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veryreallyfuckinbad · 3 years ago

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FIRE AND MOSS // Daryl Dixon X Reader// CHAPTER 5

TW: Strong language, implied abusive relationships.

Days passed quickly at the farm. Your schedule was filled with hunting, scavenging, killing any walkers that wandered too close, taking watch. You fell into a pleasant routine- one that was rare in a world full of nothing but surprises. You were busy every day, but once the sky darkened and cheerful conversations faded into faint whispers around a crackling campfire, you felt the same freedom that accompanied you when you were on your own. You loved every single member of your new family- maybe besides Shane, who was an asshole to everyone who didn’t agree with him. You became close with Maggie, she was like an older sister that you’ve never had. Daryl was still very much an enigma, but you felt most comfortable in his company. He began cracking small, dry jokes from time to time and never complained when you ran your mouth or tried to lift the mood with a stupid joke. Once his patience ran out, he would eventually kick you out and send you back to your tent, but you didn’t mind. You knew the man by now and were grateful for the smallest of talks with him. Despite enjoying the “mundane” life on the farm, you were like a wild animal- you couldn’t stay in for too long, eventually beginning to pace around your cage in a haze. The cage opened once the sun set. You enjoyed running around the dark, empty fields and rolling in the grass with Jake and telling him every Greek myth you could remember his namesake telling you. You knew he couldn’t understand you, but somehow hoped he could. The grass under your body felt cold and cooled you down, the blades ticking your legs and hands. Tonight was one of those nights.

Your hands traced circles in the grass that you and Jake were laying on. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you took a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Jake was lying beside you, you haven’t seen him this relaxed since you were alone in the forest with him. The stars were shining bright above you, moonlight giving everything a dreamy glow. You closed your eyes and took in the moment, basking in the cold light of the moon. The grass smelled fresh, and made you feel more awake- more alive. Your eyes shot open when you heard the familiar crackling of a campfire. Once you sat up, your eyes were met with a familiar orange glow. Daryl was sitting by the campfire, his face illuminated by flames. You stood up and carefully made your way over to him, making sure to stay out of sight and not make any noise. Once you got closer, you could see the man clearly.

His face was partially covered with loose strands of hair, but his eyes were filled with disappointment, anger and sadness. He was exhausted- a single look at him proved it. Dark circles outlined his cold eyes and he looked paler than usual.

“Daryl?” your voice was nothing more than a whisper, but he still jolted up, startled. He eyed you and sighed, dipping his head.

“What the hell, woman?” He spoke roughly but quietly, no louder than you. “Ya watchin’ me?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, taking a step out of the shadows with Jake carefully following you. Daryl was selfless, brave and tough but awful at speaking to people. Bad with people, in general.

“Funny coming from you, Dixon” you heard him scoff as you motioned for him to scoot over so you could take a seat next to him. He complied with a slight grunt and made space for you.

Daryl was tense, more so than usual. You wondered whether he was hurting- physically or emotionally. Whatever it was, something wasn’t right and instead of prying, you decided to do everything you could to cheer him up.

“Wanna talk about it?” you looked at him and for a brief moment, your eyes met. He was surprised- you caught him off guard.

“What d’ya mean?” he asked, turning his head to look at you properly.

“I’ll take that as a no, then” you shot him a tiny smile and turned your gaze to Jake, who sat by your legs. You looked down at him and as your eyes met with his, you decided to stand up and take a seat on the cold, wet grass and rested your back on the log you previously sat on with a sigh. You closed your eyes and began running your fingers along the fox’s fur, whose eyes also shut.

Daryl watched you in pure disbelief. He had so many questions that he didn’t know which one he should ask first. He’s seen you rip walkers apart with your bare hands, throw knives, hunt, yell at the undead to come out already so she can kill them and sleep (which, that one time it was Daryl, not a walker). She was dangerous, but not because she would hurt him. She was dangerous because (Y/N) occupied his thoughts more often than she should, he spent a lot of time thinking about how brutal, violent and fearless she could be, just to come back to camp and ask him how his day was or tell him about things he didn’t care about, like the TV shows she liked back when television was a thing. She could be violent, covered in blood, but she always turned into a gentle, caring and understanding person during every conversation she had with him. Moments like these made him reflect on himself and his friendship with her. Her previously blood-stained hands were now ever so gently running along her fox’s fur. He would never admit it, but he admired how she didn’t treat him like a pet, like so many people would. Both her and her fox were nothing but wild, with two sides to them.

“What d’ya like to draw?” the question left his mouth without him even realizing it, he was so lost in thought that the words slipped out on their own.

“People, animals, sometimes places I like” you answered truthfully, with a smile, enjoying knowing he was curious. He might’ve asked it for the sake of being polite, but you knew that wasn’t something Daryl Dixon would do. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you stood up and looked him in the eyes. “Hold on” you jogged to your tent and after shuffling around for a couple minutes, you came back and trotted to the spot where you were previously sat. You handed him something you’d never willingly show someone else- your sketchbook.

He examined it and opened it gently, as if afraid of tearing your most prized possession apart. He flipped through the pages and stopped to look at a sketch of Jake, then at a halfway-finished picture of Rick, Carl and Lori, sketches of Glenn and Maggie. He flipped over to the last filled page- the very campfire you were sitting by. He looked at that particular sketch longer than at the others. Daryl examined the picture and with every glance, he found new details he hasn’t noticed before. The fire was in the center, the logs you sat around it, some out of view. He noticed your tents in the background and smiled when he saw his crossbow laying in the grass. His fingers brushed against the paper with a tenderness you’ve not yet seen in him.

“It’s not the best, I know, but I-“ You began, but before you could say anything else, Daryl’s voice sounded over yours.

“Nah, I love it” he sounded genuine, a spark appearing in his eyes for a brief moment. Suddenly, an idea popped into your head.

“It’s yours!” you offered him a big grin and affectionately patted his knee. He didn’t flinch away like he usually would, simply looking at you and back at the drawing. You nodded and took the sketchbook from his hands, your hand brushing against his. You carefully tugged on the paper and ripped the page out, about to hand it to him before your eyes widened and you retracted your arm. Daryl didn’t say anything and watched in silence as you grabbed a stray piece of charcoal from your campfire and used it to write something on the back of the page. Finally, you handed it to him and once again leaned against the log.

“That’s the first gift I e’er got.” He almost whispered as you felt your stomach turn. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You looked him deep in the eyes and shot him a confused look, hoping he would elaborate. To your surprise, he did.

“Shit childhood. No Christmas, no nothin’.” He looked away, his cold gaze turning to Jake. You had to physically hold yourself back from wrapping your arms around him. Daryl tensed, frustrated with himself for opening up to you for no reason. He didn’t know you cared or that you appreciated him sharing at least a tidbit about his past. His eyes were still fixed on your fox companion, you weren’t completely sure of his intentions but you knew that he wouldn’t hurt him, so you relaxed slightly. Daryl began chewing on his thumb, something you noticed he did as a nervous tic. You knew he hated pity but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Daryl, I’m so sorry” despite being at a loss for words, you went on, “You didn’t deserve that.”.

As soon as the words left your mouth, he turned his head to look in your eyes, but it felt like he was staring right into your soul, your heart. Nobody has ever told him that. Still, despite being grateful, he refused to believe you said it just to be polite, or because you didn’t know what else to say. There was still a part of him that believed you meant it and it made him more confused than ever.

“I didn’t have the best life, either” you began without even thinking about your words, all you wanted was talking to him, “You know, even before shit hit the fan. My love life was about as pretty as one of them undead assholes” you joked in order to lighten the mood, trying to make light of your very unpleasant, even horrifying relationships- the kind that left bruises on your body and moss on your heart. Daryl didn’t even flinch. Not even a scoff of disapproval, so you continued, “Then, after it all began, I met a group- no, my family. They saved my life and taught me everything I know.” Daryl was convinced you were finished sharing and opened his mouth to speak, but you went on, not caring whether he would see you as weak if you cried when recalling your previous group. “The man that kept me alive, he was like a second father to me, his name was Jake.” Your eyes welled up with tears as you pressed the fox sitting beside you close to your chest. He climbed onto your lap and snuggled into your touch, comforting you the best he could. “He gave me my knife, he gave me a second chance, he gave me all the skills I have, but when our camp was attacked I just-“ your whimpers, which turned to full sobs by the middle of your confession, were interrupted with Daryl’s voice, sounding more tender than usual.

“That’s enough.” He sounded concerned, but comforting. “What matters is yer okay now. Yer here an’ yer alive.” By now, tears were streaming down your face and dripping off your lips and nose. “Besides” he began again, not sure if he should say what he wanted to say, but one hopeful, curious glance of your glossy eyes pushed him to speak. “Ya still have Jake”

You couldn’t help it, you stood up and stared at him, whimpering from time to time. You opened your arms slightly and looked him deep in the eyes. “Can I?” You desperately needed his comfort, no human has comforted you in your moments of weakness since the days of your old group. Daryl simply nodded in response and grunted as you inched forward and wrapped your arms around his neck, sobbing into the crook of his neck. He didn’t hug you back, but you didn’t mind. The man avoided physical contact with everybody in his group, so you were grateful he even let you get so close to him. “Thank you”

Jake’s whimpering caused you to pull away and look at him with confusion, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.

Daryl chuckled and smirked lightly, shaking his head at the fox.

“Didn’t take him for the jealous type” he motioned towards Jake with his head and smiled. “I like him” he said, causing you to giggle. You felt much better, all thanks to him. The whole night, you caught him staring at your companion, he was clearly intrigued. You decided to take your shot.

You placed your hand on Jake’s fur and stroked it gently with your palm. Once you felt him relax, you reached your free hand out to Daryl, who was watching you with curiosity in his pale blue eyes. “Give me your hand” you instructed and hoped he wouldn’t ask any questions. Thankfully, he obliged but flinched slightly when your hand touched his. You guided his hand to Jake’s snout as gently as you possibly could, not wanting to scare either of your rather wild friends. You brought his rough, ragged hand to the fox’s nose. Jake looked up at you. You were never very religious, but in that very moment praying seemed like a great idea. You were all but horrified that he would take a bite of Daryl’s fingers, ruining the chance for mutual trust between him and the animal.

You sighed with relief and released a breath you didn’t know you were holding as Jake sniffed Daryl’s hand and didn’t move, simply licking his snout afterwards. The archer’s hand felt less tense now, as if he wasn’t bracing himself for the animal’s teeth in his hand at any second. You took his hand once more and you could swear you could hear a breath hitch in his throat, but he didn’t flinch or pull away. You placed your own hand on the soft fur of Jake’s scruff and grabbed his, pulling it closer carefully, until it was laying on top of yours. His hand was much bigger than yours, covering it whole. Your hand began sliding from beneath his, and soon, his hand was laid on top of Jake’s soft fur. You looked at Daryl and gave him a big grin. Happiness completely overtook you, allowing you to completely forget about the tears you shed just moments ago. Daryl gave you a huge smile, bigger than you’ve ever gotten from him. It was genuine, you could see the pure joy in his eyes- almost like a child petting a stray dog for the first time. His hand travelled through the flame-colored fur, making sure to be as gentle as possible.

“Holy shit” he breathed out and looked at you with the same smile he gave you earlier, his eyes lit up. He looked at Jake with emotions you weren’t sure he could feel until then- joy, awe, love. Daryl was completely invested with brushing the animal’s soft pelt and hardly noticed you chuckle.

“I never realized you were such a softie” you jabbed playfully, somehow knowing he wouldn’t take it personally.

“Shut up”

Once you convinced the hunter to try and get some shut eye, you kept watch with Jake and scratched him behind his ears. Pride filled you, as if you managed to tame two wild beasts at once. The quiet crackling of the flames caused you to get lost in thought, almost putting you in a trance. Daryl’s words echoed through your head, like a lost voice bouncing against walls in your brain. He was so gentle with both you and Jake, allowing you to open up and finally feel completely comfortable around him. You chuckled to yourself when the image of Daryl’s hands shaking slightly when touching the fox ever so gently, as if he was afraid that he could break him into pieces with one wrong move. A strange feeling fluttered in your heart- and stomach. One that you haven’t felt this strongly yet, you were unsure what it meant, but you didn’t want to dwell on it and hoped the answer would just present itself someday.

You’ve already guessed that Daryl’s childhood wasn’t stellar but you never expected it to be quite that horrible. He was sweet, in his own Daryl-Dixon-tough-asshole way. In your eyes, he deserved nothing but gratitude and-

And idea popped into your mind. You remembered the way his eyes lit up and how you felt the walls he built around himself crumble a bit when you gave him your drawing. You smiled and gave Jake a pat on the head while reaching over to retrieve your sketchbook and grabbing a piece of charcoal from the sizzling fire. You got to sketching, beginning with a two circles and some simple shapes, and before long, the shapes turned into two beautifully rendered figures- Daryl and Jake sitting next to each other by a fading out campfire. Daryl was smiling softly while Jake was leaning into his hand, which was placed upon the fox’s head, between his ears. The picture was incredibly tranquil, you could almost hear the hushed chirping of crickets in the grass behind them. Content with your work, you stood up and tiptoed to Daryl’s tent, careful not to wake him up and slipped the drawing in the opening of the tent. It was halfway inside, halfway outside of the tent, like a letter delivered by a lazy postman. You shot his tent a smile and decided to get some sleep yourself.

Daryl turned over and sat up as soon as he heard you zip your tent up. Once he was sure you were inside, he grabbed the piece of paper you slipped through the crack of his tent opening and examined it. A smile appeared on his face as soon as he realized he was in the center, petting (Y/N)’s beloved companion. He felt grateful and incredibly happy, but he also felt something else- a foreign feeling which made him wonder. That woman really was dangerous, she could occupy his thoughts for hours without him even realizing it. Despite his confusion about the new, strange emotion, his smile never wavered. He crouched and dug inside the bag that laid right next to where he slept and finally, pulled out a handful of colorful drawing pins. With a quiet grunt, he pinned the drawing to the wall of his tent in a spot where he could easily look at it while laying down. Staring at the gift, he remembered the other picture you gave him, and the note on the back that he didn’t read yet. He retrieved the now bent in half piece of paper and turned it over. He choked on his own breath when he read the message written on the back.

“I guess it took the apocalypse for you to get a gift, but you better get used to it now. You deserve it, Dixon.

-(Y/N)”

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taglist <3

@writers-adversary @kimchiwen @mileysnavely @srhxpci

#daryl x oc #daryl imagines #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x reader #the walking dead #twd daryl #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x y/n

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obeiii-mee · 5 years ago

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Hi there! If its okay, could i ask for headcannons of the brothers finding out MC is an Artist? Something like, finding there sketchbook or napkins w doodles on them jfjdjs Or maybe they catch MC glancing at them alot while trying to draw them? hfjd Ty!! Your writing is really good~

Of course it’s OK! I’ve always liked the idea of MC having a really interesting hobby and teaching the brothers about it. I feel like all the brothers would be very supportive of them, even if they all had various reactions to their hobby but I really love writing wholesome moments like that. Sorry this took longer to come out, I made them really long to make up for it!

Also thank you. Your compliment means a lot :)

————————————-

The Brothers’ reactions to MC being an artist:

Lucifer:

-Well if you’re going to glance at him every two minutes, he’s bound to notice

-I mean, you’re pretty damn obvious

-Lucifer got pretty used to you whipping out your sketchbook whenever you could

-So for you to start doodling in his office while he worked wasn’t exactly unheard of

-He caught you staring at him before looking back down at your drawing, continuing your series of furious scribbles

-Now you piqued his interest

-“You seem very focused there love. What are you drawing?”

-Scared the crap out of you because he rarely ever talks when he’s working

-You were reluctant to show him but Lucifer has his insisting face on

-When you passed him the sketchbook, he momentarily froze

-Your drawing was so detailed and full of emotion, capturing him slumped over his desk, exhausted but determined to finish the work he’s been assigned

-He was so surprised and stunned, for a second, he forgot to breathe

-“It’s not exactly one of my best drawings yet but-“

-“You never fail to impress me MC.”

-He suspected you were drawing him but he wasn’t expecting this much effort to be put into it

-He would definitely keep all your drawings of him

-Loves all your work but secretly adores your sketches of him best

-Lucifer would occasionally look over your shoulder while you sketch, taking a peek at what you’re drawing and smile to himself

-He’s never felt this much pride for someone else before

Mammon:

-Was pissed you would rather spend time with an object rather than him

-It annoyed him at first because he couldn’t tell if you were listening to him or not while you had your nose stuck in your sketchbook

-Basically, he was jealous of a sketchbook

-You can’t do that Mammon, that’s Levi’s thing

-So one day he decided to see what the fuck was so great about that giant notebook you always have with you

-He turned your entire room upside down searching for the damn thing before finding it

-He flipped through it and I’m sure the entire House of Lamentation could hear his gasp

-You drew him for pages and pages in all sorts of positions and styles and he was a flustered tomato going through them

-You willingly drew him? The scum of a demon who could never do anything right unless it involved money? You put your time and effort into these sketches and doodles despite him being condescending and a dick at times?

-Excuse me but this man is already head over heels in love with you, you can’t keep giving him reasons to fall for you

-He was so engrossed into your work that he didn’t notice you behind him

-“Mammon why is there a mess in my room-“

-“HOLY SHI-AHHH!!!”

-Too embarrassed to even think of an excuse for going through your shit

-“Ah those...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have drawn you without your permission Mammon-“

-“Are ya kiddin’ me? MC, I feel insulted that you didn’t tell me about this sooner. Can...Can I keep some of ‘em??”

-Now he insists that you draw him as often as possible and would even pose for you (he loves the attention let’s be real)

-He wants to see all of your drawings and will endlessly support you

-Thought about using your skill as a way to make money because art can be very expensive

-But in the end, he dropped the idea

-Why would he sell something so precious to him??

Levi:

-He probably has a sketchbook too

-You guys draw Ruri-chan together in your own styles

-Levi always insists that you’re much better at drawing than him tho

-Your talent makes him a little jealous but at the same time he’s fascinated

-Was so surprised when he found out you were into sketching

-Levi was even more surprised when you showed him all the drawings you’ve worked on for your favourite anime and video game characters

-OK but how come you’re so perfect? Not only are you a lovely person that is willing to watch anime with him without insulting his opinions but you can draw? W...h...a...t...?

-He requests several sketches of ‘The Tale of the Seven Lords’ characters and will actually tape them to his wall

-Some of them are right on his Ruri-chan shelf

-“Hey normie, do you...do you mind teaching me how to draw? I want to learn.”

-Is 100% determined to learn how to properly sketch from you

-You started drawing him as well, usually while he games

-You better stop, he’ll have a nosebleed if you keep being so nice to him!

-Draw him as an anime character and he will start fangirling

-“Phew. OK I’m finished.”

-“What did you draw?”

-“Hentai.”

-“This. Is. A. Masterpiece.”

-Will proudly show your work to his brothers (usually the same drawing more than five times)

-What did an otaku like him do to deserve you??

Satan:

-He found out you were an artist fairly quickly

-I meant he found tissues with doodles you left behind everywhere

-He kept all of them

-It was so refreshing for him to see you so invested in your drawings the same way he is in his reading

-You’re still under the impression you’re being sneaky by drawing him while he has his nose in his books

-You ended up finally gathering enough courage to show him one of your portraits of him

-He had a reaction similar to Lucifer’s really

-Praise!

-He made your drawing into a bookmark

-Idk how but he did

-You leave him a few doodles of you and him being all lovey dovey and he absolutely adores them

-Will lose his marbles if anyone says anything remotely negative about your style or talent

-Draw him fluffy animals pls he will literally have them framed and fixed up in his room

-Also if you draw any of his brothers (specifically Lucifer let’s be real) in a silly way he will actually start snorting with laughter

-You sketch him pretty damn often and he can’t really complain

-It’s really peaceful when you two are in the library and you’re working on your doodling while he reads aloud to you

-Buys you equipment like pens and pencils and even sketchbooks when he knows you’re running out

-He’s really delighted when you come over to show him your drawings

-Once he caught you staring at a cat as you started sketching it

-He actually didn’t think it was possible to love someone this much

Asmo:

-Noisy little fucker that he is and in need of drama, he looked through your sketchbook

-Thought it was a diary at first but nope

-Imagine his surprise when he found pages upon pages of drawings of his brothers and him

-Except his weren’t really a surprise

-He’s gorgeous of course you would want to draw him

-But oh my God, do you realise how much he values art??

-I know he looks as if he only thinks about sex but he definitely has a thing for creativity and art like painting and photography

-“MC darliiiing~? Why didn’t you tell me you can draw?”

-He actually shrieks at how well you’ve captured his beauty

-He insists that they look like actual pictures of him

-Takes several pictures of all of them and posts them on DevilGram

-A bit salty when you drawing anything else but him

-However, he can’t deny that you’re one of the most talented individuals he ever met

-He comes up to you every day and lractically begs you to draw him

-One time you came in your room to find him naked and asking you to draw him

-Is actually kinda good at drawing himself

-Specifically people

-He has enough experience exploring the human body so he surprisingly enough, knows a thing or two when it comes to body proportions

-“MC draw me like one of your french girls~”

-I’m sorry I had to do that

-He also likes the attention he’s getting when he poses for you

-He may think he’s the most beautiful being in all three realms but he definitely thinks you’re the second

-So he often offers to draw you too

-He likes having cozy chats with you while you draw

Beel:

-You left your sketchbook behind in the kitchen with him

-Mammon needed your assistance to get down from where Lucifer hanged him after one of his failed money schemes

-He knocked a glass of milk nearby it and had a panic attack for a minute

-Legitimately thought he ruined the whole thing

-Was actually about ready to cry because he knew how important your sketchbook was to you

-Looked through it just to make sure there were no splotches or anything

-To say he was relieved when he realised it was fine would be an understatement

-He was kinda drawn to your sketches, most of them carefully drawn and expressive, even some of the ones you scribbled out

-One specific drawing caught his eye though

-You drew him and Belphie together, with his twin brother’s head resting on his shoulder while Beel ate

-He was mesmerised by your talent and by your thoughtfulness

-Beel felt bad about it but he kept looking through your sketches, enchanted by everything in it

-You drew him and his brothers several times

-It’s safe to say the discovery of your drawings brightened his day

-Gave back your sketchbook later

-He apologised for going through it without your permission more than he needed to

-You had to accept his apology because he looked like a kicked puppy

-Feels very honoured whenever you let him look at your work

-Is more than happy to pose for you!

-But that might be a bit of a problem seeing as he tends to move around a lot

-“Whoa, that looks just like me! The food I’m eating looks really realistic too...which is making me hungry. Let’s go to Hell’s Kitchen, you can finish this there!”

-Supportive bean

-You gave him a family sketch of him and all of his brothers once

-Normally, he only likes gifts he can eat

-But he treasures that drawing more than food at times

-“This...this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me! Thank you MC! But uh, someone’s missing in this drawing.”

-“Ah shit, who did I miss?”

-“You.”

-If anything ever happens to Beel or his happiness I swear to Lord Diavolo-

Belphie:

-OK but you left your notebook just sitting there right next to him???

-How do you expect him not to look through it?

-Belphie doesn’t care much for privacy

-And he doesn’t exactly have morals either

-He didn’t even know you were into drawing

-Which to be fair, wasn’t scandalous considering he sleeps 20 hours a day

-But he wants to be more involved in your interests so that’s why he took initiative with your sketchbook

-Idk what he was expecting but definitely not a sketch of him staring back at him

-His heart skipped a beat but I don’t even know if demons have hearts

-The cheeky little shit took pictures and may or may not have made on your drawings of him his wallpaper

-Most of the drawings were of him sleeping, surprising...absolutely no one

-“So that’s what you’re up to whenever I go to sleep huh? So cute~”

-But besides all that, he is really touched

-I mean, if there’s anyone undeserving of your love and respect is the piece of shit of who tried to kill you

-Yet here you are, continuously showering him with affection and now this

-Probably spent hours looking at your sketchbook while you were at R.A.D

-Didn’t say anything to you when you came back except handing your notebook back to you

-Though he was less of a smartass and more affectionate for the rest of the day

-Next morning, you took the liberty of waking up before him and sketching him again

-He grabbed your arm halfway through your doodling and grinned at you from under the covers

-“Drawing me again huh? You won’t mind me doing this while you’re at it then right?”

-Now he’s sleeping in your lap

-Whenever you show him your work, he makes a small approving noise but he’s seriously impressed

-Draw Lucifer or Lord Diavolo in any offensive manner and he will actually start giggling

-Gets all huffy puffy when you draw his brothers instead of him (we all know Beel is the exception)

-I may have a thing for Belphegour

Al~

#obey me #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me imagines #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me satan #⭐️ requests #☂️ demon brothers #🕯 general

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seokiloquy · 4 years ago

Text

Lost In- What Word? Pt 1 - Akaashi Keiji

AU: Single Parent

Requested

Word Count: 4.5k+

Disclaimer: Fem! Reader, Time skip spoilers, Udai being a meta Furudate insert, just fluff

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3

Akaashi wasn’t sure if Udai was naturally forgetful, or just held so much anticipation in his smaller form that he glossed over details and didn't realize it. Udai was an excellent author despite not having reached the major public yet. His first published work was short and eerie which most of the shonen reading population didn’t greedily rip off the shelves. Although, those that did read it gave him overwhelming support, maybe the rest of the world wasn’t ready for that kind of psychological horror just yet.

When Akaashi originally applied for a position at the publishing company he intended to work in the literature department, editing lengthy novels and picking out grammatical errors, not reading conversations via text bubbles and looking for continuity errors between images. He never did pick out the exact moment he went from editor to fact-checker and archivist. Akaashi also never knew how many different ways there were to translate a single word until he met you. And once he did, he realized that his eyes would follow you across the office as you ran around and spoke to other editors, helping them furnish their translations so that they flowed properly.

“Tenma, isn’t he meant to be out of the rotation for this panel?” Akaashi couldn’t help but grimace when faced with the utter despair that had pulled on Udai’s typically eased expression. The panel itself was masterfully drawn, taking up two pages and showing off Udai’s immense talent in drawing expressions and anatomy.

“I spent 8 hours on that, only to find out that it needs to be scrapped. What has my life come to?”

The yellow office lights made both of the men’s hair give off a green tinge and made their faces look sickly. Udai frowned as he pushed his chair back and let his chin sit on the table of the small meeting room. His hair curled around his fingers as they gently tugged on the ends of the wavy black stands, straightening them only to let them go and have them bounce back into place.

Akaashi flipped through the printed out pages of the chapter, letting the loose papers lay flat on the table. He pointed to the next pages. “These are fine though. They’re in the right rotation here, so not all is lost at least.”

Udai sighed, as he threw his weight back into the chair, making it spin with his momentum. “That’s all well and good, but I was really proud of that panel. It was going to be the attention grabber.”

Akaashi pursed his lips gently, flipping through the pages once more before tucking them into the pale yellow folder and closing it. Udai’s new story was in its beginning stages, only having a sample chapter that would be published in the following week’s magazine, that is if they got it done in time.

“It needs to be perfect. I can’t have this not work and starve for the rest of my life.”

Akaashi opened his mouth slightly, taking in a deep breath, ready to spout out his words of encouragement for his colleague when there was a knock on the door followed by the soft creaking of the hinges as it opened.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to ask Udai about some of the uh… what’s the word? Dang, I’m supposed to know Japanese, it’s my job. The— I give up. Help?”

Udai chuckled and waved you over to take the seat opposite him, you shook your head and bowed slightly as your hand raised, saying you were alright, not needing the chair. Leaning down slightly you pointed at the ruff sketch copy in your hand where your current author’s handwriting seemed to over the edges of the text bubble slightly.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but how in the hell am I supposed to translate ‘paisen’?”

The innocent question seemed to brighten Udai’s mood much more than Akaashi’s monotone words of support would have. The older man launched backwards, nearly flinging himself off the chair, in a fit of laughter. His hands gripped the shirt he wore above his stomach and chest as they tried to ease the laughing pains.

Akaashi chuckled at the sight before looking at your somewhat regretful expression, you were probably too used to your co-workers laughing at your in-fluency at Japanese. “You can probably substitute a familiar nickname or a joking reference of respect.”

You sighed and brushed your hand over the back of your neck, “I swear, Himari had the intent to torture me with this last chapter. Thank you, Akaashi.”

Finally calmed from his fit of giggles, Udai sat straight in his chair and sent you a gracious smile. “Well, at least when you join our team I won’t torture you as much.”

You gave Udai and Akaashi a teasing smirk as you reached for the door handle. “I’m not so sure about that,” you said. “Besides, you need to get the attention of the readers before I join your team. No point in translating a comic that doesn’t even get off the ground right?”

You sent them a wink and the door closed behind you with a quiet click.

“Was that a challenge?”

“I believe so,” Akaashi said, handing Udai a blank sheet of paper. “Looks like we have some work to do.”

The office was, as it was the day before, and the day before that, calm. Udai sat in a small isolated office on his own with a naturally coloured lamp hanging over his hunched figure. The rest of his team, including Akaashi and now you as well, sat outside his door in a row of cubicles that led up to a large window that took up the entirety of the wall. In the corner cubicle, pressed against the window and directly across from him, you sat, typing away on your computer as you translated the Japanese text into Wild Words fonted English.

“Akaashi, is the end of chapter ready to translate?” Your head peeked over the frosted cubicle wall, a small smile pulling at the corner of your lips and the corner of your eyes pinching together. Akaashi’s gaze fluttered around.

“Ah, Ya the edits are done so you can finish translating it now.”

The smile you wore only seemed to grow, making Akaashi want to turn away and stare at the same time. The sun’s light contrasted with the dull rectangular lights in the office, making your skin glow. Your fingers tightened on the top of the glass and your shoulders rose to your ears, you narrowly missed knocking over an owl keychain that hung on his side of the wall.

“Perfect,” you said. “I’ll get them done now.”

The day continued like this, everyone working and occasionally calling out to each other through their cubed walls, possibly getting a twirling pen in the forehead followed by a meek apology (coming from you). Every time you spoke to someone you would rise out of your seat to make eye contact with them, refusing to continue speaking otherwise, and even though he wasn’t the person you always spoke to, each time your head began to poke out of your squared corner Akaashi couldn’t help but turn his attention your way, watching as the sun's light danced around you. It didn’t come to a surprise when, like every instance before, Akaashi looked up when you shot up from your seat. Only this time there was a frantic look plastered unevenly on your face, one that the warm light didn’t compliment.

“Please tell me my clock is wrong and that it’s not 4 pm.”

Chiyo leaned back in her chair, setting down her Cintiq’s pen and flipped the watch on her wrist so that the face faced her. “Yup, it’s actually 4:15.”

Akaashi was surprised to hear a not so work friendly English curse leave your lips as you rushed to save files on your computer while simultaneously packing your purse. You continued to swear as you ran out of your cubicle and toward the elevators with a quick “goodbye” being thrown over your shoulder. The office was quiet.

“Does that happen often?” Ena asked as he pulled off his glasses.

The group of artists and their editor sat in stunned silence for a few moments, minds racing over where the young translator had scurried off to. In their collaborative confusion, the team slowly went back to their respective jobs.

Himari came around the corner of the office, coffee in hand, as she chatted with her editor, who was nursing his own mug. The writer looked up for her conversation to see Udai’s team and gave them a polite nod. They were going to meekly return to their work when Himari paused her steps and looked at the empty plush chair that sat rotated and untucked in your cubicle.

“Oh, did (Y/N) leave?” to Akaashi’s surprise, Himari was not.

“Does she do that often?” he asked, setting down his pen on the counter of his desk.

Himari nodded, smiling, “Oh ya, sometimes she gets lucky and her friend can handle it but a lot of the time she has to run out of here by 3.” Akaashi’s brow furrowed slightly as Himari took a sip of her coffee before continuing waving her hand by her head, “Don’t worry too much about it though, she always comes in early to get her work done.”

Before they could question further, Himari was off with her editor sending them a knowing smile.

When the end of the workday rolled around, only 45 minutes after your quick departure, Akaashi found his eyes trailing back to his phone that sat at the corner of his desk on top of a stack of papers. Keeping watch on his phone, he swung his bag over his shoulder and shut off his computer. The device remained silent as the team began to pile out of their seats, toward the elevators and in a fit of contemplation, he reached for the phone.

Your response was quick and vague; Family thing, happens often. I’ll tell you later. See you tomorrow!

After the sample comic was released, Udai was thrown when he received an immense amount of interest for his characters and story, and he was even more excited when he received word from the magazine’s publishers that they wanted him to continue with the path he was on. The months building up to this moment were filled with constant plot revisions, reference excursions, and interviews until they came to a conclusive framework of the story, and continued introductions as new members were added to their original duo to make the workload less hefty.

Today though was the day that the story’s first chapter would finally be released to the public.

Akaashi tracked into the office, heading to the lounge to grab a coffee before coming up to his cubicle against the window and setting his bag down, immediately heading to the lounge. 8:40 in the morning, 20 minutes before the expected time of arrival, Akaashi, back at his desk, was just about to take a sip of coffee when a small snore overlapped the sound of the air conditioners, creating a dishonest harmony.

On the other side of the frosted glass wall of the cubicle was you, head resting on the black mouse pad that had a small plush cushion for your wrist. Akaashi quickly rounded the desks, coming to our side to gently rouse you from your slumber before your co-workers arrived. He was to wake you up gently with a hand on your shoulder, that was the plan. The plan changed when he noticed the small picture frame on your desk, surrounded by various action figures and Funko pops.

With one hand on your shoulder and the other holding the fame, he studied the photo with a kind gaze. He was so enthralled with the image that he forgot that below his other hand, was you.

“He’s cute ain’t he?” you asked, startling the editor back to his current reality as you stretched, arching your back like a cat. Akaashi’s attention was brought back to the current situation as you reached out for another frame in the opposite corner of your desk. “His name is Naoko. Here, this photo is newer.”

The young boy in the new photo looked like you a lot, more so than the previous one where he was just an infant that carried more resemblance to a potato than a human. Akaashi, without taking his eyes off the pictures, pulled the chair out from under Ena’s desk and sat next to you. He didn’t say anything, deciding just to admire the photos he held and letting you decide whether or not he should have the pleasure of hearing a story.

You sighed and yawned, leaning over the armrest of your chair so you would see them too. “He’s six, really quiet. I moved here when I found out. Hardly even out of university, and I was already pregnant with some strangers kid,” you laughed, making Akaashi stare at your features for a moment, wanting to point out which ones could be found on the boy.

“Is he the reason you moved to Japan?” Akaashi was a little taken aback by your willingness to talk, but in hindsight, you didn’t seem like the person to keep secrets, often rattling with your co-workers about your interests. Thinking back, maybe he should have expected something like this, Himari seemed to have known after working with you for several years, happily dancing around the topic of your personal life with your new coworkers when your sudden departure was questioned.

You shrugged, “not entirely, but he sure was a good excuse. I had plans to move to Japan for years before I even got into university. When I found out, I was sort of… uh. English…. Fuck, I need a job. So I applied to be an intern here, moved in with a friend I met online and prepared to have a baby.” Your arms flew about as you talked.

“You act as though it was easy,” Akaashi laughed, placing the frames back onto the table.

You let out a happy chuckle and spun your chair to face Akaashi head-on, eyes not leaving his, “I wouldn’t say it was easy, per se, but I’m happy with how things turned out.” you yawned a bit, “I should also apologize for running out of the office early sometimes, I have to pick Naoko up from school so —”

“You don’t have to apologize for that.” The gentle smile he wore was contagious.

It was 8:50 when the rest of the team came in. Immediately catching sight of Ena, Akaashi pulled away from your side, rolling the chair back to its respective location. He heard a breathy laugh escape you as he scurried around the desks to return to his designated spot across from you, cardigan flailing about.

The rest of your team piled into their seats sending the two of you waves and morning greetings. Ena nearly dropped his ‘don’t talk to me till I’ve had my coffee’ mug as he tripped over his rubber slides just before reaching his desk next to yours.

Sending your friends a smile you quickly slid back into your cubicle to re-adjust the frames on your desk with a yawn. Akaashi gave you a nod when you looked up to his stiff, still standing, form. You made his heart feel much weaker than he’d like to admit and without saying another word, he picked up the forgotten mug filled with brown liquid and handed it over the glass, into your hands.

Naoko was much more reserved than Akaashi expected, definitely a contrast to your more hyper personality. He spent most of the day sitting in the corner behind your cubicle where a table was set up next to a row of cabinets. What the boy was doing, Akaashi wasn’t entirely sure, but there was a small tickle at that back of his brain that made him want to find out.

When you had come in that morning, the group was surprised to see the small boy trailing behind you, holding onto your hand tightly with the both of his. “PD day,” you said. Udai spent the first few minutes of the day gushing over the boy’s cheeks instead of working, only to end up being backtracked and having to cram into his lunch break. Akaashi would be lying if he said he wasn’t thankful for that though.

“What do you have there?” he asked, taking a seat next to the boy and setting down his lunch next to the younger’s bento box.

Naoko curled in on himself, bringing the phone (that was most definitely yours) to his chest. The boy’s knees had pulled up to his shoulders as his feet pushed on the edge of the chair. Akaashi sent the young boy a kind smile and waited. From the corner of his eye, he could see your chair turn around as you took in the sight of your son and co-worker. He watched as you began making large swinging motions with your arms. Akaashi tried not to laugh.

Whatever had been playing on the phone hadn’t been paused in the short time given to do so, making the familiar sound ring quietly around the two of them.

Akaashi looked back your way for a moment, only to see you tilt your head up in a supporting nudge and turn back around.

“Are you watching a volleyball game?” he asked, rousing a more positive reaction from the boy.

Naoko’s shoulders lowered and he slowly placed the phone down between them. As Akaashi had concluded, a volleyball game played on the small screen. He put forward another question.

“Do you like to play?”

The six-year-old shrugged but nodded before scooting his chair in closer and reaching for his food. Akaashi mirrored him, slipping off his collared cardigan and pulling his lunch closer, still watching the game.

“I used to play volleyball.” This caught the boy’s attention, who turned his head to look at Akaashi, brows raised and lips pursed. “I was a setter.”

Naoko swallowed his food and for the first time, Akaashi got to hear him speak.

“I like playing setter too.”

His voice was rather meek and had a sort of authority to it, but the biggest thing he noticed made him stifle a laugh.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he called gently, making you spin your chair around in question. “Why is Naoko better at Japanese then you?”

“Hey! That’s mean!”

Naoko began to wiggle in his seat, desperately trying not to laugh at his mother’s, your, irritation. You shot a look at your son and gasped.

“Don’t you start laughing at me. I speak English better than you do.”

“You don’t need to speak English in Japan, mom.”

Kaashi continued to choke on his laugher as you pushed the palm of your hand into your forehead. “I’m being teased by my own son,” you cried quietly, turning your chair back around to face the unedited pages.

Naoko giggled and looked back Akaashi’s way. “Can you teach me?”

Akaashi didn’t see you still in your chair, listening.

“Of course I can.”

“Udai, seriously? You promised that you weren’t going to use weird industry term slang stuff on me.”

With a wide-eyed look and hair messily tied back, the man in question rotated his chair around childishly. “I never promised. I just said I'd go easier on you.” It was infuriating really.

With a pitiful whine, you shook the rough script in your hand making an angry fluttering sound. “You’re so mean Tenma. You know that I have trouble with slang.”

Udai only laughed and waved you off, “It’s a good way to learn is it not?”

You rolled your eyes but relented, giving a wave and closing the door. Once at your seat Akaashi poked his head out, eyes visible over the top of his square-framed glasses.

“He did it again?”

“Ya,” you huffed. “I can’t blame him though. It’s just frustrating that I can’t remember what a lot of the words mean. I should buy a dictionary.” Akaashi watched as you turned your monitor on. “Oh, um, Naoko was asking about you the other day.”

“Really?”

Your hands came together behind your neck, pulling your head down bashfully. “Ya, he’s been wanting to show you how he’s doing and maybe get the chance to learn a bit from you.”

Akaashi gave you a kind smile, so small that it didn’t even crease his cheeks, and nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

Your cheeks warmed as you beamed up at him before turning your head down towards your computer screen. Akaashi took a second to appreciate how the cool light from the overcast sky made you look. It was silent in the office for a moment. Just a moment.

“Udai! Another one?!”

In theory, so long as you have space above your head, you can play volleyball anywhere. Your apartment wasn’t ‘anywhere’.

The three-bedroom living space was built as housing and not an Olympic arena, and after breaking one too many of your glasses playing around, it was made clear to you, Naoko, and your sport junky roommate, that volleyball shouldn’t be allowed in the house.

“You guys can go play volleyball with Akaashi at the park, no?” Yukie asked, grabbing an onigiri of the large plate on your kitchen counter and stuffing it in her face. You made a large dinner that day, only to have your friend eat most of it, instead of leaving leftovers for Naoko’s lunch. Not that he complained about it, you sure did though.

Taking Yukie’s words to heart, when the weekend rolled around and Naoko was becoming more anxious, you invited Akaashi to your neighbourhood park to play volleyball.

“Open your elbows a bit more, make a triangle with your hand, and when the ball comes just cushion it with your fingertips before sending it out, okay?”

Naoko nodded, staring at his hands that were being moved around by the older player. Akaashi’s form was kneeled by the boy’s side, his head nearly resting on the younger's shoulder as he tried to make sure he was in the right position.

“Alright,” he said, grabbing the smaller than average volleyball off of the grass. “I’m gonna toss this to you, do you think you can get it to hit my hand right up here?”

Naoko nodded again, eagerly waiting for the blue and yellow ball to come flying his way. You watched silently from the park bench as Naoko tried (and often failed) to get the ball to touch Akaashi’s hand accurately.

“Almost there, you got this Naoko!” Akaashi encouraged.

Earnestly waiting to see the next move, you sat forward in your seat, watching as that ball made a tall arch towards Naoko’s waiting palms. As the ball made contact with his fingertips, he bent his elbows and wrists before shooting them out into a straight line, sending into the palm of Akaashi’s hand before dropping back onto the grassy field.

Your son, as most six-year-olds do when accomplishing something, shrieked. He shrieked very loudly before sprinting directly into Akaashi’s stomach to give him a (breath-stealing) hug. Akaashi coughed as he tried to get air back into his depleted lungs. From the side you giggled, watching as Naoko’s smile grew, head buried into Akaashi’s stomach.

It became standard, going out to the park during your off days. And this day, like the weekends that have come before, the routine of going to the park, ball in hand, continued. But after spending an hour or so watching the familiar movement of the yellow and blue ball fly through the air, Naoko interrupted the serene setting with a loud request.

“Mama! Mom! Can we go get onigiri?”

Looking up from resting your neck on the back of the bench to turn your gaze onto the energetic boy that was hopping around on the grass. “I’m okay with that, but you should probably ask Akaashi along. We don't want to leave him at the park do we?” you teased, picking up your bag and walking toward the two.

Naoko spun again to look at Akaashi, whose hands were now tucked into his jeans pockets. “Please!” he wailed. “Come with us! Please, please, please, please, please!”

Akaashi let out a hearty laugh. “Calm down, I’ll join you.” without saying another word, Akaashi offered his hand out, letting Naoko clutch it eagerly.

“Udai are you sure it’s okay to bring Naoko along? This is meant to be a work trip and I’d hate for him to dis… dic… get in the way,” you gave up at the end, sighing over your tripping words.

Udai gave Naoko, who had been clinging to Akaashi’s arm since all of you had met outside the city gymnasium, a pat on the head. “It’s alright. Besides, he’ll probably be a great resource.”

You nodded and watched as Naoko rattled to Akaashi about his school team and new things they had been practicing. You pouted. Upon their arrival, Ena, Chiyo and the others immediately began teasing you for effectively losing your son’s favour, which didn’t make your whining any less audible. On top of that, the group of artists found your sullen look to be a perfect reference, taking their cameras out.

“Keiji,” you cried, following behind the rest of the group as they waltzed through the gym entrance along with the crowd. “You’ve stolen my son.”

Akaashi paused for a moment, taking in a calm breath before looking over his shoulder. “He’s your son, I can’t steal that from you.”

Naoko threw a large smile over his shoulder, making your dragging steps falter.

When did it change? The expression on his face. When did it become so happy? Did he not smile before?

You picked up your pace, brows furrowed as you watched your son chatter happily.

When did he start speaking so much? Since when did he have so much to say? Was it something new in his diet? Or maybe the new friends on his volleyball team?

You found your gaze shifting to the hand that held his. Without thinking about it too hard, you quickened your steps to come up to Naoko’s other side. Your heart pounded as you held your closest hand out for him to grab hold of. When he finally did, immediately looking forward to dragging the two adults with him, the smile you gave Akaashi was the largest he’s ever seen coming from you.

You looked back at all of your interconnecting hands fondly.

When did he become another person’s son?

I tried going a bit of a different direction with this one in comparison to most Single Parent aus. I’ll admit it could have more meat to it, but oh well, things to improve on.

Question:

Do you prefer weekly one-shots that are shorter in length (like we’re doing) or longer ones with bigger plots and inconsistent updates (Sort of like “Catch Me If You Can” and “Ready Aim FIre” but longer)?

- Bacon

Posted: 31/07/2020

#haikyuu x reader #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #Haikyuu #x reader #oneshot #oneshots #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu reader insert #reader insert #aus #haikyuu aus #fluff #haikyu #anime x reader #anime #manga x reader #manga

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writer-jamie · 4 years ago

Note

how about arthur confessing his love for you after he learns he doesn’t have long to live 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Late Night Confessions - Arthur Morgan x Reader

Summary: When Arthur is told he doesn’t have much time left, the first thing he thought about was you. And how he refused to die without telling you how he feels.

Thank you for the request @s-s-s-s-t-a-r-s !! ❤️

Warnings: Game spoilers

Word Count: 1,455

A/N: AHHHH! I’m playing the game and just as this request came through, Arthur was told he had TB. I’m so sad but i’m going to make this last chapter last forever! Also before i wrote this i made sure to research whether or not TB can be transferred via kissing (It can’t) so this willl have some smooches. This broke me to write but it’s fluffy and cute and sad. So get ready!

As Arthur stumbled into that doctors office and slumped down in the chair, he knew the news wasn’t good. The doctors ran a few tests and washed his hands before telling him. Tuberculosis. His world went black and white as the doctor told him that his time was limited. He was going to die, from an illness that he got from someone he probably didn’t remember. Arthur just had one question for him. “Can i be around people? Y’know kiss and stuff?” He asked. “Yes. Just cover your mouth when you cough and you should be fine. Try not to pass it on, we don’t need a Tuberculosis outbreak in Saint Denis.” The doctor smiled at Arthur. But it wasn’t a genuine smile, it was a smile of condolence. A smile that you give to someone on their death bed.

Arthur left the doctors office and slowly stumbled down the street, when he saw you. You were all he cared about, and now he was going to leave you forever. He felt like he should have cried when he was told, but he couldn’t. The outlaw couldn’t cry over something as simple as death, it wasn’t worth it. He knew he was going to die one day; from a shoot out or the law catching up with them, not from an illness that would slowly kill him over the next couple weeks. His vision went grainy as he walked forwards, seeing you walk alongside a deer. You both turned to see the man before walking off into the distance, leaving him alone to come back to reality.

“Miss L/N!” Mrs Grimshaw’s loud shouting broke you out of your daydream. You looked up and saw her standing in front of you, looking down at the open journal you were holding in your hands. “You can draw people when you have finished your chores! Get on with them!” She yelled before walking away. You wished the old hag would just shut up. You do jobs with Dutch and Arthur now, you shouldn’t be made to also do chores like the other girls. You wish you would be treated like Sadie, who gets to be a proper man around the camp, but that’s unfortunately the way the cards were dealt. You looked down to your hands and a blush crept up your cheeks. You book was open on the page of Arthur sketches. You liked to sketch people at the campfire so when Arthur decided to join you one night, you couldn’t help but sketch his features. After all, it was only you two, and he would never know.

You moved from your place on your bed and put the journal away before following Tilly to the next chore. “Wish that old hag would get off my back sometimes.” Tilly whispered to you as you finished hanging the clothes to dry. You smiled and bumped her shoulder. “Tell me about it.”

As Arthur rode back into camp, he saw you sitting around the campfire with the group. The group hadn’t been the same since what happened in Saint Denis, with Hosea and Lenny dead and John taken, there was only so much people could do without causing an argument. Beaver Hollow was a nice place, but at this point you were just running from the law all around the country and there was only so far you could run. The Pinkertons found you too easily last time, everyone blamed Bill for bringing them to you but you were sure they were close to finding you anyway, so it didn’t make a difference either way.

You hummed along with Javier as he strummed his guitar. He hadn’t played for months, it just didn’t seem right. You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned around, seeing Karen bring you some food. You shook your head but the woman basically forced it into your lap. You hadn’t eaten properly since what happened in Saint Denis. And then with Molly. She was drunk. She probably didn’t even tell them what happened but Susan shot her. She murdered her. Molly was a snotty bitch and she thought she better than everyone when she started sleeping with Dutch but she’s hadn’t always been like that. When you first joined the gang, Molly was sweet to you. She made sure you were safe and eating well, like a mother figure. When Molly started being sweet on Dutch, she left you behind and Susan took over. That woman had saved you muliple times and you owed her a lot, but she shouldn’t have killed Molly, espcially when she was as drunk as she was.

Karen sat next to you on the log and smiled as she made sure you ate. It wasn’t much but it was something and it showed that Karen cared. And you were grateful for that. You knew that Karen was having a rough time, looking down a bottle everyday but everyone deals with grief and pain in their own way. When Arthur went missing after Saint Denis, you joined the woman down the end of the bottle and you would ride around town, shooting anyone who wanted to have a fight. You were going off the deep end and you couldn’t stop. Arthur managed to bring you out of that for a days that he was back before he started helping people again.

After you finished your food, Karen gave you a loving hug and rocked you gently. It was something you didn’t think you needed but it was so welcome.

The fire crackled as the night went on. You were alone with just your thoughts for a few minutes before a shadowed figure joined you at the fire. “What’s a lady like you sittin’ here all alone?” You looked up to see Arthur joining you on the log. “Actually i was waiting for you to get back.” You passed Arthur your cup of coffee and looked into his eyes. “Somethin’ botherin’ you, Arthur?” You asked, noticing the skin on his cheeks looking more red as you looked more at him. “Ah it’s nothin’.” He coughed slightly. You furrowed your brow and put your hand on his back.

“Arthur? What’s wrong?” You put your hand on his cheek and held his hand. “I’m sick. Very sick.” He told you and took his hat off, looking into your wide eyes. “Arthur, what kinda sick? Like what’s the matter?” Arthur took a deep breath and looked into your eyes. “I’m afraid I'm going to die. Before i do i need to tell you somethin’.” He put his hands in your lap and looked forward into the fire pit. “Y/N. Ever since you came here, when we found you in that barn. I’ve thought you are beautiful and..” He blushed deeply and looked down, moving slightly in his seat. “Christ, i’m rubbish at this.” He ran a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes.

“Arthur..” You put your hand on his face and turned his face towards you. “Why are you only tellin’ me this now? When you are goin’ to leave me?” You tilted your head to face him. The sound of the fire was the only sound that was left. Arthur didn’t know what to say, and neither did you. You hoped that nobody would wander out their tent and see this situation.

“’Cause i couldn’t die without tellin’ you how i feel.” He leaned forward and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “’Cause i love you.” You took a deep breath and looked at him. “Can i kiss you?” Arthur asked and put his hand against your cheek. “Are you allowed to kiss me?” You asked, unsure what the rules were for his illness. “Yea. I would never put you in danger.” You smiled and moved closer towards him before placing a gentle kiss on his lips. He pulled away when he felt water dripping on his face.

“Y/N. Why you cryin’?” He asked and engulfed your cheeks with his big hands and held you close, rubbing away the tears. “’Cause i’m gonna lose you Arthur. And i don’t wanna lose you.” Arthur moved your hand to his chest. You mumbled as you felt his heartbeat drum against his chest. “You will be in ma heart forever.” You sniffled and leaned forward, placing your head against his chest. “I love ya.” He kissed your forehead and rubbed your shoulders.

You sat up and placed your lips on his before placing a small kiss on his cheeks. “I love you too, Mr Morgan. Don’t you leave me just yet.” You pulled him into a hug. All he needed was you, and he knew he was going to be fine.

#arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 spoilers #red dead redemption 2 #request

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 5 years ago

Text

O’ Captain, My Captain

Thanks to the Old Me music video, I unearthed this old fic. Here is Football!Calum. With a hint of Artist!Calum.

Calum took his chance. To be selfish. To have both things. Football and Art.

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The grass feels different beneath his sneakers. He’s already walked with the team to put the equipment up. The coaches have already clapped him on the back, smiled at him, told him that he made his team proud. Though most importantly, they had hoped he had done himself proud. His mom and dad have already wrapped him in hugs, grins plastered to their faces. They’ve already taken him out to dinner, stuffed him with the fanciest thing on the menu. He’s already cheered in the locker room. His voice is still a little hoarse. Three championship games in a row under his belt. This game, that took place less than three hours ago, was his last hurrah. His freshman and sophomore year weren’t total defeats. They made it to the finals, but didn’t quite make it all the way. And now with junior, senior, and this first year as a postdoc have felt like fever dreams.

It’s amazing to go out on such a high note. He can’t help but smile at the thought, the adrenaline that fueled him as he drove the ball downfield with just seconds left. They were up by one goal. It’s not like they needed another one. Calum was greedy for it. No, he was starving for it. It was the fire in his bones that kept him running down that field. The goalie, normally pretty good at reading fakes, took the bait as Calum juked left a little. He dove a second too early, clearing the right side of the goal and Calum watched the ball sail before hitting the back of the net. Time did not exist. He wasn’t breathing. Just watching the ball, praying it didn’t hit the beam.

Folding his arms behind his head, he stretches out onto the grass. It’s cool even beneath the hoodie. He’s had some good memories on this field. The summer before he started his undergraduate career, he conditioned with them. He was picked up by his team at his secondary school. He could’ve gone pro. School was never supposed to be his thing. It never was his thing if he was honest. He was bored one day in school and decided to crash one of the art classes, skipping the ever so important free block built into his schedule so he could study and work on homework that was coming up or forgotten until the last minute. The teacher knew him fairly well and he wouldn’t rat him out. They broke out another sketchbook and some pencils. “If you’re going to avoid the other schoolwork, just doodle. I’ll give ya extra credit.”

So Calum figured what the harm, besides a potentially insurmountable stack of after school detentions. He could skip class, fuck about in a sketchbook and get some extra credit. He was all for it. But he found himself skipping his other classes more often. He wasn’t terrible at drawing. He definitely wasn’t great. It was just something he wanted to get better at. He came by the art hall after class and sat, sketching the lockers lining the walls. He sketched classrooms. He was getting good and he was enjoying it. The next year he made sure he was taking art classes. Calum never thought he’d give a shit about school, but he gave a shit about art. While he cared for art, he never saw it as viable. Football was his only option.

“You thought about uni?” His teacher asked right at the end of Year 11.

“Not much. School’s not my thing.”

“But art is.”

“So is football,” Calum countered.

“Aren’t some schools looking to give you a scholarship?”

Calum looked up from the sketchbook, back out the window to the benches for lunch when the weather permitted. “Yeah, some in the States. A couple in the UK, a few local schools. But I can’t. You know, football’s my thing.”

His teacher sat down next to him, gently sliding the book out from Calum’s hand. He already knows what’s on the inside but flips through the pages gingerly. The football field, his friends, his parents and sister, scenes of everyday life. The way Calum captured light was amazing, and normally took years to get just right. It was so easy to see the sort of knack Calum had for it. “What if both could be your thing?”

It wasn’t as easy as just having both things. He needed to keep his grades up in order to play at a university. He had to give a shit and it was quickly showing in his first years that he wasn’t. He was nearly dropped from the team for his grades. The general education requirements were ridiculous and all he wanted to do was run on the field and draw not the other bullshit between. But a chat with his mother changed all that. She was never unfair but always firm. He went to the tutoring center. He got off academic probation. He kept his head above water and pushed through the general education stuff.

Now here he is, going into his second year of graduate studies for studio art. Here he is, at the end of his football eligibility. Here he is laying in the middle of the field.

He can still hear the roar of the crowd. The sidelines are still packed with people. His body is sore no doubt. Even the cool down stretch can’t take all the pain away. When he goes to sit up, he’s definitely going to feel it in his quads. Right now in his memory, he is still dribbling downfield. He is still sweating, panting, praying he can get that final goal. Right now he is the little boy in his parent’s backyard, grinning ear to ear as his mother takes a picture before his first game. He is twelve again, running drills after practice until his legs felt like they would collapse beneath him. The only thing that matters right now is the echo of his heart thundering in his chest. He will always miss this feeling, everything on the line. Blood, sweat, and pain all pushing him to keep his eyes open, pushing him to be two steps ahead.

“Hey!” Calum hears the shouting but thinks nothing of it. “Hey!” the voice calls again. It’s closer to him now. The sounds of running over grass hitting his ears. He’s all too familiar with the sound. “You’re Calum, right? Calum Hood?”

He opens his eyes, squinting up to the voice. He sits up with a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” The girl’s dressed in a leotard and leggings, duffle bag hiked up onto her shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to say congrats on the win. My brother’s on the team.” Now as the sun clears and he can see her face a bit more properly, she does resemble Hawkins. Sophomore. Good guy, pretty kick-ass center fullback.

“He never mentioned having a sister.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly cool to go to the same uni as your sibling. But I got picked for academics and he got in on football.”

“Looks like you play something? Maybe the dance team?” he questions, gesturing to the bag.

She nods. “Yeah, sort of.”

“Sort of? Either you dance or you don’t,” he laughs.

“I do, dance I mean. I also do baton twirling. But didn’t mean to interrupt your moment too much. Just wanted to say congrats. I’ll miss you on the field.”

Calum nods, hugging his knees to his chest. He glances over the opened field. “I’m going to miss it too.”

“It’ll always be here though. In a way, you know?” He hums in agreement with her statement. It will be. Just won’t be quite the same. “We’ll be practicing at the other end of the field. But if it’s too loud or anything, don’t be afraid to shout at us or anything.”

He smiles. “We are outdoors. Only so much I can really complain about it.”

She grins, a small tuft of laughter escaping her. “Touche.” She takes another step. “Well, congrats again, if I don’t see you at the party later.”

“Thank you. It means a lot.”

Calum watches her cross the field for a few seconds longer and continues to sit, knees to his chest. His legs are still sore. They will be for a couple more days. He’s alright with that. Calum reaches into his bag, pulling out his sketchbook and pencils. He tries to capture the scene from memory, the packed crowd, the anticipation, the desire. His chest squeezes and his grip on his pencil slacks.

The sting behind his eyes confirms the tightness of his chest. He brings his gaze back up to the slightly clouded sky, blurry due to the tears. He’s won. He actually won and he’s leaving. The end is sweeter than he imagined. It’s bitter too, to know that he won’t ever step back into his jersey. But it’s somehow sweeter. To know that his legacy will leave on, for at least one more year as he finishes out his degree in studio art. It’s sweeter to end like this. To end on top, to end knowing that he followed a path that allowed him to chase both loves.

_________________________________

The house is loud, even from the end of the block. It’s a good thing that the football house is situated pretty close to the rest of the frat houses, or else issues would ensue. Calum’s sure something is up as he closes in on the house. The ruckus isn’t from the football house, it’s from the house next to it. He’s unsure if he should try the door. The lights are on, maybe he’s early. The text he got told him nine. He’s only a few minutes late. Public transit was a little late getting him from the stop near his apartment, which isn’t terrible.

The door’s locked. So he knocks, stuffing his hands back into the pocket of his jacket. When it opens, he’s greeted with cheers, slaps to the shoulder. “The man of the hour!”

“Nah, nah,” Calum smiles, slipping out of his coat. He drapes it over the pile forming in the corner, over the back of one of the chairs. He turns to the kitchen. There’s a fixing for just a beer hitting him. He freezes though, staring at his coaches. “Coach Ball, Coach Hobbs, what’re--what’s happening here?”

They grin at him. Coach Hobbs steps forward. “We know. It’s not cool of us to crash a party like this. But, we figured you might want to know this before ya get sloshed.”

Coach Ball steps in. “We can’t extend your contract. Shite we know. But what we can do, is make sure you always keep a part of us with ya.” He extends a white box with a red bow wrapped around it.

The air’s not even pressing itself into his lungs it feels. Calum’s hands shake a little as he takes the box, pulling on the mesh bow. Pulling the top off, there sits a white jersey, decorated in his number, 11, staring back at him in green. The school’s name and logo also printed onto it. He pulls it out of the box, tears still slightly blurring his vision. As he turns it over, he notices his name also written across the back. He’s normally got a crier. Not that he’s crying right now, it’s just a few tears. It’s not like they can retire his number. But the ability to still hold onto it, the memories make him happy. The fact that he can still hold onto this.

“Thank you,” he whispers, putting the jersey back. He pulls both of them into hugs. His lungs can now fully expand as his coaches pat him on the shoulder, whispered praises falling gently between the three of them. Both coaches leave after that, but not before taking a beer each with them. The room chants for Calum to don the new jersey. He sheds the black tee, draping the white material over his body. A can is passed to each of them.

“This round’s for Captain Hood,” Trundle shouts. He’s taking over as captain now. “He always sailed this ship to success.”

The words catch in his throat. “It-it wasn’t me. It was the team. You guys sailed yourselves.” There are another round of cheers, cans clinking together and the first seem is bitter as always but Calum gets choked as his throat seizes attempting to not let any more tears fall down his cheeks.

The party continues, the music thumping throughout the house. Less dancing but more mingling is the call for socialization. The same girl from early comes up to him, leggings traded in for distressed jeans and a lacey cropped top. “Drink looks a little low,” she grins at him, before holding out another can.

He has no clue if she’s younger than Hawkins or not, so he politely declines the drink. “Thanks though. Gonna drink up on some water right now.” She nods and then shimmies through the crowd.

When the party dies down, around one in the morning, Calum lingers around to help clean up some before his ride pulls up. The driver is nice, keeps conversation pretty short during the five-minute drive. As he walks back into his apartment, the first of his roommates to arrive from their nights of mischief, he settles onto the couch. He unzips himself out of his boots, pulling the jacket off his shoulders. He inspects the jersey, thankfully no spills, no stains. He pulls it off, walks to his room and drapes it over the back of his chair at his desk. He’s unsure of whether or not to frame it. Though, his brain is completely sober right now to even consider that. He shimmies out of the jeans and lies across his bed, sleep finding him fast.

His alarm blares, the next morning. He groans, partially cursing himself for leaving it set. But he knows he needs it. Even though his shift is later in the evening, he’s still got a paper to finish up and his portfolio to clean up. It sucks to have to worry now about tuition, his scholarship covered him for all his years as a player, but now, with one last year and no more sports eligibility, him and his parents are figuring out the best way to cover the costs.

Calum sits up, the jersey staring back at him. It’s real. He didn’t really dream up the coaches handing him that jersey. He didn’t conjure it up in his subconscious as his own selfish desire to never part from it. That jersey is real and his, his number with him forever. It continues to hit him that his time is up during the week. More and more people stop him in the hallways, on the paths that lead to buildings, in the library, in the cafeteria to congratulate him. The older ladies serving him, heap his plates with extras, smile at him in the way that only older ladies can that make you feel fuzzy on the inside.

He settles down at the benches in front of the library and works on sketching the fountain. He’s been working on it for his final portfolio for a long time. He watches some kids, kicking a football around. His chest warms as they laugh amongst themselves. He decides to put them into the drawing too. He wishes he could capture their laughter, the way they grin at each other and shout at what should be a foul. He wishes he could capture the smiles on their parents' faces as they watch their children. Glancing down to his watch, he notes that his whole break is just about up, so he packs up his things and starts towards the art building.

In his brief walk, he realizes he could’ve chosen pro. That would’ve worked out for him. But he wouldn’t have these opportunities to still feel human, to chase for that rush of getting the lighting just right in a drawing, in the huge release when his brush hits that canvas. Art is the same need to emote like on the field. It’s just on canvas this time. He could have both things and he’s glad he got them.

#calum hood #calum hood fic #calum hood fanfic #football!calum #calum 5sos #calum hood imagine #5sos #5sos imagine #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #h writes #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer imagine #artist!calum

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little-bit-of-cinnamon · 5 years ago

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I Just Hid it Better - Javid AU

Anything Javid love confession I’m a sucker for love confessions like either Davey confessing his love to Jack on accident (please) or “hand holding but it’s complicated”

Javid Modern AU - 2.3k words Jack sketches David as he sleeps

The sound of the door slamming woke David up from his nap on the couch. Groggily, he rubbed his eyes and sat up to see Jack setting his bag down by the door. He could see the guilt on Jack’s face when he realized he woke David up.

“Sorry,” he said with an apologetic frown.

“Nah, you’re good.” David repositioned so he was sitting properly. “Tough day?”

“It’s my stupid drawings class,” Jack started, moving into the living room. “It's already not my favorite because charcoal isn’t my medium-”

“Because you prefer oil paint.” David nodded.

“Because I prefer oil paint. And drawing with a group can’t be good for creativity or whatever, I mean how does it make sense to have one model in one pose and it’s just supposed to work for all thirty of us?” Jack sat next to David, kicking his feet onto David’s lap.

“It’s bad enough that we only do portraits, ya know?”

“Because you prefer landscapes.” David nodded, again.

“Because I prefer landscapes. It’s like, I like portraits, but I like drawing people I know, ya know. I feel like I can really get the mood right when I know what they’re like, what’s going on in their head.” At this point David wasn’t convinced Jack could actually hear him over his own rant.

“I wanna work on charcoal and I wanna work on portraits, it’s just that the class isn’t the best environment for me.” Jack took a slow breath. “I’m sorry, I woke you up. Tough day for you too?”

“Just tired.” David rested his head on the top of the couch cushion. “Work was long.”

“I’ll never understand how you get to work at 5:00 in the morning.”

“People need coffee in the morning and somebody has to serve it.” It was silent for a second before David spoke again. “You can draw me if you want.”

“You hate sitting for my art.” Jack said, surprised.

“I’m not gonna. But I am gonna take a nap, and if you happen to draw me that’ll be okay with me. We’ll see if you can draw what’s going on in my dream or whatever it is you’re looking to do.” David tapped Jack’s legs on his lap so Jack swung his legs back onto the floor and stood.

“Geez, Dave. Isn’t that a little intimate?” Jack joked, but he was already walking toward his bag with his sketchbook. “I mean, I didn’t mean it like,” David was relieved Jack had walked away and couldn’t see him blush.

“I know, Dave. Take your nap, you deserve it.” Jack settled on the floor with his back against their coffee table and his sketchbook in his lap. Surprisingly easily, David drifted off to sleep.

David woke up to a completed sketch on the coffee table and Jack cooking dinner in the kitchen. With a yawn and a stretch David stood up and wandered into the kitchen, he sat on the counter and kicked his foot out to nudge Jack. “Whatcha making?”

Jack turned and grabbed David’s head and gave him an exaggerated kiss on the forehead. “Stir fry!” He said with a smile.

“Damn, you’re excited, must be the one from Trader Joes.” “No, it’s just,” Jack waved a wooden spoon as he spoke. “I’m just really happy with how my sketch came out and I actually feel really good about my drawings class now. I mean, I have to keep up the practicing outside of class so I don’t get stuck in a rut again-” “But you’re feeling better?” David filled in.

“But I’m feeling better!” Jack turned the stove off and took two plates out of the cabinet. He served two plates of the stir fry before joining David on the counter top. “Thanks for letting me sketch you,” “I literally just took a nap on the couch, but I’m glad you got your groove back. Thanks for dinner.” David was always willing to help out, well, he hated sitting for Jack’s art. Just sitting here for as long as it took for Jack to either finish or get bored, hours. But if all he had to do was nap on his couch after his six hour opening shift, well that wasn’t a bad deal.

The next few days were business as usual until Jack’s next class and David’s next shift. David came home, got changed, and took his place on the couch. He scrolled through Instagram, attempting to stay awake but the fatigue from his early shift and long work day caught up to him.

This time, he woke up to Jack on the couch beside him and Netflix playing quietly on the TV in front of them. When David stretched his arms out he accidently hit Jack on the chest. “You’re up!” Jack turned the volume of the TV up.

“I’m up.” David sat up so he was sitting next to Jack, rather than lying with his head by Jack’s lap. “How was class?”

“A lot better than last time. Obviously it’s still not my favorite but it’s not a drag anymore.” Jack pulled some of David’s blanket over his own legs.

“That’s great, Jack.” They settled into a comfortable silence for a while, ordering a pizza for dinner and watching Netflix until the evening. Eventually, Jack left to take a shower and David noticed his sketchbook sitting on the coffee table, again.

He picked it up and began flipping through the pages, Jack never was secretive of his work. There was a mixture of drawings of his friends and models from class and they were all amazing, David would be the first to tell you how talented Jack is, but David could tell the difference. He could see the love and concentration on the sketch Race’s face as he worked out a problem in his notebook.

The sketches of the models were more technical. Each stroke looked calculated, precise. It looked incredible, but in comparison it just wasn’t the same. David flipped the page and there was the drawing of him from earlier in the week. He looked peaceful, calm. David was surprised by how… nice he looked. He always thought Jack’s art presented David as much more attractive than any photo. It was probably just Jack being nice and not including his imperfections.

The next page was another model, from class today. Again, beautiful but with less emotion than the ones of David and their friends. David was about to set the book down when he noticed there was another sketch on the next page.

It was David. Asleep on the couch with his phone resting next to him. Asleep. David didn’t know Jack was going to sketch him again. He wasn’t like, weirded out or anything but he was a little surprised. He figured Jack would prefer a more interesting subject than a sleeping David. But, still, he looked better than David saw himself. It was a beautiful sketch.

“Sorry, I hope it was cool that I sketched you again.” Jack stood in the doorway of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel.

“No, it’s no problem. I figured you’d want a more interesting subject now that you’re more inspired, or whatever.” Jack walked into his room to get dressed as David spoke.

“Dave, I got all the inspiration I need sleeping on my couch everyday.” David pretended that his heart didn’t skip a beat.

“That so?” David managed to squeak out.

“Yeah, Dave.” Jack came back, dressed, using his towel to dry his hair. “I mean I know you so well I feel like I always know what’s going through your head, conscious or not.”

David could practically feel his heart beating in his ears. He hoped Jack couldn’t tell what was going on in his head at this particular moment.

“It doesn’t hurt that you got a nice face to draw, too.” Jack wandered into the kitchen, casually looking in the fridge, as if he isn’t making David’s heart go a mile a minute.

David wanted to smile, to tease Jack as they’ve been doing for years but for some reason he was nervous. He couldn’t get the words out. Something about the compliments, the vulnerability, the emotion in the art. He just felt different than he usually did with Jack. Flirting isn’t uncommon in their friend group but Jack sounded genuine and David could tell he was speaking differently than he usually would with the guys.

But it was getting late and he was tired, he’ll probably feel differently in the morning.

“Good night, Jack.” David stood up and stopped in the kitchen for a bottle of water.

“You alright, Davey?” “Yeah, work in the morning, that’s all.”

“Good night, then.” David couldn’t see the way Jack watched him walk into his room, a concerned look on his face.

Work. Home. Change. Nap.

David got tired of the routine but he needed the money, and he liked his job, really. Good coworkers and regulars he could chat with. It wasn’t all bad. When his classes change next semester he’ll get new shifts and all will be well.

David had hardly woken up when he saw Jack. “Hey,” David said softly, voice low from his drowsiness.

“Hey, Dave. Sorry, I thought you’d be out for a little while longer.” Jack started to close his sketchbook.

“No, it’s okay, I love you.” And suddenly David was awake.

“I mean, I love it. Your art, I mean.” He lost control of the words coming out of his mouth.

“Don’t worry about it Davey, you’re tired. I get it.” Jack grinned.

“Yeah, tired. Sorry if I ruined your process or whatever.” “Don’t worry about it, I’m sure I could draw you with my eyes closed.” Jack continued his sketch.

He wasn’t making this any easier for David.

“You want some tea?” David wouldn't be able to get back to sleep now so he would at least need some caffeine in him. He knows Jack won’t touch coffee.

“Do we have peach?” Jack called to the kitchen.

“I wouldn’t have offered if we didn’t.” David turned the coffee pot and the kettle on before taking the tea out of the cabinet.

He leaned on the counter, looking into the living room. Jack was still sitting on the floor, sketching, even though David had left. He stood and watched him until the kettle began to whistle. He did love Jack, and so what if his feelings might be romantic? He and Jack have been friends forever, this can’t be the thing that brings them apart. Still, that doesn't mean that he should say anything to Jack, or say anything else, really.

He prepared their drinks and brought them into the living room, he set Jack’s mug beside him on the table, not wanting to disturb him further. As soon as David sat down Jack closed his sketchbook and joined David on the couch.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you lately, you’ve been working so much.” Jack sat dangerously close to David.

“The money’s good. I’m hoping if I keep up the hours next semester I could be a manager over the summer.” David sipped his drink slowly, taking in the heat.

“But I miss you, shouldn’t that be a consideration?” Jack took a sip. “This is good, Dave.”

“That’s the kind of good work that’s gonna land me the promotion. I’m scarily good at putting a tea bag into hot water.”

“Shut up and take the compliment.”

David didn’t realize he missed Jack too until they started talking again. Usually they would sit and eat together while watching TV or they would hang out in groups. He and Jack have been friends for years but he still missed him. Suddenly Jack seems far away. He wishes he could be closer to Jack, romantically. He wants to reach out and touch him, kiss him, love him.

But he doesn’t want to lose what they have. He’s probably worried about nothing, but still. He can’t just look to his best friend and say “hey I think I’m in love with you.” It was bad enough when he accidently let it slip. But maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing? Jack’s been single for a while and it’s not like he’ll be infringing on something. And Jack wouldn’t judge him, would he?

“Hey, Jack?” Jack hummed in acknowledgment as he sipped his tea.

“Earlier, when I-” “Don’t worry about it, Davey. You were tired and it’s not like I don’t love you too.” Jack leaned into David, bumping their shoulders together.

Jack really wasn’t making this easier.

‘Right, right. It’s just that, recently, I don’t know. I feel like I might be developing some… feelings. For you.” David stared into his mug, afraid to look up at Jack.

“You feel like you might maybe?” Jack said, cautiously but with a grin.

“Jack.”

“Right, sorry. You’re sure about this?” Jack looked to David.

“I felt like it would be better to just tell you, so it doesn’t affect our friendship.” David finally made eye contact with Jack.

“Actually, that’s not the best idea.”

David’s heart dropped.

“I mean,” Jack began, “our friendship is for sure gonna be different.” “Jack, I’m so sorry. I just-” Jack cut him off. “I mean kissing you stupid, that’s gonna affect our friendship. And going on dates and stuff.”

“Do you mean..?” David couldn’t finish his sentence, couldn’t get his brain all in one place.

“I mean I would do anything to be your boyfriend, Davey.” “I was so scared that I was gonna ruin everything.” Jack could hear the smile in David’s words.

“I’ve been scared to say something for years, you’re just braver than me.” Jack grinned back.

“Maybe changing our relationship up a bit won’t be the worst thing,” David said, leaning into Jack.

#Newsies #Javid #Jack Kelly #davey jacobs #modern javid #newsies fanfiction #Modern Newsies #twist writes

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ancientbooshartifacts · 5 years ago

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How Dave Brown Falls in Love

Author: coeur_de_noir

Year: 2008

Rating: PG

Pairing: Mike/Dave, Noel/Dave, Noel/Julian

“Alright?” Dave looks up from his sketchpad, a half smile of greeting on his lips before his eyes even properly register the figure lolling in his doorway. His blue eyes glint in amusement as he takes in the jumbled assortment of hair and elbows and knees propped up by the doorjamb, all unlikely angles and unexpected curves. “You look like a Brecht,” Dave says, and chuckles. Noel laughs softly, his intoxicated grin so wide that his back teeth catch and reflect the dim lamplight. “Yeah, and I'm hung like a Pollock,” he retorts, and staggers the short but strewn path across the student common room to the sofa, upsetting Dave’s pencil box, a glass of water and a packet of cigarettes on the way. “Anyway,” he continues, “I’m a post modern bitch, Brown. Warhol, not Brecht, yeah? All bright colours and social irony.” “You’re a tit,” says Dave, patting Noel’s knee with one hand and righting the glass with the other. He shoves a cushion over the puddle of water and watches it soak into the fabric, before pushing it half under the coffee table, like it never existed. He picks up his sketchpad again, and rests it on his knee. “Whatcha drawing, boy wonder?” Noel peers over his shoulder, pushing his errant hair back with a languorous hand, his skin smelling like an incongruous mixture of hashish and musk sticks and sweat. His smooth cheek presses against Dave’s slightly stubbled one, and his breath fans across Dave’s skin, tickling his throat. Dave feels Noel smile as they both regard the sketch coming to life on the page under Dave’s expert fingers. “Hey, its me!” Noels pleasure is evident in his voice, and his arms snake around Dave’s waist, hands clasping just above Dave’s belly button. He leans forward slightly, and his thin chest presses along Dave’s back, so close that Dave can feel the protrusion of each rib. Noel laughs, and Dave’s world vibrates. “You’ve got my nose wrong, Brown. Back to portraiture 101 for you!” Dave swats his forearm amiably. “It’s an elusive nose, Fielding, impossible to capture, changing at will.” “Like a chameleon!” Noel exclaims, and laughs. “Born adapter, blending into its environment,” Dave agrees. “Is it a nose.. no, its an ear.. oh nooo it’s a crooked finger!” Noel giggles and Dave rolls his eyes. “Now you’re starting to sound like a Picasso.” Noel smiles and presses his lips against the pulse in Dave’s throat, and Dave can feel more than see that Noel has closed his eyes. The intimacy is unexpected, but not unwelcome or unknown - it’s Noel, after all, and his casual touches have been more or less constant since Dave met him. It’s comfortable, actually. Somehow right. “I like that you’re drawing me,” Noel says. And it was more or less at that exact moment that Dave Brown fell in love with Noel Fielding. * “You should come see this guy with me tonight Dave, I’m telling you, he’s genius!” It’s months after that night, and Dave still hasn’t done anything about the small shining feeling he has in his gut that’s expressly reserved for Noel. He looks over the top of his camera, smiling at Noel’s enthusiasm and patiently waiting for Noel to recall that he’s meant to be posing. He laughs inwardly as he sees the moment of recollection, the way Noel looks a bit furtive and guilty before settling back on the windowsill and arranging his limbs into a graceful recline. The camera flashes and Dave moves a little closer, setting up the next shot. “Who is he, anyway?” Dave’s voice is absent, and he isn’t really listening, but he likes the way that Noel’s face looks when he talks and he wants to get that on film if he can. His fingers adjust the lens and he bends, poised in a shaft of sunlight, his hair a golden scruff around his face. “His name is Julian Barratt and he’s the best comedian I’ve ever seen!” Noel’s face lights up, and he leans forward, his eyes widening in excitement. “Dave, honestly, its like he’s reaching into my head and pulling out the words..” Dave chuckles. “Trust you to fall for someone who could be you, you tosser,” he says affectionately, expertly clicking and moving and waiting patiently for the next right expression, the next right light, the next right Noel. “Noel Fielding, the ultimate narcissist.” Noel blushes slightly, and Dave, ever observant, frowns in consternation. Noel, that shameless poptart, blushing? He slowly lowers the camera. “Do you like him?” Dave asks, and his tone is almost incredulous. “Like, like him, like him?” Noel bites his thumbnail and looks slightly shifty, hesitating, and Dave thinks that its pretty much all the answer that he needs. “You do!” It’s not quite an accusation, but its close. “Oh shut it, Brown.” Noel’s hesitation dissolves into a laugh and Dave tilts his head, unsure he’s read the situation correctly. “I just told you I liked him, didn’t I? He’s a brilliant comedian.” “Oh. Oh yeah, right.” Dave shakes himself, dismissing his thoughts, and raises the camera again. Noel flashes him that spectacular sunshine grin, the one Dave thinks he should patent, like how Betty Grable insured her legs or whatever. When he’s famous, that’s the grin that is going to melt the pants off every teenage girl this side of London. Noel settles into a more sedate smile and Dave sighs, wanting that animation back. He decides to push a few buttons, and tells himself its for the shots, just the shots. “So,” he begins, “whats he look like then?” “Hmm?” Noel looks up at him, his brows raising. “Who?” Dave tsks impatiently. “You goldfish. Barratt, of course, who else?” “Oh!” Noel pauses, his mouth opening in thought, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. His eyes wander upwards and Dave snaps off a few quick shots to make sure he gets that look. “Well, he’s tall, I guess. Hugely tall, actually. And, um, unkempt, kind of. Wears odd clothes. Dreadful hair, looks like its been cut by his mum. A big, manly kind of man. Very.. ahh, masculine. And weird...” Dave relaxes slightly, unaware that he was even tense. This Barratt guy doesn’t sound like Noel’s type at all. “... weird and awkward, like his skin is itching. Like he’s itching right out of his freckled northern skin.” “Ah.” Dave says. “He’s clearly from Leeds.” Noel explodes in a burst of laughter. “Clearly from Leeds! Genius!” Dave captures a few last shots. He’ll call these ones Fielding in Motion: Noel’s all bent in on himself, his laugh exuding from every inch of his body, like a muppet. “You know the type. Doesn’t have a car, picks up women in his tractor.” “Or in his wheelbarrow!” Noel giggles and puts on a northern accent that is still somehow distinctly South London, only deeper. “Oi! Get in me wheelbarra!” “Aww ya cheeky vixen!” Dave chimes in and laughs along with Noel, comforted by the fact Noel is so willing to take the piss. “Alright then. Get your gumboots on lovey. Sounds like we have a date with your husky northern gent tonight, eh?” “As if! Gumboots!” Noels smile of exasperation and excitement, when he turns it on Dave, makes Dave’s heart stop. * The applause is fractured and uncertain as Barratt leaves the makeshift stage, and Dave isn’t quite sure what to think. Noel was right, Barratt was kind of like him, with all the flights of fancy and tangents and movement - but with less natural appeal and a lot more anxiety. He had a tendency to leave the uncomfortable silences hanging rather than fill them with beguiling chatter the way that Noel did, and although he was funny, Dave found himself cringing more than once. Beside him at the bar Noel is fair near bouncing out of his skin. “Wasn’t he brilliant, Dave! Didn’t I tell you!” Noel spots Barratt across the pub and waves him over, his grin too large for his face, his eyes alight with eagerness as the big guy approaches. Dave mumbles something non committal, and it wouldn’t have mattered if he said what he really thought anyway because Noel was already turning away from him, shining the full force of his disarming charm into the face of a clearly discomfited Barratt. “Julian! That was brilliant! Everything... you know, everything that you said .. it was all just amazing. I loved it!” Noel’s enthusiasm is almost as painful to watch as Barratt’s awkward receipt of it. Noel looks like an excited puppy that’s torn between shagging Barratt’s leg or doing a little piddle on the carpet. Just as Dave decides that the mount is more likely, Noel leans over the bar and shouts for a round. Barratt’s gaze flicks in Dave’s direction, but doesn’t quite meet Dave’s own. He nods in acknowledgement, and Dave nods back, and then Noel is pushing the pint into Barratt’s hands and the moment is over. Dave sighs and settles back against the bar, listening with growing pain as the words flow back and forth between Noel and this Barratt character. Noel and Barratt form a circle for two, unconsciously excluding everything else around them as their conversation grows more absurd. Dave can see why Noel likes him - they complement each other almost exactly, like two sides of a coin. Noel is filling in all the awkward silences, and Barratt’s deep tenor is rumbling in appreciation and its like they've known each other for years. Dave forces a smile as Noel turns even further away, drawn against the big man like filings to a magnet. And then Dave sees the look in Barratt’s eyes, and suddenly it’s hard to think of him as 'Barratt' anymore. Suddenly he’s Julian, and the look in Julian’s eyes is familiar because it’s the look that Dave sees every day in the mirror - it’s the look that says that Noel Fielding has entered your life and made you love him and you don’t quite know what to do about it. He gives Julian a half smile of shared understanding and drains his pint in a single swallow. “Righto, lads, I’m off.” “Daaavee,” Noel whines. Noel tries to look at Dave, but he can’t quite draw his eyes away from Julian, and with a sinking feeling Dave suddenly knows that Julian has become Noel’s personal sun, the object that he’ll orbit around for all of his days whether he knows it, or not. It hurts more than he expects, but its also kind of a relief. “Dave nothing,” he smiles, and raises his hand in a half salute to Julian. “See you guys around” he says, and ambles out of the pub and into the dark London night. He was still in love with Noel of course, but that was almost the exact moment that he knew that he would never do anything about it. * Dave sits, laptop nestled in the thick bed of Bollo’s furry knees, blue eyes all smeared with greasepaint and staring fixedly at the flickering screen. He brings up a file, and smiles, his fingers moving with certainty on the mouse. The now famous Fielding-Barratt banter washes over him from across the room, but he isn’t really listening. It’s been years since their personal universe has had the power to hurt him; these days he just records it for posterity. He finds it comfortable to be a part of it, actually. Seeing Julian now - the way his eyes follow Noel like they were on a lead, how he pines for the thing that he wants most but thinks he cant have - Dave thinks he got off lightly. Noel is still Noel of course. He loves Julian unreservedly, and never gives a thought to the fact that Julian is the centre of his universe - Noel just accepts it as the natural order of things and basks in Julian’s adoration, never really thinking about what it might mean to someone who questioned those feelings rather than taking them as their due. Dave’s love as it was has extended, growing to encompass the Boosh in entirety - Noel and Julian and Rich and Mike. His smile deepens a bit at the thought of Mike, actually, and his eyes finally leave the screen to seek the little guy out. Across the room, Mike meets his gaze, wrinkling his nose in Noel and Julian’s general direction as they verbally beat each other. They are co-conspirators, both excluded by the way Noel and Julian are each oblivious to anyone but each other, and Dave likes that - it seems to bring he and Mike closer together. Dave rolls his eyes in sympathy and Mike gets up, his slight figure weaving through the discarded costumes and beer bottles and bubble machines that are scattered over the dressing room floor. He plonks down next to Dave, his turban askew, and passes Dave a roach. As Dave inhales, Mike rests his head on Dave’s shoulder, cosying up to the Bollo fur with a sigh of satisfaction. Dave smiles at the slight weight of Mike, and thinks it feels pretty good. Pretty right, in fact. Mike takes the roach back and glances at the screen, eyes crinkling in delight. “Hey! s’me!” he says, and watches as Dave’s clever fingers add titles and select frames and do all that other mysterious stuff that only Dave knows how to do. “Course it is, little Naboo,” Dave says, in his Bollo voice. “Naboo and Bollo are the Boosh. Never mind them jazzy benders.” Mike laughs and glances over at Noel and Julian, who, having abandoned their sparring, have now settled on the couch, heads bent close as they birth a new creative love child. “Yeah, I’m the hardest working shaman in showbiz!” Mike asserts, and reaches up to brush back a sweaty lock of Dave’s hair. “Blood sweat and tears,” Dave agrees, then adds “sweat, mostly.” Mike grins and looks up at Dave, his expression both innocent and impish. “You look like a Monchichi with your Bollo head off, you know.” he says, and laughs. “Want me to fan your balls?” And it is more or less at that exact moment, that Dave Brown fell in love with another Fielding.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #mike fielding #mike fielding/dave brown #mike/dave #dave brown #noel fielding #julien barratt/noel fielding #noel fielding/dave brown #rps #real person fic

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tasharii · 6 years ago

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Your Colors: Ch.1.

A/N: I was hoping for this to be a oneshot, but it got out of hand very quickly, and became a full, multi-chapter fic. This is for @writingcroissant ‘s 2k challenge. I picked the Artist AU, and ran with it.

I also couldn’t help but create the mood board that you see. Gotta love visual inspiration! I might make one themed for every chapter, not sure yet. This is my first fanfiction ever, so please let me know what you think. I’ll update the warnings with every chapter if something changes.

Summary: Art was the one good thing between college, work, and the grey minutes in-between. Sometimes, it felt like she wasn’t alive at all. Just drifting. When she joined her new art class, she never expected to start experiencing everything in an entirely new light. All thanks to him. Or: Where Bucky Barnes gets more than he bargained from his new drawing partner.

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 11.5K

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, violence, attempted assault

Masterlist

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

****

A cool draft of air pricked goosebumps up across her skin, and she suppressed the urge to shiver. One wrong movement would break her pose. The floral duvet under her was soft, but her knees were starting to ache from holding the position for so long. Her hands were curled against the tops of her thighs, as if she just rose up to kneel on her bed. Y/N’s head was tilted just a little, her hair pulled over one shoulder, facial expression calm. It was hard to stay that way, though. She could feel his eyes on her like blinding sunshine.

The lighting was controlled by mismatched lamps, keeping it consistent and gentle, almost intimate. Three lights were situated around her bed. One by the headboard behind her, another standalone closer, above her head to the left, and the last was further away on a chair in front of her. All the ceiling lights were switched off, and the windows were covered. It was just enough light to keep her bedroom area illuminated, but the rest of the apartment was coated in inky shadows.

Even with the heat on high, the loose, sheer long sleeve blouse she wore wasn’t quite warm enough. Goosebumps crawled up her bare thighs, disappearing underneath her jean shorts. Y/N’s studio apartment always ran on the edge of nippy. The stained tan carpet couldn’t block out the chill. The mass of tall windows on her back wall, across from the door, loved to let the fall air creep in. At least the windows gave a beautiful view of New York’s sparkling skyline. Being on the 14th floor did have some perks.

“You’re frowning again.” His voice broke through her train of thought. It made her shoulders tense up to her ears before she forced them back down. Subtly she flexed her fingers in and out of fists, trying to shake the anxiety. “Do you need a break?”

Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding “No, I’m alright.” She peaked at him from just within her peripheral vision. He was drawing her from a 3-quarter view, a little lower rather than straight on. A chair had been pulled over from her living-room area, and he lounged back in it. One foot propped up on a stool; other on his knee. His large sketchpad rested on his lap, and tucked up close to his face. Pale blue eyes focused on her with such intensity she felt another flush crawl from her chest down to her toes and up to her ears. This was one part of life drawing that she could never quite get used to.

His eyes drifted over her body, taking in every single detail. First trailing across the waves in her hair, then he paused on her lips, passed down to her torso, arms, legs, and lastly he focused on the paper. Bottom lip tucked underneath his teeth, he scraped against the page in small fluid strokes. The rasping of charcoal eased some of the heat that sparked across her skin. Then he looked up again, loose strands of hair falling across his forehead.

Bucky met her eyes for a couple seconds. Her heartbeat picked up again at being caught staring. Then he dropped his charcoal back down into its open case on the end table beside his chair. He let his socked feet down. Placed his sketchpad on the stool and rubbed at the black smudges on his fingers “I think I’m done anyway. I wanna get a drink real quick, then I’ll pose for you.” He wiped the smudges on his jeans as he stood up.

‘Oh thank god’ Y/N thought, then fell back onto her butt, rolling into a sitting position. Stretching her arms above her head, she cracked her back. As she rolled her stiff joints, she listened for Bucky’s footsteps. The light flicked on for her corned off kitchen area. It was all the way on the other side of the apartment, but she heard the fridge door open without one single footstep. He was so damn quiet. Like a ghost. Maybe it was just because of the carpet.

“Can you get me a coke?” She called, scooting to sit on the edge of the bed and then standing. Tingles trailed down her legs, feet asleep, and she awkwardly shook them off. With a couple bouncing steps she went over to the stool. Y/N didn’t dare touch it, didn’t want to smear any of his strokes. Instead, she just moved over so she could peer down at his latest masterpiece.

It had taken him a little over 30 minutes to draw her. Bucky always, somehow, made her look far more beautiful than any mirror had ever done for her. Her hair looked wavy and graceful as it framed her face, and she appeared to be deep in thought. As if she was captured in the moment between deciding to do something and moving into action. Y/N wished she could say that he drew her wrong, made her look like someone else. A girl far more elegant and pretty than her, but it would be an insult to his skill. Bucky captured her truer to herself than anyone else in the world. It was like he saw inside of her. Saw what she was made of and brought it to the surface.

Somehow, he did it every single time.

This was the fourth time he had been over for an art homework session. Probably drawn her upwards of thirty times now between all the impression sketches, and various timed drawings. Always in charcoal. Always with beautiful accuracy.

“What do you think?” Y/N felt something cold and damp brush her arm. She jumped a little bit and whipped around to glare at Bucky for spooking her. He was standing a good foot away, but his arm had stretched out to offer her the canned soda.

Snatching the drink from him, she took a couple calming breaths, and ignored his small smirk “I think this one’s your best so far. You’re getting better with the lighting.”

Now that she was aware of him, he took another step closer. Unconsciously, his right arm brushed hers as he tilted his head, eyeing the drawing critically “Still can’t get your damn nose right.”

“Got a problem with it?” She teased, sipping on her drink and studying the illustration. Honestly, she didn’t notice anything wrong with it. Her 2D nose looked about as accurate as the rest of her. Curling her bare toes into the carpet, she noticed the feeling had finally come back to them.

Bucky glanced up at her and scowled accusingly “Ya, it’s disproportionate to your face.” The light from the lamp on the chair accented his pout, deepening the dimple under his lip.

Y/N couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that came out of her. It was such an absurd, random comment. Still, she pressed her lips and eyebrows down. Tried to be offended. After all, he was insulting her “Excuse me. I think my nose is the best part of my face! You’re the one with a butt chin!” Her voice trembled over her own words. Then she giggled a little harder as his sulking deepened and he rubbed at his chin, shaking his head.

“Now who’s being rude?” His pout finally lifted to a small smile, and he brought his coke to his mouth, swallowing. “I think next time I want you laying on the bed. Think you can let your head hang upside down for 30 minutes?” He caught her gaze, eyebrows raised. She tried to ignore him saying anything about laying on a bed. There was a mischievous spark in his eye that made her stomach flip.

“If I pass out it’s your fault.” She warned, jabbing a finger at him threateningly. He smiled a smidge more at her before backing up and going to sit his drink down on her desk. Every smile he gave her felt like a surprise, and she couldn’t quite believe how much had changed in such a short period of time.

Things were getting easier with him. It had taken a good two weeks, seeing each other twice a week in their mutual art class, and then twice outside of class to work on the homework. Y/N knew he would be tough. She could tell that from ‘Hello’. Just hadn’t properly estimated how difficult.

In the beginning, he barely talked beyond adjustments to her pose, and comments on her anatomical errors. Never rudely. Definitely blunt, but his voice was soft, and he helped her after critiquing her. She had thought he was irritated every time he came to her apartment to work. Thought she annoyed him whenever she sat next to him in class. It made her anxiety relentlessly torment her like the devil it was.

Last Friday, though, she finally started to pick up on his dry humor. It was only small comments here and there. Little quips about the poses she made him do, or her obnoxiously loud neighbors. When she fed into it, he made more. Now he was beginning to smile easier. She eventually asked him about his brooding, while sketching him sitting in a chair. Bucky had cracked up. A full body laugh that took up her entire apartment. Between snorts he explained that his friends said he had a ‘killer resting bitch face’. It was one of their inside jokes. He was sorry if he gave her the wrong idea. All his waving hands, gesturing as he spoke, completely ruined her sketch. There was no getting him back into the same position. It was worth it.

These days, she wondered why she ever thought he was scary.

“Got any plans for Halloween?” Y/N asked, turning her drink in her hands. The holiday fell on a Wednesday this year, so most parties were scheduled the Saturday after. That was only a week away.

Bucky smeared the condensation of his can across his right fingers, rubbing at the leftover charcoal dust. The small of his back leaned against her desk as he thought about it. Charcoal had managed to get all the way down to his wrist. His thumb brushed over his fingertips and then he rubbed them again on his jeans. There were smudged stains on the faded blue now, next to his side pocket. He didn’t seem to care.

She tried to stop staring, looking back down at his drawing right as he glanced back up to answer. “Probably gonna go to my friend’s party. Maybe scare the kids that dare ring his doorbell.” He gave a wicked smirk. Then clapped his hands together, rubbing them conspiratorially. The sound was muted by his glove and had a dull ring from the metal underneath.

“Like you need to give more poor people nightmares from your ugly mug.” She teased. Well that answered her question. She thought maybe she could invite him to go with her and her friends to club Hydra. Obviously, he would be spending time with his friends. Friends she didn’t have any idea about.

“Oh ha ha.” Bucky rolled his eyes with exaggerated, sarcastic laughter. “So! Where do you want me and my ugly mug?” He asked, arms spread wide in mock invitation.

“Don’t pout. At least you don’t have to buy a costume.” Y/N continued. He didn’t even bless her with a response. Just pinned his grey eyes at her a bit more.

Slowly, she walked over to sit her own drink down beside his, lips pressed together. Peering around the room, she crossed her arms in thought. Finally, she nodded her chin towards the window sill. It was her middle, largest window. The one that opened to her fire escape. The sill doubled as a seat and had a couple cushions already laid out on it.

“Open the blinds and lean against it.” It was getting to be later afternoon, so the light should be pouring in the window without the blinds blocking it. As he pushed off from the desk, Bucky knocked his shoulder playfully against hers. She hesitated back for just a second, watching him stroll easily across her apartment. Honestly, she hadn’t realized that he never touched her before until he started to. It wasn’t like he touched her all the time now, but something told her it was significant that he did at all.

With a shake of her head, Y/N followed Bucky over to the window and let him push aside the pale blue curtains. Then he tugged the blinds up, turned and rested back against the window, arms crossed. He didn’t completely sit down onto the sill. Instead he sat on the very edge, using his legs to support him. It wasn’t a very comfortable position, but it was visually dynamic.

“This good?” He tilted his head and studied her curiously. He was wearing a black hoodie, left hand covered with a glove. His hair was easily brushed back from his face, shorter on the sides. Stubble covered his cheeks, but he still had a boyish charm to him, even with the small smudges of rings under his stark blue eyes.

She knew what was under his glove. It wasn’t like Bucky insisted on hiding his metal arm, but he did go out of his way to keep it covered as much as possible. Sometimes in class he would shed his jacket, long sleeves underneath it, but then he would roll up the sleeves to wash his right hand. He would remove the glove to keep it from getting wet. Didn’t usually even flinch whenever anyone looked, surprised, but no one asked. Prosthetics were rare, but not unheard of considering the war. Metal prosthetics were rarer, only Stark Industries made them, and they were ungodly expensive.

However, in all the sessions they had drawing each other, she hadn’t drawn him without his arm covered in some way. He had drawn her in various stages of undress: dresses, skirts, shorts, jackets, and even a sports bra once. Y/N had a feeling that this would be what she would use for her final Figure Drawing project. If he just didn’t have his jacket on. Maybe she could finally capture the essence of him that she had missed every time.

“One second.” She stated quickly, stepping back and flitting around her apartment. First, she turned off all the lamps over near her bed. Then she walked around the wide bookshelf that separated her bed from the living-room area and turned off the kitchen light beyond that. There was enough light pouring in from the window for her to draw by. Plus, having only one light source made the shadows he created deeper.

Having all that done, she steeled herself, debating a moment longer. It wouldn’t hurt to ask would it? She picked at the edges of her sheer sleeves, they covered down to her fingers. Bucky tracked the movement with his eyes. He really did have artist habits. Sometimes she wondered if he ever missed anything. Any small detail.

“Do you think you could take off your hoodie?” She quickly asked, a little hesitantly. Just throw it out there. Despite the anxiety, she tried to be as casual about it as she could.

Bucky’s eyes widened just a fraction before he gave a smooth smile and furrowed his eyebrows “You trying to defile my honor?” He chuckled teasingly, giving her an obvious once-over, then tutted with a click of his tongue “I didn’t take you for that kinda girl!” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket and reclined back a bit more. The light made pieces of his hair shine copper.

She scoffed “Oh you wish Barnes.” Then she shook her head, staring up at the high vaulted ceiling. Why did this difficult man had to be her muse?

“I just think the lighting and pose would look better without your dark ass jacket casting one big mass of shadows.” She jabbed a finger at it and stared at him stubbornly. She didn’t mention that his metallic arm would also look beautiful in the golden light of the sunset, but she figured he would come to that conclusion on his own.

“I’m wearing a tank top underneath this.” He stated, joking demeanor becoming subdued with his statement, voice softening. Bucky didn’t turn his gaze away from her. Slouched down like he was, she managed to stand at his height. Her bare toes were nearly touching his. The length of his stretched legs kept her a good arm’s length away. Bucky always seemed to have a bubble that he rarely let anyone in. People walked around him with a wide breadth. Y/N supposed he could be intimidating. Especially in moments like this. Where his eyes unwaveringly bore into hers, and he dropped his charming, dry humor. A joke wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“That’s fine by me.” She finally replied, clearing her throat from where it had become filled with sand. Honestly, she didn’t know Bucky all that well. They spent upwards of 10 hours a week together, working on the same class, bonding over art, but she still didn’t really know him. She knew he was a veteran, he was casually vague about that if the arm didn’t tip anyone off. Their art teacher, Ramsey, was also a veteran, and liked to talk about it with Bucky. Probably a sense of comradery. She knew his favorite medium was acrylic, and he worked at The Rosalie Bakery. That was about it, though, and all that stuff was pretty damn superficial.

As he kept his stare locked with hers for a few heartbeats longer than comfortable, she began to wonder if maybe she pushed too far. It was obvious he was a private guy. Maybe he was embarrassed about it. Maybe he didn’t want it captured forever down on paper. She was just about to back off when his right hand moved up to the zipper of his hoodie. Her eyes immediately tracked the movement. It rested below his chest, already partially down. The sound of the zipper broke the silence, louder than the clunking of her apartments central air.

“Alright, but good fucking luck drawing this hunk of metal. I swear shading it is gonna be a bitch for you.” Bucky groused, and she took a soft breath before smiling encouragingly with a flash of teeth.

“I think I can handle it.”

He tossed the jacket to the floor, and then rolled his shoulder a little. The wife beater didn’t hide much of anything. Y/N could see the thick jagged scars from where the metal ended, and his skin began. There was intricate paneling and the plates hissed a little as they shifted in response to him moving. His flesh fingers plucked the ends of the glove off, and then dropped it down on top of his jacket.

It only took two seconds for her trained eyes to devour every detail before she hurried to grab her sketchpad and standing easel. She wanted to draw him at eye level, just from the side closer to his metal arm. The light refracted, multicolored, across the silver. It was just as stunning as she thought it would be. “Can you just prop your left elbow up above your head? Ya like that. Now tilt your head towards me. Good. And relax.” She spoke quickly, already starting to block in shapes.

“Whatever you say Picasso.” Bucky rolled his eyes before relaxing his face, and he watched her draw.

Normally, she would tell him to look somewhere else. Maybe down, or up above her, but not this time. This time it was perfect that he was challenging her. Challenging the viewer. Daring them to look at him. Daring them to stare.

Y/N felt her heartbeat pick up, and she brushed the charcoal across her page, suddenly caught in a drawing fever. She could feel excitement sparking her fingers as she drew him. This was why she wanted him to be her partner.

When Ramsey told them that they would have a partner for the length of their class, she had panicked at first. Their partner was supposed to critic them, help them, and work their projects together. It was a lot to ask from someone, especially when most people in the class didn’t have a degree hanging on their performance. This was an extracurricular class for her, outside of her college, hosted by the Brooklyn Museum. It was meant for wanna-be-artists, but most of them weren’t being graded like her. At the end of the class their work would be hosted in an exhibit at the museum.

All her teachers would be coming to that show, and Ramsey was supposed to write weekly updates about her. Y/N didn’t like group projects to begin with. Most people just didn’t work well together, and she had high standards for herself. Besides, she only recognized a couple other people in the class from her college, but she didn’t truly know anyone.

As everyone started to pair off, being smart and probably taking the class with a friend, she glanced around the room. Twisted in her chair, observing as people laughed and started mulling over the syllabus together. She finally spotted him. He hadn’t moved from his drafting desk, hadn’t even looked up from his worn sketchbook. She noticed how people glanced at him, but then kept moving, looking for other options. He was beautiful. Intimidating. She wanted to draw him right then and there. It wasn’t anything new. Sometimes people just inspired her. Something about them made her itch to draw them. To capture their being onto a page.

So, she approached him. He slowly glanced up at her. Took in her position beside his desk with nothing else than a glare. Stubbornly not letting that deter her, she gave a small wave and the best smile she could muster under such uncomfortable circumstances “Hey I’m Y/N.”

“James.”

“You still have 20 minutes left. You can take your time.” Bucky chuckled, watching as her hand slowed for the first time since she started “I’m not going anywhere Y/N.”

It had taken the entire first week for her to make him laugh. Another week after that before the smiles came easier. The sad part was she had actively been trying. Of course, when he did laugh, she hadn’t tried. In the middle of rearranging the still life they were working with, she fumbled. She accidentally knocked her hip into the edge of her cheap end table when turning away. Managed to catch the flower vase, but at the cost of it spilling down the front of her shirt. At least it was on her, and not her camera. That same day, he had told her to call him Bucky instead of James.

He laughed a lot more since then.

Hearing her name made her fully give him her attention. Cars honked from far down below, and the shuffle of New York played like subdued background music. “You’ve got charcoal on your face.” He informed her. A smirk curled up one side of his lips, and his eyes danced in the fading auburn light behind him.

She wiped at her forehead, brushing back her hair. From the grin on his face, she probably only made it worse. She sent eye daggers at him “Shut up and get back to brooding.”

He pressed his lips together, trying to contain his smile. “Yes ma’am.” After that, she noticed that his shoulders were a little more relaxed. His breathing was deeper, and his gaze had softened. However, his eyes never stopped daring her to look.

****

Halloween was one of her favorite holidays. It was thrilling to get to pretend to be someone else. To have the opportunity to dress in whatever made her feel good without getting slut shamed for it. She had very few chances to act like a kid anymore, being in college, and having the adult responsibilities of a young woman living on her own. So, when her friends invited her to a Halloween party at the club Hydra she didn’t hesitate to agree. It wasn’t often that she drank, even less often that she partied.

The press of bodies made it difficult to get off the dance floor. She slowly weaved her way, slipping under arms and sliding through all the usual grinding. Her hair stuck to the nap of her neck, and she felt damp sweat on the small of her back. Leather was not a breathable fabric. It clung like a second jet black skin down her limbs and stretched across her breasts. As she stumbled, at last, out of the crowd, near the bar, she took in a muggy breath. The air tasted like various perfumes, and sweet smoke. Fog machines curled smoke around her feet and made the air hazy. Desperate, she unzipped her clingy jacket down a bit. Now she was showing an indecent amount of cleavage, only a pushup bra under the jacket, but at least it was cooler.

Time was drifting past 1 a.m., and she wanted to try to be home by 3. That way she could still be coherent when Bucky came over to work at 11. Multicolored strobe lights flashed overhead, giving everything a heady, surreal atmosphere. The music was so loud that she could feel it vibrating in her bones, across her heart. It mixed well with the slight buzz of alcohol making her skin tingle, and muscles loose. Her feet hurt from dancing so much, and she still had a throbbing bite mark on her neck. A gift from a guy dressed as a vampire who got a little too in character.

Finally, she made it into the bathroom, there wasn’t a line. The club was huge, and expensive. It managed to surprisingly be equipped with enough bathrooms to serve all its drunk, debauched guests. She leaned heavily against the porcelain sink, splashing some cool water onto the back of her neck. After a couple of calm breaths, she felt the last of the artificial fog leave her lungs. Peering up she stretched her neck to the side, checking to see if the vampire managed to bruise her. Thank god he didn’t.

Y/N’s makeup was smudged, making her sharp Black Widow look a little dirty. Her lipstick smeared around her mouth, and her smoky eyeliner ringed her bright eyes. Somehow, she got glitter across her cheekbones and chest. She hadn’t even worn glitter. Still, it managed to work with the leather, so she didn’t mind too much. Standing up straight, she dampened a paper towel and dabbed it under her eyes. Wanted to clean herself up just a little bit before she faced anyone again. Grabbing her lipstick from one of her many pockets she reapplied the scarlet, and then, satisfied, pulled out her phone.

Back facing the mirror, she leaned against the sink. Focused on her phone, she enjoyed the slight draft of cool air that dried the sweat on her chest. The music still crept in from outside, but it was the first minute in a solid 5 hours that she could hear her own thoughts.

First, she tried to call Gabby, who had drove them there. Gabby was always nailed to her phone and very reliable. It rang a few times, but eventually went to voicemail. Y/N left a quick message. Let her know that she wanted to head out soon, and to get back to her. They had agreed that they would stay no later than 1:30 a.m. at most. It was creeping towards that time.

Then she called Whitney, but the call was instantly rejected. She raised her eyebrows and hung up without leaving a message. Instead she went to text her. The buzzing of the florescent lights was starting to give her a headache. She jumped a little when a group of girls came into the bathroom, talking way too loudly. Probably still deaf from the base. The music followed in after them until the door swung closed again. Some remix of This Is Halloween. They barely glanced at her as they went about doing their business, checking their makeup and going into the stalls.

Y/N stepped back and out of the way of the sinks. She leaned against the other wall beside the trashcan. Her feet were starting to ache in her knee-high boots; so, she shifted her weight from one to the other, easing some of the pressure.

Y/N: Hey! Just wanted to knw if you’ve seen Gabs?

It took Whitney a couple minutes to text back. Minutes that went by gruelingly slow. The girls had all left by the time her phone vibrated in her hands.

Whitney: No idea! Srry about the call. I met a guy! She followed that up with several winky faces and hearts.

Whitney: Let her know I don’t need a ride tho. Probably won’t make it home. Thnx!

That one was emphasized with some kisses and winky faces.

Y/N could tell when a conversation was over, so she tried to call Gabby again. It ended with the same result. She sent her a couple texts, but to no avail. Just more radio silence.

Buzz sufficiently tampered, she let Gabby know she was getting a cab. She stared up at the glass dome light about her head and groaned loudly in frustration. Then she pocketed her phone back in the pouch attached to her utility belt. She patted at her thigh pocket where she had her wallet, only to come up with nothing. Y/N patted down her hip pockets, and then back pockets. A bubble of panic started to rise from her stomach. She frowned, going for her bra, and then rechecking every single pocket she had.

Twice.

Then a third time.

No wallet. No goddamn wallet. She tried to think of where she could have left it, but it had been an hour since her last drink. There was no way she had left it at the bar.

Then she had gone to dance some more, and finally ended up here in the bathroom.

Somewhere between then and now her wallet had escaped.

Son of a bitch. She raked a rough hand through her hair. It probably looked wild in a crazy witch sort of way now. The mirror across from her confirmed her theory. Wild hair aside; ok, she could handle this. Maybe they had it at the bar. Maybe she dropped it, and someone gave it to the bartender. People were still nice like that.

With a rush of adrenaline fueling her steps, she shoved out of the bathroom and hurried to the bar. This couldn’t be happening.

It wasn’t at the bar.

The bartender helpfully informed her that they had been having a pick-pocket problem. Followed that up with a shrug and infuriating expression of pity.

Gave her a free shot of vodka for her troubles.

Dejected, it took her another 10 minutes to wind her way through the crowd. 10 long minutes to make it out of the maze of the outrageously huge club. She couldn’t help but feel pissed. All around abandoned by her friends. Robbed. She just wanted to do was go home, take a shower, and then collapse into her warm bed.

The frigid November wind only aided in agitating her more. The club was on a corner lot, and she walked a few paces away from the entrance. There were throngs of people still going into the club, and then stumbling masses making their way out of it. She waited on the edge of the sidewalk, watching as the headlights of the cars flashed by in blurs of color. She could see her breath in the wind and cursed her skin-tight leather jacket for not being warmer. The heat from the club abandoned her more every single time a gust of air pushed her to the side.

Luckily, she could feel the vodka coiling in her stomach, spreading numb warmth through her veins. It also managed to calm her down, guiding her from the edge of crying. She bit her lip and slumped against a lamp post.

A taxi started to pull over for her, and she let out a groan of frustration as she waved them on. No point in wasting the poor guy’s time. Renewed tears of frustration pricked her eyes as she tried to figure out who she could call. Her two best friends with cars had already outright deserted her ass. She pulled out her phone and started clicking through all her contacts. Rubbing at her fingers against the phone as she went. The light of her phone made her wince, and the harsh street light reflected white off her leather sleeves. No one else she knew drove.

No one except…

She hovered her thumb over Bucky’s name. He was probably still at his friend’s right now. If not there, likely passed out in some corner. They weren’t that close, and this would seriously be putting him out.

But she was desperate.

Y/N pressed the phone to her ear as it started to ring. Again, and again… and oh god he wouldn’t answer and he was going to wake up to a random call from an indecent hour and no explanation…

“Hello?”

“Bucky!” She uttered his name with an embarrassing amount of relief. Immediately she took a step away from the post, too nervous to stand still.

“Hey uh… are you alright?” He asked slowly, voice deeper over the phone. At least he sounded like he hadn’t been sleeping, or drunk. What if he was actually busy? What if he was _busy _with someone? She could just make out the sound of music over the line, and laughter.

“I’m not interrupting anything am I?” She ignored his question in favor of asking one of her own. What if she just interrupted a hookup? Accidentally cock blocked him? The thought made her a little queasy, and her free arm crossed protectively over herself.

“Oh no, um just at Steve’s party.” She pursed her lips, looking up at the sky. Couldn’t make out any of the stars thanks to the city that never sleeps. Steve. He had never mentioned Steve before. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. She didn’t even know the names of his real friends.

He seemed hesitant when she didn’t say anything right away. Vodka was making its way through her. Her brain felt a bit slow “Is there anything that I can do for ya? Not that I don’t appreciate random calls or anything, but…” Bucky trailed off, waiting for her to finish the sentence for him.

The question made her straighten back up and scrub a hand over her face, suddenly remembering her awkward situation “I don’t want to put you out but… Well I’m kinda stuck at club Hydra. Without money, or a ride. Do ya think maybe you could give me a lift home? If you can’t it’s ok I can figure something else out. Promise I’ll pay you back though!” Her lipstick had smeared over her palm. She wiped it off on her thigh distractedly.

There were a few long beats of silence. The only way she knew he was still on the line was by the intermittent bursts of background laughter. Finally, she heard Bucky let out a sigh that made the speaker crackle “I’m not even going to ask. I can be there in 10 if you don’t mind riding on my bike.”

“No that’s fine!” No, she didn’t mind the idea of riding on the back of his bike at all. It sounded like the best thing ever. A great way to pick up her shitty night. “Are you sure though? I don’t want to make you leave your party.”

She could hear some shuffling, and it sounded like Bucky was talking to someone, but she couldn’t make out any of his words. When his voice came back he was a bit louder “Nah it’s alright. Starting to die out anyway.”

“You’re not drunk, are you?” Y/N suddenly asked, a bit concerned. Mostly not even for herself.

Bucky snorted a laugh “No I’m not drunk. Would never dream of risking my bike like that.” A screen door slammed over the phone, and he cursed. Something about stupid weather and stupid damsels in distress. She opted to ignore him.

“I was more worried about you than the bike, but I’ll take what I can get.” She paced around her small bit of sidewalk. It felt like there might be snow in the air. Above the buildings she wondered if the clouds were gearing up for it, thick and heavy.

“Shouldn’t worry ‘bout me, but thanks anyway.” There was a jingling of keys, and then a roaring crackle over the speaker that made her jerk the phone away from her ear. He must have started his bike.

To compensate she spoke up a bit louder “Thank you so much. I’m already outside. Can’t miss me. I’m in all leather.”

Bucky laughed a little, but it was distorted from the motorcycle “It’s Halloween weekend. I don’t think you’re the only girl out there sportin’ all leather.” Before she could defend her entirely unique leather get-up, he finished “But I’m sure you’ll stand out anyway. See ya in a bit.” Then he hung up.

The next 5 minutes passed agonizingly slow. She huddled herself up against a rough brick wall, thankful that she was wearing pants. Even if the leather was thin. She didn’t want to go back into the club, and chance missing Bucky. Besides, it was only 10 minutes. She could handle that. Her phone stayed pressed close to her face as she flipped through Tumblr, attempting to keep her mind off the howling wind. It bit at her fingers, and pink nose.

At first, she didn’t notice. There was always a background rush of voices on the streets, along with cars, and horns. City noises. A lot of the louder voices were guys, shouting obscenities at no one in particular. Even when she had been cat called a few times, it never amounted to anything. Usually she just kept walking or flipped them off, then kept walking.

“Hey sweetheart why you all by yourself?” She glanced up from her phone, wondering what poor girl was getting harassed and if maybe she should do something.

Then she realized that poor girl was her.

Too stunned to say anything, she kept quiet. The guys were leering at her from down the sidewalk. Probably coming from the club. There were five, all in various costumes, and all likely in various states of intoxication. The ringleader stood in the front, backed up by two other big guys, the fatter one was in a basketball jersey, the other a pirate’s hat with a ruby feather. They were all tall, but not quite as tall as Bucky. Not many guys were.

When she didn’t respond, the ringleader stepped closer to her little ball of light. She stood underneath a streetlamp light. The post was positioned on the other side of the sidewalk, next to the street, but its illumination reached her against the wall. It felt like the safest place. Not that Hydra was located on a shady street, but it was late at night, or early in the morning. She was a girl. It was also Halloween. Now she was starting to wonder if the light was more like a beacon for all the goddamn scumbags of the world.

“Wanna keep us company?” He continued, a wide smirk making his teeth flash in the headlights of a car “We can warm you up real nice.”

Discount Jack Sparrow chuckled from beside him “You make one damn hot Black Widow. I’d love to see what’s under your leather.” She felt his eyes on her cleavage even if she couldn’t see him clearly in the shadows. Suddenly she wanted to zip her top back up, but she didn’t dare give him the goddamn satisfaction of appearing embarrassed.

Up to this point she was far too amazed at the blatant sexual harassment heading her way to say anything. That comment jarred her into standing up straighter, trying to appear bigger than she was. Then she glared at them “Fat chance asshole. Leave me alone.” She bristled more when they just laughed at her and felt her stomach drop. This wasn’t good.

If she screamed it wouldn’t do much. It was Halloween. People were screaming everywhere. Plus, in a city, one scream just disappeared like smoke among all the other noises. There wasn’t anyone around paying any attention. The main bustle was over at the club, but she was far away from it now. Went to wait next to a parking garage a distance away so Bucky would have an easier time spotting her. A huge building filled with cars, not people. Sure, there were cars going by, but no one gave a shit what happened outside the nice tinted glass of their ride.

To her left, yards away, the fluorescent lights of Hydra’s sign flashed mockingly at her. To her right the street was deserted, the parking garage was huge enough that it took up the sidewalk till it hooked around the other corner several yards away. In front of her the street flowed like an impassable, steady river of cars. The neanderthals blocked her from heading back to the safety of Hydra.

It would be a lucky day if anyone paid her any attention at all.

“Aw you even talk like her. Why don’t we play a little?” The ringleader stepped into her circle of light now. Contaminating it. She pressed further back against the brick behind her “I’ll be the Hulk, and you can be my little Widow.” He had greasy dark hair, pushed back from his long pale face, the brim of a scuffed top hat hooded his dark eyes. He was toned underneath his circus coat, she could tell by the way it hugged his chest. A literal evil ringmaster. How ironic. Probably not even all that ugly when that sneer didn’t stretch his face. Probably one of those guys that didn’t take no for an answer, even in a setting much nicer than this.

As they crowded closer in, she could smell the alcohol on them. Alcohol, and pot. Not that substances are any excuse, but it made her spine tingle with adrenaline. Substances just made people get angrier faster and hit harder.

Without even responding, she bolted, or tried. Lunged to the right. Maybe if she made it to the end of the block she could go across the crosswalk. Across the street there were restaurants, and people. She made it all of five steps before a hand caught her wrist and wrenched her back. Involuntarily, she stumbled into Ringleader’s chest. His other arm snaked around her waist, crushing her there as she tried to wiggle away.

She screamed then.

Whether she believed it would help or not. It was just a natural damn response. Fear sliced down her spine and beat the wail out of her.

His hand left her wrist and covered her mouth. Circus Freak’s palm tasted dirty when she tried to bite, but he just pressed harder. His thumb wrapped over her nose. She could barely breathe.

“Shut the fuck up.” He tugged her back, making her stumble with him, and then took her out of the light all together. The lamp flickered and hummed, above her head. She watched it get smaller. He dragged her over towards the opening of the car garage. It gaped at her like the ominous jaws of a monster. If she went in there, she might never come out.

Even if she did, she might not be able to put herself back together. Not for a second time.

Y/N tried letting herself go dead weight, but he just grunted and pulled her harder. Ringleader’s arm was an iron bar. It dug into and bruised her ribs. Her jacket hiked up from the squirming, and suddenly his grimy hand was squeezing her bare side. Heartbeat spiking, she scratched at his arms, kicked at his legs, started to buck back. Her feet didn’t connect with more than his shins, but at least he cursed. Blood welled up under her nails, and as she squirmed his hand started to slip. She fought with everything she had in her. Finally, he let go of her mouth to contain her arms.

“Grab the goddamn slut’s legs!” He demanded, voice rough from too many smokes. Hands caught her wrists in a bruising vice. He tugged them up above her head.

Fatty in the ball jersey did as ordered. He bent over and grabbed her thighs, lifting them off the ground. Couldn’t get a solid hold with her bucking. He managed to keep her calves lifted, and she used his support to push off. With all her strength, she brought up one foot when he pushed closer to her. She got in one good, hard kick into his snarling face. The heel of her boot cracked him right in the nose. Snapped his head back and he let out a surprised wail. A wave of gratification swept her chest. She even smiled a little, past the tears that smeared her mascara.

It didn’t last long. Jersey held his flooding nose with his left hand and stammered “You bitch!” The rage in his voice tremored through his muscles. He brought back his big meaty hand and landed a stinging backhand across her face. Bastard had a hulking ring on his finger. The jewel caught on her cheekbone and tore into her skin. Her ears started to ring, and glowing halos of light danced in her eyes when she blinked. The force split her lip and she tasted blood.

At least his nose looked broken, blood splattering across his stupid purple jersey. She hoped the stain never came out.

In slapping her, he let go of her feet, so she started trying to kick again. She kicked despite the throbbing through her skull. Kicked despite the ringing in her ears. Despite the hands that constricted her. Bruised her.

Still, it wasn’t really going anywhere. She pegged another guy with devil horns in the middle of his chest. He caught her feet, wrapped them under one of his arms, and constrained her. They started shuffling closer to the entrance, and she started to scream again. Her shoulders ached from bearing all her weight, and she stared up at Ringleader. His breath stank of alcohol when he stared down at her with a chilling grin.

That was when she heard a distinctive skid of tires on the sidewalk.

“What the fuck?” One of the others, he had on a very ironic Superman getup, muttered as headlights blinded her. The guys were circled around the front of her, Ringleader binding her arms above her head from behind, Devil Horns holding her feet in front of her. Dirty Superman and Pirate Hat flanked her sides. All of them turned to gape as the lights turned off, and the sound of boots against sidewalk stalked towards them.

Somehow, Y/N knew who it was before she even heard him speak or saw his face. Her entire body sagged in relief, and she strained her neck to try and see.

“Bucky!” She screamed, but then Ringleader cut her off. He jostled her to hold her wrists in one hand, covering her mouth with the other. Devil horns dropped her feet, and she barely kept from falling like a stone. Ringleader tugged her up and back against him.

The others huddled away from Bucky when he got closer. She could just make out his face in the street lights, and his expression made her freeze. His eyes were as cold as winter. Face stony to match. He stood up at all his height, more menacing than ever before, and had yet to utter a single word.

Didn’t really have to. His body language said it all.

Ringleader must have been too stupid to listen “Hey buddy. I suggest you move along. Nothin’ to see here. Our friend was just about to show us a good time. Weren’t ya?” He spoke down to her, shaking her a little. Y/N let out a shriek of rage, clawing at his arm, ripping up more skin beneath his sleeve. He squeezed her mouth tighter, cutting off her air all together. Tears blurred her vision, streaks already staining her cheeks. She couldn’t remember when exactly she started crying. Her lungs burned as she fought to breathe through his skin.

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides, one covered by a glove. Sporting a leather jacket, white t-shirt, black jeans, and heavy boots he looked almost like John Travolta from Grease. Styled hair and everything. Would have made her weak in the knees in any other situation. Currently, she was struggling to breathe for entirely different reasons.

When he took a threatening step forward, her band of assholes stepped back. A gust of wind ruffled everyone’s hair, and she noticed little white flakes reflecting in the street lamp behind Bucky. Crystals caught in his hair, and she wondered why the universe made tonight the first snow fall.

A heavy silence hung thick in the air. She slapped progressively harder at Ringleader’s hand until he let her breathe again. By then her head was getting light. He still insisted on keeping his hand over her mouth. She sucked air in through her nose. The smell of cigarettes encased her, clogging the air.

Bucky’s eyes met hers across the tense darkness, and she could feel his worry without any words. It reflected in his blue eyes. Spoke through the small crease in his brow, and tense set of his mouth. Finally, though, he did speak up. His words dominated over the cars in the street and boomed across the sidewalk. Slowly, he stared down every single person with a deadly sort of calm.

“I suggest you douchebags let her go. Right now. If you want to walk away from here tonight.” His voice wavered just a bit in pent up rage. She tracked that rage across the stiffness of his shoulders and the clenching of his fists. Distantly she wondered how much damage he could do with a metal fist helping him. How many people had he made bleed with it during the war.

She watched a shudder pass through the spines of everyone standing there. The frost coming off him even made the tips of her fingers prickle. She squeezed her captor’s hand tighter, trying to pry it back off her mouth. He didn’t budge.

Stupidity, and pride always prevail. Ringleader laughed, and the movement jostled her. Her shoes scraped against the side walk as he tugged her up, making her stand on her tiptoes. The position strained her neck, and made her thighs burn. She arched her back to keep from pressing against him more than he made her. “Again, you should really leave before you piss me off. It’s five against one pal, can’t you count?”

Bucky smirked, but it was a bitter, piercing expression “I think you should count again.” Confusion passed through her for only a half of a second.

Then he charged. So fast she almost missed it. Pulling back his flesh hand he decked the nearest guy straight in the nose. It was Ironic Superman. The blow was so vicious she heard the crack from where she was a yard away. Superman’s head violently snapped to the left. His body followed it all the way to the ground. He didn’t move.

“Four.” It made her heart jump in her throat when Bucky’s voice rang over the scuffle.

Bucky didn’t stop there. He spun just in time for Pirate to throw a wide fist towards his head. It was like he knew the blow was coming. Bucky ducked down. Dipped to the left. Then he stood straight, so damn light on his feet. Pirate stumbled past him, having displaced too much of his weight. Then he sloppily caught himself and faced Bucky angrily. Didn’t waste a second to attack again. Bucky was waiting. He slid just far enough to the right to let the blow go over his shoulder.

Pirate fell against his chest, and Bucky used the momentum to his favor. He caught his shoulders. Then used the downward momentum to drive his knee straight up into the guy’s chest. The feather fell from his hat as he let out all the air in his lungs. Bucky then drove his elbow into the back of his head before dropping him like a stone. The pirate hat landed in the gutter off the sidewalk.

“Three.”

Y/N held her breath. All of Bucky’s movements were so precise. No energy was wasted. He was proficient in every step. It was terrifying. He was beautifully deadly.

Devil Horns charged at Bucky with a roar. He was shorter, but stout as a rock. His fists flew fast enough that Bucky had to block them with his arms. One of the punches thrust straight for Bucky’s nose. He caught the blow with his left hand. Devil Horns tried to yank back and grunted at the strain. She thought she saw Bucky smirk, but then he blurred again. With a wide swing, he spun Devil and drove him face first into the awaiting concrete. The man’s forehead hit it with a hard thud. He stumbled back three steps. Bucky grabbed the back of his head and smacked it against the brick wall a second time.

He slumped to the ground after that. Horns all askew. Blood dripped down from his hairline, mouth slack.

“Two.”

Bucky turned on fatty, who already had a shirt soaked in blood from her. He was holding onto his nose and panting loudly through his mouth in terror. All Buck had to do was take one challenging step forward. Jersey immediately booked it. He passed Bucky and ran straight into traffic. Seemed like he would much rather be hit by a car. Cars honked at him and skidded to a stop to keep from killing his ass. He just kept going. Skipped past the cars, and then disappeared around a corner across the street.

“One.”

She could feel the rage trembling through Circus Freak. A span of silence stretched between them as her captor debated on what to do.

With a whip, he flung her to the side, making fall hard onto the sidewalk. Her elbow smarted when it caught her deadweight, making her cry out in pain. Then she scuffled up as quick as she could, scooting back and out of the way. Y/N felt small down on the side walk, pressed back against the wall. Two goliaths fought it out in front of her.

Bucky dodged back as her attacker threw a fist. He dipped to the left. Weaved out of the way to the right. He narrowly avoided Ringleader’s punches. She wondered why he was being on the defensive more now. At least, she wondered until she caught the glint of the butterfly knife in Ringleader’s hand.

He knocked the knife out of the way and landed a solid punch on the guy’s jaw. It didn’t stop him, though. He just swung harder, faster. Fueled by rage and hurt pride. He crowded Bucky back until he was a step from the street. Cars whizzed by, and it seemed Ringleader wanted to shove Bucky under one of them. A semi-truck barreled down towards them, and she saw the heel of his shoe slip.

“Bucky!” She screamed in warning and his head whipped towards her. He stepped forward, towards her and away from the street. Distracted, she saw the flash of the blade before he did. Ringleader finally landed a sharp slice across his chest. She let out a sharp scream. Blood stained his white shirt. Bucky didn’t even wince. In fact, he didn’t react at all.

As Ringleader swung for a second swipe, he caught the guy’s arm in his left hand. His face carefully blank. Like he hadn’t been cut at all. He forced Ringleader back two steps and loomed over him. His mouth was set hard, and his silver eyes were the embodiment of winter.

Ringleader tugged, trying to get free. He swung loosely with his non-dominant hand, but Bucky caught that fist too. Then he squeezed. Only with his left hand. She watched at the man’s knees started to wobble under him. He dropped the blade with a clatter. Then he screamed.

“What the fuck?! Let me go you psycho! You’re gonna break—” She luckily didn’t hear the crack of his bones. It was obvious in his wail, though. He kept going down until he was on his knees. Bucky let go of his non-dominant hand. Still kept his agonizing hold with his left.

Ringleader clawed at Bucky’s gloved hand with his free one. He tried to get free like a fox caught in a bear trap. Yanked so hard that she was surprised he didn’t dislocate his shoulder. The snow came down harder now. It caught on the brim of his top hat where it had fallen near his legs, making it almost grey. Bucky’s hair had come free from its pomade. It fell in his face as he stooped down to glare at the squirming man.

He wasn’t speaking. Wasn’t flinching when the man tried to pry the metal fingers off him. It was like he wasn’t there at all. Like his mind had checked out, and left behind a ghost.

“I’m sorry! Please man! Let me go!” His voice broke as he started to sob.

Y/N scrambled to her feet. Bucky wasn’t stopping. He already broke the guy’s hand. Yet he kept squeezing. The man was howling now, begging. Seemed like he might have even pissed himself. She took a couple steps towards them, hesitant at first. Bucky didn’t even seem to notice her anymore. He scared her like this. Terrified her to her very bones. She reached out a hand, but her feet were lead. Then Bucky brought back his flesh hand, ready to punch Ringleader again.

“Bucky!” She shouted, forcing herself to move. It took her just three easy steps to get beside him. She grabbed his fist in the air. Wasn’t strong enough to make it come down from its position, but she tugged anyway. Practically draped herself against him, holding his arm where it hung in the air next to her head “Stop! Stop it.” She spoke louder at first, but then softened her tone when she felt him freeze. He didn’t look at her. Just glared down at her attacker. “I’m ok. I’m alright now. Let him go. Please.” The muscles in his arm eased up just enough. She gently guided his flesh hand down, uncurling his fist. She pried at his fingers until his fist relaxed minutely.

“Y-ya man. L-listen to your girl you should j-just- Fuck!!” Bucky had started releasing his grip on the guy’s wrist, but the moment he started blabbering he squeezed again. A growl rumbled in his throat, like the guy personally offended him by breathing.

“Buck!” Y/N chastised him, reaching over and touching his metal hand. Probably for the very first time if she thought about it. She could feel it underneath the glove, harder than bone, and cold even through the material. “Please, let’s just go. He can’t hurt me anymore.” Probably wouldn’t hurt anyone anymore for a long time.

Bucky finally let go at her touch. He shoved Ringleader’s arm away like it disgusted him. Didn’t stop glowering at him, though. Still wouldn’t look at her. The man collapsed into a heap onto the sidewalk. His broken wrist was already blue, swollen, and bent wrong. It made her nauseous, so she stared back at Bucky’s face instead.

Ringleader scraped himself up after a minute and started to run away. Scrambled past the parking garage, down the snow dusted sidewalk. Shoes skidded a couple times, and his pants leg did have a noticeable damp spot. His arm was cradled to his chest. Only a yard away, he turned his head, coat bustling in the wind “Your dog’s a fucking psycho! Should keep him on a goddamn leash!” Then he jogged faster, letting his words disappear behind him. Like the coward he was.

Bucky tried to lunge after him. His muscles bunched under her hand as he snarled. She stepped in front of him just a second before he could start the chase. Y/N pressed herself to him, hands flat on his chest. The blood from his wound was hot against her hands, but she barely noticed. Too focused on blocking his path. Peering up at him, she realized that her eye had started to swell shut. He didn’t shove her out of the way. In fact, he finally looked down at her. It was like her action had finally broken him out of the fog he was in.

As they stared at each other for several long minutes, the defeated attackers slowly roused. One by one the other members of the group scraped themselves off the sidewalk. None of them were dead thank god. They quickly fled too. Silently, though. She barely paid them any attention. It was still snowing hard, and she watched as flakes caught in his eyelashes. Headlights cast shifting shadows around them. Wrestling like demons at their feet. She couldn’t help but question what demons Bucky kept locked inside of his head. Only demons could make someone fight as desperately as he just did.

Slowly, afraid of startling him, she reached up and touched his cheek. She cupped his face in her hands and studied him seriously “Are you alright?” Her thumb brushed over his bruised jaw. It did dawn on her that it was ironic for her to be asking him if he was alright. After everything that had happened. She did it anyway. He seemed to have lost himself during the fight. His eyes were focusing from somewhere far away. She couldn’t believe she just watched him break someone’s hand without flinching. With the adrenaline wearing off, she wanted to cry all over again.

Bucky blinked once. Then twice. He swallowed and grimaced. His flesh hand gently touched her left. His longer fingers cupped over hers. It was so warm. She could feel the calluses on his palms as he slowly guided her hand away. He didn’t touch her with his metal one, but she dropped her hand anyway. It was obvious he was uncomfortable with her touching him like that. She left small smudges of blood on his cheek.

“I’m fine. Are you ok?” He brought his right hand up and touched the side of her face. She winced, realizing that her cheek was still on fire. Her lip felt tender too when her tongue tested the dried blood.

“Why do guys always managed to hit a girl right across the cheekbone?” She asked, trying to make a joke but it landed flat. He didn’t even try to smile. His thumb brushed across her lip, and she grimaced, looking away. Ringleader’s hat was still on the ground right by her foot. She stepped on it, grinding it into the snow. When she moved her foot away, it inflated like a crumbled accordion. She thought maybe Bucky did snort at that. It was too quiet for her to be sure.

“God I’m a mess.” The words babbled out of her past the buzzing in her ears. She glanced down at herself. One knee was ripped open and so was her elbow, both were bleeding. Her jacket had come unzipped down to her ribs, leaving everything showing. Y/N brought her hand up to zip it back, but her fingers were shaking too much to get a good grip. Her breaths started to come in faster as she got more, and more frustrated. Her fingers were numb and clumsy.

Bucky’s hand came up and he covered her own, taking the damned thing. He slowly closed her jacket back up to her collarbones. She had never in her life been more grateful for such a simple action. His thumb stroked her collar just once, leaving a hot trail behind. Then his hands fell away.

Before she could find the words to thank him, her eyes caught the sheen of red on his chest “Y-You’re hurt, and b-bleeding a lot and you’re asking me if I’m ok?” She gave a hysterical laugh, tears already escaping her eyes again. They stung the cut the guy left on her cheekbone. Her hands shook as she brought them up. She wanted to get a better look at the cut. What if he needed stitches? What if he got a scar cause of her? Cause she distracted him like an idiot?

“I-I’m so sorry. I sh-shouldn’t have yelled. I was just so scared and—"

Bucky’s eyes widened, and he quickly brought up his arms. The motion cut off her babbling, uncontrollable apology. He tugged her into an enveloping, hard hug. She tried to protest as he pressed her against his wound, but then his chest rumbled as he started to talk. Her ear was trapped against his collarbone above the wound. It was the most comforting sound she had ever heard “I’m ok doll. Promise. It doesn’t hurt that much. Trust me, I’ve had worse.” He shushed her when she tried to speak “Believe me. Much worse.” Then he squeezed her shoulder lightly and rubbed. The metal hand he just used to crush someone’s arm rubbed hers with more tenderness than she had experienced in a very long time.

Somehow, it didn’t bother her at all.

Finally, once her shoulders stopped shaking and her gross sniffling died down, he pulled back. Bucky held her just a bit away, his hands still rubbing her shoulders. He reached up and wiped at her chin, grimacing. He gave a very weak, sheepish smile “Sorry, I got blood on your…” He trailed off, gesturing to her face. She just shrugged, too tired to care. There were a lot of things smeared on her face. Besides, she got blood on his too. Just didn’t even have the energy to tell him. When he noticed his left hand was still touching her, he dropped it down.

Y/N sniffed, trying to clear her nose. The cold snowy air hurt her lungs. Then she rubbed at her face as much as she could stand. Her eye felt tender and wouldn’t stop blurring. Probably smudging tears, blood, and makeup all together. Then she spoke up, voice a bit rough “I don’t mind it.”

He raised his eyebrows at her, tilting his head a little. Confused. She shivered as a gust of wind caught her. Now that the adrenaline had passed, she was so frosty her teeth were starting to chatter. Still, she tried to elaborate “Y-Your metal arm doesn’t bother me.”

Bucky stared at her critically and then shook his head, as if she were ridiculous “Let’s get you home.” He sighed, wrapping an arm over her shoulders, his right one. The snow had covered any traces of a fight taking place at all. It was already sticking to the street, forming muddy tracks from the tires. He tucked her into his side where it was warm, under his jacket. Now that she had a calm minute, she enjoyed the way his smell enveloped her.

“I’m s-serious!” She still couldn’t stop shivering “It’s just another p-part of you. A-And I like y-you.” She glared up at him, trying to drill in her honesty with her eyes.

Bucky only stopped to consider at her after they reached his bike. He let her go and dusted the snow off the seat. Then he grabbed a helmet, offering it to her quietly. She was just about to speak up again when he finally whispered, “Thank you.” If she hadn’t been looking at him, she thought the words might have been stolen by the loud gust of wind.

There wasn’t much else she could say to that. So, she put on her silver helmet, and climbed onto the bike behind him. He shrugged out of his leather jacket, revealing a black unzipped hoodie underneath. He shoved his jacket into her hands, and she shrugged it on quietly, grateful. Everything ached too much for her to argue.

Bucky clasped on his own helmet and revved up the bike. When it jumped to life underneath her, she quickly wrapped her arms around his waist, stuffing them into the pockets of his jacket when the wind bit at her fingers. At least the helmet kept her ears warm. She thought she felt Bucky chuckle underneath her when she gripped tighter. He pulled on a second glove, zipped up his jacket, and then smoothly merged into the nighttime traffic.

The drive home wasn’t as wonderful as she thought it would be. Not after everything that just happened. Still, it was beautiful. He weaved through the cars with a precise control, that was definitely dangerous. It reminded her a little of how he fought. Daring, and proficient.

At lot of the time he passed cars without any legal right-of-way at all. Bucky went as fast as he could, and she wondered if he was running from something. Running from the demons she couldn’t see that nipped at his heels. Y/N never felt in harms way, though. If anything, he made her feel like they were flying. Like the bike was gliding up off the ground whenever she wasn’t looking. Colors blurred past her. Paint smudges on a canvas, outlined in charcoal. She bunched the fabric of Bucky’s jacket in her hands and turned her forehead to press against the broad of his back.

He covered her hand with his right one. Slipped it into the pocket and laced them together. His skin was warm on top of hers. Wistfully, she imagined he still had charcoal on his fingers. That the charcoal would smudged across her skin and stain it forever. Leaving a mark that would remind her he was there. Even when he wasn’t.

Next Chapter

#bucky x reader #bucky barns x reader #marvel #fanfiction #slow burn #au #alternate universe #artist au #angst #bucky barns fanfiction #fluff #romance #love hurts #tori2k #writing challenge #marvel fanfiction #james bucky barnes #tashariiwriting

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atombombbagel · 7 years ago

Note

Hello! Can you describe skills or hobbies that the companions may have been teaching Sole in their free time? I like to imagine sole taking an interest in weight lifting, so danse had been picking up plates and other equipment and hauling it back to their settlement so they can practice together. Thanks ❤️

So, I’ve made itromance companions because they are hella cute…

Cait: “Keep doing it like that and ye’ll hurtyerself,” Cait jested, moving from her place standing in the doorway to Sole’sside, “Don’t tuck in your thumb, you don’t want to get it broken,” Cait grabbedSole’s hand, showing them how to ball it into a fist properly.

“Sorry, I just want tolearn how to defend myself,” Sole admitted, feeling a little stupid, they hadno idea how to do this, they never thought they’d have to.

“I’m more than happyto teach ya,” Cait offered, “There’s some equipment in the Combat Zone, I hatethe fuckin’ place but we could practise there,” Sole nodded with a smile ontheir face.

The Combat Zone

“Don’t worry I’ll go easy on ya,” Cait winked as she lungedtowards Sole, hitting them in the face, “Aww c’mon, you’ve gotta block it,”Cait laughed as Sole rubbed the side of their face, where Cait had hit them.

“I wasn’t expecting it,” Sole shot back jokingly, “Okay,”they took a deep breath, “I’m ready.”

Curie: When asettler had gone down during an attack, Sole had felt useless, not being ableto do anything to help them. They didn’t know CPR or how to treat peoples’wounds and it frustrated them. Sole had voiced their concerns about it toCurie, who was more than willing to jump to the task and teach them all thatshe knew. She was happy that Sole wanted to learn first aid.

“Place your hands, one on top of the other, on the person’schest,” Curie ordered, pulling out a CPR dummy.

“Where’d you find that?” Sole asked, as Curie placed it onthe ground. Curie shrugged.

“In one of the houses I think,” she answered quickly,“You’re going to want to push hard and fast when performing the CPR, but nottoo hard, you don’t want to crush their rip cage,” Sole nodded, placing theirhands on the dummy, “That’s good! Now, tilt the head back slightly and pinchthe nose shut, that’s when you place your mouth over theirs,” Sole followed herinstructions, “Very good! You are a natural at this.”

Curie spent the rest of the day with Sole teaching themvarious medical treatments and what to do when someone is shot, stabbed, burnedetc.

Danse: Dansestood as a spotter as Sole carefully lifted the metal bar holding heavy weightson each end. When he noticed Sole falter, he was quick to grab the weight,lifting it off Sole and back on the support.

“The trick is to not push yourself to hard,” Danse saidhanding Sole a can of purified water. Sole wiped the sweat from their brow,opening the can and downing it in seconds.

“Its harder than it looks,” Sole admitted, hunching over andtaking a few deep breaths, Danse sat down next to them, putting his hand onSole’s knee.

“It is, but it will be worth it at the end Soldier,” hestood back up, “Spot me?” Sole nodded, standing up and moving so Danse couldlie back. Sole stood in awe as he lifted the weight with ease, their eyesshifting to look at his muscles contract and retract with every lift.

“Thanks for helping me out,” Sole said, rubbing their handdown their arm. Danse put the weight down, sitting up and turning around. Hereached up, pressing his mouth to Sole’s.

“You’re welcome,” he said in between kisses, “now get downand give me twenty,”

“Yes sir,” Sole saluted with a smirk.

Deacon: Solestood in front of the mirror, tilting their head as they studied themselves.They smiled at Deacon through the reflection as he snaked his arms around theirwaist, leaning his chin on Sole’s shoulder.

“How’s this one?” Sole asked, an unsure look upon theirface, “Oh c’mon its not that bad is it?”

“As an expert in the subject, you’ve got to sell it more,”Deacon laughed, receiving a light nudge in the gut from Sole.

Deacon had been teaching Sole how to properly use disguises,changing their voice, putting on accents, outfit choices. They were getting thehang of it, not as good as he was but who is. Deacon turned picking up anewsboy cap and putting it on Sole’s head.

“There. A masterpiece,” he winked at Sole, pecking theircheek, “Though your face is getting a bit old, might need a new one,” Sole shotdaggers at him, causing him to lift up his hands in defence, “I was totallykidding, my beautiful Sole.” Deacon backed out of the room before he gothimself in anymore trouble.

Hancock: Sole hadbeen surprised when they walked into Hancock’s office, seeing him sat by hisdesk, scribbling in an old sketch book. They’d watched from over his shoulderas he shaded in a part of his drawing.

“That’s beautiful,” Sole announced, startling Hancock. Hehadn’t realised they were behind him. He pushed his chair back a little, givingSole enough room to sit on his lap.

“I had inspiration,” he rasped, bringing a smile onto Sole’sface. Sole flicked through the pages of the sketch book, mesmerised by thedrawings in there, “wait,”

“Oh my god,” Sole burst into laughter as they’d seen thedrawing of them, naked, sprawled across the pages of his sketch book, “theseare amazing, teach me?” Hancock looked up, his dark eyes meeting Sole’s, henodded, leaning up and pressing his lips to Sole’s for a brief second. He reachedinto the draw in his desk pulling out another pencil. Sole was terrible tostart off with, but Hancock helped them improve over time until they were asgood as he was, maybe even better.

Nick: (I totallysaw this headcannon from @viewfromthevault )

“You have moves,” Sole said, sucking their lip between theirteeth as they stood in the doorway, their eyes fixed on Nick’s.

“Yeah, Nick must’ve known a thing or two about dancing,” Solemoved forward, turning up the volume of the song on the radio.

“You’ve got moves, show me them,” Sole demanded playfully,holding out their hand. Nick chuckled, reaching forward, taking Sole’s hand inhis own, pulling them towards him.

Musical beginning toundecided plays

Nick twirled Sole in his arms before pulling them back in,holding onto their waist, swaying them about. Sole burst out into laughter whenNick twirled them again, dipping them before planting a sweet kiss on theirlips. When they were alone they’d be dancing to various songs on the radio,Nick nearly always taking the lead.

MacCready: MacCreadyhas been living in the wasteland since he was a child, teaching himself how tohunt and use a sniper rifle. He’d noticed that Sole struggled with hunting, constantlystepping on twigs making their dinner run for its life, MacCready would stayback, chuckling to himself as Sole cursed at the Radstag running off into the distance.

“Would you quit laughing at me?” Sole whined, pouting at MacCready.He chuckled some more, walking towards Sole.

“You’ve got to watch your footing, if you’re too loud you’llnever be good at this,” He held his finger to his lip as he noticed anotherRadstag a few feet away, chomping down at the grass. He crouched, gesturing forSole to do the same. He moved behind them, wrapping his arm around them as hesteadied the sniper in their hand, “You’ve got this,” he whispered, his fingerlooming over Sole’s, on the trigger of the sniper.

A loud gunshot rang out through the air along with thecrying sound of a dying Radstag. Sole and MacCready hurried towards it.

“Nice shot,” MacCready noted, pulling out a combat knife andcutting the Radstags throat.

“I learned from the best,” Sole mused, kneeling down next toMacCready, “How are we going to get this guy back to Sanctuary?”

Piper: “My momgave me my first camera when I was young, she’d found it whilst outscavenging,” Piper leaned back on her bed, flicking through the photos on hercamera. She’d been teaching Sole how to take good pictures. Sole leaned over,looking in as Piper showed them various pictures of Piper’s family and of thewildlife in the Commonwealth.

“You have an eye that’s for sure,” Sole said, teasinglypulling the camera from Piper’s hand.

“Blue!” Piper shouted playfully, trying to snatch the cameraback from their hand. The flash going off as Sole snapped a picture of Piper.

“Beautiful,” Sole laughed with a cocky smile on their face,Piper covered her face with her hands.

“You’re such a goof,” she groaned as Sole tried to pry herhands from her face.

“But I’m your goof,” Sole said plastering Piper’s cheek inkisses, laughing as she tried desperately to swat them away from her.

Preston: “Youfixed this all by yourself?” Sole asked holding the once broken radio in their hand.Preston nodded sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked down, “that’sso awesome, where’d you learn to do it?” Sole flicked the radio on, smiling asit sprang to life, playing classical music through the speakers.

“My dad taught me a bit and the rest I learned from Sturges,”Sole looked from Preston back to the radio, “I could teach you if you want?”Preston offered smiling as Sole’s eyes lit up. They vigorously nodded theirhead.

“Yes! Please,” Preston laughed at Sole’s enthusiasm. Theystarted out by fixing small things, like an old toaster and a couple of lamps.But in the end, they’d both fixed up an old motorcycle, neither of them wereactually willing to drive it so they gave it to Hancock, who was ecstatic withhis new toy.

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themurphyzone · 7 years ago

Text

Secret Santa Ch 1

Welcome to my first Christmas story in MML! I kind of wanted to do something different and give perspective to Milo’s classmates that have at least had a major supporting role. Well, two of them are fairly minor but I really love writing them anyway. You’ll see what I mean!

I was originally planning to release this story on December 1, but my impatient ass can’t wait any longer.

Ch 1: Amanda

Amanda was about ready to throw her pen against the wall in frustration. She’d already used up half of the allotted thirty minutes in her schedule for brainstorming ideas for the Secret Santa exchange.

The paper remained devoid of any ideas, apart from a few words that had been neatly scratched out.

It was Lydia’s fault anyway for signing her up without permission. Or Melissa’s. Or both. As far as Amanda was concerned, they were equally suspicious.

What was she even supposed to give Chad? She didn’t know him that well. He was nice enough, but his attempts to prove Mr. Drako was a vampire weirded her out. And he tended to be the first to go down when Murphy’s Law struck.

In other words, he would be the hypothetical first victim in a zombie apocalypse.

Wait….

Vampires. Zombies. The paranormal.

Amanda’s brain whirred to life as she hastily sketched a bubble map. Chad liked to formulate theories and gather evidence to support them. Conspiracy theories, weird happenings, spooky stuff.

Maybe she could take a page out of his book and collect her own evidence on what he liked.

Her timer went off, and she stored the bubble map in her school folder for later. At least the history worksheet she needed to finish didn’t cause any stress.

“You are not going up to Chad and asking him for a gift idea,” Lydia said, shaking her head in disapproval. “Kinda kills the point of being a Secret Santa.”

“I’m not going to ask him what he wants outright!” Amanda complained. “All I did was dedicate four to six minutes to having a conversation where I subtly lead him into stating his interests! I made a bubble map, Lydia! I am not letting those fifteen minutes go to waste!”

Lydia blinked. “You made a bubble map. For a gift exchange.”

“Yes,” Amanda said. “I wrote down a main idea and added supporting details. I would’ve added color, but I ran out of time.”

“I know what a bubble map is,” Lydia sighed. “It’s just not gonna help me. I think I got the worst recipient of all. Are you sure you don’t want to switch with me? Nobody needs to know!”

She leaned over Amanda’s desk, grinning excitedly. Amanda edged back in her seat, keeping Lydia at arm’s length. “I don’t like doing things spontaneously. Sorry.”

Lydia groaned, backing off so Amanda could have her personal space again. “Okay. FYI, I’m probably procrastinating on this like everything else that doesn’t involve theater club.”

“Procrastinating on important things is just going to-“

“-increase anxiety and throw you down a well of endless despair,” Lydia finished. “I heard the spiel before. Like, fifty-three times now.”

Amanda allowed herself a small smile. “I didn’t know you were keeping track.”

Lydia shrugged. “I have a tally chart.”

“And you were getting on my case about the bubble map?” Amanda giggled.

Before Lydia could reply, Chad entered the classroom behind Milo and his friends. “We’ll finish this conversation some other time,” she whispered, scrambling out of the way before she could be a target within the splatter zone.

“I’m telling you, Mr. Drako doesn’t have a reflection in the mirror!” Chad exclaimed loudly. “How else do you explain the Hall of Mirrors incident at the school fair?”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “He didn’t have a reflection because the school couldn’t afford to supply the mirrors and substituted plastic wrapping instead?”

“I remember that!” Milo said. “Remember when Zack and I were wrapped in the plastic like a double burrito?”

Zack groaned. “Do you have to remind me?”

“Yes,” Melissa replied.

Amanda caught Milo’s eye, and he quickly looked away, his face slightly red. That was…odd. Usually he didn’t pass up a chance to greet her.

She mentally filed ‘wonder what’s up with Milo’ under lunchtime. She had a goal, and she needed to seize this perfect opportunity.

“Chad, how exactly do you know so much about vampires that you’d accuse one of the nicest teachers in the school of being one?” Amanda asked. Everyone stared at her.

Amanda wanted to curl up in the back of the school closet and waste away in the darkness among all the cobwebs and dust bunnies. Did that sound accusatory? That totally sounded less accusatory in her head.

“Easy. My vampire blog requires a lot of research into vampire lore.” Chad replied. “You know, traditional ones like Dracula to more modern portrayals. That sort of thing.”

“Now that sounds like something I have to follow!” Milo exclaimed, pulling out his phone. “What’s the name?”

“Transylvaniaterrors.com,” Chad said. “It’s a forum dedicated to everything paranormal. My blog is-“

Milo held up a hand. “Could you write that on a piece of paper? Sorry, my wi-fi cut out.”

“I’m not getting a signal either,” Melissa said, checking her phone.

Screams erupted from the hallway, followed by the sound of stampeding feet. Melissa shoved Zack in the direction of the door. Zack glared at her, carefully opening the door by a hair.

He shut it again after a few seconds.

“They’re panicking over the wi-fi,” Zack said as he pushed his back against the door as several loud thuds echoed from it. “Gonna need a blockade over here!”

Milo, Chad, and Lydia quickly pushed the teacher’s desk in front of the door. Amanda opened the window, preparing the escape route in case the desk plan didn’t work.

Thankfully, the desk held the door in place just fine.

Unfortunately, third period would probably be delayed for a while. Hopefully the situation didn’t extend into fourth period.

Amanda collapsed on her bed, exhausted. The wi-fi hadn’t come back until the last twenty minutes of the school day, which rendered her Wednesday schedule obsolete. She grabbed a nearby planner and a blue pen, too wiped to properly color-code the box.

She scribbled in ‘Expect Principal Milder to go on a five to seven minute lecture about rampaging in the school hallway during announcements’ under Thursday.

She would think about Chad’s present on Friday once she gave herself enough time to recover from a messed up schedule.

Her inspiration came the next day, when a cabinet in Mr. Drako’s classroom almost fell on top of Chad, revealing dozens of vampire teeth.

Everyone in the class looked at Mr. Drako for an explanation. He shrugged. “My ex-wife worked at an arcade and had a lot of these fake vampire teeth lying around. They’re actually pretty good things to toss into children’s Halloween baskets. Glow in the dark too!”

“I think I’m turning! I’m sorry guys! Tell my turtles I love them! The sun is slowly sucking away at my being!” Chad hissed.

Melissa leaned over and plucked one off his shoulder. “Chad, you’re not a vampire,” she said, shaking her head.

Chad slowly opened his eyes. “I’m not?”

Zack held his phone. “Chad, do you see yourself in the camera?”

His eyes widened. “Stop making me feel better! The undead is my realm now!”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “Tilt the camera down. It’s pointed to the ceiling. There. I see you. You are not a vampire. Can we get back to the lesson now?”

Chad sighed in relief.

While Mr. Drako flipped through his slides to figure out where they’d left off, Amanda took the opportunity to write ‘go to discount bookstore’ in the Saturday afternoon slot.

Unfortunately, Lydia’s idea of helping Amanda decide on a book turned out to be making her read the summaries of YA vampire novels and choose one. While they were all within her price range, she doubted Chad would be interested in poorly written romance.

Besides, she figured he was more into the lore.

“Early Evening?” Lydia suggested, holding up a thick book with a black cover. “Maybe not. The prose really isn’t for everyone.”

Amanda wrinkled her nose. “Definitely not pile.”

“That’s the only pile we have so far,” Lydia sighed, setting Early Evening on top of a stack of five books.

Amanda groaned, regretting not doing any research into vampire books beforehand. “We’re doing it my way now,” she said. “We’ll just put everything on the cart and see if there’s a mythology or paranormal section.”

It took two minutes for Amanda to organize the books in an order that satisfied her. Lydia leaned against the table with her elbow, checking her phone.

“Need help with your gift?” Amanda asked, setting the books into the cart.

“No!” Lydia exclaimed. “I don’t need help! I totally have ideas and I have every intention on following through on at least one of them!”

Amanda raised an eyebrow. “Whose name did you draw anyway?”

“Bradley! I drew Bradley of all people!” Lydia hissed. “He’s going to hate what I get him.”

“I don’t think he will,” Amanda said.

“He hates everything that isn’t a bolted self-serve ice cream machine or people who aren’t named Melissa,” Lydia complained.

Amanda shrugged. “Okay, we’ll figure yours out after this. Just help me find a book for now.”

The paranormal section was two aisles over from the YA novels, and appeared a lot more promising to Amanda.

After five minutes, she selected a rather compact book that held information about vampires and similar creatures from different cultures around the world. “Good choice,” Lydia grinned. “Chad’s definitely gonna love it. Unlike Bradley anyway.”

Amanda nodded. “I hope so. And if he doesn’t like the book, at least he’ll be nice about it.”

“And now you’re just rubbing it in.”

#milo murphy's law #amanda lopez #mml secret santa story #fanfiction #lydia brooks #chad #melissa chase #bradley nicholson

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artdjgblog · 4 years ago

Video

vimeo

Innerview: Sarah Benson / Kansas City Star - Ink Magazine

March 2010

Video: DJG & PJC Note: Questions about David Seume’s Will Ya Be My Friend music video.

01) Is this the first music video you’ve ever done? Have you ever animated before?

This is my first music video. I’ve always wanted to do one and would love to venture more. It was a great opportunity and exercise in collaboration and in personal patience as I typically can’t allow art projects to take up a lot of my time per day job, life stuff and other art projects. I’ve never animated before per lack of resources and know-how, but my flat work has always been animated inside of me. It’s so nice to fully translate this in video form for everyone to see. But, it’s not just my video. My friend Philip James Cheaney is animator/co-director and additional artist on David Seume’s “Will Ya Be My Friend” video. This is Philip’s second full-length music video, the first being for The Winston Jazz Routine. I believe he has another one in pre-production for Joel Kraft. He also has several short films under his belt while stationed in Portland, OR. Currently, he is studying for a masters degree at the School of Visual Arts in New York City. I hope this video lends him extra credit as he captured my insides, enhancing them greatly. We’ve known each other for over a decade and work well together, even completing each others sentences most of the time. And David’s wonderful song made it that much easier. David was so kind to let us pick the song that truly sung to us and it was a treat. Three years prior to working on this video with Philip, he and I actually swapped some fairly extensive brains on an animated short film starring Abe Lincoln that we look forward to getting to in the future. I hope to learn some tech or hands-on trickery by then. Philip also has two other short films featuring my art that are on the back burner. Our back burner is actually a bonfire. 02) How did the collaboration between you and David come about? David connected with me on email out of the blue in late November of 2008 while I was in Texas. We had never talked before and I didn’t know about him, but he somehow knew about me. Coincidentally, he was booked to play a set of music, as well as release his debut album “It Is What It Is”, the same night of my 6th annual December art exhibition at The Brick in Kansas City, MO. He commissioned me to make a poster for his show and I knew instantly via email and after meeting in the flesh at the show that we were on the same page in life and art. I believe it was the same night at The Brick that we talked a little about the prospect of a music video. So, it was only fitting we chose to have the “Will Ya Be My Friend” video premiere and video art production on display at The Brick…with extra special thanks to Sheri! 03) The video was released last weekend, right? The video was officially released on Friday, March 12, 2010 at The Brick and on the internet right away. It’s been fourteen months in the making, and apart from my production work online and a handful of news items on David’s site and my site, has been fairly tight-lipped/tight-eye’d. It’s really neat to finally get it out there, share with the public, and see our year-plus of work fly by in four minutes! Hopefully, it’s four minutes that people will come back to visit multiple times! Tell your friends! 04) How much of the imagery is drawn vs. found? There is a very large percentage of found imagery pieced together in collage. There are also some hand drawn elements and characters. The core landscape I made of multiple ink jet printed overlays of found medical/science and floral illustrations and photos. There are also blow-ups of actual locust wings that make lovely hills. The original landscape, which we call “the scroll”, is made from all these layered collage pieces. The scroll is roughly 22″ wide x 25′ long (give-or-take as it is hard to properly measure the length) , based on the landscape I had in my head and from early sketches that I drew/timed to the flow of the landscape of the song. At one time I thought about the prospect of shooting the video on a continuous scroll cranked by hand, sorta old-fashioned and in tune to how I like to do things, but I’ll save that for another something down the road. Going back to truly visualizing the music, I had a vision of the landscape going on one continuous shot with multiple zooms up ‘n’ down and back ‘n’ forth and with the ability for the viewer to see the entire landscape at once during certain moments to see the scope of the world, or at least the part of the world that we were showing. It was probably a little more adventurous and in-depth than what could have been done, but what we ended up with is great as Philip really captured it well and found great ways to compromise and add his own flavors. I’m very pleased! Once the art and my notes were in Philip’s hands, I didn’t worry about it because I have faith in his abilities. I just hope he gets well rested after this! 05) There are a lot of insects and anatomical drawings in the video. Where did that concept come from? In my initial video thoughts, and something I think about quite frequently, I wanted to not only visually stamp the song “Will Ya Be My Friend”, but what the music might sound like on the inside or outside. Whether it’s the soul or makeup of the song itself or any body or vessel in which the song is played into, anything, even that of the external, in-between or over yonder. The original idea actually incorporated a live-action scene that lead into what you see for the final. There was also an idea of capturing David in full body movement and inserting him into the video world. But, being a little limited, and with David and me in KCMO and Philip, our chief motion man being in NYNY, we slimmed our ideas down some. I did a simple action photo shoot of David and then got to work on the final art. Though, Philip did a great job with the introduction of David in the opening credits and a humorous fall into the video world, so he partially captured some of the initial blue print. In terms of conceptual makeup of the landscape, I love seeing split levels of earth layers and what might be under the surface. So, the medical/science/anatomical imagery just made sense with this and also with the idea of seeing the guts of the musical landscape, human landscape or in-between world landscape. I had a couple of underground or cave-like-dip-down moments in mind fused with an almost Super Mario Bros. feel and this idea of seeing more than what’s just on the surface worked well with it too. The insects included just made sense in complimenting the anatomy and floral arrangements. The introduction of “Will Ya Be My Friend” has locusts and I wanted to play off of that, not only with an animation of an actual one whose skid mark David is after, but a few others in interaction, so the insects and microscopic critters blown-up, worked well, as well as the skeleton hands that act insect and critter-like. The song also ends with the voice of a child singing along and we wanted to capture childlike innocence, wonder and discovery from many aspects of the journey. We wanted a video that would be seen as more than just a video for the song, but more like a personal adventure with an identity that anybody might attach to or become attracted towards. We also wanted to lay the foundation of creativity and imagination and a connection to something larger. In particular, that feeling of experiencing something that can live beyond borders, that can make a person wake-up at any point in a day and get wheels turning. Something that can keep breathing. Something all around us that we often overlook, even sometimes the most important elements of life. Even though online time goes by in a flash, and an overloaded four minutes of video time at that, maybe it will get people to come back for more or rewind to get a better view of something buried beneath the surface, or grab a friend to show them. Maybe even it will get people to be thinking or look at non-video life in new ways. Friendships, life, art, whatever, all have extra things and treasures buried beneath. Of course, there are always chances of the not-so special things lurking. But, faith in the extra good ones can cancel them out, we must hope. 06) Are those Paul McCartney’s eyes on that lion? Good question and shows you were watching and came back for more! No, those aren’t Paul’s eyes. Though, if I had to choose the eyes of a Paul, it would be Newman or Buzan. Actually, those are David Seume’s eyes! And actually, as David exits the cave, a picture of himself that makes up the landscape composition is in the ground. It’s the picture those eyes came from. Up until late in the production art I just had the regular “Lion Guy” eyes there, a frizzy-haired chap I came across in an old thrift store text book. I’m not sure what kind of book, maybe psychology, but this guy was chosen for something and then I chose him. He gave me a giggle with that lion mane hair of his and I found a frame to hang him and then drew a body. He makes for a good friend. I wonder who he is though. I’d like to meet him and hope he doesn’t sue me for extending his likeness because I just like him. 07) Have you found anything good recently? (I remember last time we met you had a cup that said “Your dumb” on it) I’m constantly walking with my head down for keepsakes that other people discard, or trash that turns into animals or art when I walk by, so my pockets always have things in them. There are some great weathered handwritten garage and estate sale signs out there left to dissolve. Also, since we’re finally all thawed out from the winter (maybe?) there is good pickings for pieces of cars that wrecked and weird pieces of trash that was chucked. Much of the stuff I’m finding will all fit well together in a singular piece of art, once I get it all spread out and find the right time for it. This town needs a good, hard rain to wash it up some, but it all makes up the city’s landscape. And for now I’ll take what I can get and make something pretty, at least to me. Thanks! -djg

#interviews #innerviews #musicvideo #design #illustration #kansascity

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write-this-way-please · 8 years ago

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INKED

INKED [Zelo gets tattooed] Rated: Mature

You sighed heavily turning the page of your book. You’d been bored out of your mind lately. A lack of motivation and inspiration was going to be the death of you. It was like you wanted to tattoo, but you just couldn’t find the right client.

You needed a new muse.

Sleepy walked up the narrow staircase holding a bag of from your favorite street cart. “Hey, I brought ya somethin~”

“Oppa!” you grinned seeing your older brother make his way inside “You can be amazing when you wanna be” you chimed reaching out for the bag. “Gimmie”

“Ah- say please” he held the bag just out of reach.

“Yah, Sleepy-Oppa! Give me my food you tree”

“Alright here” he set the plate of tteokbokki in your hand. “You really should consider eating something other than tteokbokki”

“Give me one good reason why?” you pouted, shoving the skewer in your mouth. “If you’ve already found perfection, why seek anything else?”

He groaned, raking a hand through his hair. “Why are you like this?” He made himself at home, flopping down on the tattoo bench, and resting his arms behind his head. “Where is everybody anyway?”

“Jooyoung-Oppa, doesn’t come in until the afternoon for his appointment, and Jiyeon-Unnie is out of town for the weekend, so I’m really just shop sitting.”

He hums in agreeance before glancing over at you. “By the way, did I miss the memo or did you suddenly stop needing money?”

“Hmm, what do you mean?”

“I figured you suddenly got rich since you’ve been turning away clients. Word on the street is, you’re the hardest person to make an appointment with.”

“You make me sound so stuck up…” you frowned, swirling the rice cake in the sauce absently. “I just...I’m not struggling anymore...All my life I worked hard so that I can afford to be picky… It kills me doing simple tattoos… There’s no personality, no passion….”

Your pickiness has left you with a lot more free time than you originally anticipated, but you haven't been missing the little quick flash tattoos people asked for on a whim. But you were starting to miss the vibration of your tattoo gun.

“Well, you shouldn’t be so picky… you’ll never find your motivation if you keep turning people down.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience” you eyed him suspiciously. “Why the sudden care in how I get my clients Oppa? I turn down someone you know?”

He chuckled and nodded “Actually yeah. A Dongsaeng from work had been going on getting a tattoo for a long time, and he was upset with this mystery artist he followed on Instagram.” he smirked looking down at you. “Apparently they only accept appointments through Instagram and they’re really exclusive. Imagine my surprise when I saw that the artist that turned him down was my precious stubborn little sister.”

Pouting you shoved another piece of tteokbokki in your mouth. “Ah- the idol kid, right? You know I don’t tattoo idols Oppa.” The mystery artist persona wasn’t something that you intentionally built, but it just became who you were. Your SNS was minimal. You only posted photos of your work, no selfies, no personal post, just your art. You didn’t even post the name of your shop. All appointment request were made through your Instagram. People could send photos, or a description of what they wanted and if you agreed, you’d give them the address for a real consultation.

If you were being honest, his message did intrigue you. His idea was refreshing and you’d even sketched out a few ideas for it, but they were both too risky for your traditional clients. Your sketches were a little out of the box, and the chances of him agreeing on something so over the top were zero to none. He was an idol after all.

“You tatted Dean a few weeks ago. What’s the difference?”

“Dean’s not an idol. I don’t wanna be a part of that whole idol tattoo trend.”

“Hey, Junhong is in my company you know he’s not like that. Me, Daehyun, and Yongguk all love tattoos. It’s not some whim. He’s actually thought about this for a while. And you know other artist would be jumping at the chance to tattoo an idol.”

“Then let them do it. I can even recommend him, someone. You know Natasha-Unnie’s protege? She’s really good, she’s Taeil’s artist and-”

“Junhong really wants to be tattooed by you.” he shrugged. “I didn’t tell him how, but I told him I’d put in a good word for him. Just meet with him...And if you still don’t wanna then go ahead and recommend him someone else. Besides, I think Natasha would be a little upset that you turned down her little brother’s dongsaeng.”

“What?” you frowned “You mean he’s in Yongguk-Oppa’s group?” Natasha was a good friend, to you. The Seoul tattoo scene was decently small so you all looked out for one another. It was a family. She even bailed you out of some pretty bad situations with the police so maybe this was a favor worth granting? “Alright….I’ll meet with him.”

“Oh you’d do it for Natasha but not for your big brother”

“Natasha-Unnie is a queen!”

“Yeah, yeah” he smiled standing up, and ruffling your hair. “Well I have a schedule, but I’ll let Junhong know the good news.” He reached for your tteokbokki only to have his hand smacked away. “Yah- Oppa, you wanna lose that hand?”

“Come on share.”

“No. I’m already doing you a favor. Shoo-Yah!”

He chuckled stealing a bite before pecking your hair. “Leave your schedule open for Junhong.”

And that’s exactly how you wound up sitting across from Junhong later that night. When Sleepy told him he got him a consultation, he cleared his schedule immediately and made a beeline to your shop. And Jooyoung had even come into work, finished his client and gone home for the night, leaving you in the most awkward atmosphere with your hopeful client.

Junhong himself was very outgoing, and kind. You two actually vibed really well together. He was just a little too friendly. He was a lot less intimidating on his SNS. Perhaps it was because his height was so understated, or maybe because he was a lot more strikingly handsome in person. He truly was an idol after all.

Junhong stared at you expectantly, a bright smile on his face. “So you’ll really do it Noona?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, I only sketched out a couple ideas…” All he’d messaged you was a quote, a simple line and said that you had free ranged to sketch what you wanted. Honestly, he was an ideal client, save from the fact that he was an idol.

Their Life Is an Art.

All of it.

After seeing your sketches you two managed to combine the ideas, he gave you proper feedback and you found yourself making a stencil for him. You wanted to do a take on Marina Abramovic’s A Relation In Time. You wanted to come up with a tattoo that showed movement, and it wasn’t an easy concept to bring to life but Junhong put his faith in you. He wanted to get it as soon as possible, and you honestly were kinda itching to do it. Glancing over your shoulder you caught him slipping his shirt off to prepare for the stencil. “You sure you want it on your lower stomach? It’s kinda oddly placed?”

“Nah, Noona. I’m sure” he smirked walking over to you. “You almost done?”

As he got closer you pulled back, eyeing him. He was just so tall… And naked...And so damn close. “Back up” you huffed, shooting him a glare.

“Why Noona, you nervous or something?” he smirked “I thought you were a bad ass tattoo artist~”

“I am” you pouted grabbing your tattoo gun, the loud vibrating buzz that emanated from it was enough to at least get him to move back. He crossed his arms over his chest towering over you as you tried to get back to your sketch. “Why’d I have to be the one to tattoo you anyway?” you glanced at him, trying to not let his body distract you from your drawing.

He smiled seeing you shy away from looking at him. “I saw your style and I knew it had to be you...that’s all. You were the only one that could draw what I wanted.”

“Charming me isn’t that easy” you huffed, finishing your stencil.

He shrugged watching you prep your table. “Maybe it is~” Raking his hand through his hair he grinned. “Ya know Noona, I had no idea you were a girl. I just kinda pictured you to be a guy from your SNS, it’s very minimal. Kinda like Yongguk-Hyung”

“Well, I’m full of surprises” you shrugged.

“I’m sure you are.”

“Lay down” you regretted your words the second you saw his sleazy smirk. He strode over to your bench and laid down, brushing his bare body a little too closely against yours. You slid your gloves on and moved to prep the stencil but sighed deeply seeing that he needed to unbutton his pants in over for you to properly fit it. “Can you…”

“Hm? What?” he smiled innocently.

“Yah, forget it. I didn’t need to do this tattoo anyway”

“Relax Noona” he grinned unbuttoning his pants and tugging down his zipper. “I was just playin’”

“That’s fine. You can stop now” you huffed, grabbing his wrist, stopping him from pulling his zipper down any further. Who the hell was this Kid and why were you getting so flustered? You were a professional. This wasn’t your first tattoo, you’d done plenty in more intimate areas, so why were you letting him get under your skin? Admittedly he was good looking, anyone could see that he really was an idol.

But once you were able to lay the stencil down and get to work on the tattoo he’d calm down and his teasing seemed to subside. He looked like he was trying to focus on his breathing and not think about the fact that seven tiny needles are stabbing into his abdomen thousand of times. You didn’t know Junhong very well, but he was being eerily quiet. Maybe he needed a breather? You were so wrapped up in wanting to finish this tattoo, you didn’t even check to see how he was doing. This is his first tattoo after all. After two hours into lining, you wiped his stomach with alcohol. “Alright kid, let’s take a break.” When you finally got a good looked at him he looked so pale, clammy even. His breaths had gotten more shallow over the course of an hour.

He peaked over at you and winced. “I’m alright, we don’t need to”

“Nah, my hand’s cramping and I’m starving. You eat?” you noticed that Junhong was bleeding a little more than he should have for this type of tattoo, and it’ll help him tons to have some energy to tolerate the pain better. “I’m going to grab some chicken from the place next door, you want some?”

“S-sure.”

He was noticeably too drained to even flirt, this tattoo was taking a lot out of him and you felt bad for not taking the proper protocol when prepping him. Something bad could have happened if you didn’t take a break, him passing out during his tattoo would have been horrible.

After eating some chicken and tteokbokki he seemed to be getting his energy back. He was smiling again and vividly just telling you about his life, mostly his dog Mochi and his members. “Hey Noona…” he called out seeing you spacing out. There was something he noticed while he was trying to not pass out during his session. He’d always been surrounded by people with tattoos. Both artist and collectors. From his member to Yongguk’s family. Most of them he could see their ink from a mile away.“If you don’t mind me asking… Why don’t you have tattoos?” he gave you another once over, your arms and chest exposed from your V- neck t-shirt, and a good amount of your legs peaked through your ripped jeans.

Leaning on your hand you smirked. “Who said I didn’t have tattoos?”

His brows furrowed as his stare lingered on the parts of your skin that was covered. Snapping your fingers you smiled. “Hey, eyes up here Kid”

“But where…?” he asked before his reasoning caught up to his curiosity. “Is it a small tattoo or something? Like Daehyun-Hyung’s?”

“My tattoos are intimate” Seeing him pout you laughed “For example…I have a whole back piece...And I have these” you showed the inside of your wrist. If the light hit it properly he could see a small star, made in white ink. It was damn near invisible, and about half an inch big “I have seven of these.:

“Where are the other ones?” he licked his lips, eyes raking down your body again.

“No one’s ever found all seven” you smiled proudly.

“I want to” there was such a dark look in his eyes as he stared at you. His gaze lingering on the parts of your skin, where there could be a hidden star.

“And that’s enough of a break” you laughed standing up and taking a swig of your water. “Finish this, and drink your juice box. We need you hydrated and need to keep your sugar up.” Stretching your arms over your head, you loosened up your muscles in anticipation for the next leg of the session.

Junhong poutily sipped on his juice box. He couldn’t help but watch you stretch. It was a relatively innocent act. He’d seen the dancers in his company stretch similarly, but he was never compelled to watch them. Your shirt rode up just slightly, displaying the top of your hip bones. That was a pretty intimate spot, there had to be a star there.

“Can I help you?” you glanced over at him, he probably didn’t realize how focused he look. A small pout on his face, and a deep furrow in his brows.

“N-no.” he blushed, settling back onto the bench.

The rest of the session came and went and honestly his tattoo was some of your best work. Cleaning the tattoo one final time you nudged him. “Alright, kid you’re done.” Seeing his face light up as he looked in the mirror, reminded you of just how much you loved tattooing.

“Noona this is perfect” he grinned.

It was just about midnight when you finally finished up. “Man I’m tired” you yawned removing your gloves. You got him bandaged up and closed up the shop, walking him to the street.

You could feel Junhong staring at you as you walked down the street, as if he was trying to find the nerve to ask you something. If there was one thing that bothered you more than his flirting was him being nervous about it. Sighing you raked your hand through your hair. “Are you gonna ask me out or what?”

“Y-You want me to?” he stuttered blushing.

Shrugging you smiled. Maybe it was because it was so late, or maybe it was because it’s been awhile since your last date, But something about him made you feel like reciprocating advances. It was obvious that his flirting was all talk, he was just trying to see if he can get a rise out of you. But what would he do if you pushed back? “You old enough to drink kid?”

There were definitely worse things in life than finding yourself at a bar with Junhong, and after your third drink, you’d admit that he was even kind of charming.

He leaned his head on his hand and you tossed back another shot. “You’re really pretty…” he mumbled more so to himself; pouting over his drink.

“Oh yeah? You think so?” Smirking you leaned into him, quirking a brow. “Then make a move”

“Can I?” he eyes you hesitantly.

“You know for someone who was so flirty before you’re kinda shy when it comes to initiation”

“I’m not sh-y” his voice broke as you moved closer, your nose brushing against his. He took in a shallow breath as you stared at him with hooded eyes. He cleared his throat wanting to save face. “I’m just not a fan of rejection…”

You grinned seeing him shy away, trying to avoid eye contact with you. “Junhong-ah...” you whispered grabbing his attention. The moment he turned to face you, you pressed your lips against his; Pulling him closer by his jacket.

You could feel him hesitate for a brief moment before taking over the kiss completely. Grabbing you by your lower back, he pulled you into him. Pressing your body against his as his tongue flicked over the roof of your mouth. You grinned threading your fingers through his hair. “Mmmm…”

And over tangled limbs, desperate kisses, and hooded eyes you two somehow managed to make it back to your place. It was farther than his but being that he lived in a dorm, you really didn’t feel like taking those chances.

You’d dropped your keys three times, while trying to unlock the door. Your hands shaking at his teasing. “Nnn...Yah..” you huffed.

“Open the door Noona” he whispered huskily against your ear, pressing himself against your back. His long fingers teasing the waistband of your jeans.

“I would if somebody would cool it for a sec.” you blushed heavily turning the key finally. “I have neighbors you know.”

He chuckled walking you inside, and shutting the door behind you. “They’re gonna hear you anyway.”

Grabbing your hips, he lifted you up easily and set you on your bed. He made quick work of his shirt before tugging at your jeans playfully. Leaning back on our elbows you giggled as he struggled with your skinny jeans. “You do realize that your tattoo is gonna hurt like hell if we try to have sex?”

“You say that now?” he scoffed. “I’ll manage” he grunted finally getting them down your leg. He crawled back onto the bed, moving toward your lips.

Smiling, you bit down on your lower lip, moving back teasingly. Sliding his hand up the length of your long, soft legs. His fingers lingering over the tattooed script on your upper thigh. He smirked, pressing a soft kiss against it. “Found one” His eyes darkened as he flashed them up at you. “I’m gonna find all your stars too.”

“You’ll try~” you winked moving back

He gripped your thighs and tugged you down toward him. “Gottcha”

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped your lips as he pinned your arms down. “I guess you did. What are you gonna do with me?”

“I can think of a few things…” Lifting your t-shirt inch by inch, he grinned at each new tattoo he exposed. The beautiful arrayment of ink that decorated your body was breathtaking. He’d trace each one, following his touch with a kiss. His smile widened seeing the intricate geometric flower between your underbust. “This is beautiful…” he smiled kissing his way across your skin. “I found a star…” he flicked his tongue against the seemingly empty spot, due to the white ink. It was small and subtle, but once he saw he couldn’t shake it.

Your back arched at each of his kisses but feeling his tongue you let out a whimper. “You plan on just teasing me all night?” you glared down at him, your wrist still trapped under his grip.

“Maybe” he grinned against your skin. “I like how you react to my teasing…” his kisses moved up to your breast, his lips ghosting over your nipple before taking them into his mouth. “Mmm..”

Your head fell back into the mattress feeling him tug on them. “Besides your moans are so pretty Noona~” He moved to hold down your wrist with one hand, keeping them above your head as his free hand teased your nipple, flicking it playfully.

“F-Fight me” you huffed, trying to fight back your blush. You hated being helpless. It was more so a turn on than anything, you just weren’t expecting it from Junhong of all people.

“You may not know this Noona, but you’re not very intimidating in this state” he laughed softly. “You’re actually just really cute” he whispered against you, placing a peck just beneath your ear.

“Junhong-ah...” you panted, turning your head toward him.

Junhong was pretty confident about the whole situation. There was something so satisfying about hearing your sweet moans. But despite having you pinned beneath him, hearing you called his name got him all flustered. He turned toward you, letting you pull him into a kiss. Smiling against your lips as your mouth coaxed his open. “Mmm…”

You grinned tugging his lower lip, between your teeth. He was so distracted by your kiss and holding you, he hadn’t even noticed he let up his grip on your wrist. Your hand slid down his muscular chest, and abs, grazing carefully past his new tattoo. Gripping his waistband you undid his zipper, stroking him. “You’re so hard…”

“Your fault…” he blushed kissing your neck.

“Mine?” you giggled. “Then let me take responsibility for it?”

“S-Seriously?” he pulled away from you, to get a better look of your face.

Laughing you shook your head. “What type of one-sided body worship did you think I was into?” pushing him onto the bed, you crawled over his body. “I like reciprocating affection” You winked, running your hand through your hair. “But I’m a little more into instant gratification” you made you way lower, pulling his length out of his pants. Your hands wrapping around him and stroking him harder. “Mmmm…” You slid your tongue down his base, grinning as he whimpered. “I kinda like you like this”

He chuckled. “Hell, I like me like this” he chewed on his bottom lip.

Feeling you nip at his member he winced, clutching his eyes shut as you teased him. Your thumb rolling over his head, spreading his precum. “Sex might be a little too hard on your tattoo...I don’t wanna make it too sore.” You placed a soft kiss, just below his tattoo. “But we can still do everything else” you grinned.

He hummed happily. “Can I get an I.O.U?”

“Deal~” you giggled pecking his lips.

This was by far the most comfortable you’d ever slept. You were usually pretty cold in your bed, but Junhong was a giant radiator. Although it was pretty hilarious to see him try and cram himself onto your bed. It took a little finessing and involved a lot of cuddling but you two made it work. You smiled feeling kisses down your neck. “Mmm… How long have you been awake?”

He buried his face in the crook of your neck and tugged you into his chest. “Not long” His fingertips danced along your hip. “I was so distracted by everything else last night, I didn’t see your sexy back tattoo…” he nipped at your earlobe. “I even found another little star…”

You giggled. “Four more to go”

Rolling you onto your back he grinned, his nose brushing down yours. “Noona...I think I know your body pretty well...and I promise you, there’s no way you could have four more stars anywhere…” he tugged on your upper lip.

“I guess you weren’t all that thorough” you stuck your tongue out at him.

“Then I guess we’re gonna need another round” he tugged your blanket away, tossing it off the bed.

End?

Man I can’t believe I wrote 10 pages of this ;__; I’ve been working on this since the day Zelo showed his tattoo, I was so inspired. If you guys liked it please let me know! Your messages mean the world to me <3 There might even be a part two for you guys if you’re interested~

Also, shout out to @baby-you-are-just-write for beta-ing XD If you guys read her amazing Love Written In Ink series you would’ve caught my reference of her MC in the beginning ;) Woot cohesive tattoo universe!

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lesbrarians · 8 years ago

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Junkrat/Roadhog:: Origins Ch. 17

This is it, everyone, the final chapter of the fic! I’m posting this on my lunch break at work bc I’m so excited to share it with you all, aha. I hope you enjoy it! (Also, a reference image for that first paragraph: http://jabberwockyx.tumblr.com/post/153064161387/i-love-all-of-junkrats-drawings-and-his-awful)

Title: Origins

Characters: Junkrat, Roadhog

Rating: R

Summary: The origins of Junkrat and Roadhog. Junkrat finds a mysterious treasure in the nuclear wasteland of the Australian Outback and quickly finds himself a target. When a hitman is sent to kill him, he convinces the man to become his personal bodyguard in exchange for half the spoils. Their ensuing crime spree could be legendary – if they can get over the initial bad blood between them. Can also be found on AO3 if you prefer reading it there!

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Final Chapter

—

Junkrat drew a dotted line on the map Thatcher had helped him sketch several weeks ago, punctuated with a giant circle around the word “FREEDUM!” He flipped the paper towel over and wrote a message that, the occasional spelling error aside, explained the essence of the strategy. “Okay, so that’s you in the lounge,” he said, referring to the several circles that formed a crude depiction of Roadhog’s pig mask, topped with a tuft of hair. “And me by the door,” he added, in reference to the inverted triangle of his face and the three spikes that represented his hair. “Do whatcha gotta do and get the bloody hell over to me, okay?”

Roadhog’s response was a drawing of his own, a simple thumbs up. Junkrat grinned at the picture. He’d made the right choice in picking Roadhog for his bodyguard.

Junkrat pocketed the note and finished assembling the last of his bombs, hooking two electrical wires to a tube filled with flammable match head powder on one end and a D-sized battery on the other. In order to properly execute the plan, he needed to steal one last thing from Thatcher, and he waited until the last second possible to do so out of sheer self-preservation.

Once Thatcher left the cell for their recreational hour, Junkrat lunged for one of his books, a sizeable hardcover. He pulled out a razor blade that he had welded to the end of a plastic comb. Prisoners were only allowed to shave in the presence of a guard, but Roadhog had managed to slip out some blades undetected. He was endlessly grateful that he had the man on his side, because he had no personal way to acquire a razor, given his radiation-induced hair growth issues. The COs were stingy about granting razor access to maximum-security prisoners, but Roadhog was given special permission, as facial hair prevented his gas mask from sealing properly.

Junkrat hollowed out the book, using the razor to slice a hole in the pages, and planted his largest and greatest bomb in the center of it. He attached a pair of wires to the cover of the book, rigging it so that it would detonate upon opening. As much as he liked being the one to blow someone to kingdom come, there was something to be said for the power of a victim actuated device.

Satisfied with its construction, he stuffed his pockets full of the rest of his innovated weapons, clutched the book to his chest, and left the cell.

Across the room, he could see Roadhog in position in the living area, stationed by the TV. Junkrat nodded at him and made his way to his spot several feet away from the door that linked their wing to the rest of the prison.

Junkrat didn’t know how, exactly, Roadhog disturbed the peace and instigated the riot, but there was a sudden explosion of activity. A booming voice came on over the loudspeaker, ordering all the inmates to quiet down and return to their cells, but the pandemonium was in full force and no one obeyed.

A team of officers stormed into the block, clad in flak jackets and helmets. Junkrat inched closer to the door, book held tight in front of him. One of the guards slowed down and eyed him.

“What’ve you got there, Fawkes?”

Junkrat jumped at being directly addressed. “N-Nothin’!” he said, just a little too quickly to be honest. “Just a book, that’s all.” His natural twitchiness helped make his feigned nervousness more convincing. Who’s incapable of keeping up an act now? he thought, making a mental note to throw the savage comment in Roadhog’s face later.

“Oh yeah? Then you won’t mind handing it over so I can take a look at it.”

“No!”

The officer reached for his hip. “Hand it over now, Fawkes.”

Junkrat begrudgingly held out the book and glanced over to the commotion of inmates and officers. Roadhog had side-skirted the whole mess and was heading his way. The CO snatched the book away from him, and Junkrat skittered to Roadhog’s side as he opened the book.

The bomb detonated with a glorious bang, and the guard screamed, the sound lost in the din of shouting and fighting that filled the block. One second his hand was there, holding the cover of the book, and the next second it wasn’t. He stumbled back and fell flat on his ass, unable to take his eyes off the bloody stump of his hand. It filled Junkrat with a vindictive kind of glee to know that he wasn’t the only poor asshole with a missing hand in the room.

Junkrat snatched his identification card from where it was clipped to his belt. “I’ll be takin’ that! Roadhog, why dontcha… give him a hand?” He couldn’t stop himself from picking up the severed hand and waving it.

“Stop that.” Roadhog’s idea of giving the man a hand was to reach down and snap his neck before he tried to detain them from leaving, hand or no hand.

Junkrat used the identification card to buzz them out of the room before the rest of the officers who were struggling to contain the rioting prisoners noticed that they were down a man. He pulled out one of the pipes he had acquired from Belmont and filled with powdered coffee creamer.

They took off down the hall. “Hold this a sec,” he told Roadhog, passing him the pipe and plunging his hand back into his pocket in search of his matchbook.

“Oi!” came a shout as they rounded the corner, two guards coming their way. Junkrat had anticipated their presence, thanks to the map he had drawn with Thatcher’s help and marked with angry faces. He’d spent hours poring over his sketchy layout, trying to find an alternative route where their paths wouldn’t cross with stationed guards, but there was none. He decided it didn’t matter; as long as they had the appropriate weapons, they could plow their way through the defenses.

Junkrat struck a match and took the pipe back from Roadhog. He held the flame at the the pipe’s entrance and tipped it horizontally so the contents slowly trickled out. As soon as the powder touched the burning match, it ignited, and pulling the match away created a long stream of fire aimed directly at the security guards that were rushing towards them.

“If ya can’t stand the heat, stay outta my face!” he shouted over the screams of the burned. He was economical with his use of the coffee creamer, making his macgyvered flamethrower last as long as possible before dropping the spent device.

They weren’t out of the proverbial woods yet. Roadhog shanked anyone who got too close to them with the improvised weapons he’d made out of stolen razor blades and sharpened toothbrushes while Junkrat caused as much destruction as possible to slow down anyone who had the guts to come after them.

“Incoming!” He lit his last bomb and tossed it to clear a path to the main doors.

They burst outside, the doors to the prison slamming against the brick wall, and bolted for the exit. The correctional officers may not have carried guns on their person, but the guards in the watchtowers outside sure as hell did. Junkrat’s nerves got the best of him, his unhinged laughter a product of alarm as they swerved to avoid being shot. A spasmodically moving target was much harder to hit than a predictable one, and Junkrat was the master of erratic behavior. Roadhog stuck directly behind him as they ran, a living human shield in case any errant bullets got too close.

Much to their relief, Roadhog’s bike was idling outside the prison, Ava lounging in the familiar beat-up yellow sidecar. At least, Junkrat assumed it was Ava, as the woman was wearing a full face, tinted visor helmet that covered her distinguishing mass of dense curls.

She straightened up once she saw the two of them barreling straight towards her, giving Junkrat the space he needed to leap into the sidecar next to her. “Long time no see!” she said as Roadhog mounted the bike and they tore away from the prison. She raised her voice to be heard of the revving motor. “Junkrat, Roadhog, you’re looking good. I’ll admit, I had my doubts – how the bloody hell did you escape a maximum security prison?”

“Bombs and fire!”

“Ah, I see, the usual way, then.”

“We’ll explain back at your house,” Roadhog said, accelerating just a little faster. Junkrat’s eyes watered; he was suddenly jealous of Ava’s helmet and Roadhog’s mask, both of which protected their eyes from the sting of air whooshing by.

“Wait!” he shouted over the loud rush of wind. “We gotta go to the impound lot first!”

“Are you kidding me?” Ava yelled back. “After I broke in there and nicked the bike – no way!”

“Please,” Junkrat begged. He glanced over at Roadhog, eyes pleading. “Come on, Roadhog, I need my tire!”

Roadhog shifted gears. “Which way, Ava?”

Ava groaned, but she directed them to the lot and handed over a pair of bolt cutters. “I had planned on cutting through the fence, but it was easier to just scale it.”

It wasn’t quite as easy for Junkrat to climb the fence, as his peg leg poked through the holes in the chain link, so he cut his way through while Roadhog and Ava stood lookout.

There was a guard tower in the impound lot, and Junkrat hid as he tried to figure out how best to navigate to the large storage container. He was close to just giving up and making a run for it, because all the routes he saw seemed to be in clear view of the tower. Just as he was about to head back to the motorcycle to regroup and figure out another strategy, he heard the clanging of a gate on the far end of the impound loud and a very convincing barking noise.

Ava. Junkrat grinned. He waited for the guard to leave the tower to investigate the source of the disturbance before dashing towards the evidence locker. He used the bolt cutters to break the heavy duty padlock (stupid, he thought to himself, they really needed to get with the times and beef up their security – but then again, it wasn’t a particularly high crime town) and slipped inside, swinging the door shut behind him.

After a moment’s thought, he opened it again, just a crack. He needed the light to figure out what the hell belonged to him. It wasn’t that he had scruples about not stealing the belongings of other criminals; it was more a matter of being economical, and his and Roadhog’s loot was top priority.

Luckily, their stuff wasn’t exactly easy to miss. Subtlety was not their strong point. He caught sight of a familiar looking spike and the bright yellow of Roadhog’s shoulder pad, and he made a beeline for the boxes of evidence labeled “Fawkes & Rutledge,” with their case number below it.

Junkrat pulled out his RIP-tire first. He cackled and planted a smooch on the rubber, heedless of the dirt caked onto it. The joy was overwhelming, and not just because of the treasure the tire contained. It had been a staple of his arsenal of weapons for so long, and he had felt naked without it on his person. He wrapped his arms between the spikes to hug it tight to his chest. “I’ve gotcha!”

He strapped the tire to his back and grabbed everything else he could carry – Roadhog’s harness, which threatened to slip off his shoulders, it was so comically large on him; the piggy-faced duffle bag that carried Roadhog’s hogdrogen, Junkrat’s mines, and what remained of their hard-earned cash; his own harness and its grenade cans slung over his other arm. After a moment’s thought, he searched the container until he pulled out a handful of rings, the ones Roadhog had retrieved from Riptide all those months ago. He stashed them in the deepest corner of the duffle bag.

“Junkrat!” Ava’s voice, high and piercing, called out. Junkrat’s head whipped up. If Ava was yelling, there was no point in pretending to be unobtrusive. He hiked up everything he was carrying and charged out the door, slamming it open. The security guard had been dangerously close to the evidence locker and took off after him, hot on his heels and cursing him out.

Junkrat plunged his hand into the pink duffle bag and fished out one of his mines and the detonator. He jumbled things around so he could properly access the detonator and dropped the mine. He jumped and pressed the button, the force of the explosion catapulting him through the air and knocking the guard off his feet.

“‘Hog, look, I’m flying!” he shouted as he soared through the air. He landed on the ground hard, stumbling a little, and finished the mad dash to the motorcycle.

Ava grabbed his hand and swung him onboard, and they peeled off with a victory cry.

“Is there hogdrogen in there?” Roadhog asked, sparing a glance at the duffle bag.

“You know it,” Junkrat answered. “Need a can?” He pulled one out and passed it over to Roadhog, who huffed it and tossed it to the ground.

“Oh, good,” Ava said. “You can add littering to your list of crimes now too!”

—

It was dusk by the time they arrived at Ava’s house.

“You can’t stay here long,” Ava said after they covered Roadhog’s bike with a black tarp. “They’re bound to realize who your little accomplice was, the glorious me, and they’ll come knocking. But you can stay here the night at least.

Rosa fussed over all of them like a mother hen, clucking about how they had

to get out of the prison stripes before they left. There was the pressing matter of where they would acquire replacement clothes, but she promised to go into town and look for something on their behalf first thing in the morning.

“Hang on, Roadhog,” she said suddenly, standing on her tiptoes and balancing against him to inspect his arm. “You’re bleeding… is that a bullet?”

Junkrat’s blood ran cold. “Wait, wait, what? Roadhog – y-yer shot?” His mind ran a mile a minute. People died from being shot, no matter how big and tough they were, and Roadhog had gone untreated for several hours, that couldn’t possibly be good. His traitorous brain supplied him with an image of Roadhog, dead, and the panic began to set in. “No, no, that can’t be a fucking bullet–” He crossed over to Roadhog’s other side to examine for himself and – nope, nope, that was definitely a bullet wound. “Shit, why the fuck didn’t ya say something?”

He should have known. He shouldn’t have needed to been told. He should’ve seen how Roadhog was favoring his left arm, paid more attention to why he immediately reached for the hogdrogen. Guilt wasn’t an emotion he was accustomed to feeling, but it was sinking in heavily.

“Junkrat,” Roadhog said, voice gentle. “I’m fine.”

“Yer not fuckin’ fine, there’s a bloody bullet in yer arm, don’t talk to me about bein’ fine!” Junkrat’s hands twisted in his hair, upset and frustrated and utterly shaken.

“I’m still standing.”

Junkrat slowly unclenched his fists. “Well, yeah, but that’s just – adrenaline is a helluva motivator.”

“Adrenaline and sheer determination to live,” Ava amended. “I’ve seen men half Roadhog’s size get shot and still remain a threat. It’ll take more than a bullet to incapacitate our man over here.” She located a handheld x-ray and examined him while Rosa and Junkrat fretted.

“Well?” Junkrat demanded. He drummed his fingers against his thigh, taut with nervous energy. “You gonna get it out or what?” He peeked over Ava’s shoulder, trying to gauge for himself how bad it was.

“Oi, give me a minute, stickybeak, I’m assessing.” Ava pushed him away, peering at the wound through her device. “You’re lucky,” she finally said. “It didn’t hit any major arteries and is pretty firmly lodged in there. Honestly? I say leave it in.”

Junkrat did not like the sound of a bullet remaining in his bodyguard. “Whoa, whoa, doc, y’sure that’s a good idea?”

“Hey, who’s the one with a medical degree here? You might be Dr. Boom, but I’m Dr. Bones, and I know my shit. Removing a foreign object like that would just do more harm than good and could cause localized nerve damage. If it’s not going to migrate – and I don’t think it will – or impede your range of motion, then it’s not worth removing. It’s not a radioactive slug or anything. You’ll be fine,” she reassured Roadhog, but Junkrat felt like he needed the reassurance more, since Roadhog was acting remarkably unperturbed. “Just let me dress it for you and get you some antibiotics and painkillers, and you tell me if anything shifts or starts acting funky, ‘kay?”

Junkrat hovered around Roadhog and Ava as she sterilized the wound and patched him up. He only left when Ava, clearly fed up by his constant presence and incessant questioning of everything she did, sent him to get some water for Roadhog’s painkillers.

He waited until they were alone to properly address Roadhog again.

“Hey… I’m sorry,” he said, doing his best to sound as contrite as he felt. Ava and Rosa had gone to bed, having set them up with their sleeping bags on the living room floor once more. With all the blackout curtains drawn, he couldn’t see anything, and he was glad that Roadhog couldn’t see him clearly either, as he fidgeted with his fingers. That moment where he had seen a future without Roadhog in it had put his feelings for him in stark relief.

He heard the pillow sigh as Roadhog shifted his head to look at him. “For what?”

“For lettin’ ya get shot. You wouldn’t’ve if you hadn’t been bein’ my shield.”

“It’s my job.”

“Well, I don’t like this job anymore if it’s gettin’ ya hurt!” Junkrat said, voice heated. Roadhog shushed him, and he remembered that Ava and Rosa were sleeping nearby. “Y’don’t have to be my bodyguard anymore. It was a stupid idea anyway.”

“I want to be,” Roadhog answered simply. “You need the protection.”

“I can take care of meself! I did it before you came along, I can keep on doing it.”

“You weren’t as big of a target before you hired me,” Roadhog reminded him. “And I meant it: I want to.”

Junkrat sighed. “Yeah, yeah. Yer too good to me, y’know that?”

Roadhog blindly reached out in the darkness and clumsily patted his hand. “Go to sleep.”

“Ahh, okay. G’night.” Junkrat tried, but he couldn’t fall asleep, brain still far too active. He just kept thinking about who he was laying next to.

He hadn’t understood how much he’d missed sleeping next to Roadhog until he was by his side once more. He’d missed the soothing sound of his deep breathing, the way he could feel his body heat radiating off of him, the tingling sensation he felt when he held his arm a hair’s breadth away from Roadhog’s. It was comforting, natural, just plain right.

It made him realize just how much he wanted to keep on sleeping next to him for the rest of his life, or better yet, on him.

Junkrat rolled over onto his side. He could barely make out the outline of the massive form next to him. “Roadhog? Roadhog, mate, I got somethin’ to tell ya. You awake?”

Roadhog grunted. “Yeah?”

Junkrat wet his lips. He was in the thick of it now, there was no backing out. “Listen, we’ve been havin’ a good thing together, yeah? And I was just wonderin’, maybe it’s time we, ah…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Shit, I dunno how to say this without making an arse of myself.”

“Call it off,” Roadhog supplied.

Junkrat startled. “What? Why wouldya even say that?”

“People can outlive their usefulness.”

“No no no, y’ve got it all backwards, mate. I want whatever the opposite of that is! I like you, ya big lug! I mean, I’d kiss ya if you weren’t wearing that stupid mask.”

There was a long moment of silence, and Junkrat was beginning to regret voicing his thoughts at all. “Y’don’t have to say anythin’ if ya don’t feel the same, just thought I’d–”

He broke off mid-sentence when Roadhog suddenly sat up. There was a rustling sound, then he jolted as lips pressed against his own. Junkrat pulled away to look at Roadhog, surprised and overjoyed, but it was hard to make out much of anything in the pitch black room.

“Did… didya mean to just kiss me like that?” he asked, needing the clarification before he let the giddiness consume him entirely.

“No,” Roadhog deadpanned. “I accidentally pushed up my mask and accidentally punched you in the mouth with my lips. What do you think?”

“That no one’s ever just kissed me like that before! Can’t blame me for wantin’ to make sure.”

Roadhog’s thumb brushed against his cheek. “You wanted it,” he answered simply.

“Yeah, yeah I did!” He was about to steal another kiss when a thought occurred to him, and he shoved a hand in Roadhog’s face. “Wait just a tick. Y'didn’t kiss me just ‘cause I wanted it, roight? Y-ya wanted it too?”

Roadhog snorted and pushed his hand away. “I’ve wanted it for a while.”

Junkrat knew he had to look goofy with the dazzling grin plastered across his face, but he couldn’t help himself. He was happy in a way he wasn’t sure he had ever felt before. “Cheers, mate!” He leaned up and kissed Roadhog greedily, grubby hands snaking up to clutch his face.

Junkrat relished in the touch, the stubble of Roadhog’s five o’clock shadow bristling beneath his fingertips. Delicious goosebumps shot up what remained of his biological arms, and he let his hands wander further up, wanting to know what other delectable sensations Roadhog had been hiding from him. His fingers bumped against the bottom of his gas mask. With no hesitation whatsoever (because really, he rarely questioned his impulses), he slipped beneath the mask.

Roadhog tensed up and grabbed his wrist.

“What, no? Bad idea?” Junkrat mumbled against his lips. “S’dark, not like I’m gonna see anythin’ ya don’t want me to see.”

After a moment’s contemplation, Roadhog released his hand. Emboldened at the indirect permission, Junkrat slid the gas mask off of Roadhog’s head. It tumbled to the ground behind them. True to his word, he couldn’t make out anything under the cover of absolute darkness. He let his hands do the seeing for him, skimming up over his face.

He stilled when he reached the upper right side. The pads of his fingertips traced over twisted flesh, finding all the whorls and trenches of the scars left behind after a nasty burn.

Suddenly Roadhog’s violent reaction in the bottle shop made a lot more sense, as did his health reasons for wearing the mask. Smoke inhalation coupled with irradiation could do some serious lung damage.

He was going to say something about it, something stupid and senseless probably, but then Roadhog was pinning his hands to the floor and kissing him deeper, and the question flew out of his head entirely. There’d be time to prod for answers later. They had all the time in the world.

The nonverbal encouragement just made him all the more eager, and he strained against the weight of Roadhog’s hands. Unable to budge an inch, he tried to work his tongue between Roadhog’s lips and, upon gaining entry, lapped up into his mouth.

Roadhog pulled away from him. “We have to work on that.”

Junkrat laughed, high-pitched and gleeful. “If that means we get to practice until I get it down, then I’m game!” Another giggle slipped out as he positively squirmed with delight beneath Roadhog. It occurred to him that this was how they’d started their relationship, on the ground with Roadhog looming over him in the dead of night.

“Mmm.” In the inky black of nighttime, he couldn’t be sure, but he thought he could make out Roadhog’s large thumb brushing across his lips before he reached for the fallen gas mask and pulled it back on, obscuring his face once more. Shame, Junkrat thought. Burns or no burns, he thought that Roadhog’s face would be a national treasure.

Treasure. “Hey,” he said, the words coming out more breathless than intended. “Wanna see me treasure?”

A wheeze of amusement emitted from the filters of Roadhog’s gas mask. “Sure.”

Junkrat threw off the covers of his sleeping bag and retrieved his tire from where it lay a mere few feet away. “We’ll need light,” he said, hefting it in his arms and lugging it onto the kitchen table. Roadhog turned on the light above the table, the retro bulb that dangled from the ceiling swinging on its string.

He was about to dismantle the tire when something clicked in his rusty memory. “Wait. I got somethin’ else to show ya first.” He dragged the pink duffle bag over and dug around until he found the rings he had stashed inside. “Forget my treasure for a second. Thought ya might want to have yers back too.” He held the rings out to Roadhog, nestled in his palm.

Roadhog stared at them for a long moment before accepting the offered gift. “You got these back for me?”

Junkrat fidgeted, suddenly unsure about whether or not he’d done the right thing. “Well, yeah – they’re important to ya, ain’t they?”

“Yes,” Roadhog answered. He slipped the rings on his fingers. “They’re all I have left of my family.” He didn’t go into further detail.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Junkrat didn’t know what to say. “Oh–” Whatever was going to come out of his mouth came to a halt when Roadhog placed a heavy hand on his shoulder and drew him close.

“Thank you,” Roadhog said, the snout of his gas mask pressed against Junkrat’s head.

A glow of contentment flooded Junkrat, a warm and fuzzy feeling that radiated out from his heart. “Ain’t nothin’ worth thankin’,” he said, unnaturally modest at Roadhog’s approval. “It was the roight thing to do.” He didn’t want Roadhog to let him go, but when he finally did, Junkrat turned his attention back to the matter at hand. He wanted to share the knowledge of his treasure with Roadhog, after all this time.

“So. Time for my treasure.” Junkrat disassembled the tire and rummaged around until he uncovered the mine strapped inside. “Aha!” he said triumphantly, holding it above his head.

“…Your treasure is one of your homemade mines?” Roadhog said. “I’ve been protecting you all this time for this?”

“No, no! It’s what’s inside that’s the treasure, see! It’s a second hidin’ place. Double the security.”

“I don’t think you can call it 'secure’ if the first hiding place is inside a tire bomb.”

“That’s a matter of opinion. And yer opinion is wrong.” Junkrat unscrewed the mine and pulled it apart. He emptied out the packing to find the USB safe and secure in its protective bubble. “This is me treasure.” He held up the tiny USB. “Kajura.”

“Kajura,” Roadhog repeated. “The Rainbow Serpent. What about it?”

Junkrat’s face cracked into a smirk. “God program. I could put all the omnics, every last piece of mechanical junk under my control. Imagine that – me!”

Roadhog started laughing, a low chuckle that swelled into a guffaw. “You’re a god.”

Junkrat grinned and handed him the USB. “Naw, mate. We’re gods.”

#junkrat #roadhog #roadrat #origins #nanowrimo 2016 #my fanfiction

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