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buckybabybaby · 6 years ago

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Mr Hollywood (Chapter 5)

Summary: Bucky Barnes, an underpaid teaching assistant in a small English village, dreams of a movie career back in his home country of America. He finally gets the break he's always wanted, and if it wasn't for you, his best friend, he wouldn't have been able to take it.

But is that fact enough to save your friendship when it's tested by the pressures of Hollywood?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Word count: 1865

Chapter summary: Bucky comes home! But only briefly... :(

Warnings: None I think!

Chapter 4

Mr Hollywood Masterlist

Masterlist

*****

Pouring rain on Halloween night means the bowl of sweets by your front door is almost full as you answer the bell for the final few trick-or-treaters. Normally, Bucky helps you decorate the porch and front garden on the Saturday closest to the thirty first, so doing it alone this year was a bit of a challenge, but you're happy with the end result.

The witches cat, out for it's third year, sits well by the mini pumpkins and broom, and the motion activated sound effects along the lantern lit path create the perfect atmosphere, just the right side of creepy.

The children certainly seem to approve.

Switching off the fairy lights and putting the leftover treats out of sight and temptation, you curl up on the sofa, scrolling through the pictures you took earlier of your decorations, choosing the best to send to Bucky. By your calculations it should be around midday in Los Angeles, lunch time hopefully, however it's always difficult to judge when he'll have a bit of a break. His replies to your texts have been slow and sporadic, but you understand, and he always apologises for taking so long. Today is a different story though, as the message is marked as read seconds after you send it, and you watch the little bubbles on the bottom of the screen as he types back his response. It's only a short text, saying that he shouldn't really be on his phone right now, but 'Happy Halloween!', and its accompanied by a photo of his own seasonal decorations, a plump pumpkin carved to look like a haunted house. He was always better than you at that kind of thing, you think, as you compare your own efforts with his, marvelling over the intricacy of the design. The picture appears to be taken in his trailer, and you zoom in to the corners, pleased to see it's cosy, homely. You had worried about how he would cope, being thrown in to such a foreign situation, as from the little information Bucky had been able to share, it seemed as though the other actors were old hands at living on set. It looks like Bucky's learned a thing or two from them.

Your reply to his picture goes unread, and you don't expect it to be answered any time soon. It feels like you never have proper back and forth conversations any more, that phone call cancelling his trip home feels like an age ago, and you miss his voice. The first half of the Autumn term wasn't as tough as you thought it would be, Bucky's replacement Peter is as easy to work with, so you have no complaints on that front, its just not quite the same without him.

Later, as you climb into bed, you allow yourself to briefly think about the future. Now that Halloween is done with, Christmas feels just around the corner, and Bucky's return can't come quickly enough.

*****

Luckily, Autumn quickly rolls to an end, and before you can blink, the annual school disco is upon you. The children look forward to it, and while it is a wonderful way to end the school term, with the combination of sugary drinks and snacks from the tuck shop, the only time they're permitted, the excitement for Christmas, and the speakers blasting classic festive songs, keeping it all under control can be exhausting for the adults.

Taking a breather, you wander through the empty corridors until you can no longer hear the commotion from the assembly room. The cloakrooms between the classroom areas are always a little cooler as they aren't heated, and after the stuffy hall its a welcome break.

Discreetly checking your phone you sigh at the lack of texts. You try not to keep it on you when you're working, not wanting it to be a distraction, but you are waiting on a message from Bucky, not so patiently. You want to know when he's going to be back around here so you can see him, but that's difficult to plan for when he doesn't reply. Leaning against the wall, you scold yourself for being annoyed at how uncommunicative he is, its unfair to expect to be made a priority, and it's not as if you're going to be super busy over the winter break. Whenever he's free you'll make sure you are too.

A door shuts nearby and you pocket your phone, pretending to be interested in the staff board in front of you, showing every teacher, assistant, cleaner and cook on it, your picture sitting at the top of the second column. Footsteps approach as you zone out, staring down the photo of yourself, only half aware that they've stopped beside you.

“Is that who took my place? Looks like one of those cartoon me-mes.”

Frowning, it takes your brain a few moments to work out what is happening.

“A what? Me-”

Turning to face the person who interrupted your bubble of quiet, you gasp, sure you're dreaming.

Bucky stands in front of you, and before he has a chance to say hi properly you're throwing yourself into his arms, only just holding in your squeal of joy as he wraps his arms around you. He smells just as he always did, that combination of three colognes you used to tease him about even though it is an amazing scent on him, and the memories it evokes has you snivelling against his chest.

He soothes you, rocking you with him as you wipe your eyes with your sleeve. “Sorry. I'm just tired I think.”

Nodding understandably against your hair, he hold you tight in his arms until your calmer.

Suddenly remembering his earlier words, you giggle as you pull away. “Me-mes? Really Bucky, you're still such a disaster.”

“And a very merry Christmas to you too.”

Smiling so wide your face hurts, you take him in. He's wearing a yellow visitor badge as opposed to your blue staff lanyard, and it makes him look so out of place even with the familiar surroundings. You note that despite spending nearly half a year in California, he's only slightly more tanned than when he left, but his hair looks different, glossier if possible, and softer. His casual style hasn't changed though, and you're happy to see that faithful puffer jacket he bought a couple of winters ago is still around. You can imagine he's grateful for it, coming back to the shock of single figure temperatures. All in all, he looks so much better than you remembered.

“And anyway,” You say, gesturing to Peter's picture that Bucky commented on, “He's actually really nice. So you should be too.”

“If you say so.”

Snorting, you check your watch. “If you have time, you could meet him?”

“I'd love to, but I've got to get to Dayton's. I didn't say I was coming here first, he'll worry I got stuck in the airport.”

“What do you mean? Haven't you been to his yet?”

“I wanted to see you first.”

“It's not really on the way is it?”

“No, but, worth it.”

Your tummy flips, flattered by his honesty. At a loss of what to say in response, you stare at the notice board behind his head, wondering if he's always had this effect on you and you've just forgotten over the months he's been gone, or if this is a new feeling. Even after an absence of six months he still has such a hold over you.

“What about tomorrow?” You ask after a short silence. “You remember the Christmas lunch? I'm sure we could squeeze you in if you wanted.”

You cross your fingers behind your back, desperate to have him here a little longer.

“Only if they have those potatoes I like.”

Thinking about how you'll make them for him yourself if you have to, you laugh at his condition for attendance, before escorting him back to the entrance foyer and his waiting taxi.

*****

“Are they not feeding you over there?” You chuckle, watching fondly as Bucky scoffs down a very full plate of dinner. Students and teachers a like have been absolutely delighted to see him again, and he's been given pride of place at the main table, with you squashed in beside him at his insistence. Peggy sits opposite, giving you a significant look every time your eyes meet. She's not pleased that you aren't paying attention to her.

“Well, yeah, but only the really healthy stuff.” He takes a last forkful, scraping at the plate forlornly, before eyeing the food you are yet to eat. Sighing good naturedly, you push it towards him. “Go ahead.”

Thanking you with a grin, he tucks in, quiet until you question him on how long he'll be back.

“Only a couple of days.” He cringes at your confused expression.

“But I thought-”

“I know, I know. But as we've had so many delays because of the weather, everything is so behind, we're basically filming all hours of the day. Most people on set have never seen anything like it, and it's only going to get even more intense. They want to hit the summer season so we're doing all nighters to get it finished.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“And then press and promo, I don't know when I'll get to come home next.”

You don't know what to say. Bucky only arrived yesterday, and now that it looks like he'll be gone by the end of the week you're lost, disappointed and angry at someone or someone's you haven't met.

“Are you at least getting enough sleep?”

He shrugs. “Does anyone in this industry?”

Peter interrupts your conversation before you can continue your interrogation, flopping down between you and Bucky to introduce himself, seemingly in awe of everything about him and his life after Wild Fields Primary School. He knows what you've told him, so not much really, and whilst he tries to dig for more answers from Bucky you force yourself to smile and enjoy the little time you have with him.

*****

The end of lunch comes too soon and whilst you would love to stay with Bucky, teaching duties call. He's driven himself here so you walk with him back to the door out to the car park, refraining yourself from giving him a hug as it feels inappropriate in front of so many people, but he has no such qualms, and ignoring everyone around, you treasure being so close to him, conscious that it may be a long while until you see him again.

Stepping back eventually, you peer through the drizzle at the car Bucky's hired for the day, only half surprised to clock the luxury badge on the front. Not exactly the little run around he used to own.

“That looks very fancy, really going up in the world aren't you?”

“I'm still me.” He says, smiling bashfully as he presses a kiss to your forehead, before slipping out of the door.

“Just don't you forget about me Bucky Barnes.”

“Never, doll.”

You wave him off, not knowing then that Hollywood has a way of changing people, and that sometimes they can't keep their promises.

*****

Chapter 6

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #buckybabybaby #Mr Hollywood

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sinningsquire · 8 years ago

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Cut Your Losses

A modern-au Kylux fic, written for @twistedsardonic

(Chapter 1 - 1996 words)

Ben stares at the flight tickets. Boarding pass, seat 14F. Ten hours flight eastwards, into the future. God, Leia is serious.

“Mom, you can’t be serious.”

“I am. I take your wellbeing very seriously, Ben. And it wouldn’t have come to this if you would, too.”

She hands him a suitcase. Ben almost expects, in his surprise-stunned, this-isn’t-happening haze, that it would be already packed for him. A half-hysterical giggle escapa him when he finds it still empty.

“You’ve picked up three fights in the last two weeks, Ben. I am tired of parents threatening to sue me. If you want to come back to that school in September, we’ve got to work on this.”

“But - you can’t just send me away for the whole summer! I got friends here!”

“These ‘friends’ are the ones who get you in trouble, and make sure you’re standing front and centre when it goes down!”

Leia takes him by the shoulders. She hasn’t been able to stare him down for the past three years now, remaining small and getting seemingly smaller with every inch and every trouble Ben grew into. But God, her eyes didn’t lose any of their strength even from this angle.

Ben doesn’t know what to say. It stings with shame but he knows she was right. One of the reasons he is so quick to throw punches is that he isn’t good with words, and couldn’t lie if he tried. His ‘friends’ are assholes. But it is either them or…. no one.

“I can’t just drop my training, Mom. Couch Snoke wants me–”

“That psycho,” Leia snarls through gritted teeth, “only wants to exploit you. You’re his best boxer now, when you listen to him telling you to rely more on rage than technique and discipline, but how long can you keep it up before you burn out? He’ll toss you away when you’re no longer useful to him. You could be so much more, Ben. I agreed to let you do boxing when I thought it would help with your anger management issues but Snoke only makes it worse.”

“Please, Mom. Don’t take this away from me.” Ben wishes he could punch something now. Snoke - yeah, maybe he is a bit creepy but he also is the only one who keeps telling Ben he can when everyone else seems to say he shouldn’t.

“I’m not. It’s only for the holidays. It’s up to what you want, and what you want to do with your life, but I want you to make the decision after the holidays. That’s all I’m asking for. Take a little time away from all the things that keep making you angry. If you still think Snoke hung the stars when you come back–” she draws a long breath, “–then I’ll step back. Promise. But now I want you to get some perspective.”

“By sending me away?” Ben hates how small it sounds. For fuck’s sake, he’s almost nineteen.

“Oh, Ben.” She huggs him tight, ignoring the roll of his eyes. Thankfully not commenting on the way he returns the embrace, clinging to her like a child. “You won’t be alone. I spoke to the school counsellor. She suggested you should spend some time somewhere quiet, preferably with animals.”

“Mom, I’m not going to therapy to pet dogs and cats all day–”

“I know darling. That’s why I’m sending you to Luke.”

“Oh God.” Ben groans. He hasn’t seen his hippie Uncle in ten years, Leia maybe in five. “Old bat’s grown tired of his hermit cave in Greece? So now he’s running an animal shelter in what, Transylvania?”

“He’s having a go at organic farming somewhere in Czech Republic, actually,” Leia says primly. Ben suspects she disapproves a little of her brother’s bohemian ways, too.

“Somewhere,” Ben parrots after her. “So you don’t even know the name of the middle of nowhere place you’re sending your only child to. Splendid, Mom.”

“Hush,” Leia pats his cheek. “I’m sure it will be a lovely place.”

The ‘lovely place’ is a decrepit mouldy farmhouse surrounded by seemingly endless muddy fields, with nothing but earth closet and no cell phone signal. The farm’s only connection to civilization is a unkept bumpy road and a bus connection, operated twice a day by a loud, dilapidated, overheated trashcan driven by a smelly, grumpy driver. Not to mention that said civilization is a sleepy hollow of a town where nobody speaks English and everything is hopelessly closed on Sunday. Including the only café with a free wi-fi.

Ben is hunched over his phone under a convenient balcony, trying to shield the screen from the obnoxious drizzle that’s been dampening his clothes and his mood alike since– well, forever. He shivers. It’s July but this country seems to have no concept of summer. It’s been raining, pouring, or at least drizzling every day since Ben came here and it doesn’t look like stopping anytime soon.

The sharp trill of a bell behind him startles him so much that he almost drops his phone into a puddle. His phone - the only thing keeping him same in this organic farming hell. He growls and turns, about to tell whoever startled him where exactly they can stick their stupid bell - not that he hopes anyone would actually understand him - when his eyes catch on a flash of ginger, the colour as bright and shocking as sunshine in this dreary weather - and the indignant reproach dies on his lips.

A young man with gorgeous fiery hair and icy glare is standing in the half-opened glass door, an expression of angry disapproval written all over his freckled face. He’s saying something, it sounds like a rude question from the lilt at the end of it. For all Ben knows of Czech, he could be saying anything. Ben tried - contrary to what he sometimes lets people think, he can be smart when he wants to - but there’s probably a special circle of hell set aside for this language. To be fair, this man could be wishing him a nice day. Ben’s experience with locals has taught him that they tend to look as if someone got their knickers into a twist every morning without actually being cross with anyone.

The man keeps talking and Ben suddenly notices he’s been blocking the door to a shop. His gaze flicks up to read a sign: Kadeřnictví Kroutilová. There are big glossy photos of artfully arranged hairstyles in the shop window. A hairdresser’s saloon, then.

The air coming through the crack in the door is warm, smelling of shampoo and cologne. Ben hasn’t seen a boy his age - well, one that wouldn’t be doggedly driving a tractor on weekdays and mindlessly driving around a badly tuned car on weekends - in so long and he has nothing better to do. He smiles.

“Could I get a haircut?”

The hairdresser shuts up and frowns. Oh, right. No luck with English here. Ben shrugs and points at his hair, fingers snipping in an imitation of scissors. It’s been getting a little into his eyes lately, anyway. Even when he won’t be able to chat, he can still get an eyeful of good looking guy.

The hairdresser replies with something that sounds a little more polite and steps aside, holding the door open.

It’s a little saloon - two revolving chairs, two sets of tools, and one old woman dozing off on a flower-patterned sofa in the corner, with dye applied to her thinning hair. Ben folds himself into the narrow chair by the washing stand and tries not to be too obvious in staring at the nice ass that presents itself when the redhead bends to sweep away the hair clippings left by previous customer.

He thinks he catches a smirk when the boy straightens - and wouldn’t that be finally something worth his time in this awful place - but then every last hope of a change of luck is squashed when the boy lifts an elegant, finely-boned hand and plucks a piece of straw from behind Ben’s ear.

Ben feels his face burn in anger at the unfairness of it all. It doesn’t matter that he comes from a city with more people than live in this whole goddamn country. Here, in front of this gorgeous, sharp, clean-shaven man, Ben is the country bumpkin, with straw sticking out of his hair from when he was helping Luke muck out the stables this morning. Hell, he probably still reeks of manure.

He looks away, eyes sweeping over the yellowed photos decorating the walls, hairstyles that were last in style in the eighties, and heaves a long-suffering sigh. One of the perks of being an American in a Czech country town is that he can let his thoughts run loud and freely whenever he likes.

“I suppose you wouldn’t know how but if you could make me look something other than your great grandfather, that would be nice,” he huffs. As predicted, the hairdresser shows no sign of offence. He simply adjusts the water temperature and begins to massage Ben’s scalp with his fingertips, and… well, it feels fucking amazing.

Ben is a bit sorry for his pettiness. The boy is probably doing his best, stuck in a town where every man wears the same haircut their father wore. Not much chance to practice the hipster lumberjack sweep around here.

Hair dripping, smelling nice and hopefully free of any straw, Ben relocates into the revolving chair. The mirror in front of him is a bit rusty around the edges and when Ben ducks his chin a little, he can see the reflection of the other mirror on the opposite wall. The hairdresser is quite tall, so tall that he has to lean forward a little every now and then to clip the hair around Ben’s ears and hairline, and his ass in the mirror is a masterpiece.

The quiet snip snip snip and the light touches, tilting his head here and there, lull Ben almost into a trance. He snaps into focus only when the cloth around his neck is pulled off, and for the first time since he sat down, he takes a look at his own reflection.

He looks… good, actually. More than. He never thought his locks could look this good parted on the side, with the layered haircut letting them fall over his forehead in a lazy, self-confident wave. Behind him, the hairdresser, sporting an intense look of concentration, is running his fingers tacky with some waxy product through the locks, making sure they stay the way the should. Ben is impressed.

“Um...thanks, I think,” he scratches his neck, itchy with the fine bits of hair that always get under the collar no matter how many towels he’s wearing around his neck. The boy gives him a quick smile. He looks very pleased with himself. Well, Ben thinks, he should be.

The hairdresser rings him up using a honest-to-God calculator and Ben leaves, lighter of a considerable sum of money and feeling better than he had in… forever, truly.

Which lasts exactly until the next morning when he climbs down the stairs to get breakfast and Luke greets him with raised eyebrows:

“Did you try cutting your own hair using a bowl?”

Still bleary eyed and only half-awake, Ben snatches the first mirror he can find and freezes.

The parting on the side is gone, his hair having reverted to its natural down-the-middle parting it’s grown into for the past nineteen years. With no product to keep the hair falling forward, it’s taken to fall backwards and around, as his locks usually do….

...and it looks like a bowl cut.

The fucking hairdresser gave him a fucking bowl cut.

For a moment, Ben wants to think that the boy simply made a mistake. Small town, not much practice… Then he recalls the small, self-satisfied smile on those full, pink lips.

That asshole knew precisely what he was doing.

To Be Continued

Link to AO3

#kylux #benarmie #star wars fanfiction #humour #meet-cute #or more like a little shit Ben meets a pretty asshole Hux

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