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hoodievixen · 2 years

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The Voice of God [Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Priectess!OC] Part 6

Summary: Steven and Godeleve thought they finally found some normalcy with each other. Little did they know they would drag each other further into the mysteries ands secrets in their lives. (Godeleve can see and talk to Gods - mainly the Greek kind)

Word Count: ~ 2k

Warning: mild angst, bad communication, misunderstandings, anxiety, use of Shakespeare, author has forgotten what a normal conversation is after the end of the world, no beta we die like men

A/N: So took me a while to write this part. I wrote it in many different pieces, so the tone probably changes so much (like it’s doing the cha cha slide).

Part 5 , Part 7, Master List

Godeleve was tired. She was normally fine with her unhealthy habits, but they catch up to her from time to time. There were u told periods of time when she was just exhausted, and barely could get herself to move. Coffee didn't help, no it made it worse. She would just grin and bear it, going through her day, doing what needs to be done.

"Darling all you alright?" Steven asked as her reflexes almost made her punch someone who suddenly stepped out of a shop.

"Tired," she explained, taking a sip of her tea. Tea wasn't as risky as coffee. "It's been a long day."

Steven clearly had concern in his eyes. It wasn't even an hour past noon. Nor had either of them worked earlier. They were just enjoying a day together.

Not sure how to ask about it, Steven slipped his hand into hers. Usually, she was quick to grab it, interlocking their fingers. But it was just a soft hold from her.

Godeleve didn't know what to do around Steven. Like it was still Steven, the person she was the most comfortable with, and with who she wanted to hold hands and hug. But it wasn't just his hand. Anything she did with Steven she was also doing with him. She didn't want to think about it, but it would t leave her mind.

"We don't need to do this. If you would prefer to be at home resting, don't feel like you need to push yourself for me," Steven told her.

Godeleve shook her head. "No, I want to," she assured him, "It's so rare our days off overlap. It's sorta weird we only ever do stuff either at or after work." The two planned this date the moment they learned they had the same day off. Then it was one of the few sunny days in London. Like fate put together that day for them.

Steven just held onto her hand tighter, making up for what Godeleve could provide at the moment.

They walked into a shop, greeted with the smell of paper, ink, and coffee. There were only a handful more people in the book store. Before the entrance was a line of tables covered with displays of books leading to a staircase to the second floor. Spreading out across the store were rows upon rows of shelves, all with signs naming what genre the books were.

"What was it that we said again?" Steven wondered, now whispering due to the library instinct kicking in. "We would pick out one book to read together..."

"Then individually we'd pick out one book that we believe the other one would enjoy. As well as one of our favorite books for the other to read."

"Then," Steven leaned into her still talking in a hushed tone, "Where shall we start?"

Godeleve scanned the store. "Books..." she mumbled louder than she meant to. Steven softly laughed, knowing this was from her being tired. "What would you want to read together?"

"Read Stephen King, see how much of a scaredy-cat he is?" someone said over her shoulder. Godeleve waved them away, not even carrying to figure out who they were.

Steven noticed her strange gesture but didn't say anything. "What about a new release?" Steven offered, catching the new release display ahead of them. The two had very different reading habits, so it would be hard to find a book both of them haven't read.

"Yeah," Godeleve nodded as the two entered the area. Their hands parted as Godeleve lagged behind as Steven continue forward. He glanced back at her noticing her gazing down at a table of new children's novels with an amused smile on her face.

"What is it?" he wondered.

Godeleve scoffed and looked up. "Just can't believe he's still making books like this," she commented, tapping on a stack of hardbacks.

She gazed at the shelves of face-out new releases. "Fiction or Nonfiction?" she wondered, coming to stand next to Steven.

"... fiction..." Steven offered. New releases of nonfiction were most likely on current events, which he did not care too much about.

"Definitely," Godeleve nodded, stepping up to a shelf. She picked up a book and started reading the summary. Steven came up next to her and started looking at the inside covers as well. The two decided upon a murder mystery and part ways to find books for the other.

"Horror, horror, horror," someone kept chanting to Godeleve. She glanced to the side finding the galactic form of Dionysus at her side. No, Dionysus and Apollo, chanting as one.

"No," she groaned to them, "And why are you here, movie night isn't until tonight?"

"What, you need a chaperone on your date," Apollo pointed out.

"That's rich coming from the guy whose date begged to be turned into a tree," she pointed out. Godeleve found her way to the Shakespeare area, figuring out which play he should read. Apollo made sure she read plenty of classics growing up. Dionysus made sure she knew plenty of plays.

" Why Shakespeare and not an ancient Greek play?" Dionysus wondered.

"Because only pretentious people claim those to be their favorite," she pointed.

"And Shakespeare doesn't?"

Godeleve shrugged, "Can be passed off as quirky." Her finger hovered over a copy of Cymbeline. "If you want to help me, go spy on him, see what books he's looking at."

"On it," Apollo declared, hovering over the story to spy on her date for her.

On second thought Godeleve decided on A Midsummer Night's Dream. She sat the mass market book atop her hardback mystery novel. Her attention was brought to the poetry books, being in the same area as Shakespeare.

"I've heard good things about Milk and Honey," Dionysus told her, showing her where to find a copy.

"Not now," she grumbled, "I'll barely have time to read these books..."

"HE'S IN THE ROMANCE SECTION!" Apollo hollered over the store.

Godeleve cringed into herself. Trying not to blush. To everyone else, she had no reason to blush.

"DOES HE LOOK CONFUSED?" Dionysus called back.

"OH HELL YEAH!" Apollo assured them.

Dionysus laughed. "He thinks you're a little romantic," he teased her.

"I can banish evil spirits, I'll figure out how to banish gods one day," she commented as a threat. The thought of getting Steven a self-help book came to mind or even one about DID. But that would lead to an unwanted conversation, from two different people.

Something to help him stay awake at night would be a good choice. "Horror...." she grumbled, knowing people usually don't want to go to sleep if frightened. To still be able to spite Apollo, Godeleve picked out The Exorcist cause it is not written by Stephen King.

She was the first to check out, as they wanted to keep the books secret from the other for the time being. She lingered by the entrance to the shop, not acknowledging anything either of the gods was saying, as there were people there to see her talking to herself. She did catch it when they started quoting vines back and forth, something they did when they realized she was ignoring them. Better than the others that will start whining or causing literal destruction.

Godeleve always found herself most mesmerized by watching other people. It developed as a habit out of wariness for survival. Now even knowing most of the threats to her life are gone, now just as many as any other person at a given moment, she finds herself falling back into old habits.

The calmness she felt shattered as someone made eye contact with her. The breath caught in her throat deflated after realizing it was Steven. Not long ago she found his eyes so welcoming, now after meeting Marc they cause a tinge of fear. Within Steven is the capability for that evil greed she fears, something she had never seen in him before that night.

"Are you alright?" Steven asked, reaching out to push a lock of hair out of her face.

Godeleve was quick to pull away and adjust her hair herself. "Yeah," she calmly answered. She didn't want to pull away, but it was just a battle of mind and body. Had she had no control of her mind she would have run away long ago.

Godeleve saw the look of confusion and hurt flash in Steven's eyes. That did crack the damn she constantly had up. "If I remember correctly, you promised something about a homecooked meal?" she pointed out, stepping closer to be in each other's personal space.

Steven softly smiled and the two left to the book shop. "I know I said that, but you are a much better cook than I am. So, no judgment."

Godeleve smiled and nudged into him. "I'm sure whatever you make will be delicious."

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

Godeleve was a busy body, and couldn't sit still and do nothing. So while Steven was cooking, she busied herself with tidying up the apartment. After all, it was his turn to refuse help. The two maintained a casual conversation, mainly about how Godeleve's favorite book was a Shakespeare play.

"Do you have anything memorized?" Steven timidly asked. Would there come a day where she would recite sonnets to him?

Godeleve put the last book in her arms on a shelf with a hum. " Just my favorite lines, and some sonnets," she told him.

Godeleve came around to lean against the counter Steven was working at. "Can you recite them at a drop of the hat?' he wondered, edging her one, even though he wasn't sure he would be prepared for that.

Godeleve smiled, well probably closer to a smirk. "Take all my loves," she started, a soft unfamiliar tone in her voice. "my love, yea take them all: What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call-"

Steve paused what he was doing to glance at Godeleve. She had been staring at him, though once she noticed him watching her gaze fell to the floor. Yet she continued. "All mine was thine before thou hadst this more. Then if for my love thou my love receives, I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;"

Her head found itself tilted up, staring at the ceiling, while her eyes slowly closed. She was lost in the poetry. "But yet be blamed if thou this self deceivest. By wilful taste of what thyself refusest."

Steven stepped away from the counter, to be able to properly face Godeleve. The person he wanted to call his girlfriend but was not able to bring himself to ask. Could this be her invitation to take the next step? Letting him know it's alright, without herself taking the step first. It could explain her recent actions, trying to have him take a more active role in the relationship. Godeleve had been the one doing so much for him and the relationship.

"I do forgive thy robb'ry, gentle thief," Steven's eyes found themselves gazing at her lips. Soft with the words of a poet on them. "Although thou steal thee all my poverty; And yet love knows it is a greater grief To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury." Her voice grew quiet to that of a whisper, inviting him in.

"Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, Kill me with spite, yet we must not be foes." The last lines were nothing more than whispers.

Godeleve had stood up straighter, leaving a small distance between the two of them. Steven reached up to cup her cheek. He paused leaving his hands hovering just before touching her, noticing her sudden stiffness. "May I?" he asked in a whisper, fearing breaking the moment.

Godeleve took in a sharp breath but said nothing. She just stood there, stiff, giving no sign of consent. Steven took a step back, giving her back her personal space. "That's alright," he was quick to assure her, "Not until your ready."

"Sorry," Godeleve whispered, stepping away from him. She wrapped her arms around herself, something she would only otherwise do in public. Something she would only do when she was scared. "I can go..." she offered voice sounding weak.

Steven wanted to go give her a hug, she looked so terrified. But one step in her direction caused her to flinch. "Darling, I promise you, it's alright. I don't want to rush you if you aren't ready."

Godeleve couldn't meet his gaze her eyes were glued to the ground. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I didn't want to ruin anything." But that’s all I ever do.

#moon knight #moon knight oc #moon knight fanfiction #steven grant #steven grant x oc #steven grant x reader #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector x oc #the voice of god series

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ikeromantic · 3 years

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Bonding

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic, approx. 1800 words. This scene takes place well after the events of the Romantic Epilogue as part of my post-route headcanon storyline.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: In the Spotlight

Mitsuhide sat on the edge of a stuffed chair, a ‘sofa’, across from his little one’s father. Minoru, for his part, didn’t look any more comfortable with the company. Neither of them said anything. Mitsuhide found that his usual silver tongue had run out of witticisms when faced with the twin challenge of a world 500 years in the future and the need to impress the father of his beloved.

In the kitchen, the chatelaine and her mother Youko were making dinner. Their lively chatter was the only sound as the two men studied each other.

Finally, Minoru cleared his throat. “So. How did you two meet?”

“The answer to that would require additional explanation. Suffice it to say, I met her in the course of my work. Initially, she was a responsibility of mine. To train her so that she knew enough to stay ali- ah, safe.” Mitsuhide smiled. “She was quite a handful.”

Minoru frowned. “Safe? Safe from what? What kind of business are you in?” He leaned forward.

“Intelligence and information gathering.” He silently thanked Sarutobi for the modern words to describe being a spy and torturer.

“You work for a government?”

Mitsuhide nodded. “That is a good way to put it. Yes. For a government.”

His little mouse poked her head through the door. “Everything going ok, you two?”

Both men cleared their expressions and smiled over at her. “Yes,” they replied, almost in unison.

Her bright smile lit up the room. “I’m so glad. I wanted you two to get along. Anyway, dinner is almost ready!” She disappeared again and the smiles the two men wore faded like snow under a noon-day sun.

Minoru turned back to Mitsuhide. “How did my daughter get tangled up with some government agent? She designs clothes. She left for a job in fashion.” His voice is strained, half a year’s worth of worry and frustration pushing at the seams of his soul.

Mitsuhide nodded. “She is amazing at making clothing. That is a career she continues to pursue. But I met her the night she pulled my superior from a burning building. Had she not arrived when she did, he would have died.”

“My baby girl . . . pulled a man from a burning building?” Minoru’s eyebrows shot up, his expression one of incredulous disbelief.

“Yes, and after, he thought she should stay with our forces. For her protection and because he believed there was something special about her.” Mitsuhide’s thin smile reappeared. “He wasn’t wrong. She is very special. A wonder.”

Minoru coughed. “Well, yes, but . . . a burning building? She isn’t, that is, she wouldn’t just -”

Mitsuhide leaned forward. “You know her from her childhood. If she knew someone was going to burn to death and she had a chance to save them, would she leave them to die? Is it so unbelievable?”

He shook his head slowly. He knew his daughter was exactly the kind of girl to put herself at risk for another. “I should not be surprised. When she was five, she ran out into the street to stop traffic for a kitten. Almost got hit by a car. And it wasn’t until after the cat was safe that she even realized how close she came to dying.”

Both men chuckled.

“That sounds exactly like something my little mouse would do.”

Minoru scowled. “Your what?”

“A nickname,” Mitsuhide waved the comment off.

And then the call came for dinner. They all sat down around the table. A spread of familiar and strange foods that piqued Mitsuhide’s curiosity. He wondered which of these his beloved had made, and which her mother. To be safe, he thought, it would be wise to compliment every dish.

“So,” her mother began after everyone was served. “My daughter tells me you’re a warlord working for Oda Nobunaga?”

Mitsuhide choked in surprise, the bite of food sticking in his throat. He glanced at his little mouse for confirmation.

“It just sort of popped out while we were talking.”

With effort and a glass of water, Mitsuhide swallowed and cleared his throat. “I didn’t expect to bring this up until after dinner, but yes.”

Minoru scowled. “You’re telling me you work for a man 500 years dead?”

“I don’t know, he seemed pretty lively last time I saw him,” Mitsuhide quipped.

His little mouse grinned. “Papa, be nice! I told you, we will tell you everything.” She took a deep breath. “It started the day I arrived in Kyoto. I went sightseeing . . .”

Mitsuhide listened as attentively as her parents, this version of the tale filling in gaps and details he hadn’t known. Her timely rescue of Sasuke Sarutobi, her run-in with the forces from Kasugayama. It appeared his little one was better at keeping secrets that he’d credited.

Through the story, her mother made little sounds of agreement or surprise, but Minoru was deathly silent. His expression turned darker at every part until he couldn’t hold back anymore. “This sounds like some ridiculous cartoon! You can’t expect your mother and I to buy this. Tell the truth! What is he, some mafia? A gambler? What?”

Youko frowned at him from across the table. “Now you just hush and eat your food. If our little girl says this is what happened, I believe her. She has no reason to lie. She knows we support her no matter what. Don’t we, dear?”

Minoru’s brows lowered. “You can’t be serious. This, this man shows up with our daughter after months with no word! Not a letter! Not a post card! With this crazy story and we’re supposed to just -”

“Accept it. You know as well as I do that if our girl didn’t write or call, it’s because she couldn’t. When you think of it that way, it makes perfect sense.” Youko nodded to emphasize her point. “Besides, when have you ever known her to lie.”

“She’s terrible at that,” Mitsuhide added drily.

Minoru’s scowl deepened. “Don’t talk like you know her. Maybe you drugged her or something, and now she thinks all that is true.”

Mitsuhide sighed. He’d expected this kind of reaction after Sasuke and his little one explained what ‘meeting the parents’ entailed. He was beginning to wish he could have simply sent some gifts and a contract, or better yet, left that to Nobunaga and simply married the girl. “We did bring some proof with us today, and we have friends tomorrow who can vouch for everything.”

Youko gave Mitsuhide an encouraging smile. “Why don’t you go get it? I’m sure it will make Mino a little less grouchy.”

“I’m not grouchy,” Minoru grumbled.

“You are, papa. But it’s ok. This is really all my fault. I wish I’d been able to call you both. I missed you so much.”

Her father swallowed whatever he’d planned to say, touched by his daughter’s affection.

Mitsuhide went to their bags and grabbed his sword and the clothes he’d arrived in. He carried them back to the dining area. These were unlikely to be enough, he thought, but it wasn’t as if they’d planned to be swept to this time that night.

“Our clothes -” he set them down, “and my sword.”

Minoru poked at the clothing, unimpressed. The sword, however, got his attention. “This . . . it isn’t just some decorative piece . . .” The words were quiet, said more to himself than anyone.

Still, Mitsuhide answered. “No. That blade has taken many lives.”

“And saved some too,” his little mouse added. “Mine included.”

Minoru looked between the two of them. “Maybe you’ve both lost your minds. This thing -” He pointed at the sword, “is clearly an antique, but that proves nothing.”

“You are so stubborn,” Youko huffed.

Mitsuhide was beginning to see where his little one got that quality. Sweetness from her mother, stubbornness from her father. It made him smile.

***

Miyake and Sasuke sat at a nearby bar, drinks in hand.

“So this is called karaoke?” Miyake eyed the screen with words that moved and then emptied his sake cup. “And I can sing whatever I want?”

“Not whatever. I doubt they have any songs you know on file. But I think the enjoyment quotient will still be high.” Sasuke began tapping through the song selection, his expression focused. He stopped when he came across one with the image of a pink-faced girl. “This one.”

Miyake shrugged. “Alright.”

The music started. It sounded nothing like the instruments Miyake knew, or the rhythms and beats that were familiar to him. Still, he could pick out the melody, and it was nice - if strange.

The first word on the screen lit up and Sasuke started singing. His voice was surprisingly pleasant, even though the lyrics were senseless.

Miyake joined him on the next verse, nodding to the beat. It was a cheerful tune, he thought. Perfect to drink to. He poured another glass for himself and the ninja.

They emptied that and another as the song ended. The next pick was Miyake’s. He chose one based on the picture, a cute girl in a ridiculously short skirt.

“This is the theme song for my favorite anime,” Sasuke grinned.

“Then I picked a good one?”

Sasuke patted his arm. “A great one.”

Two hours later, both of them were too drunk to walk straight. Their singing got louder as their ability to pronounce the lyrics dwindled.

“Todokete atsuku naru omi . . .” The song dissolved into drunken laughter.

Miyake threw an arm around Sasuke. “Y-you’re my besht - besht fren.”

Sasuke leaned into the hug. “N-now I have two! Two besht frienz - friends.” He grinned but the expression slid into a sad frown.

“Wha - what ish it?” Miyake peered at the ninja’s face. “Need more sake?”

“I - I wish my other fren wash here,” Sasuke hiccuped. “An Shingen. I wash goin- going to take him to a hoshpital.”

Miyake nodded, though he didn’t understand. “Maybe nexsht time?”

“If he livesh,” Sasuke sighed.

“To Shingen,” Miyake poured them another round of sake. “And nexsht time!”

They drank to the toast.

Sasuke poured another. “And to friendsh we lef-left behind.”

They drank to that too.

After several more toasts that grew further away from the original point - to short skirts and lady’s stockings, to coffee, to the karaoke bar - the two men finally paid their tab and stumbled to the hotel.

Miyake nearly puked on the elevator, as the movement made his stomach flip. He would have taken the stairs, if he thought he could find the steps. He leaned on Sasuke as they walked down the hall. It felt like their room was miles away.

Sarutobi fumbled with the lock, and when the door opened, they fell inside.

Between leaning on each other and the walls, they managed to stand again.

“I’m go-gonna shower,” Miyake mumbled.

“Me nexsht,” Sasuke agreed. He tripped toward the beds and fell into the nearest one, face first.

Miyake made it to the shower, but didn’t manage to turn it on. He slumped to the floor and leaned his head back on the cool tiles, falling into a deep sleep.

Next: Middle Ground

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #ikesen sasuke #otome guys #otome #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

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vivianweasley · 4 years

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Let Her Go (F.W. x Reader)

Summary: “Only know you love her when you let her go.” childhood friends to lovers, unrequited love

Prompt: This is for @vogueweasley‘s 1K writing challenge and the prompt is #44 “What am I in your life? Because as of lately I feel as though I’ve been nothing to you.” Congrats again lovely!!

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst to a bit of fluff, unrequited love, mention of alcohol (Fred being drunk), language (one curse word), Fred being stupid

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: Did I write another friends to lovers with unrequited love? Yes, but I love this idea and I’m just writing to cope. The inspiration is Let Her Go by Passenger! Hope you guys would like it! (Also, let’s pretend they used telephone)

Special thanks to @valwritesx for the support<3

Disclaimer: all the pictures used in the header are from Pinterest. Credit goes to the original owners.

Please do NOT repost or translate my work on another site without explicit permission! Thank you! Reblogs and comments are always welcome:)

In your memories, you were always following Fred Weasley around.

You followed him around when he and George were throwing dungbombs in their neighbor’s garden. You were six, and he was seven.

You followed him around when it was your first year at Hogwarts. You were an awkward first year, but he has already established quite a reputation.

You followed him everywhere. Whether it was a quidditch game or detention, you were always there with him. Some people called you his sidekick, but you never really minded because you were absolutely head over heels for him.

You knew he knew about your stupid little crush; you weren’t trying to hide your feelings anyway. And you knew that your feelings weren’t reciprocated, but that didn’t matter. Loving him was your own business. Plus, you knew that at least you meant something to him, so you’ve still got a chance.

You loved him with all your heart and without a doubt. It was one-sided and lonely, but you never cared. Well, at least not until now.

It was your party to celebrate receiving a brilliant job offer from America. All of your friends were there.

“I’m so happy for you! But I’m also gonna miss you a lot!” George exclaimed for like the twentieth time today.

You chuckled, “I know, Georgie, I’ll miss you too! And I’m not leaving until the end of the next month. I’ve still got a lot to take care of before I go.” Now that you were actually talking about leaving, the whole concept of living in another country so far away finally began to feel more realistic. “There are just so many things and people I’ll miss.”

“By people, you mean Fred, right?” Ginny teased, “Speaking of which, where is he?”

“I don’t know. He promised he would come,” you replied, couldn’t control the blush that was climbing up your cheeks.

Ginny was right. Of course you were going to miss all of your friends dearly, but you were also going to miss Fred just a little more than the others. And that’s why you were a bit disappointed that he was so late to your party. You couldn’t stop yourself from checking the clock and the door every now and then. The butterflies in your stomach started dancing whenever you heard something outside, but they always die down when you realized it wasn’t him.

The clock soon struck 12, and when you were saying goodbye to the last of the guests, you finally accepted the fact that Fred was not going to show up tonight.

You were helping at the joke shop the next day, and it was already noon when you heard Fred walking down the stairs.

“Morning,” you could still hear the sleepiness in his voice, and you could tell from his messy hair and puffy eyes that it was a hangover. You frowned a little but you tried not to overthink. Surely he had a good reason, right?

“It’s already noon, brother,” George asked the question for you, “where were you last night?”

“I ran into Lee after work, and we went to the pub. Why?”

“Why? It was Y/N’s party last night, you forgot?”

“Wait, it was last night? Ah shit, I forgot. I’m sorry Y/N,” he turned to look at you. You could see the sorry on his face, but you couldn’t hear it in his voice. You knew that expression all too well. It was the same reaction whenever he got caught playing pranks on someone. He was saying that he’s sorry, but you knew he didn’t mean it.

“Fred, you do realize that she’s leaving soon, right?” George was finding this unbelievable too.

“Oh c’mon, last time I checked, we still have something called a portkey. And I’m sure Y/N will be visiting us pretty often, right Y/N?” The carelessness in his voice stung you.

Hurt, mixed with anger, was rushing to your brain. It was the moment that struck you, a moment that should have happened a long time ago.

You always thought that even though Fred didn’t love you back, at least you were still a very important friend to him. But now you’ve finally realized that maybe this was just another self-comforting lie. It was not the first time he forgot something about you, and it seemed like he never cared anyway.

“What am I in your life?” You asked quietly, “Because as of lately, I feel as though I’ve been nothing to you.”

“What are you saying? Y/N, you’re not making any sense.”

“I always thought it’s alright that my feelings aren’t reciprocated because it’s just my own business. But I’m not just that stupid girl who has a crush on you; I’m also your friend! And friends shouldn’t treat friends like nothing.” Your voice sounded calm, but tears were streaming down your face, “It was always me who’s looking for you and thinking about you, but friendship takes two, Fred. Maybe you should start trying too.”

Then you just stormed out of the joke shop, before George could try to talk you round and before Fred could probably tell a joke to laugh it off.

One week later, you left for your new job in a hurry. You said goodbye to every one of your friends, except for Fred.

Fred was feeling guilty but also confused. Why did you snap like that? What he did was surely just a small mistake, right? And he wasn’t too worried. He was sure that you would forgive him and come back to him. You always do. In fact, he was convinced that he could see you again the next holiday.

Halloween night, George had plans, so Fred was in charge of closing up tonight. Looking at the empty bowl of sweets on the counter, Fred thought about you. You always remembered to fill it up, especially around Halloween.

The autumn wind was getting cold, and he pulled his coat tighter as he walked outside. The kids on the street were all dressed up, going from door to door trick-or-treating. Fred remembered how you two and George would always go trick-or-treating together on Halloween since you were kids. Even after you all grew up, you would still drag him to go with you. But now he was walking alone in his business suit, on his way home. This moment he felt as if the kid inside him has left with you.

When he got home, he turned on the TV and started switching channels absentmindedly. You should be there, suggesting to watch a horror movie, but then deciding on something family-friendly. You would always try to have a Halloween movie marathon but end up falling asleep, lying on his shoulder. He found it adorable, but he never told you that.

Fred sighed as he laid back on the couch. This was the first Halloween without you.

Christmas morning, Fred walked downstairs, noticing something was different in the air. The Burrow was quieter. Sure, most of his family were already up and were gathered around the Christmas tree, chatting and laughing. But you weren’t there.

You weren’t there, showing up at the Burrow way too early in the morning. You weren’t there knocking on his door and waking him up using a cheerful, sing-song voice. He would always groan and tell you to give him five more minutes. But this year, when he woke up to the mechanical sound of the alarm clock, he really missed your cheerful voice.

Fred walked downstairs with everyone wishing him a Merry Christmas, but his eyes were searching the crowd for a glimpse of you that was just impossible to be found. This was the first Christmas without you.

New Year’s Eve, Fred and George were at the local pub’s New Year countdown party, along with the other boys. Just like usual, the boys had too much drink and passed out in the pub.

When Fred was only half-awake, he heard your voice calling him, “Freddie! C’mon, let’s get you home!” A soft smile appeared on his lips. You were back! He knew you would be back for the new year. He knew you wouldn’t leave him for too long.

You were always there to pick him up and carry him home after New Year’s party. He was always amazed at how you managed to carry him as he was taller than you, but you were always there for him. He just felt so lucky now to have you in his life, and seeing you in front of him made him smile like an idiot.

You were frowning seeing him lying on the floor, but you soon gave in when you saw that smile. You chuckled and whispered, “Happy New Year, Freddie.”

The soft smile stayed on Fred’s lips. He felt at home.

When Fred woke up again, he found himself lying on the floor of the pub. The pub was already empty. The boys were already gone. Someone must have picked them up, but there was no one for him. He finally began to realize that it was just a dream. You were still in America, and he was still a loser who’s lying alone on the cold floor on the first day of the new year.

Fred managed to walk out of the pub. The freezing wind was slapping on his face, trying to sober him up. He walked past a coffee shop. That was your favorite.

You were all he could think of now. Fred knew that you had a crush on him, but he always believed that it was just a stupid little childhood crush and it would fade as soon as you all grow up. He was just too familiar with you, and familiarity wasn’t what he thought he was looking for in romance.

But you were already in every part of his life. No matter where he goes or what he does, you were always there. But now you weren’t.

There was the first time Fred told a joke, and you weren’t the first to laugh. He loved the way you laugh, for it could always brighten up his whole day, but he never admitted it.

There was the first time he was humming a song, and you weren’t there to sing along. He loved your voice, for it could always calm him down, but he wouldn’t tell you that.

There was the first time when he realized that he needed you in his life.

The first time when he realized that he loved you more than he thought he did.

It was like muscle memory for him to remember everything about you, but he wasn’t even aware of that, and you obviously didn’t know too. Instead of showing you how much he loved and appreciated you, he just took you for granted because he thought you would never leave.

Fred dialed your number that night. He thought he might go crazy if he couldn’t hear your voice tonight. As he waited for you to pick up, he felt the inside of his stomach were all twisted together, but it was soon replaced by butterflies when he heard your voice.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Y/N, it’s me, Fred,” he didn’t know why he stuttered, “S-so, I was wondering...do you know where is the photo of us at the station? It was your first year of school. Did you take it with you?”

“No, I gave it to George. Why?” He couldn’t tell your emotion through the phone. Were you annoyed? Or were you happy to hear his voice too?

“Oh, umm, nothing, just missing the old days.”

“Oh, okay...Anything else?”

There were so many things that he wanted to say. He wanted to tell you that he’s sorry and he missed you so much, but you sounded impatient. So all he managed to say was, “Happy New Year, Y/N.”

There was a few seconds of silence; then he heard you reply, “Happy New Year, Fred.”

Hanging up the phone, Fred felt his heart sank. He hated how emotionless you sounded, and he knew he had to do something. Maybe he couldn’t convince you to come back to him, but at least he owed you an apology.

Valentine’s Day. Evening, you walked out of the building you worked in. It was on a wizarding street just like Diagon Alley, so it didn’t take you too long to adjust to the new environment.

The shops on this street were all having Valentine’s specials, and it reminded you of the Valentine’s specials of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Fred always had the most interesting and romantic ideas-you shook your head. You promised yourself not to think about him anymore.

A shop at the corner captured your attention. You’ve never seen this shop before. You looked for the name of the shop and the sign above read “WWW’.

Just when you thought you were losing your mind and associating everything with Fred again, the shop owner walked out.

Fred smiled when he saw you. The same beaming smile that had you head over heels for him for as long as you could remember. “Hi, I'm new here. Would you mind showing me around?”

A/N: Sorry if the ending feels a bit rushed! I felt like it made sense to end here so the reader could decide if she wants to forgive him or not.

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haruno-sakura-san · 3 years

Text

So I'm playing around with this idea for a Fic I'm writing called Altered. I'm just trying to get some thoughts down about it. Let me know what you think.

Shikamaru

Tsunade died quickly and painlessly one morning before her retirement. Shikamaru was sure it was the punch line of some cosmic joke at her expense. He wouldn’t be surprised in 20 years he was the butt of a similar one. Both of them hated the job and both worked tirelessly forward. So he supposed it just couldn’t be helped.

The funeral was huge. Kage and shinobi from all villages came to pay respects to the woman who saved the lives of thousands in the war and who’s leadership had come to bring together all the shinobi nations in peace. Each Kage made a speech that was some variant of this narrative, standing in a noble line to the side of her portrait, large enough for the entire gathering to see. On the end, flanking Kakashi, was the only non-hokage, Sakura.

Her frame was small. Smaller than most of the Kage lined beside her, but it was sturdy and unshakable to Shikamaru’s surprise. She wasn’t crying. So often he’d seen Sakura break down, over teammates and Sasuke and strangers, but now of all times her face was dry. She looked strong, respectful, at peace. A mirror of Tsunade’s portrait on display. The perfect apprentice.

“Wasn’t she the one that found her?” Temari asked. She’d followed his gaze to Sakura’s form.

“Ah,” he affirmed, not sure what else to say.

“Must have sucked,” Temari said, and for some reason this made Shikamaru a little irritated.

Sucked. Sucked? Shikamaru knew first hand how much it sucked seeing your teacher die in front of you and having no way to stop. Sucked didn’t even begin to describe it.

Sakura had worn that face when she’d marched into the Hokage’s office, like it was any other day. She didn’t look dazed or broken, but she wasn’t smiling her normal cheery smile.

This was the only clue she’d give as she squared off in front of Kakashi’s desk and said plain as day, “Tsunade passed away this morning. We should begin making arrangements before word gets too far.”

Both him and Kakashi froze.

“Mah, Sakura. That’s not a very funny joke so early in the morning,” Kakashi recovered more quickly than he had.

“It's not early. Its noon. It's not a joke.” She didn’t snap and this shook Shikamaru more than if she’d stormed across the room and slapped her Hokage across the face. Normally she’d snap. But this was just a tired statement of fact after fact.

“How did it happen?” Shikamaru asked, still in shock. He remembered Tsunade barreling in just a few days ago, informing, not requesting, her leave from the hospital for retirement. Kami knows I’ve earned it.

Sakura’s clear gaze turned on him and he felt the weight of his body acutely. Maybe it was that lack of smile.

“A heart attack. It was quick. She was gone before she could feel any pain.”

Kakashi swiveled in his chair, peering out the window at the cloudless blue sky. Not appropriate weather for news like this.

“I see.” Is all he said. Processing, Shikamaru guessed. “Didn’t even get a chance to retire.”

Shikamaru stifled the dry, ironic laugh itching at his throat. Or maybe he just needed a cigarette.

“No,” was all Sakura said.

“Who else knows?” Kakashi now all business.

“Just me and a nurse I trust to stay quiet until an announcement is made.”

Shikamaru felt the floor warp a little. “You were there when it happened?”

This time she did smile. Yeah, isn’t that just the darnedest thing? “Yes. I did everything I could to save her, but there was nothing I could do.”

He knew she wishes there would have been.

“Where is the body” Kakashi asked. Shikamaru winced. The body. Such a careless way to say it.

“It's already been taken care of.” Sakura lowered her eyes to a knot in the wood flooring.

Kakashi let out a weary breath and Shikamaru could tell he wished it wouldn’t have been Sakura taking care of it.

“Sakura,” Kakashi still looked out the window, “We can take this from here. Take some time off and see one of the counselors or be with your friends.”

“With all due respect, there much to be done at the hospital with Tsunade’s departure. I’ll continue working, Hokage-sama.” She bowed stiffly, the Tsunade’s departure hanging in the air. Departure, like she’d just left for retirement and that was that. Shikamaru wondered if that’s what Sakura was thinking. Just that she’d left like planned and she was supposed to carry on. The good little apprentice.

A long moment passed. A battle of wills.

“No,” Kakashi finally said. “You need time to grieve.”

Finally, some of the fire comes out in Sakura. “So do you, but you’re not taking time off, are you? We both have jobs to do here – important jobs - and I’m not going to sit on my ass eating icecream and crying into teddy bears while her hospital goes to shit -”

“Sakura this is not negotiable.”

“I’m fine.” And she does sound fine. “I. Am. Fine.”

They exchange a look loaded with history Shikamaru isn’t privy to. He watches for a moment, then two, wishing he could shrink away and become shadow.

“Thank you,” Sakura says tightly and walks out of the room. If Kakashi gave any sign he assented, Shikamaru didn’t catch it.

“Was it really a heart attack?” Temari says in the present. Shikamaru blinks twice, extracting himself from the memory.

“Ah,” he grunts in confirmation, wishing she’d drop it.

“Seems like it’d take more than that to take her out.” Temari speculates. Again, he’s irritated by her casual tone over the matter. “I mean, she was literally blown apart in the war and she still survived that. The woman was tough as they come. Seems like a little heart attack –,”

“Drop it.” Shikamaru barks, surprising himself. He’s not one to ever take a tone with her, not one to lose control over anything. But the past week has done something to him though, dredged up old memories of Asuma lying still and cold and it frays him at the edges.

Temari opens her mouth to snap back, ever strong-headed, but he interrupts, eyes turning toward Sakura’s steady form, his mind flashing between now and then.

“If Sakura says that’s what happened. That’s what happened.” It's too much trouble to think further than that. So he believes it. He has to. “She did everything she could, so just drop it.”

For now, she does. But he’d be an idiot to think the discussion was completely over.

Sakura

Tsunade was dead. Her teacher was dead. The teacher that believed in her and saw in her what Kakashi and all the rest hadn’t was dead. And she’d just walked into Kakashi’s office and lied through her teeth about every single part of it.

Tsunade didn’t die quickly and painlessly. It took several minutes for her spirit to finally untangle from her body and move on. Sakura watched it all happen.

It did happen suddenly. One breath she’d been discussing retirement plans then next – well. Sakura’s stomach turned. She hurried into the ladies' room and hurled her coffee up.

It’d been horrible. Nothing like Sakura had ever seen. And when it was over, nothing remained of the teacher she knew and loved. The image of Tsunade old, shriveled, blackened – Sakura dry heaves into the toilet again - wrong. So, so wrong and it wasn’t supposed to have happened like that. Sakura presses her forehead into the cool rim of the toilet, not caring how dirty might be. She deserved it. Tsunade didn’t.

Knowing how vain her teacher had been, she’d taken care of it. All of it. So that her teacher would have the dignified death she deserved. She had destroyed any evidence of the truth all on her own. And Sakura would carry it, her secret, until her dying breath.

#potentially a fic #sakura #shikamaru #shikasaku #eventually #but mostly mystery

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beewolfwrites · 3 years

Text

The Oar in the Sand - Chapter Two: The First Day of Nostos

And the second chapter is here! I feel evil for writing this, buuutt we need drama. And plot.

For those who are new to the AIB fandom, this is the sequel to my other Chishiya x OC/Reader fic - you can find the first one, and the Chishiya pov side series, either on AO3 or on my Tumblr.

I’ll keep this short and sweet, and leave the AO3 link to this chapter here.

And the link to my AO3 profile where you’ll find the other fics is here.

As always, thanks for reading! Your support means the world :D

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Daylight spilled through the window onto the empty side of the bed. It wasn’t unusual for Chishiya to wake up before me, although usually in my dreaming I would feel the dip of the mattress as he left. I must’ve been in such a deep sleep that I hadn’t noticed. But that’s okay. I needed all the rest I could get.

Rubbing my eyes, I stretched out a hand to feel the sheets. They were still warm, as was the light that enveloped my fingers in its glow. It would have been peaceful morning, here in the sun and the cosy sheets, if not for the budding anticipation within me.

Noon.

That’s when it all starts.

Kicking back the covers, I forced myself to get up and dressed. No matter how much I wanted to laze around, there was no telling what would happen, and so I chose more comfortable, practical clothes – cropped cargo pants, with a t-shirt and hoodie. It was only when I headed down the creaky stairs into the overwhelming silence of the living room, that Chishiya’s absence became even more apparent.

If he wasn’t down here, that left only one place he could be.

Is he aware of how predictable he is?

Emptying a bottle of water into a pan, I lit up the camping stove, watching as the water slowly frothed into simmer before bubbling away. Then spooning some instant coffee into two small mugs, I poured some of the water into each. It wasn’t great, but it was the closest thing to a real cup of coffee we could get in this world. Carefully carrying the two mugs, I stepped outside, and immediately squinted under the sun’s glare.

If it’s this high in the sky, there can’t be much longer now.

Just around the side of the store was a fire escape ladder. I had practiced this a few times, holding both mug handles in one hand, as I shakily clambered up to the roof. I only spilled a couple of drops, but it was nothing compared to the first time I tried to do this. Moving slowly, I slid onto the rooftop.

And there he was.

Lounging near the edge, one knee bent up, Chishiya was staring out at the cityscape. The first thing I noticed when I sat beside him was the mug in his hand. And once again, I felt like an idiot.

‘You already made coffee?’ I set the unwanted extra between us, eyeing his steaming mug. ‘And you didn’t leave any for me.’

‘You were fast asleep,’ he replied, taking a sip. ‘It would have gone cold.’

‘You could’ve woken me up.’

‘And if I had, you would have complained all morning.’

I hate to admit it, he’s kind of right.

I clutched my own mug, letting the warmth seep into my fingers as I counted each blimp suspended over the city. So far, nothing had changed from yesterday. But then again, it also wasn’t noon yet. Slowly drinking my coffee, I sighed. ‘I guess I’ll just have to drink twice as much now.’

Chishiya didn’t even bother entertaining me with a reply. He seemed content with the peace and quiet. Only, when he finally set down his empty mug, he reached for the extra one.

I raised a brow. ‘I thought you didn’t want it.’

He began to drink it anyway. ‘These cups are too small.’

I dipped my head into my mug to hide my smile, although knowing him, he probably saw it anyway. The sun was now gleaming above the empty city, nearly at its highest point in the sky. Apprehension swelled uncomfortably within me, and I wrapped my arms around my knees while I finished my coffee. ‘Are you going to go to the Jack of Diamonds today?’

‘The Queen and King too,’ he said. ‘I’ll work my way up.’

It was fine. It was fine. Chishiya was clever enough to survive, and I had every confidence that he would complete the games easily. More importantly, he was the most intelligent person I’d ever met. If anyone stood a chance at clearing the Diamond face cards so we could all go home, it was him. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t scared.

He could still get hurt. He could still...

It didn’t bear thinking about.

‘At least let me come with you.’ Before he could protest or decline, I added, ‘Just to wait outside. I can’t sit here, not knowing anything.’

His expression was guarded as he downed the last of his coffee. ‘Do what you want. Although you might be waiting a while. I don’t know how long the games will last.’

A loud gunshot blasted in the distance. I jumped, inching closer to Chishiya. He was stone still. Another shot ricocheted, the clap echoing off the concrete skyscrapers. Were guns usually that loud? Loud enough to be heard all the way from here? This sounded almost like an explosion, only sharper.

Something’s not right.

And I knew exactly what.

Chishiya set his second empty mug on the rooftop. ‘It’s started.’

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

The city streets were deserted, yet I couldn’t help but stay on my guard. While the games were contained to their venues, that gunfire before hadn’t been normal – I’d witnessed enough of Niragi’s sniper to know the difference. It had gone on for several minutes, before eventually ebbing away, and only then did we set out for the Jack of Diamonds venue.

Despite the threat of the games ahead, Chishiya appeared relaxed on the surface, but there was a slight crease between his brows, and his eyes scanned every alleyway we passed, occasionally drifting to our reflections in store windows. His hands were pushed into his pockets, and I didn’t dare try to hold one.

‘Are you worried about the game?’ I kept my voice low, just in case.

‘You shouldn’t have come with me.’

I thought we’d already talked about this.

There was no way I could sit around in our little hideout, never knowing whether or not he was going to come back. I needed to be there. I needed to see the outcome with my own eyes.

‘You told me to do what I want,’ I said. ‘And this is what I want. I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine. Those guns were probably from a game.’

‘Maybe... maybe not,’ he mused.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Chishiya may not be the easiest person to read, but we both knew what he was really trying to say. We rounded a corner, heading further into the city centre. From what we could see of the blimps, the Jack, Queen and King of Diamonds were all pretty close to one another, and all within a reachable distance from the furniture store.

‘You should be more worried about your game,’ I remarked.

‘Why?’

‘What do you mean, ‘why’? You could... you know.’

‘If I die, it’ll be of no consequence for you,’ he said. ‘And besides, I’ll die at some point anyway. There’s no use in trying to avoid it.’

His words no longer scared me, but rather, they were upsetting. How could he be so cavalier about it?

He really doesn’t care about his own life...

‘It does have consequence. I told you in the dealer’s den, didn’t I? If you’re not going to try and survive for yourself, then at least do it for me.’

The corner of his mouth lifted into that familiar sly smile. ‘Such big demands. You shouldn’t waste your own life being concerned about mine.’

We crossed the road, entering a new street, and the metal edge of a blimp appeared in the far distance.

‘I think I told you about that too. I can’t help being scared for you.’ I glanced away, looking instead at the side of a van. The words still felt strange to say out loud, even if I’d said them so brazenly during the Witch Hunt. ‘I lo—’

The van door erupted in a hot blast of glass and metal. The force blew me back, stumbling, as something struck my face. Hands gripped my forearms, dragging me away from the ground – I was on the ground? – and pulling me in a direction. I didn’t know where we were. The streets were shaking, or maybe I was. Maybe the whole world was shaking. And was that Chishiya in front of me?

Chishiya?

There was red in his blond hair and on his neck, wet and glistening. And his fingers were tight – far too tight – around my wrist. Where was he going? My feet were moving after him. No, he was the one dragging me like this, swaying us back and forth erratically. My eyes began to focus, the fog in my head clearing a little.

The gunshots... and that van. But how could a gun do that to a van?

‘Chishiya?’

If he heard me, his only response was to pull me harder until his fingernails dug into my skin. My numb legs jittered and tingled, but I tried my best to keep up with him. There was a strange humming above our heads, and I looked up, catching sight of a blimp overshadowing the office buildings above, darkening their windows and...

A gleam.

‘Chishiya!’

Glass exploded everywhere as the store window behind us shattered. Someone screamed – they sounded like me, only I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t... Someone tugged at my clothes, but I tore away, sprinting as fast as I could down the street. There was a shooter. There was someone shooting at us.

Side to side... I need to run from side to side.

As I ran, I veered in different directions, trying to keep things as unpredictable as possible. I ducked around corners and alleys, only to realise something. Chishiya was nowhere to be seen.

Don’t panic.

I slowed, breathless, as I swung onto another street, dipping behind a store.

Don’t panic.

The store crashed apart; the windows destroyed. Arms shielding my face, I toppled to the ground, coughing uncontrollably at the smell of hot plastic as mannequin limbs scattered the pavement.

I needed to run... I needed to run. My head was throbbing and burning now. Picking myself up, I pushed to keep going, running no matter how much my limbs ached. There was a strange buzzing noise that clashed painfully with the ringing in my ears.

And then I saw a glimmer of hope.

Across a traffic intersection was a large, off-white building with endless windows, marked 図書館. The entrance door shut softly as someone took shelter inside.

There!

The buzzing noise grew louder and louder, and my vision swam as I tore across the empty roads and into the building, slamming the door behind me. My legs finally gave way, and I collapsed against the wall, my eyes closing as I caught my breath.

Chishiya. I lost sight of him after that window was destroyed. Maybe he ran in the other direction. Or maybe... No.

He can’t be. He wouldn’t, not that easily.

‘It’s you.’

My eyes shot open at the familiar voice. Of all people to bump into, An was staring down at me with mild concern. It was An. Surging with relief, I tried to get to my feet to greet her, only my head flashed with dizzying pain.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Don’t get up. You’ll need your strength.’ I didn’t understand. She came in here to shelter too, right? Before I could question her, she crouched down in front of me and gently touched my forehead. Her fingers came back red. ‘What happened?’

My lungs ached with each syllable. Just getting the words out was a struggle. ‘苣屋一緒...にいた. ダイヤモンドのジャックに... 行っていた. 銃の音... が聞きた. すべて...’ I was together with Chishiya... We were going to the Jack of Diamonds... I heard gun sounds... and then everything...

I didn’t know the words for ‘gunshots’ or ‘explosion’, but An still nodded in understanding. Her eyes narrowed a little at Chishiya’s name, only she didn’t appear to be surprised by what I told her.

‘That’ll be the King of Spades. His sniper isn’t a regular gun. It’s designed to penetrate airships and armoured cars apparently.’

I didn’t understand the latter half of what she said, but one name stuck out unmistakably.

The King of Spades?

‘どう知ってるか?’ I asked. How do you know?

An gestured behind her, and I finally noticed the two women anxiously watching us. One had long, flowing blond hair and was wearing a thin headband. The other had brown hair tied up in pigtails. ‘He attacked our camp right after the second stage started.’

So those were the gunshots we heard on the roof. And their camp...

‘Kuina?’

An lowered her head to the tiled floor. ‘I wish I could tell you, but I don’t know where she is. She left in a car with Arisu and Tatta. We were in a separate car and we drove all the way here.’

Kuina... she has to be alive. I refuse to believe otherwise.

She was strong and smart, and if she drove away with those two, she was probably okay.

Probably.

It made sense that the King of Spades started with their group, then travelled further into the city centre before running into Chishiya and I. But if he was moving to attack players then that could only mean... A sickening feeling grew in the pit of my stomach.

‘彼のゲーム会場,’ I said, ‘全部の東京だね?’ His game venue. It’s all of Tokyo, isn’t it?

‘It seems that way,’ An said, adjusting her sunglasses. ‘From what I can assume, the only place that isn’t his game venue is within other games.’ She glanced reassuringly at the other girls behind her. ‘While we’re in here, we should be safe from him, at least.’

At least?

A horrible thought slipped into my mind. A really, really horrible thought. But I almost didn’t want to believe it. It would be too unlucky – a downright cruel trick of fate.

My apprehensiveness must’ve been obvious, as An tilted her head, curiously. ‘You didn’t know,’ she murmured. ‘この建物はダイヤモンドの女王会場だ.’

No, it couldn’t be true. Maybe I misheard. I had to have misheard. My mind ran in circles, desperate to find Chishiya, to go home and finish my sentence, tell him what I tried to say before the van windows burst. But Chishiya wasn’t here. I didn’t know where he was. I was alone.

Assuming I hadn’t quite understood, An said it again, slower this time. There was no need. My fate was already sealed the moment I took shelter here.

‘This is the Queen of Diamonds venue.’

#alice in borderland #aib #Imawa no Kuni no Arisu #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #Chishiya x reader #chishiya x oc #chishiya alice in borderland

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hyunjilicious · 4 years

Text

100 ways to say ‘I love you’ Christmas Edition [bucky barnes]

Summary: it’s pretty self explanatory, I guess. (FLUFF) 1.6k

Warnings: absolutely none, just Bucky being cute, awkward and madly in love with you!!

In 2018, you were in Namibia, hunting down an American terrorist that had been on the run for the better part of the year. In 2019, the avengers were scattered around the globe, executing a 'shoot first, ask questions later' type of mission that ended long after the new year began. But this year, all of your friends were home. For the first time in years, the Stark Tower was shining from top to bottom with Christmas lights, carols echoing down all of its long, secluded hallways. It was the first time you'd get to actually spend the night of 24th of December with your true family. That is, if you made it in time. Back on December 19th, you and Bucky got stuck in the depths of Louisiana, with absolutely no means of communication, let alone transportation. You decided to make the best out of the situation and turn it into a road trip, but time flew by so much faster than expected, that it was now 2:13 pm on Christmas eve, and you and Bucky were sprinting down the snow covered empty highways of the east coast, dead set on making it home in time. He wasn't that eager to get back and tried to get you to rent a hotel room and spend the night alone, but you weren't having it. He huffed and puffed about not giving a shit about Christmas, but it was the first one he could celebrate with people that loved him, in over 70 years. With every motel that you passed, he'd turn and look at you from the passenger seat, begging you to stop. You didn't even consider it. You wanted him to have the full Christmas experience. A storm was brewing and you were whiteknuckling the steering wheel, fighting back the urge to yawn for the 3rd time in the last 10 minutes. After driving for 7 hours straight, you were close to passing out, but nowhere near ready to give up. "Pull over, love" he smiled, grabbing your thigh, "Let me drive. I'll wake you up when we arrive"

And of course Bucky refused to decorate. You spent the better half of the day rummaging through boxes and looking up diy tutorials on the Internet, doing your absolute best to make your bedroom as cozy and Christmasy as possible. Candles were scattered all over the furniture, their soft light and delicate cinnamon scent filling up the room, a small Santa Claus figurine was sitting neatly by the window, garlands dripped from every corner and your Christmas playlist was on shuffle for probably the 4th time that day. As you kept busy, lowkey exasperated whenever one ornament didn't fit in as planned, Bucky laid on the bed, making nasty comments with every chance he got. He complained about the music, said the room was too hot, that the candles made his nose feel funny and not for a second did he stop begging you to drop the fucking decorating and join him in bed. You didn't wanna hear it. You kept going, bringing in box after box of ornaments, each one making Bucky more and more frustrated.

"Buck!" you whined, turning around in your hands a little remote controlled reindeer. "His leg is stuck... he keeps falling"

"Throw it into the trash" he scoffed, plopping down on his back and hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.

Of course you didn't listen to him. "No..." you mumbled, more to yourself. You sounded like a child, but you didn't care. Instead, you just sat down on the edge of the bed, all your attention focused on the broken toy in your hands, "I'll fix it somehow"

"Just throw the goddamned thing away, Y/n" he groaned, "Only on my nightstand there are other 3. We got enough"

You just shook your head, focused on getting the reindeer to walk again. It was no use. You got no utensils and your nails were threatening to break as you kept trying to open up his battery container. 5 minutes of painful silence followed, ending with you finally giving up, "I'll just put something under his leg and use it as a decoration" you whimpered, legitimately heartbroken over the toy.

"Fuck, just come here. Give it to me. I'll fix the damn thing for you"

Your heart swelled up, "Really?"

"Yeah..." Bucky sighed, grabbing a screwdriver out of his nightstand and picking up the toy. "Master assassin and I'm fixing toys" he mumbled under his breath and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him and kiss his cheek.

Your version of paradise started just when you arrived at the tower on Christmas Eve. Bucky did as promised and then offered you a weak smile, full of warmth as he helped you out of the car when he parked in front of the Tower. You were beaming with excitement for the days that were to come. When the next morning arrived, you were sipping your coffee on the balcony, waiting for everyone to wake up so that you could all start unwrapping the presents. When the door opened you didn't expect Bucky to come out, as he never - ever, failed to sleep until noon, if given the chance. But there he was, wrapped in one of your comfy blankets, padding over to you with a coffee mug in his hand. When he reached you, he opened his arms and welcomed you against his chest, closing his hold around your body and engulfing you in the warmth of the blanket. It didn't take long until you noticed the little paper bag lodged under the elastic of his sweats, and when you asked about it, he cursed himself for ruining the surprise. He handed you the bag, and urged you to open it, insisting that it wasn't your present. When you did, your eyes landed on a knitted bunny clutching a heart to its chest. "An old lady was selling these a few weeks ago at a boutique I saw while waiting for you to meet me. I know you love to call me Bucky Bunny because you know how much I hate it. I forgot about it and came across it this morning at the bottom of my bag while searching for my charger. Now I think its stupid, a dumb rabbit and his eyes are a little bit fucked up, but he's cute and it reminded me of you, so here you go"

As much love as some of you had for the holiday, it still wasn't enough to convince the whole group to actually watch a Christmas movie. So, in true avenger spirit, you all decided to watch Terminator. After finishing dinner, you all scattered around the Tower. Some people left to change in more comfortable clothes, some helped clean up the kitchen, and some, like Bucky and Thor, remained in the living room, plopped in the middle of the couch, fangirling over Arnold Schwarzenegger's acting and the great sense of humour of the 90s. Eventually everyone gathered around them, you and Wanda being the last ones to show up. She cuddled against Vision's side, but Bucky was lodged in between Thor and Steve, and there was no way you'd ever ask any of them to move. Seeing you eye an open spot, Bucky waved you over as he stood up. "Here, take my seat". You wanted to object but he didn't want to hear it. Eventually, you sat down, and so did he, on the floor, right in front of you. Nonchalantly, Bucky pulled your legs apart and settled between them, with his back against the couch. He gathered your Christmas themed sock clad feet into his lap and rested his head against your knee as the movie began.

And like any other Christmas dinner, of course yours wasn't an exception. Natasha's recipe for apple pie was by definition the best that ever blessed the earth and none of the attendees was any stranger to that. Considering how many of you there were, as you made a point of spending the end of the year together, 2 batches had to be made. It was hectic, everyone fuzzing around the Tower, preparations on tow the whole day. And of course there would be repercussions for the chaotic atmosphere, but you'd only find out about them later. After burning through the first meal courses of the evening, it was finally time for her sweet delicacy to grace the table. Natasha neatly placed the two pies on either end of the table, proudly announcing you could all dig in. Bucky was seated to your right, and he unlike you, managed to grab a piece of pie from the first batch. You didn't think too much of it, until you started eating yours, only to realise the bottom was burned. Despite all of you trying to assure Natasha that it was not her fault and that she shouldn't beat herself up about it, she promised she'd make another one tomorrow. The night carried on as planned, but no matter how much you tried to push away the thought, you couldn't help but feel bitter about missing out on the good pie. Just when you were about to come to your senses and realise what a dumb reason for you to get upset that was, Bucky sent you text, asking you to come to the bedroom. Curious as to what this could have been about, you hurried upstairs and burst into the room, nearly crashing into Bucky's chest. He slammed the door behind you and handed you his plate - his slice of pie only halfway eaten. "I saved you a piece. These are jackals, I had to hide it. Dig in before anyone comes!"

On December 27th the buzz was starting to die down. When you put up the lights in your bedroom, Bucky said they could stay on for two days and two days only, and you reluctantly agreed to make a compromise. Just this time. The time to turn them off came last night, and since he offered to let them on until the morning, you felt like an unreasonable little shit if you were to ask him to turn them on again. It was about 7pm and you were two seasons deep in The X Files, and Wanda asked for your help. Bucky pulled out his phone and assured you he wouldn't watch ahead until you got back. It took you about 30 to help your friend with her problem, and when you returned to your room, confusion washed over you. The Christmas lights were on and Bucky was nowhere to be seen. "Fuck" he grunted.

You turned around to see him behind you, standing in the doorway, two cocoa mugs in his hands, "I made these cause I know you like them. And I wanted to surprise you with the lights but vision is a dumbass and forgot to text me and tell me when you were almost done"

"So she didn't actually need help folding the bed sheets?" you laughed, endeared by his antics.

"Of course she didn't" Bucky shook his head, handing you one of the mugs, "She's not an imbecile"

"Oh my god" you giggled in disbelief as you sat down on the bed.

"I'll squirt shit nuggets out of my ass for two days, so please tell me at least I got the recipe right"

He was so adorable, anxiously waiting for you to taste the cocoa he just made. "It's so good!" you rolled your eyes in pleasure, taking another sip, "Thank you, you're too sweet, Buck"

"Yeah, I know-" he chuckled, grabbing the mug from your palm and placing it on the nightstand. "I got one more present for you. Close your eyes and hold out your hands"

"No, Buck-" you whined, "I didn't get you anything else-"

He dismissed your words in an instant and kissed your lips, before guiding your hands up. You opened them up and closed your eyes, curious about what he could have gotten you. First, you heard him shuffle around the bed, and then you felt something rather itchy touch your palms. You nearly burst into laughter when you realised it was his chin.

"Ok, open your eyes"

And as you did so, your eyes landed on Bucky's face, as he had placed his head on your hands. He was wearing a tiara with reindeer ears, and you couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"You're my present?" you beamed, throwing yourself against his chest.

"My face is the present-" he corrected you. "Guess what it does. Take your leggings off and you'll find out"

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan #bucky barnes fluff #sebastian stan fluff

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theoswriting · 4 years

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fault line [part. i]

summary: To y/n, freedom feels like wind in her hair, sounds like old school rock'n'roll and tastes like Elle's lips. From the fire in front of them comes warmth. With every passing second, bloodied clothes burn beyond the point of recognition.

pairing: elle greenaway x fem!reader

a/n: uhm okay, this totally got out of hand. from that request, my brain went crazy and I ended up having to cut it into two, so this is part 1. Hopefully I'll post part 2 in a couple of days. I feel weird about this story, but I hope you'll enjoy it at least a tiny bit, haha.

warnings: mentions of rape and sexual abuse (nothing graphic), murder but it's pretty lowkey, sociopathy?, bad profiling,

ao3

Jennifer Jareau's steps are hurried when she walks from her office to Hotchner's.

She can feel the eyes of Prentiss, Morgan and Reid following her as she crosses the bullpen. She ignores them, the files she's holding in her hands are far more important. She doesn't wait for an answer after she knocks, not caring that she's interrupting Hotchner in the middle of a phone call.

Hotch doesn't startle at the irruption, and when he sees the urgency in the liaison's eyes, he doesn't hesitate before saying, "I'm afraid I'll have to call later," to whoever was on the other side of the line.

"We have a bad one."

***

To y/n, freedom feels like wind in her hair, sounds like old school rock'n'roll and tastes like Elle's lips.

Elle's hand rests on y/n's thigh as she drives with the other, sunglasses covering her eyes as she stares at the road straight ahead. There's a strength in the way she holds the steering wheel, getting them to their next destination with nothing but confidence. As she looks her over, y/n feels a familiar spark wake inside her. It makes her lean towards the driver's side to drop a long kiss on the corner of Elle's mouth.

Elle doesn't hesitate to turn her head and make it a real kiss, the kind that always leaves y/n breathless and wanting more. When Elle leans back to focus on the road again, the car has swerved to the other side of the road and Elle brings it back to the right lane.

Not that it matters. It's been hours since they had passed another car, not a lot of traffic in the middle of the Nevada desert. And if they were to drive off the road, what a way to go, y/n thinks. She'd happily die twice if it meant dying with Elle kissing her with all the love and passion in the world. That'd probably be the only way y/n would ever make it to heaven.

For now, she leans her head on Elle's shoulder and sighs contentedly at the kiss her girlfriend drops on her temple.

"I think we can stop soon," y/n says after seconds, "We're far out enough, and I really need to stretch my legs."

It's barely fifteen minutes later when y/n finally gets to use her legs after being in the car for so long. As she stretches, Elle stands beside her, drinking from a water bottle. She passes it to her and y/n thanks her. The heat of the desert is heavy around them, but y/n barely feels it.

The warmth comes from the fire in front of them, small and controlled.

With every passing second, bloodied clothes burn beyond the point of recognition.

***

"LAPD called me this morning for a consultation on two cases they suspected might be connected."

Everyone looks at the files as JJ begins presenting the case.

"First victim, Matthew McGregor, 36, was killed with a single gunshot wound to the head a year ago after he came home from a party," She explains, "Second victim, Eric Laurens, 28, two days ago, same M.O., single GSW to the head coming home from a party."

JJ sees Derek nod slowly as he reads over the information again, "Seems pretty clear to me that they're connected."

Emily hums in agreement, "And both had gotten arrested on rape charges, but weren't convicted, prior to their deaths."

"A vigilante?" Rossi theorises out loud.

"There's more," JJ sighs as she clicks on the remote. Five more men appear on screen, a picture from their driver's license and one from a crime scene, "LAPD aren't the only ones who called about similar cases."

Spencer frowns at the screen, "Wyoming, Illinois, New York, these are from all over the country," he observes.

"Yeah" JJ nods, "And the oldest murder goes back to 2007, the most recent being Eric Laurens two days ago."

"That's seven victims over the last 3 years," Derek observes and that's when Hotch gets up to stand next to JJ.

"Seven that we know of," He says, "We might have a transient serial killer in our hands. We'll be flying out to LA to see what we can learn from the most recent crime scene. I've already asked Garcia to look for unsolved murders with a similar M.O. all over the country, we'll debrief more on the jet. Wheels up in 20."

Without another word, all the agents leave the room to gather their belongings and get to the plane that'll take them to their case.

***

After being together for almost four years, y/n and Elle had settled into a routine. It was inevitable, y/n guessed, that after so much time together. Some things were bound to become repetitive.

Elle always takes the left side of the bed, while y/n prefers the right. Elle always cooks if they want their food to be edible, and y/n always cleans up. When it comes to coffee, though, y/n always makes it, Elle's always coming out too strong for both their tastes. When it comes to work, Elle excells at planning while y/n handles the social part.

Their routine is rooted in balance though, and y/n loves the way they compliment each other.

y/n lures the men, Elle shoots them.

She worries sometimes. She worries that their lives are getting boring, that they have settled into this routine too comfortably and forgotten how to surprise each other.

"Mmmh," y/n feels Elle stretch next to her, "G'morning."

Her worries never last very long. How could they, when all y/n has to do is look at Elle to realize that there is no way she's ever falling out of love with the woman.

"Good morning," She replies, getting closer to her girlfriend to drop a kiss on her lips. Elle hums contentedly into the kiss and y/n can't help the grin that takes over her features. When Elle leans back, she keeps her eyes closed and settles back into her pillow and y/n bites her lip as she watches her.

"We need to go soon," Elle mutters.

y/n quickly agrees, even though she's pretty sure no one is on their tails. They can never be too careful. Never stay in a place too long if you don't want to get trapped. They'd stopped in a random motel for the night, paid in cash, left most of their stuff in the car, ready to take off at any time.

It was the way things always were the days that'd follow one of their… projects.

Some would consider this lifestyle tiresome. y/n, however, thinks she's the luckiest person in the world. In the last four years, she's travelled through the country and seen the most beautiful sights with the woman she loves by her side. Sure, they have a job to do, but it's never really felt like a job to y/n. She's always heard that people weren't supposed to enjoy their jobs, that's always what grownups had complained about when she was a kid.

And y/n? Well, she enjoys her job very much.

***

Reid stares at the board in front of him. He's just put up all the information they have so far and it's… a lot.

Or rather, there's very little useful information, but many, many, victims. Garcia has managed to find an overwhelming number of unsolved cases with a similar modus operandi: men, killed by a single gunshot to the head on their way home from a party, all previously accused of rape or sexual misconduct.

They are up to 32 possible victims on top of the 7 they started with, from all over the country. That number only keeps going up the longer Garcia keeps looking.

By now, they are pretty sure all these cases are connected, even though no evidence connects them directly to each other. Even ballistics couldn't link the different shootings.

They're missing something. Spencer only wishes he knew what that was.

On the jet, they'd all agreed on a few things concerning the preliminary profile. Their unsub was most likely highly intelligent and had military or law enforcement training. It was most probably a man in his mid-thirties, carrying out his own justice after the system failed him or someone close to him. He was organized, evident by the lack of clues left behind. Whoever the unsub was, he might even have stalked his victims prior to the crimes.

It sounds right on paper, but something is missing. Spencer knows it.

Something is missing.

***

y/n's hand is wrapped around a cup of coffee as she sits on the patio of a little shop. Her sunglasses are small, barely protecting her from the rays coming from the sun above. It's almost noon.

The world is an ugly place.

That statement had made its way into y/n's head years ago, laying roots, unmoving. With every stroke of her father's anger, with every touch of a man's hands, the roots dug deeper and deeper until they found their way to y/n's heart. The world held no justice for people like y/n. They didn't care about the bruises, the touching, the screaming for help, they never listened.

She had learned a long time ago that if she wants something, she needs to do it herself.

"How can you be married to someone like that?" Elle suddenly speaks up from next to her.

When y/n looks at her, Elle's eyes are fixed onto the man they'd followed. He's at the restaurant on the other side of the street, right in front of the coffee shop. He's sitting with his wife, holding her hand and y/n tilts her head.

"Maybe she doesn't know."

Elle's eyes don't leave the couple, her face still contorted in disgust, "Then, we're doing her a favor."

It brings a smile to y/n's face. The way Elle's voice sounds resolute, confident. It's comforting. It reminds her that she's right to trust Elle, that Elle hates the world just as much as she does and that she'd gladly watch it burn with her. It makes her want to lean in and kiss her, but that would attract too much attention. Instead, she reaches out for her hand and brings it up to her lips. Elle shoots her a small smile, and y/n's heart warms.

It's impressive how a smile from Elle offers y/n a reassurance she hadn't even known she craved. It had always been her against the entire world, the only love she knew was the love she was willing to give to herself. That hadn't always been easy.

Then, she'd met Elle and she had shared a story so different from y/n's but the consequences of it felt familiar. It made sense that y/n had been drawn to her, the strength Elle exuded softened by the understanding y/n saw in her eyes each time she talked.

The world was an ugly place, but Elle Greenaway makes it worth holding on for a little longer.

***

"The body was found right where you're standing," Derek says as he looks back at Prentiss from a few feet ahead, "Which means our unsub must've been standing right here," He adds, pointing to the ground under his feet.

He looks around him as Prentiss voices his exact thought, "There's no way he didn't see the unsub coming. There aren't any good hiding spots out here."

They're standing next to a fence, on the outside of a park, "The sidewalk is big, no trees, or parking allowed, so no cars to hide behind," Derek observes, "Which means our unsub is unsuspecting, someone the victims wouldn't consider a threat."

Emily nods and starts looking up, in search of camera surveillance. Two catch her eye, on the other side of the street and she points out to Derek with a raised eyebrow. Local PD hadn't found anything of use but they decide to call Garcia anyway. If anyone could find something, it was her.

As Morgan talks to their tech analyst, Emily walks past him, then back, retracing the steps their unsub had most likely taken two nights ago. When she stops, she raises her hands, mimicking a gun and aiming at where the victim would've been standing. Whoever it is, they're a good shot which makes her think they were right in saying the unsub had some kind of firearm training.

She sighs as she drops her hands down and puts them on her hips. As she looks around again, a thought crosses her mind, "Where did Mr. Laurens live?"

Derek who just hung up with Garcia wracks his brain to remember the address he'd read in the file, "He lived… three streets down, that way-" He points out to the direction their victim had supposedly been walking from and it dawns on him, "So why was he walking in the opposite direction to his home."

Emily nods, "And how did the unsub know they'd find him here."

"They followed him."

"Walked past him, turned around and shot him?" Emily asks as she walks back to stand where the body had been found.

"Or, he was lured out here," Derek speaks and Prentiss has to agree with him.

"It's the perfect killing spot," She says pointing back at the cameras, "Even if Garcia gets anything from them, it'll be grainy at best, impossible to get a clear shot of our unsub."

Derek looks at the empty street, void of any passerbys, "Quiet street in the day, probably even quieter at night. Less risks to run into an unwanted witness."

"So if he was lured out," Emily says, "We need to figure out who he left that party with."

***

y/n stumbles slightly and giggles as a strong arm wraps around her waist and helps her stay upright.

"Shoot, I'm such a klutz," She adds with a laugh and her companion replies in kind.

His laughter grates on her nerves. It's too loud, resonating all around them and using up too much oxygen. She only has to walk with him a couple more minutes but even that feels too long. She feels his too big hand squeeze her hip and she feels anger spike inside her chest. She wants to hurt him.

Deep breath. Clenched fist. One more minute.

He's started talking again but y/n isn't listening. She's staring straight ahead to the street they're going to walk into where Elle will be waiting for them and the hand will finally fall from her hip. That's when you feel it, that spark you've come to call freedom. It's small but grows as you round the corner with him following you closely.

It starts burning under your skin when you spot Elle's silhouette further down the street.

The man next to you doesn't even take notice of her and isn't that ironic. He spent his life thinking of women as less than and y/n finds it befitting that what'll bring him to his end is the last woman he'll ignore.

Elle raises her gun and with the sound of the gunshot ringing in her ears, y/n's whole body is set aflame.

She watches as the hand lays limp next to his lifeless body and a gleeful laugh escapes her. The hole in his head oozes blood and she can't stop laughing. The hand is laying there unmoving and y/n feels the urge to step on it.

Hurt him, hurt him, hurt him, hurt him like he hurt you.

She's vaguely aware of Elle calling out her name but y/n doesn't snap out of it until a hand yanks her away from the body by the shoulders. She steps back, but slaps the hands touching her away. Only then does she realize that it's Elle looking at her, confusion in her eyes and something y/n doesn't want to ever see from her own girlfriend.

Fear.

"We have to go," Elle announces slowly, like she's explaining it to a child, or a wounded animal. y/n doesn't know which comparison she likes best. She looks back at the body and regretfully nods.

They start walking away, hand in hand, but something inside of y/n doesn't feel quite right. The fire that had roared inside of her is long gone and she feels her body shiver at the cold. Elle notices and wraps an arm around her shoulders, dropping a kiss on her hair as they keep walking side by side.

She wants to smile but she can't manage it.

He hurt her.

He was going to hurt Elle.

He hurt her.

***

"Laurens' friends say he left the party alone," Emily announces to the team as she sits down next to JJ in the conference room. At the same moment, Derek's phone starts ringing, attracting everyone's attention.

"Baby girl, tell me you have good news," Derek answers, putting his phone on speaker so everyone around the table can hear.

"I wish, but no. The cameras on the street were of no use, it's a blind spot. I tried the cameras from neighbouring streets but got nothing. Whoever it is your looking for, they're like a ghost."

There's a collective disappointed sigh and shoulders sagging, and Garcia isn't done, "to make a bad day even worse, a body was just found in Twin Falls, same M.O."

Everyone visibly tenses at the news, Rossi speaking first, "Two kills in less than three days."

Hotch looks at JJ and before he can even say anything, she's out of her seat, "I'll call the local PD, tell them we're on our way."

Hotch nods his approval, turning his stoic gaze to the rest of his team, "Get your bags ready, we're flying out as soon as the jet is ready."

***

It is getting boring and y/n had been right to be worried.

That's the first thing that crosses her mind as she wakes up next to Elle, hours later, in a nameless city in the middle of nowhere.

Elle lays peacefully next to her, deep into slumber, and a smile stretches y/n's lips. She watches her girlfriend's chest rise and fall, her naked body barely covered by the sheets. It's a hot night, y/n can feel the sweat in her lower back making it uncomfortable for her to fall back asleep. As she gets up from the bed, Elle moves, getting closer to where y/n lay seconds ago, chasing the heat despite the already too high temperature.

y/n lets herself watch her for a moment before walking to sit on the chair next to the window. There's nothing to look at, the motel they'd chosen is outside of the city and the lights are barely visible. It's dark, except for the slight light of the moon landing on the cars outside.

She feels empty tonight. The thrill she'd felt hours ago hadn't lasted long and the only thing she could remember about it was the look Elle had thrown her way.

Fear.

Elle had always looked at her with interest. From the moment they met, y/n had been drawn in by her hazel eyes. Something in her made her feel safe in a way she never had before and days after meeting her, she had told Elle about her unpleasant memories, how the world wasn't a nice place.

Elle had listened and, to y/n's surprise, agreed with the statement. Usually, whenever y/n told people about the ugliness of the world, they tried to make her see the parts that weren't so bad, try to make her see that some things, and some people were worth it. Elle hadn't done any of that, she had scoffed and agreed.

"Only person you can trust is yourself. The rest? Always leads to disappointment."

They had ended up in bed together soon after that, spent the night in each other's arms and imagining a world that'd be worth their time.

Two days later, they had killed their first man together.

Their routine hasn't changed in nearly four years, and it used to be enough for y/n. She's the bait, easily transforming herself into whoever the men want to see in front of them. She pretends to be too drunk, unstable on her feet, asking for help to walk back to her place or her car, and the men never think twice before following her.

Elle waits for them and then. She shoots.

And it used to be enough for y/n to watch the proud look on Elle's face anytime she made a perfect shot. Smoking gun in hand and a confident smirk, y/n had never seen anything sexier in her entire life.

What followed was always a passionate kiss and hurried hands, trying to touch every inch of skin.

Earlier, y/n hadn't even kissed Elle, the only contact between them being the arm that Elle had thrown around her shoulder.

y/n can feel that there's something not quite right. She feels it in her body, in the way her arms itch, in the way her chest feels a bit too empty for her too breath comfortably.

y/n loves Elle, there's no way that has changed. She's sure of it. When she turns her head to watch Elle sleep, her heart flutters at the sight of her girlfriend curled up on the side of the bed that she had vacated. She couldn't see it, but she could picture her girlfriend's face, mouth slightly open if she were to believe the little snores she could hear.

She is just bored of the routine.

When she finally climbs back into bed with Elle, her girlfriend automatically drapes a hand over her waist.

"Where did you go?" Elle asks sleepily, and y/n lays a kiss on her nose. It makes her scrunch up her face and that's the cutest sight she's ever seen.

"Couldn't sleep."

Elle hums and goes back to sleep. y/n sighs and follows suit, not long after.

***

"What's this, on the palm?" Morgan asks the M.E., pointing at the left hand of the victim where the skin seems slightly bruised.

The doctor on the other side of the autopsy table nods at Derek and Spencer, "His hand was broken post-mortem, although I'm having a hard time figuring out what broke it."

Reid leaned closer to the hand and frowned, "It looks like something was pushed from the palm to the other side."

Again, the doctor nods, but before she can say anything else, Reid suddenly stands up straight and looks over at Morgan, "I know what did this."

At that moment, Morgan's phone rings and upon seeing Hotch's name, he excuses himself to reply. When he comes back, his face looks somber.

"A man was killed not far from here, local PD just got the call. Hotch wants us to check it out, just in case."

#elle greenaway x reader #elle greenaway #elle greenaway imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #elle greenaway x you #elle greenaway x y/n #criminal minds

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everyonesfavoritelesbowrites · 3 years

Text

RATLD Headcanons pt. 6

Drunk Rayamaari

Just a heads-up, I don't know much about alcohol. I've only taken a few drinks in my life since I'm 18 but don't worry, in my state I am allowed to drink small amounts with adult supervision and permission.

Let's say the drinking age in Kumandra is around 16-18, perhaps it's different in different nations. (Perhaps in Talon, Fang and Spine it's 16 and in Tail it's 17 and Heart it's 18?)

Raya obviously didn't have any time or anywhere safe to even try to drink during her six years

Namaari on the other hand use to spend her free time (at night) drinking, it helps with her anxiety and it's the only way she can sleep without nightmares (besides laying with Raya)

Namaari's drink of choice is Baijiu (I don't know much about alcohol or asian culture but I feel like this is what Namaari would drink, it's often compared to whiskey apparently) Correct me if I'm wrong, but Baijiu is often served with food that contains spice. She also enjoys Rice Wine.

The first time Raya tries alcohol, it's at some sort of get-together with all the nations gathering in Fang. Namaari is drinking Baijiu with her dinner and gets a bit tipsy.

She can handle her alcohol.

Raya mentions she's never had alcohol and Namaari offers her her glass.

"You can try mine if you want, dep la."

"It's always strange the first sip, but just keep going."

Raya does indeed gag at the first drink but after a few more drinks she starts to like Baijiu.

Raya gets drunk fast

On the outside Namaari seems her normal collected sober self but she's actually on her fourth glass, her walls lowered, and brain fuzzy.

Raya on the other hand just started a second drink and it's tripping and slurring, an utter but beautiful disaster.

Sisu utterly confused.

"why is this drink making her crazy?"

Sisu tries it and it has no effect on her and it's just disgusting, she might like rice wine for the taste

Namaari literally giggling when Raya trips on nothing. Sisu loosing her shit that Namaari fucking giggled

Raya slurs over her words.

They both get a bit handsy if you you what I'm saying.

Raya 100% will slap and pinch Namaari's ass because she's just so fine

*slap* "Raya! What the fuck?"

"That is highly inappropri-." *pinches her ass* "Raya! I'm serious!" (she's not)

Raya feeling up Namaari, especially her shoulders and arms.

"Dep la, you're muscles are so attractive..." *pretty much groping her arms* "your strong, sexy muscles...."

*leans up to moan in Namaari's ear to mess with her*

Namaari gets back at her though.

*slips her hand on Raya's thigh under the table* "What's with the blush, dep la?"

*leaning into Rayas ear and speaks in low sexy voice* "What's dripping, dep la?" "me"

*passionate drunk kiss* *leaves Raya against the wall, panting, and flashes her a wink*

Chief Benja and Chief Virana just watching their daughters drunk and being gay

Raya drinking too much the first time because she doesn't know when to stop

She just throws up in the floor in front of everyone

Sisu is so confused and worried

Namaari comforting Raya

"sisu, could you get her some water?"

Benja low-key freaking out cause he's not use to their daughter being an adult and NOW SHES THROWING UP OMFG CHIEF VIRANA WHAT DO I DO IS SHE OKAY DO I GET THE HEALERS?!

Virana comforting Benja saying that her daughter knows what to do

Raya's favorite is Bia (or beer in vietnamese). She hates Rice Wine, she will throw it up if she has to drink it. Luckily Benja doesn't mind if her daughter is seen drinking Bia.

If Namaari drinks at night in the safety of her own room and Raya is there, they may get a bit carried away.

4 times out of 10 they woohoo

Other times they just have stupid conversations or pass out in the middle of making out

"do you think this is poison?" "Alcohol is literally poison but go all out." "Say sike right now."

Raya asks the stupidest questions

"do you think the first person to try alcohol thought they were going to die?"

"Are dragons mammals? They have fur and lay eggs..."

"Raya, you're ruining my buzz."

Raya having only a little bit of a hangover the next morning, waking up at her normal time full for energy.

Namaari hiding in the seats, dreading life and wishing she was dead anD WHY IS THE SUN SO BRIGHT TURN IT OFF BENTURI

Namaari has a major headache

"Namaari, let's spar!" "Fuck off."

"Drank too much, dep la? You're usually up before the sun!" "Shut the fuck up, you're making my headache worse."

Raya taking care for her though but not without lots of teasing

Raya cuddles Namaari, food and water brought to the room while Namaari sobers up so they can go through their day

Virana not even phased seeing them in Namaari's room. "Get her up before noon, Raya."

Benja's unsure what to think. "Uhhhh... Is Namaari okay? Should I get you girls some food and water?"

Sisu not understanding what's wrong with tough Namaari

"Is she dying?"

"Should I go get healers!?"

*pulls the sheets off of Namaari* "what's wrong with you!?" *hissing at the sun trying to get the sheets back* "Sisu, leave her alone!"

"so the strange drink you guys drank last night made Namaari feel horrible but not you?" "Uhh yeah." "That doesn't make sense, you were the one crying because Namaari said she was dating someone and you didn't remember you two were dating." "Wait, I did what now?"

"so you don't remember anything last night?" "No, why?" "No reason at all." *Sisu probably made a stupid deal or dare with Raya or something*

"someone's looking... better." *Namaari drinking coffee or water with a blanket around her shoulders and bags under her eyes* "I don't want to hear it."

Raya finding Namaari utterly adorable when she's grouchy

#ratld headcanons series #ratld #rayamaari #raya and the last dragon #raya #namaari #ratld headcanons #headcanon #headcanons #mine #sisu #chief virana #chief benja

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dirtyhelen · 4 years

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with you, a girl could get bolder (i just wanna be a little bit closer) - part two

PART TWO: i’m in your head now, from every second now Series Masterlist Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Rating: Mature Featuring: Angst; Fluff; No Additional Warnings Words: 7894 Summary: So, you had sex with a co-worker under the influence of a super-powered aphrodisiac. What do you do now? A/N: First of all, BIG thank you to everyone who liked/replied/reblogged Part 1!! Honestly overwhelmed by how lovely you all are 🤗 Second of all, there is no smut in this part so if you wanna skip this one and catch up on Part 3 (which does have smut) I totally get it and you will receive no judgment from me!! Sorry for the wait on this one, Part 3 won’t take this long I promise! ________________________________________________________________

You sleep for a long time, deep and dreamless, and wake to the hot midday sun streaming in through your open curtains. You’d been so out of it the night before you hadn’t even bothered to shut them. For a moment or two it feels like a normal day, albeit a lazy one. Like sleeping in on Sunday and waking up easy and refreshed. You reach for your phone to check the time when recollection kicks in, reminding you exactly why you’re in bed at noon on a Friday, stripping away any feelings of peace or rest. You want to stay in bed, bury yourself under the covers until you die. Or at least until someone from the compound reaches out to you, but there’s too much nervous energy thrumming under your skin, making you restless and jittery and you finally give in and leave the warm cocoon of your blankets. You spend the day at home, stress-cleaning your entire apartment and stress-eating your entire fridge, vacillating between panic and calm. One minute you’re stuffing your face with week-old stir-fry and checking your phone with every mouthful; the next you’re elbow-deep in dishwater, resigned to your fate – whatever it may be. In worried moments, you can’t imagine how you can possibly go back to the compound after everything that’s happened. How can you discuss schedules and mission reports when everyone you work with knows you got railed by an Avenger on one of the jets they use to fly around saving the world? How can you face Bucky again? Even if he doesn’t blame you for what happened, he’s bound to have some negative feelings about the whole thing. About sleeping with you. It’s not like you’d been friends before. Not like he’s been harbouring secret romantic feelings like you have. If Bucky’s harbouring any secret feelings about you, they’re probably feelings of annoyance and dislike. What if every time he looks at you now he’s reminded of how you begged, needy and naked and pathetic, for him to fuck you? What if he’s disgusted by you? Somehow that’s the worst thought of all. That the first person – the only person – to have seen your body laid bare, to have touched you in the most intimate ways possible might be repulsed, not by what happened, but because it happened with you. It’s a thought you try not to dwell on for long, but you come back to it over and over throughout the day. Each time, shame and self-loathing and heartache flood your body until you force yourself to think about something else. To eat something else, clean something else. You remind yourself there’s no point worrying about things that might never happen. You’ll only have to endure the reactions from Bucky and the team if you actually go back to work, which might not be an option anymore. No one’s reached out to you all day – no calls, no emails, no texts – and the radio silence has you fearing the worst. That no one has reached out because they’re busy working on your termination paperwork. As the hours slip by, those moments of calm get fewer and further between. By the time you’ve eaten all there is to eat, cleaned all there is to clean, and paced what feels like a hundred miles across the length of your apartment it’s nearly midnight and the only messages you’ve gotten all day are promotional emails and a meme from one of your friends back home. You wish you could talk to her, tell her about everything and get another perspective, but the ironclad NDA you signed on your first day of work rules out telling pretty much anyone other than the Avengers and their support staff – none of whom you want to talk about this with. If nothing else, at least your nervous energy has burned off, leaving you drained and eager to sleep for another twelve – or twelve thousand – hours. But despite your exhaustion, sleep doesn’t come any easier than the night before. You toss and turn for hours it seems, and when you do sleep, it’s light and fitful. You wake early on Saturday morning, feeling no more relaxed than when you first shut your eyes. +++ After another morning alone in your apartment with no news, you think you’re going to go insane soon. You’ve drafted a dozen emails to Maria Hill, to the head of R&D, even one to Steve, but can’t bring yourself to hit send on any of them. Trying to find the line between professional concern and desperate pleading proves to be very difficult. You’ve just started yet another message to Maria – since she coordinates all Avengers operations (including the one that landed you in this situation) – when your phone rings. It’s such a surprise after the silence of the last two days that you’re frozen for a moment before you scramble for your phone, almost dropping it in a mug of lukewarm tea in your haste. A glance at the screen reveals it’s Maria herself on the line, as if summoned by all your unfinished emails. Knowing her background and capabilities, you wouldn’t be surprised if she somehow has seen them… Brushing away that uncomfortable thought, you take a breath and answer the call, trying your best for a confident and casual, “Hello?” Characteristically brusque, Maria wastes no time getting straight to the point. “Can you come to the compound this afternoon? The research half of R&D has an update for you and I figured we should talk, too.” “Uh—” you start, wondering how to give a firm fuck no while still being agreeable and cooperative. Luckily, Maria picks up on the reason for your hesitance. “Right, that would probably be uncomfortable for you. We’ll come to you. Three o’clock?” she offers. “Three is good?” It’s not like you have anything else going on. “Great. I’m supposed to call Secretary Ross at three and I do not want to. See you then.” And with that, the line goes dead. Maria has very little patience for pleasantries, you’ve learned. +++ At three o’clock sharp there’s a knock at your door. You open it up to find Maria waiting outside with a middle-aged woman carrying a black medical bag. You vaguely remember seeing her face among the half dozen or so you saw during the debrief after the jet. Maria says hello and makes the necessary introductions. “This is Dr. Sakina Singh,” she says, face expressionless. “She’s from R&D. You might remember her from –” “The extremely intrusive round of questions I asked you two days ago,” Dr. Singh interjects with a grimace, looking about as uncomfortable as you feel. This probably isn’t what she imagined she’d be doing when she accepted the offer to work with the Avengers. You laugh politely if a little awkwardly. “I remember. Nice to meet you, officially?” She smiles and you shake hands. “Can we come in?” Maria asks, reminding you they’re still standing in your open doorway while cold February air blows into your apartment. “Right! Sorry!” You bring them through to your kitchen, gesturing for them to sit at the table and making the obligatory offers of tea and coffee. Maria and Dr. Singh take one side of the table and it makes you feel a bit like you’re about to have the worst job interview of your life. The fact that Maria was actually at your last job interview doesn’t help. You start to fidget with your hands, relieved the table hides the worst of your nerves. Dr. Singh starts off the proceedings. “I mostly just wanted to check in and see if you’ve experienced any other symptoms, anything out of the ordinary, and to give you a bit of an update on what we’ve found out about the chemical you and Sergeant Barnes ingested,” she says, looking more at-ease now the small-talk portion of the conversation is over and she can focus on the science of it all. “I feel normal,” you reply quietly. “No symptoms since Thursday night.” She nods. “That’s good, and consistent with what Sergeant Barnes reported.” Even the mention of Bucky’s name is enough to have your face flooding with heat. Your hands clench, fingernails pressing crescents into your palms. She carries on, explaining what she and her team were able to determine about the chemical. It’s nothing ground-breaking or unexpected, not after having experienced its effects first-hand. A super-powered aphrodisiac with no discernable purpose beyond making people horny. Just the sort of thing you’d expect to uncover in some mad scientist’s underground lab. Why try curing cancer when you can make people fuck instead? “It provokes extreme sexual arousal while simultaneously decreasing inhibitions,” Dr. Singh explains. “It appears to be neutralized by the chemicals released during orgasm. More than that we don’t know. And since the only uncontaminated sample of the chemical was destroyed, it may be all we will know. But the good news is we don’t see there being any lingering physical impacts, though I would like to take another blood sample from you to be sure it’s completely out of your system.” You consent to the blood sample and she heads back to the compound after it’s done, leaving you and Maria alone at your kitchen table. She’s been nearly motionless this entire time, watching you and Dr. Singh converse, but offering nothing in the way of commentary or even acknowledgment. If you didn’t know better you’d think she wasn’t paying attention at all. But you do know better, and you have no doubt she could repeat word-for-word everything that was said since you opened the door half an hour ago. Regardless, the stony-faced reticence is unsettling and gives you no clue as to how your conversation with her is going to go. And it’s this conversation you’re really worried about. After a moment of silence that feels endless, Maria lets out a big, heaving sigh, her shoulders dropping as she relaxes into her seat. “Well, that was awkward.” Oh. That’s how your conversation is going to go. It’s so not what you expected her to say and yet so completely like her that a shocked giggle forces its way out of your mouth. She grins at you across the table, but you feel your own smile fade. “God, Maria, I’m so sor—” “If you’re about to apologize, so help me God,” she says, with a look on her face that dares you to argue with her. “I apologize, sincerely, on behalf of myself and the entire Avengers organization. This shouldn’t have happened. We have a dangerous chemicals procedure for a reason, for fuck’s sake,” she adds, with a stormy expression that has you pitying the poor techs who loaded the jet. “I mean, it’s no one’s fault, really. I’m sure that case wasn’t purposely unlatched.” You don’t want anyone to get in trouble for this. You feel guilty enough already about Bucky. “Probably not,” Maria concedes. “But regardless, we’re not treating this as business as usual. This isn’t SHIELD. It won’t be swept under the rug and dismissed without investigation.” You’ve read a handful of the documents Natasha leaked during the fall of SHIELD. You can only imagine how many lab accidents were concealed; how many weren’t accidents at all. It’s a dark line of thinking with no end in sight so you change the subject, asking a question that’s been on your mind for a while. “I wanted to ask – who knows about what happened? I know you can’t hide it, obviously, but –” you shrug, wondering exactly how many people you’re going to have to avoid eye contact with in the halls, or around town even. Maria nods. “The Security Council has access to all our files and we have to report this as a safety incident, but no names or identifying details are recorded. And we didn’t say two staff members had intercourse on a quinjet,” she adds wryly. “Just that there was a chemical spill and two individuals were affected. The only people who know the details of what happened and to who are me, the Avengers, and Dr. Singh and her staff. And they’ve all been made very clear on what will happen if they breach confidentiality. Believe me, they won’t tell anyone.” You believe her. “Speaking of the Avengers… What’s the mood there? Am I totally fired?” Maria snorts. “Fired? Because of a costly mistake for which the organization takes full responsibility, resulting in you ingesting an unknown chemical compound? No. You’re not fired.” Okay, when she lays it out like that it makes your fears seem ridiculous. Still… “Seriously, Maria. Should I just quit? Or be reassigned? Somewhere I will never have to look at any of the Avengers ever again, maybe?” you ask, with a cringe. “Are you concerned it will be awkward for you, or them?” “Well, both. But obviously, their feelings would come first in this situation. They’re the Avengers. I'm a secretary.” Maria rolls her eyes at that comment but chooses not to address it. “Well I can’t do anything about your feelings, but I can assure you that you won’t be treated any differently because of this.” You gape at her. “Seriously?” How could they not treat you differently? Maria levels you with a look. “Do you really think this is the strangest thing that has ever happened on that team?” she says, with the distinct air of a woman who has seen and heard too much. You’re not convinced. “Stranger than two of them banging on a quinjet under the influence of a crazy sex drug?” You’re pretty sure if this were the Strange and Unusual Olympics, that would earn you at least a silver medal. Maria doesn’t seem to agree. She straightens her back and takes a breath. “Giant octopus monster in the Thames. That time a wizard transformed Steve into his pre-serum body for a week. Wanda, daily.” She looks at you, eyebrows raised. You have to admit she has a point. “But –” “Last month I walked in on Steve and Sam having sex in a conference room. A couple years ago Barton got wasted during a game of truth or dare and told everyone how much he enjoys getting slapped around by women in leather. There are multiple sex tapes of Tony on the internet.” She pauses, making sure she has your full attention. “Dealing with weird shit and knowing way too much about the people you work with? Pretty much the two things that bind the Avengers together. Welcome to the team.” Once again, she manages to make things seem so simple. You want to believe her. You almost do believe her. There’s just one thing… “What about Bucky? Maybe everyone else can brush it off, but this happened with him. He can’t possibly want to work with me anymore.” “Fair enough,” Maria says. “But I actually spoke to Barnes this morning. He made it very clear he did not want this to impact your employment in any way.” She shrugs. “Like I said. If it’s not a problem for you, it’s not a problem for them. They’re professionals. Well, mostly.” You nod. This conversation has been enlightening – in a few ways – and Maria’s given you a lot to think about. Also a lot to very purposely not think about (Clint! And presumably Laura!). Maria leans back in her seat, considering you for a long moment as you try to process what she’s told you and come up with some sort of response. The silence stretches on until finally, she speaks. “I’ve had a lot of weird, bad sex in my life.” You stare at her, wide-eyed and mouth agape. Luckily, she doesn’t wait for a response. “I know what happened to you wasn’t just a shitty hookup and you have every right to feel however feel about it.” She says, for the first time looking less than perfectly at ease. She takes her time with her next words. “But I guess what I’m trying to say is it doesn’t have to count. Sex doesn’t change who you are. It doesn’t have to mean anything unless you want it to.” You nod dumbly, not sure what to say. You feel the sudden intense need to be alone for a while so you can sit with all the new thoughts running through your mind. Maria nods back, face settled again into cool composure. “Okay, no more feelings talk. The point is: you’re welcome to come back to work anytime. FRIDAY’s taking on as much as she can, but an AI is only capable of so much. Even that one. Think about it.” +++ You do think about it. You spend the rest of the day thinking about it. You go for a long walk in the crisp winter air, thinking about it. You journal, thinking about it. You Google “I slept with a co-worker, what now?” in various combinations and read several unhelpful articles, thinking about it. After hours of introspection, what you come up with is this: you love your job. You love your life. You’ve always been cautious, careful to a fault. Never a risk-taker. Until a few months ago, you lived in the same town you were born in. Happy enough, but not exactly satisfied. Until you applied for this job. Until you packed up your life, left behind everything you’d ever known to start over someplace new. And you’ve never regretted it. You finally felt like you had a place where you belonged. Over the time you’ve worked with the team, they’ve become friends, not just-workers and you love getting to know the real people behind the glossy media personas the rest of the world is familiar with. You love the sense of pride you feel, knowing the work you do matters, contributes – even in its own small way – to something as unfathomably huge and worthwhile as world peace. You don’t want to give that up. You can’t. The sex thing? Yeah, that sucks. You may not have dreamt of rose petals and scented candles, but you were pretty determined there’d be love and commitment involved. A partner, not just a person. But Maria is right. Sex doesn’t change who you are. Virginity is a goddamn social construct and this doesn’t have to matter unless you want it to. You had sex for the first time with someone you have feelings for, someone you respect. And maybe the circumstances (weird sex drug, floor of airplane) were less than perfect, but you can’t deny the sex itself felt good (amazing). Better than a random guy that couldn’t locate the clitoris with a GPS and flashing neon lights. You feel like you’ve been given permission to let this go. To let it be something that happened, but not something that defines you. Just one moment out of millions. You know it’s not that simple. That one illuminating conversation isn’t enough to silence the part of you that still feels ashamed, embarrassed, and heartbroken, but it's a start. A new perspective and one that has you feeling a hell of a lot better than you did just a few hours ago. There’s just one roadblock in this journey of self-enlightenment to being a mature, grown-ass woman who is handling this like a fucking champ – Bucky. But if what Maria said is true, and you have no reason to think she’d lie to you, then maybe that’s not such a roadblock after all? If everyone, even Bucky, can go on as usual (whatever that is with the Avengers), then you’re basically in the same place you were before all this: hiding your unrequited feelings for a man that doesn’t think about you at all. Just with the added aspect of remembering what his body felt like on top of you, inside you. How his tongue felt in your mouth, and on your… Anyway! You’ve decided. You’re going back to work and it’s going to be totally fine. You’re all going to be adults about this. Having drug-fueled sex on a plane is basically the Avengers equivalent of getting too drunk at the office Christmas party anyway, and many an administrative assistant before you has done that and come out the other side. You call Maria and inform her you’ll be back at the compound on Monday, and you can’t help but think there’s a little note of pride in her crisp acknowledgment. +++ Sunday passes in a blur of nervous anticipation. By the end of the day, you’re nearly crawling out of your skin, desperate to get the embarrassing part over so you can move on with your life and dreading it at the same time. When you wake up Monday morning there’s a significant part of you that wants to call the whole thing off and stay in your apartment for the rest of your life. You remind yourself you did nothing wrong, that you have every right to your job and your life, but apprehension only grows as you get ready for work and begin the drive to the compound. As the heavy metal gates slide shut behind your car you’re suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling you’ve made a terrible mistake. But after a brief almost-breakdown in the parking garage, you manage to pull yourself together and get out of the car. You make your way to your office in the Avengers’ private wing without running into anyone other than security and custodial staff. It is eight in the morning after all, and it’s not like the Avengers usually congregate outside your office like a welcoming committee, so you’re not sure why you felt like you’d be seeing them all at once. They might not even all be in the building – you’ll have to get Maria to update you on any new missions that have been assigned while you were off. You pass an hour or two catching up on emails and reaching out to a few different contacts around the compound, but no one on the team. The first person you see who knows why you really were off is Sam, making a smoothie in the kitchen when you come in for your morning tea. You steel yourself for the ensuing awkwardness, but it doesn’t come. Sam doesn’t behave any differently than he normally would, acknowledging you with a friendly smile tossed over his shoulder as he prepares ingredients. “Morning,” he greets, handing you a mug from the cupboard over his head as you fill up the electric kettle. “Thanks.” Sam nods, immediately launching into a story about his weekend that has you almost in tears from laughing so hard. “I don’t know why you’re laughing,” he scolds playfully. “I was stuck in that tree for like ten minutes while Tony took pictures, even though it's his fault I ended up there since he designed the damn wings. Anyway, how was your weekend?” he asks with an expression of exaggerated innocence. If it was anyone else it might feel rude or intrusive or even mean. But Sam, all easy charm and genuine warmth, has a way of making people take themselves less seriously, and you find you’re smiling despite yourself as his smirk splits into a cheeky grin. You manage to hold eye contact for a couple of seconds before you’re both laughing uncontrollably, the utter absurdity of the situation suddenly hitting you as actually kind of funny instead of completely tragic. “Yeah, it was alright. Just hung around the house, really,” you tease, catching your breath, and the conversation seamlessly turns to what you’ve both been watching on Netflix. You’re still smiling when you sit back down at your desk. You know there are bound to be awkward moments ahead, but the relief of knowing things can be normal, that the awkwardness will pass, has a tension leaving your body you’d been holding onto for days. Over the next couple days as you go about your normal tasks and routines you run into members of the team in ones and twos. Some are more uncomfortable than others – you and Bruce share a particularly stilted exchange until Tony barges into the room – but after the initial acknowledgment, almost everyone carries on like it never happened. Almost everyone, because by the middle of the week there’s still one person you haven’t seen or heard from. Bucky. You aren’t sure if you’re relieved or disappointed. Sure, you’re not exactly eager for that first – almost certainly uneasy – interaction. But at the same time, all you want is to move on and put this behind you and you don’t think you can do that until you’ve seen him. Until you’ve assured yourself he really is okay, and okay working together. The longer you go without seeing him, the more you begin to wonder if he’s really as fine with you being back as Maria said he was. If he truly wasn’t bothered, wouldn’t you have run into him before now? It’s not like Bucky was a social butterfly before, especially not with you, but you work with him in the building where he lives – it’s rare to go this long without at least seeing him in passing, outside of times he’s on a mission. And he isn’t on a mission – you checked. The sense of acceptance you’ve built around what happened on the jet is fragile, and relies almost entirely on knowing Bucky is alright, that he doesn’t blame you, or hate you, or feel disgusted by you. If none of that is true, you can’t move on. At least, not while continuing to work with the team. It wouldn’t be right. Each day, that acceptance weakens as it becomes clear Bucky is intentionally avoiding you. He must be. The agonizing waiting game finally ends on Thursday in a conference room. You’re tidying up after a meeting, gathering pens and water glasses, when Bucky turns the corner into the room, eyes glued to the tablet he holds in front of his face. At least, until he notices the room isn’t empty and his eyes snap to you. You’ve been imagining this moment for days now – seeing Bucky again for the first time. You’ve crafted and perfected so many scenarios of how it might play out – maybe you’ll be cool and aloof, brush it off like it’s no big deal, like you haven’t thought about it at all. Or maybe you’ll crack a joke like Sam would, and Bucky will laugh and tease you back and the tension will be broken and everything will be fine. In the moment, when it actually happens, all you can do is stare. Bucky looks – not well, really, and it squeezes something in your chest to see him this way. You’ve been around him before when he’s having a downswing and it’s not as bad as that, but there are dark circles under his eyes that speak to sleepless nights, and a stiffness in the way he holds himself, as though every muscle is tensed. It makes you want to hold him. To wrap him in your arms until that tension bleeds out of his body. But that’s the last thing Bucky would want, considering you’re likely the source of the tension. Your eyes find his and he holds your gaze for a moment – just a moment. You’re not sure what he sees in your expression, but he clearly doesn’t like it because his brows furrow as he turns on his heel and leaves the room. And just like that, you’re back on the quinjet, naked and trembling on the cold floor as Bucky bolts from the room without looking back. The rejection is clear, unmistakable. You’re fully clothed but you may as well be stark naked for how vulnerable you feel in that moment. You can’t help the tears that gather in your eyes and spill over as you stand there staring at the open door like an idiot. You roughly swipe a hand over your face to brush them away and make a hasty retreat to your office. The day passes in a fog as you try not to break down at your desk. The dam breaks the minute you step through your apartment door as the tears you’ve been holding back for hours come flooding out. You fall to your knees and you know you’re overreacting. You tell yourself it’s probably a misunderstanding. Bucky realized he’d forgotten something. Or maybe he was just surprised to see you, wasn’t ready to talk to you yet and had to leave, but not because he hates you. Your mind clings to the idea, latches onto it like a lifeline, even as your body continues to drown – sadness like physical pain in your chest, throat sore from deep, heaving sobs. You calm down eventually, mind winning out over body at last, but the crying has you feeling a little hollowed out. You fill the space with food and mindless media consumption, telling yourself you’ll feel better after a night of sleep. +++ You do feel better in the morning, thank God. You’ve successfully convinced yourself what happened yesterday had to be a misunderstanding. Maria wouldn’t lie to you about what Bucky said, and honestly, it’s self-centred to think just the sight of you is enough to scare the Winter Soldier out of a room! You head into the office feeling a little uneasy still, but mostly okay. That feeling lasts until lunchtime. You’re taking your lunch break in the common room, eating a sandwich and watching an episode of House Hunters with Natasha. She’s in the middle of a sentence, noting the lack of defensible positions and the overabundance of wood panelling in the mid-century bungalow on-screen when Steve and Bucky enter the room. They’ve clearly just come from the gym, likely looking for a post-workout snack. They amble into the room, playfully shoving at each other as they head for the kitchen. You can hear Alpine trotting in behind them, meowing for the treats she knows she’ll get if Bucky’s in the kitchen. Bucky’s hair is tied up in a messy, damp bun and his t-shirt clings to his torso with sweat, toned muscles on display. Steve’s there too. You see the moment Bucky realizes you’re there partly because you can’t look away from him – the shadows under his eyes are still dark, but his face is flushed and lively from the workout – and also because his step very noticeably falters and the teasing expression is wiped from his face, the colour quickly draining from his cheeks. If yesterday could be brushed off as a misunderstanding, this confirms you were right to fear the worst. Bucky was avoiding you, doesn’t want to be around you. He mumbles something back to Steve you aren’t able to discern and turns back the way he came. Instantly you feel your face heat with shame. Now Bucky can’t stand to even be in a room with you and other people? Exactly how uncomfortable do you make him? Does he think you’ll leap up from the couch and throw yourself at him? You catch Steve and Nat sharing a look out of the corner of your eye, but you have no idea what it means. You feel thoroughly wrong-footed, as though everyone in the room knows something you don’t. Something you probably don’t want to know. They make an effort to gloss over Bucky’s hasty exit, Natasha more successfully than Steve, but you just want to get back to the privacy of your office as quickly as possible so you can ruminate in peace. Or, if not in peace, at least in solitude. Choking down the rest of your lunch in record time, you make your escape – by a different route than Bucky, lest you accidentally cross paths again and he’s forced to jump out a window to escape you. TGIF, you think. +++ That weekend is rough. You journal, you pace, and you think and cry and eat and Google. Finally, you end up spilling your guts to an EAP counsellor (under the guise of a drunken hook-up between co-workers) and you come to the conclusion: fuck James Buchanan Barnes. Yeah, he’s smart and kind and strong and beautiful and maybe you’re a little in love with him, but he is just a man and you have cried over him enough. You didn’t ask for this! You didn’t mean for it to happen! And it’s not like you forced him to have sex with you. It’s not like he was cowering in the corner while you were throwing yourself at him. If anything, you were equally taken advantage of by each other – by that stupid fucking chemical and whatever mad scientist created it! He was the one who said he didn’t want your employment affected by what happened! As though running screaming from the room whenever he sees you doesn’t affect your employment. The least he could do is try to be a little more subtle in his distaste. Whether he finds you unattractive or not he should be able to treat you like a human being – not some sort of leper. And if he can’t do that, he can say it to your face! You don’t deserve this, no matter how Bucky feels about what happened. Which is exactly what you’re going to tell him when you see him on Monday. And you will see him. Bucky Barnes might be an internationally feared former assassin who evaded detection for over seventy years, but you manage his calendar. He’s got a meeting in the morning with PR and you’ll be waiting outside to catch him as soon as they’re done. On God, by noon on Monday, this will be resolved once and for all. +++ Ten a.m. sharp you’re standing outside the PR office suite, reminding yourself why your anger is justified and trying to hold onto the feeling itself. You’re more than a little afraid that the minute you see Bucky you’re going to forget all about confronting him and just start crying. But you didn’t spend hours curating a fuck you, girl power playlist and practicing speeches in the mirror to admit defeat so quickly. You’re standing directly opposite the glass doors, no opportunity for hiding – or for Bucky to hide from you – so you see each other the minute he approaches the door. There’s a flash of surprise on his face, quickly turned to grim resignation as he opens the door. He obviously knows you’re there to see him and he stops outside in front of you. “Hi,” he says, avoiding your eyes and staring at his feet instead. “Hey. Can I talk to you for a minute?” He nods, gesturing down the hall and you follow him a few feet to a small seating area, out of view of any offices. He stands back and finally makes eye contact, looking a little like he’s staring down a firing squad instead of an unarmed civilian in a fuzzy pink cardigan. You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts and remembering the plan. You ask him the big question. “Do you want me to quit?” Bucky shakes his head almost frantically. “No, I – no,” he says. You stare at him, wait for him to continue speaking but he just stands there, hands in his pockets looking miserable. ‘No.’ That’s all he can say? No? No! Something inside you snaps, your carefully prepared speech dissolving in your mouth like sugar as words start to pour out of you. “Really? Because Maria told me you didn’t want me to be reassigned so I thought we were good. But then you avoided me for days and the two times we did see each other you looked like you were going to be sick and practically ran out of the room, which makes me think you’re definitely not okay with me being here.” “I—” “And like, okay, that’s fine, but I wish you would have just said that? Because I get it, I do. This is super weird and obviously, you didn't want to sleep with me and I know I'm not like, a supermodel or even a JC Penny catalogue model, so yeah, you wish it could have been literally anyone else but you don't have to run away from me like I have some sort of flesh-eating disease, okay?” “That’s—” “Because that really sucks, Bucky. And not just because I’ve had a crush on you forever or because it was my first time but because I actually really just like and respect you as a person and I know you didn’t like me even before all this so maybe you don’t believe me, but I didn’t mean for this to happen. I promise. I would never try to take advantage of you – of anyone – like that and –” “What?” he interjects sharply. It cracks through the air like a whip, finally snapping you out of whatever insanity possessed you to say all that. To say all that. Oh, fuck. “What do you mean crush? Wait, first time?” Bucky’s eyes are wide and he’s staring intently at your face. Your own face burns and your hands shake as you try to come up with something – anything – to say. Thirty seconds ago you couldn’t shut up! The silence stretches unbearably long as Bucky stands there looking at you, waiting for you to answer him. It looks like he’s about to speak again when an alert sounds from both of your phones. “Oh, thank God,” you breathe. It’s the unmistakable tone that signals a drop-what-you’re-doing-and-Avengers-fucking-assemble emergency. You’ve never heard a sweeter sound in your life. Bucky holds your gaze for another moment before he swears and jogs off down the hallway, tossing you a conflicted look over his shoulder as he goes. +++ The emergency turns out to be a false alarm; some new system Tony was working on triggered it accidentally, so you got away from Bucky and nobody died. All in all, a pretty successful day. Except for the part where you confessed your feelings to the man you’ve been crushing on for months and told him he was the first person you’ve ever had sex with. During what was supposed to be a mature, adult conversation where you asserted yourself calmly and professionally instead of projectile word-vomiting like the girl from The Exorcist swallowed a dictionary and spat it back up. If there was ever a chance you and Bucky could move past what happened on the quinjet and co-exist in mutual agreement to never mention it again, it’s gone now. There’s no dramatic breakdown this time, no floods of tears or self-loathing or panic. The last week and a half has been an exhausting roller coaster of emotions and honestly, you just can’t anymore. It is what it is. It happened and there’s no going back. You can’t summon up the energy to freak out. Tomorrow you’ll go to Maria’s office and request a transfer. Maybe the UN has an opening for a secretary in Antarctica. But tonight you will wear flannel pyjamas, eat greasy pizza, and watch the Great British Bake Off, where everything is lovely and nothing hurts. Just as you’ve finished turning your couch into a cozy oasis, laying out your softest blankets and fluffiest pillows, there’s a knock at your door. Right on time. You grab your wallet and open the door, a polite smile on your face for your usual delivery man. But that’s not who’s standing on your porch. It’s Bucky. Pizza box balanced in one hand, the other fussing with his hair. “Hey,” he says, voice soft and almost hesitant. You step back, silently letting him inside and shutting the door behind him. “I didn’t realize you delivered for Ronzoni’s now,” you say, cringing immediately after. Bucky looks at the box in his hand like he forgot he was holding it. “Oh, uh, yeah, I got here the same time as the delivery guy.” “I see that.” He hands you the box and you lay it on the floor behind you. “Thanks,” you tell him awkwardly, eyes fixed on the floor in front of you. “Look, Bucky, I’m really sor—” “I do like you,” he blurts and your eyes flash to his, wide in shock. “What?” Bucky shifts on his feet, stands a little straighter and nods, more to himself than to you it seems. Like he’s steeling himself to face something difficult. “I do like you. I’ve always liked you. Just took me a while to figure it out. It’s been a minute. Haven’t had a crush in about seventy years; I’m rusty,” he says with a sheepish smile, ducking his head and looking at you through his lashes. His smile fades. “And you’re always so nervous around me. I thought maybe you were scared of me. Or hated me, maybe, for everything I did when –” “Oh, Bucky, no,” you can’t help but interrupt, can’t let him finish that sentence. You haven’t really processed anything else he’s said, but you can’t bear the idea of him thinking you blamed him for being abused and controlled for decades. “Yeah, I was a fucking idiot,” he says with a humourless laugh. “I know you’d never – but I didn’t then.” His face softens as he looks at you. “And even though it was ‘cause you were scared of me, I still thought you were so cute when you’d start running at the mouth. Stumbling over your words and getting all embarrassed,” he says, with a fond little smile. You groan, hiding your face behind your hands, thinking of all the times you’ve looking like an idiot in front of him. Bucky chuckles warmly and tugs your hands down but doesn’t let them go, holding them in a loose grip. You can’t believe this is happening. He likes you. He likes you and has liked you for months. He likes you and he’s holding your hands and staring at you with an affection you couldn’t have captured in your wildest fantasies. Bucky’s smile turns a little wistful. “I was so jealous of everyone else. How easy you were with them. I wanted you to be like that with me, all happy and cheeky and –” he cuts himself off. “Then that fucking drug. If there was any doubt about how I felt about you that definitely made it clear. That was something else, doll.” His grip on your hands tightens before he lets them go. “You’re so – that shit you said about not being a model or whatever? I couldn’t care less. You’re perfect,” he says, voice intense. He shakes his head a little, like he’d gotten off track. “And then it hit me. This goddamn revelation for me was probably the worst moment of your life, and I fucking liked it. I felt like a creep, like a fucking monster. And that’s why I avoided you. I thought I was doing you a favour, staying away. It wasn’t ‘cause I hate you or I blame you or anything. Pretty much the opposite.” You laugh softly in disbelief, shaking your head at how wrong you were. How wrong you both were, all this time. “I thought maybe it reminded you of Hydra,” you tell him. “You know, losing control, being forced to do something you didn’t want to – not that I think what we did is the same as being forced to kill people, obviously. I just mean, the principle of it –” Bucky kindly cuts you off. “I know what you mean. But trust me,” he says. “That’s not how I feel. At all. I mean, yeah, that’s not really how I wanted things to go. I hate that that was your first time. I hate that it was my first time I can clearly remember. But I’m glad it was you. What Hydra did to me and what happened to us, what we did together – doesn’t even compare. I don’t regret it.” And finally, with those words, spoken with such undeniable sincerity, you feel the last piece of the puzzle fit into place. Even with everything he’s already said it still felt too good to be true. Like it could be a confession and a rejection at the same time. An acknowledgement that if you’d figured it out sooner you could have been together, but you got the pieces so mixed up that there’s no sorting them out. Better to throw them away and pick a new puzzle. “I don’t regret it either,” you tell him. “I wish it had happened differently, but I’m really, really happy it was you, Bucky.” He looks at you, soft and sweet and a little sad and you can’t help but throw yourself at him, finally giving in to an urge you’ve felt a hundred times, wrapping your arms around his neck. He hugs you back, holding you just as tightly as you hold him. You feel warm and bright and happy, bubbling over with joy that spills out of you with a giggle as you pull back just enough to look him in the face with a dopey grin. “So… you like me?” He laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah, doll, you been listening?” “I can’t believe you’ve had a crush on me for months. You never speak to me!” Bucky snorts. “Hey, we don’t all let our anxiety spill out our mouths like you.” You glare at him but he does have a point. “That’s fair,” you acknowledge, stepping out of the warm circle of his arms to give him a long look, crossing your arms. “So for months I thought you didn’t like me, and you thought I didn’t like you. And the whole time we were super into each other?” Bucky shoves his hands in his pockets, rocks on his heels, nodding. “Yep.” “Sounds like we’re pretty dumb, huh?” “Sounds like we’re perfect for each other,” he says, leaning in close with a grin. You get a sudden glimpse of the charmer Bucky must have been back in the day and it takes everything you have not to kiss him. “You wanna stay for a while?” you ask. You don’t want him to go yet, but you don’t want to keep standing up in front of your door either. “I’m watching Great British Bake Off. And you did pay for the pizza so it’s technically yours.” “You askin’ me on a date?” You think he means it to come out as flirty and confident, but he says it with a shy, boyish expression that’s somehow so much more attractive. You nod, smiling. “Yeah, I guess so. I wish I wasn’t wearing pyjamas, but…” “Hey, pizza and GBBO? I wish I was wearing pyjamas,” he counters, picking up the pizza and letting you lead the way to the living room where he sets the box down on the coffee table. You sit with Bucky on your couch, sharing a blanket and stuffing your faces as you talk about your favourite Bake Off contestants and it feels right. Feels like the start of something really, really good. And to think, you have an evil, horny scientist to thank for all your current happiness. Welcome to the Avengers. A/N: If you have made it to the end - thank you for reading! This is definitely the piece I struggled with most and I am very open to feedback! This part is so long and so sexless lol so I’m very interested to see how it reads re: pacing, interest, cohesiveness, etc. Feel free to like/comment/reblog and let me know! My ask box is also open to anons if you have feedback but you’re feeling shy! I definitely wanna hone the skill of series-writing as I have a loooooot of longer ideas. Part 3, which will be shorter (I think!) and definitely sexier, will be out in a few days 😚

#bucky barnes x reader #reader insert #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #series

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hookingminor · 4 years

Text

close quarters (3) - andre burakovsky

a/n: hi! sorry it’s been awhile I've been in the middle of moving and it’s been hectic! I hope this makes up for it since it’s a little longer than the other parts! anyway, like always, please let me know your thoughts and I hope you enjoy some jealous!burky and friend!josty sorry this is like all tys im so sorry lmao

word count: 3,928

one / two / three / four / five

The next morning Andre was out before you could even try to make up for the night before with apology pancakes. You lounged around the apartment for a few hours, hoping he would be back after practice but when the afternoon rolled around, you gave up. You had your own errands to run, and if he wanted to avoid you, you could avoid him.

It’s not like you had nothing to do except sit around all day, so you began your furniture shopping. The landlord had contacted you saying the unit would be ready for move-in a few days before the lease started if you needed it. Had it not been for the, now, awkward atmosphere you’d created because you couldn’t keep your libido in check, you would’ve rejected the offer and waited until the first of the month. However, you’d fucked up whatever shot you had with Andre and wanted to get out of his hair as soon as possible.

Though it wasn’t like he was around for you to be in his hair.

You would have made him aware of your plans had he been home, but from the hours of nine in the morning to nine in the evening, he was nowhere to be found. And when he was home, he was tucked away in his room and away from you. For a whole week, save for the three days he was on a road trip, Andre avoided you like the plague. The only times you saw him were in passing as you took turns entering or exiting the apartment.

It was a careful dance you both performed, tiptoeing around as to not bother the other person just in case that night came up in a conversation. Which was probably smart on Andre’s part because you did want to talk about it. He didn’t have to feel the same, but you wanted to apologize and clear the air at least. The last thing you wanted was for Andre to tell Tom, who would tell Taylor, how you came onto him wantonly. Your cheeks reddened at the thought of being humiliated like that.

So, for a whole week, you’d barely seen him. You spent your days out and organizing your stuff for your new apartment. You’d ordered all your furniture items and had them delivered to the building, frequently running over to guide the delivery men through the complex.

All you had left to do now was pack the few things you’d brought to Andre’s and return your spare key, which you’d probably just leave on the counter with a note that said ‘bye’ since you never got the chance to speak to him.

Your last day at his apartment was filled with packing your suitcase and bags, making about fifty laps through the rooms to double check that you had everything. You really didn’t want to have to come back because you forgot something stupid.

But honestly? At this point you’d just replace whatever you accidentally left behind with something new to avoid another awkward run in.

A knock sounded at the front door as you finished packing up the few spices you’d bought for the kitchen. Andre’s cooking skills borderlined on nonexistent and it’s not like he was going to use the chile and herbs so you figured you might as well take them with you.

You answered the door to reveal Tyson’s cheerful face, one that was way too cheerful for before noon.

“Uh, hi, Tyson,” you said, slightly confused at his arrival, “Andre’s not here at the moment.”

“I know. He’s at Gabe’s watching the game. I’m just dropping something off for him,” Tyson answered, ruffling the bag you hadn’t noticed he was carrying.

“Oh, well come in,” you said, opening the door wider for him to enter.

Tyson walked in and over to the couch, resting the bag against the coffee table. You let him be and resumed your packing, assuming he would be leaving soon anyway.

“Are you moving out already?” He asked suddenly, tearing your focus away from the box you were currently stuffing.

“Yeah,” you huffed out, “I found a new place on 36th. I’m just finishing up the last couple boxes and then I’m out for good.”

“Is Andre not helping you?” Tyson asked as he took a spot beside you at the countertop.

“No, we’re kind of… not talking at the moment?” you said, though it sounded more like a question, “I didn’t want to bother him with something I can do alone.”

“Not talking?” He repeated with a smirk, “Sounds like an interesting story, please share with the class.”

“It’s not that interesting, I promise,” you chuckled lightly, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Andre, literally, never shuts up. If he’s not talking to you something obviously happened,” Tyson said.

You gave him a sideways glare to let him know you really didn’t want to talk about this, but he sat there expectantly as he waited for you to continue.

“I may or may not have tried to make a move on him,” you explained with a blush, “And it may or may not have been well received. And he’s been MIA for a week, so I haven’t had the chance to apologize.”

The smirk on Tyson’s face fell when you reached the end of your sentence and his brows furrowed instead.

“Wait, you’re telling me he turned you down? Burky? Turned you down?” He reiterated slowly.

“You don’t need to keep saying it. It was bad enough when it actually happened, I don’t need to relive it,” you muttered, breaking his gaze as your cheeks flamed even hotter.

“Sorry, I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just don’t understand why he did that. He seemed pretty interested when I asked him about it,” he said. That caught your attention.

“You asked him about it?” You insisted, focusing on the last few words he said.

“I probably shouldn’t—,” Tyson stammered, noticing the mistake he made too late.

“No,” you interrupted, “No, you have to explain yourself right now. What did you ask him?”

Tyson looked at you hesitantly, and he knew there was no way out of this.

“I, maybe, asked him at the golf course after we first met if he was planning to do something, but he said no. Then I asked him if I could try something, just to get on his nerves,” he added the last part quickly, “And he said no to that as well.”

“So he’s not interested?” You asked, dumbfoundedly. At no part in Tyson’s story did Andre ever say he was into you.

“He definitely is. You should’ve seen him, he was so defensive. I think he just doesn’t want to try anything because of your roommate situation,” he gestured vaguely to emphasize his point.

“That’s so dumb, we aren’t even roommates. He was doing a favor for a friend. This was always temporary,” you countered.

“I never said it was smart, I was just saying what I thought,” Tyson held up his hands in surrender.

“Men are so fucking stupid,” you mumbled under your breath. If Andre was actually into you and not acting on it because of this, you were going to kill him.

“Yeah, I can’t say I disagree,” he said, laughing lightly.

“Well, I want to be out of here before he gets back, so I hope you don’t have any plans,” you sighed, taping off the last box you’d finished packing, “You’re helping me build furniture.”

“You don’t want to talk this out with him?” Tyson asked, moving from his spot to help carry a heavy box you were struggling with. You dropped your extra key on the counter before scribbling a note saying that you had everything moved out.

“If he wants to be an idiot, I’m not going to stop him,” you replied confidently, grabbing the suitcase and duffel bag you’d stashed by the door.

You drove yourself and Tyson to your new complex, and you were thankful for the extra hands so you didn’t have to make more than one trip.

Using your new key, you entered through the front door and were met with the tons of boxes you’d been piling up for a week now. You dropped your boxes and bags by the kitchen, which was the only uncluttered area of the whole apartment. Furniture covered almost every inch of the main living space, and you were internally dreading the hours it would take to build everything.

Tyson was just realizing just how much shit you had stocked up, but it was too late for him to back out now.

“This is going to take all day,” Tyson said, jaw falling open.

“I hope you’re good at reading directions then,” you replied, turning to give him a wide smile.

The next seven hours passed in a blur, most of it consisting of you shouting at Tyson for misinterpreting the instructions and him getting confused about which screws went where. You ordered pizza about halfway through the day, which led to more arguments about what toppings to get, but you’d rather die than eat a five meat pie.

Once the last piece of furniture was complete, your bedroom dresser, you both fell on the couch in a sweaty haze, out of breath and sore from lifting.

“Thank you for your help today,” you said finally.

“Don’t thank me yet, you’re going to owe me a favor one day,” Tyson replied, letting his head fall on the back cushion. You rolled your eyes at his statement, but he spoke again before you could say anything.

“Actually, I know what you’re going to do for me,” he said, sitting upright to look at you with a devious smile. You raised your eyebrows at his proposition, indicating for him to go on.

“You’re going to be my date to the charity dinner this Saturday.”

Despite your refutations, Tyson made it very clear you couldn’t get out of the event. At first, he blackmailed you with the furniture building and that you owed him, but that wore off quickly when you stopped feeling bad about soliciting him for help.

He called you about four times on the day of to make sure you were still planning on going.

“I’m serious, Y/N. If you’re not ready to leave when I get there in an hour, I’m taking you as is. And if you don’t want to look like a slob when you see Burky, I suggest you be ready,” he insisted for the hundredth time.

“I promise you I’ll be ready. Now I’m hanging up so I can shower,” you groaned out, tired of his constant chiding. You ended the call and tossed your phone on the bed. You’d come to terms with being kidnapped for the evening, but a part of you still wanted to ditch last minute just to upset Tyson.

After your shower, you dolled yourself up, putting on the new dress you’d bought for the occasion. It was a form fitting black number, not short enough to be scandalous but still hugged your chest in the most flattering way possible.

Maybe you had gotten it with the intention of wanting to make Andre feel at least a little jealous, but that was beside the point. If he didn’t want to ask you out, you wanted to make him eat his words.

You were finishing the final touch-ups with your makeup when your phone rang once again.

“Hello?” You answered, not needing to read the ID to know who it was.

“I’m parked out front,” Tyson said.

“I’ll be down in five,” you replied.

“Wearing something presentable, I hope?” He said, voice raising at the end of his sentence. You didn’t answer him, deciding it was better that he saw for himself just how presentable you were.

Tyson’s reaction was everything you hoped it would be and more. He leaned against the side of his car, scrolling on his phone when he heard your heels click across the pavement.

Giving you a low whistle when he saw you, he tucked his phone back in his pants before clapping loudly.

“Wow,” he gushed, “Can I get a spin?”

You laughed at his praise and gave him a dramatic turn, flipping your hair for extra effect.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to impress someone,” he hooted, opening the passenger for you.

“Play your cards right, and you might get lucky tonight, Jost,” you teased, sliding yourself across the seat.

“In another life, baby. Another life,” he said wistfully, climbing into the driver’s side.

The drive to the arena took less than thirty minutes, but the time passed quickly as you updated Tyson on your new job and he explained what you were to expect from the night. It was mainly just for the big donors, much fancier than the regular events they did for ticket-holders.

He mentioned that it would be filled with inane conversation that bored him to death most times, but he’d have an excuse to be more lenient on the mingling since you were with him. You weren’t quite sure how that worked, but it didn’t matter much to you.

“Do you know if he’s bringing a date?” You asked timidly when he’d parked the car.

“The guys usually don’t bring dates to fancy events like these unless they’re serious about them, so no. It’ll mainly just be the wives tonight,” he answered.

“Then why are you bringing me?” You asked.

“What can I say? These events are a little boring, and I am in desperate need for some drama,” he replied with a sly smirk, and you knew agreeing to this was already proving to be a mistake.

“Great,” you whispered to yourself, “I can’t wait.”

Tyson ushered you into the vast space that was now decorated with a stage and multiple tables where the ice rink would normally be. Servers floated around with flutes of champagne, and Tyson swiftly snatched two when one passed by. Handing you a glass, he offered his arm for you to take, and you both made your way to the large group of hockey players who stood with their significant others.

Gabe was the first to notice the two of you join the group, welcoming you with a bright smile.

“Josty! About time! Everyone else is already here,” his voice boomed across the table and everyone else’s gazes flickered to the two of you.

“Who do you have with you?” Gabe’s wife, Mel, asked.

“I’m Y/N,” you said, introducing yourself and reaching over to shake her hand.

“This is Burky’s roommate that I told you about,” Gabe said to his wife, but everyone at the table heard. The few guys nodded in agreement, now giving you longer looks to take you in.

“Actually, we’re no longer roommates,” you chuckled, “I moved into my new place last week.”

“Andre wasn’t around to help her move, so I stepped up. She’s here to repay that favor,” Tyson added, making it clear to everyone there that you weren’t actually together on a date.

“Ah, I see,” Gabe said knowingly, and all the guys exchanged a look. It was clear there was something being said that also wasn’t, but you didn’t know anyone well enough to call them out on it or ask.

“I hate to steal your date away from you, Y/N, but us guys have to go do our rounds,” Gabe said after a moment, pushing his chair out to stand up. You knew he would’ve been whisked away from you eventually, but at least he was leaving you with a group of women who seemed nice enough.

Andre’s eyes found you the instant you walked through the doors. He would’ve been completely blown away by how gorgeous you looked tonight had he not seen who you’d come with.

You’d come with Tyson.

His friend, Tyson. The same friend who egged him about you a few weeks ago.

Andre instinctively stood up a little straighter, peering over the head of whatever donor he was currently talking to. Tyson was leading you to the team’s table, your arm wrapped around his.

How did Tyson even know you? As far as he was concerned, the only time he’d met you was that one day in his apartment. It didn’t seem like he’d gotten a good chance to talk to you that morning, and Andre doubted Tyson would be as bold as to ask for your number in front of the guys.

The donor was listing off some statistics from the season, but everything went over Andre’s head as he watched you mingle with the group. Only now was he noticing your attire for the evening: a tight black dress where your breasts were spilling over tastefully.

He felt his chest tighten as he saw Tyson’s hand drift from your arm to the small of your back. You tossed your hair over your shoulder as you took a seat at the table, and the other guys excused themselves.

Andre saw them begin to disperse into the crowds, and he took this as an opportunity to excuse himself from his conversation, hoping Z could continue on without him.

He maneuvered his way through the busy bodies, apologizing when people would call out his name to engage in discussion. Stepping into Tyson’s path, he cut the young forward off with a gentle, but firm, hand to his chest.

“Got a second, Josty?” He asked quickly, pulling him aside before he could agree.

“What’s up, man?” Tyson asked.

“You brought Y/N as your date?” Andre questioned even though he knew the answer, “I didn’t know you guys talked.”

“Yeah, well, I stopped by that one day to drop off your shit, and she was packing. It looked like a lot, so I offered to help. We drove all her stuff over, and I helped build some furniture,” Tyson explained casually, as if the answer was common knowledge.

“And you asked her here on a date?” Andre asked, but there was more bite in his voice than he intended.

“Is that a problem?” Tyson retorted.

“I told you to leave her alone,” Andre insisted.

“Why? Do you have feelings for her? She told me about the disastrous night you turned her down, so I don’t think it’s that,” Tyson recalled, crossing his arms for effect, “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go talk to some people.”

Tyson walked around Andre’s tall frame, leaving the man to simmer alone.

Andre didn’t want to admit that Tyson was right, especially to him. Andre was into you, and he’d fucked up any chance he had when he panicked and ran away.

He regretted his decision the minute he closed his bedroom door behind him that night. He closed his eyes and let his forehead hit the door, kicking himself for ruining the moment. You were right there in front of him, lips plump and ready to be kissed, and he panicked.

Andre hadn’t expected that night would take a turn and that you would be looking up at him with lustful eyes, and he didn’t know what to do. He overthought the situation, and before he could process what was happening, he was pushing you away and running down the hall.

Now, the same point was being driven home once again. He fucked up. He didn’t kiss you, and then ignored you, and now you were here looking hot as fuck and on the arm of someone who wasn’t him.

Andre saw you leave the table and make your way over to the bar. Before he could stop himself, he was following you there, his excuses becoming even more short when people tried to grab his attention.

“Hi,” he said, catching your attention as you waited for the bartender to return with your drink.

“Oh, hi, Andre,” you replied curtly. You were wondering how long it would take for him to see you out; not that you were awaiting his arrival, though.

“You look great tonight,” he complimented as he fidgeted with his hands.

“Thanks,” you said, tapping your fingers along the bartop.

“I’m sorry about the apartment thing. I would’ve helped if I had known you were moving,” Andre persisted.

“You weren’t really around for me to tell you about it,” you declared, “And don’t worry, Tyson handled it.” Except Andre was worrying about it. He was worrying about Tyson handling you, and he wanted to not think about that.

“I’m sorry about all of that,” he apologized again. Andre wasn’t one to be at a loss for words, but it seemed he never could find the right ones around you.

“Again, don’t worry about it,” you placated, giving him a reassuring smile though reassured was far from how you wanted him to feel. Thankfully, your drink had come and Tyson had appeared at your side.

“There you are, babe,” he said to interrupt your conversation. His hand reached over to lightly grasp your hip and pull you gently into his side, “I haven’t seen you in awhile, I just wanted to check in on you.”

Andre didn’t bother to try and hide the murderous glare he was giving Tyson for pulling you away. You felt the tension between you increase tenfold, and you brought it upon yourself to break it before they started yelling.

“We should get going, but I’ll see you around, Andre,” you said, breaking Andre’s focus so he turned his gaze to you. His eyes softened immediately, and you could see the remorse hidden behind them. You gave him a shy smile before allowing Tyson to lead you away from the table.

You’d walked about twenty feet before Tyson opened his mouth again.

“He’s seething,” he said quietly, leaning down to say it into your ear. You knew Andre could see you, and you knew this little gesture would upset him even more.

“Good,” you said happily. It was only fair he suffered a little bit if he was going to be a dumbass.

“I’m going to get my ass kicked at practice on Monday,” he muttered.

“I bet if we leave now he’ll be even more furious,” you suggested, turning to give him a pleading look.

“You really want me dead, huh?” Tyson chuckled, steering you towards the front entrance.

“Hey, it was your idea to bring me. This is on you,” you emphasized.

“I know, I’m hoping I don’t regret it,” he sighed, “We’re getting ice cream on the way back.”

You laughed at his statement, nodding your head in agreement. You’d had enough social interaction tonight, and the pot had been thoroughly stirred thanks to yours and Tyson’s charade.

Andre watched from afar as you and Tyson left the arena, his hand resting near your ass as he escorted you to the exit. Tyson stopped occasionally as he said his goodbyes to those who tried to talk to him, probably making up some excuse as to why the two of you needed to leave.

Andre still had a bit of time left before it was acceptable for him to leave as he had drawn the short end of the stick this time around. His hands tightened around the glass he was currently holding, blocking out whatever Mikko was trying to tell him. Andre was glad he hadn’t driven tonight because he planned on getting trashed before the night was over to get the images of you and Tyson together out of his mind.

#andre burakovsky #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #nhl fic #my writing #avs95

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winterscaptain · 4 years

Note

i really love a joyful future bc its so soft!! but like imagine Jack and Hotch talking about Haley after the twins are born, like having time alone with one of your parents when you have so many siblings is already kind of hard pressed so like imagine idk the anniversary of her funeral or something and they talk about her and go out for ice cream or whatever and then come back and they both are kinda down bc theyre sad but then like seeing everyone cheers them up even a little :( i cant,,,

haley day

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader a joyful future fic

oops i made it a fic and its only a little off topic! please forgive any errors - i wrote this in like two hours yikes

universe: a joyful future words: 2291 warnings: discussion of death

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed! edited: november 27th, 2020

When you woke up, Aaron was already gone. There was a note on his pillow, and you stretched as you reached over for it.

Jack and I are off for our hike at Maryland Heights. We’ll be back sometime in the late morning/ early afternoon. We won’t have service until we’re back down the mountain - don’t be nervous if you don’t hear from us.

We’ll swing by to pick everyone up so we can go visit H all together. I’ll call when we’re an hour out.

I love you.

You held the note to your chest for a moment before slipping it into the manila envelope in your bedside drawer. You kept all of Aaron’s little notes - post-its from work, little things in your go bag, notes from mornings like this. They brought an absurd amount of joy to you, and he kept writing them, so you kept keeping them. You weren’t even sure if he knew you kept them, but you supposed some little fun secrets were good for a marriage every once and a while.

Isaac was already up - your sweet boy, with a bowl of cereal in his lap and cartoons on.

“Good morning, my love,” you said to him as you passed, kissing him on the head.

He wiggled in his seat. “Hi, momma.”

You continued into the kitchen, making yourself a cup of (already brewed) coffee. “How long have you been up?”

“I woke up when Jack and Daddy were getting ready, but I couldn’t fall back to sleep so Daddy put the TV on and put cereal where I could reach it and told me I was only allowed to wake you up if there was a fire or someone got hurt.”

You huffed a laugh at his matter-of-fact tone - imitating Aaron beat for beat. “Is that so?”

He nodded.

You returned with your coffee mug and planted yourself next to Isaac on the couch.

“Momma?” He asked, after a little while.

“Mhmm?” You set your coffee down on the table and tucked your legs up under you, facing him.

“What’s Haley Day?”

You opened your arms to him, and he put his cereal down and curled into you. “Can we talk about Haley Day when Dad and Jack get home?”

He nodded and you pressed a kiss into his dark hair.

+++

The boys leisurely hiked the path in relative silence, enjoying both each other’s company and the scenery.

“How are you, Dad?” Jack asked, after a while.

“I’m good, bud.” He thought about it for a moment and laughed lightly to himself. “I’m really good, actually.”

A small smile crossed Jack’s face. “That’s good.”

“What are you thinking about over there?” Aaron said, noting the pensive expression on his son’s face. It was odd - it was a little like looking in the mirror, but Jack would pull these faces that were so Haley. It had startled Aaron more than once.

“Who says I’m thinking about anything?”

“I can hear you thinking.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Fuckin’ profiler.”

“Excuse me?” Aaron laughed. He was a stickler for language around the little ones, but he knew Jack swore like a sailor when he was out of the house.

“I said, fuckin’ profiler.” Jack tutted. “Looks like your hearing is failing you in your advanced age, old man.”

Aaron pointed at him, eyebrows raised. “Watch it.”

After a moment, they both broke, laughing out loud. They quieted after a minute, walking a little closer together.

“I’m just thinking about mom - Haley,” he clarified. “It kind of hit me this morning how…much that all was.” He looked at Aaron, brown eyes curious. “Are you okay, Dad?”

One side of Aaron’s mouth pulled up. “I’m alright. It was really hard for a while, but it gets easier to carry. I know you don’t remember, but you’re old enough now to know that the year before Haley died was...not great. That’s what I had the hardest time handling.”

“The divorce, right?” Jack’s head dropped as he looked at his feet, still marching confidently up the rock-lined path. Aaron was suddenly grateful, deeply so, for the gift of his son.

“Yeah. Certainly not a shining moment for either one of us, but I think she made the right choice. She was stronger than me by a long shot, and always managed to do what had to be done.”

Jack hummed thoughtfully, and Aaron knew he could take what came next.

“When she was killed, I had to grapple with the idea that she died angry at me.” Aaron looked up, letting the dappled light from the trees strike his face.

“I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean?”

Jack kept his eyes up, trained on the path, as he spoke. “I think that’s an easy way to feel guilty, but she didn’t die mad at you, Dad. Aunt Emily told me how brave you were, how you talked to her until you couldn’t anymore.”

Aaron opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted.

“Don’t be upset with Em. I asked and she told. Not her fault.” Jack pulled a mouthful of water from his pack before he continued. “I think she wanted you to know how much she loved you, you know? Like, Emily told me she reminded you to not be so serious all the time and to tell me stories about how much fun you guys had when you were young and cool.” He shot a smirk over to Aaron, who rolled his eyes with a smile. Jack squinted into the middle distance. “Were you mad at her that day?”

“No,” Aaron answered quickly. “Not at all.”

“What were you, then?”

“Scared.”

“Her too, probably.” Jack’s tone was simple, as if it was the easiest thing in the world to understand. Maybe it was. “You made her feel less scared and you kept calm, even when you were probably more scared than you’ve ever been in your whole life. I only remember her a little, but I think she’d love you for that, don’t you?”

Aaron was quiet for a moment, just looking at Jack as they walked. “When did you get so smart, kid?”

Jack shrugged. “You didn’t answer the question.”

Yep. He’s my son.

He couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his mouth as he retorted, “You’re right, I didn’t.”

Jack crossed the path to bump his father’s shoulder. They were almost the same height, and Aaron imagined Jack would pass him up by the end of the year. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, Jack.” He reached up to ruffle Jack’s hair, but he ducked away just in time.

“C’mon, man.”

Aaron scoffed. “You are your mother’s son - that much is certain.”

“Which one?” Jack asked with a grin.

After a moment of thought, Aaron huffed another laugh and said, “Unfortunately, both.”

Jack’s grin softened. “You miss her, don’t you?”

“I do. But guess what?”

His brow furrowed.

“You remind me of her so much sometimes it’s like she’s right here with us, you know that?”

This time, Jack let his father muss the hair on top of his head. “Really?”

Aaron nodded. “All the time.” Then again, under his breath. “All the time.”

+++

Aaron called you around noon on the way back from Harper’s Ferry. “We’ll be home in about 45 minutes - traffic isn’t bad at all and we’re just now at the state line.”

“Sounds good, honey. I’ll start the ball rolling with the girls.”

You could hear a pair of chuckles on the other end of the line and perhaps a muttered “Good luck with that shit.”

Language, Jack Hotchner.

Chewing on your lower lip, you added, “Also, Isaac asked. I think it’s time - for him, at least.”

“Alright. We’ll go sit on the porch when I get home. Jack, are you good helping the girls get ready?”

“For sure,” Jack’s assent sounded a little distant, but it made you smile.

+++

You and Aaron settled on the porch swing with Isaac on your lap. Aaron held out his hands palm-up, and Isaac rested his little fingers on Aaron’s.

Aaron closed his hands around Isaac’s, holding his attention. It was something you two had established early on with the kids: when Dad holds both of your hands, look at him and listen.

“Mom told me you asked about Haley Day today.”

Isaac nodded.

“Before I tell you what Haley Day means, I want to remind you that Mom and I love all four of you exactly the same, okay?”

Isaac nodded.

“Alright, bud.” Aaron took a deep breath, and you smiled at him over Isaac’s head. “You know how you and Sophia and Caroline came out of Momma’s tummy?”

Little brown eyes looked back at you and you nodded encouragingly.

“Yes.”

“You know how Mom and I are married and wear these rings and live together?”

He nodded.

“And of course you know Aunt Jessica, right?”

A smile broke out across Isaac’s face as he nodded again.

“Before I was married to your mom, I was married to Haley. Haley is Aunt Jessica’s sister, and Jack came out of Haley’s tummy before your mom and I met.”

There was a little bit of confusion splashed across Isaac’s face. “So Momma isn’t Jack’s momma?”

You put your hands on his shoulders, and he looked up at you. “Not everyone is like you and me, bud. You came out of my tummy and I’m also your mom, but some people’s moms aren’t the same person they came out of. Does that make sense?” You were going to continue, but you closed your mouth.

We aren’t going to start the “not everyone has a mom” conversation today. Baby steps.

“So you’re still Jack’s mom, too?”

“Yes, sir,” you said with a smile. “But at the same time, Haley is also Jack’s mom. So he kind of has two moms, which is also a normal thing for some families. I’m what’s technically called a step-mom.”

He nodded sagely and said, “Some of my friends at school have step-moms,” but then his face fell into almost comical confusion. “Where did Haley go?”

You gestured to Aaron and Isaac whirled around. Aaron’s eyes flickered back to yours, and you returned his gaze with soft eyes.

Aaron took another breath before speaking again. “Haley died when Jack was four - just a little younger than you are now - and so it’s really important for Jack and me to have Haley Day so we can remember her and spend time together. Today is her forty-ninth birthday, and sometimes birthdays of people who died are really hard.” He swallowed, and his eyes misted over. He looked up at you.

It’s okay. Don’t hide from your son. It’s okay.

He blinked rapidly, and a few tears fell. Tears pricked at your eyes as well as Isaac scrambled off your lap and into Aaron’s.

“Mom said that people who have died can’t come back and you can’t see them anymore. Is that true?” He asked.

Aaron wrapped one arm around Isaac and placed his other hand on your knee. You grabbed it right away, holding him tight. “Yeah, bud. Mom’s right.”

“Do you miss her? Sometimes I miss my friends who moved and I can’t see them anymore.”

Aaron laughed and squeezed Isaac tight to his chest. “I do miss her. It’s a lot like when your friends move away. She was one of my best friends.”

“Is Mom one of your best friends?”

You brushed tears off your cheeks with your fingers and grinned at Aaron.

“Yes. Your mom is one of my best friends,” he said with a smile that matched yours. “And Mom knew Haley, too and they were friends. There are a lot of pictures of Haley and Jack and me and Mom on the bookshelf in the living room, but they’re a little high up for you to see them. I can show them to you later, if you want.”

There was quiet for a moment, as you both let Isaac process the concept of life and death and parenthood in his little four-year-old brain.

That’s a lot all at once.

“Do we get to do anything special for Haley Day?”

Aaron looked down at him, “Yes, sir. We’re going to go visit the place where she’s buried and then go out for ice cream. How does that sound?”

“Really good.”

“Really good, alright!” Aaron rose with renewed vigor, and Isaac clung to his neck as he readjusted his grip. “Can you go get some shoes on and we can go?” Isaac nodded and Aaron set him down with a pat on his shoulder.

You tucked yourself under Aaron’s arm as Isaac ran back into the house. Through the window, you could see Jack swinging Sophia up over his head as a reward for getting her shoes on. Caroline was attached to his pant leg, begging to go next.

“That went alright.”

He nodded. “Yeah, it did.” He kissed the side of your head and inhaled. “Thank you.”

You looked up at him. “For what?”

With his hand, he gestured vaguely to everything around you. “Being here, I guess?” He laughed lightly through his nose. “Just - thank you. I know it’s not always easy.”

You placed your left hand on his chest and rested your head against him as you spoke. “I know you worry, but I have never once felt like second-best or a replacement. Not even a little.”

“I do worry,” he said quietly.

“Don’t, please.” You patted his chest twice, a break. “Now, I believe we promised at least one of our children ice cream and I would hate to have a mutiny on our hands. We’re outnumbered two to one and I don’t need Reid to tell me those aren’t great odds.”

He laughed and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. “There’s no better partner to fend off hangry toddlers than you, darling.”

+++

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