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not-neverland06 · 3 months ago

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paranormal love

James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x fem!reader

a/n: Bucky is going to be very OOC for the first half of this. Just trust the author on this one, it will all make sense in time. (Toxic relationships, paranormal happenings - you have been warned)

Summary: Moving into this house was supposed to be the blessing your marriage needed. Instead you only seem to be twisted against each other. Something lurks within these walls, something angry, something lonely. Someone wants you gone, and he’ll do whatever it takes to have his revenge on the woman who left him behind. (Part of my Halloween Palooza)

“Okay,” you say, balancing the camera in your palm, zooming in on James’ back while he unpacks the kitchen boxes. “Wanna smile for the camera?”

He gives you a glance over his shoulder before turning and waving to the camera. He chuckles a little, glancing down at the lens and then back at you. “What are you doing?”

You sigh, placing the camera on the counter and letting it record. “Well, you know how the lady said this place was haunted?”

He rolls his eyes and glares at you. “I told you not to listen to her, that chick was off her meds.” You swat at his arm but he bounces away from you playfully.

“Shut up,” you mutter, holding back a small laugh. “I just thought that if there were any supernatural happenings,” you nod towards the camera, “we’ll need proof if we’re going to make this a tourist trap.”

James smiles, leaning over to press a brief kiss to your forehead. “Good call, babe.” You smile after him as he heads back out to the truck to bring in more boxes. Your eyes briefly dart to the camera before you shake your head with a disbelieving chuckle.

Do you believe in the supernatural? Yes. The metaphysical? Depends on who’s trying to sell you their tarot cards. But you do know that when that woman handed you the keys after you bought the place, you’d never seen such stark relief.

That poor old woman was terrified of living in this house alone. Of course, the old bitch didn’t tell you about all the horrific things that happened here until after you signed the deed. If you had known this place was haunted, even if it’s not, you never would have bought it.

Sadly, all your money and savings are now tied into this home. James says not to worry, that there’s nothing wrong with the place. But he’s always been a cynic and he’s never really believed in anything so miraculous as ghosts. Besides, he’s the type of guy to argue with you until he’s purple in the face that the sky is red when he’s in a mood.

There’s no talking him out of this. And you can’t begin your newlywed life arguing with your husband about the place you just made your forever home. Anyways, it’s not like you’ve noticed anything bad yet.

The camera is mainly a joke to mess with James and make yourself feel better about the whole thing. You’ll turn it off tonight, be done with it, and hopefully get over this irrational fear of yours.

12 AM

You spit the toothpaste into the sink and rinse your mouth with water. You’ve noticed a strange metallic taste with all the unfiltered sinks. You're worried you might have to call a plumber or someone to check it out. You don’t want to get lead poisoning your first night here.

You freeze, still bent over the sink, and your jaw snaps shut. Eyes are boring into the back of your head, hateful and angry. It’s not James, you would know if it was. This is something different, the hair on the back of your neck is standing up, goosebumps rolling up and down your arms. There’s a rush of cool air, like something running past you, and your head shoots up in surprise.

You scream when you see James in the mirror’s reflection. He jumps back in shock, lowering the camera and giving you an exasperated look. A second ago you’d been completely alone and he’d been downstairs, where the fuck did he come from?

“What the hell, James?” You wipe your mouth off with the back of your hand and whirl around on him. He glares at you, eyes narrowed in dissatisfaction.

“Talk about an overreaction. What the hell is your problem?” He snaps, taking that tone with you that you know means you have to be careful. You don’t feel like getting into another fight with him. Especially not tonight.

“You scared me,” you trail off into an awkward laugh, hoping to ease up the mood a little. He slams the camera down on the counter. Your shoulders jump and you flinch back from him slightly. “What’re you doing with the camera?” You ask, glancing down at the lens and frowning. You spot the red blinking light and realize he’s still recording, your brows furrow in confusion.

“It was your idea, wasn’t it?” His tone is short and you huff in disappointment. You hadn’t realized something as small as a little scare would piss him off. You used to be good at reading his moods. Since the wedding, though, he seems to have just gotten more and more unpredictable.

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, your feet dangling over the floor as you kick your legs. You hate how tall the damn bed frame is, you have a horrible paranoia that something’s going to grab you one day and yank you under. James, of course, had just laughed when you told him this and then bought it. He thought it was funny, that it would help you overcome your fears.

You still have goosebumps from earlier, the same breeze from before tickles the pads of your feet. You glance down with wide eyes, yanking your legs into your chest and scooting back from the edge. James flips the lights off in the bathroom and walks to the end of the bed. He’s dragged out the tripod and has got it pointed at the bed.

You tilt your head with a coy smile, “Planning on having some fun tonight?”

He glances between you and the camera, a confused furrow between his brows. You scoff out a laugh as the realization dawns over him. “If you’re up for it, I wouldn’t mind some after-dark fun.” You roll your eyes and tug the covers over your legs. He leaves the camera and crawls on the bed towards you. “But that’s not what it's for.”

“Oh yeah?” You glance over his shoulder and then turn back to him with an odd look. “Don’t tell me you’re buying into the supernatural junk?” You tuck your head into his chest, letting him pull you closer as he flips the lamp off. “You’re supposed to keep me tethered to reality, remember?” You tease, looking up at him.

He glances down at you and shrugs. “The lady did say the master bedroom is the worst, I’m just curious if we’ll catch anything.”

You shoot the camera a concerned look and shake your head. “I hope not,” you mutter. You snuggle in closer to him, trying to dismiss the feeling of someone watching you. You’re sure it’s just from the camera being on you. Besides, you always get too deep in your head about this stuff.

3 AM

You shoot up in bed, chest heaving as you stare down at your feet. James shifts behind you, grumbling as he flips over and steals the rest of the blankets.

Your heart is pounding loudly in your chest as you simply sit there, staring at the end of the bed. You pause, holding your breath like the room might tell you its secrets.

You’re normally a heavy sleeper, not even a fire would get you up. But something just did, you were ripped violently from your slumber. You almost want to dismiss it as an incredibly vivid nightmare. Yet, you can’t ignore the throbbing, almost freezing pain, that’s shooting up and down your left calf.

The muscle is spasming sporadically and you can still feel the phantom touch of someone squeezing your leg. Your hip is sore from where you’d been dragged down. You’ve had pretty vivid dreams before. You’ve woken up with your feet sore like you’d been running, or your muscles cramped from twitching around so much. But this is a lot.

You take in a deep breath, slowly pulling your legs into your chest. You slump over your bent knees, hoping to catch your breath and settle your racing mind. It’s impossible to ignore how cold your leg feels, you feel like you’re losing blood circulation. You can’t just go back to sleep with it like this, you’re gonna have to go downstairs and get James’ heat pack.

You’re seriously starting to lose feeling in it now. You’re wondering if something didn’t drag you and maybe you’ve got a blood clot screwing your circulation up somehow. Hundreds of different possibilities race through your mind, each more worrying than the last. You can't sit up all night scaring yourself, you’re just gonna have to suck it up.

You briefly consider waking James up so you don’t have to go downstairs alone. You hate how those stairs look in the dark, you feel like something is standing at the end, waiting to reach through the banister and drag you down. A ghost, however, sounds more inviting than making James grumpy before he has to go in for work tomorrow morning.

With a heavy sigh, you force yourself off the bed and blindly grope through the dark for the wall. Your left leg is practically dead weight as you drag it behind you. Your hands skate along the dusty walls and you grimace, making a mental note to dust tomorrow.

You’re trying to take it slow, to squint out as many shapes in the dark as you can. It’s nearly impossible to tell when you’re going to hit the stairs. You can only pray that you don’t go toppling headfirst down them.

Slowly, you inch your toes forward and curl them around the edge of the step. From there it’s a long, arduous process of just trying to get down the stairs. It feels as though with each step you take, the house only grows darker.

You wished you had taken the risk and turned the lights on. The feeling of eyes following you only gets worse as you finally reach the kitchen. The further you get from the bedroom, the worse your leg begins to throb. You can only be happy that you still feel it at all.

Your hand skates along the wall until you feel the cool plastic of the light switch. As harsh as it is against the linoleum, it’s a stark relief from being all alone in the dark. You dig around in the moving boxes until you find James' heating pad. You toss it in the microwave and pull yourself on the counter, drumming your fingers while you wait for it to warm up.

He hates you. He hates that you live in his house. He hates that she’s gone. Bette, he’ll miss her, the way the old woman’s face would screw up in terror always brought a sick satisfaction to him.

You press the warm pad to your leg and hiss through your teeth as feeling begins returning to your calf. He has to admit, he hadn’t meant to grab you quite so hard. He just wanted one good scare, to either get you out of here or show you who's in charge. Your leg has turned an odd color in the shape of his handprint and it makes his lips curl up.

There’s a loud ringing from upstairs. It grates on his already frayed nerves and makes anger roll off of him in violent, tangible waves. Your nose twitches, your face screwing up as you look around. There’s a suspicious glint in your eye, one your little husband doesn’t share with you.

He has to admit, you’re smart enough to realize the truth of your situation, at least. Your husband doesn’t share the same characteristic. He seems alarmingly self-assured, not that he minds, those are his favorite types to break.

He can hear upstairs, better than you would ever hope to. He listens as your husband picks up the phone, quietly yelling at someone on the other end. A woman, if the timbre is anything to go by. They both sound incredibly angry. He’s not interested in listening to something as trivial as this.

He turns away from you and moves towards the stairs. He pauses at the base of them, glancing over his shoulder and really taking you in. You look so small, curled up on the counter with the look of a frightened child.

You scream as the lightbulb above you explodes, plunging you into complete darkness. He smiles to himself, drifting up the stairs and lingering at the end of your bed. Your husband’s head shoots up in alarm and he pulls the phone away from his ear.

The name Martha lingers on the small screen before he quickly flips it off and rushes out of bed. He blows right through the man at the end of his bed, flipping on the lights and racing down the stairs. He calls out your name, voice frantic and bordering on paranoia.

He hadn’t thought you two would get scared quite so quickly. He’d been hoping to enjoy this a bit more. Perhaps he should slow down, and savor the long fall into madness before he claims you both. He hovers at the top of the stairs, watching as your husband comforts you.

He’s got his arms wrapped around you, trying to keep you quiet and get you to calm down. From a distance, he could almost be the perfect husband. But that look is all too familiar, he’s seen it a hundred times before. It’s only now that he recognizes it for what it is. There is no love in your husband’s gaze, only the fear that you’ll find out his little secret.

He goes back into the bedroom, swipes the phone off the nightstand, and retreats into the shadows.

“Don’t,” you slap James’ hands away from you, glaring at him. He purses his lips, huffing out a sharp breath and taking a step back. Anger brews under your skin, warms you up, and makes your jaw ache from how hard you’re clenching down.

“How can you say I made it up?” You shout, no longer caring how loud you are. Your voice cracks at the end as you take on a shrill pitch. You yank up the leg of your yoga pants, shoving your leg towards him.

Not only has the skin dipped in the perfect shape of a hand, but it’s also turned into an unnatural shade of green and purple. It’s like no bruise or injury you’ve ever had before. James looks down at the mark like it’s a bug to be squashed or a pile of dog shit he just stepped in.

He fixes you with a sneer and shoves it away from him. You let out a harsh breath and stumble slightly into the counter. “Would you quit fucking showing me that? It’s freaking me out.”

You throw your hands up in the air, giving him an eat-shit look. “How do you think I feel? It happened to me.”

He shakes his head and turns towards the coffee pot, pouring himself another mug. You can’t believe how dismissive he’s being about this whole thing. You have indisputable proof burned into your flesh, and he’s completely ignoring your worries.

“We need to get you to the doctor, okay?” He shakes his head, giving you the look of a disapproving parent, rather than the supportive husband he’s supposed to be. He hadn’t even been worried for you last night, just mad that you’d woken him up for nothing.

“It’s probably a blood clot, not a damn poltergeist.”

“James-” His phone ringing cuts you off, and your eyes narrow in disbelief as he reaches for it. It’s closer to you on the counter so you snatch it up before he can grab it.

“What are you doing?” He demands, taking on a concerningly low tone.

“We’re going to talk about this, you’re not getting out of this one, James!”

He whispers your name in a voice you haven’t heard before. His face is dark, brows set in determination as he slowly extends his hand. “Give me my phone.”

You glance at the Nokia and then back at him. The fear that’s been ever-present since last night turns into something else. Anxiety and suspicion make a wicked and nauseating brew in your stomach. “Why?” You whisper, eyes narrowing on him as he takes a step closer. You stumble a step back, holding the phone out of his reach.

You feel your hand tremble with its vibrations before it begins to ring again. You look towards it just as James lunges forward. His shoulder nearly barrels into you as he grabs your wrist. His grip is so tight you almost feel the bones creaking together. “James!” You gasp, the phone tumbling from your palm and into his hand. He shoves you back, tucking it in his pocket and glaring at you.

“Don’t touch my phone,” you open your mouth to argue and he takes a large step forward. His foot slams against the ground and you flinch back from him, eyes wide in surprise. “Do you understand me,” he demands, slowly and his voice low.

You nod, your jaw gaping as you stare at him. He runs a hand through his hair, refusing to meet your eye now. Dark strands fall onto his forehead and he looks more disheveled than you’ve seen him in a long while.

He looks at his watch and clenches his eyes shut. He pauses, taking in a deep breath as he straightens his tie and rounds the kitchen island. “What are you doing?” You ask, your voice so quiet you’re surprised he even hears it.

“Going to work,” he snaps. You can’t look at him, you just keep your eyes glued to the floor as the door slams shut. You hold your breath until you hear the car going down the driveway. Ever so slowly, you peel yourself away from the counter.

Your hand drifts, without thinking, to the imprints on your wrist. “What the fuck,” you mutter, a stunned sort of silence taking over. You can’t help but just stand there, completely dumbfounded by how quickly a simple argument escalated.

He’s always had a shorter temper than most, but that was extreme. A door slams upstairs and you scream, leaping forward and whirling towards the noise. “What the fuck!” You shout again, stumbling towards the knife block behind you. You can hear footsteps running upstairs and swallow around a ball of fear sinking in your throat.

You almost call out ‘whos there,’ but that’s a little too stupid for you. You’re not planning on being the bimbo who dies first in every horror movie. As much as James likes to tease you for being a little simple sometimes, you are equipped with basic survival skills.

You look towards the coffee maker, the port where your home phone should be is empty. You rush towards the windows, glancing out the driveway and cursing when you find it empty. You were hoping that James might still be in his car, steaming before he comes back in to apologize. But, no, he’s really gone.

Another door slams and it feels a little petty. Despite the way your heart races and you’re struggling to catch your breath, you don’t feel like you’re in any immediate danger. The looming presence that hung over you last night is gone. James had dismissed the lightbulb exploding as an old house and bad lighting.

You know better, despite the claims otherwise, and you sincerely doubt that there’s an actual person upstairs. And whatever it is, was smart enough to steal your phone. You slink towards the end of the stairs, just barely craning your neck so you can see into your bedroom. Except the door isn’t open like you left it.

Light comes through the crack of the closed door. You take a tentative step up, eyes squinting as you try and get a glimpse under the door. A shadow darts past, like rushing footsteps. You gasp, leaping back and covering your mouth with trembling hands.

The hair on the back of your neck stands, and the loose hairs from your braids blow across your cheeks, tickling your sensitive skin. Old vents, that’s what James told you. His attempt to explain the inexplicable breeze that seems to be following you everywhere you go. You’re bundled head to toe in fuzzy socks, warm pants, and a too-big sweatshirt. And still, you feel your fingers nearly go numb and you can barely feel your nose anymore.

That’s not a poor AC system. And those aren’t feet under your door. You’re so focused on simply watching the movements under the door that you completely forget anything else. You’re blind and deaf as you watch whatever is moving about in your room. A loud clank breaks through the silence and you nearly scream.

Your bones almost jump out of your skin as the ice machine starts going and rattles up the old fridge. You clench your eyes shut, taking in a deep breath and glaring at the white machine. “Fuck me,” you mutter, holding your chest and just barely calming yourself down.

You’ve only been here a night, you shouldn’t be so fucking terrified. You’re ready to just go out into the backyard and wait the rest of the day for James to come back. If you could drive off, you would. But you’ve only got one working car right now and he’s taken it to work. You move to grab your laptop off the couch when something creaks behind you.

Old hinges cry out as they’re slowly forced to work. The sound of steps going down the stairs occupies the space behind you. You can’t find the bravery to turn around, too scared to see what might be there. Something ice cold passes through you. It nearly feels like a violation, as though something was rooting through your insides like it belonged there. It couldn’t have lasted more than two seconds but it was more than enough to have you nearly vomiting up your scarce breakfast.

The moment it’s over you feel yourself calming down. As though an instinctual intuition has been activated, you know the danger’s passed. Whatever it had been trying to accomplish with that little show, it did it.

You turn back to your room, the lights off and the door open, looking just as you left it. You glance over your shoulder, looking into the kitchen before starting up the stairs. You give a hesitant peek into the room like you expect it to be a wreck. But it looks spotless, the camera is in the same place James left it, still recording.

You file that away in the back of your mind. Maybe the camera picked up what happened last night, or maybe James is right. You really are just getting too far into your head. A shrill ringing goes off near James nightstand and you frown. Your phone buzzes on his side of the bed, MOM lighting up the square screen.

You let out a short huff, quickly snatching your phone and answering. Maybe she can talk some sense into you, or, more preferably, come over to keep you company. “Hey mom,” you answer, smiling slightly to yourself. It’s been a little while since you’ve been able to talk to her. James had banned phones after the honeymoon and then you’d gotten caught up in house stuff, jobs, and the aftermath of the wedding ‘incident.’

An older voice than you’d been expecting answers on the other end, saying your name in a confused tone. Your brows furrow and you frown, “Mrs. Barnes?”

“Honey,” she sounds strained, like she really hadn’t been expecting you to answer. James must have taken your phone by accident. It makes sense, they’re both the same model, but you put a little pink charm on your Nokia so you’d stop making this mistake. Yet, when you look to your left, you see your charm lying on your nightstand. When had you taken that off?

“Where’s James?”

“Um,” you’re still a little thrown off by her voice and take a second to answer. “Work, I think he took the wrong phone,” you laugh a little, disconcerted that it’s not your mother’s comforting voice.

“Must have,” she answers, she sounds like she’s a million miles away, her tone distant. “Well, um, just tell him to call me back.”

“Alright,” you hesitate, concerned by how off she sounds. “Is everything alright?” You know things have been tough for her since her husband passed on. James’ sisters have been helping her adjust, but the wedding had taken him away from his family for a little while. He hasn’t actually shown any signs of wanting to reach out and it makes you feel guilty, like you’re keeping him away from her.

Mrs. Barnes, a living saint you swear, has been nothing but kind as she welcomes you into her family. This is the first time she’s ever been so distant to you. You act more like her family than James does nowadays.

“Has, uh,” she coughs, clearing her throat. You can almost hear what sounds like Francesca on the other end, hollering at her. The sound of James’ older sister’s voice makes you smile a little wider. “Has James said anything to you?”

Your brows furrow and you shake your head in confusion, even if she can’t see you. “About what?”

“Oh, crumbs,” she huffs and you have a feeling whatever she was about to say was important, but someone is snatching the phone away before you can hear the rest of it. You’d been so focused on her voice that you hadn’t even heard James come back in.

He glares down at the phone, face pale and eyes wide like he’s expecting something horrific. When he places it to his ear and hears his mom’s voice, his shoulders slump in relief. You narrow your eyes at him, disoriented by the strange behavior.

“Mom,” he interrupts her rudely, “I’ll call you later. Okay?” He hangs up before she can answer. He tugs your phone out of his pocket and tosses it next to you on the bed. “Answering my phone now? What are you, my secretary?”

You slip your phone into your back pocket, not looking at him as you get off the bed. “I thought it was mine. I think my charm broke off.” You put some distance between the two of you, glancing down at his phone and then back at him. “Why are you being so weird about it?”

He flinches like you’ve just accused him of something far worse than being overly protective of his phone. “I don’t like you digging around in my phone. That’s a problem now?” You open your mouth to argue, but he just keeps going, cutting you off, “You’re so goddamn paranoid. First the ghost, now this,” he gestures vaguely at you and you scoff, crossing your arms and glaring at him.

You two are devolving far quicker than he had anticipated. It must have been a fragile relationship, to begin with. James slams the door and you slump down on the bed, you almost look like you want to cry.

He goes down the stairs, watching through the window as your husband lingers on the front porch. He calls someone, his mom, and starts yelling at her as he gets to his car. Looking away from the window, he sighs.

He’d been close, if James hadn’t come home he probably could have pushed you over the edge immediately. He doesn’t know if he’s disappointed or happy that his game gets to go on a little longer.

You come back down the stairs, eyes rimmed red and shoulders slumped in defeat. You brush through him, not even noticing the chill he leaves behind in you. You have the camera in your hand and a cord in the other. He grins, excited to finally have you see the truth of what happened last night.

You plug the camera into your laptop, scrubbing through the footage of last night. He leans over your shoulder and watches as goosebumps rise along your skin. You sigh, tugging a blanket over your shoulders, but he knows that won’t do anything to help you.

Nothing will unless you leave. But your husband has made it clear that you’re not getting out of here until he has actual proof anything supernatural lurks inside these haunted walls. Right here, in your lap, you have your proof. A phantom wind blows up the sheets of the bed, an unexplainable tug of your leg that drags you halfway down the bed. It’s violent and he almost feels sorry, he really hadn’t meant to hurt you, only scare you.

His fingers drift over your leg and you jump, whirling around, wide eyes looking right through him. He can’t help but admire the way fear makes them shine. You’re quite pretty when you’re terrified, he couldn’t say the same for the hag that used to live here.

You’re slow to turn back to the computer, but when you do, there’s a slight curve to your lips that he appreciates. “I fucking knew it,” you whisper, slamming the screen closed and getting to your feet.

You’re giddy, he can taste the satisfaction overpowering the fear. You round the couch, taking in a deep breath and shaking out your arms. Your face sets in determination and you start working on clearing out the moving boxes.

He doesn’t feel the urge to mess with you any further. He leaves you in peace, lounging in your armchair and watching you work. He’s got a nice surprise worked up for you tonight, no need to take today’s playtime any further.

You’re efficient, only occasionally getting distracted as you smile at pictures of your wedding day. You put those up on the mantle, beside some family photos. It’s clear how much you value your familial bonds, even your husbands. You put it front and center in the home, reminding him of how it once looked.

There’s a stark sense of deja vu as he watches you work, a nauseating feeling of what could have been. He can practically taste the newlywed bliss you’re going through. Even with your husband being a piece of work, you still value him, love him. He’d once known that love, hell, he’d reveled in it.

But the curtain always has to come down. The magic’s never real. He’s doing you a favor by showing you the truth of it all. His gaze drifts away from you cooking dinner and he looks towards the pictures on the mantle.

James’ mother reminds him of his own. He always wondered what happened to her, what her life was like after he was gone. Neither of them ever got what they wanted. She died wondering what happened to her only son, and he died without getting to say goodbye.

He thinks of Bette, and feels that familiar white-hot rush of anger, your scream comes a moment later. He glances towards you, confused, before he follows your eyes and sees that he’s accidentally shattered the frames of the pictures.

You gasp, sucking in shallow breaths as you stumble into the counter, brows furrowed in terror. He clenches his eyes shut, sucking in a deep breath, and tamps down on the anger overwhelming him.

The door opens and your socked feet go rushing towards it, you nearly slip on the hardwoods, arms spinning wildly as you right yourself. James flinches away from your frantic hands as you grab his jacket and drag him inside. “The fucking pictures,” you stutter out your words and point frantically towards the mantle.

James grimaces, tugging at your hands and looking towards him. He doesn’t see him, of course he doesn’t. But he does see his little accident. James scoffs, face screwing up in anger, he turns towards you. His face is set like a disappointed parent. “You broke them? Our wedding pictures, seriously. All because of a stupid fight?”

He jerks away from you, storming towards the glass and kicking at it. “You didn’t even clean it up,” he says your name, tone increasing in anger. You stare at him, disbelieving and open-mouthed.

He sits back on the armchair, thoroughly amused. He hadn’t even had to do anything to turn him against you. Your sweet James has just been waiting for a reason to get mad. “This is fucking petty, even for you.”

“What, James,” you stumble over your words, taking a hesitant step towards him. He thinks you’re pretty when you’re scared, but not like this. He doesn’t appreciate the way you approach your husband like he’s a rabid dog. You shouldn’t be scared of him, not yet at least. He hasn’t even had his fun with him yet.

“It wasn’t me, I swear-”

“Not this ghost shit again, seriously-”

“I have proof!” You shout, your voice is desperate as you try and make yourself louder than him. You run towards your laptop, and ignore the burning smell coming from the oven. He gets up, drifting towards it and turning it off before either of you can notice. No point in having the house burn down. Where would that leave him?

You plug the camera in, turning the screen towards him. James doesn’t make a move yet, simply glaring at you like you’re a bug to be swatted. “Please,” you beg, pathetic and needy. He huffs, rolling his eyes as he watches you both. It’s all so familiar to him, he feels like he’s watching his unfortunate disaster of a marriage play out through you.

You scrub through the times, cussing as you pass over the clip of you getting dragged. There’s a frantic look in your eye as you hit play. It almost makes him feel bad for what’s about to happen.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” James snaps.

Your face falls and you move the mouse forward and back, looking like a madwoman as you try to find the right moment. You won’t, he made sure of that. Nothing but static plays when you get to the parts that would prove your innocence.

James tugs at his tie, shaking his head in disappointment. “Not only did you fuck up all our pictures, you didn’t even have dinner ready.” He shoves past you, heading up the stairs and muttering to himself. He pulls out his phone, lingering on a contact he shouldn’t before pressing call.

You stay still in the living room, looking at the shattered glass and then the oven. “I made your favorite,” you whisper. You suck in a shaky breath, swallowing hard as you kneel down to try and pick up the remnants of your wedding photos.

3 AM

He sits on the bed, glancing towards the blinking red light of the camera. There’s a clear wall between you and your husband, even if neither of you wants to acknowledge it. You lay curled up in yourself, like a child afraid to seek comfort. He pities you, truly.

He remembers the happiness of youth, the rush of being married to the person you believe is the love of your life. He will never forget the pain of realizing the person you’ve given everything to turning into someone you don’t recognize.

His hand drifts over the swell of your cheek. Your lashes flutter, nose wrinkling at the cold brush of his touch. But you don’t flinch away from him, instead leaning into him and looking almost happy by his touch.

He looks to your husband, eyes narrowing on his relaxed form. He sees the phone lying near him and his face sets in determination. He’s not going to let you fall into the same trap he did. And he certainly isn’t about to let another soul cramp the already stuffy walls of his home.

It’s been quiet around the house. Less strange events and more strained dinners between you and your husband. You’ve taken to bringing the camera everywhere with you. But anytime a light bulb explodes or a frame topples over, the video goes static.

You should have given up the hunt for evidence but you can’t give it up. You just need James to see, you need him to believe you. Or, at the very least, you need some assurance that you’re not going crazy. You’ve begun to consider the possibility.

The bruise on your leg is gone, the constant chills that rack you are still very much present, but there’s nothing else. Everything that happens can be explained by the age of the house. You’ve only briefly discussed it with James’ sisters. Elizabeth gave you the number of a medium she knows.

James had gotten angry when he found the business card after her visit. He didn’t like her filling your head with more nonsense and indulging you. You didn’t like how dismissive he was. It’s been a few days since the fight and you still have no desire to reconcile with him.

It’s becoming easier to simply ignore his presence around the house. You know it’s not healthy. You’ve only just begun the marriage, you don’t need to have communication issues tainting it before it’s even on its legs.

Still, it’s as though something’s keeping you from him. Every attempt at speaking with him is interrupted, thoughts of apologizing just to placate him are struck from your head quicker than they come.

You stand up from the kitchen table, placing your pictures to the side. You’ve finally gotten new frames for them all, you only need to put them back up. You have no problems putting up the family pictures. Yet, the moment you make to grab the wedding picture of you and James, you grow inexplicably tired.

Your eyelids flutter shut and you sway on your feet. Your bones grow heavy like you’ve been working all day. But you’ve only been up a few hours, and you had so much more to do today. You try and fight forward, leaning on the table and reaching for the portrait again. You almost feel like you’re nudged back, moved towards the couch.

A short nap, you promise yourself. Just long enough to get your energy back.

He followed him to work. That’s never happened before. He’s never been able to follow someone out of the house. He tried, with Steve, he tried to make every aspect of his life hell. But he couldn’t.

Yet, with this one, he has no problem following him. Maybe it’s the odd resemblance they have. A haircut and a shave, they could be identical twins. But then again, he hasn’t seen his face in a long while, perhaps he’s misremembering it.

It’s difficult to maintain this control. Half of him lingers in the house, with you, the other half is here. He’s being drawn closer to James and further from you. He doesn’t know if that’s conducive or an interruption to his plans.

He only vaguely sees you, in his mind’s eye. He leads you to the couch, lays you down, and keeps you away from the reminders of James. He’s gotten good at keeping you both separated. It was easy to begin with, all he’s doing is showing you the truth of the man you married. If only he could really show you.

James phone rings and he focuses on him once more. It’s Martha again. He hasn’t figured out the truth of their relationship, he’s sure he already knows it. He’s lived this life once, knows the truth of why a husband would act like this. The late-night calls, the constant misdirection of anger.

He’s paranoid, terrified you’ll find out the truth. He wants to have his cake and eat it too. The perfect housewife at home, and the mistress who fulfills his every desire. At least, that’s his theory. He still needs to be completely sure.

He ignores James, focusing once more on his connection to the house. He finds you right where he left you, deep in your sleep and completely oblivious to the world around you. He kneels before you, sweeping some hair off your cheeks and tilting his head as he takes in your restful face.

You look so peaceful when you’re like this, a slight curl to your lips as you wander through dreamland. He wished he could keep you like this, wished he could completely get rid of James. But without him, you wouldn’t be able to keep the house. You’d leave it, leave him. He can’t have that. He’s been lonely for so long, he needs you, craves you.

6 PM

“How was work?”

“Fine.”

Chewing fills the cavernous silence of your dining room. Forks scrape across porcelain, shallow breaths as you both dance around the tension that threatens to tie a noose around your marriage. You reach for your wine, hoping for another heady swallow. Just like before, you’re dissuaded from it.

You grow tired at the thought of drowning your sorrows in the alcohol for another night. You clench your eyes shut and take a deep breath, moving the glass away from you and turning back to the roast you made.

James’ brows furrow as he watches you. “Everything alright?”

You hum, “Tired.” He scoffs and your face falls flat. He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath as he cuts more aggressively into the meat. "Something wrong?” You demand, sucking on your teeth as you anticipate his answer. You’re sure it’s going to be the same broken record he’s been playing since the honeymoon.

“Nothing,” he shrugs, tone dismissive. He pauses, taking a deep breath before laughing sardonically. “It’s just funny.” You hate how he does this, drags out his answers, and forces you to take the bait.

You’re not playing this game of his tonight. You won’t do it again. You can’t keep going in circles with him, can’t keep indulging him in these childish tantrums. He waits, eyebrows raised and pretty blue eyes boring into yours, demanding attention.

Those damn eyes. You wish he was just a little uglier, maybe then you wouldn’t have been so blind to how fucking awful he really is. You almost resent his mother and sisters for this. They could have warned you off, told you the horror stories of his past before the wedding. Instead, they’d warned you after it was too late and your entire life was entangled in his.

“I work all day, come home, want a peaceful meal. What do I get?”

He falls silent again and you let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, James,” you drawl, bored of this already. Your patience for him is practically nonexistent nowadays. You used to be able to endure these conversations with him, or at the very least soothe him. But you’re tired of feeling like a babysitter and not the wife you’re supposed to be. “What do you get? A homecooked meal, a clean house, someone to come home to. Tell me,” you demand, slamming your hand on the table and surprising him. “What the fuck do you get?”

“A nagging fucking wife who does jack shit all day and complains about being tired! I work for us, so you can stay home and live out your little housewife fantasies!”

Your jaw drops and you suck in a sharp breath. You can’t even form words, nearly laughing at the audacity and ridiculousness of what he’s saying. “Oh my god,” you can only scoff, shaking your head and leaning back in your chair. You smile and roll your eyes. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No.” He stands, leaning on the table and trying to make himself bigger than he is. It only paints him in a more pathetic light.

You cut him off before he can say anything else, scooping up your plate and storming into the kitchen. “You’re the one who insisted I quit my job. You,” you turn and gesture towards him, a disgusted sneer on your face, “wanted a fucking housewife. I was just the dumbass that listened to you. You have no right to throw that in my face. You wanted this, James!”

“Yeah, well,” for a moment you think he’s speechless. His jaw opens and closes, nothing but air leaving his parted lips. You should know better by now, he’s always got some bullshit to spew. “I didn’t think you’d be so incompetent at this.”

You drop the plate in the sink, leaning on it for support and closing your eyes. You take in deep breaths, trying to cool down the heat racing under your skin. Your blood’s pumping so hard you’re surprised a vein hasn’t burst yet.

“Fuck this,” you push off the sink, shoving past him and moving towards the front door.

“What are you doing?” He demands, watching as you grab your coat and your keys.

“Going for a walk,” you tell him shortly, slamming the door behind you. You just need some time away from him, away from the suffocating shadow that seems to linger behind him all the time now.

You pull the business card Elizabeth had given you and dial the number. You don’t know if this anger is coming from whatever the hell lives in that house or if this was always coming. But you’re not going to just roll over and let this thing ruin your marriage.

7 PM

You’re out for an hour. He’s upset the entire time. He wants to drive James’ head into the corner of the counter over and over again until there’s nothing left but unidentifiable mush. It’s the same fight he used to have. It always started over something so stupid, he could never say anything right.

No matter how many times he thought he finally figured Bette out. Every time he thought he had avoided some trigger for her, a new one formed. It didn’t matter how perfect of a husband he was, he would never be enough because he wasn't him. He wasn’t Steve, the man who could do no wrong in her eyes.

He stands in the corner and watches as James paces for a while before he finally leaves, taking his keys and his phone. He takes the car and leaves you stranded here at the house.

He knows that James could fix the car sitting idle in the garage. He could fix the car. It’s just another way of keeping you under control. James gets to decide when and where you get to go out, you don’t get a say.

You seem relieved, though, when you come back and see James gone. You’re happier without your husband, it’s both good and bad. He needs you to resent James, needs you to hate him. But that could prove tricky for him in the future.

“Thank you so much,” you’re on the phone, you’ve got something lumpy in your jacket. One hand lays under the buttons of your coat, stroking idly. “Yeah, Thursday sounds great. Thank you, again, for coming on such late notice.”

You hang up, placing your keys and phone in the bowl by the door. “Alright, sweetheart, let’s get you cleaned up.” You open your jacket, revealing a bundle of matted, dirty fur underneath. Somewhere in all that mess is the scrunched face of a pissed-off cat.

You coo to it, stroking its head and ignoring the fact it looks like it wants to rip your hand off. You bring it to the kitchen sink and he watches as you take the next few hours to wash its wounds and properly groom it.

He never cared much for cats, or any animals, really. He never had the time or the energy to try and take care of something other than Bette. She was practically a full-time job to cater to. But he enjoys how peaceful you look being able to take care of the cat. He enjoys how much sympathy you display, even as the little bastard rips and tears at your pretty skin.

He looms over your shoulder, stroking his phantom fingers over the cat's wet fur. It’s enough to scare it into submission. Its claws release your skin and it shrinks back into your hold. He grins, backing away and leaving you to it.

You frown down at the cat, murmuring soothing words to it as you look around the kitchen. Sometimes he thinks you see him, thinks you can truly see through all the walls and witness what’s left of the man he was. He knows it's foolish, a ridiculous hope.

You’ll never be able to see him. Even if you could, you would only think of him as a tormentor. He was a blight on your home and marriage, why would you ever care about him?

3 AM

You feel eyes on you. Not the unfamiliar eyes you’ve been feeling, you know these. Intimately. You stir from your light sleep, squinting through the dark. Minimal light comes in through the blinds, but it's just enough for you to see the figure standing beside you.

You gasp, flinching away from James. He just stands over you, glaring down at where you slept. Eyes devoid of anything. “James?” You whisper. Alpine, the cat you snagged from a neighbor’s dumpster, leaps off the bed.

She hisses at James, skirting around him and running out of the room. Your brows furrow in confusion. You look back to James, muttering his name again. He gasps like he was dragged out of a coma.

He stumbles on his feet, tripping over them and nearly nosediving into the bed. You instinctively steady him, guiding him onto the bed beside you. “What are you doing?” You hiss at him, holding his face in your hands and looking him over for any explanation of what was just happening.

You’ve never even heard him talk in his sleep. Let alone, sleep with his eyes wide open and staring at you. It was beyond disturbing. There’s something unfamiliar in his eyes, they’re soft as he looks at you. Soft in a way they haven’t been for a long time.

His hand comes up to cup yours, the other almost hesitantly running across your cheek. “James?” You ask again, caught off guard by the odd display of affection.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. You’re ninety percent sure you’re still dreaming, he’s never apologized first before. It’s always been you to broker the peace. You’ll sacrifice being right if it means he’ll stop giving you the cold shoulder, he’s never done the same.

You try to ask him what he’s talking about, but he’s surging forward before you can speak. His lips are chapped, dryer than you’re used to. He doesn’t give you much time to process anything. His hands drift to your waist, dragging you into his lap as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. You’re taken aback by the taste of metal on his tongue. It’s coppery and bitter, not at all like the mint toothpaste you both use.

He’s not kissing you like you’re used to. He’s not trying to devour you or suffocate you by shoving his tongue as far as it goes down your throat. This is gentle, sweet. It feels like you’re being savored, not claimed. You don’t mind it, in fact, it would be nice if you weren’t so disturbed.

He’s not acting like himself, he barely looks like he should, and he tastes wrong. This isn’t your husband kissing you. You want to pull away, you try to. But his fingers are digging into your waist and your lips are firmly locked. You can feel the chill of his hands through your pajamas. They’re like icicles, you’re sure there’s going to be a mark from them in the morning.

“James,” you manage to mutter, pulling away from him just enough to catch your breath. “What’s,” you trail off, tongue growing too heavy to speak. Your words slur together, become one nonsensical jumble stuck in your throat.

He shakes his head, biting his lip and slowly lowering you back onto the bed. “I’m sorry. I thought this would work.” You narrow your eyes, you have barely enough energy to shake your head in confusion. Your lips part to ask another question. He leans down, pressing one last gentle kiss to you before your eyes roll back and you’re asleep again.

“I told you I have it handled,” James practically pouts as he sits in your armchair. You used to use it to crochet, it’s got the best view of the backyard and you like to watch the bunnies that live under the porch. But more and more, he stays there. Every second he’s home, he seems to live in that chair.

Bette had given it to you with the house. You hadn’t really thought anything of it, but with how he’s been acting lately, you can’t help but wonder if its’ connected to whatever secrets live in these walls. Most people would be haunted and their husbands would get worse, you seem to be experiencing the opposite.

He’s kinder, he’s bringing you flowers and cooking you breakfast. You’re woken up with praise and gentle kisses. Then he’s back to normal by lunchtime. He’s miserable at dinner, only to wake you up in the middle of the night with saccharine apologies. You’re so sick and tired of living in this whirlwind of love and misery. You just want some goddamn answers.

You need to know the truth of what’s happening to you. Is this just how James is? Is this the house? Is there even anything wrong with the house?

You’re hoping the medium will be able to answer that for you today. Mystic Wanda, the name doesn’t give you much hope but Elizabeth told you she’s one of the best.

Alpine runs against your legs and James glowers at her. “I told you I wanted her out of here.”

“Tough,” you respond bluntly, eyes trained on the front door. He’d thrown a hissy fit when he saw her the morning after your weird make-out session. You hadn’t bent, though, and you know he’s still upset you’re no longer blindly giving into his whims.

The doorbell rings and you leap off the couch, rushing towards the door and throwing it open. Wanda’s eyes widen in amusement and she smiles at your eagerness. “Please, come in, and thank you again for coming on such short notice.”

You usher her inside, offering to take her jacket. She passes it to you, eyeing the interior of your home and giving you an appeasing smile. “Well, Elizabeth is a good friend of mine, she told me you were having an emergency and I wanted to help.”

James scoffs from the armchair and she glances over at him with a bemused look. You glare at him over her shoulder. “James, I presume?”

“Oh,” his eyes widen in faux amazement, “did you divine that?”

Her eyebrows raise and you know she’s unimpressed. “I could tell from the attitude. Your sister warned me you were a cynic.”

He mutters a bitter, “Whatever,” under his breath and goes back to ignoring her.

“I’m sorry about him,” you take her by the elbow, guiding her into the kitchen and away from him. You peer over into the living room, ensuring he can’t hear you. Wanda waits expectantly for you to begin speaking.

“He’s why I wanted you to come.” You tell her, fiddling idly with your wedding band. “He’s not himself lately.”

“More volatile?” She guesses and you shake your head, laughing bitterly to yourself.

“Less, actually. But he’s unpredictable. I never know when he’s going to be this sweet stranger or the miserable man I’ve grown used to.”

Her brows twitch and a confused smile graces her lips. “Most people aren’t upset when their husband gets better.”

“I know it’s odd,” you admit, sighing and looking down at the countertop. “But, I just need to know I’m not going crazy. I’ve been dragging this around everywhere,” you push your camera towards her. “Every time something happens, the feed cuts out. I’ve been dragged down my bed, harassed, made to think I’m losing my mind.”

You run a rough hand over your face, feeling the aches of this whole experience settle wearily along your bones. “I just need some clarity. That’s all.”

“Well,” she reaches for your hand, squeezing it in hers and giving you a comforting smile. “I can certainly help with that.”

Wanda sits in the armchair, having booted James out of it. He seems a little bit more cognizant as he sits beside you, a little more scared. You keep a wary eye on him while Wanda closes her eyes and “connects” with the house, as she put it.

She breaks the silence abruptly and it makes you jump. “This chair came with the house?” You nod silently but you have a feeling she already knew the answer. She hums, running her hand along the arm of it.

“It was his before it was stolen by the man he called friend. He lives in it, watches you from it.” You feel your heart racing, panic steadily rising within you. It’s like a physical caress, the fear trailing down your spine. “He wants something, too many things,” she sighs and shakes her head, frustration playing along her fine features. “It’s hard to discern the truth of it all.”

“But he’s real?” You cut in, imploring her to tell you what you’re desperate to hear.

She gives you a resigned smile, but there’s no happiness in it. “I’m afraid so.” She shouldn’t be so apologetic, this is all you wanted. To know you weren’t crazy, to have James hear it too. But when you look to him for some satisfactory celebration, his face is slack.

“James?”

Wanda leaps up from the chair, taking a step towards him. Your husband is gone, any sign of awareness or thought is completely gone. He looks devoid of life, like he’s been a living corpse for weeks. “James?” You call again, voice threatening to break.

His jaw snaps shut and you jump back, rushing off the couch and stumbling towards Wanda. She grabs you, tugging you behind her, and takes in a deep inhale. “It’s him,” she whispers, eyes wide with fear. “I’ve never encountered one so strong before.”

You glance at her and then back at James. There’s fury playing on his features, and again, those eyes you don’t recognize yet somehow feel familiar. “I think you should leave,” he demands, his voice low.

It isn’t the normal way he commands you. This is a threat, a complete assurance of power. James stands up in one fluid motion, stalking toward Wanda. She goes stiff before you and you worry she’s going to go slack the same way James did.

“Now,” he tells her, eyebrows raised with impatience.

“James, she can help,” you try. His head whips toward yours and you flinch away from the intense look he gives you.

“We don’t need her help,” he whispers your name and it almost sounds like he’s pleading with you. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, you glance between Wanda and James, unsure which to follow.

Wanda shakes her head as you take a step back from her. James’ shoulders slump with relief. “Don’t do this,” Wanda warns. “I won’t be able to come back here again. He’s growing stronger, you’ll be beyond anyone’s help soon-”

She's cut off as the light bulb above you explodes. You scream, moving instinctively towards your husband. His arms eagerly wrap around you, drawing you into his gentle hold. He runs a hand over your back and you almost miss the quiet apology he mutters into your hair.

“Leave,” James doesn’t have to tell her again. She practically runs to the door, nearly forgetting her coat as she rushes out. You slump against him, somehow feeling defeated even after getting what you wanted.

“Doll?” He peers down at you, pulling back slightly to get a better look. “Are you okay?”

You stare into eyes you know don’t belong to your husband and force yourself to nod. You let this stranger hold you close and ignore the sinking weight of guilt. He feels so much better than James ever did and you hate yourself for thinking that.

Your husband is in there somewhere, being tormented by some malevolent spirit, and you’re letting him do what he wants to you. Playing house with him like everything’s normal. “Come on, let's go outside.”

You can’t do anything except listen to him. In the back of your mind, you think about how odd it is that he’s showing himself now. He usually waits until later in the day.

How sick is it, you have a schedule for when your husband will be possessed?

He leads you to the back porch, to the rocking chairs that were there when you moved in. but he doesn’t let you sit in one. No, he guides you down onto his lap, keeping you close as you get yourself comfortable.

James isn’t like this. He doesn’t let you love him like this. Your touch practically repulses him nowadays. But he can’t seem to get enough of you now. Holding onto you like he might not get to again.

“Wanda said he was growing stronger,” you mutter absentmindly. He goes tense under you, but he doesn’t yell at you or get mad. He just squeezes your hand in his, idly tracing shapes over your palm.

“I was thinking of planting some rosebushes,” he tells you, completely brushing over what you said.

“I thought you wanted to rip the garden out and build a pool,” you tell him bitterly. The neighborhood has its own pool. You’ve been begging James to keep the old lady’s flowers in the back but he won’t have it.

Now, miraculously, he’s giving in to your whims. You don’t know if you should be happy or disgusted. You’re sitting on the lap of something that isn’t your husband anymore. You don’t feel like you can trust your mind anymore. You struggle to differentiate between your dreams and reality.

He laughs a little, brushing some hair out of your face and smiling at you. It’s not the smile you fell in love with, or the eyes you fell in love with, but you can feel yourself falling. Or, maybe, you’re just desperate for someone to be kind to you. For someone to love you the way a husband should love his wife.

“I want you to be happy, Doll.” James doesn’t call you Doll.

“Maybe some gardenias too,” you lean back into his chest, letting yourself get more comfortable.

You feel his smile against your skin, he turns his nose to nuzzle against your cheek, planting a kiss there. “I’ll buy the seeds tomorrow.” You nod absentmindedly, trying to settle the way your stomach flips.

3 AM

“James!” You scream his name, leaping onto his side of the bed and holding onto him as tight as you can. He shoots up, grabbing you and turning you to face him.

“What?” He demands, face pale with worry.

You frown, glaring at him, “You didn’t hear that?” The bedroom door slams closed and you scream again, curling into his hold.

“Holy shit!” He shouts, he tries to hold onto you but something grabs his leg. The same way you’d been dragged the first night, he’s pulled out of bed. You scream his name, the bedroom door flies open, and watch as he’s dragged into the hall.

You leap over the bed, feet tangled in the sheets as you lunge towards the door. He’s screaming, primal sounds of nothing but pure terror ripping through the house. You pound on the locked door, tearing at the knob until you think you might rip it off.

“James! Please!” You sob against the wood, slamming your shoulder into it until it cracks. Pain shoots down to your elbow and you flinch back, “Fuck,” the screams go quiet on the other side of the door and your eyes widen.

“James!” You screech, your fists pound against the door until you feel the skin crack and blood dribble down your arms. Something cool brushes against your neck, like a breath. “Stop,” you plead, “stop it, give him back.”

The door swings outward, the wrong way, and you wonder how the hinges don’t break. The only light on is the linen closet. The same closest that you know has a scuttlehole. You don’t think, just run towards it. Your bare feet pound against the hardwood, shaking the whole house in your race for the door.

You burst through, nearly stumbling facefirst into the ladder. You clench your eyes shut, nails digging into your palms as you look up to see the scuttle hole already open and beckoning you forward.

Blood trails up the ladder and you could almost cry seeing it. You can’t waste time, can’t dawdle. You don’t know what happened to James but you know it’s not good that he’s quiet. You force yourself up the rickety ladder, pulling yourself into the attic and looking around for any signs of life.

You didn’t realize how much junk the old lady had left behind in the house. But the attic is chock full of her past. Dusty and browned filing boxes litter old antique tables. Wardrobes, trunks of clothes from the fifties. A mannequin with an unfinished dress. There’s an entire life up here, one she seemed to have just willingly left behind.

You frown down at something that really draws your eye, a box with a scrawled B.B. on the side. The light’s on, but it's dim and only illuminates the box. Still, you try and squint through the dark to find James. There’s no sign of him anywhere, you can’t help but wonder what the trail of blood on the ladder was.

You lean down and pick up the box. “What’re you doing?”

You scream, your throat going sore from how much you seem to be doing that tonight. James is on the ladder behind you, a dazed look on his face as he waits for your answer. You tilt your head in confusion, trying to calm your heart from the adrenaline rush that was ten minutes earlier.

These are different eyes. This isn’t him. Your gaze darts back to the box and you pass it to him. “Take that,” you demand. He doesn’t question you, if anything it seems to make him happy. He drops it down the ladder and holds his hand out to help you down.

You take it, hissing at how cold his hands are. He only gives you another eerie smirk. Once you’re steady and on the ground, you back slowly out into the hallway. “What happened earlier?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know. I must have been sleepwalking.”

Your face drops and you scoff, “You were fucking dragged down the hall and I got locked in the bedroom. You weren’t sleepwaking, James.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulder and flips the lights off. You’re plunged into darkness, a slight whimper ripping its way out of your throat. You’re forced to rely on his guidance as he leads you down the hall. “You’re tired, Doll, we should just go to bed.”

You think back to the box, waiting for you in the closet. There’s no arguing with him, though. You’ll have to deal with it tomorrow morning. You can only pray that you’re not awoken so violently again.

“Sweetheart,” you mumble tiredly, swatting blindly at the voice. There’s a low chuckle, and then the familiar press of lips against your forehead. “Wake up, I’ve gotta go soon.”

You’re slow to open your eyes, just barely making out James’ blurry shape. “James,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes to try and force them to focus on his form. “What’re you doing?” You asked, words slurring together.

He places a tray down on the nightstand and the smells of coffee and pancakes break your dazed trance. You sit up straighter in bed, giving him a confused look. Two years of dating, and a few months of marriage, not once has he greeted you with breakfast in bed.

“James?” you question, he only shakes his head, darting forward to kiss you. Your eyes flutter shut and you find yourself leaning into the touch. It doesn’t take long for it to grow heated, his chilled hands drifting under your shirt and tugging you towards him.

You’re finding it easier and easier to simply give in to his whims. Your legs spread over his and you melt into his hold like you were made to fit against him. “Shit, Doll,” he huffs against your parted lips, pupils blown wide as he stares up at you. His lips are a pretty pink, swollen, and glistening from your kisses. You almost want to bite them.

You hold back the urge, leaning back and giving him a small smile. It’s enough to make his whole face light up. “You know how badly I want to stay in bed with you today?” You almost invite him to, but the foggy cloud of an abrupt wake-up finally parts.

You remember the box from last night, what you need to do today. So, you pull back from him, his arms releasing you reluctantly. It’s so peculiar, how his metal hand is warmer than the flesh one. “Going to work?”

He hums, eyes narrowing in on you suspiciously. You reach for the coffee and take a sip, exactly how you like it. It’s pathetic that your suspicion grows because you know your husband doesn’t know how you take your coffee.

“I’ll miss you,” you tell him, and it’s the first time you haven’t had to force the words out to appease him. It almost feels genuine this time. He gives you a resigned smile, kissing your cheek and leaning back.

He pets Alpine, stroking down her smooth white fur and smiling at her too. “I’ll see you both later,” he tells you, a promise. You bite your lip and nod. His footsteps echo down the stairs and you leap off the bed, the abrupt move scaring the life out of Alpine. She growls in discontent and stalks off. The door closes and you run to the window, watching the driveway to make sure he’s gone for sure.

You race into the hall, throwing the closet door open and dragging the dusty box out. Mildew and mold cling to it, but you don’t have time to be concerned with germs. You need answers. You take it downstairs, toss it on the kitchen table, and forget all about your breakfast upstairs.

It’s odd, how much cozier the house has become. Sunlight streams through the windows and warms your seats and couches. You no longer feel eyes in the shadows. A creak is just a creak. It’s like your fear has just been snatched from you.

The thought is enough to unsettle you, but you ignore it for now. You’ll worry about that another day. You toss the lid of the file box inside and what greets you only further irritates you. Piles of unorganized papers and pictures, each of the more faded by time than the other.

You pluck out the first one you see and nearly gasp. It’s James, but not James. A picture of a WWII soldier, in his uniform and posing in front of an army vehicle. He looks just like your husband, but his eyes crinkle a little more when he smiles, his happiness palpable through the picture. He’s even got a prosthetic arm.

You flip the picture over, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, is written out in pretty cursive. Directly under it is 1942. You drop the picture, taking a few steps back and shaking your head. “No, no, nope,” you shake your head, simply ignoring the truth that lay in front of you.

Somewhere out there, there’s an alternative version of your husband who was a WWII veteran and apparently lived in this house. Same fucking name and everything. “Oh, fuck me, this is insane.” You glare at the box, not wanting to believe anything you’re seeing.

How could your life have devolved into this shitfest, just because you moved into one fucking house? How could one crappy ad in the newspaper have completely turned your life upside down and thrown you into the twilight zone?

You throw yourself into a chair, slumping over the wooden table and taking in grounding breaths. You wanted the truth, you’re going to get it. Even if none of it makes any sense. The next few pictures you grab are all in the same sepia tint. One of him standing in front of the garden, another before a truck, even one in the goddamn armchair currently sitting in your living room. And in each one, he looks as happy as can be. But there’s something nearly artificial in his smile.

You look at the pictures on your mantle and frown. You can’t exactly judge him. You’ve got the same smile in all your pictures too. Just slightly off, something about it slightly forced for the sake of the person beside you.

You find one of him with a very unhappy-looking woman. She’s pretty, even if she does look a little wicked, and she also looks remarkably like you. What bizzaro world is this? She’s nearly identical to you, but she looks goddamn miserable. A hulking blond man has his arm slung around Bucky, fingers just barely grazing the woman’s shoulder.

You flip it over and find, Bette, Bucky & Steve at the new house, 1950. Bette, the woman who sold you the house. Who told you what nursing home her kids were sticking her in. You leap up from the table, running to grab your coat and racing out of the house.

Bucky glances down at James' phone and grins. He pulls the car into the apartment complex and picks up the call, “Hello?”

“Where are you?” The woman on the other end demands sharply.

Bucky sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and fighting back the spirit surging within him. His left hand twitches without his permission and his eyes narrow in frustration. James was easy enough to subdue last night. He was caught off guard, terrified.

Now, he’s pissed off and fighting. Bucky doesn’t appreciate the efforts to take control. “I just pulled in. I’ll be up in a minute.” He shuts the phone off and jerks the rearview mirror to face him. The eyes that stare back at him are not his own.

“Don’t you fucking touch her,” James demands, spitting the words out like he has any sort of power over Bucky.

Bucky grins, “Wasn’t planning on it.”

James’ face falls and his eyes widen with worry. “What does that mean?” Bucky flips the mirror back in place, glancing up to the third-story apartment where Martha waits for him. He turns the engine off, slowly exits the car, and makes his way up the stairs.

He’s sure to take his time, enjoying how James grows more and more terrified. It only feeds him, makes him stronger, and grants him more control over him. He’s getting better at controlling him, finally had enough strength to fully take over last night.

Before, he only had the energy to take over the body for a few hours, at most. But the longer he held influence over James, the further his influence spread. Soon, he could leave the house, without having to use James’ body as an anchor. He’s evolved past anchors and the brick walls that once contained him. He only had one last loose end before he could be with you fully.

He knocked on the red door, waiting for Martha to answer. It didn’t take long. She threw the door open, face screwed up with rage. “Look who came back. I told you that little bitch of yours wouldn’t be good enough for you.”

Bucky kept the look on his face serene. He tried not to show the rage that raced through him at her grating tone. He wanted to rip her tongue out and choke her with it. He wished he could pluck out her eyeballs and serve them to her on a silver platter. A million different ways came to him as he stepped into her apartment.

“Hello, Martha.”

“Thanks for seeing me, Bette.”

Bette kept her hands in her lap, picking at the wrinkles of her skin. “It’s grown so thin,” she looked at you, seeing straight through you. “I used to be like you, so pretty, so young.”

Your face screws up in discomfort and you nod dismissively. “You know why I want to talk.”

Bette sighs and clicks her tongue. “Oh, Bucky,” she says his name forlornly, playing the perfect mourning lover. But you know better, she doesn’t mean a damn bit of her grief.

“Drop it,” you snap, looking around to make sure no nurses are watching. The white sterile walls of the nursing home loom over you. Bette’s eyes snap towards you, the thin film of dementia disappears and she slumps into her chair.

“Fine. Dammit, what the hell do you want? You already took my house.”

“Yeah, and your damn ghost. I want some fucking answers, Bette.”

She chuckles, the noise bitter and her expression cruel. “You know, you remind me a lot of Bucky. Got that same kicked puppy look to you that makes me want to smack you around.” Despite your best intentions of remaining passive, you feel your heart twinge in sympathy for Bucky.

Bette’s got the same bitter look in her eye that James used to. You don’t see much of it anymore. Strange how much your life has changed in just over two weeks. “I thought he’d see you and finally move on. He’d finally get his damn revenge on me, I mean you look just like me.”

You can’t help but agree with her. You slip the picture out of your purse and put it on the table before you. “I saw,” you mutter, glancing down at the uncanny resemblance between you both. “I want to know what happened, Bette. I want to know why he’s stuck in my walls, why he’s stuck in my husband,” you add.

Her eyes widen and her jaw gapes. “He’s got your husband?” You nod and you’re caught off guard when she begins to cackle. “God, even dead he’s still the same pathetic, snivelling bastard he used to be.”

You can’t help but get angry, you almost want to defend him. Sure, he’s tormented you, but clearly, he had a reason to be bitter about having to look at your face all the damn time. You’d go crazy too if this was the bitch you were married to.

“Bette,” you warn, voice low.

She huffs and snatches the picture. “No harm in telling you, I suppose.” She gives you a wicked grin, “No one will believe you anyway.”

“I met Bucky when I was young, too young. We got married because he was getting shipped off to war. He wanted someone to write letters to, to come home to, and I figured he’d die before I ever saw him again. I could cash in on widow’s benefits. Then the son of a bitch had to go and get honorably discharged for getting his arm blown off.”

Your brows furrow in disgust. You’ve never seen such an evil old woman before. You pray you don’t turn into a wicked old hag like her when you get older. “Steve, his best friend, was discharged around the same time as him. Came to live with us for a while so he could get his life in order.”

Bette glares at you and tosses the picture back to you. You catch it before it slides off the table and she keeps going. “See, some women weren’t as loyal as I was. His lady moved on real fast, left him lonely and looking for a warm place to sleep at night. Bucky, well, he just wasn’t a man. He obeyed me like a little bitch and took every hit I gave him because he thought he deserved it. Steve never did that, always put me in my place. He was a man,” she hisses out the word and you have the sudden urge to slap her.

“One thing led to another, we were in love and Bucky was in the way. We got rid of him, what else do you want me to say?”

You can’t even figure out where to begin. She’s fucking despicable. Not only did she not love him, he was utterly devoted to her and she fucked his best friend. Killed him to be with him. Despite this overload of information, only one question comes to you.

“Where did you bury him?”

5 PM

You let out a loud grunt, sweat pouring down your back as you bring the sledgehammer into the brick wall. There’s a loud crack and you pause, taking a step back. A moment later a brick slips out of its place. It doesn’t take much longer for the others to follow.

There’s a loud crash as it all comes tumbling down, decades of dust and debris float into the air. It drifts down your nose and creeps into your lungs. You drop the sledgehammer to the cement of the basement with a clatter. You kneel over, waving the dust away and trying to cough it out.

Something rolls against the floor, something hollow that clatters against your shoe. You glance down, stunned into silence as a gaping skull stares back up at you. You stumble away from it, nearly kicking it back, and trip right into the warm chest of your husband.

Bucky stares down at you, his face blank and devoid of anything you might be able to read. “You talked to Bette?”

You nod mutely, taking a step back from him. You wince as your heel comes down on something that cracks under your weight. You try to look down, to see what bone you’ve just broken, but he stops you. He grabs your chin, tilting your face towards him and forcing you to meet his eyes. “What are you going to do?” He demands, he tries to sound strong, but you can hear the fear that trembles under the cool tone.

Rest In Peace

Husband, Brother, Friend

James Buchanan Barnes

“It’s a bit morbid isn’t it?” You peer up at him and shake your head.

“No, he deserves a proper burial.” You place the flowers on top of the fresh grave and stand. You take a few steps back and Bucky pulls you into his chest. “You, I mean. I just feel like your memory deserves its rightful resting place.”

He lets out a heavy sigh and you squeeze his hand. “You think Steve’s in here somewhere?”

You scoff and feel yourself growing angry on his behalf. “He deserves to rot under a bridge somewhere, along with that bitch.”

Bucky laughs pulling back from you and giving you a wide smile. It’s genuine, the first genuine smile you’ve seen on his face in a long time. “Thank you,” he mutters. You shrug, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m your wife, I’m supposed to have your back.” You reach up, pushing a wave back behind his ear. He’s finally let his hair grow out again. He complains it gets in his eyes when he tries to garden, but you love how it looks on him so he keeps it.

His face lights up, the same way it always does when you say you’re his wife. You interlace your fingers together, pulling him away from his grave and back towards the car. You’re supposed to meet Mrs. Barnes soon, you’re having Thanksgiving dinner at your house tomorrow so the whole family can finally see it.

Since the discovery of Bucky’s bones and the literal skeleton in the house's closet, you’ve kept family members away from you both for a while. It was a long adjustment period, getting used to the truth and each other. Accepting the fact that James was gone for good wasn’t as hard a pill to swallow as it should have been.

You have a theory that you both were meant to be with each other, either in the forties or today. Something got messed up in the universe’s timeline and instead, you got James and he got Bette. This paranormal experience must have just been fate’s way of cleaning up what it had ruined so horribly.

You look up at Bucky, the way his eyes crinkle even when he’s not smiling, and feel something warm spreading through your chest. You don't mind the cold fingers and chilling touch at night when it’s him you’re sharing it with.

You place the turkey down in front of Bucky and he sends you a blissful smile. You can’t help but lean over the back of his chair and plant a loud kiss on his cheek. Janey gags, tossing a roll at her older brother. “Quit it, would you, I’d like to have an appetite.”

You chuckle, taking your seat beside him. Bucky can’t help but want to cry. This is what he’s wanted for so long. His family back, the woman he loves to love him back. It’s what he begged for. The loss of it all had turned him into this bitter, malevolent spirit.

As much as he’d like to say he regrets or feels guilt for what he did to Bette, Steve, Martha, and James, he can’t. He tormented Steve until he died of a terror-induced heart attack at fifty. He’d driven poor Bette into the nursing home where her children would let her rot for the rest of her miserable life. Martha won’t be heard from again.

And James, poor James. He must have had the worst fate of them all. It’s been a while since he’s heard anything from James. He searches for him now, his tiny presence lingering somewhere in the back of his mind.

Bucky takes your hand, looks at his sisters and mother, and smiles at them. He raises his glass for a toast, slapping at James until he’s forced out of his slumber. Look, he thinks, speaking of all he’s grateful for to you and the other women. They know, he feels James looking through his eyes.

He sees the way his family smiles at Bucky, and how much happier they look with him. They know, he tells James, they know I’m not you. James pounds futilely against Bucky’s walls. He screams and sobs, begging for you to help him.

They don’t want you, James. They know that the world is better without you. He lets James linger in his misery, he savors his despair, lets it energize him, and then tosses him back to the abyss. James goes quietly, he gave up fighting a while ago.

It wouldn’t matter anyway. His brief period of rebellion has fed Bucky enough to keep him subdued for the rest of his life. You squeeze his hand, “I love you,” you whisper, passing him the sweet potatoes.

He smiles back at you and repeats the same words he’s already said a hundred times to you. This is at it always should have been. Steve, Bette, and James were all stepping stones to get him to you. He wasn’t going to let you go now.

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Marvel (Winter Soldier), but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

#james bucky barnes #James Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x reader #bucky x reader #Marvel x reader #Ghost x reader #Ghost!bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky Barnes x y/n #Belle’s Halloween Palooza 2024 #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfiction

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rootspiral · 10 days ago

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I'm curious if you have anything more to say on the fight at the start of ep8 between Agatha and Rio. Like, about anything, the face acting, why this was Rio's last straw, why Agatha was surprised it was Rio's last straw.. Or just how good they looked lol.

Fuck, am I really going through these scenes to screencap them again? I guess I am. Let's pretend it's an extra deep dive.

Agatha has just left Lilia behind dealing with the Salem Seven. She was acting super casual and unbothered with Lilia, but as soon as the door of the iron maiden closed and Jen started screaming, she bolted. And she's running now and she looks terrified, but of what? The Salem Seven killing her? Or Rio catching up with her now that more bodies are dropping? Does she feel particularly guilty about Lilia's death, after seeing her display of incredible power and grace in the trial? All these things together probably, and whatever she's running from, here is her face when she sees Rio ↑

Then she has to close her eyes and steel herself like we've seen her do so many times, she was completely unfiltered a moment ago, terror showing plainly on her face, and now she's trying to regain control, but notice how it doesn't quite work: she's too shaken and her true feelings are still showing. Also heartbreaking and maddeningly stupid that she feels the need to hide and posture in front of Rio who is just begging for the opposite.

It's also interesting that Rio, as angry as she is, takes the time to tell Agatha that the Salem Seven are dead and she can relax and stop running – at least from them. Despite putting on her angry face, despite being determined to confront Agatha this time, she still wants to make things easier for her too. But it's no coincidence that she mentions Alice and Lilia, we saw her reap Alice's soul at the beginning of the episode, and right here? She just reaped Lilia. Like, that literally just happened. And it's obviously affecting her. Add to it the whole issue with Billy and Agatha's general behavior, is it any surprise that Rio is upset?

The finger pointing, the pursed lips and strained smile. "Here you are, breaking rules and breaking my heart again. And here I am, letting you do it like the fucking loser I am." I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really like Aubrey Plaza's more subtle acting choices.

And the more she talks, the more Rio gets subdued. She stops acting menacing and scary and you can see vulnerability coming through. I know how you feel about him. I watch you just as close as you watch everyone else. This walk with another's woman son. This is Rio trying to keep it professional when it couldn't be more personal. She's hurt, she's jealous, she's lonely. Fuck, why can't Agatha acknowledge it?

Meanwhile Agatha is just fidgeting and grimacing and shaking and trying to deflect and run away from the conversation. Rio, even when she sets out to yell at Agatha, ends up trying to reach out and communicate and do the emotional work instead, she still wants this to work so much. Agatha won't let her. She won't move an inch.

You call what you did special treatment? Look at all that venom, dear lord. Here we have Rio practically begging Agatha to see things from her point of view, to at least try to understand. Agatha, in pure Agatha fashion, grabs her pain like a weapon and starts slashing. She's jealous of her pain, she protects it, she feeds it. It's what helped her survive. Carrying around those three swords in her heart is the only way she knows how to function, no matter how agonizing they are.

You know when a parent is trying to reason with a toddler, and they sit down at their little table and say stuff like, "I know that you're angry, but your words are making mommy sad," and the toddler inevitably throws a pen or yells or calls them names? And the parent just wants to slap that little shit, and it takes them a hot second to collect themselves? Yeah.

Unfortunately, despite her best efforts, Agatha is not a toddler and Rio shouldn't have to do this. It's undignified, it's unfair, it's too painful. Rio is supposed to be her partner, not a surrogate parent.

And Rio does collect herself, and she keeps trying. Look at her body language, she's leaning back, tentative, less intrusive. She did the same thing when she was trying to help Agnes, she pushed a little, and when Agnes recoiled she stepped back and regrouped. She's pretty much spoon-feeding Agatha at this point. "Okay, let's talk about the case" becomes "Okay, let's talk about Nicky. I know it's hard but I'm with you. One step at a time. I only need to figure out the best way to save you from yourself and then everything will be fine."

This is what Rio has been doing, watching Agatha and studying her, acting like a therapist, trying to ease her out of her pit of despair as Agatha yells and throws stuff at her. And what I find really poignant is that Rio is literally the physical embodiment of balance, but she's going against her very nature and putting Agatha before everything else, even herself. Rio loves Agatha that much. And it's wrong. It's not sustainable. No wonder Rio lashed out so spectacularly at the end of the episode, she needs to feel big after shrinking and shrinking and shrinking in front of Agatha.

And yes I still love that Rio the Agatha wrangler has managed to calm her enough to sit and talk. Defenses are tentatively lowered, Rio's plan for getting through that thick skull is going splendidly. Or not.

Agatha is not letting Rio have her way, not even for a second. She's going to make it as hard as she can. And like I said in my deep dives, despite all she is still expecting Rio to always come back, no matter how much shit she throws at her.

There is a lot to be said about the way Agatha is addicted to hurting people. It is an addiction, it's her main/only source of endorphins at this point. It makes her feel powerful and in control of the narrative. And it's a vicious circle, she punishes people so when they lash back she can go, "See? See? They hate me, I was right, I was justified!" Rio was only feeding that addiction by coming back over and over again to let herself be pushed around.

Hey, Agatha? You don't want Death to look like someone just kicked her in the stomach. You literally took her breath away, and not in the fun way.

You dumb fuck.

Wow, this is still really fun to do, despite it being maybe the two of them at their lowest.

You know what? If you guys want you can send some other scenes my way, especially from the first episodes because I didn't comb them that thoroughly. And Agatha's scenes in WandaVision too, I want to watch those again. But only one scene per ask, please.

#asks #agatha all along #aaa meta #agathario #agatha harkness #rio vidal

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sunaluv · 1 year ago

Text

GIVE ME YOUR LOVIN'

someone's looking at you looking at him

feat: connie & eren, wakasa & shinichiro

CONNIE & EREN

connie watched curiously as you laughed at whatever it was eren said to you. you threw your head back and cackled as your unfiltered laughter was heard over the music. ironically enough, you had that same, unashamed laughter when he fell for you. every time he thinks about how he fell in love with you, he finds himself covering his cheeks like a bashful little school girl.

he can't really blame eren for getting to you first, he had only told sasha, ymir and historia about his little crush on you. and you were so attractive in your own way, it was a matter of time before someone else would make their move on you. ‘yeah,’ he convinces himself, ‘if i had acted first, maybe she would be laughing at my jokes right now.’

connie had been so deep in his thoughts, he hadn't even noticed you approaching the kitchen island he was sat at.

"you alright, con?" he felt a blush coming on at the sound of your voice. "what'cha thinkin' about?"

maybe it was the remnants of alcohol in his system, but he swore you've been looking at him a little differently lately, like there was a hint of lust in your eyes.

he cleared his throat, calming himself down. "nothin' really," he wiped his hands on his jeans. "what've you been up to?"

he listened intently as you told him about the past week, about the pile of assignments you've been neglecting and the girls trip you went on recently (he smiled as you whipped your phone out, swiping through albums and he had to act like he hadn't seen the ones you uploaded on your finsta). he had to hold back the hurt on his face whenever you mentioned eren though.

time seemed to pass whenever he talked with you. he found himself genuinely interested in what you had to say, and became more of a listener than a talker when the two of you conversed.

jean elbowed eren, nodding towards the two of you chatting by the counter. "you ever noticed how con looks at your girl?"

eren looked between jean and the pair of you, shrugging his shoulders. "no? how does he?"

"like he wants her," he laughed at the glare eren shot him. "my sources have told me that he's had a crush on her before you two started talking."

eren was silent, taking a sip of his drink. jean would've probably considered what he meant, but a call of his name from the bros at the beer pong table managed to grab his attention. with a heavy pat on eren's shoulder, he left the said boy alone with this newfound information.

old eren would've pulled the two of you up on it immediately or caused a giant scene which was sure to embarrass the three of you. but since getting to know you, he had become a calmer person, more rational even. instead of storming over to the kitchen, he decided to let you be. he trusted you, and you obviously trusted him as you already told him about you and connie when you started getting serious.

he let connie get a feel of what it was like to be with you, just for tonight. it was as far as he was going to get anyway.

SHINICHIRO & WAKASA

sometimes, when you come into the bike shop with your cheery greeting, wakasa likes to pretend you came for him, despite the fact you greeted everyone.

he likes to daydream about you prancing in your summer dresses which heavily contrasted his oil-stained overalls tied at his waist. he likes to daydream about you scolding him about overworking himself, your pretty, plump lips drawing into a pout complaining about 'how you'll forget about me one day...'

to which he'd respons with 'you know i never would' before hissing that pout away.

yeah... this man was in deep.

instead, he nodded his head at you as he passed, to which you reciprocated with a smile of your own. the faint scent of your perfume hypnotised him, his eyes following your figure as you lovingly embraced your boyfriend, shinichiro, who was tinkering away at his own bike.

the slithers of conversation he could grasp closely resembled the ones he has with you in his daydream, he sometimes gets scared someone can read his thoughts.

with a heavy sigh, he tore his gaze from his leader and his girl, putting the finishing touches on the automobile in front of him.

wakasa didn't imagine this to be the first time he got to really embrace you.

"it'll be okay," he spoke your name tenderly, drawing small circles into your arm. "we'll all look after you for as long as you need, alright? we all know how much shin adored you."

at the mention of his name, your cries grew harsher and louder. you squeezed at his waist harder, burying your face in his chest as if to take out all of your hurt on him.

"what will i do, wakasa?" his heart shattered at the defeated look on your face. "my boyfriend is dead..."

wakasa was stuck. he didn't know how to console you right now, not when he was feeling so guilty for thinking about your flushed body against his whilst you were crying over his late leader.

so he said nothing, letting you fall into him once more. he only hoped takeomi would get to your place soon, anyone other than him would probably be a better support system for you right now.

takeomi arrived shortly after, a fruit basket and other comfort items with him, along with his condolences. you told the boys you were going to lie down, giving wakasa the chance to excuse himself from you.

the two of the stood in your kitchen, speaking in hushed terms.

"you're such an asshole for what you're doing, ya know?"

"i know," wakasa breathed out. "...i know."

"shinichiro died, wakasa."

"i said i know, damn it!" he finally looked up at takeomi, a mix of rage, guilt and disgust swirling in his eyes. his eyes widened as he lowered his volume.

"boss left her in our care," takeomi breathed out. "do you really think it's wise to do what you're doing?"

whether or not it was a rhetorical question, wakasa did not answer. the silence mixed with with the tense mood left the air heavier than usual.

wakasa knew he still held strong feelings for you and it seems others are starting to catch on as well. thus he had to distance himself from you and let you grieve shinichiro properly.

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ddejavvu · 1 year ago

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Just an Anakin thot idk if you're still taking these-

Imagine Ani actually screaming during his orgasm while you give him a handjob 😫 like slightly sub but still super in love Ani squirming under you naked and covered in sweat being so loud and so hot

i'm literally always taking anakin thots please be horny about him in my inbox all the time

this post is 18+, minors dni.

anakin moans like he's in a porno. not like he's a man in a porno, though, not like he's trying to be gruff and sexy and suave, he moans like a woman in a porno. loud, completely unfiltered and to a point where you almost think he might be overdoing it. but he's not, he's just not resisting any urge to make noise. there's no need to bite back a groan or stifle a moan with you, he wants you to know how good you're making him feel so that you keep doing whatever it is that feels so damn good. if you move your hand a certain way and he likes it, he's gonna let you know that he likes it so that you don't stop.

he never does anything in halves. he'll moan and groan and whine and choke on his breath and ramble 'fuck- shit, yeah, like- like that, angel' and he'll grip the bedsheets until his knuckles turn white or until his nails snag on the threads and pull them loose. he'll grab your face and jam it into his own, mouthing messily, hungrily at your lips, fucking his tongue into your mouth like he fucks your cunt with his cock. every time your hand slides over the length of his dick he wants more, he wants to suck your tongue, he wants to leave scratch marks down your arms, he wants to bite your neck, he wants to take take take take take until you're all-consuming and engaged totally, completely, fully with him. until no part of your body is unoccupied, until every inch of your skin is touching ever inch of his skin.

that closeness, that mind-consuming contact makes him dizzy with pleasure, and the more you drape yourself over him and mesh your wet tongue with his own and squeeze his balls in your other hand the closer he gets to cumming until his fat dick is rock hard and leaking and aching and twitching in your hand and then his noises will merge into one loud, long, clear shout. he's obnoxiously loud, thank god for soundproof walls, and his cum splatters warm and sticky against both of your chests as you stroke him off.

he sees impulse control as useless and pathetic. if he wants to shout, if he feels compelled to yell as his orgasm overtakes him then he will, because why wouldn't he? because he doesn't want anyone else to hear? let them. let them know that anakin skywalker is getting some. because he doesn't want to overwhelm you? he's overwhelming, get over it. because he wants to seem cool and collected? why would he do that when he could just enjoy himself, and tell you how much he's enjoying himself at the same time?

no, he won't muffle or stifle the sounds he feels compelled to make in the moment. sex with anakin is loud, intense, almost too-much, but that's the nature of everything anakin does. that's anakin's nature. he'll let you know exactly how he feels, but he can be quieted by fitting your mouth over his own. it won't stop him from moaning and groaning, but at least you'll swallow them instead of letting them reverberate around the otherwise silent space and potentially exposing yourselves. if you want him quiet, you have to make him, and he'll thoroughly enjoy it either way.

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker scenario #anakin skywalker oneshot #anakin skywalker one-shot #anakin skywalker one shot #anakin skywalker headcanon #anakin skywalker headcanons #anakin skywalker hcs #anakin skywalker hc #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin skywalker fic #anakin skywalker blurb #anakin skywalker drabble #anakin skywalker dialogue #anakin skywalker fluff

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lurkingshan · 4 months ago

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why do you continue to watch gmmtv shows when you clearly don’t enjoy them?

This is the kind of rude, cowardly anonymous ask that I would typically just delete, but I’m in the mood to be generous so I will respond and use it as an educational moment.

I have to start by rejecting your premise. I enjoy plenty of GMMTV shows. My favorite Thai bl of this year is Cherry Magic Thailand. I wrote quite lovingly about it on this hellsite for 12 weeks. I was also a big fan of Cooking Crush and The Trainee this year, Kidnap is giving me joy weekly, and I’m currently in the midst of a really interesting discussion with people far more mature than you about Peaceful Property. GMMTV is also responsible for some of my all time favorite Thai shows including Bad Buddy, 3 Will Be Free, Midnight Museum, Theory of Love, Moonlight Chicken, and Dark Blue Kiss, and many more besides that I liked a lot. You don't know me. You have made the mistake of assuming that because you’ve seen a small fraction of my posts about specific things, you know what I think about all kinds of things. But as my beloved departed grandfather loved to say, when you assume you make an ass out of u and me.

So with that out of the way, let’s get to the real question underneath your logical fallacy: why don’t I keep my mouth shut instead of posting about the flaws I observe in these shows? There are a number of reasons for that.

First, I am extremely open about the fact that I am interested in the art and science of narrative storytelling, and I often post about it from a critical lens. This is all in the pinned post at the top of my blog, but I doubt someone with your lack of manners bothered to look there before sending me this ask.

Second, I don’t believe in the popular fandom idea that all meta discussion of shows should be positive and centered on stanning for actors or pairs and their shows. That's a fine pursuit for folks who enjoy engaging with media that way, but I personally find that boring and intellectually empty, and have very little interest in it. I like to learn from the things I enjoy, and you can't learn if you're not willing to think critically about why something in a story may or may not be working.

Third, my favorite thing about watching media is discussing it with like-minded people, and the way to find like-minded people is to share your honest feelings about what you're watching. I have made some of the best friends of my life by posting my unfiltered thoughts about whatever I'm watching in various social media spaces, and having people come and say "hey, me too" or "I don't quite agree but what an interesting thought." We connect with others through sharing our thoughts and feelings. If you censor yourself in fandom spaces, you will not find your people.

Fourth, on the specific topic of GMMTV: they are the largest and best resourced ql-producing studio in the biggest ql-producing country, and part of a giant media conglomerate that controls much of the media in Thailand. Their shows matter in terms of the influence they have over the rest of the industry, and so the messages they send with their shows also matter. I will never ignore them completely even when I choose not to watch some of their shows, because where they go, the larger ql industry follows. When I see a trend in their shows that is harmful, like, say, the repeated use of marginalized identities for marketing their shows that they then disrespect in the way the stories are executed, that needs to be pointed out and examined, and I am hardly the only one doing so.

I'll end by asking you a question, anon: what did you hope to accomplish by sending me this ask? Unlike many of the other folks who have been engaging in critical discussion with me over the last couple days, you had nothing constructive to say. You didn't put forward an interpretation or share your own feelings, you didn't contribute to the collective analysis process, and you didn't offer any commiseration or even a clear disagreement with anything I said. From where I'm sitting, your only intent was to attempt to shame me for speaking. You will never be successful at that, and it's a pretty ugly impulse that you should examine in yourself. When you find yourself being awful to real human beings because you can't manage your emotions about fictional media, it's time to think about what you're doing here. I hope you'll reflect on that, and take good care.

#fandom stuff #thai bl #shan answers

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fizzy-soda-cans-ohyea · 2 months ago

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My og comment from reddit in a general a hellverse sub about Bee getting the ick from watching Mammon chow down (can u tell I was walking on eggshells to not piss off defensive fans lol) and my expanded thoughts

Now for my unfiltered opinion. Ahem. Yeah it's actually very VERY stupid to have the sin of Gluttony, even a "nice party girl" and alternative take on it, to look disturbed by Greed (seriously, it's almost funny how similar gluttony is to greed in description) messily gorging on food. Like okay. They don't like each other, even hate each other. Sure. But for a haha funny reaction to Mammon going wild for lunch, you can keep Ozzie looked sickened, fine, but just have Bee glaring at him in a "this is not the time asshole" kind of way or SOMETHING damn idk.

Also. So many fans not knowing the full def of Gluttony. I felt like I was going insane with barely a few people in comment sections filled with thousands only getting it. It's not just being a foodie that maybe snacks too much, or drinking a few too many beers, or taking drugs at a party or whatever else people said lol. It's messy, it's over excess to the point of harm. It's sloppy, messy, kinda gross. Whether it's food, drink, or anything you overindulge in, it's not pretty. It's also...GREEDY. Let me not go on a tangent about how I think it would be more interesting for Bee and Mammon to frenemies instead-

And yeah. I made a post...about a year ago? About my slight discomfort and how unsure I was with how Mammon, and the few other plus size characters across both shows, were portrayed despite liking him. And wow did his portrayal this episode actually kinda made me a bit mad. Just made him the butt of the joke and gave him the obnoxious/annoying unlovable fat bully trope. Thanks for that I guess. Whatever I still love him lol.At least he was rocking the cool skeleton suit.

Also Ozzie. Don't tag team with Bee to clap back at Mammon like this is some teen's attempt at YA where the two friend characters always have a comeback for the pathetic bully character. Please. This is embarrassing. Don't let my GOAT be washed </3

#rant #helluva boss critical #helluva critical #helluva criticism #helluva boss criticism #helluva critique #helluva boss critique #sorry for this

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patroxlos · 6 months ago

Text

home base . ch3

"friends who believe in mpreg" - 2.7k words

ultraman: rising (2024). kenji sato x reader

master post. ao3 link.

previous: ch2. "friends who reconnected and who certainly don't want to be more"

next: ch4. "friends who sleep on call with each other"

Kenji endures an awkward interview with sports journalist Ami Wakita.

And is it monsterfucking if you're kind of into Ultraman?

A/N: So my dad accidentally bought me a coffee float instead of the coke float I asked him to get me. I ended up caffeinated at 11PM and began writing this in jitters. it's nearly 3AM. This is unedited and unfiltered which means: my writing is gonna be so unserious you will sit there and ask yourself "Is this writer different from the one who made the last two chapters?"

Hoping you can keep up with all my pop culture references. Motsubishi is such a silly little name. I was workshopping other company names like "Soni," "Yomaha," etc. but Motsubishi is giving Mob Psycho 100 brand parody.

Also, I refer to Ami as 'Ms. Wakita' connotes that she and Ken are still not that close, but as you would be able to tell while reading, they are begrudgingly becoming fast friends.

---

“Absolutely not.” Ken denies it immediately, with a slight aggression. “There’s no lovechild to speak of. We are just friends.”

Ami Wakita flinches a bit at his tone. “Woah, they weren’t kidding when they said you’re a bit defensive about her.”

“Who’s they?” He huffs, taking a bite from a strip of tonkatsu to calm down. He was glad that it is just him and Ms. Wakita in the restaurant at the moment. He would not want anyone to overhear their conversation about you.

“Your friendship with the Motsubishi scion has been well-documented since the start of your professional career. Rumors about your couplings have been circling since before,” Ms. Wakita points out.

“No comment.” His media training kicks in with his mouth full.

She rubs her temple a bit. “What did I say about you showing a little vulnerability?”

“I didn’t even say anything about my dad before you psychoanalyzed me!”

“Well was I wrong?”

Damn, she’s good. “...I thought you were a sports reporter.”

“Reporting on the players’ personal lives is a big part of it,” she coolly responds. “You should read my articles on Ohtani’s translator embezzling his funds, or the Yuki Tsunoda puppy interview I produced.”

“This isn’t about puppies though…” His shoulders are tense. “She’s just been my friend for as long as I can remember. Her family has always been good to my family– especially to my mom–and I know how much they value privacy. She is at a really crucial point of her career working to inherit one of the biggest conglomerates of the world. She and I definitely wouldn’t risk a secret pregnancy.”

He is impassioned when it comes to you.

“Woah…Can I quote that?” Ms. Wakita glanced down at her phone recording their conversation.

He deflates. “Yeah yeah sure whatever. You’re right, this isn’t the first time someone has made up stuff about us. Lovechild is new though. The last time it was an arranged marriage.”

“If it helps, online reaction has always been generally positive at the idea of you two coupling up,” she tries to be helpful. “Both of you are celebrities in your own right. You’re both young, wealthy and attractive. It fulfills a lot of people’s fantasies. The engagement rumors came about only because you two have been publicly attached to each other for so long.”

It does help. A bit too much. His heart picks up. Of course Ken has read all the comments whenever those articles came out over the years. You visit him in L.A. whenever you could, and those visits helped a lot with maintaining your friendship. There are multiple photos of you attending his career-defining games wearing his baseball jersey— the oversized look making you seem like his perfect WAG sitting beside his mom.

Ms. Wakita reads this on his face, clear as day. She figures that he is telling the truth about you and him never ever being romantically involved, but there seems to be something additional brewing on the surface. Putting on an unassuming tone, she asks “So I guess that’s it? You both can’t imagine being involved?”

He leans back on his seat, confidently answering “Yes, we both think it won’t work out long term—”

He proceeds to unlean as the realization causes him to hunch over. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuckity fuck. She really can get the devil to confess his sins.

She tries not to look too thrilled about his slip up, which he can commend her for.

“W-What I mean is that neither her nor me— it’s not happening. It never happened,” he stammers. He needs a new media trainer.

“I’m sure you recall that there have been photos—”

“Of her at my games? Of course she was, haha!” He did NOT need her to mention their other photos right now.

Please don’t.

Please don’t. Please… He is supposed to be moving on. Which he has!

“—that pop up over the years of you two being overly familiar.” She finishes.

God kill him. “All alleged. They’re too blurry to be sure it is us.”

“...Some looked like pro shots to me.”

Ken nearly slams his face on his tonkatsu.

“The one where you’re both getting smoothies at Erewhon was cute?” She sounds honest, and she is. She isn’t even going to report on this. It is already evident that the gossip is a sham, but she cannot help but want to tease the baseball player a bit, now that they are sort of becoming acquainted.

He sighs. “Thanks. It was the Ken Sato wheatgrass and bone broth blend. She didn’t like it.”

He remembers that day. You made a face when he tried to get you to take a little sip, so he blew some raspberries against your cheek and maaaybe just a little on your neck as you both stood in the parking lot; you were shrieking for him to stop as his smoothie-covered lips smothered your skin. All friendly, of course.

“Where did the lovechild thing even come from?” Ken thinks aloud. “She looks too great to be pregnant.”

Ms. Wakita, known single mother, asks “...Do women not look great pregnant?”

“Oh you know what I meant,” He snaps as she covers her mouth with a napkin to laugh.

She stops the recording on her phone to slide him the online tabloid article. Allegedly, he and you fought about him being an absent father at the restaurant last night as you have endured your pregnancy all alone. The story ends with a sweet coupling at the parking lot before you left on separate vehicles, a marker that neither of you planned to get married, or a possible abortion in the near future. What.

“You have a thing for parking lots?” She tries to joke.

His eyes nearly bulge at one line. “‘ The Motsubishi scion ate for two as she devoured a Yakisoba platter all alone—’ It was a decently sized portion for a reasonable price! And I definitely am not an absent father!” He says the last bit with a bit too much vigor.

“I didn’t write it,” She tries to keep his emotions in check. “...I did nearly believe it for a moment though when you called me last night. Was it an hour or two after you met up with her at the yakisoba place?”

He admits that if he was in Ms. Wakita’s place, he would’ve also thought he was secretly raising a child. He wonders whether the Baby is awake right now, terrorizing Mina. “Totally unrelated events.”

“And the apparent baby book purchases in your credit histo— how did a gossip mag get that information?” She marvels as she scrolls through her phone.

He doesn’t know what’s worse: the world finding out that he is raising a giant baby lizard in his basement or people thinking that he’s an absentee like his own dad.

A red blinking light catches Ms. Wakita’s eye. “Are…you gonna get that?”

Not hearing her at first, he runs a hand through his face. God he really did not want to imagine your reaction to this news article. He promised you that it would not be weird. The past is past. If your friendship is already in danger, this might ruin things even further. Oh he can already hear the alarm bells ringing in his head—

Or from his watch?!

“Hey, you don’t have a kid growing in you right now, do you?” Your assistant asks you as she glances at your stomach.

You were both in one of your sleek city limousines on the way to a late evening banquet, where you are due to give a speech. The traffic jam in front of you stretches a kilometer. You follow her gaze. “I thought this suit was slimming.”

She passes you her phone. Huh. ‘Motsubishi Scion Gets Impregnated by Famous Baseball Star.’ You pass the phone back to her. “I don’t want to see the kind of porn you’re looking at.”

“Young Master, it’s an article about you and Ken Sato.” Your assistant was not in the mood for your jokes right now.

You just shrug, taking your phone out to send a few quick texts to Ken. You are sure he probably heard the news by now, and he will definitely agree with you that it is as hilarious as it is ridiculous. “It’ll blow over.”

As you look back out of your window, you’ve already forgotten about it. Seems like a slow day for the newsroom.

At the horizon, you see a PacMan proudly sticking out from the top of a building get knocked down by some beam of light. You yawn and stretch back out on your seat. “Can we go any faster? I want to get this banquet over with.”

Your driver sighs. “This new kaiju attack is impossible ma’am. Apparently, it is just running around without any clear direction.”

“Well I don’t think a monster would have access to KoogleMaps,” you reply wryly.

It was going to be a long night. You begin to settle in for a nap while people are exiting their cars and running out into the streets. Their screams of terror sound muffled inside your bullet-proof vehicle.

“Should we get out too?” Your assistant nervously asks.

You lift up your foot and rest it on your knee. “I’m wearing So Kates. I don’t think I can run either way.”

As you say that, your security detail at the front of the limo begins getting out. Ugh, Tokyo is the worst… You need to fly out soon. He opens your car door and extends a hand out. “Let me carry you, Young Master. Better to evacuate now.”

“Must I?” You groan in frustration.

“We can skip the banquet and take you home,” he compromises. Begrudgingly, you step out of the vehicle just in time for the pinkest…chicken lizard to pop up at the corner of the street.

Immediately, you are swept off your feet as your security detail rushes to escort you and your assistant away from that thing as fast as possible, the wind is knocked out of your lungs. You peek over the shoulder of your bodyguard for a better glimpse at the chirping beast.

You lock eyes with it.

Big mistake.

Because why the hell did it flitter with excitement and began chasing you?!

It keeps chirping, and… burping?... as it hobbles and stomps over cars. Your jaw drops as your limo is flattened like nothing. And for some strange reason, the monster’s eyes are solely trained on you.

Did I do something to piss it off? You ask yourself as it gets closer. You know you can be a bitch but you would remember if you told it to fuck off. No, this monster is chasing after you like it knew you. There was no aggression in its oddly proportioned body, like you are being chased by that grotesque baby in the Tin Toy Pixar short. There is no moral compass behind those beady little eyes, just the pure pleasure-seeking nature of baby hedonism.

It gets closer, and your bodyguard’s legs can only run for so long. He screams bloody murder as he feels himself get picked up, you along with him, by the beast. You hear another scream that sounds like your own voice as you feel yourself get ripped from your bodyguard’s grasp. The monster puts him back down on the street, his landing relatively gentle.

You are being shaken like a rattle now in its claws, its gurgling filling your ears. “Oh my god.” You feel yourself getting sick from the nausea. You never thought you were going to die like this. Your legs flail in the air helplessly but your So Kates stay on, pinching your toes like you are about to give them the best shoe advertisement Louboutin can ask for, with how it feels glued to your feet.

The ground rumbles as if a giant springs through the streets. Your life does not flash before your eyes, but you can hear it in your ears— a very clear ring of Ken shouting “Baby! Put down the human!”

…

Huh?

You felt your body decompress as the monster’s grip loosened. Air returns back into your lungs, but you don’t find yourself returned to the ground.

Instead, you are being lifted up way higher into the sky as you lay on the palm of Tokyo’s hero: Ultraman.

You hiss as your eyes burn from the blinding lights of Ultraman’s unblinking lenses. “Are you okay—?” He says your name with a rising panic. You can swear you saw his chest light threaten you change colors. He is cradling you against it.

You did not know Ultraman can be this friendly with Tokyoites. You struggle to regain your ability to speak, a bit confused and frazzled from everything that just happened in the past minute.

The hero takes this as a bad sign. “Oh god you’re hurt.” There is an ache in his words that shakes up your own core. No one has ever sounded this worried for you.

Man is he bright . You try to shield your eyes from his light. You are brought up close to his face as he inspects your body. “I– I’m fine,” You manage to rasp out. You are initially not sure he heard you, but the evident sag of his colossal, broad shoulders affirms that he did.

You have never gotten to observe the hero this up close. Despite the unemoting face, you find his body to be an open book as it trembles with the fear of losing you. Even if he must be like this with every other citizen in need of saving, you cannot help but feel a little special.

“I was so worried— wait here for help.” He lowers you on top of a roof building, his fingers shaky, worrying about dropping you. You shakily slide off his palm, patting down your suit. You stumble a little on your stilettos, and instantly his massive hands crowd you once more to hold you up. " Please be careful."

“Ultraman!” You shout as you push away his fingers. “I’m okay, thank you!” You point towards the Tokyo Tower, where the baby-like kaiju was already climbing up. “You gotta deal with that first! Leave me, I’ll be alright."

“Huh? Oh, yeah, god… ” The hero curses, getting ready to sprint towards the tower. “Be a good girl and stay put, yeah?” He says to you before running off.

Your feet wobble on your heels as you nearly keel over from the adrenaline coursing through your body. That… you are never leaving the house again during a kaiju attack. Though… you watch as the slim figure of Ultraman begin to climb the tower after the kaiju. Maybe it won’t be that bad next time.

Later that evening in the Ultrabase, Ken excuses himself from the company of his father, Mina and the baby as he heads towards the bathroom for a long-awaited shower. His muscles ache with every step, and he is tempted to pass out on the cold floor— wouldn’t be the first time since getting this newfound responsibilities.

This is getting too overwhelming. He still cannot believe he felt so cornered against the wall that he had to call his dad for help like some kid. If only you saw him now. You were oddly closer to his dad than he was.

Oh shit, you.

You, who he left stranded on some random building.

He quickly fumbles for his phone, eager to call you to see if you’re alright.

Shit , he feels some tears of frustration welling up in his eyes. He is fucking everything up. He is a bad son, a bad father, a bad friend.

Ken opens his messaging app, and he first sees the texts that you sent earlier in the evening.

…

[YOU]

Hey bbgirl.

You pregnat? Pragnent?

My mom is gonna hand you a stack of 20M yen just to stay away from me. Are u g to take it so we can split it after? LOL

Not rlly in the mood to be ur baby daddy atm. get a DNA test before i send child support.

SENT LINK: Motsubishi Scion Gets Impregnated by Famous Baseball Star.

Bc if one of us left that restaurant pregnant it definitely would not be me

A/N: Ultraman fine as hell have you seen his waist?

This chapter was supposed to go A LOT differently from how it ended up being. It was initially supposed to be an extended conversation between you and your assistant about your past...whatever you had...with Kenji during your visits to L.A. But I actually really like writing Ken POV because him and I are pretty similar?

#ken sato x you #ken sato x reader #kenji sato x reader #cross posted on ao3 #one of the sillier chapters lmao

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neverchecking · 2 years ago

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Hi!!! I have a request, but feel free to ignore it if it makes you uncomfortable ❤

So you know the muddle buds in totk? The stuff that confuses allies and enemies in a puff of smoke? How about instead it made ppl horny 👀 with twilight if that's okay? Maybe him and reader went exploring together and accidentally got a puff of that flowers pollen or something?

Idk feel free to ignore this!! Have a nice day <3

Not at all, Darling!

I freaking love the muddle buds. They are my favorite weapon in totk, honestly.

So I went Soft Yandere! Sub! Twilight last time, now we get to go a little more Yandere Dom! Twilight >:D

Slight totk spoilers, but not much! Just about a Muddle Bud!

Smut CW: Hard, rough sex. He pins you to the wall man. AFAB! reader, he has a country accent. Calls you darling, dumbification if you squint, breeding kind. Also, Twilight bites.

Wild had given them the go ahead. He had said that though his Hyrule looked different, most of it was still the same. There were a few new thing, here and there, but it was still Hyrule.

So, obviously you had wanted to explore.

And Twilight wasn't going to stop you. Oh no. But he wouldn't let you go alone. No, he wanted to please you, but he wasn't completely crazy just yet. How could he watch over you if you went off alone? He couldn't! You knew he was Wolfie, so that wouldn't work either since you would catch him right away.

He was just lucky you seemed more than happy to have the company. He was just happy to see you so excited. You trotted in front of him, in some sort of leaky cave, looking at it all as if it was an entirely different entity. You awed over the bomb flowers and ooh'd over the luminous stone deposits. You even cooed over the Bubul frog before being dragged along once more. Twilight merely followed, growling lowly at a Horriblin that seemed to grow a little too cocky. It immediately backed down with a small whine, disappearing into a hole in the roof.

At least it wasn't black blooded.

Twilight remained just paces behind you, staying a steady pillar of security as you let your walls down in favor of exploring. He was more than ecstatic to do so, simply watching you. His Goddess.

Oh, how he adored the spark of life in your eyes as you skipped along, looking around walls and through vine blocked entrances. (Not that they remained blocked for long. One look at your pout had him gently pulling you back with a charming smile before slashing through them easily. When you smiled up at him with pure joy and unfiltered glee, his heart sang.)

"Look, Twi!" You called for his attention that he gave easily, pointing at a small trio of flowers. They were a gorgeous swirl of pinks and purples, almost seeming to shine in the light of the cave. He struck a nearby brightbloom seed to give you a better look.

One of your hands gently graced the petals as you looked up at him. Something inquisitive and endlessly curious lit up your irises, which he just melted over. The inner canine in him howled in admiration, tail wagging as it circled in an excitable circle. He just let himself smile since he doubted you would take too kindly to him just howling.

"What do you think they do?"

"Hard ta' say." He shrugged, crouching beside your own form and eyeing the plant. You gently bounced it on a finger, furrowing your brows at the prospect of a new mystery. "Wild would probably know." You hummed.

He nodded along, before standing, offering you a hand. "Probably. C'mon. We should probably head back before they start gettin' worried. Ya' know how Sky gets."

You giggled behind a hand, taking his before dipping into an exaggerated curtsy. "Why, thank you, Sir Twilight of the Twilight Realm."

Rolling his eyes, he played along-- because he'd be a fool not to. Whatever you wanted, he would give you. There was no question about it. Even if he feigned annoyance. "Why, of course, yer' highness. It is my absolute pleasure." He smiled, one of his canines gleaming.

You laughed again before waving him off. "Oh, shove it. Let's go, cowboy."

"After you." He bowed, making you roll your eyes before you were moving once again. Both of you stopped at the sound of something cracking above you, making you look up. A tip of one of the stalactites shivering before falling. It landed in the flowers, making a puff of lilac smoke bloom in a small cloud around the area. Twilight immediately reached for you, because he'd be damned if he let that hurt you, but unfortunately not even he could fight against pollen as you coughed into his chest.

He gently held your hands, scanning you for anything that could possibly be wrong with you, (Who cared about him? Not when you could be hurt. You could be in danger.). He was going to maim Wild if something happened to you because of something he failed to warn them about. Goddess, if this was something fatal, he'd never forgive himself. No Hyrule would withstand his pure rage should something happen to you. Nothing would survive his pure anger in it's rawest, most feral form.

But, outwardly? You seemed...Fine? Your cheeks were a little red, but you seemed...okay? It was a tentative and hesitant okay, but you seemed just so. "Darling? Are ya' alright? Aches? Pains? Anything wrong at all?"

"No, no, just...hot. Like it suddenly got thirty degrees hotter." That would explain the red cheeks. You gently cupped his cheeks, pupils blowing wildly. "You okay, cowboy?"

"'m fine." Come to think of it, it did feel hotter. Way too hot. And Goddess, he knew you were good looking. But it seemed something just made you positively radiant. Absolutely glow as everything around you hazed away. Your touch was like pure magma, hot and smoldering against his cheek, but he needed more. He couldn't breath without you at this point, but it was more like you were the very oxygen he needed. The atmosphere that kept him together.

He needed you. He needed you so badly. He needed your touch and your aura, for your nails to dig deliciously in his back as he absolutely ruined you. He needed...He needed-

He would fucking explode if he didn't kiss you right now.

So he did. He leaned down, smashing your lips together in a kiss that was more teeth and tongue than anything, animalistic and primal. You groaned against him, fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. Your groans lit a fire under him, urging him on as his own fingers tugged at your useless clothes. You honestly were doing society a disservice by wearing them. No, you were doing him a disservice because he, and only he, was the only one allowed such a delectable view. Only he could make you this way. Feel the way you clung to him like he would disappear should you let go. Relish in the feeling of you pulling at his hair to get him as close as humanly possible. To hear the way you absolute whimpered his name as he pulled away just far enough to rid you of your blasted tunic, dropping it to the side. To experience the electricity between you two as you ground against him.

He couldn't take it anymore. You were primed prey ready for him to take. He had been patient. He had been a gentleman. He had been everything you wanted. But he was little more than a wolf in sheep's clothing. Laying in wait for the perfect opportunity to strike. To bite into his precious little doe.

And now was this opportunity.

Your head angled up just perfectly as he latched to just beneath your ear, licking and sucking his own marks into the skin. A sign that you were his, his, his. All His. His rutting increased in ferocity and tempo, making you cry out for him as you pulled at his belt. It was dropped somewhere to the side with your tunic along with your own belt as your leggings were pulled to your knees.

Anymore would have to wait since he couldn't.

His pelt fell to the ground, discarded carelessly, as he pinned you against the stone wall behind you, holding your ass in his hands as he rutted and rutted and- If he didn't stop, he'd fucking lose his ever loving mind.

With another growled curse, he ripped those pesky panties away from your lips, leaving the shreds fall to the ground as you wiggled him out of his pants. "Darling, I can't- I need-"

"If you don't stop talking and fuck me, I'm asking for a favor from Warriors."

An absolutely feral snarl left him as he plunged into you, feeling you constrict against him as you cried out in either shock or pain. Didn't matter as you were eagerly demanding more.

And more was what he would give you. More. Until you couldn't stand the thought of being without him. More. Until you couldn't think of anyone but him. More. Until he had effected you in at least half of the way you effect him. More. Until you were nothing but a mindless, babbling, crying mess for him and him alone.

Just to see you, tears dripping down the crowns of your cheeks and drool shining along your chin, was a dream he had had many times over. But to have the real thing, clenching around him, marking up his back with nothing but mindless cries? That was a euphoria like no other.

It was what made everything worth it.

You just felt so...Cynefin with him. Perfect in every way. He just wanted to please you. To worship you. So just let him. He would treat you so nice! So well! Give you a nice home, let you do what you wished as long as he came back to you. Wanted to stay home a be a house wife? Perfect. Wanted to get a job? He wouldn't be ecstatic, but he's sure there's some odd jobs around Ordon, where he can watch you. Want kids?

He halted for a second. The thought becoming oh so domestic to him. The thought of you round with his own kid, his pup, a part of you and him put into one. It was something so domestically perfect and something he wanted. Oh, he wanted it bad. It kicked his hindbrain into a whole new gear as he picked up his tempo, hearing you cry out. You were dripping around him at this point, crying his name again and again before squeezing around him. It was as if you were milking him, asking for his children.

That must've been it, and if that was what you wanted, that was what you would get.

His fingers dug into your hip with a bruising grip, jutting as far as he could, biting into the junction of your shoulder and neck, pinning you there as he filled you to the brim. It was yours, all yours. He wouldn't let you waste a drop, oh no.

Besides, he was just getting started.

Dinner wouldn't be ready for a while yet and by the looks of it, you weren't quite satisfied yet either.

And that just wouldn't stand.

Small AN: Man, three in a day, you lucky geese you! I hope you guys enjoy these all, sincerely, I really enjoy writing for you guys and I love seeing your reactions in the tags. So thank you for being so welcoming. I appreciate it more than you could imagine.

With all my love,

Cinder XOXO

#linked universe #linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe #yandere linked universe x reader #cindersins #legend of zelda #loz #linkeduniverse #yandere lu twilight x reader #yandere twilight x reader #lu twilight x reader #lu twilight #yandere legend of zelda x reader #yandere legend of zelda #legend of zelda twilight princess #link x reader #yandere link x reader

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pen-guin-writez · 7 months ago

Note

Panicfrog cuddling for the panicfrog writing prompts thing :) you can decide the rest but I just want them to cuddle at some point ^w^

YAYYY TYTY

fic below the cut!!

Another day that Fear just so happened to be on Dream Duty.

Fear didn't like Dream Duty. It's just... so...boring, man. So cliche, it's just the same thing over and over again. He'll admit, however, there are times nightmares do give him a good scare. But a lot of the time he finds himself staring blankly at the screen.

THUD!

Fear falls out of the chair.

Ow...

"Oh my gosh--- are you okay? Sorry, I didn't mean to--- I--- Oh god...."

Initially, Fear didn't recognize the emotion hovering over him. He slides the chair in front of him to peek behind it shakily and...

"Oh, uh, Anxiety. Hi!"

The 'hi' was more enthusiastic than he wanted it to be, but forget that, he liked her.

"Hi... are you okay?" She asks again, "Sorry."

Fear's eyes dart, before immediately springing into a straight, standing position.

"Do- don't apologize, you're fine," for a split second, he smiles, before faltering and tilting his head, "wait, why are you still up?"

The question seemed to make Anxiety, more... anxious, if that's even possible.

"Listen I'm sorry, I-I tried, but I'm just too worked up about Riley's Spanish test, we- we haven't studied enough--- it's just--- it's not enough, what if we fail? And then Mom and Dad get mad at us? And they ground us, and we never get to play hockey again, and---"

And she goes into an unfiltered, messy rant about Riley, proceeding to lean her head on his shoulder. And Fear just froze for a moment.

Now, normally, Fear would jump in an instant and run away screaming, but there was something oddly comforting about this.

Maybe it was because... she trusted him? For some reason?? At least, she trusted him enough to rant about all her problems and lean in like this. And this time Fear wasn't scared, even though... that's his job, but he was more... endearingly charmed.

Fear suddenly shakes his head, stepping aside from Anxiety.

"Hey, uh, Anxiety?" he stammers, "Uh, listen, okay? I know it's hard. I mean, Riley's thirteen now. That's some scary stuff. I should know, I literally embody all of her fears."

She giggled at that. See, Disgust was wrong, Fear can be funny. Bonus points for sort of impressing a cute girl.

"But you wanna know what's worse? Studying so long you don't get any sleep. And if you don't get any sleep, you'll fall asleep in school. And that's like, one of the worst possible outcomes of studying! Just imagining it makes my skin crawl!"

Fear shakes Anxiety with a playful intent.

"HEY, QUIT IT!!!"

"Oh- oh, I'm sorry, I didn't---"

"No, you didn't do anything wrong. You're just trying to help, it's just... sleeping's always been hard for me, there's just so much on my mind, no matter how hard I try." Anxiety curls up, looking to the side, and Fear really can't help feeling bad for her.

"O-oh, Anxiety... I'm sorry, I wish I could help, but..." Fear pauses in thought. He thinks about what helps him feel better when he's scared.

He smiles gently, "Do you wanna stay here?"

"W-What?"

"Yeah, stay here and... I brought my teddy bear. You can hold him, or me, or--- I mean--- whatever will help you." Fear felt the strand of his hair curl up, his face going all red.

"Really?" Her eyes gleam.

"Ye-yeah. I mean, it's not like this dream here's keeping me occupied, I mean, look at this! Ha!"

It was a dream Fear had seen many times before, the classic not-wearing-pants and everyone-making-fun-of-you type of thing. Except instead of a bunch of eleven year olds laugh at him

"Heh, are you seein' this? Are the directors even tryi---"

Fear felt a squeeze, and his eyes narrowed down to see Anxiety hugging him, her teeth chattering and all. Instead of running off and screaming about germs or something, however, he just cautiously lets his hand reach her hair, slowly, and carefully and...

For once, neither of them run off screaming. At all. They found comfort in each other, and Fear couldn't help but sigh.

Which is exactly what woke Anxiety up.

"Oh my gosh- I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to---"

They looked at each other. No one else was around.

"Do you still wanna..?"

"Yes, I would like that very much."

Anxiety cuddles up against fear arm as he strokes the back of her head, leaning on her. His fingers were entangled with hers, and it felt like nothing else in the world felt safer than this moment.

And of course, when the morning comes, they'll start screaming and panicking to the other emotions' annoyance.

But Fear needed this moment. Hey, he said he would change her!

#inside out #panicfrog #fear x anxiety #this doesnt make any sense #but shut up i wanted to be fluffy

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arcanewhoosh · 1 month ago

Text

Tribulations and Triumphs (Partners in Crime, chapter 7)

This chapter is also posted in AO3 here

3.7k words

Proofread? Y/N

Relevant Tags: Jinx x Reader, Modern AU

After two weeks of radio silence, you and Jinx finally have a chance to talk and hash things out. Meanwhile, the Hex Coil project is given another chance to prove itself.

This was supposed to be a longer chapter but I saw that I was pushing 4k words and I hadn't even started the supposed last scene so there's a section that's alluding to a flashback, but the flashback will be in the next chapter instead, along with the last scene.

Also one of the reasons this took longer is because I had an entirely different scene with Jinx written out. Then about a week ago I randomly realized that the scene didn't feel like it was the sensible route to go with, so I scrapped it and went with the current version. But that also means I might have to write more chapters lol.

In the few seconds between you turning the doorknob and the door itself opening, a flurry of thoughts managed to run through your mind.

Do I apologize first? Will she apologize first? Who's more in the wrong? Wait it's probably me. Dammit. Have I apologized enough? Should I have eased up on the texting maybe?

After all, you spent the better part of the past two weeks being absolutely pathetic chasing after Jinx. You could admit that now, since- mercifully- she was the one who showed up at your door and not the other way around. But now that she was actually at your door, you realize that all those days wanting to talk to her, you hadn't properly thought out what you wanted to say to her--whatever that meant.

Then there was your earlier conversation with Viktor, which spurred the rational, self-respecting part of your brain. The part that told you that Jinx should've discussed the party instead of jumping the gun and surprising you with a room full of people. Some of which you didn't even know.

Why is she here? To talk, obviously. But would she only talk about the party; why she did it? Would she talk your ear off for starting the fight? Would she apologize? You realize quickly that one of the drawbacks of reconnecting with people you haven't spoken with in years, is that you no longer have a solid sense as to what their motives are.

You steel yourself as you open the door, forcing your face to remain impassive.

Flowers are immediately thrust into you face when the door does fully open.

"I'm sorry." Is what greets you from behind the assailing purple flowers.

You blink. "Flowers?"

"… Yeah I don't know either." She shrugs, not out of nonchalance, but from what you can tell, anxiousness, nerves. And just like that, seven words addressed to you, and your resolve is already chipped at the edges.

The both of you stand there for a few moments, Jinx not making a move to enter like she usually does; you not moving aside to let her in. You could count on one hand the number of times Jinx reeled in her usually unfiltered nature. First when you two had met as kids, second when Vi had gotten mad at her for getting paint on her boxing gloves, and third… back during times you'd rather not remember.

"Come on in." You say as you open the door wider and step to the side. She walks in as you mutter a slightly confused thank you for the flowers. She's in the middle of making a comment about Caitlyn once bringing Vi flowers as an apology when she notices the bat resting by the wall. She stops mid-stride and raises an eyebrow at you.

"In my defense, I thought I was gonna get robbed."

Who the hell would knock before robbing someone. You hear her response in your head before she can even say it. That's a lot of snark for someone apologizing, you'd then answer. But she doesn't, and it throws you off just a tiny bit.

"Yeah, that's fair." Another awkward pause as she waits for you to close the door. "I came here to apologize about the party. It was a bad idea." It was a terrible idea. But you don't say that, of course. Instead, you simply nod and wait for her to continue.

“I can see that it made you really uncomfortable and that’s why you reacted that way. I shouldn’t have assumed that a couple of years and you’d be okay to party or whatever, and that’s on me.”

Is she… following an apology format? She couldn’t be. Surely, self-assured, stubborn, prideful, smart Jinx wouldn’t google how to set up an apology. But then again, it was something you were taught in group therapy back in the day. Who’s to say that she wasn’t taught the same things. She does look sincere, though, if not struggling, absolutely out of her element.

“I feel really shitty about it and… I really want to make it up to you, only if you want, no pressure, take your time with it-" She rubs her hands on her face and lets out a grunt before flopping onto your couch. "God, why is this so hard?”

“Apologizing to me is hard?” You quirk an eyebrow.

She straightens immediately. “No, no of course not. It’s…ugh, stupid Caitlyn and her gentle parenting.” She mutters the last part out, clearly annoyed, but you still catch it. If you weren’t trying so hard to remain stoic, you would've laughed.

"What about Caitlyn?"

"Nothing! I'm-" She stands and walks up to you, for a moment you think she's about to seize your hands. A habit she reacquired and often used when she was trying to reassure you that her latest project was totally safe and wouldn't blow up.

It always blew up.

"I'm just… I had this entire plan on how to do this, and I knew what I was supposed to say, and now." You try to ignore the pang of disappointment in your chest when she stops herself from reaching out to you.

"I messed this up, too." She wraps her arms around herself, eyes downcast. You stop yourself from walking over to her and lifting her chin up.

She sighs for a moment, before continuing. "I really do feel bad about what I did, and I feel worse for running off after."

"And not speaking to me for two weeks." You add, your tone snappy but dulled at the edges. "You could've… I don't know, at least let me know you were okay?" Her head snaps up to look at you, a mix of surprise and confusion on her face.

"Why would you need to know if I was okay?" You scoff and throw your hands up. so much for staying impassive.

"Because I care? Because we spent the better half of the past few months with each other than without?" The confession nets the opposite of the response you were hoping for. You half expected her to be upset about your sarcasm, half expected her to look like she understood what you wanted to convey--I am so fucking sorry about what I did too--but instead she... Looks more confused?

"I started a whole fight and put your family in the hospital, and you’re… you’re not even mad?" Now you're confused, too. "I don’t know what’s worse, you apologizing or you shouting at me.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but quickly closes it again. Her eyes leave yours for a few moments, instead settling to a spot a little to your left. A quirk she has when she's trying to think about what she wants to say.

"But... The party--"

"Was something you should've discussed with me first, and not jumped into, yes." You hold your hand up when you see her about to cut in. "But even I can admit I was way out of line with how I reacted. And then I kept trying to contact you like some creep."

Your attempt at a joke flies over her head, and nets you the opposite of your desired response. "I ghosted you for two weeks, and did this whole party thing; why aren't you mad?" Her voice starts to rise at her question, and you find your temper flaring in response.

"Because I recognize that I screwed up, too? Why the hell would you want me to be mad?"

"Cause you're being too fucking nice!"

"Didn't you come here to apologize? Now you're upset that I wanna resolve this? What's wrong with talking this out like adults?"

Even though you don't know Jinx as well as you used too, her tendency to close herself off and blow up at people when she was too anxious to talk thing out is something that has never changed. You know you should be the more mature one, the one who takes the high road, the calm one. Her face scrunches up in anger.

"Oh, excuse me for being childish, oh righteous one!"

Maybe it was the fact that it was three in the morning, maybe it was the fact that her visit caught you off guard, or maybe you do have a right to be angry, to yell, to ask her What were you thinking? I thought you'd know me better than to bring up a bad memory.

"You know what?" You scoff. "I think I am mad about the party. Because what the fuck were you thinking?" The wrong thing to say, really. But now you're angry, and you find that you don't really care what comes out of your mouth.

"Oh here we go. What were you thinking, Jinx? You should've known better, Jinx." She does a mocking impression of your voice "I'm sorry for trying to do something nice for you--"

"You literally could've talked to me about this first!" Your voice cracks a bit as you shout. You never really did well with verbal confrontations. "It's not rocket science."

Jinx, however, is an expert at it. "Well my bad for thinking you got over it in therapy. Didn't you have that in juvie?"

Oh.

That'll do it.

It takes a few seconds for her to register what she had just said. But you, it hits you the moment the words left her mouth. The immediate ringing in your ears, the heat in your arms that starts creeping down to your hands as your breathing becomes ragged.

Her brows unfurrow, and her eyes widen as--what you hope is--immediate regret washes over her face. The I'm sorry, that was too far, I didn't mean it already one her lips. But it's too late now.

It’s amazing--frighteningly amazing really--that the one person who could convince you to talk at fuck all in the morning; who could wear down the guard you set up for yourself without even trying; make you forgive her so easily—and you’ve already forgiven her for the party, honestly—could single-handedly tear your chest open and rip you apart.

But should you really be surprised?

"Get out." You say through gritted teeth. You turn your face when her eyes try to meet yours.

"Wait-"

"Get. Out." You blink away the tears threatening to fall down your face. You are not going to let her see you cry. "Don't fucking speak to me, again." You turn around and walk over to the door, open in, and wait for her to step through. All the while looking at the wall in front of you.

No words are heard through the quiet hallway of your building as Jinx leaves, only the loud slamming of your apartment door.

Despite having an absolutely shitty week, significant progress had been made with the Hex Coil. Firstly, the Council had agreed to reopen the testing site for Hex Tech, after a lengthy discussion on how you absolutely needed the chambers to run more tests and; how high the return on investment would be if you were able to test successfully and release this to the public during a power crisis. Secondly, after having to redo the schematic diagrams for the Hex Coil--and a little help from an anger-infused work fixation--you were able to figure out how not to blow up the entire setup while activating the gemstone. Now, all you needed was another run through with Jayce and Viktor at the testing chamber.

You’re currently wrapped up in drawing a barely comprehensible graph, occasionally looking over to your computer to confirm that the manual computations you were making matched up with the ones on your screen. Viktor and Jayce were looking over at machine diagnostics, making sure nothing would go wrong with all the hardware that was just replaced.

"Okay, so the simulation didn't blow up the computer, so theoretically, the real thing shouldn't blow up either." You say to yourself as you try to give yourself a pep talk, unaware of Viktor raising an eyebrow at your statement.

“I don’t think the computer’s processing capabilities have anything to do with our test running correctly.” You hear him say. You don’t turn around, too engrossed on the graph you were making.

“Well—I mean I made the simulation so…” You trail off, hoping that Viktor drops the topic. The simulation was pretty well made. You should know, you spent the entire week making it.

“Uhuh.” Is the response you get. You feel an unreasonably heavy hand pat you on the shoulder, which could only mean this was Jayce offering support.

“It’ll be fine, we worked out all the kinks from the first test. If something else goes wrong, we’ll fix it again.” Ever the optimistic, Jayce gives your shoulder a squeeze before returning to his monitors, putting on his protective goggles. “So, are we ready to test this, or what?”

Viktor follows suit, giving you a thumbs up before putting on his goggles. “Diagnostics are good, ready when you are.” He says as he turns a key, and you hear the familiar hum signaling the equipment in the testing chamber coming to life.

Oh so suddenly, your nerves are alight. With the time-consuming distraction of having to set up the Hex Coil reaching its ends, you’re suddenly very, very aware of the weight of the project. A million different scenarios of how things can go wrong suddenly flit though your mind, the events of Progress Day—and unfortunately, the events after—at the forefront.

You make your way towards the observation windows, and see the rods around the main and subcoils start to spin. An update that you deemed needed. It would take the load of the entire set up if you did a warm start with the coils, instead of having everything spring to life at the same time.

A knot forms in your stomach, whether from anticipation, or dread, you're not sure. Between the first test just a few weeks ago, and the expectation of results for this test, everything is suddenly starting to feel very real. As if the past week—three—flew by in an indistinguishable blur.

You shake your head, trying to will away the dread creeping up on you.

You’ll be fine. A voice in your head says. A memory, really, an unwelcome one at that.

What if I won’t be?

I’ll catch you, don’t worry about it.

“Sprout?”

You blink.

Jayce. Jayce is calling from behind you.

You quickly shake your head and put on your headphones and goggles, pretending to now hear Viktor’s Are you alright? And opting to stand near the main unit, putting a hand on the glass casing of the lever. You pull down the mic from your headphones—another new addition that made it easier to communicate while the coil was operating.

“Testing chamber clear?” You start.

“Clear!” You wince slightly as Viktor’s loud, staticky voice comes through the headphones.

“You don’t have to shout anymore, Viktor, we have microphones now!” Jayce’s own voice comes through, albeit at a much more reasonable volume.

“Sorry!” Viktor shouts again.

The moment is ridiculous enough that some of the tension leaves your shoulders, and you allow yourself to let out a chuckle.

“Alright, let’s stay focused here.”

“Sorry.” They both say.

“Main coil?”

“Level.”

“Sub coils?”

“Fully operational!”

Now or never.

“Hex Coil test running in three—“You lift the glass panel.

I’ll catch you!

“Two—“

Promise?

“—One.”

You pull the lever. The humming grows louder, clearly audible despite the protection of the headphones. The light from the gemstone seeps into the observation room, flooding it in blue. All three of you whip your heads to the screen showing the chamber. Sparks of electricity already transferring from the main coil to the sub coils.

"Rectifiers?" Your eyes don’t leave the screen as you ask. The rods on the coils look stable, and there aren't any immediately visible red flags. You hear a cackle of static followed by a They're stable! from Jayce.

You make your way to the observation window. Confident in leaving the main panel after installing kill switches in Jayce and Viktor's stations in case anything went awry.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, and lean a bit closer to the glass, only now allowing yourself to take in the beauty of the sight before you. The gemstone is glowing a brilliant blue, casting light across the entire testing chamber. Nothing has blown up yet, and Everything is working and We're fine, we're fine, we're fine.

Then you notice the hum start to go quiet, and the glow of the gemstone start to dull. You push your face up to the glass, before taking off your goggles and headphones to turn around.

Jayce is at your station, holding the lever down, and Viktor is standing beside you--When did he get here? --smiling.

"What--"

"The batteries are already full." Jayce says simply, taking off his headphones, and your jaw drops.

"Batteries that were built to power houses for at least a week. Full in no less than three minutes." Viktor puts a hand on your shoulder and gives you a little shake to get you out of your stupor. You, however, are still stunned.

Three minutes, the coil was already running for three minutes?

"It… It worked?" You say it so quietly that Viktor almost doesn’t hear it. He lets out a soft laugh and pats you on the back.

"Yes, yes I think it did. Looks like your simulation was correct." Jayce makes his way over to the both of you, a huge grin on his face.

"We did it, sprout."

You let out a huff, unable to reply with words. You look back at the gemstone; rods still spinning slowly around it.

"We did it." You finally manage.

"Jayce did just say that." The half condescending tone in Viktor's voice completely flies over your head, as you’re already turning around, putting your hands on the former's shoulders and shaking him--violently, he claims--and jumping up and down. You ignore his pleas for you to stop shaking him. You do, however, take it easy on the jumping on account of his leg.

Jayce joins in, and eventually Viktor relents and celebrates with the both of you; all of you exclaiming celebratory remarks. The occasional variations of, Wait till those snob-nosed councilors see this, and, Hey, easy, my wife's a councilor, being thrown around.

Eventually, you all calm down. You, out of choice, the other two, out of necessity. You make sure to point out that they're getting old, and their old bones can't handle jumping around anymore. Viktor comments that he has a valid reason to on account of his leg, then follows up with a comment about Jayce not doing any cardio at all. You take this as an opportunity walk back over to the observation window while the two bicker.

You don't know why you feel the need to check on the Hex Coil again. Given that it's not going to go anywhere since it's literally bolted to the floor. But you grew up in an environment where good events were immediately followed by catastrophic tragedies. So really, was it such a strange thing to have to check on your several-ton project, just in case it suddenly vanished into thin air?

"Two years." You say to yourself, tapping a finger on the glass. "Two years, and we finally did it." The Hex Coil, predictably, says nothing back to you. But that's okay, it's still there and that's what's important.

You don't notice your two mentors approach you, nor do you see the fond smile on Jayce and Viktor's faces. "No, not two. Eight."

You turn back to him, slightly confused. And Jayce's smile grows.

"Everything you've gone through, every obstacle you had to hurdle through." He nods over to the testing chamber. "Led to that. Look how far you've come."

"You did always say you wanted to change the world." Viktor chimes in. "We're incredibly proud of you."

Maybe it's because you had a really, really, really bad week--month, actually. Maybe it's because the other two are getting sentimental. Or maybe, just maybe, a small part of you didn't think that this was achievable; the washed-up troublemaker junkie, coming up with something like this. Someone you yourself didn’t see as worth any time or compassion. Hell, you barely had any reason to keep going back then, but for some reason, these two jerks standing with you saw potential, and decided to take a chance on you.

They let you crash at their place, made sure you kept clean, stayed out of trouble, gave you space to grow and provided guidance, grounded you. Even when you started a fight and made an entire scene, they still worried about you, first. So unflinching, accepting, supportive. You used to think that you were undeserving of that kind of love, but they even beat that--with kindness--out of you.

And now here you were.

Whatever the cause is, you feel the tears prickle, and your lips purse. You look down, and cover your face with your hand, not wanting them to see you cry. You try to take a steadying breath, but it comes out shaky.

"That's so fucking corny." You choke out.

You hear the both of them laugh, before they wrap their arms around you. Your hand is still covering your face, but you're so very obviously crying.

"We love you too, kid."

Thank you, you want to say, you very much try to say, but it comes out gurgled and incoherent because you're now full-on sobbing. They seem to understand this, however, as they respond with a pat on the back and ruffling of your hair.

When you were younger, you used to dream momentous moments like this as some sort of huge fanfare. There would be applause, a coincidentally gathered crowd around you bearing witness to the greatest achievement of your life so far. Your loved ones on the side, crying tears of joy. Congratulations thrown around by important people; bottles of champagne shaken and their contents sprayed at you.

But here, right now, with the two people who have been your family to close to a decade, it's enough, more than enough.

#arcane #arcane netflix #arcane jinx #arcane x reader #jinx x reader #arcane jayce #arcane viktor

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