the tower and find that one side is open, allowing access to the inside. Caution tape and trash litters the ground inside and Toby is halfway up a ladder to the top. 

“We’re climbing up…? This looks rickety as hell, man.” 

“It’s fine,” Toby assures, pausing at the top to turn and look down at you. “I’ve climbed this thing pl-plenty of times.” 

“I dunno…” 

“Come on. D-don’t be a baby, it’s fine.” He teases and makes himself comfortable on the top of the wall. 

“That’s exactly what the guy says to the girl before something really bad happens in a horror movie.” You argue, though you can’t fight back a smile as you climb up anyway. 

“We’re not in a ho-horror movie though.” Toby says, taking your hand and helping you sit beside him. You sit close to him and your sides press together. You feel a surge of pride when you remember that he used to shy away from you a lot when you first met, but now you can casually touch like this with no issue.

You open and share snacks together, and you let Toby take a sip of your drink to see if he likes the flavor or not. You watch him raise it to his mouth and your brain screams something at you about an indirect kiss and you quickly shove that thought aside and stomp on it.

Sure, Toby is cute and he’s a good friend, but you don’t like him like that. Definitely not. Would you kiss the crap out of his stupid adorable face if you knew it wouldn’t scare him off? Of course. But that doesn’t mean you have some kind of lame crush on him.

“Ca-Can I… tell you something?” He starts, seeming a bit bashful all of the sudden. Your heart kicks into overdrive. Oh fuck, okay, maybe you we’re lying about not having a little bit of a crush.

“Of course.” You say, trying not to let your voice waver. He hesitates.

“U-Uh. N-Nevermind, actually! Heh.”

You raise a brow.

“Oh come on, what was it?” You ask.

“Ju-just!” Toby looks a bit panicked as he fumbles. “Um. Just thinking about th-that book I’m reading. I think I already told you about it though. D-Did I tell you about the main character and his friend’s fight?”

Even if you didn’t know Toby that well, you’d still know he was lying. He’s a pretty bad liar. Your heart sinks a bit but you don’t push the subject.

“Oh, yeah you did.” You say, a little disappointed. Toby rambles for a few minutes about his book and conversation continues easily enough.

“Oh!” Toby jumps, and suddenly turns to you with a big smile. “M-My sister is coming over this weekend!”

“Lyra, right?”

“Y-Yeah. She’s coming to visit f-from college.” He says, and he looks really happy. “Y-you should come over and meet her. She’d l-love you.”

That sentiment makes you feel warm inside. Toby speaks very highly of his sister, so you really hope she likes you.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” You say and Toby beams at you.

“You seem excited.” You smile and nudge him with your elbow.

“Y-yeah. She goes to school kind of far away, so it’s been a while sin-since I’ve seen her.” Toby looks away, his tone becoming a bit more serious. “F-for a long time I felt like Lyra w-was the only per-person who really cared about me… W-well. Until I met you.”

Your heart melts a little and you can’t resist letting your head thunk onto his shoulder. Toby stiffens, but makes no move to stop you.

“She sounds great, I can’t wait to meet her.”

Toby hums, and you sit together for a while longer until you realize it’s almost 3 am. You carefully climb back down the ladder, Toby following and you watch as he jumps down the last foot of ladder and lands on his feet with a soft thunk. You’re about to walk off before he catches your attention again. 

“Oh! I-I almost forgot,” He says, then starts examining the walls, as if looking for something. “H-Here it is.” 

You approach to see what he’s talking about, and you find a low section of wall with Toby’s name messily carved into it. 

“Wanna carve something too?” He asks. You hum an affirmative and Toby withdraws a small pocket knife from his jean pocket and hands it to you. 

“I’m not gonna question why you have a knife.” You say, chuckling tiredly as you knelt and began carefully carving. 

“F-For protection, obviously.” Toby says, his tone teasing. “One of u-us has to keep us safe. Since we’re in a horror movie now.” 

You roll your eyes and finish up your carving, moving aside so Toby could see it. You carved your own name underneath his, adding a plus sign between them. You watch him flush slightly, trying not to blush yourself. 

“Now everyone will know we were here together.” You say, justifying yourself as you passed his knife back. 

He walks you home and you reluctantly give his jacket back once you’re in your driveway. You’re about to climb back through your window when Toby speaks up.

“U-um…” He starts. You look back to see him rocking on his feet. He steps forward, and hesitates for a second before pulling you into a quick hug.

“T-thanks for hanging out with me. A-And-and for being my friend. Bye!”

Toby lets go and runs off before you can say anything back. You find yourself grinning from ear to ear as you slip into bed, quickly unlocking your phone and opening his contact.

'you’re welcome, loser <3’

You skip school the next day like Toby suggested, convincing your mom of a killer headache when she comes in to see why you’re not up. You imagine the eyebags from your lack of sleep help your case pretty well since she doesn’t make a fuss about it. You finish up some neglected work and waste the day away. It’s Friday, and you know Lyra is supposed to come into town today. You figure Toby will message you later about plans to meet up.

So you find it strange when you don’t hear from Toby at all that weekend. You feel a little down about it, but maybe Lyra just didn’t feel like hanging out, and he was probably busy with family stuff, so you don’t question it.

When he doesn’t show up to class on Monday, you figure he’s just spending more time with his family. Then, when two more days go by without seeing him or getting a text back, you worry that he got into a fight and got suspended or something. You’re properly freaking out by the time the week is up.

You’d only been to Toby’s house once before and that was only when all of his family was out of the house for the night. Other than that he was always kind of weird about you coming over. If you hung out outside of school it either had to be at your place or somewhere else. And now here you were, marching over to get an answer. 

You notice a car in the driveway and hesitate. You didn’t want to risk interacting with his dad. Toby never told you any specifics, but he seriously hated that guy. You look up at Toby’s window and notice a shadow move across the curtains. He’s in there. 

You don’t want to recreate a shitty teen movie and throw rocks at his window, and if texting him worked then you would’ve gotten an answer days ago. Using the railing of the porch, you haul yourself as quietly onto the roof outside his window as possible. Fuck, you really hope it’s him in there and not one of his parents or something. Gently, you knock on the glass. There’s no response for a minute, and you’re about to knock again when the curtains yank back and scare the shit out of you. You’re met with Toby’s shocked face on the other side, as if you both were equally startled by one another. 

“Uhh… Hi?” You say weakly. Toby struggles to yank the window up and drags you inside. You stumble into his bedroom and his hands grip your biceps hard. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He hisses. 

“I was worried about you!” You snap, keeping your voice as low as his. “You’ve been out all week and you never- replied…” 

Your anger completely melts away when you finally get a good look at the state he’s in. His arms and hands are bandaged up and his face is marred with little scratches and a nasty bruise beneath his eye. He raises an eyebrow like he has no idea why you’re looking at him like that. His breath hitches when you absentmindedly reach out and place a hand on his cheek, just below the bruise and rub a bit with your thumb. 

“What happened to you?” You ask, softly. Toby suddenly jumps back, like your touch burnt him. His arms wrap tight around his chest and he avoids your gaze and you try not to be hurt by that. 

“C-Car accident.” 

“You were in a fucking car accident?!” You whisper-scream. 

“I’m fine.” He insists. He doesn’t look fine to you at all. “S-Sorry I did-didn’t tell you. Ph-Phone’s been turned off for a few days…” 

He glances at his nightstand and you follow his gaze to his phone, connected to the charger but the front is completely shattered. He probably just didn’t want to look at it. 

Toby stays silent for a moment before speaking up again. 

“Are you mad at me?”

“What? No- God no, Tobes, I was just worried. It’s okay, really. I’m sorry I freaked out and climbed onto your roof and knocked on your window.” 

Toby finally grins a little at your remark, but it drops off his face quickly. 

“…You should go. I don’t want my parents to know you’re here.” Toby herds you towards the window, and you go without any struggle. All you wanted was to see that he was okay, and you supposed you got your answer. 

“Alright, alright, but you better text me later, okay?” 

Toby smiles a little again, but it looks forced. 

“Y-Yeah. I’ll try.” 

You head back home, and you don’t get any texts. You spend the next few days in silent frustration while you’re still ignored by your friend. Maybe something else happened that he’s not telling you about? Sure, a car accident is traumatizing, but he seemed more or less okay? There has to be some other reason he’s avoiding you. 

All it takes is a quick scroll through your local news site to find the obituary. Lyra Rogers. Your hands freeze on your laptop’s mouse in silent horror. Holy shit, his sister died in that crash. You’re suddenly overcome with sadness. Toby talked about Lyra a lot- about his cool older sister in college a few towns away who always looked out for him. You never got to meet her. Fuck, no wonder he’s been so distant. 

Every ounce of frustration leaves your body and you slump over. You just accept that you’re probably not going to see your friend anytime soon. You consider giving him your condolences, but you don’t want to risk bringing it up and hurting him more. Besides, Toby’s never been one to want people’s sympathy or pity. You suppose he’ll reach out when he’s ready.

The next few days are sporadic. You get an apology text from Toby and he updates you about his condition, though he’s vague and only mentions that he’s going to see a doctor. You don’t get much else. English class is boring without him. Toby goes completely silent again. 

You figure he just needs time to himself to heal, but you’re constantly worried about him in the back of your mind. One morning you’re passing through the living room while getting ready for school and you pause in front of the TV, your mother having left it on the news. Your heart stops mid beat in your chest. 

Brutally murdered… fire… missing…

You feel bile rise in your throat and you slap a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from being sick, backing away from the TV. Tears flow down your cheeks. There’s no way this is real, right? Toby wouldn’t do that. Your Toby wouldn’t do that. 

You quickly retreat to your room, ignoring your mother's shout from downstairs. You whip out your phone, foregoing your text messages and going straight to calling him. You need to hear from him, you need him to tell you that it was all a lie and that he was innocent. 

Your first call goes unanswered, but the second goes through after two rings. You gasp a little and listen hard for a moment. You think you can hear breathing, the distant crunching of leaves. 

“Toby?” You ask. The call ends immediately. The rest of your calls are unanswered. You resort to texts after a few minutes, hoping that he was at least reading them. 

You skip school the next few days- you don’t want to hear what anyone else has to say on the situation, no one knew Toby like you knew him, and you can’t guarantee that you won’t lunge at someone for bad mouthing him. Although, you never thought Toby would kill someone either, so maybe you didn’t know him that well after all. 

Your life feels like it's falling apart. You’re like a carnival ride violently swinging back and forth between the five stages of grief, jumping around like it’s fucking hopscotch. 

You push yourself out of bed that weekend in a strange rush of determination. You were just making yourself more miserable by sitting around and wallowing in bed all day, you’re driving yourself crazy like that. Pushing past the want to just lay down again, you get dressed and decide to go on a walk. Maybe fresh air will make you feel better. 

Without even trying, you somehow end up close to Toby’s house. For a second, you consider going up to the door and knocking, maybe talk to his mom a bit. You’ve never met her before, but Toby seemed fond of her. Maybe she’d let you, you don’t know, take one of his jackets to remember him by? Or was that way too weird? 

You realize with a sinking feeling that Connie Rogers lost her daughter, son, and husband within the short span of a few weeks. She most certainly has more important things to deal with than some kid showing up on her door and asking to rifle through her son’s stuff. Maybe you could talk to her sometime, but not now. You push past and walk into the woods behind their house, wandering around until you somehow end up at the tower you visited with him only a few days ago. 

You collapse into a heap and slump against the wall. The floodgates swing open and all your emotions come rushing out, and you let them. 

You scream and cry without having to worry about anyone hearing you. You sob uncontrollably for a few minutes, then you curse Toby’s name and yell at him for tricking you into being his friend- then your brain makes you imagine what his face would look like if you had said that to his face and then you’re just sad again. You shrink in on yourself, crying and saying that you didn’t mean it. You don’t know why you bother saying anything to him out loud anyway, it’s not like he can hear you. 

You wish he was dead, that they’d found a body after he escaped. At least then you’d know where he was. Then you could go to his grave and punch his headstone, or you could just sit there and talk as if everything was normal. But there’s no body, so there’s no grave. Knowing that he was likely alive out there somewhere is somehow more painful. 

“You stupid jerk.” You say between disgusting, hiccupping sobs. You wipe at your face with your sleeve, trying to calm yourself.

If only you knew he was hiding up in a tree, a measly few feet away at the edge of the clearing, clutching at his chest as if it would keep his heart from clawing its way out.

[all1e23]

Between the Stars [Pt.7]

Pairings: Past!Steve x Reader, Bucky x  Reader

Series warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. Grief. Overall sadness. Depression. It’s pretty angsty if I’m being honest. Things mellow out as the series goes on. TW: Military/Spouse death

A/N:   This might be my favorite chapter yet. Bucky is soft, and I love him. Reminder because I know the timeline for this fic is confusing with switching between readers and Bucky's POV, we are eight months past Steve's death. Bucky has been home with her for seven. Thanks to my beautiful beta @moonbeambucky​​​ for looking this chapter over for me. If you like it write me a book report, sing me a song or come scream at me.

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!****

Eight months after Steve’s death, Y/n was playing again. It wasn’t on the same scale as it once was and she was no longer teaching, not that it mattered. It was a big deal, Bucky didn’t downplay just how huge this was. She had given up, threw out her dreams in search of new ones as some misguided form of punishment; maybe she thought it was her penance for some terrible crime she convinced herself she committed by living. Bucky understood that feeling better than most, he really did, but she had nothing to atone for. The only one who needed absolution was Bucky and he hoped that by helping her get her life back, he was earning a tiny bit of forgiveness for everything he had done.  

Nothing would ever completely absolve him, but he prayed this would help to even the scales.

Over the last month, Y/n hasn’t mentioned Steve as much. Bucky didn’t know if that was because she was starting to heal or if it hurt too much to keep talking about him. She still slept in his room most nights, only slightly closer to him now, her foot usually wrapped around his ankle and Steve’s pillow was no longer hugging her back -- it was still there every night though. A handful of nights she fell asleep on the couch watching trashy late-night television and Bucky didn’t know if he should pick her up and carry her to bed. Was it too intimate of a gesture? Should he touch her that way? And if he did what bed would he take her to? It wasn’t something he was ready to test and he wouldn’t risk the potential hurt the wrong move could make. So he let her sleep, and stayed close by, sleeping on the small window bench nearby in case she needed him. 

Things began to resemble something better, calmer and there was a bit of normalcy returning. They even started going out. It began with small outings, a trip or two to the market, or down to the Mexican restaurant twenty minutes away for takeout. A few Fridays back, they spent the entire day at one of those you-pick farms a couple of hours away from the house. She told him she wanted to go get peaches. Bucky wasn’t about to tell her no or tell her that they could pick some up at the grocery store without the hassle of having to pick them off a tree. No, he wouldn’t do that. This was a big step for her; she wanted to go out, and well, she’s so damn pretty when she’s smiling. 

The farm was enormous for the area, sitting at around 200 acres. They had blueberries, pumpkins, peaches, and strawberries. Some of the produce wasn’t ready to pick, but Bucky knew Y/n was planning their next trip as soon as the seasons changed, and he really didn’t mind. They had a petting zoo they found upon arrival, at which point Y/n squealed over the baby goats, and they spent some forty-odd minutes feeding them. Then Bucky spent the next hour talking her out of having a baby goat of her own. Okay, Bucky would get her a damn goat if she really wanted one, but he was praying she would forget about it on the drive home. There was a hay maze that was still in the process of being prepped for the upcoming season but Y/n’s eyes lit up at the mere thought. 

The food had to be Y/n’s favorite most of all. 

There were candied peach slices that she had been so excited about. Bucky couldn’t help but laugh when Y/n had a bite with too much of the ginger that was sprinkled on top and wrinkled her nose in disgust. She glared at him, but it only made him grin wider. They both tried the vanilla scones with fresh peach jam and shared a large Mason jar full of peach iced tea because she said it was silly to spend the extra money when they could share. One sip and all Bucky could think about was the sweetness on his lips is what she would taste like.

Maybe the food had been Bucky’s favorite part, too.

The sun was starting to set, and despite being forced to leave the goats behind thanks to closing, Y/n was still smiling. Bucky followed behind her, letting her lead him to whatever tree she deemed had the best peaches. Y/n delicately placed three more peaches in the pail he was carrying and then set her eyes on him, scrutinizing and somehow still playful. She stepped towards him and flicked the bill of his NASA ball cap, causing it to pop up and sit crooked on his head, and she grinned at the feigned look of annoyance he was giving her. 

“I can’t see your face when you wear a cap.”

She told him that as if it was an excuse for her assault on his favorite hat. 

“Well, I’m trying to hide my stupid looking hair.” 

She giggled at that. 

Y/n giggled, and the little bit of his heart that didn’t belong to her became hers. She leaned in, and if he was a stupider man, he would have thought she was going to kiss him by the look in her eyes and how close their lips were. Y/n slowly reached up and pulled his hat off his head only to plop it on top of her own. If she was his, he would have pulled her close and claimed those pretty lips, savoring the honeyed peach and candied ginger he knew was still lingering on her tongue as he took his sweet time tasting her. He would have kissed her until she was smiling and giggling and sighing in that soft way she does when she’s really happy. 

She wasn’t his. So he didn’t. 

But he would dream about what it would be like if she was. 

“Looks better on me anyway,” Y/n told him with a grin, wandering off towards the next row of trees. 

Bucky could only watch as she walked away with his hat and his heart. He mumbled quietly to the peaches hanging nearby, “Yes, it does.” 

After their outing, their day trips became something they both looked forward to. It wasn’t their norm. In the past, they spent a lot of their time watching movies, sitting in the quiet enjoying each other’s company, or Bucky would read while she played and worked on her music. But this new normal was good, too. It was nice to see more than the seafoam green walls of her living room, and he would do just about anything if it made her happy. 

“Hey.” 

Bucky looked up from his spot on the couch to find Y/n standing next to him in those black skinny jeans that make his knees weak and a plain white t-shirt. He knew she was wearing that black lace bra of hers because he could make out the imprint of the lace against the delicate fabric of her shirt, and he recognized the design from an embarrassing mix-up on laundry day. Bucky couldn’t seem to find his voice so he met her gaze, a question lingering in his own eyes as he waited for her to spill whatever she was so excited about.

“Wanna take me out?” 

He laughed softly and closed the book in his hand. He found it funny that she still asked him that. The answer would always be yes. For her, it’s always yes. 

“I’ll take you wherever you wanna go, Y/n.”

They went out to dinner that night. It wasn’t anything lavish, but it was the right amount of rowdy. There was a band playing out on the patio and the music carried through the open doors to where they shared a small booth inside, it was loud but not so they couldn’t talk. She ordered pasta because pasta always makes her happy, and Bucky tries his hardest to make sure she’s happy. They talked a lot, well, she talked a lot. That wouldn’t be so strange if she hadn’t been so closed off the last eight months. 

Bucky let her talk about how she wanted to see if the band had any shows soon because she wanted to see them play in a better venue, and she told him she liked lights the restaurant had above the tables -- a large beam with hanging Edison bulbs wrapped around them. She talked about the funny picture of him Sam posted on Instagram. Bucky had rolled his eyes at that. Sam had the bad habit of taking candid photos of everyone, and he always posted the worst ones of Bucky. This one happened to be from the worst possible angle; the camera caught his mouth hanging wide open as Bucky took a bite out half of a cheese pizza, folded over and covered in potato chips. Some people eat pizza that way, it wasn’t weird or funny, and Bucky stood by that. The night was perfect, but even perfection has a few cracks if you look hard enough. 

Someone had mistaken them for a couple that night, and Bucky was quick to correct them. He informed the older man and his wife that she was his best friend, she was taken by another lucky man. It was all platonic Bucky had said. Y/n didn’t say anything. She watched Bucky charm the older couple and gave them a friendly smile and a wave as they walked away. 

“Platonic,” she muttered quietly once it was just them again. 

Bucky looked up from his half-eaten burger and ketchup soaked fries, took in the furrow of her brow, and the frown sitting where a smile was beaming only a few moments ago, and his heart sank. 

None of that was good. 

“Yeah, Trouble.” 

Bucky’s eyes dropped to the wedding band she was still wearing without meaning to, and she quickly pulled her hand under the table. The rest of dinner was quiet, and they didn’t speak about it again. 

--

They never talked about what happened at the farm or dinner that night, but whatever bothered her the night at the restaurant hadn’t caused a setback in the healing process as Bucky had feared. It seemed forgotten. Bucky was thankful for that, and he was thankful for days like today. Y/n wanted to spend the day at home, relaxing. She informed him that today would be perfect if she could spend the day with just him. She might have said something like, “I just want to spend today curled up on the couch watching movies with you.” Not that Bucky memorized the way her voice sounded when she said that or anything. 

Three movies into their marathon and Y/n declared they needed a break. She was going to figure out something to eat for dinner, and Bucky wasn’t sure how it happened, but he found himself upstairs, staring at a ghost. The letters Steve gave him have been tucked away in a drawer of the old desk that sat in the corner of his room. They caused him more heartache than Steve intended Bucky was sure. Or maybe this was exactly what Steve wanted. This was his punishment for loving her. Bucky tapped the letter on the desk and ran a hand down his face, Bucky had hoped they would disappear, and he wouldn’t have to look at them again, but there all twelve sat. 

A heavy-handed fist pounded on the front door, startling Bucky out of his trance and his stomach dropped at the sound. He wasn’t down there with Y/n, not that she needed him to answer the door, and lord knows if she knew he dared to even think about babying her like that, she would chew him out for a week straight. Still, he didn’t like leaving her completely on her own, not yet. Bucky tossed the letter back in the drawer, and hastily closed it before trampling downstairs. 

Bucky made out a familiar voice as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Well, you never answer your phone anymore, and I figured you were spending all your time with-” 

Her father met Bucky’s eyes, and he grinned.

“-Bucky. Well, shit, son. It’s good to see you home.” 

Bucky grinned and took the hand that was extended towards him. He hadn’t expected it to be her father at the door; he thought Sam or maybe Natasha. It made sense, though. No one has come by to check on her since he’s been home. It was about time they started to get visitors, and Y/n didn’t answer her phone much anymore, so if someone wanted to talk to her showing up like this was their only choice. Bucky knew she wasn’t doing that on purpose, she had to put some things off in order to keep going, and there wasn’t any shame in that. 

He was doing the very same thing. 

Y/n was uncomfortable, whether her dad knew Bucky wasn’t sure. Bucky knew, though. She hates small talk, so Bucky knew when Y/n said she was starting the grill, she just wanted a moment to breathe without being judged; a minute so she could prepare mentally for a guest when she didn’t want one. Bucky could keep her dad busy until she was ready for idle chit chat and undoubtedly Invasive questions. How hard could it be to keep up a conversation and look for a small fire on the porch? 

He could handle it; smoke meant they had to run. It would be fine. 

“I thought you would’ve stopped by before now.” 

Bucky passed over an amber-colored bottle from the fridge, taking a beer for himself and leaned against the counter. It probably wasn’t proper or how Steve would entertain him, but Bucky wasn’t Steve. He didn’t even know why he was thinking about that. This was still Steve’s house and his wife, no matter how much Bucky wished this life was his. 

“Well, I knew she was in good hands. She has you.” 

He smiled but shook his head. “I appreciate that. She’s probably helping me more than I’m helping her.” 

“I doubt that.” 

Bucky caved under the weight of his stare and grudgingly nodded his head in agreement (or cession depending on who you ask). He has yet to win an argument with her dad, and Bucky wasn't about to try to now. 

"We haven't had a chance to talk since you've been home. I've meaning to come by.  Y'know how much we love Steve; we always have." 

Bucky tried to keep his face impassive, his grip on the bottle in his hand tightened, and he could feel his stomach-churning. Where the hell was this going? 

“He was a good man and a good husband. Took care of Y/n, made sure she was happy and was always respectful.” 

Bucky relaxed some when he realized he was simply praising his lost friend, and he nodded, taking a swig of his beer to wash his guilt down. Yeah, that was Steve. The polished side of the coin. The hero, not the broken sidekick.The better of the two. Bucky heard the speech before; it was one truth he knew well. 

“But I always thought it was going to be you.” 

Bucky froze and by some small miracle managed to keep his face blank as the older man went on, “Even up to the day of the wedding I had this feeling one of the girls were going to come running in, flowers in their hair to tell me she ran off with you and the wedding was off.” 

Bucky huffed. “She would never do that.” 

Her dad smiled and nodded his agreement. “She wouldn’t, but you would have.”

Bucky licked his lips and dropped his gaze to the counter, not risking the chance the truth could be seen in his eyes. He couldn’t lie and say he didn’t think about it after Steve proposed. That he didn’t let it play out like some romantic drama in his head where he got to her just in time and told her the truth, the whole real, painful truth, and she loved him back all along. 

But she didn’t. She loved Steve, still did. 

It was obvious any time Steve was mentioned or when something reminded her of him. He could see it written all over her how much she still loved Steve, and Bucky couldn’t blame her. He still loved Steve too. Despite everything, Bucky loved them both. 

“Give her time to work through her grief, and I’m guessing you need to deal with your own. Losing someone you love is never easy. The time will come though when you both can move on. I’m not saying you’ll do that together or that I think you should, but there may be the chance to in the future. If you were looking for hope of some sort, well, that’s the best I can offer you.” 

Y/n had found her way back into the kitchen, no smoke in sight and their conversation ended there. It wasn’t one Bucky wanted to continue anyway. Not when the hope he was offering didn’t exist. Bucky tried to leave them alone so she could spend alone time with her dad, but she gave him the look, the one that pleaded with him to stay and tugged on his heart. So he stayed by her side until the stars were shining brightly and they were alone once again. 

Bucky had been more careful with his affection after that. He was meaningful in his touch and waited to make sure he meant each one. Not that it was that hard to do, he meant every one. When it came to Y/n, everything Bucky did had meaning, a purpose. 

Y/n had started asking him to go on a walk around sunset every night. It was getting cooler out now that autumn was right around the corner, and she liked to watch how everything around them changed -- slowly almost without notice.

Their walk tonight felt different. Things had changed between them, when Bucky didn’t know. He wasn’t sure what they had changed to, but he wasn’t going to question it. He was afraid if he did, she would realize her mistake, and all these small moments between them would stop. Halfway through their walk, Y/n had let her hands hang by her side instead of staying crossed over her chest. When they were kids, she would do that when she wanted Bucky to hold her hand, or maybe he imagined that she ever truly wanted to hold his hand. 

Bucky never could figure her out.

He never knew what she meant when she would lean in close to whisper something in his ear and pull away just as fast. When she would tease him and give him that giggle that had his heart stopping and restarting like an old engine that was about to give out. He could never tell if she felt something beyond what they already were; if she wanted him the way he wanted her. 

Her street was just up the hill, and Bucky finally gave in to the screaming in his chest because feeling her hand in his once more was all he could think about. He slowly slid his fingertips down her forearm until he reached her palm. He risked a peek at her as he laced their fingers together and caught the smile she was trying to hide by dropping her head to gaze down to her white high-tops and his black boots. 

Bucky didn’t know if Y/n wanted to hold his hand, and at this point, he wasn’t sure if he knew her as well as he thought, but he sure did love that smile.

Previous // Next

[alinaastarkov]

There's a dilemma that you Dany morons don't think about. If Dany is going to be seen as an heir she needs Dorne's support because they have gender equality. Without it Dany is behind Aegon, son of Rhaegar and Stannis, great-grandson of Aegon V. And after that there's even the chance of Robert's bastards being legitimized so she's behind Mya Stone, Bella, Gendry and Edric Storm. Dany has nothing without Dorne. But you idiots can't even acknowledge that she fucked up majorly with Quentyn Martell.

Right, you asked for a history lesson so you’re gonna get it.

George R. R. Martin has based ASoIaF on a lot of things, but it’s fair to say he has been most heavily influenced by British/ English history. The laws in Westeros are very similar to medieval England, the geography is similar, the Dance of the Dragons is literally The Anarchy (the war of succession between Empress Matilda and King Stephen), the main conflict is based on the Wars of the Roses, etc. 

Succession laws in Westeros are one of the things he took from English history, besides Dorne. The main part of this was something called male primogeniture, which he has copied into the series pretty much unchanged. Male primogeniture meant a female member of the dynasty (or, more specifically a dynast’s daughter, i.e. the daughter of the ruling monarch/ head of the family) only inherited if she had no living brothers and her brothers had no living children themselves. After that, older siblings come before younger siblings, etc. Dorne practices absolute primogeniture, where the eldest child of the dynast will inherit, no matter what gender, and they will always come before younger siblings/ anyone from extended branches of the family.

Having educated you on that fact, let’s educate you on your Stannis/ Baratheon claim which is honestly the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. No one has brought this up before cause it’s really that fucking stupid. Stannis has a claim because of Robert, but you, sir, decided to base this on Targaryen lineage, the ruling dynasty for 300 years, so let’s go. 

Obviously the daughter of the dynast (Aerys) comes before the great-grandson of the king from 50 years ago. Stannis is at least 3 generations removed from any claim to a Targaryen throne. Even in male primogeniture, the daughter of the dynast will always come before cousins/ uncles/ nephews/ any extended family. It’s why Matilda fought for her claim against her cousin, it’s why Mary I became Queen over Jane Grey and other male relatives, why Elizabeth became Queen over Philip II and Mary Queen of Scots and a bunch of male relatives, it’s why Mary II and Queen Anne both ruled, it’s why William of Orange only became King with the express permission of Anne herself who was the rightful heir. I could go on. I don’t know where this idea that Stannis has a better claim comes from cause it makes no sense. Female or not the child of the ruling monarch comes before extended family. Always. That extended family may contest it because they’re misogynists, but that doesn’t actually weaken the claim itself.

The same goes for Robert’s bastards but even more so as they are illegitimate, meaning they technically have no claim to anything at all until someone legitimises them. And by someone, I mean the monarch. Tommen will never do that and I don’t see any reason why any other claimants would either, unless it’s to put someone in charge of Storm’s End. To use another example, this is why Henry Fitzroy was never considered as a future king even as Henry VIII struggled endlessly for a son and both his daughters’ legitimacy was called into question. He was a bastard. End of story. They have less of a claim than Stannis, and Stannis has basically none. Besides, to make a claim to the throne that is weaker, you need a strong army. Robert’s bastards have none, Stannis is losing more of his every day, meanwhile Dany has the strongest army in the series. She has the strongest claim and the power to back it up.

Now, onto Aegon. Going off the law I’ve just explained, Aegon would come before Dany. There are a few problems in universe, however. For a start, Aegon is likely an imposter, and so would have no claim. See Lambert Simnel and Perkin Warbeck as good examples of this sort of thing. The second is that Aerys (likely) disinherited Rhaegar and his children, passing over him in favour of Viserys as his heir.

When Prince Rhaegar and his new wife chose to take up residence on Dragonstone instead of the Red Keep, rumors flew thick and fast across the Seven Kingdoms. Some claimed that the crown prince was planning to depose his father and seize the Iron Throne for himself, whilst others said that King Aerys meant to disinherit Rhaegar and name Viserys heir in his place. Nor did the birth of King Aerys's first grandchild, a girl named Rhaenys, born on Dragonstone in 280 AC, do aught to reconcile father and son. When Prince Rhaegar returned to the Red Keep to present his daughter to his own mother and father, Queen Rhaella embraced the babe warmly, but King Aerys refused to touch or hold the child and complained that she "smells Dornish." - TWOIAF

Had any whiff of proof come into their hands to show that Prince Rhaegar was conspiring against his father, King Aerys's loyalists would most certainly have used it to bring about the prince's downfall. Indeed, certain of the king's men had even gone so far as to suggest that Aerys should disinherit his "disloyal" son, and name his younger brother heir to the Iron Throne in his stead. Prince Viserys was but seven years of age, and his eventual ascension would certainly mean a regency, wherein they themselves would rule as regents. - TWOIAF

Birds flew and couriers raced to bear word of the victory at the Ruby Ford. When the news reached the Red Keep, it was said that Aerys cursed the Dornish, certain that Lewyn had betrayed Rhaegar. He sent his pregnant queen, Rhaella, and his younger son and new heir, Viserys, away to Dragonstone, but Princess Elia was forced to remain in King's Landing with Rhaegar's children as a hostage against Dorne. - TWOIAF

The last passage is especially damning. If it was simply that Rhaegar died, his children would be next in line to the throne over his brother, as I have explained. But Viserys is clearly stated as Aerys’ “new heir”, meaning he passed over Aegon and Rhaenys, deposing them to put Viserys as next in line. Before anyone says this can’t be done/ doesn’t count, it does. Henry VIII deposed both Mary and Elizabeth after removing their mothers and it was completely valid/ recognised. It’s why people called them both “bastards” throughout their lives. He also had to undo that decree before he died, meaning they were both able to rule after Edward. If Henry himself hadn’t undone it, they never would have ruled. So, Aegon’s status as disinherited will stand, even if he is really Rhaegar’s son. Aegon now has an army, meaning he can back up his weak claim, but so does Dany. And the army doesn’t mean his claim is better, either.

Dany doesn’t need Dorne for her claim, only for extra support when backing up her very valid claim to the throne. As I have just explained to you, Dany is currently the person with the best claim to the throne who is not currently sitting on it. Besides, she didn’t “fuck up” anything with Quentyn. She accepted him into her court graciously and did all she could to keep his support, foster a relationship with him and Doran/ Dorne by extension, shy of calling of her own engagement which would have meant the deaths of all her people. Everything Quentyn did after that was because he wrongly felt he was letting his father down and was his own mistake entirely. None of it is on her.

In summary, Dany has the best claim and the power to back it up, Aegon (might) have second best claim (though it’s highly unlikely, in fact pretty much impossible as he was disinherited) with slightly less power to back it up and Stannis has one of the worst claims without the power to back it up. Hope you enjoyed your history lesson! Read the books next time and you could avoid embarrassing moments like this 😬🤗

[rachaelswrites]

Mission:AU

Chapter One- Gender Swap

Peter Parker x Barnes!reader

Previous Part

You woke up in an unfamiliar room and you sat up and stretched. You looked around the room to try and find something you recognized. You saw a phone on the bedside table and grabbed it. You caught a quick glance at your reflection on the screen and your jaw dropped. You were Peter. You looked down and saw that you were definitely in his body. 

Peter woke up in a familiar situation. He immediately noticed he was you, since you had a full length mirror opposite the bed. He jumped up and looked around for your phone. He could hear music playing and figured Bucky was awake. He unlocked the phone and called you, or himself.

You got a call on the phone in your hands. You saw it was your own name (or Peter) and answered. 

“Y/n? What the hell happened? Are you trapped in my body? Because I’m trapped in yours!” 

“Yes Peter. It seems we are in quite a predicament,” you tried to remain calm while Peter freaked out. You both agreed to meet up at a park and hung up. You snuck out of Peter’s room and he did the same. 

You didn’t know Queens very well, since you grew up in Brooklyn. You asked some people for help to find your way to the park. After about a half an hour of riding the subway and walking, you spotted Peter. You were surprised he managed to pick out such a good outfit. You didn’t even change out of the clothes you woke up in. 

“Oh my god Y/n!” Peter ran towards you and pulled you into a hug. 

You awkwardly maneuvered out of his grip, since people started giving you weird looks.

“Do you have any idea what’s happening? What’s the last thing you remember before this morning?” you wanted to get to the bottom of this. 

“Umm. We were on the mission and the guy attacked us with the machine. And then I woke up in your room.”

You rubbed your temples in frustration. Peter walked you over to a bench and sat you down, sensing your stress.

 “Damn it. It’s like we’re stuck in that one movie with the fortune cookies.” you tried to remember what is what. 

Peter helped you out, “You mean Freaky Friday?” he asked.

You nodded.

 “True but we don’t have to learn a lesson like they did. Maybe we have to do something else. Oo! Like in Teen Beach Movie! The characters get stuck in a musical and the only way to get out is to finish the storyline. Do you remember that movie?”

You glared at him, “No Peter. I don’t remember some stupid movie because if you can recall, I was stuck in Wakanda for two years and then I had to deal with my dad and my friend’s death. I didn’t have time to watch movies,” you snapped, “And besides. We’re not in a musical so there’s no storyline to finish,” He was taken aback. And quite frankly so were you. You never really snapped at anyone before. You stood up from the bench and Peter followed. 

“I’m sorry Y/n I didn’t realize. Maybe instead of a storyline, we have to live the day as each other.” 

You turned your head and looked at him. It did make sense. You sighed, “Yeah probably. We just can’t get caught. Try to stay away from my dad today and I’ll avoid May.”

“How am I supposed to lie to The Winter Soldier?” he asked. 

“Tell him you have cramps. It always works. Plus, he’s not The Winter Soldier anymore,” you shrugged. 

Peter was about to say something but you were already skipping down the sidewalk back to Queens. 

Peter got back to the apartment complex you and Bucky lived in. He went upstairs and quietly slipped in. 

“Hey sweetheart. Where’d you go so early?” your dad asked. 

Peter hesitated until he remembered what you told him, “Uh cramps!” he blurted. He smiled sheepishly and waited for Bucky’s response. 

He stood up and walked to Peter, putting his hand on his forehead, "Are you feeling ok? Normally you don’t leave bed because of those.”

Peter had to think quickly, "I just uh… needed some fresh air.”

Bucky nodded and left the room. Peter quickly made his way back into your room. He pulled out your phone and called himself. 

“Hey Y/n. Did you get back ok?” Peter asked. 

“I’m on the subway still. I’ll be there in a few though. What’s up?”

“I was just making sure you were safe. It can be dangerous out there.”

You giggled at Peter’s protectiveness for you. You two had only grown close over the last day but anything he had done had given you butterflies. 

“I’ll be ok. I was a Hydra assassin for decades, remember?” 

Peter nodded, even though you couldn’t see it. He remembered the girl at the airport. He didn’t want to hurt her. She looked so fragile until he saw her almost take down Natasha by herself. He so badly wanted to pull her away from the fighting and keep her safe. Tony had told him not to. ‘Who knows what Barnes and Rogers would do if they found out you took her,’ those were the exact words Tony said. 

“Also there's a change of clothes I keep under my pillow. Just letting you know so you don’t have to dig through drawers.” 

“Ok thanks Petey!” you said. You had never called him that before.

“Goodbye Y/n/n,” he said. 

You hung up the phone just in time to get off the train. 

The rest of the day was pretty boring for both of you. You had to shoo May away multiple times. Claiming you had a huge headache and just wanted to sleep. Instead of sleeping, you looked around Peter’s room. You studied his photographs and posters and flipped through his books and comics. You pulled down a cardboard box from the closet and opened it. They were a bunch of old yearbooks. You sat crisscross on the ground and read them one by one. School changed a lot since you were last in one. You imagined yourself in Peter’s place and then imagined yourself alongside him. Being his best friend through all these years. 

Peter did the same thing you did. He went through some of your things from your childhood. He was always fascinated by history. He flipped through the clothes in your closet until he noticed a section in the back. The hangers were facing the opposite way as the others. He pulled them back and found a box. He grabbed the box and sat down on the bed. He pulled off the lid and stared at it’s contents. There were multiple journals, new and old. There were also loose leaf papers that looked like they belonged in a museum (which they did at one point). He emptied the box and looked at the papers. Some of them were flyers advertising the enlistment stations and others were photographs of you as a child. Most of them were either taken by Bucky or if he was in them with you, Steve. He saw a picture of just Bucky in his uniform by the train station.

 “This was probably the day he left,” he said quietly.

 He went to put the photos back but the bed dipped and some of the journals fell. He leaned down and saw one of them fell open. 

He grabbed it and read the page it was on:

I dreamt I was on the beach. Dad and Steve were playing catch. I was wrapped in a blanket cause Dad didn’t want me getting sick. I was about three. Before they tried to enlist. I remember Steve was invited but didn't want to go at first because Dad said it was ‘daddy daughter bonding time’ eventually Steve gave in and joined. I don’t remember if this part happened: I was really excited and tried to go swim but dad grabbed me by the waist to stop me. He said I had to stay with him since I was so small. I didn’t like that so I pouted. Then he tickled me and chased me until I was smiling and laughing. I hope that part was real. It was one of the happiest times of my life.

Peter smiled at the thought of baby you being happy and stress free. He noticed a note at the bottom of the page. It was dated the day of your mission. Peter remembered you told him you had a good dream, this must've been it. He heard Bucky’s footsteps down the hall and quickly put everything back in the box and slid it under the bed. Bucky knocked and Peter let him in. 

“Hey I was just seeing if you wanted something to eat. I can make something or I can order in. Up to you.” 

“Uh I don’t really mind. I’m ok with anything.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, "Really? Normally you beg me to order from Panda Express. I don’t even know why you like that place so much.”

“Yeah I mean I’ll have that. I just wanted to let you have a say also.” 

Bucky chuckled and shook his head. He turned and closed the door. Peter heard him a few minutes later on the phone ordering food. Peter went to go to the bathroom. He looked down and screamed. Bucky came running to the room and opened the door. “Y/n? What’s wrong? Are you ok?” 

Peter walked out of the bathroom and looked at your dad, "I’m...Uh...Bleeding.”

Bucky had concern written all over his face., "Oh. Do you need help with the wound or help cleaning up?” he asked. 

Peter looked at him and realized he didn’t know what he meant, "It’s not from an injury though,” he explained. 

Bucky looked confused. Then it hit him, "Sweetheart. You know this happens every month and is normal. Do we need to have the talk again?” 

Peter was mortified. He totally forgot that he didn’t know that he was trapped in your body. Peter shook his head, "Umm. No, I'm good. It just sur-” a sudden wave of cramps hit Peter and he doubled over in pain, “Shit it hurts,” he mumbled. 

Bucky bent down to pick him up. He carried him to the bed and sat him down. 

“I’ll get you some meds ok. You can eat up here tonight,” Bucky kissed the top of his head and left. 

You had run into a similar situation in Queens. You were laying on Peter’s bed staring at the ceiling, messing with his webs. You were shooting them around the room, seeing what you could grab. You were too preoccupied and didn’t hear May knocking on the door. When she didn’t hear a response she opened the door and went in. You got startled and somehow managed to web yourself to the bed. “Oh sorry Peter. I didn’t know you were doing… what ever you were just doing,” 

“It’s not what you’re thinking Mis- I mean May,” you stuttered. 

“Peter it’s fine. You don’t have to explain. But we do have to get you out of those webs,” she moved over to the drawer where Peter must’ve kept the web remover stuff. After a few minutes, you were finally free. 

[queenxxxsupreme]

Lost But Not Forgotten

A/N: Italics are telepathic conversations. Also there’s a part in here that is sort of a nod to Trista Mateer’s quote “I still remember you as a little girl who overwaters plants because she doesn’t know when to stop giving.”  Thank you so much to my lovely babe @writingawaymylife you’re the best ever <3

Warnings: none, just fluff with some angst

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Eskel finds his long lost sister.

“You know, it’s very hard to concentrate when you’re humming so loudly.” Your apprentice, Vayenn, glanced up at you through her lashes. She was trying to read a book about healing herbs but you were humming and distracting her.

“Concentrate harder.” You grinned just a little, wiping down an empty shelf. You had just gotten in a shipment of dried herbs and you wanted to fill the shelf. 

“That’s hard to do when all I hear is you.”

“Perhaps you’d concentrate more if you were in another room.”

“I won’t learn anything being in another room, Y/N. I want to get better at this but it’s just so damn difficult!” She groaned, placing the book rather roughly down on to a table. She then folded her arms up and rested her head on the table. 

“You can’t learn herbalism overnight, Vayenn. You need to have patience.”

The bell above the door to your shop rung softly, silencing your conversation with Vayenn. 

You turned and put on a welcoming smile. There were three men, two of them witchers from the magic auras that came off of them and the final one human. 

“Hello, gentlemen! Welcome to the Golden Sparrow. Is there anything I can help you with today?”

“No, thank you.” The human flashed you a smile. “I believe they know what it is we are looking for.”

“Alright, just let me know if there is anything I can help you with.” Your eyes flickered up to the witcher standing closest to the door. His shoulders were broad, dark hair mostly pulled back in a low ponytail. Twin blades were strapped to his back. Your eyes very briefly caught sight of deep scars that cut through his lips and possibly his eye too. You didn’t let your gaze linger for long so you couldn’t tell where they began.

You turned to Vayenn, who had closed her book and appeared to be studying the two witchers.

“Vayenn.” You snapped your fingers, catching her attention. “It’s rude to stare.” 

“I wasn’t.” She mumbled.

“Keep reading that book. I want it finished by tomorrow’s market, or else you won’t be going with me.”

She sighed again and opened the book.

You looked back to the three customers. They had migrated to the shelf containing jars of various monster-related body parts. 

You went back to the empty shelf you had previously been working on. Now that it was clean, you could start putting jars of dried herbs on it. 

“We don’t need that, Jaskier. We need a katakan liver.” One of the witchers spoke.

“I could’ve sworn the old man said a kikimora liver.”

“I’m positive I heard right. It was katakan.”

“What makes you think you heard right, Geralt?”

“Because I’m a witcher, Jaskier.” 

“It was a katakan liver, Jaskier.” The second witcher said. The human gasped, rather dramatically putting his hand over his heart. 

“And to think that you were on my side all this time, Eskel.”

The jar in your hand slipped and fell to the floor, shattering into a billion pieces. The dried herbs inside broke and cracked. 

You looked over to the customers at the same time that they looked to you. Your eyes fell on the one the human called Eskel. 

Your lips parted and all the breath in your lungs escaped. 

No, no, no. There was no way this was your brother. There was absolutely no way. He had died decades ago, you were sure of it. 

“Y/N?” Vayenn said your name, standing from the table she was at. “Y/N! Are you okay?”

When she shouted your name, you flinched, coming back to reality. You turned your head to look at her, opening your mouth to say something but your voice didn’t work. You looked back at the witchers and the human, your eyes focusing on the dark haired witcher.

“Y/N?” The witcher repeated quietly, furrowed his brows together. 

“Who, um, who is this, Eskel?” The human asked. “A friend?”

Eskel didn’t answer him immediately. He wasn’t sure if it was you, if you were his sister.

“Y/N of Vedette.” He responded quietly.

Your vision blurred with tears as you gazed at him. Your stomach twisted up with the grief you still carried from your childhood. 

“Are-Are you him?” Your voice was broken, weak. Your heart raced like a hummingbird’s wings in your chest, begging to be freed from its cage. “Are you….?”

You couldn’t say his name out loud. You hadn’t said his name in ages. It caused too much pain.

He took a few steps towards you as if he wanted to approach you. But at the last minute, he changed his mind and stopped. His fingers curled into fists by his sides.

“I am Eskel of…. of Vedette.” Eskel had never claimed his home as his own, not since he was taken away by an old witcher. But seeing you standing just across the room from him, breathing and staring at him like he was a lost treasure, it felt right. 

You were frozen in place, unable to move, fearing this was some sort of dream. Perhaps you accidentally ingested an herb or something. 

Eskel looked back to the white haired witcher, Geralt of Rivia. The two shared some sort of silent and brief conversation. 

“Come on, Jaskier.” He moved past Eskel and towards the door to your shop. 

As the two left, you couldn’t take your eyes off of Eskel. It still felt unreal. 

You didn’t notice Vayenn disappear to a back room, taking her book with her.

“How-How are you still alive?” He asked you. He wanted nothing more than to close the space between you two and embrace you. But he didn’t want to scare you away. He didn’t want you close enough to see everything that was wrong with him, everything about him that had changed since you last saw him.

“I’m-I’m a-I’m a mage.” You stumbled over your words, nearly silent with your answer. His voice was so deep and raspy, a stark contrast to the eight year old boy you remembered. “Is this real?” Your voice trembled, tears slipping from your eyes to make damp trails down your cheeks. 

“Yes.”

That was all you need to confirm that this was reality, that you weren’t hallucinating or dreaming. 

You ran across the room, practically throwing yourself at Eskel, at your brother. He caught you in his strong arms, holding you around the waist while you clutched to his shoulders.

The tears you’d been trying so desperately to hold back came free, flooding down your cheeks as you cried into his shoulder. 

“You’ve gotten so big.” He chuckled, though you could hear the strain in his voice. He was trying not to cry. 

You pulled away from him, wanting a better look at his face, at how the years had changed him.

Scars that pulled on the right side of his face. Yellow eyes gazed down at you, glossy and softened as he looked at you. 

Your brows drew together softly and your hand came up to cup the right side of his face. He flinched from the contact, eyes closing firmly. 

“My gods, what have they done to you?” You breathed out, ghosting your fingers across the rippled scars on his cheek. “And your beautiful green eyes….”

He let his head fall forward a little, hanging in shame. But you wouldn't allow it. You shook your head softly, tilting his head up and brushing a few pieces of hair out of his yellow eyes. 

“I’m not judging you, dear brother. I just…. I can’t believe you are alive. Mother said you were lost in the woods.”

“I did get lost, but a witcher came along…. He took me.” Eskel opened his eyes but looked down. He couldn’t meet your gaze. 

“Come, let’s sit.” You took his hand and guided him over to the little round table Vayenn had been sitting at. 

He sat down in one chair and you pulled yours closer to him. You kept your hand in his, holding his scarred and calloused fingers tightly in your own. 

You studied him for a few moments, the way his eyes cautiously flickered around the room. He wasn’t completely relaxed in his seat, unwilling to get too comfortable. He was on guard. 

“Nothing here will hurt you, Eskel.” You told him with a soft shake of your head. His eyes flickered back to you. “You look…. uneasy.”

“I…. I just….” He didn’t want to tell you about his guild, about how getting too comfortable could get him killed. He didn’t want to tell you about all the nightmares he’d faced in real life, all the horrors he witnessed. After seeing what he had, there was no way to be other than uneasy. 

“A witcher.” You said the title, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. “Who would have guessed my sweet little brother would turn into a protector?”

“A monster.” He corrected you, eyes falling to his hand embraced in your own.

“A what?” You furrowed your brows together.

“A monster. Not…. Not a protector.”

“My brother, you are no monster.” You shook your head. “If you are even half the sweet boy I remember you to be, you are no monster.”

“I’ve-I’ve killed, Y/N.” He admitted, heart racing in his chest so violently that he was afraid it may burst. He was ready to confess to every sin he’d ever committed, to tell you of everything horrid he’d ever done. He wasn’t the hero you thought him to be, and he wouldn’t lie to you like that. 

“We all have.” You smiled sadly, your voice a soft whisper. “We kill the people we used to be in order to survive this cruel world.”

He took in your words, almost smiling. But then he knitted his brows together and shook his head, pulling his hand from yours. 

“We all do things we aren’t proud of.”

“But what I’ve done…. Y/N, I’m no protector.”

He was still just as stubborn as you remembered. You could see the pain in his eyes, his unfamiliar yellow eyes. Even though the color and the shape of the pupil was far from what you remembered, you could still see the little boy who was so eager to water flowers in the garden even though he always overwatered them. He never knew when to stop giving. 

Had the world succeeded in breaking him? In breaking the sweet boy you called your brother?

You released his hand, leaning back in your chair and crossing your knees. 

“I spent years and years trying to find you.” You told him, glancing down to a ring on your right hand. It was your mother’s wedding band. She had given it to you just before she passed. “I searched the entire Continent. Mother tried not to give up hope, but she was never the same after you went missing. I promised her I’d never stop until I found you. I found a mage from Aretuza. She told me that she could help me find you. After I finished learning what I needed to become a mage, she told me that you were dead and finding you would be a waste of my talent.”

You paused for a moment to take a breath. 

“So I left the Lodge. I bounced around for a while before settling down here.”

“It’s a nice village.”

You nodded.

“Tell me, dear brother. What brought you here?” You tilted your head to the side a little, a knowing smile coming to your lips.

“A…. A contract. There’s been people going missing in the woods outside of town.”

“And you wished to stop whatever beast it is?” You raised your brows. 

Eskel crinkled his brow at you, confused as to why you were asking him such things. 

“You might believe that those witchers stole your kindness and your good heart, but you protect people from monsters.”

He said nothing, eyes falling to his hands as he took in your words and tried to understand your reasoning.

The bell to your shop rung quietly. You lifted your head, looking to the door. It was an elderly woman, a regular of yours. She often came by for remedies for her arthritis. 

You looked back to your brother, opening your mouth to excuse yourself.

“It’s okay.” He spoke before you could, smiling softly. “Go.”

You rose to your feet. His yellow eyes followed you as you went to the customer. You took a few steps away from him before turning back to make sure he was there. Your stomach began to twist up at the thought him being gone when you looked back. 

But he was there, still sitting in the chair and still watching you. You nervously messed with your hands at your waist, picking at your nails. 

“Don’t you dare think about going anywhere, okay?”

He nodded, afraid that if he spoke, his voice would crack and give away all the emotions he was desperately fighting. 

A little smile tugged at the corner of your lips. You took a few steps back, eyes lingering on your brother, then finally turned to go take care of your customer.

Eskel quietly cleared his throat and took a deep breath. 

“Never again.” He quietly promised, nodding softly.

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @MishaFaye  @whitewolfandthefox @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @wolfyland07  @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @romancebibliophilia @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural  @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @badassspaceprincess @theawkwardpedestrian @naominami @scarlettwitcher @runawayolives @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an--actual--human--disaster

[wowheadquarters]

don't be shy, drop ALL your Kel'Thuzad headcanons~

All of them? Hm. I don’t know if I remember all of them. Also, I stopped keeping track of WoW some time in the middle of the Battle for Azeroth, because it can either be WoW whcih I enjoy or shitwreck, and I chose WoW, which isn’t what Blizzard/Activision is currently serving- I meant to say that most likely my headcanons aren’t Shadowlands compatibile.

Anyway. Kel’thuzad headcanons of various importance as I remember them.

Kel’thuzad is his actual given name, it’s not a pseudonym or anything.

In Thalassian “kel’thuzad” mean “seeker of the truth”. (In Darnassian the same phrase is “keil tassad” and in Zandali “kel’ta sad”.)

Kel’thuzad speaks Common and Thalassian fluently. Before the Dark Portal opened he knew some phrases in Dwarven (conversational) and Gnomish (related to transport industry and mathematic). He can also speak Zandali with varying accents (mostly Amani), but he knows only five or six Zandali signs (he can sign his name, but that’s it).

After the Dark Portal opened, Kel’thuzad tried and failed to learn Orcish. He gained the skill later when it was a trial-and-error learning by communicating with Ner’zhul. Due to that Kel’thuzad’s accent when speaking Orcish is not “Human,” but distinctly Shadowmoon.

He also learned Nerubian from... well, the dead Nerubians. He can now both speak and write fluently even with encryption.

(There are 3 ways of Nerubian ecryptions and they can be simultaneously applied. This way there exist 7 versions of encryption plus 1 unencrypted text. These are known as the Eight Webs of writing. Plain text is written in the First Web, triple encryptin is the Eighth Web.)

He can read (but not speak) Nathrezim, and somewhat read and speak Shath’Yar, the language of the Old Gods. He would understand Quiraji if he ever encountered it, because it is very close to Nerubian (like Czech and Slovakian, I imagine).

The Language of Death, by the Scourge usually referred to as Deathspeak, is an artificial language created by Kel’thuzad. It is based on all languages he knew at the point of creating it, and is fairly easy to learn if you find a willing teacher. It was created for the members of the Cult of the Damned to understand ach other without them feeling like one language/race is put above the other, and to partially control their thoughts, as the language specifically hasn’t got some words or phrases (such as “rebellion”). Orwell would be proud.

He was brownhaired, but he greyed out fairly quickly when Ner’zhul settled in his head without paying any rent.

He was from Kul’Tiras. (I still want him to necromance a sunken ship. And a chalk cliff.)

His family name is Naxrierre. There is a theory that Naxrierres were a witch coven that became civilized with years, which is mostly spread by naysayers to explain the family’s talent towards magic. Another theory claims that they are a part-elven bastards which would besides the magic explain the name.

Kel’thuzad took the elf-Naxrierr theory to heart and in his ambition for one of his sons to make it somewhere else than the navy agve him a Quel’dorei name.

The suffix -ramas in Nerubian signifies not encessarily a necropolis but any place to permanently home dead bodies. “Naxxramas” is basically “Nax(rierre)’s tomb” but in Nerubian. 

As a mage in Dalaran Kel’thuzad studied arcanophysic, a way to describe and measure magic. This field is where all the calibration of spells or even negating spells comes from. He became the sole teacher of it in Dalaran, because he was the only one enthusiastic enough about it to bother.

He was that type of teacher who didn’t give homeworks, he hated correcting them. He also had his classes in the most unreasonable hours, such as 3 AM, because he had a busy schedule and non-existent sleep pattern.

Since Kel’thuzad’s banishment the knowledge of arcanophysics among the Dalaran mages has drasticaly declined and is nearly nonexistent nowadays. All books Kel’thuzad had written on it have been sealed away, which removed nearly all reliable sources from the public access.

Kel’thuzad actually had good relationships with his colleagues. He helped Alonda with her fild research on Trolls (hence his speaking Zandali).

His closest friend was Anthonidas. They used to be classmates once upon the time.

What really undermined Kel’thuzad’s trust and belief in Kirin Tor was what happened to Khadgar. He realized that Kirin Tor is not going to act if given a warning, and not going to help if hearing a plea.

He still tried to warn Kirin Tor before what he didn’t know was the Scourge. He had noticed the Amani “moving out of the way”. “Whatever will happen, and I believe that this time it will be the dead, because the demons haven’t tried that yet, it will happen in a single line from Lordareon to Quel’Danas. We know the Amani can see into the future, and they are clearing out of this path.” Dismissed as a doomsayer, he wasn’t really persistent in his warnins.

Ner’zhul’s talks to Kel’thuzad began as especially persistent migraines. Whenever Kel’thuzad tried to tell Anthonidas that his condition is serious, he was sent off with a mug of peacebloom tea and an advice not to stay up so late, and maybe lay off some stress.

The teacher who taught Thrall in his early years such stuff as writing, that was Kel’thuzad in disguise when he was rectuiting in and around Durnholde Keep.

No, Kel’thuzad has no idea the little pet-orc he was trying to groom and later kidnap for the Cult of the Damned (What a better liteunant than the one you raise yourself?) is Thrall, the Warchief of the Horde.

Kel’thuzad was tasked with finding and preparing the perfect new host for Ner’zhul. He was trying to overthrow the Lich King, so he picked Arthas as a paladin of Light whom he believed strong willed enough to handle it. And at the start of the story Arthas was.

His second choice for Lich King would have been Kael’thas.

He shuffled his cards in the deck of “Scourge politics” so that Bolvar Fordragon would take the Helm of Domination after Arthas. Players greta victory? Just according to keikaku.

He had (and still has) a “wanted poster” for Garrosh Hellscream. He really wanted him into the Scourge army. The reward was a whole necropolis with units.

Naxxramas had a dedicated “catkeeper” tasked with taking care of Mr. Bigglesworth and cleaning the acid/slime vats. Her name was Gwendoline, usually called Gwen, she is now one of Garrosh’s ghost children. Gwen died during the attack on Theramore where she was working as a spy for the Scourge.

Liches feed off people emotions and minds. The Lich Kign keeps it secret (even from Kel’thuzad) to keep them starved and obedient. The passive “nibbling” causes that people around liches start to be unfeeling.

Kel’thuzad has developed the Cure for the Plague quite early on. Ner’zhul made him test the plagues seeds on himself.

Speakig of that, Ner’zhul (and later Arthas as the Lich King) had a complete control over Kel’thuzad’s body, so if he refused to carry out an order, Ner’zhul could just make him do it anyway.

Additionally, the Lich King could kep him going despite injuries, exhaustion &c. Arthas fancied himself thinking that h killed Kel’thuzad, but the truth is that the cumulative injuries (several broken bones, stab wounds, a concussion, frostbites, poisonings), exhaustion and starvation were enough to kill Kel’thuzad twice over, no hammer needed. Ner’zhul just in that moment let Kel’thuzad die, because that was what he needed.

He used to play Hearthstone a lot when he was alive. He had a very good Hunter Murlock tribal deck.

He is asexual, and quite possibly aromantic too. In his words: “I believe in love on the first sight. And I am probably blind or something, as it seems.”

His favourite colour is purple.

Shortly before the capture of Bolvar Fordragon Kel’thuzad re-bound his phylactery from the whole urn to a single shard. The shard was sold by a cult of the Damned agent in Kul’Tiras to Taelia Fordragon as a lucky amulet.

Whenever as a lich Kel’thuzad regained his form, he always found himself knee-deep in water due to some fucking coincidences, starting with the Sunwell.

Speaking of Sunwell, he carries in himself  “a spark of Sunwell”. this has many benefits, such as power or not giving a fuck about Light being super-effective against the undead. It is a thing to be revealed out of the blue without prior warning when we need to reset the Sunwell (again).

He has enough knowledge of Troll and Orc shamanism to be considered a shaman, and too analytical and scientific mind to be actually good at it.

He also had made an oath to the Amani tribe that everything he’s learned from them would never be used to harm any Troll. It is why Kel’thuzad was not responsible for the havoc wrought in Zul’drak.

Naxxrams “responds” to Kel’thuzads emotions and feelings and even physical state. When he gets discorporated (killed), Naxxramas enters “save battery” mode. Naxxramas’ usual is “cold and static” and “cold and slightly shaking” which is Kelthuzad’s “bored” and “irritated” respectively.

He doesn’t like sweets, but he enjoyes crunchy stuff, be it cookies or fried potato slices. He craves the crunch.

He ate the flesh of several sapient beings. In several cases he knows it and the memory of ti makes him retch, even now when he is dead.

He likes dragons. He wants his own dreagonflight. (I have a headcanon abbout Sapphiron’s “Ivory” dragonflight of undead dragons.)

He has a saronite armour to match with the Bloodsurge. It decorates a ziggurat somewhere in Plaguelands. el’thuzad honestly doesn’t care. The armour has spikes on the inside, so if you put it on as a living being, you can’t take it off without bleeding out. A very emo move.

And I am tired now, so this will have to do for now. It’s not all of them, I am sure I haven’t thought of some area. But here we go.

[greyhavensking]

100 Followers Celebration!

God, I’m late with this, but I finally passed the 100 follower milestone and I wanted to do something for it to show my appreciation. That something turned out to be almost 3000 words of emotional hurt/comfort and dumb boys in love, so I hope someone enjoys it.

I can’t even express how grateful I am to have (over!!!) 100 people think I’m worthy of following when mostly I just reblog other people’s posts and scream in the tags, but this is me trying to get the point across. Thank you, thank you, thank you to the people who continue to tolerate my bullshit and occasionally encourage my sad stucky edits and my angsty fluff fanfics. You’re all amazing and wonderful people!

Also cross-posted on Ao3 here.

you left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

“Buck, you awake?”

It’s sort of a moot point, seeing as Bucky — light sleeper that he is — would have woken up the second Steve stepped across the threshold of the living room, but he feels compelled to ask nonetheless. His ma was a stickler for courtesy, especially when it didn’t cost anyone a dime, and while he can’t quite manage to defer to politeness when it comes to aggravating superiors, it comes easy as breathing with most everyone else.

Bucky isn’t everyone else, and half the time Steve doesn’t bother filtering himself around him, but tonight—

Tonight’s a bad night.

But it’s not Bucky’s night for a change.

As Steve pauses at the back of the couch, arms crossed and head ducked, he sees Bucky smoothly push himself up into a sitting position from where he was stretched across the cushions, rolling his shoulders back as he scrubs his flesh and blood hand over his face. He was awake, judging by the dog-eared book he lets slide to the floor; Steve can’t make out the cover from this angle, but he’d bet anything it’s one of those YA novels Sam recommended to him that he refuses to thank Sam for. Something about Greek gods and terribly unlucky teenagers. Steve doesn’t go for fantasy often, but he knows Bucky’s been plowing through the series for the last few weeks.

“I’m always awake,” Bucky says once he’s gotten a good look at Steve, despite Steve’s best efforts to tuck all the visible hurt away behind an admittedly shaky smile. He’s joking, mostly — when Bucky first came home, he rarely got more than an hour or two of sleep before some imagined threat had him prowling the confines of the apartment, checking and rechecking the locks and the security system. Nowadays his sleepless nights are still disturbingly frequent, but not every night, and he can usually pass them by reading or watching whatever he finds most interesting on TV. 

Bucky quirks a brow when Steve remains silent, tilting his head. Assessing. “You, though,” he continues as if he hadn’t paused at all, “you should be dead to the world, Rogers. Sawing logs, or whatever it is they say when you snore louder than a damn foghorn.”

“I don’t — I don’t snore,” Steve bites out, reflexive, which just gets Bucky’s other brow jumping up to join the first.

“So it’s one of those nights, huh.” Bucky nods to himself, twisting around on the couch to lean back against the armrest, legs spread invitingly. He pats the space between his thighs. “Good thing I’m a certified Steve Rogers expert and know exactly what you need.”

Steve considers refuting that claim, but he can’t bring himself to bother with it. A flare of indignation does pulse under his skin (he hates the idea that he needs to be managed), though it peters out just as quickly as it came, taking with it the last shred of warmth Steve’s been clinging to since he slipped out from beneath his bed covers. Bucky’s right, anyway; this is what Steve needs, something they’ve pieced together in the months after Bucky felt safe enough to put himself back into Steve’s orbit.

Rubbing briskly at his upper arms, more for something to do with his hands than any hope of warming himself up, Steve hesitates another moment before he sighs and climbs over the back of the couch to crawl in between Bucky’s legs. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s waist instantly, tugging him until his back is flush with Bucky’s chest. He noses at the nape of Steve’s neck, presses a kiss there that has a delightful shiver rippling down Steve’s spine, then wedges his chin into the space between neck and shoulder.

“What’s the threat level with this one?” Bucky asks quietly. Threat level is their established short-hand for how bad a nightmare was, what kind of toll it took on them. It’s easier getting that out than something like I woke up crying reaching for you can’t get my heart to calm down can’t breathe woke up alone and had to bite back a scream, and Steve can admit that Bucky’s nothing short of a goddamn genius for giving Steve a way to explain without explaining. 

“‘Bout a seven,” Steve says, which means it’s closer to a nine than he’d like. He can still feel the phantom chill of wind and snow on his face, the ice-clogged water in his lungs, arms outstretched but grasping at nothing nothing nothing. Bucky’s face, frozen over and glassy-eyed. No air, no breath, no life in either of them — but Steve, undead, trapped below the ice, forced to watch it all play out on repeat—

“Uh-huh. Seven. Sure, I’ll go with that for now.” Bucky’s voice is right against his ear, his breath warm, the solid weight of him so very real that Steve shudders again, leaning into him even though there’s hardly space left between them to close. “You need me to do anything extra special?”

Steve shakes his head, then pauses, reconsiders. “Keep talking?” 

His nightmares are — strange. They’re quiet, mostly, unless they involve the train, and then it’s the clack-clack-clack of the tracks, the high-pitched whistling of the wind, his own desperate screams. But when it’s the ice… it’s almost silent. Like an old film, the reels spinning on soundlessly around him. Colors are muted, too, shades of gray and blue and the occasional vibrant streak of red that could be blood, could be his suit, could be the afterimage of staring too long into a bright light. 

Bucky huffs a laugh and tightens his arms around Steve, and in return Steve shifts to lay his hands over Bucky’s skin, one sliding along his forearm, the other reaching down to slip under the hem of Bucky’s shorts. He’d grab the metal arm (it doesn’t bother him, and it’s body temperature from being tucked under Bucky on the couch) but he needs skin right now, and he knows Bucky doesn’t begrudge him it.

“Talking,” Bucky murmurs. “You gotta pick the one thing I’m no good at anymore, don’t ya. No, no, don’t start,” he says, reading the tensing of Steve’s body all too well, and Steve slumps back into his hold, caught out. “I’m not sayin’ I won’t do it, and I’m not gettin’ all self-deprecating on you, either. Words are hard, sweetheart, you know that.”

“Sorry, Buck. We can just put the TV on, or—”

“I said it’s fine, Rogers. Relax. I’m not in the habit of doing things I don’t want to these days, even for you, which is a goddamn miracle considering all the shit I put up with for your benefit when we were kids. Christ.”

Steve rolls his eyes, which he knows is the exact reaction Bucky was going for. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d I talk you into that was so bad?”

“God, Steve, Snow White? How many times d’we see that in theaters?”

“What? You loved that movie!”

“No, you loved that movie, despite being fuckin’ colorblind. I went because I’m a goddamn sap and I couldn’t get enough of the wide-eyed baby deer act you pulled every time you got to see all that animation in action. You sparkled, Steve, it was addicting.”

“What?”

“Whaddya mean, what? Can’t a guy get all sentimental over how cute his best guy looked staring adoringly at a cartoon?”

“No, I mean— you went for me? We weren’t even…”

“First of all, jackass, I don’t gotta be in love with someone to wanna see them happy. Second, I honestly can’t tell you if I realized that I was in love with you back then. It’s all mixed up with how I definitely felt during the war, and then with everything that came with thawing out here.”

Hold on— 

“Bucky. Bucky. The war?”

Steve’s half-twisted around in Bucky’s arms now, staring at him, slack-jawed, because they’ve never had this conversation before. Nothing even close to this has ever come up between them. When they got together this century, they only acknowledged that they’d never considered doing so back in the thirties, that their feelings only really surfaced now because they finally had a moment to rest without the fear of discovery hanging over their heads. Bucky has never breathed a word of loving Steve at any point before that.

But Bucky doesn’t seem to understand what’s running through Steve’s head, because his brows furrow as he stares right back at Steve. “Why are you acting so surprised? You think I curled up with you every night just ‘cause I was cold?” He pauses. “I mean, alright, yes, I was freezing and you were a goddamn furnace all of a sudden, but—”

“You have never said shit about this, Barnes, what the fuck?”

And there’s Bucky rising to the challenge in Steve’s voice, lifting his chin and narrowing his eyes. Refusing to let go of Steve, though, for which he’s grateful; he needs the grounding weight of him all the more in this moment.

“I ain’t exactly proud of it, Steve. You and Carter? Fuck, you made my blood boil with her.”

Steve blinks. Blinks again, shakes his head like that’ll make Bucky’s words fall into a neat little line he can actually understand. He feels Bucky’s chest expand as he breathes in deep, feels it deflate as he lets it out in a heavy sigh. His eyes are nearly silver in this light, and so sheepish that Steve just wants to set this aside and kiss on him until he’s smiling again. But — he wants to know, fuck, he doesn’t like secrets between them anymore, and he knows Bucky’s the same way. It’s not the best time to get into this, but really, in the grand scheme of things… it’s as good a time as they’ll get.

“God, alright. I was jealous, okay? Whether or not I knew what you were to me while we were still in Brooklyn, I sure as hell knew it then when I was watching you two dance around each other for months. The way you’d stare after her, the way she tucked herself right into your side whenever you were in the same room… I was sick with it, hatin’ her and hatin’ myself for feeling that way when I didn’t have a fuckin’ claim to you. When you were happy with her and I couldn’t make myself be happy for you. You think I like admitting I couldn’t put my best friend’s happiness above my own bruised ego?”

“Buck…”

“Aw, don’t look like that, sweetheart. Was my own fault for never saying anything. And, well, for all I knew back then you were straight as an arrow. You thought you were pretty straight, as I recall. Maybe it woulda just driven a wedge between us if I’d said something.”

“Fuck that.” The words are whispered, but they get Steve’s point across just fine — it’s Bucky’s turn to blink, leaning away from Steve slightly like he needs a better look at him to process what he’s just heard. Steve just follows him, getting his knees under him so he can cup Bucky’s face in both palms, holding him close. “Fuck that. I always loved you, Bucky Barnes. Platonic, romantic, doesn’t fucking matter. If you think for one second I woulda left you over something like that—”

Bucky laughs again, a quick, sharp little thing that barely interrupts Steve’s vehement protests, but the kiss Bucky plants on his lips does the job of getting his attention.

“What a stubborn asshole you are, sweetheart.”

Scowling, Steve kisses Bucky again, harder this time but still achingly sweet. “You think I’m lyin’?”

“Do I look like an idiot? No, I don’t think you’re lying, but that’s what you’re saying now, with the glorious gift of hindsight. You can’t say for sure that’s how you would have reacted, and I wouldn’t have blamed you for it.”

“One more time, Barnes, ‘cause I do think you’re a little slow on the uptake tonight. Fuck that. You got my ass through every fuckin’ illness that so much as looked at our borough, got me through ma’s death… you think you catchin’ feelings was gonna scare me away? I was afraid of you leaving, god, I woulda clung to you forever if you let me, even if you got married, had kids, whatever. I probably wouldn’t have believed you could like me, but I wouldn’t have been mad at you over it.”

It’s quiet between them once Steve’s gotten it all out of his system, save for his heart thudding in his chest and their quickened breathing, the tick-tick-tick of the ceiling fan above them. Steve refuses to look away from Bucky’s searching gaze, and god, yes, he’s a stubborn asshole, but he’s also right! He’s right and he’s going to prove that to Bucky, one way or another, because this is too important to let go. He doesn’t want Bucky thinking even for a second that there is a scenario where Steve would throw him over for someone else. Anyone Steve loved — anyone who loved Steve — would have had to accept that Bucky came first, always.

In hindsight, Steve maybe should’ve figured out his own damn feelings long before he reached the 21st century, but that wasn’t exactly his point right now. 

Steve doesn’t know how long they sit there like that, holding one another without saying a word, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from Bucky’s for a single moment of it, willing him to understand that he’s always been Steve’s anchor, his touchstone — that absolutely nothing short of death could ever come between them, and fuck, even that didn’t stick. And he thinks Bucky might be getting there, the way a slow, tremulous smile spreads across his face, a flush high on his cheeks that does things to Steve’s heart. 

“I love you.”

Steve’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, automatic, ducking his head down to press into Bucky’s neck, the fabric of his worn t-shirt soft against Steve’s cheek. It’s far from the first time either of them have said it, but Steve still gets so giddy over it, knowing he gets to have this, have Bucky, to hold and kiss and adore this man in his arms for as long as they’re both alive… it’s heady, and something Steve doesn’t want to take for granted, not even for a second. The road they took to get here was too brutal for Steve not to be damn grateful for every moment they have together. 

Which means he doesn’t mind the teasing they get from the rest of the team, the not-so-sly remarks and gratuitous eye rolls that Sam and Natasha are so fond of, the downright lewd shit that gets thrown right back in Tony’s face when Bucky reminds them all that neither of them are innocent grandpas. 

It’s all part of getting to love Bucky the way he deserves, the way he’s always and will always deserve, and if there’s one thing about the future that Steve unequivocally loves, it’s that he can be as open as he wants about just how much he loves Bucky. And, if people do have a problem with it, Steve can kick their asses — mostly over Twitter, but still. He’s a fan.

“Love you too, Buck.”

Bucky hums, content, and readjusts so that Steve is mostly laying flat on top of him, the both of them stretched out across the couch. He snags the blanket from where it’s half-spilled onto the floor, draping it over Steve enough that it covers the majority of their bodies. Steve snuggles in, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s back, giving him a gentle squeeze to show his appreciation. 

He’s all but forgotten the phantom cold that drove him out here in the first place.

“Wanna try going back to sleep?” Bucky murmurs, rubbing circles into Steve’s back.

“Nah. You’re still gonna be here, don’t wanna sleep alone.”

“Mm, fair point. You just gonna lay here, then?”

He could, Bucky won’t protest his weight or the company. “Yeah. Right where I wanna be. You could read to me, though?”

“I’m in the middle of the book, Rogers, you won’t have any clue what’s going on.”

“Just like the sound of your voice, Buck. It’s soothing,” Steve argues, and he’s slurring his words a little, he knows, but he doesn’t care and Bucky doesn’t call him out on it. “Read to me?”

He feels the rumble of Bucky’s laughter in his own chest, pressed right up against him, then the shift of the couch as Bucky grabs his book from the floor and braces it against the dip in Steve’s spine so he can read.

And yeah, Bucky’s right — Steve couldn’t tell you a thing about what’s happening in the book right now (there are gods and monsters and quippy teenagers, but none of it settles quite right in his brain, none of it takes any recognizable shape) but he couldn’t be happier regardless.

Turns out it’s not so bad of a night after all.