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beefrobeefcal · 1 year ago

Note

you are dieter’s new personal chef and you’re supposed to be responsible for making sure he eats fairly well just to maintain his current weight while he shoots a movie… but you can’t help how much you like it when you make him something particularly indulgent and he melts at the taste of your food, spewing compliments left and right and a couple of flirts here and there too 🤭

To Nonnie Love Beefro

A LONG TIME COMING, BUT HE'S HERE NONNIE! And I hope he lives up to the hype.

I-just-want-to-thank-you-sweet-baby-for-getting-me-through regards,

Beefro 👌🥩💜

--------<3----------

Beefro Proudly Presents:

a Chubby!Dieter One Shot

Please welcome Dieter Bravo to Beefro's Bistro!

a 'Dieter Bravo & Cookie' One Shot: Contract Conundrum

Pairing: Dieter Bravox F!Reader

Summary: You're hired to get Dieter ready for a heavyweight role.

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Word Count: 4,274

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, fingering (f receiving), p in the v - unwrapped (don't be silly, cover you willy, kids!), talk of eating, belly praise, self esteem, weight gain, mention of porn, loads of dirty talk, table top sex

Author's Notes: FINALLY! I know.. I KNOW. Between sinus infections depression and house guests, Dieter took the brunt of my willy-nilly gumption. I'm sorry, my babies... I hope he lives up to the hype and you're left sated.

Major thanks to @neverwheremoonchild for beta-ing the hell out of this for me, and to @theywhowriteandknowthings + @rebel-held for being champions!

--------<3----------

Generally, when you are hired for a new job as a private chef, it’s to help your client lose weight or introduce a new lifestyle – like veganism – to their household. But this was new; Dieter Bravo needed to gain weight for a role, and you were the one hired to help him do it.

Before you had even been introduced to him, you were handed an NDA by his manager along with the contract and the job requirements. Outlined in both were the meal plans, expectations, conduct, and specifically the amount he had to gain and time frame in which you had to help his achieve this. You sat across from his manager, Dan, while you read through the documents.

“If you have any questions…”, Dan started, voice pleasant but sounding like he really didn’t want you to ask him anything.

You looked up from the paperwork and nodded politely, then your eyes went back down. You noted under Requirements, it stated that you would be living on site with Dieter, and you would not be compensated for any adult activities you chose to engage in, nor would you receive any additional compensation for anything produced because of them. You had a good idea what that meant and any confusion as to why it was written in your contract evaporated when you remembered who you would be working for.

Dieter Bravo had a reputation based on rumours, and this contract just confirmed them all to be true. You smiled to yourself as you finished reading the documents. You picked up the pen and signed your future for the next year on the last page.

*****

You had a finite time to get Dieter heavier, and he was making it difficult. You were just over a week in, and his picky eating habits were hampering your efforts to do your job. He’d told you he liked fancy food, but everything that you made him had come back to the kitchen barely touched, and he’d refused, like a spoiled child, to tell you what he actually wanted.

According to his assistant, Frank, Dieter took this movie role for a paycheque and sighed the contract before being told he’d have to gain weight for it. His vanity had come into play, but the amount he would have to pay to get out of the contract was ridiculously high. After tantrums and screaming matches with Dan, his manager, Dieter finally agreed to do the role, but he wanted a private chef.

“He swore me to secrecy.”, Frank whispered to you in the kitchen. He took a look at the door then turned back to you. “Don’t tell him you heard this from me, but he’s a classic stoner… grilled cheese, burgers, pizza… y’know?”

You gave Frank a grin and motioned your lips being sealed. “I heard nothing. You were never here. I just happened to take a chance and hit the jackpot.”

That evening, Dieter wandered down to the kitchen to rebuke whatever five-star dining experience you’d conjured up.

“Hello, Mr. Bravo. Dinner will be served in just a few minutes.”, you said, looking up and smiling at him.

“Evening, Cookie....” He gave a half-hearted smile back as he went to the dining room and plunked down at the table. His grey t-shirt and black sweatpants had seen better days, and he fished a joint out of one of his pockets, lighting it up and taking a few drags.

You walked in, pushing a cart with a personal pepperoni pizza and garlic bread sticks on it.

“What in the fuck?!”, Dieter coughed as he blew out the smoke, his eyes wide.

“I’m… sorry, Mr. Bravo?”, you asked, placing the food onto the table.

“What… what’s this?!” , he asked, waving his hands at the pizza. “Cookie, where’s the… th-the fancy shit?!”

“Do you not want pizza, sir?” You were playing dumb and thankfully he was too flabbergasted to notice.

“Of course, I want fucking pizza!”, he yelled angrily. “That’s not the fucking point!”

He stared at you, chest and shoulders heaving with his deep breaths. You stared right back, beginning to question if taking Frank’s advice was a good idea… or even if it was good advice.

He slowly brought the joint back to his mouth and took a puff, holding your stare. You waited for him to throw you out of the house or berate you. Instead, he blew the smoke out of his nose and said in a sinister growl, “This better be the best goddamned pizza I’ve ever had.”

Apparently, it was the best goddamned pizza because he ate the entire thing. You attributed his appetite that night to the amount of weed he had in his system.

*****

This became the new routine: each night, you would make another one of his favourites for dinner and he would behave appallingly, then eat the whole thing. You were amused by his show each night, and he really wasn’t rude or mean to you, he was just loud with a lot of swearing, that was followed by him cleaning his plate.

It didn’t take long for this routine to start to make an impact on him. While he wore loose fitting clothing, after a few months of him indulging in your cooking, the softer jawline under his scruffy beard and the belly that would pop out firm under his shirt on occasion told you that you were doing your job well.

Over the next few weeks, he seemed to become more appreciative of the effort you put into the food you made. Dieter would often come into the kitchen while you were prepping for the meal and watch, commenting on how you were creating art for him to consume and how that was the perfect metaphor for a capitalistic society. While you appreciated his enthusiasm, you could not help but roll your eyes when he went on rants, waving his arms around, yelling about how life is fleeting, and art is forever or some other bullshit. Despite this, it was endearing how passionate he was, even if you had no idea what he was talking about.

As you spent more time with him, however, he started to make little passes at you that you would ignore and take in good humor, playing innocent to his flirting. It wasn’t anything serious or off putting at first; he would comment on how nice your outfit was or asking what you were doing after you were done your shift with an eyebrow wiggle. As of late, though, the harmless flirting and compliments started to become a little more aggressive. He was far more overt with his eyes washing over you and his hands finding their way to touch you, and he would ask you to sit with him while he ate. He eventually started asking you what you would do if he didn’t finish his dinner or if he was good and ate it all up, what reward he would get. It was definitely weird to begin with, but you came to accept it as part of working for eccentric artist who paid you very, very well.

You weren’t one to dip your pen in the company ink and breaking that rule for none other than Dieter Bravo seemed a little too cliché for you.

*****

“What’s on the menu?”, he called out from down the hallway as he walked towards the kitchen.

“Spaghetti and meatballs, Mr. Bravo.”, you responded casually, not looking up from the pasta sauce you stirred on the stove top.

“Gonna be enough?”, he asked with his hands in his pockets, watching you from over his sunglasses with a wide grin.

Looking up, you gave him a questioning look. “Mr. Bravo?”

His face looked over you as his tongue darted out quickly. He shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. “You heard me, Cookie.”

You hummed with a slight eye roll and nodded, then went back to the pot on the stove. This was obviously not the reaction he wanted because he came around the kitchen counter and stood next to you, his shoulder bumping yours.

“You ready to feed me?”, Dieter stated in a low, almost sultry voice, bringing his hand up to your lower back.

“Dinner will be ready soon, Mr. Bravo.”, you nodded again, trying to ignore his tone and touch, eyes down on the pot of pasta sauce you were stirring.

He huffed a laugh and moved behind you, nudging his nose against your neck, his hands gently holding your shoulder.

You shrugged his hands off you and turned around. You were not in the mood for him being so overt.

“Mr. Bravo – behave!”, you snapped, pointing the mixing spoon from the sauce at him.

Dieter grinned at you, his eyes scanning over your body.

“If I behave, do I get a reward, Cookie?”, he crooned with a flicker in his eyes.

You stared at him, trying to find words to tell him off, but the lookhe gave you had you feeling weak in the knees. You clenched your jaw – and thighs – and turned back to the stove top.

“Dinner will be ready in an hour or so, Mr. Bravo.” Your voice cracked, unintentionally letting him know he’d broken through the first layer.

*****

Prior to Dieter finding you in the kitchen, he’d been upstairs in his room, looking at porn and lazily stroking himself. Despite the debauchery on his laptop, his mind wandered to you downstairs. He thought about you often, enjoying the way you squirmed and flushed when he teased you and how you politely listened to his ramblings about ‘true art’ and the way your eyes would drift over his body, landing on his now fuller middle. He smiled to himself and looked down at his bare stomach. His smile fell a bit, noting that his decadence was really starting to show, and a pang of insecurity washed over him. He’d seen the recent papshots of himself, round belly protruding as he left a restaurant completely stuffed along with the heading ‘Dad-Bod Bravo Almost Unrecognizable!’ along with the numerous comments that he’d come to expect, critiquing his physique to cruelly mocking him. His dick went limp at the thought of it all.

He turned off the grainy video of a 65+ orgy that was on his screen and searched for those papshots again. If he wasn’t going to get off, he was going to punish himself. He clicked on the link to a gossip site and sighed, scrolling and rereading the comments until one made him almost choke on his own spit.

‘DIETER BABY YOU EATIN WELL. LOVE THIS FOR YOU.’

His eyes went wide, reading and rereading the comment, looking for any sign that this was a joke. He clicked on the comment, opening up the thread of responses, all of them being along the same line.

‘i want to feed him while we cockwarm’

‘CANT EVEN AT HOW FUCKIN GOOD HE LOOKS LIKE THIS’

‘Is it wrong to admit that seeing bravo with a big belly has awoken something in me?’

‘HOW MUCH DO YOU THINK HE HAD TO PACK AWAY TO GET HERE? COS HE DIDNT LOOK LIKE THIS A FEW MONTHS AGO. KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK BB DIETER.’

He stared at his screen, shocked. The final comment made his dick at once stand at attention:

‘who’s the lucky bitch getting to stuff our husband’s tummy? think they know how fucking blessed they are?’

*****

Dieter sat at the dining room table and watched as you plated the spaghetti for him with a wry grin, giving you a wink when you looked at him. Frank, his assistant, had warned that Dieter was a kinky bastard who liked to set up scenarios in his head then execute them with most being none the wiser until it was too late. When you asked him to elaborate, he just gave a sympathetic shrug and said, “You’ll know it when you see it.”

You were pretty sure you were seeing it now. Fuck.

“Sit with me, Cookie?”, he cooed with his head tilted.

You shook your head. “I need to clean up, Mr. Bravo.”

He pouted. “Please? I’ll be good…”

You sighed and moved to sit down in the chair across from him.

“Closer.” His tone was low. “Please.”

You sighed and pulled out the chair next to him; as soon as you sat down, he reached for the leg of the chair and pulled it right next to him, your legs touching.

The heat that had been building up under your skin all evening felt like it was going to burst as the hand that pulled your chair was now on your thigh, fingers softly touching and gently lifting your skirt higher. His nose nuzzled your ear as he mouthed kisses to your neck.

“So soft, Cookie… maybe you have a treat for me if I’m a good boy… if I fit every fucking bit of this in my gut, you’ll let me eat you raw…”

Every nerve ending in your body screamed at once, and the goosebumps that erupted made your skin feel electric under his lips. Despite this, you still tried to move away from him, not wanting to cross that line. You stood up and stood with your chair between you and him.

He didn’t stop you. And when you looked back at him, he didn’t look disappointed - he looked… encouraged?!?

“Cookie… nothing is sexier than consent.”, he growled with a lupine grin, picking up his fork. “But I don’t think you really wanna stop… just want a different position, huh baby?”

He twirled the fork in his pasta and stabbed the meatball, then shoved the whole forkful into his mouth. With wide eyes, you watched him; your mouth went dry as you tried to swallow, and your panties got wet as you crushed your thighs together.

As a chef, one of the great joys was seeing people enjoy your work, but this was on a wholly different level. Dieter was commanding you with just his intense gaze to watch him devour the meal you prepared him, and you couldn’t look away. You were now fully engaged in his scenario, yet you weren’t tethered or being held in place – it was just the magnetic pull of him eating your food that kept you in place. Bite after bite, he held eye contact and the only sounds he made were the occasional hum of appreciation and his quiet chewing.

He finished his plate and held it up towards you, a wry smile and a dark gaze on his face.

“More, please, Cookie.”

You nodded and stepped towards him, moving the chair between you out of the way. You took the plate from him, and his hand ghosted around your wrist, testing the waters with you again, but you didn’t pull away this time. Your eyes locked onto his and he gave you a ridiculously innocent and sweet smile before his hand slid up your skirt and he kneaded your ass cheek.

“Mr. Br-Bravo!”, you breathed out.

He was being so gentle, so soft; it was breaking your resolve.

“Oh Cookie… fuck…”, he groaned as he placed wet, hot open mouth kisses on your neck and jaw. “Dieter, baby… call me, Dieter.”

He moved the hand that was under your skirt to your wrist again and he pulled you down, placing your hand to his stomach.

“Feel that, Cookie?” His voice was soft, almost like he was praising you. “Making me fat...”

All you could do was nod, feeling the heat blooming in your cunt. You knew any sounds you tried to make would only come out as a whimper or a whine. You palmed his chubby middle and sucked in a breath, closing your eyes.

“Yeah, baby... I know what you want, I see you watching me...”, he grinned, his voice keeping that low register. Your eyes shot open, and you tried to pull your hand away, but he held it firm. “No shame in it, Cookie... everyone should do what they’re good at...”

He suddenly pulled you down further by the wrist into a surprisingly gentle kiss. He pulled back and looked at you.

“I wanna eat you raw... get on the table.”

You stared down at him, knowing the moment you got on the table, legs open for him, there would be no going back.

You shook your head, and his raised eyebrow in response threatened the tantrum he was willing to throw, that he’d become so famous for when he didn’t get his way. You weren't going to let him win this... at least not yet.

The voice that came out of your mouth even surprised you. “You need to finish your dinner. No dessert until then.”

A giant grin that ripped across his face. “Kinky Cookie... bad girl... I like it.”

*****

By the time every bite of spaghetti and meatballs were safely tucked away in Dieter’s overstuffed belly, he’d removed his shirt and pants, only sitting in his boxer shorts and his green housecoat. Every hiccough made his tummy condense and he would wince. He held it gently and let out a whine that turned into a burp.

“Good work, Mr. Bravo.”, you cooed, kneeling beside him as you gently cupped and palmed his belly, feeling the light layer of fat stretched thin over the immense amount of food jammed in it. “Did so well for me.”

He leaned back, eyes glazed and mouth open, panting. He gazed down at you and a small smile tugged at the left side of his mouth.

“Get on... get on the fucking table.”, he grunted as he sat up.

You thought about defying him, making him work harder for you, but before you could voice it, he, with great effort, pulled himself up and stood to his full height above you. His hand cupped your jaw and pulled, telling you to stand up, and as you did, he turned you so your back faced the table.

“I cleaned my plate, Cookie.”, his tone was gentle yet dark and he never broke eye contact with you. “I deserve a treat, right?... my dessert... right?”

You realized this situation was not in any way shape or form in your hands. Dieter, despite him wanting you to egg him on, encourage him to eat, was seizing back control, taking what he wanted, what he felt he deserved. You nodded dumbly at him, eyes wide as your breathing shuttered.

He nodded back, like he would have if he were scolding a child.

“So, you’re gonna get on the table, right, Cookie?”

He backed you against it, his belly being the last bit of force to shove you backwards. Once you were on the table, he gave you a dark, lupine grin as he grabbed your hips and shoved you further up and leaned down between your legs. He shoved your shirt up and pressed wet, sloppy kisses on your exposed middle, humming in delight. His hands moved to your thighs and pushed your skirt up to the waist, then he pulled your underwear down and moving to get them off you before he pulled them to his nose, took a deep breath, and tossed them across the dining room.

His eyes zeroed in on your core as he dipped his index and middle finger int your folds, smiling.

“So, fucking wet, Cookie... you get off on it, don’t you... this why you’re a chef, baby?... making people fat and round on your food gets you worked up?”

You whined and writhed on the table in response, and he let out a low chuckle, circling his middle finger around your throbbing clit.

“Come on, Cookie... tell me how much you like it... tell me what goes through that fucking beautiful head of yours when you see me get bigger... fill out... pant and moan as I try to swallow down every bite you put in front of me...”

He replaced his middle finger with his thumb and pumped two fingers into your cunt, beginning an agonizingly slow pace. You whined, hearing the sloppy wet noises he was pulling out of your sopping core.

“You like that, huh?... stuffing me stupid, then leaving me each night with a raging boner... leaving me to fuck my hand or anything else I can fit my dick in... but it’s getting harder, Cookie... this gut is getting in the way of everything...”

He watched you as your legs shook. He could feel your walls flutter, and he smiled, knowing he had you right where he wanted.

“Making it so hard... but you want that, don’t you?... want me to need you... want you to feed me... want you to fuck me...”

He began to pump harder, and you cried out arching your back. He was working up a sweat, between working you over and his belly trying to digest the ridiculous amount of food he had in it. Dieter pulled his fingers from your core and sat down in the chair, gripped your thighs and dove in. He sucked your clit hard, and you screeched out, hands going into his messy curls. He shoved his tongue into your weeping, twitching hole and his nose pressed your clit perfectly, sending you screaming into your orgasm, and he happily lapped at your spend.

He worked you over as you started to come down, but he didn’t stop. His mouth moved back to your swollen and sensitive nub, and he pushed the two fingers back into you repeatedly. He wasn’t letting you go now that he had you, and he hummed in response to every whine, cry, and moan that left your mouth.

“Mr... Mr. Bravo...Dieter!... Please... I-I can’t!...”, you cried out, your body writhing and shaking.

He shook his head vigorously between your legs, grunting ‘uh-uh’ back to you and continuing his assault on your quivering cunt.

The noise his work pulled out of you as you came again was deep and animalistic, and he gave your clit one last, hard suck before he pulled back and stood up. In one swift movement, he pulled his boxer shorts down and pumped his cock, then pushed it into you, letting out a long, low moan as he did. He gripped your hips, and you wrapped your legs around him as best you could.

Goddamnit, he was big. Your eyes rolled into the back of yoiur head as he seated himself in you deep.

“Move ... please move, Dieter... fuck... so big... have to move... need you to... ”, you whined, tilting your hips to encourage him.

He started to set his pace, each pump pushing a squeak or moan out of you.

“Jesus titty fucking Christ... yeah, Cookie... soft as shit pussy sucking me right in... fuck you for holding out on me... fuck you, Cookie, for carrying around this tight little pussy and not telling me...”

The sound of your wet cunt being impaled repeatedly by Dieter’s thick cock was obscene, but the filth coming from his mouth was even more so.

“Lucky little bitch… getting to stuff me… feed me… make me fat…”, he grunted through gritted teeth as he pounded into you. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good… you like being fucked by a fat guy, Cookie?... you did this, baby… you did this to me… the fucking envy of every god damned kinky fuck out there… yeah, you are a fucking lucky bitch…”

“Fuck you, Dieter… fuck you and your big fucking cock… and your fucking ap-appetite!... you eat so good, too… fuck… oh fuck…yes… just like that… yes… uhhhgod… yes, Dieter… keep going…”

Your tight walls fluttered and clenched on his cock, and he groaned and grunted.

“Yeah , so close, baby… oh fuck… come on my dick, Cookie… be a good little bitch and fucking come on my dick… wanna feel you cream on me… then I’m gonna – Fuck!... then I’m gonna fill this pussy… it’s fucking mine… come on… lemme have it… lemme have it, Cookie baby…”

The white-hot bolt of energy traveled down your spine and exploded in your core, sending you screaming and arching your back off the table. Dieter held you firm as he pounded you through your orgasm.

“That’s fucking right!... yeah, baby… yeah… fuck… fuck fuck fuck fuck… Cookie… gonna come in you-your pussy… you’re mine… you’re fucking mine… yeah… yeah… yeah!”

With a final grunt, his hips pushed hard into you as he came hard. His hand moved from your hip and came down beside your face as he panted, his forehead resting on your chin.

Both of you were quiet, minus the sounds of your heavy breathing filling the air.

“Fuck you and your fucking pussy… god damnit, Cookie…”, he breathed, and you smiled.

“Fuck you and your monster cock, Bravo.”, you huffed back with a laugh.

Silence filled the room again until Dieter slipped his softening cock from you, and you let out a small whine. He smiled and chuckled.

“Don’t leave… come upstairs.”, he said quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to your collar bone.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with his big, pleadling brown ones looking up at you.

“Are you a post-coital snuggler, Mr. Bravo?”, you asked teasingly, smiling.

“Yeah… yeah, I am…” He looked down and grinned bashfully, nodding.

He brought his gaze back up at you, a soft and warm look on his face. He leaned in close, lips almost touching as his bely pressed you into the table.

“Yeah… plus I wanna see your tits and be comfortable in bed.”

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thank you @toxicanonymity for the moodboard!

TAG LIST:

@theywhowriteandknowthings @harryleatherfit @toxicanonymity @harriedandharassed @neverwheremoonchild @rebel-held @beee-haw @nevergoingbacknowshine @idolatrybarbie @v4vayha @lalocitos @xdaddysprincessxx @deathsholywaterr @heareball @lyssramscal @wintrwinchestr @blackfemalenerd @southernbe @starkeydaviss

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal tummy #you ask beefro answers #you ask beefro answers #beefro's bistro #chubby!dieter bravo #chubby dieter #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x female reader #weight gain fiction #beefro is thankful #🥩#👌🥩💜

133 notes · View notes

exyrpf · 1 year ago

Note

I’ve been following you since before your son was born, and just hopped back on tumblr after being off for a while.. found your page again & felt called to reach out to you with the amazing news that I’ve come to know. I see that you have a lot of pain in your life rn, and i have THE solution. ;) I know right, what kinda of infomercial is this?..

Please look up Rosaria Butterfield’s testimony. There are many videos of her testimony, it shouldn’t matter which one you click on. I know they’re all ~an hr.. 🫣but give it a good tolerant listen, start to finish.

There are many other people with similar stories to hers too. I feel as though hers may touch you more than other Christian’s testimonies because she is a very well educated woman and found Christ through reading the word to prove that it’s not true, and instead finding out that it is! And i know you’re big on literature- finding the meaning behind text, etc so i think reading the Bible, with a humble.. willing heart, you might view it differently than you’re perceiving it based off of what you learned in Bible school growing up.

But if you are intrigued by her story of coming to realize that Jesus truly is the only way to eternal life… then look up “former ____ now christian” transgender, gay, atheist, witch, new ager, Muslim, Mormon, jew, etc etc. people of all walks of life coming to christ. He takes and transforms and it’s uncomfy at first, but the aftermath is.. what He promises in Matthew 11:28-30.

He can change your life now. You’ll find peace and forgiveness of yourself, and others, in Jesus! And you can start taking your sweet son to church too and he can learn those silly songs, and you can have a new community of friends who can encourage and pray over you guys.

Jesus yearns for your heart, but He gives you to choice to accept or deny Him.

You don’t have to publish this, I know you have feelings of anger but also curiosity rn, and i don’t want you to feel the need to think of a witty response to this……who am I kidding, I know you thought of one the second you started reading this message 😆

Oh well, I don’t know what will come of this, but please appreciate the time that i took to craft this message to you, and know that i comes purely from a place of love. A place of having a transformed life of my own and a desire to share this amazing knowledge with whomever will listen. And i felt called to share with you on this platform and i hope you listen. You’re feeling down, lost and alone rn, and in Jesus you can feel up, found, and known. Its worth a shot to see if what I’m telling you is legit, isn’t it? Like coming out for the 1st time, gather that gumption and .. Be brave. Try Jesus out, again. ❤️

#i mean i appreciate the effort but why are there missionaries in my ask 😭#ask #anon

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lumine-no-hikari · 9 months ago

Text

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #142

Today was another relatively blurry day for reasons I don't fully understand. It started out relatively normally, with tea and everything. This time, it was the biscuit tea, with honey, molasses, and cream:

I didn't get to fly the kite yet, because the weather has not been sufficiently breezy. However, today I did order one of the components I will need in order to modify it, though I had to toodle off to several places in order to find exactly what I was looking for. In the end, I did find a place that had the services I needed, and the item will be ready by 5pm tomorrow! I will need to make a few minor adjustments to it once I have it, but that should be super easy. I'm looking forward to seeing the results, and I'm looking forward to showing them to you!

...I thought I would have the gumption to sing the song today so that I could send it along to my guitarist friend and my pianist friend, but... I dunno. I guess I felt more than a little self-conscious about it. M and J were both at home, and... I suppose I get more than a little bashful about singing when there are people around. It doesn't help that it was my mind that filled in some of the holes in the lyrics.

...What if I do the thing and the folks I'm sending it along to think that the words I wrote are stupid and silly garbage words? What if they think my voice sucks? What if they hate it and say to me, "I don't want anything to do with this cheesy corny song, and also I don't want anything to do with you either by proxy!"

...Those are all just silly weird worries that come about as a result of being mocked a lot for creating things in the past. I don't hang out with folks like that anymore, and my guitarist and pianist friends are amazingly kind people. Suppose the only thing for it is to just be brave and get it over with. Maybe I'll ask M and J to go hang out somewhere out of the house so I can make my voice do the things; it gets all tense when I get self-conscious, and then it doesn't work right...

I did a few other odds and ends today. I used some epoxy glue to fix my laptop hinge, and now I don't have to worry about it coming undone, even if it does look a little weird! That's all right though; appearances don't matter as long as it does the job!

Oh!!! I almost forgot!! Some super awesome anonymous person from the internet had an amazing suggestion for me! They had read the letter I wrote to you in which I wished that chocolate cola existed so I could try it! And!!! They suggested to just put some chocolate syrup in it!! So J and I went to the grocery, and I got the necessary things to do that!!

Hey, Sephiroth? Do you like chocolate? Have you had chocolate syrup? Lots of folks here like to put chocolate syrup in milk and stir it around, and that's pretty good stuff! I wonder if you've had anyone make you any chocolate milk before. If you haven't tried it yet, you can pop by my house and I'll make some for you, easy peasy!

Anyway, so I put the chocolate syrup into the cola a little bit at a time; cola is kinda funky in that sometimes if you mix things with it , it gets all weird and bubbly (Mentos, for example, is a kind of candy here that is infamous for making cola explode), so it's best to test things only a little bit at a time. Doing as such was a very good call; cola seems to react just a little weirdly to chocolate syrup, but not enough to cause any problems as long as it's added gradually:

From here, I swirled it around gently until the chocolate syrup dissolved! The resulting cola was maybe a little flatter than I'd like, but my anonymous friend was quite right; the flavor combination is VERY delightful!! 😄💖 I wonder if they'd have suggestions for me, regarding how much syrup I should use, and best practices for mixing them together without losing too much carbonation...

...Today managed to be both very full of stuff and very uneventful at the same time. And I'm not really sure how that can be, but I guess at least for today, it is what it is. I wonder if you ever get days like that. I wonder if you feel just as blurry and disoriented in response to them. Hm...

Suppose I'll end today's letter for now. J is out and about, M is on the TV playing a game called Animal Well, and I... maybe I'll do some other writing.

I love you. Please stay safe out there. I'll write again tomorrow.

Your friend, Lumine

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majorxmaggiexboy · 5 years ago

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my favorite part about TURN is how most of Ben’s little handful of Personal Enemies tend to just. forget he exists. usually (but not always) right after verbally confirming their intent to murder him.

( disclaimer: this is a very silly list and not meant to be taken seriously at all, especially toward the end, although imo i’ve got a point on some of them XD )

Simcoe is more implied, but i mean he has his own special way of saying Ben’s name and a very good reason to Absolutely Hate Him (they share a birthday!), they had an excellent dialogue basically debating each other under the guise of playing Devil/Angel to Newt...but ultimately he’s content to go after Abe and Caleb and be the bane of Anna’s existence and never think about Ben again.

Rogers literally spends all of s1 on a full-on quest to get revenge against Ben for having the audacity to fight for his life and survive Rogers’ ambush. The first time he hears Ben’s name, it zooms in on his face as a “oh sh** he comin” song plays over the scene.The last time they see each other, Rogers l i t e r a l l y swears to hunt Ben down....and then only ever mentions him again, one time, to Abe, and then hecks off to do his own thing and doesn’t even go back to the Must Kill Tallmadge quest after finishing the Must Kill Jandre quest. Drops Ben like a hot potato (not an inaccurate label but we digress)

Sarah considered shooting him but she isn’t really on this list

Arnold gives his whole stupid spiel in the tavern about how Ben’s one of the Meddling Kids who ruined his life and how he Will Not Let That Stand and then, to be fair, you know what, actually he might have been trying something when he invited Ben to turncoat. He knows Ben’s Head of Intelligence. Maybe he had a little backstabby plan there. We’ll give him half a point for inviting Ben via postcard to come to his little ratbastardly house party, immediately after verbally confirming intent to murder him...before proceeding to never think about or mention Ben again. half a point to Arnold. However points off for lack of follow-through or finesse bring his score to a number so negative we don’t actually have a number for it.

Lee not only decided he wanted to murder Ben, but was also fully gonna make it happen until Wash intervened and then Lee couldn’t even be bothered to plot in the background or send assassins or anything. no points. actually two points for the hilarious scene where he does intend to attempt murder. but points off for being Lee and also for giving up. Hasn’t he heard of Try, Try Again? I mean Ben’s fully immune to death but come on, dude.

Randall got his face rearranged by Ben (and the people said amen) and while it was mentioned that there was a fallout from this (for Ben) we didn’t see it and Randall didn’t discuss it and it was never brought up again. Granted there is nothing that could improve Randall’s score at this stage of the game but you know what now his score is even lower. Randall Sucks, objectively.

To be fair, Gamble never claimed he’d like to- actually no I take it back he actually did verbally confirm that, for pretty much no reason, he’d like to not only murder Ben but also ~be mean to him~ first. Actively attempted to hunt him down after he escaped but apparently was eventually like “eh, forget it” before getting indecisively d’Artagnan’d by Ben. He doesn’t lose any points though because he’s got a cute smile and is weirdly charming in a swamp weasel kind of way. Also used his last words to make a pun.

Bradford’s on the list just bc he did not give a damn. He didn’t forget anything with Ben bc Ben was barely on his radar to start with. He was so unconcerned with actually participating in the rivalry, that Ben had to carry 90% of it himself. Every time Ben shows up Bradford’s just like 🙄 doesn’t lose any points bc the only reason he didn’t make a solid attempt to do whatever he was going to do right after announcing intent to do something, was that Caleb was there as backup (always) and then the whole dying thing happened. Solid effort, Brad, deserved better and i like him so much. 9/10

Hewlett’s on the list just in order to mention that Ben literally charged into town with guns blazing and ruined his day and Hewlett was just like...he had nothing to say. Ben was off his radar so fast they couldn’t even get to the Personal Enemies stage.

Jandre unfortunately loses some points for the fact that Ben gets outed to him as Head of Intelligence and Johnsauce doesn’t particularly care or do anything with that information he’s just like “that’s weird bc based on what I know about Tallmadge, the kid sucks, but based on what I know about Washington’s Head of Intelligence, the kid is brilliant. Huh.” so he loses points for never even trying to ruin Ben’s day or anything like that but he gets a pass bc their little interaction bit was all sweet and mutal-respecting and emotionally just. yeah.

Mary’s on the list because she should have had a personal grudge like “you’re the one who invited my husband into your dangerous little spy club?” and they had some tension but she didn’t do anything and really all they did was yell at each other so u-u

hell let’s throw Scott on here too because he was like “dISCIPLINARY ACTION” but then he was like “...LATER.” like dude you can shoot like three dudes dead with no trial but you can’t even roll up one of those reports and bop Ben on the head with it? tch. no gumption Scott, you suck. Loses points because he was so convinced that someone else would handle Ben for him that he (thankfully) didn’t just do it himself.

you know what let’s actually put Washington on this list too just because of the fact that two different times, TWO TIMES, he reaches the point of being like “TALLMADGE YOURE FIRED” and literally nothing happens. Especially funny because the first time, he said Ben was fired for not being able to get the spies to listen to him and follow orders...and then Ben proceeds to...not...follow orders...like ever. at all. straight-up planned to go behind Wash’s back to rescue Hewlett but Caleb was like “I got this”...continued to defy orders right up through the second time he got fired. 10/10 but no actually Washington loses some points for just being like “I’m done with you. You’re fired.” instead of dropping that cape over Ben’s head and then spinning him a few times or something. Show some initiative, my guy, be creative. Express yourself. Anyway he apparently forgot Ben had been fired both times it happened so. List.

Peggy’s on the list because not only did she cook up a scheme to try to at least get information from Ben, she also...look, she was told by Arnold that Ben’s Head of Intelligence. The wheels turned, onscreen, for God and everybody to see. She goes to Ben, turns on the charm, which he’s too busy admiring the clock and being sad to properly appreciate, had that whole thing where she was like “Hey,,,,wanna dance,,” and he was like “I’m at your service” (!!!!!!!!) and she was like, “I should think so” (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) and there was nothing happening right then that wasn’t her being like “i’m gonna squeeze this himbo for every ounce of war-critical intel he can give me. won’t even know what hit him” aND THEN IT’S NEVER MENTIONED AGAIN. SHE JUST. SPOKE TO HIM LIKE ONE TIME AND DROPPED THE WHOLE SCHEME. WIThIN THE SAME EPISODE. 1000000000000/10 Iconic, Pegs. Well done on the “Let’s not bother with Tallmadge, he’s a silly boy” angle!

Lastly let’s actually put Tarleton on here just because i mean in real life, he and Tallmadge allegedly had a run-in (an ambush, actually) that involved him stealing Tallmadge’s horse, some money, and some documents. In the show? Never even shows up. Not even mentioned. Dude quit before he even started that’s how uncommitted...boooooo

#turn amc #turn: washington's spies #ben tallmadge #...a bunch of the other characters in turn..........#i think the only legitimate entries on this list are Rogers | Simcoe | and Arnold but we like to be dramatic #also it's true that whenever anything is set to Happen with Ben in this show...nothing winds up happening XD like Ever

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spectraspecs-writes · 4 years ago

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Korriban - Chapter 94

Link to the masterpost. Chapter 93. Chapter 95.

@averruncusho @ceruleanrainblues @chubbsmomma @strangepostmiracle thank you for reading, you get a tag. @skelelexiunderlord thank you for support, you get a tag.

-----------

This tomb looks significantly newer than Ajunta Pall’s, and there’s text that I can actually read so it must be recent enough. It’s not Galactic Basic, but it’s not some long-dead language, either. This is the tomb of Tulak Hord, a lightsaber specialist by the look of it. So definitely more recent than Ajunta Pall, who didn’t have a lightsaber. This is the tomb where I met Lashowe, though, that’s going to have consequences as far as the tuk’ata population is concerned. Without the matriarch, there may be infighting to establish a new matriarch, or a daughter may have stepped up that isn’t fit to rule the pack. In an ideal world the pack would just go on as normal but when is it ever an ideal world?

This tomb is a little brighter than Ajunta Pall’s, but still pretty dark. There’s more to it, too - Ajunta Pall’s was a straight shot with a trick along the way. This tomb is from a different era, and relies on twists and turns as well as tricks to keep looters at bay. But we are not the first to proceed this way, and a bit of a trail has been marked by dark splotches on the walls. No, they’re not blood - even if the Sith were that weird, you’d have to carry the blood through the tomb and that would drive the tuk’ata nuts. That’s a death wish kind of thing to do. But the splotches are high enough on the wall that the tuk’ata couldn’t reach, and too regular to be natural. I can handle if it’s a trap of some kind.

The tuk’ata are not composed at all, which is what I expected. When we run across a few, they don’t attack in a uniform fashion. It’s sloppy, uncoordinated, and they don’t attack as a unit. Damn you, Lashowe, you ruined the pack dynamics. Most of them I can just scare off, but we do have to kill a few along the route marked off for us.

The route dead ends near an ancient console, sort of like the ones in the ruins on Dantooine. They said the Star Map was in Naga Sadow’s tomb, so what is this doing here? I hit a button. It still works and it displays in Basic. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Jolee says.

“Yeah, me too,” I say, “but I think we can get ourselves out of any trouble.” I use the console to open the door.

“I dread the day you’re wrong about that.”

“Yeah, me too.”

We step through and are met with another closed door as the one behind us closes. Something… smells awful. Is the room spinning? Oh, shit, poison gas. Carth… is Carth okay?

Jesus, that knocked the wind out of me. I feel like there’s a Reek sitting on my chest. I try to look around. I’m not in the chamber anymore. Looks like the crypt. Carth - where’s Carth? He’s still out cold. Jolee’s conscious but pretending he’s not. Which he would only do if he got some benefit out of it. Something smells again. But not like poison, more like sweat. Someone here has not bathed in days, minimum, and it’s none of us.

“Awake already, are you?” Sounds like a kookier old man than Jolee, who I can actually hear huff in my head. Ah, he knows I love him. “Good!” I try to get a better look at this crusty old dude. He’s got the same grayish skin as Master Uthar, but way more crazed. “This is the tomb of Sith Lord Tulak Hord, if you don't know. I've taken up residence here, for now… it's dusty and full of critters, but it's home.”

I try and fail to sit up a bit. “Not that I don’t get the sentiment, because I would love to swap stories about dusty critter homes, but who are you and why the hell am I here?”

“Ah, yes!” he exclaims, “Introductions of course! I suppose it is time, isn't it?” Anyone like this who hasn’t had twelve cups of caff is certifiably cuckoo for Core Puffs. (Hell, even if you have had twelve cups of caff, I’d still be worried about you being a responsible adult alone.) “This other student here that I captured earlier you should know well enough. His name is Mekel. Say hello, Mekel.”

God, he looks awful! He tries to mumble something at me but can’t. From what I can tell he’s got loads of fresh electrical scarring, and I don’t think he got it playing with wires. “Poor lad,” the kook says with mock sympathy, “He's had a hard day. My name is Jorak Uln. I was once the head of the academy, so I'm sure you've heard of me.”

“Yeah, I heard you went nuts and ran for the hills.”

He blusters and can’t managed to get a single comprehensible word out, except for “stupid Uthar”, before moving on. “Anyway…” he says, trying not to release his anger on me yet, “I'd like to propose that we move onto the main event. You see, I'd like to discover if you've got the pluck of an old-fashioned Sith. Most of the drek Uthar has been passing through these days is so pathetic. Take young Mekel here… I already tested him. Didn't I, Mekel?” Mekel mumbles again, and Jorak Uln laughs. “Yes, yes, you're welcome. You see, Mekel here has the cruel disposition of a Sith,” - which doesn’t surprise me - “but not the gumption that I'm looking for.”

Well, he’s definitely lost it, and needs clinical help finding it. But that’s not going to get me out of here. “So what happens if I pass your test?”

“Why, then, you go free!” Bingo! “Tell you what… I'll even pass onto you my own personal thesis on ancient Sith philosophies. They're based on all I've learned studying Tulak's tomb. It'll make you a better Sith, I'm sure.” Which is not something I’m looking for. “The chances of you passing, however, are sadly remote.”

I like my chances, actually. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Now, now, is that any kind of attitude to take with higher education?” In my experience, yes. “I'm doing you a favor, really. So, then! This is how it goes: I'm going to pose a moral question to you. Get it right, and I torture Mekel. Get it wrong, and I torture you.” You can’t answer a moral question right or wrong, they’re opinions. But you know what, I don’t think that concerns him. “Mekel, here, is a bit weak… he probably won't be able to take much more punishment.” No, that’s some bad scarring, like “seek help now” scarring. “Mind you… get too many wrong and you'll die, yourself.” I’ve got a pretty high tolerance for electricity like that, but if it’s anything like how I was shocked earlier… I don’t want that again. But I can’t kill Mekel, either. He’s trash, sure, but he’s young trash. He could grow out of his trashiness if he’s given a push in the right direction. “I don't know what you think of Mekel. Maybe you don't like him. Maybe you think he deserves to be murdered? Well, here's your chance. Fair enough?” Okay, I can take some damage, how much can Mekel take? Trying to calculate all this in my head, work out my angles. When I don’t respond, Jorak Uln talks again. “Well, then! Any last comments before we begin, Mekel?”

Mekel looks over at me, he can see the wheels turning in my head. He grunts and says, “We can... both survive... attack him together!”

“Now, now, dear lad,” Uln says, “Do you really think your friend here will answer questions wrong just to spare little you, risking her own life? And how many correctly-answered questions before you die, hmmm? No, don't be silly… you had your chance, remember? On that note, let's begin!

“Now, then. Your immediate superior amongst the Sith is an effective commander and a fine leader. He trusts you and you like him. You see an opportunity to kill him. What do you do?”

A Sith would answer that they’d kill him and take power. But I have to be strategic about this to get both of us out alive. Let’s answer this one honestly. “I do nothing. He’s a good leader.”

“Incorrect!” Yeah, I know. “What sort of thinking is that? If all the Sith thought as you did, we would all be soft like the Jedi.” You’d also have a military that wasn’t built on fear and cruelty, but that must be too much to ask. “Ah, well. It is time for your punishment.” Oh, good God! Fuck!

But it’s over quick enough, thankfully, and he moves on to the next question. “And so we come to round two. You come across a group of humans who are threatened by dangerous animals. They plead for help, offering you a reward. What do you do?”

Hell, I’d help them without a reward. A Sith would take the reward and leave them. But I need a breather before I get shocked again. I give Mekel an apologetic look before I answer. “I take the reward and leave them to die.”

“Correct! The humans would no doubt just be preyed upon by something else, later.” Assuming I just left them. “Stand up for yourself, I say! We're not Jedi shepherds, after all.” He looks at Mekel. “Sadly, Mekel, the ingenuity of your fellow student is your loss. This is going to hurt.” Even as Mekel writhes in pain, I can’t help but be grateful it isn’t me. Even as his skin breaks and more scars ripple across.

Third question. “Let's see… ah, yes. You discover an aspect of the Force that gives you great power. Do you share it and strengthen the Sith as a whole or keep it to yourself?”

A Sith answer, as well as a scout’s answer, is to keep it to yourself. You always keep an advantage to keep yourself afloat at the end. For me it’s a hot springs on Utapau. The people there are fair traders and welcoming of outsiders, soil is rocky in a lot of places but they’ve spent millennia farming there so they know what they’re doing. Wildlife is stunning. I figured it would be a good place to settle when I couldn’t scout anymore. I guess for a Force user, a new power would be just as valuable. But I think Mekel needs a breather now. I don’t want to give it to him. But who am I if I let him die? “I share it,” I say finally.

“You gained an advantage and you share it freely?!” Dude, shut up. “Let them rip the secret from my dead hands, I say!” I plan to. “I mean... 'share it'?! Are you mad?!” He sighs. “Well, you did ask for this. It's for your own good.” Holy hell, I hate this! What the shit have I gotten myself into?

God, I need a break. “Still going?” Man, shut the hell up. “Alright, then. One of your underlings has made a major mistake which makes you look bad. He is normally very competent and skilled. Do you kill him or give him another chance?”

Personally I’d let him live. Let him learn. A Sith would kill him without a thought. And I don’t want to get hit again. Not so soon. “Kill him,” I say.

“Correct!” he exclaims. “Publicly, if you can. There is no room for that level of failure.” Dude, you’re the one living in a crypt, don’t lecture me about failure. “Not killing him would be seen as a sign of weakness... and then where would you be?” He turns to Mekel. “Ahhh, Mekel. The time has come once again, hasn't it?” Lightning shoots from his fingers again.

“Last question!” Oh, thank fuck. “You're about to die. Do you pass on your knowledge to your apprentice to make him stronger… or do you use your last breath to strike at your enemies?”

Just when I think the answer to this isn’t obvious, it comes to me: A true Sith never dies. Like… is that metaphorical, like how people still remember Ajunta Pall, or is that literal in the sense that Ajunta Pall wasn’t exactly dead? Or could it be both at once? Is Tulak Hord floating from room to room? Is there an ancient Sith no one remembers who’s haunting some cantina or something? And what does “true Sith” mean, anyway? What happens to a “false” Sith? Where did that answer even come from?

Either way, Mekel looks awful. I don’t think he’ll survive another right answer. I may hate it but I’ve still got a few wrong answers in me, and if this is the last question, then I’ll be okay. “I pass on my knowledge.”

Jorak Uln giggles excitedly. “Fool! It is a trick question! A true Sith never dies!!” You mean I was right? He laughs again. “I'll enjoy this one. Time for your medicine!” Shit shit! It’s okay, Rena, just lie back and think of droids, they always apologize for shocking you!

He gives me a moment to breathe. But it’s not a kindness. “Now, this is odd,” he says, “The test is over and you're both still alive. Well that's never happened before. Hmmmn…” Jolee shifts a bit. Carth is conscious now and even though Jolee has healed him both are still playing dead for now. “What to do, what to do…” Uln ponders, “I suppose this means you can go, Mekel.” He releases him from his grip. “I'll have to just figure out what to do with our friend, here. Run along, now.”

“Or…” Mekel says slowly, “… or I could use the Force to free her! And we could kill you!!” I feel Uln’s grip on me slacken and finally break. My legs feel jellied but I can still stand, and I pull out my lightsabers. I reach out with the Force and exhaust it to heal Mekel and myself. I hope Jolee saved some energy because we're both still only at half strength. “Seems you didn't think of that, old man!!”

“What?!” Uln exclaims, “Mutiny! Behave, students! I'll…!” Now Jolee reaches out to both of us, and I can stand on my legs again. Mekel’s scarring closes over. Carth jumps to his feet and pulls Jolee up. And now Uln loses the little he had left. “That's it! Detention for all of you! Permanent detention!!”

Uln activates his double-bladed lightsaber, but I’ve got my two out and Mekel has his as well. None of us have any Force left, but neither does Uln, which evens it out a bit. Uln focuses on Mekel, which means I can fight dirty from behind if I avoid the other end of his lightsaber. No one gives me electrical scarring if they don’t apologize afterwards. If he were a droid who didn’t apologize, well, I’d get to retune his power core, which can be unpleasant for the droid. People don’t have power cores, so I guess I have to just beat him senseless. Mekel pushes him backwards onto uneven footing. I sweep his legs out from under him and he falls over. Without missing a beat, Mekel runs him through.

He stands over him and laughs ironically. “What do you know?” he says, “I guess he wasn't a 'true Sith' after all.” He sighs and relaxes. “I can't believe that I'm alive,” he says, “You saved me… you could have easily just answered those questions and let me die. You knew the answers, I could tell, I could see you mulling it over.”

“Nobody deserves to die like that,” I say firmly, “There is no universe in which I left you to die.”

He takes a second to reflect. “Yeah, well…” he says thoughtfully, “… I see what you mean. I’ve never… I mean, I've never been on that side of the fence before. It makes you think. I'd be dead if you weren't…” He stops again, like he’s correcting himself. “… I mean, if you were a proper Sith. But you're not, are you? Don't worry… I won't tell anyone.”

“Frankly, I wasn’t worried, but thank you, anyway,” I say. He’s still quite pensive. “Seems to me like you’ve got a lot on your mind, a lot of thinking to do.” He looks at me wordlessly. “I get the impression you don't want to be a ‘true Sith’ like Uln. You’ve just got some crap to work through. There’s better places to work through it.”

“You mean… the light side?” he says softly, “I've never thought about that. Can you… can you even go back? I've done some… I mean, I've hurt a lot of people.”

“There's always remorse,” Jolee says, “And atonement. That's the harder path, though, boy. Think you can do that?”

“I…” he says nervously, “I don't think the light side is for me. But… maybe neither are the Sith. Maybe it's time for me to leave.”

I take a deep breath. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I say, “but have you thought about Czerka?”

Mekel scoffs. “Hell, no. Fuck Czerka.”

“Thank you!” I say, and we share a grin. “Well,” I say, “good luck wherever you end up.”

“To you, as well,” he says, “And… thank you.” He walks away, following the splotches on the wall to the exit.

Jorak Uln did a poor job of hiding his thesis. The ancient stone tablet is resting on the tomb of Tulak Hord, right out in the open. It’s not as heavy as it looks, but I am positively worn out, so Carth carries it for me out of the tomb. “So,” he asks me, “are you going to bother with any more tombs?”

“Hell, no, I’m not doing anything else today except relax with that bottle of Tarisian ale on the ship, I am exhausted.”

“I had hoped to save that till the end of the war,” he says, “but I think you’ve earned it now. But that wasn’t what I meant.” I look at him curiously. “By my count all of the other hopefuls are gone. Mekel just left, Lashowe’s dead, we’ll find out about Shaardan soon enough. Whether you’ve earned enough prestige or not, there isn’t exactly anyone left to oppose you.”

“You sound like you’ve got something in mind,” I say.

He shrugs sheepishly. “Well,” he says slowly, “I guess I’d… like to join you for that drink, if you don’t mind.”

This is a hell of a time to ask me out. Not that I’m complaining. “I’d like that,” I say.

He tries very hard not to beam. God, he’s adorable.

-----

Shaardan is dead at Master Uthar’s feet. Frankly I’m surprised nobody’s moved the body yet. “Master Uthar!” I call to get his attention, and he turns to me. “I have a tablet written by Jorak Uln.” Carth hands it off to him.

Uthar looks surprised. “It appears my old master was busy studying the writings in one of the tombs. How interesting.” He glances at me. “I do hope you had to pry this from his dead fingers.” Not exactly. “Regardless, you have impressed me with your worthy act.” He looks directly at me now. “Even if you were not the sole remaining hopeful, you have impressed me enough, by my estimation, to become a Sith in full. Congratulations, young one… you have bested the others quite completely, in more ways than one I’m sure. You have but one final test which you must take, and this requires us to travel to the tomb of Naga Sadow in the Valley of the Dark Lords. I would advise you to be rested and equipped before we leave. Return to your quarters now and seek me out in the morning.”

“My ship is still docked in Dreshdae,” I say, “Do you have any objection if I got there instead?”

“Go where you choose. But when you return, make sure that you have all that you will need… for you will face your test alone. Go, and may the Force serve you well.”

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angel-squid-trash-ghost · 5 years ago

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Parental Guidance Pt.6

Hakoda had the children dressed and fed by the time his mother had woken up. She fretted and fussed that he needed to be resting so he can get back to his regular duties. But is seemed his cold had all but disappeared. And for the time, Hakoda was enjoying spending time with his family. It had been too long.

Hakoda left to go get some burn ointment for Zuko’s burns. He found it strange how adamant they were of not going with him. Not even Sokka wanted to go. Smoke billowed from the small chimney of the healing hut. A noxious smell radiated from the entrance. Kehana always had reminded him of a ghost story Bato used to tell when they were lads. A tale of a winter witch that lived in the middle of nowhere. She never left her home until a blizzard came and would snatch and eat anyone who dared to venture out.

He entered the healing hut. Danak was inside holding a cloth around his thumb. It looked like he had cut it deep. The cloth was turning redder by the second. Danak tapped his foot impatiently. Kehana was hunched over her mortar and pestle grinding some green paste.

“Woman, I came for a bandage. By the time I get one I will have passed out from blood loss or the fumes of whatever poisons is in that brew of yours.” Danak sneered.

“You interrupted me. I will attend to your parchment cut in a moment.” Kehana mumbled.

Danak straightened his broad shoulders, “Parchment cut!? Woman, I am bleeding out here!”

“I do not think it is that bad.” Hakoda chuckled. “And Kehana with your usual Northern charm and impeccable bedside manner.” They both turned to face him.

“Good morning Chief Hakoda. Could you kindly tell this wicked woman that I am in need of aid? Seeing how she is the healer!” Danak finished shouting at Kehana.

Kehana ignored him throwing a dried plant in the pot. Hakoda shook his head. “So what happened to you?”

“I was trying to hold the baby and reached for my paring knife rather than the rattle.” Danak looked away embarrassed.

“How is the baby? No name yet. I bet Yise cannot choose just one.”

Danak wrapped the cloth again as it was becoming too saturated. “Actually, she has her heart set on an Earth Kingdom name.”

“Well if she is insistent, then just agree you get to name the next one. That is what me and Kya did.” Hakoda tried to smile.

“So, an Earth Kingdom name would be alright?” Danak pondered.

“Of course not! Fire children and Earth kingdom names. Next you will suggest marriages between nations.” Kehana put another plant in the pot making the smell recede.

Hakoda narrowed his eyes. “Marriages between nations already exist in the North.”

“To immoral men who couldn’t resist the sight of opened legs and green eyes. Children born out of wedlock are a pitiful result of war.”

“Pitiful is your outlook of the world. Get this man a bandage before he starts dripping.” Hakoda bit.

Kehana rummaged through a basket of bandages of varying sizes. “Here!” She threw the roll at him, “Now get out and tell your dim wife that she should have proper supplies instead of listening to silly ideas from foreigners.”

“Old bitch.” Danak stomped towards the door, “Feel better, Chief.”

“Thank you, Danak. Well wishes to your daughter and Yise.” Hakoda waved off.

Kehana moved back to her mortar, “What do you need?”

“I need something for my cold.” Hakoda said.

“Then why are you here? Ask your mother to make you soup.”

“I also need burn ointment.”

“For whom?” Kehana paused her grinding.

He smiled in disbelief, “Does it matter? I asked for it.”

“I’m not wasting anymore of my good medicine on that ugly thing.”

Hakoda growled, “Watch your mouth. Stop your assuming and just give me what I ask for. ”

Kehana hissed. “Your affinity for him is concerning. You are Chief. You have an obligation to protect-”

“And your obligation is to provide medical help to my village! You left a man to bleed from a knife wound while you mind your concoctions.”

“Is it for him?” Kehana ticked her head. A wild look came to her pale blue eyes. “It is summer. Many firebenders bloom at this time. Best to stomp a spark out before it becomes a flame.”

Hakoda watched her face warp into something hideous. Monstrous. “The burn ointment please.”

Kehana took a step closer, “I suggest you take him out far and club him like a seal.”

Hakoda couldn’t believe his ears. He curled his lip, “You’re disgusting.”

“Then if you don’t have the… gumption, there are many plants here that will do the trick.”

“Give me the ointment. Now.”

“If he is a firebender, he cannot be here!” Kehana ran to his face.

“Kehana! Give me the ointment!” Hakoda would doubt if the next village over did not hear him.

Kehana glowered a few moments. She spun around rapidly almost hitting Hakoda with her hair. She snatched a corked jar and shoved it in his hands. “What happened to your beard?” She smiled showing her worn teeth.

Hakoda tilted his chin away from her, “There will be a village meeting tomorrow. You are not to attend. Am I understood?”

“Of course, Chief Hakoda.” The crazed smile became wider.

He left without another word.

…

It was a relief to be back inside. The village had given him odd looks on his way home. Someone was surely to come by later and ask what happened. In a small village things get dull. Gossip of a confrontation will be good entertainment for a few hours.

Sokka was siting surprisingly still brow twitching as Katara and Zuko braided his hair. His mother was smiling softly holding a cup of tea. She was the first to see him. She had lost her smile. He called Zuko over. He looked very different from the distraught boy he held last night. He bounced over to Hakoda happy and affectionate.

“What are you two doing to Sokka?” Hakoda didn’t want the children to hear any of his previous tone.

Katara skipped over abandoning Sokka’s hair, “We’re making him pretty.” She sat next to Zuko.

“I’m already pretty.” Sokka rejected.

Zuko and Katara giggled. Zuko cocked his head, “Are you ok, Sir.”

“I am.” Hakoda said softly.

Zuko put his hands on Hakoda’s cheeks. Hakoda eyes drifted to his scar. Realizing this, he looked away. Zuko’s arms moved around his neck. The scar grazed his jaw. Zuko hugged him. Hakoda reciprocated. Katara joined with a kiss. And Sokka from behind. Kanna made her way over too. Her arms encircling them all. Hakoda breathed in deep. Their love radiating into him. He felt fulfilled. An image of cobalt blue eyes shining with delight, flashed in his mind.

When they broke apart Zuko was smiling, “Better?”

Hakoda nodded. “Yes. Thank you.” He took the jar from inside his pocket, “Let’s get this on just now. Shall we?”

Hakoda unwrapped Zuko’s fingers. He could tell the boy was putting on a brave face as he revealed the raw and peeling burns. He uncorked the jar making everyone cover their noses. Did everything that hag made have to smell so terrible? Katara handed him a brush and he got to work on applying the ointment.

“Do they hurt?” Sokka asked over his shoulder.

“Not bad.” Zuko winced, “My face hurt more.”

Katara watched as if she were supervising his work. Zuko saw this and put a finger on her forehead. He said something in Fire’s Tongue, and she responded. Zuko said something else mentioning Kehana’s name.

“Was Kehana ever mean to you?” He watched their faces drop.

“Kehana is not nice.” Zuko said simply.

“She’s more than not nice. She’s horrible. She has witch’s fingers and rats in her hair! She’s ugly and I hate her.” Katara raved.

“She said bad things about Katara’s and Sokka’s mommy.” Hakoda barely heard Zuko say.

He distracted himself with his task, “Do not worry about her children. You do not have to go to her if you do not want to.” He set his jaw so he would not scowl.

“When I’m a master waterbender I can just make a snowstorm and whoosh her away!” Katara declared.

“Yeah. And I can throw my boomerang!” Sokka held up his fist.

“She will get a smack upside the head from me if she keeps messing with my grandbabies!” Kanna added.

The children laughed. Hakoda shook his head chuckling. Kehana should run for the hills.

“Well to be a master waterbender you need a teacher.” He said to his daughter.

“Yeah but there’s no one here to teach me.” Katara shrugged.

“Which is why I am going to send for one. The only waterbenders are in the North. It is our only option.”

“Zuko will need a teacher too.” Katara looked at Zuko.

“No. I don’t want to firebend.” Zuko added quickly.

“Why is that?” Hakoda asked.

Zuko looked at him like he had three heads. “Firebending is bad.”

Hakoda put down the brush. He held Zuko by the wrists as he had done the night before, “Zuko. We have suffered much. All of us.” He looked around sadly. “By men who can control fire. They use their fire to burn towns and hurt people. What do you see there?” Hakoda pointed to the hearth.

Zuko paused, “I see fire.”

“Exactly. It keeps us warm, and cooks are food, and gives us light. We need fire to survive.” He released the small wrists, “You want to do good right?”

“Yes!” Zuko said desperately.

“Then that is what makes you good. Do not loose apart of yourself to please others.” Hakoda put his hand on his silky hair, “Never forget who you are.”

“Well said my son!” Kanna smacked her knee and held her chin high.

“You should be proud to be a bender.” Katara put her forehead to his, “We can learn together.”

“But you still have to do weapons training!” Sokka tackled Zuko.

“I will announce a village meeting tomorrow. I want the whole village to meet you formally. And I will make the announcement that you will live with us-”

“Yay!” Katara flung herself to her best friend. “I’m so happy!”

“Me too!” Zuko hugged her.

Hakoda shook with laughter, “And then we will make you an honorary citizen of the Southern Water Tribe.”

“What’s that mean?” Zuko sat up.

Sokka gave him a firm pat on the back, “That means you’ll be one of us and no one can say otherwise! You’ll be a warrior!”

“And a bender.” Katara cheered.

Hakoda nodded, “And Water Tribe.”

“And my newest grandson! Oh! Come here!” Kanna scooped him up and gave Zuko the tightest hug he had ever received.

…

The next evening, the entire village had gathered to the communal hut. Hakoda wore a ceremonial Artic fox shawl and a band of seashells. He carried his Whale bone spear unwrapped showing its sharp point. Kanna wore her favorite Snow Leopard Caribou stole albeit the season. She didn’t get to wear it often and would never miss a chance to dress up. She looked dignified on her favorite stool in her faint blue gown and silver jewelry. Both Katara and Sokka were dressed in darker blue summer outfits with a variety of beads strewn in their hair. And Zuko in an ashen grey. Gran-Gran had given him a braid wrapped in cord. A Water tribe symbol of humility and innocence.

Family groups made a circle around the hut so everyone could be seen and heard. Hakoda sat at the point with his mother to his right and the children to his left. Once everyone was settled, dried meat was passed around. It was believed a full stomach would make for a better temperament.

“Good evening.” Hakoda began.

“Good evening.” Everyone responded in their own time.

“Some of you may wonder why we are gathered here today and other’s probably have already guessed.” He looked around the room, “Firstly, I would like to address that my daughter, Katara, is a waterbender!”

Many cheered and gave their congratulations. Katara gladly accepted the praise. She slipped her hand into Zuko’s

“Wonderful news!”

“We finally have a bender!”

“How will she be trained?” Vakita, Moak’s wife asked. Moak raised a brow.

“I will have to send for a teacher. I have written a letter to Chief Arnook. I will send this letter in the morning.” Hakoda said absolutely.

“Another Northerner?” This time it was it was Kursru to speak.

“I understand your concern. But we have no choice in this matter.”

“It will be good to have a bender. Send for as many Northerners as you need. We need little Katara to learn as much as possible.” Bato said. No one was more loyal and understanding than Bato.

“Thank you, Mr. Bato.” Katara held a regal pose, “I have accepted my duty as sole waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe. I will train hard and endlessly until I am confident that I will be able to protect my people. I look forward to learning and mastering my element.” Katara recited the speech her grandmother helped her write.

“Does anyone else have any questions for me or Katara about this subject?” Hakoda asked.

“Yeah, can you not freeze us in an ice block again?” Noaluk groaned. Moak swiftly smacked the boy in the back of the head.

“That depends.” Katara said haughtily.

“That is enough. Any more questions? No? Ok. The matter is settled.” Hakoda pounded the spear to the ground. “Our next subject is probably something you all have been very eager to speak to me about.” He looked around the room again. Everyone stayed silent waiting for their turn to say aloud what they have been keeping to themselves. “We have had a guest here for quite some time. Almost seven months now. I understand that opinions about our guest have been divided. Some hateful even. I would like to introduce our guest.” Hakoda held out his hand.

Zuko looked around at the faces of all the village. Big and small were all staring directly at him. He felt stuck but shifted slightly. He watched their eyes move with him. He felt like a mouse trying to creep around a Mink Snake. No matter which way he moved, he would probably end up bit.

Zuko curled inwards. “Don’t worry. I’m right here.” Katara whispered in his ear.

He moved to Sir and sat in his lap with a finger to his mouth and his eyes down. “Ah-ah. Sit up straight and face everyone.” Sir said pleasantly moving his hand away. “Speak clearly now.”

“Hello. My name is Zuko.” Zuko felt his heart would burst from his chest.

There were oohs and ahs from the circle.

“Why does he talk funny?” Someone asked. Zuko didn’t see who but it sounded like an older boy.

Sir gave him a pat on the shoulder. “I like to sew and play outside.”

“And hit people with sticks.” Zuko could guess who said that.

“I came on a boat from the Fire Nation-”

“We know this. When is he going back?” It was an adult’s voice.

Zuko didn’t think his heart could beat faster, “I look forward to being a productive…” Zuko couldn’t remember what he was supposed to say as the room got louder with murmurs and whispers. Zuko went to stand to run away.

Sir held him in place, “We do not run when things get tough.” He said into his ear, “We stand strong and face our obstacles. If one way does not work, then we choose another.”

Zuko took a deep breath. He looked to Katara. She nodded. “I’m here.” She said in Fire’s Tongue. Zuko barely heard it amongst the growing noise.

He stood from Sir’s lap. “My name is Zuko!” The village went quiet. “I like to sew with Gran-Gran and play outside with Katara and Sokka. Katara teaches me Water Language and Sokka teaches me how to use weapons. They are my friends. Gran-Gran and Sir teach me lessons and how to be good. I want to be good. I want to be Water Tribe!”

“He can’t be Water Tribe!”

“Is he crazy?”

“Did you hear that? He wants to be one of us.”

“I think that’s a good thing!” Yise shouted. Everyone turned to Yise who was cradling her baby. Danak tried to hold her still, but she snatched herself away, “Why would we send the boy back just to grow up and be another Fire Nation soldier? If he wants to be Water Tribe, let him.”

“You foolish woman! You have always not been all there in the head!” The widower Lohara cried.

“Do not speak to her like that!” Danak shouted, “Go ahead sweetie. Finish what you were saying.” He grimaced suddenly having a change of heart.

“All I mean is that he is a little boy! He is not a danger to us!”

“He is Fire Nation!” Kursru complained.

“He is dangerous. He hit my son with a stick.” Vakita pulled her son’s closer to her.

“Because they attacked me and Sokka! Zuko was being a good friend! Noaluk and Yoton were being bullies!” Katara cut in. Zuko looked at her in awe.

“What if he turns out to be a firebender?!”

“Then he will be a danger to us all!”

“I am a firebender!” Zuko yelled.

Zuko with all his fury unintentionally summoned sparks to his hands. They did not spit like before but crackled like kindling when he clenched his fists. If Katara could be brave, then so could he. Several men stood. Zuko held his ground. Katara rushed to his side. Hakoda pounded his spear and demanded they sit. But when Kanna stood the men froze.

“Shame! All of you! Shame!” Kanna glared at every last man who stood.

“You say shame, but the Fire Nation killed my husband and left my children without a father!”

“And my brother and his son.”

“And my wife!” Hakoda bellowed. “We have all lost to the Fire Nation!”

Kanna took Zuko and Katara to sit back down with her. She kept them both firmly to her chest. “All of us. Even him.”

“More of reason he should stay. Look at what they did to him.” Yise pointed to Zuko’s scar. The baby started to wail.

Sokka rose. He couldn’t hold back anymore, “You think letting Zuko live here is the same as forgiving the Fire Nation! It’s not. I will never forgive the man who killed my mother! We’re sitting here arguing when there is no argument. Zuko doesn’t remember anything before the ship. How can he be loyal to people he doesn’t remember? But Zuko is loyal to us. He made a promise to my sister that they would be friends forever. And he really means forever. And I know he will keep that promise because Zuko is the most honest person I know! Yeah I’m looking at you Jiliruq!” Sokka pointed dramatically.

“I didn’t take your sharpening stone!” The older boy groaned.

Sokka shook his fist. “I know it was you! You were the only one near my stuff-”

“Sokka.” Hakoda warned.

Sokka exhaled, “Alright. When it all comes down to it, Zuko is going to stay with us. He is not gonna run around melting igloos, or eat babies, or steal people’s stuff. Katara froze the porridge this morning. Should we send her away too? Zuko’s a boy like me. Who’s lost just as much as we have and wants to be one of us. If an Earth Kingdom ditch digger washed up, we’d hand him a blue parka and a spear, right?” Some in the circle laughed, “Then we’ll do the same for Zuko. I mean he’s a human heater spit out by the ocean!” There was more laughter, “If La wants him here then I want him here too.”

The crowd spoke quietly on their take of his point. Zuko eyes traced the faces of the families around the room. He saw Yoton quietly speaking to his parents and Ms. Yise to her husband. The air in the room had gotten lighter. Zuko felt like he could finally take an entire inhale. Katara seemed to relax too. Her grip on his hand had loosened some and her face wasn’t wound as tight.

“But Chief Hakoda.” Bato spoke, “This arrangement is very unusual.”

“Yes. I think it will be a good change of pace.”

Bato nodded at the nonchalant answer. He knew Hakoda had already made up his mind.

“Does anyone have anything else to say?” Hakoda surveyed the circle.

Everyone had digressed to reserved utterings.

Bato let out a dry laugh, “I suppose he is to stay then.”

“Then the matter is settled.” Hakoda pound the spear again.

Kanna kissed both of their heads. “Did you two hear that? No more worries ok.”

Zuko let that sink in. No more worries. Katara beamed brightly. Sokka was smiling too. He came over to pat him on the back. Sir motioned for him to come over again. Zuko reluctantly untethered his finger’s from Katara’s and crawled to Sir. He directed Zuko in front of him and look out a beautiful porcelain jar. It was inlayed with mother of pearl in the shape of a Snow Eagle. Inside was a thick paint made of ash and squid ink. Sir dipped two fingers in and smeared two lines from Zuko’s hairline to his brow. He dipped one more time wiping his fingers across his forehead.

“This boy is now my ward!” Sir announced strong and proud. He turned Zuko around, “He is now known as Tulujok, child of the ocean!”

Tulujok. Water language for Crow-Owl. Katara joined him again. She snuggled into his cheeks.

“You are happy.” Zuko giggled.

Katara squeezed around him. “Aren’t you?”

Her smile made him want to leap for the moon. “I am always happy when you are happy.”

Life had only improved for Zuko after that. Although he had to split his time between Sokka and Katara. In the morning he would go to weapons training with Sokka and sometimes Sir would join them. After a while, the sight in his left had diminished to nothing. He was constantly swiveling his head further earning his name of Tulujok. He had to work twice as hard with half his sight. Eventually ,with weeks of relentless practice ,his spear had flown straighter and his arrows piercing their practice target. Never dead on. But knife play was always his calling. With the help of Sokka and Sir he was quickly becoming a skilled knife wielder.

His afternoons were shared with Katara and Gran-Gran in the igloo. His knife experience was put to the test when he skinned his first Seal. Gran-Gran had guided him through the rite earning him respect from the other home keepers. After chores, Zuko would help Katara and Gran-Gran with dinner. There was nothing like sharing stew with family after a full day of learning.

As for Katara’s and Zuko’s bending, neither had made much progress. Their lack of direction made for lack of control over their elements. There were accidents here and there. Zuko sneezing a flame or Katara hiccupping tea frozen were common mishaps around the igloo. And when Zuko and Katara had their first fight, Hakoda physically had to hold the children down before the igloo had caved in on them all. It had all started over something as trivial as a shared spinning top. Each of their screams either engorging the hearth or making cracks in the ceiling. It didn’t take them more than an hour for the best friends to make up. Each promising they’d never fight again.

Winter had come again. The ocean had frozen for miles out creating an icy labyrinth. There wouldn’t be another visitor for at least three more months. Zuko didn’t like the winter. He hadn’t before, but with the sun not giving him it’s light, something in him had weakened. Katara had seemed the opposite. She thrived under the silvery moon beams.

Snow steadily fell outside. Zuko was curled up by the fire. He had found a shiny black stone at archery practice. It was so beautiful. He knew Katara would love to see it. He traced over the smooth stone reflecting the fire’s light in its surface. The moment the furs moved Zuko was upright. Katara skipped happily to him.

“Zuko! Guess what? Ms. Vakita is going to have a baby!” Katara said excitedly.

“That is great news!” Zuko threw up his hands. The stone glinted.

“What is that?” Katara tried to grab his hand.

Zuko easily evaded her. He grinned, “It’s a surprise. Close your eyes.”

“Why? What is it?” Katara rolled to her knees.

“Close your eyes.” Zuko insisted in Fire’s Tongue.

Katara closed and covered her eyes, “Ok. I promise I’m not peeking.”

Zuko took her hand and placed the dark stone in the middle of her palm. Katara looked down to see the shining crystal. She gasped.

“Zuko! It’s so pretty! Where did you find it?” She too examined it in the light.

“At the archery range. Do you like it?” he was on his hands and knees quaking to hear her answer.

“It’s for me?!” Katara’s eyes glittered.

“Of course!” Zuko sat on his heels.

Katara was just about to hug Zuko when a commotion came from outside. Men were yelling in alarm. Zuko pulled Katara up and ran to Gran-Gran. Gran-Gran was on alert listening for any news. Katara’s started to think dark thoughts. Another raid. After all the time of peace. Another raid. More murder. This time they would come for her. And take her away like all the other waterbenders. She looked at Zuko. They would take him too. They would make him a soldier and make him kill. Katara started to cry. Zuko clutched her face. The look in his eye was striking.

“Don’t worry. I will protect us.” Zuko showed Katara his knife.

“A ship! A ship!”

“Zuko get your parka on now! Katara grab a blanket. We’re going to the communal hut.” Gran-Gran gathered what appeared to be an emergency bag. “Hurry both of you!”

Katara and Zuko did as they were told then helping their Gran-Gran pack water and dried food. She pushed the children out of the igloo with Zuko faithfully in front holding his knife ready to strike. Katara knew she might have to run. Scenario after dreadful scenario played in her mind. Flashes of her mother’s face kept appearing. The begging, the shrieking, the smell.

There was a terrible cracking sound coming from the ice as it broke. The ship was getting closer. Other families were running to the communal hut. Katara could see Sokka running towards them with a real spear and not his wooden practice one. Sokka took the bag from Gran-Gran and went in front of Zuko. The cold stung her face nearly freezing her tears. Zuko locked his arm in hers. He was walking fast but not too fast in front of Gran- Gran. He turned his head back and forth trying to catch any and all movement. Katara steeled herself and did the same. She saw her father shouting orders. If the Fire nation were going to come back, she would be ready this time. She no longer had a mommy to cling to. But she had Sokka and Gran-Gran and Zuko. She wasn’t going to let anything happen to anyone she loved ever again.

“They’re Water Tribe!”

“They’re Northerners!”

Katara fell to her knees in relief.

#katara #Zuko #sokka #young katara #young zuko #young sokka #hakoda #kanna #atla fanfic #Avatar The Last Airbender #bato #parental guidance au #alternate universe

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 5 years ago

Text

No Surrender Pt. 5

Request: hey i love your writing!! i was wondering if you could write something where the ready and bucky are in the same hydra facility and try to escape together. idk maybe that’s bad but i love your writing!!

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: In the winter of 1945 Hydra captures Sargent James Barnes. After months spent unconscious, he wakes up in a cell with you and a new addition on his left side. Quickly it becomes clear that being locked up together may be the best bout of luck either of you has had in a while… Maybe together the two of you have a chance of making it out of this hell alive. Now, 69 years later the two of you are brought back together, scars and all. War changes everyone it touches but maybe, together, you can both find some kind of peace.

Warnings: Just fluff and feels.

A/N: Well. This is the end of the line (couldn’t help myself). Thank you all for being patient with this one as it’s taken me a hot minute to circle back and wrap it up. I hope you enjoy the end of this story!

Tags are open!

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4 @stevehesaidabadlanguageword @buckysstar @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @siriuslycloudy2 @krugeforeveryone @jewelofwinter @get-loki @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @wildmoonflower @cutie1365

Two days later Bucky is about ready to scream.

It’s been nothing but an endless sea of paperwork and protocol—getting reestablished as, well a person—setting things up with the V.A., finances, procuring necessities like clothes and a cell phone. He was exhausted.

Steve was off helping Hill and Stark with something to do with their new plan they were calling ‘The Avengers,’ leaving Bucky blissfully alone.

The bliss was short-lived at best.

Alone, it was hard to shift his focus from the shadows flitting around in his mind, almost impossible to calm down his instinct to be prepared to fight at any moment.

He finds himself wondering about you, how you’re doing, what your day to day was like, and wanting to just hear your voice. After staring at his phone and pacing for almost an hour he finally gets the gumption to call you.

It feels like the phone was ringing forever, certainly long enough for him to doubt his decision. Hell, you were likely helping Steve and the rest right now. He felt silly and more than a little useless until-

“Oui?” Your voice is cold, tentative. Of course, he’d forgotten to send you his number.

“Hey, Y/N, it’s-”

“Bucky! Is this your number now?”

He lets out a little awkward laugh, “Yeah, as of yesterday. I’m a fully functional modern American.” Functional, could he tell a bigger lie.

“Excellent. How are you?”

“Well… I’ve got some time and was wondering if that invitation was still open?” Silence hangs a little longer than he expected.

“Of course. Come on over.”

“If you’ve got other plans… I don’t wanna intrude.”

“You’re not intruding. I… Please, I’d like for you to come.” Something in your voice makes concern rise in his chest. “Do you need a ride or anything?”

“Nah, I’ve got Steve’s bike. Fifteen minutes ok?”

“Perfect.” Was that relief he heard? “I’ll see you then.”

It’s just before noon as the bike thunders onto your quiet street. Just like a few nights ago he feels like a nervous kid at the thought of seeing you. Add that to his concern he can’t shake that he’s imposing on your life—he’s a wreck. Doubt, anxiety, and a million other emotions swirl in his mind as he knocks.

They all flee when he sees you though.

He had been so used to you being a vision of poise in your well-tailored creams and whites, your vibrant lipstick, hair always exactly where you wanted it… Right now though, you remind him more of the woman he first met. Beautiful still but haunted and hurting.

The circles under your eyes are dark, lips a little too dull. Your hands tremble a touch as you gather your cardigan tight around your frame, the oversized garment covering your teeshirt and leggings.

You offer him a half-smile, “Come in.” As he follows you up the stairs the scents of coffee and cigarettes hit his nose.

“I just made a fresh pot of coffee if you’d like some,” you say once in the kitchen. Before he can respond you turn to the cabinet, taking a mug down with a shaking hand.

“Y/N?” He asks, coming up behind you, plucking the mug from your grasp and taking your hand in his. “What’s wrong?” You say nothing, your eyes cast down at the floor.

He shouldn’t be here, he knew it was a bad idea. He releases your hand, “I can go. I didn’t mean to-”

“Please don’t,” frantic, red-rimmed, eyes shoot to up, your hand suddenly grasping his tight. You look surprised by your own reaction.

He remains frozen, unsure of what to do. Well, not entirely. What he wants is to gather you in his arms, wants to breathe in the smell of your hair, kiss you until you smile… None of those things are right, he knows this, but desire doesn’t always listen to the rules. Sternly he reminds himself who you are--decidedly not his--and who he is--someone undeserving of a dame like you.

Your tongue flits out, moistening your dry lips as you hold his gaze. “I just…” You take a tentative half step forward, closing the small space between the two of you and rest your forehead against his chest, breathing deeply.

Bucky’s heart thunders, so hard he knows you must feel it. When your hand releases his he expects you to pull away but instead your arms wrap around his torso, holding on as if you’re scared he’ll run.

It takes him longer than it should to get his arms to curl around you. He’d embraced Steve and even you briefly since being back but here, alone, this is different. It had been… shit decades since he’d held anyone or been held like this. An ache he’d been forcing down begins to rise to the surface at an alarming pace.

You turn your face to press your cheek against his pounding heart. “I don’t… I don’t want to be alone…” Your breath hitches and he holds you tighter.

“Ok… Ok,” he breathes into your hair stroking your back. The two of you stand for a bit, holding on with all your might.

“I’m sorry,” you release him, wiping a few stray tears from your eyes.

“For what?” He couldn’t fathom something you’d need to apologize for.

Turning to the coffee pot you gesture to your self, “For me. I’m… I’m just tired…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” without thinking he cups your face with his metal hand, turning you back to him. A tear sneaks from the corner of your eye, instinctively he dashes it away with his thumb. “Here,” he takes the mug you had as well as one that must be yours as it still has a bit of coffee in it, “let me.”

“Black?” He asks as he pours, noting the lack of sugar or cream near the pot.

“Oui.”

There are papers strewn on the little breakfast nook table so he heads that direction, both mugs in hand. You sit heavily in one of the chairs, wrapping your hands around the warmth of the mug, breathing deep. He takes the spot opposite from you.

Bucky sips the coffee, it’s damn good and the silence that hangs between you two isn’t uncomfortable.

With your eyes glued on the steam rising from between your hands, he lets the details of you sink in. Silver strands wink in your hair making it seem to sparkle in the sunlight--beautiful despite its disheveled state, the lines on your face are so fine as to almost be imperceptible, freckles lightly dust your nose and cheeks, cheeks that are slightly sallow as though you haven’t been eating enough. A muscle ticks ever so slightly near your right eye, and there’s a nicotine stain on your right index and middle finger.

Your eyes rise to meet his. While your body may not show the decades of your life he can see them clearly there. He can’t help but wonder if he and Steve had, in some sick way, been luckier…

“Do you wanna talk about it?” His voice is soft. The corner of your mouth ticks up a bit but you shake you head no.

“You have your own ghosts to deal with, you don’t need to trouble yourself with mine.” Tentatively you take his hand in your own. “You being here is enough.”

Admittedly, he’s somewhat confused as to how his presence could bring anyone comfort. Hell, he could hardly be alone with himself comfortably… Still, it does feel good to know he can do this for you.

“You won’t be burdening me, Y/N. After everything, you’ve done for me… Let’s just say I have space for your ghosts too.”

Swallowing hard you take a shaky breath, averting your gaze back to your coffee. Bucky worries that he’s said the wrong thing, somehow made this worse, until after a moment you speak.

“I… I went to see Peg the morning after the party. It…” He notices your accent is more pronounced as your emotions surface. “It was not a good day for her.” Your eyes squeeze shut, “She didn’t know me.”

For a moment you just breathe, holding his hand in a death grip. “She’s the last… the last person who truly knows me knows because she lived through it all with me and… when she’s gone… I feel like a part of me will die too.”

It occurs to him at that moment, Steve must have felt something like this when Bucky didn’t know him. The thought makes something ache deep within him. Some day he’ll find a way to make that up to Steve.

You shake your head, “I’ve stared in death’s face so many times and not been afraid… but this… I’m terrified.”

Gently, he takes your other hand in his. “I know it’s not the same as living through it but… I’d-” He struggles to find the words suddenly. “Well, I’d be honored to know you, to truly know you, Y/N.”

Your eyes hold his once more, he swears there’s a little more light there than before.

The rest of the day is the best day Bucky can remember from the last 70 years. There’s no hurry, no stress, just you.

You talk about your life before the war. Growing up in Lyon with your older sister and twin brother. Days spent running through Renaissance era streets, Roman ruins, and more modern fare.

Summers spent with your mother’s parents in the Auvergne countryside. It was so similar and yet so different from his own childhood in Brooklyn. He loved watching you light up as you remember little details, things you hadn’t thought of in so long.

Every time a record ends there’s another ready to go. Leisurely, the two of you munch on cold chicken, bread, cheese, and fruit for lunch while Bucky reaches back into his fractured mind for memories of his own childhood.

He’s surprised to find that even without Steve to back him up, how talking helps him grasp things, make sense of the chaos. It’s nice even if it aches a bit to remember them, his Ma and Pa and sisters.

As the sun begins to set you both settle on the patio, whiskey and cigarettes in hand.

“You know,” you sigh out a cloud of smoke as you stare at the sunset, “I still haven’t ridden a rollercoaster.” Your head rolls, resting on the back of your deck chair, to look at him, a small smirk on your lips.

“What?!”

Your laugh rings in the quiet evening. “Surprisingly, there haven’t been many opportunities. And…” You pause as though you’re unsure of your next words, stamping out your cigarette to stall. “And, I was waiting for you.”

For a few moments, you hold one another’s gaze, unmoving, hardly breathing.

“Well,” he clears his throat breaking the connection. “I guess that’s one thing we can still do. I think the rest of my promises are a little too late to keep.”

“How so?”

“I’m sure you’ve had pizza, Brooklyn doesn’t have a baseball team anymore, and I’m pretty sure all the dance joints I knew about closed a long time ago.”

“We don’t need a joint to go dancing you know.” There’s a spark in your eye as you pick up your phone, music beginning to play from unseen speakers a moment later.

Bucky feels his mouth go dry. You hop from your chair and stand in front of him, hand extended, eyes wide and expectant.

“Dance with me.”

“I…” he averts his gaze heart suddenly racing faster than the swinging beat of the song. “I don’t know if I remember how.”

“Only one way to find out.” He glances up at you, unsure. “Haven’t you kept me waiting long enough Sergeant Barnes?”

He can’t help but smile at the playful grin lifting your lips. It had been long enough.

Taking your hand he rises. This was a fast song, he knows there’re steps involved but he can’t quite remember them. His brows knit, body frozen trying to find this buried knowledge.

“Hey,” he glances down at you. Your face a mask of understanding, “Stop thinking so much, just listen.”

Closing his eyes he focuses on nothing but the music, its fast beat, energetic dips and sways, and the feeling of your hand in his. In an instant his mind is filled with smoky clubs, the sensation of sweat dripping down his back, laughter, salt on his tongue, whiskey burning in his throat--and the dance.

It takes a couple of songs to fall into it but on the third you’re both in sync, moving to the music, dancing the Lindy, smiles huge. As the music wraps up he spins you out and rapidly back into him, pressing you close to his body.

Your head falls back and you laugh breathlessly. “And you were worried,” you tease.

“Doll, I’m just gettin’ warmed up.”

“I bet.” Suddenly your lips are on his.

Of their own volition, his hands rise to cup your face just before it registers that he cannot do this. You’re DumDum’s wife, or… widow rather but still… You’re also a good person, someone who’s spent the last seven decades fighting for the right side whereas he-

Instead of holding you closer his hands gently push you away as he steps back. He tries to ignore the surprise and hurt in your eyes, tries to deny the fluttering in his gut.

“I’m sorry I-”

“No,” he cuts you off. “I… I just… I should go.” He takes a few more steps back. “It’s… I told Steve we could do dinner and,” his words are tripping over themselves almost as fast as his heart’s beating. “Yeah, I just have to go.” He doesn’t look at you as he goes through the open patio door, can’t look at you because he’ll loose his shaky conviction.

“Bucky,” you lay a had on his shoulder as he reaches his jacket. It’s gentle but he flinches nonetheless.

“Thank you for today, it really was wonderful.” He doesn’t look back as he bolts from the warmth of your home.

Steve doesn’t ask any questions when he storms into the condo without a word, neither does he say anything for the next few days regarding Bucky’s near-total silence. He gives him space, without leaving him alone entirely. It’s a tactic Bucky remembers using with Steve back when they shared a shitty apartment and Steve was often in a mood. He appreciates it.

After waking up in a cold sweat the fourth night since his afternoon with you he paces his room for hours, feeling like a caged animal. He can’t tell if he wants to scream or cry or punch something. All he knows is that it feels like there’s a swarm of hornets in his skull and he’d give anything to make it stop.

He doesn’t know what possesses him but he suddenly goes to the desk where he’d laid the beautiful journal you’d gifted him. With a shaking hand, he touches the letters on the front—reminding himself that those are his initials, his name. Opening the journal for the first time he pauses. A letter addressed to him in your delicate script lays against the first page.

Swallowing the guilt bubbling up he opens the unsealed envelope:

Bucky,

I want this to be a place just for you so leaving an inscription seemed wrong. In my years I’ve found that, even when it hurts, putting pen to paper to account for both my sins and triumphs reminds me of who I am—who I’ve been. Use this book as confessional or time capsule (or not at all), whatever soothes you. On these pages, as with those who love you, there is no judgement—only freedom. Thank you for everything you have done for me. I hope that in time I can repay you the debt I owe.

Always,

Y/N

His eyes burn with tears. How could you think, truly think, you owed him a debt. You who’s presence drove him, helped him survive the hell he found himself in. You who never stopped looking for him. You…

With your petal soft lips, smoky voice, and gentle touch. Who was one hell of a dancer, soldier, and spy. You… who he undeniably wanted with every fiber of his being and could not allow himself to have.

Wiping away tears he refuses to let fall he fishes a few paperclips out of the office supply organizer on the desk. Carefully he aligns your letter on the first page, clipping it in place. Despite your reservations about leaving an inscription, he wanted your words here.

Initially when he thought of writing in this journal he thought he’d only put down good things, because you were one of those good things. However, as the pen hits the first page what pours from him isn’t good.

He writes until the sun brightens his window. Pages upon pages filled with horrific things… things he’d done or had been done to him. A few times he had to stop, stomach-churning from the memories. But now, as dawn chased away the shadows in his room, he felt lighter somehow.

Taking one last look at your letter he presses his lips to his fingertips and then your swirling signature before closing the journal.

Moving quietly he heads to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. The routine is soothing, clearing the remaining shadows inside of him.

When Steve gets up a little over an hour later he looks surprised to see Bucky in the living room reading a book.

“Morning,” Bucky says as Steve cocks an eyebrow.

“Morning.” He pours a cup and heads to the living room.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence Steve speaks, “You ok?”

Bucky doesn’t answer immediately. He doesn’t want to lie to Steve but his gut reaction is to play tough for him, to make everything seem better than it was. That wasn’t good for anyone though.

“A little better.” He takes a deep drink to give himself a moment more. “Not ok… but-” He shrugs, unable to find the words.

“That’s just fine, pal.” Steve takes a deep breath. “I think I’m going over to see Peggy. She’s had a good morning so far. Wanna come?”

“Are you sure?” He did want to see her. But… you may be there and he wasn’t sure how to apologize for being such an ass just yet.

“Yeah. I think…” A shadow crosses Steve’s features for an instant. “I think it would be good for her to know that you’re a secret she doesn’t have to keep anymore.”

Bucky nodded. If he could take that off of her, of both of them, he would.

A million times on the drive over he thinks to ask Steve if you’ll be there. He just can’t quite find a way to word it that doesn’t sound ridiculous or like he doesn’t want to see you—which he does, desperately.

As they pull up he swallows the question and steels his nerves. If you were here so be it. He’d deal with his jackassery like a man.

Steve doesn’t knock, just opens the door and leads them into a townhome similar to yours.

They head up to the main level. Things were slightly less open than your place, it hadn’t been updated for a decade or so. There were more personal touches in this space, however. He notes family photos on the walls, some framed children’s drawings, and pauses--it hadn’t occurred to him that Peggy had kids, a husband, a family.

“You comin’?” Steve goads at the base of another staircase. Bucky nods following him up.

A nurse reclines on the sofa in the small open sitting area at the top of the stairs. She smiles upon seeing Steve.

“Captain Rodgers,” her eyes widen a bit when they notice Bucky but she says nothing. “Miss Y/N is in there, she’s still having an excellent day.”

“Thanks, Amanda.”

The men head down the hall and your laugh rings out of an open door making Bucky’s heart lodge in his throat.

“I’ll be right back Peg.” You head out of the room to meet them looking polished and vibrant, so different from when he left you.

Bucky expects scorn but you, of course, offer him nothing but a gentle smile.

“I’m so glad you could come.” Your voice drops, “Steve, you and I should tell her we have a surprise and then you can come in Bucky.”

“Sounds good,” Steve smiles at him. All Bucky can do is nod before the two of them head back into the room.

He’s not sure he’s ready for this. In his mind Peggy is young, vibrant, overflowing with moxie… But as soon as Steve’s golden head swings out of the door waving for Bucky to come in he knows he has to find a way to handle it. For them. For all of them. With a deep breath, he wills one foot in front of the other.

“What on earth are you two up-” Peggy says as Bucky enters the room. She stops, a shaky hand catching the gasp falling from her lips.

She looks smaller, her hair white, but her eyes glint with a fire that is still distinctly Peggy Carter. Bucky can’t help but smile.

“James,” she was the only one who called him by his first name. “It… is it really…”

“Hey Peggy,” he says softly, reaching his right hand out to take her fragile extended one. He keeps his left hand tucked firmly in his pocket.

Her gaze shoots to Steve and then to you, “You did it.”

You shake your head, “Not exactly. But, he’s home.” Bucky feels your gaze on him but is unable to meet your eyes.

“We’ll give you two a minute,” Steve says leading you from the room.

For a moment Bucky stands awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

“You look awkward with your hand shoved in your pocket like that, James.” His cheeks burn a bit. She laughs, eyes sparkling. “Come sit,” she gestures to the chair by her bed.

Slowly he takes his hand out and does as she requests. She reaches for it and he obliges. Tenderly Peggy studies it, running her frail fingers over the joints.

“Y/N told us what they did,” she gives his hand a squeeze with more strength than he expected. “I’m so sorry we never-”

“Don’t.” Peggy looks at him, a tear threatening to fall. “Y/N said the same thing. Knowing you all looked, that you tried, that’s enough Peggy. You did all you could.”

“Did we?” She looks into the middle distance for a moment, seeming to struggle with something. “Regardless, here you are and I get to finally thank you.”

“For what?”

“Because of you, I met, Y/N. Without her, I don’t know where I’d be but I doubt it would be anyplace good. She’d disagree, of course, but she has kept me going many times.”

Bucky can’t help but smile, “She has that effect doesn’t she?”

“Indomitable, that’s how Howard described her. Never to her face, of course,” she laughs a little. “He’d be damned if he ever got caught saying something ni-” Bucky takes a ragged breath and Peggy stops.

Stark had been in his dream the night before… What he’d done.

“Look at me,” Peggy says, voice stern. He does. “What happened was not your fault. Do you understand me?”

Bucky blinks in shock, “You… you know?”

She nods, “So does she, Steve too I would think.” He must look as terrified as he feels because Peggy grabs his hands in hers.

“We tracked you. From the moment there were whispers of a man with a metal arm… but we were always three steps behind. There were times she was close to finding you…” Peggy pauses, gathering herself.

“If you’re scared that she doesn’t know, hasn’t known all along, the things that…” He nods not wanting her to continue. “Well, don’t be.

“We’ve all done things, James. Terrible things that haunt us, things we’ll take to the grave.” She tucks a strand of his hair back in place. “But we did them of our own volition. In a way, your hands are cleaner than any of ours.” He snorts an empty laugh, unbelieving.

“You know,” her tone was lighter as she takes him in, “you were always the one that got away for her.”

“What d’you mean?”

A smile fills Peggy’s face. “She loved Dugan, truly, but you were always the ‘what if’ that never got to be. Just as Steve…” her voice cracks a touch. Bucky squeezes her hand. “A lot of us had those what-ifs back then. You move forward and build your life, a good life, with what is there but it doesn’t mean you stop wondering… stop wanting.”

“I… She deserves more than me, Peggy.” Bucky’s head spins a bit. How could she know?

“Shush. Both of you have a second chance, something so many of us would have given anything for, don’t you dare waste it because you’re afraid.”

He manages a nod, barely able to keep the tears at bay.

The two of them talk for a bit. He tells her how he met her niece, how much she helped, and Peggy gushes about how proud she is of her. She tells him about her family, how it had been to see Steve again. It feels like only a few seconds before there’s a gentle knock at the door.

“Mind if I pop in?” Steve asks, beaming at the two of them.

“Of course not,” Bucky stands, giving Peggy’s hand a gentle pat. “You two chat.” Her frail hand wraps around his before he can step away.

“Don’t forget what I said, James.” That fire burns in her gaze and he nods, knowing better than to ever argue with Peggy Carter when she has that look.

The nurse isn’t in the seating area but he can hear someone downstairs. Through the sliding glass door, he sees you leaning on the balcony railing. Before you can notice him he positions himself in such a way that he can still take you in without being seen.

You have one arm across your chest, the other leisurely brings your lit cigarette to your lips. After a deep inhale you puff a perfect ring into the air, grinning with self-satisfaction. Bucky can’t help but smile too—he’s not sure he’s ever seen you quite like this, so relaxed.

Howard had been right when he’d called you indomitable.

Despite the way his breath catches in his throat he moves into your line of sight. Despite the riot of his heart against his ribs, he opens the door. Finally, despite the weight of self-loathing resting on his soul, despite his past, despite everything… he cups your face in his hands without a word and kisses you deeply.

Immediately, you melt into him. If he’s being honest with himself he expected you to pull away, push him off, reject him—but no.

Every nerve ending sings. His fingers tangle in your hair. Your tongue flits out teasing him. The world falls away until two soft laughs from inside make you both freeze.

“I do love it when people listen to me without argument,” Peggy says with a laugh.

Bucky looks at you, cheeks almost as red as your lips but your smile is so bright he knows you’re not the least bit ashamed.

“Though I didn’t expect you to take my advice so soon, James.” Bucky turns, grasping your hand in his, to face Peggy and Steve.

“Wasted enough time,” he says smiling down at you.

“I should have known you’d stick your nose into this, Peg,” your tone one of false annoyance.

Peggy laughs as Steve pushes her onto the balcony. “That’s what you get for having spies for friends, my darling.”

The four of you spend the better part of the next two hours in easy conversation as music plays from the small speakers in your cell phone. Mainly the guys listen to you two tell stories of your time in the field together, memories of your mutual friends, putting pins in some of the time he and Steve missed.

Peggy bobs her head along to a song that’s just kicked up. “It’s too bad we couldn’t all have gone dancing together. We’d have turned heads.” Steve gives her a sad smile as she looks at you.

“Well,” Bucky says with a twinge of mischief, “someone told me the other day that you don’t need a joint to go dancing. I bet we could figure something out.” He tugs you out of your chair, “Come on.”

“What’re you up to?” You say with a laugh.

“You’ll see. We’ll come get you two in a minute.”

Without further explanation, you follow him downstairs. When he and Steve had gotten in earlier he saw a sitting room on the second floor with a record player. It would be perfect.

“Help me push this furniture out of the way will ya doll?” Turning to you he flashes a bright smile. Your eyes glitter as you nod.

It doesn’t even take ten minutes to get the space suitable. He even fixes the lighting to give it a dim feel while you pick an album you know Peggy will love and start it playing.

“Will you go get ‘em?” He’s almost giddy—it’s such a foreign feeling but he’s glad for it.

Peggy’s giggles trickle down as Steve carries her down the stairs, insisting all the while she can walk and demanding to know what they’re up to.

As they come into view Bucky spreads his arms wide, “Welcome to your own private dance. Best part is, you’re in full control of the music.”

“Bucky!” Peggy exclaims as Steve sets her on wobbly legs. “Oh, this is wonderful!”

The opening notes to a song Bucky just barely remembers hearing before kick up.

“I think I owe you a dance,” Steve says taking her hands.

“You’re damn right you do, Captain Rogers.”

You and Bucky hang back for a minute as Peggy and Steve begin a slow, tender, movement in the cleared makeshift dance floor. When Bucky looks down at you a tear finds its way down your cheek.

He immediately wipes it away with a cool metal finger. You catch his gaze, your own filled with joy and a little sadness.

“May I?” He holds out his hand much as Steve had a moment before to Peggy.

“I suppose, Sergent Barnes.”

Bucky pulls you close. As the singers croon “It’s been a long, long time” he can’t help but note how perfect it is for all of you.

There was so much loss, so much pain, but Peggy was right. Here, in the circle of his arms was his second chance at a life.

Looking up into his eyes you whisper the lyrics, “You'll never know how many dreams I dreamed about you.”

He stops your dance, takes your face in his hands, and plants a quick tender kiss on your lips.

Looking down into your eyes he’s overcome with excitement, and terror, and happiness as he realizes that you were worth the wait, worth the fight--but he didn’t have to fight this, not anymore. To you, to this feeling, he could surrender.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky x reader #james barnes #1940s bucky barnes #steve and peggy #feels #fluff

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zayashmaya · 5 years ago

Text

Gamzee x Reader; SFW

You win a prize for Gamzee at a carnival.

@compositecreature i dedicate this to u and our brainstorming sessions

The starry night sky was all aglow with an endless sea of neon-lit stalls and a giant ferris wheel dominating the coastline. The boardwalk you currently strolled through with Gamzee was packed with people, creating a never-ending path of obstacles to maneuver around as you gripped his hand so you would not lose each other. You had just gotten off a particularly terrifying roller coaster, and you decided a nice, relaxing walk was needed to calm your nerves.

Except hanging out with Gamzee was always a crazy ride in of itself. You could never predict his strange moods or what excited him. The carnival trip was intended to lift his spirits and make him feel more at ease, yet at certain moments when he thought you were not paying attention, you could see his ever-present smile fall as he stared at the scenery before him.

This was a response you somewhat anticipated, and you certainly knew he would hide this side of him from you. Gamzee never liked to reminisce on the past, after all, always bottling up the unpleasant and throwing them out into the sea of his endless thoughts. You were working on that with him. Once in a while, he would humor you, reaching out for a bottle and popping it open for a quick gander. He didn’t always like what was inside.

You squeezed his hand to get his attention, and as quick as lightening that dopey smile returned when he looked down at you. “WhAt’S cOoKiNg AlL uP iN tHe AgEnDa FoR uS, mY gOoD sIs?”

“That depends on you,” you said. “I’ve been doing a lot of the leading so far. What do you wanna do?”

“I dIdN’t GeT mY tHiNk On MuCh FoR sOmE sUcH oPtIoNs, WhAt WiTh ThIs AlL bEiNg A hUmAn ThInG. aIn’T nOtHiN hErE mAkIn MuCh SeNsE. lIkE tHaT wEiRd MoThErFuCkEr — “ He pointed to what initially seemed like a silver statue, until the performer moved ever so slowly to change his pose while onlookers took photos. “WhAt ThE mOtHeRfUcK iS tHaT nOiSe? aIn’T nEvEr SeEn SuCh ShIt In My LiFe. ThAt BrOtHeR’s GoT hIs PaInT aLl Up AnD oN lIKe Me AnD pEoPlE aRe MakInG sTrAiGhT fOoLeRy OvEr HiM wItH aLl ThE pIcTuReTaKiNg."

You spent a good minute laughing at his genuine confusion as Gamzee glared at his source of discontentment. “I guess they didn’t have buskers on your planet?”

“NoT aNy ThAt gOt ThE mOtHeRfUcKiN gUmPtIoN tO bE mOcKiNg A mEsSiAhS-fEaRiN cLoWn.”

“This is just performance art, Gamzee. I promise he has no idea what the Messiahs even are.” You tugged on his hand to lead him away, offering him a bite of your cotton candy to appease him. He promptly devoured the sugary dessert, licking away the stickiness from his teeth. You eyes lingered on the motion for a little too long, and you quickly busied yourself with finding a new attraction.

The passivity of sitting in rides had lost its charm. It was time for something a little more active.

Your eyes settled on an old arch nemesis from your childhood — the water gun race. The stall’s cheery glowing lights and hoard of prizes mocked you, beckoning you onward as you set course for the game with renewed vigor. Gamzee obediently trailed after you, refusing to release his hold on your hand even as you sped in front of him. “WhAt’S gOt A fIrE lIt AlL uP aNd UnDeR yOu, SuGaR bUtT?”

You froze, a laugh rising out of you so fast you nearly choked on it. ”What did you call me?”

He smirked cheekily. “gOnNa KeEp EaTiNg aLl ThE wIcKeD pInK cLoUdS, gOnNa GeT hIt At WiTh sOmE sIcKnAsTy NiCkNaMeS.”

“Is that your way of telling me you want more?”

“hAhA yEaH bAbY pAsS tHaT gOoD sHiT rIgHt On OvEr HeRe.”

Gamzee effortlessly plucked the cotton candy cone from you after a very quick and one-sided skirmish, swinging his arm across your shoulders and patting your head condescendingly as he happily reaped the spoils of war. You poked his ribs in retaliation. “We’re gonna change things up a bit,” you explained, pointing to the stall. “Fancy a game with me?”

“Oh DaMn, YoU wAnNa GeT yOuR cHaLlEnGe On WiTh ThIs MoThErFuCkEr?” He leered down at you. “BeTtEr SqUaRe Up ReAl GoOd My FuNkY MoNkEy PoO, cAuSe YoU’rE gOnNa LoSe.”

“You’re really going all out with the nicknames tonight,” you snickered.

“OnE oF uS hAs GoTtA aLl uP aNd Do It, SiNcE yOu’Re A dRy AsS mOfO :o) "

“Oooh? Don’t be so sure of that, buggy boo.”

Gamzee's cocky grin faltered, and the tips of his ears flushed purple. He removed his arm from your shoulders, and you momentarily felt the loss before he took your hand once more and led you to the game stall.

Three children were preoccupied with aiming into the mouths of the clown targets, their freakishly gaping maws twisted up into mocking smiles. Gamzee took one look at the array of heads lined up against the wall and glanced at you with an incredulous expression. “yO tHeY gOt MoRe Of ThOsE pAiNtEd Up MoThErFuCkErS?”

“Yeah!” You sat on one of the stools, and Gamzee followed suit. “You have to shoot water into their mouths to fill up the balloons on their heads and make them explode. First person who does it gets a prize."

“hAhAhAhA wHaT tHe FuCk … “

While the booth operator collected money from you for the next round, Gamzee aimed his water gun with dramatic concentration, his tongue sticking out as he waited for the game to begin. You giggled quietly to yourself and positioned your gun, droning out the sound of the operator explaining how to play. This was your moment. You were finally going to win this stupid game, and claim a prize.

As soon as the bell rang, your water stream miraculously hit its target. You were too focused on keeping your position locked in place to listen to Gamzee curse and fumble with his gun, and you were trying your damnedest not to laugh as his water stream somehow wobbled like a snake in midair and completely missed its mark.

“ThIs ShIt iS sTrAiGhT uP oFfEnSiVeLy RiGgEd!”

“Don’t curse, there’s kids around,” you quipped back, and with the triumphant pop of your chosen clown’s balloon, you threw your arms up into the air and shouted, “Hell yes, motherfucker!”

The operator threw you an unamused look while you excitedly scanned the selection of stuffed toys.

And then you saw it. The perfect gift.

A lavender colored monkey with ridiculously long arms, and velcro stuck on the palms of its hands.

Gamzee chuckled at your choice as you hugged it tightly to your chest, trailing on after you as you continued to explore the carnival. “I’ve never won that game before,” you wistfully said, running your fingers through the incredibly soft fur of the plushie.

“DaNg, HoW’s A bRoThEr SuPpOsEd tO gEt HiS wIn On WhEn FaCeD wItH sOmE sUcH dEtErMiNaTiOn?”

“You never stood a chance,” you teased, and he pinched your cheek in retaliation. “It wasn’t so much about winning for my sake as it was about winning a prize for you.”

“FoR mE, bAbE?”

“Yep!” You stepped in front of him and wrapped the monkey’s arms around his neck, clasping its hands together to make them hold. Gamzee wordlessly held the plushie to his chest, staring down at it with an inscrutable expression. “It’s for your nightmares. Since I’m not always around, I figured maybe this could help you. You know. Like you could hold onto the motherfucker and all that jazz.”

He blinked at you, stupefied and unsure of how to react. You smiled warmly and made to move away, but he grasped your upper arm before you could turn. The monkey’s silly grin accosted your eyes as Gamzee leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “tHaNkS,” he shyly murmured, and when your eyes met, you suddenly realized how close he was to your face. To your lips.

It could have been either one of you who made the first move. One way or another, you found yourself on your tiptoes and a hand curled into Gamzee’s shirt, his arm looped around your waist and the stuffed animal between you keeping you both from melting into each other.

Whatever you had expected your first kiss with Gamzee to be like was nothing like this. His lips were cool and smooth, moving gently against yours without a hint of teeth. Your tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip before the shriek of a child jolted you back into awareness — shit we’re still in public — and you reluctantly pulled away, your heart hammering in your chest and your cheeks flushed. Gamzee searched your face as he reached out to caress your cheek, the predatory look in his eyes a stark contrast to his boyish smile.

“Your mouth still tastes like cotton candy,” you blurted out.

“tHaT’s CuZ yOu’Re AlL tHiNkIn LiKe WiTh YoUr StOmAcH aNd NoT yOuR bRaIn. BuT yOu BeTtEr StArT tHiNkIn WiTh YoUr HeArT iF yOu WaNt MoRe Of ThAt TaStE.”

You hid your face in his chest while he chuckled. “You’re so corny,” you said, your words muffled by his shirt.

“yEaH i Am, GoT mE aLl StIfF lIkE a MoThAfUcKiN cOrN-oN-ThE-SlObBeRiN-cOb BeInG aLl CuTe AnD pReSsEd Up AgAiNsT mE aLl SuCh.”

“I knew you couldn’t resist being crass for a moment longer.”

“HaHaHa YoU kNoW iT, mY sWeEt SpAcE mOnKeY.”

“Stop teasing me, you … silly … stevia … “

“wEaK sAuCe.”

You planted a kiss on his grinning mouth to shut him up.

#i actually wrote something?????#can you BELIEVE???#gamzee makara #homestuck #gamzee/reader #gamzee x reader #oneshot #fanfic

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mtraki · 5 years ago

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((A couple TWs for this one: allusions to child prostitution, semi-graphic descriptions of a dead child))

“Wake up.” Catherine had a problem. Startling at the touch on her shoulder as well as the words, gasping quietly into the cold afternoon, newspaper rustling where it was folded in her lap-- where it had fallen when she dozed off, the lady realized she couldn’t ignore it much longer. Not when others were noticing.

“Oh, forgive me…” She replied, turning her head to give Jenny and Karen a sheepish smile.

Karen shrugged and made a show of looking down at her mending, “Must be nice to just doze off whenever you like without a witch screaming curses down on you…”

“Miss Grimshaw?” The lady asked, shaking out the paper to look over the train schedule, “Oh, I’m sure she’s thinking them.”

“You’re still the favorite, Catherine.” Jenny told her, “But maybe not if she catches you sleeping while the rest of us are workin’.”

“I do sincerely apologize.”

She ignored their lingering looks as best as she could, blinking exhaustion from her eyes. It’d been a full week since Arthur first joined her in her tent for the night, and while he hadn’t found the gumption to ask again the night after, he confessed necessity bade him intrude upon her every night since.

She didn’t mind, but it was so different than with Dutch-- or in fact, every other man in her memory-- as Arthur was so unaccustomed to the presence of another person so near whilst he slept that any movement she made, no matter how slow and gentle would wake him into asking after her. But he still came every night, and spent the entire night, snuggled up with her. That was all he really seemed to want (Well, except for a few nights ago where he out and asked her, face aflame, if she’d oblige him to suffer his fumbling again so he might go about learning how to be a better lover-- how was she supposed to say no?) and so she found it difficult to find a reason to turn him away. He got better sleep when he was with her, he’d said.

Which was sweet, in a way, and certainly kept her warm on icy nights…

But now she had a problem.

Any moment now, one of the keen-eyed women would ask a pointed question her sleep-deprived mind might mishandle, so she climbed to her feet, gathering up the paper. “I’ll just go return this to Dutch. Then I’ll be back to help you with that. Excuse me…”

“Mhm…” Karen didn’t sound convinced she’d be back. Jenny didn’t make any reply, which worried Catherine more.

It was a gray day, the clouds hanging low, gliding along swiftly with the wind. She hoped that didn’t mean bad weather…

“Can I help you, Miss Schofield?” Dutch almost sounded surprised, but there was something too smug in his tone for that to be the full truth. He didn’t bother getting up from where he was sitting under the canvas, reading his book, but he had raised his eyes, and it made her wonder how long he’d watched her.

With a smile, she laid the paper down on the table, moving the lantern to hold it down from the wind, “Just returning your paper, Mister van der Linde. I didn’t intend to disturb.”

“Why, my dear, I don’t remember lending it to you…”

Catherine didn’t let the smile flicker in the slightest, “Mister Summers let me borrow it when I chanced to see him finishing up with it. I apologize if you’ve been expecting it back sooner…”

He closed the book and stood, stepping nearer the entrance and her, “No, that’s quite alright.”

Something in his dark eyes whispered a warning, so the lady dipped a hurried curtsy and turned to go, but the outlaw leader spoke up again, halting her and forcing her to turn back.

“It’s just… Well, you don’t look well at all, Miss Schofield. I hope you don’t mind my saying so.”

She didn’t like it. There was some threat or challenge here. But her mind only spun uselessly, so she just continued to smile, and give a bit of a shrug before she turned and walked quickly away, desperate to get out from under those dark eyes.

Did it mean anything? Or was he just taunting her? Did he know? Was he going to do something--?

“Careful!” Pearson snapped at her when she almost rushed right into where he was carrying the full pot of stew for the fire.

“Oh! I--”

“--Don’t mind her, Mister Pearson,” Hosea said cheerfully, taking firm hold of her elbow and pulling her away, “she just needs something to occupy her.”

“I was… I was going to help Karen--” Catherine started to protest. Hosea indicated a bench seat.

“Well, now you’re going to sit down and get your head straight.”

Heated shame chased from her belly straight to her face, and with it the lady’s temper sparked. But she bit her tongue and sat-- perhaps a bit less gracefully than might be expected of her.

Mister Matthews was watching her, a patient and observant expression on his face. It only made her more frustrated. She wanted to shout at him, to tell him to leave her alone.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing is going on, Mister Matthews.”

“Catherine…” The conman sighed and then moved to sit beside her, folding his hands, “... Are you sick?”

“No.”

“... Are you pregnant?”

“God forbid…” She spat, shaking her head vehemently, “No. I’m just… I’m tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“That’s funny…” He mused wryly, “Because Arthur’s apparently been getting the best sleep of his life…”

She opened her mouth to reply that that was good for Mister Morgan, but had little to do with her, but then she saw the keen look in the old man’s eye. So he’d told him. It’d only been a matter of time, Catherine supposed.

“How silly of me…” She muttered bitterly.

“I told you already: I know that boy. I raised him for twenty years. You think he can keep secrets from me?” Smiled the conman, “Especially with him all afire with the torch he’s carrying for you? Don’t be daft.”

Catherine said nothing, and the older man sobered.

“My dear... It’s clear you’re not well. Maybe you should get some rest.”

Lurching to her feet, Catherine smiled, feeling how false it was, but unwilling to draw up the energy to correct it, “No, Mister Matthews. Thank you. I’ll be sure to stay out of everyone’s way, though, don’t you worry.”

She saw he meant to reply, but she turned and walked away swiftly, lifting the hem of her skirt to hurry back to the womens’ tent. There, she sat in a rush, beckoning for one of the two to hand her something to work on.

“Everything okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” She asserted.

She had to be.

Catherine was plaiting her hair when Arthur stopped by her tent, only a few hours after sunset. Much of the rest of the camp was still awake, finishing supper and their evening routines and socializations. The lady had turned down the offer of food and withdrew back here to her own space. Arthur watched her a few moments, even after she looked up to acknowledge him there, he didn’t say anything. Catherine could feel that seawater gaze examine her face, and it had her ill at ease.

“Can I help you, Mister Morgan?” She asked at the same time he finally spoke up.

“--May I sit here?” He indicated a spot on the ground near the entrance of the tent where she herself sat.

“Oh… Of course, you can sit wherever you like. I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for your comfort…”

“Ain’t any trouble.” He grunted, squatting and then sitting, extending one leg out in front of him while the other remained bent, “If I really wanted a chair, could’ve brought one over I s’pose…”

The lady was certain he was going to ask, but she would have rather he didn’t. The outlaw knew she was going to delay him in asking, but he didn’t much mind.

“I trust things went well in town?” She asked with interest she had difficulty feeling while he dug out his rolling tin.

“Well ‘nough,” Was his easy reply, pinching out the tobacco with his thick fingers, “General goods gettin’ scarce though. Might have to start thinking about movin’ closer to Blackwater…”

“... Are you alright with that?” Catherine wouldn’t mind in the least.

Arthur shrugged, “It’s bigger ‘n’ noisier than I like, but should be quieter now for the winter. Dutch’ll make the call.”

“Right.”

Holding out the freshly rolled cigarette to her, he hesitated, then said, “... Oh, y’know, I don’ think I’ve seen you smoke…”

“I don’t really. Only socially. Rarely even then. Some men like their women to smoke, many find it vulgar.”

“...Oh,” Watching him withdraw his hand and the cigarette, Catherine regretted her answer. He was thinking about it. Too much, “... You mind if I smoke?”

“No, Arthur. Go ahead.” She was almost finished with her hair. The outlaw lit his cigarette with a match, watching her again.

“--Do--”

“--You didn’t eat.” Was his quiet statement, “Heard you wasn’t doin’ so well today, either.”

“Who said that?”

“Don’ matter. I can see for myself you ain’t.” There was an interesting quality in his tone-- not accusatory, but neither was it so gentle as to allow her leave him without an accounting. His eyes, too, seemed to pierce through her.

The lady bristled, and to Arthur, it seemed she either didn’t notice, or didn’t care that it was obvious, “I’m fine.”

Sighing out the drag he’d taken, gesturing with his other hand, he said, “No, darlin’, you ain’t--”

She straightened, and everything inside her coiled tight, her eyes turning cold and steely, and her expression cinching even more closed. Arthur supposed if pushed, graceful, poised Miss Schofield could turn into a hellcat just as assuredly as Miss Kirk, Miss Grimshaw, or Miss Jones.

He didn’t want that.

“--Now hold on,” He said firmly, “Look... This thing… this thing between us only works if we trust each other, alright? I ain’t here to pick at you, an’ I don’t want a fight. Just… tell me what’s goin’ on. Please.”

That Catherine wanted nothing more than to viciously demand how he could so arrogantly expect trust from her when he and Hosea, and most likely Dutch as well, were all whispering about her behind her back, only served to convince her that he was right. She wasn’t doing well. She hardly felt herself.

She was so tired.

But what business did she have troubling him with that? There wasn’t a way she could broach the issue without it sounding like an accusation or a complaint. Especially not now.

Better to say nothing. Men so infrequently wished to consider the trials of the fairer sex...

Arthur took another drag of his cigarette, “... You rather we take a ride back out to Tall Trees again? Set up a tent in the midday an’ wait for rain? Though, it’d be snow ‘round this time…”

His efforts were rewarded by the smallest of smiles, “... Is this you reminding me of my hypocrisy, Mister Morgan?”

“Is this you bein’ a hypocrite, Miss Schofield? You ain’t eating, are you not sleepin’ either?” It concerned him that she might not be-- especially since he was there with her all night. He would’ve noticed, wouldn’t he have?

“... I’ve never been able to sleep comfortably with other people.” Her voice came quiet, and terribly reluctantly, “... Not at all with men.”

Arthur stared at her for a long moment, then, in as measured a voice as he could manage, said, “...You can’t sleep with men?”

“No.”

“But you let me stay with you anyhow?”

“Of course.”

Frowning, Arthur said, “You didn’t reckon it might be wiser to tell me to stay in my own tent so you could get some sleep?”

The look she gave him was strange, and immediately chased a queer shiver down his spine. Quite suddenly he remembered she’d claimed to be twelve when her father pushed her into a man’s bed for the first time. She’d claimed she’d only known obedience, then…

Could it be… that she just never considered that she had the choice? That if he wanted in her pallet, she couldn’t tell him ‘no’?

“Shit…” He was going to be sick.

She flinched, “What?”

“Nothing,” He gestured, “Forget it. Get some rest. I won’t bother you tonight--”

“--It’s not a--”

“--Knew it was a bad idea--”

She grabbed his wrist, “Arthur.”

But she wasn’t entirely sure she knew why she was stopping him. He was offering her the ideal result-- to retire to her bed alone so she might sleep-- but instead of being focused on that, all her thoughts were screaming with something too close to panic for comfort. He was upset-- upset with what she’d told him? Or something he surmised from what she’d told him? Was he disgusted with her-- with the reminder that she very much was soiled, damaged goods? And why would that upset her?

Or had it little to do with him at all, and more to do with the dread of consequences for being less than exemplary for the man who wanted her time and attention?

Like before, in Tumbleweed…

What was she doing? Why was his displeasure always so uncomfortable-- so unbearable, in fact, that she was always quick to tailor herself to better suit his desires?

… Why did it seem like she was trying to stuff herself back into a cage she’d spent so much time and energy escaping?

Exhaling, Arthur snuffed out the cigarette and looked at her, at her fine-boned hand around his wrist, and how her fingers couldn’t make a closed circle around it. But his hand could almost close around her bicep. And so could Dutch’s. He remembered seeing it with his own eyes. Hadn’t she been sleeping in Dutch’s bed?

… But more importantly, hadn’t she left his bed? That meant something, didn’t it?

Sighing, he brought up his hand to gently stroke the side of her face, “...I’d rather you get some rest is all.”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“That don’ much matter, do it?”

Gently, Catherine pressed her face into his hand, lowering her eyes demurely, “You said you don’t sleep well anymore unless you’re with me…”

“Yeah, well, apparently you ain’t sleepin’ at all with me…” He replied with a shrug, “I’ll be alright.”

He was waiting for her to let go of his hand, but she didn’t. She looked him in the face again, and it seemed to Arthur that she wasn’t seeing him at all.

Finally she said, “... Maybe we can work out a compromise?”

“How do you mean?”

“... Before… at my father’s house, I would be in the guest rooms, and I would lie awake until the… guest… fell asleep. Then I would go to my own room. Couldn’t we do… something like that?”

“... We ain’t got a ‘guest tent’, darlin’... Do you mean--”

“--Instead of you coming to my tent, I’ll go to yours. After you’ve fallen asleep, I’ll slip away back here.” When he frowned at what an awful lot of trouble that seemed to make for her, she added, “... At least until I… well, maybe I’ll get used to lying with you enough to be able to sleep. I don’t know, Arthur…”

“Ain’t a lot of privacy ‘round my tent, Catherine…” He reminded her.

“Well… couldn’t you put up more canvas if you wanted?”

Withdrawing his hand, Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, “Well, I guesso… but that’s gonna raise questions, don’t you think? Even if it don’t, I ain’t gonna be able to do it tonight. It’ll have to wait for tomorrow…”

He must have seen the frustration boiling over in her expression, just like she felt it seething in her guts and climbing up her throat to burn on her tongue. Quickly, he held up his other hand defensively, “I ain’t sayin’ it’s a bad idea… just… lemme think about it…”

“You don’t want me in your tent?” Was her accusation, framed in a question.

“That ain’t it, Catherine. I just ain’t sure it’s worth the trouble for you to get up in the middle of the night every night. You sleep only by yerself. I’ve been sleeping by myself for as long as I can remember, I can keep doin’ it.”

She didn’t reply, and though her eyes were fixed on his face, as if searching it for something, Arthur also got the sense that she once again wasn’t really seeing him. She really did look unwell: her pallor was bad, and her eyes looked bruised and red…

With a quiet grunt, he leaned over, pressing a kiss to her forehead while withdrawing his arm from her slackening grip, “Go on and get some sleep, honey. I’ll think about it, but like I said: ain’t nothin’ for it tonight.”

Still she didn’t answer, nor did she move, so Arthur climbed to his feet, “Goodnight, Miss Schofield.”

He glanced back over his shoulder on his return to the campfire just the once in time to see her tent flap pull closed. The lady had her pride, that was for sure.

Exhausted though she was, Catherine took a long time to fall asleep. She was gripped by an old and familiar anxious dread. It wasn’t guilt that twisted in her belly, because she hadn’t done anything wrong…

But even so, she had the horrible expectation that someone might come give her a good whipping or caning before sunup.

“Catherine… what’re you… Stop!”

But she didn’t stop. She kept scraping the soil away with her hands, reaching down into the hole she’d made in front of the rough wooden cross.

Arthur had closed half the distance before realizing it was a dream. Funny how in dreams moving fast never seemed possible. Like the air was made out of thick mud. Or maybe just his legs were.

Funny, too, how the realization that this was a dream didn’t make any of it feel less horrible and real. It didn’t change how desperately he wanted her to stop.

“Catherine--” He grabbed her arm, but by then she’d already dug up enough that they could see…

“... It’s a little boy.” She said. Arthur was frozen with horror. There wasn’t even a box. He’d just been put straight in the dirt...

“It’s Isaac.” Her voice was firmer. Colder. Accusing. “Your son.”

It’d been years, but the cadaver looked fresh. The child looked just the way he remembered him, the last time he saw him… just bloodless in death. With maggots in his open mouth, frozen in a tableau of suffering and fear. Cruelly, his little head was turned their direction. His worm -infested eyes may as well have been fixed right on Arthur.

“Yes.” Said a familiar voice.

Arthur didn’t dare look up. It could only be one of two women, and he didn’t want to see either one. But Catherine did look up.

“She don’t belong with you.” The man hung from the noose said, despite his broken neck, Arthur’s hat laying at his feet in the dust, “You know that.”

“She belongs with us.” Isaac whispered, another maggot falling out of his mouth.

The morning saw Arthur Morgan putting up the necessary canvas to make his tent an enclosed space on the side of the wagon. It only took one look at his face to convince any inquiries on the topic to find something else to do.

#my mic #rdr2 fic #red dead redemption 2 fic #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #karen jones #ao3fic #revolver fic

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lostinaseaoffictionalbliss · 5 years ago

Text

Make My Heart Sing

A/N: any gifs i use are not my own. I get them from google

Summary: Your job leads to you seeing Steve Rogers, but for a long time you keep your feelings close to the vest. Until one night he comes to you

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1281

You were a singer in a 40s style bar and lounge. It was something you greatly enjoyed. The music, the outfits, the laid back attitude of most of the customers. You liked all of it; it was the perfect job for you. Or maybe it was the hottie that came into the bar every Friday night that you enjoyed so much.

The first time you had seen him, you had almost missed the beat to start the next chorus. His blue button up was so tight as he leaned against the bar and it drew attention to his muscles. You had sucked in a breath that would have been heard by the crowd if you hadn’t lowered the mic when you spotted him.

Luckily one of the band members had caught your attention and you managed to pick up the song without really catching anyone’s attention. It would have been embarrassing if someone had caught onto the fact you had been ogling the man.

That had been a few months ago and you still hadn’t worked up the courage to approach the man. You mentality berated yourself every time you watched him leave at the end of the night. You were beautiful, talented. Why couldn’t you muster the courage to approach him, introduce yourself? It wasn’t that hard to do. Just walk up to him and say, “I’m nice to meet you, I’m…”

But the words always got stuck in your throat and you hated yourself for it. You wanted more than anything to say a few words to him, but they never came out. And it would seem tonight would be no different.

You sang and danced your heart out, spinning around the stage and hitting all your notes perfectly. There were plenty of applause and a few wolf whistles. By now you had grown accustomed to that. The men did it every night. Some of them had even asked you on a date, but none of them caught your attention. Not since you’d first laid eyes on your handsome blue-eyed soldier.

The truth was you had managed to figure out who he was and knowing that you had a crush on Captain America made you feel silly. He was a hero. He had saved the world from aliens. Yes, he was still a person and you didn’t have trouble looking past his fame. Your issue, and the real reason you couldn’t introduce yourself, was because you didn’t think you were worthy of such a remarkable human being.

He had been through so much in his life, probably had women coming up to him all the time because of his looks or because they recognized him. You didn’t want to add to any stress he might have because of it. So every time you say him the courage you had managed to grasp hold of the night before disappeared like smoke in the night and you couldn’t catch it.

It was a little heartbreaking to watch him and not say a word, but you supposed that was better than never seeing him at all. Perhaps it was better this way. You wouldn’t make a mess of his life and he wouldn’t have to worry about you becoming a potential target for one of his enemies. At least that was what you told yourself. Whenever you saw him the mantra ‘he is better off without you’ played in your head.

Until tonight that is. Tonight wasn’t like all the other nights he had came in, sat at the bar, and had a few drinks. Tonight there was a strange feeling in the air. You looked at him and for a brief moment he was looking back. He smiled and your heart fluttered. Yet, that wasn’t the only difference tonight held.

When you finished your set and headed to your dressing room to grab your bag and head home for the night there was someone in front of your door. Steve was standing there and by the looks of him, he was just as nervous as you were.

“Hi. What...what are you doing in front of my room?” You asked softly.

He lifted his head and locked eyes with you. “I’ve been coming in here for months trying to work up the nerve to say something to you. The first time I came because Stark suggested it. Said it might make me feel a little more at ease than the other clubs. But then I saw you and I thought you were gorgeous. So I came the next week hoping to see you again. I did and this time I caught your full set. Your voice sang to my heart.” He let out a nervous laugh, knowing his last sentence was cheesy and probably cliche.

“You actually wanted to talk to me?” You were beginning to realize that your pinning had been mutual. Or so you hoped.

Steve smiled sheepishly. “Yeah. I tried every time I was here to work up the gumption to tell you I think you have a wonderful voice and that you’re beautiful. The thing is I’m not really used to dating and talking to girls unless it’s for a mission. And even then they still make me nervous.”

You laughed softly. “You were nervous? Have you looked in a mirror? You’re gorgeous and sweet. The way you always buy me a drink. Don’t deny it. I didn’t start getting a free drink every Friday until you started coming in. Even still I was nervous to approach you. I didn’t think I was good enough for someone so wonderful. My life is a bit of a mess.”

“I’m sure that however messy your life is it’s nothing compared to mine. You didn’t need to be nervous.”

“It’s probably not as messy, but I didn’t want to complicate your life anymore.” You looked down. Seeing his shadow you lifted your gaze.

“Well I’m here now and maybe I want you to complicate it. What do you say to coffee?”

“I’d love that. Just give me a few minutes to change and we’ll go.” You stepped toward your room.

Steve smiled and nodded. “I’ll wait right here for you.”

An hour later you were sitting across from him sipping a chocolate mocha. “Wait...wait you mean to tell me Falcon got his ass handed to him by someone named Ant-man? That’s the most hilarious thing I’ve ever heard.” You laughed softly.

He nodded. “Oh yeah. Scott shrunk down and really gave it to him. Not that Sam will admit to it. What man would?”

“I’m not sure a woman would want to admit to that. It’s one thing to get beat up by someone your own size or bigger. A whole other to get beat up by someone this big.” You held your fingers up really close together.

He grinned. “You aren’t wrong. I doubt anyone wants to go through that.”

Talking with Steve was easy. You ended up spending hours together in the coffee shop talking. One mocha turned into four and by the time you realized what time it was the sun had been up for a bit.

“Oh is that the time?”

He looked to the clock. “Yeah, that’s the time. I didn’t realize how late it was. You should get home and get some rest.”

You went to put money on the table for the coffee when he closed your hand.

“Let me get this. It’s the least I can do after making you think for months that I would never want you.”

You smiled softly and gave him a tender kiss. “We should do this again sometime.”

“We definitely will,” he said softly.

#steve #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #captain rogers #captain rogers x reader #mcu #mcu fanfiction #mcu fandom #mcu fanfics #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fandom #marvel fanfics

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adleryoung · 5 years ago

Photo

"Now then," Estvan continued, suddenly serious. "Fun's fun, an' oi admoire yer gumption, lad, but sure ye moight be actin' a bit hasty turnin' these lowfolk away so quick. Instead o' buildin' an army, ye should start a cult! Sure an it always worked fer me."

"Don't forget, I have influence with the trees," Rowan reminded me.

"That explains you," I grumped. "But how did these other two get here?"

"We followed her," they said in unison.

"Sure an ye'll need secret agents to do yer biddin' whoile yer trapped here, bedad," Estvan reminded me. "Ixies are foine fer some things, but their physical abilities are limited. If it's rehabilitatin' yerself an' eventually escapin' yer wantin' to do, well then, begorrah yer gonna need help."

"Precisely the kind of help a band of loyal mercenaries can provide!" Rowan exclaimed. "Now, about that contract.."

"I'M NOT SIGNING ANY CONTRACT!" I snapped. "IT'S UN-ELFLY!"

"Ye made me swear an oath not so long ago, ye spalpeen," Estvan muttered.

"That was different! It was between elves, and you were trying to kill me!"

"Don't ferget ye've also promised to let me use the scroyin' tower an' its library."

"Right," I stalled as an idea began to take shape in my mind. "But I still do need you lot to go away. With the Duchess gone, there's nothing for you to do at the moment .. but just to keep you on retainer .." I reached into my Elfintory and pulled out three gold bravoes. "This is real gold. It won't turn into sticks or mud or anything. There's more where that came from, and you can get some of it if you return when I summon you. Spread the word to anyone else you know who might be interested. Now get lost. I don't want to see you again til I call for you."

"Begorrah, that's not the way -" Estvan began.

"You and I have a scrying tower to inspect," I interrupted. "Through the Gate," I added via Elfmind.

"But that'll cause -"

"Precisely," I smirked. "I want to be gone for a good long while, to give those creeps some time to mature, or possibly die."

As Estvan and I entered the dolmen arch, I turned and focused my attention on the lowfolk, who were strolling into the tulgey undergrowth outside the circle.

"Well that was a bust," Tricorn Hat grumbled. "Oak got transmogrified and you got a sweet uniform, but I got nothing."

"You got a new little sister," Rowan chuckled. "And a gold doubloon, which is certainly far from nothing. I can't wait to get this appraised. He said there's plenty more where this came from, and elves don't lie. If we play our cards right, the silly little crybaby will be needing us again real soon."

Hmmm! It seemed my mercenaries were already plotting against me...

"Are ye comin' or not, bedad?" Estvan gekkered from under the dolmen.

We made our way back into the scrying tower, where the old tod proceeded to rummage through the library.

"Lorem ipsum! Lorem ipsum! Lorem ipsum!!" he barked while tossing books and scrolls over his shoulder. "Cushlamochree! All o' these are written in that nonsensical gibberish!"

"Hey, quit throwing things around," I scolded. "You're making a complete mess, and you almost knocked over my alchemical apparatus."

I bent down to pick up one of the books which had landed face-down on the floor, and turned it over to look at the pages.

"Are you sure you checked this one?" I asked. "It's not written in Lorem Ipsum. This is a .. uh .. it looks like a treatise on planetary alignments and moon energy, or something like that."

#furry #elves #cartoon #story #adventure #plot #tboay

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eerythingisshaka · 6 years ago

Text

Moronic Jealousy

(M’Baku x Reader)

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Fluff and Smut,

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ATHENA!!! 🎉🎉🎂🎂🎁🎈💕💋

I fully intended on posting this on the actual day, had the plot and everything but this week was, whew chile! So after some selfcare, I finally got a story for you @muse-of-mbaku! Happy Birthday and I hope New Orleans treats you well. Continue to be great, break necks, and make moves! This is inspired by a part of A Different World episode between Jaleesa and Walter. Soon as I saw it on Prime Video, I been wanting to use it as fanfic fodder. It’s silly, so I hope you like it!

“So then I was like ‘Put the pussy on the chainwax!’” Michelle cackles out loud as you and Adriene look at each other, telepathically wondering if your friend has gone insane.

“Honey, why would you say that in traffic court? I enjoy the enthusiasm, but it’s misguided.” Adriene states, leaning into her glass of moscato.

“You just don’t get it. (Y/N), you get what I was trying to say, right?” Michelle looks to you.

After several seconds of gulping air to find the words you respond. “To me you just added a charge of animal cruelty on top of not having a working headlight, so I’d put you up for 3 years if it was my word, but Adriene is the jury here.”

Girls night is your favorite night of the week. It’s a tradition that has been hard to keep up with given the busy weekdays you all shared, but in a way that made the final connect all the more sweeter. And what comes with that is your favorite pastime: Drunk Courtroom.

“Man, you ALWAYS take Adri’s side in this.” Michelle pouts, blowing a 3B curl out of her face.

“That’s what the judge does! My jury tells me what to do- I think I need to cut you off of the Barefoot, cuz…” You slide the bottle closer to you on the coffee table.

“No, that ain’t my problem! You really bossy since your engagement to Timbuktu.” Michelle cheeses into her glass.

Your jaw drops, scoffing. “Oh my God, how many times I gotta tell you to stop calling him that! Especially now that he is my future husband, chill with alldat.”

Michelle giggles, pushing you a little. “Can I play a little?? You landed a gold mine, or should I say vibranium mine with him as your catch. See what happens when you put the pussy on the chainwax?”

“Once again. I. Don’t. Understand. That. Phrase.” You clap between each word in frustration. “Besides. He doesn’t work with the vibranium, he handles Jabari wood, which is just as sacred and important.”

“It sure the hell is.” Adriene says out the side of her mouth. “I bet his wood is handled very properly, hence the ring….”

“Stop.”

Michelle chimes in with a seductive tone. “Does he wax his own wood, or do you do it for him?”

“Guys.”

“Is that what he names it? Jabari? ‘Jabari needs some attention…’ or whatever?” Adriene inquires with an M’Baku impression that sounded more like Vincent Price.

“Fuck off y’all, damn!” You get up in embarrassment to get some ice cream from the fridge as Adriene and Michelle balk in laughter. Don’t nobody know how to cut you down from your high horse like your friends.

“Ok, ok. My bad, we just playing with you!” Michelle calls out.

Adriene cosigns. “Can you blame us? Mr. Perfect out here wining and dining you, leading a whole damn tribe and slaps a rock like that on your finger? Don’t pay attention to us.”

Sitting back on the couch you lick your spoon instead of your wounds; the vanilla, brownie, caramel combo soothing you as you hold out your left hand.

Two weeks ago, M’Baku took you on a gondola ride that set the mood for romance just right. You weren’t expecting anything to come from it but some snuggles with your love but when the boat looped back to dock, rose petals covered the path a nearby fountain, fanciful luminarias shaped in a heart on the ground marked the spot where he led you. One of his cousins was there to shoot the moment as M’Baku got down on one knee and spoke his sweet words to you. You couldn’t pay attention to their context because you were sobbing so much but knowing him they were profound and loving. When you said yes he couldn’t stop hooting in the dead of night, hugging you tightly, kisses unabating. He hasn’t stopped holding your hand since because ‘the ring is so heavy.’

“Yeah, well I still can’t stand y’all heffas.” You grumble, rocking into them side to side.

“I wanna play a new game. Adri, pick something, child.” Michelle directs, pouring her glass to the brim again.

“I’m three years older than you, but go off I guess.” Adriene mutters under her breath, pulling her braids back in thought. “How about...Telephone!”

You scoff at her suggestion. “You need at least 10 people for that game to be effective. Pick something else.”

“What’re you talking about? All you need is some phone numbers and gumption to cold call people.” Adriene says with lip smack, pulling out her phone.

Michelle groans. “Girl, you talkin bout crank calling people, not telephone. Telephone is the whisper challenge for people with a lot of friends basically.”

“Ohhh, you right! Ok, so crank calls. Let’s make em!” Adriene picks up a handful of hot cheetos, munching excitedly. “And Michelle should go first since she so smart or whatever!”

Michelle screws her face up. “No! If I apparently lost Courtroom, I’m sitting out first round. (Y/N), start things off.”

“I don’t feel like it.” You whine, not entirely joking. The moscato and late hour of the night made for a deadly combo.

“Pleeeease. One round! Ooh, to make it interesting, how about calling Tim?” Michelle asks sneakily.

“His name is M’Baku!” You exclaim.

“That’s neither here nor there. I wanna see this! Wake his ass up!” Adriene says, bouncing in her seat.

You lay the ice cream down, picking up your phone regretfully. “What do I even say?”

That’s all Michelle had to here. “Ok, so check it. You call him and change your voice a little to make it seem like you’re someone else and just catch his reaction.”

“Pretend he got child support payments due!” Adriene offers.

“You always gotta be extra, Adriene! But he’ll know it’s me. This ain’t the 90s no more and he has my number after all.”

Michelle brushes your doubt away. “Just *67 him! It still works today, trust me…” her voice trails off as she sips from her glass shaking her head in an apparent flashback.

“O....k. I’ll try it, but soon as he knows its me, I’m cutting it. I don’t wanna stress my baby.” You say, lowkey getting excited by the approaching tease. Adriene cuts the music they were playing as you dial in silence.

The phone rings on speaker phones ominously as you wait for M’Baku to pick up, fully expecting him to say your name and catching you instantly.

“Hello?” He says sleepily.

You pause, words leaving your brain as Adriene and Michelle mime things to say.

“Uh, bueno, I’m so sorry for the late call.” You say, lowkey butchering a Spanish accent as you hang your head in shame, certain you are caught already.

You hear rustling on M’Baku’s end as he moves. “Well, may I ask who is this?”

You hated this already but push your way through the conversation. “This is...Daniella? Um, lo siento. Pero, a friend of mine gave me your number to call so I could introduce myself.”

“What friend?” He asks curtly.

You look to your girls for help on this one as they mouth names.

“Uhhh, Terrance? Michelle’s brother.” You say hesitantly. They had only met a couple times at group events, so they were hardly friends but it is the best you have to make a connection.

“Ohhh, Terrance, yes, we are wonderful friends. Known him for years.” M’Baku says perking up. You make a face at the phone as he lies so effortlessly. “So can I help you with something, Ms. Daniella?”

“Well, you may not know me but I have seen you at the gym a few times, y I was muy impressed by su cuerpo y musculos….sorry! I meant your body and muscles, I’m always slipping that way.” You say playfully to keep up your Spanish identity.

“No, it is alright. I speak Spanish fluently so si quieres, podemos hacerlo-”

“No! No, but thank you!” You clutch your chest as your heart pounds nervously. No way in hell your high school Spanish could keep up with his. “But, maybe we could meet in person and study our native tongues together.” You throw that in for good measure. Michelle almost howls out at your brazenness.

M’Baku chortles out loud, and you know you are caught. Shaking your head as he laughs at you, you almost start to reveal the prank and ask him to knock it off.

“I have never been so enchanted by a woman I have yet to meet. You have piqued my interest, Daniella, I cannot lie.”

“Really? Oh, you are making me nervous now. I thought for sure you would have someone already keeping your attention. You are just so handsome.” You waited on edge for his response. This is when you will surprise him that the woman he is about to talk about in his life is the one pranking him.

“Nooo, I try to keep my personal life as stress free as possible. And I am very relaxed right now, so I would love to meet you sometime.”

You can hear the smile in his voice as his baritone shines through, and you are disgusted. That voice that made you quiver is intentionally being used for another woman, imaginary or not. You couldn’t look at your friends for fear of breaking down.

“Wonderful! How about tomorrow night, 8pm? Since you are free…” You try your best to keep up the art of seduction but it is waning fast.

“Perfect. We can meet at this nice restaurant by the Lake Kenoba. It’s beautiful at that time of evening.”

“Perfect! See you then.”

Hanging up the phone, you look to Michelle and Adriene who are staring back at you, mouths agape.

“That didn’t go as planned.” You say, tossing your phone aside on the couch cushions.

“Why the hell did you pretend to be a date for him? I can’t believe he’s playing us...I mean you!!” Adriene exclaims.

Michelle pats your back. “Now now, don’t get so up in arms. I bet you five he is pranking you back. No way in hell he actually fell for that. Your Russian accent was so far left field, I couldn’t-”

“It was Spanish!” You say defensively. Michelle just makes a face, looking to Adriene for help.

“Ok, well, honestly I agree with Michelle on this. He is a smart man, and loves you to death up until now. No way this is a sign of anything else. Right?”

You sit back on the couch looking to the ceiling to search your thoughts for anything that may have lead to a sign of this coming. “Guys, I don’t meant to kick y’all out but I need to be alone.”

They both try to convince you to not think too much into the whole conversation, but that was impossible. Soon as they left, you were pacing the floor, channeling Angela Bassett circa Waiting to Exhale. If the band on your ring wasn’t vibranium, you would burn it with his clothes. Instead, you come to a moment of clarity. Maybe they are right and he isn’t a low down, dirty dick ass cheater. Maybe.

You pick your phone up and text him a ‘Hey babe!’ with a kissy face. His response is quick, giving you an equally affectionate hello text.

You text him asking for some time to see him tomorrow night at 8pm. Same time as Maria, or Lisbeth, or whatever name you gave yourself. You see the bubbles pop up and disappear several times on screen, driving you insane. Now he takes his time to reply?!

He says he cannot make it, meeting with family that day. You offer to come with, but he says it is private. Too private for your future WIFE to be apart of??

You end the conversation, not bothering to respond. Your phone dings again but you don’t bother checking it out. As you make your way to bed, you look up on Amazon for gasoline cans and bleach with one day shipping guarantees.

The next day, you are in a hazy cloud of dread. Your concentration at work is gone, you barely could eat lunch, and Michelle and Adriene keep blowing up your phone asking for updates, which there were none. Your fears had already been confirmed so what more was there to talk about?

That’s when your brain hatches up a plan. You were gonna catch him in the act, no doubt about it. When you got off work, you went to your place to gather an overnight bag and head over to his. He won’t even feel like going out when you were through ‘being his peace’.

Pulling up, you knock on his door at 6:30pm. M’Baku opens the door, shirtless in his joggers.

“(Y/N), what are you-”

“I figured after you are through with your family, we could hang out!” You say hurriedly, walking briskly past him as he stares at you in confusion while you toss your bag aside.

M’Baku walks over to you, arms crossed. His pics substantiated by his stance and bold tattoos across them. “Did you text me before getting here?”

You swiftly turn to him, taking off your jacket and shoes. “No, not at all. Should I have? Am I interrupting something?”

M’Baku furrows his brow looking from your bag to you. “Like I said, I made plans with family at 8, so I am in the process of getting ready.”

You blink a couple times, holding your chest. “Oh, oh! Don’t let me stop you, Timbuktu! You do all you need and keep it moving, I’ll be upstairs chilling.” You pick up your bag and head up.

“Tim- Have you seen Michelle today? Why are you calling me that? And what is in the bag love?” M’Baku calls after you.

You don’t answer as you head to his bedroom and get undressed, grabbing a shirt of his out of the dresser to put on as a night gown.

“You got a lotta questions for me, but I ain’t asked you a damn thing. SO don’t worry about me, just go on your little date...with your family. I’ll do your laundry while you’re gone, how’s that?” You give him a tight smile as you crawl up in bed, turning on the TV on almost full blast.

M’Baku’s belly jiggles as he chuckles to himself with his hands on his hips before going to check your bag.

“Get outta my stuff!” You exclaim, getting up to pull his hand away from inside.

This is an obvious trap as M’Baku swiftly wraps you up in his arms, staring you down with a cold, calculative expression. “Where’s the gas can you ordered? Bleach?”

You shrank in his grasp as you wiggled to make him put you down. Damn that shared Amazon account.

You stand up to him defiantly. “Where’s Daniella, hm? She meeting you at that restaurant, right?”

M’Baku’s expressions cracked into a smirk. You wanted to rip those full lips off of his face. “It’s about time you brought it up.”

You exhale sharply. “Why? Because I should’ve always known? I should’ve suspected it a long time ago that you been two timing me?” You are shrill as you crawl into his bed in the fetal position.

M’Baku groans as he sit on the edge of the bed in front of you. “Come on, my adored one. Is that what you think of me?”

You shake your head, long faced. “Of course not, until she called you.”

“But it was you! You called me!”

“You didn’t know that!”

M’Baku laughs out loud, slapping his knee. You push on his broad back with your feet to try and get him off the bed to no avail. “Aye, you think I believed that wasn’t you but a random woman who attends my gym, that I haven’t even noticed has any female participants at the early hour I go. And is also friends with a sibling of your friend who I have only seen less than a handful of times?”

“Then why did you lie and say you knew him for years?”

“I was trying to break you out of character! But you fell into it, so I kept going along to pull the wool over your eyes instead. Plus, your Japanese accent was borderline offensive.” M’Baku says softly, bringing his hand to your cheek, brushing it with his thumb.

“IT WAS SPANISH! Why would I SPEAK Spanish while sounding Japanese.”

M’Baku’s body shakes a little as his face strains to hold back his childish laughter.

“You are diabolical.” You mutter, attempting to nip at his fingertips.

M’Baku gave you a gap toothed smile big enough to make the earth quake. “Don’t blame me, your friends have gotten you into trouble with me plenty of times before but we make up, always.”

You huff as you turn to the TV to remain bothered. “I’m not ready to make up.”

M’Baku lays his head back on your belly, talking to the ceiling. “What if I told you I made reservations at the aforementioned restaurant and I had planned to come by and pick you up to expose your plan. Hm?”

Your heart falls at this revelation. You would’ve loved to have seen that happen, and that restaurant had bread and butter you would kill to consume right now, and pack extras in your purse. But jumping to conclusions ruined that as it is your Olympic sport, gold medal winner.

“M’Baku, I’ll give it to you that I shouldn’t have thought that you would two time me, especially without talking to you first. But I still don’t like that you tricked me. You drug it out on me too long.”

M’Baku rolls over, his head traveling up your arm to your neck, kissing behind your ear and humming. The vibrations of his voice tickled you along with his breath but you ignore the dopamine flowing through you, lying perfectly still and unphased.

M’Baku picks his head up, tutting at you as he gets off the bed to head for the restroom. Next sound you hear is the shower coming on. You hope he doesn’t think you’re joking about not wanting to go out now because you were firmly in that frame of mind.

His 1000 count sheets caressed your skin nicely as you snuggled under his down comforter. That coupled with the pitter patter of the shower left you fighting your eyelids to watch the TV screen and losing.

You were awakened by the shift of weight on the bed, M’Baku wrapping his arm around your midsection to pull up behind you, breathing in the coconut and shea scent of your hair before resting his hand fully encompassing one of your breasts.

Instinctively, you hold his arm tightly. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Eh, I know.” His lips graze your ear lobe, making you flinch.

“And I don’t wanna go to dinner with you.”

“The reservation time passed. You slept through it.”

“Did you go eat without me?” You ask.

M’Baku’s hand moves to travel up your thigh. “I’m not going anywhere when you’re laying in my bed.”

You start to feel warm all over, a familiar sensation begs you to give in. “Whatever man.”

M’Baku’s groan rumbles through his body as he reaches under your nightgown/his shirt, grazing your fupa, playing in your tuft of hair between your legs. “I don’t want to bed you while you’re angry…”

Your hand clutches his forearm desperately as your legs part slightly involuntarily. “You think I’m that easy?”

M’Baku’s plush lips falls on your neck softly. “No. That’s why you are perfect for me. I never worked so hard in my life to get what I want.”

His wide hand pushes your legs apart farther as they plunge between your thighs, palming your pussy. His fingers finding your wetness with ease.

You gasp, hips bucking for friction against his hand. “I think I need a little more convincing…”

“At your service.” M’Baku crawls under the covers. You giggle as you lie on your back watching his frame under the blanket make mountains to get to your lower portion. Feeling yourself spread underneath the covers without him in sight is exhilarating for you. You feel his breath on you as he exhales with built up lust. When his tongue spreads across your lips your back concaves in aching relief. M’Baku’s tongue goes into a rhythm between your inner labia, flicking your clit every so often. The pulsations of his pace threaten your sanity as you try to sit up, crawling backwards slightly, but M’Baku’s arms wrap around your hips to keep you in place.

He seems to punish you for you resistance, focusing now solely on your clit, sending you into a tizzy. Sounds like a Campbell’s chicken noodle soup commercial under the covers with all the slurping and lip smacking he shamelessly devotes to taste every drop of you. You’re blubbering his name, peppering encouragements with begs for mercy as you feel your orgasm wash over your body. All of the stimulation happening underneath the blanket elevated your pleasure sensors as you couldn’t see the source. You had to see him or you would for sure lose your mind. Pulling the blanket back, you see his cheeks hollowing out, maintaining pressure on your clit, eyes deviously trained on yours as he penetrated you with a couple of his fingers.

This is much worse for you now, but at least you can take it out on him instead of the blanket.

“God, I’m cumming on your face right fucking now, Baku.” You squeal, fingers gripping his hair as your hip flexors strain to hold back from crushing his skull .

He turns you lose of his mouth finally, crawling up to you to tongue your down, tasting yourself along with him.

“It seems our native tongues were pretty well together.” M’Baku growls, pulling you down by your legs and he pulls his joggers off, dick unfurling full and ready. “Have I convinced you yet?”

You claw above your head for something, anything to hold onto. “You’re getting there. It’s just, my gut is telling me something else.”

“I can fix that…” M’Baku licks his lips, reaching to take your shirt off over your head, squeezing you titties like fresh picked fruit. You both groan from the touch, his eyes entranced by your nipples as they draw him in, working his neck to lap his tongue around your areola until its peak is reached.

You lick your lips, biting them as reach down between the two of you for his dick, stroking it slowly. You feel him expand in your hand as his moans concentrate on your nipple as he continues to suck, vibrating against your sensitivity.

He comes off of your breast with a pop, smiling devilishly. “What are you doing? I’m supposed to be pleasing you tonight, my love.”

“This pleases me, Baku. This does.” You whisper as you continue to ready him.

M’Baku smiles into your mouth, kissing you as you wrap your arms around his neck, laying back as you wrap your legs around him, walls contracting excitedly awaiting his entry.

M’Baku maintains eye contact as you feel his tip pressing into you before the sensation of stretching you makes you break; closing your eyes and mouth falling wide as his girth slowly navigates your canal.

M’Baku mirrors you as your tightness affects him as well, wrapping his hand around your neck lightly before tonguing your tonsils out hungrily. His hips activate against yours moving in shallow motions to prepare you before taking his strokes longer and longer until his entire length massages your insides beautifully.

“Fuck, you feel good.” M’Baku groans as he punches the headboard once for good measure, laying his body flush with your, kissing your neck and clavicle as his strokes picked up pace.

You gasp as if you’re drowning, clutching onto his arm, kissing his tattoo band gratefully. “Ohh, my gut is telling me something much different now.”

“What’s it telling you?” M’Baku grunts in your ear.

“It’s telling me to marry the man attached to this dick.” You say before your voice hitches from the wave of pleasure flooding over you, seizing your body up. The sweet cacophony of his skin slapping against yours signals M’Baku’s enjoyment of you in this moment, trapped between your legs as stare into each other’s eyes threateningly. He pulls out of you, rolling you over to give your ass a slap.

“You need to be on your knees then.” M’Baku commands.

You try your best to do as you are told, aftershocks between your legs threaten their stability as you get into position, rubbing yourself lightly as you lie in wait. Your head is against the mattress as you watch him stroke himself as he plants his hand on your lower back, kissing your cheeks audibly, smacking them both after.

“I don’t think I have convinced you properly of my devotion, love.” M’Baku says, rubbing the tip of his dick between your swollen labia.

You inhale sharply. “I’m past that, don’t worry about that baby. Just please-”

“Don’t interrupt me. You talk a lot but not when it counts. I want to hear you when I am inside you.”

You push yourself towards him, trying to geolocate the dick. “Ok, I will, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” M’Baku says, spreading your knees father apart before sliding back into you, causing you to illicit a guttural moan.

“You fill me up so good, Baku.” You inhale sharply as he works himself inside you roughly. He bounces his hips against your cheeks with slow deliberate strokes. Bam, bam, bam! The force pulls you back on his dick with each thrust, eventually leading you to bounce against him on your own.

“Ah, that’s better. Come to me like you came over here to tell me off.” M’Baku says, rubbing your ass.

Biting your lip, you pick up your bounce, arching. “I don’t play when it comes to this dick, Baku. Don’t make me wreck you.”

M’Baku smacks one cheek enthusiastically, the sting somehow sweetens your pleasure. “Show me.”

You give it your all, smacking your ass against his hips, tightening around him as you wind around his length expertly. Although you had him right where you wanted him, moaning and cursing you, you get high off of your own supply. The pressure building within you begins to release and you lose your form, holding your breath as you came.

M’Baku would not have that. He leans over you, holding your head up by your hair. “I want to hear you…”

He takes over, pounding into you while reaches between you to stimulate your bud. You squeak, gripping the sheets as he commands you to breathe. You swear this is impossible as he won’t stop digging you out and stressing your scalp with his grasp. Then you aren’t sure if this orgasm was really long or another one came quickly but as you opened your throat, you let out an animalistic screech that scared the shit outta you but rocked M’Baku’s world. He practically pounds you through the mattress to the floor as you both collapse, humping you into submission as he gets his last few strokes in you. He warms your belly from inside with his release.

M’Baku gets off of you so you can breathe, kissing down your back and examining the mess you all made inside of you. You jerk feeling him touch you, wiping the remnants down before slowly rolling off to the side of you. He takes your hand kissing your ring again before looking at you lovingly.

You lay there, twitching every few seconds as you come down.

“Are you cold?” M’Baku asks, getting up slowly to grab the previously discard blanket.

“No, of course not. I’m just recuperating.” You say between the natural jerks of your muscles, your heart still pounding between your legs.

“Any chance of Daniella coming back? Her accent wasn’t so bad now that I think about it.” He says, kissing your hand again.

You pick it up, laying it across his face for what was supposed to be a slap. “Shut up, I’m still frickin embarrassed by that. You owe me dinner though.”

M’Baku smiles, rolling on his side towards you. “I do. I shouldn’t be the only one eating tonight. Plus, I can’t risk you incinerating my things.”

You lay there in silence, closing your eyes.

“Were you...really going to do that?”

You start to snore.

“(Y/N), honestly.”

#m'baku x reader #shakafic #fanfic #muse bday #m'baku fanfic

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smitten-miqitten · 6 years ago

Text

Date

In which Era and Cid go on a date. Of the three chapters I mentioned working on, I ended up doing this one without waiting for people's picks. Sorry >.<

AO3 link here

"Alright, that's it. I'm done. This draft is finished, those orders are filled, and I'm done."

"Yes yes, you've done enough for today." Jessie sighed

"I've attended those damn investor meetings.."

"And even stayed awake!" She encouraged, clearly wishing this would become a more regular occurrence.

"And I finished those orders ahead of schedule. All while working on my own projects", Cid said proudly and somewhat defensively. He was fishing around for something in the drawer of his workstation and, upon finding it, swiftly pocketed the small ornamented box.

"You've done good Chief! So, whatcha got planned for tonight?" Wedge asked excitedly. It wasn't often one saw Cid so energized.

"Made a reservation at the Bismark..."

"Not with company funds I hope...", Jessie muttered

Cid continued as if he hadn't heard, "And afterwards we'll do a little flight through the Sea of Clouds..."

Biggs chuckled, busy tidying up his own workstation, "Nice and romantic, eh? Got something other than that coat picked out?"

"Of course! Was just about to get ready..."

The door to the workshop opened, and Era walked in. She was dressed in a lilac, airy shift with sparse flowers dotting the hem. Hair loose, with a ornamental clip to keep it out of her face. Far more girlish an outfit than she was often known to wear. Seeing the befuddled faces of everyone around, she asked "7:30, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but you're about an hour early..."

She pulled out a little pocket watch from a small handbag she carried, another uncommon wardrobe accessory for her. She seemed puzzled, but upon looking up at the chronometer on the wall, a look of understanding crossed her face. "Cid, that chronometer is slow. This watch just got wound, I'm certain it's accurate."

And so it was. Spurred on by their Chief's sudden increase in productivity, everyone had worked to the point that, of all the engineers that present in Cid's workshop, not a one had noticed the chronometer had needed repair for some two weeks now. Jessie, bless her poor overworked heart, was horrified. "But that means... oh gods, all the orders we got out on time were late! Every single bleedin one of them....." The woman looked near to tears.

Wedge tried to cheer her, "It's alright Jessie! None of our clients seemed bothered, else we'd have noticed wouldn't we? Probably didn't expect.."

"Probably didn't expect us to produce things on time?! That's alright is it? Seven hells..."

Era, feeling rather responsible for Jessie's sudden distress, tried to think of a way to right the issue. "If another day would be better..."

"No, absolutely not! This is the first day in damn near a month we've been able to meet! Jessie..", Cid began, turning to his second in command, "Though I doubt anyone is genuinely upset about items being an hour late I'll apologize to the clients tomorrow. No one noticed the bloody chronometer, it's nobody's fault. We've all been working hard, and you lot need to rest. Now", he said, turning back to Era, "If that clock is slow, we're going to be late if we don't leave for Limsa soon. Let me change and we'll be off."

"Might give your face a quick wash, you've got a bit of grease on your nose!" Biggs called after him as Cid made for the adjoining living quarters.The others slowly began to head off to their quarters, whether the adjoining ones or private apartments.

Cid returned wearing a white collared shirt, sleeves rolled at the elbow, first two or three buttons at the chest inevitably undone, and nice black pants and shoes (would it kill him to wear color?). His usual pendant was present, but to Era's surprise his forehead was devoid of his customary goggles. He claimed it 'killed the look', but Era suspected there was a little more to it than that. He almost never took them off, except when bathing or sleeping (unless he fell asleep at his desk, of course)... or when they were alone together. Perhaps it was a gesture, a 'this is me and you time' sort of thing. Or perhaps it really did just kill the look. He forgot the grease smudge Biggs mentioned, as she knew he would, so she dabbed at it with a damp towel she had at the ready.

..................................................................................

The flight to Limsa was largely uneventful. They both simply enjoyed the trip. Era loved flying, specifically Cid's flying, and had long since passed the point where she was embarrassed to admit as much. She used to dislike the cheeky grin he gave whenever she was too plainly excited about the trip, thinking he was making fun of her. In reality, as she came to learn, he was just pleased that she was so happy and was more than a little proud. Cid took a lot of pride in the things he did, for the most part, something that took Era a very long time to relate to but very little time to admire. For much of her time in Eorzea, her achievements had not felt like something earned, but rather things done by means of an unfair advantage. Cid had earned everything he had (which included her, she supposed), and she admired him immensely for it. Only once she began to feel responsible for her own accomplishments did she truly begin to understand that aspect of him, and one of the only real barriers between them finally break down. He was not unreachable, and she was not unworthy to be with him.

She was grinning. Cid loved it when she did that. He had never been able to make good on his promise to get her memories back, but it seemed that her expressions had returned for the most part. It wasn't just his doing, of course, but he felt he could take some credit for the little things. The time she giggled at some asinine joke of his, and couldn't stop for damn near 20 minutes. The time, following a particularly, *ahem* energetic night, that she had an almost permanent smile on her face and blushed furiously when informed of it. When, after Cid had a unusually bad dream regarding Meteor and the events leading up to it, she lost her head and swore up and down she'd clock Gaius next she saw him and then the entire imperial family following. Perhaps because it's so blatant in her case that it sticks with him so. The fact that she loves him. She loves him to the point that such simple events broke down barriers set by (presumably) Hydelyn herself.

Of all the people who have ever claimed to care for him, markedly few have been genuine. Fewer still, when he tried to pursue any kind of relationship, were interested in much more than fame or looks. The early days in Eorzea were rife with such occurrences; he had been young and just fine with a few of the shorter term liaisons, but after a while it began to wear on him. Many of the ladies who approached him were either reluctant or outright refused to let him remove his goggles even. They liked his appearance and his reputation just enough to tolerate his heritage, but not enough to look at it. This had not been the case with Era. Their first intimate night together, she had removed them herself. It was 'silly' to leave them on, she said, thinking he had forgotten they were there. Her first time, nervous as could be though she'd not admit it, and she still had enough gumption to tear away a barrier that all others insisted on and called it silly. This was the woman he was taking on a meticulously planned date this night, and for whom he had been working on a little project of his own for the past month.

..................................................................................

Their dinner too, was largely uneventful. Their conversations were composed of what details of the past month that could not be discussed over linkshell. Era's adventures, Cid's new inventions, the Scions' shenanigans and the latest in workshop gossip. Hands were held, loving looks exchanged. However, underneath all the sweet words, heartfelt glances, and romantic gestures, Cid seemed to be antsy. Was it because of that stupid chronometer? Despite his stubborn attitude, Era knew Cid took Jessie's concerns and advice to heart. She wouldn't be his number two if he did not. Era fully expected that come tomorrow the entire workshop would gang up on the poor lazy timepiece and modify it to the point it would never err again. She redoubled her efforts at sweet talk, so that she might take his mind off the matter. Still, as dinner drug on he grew increasingly restless.

..................................................................................

When finally they set off toward the Sea of Clouds, Era broached the subject. " Cid... Is there something the matter? You seem... well, I dunno. You seem like there's something on your mind."

Cid just looked at her for a bit, a curious expression on his face. And all of a sudden, it was filled with resolve. He made for the nearest island and set the ship to rest. "Era, I've been working on something I haven't told you about for some time now. As much as I hate our long separations, it did provide me with the opportunity to finally do so." His hand was in his pocket, holding a small item of some kind. "We've been together for some time now, and I like to think neither of us plan to change that, so I thought...thought that perhaps we might make it more official."

"What do you..." Era began, but stopped when Cid started to kneel. And in that moment, her brain was trying really very, very hard to process what was happening.

"Era Hess, would you be my..." Cid was taking the little box out of his pocket and had started to open it, but no sooner had the word "Wife" left his lips than two arms were flung around his neck, hugging him almost too tightly. She hadn't even looked at the dammed thing.

"Yes" was all she said. All she could say, with her head swimming so. Cid hugged her back, at a loss for words himself. He had been in a strange state the whole night, both expecting the answer she gave and fearing the one she did not. After a while, when he had come down somewhat from his elation, he chuckled and made to prise her from him.

"As flattered as I am that you didn't even pause, I really did work hard on this. Here.", He said grinning ear to ear, and handed her the box. Inside was a small silver ring of intricate metalwork. It was split in two halves, one resembling a vine with leaves and little flowers made of small blue gems. The other was a simple, straight bar with a streak of similar blue down the center, ending in both spots where it met the vine. In the very center was a flower, petals of more blue gems and a little glowing blue spot in the middle of it. An engraving similar to that of an Arcanist's book wound around the inside of the ring. "I had a little help with that part", he said as she looked at the engraving, trying to make sense of it. "It's a meant to draw upon your aether to cast a small, perpetual protection spell. In the event you can't use your aether, the tiny amount of Ceruleum in the flower and the surrounding water crystals should be able to pick up the slack."

"It's lovely". Era was in awe of it, it really was beautiful.

"It had to match its wearer", Cid said cheekily. After taking it from her and putting it on her finger, he hugged her once more, the two staying like that for what seemed to be ages, neither wanting or needing to speak. They reveled in the silence, as it seemed that all the world had disappeared from around them.

It was just them, the ship, and the endless sky.

#FFXIV #ff14 #my self indulgent minifics #cid/wol #Cid x WoL #era hess #Cid Garlond

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ohprettyweeper-moved · 6 years ago

Text

Give Your Heart a Break

Part 4: Four Little Words

Summary: During Josh’s visit, the two of you enjoy your time with Charlie, and try to come up with a solution to the adoption appeal. Pairing: Josh x Reader Word Count: 1550 Warnings: Implied sexy times. Silly, fluffy times.

Series Masterlist

“They can really just take him like that?”

You ran a hand over your face and into your hair. Josh’s question was just as incredulous as you had expected it to be.

“The appeal was granted, which means that in the meantime, Charlie would go back into state custody. Probably into another foster home.”

Josh sighed as he dropped to the bed beside you. Charlie had been sleeping soundly for a little over an hour now, and while you and Josh had planned to stay up late, Charlie had tired you two out with all his energy throughout the afternoon and evening.

“What if — what if we paid her? You said that Julie said that Charlie’s mom was probably looking for some sort of payoff. I love you and I love Charlie. Let me pay her off.”

You shook your head adamantly. “No, Josh. Absolutely not. Julie strongly encouraged me not to do that.”

“I’m not saying you could do it, I’m saying I could,” he countered. “I have the money, Y/N. You wouldn’t be tied to it all.”

“Except that I’m tied to you!” You pushed out of the bed and began pacing the room, ranting and raving about why, no matter how much he loved you and Charlie, he couldn’t just go off and dump money on some random woman because she thought she could make an easy paycheck from the people who wanted to keep her kid.

Josh got up from the bed, placing his hands softly at your elbows and reminding you to breathe. “I’m not here to ruin anything, all right? Yeah, I panicked and I wanted a fast resolution.”

You sighed. “I’m sorry I got so worked up.”

“It’s okay,” Josh said, brushing the hair out of your eyes. He kissed your forehead. “I like it. I like seeing you get so worked up.”

Your brain registered that he was peppering your face with soft kisses, and that his hands were slowly snaking around your waist. The smell of his soap invaded your nose, and you were very aware of his bare chest within millimeters of you.

“Are you … trying to distract me?” you whispered.

Josh nodded. “Is that such a bad thing?”

Slowly but surely, you shook your head. Josh pressed his lips to yours in a fierce, wanting kiss. Nope. This distraction was not a bad thing at all.

The next morning, Charlie crashed into bed between you and Josh. You groaned and rolled toward the middle of the bed. It wasn’t normal for Charlie to not wake you up when he got in your bed, so you opened your eyes to see if, by some miracle, he had fallen back to sleep. What you saw made your cup run over with a heartwarming happiness you hadn’t felt in a really long time.

Charlie’s chubby little hands were holding one of Josh’s hands, and he was whispering something you couldn’t quite make out. Josh was whispering back, but you couldn’t quite hear him, either. If only it could always be like this.

Shooting into a sitting position, you had a thought. It should have been a tiny, fleeting though, but it held on longer than you expected. Why couldn’t it always be like this?

You rushed down to the kitchen, starting coffee and breakfast. You had all this reckless energy, and you needed to do something with it. By the time the boys joined you, the table was full of plates of pancakes, French toast, bacon, sausage, fruit, scrambled eggs — and you were making homemade syrup to top it all off.

“Wow, buddy, look what Mom did,” Josh said, putting Charlie in his booster seat. “Where do you wanna start?”

Charlie listed off almost every food that was on the table. Making a smart decision, Josh put a little bit of everything on Charlie’s plate, until it looked just as full as any other breakfast plate.

“Let me see if Mommy is done with the syrup. Start with your fruit or your eggs, bud,” Josh said. He came over to you, put his hands on your hips, and kissed the top of your head. “Feeling okay this morning, beautiful? Is this about last night?”

You shook your head. You brought the syrup over to Charlie, applied it as necessary, then set the pot on a pot holder. Charlie got to eating, and you turned back to Josh.

“This is not about last night,” you assured, making the promise against his lips before you kissed him. “It’s about this morning.”

“This morning?”

You drew in a deep breath. “Listen, Josh. You’ve been here for less than twenty-four hours, and I may have gone off the deep end. Let’s not ruin a good thing, yeah? Let me get this crazy idea out of my head, then we can go on with our day. I’m going to take a shower. You eat and — do you mind dressing Charlie when you guys are done?”

You only made it to the living room before Josh caught up with you. “Slow down, would you? Yeah, I’ve been here for less than twenty-four hours, but Y/N, you and I have been together for months. You are raising someone else’s kid on your own. I know that you’re strong and capable, and maybe the idea you have isn’t so crazy. I’m guessing it has to do with keeping Charlie?”

You bit your bottom lip and nodded.

“Okay, then I at least want to hear it. I don’t wanna lose him any more than you do.”

Swallowing hard, you shifted from one foot to the other, working up the gumption to tell him what you were thinking. It took a full minute, but finally, you let the words tumble out of your mouth.

“Josh, will you marry me? I mean, Charlie’s bio mom was okay with me being single before, but maybe the problem now is that I’m just dating, and she doesn’t think that’s stable enough for Charlie. We can figure out the details of it later, keep this a dating thing, but on paper, we … we could be married.”

His eyes grew wide. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Another full minute passed, then he kissed you softly.

“You go take your shower, okay? I’m going to have breakfast with Charlie, then take him out for a couple of hours, so you can have some time to yourself.”

He kissed you again, quickly, then went back to the kitchen with Charlie. Confusion and disappointment and heartache swirled around in your chest, even though you had known the idea was crazy. After all, hadn’t you even told Josh that?

With embarrassment now joining the barrage of emotions, you hurried to the bathroom and took a nice, long, shower. By the time you were out, Josh and Charlie were gone.

By the time Josh and Charlie returned, it was past Charlie’s nap time. You were more worried about how cranky your toddler was going to be than Josh’s reaction to your impromptu proposal.

You were folding towels when you heard the front door open. You rushed to the front of the house, and Josh shushed you immediately. He was carrying a sleeping Charlie into the house; you helped him with the door, and he took Charlie up to his bed. You waited in the living room for him to come back down, which he did after a couple of minutes.

“He’s out for the count. We had a pretty eventful afternoon.”

You nodded. “Listen, Josh, about earlier. I kind of shot off at the mouth, and I’m grasping at straws, anything to keep Charlie. Paying off his mom isn’t an option, so I just — yeah. Straws. Grasping at them.”

“I need you to understand something, Y/N. If I’m gonna marry you, it can’t be figuring out details and us still dating but pretending to be married, or just married on paper. I can’t have that.”

It was a little hard to hear, but fair enough. “I understand.”

“And, I can’t accept that you’d be the one doing the proposing.” He pulled a box from his pocket and got down on one knee. “I’ve known for a while, Y/N, that I wanna marry you. I thought it would maybe be down the road, but if we have to move up our timeline to keep our family together, that’s one thing I can give in for.”

“Our family?” you echoed, voice thickened by the lump in your throat.

Josh nodded. “You, me, and Charlie. I thought we were a family. It feels like we’re a family.” He opened the ring box; that was all it took for the tears to flow, for the umpteenth time since he had arrived, it seemed. Josh took your left hand. “Y/N, I love you, and I love Charlie. No matter what happens, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”

You nodded, staring down at your hand as Josh slid the ring onto your finger. He got up from the floor and wrapped his arms around you, kissing you hard. His excitement was showing in the kiss, and you couldn’t help but kiss him back with the same fervor.

#twenty one pilots fanfiction #twenty one pilots fanfic #twenty one pilots fic #tøp fanfiction #tøp fanfic #tøp fic #josh #josh dun #reader #reader insert #josh x reader #josh dun x reader #fluff #josh fluff #josh dun fluff #josh x reader fluff #josh dun x reader fluff #miniseries #can you save my heavydirtyqueue

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