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huntereambrose · 1 year ago

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The Vixen Queen (1.2)

CW/TW: depiction of physical abuse & references to r*pe, nudity, and sexual innuendo. 18+ ONLY.

Family meals. Aurora hated every one of them since her mother’s death. Elek and her father had become imbalanced in her absence, no longer having a stronger mind to anchor their whims and fancies. They had become the worst possible versions of themselves, attesting to the importance of Jadar women being true to their roots. The Lesser Hall was better termed The Lecture Hall now, as family meals had become an opportunity for her father to berate her in between long winded deliberations about the world, while Elek antagonized and belittled everyone, but her most especially. Aurora would rather have been the last woman in Teleria than spend another second at that table. Family meals were mandatory, though, according to her father. She had found out the hard way that not abiding by his recent fixations was a surefire way to find herself on the receiving end of something far worse.

Only two things had given her the endurance to tolerate them. The first came to her nearly a year ago, one cold, rainy, lonely winter night as she lay curled in her bed, reeling from another day’s misery. Her eyes were nearly bloodshot from the tears as she pleaded with The Weavers for her mother’s return, should they feel so merciful. Or else, for someone to save her from the nightmare her life had become. Someone. Anyone. A voice had comforted her that night, a break in her psyche that had stuck with her ever since. It got her out of her rut and inspired acts of defiance, quests for independence, and a strange balance of dejection and hope — or rather, idealism, daydreams. It spoke to her in moments she needed it most, like a friend at her side, unseen.

The other was the arrival of the man they called The Rogue Warlock, Ganzig Enebish, who had come to Minnehil Palace less than a month ago. Though formally associated with The Order, he was a different type of mage than The Hintria was used to. With a distaste for politics and the spirit of a maverick, honesty and honor had a much easier path to his heart. Aurora couldn’t shake either the feeling that they were kindred souls, bonded by their shared misery and the cold, calloused hands of fate.

Elek wore a smug look as she entered. He was resting back in his seat, arm hanging over the side. He was wearing his crown, as he usually did around the palace, to remind everyone that he was the heir. The twisting silver appeared darker in the dim morning light, more like cold, harsh iron — all three adjectives a perfect description of the man it adorned. A mess of contradictions, he was otherwise immaculate, his chestnut hair neatly tucked behind his ears, beard clean shaven. “About fucking time,” he poked. “I’m already finished.”

“Don’t worry, brother, I’m sure father will excuse you so you can get to the pleasure houses early.”

The inner voice cackled, causing her to giggle and smirk. Elek made no reply, only a high pitched, conceited chuckle. A single finger came up to poke into his temple, elbow resting on the arm of the chair. Tremors spread under Aurora’s skin as he leered.

“Easy, Aurora,” her father growled, grouchy and irritated that his children were bickering again. Aurora grunted and sat at her chair next to the Prince, far too close for comfort. But, as she had learned the hard way, it was her seat. The one immediately to her father’s right was still empty, likely to never be filled again until Elek sat on the throne and erased the last vestiges of their mother that her father valiantly kept alive. She shot the warlock a brief look. He was otherwise silent, lost in his breakfast and paying zero attention to their squabble. Sensing Aurora’s distressed gaze, his bright amber eyes glanced up from the food and steeled her.

“You missed a riveting conversation,” her father continued, attempting to change the mood. His face perked up, as if it would help.

“Oh, what a shame,” she sighed, sarcastically. “We never have those around here.”

All three men stared at her with different visages, conveying their reaction to her startling acrimony. Her father and brother were used to it, hypocritically sour in their own right. They were always annoyed when she joined in, though. It was never the right time, or ever the right thing, viewpoint, or whatever. She was always wrongly expressing the same emotions they felt and expressed everyday, never a proper thought in her mind. Everyone got catharsis but her. Everyone’s opinions mattered but hers. Meat cakes and goulya gone, Ganzig now held an awkward energy, watching as if entertained as the scolding unfolded. Entertained, and slightly troubled.

“Don’t start this today, Aurora,” her father groaned.

Aurora blinked her surprise, mocking his irritation with her tone and a crass look. “Start what?”

“You know what,” he insisted, bringing the palm of his hand to his face before slapping it back to his knee. “You’ll learn to like Vasilica.”

Vasilica. Mitra, bless his heart. He was practically a clone of Elek — an arrogant, entitled prick, like so many princes and noble heirs, but remarkably handsome, at least. Aurora was blessed according to the others, having been engaged to the man since they were infants. A marriage born of proximity, and a desire to keep Jadar bloodlines pure, the various subsets of the ancient race intertwined as one.

You’ll learn to like him. She had heard that many times, even from the man’s own damned mother. If you have to say that, then you already know there’s something seriously wrong with him. I won’t learn to like him. I’ll just learn to accept what he is, just like all of you have.

That silent, unseen friend rushed to her aid. Aurora’s elbow came to the table with a clunk. Her arm crooked and angled towards her face as she rubbed the pads of her thumb and pointer finger together. She eyed her father with contempt. “And what if I don’t?”

The king closed his eyes and sighed. “You have to. That’s the way this works. And I won’t have your ungrateful, spiteful attitude during their visit. Do you understand?”

Elek turned to her and chuckled, his vain grin reminiscent of his old buddy, Vasilica. Aurora glared back, then directed it back at her father.

“He’ll have to learn to like me for who I am.” He will. Otherwise that will be one damned, unhappy marriage. Or, he might end up…accidentally dead.

“No, you will have to learn to behave yourself,” her father barked back, leaning forward in his seat. “It’s one thing to embarrass me in front of the warlock, but it’s another to do it in front of my peers. You will be on your best behavior, and you will dress accordingly. Would it kill you to have some modesty?”

Aurora laughed. Her head turned down to observe the dress she had chosen for the morning, her hands combing over it to find the flaw her father observed. The dress made her breasts look amazing, perfectly supported while still hanging free. Lavender was a great color on her too. It made her skin gleam, but not startlingly so.

Aside from the obvious lack of flaws, his question simply didn’t make sense. Modesty was rarely enforced in The Hintria as it was in the other Jadar kingdoms. The loose, open attitudes of The Bard’s College seeped into Minnehil’s streets for thousands of years. Followers of The Creed abounded, but that didn’t exclude them from frequenting college orgies or pleasure houses, consuming intoxicants, or taking secret lovers. Even if it was an opinion held in secret, Hintrian men cared not for whether a woman was promiscuous. Some would contend that they secretly liked it. But Weavers forbid she wear nothing under her dress. How scandalous. She was a princess, after all, the daughter of a King close to the infinite’s heart, pledged to marry a man who, like her brother, fucked a whore a day.

She shrugged. “I thought Vasilica would like a better glimpse of his property.” Elek rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

Her father was less than amused. “Is this really all a joke to you?”

“Of course not, Father. Not at all.”

“I should hope not,” he sneered, lips quivering in anger and mourning. “Your mother would be appalled.”

Don’t bring her into this, you sick fuck. She’d be appalled that you’re using her to manipulate me into submission. I’m grieving, too, and you use it against me.

Aurora grimaced, gritting her teeth. Don’t bring her into this, you sick fuck. She’d be appalled that you’re using her to manipulate me into submission again. I’m grieving, too, and you use it against me. She hated her father for the way he capitalized on her death, claiming to be heavily bereaved while raping chambermaids and treating her so harshly. What will it take for you to see we’re suffering, too? What will it take for you to see that you grieve her spirit far more than her departed spirit grieves yours?

“At me?” Her face tightened with anger. “Or you?”

Her father’s eyes went wide. I know, right? The audacity of a woman to talk back to you — Rikard, King of The Old Kingdom.

“At me?” He scoffed, multiple times. The question hit him deep, regardless of what it awakened. Likely more manipulation. “I was married to her for twenty years, Aurora. I know her better than you could ever hope to. I miss her more than you could possibly know.”

Aurora glanced at Ester, who stood just off to the side, hands awkwardly clasped in front of her crotch as they were earlier. Do you, now?

If I were Queen…

When you are Queen…

A powerful Queen.

A strong Queen.

“…and she would have your backside over the way you’ve been acting. This stops now, or you can enjoy being locked in your room.”

Aurora had no response. Anything she could have countered with would not have ended well for her, likely ending in a beating…or worse. Being locked in her room sounded nice, but she knew all forms of entertainment would be confiscated so she could think of what she had done — even her journal, the key with it. She had been lucky to get it back the last time, after the things her father found inside. It was her mother, posthumously, that protected it from being thrown out or destroyed. Or rather, her memory, which forbid even her heartless father from dispensing with things associated with her.

Satisfied, Rikard relaxed. He ignored Aurora’s pouting and addressed the warlock now.

“My apologies for my daughter, Ganzig. It’s been a tough year, as you know.”

The large, brooding man waved a hand to dismiss the apology. “No apology necessary, Your Majesty. A mother’s bond with her children is a powerful thing, not easily parted with.”

His eyes darted to her, holding her in surprising solidarity. He seemed affected by his own observation, as if the concept of losing such a bond was familiar, all too familiar. Radical candor was found in that short sentence, her father’s desire to be validated completely ignored. It was perhaps her favorite trait about the warlock. Many Jadar, nobles, and royalty considered themselves as a special class, worthy of special praise and privileges. But he regarded them as no different than any other Telerian people, her father, as nothing more than another in a long line of mortal kings. Over a thousand years old, he carried none of the usual prejudices about himself. Thus, he brought refreshing honesty, caring little for anyone’s reactions, a jaded, exhausted strength unmatched by the rest of the court. Most notably, he seemed to hold respect for her, not as a princess, but as a human being — as a woman. Or is it pity?

No. Respect.

Ganzig held her gaze for a moment, as if communicating his understanding. A happy, relieved smile pawed from behind her lips. They were rare emotions in her, clamoring for a moment in the sun.

The warlock continued, turning back to Rickard and leaving Aurora somewhere between vainglory and swooning. Large and handsome, with skin the color of tarnished copper, he was a rarity even in Minnehil. She found herself drawn to him more after the look they had just shared.

“I’m sure the princess understands how important this day is, and will put on her best facade. For you.” He turned back to her and nodded. She made no gesture of recognition.

The king sighed again, pushing back his plate and grabbing his cup of tea. He took a sip. “Let’s hope so. Young and disaffected., indeed.” He chuckled, and eyed Aurora once more. “An apt observance, warlock. All too relevant.”

Ganzig shared Aurora’s distaste for the day’s proceedings, but not for the same reasons. Possessing all the rowdiness of The Hintrians and infinitely more tact, The Trisekians were perhaps the worst of The Jadar. Karaliska Palace was a venerable den of vipers, with Queen Roxanne as the most venomous of the bunch. Always with an ulterior motive, and strength in their numbers, The Trisekians moved as if the gods couldn’t touch them. Their secrets were carefully hidden behind locked doors, carried in hushed voices and moves in the shadows. While on the surface, they were idyllic and amicable, lacking all congruence.

Vasilica was no better, and as Ganzig had found out, often at the center of those secrets. He had the rampant, nearly omnisexual libido of Elek, with an even darker, angrier edge. Many years ago, in the dark of night, House Baciu had discovered an egregious defect in the boy: he was a split-soul. Under the light of the full moons, or from the fires of his anger, he shifted from man to bear, often rampaging or sulking until his form changed back. A well-guarded body count was attached to his name, both sexually and confirmed kills. No one outside The Order and House Baciu knew of it, and presumably The Sanna’s, who seemed to know every secret of note ever kept in Teleria. Rikard, and most importantly, Aurora, were none the wiser.

The welcoming party waited for their procession in The Lower Courtyard. Rikard was in the middle, wrapped in his white and navy tailcoat, the sigil of The Old Kingdom upon his head as the twisting, silver crown of The Old Kingdom gave the appearance of ram’s horns. His children flanked him. Elek, in a matching tailcoat, and smaller crown. Aurora’s new dress still hugged her figure tightly, made of navy blue lace and silk, embellished with sequins on the chest that glittered in the sunlight. Her crown was simpler, silver and sparkling with diamonds. No horns, but the countenance it granted her was darker than that of the men, encouraged by the navy blue cape that was wrapped around her shoulders, flowing back behind her a pace or two. She stood with stoic indifference, though her eyes and aura still said otherwise, waiting for her betrothed’s most anticipated arrival.

Benci, Rikard’s Lord Hand, stood next to Ganzig, just behind the trio. The short, gruff man was in a simple blue doublet with white tracings up the lapels, the horns of the hand pinned over his heart. Ganzig looked down at his simple, burgundy and white-colored cloth armor and shrugged, having long given up on trying to impress monarchs like Rikard and Roxanne. Riches and power weren’t compelling to him anymore, having long lost their luster after seeing them ebb and flow out of coffers like water for a thousand years.

The King’s Knights surrounded them, fanned out through the courtyard. The butt of their lances were planted firmly upon the stone, steel shields sparkling under the sun as it neared high noon. An additional line was added to the forces near the gatehouse behind them, all of them wielding crossbows.

The carriages came across the drawbridge and under the gate, turning so as to pull through the courtyard at an angle, leaving space for the others to pour in. Navy blue like Aurora’s dress, each one was adorned with gilded gold, with twin eagles touching wingtips at the very top.

One by one, the red spoked wheels slowed and came to a stop. Attendants hopped down from the rear and buckboards, lining up in front of the doors and gripping the handles. Taking their cues in silent agreement, they opened the doors in unison.

An entourage of Trisekian royalty and nobles stepped out, led by Queen Roxanne. The matronly woman was disturbingly resplendent, draped in a red velvet dress which had reflective, artfully inlaid, gold metal plates on her abdomen, neckline and shoulders, and long, drooping sleeves. A golden crown sat atop her wispy, whitening hair, with a large, square cut garnet in the center, flanked by blue sapphires that descended in size as they went out. Loving to flaunt their wealth, she wore two bracelets on each hand, a ring on her left hand, and a necklace. All of them gold, and all of them containing one or both of the two gemstones.

Like Rikard, her children flanked her: The Princes, Vasilica and Cristian in matching red and blue doublets, small coronets of gold and sapphire upon their heads; and the eldest princess, Sorina, graceful and beautiful in a flowing, red gown, with a tiara of gold and a single garnet center stone.

On the outer flanks approached Luca Dmitry, notable proprietor of copper and iron handicrafts among the elite, and Grigore Cane, the one who provided the colorful dyes utilized in every one of these startlingly pompous outfits. Behind them trailed Tatiana, Roxanne’s chief court mage.

They all walked forward with a foreboding presence as contingents of Brigada rounded out the flanks. Rikard and his children walked forward to greet them. The king smiled and bowed courteously. The Trisekian princes and merchants returned the gesture. Roxanne and Sorina finished off the sequence with a curtsy.

Ganzig watched Vasilica’s eyes wander over Aurora — quite immodestly, as Rikard would surely comment. His gaze was one that either felt inhuman or enrapturing, due to the color and design of his eyes: a gold ring around the pupils, the rest of it ocean blue with flecks of white. Aurora obviously experienced the former whenever he looked at her. The princess stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him or his objectification of her. Her composure and elegance was a shocking contrast to her usual demeanor. On her best behavior, and dressed to impress, she appeared almost regal and queen-like in her own right.

An image flashed before him, that of Aurora, wrapped in horrible, gut-wrenching power, dark and disturbing but undeniably, stunningly beautiful. She sat upon The Stone Seat, the throne room void of all light except for torches. A crown of gold and rubies was upon her head to match the red and black of her sexy, high slit dress. The image rushed to her face. Those icy blue eyes sparkled with foxy, scheming shrewdness, her mind and soul no longer her own. She flashed a sinister grin, and then disappeared. She was back at Rikard’s side, staring mindlessly out the main gates as she avoided Vasilica’s still wandering eyes.

“Roxanne,” Rikard said warmly. He clasped his hands and then hugged the Trisekian queen, exchanging cheek kisses. “So good to see you.

“Likewise, Rikard,” Roxanne beamed, glancing at Elek and Aurora as they stood by, prim and proper. “And oh, your children look so lovely. That Aurora really is quite a woman.” Her eyebrows pumped, stating the obvious. Aurora was a beautiful young woman, but maligned and mistreated, valued for her looks and womb, and nothing else. Roxanne seemed to hold a begrudging respect for her, though, evident in the words she offered in observation. “She reminds me so much of Imre. Vasilica is a lucky man.”

From his vantage point off to the side, Ganzig could see tears welling up in the king’s eyes as he turned and beheld his daughter. He nodded in agreement, slowly. “Indeed he is.”

Something about the expression had Ganzig’s skin crawling, though. Rikard wasn’t proud of Aurora in any sense. Nor were her similarities to Imre a new revelation for him. No, Rikard literally sees Imre when he looks at her, and yet, she is not his wife. His wife is gone. Aurora is a walking bittersweet memory, a source of pain, a clinging to the past that he will not let go of.

There was more under the surface that Ganzig withheld from probing. They were doors he wasn’t sure he wanted to open. He had seen that face on many men before, and what lay carefully buried beneath wasn’t something he enjoyed confronting.

Rikard turned then, quickly changing moods as he gestured towards the doors to The Keep. “Please, after you,” he offered to the group, stepping to the side to make a path. “We’ll make sure you’re settled in. But first, we feast.”

“Oh, you Hintrians and your indulgences,” Roxanne laughed. She pushed a hand towards Rikard as if to half-heartedly deny his invitation. “And always tempting outsiders to partake.”

“Not that we’re complaining,” Vasilica interjected with a smile of his own. His eyes darted once more to Aurora, who maintained her indifference.

“Ha ha!” Roxanne exclaimed, throwing her hands to the side. “Not at all. It’s so invigorating to just let go sometimes. Oh…how I’ve missed this place.”

Rikard’s grin grew. “Well, let go we shall. There’s wine and food in plenty!” he exclaimed to the group. “Please, you know where to go.”

With a nod and words of gratitude, the entourage nudged forward, along the basalt cobbles and towards The Keep. Rikard walked at Roxanne’s side as they continued their discussion. The children flared out around them, the merchants on the fringes. Ganzig was behind them, folding in between The Brigada and The King’s Knights as they merged into a single force. Tatiana did the same, boasting a disarming smile as she came to his side.

“Ganzig.”

“Good to see you, Tatiana.”

“As Rikard would say: indeed.” They shared a playful laugh at the king’s classic idiosyncrasy. Her eyelashes batted, hands clasped behind her back just like Ganzig’s. “How is he?”

Ganzig shrugged. “As good as a man can be after what happened. He’s thrown himself into his kingly duties, as he calls it. That, and every chambermaid he can get his hands on.”

“Oh…” Tatiana tsked. “Got a large crop of royal bastards on the way?”

“Not with the obscene amount of adhoura tea he imported,” Ganzig answered. “The Sanna’s made quite a pretty penny helping broker that deal.”

“I’m sure they profit quite well off horny royals. To be honest, I’m surprised he hasn’t had The Duchessa put together a special harem for him yet.”

“He’s trying his best to keep it secret. You know, a respectable amount of time. For the children.”

“Oh yes, the children. Such a ray of sunlight in his darkest age.”

Ganzig chuckled, thankful that he finally had someone to share court gossip with. Especially one that was equally as entertained by it as he was. The group parted in front of them, The Trisekians off to the right, The Hintrians to the left. He turned to the woman and offered raised eyebrows to suggest her sarcasm was in good taste.

“Yeah. We’ll discuss that later.”

“Deal.” The woman pursed her lips into a smirk, eyeing him from across the table as they continued in single file towards their seats.

Ganzig took a deep breath, finally letting go of the tension he had been carrying in his shoulders, preparing for the next strain which was sure to come from the dinner conversations. They weren’t nearly as bad as he’d anticipated, though, mostly catching up from the previous year. Rikard shared fond stories of his late Queen Imre, which became tales told in tandem with Benci of his latest hunts and his newfound love of rare and exotic trophies that he procured via The Two-Cities’ Ranger’s Guild — evidently inspired by Ganzig’s own collection. Roxanne, ever the fan of treasures, was enraptured. She had given into Rikard’s coping, however, wittingly or inadvertently. The king had been visibly distraught as he spoke of Imre, with tears periodically dabbed away by his napkin, his voice strained and raspy. Treasures were happier. Treasures were distracting. Treasures were better, much better.

The merchants chimed in from their place just beyond the royal lines, shouting their desire to see the king’s collection later that night, commenting on the pieces he shared descriptions of as if there could be no greater prizes. Ganzig involved himself only as Rikard requested it, usually to provide his own stories related to the land they had been sourced from, the people inhabiting it, or a historical event it reminded him of that Ganzig had experienced firsthand. It was almost as if the king considered Ganzig himself to be a trophy. Outside of his own show and tell, he did the same as Tatiana: observing, listening, and eating.

Elek had traded seats with Cristian, at Vasilica’s request, giving them the opportunity to engage in their own conversation as the younger prince sat quietly poking at his food like both of the princesses that sat to either side of him. None of them contributed to the overall discussion in any way, nor were they involved.

As the meal wound down, conversation shifted at Roxanne’s direction.

“Rikard, what do you think of these developments in the central continents? The skirmishes in The Shedare, the Two-Cities chancellor being deposed by Lady Sanna, The Slavi Monarka reorganizing The Soldaty, armed and trained by The Nordur, of all people. There seems to be a lot of tension in the air, if you ask me.”

“Indeed…” the king zoned out, nodding as he contemplated the events of the last year. His bottom row of teeth tugged at his top lip. Time had begun to speed up for the man. For all of them. An endless, revolving slew of collisions and frictions was becoming the way of the world — or so Ganzig assumed the narrative inside Rikard’s head was going.

“Curious developments, indeed. I wonder if The Imperium is aware of the enmity brewing against them,” the king continued.

“Word is, they have a new Priestess. A prodigy of sorts. She may very well take the helm before too long, and she’s no older than Aurora.”

“Are you frightened by that, Your Majesty?” Ganzig interrupted. The queen’s head snapped in his direction. He saw a hint of the venom behind her stern, gray eyes. Twitches tugged at her cheeks and lips. Across the way, Tatiana watched in anticipation.

“Why, yes, warlock, I am,” Roxanne admitted coldly. Her voice changed to monotone. “I have nothing but the highest respect for The Vrilic Order. Though you are new to their ranks, you are familiar with their history and their contributions to Telerian culture, nonetheless. What The Imperium represents…is an antithesis to their work. It’s a strain no one wants, especially as we Jadar naturally hold quite close to The Nordur, politically speaking. You can imagine what a delicate balancing act that is.”

Ganzig considered her words, admitting to himself that there was some truth in them. The Imperium and The Order held themselves at odds with each other by default, a centuries-long schism stemming from murky accusations and a resentment that Ganzig had struggled to understand. The Jadar had been in a bind ever since, forced to be diplomatic with their powerful neighbors, all while being the most enthusiastic patrons of the very magical guild they hated. And, more recently, the not-so-secret supplier of mercenaries, all of whom were actively serving Brigadas.

“Of course,” Rikard assuaged her, resting a reassuring hand on hers to lighten her mood. “But what of this Priestess? You think she is a danger?”

Roxanne searched her thoughts, eyes reaching for the ceiling as she sighed. “They say she possesses power never before seen.”

“The Nordur are harmless unless provoked,” Luca piped up from down the table, sipping from a cup his smithies made.

“Yes, but when provoked, they torch everything in their path,” Benci muttered. “They are best kept in a state of content. I doubt this Priestess will amount to much outside their borders. The Nordur rarely go on the offensive with anything that isn’t an economic enterprise. As long as Two-Cities and the Nihen can keep their composure, there’s no need to worry about war.”

“I agree with The Lord Hand,” Vasilica joined in, he and Elek having ended their conversation in lieu of this far more titillating one. “The Nordur are best kept away from the battlefield. Let them do what they want on Hemland in the meantime if it keeps them happy.”

“And their vassals?” Roxanne countered.

“You mean Kmet? Or Brette? Or, perhaps you mean The Jinnan. No offense, Your Grace, but The Imperium’s vassals are not worth the paranoia,” Benci’s rhetoric silenced her for a time. The Nordur were always on everyone’s minds, but The Lord Hand was correct in suggesting that, with the exception of Brette, most of their vassals were less than influential. Roxanne knew it, too. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s looking for a fight with them. Oh, Your Grace, I hope you play your cards right on that one.

“We just want to know, Rikard, that in all of this, The Jadar remain united,” Roxanne said after the silence had gone on long enough.

“Of course, Roxanne,” Rikard assured her earnestly. “When could we ever be otherwise? How?”

��Exactly,” the queen agreed, satisfied. “We must look to The Four Brothers, The Saints, into Eyn Sof itself, for guidance and wisdom no matter what the world turns over. But oh, don’t mind me, I’m just nervous. That’s all. Call it getting older, but the world seems to be changing so rapidly these days.”

Rikard smiled, relieved. “Indeed, we were just discussing The Dalai this morning.”

“Oh, don’t even get me started on those blasphemers,” Roxanne sneered, shaking her head emphatically. “I can’t believe they have the gall to appropriate a faith that’s not even native to their own people.”

“The Creed knows no racial or political bounds, Your Highness,” Ganzig mocked, knowing Roxanne would take it as a serious, devout correction. What’s wrong, Your Grace? So unlike you to forget the faith’s tenants.

“Oh, I know, but the way they twist it to favor themselves above the rest of us. Typical Dunevastians. It’s a nasty cult if you ask me.”

“Speaking of cults, Silicia may very well be under the influence of one right now,” Luca interjected. The whole table turned to look at him. Even the princesses and Cristian were paying attention now. Ganzig glanced at Tatiana, jumping out of his body for a second as the sorceress raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Rikard attentively cocked his head as he considered the merchant. “You believe The Sanna’s to be a cult, too?”

“The Silken Dragons does have a strange way about it. The Talisman, too. Many are saying it, Luca continued, smoothing out the stubble around his mouth and cheeks before gesturing fluidly with the same hand.

“Yes. Indeed,” Rikard reflected. “I have heard that.”

Queen Roxanne scoffed so loudly half the table turned to look at her. She took back control of the discussion immediately. “And yet, everyone still readily gives that woman every last penny they have. Brothels and gambling houses always have a strange way about them. Fornication is poison for the soul, after all. A sixfold sin. I suppose it does make them a cult. A cult of sin.”

“Indeed. Indeed…” Rikard trailed off, notably distracted.

“Who cares if they’re a cult?” Elek cut in. “The Talisman is fun, and at The Silken Dragons, you can do almost anything you like. With anyone.”

The men looked about the table awkwardly. Luca licked his rose colored lips, sent fingers through his dark, oiled hair. Elek and Vasilica chuckled to each other as Aurora rolled her eyes in disgust.

Roxanne let out a revolting groan. “Oh, go on with it, already. We’re done eating and I know you’re all dying to run off to their wide open doors and legs.” She turned to Aurora, waiting patiently along with the rest of the group until the princess made eye contact to address her to speak. Ganzig noticed Rikard staring at her as well, having foregone his earlier glances. There was a sense of longing about his demeanor, disturbingly so.

“Boys will be boys, my dear,” the queen advised her. “You have to let them have their fun every once in a while or they’ll go crazy.”

Aurora returned the comment with an awkward smile. Tatiana and Ganzig locked wide eyes from across the table. Rikard dabbed his eyes once more and stood, sniffling.

“Well, I for one am retiring to my chamber,” The king announced. “It’s been a long day, bringing up lots of…bittersweet memories. Enjoy your night however you please. I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast.”

Rikard departed abruptly, prompting the rest of the table to stand. Chairs scrambled back, the creaking and rubbing of wooden legs on the stone floor. Aurora left immediately, servant and knights in tow. Ganzig saw Vasilica watching her, turning to Elek and making a comment. He received some curious reassurance — a smile, a wink, and the back of Elek’s hand tapping several times against his chest. The two walked off slowly, with Elek looking behind to make sure no one was following.

Aurora hurried towards her chambers, ready to have some peace and quiet. The sounds of the guests and other Palace activities had faded into the background as she wound her way through the northern towers, escorted by her two personal knights, and a servant who carried the tail of her cape. All were silent just as she was. Her feet made no sound upon the floor unlike the knight’s, whose boots stamped softly on the ground, dissipating rapidly and blending into the next beat, but the silk of her dress made soft whooshing noises with each step — the only audible sign of her presence in the hall.

They rounded a corner to mount the steps to the next floor, which were up ahead just a few paces, when suddenly, Vasilica appeared. He walked out seemingly from the wall, hands clasped behind his back and an annoying smirk on his face. Long, dark hair, slicked and parted along the middle, glimmered attractively under the torches. His eyes glittered, and nearly glowed. The smug grin he wore made him alluring, a note of bad taste beneath a gorgeous exterior, and a sign that his intentions were never pure — which they never were. Elek had obviously shown him the passages. But not, she hoped, that there’s another entrance into my room.

Aurora and her escort halted as soon as they registered him. The princess grimaced as she was forced to acknowledge his existence for the first time since his arrival. She had been hoping to avoid any and all interactions with him. He may have been her husband-to-be, but Aurora detested everything about the man. Worst of all was the fact that Vasilica’s ego bruised easier than a peach. The man would not be slighted or ignored by his own betrothed.

Such a bad taste. You betray so much, darling.

“I was beginning to think you forgot we were engaged.”

“Oh, believe me, Vasilica.” She forced a petty smile. “I couldn’t forget about that even if I tried. You wouldn’t let me.”

Vasilica ignored the slight. Instead, he grunted softly to himself as he undressed Aurora with his eyes. Aurora’s skin crawled under his creeping stare. There was not a romantic bone in Vasilica’s body, though he liked to think there was. He assumed his good looks, Baciu name, and princely charm were enough to get any woman naked. Whores, perhaps. But me? Or any girl of royal or noble birth? Not a chance. Not in Mystara.

“You look ravishing in that dress,” he said finally, with unabashed lewdness.

The attitude within Aurora turned. She realized she had power over the man, nevermind the lies he told himself to feel better about being such a loathsome prick. Aurora sneered. “I know.”

He had yet to remake eye contact, still staring at her hips, likely imagining himself gripping them firmly as he bent her over and joined House Baciu and House Gilles into a new bloodline. Vasilica smiled, chuckled, and then finally came back to a normal human conversation.

“Would you like an escort to your chambers, Princess?” He offered, suddenly trying to sound chivalrous.

Aurora shook her head, rolling her eyes. The nausea, the aversion that plagued her at the mere sight of this man was unparalleled. He was so blatantly foul, not even ashamed of himself.

“You think I don’t know what you’re playing at? I have servants and guards to escort me.”

Vasilica seemed insulted by her answer. He cocked his head and squinted. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I’m not a naive, submissive woman, Vasilica. Nor am I a whore. You mean to escort me into my chambers.”

Vasilica’s head bowed, and he smiled. He licked his lips as he considered his words — a rare trait for him. If he did more of that from the beginning, he would have had a much better chance of getting invited into her chambers.

“Yes, princess,” he admitted. “I do mean to escort you into your chambers. And stay there.”

Yeah, not a chance of that. But Aurora couldn’t simply tell the man no. She had learned that with her brother and father. Instead, she racked her brain for excuses, any excuse, to send the Prince away. Then, it dawned on her. Can’t have complaints if we’re too religious, can we?

“I must maintain my purity, dearly beloved,” she started. “Until our marriage can be rightfully consummated.”

Vasilica was unphased. “Either way, you are mine. Is it not right to claim things which belong to us?”

“I don’t belong to you,” she snapped.

“You are bound to me.”

Aurora scoffed so loudly her voice echoed down the hall. Vasilica did his best to keep a straight face.

“Bound. That’s a stretch. Forced proximity is more like it. Aren’t there better ways to entertain yourself, Vasilica? Might I suggest a whore house? Or, since you’re so rich and famous, I’m sure any of our chambermaids would happily accept payment in exchange for keeping you company through the night. It’ll be seen as a welcome gift after what my father’s done to them.”

Vasilica was squirming. A four day trip from Enia, cooped up in a carriage with his mother and brother had clearly left him without rational thought. All he had was a base instinct that gnawed at him like a rat.

“I don’t want a whore,” he gritted through his teeth. “Or a chambermaid. They’re for stress relief and having bastards, not for companionship.”

“How romantic,” Aurora patronized him. “Consider it companionship by proxy, then.”

Vasilica snapped. She could see it in his eyes. Her excuses weren’t enough. Her rejection fell on deaf ears. If you were Queen… the voice in her whispered. He’d be whipped. A handsome little whipping boy. She smiled, her heart warmed at the thought. She glanced at the knights beside her, who had stood silently, observing the discussion, likely cringing themselves.

“I hear you’re still walking around barely clothed. If at all,” he redirected, turning the guilt on her — as if it would work.

“And? You’ve fucked enough whores to know I’m very clearly not one. Haven’t you? Practicing your skills for when you finally get to penetrate your betrothed? You know my brother beat you to it?”

Aurora had him backpedaling, literally. Vasilica shook his head in denial, bouncing back a step or two on his heels before rushing forward, shushing her and grabbing her by the upper arm.

“Here. Enough of this. I’ll escort you,” Vasilica insisted.

“Seize him,” Aurora ordered her knights.

They grabbed Vasilica by each arm and pinned him to the wall, with one of their forearms resting atop his collarbone, driving him into it. The Prince was wide eyed, writhing and bucking against their superior might. Aurora smiled watching him, helpless, finally being shown his place.

“What are you doing? I’m The Crown Prince of Triseke, your sister kingdom and soon to be your kingdom!” He shouted angrily, spraying his saliva all over the hall. “Have your knights unhand me at once. This is an outrage! You don’t understand! Let me escort you, Princess. Let me stay!”

His rant died down, leaving him huffing and puffing. Aurora, surprised that her orders had been heeded with such haste and vigor, felt drunk on the power. Yes…the power of men obeying your every word. Even restraining a rich, powerful Prince, humiliating him in front of his future bride. This image, forever seared into her brain. The sword at his side, useless. His words, bitter and hostile, having lost his cool with the insult. A fucking child…not fit to marry me. Not even fit to serve me. A handsome little whipping boy was the perfect role for him.

If you were Queen…

If I was Queen…

She wanted to hurt him, truly. It’s what men like him deserved, believing they could trade women like property, breed them like cattle. Unable to have him whipped, she settled for pouring salt in the wound she had opened in his pride.

Aurora inched forward, smiling with glee as he glared at her. The power…fuck, this power.

“I may be pledged to marry you, Vasilica,” she started with a whisper. “But this isn’t Karaliska Palace. You have no power in The Hintria. Or over me. So you will not escort me to my chambers, or into them. You can escort yourself to the brothel down the street. I’m sure there are plenty of women there who will let you do whatever you want to them for the right price. But just a word of advice…” she moved in closer. Vasilica’s eyes were peculiarly irked as they glared at her. “Don’t end up like Chancellor Ares. Or do, if you please. I wouldn’t mind seeing you paraded and whipped through the streets of Minnehil in a frilly, pink dress.”

She stepped back now, admiring the way he raged at his powerlessness. Power. Oh…the power.

“Release him,” she commanded. The guards unhanded him. Vasilica stood and readjusted his red and blue doublet before clutching the pommel of his sword.

Yes. Do it. The voice hissed. I’d love to watch them cut you down.

But Vasilica would not give her that satisfaction. Not today. He relinquished his hand, glancing nervously at the knights as he took deep breaths. Their hands remained on their own arming swords, ready to defend their Princess.

Their Queen…

“Goodnight, then.” Vasilica bowed awkwardly, then backed away, his angry eyes on Aurora as he gradually turned and began to walk.

The knights relaxed. One of them turned to her. “Shall we resume, Princess?”

Aurora stood tall. She loved the feeling of empowerment, of having men with swords under her thumb, asking her for their next move. Oh, to be Queen…

You will. You will be Queen. Soon…

“Yes,” Aurora commanded. “Escort me to my chambers. At once.”

“Yes, Princess.”

Aurora turned back towards the stairs, nodding to the servant who had yet to let go of her cape. So obediently, so proudly watching a woman defend her own honor.

“Watch out for any other unexpected guests, please,” she added as one of the knights moved forward. “Weavers know who else my brother has shown these passages to.”

“Yes, Princess.”

They reached her chambers after another minute. The guards posted up outside as she entered with the servant in tow…and all those feelings of power dissipated in an instant. Someone else had used the passages — her father. He sat slumped in the chair near the windows, looking out over the city, his back turned to the door. The chambermaids continued working around her with awkward, disturbed demeanors as they drew a bath, changed the bedding, and set out her night clothes. The looks on their faces made her freeze. Her heart sank into her stomach. In private, her father had been unpredictable since their mother’s passing. Obviously aggrieved, his moods were mercurial, leading to behavior that Vasilica would likely undertake if he had the impunity, behavior that Elek had pioneered. Something about the way he skulked in the chair left her terrified. These altercations were truly a nightmare scenario. Not even the knights would defend her. Not against their king.

But he doesn’t have to be king. It doesn’t have to be that way…

“For what it’s worth…” he began without turning around. “Thank you for behaving yourself this evening.”

Aurora ground her teeth as she answered. “Glad to know you prefer me quiet and out of the way.”

He clicked his tongue and stood from the chair, shoving it to the side rather aggressively as he turned around. Aurora flinched and stepped back. Then, realizing she had ceded ground, nudged herself back forward, taking an extra step for good measure. The chambermaids did their best to ignore him.

“It’s not how I prefer you, Aurora.” His voice raised. “I would love to see you take up your mother’s legacy, adding to the court instead of regarding it with your usual contempt!”

“It’s not the court I have contempt for.” It’s the men in it. Her face was harsher than it should have been, the words she spoke were as well. But she didn’t care. She was tired of feeling afraid, pushed around like she had no ownership, no agency over herself.

Her father’s eyes welled with tears. His face twitched with sadness, cheeks and lips and all. Sniffles took the place of sighs and deep breaths. He took a half step back and then returned.

“You have contempt for me?” he asked with a shaky voice. “Your own father?”

Aurora felt a twinge of regret from how much she had stung him. Somewhere inside her, she still had love for her father. Somewhere deep down. Over the last year, he simply wasn’t the man, the father, he used to be. The memories they made playing hide and seek in the gardens were replaced by harsh scoldings, beatings, and locking her in her chambers when she misbehaved, often with him joining her. The sweet kisses and hugs had turned to things that were unnatural and degrading. Elek had resumed taking advantage of her, too, and her father did nothing to stop it. She had no guardian but herself. Everyone served the great king, Rikard. Elek was his heir. And what was she? Just a princess who had the audacity to show the same grief, the same sadness, the same emptiness. A daughter with no mother to love her, to guide her through the nasty world of politics men like Elek and her father monopolized out of spite.

No, she was afforded no such privileges. She couldn’t be sad. She couldn’t be angry. And she hated it.

She gulped as her own eyes teared up.

“I have contempt for the way you’ve treated me since mother passed. The way you wallow, abusing the chambermaids, the way you abuse me — ”

He shot forward, taking Aurora by the shoulders and shaking her violently. “You will not speak of such things!” he screamed, before letting her go. “I have done nothing but love you! And you’ve done nothing but hurt me. You hurt me every day…your mother…”

Aurora was incensed. She’d had enough of this treatment. As far as she was concerned, he had all but abandoned fatherhood. More furiously, he had all but abandoned her mother’s memory. His head would be on a stick if she were here to witness this.

Fine, father. You want me to take up her legacy. Then, I’ll do just that.

She breathed shakily, but she stood tall, unwilling to bend or break. Her father channeled Vasilica’s same pettiness as they stared at each other, and Aurora twisted the knife.

“I will speak of them. Because you dishonor her. You dishonor my mother, your own wife, your Queen!”

There was a pause as her words sunk in. Then, Aurora was stunned as her father’s hand collided with her cheek. Seeing stars, she fell towards the bed, crumbling over the wooden sleigh frame. Her face stung as she caressed it. Tears fell from her eyes. She felt her father looming behind her, inches from her.

“And you need to mind your respect,” he scolded her, drawing out his words for emphasis. “I am your father, Aurora. You will not speak to me with such conceit, such lies.”

She turned and attempted to stand again, but he forced her back down, cornering her as he stood over her.

Oh…if I were Queen. You, Rikard, would finally know what real power, real respect, really are…

Aurora was hot with fury, but she was physically outmatched and outnumbered. Words were her only weapons now. She intended to use them for all they were worth. “Mother may have had my behind for my rudeness at breakfast. But if she saw the way you treat me…she’d have your head.”

Rikard shook his head in disappointment. “I came here looking to make amends, and instead my own daughter insults me. Uses my wife, her dead mother against me! Unbelievable.”

“You use her against me like a weapon every day!” Aurora shouted. “Forcing me ever closer to this marriage with Vasilica that even she detested…you know he propositioned me in the hall just now? Elek showed him the passages so that he could confront me on the way to my chambers.”

Her father shrugged. “Ah, who cares. You’ll be married soon, anyway.”

Excuse me, what?

“So my dress this morning was inappropriate, but Vasilica can just come in here and fuck me whenever he wants? Am I understanding that correctly?”

“Sleeping with your betrothed in advance of the wedding is a far cry from prancing around your chambers naked or wearing dresses that are far too revealing,” Rikard replied with startlingly confident hypocrisy. “Why do you think your brother is the way he is with you? But in any event, the agreement about you and Vaslilica cannot be broken if he sullies you himself, but it is immodest for others to have the same thoughts because of how you present yourself. You’re a princess, not a pleasurer.”

“Would The Patriarch agree?”

“The Patriarch will.” He nodded. “Because I’ll make him.”

Aurora grimaced. “Get out.”

“Fine.” He finally moved to leave, allowing Aurora to breathe more easily as the uncertainty was relieved. Rikard, however, stopped at the chamber doors and turned around. His face had changed, from angry to lonely.

“You do look like her, you know,” he said softly. “Your mother. She uh…the dresses, the lack of nightclothes. It’s not just a matter of religious temperance…”

Aurora suddenly couldn’t breathe so easily anymore. She began to feel as though she was suffocating after just finally coming up for air, with every bit of it being choked from her lungs by hands that had sought to violate her. He still hadn’t left, and now, he was talking like Vasilica and Elek did, placing desire where it didn’t belong, believing his power afforded him leeway on virtue and morality. Clearly, the emptiness in him had yet to be filled. Perhaps he really was affected more than anyone else by her mother’s passing.

But enough to think about replacing her with me? Is that really what you’re implying, father?

“Father?” she asked nervously.

“You look just like her,” he continued. “You act just like her.”

No. This won’t happen again. I’ll die before I let this happen again, or kill you. Whichever comes first.

“I think you had too much wine with dinner.”

Rikard sighed. “Indeed. Maybe.”

Aurora watched intently as he pulled open the door, hoping to every god imaginable that he’d walk through it and never come back. He paused again, looking back, and then finally left. Aurora felt a weight lift from her shoulders and chest and she fell back onto the bed, closing her eyes, her breath and heartbeat rapid from the fear she had kept under control.

If I were Queen. If I were Queen. Weavers, oh you cruel Weavers, what is the meaning of this thread you’ve created in my life? Why must you oppress me? What have I done to deserve this plight? Why must I endure such outrage? If this is a part of your story then you are truly the cruelest of masters.

But no. Don’t worry, darling, it doesn’t have to be this way. I will make it so. Ask, and you shall receive…

“Princess, we have a bath ready for you. It might help you…relax…after tonight’s events.” Rella interrupted her. The woman’s voice was timid, similar to Ester’s earlier that morning.

The princess sat up quickly, rising to her feet. She refused to sulk in defeat, to live as though oppression was her destiny. Nor would she allow her chambermaids to know the same fear, that same helplessness. They couldn’t see her like this.

Yes, so unbecoming of a Queen…

“Yes. That sounds lovely, Rella.” She smiled and moved to the armoire where two more waited to help her undress. “And send for Ganzig Enebish, please. At once.”

The door opened again. Aurora’s head snapped its direction. One of the knight’s entered and bowed. “Ganzig Enebish is outside, Princess.”

Aurora felt true relief for the first time that night. The knights may have ultimately obeyed her father, but the warlock answered to no one, and all the knights in The Hintria weren’t enough to match his power. He was, perhaps, her only chance at a meaningful ally.

“Great,” she replied. “Send him in.”

The knight nodded and turned to the side, gesturing for the warlock to enter. Aurora fluttered at the sight of him. It caught her off guard, prompting her to take her eyes off him and back on the mirror to watch Rella untying her dress behind her. In the three weeks of his service, she had yet to be alone with him — or so close to him. The energy he projected was intoxicating, evincing in her a startling, uncontrollable smile.

“Following me to my chambers, too, are you?”

“Just making sure you’re safe, Princess.”

Aurora smirked. “Is that part of your job now?” She glanced over at him. He stood awkwardly just inside the door, hands at his sides.

“Seems as though it should be.”

Aurora shrugged. Internally, she could barely contain herself at the prospect of having Ganzig on her side. Power, oh the power of having that man obey me, to use him to help all my dreams come true. Would he? Perhaps. Under the right circumstances.

“Well, as luck would have it, that’s exactly what I was going to call you for.”

Ganzig waited patiently for her to continue, nodding subtly, expectantly.

“I want you to put protective wards around my chambers, to make sure no one can enter without my permission.”

The maids slipped the dress over her arms, off her shoulders and then gradually down her body. Ganzig looked away politely.

“Uh, Order magic will — ”

“Not Order magic,” she insisted. “Karhai magic.”

The warlock glanced over, then back to the floor. He nodded. “Of course, Princess. Although I should tell you, that as the caster, I will not be bound by the effects of the wards.”

Aurora eyed the man with a raised eyebrow. “And is that something you plan on taking advantage of?”

“No, Princess. Of course not.”

She looked back at the mirror. The undergarments left her body as the other maid hung her dress in the armoire. Ganzig shifted uncomfortable in her periphery.

Aurora smirked. “I guess I can live with that.”

It was cute, the way he endeavored to avert his eyes, and a welcome contrast to men like Vasilica and Elek who valued her form as a cheap commodity.

Despite knowing little of the man, she felt safe with him. Safe enough to bare herself in front of him. The warlock could teach those men a thing or two about power…and respect. Ganzig could raze the entire palace in the blink of an eye, kill her father or brother or Vasilica or even Roxanne without any effort at all. He could paralyze her, her knights, her maids, rape her as long as he wanted, then fog her memory, over and over, using her for his own pleasure, without recourse. And yet, she stood naked just a dozen paces from him, and he couldn’t even bring himself to look at her.

Power…is in what is restrained, what lies dormant, expended only when necessary. For justice. For progress. For change. Not greed or pleasure. Not always, at least.

Power. It emanated from him like smoke, thick and intoxicating. He brooded in that corner, hulking, massive, and ancient, but with the countenance of a man not much older than her. Aurora felt increasingly drawn to it.

“Uh, Princess. Maybe your father was right about the modesty…”

She clicked her tongue, just as her father had at her. “Oh, please. You’ve lived for what, a thousand years? You can’t tell me you’ve never seen a naked girl before.”

“I have, Princess, but never one I was in service to.”

She chuckled, then turned to approach him. “I find that hard to believe. Besides, it’s nice to test a man’s virtue and have him pass with flying colors.”

Mere inches from him, the warlock held his eye contact quite admirably.

“I’m hardly virtuous, Princess,” he remarked. Aurora felt a nudge, a tug. Phantom sensations that indicated The Weavers, in their own mysterious way, had something in store for the odd relationship forming between them. The thought of it excited her.

“Call me Aurora,” she insisted.

“As you wish.”

Her smile grew. Power. I can feel it from you, and it’s building up in me. Obey me, my little minion. My father can have his knights. You’ll be mine.

“I believe you have some wards to build,” she reminded him flirtatiously. “I’ll be in my bath. Please inform me when you’re through.”

Ganzig nodded. Aurora left him. Rather than following her with his eyes, when she couldn’t see him staring, he got straight to work. She heard the cantrips through the walls as the chambermaids helped her into the warm water. Her body lowered, the silky, comforting sensation finally granting her relaxation. She laid her head back on the porcelain tub and closed her eyes, listening to the spells as Ganzig cast them.

#dark fantasy #epic fantasy #fantasy #writing #fantasy fiction #worldbuilding #fantasy world #high fantasy #indie author #fantasy series #web serial

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superhero--imagines · 4 years ago

Text

Part 1 here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here!

A/N: I can’t always do tags since these parts are long but if you want to be tagged just lmk @thecrazytealady

* Honestly, everything feels so normal

* You’re sitting in the stands of a football stadium as a sea of graduates pass in front of you

* Well it’s mostly normal except for all the stares you get

* “You’ll get used to it” Kate tells you from your right side, you’re not sure when it happened but somehow you’ve become her favorite little member.

* “Sometimes we stare back to mess with them” Irina says from your other side with a teasing grin.

* Irina also seems to really like you, she’s probably you’re favourite

* While everyone else treated you like a child (which in a sense you are), she treated you like an adult

* You hope you can save her if things go exactly like they did in the book

* You’re hoping your close friendship with Edward changes things

* “Oh look there they are now-“

* And right on cue Alice was called first, then Edward

* An entire group of cheers erupt from your section, a few stands above you sits the entire Cullen clan

* Apparently the rest of them have already “graduated”, Alice and Edward are playing a year younger

* You catch him after the ceremony on the -pretty cold- field along with your-

* aunts?

* You’re not really sure what the official family structure is.

* “So what is this, your thirtieth time graduating high school?” You whisper to him after handing him his graduation present

* Some sheet music you know he’s been eyeing and a card that says “you only graduate once”

* You think he’ll appreciate the joke

* “It actually only my sixth” he grins, he so close you can feel a ghost of a breath on your ear

* You notice a couple of boys, adorning similar green graduation gowns staring at you. When you meet their eyes they hastily look away.

* “Hey Edward, what are those guys thinking right now?”

* He follows your line of sight and grins even wider

* “They’re thinking that it suddenly makes sense why I’m not interested in anyone at this school when I’m already dating someone as beautiful as you”

* And if you were anyone else you might have realized how you and Edward look when you’re together to everyone around you

* And it might have been the first sign that things have started to veer of the future you imagine

* But of course you don’t, and you say:

* “Really? You want me to believe two teenage boys used such eloquent language?”

* He laughs

* “I might have picked some.. kinder diction.”

* You both laugh, another private joke that would be referenced for years

* “And where’s my graduation gift?” Alice asks, you hand over a brightly wrapped package, it’s a magic 8 ball and a Chanel scarf, Edward already read Alice’s mind and assured you she would love it.

* “That’s hilarious” she says with a laugh, she hasn’t even opened the package, already seen what’s inside with her gift.

* “Are you coming to our graduation party tonight?” When she notices your confused expression she gives a pointed look to Edward. “You didn’t invite them?”

* Edward rolls his eyes

* “I didn’t think it would be that fun,” he looks to you and explains. “It’s just a party Alice likes to throw to help us fit in better.”

* “It also to commemorate graduating and going to college, which is Infinitely more fun.” She grins, a hand on Edwards shoulder

* He turns his attention to you, his mouth quirked in a lopsided smile

* “Do you want to go?”

* The party scene in Eclipse sure looked fun

* “Sure, sounds like a fun time.”

* It’s decided you’ll drive up with Edward after they all split up, and go to the party with him.

* You’re telling Kate and Irina when they get a look on their face

* “Is that not okay?” You wonder if it’s about Tanya, and how maybe she doesn’t like you spending so much time with Edward.

* “No it’s fine it’s just... will you be alright with all those humans?”

* You had done fine on the stands, but a house party was different, you guess it’s probably easier to eat someone when there are so many dark corners and so many suspects to pick from

* You wrinkle your nose, honestly you don’t get what the big deal is, sure they smell kiiinda nice, but the scent is comparable to one of your deers.

* Also, who knows where these people have been and what they’ve been eating. The thought of eating an alcoholics blood makes you scowl.

* “I think I’ll be fine” Irina laughs, and rests a hand on your shoulder

* “We’ll tell the others, do you want me to bring you a drink later on?”

* You shake your head, you ate a little bit more since you were going to be around so many people today.

* “I should be fine, Edward will probably drive me home, but if not I can always run”

* You always forget you can run faster than a car now.

* “I doubt Edward will refuse the opportunity to spend more time with you.” Irina smirks and you roll your eyes

* You’re both just friends, stuck in family’s where everyone seems to be in a relationship (except for you that is)

* There’s only so much you can take watching Eleazer and Carmen’s pda

* “I’ll see ya later” you excuse yourself to find Edward, who seems to be talking to a group of boys

* “So what’s their deal, are they your cousin or something?”

* “Um... they’re a family friend”

* Looks like Edwards confused about your family structure too

* “They look older are they in college?” Another asks, Edward hesitates, well you are older but you’re not really in school

* “Are you hooking up with them?” Edward winces

* “No we’re not close like that.”

* You decide now is a good time to intervene in the conversation

* “Hey, are you ready to go?” Edward looks relieved to see you

* “I’ll see you guys tonight at Alice’s party” he offers a polite smile before leading you towards his car

* When you’re finally out of earshot, you say

* “You know, I always thought we were the closest of friends” You think he’ll grimace at your teasing but instead he grins.

* “Do you enjoy being the subject of several teenage boys imaginations?”

* “I mean, it’s not-not a little bit flattering.”

* On the drive back to his house Edward takes you through town and points out every mundane landmark like you’re on a safari tour

* “And that is the grocery store I never visit, and next to it is the diner I had to pretend to eat food at during my mandatory “senior breakfast””

* “So what you’re saying is, this is the worlds’ most boring town.”

* “I would say boring adjacent, the town we’ll move to next doesn’t even have a major grocery store”

* He’s definitely talking about Forks.

* You must have killed quite a bit of time with your impromptu tour because when you get to the party it’s in full swing

* You and Edward stand in a corner and play your favorite game

* “Blonde girl in the corner.” He says

* Edward picks someone, and you have to guess what they’re thinking. You’re never right but it’s still funny

* “Hmmmm I’m going to say she’s thinking... ‘This is what all the hype was about? Can’t believe I’m wasting my Saturday night HERE.’”

* He laughs and shakes his head

* “She’s actually thinking about how the object of her affections hasn’t noticed her once, and has been spending all his time with someone else instead.”

* You totally miss the meaningful look Edward gives you.

* You make a face, unrequited love was the worst

* “Well that sucks, I wish there was some way we could help.” Edward only shrugs

* “They’re human problems, for us even if the person we love doesn’t love us back, we just wait a a decade or so, and they usually change their mind.” He grabs your untouched red solo cup

* “I’ll go get us some more drinks.” For a second you wonder if maybe Vampires can drink alcohol, but then you immediately deflate.

* Oh right, the human act, you almost forgot.

* You’re standing by yourself when the “unrequited love” girl from before approaches you, another girl with hair the color of caramel in tow

* “Hey, I haven’t seen you around before, do you got to our school?”

* Any person could see this was a hostile encounter

* anyone except you that is

* “Nah, I’m taking a gap year right now.”

* “Oh?” Miss. Unrequited lights up at that. “Didn’t get into your first choice school?”

* “No my parents died.” You say it causally, but they both freeze at that. So much has happened, colleges and your parents are the last thing in your mind. You notice the reaction though “It’s been a while though, so everything’s fine now”

* You give your best smile and the girl in front of you seemed flustered

* “How do you know Edward?” Miss. Caramel asks, while her friend takes a long sip from her cup.

* “Well- I guess he’s a family friend, but really I met him through Carlisle.”

* “Through Carlisle?

* “Dr. Cullen,” you quickly supply, to them he’s just the local handsome doctor. Not exactly someone who they’re on a first name basis with. “Yeah, Carlisle talked about Edward a lot when I was in the hospital.”

* Before you can scar either of these girls further, Rosalie appears by your side

* “Hey! Glad to see you made it!” She gives you a side hug and turns her amber eyes to the girls in front of you. “Amber, Bethany glad to see you. What are you guys talking about?”

* Both of the girls fall speechless in front of her, probably from her beauty you guess.

* You still get the urge to shield your eyes when you look at Rosalie.

* “Edward.” Rosalie rolls her eyes

* “Of course, the most perfect man alive.” You snort at that.

* “Perfect my ass, I saw him snort drinking yesterday and he sprayed the whole counter top.” Rosalie raises a well groomed eyebrow

* “Really?” A smiles tugging on her lips

* “That’s not even the worst part, do you know he took 43 minutes to clean it up.”

* Rosalie laughs, and the other two look at you with awe.

* “Edward Cullen snorts?” The caramel Coloured hair one, Bethany asks.

* “To be fair I did say a pretty good joke”

* “What was the joke?” Amber asks, and you grin.

* “What did the vampire say to the girl?” They look at each other and shrug

* “What”

* “See you next month” The two girls don’t seem to think it’s good, but Rosalie is dying of laughter

* “He must have hated that!”

* “Oh I’m sure he did, that’s why I said it” Rosalie laughs even harder

* By the time Edward comes back, it’s basically just a two way conversation with you and Rosalie roasting the ever loving crap out of Edward, with two humans eagerly watching

* “One time while we were eating Edward just kept complaining about how “existence is agony and how none of us have a soul” like dude, we’re eating, could you just chill for a second please?” Rosalie says and you laugh

* “I have the perfect Edward impression” you clear your throat and set your face to the best “I’m constipated and existence is agony” face you can manage “I’m an outsider. No one can understand me. No one has thoughts like I do. Existence is agony”

* if Rosalie could die she would have died of laughter, she’s hunched over and every time you think she’ll stop laughing she starts another wave.

* “To be fair, I don’t think anyone has thoughts like mine” You turn to see Edward behind you, he’s actually got an amused smile as he hands you a red solo cup.

* “It’s Henrietta,” he whispers in your ear. “ I figured all the laughing might have made you thirsty”

* “For an outsider like yourself, that’s awfully kind of you.”

* The laughing did make you thirsty, it also explains what took him so long. You wonder if he ran all the way to your house to get you a drink.

* Rosalie doesn’t say anything just grins as she watches you two, Edward’s eyes flick from you to her, and you wonder what he’s experiencing right now

* You’re not going to lie, his narrative of mind reading was your favourite part of midnight sun

* “Do you want to dance?” Well that question came out of nowhere.

* “Sure”

* Queue you and Edward awkwardly waltzing on the makeshift dance floor

* “Who taught you how to waltz?” Edward asks as you step on his feet yet again, you’re glad he’s a vampire and can’t feel pain.

* “You. Right now. I’m learning from the school of life experience.” You grin and he rolls his eyes

* “Here,” he picks you up, and places your feet on top of his. “Better?” You nod and laugh

* “They’re kind of cute right?” Rosalie says to Amber and Bethany, a twinkle in her eyes. Amber sighs.

* “Yeah they are.”

* Rosalie feels kind of bad. She didn’t mean to rub it in her face, but she doesn’t like anyone being mean to you. She already kinda liked you from The game night , and after tonight she REALLY likes you. It’s nice to have someone else on the “roast Edward squad”

* “Oh look, it’s Bradley from the swim team, should we go over and say hi?” Bradly was definitely single, and Rosalie loves playing matchmaker “Sure”

* Edward drives you home at the chaste time of 11:30

* “Did you have a good time tonight?” He asks, walking you to the front door. Ever the gentleman.

* It’s not like a thing alive could hurt you anymore.

* “Yeah it was really fun!” He let’s out a sigh of relief and a nervous smile.

* “That’s good, you’ve been seeming kind of... off lately so I was worried”

* Ah, so he had noticed. You had been feeling off lately. Only four more years with him at most until he moved somewhere far away.

* “Yeah, I’m just a little jealous I guess.”

* “Jealous of what?” His eyebrows thread together. And you sigh.

* “You get to go to college and I can’t.”

* You really are jealous about that, While you’re stuck in the house, Edward will get to move forward and make all sorts of relationships and memories

* His mouth purses, and you feel bad. You shouldn’t have said anything, there’s nothing he can do about it after all.

* “Ah, don’t worry about it, I’m just glad to be here with people who care about me.” That only makes him frown more. But he offers you a small smile.

* “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He says and then he does something really unexpected:

* He kisses your forehead, before retreating back to his car. You watch his car wind away down the circle driveway from the porch. A hand on your forehead where his lips touched and a flutter in your heart.

* Man, Edward was so unintentionally smooth, no wonder Tanya was still hung up over him

* Wait, was Tanya still hung up over him?

* Somehow you found her behavior not consistent with someone with unreciprocated feelings

* The days pass on by, Edward’s around more now because it’s summer break.

* Likewise trips to the Cullen residence are also more frequent because it’s summer break

* You oddly enough spend a lot of time with Rosalie, you mostly roast Edward but occasionally you reminisce about human stuff

* “What do you miss the most?” She asks and you think for a minute

* “Probably Italian food, maybe alcohol” She let’s out a moan

* “Oh my god, how good does mushroom ravioli in a creamy Marsala sauce sound?”

* “Good enough to kill for”

* By extension you also get close to Emmett, but in a totally different way

* “Alright hit me with everything you’ve got!”

* “Uh are you sure about this Emmett?”

* You’re both in a clearing about thirty feet apart

* “Yeah, just show me what you’re made of” He giving you a wicked grin, no doubt glad to have someone new to spar with.

* You shrug, he is asking for it

* He doesn’t even make it a foot forward before he crumples to the ground. You’ve been holding back so long, it almost feels good to not have to contain all your body’s grief

* You reel it back in when he taps out. You expect him to look at you like you’re a monster but he just grins

* “You’re really something else kid”

* You even get close to Esme who assists you in drawing up a schematic for a barn, and Jasper helps you build it.

* “I think the door should go here” he tells you

* “But then it would be facing the fence and that doesn’t seem right”

* He scratches his head and you stare at the architect sketch in your hands

* “It’s supposed to be right here” Alice tells you, already searching through the future for the correct placement.

* And of course you and Edward continue your piano cat and mouse game, where you each start a piece and wait for the other to catch up to your playing.

* Maybe it’s because things are going so well that you can’t help but wonder what went wrong with Tanya and Edward

* So one night, when you’re sitting together in the library, you ask her

* “Tanya why do you hate Edward” She sputters

* “I don’t hate him!” You raise a skeptical eyebrow and she sighs “it’s just- it’s embarrassing !”

* She tells you about how Carlisle had told her about his son, and how he was the last to be without a mate, and was very depressed

* “I thought of it like I was doing a service you know, we would date for some time and have a brighter perspective on this life.”

* You can already guess how this story ends, but you ask “So what happened?” She huffs

* “Well he flat out rejected me, told me I wasn’t his type, can you believe that? A forever 17 year old telling ME I’m not his type.”

* Yeah for a woman like Tanya who was every man’s ultimate fantasy that does seem pretty mortifying

* “Is it-“ you meet her eyes “is it okay that I’m friends with him then?”

* Her eyes soften and she beckons you into a hug

* “Of course it is little one,” she kisses the top of your head “and if it ever happens to grow into more than that that’s okay too.” You wrinkle your nose

* “I wouldn’t bet on that Tanya.” She rubs your shoulder

* “Well you never know, and if that happens, and for some reason he’s lost his mind at tells you you’re not his type don’t take it personally, there’s something seriously wrong with that boy.” You laugh

* The days pass by in a blur.

* Edward starts college studying veterinary science, and every day he comes back and teaches you what he learned

* “Sometimes I feel like I’m getting more out of this than you” he tells you as you do his homework

* “It be like that sometimes”

* You start experimenting with other animals blood, mostly chickens, ducks, and geese.

* You also have a moose now so that’s cool

* After many faithful years Henrietta passes away. You stayed in the barn with her all night, and planted a pine tree over grave.

* “All things die in the end huh?” You whisper as you stand over the first deer you befriended, and Eleazer rubs your shoulder

* “Not us” he whispers

* “Not us” you repeat

* You and Edward are lying next to each other in your bed, both of you pretending to sleep

* “What was it like when you turned?” Edward’s the one break the silence. He always is when you do your dreaming sessions

* “It was... nice” it really was, the venom was warm like a blanket, lulling you into a peaceful last sleep. This surprises him.

* “Are you some kind of masochist?”

* “Well what was it like for you?” You roll your eyes. He goes on a long descriptive tangent, but in short: it was absolute agony.

* “Well that’s weird, I wonder if Alec had some kind of special venom or something.” He flinched at the mention of Alec but doesn’t say anything else.

* The days pass on, just as they always have, but something starts to feel off. Both in your household and in the Cullen’s house. Some sort of tension

* You think about asking Edward or Eleazer about it, but decide against it.

* Maybe you’re just being paranoid

* One day you’re getting blood from the kitchen, when you notice the entire coven is sitting on the kitchen table

* Weird, but maybe they do this all the time and you just never noticed.

* “(Y/N) can you come here for a moment?”

* Well crap

* They all ramble over each other for a few minutes, and you only catch bits and pieces of what they’re saying

* “Everyone here loves you-“

* “It won’t be forever-“

* “Carlisle might even get you a blood bag or two-“

* “Enough!” Tanya roars and immediately the others fall silent, she looks at you with warm eyes and a kind smile

* “(Y/N), the Cullen’s are leaving,” ah, so it’s already time for them to go, Tanya explains how the Cullen’s move around more often than your coven does, on account of Carlisle’s job. Well you knew this was coming. It was nice while it lasted

* “-And that’s why we think you should go with them”

* Wait what.

* “You want me to leave?”

* “No of course not!” Irina shouts, wide eyed, she’s sitting the closest to you. “It’s just-“

* “We see the way you look at Edward,” Eleazer says. Oh not this again, how many times do you have to say it. YOU BOTH ARE JUST FRIENDS.

* “Like you want what he has.” He finishes

* Oh

* “We’re too late in the cycle to send you to school, Irina and Kate have already gone, and it will be another ten years before we decide to move.” Carmen says, her teeth digging into the flesh of her lip. “A lot of things could happen in ten years,”

* The Volturi could want you back on ten years

* “so we think you should go with the Cullen’s and get an education and have a normal life-“

* “Normal-adjacent,” Kate interjects, because life was never going to be completely normal for you ever again. Carmen grins,

* “Normal-adjacent life, you’ll get to have friends, and you could study whatever you want, you don’t have to learn secondhand from Edward.”

* “And you can come back whenever you want!” Kate reassures. “If you decide you don’t like it, and that it’s not what you want, you can always come back, we’ll be right here.”

* They all stumble over each other to reassure you that it’s your choice, and if you decide to stay that’s fine too. But there’s only one question on your mind

* “Do the Cullen’s already know about this?” The table falls silent.

* “Yes, they do.” Tanya says

* “And what do they think about the arrangement?” All eyes trail to Eleazer, so he was the go between for your Covens

* “I think they’re all pretty excited, Carlisle wanted you from the start.”

* Carmen sucks her teeth and lightly slaps him on the arm. “What it’s true, you know Esme’s been cross with him ever since she met them, she wants you too.”

* They’re all looking to you waiting for an answer. You’re not sure what the right thing to do is.

* You’re not stupid, you know things have changed from the original story line, you know the Volturi isn’t going to want Bella as much now that they have you.

* But still... you do want an education, a chance to do everything the way you always imagined

* You also kind of want to see Edward and Bella’s love story play out. Especially now that he’s your friend

* Also you think you should really deter him from watching her sleep, that crap was creepy as hell

* You sigh, there’s really only one choice

* “I’ll go with the Cullens’.”

#twilight #twilight imagines #twilight reader insert #twilight headcanon #twilight imagine #twilight saga #edward cullen x reader #edward cullen imagine #edward cullen #Rosalie cullen #Emmett Cullen #Alice cullen #the cullens #midnight sun #alec volturi #Volturi imagines #superhero—imagines

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breadqueen95 · 4 years ago

Text

Reflections - Chapter 3: PowerPoint of Pain

Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

WC: 7.5k

Summary: The team has a meeting. Bucky tries to stay strong. Peter is excited. Tony has fun nicknames.

Content Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, death, imprisonment, and PTSD symptoms. Cursing (fuck is my favorite word what can i say). Medical experimentation. Anxiety. Panic.

a/n: Wow so being busy makes it hard to write, which really has made my life a little bleaker the past few days. I’m hoping that improves as I settle into my new schedule!!! Big shoutout to the lovely @morgensthau who has helped me with this concept from the beginning, being the best beta reader ever, and being the inspiration/creative resource for the character of Thea. I love you to pieces.

Chapter 2

***

Bucky finally rolls back into his room around 7:45am. He’d stayed outside long after the sun began to rise, taking advantage of the time people weren’t asking him to make decisions. Or try to be anything. Meet any expectations.

Damn, what’s that other useful thing Pete always says?

Oh, right.

Bucky was there for the vibes only.

He doesn’t really understand what it means exactly, but it sits right in his spirit so it works for him.

Kicking off his shoes by the door, he heads for the kitchen. Bucky starts almost every single day off with long workout, but he’s gotta fuel up on some good breakfast first. He doesn’t know how to make a whole helluva lot, but he can do scrambled eggs. Pulling open the fridge, he pulls a couple of eggs out of the carton, holding them delicately in his hand—

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” a lilting Irish voice sounds from seemingly everywhere at once. Jerking his hand in surprise, Bucky loses grip on his eggs. He can only watch in annoyed acceptance as his breakfast smashes on the floor, making an absolute fucking mess.

Hands still in the fateful position, he simply stares at the mess for a minute.

“FRIDAY, we need to put some kinda bell on you,” he mutters darkly, knowing full well she can hear every syllable.

“That would be impossible. I cannot be contained by a single physical entity.”

“I know,” he shoots back, a little defensive, “but you’ve gotta stop sneaking up on me like that.” Bucky is still extremely unused to the high levels of technology that comes with being coworkers with Tony Stark. He’s from the goddamn 1940s for fuck’s sake.

“Oh? Is this a bad time to remind you about the team meeting that starts in ten minutes?” She replies, the sharp edge of her programmer’s signature snark clearly present in her smooth voice.

Shit.

Bucky’s stomach falls out of his ass as he rushes to clean up the fallen eggs as fast as he can. He’d completely forgotten about the last-minute mandatory Avengers meeting the trio had scheduled yesterday. The announcement had been sent out via text late yesterday afternoon, but he’d been in a heated debate about music decades with Sam, so naturally that had taken precedence.

Even now, as he’s rushing, he’s still glad he didn’t let Sam get the upper hand. That fucker.

“How much time do I have?” He calls out as he throws himself out the front door, still shoving his shoes on as he half runs half hops down the hallway.

“Seven minutes and counting,” FRIDAY’s way too calm voice echoes around the hallway.

Fucking FUCK. The conference room is at the other end of the absolutely massive building. He realizes that he’ll have to sprint, so he kicks it into high gear. He hopes there’s no one standing in his way or they’re gonna go flying.

It really isn’t that big of a deal if he’s a little late. Steve, Tony, and Nat aren’t exactly drill sergeants; as long as he shows up for the important bits, it’s fine.

But everyone will give him so much shit. As if he’d give them the chance.

Bucky finally turns the corner to the hallway that leads to the conference room, skidding around the corner and finally slowing to an easygoing walk. Thanks to the serum, he barely broke a sweat. Those idiots can’t know how he hurtled through the halls of the compound just to get here on time.

Look, it’s not the big of a deal. It really isn’t. But with a Swiss cheese brain and the vocabulary of a ninety-year-old trying to fit into modern times, he kind of needs this.

Right before he ducks into the room, he checks his phone. Two minutes to spare. Nice.

Bucky saunters into the room, quickly glancing around the space to see who’s here. Nat, Tony, and Steve are talking in hushed tones at the front of the room. Vision, Bruce, and Rhodey have all taken seats at the conference table. Only Wanda and Sam are missing. He snorts to himself, drawing the attention of the trio at the front of the room.

Steve, knowing him way too well, throws a pen at Bucky’s head, scolding, “Don’t start pulling that shit, Buck. The meeting hasn’t even started.”

“Don’t blame me,” he counters, pulling up a chair to sit next to Bruce, “Sam’s the one always going on and on about the importance of punctuality—”

His words are cut off as another pen hits him square on the forehead, this time thrown by none other than Tony Stark.

“Focus in, Coffin Dodger. I just got about twenty texts from folks around the compound asking me why a colossal super soldier was careening through the hallways like some sort of fucking missile.”

“C’mon, Stark—”

“Don’t ‘Stark’ me, geezer,” he rebukes, “if you somehow flattened some teenage intern, that’s extra paperwork. Money comes outta your paycheck.”

Bucky’s response is cut off by the obnoxious cackle of one Sam Wilson as he enters the room with a giggling Wanda Maximoff.

“Alright, now that Tweety Bird and Hocus Pocus have decided to grace us with their presence, we can—”

“Hey Wilson, someone break your alarm clock?” Bucky interjects, unable to stop himself from cutting off Tony’s introduction.

“Don’t worry about my damn clock, Buchanan. I was just too busy making food you can stuff in your face—"

The two bickering Avengers start talking over each other, simply having too much fun going at it to notice how every single pair of eyes in the room collectively roll. Sam and Bucky view arguing with each other as an artform. To the irritation of everyone else, they take every opportunity they can to perfect it.

Unbeknownst to them, Steve and Natasha start moving. Nat sidles up next to Bucky, Steve next to Sam. Right as their voices begin to rise, their arms move in synch, smacking the backs of their targets’ heads. Sam and Bucky look at their assailants in surprise, which they really shouldn’t be. This little act of theirs is like a well-rehearsed dance; Sam and Bucky bicker, Steve and Nat have to act the parents and wrangle them under control.

Tony just barely restrains his urge to groan aloud his frustration. When did he get cast in a goddamn sitcom? He’s primetime HBO material if he has to be anything. We’re talking Emmy’s here.

“Great, now that we’ve all remembered we’re the most powerful team in the world instead of third graders,” Tony sighs, “let’s get to it shall we?” As Natasha and Steve join Tony back at the front of the room, everyone settles in for the meeting. The weight of seriousness presses in over the group. It’s not often that the trio call for a team meeting out of the blue like this. When they do, it’s usually only for serious threats that only a team of enhanced individuals can handle. Everything else is for solo or small team missions. As Bucky looks around the room uneasily, he realizes that every single Avenger that can be here is present. Discomfort starts to brew deep in his belly.

“Let me preface everything by saying that this situation, it’s…it’s not an easy one, guys. There’s a lot we still don’t know, and some of the details we do know, we can’t tell you. But I promise it’s for safety reasons. Understood?”

There’s a general murmur of assent, and Bucky glances over at Natasha and Steve. Natasha looks like she always does; somehow calm and threatening all at once. But Steve, never having mastered the talent of masking his emotions, looks wildly conflicted. His jaw is clenched so tightly it’s a wonder he hasn’t shattered his teeth, the trademark sign of when he disagrees with something, but he doesn’t speak up.

So, from what Bucky can tell, Steve doesn’t like or agree with the idea of keeping information from the team. At the same time, he’s not openly speaking out against it in front of everyone, which is his usual play.

Complicated right off the bat, good start. Love that.

“On the evening of May 25th, the same day as the fall of SHIELD, Nick Fury stopped by my hospital room while I was recovering,” Steve began, “only Nat and I were in the room at the time. Before he went into hiding, he wanted to give us some information that had been passed along to him by a trusted contact within the FBI. Even with the little information he received, it became clear that Hydra had a base in Virginia where they were working on a long-term human experiment.”

This introduction was so typically Steve; short, to the point.

It’s truly amazing how only a few sentences can make him feel this goddamn sick.

The room is completely silent around him. The seriousness that had been present before turns downright oppressive. Bucky can feel his fingers curl into fists, the twisting in his stomach turning his skin clammy. He can feel everyone glancing at him, not letting their eyes linger, but enough to indicate how worried they are. All he wants is to relax his hands, his shoulders, every muscle in his body. He wants to reassure everyone that he’s fine. That he can handle this.

He’s not sure he can.

Bucky always knew he wasn’t the only one that Hydra fucked with so royally. After Zemo had worked hard to frame him for the United Nations attack two years ago, Steve and Tony banded everyone together to track him to the Hydra facility in Siberia. They managed to capture the bastard with little effort, but they were too late to save the soldiers still in cryo.

Was he naïve to think that was it? That he could allow Hydra to fade into obscurity? Nothing left to torment him with?

Photos begin to materialize on the screen behind the trio, who shuffle out of the way so everyone can see. They reveal stark white walls, so painfully familiar to him, but this time marred by scorch marks. Door hinges have been melted, the doors themselves ripped away from the frame. The Hydra symbols, which had been pasted in many places, had all been burned in some way. Usually right in the center. Bucky’s not too knowledgeable about fire and burning like this, but somehow these marks look…angrier than the others. Less controlled. Vengeful.

Everything else indicated using the fire as a means to an end for escape. Burning the Hydra symbols was…well, it was nothing short of symbolic itself. Replacing the emblem of their captivity with one of their own.

The skull and snakes from his nightmares might be warped, but it still feels like a knife in his gut every time he sees it on the screen. He fights to keep air in his lungs. Keep his heartbeat steady. Once the physical symptoms of panic begin to take hold, Bucky won’t be able to keep it under control for much longer after that.

“Guys…what is this?” Rhodey mutters. Only the small tremor in his voice reveals how jarred he feels.

“One of the two documents Fury’s contact managed to recover was the first page of a project proposal. It’s incredibly vague, but the information still indicates that they wanted to create another kind of enhanced individual. One with what they called ‘elemental kinesis’,” Natasha explains. Despite her straightforward manner of speaking, Bucky can see the little wrinkle she gets between her brows when she’s worrying about something.

That very small sign tells him how unprecedented this situation is. Natasha isn’t often fazed by anything, especially something earthbound. She and three other people in this room had faced an alien invasion, for fuck’s sake. Hell, has anyone even considered the possibility of an elemental outside of fiction before?

“From what we’ve gathered,” she continues, “elemental kinesis is the ability to move one or more elements with one’s mind. Maybe even conjure. I think it’s safe to assume they were pushing for all four elements but were happy to settle with only one.”

“Based on,” Tony begins, waving a hand at the array of images, “all that, it’s pretty safe to assume that fire’s the winner.”

“So how do the powers work?” Wanda inquires in her quiet voice.

“Well, we think that—”

Tony’s response is cut off by the conference room door suddenly swinging open, the loud and abrupt click startling everyone inside and turning their attention toward the disruption. Panting with wide, nervous eyes is none other than Peter Parker.

Bucky wishes he could say he’s surprised to see Peter, but honestly, this tracks.

“I’m so sorry I’m late Mr. Stark” he huffs as he traipses into the room lugging his huge backpack, “I must’ve missed the text about the meeting, but Happy told me after I dropped my stuff in my room and wow everyone’s here oh my god hi adult Avengers—”

“Kid—"

“—I know we all know each other but I’m a huge fan—”

“—kid—”

“—and Ms. Maximoff I love the red hair really nice—”

“Peter.”

Tony’s exasperated use of his given name instead of a nickname finally gets Peter to stop talking. He turns toward his mentor, looking a little surprised and then nervous when he sees the stern look on his face. Bucky would’ve snorted at the very clear Dad Tony dynamic happening right now, but he knows he’d get worse than a pen to his head if he did, so he and Sam settle for shaking with silent laughter next to each other.

If there’s one thing they can agree on, it’s that teasing Peter Parker is one hell of a fun hobby.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Tony asks now that he’s got the kid’s attention.

“Um…attending the team meeting?”

“Yeah I got that, I’m wondering why you’re upstate instead of in school like a 16-year-old should be.”

“It’s...it’s June 25th, sir.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

It’s here where Pete looks genuinely hurt. Bucky feels the laughter die at the look on his face, and Sam goes still next to him too. For as much enjoyment as they get out of poking fun at the kid like older brothers, he also cares too much about him to laugh at his wounded expression.

“It’s the first day of summer break,” Peter says very quietly, “you said it would be okay for me to stay here this summer full-time to work in the lab and train. Happy drove me here with him when he came back this morning from spending the weekend with May and I.”

Well damn. This is just downright painful to watch. Tony closes his eyes as he realizes his mistake.

“Shit,” Tony mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose, “sorry, kid. You gotta remind me about stuff like this. I keep telling all of you that time is meaningless to me, but does anyone listen? No, they just show up at meetings and surprise me—”

“—weird flex for a genius but okay—”

“—are you really sassing me right now while trying to convince me to let you stay?”

“—no but if you have your facts—wait, so it’s okay that I’m at the compound? I can still stay?”

“Yes to the compound—”

“—Nice! —”

“—no to the meeting.”

“What? C’mon, Mr. Stark! It’s a team meeting! I thought I was part of the team?”

“Okay, let me adjust that then: this is a Legally Adult Avengers team meeting. Is that you? No, you’re an infant. A fetus, even. Banner’s assistant is in the lab, go check in with her and get started on some work.”

Peter looks ready to raise a riot right here in the conference room. Despite the clear outrage the kid’s feeling, Bucky actually thinks Tony has a point here. In the past (think over 70 years) Bucky might’ve advocated for letting Pete stay, letting him get any experience he could to help him in the field. But even with the little information he has about the situation, he knows he doesn’t want someone as young as Pete anywhere near it. Too much could happen.

Peter has the chance to still be a kid. Bucky knows, just like so many others sitting in this room, that that’s a precious thing. He won’t be able to hold onto it for much longer, and if his feelings about the situation are correct, it’ll be even less if he goes today.

“Please, sir. I just want to help.”

Right before Tony responds, just when Peter seems like he’s going to give in and go to the lab instead, Vision shifts forward to lean over the table across from where Peter is sitting.

“Considering the potentially volatile nature of the fire elemental, I’m sure Mr. Stark just wants--"

His thought trails away as his mellow voice is overtaken by Peter’s gasp of enthusiasm and everyone else’s groan at Vision’s complete inability to read the room. Tony whirls and glares at Vision, every muscle tense. This is the second time he’s been caught completely off guard in a matter of seconds and he’s not happy about it.

“Pete, I know what you’re going to ask, but you still can’t come,” Steve jumps in, “this person is incredibly powerful and potentially very hostile.”

“Say no more, Mr. Captain America sir. I’ll head down to the lab!”

Sam and Bucky, who’d snorted at Peter calling Steve ‘Mr. Captain America’ stop short at that, looking at Peter with wide eyes. The room falls silent again, and Bucky knows that every single person is watching the kid’s retreat in shock. None more so than Tony, who had been ready to throw hands with a powerful semi-robot just seconds ago for spilling the secret.

“Okay, now I’m suspicious. You’re not gonna try and sneak onto the jet, right? Because I’m not above throwing you out the window—”

“Are they gonna come live with us?” Peter asks as he turns back around with the air of a kid at Christmas.

“—and—I’m sorry, what?”

“Because having a Pokémon as a roommate would be, like, one of the sickest things to ever happen to me.”

“…I’m not even gonna pretend I know what that means.”

“Pokémon, sir! They’re basically a Charizard, which is honestly so cool, and—”

“YES, I’m hoping they’ll wanna live at the compound, yes,” Tony cuts him off emphatically before Pete can really get going on one of his tangents.

Bucky’s embarrassed to admit, even to himself, that for once he wishes Tony had let him keep talking. Whatever these ‘Pokémon’ are, they sound kinda snazzy, and he really wants to know more. Maybe he can ask when he gets back. Away from Sam, obviously.

“Can I tell Thea about them?”

Bucky smiles softly to himself as his question. Thea is one of Peter’s best friends, and she almost always comes up to the compound with him during the school year. She’s a teenage firecracker with enough wit to go toe-to-toe with Tony Stark himself, and Peter’s so hopelessly in love with her it’s ridiculous.

Sam’s also been very vocal about his suspicions that Tony’s somehow roped her into doing his taxes for him, but he’s never been able to prove it.

“After everything is over, sure,” Tony sighs.

“Yes! Thank you, Mr. Stark!”

With that, the wiry teenager is off and running down the hall. Everyone stares at the open doorway in surprise, not really believing any of that just happened. Let alone have the outcome it did. Nat quietly makes her way over to the door and shuts it, making their meeting private once again. Bucky finally remembers everything he learned before Peter slammed his way into the room, and his palms start sweating again.

“You’re gonna let him tell Thea about a Hydra experiment?” Bruce asks incredulously, finally breaking the silence, “he wasn’t even supposed to know!”

“Please, that’s not even the most sensitive thing he’s ever told her,” Tony retorts nonchalantly, “and the kid does my taxes—”

“—I knew it—"

“--so she’s good for it. So can it Wilson, because we’re now fucking moving on, so kindly shut the fuck up and let us tell you about the experiment’s body count, and no not the fun kind.”

An awkward silence fills the room as the pure weirdness of everything that just happened sinks in. Peter has always been beyond adamant about being included in every single thing the team does, so for him to back off so easily on this? It probably had more to do with his delight about living at the compound for a few weeks, but still.

“Tony,” Bruce mumbles, getting the man’s attention.

“Fucking…what, Bruce? What?”

“…your taxes? Really?”

“Get fucked, Jolly Green Giant. Anyways, let’s talk about murder, because even that’s easier than this conversation.”

Just like that, Tony whips the everything right back around in the weirdest conversation shift he’s ever been a part of.

Before Steve or Nat can stop him, he waves his hand and the next batch of pictures have replaced the previous one. Steve’s eyes flicker to his for the smallest of seconds, and Bucky grits his jaw as he works to ignore his worried stare. Steve had warned Bucky that the meeting today has to do with Hydra. That it would most likely have every single one of his triggers involved. He even gave him the option of sitting this one out. Wanting nothing more than to never be a burden or a source of worry for Steve, he shrugged him off and promised he’d be here. That he’d help.

Now that he sees what’s next, he sort of wishes he’d taken him up on the offer.

His heartrate, so fast and uneven with the anticipation of more information after Pete left, very nearly stops at what he sees.

A metal table with what appear to be metal restraints.

Drawers full of needles.

Countless vials with the same, sadistic sedative they used on him. Bucky would know; it went into his body more times than he can count.

A tiny, windowless room, completely barren save for the toilet in the corner.

The only humanity they’d let her keep was a toilet.

He catches himself; her? They hadn’t even told them who it was yet. Why would he fill that in?

Trying to ignore that needling in his brain, he refocuses on the scene in front on them. The door only confirms that the room was meant to be a prison cell; it’s about five times as thick as the others in the facility. It looks like they had installed an advanced kind of locking system, but he can’t be sure with the state of the door. Whereas the other doors simply had their hinges melted, this one had been absolutely brutalized. He can’t access the assassin-part of his brain that could tell him how they’d done it, but he just knows everything about this is pure, unadulterated, rage. Maybe even desperation. It reminds him of the symbol destruction.

A faint ringing sound begins to sound in his ears. His mind feels removed from him, returning to Siberia. Reliving every single time they strapped him down—

No. No.

He’s come too far to allow this to take hold of him. With everything he’s learned about trauma, he knows it’s more than fair for that to happen. That isn’t the point.

The point is that they made someone else go through this. They locked someone else up. They stole someone else’s life.

If he leaves now, if he falls apart, they won’t let Bucky participate in the mission. He isn’t sure of a whole helluva lot these days, but he’s damn fucking sure he needs to be there.

“If it wasn’t clear before now, these images make it obvious that HYDRA followed through on that proposal and tried to carry it out with a prisoner. This cell, with the amount of effort they put into building it, indicates long-term captivity,” Natasha explains darkly.

“Tony said something about a ‘body count’,” Sam points out slowly, as if he’s scared to know the answer, “I’m guessing they had to fight to escape?”

His question is wordlessly followed up by a new series of images from the bunker. Bucky can’t even try to find disgust or discomfort as he takes in the numerous, lifeless bodies that take up every inch of the screen. Each is either wearing a white lab coat or a black tactical suit, each embossed with the Hydra symbol somewhere. Those are soon replaced by closeup shots of the wounds that killed them: a single, precise hole over the heart or somewhere on the skull. The wound is ringed by a small circle of black, charred skin.

“There weren’t a lot of people left in the facility when they broke out,” Tony explains, “apparently a lot of the muscle had been reassigned to help with the DC launch. But as far as we know, everyone who was still there was killed.”

Bucky subtly glances at the faces around him, fully expecting to see shock, even revulsion at the scene in front of them.

Instead, he finds grim understanding. Rage, even. The Avengers are full of people who try to avoid killing, at least when they can afford to. But they understand why this person felt they had no other choice. Why they sought those lives as some kind of payment for what these people had put her through.

There it is again. Speaking of a ‘her’, as if he somehow knows.

That can’t be right though…right? They’ve been in Virginia this whole time, and he was off playing executioner, so how--

“I’m guessing you found them?” Sam asks, cutting off his fevered thoughts, “The elemental?”

“Yes,” Steve confirms, and a single photo fills the screen next to him, “this is her.”

Her. Her.

Bucky loses all semblance of calm when he looks at her. It’s not replaced by the cold fear and anxiety he felt earlier, but instead by a burning, all consuming, fiery anger. For any other person, this level of anger would make them messy. Make them unreliable. Him? It tends to make his aim more precise. Sharper.

Because she was so, so young. So innocent. She looked…happy.

In the picture, it looks like she’s in her late teens, maybe early twenties. The sun is setting into the sea behind her as she grins into the camera, her nose scrunched and eyes sparkling. Her joy seems effortless. Steve says her name, but Bucky can’t focus on anything other than her face.

All the while, there’s this persistent prodding in the far reaches of his brain. He can’t even describe what it’s supposed to be, what it’s trying to tell him.

“This is our girl. She disappeared when she was 19 in November of 2009 from the area around UCLA. She’d started there in August for her freshman year. Majoring in Biology. Her parents lived in a small town up north near the border with Oregon, and she didn’t have any family or close friends in the area when she moved down to LA for school. On top of that, she kept pretty busy with two part-time jobs and 15 credit hours.”

“She started off isolated and stayed that way,” Bruce murmurs from behind Bucky, “that and the stress made her pretty vulnerable I’m guessing.”

He tilts his head, looking closer at her face. A small detail is hidden right there under her eyes, one he didn’t see on first glance.

“She had stuff going on before she started at UCLA, didn’t she.”

Bucky had spoken without meaning to, a statement rather than a question at that, and now he feels a little embarrassed as everyone’s eyes shift to him. He doesn’t normally talk in meetings if he can help it, and this is why. He hates being the center of attention. After being isolated for so damn long, never being allowed to speak, well…it’s taken some getting used to, again.

“There’s…um…” he clears his throat uncomfortably, “she has dark circles under her eyes. Pretty prominent ones. Takes a while for them to get that bad. I’m probably wrong though—”

“You’re not,” Tony interrupts grimly, “she had a lot going on. By the time she left for school, her parents had fallen into pretty severe debt. They were small business owners, ran a pretty popular antique shop in town. But they were hit hard by the Recession. Had to take out a ton of loans just to keep the store open and the lights on at home.”

“From what we’ve gathered from the police reports, she fought her parents on going to school. Wanted to stay behind and work, help them start to pay things off and support them,” Natasha adds darkly. “They convinced her to go, in the end.”

“Hydra probably used all of that against her,” Wanda speaks up with a knowing tone, “money is very motivating, and with what you found in the police report about going to school in the first place, she probably carried a lot of guilt. She wanted to help her family.”

Bucky finds himself nodding along as Wanda speaks. He knows firsthand how stressful it can be to go without money. Watching his mom and Becca have to try and fight through winters with threadbare coats year after year was nothing short of awful. Until he was big enough to finally bring in some money from his boxing winnings, he spent a lot of time feeling helpless and guilty for not being able to fix it.

“Pretty much right on the nose,” Tony confirms, “the other document Fury’s sources were able to recover that day was a pretty nondescript flyer. It advertised a need for participants in a ‘groundbreaking medical research study’. It promises a lot of perks, the most important two being, ‘generous financial compensation’ and a willingness to work with students around their classes and schoolwork.”

“Even with that, I mean…c’mon, a research study? That pays? I know we’ve got hindsight and all, but this still seems too good to be true,” Sam points out.

“The flyer claims that the study is ‘backed and funded by the CDC’, which adds a ton of credibility. They probably had contacts in there who could help cover them if she happened to contact them,” Nat explains.

No one even had to say anything. Hydra, who already had a firm foothold in every facet of the US government by this point, had more than enough resources to target vulnerable students like her. They managed to promise her solutions to two major problems: time and money. Having more of both would’ve made a world of difference. And even if she had doubts, which she most likely did, there was enough effort that went into legitimizing the whole thing that she would be more than reassured.

All she wanted was to go to school and help her family. That’s all.

Natasha takes a deep breath, as though she were steeling herself, and continues, “The timeline around her initial disappearance is hard to pin down. She didn’t have any close friends and didn’t know her roommate all that well. No one was keeping track of her. By the time her roommate reported her missing, she’d already missed a couple of days of classes. She would’ve called it in earlier, but it wasn’t uncommon for her to not see her for days at a time. She took a lot of night shifts or ended up sleeping in the library to catch up on schoolwork.”

“Was she close with her parents? Would she have talked to them about the study?” Bruce asks.

“They were very close,” Steve affirms, “but they never said anything about something like that to the cops. They led a massive search effort to try and find her, but nothing ever turned up. The searches pretty much stopped when they died a little over a year later.”

“That cannot be a mere coincidence,” Vision murmurs thoughtfully, “was it some sort of vehicular accident?”

“Any official report that gave an official cause has either been destroyed or hidden so well that even my tech can’t get to it,” Tony grumbles.

Most likely destroyed, then. If the stories Tony likes to tell are true, then he hacked into the Pentagon when he was in high school. On a dare. Despite the outlandishness of the whole thing, Bucky’s actually inclined to believe him. Knowing the guy like he does now, it just makes too much sense.

“The only resource we have to go on are news outlets. Since the disappearance was a big statewide story, the LA Times even made it a front-page headlines,” Steve explains.

Bucky’s attention is once again drawn to the screen. He didn’t think the horror he felt in that room before now could be matched, but it seems he was wrong.

TRAGEDY IN CRESCENT BAY:

PARENTS OF MISSING GIRL PERISH IN GAS LINE EXPLOSION

Underneath those awful words in a photograph of the bare remains of what he could only assume was their rural home. The entire thing was completely engulfed in scarlet flames that leapt high into the inky black night. First responders had already arrived in the scene, but they could only stand by. Seems like it was already too late by the time they got there.

Despite the sheer amount of ugliness happening within the picture, Bucky’s eyes kept drifting to something in the corner, illuminated the flashing red and blue lights of emergency vehicles. A massive tree stood right at the edge of the property; only having been saved from the explosion by the distance between the actual house and the road. A little tire swing hung from the sturdy branches.

He wonders if it’s still there.

“Please,” he hears Sam scoff, bringing him back to the present, “we can all agree that this ‘gas line’ excuse is bullshit, right?”

“Seeing as it happened less than a year since she went missing, we think so too,” Nat agrees, “that, and the city had those lines inspected less than two years prior. With the droughts in California, they were worried a spark would cause a wildfire. A line that close to combusting like this would’ve been found when they checked.”

“Did anyone keep looking for her?” Wanda inquires, her voice a near whisper, “After they died?”

“No. Civilian searches faded away pretty soon after, and without the pressure from her parents, police largely halted their efforts too.”

The room goes silent once again. The heartbreak of it all, the amount of destruction HYDRA had inflicted on her life…it would take anyone more than a few minutes to process it all.

There’s one question that’s more important, though.

“Where is she now?”

He can’t find it in himself to be shocked when his own voice is the one that asks, only able to focus on Tony as his mouth opens to answer.

“Alright, next stop in our little PowerPoint of Pain is DC in 2014. Union Station, if you wanted me to get real Google Maps about it. Either way, that’s the next time we see our girl.”

The still from the grainy security footage does nothing to hide how much she’s changed. Every change on her frail body points to long-term captivity and abuse. She was nothing but skin and bones, hunched over as though trying to make herself seem smaller. The camera is able to capture most of her face as she looks back over her shoulder toward it. There’s some bruising on her face, and her wide eyes look dim and empty.

…wait, Union Station?

Bucky’s not certain about the timeline of those first few weeks of his freedom. He knows it was stressful and disorienting, but concrete details elude him, even after Shuri’s help. If someone were to ask him how he got out of DC and the US, he really couldn’t say for sure.

But as he looks at her now, takes in those eyes and her face, he feels…he’s not sure, exactly. It’s like there’s an itch at the edge of his memory. The only thing he can compare it to is when there’s a word right on the tip on his tongue that he can’t find – like he should know her but can’t figure out how.

Sick of the frustration that has only continued to build, he chalks everything up to his brain trying to assign meaning to a story so similar to his. He feels like he knows her because, in a sick way, he is her. Everything about this situation is eerily familiar, down to the exact day and city where he made his escape. That would be a lot for anyone to process, let alone a very traumatized and still recovering man.

More pictures fill the screen in pairs. Always some kind of screengrab of the girl next to a building of some sort with fire damage. His stomach sinks as he puts the pieces together. Each image he sees, she looks a little healthier. She isn’t starving anymore, and at least from what Bucky can tell, she isn’t being beaten regularly. But her face looks harder each time; darker.

“Once we narrowed in on a potential match, we sent FRIDAY on a little scavenger hunt across the states to try and find where else she’s been. We’ve been able to find her trying to settle in tons of different places over the years – ‘trying’ being the operative word, here. FRIDAY always found her in a new city pretty soon after some kind ‘accident’ was reported in the city at a business of some type.,” Tony describes.

Bruce scoffs a little, adding, “Let me guess: these accidents always involved fire in some way.”

“You’d be right,” Natasha admits with a humorless smile.

“How do you know they’re accidents? How do you know it wasn’t on purpose?” Rhodey questions, a hard edge to his voice. The man has seen too much to not be a little suspicious of something like this; they all have.

“We can’t be certain, of course,” Natasha speaks up again, “but no one was ever hurt. They always happened in nondescript places, not hugely symbolic in any way. If she were trying to make a statement with her powers, wouldn’t she go for something…I don’t know, bigger?”

“You never answered me before,” Wanda points out, “about how her powers work. Did these incidents happen at places she worked?”

“Yeah. Security footage in or near each place caught her in uniform several times.”

“That makes me think, at least right now, that they’re connected with her emotions. She was likely never taught how to control her fire for herself, as Hydra prefers to operate through brainwashing and complete control. Minimum wage jobs, which look like the majority of what she had to settle for, can be highly stressful. She likely just…lost control, and her powers erupted due to high levels of emotion.”

All three of the leaders gape at Wanda a little, along with the rest of the team. Everything Wanda said makes complete sense. Even with everything they experienced, everything they were, it could be hard to understand something new like this. Looking at the senior Avengers, it seems like everyone felt like that.

“We, uh…we hadn’t gotten that far,” Steve admits, “but that honestly explains a lot.”

“It also kinda explains where she’s ended up” Natasha mumbles, more to herself than anything. Even so, FRIDAY takes that as her cue, and pulls up a map of…the state of Colorado?

“The Dynamic Duo here, along with our lovely little Irish gal, tracked Firebug to a small town in the Colorado mountains called Aspen Creek,” Tony says.

“It’s small, isolated, and relatively peaceful,” Steve explains quietly, his eyes growing a little sad, “it has everything she’s been struggling to find the past few years. It’s far enough away from the highway to keep outsiders away for the most part. She’s been there going on eight months now; the longest she’s ever gone without an incident.”

She feels safe there.

Bucky can’t help but think it. More photos of the small town come up, giving everyone an idea of what the town could be like. As he looks at the blue mountains that surround it, he can’t help but understand. It’s probably given her more serenity than she’s known in a long time.

As he’s reflecting on this, a small kernel of guilt begins to settle in his chest. It’s then he realizes where this is going.

“Now that we finally know where she is,” Steve says quietly, “we’re launching a mission to bring her in.”

That small kernel grew into a raging storm, sending his insides roiling as Bucky tries to understand and use his logical thinking. Even so, along with that remorse comes indignation at Tony. At Natasha. At Steve.

“What makes you think,” Bucky grinds out through his teeth, “that we have any right to take her away from this? From a place she might think of as her home?”

Steve always tells him how impulsive Pre-War Bucky used to be. There’s nothing but impulsive anger in his emotional question.

“Buck, I know it doesn’t seem fair—”

“Not fair? Not fair?” He feels everyone’s eyes on him, but he’s so far gone in his outrage that he can’t find it in himself to care. “She hasn’t lost control in months. She’s doing so much better—”

“That doesn’t mean she won’t again,” Tony reasons, “and she’s not in control when it happens. She might not mean to hurt anyone, but anything could go wrong—”

“—you don’t know that—”

“—and neither do you,” Tony retorts before taking a breath. “These mountains are bone dry, Barnes. One wrong move, one little spark, and the entire mountain goes up in flames. Once that happens, it’s not just some smoke damage or a scorched wall. That’s miles and miles of destruction. People losing their homes. People dying. You really wanna risk that? You really think she could handle shouldering that kind of guilt?”

He looks down then. Bucky’s still clenching his jaw so hard it hurts, the anger and sadness still churning inside of him, and he hates to admit it, but…he gets it. As someone part of a team like this, he knows they have to make tough calls like this. It’s just part of the job.

Doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel personal. Or that this one doesn’t hurt worse.

“It’s not just that,” Natasha breaks the tense silence, “Steve and I learned yesterday that we’re not the only ones who’ve been tracking her.”

Bucky’s eyes snap up toward the screen again, nausea setting in once again. Yet another shot from a security camera fills the screen, the umpteenth today. They’ve seen so much awful shit in the last hour or so, but this is the one that makes him feel the most dread.

Two men, hulking and sinister despite trying to blend in, stalk through what looks to be an airport terminal.

“After Firebug’s identity and location became clear, FRIDAY alerted us to the arrival of two known Hydra operatives arriving at the Denver International Airport yesterday. They could be here for something else, but we feel it’s not a coincidence.”

“So we can’t afford to wait any longer,” Sam mumbles in front of him, “she can’t either. If they get her again…”

His voice trails off, a faint shudder wracking his strong frame. Bucky feels a deep cold settling in his bones, invading deeper than any of the times he spent in cryo. It’s sheer dread at the severity of the situation.

Before, they might’ve had time to take things slowly. Be cautious in their approach. With someone as seemingly explosive as Firebug, that would’ve been the best way to handle things.

With them involved? They need to move in, and they need to do it now.

“I hate this,” Bucky says finally, “I hate everything about it. But” he pauses, meeting his best friend’s eyes, “we can’t let them take her again. We can’t.”

“We won’t,” Steve assures him firmly, a steely edge to his eyes.

“So basically we have to convince an emotionally unstable, defensive, and very traumatized young woman to come with us right after we meet her,” Rhodey quips sarcastically, “oh, and she could light us all up like a fucking bonfire.”

“You got it Rhoadster,” Tony fires back.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry Cross Rhodes starring Britney Spears.”

“I could murder you right now and a jury would find me innocent.”

Even as Rhodey and Tony continue to fight, and as Steve begins to methodically brief everyone on the plan, Bucky’s eyes linger on her face. FRIDAY’s brought up that first picture of her again, the one where she still has light in her eyes. She’s probably done it for pragmatic reasons, but he can’t help but hope she’s trying to remind them all of what they’re fighting for.

We’re coming, he thinks, we won’t let them take you again.

***

chapter 4

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x oc #reflections series #bucknasty❤️#jenna writes #just firebug things

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goldentournesol · 5 years ago

Text

Here For You

(Spencer Reid x Reader)

The one where Spencer and Reader make up after her not visiting him in prison.

Read Part 1

Length: 2.3k

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Only one week into the six week mandatory leave and Y/N could feel her brain expanding in her skull at the rate at which her mind raced about Spencer. She’d been spending her days in the most boring of ways. She’d drag herself out of bed at whatever time she felt sick of being in bed, the placement of the sun in the sky had done little to give her the rest she deserved. When she wasn’t in bed, she was on her couch doing absolutely anything to try and get her mind off of Spencer. They hadn’t spoken to each other since Stephen’s funeral and it was hard not worrying about him. But at the same time she knew he needed space to process all he’s been through. How much space was too much space? She didn’t want him to think she was avoiding him again, on the contrary, she’d found herself wanting to call him every night. She wondered how many steps she’d been getting in in a single day from how much she paced around her apartment.

On the first day of the second week, she’d had enough. She jumped out of bed and just barely had the notion to wash her face before grabbing her keys and driving in the direction of Spencer’s apartment. Before she could second guess herself, she was knocking on the hard wood of his front door. Her heart jumped up to her throat as she waited on the other side. What if he doesn’t want to see her? What if he’s busy with his mother? Oh God, what if he’s-

A breeze rushed past her as he opened the door, “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

She looked up to take him all in and fought to not let a gasp slip past her lips. He was in a white cotton t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. His honey colored locks were even more untamed than they usually were. The dark circles under his eyes had begun to encapsulate and swallow the rest of his exhausted eyes--which she noticed he couldn’t open the whole way, probably due to a migraine. She wondered if he’d been getting any sleep. The scruff he’d had the last time she saw him had evolved into a full grown beard. He looked even worse than she felt.

“I-” she began but she stopped, what was she doing there?

“I came to check on you. Can I come in?”

She noticed him stiffen slightly, his shoulders tensing and his eyes scanned over her figure as if trying to assess whether or not she posed a threat. He released the tension from his shoulders and stepped aside, a sigh leaving his lips.

She immediately noticed the mess. There were books everywhere, things were out of place, it was so unlike Spencer to live among clutter. He didn’t even bother to apologize for the mess, he just shut the door and turned towards her as she stood in his living room. She stopped looking around and faced him. There was so much she wished she could do for him. She wanted to cradle him in her arms and kiss his face and let him know that everything would be alright. But all she could do was fight to suppress the tears that surfaced.

He stood far away from her, too far, hands in the pockets of his pajama pants defensively. He stared at her with an expression that seemed unfamiliar, almost like his face had been drained of any intelligible expressions, giving off an almost uninterested look. His living room looked strange with her in it, although he couldn’t say he hadn’t missed it.

“Uh,” she started, her hands wringing themselves at her stomach, “I want to ask you how you are and I know it’d be stupid to ask--but, I need to know how you are, Spencer.” She was nervous, her voice was shaking and she didn’t bother to hide it. Spencer felt guilty about being the source of her anxiety but he was too overwhelmed with emotion that he didn’t do anything about it.

He shrugged, “I don’t know how I am.”

That was the most honest answer he could think of, but it was also the shortest. He saw the corners of her mouth raise slightly and it reminded him of a simpler time where he was the source of her happiness. She was glad he was at least being honest and not hiding behind walls...for now.

She nodded, “That’s okay. I won’t pretend to know what you’re feeling, but I do know that I want to be with you right now. I want to help you heal. No matter how long it takes. Even if we aren’t together...you know, romantically. I’ll wait for you. I just want to be here for you, Spencer, if you’ll let me.” She swallowed her incoming tears as she spoke.

He was visibly apprehensive at first, he didn’t know what to say but he knew that he loved her with his whole heart. He missed her so much, but it was too painful to feel at the moment. So he kept her at arm’s length in fear of hurting her or hurting himself. She took a step closer, but it was still tentative.

“So will you let me be here for you?” She asked again at his lack of an answer.

Spencer pursed his lips and nodded, tearing his gaze from her, although he wished he hadn’t because the next time he glanced at her, she smiled. A real smile and Spencer’s chest felt warm at the sight of it.

“Okay, so have you had any breakfast yet?” She beamed up at him and he shook his head, deciding not to tell her about how poorly he’s been eating. But then again, she probably already knew.

“Alright, how about this? You go take a shower and I’ll make us something to eat.” She offered, already making her way to the kitchen.

Spencer took a deep breath and walked into his room. A few short moments later he walked back out and stood at the kitchen door, staring at her. She noticed him standing there and smiled sweetly, making Spencer uncomfortably shuffle his feet.

“What’s wrong, love?” She moved closer, although not close enough for him to touch her.

“I-,” he started, his voice hoarse and small, so he cleared his throat, “I don’t want to be...alone.” Her heart wrenched in her chest at the sight of this strong, yet temporarily broken man whom she loved more than life itself. She couldn’t help but tear up at his confession, touched at the fact that he thought her presence could bring him comfort. He watched as her expression softened and she nodded up at him.

“Okay, breakfast can wait. Let’s get you cleaned up.” She gently took his hand and led him to the bathroom. The simple gesture ignited something in Spencer’s chest. Her touch was so familiar, yet so strange. It felt strange to be touched so gently and with so much compassion. She sat him down on the closed toilet as she ran the water. She noticed him itching at his beard uncomfortably. It made her giggle. The sound nearly sent a shiver down his spine.

“Do you wanna get rid of it? The beard?” She turned off the water and he shrugged.

“It’s really itchy.” He said simply. He didn’t want to tell her that the razors reminded him too much of the razors in prison. She picked up on his hesitation.

“I could help...if you want.” She smiled softly and picked up his shaving cream. And now it was Spencer’s turn to be touched at the fact that she would do something so...domestic for him. His eyebrows raised slightly at the offer, but he nodded nonetheless.

She stood between his knees and began to lather up the shaving cream on his face. Her close presence put him at ease. She tentatively brought a hand to the side of his neck to get a better grip and watched as he closed his eyes and relaxed at her warm touch. She filled up the sink with water and brought the clean razor to his face.

“I need you to be still for me, okay?” She spoke with her voice slightly above a whisper, as if it were any louder, it would startle him. He nodded and slowly brought his hands to the back of her thighs, gripping almost as if he was checking to see if she was still there.

She leaned so close that he could feel her breath fan over his face as she began to gently shave his beard. Spencer was usually much more aggressive while shaving but he had to admit this was nice too. He knew he’d trust her with his life anyway, it didn’t matter that she was holding a potentially deadly weapon near his neck. She couldn’t help but smile as things began to feel normal again. They remained there in a comfortable silence as she focused on not hurting him.

The tenderness she treated him with seemed so strange yet so welcome. How could he have ever forgotten about what it felt like when she touched him? The ghosts of her fingertips were ever present in his mind but they were nothing compared to the real thing. He felt everything and nothing all at once.

His eyes were screwed shut tight as he tried to contain the tears that welled up under his closed lids. A single tear managed to escape. She caught it before it reached the remaining shaving cream, brushing it away with her signature tenderness, the kind he never wanted to be unfamiliar with again. His grip around her thighs tightened as he struggled to contain any more of his tears. She quickly finished shaving the rest of his face and placed either hand gently on his neck, beckoning him to meet her gaze. In doing so, Spencer’s eyes gave up the feat of keeping the tears contained, and soon his freshly shaven skin was burning from the salty water, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered to him at that moment except for the woman who stood with him in his tiny bathroom.

She stared at him with empathy and placed a soft kiss to the center of his forehead. A simple gesture to remind him that she was there for him to lean on. He replied with a heart wrenching sob and shoved his face into her shoulder while wrapping his long arms around her body like she was his only lifeline. She cradled his head and ran her fingers through his hair as he continued to rid himself of the sadness that consumed him.

“I missed you so much.” Spencer uttered between sobs into the fabric of her sweater that smelled like home. She smelled like home. She was home. And now coming home never felt so right. She sniffled as she kissed the top of his head, a few tears of her own making their way down her face.

“I missed you too. So much, Spencer, so much.” She released a sob and held him tighter.

They held each other for a while until the sobbing ceased from both ends. When Spencer grew quiet, she let go of him and got on her knees to be at eye-level with him. She sent him a tearful smile and held his face.

“We can do this, we can get through this together, Spence. You’ve been through a lifetime of trauma in these last few months but you are the strongest man I have ever known. It’ll take time but we’ll get through this. I’m here now. Do you hear me?” She spoke with such sincerity that Spencer had no option but to believe her.

“Come on, now. Let’s get you clean.” She tugged on his hand for him to get up with her and turned the water back on, “I’ll be here the whole time.” She took his seat on the toilet and he got in the shower.

---

Y/N stood in the kitchen over the stove as Spencer sat at the kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee. She glanced back at him to find him lost in the dark liquid in front of him.

“When was the last time you ate something Spence?” She asked, pulling him out of his daze.

“I don’t know, to be honest.” He replied with a shrug and rubbed his eyes vigorously, “I’m starving though. What are you making?”

“Well, your fridge is pretty much empty so we’ll have to do some grocery shopping but I found a few eggs and some bread.” She smiled as she took the eggs off the heat and put them in front of Spencer. She began eating and watched him as he began to shovel the food into his mouth.

“Woah, slow down there. I don’t want you to choke.” She laughed and he looked at her sheepishly.

“Sorry, it’s just so much better than anything I’ve had in the last three months.” He smiled back at her and she felt her chest swell at the sight of him smiling. She grabbed his hand over the table and squeezed it.

“Then I promise to try and make you the best dishes I can.” She giggled and he rolled his eyes playfully.

“Not this again.” He grinned, remembering the last time she tried to cook a complicated dish, they ended up ordering a pizza.

“Okay! That was once! Let it go already, sheesh.” She laughed, shaking her head.

It felt right being together again. Spencer wasn’t really sure of anything yet, he wasn’t sure if his mother would be fine without him, he wasn’t sure if he’d be reinstated, he wasn’t even sure if he’d ever heal from the trauma he’d been through. The one thing he was sure of though, was that they belonged together and he’d rather spend the rest of his days listening to her laugh and making her smile than mourn the losses he’s had.

Part 1

#spencer x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #cm #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid masterlist #post prison reid

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ms-indifferwnt · 4 years ago

Text

“I’m Cold”

“I’m cold"

“And?”

“Can’t you give me your jacket or something?”

“Can’t you accept my proposal and marry me already?”

In which Prince Donghyuck’s parents are forcing him to get married and he decided to propose to the first girl he sees to shut his parents up

Genre: Prince!Lee Donghyuck x Maid!Reader, Angst, Fluff, Arranged Marriage (kinda), Slowburn

Warnings: Curse words, Suggestive, [In this Chapter] Sexual and Physical harassment

Notes: Chapter 8 of Im Cold. This one was written fairly quickly cause of my background music and I never realized I’ve already wrote this much anyway enjoy

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

Prev / Chapter 8 / Next

Its been a day since the fight and neither of you made a move to speak to one another. You didn't approach him in fear of getting yelled at, Well that's part of the truth, the other part was basically you not wanting to look into the prince's eyes and see how hurt and sad he was.

That day he didn't wake you up, he sat at the dining table, actually this was the first time he sat down and ate in the palace in almost two weeks, you and him would always eat out and come home before lunch return for a couple of duties and stay in your room the rest of the day while The Prince goes to his lessons and remaining schedule

He takes the tea that Yuta offered him as Doyoung reads out his schedule for the day, "You have a schedule later at Ten A.M. a meeting with the neighboring countries' Dukes for an exchange that could possibly benefit the kingdom" He looks at his notes "Or at least that is what they said, so attending this meeting is mandatory Your Highness, then next you also have a Lunch date with the Earl of WayV later, Do you remember his name from your last meeting?" Making the Prince nod Doyoung hums in approval "Its Lord Kun and Lord Ten, Your Majesty" He reminds just incase the Young Prince was bluffing and he continues rambling on about his schedule

The Prince takes a sip and looks at the other cup of coffee and snickers "You'd might not want to send that to father" making Yuta look at him in slight confusion "Mother is lessening Father's caffeine intake"

"Of course you're right" Yuta spoke and Doyoung stopped, and Yuta bows in respect "This is for Lady Y/n," Donghyuck visibly straitened at the mention of her name and he looks at the older male "She ate breakfast as her Maid went to fetch it this morning but I thought I'd make her a drink as well"

Donghyuck looks at the coffee, the two of you haven't spoken a word, To you that was probably one of the worst punishments someone could ever grant, you have no idea what you did to you silence is fear and the fact the Prince is avoiding enough proof that you did something unforgivable, Donghyuck on the other hand saw this as an opportunity, an opportunity to get away from you, an opportunity to stop the rapid beating of his heart when he sees you, the perfect opportunity to use as the reason why you two would break up, It was perfect, he then looks at his tea before placing it down and grabbing the coffee "I'll drink this" He hums and takes a sip "Get her something new," He looks back at Doyoung "like Hot Chocolate and some cookies" he suggested, knowing very well that is exactly what Yuta will bring you

Yuta knocks on your door, humming when you answered. When he entered you were there in a sunflower patterned sundress sitting on the window sill as the wind poured into your room going though your hair and skirt, the sun painting you in a light cozy atmosphere and both of you meet eyes "Good Morning" You smiled softly

He bows and nods "I have brought you some cookies and Hot Chocolate" he says and places it on your side and happily serves you the cup

You smile "Weird" you murmur and he looks at you with a questioning glance "Cookies and Hot chocolate are my favorite" you answered and looked at the cookie before taking a bite "No way" you said and took another bite "This- This is from my favorite shop, how did you?" You look at him amazement, placing the half eaten cookie down no longer having the appetite to eat that

He chuckles "The Prince suggested that shop" He answers, and offers you a tissue as you moved to suck on your fingers when the chocolate chip coated your finger "He as quite adamant about that shop and now I see why" His eyes travel to your bedside where an uneaten tray of today's breakfast sat and he looks at you "Was today's breakfast not to your liking today My Lady?" He asks nd takes the tray "I could ask the kitchen to make something more of your liking

You flinched and looked at it before shaking your head "No, The food was delicious" You defended

"And yet, you have not touched it"

"I'm not hungry, I barely eat breakfast on normal days anyway"

"Breakfast is an important meal, you've been eating with the Prince"

"Cause he whines when I don't" She smiles "And you know the best way to get the Prince to stop is by giving him what he wants"

"It's because the Prince wants you to be happy and healthy"

You wiped your hand on the tissue he had offered, thinking about what he said, words of the unsuspecting, nobody besides you and The Prince really did know that this little arrangement was fake "Did," You spoke before you could stop yourself and he hums waiting for you to continue "Did he call for me?"

"No, My Lady" He answers and you nod, bowing. He leaves your room once you start looking out the window once again, he stops at the door way just about when he leaves "If my Lady is bored the library is always open, and reading a book in the patio is definitely a must try" he smiles and leaves making you watch him

You gave his leaving figure a sad smile "When was the last time I sat down and read a good book?"

Donghyuck had his papers and notes in his arms and went in the direction of the Tea room in order to make a good impression on this meeting, he reads through them murmuring to himself as he reads through it, keeping every thought of you in the back of his mind and made sure you stayed there, he could not afford messing this up.

You on the other hand had three thick books, excited to read them on the patio just like what Yuta has suggested, you were excited, you haven't had a day off where you could read books like this anymore. You don't wanna think about Donghyuck, not right now at least, let him stay out of your head an let you drown into your own world with the books.

You balanced them and carefully (so you won't accidentally bump into anyone) going to the direction of the patio. that was until you felt something by your feet, you tripped making the books fall some papers in between spill out and you yelped, not cause it hurt (it did) but the books were of more value than your life, these are old and kept in the library of the royal palace, you could get an earful from both the Prince and his Parents at this rate and that is something you want to avoid. The sun dress you were wearing was slightly caked in dirt, you hair that Hana has taken the time to fix falling out of the pins she has place. "The books!"

You looked up and was met with an awful looking woman, her hair was pompously styled showing off nothing but arrogance, he make up caked, skin one, two shades lighter than her arms, he lips a horrible shade of red and you can tell from the girl who looks at you in disgust, is her daughter, they look alike, too alike its uncanny "So you're the girl My Donghyuck is going to marry"

Donghyuck flipped over the page he was on, two young maids and a butler of the palace walking ahead of him, unaware of the Prince behind them, He keeps reading, focusing on the topic of his meeting with the Duke, Duke Park Bong, he stops come to think of it the name is familiar in a way he can't put his finger on. He probably heard the name in one of his lessons, no matter he can wing it. He continues on his journey and focusing on the notes at hand

"Did you see the Duchess and her Daughter?" asked one maid to the other and Donghyuck zones them out making a mental note to greet the guests after the meeting

"You mean out by the Garden?" The other replies "ofcourse I have"

"Y/n was with them right?" The butler chuckles "On her knees as the Duchess' daughter spoke to her so ruthlessly" Donghyuck looked up at the sound of your name and looks at the three in confusion "All she could do is look down at the ground"

"Serve her right" Says one maid angrily "Seriously can't stand her, can't believe she seduced the Prince and is now the pearl of the Palace"

Donghyuck stopped walking at their words, in shock and anger bubbling up inside of him. Fake or not, no one is allowed to hurt you an think so little of you, no one, he opens his mouth to speak

"Do you think she gives good blow jobs if the Prince likes her that much?" asked the butler jokingly "If she did it for the Prince I don't think she'll mind going on her knees for me, or even better on all fours" he laughs

He walks, faster and faster catching up to the three and landing a swift and clean punch to the Butlers face making the maids scream and move to yell at the sudden intrusion only to stop at the sight of the Prince giving them a glare "Say all that again"

They bowed down in fear, and the butler back away at the sight of the Prince, his glove red from the blood that the Prince managed to hit "She may be a maid" Donghyuck says his voice dangerously quiet "But she is my Fiancé, The woman I love, The girl that will one day be Queen once I take the Throne and you dare speak of her that way?" They started shaking doing anything to look at everything but the Prince "Where is she?" they kept their mouths shut, he tilts his head to the side before walking towards one maid who back up "I said, where is she? Now!" He yells and the other maid broke out into a sob in fear cowering under the terrifying atmosphere the Prince has set up, his notes were scattered all over the floor and he could careless his only priority was you

"G-garden, your majesty" The butler answer as he stood up and bowed at the sight of the Prince

Donghyuck turns in the other direction, away from the Tea room and towards the Garden "You're all absolutely Disgusting," He says and turns his head just to look at the three of them "Get out of my sight" he answers and runs

You yelped once the girl grabs you by the hair and pulled you up to face her your hand on her wrist and holding it tightly "You're nothing but a palace rat!" she huffs and lets go of you making you fall "Why did My Donghyuck ever choose you?!" She yelps once you found what you were looking for holding it tightly made her yelp and drop you "Mommy! She hurt me!" She calls once you looked up at them, confusion and anger in your eyes, you have no idea who they are but you hate them, you can fight for yourself you were sure of that but why are they mad at you

The mother, moved to grab your hair, anger in her eyes "You have no right to touch my daughter rat! You spend time as the Prince's Fiance and you forget your place! You are a maid of the Palace, a nobody, someone with very little value-" You let out a loud yelp at the tight she had

"You forget your place" You retaliated and glared at the woman "I am at My home and you are a guest, Duchess" You answered and tried to pry her hand off "Neither of you have the right to raise your voice at me and hurt me!" you said venom and anger dripping every word

The Prince appears "Let her go" He says his anger from the encounter a while ago and now he was even more angry at the sight infront of him. He runs to hold and pull you away from them once The Duchess lets go inshock, he places you down and hold you close as you gasped and clinged, hiding your face in his chest in an attempt to calm yourself, you were angry and in pain and Donghyuck became your rock as he glared at them

"Baby!" The girl said happily once seeing her "I missed you"

"Haneul, you're absolutely horrible" He says and covers you from sight when Haneul glares at him and you "Neither of you deserve to be in our presence nor be in my palace"

"But Baby!-" Haneul starts and gets cut off by The Duchess who started explaining herself

He rolls his eyes "Save it, I heard enough. Harming a fellow person is already enough for punishment but harming the light of my life?" He smiles and it made Haneul and her mother freeze at the sight "Do you even know why you're in my palace?" He taunts and moves to nuzzle you as you sobbed into his chest, everything was just becoming too much, the fight with Donghyuck and now this one, You were just so scared and sad and now here you were sobbing into the Prince's chest. Donghyuck hates them more after hearing you try to calm your self, silent sobs and sharp intake sof breath are what can be heard from you "You're in my Palace because the Duke wants to talk matters with me," He continues and looks to the side to see them in his peripheral vision, and it looks like the duchess has the gist of what's going to happen as Haneul continues on glaring at You

He lifts you up, making you gasp and he shushes you, shifting you so you'll be comfortable in his arms, "You're safe" I'm sorry, He thinks, then looks at Haneul and The duchess "I think the the will be greatly disappointed to loose the worth of his family name, title, and watch his wife and Duaghter rot in prison now, don't you think?" He asks and carries you in the palace leaving the scattered books and speechless Duchess

"wa-wait" You said and wrapped your arms around his neck "The- the books" You said inbetween sobs and pulled away from his chest making Donghyuck finally see your face

Tear stained cheeks and red swollen eyes, he hated the Duchess and Haneul for treating you and here you were worried about Books, he turns his head to see the books scattered, "Doyoung can pick those up" He answers and walks to your room

You shake your head, "No Donghyuck" You said panicked "Those books are older than you" He looks at you, trying to understand why that would be worth more "They're irreplacable"

He looks at you everything you just said made his entire being disagree "No" He answers, A book can be bought again, a book can be borrowed, a book can be re-printed, a book can be replaced "You're irreplacable" He answered and finally sprinted to your bedroom, clinging on to him more

He gently places you down on your bed his hand flying to your head, "Are you ok?" He visibly softens, he knows your scared of him when he's angry so now he calms down and rubs your scalp "Stupid question really" he admits, and you leaned into his touch and he had to control the heat that spread on your cheeks "I'm sorry I wasn't there earlier, If I had known-"

"you saved me" You answered and cut him off, you didn't look ok,"Thank you"

He looks at you worried "You should change" He murmurs "Go take a shower and change" He stands, reluctantly pulling away from you and taking a step back "I'll call Hana" He says and you shake your head once he reaches your door

"Stay" You whisper, "Please? Stay here"

"You're Highness" Doyoung entered your room making Donghyuck let go of the hand he was holding, Doyoung clears his throat "My Prince, may I speak with you outside?"

Donghyuck nods and smiles assuring you, "I'll be right back" He promises and moves off your bed and into the hallway where Doyoung was waiting

You sat there, being in your thoughts gave you enough time to think about what The prince said The light of his life, The Prince was taking the agreement to seriously. None of his words are true, he's only doing this caused he promised to take care of you in the time you are his Fiance and that time is almost over

"Donghyuck are you alright?" Doyoung asks the moment The Prince closes your door and hugs him "Is Lady Y/n alright? I heard what happened The Duke was about to issue a warning 'till he word got around what his wife and Daughter did" He pulls away

Donghyuck leaned against the wall "We're ok," He assures but he still looked angry and Doyoung knows he has every right to "Strip the family of their title and issue a warrant to in prison the former Duchess and Haneul for physical abuse, Physical assault" He starts "Against my Fiancé" Doyoung stares at him in surprise "Please like they'll go to jail, they'll can pay a fee" Doyoung stays in place and Yuta walks past them only for Donghyuck to call him

"Yuta Hyung" He calls and the older stops, turning to look at the Prince, who seemed to have a lot on his mind "There should be a a butler with a bloody and hopefully a broken nose somewhere, get him and his friends, out of my palace and charge him with Sexual Assault"

Doyoung became wide eyed and looked at the young Prince "What- Why? What happened"

Donghyuck didn't answer and looks at them with an unamused look "Go" He said and the two left to listen to his orders. "Jaehyun" he calls after dialing the number on his phone "I need you to cook pasta" He starts

Jaehyun scoff on the other side of the phone "You don't like pasta"

"Yeah, But it's not for me"

"Did the Queen crave pasta again?"

"No, It's for Y/n, She likes Pasta"

I’m Cold Taglist:

@staysstrays @tyongf-sunflower99 @jackyeongljin @rebel-lious-alien @daydreamiies @channiespup @jaeshark @itlittlefangirl @ncttboo @manutuankim

If you wanna be added, leave a comment♡♡

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dewykth · 4 years ago

Text

SWEET SEPTEMBER.

a @periminkle and @dewykth collaboration.

synopsis. for many, september symbolizes new beginnings. but for namjoon, this month never fails to send him back into the past. though this time, something seems different.

pairing. kim namjoon | female reader contains. fluff, angst, slice of life au, ballet instructor!reader, single dad!nj word count. 7.5k+ warnings. death mentions, mature audience

dae’s note. surprise !!! this fic is dedicated to my favourite virgo karla @guklvr !! happy birthday bae i hope you enjoy this lil thing me n vira whipped up for u!! (i stress wrote a lot of this ha.) also sry for lying & keeping you up but hopefully this makes u forgive me. but i hope ur day goes amazing ILYSM DUDE !!! <333 and a huge thank you to vira for hopping on board for this idea bc i cld not have done this without her !!! pls give her all the love !!!

vira’s note. KARLAAAA!!! i always gotta scream ur name it’s mandatory to start with a good scream ykno? bUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL 🥳 i already told u this too many times today but ILYSM !! like that full day without saying a single word to u felt so weird and i kept going into our chat and rereading our mssgs and wishing I was talking to u??? which is weird to admit?? but that literally how much i missed u idk how but im addicted to u so if you leave me I will literally die :))) aNYWAY have the bestestestest day ever and i hope u love the fic bc I ignored all my uni work to finish this !!! (also i feel reallyreallyreally bad about last night sO IM SORRY AGAIN BUT I HOPE THIS IS WORTH IT) 💖

Despite the papers carelessly stuffed into his leather briefcase, the dark coffee stain on his black slacks, and his unkempt locks resembling that of a bird’s nest, Namjoon’s become accustomed to the hectic nature of his mornings.

The kitchen table is practically buried under stacks of files, yet he brushes them aside to allow one corner of the glass surface to peek through. He plops the toddler in his arms onto a high chair before racing to the counter and sloppily pouring some honey nut cheerios into a small bowl, handing it off to his daughter.

“Daddy?” her voice squeaks, a patient smile stretching across her lips. Her brown strands are tied up into pigtails at the crown of her head with pink ribbons that flutter with the movement of her tiny head.

“Yes, angel?” He scurries around to their bedroom, peeling the stained fabric off his body and threading one leg through another pair of slacks fresh from the laundry.

With Namjoon’s focus pinned on checking off the mental to-do list in his head, he misses the gentle, reassuring smile that stretches across her rosy lips. The adoration for her father is clear in her gaze. “You forgot to pour the milk.”

At the reminder, he squawks and hops back to the kitchen on one foot as he maneuvers his other leg through the pant hole. Swinging the fridge door open, he grabs the carton and sloppily pours the milk into her bowl—white droplets leaping out with their newfound freedom and forming perfect domes on the glass tabletop.

Cleaning the mess falls to the bottom of his priorities at the moment, and so he speeds off to the bathroom to ensure that his appearance is presentable for work while Dasom reaches over to pluck a tissue from the box, swiping the milky beads away before diving into her breakfast. She shoves as many cheerios into her small mouth as she can, rushing because she refuses to finish her meal in the car with their wild driver behind the wheel.

Despite her mere four years of age, she knows from experience that a bowl of cereal and a shaky vehicle is a recipe for disaster.

Namjoon races over to his briefcase with most of his hair sleeked back, only the locks of his bangs hanging out to frame his forehead. As he slips his dark blazer on to complete his form-fitting suit, Dasom scoops the last few brown rings into her mouth and slurps the remainder of the liquid.

“Did you finish your milk?” he questions while cramming the edges of the loose leaves that peek past the seam of his briefcase, hurriedly zipping it up and turning to face her.

Dasom flips the edge of the bowl up to display its empty contents, gulping the last of her breakfast down her throat. As per routine, she scans her father for any inconsistencies in his attire, landing on his odd fitting bottoms.

“Daddy, your pants are on backwards.”

His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, glancing down to affirm that the pockets at his sides are no longer at the front of his hips. Hastily, he shimmies out of his slacks once more and twists the fabric around to the proper orientation.

Dasom hops off her chair, her bowl and wet kleenex in hand as she waddles over to the sink and waits for him to deposit the dirty dish into the sink and the sullied tissue into the trash. Although her short arms couldn’t reach over the countertop just yet, she’ll diligently drink every last drop of her milk in hopes of growing tall enough to take some of the load off of her father’s back.

He hoists Dasom up at the sight of the red car pulling up to the driveway, squeezing into the back seat. Namjoon doesn’t have to tell the driver to book it, as the calm man in front has learned to keep his foot pressed on the pedal. The car weaves through the morning traffic with concerning speed, snaking through the other vehicles littering the road as if they were no more than stationary pylons, simply there for practice.

Dasom remains on her father’s lap with his arms looped protectively around the seatbelt over her torso. She sinks into his embrace, fiddling around with his long, slender fingers as she watches the blurs of colour speeding past the window.

“Did you put your ballet shoes into your backpack, angel?” Namjoon loosens his grip on her, unhooking one hand to rummage through his own briefcase in order to confirm that he had indeed slid his laptop within the chaos inside. To keep her entertained, he playfully extends his digits out of her reach.

“Of course!” she chirps, a wide grin revealing the gaps between her teeth. The pads of her fingertips brush against his palm and tickle the sensitive skin there when she realizes that her arms lack the length required to latch onto his hand. “I can’t wait for class, we’ve got a new teacher coming in today!”

Humming absentmindedly, he sighs in relief at the sight of the silver device and packs the crumpled papers back in. “What happened to Ms. Kim?”

“She’s teaching the older class now.” The pout on her lips can be heard within the muffled lilt of her voice when she continues, “I asked her to stay until my birthday next week b-but she didn’t.”

Namjoon’s breath hitches at the reminder, but attempts to compose himself for his daughter’s sake. “It’s out of her control, angel, plus she’ll probably swing by anyway.”

His mind starts to fog up with the emotions he thought he buried last year–they swarm his every thought and nibble away at his sanity. He knows better than to believe that they would ever disappear. September will always be an insurmountable month for him.

“I might be a bit late to pick you up later, just sit tight and wait for Daddy, okay?”

She eagerly nods in response, noticing the dull red bricks of her school coming into view. “Okay, bye Daddy!”

Namjoon unlocks the seatbelt, wistfully watching his toddler bounce out of his arms and onto the asphalt below. No matter how many times he drops her off, it’s always difficult to be separated from her bright smile, but he reminds himself that it’s all for her; it makes things a little easier to bear.

“Have a good day at school.” He reciprocates her frantic waving through the window, craning his neck to watch her adorable form become smaller and smaller with the increased distance. Her full cheeks and crinkled eyes are engraved into the back of his mind.

Before long, Namjoon finds himself rushing into his office after an earful from his surly boss about everything from the late hour to the long list of meetings scheduled to all the work he’s got piled up. With his lips pursed and his head bowed, he somehow manages to make it past another lively morning.

Namjoon has a habit of overthinking. He figures it’s normal when you have a stressful job and a four year old full of energy to balance all by yourself. Not that overthinking about his daughter does him any good, because that is far from the reality. If anything, it just makes him, what you’d call, a bit... overprotective (over worrisome if you asked Jin). But it’s something he can’t really help. Even when she had just entered his life, so small and so blissfully unaware of the awful and evil things in the world, all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and shield her from it all as long as he could.

Though he’s very aware of the fact that it won’t be much longer, that won’t stop him from going over every single little thing that could go wrong in the meantime.

So, of course, when Namjoon’s asshole of a boss makes him stay two hours over his shift, all Namjoon can think about is Dasom. Is she okay? Has she eaten anything? Did she drink enough water today? She’s always dehydrated after her classes too. He usually calls Ms. Kim to check up on her, but his calls went straight to voicemail, which definitely wasn’t helping his hectic mind. Perhaps something had happened to her?

Oh god, maybe someone broke in and had injured Dasom?

The doors are thrown open, the sound of the doorknob hitting the wall reverberating through the room. The receptionist wearing her usual polka-dot dress jumps in her seat, eyes lifting from the intense scene on her phone to the entrance of the building. An unsure smile stretches across her ruby red lips at the familiar figure, though a bit disheveled and breathless. But before the customary ‘hello’ can even form on her tongue, the figure is rushing past her, leaving only a gust of air in his wake. The papers on her desk fall to the ground, and she sighs.

Namjoon is prepared to fight the (fictional) person who thinks breaking into a toddler ballet class is a good idea, but the scene in front of him once he pushes past the doors of the studio is one he is wholly unprepared for.

He sees Dasom first, and the relief that fills his body is indescribable. It’s far from the usual sight he’s greeted with when he picks her up late. She’s not sitting on one of the chairs in the far corner of the room. His heart doesn’t feel heavy, which comes with seeing his daughter so glum. This time it’s her laughter that greets him, not one provoked by him but by the figure standing in the middle of the room with her.

Dasom doesn’t seem to be aware of the presence of her dad yet, but the figure twirling her around turns, and her eyes land on Namjoon.

The reaction is immediate. The carefree smile that had been on your face slips off, a look of embarrassment and surprise overcoming your features. Namjoon only catches a glimpse, and somehow finds himself wishing that won’t be the last time he sees it. You let go of Dasom’s hand, quickly making your way to the stereo on the other side of the room. And that’s when-

“Daddy!”

Dasom wastes no time running into her father’s open arms, and Namjoon suddenly can’t remember why he was so worried in the first place. “Hi, angel.” he says, just loud enough for her to hear. She pulls back. “I’m so sorry for getting here so late. I promise i won’t do it again.”

But of course, Dasom holds nothing but forgiveness in her heart for her hard-working father. She does love teasing him, though. “Don't say sorry to me, say sorry to her.” she giggles, pointing behind her and Namjoon furrows his brow until he remembers they’re not the only ones in the room.

His eyes immediately move to where you stand awkwardly near the stereo, eyes moving around the room as if you hadn’t been watching the whole exchange. Namjoon sighs, realizing he definitely can’t avoid talking to you now. He stands straight, holding onto Dasom’s hand as he makes his way over to you. You only seem to grow more nervous as he nears, and Namjoon distantly recalls Jin telling him he came off as intimidating to most people. Something about his ‘beefy’ arms, in his own words. (“And that stupid and unfairly attractive face!”) He goes for a smile because it's not like he can control his physique.

“Hi, I’m so sorry about…”

Namjoon stops.

Maybe it was the overwhelming distress before, or the really shitty lighting of the studio, but he hadn’t realized how pretty you were before. But now he’s standing right in front of you and he can’t seem to form a coherent thought. Pretty can’t be the right word. He realizes how creepy he probably looks, running in here like a madman and then downright staring at the (very beautiful) woman who looked after his daughter? Not cool, man.

You clear your throat, before extending a hand to him. “Hi, I’m ____, the new ballet instructor.”

Your voice sounds just like honey.

Namjoon stares at your hand dumbly, before the sound of Dasom snickering (very discreetly) behind him snaps him out of it. But instead of introducing himself, or apologizing, or just taking your fucking hand, he says-

“What happened to Ms. Kim?”

He mentally face-palms.

Not. Cool. Man.

Your face falls, and Namjoon has never wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole more than he does now. “Uh, she’s instructing the teen class now.” you chuckle awkwardly, dropping your hand.

“Oh-”

“Daaaad,” Dasom's voice sounds annoyed, and perhaps it’s a bit silly of Namjoon to feel like he’s being scolded, but that is exactly how he feels right now. “I told you this. In the morning. Remember?”

He doesn’t. “Ah, right of course,” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck. It wasn’t like he meant to forget, he had just been too busy thinking about the other things every September would bring. “Sorry, I’m Kim Namjoon. Dasom’s dad.”

This time he offers his hand, and he thanks the skies above that you don’t seem to hate him because you fit your hand against his. Warm, like honey. How long had it been since he last made a fool of himself in front of a pretty girl?

Too long.

“I’m terribly sorry for arriving so late it’s just that my boss, who’s a huge-” Namjoon glances at Dasom, who is now in her own world, singing some song she learned in school, “jerk, decided to assign these reports last minute and the printer would just not work and then traffic hour-”

Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, but Namjoon can see the amusement bubbling in your eyes. He flushes a deep red, eyes falling to the floor, realizing he started ranting.

“It’s okay. Really.”

When he looks back up, there’s a smile on your face. Not like the one before, this one was more reserved, but genuine, reassuring. And just like that, he’s sure you don’t hate him.

Namjoon’s not sure he likes this feeling though.

“Straighten your arms out, girls!” you belt over the classical music that floods the studio’s walls, scanning your army of toddlers in tutus whose arms immediately tense at your command. Making your way through the row, you poke and prod everywhere from their shoulders to their ankles. “Arch your back more, Somin.”

Their muscles violently tremble in response to the strenuous routine you’ve introduced, facial features scrunched in concentration and a resolute will to uphold their positions despite the hyperextension of their limbs. A mix of pity and pride swells in your chest at their effort. “Keep your chins up, the annual recital is only a couple of days away.”

Cheers erupt throughout the small room, disrupting the focus and spoiling their perfect form, yet you refuse to quiet excitement because of the renewed vigour buzzing throughout the room. The next hour depletes all of their built-up energy with demi-piles, pirouettes and sautés.

A glance at the analog clock in the corner informs you of the five minutes remaining before the end of class, so you pause the speakers and instruct the girls to stretch themselves out as they wait for their guardians to trickle in. They collectively sigh in relief before dropping to the floor like flies.

You snort at their dramatics with an amused smile playing at your lips. “I said to stretch, not to lay down and nap.”

“Can’t we nap and stretch at the same time?”

Strolling over to the source of the voice, you cluck your tongue at her limp form sprawled across the wooden floor and cross your arms, struggling to keep your giggles from breaking your angered facade. “And how do you suppose we do that, little Miss Dasom?”

She flashes her toothless grin up at you. “Like this!” With one leg bent over the other and her hands looping around to hold her twisted limbs to her torso, she shuts her eyes and exaggerates her snores.

At this point, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your snickers, and the rest of the class joins in your laughter. You pick up on Dasom’s tinkling giggles between each of her heavy breaths. The lighthearted jokes continue as kids are signed out with bright grins on each of their faces.

You wait for the rest of the toddlers to file out one by one, waving goodbye and checking them off your list until, as usual, Dasom is the only toddler left. Her tiny feet still clad in her faded ballet shoes waddle up to you, tugging on your blouse.

“Your pirouette was a bit wobbly today, do you want to go over—”

“‘M tired,” she interrupts, slouching her shoulders with an adorable frown marring her lips. Her exhaustion is justified, since the routine is rather exhausting, and with their recital right around the corner, you worked them to the bone today.

The odd timing of the switch between you and Ms. Kim left you with a little under a week to tweak and perfect their current choreography. A sloppy routine is not the way you want to present your skills to their parents for the first time, thus you were stricter with the kids than normal.

Your sympathy wins out, and so you gather Dasom’s lithe figure into your arms as you head to the closest wall. With your back supported, you spread out your legs and place her in your lap.

“My birthday is this Thursday.”

“Mhm,” you hum, bobbing your head to signal for her to continue her train of thought.

Her back faces you, but when her head tips down to stare at her hands, you know she’s contemplating her words carefully. Rather than encouraging her to speak freely, you wait for her to feel comfortable enough to reveal her thoughts; and surely enough, her shell cracks open just enough for you to peep through. “Do you wanna come?”

“I would be honoured.” A giddy smile splits across your lips. “Is Daddy picking you up again today?”

She flips around in your hold, wrapping her arms around your waist and snuggling her head to your chest. Her words are muffled into the fabric of your thin shirt, but her tone indicates her affirmation.

Suddenly self-conscious of your heartbeat—that Dasom can definitely hear with her ear pressed up against you—picking up pace at the mention of her father, you suppress your thoughts with a guilty conscience. You internally chide yourself for harbouring feelings for the charming, taken, man, defying arguably one of the most important fundamental rules of becoming an instructor.

Do not develop silly crushes on your student’s parents.

“Ms. ____?” her faint question snaps you out of your reverie, attention brought back to the present moment. While preoccupied, your hand took on a mind of its own, gingerly patting the space between the little girl’s shoulder blades at a slow rhythm.

She gazes up at you when you halt your rhythmic movements, sharp eyes boring into yours. “Are you gonna ask Daddy to come see me dance?”

The edges of your lips flip up in what you hope to be an encouraging smile as you nod your head. Subconsciously, you begin to stress over another encounter with Namjoon, formulating a script to hopefully avoid the stiff, tense atmosphere that lingered throughout all your previous interactions.

“Daddy’s always really busy,” she slurs, drowsiness coating her words and weighing down on her lids. Grumbling under her breath about her numb legs, Dasom crawls onto the floor beside you with her head resting on your thigh. “He’s always working hard for me.”

Your eyes soften at the fetal position she’s taken up on the ground; not only was Dasom lucky to have such a dedicated father, but Namjoon was also blessed with a caring daughter. “You don’t think he can make it?”

“It’s okay,” she whispers and you have to crane your ears to listen. You stroke the strands littering her forehead, gingerly caressing the crown of her head. “It’s okay if Daddy can’t come. I know him, he’s trying to do it all because Mommy’s not with us anymore, but it’s okay. I still love him even if I can’t see him lots.”

A knot forms between your eyebrows, a bittersweet ache forming within the creases of your heart. The painful constriction of your chest ebbs and flows with your shallow breaths that can’t seem to make it past your throat. You bite your lip to subdue the plentiful liquid gathering at your waterline.

No more than a croak escapes your lips before the door to the studio flies open, meeting the adjacent wall with a bang!

“I’m so sorry, my meeting ran late and I couldn’t—” the rest of his speech gets stuck in his windpipe at the sight of you, eyes rimmed red and sniffling, with Dasom, ostensibly dead asleep, on your thigh. “Did she…?”

You blink away your incoming tears, although your dignity has been completely thrown out the window, seeing as he believes that his four-year-old kid made a grown woman, who just so happens to be her ballet teacher, bawl her eyes out.

As you go to gently shake Dasom awake, she sluggishly lifts her head off of your lap and starts to scale your torso like a koala on a tree. Your confusion is vocalized through the high-pitched hum in your throat, but your efforts to pry off her limbs, tightly wound around the small of your waist, are futile.

“Uh, Dasom? It’s time to go home now, angel.” Despite his firm words, Namjoon’s tone is unsure and shaky; he can feel cold sweat build up in the lines of his palms. He knows his daughter, and she can be periodically stubborn and insistent the way children are at her age, thus even as you come to stand, she’s stuck to you like glue. “Would you, uh, did you need a ride?”

You mimic the sheepish smile on his face, hoping the flaming blush you feel on your cheeks isn’t as visible as it seems. “Sure.”

With Dasom latched onto you, both of you make your way to the red car outside after you lock up the studio. Namjoon courteously opens the car door for you, what with your arms supporting his clingy toddler; although, with the brute force he uses, you worry for the state of the hinges. Thankfully, they stay intact and he’s able to slip into the backseat after you.

Before an awkward silence can settle, you clear your throat and prepare to ask him about his day, but you’re interjected by Namjoon’s sudden stammering, “D-driving’s such a hassle for me so Jin drives us everywhere. Jin knows how to drive though, so, don’t worry.” He finishes with a deep chuckle that dies off nearly as quickly as it began. Oh, that’s unexpected.

“You don’t to drive yourself?” Rather than being processed in your brain and logically thought through, the question immediately enters your mouth without any prior scanning for dumbass-content. You instantly regret it, feeling as though it’s much too invasive. “You don’t have to answer that, I—”

The hearty laughter that meets your ears is “No, I do. Sometimes. But its easier raising this one like this.” His tone turns sweet at the mention of Dasom as he reaches over to pat her head, and you’re overcome with an intense desire to prod more into his personal life. Why does he have to work so much? Which shirt in his closet is his favourite? How does he like his eggs in the morning?

“I’m not sure if you already knew about the annual recital on Saturday, but Dasom’s been practicing really hard for weeks and the kids are all really talented, so it would definitely be worth your time...”

As he’s gazing at his daughter, galaxies of devotion and longing swirl within his cocoa irises. The cool light of the moon shines through the windows of the car, illuminating his sharp jawline and strong brows. You’re absolutely mesmerized by the sight in front of you. “You must be really busy, huh?”

“More than I’d like to be.”

You rip your entranced gaze away from Namjoon, willing yourself to steady your frantic breaths.

The remainder of the ride still drips with awkward tension, although with a definite lighter tone than before. Jin pulls up to your apartment with your direction and you dislodge a sleepy Dasom from your torso, which is much easier now that her limbs have gone slack with sleep. Handing her off to Namjoon, who practically engulfs her tiny form with his broad chest, you rush out of the vehicle with a quick, “See you!”

You slam the door closed before he can say anything, racing into the comfort of your home with your heart in your throat.

The last thing you had expected to do on a Thursday evening was to go to a birthday dinner. Thursdays are your days off, your in-days. The ones you spend lounging on your couch with a face mask and some wine. And yet, here you are.

When you received a text this morning, the last person you had expected it to be was Namjoon. Much less Namjoon asking you to come over for Dasom’s birthday. You weren’t going to say yes, hell, you had thought of downright ignoring it. It was weird, wasn’t it? But Dasom had quickly carved a toddler-shaped hole into your heart. Truly, you had said yes before the message was even typed out.

And so now you stare at the tall apartment building in front of you, definitely feeling more nervous than before. You knew that Namjoon had to be well-off to afford a weekday chauffeur, but damn did you not expect him to be this well-off.

It seemed today was the day to expect absolutely anything.

You enter the opulent building, signing in at the front desk before entering the large, mirrored elevator. The beating of your heart picks up the more floors you pass, and you can’t help but fidget with your appearance. Namjoon had said it would only be you three, which you guessed was supposed to calm your nerves but really, it did anything but that. The mere thought of eating dinner with Namjoon was nerve-wracking. But now you were about to eat dinner and enter his home; you had no fucking clue what you were getting yourself into.

The doors slide open, and you step into the hallway. A single door could be seen at the end of the hallway, so you quickly make your way over. You stop right in front, taking a deep breath in before pushing the doorbell. A beat, a crash, another beat, then-

The door swings open, and your breath catches in your throat.

Namjoon looks heavenly as always, but seeing him in clothes other than his usual black slacks makes your heart do a cartwheel. God, this is dangerous.

“Ms. ____!”

Before Namjoon can form a hello, Dasom is running past him and wrapping her small arms around your legs. “You came! See daddy! I told you she’d come.” her tongue pokes out of her mouth, aimed straight at her father and you stifle a laugh.

“Did he think I wouldn’t?” you ask, eyebrow arched as you glance at Namjoon, who seems to have a permanent pink hue on his face.

“He said you wouldn’t!”

“Oh, really? What else did he say?”

“He said I had to help him clean either way!”

“Alright, Dasom. That’s enough.” He says firmly, clearing his throat and trying to act as unaffected as possible. His eyes shift to meet yours. “Why don’t you come inside?”

As much as this day really sucked for Namjoon, today had been… different. Not all too much. Of course, getting up was the hardest part, but he had decided to make Dasom her favourite breakfast meal instead of her usual cereal. He had also made sure to get her all the toys she had been wanting, and planned their day out to do Dasom’s favourite things. Namjoon just wanted this day to be special for her. That was all he cared about.

But when Dasom had asked him to invite you, he had hesitated.

Dasom had never spent her birthdays with anyone else but Namjoon. Not that it was intentional, but Namjoon liked to have this day just for the both of them. Because that’s how it’s always been. He didn’t know what it was about you that made his daughter talk about you all the time. Or why she wanted to spend a birthday with you. But how could he deny her? And so, the text was sent.

And now, as Namjoon puts away the dishes while you sit on his couch, he realizes he hadn’t thought of her today. Not as much as the years before. Dinner had been so... nice. It felt nice to have someone else around. Namjoon loves Dasom, but he hadn’t realized how distant he had gotten from everything that had once seemed to be the centre of his life.

Namjoon closes the dishwasher, exiting the kitchen and making his way to the living room. He places the two glasses on the table before pouring the dark red liquid.

“I hope you like Merlot.”

“Oh, please. Anything’s fine.”

You take the wine glass, sending him a thank you before taking a drink. “So,” you lean back, “remind me how to play this again.”

“Ms.____ I told you. You have to take a block without knocking the tower over,” Dasom shows you by pushing a middle wooden block out, “then you have to place it on top, like this.'' She places the same block on top of the tower.

“Ah, right! I just need to make sure if I want to win.”

“You can’t! I’m the best!”

“Oh really? And what about you?” you turn, brow raised and eyes playful.

“Pshh,” he scoffs, leaning forward. “Who do you think she takes after?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever lost a game so quickly.

Namjoon watches as you close Dasom’s door quietly from the hallway before you make your way back to the family room. “She’s out like a light. I guess all that tower building got to her.”

Namjoon snorts. He feels oddly disappointed as he watches you gather your things to go. Was it weird that he wanted you to stay? “Do you need me to get you a ride? I can call Jin to drive you home.”

“No, it’s fine! Really! I already ordered an Uber anyway.” You grab your coat near the door. Before Namjoon can unlock the door, you touch his shoulder. “Listen, thank you for inviting me today. I know you probably wanted to spend this day together instead, but I... “ you inhale, because you aren’t sure of what you want to actually say “thank you.”

Would it be weird to say how much better you made today? Probably. “You don’t… have to thank me. I think I should be the one doing the thanking. I really wanted this day to be special for Dasom and you… you definitely helped. So, thank you.”

The door opens, and the light of the hallway fills his dim flat. “Guess we’re even then.” you smile before turning, making your way to the elevator. Namjoon shuts the door once the sight of you is gone, but the smile on his face remains

“Guess we are.” he whispers wistfully

Perhaps stopping at a flower vendor when you’re already running late was a bad idea, but Namjoon wasn’t thinking about time. He had seen the bouquet of flowers and imagined the huge smile that would stretch across Dasom’s face, and that was all he needed to swerve into the left lane.

Now, though, as he anxiously watches the cars in front of him move a foot forward after thirty minutes, he’s sure he should have just left the fucking flowers alone.

Namjoon doesn’t know how long he’s been shifting his eyes from the traffic to the watch ticking around his wrist, but by a miracle, the cars start moving. Slowly, then he’s speeding down the highway, praying to the skies above he’ll make it in time. Even if he arrives in the midst of the dance, he can’t miss this recital. He won’t.

He sighs in relief when he sees the familiar glass building, though it’s cut short when he sees the parking lot. No available place in sight. Fuck. Namjoon is sure he looks insane right now, swerving around the parking lot in search for an empty spot, or really just any fucking spot that looks like it could fit his monster of a car.

Then the clouds seem to open up, and right near the entrance is a vacant spot. Namjoon swears his mouth almost waters at the sight. Quickly speeding around the lot, he parks, but not before flipping off the angry parent who tries to beat him to it. Namjoon exits his car, quickly grabbing his coat and the large bouquets of flowers from the backseat. He runs to the entrance, practically throwing the shriveled paper at the ticket clerk.

Namjoon slows as he nears the theatre doors, taking a deep breath before calmly opening it. He had completely forgotten to book seats in advance, so he’s not surprised to see the velvet seats filled to the brim. When he looks to the stage, he’s relieved to see that there’s still time until Dasom comes on.

Now, Namjoon knows he’s not the most… balanced person. It’s common knowledge that he trips over his feet and knocks things over sometimes. (Oh, but definitely more than the average person.) Now, if you were to ask Namjoon if he pays attention to his surroundings, he'd say yes.

But if you were to ask Namjoon what he tripped over, he wouldn’t know. It doesn’t matter, because now there’s a furious mother with a horrendous bob cut glaring at him, and what he thinks to be a broken camcorder on the floor. The only thing he can manage is an awkward smile and an even more awkward apology. Namjoon offers to give her the cost for repairs, hell, even offers to buy her a new one. The woman snatches the bills from his hands but she doesn’t go back to minding her business like he thought she would. No, instead she starts to argue with him, in the middle of her child’s recital, no less!

Namjoon can’t do anything but stare at her as she blabbers on about how horrible he is for throwing her camcorder on the floor. (Not like it had much life left, that thing looked like it was from 2007.) She’s damn near spitting on his face, and causing other parents to turn around and glare at them. As if it was his fault. Who knew she had such an attachment to the damn thing!

A hand lands on his shoulder, and for a second he’s sure it’s security ready to escort him out of the building. But when he turns, he’s surprised to see it’s you. Like an angel had ascended from the clouds to save Namjoon from the wrath of a ballet mom. And just like that, you’re leading him away, taking a seat two rows before the stage. Namjoon’s eyes widen at the sight of the empty seat beside you.

It’s that feeling again, and Namjoon’s palms start to get sweaty as he takes a seat. “Jesus, thank you for that,” he whispers, relishing your quiet laughter that follows.

“Of course. She was probably a blink away from going full-blown Karen on you.” you tease.

“Oh, and that wasn’t?”

“Oh, Joon, you haven’t seen how angry ballet moms can get.” you both laugh, huddled together as if you’re sharing a special secret. It seems so natural. As if this is where he’s supposed to be. So much that Namjoon almost doesn’t catch the nickname, but how could he miss it when you say it just like she used to?

The stage lights darken, and Namjoon is grateful for the excuse to look elsewhere. He’s sure if he would have stared at you for just a bit longer, he would have done something completely and utterly stupid. “This is her.” you whisper, and Namjoon buries the thought away.

A blue hue shines across the stage before the soft melody begins to play, filling the room with the sounds of strings and keys. One by one, tiny swans begin to come into view, prancing around the stage. Namjoon catches sight of Dasom, looking adorable in her white tutu and he can’t help the proud smile that makes its way onto his face. He watches with adoration as she does her pirouettes, and maybe there’s some water overflowing in his eyes as they finish their dance, bowing towards the audience.

You both stand, clapping and cheering the loudest, uncaring of the stares from the snobby rich parents because you’re both too damn proud of Dasom to care. For a moment, Namjoon pretends that it’s different, simpler. That it’s not only his child on stage but yours. Ours. He thinks he likes the sound of that too much.

Once the show ends, you lead Namjoon backstage where the buzz of dozens of girls talking fills the air. You tell him that you need to check in on the other kids and disappear through a hallway. He spots Dasom quickly, or rather, she spots him.

“Daddy! You came!”

Namjoon lifts Dasom with his free arm, twirling her around before placing a big kiss on her forehead. Her giggles fill him with delight, and he doesn’t care that his cheeks hurt from how hard he’s been smiling. “Of course I came, angel. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He places her on the ground before he grabs the bouquet of sunflowers from his other arm. The sight of her favourite flower makes Dasom jump with joy. She takes the flowers, and Namjoon silently coos at how much smaller they make her look. Then she spots the other bouquet of flowers in his arm. She scrunches her brows together, about to ask who those are for before her eyes catch something behind Namjoon.

“Ms. ____!”

“Dasom!”

Dasom jumps into your arms, and you laugh at her enthusiasm. “You did so well! I’m so proud of that pirouette!” You twirl her around once her feet hit the ground, smiling as you watch her stumble slightly. Namjoon can’t help but smile too.

“Look what daddy got me, Ms. ____! Look!” Dasom lifts the flowers up, almost shoving them into your face.

“Wow, these are very beautiful, Dasom!”

“Look! He got you some too!” she giggles, and you look at her confusedly then at Namjoon. He sighs, looking pointedly at Dasom despite the cherry hue making its way across his cheeks. She giggles once again before running to her friends. “Dasom!” but it's futile.

If it weren’t for the consistent chatter, Namjoon’s sure there would be an agonizing silence to fill the space between you. You walk closer to him, looking down at your shoes bashfully. “Ah, these-” he takes the bouquet from his arm, “these are for you.”

You looked surprised to say the least. Eyes wide and glassy, your mouth falling ajar. “Wow, uh, really?” you ask, glancing up from the bouquet. He nods shyly.

Listen, he had only planned to buy Dasom her favourite flowers. But then he caught sight of these beautiful yellow roses, tips painted a light amber orange. Somehow they reminded him of you. And the way you had left him with his heart feeling lighter for the first time in years the other night. Maybe it was a way of saying thank you. He’ll admit, he didn’t think it all the way through, but the way you’re smiling at him right now makes him think it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

There’s a moment where it seems to just be you and him, despite the tons of parents and children running around. He’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes drop to his lips, if only for a millisecond. Namjoon wants to say it. God, he wants to say it so badly. “Listen I… I’ve been meaning to ask you,” his voice fades away as his eyes catch yours. Hopeful. Beautiful. Glimmering.

Just like hers.

“Do you, uh, need a ride home?”

And the bubble bursts.

You step away, looking at anything but him and he hates it. He despises it. He wants you to look at him like that again. He wants nothing more than to pull you back and kiss you senselessly, like his mind is screaming for him to do. But he can’t. He can’t do it for some fucking reason and he almost wants to cry in frustration because why can’t this just be easier? Why is it so hard to move on? You don’t deserve this. You deserve so much better than what he can offer you. And that thought keeps him still.

“Uh, sure.”

Quiet.

Say something, idiot! Tell her what you’ve been dying to say! Just fucking say it!

Namjoon hates himself for the next words that tumble out of his mouth.

“Let’s find Dasom.”

The drive to your house is just like it was before, except this time there’s no chatter to fill the emptiness. Dasom is sound asleep in the backseat. You've never seemed more distant than now, facing the window, body pressed against the door. You had almost begged to go in the back with Dasom, and Namjoon doesn’t know why he didn’t just let you.

How did it come to this? This wasn’t what he wanted. This night wasn’t supposed to go like this. Everything should have gone differently.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever fix this. If things will go back to normal. If he completely ruined it. But he’s too afraid to ask. Too afraid to know.

Namjoon has never hated the quiet more.

The sight of your apartment complex fills him with dread. All he can think about is all he wants to say, all he should have said, all he wants to take back. God, Namjoon wishes he could take it back. If only there was a way to turn back the time. Why had he been so afraid to make a move? Why did it hurt so much? But he knows going back wouldn’t help. Not when he doesn’t know if he would have done it differently.

His car comes to a stop, and the doors unlock. He faintly catches the small thank you before the passenger door slams shut. Namjoon watches as you make your way up the pathway, feet moving briskly and it feels like he’s watching you walk away from him.

You’re shuffling through your bag, looking for your key. And fuck, is he really just going to this go? Is he that stubborn that he can’t see past himself? He can’t. He can’t let you go. Not like this.

Well do something, dumbass!

The door of his car is thrown open, and before he can overthink it-

“____!”

You still. You turn.

Namjoon shuts the door. He walks up the steps and stops a few feet away from you, but he feels like he’s miles away. You look up at him, questioning. Your eyes aren’t the same ones. Not like you looked at him before. Yet they’re still warm. Inviting. Namjoon is tongue-tied, and all those words he wanted to say are gone now.

“Are we… good?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I just…” he scratches the back of his neck. “That moment back at the recital. I… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” you say, simply. When he looks at you, he can’t tell what you’re feeling. You’ve blocked him off. “Namjoon, really. It’s fine.”

But is it really? He wants to ask. But he doesn’t. It’s quiet again, this time the sound of the wind rustling the browning leaves above filling the space. Still.

“I… god, I don’t know why this is so hard. Ever since, you know,” you don’t. “I… I didn’t think I'd ever get an opportunity to…” he inhales, unsure of what he wants to say first.

“I just feel like I ruined it so carelessly.”

You don’t say anything for a few moments. You only stare at him, really stare at him. Like you can see through his mirage, through the walls he’s spent so long building up. You’re taking it all, but there’s nothing he can take back from you.

“You didn’t.” you whisper it so quietly, Namjoon would have thought his mind had taken pity on him. But a smile slips onto your face. Unlike the other ones. It doesn’t fill him with joy. It doesn’t give him butterflies. This one hurts.

And he knows you’re telling the truth.

“This… It might take a while.”

The wind picks up. The leaves rustle. The cold, biting.

“That’s ok. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

Your lips are bittersweet on his tongue.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN TO KARLA !! ILYYYY <3

#bangtanhq #btsbookclub #ficswithluv #btsguild #btsgoldnet #cypherwritersnet #namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x you #bts x reader #namjoon fanfic

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bubbleteakoala · 5 years ago

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Around November a kid in my class got the chickenpox. This caused our class to be quarantined for a little more than 2 weeks, which sucked even more because it started on the day before our over-night field trip. And it was pretty chaotic since we’re seniors. I didn’t see the need to post this before since not many of us on here lives in China, but now that most people are going through the same thing I decided to post some of the tips I have on staying at home and staying productive. Enjoy~

1. Set an alarm and wake up on time

I cannot tell you how many times some of my classmates missed homeroom (for us it’s mandatory cause they take attendance and it affects whether you graduate or not). Setting an alarm makes you wake up on time and prevents you from oversleeping. I admit there were times where I forgot to set my alarm, hit stop and contined to sleep, or literally slept through it. It happens. But you can’t let it keep happening. This messes up your whole day and might causes you to procrastinate even more because ‘everything is ruined anyways’ (though this may have smt to do with my mental health..). So remember to set an alarm to get started on your day on time!

2. Have a schedule and (try your best to) stick to it

Routine helps. When you literally have nothing to do, having a scheduled saves you from boredom and also from wasting your time thinking about what you have to or should do today. It doesn’t have to be packed, just a simple list of chores and activities would do. This also refrains you from delaying schoolwork for ‘tomorrow’.

3. Exercise!!

Yes. Staying at home and not moving much will not make you feel good. Especially to those who live in dorms or apartments. So move around, exercise a bit. You could do yoga, stretch a bit, or just freestyle jump around to music. Anything to get you moving, do it. It’ll help you from feeling cramped, stop you from gaining weight, and also make you feel better. Why? Because exercise=endorphins=happy people (and happy people don’t kill their husbands) . Doing some chores would work too! So get up and start moving!

4. Open the windows

For all those who grew up with your mothers opening the windows, you get it. You need to ‘change the air’. Right now you’re not getting any fresh air. And you can’t just go out to take a walk, right? Open your windows for half an hour in the morning, and you’ll feel a difference.

5. Have something to look forward to each day

This one is kinda related to the second point. I strongly recommend you to have something new to look forward to everyday. It could be eating a slice of the cake you decided to bake, an episode of your favorite tv show, or trying to achieve your goal of touching the ceiling idk. Having something to look forward to motivates you to get up everyday and keeps you from having your days mashed up together till you don’t remember whether you ate the bananas on Tuesday or Wednesday. Personally, I look forward to what I’m having for breakfast, that way I have another incentive to get up early and enjoy it before the rest of my family wakes up. So create a list of things you like to do (or would like to try), go over it right before bed, and choose one for the next day.

6. Change your clothes

Staying in your pajamas is really really tempting. However, your brain associates your pajamas with sleeping. So staying in it the whole day will make it question whether you should sleep or do something productive. This could also mess up your sleeping schedule. So lay out an outfit before you go to bed, and change into it when you start working.

7. Shower, please. And do your chores.

I don’t mean to sound like your mother, but just because you didn’t go outside, it doesn’t mean that you don’t need to shower. If you are staying in your pajamas the whole day and for a few days now, go shower and get a change of clothes. And chores? Yes you still need to do them. It is your job to keep the area you live in clean and tidy. Plus, cleaning it would get rid of germs. Take care of yourself, please.

8. Journal

Last one, stay with me kids. This was a habit I developed during the chickenpox quarantine. Although it was solely for my mental health, it helped a lot to just sit there and write about my thoughts, feelings, and what happened during the day. For those of you who are alone and have no human interaction, this might help you when you feel like ranting. Just sit down at the end of the day, and pour your heart out. If you don’t feel safe having a physical book lying around containing all these intimate and vulnerable parts of you, download a journaling app. Some have locks, and worse case you can just delete it to never see it again.

9. Human interaction

Wait no, this one’s the last one sorry! Contact your parents or friends once in a while. For those of you who often see them physically yet don’t have a habit of holding conversations with them online, call them. It helps with the loneliness that creeps In sometimes. Catch up with them, make sure they’re ok.

10. Lotion

YOUR HANDS ARE GOING TO GET DRY FROM ALL THAT WASHING SO PLEASE REMEMBER TO APPLY LOTION OR ANYTHING THAT WOULD HELP

So far these are all that I can remember, I’ll reblog this if I have more. Thanks for reading! I hope it helped~

#studyblr #langblr #study #studying #study tips #language #languages #coronavirus #covid 19 #covidー19 #productivity #being productive #health #journal #mental health #language learning #quarantine

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dearest-bucky · 4 years ago

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Like real people do (One Shot)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky catches Y/n reading fanfiction about him.

Words: 2.7K

Warnings: None, language?

A/n: I don’t really like this one but since I’m reposting everything 🤷‍♀️ Here ya go, I hope you like it.

Originally posted: July 14, 2020

"What you got there Y/n?"

She knew she was lucky. Having him so near, being able to see every little freckle and scar that littered his skin, being able to feel the heat radiating from his body, it wasn't an everyday occurrence, despite the fact they lived under the same roof.

One of her hands was resting on her lap, fingers itching to move towards him and touch his smooth skin, while the other pressed lightly the gauze on the slash near his collarbone. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she inspected the cut, deciding the number of stitches it needed and her cold breath hit his skin repeatedly, causing goosebumps to erupt on his chest.

"I'm sorry.." her voice was small as she apologized for hurting him after a small wince escaped his parted lips, but he only shook his head, silently encouraging her to continue.

She picked her head up, chancing a look on his face and only then she realized how small the distance between them was and how close they really were to each other. Her lips tilted slightly upwards in a somewhat small smile and a blush crept up her cheeks, another wave of heat emanating from him hitting her and she averted her eyes again, focusing once more on his stab wound.

Another moment passed before she felt his left hand on her cheek, cupping it softly and a chilled shiver ran down her spine from the cool touch, despite the otherwise hot temperature around them. Her breath hitched in her throat as he titled her head up with his hand, their eyes meeting for a short second, before he leaned down ever so slowly, giving her the chance to back away if she wanted.

"Doll..." His voice was but a breath against her trembling lips and her eyes closed with a light flutter, letting herself get lost in his touch. His lips brushed against hers ever so slightly, as if teasing and she couldn't wait until he decided to put an end to their misery and lock their lips in an actual kiss.

The anticipation was scorching her skin and her nerves, and he seemed to read her mind and decide to put her out of her misery because the next second -

With a startle she dropped the spoon she had been previously holding in the cereal bowl, causing the milk to splatter on the counter. She quickly locked her phone and placed in on the counter face down and moved to clean the mess she made with her breakfast.

"Bucky you scared me!" She chastised him, trying to hide the waver in her voice but failing miserably. Not daring to look at him she moved around the kitchen, cleaning the counter and disposing the rest of her breakfast in the sink, her appetite already lost.

Her cheeks darkened with a blush and a wave of heat hit her forcefully, this time from the embarrassment.

She didn't see his face but she could've sworn he was smirking behind her back, enjoying her flustered state too much, just like he always did. She could feel him move around the kitchen too, apparently to fix his own breakfast before one of the bar stools scraped the floor lightly, letting her know he was sitting in her previous spot.

She heard him pour the milk on his own bowl of cereal and she decided now was her best opportunity to leave the kitchen, however Bucky seemed to have other plans for her because just as she made her way towards the door, he called behind her back.

"You never told me what were you reading in your phone." She stopped right in her tracks at the sound of his voice, and she blushed harder than before, if it was even possible at this point. Her back was facing him, so it was easier to avoid his look, also easier to lie to him as she spoke in a rush, right before leaving the kitchen.

"Nothing that concerns you, Barnes."

With rushed steps she walked to her bedroom, seeking a little comfort and privacy away from a certain prying pair of blue eyes. As soon as she closed the door behind her, she leaned against it and let out a long breath, finally able to do so, away from Bucky.

She could practically hear the teasing tone in his voice as he asked her that question and there was no doubt in her mind that he already knew what she had been reading.

She was fucked! Royally so!

If only she'd been a little more careful, but instead she had let herself get lost in the words on her screen and got caught by the man she was reading about.

It had started innocently enough. She had been reading fanfiction about her favorite Star Wars characters a few months ago when she stumbled across a few writings about the Avengers and since then it had been down the rabbit hole for her.

She enjoyed reading about her team mates, usually platonic pairings, she liked the way many talented people wrote and described her friends in a way she never thought possible, they were mostly accurate too.

However her real downfall had been when she found fanfiction about her favorite teammate, Bucky. She had tens of stories saved on her bookmarks, ready to indulge herself in fantasies of him every night before bed.

She would be lying if she said she didn't have feelings for the broody super soldier, but after some light flirting with him and not getting the reaction she had hoped, she'd given up, turning to the imaginary world of fanfiction.

Now their real life relationship remained strictly platonic, despite Y/n's ever present feelings.

She was eating her breakfast alone when a notification popped up on her phone, informing her one of her favorite writers had posted a new story, and being so eager to read, she didn't think about what would happen if anyone found out about her guilty pleasure.

The fact that Bucky was the one to 'catch her in the act' was the worst that could happen and now as she tried to ease her nerves in the privacy of her room, the only thing she could think of was how great it'd be if she could just vanish.

A few days later and Y/n had been avoiding Bucky like the plague, too embarrassed to even face him again. This of course hadn't gone unnoticed neither by the man himself, nor by the rest of the team, that kept sending questioning glances in her direction every time she walked to the common areas.

Once again, she found herself in the confines of her room, this time gathering the courage to walk down to the common areas for the movie night with the team. If it was for her, she'd be glad to stay in for the night, but Tony had insisted it was mandatory for everyone to be there tonight, claiming the team needed a bonding night together after being sent in too many missions the last month.

With another exhaling breath, she walked to the TV room, seeing everyone was already there. Steve, Tony and Natasha were sitting on the big couch, Vision and Wanda on one of the love seats, cuddling under the same blanket, Sam was on the chair alone and Bucky...

Her breath hitched when she saw Bucky sitting alone on the other love seat, the space next to him the only one empty.

"Finally Y/n, we were waiting for you to join us so we can start the movie." Sam was the first to speak up, seemingly a little impatient to start the movie.

"I'm here, I'm here. Now get up from my spot." She replied, trying to maintain a light tone in her voice, but Sam only scrunched his face in annoyance, shaking his head 'no' in response.

"There's no way in hell I'm sitting next to Tin Man, he takes too much space." Then with a nonchalant shrug directed her next to Bucky. "You're perfect for that spot though."

She let out a small, silent sigh, not happy at all with Sam, but she didn't say anything anymore, moving to seat on the love seat next to Bucky. Not wanting to raise any more suspicions (as if there weren't enough already) she sat next to him wordlessly, trying to avoid looking directly at him as much as possible.

The movie started and everyone remained silent, except for Sam who'd comment on the characters' actions every now and then.

She'd been sitting stiffly next to Bucky for about twenty minutes, a slight chill caused from the AC running down her spine. Bucky, ever the attentive one, stretched the blanket that was over his lap to her too, helping her get under the warmth of the soft material.

She just gave him a brief look, a small smile forming on her lips as a sign of gratitude and turned her head towards the large screen again.

On the coffee table there were lots of snacks and drinks, but she paid them no mind as she sat next to Bucky, still unable to relax fully despite the softness and warmth of the blanket that was covering her.

As the movie progressed she started to relax a little more with each passing minute. Her phone laid on her lap, above the blanket, the black screen staring up at her. It was the peak of the plot, where the main character finally learned the truth about her family, when she heard the ping of her phone and felt its short vibration on her thigh.

She picked it up in her hand, paying no mind to what it might be, and unlocked it, swiping to see the notification in the notification bar.

Her eyes locked on the screen as she read "writingavengers posted Love Actually, a Bucky Barnes x reader story". Her breath hitched at the words as she tried to play it cool, locking her phone again, but the next thing she did was a bigger mistake. She glanced towards Bucky, only to find him already looking at her intently, an undecipherable look in his face.

She swallowed, her throat feeling suddenly dry and averted her eyes to her lap, where her phone was laying, the screen once again black. Without so much as a word she got up, determined to leave the room, unable to stand being in his presence anymore.

This time she was really screwed.

"Where are you going? The movie isn't over yet."

"Umm... I'm feeling sleepy and I've already watched this movie so I know how it ends." She replied to Natasha and didn't even stop to say 'good night' before practically running out of there.

Back to her room, she cursed herself for unlocking her phone in front of Bucky, then for even taking her phone with her while she was watching the movie. She kept mumbling curses, thinking how would she be able to look at Bucky ever again. He probably thought she was some sick woman who was obsessed with him.

While huffing and puffing on her bed, she heard the hesitant knock on her door and her head snapped towards it, wondering for a moment if she had imagined it, but she was soon proved wrong when another knock was heard, a little more loud.

Y/n let out a sigh, not wanting to see anyone, considering to just not answer at all, whoever it was could wait until tomorrow, but apparently the person behind her door was determined to see her now, as a few more knocks sounded on the wooden surface of her door. With a huff she threw the comforter away and got up from the bed, walking to the door and opening it slowly, her breath catching behind her throat as she saw who was standing on the other side.

"Bucky..." Was the only word she was able to spill out as he entered her room without a word, his face set in an unreadable expression.

He turned to face her when he was inside her room, staring at her, parting his lips as if to say something, but apparently deciding against it as he closed them again.

Not standing the silence and his intense stare on her, she finally gathered some courage to speak first. "Bucky what are you doing here?"

Her tone was calm despite the growing nerves and she finally looked up to his eyes as she waited for a response.

After what felt like an eternity, but only being a couple of minutes of staring at each other, Bucky decided to speak up. "I know what you read on your phone." He said and despite it not being an accusation or nothing of the sort, he winced when he heard how his voice got out, and Y/n's fallen face was proof enough that he was being too harsh, dare he say tactless.

Despite knowing that he already knew, the way he said those words made Y/n's blood leave her face in a rush and she didn't know what to say. What could she even say? 'okay, you caught me!' It was stupid!

Another moment passed before he spoke again, this time in a softer tone. "I searched on the internet and I know all about it. I read a couple of those stories myself." He confessed and she could finally dare to meet his eye again.

A dejected sigh slipped past her lips as she responded. "I'm really sorry Bucky. I swear I'm not some crazy, obsessed girl, I just..." She shut up before she could say something she would regret.

"You just?"

His question was inviting, almost luring her to respond with nothing short of honesty. She let out another sigh as she moved to sit on the edge of her bed, fearing what she had to say would ruin whatever relationship - no matter how platonic - she had with Bucky. At least she could be sitting for when that moment came.

Her hands fell on her lap, fingers curling nervously around each other.

Okay this is it, she thought to herself, the moment of truth. She knew Bucky would probably never talk to her again after this, but she figured it was better to come clean to him once and for all. She looked up at him again, finding him already looking at her, waiting patiently for her to speak.

"The thing is, I really like you Bucky." Here it is! It is out! Now there is no turning back. "I think I actually more than like you..." She blushed as she said those words but she was determined to tell him everything, so she continued. "I have feelings for you, I've had them for sometime but I couldn't tell you that so when I found out about those fictive stories, I found myself surrounded by them, because at least there, there was a chance you liked me back and I lost myself in those fantasies of you and I and what we could be together." As she finished speaking, her head had hung low too, terrified of meeting his eye after this. Bucky had been silent in front of her, too silent, and if it wasn't for her looking directly at his legs, she would have thought maybe he left her room altogether. But he was there, staring her down, listening, thinking.

She couldn't bare to stand the silence anymore, already embarrassed enough, so she got up from her bed and moved to stand in front of him. "I understand if you hate me now and I am really sorry. I never meant to make things so uncomfortable and awkward between us and I promise I'll stop reading those stories -

She didn't get to finish her word as Bucky placed his lips on hers, effectively shutting her up. Her eyes widened for a second, before they fluttered close, surrendering to his kiss.

"I really like you too doll." He whispered against her lips, still not ready to totally part yet. "I'm sorry I'm not the easiest person to talk to and I'm really dense when it comes to love and relationships, but I have liked you since the first day I laid my eyes on you."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Bucky Barnes liked her! Bucky liked her too! She liked Bucky. They liked each other! She wanted to squeal in delight, but she decided against it, opting to go for another kiss instead, happy she was finally able to do that for real.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagines

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queerbutstillhere-writes · 5 years ago

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Day 5: Quarantine

- You can't come over tomorrow.

~ what do you mean? "Can't"?

- Gotham is on quarantine. Mandatory. Only medical personel allowed out. Hell, even the JL grounded us.

• I'm seeing can't, but hearing "help me please"

- guys. This is serious.

• for you, maybe. Timmie, we can't get sick from Covid. Kon is alien, and my metabolism is just too fast for it.

- Bart..

~ he's right, Tim.

- Do not encourage him, Kon.

- you two are not allowed to come.

Tim sighed, staring at his laptop monitor. He’d been stuck in quarantine for several days now. Alone in his apartment. He could probably suit up and hightail it across town to get to the manor if he wanted, but being quarantined alone sounded far more appealing then bring quarantined in the manor with his siblings. Dick would probably drag him into nightly board (read: bored) games, Bruce would be constantly trying to bond, Damian would probably never stop insulting him. Duke and Cass would probably be fine, but Duke was easily roped into Dick's shenanigans, and Cass had that habit of creeping up on you.

No. Tim would survive being stuck alone, working on case files and reading news headlines. Today's news was singing the praises of Wayne Enterprises for their massive donations to research centers, the city, and for them paying for housing and healthcare for homeless. They were also praising Bruce for personally paying for the Covid testing and for paying for food and housing costs for those who couldn't afford it. Bruce had enough money to do so, so he might as well, right?

Amusingly, Tim had seen a headline from Star City about Red Hood and Arsenal highjacking a supply truck full of toilet paper and medical supplies and redistributing it among the poor and homeless, as well as stealing from some stores and making care packages for the homeless.

But now, his idiot boyfriends, severely upsetted by the fact that their Thursday date night had been cancelled, were texting and calling him non-stop, trying to convince him to let them come, finding out if he needed anything ("do you have food?" "Yes, Kon." "I'm talking real food, Tim. Not some Rice Krispies and a few boxes of cereal." "Conner."), and constantly fretting over him. Did he mention they kept whining about missing date night? Well they did. Even the suggestion that they could still hang out with each other didn't appease them. ("But we need our Robin! Our birdie!")

Tim Drake was a smart man. He was a good detective. If he had been at the manor, he'd probably be working with Bruce to develop faster testing, or figure out cures. But what Tim forgot, is how truly, truly, dumb his boyfriends are.

So he really shouldn't have been surprised to hear his door open on Thursday evening.

But yet, he was.

He shot up off his sofa, spinning towards the door. He hadn't changed in a day, and probably hadn't showered in three. His apartment was a mess and honestly he didn't remember what he had for breakfast that day. But yet he grabbed the nearest thing to him, an empty metal waterbottle, and brandished it as a weapon.

"Oh, I'm so scared," a chipper voice said, with a laugh.

"Bart?!" Tim exclaimed, half in shock and anger.

Standing in the entry way of his apartment was Bart Allen and Conner Kent. Conner was carrying several bags of groceries, and Bart had a couple jugs of milk and juice.

"What are you two doing?!" Tim hissed, glaring.

"Uh, visiting, duh?"

Bart zipped to the fridge, putting up his jugs, and then dumping a backpack that Tim hadn't noticed earlier onto the floor.

"Bart," Tim said, his tone dropping to his more commanding, Robin voice.

He noted Kon was also carrying a duffel bag. The man just smiled and then turned to walk into the kitchen.

"Nonono, I know what's going on here, you two aren't staying."

"Why not? We can't get it, and you're just gonna . . ." Bart motioned at the messy living room. "Besides, what if we quarantine ourselves with you."

"Well, because! Because. . . " Tim scowled at him.

He was starting to lose his energy to argue. And he was getting pretty lonely. And this . . . He wasn't wrong either. They could just quarantine together. . .

"And also, now if you need something, one of us can just zip over to metropolis and pick it up, or go do laundry at Clark and Lo's," Kon called from the kitchen.

"And if you do get sick! You'll have us to look after you!" Bart exclaimed, zipping over and kissing Tim before he could protest.

Tim glared at him from just a few inches away, then at Conner, who had moved to the doorway. They both just grinned at him.

"Fine. Fine! You can stay!" He exclaimed, defeated.

Bart whooped and kissed Tim again.

"Okay, first things first. You need to take a shower, man," Bart told him, wrinkling his nose. "Or else no cuddles."

Tim, touch starved as always, found himself immediately hating that idea.

"Also, we need to clean this place up. So, you go shower and brush your teeth and shave and stuff - or don't shave - and Kon and I will clean up and start supper!"

Tim huffed at him, but obeyed, heading towards the bathroom, stopping by Conner first to give him a quick kiss. Kon just grinned and pulled him in close, tweaking Tim's nose before kissing him. Then he shoved Tim towards the bathroom.

He went through the bedroom first, snagging some clean clothes, and then went into the bathroom. He quickly stripped and showered, making sure to clean his hair thoroughly, he shaved when he got out, and quickly brushed his teeth as instructed, because frankly, he didn't remember the last time he had done that and didn't want to make his boyfriends deal with that.

When he got back out, admittedly feeling a little better, he noted Bart and Kon's bags on his bed. He just sighed and shook his head, walking back to the main room. He could already smell the tomatoey scents of Italian food, and wondered what all those two had actually brought with them. There was some form of pop music playing, and he could hear Bart happily singing along to it, Kon chiming in occasionally with the choruses. Tim chuckled and looked around the living room.

They had cleaned up trash and dishes and fixed the pillows on the sofa. The curtains had been opened, and a candle was burning on the coffee table and all the glasses and mugs and plates had been removed. Tim walked over and leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching Bart dart around and cook, while Kon washed dishes.

"This that hot girl bummer anthem. Turn it up and throw a tantrum~" Bart sang, doing a little dance as he darted from the fridge back to the stove, throwing a few things into a sauce.

"What are you making?" Tim asked softly, but they both heard him.

"Hey! He's clean!" Bart announced cheerfully. "And I am making lasagna! Max's special recipe."

Tim hummed in response, grinning back at the speedster.

"So are you two going to eat me out of house and home by the end of tomorrow, or?"

Kon shot Tim a smirk. "Depends."

"Ugh, Kent! I meant food!"

Conner laughed, rinsing one last dish before drying his hands, walking over and pulling Tim up against his front.

"I never said that wasn't what I meant, did I?"

"No. . . But with you there's always some kind of innuendo."

Kon huffed in mock annoyance, before ducking his head and gently kissing Tim a few times. Tim tilted his face up and obliged, wrapping his arms around Kon's neck.

"I missed you," Kon mumbled lightly, his hands sneaking up Tim's soft cotton shirt that may or may not have belonged to Kon at some point.

"I missed you too," Tim responded instinctually, not really realizing exactly how true that was.

"Then why didn't you let us come sooner?" Bart's voice asked and then he was slipping between their arms, sandwiching himself between them.

Tim laughed, giving the pouting Bart a few kisses, turning him from pouty Bart to smiley Bart.

"Because I didn't want you guys getting sick."

"Tim we literally can't."

"Did you confirm that?"

"Yeah. I called Lex and asked. And you know as well as I do that Bart can't get sick from these things."

Tim sighed, looking down at Bart, then up at Kon. "Well either way, it's too late now."

Once the lasagna was in the oven, Bart made Tim help him finish cleaning, sweeping floors and dusting things, meanwhile Kon just sat by and gave unhelpful commentary and got occasionally whacked with cleaning supplies. Once the apartment was properly cleaned, and feeling much better, they decided to properly move Bart and Kon into Tim's room, even though they had stated they'd probably be leaving to get more clothes and such. And probably their dogs.

Tim sat on his bed and watched them unpack bathroom supplies and clothes and other various personal items. Phone chargers got plugged in his few remaining wall outlets and things got shoved into previously neat areas.

"Were you really gonna stay here all by your lonesome?" Bart asked, flopping down onto the bed next to Tim and idly bumping his thigh with his knee.

"It wouldn't have been forever, Bart. I was probably gonna go to the manor eventually."

"Ew, and be around your brothers?"

"They are my family, Bart."

"I know but still. . . "

Tim chuckled and shook his head fondly, moving to lay partially over Bart and softly kiss him.

"Wait, is Keystone even in quarantine yet?"

"Uhhh." Bart grinned sheepishly.

"Bartholomew!"

Bart just giggled a little. "I'm sorry, but I wanted to come too!"

Tim just shook his head and then dropped it to Bart's chest, laying on him and listening to his breathing.

"Hey, this looks like a cuddle pile in the making."

Both of them groaned when Kon flopped - gently - on top of Tim.

"Kon you big lug! Get off!" Tim whined, pushing up on his hands and knees, trying to dislodge Kon, who didn't move.

"Why, I thought you liked cuddle piles?" Kon giggled out, nuzzling at Tim's neck and causing him to squeak.

"Not when I'm being squished!"

Kon gave an over dramatic groan, but moved, rolling and pulling them both on top of him. It took a bit of squirming before they were comfortable, one on either side of Kon, heads on his shoulder, hands clasped on top of his stomach. They laid there and chatted idly, with no concern for anything that might interrupt their lives.

"Bart the oven is going off."

And just like that, Bart was gone. A couple seconds passed, then he was back, snuggling right up against Kon again.

"Where were we?"

Both Kon and Tim just started laughing.

Once dinner was ready, they sat on the sofa and binged a couple episodes of Broadchurch before settling into another cuddle pile. Their default form was cuddle pile. Then eventually Bart got bored with sitting still, so they turned on Mario Kart, played a few normal rounds to watch Kon and Bart suffer, then Tim turned on the mod he had made to make the game go super fast.

He had learned not to watch the screen while this was happening. That's how you got eye damage.

"I'm gonna go do a little patrolling," Kon said, standing after Bart had beat him, again.

"Oh. Okay. Be careful, give a call if you need any help," Tim said, looking up from his laptop.

"Yeah, if I need anything, I'll call Bart."

"Kon."

"Hey, you're grounded, remember?"

Tim sighed, stretching up so Kon could kiss him. Kon chuckled and did so, then bent over the back of the sofa to kiss Bart, before disappearing into the bedroom to change. Then he called a goodbye on the way out the window. Tim and Bart looked at each other.

"So what are we doing then?"

Tim shrugged vaguely and looked back at his laptop.

"Well I'm gonna keep playing my game then."

"Okay."

Bart left him alone for a solid twenty minutes, which was a bit of a record for him, then he was tugging on Tim's laptop, trying to steal it.

"Yes, Bart?"

"I wanna cuddle."

"Cuddle?"

Bart's silence cause Tim to look over, and found he was pouting. Tim chuckled and saved his files, setting the laptop on the floor, then moving so his back was on an armrest, and opened his arms for Bart. Bart practically dove forwards, laying between Tim's legs, head on his chest, arms around his stomach. Tim chuckled and adjusted a bit for his own comfort, then let himself relax with Bart.

Eventually they turned on a movie and just laid together, idly chatting. There would be plenty of time for work later, Tim decided. But for now, he'd spend time with Bart. He may be stuck with these two for months before restrictions laxed, but he would take every moment he could, just to spend time with them while he could.

Kon got back after a few hours, stumbling back through the window, and giving them a grin, but he didn't come over, just walked away into the bathroom, leaving the scent of soot and acid in his wake.

"He's stinky," Bart remarked, still laying on Tim's chest.

"Hmmn, stinky boy."

Bart sniggered. Tim had, at some point, set his laptop on Bart's ass and was still working. Was it the most effective or romantic? No. But Bart didn't mind and it was keeping Tim from getting bored.

Then his phone started ringing.

"Bart, grab that for me please?"

Bart quickly grabbed the phone from the coffee table before immediately settling back into place.

"Yello?"

"Hey, Timmy."

"Hi Dick, what's up?"

"Nothing, just wanted to check in and see how things were going with you."

Tim glanced down at Bart.

"I'm okay."

"Yeah? Just hanging out and working on cases, I assume?"

"Yeah, I'm working on that March case."

Dick hummed from across the line.

"Well, are you sure you don't want to come to the manor?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Honestly I'm surprised you're there. I thought you'd be with Wally?"

There was a pause.

"I was going to, but he got directly exposed the day before he was supposed to come down, and he didn't want to risk it until he discovered if speedsters could actually catch it."

"Hmmn, I have it on good authority they can't."

"Is that so?"

"Yup."

"They're there with you, aren't they?"

Tim just grinned, even though Dick couldn't see it. His brother laughed.

"Tim, you scoundrel."

"Listen, I told them no, they wouldn't listen to me, and then when they showed up, it was too late because Bart like, immediately kissed me."

"Hell yeah I did."

Dick just laughed again. Tim could envision him fondly shaking his head.

"So, I'll let you go then, I'm sure you guys have some catching up to do, if you know what I mean."

"Oh my god, shut up," Tim laughed out, even as he started playing with Bart's hair.

"Just speaking the truth!"

"Goodbye, Dick."

"Bye, Timmy! Love you, stay safe!"

"You too!"

Tim hung up the phone and let it fall to the ground beside the sofa.

"Oh good, you're off. I didn't want to come do this with your brother still on the phone."

Tim tilted his head back to see a shirtless Kon standing over him, grinning, hair still dripping slightly from his shower. He bent down and deeply kissed Tim. Tim gave a surprised noise and reached a hand up, resting it on Kon's jaw. When he pulled away, leaving Tim breathless, he just grinned mischievously, then moved so he was closer to Bart.

"Bartie."

"Hmmn?" When the ginger picked his head up, Kon kissed him the same.

Bart just grinned at him after, and put his head back on Tim's chest.

"Do you guys want a snack, because I'm starving."

Tim watched Kon walk away, and just had to laugh.

It was lucky the three of them were huge cuddlers, because otherwise they would not have fit in Tim's queen sized bed. Not with Kon's huge shoulders. After their snacks, Bart had to literally steal Tim's laptop, and then Kon decided to carry him to the bathroom to get ready for bed, instead of just letting him walk.

As the three of them laid in bed, a few minutes later, more focused on lazily kissing then actually sleeping, Tim decided that if he was going to be quarantined anywhere, being in his apartment with his amazing, dumb, loving boyfriends couldn't be the worst solution. And it was, by far, preferable over going to the manor. So he would happily keep his mouth shut and let them fret over him. Because he loved them. And they loved him.

@core-disaster-week-2020 originally written for @unknownunseenunheard !!

#timkonbart week #core disaster week #core disaster #timkonbart #tim drake #conner kent #bart allen #covid #covid 19 #pandemic #covid pandemic #covid quarantine #dick grayson #queerbutstillhere writes

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queerbutstillhere · 5 years ago

Text

For @unknownunseenunheard

- You can't come over tomorrow.

~ what do you mean? "Can't"?

- Gotham is on quarantine. Mandatory. Only medical personel allowed out. Hell, even the JL grounded us.

• I'm seeing can't, but hearing "help me please"

- guys. This is serious.

• for you, maybe. Timmie, we can't get sick from Covid. Kon is alien, and my metabolism is just too fast for it.

- Bart..

~ he's right, Tim.

- Do not encourage him, Kon.

- you two are not allowed to come.

Tim sighed, staring at his laptop monitor. He had been stuck in quarantine for three days now. Alone in his apartment. He could probably suit up and hightail it across town to get to the manor if he wanted, but bring quarantined alone sounded far more appealing then bring quarantined in the manor with his siblings. Dick would probably drag him into nightly board (read: bored) games, Bruce would be constantly trying to bond, Damian would probably never stop insulting him. Duke and Cass would probably be fine, but Duke was easily roped into Dick's shenanigans, and Cass had that habit of creeping up on you.

Amusingly, Tim had seen a headline from Star City about Red Hood and Arsenal highjacking a supply truck full of toliet paper and medical supplies and redistributing it among the poor and homeless, as well as stealing from some stores and making care packages for the homeless.

But now, his idiot boyfriends, severly upsetted by the fact that their Thursday date night had been cancelled, were texting and calling him non-stop, trying to convince him to let them come, finding out if he needed anything ("do you have food?" "Yes, Kon." "I'm talking real food, Tim. Not some Rice Krispies and a few boxes of cereal." "Conner."), and constantly fretting over him. Did he mention they kept whining about missing date night? Well they did. Even the suggestion that they could still hang out with each other didn't appease them. ("But we need our Robin! Our birdie!")

So he really shouldn't of been surprised to hear his door open on Thursday evening.

But yet, he was.

"Oh, I'm so scared," a chipper voice said, with a laugh.

"Bart?!" Tim exclaimed, half in shock and anger.

Standing in the entry way of his apartment was Bart Allen and Conner Kent. Conner was carrying several bags of groceries, and Bart had a couple jugs of milk and juice.

"What are you two doing?!" Tim hissed, glaring.

"Uh, visiting, duh?"

Bart zipped to the fridge, putting up his jugs, and then dumping a backpack that Tim hadn't noticed earlier onto the floor.

"Bart," Tim said, his tone dropping.

He noted Kon was also carrying a duffel bag. The man just smiled and then turned to walk into the kitchen.

"Nonono, I know what's going on here, you two aren't staying."

"Why not? We can't get it, and you're just gonna . . ." Bart motioned at the messy living room. "Besides, what if we quarantine ourselves with you."

"Well, because! Because. . . " Tim scowled at him.

He was starting to lose his energy to argue. And he was getting pretty lonely.

"And also, now if you need something, one of us can just zip over to metropolis and pick it up, or go do laundry at Clark and Lo's," Kon called from the kitchen.

"And if you do get sick! You'll have us to look after you!" Bart exclaimed, zipping over and kissing Tim before he could protest.

Tim glared at him, then at Conner, who had moved to the doorway. They both just grinned at him.

"Fine. Fine! You can stay!"

Bart whooped and kissed Tim again.

"Okay, first things first. You need to take a shower, man," Bart told him, wrinkling his nose. "Or else no cuddles."

Tim, touch starved as always, found himself immediately hating that idea.

"Also, we need to clean this place up. So, you go shower and brush your teeth and stuff, Kon and I will clean up and start supper!"

Tim huffed at him, but obeyed, heading towards the bathroom, stopping by Conner first to give him a quick kiss.

He went through the bedroom first, snagging some clean clothes, and then went into the bathroom, he quickly stripped and showered, making sure to clean his hair throughly, he shaved when he got out, and quickly brushed his teeth as instructed, because frankly, he didn't remember the last time he had done that. When he got back out, admittedly feeling a little better, he noted Bart and Kon's bags on his bed. He just sighed and shook his head, walking back to the main room. He could already smell the tomatoey scents of Italian food, and wondered what all those two had actually brought with them. There was some form of pop music playing, and he could hear Bart happily singing along to it, Kon chiming in occasionally with the choruses. Tim chuckled and looked around the living room. They had cleaned up trash and dishes and fixed the pillows on the sofa. The curtains had been opened, and a candle was burning on the coffee table. Tim walked over and leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching Bart dart around and cook, while Kon washed dishes.

"This that hot girl bummer anthem. Turn it up and throw a tantrum~" Bart sang, doing a little dance as he darted from the fridge back to the stove, throwing a few things into a sauce.

"What are you making?" Tim asked softly, but they both heard him.

"Hey! He's clean!" Bart announced cheerfully. "And I am making lasagna! Max's special recipe."

Tim hummed in response.

"So are you two going to eat me out of house and home by the end of tomorrow, or?"

Kon shot Tim a smirk. "Depends."

"Ugh, Kent! I meant food!"

Conner laughed, rinsing one last dish before drying his hands, walking over and pulling Tim up against him.

"I never said that wasn't what I meant, did I?"

"No. . . But with you there's always some kind of innuendo."

Kon huffed in mock annoyance, before ducking his head and gently kissing Tim a few times.

"I missed you," Kon mumbled lightly, his hands sneaking up Tim's soft cotton shirt that may or may not have belonged to Kon at some point.

"I missed you too," Tim responded instinctually, not really realizing exactly how true that was.

"Then why didn't you let us come sooner?" Bart's voice asked and then he was slipping between their arms, sandwiching himself between them.

Tim laughed, giving the pouting Bart a few kisses.

"Because I didn't want you guys getting sick."

"Tim we literally can't."

"Did you confirm that?"

"Yeah. I called Lex and asked. And you know as well as I do that Bart can't get sick from these things."

Tim sighed, looking down at Bart, then up at Kon. "Well either way, it's too late now."

While their dinner was cooking, they finished cleaning up the apartment, got the two of them moved into the bedroom properly, and then fell in a tangled mess on the sofa to wait for dinner. They ate while watching a movie, and Tim did have to admit, the lasagna was really good. After their movie, they played some video games, and then Kon left to do a little patrolling for Tim while he worked on some cases and Bart just did whatever it was Bart did.

It was lucky the three of them were huge cuddlers, because otherwise they would not have fit in Tim's queen sized bed. Not with Kon's huge shoulders. After Kon got back and showered, Bart had to literally steal Tim's laptop, and then Kon had to carry him to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

#i cant believe you got me to write a corona thing #curses #the things i do for family #timkonbart #tim drake #conner kent #bart allen #corona quarantine #quarantine fics #omg they were quarantined #queerbutstillhere #queerbutstillhere writes

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everwitch-magiks · 5 years ago

Text

dance with somebody (ch. 8)

start from ch. 1 | back to ch. 7 | read on ao3

Whiskey rolls out of bed, his mind still foggy.

He gingerly steps around the mattress on the floor, where Beth and Melanie are still fast asleep, and manages to close the door behind him with minimum sound. Across the hallway, the door to Chowder’s room is ajar, and Whiskey can hear two people snoring in there. It’s no surprise, really – Leo and Jeremy were still dominating the Haus dance floor when Whiskey finally stumbled up the stairs last night. Or, more accurately, this morning – Whiskey thinks it might’ve been around half past three, but he’s not entirely sure. In any case, those two could probably sleep for a week.

A kegster is always a kegster, but last night? Last night was a kegster.

Whiskey will have to remember to get Chowder something as thanks for letting Beth’s friends crash in his room. Then again, Whiskey thinks with a grin, it probably wasn’t a huge inconvenience for Chowder to stay over at Cait’s.

Whiskey sleepily pads his way into the Haus kitchen, only to be met with… Nothing. A resounding abundance of nothing.

There’s nobody in the kitchen.

Whiskey blinks.

Dex did say he had a thing this Sunday – something about a mandatory captain’s meeting at too fucking early o’clock. Obviously, he’d have left for that already, or he’d be running late. Meaning, Dex isn’t at the Haus. Dex won’t be making post-kegster breakfast.

Oh.

The kitchen is something of a mess – although, to be fair, it could’ve been a lot worse. There’s an open garbage bag hanging from one of the chairs, evidence that someone’s already cleared out a whole lot of paper cups – Dex, Whiskey suspects, since no one else seems to be awake yet. The kitchen counter is still covered in a myriad of half-empty bottles and cans, but the sink looks recently rinsed and someone’s clearly swept the worst remnants of the kegster off the floor.

Still. There’s no way they can have post-keg breakfast with the kitchen looking like this.

Without even really thinking about it, Whiskey rolls up his sleeves and gets to work.

Fifteen minutes later, when Tango wanders into the kitchen, Whiskey has actually dealt with the worst of it. There’s three filled garbage bags out in the hallway, the kitchen counter is wiped clean and he’s opened the windows to let in some fresh air.

“Hey,” Tango mutters, his voice somewhat hoarse from last night’s escapades, and Whiskey can hear the question in his voice before he asks. “S’Dex?”

“That captain thing.”

“Huh.”

Tango surveys the clean but decidedly breakfast-less kitchen for a moment.

Then he shrugs.

“Scrambled eggs?” he offers. “Probably the best I can do.”

“Yeah,” Whiskey affirms, after a beat. “That’d be great, T.”

Tango’s already opening the refrigerator, pulling out several cartons of eggs while stifling a yawn.

For a moment, Whiskey simply watches Tango. He’s not quite sure what to do with his hands. Or with himself at all, really.

Somewhat hesitantly, Whiskey makes his way over to the shelf by the microwave. It’s where Dex keeps the spiral notebook with the plain, grey front, the one that’s scribbled full of all the recipes Dex uses for baking and cooking. It’s no coincidence that Whiskey’s never gone anywhere near that thing – whenever anyone is using the Haus kitchen for more than making a sandwich, Whiskey tends to feel more comfortable anywhere else.

Which is why Whiskey can’t keep himself from glancing furtively in Tango’s direction, as he slowly reaches for Dex’s notebook.

Tango meets his eyes briefly. Then he yawns again, and keeps stirring his bowl of eggs.

Whiskey still hesitates, before carefully opening the notebook.

He skims through the first few pages, quickly flipping past them. It’s pie, plus more pie, and Whiskey immediately recognizes Bitty’s neat penmanship. Which is just, no. Anything Whiskey can throw together wouldn’t even begin to compare.

The next section is a little more promising – there’s a couple of pancake variations that don’t seem too tricky, except Whiskey’s pretty certain they don’t have an abundance of milk at the moment, and there’s a basic omelet that might’ve worked if Tango wasn’t using up all the eggs.

The next page makes Whiskey pause.

Scones.

That’s funny.

And not too complicated, Whiskey realizes, as he reads through the remarkably brief instructions. Measure, mix, bake. Right.

He holds the notebook up for Tango to evaluate.

“Think I’ll fuck it up?”

Tango takes a moment to skim the page. Then he shrugs.

“Better than nothing, yeah?”

Whiskey nods in agreement. Then he gets to work.

A while later, Ford enters the kitchen. She’s got her sunglasses on and is clutching an Annie’s takeaway cup, no doubt a double espresso. As soon as she looks up, she stops dead in her tracks.

There’s a ton of scrambled eggs, all piled up in the biggest bowl Tango could find, as well as a huge pile of slightly dry vanilla scones. Whiskey’s dug through the refrigerator and found several jars of lemon curd and blueberry jam to go with the scones, and Tango’s made a whole pot of coffee. There’s orange juice, too, and some milk for the coffee, and Whiskey’s just put on some tea in case anyone prefers that.

It’s breakfast.

“What the hell,” Ford mutters, pushing her sunglasses into her hair. She snatches up a scone and nibbles on it experimentally. “Huh. Neat.”

“I made the eggs!” Tango proclaims, not without pride. “But Whiskey’s really behind most of this. He was already going at it by the time I showed up.”

“That’s a significant exaggeration,” Whiskey cuts in, because really, it’s not even true. “I just. I wanted…”

He trails off. He’s not sure what he wanted.

Thankfully, half the hockey team chooses that moment to descend.

“Food! All right!”

“Please tell me there’s coffee, please.”

“Yo, Whiskey, you made those? ‘Swasome.”

Whiskey finds himself taking a step back, just watching. He wasn’t expecting to feel this way. Although actually, Whiskey’s not even sure if he knows how to label what he’s feeling, exactly, as he watches everyone dig into something he tried his best to make for them.

Suddenly, Dex appears in the doorway. Whiskey feels his mouth drying up as Dex surveys the room with furrowed brows, before Dex’s eyes land on the still open spiral notebook on the counter. Right next to Whiskey.

Dex meets his eyes.

“You made this?”

“Tango cooked the eggs.” Whiskey’s got a feeling that’s a phrase he’ll be repeating. “It was, uh. Yeah.”

Dex nods, slowly, taking it all in.

Then he grins.

“‘Swasome. Next time, you guys have to give me a hand with post-keg breakfast, captain’s orders. We can always use a few more scones in the world.”

��Now that’s a fact!” Pippin hollers – immediately, Joyo and Jader cheer. “Samwell class of 2021, make some noise!”

“Yo,” Nursey grumbles. “The kegster was last night. Chill, Scones.”

“Woah.”

Beth and Melanie have just entered the kitchen, hand in hand. Mel’s rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Beth is blinking a lot as she takes everything in.

“This is a frat house,” she states, addressing no one in particular. “And yet…”

“Ah, but you see, post-keg breakfast is an important SMH tradition,” Tango informs her brightly. “Go ahead, grab a scone. No – not Pippin. One of these.”

“Huh.” Beth slides into the chair next to Tango as she bites into a vanilla scone. “Oh. Nice.”

“Whiskey made them. I made the eggs!”

Beth looks up abruptly, meeting Whiskey’s eyes. Whiskey still doesn’t have the right words for any of this. He shrugs, instead.

Beth’s smile is warm.

“Get over here, C – come on, grab a chair. I wanna have breakfast with my favorite cousin before we’ve got to head back to Columbia.”

That sets Whiskey into motion. He finds himself a chair and squeezes it in between Beth and Ford, before carefully taking a scone from the now half-empty plate. Tango pours him a cup of coffee, and Mel passes him the jam.

Whiskey tentatively bites into his vanilla scone with blueberry jam.

It's actually pretty good.

(ch. 9)

#check please #omgcheckplease #omgcp #connor whisk #tony tangredi #denice ford #OC: Bethany Whisk #william poindexter #Pippin the scone #also more scones actually a lot of scones #kegster #post-kegster breakfast #fluff #very little angst #like less than a smidge #friendship #dance with somebody #evie writes #fanfiction

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minsyal · 5 years ago

Text

Stan83, [Sam x Reader]

Word Count: 6k

Summary: The life of a hunters assistant wasn’t easy, especially when two of them come knocking on your door posing as Agents investigating the recent deaths in the area.

Warnings: General SPN stuff, nothing crazy

This was the third time you had woken in the middle of the night. This was the third time you had jolted upward in bed only to find an empty room and unsettling feeling falling to the pit of your stomach. This was the third time you had searched your home in the dark of night with an old metal baseball bat that you kept beneath your bed. This was the third time you had found countless open windows with no recollection of leaving them so. This was the third time you had come to the conclusion that nobody was here. It was just you.

It was later than usual, or perhaps simply earlier in the morning. The clock on your bedside table blinked on and off in big red numbers “4:45 AM.” Your job wasn’t exactly a nine to five with a set lunch break and mandatory stopping points throughout the day. You were an on-call, entirely electronic, assistant to the vast grapevine of hunters that so chose to reach out. Who they were didn’t matter to you. For all you knew, you were telling vampires how to kill one another and witches where to find the ingredients they needed for an unsuspecting ghoul.

The tradition passed through generations of your family, from grandfather to father and now to you. Your father had decided he wanted more thrill in his life; he didn’t want to be tied down to his computer desk for the rest of eternity. That decision led to hunting, and within months he had passed. Your mother, on the other hand, was a runaway. She abandoned the family as soon as she learned of your father’s secret life.

Ice crept from the old, cracked tiles of your kitchen. Fall’s spiny fingers had wretched themselves from the ground and were now climbing your legs, sending chills up your spine. The tiles weren’t helping much. They hadn’t seen white in years and were now permanently stained what you preferred to call cream. Going bad to bed, while the best outcome of the night, was no use as your phone and computer lit up with five new notifications all from “Stan83.”

Hey, crazy story. Need your help.

Hunting – little to no details – marks on victims

You there?

It can wait if you’re busy.

Sorry if this wakes you up.

Stan83 had quickly become one of your favorite hunters to converse with. He, you assumed, was in his late twenties to early thirties based on the “83” in his name. He had told you little to no information about himself other than the fact that he hunted with his brother and moved all over the country. Your conversations were more casual: what did you have for lunch, what are you hunting today, what type of music do you like, what’s up. The simple things. A few conversations spiraled. It was rare for them to happen. Only when big things happened and Stan83 had no one else to talk to would he pick up the phone and send a text.

Picking your mug up from the counter, you flicked the kitchen light off and started for your room where you’d likely spend the rest of the day. Your desk was a mess. Books littered the surface opened to all sorts of weird information that anyone would have you locked in an institution for. Scribbled notes were pinned up on your wall that detailed the whereabouts of those you spoke with. If they didn’t contact you for about a month, you’d contact them.

You didn’t wake me up. You responded, waiting for only a moment before a small text bubble popped up indicating that the person on the other side was typing.

You sure? It’s 5:00am. Stan83 answered. It was easy to imagine the tone he used, a little sarcastic, a little smug.

That wasn’t you. It was the nightmares. It’s 5 for you too? Finally taking a spin in the BEST time zone, huh?

The best time zone that spans about 600 miles?

Ok, sass me then. What’s up?

Weird hunt. Women in this town are dying at a pretty fast rate. Their children are acting strange. Weird marks on their necks are making fathers think they’re cheating.

I’ll take a look through what I have and get back to you.

Thank you Sav!

Sav, your own nick. It was the easiest to think of on the spot when your old system had gone kaput and you needed to as quickly as possible set up a new database and communication network. It’s short for saver, or savior, or whatever the hell these hunters wanted to believe. Maybe it meant savvy but given the state of your home and wardrobe you wouldn’t put money on that.

The rest of the morning consisted of research. Each lore book and journal your father left behind was thoroughly scanned through with big yellow sticky notes marking the pages that held possible leads. With your luck, you’d be able to message Stan83 back by noon with possibilities. That is, you would have been able to message Stan83 back if your doorbell hadn’t rung 13 times in a row at an alarming rate.

You passed by the entry hall warily. Nobody in this town really knew you, and you didn’t care to know them either. The only people who dared step foot on your property were usually city officials complaining of the broken window on your small garage or political campaigners who were being paid to pester and harp on people for votes.

The figures beyond were large, looming even. Two dark shadows were cast over your frosted-glass door and you watched as the shorter of the two raised his hand once more to ring the bell another five times. “I’m coming!” You finally yelled back, turning quickly to the mirror in your hall that held no particular purpose, but it was supposedly your mothers. You looked awful. If the garage hadn’t scared off whoever stood beyond your home’s threshold, your physical appearance definitely would.

Loose hairs fell from the messy, slept-in ponytail that hung lazily and lopsided at the back of your head. Your skin was flushed from the lack of breakfast, and now lunch as you had lost track of time attempting to help one of your favorite hunters. The shirt you wore was luckily clean, but the sweatpants had small holes from where they had caught on the kitchen counter and torn.

“What can I do for you?” You asked without bothering to look at the two men standing on your front porch. Nobody knew of your “hunting” life, so there was a slim to no possibility of any real threat coming to your door. Unless, of course, these were tax collectors coming to repossess something for another unpaid credit card.

The shorter of the two men spoke “Agent Stark,” he quickly flashed an ID, “Banner,” he motioned to the taller man beside him, “we’re here to investigate the deaths of a few of your neighbors. Do you mind if we come in?”

You took a moment, Stark and Banner, really? “Let me get a look at that ID.” You nodded your head in the direction of his coat pocket where he had neatly tucked the leather protected card. Agent Banner acted faster. “Here.”

Banner, or whoever this was, was far taller than the man who self-identified himself as Tony Stark. He had the classic triangle shape to his body, broad shoulders, slim waist. His hair was formally tucked back from his face, but strands kept falling from his ears as he shifted from foot to foot waiting for your determination. Mr. Stark was shorter, but still a giant none-the-less. He had a finely set jaw, green eyes, and a short business-cut style to his hair.

“Mr. Banner.” You pressed your lips together. The ID was awful. The leather was fake, scratched and worn from what you guessed to be a few uses. “Where’d you get this ID?” Twisting it in your hand, you offered it back to him.

“The Federal Bureau of Investigation, ma’m.” He replied smoothly, not showing how his heart rate picked up at your questioning of their identities.

“In some back alley?” You shrugged. “At least choose realistic names next time.”

“Look.” Agent Stark stiffened as he crossed his arms over his chest. Agent Banner immediately went wide-eyed and motioned for him to stop whatever he was about to do. “We’re here to investigate your neighbor’s deaths. Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?”

Waiting a moment, you held your grip on the door, willing it to close any second. “You got guns on you?” An eyebrow raise from Agent Stark confirmed your suspicions.

“Leave them in your little muscle car over there.” You peered between them at the black Impala parked on the road. It was pristine, well taken care of, clearly waxed recently. “Then come back and we can talk.”

Hunters, while difficult to talk to online, are insufferable in person. These big meat heads always want to get their way. They never relent and admit they’re wrong or they’ve been caught. So, when the two nodded and began off your doorstep toward the car, you were taken aback.

Both unloaded two guns from their waistbands. “Other weapons too!” You yelled from the step. Agent Stark grumbled something inaudible as Agent Banner seemed to soothe him.

Why are all you hunters so horrible? You typed into your phone, smiling as you pressed send and immediately saw Stan83 typing back.

What happened this time?

Real hunters interrupting my work! I think I got you guys some leads though. Will tell you later. Gotta deal with these bozos.

Bozos? Really?

Guess I inherited my father’s vocabulary too.

“Alright, Iron Man and the Incredible Hulk.” You were perched upon the arm of one of your recliners, arms crossed over your chest as you eyed the two men looking out of place in your small living room. “You’re hunters, I know. Real names?”

“I’m Sam.” The taller of the two said, being stopped with an arm over his chest from the shorter one. “What?” He shook his head. “She obviously knows…”

“Too much.” The shorter one said. “Who are you?”

“Nobody important.”

“Important enough to know what hunting is.”

“[Y/N.]” You replied, shifting in your seat. “Ok, your turn.”

“Dean.”

“Last names?”

“Confidential.”

“Mhm.” You hummed, really uncaring of their last names but trying to pry anyway. Sam tilted his head, looking around the house. “What do you think you’re hunting?”

“Aren’t sure yet.” Sam piped up, snapping his attention back to you. “Have you been keeping up with the news here lately?”

“I rarely leave this place. I don’t even know my neighbors.”

“We can tell.” Dean chimed in earning himself a heavy elbow to the gut. Sam shot him a dirty look before turning back to you. “A couple of women have died. Their husbands think they’re cheating on them, but after they pass their children disappear too.”

“Sounds like a changeling.”

“Told you.” Dean commented, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back on the couch.

“Grab some matches and go crazy.” You pushed yourself up from your chair. “Wait here a second.” Escaping to the back hall, you returned to your desk and began to gather a few things about changelings that you had read this morning.

I think we figured it out. A message stopped you from returning to Sam and Dean. It was Stan83.

No, wait I figured it out first.

Why didn’t you tell me, then?

Because I like keeping secrets from you.

“Hurry up back there, will you?” Dean’s voice called from the living room.

“Hold your horses.”

“My what?” You heard Dean whisper to Sam who either didn’t respond or responded quietly. “Dude would you get off your phone?”

“Here. A couple pages in this should help. I’d loan them to you, but I’m not sure I’d get them back.” The books landed on the coffee table in front of the two. Dean began palming through the contents while Sam sat glued to his phone, typing something quickly.

“Did you not listen to me a second ago?” Dean bickered. “Phone, off. Hunt, now.”

Sam pressed something speedily, closing his phone before pocketing it out of sight. Your phone in your own pocket buzzed, causing you and Sam to stop. Dean hadn’t noticed, he was enthralled in the journal you had presented to him. “Where’d you get this?” He asked, not looking away from the page.

“Grandfather had it.” You began to pull your phone out of your pocket. “He passed it down from one of his hunting buddies to my father and now to me.”

Secrets are supposed to be for crushes and broken plates, not things that are killing people.

Oops! You typed back slowly, eyeing Sam who was doing the same. When you hit send a notification rang from his pocket causing Dean to groan.

“Stan83?” The words scrambled from your lips before your tongue had time to catch them. Dean snorted as he shook his head and flipped the journal’s page.

“Sav?” Sam replied as Dean gave yet another snort, this time accompanied by a head shake. “Are we still bozos?”

“You called us bozos?” Dean chuckled.

~~*~~

Sam is Stan83. You’re Sav. That much you can say for sure. After the initial shock of it all, you quickly mellowed out and fled to the back room to gather the materials you were saving to message Stan83 with. Turns out, you had just saved yourself an hour of typing.

Stan83 was far different from Sam. Stan83 presented himself as a somewhat sarcastic, confident, flirtatious man while Sam sat much smaller despite his frame. He was clumsy and nervous, stumbling over a few of his words before catching himself as he went full speed down a hill. When he had attempted to describe what he looked like, he was being modest. He said he was tall, had an average build, brown hair, and liked to run. You had assumed he was skinnier and less muscle.

Sam blushed at each comment you made concerning your conversations online; you could never imagine Stan83 to be a blusher. He was so different, yet so similar. In a way, it was endearing.

“So, it’s targeting women on this block?” You frowned; your hand outstretched to Dean as he accepted the coffee you had just made. “Good thing I’ve got no kids.” You joked.

“That’s the thing, though.” Sam had long since discarded his blazer and was now sitting in the armchair you had initially been sitting on. “It’s targeting all women. We think there may be more than one.”

“Well, yeah. Changelings have kids.”

“No, he means more than one adult changeling.” Dean added.

“They don’t typically work together like that, though.”

“Which is why we think it’s weird.”

“So, what’s the plan?”

The two brothers waited a moment before seemingly conversing without a single audible word. Dean raised his eyebrows, eyes moving back and forth between you and Sam. Sam immediately went on the defense. “Dean, no.”

“Come on! You don’t even know what I’m thinking.” Dean pouted. He brought his now-chilled coffee up to his lips, a frown laced upon his lips as the cold bitter liquid spilled over his tongue. “Gah.” He crinkled his face up and bit his lip. “It’s a good plan.”

“What is he talking about?”

“[Y/N],” Dean began, “me and Sam, big dudes. We aren’t exactly this things cup-of-tea. It’s going after women… and you happen to be a woman…”

“You guys want to use me as bait?”

“Correction. He wants to use you as bait.” Sam added.

“I’m not really a hunter though.” You shifted in your seat. “I can’t even shoot a gun.”

“Just think about it.” Dean said. He leant over and grabbed his blazer. Throwing it over his shoulder, he motioned for Sam to do the same. “We’re staying at the motel on highway 62. If you’re up for it, feel free to uh…” he pulled a slip of paper from his pocket – a fake business card, “call us.”

“I have Sam’s number, you know?”

“Right.” Dean withdrew the card and returned it to its rightful home, tucked away in his pocket.

~~*~~

The next day came and went with no contact to either Sam or Dean. You had relented and finally turned on the local news channel. Four women in your neighborhood had passed away with their children all going missing afterward. The fathers were sending out heartfelt pleas for their children’s safe returns. One woman was considered missing and immediately seen as a suspect in the eyes of the law.

You, along with two other women, were the only ones left on the block. One was a daughter living with her single father as she finished up her college degree. The other, a widowed elderly woman living alone with her two dogs.

~~*~~

“She’s not a hunter, Dean. We can’t just expect her to drop everything she knows and jump straight into action.” Sam groaned, throwing his blazer down on the old worn couch. The motel room was as they left it. The desk’s chair was pushed out slightly, an open laptop sitting upon the cracked oak wood. Each bed was still neatly made, the two brothers hadn’t had the chance to sleep yet as they only arrived in the morning.

“All she has to do is wait around at her home while we keep an eye on the other two. Something bad happens and we run 50 feet.”

“What if 50 feet is too much? She could get hurt.”

Dean pulled his shirt over his head, adjusting the neck before accessorizing with a blue button-up. He ran his fingers through his hair, wiping the excess gel on his jeans. Sam sat on the edge of one of the beds, already changed and working away on his computer.

“Fine. Then we have to figure out something else.”

~~*~~

Changelings are awful creatures. Not just awful looking, but awful in general. They act so quietly that it’s hard to detect them before they get their first few kills. Your eyes scanned the screen before you, days since you’d spoken to the brothers. It had been two days of waiting, watching, and hoping they’d finish this hunt.

4:45AM. The clock blinked. On and off, on and off, the red numbers illuminated the room. Your routine stood, wake, check the home, and return to assisting hunters. The window was open. It had been rather nice outside lately. Fall was setting in after a grueling humid summer and you were excited to have a good excuse to stay indoors.

Sorry about the other day. The message popped up around 6, and it took you til 7 to answer.

It’s okay. Typical hunter jazz. No big deal. You responded.

Do you mind if I stop by?

With your brother? This early in the morning?

Just me. Dean’s still sleeping.

You pondered for a moment. Sure, you had been talking to Sam for years at this point, but the Sam you had come to know was so vastly different from the Sam that knocked on your door impersonating the Incredible Hulk. It had been years since you actively attempted to converse with others in person. Your social life had mostly been contained to the world of technology.

Sure, give me 30. You regretted it the moment you hit send. What were you supposed to talk to him about? “No, I don’t want to be bait, but I also don’t want to come across as an asshole who doesn’t care?”

~~*~~

Sam sat, looking comically large, in the small armchair he had taken to the last time he visited. A fresh cup of coffee was warming the palms of his hands, fighting off the cold that spilled in from the windows. You sat on the couch, across from him, mirroring his position.

“So,” you started, breaking the strained silence that fell between you, “have you guys found anything on the changelings?”

“Nothing more than what you told us, and we already knew.” Sam sipped the coffee. “Hey, I uh, do you remember what we talked about a few years ago? That promise?”

Promises were touchy subjects in hunting. Often, they were meaningless. “You mean when I promised I’d quit drinking?”

He laughed, “Close, but no.”

“When I promised I’d never get into hunting?” He nodded. “Don’t worry, Sam. Not planning on…” You closed your eyes and began to speak, but upon opening them found him with a rather pensive look. He almost looked guilty. “You want me to bait the damn thing out, huh?”

“We’re out of leads. Dean and I have been watching the block for the past few days and we have nothing.”

“You’re asking me to break my promise?”

“Just for a night.”

“What happens when I die?”

“You’ll go to heaven.” He said as if there was no question to it. “But that’s not going to happen anytime soon. When it’s over, you’re going to be okay.”

“You promise?”

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I promise.” He brought the mug to his mouth, “and I won’t break mine like you break yours.”

“Hey!”

~~*~~

That’s how you ended up with all your doors unlocked, most of your windows parked, and a Black Impala parked a few doors down in front of an empty lot. You paced in the living room, nervous for whatever this night would hold. Sam promised you’d be okay, and you’d be damned if you didn’t hold him to that. Sam said if anything went haywire, he’d be on your doorstep in no time flat. Dean was happy to hear you had “come around” and briefed you on what you needed to do which was mostly “stay put, act normal.”

It was 12:00am when you finally moved to ready yourself for bed. Flicking off the lights, your eyes flitted from the curtains blowing slightly in the night to the computer screen that had long since gone dark. Sam and Dean were just outside, there was nothing to be nervous about. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Settling into bed, you felt the exhaustion of the day rush through your body. Everything felt heavy. Your eyelids attempted to will themselves closed, but you pushed yourself to remain awake. Just as darkness seeped into the corners of your vision, an incessant knocking pulled you back to reality.

“[Y/N]!” It was Sam. He continued knocking incessantly, with each collision of his knuckles to the door the knock got harder. A cold wave rushed over your body as you ran to the door, a sense of dread caused your arms and legs to go limp. Had something gone wrong already? “Come on!” He called. “Change of plan. We need to get out of here.”

The door opened loudly, the handle knocking against the wall shook the thin walls of the home. Sam’s eyes were wild, he looked scared. “Sam? What the hell is going on? Did you guys catch it?”

“It got away, come on. We have to get you somewhere safe.”

You followed him through the house to the back door but stopped dead in your tracks as you passed the hall. The mirror, the one you dreaded keeping around, caught your eye. Sam gripped tightly to your hand, tugging you forward. “Come on, [Y/N]. We need to go.” He insisted, pulling you harder now.

It was like nothing you could put to words. His eyes were hollowed, where hazel once looked back at you were now pools of black. His mouth had become round with hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny pointed teeth layering downward. Its skin was tanned and discolored. It looked dry but was slimy to the touch. The face that looked back at you was not Sam’s.

Tearing your hand from its, you cringed at the tiny lacerations left from its grip. “Sam” turned to you; his face was still human. He looked confused, slowly approaching you as you moved backward.

“Sam?” You yelled, hoping the real Sam was just outside.

“[Y/N]? Are you crazy? It’s me.” The changeling said, holding its hands up in a non-threatening way.

“Like hell! Sam!” You screamed now, continually taking steps backward. “Dean?”

“Hey!” The front door, which had been closed by the changeling, burst open with more force than before. It was Dean, but like Sam something was off. He wasn’t wearing the same red button-up that he had briefed you in. His hair looked longer, his posture was different, and his eyes were hollow.

There was no time to react as the world fell dark.

~~*~~

The crack of a door closing is what finally shook you awake. The room around you was your own, an unexpected sight. What happened last night was beyond you and whether this was real or not was as well.

“[Y/N]?” Footsteps echoed down the hallway, falling closer and closer with each step. “You awake?” It was Sam’s voice. He sounded more sound, solid even. There was a slight hesitation lacing his tone, something delicate, as if he was walking around broken glass. “Hey.” He let out a breathy huff of air, hazel eyes meeting yours.

Retracting in your bed, you moved against the wall to put as much space between the two of you as possible. Your hand quickly found the base of your neck where a rim of scabbed-over skin protruded in a circular shape. Your chest constricted; your heart felt as if it was crumpling up attempting to make itself as small as possible. Sam watched as your eyes widened and he felt a pang in his chest as you retreated away from him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he kept his body low, attempting to make himself as small as he could, “it’s me.” He mentally scolded himself for not taking precautions. “Hold on.” His held-out hand did nothing to ease your nerves. Sam returned a moment later with the mirror from the hall. It was cracked now, two large fractures split it down the middle. He positioned it against the wall opposite you and sat in front of it.

You expected the face from the night before. You expected those haunted hollow eyes, the dry scaly skin, the rounded-out mouth of razor-sharp teeth. Instead, you only saw Sam. His gaze was soft, brows drawn together. His lips parted slightly as he debated whether he should say something or not. He decided against it; you needed to be the first to act.

“It’s you.” You said, more to yourself as opposed to him. “What happened last night?”

His eyes flitted from your returning gaze in the mirror to the mark that now scarred your neck. “There were two. One was dragging you back in the woods while the other was fighting Dean. It’s dead. Dean knocked it out, took it out back, and burnt it.” Hesitantly, he moved from his position on the floor to a kneeling one in front of your bed.

“What about the other one?”

A crooked smile moved across his features. “You may need a new living room floor.”

“Is it bad?”

“If you’ve ever wanted new hard-woods, now’s the time.” He chuckled. “We’re going to stay in town another day, just to make sure everything is gone.”

~~*~~

You didn’t wake that night. The rising sun woke you along with the ding of a phone notification. It was one of your other hunters, requesting assistance on a hunt in Nevada. You stretched, feeling a dull ache in your muscles and a pop where one shouldn’t be. Slipping your phone from your nightstand, you promptly sent out a message to the other hunters in that area and discarded the technology in favor of the idea of finally sleeping in.

It was 11:00AM when you woke again. The bed was warm, a strong arm was slung over your side resting snugly against your stomach. Sounds of steady breathing filled the room; a heavy heartbeat played a calming melody in your ears.

It had been a long time since you shared a bed with anyone, but after the antics of the night before it was well-deserved. Sam didn’t offer, rather you did. You didn’t want to be alone.

“Morning.” His sleep-filled voice was smoother than his typical one. Groggily, Sam tugged you backward into his chest as he buried his face in your neck.

“Morning.” You replied, relishing in the moment you wished could last forever.

The day passed with ease. Dean had taken to the couch, insisting that the hole in the floor didn’t bother him and that he’d go out and purchase some planks to at least patch it up. Sam spent the day at your side. Most of it was spent lazily dozing, the rest was doing mundane tasks that seemed so little in comparison to what you experienced the day prior.

Sam had insisted that the effect would wear off soon. It was just some shock and trauma, he told you. It would all get better as time passed.

When the night returned along with Dean who had gone out to pick up dinner, you expected them to tell you they were heading out. But they didn’t. They chatted about nothing and everything at the same time, acting as if you had been part of the team for years. You had a lot in common with Dean, and just as much if not more with Sam. He was an intellectual, smart, kind, caring, and the softer-around-the-edges of the two.

“Hey,” Sam popped his head into your room as you readied yourself for bed, “Dean will be out on the couch. I’m going to set up on the floor out there. We’ll be here if you need anything.”

You felt something. Something sad. Your heart ached at his proclamation of staying down the hall from you. Nodding, you decided it was best. There was no reason to get attached to the boys, it’s not like they’d be coming back any time soon. You and Sam would eventually fall back into your routine of texting at all hours of the day and night and you’d become a distant memory of one of the hundreds of hunts they went on.

“Good night.”

With darkness came distortion. The pile of unlaundered clothing cast shadows across your room where shadows weren’t supposed to be. Despite the curtains being pulled taught over your window, red glowing eyes permeated the fabric and watched you for hours. It wasn’t real, you continually told yourself. It was just your mind playing tricks on you. But the tricks were cruel and holding you back from sleep.

You weren’t sure when you did finally slip into unconsciousness, but you were sure it didn’t last long. Strong hands shook you awake along with the soft coos of someone telling you it’s okay and that it’s all over now. You felt something, someone, in your bed. You laid in someone’s lap as they held your body close, rocking slowly back and forth.

“It’s just a dream.” It was Sam.

“Sam?” You felt meek, your voice mimicking that sentiment. “What happened?”

“You were screaming in your sleep.”

Feeling your face flush red, you wanted nothing more than to bury it along with the changeling in the forest beyond your yard. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Sam felt his heart drop at the sound you made before the tears fell. “You’re okay. You’ve been through a lot.”

“A lot?” The gates held no match to the tears that shook and clambered their rusted metal bars. Your vision blurred as you closed your eyes, willing away the oncoming storm. “I hardly saw anything!”

Sam didn’t respond, only held you tighter as he pressed wordless kisses to the top of your head. “Sam, how can I even call myself a hunter if I can’t even face something as weak as a changeling?” A heavy breath fell upon your lips as you inhaled deeply. “Useless.”

“You’re not useless.”

Hushed voices woke you, arguing about something incoherent as one voice raised over the other. Sam was no longer with you, but the bed was still warm where he had spent the night.

“We’re leaving today, Sam. Nothing’s around anymore.” A muted whisper danced down the hall.

“We can’t just leave her alone now.”

“She’s safe. Changelings gone, wiped out the entire family tree. I’ll be out in the car; we’ve got another case. Bobby called this morning.”

The front door shut, and footsteps fell down the hall toward your room. Sam peeked his head in, a smile immediately spreading across his face. “Hey.”

“You’re leaving?”

He sighed, wiping a hand down his face, dragging slightly at his chin. “Dean wants to get to the next case.”

“Oh.” You shifted in bed, propping yourself up on your arm. “Well, thank you.”

“I wish we could stay longer.” Sam moved to the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped as he sat on the corner, the weight willed you forward. He laid a hand on your shoulder. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Seeing Sam out was one of the first times you had taken a hard look at the hole in your floor. Dean had done a make-shift job in patching it up. Thin sheets of plywood were nailed together haphazardly with different sized nails hammered in here and there. The wood wobbled as you walked over it. Maybe it was time to skip town.

Dean stood on the curb with a disposable cup, with what you presumed to be filled with coffee, sipping away as he relished in the morning sun. Perking up, he waved a big hand to you. “Stay safe, kiddo!”

“Will do, Mr. Stark!” You hollered back, eliciting a laugh from Sam.

“You sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yeah.” You turned back to the living room. “I’ll probably have to move. I don’t need the cops on my tail for the missing people burnt in my backyard.”

Sam waited a moment, a thoughtful look on his face. He bit the inside of his mouth and glanced back to Dean who was now climbing into the driver’s side front seat. “You could come with us.”

“Sam.”

“I’m serious. We have a friend you could stay with. He does the same stuff you do. Lots of land, if you hate him you would never have to see him. He’s an older guy, a little rough-around-the-edges but has a good heart. It’s our home-base.” He grasped at your hand. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“I’ll consider it.”

~~*~~

“We’re home!” The front door slammed shut as two sets of footsteps fell down the front hall into the kitchen.

“Hunt go well?” You wiped your hands and moved to greet the hunter. Sam smiled, slipping his arm around you as he planted a kiss on your cheek. “Mhm.” He replied.

“What?” Bobby had hardly looked up from his desk as he tapped away on his phone. “No kiss for me?”

“Good to see you too, Bobby.”

Dean slid into the kitchen, making a disgusted face as he took in the scene before him. “Couples.” He grumbled, tugging the fridge door open and grabbing a beer. “No kiss for me either?” He grinned smugly, making quick time as he found a bottle opener and lost himself in the cold liquid.

It hadn’t taken long for you to accept Sam’s offer. After an entire five minutes of deliberation, you agreed. The important things fit perfectly into the back seat of the Impala, mostly books and electronics. Dean grumbled at the slight delay in events as he directed himself back home as opposed to the case. Your relationship with Sam had blossomed from there.

A ding rung out from the study. “That’s me!” You slipped out of Sam’s grasp. “Got work to do.”

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