#i’m not attached to her she’s mildly cute i think | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starfinss · 2 years ago

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ɪɴᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴀᴛ ʙᴀɴᴄʀᴏꜰᴛ ʜᴀʟʟ — ᴄʜ. 1

Chapter Two can be found here!

𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮: Lockwood & Co.

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Anthony Lockwood + Lucy Carlyle

𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: SFW

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 7,227

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺:

“Skull,” I hissed, “is there something here with us?”

“Nothing dead, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I didn’t respond, thoroughly miffed, but still on guard. I positioned my rapier in front of my body to act as a shield, and when I heard another sound, I found myself whirling around, zeroing in on the source of the disturbance with mechanical efficiency, only to come face to face with…

A person. A girl. Wide, made-up eyes stared back at me, set in a cute, freckled face, and attached to a throat I was currently pointing my rapier at.

Or, alternatively, the client’s daughter flirts with Lockwood, is a massive nuisance, and Lucy gets jealous, among other things.

It was a bright, cool autumn morning, just after the rather perilous conclusion of the Case of the Flying Top Hat, and Lockwood, George and I were just tucking into breakfast, when someone came ringing the bell out in front of 35 Portland Row.

Holly welcomed whoever had come round dutifully inside without any of us prompting her to do so, and I heard the various sounds of her getting them settled in the living room before her footsteps came towards the kitchen; she poked her head through the open door.

“There’s a client here to see you,” she said, “a Sir Ignatius Quintrell.”

“Fine,” Lockwood said, placing his napkin on The Thinking Cloth, “we’ll be right out.”

The man sitting in our loving room was somewhat an odd fellow. He was a barrel chested man with long arms and legs. He had a great square head with small, watery blue eyes set under heavy, dark eyebrows, and a carefully combed head of jet-black hair, greying at the temples. The handlebar mustache that dominated his upper lip made him resemble a cartoon villain. A spotless bowler hat sat atop his head. He reeked of money and class, as evident from his Italian suit that undoubtedly cost more than myself and Lockwood combined, and his garish scarlet tie, fastened by an ornate gold tie clip. That bit cost more than George. From the top of his hat to the toes of his gleaming shoes, he was a strange amalgamation of something out of a Victorian novel and a character from a comic book.

“Ah,” he said in a booming voice, and though plaster didn’t fall from the ceiling, it came close, “Mr Lockwood. A pleasure to meet the young man who vanquished the spirits in Combe Carey Hall, and his associates. I am Sir Ignatius Qunitrell, and I implore you help me.”

He spoke with one of the poshest accents I’d ever heard, and that, alongside his manner of of dress, made everything about him mildly comical. From the bemused look on my colleagues faces, I could tell that my observation was one we all made.

Lockwood broke the silence with a cough, crossing to sit on the sofa. I joined him after a second, and George busied himself with gathering the things to make a fresh pot of tea.

“How may we do that, sir?” Lockwood asked, folding his hands neatly in his lap.

A broad smile appeared, revealing a gold tooth on the right side of his mouth. “Marvelous of you to ask, Mr Lockwood. My wife and I have recently purchased a third house, over in Buckinghamshire. Lovely property, with a smashing guest house and pool. But my darling girl, my Madeline, has been seeing something in her new bedroom, I’m afraid. She’s scared out of her mind, and refuses to sleep in there, but won’t sleep anywhere else. You can see my problem, yes?”

Lockwood nodded empathetically. “Yes, sir, quite clearly.”

“My sweet Madeline is beside herself with fear. She read about your agency in True Hauntings, and asked for you specifically, so I came to fetch you. We’re willing to pay whatever figure you name— plus extra.”

I could already tell Lockwood was in by the way he was smiling. I knew as well as he did that this man was high society; completing a job with him would be excellent publicity. Besides, I knew him well enough to know that he would never refuse being asked for directly by a client.

George reappeared after a moment with a trey of teacups, which he passed out before taking a seat in his usual armchair.

“Tell us more about your ghost, Sir Quintrell,” Lockwood said after taking his cup, interest glittering in his dark eyes.

Relief seemed to show on Sir Quintrell’s face for a few seconds before the expression grew pleased. And so, he settled into his armchair, took a deep drink of tea, and began to speak.

“The property, called Bancroft Hall, was built in the late middle of the nineteenth century, and originally belonged to a duchess by the name of Cornelia Bancroft. She had the home built when her husband died, and lived there with her three young daughters. Some years later, the Duchess met a local businessman by the name of Daniel Frayne, and fell in love with him. They married after a rather short courtship, and the marriage was frowned upon because of his lower social status. All fairly normal happenstance, if you ask me.”

“But?” George asked, popping a biscuit into his mouth.

Sir Quintrell gave another wide smile. “Ah, yes. How astute of you, my good fellow. There always is a ‘but,’ isn’t there?” He folded his hands in his lap. “Their marriage was happy for some time, but soured, according to a servant’s recount of the events, a scullery maid, if I recall. The pair would argue often, and then there were mentions of a mistress, though I never found much information about that while looking into the estate’s history. All that matters is that Frayne ended up murdering his wife one night, and then proceeded to hang himself from the bedroom’s chandelier.”

“And the daughters?” I asked.

“Yes, the daughters,” Sir Quintrell said, “two of them left the estate and never returned. But one, the eldest, stayed behind to care for her mother’s home. She ended up dying on the property as well, unfortunately, by drowning herself in a bathtub. The house was eventually sold to the county, and was turned into a boarding house. It then went to one of the Duchess’ distant relatives after a time, and it remained in the family until the last member died, and my wife and I purchased it. It wasn’t until we moved in that we noticed the Visitor activity.”

“An esteemed history, indeed,” Lockwood said, “Holly, did you get that? Good. George will need it.”

“Does that mean you’re accepting my offer?” Sir Quintrell asked. Lockwood’s smile grew.

“When do you want us to be there?”

A light sparked behind our new client’s eyes, and he clasped his hands together.

“As soon as you can, Mr Lockwood. The sooner you can come, the more I will pay you, in fact.”

“Then we’ll be there tonight,” Lockwood said, and I looked sidelong at George, fully expecting the outraged expression he was wearing. He rose from the sofa with a sigh, shuffling off into the house, undoubtedly to prepare for a trip to the archives. Holly handed him her notebook on his way out.

The conversation after that was short, mostly just Lockwood and our guest exchanging pleasantries that I was surprised didn’t put me to sleep before Sir Quintrell excused himself, picking up a long, slim walking stick I hadn’t noticed before from beside his chair, and then he was gone just as quickly as he’d come.

“You ought to think more about George before you agree so quickly,” I said, and Lockwood simply smiled.

“He’ll be alright. You worry too much, Luce.” He gave me one of those smiles of his that made my stomach feel all funny. “Now, would you like another cup of tea?”

As the day grew late, we worked in the basement office as Holly cleaned and organized our kit until it gleamed, and then once more until it was blinding. George came back a handful of hours later, still grumpy about the time crunch, and told us that Sir Quintrell had told us most of what we needed to know. He had found a floor plan of Bancroft Hall, however, that he’d photocopied for all four of us. He’d also found guest registry from when the hall served as a boarding house, but beyond that, much of the information was what we already knew.

Holly rechecked our kits, and I helped her sort through them before repacking and making sure the iron filings had been filled and stocked sufficiently. I knew I didn’t need to, Holly was perfectly efficient as always, but it gave me something to do besides stabbing a dummy with my rapier.

Shortly before dusk, we were on the train to Buckinghamshire.

“I reckon we could get to Chequers from here,” George remarked as we got off the train, heavy duffle bags slung over our shoulders, “just pop round. I wonder if the P.M. is in.”

“Maybe he’ll need our services one day,” Lockwood said with a grin, “we’d be set for life with that sort of money, wouldn’t we?”

As we left the station, a stout, flaxen haired youth was waiting for us with a car, and he said very little as he took the bags from us with surprising ease and shoved them into the boot.

The resulting car trip was short, and gave me some time to watch the rolling green hills go by. It looked like a painting, one you’d see hanging at an art museum. Fluffy sheep grazed in the fields, seemingly unaffected by the chill of autumn. The sky was blue, fading into pastels as the sun sank, leaving hues of lavender behind and speckles of stars.

George tried to question our driver about the reputation of Bancroft Hall, but got little out of him besides that he didn’t know the Quintrell family very well, they were paying him twenty quid to pick us up, and that he was late for church. That was all he would say, and when Lockwood tried to start small talk, he was met with a vicious glare.

We sat in uncomfortable silence until we reached the hall, all afraid to anger the driver into crashing the car, or something similar, and when we were safely out of the vehicle, our kits in our hands, we weren’t at all surprised to see the car speed off, leaving a plume of dust in its wake.

That was when we caught our first glimpse of Bancroft Hall.

It was a massive, sprawling structure of two wings, built in Victorian style, out of bright stone blocks. Pillars with scalloped edges held up the great carved awning, which yawned over us like a massive jaw. The windows were wide and tall, with lush red curtains hanging beyond the glass like eyelids, obscuring the recesses. Molting bushes hugged the walls, colorful leaves dotting the space around them. Conical bushes lined the front walkway, groomed immaculately. The entire house seemed to be leaning towards us, casting chilly shadows as it sat before us, backlit by the setting sun, making it seem like it was a living thing. It was a beautiful house, regardless. It reminded me of what a mausoleum would look like if it were for the living.

“Well,” Lockwood said, flashing a smile, “shall we?”

Before he even rose his hand to use one of the great brass knockers, the door swung open to reveal Sir Quintrell, grinning at us broadly. He ushered us in with the grandiosity we expected of him, even after our rather brief interaction with him at Portland Row.

The entrance hall was a vast room, decorated with soft blues and pastel yellows. The carpet, an intricate Persian thing, was spread across the hardwood floor, just before the sweeping steps, which were made of deep mahogany. There was a sideboard made of heavy, polished wood over by the staircase, which had been stuffed so full of family photos that no room was left on the surface for anything else.

“We’ve been waiting for you, Mr Lockwood,” Sir Quintrell said, voice as booming as ever, “my wife has cooked a sumptuous meal, so I hope you all have an appetite. Surely, we have time before you need to work, yes?”

“It will cut it a little close,” George said, “We need to get ourselves set up, sir—”

“Nonsense,” Lockwood said, waving George off, “we have time for a short meal. George, stop worrying so much. Surely, it would be rude of us to refuse.”

We followed Sir Quintrell into the dining room, where a wonderful scent hit me, and suddenly, the sandwich I’d had on the train was hardly enough to fill my stomach. A woman was waiting in the room at the head of the table, grinning broadly at the four of us.

She was rather short, and shaped very much like a pear. She had a face that reminded me of some sort of holiday elf, with round, merry cheeks and happy, upturned green eyes. Her hair was bright red, done up with clips and piled high on her head. She wore a pair of black slacks paired with a pale pink blouse under a cream colored cardigan that almost completely swallowed her body. A pair of diamond earrings that surely cost more than our house dangled from her earlobes.

The woman, Lady Quintrell, was a warm, motherly sort, who behaved as if she’d known us our entire lives, making sure all of us ate our fills, serving us a delectable plum pudding upon finishing our meals. I could barely finish mine, I was so full, so I discreetly passed my dish to George when Lady Quintrell wasn’t looking.

As we polished off our meals, Sir Quintrell excused himself, saying no more than that he’d return shortly, and when he did, he had a young girl with him.

She looked like a combination of Sir and Lady Quintrell, so I could only imagine she was their daughter. She looked to be a little younger than me, possibly fifteen at best, maybe fourteen. Her hair was the same flaming red as her mother’s, worn hay straight, and her eyes were pale blue, like her father’s. She had a round-ish face, with a small chin and rosy cheeks scattered with countless freckles. Her eyes were large, and I’m no makeup expert, but I’m fairly certain she was wearing a touch too much mascara. The resulting look made her appear to be in a constant state of shock. She was wearing a fitted white sweater dress with dark leggings, as well as high heeled ankle boots that couldn’t possibly be comfortable.

For some reason, I instantly hated her. I’ve gotten better at having positive opinions about other girls upon meeting them, becoming closer friends with Holly had certainly helped with that, but I felt that familiar feeling of disdain well up inside me as I studied her. I tried to shove it down, telling myself to give her a chance before making a judgement, but something about her boiled my blood.

“Mr Lockwood, I’d like you and your associates to meet my daughter, Madeline. She’s a big fan of your work, I hope you know.“

The girl’s round eyes scanned our faces with interest, pausing on Lockwood’s for the longest, a sweet smile spreading across her pretty lips. I felt my stomach do a funny twist, but I ignored it. I didn’t have time to think about what that could mean just before a case. I left those sorts of emotions at the door of a haunted location, no exceptions.

“Charming,” Lockwood said, the megawatt smile he reserved for clients appearing on his face, “it’s quite an honor to be the agency you think of highly enough to request for your problem, Miss Quintrell.”

Madeline let out a soft, tinkling giggle that made my blood squirm in my veins. I forced a polite smile, as if she wasn’t making odd, angry thoughts fill my mind. It was not a gesture that was returned.

“You’re really a genius, Mr Lockwood,” she said, batting her overdone lashes, “I love seeing you in True Hauntings and The Times.”

Lockwood puffed up, glowing from the praise. His smile grew. “Yes, well. It’s even more charming to meet a fan, isn’t it?“ His dark eyes fixed on us, glittering with merriment.

The three of made varying noises of assent, with Holly’s sounding the most genuine, but from the guarded, polite smile on her face, I could tell she wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this girl either.

George cleared his throat suddenly, rising from the table. “We really should get started,” he said, “before it gets darker.”

“Yes, indeed,” Sir Quintrell bellowed, and I swore the windowpanes shook, “wouldn’t want us keeping you. My darlings, let us get to the guest house and let the agents work. If there is any problems, Mr Lockwood, ring us down there. There is a phone in the kitchen. No reason is a silly reason, even if you’re simply calling to chat.”

Lockwood smiled politely. “Your hospitality is splendid, Sir Quintrell. We will keep that in mind.”

The Quintrell family left shortly after that, only interrupted by Madeline claiming she’d forgotten something in her bedroom, and then they were gone, closing the door behind them, and leaving the house to us.

“RIght,” Lockwood said, pressing his gloved palms together, “fine. I suppose there’s no need for biscuits, but who’d like some tea?”

Holly put the kettle on, and as we drank tea, George went over the floor plan with us. The house was a maze of a thing, full of winding corridors and dead ends. It was nowhere near the level of Combe Carrey Hall, but it was a monster of a structure, and I imagined that it would be quite easy to lose one’s way. George had marked spots of activity on the maps he’d passed out to us, as well as routes to and from said active points, leading both to the entryway and to the kitchen, where we’d decided to set up our base due to the large amount of iron located there.

The points of activity marked were the master bedroom and the bathroom attached to Madeline’s bedroom. This made sense, due to the deaths that occurred in such locations, but, like always, I imagined things wouldn’t be as open and shut as they seemed. That was just how it went when you’re with Lockwood & Co.

This was proven by the point of activity in the third floor sitting room, which George hadn’t found much on besides rumors, but according to him, it was worth checking out regardless. The rumors entailed the sound of weeping and a horrible feeling of dread when one sat alone in the room, and Holly remarked that it sounded like a Shade or a Lurker, something we all agreed with her on.

With that all squared away, Holly decided she’d investigate the third floor sitting room with George, and Lockwood and I would investigate the second floor’s visitations. After the bathroom and the sitting room were taken care of, we’d regroup and investigate the master bedroom as a team due to the fact that this was where the initial deaths had occurred, making it the most likely epicenter of the haunting.

As Lockwood and I ascended the stairs to the second floor, I reached back to turn the tap attached to the jar in my backpack. As I did, a psychic pressure materialized, settling neatly into a familiar spot inside my inner ear, and the sardonic voice of the skull in the jar filled my head.

“Ah, good,” the voice whispered, “You’re listening. Now, Lucy, find a nice heavy pan and hit that red headed blighter—”

“No,” I said, before it could finish, “I’m not doing that, skull.”

“You never take my advice,” it said, “but really, you’d be better off in the long run. What’s that girl ever going to provide for society besides dimness and far too much cosmetic application?”

I ignored its last comment. “I take your advice plenty. When it’s useful, though, not when you’re suggesting the casual murder of our client’s daughter for no other reason but your personal amusement.

Lockwood hid his laugh with a cough. “What’s it saying?”

I rolled my eyes. “The usual drivel.”

A soft, spectral scoff. “I’ll have you know that this is no drivel, but a serious suggestion that will benefit all of us. I have only your best interests at heart, Lucy.”

“And Ghost Touch isn’t lethal,” I shot back, “do you sense anything yet?”

“No, nothing yet,” the ghost said, “and I still say my plan is the only sensible option. I’ll bet the office has a nice letter opener you could use. Sneak down to their posh guest house and drive the blade into her posh throat. Get her posh parents while you’re at it. I won’t tell.”

I hummed. “You won’t, no. Because I’m the only one who can hear you, skull.”

A quiet excitement filled the voice when it spoke next. “So you’ll do it? Lucy, I knew you’d come around. Now, first—”

“No, Skull,” I interjected, “I’m not murdering anyone with a letter opener.”

“Drat.”

“Yeah,” Lockwood said, mirth spilling into his voice, “normal things, I see.”

The skull stayed quiet as we rounded the corner, following Lockwood’s map to Madeline’s bedroom, our boots ringing faintly on the hardwood floors. The sun had fully set, and the hallway was dark, casting us in semi-darkness as moonlight spilled through the tall, floor to ceiling windows.

“Should be here,” Lockwood said, stopping before a door, then stepping back with a dramatic flourish, “ladies first.”

For once, he was right. He’d been the one to open the first door during our last investigation, and I supposed I did owe it to him, because upon pushing open that door, he’d immediately been accosted by a mountain of falling cushions. Oh, and a Limbless, too. That was far from pleasant. Don’t ask me what a Limbless was doing in a linen cupboard, because I wouldn’t be able to tell you.

I stepped past Lockwood, resting my hand on the knob and focusing, tapping into my inner ear, but got nothing. Slowly, I turned the handle, pushing the door open.

The room reminded me of something out of a magazine or a teen film. The bed was large, set in a four poster frame, cheerfully painted white. The duvet was patterned with daisies on a soft, sky blue backdrop, with matching pillowcases. A handful of stuffed animals sat against the throw cushions. Posters for bands and television shows hung on the walls, and below the window on the left wall was a desk, painted the same white as the bed frame. Textbooks and school supplies sat neatly arranged on the desktop. A vanity was nearby, the mirror wreathed in photographs, makeup organized on the surface. A walk-in closet was attached to the wall to the right of the bed, and on the right side of the room was a door, leading to what was undoubtedly the bathroom.

“Blimey,” Lockwood said, “looks like an advert for a furniture shop in here.”

As we stepped into the room, I heard a sudden crash. I started, and I was about to ask Lockwood if he’d heard the same thing, as he often doesn’t hear all the same things I do, but from the look on his face, I could tell there was no need for me to ask.

“The devil was that?” Lockwood asked, and I simply shrugged.

“Stay here,” I said, “It sounded like it came from the study next door.”

“Oh, goodie,” the skull jeered, “yes, go get the letter opener.”

I ignored it, drawing my sword as I stepped out of the bedroom and into the hall. Slowly, with practiced, catlike grace, I approached the closed study door, pressing my ear against the wood. I could hear something inside, moving about, but I wasn’t sure if it was something living or not. George hadn’t said anything about a visitation in the second floor study, but it was possible he’d somehow missed something.

Rapier at the ready, I pushed open the door, eyes scanning the dim room for any sign of movement. The room was a high-ceilinged, airy space, with tall, floor to ceiling windows on the far wall, overlooking the rolling hills behind the property and flooding the space with moonlight. The desk was punished against the wall with the windows, scattered with books and writing utensils. Heavy mahogany bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed full of thick volumes. A bright red area rug dominated much of the floor space.

Because of the windows, there was little space to hide in the shadows, so I assumed, as any agent would, that what I’d heard had been a Visitor. I was about to pull my map out to check the floor plan when I heard another bit of shuffling, just over my shoulder. I tuned myself to the room, listening, but I picked up nothing besides the usual empty silence that comes with un-haunted rooms. I furrowed my brows, puzzled.

“Skull,” I hissed, “is there something here with us?”

“Nothing dead, if that’s what you’re asking.”

A person. A girl. Wide, made-up eyes stared back at me, set in a cute, freckled face, and attached to a throat I was currently pointing my rapier at.

“Ooh,” the skull said, “now, there’s your reason to kill her. Or, you could just let the ghosts do that. Letter opener to the neck, lob her head off with your rapier, or let her get Ghost Touched. Your choice, Lucy.”

I stared at Madeline, forcing myself to take in what I was looking at as I lowered my sword, but I didn’t put it away. I stared at her some more, struggling with the feelings of sheer, utter confusion and absolutely boiling rage.

“What,” I hissed, “in the hell are you doing here? I could have run you through.”

She stared back at me, her jaw opening and closing like a rather shocked fish. “But I’m not a ghost, I’d’ve died if you’d done that.”

“Yes,” I said, stunned, and questioning whether or not she had a working brain, “you would’ve. I don’t carry a sword for fun, you nonce. Now, you will answer my question. What the hell are you doing here?”

Madeline shifted, a sweet smile spreading across her face, one that I suspected was known to work quite well in aiding this girl with getting her way. At present, it wasn’t doing its intended job.

“I just thought I could help.”

I wondered very seriously if she was completely brain dead, because only someone incredibly stupid would try to go into a known haunted location without any training or kit.

“Is she mental?” The skull said, a note of amusement in its voice, “well, who cares if she is? One less problem for you.”

I ignored the skull, continuing to stare at Madeline, unable to come up with a response to her statement that wasn’t a shriek of indignant rage.

“You thought you could help?” I parroted, my eyes narrowing in askance, “are you mad?”

She had the nerve to look offended. “Well, no. I—”

“You just assumed,” I said, incredulous, “that you could come in here, pick up a rapier, and do our job with us? Have you passed your Forth Grade? Undergone training? Do you have a copy of The Fittes Manual for Ghost Hunters? Done any form of rapier training?”

She laughed; a soft, simpering sound that made my blood boil.

“I’m sure it can’t all be too hard, can it? Where’s Mr Lockwood?”

I let out a derisive laugh, my bemusement showing plainly on my face. “Oh, you want to see Lockwood? Alright, I’ll take you to him.”

I shoved my rapier back into its spot on my belt, and, without worrying about being gentle, I grabbed Madeline around the upper arm and began to walk, marching her around the corner and into the bedroom where I’d left Lockwood. When I arrived, I didn’t let go of her, despite her weak struggling.

“Found anything, Luce?” Lockwood’s voice called, coming from the en-suite bathroom.

“Oh, yeah,” I said, my voice dripping with sardonic rage, “you’ll want to see it for yourself, this.”

Lockwood, undoubtedly put off by the tone of voice I’d adopted, appeared in the bathroom doorway with a thermometer in his hand. He looked at me for a few seconds, then at my squirming captive. He was clearly at a loss for words, and when Madeline smiled at him, as prettily as she could, his mouth pressed itself into a firm line.

“Hello, Miss Quintrell,” he said, forced professionalism saturating his words, “what are you doing here?”

“Oh,” she said, casually, like they’d met at a shop or something, “hi, Mr Lockwood. Please, just Madeline is fine. I just wanted to see if I could help. Do you have any spare rapiers? Maybe you could teach me, I’ve heard you’re very good with a sword. I’ve got good eyes, too.”

A muscle in Lockwood’s jaw twitched, something that only happens when he’s trying to keep his temper in check, which is rather a rare occurrence. I’ve only seen it happen when Kipps is involved, so this had certainly gotten on his nerves. Lockwood cleared his throat, the smile that appeared on his face a touch wolfish.

“You can let her go now, Lucy. Thanks. I’d prefer to stay professional, Miss Quintrell,” Lockwood said, voice eerily calm, “and furthermore, you do not have the level of training required to work alongside operatives such as Lucy or myself. It is far too dangerous. You need to leave.“

Madeline let out a soft, affronted scoff. She clearly wasn’t used to people telling her no. She crossed her arms, batting her lashes at Lockwood, who stared back at her, unmoved. His lack of a reaction seemed to trouble her.

“Come off it,” she said, the saccharine smile reappearing, “can’t you just protect me, Mr Lockwood? Can I call you Anthony?”

Lockwood’s expression didn’t falter, but I could tell she was testing his patience. “Just ‘Lockwood’ is fine,” he said, “everyone calls me that, even my friends. Nobody really uses my first name. And, I can’t keep my full attention on you during an investigation, I’m afraid. We can’t have you getting hurt, now, can we? Ghost touch is nasty business.”

“I won’t get hurt,” Madeline said, giggling, “really, I’m a fast learner. I’m very good in my lessons, all my instructors love me. They say I’m a star pupil.”

“Ooh, I’m betting you wish you’d followed my advice just about now,” the skull jeered, “stabbed her just there, in the jugular. She’d have been dead before she hit the ground.”

I ignored the skull again, but as it finished speaking, I felt something snap, and I was slightly more accepting of the letter opener idea.

“Miss Quintrell,” I said, voice cold, “it is too dangerous for you to be here. You’re only going to get in the way. It is safest if you leave.”

Lockwood chuckled, a little awkwardly. “She said it less delicately than I would have liked, but yes, Lucy is correct. It is for your own safety that you leave and join your family in the guest house, Miss Quintrell.”

Madeline turned towards me, and she did something that I’d seen girls do countless times before. With eyes like a predator, like I was something she’d stepped on, she scoffed. She was looking down on me, like I was some silly girl who didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Well, Lucy,” she said, “how do you know that you don’t get in the way?”

Rage boiled inside of me, and I was about to answer her, when Lockwood did it for me.

“That’s enough,” he said, voice frosty, “Lucy is one of the best agents in London, if not the best. She’s well trained, her Talent is strong, and she knows what she’s doing. You’d do well not to talk like that about my operatives, Miss Quintrell.”

I felt that funny, pleasant rush I get when Lockwood compliments me, and I smiled despite myself.

“Careful now,” the skull said, “something’s stirring. Or don’t be careful, this is only just starting to get good.”

That was something I wouldn’t ignore. Madeline was mid-sentence when I held up a hand, signaling for quiet.

“What is it, Luce?” Lockwood asked, “you hear something?”

“Maybe,” I said.

I tuned myself in, closing my eyes, and I listened. Ah, there. Just buzzing at the edges of my senses, I could hear something. The thrum of running water. It was clear enough that it could actually be there, outside my psychic senses; it sounded like someone running a bath behind a closed door. But I had a feeling that wasn’t what it was. I’d been stupid, letting my anger grow. The visitation had started.

“Did you turn on the tap, Lockwood?” I asked.

“No,” he replied, “do you hear water?”

“Yeah,” I said, “it’s quiet, but it sounds like a bath running. What was the temperature in the bathroom?”

“Fifteen,” he said, and he turned, walking into the bathroom again.

“It’s at ten now,” he remarked upon reemerging, “good bit colder.”

“What should I do?”

Both Lockwood and I started at the sound of Madeline’s voice. I’d forgotten she was there for a moment as I was faced with the responsibilities that come with my line of work.

“Miss Quintrell,” Lockwood said, with forced cheeriness, “you’re still here. You really should leave now. It’s not safe.”

“Stirring? I said stirring, didn’t I?” The skull mused, “it’s more like a whirlpool now, really. Use the girl as a shield, there’s an idea. Let her get Ghost Touched.”

“Skull, shut up. Lockwood, it says something’s here. Miss Quintrell, I’m going to set up a small circle of iron chains, which I want you to stand inside of and not move from. After this visitation ends, you are leaving this building.”

“Skull? What skull?”

I ignored Madeline. Psychic pressure was building in my ears as I walked over to the kit, pulling one of our smaller lengths of chains from the bag and making a circle wide enough for a single person to stand inside of. Then, with little ceremony, I grabbed Madeline by the arm and shoved her into the circle.

“Do I get a rapier?” She asked, and I nudged the kit bags away from her with my boot, even though our spare blades were down in the kitchen. I just didn’t want her getting any ideas with a Magnesium Flare and setting her own bedroom ablaze in a further act of blinding idiocy.

“No,” I said, “you stand there and you wait. Stay inside that circle and you’ll be safe. Step outside, and your chances of dying go up quite a bit. I think that’s simple enough for someone as utterly thick as you to understand, yeah?”

I admit that I was being mean. But I had very little patience for someone who thought entering a haunted location with no protection or training just because she wanted to flirt was a smart decision. If there’s anything an agent hates, its when civilians try and interfere during an investigation, especially flirty schoolgirls with underdeveloped cosmetic skills. Maybe that last bit is a personal preference, but I’m sure at least a few other agents would share that sentiment.

I drew my rapier, following Lockwood into the bathroom and into the circle of chains he’d set up inside, where I could definitely feel the beginnings of creeping fear, sending chills up my spine. The first tendrils of Ghost Fog had begun to roll across the floor, swirling around our ankles.

“Temperature?” I asked, and Lockwood glanced down at his thermometer, its luminescent dial casting shadows across his thin, pale face.

“Dropping,” he said, “a bit nippy now.”

I could hear the sound of running water more clearly now, liquid splashing against porcelain. It was a musical sound, usually, but right now, with no physical source, it was just rather eerie.

“Do you see anything?” I asked, “I can hear the water now.”

“Death glow, not too bright,” Lockwood said, “just there, in the bathtub.”

I closed my eyes, focusing on the sound. I removed one of my gloves as I paced over to the bathtub, letting my fingertips run along the edge. I could hear a quiet weeping, followed by water running, overlapping with what I already heard in a strange echo. The surface grew cold under my fingers, and I focused harder.

Suddenly, I was being yanked back, Lockwood’s arm around my waist. My attention snapped to the tub, where a softly glowing hand had been reaching out, its thin fingertips searching the spot my hand had just been. I watched as the hand wrapped around the edge of the bathtub, followed by another hand, and then the top of a head, moving up to reveal a face, staring out at us with blank eyes.

The hair was the color of spilled ink, falling around the pale face in water logged strings. The skin was blue and bruised, eyes sunken and blank. The eyebrows were pitched upwards, giving the apparition a horribly sad appearance. I could hear the soft weeping again, mixing with the sound of the running water.

Slowly, the head rose, followed by thin, pale shoulders, and the mouth came into view. Her lips were pale and blue, on par with the rest of her whole drowning victim thing. The cheeks were hollow and sunken, stained with dark tears running down from the empty eyes. I felt like I was standing in a vat of molasses, and I tried my best to shake off the Malaise, hitting my temple with my palm to snap myself out of it and avoid the inevitable Ghost Lock.

“Got any gum?” I asked Lockwood, “tastes awful sour right now. I forgot to go to Arif’s before we left Portland Row.”

He wordlessly passed me a stick, which I stuck into my mouth after unwrapping it. The burst of mint on my tongue helped clear the supernatural influences away, forcing me to focus on something else.

“She’s not moving,” Lockwood remarked, “maybe just a Shade? She’ll probably vanish in a moment, and repeat that whole rising from the bath bit. We’ll look round for the Source once she’s gone.”

Just as he said that, the Visitor rose from the water fully, revealing the thin white nightgown on the body, dripping with plasm as she stepped out and onto the floor. Or rather, through the floor. The ankles sank through the floor tiles, like she was wading through shallow water, or walking through some unruly grass. Regarding us blankly, the Ghost glided towards us, stopping before the barrier provided by the iron chains.

“Or she could do that,” Lockwood said.

The air had turned bitter cold since she’d approached, and Lockwood’s and my breath could be seen in the air in front of us, highlighted by the Other Light that wreathed the staring Visitor before us. Her head tilted, as if quizzical, and I heard the weeping increase in volume as she moved.

“Right,” Lockwood said, “is she saying anything?”

“No,” I replied, “she’s just sort of standing there and crying.”

“Not very cheerful, is she?”

With that, Lockwood waved his rapier, passing the blade through the Ghost’s form, and she shrieked, jolting backwards. As if offended, her shoulders slumped as she drifted towards the bathtub, where she vanished.

“Ah, she’s gone,” the skull said in my ear, “one less problem for you.”

“I can see that she’s gone, Skull. Easy enough Vanishing Point,” I said, “but you’d think someone would notice an entire bloody tub being a Source. Should we look underneath?”

Lockwood smiled at me, and I felt my stomach go all funny. “Excellent thought.”

The two of us got on our hands and knees, peering down into the space beneath the claw foot tub. It had been bolted down, as tubs often are, so there was no trying to haul it aside. We shone our torches into the wedge of darkness, and just at the very back, I could see something glinting.

The psychic pressure was back. With a grunt, I shoved my arm beneath the tub. I had to hurry, before the Visitor returned, but with a space as snug as this, that was easier said than done. I strained myself, ignoring the twinge of pain in my shoulder as I overextended, and finally, I felt my fingers brush against something small and round. I hooked my pinkie finger through it, and withdrew my arm.

It was a ring. Small and dainty and silver, and burning with supernatural chill. A diamond was set in the front, hemmed in by tiny little emeralds. I deposited it into a small Silver Glass container attached to my belt, and the psychic pressure waned and then was gone.

“Nice job, Luce,” Lockwood said, “straight on, as always.”

He rose to his full height, offering me a hand, which I took, and he hoisted me up as well.

“Now,” he said, dusting off his gloved hands, “how about we see to our living Visitor?”

The pair of us stepped back into the bedroom, only to find that Madeline had gone. The circle I’d made for her sat empty, as if there had never been anyone there to begin with. I stared at it, reignited rage simmering in my chest.

“I said she’d gone, hadn’t I?” The skull said, unhelpfully.

I blinked. “You weren’t exactly specific about exactly who had gone, Skull. Did you see where she went?”

“No,” it said, “I just saw her leave. She left through the door, as many people tend to do when leaving a room, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t, thanks. We have to find her, Lockwood.”

Lockwood sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Right. Fine. Pack the kit over by the door, Luce, I’ll grab what’s in the bathroom. Hopefully we find her before she gets herself Ghost Touched.”

We packed up with trained efficiency, hoisting our kit bags over our shoulders as we left the bedroom and stepped back into the hall. Lockwood pulled his copy of the floor plan from a pocket inside his greatcoat, examining it. I took a half step closer to him to look at it as well.

“There are loads of places she could have gone,” Lockwood said, his voice laced with thinly veiled annoyance, “where else, if not her own bedroom? You think she went looking for George and Holly?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. Where’s the stupidest, most dangerous place in the house? I reckon we’ll find her there.”

“Just give up,” the skull suggested, “let her learn the error of her ways by letting her get Ghost Touched. Once she’s blue and swollen, much like a particularly unpleasant boil or a diseased blueberry, she’ll be very sorry indeed.”

It alarmed me that I wasn’t entirely opposed to that idea. I shook my head, though.

“No, Skull, that isn’t happening. She’s our client, so no matter how daft she is, we have to find her and keep her from getting hurt.”

“Right,” Lockwood agreed, “we’d best start looking, then.”

It was going to be a long night.

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saiyanandproud · 11 months ago

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🖤 + Takuma, RGR verse :3

send 🖤 and my character will answer about yours.

attractiveness:

repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.

"I HIGHLIGHTED ONE BY MISTAKE!" She is quick to specify, cheeks burning bright. "Anyways, yes, he's... He's good looking. I like his style, too. Like, he is attractive but isn't even trying to be."

personality:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.

"I mean... He's just so inspiring." The comment comes with a sigh. "He's so mature, but... Not in a boring way. He's responsible but fun to be around. He makes me feel safe but not in an overbearing way. He's... The only one I who doesn't make me feel like a prisoner or a target. Or a burden."

how likely they would have sex with them:

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.

She is quick to cross the last one highlighted once again, face on flame.

"I mean... I've never done it, okay," she mutters, face scrunching in embarrassment. "But... I woulnd't mind if it was with him. I... I guess I'd kinda like it."

level of friendship:

never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.

"I mean... We're friends. That's all." Yet it comes with a bitter huff. She frowns. "As much as that stupid bug boy insists that there's more. There's not." And she huffs again.

first impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

"He was the only one who acted -- and looked -- normal," she recalls with a frown. "It was a relief to see him someone like him. Simple, but like... In a good way. No huge weird problems or emotional baggage attached. Someone that made me feel a bit at home."

current impression of them:

"I like him." She stops, presses her lips together. She frowns. "Not gonna add anything more to it. Shut up."

#asks and memes #(oooh Mariko's got her first bad crush)#(in the RGR verse at least)

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alexiethymia · 3 years ago

Text

shinran and kaiao

parallels, or perhaps contrasts

Shinichi has to act younger than he is as Conan. Kaito has to act older than he is as Kaitou Kid,

so it makes a lot of sense why Ran and Aoko appeal to them immensely on top of the numerous other reasons these boys are in love with their childhood friends.

For all that Gosho has made the two couples look alike (since Shinichi and Ran are in a way an iteration of Kaito and Aoko from his earlier work on Magic Kaito), he keeps things different enough that you can enjoy both ships uniquely.

Ran is often thought to be mature for her age. She fits the gentle and mothering archetype quite well. Even characters older than her, namely Ai, has seen a resemblance of their older sister figures in her. I definitely agree with some fics that Shinichi’s primary attachment is Ran. At four years old he was already drawn to her so quickly.

In contrast, Aoko’s childishness is repeatedly emphasized, from her way of talking to other people’s comments about her, namely Akako. Akako makes a point to differentiate the both of them by emphasizing to Kaito how mature and adult-like she is, while wondering why Kaito keeps bothering with someone as immature as Aoko.

But that’s the thing, I think that’s one of the things about Aoko which comforts Kaito. He has to play at being the dreamy, older gentleman thief half the time, and while there’s no doubt he enjoys it, I’m sure it also gets tiring being the object of affection (and you know, target by some shady men in black) of countless people who only see Kid. Meanwhile, Aoko cares not a whit for Kid but cares so much for Kaito. With Aoko, he can just play around like in the past without the weight of having to keep up a persona.

In addition, while Kaito and Heiji can appreciate a cute face apart from that of their love interests, Shinichi is...there’s no other word for it, he’s Ran-sexual. Ok, joking aside, I think it’s partly true? I mean in situations where Kaito or Heiji would blush even if it isn’t with their love interests (like with Akako or Momiji respectively), Shinichi...doesn’t? Or hardly does at least.

I remember the Bird’s Eye View Restaurant case, aka where Shinichi nearly seduced an older woman and Takagi was panicking about how to intervene, he does all that without any fluster or a hint of a blush. Even when he and his classmates were talking about the ‘hot, foreign teacher’ (Jodie-sensei), the anime did make him sound eager, but upon rereading the manga there wasn’t even a blush, and his expression was more like curious. In other words, Ran has had Shinichi wrapped around her tiny little pinky since age four.

I’m sure there have been instances but so far, besides anything related to Ran, the only times I saw him have a blush was on the cover where Sato was wearing her omiai kimono, and some times when other couples have moments (like when Sonoko held Makoto’s hands or with some Heizuha moments). I probably just haven’t seen some of the others, but honestly the two above are pretty cute by themselves.

Even when Kaito and Aoko act similarly to Heiji and Kazuha, there are some differences there too. Like in Heizuha’s case, Kazuha was the one who knew early on that she was in love with Heiji, while in KaiAo’s case, if the recent relationship chart is to be believed, Kaito ‘loves everything about Aoko’ but Aoko isn’t sure about her feelings for Kaito (which again makes sense considering her innocent persona).

And again, this is mildly hilarious to me, that Kaitou Kid, practically everyone’s dream boy, beloved by millions...has a pretty crappy love life, and he has no one to blame but himself. Because teasing the girl you like by calling her flat-chested doesn’t exactly scream romance.

No wonder Aoko can’t see Kaito liking her (that has a lot of angst potential, but let’s keep things lighthearted for now). I guess I fell in love with KaiAo so fast because of the hilarious irony of how Kaito can charm anyone as Kaitou Kid being the smooth talker that he is, but reverts back to the mentality of a grade schooler who always puts his foot in his mouth or a frog stuck in his throat when it concerns his feelings for Aoko, and that’s not even counting the canyon of secrets between them.

tldr: I have a lot of feelings for shinran, kaiao, and heizuha that I needed to get off my chest haha

#shinran #kaiao #heizuha #dcmk #detective conan #detco #kudo shinichi #mouri ran #kuroba kaito #nakamori aoko #hattori heiji #toyama kazuha #ships #ramblings about dcmk #I love the cases #and bo plot progression #but I also pretty much love gosho sensei's rom com shenanigans #magic kaito #kaitou kid

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lo-frequency · 4 years ago

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Hi I love your blogand your writinh so much it's so good!

Could I request a shoto/denki and toga x chubby reader (if you're not comfortable writing with toga you can just to denki and shoto) thanks!

Fortunately for you, anon, I did them all! (and it's kinda long, so my bad lol) Also, there's mention of insecurity in Toga's, but it quickly turns to fluff. As always, please enjoy!

Denki

-Believe it or not, Denki was nervous to confess to you because he was afraid of being rejected. You’re so cute and cool and that he was sure there’s no way you actually returned his feelings. It was worth a shot, tho. So imagine his joy when you said you felt the same way :)

-Rants about you all the time to his friends, to the point where they feel like they know you personally before you’ve even met. They also get to hear all the tmi stories about what the two of you do alone, because he can’t help himself (if they don’t walk away first, lol).

-He knew you looked squishy before, but couldn’t believe how soft your skin was when he finally got to hold you. It was almost unfair. He often finds himself caressing your skin mindlessly whenever you’re close together, hand always ghosting across your arm or hand (or your thigh ;) ).

-Lays back on you to play video games, his head cushioned by your pillowy chest and the rest of his body situated between your legs as you watch him play. Play in his hair or rub his arms and he will fall asleep. The tingly feeling he gets when cuddling with you is his favorite kind of electricity.

-Zaps your butt “by accident”

-Easily flustered, but he tries to play it off with his cool act. Just kiss his cheek or tell him he’s handsome and watch him ramble about knowing he’s “irresistible” until he flushes red up to his ears.

-Denki can be pretty corny at times but he does have his serious moments, mostly when you two are alone together. He shows you what’s beneath his goofy facade, a boy with dreams and aspirations just like everyone else. After seeing this side of him, it’s a little irritating to hear people reduce him to an idiot (although he does have his moments 💀)

-Them thighs tho 😏 “Dang babe, you been working out?” “Not really, Kaminari” He clucks his tongue. “Sheesh, imagine being that thicc...naturally” he says, shaking his head as if it were a shame.

-Truly believes he has the best s/o in the whole school. Does not take offense to being called a simp 🤷🏾‍♀️.

-Wasn’t aware of it at first, but became super attracted to people with your same body type. His eyes always lingered on them in public, and he couldn’t help but think they were kinda hot (sorry, y/n)

-Very affectionate, but loves to receive as much as give, so please give this man plenty of kithes and hugs, he gets the shakes if he doesn’t get his daily dose of Y/n love.

-Y’all are so silly together, always cracking jokes or giggling about something. You eventually develop a similar sense of humor, and have so many inside jokes people can’t decipher your conversation. If anybody has anything negative to say about y’all: Denki puts his hand over his earpiece and says to you (from right next to him) “Pikachu to Big Sexy, I’m picking up some negative vibes on the radar, do you copy?” And you, holding your hand up to your own ear, say “Affirmative, doing a diagnostic scan...it’s a hater, confirmed.” Cue the obnoxious laughter, lmaoo

-Never forgets the anniversaries or relationship milestones. He even remembers the date of yall’s first kiss, and thinks about it every time the date passes (although he wouldn’t tell you that tho, that would be too sappy, even for him).

Shoto

-The way you and Shoto became acquainted was a little unorthodox. You fell on him during a training session one day, and the feeling of your soft body pressed against his was a new experience for him, to put it mildly. Shoto stood up from it a changed man. Call it an awakening, if you will.

-You were a little put off by all his staring since that incident, thinking he didn’t like you despite all your profuse apologies. But after Izuku dropped hints that it was probably fascination rather than contempt, your relationship progressed smoothly from there (thanks mostly to your efforts, since Shoto had no clue how to approach you).

-Shoto still had a staring problem once y’all became official, too. Whenever you asked him what he was looking at, he was not ashamed to tell you exactly why: you are too fine not to stare (ok, maybe he didn’t say it exactly like that)

-Not overly affectionate in public, but has a tendency to always stand or sit close to you whenever he can. Just sharing the same space is intimate to him.

-Sharing a bowl of soba noodles 💕

-Buys you expensive gifts all the time, and loves to see you using them. Especially if it’s clothes, it’s like a piece of him is always with you even when you’re not together (plus, it shows you’re all his ;) ).

-Now, I’m gonna tell y’all a little secret. It’s pretty shocking, so be warned: Shoto sometimes pretends to be oblivious when you hint at wanting affection, just to make you beg for it. Maybe you brush your hand against his, and he moves it. Or maybe he saw you lean for a kiss and he casually turns the other way just to hear you complain. He likes it, makes him feel wanted.

-Devious, I know, but just get even 😏

-When y’all are alone, he loves when you hold him close and just sit there, peacefully enjoying each other’s presence. He also likes to lay on your lap while reading a book or watching tv with you, slowly nodding off as you comb your fingers through his hair.

-Obsessed with you, but not in an unhealthy way, it’s just that you’ve become such a big part of his life that he kinda...thinks about you all the time. Shoto is canonically not very talkative, but I think that with you, he’d open up more about his true thoughts and feelings. So when he shoots you that blank stare when his classmates are up to some bull, you know exactly what it means.

-Also revels in knowing you that well, too. He’d flex how much he knows about you to the other people and sometimes unintentionally embarrasses you in the process

-For example: “Here Y/n, a cherry popsicle just for you!” Shoto immediately hands you some napkins before adding “Y/n doesn’t usually eat cherry popsicles, they always drop the red juice on their clothes.” Like gee, good looking out Shoto...thanks for telling the whole class I can’t eat without messing up my clothes 💀. He’s sweet tho, he has good intentions.

Toga

-She made it very clear from the beginning that she liked you, and with how smitten she was, who were you to refuse her (aggressive) advances?

- She thought your plump figure was just so cute, one of the cutest things she’d ever seen, and she quickly developed an unhealthy obsession with squeezing your chub.

-When you two are together, Toga is always attached to you in some way, whether she’s hanging off your arm or has her arms looped around your shoulders.

-Starts to eat the same foods you eat, borrow your clothes all the time, listen to your favorite artists, whatever way she could become closer to you

-Writes you love letters or sends you cute text messages all the time, you’re always on her mind, even when she’s on missions. “My Y/n is wayy cuter than you! Let’s get this over quick so I go back to them, ok? 🥰 🔪🔪”

-I know y’all were waiting for this...she most definitely uses her quirk on you. Toga loves you so much, she wants to become you. So one day, you finally allow her to give it a try.

-She tells you to close your eyes, and when she gives you permission to open them, you find yourself staring...yourself in the face. And you do not like it 🤢. There’s something so strange about seeing yourself in 3rd person, in all dimensions. Is this how you look to her, all the time? You quickly lose interest in this little charade, looking everywhere but at yourself as Toga prances around doing sexy poses in your body and giggling. However, when she sees your reaction, she stops.

- “Hm? What’s wrong, Y/n?” she asks with a tilt of (your) her head. You glance at yourself, then look away again. “This is so weird. I don’t like looking at myself” you say, grimacing at the slight bounce and jiggle of your body when she walks toward you.

-In Toga’s eyes, you were absolutely adorable. In fact, she was getting a little hot and bothered just taking peeks at herself (you) in the mirror. She’s used to feeling you up for sure, but being you was a whole other experience. Though, she can understand your insecurity. After all, it’s hard to live in a world that constantly tells you your true self is abnormal. She knows from experience.

-So, she comes up to you with a flirty grin on her face...and starts showering you with kisses, in your body! You start to protest, weirded out by the feeling of your own lips on your cheeks but she would not relent. Toga was determined to show you what being loved (by you) felt like from her perspective, with your irresistible “imperfections” and all 💕

Thanks for tuning in! :)

#bnha x chubby reader #chubby reader #x chubby reader #mha x chubby reader #todoroki x chubby reader #toga x chubby reader #denki x chubby reader #bnha x reader #bnha x gn!reader #plus size reader #todoroki x reader #toga x reader #himiko toga x reader #denki x reader #bnha x plus size reader #bnha headcanons

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redorich · 4 years ago

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for the hermit canyon, i humbly request:

Etho messing with Karl and maybe like, Lazarbeam or Fundy, by pretending he’s moth man.

Quackity stalks through the woods, blissfully unaware of its other inhabitants-- not that he would care, if he knew. No, tonight, under the full moon (because it's romantic) he makes his move.

The Hermit, as Quackity is completely sure of, is a beautiful young woman with long flowing hair as white as snow. Because she is a creature of untold power and beauty, fairy tale logic obviously applies. Therefore, if Quackity can steal her clothes, she will have no choice but to marry him and they will live happily ever after as big booty bitches in love.

Nodding to himself, Quackity feels assured in his logic. He's wearing his favorite assless chaps, his best pair of knockoff Yeezys, and no shirt. He is ready for what is to come.

---

Karl lurks deep in the forest, illuminated only by the moon. He leans against a tree, taking care not to disturb his outfit-- he is camouflaged as a bush. Dangling strips of green and brown fabric cover his body, and his limbs are completely hidden in the costume so long as he stands still. It's a daunting task, standing still in the dark, dangerous woods at night. Nevertheless, Karl knows that this is what he must do.

"Triclops Mothman, my beloved," he whispers into the night. He will find Mothman, and he will marry Mothman. There is no alternative.

---

Far away from both Karl and Quackity, though still in the same spruce forest, Sapnap angrily prowls. Well, he'd describe it as a prowl. Truthfully, it's more of a pouty stomp. He knows that this forest has had multiple "Hermit sightings", and Sapnap wants-- no, needs what he's after.

"Hermit!" he screams into the night. "Come out and fight me, you little bitch! Man on man!"

To emphasize his point, he bangs a pot and a pan against each other several times. Sapnap is getting his revenge for that little ravager prank, one way or another.

---

Deep within the canyon walls, the Hermit complex looks like an overturned anthill with all its activity. It's Halloween night come early.

"I'm not wearing a dress," Etho insists.

Grian whines, "But Etho, I made it just for you! It matches Stress's outfit."

Stress, upon hearing her name, looks up from her book and waves. Cleo is currently fiddling with the thick mane of synthetic white hair Stress is wearing, styling the wig into a princess-y type braid.

"I'll say it again," Cleo says, looking very intently into Etho's eyes, "I could take your place."

"No," Etho sighs. "If what Puffy said about these guys is true, you'd probably bite someone's face off by the end of the night."

"You're no fun," Cleo huffs, but acquiesces.

"At least put on the wig," Grian demands.

Grian and Etho have a staring contest for a solid ninety seconds before Etho snaps his fingers in front of Grian's face, causing him to flinch and blink. "You cheater--!"

"I'll wear the wig," Etho interrupts Grian. Instantaneously, Grian loses his outraged moue.

Cleo sighs. "They're the same wig, right? Do I have to braid Etho's hair, too?"

"I think I'll be fine with my new flowing, luscious locks," Etho says with a humorous crinkle to his eyes.

They all laugh as Etho dramatically flips his fake hair, whipping himself in the face with it in the process. He also receives a thumbs up from Joe, who is in the process of searching for his contact lenses because "Herobrine doesn't wear glasses", according to Bdubs.

Night falls, and the Hermits are prepared. They hope their victims aren't.

---

Quackity catches a glimpse of silver-white after so long searching in the woods. With a little gasp, he eagerly pursues it. His beautiful maiden, ethereal and distant like the moon, darts between trees and leaps across creeks like she is flying, like her feet barely touch the ground.

He follows her to a clearing, but when he bursts through the brush into the open space, she is nowhere to be found.

“Mi rey!” he wails, “Fantasma hermosa! Come to papi!”

Etho, hiding in a tree about five feet away, has no clue what any of those words mean. He affects a terrible falsetto and throws his voice. “Hello, Quackity.”

Quackity jumps, looking around wildly for his beautiful girlboss queen. “Hermit?! You know my name?”

“Of course, Quackity,” Etho says, hefting a large rock in his hand. “Come closer, I have a cask of Amontillado we can share.”

Quackity turns toward Etho's voice just fast enough to catch a glimpse of the Hermit's mask, his (fake) long white hair, his decidedly not female appearance. Quackity looks the Hermit up and down. Etho has never felt more Perceived.

"What's a place like you doing in a guy like this?" Quackity says, flirtatiousness dripping from his voice.

Etho eyes the man's assless chaps with distaste from his crouched perch in a tree. Quick as lightning, he chucks the heavy rock in his hand at Quackity's head, knocking him out instantly.

Etho jumps down from his tree with a huffed sigh. "Well," he says, grabbing Quackity by the ankle and dragging him, "time to get to work."

---

"Pspspsps," Karl whispers, "heeeere Mothman..."

The sound of a twig snapping to his right makes Karl freeze, then turn ever so slowly. There's no one there. Karl holds his breath for what feels like an eternity, but is eventually forced to admit that the noise was probably just an animal. Surely, a creature of Mothman's size would make more noise when he walks, given the weight of his strong legs.

"Mothman," Karl says. "I wrote you a poem!"

Joe, who was up until this point hiding behind trees and ominously snapping twigs, feels a twinge of morbid curiosity. As a poet, he absolutely has to know what Karl considers an adequate love poem for Mothman.

With red cheeks, Karl professes his love:

"Your feelers make me feel so sweet

Your hindwings set my heart aflame

Fern-like antennae make me melt

And Mothman, you're to blame."

Despite himself, Joe is a little bit impressed. It almost makes him feel bad about what he's about to do-- almost.

A soft eerie glow seeps into the forest, catching Karl's eye. He investigates, creeping forward until he turns around a tree and sees glowing white eyes. He screams, but there is no sound, and the forest has disappeared. Only those eyes remain, and they too flicker out of existence.

There is a dim corridor ahead of him, narrow and lit by redstone torches. At the end, there is an iron door. He runs to the exit, but as soon as his hand touches the door it disappears and he is engulfed by swirling purple-- like a Nether portal, but so much more terrifying.

The purple is gone and he can just barely make out the menacing image of a man with glowing white eyes T-posing in the blackness. Karl opens his eyes and wakes up on the forest floor, prone and sore.

"Right," he mutters breathlessly to himself, "Mothman is not interested."

---

"--YOU BITCH ASS PUNK, I'M GONNA RIP YOUR LEGS OFF AND STICK 'EM ON YOUR HEAD!" Sapnap screams, banging the only pot he owns against a non-stick frying pan he stole from George.

"Well, that's not very nice, innit?" says a feminine voice. Sapnap looks left, right, behind him, up in the trees... then down.

Big brown eyes peer up at him through white bangs. A displeased pout set into a moon-pale face attached to an equally moon-pale woman chastises him without words.

"...You're the Hermit?" Sapnap says disbelievingly. He has his doubts that someone as small and pretty as this woman could wrangle a ravager onto his front lawn.

"You wanted a fight," she huffs. "And for the record, you totally had it coming, with Pamela's Revenge-- remember, the rava--"

"Yes, I know the ravager was named Pamela's Revenge! There were like eight hundred million death messages in chat about it, you jackass!" Sapnap snaps, trying to cover up his unease. It's not that he's hesitant to hit her because she's a girl; he would deck the shit out of Niki or Puffy with absolutely no provocation whatsoever. It's just that... she looks soft. Like a non-combatant. It would be too easy, too cruel--

Stress punches Sapnap in the jaw with a wicked right hook. "Stealing is wrong," she says.

While Sapnap is dazed and quite possibly mildly concussed, Stress follows up with a brutal kick to the shin. Sapnap makes a genuine effort to fight back, and he’s no slouch, but he’s been taken so thoroughly off guard that the best he can do with his head spinning as it is is to swing with a wild haymaker and hope it hits.

His fist makes contact with something soft and squishy. He hears a grunt, but Stress shoves him over onto the ground and dumps a bucket of glitter over his head. It burns his eyes, but more importantly it burns his pride. He doesn’t remember at what point he dropped his pot and pan (he must have at some point, because he punched the Hermit with an empty fist), but he’s angry enough to open his watery eyes through the magenta glitter and snatch George’s frying pan up off the forest floor, hurling it at the Hermit with devastating accuracy. She yelps, blocking with her forearm at the last moment.

“Knew I shoulda let Etho...” Sapnap hears the Hermit mutter. What’s an Etho?

Stress irritably bonks Sapnap on the head with the pan he threw at her. He goes limp like a ragdoll, and Stress sets about maneuvering his body into a sitting position leaned against a tree so she can do his makeup while he sleeps.

“Hope I don’t poke his eye out!” she says. “Ah well, he’s got two anyway. Now, should I go for a cute, summery look, or a dark evening look?”

---

In Atrium 1 of the Hermit Canyon complex, Puffy laughs loud and clear, clutching her paper cup tightly so she doesn’t spill her fruit punch. "No,” she chokes out, “he didn’t.”

Cub, holding a similar paper cup, waves his hand in a vague gesture. “Yep. That’s Etho for you. You know, one time he got Doc to run around with a snowman head on, eating spider eyes?”

“Oh man,” Puffy sighs, wiping a tear of laughter from the corner of her eye. “I’m so glad I snitched on Karl, Quackity, and Sapnap. I can’t wait to see their reactions!”

Cub grins evilly. “Stress got pictures before she left.”

Puffy gasps, stars in her eyes. “I’ll bake you a whole cake if you get me a copy.”

“I’ll bake Cub a whole cake if he gives them to me instead,” Grian interjects from across the room. “I don’t need them, I just want to take them from you.”

“Nooooo!” Puffy wails melodramatically. “Grian, please spare me!”

“Five diamond blocks,” Grian makes his demand.

Puffy continues to fake-sob, pretending not to notice Scar sneaking up on Grian until Scar drops an anvil on Grian’s head, like a Looney Tunes episode but slightly to the left. While Grian is distracted, Cub slips the pictures to Puffy, who puts them in her inventory without looking.

Etho walks into the Atrium, now dressed as his normal self, including his natural hair, which looks like an angry wet cat perched atop his head, just the way he likes it. Everyone cheers.

“So, how’d it go with Quackity?” Puffy asks with a smirk.

“Well...” Etho says.

---

Quackity wakes up with the sun in his eyes. In front of him is the public Nether portal, and standing right in front of it is a wide-eyed Sam, staring directly at him. Quackity looks down.

He’s naked, covered in half-dried honey, and tied to a pole like the world’s sexiest flag. And he’s got the world’s worst hangover-- it feels like he’s been hit in the head with a large rock.

“Not again,” he groans.

“...This happens often?” Sam asks.

“If I had a nickel for every time something like this has happened,” Quackity says, wiggling his way out of the ropes tying him to the pole, “I’d have enough money to go buy myself a pair of pants.”

Sam averts his eyes to the sky, abruptly aware of exactly why Quackity would feel the need to buy a pair of pants.

“Damn it,” Quackity says. “Those were my favorite pair of assless chaps.”

“Were they now,” Sam says numbly. The sky is quite blue today, it’s rather beautiful.

Quackity huffs in aggravation, finally having freed himself from his binds. “Yeah, they just don’t make ‘em like they used to, you know?”

“Not really, no,” Sam says slowly. “I wouldn’t know much about-- assless chaps.”

The naked man shrugs. Haltingly, Sam unclasps his cape, pulling it off his shoulders and offering it to Quackity.

“Nah,” Quackity says, “I’ll just streak.”

“Please don’t,” Sam says with pain in his eyes.

#mcyt #hc x dsmp #hermit canyon au #quackity #karl jacobs #sapnap #grian #ethoslab #stressmonster #zombiecleo #captain puffy #joe hills #goodtimeswithscar #cubfan135 #awesamdude #me.cpp #me.txt

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bonny-kookoo · 4 years ago

Text

Strong Girl 🔞☁️❤️🎀

🍧 Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

🍧 Genre: Good Girl AU!, slice of Life AU, non-Idol AU, smut

🍧 Warnings: DD/LG themes, so much love it's gross istg, a home accident if that makes you uncomfortable but we aint having a full on world's end dw, hero! Reader, no other way to put it, Koo is so proud, so so proud, showers her in kisses yes please, nsfw themes because it's me what did yall think this was gonna be, finger sucking (forgive me lord for I have sinned-), reader being cute, injuries (mentioned and described), praise kink, oral (oral f. rec.), size kink, strength kink, manhandling, subspace, Dom! Jungkook, Sub!Reader, protected sex because you won’t ever catch me slip HAH!

🍧 Summary: Jungkook is not just your boyfriend- he's your absolute hero, your knight in shining armor, your protector and personal simpBodyguard when he needs to. But sometimes, even little girls can be heroes. And they always get rewarded, in the end.

This is part of the Good Girl Universe! (But can be enjoyed on its own)

Good Girl || Sweet Girl || Smart Girl || Brave Girl || Pretty Girl || Charming Girl || Enticing Girl || Bad Girl || Tempting Girl || Strong Girl

Taglist: @sweetenedcooky @ggukkieland @btsismybias22 @darkgvk @daddypkj @flowerprincess24 @crazylittlemay @zeharilisharaban @teresaisla @tangledsparkles @dammit-jjk

The first time you said it, it made his heart beat faster.

It was on your way home from grocery shopping, a small bag in your hand as Jungkook held your hand, walking silently. You and him had been slowly but surely become a couple like the one's you always dreamt of being when you were younger- the one that fought sometimes, yes, but would ultimately be together at the end of the day, doing simple tasks such as what you did just now. Jungkook somehow made even boring things such as buying mere groceries interesting, not just by making fun of other customer's outfits, but also by explaining things you didn't know. He loved that he somehow made your eyes light up in wonder whenever he told you about a certain dish he could try out with a vegetable you've never tasted before. Or that awkward moment you said you hated brocolli, just so he could correct you and explain to you that no, you've eaten it a lot actually- he was just really good at making food taste how you liked it. He felt proud when you told him, with magic in your eyes, that he was incredible.

Because when you said it, he really felt like he was.

It all happened so suddenly, you didn't even notice yourself slip out of fear and shock- and even Jungkook didn't notice at first. A stray dog had walked up to you, but, contrary to all those cheesy movies where you'd pet it and it would be on its way quick after, it turned out to be not a stray at all; because the man that owned the big dog was desperately trying to catch up to it, leash in his hand- collar still attached to the hook.

Jungkook had never reacted so quickly in his life before, as he pushed you behind him, sucessfully shielding you from the violently barking saint bernard in front of him. You held onto his jacket in complete terror, mind filling with nothing but the loud barks as you were sure this was a nightmare. Don't get it wrong, you loved dogs- but this one wasn't so sweet.

"I'm so sorry!" The man yelled, slipping the collar back around his dog's neck, making it a bit tighter to make sure his pet was secure this time. "He just slipped out, are you two okay?" He said, and Jungkooks voice spoke out, calm, but firm in its tone.

"We're good, but please make sure to boy a harness or something, sir." He said, and the man apologized again, hurrying on his way while the dog still pulled violently and untamed at the leash.

"Baby? He's gone, you can let go now." Jungkook says with the hint of a smile in his voice, one that quickly vanished however once he feels you sniffling against the fabric of his jacket, as your head shook in denial. "Sweetheart I can't check up on you if you hide like this." He explains calmly, glad that your apartment building was already in sight. He knew that you had probably slipped, and he was unsure how to deal with that in public; it wasn't like he was ashamed of it, but he knew that others would judge you quick and easy, and he didn't want to push you into such a bad situation. "Can Kookie check up on you, baby? You're worrying me." He says, and at that, you slowly let go of the fabric, as he turns around. His heart clenches at the sight, tear stained cheeks and nose all red already. He quats down in front of you for a second as he rubs your arms comfortingly. "There we go, everything's fine, yeah?" You nodded after a moment, but refused to speak. "That was scary, wasn't it?" He asked, and you nodded, still quiet. "Let's go home, okay? We can continue that puzzle we've started yesterday, alright? And Miri is waiting, too!" He said, and at that, you nodded more excitedly, even though you still seemed timid.

But you still held his hand tightly, only letting go once you were in the safety of your own home- calling him your hero with a quiet voice he almost didn't catch.

Jungkook really enjoyed both sides of you.

Just like he did now, searching for the right puzzle pieces to place, silently watching your innocent, concentrated face. In a way, it was healing for him; since he never truly had a good childhood himself, this was somehow like a chance to enjoy all of these things he missed with you- a fact that made all of these experiences even more special to him. "Baby, I don't think that fits there." He chuckled, correcting your placement of a piece that didn't fit the edges of the picture it was trying to build. You huffed, before yawning, eyes glossing over with sleep. "Hm, this one is hard, isn't it?" He asked, running his hand over your head before pushing some hair behind your ear. "I think my baby needs to recharge her batteries, hm?" He asked, but you shook your head after a moment, making him raise his brow in question. "Oh really? Miri, what do you think?" He asked, the dog immediately skipping over, excited to be given attention so suddenly. She immediately went to sniff your face, making you giggle. "See! I knew she'd agree with me!" He said, and you laughed full on when the dog went to lick your cheek. "Alright then, Miri, off!" He called out, the dog immediately stopping her actions at the sound of his voice. Jungkook had been unsure on how to train a puppy at first, but overall, he'd done a pretty good job at keeping her fierce temper under control.

Even throughout her violent phase of chewing on pretty much every fucking thing.

So after making sure you were comfortable on the couch, he simply sat down at the puzzle laid out on the living room floor to continue silently. However, shuffling could be heard as he look towards the couch, where you'd previously been laid down on; your tired form talking towards him with eyes barely open. He chuckled when you simply flopped down close to him on the floor with your blanket, head on his thigh as you sighed in comfort. It was second nature to him almost, the way his hand immediately found your head, gently stroking your hair as you drifted off.

Days like this were nice, he decided.

Typically when you came home, Jungkook would greet you at least with a call. Today however, you heard nothing; something that immediately set something off inside you.

Searching for him wasn't a long process- after unleashing Miri into the apartment, you went straight into the bedroom where he's usually be if he's not feeling too well. And sure enough, there he was- weirdly pale and visibly uncomfortable, even in his sleep. Squatting down in front of the bed, you gently felt his forehead, just to simply detect that he was slightly sweating, but had no fever whatsoever. "Koo?" You asked, and he stirred a little, opening his eyes, a little red looking.

"You're home? I didn't even hear you." He said, before he ran a hand over his face. "Sorry, I think I'm coming down with something." He explained, and you nodded, simply telling him to lay back down and take it easy. You made a mental note to maybe cook something light since he never really had much of an appetite when he was sick.

"Is it just me or is it cold in here?" You asked, brows furrowed as you noticed how chilly it was inside the apartment, despite the heater being set pretty high. Jungkook simply groaned, too tired to move much as he asked you to please close the curtains. You followed his request, worried figure dissapearing out of the bedroom.

However, something didn't sit well with you.

Maybe it was a simple gut feeling, but when the night slowly crept over the town, and you were slowly growing mildly dizzy yourself, you decided to make sure that your suspicions were correct, slowly walking towards the heater in the living room. It was chilly, but the heater was set to full power. And somehow, after looking at Miri whining in her bed, aimlessly pacing around, it seemed to click inside your head.

Jungkook had been home all day since last evening.

The apartment was cold, the heater's on.

Miri was already looking just as bad- and your own headache told you that this was exactly what you thought it was.

You instantly shot up from the couch, knocking your knee into the edge of the table which made you fall- the edge of the table ripping at your skin on your arm, painfully scratching it open. But it was as if you didn't feel it. Ripping the bedroom door open clumsily, you immediately opened the window, turning the heater off, before you went to wake Jungkook- or at least, try. "Kookie! Jungkook, wake up, come on!" You begged, shaking his shoulder as he slowly somehow came to his senses. He wasn't really awake- but he wasnt unconscous either. "Fuck.." You whispered under your breath, grabbing his phone and calling an ambulance- the dispatcher telling you to try and get him outside or to a place with fresh air.

But this was Jeon-I-love-working-out-Jungkook.

There was no way you could carry him all those stairs.

So you ran out the door, uncaring to close it, and knocked at your neighbours door- a familiar face looking at you with surprise. "Y/N?" He asked, visibly stunned to see you; teary eyed, with a bleeding arm, and clearly distressed.

"Namjoon, I think we have a gas leak in our apartment.. Jung-Jungkookie- they said I should get him outside but he's too heavy-" You pressed out, last words a little unclear as you finally broke. Namjoon simply went inside to grab his shoes and keys, before he closed the door, running towards your apartment, where he instantly grabbed Jungkooks arms, trying to somehow get him on his back.

"Jesus christ how much does he fucking weigh-" He swore under his breath, until he got a somewhat secure hold on the younger boy, walking out the door while you grabbed the dog, running after the two with the puppy in your arms.

Outside, the ambulance had just arrived, immediately attending to the both of you.

Seems like you owe Namjoon twice now.

Jungkook woke up with stinging smells and bright lights around him, some birds chirping outside the opened window. His arm felt heavy, fingers tingling slightly, and as his eyes adjusted to his new surroundings, he saw the cause of it.

You, with a bandaged arm, sleeping with your hands grasping his in your slumber.

He gently moved his arm, waking you, as you sleepily looked up at him, eyes suddenly widening as they glistened- a tell-tale sign that you were going to cry. "Thank god!" You said, head burying itself into his chest as he chuckled, a little confused on what was actually happening.

"What happened?" He said, partially also referring to your arm clad in white cloth, his inked hand gently touching it.

"We had a gas leak in our apartment." You explained, sniffling. "At first I thought you were just not feeling well, but then I started to feel unwell too, and Miri.." You went on, his hand running over your head to soothe you a little, noticing how you were getting wound up again. "And then I- I checked online and thought better be safe but you were sleeping, and you looked so bad so I called an ambulance and they said I should get you outside and I really tried-" You explained, and even though it hurt him to see your tears, he couldn't help but chuckle at that in amusement.

"Baby, you tried to carry me?" He asked, and you nodded. "My strong girl!" He teased, full on laughing when you playfully hit his arm to make him stop, a small smile on your lips. "But I highly doubt you got me even out of bed baby." He said, and a familiar voice chimed in from the door of his hospital room.

"No, but she was smart enough to get someone who could." Namjoon explained, casual clothes telling you that he wasn't there for work purpose. "I'm seriously questioning your body though. How the hell do you look like a yoga instructor but weigh as much as a professional wrestler?" Namjoon teased, making Jungkook groan in annoyance.

"Oh my god, now I owe him twice!" He said, playfully exagerating his reaction to the fact that Namjoon had helped them for the second time by now. "Please someone lay me back in my bed, I wanna die!" He said, and you hit his chest.

"No!" You said. "You're ready to leave me and Miri like that?" You said, playfully pouting as you turned away from him.

"Oh baby no, I take it back- nooo, look at me!" He whined out, making grabby hands for your just-out-of-reach sweater you wore, Namjoon laughing as he watched the scene unfold.

A couple of days later, Jungkook and you were sitting in your home again- with the pipes fixed, and plans of moving into a different apartment. For some reason, you didn't truly trust the apartment anymore- but maybe that would settle after a while.

"Hm.." Jungkook mumbled, looking at you as if checking for something, until he moved from his place on the couch, sitting up from his previously laying position. Without many words, he moved you onto his lap, his back resting against the couch, as he held you in place on his thighs. "You know everything's fixed right?" He asked, and you nodded- but he knew you simply answered to reassure him, not yourself. "Baby, I promise we can think about moving if you're really not comfortable- but let's settle down first, yeah?" He said, and you sighed.

"I know its stupid-" You began, but he quickly placed his pointer and ring finger to your lips, effectively shutting you up. You already knew that he'd argue that you weren't stupid, and you knew that- sometimes phrases like these just slipped out. So you playfully snapped after his fingers, making him shoot you a dark glance; a glint in his eyes that told you clearly that he was definitely up to play with you.

"Hm, did they never tell you to not bite the hand that feeds you?" He said, voice deep as he suddenly, and without warning, pulled you closer by your thighs, the abrupt movement forcing you to brace yourself against his chest with your hands, face inches away from his. "Or the hand that gets you off, in our case." He added, making you blush from his words.

You should be used to this by now, but somehow, as weird as it sounded, being together with Jungkook was never the same as the time before. He always found ways to make things different- either by taking it slow, or by introducing you to kinks and fantasies you never even knew were a thing. He loved excitement, loved to try out new things, even if sometimes they would turn out to be something he or you didn't enjoy. Somehow, he always managed to steer things around even if that happened however, turning an awkward situation into a sweet memory in the blink of an eye.

He groaned out lowly when you took his hand again, never breaking eye contact with him while you slowly guided his hand towards your lips- Jungkook instantly taking the hint, as he pushed his first two fingers between your lips, pushing down your tongue;

oh what a sight to see.

Both of his hands wandered towards your neck, never putting pressure- simply touching, holding you, and enjoying just how sweet you were being just for him. He loved these moments with you, these reminders that no matter how useless he felt whenever something didn't go his way, for you, he was always a hero. A knight in shining armor, your Master-

He could feel his pants getting uncomfortable at the thought of those words tumbling from your lips.

He'd probably introduce you to that someday else, because in that moment, he was way too impatient to think clear enough. He'd probably miss important clues that were sometimes so small that he himself wondered how he saw them- because you were dangerously submissive to him. He knew that if he asked, you'd do anything.

Even if you didn't like it.

"Hm.. I wonder if my baby can ride me this time?" He hummed, and you nodded, making him grin as he searched behind him for his hidden condoms in the couch- something you found quite funny at first, but by now you've gotten used to it. "Fuck." He groaned, noticing that there was no contraceptive hidden like it usually was.

"Thats a bad word, kookie." You playfully said, teasing him as he grabbed your behind quite roughly, raising his brow as his jaw clenched.

"Oh I'll make you scream out some bad words." He said, before standing up, throwing you over his shoulder in a manner that seemed to practiced to be simply winged out of nowhere. After all, this wasn't just a one time thing- he loved showing off his strength over you, and you loved it just as much in return.

Your body hitting the matress, Jungkook immediately grabbed your thighs again, pulling you to the edge of the bed where he already kneeled- placing your legs over his shoulders after almost rushing to get your clothes off. There was no gentle touching, no foreplay, he simply dived right in, pitch black eyes darkly watching you as you squirmed, back arching off the mattress every now and then in pleasure once he added the first two fingers into the game he was playing. "No smart words now, hm?" He hummed from his spot between your legs, amusement clear on his face at the sight of your trembling body. "But I'm not gonna let you suffer tonight, baby." He said, licking his lips before crawling over your body, hand reaching for the bedside table where he knew he had condoms stored in. "Take it as-" He said, while shedding his clothes before wrapping his length in the clear protection. "As a reward." He said. "For being my personal guardian angel." He said sweetly, before leaning down to connect his lips with yours. What was an innocent gesture at first, turned heated quite quick however; you would've never guessed, but Jungkook was a pretty messy kisser- open mouthed and tongue running over your lips, all while he guided his length inside you.

One thing Jungkook loved, was just how utterly small you looked underneath him. Not just that- but the way he could feel his own dick move inside you underneath his inked hand placed on your lower belly made him growl deeply as he rolled his hips in a forward motion, eyes fixed on the view he had of your cunt swallowing him as if it was nothing.

You were his.

For a long time, he didn't quite get the hype about saying that your partner belonged to you. For him, that was stupid- you couldn't 'own' a person, so why say that? But nowadays, he finally understood that no, this wasn't about ownership. It was about being able to simply have situations like these; moments of pure emotions and nothing else, with a person so devoted to yourself that you felt as if your entire life had their name.

He was yours.

Because even if he took on a more dominant role in the relationship, and a leading force in the bedroom, you had him in your hands at the end of the day. He was so utterly in love with you it sometimes hurt him to even think about it; the way you looked at him with so much adoration made him melt, the way you touched him with so much care made him feel so loved. He'd glady give his life to you if he had to choose between you and him.

"So sweet, just look at you." He mused, out of breath as he smiled, leaning over you again before kneading your soft breasts with his hands, kissing the delicate skin sweetly as he picked up his pace. "All mine, aren't you?" He said, and you nodded, mewling out something he didn't quite catch- but that was okay. "Gonna fuck you stupid, pretty girl-" He huffed out, biting the skin on your shoulder as he grew more and more sloppy. "Come on baby, cream on my cock," He grunted out, making you squirm- and open your mouth in a silent scream as Jungkooks hand found its way between your bodies, viciously moving his fingers over your most sensitive spot. The quick movement and the pressure of his length inside you finally made you come undone, hands desperately reaching for his arms as if that could save you. The orgasm you experienced made your vision bright, and unbeknownst to you, Jungkook came quickly after, panting to catch his breath, before he discarded the condom.

It took a moment for you to come back around, but when you did, the first thing you noticed was, that you were practically laying across his chest- his hand gently running up and down your arm, kisses being place on the top of your head as he bathed you in praise. "You're so sweet.." He hummed, before he noticed your eyes on him. "Welcome back princess." He grinned cockily, before placing a kiss ontop of your nose. "Come on baby, lets get you washed up and into bed, yeah?" He said, and you simply nodded.

Too tired to talk, and too comfortable in his arms to really move on your own. But that was fine.

He loved carrying you around anyways.

"You know.." Jungkook said, while you were both at the table, eating dinner. "I know I said I was uncomfortable with you calling me daddy, and I still stand by that." He said, and you nodded, unsure where he was going.

"I mean, yeah, you've said that but what does that have to do with-"

Suddenly, he leaned forwards after finishing his plate, eyes sparkling mischieviously. "I wouldn't mind hearing you call me 'Master' though." He hummed out.

And you choked on your fries.

#bts imagine #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts smut #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts reactions

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adelaidedrubman · 2 years ago

Note

For the autumn asks: 2, 4, 10, 17 for Jess; 7, 14, 20, 22 for Jenna :)

HELLO look who's finally getting around to these too:') thank you for sending!!!

2. Do they have any unusual collections or items in their home?

nothing particularly unusual. probably the most notable collection is the thrift store find cheesy graphic tees, which are more quirky I’m Weird I’m A Weirdo I Don’t Fit In weird than genuinely strange. she also collects things she picks up on hikes to scrapbook, which can veer into the mildly odd on occasion (for as much shit as she gives john, she might herself own a non zero amount of antlers herself at a given time, alright?) but usually nothing too odd. ( shed snake skins aren’t weird that’s completely different from — ) besides, her equally Indie Movie Love Interest habit of throwing her little scrapbooks and treasure boxes away every few months (she’s so cool she never gets Attached to Anything) means they never get the chance to develop into a real collection anyways, let alone for any of her more unusual finds to dominate enough to raise red flags.

4. Do they like horror as a genre?

answered here!

10. If they had to become a supernatural creature (a werewolf, a vampire, etc.), what would they pick?

answered here!

17. What do they think about pranks?

definitely a fan. although some could be described less as “pranks” and more as “actually ruining everyone’s evening and terrorizing the general population.” joker behavior.

7. Do they like corn mazes, hay rides, or apple picking, or any other autumn activities?

she does! jenna likes spending time in nature and people watching in equal amounts, so outdoorsy fall outings are a huge draw for her. apple picking would probably be her favorite: plenty of opportunity to stroll around freely with her own company while also getting to observe the crowds, and she gets to take the apples home for baking later! (they get mad when she nabs an ear from the corn maze. social constructs are so silly.)

14. What’s their favorite type of pie?

another hard pick given jenna is particularly dessert oriented in her food choices, but she’s especially fond of any kind of fruit pie. all the more so if she can use fruits from her own garden. for fall, a classic apple pie is a definite favorite! (who is going to use all those damn apples in the collapse? jenna that’s who. guess what’s for dinner tonight everyone: apple pie. and tomorrow, maple pecan apple pie. and the next day, dutch apple pie, then vanilla custard apple pie, then gingerbread crust apple pie, then — )

20. What family traditions do they remember from their childhood?

jenna’s family didn’t have many “fun autumn traditions,” her parents tended to be so overbearing and focused on jenna’s academic success that they didn’t leave a lot of time for fun for fun’s sake in her childhood. she does have fond memories of making treats for the school bake sale with her mother and sister, though.

22. If they had a familiar, what type of animal would it be?

a little lab rat! (a cute one, not the horrifying overgrown beasts mentioned in my previous answer about what would pull her chariot through hell.)

#oc: deputy jestiny ellen #oc: jenna swann #halloween banners for they:3

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pricklynoodle · 3 years ago

Text

real or not real

Itadori Yuji/Fushiguro Megumi pairing | Squid Game AU | Rated T | warning: implied character death | ANGST

( yes, writing instead of doing school lol, squid game ruined me so if you want to read this then be warned of SQUID GAME SPOILERS. There's no graphic death, but its sad as hell either way TT)

---

“The player who takes all ten marbles from your partner wins.”

Megumi had always kept to himself, never saying anything unless spoken to, never stuck to groups, and never took the choice to attach himself to something. Everything had an expiration date. Unnecessary things like friendships had never appealed to him. He only needed his sister, and it wasn’t like she had the choice to have him as her brother. But the fact that she still stuck around caring for him until she worked herself to a coma.

So honestly, it’s a surprise why he feels his heart drop when the announcement tells him he has to go against … whatever 310 is to him.

He hardly knows 310, and doesn't know anything about his life actually. Other than that he’s crazy strong, has an impressive pain tolerance, but also the loudest kid he’s ever met. He's always around him, sticking to Megumi like a persistent piece of gum stuck to his shoe. But he doesn't dislike him, but he can't say he's thrilled with him either.

But would Megumi kill him?

Stupid, he tells himself.

“Oh, fuck, I honestly didn’t see that coming,” 310 says with a grimace, looking at Megumi guiltily as if he was the cause of Megumi’s inner turmoil. He sits down on one of the stone benches. The whole setup was supposed to mimic a typical neighborhood, something Megumi wasn’t fortunate enough to grow up in. The bastards even made the effort to add in the sounds of cicadas from the fake trees, as if this was a completely normal summer for a couple of teens.

Megumi doesn’t say anything, he feels dizzy. He drops down to the bench, away from 310 as possible.

“I’ve always wanted to say this,” 310 says as he rests his elbows on his knees, looking at Megumi seriously, “This whole thing reminds me of Hunger Games.”

Megumi looks at him with furrowed brows.

“You know, Jennifer Lawrence?” 310 pushes. Megumi says nothing. “...Tall girl, big ass? The one with the arrows?”

“Can you shut the fuck up,” Megumi deadpans, then he shakes his head. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He counts to ten, then glances down at his hand. 10 marbles. “Just tell me how to play this game.”

“I don’t know either,” 310 admits, sounding sheepish. He shrugs carelessly, “This is more of the games my gramps used to play, but he was too busy being sick to teach me though.”

Megumi looks up at 310. He looks tired, but nostalgic. Like he was thinking of a good memory.

310 perks up, grinning at Megumi brightly, “though they said that we can make our own rules. I’ll think of something.”

Megumi nods solemnly. The silence stretches until 310 lets out an ‘aha!’.

“Let’s bet everything and just play one around,” 310 says, even dropping his fist down onto his hand as if it were the best idea ever.

Megumi freezes, staring at 310, was he going to trick him? He doesn’t even know him. They’re not friends. Of course, everything still is a death tournament at the end of the day.

310 seems to pick up Megumi’s reluctance, he jerks his head to the side. He points towards the pair of men competing against each other, looking frantic and panicked.Their faces are sheened with sweat, t-shirts drenched in sweat. It’s… it’s a pathetic sight.

“Fine,” Megumi relents. “What are we playing?”

“Calm down,” 310 chuckles, “are you that excited to kill me?”

Megumi stays quiet.

“We have a lot of time left,” 310 says breezily, pointing towards the timer mounted on the wall. “Let’s do it at the last minute.”

“What do you suggest we do till then?” Megumi asks with a scowl. “Sit nice and pretty, twiddle our thumbs and shove these marbles up our asses?”

“Jesus, man,” 310 laughs, “no just… talk.”

“Talk,” Megumi repeats.

“Talk,” 310 smiles, looking down at his hands. Megumi looks at them too. He remembers the hard calluses on them, when they shook hands. They’re thick and sturdy, and hold a lot of power. He really could have killed Megumi before, just wrap his hands around his neck and it’s all over.

Megumi also shakes away the filthy thoughts of what else those hands could do. Get a grip, Fushiguro.

“Things we couldn’t tell other people,” 310 says, smiling wistfully. “One of us is going to die here anyways.”

Megumi swallows the lump in his throat.

310 smiles wider. He’s always smiling, Megumi notes.

“There’s no reason to feel embarrassed if that’s the case,” 310 tells him, “I promise I won’t laugh when you blush like a tomato.”

“I don’t,” Megumi denies, but he can feel the heat already rising up to his cheeks.

“You do,” 310 says, “but I think it’s cute.”

Cute.

“So, uh, you have someone back home then?” 310 asks.

“Yeah,” Megumi says.

“...like a girlfriend or something?”

“Sister,” Megumi says quickly, “no...never a girlfriend. Impossible for me.”

“Ah, okay,” 310 says, nodding. “Just your sister?”

“I had a dad, but he … never came back.” Megumi confesses, “he was a shitty dad. He was never really home, but he gave us shelter and food. He had a bad temper, but he never hit us. He never liked to be around me especially. I … used to think he hated me.”

“What changed?” 310 asked.

“I… I became him. I understand why he did what he did,” Megumi says, fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket. “Doing dirty jobs, stealing, never at home. Hiding from danger. Hiding us from danger. Protection.”

310 nodded, he slid closer to Megumi. Thighs brushing. Silence continues.

“He came here,” Megumi says, looking up at the ceiling. It’s painted a pink-orange gradient, like a sunset. “I found half of that business card in one of his jackets. The last two digits were cut off. I dialed every possible number until I got here.”

“For what?” 310 asks.

“Find him,” Megumi says, “punch him. I would have killed him, I think, if I found out that he left us to rot. Then steal all his money to pay for my sister’s medical bills.”

“Oh, she’s sick?”

“Coma,” Megumi clarifies. “Some rich bastard from work hit her on her way home. He got off easy because of money.”

“I see,” 310 says, clenching his fists. “That’s terrible.”

“Yeah,” Megumi says gruffly.

“You’re still getting money though,” 310 says. He doesn’t say but you don’t get your dad back. “What would you do with it?”

Megumi doesn’t even hesitate, “pay for my sister’s medical bills. Buy a nice house for us to live in. A car, if I can.”

“If you can?” 310 says, “where would you drive your car?”

“school,” Megumi says simply. “I would use my car to drive to school.”

310 blinks. “You know, you can do much more with that 40 billion. You really don’t want anything else? Don’t have a destination?”

“I’d go to Sendai.”

“Wh—Sendai? I’m from Sendai. Are you kidding me? Are you going to drive there with a shiny new Toyota Yaris?”

Megumi blushes furiously, “enough about me, ugh, it’s your turn anyways.”

310 shakes his head, but he’s giggling like a schoolgirl. “You really have to think bigger. Have you ever been to the beach?”

“No,” Megumi says.

“You should, one that’s got nice soft sand and blue water. With palm trees too. And you should get piña coladas.”

“What?”

“C’mon man, you don’t get to be frugal with 40 billion. I’ll teach you how to splurge once we get out—”

Ah.

“Right,” 310 breathes out, laughing to himself all silly. “Only one of us leaves.”

Megumi grunts.

Silence.

“...Ever seen a dead body?” 310 asks.

“...I’ve been answering all these questions. You haven’t answered at all,” Megumi points out, feeling far too exposed for running his mouth.

“Ah you’re right! Uh, I don’t have anyone.”

“But your grandfather—”

“He’s dead. For a while now. My mom and dad. Also dead. My brother is on the run. He’s, uh, killed a lot of people. He got the death penalty, so yeah, haven’t really seen him around.”

Megumi looks at him.

“I don’t think he counts,” 310 says, scratching his face. Megumi realizes the scars on his face aren’t from the previous games. They looked healed, puckered and faded from time.“He looks a lot like me, though. A lot of people can’t tell us apart. He hated that. He’s only a bit taller than me, and he loves to brag about it. He has a huge ego.”

“I see.”

“Yeah,” 310 says, but he doesn’t look awkward about it. Just mildly inconvenienced. “Oh, have we really been talking for that long?”

Megumi looks at the time. They have less than 2 minutes.

310 stands up, swiping the dirt off his pants. He pats around for his marbles. “Okay, so you see that wall over there?”

Megumi nods mutely. It’s quite far, maybe around 2 meters.

“Okay, we throw one marble, and the one closest to the wall wins, okay?”

“Okay.” Megumi nods, easy enough.

“Okay, you go first.”

Megumi scowls.

“added rule, we do it together,” he says, jaw clenched.

“Eh?” 310 looks at him, confused.

“I’ve been doing things first, so it seems rather fair if we do it at the same time, with our best effort, okay? I have the blue marble, you get the red one.”

“... okay.”

“Don’t give me a weak ass toss, alright, that doesn’t count,” Megumi says gruffly, narrowing his eyes at him. “Do your best.”

310 nods, giving him a thumbs up. “Okay!”

“On three,” Megumi says.

“Okay!”

“Three.”

“Two,” 310 continues, positioning his arm.

“One,” Megumi does the same.

They both throw their marbles. Megumi’s heart leaps out of its chest as he watches his marble in the air.

Clack!

Megumi looks down on the marble that lands right next to his shoe.

It’s red.

“Ahh, shoot, I threw it too hard,” 310 says with a pout.

Megumi sees red.

He shoves 310 against the wall. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Whoa! No, you won f-fair and square, man,” 310 stutters. “I did my best shot, like you said!”

“Any idiot would know that shit would bounce right back if you threw it like that!”

310 laughs, “I must be some one of a kind idiot, then.”

Megumi shoves him further into the wall. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“You can’t kill me if I’m gonna be dead anyways.”

“THEN I’LL KILL YOU IF YOU DIE.”

“See, that doesn’t really make sense—”

“Shut the fuck up! Why did you do that?!”

310 slumps against the wall, body lax. Not looking at him.

“Answer me!”

“You… you have a lot more to live for than me,” 310 says quietly. He looks up at Megumi, tears in his eyes, “what kind of asshole would I be to deny you for a life?”

“You have a life!” Megumi snaps.

“I don’t, not anymore,” 310 sobs, a wobbly smile on his face. “Before my grandfather died, he told me that I should help others. That when it was my time to go, I would die surrounded by others and not end up like him.

“I should use my strength to help others, that’s what I’ve been doing here. Out there, no one wants me to help them. No one wants the face of a killer to help them. No one wants me to be around them. I can’t go to places, I’ve… I’ve always hated what Sukuna did to me. Made me carry his sins, his crimes. The way people looked at me as if I was him. I can’t move forward, not like you.

“I… I never went to school either, y’know. Or I never graduated. When Sukuna became a wanted man, I became a target. I stayed in my room. The doors were locked. The curtains were always down. It was like this for years. I received no support. The only way I could get by was doing interviews with journalists, feeding the narrative. Making people hate Sukuna more, making them hate me more. That’s no way to live.”

Megumi felt the back of his eyes burn, his teeth aching from being clenched too tight.

“Even if...I had the money. I can’t erase what my brother did. I can’t erase my existence in the world. I would just keep doing the same thing everyday. I don’t… I don’t want a bigger house, not when it’s just me who lives there.”

“You and I are not so different,” he says, looking up at Megumi.. “I think that’s why… I want you to win. You get to experience all these normal things, and feel… happy. You have a chance.”

Megumi wipes his eyes harshly, “Shit.”

“That’s true.”

“... What’s your name?” Megumi asks.

“Itadori Yuji,” 310—no, Yuji says. “My name is Itadori Yuji.”

Megumi takes a shaky breath, he raises his hand for him. “Fushiguro Megumi.”

Yuji grins, he clasps his hand onto Megumi’s. “That means blessing, right?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“I’m glad then, Megumi. That I’m friends with you even through this hell. That itself is a blessing in a disguise.”

“Shut up,” Megumi punches his shoulder.

A guard suddenly arrives, carrying a gun in his hand. Waiting.

Yuji looks behind Megumi’s head. “Ah, I wish we had more time.”

Megumi bites his lip. “I wish I’d… met you sooner. I don't know anything about you.”

Yuji jaw drops, “Okay, I’ll … summarize this in ten seconds! I’m twenty-years-old, my favorite color is green, my favorite manga is Bleach, my type is tall people with big butts! Uhh, I really like watching action films—”

“Not … whatever, nevermind,” Megumi says softly as he listens to Yuji ramble on about himself.

Yuji pauses from his ramble looking winded, “uhm, Fushiguro, can I hug you?”

Megumi freezes.

“I just haven’t had a hug in a long time—” Yuji trails off before he gets cut off with Fushiguro hugging him desperately, clinging to him.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot!”

“...Hey, Fushiguro Megumi, live a long life, okay?”

Megumi lets go.

He turns around.

Eyes burning as he stares unblinking down the path. Footsteps. Silence. Breathing. He feels something salty on his lips when he licks them. It's not sweat.

He... he got attached. He stares forward, he doesn't regret it. Not at all. He got to know Yuji Itadori, the real him, and the pain in his heart is the best he can give back. A reminder that he was more than what people saw him. Yuji Itadori didn't deserve what the world gave him, they did not deserve his cries. The fact that... no one would shed a tear for him.

...Ah.

Megumi notices the dark wet spots on the dirt.

“Thanks for playing with me.”

#my writing #itafushi #itadori yūji #fushiguro megumi #fushiita #squid game au #squid game spoilers #angst #fanfiction #im sorry everyone lol #it just broke me #i m gonna go lay down and cry now bye

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gardenergulfie · 3 years ago

Text

Emptober Day 4: Ribbon

Rating: G

Word Count: 2539

Relationships: Jimmy | Solidarity/Scott | Smajor1995 | Dangthatsalongname

Characters: Scott | Smajor1995 | Dangthatsalongname, Jimmy | Solidarity

Tags:Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Red String of Fate, Pre-Canon, Post-Canon, Past Lives, Alternate Universe - Empires SMP Setting (Video Blogging RPF), Friends to Lovers, Childhood Friends, Bickering, Flower Husbands, Emptober, Seablings,

Everything was normal with it until the day he met the other rulers. It was a political meeting of nations, the first time all of them would all be together in years. Rivendell was hosting it and it would be Jimmy’s first time out of the kingdom. Jimmy and Lizzie were representing the Ocean Empire as heirs but they were allowed to meet and greet with whoever they wanted. Lizzie quickly ran off, introducing herself to the Mezalean prince and leaving Jimmy to flounder alone. He gripped the ribbon between his fingers nervously but took a deep breath and approached the first person he could see. That person was a winged elf with blue hair and a very aloof expression.

Emptober Day 4: Ribbon

AO3 Link

Fic below the cut

Jimmy was a pretty normal guy. I mean he was the leader of an empire but compared to the other leaders and even his own citizens he was normal, maybe even average. Just a pretty basic dude. But Jimmy had something, a part of him, that was very not normal. It was a ribbon tied around his left wrist. It was green and blue with a design of red flowers that Jimmy had never seen before. The ribbon had one end constantly trailing out of sight. It had been there for as long as he could remember and strangely enough, seemingly no-one else could see it.

When Jimmy was little he tried out some tests with the ribbon. He found out that he couldn’t tangle it, he couldn’t trip people with it, he couldn’t hang things on it, it didn’t interact with water like most fabrics did, it was just intangible to anyone or anything but Jimmy. He’d told his sister Lizzie about it but she didn’t have one and she couldn’t see or feel it. He’d even gone to the local library to do research on it which did make the bookkeeper give him a strange look, he’d never been one for academics before but he just needed to know. He found nothing but some sappy love stories about people with invisible red strings of fate that connected them to their one true love. Jimmy didn’t really believe these stories, besides he had a ribbon not a string.

Once or twice in his life Jimmy had felt a tug on the ribbon. It felt like a person on the other end of it had pulled on it. Was there someone also connected to him? Were those stories about strings of fate true? Jimmy followed the ribbon for a long time, only stopping when he realized that he was at the edge of the kingdom. If there was a person on the other end, they weren’t from his home empire.

For a while that was it. Nothing new could be found out about the ribbon and so Jimmy resigned himself to it just being a mystery forever. On the plus side, he didn’t really mind it that much. It didn’t hurt him or get stuck on anything which was nice and it was a nice texture. Sometimes when he was anxious or just restless he would twist it between his fingers and fidget with it. He got some strange looks, fidgeting with nothing, but it wasn’t that weird so no-one really questioned him.

“Hello! I’m Jimmy Solidarity of the Ocean Empire!” He said to the elf, his voice coming out louder than he intended from nerves. He winced as the elf turned to him with a mildly peeved expression.

“Scott Smajor, heir of Rivendell.” The elf said coldly. He assessed Jimmy lazily but his eyes stopped on Jimmy’s left hand, the one holding the ribbon. His cold mask dropped and Jimmy could see an expression of shock and mild intrigue before it went back up. “I’ve never spoken to a citizen of the ocean empire. Are you all this small? It's kinda cute” Jimmy bristled a bit at the insult? Flirt? He couldn’t tell but he knew enough to be offended.

“Not all of us can be as tall as elves. I am quite a normal height! And I’m not cute.” Jimmy snapped back. Scott looked briefly surprised at his retort but then smirked.

“Not cute you say? That adorable pout on your face says otherwise.” Scott says, lifting his hand to gesture at Jimmy’s expression. A hand that had a blue green and red flower patterned ribbon tied around it. The same ribbon that existed around Jimmy’s hand. Jimmy’s eyes widened and he looked at his own ribbon. Sure enough, they were connected. So there was a person on the other end of it and Jimmy had found them. But Scott? Really? This ribbon better not be one of those soul things, he does not want to be bonded to that rude elf.

Jimmy realized that he should probably respond to Scott. He’s been standing silently for about a minute now and Scott was surly waiting for him to say something.

“I wasn’t pouting! I was upset at being called cute. Not everyone likes random strangers calling them cute, you know.” Jimmy says back. Scott looks thoughtful.

“I don’t know. If a pretty boy like you walked up to me and called me cute, I don’t think I’d be complaining.” The elf says back. Jimmy sputters as he tries to think of a response. He really wasn’t someone who got flirted with often, even as a joke, and it was very disarming.

“Well I’m not you so I care.” He says back with his face bright red. He knew it wasn’t the best comeback and from Scott’s smug expression he could tell it hadn’t hit the mark he was aiming for.

“Right sure.” Scott says with an eye roll. “This conversation’s being nowhere and I already won it so why don’t we talk about something else. I could take you on a tour? I don’t think you fishfolk get the chance to see elven architecture often.” Jimmy once again bristled at Scott’s mild insult but agreed to the tour. Scott led Jimmy away from the front hall and outside into Rivendell proper. Jimmy wouldn’t admit it but Scott was a pretty good tour guide, he knew a lot about the kingdom’s history and culture and was good at talking about it, even if he still flirted and insulted Jimmy quite often. Scott showed Jimmy the sheep pens, the owl roost, and apiary, all places that Jimmy had only seen glimpses of during the trip here.

In the apiary Jimmy saw something. A red flower, identical to the ones on his ribbon. He called Scott over, asking what kind of flower that was. Scott glanced over and when he saw the red flower Jimmy was talking about he briefly touched the ribbon tied to his own hand before answering.

“Its a poppy. They’re a common flower and grow in most places. You haven’t seen one before?” The elf asked. Jimmy shook his head.

“I don’t think they grow in the swamps. I would have remembered seeing a flower this red before.” Jimmy gently touched a petal of the flower. It was beautiful and it made Jimmy feel…. weirdly bittersweet? It was just a flower. Why did Jimmy feel like crying then? He blinked away the tears that were forming and backed away from the flower. Scott was giving him an odd searching look.

“It's my favorite kind of flower.” Scott said at last. “I always make sure there’s at least one in the apiary at all times.” Jimmy was surprised at this personal info that Scott was just telling him. Scott hadn’t talked much about himself, mostly speaking about the elves and their great kingdom. Him just dropping this strange piece of personal information seems out of pace and it made Jimmy wonder why he did it. The elf was still looking at him, waiting for Jimmy to say something in return.

“It really is lovely.” Jimmy responded. “Does it have any special meanings?” Jimmy had heard of flowers having special meaning attached to them though he hadn’t learned much about them. Lizzie had but not him.

“Sleep, peace, and death are what the poppy represents.” Scott says, unconsciously tugging on the ribbon. Jimmy felt that tug, just more proof that they were connected. Sleep, peace, and death were strange meanings for the flowers on his ribbon. Maybe the type of flower didn’t mean anything but it's a magic ribbon so that was unlikely. Jimmy was hoping that his flowers meant peace or maybe sleep, death was something he’d really not want to be tied with.

Scott had been looking more and more nervous the more Jimmy thought. The elf was trying to hide it but the fluttering of his wings and shuffling of his feet gave him away. Jimmy was about to ask him about the problem when a loud gong rang across the city.

“That's the feast bell. They’re about to start dinner.” Scott says, moving towards the door to the apiary. “We need to go quickly so we’re not late.” Jimmy let the topic of Scott’s anxiety around him drop and the two rushed towards the main hall. They were separated in the crowd when they got there, Jimmy being reunited with Lizzie who asked him where he was and introduced him to her new friend Joel. Jimmy didn’t see Scott for the rest of the night, only briefly catching a glimpse of him when it was time for him to leave.

Jimmy met Scott quite a few times over the course of many years, the two becoming rulers of their own nations, Scott in Rivendell and Jimmy in the newly formed Cod Empire. They maintained a similar relationship as they had when they were young, Scott teasing and flirting with Jimmy and Jimmy getting flustered and firing back with his own bad insults. Neither of them brought up the topic of the ribbon though Jimmy was pretty sure that Scott knew at this point. The many glances at Jimmy’s left wrist was a pretty big clue to that.

Years past, Jimmy and Scott were still leading their empires and occasionally bickering with each other. The demon plagued them for a bit and in that time they became allies in a very strange way, Scott taking Jimmy on a date. The many poppies around the date place was a nice reference to the ribbon and a knowing look from Jimmy let Scott know he knew what was up. It took a couple more suggested dates for Jimmy to realize that the date wasn’t one of Scott’s normal flirts but that Scott was actually interested in him. The two took it slow, going on quite a few more dates before they were ready to speak of the ribbon out-loud.

Jimmy remembered it as a chilly evening, the two of them drinking warm tea inside of Jimmy’s house. Scott had made the excuse of it being too cold back home and that the swamp was just much warmer but Jimmy knew the elf at this point to know that Scott wanted to spend time with him. They had done some baking following a simple recipe that somehow they still managed to mess up and then salvage at the last minute. Now with a mug of tea in hand and slightly burnt cookies on a plate in front of him, Jimmy was feeling brave. He tugged on the ribbon once then twice when Scott didn’t look over from his cup of tea. The second tug caught the elf’s attention and he looked down at the ribbon resting beside them both.

“I think at this point we both know about the existence of this,” Jimmy waved his own end of the ribbon, “and the fact that it connects them. I don’t know about you but we’ve been dating for a bit. We might as well talk about it.” Scott blinked in surprise at the question coming from seemingly nowhere but nodded at set down his drink.

“I was wondering when one of us was going to be brave enough to bring up the soul ribbon.” Scott said. “I’d have thought you would have blurted the question out way before now.” Scott teased with a small smirk. Jimmy let the insult flirt fly over his head, mostly focused on the words soul ribbon.

“Wait, the soul ribbon is like a string of fate? The stuff from those love stories?” Jimmy asked. Scott looked confused at the question.

“Wait, you mean you don’t know about soul ribbons? They’re real and way more than just stories. We’re kind of living proof of that.” Scott said. Jimmy leaned back in his chair a bit more.

“The only information I found about anything similar to the ribbon was stories about red strings of fate that connect people destined to be together. They were just fiction I thought but you’re saying that it’s really real. We’re soulmates?” Jimmy asks.

“Soul ribbons are a bit more complicated than just the idea of fated couples. They’re broken promises from a past life. When two people promise to stay together but something happens where they promise is broken, the universe will step in and give them another chance. Hence, the soul ribbon.” Scott explains. “The pattern of the ribbon normally has some kind of meaning relating to the past life. Soul ribbons can’t really be studied but there have been enough cases that people are now pretty sure of their meaning.”

“So in another life, we made a promise to each other but it got broken? And poppies were important to us?” Jimmy questioned. “Well that explains why I feel so happy and sad at the same time when I see a poppy. Past life emotions, huh.” Scott reached out and took a cookie with one hand and Jimmy's own hand with another.

“I understand if this is a lot to take in.” Scott bit his lip, looking anxious. “Again, the soul ribbon doesn’t mean that we have to be together. It’s just the universe giving us a second chance. So if this is too much for you we don’t have to keep dating-“

“What? Scott no. I don’t want to stop dating. It’s strange, yeah, but I mean I already knew we were connected. This doesn’t have to change anything for us! I’m happy to know how we’re connected, this solves a mystery I’ve always been wondering about. I mean, better lovers in a past life than fated enemies in this one.” Jimmy said passionately, laughing a bit at his own joke at the end. Scott’s face brightened up and he smiled back at Jimmy.

“Was that one of your theories? Fated enemies?” Scott chuckled as he took a bite of his cookie. Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck bashfully with his free hand.

“I mean we were always bickering. It wasn’t too strange of an idea.” Jimmy defended himself.

The two of them continued to talk for quite a few more hours before they eventually fell asleep together, bundled up under a quilt. Their hands were intertwined, the two ends of the ribbons brushing against each other. The universe looked down at these second chance souls and felt pride. They really had found each other again.

#sorry that this is late i was on a plane all day #mcyt #empires smp #scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #flower husbands #emptober #Gulfie's Writings

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me-myself-and-my-fos · 3 years ago

Text

Road Trip

Pairing: Snotlout Jorgenson x Nic Blake

A/N: This takes place during the third movie when they’re all leaving Berk. I wanted a cute little fic with a little couple bickering

Tag List: @sable-myers @fangedwife @hyperionshipping @the-dark-fae-and-her-fos @belcanto-selfships @victorvampir @licensedcrime

They had been flying for a few hours and it felt like the ocean wasn’t ending. They had seen nothing but blue water for miles, the occasional Scauldron or Thunderdrum but other than that nothing. No great waterfall. The Light Fury Hiccup went on about made an appearance, and much to everyone’s amusement she knocked him off Toothless who managed to catch Hiccup. But that had been hours ago.

Cece was obviously a little irritated, grunting slightly and shaking. She wanted to fly off and have a little fun, but Nic was keeping her on course. The Changewing was bored, and honestly so was Nic. She scratched at Cece’s neck gently.

“Are you bored, girl?” She asked.

Cece whined in response, giving the best nod a dragon could.

“Okay, how about this? You drop me off with Hookfang and you can have a little fun. Does that sound good?” Nic asked, and Cece roared excitedly. “Just stay close to the group. I don’t want you wandering off too far, okay?”

Cece hummed and moved just above Hookfang. Nic unfastened the straps that attached to her belt. Hiccup added a seatbelt to her saddle after he witnessed Nic fall off Cece three times in one day. For an entire week.

Once the straps were removed, she hopped off Cece and onto Hookfang’s back, just behind the saddle Snotlout was on. Nic waved to Cece who purred happily before diving down towards the water. Nic laughed before leaning over the back of the saddle, taking hold of some of Snotlout’s hair and twirling it on her finger.

“Hiya,” she grinned at him.

“Hey, babe,” he looked at her over his shoulder. “What brings you here?”

“It’s been a long flight, Cece needed to have a little fun, I’ve been missing my boyfriend,” she purred.

“And your boyfriend has been missing you. But y’know, it’s a lot more comfortable up here.” He smirked at her.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Is this your way of getting me to sit in your lap?”

“Is it working?”

“Yes, it is.” She giggled and climbed over the saddle before placing herself in his lap. Nic leaned back and nuzzled his cheek. “I always love the view up here.”

“Yeah,” he said in agreement, though his eyes weren’t on the horizon. They were on her. “Best view.”

“We should do this more often. I don’t think I’ve ever flown with you before.”

“Do all those times I’ve caught you from falling count?”

She hummed as she thought. “I don’t think so.”

“Then no, you’ve never flown with me.”

“Let’s do this again.”

“I’m all for it, baby.”

The next few were spent making small conversation or sitting in comfortable silence. They thought the trip would never end, and it looked that way. The way the ocean went, they weren’t sure if they’d see land for hours.

At some point Nic realized she hadn’t seen Cece in a bit. Immediately worry gripped her as she sat forward, trying to catch sight of her dragon. She could see Cece above, and she wasn’t on either side.

“Did she cloak? Cece! Seasons!” Nic called out. “I told her not to stray.”

“Oh yeah, it must suck when she disappears on you without warning,” Snotlout goaded.

She lightly glared at him over her shoulder. “If this is about the other night–”

“I just thought you’d be staying the night, but obviously I was wrong and there was miscommunication–”

“I was on patrol that night, you knew this!” She grumbled.

“Patrol, huh? What a great job at that you did,” he said, mildly sarcastic.

“Are you blaming me for Grimmel sneaking into Berk? Seriously?” She rolled her eyes. “That’s it— Cece!” Nic called for her dragon and started to move to Hookfang’s side, but Snotlout quickly grabbed her waist and pulled back.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“It sure sounded like you did,” she crossed her arms and continued to look for Cece. There was a grunt from above and Cece appeared, almost grinning at her rider. Nic let out a sigh of relief at the sight of her dragon.

Snotlout tilted her chin so she would look at him. “What I meant was that I think your time would’ve been better spent with me.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re so needy.”

“Only for your attention.”

Nic sighed. “I’m sorry I snapped. We’ve been flying for hours, we’re tired and hungry. How about at our first stop we share a tent?”

“Really?” He asked excitedly. “You mean it?”

She nodded. “First stop. Let’s keep the bickering to a minimum though. I actually want to enjoy sleeping next to you.”

“Oh trust me, babe. You’ll enjoy it.”

“And I hope you don’t mind Cece probably joining in,” Nic smirked. “She’s a cuddler.”

Snotlout groaned. “Can’t she sleep outside with Hookfang?”

“She’ll sneak in anyway.”

“We’ve gotta have a rule of no dragons in the house.”

Nic paused in surprise before looking at him. “What?”

“Huh?”

“You said we should have a rule of no dragons in the house.” She stared at him.

“Um… yeah?”

“Are you– Do you want to live together?”

“I, uh, yes?”

Nic smiled softly and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I’d like that too.”

“Land!” Someone shouted.

Nic and Snotlout looked ahead, and sure enough there was a beautiful massive island.

“Alright everyone, we’re heading there!” Hiccup called out.

“Cece!” Nic called, and the Changewing flew beside Hookfang. Grinning at her boyfriend, Nic kissed him quickly before moving under Hookfang’s horn and jumping onto Cece’s back. She looked back at Snotlout. “Race ya!” She shouted, her and Cece taking off far ahead of the group.

“Oh, you’re on!” Snotlout shouted back, Hookfang racing forward to catch up. “Last one there is rotten yak milk!”

“Snotlout! Nic!” Hiccup called after them but shook his head when they didn’t listen. They simply continued towards the island.

#my viking #mywriting #otp: stubborn Vikings

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redgillan · 4 years ago

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Under Pastel Skies - 9

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 6,257

Warnings: mention of accident, mention of blood

A/N: I’m sorry this took longer than usual but it’s pretty long so yay! I hope you’ll like this chapter. We’re slowly getting there :’) Thank you for the feedback, I truly appreciate all of you! Also 1 marvel quote and several Bob Ross quotes that I obv don’t own.

Wannabe sugar daddies don’t interact, idc if you have money, eat it and leave me be.

Good luck on your interview xx

Bucky had just hit ‘send’ when Sam cleared his throat noisily, drawing Bucky’s attention away from his phone. His friends were frowning crossly at him, their glasses raised in a silent toast. He set his phone face-down on the table and picked up his glass.

“Sorry, you were saying?”

Sam shot Steve a ‘see?’ look and Steve replied with a shrug and a little smile. They looked like two sassy grandmothers judging their only grandson. Bucky checked his phone again, and out of his peripheral vision, he could see his grandmothers share another look.

“What?” he barked, annoyed.

“Nothin,” they both answered at the same time before they took a synchronized sip of orange juice.

Smacking his lips together, Sam opened the menu and began to skim through the choices. A waiter suddenly came out of nowhere to take their order. Bucky ordered a cranberry rosemary scone, smoked bacon, an eggplant sandwich, and a plate of lemon-ricotta pancakes.

“Excuse-me,” Sam called out to the waiter. “Could you make his pancakes in the shape of an angel?” he asked, ignoring Bucky who was openly glaring at him.

The waiter, albeit a little surprised, kept a smile on his face. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Bucky told him, handing him the menu. “Thank you.”

Without another look to his friends, he grabbed his phone and checked his messages for the third time in less than two minutes. Steve snatched his phone up and sat back in his seat, waving the phone at Bucky.

“Enough! Live in the moment.” He pocketed the phone and gave Bucky a pointed stare. “You’ll get it back later.”

“What the hell? You’re not my father, give it back!” Bucky snapped, extending his hand, the palm facing up. Steve shook his head. “Give it back, you fucking meatball.”

He got up and tried to reach inside Steve’s pocket for his phone but Steve kept shifting in his seat. They wrestled like that for a minute while Sam watched them, eating a breadstick and looking mildly entertained.

“Okay, fine,” Bucky panted, pushing himself away from Steve. “You leave me no choice, Rogers.” He cleared his throat like an actor about to jump on stage. “Give me back my phone, Steve!” he said, raising his voice. “Do you enjoy stealing from disabled people?”

He nearly shouted the last two words, and to Steve’s horror, the buzz of conversation around them had died. He could feel people staring at him. Cursing softly under his breath, he reached into his pocket and dropped the phone into Bucky’s awaiting hand.

“It’s okay, we’re friends,” Steve said to the people sitting behind him. They looked at him with a disapproving glare. “Jesus, Bucky, you’re making me look like an asshole.”

An amused expression crossed Bucky’s face as he sat back in his seat. “Don’t touch my stuff.”

It was quiet while he checked his messages. Slowly, those around them returned to their own conversations. Sam pointed his half-eaten breadstick at Steve.

“Do you think the waiter will spit in your omelette?” he said the last word with an exaggerated French accent. Steve glared at him.

Their waiter arrived a moment later carrying a large tray with their brunch. Steve poked at his omelet with a suspicious frown, then looked over at Bucky who was still on his phone. Sam stole a slice of bacon from Bucky’s plate and gave it to Steve.

“I hear you’ve got a date tonight,” Sam said, making conversation.

“Yeah,” Steve chuckled, embarrassed. “It’s not a big deal. I’m just looking for something casual. I’m leaving in two days.”

“Where’re you going this time?”

“South Africa,” Steve replied, stealing another slice of bacon. “What about you? What’s that big emergency?”

Sam glanced at Bucky who was grinning like an idiot at his phone. “Not now. Let’s eat first.” He took the plate of bacon, took what he wanted then handed it to Steve. “Want another?”

Steve kept looking over at Bucky while they finished his bacon but Bucky didn’t seem to acknowledge their presence. He was in his own little bubble.

“It’s like we don’t even exist,” Steve remarked out loud.

“I know, it’s amazing. Look!” Sam straightened up in his seat and cleared his throat. “Bucky Barnes is the biggest idiot on the planet, and he can eat my farts.” Bucky was hunched over his phone, his thumb typing away. “See?”

“Impressive.”

“That’s the angel effect,” Sam said.

With a happy little sigh, Bucky pocketed his phone and turned his attention to his friends. He frowned at the amused look they shared.

“What are you guys talking about?”

“Steve’s first date in two years.” Sam turned to Steve. “You must be nervous.”

“Strangely, no.” Steve broke off a small piece of omelet with his fork. “I actually know him. He’s an old friend from college.”

“Nice,” Sam said.

“He’s a fashion photographer now.”

“Wait, what?” Bucky’s brows pinched in confusion as he stared at Steve.

Undeterred, Steve continued. “We’ve been facetiming a lot lately.” He shot Bucky a glance. “Why do you think I go to bed at 8?”

“But I thought-”

“You thought I had a date with your girl,” Steve said with a warm smile. “Listen, man, I like her. She’s cute, funny, talented. She’s a real sweetheart. But I like her because she brought back that light in your eyes. You look happy. That’s all I ever wanted for you. You had to go through so much crap, Buck. You deserve this.”

Bucky looked down at his pancakes, feeling tears pool in his eyes. He blinked them back and sniffed quietly. “So you were never going to ask her out.”

“I was until you called her ‘angel’,” Steve replied with a shrug. “You kept saying you were okay with this but, I mean, I’m not that dense.”

“Why do you keep going out with her then?” Bucky grumbled.

“Jeez, Mother Gothel, I didn’t know Rapunzel wasn’t allowed to leave the tower,” Steve exclaimed. “We were bored. You’re in your office all day. It was fun to mess with you though. You’re a grumpy Gus when you’re jealous.”

“I wasn’t jealous, okay. I was annoyed. There’s a difference.”

“Uh-huh.”

Bucky looked over at Sam who had been strangely quiet throughout this whole exchange. He loved teasing Bucky, and he always had something to say about Bucky’s love life. Sam wasn’t looking at Bucky, he just pushed his food around with his fork, his lips pinched shut. He met Bucky’s eyes, then lowered his head again.

Bucky had a feeling something bad was about to happen.

“What’s the big emergency?” he asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

Sam set his fork down beside his plate and leaned back against his chair with a sigh. He trained his gaze on the front door, seemingly deep in thought.

“I’m moving to D.C.” He paused to let the information sink in. “They’re transferring me to the D.C. office. I’m their new chief financial officer.”

“Congrats, man!” Steve exclaimed. “You deserve it.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s what I’ve always wanted.”

“So why the long face?”

“I’m a little anxious to leave New York. What will Barnes do without me? Without his mentor? Without someone to look up to?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I think I’ll be all right.” He hesitated before he asked, “Did you tell her?”

“Tell who?” Steve inquired, polishing off the last of his omelet.

Bucky felt the wave of long-held sadness his Sam’s eyes. “I’ll tell her tonight.”

“Can someone tell me what’s going on?”

Sam and Bucky shared a look. They weren’t sure how Steve would react.

The word sugar daddy held a pejorative connotation. Every single one of those relationships featured a powerful, rich man and a poor, vulnerable man or woman. There was a clear power imbalance here that never appealed to Bucky, and he was pretty sure it never appealed to Sam either.

Whether it was a no-strings-attached service or an emotional service, it was still a hole in your resume. One that would be hard to explain to your future employers. He was afraid people would call you names, treat you differently or harass you if they knew.

He often wondered if he had unintentionally ruined your life.

Deep down he knew Steve would never call you a whore or treat you differently but he was still trying to protect your reputation. He believed that Sam had Natasha’s best interest at heart too.

Sam told Steve everything. He remembered the day he had met Natasha, their instant chemistry, the subtle flirting, the arrangement, their first night out, their first kiss, their first time together, their new arrangement. Steve listened attentively. When Sam told him that you were Natasha’s best friend, Bucky interrupted him and told his own story.

“Wow,” Steve deadpanned, leaning forward to take one of Sam’s poached egg and avocado toast. Sam slapped his hand away. “Is that a thing now? Sugar daddies, I mean?”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Yeah.” Steve sipped his mimosa with a bored look on his face. “You’re both not ready for the real conversation, so I’m just making small talk.”

Sam and Bucky exchanged confused looks. “What real conversation?”

“Sam, you just got an amazing promotion, you’re going to be the Prince of D.C. and you’re sitting here like someone kicked your puppy,” Steve replied, then turned to Bucky. “And you, well... I’ve been living with you for the past two weeks and you’ve gone all Alpha male on me, Buck. Cut the shit. You’re both in love with your sugar babies. Companions, or whatever the fuck you want to call them.”

Sam and Bucky sat in silence with their heads hung low. Steve opened his arms wide like a lawyer in a bad TV show saying ‘I rest my case’. When he spoke again, his voice was soft.

“Look, as maybe the world's leading authority on waiting too long, don't,” he said. “What’s the worst that could happen, um?”

It made Bucky think. Best-case scenario, you loved him too and life was a breeze for the next fifty years. Bad-case scenario, you didn’t share his feelings. Worst-case scenario, you shared his feelings but couldn’t make the transition from sugar baby to girlfriend.

Yeah, worst-case scenario sucked...

He came home around three in the afternoon, and smiled when he saw your shoes and coat. Knowing you were home always put him in a good mood, but his heart was heavy. He felt conflicted. He didn’t know if it was better to tell you how he felt now or to just keep living in this little bubble with you until it’d inevitably burst.

And to make things worse, Sam was going to end his contract with Natasha tonight. He made Bucky promise not to tell you about it. Bucky felt sorry for Natasha, he wondered if she had feelings for Sam. He wondered if she had a backup plan.

He found you in your studio, sitting on the floor, huddled against the wall, with one knee drawn up to your chest and your arms loosely wrapped around your leg. You were staring at the painting you’d just made, the still wet paint glistened under the artificial lights.

This painting was different from your usual landscapes and occasional portraits. There were various shades of blue and grey intertwined, and five big splotches of dark red paint layered on top of the canvas.

Bucky knew just by looking at you that something was wrong. You looked defeated, sad, upset. He reasoned that your interview didn’t go as planned. Quietly, he stepped into the room and sat down on the floor next to you, his left shoulder brushing your own.

“I just got home,” he said.

“Where’s Steve?”

“He said he had some errands to run. He’ll be back later.”

You nodded, still staring straight ahead. “Okay. I bet you can’t wait to have some time to yourself. I asked Natasha if I could stay with her, but she’s going out with Sam tonight. I’ll stay in my room, I won’t bother you.”

Bucky felt his heart drop, his breath caught in his throat. He had made the woman he loved feel unwelcome. God, he wanted to kick his own ass.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, tilting his head to look at you but you were stubborn and refused to meet his eye. “I thought you were going out with Steve and I- I didn’t want you to feel like you had to stay with me.”

“I’m not interested in Steve. I told you that.”

“I know.” He moved so that he could see your face. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you, and for the way I treated Steve. It won’t happen again. I promise. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course, Bucky,” you huffed.

He saw your chin quiver slightly and your eyes glaze over with unshed tears. You looked utterly broken. He reached up and wiped a stray tear from your cheek.

“Sorry, I had a difficult day,” you said.

His palm cupped the side of your face, his thumb stroking a caress across your cheek. You met his eyes for the first time and he smiled softly at you.

“My angel.”

His words made you cry even harder, silent tears streaming down your cheeks. With his hand still cupping the side of your face, he leaned closer and pressed his lips against your other cheek. You closed your eyes and basked in his affection.

He could feel the warmth of your tears, could taste the salt on his lips as they streamed down your cheek to his mouth. Slowly, he pulled back and looked at you, a smile forming on his lips when he saw a fleck of dried blue paint above your eyebrows.

“Painter Smurf,” he teased, wiping it off. You let out a huff of air that sounded like a laugh. “I’m here for you, angel, whatever you need.” He pulled you against his side and you rested your head on his chest.

“My interview didn’t go very well,” you said after a long moment of silence. “She said that I’m really talented, that my technique is perfect. But my work is too figurative. It’s not what she’s looking for.” You paused to wipe your nose on your sleeve. “It’s just- It wasn’t my first meeting. They all tell me the same thing: I’m not good enough.”

“That’s not true,” Bucky said, kissing your hair. “Your work is unique. It’s raw and beautiful. If they can’t see that then they’re morons.”

“She told me that if I had been a white man in the nineteenth century, people would still talk about me today.” You sighed. “I don’t know, Bucky. Maybe I should work on something more abstract.”

Bucky tilted his head to one side as he looked at your painting. “Is that why you painted this?”

“Mhhh,” you hummed. “She told me to play with the textures, the forms, the lines, the colours. Suggest rather than show. Let the painting tell its own story.”

“Yeah, I think you did it.”

“You think it’s good?”

“I don’t think those adjectives apply here. Not with modern art. It’s in the eye of the beholder,” he said, running his fingers along your shoulder. “Abstract art isn’t supposed to be beautiful, it’s supposed to make you feel something, right?”

“How does it make you feel?”

“Unsettled, sad.”

You straightened up and sat shoulder to shoulder. “My brother died in a hit-and-run.” You let the information sink in for a minute. “I was with Okoye, we got a call from our mom but by the time we got to the hospital, he was already dead.”

Your voice was surprisingly calm and controlled. Bucky wanted to reach out to you but he was unable to move. He listened attentively, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest.

“He was wearing some kind of compression shirt, grey-blue with two white stripes, and it was covered in blood. When I close my eyes and think of that day, all I remember is that shirt and the blood.” You tilted your head and gave him a little smile. “That’s what I painted.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He just sat there, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Sorry,” you let out a small laugh. “I had a shitty meeting and then I came home and basically relived one of the worst days of my life to put it on a canvas. Now it’s staring at me and all I want is to shred it to pieces.”

Bucky noticed that your hand was close to one of your palette knives. Your fingers brushed against the handle, debating whether you should pick it up and slash the canvas. He laid his hand on top of yours.

“It won’t help,” he said. “Trust me. I can put the painting somewhere else if you want. You won’t have to look at it again. I promise.”

“Yes, please.”

“C’mon, beautiful, let’s go downstairs. I know someone who can help you.” He got to his feet and extended his hand to you. You frowned up at him, a silent question in your eyes. “His name is Bob and he paints happy little trees.”

A bright, wide smile spread until it lit up your whole face, and Bucky’s heart melted at the sight. He grinned at you and pulled you to your feet.

“I love Bob Ross,” you said, and Bucky gave your hand a little squeeze.

In the living room, you sat down on the sofa, crossing your legs under you and grabbed a blanket while Bucky connected his YouTube account to the TV. He sat down beside you, propping his feet up on the coffee table and adjusting the blanket in his lap.

“Hi, welcome back. Certainly glad you could join me today.” The show started and you melted against Bucky’s chest, pulling the blanket up to your neck. “Thought today we could do a fantastic little painting-”

You were pressed against his bad side, but Bucky didn’t mind. As the show progressed, you slid further into his lap until your head rested on the armrest of the sofa, close to Bucky’s right hand.

“People know when you’re happy. They can look at your paintings and tell how you were happy. They reflect your moods. Paintings are a reflection of your innermost feelings.”

He gave your head a little massage while you both watched Bob Ross create a stunning lake view painting.

“Cuz in your world, you can create any kind of illusion that you want. I spent half my life in the military, and I had to live in somebody else’s world all the time. Painting offered me freedom, I’d come home after all day of playing soldier and I could paint the kind of world that I wanted. It was clean, it was sparkling, shiny, beautiful-”

You shifted a little, and Bucky wondered if those words resonated with what you had been through. Being adopted, losing a brother, taking care of your sick mother when your siblings left, graduating, making ends meet... Those experiences had shaped you into the woman you would be for the rest of your life. A kind and strong woman who never really got to live or enjoy life.

He understood how important painting was to you. He was an artist too. He wasn’t a painter, but writing offered him a kind of freedom he had lost a long time ago.

“We should paint along,” you said, tilting your head up to look at him. “Then I’ll sell yours. I bet people would pay a lot of money to own an original Grant Thomas painting.”

Bucky chuckled. He knew you were teasing him, the slight curl of your lips said as much. “I’ll sign it James Barnes. It’ll be worthless.”

“It’s not worthless to me,” you said.

“Would you hang it in your room?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then, okay, I’ll paint along with you.”

When the episode ended, you decided to eat dinner first and paint later. You were sitting at the kitchen island, eating a bowl of leftover pasta from the night before, when Steve came home.

“Hey guys,” he greeted, throwing a plastic bag on the kitchen island before he made his way to his bedroom.

“I’m so fucking late. I still need to take a shower and get dressed.” Steve came out of his room, shirtless, and working his belt buckle open. “Hey, Buck, can I borrow some clothes?”

“I swear to fuckin’ God, Rogers, if you undress in the middle of the kitchen I’ll make you eat your jeans.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He rushed to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. A minute later, Bucky heard the shower running.

Later, you went upstairs to gather canvases, paint brushes and paint while Bucky helped Steve pick out an outfit.

Steve was too excited about his date to remind Bucky that he was an idiot, and Bucky was happy that for once they didn’t talk about his feelings for you. He teased Steve and watched as Steve squirmed, the tip of his ears bright red. Just like old times.

Then they met you downstairs where you had two easels set up in front of the television. Steve stood in front of you, visibly nervous and agitated, while you looked at him from head to toe.

“How do I look?”

“Like you’re wearing clothes two sizes too small for you, which makes you look even bigger than you normally are so... pretty good.”

“Yeah?”

You chuckled. “You look great, Steve.”

Steve responded with a relieved sigh and a little bashful smile. Bucky liked that look on Steve, it reminded him of their childhood when Steve awkwardly flirted his way through Brooklyn.

Bucky jerked back to the present when Steve turned to him for confirmation. He gave him a firm nod and a thumbs-up, then walked him to the kitchen. They talked about Steve’s plans for the night while Steve gathered up his things.

Bucky was walking back to the living room when Steve called out his name and threw something to him. Bucky caught it in mid-air, then looked down at his hand. A shiny looking condom wrapper was nestled in the palm of his hand. He scowled at Steve.

“Just in case,” Steve said with a shit-eating grin.

“You’re a dead man.”

Steve’s laughter echoed down the corridor as he left the apartment.

Blowing out a breath, Bucky pocketed the foil packet and joined you in the living room. You were sitting at your easel, blobs of paint arranged in a semicircle on a palette. There was another easel next to yours, with a palette resting on a stool to make things easier for him.

You selected the lake view episode you had watched earlier, thinking that it would make things easier. Bucky was in awe of you, you made painting look so effortless and beautiful. You added your own trees and clouds, shifting things around to create your own world.

Bucky followed Bob Ross’ instructions closely but, in his opinion, it looked like someone had made it with their feet. You laughed at his comment and told him that you would still hang it in your room. It boosted his ego a bit.

When you both finished your painting, Bucky looked up at the clock. It was close to midnight which made him do a double take.

“Time for me to hit the hay,” he said, yawning. “This is as good as it’s gonna get.”

“Mhh,” you mused, turning the TV off.

“You okay?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, I- uh, I was kind of hoping we’d do this all night,” you said, playing with a mostly dried paintbrush. You looked at him from under your lashes. “But it’s fine. I understand, you’re tired. I think I’ll wait for Steve.”

Bucky looked at you with a pained expression. He could tell something was bothering you. He placed his index finger under your chin and tilted your head up. “Angel, I don’t think Steve is coming home tonight.” You pinched your lips together and nodded. “Talk to me. I want to help.”

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Your words hit him like a punch in the chest, leaving him momentarily breathless. He pulled you close and pressed a long kiss to your forehead. You clung to him for dear life, your warmth and familiar scent made his heart ache.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled against your skin, then pulled back a little so he could look you in the eye. “Let’s change into something more comfortable, um? Then we’ll catch some shut-eye. I have an idea, the first person to fall asleep has to make breakfast tomorrow.”

“You sure?”

“You’re right. I’m exhausted, I’ll fall asleep first,” he said, shaking his head. “New rule, last person to fall asleep has to make breakfast.”

You snorted. “No, I meant... are we going to sleep in the same bed?”

“I promise I’ll stay on my side. But if it makes you uncomfortable, there’s a bunk bed in Steve’s room.”

“No, it’s fine. I want to wash my face first. I’ll see you in a minute.”

Bucky tried to play it cool but his heart was pounding. He kept seeing flashes of his dreams in his mind: skin against skin, steady puffs of air brushing against his skin, the smell of sweat and something uniquely you surrounding him.

He was absolutely terrified.

He went upstairs, took a quick shower, brushed his teeth and changed into his pyjamas. His night-time regimen took longer than he had anticipated so he wasn’t surprised when he found you sitting cross-legged on his bed, scrolling through your phone, looking so calm and peaceful.

You were wearing your pyjama bottoms and a fluffy sweatshirt stained with blue paint and tomato soup. He felt his stomach flip when you raised your head and smiled at him. A chill ran through his spine, and made the hairs on his arm stand on end. He’d never seen you look more beautiful.

“Hey,” you said, placing your phone on the nightstand. “Which side of the bed do you sleep on?”

“The side you’re sitting on.” You rolled to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers making him laugh. “You didn’t have to move.”

“It’s fine. I prefer this side.” You looked around the room. “I like your room. It’s very you.”

“Ah?”

“Yeah, neat, organized, lots of books, a cosy armchair, stormy blue comforter. It looks intimidating but it’s actually really soft. Like you.”

He suppressed a laugh. “Thanks.”

Bucky climbed into bed beside you, turned off the light and drew the blanket over him trying to get warm. He lay on his back looking up at the ceiling. He was so stiff and nervous, he forced himself to breathe normally. You turned onto your side and slid one of your hands under your pillow.

“Do you usually read before you go to sleep?” you whispered, afraid to disturb the silence.

“Yes,” he whispered back. “Do you?”

“Sometimes.” There was a moment’s silence before you spoke again. “I’ve started reading your book.”

“Oh, Christ,” he let out a small laugh and turned his head to look at you, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. “I hope I didn’t traumatize you.”

“You have a very dark sense of humour,” you said. “But I already knew that.”

“I’ve always had a dark sense of humor, but trust me, when I lost my arm I wasn’t in the mood for jokes. Therapy helped a lot. Besides, laughing is good for your health, right? My books are very personal, I don’t censor myself.”

“I know. I wasn’t expecting it to be so honest.” You shifted a little and looked away from him. “I don’t know if I’ll finish it, I feel like I’m intruding.”

“I understand.” He shifted slightly so he was lying on his left side, facing you. “I wrote it like a diary. Talking isn’t my strong suit. I don’t know, I think I’m trying too hard and I just end up being rude or not making sense. When I write, I take my time, I find the right words. It’s easier when I don’t have to look anyone in the eye.”

He knew his book was a little rough. He focused on his depression, his rehabilitation, relearning basically everything. He talked about rediscovering his body, intimately. He talked about his friends, his family, strangers, therapy, dating.

“Can I ask you a very personal question?”

“Of course.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

He swallowed hard, his throat raw and tight. “Yes.” In fact, he was in love right now. “Once. I don’t trust easily.”

“I know I read what happened between you and your girlfriend.”

She had been his first girlfriend since the accident. She was kind, patient, a little over excited but he found it cute. In a way, she reminded him of himself before the accident. She wasn’t afraid to touch him, and God, he needed to be touched.

Sam had witnessed little things that irked him but Bucky had ignored him, refusing to see the warning signs. He wanted to be happy again. But then he couldn’t bury his head in the sand anymore.

She treated him like a child in front of their friends, and her friends praised her for taking such good care of a man like him. A man who, in their mind, was high maintenance. She cut his meat for him even though he was perfectly capable of doing it himself. She helped him dress, tied his shoes, zipped up his coat, etc... He felt infantilized, humiliated.

He didn’t think she was a bad person though. It was just her personality.

“How’s Natasha?” he asked suddenly.

A puff of air caressed his face as you snorted out a laugh. “Why do you ask? You don’t like her.”

“I like her a lot,” he argued. “She seems wary of me, which I understand, but she’s great.”

“Yeah, she is.” You considered his words. “She’s doing well. She went on work date with Sam.”

Despite his promise to Sam, he couldn’t bear the thought of keeping things from you. “I have to tell you something about Sam and Nat.” You waited for him to continue. “Sam got promoted, he’s moving to D.C. He broke things off with Natasha tonight. I mean, their arrangement.”

“I know,” you said. “She texted me while you were in the bathroom. I’m going to spend the night at her place tomorrow. It’s been a while since we had a girls’ night, and we both really need it.”

“Good.” He cupped the side of your face, let his thumb brush your jaw. “I’m going out with the boys tomorrow. Steve’s leaving soon.” He pulled his hand back. “We should try to get some sleep.”

“No, please,” you said, shifting closer to him. “Not yet.”

“Angel, we can’t stay awake all night.”

“I don’t want to be alone in the dark.”

“I’m right here with you,” he spoke gently.

“But once you fall asleep I’ll be alone.”

Bucky raised his head and kissed your forehead, his lips lingering on your skin. When he pulled back, he rested his hand on your forearm and let his warmth seep into your skin. His thumb caressed the inside of your wrist, stroked over your racing pulse point.

“I’ll wait until you fall asleep,” he said.

“Thank you, Bucky.” You smiled and let your index finger run down the length of his nose. “Does it hurt when you sleep on your left side?”

“Not really,” he replied. “Most of the time it’s just weird. It feels like my phantom limb hangs down through the bed. Like my arm is invisible and just goes through the bed.”

“What do you miss the most?”

He let out a long exhale. “Not much. Hugs. Proper hugs... I guess. Holding someone close and wrapping myself around them. Squeezing someone against my chest, making them feel protected. I used to be a great hugger. Now I give bro hugs.”

“I love bro hugs.”

His chuckled dissolved into a grin, and you both stayed quiet for a moment. He knew you weren’t asleep, he could hear you thinking. “What’s on your mind, beautiful?”

“I was wondering,” you started, then trailed off. “One day we’ll have to end this arrangement. Do you think it’ll end well, or is it going to be messy?”

It took him a minute to respond.

“Y’know, one of the things I learned in therapy was to stop worrying about things I can’t control,” he said. “That’s in the future, for future-you and future-me. I don’t know how it’ll end but I can promise you one thing: I’ll always be there for you. Arrangement or not.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you breathed out. “Right-now-me is a lucky bitch.”

You both laughed softly, then fell into a contemplative silence. There was something so peaceful about lying in bed with you, his hand loosely wrapped around your wrist, sharing warmth. He didn’t want to fall asleep.

For the next hour you talked about your families, your childhood, your friends, your likes and your dislikes. You told him about being an adopted child and living with other adopted kids. He could tell you were holding back when you talked about your siblings.

The only one you gushed about was Okoye. You were evasive when you talked about Scott and Wanda, though you did tell him that you had agreed to meet Wanda.

“What’s your favorite comfort food?”

“Breakfast for dinner.” Your voice was soft and small, he knew you were falling asleep. “When I was a kid, we had breakfast for dinner every Sunday night. We’d grab a bowl of our favourite cereal and eat together in front of the TV. I miss those days.” Your face was half buried in your pillow. “What’s yours?”

“Easy, pancakes.”

You smiled, your eyes were closed. “I like pancakes too.”

He watched you fall asleep and made a mental note to make some pancakes for breakfast. Your breathing evened out, and he waited a few more minutes to make sure you were asleep before he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.

Bucky woke up to the sound of rain striking against the window. He opened his eyes and noted that the room seemed brighter than usual. A quick glance at the bedside clock told him that it was already a little past eight.

He stretched, sighing contentedly, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his closed fist. He tilted his head to look at you, still sleeping next to him. You lay on your stomach with your face turned away from him and your arms hugging your pillow. He adjusted the covers around your shoulders and stealthy slipped out of bed.

He went to the window and fixed the shades to make sure they didn’t let any light in. Then he made his way downstairs where he found Steve cracking eggs into a bowl. He was still wearing Bucky’s clothes, but his hair was a mess. Still he looked positively glowing.

“Mornin’,” Steve greeted with a wide smile.

“Hey, man.” Bucky took a seat at the kitchen island. “When did you get back?”

“About ten minutes ago. Long enough to notice that your angel hasn’t slept in her room last night. Wanna talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Bucky said with a shrug. “She didn’t want to be alone.”

“So you slept with her.”

“We slept in the same bed. Nuance.”

“I’m gonna nuance your face with my fist if you don’t talk to her soon,” Steve exclaimed. “She’s not going to stay single forever, Buck. Things are gonna change, one way or another.”

“I know.”

Steve set the bowl aside and held the edge of the counter behind him. He sighed, exasperated. “If I were you, I’d talk to her before something happens and takes your choices away from you.”

Bucky pinched his lips together, hard, and looked down at the counter. A muscle in his jaw jumped. “I- I don’t know how to talk to her,” he said, feeling tears gather in his eyes. He met Steve’s eyes. “I physically can’t talk to her. It hurts. It’s stuck here-” he aggressively grabbed his stomach “-all the time. And it hurts, Steve, you have no idea how painful it is.”

“That’s love,” Steve replied, smiling at him like he, too, knew how it felt.

“Well, it fucking sucks.”

Bucky wiped the back of his hand against his runny nose. Steve stood there in silence.

“This book I’m writing,” Bucky said, breaking the silence. “It’s about her. Just her.” He paused. “I can’t back down now, my publicist’s too invested in our story. I know it’s an eccentric way of telling someone you fell in love with them but... writing’s easier than talking.”

Steve nodded, his eyes glued to the floor. “It’s like a long love letter.”

“Something like that.” Bucky climbed off the stool and rounded the kitchen island. “Now, I’m going to make breakfast. I promised her pancakes.”

Steve smiled and watched him move around the kitchen. “I hope it works out for you, Bucky. I really do.”

Part 10

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