#okay yes i know i have requests to do + this is an obscure fandom. just let me be self indulgent for a minute | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

readerinsertfanfiction · 4 years

Note

Hello baby! Can you write a scenario for sesshomaru? Theres a witch who spells a human girl with the snow white curse. she is asleep until true love kiss. Sesshomaru jaken and rin are walking in the forest and spot a her in a pedestal. And jaken explains what's going on and rin beggs sesshomaru to kiss her and after begging so much he does and she wakes up. Thanks sooo much!!!

I wasn’t too enthusiastic about this request, but then I thought: why not flip it around? Sesshomaru is so pretty, he could be Snow White with that hair, and yeah, that is how this came to be. Sorry if this isn’t what you wanted, but that is what my brain wanted!

Fandom: Inuyasha

Character: Sesshomaru

Once upon a time there was a demon, renowned for both his beauty and cruel strike. Man and beast alike were slaughtered by his hands, none spared, but their sight for at least they were granted a beautiful sight. It is after all the prettiest things in life that grant the quickest deaths.

However, even cruelty came to an end when the beast met man, reflected in the eyes of a young girl. The same girl that had offered the last of her food, just to help him. Sesshomaru learnt then that there was something worth in this world to protect, that not all deserved death.

Though blood doesn’t wash out with just water, and so the path of decay still trailed after the demon. Forgiveness was hard to find in his world, with grudges running deep and long, festering into their prolonged lives. It had only been a matter of time before one would catch on the changing man within, realising that the heir of the western lands was not as untouchable as he presented himself to be.

“Do you want a snack, little lady?” the market lady had offered kindly, extending an apple towards Rin. It had all started out so innocently, and the hungry girl had been staring at those delectable fruits for so long, she could barely hold herself together as she contemplated if she could.

“I don’t have any money,” she decided to admit instead, her distrust in humans still running strongly. Rin had learnt the hard way that nothing came for free and that this could have been another ploy to make her call for whatever guardians she had with money.

To this the market lady crooked a smile, her hand still wavering in the air with the apple resting in her palms.

“It is free of charge, darling. You look positively famished,” she had said, and to this Rin was stunned for a bit, her thoughts once more burrowing deep into her memories and previous interactions with adults.

To this the lady resolutely grabbed the hand of the girl, pushing the fruit into her little hand before dismissing Rin. “Now go, be sure to keep it a secret, okay?” the lady winked at the girl, finally convincing the young human that there might be some kindness left in the world.

“Lord Sesshomaru, look at what I got!” Rin was so happy to share in her loot, enthusiasm radiating off her for the little warmth she had experienced as she showed off the apple in hands, red and fat and glistening tantalising. “A lady gave it to me, but she told me to keep it a secret!” she brimmed, her heart so filled with hope for that little goodness that there was left in the world.

One sniff was all Sesshomaru needed to know, his eyes widening at the poison that wafted off the fruit, intending to harm the girl. Curling his lips up the man was about to reprimand the girl, for her naivety and her folly, but found that he was unable once he saw the happiness in her eyes.

Instead he swiped the apple out of her hands, earning a squeal from the human as he quickly swallowed the fruit whole, devouring the poison along with it.

“Weren’t you offering it to me?” he deadpanned at the pouting girl. He was glad to see that the poison did not harm her through touch, though he had already assumed that it was a poison meant to attack when ingested, which was why the demon said nothing of it, for his body would nullify the properties.

“Go wash your hands before you eat,” he commanded the girl, turning away as he went to rest near a tree.

He never quite woke up from that rest, worrying everyone alike.

“There is only one sort of poison that can do such,” Jaken mused to himself, his hand awkwardly rubbing up and down Rin’s back as he tried to soothe her. “However, it is very obscure and believed not to exist, so I’m not sure if it will help,” he warned the human, but felt his shoulders grabbed and shaken nonetheless.

“Oh, Master Jaken, if there is even the slightest chance we must take it!” the girl begged, to which Jaken could hardly fight against. It was just that the medicine was rather… unconventional.

“A true love’s kiss!” the girl exclaimed in front of you, her hands wrapped around yours so tightly and so determinedly as she pulled at you with all her might. You had noticed that the poor girl had lost weight since the last time you had met her, prompting you to question her about her diet.

“What does it matter what I eat! Lord Sesshomaru is in grave danger!” the girl had cried her heart out at you, shocking you senseless as you soothed the girl, carelessly promising the human that you would do anything, anything to help her.

This had prompted your appearance besides the sleeping demon.

“So, you are saying a true love’s kiss will wake him?” you nervously asked as you rubbed your hands together. You had known Sesshomaru for a while through Rin, but never well enough to claim that you were on friendly terms with him. The demon and his temper honestly terrified you, along with his blooddrenched past.

“Yes!” Jaken confidently exclaimed as he swung his staff. “Some wretched demon has given Rin a poisoned apple to get to Lord Sesshomaru, knowing that our great Lord would protect our little Rin here from harm,” the little demon spoke shrilly, earning a sigh from you as you wondered how much truth you could find in the whole story.

“And how many have you asked?” you questioned, gulping at the thought that Rin had been running around asking random strangers to kiss her demon guardian. Sesshomaru was going to be livid when he woke up.

To this the girl looked up at you confused, her eyes blank as she deadpanned:

“None, we didn’t find anyone suitable, [Name].”

To this you paled even more as you were pretty sure that Sesshomaru was not going to appreciate a human kissing him.

“Oh, please [Name]! Please, please, you have to do this, for Lord Sesshomaru! Look at how down A-Un is! And Master Jaken’s legs won’t hold up much longer either!” the girl begged you, earning a scowl of disagreement from the little demon.

Sighing, your eyes lingered over to the demon asleep, your heart bouncing erratically as you tried to convince yourself that it wasn’t that scary. It was just kissing a demon, right? And nothing said that it was going to work either.

Jaken had said true love’s kiss. Surely that meant someone or something with deeper feelings than absolute fear, right?

Sucking in a breath you then nodded at the girl, your expression tense as you walked over to the demon, lowering yourself to your knees as to better reach him as you hovered over his sleeping beauty.

“What are the chances anyway?” you clipped to yourself, encouraging yourself one last time as Rin stood with her fists balled, waiting with bated breath as you leaned in.

Pressing your lips against the demon you shut your eyes as you wondered how long you were supposed to kiss the man for before pulling away, a blush dusting your face as you prayed for the demon not to wake.

“[Name],” Rin breathed, her voice in disbelief as she stared at you from the back. Was she disappointed? Surprised? You couldn’t tell, and when you opened your eyes to turn towards her you nearly jumped out of your skin.

Slanted golden eyes were staring at you, framed by pristine long waving white hair. Quietly Sesshomaru seemed to have woken from his slumber, his expression unreadable as he stared at the rest of the group.

“It worked! Lord Sesshomaru is awake! I knew it, [Name] is the key!”

You winced at the delighted yells coming from both Rin and Jaken, your heart sinking down further as you wondered what was going to happen now that the demon was awake.

#inuyasha #inuyasha sesshomaru #sesshomaru x reader #sesshomaru #inuyasha x reader

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mimiseda · 3 years

Text

Title: Just Messin’

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ship: Jake Park x Reader

Genre: Fluff. A lot of it.

Words: 2,696

Note: Created for @sirpeanutthethird Happy Birthday 🎉🎁

. . . .

“Mm..” You’re awake, but your eyes stay closed in hopes of falling back to sleep.

Disoriented as your mind may be, you figured the time may be around four to five in the morning. For some reason, your body is trained to wake up around this time. A good assumption may be from getting ready for your classes at the University you attend. Except.. you don’t have any classes today, until tomorrow that is, which just so happens to be your birthday. Shame it has to be on the day you have school, but you’ll accept that today is your day to kick back and slack off. Hopefully along with your boyfriend, Jake.

Speaking of..

You open your eyes to a dark room, dimly lit by a warm lamp on his side. The first thing you notice is how close you are to him, that and the way he’s holding you. He’s got one arm under you and the other around your shoulder. His palm is cradling the back of your head, feeling a tiny bit ticklish since his fingertips skimmed lightly against your scalp. You don’t mind though, it’s always a good thing to wake up next to someone you love. Others may see his way of snuggling you this close as clingy, but you think you’re just as clingy as he is.

With what little space you have, you lift your head to kiss the flat of his chin. Jake’s breathing stuttered and his body shivered at such a small act of affection. Is he still asleep? Curious, you scoot back to try and get a better look at him. However, every time you move, his hold on you gets suspiciously tighter.

“Uh-“ He doesn’t want to let you go it seems. Time to look at other options instead. Shuffling from your side to your stomach, you try to wiggle out of the sleeping man’s arms into freedom. You only got about halfway down his torso, until he suddenly grabbed you by your underarms and moved you back to where you started. There, you see that the mischievous man is awake. The tiredness on his face did not match his playful attitude.

“You were awake this entire time?” You yell, but quietly.

“Why are you up so late?” Jake completely disregards your question and resumes cuddling you again.

“I just woke up.. what time is it?”

“I dunno. But I’m going back to sleep.”

“Well.” You squirm against his hold again. “I’m gonna check the time. Lemme go.”

“Nope.” Jake says in a heartbeat. “Not gonna sleep without you.”

“I’m gonna be back! .. After I get some water too.”

“You’ll take too long.”

You smile a little. He’s so needy. “I won’t, silly. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Hmm.” His dark brown eyes examine your face. For a lie, you think. Or maybe he’s just considering freeing you from his heinous clutches.

And to your surprise, he actually lets you go. “Then by all means.” Jake covers himself with the blanket you two shared. Taking more than usual for him. You briefly wonder why, but don’t question as you pull away.

As soon as the covers are off of you though, you immediately feel cold air creeping up on your skin.

It’s so unexpected, you cross your arms and shiver down to your core. Why isn’t any source of heat on? Or more alternatively, why is the cold air on? Once you stood up, your feet felt icy even against the carpet floor. “Cold?” You turn to Jake at the sound of his sleepy voice. He’s wearing a smirk that he tried his best to hide.

“Y-yeah.” You look around the room, unsure if you even wanted to go through the cold for just a glass of water.

“Then come lay down with me.” You thought about his offer for a few seconds. Getting back in bed doesn’t seem like a-

Hold up.

Something’s not adding up.

You turn to Jake again, seeing the smirk on his face a little wider than before.

No-

No he did not. “Jake, did you tamper with the thermostat?”

“.. Maybe I did.”

You pout at him. “Whyy?” Shaking your head, you crawl back in bed to avoid freezing to death. “What’s the point??”

“Because I want to.” A very cheeky Jake helps himself and wraps his arms around you again. “And it gets too hot.” You sigh and cave in to the warmth he graciously gave you; wrapping your legs around his, your arms around his torso, and head leaning on his chest again. “This has never been a problem before.” You mumble.

“Well it’s a problem now.” Jake simultaneously pecks your forehead and cheeks, sweet-kissing your annoyance away. He can’t have you mad at him, if he plans to cuddle you into your dreams.

You groan, feeling your face tingling with acceptance at his unapologetic affection. Oh well.. “Jake?”

“Mmhm?”

“I’ll stay in bed, if you get me some water.” You look up at him and smile again. If he wants things to go his way, then he’ll have to do some of your bidding.

Jake hums delightfully at your request though, then readies himself to get up. “That’s a fair trade.”

. . .

The hall is empty.

Except for one.

Jake strolls down the corridor, paper in hand as he tries to read from it. He’s having a hard time making sense of any of it. It’s like his professor compiled the most complex words in the dictionary and shamelessly typed them on this paper. Every time Jake passed by a trash can, he highly considered crumbling up and tossing the worksheet in there. He wanted to forget about the damn thing entirely.

It isn’t a very responsible thing to do though, he thought to himself. He made it this far without anyone criticizing him. Much. He’s probably tired, or maybe he’s just-

Thump, thump, skeeeeet

The hell?

Jake comes to an abrupt stop and turns around, hearing someone running behind him. Last he checked, no one really visits this specific hall. For why? He doesn’t really know, but he assumed it may be because the classes here are rather.. insignificant compared to other courses, although Jake took one of them. This hall contained extracurricular activities that rarely anyone attended: like sewing, graphic design, and just outside of this wing lies a golf court. The students in this school are just like him, learning about the money and the business world to make their parents proud.

“Uh.. hello?” Jake calls out, unable to see who ran. The corridor is narrow, the only way for the person to pass him is if they went into one of the classrooms. That, or in front of him where there’s a turn on his left. All of the classes had their doors shut with barely any noises sounding from them, so it shouldn’t be hard to find the clown, if they toy with him again. Jake looks around one last time, the trash bins, the potted plants, pillars and a few decorations that covered the hall with colorful pride for the University.

He sees no one and turns around to walk again, slowly this time.

The hall is empty.

Except for two, now.

Jake only got so far as five, careful steps until he hears those running footsteps again. He turns, concerned, but done with this. “Alright, you wanna fuck around?” He folds the paper six times and stuffs it into his pocket. With his mind made up, he began to search the hall for any signs of a human being other than him. Any hints of clothing, hair, or even breathing will be useful to him. He’ll deliberately hunt down whoever’s responsible.

Your legs ache from kneeling down the trash can too long, but it’s sooo worth it. Suppressing your laughter is way more important right now, especially when you’re hiding from Jake.

Initially, you wanted to find him and have a normal conversation with him, especially since you haven’t seen him since morning. You know he usually comes to this side of the University to either attend one of his classes or study, since it’s almost completely silent. Yes, you being there could mean being a distraction to him.. But all that jazz is thrown out the window once you’ve decided to mess with him for a bit.

So here you are, hiding with a few beads in hand you gathered from an art class in this wing. You won’t throw any at Jake of course, but you’ll use them to bamboozle the ever living hell out of him. You wonder if your boyfriend will eventually think he’s crazy. Perhaps he’ll call you, scared of a ghost and needing you by his side. Although you’ve never seen him scared before, you’re still interested in how this goofy session will turn out. For both you and Jake.

While he looks around for you, you hide behind anything that could obscure you from his vision. He gets closer, hotter. Jake searches a spot where a pillar stands with a big potted plant in front of it. The one you moved, looking out of place. As soon as he turns his back on you, your heart raced with a bit of adrenaline. The thought of Jake finding and catching you made you feel too many rushed feelings at once.

An idea lights in your head to confuse him more. Quickly and quietly before he moves again, you take three beads in your hand and toss them down the corridor. The little noises alerts Jake. He snaps his attention behind him, leaving his current spot to check out where the beads are coming from. You giggle for a split second, then go silent.

Jake reaches the end of the hall, where it turns left towards other classrooms. Once he disappears, you stand up from your hiding place to follow him. You’re not done just yet, you’ll stop at one more throw of beads, then reveal yourself to him as the villain of such tomfoolery.

With your playfulness intact, you kept walking until you reached the end. You see shadows in the light, one unmoving and the other picking up something from the ground. Jake. You hold your breath for a moment, waiting until he moves away from you again. You watch his shadow examine something in his hand, probably the beads you threw. Then, he stands up and disappears along with his shadow.

You start breathing again, relieved that he didn’t walk back to the corridor you’re in. Calming down a little, you move to follow Jake again. You kept going, no longer hearing his footsteps, but you’re determined to find him anyway in this one-way place. When you reached a turn on your right, you leaned against the wall and peeked out from the corner.

“Ah!” You half gasped and squealed like a bird.

Instead of seeing another hall with doors, water fountains, and decorations; maybe Jake walking down the area as well..

He’s right in front of you.

Before you could do anything but chuckle nervously, Jake grabs you by your waist and holds you against the wall. All of the annoyance you previously saw on him is replaced by a slight, mischievous look. “You thought I wouldn’t catch you, huh?”

You bit your lower lip, especially once his hands moved to a much more sensitive spot of your body. It’s hard to push aside your excitement to speak. “H-how’d you know I was- Eee!!” Jake’s fingertips wiggles at your ticklish spot, not too soft or harsh, just enough to get you laughing in front of him. You drop everything, the beads in your hand fall to the ground. “S-st-stop! We’ll get in trouble!”

“Guess you didn’t think about that before throwing those beads.” Jake continues his tickle-fest, following your movements as you try to get away from his hands.

“Okay! Okaay! I-I’m sorry! I’m- oh!!” It was set. It was only a matter of time before you two done something to get you both even more in trouble. Jake accidentally bumped you against a wall, which had artwork of the University’s mascot taped to it. The tape fell and the paper tore a little, creating a sound that echoed the empty hallway. You and Jake stared at each other in shock. It wasn’t until the sound of a doorknob brought him back to his senses. He grabbed your wrist and hurried both of you out of there, before you two got caught.

“Sorry Jake..!” You whisper loud enough for him to hear.

“Shh..” He shushes you, guiding you away from the “crime” scene and towards the more quiet areas of the wing. You two reached the lockers, where only a few of them are occupied. Jake comes to a stop, still holding your wrist as he catches his breath. He eventually chuckles, so light and happy it becomes contagious. You clasped a hand over your mouth, snickering into your palm.

“It wasn’t your fault, it was mine.” Jake says, clearing his throat and needing water from all of that childishness.

You shrug. “I came here to just talk to you, but.. Mm, I dunno what came over me, heh.” You exhale your final, heavy breath. It’s a little hot in here now, but you feel invigorated around your boyfriend.

“I can see that.” He smiles, and you smile too. “I’m glad you’re here, don’t worry. I got something for you too.”

Your eyes widen. “For me? What is it?”

Jake holds up a hand and fishes in his pockets for something. First, he pulls out the folded paper from before, looking at it in sheer disgust. You snort at his reaction and conclude that it may be school work of some kind. About three seconds passes until he pulls something from another pocket: a small, baby blue box. Satisfied, Jake puts the folded paper away, completely forgetting about it. “Here. I made it for you.”

You look at the small box with deep interest. Grabbing it, you held it close and opened it with pure curiosity. There, you see a bracelet, shining in what light the area gave. It’s made of silver, crafted with tiny charms of favorite animals and your favorite colors. One charm resembled food you loved to eat. You couldn’t help but gaze at it in awe, it’s easy to tell how much care and thought was put into it.

“Happy Birthday.” Jake cheers quietly, but fondly. You look up at him, heart swelling with the loving look he gave you.

“Thank you! You made this??” Gently, you pull the bracelet from it’s little home. Jake takes the box from you, appearing sheepish as you immediately clip the piece of jewelry around your wrist. It fits perfectly.

“Yeah. You like it?” He rubs the back of his neck. Truth be told, one of his classes teaches fashion and the history of such. Jake never thought he’d be interested in them, but as it turns out, he’s skilled with his hands at not only outdoorsy activities. He loves crafting and creating things in general.

You blink. Looking at him as if he asked a dumb question. “I love it! Look at it!” You twirl your wrist around, watching the cute charms sway. It’s so adorable, and the fact that it’s made by him makes it a million times better. You’ll cherish this, the jewelry and this moment you have with him. “How long did it take you?” You ask, walking closer to him to hug him tight.

“A week and some change.” Jake pulls you in, hugging you back. “Getting the materials was another thing, but I got them just time for you.” You unconsciously swoon over his words. It’s always nice, having someone think about you so kindly, when you have no idea. Reaching up to his face, you kiss his lips a few times.

“Thank you so much..” Another kiss you two shared. “I love you.” Then another. Jake is a bit flustered at your immense display of affection, but he’s happy nonetheless.

“I love you too. Happy Birthday.”

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ironwoman359 · 4 years

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if you don't have anything for either of these yet: on the run/bounty on their head? roman's a prince, but there's some kind of uprising or assassination attempt and he and his most trusted guard have to gtfo. they're on the run, sleeping in shitty motels (with only one bed ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ) and roman has to learn to live w/o 24/7 service. you can pick who the guard is.

Safe With You

@badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: On the Run

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Summary: Prince Roman gains a new appreciation for his personal knight when he is forced into hiding to escape an assassination attempt.

Content Warnings: Mentions of death/violence, some mild bickering, prinxiety (can be platonic or pre-romantic), platonic moxiety

Word Count: 1,645

Read on AO3 here

Bad Things Happen Masterlist

Requests are closed

---

Roman had never been so exhausted in his life. His feet were sore, his muscles ached, and there was nothing he wanted more than to collapse into his feather bed and sleep for a day. No wait, a massage from the royal masseuse to ease his muscle tension. No, a massage then sleep for a day.

Yes, that would be the dream.

Unfortunately, Roman’s life had been more akin to a nightmare these past few days. He was a prince, for crying out loud, heir to the throne itself! And now he was being forced to sneak through the woods in the middle of the night like...like some common ruffian!

“You said we’d be reaching real lodgings soon!” he whined. His mother would say that his tone of voice was “unbefitting of a prince,” but he felt that after three days of sleeping rough with no one but his irksome personal knight for company, he was entitled to a bit of complaining. Speaking of his knight...

“We will, highness.” Roman could never figure out how the formal address managed to sound so insulting when Sir Virgil Ellsworth said it. “We should reach it before daybreak, so long as you do not slow us down with any more of your griping.”

Roman made a petulant noise (that his mother would also not have approved of), but Virgil just rolled his eyes and pressed onwards, slipping through the foliage with the ease of a practiced woodsman. Roman stumbled along clumsily behind him, trying to resist the urge to gripe (he was a prince, he did not gripe...he loudly protested) about the terrain.

He managed this for approximately three minutes, which he thought was a rather impressive effort, giving the circumstances.

“If your plan was to hide out at an inn then I don’t see why we had to trek through the undergrowth like this. Would it not have been simpler to take the roads? You do know what roads are, don’t you Sir Ellsworth?”

“You do know what caution is, don’t you highness?” Virgil retorted. “By all means, take the roads, if you want to be caught by the assassins in less than a day.”

Roman opened his mouth to argue back, but Virgil shut him up with a scathing glare.

“I know you’re used to being the one to boss people around, Princey, but we’re not in the palace any longer. It’s my job to keep you alive, and out here, what I say goes. Got that?”

He turned around without waiting for an answer, a breach of protocol that ordinarily would land him in serious trouble, but even Roman had to admit that the systems of etiquette and protocol that he was used to didn’t matter much in the middle of a coup. And as much as Roman had whined and complained (and alright, griped) about their traveling conditions, underneath his brash facade he was just glad that Virgil had remained loyal to him, even after the people who paid his salary had been run through by assassins’ blades.

Not that he’d ever admit that out loud to his knight of course.

“Okay, we’re almost there,” Virgil said, pulling Roman out of his musings. “Keep your head down, and let me do the talking.”

Roman glowered at him, but he pulled the hood of his travelling cloak up to obscure his face and followed Virgil without further complaint. Roman wasn’t sure how Virgil knew where they were, the woods all looked the same to him, but one minute they were surrounded by trees and the next they were stepping onto a dirt road that led into a tiny village. Virgil kept glancing around as they approached a building that Roman would call quaint if he wanted to be kind...ramshackle if he was feeling more irritable, which tonight he was.

“You’re sure this is an inn?”

“What part of keep your voice down is confusing you?” Virgil hissed with perhaps a touch more venom in his voice than was typical, and Roman blinked.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” he muttered, folding his arms with a huff.

Virgil sighed and shook his head, then stepped forward and nudged the door open a crack, peering inside. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he pushed the door open properly and gestured for Roman to follow him inside.

Roman didn’t have much experience with inns, on the rare occasion that he had to travel his entourage would usually solicit the hospitality of a local noble family, so he had no idea if the cramped space was typical of this more...rustic establishment. Still, the room was cleaner than he’d expected; the stone floor was swept, the worn wooden tables were wiped down, and a pleasant, homey smell wafted through the air. It wasn’t hard to imagine the room full of peasants after a hard day's work, enjoying hearty food and drink to forget their hardships for a few hours.

For now though, the room sat empty, save for one man who was hunched over the fireplace, stirring something in an iron pot. He spun around when he heard the door close behind them, and his eyes widened behind a pair of round glasses.

“Oh! I wasn’t expecting customers this early in the morning, I–”

“Pat, it’s me.”

The man froze.

“Virgil?” he asked, and Virgil nodded. “Oh my– what are you doing here? When I heard about the capital, I was afraid that–”

“I need your help,” Virgil interrupted, and the man nodded.

“Of course, whatever you need!.”

“A room? And off the books, Patton, nobody can know we’re here.”

Patton’s eyes flickered to Roman for a moment before looking back to Virgil with a firm nod.

“Of course, of course. This way.”

He led Virgil and Roman up a staircase and down a hall, ushering them into a room.

“It’s not much, but it’s yours for as long as you need it. And once I’m done opening things up downstairs I’ll come up and bring you some porridge, you kiddos must be hungry.”

“I can pay you,” Virgil began, but Patton shook his head.

“Keep your money. I have a feeling you’ll be needing it more than me anyhow. Just stay safe for me, okay?”

Virgil nodded. “Thank you.”

Patton smiled at him, then with one last glance at Roman, slipped out of the room and back downstairs. Virgil shut the door behind him, then quickly crossed the room and closed the shutters as well, blocking out the first few rays of morning sunlight.

“Okay,” he said, a bit of tension finally leaving his shoulders. “We should be okay to rest here for a bit.

Roman looked around the room, and tried not to grimace. It was tiny, barely big enough to comfortably fit the single bed, wooden chair, and side table. No wardrobe, no desk, no vanity, and no lavatory. Still, at least there was a bed. No matter how lumpy the mattress might be, it was sure to be more comfortable than the forest floor.

“Will this suffice for you, then?” Virgil asked, raising an eyebrow, and Roman sighed.

“It will have to do, I suppose,” he said, and Virgil rolled his eyes.

“It better, because this is the only inn this side of the capital that won’t sell us out at the first flash of some coin.”

“So that innkeeper, you trust him then?”

“With my life,” Virgil responded immediately, and Roman blinked.

“Well alright then,” he muttered. He looked around the room, then frowned as one particular detail stuck out to him. “There’s only one bed.”

“It’s a roadside inn, Princey, it doesn’t exactly have suites.”

“I know, I wasn’t exactly expecting the lap of luxury here, but–”

“Relax,” Virgil interrupted. He pulled off his cloak and bunched it into a ball before stretching out on the floor and stuffing it under his head. “I’m all good, see? No need to worry about sharing your bed with the measly common folk.”

“I’m aware you’re making fun of me,” Roman grumbled, and Virgil laughed.

“Good, I’d be worried if that was lost on you.��

“You think just because the world is collapsing around us that you can mistreat me so? I am still your prince.”

Virgil gave him an unimpressed look, and Roman swallowed, suddenly cognizant of the fact that the only reason he was still alive was because of Virgil’s interference. He’d taken it for granted, Virgil was his knight, after all, it was his job to protect him, but when the rest of the palace had fallen, there would have been nothing stopping Virgil from giving Roman up to save his own skin. Instead, Virgil had taken him to safety, and Roman felt his face warm in shame.

“I apologize,” he said quietly, looking down. “That was...not a very chivalrous remark. I do recognize that it is only because of you that I am even alive, let alone a prince, and...I am grateful for that.”

He glanced up, just in time to see a strange expression flicker across Virgil’s face for just a moment before his familiar smirk was back.

“Alright, Princey, don’t get sappy on me now,” he said, and Roman let himself smirk back.

“Just covering my bases here, I can’t exactly have rumors start spreading that the prince of the land doesn’t appreciate when someone saves his life.”

“Go to sleep, highness, your precious reputation is safe with me,” Virgil snickered, closing his eyes.

Roman chuckled, but as he lay back on the lumpy mattress, he didn’t miss the way Virgil’s hand drifted to rest on the hilt of his sword, or how he adjusted his position so that his body lay across the doorframe, one final barrier between Roman and any threat that might dare to enter.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, letting his own eyes slip closed. “I know I’m safe with you.”

---

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#badthingshappenbingo #sanders sides #ts fanfic #prinxiety #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #my writing #asks and answers

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 10: Premonitions]

Several weeks and depressive episodes later...I’m BACK! 😃

And guess what: we’re officially approximately halfway done with BYCNL! (There will probably be nineteen chapters total.)

The Queen/BoRhap fandom is feeling extra quiet lately, so if you’re still out there I’d LOVE it if you dropped me a comment/message/etc to let me know! I appreciate you all so much and hope you are finding things that bring you happiness, fulfillment, and peace. 💜

Chapter summary: Roger makes a purchase, Freddie makes a friend, Y/N makes an unsettling discovery, John makes a bewildering request.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, babies (but not your babies...or are they?!).

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @bookandband @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @stardust-killer-queen

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 😊

“Roger, this is too much.” Your sandals click on the marble tile floor, a sandy gold like the beaches of Ostia. You peer up at the winding staircase, the Tudor-style diamond windows, the chandelier dripping with crystals. “This is way, way, way too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much,” he parries merrily. “And look!” He pulls back an armful of sheer white curtains that had obscured the backyard. “The pool has a slide!”

You smile because you have to; he’s so elated, so young. “Roger, baby, unless you’re planning to acquire a literal harem of women we will never have a use for six bedrooms.”

“Sure we will!” He counts on his rugged fingers. “There’s one for us, and one can be the guest bedroom for when my mother or your parents visit, and then there’s one for if Chrissie ever wises up and leaves that wanker Brian and requires a place to stay between husbands, and one for when John needs an escape from that mind-numbing domestic purgatory of his, and one for Freddie’s overflow cats...” Roger trails off. He’s lost track.

“That still leaves one unnecessary bedroom.”

He grins. “One for Roger Junior.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s a wonderful home for children,” the real estate agent chimes, flitting around rearranging pillows and dusting off tabletops. “Plenty of space to spread out in, lots of bedrooms, fenced-in yard, security gate, spectacular school district...and such a lovely garden to explore! Does your wife garden?” she asks Roger.

“Girlfriend,” he corrects. “And no, she’s thoroughly useless in the agricultural department.”

You laugh and shove him away. “I have other talents.”

“You certainly do.” He growls as he grips your waist, inhales you, bites playfully down your neck and collarbones. The real estate agent raises her eyebrows, but politely averts her gaze and pretends to check if an artificial fern needs watering.

It’s the downturn of August, 1976. The sun is glaring and hot and spills in through the windows, setting the metallic flecks in the marble floor alight. It makes you think of the Yellow Brick Road, of fantasies built piece by piece into truth. John and Veronica bought a house in Putney, Brian and Chrissie a far larger one in Chelsea, Freddie and Mary a posh flat in West Kensington. Roger has his heart set on nothing less than a Surrey mansion. On the rare occasion that Queen has been home since the start of the A Night At The Opera Tour, you and Roger stay in his shabby—dodgy, you remind yourself—old apartment and pack boxes late into the evening, giggling over all the random and ancient relics you stumble across, sticks of Freddie’s eyeliner and dust bunnies tangled in strands of Brian’s spiraled hair, crumpled up spheres of paper with excerpts of songs scrawled on them, fossilized crusts of grilled cheese sandwiches beneath the couch. Queen is preparing for a brief UK tour at the start of September, including a free concert in Hyde Park organized by entrepreneur Richard Branson. Then it’ll be back to the studio to record their next album, a highly anticipated album, an album that will make millions regardless of what’s on it; and what’s on it, in your humble and musically unlearned opinion, is pretty goddamn great.

“Seriously,” Roger prompts, quietly now. “Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it. I love it. I just don’t need it.”

He grins. “I know you don’t need it. But I do.”

“That list of yours is getting awfully long.”

“You have no idea. We haven’t even started on the exotic pet collection yet.”

“There’s a marvelous koi pond out in the backyard,” the real estate agent says. “You could add turtles, and frogs, and all different types of fish. I can recommend sturgeon, they have such an alluring primeval sort of look to them, and the shimmer on shubunkins is just delightful...”

“You heard the lady.” Rog stretches his right hand like he does when his arm bothers him, when the bone that will never fully heal aches like something ancient and irredeemable, like hunger, like unrequited love: fingertips sprayed outwards, then folded into his palm, then outwards again.

“Rog...I don’t know.”

“Come on, baby! It has everything. Roman-style master bath. Bedrooms with mirrors on the ceiling. Space for my own studio. Land. Enormous refrigerators. You’ll have abundant room for John’s drawings.”

“Ohhh, now that’s true.” John is always adding to your collection, slipping you sketches as the boys scurry around getting ready before a show, during songwriting sessions that last long after midnight, when the band and its expanding circle of friends and family gather for birthdays and holidays. You don’t ask him about You’re My Best Friend, or, come to think of it, any of his other songs. You don’t ask him how he feels about his new life as a husband and father. And in return, John doesn’t ask whether you’re ever going to marry Roger, if you even want to, if you worry about what the future holds. It’s a loaded peace, but a comfortable one. A safe one.

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Roger asks suddenly. “The girlfriend thing. The not-wife thing.”

“No,” you reply, smiling. “Of course not.” Roger isn’t someone who pens love letters, recites all the reasons why he cannot live without you, sings love songs. He rarely speaks of love at all. Roger is as he always is: all action, all energy, eyes forever looking forward. But he does love you; you’re sure he does. Everything he does bleeds with love.

“Good. Because there’s no one I’d rather acquire a harem and zoological park with.”

“Okay,” you relent. “But no lions or tigers or bears. I’m quite attached to your limbs, and you’ve come close enough to ruining them already.”

“Deal.” He taps the Canon that hangs from your shoulder by its strap. “We should document this momentous juncture. One day we can pull out the photo album and show Roger Junior. ‘Hey look kid, this was the day Mum and Dad bought the house you were conceived in.’”

You laugh, almost positive that Roger isn’t serious. “I can guarantee you that precisely zero percent of children would ever want to hear that.” Nevertheless, you ready the camera and hold it as far away as you can, the lens aimed towards you.

“Don’t forget to smile!” Roger trills in his high, victorious voice as he rests his chin in the dip of your collarbone.

You snap the photo. The flash bursts through the kitchen of the Surrey mansion, blinding you both. The artificial bluish light dissipates like smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~

His name is Laszlo, and he’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen...even when he’s not especially well-mannered.

Currently, Laszlo—an Eastern European moniker from somewhere in his mother’s comically vast family tree—is whimpering and squirming against Veronica’s chest as she pats his tiny back and sighs wearily. Veronica, ever the good Polish Catholic wife, is already pregnant again. Chrissie smirks triumphantly and puffs on a cigarette, her rings glimmering on her left hand, her dress violet and new and very expensive. Brian is lost in some deep intellectual conversation with Richard Branson, gesturing with his long nimble hands and nodding empathetically, his dark curls rustling in the breeze like the lithe branches of a willow tree.

“Thank god you’re here,” John calls as you and Roger approach. “Freddie is about to get this concert cancelled.”

“I’m about to make this concert fabulous, darling,” Freddie objects. “We need pyrotechnics, we need sparklers and explosions and fireworks!”

Mr. Branson shakes his head. “Can’t do it, Fred. The embers could travel and set the trees on fire.”

Freddie groans. “Tell him, Roger!”

Roger shrugs, grinning, resting his elbow on John’s shoulder. “I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t burn down Hyde Park.”

“You’ll be under a huge orange canopy, right over there.” Mr. Branson motions with a sweep of his arm. “You can’t do anything aerial. Flashing lights, sure. Fog, sure. But no fire. No explosions. Oh, and there’s technically a noise ordinance, but we’re working out a deal so the city won’t enforce it on the day of the show.”

“Orange?!” Freddie squeals.

“How will the acoustics be in a tent?” Brian asks, troubled.

John smiles mischievously. “Yes, how dreadful if no one could hear the extraneous guitar solos.”

“I have a gong, Rich,” Roger says. “Everyone will be able to hear my gong, right?”

“Your gong?” Freddie whines. “What about my voice?!”

“I miss stadiums,” Roger grumbles. You exchange a knowing glance with Mary and Chris and Veronica, who is imploring Laszlo to take a bottle. Our boys are difficult, aren’t they?

“The acoustics will be fine,” Mr. Branson snaps. “The tent color will be fine. Everything will be fine. You don’t need any fucking fireworks. Please for the love of god just tell me what kind of sandwiches you want.”

“That’ll be an ordeal as well,” Chrissie quips, and you all laugh; even Laszlo perks up, stops wriggling, glimpses around the open green space with curious greyish eyes like John’s.

Some teenage employee carrying a tangle of cables trots over, sweat dripping down his flushed freckled cheeks. “Mr. Branson? There’s someone from the city here to see you.”

Richard Branson smacks his forehead. “Jesus christ. Okay, I’ll be right there. Hey, Steve, hey, have you seen Dom? Go find Dom and tell her to come over here, okay? Thanks.”

The teenage employee nods and disappears into a sea of bustling people ferrying equipment, fliers, chairs, messages.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Mr. Branson says. “These city bastards are out to crucify me. You’d think they’d be a little more grateful that Queen of all bands is willing to put on a free concert in their backyard, but alas. Hey, Dom, over here!”

He waves to a petite young woman with a glossy shock of black hair and olive Mediterranean skin. She’s wearing all yellow: shorts patterned with daffodils, a tank top the color of butter, a headband like a sunbeam. One of her trim arms is cradling a notebook; the other reaches out so she can shake hands with everyone. The gesture is courteous but somewhat unnatural.

“This,” Mr. Branson begins, “is my personal assistant Dominique. She’s wonderful, she’ll listen to all your pretentious tales of woe and do it with a smile, because she’s a true professional. Better yet, she’s going to ask you the tedious questions I was supposed to so you don’t have to wait for me to finish sparring with the city council. Okay? Okay. Have fun. I’ll be back.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Dom says placidly in a heavy French accent. So that’s why her handshake was off somehow, stilted and weak; the French usually kiss as a greeting. You choke back a snort as you imagine Veronica’s reaction to that. Mr. Branson stalks away muttering about litigious twats.

“Oh, aren’t you just darling!” Freddie circles Dom, admiring her outfit, her hair, her gold hoop earrings. He wafts his cigarette around flamboyantly, completely forgetting to smoke it. “The French are so tasteful, aren’t they? You simply must connect me with your stylist.”

“I would be happy to, Mr. Mercury. But regrettably, I am my own stylist.”

“Ahh!” Freddie exhales, enamored. Mary lifts Laszlo from Veronica’s tired arms and cradles him, tickles his nose, beams down into his fresh and inquisitive face.

Dom pulls a pen from her shirt pocket. “May I ask your sandwich preferences for the day of the show?”

She immediately receives four very different answers, and she raises an eyebrow, her pen hovering over the lined paper of her notebook.

“I’m so sorry about them,” Chrissie says, and Dom chuckles civilly.

“Ham and cheddar,” Freddie tells her, synthesizing the responses. “Bacon, fried fish, steak and onion jam...and something for Brian. Cucumber maybe. Could we get some cucumber sandwiches, dear?”

“You’re a vegetarian?” Dom asks Brian, jotting down notes.

“He’s morally superior to us in every way,” John sighs dreamily, and Rog and Freddie cackle.

“I’m not a strict vegetarian,” Bri clarifies. “But for the sake of the animals and the planet, I try to limit meat when I can.”

Roger adds: “And I order twice as much of it, just to spite him.”

Dominique leads Queen around the portion of Hyde Park where the concert will be held, runs through the itinerary, fields a litany of questions and complaints. And you decide that you like Dom; she’s professional and reserved, yes, but she’s also patient with Freddie, smiles at his jokes, compliments his black-and-yellow striped shirt (“We match, and you remind me of a...oh, what’s the word in English? That bug...it flies around buzzing...buzz buzz...a bee!”), asks him what he’s planning to wear to the show. She assuages Brian, listens to John, takes the time to chat with the women about children, makeup, homes, what it’s like to be in love with rock stars. But Dom mostly ignores Roger, dodges his grins, remains staunchly undazzled. And that would worry you—because Roger loves the chase, you know that firsthand—if he hadn’t already taught you how to trust him, how addictively flawless and exhilarating life with Roger Taylor could be.

When Laszlo begins to fuss in Mary’s grasp, you take your turn holding him; and he blinks up at you with eyes that are wide and clear and seeking, and you find yourself feeling like you always do when you’re around your godson: like maybe you have a stronger opinion about wanting children than you thought you did, like you can’t stop envisioning a baby with Roger’s eyes instead of John’s.

That evening—after leaving Hyde Park, after dinner, after drinks mixed out by the koi pond—as you doze in a sweltering bubble bath and steam curls through the air, you hear Roger’s voice floating from the kitchen downstairs. You rise out of the tub, towel yourself off, slip into a white silk robe as rivulets of bathwater slink down the back of your neck. You tread gingerly towards the kitchen, keep silent so you can hear, lurk in the shadows of the hallway with your palms pressed flat against the wallpaper.

“Hello, is Dominique Beyrand in?” Roger says into the kitchen phone. “I’ve been trying to track her down. Sure, I’ll wait. Thanks.” After a pause, he continues. “Hi, Dom! It’s Roger Taylor, from Queen. The irritating blond one. I was just wondering if you’d happened to stumble across my wallet since this afternoon, I seem to have misplaced it. Oh, you haven’t? Bloody hell. Well, thank you for taking my call. Aw, that’s so kind of you, I’m sure I’ll locate it eventually. I’ve got a terrible habit of losing things. Okay, thanks so much. Goodnight to you too. See you soon. Cheers.” He hangs the phone up as you step into the kitchen. His smile is bright and innocuous. “Hey, baby!”

“Who was that?” Your tone is similarly casual; or so you hope.

“Just Richard Branson’s assistant. That French woman Dominique. I can’t find my wallet and thought I might have left it at Hyde Park, but no dice. Oh well.”

Roger begins rummaging through the drawer full of business cards and address books, tapping his foot, humming to himself. And surely he isn’t trying to avoid my eyes. Your gaze skates over the marble countertop. There, by the refrigerator, just a few feet—a meter, you correct yourself to be properly British—from where Roger stands, is his black leather wallet.

“It’s right there, Rog,” you say, pointing. And now your voice isn’t so nonchalant.

Roger spins to check. “Oh my god, I completely missed it!” He snatches up the wallet with a celebratory chuckle. “I’m such a twit sometimes. You’re too fucking smart, you know that? You’re making me look bad.”

He rushes to you, takes your left hand, bites your knuckles lightly like he did outside Massachusetts General Hospital under dawn skies over two years ago. And then Roger whispers to you, nuzzling your neck scented with lavender soap and doubt.

“Let’s go to bed.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a knock at the door. John is standing on the front porch of the Surrey house with his hands in his pockets and a vague sort of smile on his face. He’s in a black suit.

“Get ready,” he says. “Do your hair, throw on some earrings. Maybe the pearls Roger got you last Christmas. We’re going shopping.”

“Why do I need to look fancy to go shopping?”

John shrugs, feigning indifference; but the puckish glint in his eyes gives him away. Yet there’s something a little sad and weighty in them too, isn’t there?

Your own eyes narrow. “I’m onto you, bassist.”

He laughs as you tug teasingly at a lock of his downy hair. “You always are.”

John takes you to a dress shop on Bond Street where the corsets trickle with gemstones and the designers all have Italian names: Armani, Prada, Abate, Cerruti, Valentino, Biagiotti. He sinks into a leather chair just outside the fitting room and lights a cigarette, takes a long drag, points to you with the lit end.

“Go ahead. Go wild. It’s a blank check.”

“Really?!” You glance around the shop, your pulse racing. “But I don’t know the occasion. I don’t want to be underdressed or overdressed or whatever. Although I don’t think I’ve ever been overdressed in my life.”

“Yes, you can’t seem to shake those pragmatic service industry roots, can you?” Another drag. “You need a dress and matching shoes. Formal, but not too formal. Think a record company party. Elegant but exciting. Lots of sparkle. Slightly slutty, if you’re so inclined.”

“This is an unconventional bonding activity,” you tell John, trying to conceal your nerves.

“Love, this isn’t something you can fail at,” he says, gently now. “You’re going to look amazing no matter what. So just have fun with it. This isn’t a test. This is one of those adventures you’re always searching for.”

I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage; that’s what Roger once told you. But maybe you don’t always want to be quite so free, so unmoored. “Okay. But you have to swear to give honest opinions. I don’t want to show up looking like a wombat because you were too nice to say anything.”

John just chuckles to himself, shakes his head, devours cigarette after cigarette.

With the assistance of one of the shop employees, you climb into a pastel pink dress with a full ruffled skirt, an emerald green dress with an empire waist and loose sheer sleeves, a shimmering metallic silvery dress with a form-fitting silhouette. John nods at all of them, wholeheartedly approves, defers to your judgment. He periodically consults his wristwatch as he taps his cigarettes on the rim of an ashtray, and deflects your questions when you ask him why. Then you step out of the fitting room—balanced on gold heels—in a white dress with a hem that hits just above your knees, a halter neckline, a slim keyhole down the center of your chest; and John’s cigarette tumbles out of his fingers.

“That’s the one,” he breathes, soaking it in. Then he asks the employee to cut off all the tags and whips out his wallet. “Toss your old clothes and shoes in a bag. We gotta catch a cab.”

“We’re going straight to the party?”

“We certainly are.”

“What the hell kind of ridiculously lame party starts at 3 p.m.?”

John smirks craftily. “The kind of party we’re going to. Let’s rock and roll, Florence Nightingale.”

John gives the taxi driver an address and you sail through the streets of London, splashing through shallow evaporating puddles, squinting when sunlight ricochets glaringly off the slick pavement. The taxi rolls to a stop outside of a grand stone building with columns and intricate carvings of leaves and flowers. The sign outside reads: Kensington and Chelsea Register Office.

You turn to John. “Who’s getting married?!”

He just smiles, a deep harbor of secrets.

“It’s Fred and Mary, right? Jesus christ, John, you can’t wear white to someone else’s wedding, Mary’s going to strangle me—”

“It’s not Mary’s wedding.”

Slowly, your jaw falls open. “No,” you whisper in disbelief.

John darts out of the taxi, jogs around to your side, and opens the door for you. You gape up at him senselessly, struggling to remember how to form sentences.

“John...this...this is some bizarre and elaborate joke, right?”

“Nope.” He offers his hand, helps you out of the taxi, leads you up the front steps of the Register Office. Inside, everyone is waiting: Freddie and Mary, Brian and Chrissie, Veronica with babbling baby Laszlo, Roger’s mother and sister...and Roger, of course, in his best black suit and bleached blond hair and trademark guaranteed-to-dazzle (unless of course you’re Dominique Beyrand) grin. He flies to you and takes your hands in his.

“You look incredible, baby.”

“Roger, what’s going on...?”

“Don’t freak out,” he commands, and instantly your panic vanishes. There’s a pink rose pinned to his lapel. “I know we don’t feel like we need to get married. I know we agree it doesn’t mean anything.” Is that still true? “So don’t think that this is about trying to trap you or control you or bullshit white picket fences or anything. And of course you can say no, I won’t be mad, no one will hold that against you, we can find some other reason to party. But the simple facts are that I’m a British national with a mansion and a plethora of perpetual royalties and you’re an American here on a work visa, and the law gets a bit thorny in this situation. And I want to make sure you’re taken care of if something happens to me. That you can carry out my wishes. That you can stay here with the band as long as you want to. So, I’ve got your passport and birth certificate and everything else we need...and some overly-enthusiastic witnesses. Are you cool with signing a piece of paper today?”

“Of course she bloody well is!” Freddie exclaims, and everyone laughs. Mary is carrying a basket full of champagne flutes, Chrissie several bottles of pink champagne, Roger’s sister a tub of ice. Brian has been entrusted to chronicle the event with your Canon. Veronica is more giddy than you’ve ever seen her, even more animated than she was at her own wedding. Well, I suppose she doesn’t have to worry about any illicit pregnancies or condemnatory great aunts this time around.

“Okay,” you tell Roger. And you wish you weren’t beaming so broadly your cheeks ache, because it feels a little pathetic to be this happy about an admittedly meaningless wedding. But it does make you happy, your general aversion towards conventionality be damned.

You sign papers and you toast glasses and you giggle uproariously in the lobby of the Register Office with the best friends you’ve ever had, guzzle pink champagne, pose for photos, take your turn holding Laszlo, kiss Roger beneath the stone arch of the centuries-old building.

It doesn’t mean anything, you remind yourself, suddenly very aware of the missing weight of a ring on your left hand. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything.

But you catch a few furtive glances between Chrissie and Bri, the twist of a frown on Freddie’s face when he thinks no one is watching, the distance in John’s shadowy eyes as he inhales champagne like air.

It doesn’t mean anything.

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satoruvt · 3 years

Text

fanfic writer tag game <3

helloooo <3 thank u for tagging me @hannie-dul-set this is so cute lol

ummmm! i think i will tag. @leejuyeeon and @seokmingiggles !! and as always anyone else who wants to <33

peum ~

1. what fandoms have you written for (but do not currently)?

omg lets see if i can do this in order. i think the first fandom i ever wrote fanfic for was creepypasta LMAOO and then... fairy tail? then 5 seconds of summer, then maybe it 2017?? voltron legendary defender, detroit become human, monster prom and mystic messenger kind of overlapped, the arcana !!! then my hero academia, haikyuu, a Little bit of demon slayer... i think thats it lol

2. what fandoms are you currently writing for?

seventeen is all for rn, but i’m thinking of also writing for mha again and adding jjk!!

3. how long have you been writing?

oh wow for like... probably around 6 years? maybe 6 and a half

4. on which platforms do you post your stories?

rn just tumblr, i used to post more actively on ao3 but i havent since i started writing for kpop

5. what is your favourite genre to write?

ahhh like !!! comfort fics!!! i think theres something really sweet in those unspoken feelings during moments you think you’ll never forget... the idea of being with someone and you’re just so sure they’re your favorite person, and then warmth that comes with that realization... wahh

6. are you a pantser or a planner?

oh it depends i think. for longer fics i like to plan them out, but i really wing it with like timestamps or shorter ones

7. one shot or multi-chapter?

ONE SHOTS. my god i fucking suck at multi-chapter shit LMAOO ive only done 1 series like that and it was so rough for me lol

8. what is the perfect chapter length in your opinion?

hm how do i explain this... anything that makes sense? however long it takes for it to feel like the chapter/fic is summed up or completed. i used to worry about word counts a lot but now i rarely pay attention to them, both in reading and writing

9. what is your longest published story? is it complete?

if we’re talking about multi-chaptered, then the color of you wins at 17k !! in terms of one shots, it’s for now; forever at 9k!

10. which story did you enjoy working on the most?

oh boy. i think... anything from the last like. 8 months? my svt stuff for sure!! i went a while without writing in between like january-late november 2020, and i was worried that my writing would suffer a lot... it took a sec for me to get back into the groove of things but i’m feeling happier than ever with the stuff i write now. i feel like ive matured about the way i approach my own writing and ideas, and how i do everything, and my fics make me really proud. ive started writing within different aus that i hadnt touched before, or talking about different feelings or ideas, etc... i really feel like ive grown with this most recent burst lol, and i love working on them! i get so hyped up when im in the middle of writing or even planning, im just so excited to share all of it hehe

11. favorite request you've have written and why (if any?)

ah its been so long since ive worked with requests that i cant remember anything LOL

12. are there reoccurring themes in your stories?

yes. it is comfort and content. it is the feeling of love. it is holding hands on a walk in the middle of spring and smelling flowers. it is the sound of leaves when a gust of wind blows past. it is looking into ur lovers eyes and feeling nothing but pure fondness

13. current number of wips?

fuck like somewhere around 20 probably

14. three things you have noticed about your own writing?

i really like repetition (specifically in sentences if that makes sense??), LOTS of unspoken things (even if i picture a fic with an established relationship, i dont say it within the fic; and especially concerning romantic feelings, i love when things go unsaid and are FELT full force), i think a lot of detailed rambling... i really like to try and describe emotions and stuff in the most abstract and obscure ways lol i feel like it makes things a little more palpable and honest

15. a quote you like from a published story

im gonna do a few. Lol. firstly this long one from pretend people can unlearn:

“Are you…” Jeonghan starts, and when you look at him, his eyes are still on the city in front of you. “Are you ever afraid that we’ll fall out of love?”

It never occurred to you that this was love. It’s not like the love you’ve experienced in the past, not even close. But maybe… maybe that’s why you never leave, why you hold yourself back from certain arguments like it might fix everything. Maybe love is the reason why Jeonghan still seems to believe in you. Why he promises he’ll be the best thing for you despite always breaking that promise.

(Is it love, a voice in your head questions, or is it longing?)

It takes you a while to respond. “I don’t know,” you end up saying, because you really don’t. Jeonghan turns his head and looks at you, and you half expect him to start an argument in the middle of night, out on the street like this. It wouldn’t be the first time. “Would that… be okay?”

“I don’t know,” Jeonghan answers, just like you. His voice is soft. You want to reach for his hand just to hold it. “You’re still…”

He pauses, like he’s trying to find the right word. You let him take his time, for once, instead of accusing him of the worst. “I’m still?”

“Everything,” he tells you. He looks so sad and you reach out for him because it’s the only thing you can offer. You think the worst thing about your relationship with Jeonghan is that you will always believe him when he gets like this, just like you’ll believe him when he takes it back in the heat of a fight.

next is from like there isn’t something missing <3

But you’re crying into his chest because it’s not you, and it’s not him. Seungcheol wonders if it was always meant to be like this, if the two of you were always meant to part or if something… if something just went wrong, somewhere. A bump that did a bit more damage than either of you thought.

He tries not to think about it now. Tears fill his own eyes as he presses a kiss to your hair because he loved you. He truly did.

“I was so lucky to love you,” he murmurs, voice a cracked whisper. “I’m so happy I got the chance.”

When Seungcheol wakes up the next morning in an empty bed, he’s not surprised. But the Post-It note that’s dressed in your handwriting…

Well. It’s over.

and this last one from only for you, i will dance !!

“This will always be our own time,” he says. “We’ll meet here.”

You know. He says it every time. It never fails to make your heart soar.

“Our thirteenth month,” you say, just like every time. Chan smiles.

He kisses you so strong you feel yourself falling.

16. a quote from an unpublished story

ahh ok ill do a few here too!!! one is something ive begun writing, the other is one that i’ve just been working on planning out <3

Smoke blows past somebody else’s lips and partially obstructs Wonwoo’s view of you.

He hasn’t been to a party like this in a long time. It’s elegant, more of a gala than anything. He can’t remember who threw it or for what reason. It doesn’t really matter, he supposes, watching you make conversation with the partygoers. They all have old money to throw around, the symbolism stitched into their suit jackets and red-rimmed heels; remnants of it left on tables and in the contents of expensive cigars.

You play them like you are one of them, tell them the right things with a silver tongue. Wonwoo always watches, plays the part of an observer. It’s impressive, the way you float around the room like it’s nothing.

Wonwoo observes; Wonwoo knows things.

and the second one...

"you don't know me," you respond. your voice carries no bite, just a fact, and joshua knows this

"i want to," he says after a second. "if you'll let me."

and he's asking permission to be your friend, to be close to you, something so tender and strangely polite

it makes you feel almost sad

"don't expect too much," you say, a little teasing. joshua only smiles

17. space for you to say something to your readers

wahhh thank you all so much!!! when i first got into writing for kpop it was a lot different mostly because i think... i was writing stuff for different anime before, and i had built up a big following because of that and my works always did like, really exceptional in terms of notes and feedback and such, and getting into kpop... has been rough on that end 💀 but i appreciate your support thus far, even if it’s small... i’m still working towards a standard that i have for myself!!! so please be patient with me, thank you for the support !!

also please find it in yourself to leave lil comments or any sort of feedback... please..... PLEASE... any creator ever understands this struggle please always try to do this!!! for me and for any other creator you follow and enjoy content from <333

#wah these things r so fun. cries #tag games #adi speaks

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arianadevareux · 3 years

Note

Hi! I have a ask that's I'm not sure about, but I checked your request rules first! I would love if you could write Norman Bates with a gender neutral person of similar age, and them just being happy and realising they care for each other. The IMPORTANT thing is that I mean Norman Bates in Psycho II (1983), where he's like 50 years old and recovered mentally, and is going to live in society again. I only watched the first two films, and in Psycho II... living a normal life doesn't go well for him, and it makes me really sad because his character was very sweet in the second movie and I wish readjusting to the world had gone well, instead of Horror Movie Plot. It's okay if you don't want to do this one because I know this is like obscure, and he's an odd character to ask about. All the best!

Hey, anon. I don't actually write for Psycho on this blog. You can find everything I write for on my fandom list.

I do have a horror blog where I write for the first Psycho film and Bates Motel. I could potentially do this one over on that blog with a re-watch of the second film.

But ye, we love Norman in this house.

#anon request #norman bates

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mythiica · 5 years

Note

Sorry if this isn't the place to make requests. I really like your writing and I was wondering if you'd do a NSFW Kiro [MLQC] one-shot? The boy is too sweet for how own damn good.

Title: Sweeter Than Sweet

Fandom: Mr. Love Queen’s Choice

Character: Kiro

Genre: SMECCI with semi plot

Warnings: sex

Kinks: sexy dancing, public sex, food kink, blowjob/handjob, nipple play, biting, strip tease, grinding, riding

Intended Gender Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 2652 words

POV: second person

Other comments: okay you said “sweet” in your request, and I really could not resist doing some dessert/eating out kink so here u go. Yes the title is a reference to bts idol dont @ me ; also thank you thank you thank you to @breadcheese444 for helping me with beta reading! First smut in a while and i was a bit rusty

You watch Kiro from the doorway of his fitting room as he completes the dance routine without making a single mistake. The music echoes throughout the studio, and you hum along softly, having memorized the song from the countless times you listened to it while he practiced. Really, you could recall every step by memory if you wanted to – that is how often Kiro practiced with your company.

He is completely in synch with the rhythm – hell, even his golden hair bounces to the one, two, three, four that you know is repeating in his mind. Kiro gives the camera his undivided attention paired with his irresistible smile. His motions are fluid and smooth, and it is easy to lose yourself in his dance.

Kiro strikes his final pose: his nose is tipped down and the hat obscures his face for a split second before he cranes his head upwards slightly. The lights overhead click off, leaving him under an intense spotlight. His bright blue eyes shine from under the brim of the hat, cutting through the empty space to the camera. To finish off, Kiro flashes a dangerous smirk just before the last light goes out.

There is a moment of complete silence when you can only hear Kiro’s heavy breathing. Then, the studio erupts into applause and the lights come back on. You hear the director yell cut and then that’s a wrap, signalling the end of today’s shooting.

With Kiro’s immaculate performance today, they have everything they need to finish editing the new music video. Everyone is cheering, and they end up swarming Kiro to congratulate him. He runs a hand through his damp hair and smiles joyfully, accepting their compliments politely before looking around the studio.

His eyes lock with yours and he gives you a bright sunshine smile – it’s not like the smirk he wore a few moments ago, but it still makes your heart melt. Kiro thanks the crew for helping out and making everything run smoothly before slipping past them and walking over to you. He clasps your hands and kisses your cheek. “You made it!”

“I arrived just in time to watch the end of your performance! You did very well. I got goosebumps–”

Kiro blushes slightly and presses his forehead to yous. “I’m so happy you’re here. I can change and then we can head out for dinner. Where would you like to go?” He takes his jacket off and reveals his toned muscles. The boy is a whole meal looking like this: the cotton shirt leaves little to the imagination (and the studio is usually kept cold to reduce sweating, hence his nipples poke through the black material with ease.)

You lick your lips. “Anywhere is good. I’m really hungry.”

Putting a hanger through the jacket, Kiro leaves it on a rack with other clothes he had worn during the music video. “Well, there is this really good restaurant about ten minutes away from here. We can go and then walk to the park for some ice cream!”

As Kiro speaks, he does not realize that you are pulling him into his changing room until the door clicks behind the two of you. Whipping around, you smile devilishly at him.“I was thinking about something else before we leave…” you whisper as you trill your fingers down Kiro’s chest. His breathing becomes labored, like he knows what you are getting at, but he does not want to jump to conclusions.

“W-What do you mean?” When you push him onto the plush chair in the middle of the room, Kiro yelps softly.

Your eyes narrow, and Kiro melts at the thought of having sex in a public place like his changing room. “Here?! We can’t do that here. What if we get caught?”

“I locked the door!”

Kiro squirms but only successfully makes his shirt lift. You invite yourself to trace his muscles and place a soft kiss to his bellybutton. He swallows hard and groans, informing you that you have indeed intrigued him with your proposal. “Alright, but we’ll have to hurry. My agent doesn’t like it when the door is locked from the inside–”

The moment his confirmation leaves his lips, you stand up and smile. “Brilliant.” Kiro watches you pad over to his dressing table and is expecting you to pull a condom out of your purse, but instead, you take the small cardboard box sitting on the edge. Confused, Kiro props himself up with his elbows against the arms of the chair. He follows you as you click back and take a seat in front of him. With the box on the ground next to you, you rest your chin on your arm and flutter your eyelashes at Kiro. “You were really good today, I have to tell you again!”

“T-Thank you!”

“And I don’t really know how you can change from ultra sexy to super cute in just a matter of moments. It’s like a secret ability of yours.” Your words are a mere distraction as you take your time pawing at his crotch. Kiro whimpers softly and leans forward to brush your hair back. “Kiro, I’ve got a surprise for you~”

You unbuckle his pants to pull them down slightly – just enough that they linger at his thighs while you have access to his underwear. It is obvious that your antics have already made Kiro hard, and it pleases you to see the seam of the undergarments fighting against his growing erection. As you free his member, you coo at Kiro, “I brought you some cake to celebrate the end of the filming. I think now would be a good time to have some, no?”

“I–I thought that we were–”

“Shh.. you’ll see,” you whisper with a smirk. Flicking the top of the box open, you pull a strawberry off of the chocolate icing and brush it over Kiro’s tip. The wet flesh of the fruit makes Kiro tense up – who would have guessed that you would use them for this? You cup your palm over his cock and keep the strawberry between your hand and him, using it to coax a harder erection.

As you expected, Kiro withers under your touch and begins to buck against you, seeking more friction and a faster release. Pink juice from the berry dribbles down his shaft, but you catch it with your tongue and lap up Kiro’s full length. “Hmm… so sweet, Kiro…” You giggle and look up to smile at him, precum and strawberry juice running down your chin.

His cheeks have flushed to the same shade of red as the fruit, but he cannot bring himself to meet your gaze, for he fears that he will come undone immediately. When Kiro swallows hard, you press a swift kiss to the base of his cock before focusing on his tip. “A-Ahh… Your mouth is really warm,” he praises, his hand snaking down to lace his fingers in your hair. Kiro tugs slightly, and you nuzzle against him momentarily before flicking your tongue out to catch a new bead of precum.

Retracting your hand, you let the crushed strawberry fall into the open lid of the box before picking two fresh ones up.

“Do you plan to make me numb with those?” There is a concerned lit in his voice, like he knows that he won’t last long at this rate.

A giggle tickles the back of your throat and you shake your head. Instead of resuming, you stand up again, fruit in hand, and sit comfortably on his lap, making sure to grind against Kiro so he can feel the inevitable wetness soaking your panties. “I want to play with you more; we’ve barely done anything!” You lean forward and play with the hem of his shirt.

“May I remind you that we could get caught at any second?”

Pouting, you opt to just unbutton his shirt rather than trailing kisses up his chest. You don’t hesitate to press the cold berries to his nipples, and the sudden change in temperature makes Kiro shiver and groan. They harden rapidly, and you marvel at the bright pink. “So cute!” you giggle, leaning forward to kiss Kiro deeply.

“Ah! Please! They’re really cold!”

“That’s the point,” you shush, passing both fruit into one hand. As you focus them on his right nipple, you tuck your hair back behind your ear and start suckling on his left one. Kiro arches against you and squirms gleefully. A quick bite on his skin makes him yelp and sit back down. With his nipple still between your lips, you look up and smile at Kiro. His face is even redder than before, and you see a sliver of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth reflecting in the artificial light from above.

With every motion, Kiro only successfully buries against the flesh of the fruit, causing fluids to run down his pale abdomen. You shift over him, sitting up slightly to trade treatments. Moans tumble from his lips as he subs for you. Lowering your free hand down, you take hold of Kiro’s cock once more and spread the precum over his tip, using it as lubricant to pump him with the same vigor of your tongue as it flicks against his nipple.

Kiro grips your arm and half whine-half moans your name before he throws his head back. Desperately, your beautiful idol begins bucking against your hand and arching his back, seeking out release from your merciful touch.

Looking over your shoulder, you beam when you see that even Kiro’s cock is blushing. “Kiro, you want to cum, don’t you?”

He bites his lip and nods yes, so you discard the berries on his stomach, opting to suck his tip to make him cum instead of simply pumping him with your hand. You sink back to your knees and take half of his length into your mouth, wrapping your tongue around him until you feel Kiro tense and inevitably cum.

It tastes half like strawberry, making it easier to swallow, but you let a few drops of white hang from your mouth to show Kiro. He shivers at the sight and covers his eyes in embarrassment. You take the chance to kiss up his body now, throwing the used strawberries behind you. When you pull Kiro’s hands away, you cup his face and kiss him repeatedly, praising him between every one. “I love you, Kiro, you did so well! So sweet…”

He gives you a gentle smile and traces shapes on your thigh. “Let me treat you–” Kiro’s fingers tug at the elastic of your panties. “You got excited from playing with me, I can tell.”

“You did put on a private show for me,” you respond playfully as you lean back enough to remove your underwear. Kiro takes it from you and drops it on the ground, but his arm lingers over the edge as he contemplates something. You can see it splattered across his face: the quizzical expression that makes his eyebrows tip upwards and the corners of his mouth curls into a smirk.

“Do you have an idea, baby?”

Kiro keeps a steady hand on your waist, but then scoops up some icing off of the cake with his thumb. He turns his attention back to you and brushes some of the icing against your bottom lip. When you go to lick it away, Kiro catches your tongue with two fingers. “Ah! You had your fun, it’s my turn now.” With that, he closes the space between the two of you and kisses you deeply. His own tongue brushes over the icing, and he smiles widely upon leaning back. “Sweet indeed…”

You love how Kiro can switch from a sub to dom within moments – he takes another lick of icing and paints it across your tongue as his free hand pushes your shirt up before it winds up your thigh to pull your skirt up to your waist. While you are distracted, Kiro slips his fingers through your folds, making you squirm with anticipation.

Biting your lip, you sway your hips back and forth, just like Kiro did for the music video. You do not stop moving until his cock is penetrating your wetness, and even then, you sink down further onto his cock and release a satisfied groan upon sitting down completely on him. You take a moment to strip your shirt and bra, letting both of them fall to the ground.

“Which tastes better: the cake or me?” you ask innocently, raking your fingers through your hair to pull it over to the other side. It falls over your face and Kiro grasps your jaw to kiss you repeatedly. “You, always you. The cake is a bonus!”

You squirm around and Kiro groans and then bites your bottom lip to praise you. Kiro’s hand goes up your spine and he presses you against his chest so that your nipples grind together. His are still slick with juice, and the friction is delicious. As you preoccupy yourself grinding, Kiro guides you to bounce on his cock.

Both of you have forgotten about the small room and need to keep quiet, but it does not seem to be a concern anymore. You moan against Kiro’s ear and worship him, telling him how wonderful he feels inside of you. Kiro is still sensitive from cumming before, and you can feel him tensing hard. His muscles are tired from performing earlier, but he gives you his all. Gripping the back of your thighs, Kiro bucks into you and kisses up your chest. His breath is hot and heavy, the room smells like sex, and your pussy squelches with every thrust he delivers into you.

“K-Kiro! I’ll cum if you keep doing that!”

His blond hair is matted down with sweat, and he kisses across your collarbone to coax you further to your climax. It does not take long for you to unravel completely on his cock. “Kiro, my sweet, please cum with me!” Your tongue falls out of your mouth as you ride out the orgasm.

Kiro tenses, his fingernails digging into your skin, and follows you. It’s warm and wonderful: you sift around so that he fills you completely. The two of you are panting heavily for a few minutes as you regain your bearings.

You laugh and lean back. Your blouse is wrinkled and stained with strawberry juice and saliva. Kiro brushes his thumb against your hip before you sit up and pull your panties back on. The cake is a mess when you look at it – half broken and crumbling, chocolate icing all over it. The sight makes you laugh, but you pull down your skirt and offer Kiro a new shirt.

“To be fair, I didn’t think that the cake would end up like this. I really did think that we would share it…”

Kiro brushes his hair quickly before wrapping his arms around your waist to kiss your neck. “I am not complaining! But next time, I would… like to do this at home where we can have more fun.”

“Alright! Alright. Now, where was that restaurant you wanted to go to?”

The two of you sneak out of the changing room, but when you run into Kiro’s agent, he does not look happy. His foot is tapping against the ground, and he is wearing an angry expression. “If you are going to act like children and do that here, I suggest you at least try to be discreet about it. Kiro, you are known for having a good voice. That seems to carry, even when you are doing more.. Intimate things.” He huffs. “Now leave.”

Kiro grabs your hand and pulls you away, but the two of you break into a run before anyone can make a comment about your trouselled hair and wrinkled clothing.

#mlqc #mr love queens choice #mlqc kiro #mlqc smut #paper games #elex #love and producer

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memescomicswriting · 5 years

Text

The Man That Got Away

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Leaving the most wonderful woman Bucky’s ever met was the biggest regret of his life and he never expected to see her again. But magic tends to have a mind of its own.

A/N: This is for #SherrysFallIntoYouChallenge ( @sherrybaby14 ) and yes I know “The Man that Got Away” was released in 1954 with A Star is Born (ft. Judy Garland and you should watch it), but we’re going to pretend it was released nine years earlier so this story makes sense. Okay? Okay. Also, I finished this in a caffeine haze so judge me.

My Masterlist

...

The street lamps of the city seemed to radiate a cheerful glow now that the war was over. Couples started roaming the streets again. It wasn't like the mayhem of victory, but the steady normalcy that existed before. It all seemed like a blurry dream to Bucky; familiar but odd. Foggy as the dream was, the city's air had alluring magic in the air tonight which pushed Bucky towards his destination. He hoped he was heading in the right direction. Steve hastily wrote the note and slipped it under Bucky's door during his morning jog. It listed the party, the address, and instructions on how to get there. Bucky hadn't attended many parties since his return home, but for Steve, he'd make an appearance. Besides, it was Halloween and for the new Shield group. If not now, then when? The bar was along a street with other bars and clubs in Brooklyn. Like the rest, it was decked for Halloween. The fuzzy illumination of the sign obscured the readability but Bucky made out the name Enchanted; how fitting for the season. Caricatures of witches, cats, ghosts, and ghouls decorated the outside. When he stepped in, it was just as seasoned. Jackolanterns lined the carpet entrance. The club's atmosphere was dimmed by lights covered in red and orange shades. Along with the fog and smoke, it created a mystic and romantic feel. The smell of smoke was thick but cut with the crisp scent of fall every time the door opened. This was the kind of place Bucky would take his dream girl; if he had her.

A hostess caught his attention and took his coat. On his request, she directed him to Steve, who was off chatting with Peggy and some men from the government agency. They were all friends, not bureaucrats. They faced away from the stage and the Bing Crosby cover artist who occupied the stage. The night's host came into the light, but Bucky paid no attention to entertainment. He quietly joined the group and after the hellos, pats on the back, and a hug from Steve, Bucky molded into the background of the group. The next singer was announced and the group began shifting and looking over as the host began chatting up the entertainer. They wanted to watch the performance so they slowly migrated away from the bar and to a booth with a view. The host raised his hand in the direction of the circular spotlight. "Ladies and gentlemen, please show your love to the bewitching Ms. Y/N!" Bucky's throat knotted. Outstepped the most gorgeous woman alive. She dawned a form-fitting black dress that could have come from the set of "I Married a Witch." Like Veronica Lake, it slinked over her body like water. Though it was long-sleeved and touched the floor, the fit and the cuts in the chest and leg left little to the imagination. When she moved, the fabric caught the light and moved on its own. It matched the headband that sported a small witches hat, fitting for the vixen. Her hair was curled in long waves which framed her face well. It brought out her sparkling eyes and bright red lips. She dripped magic even before she began to sing. Y/N was the femme fatal. The grand piano struck chords like lightening and the band followed. It was a dragging jazz symphony with independent saxophones. The band gave a condensed version of the melody before she began to sing. But oh, when she did Bucky was lost. *** Bucky was in a coma for a month following his fall. When he woke up, he heard Steve saved the East Coast. Along with the rest of the Hollowing Comandos, he was closing in on Berlin. The war would be over in weeks, but Bucky was missing all the action while stuck in his hospital bed. Three days after waking up, he was moved into a common room filled with fellow casualties. Granted, miraculously, all Bucky had was a rapidly healing but torn up arm. He insisted to the deaf ears of his doctors, that he was fine. He could be moved to processing so he could return to his buddies. The moment he felt he had the strength, he surged out of bed. He hadn't realized a month in a coma would leave his legs limp. He tumbled over and onto the floor; causing a small scene to all those around. The most beautiful woman rushed to his aid. She was dolled up in a dignified trench coat and khaki dress. It was governmental in look, but she wore no colors. Her makeup was done, unlike other female army officials. She had cherry red lips, that in spite of Bucky's foolishness, curled most fondly. Her hair was curled in the modern, starlit fashion. If he put her against the wall, she'd look like a pin-up. The British soldier she was previously conversing with was annoyed, and despite the obvious flush of embarrassment on Bucky's cheeks, he didn't regret the fool he made out of himself. Once her hands touched his chest and back in support, a jolt of electricity ran through his body. There was a tingling sensation creeping into his body from the spots her hands met his skin and it livened his body. He felt warm for the first time in weeks and without the need of help, but the eager acceptance of it, Bucky got up and sat down in his little nook. "What's the rush soldier?" She elegantly placed herself next to Bucky on his cot. He didn't know that sitting could be so gracefull, especially while supporting a goofy soldier. She held onto him until she was sure he was alright. "The war's not missing ya." Her voice was light but not too chipper. She was soft and alluring with a voice that dripped like running honey. Bucky huffed. She was clever and he had a difficult time with a clever woman. "I'm sure the war isn't, but my buddies might be." He bit the inside of his cheek, punishing himself for sounding so brash. "Aha, well America's finest has written some letters. Maybe if you weren't as stubborn as an ass, you'd notice them in your table drawer." She leaned over and snatched them. She handed them over with a wink and her hand brushed Bucky's. It was so soft but electric. Bucky opened his mouth to speak but quickly pinched his lips together. He already looked like a fool, he didn't need his words to confirm it, again. He turned over each envelope. There were three, all unopened, and all from Steve. "He's glad you're getting well." She patted his hand with the envelopes. Bucky blinked and shifted his glance to the mystery woman in front of him. "You know Steve?" She chuckled a melodic chuckle with her head tilted back. She acted like everything was so obvious, even a child could figure it out. It didn't make Bucky feel too confident and he blushed. "Oh love," She placed a gentle hand on his. "I'm a girl with a way about her." "Ain't that the damn truth." He thought to himself. With that, she stood up. Bucky followed the sway of her hips as she moved around his bed, habitually tidying it a bit. "Get some rest and catch up with Captain Rogers. You'll be back to your reckless choices in no time." The light her smile radiated dimmed the further she walked. Down the long line of cots, the specific charms of her faded, but she still lingered like a candle flame in the dark. She waved and joked with other men she passed. All their attitudes brightened as she passed; more so than they would for any other woman passing by. She was more than the nurses to them. Eventually, she was a blimp in the background but Bucky could see her stop at another soldier's bed. It was odd. The only females allowed around soldiers were nurses. He wasn't in a stateside infirmary, otherwise family could visit. Yet here was a goddess amongst a string of injured wolves, but she had no fear. She roamed the lines of cots like she owned the damn place. Bucky rolled his shoulders back thinking they were sore but to his surprise, they weren't nearly as bad as they'd been the day before. He chalked it up to the schoolboy rush he felt. Within minutes, that enchantress had her claim on Bucky's heart. *** Some couples swayed in dance. It was a good song to get close to a dame, but Bucky remained on the outside with Steve. Surprisingly, he wasn't out there with Peggy. They could hardly keep their hands to themselves these days. "And all because of the man that got away. No more his eager call. The writings on the wall..." Her voice was strained and pulling in the emphasis of her despair. Despite the pain, the song glossed over the crowd like a siren's melody. It pulled the couples closer and made the singles itch for someone to touch. A spell had been cast over the crowd. "Isn't she great?" Steve whispered in Bucky's ear, which made him jump from his enchantment. Steve snickered but continued. "She's Peggy's friend; known her since the start of the war. They've got a long backstory." Bucky nodded along with Steve but maintained his distant guard. "Yeah, she's someth'n man." *** The rolling hills of the Normandy hospital were breathtaking. He imagined if the roles were reversed, Steve might enjoy his stay. He could recover while drawing and painting the landscape. Instead, Bucky was trapped with little to do other than listen to grumbling Brits and Americans complain about being bedridden like him. Though they were seeking to be sent home, not back into the thick of it like him. He was called out of his solitude by an overly amused voice. "If your intent was hiding, you need to work on your hiding places." In a poof of fabric, the girl from a week ago sat down next to Bucky. She took to nature like she was a part of it. The sun gleamed off of her like the ancient statues he saw in Greece. Her fingers wove into the grass like tree roots. Her whole body relaxed. "If anything, I'm looking for a means of escape." He quipped, looking over her with a raised brow. She was the most curious creature he'd ever encountered, and he'd met a lot of women. "Now Sergent Barnes," She warned playfully. "The boys aren't that bad." Bucky snorted. "You're not stuck with them all day and night." Then he paused, frowning in thought. "How do you know who I am?" "I deliver your mail." As if on cue, she chucked another letter from Steve over to him. He carried on. "And how do you know Steve?" "Mutual friends." She replied as if it were just that obvious. "You know, girls aren't usually allowed in the infirmary with the soldiers." He teased, looking to stir a reaction. She nudged him with her shoulder. "Well, I'm not any girl." Then she looked around for any nearby person and leaned in like she was going to share top-secret information. "I'm a woman." Bucky's face deadpanned, looking straight at her. She combusted into a laughing fit and fell back onto the grass. It took her a minute to calm herself enough to prop her head upon her elbow. "You're impossible." Bucky huffed again. "Quite the contrary Sergent Barnes." She flashed him a Chesire grin. "I'm very easy if you just ask." He nearly choked on his own spit and she was sent into another laughing fit. "I can see why you're popular amongst the other soldiers." With her head back on the grass and gaze on the clouds, she sighed. "I'm popular because I'm a woman who's attention is on them and not their temperature or blood pressure. I see them and they appreciate it. I don't need to be so flamboyant with them to gain their attention." She turned her head to look up at him with thick lashes. Her hair draped over her chin and veiled her lips. All Bucky could think of for a moment was pushing her hair back and smoothing a finger over her lips. "So you do go out of your way for me?" He met her eyes and tilted his head in question. "I was asked to check in on you, but you don't exactly make it easy." She sighed, but her cheeks raised with a growing smile. "D'Steve ask you too?" His accent thickened with the idea of his Brooklyn pal. She began playing with the grass, continuing the conversation in her own little world with Bucky. "No, I've actually never had the pleasure of meeting Captain Rogers or corresponding with him. A mutual friend asked on his behalf. She was concerned about him." "Peggy?" He asked. She hummed a yes in response. He went on to ask."And how do you know Peggy?" "Peggy knows all the spies of course, and when I retired from my spying because I was no longer needed- thanks to your Captain, I turned my war efforts to helping the soldiers where I could." Then she shrugged, trying to conceal her disappointment. "I may not be allowed to fight, but I can give comfort." "Mmm.." Bucky thought on that. "So what? You travel around infirmaries and comfort the wounded?" "About that." She nodded her head in agreement. "Between stops, I'll do shows for nearby camps. That's what I did before I became a spy." Bucky was puzzled. She was a performer, but he didn't recognize her. At least, he didn't recognize her at first. Then it began to piece together. The lips and the trending fashion, her quirky cheerfulness, being a performer- she was Y/N, the ex-patriot Hollywood starlit. All the tabloids said she was lost to the war, but here she was in front of him. Bucky groaned at himself and his stupidity. "I'm an idiot." "Well yes," She said bluntly. "But I don't mind it. You make up for it in your good looks." His eyes shot wide and to her. No other dame he'd encountered been as forward as her. First, he thought it was her fame, but none of the tabloids talked about any other female celebrity's brazen attitude. "Beg your pardon?" He chocked on his words as they came out. "Called you handsome, soldier." Her brows peaked, but not in annoyance, but questioning. "What has the war taken away your ability to flirt with a woman?" "No." He quickly shook his head. "You're just something else. You're...wonderful." *** She crooned on. Every sentiment, she made eye contact with another person, pouring her emotions into them. "The man that won you has run off and undone you. That great beginning has seen the final inning. Don't know what happened. It's all a crazy game" Howard came up next to Bucky and patted him on the back. "God, isn't she the greatest performer that you've ever seen?" He straightened his tie up and smoothed over his suit. Bucky knew that attitude. Stark was looking to bag her. Bucky swallowed back his annoyance with the first drink he spotted. He wanted to ring Stark out for pursuing Y/N, but he had no justifiable reason to even stop Stark's advances. *** There was a town less than a mile away from the hospital. Even though it lacked many of the goods it had before wartime, Y/N always made her way back from the small but growing market with treats for the boys. For some it was cigarettes that didn't taste like government-issued cardboard, others bake goods, and some asked for little gifts or pressed flowers to send home to their girls or families. She went twice a week so everyone who needed or wanted something got it within two weeks. For Bucky, whatever he asked for, he got that day. Once he asked for playing cards because the decks belonging to the other soldiers were either incomplete or rigged. If he had to pass time, he might as well do it with something semi-entertaining. To his amazement, she came back that day with a beautifully printed deck of cards. "Where the hell did you swipe something as good as this?" Bucky went off without thought as he was caught up in the cards. "Not hell," Her signature Cheshire grin crept onto her face. This time, it was illuminated by the sunset dying on the horizon and the candle on Bucky's bedside table. Her eyes dazzled in the glow like they were lights themselves. "That's for sure. I have my ways. A little bit of magic." It was light-hearted, but Bucky's gaze shifted to her suspiciously. "You know..." He began. "My shoulder's gotten a lot better over the past few weeks. I'd say it's back to what it was before my fall and I have complete dexterity throughout my hand." "That's great Sarg." Her voice swayed like sweet garden charms. Maybe the bells from the town sounded off as well, but he could have sworn he heard layers to her voice. "That means the doctors are doing their job and all the rest I'm forcing you to get is working." "Yeah, maybe you're right. My sleeping has impr-" He caught himself as his train of thought moved without him. Suspicious, he eyed her but not out of mistrust but genuine curiosity. She was already a compilation of mystery and he was trying to solve one layer. "Ever since you came into my life, my health's improved. It's like you're a lucky charm or someth'n." He could have sworn he heard her say "or something," but her lips didn't move. She batted her lashes a few times and her smile shifted from cheeky to sincere. "I do think I've helped you get better, by kicking your sorry butt into gear so you'd listen to your doctors and rest." Bucky snorted at her suggestion. Man was she one powerful woman, and in all fairness, she had kicked his butt into shape despite himself. "Yeah, some magic your foot's got there. One powerful kick." She chuckled at his insinuation. Her hand landed on his knee and again a bolt of contagious electricity shot through him. Suddenly, he was laughing with her. "Oh Barnes, kicking boys like you around is what I do best." There was a mutually shared exchange of fondness between them that was magnetic. If there weren't so many prying eyes around he would have taken her into his arms there and kissed all the air out of her. He'd save that for later that night when they could sneak off to their own little corner of the world. Then she shook her head and pulled herself out of the moment. Her throat cleared and it pulled Bucky back to the world around them. "I'm gonna go drop off the other goodies. When I get back, I'll kick your butt again, but in poker." Bucky grinned as he already began shuffling the cards through his fingers. "I'd like that." He smiled up at her an eager smile. *** "Good riddance, goodbye. Every trick of his you're on to, but, fools will be fools. And where's he gone to?" She cried out. Pain and agony morphed into bitter confusion but no one other than Bucky seemed to notice the song was more than a song. It was a release. He noticed Peggy shift her eyes to him. Maybe she saw it for what it was aswell. Yet, in her eyes, pure confusion turned into confused acceptance. She could see Bucky's attachment. He shrugged her off as he was pulled back into the song. He could swear there was something otherworldly to it. Knowing Y/N, maybe there was. What was clear, was the distress in the performance. There was a call to it of "Someone notices me. Someone really notice me." *** Immediately following the war, Y/N was sent to DC. Peggy, Steve, Stark, and other war leaders were called to DC. Bucky, being healthy enough to travel could follow Y/N and join Steve with the other Howling Commandos. Y/N acquired one of the few passenger planes running from Europe to the US. She preferred that over traveling with a bunch of caged up soldiers who hadn't seen a woman in months. Bucky traveled with her and they arrived in DC together a day before the meetings began. They had private time together in Normandy, but nothing like the freedom of DC. They didn't have to sneak out and sneak around officers to be alone. In DC, they can walk down the street holding hands and go out to dinner. They were a magical fifteen hours and Bucky knew it was all too good to be true. A telegram arrived at Bucky's hotel room the night before the meetings. The army rerouted a post intended for Europe to Bucky. The original letter was addressed to one of his camps from many months prior. Steve moved the Commandos around so it was normal to receive letters later than the stationed boys. This was nearly three months late. He read the emotionless typewriter font despite the confusion and then, despite the denial. He hadn't seen Dot since the holiday relieve Steve was able to acquire for him. He wanted to assure his Ma that he was alright. Unsurprisingly, he saw Dot; or rather, Dot found him. Upon hearing of his stay over, Dot appeared on his doorstep. And well... he was a man after all and he hadn't seen a dame that spoke English in over a year. So yeah, they slept together. Now Dot was pregnant, with his child. Bucky's gaze shifted to Y/N who patiently got herself ready for bed while waiting on Bucky to join her. She had her second stocking midway down her leg and even though she was undoing herself for the night, the intimacy of it all was the sexiest thing Bucky had ever seen. He was entirely and happily bewitched by her. But it was because he loved her, that he had to break her heart. God knows he didn't want to. He wanted to burn the letter and never think about Dot again. He hadn't thought of Dot since the second he laid eyes on Y/N, but his mom would box his ears in and Steve would kill him for leaving a child without a father. "Y/N?" He cooed softly from his place by the door. "Hmm?" She replied from her place at the vanity. She peered up at him through thick lashes, bent over, taking care of her stockings. The slight actions were mesmerizing. Bucky's throat croaked with the hard gulp he made at the sight, but it pulled him out of the moment. "Y/N sweetie." He strode over to the bed's edge by the vanity and plopped down. Noticing that something was off, mainly that Bucky hadn't pounced her yet, her confused eyes searched and landed on the telegram. "What's wrong?" Her brows knitted together as her concerned gaze met Bucky's somber eyes. "I received a well-delayed message from New York." His hand scratched the growing locks near his neck that Y/N loved to toy with so much. There would be no sweet sentiments now. Suddenly, Bucky popped up and began quickly pacing the floor. "I just, I don't understand. It was one time and I was so careful. In all the letters nothing is mentioned...even ends things!" He swiftly turns back to Y/N, exasperated. "But this one, the one that comes late, that's the kicker!" He dramatically huffs and collapses on the bed. Y/N crawled up next to him and sat on her knees facing him. She looked over him worried and pulled his head into her lap. "James," Her voice was smooth and hushed. A wave of focussing calm washed over Bucky. "what's the matter?" "Dot's pregnant." He admitted blatantly. When Y/N's hands retracted and she began to move away, Bucky propped himself up to catch her. "I'm so sorry Y/N. I'm so, so sorry to do this to you. If I had known I never would have..." She shot him a wicked warning of a glance and he shut up. "Never would have started something with me. I know your character Bucky. You're not like that. It's why I allowed myself to grow fond of you." Fond. Not love, but fond. Already she began detaching herself and it scared Bucky. Desperately, he clasped her hands in his. He was upright now and kneeling with Y/N. "Say the word and I won't go. I won't leave you and we can run away from our responsibilities. We can go out west for your career and I'll never step foot in Brooklyn again." Her hands slipped from his grasp and against his best efforts, he couldn't chase after her as she left the bed. "We both know that if I let you do that, you'll hate yourself for the rest of your life. I can't let that happen." Quickly, she began stuffing her stockings and the other attachments she had taken off in her bag. She had her own room with the rest of her things. "The pain'll be worth it though," He declared meekly. "If I got you." His eyes were tear-filled as were Y/N's. He was a man pleading on his knees for his sugar girl, dynamite, enchantress to stay. She dashed back to him and for an instant Bucky had hope. Her soft lips planted on his forehead like they were imparting a seal to send away. He knew then that it was over. "And my pain will be worth it if you keep your soul." She then pulled away and wiped the tear streams from her cheeks. "You're going to go home and live a wonderful life Bucky. You may be afraid and angry at first but that'll all change when you meet your child. Yes, it'll hurt but you'll find someone else who makes you just as happy if not more. And everything will be magical again." She leaned over and gave his lips the sweetest kiss; filled with passion, love, and starlight. With only mere seconds of touch, he was out of breath. "This," She whispered against his lips. "I promise." Bucky couldn't fight for her as she walked out. He was frozen in place and forced to watch the most amazing creature walk out of his life. Once the door closed, he pounced. Able to free his limbs from their slumber spell he darted out the door but Y/N was nowhere to be seen. He spent a few hours pleading and pounding on her door. Eventually, security gave him the option of going back to his room or being kicked out. He chose his room. He had hoped Y/N would still participate in the post-war meetings, but as he suspected, she was gone. When he broke the news to Steve, he was uncharacteristically silent. Though the conversation was between the two men, word got back to Peggy. Knowing Steve, he probably blabbed without any pressure. He couldn't keep a damn thing from that woman. For the rest of DC Peggy did everything but smile in Bucky's direction. Hell, if she wasn't surrounded by higher-ranking officials she may have shot him. He did deserve it. *** Bucky shook himself out of the fog of memories when Steve elbowed him in the ribs. "Straighten up Buck and be a gentleman. Peggy's com'n back with her friend." "Gentlemen," Peggy nodded to Steve, Bucky, and Howard who all clumped together in a semicircle. "I'd like you to meet the best spy the Allies I had." Outstepped Y/N from behind Peggy. Before Y/N could speak, Howard jumped at the chance to take her hand. "Miss Y/N, after hearing all about you it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Howard Stark, the best contractor the Allies had. What a coincidence to have to of the best assets to the Allies in one room." After a kiss, Howard allowed Y/N to take her hand back. Only Bucky could see the sparkle of amusement in Y/N's eye that masked her desire to burst into a laughing fit at Howard's antics. "Yes, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stark. And Steve!" Her attention enthusiastically shifted to Steve. "I'm so glad to finally meet you after the storm Peg's talked up about you." Steve side-eyed Peggy as slyly as he could. "Is that so? And what has she said? She's a mystery to me some days and I'd love a few clues." Peggy blushed and after playfully swatting him, linked their arms together. Y/N's smirk was feline as she shifted her focus to Peggy and then back to Steve. "That you're the sweetest and most handsome idiot this side of the Atlantic. Steve's jaw dropped in astonishment as the rest of the group burst into chuckles, snorts, and giggles. Before Steve could give a retort or anyone else comment, Y/N shifted her attention to Bucky. "Hello Sarg," Her rich voice washed over Bucky's ears like another melody. She was poised with one hand on her hip and leg bent. "It's good to see you again." Steve's jaw closed and he cocked his head to the side. "You know'r Bucky?" It was directed towards Bucky but his gaze was fixed on Y/N. Peggy frowned up at Steve. He was the biggest idiot this side of the Atlantic. "Yeah," Bucky nodded slowly in agreement. However, he was too transfixed with Y/N to turn in Steve's direction. " Y/N delivered mail to all the boys in my hospital. She did a bang-up job at keeping all our spirits up." "Some were easier than others." Y/N fondly grinned while talking to Steve. "Your pal overhear was a difficult nut to crack." "I wasn't exactly the happiest patient until I had something more important than getting back to my pals." He nodded in agreement. Noticing that he had no chance of getting anywhere and feeling coerced into silence for long enough, Howard interjected. "Well, I'm going to go get a drink." "I think I'm in the mood for a Manhattan." Peggy seconded the drink idea and nudged Steve along. Bucky and Y/N could hear Steve grumble. "But you already got a Brooklyn." As he was dragged away. The exit wasn't all too smooth. Y/N's and Bucky's attention slowly drifted back together. "How's it been soldier?" "Y/N-" Bucky began to plead but she stopped him. "How's the baby?" She followed up. "Baby?" Bucky's thoughts were lost for a minute in Y/N but he was suddenly hurled to the reason why they were parted. "Oh, the baby! He's fine, healthy, and better yet with his parents." Y/N gave him a quizzical look so he continued. "Dot and her husband have a house on Statin Island. They're there with the baby." "Bucky," She warned. "You didn't?" "I have blue eyes, Dot has blue eyes, and the baby has brown eyes. As cute as the kid is, he's not mine." Bucky shrugged nonchalantly like the entire ordeal hadn't ruined his life. "Dot slept with another officer right before I returned home. Some Italian commander and he's a good guy, and when she called him up with the news he came and took my place." For the first time since he met Y/N, she was silent from a lack of words. A million thoughts raced across her face. The disbelief lasted the longest, then a wave of anger that calmed into acceptance. "I need a drink." She blurted out. "A strong one." She mumbled to herself as she strode away from Bucky and to the nearest bar. "Gin tonic. Light on the tonic." She nodded to the nearest bartender who nodded in response. Bucky snuck up behind her. "Make it two." He stood behind one of the bar stools and his arm draped across the gap Y/N was standing in and rested on the other stool. She was trapped by him. Y/N narrowed her eyes in a disapproving manner but Bucky didn't allow it to crawl under his skin. "What?" He asked casually. "Bucky," She warned. "We shouldn't be doing this." Her arms folded over her chest and though it was meant to show her caveat, it didn't help with how it pressed her breasts up. "What?" He questioned again with pretend naiveness. "Two old friends getting a drink?" "We're no friends." She quickly corrected. Bucky looked down with a suggestive smirk. "You're right, we're not." Y/N huffed in increasing annoyance. "God I wish I could turn you into a dog. It'd fit how you're acting." Bucky snorted. "You wouldn't." Then he took one over hands in his and his expression morphed into something sincere. "Even if I have a lot of begging to do." "Bucky..." Y/N began warning him but her resolve had weakened. "I know it's selfish to ask, because I hurt you so much, but do you think you could forgive me one day? I know it won't be today or even tomorrow, but hopefully one day you can see past how much of a punk I am and let me love you again." The club suddenly felt empty to Y/N. Despite the crowds pushing around it was just her and Bucky in the entire place. For someone who always knew what to say and when, her voice was locked away. Her head hung low from trying to conceal her expression. Bucky brought his free hand to cradle her chin between his large fingers. He tilted her chin up so he could look in her eyes. Now, he could clearly see the agonizing mix of emotions that were masked by the stage lights. "I can't have my heart broken again." Her eyes wouldn't meet his and he pleaded. "Y/N." He cooed and her eyes glanced over his before settling. "I won't hurt you ever again. It'll be you and me like it was always meant to be. No war, no baby, no interruptions. I promise." "How can I let my heart trust you again?" She wondered allowed. Her eyes sparkled in the dim lights of the club. Rays of color reflected off the tears in her eyes. "I don't know." He replied earnestly and honestly. "But I'm willing to do whatever you need so you can let me back in." Y/N reached up and stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. There was nearly no resolve left, and when he turned into her touch all of it was gone. She knew how to play with fire, but this was hellfire. Accepting his touch was scorching her to the bone but the thought of his love was an aching sweet relief. She wasn't certain who leaned into who and who initiated the kiss, but soon they were in a searing lip lock. They didn't need the roaming of hands or intertwining of limbs, yet, to feel the reverent passion held for one another. The kiss said it all. Eventually, Bucky parted from her. His lips were a swollen red from the kiss and his cheeks deeply flushed. Y/N however, looked as manicured as before. Her lipstick remained unsmudged despite the fearsome lovemaking. Bucky cleared his throat once he had enough air. "We... we-ah should go somewhere where we can talk." "Talk," Y/N smiled mischievously and pushed Bucky stumbling back so she could walk free from his trap. She snatched his beefy hand in her dainty one and pulled him along with her. "Sure, soldier. Let's go talk." Together, they made their way past prying eyes and to the coat check by the entrance. Bucky helped Y/N put on her dazzling designer number before he shrugged his on. He may be kiss whipped, but he was still a gentleman. Then they made their way out the exit of the club. The chill of the night air didn't seep into his bones anymore and Y/N appeared to thrive off of it. The autumn moon and the walloping gusts of wind softened around the couple just like magic. They were like any other couple walking down the illuminated street. They both were bundled up in layers except for their hands which were interlocked. The warmth that this generated radiated enough to keep them warm. Occasionally, Bucky would twirl her around in a little romantic dance or pull her flush against him and give her a quick peck on the lips that lingered into a full-blown kiss. "You know I could have taken us home. My rides flying around here somewhere." Turning from Bucky's embrace, Y/N searched the night sky for a dark outline. With a booming whistle, a broom came soaring down from the sky and into Y/N's outstretched hand. Bucky's chest erupted into a booming laugh and it reverberated against Y/N. At seeing her confusion, he kissed her nose and twirled her out of his hold and back into a walking position. "Not tonight dear, let's enjoy the leisurely stroll in your witching weather." Bucky didn't have to look at Y/N to know the secretive smile which she tried to hide with the press of her lips. He did catch the smooth movements of her fingers that were quickly followed by a gust of wind wrapping them up and pushing them together for a kiss once again.

...

Happy Halloween!

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kinkykinard · 5 years

Text

Doctoring December - Day 25

For @thefanficfaerie.

Fandom: MCU. Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader. Prompt: Requester’s Choice - Sprain. Word Count: 1946. Rating: 13+. Warning(s): none.

“Damn it.”

You collapse back to the ground after a third unsuccessful attempt at standing and kick the root you’d tripped over a short while before with your uninjured foot, cursing its existence. Running a hand over your face, you flop backwards into the snow, shifting uncomfortably as wetness starts to seep in through your clothes.

Reaching into your jacket pocket, you fish around for your phone, praying you can get cell reception where you are. A quick glance at the screen reveals no bars and you curse again, stashing the phone once more. You kick out in frustration, this time cursing your no-good dog, the one who had ditched you the second his leash was free of your hand.

In all the irritation, you fail to notice the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow nearby. You don’t realize you’re not alone anymore until you hear a familiar bark and snuffle. You turn your head just in time to watch your border collie bound over to you, his breath condensing into clouds around his face, half-obscuring him from view.

“Hey, Bandit, you naughty boy,” you say softly, reaching up to give his neck a scritch as he leans in to lick at your face. “Okay, okay, I’m glad to see you, too.”

“Are you alright?” A man’s voice calls from a short distance away, startling you.

You turn your head, grabbing onto Bandit’s collar so he can’t escape again.

“Excuse me?” You ask tentatively.

A tall, handsome man dressed much more appropriately for a wintery hike in the woods than you are appears at your side, taking a knee and meeting your eyes.

“Are you hurt?” He asks. “Your dog was pretty frantic when he found me, led me right back here.”

You roll your eyes, giving Bandit a good rub behind the ears, earning yourself another kiss. The stranger holds out a hand, Bandit’s leash dangling from it.

“I took it off so he didn’t get himself caught on anything,” he explains. “Anyway, do you need a hand?”

Your brain slowly starts to catch up to what’s going on and your expression relaxes. You nod gratefully.

“Yeah, yes, please,” you say quickly. “Thank you.”

He holds out a hand and you take it, holding on tightly and pulling yourself into a sitting position. His hand comes to rest on your back, steadying you as you settle, letting go once you’re comfortable. You take quick stock of yourself, searing for any other signs of injury, feeling glad when you find none.

“So what happened?” The stranger asks.

“I was taking Bandit out for a walk when he saw a squirrel,” you explain. “He started pulling so we ran into the woods. It was all going swimmingly until we came across that root there and, well, the rest is history.”

The man’s gaze flicks to where you’re pointing, and then slowly travels up your body from your feet, wordlessly taking in your general condition. He makes a wordless noise of consideration.

“Are you able to stand up?”

You shrug.

“My ankle hurts pretty badly, but I guess I won’t know until I try,” you reply.

The man nods, holding out a hand to you. You reach up to take it, allowing him to pull you to your feet. He’s strong and easily able to assist you, and you take a moment to appreciate his physique beneath the winter clothes before snapping out of it. You flash him a friendly smile.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “And I just realized that I haven’t even introduced myself yet. I’m Y/N.”

He smiles back, keeping a hand under one of your elbows to steady you as you flamingo a bit, balancing on one foot, not quite ready to test the other one yet.

“Steve,” he replies. “It’s nice to meet you.”

You laugh a bit, nearly toppling over. Luckily, Steve has great reflexes and wraps an arm around you, pulling you up against his chest before you can get too far. You grimace a little at your awkwardness and look up to meet his gaze.

“I wish it was under better circumstances, but yes, you too.”

You shift away a little, hopping awkwardly, and grit your teeth. You slowly lower your injured foot, crying out in agony the moment you set it down and put any weight on it. A white-hot pain shoots up through your ankle and you buckle, nearly falling over again. Thankfully, Steve catches you easily, gracefully sweeping you off of your feet and into his arms. Bandit runs around the two of you, barking his concern. Tears form in your eyes as you fight to steady your breathing amidst radiating waves of pain coming off of your injured foot.

“Looks like you’ve done a fair bit of damage there,” Steve comments. “I’m a paramedic, and if it’s alright by you, I’d like to take you back to my place and take a look at that for you. I live just through the trees there.”

You feel your face heat in embarrassment at your predicament and you shake your head.

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” you decline. “I’ll be alright. My car’s just back in the direction of the dog park. If you can help me back there, I’ll be just fine.��

Steve frowns.

“I don’t think you should be driving on that foot,” he insists. “Really, it’s no problem. I can wrap it for you, you can warm up for a bit, and then if you’re feeling alright I’ll happily drop you back off at the dog park to pick up your vehicle.”

You think on it for a moment, weighing your options, and finally agree when you realize that none of your ideas are any better than his.

“That would be great, thank you,” you concede. “I really appreciate it.”

Steve smiles and nods, adjusting his grip on you a bit to make sure you’re secure before heading off in the direction he’d come from. Bandit trots behind the two of you, content to behave now that you’re being looked after. The walk is a little bumpy, but also fairly short and within a few minutes, a row of fences comes into view. Steve carries you toward a gate in one of them, setting you down on your good foot for a moment so he can open it before picking you back up to carry you through it. Bandit follows and the gate swings closed in your wake.

Inside the house, Steve sets you down on a couch in the living room and you hover awkwardly, not wanting to get melting snow all over his floor.

“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back,” Steve says warmly.

You nod, setting your feet down, wincing as pain blossoms in your ankle again. You sit back a bit, shifting until you find a comfortable enough position to settle in. You’re not left to your own devices for long before Steve returns with a medical kit and a few towels. He sets them down on the table and pushes it out a little further, sitting down on it opposite you. He shakes a couple of the towels out, throwing them down at your feet to mop up the muddy mess your boots are creating.

“I’m going to take your boots off, okay?” He says.

You give him permission and he gets right to work, starting with the boot on your uninjured foot. He makes quick work of the laces and sets the boot aside once he’s done, moving in for the other one.

“This is probably going to hurt,” he warns. “If you need me to stop, just say so.”

You nod, already gritting your teeth against the coming onslaught of agony. You take a slow, deep breath as Steve carefully lifts your foot into his lap, shutting your eyes tightly as he starts to untie your laces.

The first flare of pain as he starts to wiggle your boot off is intense, but it subsides fairly quickly to a dull throb and the rest of the procedure isn’t nearly as bad. It takes a minute or two but eventually you’re free of both your boot and sock, and Steve’s warm, competent hands are cupping your ankle, supporting it a little.

“How’s that?” He asks, glancing up at you.

“Fine,” you say lightly. “A little painful, but I can take it.”

Steve makes a noise of acknowledgement.

“This isn’t a contest of your bravery,” he remarks. “I’m going to examine your ankle now and it’s probably going to hurt a bit more, but I don’t want you to be tough, I want you to be honest. If something hurts, let me know. It could be important.”

“Okay,” You agree. “Go ahead.”

He looks down again, carefully tilting your foot one way and the other, testing your range of motion. You hiss occasionally as the pain becomes more intense with the manipulation, but overall he’s very gentle and you can hardly complain. Soon enough, he’s finished with his assessment and he goes back to cautiously steadying your ankle between his hands.

“Looks like it’s most likely just a bad sprain,” he explains. “I can’t say for sure without an x-ray so I recommend you get one, but I think you might’ve gotten lucky. If you can hold on another minute, I’ll wrap it for you and that should make it feel a whole lot better.”

“Thank you,” you say softly. “Really, this is too kind of you.”

“Don’t mention it, I’m happy to help.”

You smile, watching as he reaches into his kit and pulls out an elastic bandage. You take a few slow, deep breaths to ease the pain as he begins to wrap it around your foot and ankle, relaxing as the compression around the injury eventually starts to feel good. By the time he’s done, it feels well-supported and stable and you find yourself feeling glad that he’d been the one to find out, knowing you could never have wrapped it so effectively yourself.

“Done,” Steve says a moment later. “If you lift your leg for just a moment, I’ll grab a pillow so you can prop it up for a bit.”

You do as he says, watching as he stands and reaches for one of the cushions on the couch. He settles it under your foot and you rest it on the coffee table, wiggling your toes a little and wincing in discomfort at the pain it brings.

“I really should be getting back to my car,” you say. “If the offer still stands, that is.”

Steve chuckles as he repacks his kit, zipping it up and taking a seat on the couch next to you.

“It does,” he assures you. “But if you don’t have anywhere to be right away, I’d love to have you for a little while longer. At least until your clothes dry and you warm up a bit.”

Only as he mentions your clothes do you realize how soggy you are and feel yourself start to shiver a bit. Steve gestures for you to unzip your coat and he takes it as you shrug out of it, hanging it over the arm of a chair nearer the fireplace across the room.

“I really don’t want to impose,” you insist, though your protest sounds weak, even to you.

“It’s no trouble, honestly,” he says kindly. “I’ll feel better knowing you’re warm and dry before I let you go.

“Well, you’ll have to let me make it up to you, then,” you say firmly. “Dinner once I’m back up and about?”

Steve’s expression softens and he smiles warmly, nodding.

“It’s a date.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Doctoring December Masterlist

#Doctoring December 2.0 #MCU #Steve Rogers #reader insert #fanfiction

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