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ill-be-your-honey-bri · 4 years ago

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Banana Pancakes

HELLO MY LOVES! WHEW! This one took me WAY longer than I had wanted it to, but you know, life comes at ya and you gotta go with the punches.

That being said, this fic is part of @stellarboystyles THREE YEAR ANNIVERSARY FIC CHALLENGE! Congrats darling (though I’m a month late)! I had picked the single parent trope and the line I chose to use for the challenge is bolded and italicized in my fic.

Without further ado, I present my Nanny!Harry fic. Enjoy, leave a like, REBLOG FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! Send me some feed back, asks, love or hate, I don't care. TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS!

I love you and treat people with kindness.

Warnings: Lots of fluff, a sprinkle of smut, and a dash of angst (if you squint).

Harry woke up to the smell of the crisp, cool fall air coming through his cracked bedroom window. The sky was still an inky fog as he stretched his arms over his head, skin pimpling as the air caressed him. He woke up before his alarm out of habit, knowing it would ring out shortly.

He roused out of his bed, extending his stretch through his legs and let out a satisfied groan when that one particular muscle in his lower back felt the pull it desired. He turned to his phone to turn his alarm off before going to the window to shut it, only after his dark tabby cat climbed back into his rightful home. Harry mumbled a ‘morning handsome’ to his fuzz ball, crouching down to give Elvis some morning loving.

Elvis followed Harry into the kitchen, knowing it was time for breakfast, mewing while figure-eighting between Harry’s feet.

“I know bub, I’m getting it.” Harry let out a yawn as he was filling the cat’s bowl. Elvis jumped on the counter, shoving his face in the bowl before Harry was even done filling it. “Eager this morning, are ya? Out there charming all the lady cats got you hungry? I hope you were a gentleman, I taught you better.”

Harry began making his coffee and filled his mug before returning to his room to get ready for the day. He decided on picking her favorite sweater; his blue ‘mon petite’ chickadee jumper. He laid it out on his bed as he pulled out his brown wide legged trousers and a striped button up to layer. He jumped in the shower to rinse off the morning haze and the ‘sleepies’, as his girl calls it.

His girl.

He smiled as he thought about her, what they had planned for the day. Maybe he will take her to the museum, stop by her favorite cafe, pick up a new book for them to read. He finished getting ready, pulling out his bike from the hallway closet to get it all set for his venture to his girl’s house. He grabbed his backpack, filled it with his girl’s favorite snacks, books, and their matching lavender water bottles, smiling as he threw his bag on his shoulders and carried his bike down the stairs of the apartment building.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry got to his girl’s home, putting in the code as he turned the key as to not awake her with the alarm. He put down his bag by the entry table, kicking off his scuffed up white Vans before softly padding up the stairs. He saw the door cracked open, slowly pushing it open further before walking to kneel by the bed.

He gently pushed her unruly hair off her beautiful face, seeing her lips in a pout and a furrow in her brow. She stirred slightly before her big doe eyes sleepily blinked open, causing Harry to smile down at her, which earned him a smile back.

“Good morning, my sweet girl.”

“Mornin’, did mama leave yet?”

“Not yet, Monkey. You know she can never go to work without giving you your kiss.”

Layla sat up fully, making grabby hands for Harry to pick her up and carry her downstairs. Harry could hear you in the shower getting ready for work as Layla cuddled into him on his way to your kitchen.

If you would have asked Harry two years ago if he thought he would be the nanny to your daughter, he would have laughed at the idea. He had been working at a daycare center when he first met you and his girl, Layla.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She was an infant when you had to return to work. Being a single mom, you needed to do what was best for you and your little bundle of joy. You had done extensive research on all the daycare facilities in your area, even venturing out a little further to get the best for your little angel. You had taken her to Small Wonders Daycare, nervous for your first day back as a pediatrician resident at the children’s hospital and your first day away from the love of your life.

You had walked into her assigned room provided by the administration when you completed the application and interview. The room was duckling yellow with moss green accents. Babies were laying on their bellies on the floor, being cooed at by a gentleman in a sheep sweater vest and tan trousers. He looked up to see you with Layla in her carrier, beaming and quickly hopped on his socked feet to meet you at the door. His co-teacher promptly laid with the little ones on the floor.

“You must be Mrs. Y/LN!”

“Um, no, just Dr. Y/LN or Y/N preferably.” You smiled at him as he was blushing from embarrassment.

“I - I am so sorry.”

“It’s alright. Not the first time it has happened.” You smiled at him before looking down at your little one who is looking around with wide eyes. Harry also looked at the carrier, quickly gaining his composure as he saw the little beauty.

“And you must be Layla!” Cooing at her, causing her to smile and blink slowly. He got on his knees as you placed the carrier on the floor so that he was able to unhook her and gently pick her up to his chest. He softly looked down at her as she returned the gaze, “Don’t tell the other girls this but, you have got to be the most beautiful little girl I have ever met.”

Layla quickly nuzzled into his chest, scratching gently at one of the sheep on his vest, giving you a sense of comfort and ease, knowing that your daughter is already in good hands. You had tried not to cry as you told Harry her schedule and routine, handing him her diaper bag.

“She prefers her milk at room temp, she gets fussy if it's too hot or too cold. There is enough breastmilk for the day and formula as well, if you need it. She has been eating me dry.” Harry gave a light chuckle, handing you your baby as he was putting the breastmilk in the refrigerator, Layla’s diapers and wipes in their designated spot by the changing table.

“I packed some extra clothes in her bag too, lots of bibs. She is not the most ladylike when it comes to eating, huh baby?” You gently rubbed her cheek as you looked down at her with maternal love.

Harry, always in awe of the way a mother could love her child and after being with you for a few moments, he knew that you could never love or cherish anything more than the little being cradled in your arms. The way your daughter looked up at you with awe, watching your every movement. That was a love that Harry always craved for.

Seeing Layla grow was one of Harry's fondest memories. He was there when she started to take her first attempt at steps, babbling and cooing her first ‘words’. When it was time that Layla was meant to graduate from his class room, it broke his heart. And it broke yours too.

Harry and Layla had created such a bond, you couldn’t bear for them to part. So you did the only thing you thought you could do when you walked into the classroom to see Harry laying on his back with your little one being held up in the air, giggling away with a few teeth that finally peeked through her gums.

“Hello my little one!” You had knelt down on the carpet next to Harry as he was handing you Layla, who was extremely happy to see you; kicking her legs and squealing happily. “Did you have a good day?”

“She was a little monkey today!” Harry was packing up Layla’s diaper bag as he was telling you about her day. “She was trying to climb out of her crib, climbing all over my lap during lunch and my back during tummy-time.”

“Oh no! We just got crawling down like a boss and now you get the gall to start climbing! You’ll be walking before you know it and then we will be in real trouble, wont we missy?” You started to kiss her chubby cheeks, making giggles bubble from her tummy.

“I’ll certainly miss her.” Harry gave you a shy smile as he carried her diaper bag and a gift from him for Layla to you. He handed you her bag as you stood up before handing you the gift bag.

“What’s this?” You gave him a curious look as you took the bag in hand as you settled Layla on your hip.

Harry scratched the back of his neck and wiggled his socked toes. “It’s just a little something.”

Layla reached her arms out to Harry, as if she knew this would be the last day that they would be able to cuddle. You handed her over easily, tapping her bum before opening the gift bag. Inside was her favorite book to ‘read’ with Harry, (you're pretty sure it's because of the way Harry reads it to her because she crawls away every time you try to read it). There was a crochet sweater that Harry told you his mom made, and a framed photo of Harry and Layla where Layla is squeezing Harry's cheeks to pull him in for a sloppy kiss.

You held your chest as you looked at the photo and tears began to well. “Harry, this is… this is so sweet, thank you. She loves you so much.”

He smiled down at her, scrunching his face, which Layla had mocked, “I guess I love her too. You have a very special girl on your hands.” He kissed her little nose before she cuddled onto his shoulder.

“I don’t want her to have a new teacher.” You wiped your eyes as you put Layla’s gifts back in the bag. “Would you want to be her nanny, Harry?”

Harry froze at the offer, a little taken back by being offered what he would consider to be a dream job; help you care for your perfect child. Granted, Harry had thought of this before but more of a fatherly figure than a nanny, but he would take what he could get to be close to both of his girls.

“What do you say Monkey? Want me to be your nanny?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry made his way down the stairs with Layla wrapped around his waist, her head on his shoulder. Her little fingers were twisting in the curls on the nape of Harry’s neck as he was humming and rubbing circles on her back. Layla unraveled herself as Harry approached the table to set her down so that he could start the coffee maker and begin making Lalya’s favorite breakfast.

Layla watched on with sleepy eyes, occasionally giving them a rub, as Harry pulled out a mixing bowl, flour, eggs, vanilla, bananas, and Layla’s favorite part, chocolate chips. She had quietly stood up from her perch and made her way to the ingredients as Harry was setting up the coffee pot. Harry had turned just in time to see Layla pop a small handful of chocolate chips into her mouth. She froze her movements.

“Monkey… what did I say about eating the chocolate chips before they are in your pancakes?”

Layla slowly reached for a few more, putting her hand out to Harry, “We share?”

Harry couldn’t help but to let a chortle out as he bent down, meeting his girl as her little fingers gripped on the chips that she moved to pop them in Harry’s mouth. “Thank you monkey! Would you like to help me mix?”

Layla quickly nodded as Harry picked her up to place her on the counter, making sure she was far enough from the edge before he handed her the whisk and placed the mixing bowl in front of her. Harry measured out the ingredients before putting them in the bowl for his girl to start mixing. Harry had pretended that he didn’t notice her add more handfuls of chocolate chips into the mix.

Harry heard your heels on the hardwood upstairs and Layla quickly turned when she realized you were coming down the stairs. You took Harry’s breath away, as you always did when you walked into the room. He could never take his eyes off of you when you were in his line in vision. He took in how perfect the blush pink, knee length, a-line dress perfectly hugged your curves. The way the nude heels made your legs look miles long. How perfect your hair frames your face and the beaming smile as you saw your baby girl.

“Good morning, baby!” You walked to the island of your kitchen to give your daughter a kiss, noticing the taste of chocolate when you pulled your lips from hers. You hum and squint your eyes, causing Layla to let out a giggle as she covered her mouth. “That’s funny, I’m pretty sure Harry hasn’t made you any pancakes yet, so why are your kisses so yummy?”

Layla shrugged as if she had no idea what you were talking about, causing you to look at Harry who gave you the same exact shrug your daughter had just given you. You shake your head, resting your hand on Harry’s lower back as you pass to make your coffee.

Harry focused on the touch, wishing that your hand was pressed a little firmer and a little longer. He wished that after you kissed your perfect carbon copy, you would kiss him too and catch him red handed after sneaking a few chocolate chips. He had wished that he wouldn’t have to go home at the end of the day to his lonely apartment. He shook himself from his thoughts as he heard you thank him for making coffee.

“Oh, it’s no problem. I made enough for you to take some with you too.”

“God, you’re a saint!” You squeezed his shoulder as you walked to the stool that held your purse and work tote. “Starting as a full time doctor at the children’s hospital has been so draining. I’m pretty sure I have been drinking a whole pot by myself.”

“I know that they just hired you full time but you should take some time for yourself.”

Layla watched on as you and Harry talked about work, slowly stopping her mixing and reached her hand for the chocolate chip bag. Harry slapped his hand on the bag, moving it away without even looking in Layla’s direction as he continued to talk about you and your self care. You let out a chuckle at Layla’s shocked pout as you take your last sip of your coffee.

“Alright my love, I need to get going. Be good for Harry.” Layla reached up to wrap her arms around your neck and gave you another peck to your lips.

“I will mama, I love you!”

“I love you too, baby. Have a good day Harry, call me if you need anything.”

With that, you walked out the door and got in your car to go to work as Harry got back to making breakfast for his girl.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After eating breakfast and doing a team clean up, Harry took Layla to her room to pick out an outfit for the day. Layla stood there, wide eyed, watching Harry as he moved around her room, knowing exactly where everything was.

“I was thinking we could go to the park today, what do you think monkey? And after the park, we would go to the museum.”

Layla perked up, excited to go to two of her favorite places, hoping Harry would list her most favorite place when they have a day planned like this.

“And the cafe?” She looked up at him with hopeful eyes, now standing by his side while he was pulling socks out of her dresser.

“I don’t know monkey… do you think we should?” Harry was trying to hold back his smile, knowing how devastated she would be if he were to ever tell her no to her favorite cafe.

“Please, Harry? It’s my favorite.” Of course, she had to use those gorgeous eyes that she clearly got from her mother. Harry realized that he is so weak for these girls.

“Alright, I guess we must then.” Harry closed the drawer with his hip and Layla jumped and clapped before sprinting to her ensuite.

Layla quickly stripped out of her clothes and turned the knobs to the bath herself before using all her little strength to put the plug in the tub. Harry was smart enough one day, when Layla was feeling extra autonomous, to put stickers on where the perfect bath temperature would be, so that Layla would never burn herself or cry when it’s too cold.

Harry laid out her outfit for the day on the sink counter, grabbing a cup and kneeling before the tub to help wash her hair. He heard “I can do it” more times than he can count until it became time to rinse her hair, where she would wordlessly tip her head back and cover her eyes with her little hands.

They would mindlessly chat about what they were excited to see at the museum, what they would play at the park, until Layla randomly asked, “Do you have a daddy?”

Harry froze. He knew he obviously was going to answer but he was afraid of where the conversation would lead to. “I do.” He let the silence settle, not wanting to push Layla to talk due to his anxiety.

“Mama says I have a daddy out there somewhere but she loved me too much to share me.” Layla rubbed the water away from her face before looking at Harry with a gentle smile that began to turn to a soft pout.

“What’s the matter, monkey? You can talk to me.” Harry put the cup off to the side on the tub ledge before leaning in to listen to his sweet girl. Her little fingers began to trace the ink on his left arm since his arms were exposed after Harry pushed up his sleeves for bath time.

“I’m sad I don’t know anything about my daddy. Did he not love me?” Harry could see the tears form in Layla’s eyes and he could physically feel them form in his along with the lump in his throat.

“Oh, baby. I don’t know anything about your daddy but I do know that he is a very lucky man to have had you and mama.”

“Why is he gone?” Layla’s tears were freely falling and her little lip was trembling.

Harry grabbed Layla’s towel, picking her up and wrapping the towel around her so he could hold her to his chest as she nuzzled in his neck, exactly how she did when they first met.

“My sweet girl.” He was rubbing her back and rocking her back and forth. Harry was curious as to what had brought this on but he didn’t want to press it. He did know that he was going to properly spoil his girl rotten today to make all her worries and heartache disappear.

Layla sniffled and wiped her runny nose on the towel before pushing away from Harry, resting her hands on his chest to look him in the face. She quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a good squeeze, making a smile spread to Harry’s cheeks, holding his girl closer.

“Will you Elsa braid my hair like mama does?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Probably won’t look as good as mama’s but I will try.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry must say, he’s pretty proud of his braid as he is putting Layla’s glittery sky blue helmet on her.

Harry had dressed her in an outfit he would probably wear. You always had a good sense of fashion and Layla was picking up on it as well, now that you have been giving her some more independence in choices.

Layla was dressed in dark purple corduroy flares with a cream sweater, speckled with pastel pinks, purples, and blues. Harry made sure that she wore comfortable but warm shoes, opting for some brown leather Chelsea boots. Harry grabbed her mustard yellow peacoat and threw a pair of gloves in his backpack, just in case, along with more socks, another sweater, extra hair ties and clips (Harry would occasionally steal her butterfly clips for his own hair). He made sure that their water bottles were filled and there were snacks and sanitary wipes in the front pocket of his backpack before throwing it on his shoulders.

Harry and Layla walked out the front door, her helping lock up the house, before walking to Harry’s bike. He picked up Layla to set her in the kid carrier attached to the back of Harry’s bike. You had been extremely nervous when Harry had first told you about the seat and wanting to take Layla for a ride. You offered to help him get a car, even if it was for your own sanity, but Layla loved riding on Harry’s bike way too much to ever say no.

Layla was patient and cooperative with Harry hooking her in, making sure she was safe and secure. Harry checked the straps and buckles three times before he gave Layla an approving nod while she returned his gesture, adding a giggle. Harry swung his leg over the seat, kicked up the kickstand and planted his feet on the pedals, making their way to the park. Layla enjoyed the scenery whizzing by while humming some song that Harry couldn’t make out, otherwise he would have joined her.

They made their way to the park, enjoying the rest of the morning hours there before they ventured to the cafe on the lake that was close to the park. Harry kept his bike locked up, opting to hold Layla’s hand as they walked to the cafe.

Harry had asked Layla why she likes this cafe so much many times and her answers had changed over the years. She used to tell Harry that it was because of “duckies”, then it turned to liking their hot cocoa. Today when he asked, his heart was warmed by her words and how wise she had become by the ripe age of three.

“Mama brings me here when we go to the park and you always bring me here. It’s our family spot.”

The waitress came over, beaming at Harry and Layla sitting across from each other, coloring on the placemat together.

“Oh my goodness, your daughter is so cute!”

Layla looked up at the waitress with a scowl before looking at Harry, causing him to laugh.

“I’m her nanny.”

The waitress looked taken back but quickly changed her features, looking Harry up and down and biting her lip. Layla continues to scowl at the waitress as Harry told her that they were ready to order.

Layla, being the smart girl she is, noticed how the waitress demeanor changed. How she was now only focused on Harry, began to twirl her hair and the constant lip biting. Harry had ordered his food and looked to Layla, who cleared her throat to get the waitress’s attention.

“My mama is prettier and she’s a doctor.”

Harry choked on his water at Layla’s childlike bluntness, causing a laugh to escape from his lips that he was trying to hold back. The waitress now was the one to wear the scowl as Layla’s own demeanor became confident with a hint of sass.

The waitress finally looked to Layla, “That’s not a very nice thing to say to a stranger.”

“It’s not nice to ignore me. I want hot cocoa with extra whipped cream and grilled cheese. Thank you.” Layla went back to coloring on the placemat, dismissing the waitress.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They had finished their lunch, the waitress returning minimally since she got scolded by the child. Layla had cleaned up her area, stacking all of her dirty dishes and utensils onto Harry’s plate before hopping down from her chair and reaching for Harry’s hand. They got back to Harry’s bike, having Layla grip onto Harry’s trouser leg as he was unlocking the bike to set it up properly to get Layla back in her seat.

On their way to the museum, she was playing with the keychain they had made together that was attached to the zipper of Harry’s backpack. They were chatting about what parts of the museum they were going to be looking forward to.

Harry had tried to make their time together as educational as possible. Her little brain was ever growing, becoming curious, and he tried to feed its thirst for knowledge. The museum was having an exhibit on extinct animals so he had made sure they made it in time for them to join.

Layla was a wonderful listener. Harry had to carry her, per her request, so that she could be close to the presenter as they walked around the exhibit so she wouldn't miss a word he was saying. Her eyes were glued to the speaker when he spoke, focused on the extinct animal figure on display when he would direct their focus. Layla had her fingers wrapped in Harry’s curls, twisting them gently in her little fingers as she sponged up the information. She would occasionally rest her head on his shoulder, nuzzle close, and Harry would rest his head on hers.

“Getting tired, sweetheart?”

Layla lazily shook her head no as her grip tightened on to Harry. Harry knew she would be fast asleep the moment he got her into the bike seat.

Layla slept all the way home, Harry careful to pull her out to not disturb her, holding her close as he got them inside. He carried her to her room, slowly peeling off her coat and boots before covering her in a crochet blanket; another gift made by his own mother for his girl. Layla curled onto her side, subconsciously grabbing for her stuffed monkey Harry got for her for her third birthday, and soft snores began to fall from her lips.

Harry kissed her cheek before turning on her white noise maker and leaving her door cracked. Harry made his way down stairs and plopped on the couch, falling asleep himself.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry woke up covered in a soft sherpa blanket with the smell of garlic and tomato filling his nostrils. He let out a stretch before sitting up, seeing you standing at the stove and Layla at the table painting.

You were still in your blush dress from the morning but were barefoot and hair up in a messy bun with pieces framing your face. You were sipping from your red wine glass while pushing chicken and veggies in a skillet.

Layla perked up when she saw Harry staring at you. She had noticed this look he gave you before, the ever observant girl, but she didn’t know how to verbalize what the look could mean. She let Harry watch you a little longer until you had noticed he was awake when you turned around.

“Morning sunshine! Did this one wear you out today?” You were smiling at him as you continued to chop vegetables to put them in a salad, popping a chunk of cucumber in your mouth and handing Layla a chunk for herself, popping her piece in her mouth almost identical to you. Except, Harry was focused on the way your lips curled into a soft smile while you eloquently chewed and swallowed the piece of green veg before licking your lips, causing Harry to realize how dry his mouth was and how sweaty his palms were.

“No, not at all. We had a great day, guess I just needed the rest.”

You nodded as you pulled three plates down from the cupboard to place on the table. You mumbled a “time to clean up” into Layla’s hair, that is now loose from its Elsa braid, as you kissed the top of her head. Layla gently put her paints away, Harry helping with the water cup and laying the painting on the counter to dry. Harry walked Layla to the bathroom so they could both wash their hands for dinner.

You had made up the plates and placed them on the table before Harry and Layla had walked out. Getting Layla a cup for water and another red wine glass, you poured Harry a glass and topped yours off, setting them on the table as the two walked out.

This had become a strange tradition for the three of you after you had noticed that Harry had lost weight and was concerned that he wasn’t eating properly at home by himself. He swore it wasn’t an issue but you had gone full mama bear mode on Harry and started to put a plate in front of him before he had an opportunity to tell you “no thank you”. You sat at the table with Layla and Harry, discussing their day.

“Mama, the lady at the cafe ignored me to stare at Harry. It wasn’t nice!”

You let out a giggle, thinking to yourself that you can’t blame the poor waitress for being enchanted by the magnetic being across from you. “You’re right baby, that’s not nice but hopefully Harry got a phone number out of it.”

You smiled across at Harry and he began to blush, opening his mouth to speak but Layla beat him to it.

“Why would Harry need her phone number? He can call you!”

As calm and collected as you were, Harry went into a slight panic; was he really that obvious when it came to his feelings for you?

“Again, you’re right baby. Harry can call me any time he wants.”

Harry’s eyes went wide and Layla’s scowl turned into a bright smile, going back to eating her dinner while Harry sat there frozen.

“I can call you?”

“Of course Harry, any time. Even if it’s just to check in on Layla.”

Harry deflated a little when you were clear about your intentions for a phone call just as a friendly gesture. Harry went back to eating, trying to disguise his disappointment.

Harry had helped you clean up while Layla went to get her pajamas on. There was an awkward silence looming over the two of you that you could both sense but you weren’t sure who would cut through it first, so you decided to bare the knife.

“Can I ask you a huge favor? You have every right to say no if you are busy or you just don’t want to.”

“Of course, can ask me anything.”

“Would you be able to watch Layla Friday night?”

“Yeah, no problem. Did you get called in to cover at the hospital?”

“Um, no, actually. I have a date.”

The knife you used to cut through the heavy air around you just went right into Harry’s heart. He couldn’t tell if you could notice but he could feel his blood run cold and his face go pale.

“No problem. I’ll just stay all day Friday. I should get going now though.”

“You don’t want to stay for the Great British Bake off? You always stay to watch after dinner.” You gave him a pout as you wiped your hands with a rag to dry them. Those eyes always work on him, no matter if they are from Layla or you, but his heart couldn’t bear to look at them tonight.

“I have stuff at home to catch up on and since I’ll be busy on Friday now, I should get it done.”

“Harry, you don’t have to watch Layla on Friday if you’re already busy. I can find a babysitter.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, Harry quickly walked to the door, stopping when he saw Layla come down the stairs, trying to hold back his tears that he can feel burning.

“Good night my sweet girl, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Layla reached her arms up to hug Harry, holding her extra tight and giving her a long kiss to her cheek before gently setting her feet on the floor and heading home.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You were getting ready for your date as Harry was making dinner for him and Layla. You had offered to cook something up but Harry told you that you should get ready so you wouldn’t be late.

You walked down in the tightest dress Harry had ever seen you in, making his body ache from desire and heartbreak. How desperately he wanted to pick you up for a date with you walking out in that curve hugging maroon dress and black stiletto heel, putting your earring in and fluffing your hair to where you want it to lay.

“So pretty mama!”

“Thank you baby!” You gave the top of her head a kiss before going to pick up your phone from the charger to place in your clutch. You heard the horn of a car outside as you were grabbing your black trench coat.

“Okay baby, be good. You might be sleeping when I get back but I’ll come tuck you in. Harry, call me if you need anything.” You kissed Layla again and made your way to the door, locking it behind you.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Your date has been going extremely well. David was a handsome surgeon you had met during your ER coverage when someone came in with intensive internal bleeding, leading to an emergency surgery where David was on call. Laughs were being had, drinks were flowing easy, then your phone rang.

You saw that it was Harry so you quickly answered, “Harry, is everything alright?” You could hear Layla crying in the background, making your heart race.

“Layla has a fever and I can’t get her to calm down.”

You took a deep breath, “What’s her temperature? Did you give her some children’s Tylenol?”

“She is at 100 right now, gave her the Tylenol and put a cool cloth on her head. She’s just so inconsolable right now. She wants her mama, Y/N.”

“Can I talk to her?” Harry put the phone on speaker as he continued to rock Layla, adjusting the cloth on her forehead.

You whimpered when you heard her choked sobs, gently asking, “Baby, wants the matter?”

Layla’s cries had died down a minuscule amount but you could make out what she was saying, “I want my mama!” Your heart was breaking and you looked to David, who at this point finished his wine and looked extremely annoyed.

“It’s okay baby, I’ll be home soon, okay? I’ll be right there.” Layla settled a little more and Harry ended the call with a “see you soon”.

David paid for the bill as you began to apologize and get your stuff together. David began to walk ahead of you before saying his cold goodbye at the door. “I don’t have time to drive you home, could you catch an Uber or something?”

You scoffed at him before rolling your eyes, “Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks for dinner but don’t expect a call from me.” You pulled out your phone as David walked away so that you could request an Uber.

You had rushed into your house, which was now eerily quiet for having a sick baby girl on your hands. You walked into the house further and found Harry laying on the couch topless with Layla laying on his chest, also topless and a wet towel between them. Harry had his fingers combing through Layla’s hair as they were watching Coco.

Layla lifted her head when she heard your heels on the hardwood, looking at you and tears began to brim her eyes.

“Hi my baby, you’re not feeling good, hm?” You knelt down by the couch as you stripped off your coat and Layla was reaching for you to hold her. You held her close, feeling the warmth radiating off of her but it wasn’t a concerning temperature at this point.

Harry sat up, folding the wet towel before taking it to the bathroom, walking away and coming back still topless. Your eyes explored his torso, his high waisted trousers cover up until under his butterfly. You continued to hold and rock your little one, who was now nuzzling into your neck with her breathing slowing. Your eyes finally finished their exploring of Harry’s dips and valleys when you met his eyes, mouthing a “thank you” for taking care of your daughter.

You stood up and kicked off your heels before climbing the stairs to tuck Layla in. You placed her in your bed so that you could watch her overnight. You walked back down the stairs after leaving your door cracked and promptly went to the cupboard to pull out two wine glasses and a bottle of Syrah, popping out the cork and pouring two hefty glasses before walking to the couch where Harry now sat with his shirt on. To say you were disappointed was an understatement.

Harry took the glass and looked at how full it was before giving you a look with a cocked brow and smirk. “Not good, huh?”

You ran your hand through your hair and let out a sigh. “It was fine until you called.” Harry instantly felt guilty for calling you on your date until you spoke up again.

“I didn’t tell him I had Layla, he had told me before the date that he never wanted children. I guess that should have been a major red flag. I’ve just been so alone and desperate that I took the first thing that jumped on me.” You took a huge swig of your wine before letting out a sigh. “I probably should have asked you if you needed a ride home before I started guzzling down my feelings.”

Harry smiled at you, “It’s fine. I can get an Uber.”

You almost spilt your wine when you sat up with a mouthful, quickly swallowing it. “Mm! He didn’t even drive me home! He made me get a fucking Uber!”

“What an asshole!”

“I know! Ugh, I should just give up while I’m ahead. I’ve got the most perfect daughter, I have a great job, although exhausting. I own a house and have a happy and healthy life… I guess I just get-“

“Lonely?” Harry thought that you were preaching to the choir at this point because he felt the same exact way; he had your daughter to care for, an amazing job, he is happy and healthy because you care for him.

You let out another sigh and closed your eyes, “Yes, so lonely. I have been doing this all on my own and it can be too much. I just want someone to hold me, tell me it will be okay, that I am doing a good job.”

“You’re doing an amazing job,Y/N.”

You slowly open your eyes and look to Harry who has been watching you this whole time. You let out another sigh because you can feel him pull you in but you don’t want anything to happen, not right now anyway, not like this.

As if your daughter wasn’t already your saving grace, she cried out for you right when you felt the pull to Harry become too strong. You put your wine glass down and go to your baby.

“You’re more than welcome to stay in the guest room if you don’t feel like making your way home this late. I’m going to go to bed. Goodnight Harry.”

And with that, you walked up the stairs to be with your baby and Harry called an Uber home.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry had walked in, eager to start the day with Layla, thinking about maybe baking something and going to the art museum. When he walked into the kitchen, he wasn’t expecting to see you in a long t-shirt, bed head and bare legs with Layla on the counter eating sliced strawberries.

“Oh shit, Harry!”

“Mama! No swear!”

“Oop, sorry baby. Harry, I must have forgot to tell you that I had today off.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, I can head home so you can spend the day with Layla.”

“Or you can stay…” you were looking at him with hopeful eyes that he would agree to spend the day with you and Layla. “We would love for you to stay.”

“Yeah Harry! Please?”

The way that both of you are now giving him the eyes, he’s lucky he didn’t turn into a puddle on the floor. Harry began to peel his jacket and boots off, exposing his layered red sweater over a cream button up to match his brown and cream plaid pants, walking over to the island for Layla to pop a strawberry in his mouth. You smiled up at him as he began to help you prep the breakfast to build your own waffles.

Harry helped Layla get ready for the day, getting her in some black fleece leggings, a chambray shirt with some brown leather combat boots. Layla said she wanted mama to do her hair and that Harry shouldn’t take it personally.

Layla sprinted into your ensuite where you were finishing your simple makeup and loose curls, wearing high waisted dark skinny jeans and a cream off the shoulder sweater. You were still barefoot at this point and Harry thought that he could get used to this.

You made sure you unplugged your curling wand and moved it away from the sink so that you could sit Layla on it to do her hair. She already had white bows in her hand for you to put in her hair. You quickly did a crown braid to keep her hair out of her face and finished it off with a top knot, throwing a bow at the base of the bun. You dashed on your perfume, doing the same to Layla per her request and then threw some chapstick on the both of you before picking up Layla to place on your hip.

You looked up to Harry and asked him if he was ready to go. He swallowed that dry mouth away before giving you a nod.

You got Layla settled in her car seat, tucking your purse under her feet and gave her a kiss before you climbed into the driver's seat. Harry got comfortable in the passenger seat, looking in the mirror in the visor to look back at Layla who was ‘reading’ a book.

You looked over to Harry who was smiling in the mirror, causing you to smile before asking if everyone was ready. You stopped by a coffee shop drive through where you got Layla her hot cocoa, yourself a flat white, and Harry a black coffee. The drive to the art museum was a little ways so you let Layla pick the music for the car. You hummed along to the Disney songs until Layla was begging for you and Harry to sing, causing you both to giggle but sing along.

Harry took over when it came to the art museum, educating Layla on artists and types of paints and materials used. You followed behind letting them having their time together, warming to see Harry adore your daughter and her being excited to learn. You took a few pictures of the two of them and were reviewing them when Layla was hyper fixated on Monet’s “Sunflowers” painting. You froze at a picture of Harry knelt down with Layla between his legs and his hand on her tummy. She was pointing to a painting on the wall while Harry was looking at the camera with a beaming smile, the next one was the same pose with a softer smile and he was looking behind the camera, looking at you.

You looked up to see Layla running to you with arms open and Harry jogged close behind. Layla was talking a mile a minute about the sunflower painting as you knelt down to pick her up. You kept looking at Harry who was giggling at Layla’s gabbing and excitement while you could not focus on anything other than the way Harry’s dimples were popping and his eyes were crinkling. You shook yourself from the trance as you helped Layla get her jacket from the museum coat closet.

You decided to go out of the way to go to the cafe by the park. This would be the first time all three of you went together and you knew Layla would be excited when she saw the car pull into the parking lot.

You were right; she squealed and tried to get herself out of her car seat but Harry had beat her to it. She was in awe of the trees surrounding the lake and the cafe, all in their full bloom of fall colors. The leaves were scattered beautifully along the parking lot, leaves floating in the lake. The cafe was decorated in fall decor, preparing for the holiday season.

You requested a table by the widows facing the lake and sat Layla closest to the window so she could enjoy the view. She murmured how it looked like a painting at the museum and what paints were used in the art she was thinking of. You smiled at her before looking at Harry who was already looking at you.

Layla started to list all the colors she sees outside as the waitress approached, the same one that had eyes for Harry.

“Well, hello again.” She again was focused only on Harry, ignoring your’s and Layla’s presence. Harry had to laugh because the face you were making at that moment was identical to the one Layla had made the first time.

“I’ll let the ladies order first.” Harry nodded at you before you looked up at the waitress, giving her a sickly sweet smile. Her eyes widened when she looked at you, truly shocked by your beauty.

“Layla baby, you first.” Layla never looked away from outside, stating that she would like “hot cocoa with extra whip cream and a grilled cheese, please.” You had asked if she could get a side of veg along with her meal as you ordered a turkey club with a side salad and a cup of soup to share with Layla.

Harry had ordered his turkey burger with side salad before the waitress parted to bring a fresh pitcher of water. Layla had finally turned her attention back to you and Harry, going over her favorite parts of the museum throughout the meal. You're pretty sure she had listed everything she saw.

You made your way home, Layla falling asleep in the car. Harry had carried her up to her bed as you gathered all the dirty laundry to start a load. You sat at the table with your laptop, paying bills when Harry made his way down to you at the kitchen table. Harry let out a yawn and you pointed to the coffee maker.

“Fresh pot.” You smiled and lifted your mug to ‘cheers’ him. Harry sat across from you while you finished up on your computer and you suggested that you watch a movie or some garbage tv.

You got about halfway through the movie before you heard little feet pattering on the hardwood upstairs. Before you know it, Layla has crawled into your lap, laying her head on your shoulder while she looks at Harry with a sleeping smile.

“Good morning beautiful, sleep well?” She nodded at Harry as she nuzzled closer to you. You rubbed her back and patted her bum as you thought about what to do for dinner.

“I was thinking since we have already been bad all day, we should order some pizza.” Layla perked up at that before squeezing you tighter. You giggled as you pulled out your phone, hitting the speed dial to your favorite place.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

With full bellies and a sleepy Layla, you get the two of you ready for bed as Harry puts away the leftovers and throws the boxes away.

You walk down with a clean face, hair up, and a pair of green cotton plaid pajama pants and a white oversized T-shirt. Harry walked back in from the recycling outside to you holding a pint of ice cream and two spoons. You raised your eyebrows and giggled as Harry walked over to you. You popped open the pint and handed a spoon to Harry.

“Layla would be heartbroken if she saw you sharing with me and not her.” He smiled before popping the spoon in his mouth, letting the cream melt over his tongue.

You shrug, licking your spoon, “I don’t share my ice cream with just any one Harry.” You take another spoonful and look at Harry as you take your bite.

Harry could feel his heart racing, his mouth drying, his hands are sweaty. He can feel the word vomit in the back of his throat make its way to the tip of his tongue. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Of course Harry, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You stood up straight when you saw that Harry had adjusted his own posture. He was avoiding your gaze now, looking to the spoon in his hand he was twirling while he tried to find his voice. You didn’t pressure him, you both just stood in silence.

“I’m very lucky to have had you walk into my classroom. I instantly fell in love with your daughter and I instantly fell in love with you too.” He was still avoiding your gaze but if he were to look up, he would see that your eyes have glossed and your lip is trembling, the way Layla’s does when she is trying to hold back her tears.

“I’ve known for an embarrassingly long time how I have truly felt about you but what we have is so good and I couldn’t bear to not have Layla in my life, couldn’t bear to lose you. I- Today was amazing and made me realize that it would kill me if I don’t tell you that I am completely and utterly, madly in love with you.”

Harry decided that it’s now or never to look at you, and you looked so beautiful in this moment as you do every time Harry looks at you. You may be in oversized and stained pajamas, your cheeks may be wet and flush and your lips bruised and trembling, but you are as beautiful as you are every day that Harry is graced with your presence.

You now try to find your words but you choke out a sob. Harry quickly wraps you into his arms and kisses the top of your head, holding you close. You finally catch your breath and look up to him.

“I always knew there was something there but I was too scared to find out.”

Harry wiped your cheeks with his thumbs, holding your face in his palms. “Can I kiss you, Y/N?”

You gave him the nod he was wishing for and he slowly leaned in as he pulled you closer. He was gentle in his movements, not wanting to scare you away from this moment. He planted his lips softly against yours, slowly moving so that he could incase your lower lip between his, softly sucking it between his lips. He moved closer so that your bodies were pressed together and he lowered his right hand from your cheek to your waist and his left hand to the back of your head, his fingers weaving into the hair pulled up into the bun on top of your head. He gently let his tongue graze your bottom lip before he pulled you closer and licked again with more fervor.

Your mouth opened more to let him in, just as you were opening yourself more to let him into your heart. Your hands reached out to grip at the sweater on his chest as you finally let go and let your tongue meet his. This move gives Harry the confidence and reassurance he needs as he fully licks into you to massage your tongue with his as he presses his hips to yours, pushing your lower back to the counter.

He pulls away breathless as he lays his forehead on yours, kissing your nose and rubbing the back of your head with his thumb. He goes back in to kiss you more, lifting you by your thighs to wrap around him. He carefully carries you to your room, gently laying you down on the bed as he starts to kiss down your neck, his hands massaging your thighs that are still wrapped around him. Harry pulls his sweater over his head and before you get the chance to admire him, his lips are pressed to yours. His fingers graze the waistband of your bottoms and he starts to pull them down, his soft and warm palms caressing the bare flesh of your thighs.

Harry continues to kiss the skin of your neck as you swallow down the lump that is forming in the base of your throat as you think about the next morning. “Harry, what if this changes everything?”

“Everything’s still the same, nothing changes. Except now, I get to hold you, and kiss you, and show you much I love you.”

You let out a sigh of relief as the tears begin to form that you try to blink away. Harry’s face is again level with yours, kissing your cheek. “Will you let me show you how much I love you?”

Your lip trembles as you tell him yes, never feeling loved before this moment. Harry gently kissed you and he reached for the hem of your shirt. He pulled it over your head, exposing your sports bra and he leaned on his hunches to finish pulling your bottoms off. Harry took his time, kissing every inch of you. Your stretch marks from carrying Layla, your stubbly thighs because you didn’t have time to shave your legs fully this morning, your freckles and scars. Harry truly loved every inch of you, and you could feel it.

“Can I take these off, love?” Harry’s fingers were tucked into your cotton panties when you gave him a nod. You were nervous because it had been longer than you would like to admit since you have been intimate with someone. Harry slowly peeled them down your legs, kissing a trail behind.

“Harry… it’s been a long time…”

“It’s okay, I’ll take my time with you.” He kissed your ankle as he dropped your panties to the side of the bed. “Can I start by touching you?” You nod again and you lean up to pull off your sports bra and adjust the pillow behind your head. Harry still sat on his knees between your legs to admire you. “Do you have any lube? I don’t want to hurt you or make it uncomfortable for you.”

You give him a shy smile before leaning to your side table, appreciating him for being so kind and gentle. You hand him the bottle and he pops the cap open, spreading some along his fingers as well as dripping some on your center. He placed the bottle by his leg, just in case he doesn’t have enough.

“Talk to me, okay? Let me know if it’s too much or not enough. Tell me what you need.”

“I will.” He smiled before leaning down to kiss you, hovering over you as he started to run his pointer and middle finger through your folds. You gasp at the coldness but quickly relax when you feel Harry’s fingers explore you more; spreading you open, pinching a lip or your clit between his fingers. He gave you one last lick into your mouth before leaning back again.

You opened your thighs more to accommodate him as he watched his own fingers explore you. You watched his brow furrow and he occasionally licked his lip. Your breath hitched when you felt his middle finger slowly dip in you.

“This okay?”

“Yes.” Your hips flex up involuntarily to meet Harry’s finger that he is slowly dipping and pulling out of you. His thumb slowly started rolling over your clit and you let out your first moan. It was soft, but present enough for Harry to speed up his movements a little bit, earning a louder moan from you.

“You like that baby?” Harry slowly pulled out his middle finger so that he could slide his middle and ring finger in together, giving you the stretch to need. When he got to the base of his fingers, your back arched and Harry began his come hither motion on your walls, reaching further to hit the soft sponge that you needed him to find.

“Harry, right there!” He added a little more pressure to your gspot before returning to his massaging gesture, using his other hand to figure eight your clit with his thumb. You could feel yourself on the brink of the tip over but you needed something, you just weren’t sure what it was but Harry seemed to know.

He leaned down to kiss you fully again, the pressure of his body on you caused his thumb to add more pressure to your bud and his fingers to plunge a little deeper, causing the rush to flow over you and the tingles to start in your fingers and toes. You moaned into his mouth as he continued to kiss you to keep you quiet but you pulled away to catch a breath, panting into his shoulder as he kissed your neck.

Harry began to slow his movements, pulling his hands away to massage at your thighs as he continued to kiss your neck down to your chest. You could feel him straining in his trousers on your core as he laid on you.

“Was that okay?” He continued to kiss your chest, licking your left nipple into his mouth, sucking gently and flicking the tip of his tongue across it. You rolled your hips into him, feeling the vibrations from his moan into the flesh of your breast.

“It was great, thank you.” Your hand was combing through his hair as he moved to your right breast.

“Can I make love to you?” He looked up at you, watching your soft, blissed out face turn into a gentle smile.

“I would love to make love with you, Harry.” He leaned up again to kiss you before standing to pull off his trousers. He reached for the nightstand to grab a condom, putting it on and adding some extra lube before setting the bottle aside.

“Let me know if you need me to stop or anything.” He kissed your forehead, your closed eyes, each cheek, then your nose before landing on your lips. He lined himself up to your core, all while kissing you, before gently pushing into you with a role of his hips.

With each roll and deeper kiss, he sunk deeper into you. You pulled away from the kiss trying to catch a breath, feeling dizzy from being overwhelmed emotionally and physically. Harry continued to slowly thrust into you, barely pulling out before he would roll again. He lifted a knee to lay flush with your thigh, opening you more which caused Harry to pull out more than he intended to push back into you.

You let out a moan and your head tipped back after that particular thrust, causing Harry to remove his face from your neck to look at you and repeat the same motion, over and over again. He could feel how wet you were getting, almost too wet that he was slipping out of you more, causing his thrust to be sloppy and deeper.

He lifted the thigh he had pushed up with his knee up to his shoulder, hovering over you more and looking right down at you. You look up to see Harry’s curls falling over his face, his face and chest flush, your hand moved up to move his hair so you can see him in all his beauty. You leaned up to kiss him, creating a new angle that had you both moaning.

Harry could feel himself coming undone, knowing that he had to get you there first. He let his hand travel to wear your bodies met, rolling your bud under his thumb once again. You sat up on your elbows to keep the angle you both loved as well as to stay close to Harry.

“I’m so close, don’t stop Harry.”

He leaned in to kiss you, mumbling “I love you” against your lips between kisses. “Fuck, I love you so much, Y/N.”

At that confession, your arms gave out so Harry quickly gripped you close with his free arm and rolled his hips against you until he moaned out your name and let his orgasm flood over him. He gently laid you both down, resting his head on your chest as you both embraced and caught your breath.

Harry felt your fingers stop moving in his hair and little snores escape your lips. Harry has seen that sleepy pout on your daughter more times than he could count but seeing it on you has made him the happiest man alive. Harry maneuvers himself so that you are both lying comfortably and he falls asleep with his arms wrapped around you.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You wake up to find that Harry is not in bed, but all the clothes from last night are now in the hamper and there is a set of fresh clothes at the end of the bed. You can hear little giggles and a few “oops” from the kitchen. You get dressed and make your way down stairs.

Layla turns her head to you when you walk in, beaming with a “morning mama!” Leaning up to give you a kiss.

“Are you stealing chocolate chips again? Some extra sweet kisses this morning!”

Layla giggles as you press your hand a little firmer and longer on Harry’s lower back as you go for the coffee pot. You lean up to give Harry a kiss, noticing that he has been dipping into the chocolate too. Harry quickly went back in for another kiss, sweeter than the chocolate that lingers. You pull away slowly looking into Harry’s sleepy green eyes and wish him a good morning.

“Morning love, banana pancakes?”

“I’d love some.”

#stellarboystyles3years #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles one shots #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst

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eldritchqueerture · 3 years ago

Text

Point of View - Original Statement Fic

Point of View (5004 words) by LadyNikita Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Original Statement Giver(s) (The Magnus Archives) Additional Tags: Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives), Original Statement (The Magnus Archives), this was intended as the eye but evolved into the vast as well, happens, cosmic horror, attempt at Eldritch Madness, unreality, Discussions of pointlessness and meaninglessness, Canon-Typical The Vast Content (The Magnus Archives), from the eps about space, Mentions of Death, Compulsion, discussions of free will (kind of), Dissociation, Panic, Mentions of addiction, Leitner Book (The Magnus Archives), except it was not possessed by Leitner, Pretty Colours <3, Neurodivergent Protagonist, Queer Protagonist, because I can project a bit as a treat, Can Be Read Without Prior Knowledge of the Podcast (I think)

Summary: "Humans crave understanding. They strive towards knowing more and more, that’s what all science is about, isn’t it? To study, to learn and understand; to seek answers to questions. But are we really equipped to handle the answers we seek? Even if we were able to reach them, are our minds advanced enough to grasp the truths about the world we live in? What if there are things just beyond our understanding, lurking in the shadows of reality, peeking into our world just enough to feed on us, on our uncertainty and our pathetic scrambling towards answers that would only bring madness?" --- Statement of Lyria Ellison regarding a different point of view and the dangers of knowledge.

Notes: Hiiiiii <3 I've been reading Lovecraft recently and as much as I hate the dude, The Colour Out of Space gave me so much inspiration that I immediately sat down and produced this in one sitting. I've been meaning to play with the concept of eldritch madness for a while; something about this trope is really appealing to me and I'm really enjoying my attempts at shaping it with words. Lyria is a preexisting OC of mine, I will give some background on her in the end notes because I love her very much. This is a form of practice for me; I'm playing with horror themes and I'd like to get acquainted with them to better incorporate them into my overall writing. Therefore I will accept constructive criticism if anyone wants to give it, but only in the form of DMs, either on Tumblr (your-queer-vampire-dm) or on Discord, if we know each other through a server. All of the warnings I think should be mentioned are in the tags, but if you think something should be added then please tell me!

Date: May 10th , 2018

Name: Lyria Ellison

Subject of experience: A different point of view and the dangers of knowledge.

—

How do you start telling a story that changed your heart, your mind, and your soul so profoundly that you can barely still function in a society? How do you say all that without sounding borderline insane? Nobody knows what I’ve seen, what I’ve been through. I know they would all say I’ve hallucinated it all and should seek treatment. But I know it won’t help. I know… I know so much now. Too much and not enough. Never enough. I know what happened was real . I don’t have proof so I’m guessing you won’t believe me either, but I need to tell someone about it. So I might as well tell you.

My name is Lyria Ellison and I’m a neuropsychology major. Ex-major, I should say. I dropped out after… Yeah. I dropped out; there’s not much point in continuing studying things about the feeble, insignificant human brain. Utterly pointless venture.

Humans crave understanding. They strive towards knowing more and more, that’s what all science is about, isn’t it? To study, to learn and understand; to seek answers to questions. But are we really equipped to handle the answers we seek? Even if we were able to reach them, are our minds advanced enough to grasp the truths about the world we live in? What if there are things just beyond our understanding, lurking in the shadows of reality, peeking into our world just enough to feed on us, on our uncertainty and our pathetic scrambling towards answers that would only bring madness?

Just a year ago, I was convinced I was going to finish my degree. I was so passionate about it too, eager to learn more and more, to research and seek knowledge. Curious and fascinated by the world around us. What a foolish thing it was to give into that drive. My mind was open to the supernatural, although I always approached it scientifically; I never said the supernatural existed, but I also never said it didn’t. It was plausible; all in all, every scientist must accept that there is still a vast amount of knowledge we don’t have about the world.

The ignorance was a blessing. But I shall not get ahead of myself.

It started around December last year; my dad had died, and my girlfriend, Shawala, and I were clearing out his house. There wasn’t really anyone else to do it; my mother had passed a couple years prior, I had no siblings, and extended family was out of the picture as well; and my dad had gathered a lot of things in his adventurous life; he was a traveller, and he loved the world, loved learning about it, just like me. I was feeling pretty overwhelmed with it all; my dad meant a lot to me back then, and Shawala proved an excellent support at that first shock. She promised to do some first view assessments of the ground floor, while I went to scope out how things looked in the attic.

It’s always either basements or attics, isn’t it? I used to read horror, Lovecraftian was my favourite – how ironic, isn’t it? How stupid . How utterly ignorant. The hubris of the human race at its finest.

Anyways, the attic was half-lit from the small windows in the roof, and dust was swirling in the faint light of the afternoon sun. It was cold here, but I didn’t pay much mind; the house was old, and it wasn’t surprising that there was draft. To say the space was cluttered would be an understatement; I could barely walk around the numerous boxes, old furniture, crates, and overflowing bookshelves; all of which made something in my chest curl tight, bringing tears to my eyes. I steered my steps towards the nearest bookshelf; I’ve always been a bookworm, fascinated by nearly any tome I came across; I’ve been reading popular science books since I was eight. So naturally, I was drawn to the books, taking huge steps above the cardboard boxes and careful not to hit anything else.

The books were old, of course, and dusty. Some of them had loose pages, and I treated them very gently, almost reverently. I have a little bit of a bookbinder streak, and I decided I would take them home and try to put them back together. As I rifled through them, I saw they pertained to a vast variety of subjects, from poetry, drama, and history, to science, metaphysics, and maths. The deeper I looked into this stunning collection, the more reverence rose in my heart; at my fingertips I had the oldest and the biggest accumulation of knowledge I had ever seen. I saw some books dated back even two hundred years ago.

At that point Shawala called me to check if I was alright. I put the book I had in my hands back and my knuckles brushed against the black leather cover of the next one on the shelf. I felt pleasant tingling in my palm at the touch and my heart leaped at the prospect; I didn’t know why – the book seemed ordinary enough on the shelf and there was no title on its spine.

I sometimes wonder if I could have just left it there and gone downstairs; chosen to come back later and then maybe, it wouldn’t have enticed me as it did. If, by that point, I had had any choice left on the matter.

Alas, intrigued by the book, I placed my palm on the spine and took it out. The leather was soft and smooth, probably sheep, with familiar subtle grains all over the texture. I remember it striked me as odd that it was warmer than the rest of the books in the drafty attic, but I shrugged it off. The front cover had a title, small but visible in the centre, etched in gold – Punctum Visus .

I, by all means, cannot read or speak Latin, but I figured it was something to do with vision. I opened the book, an unknown anticipation buzzing in my stomach. The pages were worn and old, their texture was slightly rough but pleasant under my fingertips; as I opened the front page, I saw the title again, this time in thick but still elegant, black letters, and the smell came up to my nostrils.

I tried to describe it in my head countless times after. I always loved the smell of old books, and I knew it very well, so it came to me as a surprise to realize it wasn’t the only smell I could feel from the book. It was… cold, somehow, distant but prickling at my nose, a little bit the way peppermint tastes. It reminded me of the night sky and distant stars somehow. The smell awakened an unease within me, as I couldn’t quite place what it was and why it seemed so weird , but it wasn’t by any means unpleasant. It was… enticing. Like a promise of a mystery.

I breathed it in again through my nose, closing my eyes, and for a moment I lost all feeling in my body. I was untethered and immaterial, somewhere in deep darkness that seemed to envelop me whole. It felt cold on my mind, stretching it thoughtlessly in the empty vastness, and I saw distant flickering lights of stars. Before I could form a coherent thought, I was back in myself, panting and shaking, staring at the front page of the Punctum Visus . I looked around with shaky breaths; the attic looked the same, and Shawala’s steps on the stairs reached my ears, with her voice calling my name. A shiver passed down my spine, causing goosebumps to bloom on my skin; was it the draft, the dread, or the excitement I couldn’t tell.

I knew I had to read this book, no matter what it took for me to do so.

I took it home, almost forgetting about the rest of the books upstairs. It had spent the next month laying in my room, as I dealt with the formalities and moving the rest of things that weren’t sold from the house either to my place or to charity. After the day we left the house for the last time, I collapsed in my bed, exhausted, but instead of closing, my eyes fell on the book unassumingly waiting on my nightstand.

A surge of excitement passed through me, waking me right up. I sat up and reached for the book. It was still warm; I couldn’t tell if it was good or bad, but warm it was. I think it made me subconsciously assign it more… being? Like, even before I knew anything, I somehow subconsciously accepted that it was more than just an object; that it was, in a sense, alive on its own. I brushed my fingers on the cover, feeling the texture of the leather and the etching of the letters. In the meantime during this month I had checked the meaning of the title – Point of Sight; a position from which a thing is or is supposed to be viewed. It makes so much sense now.

But then I didn’t know what dangers it held; or I didn’t want to think about them. I do remember feeling anxious, my hands trembling every time I opened the cover, but it was so mingled with exhilaration of the certainty I was discovering something important that I must have disregarded it. As I turned the pages, I wasn’t surprised to find the text in Latin; though I still felt a pang of frustration that it meant I couldn’t read it for now. I rifled through the pages, looking curiously at the letters that formed words yet unattainable to me. There was a hunger inside of me; a hunger to Know. As I turned the pages past various symbols, illustrations of the constellations, and of Earth, I determined it must be some sort of a metaphysical work. The point of view on the world around us.

Normally I just skim through works like this and leave them. While they are an interesting read sometimes, they’re not my favourite genre and, looking objectively, putting in the effort of learning a whole language just for the sake of reading a treatise on the meaning of cosmos by an unknown author seems strange at best. But somehow it seemed obvious to me that I had to read it. It called to me, sang into a part of my being that begged to be filled, promising knowledge that would finally leave me satisfied. I know now that it’s impossible. Once you’ve tasted the hunger for knowing, you will never find satisfaction; it’s like an addiction. You just crave more and more, and the knowledge never ends. After a certain point you know too much and when it all connects, when it starts to make sense… you slip. I didn’t know that, even though maybe I should have. I didn’t know what those things I was feeling meant then and I didn’t stop to question them; I gave into it as soon as it touched me. I was stupid.

What followed were a busy couple of months. Every waking moment that wasn’t spent keeping up the pretence of being interested in my major (back then I only thought it a brief hyperfixation, of course, and wouldn’t have called it a pretence at all), I was learning Latin online or staring into the incomprehensible words on the pages. This period of my life is a blur; I remember my friends checking up on me if I was alright, since I wasn’t particularly social anymore. Shawala got progressively more worried, but it fully escaped my mind to care. I know that staring thoughtlessly at the book took up more and more of my time; once, I remember, I returned from my classes at three PM and took the book out; when I came back to myself it was well past midnight. That’s when I started to feel truly uneasy about it. It was the second half of April; I looked back on what I’ve been doing these past months and this cold dread started creeping up to my throat. I realized I didn’t know why I wanted to read the book so much and I remembered the “vision” or the hallucination I had that first time in my dad’s attic. I had set it aside completely as unimportant, and I couldn’t wrap my head around why. I started shaking and theorizing in my head about the book being able to influence my mind somehow, to control it. Had my actions not been my own? How much of it was my own will and how much was the book? Was it even possible for it to influence me like that; could it be that it was supernatural in some way?

The house became cold, unnaturally so. It was dark and all the windows were closed, but a chill draft managed to find its way into the corridor I was in anyway. I sank to the floor and hugged my knees, trembling in panic. I was all alone in the flat, everyone I knew was surely already asleep in their homes, and I was small and weak in the face of something that maybe could have controlled my mind. I suddenly became aware of the leatherbound book in my hand, and I threw it along the corridor at the front door with a whimper, as far away from me as possible. The book thumped against the door, then the floor, and opened on a random page.

I’ve read enough horrors. I knew that the page would be significant, and that knowledge made me sob and hug my knees tighter. I didn’t know what was happening; I felt like I’d just woken up from a months-long dream… and perhaps I was right. The recent past felt alien.

I felt tears sting my eyes and that’s when the smell reached me. Again that mixture of old paper and peppermint cold, distantly sweet but freezing the blood in my veins. My breath came in ragged and shallow, and tears streamed down my face as I stared at the open book that was calling me in an inaudible whisper. The logical side of my mind was trying desperately to make sense of it, to assign the dissociative feeling to my father’s death and yeah, it was plausible, but somehow it just didn’t feel right. The whispers sounded again, swirling around my head, the golden sound almost touching the back of my neck, making me wince. It was enticing and promising, but this time, I felt terror instead of excitement. Disregarding how my mind was trying to rationalize the situation, I knew the book was cursed somehow. I knew that I was its victim. And I knew that I would not be strong enough to resist it.

I don’t know how much time I sat there, trembling, and sobbing into my knees, before I calmed down from the panic and decided I had to do something. I had to find out what this book was and how it found itself into my dad’s library. I couldn’t remember seeing anything in his diaries that would mention it at all, but then again, I didn’t read them all cover to cover. On wobbly legs I carefully made my way back to my room and searched the Internet until the sun started peeking out of the window; I found nothing about any book titled Punctum Visus . I tried all the libraries that I’d known of, that had their assortment online, all the research databases; nothing.

So, at the crack of dawn, with a fast-beating heart, I stood in the door of my room, staring out into the corridor, where the book still lay by the front door, unmoving. The golden strings of a wordless melody made it to my ears; it promised an explanation; that this time if I looked close enough, I would find what I was looking for.

What was I looking for?

Where else could I find the answers if not in the book itself?

I could feel its cold fingers slowly wrap around my mind, steering me to come closer. It called me with a hypnotising voice that awakened all the red signals in my brain, telling me to run and hide, but I didn’t. The voice meant danger, but I knew it also meant knowledge.

Dangerous knowledge. The pull dragged me through the corridor step by step; I hadn’t been fighting it as strongly as I could have had and I was about to start, since I was getting closer to the book, but suddenly I felt the chill of the influence let go, hovering close but out of reach. It was still compelling me to come, to Look, but I could move my own limbs. I had a choice to make.

Knowledge of danger. Did I believe my own warning thoughts that I would regret looking into the book? Did I take my own logical, rational side seriously? Was I ever good at resisting my own impulses?

I’ve never been addicted to anything, but then again, I never really had the opportunity, as it were; my friends were more of a no-alcohol types and I really ever smoked cigarettes once. I’ve never seen drugs in real life. So who’s to say if I’m not an addictive personality? And this, this was addictive. The thrill of mystery, the exhilarating process of learning, the anticipation of the answers.

Was it ever really my choice?

No supernatural force guided my steps that night; no cold fingers made me kneel next to the book and carefully cradle it in my arms, looking at the page with a shaky breath and tears in my eyes, as if I was coming back home like the prodigal son. But I’m sure it was by some paranormal means that this time I could understand the text on the pages.

I honestly don’t remember what it said. As I read the unfamiliar words, the meaning presented itself in my mind, not entirely unlike that first “vision” I had in the attic; as soon as I started reading I knew that I had made the choice and there was no turning back. That cold draft enveloped me, sat on my skin, and started to bite; I felt that smell again, stronger than ever before, something intangible but unmistakably inhuman . It was then that I realized that’s what had felt wrong to me about the smell since the beginning. It was inferior and alien. My hands started shaking as my eyes, glued to the text, moved now on their own down the page, drinking the words in. I was terrified out of my mind, but the pleasant tingling along my nerves was back, the anticipation of the promised understanding.

My mind was drowned with the tide of knowledge. This was just a prologue; a true discovery would require preparation, but I was almost ready. The voice said I was chosen, that I was a perfect candidate to bring It what It needs and that I would be rewarded. I cried tears of amazement and horror at the sheer scope of the voice – it seemed to encompass the entire world. I couldn’t comprehend it, but I didn’t know then that it was a blessing. I wanted to know, I craved to know what It was and how I could be of use to something so powerful, so huge. Divine. That was a word that crossed my mind, as much as I don’t like that. I don’t like many things, but I can’t change any of them.

The voice said I’m on the right path. I would Know and Understand. First, I needed to do something. As It told me what that was, doubt started to creep up to my mind. What was I doing? What was happening? How could this be real?

I came to on the floor by my front door, the cursed book in hand, with a tear-stained face and a bloody nose.

I knew what I had to do to get ready and, as I calmed down and went over everything in my head, I was surprised by how trivial it was. Honestly, by this point I was kind of afraid It would tell me to hurt someone, so I was glad this was just about reading a bunch of words in a specific location at a specific time. I was aware of the fact that this was most probably a ritual, and I was quite apprehensive. I kept arguing with myself in my head, over and over whether I should follow through, but deep down I knew that I would, no matter what I told myself. This part, I think, scared me the most; how compelling the promise of knowledge was, how reverently I’d found myself thinking of the book and its owner (which I assumed was the voice), how fanatical some of my thoughts sounded. I’ve never been religious, never really felt idealistic either. I was always focused on facts, on the here and now. Can knowledge be an ideal? Can you be a fanatic of Seeing and Knowing?

How much had I changed since I’d found Punctum Visus in that old attic.

I found a good, quiet spot, on the north-west side of the New Forest National Park near Southampton. I told no one about this, deeming it unimportant. I would come back after my big discovery, I would explain everything. I laugh at myself now; at my naivety.

The night of April 28 th was clear, and the starry sky looked back at me as I parked my car on the road in the forest and locked it. I tied a piece of a long red string to the wheel, not to lose my way in the forest, and started to walk forward. I held the book close to my chest, as if it could protect me from the dark, eerie outlines of the trees, swaying gently on the wind and whatever the darkness around me held. I didn’t light the torch; the moon was nearly full, bathing everything in its gentle light, and besides, for some reason it seemed that the crude yellow light would somehow break the sanctity of what I was about to do. I could see the ground in front of me and managed to lose sight of my car and everything else besides trees pretty fast.

I stopped when I found a small clearing. The moon was high in the sky, shining down on me like a big eye; I didn’t know why this comparison seemed the most fitting, but it did. I took a deep breath, feeling a chill plant little dots all over my skin, making my hairs stand on end. The wind died down and the trees froze, as if in anticipation. I felt something watching me closely; I was not alone here anymore.

The realization made my breath catch in my throat and the last streaks of sanity broke through my thick skull. Run! Drop the book and run! I didn’t. My hands trembled, my muscles tensed, and I stood there, frozen with fear as something stared at me, seemingly for eternity. Something bigger than me, bigger than anything I have ever seen was watching me, waiting. My eyes dropped to the book in my arms. The black leather was warm, as always, but this time I felt a pulsating sensation from it. A heartbeat.

I screamed. The book landed discarded on the ground, and I stumbled backwards and tripped, landing in the grass as well. It was cold and wet, and it glistened with something in the faint moonlight. At first I took it for water, but upon closer inspection I saw it was the grass itself that glittered – a shy rainbow, glowing iridescently in an impossible way. I froze, stunned, for I have never seen such colours before. It seemed utterly alien, something unfitting for the human eye to see; simultaneously beautiful and horrifying.

As I looked around, I noticed that everything alive in the forest – the trees, the grass, the bushes, the plants – had taken on that iridescent mixture of faint light that prickled my eyes and sent a shiver of terror down my spine. It was beautiful, utterly gorgeous in a way that nothing a human eye can perceive could be. It was horrifying in how different, alien, and other it was. My senses could tell this is not of the Earth; not of this reality, not of this world; everything in me that still had common sense tried to recoil from the inferiority of this magnificence and the danger it brought, but I had abandoned common sense a while back. Maybe even when I touched the book for the first time. I stared then, breathless and trembling, at this scenery as if from a fairy tale and decided to lock away my rational thoughts. I wanted to See, to Know; I wanted to experience and if this was the death of me then hell, it was a pretty good way to go. To behold such a sight, I thought, was a reward in and of itself.

Of course, I had no idea what any of it meant. I slowly rose to my knees and patted the ground down until I felt the book. It still pulsated with this heartbeat and the letters etched in the leather glowed with golden light. My hands were sweaty, and I didn’t know whether I was shivering from fear or the cold. I opened the book on the first page.

What I saw was not what I had expected. I remembered that the first page, after the titular one, was the beginning of the introduction, that much I had understood, but now it was a big picture in black and white; a night sky, with an almost full moon and strewn with stars. It was a shot from the ground and treetops could be seen at the edges of the picture. As the book swayed in my hands, the stars glittered, and the perspective shifted ever so slightly, as if it was in 3D. Stricken by a surge of dread and cold certainty, I looked up. My suspicion was right – the picture in the book depicted the exact image that was now above me. I gasped quietly and looked down at the book—

And this is where things started to really go horribly, horribly wrong.

The book was gone. What’s more, the ground was gone too and suddenly everything was not where it should have been. I blinked but it did nothing to ease the dizziness; and when I composed myself enough to register what I was seeing I froze, the most intense horror I have ever experienced crushing my body from all sides and inside out.

I realized that I was Seeing. I was finally Seeing, and I Understood it all.

I don’t know how to convey in words what I saw. I don’t believe it’s possible; humans were never made to see and understand such things. I should have never touched the book, I should have never asked for knowledge. All my life I believed that knowledge was the point; it was a tool, and it was power. I don’t know what I think anymore. I think some knowledge should always be hidden because we were not made to know everything. We can’t , it’s physically impossible for us to comprehend.

For one moment in my life. For one moment I became something else, and I saw the world in the way It sees the world. For one moment I shared a mind with an eldritch being, a thing that is Fear itself, and I saw the Earth through Its Eye. I can’t… I can’t tell you just how horrible it is. How… How meaningless; we’re all intertwined things, guided by strings of web that lead us through life, and we’re all connected in this maze of fear . We’re not individuals; we’re not special. We don’t have souls and none of our experiences matter. We’re just fear. These… These entities are a part of all of us. They’re our fear and they live inside of us, inside of every living creature that can feel fear. Can you comprehend that? How can you be sure you are yourself when there’s a cosmic entity, a power as old as life itself, living you ? And no one has any idea. Nobody knows and if I tell someone they’ll think I’m crazy. Sometimes I think I’m crazy. But deep down I know what I saw. I know it was real. And I’m terrified. I’m terrified because I know that this Being of eyes that I became a part of watches everything I do. I feel Its presence here very strongly, and I guess it makes sense. It will never leave me. It’s a part of me, just like the rest of them; just like they’re all a part of every one of you, yet you have no idea. But I know. And I know I’m all alone with that knowledge, the knowledge that I can’t comprehend, but I know I could in that one moment. It’s a very lonely place to be and I’m scared.

I’m scared as I have never been before; this fear doesn’t leave me anymore. Every second of every day I’m aware I’m watched by something as great as cosmos. I’m aware I shared my mind with that being and it makes my skin crawl.

I don’t know what to do now, but I don’t expect any advice from you. I’m leaving the book with you, as proof. Its heart doesn’t beat anymore, and I’ve seen what I was supposed to.

Don’t read it.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving me a comment!! For people interested in a little bit of background: Lyria is a D&D character I have created that still awaits her chance to play in a campaign. She's an arcane scholar that has a dark little secret of actually being a warlock of a being she doesn't know a lot about. She's in love with knowledge and she seeks to learn about her powers as well as the world around her. I'm currently DMing a Ravenloft campaign and I just couldn't miss the fact how much potential for a corruption arc she has. Then I listened to TMA and I was like, she would definitely become the Avatar of the Beholding.

#i discovered you can copy tags straight from ao3 #ive been using that site for how many. 5 years now #:|#anyways #tma #the magnus archives #tma original statement #cosmic horror #niki.writes #lyria elerieth #goes in my oc tag because thats technically an au #im really happy with this one guys!

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janeykath318 · 4 years ago

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The Beard Effect (Shieldshock)

Getting invited to the super secret Avengers lair was a pretty big deal to a former “science minion.” The Accords had split the Avengers in half and those who had joined Steve Rogers in refusing to sign it were basically fugitives. It angered Darcy that the people who’d saved earth multiple times were being treated like criminals, just so the government had convenient scapegoats.

Jane and Darcy were both vocal opponents of the Accords because of the gross human rights violations and as a result, a lot of opportunities suddenly disappeared.

Jane went about muttering how she planned to portal Ross’s ass into outer space and Darcy was fully on board with that plan.

Unfortunately, before any portalling could happen, they ended up getting kidnapped again. This wasn’t their first rodeo and they managed to overcome the thugs and hijack their van, but it broke down in the middle of nowhere and the two of them were left stranded, with no way to call for help.

“What’ll we do now?” Jane asked

“Start walking,” Darcy suggested. “There’s bound to be some kind of civilization around here.”

Jane looked skeptical, but she shrugged and started walking. After an hour or so, they found a small lane that wound up and disappeared into the forest.

“That looks promising,” Jane said hopefully. “A Driveway!”

“Or the lane to a lair of villains or serial killers,” Darcy said, earning herself a glare.

“It’s starting to get dark, Darce. I think we have to take our chances. I don’t see any other signs of habitation.”

“True, but don’t come crying to me when an axe murderer is chasing you.” Darcy griped, but she started following the path, which turned out to be much longer than it looked.

“Don’t move!” A voice suddenly hissed from the shadows, stopping both women in their tracks.

“See? I told you!” Darcy crowed triumphantly.

A figure emerged from the shadows, brandishing a gun, which he quickly holstered after he saw who they were.

“Darcy?”

“Clint?” Darcy exclaimed, recognizing her favorite archer and partner in crime.

“How in the world did you get here?” Clint asked warily. “No one knows about this place.”

“Honestly, it was a complete accident,” Darcy told him. “We got kidnapped and escaped, but got stranded in the middle of nowhere and started walking, hoping to find other non-shady humans. This driveway looked promising, so here we are.”

Clint looked very concerned and quizzed them on their captors and where they’d left the van before speaking into his comm.

“I’ve explained the situation to Cap. He says to bring you up.”

“Steve’s here?” Darcy asked, heart doing a flutter of anticipation.

“Yep,” Clint grinned knowingly. He was well aware of the crush Darcy had on said Captain and used to tease her about it frequently.

“Shall I tell him you send your love?”

“No!” Darcy nearly shouted, face turning pink. “Just get us safely inside.”

“Whatever you say,” Clint said with a smirk, chuckling to himself as he led them to the plain looking ranch house at the end of the lane. There was another brief discussion over the comms and then they were being ushered inside.

It was the typical plainly furnished basic safe house, but it was cluttered in a well-lived in way. Darcy recognized Wanda, Scott and Sam right away and greeted them all enthusiastically. Then Steve Rogers walked in and put a halt to all coherent thoughts.

The man was gorgeous to begin with, but he’d let his hair get rather shaggy and—glory of glories—he’d grown a beard. He looked a bit world weary and tired, but he smiled right at her.

“Hi, Darcy, Jane.”

“Hi.” Darcy squeaked out, now doubly overcome from the smile AND the beard. She’d always had a weakness for bearded men, but Steve’s glorious specimen took that to a whole new level.

Jane took pity on her and took charge of the conversation, explaining what had happened to them and asking if they could be so kind as to tell them where they were and provide them a lift back to civilization.

“Sure we can,” Steve agreed, “but we should probably wait until morning. Natasha and Sharon are out scoping things out and we’ll soon find out more about your kidnappers. Were either of you hurt at all?”

“Only a few bruises and rope marks. Darcy and I kicked ass. They won’t mistake us for helpless scientists ever again.”

Jane spoke proudly and Darcy nodded enthusiastically. She’d wished Natasha could have seen it.

Steve outright beamed at this, which caused Darcy to trip and go down in an embarrassed heap. She stayed on the floor, wishing a portal would appear and whisk her away.

“Why are you like this?” Jane sighed in exasperation as she and Steve helped Darcy up.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, concern in his voice.

Mortified, Darcy couldn’t look at him and mumbled “Yeah. Just tired. Being kidnapped wears one out.”

She wanted to die. Why did she always have to make herself look like an idiot in front of him?

Steve, being the gentleman he was, volunteered to sleep in the living room so Jane and Darcy could have a bed. Darcy tried not to think about what sleepy Steve would look like as she counted sheep that night.

She awoke the next morning and wandered out to the kitchen to find Natasha making coffee.

“Sleep well?” The spy greeted her, green eyes appraising her.

“Yes,” Darcy managed. “Though if you have extra coffee, I could definitely use some.”

They caught up over their caffeinated beverages and Darcy heard more of the story of how Natasha had ended up changing her mind about the Accords and joining Team Cap.

Right in the middle of a very funny anecdote involving Clint, Sam, and Scott, the door opened and Steve entered the house, sweaty and disheveled after a morning run.

Darcy’s laughter died in her throat as she observed Steve’s damp white shirt and glistening skin, muscles very much on display.

“Morning, Nat. Darcy,” he acknowledged, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and gulping it down.

Darcy let out a “morning!” and got the heck out of there, face burning again. She needed a cold shower and fast. She heard Natasha laughing at her, but decided she’d deal with that later. Steve was going to be the death of her.

“Nat, do you know why Darcy hates me? She practically runs away whenever I enter a room and I don’t know what I did.”

A bewildered Steve was asking his friend this question two months later when they were settled in a new, larger, secret compound, joined by Darcy and Jane. He’d liked Darcy a lot and used to enjoy her company, but now, she could barely stand to look at him and he was rather confused and a little hurt.

“I can’t speak for Darcy, but I don’t think it’s anything you did,” Nat assured him. “Have you tried talking to her?”

“Yes, but she always is too busy or finds a reason to escape before I can get more than one sentence out. I figured she really doesn’t want to be around me, so I let it go.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair in frustration, wondering how in the world he was going to fix this. He missed Darcy and this situation was becoming very upsetting to him.

“I’ll see if I can find out what’s what,” Natasha promised. “It is very unlike Darcy to leave someone in the dark if they’ve offended her.”

That very afternoon, Darcy found herself locked in a closet with none other than Steve. All the banging and yelling and swearing and angry texting at Jane and Natasha availed nothing.

Natasha’s blunt text took the wind out of Darcy’s sails and she looked over at Steve remorsefully. They were right. She’d let her stupid crush get in the way of her friendship.

“I could break this door down, you know,” Steve offered.

“No need,” Darcy sighed, smiling weakly. “It’s about time I put my big girl pants on and told you what’s going on. It’s not your fault. I just am a complete disaster around guys I have a crush on and I may have a thing for the beard,” she finished, blushing like a tomato. “Which is why I could hardly say a word to you without squeaking.”

“So I didn’t hurt you?” Steve asked cautiously.

“No. It was mostly me trying to control my wild urges to say or do totally inappropriate things to you. Face it, Steve. You’re irresistible.”

Steve gave a bashful grin.

“I don’t know about that. But what if I told you I would be totally okay with you being “inappropriate?” Because I too must confess to having had some inappropriate thoughts.”

“Really? About me?” Darcy asked, starting to feel very smug.

“Definitely you,” Steve said, looking at her very intently. She blushed again and moved over close to him so she was right up in his space.

“So Watcha gonna do about it, soldier?” She asked flirtatiously.

Steve grinned.

“Let’s start here,” he murmured right before he kissed her.

It was better than her wildest dreams. Holy crap, the man could kiss! Knees already weak, she clutched him for dear life as the kiss deepened.

“If I’d have known this would be the result, I’d have grown a beard a long time ago,” Steve admitted when they came up for air. “I’m crazy about you, Darcy. Have been for awhile.”

Darcy giggled against his chest.

“You’re still plenty hot without it, but it kinda was the icing on the cake,” she told him.

Neither of them noticed when Natasha unlocked the doors. She listened for a moment, then smiled triumphantly and texted Jane that the mission was a success. Nothing was seen of either Steve or Darcy for the rest of that day.

#shieldshock #steve rogers #darcy lewis #bearded steve is my jam #and darcy's

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poptod · 5 years ago

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All That Is and Forever Shall Be (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Description: Being a ghost in the middle of nowhere, tied to a church no one knows exists can be very lonely. Fortunately for you, a man is trying to make himself lonely, and subsequently gains your friendship that he didn’t ask for.

Prompt: Abandoned churches

Notes: I know I’m kind of branching out of my usual Ahk/Kenny stuff, but I’ve been really busy lately and all I have are nearly-finished W.I.P.s I abandoned months ago. Sorry. As with most of my stories, I implore you to read them as stories, not as xreaders, because I severely let people down when it comes to fluffy interactions n such. Gender neutral again but fair warning, you’ve got a Scottish accent. btw i wrote this before my obsessive hatred of anything disney came up so

Word Count: 5.4k AO3 Link: All That Is and Forever Shall Be

No one visits my grave anymore, you thought to yourself drearily. The wind shivered through grass at your feet, howling through the holes in stone walls but not brushing your skin. You sat against said stone wall, one of the ends of the abandoned church of which was lined all round with gravestones, rotting away and empty with skeletons and vermin. Though above clouds promised a hefty storm, the wild sheep grazing outside the church’s fence didn’t make any move to seek shelter under the roof. Sighing once more you shifted in your seated position, wondering where everyone had gone.

Surely you weren’t alone - surely there had to be others like you. Not devout enough for heaven and not murderous enough for hell, but simply mundane and lonely enough to be cast back to the earth to wander as spirits. Though, you supposed, no one had dug a grave there in centuries, and during the time you were buried, it was odd if not damning to not be religious. Yet that was exactly what you were, an atheistic, boring farmer, who had no family and no children to speak of, leaving naught a person to seek your only remnants of what was once a life.

Hundreds of years must have passed since you died, but you would never know. The headstone with your name written on it (albeit blurred and dulled with time) tied you to the church, and you could never leave. For all you knew, all of humanity was dead. Or living on the moon.

Ultimately, on a day when it was raining hard enough to fill another ocean, you (or your anxieties) were proven wrong. From off in the distance came movement. High upon a distant hill a tall form lumbered near, dressed in dark clothing in a fashion you had never seen before. In patience grown from years built upon each other you watched, noting the sun behind you shining more red and vibrant than ever before growing dimmer, till the shadows cast the same as the light, and you could just barely make out the face of the distant man.

His face drooped wearily, limping as he moved and keeping his eyes down. Ragged, black hair fell from his head and covered a good deal of his face, shielding him from your view. Tilting your head to the side you noted weapons, a good many of them, hidden away in the folds of his clothing, strapped to his body with leather and blended in quite well with the various buckles and straps adorned like wreaths along his legs, torso, and shoulders.

As usual, there was no indication he saw you. From the way his eyes darted to each sheep upon their movement you could tell he was on edge, looking for suspicion even in the most innocent of animals, thus leaving no possibility that if you were visible he would not have seen you. You figured as much, seeing as the sheep never bothered about you too much - at least not unless you interfered with them.

Phasing through the wall you watched him clear a corner of the church, setting his bags down on the stone floor that had managed to not be ravaged by various wars. There was no fireplace, but seeing as the entire building was made of stone he simply gathered twigs from faraway trees, pulling a small box out of his satchel. In interest you came closer, and with your eyes pressed right up to his hands he struck a light. You gasped, watching how he made fire with such ease, lighting the wood and enveloping the long empty walls with warmth and familiarity.

He set the small box on the floor, crouching down next to his bags. Though you weren’t very good at it you could read, carefully reading over the words on the box. Strike anywhere matches, it read.

What matches? You wondered.

In the corner the man mumbled to himself, nonsensical sounds you couldn’t make out as words. From his various bags he pulled a blanket, thick and warm, wrapping himself up in it in front of the fire. You sat beside him, watching the flames sing with their crackling. Every now and then he’d push his hand back into his bag, pulling out something to eat. You couldn’t tell what it was, but he seemed to like it.

Now near to him, you tried to get a grasp on what he looked like beneath unruly hair and grime covering his face, noticing cold eyes and a sharp jaw. Full lips, rounded nose, nice cheekbones. Closer, his hair wasn’t as dark as you’d originally thought - more of a brown than a black, though perhaps that was just the fire playing tricks on your own eyes.

The rain brought its’ wrath above you, pounding on the sound structure of the roof. Looking the ceiling you thanked whomever for your inability to feel its’ sting, and cursed the very same for the lack of warmth the fire brought.

The sound of writing came from beside you, curiosity forcing you to look to the man beside you. He had pulled a leather-bound book out of his satchel, along with a wooden pencil, and was writing in it. Illegible to you, but the scribbles were clearly english. In the margins were sketches, scenery, and a lot of sheep and goats. You chuckled, looking at the silly tongue sticking out of a goats’ mouth. He sniffed, stopping to rub his eyes from the raw feeling fire might bring before resuming his task.

This continued only a moment more before he tied the book back together, sealing it from your use. Setting it beside his makeshift bed he settled down, enveloping his entire body in the warm blankets he’d taken with him. You leaned against the wall, watching his breathing slow, watching as the fire died. Sometime in the middle of the night he began shivering, and you glanced at him, wishing you could’ve helped.

Curse my form, you thought to yourself, leaving the church to stand outside. To his luck the rain had lightened, the drafts of wind no longer pouring water through the holes in the walls, though the ocean that spanned in front of you forever would bring cold air that would surely freeze you, if you could only feel it.

You stayed there, sitting on a nearby boulder, waiting for when the sun would rise.

When at last from behind light came, signaling the beginning of dawn, rustling caught your attention. Inside the man had woken and you rushed to see him, watching him tie his hair back. Outside he wandered, coming to the rocky edge of the ocean and dipping his hands in the freezing water. With that he splashed it on his face, cleansing his skin of the dirt that had riddled it so heavily the night before. Shaking his hands dry he turned back around, showing cleaner features like you’d never seen before.

He looked much better, a little more calm at least, without the weight of all that on him.

You followed after him when he went inside, watching him patting a carefree sheep on the head as he entered. He restarted the fire the same way he had at first, with the strike anywhere matches. The two of you, ignorant of the other, huddled around it, the occasional sniff or shuffle of cloth interrupting an otherwise elongated silence. After a moment he pulled another item you assumed was food out of his ratted bag, impaling it with a nearby stick and holding it over the fire.

It grew darker as the flames grew warmer, nearly enveloping the stick to the point where it was hard to see the food. He just kept it there, letting it burn, before pulling it out right as it began to light aflame. Blowing a quick breath on it the small spark was extinguished, and he let it sit in the air before nibbling away.

How odd, you thought to yourself.

The rest of the day he did little else but unpack. Though he carried little, he seemed to want to make a stay longer than one night. Out of his various bags and satchels came food, blankets, and trinkets, many of which you couldn’t define any use for. Some were carvings of animals, others stones - just plain and simple stones. Some were shells, or sticks with bark and lichen growing on it. He set these things neatly in a row on a flat rock that had made its’ way inside the church, the corners of his lips twisting up into a crooked half smile when they were all ordered in a clean fashion.

That night he did not stay inside to write, or tend to a fire. He sat outside, on the grassy plain before the short drop onto the rocky terrain that lined the ocean’s shore. Book in left hand and pencil in right he began drawing dots, staring up at the sky every so often. Sitting beside him, following his eyesight you realized he was cataloguing the stars, finding shapes you’d never quite seen before.

With a hefty sigh he closed his book, simply staring up at the sky, before taking another breath and closing his eyes. In curiosity you kept staring at him, trying to find some answer in his silence, or a longing in his movement. There was none.

You could not sleep. You dare not dream, as any dream would bring you closer to heaven or hell, and you would never chance the thought of hell. The man seemed similarly fashioned as you were, cut from the same cloth of sleepless, endless nights. In simple terms he did not sleep well that night, staring up at the dusty ceiling, hands folded together on his stomach and eyes wide. Through grunts and sighs, tossing and flipping he fell into an uneasy sleep, brows furrowed as he tugged at the soft blanket around him.

He seemed grumpy the next morning. Curt with every action, growling when things didn’t work well. When an unfortunate strike anywhere match did not do its’ intended duty, he threw the box to the ground, hiding his head in his hands and groaning loudly. You almost laughed, if you hadn’t been so worried of being heard. There was little cause for your worry, but it would’ve been rude if that was your first true interaction with him.

From his bed he grabbed a large, fur coat, one that he used as an extra blanket, and tugged it over his shoulders and arms. Wrapping the belts tightly around him he sheathed each dagger and otherworldly weapon safely in each designated pocket, pulling a smaller bag over his shoulders and promptly leaving.

As you watched him climb over the hills you wondered to yourself, would he ever come back? You supposed, most likely, he would. What with the delicate care he took lining all of his stones and twigs together, he wouldn’t forget them, or his giant, fuzzy blanket, or the pillows, or the strike anywhere matches. Those seemed important too.

To pass the time you took up your regular activities you had before the man had come. Wailing dramatically at your gravestone, staring wistfully into the distance at the shore of the ocean as waves crashed, petting sheep and desperately wishing you could actually feel them. Sheep, you’d discovered many years ago, were somewhat in tune with the dead. They would approach you sometimes, or avoid you if you’d somehow wronged them. Most of the time, if you were petting them, they’d stay still and push up into your hand as though you were really there. It was something you enjoyed immensely; a reminder that you existed. That your life wasn’t a fever dream.

Eventually, some time in the afternoon, he returned. Humming to himself a tune you didn’t know, he seemed in happier spirits than he was before, though keeping his coat on as he started no fire. Instead he pocketed one rock in one of his absurdly large pockets, had all his bags set down, and walked right back outside. With stumbling footsteps you followed behind, but as he wandered too far down the coast, leisurely strolling and taking in the views (though his left hand kept checking his knife was still there), you were very abruptly cast right back to the church.

You’d strayed too far from your grave, and now you sat upon it, cursing yourself once more. You kept your knee high, letting you push your chin against it to rest your head, though it needed no resting. In a somewhat maddening manner, you had no weight, no tangible existence, thus relaxing your head on your hand or knee did little for anything or anyone. Sitting grumpily on your gravestone, you waited for his return. He was the only entertaining thing around.

From the horizon he came, making you practically jump and gasp at his return. He breathed in deep, calm breaths, a contrast from his frustrating morning. Reentering the church he pulled another pebble out of his pocket, holding it in a large hand before setting it carefully alongside the rest of his collection. You watched from behind him, wondering if this was a religious ceremony.

The rest of the evening was spent watching him, notebook in hand, wander through the graveyard. Many of the names you recognized, as you had watched them be buried. You, however, were the first one to be lain underground, thus making your headstone the oldest. When at last he came to the front of the church, where the first stone had been cast, you fidgeted, wondering anxiously whether your name was even readable to someone who had never read your name before.

It must’ve been hard at least, as he crouched down, squinting his eyes, pencil ready to write down the name as he had been doing with each of the others graves. He tapped the end of his pencil against his chin, continuing his rather menacing gaze, before seemingly understanding.

“Ah,” he said to himself, turning to the white pages of his book to write. “(Y/N) (L/N).”

You smiled, a giddy feeling blooming in your heart as he stood. As he turned, before he could even fully process what had happened, he jumped ten feet in the air, staring directly at you, panting with wide eyes. Despite his obviously much larger form he kept his hands defensively in front of him, his feet taking a firm stance in the wet dirt.

For a moment all you did was stare at each other, confused and perturbed in every sense of the word.

“I… I can see through you. Thought… thought you, uh, might like to know that,” he said, and you could feel the smoothness of his voice in your mind, how warm it was and as deep as the sea his eyes held. You could barely understand him through a thick accent you’d never heard before.

“I know,” was all you could think to say. “I’m (Y/N). The, uh, one on th’ grave.”

He frowned, disbelieving. “No you’re not,” he claimed.

“I am. I can’t believe you can see me, actually, I haven’t been visible for many a year.”

“How do I know you aren’t lying?”

“Lying is a sin. I’m also see through.”

“Good point,” he mumbled gruffly, pocketing his notebook in another absurdly large coat pocket and wrapping the fur tight around him. He glanced at you warily, almost a scowl, before turning and going back inside the church. With light steps you followed, watching him sit down and start another fire.

With a bright spark a small flame started, growing higher and higher till it began to burn through large bricks of wood. You had so many questions for him, practically vibrating to hold back your need to ask them. What was life like? How many people were there? What new things had been found? Why had the church been abandoned?

At last when you couldn’t contain it anymore, you asked your most pertinent question.

“What’s your name?”

You leaned closer, kneeling beside him, eager for an answer. His eyes darted up at you from his crouched position, looking quickly back at the fire when he caught your gaze.

“Bucky,” he mumbled.

“Thas’ a nice name there,” you said quietly, matching his volume. “Was it yer’ fathers?”

“No,” he answered curtly.

“Oh. My name was a family name. Don’t mean much now I s’pose.”

In sudden movements he turned his body to face you, asking, “how long have you been here?”

“A good while now,” you shrugged. You hadn’t bothered to count the days, thinking it’d surely drive you mad.

“So you’ve been, uh, watching me,” he confirmed, his eyebrows still knitted together crossly.

“A tad. I think yer… interesting,” you settled on, smiling sweetly as you tried to catch his eye that had wandered to the ground.

“Hardly,” he muttered, turning back to the fire. You hummed, keeping your frown to yourself.

You only waited a few more seconds before asking more questions.

“What’s life like now? A haven’ been able t’ see for m’self.”

“Loud and crowded.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Can we breathe underwater?”

He turned to you, an amused but befuddled expression on his face.

“Not that I know of,” he answered. “Are you gonna leave me alone or not?”

You shifted uncomfortably, keeping your shoulders tense as you wondered whether you should lie to him or not. Could you even go back to being invisible?

“A don’t know. I cannae leave the church, but I s’pose I could try to go invisible,” you suggested meekly. “Why can’t you leave? Since you don’t like me.”

“I didn’t say that,” he snapped quickly, glancing to you for a second before looking right back at his well tended fire. “Don’t bother. With the whole invisible thing.”

“Oaye,” you said with a nod, curling up beside him, wondering if you’d ever achieve a form to feel warmth.

The two of you sat quietly, him staring at the fire unblinking, and you watching both the flames and him. Once a few minutes had passed, you noticed his eyes reddening with tears, a few trailing down his cheeks.

“You alright?”

“Yes. My eyes just burn,” he explained quickly, taking his sleeve and wiping them away with a sniff. You looked over the coat, noticing how warm it must’ve kept him.

“Where’d y’ get th’ coat?”

“… a friend,” he grumbled.

“Is very nice,” you commented, holding back the urge to reach out. It looked so soft, the fur fluttering in the wind, but you knew you wouldn’t have felt it no matter.

He grunted, but otherwise stayed silent. In all truth he felt very little animosity towards you, as you hadn’t done a mean thing yet, but as in all cases of meeting people, he was wary. Careful. You noticed this behavior, and to his gratefulness, respected his need for distance.

As the sky grew dark he tightened the drooping robes around him, sealing himself in warmth. Glancing quickly at him you noticed tired eyes, and began counting down the minutes to when he would fall asleep. You leaned forward, flames licking away at your unfeeling cheek.

“You going t’ sleep?”

“No,” he said, his eyes suddenly opening wide as he grasped at his large coat blanket, the creases growing larger with tension.

“Is fine if ye do. I’ll… go outside.”

You dwelled in his silence, watching carefully for his movement. A few more seconds of waiting proved fruitful as he slowly shifted, lumbering to his feet, and half waddling over to his makeshift bed.

“The sheep need t’ be sheared. Could make a nice bed,” you commented in a dismissive manner, floating on through the wall. Inside you heard a soft flump, and the sound of ragged breath as the fire dimmed to an ember.

Though you’d spent forever in solitude, it felt eons longer waiting for the sun. It was the first time since you died that you were able to talk to someone and earn a reply - the feeling, though anxious, was divine, and for a moment it felt as though you were real. That you were material, that you mattered, but you knew better. Everything would remind you that you knew better. You could stand in fire and survive, wade in the deepest oceans if only not tied to your headstone.

And you could not feel his touch. Not once did you even try, and neither did he, out of respect for his boundaries, and fear of your own sheer existence.

Perhaps you one day would feel. Your sensory deprivation was a special kind of hell, but you held hope, a thing that was not deserved.

The mornings arrival brought an end to dark thoughts. You stuck your head through the wall, watching the mound of blankets in the corner rise to reveal a dark matted head of hair. He stretched his arms high, letting out a light yawn before he stood.

“Mornin’ Bucky,” you said, shifting through the rest of the wall with a bright and friendly smile. He mumbled incoherently to himself, rubbing his face. “Anything t’ do today?”

“Going into town.”

You wanted desperately to come with. So much so in fact, that you almost asked, before remembering that it was futile anyways. You watched him sling bags over his shoulders, tightening belts and pulling his massive coat onto his arms.

“What are y’ gonna get?” You asked instead, eyes trailing after him as he left the church.

“You’ll see,” he said, which was not at all comforting. You frowned, making a grumbling noise to indicate your dissatisfaction with your answer. As he left you could see him just barely smile.

Patiently you waited, seated atop your grave, letting your finger drift through the grass, watching it part just slightly. With great concentration you could move tiny parts of the physical world, but it was never something you quite needed to do. What with being dead and all, you had close to no necessities, except an endless boredom which you’d gotten quite good at curbing.

When at last his matted hair rose above the grassy hills in the distance you looked up, watching him as he walked closer. His bag, hanging from his right shoulder, drooped heavily from his body, weighing down and creasing the material. He came to stand in front of you, dropping to his knees. Quietly, you watched him dig into the bag, pulling out a strange, silver rectangular object, decorated with knobs and dips all over it.

“What is it?” You asked, letting your hand phase through it.

“Called a radio. Got it at a thrift store,” he told you in a mumble, keeping his voice low. While you had absolutely no idea what a radio was or a thrift store (you could safely assume things were bought and sold there), a grin parted your lips.

“What’s it do?” You tried to interact physically with it, pressing a knob and letting it turn. In fascination you giggled, your eyes wide as you watched the different knobs turn.

“Plays music. Or just voices,” he said, pressing a button to the side of it.

Out of the silver box sprang a tune, singing brightly through crackling noises, filling up the old abandoned graveyard. You laughed, astounded at the sound, feeling your heart burst with joy. It had been so long you’d gone without music - it hadn’t ever crossed your mind, but now that you could hear it once more, you realized just how much you needed it.

“Woah! That’s… fantastic!” You gasped, getting down on the ground to look at the box from a different angle. “Where are the voices comin’ from?”

“Um… they can record sound now, and replay it, so that’s… kind of what’s happening,” he tried to explain, doing a poor job of it and drifting off when he found he had little idea what he was talking about. You didn’t mind though. All that mattered was that the voices were singing brightly, and that he’d done this for you.

“Thank you, so much,” you said with an air of amazement, looking up at him from your position on the ground.

“It’s just a thing,” he mumbled.

“Not to me.”

He swallowed thickly, turning away from you with a red face. You laughed, closing your eyes to enjoy the music more. Lying down, your hands intertwined on your chest, you could hear it better, just listening to the melody and the instruments you could never name. He listened just the same, keeping his eye on the horizon, and his knees close to his chest.

For a good while he sat with you, his foot tapping up and down anxiously and much faster than the beat of the music. When a particularly slow song ended he stood, stepping over your body even though he could’ve walked straight through. Societal norms, you explained to yourself, relaxing right back into the music.

When night approached the music stopped, and instead voices came. Just talking to each other, having some sort of conversation. Still you listened, absorbing the information they gave and understanding little.

You opened your eyes to the stars, and listening a little too closely to the voices you were surprised to see Bucky suddenly standing above you, covered in his furs and looking as tall and mean as ever.

“Are you coming inside?” Was all he asked, but the question confused you. Did he want you inside? Why would he want you inside? You would never actually voice these questions, but watching him stare at you with a rather angry expression, you needed to answer.

“Uh - yes! Of course,” you said, stumbling to your feet. He grunted, reaching down to turn off the radio and gather it in his arms. You followed behind him into the church, hearing the fire crackle before you could see it. Inside was warm as ever, the light dancing in tandem with the shadows, intertwining around his shadow body and ignoring you entirely.

With a soft fwump he sat on the ground, on a rather soft looking cushion that you hadn’t seen before. Sitting beside him caused no creases, but gravity still seemed to work on you, making your body lean into his, but you pulled yourself away, still refraining from touching him.

He acted a very sensitive fellow, and though quiet and brooding, you knew saying little did not mean he felt little. On the contrary the people you’d met who were quiet often felt emotion intensely, and watching him set the radio on the ground gingerly, you kept this in mind.

“It ’twas very kind of ye t’ get me that,” you said quietly, tilting your head to him with the prettiest eyes you could manage. He stiffened, pursing his lips together. This time he had no answer for you, just a silent and tiny turn of the head away from you.

Still you smiled, letting it reach your eyes and crinkle the pale, dead skin there.

The rest of the evening he wrote in his little book, turning away from you whenever you tried to peer over his shoulder.

“I cannae read it anyway, yer handwritin’ is godawful,” you grumbled, crossing your arms.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” he replied, and you didn’t really know what principle meant, but he smiled, so you did as well. After that, despite telling you off so many times, he let you look over his shoulder. You kept at a safe distance, watching him write but not near enough to be breathing in his ear.

As the fire began to dim he closed up the book, setting another log on the fire to keep it going till he fell asleep. You sat to the side of his pillow as he lay down, bringing the blankets over his body.

“What do ye write about in there?” You asked quietly, watching him intently as light flickered across his face. He sighed, rolling onto his side and looking up at you.

“My day. Or friends, sometimes memories,” he answered in an almost solemn tone, gentle and quiet.

“Memories?”

“I don’t remember stuff well. So when I do, I write it down,” he explained, half mumbling into his pillow. “I dunno, it’s stupid.”

“I think it’s sweet,” you hummed, running your hand over the stone of the floor. Lately you’d been practicing interacting more with the world, what with being visible again. He made a grumbling noise that sounded a bit like he was choking, pulling the blankets up to his nose. “What about your friends?”

“What about them,” he said flatly, voice muffled by the blanket.

“What are they like?”

Pondering your question before he answered, he shifted beneath the covers.

“I only have two,” he started, but you quickly interrupted.

“And me,” you said, earning a dissatisfied grunt.

“You’re dead.”

“And I don’t matter any less,” you defended. He hummed in quiet agreement before continuing.

“Steve’s nice. Big guy, bigger than me.”

You didn’t think that possible - Bucky was already enormous compared to you and everyone you knew.

“Then there’s… uh, Sam. I guess he counts. He’s a bit of an ass really,” he chuckled and you followed. “I forgot about Natasha. She’s a good fighter. Did a lot of shit to get like that, too.”

“Sounds like a fun group,” you said. He nodded, yawning and closing his eyes. You left it at that, waiting till his breathing was rough and even till you left to stare at the stars, and wonder what they might condemn or bless you to.

In the morning he came outside, sitting beside you before you even realized he was awake. Yawning, wrapped in his fur blankets the two of you stared out over the ocean. He kept silent, the slow breathing matching the crashing movement of the waves.

“I was thinking,” he said, his voice a murmur like the crackling of a dying storm. You turned, facing him, your head supported by your knees. “What ties you to your grave?”

“Probably my body.”

“Wouldn’t it have decomposed by now?”

“Decomp-what?”

“Long explanation,” he said, looking like he regretted bringing it up. “But I don’t think your body is… there anymore.”

“Who took it?”

“The ground did.”

“Oh.”

“So if it’s not your body, what do you think is tying you there?”

“My name holds power,” you said, recalling different tales. “Given to a witch she has power o’er me. Given to you, you may see me. It might be that.”

“What do you think’ll happen if we… erased your name from the headstone?” He asked, glancing in your direction but not fully meeting your gaze.

“Might disappear. Might be tied to you,” you shrugged.

“Tied to me?”

“You’ve got my name written in that there book,” you said, pointing towards his notebook poking out of his pocket. Shifting, he tucked it in deeper. He mumbled something you couldn’t quite hear, and patiently you asked him to repeat himself.

“It wouldn’t be that bad,” he said louder, still mumbling, a red blush gracing his cheeks that you could just barely see behind his falling hair.

“No,” you said, brushing his hair behind his ear. He shivered, fighting to lean into and away from your touch. “It wouldn’t be bad at all. Just… make sure you don’t lose your notebook.”

“Right,” he murmured.

Later that day you sat on your gravestone, watching as below you he took a stone, scratching out your name.

“Tell me if you feel something change,” he said, wiping the dust off the first letter gone. You nodded silently, somehow knowing you’d be alright. And if you weren’t, that’d be fine too. You’d been tied to your grave for far too long to care.

As the last letter of your last name was swiped away, you expected something - an emotion, a movement, but nothing in the world swayed. All that was remained, including you, staring at the man before you.

“I s’pose I belong t’ you now,” you murmured with a smile, one he easily returned.

“Guess so.”

“Does it bother you?”

“No..,” he said quietly, his fingers hovering over yours, tangling till they connected with yours. “Not at all.”

#bucky imagine #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #male reader #female reader #marvel

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sabraeal · 5 years ago

Text

Strictly Come Dancing, Part 3

A ballroom dance AU Part 1 | Part 2

Obiyuki Week, Day 6 Lust | Chastity

It would be nice if, for once, a club’s parking lot wasn’t nearly three blocks away from the entrance. Especially tonight.

“I can hear you back there, you know.” Shirayuki casts a glance over her shoulder, but only dares to look at his feet, five steps behind hers. “Grinning.”

“You fought for my honor.” She doesn’t need to see him to know that Obi’s mouth is pulled wide, stretching from ear to ear. “Can you blame me?”

She can’t, that’s the problem. She knows exactly how much that means to him.

Obi’s shoes scuff on the pavement, and then he’s right at her shoulder. “You know, if you were like one of Kiki’s knight dealies, I’d have to give you my maidenhood or whatever.”

“Maidenhead,” she corrects, cheeks flaring red. “And why was she telling you this?”

“For reasons. You know how it is.” Obi shrugs. “Though I suppose you’re five years too late to be getting that.”

“Obi.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to give you instead though.” His chin tilts, thoughtful. “Maybe Kiki does. I mean, ladies couldn’t go about always being maidens. And then I can --”

“It was an accident,” she squeaks, clapping her hands over her cheeks. Her palms burn where she touches them. “I only meant to invite her to one of our practices, or maybe even a competition, not--not---”

“Having a dance battle,” Obi fills in gleefully. “Over me.”

Shirayuki slides her palms over her eyes and groans. “Don’t expect it to happen again.”

“I don’t,” he assures her, bumping shoulders. “That’s why I filmed it instead.”

She jerks up, head whipping around, and -- there it is, right on his phone: her freeze-framed Critical, dance shoes and all.

“Delete that!” she hisses, leaping for it. He’s too quick; her fingers barely brush the screen before he yanks it away. It glows overhead, maddeningly just out of reach.

“Nope! Mine forever.” He grins when she jumps, giving it a taunting shake. “I’m gonna show this to everyone tomorrow.”

“No,” she whines.. “Don’t!”

“I’m gonna,” he promises. “You should be more proud of yourself. This is a big thing for you!”

He’s right, as much as she hates it. Torou might have been the better dancer, but she’d put up a fight. Six months ago, she’d have taken one look at that dance floor and broken an ankle. This is...growth.

That does not mean she wants Kihal to get her hands on it. That’s just asking for it to end up on the website, and she just does not need to become The Girl Who Did That Dance Battle Once. Not the reputation she’s looking to build.

“Beside,” he says, grinning at the screen. “It’s already up on YouTube.”

She will kill him, and no one will find the body. “It’s what?”

“Hey, I didn’t put it up there. I took this video for my own personal enjoyment. And the people who I’m going to show it to, which is everyone,” he adds. “But some other guy got you at a much better angle. He texted me the link while you were going to the bathroom.”

The noise that tears from her is inhuman, like a sheep’s dying bleat. “I knew I just should have gone at home.”

“It’s not your fault you have a small bladder,” he tells her, shoulders twitching against hers in a shrug. “Besides, it would have been on YouTube anyway.”

“But at least I wouldn’t have known about it.” She shakes her head, dropping her hands, and never has she been more glad to see a public parking sign boasting $36 ALL DAY. “Oh good, we’re here. Any further and I think my feet would have fallen off.”

“Oh,” Obi purrs, bold now that her back’s turned. “You know I’m always willing to sweep you off your feet, my lady.”

She lifts an eyebrow, even though he can’t see it. “I thought I was the knight?”

“Well,” he wheedles, “I’m a very progressive maiden. I don’t see why we both can’t be the knight, once and a while.”

“How scandalous, sir.”

He lets out a hum of a laugh. “What was scandalous tonight was my lady’s dancing.”

Shirayuki opens her mouth to protest -- even if she’d done Torou’s routine wholesale, there was no way she could have made it as sultry and seductive as the original -- but he doesn’t mean that. He means before. When he’d dared her to show him what she’d learned out on the floor, and she’d --

Probably embarrassed herself, if Torou’s the sort of girl he’s used to.

“Let’s just...” She gestures vaguely to the lot, a tiny patch of pavement sandwiched between two squat buildings. “Get going. I’m sure you’re tired from having to pretend it was sexy.”

Loose gravel crunches as he pulls to a stop. “Didn’t I tell you? Everything you do is sexy to me.”

It’d be nice if her blush could stick to her cheeks; at least then he wouldn’t see it with her back to him. But she can feel it burning down her neck now, collecting at the tips of her ears. The light here may be dim, but Obi isn’t blind, and -- and it would be nice if her skin could give her just two seconds of privacy, instead of making her wear her thoughts on her sleeve whether she wanted to or not.

She huffs out a laugh she hardly feels. “Stop teasing.”

Her foot lifts, momentum carrying her forward, until fingers band tightly around her wrist. She only has a breath to look back, to follow the line of her arm all the way down to where it meets his, and then --

Then he tugs.

It’s second nature to yield to him, to let him lead her into a turn that pulls her tight against his chest, no space between them. She’s used to this, as much as anyone can be used to standing this close to someone as stupidly attractive as Obi is, but it’s -- it’s different now, not like how it is when they’re under the practice room lights or all dressed up on the competition floor. The knit of his sweater tickles her palms, and he’s warm where she touches him, a furnace.

And none of that has anything on his eyes, a gold so molten his heat sears her too, flowing through her veins until her knees quiver and her skin flushes not just on her face or her chest, but everywhere.

“What did you tell Ryuu?” he rumbles, his hand sliding down her wrist, fingers trailing over the soft skin of her forearm, “I joke but I never lie.”

She can’t stop looking at his mouth, watching the way it shapes his words, thinking about how it had been on her barely an hour ago. Even now she can feel where his stubble scraped her, how his teeth had nipped at the place where her neck and shoulder met, how his lips had dragged lower, breath ghosting over her collarbone -- “Are you?”

His palm stutters on her bicep, his gaze dragging away from its torturous journey to her eyes. He watches her watch him, and she knows the moment he traces the trajectory of her focus, when he realizes just what she wants.

His breath catches, and with a slow, controlled exhale, his fingers wrap around her arm, squeezing it with enough pressure that it’s no longer comforting but -- but --

A promise. “I wonder.”

On the dance floor he devoured her; they’d moved in a way that, had there not been so much denim between them, would have flagrantly ignored a solid half of public decency laws. She wants him to do it here too, to push her up against one of these ugly buildings, brick crumbling the moment her back touches it, and show her exactly what he means when he tells her that her rumba lacks heat.

But he doesn’t move.

There’s so little space between them the lack of air makes her dizzy, makes her knees weak, but she still can’t close it, can’t bear to be the one that gives first. When Zen had kissed her that one, botched time, he’d been the one to step in, to bring her close --

And though she hates to follow, Shirayuki has never learned to lead herself.

Please. She thinks it so hard the word forms on her lips, and Obi leans in, eager --

“Ei! Gata!”

Shirayuki jerks back, straining against the arm that bands tightly against her back. It loosens, just slightly, as Obi blinks, the moment jarringly broken, and she looks to see --

It’s that girl, the one from the club. The one who had taught her to -- ah, do things. With her body. She’s with a pack of others girls, all about at pretty as she is, loitering just outside the parking lot on the other side of the street. They all give Obi an appreciative once over.

Obi’s looking too, brow furrowed, concerned, holding her like he’d like to stand between them, like he thinks they might --

Oh. Get into a fight with her. Like Torou.

“It’s okay,” she starts, pressing a hand to his chest. That gets his attention right quick, his eyes fixed on her in a way that leaves her floundering for a good second. “I, um, know--”

“That’s right, baby!” the girl calls out, smile stretching from ear to ear. “You get it.”

Her arm waves, and Shirayuki blinks, confused, until she repeats the motion and --

Oh. She’s, um. Smacking an ass. Right.

“Oh, her?” Obi grins. “I like her. She’s got some great ideas.”

“Home,” Shirayuki decides firmly. “We’re going home.”

She’s halfway to the car by the time Obi jogs up begin her, laughing under his breath.

“See,” he says, too innocent. “She thinks you’re sexy! And I have to say, she looks like she’s an authority on it.”

“No, that’s not--” Obi lifts up his eyebrows, far too inquisitive, and she just huffs, hurrying to the car with as much speed and authority as these heels can give her.

“Are you trying to say that you think Senhorita Gata’s tastes are --?”

“No. It’s just -- a misunderstanding,” she grits out. Obi’s car is a clunker -- though compared to some of the others in the lot, it looks practically brand new -- but she feels better once her fingers brush the handle, once she has her hands on something solid. “She just...she thinks that you and me, that you and I--” she waves her hands, flustered-- “that we’re, you know--”

Dating is impossible. The word gets stuck in her teeth, too much of a stretch to even speak. Fucking is straight out.

“--That you want me,” she finishes lamely, on a sigh. “Like that.”

It’s silent in the lot. Cars rush by in the distance, back on the main road, and the girl and her friends are still shrieking across the street, muffled by the buildings around them as they pile into their cars. Power locks were a luxury when Obi’s car came off the line, but never has she wished harder for it to be just a year or two older so she wouldn’t have to wait, so that instead of standing here, anticipating his laugh, she could be locked away inside. It might not have that fancy sound dampening stuff either, but metal and glass would mute it well enough.

But that laugh never comes.

His shadow falls across the car, tripled in the floodlights. She can’t tell where he’s standing, but it’s both too close and too far. “Obi...”

One hand falls on the top of the sedan, just by her shoulder. The other clasps her elbow, turning her, slowly, gently, before it settles there too. She’s caged in by his arms, but it’s his eyes that trap her like a fly in amber. “Maybe she’s not the one misunderstanding what I want.”

Despite the lack of air, Shirayuki manages, with great gravitas, “Haah.”

Obi’s mouth cants at a corner, teeth peeking out from between his lips, and he, impossibly, leans closer. “You know, Kiki says that ladies would give favors to their knights before battle.”

Shirayuki knows that. She was a young, impressionable teen girl once; she’s watched A Knight’s Tale an unhealthy amount of times -- what else could she do when there was not only a cute knight and a hot lady blacksmith, but also Chaucer? Still, she just stands there, dumb, watching him watch her while her heart rate raises to something close to palpitations.

His gaze, unmistakably, settles on her mouth. “And I never did give you a favor.”

“What would you have given me?” she blurts out, because of course this is what she fixates on, instead of -- of -- doing anything else, like flirting. “Your shirt?”

Obi jolts back with surprise, blinking. “That’s not where I was--” He stops, considering her. “Do you want me to take my shirt off?”

“No!” None of this is going the way she hoped it would. She needs to make a -- a mouth parliament, so she can get some oversight on the words coming out of her mouth. “I mean, not any more than usual!”

His nostrils flare. “Than usual?”

“That’s not what I--” she is really screwing up this whole conversation-- “I mean, you know how you look!”

That was a mistake. Now he looks far too pleased with himself.

“No,” he hums, fingers trailing down her jaw. They hook behind her ear, and with barely any pressure, tilt up her chin. “That’s not the favor I meant.”

Her breath whines out of her lungs. “Then--?”

Her only warning is the warm air across her lips, and then his follow; a soft brush that sends sparks shooting right down to her toes. Once, twice, and just as she opens her mouth --

He pulls away. Her eyes flutter to half-mast, and even with the bronze of his skin and the weird lighting of the lot, she can see a blush flare across his face. “I--”

She is really, really not interested in talking.

Her hands fist in his shirt, and she yanks him back down, mouth open under his, and --

And it’s a lot different, this time.

There’s no shyness in this, no need to coax him; the moment his lips touch hers, she’s open to him, and he takes it, tongue licking into her mouth, hands falling from the sedan to her -- her ass, pulling her against him. He’s hard already, panting as she whines against his mouth, and it’s just like the club, where there’s no space between them, but it’s still too far.

One of this thighs slots between hers, and it’s all the invitation she needs to roll against him, to hook her fingers in him belt loops and rock her hips into his. His mouth slips from her on a groan, and it’s -- it’s too much but not nearly enough, one hand sliding up under his shirt --

“Okay!” he gasps, practically throwing himself off her. There’s only six inches of space between them, but they both stand there, tense, like they’re ready to leap across the canyon to close it. “We need to--to--” Shirayuki prays he doesn’t say stop -- “get in the car. Now. Before...stuff.”

“Stuff?” she pants, hopeful.

He doesn’t answer, just shoves his hand in his pocket, cursing under his breath. His jeans aren’t tight, not like how she’s seen some boys wear them, but they hug to his hips like they were made for him. She appreciates the aesthetic, but it’s clear that it’s impeding the rest of her night.

“Let me,” she breathes, reaching for him, and he jerks away. For a moment, she’s afraid she’s misunderstood -- maybe he doesn’t want stuff to happen --

“You,” he says, with a look full of censure, “are only going to make this worse.”

She nearly protests -- she is very helpful, the most helpful --

And then she sees the way his jeans bulge against the inseam. Ah. Yes. Putting her hands near -- near there would not be helping at all.

He has to work his fingers into the pocket, but only few seconds of fishing sees him victorious. The car keys chime, loud in the silence, continuous and dissonant like bells on a sleigh. He steps toward her, hand outstretched, and it’s not until the key is in the lock and the noise stops that she realizes -- his hands are shaking.

She has to side step so he can open the door, but she slides in right after, and --

“What are you doing?” He stares at her, incredulous.

She blinks. “You opened the door.”

“I -- yes?” He leans in, so close, and she rises to meet him --

Plink.

Eyes flying open, she’s just in time to see his fingers pull away from the back door, the silvery lock pulled into the open position.

Right. Because Obi’s car is practically old enough to drink. There’s no power locks; there’s not even a keyhole on the back door --

The back door that leads to the backseat, which is where people make out, when there are people who are used to making out in cars. Not the front seat, with the center console between them. The sort of thing a twenty-year-old should know, if she had any experience besides awkward kisses on fire escapes.

Obi knows all about that, all about her history -- or lack of it, but it would be nice if she could at least pretend to be a little competent.

Still, his gaze tangles with hers, intent, even as he slides over, opening up the back and --

The back. The place she should be going if they’re going to do stuff. Kissing stuff.

Maybe more than kissing stuff.

She launches herself up, hands braced between the passenger seat and the driver’s, trying to get her knees under her on the console. Obi’s car is small -- in all honesty, ridiculous tiny for a man his size -- but Shirayuki’s small too, and she’s never met a space she couldn’t squeeze through --

Until now. Her heels catch on the lip of the console, her forehead whacking painfully into the overhead lamp. A thin beam of light illuminates the back seat.

She sits back, stymied. Then tries again for good measure, cutting to darkness again, and --

“Don’t break anything,” Obi pleads, laughter shaking his words. “It’s a real bitch to find parts for this thing.”

“I’m not going to, I just--” she grunts, reaching back, yanking the buckles of her shoes -- “there.”

They clatter to the floor; she doesn’t bother to watch them, already shoving her way through, throwing herself onto the backseat with a worrying creak. She only just avoids whacking herself on the headrest, but she’s too flushed with victory to worry over it.

Obi hunches by the back door, eyes wide, one eyebrow raised. “Are you good, or...?”

“Yes!” she yelps, trying to arrange herself to look welcoming, to look like a girl who potentially goes around getting kissed in the back of cars. Whatever vibe she’s going for must be off; Obi spares her an incredulous look before he straightens, shutting the fort door.

It feels like an eternity before he bends back down, angling to slide into the back, and there’s something about his face that says second thoughts, maybe even third ones, and she just --

She goes for it.

Her lips barely bump his before he catches her shoulders, laughing. “Kid, let me close the door first.”

“Oh!” She settles back, watching how his shoulders stretch under that sweater as he reaches over. “Can you fit?”

“Of course I can fit,” he scoffs, even as his hair brushes the ceiling. “This isn’t the first time I’ve--”

He stops, lips pressing together. “You know what? Not going to sabotage myself like that. I can fit.”

The door closes with a metallic clank -- he really needs to take this thing to a garage -- and then he sits back, spine ramrod straight against the seat, hands clenched on his knees. There’s not enough space for them not to be touching, but he’s tense enough to make it feel that way. His jaw works, and there it is, the second thoughts sitting just beneath his skin.

“Obi.” She doesn’t know what she wants to say; do you want to still and we don’t have to sit heavy on her tongue, and she’s not sure which one is right --

His head snaps towards her, and she sees it, the heat behind all the hesitation. Maybe she’s not the one misunderstanding what I want. “Ye--?”

Her hands clap to his ears, dragging his mouth to hers. The moment they touch it’s as if they never stopped, his hand palming the back of her head, drawing her closer as he licks at her mouth, sending heat searing down to her toes. The other one smooths down her spine, fingers clutching at her cardigan, and she --

She would like to be back where they were before too. Her hands yank at the bottom of his shirt, urging it up his flexed stomach and he grabs the back, hauling it over his head.

It’s only too bad the light is still there.

“Oh no!” she gasps, reaching for him when he hisses, pressing a hand to the back of his head. “Are you--?”

She promptly loses her ability to words as the fabric falls away, and every inch of his chest is revealed still dewy from the club.

Oh. Oh wow. She knew Obi was built; when they’d first been paired he’d always managed to arrange their practice right as he was finishing up his routine, sweat-slicked and shirtless, but -- but it’s been months now, and he’s, well...cut.

His mouth curls. “See something you like?”

“Please,” she sighs, leaning into him. “Don’t ruin this.”

When he kisses her this time, it’s different, purposeful. With far more finesse than she managed, he pushes her cardigan from her shoulders, peeling it down her arm so that every inch feels like a caress. The air’s still cold in the car, and her skin pimples in the chill, but then his fingers trace the strap of her halter, and -- well, she definitely doesn’t feel cold, that’s for sure.

His hand splays across her back, the tips of his fingers resting on bare skin, and they’re so hot she’s sure they’ll leave a brand, that any time she puts on one of those skimpy Latin costumes, everyone will know he’s touched her. He presses into her, and with barely more than that she’s falling back onto the seat, his mouth jostling from hers to land on her cheek.

“Oh,” she murmurs, flushed. Only she could make something this sexy so awkward. “Are you--ohhh.”

His mouth sucks hard, just behind her ear, and that is -- that is like nothing anyone has ever done to her before, oh god. Her toes curl, wrapping themselves in the denim of his jeans, and when her thighs squeeze his hips--

“Jesus Christ,” he moans, hips bucking into hers, and then she just -- looses a full minute.

By the time she comes back to herself, her hands are fisted in the bristle of his hair, head thrown back, his mouth flirting with her collar bone. Her thoughts are fogged, distant; the only thing she can focus on is the way his hips rock into hers and the feel of his lips against her skin, and when he tugs, hesitant, on the knot of her halter, she can only manage an embarrassingly enthusiastic moan.

It doesn’t occur to her until everything suddenly stops that, oh yes, she hadn’t worn a bra today.

Obi jerks back, eyes wide and dark as he stares down at her. For the longest time, it’s all he can do, just breathe and look.

“Obi.”

He blinks, gaze dragging up to hers, and she can see -- he wants to take this further, wants to ask if this is all right --

“Obi,” she breathes. “I think you should take me home.”

#obiyukiweek19 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #Strictly come dancing #ballroom dance au #finally I have gotten to the make out I wanted to in the last part #FINALLY #i wish i had time to go back and do the whole lead up to this bit #but i suppose kizomba a dance battle and a make out will have to do on their own XD

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