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pellucid-constellations · 2 years ago

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A Million Reasons - One

Pairing: College!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes, with all of his trust fund money and family connections, gets assigned community service. You, as someone that’s technically part of the community, now have to put up with him. Every day. And he won’t stop killing your plants.

Warnings: Bucky is the captain of this annoyance to lovers ship

Word Count: 3.7k

a/n: New series!! I’m super excited about this one :) Let me know what you think because I adore feedback ♡

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

The greenhouse was always a touch too warm for your taste. Something about the fixed humidity made your shirt stick to your skin, even as the weather beyond the walls raged with a frigid chill. It made it difficult to appreciate the changing seasons when you found yourself inside with the plants more often than not.

But it was hard to complain. If being sweaty meant you got to complete your senior research project at an ivy league, you would put up with the hassle.

God, your senior research project. Your excitement was almost palpable each time you thought about the word. Every late night you had spent pouring over books—and every early morning you had spent examining plants instead of sleeping—was all going to be worth it.

A degree from Yale would open so many doors you never thought available to you. Graduate schools, research labs, publications; a world of academia, all within your grasp. You just had to finish this last year of undergrad and get through your project. Eight months at most.

You made your way to your notebook across the greenhouse, ducking beneath greenery and sidestepping planters as you went. There were about one too many broken watering cans in this specific house, along with more cobwebs than you could count, but you were grateful for any space at all. Being on a scholarship meant you expected less, even when your professors profusely argued against such a notion.

The stool groaned as you took your place at the rickety table, pushing yourself in until it was more comfortable to write your notes. Your pencil was in dire need of a sharpening, and you almost wished you had brought your computer instead of the paper that was wilting in the sticky air of the greenhouse. Unfortunately, that was never an option; Professor Potts had made it abundantly clear that field notes were to be handwritten.

A gentle spray started up in the corner of the room, water raining down on the plants as you placed the end of the pencil between your teeth. There wasn’t too much information for you to graph just yet; the project had just been approved a few weeks ago, and your plants were still sprouting up. Still, you took careful notice of each little change, not wanting to waste any of the resources you had been allotted.

“So, uh,” a voice drawled, an awkward inflection in its tone. “You just want me to stand here, or…?”

You raised your eyes from your notebook to instead glare at the wall your table was pushed up against, your peace interrupted for the second time today. Your jaw clicked as you fought to keep it relaxed, a battle you were surely going to lose as the morning progressed.

“‘Cause I can’t really leave unless you give me something to do out there. Rules of community service and all. They have people making sure I spend my hours in here.”

You sighed, finally looking over your shoulder at the man leaning against a table he shouldn’t be. “You can stay over there,” you concluded. “Just don’t… touch anything.”

“Right,” he agreed, crossing his arms and kicking away from the table.

His pressed shirt didn’t exactly fit in with the nature of the greenhouse, and it was certainly a contrast to your loose hoodie with the college emblem stamped on the front. You took note of his blinding white collar and decided that if he walked out of here without any dirt on it, he would be a lucky guy. That thought was fleeting; you had turned back to your notebook almost as soon as he settled against a wall.

You were about halfway into your diagram when the man in the dress shirt spoke again. “It’s hot in here.”

“It’s a greenhouse,” you deadpanned.

“Greenhouses have a reputation for being hot?”

You tapped your pencil against stiff paper, still not turning as you hummed and simply replied, “Typically.”

The man mumbled something incoherent in response, apparently deciding that walking around the rows of plants was a better way to spend his time. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, biting the inside of your cheek when he rubbed a leaf between his fingers. It wasn’t your plant, technically, so no harm done—for now. You couldn’t say the same for his shoes; the shiny leather had surely been scuffed from the amount of times he had ran into old wood.

You were still cursing Pepper Potts for agreeing to whatever this was. She had approached you with so much hesitancy the other day, an apology already on her lips that you assured her wasn’t necessary. But you were second guessing that as time went on… maybe you did deserve an apology when James Barnes was the one being forced upon you.

Your professor had left out that small detail.

To be fair, the detail had very little impact on your life. You had never met the guy before today, and it wasn’t as if he had done anything to you personally. But he was very clearly a Barnes, a name that was also displayed on the main campus library and probably stamped on quite a few “donated” collections.

It would’ve been nice to know that it was a Yale legacy student serving community service in your greenhouse—not just some random guy with a penchant for misdemeanors.

“Which plants are you in charge of?” he asked, running his hand under the gentle spray of water still going strong in the corner.

You furrowed your brows. “This isn’t some community garden. I’m not taking care of these plants, I’m studying them.”

He made a slow approach to your table, stuffing his hands in expensive pockets. “Okay. Which plants are you in charge of studying?”

“Why? Are you planning on defacing them?”

He scoffed, knocking his head back as if your statement was completely uncalled for. It wasn’t, of course. You had seen the proof of that yourself, the large, egregious pictures spray painted along the bricks of the Marsh Botanical Garden still only partially scrubbed off by the janitor.

“Come on,” James argued. “That was funny. And you don’t even know why I did it.”

You met his cocky smile with an uninterested expression. “I don’t think motive is going to help me find beauty in the dick you drew over the daisies.”

“I get your favorite flowers or something? My bad, I’ll make it up to you,” he winked.

“No need.”

“Hey, I can buy you some daisies. I’m good for it.”

You huffed, trying to decide whether or not that was a joke. Of course he was good for a few daisies—he probably had the means to sell out an entire flower shop, pre-made wedding centerpieces and all. And that would barely make a dent in his bank account.

You pushed away from the desk instead of answering him, heading for the small shed by the entrance of the greenhouse. You yanked the doors open with a loud creak, procured another worn stool from the inside, and then set the seat in a corner very far from your desk. The slap you forced down on the stool’s surface echoed.

“For you,” you explained, jutting your hand out in its direction. “Go on your phone or something.”

He raised a brow at you, a small puff of laughter escaping him. He meandered to your designated location at an unhurried pace and nodded when you offered him a sardonic smile. With a purposeful tug at the material of his pants, he took a seat, and you were back at your desk feeling more satisfied.

Professor Potts had instructed you to put him to work the second he arrived. Sweeping, tossing old materials, dragging in soil; Barnes was supposed to be a garden hand to atone for his campus crimes, but in all honesty, you preferred him sitting in the corner on his phone.

You figured he would prefer that as well, but the guy wouldn’t stop talking.

“So you gonna tell me your name, Ms. Daisy?” he asked, after only a few minutes of blessed silence. “I have to be here every weekday for quite a while. Might be nice to know who you are.” He paused. When your silence persisted, he followed up with, “Unless you like daisy. ‘Could just call you that.”

“It’s y/n,” you corrected.

You could hear the smile in his words as he responded. “Okay, y/n. I’m—”

“I know who you are. They gave me the rundown when they explained your community service,” you lied. He didn’t need to know that you had actually been blindsided when he walked in this morning.

“Enlighten me then.”

You almost choked on the confidence in his tone. “Is this some kind of power trip? You like to hear the sound of your own name, James?”

His brows shot up in response, leaning his chest over his knees as he smirked at you from across the room. “Not sure why you’d assume I want a power trip.”

If you could glower any harder, you would. Was it really so much to ask for a peaceful last year of college? Did the universe have to chose you to entertain the millionaire with a criminal streak when all you really wanted was to graduate? James started bouncing his knee, making the floor groan as he stared back at you, and you concluded that yes—the universe did in fact chose you for this fate.

“Maybe because it’s eleven a.m. on a Tuesday and you look dressed for prom?” you shot back.

He laughed. Throwing his head back with his shoulders shaking, he laughed and you were left confused because you were positive that you had just insulted him. Then again, you weren’t really sure what was considered an insult to someone with an endless stream of money. Maybe he wanted to look like he was going to prom.

“You’re pretty funny, you know that?” he chuckled, the whispers of humor still fresh in his voice.

“Thanks,” you accepted, a monotone grumble.

You slid your phone from your pocket, praying that your allotted time with James was over and not attempting to be subtle about it. Luckily, the clock confirmed that he was actually set to leave three minutes ago, a small swell of joy rising in your chest.

You shook your phone up by your face. “Eleven thirty-three,” you called. “You’re free to go.”

Your happiness was not well met. James paused and gave you an uncharacteristically—from what you could discern in the few hours you’d know him—dubious look, standing from his seat and pulling a folded up piece of paper from his back pocket. He took a deep breath in before laying it flat on your table and letting his fingers linger. The mint from the gum he hadn’t stopped chewing fanned past you and hit unfinished plywood.

“I know I didn’t really do anything,” he began. “But you gotta sign off on my time here—so I can take it back to the board and all.”

“Okay,” you simply agreed, turning your pencil to the new sheet.

“You really aren’t gonna make me clean this place up?” His head titled down to catch the gaze you weren’t offering

“You’re free to clean up if you feel so inclined, but really, staying out of my way will get this paper signed.”

“And you don’t… want anything from me?”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye before refolding the paper and placing it in his unexpecting hand. His expression was cautious, maybe even a bit untrusting with the way his mouth was twisted into a small frown. You knew what he was implying, but you weren’t going to acknowledge the elephant in the room if you could help it.

The spray in the back of the house stopped. James shifted and the floor groaned.

“Like what? A pocket square?”

James shook his head, face relaxing, and placed his palm on your table to bend down and loom over your seated posture, requesting a quick, “Hey, call me Bucky, yeah? James is my father.”

“Whatever,” you called, waving him off before you could process the gentle heat of him on your back.

Bucky’s chuckle lasted well past his exit, the sound only ceasing as he complained, “This door is broken.”

You rolled your eyes, not turning to confirm when the heavy wood slammed behind him.

“I was thinking it had something to do with the soil, but when I brought that up to Professor Stark he told me to shut up.”

“Peter, I don’t know why you even try with him. I keep telling you to go to the TA first.”

Peter sighed, dejectedly picking at the salad wilting in its plastic container. He had been fighting with it after about the second bite, turning the leaves over as he complained about his final project.

“It’s not fair that you got his wife as an advisor,” Peter accused, a finger pointed at you as you ate your own lunch. “She gets the job done and she thinks you’re amazing. Dr. Stark just thinks I’m an idiot on legs.”

“Hey, come on!” you argued. “If he thought you were an idiot on legs he wouldn’t have accepted your proposal in the first place. And he gave you the best greenhouse on campus. Dr. Potts is nice, but I’m still stuck out there with all the spiders.”

Peter huffed out a laugh, the sound lost in the noise of the dining hall. You were immune to the disruptions at this point; three years of lunches with Peter Parker and you were more than capable of picking his voice out in a crowd, dining hall or otherwise.

The first time you had done so was in a packed lecture hall freshman year. The poor guy didn’t have a pencil in one of Stark’s lectures and he had asked just about everyone in his row. You saved him from the fearful task of asking the professor himself, tapping on his shoulder and, apparently, also becoming friends.

It was luck that you happened to be in the same department as well.

“That reminds me,” Peter said over a mouthful of croutons. “How’d your thing go with the criminal. Did he get those spiders out?”

You laughed, setting down the coffee you had grabbed on the walk over. “He’s not a criminal, Pete. I told you it was just vandalism.”

“Vandalism is a crime,” he pointed out, gesturing with his fork.

“Okay, well it’s not a hard crime. I think labeling him as a criminal might be a bit premature. Not that a permanent record would have any real effect on his life, honestly.”

“What d’you mean?”

You gave Peter a blank look, urging him to swallow his food before you continued. There definitely wasn’t a lack of comfort between the two of you, if the mouthful of lettuce accompanying his words gave anything away. He offered you a sheepish grin and reached for his water, motioning for you to explain yourself.

“I mean that the criminal is James Barnes. You know, like Barnes and Rogers’ Library? I seriously doubt a label like that would hurt his life prospects.”

Peter choked on his water and you found yourself wishing he was still talking with his mouth full instead. You reached for the napkins on his tray, shoving them in his direction as he fought for air. He looked like a fish out of water and all you could do was cringe as the table next to you grimaced in disgust. It wasn’t until he recapped the bottle that you spoke again.

“Are you going to live?”

Peter hit his chest a few times before nodding with vigor. “Fine, yeah,” he squeaked out. “Are you sure it was him?”

You threw him a look. “Do you think I’m an idiot on legs or something?”

“No! No, of course not. Just, wow, a Barnes doing community service. Wouldn’t really expect that.”

You hadn’t either. With the reputation that came with his name, you were surprised that his family hadn’t just made the problem go away with another big “donation” toward the library. Or the science department. Or just about any place that would have gotten him out of trouble.

You had seen it happen before. Last year, all the trees and bushes in front of the literature building were covered in paint and toilet paper during finals week. It was cleaned up rather quickly, and then—like clockwork—the Yale Newspaper reported a very sizable donation made toward the college’s book collection. An anonymous donation.

Very discrete.

Your shrugged at your friend, rolling your straw between the pieces of ice in your cup. “Maybe he was feeling generous.”

“Yeah, sure,” Peter scoffed. “Look, I think you should stay away from him, y/n. I’ve heard… things and stuff.”

“Things and stuff? Wow, Peter, why didn’t you tell me sooner? I’ll make sure to bring pepper spray next time I see him.” Peter clicked his tongue and gave you an exasperated look, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. You sighed, “Okay, okay. Sorry. Please, explain.”

“It’s just—you know who he is. I don’t think you should try to be buddies with this guy or anything. Seems to make a lot of trouble at a school he didn’t really get into on his own merit. And I'm pretty sure he’s like engaged or something? Maybe, I don’t remember all of what Ned said...”

For some strange, unknown reason—completely unfathomable—a tiny part of you deflated as Peter continued his rant. It certainly wasn’t because of the engagement; that would be certifiably insane.

Bucky was entitled and probably only in college because his family made him go. He probably spent his days in some fancy apartment down the road and only came to campus when he felt like spray painting over the ecology department. He most likely had stupid handkerchiefs in his pockets and got his pants dry cleaned and said said things like oh, I’m going to have a nice game of golf this morning.

He didn’t have the passion you did, and he certainly didn’t have the drive. It didn’t matter that he smelled like a fresh bonfire and the woods when you went camping in the winter. His stupid fluffy hair didn’t make up for his lack of common sense and his glinting blue eyes definitely didn’t make you want to blink up at him and fall into his words each time he spoke.

His smile was just… average; it didn’t make your heart skip a beat at all, even when he called you daisy and came up behind you to make you sign that stupid paper.

Maybe you were just feeling a bit morose because Peter was lecturing you again. Yes—that was it. “Peter! Peter, hey, I get it,” you cut him off, not even sure which part of his argument he had dove into as you let your mind wander. “It’s not like I’m hanging out with the guy on purpose. I’m not even making him clean anything. He just sits on his phone for a few hours and then he leaves, alright?”

But Peter looked disgruntled at that prospect as well. “I think you should have him doing something, y/n. He’s supposed to be in trouble.”

“Do you have a vendetta against this guy or something?”

Peter blanched, clearing his throat and uttering out a few too many arguments for it to be believable. Your best friend was many things, but a good liar was not one of them. You arched a brow in his direction, trying to pull the truth from him, but Peter just kept babbling on about nonsense. Which was fine, you supposed; he could have secrets and so could you.

Your secrets just involved maybe finding Bucky Barnes attractive. Maybe. On a physical level only.

You checked your phone when Peter pretending to drink his water, the only interesting notification being a message from your roommate asking you to bring pizza home for dinner. Which probably meant Natasha was coming over as well. That would be the perfect opportunity to tell both Wanda and Natasha about your new greenhouse development, and you wouldn’t even have to use the groupchat.

You sent her a quick confirmation text and heaved yourself up from the table, Peter following closely behind.

“You wanna come over for pizza tonight? You can tell the girls how much you hate Bucky Barnes,” you offered, tossing your empty cup in the garbage.

“What’d you call him?” Peter asked, tightening the straps of his backpack and scrunching his face up in confusion.

You mentally cursed, forcing out a fake laugh and linking your arm with Peter’s. The air past the dining hall doors was a brisk sunniness, a hint of summer still lingering in the fall air. You breathed in the faint aroma of the grass in the courtyard and the hint of pine from the tree that hung over the benches on the far side of campus, but Peter was unimpressed with your minuscule attempt at a diversion. He craned his neck to block your view of the yard, raising his brow in expectation.

You nudged him. “Nothing, Pete. You wanna come or what? Better tell me now or I’m not going to know to pick up your favorite.”

“Okay, yes,” he groaned, pulling you toward your next class. “But if you think we’re not gonna talk about this tonight, you’re wrong. I’m going to have a very serious discussion with Wanda and Natasha.”

“Okay, Mr. Serious,” you rolled your eyes.

Peter got wine drunk that night, which meant there was, in fact, no serious discussion.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #college!Bucky #modern au #bucky barnes #bucky barnes reader insert

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irritatedbookshrew · 2 years ago

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Sandman (Netflix) Thoughts:

I am a Sandman fan from waaaaayyy back. The best gift an ex-boyfriend ever gave me was Preludes & Nocturnes. I was hooked. Sandman (and associated titles) went immediately on my pull list. I’ve read the terrible movie adaptation scripts that went around in the early days of adaptation talks. I’ve written a 50k+ study guide on the series.

Look, I love Sandman, okay.

So to say I was trepidatious about the Netflix series when it was first announced is underplaying it. Then I heard the showrunner who’d be helming the project, and that Neil would be deeply involved. I saw the casting announcements. I got excited. Then came all the trailers and snippets, and something in me relaxed. However, it turned out, I knew I would enjoy watching it for what it was.

**SPOILERS AHOY, especially if you haven’t read the comic all the way through**

One of the things I loved so much about the comic was the way Dream processes things. How he is so wonderfully blind to parts of his personality and so self-aware of others. Basically, the run of Sandman is that of a being pushed to its limits, of being unable to change fast enough or fully enough to encompass a seismic shift in reality. Morpheus stagnated in his years in the cell and the world moved on without him. And though he tries desperately to reconnect, we—as the readers—see him so out of step that it is almost painful. Yet he is so bound by his duty, his responsibilities, by the way he defines himself that he basically performs the single-most convoluted version of suicide imaginable. He can’t be like Destruction and just walk away from everything—it is not who this incarnation of Dream is. He can’t change like Delight did to Delirium to help process his trauma. And trauma it was, especially for someone as fundamentally arrogant as Dream is when first captured by Burgess.

Season of Mists is my favorite of the series because we get the first example of someone abdicating their responsibility: Lucifer walks away from Hell. Morpheus cannot understand this action but it clearly starts the gears turning, and it is mirrored again in Morpheus’ conversation with Destruction in later volumes. These two entities realized that the engine will power along without them, something Dream is incapable of accepting in that same way. It’s a fascinating look into his thought process.

To get back to the show—one of the biggest things I loved about was the references to Dream’s trauma. The way his eyes fill with tears at the death of Jessamy, at the impotent rage that simmers in him at his imprisonment. He has been brought low by mortals and it is humiliating. He has been weakened and hurt and he has no real tools to process those feelings because he is also Endless. When he speaks to Lucienne in the wreckage of his throne room and says that his siblings did not come for him, the confusion and heartbreak are there. Dream is not Desire, so expressive and in your face. I thought Tom Sturridge did a brilliant job capturing Morpheus’ micro-expressions, the tiny inflections on his face that indicate the sense of loss and betrayal. Dream makes note of who left the Dreaming and who stayed behind to await his return—and he is bothered by the fact that so few remained. He is not easy to love and he had given his subjects little reason for loyalty, it seems, because he is so remote to their understanding. He doesn’t make connections easily.

Actually, now I really want more interactions with Despair and Dream because out of all of his siblings, I wonder if she might be the closest to understanding. Anyway…

Dream becomes mired in depression and keeps seeking a way out. He frees Nada in Season of Mists and takes her anger—something he never would have allowed before. He’s trying to change, to seek out other ways to be happy. He says farewell to an old love in A Game of You and gains a new lover in Thessaly. It does not last because he is not fully present. He throws himself in his work, hoping to fill the void, he seeks out romance, hoping that will bring distraction. He goes on a road trip with Delirium in Brief Lives under the excuse of looking out for his sister but it is really him seeking a respite from his troubles. But Dream can never escape himself.

Wherever you go, there you are.

He can’t reconcile that. His trauma and his current aspect don’t allow for it, so he must think outside of his box for an escape. As he pays his debts, as he encounters past cruelties and mistakes, Morpheus gets closer to what makes human, well, human. But he is Endless. How is he supposed to make sense of that?

It’s a sad, beautiful, wonderful story. I think that’s why it has stayed with me over the decades. I am so excited to see where the next seasons take us, how Tom Sturridge teases out those tiny blips of emotion in his portrayal of the King of Dreams. I am so ridiculously pleased with Season 1 that I am giddy with anticipation of what comes next.

#dream of the endless sandman #sandman #the sandman #neil gaiman #comics

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miscelunaaa · 2 years ago

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spin cycle 22 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x female reader

genre: drabble series, slow burn, idiots to lovers, fluff, lil bit of angst, eventual smut

summary: This random guy has started doing laundry at your favorite laundromat each week (at the same time as you, no less!) and to be honest, it’s going to be a problem. You’re just not sure how yet.

rating: 18+ for eventual smut

word count: less than 500

warnings: The Green Pajama-ish Outfit finally makes an appearance. Casual Koo™️. Define the relationship convos. Lil bit of kissing :)

notes: ALRIGHTY KIDS I HAVE MADE A DECISION ABOUT SCHEDULINGGGGGG. It’s going to be weekly! Cuffing Szn ended up being a whole four parts so each thing will post once a week (this on Mondays, Cuffs on Thursdays) until they’re done, which should be about half way through June! At that point in time, I’ll take a little break to recharge and focus on some other projects :) it’s exciting!! We’re so close to the end!! I’m so excited to share this all with you. Hope you’re having a good start to your week <3

my masterlist | my disclaimers | read on ao3

previous | series masterlist | next

When you walk into the laundromat several hours later, you’re not even sure it’s all real. You know you need to talk to him while you’re both here. It’s the perfect time to do it; there are no prying eyes or ears.

You glance at the time on your phone. 2 AM on the dot. Shortly after you’ve set your bag and basket down, you look up to see Jungkook walking in. He’s similarly laden with his bag and his laundry, but something seems different. As he comes closer, you see what’s bothering you.

His whole outfit is see-through. His whole fucking outfit is this olive green, houndstooth lace pattern that lets you see all of the skin he’s revealing beneath. You already know he wears boxer briefs for fuck’s sake; you’ve only been doing laundry at the same time as each other for what feels like months, so of course you’ve seen him carefully fold his own underwear. But like, you weren’t expecting to see just how they fit over his very muscular thighs. You weren’t expecting to see how … built he is tonight. Again, this isn’t knew information to you! Maybe it’s just this outfit. It’s just so revealing.

Ah fuck, he’s noticed you checking him out. He’s got a little weird little smirk on his face. He knows. He knows that you were without a doubt wondering what those thighs would be like wrapped around your—

“How’s your evening been?” he asks, as he slips into the seat next to yours. To your shock, he even leans over and gives you the softest, gentlest kiss on your cheek. He pulls away to start rummaging in his bag, looking for his laundry money.

Is this what you are to each other now? He did it with such ease, like it was the most natural thing in the world. When he turns back to look at you, however, you see his ears are flushed the slightest pink.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say. “I’m just … That was nice.” You let yourself smile shyly.

Do you regret the compliment when he blinds you with his own dazzling smile? Perhaps. You’re lucky your new boyfriend is so … wait …

“So I suppose we need to have a conversation,” you say, rising to go to your customary machine to start your first load. “Define the relationship or whatever.”

“Yeah, probably,” Jungkook follows you, fiddling with his coin pouch and listening to the metal clank together. “We should get dinner. Or I can cook. We could watch a movie. Maybe make out on the couch.”

“Namjoon told me you like video games, we could—”

Your heart stops as you feel him brush against your back. Suddenly, just as you’re starting to feed quarters into the machine, you feel his arms wrap around your middle. He starts kissing the nape of your neck.

“This okay?” His voice is low and warm against your skin.

“Y-yeah, aren’t you worried about being seen though?”

Thank you for reading! Drop me an ask and tell me what you think. Find me in various places at my carrd :)

©miscelunaaa 2022. My work is only found on this blog and under my ao3 pseud. Do not, under any circumstances, copy or repost my work.Thank you.

posted: 5.30.2022

#btshoneyhive #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk x female reader #jungkook x female reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook series #domestic nonsense #if you're reading this the smut starts next week :D #a washing machine does indeed get traumatized and I for one am here for it

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studiojeon · 3 years ago

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use me | jjk

this is part of my troubled outsiders series. i think you can read this by itself though :)

| summary | - Jungkook was not someone to establish relationships and bonds out of interest, you knew that. Or maybe not, truth be told, he was an authentic enigma, so open yet so closed and shielded from others to see through, and that didn’t exclude you.

warnings: language (?), mentions of hook ups and situationships. mentions of emotional trauma.

contents: a compilation of moments that contributed to the growth of their relationship, jungkook is hard to read, jungkook is hard to read, jungkook is hard to read and sus. oc is kinda whipped and scared af. chaeryeong knows who you are and where you live. jk and oc are scared to let each other in. friends to lovers, idol!jungkook x student!oc.

author’s note: i hate this, but i have to get it off my chest. (the narration is off af but if i keep it in my drafts for longer this will never see the light of the day). p.s. thank u so much for the support on the last drabble <3

playlist: rain by trey songz (feat. swae lee).

words: 4.75k

“JK?” as his broad back faces you, you call out his name timidly, not missing the way he swiftly turns around as soon as he hears his name come from your lips. Hair wet and darker than usual, a very big sweat stain at the center of his hoodie. He had just gotten out of practice, you assumed.

“___?” he replied with the initials of your name as well, one of his tired grins plastered on his face, he must have been exhausted. You had caught on to him just as he walked out of the practice room in front of the elevator on your way to your office, right when you needed him, but now you weren’t so sure if it was a good idea to pester him. Even so, you didn’t know anyone else you could ask for help, aside from Linh who was currently in her own office doing other tasks you had assigned to her.

“Are you busy right now?” your eyes stare at him shyly, in hopes that he was willing to help you out, because you wanted to be around him, so maybe he could share a bit of his positive energy with you, the past week had been hellish. “Could use some help returning all those heavy stacks of paper in my office”.

“Of course! Why didn’t you give me a call earlier though? It’s pretty late” he walked by your side and you enter the elevator, beginning your adventure around the company.

Jungkook was fun. Always bubbly and reciprocative, constantly trying his best to make you laugh and make the absolute best of your situation, even if he could be a bit stubborn at times. You liked the spontaneity he provided though, the way he would switch from one topic to another and how he would make silly faces at you whenever you locked eyes.

He didn’t know, but in pure ignorance, he had just made your day ten times better.

In the past week, you had received a lot of counterarguments, one by one, on how useless your management tactics were. Granted, you hadn’t expected for your ideas to be welcomed with open arms, but at least you had hoped they would take them into consideration. You had also been assigned a team, in charge of social media management, who worked monotonously and with little to no insertion in the actual target audience… your logic was: how can you advertise products to an audience you don’t even have the mere interest to know? You had designed a strategy, presented it, and no one paid any mind to you.

But for the most part, you felt lonely. Had no one to talk to, nor go to whenever you needed your spirits to be lifted up.

Chaeryeong was busy busy with group projects and work. To the extent where she would get up at seven in the morning and come back at 12 pm. It wasn’t always like that, so you didn’t worry too much, but the fear she would wear herself off like usual still crowded your mind.

You close your office door with a sigh. Tired from everything, but somehow, your heart a little fuller, knowing that maybe you could use Jungkook in the future to give you a lift. Both figuratively and literally because he had offered to drive you home, being the gentleman he was.

“Why do you look like a sad puppy?” he asked you once you were sitting by his side in his very expensive and luxurious mercedes. Tinted windows and jet black shiny paint covered the outside of his car, the smell of air refresher and pinecone filling the inside. Mans was getting hotter by the minute.

“It’s friday night after the longest week of work. How can I not?” you put on your seat belt and lean back against the leather cushions. He pouts in response to you, with a concerned look on his face.

For a second you wonder if he did this with most coworkers… being nice to them and offering them drives after having met them just a few times before. Kinda risky behviour, considering his position and squeaky clean reputation. You figure this would only last a bit before he realized he had more important things to be focusing on.

“Do you ever get chased home?” you ask randomly.

With one hand on the wheel and the other leaned against his door he meditated on his response. “It happened once… And then I moved out, got a new car and everything. Shit was wild” he chuckles and you think that was the first time you had heard him curse, like ever. Jungkook, friendly and everything, wasn’t too big of a talker, but with you he found himself spilling, without giving it much thought. It felt refreshing to hear his voice and listen to his stories and the way he expressed himself. He was more interesting than he seemed, apparently. “Aren’t you hungry, by the way? We can have something to eat before i drop you off”

Traffic was hellish in Seoul everyday at every hour, and choosing to drive through Itaewon on a friday night wasn’t the smartest decision on Jungkook’s behalf, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him that. Considering the demands of his job, he probably didn’t know his way around the city that well. You conclude taking a detour wouldn’t hurt. “I’m starving actually.”

He ends up taking you to a restaurant near your neighborhood you had mentioned being good and not crowded at all, the latter catching his attention immediately. It was a modest but nice place owned by a very funny and loud ahjussi. The man had lost count of how many times you had come down from your apartment at 11 pm and asked him to make you vegetarian tteokguk, but they were enough so that he could memorize your five orders by heart and the amount of saewoo mandu you could down by yourself in five minutes. You were making him rich at that point so the least he could do was comply when you gently asked him to shut the place down for you. Jungkook hadn’t asked you, but you knew how things could get awkward and dangerous quickly if too many people found out about him being there. “Ahjussi, you don’t have to” the boy protested as he noticed that the man had shut the blinds for him.

“It’s okay, boy. _____ has been single handedly paying the remnants of my mortgage for over a year now, I don't mind doing this for her.” he joked in his usual nature. already writing down your order and patiently waiting for Jungkook in front of you to voice out what he wanted for a meal. “And well, you and your friends are making our country proud, it’s the least i can do to thank you”

“Ah, thank you.” Jungkook bows to the older man. Your heart softened in your chest, seeing how considerate he was towards other people. He must be great with parents, you think. “Do you really not get that many people around here?” he asked worriedly once he sat back down on the wooden chair.

“We do! But she’s the one who comes the most often” he nods toward you and Jungkook smiles once he found your gaze, a glint of playfulness in his eyes.

“Can you recommend me anything, miss?”

“Of course, sir. Yeol-ah, double up my order. Drinks are on me today.” You yell at the man’s son in the kitchen, who was still a bit older than you, but also close to enough to let you order him around shamelessly. You knew him quite well, actually. He was Chaeryeong’s boyfriend after all.

The tall boy pokes his head out of the kitchen door with a very confused expression plastered on his face. “Aren’t we supposed to close in like, an hour?” Chanyeol asks his dad in front of you.

“Just go cook, I'll explain later”.

The two men go back into the kitchen and Jungkook looks at you with an amused expression on his face. “What was that?” he laughs.

“I’m very popular, you know?” it probably wasn’t a good idea to go there, but you felt a little drunk on his voice that night, and you also knew your friend didn’t mind. “In fact, Chaereyong from ITZY is my best friend, who would have guessed?”

“Yeah and my son is her boyfriend, who cares?” Byung-ho yells back at you from the cashier, pulling a hiss from your lips.

Jungkook still continued to stare at the both of you with confusion and intrigue, you guess he thought you were both joking.

“Wait, really?” he utters after a few seconds with big doe eyes and a pout on his lips, a combination that appeared when he was either confused or lying, which wasn’t the case then.

“Yes, my guy.” you laugh. “That juicy legged shortie is indeed my wife”

Jungkook loved the food, to say the least. It was all vegetarian and korean as fuck, a combination he never throught was possible, but downed like thristy camel. He was a loud eater, which was fitting of him and his politeness, something else you had noticed that night. You were the opposite, and actually despised the sounds of other people eating, yet, looking at him enjoying his meal so much made you feel full yourself. He made you feel like a kid in some ways too, brought back the times when being around others wasn’t so hard, and you still could have a sense of security around you. Talking to him was rather easy, maybe because of his welcoming nature, or because in fact he actually was interested in whatever stupid shit you were saying, something most people around you didn’t do. He also, amongst other things, seemed very interested in your job and the likes, always asking questions and absorbing information like a five year old. You had explained to him the five key steps of process design and the psychological effects on marketing in society to which he always responded with wide gentle eyes and attentive nods, not once looking bored or… annoyed in any way.

Was he like that, with every girl? Because you weren’t anything special, there were many other girls who worked with him everyday and even if you hadn’t seen him in his work space, you could guess by the way most women in your company look at him whenever he passes by that either they were just as captivated as you by his beauty or that he had fucked them. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was just trying to get into your pants either, it wouldn’t be the first time it happened to you nonetheless.

“I can walk from here, JK” you mention once you found yourselves walking towards the parking lot. A bit sad about the expense you had just made on food, it was your fault for trying to seem cool and rich, neither of which you were.

“Oh no, I’m not letting you do that, girlie” he unlocks the door and gets in, not even letting you finish or allowing you to fight back.

“My apartment is literally a block away” you protest in the car anyways. You fear you had been too much of a bother, and deep down, didn’t want him to feel like you were seeking his presence unnecessarily.

“Well, good for you. But, you paid for the food, which was a lot, and i don’t want my sugar mommy walking by herself at 12 pm on a friday night” you first freeze, and then burst a very loud giggle.

“Whatever” you slap his bicep and roll your eyes. “ Next time you can pay if it bothers you so much.”

“So there will be a next time?” wide eyes stare back at you. “Count me in. I´ll pick where we will be going, just lemme know when so i can plan ahead” he rambles, a little too excited about your suggestion.

He drops you off with a smile on his face and hopefulness in his eyes, promising to see you around the company. You, on the other hand, feel a tad confused as you enter your apartment building. What was going on?

You had overthought things so much your entire life that it suddenly became too tiring to do. During the past few years you had to learn how to detach yourself and just ride the wave sometimes. Once you had turned eighteen, everything started moving at a very fast pace, the pressure of adulthood fell upon you like a brick and everything was so overwhelming that you started to simply let the course of your existence take you wherever it needed to.

That’s how you ended up going out with Jungkook at least once a week for dinner or a drive around the city for more than two months. Without even noticing, he became so engraved in your everyday life that whenever he’d cancel plans because of work, you’d find yourself with a void in your heart and a rush of boredom filling your senses. Even if you found yourself in your living room with the company of your best friend whom you had seen at most four times in the past two months, you were still wishing you could share that intimate space with him instead, willing to let him a bit more into your life, in hopes that maybe he would do the same. Sue you, you were curious over the most intricate details about his personality, how his personal sanctuary looked and if the smell of his room is just as good as his car’s. You could bet a thousand dollars (maybe a little less, considering the unconventionalism that characterizes him) that he also had a few plants that only remembered to water three out of seven days of the week.

Hopefully life would draw you closer to more people like him.

"How's your boyfriend doing?" Chaeryeong asks you from the kitchen counter, sweet popcorn cooking in you popcorn-maker.

You sigh. "What boyfriend?"

She was a lot of things but oblivious, and you weren't either, just when you chose to be. "Cut the bullshit, you know who i'm talking about". The fake red head waits for your response as she pours the snack into a big bowl, and you on the other hand take this as an advange to search around the room for answers.

"He's just a friend" you say. "And he's fine, i guess… He doesn't really talk much about himself" you mention, matter of factly.

Chaeryeong nods beside you, understanding what you meant. Then, proceeds to tell a tale about her experience meeting the dark haired boy. "He's literally so quiet, but like, so incredibly kind. Once he tripped over and fucked up some of the decoration at an award show" she grabs a popcorn and continues her story. "He looked so panicked I thought his eyes were about to jump out their sockets — His eyes are huge, by the way."

"I know" you smile.

"My point is, he started to help the staff put everything back in order again. I think he's the only idol I've ever seen do something like that… i decided i liked him then" her beautiful features light up with mischief. "I bet he fucks great too."

You slap her leg. Hard.

"I'm only telling you this now so you don't get caught of guard when he actually manages to fuck you," her soft hands run through your messy hair, motherly touches easing the fluster in your body. "You know he's a big whore, right?" She adds after a while.

You didn't. According to Chaeryeong, who seemed to keep tabs on every single colleague of hers, Jungkook had quite the body count, not that you didn't have your suspicions before. Frankly, she only knew of two girls inside her company who had had some sort of situationship with him, but for the same reason, she also knew he had some history with other girls from different groups. "Yikes" you laugh nervously, in admiration of their ability to remain calm and collected without giving anything away to the public.

Thanks to your friend, you had heard lots of tea about other singers in the korean industry before, most of which were not as sweet or kind as they portrayed themselves to be, some even using their social status to get their way with girls. But for some reason, Jungkook had never made his way to your gossipping sessions, nor any other of his band mates (except for Jimin, who, if you remember correctly, used to have some sort of beef with one of Chaeryeong's company members). You guess it was because of his unproblematic nature that people chose to give him a pass for his sexual endeavors, not that they were of anyone's concern either.

A knock is heard against your office door. "Miss _____?" A girl with a brown bob cut pokes her head through it, the dim lights of your office shining upon her incredibly healthy locks. "Jungkook asked me to deliver this to you" sliding completely into the room, she places a box with a note on it on your desk.

"Thank you so much" you wave her off as she walks right out.

The package had a strawberry flavored canned tea and a bento box inside.

"I remember you telling me you'd never tried tofu pancakes before, so I made some for you last night. Hope you enjoy! - JK

P.S. Text me when you're done, maybe we can hang out tonight."

You felt like crying, in all honesty. The pancakes were heavenly, and he even added some slices of avocado and a few scoops of rice for you, despite not being the biggest fan of the fruit himself. With a warm heart and relief washing over your body because you wouldn't have to waste money on lunch that day, you had had half of your meal before said boy gave you a call.

"Did you like them?" He said almost immediately. "My assistant told me she already delivered them to you" he adds in a rush.

"Jesus boy, calm down." You giggle at his excitement. "Let me eat in peace".

"No, tell me right now." he demands with a fake angry voice. Cutie.

"They're alright".

"Figured… you have no sense of taste anyways" the hangs up. A giggle escapes your lips. Boy was something else.

Later that day, the weekend started it's course. Jungkook had offered to drive you to the Han River, careful to mention the fact he prepared a bunch of snacks for you two just about five times during your call. The place was almost empty, given that the rest of the city was doing something else more fun than staring at the night sky while sitting on itchy grass. Yet, you wouldn't change the setting for anything else. Usually, when you and Jungkook were out, he'd be in silent wary of your surroundings and the people who could be watching you. It broke your heart, knowing that most of the time he couldn't frequent places most regular people had the pleasure of enjoying, like the movies, for example, or a food stand in the middle of the street. Still, in that moment, the handsome man in front of you seemed as relaxed as ever, munching on grapes and strawberries as he sat in silence beside you.

"This blanket is so soft, isn't it?" he commented all of a sudden, caressing the fabric with his hand. The thing was made out of polar fleece, no shit. You just nodded and grabbed a piece of fruit from his container. "One of my friends gifted it to me on my birthday" he adds.

"I know. It was me".

"Well, maybe you do have a sense of taste after all" he complies as he lays down on the surface, eyes facing the night sky above you.

"Says the one who uses toe socks" you say back, poking his weak spot.

Instead of going back and forth with you as he usually would, he just winks and closes his eyes. He looked so peaceful and serene beneath you, features carefully carved on his face and slightly blushed cheeks from the cold wind. Jungkook was like that, randomly over confident and flirty with you, but just as quickly would refrain from even disagreeing with you in the first place, scared that you would snap at him. He hadn't told you this, but the way you saw thoughts hidden in his eyes whenever you made a statement let you know his true intentions, leaving you to wonder where that came from.

"Are you tired?" You ask after a few minutes. Still with his eyes closed, Jungkook denies.

"I just don't want to look at you right now," he turns to the side, back facing you as an offended expression finds its way to your face.

"Yah" you slap his back playfully, not letting him finish.

"Because you look too pretty." he mumbles the remnants of his statement.

Your breath catches in your throat as a shiver climbs its way down your spine. Why was he like that? He had no right tugging on your heart strings like that (if he was being serious in the first place because you never knew with him). You sigh, the blush his words provoked stinging your cheeks.

"You're supposed to say I'm pretty too" he turns around with a playful smile, expectant.

"You just go around giving compliments so you can get them back?" you hiss. "Why so insecure?"

"I'm not insecure, at all." He sits up again, ready to fight you and anyone who dares question the grandiosity of the confidence he had worked so hard for. "You can ask Linh about that".

To say you looked horrified was an understatement, hopeful that what you thought he meant was not it. "You fucked Linh?"

"Well, that's not for you to know".

What a gentleman, you think. And at the same time, ouch. He had just slammed a door on your face.

"That would explain the way she looks at you whenever you come by the office" you realize. Frankly, the girl looked a bit too panicked whenever Jungkook decided to barge into your space, usually bored out of his mind during his english lessons, laptop and notebook in hand, or struggling to get the questions right.

"Well good afternoon to you too" you ironically greeted once he sat in front of you, frustration written on his face. Linh, who stood by your side, suddenly fidgeting with the papers in her hand.

"Not the time, _____" he slammed both hands on your desk, startling you and your friend beside you. "Why the fuck did you make me enroll into this in the first place?"

"I did not make you do anything, dude. I just gave you an idea" you excused yourself, eyes back on your computer. You didn't miss the way Jungkook's eyes briefly followed Linh out the room, though.

His eyes looked back at you, leg bouncing impatiently on the floor as he leaned back with a pissed off expression on his face. You'd never seen him this way, so you took that as a cue to enter under paid therapist mode. "What's wrong?" You questioned gently.

"I feel incredibly incompetent right now." His hands roamed across his face with frustration. A sigh escaped his lips as he held tears back. "School's always been this way for me, always trying my best and constantly underachieving" he explained.

He was obsessed with winning, you’d even go as far to say more than he was with his job (which was a lot). It didn’t root from narcissistic behaviour though, but rather out of external pressure to constantly overachieve and exceed expectations. He was mostly good at doing that, but everyone had an achilles heel, yours was reading for example, his was studying and school.

"Jungkook, you passed most of your classes with more than 90%, what are you talking about?" a fact he had brought up to you randomly when you mentioned absolutely nearly failing most of your literature classes.

"Yeah, except for English." he shook his head in the way he would when he'd feel conflicted or insecure. "I don't know what i'm doing wrong".

"Did you fail something?" you tried to get some more insight into the situation, still unsure of where all his worries came from.

"No, there's just this sentence I can't properly put together" he turned his notebook towards you. "Ah, just look"

There were some words he had to conjugate and properly place in order to form a grammatically correct sentence, more than five attempts written in neat penmanship on the page evidenced the boy's battle with the assignment. He missed one very important aspect of it, though. "There's a fucking word that's missing, dude" you explain, grabbing the pen from his hand and showing him where the mistake was. "It's not your fault, it's the teacher's".

Jungkook's serious expression didn't go away though. "Well, damn".

You had some sort of emotional trauma with having people ask you for help, it made you think that they didn’t actually care for you as a person but rather just your skills. That was the way you’d grown up and what your position in society seemed to be as well, the one you could butter up and taste when you got bored. Heart had been broken many times too, whenever you’d realize what you thought to be a genuine connection was merely pure interest. Those thoughts clouded your head when Jungkook would randomly enter your office with a frustrated expression on his face, yet, that occurred less often than it didn’t.

Jungkook was not someone to establish relationships and bonds out of interest, you knew that. Or maybe not, truth be told, he was an authentic enigma, so open yet so closed and shielded from others to see through, and that didn’t exclude you most of the time, hence your wish for him to let you in a bit more before you could allow yourself to free fall into whatever was going on between you both.

You reach for the fabric of his hoodie, tugging his sleeve with your fingers just because you really liked the color of it, and maybe because you wanted to feel closer to him. He doesn’t react to your touch, just looks at your hands briefly as they play with the edges of his clothing. “Where did you get this from?”

“An online store, I think.” he replies softly, reaching for your hand on his arm, caressing the surface of your nails. “It’s a unisex brand, i can send you their link afterwards.”

“Is it too expensive?” you inquire, not only to keep the moment afloat, but because you genuinely liked most of his pieces of clothing, especially his hoodies and shoes. Jungkook laughs at your question and looks at you with a smile.

“I don’t think i would know, ____. I’m rich.” he says, playfully. And he was right, what was expensive for you might just be cheap as fuck for him, you wonder if when a lot of money is in your hands you start to become very tuned out from what’s affordable or not anymore.

“True.”

“I can buy you one, though. I don’t mind.” he adds. Soft look in his eyes, a pure and genuine offer that you had to deny.

“I didn’t say i wanted one” you lie, only partially, because although you’d not mentioned it, you did actually want it. “I just think it’s pretty” you finally let go of him.

“Or do you think I look pretty in it?” he pushes, a sucker for compliments.

“Yeah, that might be it.” you admit, because there was no point in denying your irrefutable attraction to the man, as much as you hated to be vulnerable, especially in front of him.

“I think it would look prettier on you”.

Don´t copy or repost please. by studiojeon on tumblr.

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con-fection · 4 years ago

Text

violence and intimacy are the only universal languages | BUCKY BARNES x READER | 18+ oneshot

synopsis: In which Bucky Barnes fucks John Walker’s girlfriend, who turns out not to be John Walker’s girlfriend at all.

[Alternative synopsis: Bucky happens to meet you, John Walker's girlfriend, and you're nothing like he expects you to be. He's anticipating a woman that's arrogant, mindless and fake, following after Walker like a lost puppy, a woman who puts on a front to the whole world, a terrible person hiding behind the girl-next-door facade. You're nothing like that - you're soft, intriguing and absolutely lovely, everything that's good in the world. And he's very much attracted to you, desperate to show John who you really belong to.]

Content warnings: 18+ This is SMUT. Contains sex/explicit language/,masturbation.

THIS IS SET DURING EPISODE 2 AND WILL CONTAIN SOME SPOILERS AS IT USES SOME DIALOGUE FROM THE SHOW :) IT’S ALSO TOLD FROM BUCKY’S POV :)

Word count: 17K

John Walker is absolutely insufferable.

He is a man high off his own arrogance, regarding himself as the ultimate authority, and relegating every other member of this planet to being below him. He is a bastardisation of everything that vibranium shield stood for. John doesn't have bravery, but he has pride in spades, which is more than good enough for everybody around him.

Captain America had been so deeply beloved that his loss left a crippling gape in the very heart of the American dream. It was a space that required filling - and so, in the absence of Steve Rogers, the apparent next best thing was located.

But Walker wasn't the next best after a man like Steve Rogers. They may vaguely resemble one another, in their facial features, icy blue eyes and broad, towering stature, but John fails to measure up in each and every way that matters. He fundamentally lacks the most important qualities that Steve had in abundance.

Steve Rogers had been a heart-wrenchingly good man, burdened with a righteous sense of justice, a strong moral compass and compassion. His life had been far from easy, wrought with losses that left him fractured into pieces of himself. He was loyal to a fault - willing to wage a war against the United States' government to try to clear the name of a comrade so close he would have died for him a thousand times over. John would dance to whatever tune the government gave him, so long as it resulted in his name being glorified.

John Walker knows nothing of that sacrifice. Every alleged 'brave' act comes from his warped sense of reality, one that has given him the impression he simply cannot die, that he can't be wrong in any way.

Each time he jumped on top of a grenade, or put himself in the line of fire, he came out unscathed, and so he did it again and again and again, revelling in the praise he recieved afterwards, and the eventual mantle that was bestowed upon him.

Steve had never once come out of a single fight uninjured.

That was part of the mysticism, of his heroism. He would be hurt time and time again. And yet, he would never fold. He didn't bend or break under the pressure, under the pain. He didn't so much as waver in the face of all of it. his devotion to doing what was good and what was right always prevailed, irrespective of how many bones he may break or how much blood he may lose.

Despite the fact that John Walker, the second Captain America, lacked any of the characteristics of his predecessor, he became America's sweetheart. People were desperate to have somebody fill the space that Steve Rogers had left, and to the public, it seemed like John Walker was perfect.

He gave flawless interviews, where he came across not as an arrogant, self-serving puppet of the state, but as a humble, bashful, honest man that represented the very soul of America. Watching him talk was reminiscent of his predecessor, and of course, each public appearance had been carefully orchestrated so that would be the case. Every word that spilled from his mouth was premeditated, designed specifically with the intent to appeal to the populus.

John Walker got to parade around wearing stars and stripes, cradling a shield that he was very much undeserving of wielding. And, he got to do all of this accompanied by two people.

The first was Lemar Hoskins, the Battlestar. Like Walker, he too had served in the armed forces, and was to be considered a decently skilled fighter, though he failed to measure up to the likes of either Bucky or Sam.

...and then there was you.

Bucky found John Walker to be absolutely insufferable, a blight on Steve's legacy, and some tiny, bitter sliver of that hatred was reserved for you, too.

The new Captain America served the country with his best friend Battlestar and his lover, you.

You weren't like them. You weren't some jacked-up soldier fresh out of the army who had kissed enough ass and earnt enough medals to be made into a hero. Instead, you were practically just the eye candy. America's darling, hanging off the arm of their beloved hero. There was something magnetising about you that made people just love you instantaneously. It was a raw appeal that nobody was safe from.

Initially, Bucky had regarded you as an odd choice. You weren't even a superhero. You didn't take up a stupid, convoluted mantle like 'Battlestar' had. Rather simply, you were just there, tagging along, looking pretty and people adored you for it.

There was something very intriguing to the people of America about their new Captain America and his sweetheart - you, a stunning supermodel-type with a dazzling mind and a blinding smile. It was easy for them to project onto you two, the perfect superhero couple who had a fairytale romance.

Bucky utterly detested John Walker and his lost-puppy sidekick, Battlestar.

Some tiny sliver of that malice had initially been generalised to you, too. It was hard not to feel slightly bitter as he saw the two of you on TV, giving interview after interview, cuddled up to each other. It was all so terribly fake, utter bullshit that people eagerly lapped up because it was the version of reality that they desperately wanted to believe in.

It had to be fake - nobody is simply that charismatic, especially not when they're holding hands with John Walker. There was something about the way they, they being your PR team, had styled you in a few of the earlier interviews that gave him the distinct impression that they wanted people to be reminded of Natasha Romanoff, minus the bloody past.

For a while, for your first few public appearances, you had been relegated to wearing dark clothes and leathers that made you seem every bit a femme fatale, though any semblance of danger was nullified by your friendly smile.

It also seemed like that route had been abandoned, and now you tended to appear wearing lighter clothes, whites and creams that were more innocent, like your PR team had doubled back on itself and decided to switch from the 'whore' to the 'virgin'. You seemed more genuine like that, in florals and paler colours.

Bucky would be lying if he said he had never watched any of your interviews. It had merely been a simple fascination, a way to satisfy the nagging feeling of curiosity that threatened to consume him. They were interesting, and he consumed them with an almost ravenous hunger. Simple curiosity, that was all. That was all that he would let it be.

That interview that John had given at his old high school had just been the beginning, his very debut to the American people. Since then, there had been a few more, some featuring Battlestar, who would sit obediently at his side, and others featuring you.

You would curl up next to him, eagerly pressing yourself into John's side, smiling widely as you began the interview. There was a slightly angelic quality about you, a veil of innocence around you, your lilting voice like a siren's call, and your bright, doe eyes. With a well practiced ease, you would entwine your fingers with John's and sweetly tell him, looking at your lover intensely, that he was the best thing that ever happened to you.

It was fascinating to watch, to see just what kind of image your PR team could put across. You seemed every bit like the all-american girl, like the unattainable girl-next-door who would go to church every sunday and would be an inspiration to girls across the country.

Despite the innocent-seeming way in which you were deliberately styled, you never once came across as naive. Instead, there was never any vapid or vain qualities to you. It was like you just didn't know how pretty you were, or the effect you could have on people.

As nice as you may have come across in all of those interviews, every bit the picture-perfect media darling, Bucky knew it was all a farce. John had managed to seem like a decent, determined man who was down to earth and wanted nothing more than to provide inspiration to Americans, no, to the whole world. But all of those things about John simply were untrue.

Every interaction he had with the public had been carefully created to construct an image of him that incited adoration from the public. There was no reason whatsoever why you wouldn't be the same.

In fact, Bucky found it more likely than not that you were a complete inversion of that sweet, charming woman you appeared to be on TV. It left him with a sour taste in his mouth and biting back at bile rising in his throat. It was nauseatingly fake, all masquerading around as good and just using Steve's emblem.

It wasn't until he met you that the malice rescinded.

His escapade with Sam to see Isaiah had ultimately concluded with handcuffs being wrapped around his wrists and a visit to the local police station. Bucky had been taken into some tiny, isolated cell with boring blank walls that are comprised of chipped bricks covered poorly by cracking blue and white paint, constantly escorted and monitored by police officers, who were buzzing dually with excitement and tension at having both the recently-pardoned Winter Soldier in detention, and avenger the Falcon stood outside in the hall, demanding answers.

Doctor Christina Raynor had strolled into the precinct with both weariness and disappointment in her eyes. She walked almost like a woman defeated, one hand clasping the strap of her handbag and the other falling aimlessly at her side.

Immediately, she gravitated towards Sam, who was seated rigidly in some tiny, uncomfortable plastic chair amongst a myriad of members of the public, people who were also waiting for news about their friends or family who had been arrested.

Clamoring to put on the most polite smile she could, Doctor Raynor introduced herself to Sam, barely managing to get in a complete sentence before she's interrupted.

Swiftly following the arrival of the Doctor is the entrance of John Walker. John strides into the precinct dressed in the Captain America garb, shield positioned on his back. There's something terribly strategic about the decision to be constantly wearing the suit. Perhaps it's to offer a sense of security, or maybe it's because without it John has no authority to operate on. Either way, his mere appearance results in a horde of frenzied police officers trailing after him, desperate for a selfie or an autograph, something that John mindlessly indulges them in, smiling the whole time. Sam's face instantly sours as John enters, his eyebrows tugging down into a frown.

John Walker simply saunters in, a falsely cherubic smile on his face as he stares down at Christina. "Bucky's not going to be following a strict schedule any longer."

Doctor Raynor's previously jovial attitude towards John's presence dissipates, quickly replaced by confusion. "We haven't finished our work." She protests, setting her jaw. "Who authorised this?"

There's a note of challenge in her voice as she presses John for an answer. She's the professional - she's very much the one capable of understanding Bucky's mind, and yet John doesn't take her concern into account. He doesn't even look phased by it. He's completely unbothered by any opposition thrown his way - it had never mattered to him before, and it had no reason to bother him now.

"I did," John says, pointing to himself.

Sam and Christina both stare him down, equally perturbed. They exchange a brief glance. Doctor Raynor's concerned in a professional capacity - not only is Barnes her patient, and it is her prerogative to help him take control of his mind and heal, but she is also commanded by the state to oversee his psychiatric care.

Responsibility for him falls onto her - she's the professional. Christina is the doctor, the one who understands the human mind, and John very much is not. Sam, on the other hand, is personally concerned. As much as he pretends he despises Bucky, he does care, albeit begrudgingly. He wouldn't be here if he didn't.

A tiny beep goes off, signifying that a door is being opened. Bucky is walked in by two police officers, looking mildly agitated for one second, and completely numb the next, all emotion dropping from his face to put a cool, unfeeling visage into place. It's a mask that gives him obscurity, that allows him to distance himself from the mere possibility of being vulnerable.

Christina forces the two of them into some botched attempt at therapy, forcing them to look into each others eyes and get far closer than either of them are comfortable with whilst she presides over them, poking, prodding, inquiring.

It's a demand of some emotional vulnerability that Bucky simply does not want to produce. It's not exactly heart-wrenching but it does make him feel robbed, like something had been taken from him against his will. It didn't feel like healing, like what therapy was meant to be. It felt difficult. It felt like a quiet rage building in his gut that he desperately wants to keep under wraps, lest he lash out at somebody.

It leaves Bucky feeling stripped raw when they finally leave the police station.

By the time Bucky and Sam step out onto the streets the sun has already set. The sky is dark, a deep navy blue that's mostly covered by thick dark clouds that besiege the atmosphere. The whole street is lit by lights that have been left on in people's windows, or blinkering blue lamps that run along the outer wall of the police station.

A blaring, almost comically loud beeping noise disrupts the fragile silence of the night. Lined up outside of the station are a series of police cars, all emblazoned with white lettering reading 'BALTIMORE POLICE DEPARTMENT'.

The sirens of one of the police cars is going off wildly, the noise being one disruption and the blue and red flashing lights emitting from the roof of the car being another. It's an annoyance, and creates a false sense of urgency. Those sirens are normally used when somebody's life is at risk and members of the police force are going to respond. In this situation, there's no rush, no hurry, there's no crime.

Leaned up against the car, grinning wildly, is John Walker, still dressed as Captain America, all dolled up in navy blue and red, a silver 'A' on his breast.

When he sees that he's successfully captured Sam and Bucky's attention, which he garners from the fact that both of their heads whip towards him, attracted by both the loud noise and the bright lights, he turns off the siren, restoring the tentative peace to the darkened streets.

This time, though, Walker's not alone.

Next to him, propped up against the hood of the car is Battlestar, also dressed head-to-toe in his tactical gear, arms folded over his chest and a stoic expression on his face. There's something about him that just lacks any individuality. John masqueraded as somebody else, somebody whose mantle he had no right to use, and he's always constantly accompanied by a pale imitation of a comrade.

As likely as it is that Walker and Battlestar have engaged in combat together, they're not comrades, not in the way Bucky and Steve were. He and Steve had been willing to do anything for each other - endure any pain, run from the forces of the state if they had to, even die for one another.

Walker didn't seem like the type to lay down his life for somebody else out of a genuine heart-felt devotion to them.

And then, stood a few feet away from both Walker and his loyal sidekick is you - the lover. There's a decent amount of distance between you and them, separated from one another by enough space that it quite literally looks like you're desperate to avoid Walker's presence. You huddle over by the wall of the precinct, jaw set like you were irritated by the ear-splitting sound of the siren, though you don't voice a complaint. Unlike the two men, you're not dressed like you're headed out to battle, like you're some kind of protector. No, you're dressed in some pale, flouncy sundress that grazes your thighs, and you're shivering in the night air. Of course you are - it's freezing.

Bucky has to bite back a sneer just at the sight of the three of you, a vile, acrid remark just on the tip of his tongue. He has just spent the best part of his day in some cramped cell that reminds him all too much of a HYDRA facility, and then being interrogated by his own therapist, who is desperate to push him into emotional vulnerability all in the name of progress. He isn't in the mood to play happy families, and especially not with the man now wielding Steve's shield.

"Gentlemen!" John calls out, waving his hands in the air as if Bucky and Sam hadn't already started their stride towards him, matching expressions of disdain on their faces. "Good to see you again. Have I introduced you to my girl yet? No?"

It, of course, was a rhetorical question. The two of them had only ever seen you in snapshots of public appearances that you had made at John's side. You weren't actively accompanying Captain America or Battlestar on any of their missions, and as far as Bucky is aware, there are no plans for you to do so. You're not a soldier. You're not built for battle - you're softer. More gentle. You're not the state's attempt at creating a superhero. Allegedly, you're just a regular girl - pretty and smart and charismatic, but otherwise perfectly regular - who just so happens to be dating John Walker, the new Captain America.

John doesn't wait for a response from Bucky or Sam, but he does gesture to you, beckoning you over to him by crooking two of his fingers.

You approach him, your dress ruffled by the wind. In that instant Bucky thinks that the two of you actually do seem nothing like how you do on those televised interviews - his prediction had been correct. The persona was lovely, enchanting even, but it was just that. A persona, an act for your public image. There's something almost mechanical about the way you approach John, your hands folded across your chest in an unsuccessful attempt to shield yourself from the cold. It's all too robotic. It's not effortless or affectionate. You don't look remotely comfortable, but you slide up next to Walker and Hoskins regardless. Clearly, Battlestar isn't the only one who follows Walker's commands like an obedient dog.

You slot yourself in between Battlestar and John, a grimace passing over your face as you press yourself into his side. It's odd, exceptionally so, for Bucky to see this - god, you look reluctant to accept some modicum of warmth from your own boyfriend, who you'd proclaimed publically that you loved more than anything. It's almost like you resent his touch.

And oh, that's nice. It's almost cathartic seeing somebody meant to love and adore John avoid his touch like he's got some contagious flesh-eating disease.

There's a great deal of recognition in your eyes as you look at Bucky and Sam. It's likely you'd already been made familiar with them as a result of Walker's fevered desperation to unite their forces.

Bucky's looking at you intently, just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to open your mouth and prove him right - for you to prove that you were just as fake as Walker and Hoskins. It almost seemed inevitable, really. It's all too easy to seem good, sweet and polite on those well-orchestrated interviews. But real life is a completely different matter all together.

Bucky's well versed in being able to tell when people are lying, easily spotting their little tells, locating them in the flutter of a limb, the arch of an eyebrow or the twitch of an eye. It'll be a matter of moments until he spots yours. Any act was doomed to fail around him. Everybody gives themselves away somehow.

You introduce yourself, stating your name and giving them a shy wave. "It's nice to meet the two of you." You say sweetly, a smile lighting up your face.

Bucky's eyes widen involuntarily. Oh. It was one thing seeing that enchantment on TV, and another seeing it just feet away from him. There was something absolutely enrapturing about the silky quality of your voice, and the way your eyes sparkled even in the dim light.

He hadn't expected you to actually be...pleasant. It was all supposed to be this fake persona, and yet, he can practically sense the genuity on you. You don't twitch like some little rabbit, or stumble over your words. There's no sweat beading on your brow, and you're not avoiding eye-contact. If anything, you're welcoming it.

There was no fucking way. No fucking way at all that you could actually be as nice as you were in those interviews and be with John Walker of all people. You should be horrible simply by being associated with the man.

"Well, now that we're all acquainted we can move onto our first order of business." John says, not even glancing at you. His gaze is focused solely on Sam and Bucky, steely and deceptive, completely dismissive of how utterly lovely you look.

Bucky's having a hard time even looking at John, not when you're right there, not too far away, looking absolutely angelic. There was no way it was some act, right? That facade had fallen through for both John and his stoic sidekick the minute they opened their mouths, but when it came to you... the complete opposite was true. Sam had definitely remarked on his staring problem more than once, and Bucky was very much hoping that in the dark you wouldn't be able to tell that he was looking at you in something akin to awe and unrepentant curiosity. He was looking at you in both fascination and scrutiny, staring intently like he was about to authenticate a work of art.

His deep rooted dislike of both John Walker and Battlestar was still very much present, but he was currently experiencing some emotional turbulence over his deep lack of hatred for you. It simply seemed to have evaporated the second you smiled at him. Which was...concerning to say the least. Shouldn't he hate you? Shouldn't your very presence have stoked that spark of malice?

"Look, if we divide ourselves we don't stand a chance. You guys know that." John says. He's all charismatic and confident, self-assured in a way that comes across as mildly condescending. It's a pale, cheap imitation of Steve's ability to rouse even the most slovenly of men and turn them into righteous soldiers.

"So what do you got?" Sam asks tiredly.

John immediately begins his speech, eagerly describing the plight of Karli Morgenthau, and how her journey around the globe is being aided and abetted by sympathisers who want to see the world return to the way it had been during the years of the blip. These sympathisers had much preferred it when half the world had been reduced to ash and something akin to anarchy had been allowed to prevail.

Whole governments had collapsed in on themselves, and often, borders ceased to exist. It was complete free movement - there was a distinct lack of separation between different human factions, like all of humanity had been united by that grave event that took half of the planet.

Bucky had no idea what that world had been like. He'd only seen the shell of it, the hellscape that was left once the other fifty percent of earth's inhabitants returned to life.

Battlestar makes a few brief interjections, explaining a few minor aspects of the tale - the geotagging, that this threat is most likely operating out of eastern europe, and that Karli has stolen the medicine to take it to one of the camps.

They don't tend to be sanitary places. Disease runs rampant there, and nobody tends to really care about those who fall sick and succumb to their illness. Of course they need medicine - there's probably hundreds of people who are in the throes of sickness, vomiting their own guts out, their wounds crusted over with coagulated blood, infected and festering.

"Well, there are hundreds of those all over the planet since the blip. So, I guess you'll have to look real hard," Bucky says, shrugging with a sort of apathy. It's rather vindicating to watch the way John's lip curls up in disdain.

"Well I guess it's good we have-" John begins, his jaw set and his tone confrontational, dripping with very thinly veiled rage.

You sigh, a tiny little breathless sound that makes Bucky freeze up slightly. It sounded, for a lack of a better word, rather nice. Melodic, even. "John, calm down." You tell him, not entirely unkindly, but not sweetly, either.

There's some kind of quality to your voice when you speak to John like you're negotiating for hostages, not like you're having a conversation with your lover. It's curious, but Bucky tries not to attach too much meaning to it.

Bucky gives you a stiff sort of nod, and you reward him with a smile, your lips curving upwards. "Where is she now? Do you know?" He says, softer than he probably would have if you hadn't been there.

"No. We don't know, Bucky." John's voice is a near yell. He shifts agitatedly, gesticulating wildly, tossing his arms about and shoving you slightly, letting you nearly collide with Battlestar, who is forced to grasp your arm to keep you upright. Battlestar's hand curves around your upper arm, pulling you back until you're steady on your feet. "But it's only a matter of time before we find out."

Relatively quickly, Battlestar's hand drops from your arm, and you give him a whisper of thanks before turning to give John a glare. He hadn't even so much as muttered an apology. He was completely focused on Bucky, the two locking stares in some kind of silent battle, one of wills.

"Things are really intense for you, aren't they, Walker?" Bucky can't fucking resist agitating him, letting the taunt roll off his tongue easily, not even bothering to resist grinning when your lips quirk upwards. Oh yes, you think he's funny - he can see it in the way you press a hand to your lips in a successful attempt to quell a rising peal of laughter.

"Walker's right." Sam is the one to turn to Bucky and snap at him. He tries to diffuse the situation, glancing between you, Bucky and John like he was watching something that had the potential to go very wrong. "It is imperative that we find and stop them. But you guys have rules of engagement and authorisations you have to get. We're free agents. More flexible. It wouldn't make sense for us to work together."

Tentatively, you set a hand on John's shoulder, feeling the coarse, kevlar-esque material of the suit beneath the tips of your fingers as he turns rigid, looking at Bucky and Sam coldly, all pretences of being nice completely gone, having simply evaporated into the cold night air. "Mr. Wilson isn't wrong."

Like Sam, you seem to have moved on to an attempt to prevent the escalating tensions from reaching their head. You try your best to soothe John, and his shoulders do sag fractionally, like he's just been reminded of your presence. There's something about the way that Walker looks at you that's utterly unappreciative. Perhaps John doesn't want to be grounded - if his will is being resisted then he'd rather be aggressive than diplomatic.

Sam scoffs at the name, "You don't have to call me that. In fact, please don't call me that."

"It's polite isn't it?" You say, smiling, even as John ruthlessly shucks your hand from his shoulder, dismissive of your touch. He gives you an irritated kind of look, a silent admonishment of you challenging his authority. It's not the kind of look that equal partners give each other, and your ensuing glare isn't, either.

"Suppose so," Sam shrugs, his lips quirking up in amusement.

"Mr. Wilson and Mr. Barnes aren't obligated to help," You tell John softly, seemingly speaking through gritted teeth. "Clearly, we all want the same things - to get that medicine back and bring Karli to justice. But, if you're not all going to be able to work cohesively on a team and get the job done, it may be best to work separately. It gives you all the opportunity to handle things the way you want to. This should be about doing the right thing and accomplishing the mission, not about who's calling the shots."

John nods stiffly, turning to you for a brief moment. There's some kind of red light coming from within one of the nearby buildings, and it's lighting up the dark street in shades of red, crimson light spilling over his cheekbones and dancing across one side of his face. He's the very image of begrudging agreement. "Alright then. Just one piece of advice for you boys. Stay the hell out of my way."

"Gladly." Bucky mutters under his breath, not missing the fact that you catch it and your smile widens.

As Bucky and Sam begin their exit, he can't help but to spare you one last glance over his shoulder. Bucky's eyes quickly roam over your form, as if he's mapping you out, or trying to emblazon the image of you within his mind - bathed in dying red light, still smiling serenely at him even as he's leaving. He really cannot figure you out.

The line of what's real and what's fake seems awfully blurred when it comes to you. Normally he's excellent at detecting a performance, but when it comes to you, Bucky has no idea whatsoever what is going on. And it's very much intriguing.

John Walker he would have no problem whatsoever in leaving alone.

...but you on the other hand, were a whole different story.

There was some grand, captivating quality that you had in spades that was even more potent in real life than it had been on camera. It was in the way your hair was jostled by the wind, the pale sundress that skirted your soft-looking thighs, the curve of your hips, the way you smiled and that hypnotic twinkle in your eye.

Walker and Hoskin's lovely personalities had been something of a farce, but yours wasn't. It did, however, make him wonder what somebody like you was doing with them - how you could aid and abet their actions even though it was glaringly obvious you weren't always in concordance with them.

"Man, I do not know what the hell was going on there, but I very much did not like how you were looking at Walker's girl like she was a piece of steak, or something." Sam shudders, muttering quietly once they're out of earshot of Walker and his companions.

"I don't know what you mean." Bucky feigns ignorance, setting his jaw and very much trying to push the phrase 'Walker's girl' from his mind. It just...didn't seem right.

In all of those TV interviews, the two of you had seemed like a perfect couple - you only appeared that way because Walker was plastering on a faux persona. In reality, the two of you seemed fragmented, distant from one another though Walker did have some tiny modicum of respect for you.

There was nothing about the real, raw interactions between the two of you that indicated any intimacy. It was the complete antithesis of the united front the two of you presented, of the perpetually happy lovers that America adored.

There was just no way it could be true. In fact, it sets off something that's terribly close to jealousy in his gut. Walker's an arrogant prick who carries a shield he has no right to even look at. He especially doesn't deserve you - you with the pretty eyes and an aura about you that screamed 'holy', 'saintly', even.

Yes. That was probably why he disliked it. Because it was probably inaccurate. It had absolutely nothing to do with the way you enchanted him, nothing to do with the sight of your bare legs and absolutely nothing to do with the lovely way you said 'Mr.Barnes.' It had absolutely nothing to do with that whatsoever.

"No, no." Sam protests. "I've seen you, you know, stare at people before - but god, never like that. Fuck, man."

And it's true. It was obvious to anybody that spent more than thirty seconds with Bucky that he had yet to acclimate and adjust to social scenarios, and that once he was focused on one thing had an abject refusal to move his gaze away from it. Bucky had heard Sam call it both 'creepy' and 'unnerving', and hoped, for some inexplicable reason, that you thought differently.

After all, your eyes had barely left his. It wasn't staring if both of you were doing it - then it was mutual, some kind of joint focus on one another.

"Like what, Sam?"

Sam just shakes his head, looking disdainful, his nose turned up like he'd just smelled something foul. "Mmhm, like you wanted to do some things to her that, for the sake of my own mental health, I would rather not think about."

Well, technically, he hadn't thought about anything that bad - just your voice, your smile, and the way you might say his name. But, in that instant, Sam's words derail all of those thoughts. Because, really, you had looked so lovely that it would be forgivable to think about you like that.

There was that cute little sundress you were wearing, grazing your thighs whenever you moved or whenever the wind picked up. It's all too easy for him to imagine skirting his fingers up your smooth, soft thighs and let his hands explore you, roaming over your ass and your inner thighs, enjoying the feeling of your skin and the little noises he could provoke from you.

"...stop thinking about it. I can literally hear your thoughts right now." Sam says, grimacing at Bucky's spaced out kind of look - his glazed over eyes and the fingers twitching at his sides. It's all too easy for him to see the gears shifting in Bucky's head, openly reliving the few moments he had seen you.

"I'm not thinking about it," Bucky outright lies as the two of them continue walking down the street.

"No, you absolutely are thinking about it." Sam objects. "I can sense the impropriety."

"Oh yeah? You can sense it?" Bucky glares at Sam, unable to resist antagonising him. It's safe, reliable even, between the two of them. They'll perpetually annoy one another, being challenging, rude, and utterly impolite, knowing that when it comes down to it, they'll fight side-by-side without objection, trusting each other implicitly. But in these moments when there's no imminent danger, that opposition is welcome. It's routine, even.

"Hell yes, I can sense it."

Bucky just scoffs at him, barely refraining from rolling his eyes. It wasn't really as if Sam was wrong. There was something especially fascinating about Walker's girl - if that's even what you are. He'd known you for a matter of fleeting moments that passed by like dandelion seeds in a breeze. And yet, something about it felt terribly significant.

He hadn't actually expected that appeal to be real. He anticipated that just like Walker's carefully groomed public image, it would have been falsified.

The only thing that really seemed fake about those interviews was your affection with John. It was non-existent in real life, and for a while, you had avoided touching him, until you had to diffuse the situation. That was very, very curious. Just where had Walker found you? He had to doubt that the relationship was genuine.

Somebody as nice, as innocent-seeming as you would never go for Walker. Not when Walker's the kind of guy that Steve would have tried to fight as a scrappy teenager, before he even got the serum. The kind of guy who Bucky would inevitably have to knock the lights out of in order to protect Steve. That kind of guy objectively did not belong with someone like you.

Bucky has to shake his head ever so slightly. It's a dangerous line of thinking. God, he doesn't even know you. He's met you once, and you'd exchanged only a few words. Irrespective of how nice you seem, how entrancing you are, he doesn't know you. It hardly matters whether or not your relationship with Walker is genuine. It shouldn't matter to him. It really shouldn't bother him.

But it does, and that fact alone is almost as bad as the fact that John Walker is the new Captain America. It causes the same bitter feeling to swell in his chest.

Sam and Bucky fall into line next to each other, walking side-by-side, the dull noises of their footsteps hitting the pavement reverberating throughout the streets. There's a comfortable silence between the two of them. Words aren't needed now. They often aren't. For all of their antagonisation, they can understand each other perfectly fine with a single glance. That's what comradery is.

There are neon lights that illuminate the streets in shocking tones of red and turquoise, reflected in stray puddles that pool in the potholes of the roads. The lights seem dulled, boring despite their vividity. He'd seen brightness before. It didn't look like a street sign. It looked like the curve of your smile and the silent rage you directed at John Walker.

---

Bucky's flat is near-barren.

As much as he hates empty rooms - they remind him of cold cells in underground bases that he wishes more than anything that he could forget - he's also come to the realization that he very much hates rooms that have too much furniture.

They all feel uncomfortable, unfamiliar, a bastardisation of a normal life that he feels he has no right to live. He's so unused to the feeling of a mattress beneath him that the floor next to his bed is easier for him to sleep on. And he hates that, too.

The simple inability to slip back into a normal life makes him feel woefully inadequate, like there's still something deeply wrong with him despite the fact that the command words had long since been removed from his mind.

Sam had returned to his own home a while ago, leaving Bucky utterly alone in the flat.

It's not necessarily loneliness that he feels, but it is a kind of numbness that is close to it - the dulled pain of loss. Perhaps, if everything had gone the way he meant for it to, he would be sharing this place with Steve - Steve who would take a bullet for him, fight any force in this universe or the next for him. Steve who would probably encourage him to sleep in the bed and not on the floor next to it.

That realisation prompts him to shuck off his leather jacket, toss it into the recesses of his room and try to distract himself.

He runs a hand over his face, closing his eyes and just revelling in the darkness. Mindlessly, he sits down on the very edge of his bed, already knowing that he won't be sleeping there. It seems somewhat pointless to even try.

Despite the Soldier being gone, there are some effects of his presence that linger. Slowly, he's been getting better, but there are a few traits he doesn't know whether or not he'll ever have the courage to discard. Sleeping on the floor is one of them. That constant need to be vigilant is another. Often it manifests itself as paranoia, and at other times as staring.

Oh god, the staring.

Bucky knew it could be bad sometimes - Sam made remarks about it often enough - but today, he really felt like he couldn't help himself.

Maybe he shouldn't have stared at you so much. It probably wasn't welcome. In fact, it had been described as 'unnerving' and 'creepy' more than once. But there was just something about you that made him not want to look away.

His eyes flutter open and he lets out a ragged groan of frustration, a low noise that originates at the back of his throat.

Somehow, every little nagging thought always leads back to you, which is inconvenient to say the least. He does have to keep telling himself that he doesn't know you, mentally repeating those words like a mantra, instructing himself to just leave that train of thought alone completely, and to discard any and every thought that pertains to you. You're with Walker. He doesn't know you - but he could.

Bucky takes in a deep breath, hand digging through the pocket of his trousers, emerging with his phone. The internet was a pretty vast thing that had initially taken quite some getting used to, especially when he was still living in Romania. It had been difficult to become comfortable with the amount that society had progressed whilst he was with HYDRA.

He still couldn't get used to the music or some of the fashion trends. By the time he got to living in Wakanda, he was more than used to the intricacies of modern day technology, despite the fact that once he came out of cryogenic freezing he lived a fairly simple lifestyle.

He can't really resist searching your name.

Immediately, article after article pops up, all with headlines about you and Walker. Bucky lets out a minor, quiet noise of discontentment, opting to avoid the articles and instead look at the videos, the interviews that you had given. In most of them, you're accompanied by Walker, and occasionally by Battlestar, too. Bucky absolutely does not want to watch those ones. It feels like John simply sitting next to you is somehow corruptive.

There are a select few interviews where, mercifully, you're by yourself. Some of them are from your earlier days, where you're dressed in black leather, which was absolutely a confusing wardrobe choice.

Privately, he much prefers you in the sundress and the pale colours. In the one that he chooses to watch, you're dressed in another sundress - this one's a pale sort of pink with tiny, blooming white flowers dotted over it. For some inexplicable reason, Bucky thinks he prefers you like this - innocent, summery, and not a pale imitation of somebody who was meant to be scary - not that you had the potential to make him afraid in the slightest.

You're in some room, sitting in front of a grand, white window, seated on a wicker chair opposite the interviewer. There's a few potted plants dotted around the floor, aloe vera, lavender, a cheese plant and some other flowers that are in full bloom, their soft petals unfurled. You're beaming happily as the interviewer begins, soft sunlight spilling over your profile, warming your skin.

"It's a pleasure to finally have the opportunity to interview you - and you're so kind to let us into your house like this." The interviewer says, looking between your angelic visage and their copious sheets of notes, each one full of questions and follow-up questions that they were desperate to ask you.

Ah. That makes sense - all the plants. You seemed like the type to like them.

"The pleasure's all mine." You say, and yes, there it is. That transfixing look about you that he's slightly hooked on now that he's seen it in real life. It's a bit addictive to watch you, and god, even just thinking that does very much make him feel wrong.

"How about we get started, then?" The interviewer says conversationally. "You know, every single person in America is curious about you. I'm just here to ask the questions on everybody's minds! Just who are you? Come on, tell us about yourself."

You don't flounder. Not even for a second. You're utterly effortless in the interviews just as you had been mere feet away from him. "Well, I'm just your average girl, really. I'm nothing special, I promise you. Honestly, I'm so grateful that everybody loves me so much. I really wasn't expecting it."

Sitting there, a serene expression on your face, you sound utterly bashful, humbled and sweet in a way that wasn't quite the same as it had been in real life.

God, seeing you in real life was different to the interview. You had been, for a lack of a better word, better than how he expected. He'd anticipated meeting female John Walker, arrogant, self-assured and willing to try to strong-arm him into fighting for their team, more like Walker's puppy than your own individual person.

And you were nothing like that - you'd challenged Walker, hell, you even seemed reluctant to touch the guy at first, and then, you'd laughed and smiled devastatingly sweetly whenever Bucky would agitate him.

" - oh yes, my favourite flowers are - " You're still talking sweetly but he's only capturing fragments of what you're saying.

It's hard to focus on your exact words when you've shifted slightly, and that sundress has slid up your thighs ever so slightly, exposing more of your legs to Bucky's heated gaze.

Fuck - you don't even realise what you're doing and how it's making him feel. You're just innocently trying to get through an interview, talking about something mundane, like your houseplants, and it has Bucky's imagination running wild.

If Sam were here, he would definitely be sensing impropriety right about now.

Bucky swallows thickly, biting his lower lip in an effort to stifle the ragged breath he's struggling to take. It feels almost like there's no air left in his lungs. It's all too easy for him to picture you, right there in front of him, giving him that lovely saccharine smile, your lips pulled upwards. You'd saunter into his room, sundress skirting against your thighs, and he would be utterly enraptured.

He clears his throat, squeezing his eyes shut for just a fraction of a second. He could practically feel the blood rushing south, pooling downwards until his cock was pitching a tent, straining uncomfortably against his dark jeans.

Bucky can't even bring himself to feel any shame - he's just chasing a sensation, chasing a fantasy of you as he tugs his jeans down, shucking them off and discarding them, letting them land somewhere near his leather jacket.

With an unsteady breath, he shuffles back awkwardly onto the bed. Without so much as a second thought, he's pulling his boxers down his thighs and resting his flesh hand against his cock. He's beyond hard, steely even, and Bucky has to bite back a groan. Even the touch of his own hand doesn't offer him much relief.

He discards his phone, letting the interview keep playing, just listening to your cadence and the entrancing way you spoke, not really picking up on the words themselves.

It's all too easy to imagine you being here, in that tiny little sundress, stalking towards him. He'd want you to straddle him, your thighs framing his, sundress riding up, exposing more of your legs. He'd push the fabric up, and instruct you to hold it there.

You'd probably give him something like a shy little nod and that dazzling smile of yours, your hands fisting the fabric and holding it up.

Fuck - it was all just too good to think about.

Bucky's grip on his cock tightens as he slowly strokes himself. He could easily tug the top part of the sundress down, too, to expose your tits. Maybe he'd even play with them for a bit, licking, nipping and sucking until there's a constellation of bruises and bites decorating your decolletage.

You'd probably beg, all whiney and breathy and absolutely desperate for him, struggling to maintain your hold on your dress, your fingers twitching as you pushed your chest towards him. It would be fucking lovely. He would finally pull away, admiring his work before bothering to address your needs. He'd trail his hands up your thighs.

He had to wonder exactly what you were wearing underneath it. White? Black? Lacey? A tiny little thong that rises high on your hips, the kind he can easily rip off with his bare hands or push aside?

Or fuck, even more addicting, what if you weren't wearing any at all? His fingers would smooth up your thighs as you trembled, meeting your bare cunt.

Bucky doesn't even bother to try to quell the groan that rises up within him at that thought. God, that would be nice. You'd be wet - so wet, dripping, coating his fingers and trickling down your thighs. He'd rest his dark, metal hand on your waist whilst the fingers on his other hand ran eagerly through your folds, teasing your clit as he memorised all of the little sounds he could pull from you before he'd plunge two fingers into you.

You'd cry out, and he'd swallow the sound with his mouth, crushing his lips to yours and letting you gasp into his mouth. When he finally pulls away from you, fingers knuckle deep inside of you, your face would be painted a bright red, and your lips would be swollen as you begged him, fucking begged him to fuck you.

He'd deny you at first, watching you tremble and twitch on his fingers, practically fucking yourself on them.

Bucky would stroke at your clit, tracing tiny circles over it and watching your face contort in pure, unadulterated pleasure. He'd let you get off on his hand first. Would your eyes roll back into your head? Would you scream for him, yelling out his name? Would you get even wetter, impossibly making his fingers even slicker, fucking soaking him? You'd probably seize up, your spine going rigid, your mouth tumbling open and your walls flutter around his finger, convulsing uncontrollably.

And then, only then, would he fuck you.

God, you'd take his cock so well.

Maybe the stretch of it would be a bit much at first and you'd squirm in his hold, his metal arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you impaled on him. The noises you would make would be utterly lovely - whines and fragments of pleads that never quite get finishes because you keep interrupting yourself with your own moans.

Eventually, he'd have you in his lap, your legs folded over his, one of your hands holding up your sundress so he can see his cock entering you, pushing you open, the other resting on his face. You'd bounce on his cock, whimpering like a kitten, biting at your bottom lip whilst he stared at you in awe.

You would be good - so, so good, tight and hot around him, absolute perfection.

He'd mark your neck up too, so that it'd match your tits, leaving tiny, bloodied indentations of his teeth up the column of your throat, soothing the sting by laving his tongue over them, the taste of your blood blooming on his tongue.

'Walker's girl' his ass.

It wouldn't be John fucking Walker whose name you were crying out. It would be his. It'd be his love bites littering your neck, and it would be his come leaking out from your cunt, trickling down your thighs.

He's relentlessly fucking his fist at this point, grunting and groaning at the mental image of you riding him to completion, snug around his cock, begging for him. There's some deep, nigh unholy pleasure building within him, ripping through him like a hurricane.

"God, fuck -" Bucky comes almost violently with a cry of your name, jerking quickly, hot come spilling over his knuckles. The pearly white beads trail down his hand, oozing onto the bed sheets.

He can still hear that interview playing, your melodic voice grounding him as he comes down from his high.

You're talking about some sport you had played in high school, and the interviewer is lapping it up, eager for your attention and the exclusive interview. Bucky's chest is heaving, rising and falling heavily as he struggles to catch his breath.

Was it probably wrong to get off whilst thinking about another man's girlfriend? Yes. But, Bucky didn't particularly care, not when he'd just had quite possibly the most mind-blowing orgasm of his life, and especially not when it was 'Walker's girl' he was getting off to.

Walker probably couldn't make you come if his life depended on it. But Bucky would.

It's definitely strange that he wants you so badly. Maybe he just wants to take something from Walker the way that Walker had taken the mantle of Captain America.

He didn't really know how he'd react if he ever had to see you again. There's no way he can look at you in any non-sexual capacity, and he can just sense that this won't be the last time he comes whilst thinking about you.

It's probably for the best then, that he'll be staying out of Walker's way. There will be much less temptation on his part to interfere with your relationship. Yes, it's definitely for the best. He's probably just stressed and overworked, and that was the reason he felt the need to fuck his hand whilst thinking. about you. Just stress. And it's not exactly wrong to want to relieve that stress, is it? No. Not at all.

This is perfectly fine, and even if it wasn't, he wouldn't be seeing you again.

---

Just as Bucky had been getting ready to go out for the morning, dressed in jeans and some dark jacket that did a reasonable enough job of hiding the distinctive metal arm, a loud rapping reverberated through his apartment.

Immediately, he's frowning, and some of that old, ever-present paranoia is reawakening, like it's coming out of a coma, its dormancy ending abruptly. He pauses, slowing his gait and balling his hands into fists, bracing himself.

The knock doesn't sound like anybody he knows. It's not Sam - Sam either barges in, makes one single loud bang, or will just yell obscenities until Bucky stumbles out of his flat to meet him. This knock, a gentle rapping, is softer, more polite, and unfamiliar. If he's lucky, it'll have been just somebody who had got the wrong apartment number, or who wasn't yet aware that the previous tenant had moved out. It happened sometimes.

This knock could have a perfectly reasonable explanation behind it - it could be an honest mistake, or some unfortunate door to door salesperson whom he was about to scare off. Still, despite the fact it could be innocuous, it does have him on edge.

Cautiously, Bucky approaches the door, taking in a deep breath as he undoes the latches one by one. Slowly, he opens the door. It feels like ripping off a bandaid. To his surprise, it's neither somebody who's out to hurt him, nor somebody who's got the wrong apartment number.

It's you, standing outside of his door, wearing another one of your pale sundresses and a knitted cardigan, looking like something out of one of his dreams.

So much for not seeing you again.

Maybe he just had exceptionally bad luck, or the universe hated him. That absolutely had to be what it was - some grand, sadistic cosmic being had it out for him and was desperate to make his life hard.

Why the hell were you here? Was Walker sending you to harass him? That would be objectively cruel, and an unfitting punishment just for rejecting the opportunity to work with him. And - how the hell had you found his flat? That absolutely wasn't meant to be information available to anyone.

"Walker's girl?" He says, staring down at you, frowning.

Bucky doesn't dare call you by your name, not when the last time he said it was when he was coming all over his own hand. He hates the fact that he calls you that, and even more than that, he hates the wince you make. It's perfectly understandable that you don't like being called that, irrespective of whether it's accurate or not. Which he hopes it isn't. And then he resents himself for even being bothered by whether it's true or not.

He doesn't fucking know you. He shouldn't care.

You remind him of your name - as if he could ever fucking forget it. You brush it off pretty quickly though, smiling up at him. "Mr. Barnes, do you mind if we talk?"

Bucky is very much not enjoying the emotional turmoil you're putting him through. "Sure. Come in. And it's just Bucky."

He most definitely should not be letting you in. That would be a bad decision and he especially didn't want to get ideas about you whilst you were in his flat. And yet, he found himself readily opening the door and welcoming you in, before closing the door after you.

You make your way into his flat, looking at him gratefully.

"What's the deal with you and Walker?" The words tumble from Bucky's mouth, gruff and awkward, before he can even think to stop them.

A look of mild confusion passes over your face as you blink up at him. "Oh, John? I mean, we're not really a couple."

"I thought not." Bucky says, feigning impassiveness, even though there's absolutely nothing neutral or disinterested about the hopeful feeling that blooms in his stomach.

"Yeah. It was meant to be good for his public image, you know. The all-American guy with the perfect relationship. And I have debt I need to pay off - tuition and all that - and they compensate me for my time." You explain, laughing lightly. It sounds like bells chiming in the wind, and awakens in him some long forgotten memory of watching the sunset. It's reminiscent of something, someplace happier where his head was a whole lot lighter.

Bucky actually feels a genuine bolt of relief skirt down his spine. Of course he had been right. There was no way that Walker could get with somebody as good as you, somebody who seemed very much like an angel put on earth.

Your eyebrows tug slightly downward, "Was it obvious?"

"You looked like you'd rather have been anywhere else."

That prompts a peal of laughter from you, and all traces of concern simply evaporate from your visage, quickly forgotten. "Yeah, I suppose so. John can be...difficult at times. He's very strong-willed and we don't always get along."

"You two seem to get along well enough on camera," Bucky remarks, voice lower than he intended for it to be. Really, he doesn't want this to descend into some kind of interrogation, and he doesn't want to scare you off.

"I'm a decent actress," You say with a shrug. "And we normally do our TV appearances when we're getting along. John's not always easy to get along with, but occasionally we manage to put it all behind us. It may seem scummy, I guess. We are practically lying to everyone, but I do need the money and it's easy work."

It further reassures him - of what, Bucky doesn't quite know, but he doesn't feel half as on edge as he had been earlier.

You're not Walker's. He fucking knew it.

He couldn't possibly even conceive of a universe in which you would ever even consider Walker's advances. That bastard was lucky you even looked in his direction.

"I get that." Bucky says understandingly, a tentative smile playing across his face, his lips quirking upwards.

"I do actually have a reason for being here, Bucky." You say, sighing softly.

Oh. Yes. Of course you did. He'd almost forgotten that you needed a reason to visit - this wasn't a social call, of course it wasn't. The two of you had only ever met once, no matter how well he thought he knew you after having seen what is probably hours worth of footage of you. It's probably not a good thing that he's feeling so familiar with you - no, it's definitely not a good thing that he's feeling so familiar with you. In fact, it's probably very bad, especially with his proclivity for avoiding any form of emotional vulnerability or attachment.

"I...have the clearance to access some information that may benefit you." You say. Right now, you're being the most serious he'd ever seen you. There was a sort of solemn expression about you - your mouth set in a firm line rather than a happy smile - it's bordering on grave, and he's immediately compelled to listen, a frown forming on his face.

"Yes?"

"You and John both want the same thing, but you're not going to work together. I know for a fact you won't, and I really don't blame you. He's planning on going to see Zemo for information about the serum."

Bucky doesn't even tense up at the name. Helmut Zemo is an absolute bastard who had almost ruined his life, in addition to temporarily forcing him into a dangerous headspace, into a part of himself that, at that point, was very much present and very much not under control.

But now, the codewords are gone. They won't activate shit. Zemo's practically been neutered in that regard. He may not be able to invoke the Winter Soldier, but the mere mention of his name absolutely does invoke some kind of visceral, biblical rage that howls for revenge.

It's the kind of anger of the Old Testament, though Bucky isn't much for religion these days - the kind of anger that is desperate for 'an eye for an eye', to make Zemo hurt just as much as Zemo had hurt him. For retribution.

"We were planning on seeing him, too." Bucky says, a little stiffly, though he retains his composure.

"You'll want to get there before John does. He's planning on telling the guards not to let you in - Zemo will have his visitation rights revoked and you won't even be let on the premises."

Bucky lets out a tiny noise of irritation, a bitter little sound that originates in the very back of his throat. Of course, of fucking course Walker wouldn't be content with just working separately from himself and Sam.

Rather than just let it be, he'd try to actively obstruct their ability to work on the case - to help people. There was something about Walker's willingness to possibly prevent a breakthrough for the sake of his own ego that left a very bitter taste in Bucky's mouth. It was a complete stain on Steve's legacy.

"You have two days until John and Lemar visit Zemo. They'll probably be alerted when you show up, though, so I suspect you won't have long." You continue.

There's a possibility that you are working with Walker and this is all part of some elaborate scheme to impede his involvement in this. You could be lying through your teeth.

You had already told him you were a decent actress, and he definitely believed that to be true. Anybody that could be lovesick around John fucking Walker was either delusional or worthy of an oscar. Bucky was inclined to believe you were the latter.

That story about needing money for tuition made sense, and it also seemed reasonable that Walker's PR team would want to give him a girlfriend. A similar kind of thing had happened with Steve back in the forties. He'd been made to do all sorts of stupid campaigns, and a lot of them had involved pretty women like yourself who were willing to act, hell, even sing and dance, for the money.

Bucky wants to believe you're genuine. Surely he'd be able to tell if you're lying - he's good at that, at identifying people's tells and the falsehoods they're spewing.

"Thanks for the heads up." He says somewhat gruffly as he looks down at you.

"Lemar had a lead on the medicine and vaccines, too. But I don't know exactly what he's found." There's something about the way that you sigh that indicates frustration. "It's difficult to get information out of him. He's nice and all, but we're not close enough that he's willing to divulge a lot."

Bucky's slight frown deepens and he steps just a little closer to you, revelling in the fact that you don't stumble back or glance at the door. You're not afraid of him in any capacity.

"You're fishing for information for us? Why?"

That's the one thing he can't work out. Why show up here? Why bother to give him the warning? What could you possibly have to gain from it?

"It's the right thing to do." You say simply, that solemness receding from your pretty face to allow that sweet smile to return. "Whether it be you or John, somebody has to bring these guys down. It's only fair that you both have the same information, and I can get it to you."

How lovely. God, how had you managed to embody the spirit of Captain America more than the man who carried the shield?

"Right, right." Bucky doesn't even have a hard time accepting the answer. He should - he should poke and prod at your motives, but he doesn't want to. He finds that the desire to do good for the world is sufficient enough, especially when it comes to you. Because of course you want to help people, of course you want to help him - as if you hadn't been perfect enough already.

"I'm looking into the camps, too. It's hard to narrow the parameters, though. There's just so many of them." You say, somewhat aghast, like you're disappointed that they even exist in the first place.

There's a haunted kind of expression in your eyes, like you'd seen too much. And you probably had. Looking into all of those camps, rampant with disease, crime and horrifically painful deaths, couldn't have been easy, especially if you weren't acclimated to something so macabre or devastating.

"Hey," Bucky places a hand on your shoulder - the human hand - and he can feel the soft texture of your knitted cardigan beneath his fingers, as well as the heat radiating from your body. "Thank you. I appreciate it. You're doing the right thing. You're good."

Words of encouragement are somewhat difficult for him to come up with. He has no idea what will reassure you, so he just tells you what he knows to be true and it's enough. It's more than enough judging by the way your eyes light up and you smile at him. There's something almost devastating about that smile, and knowing that he had been the one to cause it.

"Thanks," You say, your voice barely above a whisper, voice a little hoarse. Oh. Oh. Your pupils were blown wide, and you were staring at him intently.

He falters for a fraction of a second, wondering if he'd done something wrong. And then it dawns on him - you'd liked the praise.

You had fucking liked it when he praised you. Well, shit. The rush he got from that realisation alone made him feel nearly high, like his head was in the clouds and he'd just done copious amounts of illegal substances. It was addicting, in short.

It's then and only then that he actually notices just how close the two of you are, and suddenly he's revisiting the thought that maybe letting you into his flat wasn't such a good idea.

Bucky can very nearly feel your skin beneath his hand. Having you here is such a unique brand of torture - you're exquisitely close, and you're looking at him like whatever it is that's between you, this mad, mutating attraction is reciprocated. It all feels a little too good to be true.

You probably shouldn't be looking at him like that. There was no way that the attraction he felt could be reciprocated. No way whatsoever.

"I should probably give you my number," You say, your voice still a little low - if anything, it's become silkier. Sultry, even, and it has Bucky's head spinning. "I'll send you everything I have."

"Yeah," He says, somewhat breathlessly. It's with a deep reluctance that he drops his hand from your shoulder, already missing the warmth and the closeness.

He probably shouldn't have touched you in the first place. You were so small next to him, dressed in your pale little sundress, cardigan slipping down one of your arms, pooling at your elbow to reveal a single, unblemished shoulder. There's something almost painfully innocent about you, the complete antithesis to him.

He had been a killer a thousand times over. Bucky had taken more lives than he could even begin to count, and despite his best efforts to reconcile and to make amends for it, his hands were still stained red with blood. They didn't deserve to touch you, no matter how badly he wants to.

Suddenly, you're turning away from him, snatching a piece of paper that had been lying around his flat and scrawling a series of numbers onto the back of it - your phone number. Without so much as a second thought, he's peering over your shoulder as you write them, eyes carefully following every digit that you inscribe.

You whirl around, paper clutched tightly in one hand and settling the other on his chest, fingers ghosting over his shirt. You're so, so close - a mere matter of inches away from him, and your hand is directly over his heart. Hopefully you can't feel the way it beats slightly faster as a result of the contact.

There was a high chance that if it had been anybody else, Bucky would have avoided their touch and shirked the vulnerability. He liked being in control of himself, which often translated in remaining isolated. But he doesn't really want you to take your hand off his chest. He doesn't want that at all. In fact, he'd much prefer it if you touched more of him.

The tension is literally palpable, hanging about the air like a thick fog. No, more like smoke really, with the way your presence threatened to asphyxiate him.

"Bucky," You say, so softly, your voice dripping with reverence. There's just something about the way you whisper his name that's so much better than any fantasy he could ever concoct. He's half-certain that you're going to drop your hand from his chest or shove him away, admonish him for getting too close. But you don't. Your hand remains pressed against him, fingers splayed over his torso.

He can't help but say your name in turn, his voice raspy as he looks down at you. Carefully, he takes the paper with your number on it from your hands and sets it down on one of the countertops. And still, you don't remove your hand from him. You're looking up at him and your eyes are so dark, tumultuous pits of lust that bore right through him.

Bucky leans ever so slightly closer to you, his flesh hand cupping your jaw. His index finger is curled under your chin, and the pad of his thumb is resting on your plump lower lip. In response to his touch, your lips part ever-so-slightly, and he can feel your breath ghosting over his flesh in light, shallow puffs of air.

"Do you want this?" He asks, his voice a low rasp, rough and bordering on ragged. It feels very much like he's entered dangerous territory. This is like playing with fire whilst being desperate to get burnt. He just needs to be sure. He's desperate for that reassurance, for you to explicitly say that he's not crazy or creepy, that this is mutual.

"Yes," You say, lip moving against his thumb as you speak.

In an instant, he's moving his thumb to caress your cheek and then crushing his mouth to yours. There's something utterly greedy about the way he consumes you, teeth smacking together, tongues roving throughout each others mouths, completely plunderous in nature. Because that is what he's doing - consuming you, entirely ravenous in the way his lips press repeatedly against yours.

Your hands become fisted in his shirt and jacket, and his metal arm wraps around your waist, crushing your chest to his, anchoring the two of you together. It seems as if you've gone weak in the knees. You practically crumble against him, pressing yourself into his torso until his metal arm is the only thing that's holding you up.

Oh. This was definitely reciprocated.

There was absolutely no need for him to wallow in guilt or shame or wish not to see you - because you wanted him to. It didn't fucking matter whether or not his hands were stained red, not when all you wanted was for them to touch you.

All too soon, your mouths part slightly and you're panting against one another. Your lips are red, beautifully swollen, and wet with saliva. With a mixture of his and your saliva.

"Tell me to stop," Bucky mumbles heatedly against your lips. "Tell me to stop and I will. I'll never touch you again. I promise."

It's a promise he won't want to keep. Not when he feels like a single kiss has completely fucking ruined him for anybody else.

"What if I don't want you to stop?" You whisper, gazing at him with this blazing fire in your eyes, challenging him.

"Do you want me to keep going?" He asks, and he's afraid of the answer. He has no idea what he wants - he's partially inclined to want to avoid the emotional implications of getting involved with you like this, of succumbing to your allure, but he also very much wants you to say yes, to beg him to touch you like you need nothing else more than you need him.

You tremble against his chest, a soft, keening whine tumbling from your mouth that has Bucky feeling dizzy, like the world had just tilted on its axis without any warning. It's a delightful little noise, melodious and sinful. It was so, so much better than he had imagined. He can barely refrain from rutting against you, high off the sound of your moans.

"Yes." You sound absolutely fucking devastated, pushed into abject neediness. He's reduced you to some kind of desperate mess, clinging to his chest like he's a lifeline, like you're remiss to let go of him.

And fuck, that one simple word is all the confirmation he needs.

Every single disparaging thought shatters to pieces, demolished by your eager moans. The way your chest wracks with sudden shudders, the way you breathe unevenly, perpetually unable to get enough air in your lungs as he keeps stealing it from you, your dilated pupils and your desire for his touch is all for him.

It's intoxicating.

Eagerly, he presses his mouth back against yours, revelling in the way you groan into his mouth, your eyes fluttering closed so your lashes can rest against your cheeks. Fisted into his shirt are your hands, bunched up in the fabric, constantly tugging him towards you in eternal desperation for more contact.

In the next moment, he's using the metal arm curved around your waist to hoist you into the air, letting your feet hover above the ground. It's all too easy for him to lift you.

Your legs had long since turned to jelly, your knees weakened and buckling. Your weight isn't a burden. He could toss a car around if he felt the urge to, which he doesn't. That is absolutely not even close to the urges he's having right now - the urges to make his fantasies a reality, to experience every lewd thought about you that had flitted through his head.

You release a small noise of surprise that Bucky eagerly swallows, biting at your bottom lip and memorising the delightful noises that the action pulled from you.

With his arm anchoring you to his chest, and you quite literally swept off your feet, it's easy for him to maneuver you through his flat, keeping his lips connected to yours as he walks you through to his bedroom.

The only time Bucky's mouth leaves yours is when he relinquishes his steely hold on you, laying you down gently on his bed, letting you rest atop his plain sheets, your sundress riding upwards.

And even then, he doesn't allow that separation to last long, clambering on top of you and surging forwards, capturing your lips again.

He's practically caging you in with his arms, allowing you no opportunity for escape.

Your fingers slowly unfurl from their previous position where they're been fisted, harshly gripping the fabric of his shirt, twisting it in what had been a successful effort to bring him closer to you. Now, your hands are wandering, beginning to explore. They roam freely, smoothing over his chest, tracing indecipherable shapes and fragments of words across his torso.

They easily pause at the lapels of his jacket, tugging it off with precision. Bucky has to move his arms slightly to help you divest him of the item of clothing, and he flings it somewhere across the room, not even bothering to check where it's landed. A single item of clothing seems totally irrelevant when you're beneath him, writhing at his touch.

"Please," You say between intense kisses, eyes blown wide with lust. Your pupils have expanded immeasurably, leaving a tiny ring of colour around them. "Off," You demand, tugging at his shirt.

Bucky chuckles, the low noise reverberating throughout his chest, making his torso rumble under your hands. Grinning, he pulls the shirt up and discards that too, leaving himself in just his jeans and you in your pale sundress and knitted cardigan. It's then that he falters, realising you can see the arm - of fucking course you would see the arm. There was no way that you wouldn't. It was just another horror of his existence that couldn't be avoided.

Strangely, though, you don't look at it in abject horror, reminded of his crimes, of the despicable acts of violence he had committed in the name of HYDRA.

Instead, you look at it reverently, one of your hands coming up to trace the grooves in the arm.

It was darker than any of his previous ones, a midnight matte black with stunning strips of gold running through the divots between panels. You trace the labyrinth of steady golden lines gently, fingertips tracing over the plates that comprised it. You were just as gentle with it as you were with the rest of him. His breath hitches in a way that is utterly obvious, though you don't outwardly react to it.

Your hand skirts down his metal arm, your fingertips coming to rest against the palm of his hand. The two of you aren't quite holding hands, but you very nearly are. Softly, so devastatingly softly, you tug the dark metal hand towards your face.

And you turn his metal hand over, planting a soft kiss to the centre of his palm before releasing it.

It was rather lovely, really. It made his chest swell up with some emotion that evaded description. Immediately, he's going back to kissing you, licking up into the cavern of your mouth, wordlessly showing you just how much he appreciated the small gesture.

Then, Bucky's mouth begins to traverse away from yours. He plants kisses down the column of your throat, only pausing in his quest to stick his nose into your neck, inhaling strongly. Your skin had a scent - a beautiful, honeyed kind of scent that he could very easily gain an addiction to. Fuck, everything about you was easy to gain an addiction to.

Before long, he's going back to suckling at the skin of your neck, interspersing his licking and sucking with bites that make your spine arch and prompt you to groan loudly. This great expanse of smooth, soft skin is available to him and he intends to take full advantage of it, making your skin bloom like some otherworldly piece of artwork, covered in red and purpled bruises. Interspersed between them were perfect iterations of his teeth, little crimson indentations from his incisors.

There was something absolutely animalistic about marking you up, covering you in aching bruises with his mouth alone. There was something about it that made him feel like he was laying claim to your skin, warding off anybody else who so much as dared to want you, somebody like John fucking Walker.

He probably shouldn't feel thrilled at the prospect of other people seeing you like this, your neck collared with a constellation of bruises and bitemarks that he had put there. Especially if it's one of your PR team, or even Walker himself.

Bucky pulls away from you, admiring the absolute mess he had made of you. Your hair is haloed around you on his bed, your throat is blotched in various shades of red and purple, your lips are swollen, your eyes are blown wide, and your nipples have pebbled against the fabric of your sundress. You look so fucking beautiful.

With some great urgency, Bucky divests you of your knitted cardigan, flinging it away and discarding it with some of his clothes. With his flesh hand, he eagerly tugs down the top-half of your dress, sliding the thin, flimsy little straps down your arms and pulling the fabric over your chest away to expose your breasts to his hungry eyes.

"Fuck," He breathes, shuffling forwards, one shin planted either side of your torso as you lay down, looking up at him in awe.

Bucky lets out a low noise of approval, sliding his hands up to your tits and squeezing them, earning him a strangled sort of noise that rips itself from the back of your throat. He pulls, tugs and pinches, listening intently to the different kinds of moans you reward him with - if he tweaks your nipple just right, you'll give him a breathy cry of his name.

"You like that, hm? You like my hands on your tits?"

"Yes, yes I do," You whimper. The metal hand and the human hand offer very different sensations. The flesh hand is warm, calloused, trembling slightly against your skin. The dark, metal hand with streaks of gold through it is no less dexterous than the organic one. It is, however, slightly colder to the touch, and smoother, comprised of plates of metal that don't have much of a texture. Both make you arch into their touch, perpetually desperate for more.

Bucky really can't help himself. He lowers his head, licking a broad stripe up one of your tits, eagerly mouthing at it whilst he tugs on the nipple of the other one, constantly keeping his mouth occupied. You're wrapping your hands around the back of his head, splaying your fingers over his skull, making desperate little noises as you drag your hands through his short hair.

He has you a squirming, pleading mess beneath him as his tongue roams over your chest, as he alternated between sucking, biting and pinching, watching reddish marks bloom over your torso. He's very much set on making your chest match your neck, painting it with bruises. There's something about this - the marking - that makes him feel absolutely feral, like some kind of rabid animal giving in to its most base urges.

"Please," You're begging for him - fucking begging. When he glances up, he can see your lips trembling, the perspiration beaded at your hairline and your glossy eyes. You look absolutely wrecked, and you sound it, too. Bucky's half tempted to ignore your pleas, but he doesn't want to be cruel. Not with you.

"Please what, doll?" The affectionate word slips from his lips and he hadn't even thought to stop it. "Do you want me to touch you here instead?"

His flesh hand slides down from where it had been cupping your tit, ghosting along your clothed ribs, down the plane of your belly. His touch prompts you to moan, despite the fact his hand isn't making contact with your bare skin. Not yet, at least. It's fascinating how receptive you are - so good for him.

Bucky keeps going, smoothing his hand down the curve of your hip, tugging your sundress up to expose more of your legs to him. His hand splays over the top of your thigh, thumb resting at the junction of your thighs, concealed by the very edge of your sundress.

You do something that surprises him. With a desperate groan, you reach down and grab his hand, tugging it towards your cunt. "No. I want you to touch me here, instead."

Well, fuck.

The very tips of his fingers meet your panty-clad sex, and immediately Bucky is using his metal arm to yank the bottom part of your sundress upwards, folding it up onto your stomach. Really, it's been reduced to a scrap of white fabric bunched around your waist, having been previously tugged down over your tits.

The panties were lacey. White. With thin, flimsy pieces of lace running up your hips. Bucky takes in a deep breath, staring intently at the slightly translucent patch over your pussy, the delicate fabric saturated, made wet by your liquid arousal. His fingers drift up over it almost in awe. Fuck, you're soaked. Absolutely soaked for him - all for him.

Bucky's fingers retreat from their position, but only temporarily. He slides your panties over, pushing them to the side so that he can appreciate your cunt. You gasp, your hand flying off his, where you'd previously been guiding his fingers, slapping over your mouth, barely muffling a groan.

With a renewed sense of confidence, Bucky dips his fingers into your folds. They're slippery - slick is seeping out from your neglected cunt, wetting the inside of your thighs, making them fucking gleam. You're soaked, absolutely dripping onto his fingers as he explores the most intimate part of you, slowly dragging his fingers over your clit and then circling them around your hole. You twitch and moan prettily in response to every tiny movement he makes, hypersensitive and desperate.

"Fuck." Bucky chokes out, dipping a single finger inside of you and admiring the way you convulse around him. Tight, hot and wet. His avid imagination and fucking his fist is one thing, but the sensation of you wrapped around his digit is another thing all together. Some stupid fucking fantasy could never compare - why had he even bothered to imagine that it could?

"God, Bucky, please." You whine helplessly, one hand still clamped over your mouth, muffling your words slightly.

Spurred on by your plea, he crooks his finger, pumping it in and out of you a few times before he adds a second one, using it to push against your walls, spreading them slightly in an effort to scissor you open.

"So fucking wet, aren't you?" Bucky's voice is verging on a growl, utterly animalistic as you gush over his fingers. You shuffle slightly, your hips rising and falling in a stunted rhythm. You're trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, desperately chasing an orgasm, your face contorted in pleasure. The fingers splayed over your jaw are twitching. Every single part of you is affected by him, writhing and trembling, perpetually desperate for more.

"Yes - yes," You chant, your voice a dying whisper, almost lost between your moans and whimpers.

"You're dripping," Bucky remarks, watching in fascination as your slick tumbles in steady streams down his fingers, "Fuck. All for me?"

You not emphatically, moving your head up and down, struggling to look him in the eyes, desperate to let your head fall back against the bedsheets. "Yes."

Bucky's thumb rubs harsh, unforgiving circles over your clit, his forefinger and middle fingers rocking into you, stuffed deep inside your cunt, covered in the slick arousal that's practically pouring out of you. You buck wildly against him, crying out in pleasure.

"Please - I'm gonna," You manage to stutter out, working your hips downwards, grinding onto his fingers, chasing your pleasure.

"Come for me, then." Bucky says.

He's incredibly fixated on every single thing about you as you come undone - the way your walls clamp down on his fingers, clenching tightly around the digits, the way your pretty, lust-blown eyes roll back into your skull, and the absolutely angelic noise that the pleasure he and he alone has brought you tears from your throat. Watching you come undone is wonderful. It's some kind of magical sight, made a thousand times better when you moan his name as you reach the apex of your pleasure. It's so fucking gorgeous that it threatens to make him come in his own pants like some rabidly horny teenage boy.

If Bucky hadn't already been uncomfortable, cock straining his jeans, rutting against the denim almost painfully, he would be by now. Especially when you give him that hazy post-orgasm look, a contented sigh leaving you as you finally remove your hand from where it had been clamped over your mouth.

Slowly, he drags his fingers out from inside of you. They're gleaming, coated in your arousal. Without an ounce of hesitation, he brings them to his mouth, eagerly sucking them clean, his tongue darting over every callous, every wrinkle, every crease on those two fingers, chasing your taste, completely ravenous as the flavour of your cunt explodes over his tongue.

He'd fucking ruined himself. There was nobody else after this. They wouldn't be able to compare to you in any way.

You bat your eyelashes at him, biting your already bruised lower lip seductively. Bucky's looming over you, pulling his saliva-soaked fingers from his mouth, the two of you breathing raggedly, panting like dogs.

Wordlessly, you reach forwards and palm his hard cock through his jeans, squeezing him in a way that leaves Bucky groaning, desperate for more.

"You're gonna let me fuck you, doll?"

"God, please." You breathe, eyes darkening almost imperceptibly. If he hadn't been so close to you then he probably wouldn't have caught it.

Eagerly, he undoes his belt, pulling it free from the confining loops of his jeans, and discarding it. Even as he's divesting himself of his remaining clothes, Bucky's eyes are always on you, watching you intently.

Oh yes, you definitely sparked his staring problem, especially when you're looking at him with hooded eyes, the expression on your face one of pure lust, pure need for him. Quickly, he pulls his jeans down, readily discarding them, along with his boxers.

Bucky's hard, leaking cock slaps up against his stomach. Taking in a weak, ragged breath, you beckon him closer until he's looming over you again, his chest pressed to yours and his cock jutting into your leg.

"Please, Bucky. Don't tease. Just fuck me."

"Oh, gladly," He quips, lips tugging upwards into an infuriating half-smirk.

Your panties are still pushed to the side, allowing him to run his cock through your folds until it's coated in your warm, slippery arousal. He lines the very tip up, teasing you with it for just a moment, revelling in your breathy whimpers and ensuing pleas. The very head of him catches on your entrance, and he uses it as an opportunity to begin to enter you.

His flesh hand is resting on your hip, fingers curling into your side possessively, the black and gold metal arm being utilised in an effort to keep holding himself up. Your hands, gentle and soft, scrabble to find purchase on the plane of his back, nails raking over his skin, leaving tiny red lines in their wake. Fuck. You were marking him up, too.

He wasn't even bothered by it. If anything, Bucky was pleased - he'd proudly wear whatever marks you gave him. They were little pieces of you, a litany of evidence that you'd touched him - that you had wanted to touch him.

The very head of his cock breaches you, splitting you open. He's thicker than you had anticipated, but the stretch is welcome. He practically burns you as he enters you the first time, stilling half of the way in to allow you a moment to breathe.

Happily, you writhe against his chest. It burns - but oh god it burns so nicely. The wonderful, near-painful intrusion of him is heavenly.

You're panting into the crook of his neck, frenzied breath ghosting against his throat. "More - please, more."

There isn't a single ounce of reluctance within him as he pushes the rest of his cock into you until he's fully seated.

"So fucking tight," Bucky babbles. His chest is trembling slightly, crushed against yours. There's just so much to feel - so many sensations to comprehend and decipher. You're so tight, gripping his cock like a vice, all wet and warm. It feels like fucking paradise - like some slice of heaven that he'd been gifted. Perhaps some cosmic being didn't have it out for him after all. If they did, there was no way they would allow him this.

Your legs shift, wrapping themselves around his waist, coaxing him deeper inside of you. You're moaning directly into Bucky's ear, your breaths fanning across his neck, fingers digging into his back as you cling desperately to him, saying his name like a prayer.

"Please - move." You're begging, on the verge of sobbing, lips pressed up against the column of his neck, mumbling little indecipherable words that all lead back to him fucking you hard.

And he does. Bucky unrelentingly pistons in and out of you, fucking you into the mattress. It's almost aggressive between the two of you. His hips are snapping up against yours, colliding almost violently, whilst your nails are shredding his back, though he barely feels the pain that he should.

You're a fucking mess. If he's destroyed by this, then you absolutely are, too.

Pathetic, mewling whimpers leave your throat, muffled only by the fact that your mouth is pressed into his neck, though your lips will occasionally move against his skin, your mouth falling open in a near-silent gasp as you try to pull air into your lungs. Your tits, marred by bruises and bitemarks that he had put there, are crushed against his chest. Your legs tremble from where they're almost, but not quite, interlocked around his waist, keeping him as close as possible.

He rocks into you, spearing you on his cock, enraptured by the cacophony of reactions he pulls from you.

"Can John do this? Can John fucking Walker make you feel this good?" Bucky's talking incessantly, those words dripping from his mouth before his mind can even register that the thought had ever even flitted through his brain.

He probably shouldn't be thinking about John fucking Walker whilst he's inside you, whilst his cock is nestled deep in your cunt and you're close to coming for a second time.

But he is. He looks at the vibrant red and purple bruises that litter your neck and torso, the bite marks across your body, the evidence that he's been here with you, the evidence that you had let him touch you, and he can't help but wonder if Walker had ever done this to you.

He can't help but to wonder if Walker had ever taken you like this, like a fucking animal, leaving his own god-awful marks across your throat, fucking into you with one of those sundresses that you wore whilst masquerading around as his girlfriend bunched around your waist.

Bucky really fucking hoped not.

He couldn't conceive of anything that Walker deserved less than you. Walker may not have really been dating you, but he still got to touch you, to put his hands all over you in those stupid interviews, utterly undeserving of that privilege. Walker didn't have any fucking right, any fucking right at all.

You weren't 'Walker's girl'. You didn't belong to John. And for good reason, too. You were so much better than him - the kind of person who was able to look at the mission objectively, put your differences aside, and feed the other team information. All because you wanted to do the right thing.

You gasp against his shoulder, head falling back onto the bed so that you and Bucky can lock eyes as he ruthlessly pounds into you, the obscene sound of flesh hitting flesh filling the room.

"I - fuck - I never fucked John," You say, struggling to even form words.

And god, doesn't that make him glad.

"Yeah?" Bucky challenges you slightly, still grinning as his eyebrows raise a fraction. "And you're not fuckin' gonna."

Walker didn't get to put his filthy paws on you. Bucky wouldn't allow it.

You seize up around his cock, hands grappling at his back, and then sliding over to hold onto his shoulders, the fingers on one of your hands splayed over the seam that ran over his black and golden metal arm. Your fingers gently caress the border between machine and man, gentle, in complete contrast to the way you'd clawed at his back. His blood was probably under your fingernails considering how hard you'd scratched.

"'M so close," You whimper, desperately rolling your hips.

There's something utterly debauched about you. All of that angelisism had easily given way to depravity under his touch. You were practically mewling for him, making these little breathy noises that cause his cock to swell, getting increasingly desperate to climax a second time. That debauchery is located in every single moan that leaves your mouth, in the marks you've scratched into his back and in the way your sundress is bunched around your hips as Bucky fucks you.

"Yeah? Gonna come again?" Bucky asks, breathing raggedly.

He already knows the answer. Of course you're going to come again. He can feel your walls tightening around his cock, constantly fluttering, on the very precipice of your climax. You're close, probably painfully so, and so is he - but he's not gonna come first.

"Mhm," You groan excitedly as Bucky rubs at your clit, sending sparks of pure pleasure racing through your gut.

"Walker couldn't make you come like this," Bucky says more to himself than you, though you seem to really enjoy when he talks, convolusing on his throbbing cock as you desperately chase your high, all whilst he's snapping his hips up into yours, fucking you so hard that at times your eyes will begin to roll back into your skull, and your legs will shake against him. "C'mon, doll. Who are you gonna come for?"

"You. You. You."

"Good girl," He remarks, grinning as you tighten around him. "Fuck, doll. You have the best pussy I've ever fucked - 's mine. Not fucking Walker's. He doesn't get to have you like this. And I do - fuck."

It's then that he spears hard up against something pleasantly devastating inside of you. That sensation, delivered in tandem with Bucky's fingers circling your clit has you coming instantaneously. The barrage of pleasure washes over you like a tsunami, wrenching a cry from within you. You shatter beneath him, falling apart to a thousand pieces, utterly wrecked.

"Bucky," You sob enthusiastically as your orgasm crests, speaking his name over and over again like a prayer, like it's the only word you know.

It was one thing watching you climax on his fingers, and another when it's his cock. It feels otherworldly, watching you come undone as he fucks himself into you. It's probably the best, most arousing thing he's ever seen, you, beneath him, writhing, squirming, calling his name out over and over again.

He doesn't even bother to stave off his own orgasm any longer. It would be impossible of him to even try. If the image of you under him, legs hooked around his waist, trembling from the sheer force of the pleasure he's given you wasn't enough, the fucking heavenly feeling of your cunt wrapped tightly around his cock is. You clamp down around him, as tight as a fucking vice.

Bucky's own orgasm barrels into him like a truck. It's a burst of pure, blinding, hot pleasure that rips forth from somewhere in his gut.

It strikes every single nerve ending in his body, and suddenly he's coming, emptying himself inside of you, ropes of his come painting your insides, filling you up.

You both lay there for some time - it could be seconds, or it could be minutes. It's impossible to tell. Time seems hazy when he's with you. He's still laying over you, panting and grinning at the same time. The two of you just smile lazily at each other, completely spent and sated. He shifts most of his weight to be on the metal arm, lest he crush you with his weight.

Eventually, you surrender his hips from your legs, letting him pull out of you and roll onto his back so he can lay next to you whilst you both catch your breath.

Tentatively, you pull the straps of your sundress back up your arms and fix your underwear. Bucky panics internally, quickly turning his head to face you.

"Going somewhere?" He asks, as casually as he could.

"I do have to get back to work," You laugh. It sounds like bells in the wind. "I have an interview tomorrow that I have to prepare for."

Bucky just nods stiffly, trying to quell the internal disappointment rising within him. What the fuck had he been thinking? He shouldn't have touched you in the first place, and now you were probably regretting the fact that you let him fuck you.

"I'll swing by tomorrow with whatever I can find on the medicine," You say, so sweetly. "If that's okay with you?"

"It is, yeah." He says gruffly.

They need the information. The near-devastating disappointment he's feeling right now is irrelevant. Walker and Hoskins have the state's resources at their disposal.

He and Sam have whatever leads they can scrounge up, and whatever you're willing to give them. Because you're good - so good, and he knows that, but he also feels like he's dying a little bit on the inside because of you.

"Maybe I'll let you take me out to dinner next time."

And Bucky falters, looking at you with wide eyes. "Next time?"

"If you want a next time." You say, avoiding his gaze.

Bucky sits up slightly, cupping your jaw with his hand and gently tilting your face, forcing you to look him in the eyes. Now, you look enraptured by the sight of him. "I do want a next time."

"Good," Your voice is quiet, a mere whisper, talking to him in soft, hushed tones. "Because I want a next time."

He leans in closer to you, giving you every opportunity to stop him as he lowers his lips to yours. You don't. You don't want to stop him, not when you're completely enchanted.

Bucky hadn't been the only one that felt rather awestruck that day you'd met outside of the police precinct.

Really, you didn't much like your job. It paid the bills, and kept you ahead on your debt payments, but you didn't like it. The men you worked with lacked the heart that Captain America had.

And sometimes, the weight of pretending got a bit much for you. It had culminated in your guilt, and ultimately you lying in Bucky Barnes' bed, kissing him tenderly.

"So, I'm sending you back to Walker, huh?" Bucky chuckles as the two of you pull away from each other, proudly eyeing the bruises that descend down your neck and below your, now rumpled and creased, sundress.

He'd be sending you back to John Walker with small brands of possession bitten all over your torso, not to mention the fact that beads of his come were streaking your inner thighs.

Well, that'd probably show Walker that even though he got to publically call you 'his girl', you'd never belong to him in the most intimate of ways.

Bucky very much wanted Walker to see it - to see what he'd done to you. God, he'd pay so much fucking money to see the look on that bastard's face when he realised the woman he flippantly called 'his girl' was fucking somebody else.

Not just anybody else, no. She was gladly fucking one of the people that Walker hated the most. Bucky can almost envisage the way Walker's jaw would drop and the rage that would blaze in his eyes.

"I'll be back." You laugh. "As if I'd want to stay away."

Even more beautiful than imagining Walker's reaction, though, was the prospect of you coming back again.

#the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #episode 2 of the falcon and the winter soldier #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #female reader #smut #bucky barnes smut #john walker #sam wilson #fake dating

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sabine-leo · 3 years ago

Text

Always been you...

Chapter 3

Author: @sabine-leo

Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Friends to lovers

Chapter: 3 / ..

Link to Chapter 1 / Link to Chapter 2

Wordcount: 1676

Song used in this chapter: Layla Eric Clapton

Summary: Since Toms´ sister Emma has been your friend since childhood, Tom was a part of your life for about 25 years now. Forming a deep and trusting friendship had been easy. You could count on each other no matter what. SO, when your flat got flooded Tom was the first to offer help and take you in.

But what will living together stir up?

Note: Tags are open!

Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

Chapter 3

Toms´ behaviour was off the next two days. He was in his office a lot, only came out to get something to drink or when he went to bed. You knew he could get broody when he became involved in a new project. But he hadn´t told you that he had found one that had awakened his interest. Not that he needed to…it just had been that way for over a decade. With a fresh brewed tea, you softly knocked on his door. “Tom?” You quietly entered his office.

Tom’s chair was turned towards the window. He was staring out, biting the temple arm of his glasses. “Thomas?!” you softly tried again and put the tea down onto his desk.

The clink of the cup on the saucer made him turn around surprised.

“Sorry, I didn´t want to intrude…just brought you some tea.”

Tom rubbed his face. “Thank you…sorry I am…I…” He started.

“No need. Just answer me if you are ok? I don´t need to know more than that.”

Tom took in a deep breath and mustered a smile. “Yes, just thinking about…things…” He stood and came to stand in front of you. “Thank you for the tea.” He stroked down your arm.

“No need…” You started. “Just wanted to check if you are ok and if you need something else? I am headed out to the stores…”

“No…I am good.” Tom shot in.

“Ok, I need to run by the post office to collect a parcel from work since they can´t post it to my old address.” You smiled and looked up to him. “Just text me if you change your mind and need something.” His gaze followed you out when he added an “Will do…” That sounded as if he already was thinking about…things…again.

Toms´ head and his thoughts were in shambles after his mothers comment the other day. Then there was this darn green shirt that apparently had been his eons ago. He was wrecking his brain trying to think about the day he gave it to you. How could his mother remember and he did not? When Tom heard the front door falling close, he let out a deep breath. Bloody hell, what was happening with him? And what was his mother playing at when she said he had been blind to everything directly in front of him. His eyes were fine! Ok, mostly… he still needed glasses sometimes.

“This is ridiculous…” He went over to the small radio in his office and turned it on before sitting down again. He took a sip of the tea you had brought to him and tried to relax his mind. The rhythm of the song playing made him tap his foot. He began to hum and then sing along. This was, after all an Eric Clapton classic…

“Layla, you got me on my knees Layla, I'm begging darling, please Layla, darling, won't you ease my worried mind?”

His mind started to ease, he relaxed back into his chair.

“I tried to give you consolation When your old man had let you down Like a fool, I fell in love with you You turned my whole world upside down Layla, you got me on my knees Layla, I′m begging darling, please Layla, darling, won′t you ease my worried mind?”

“Upside down, inside out…that’s for sure. Mother you surely worried my mind...” He said to himself in between.

“Let's make the best of the situation Before I finally go insane Please don′t say "We'll never find a way" And tell me all my love′s in vain Layla, you got me on my kne…” Tom sat up straight. No…no. That wasn´t what his mother had tried to say. He was not blind when it came to you. He saw you, pretty clearly. Always had! Or did he?

His head hit the desk.

Tom stared at his phone for a moment. Then he huffed but a smile lit up his face. He needed to screw his head on straight. Or ask his mother what she was trying to say… Either way, he was hungry and he was done hiding out in his office for now. Deciding he needed a quick shower to be presentable again and wash off the smell of his woolly thoughts he went into the bathroom. When you said you´d be back in ten you probably hadn´t count in the traffic around this hour of day.

“I´m back.” You loudly proclaimed with your arms full, balancing the parcel and the shopping bag with groceries. Tom came from the hallway, tugging a t-shirt over himself with wet hair, loose pants and barefoot. “Let me help you.” He took the bag of groceries off you and went into the kitchen. “Thank you.” You said with a smile and put the parcel away first before getting out of your coat and following him. “You seem less thoughty.”

Tom laughed and looked at you from over the fridge-door. “Thoughty?”

“Yeah..” you started, hopping from one foot to the other taking off your shoes. You went on when you headed to the hallway to put them away “..I know you can drift of when thinking or preparing for a new project. But 2 days without food is the maximum I will allow you.”

Tom chuckled again. “Allow me? What do you want to do? Spoon feed me?”

You grinned when you walked back into the kitchen. “If you force me to such extreme measures, I will!”

Tom closed the fridge and broke out a pot from a cabinet.

“Less talking, more cooking. Otherwise, you´ll really have to feed me because I am to frail to lift my fork.”

You bumped your hip against him with a smile and cleaned your hands. “Chop an onion, henchman.”

“Aye, chef!” Tom grinned and bumped you back.

See, he told himself. Everything was normal between the both of you…

“Don´t even think about dragging me off this couch tonight!” You said to Toms laugh. He, again, had lain down on the floor. Head propped on a pillow, in front of the fireplace.

“I actually thought about it, but I can´t even fathom the will to move right now. So, you are lucky…” He turned his head towards you. “You could always choose to come lay next to me…” Toms´ hopeful grin made you smile. “Nope…not moving.”

“Too bad.” He sighed but smiled.

After 2 minutes of comfortable silence, you said

“I picked up the paper with rent advertisements.”

Tom’s stomach clenched. “You did? Anything worth looking at?” He asked, rubbing his belly.

“Don´t know. I haven´t looked yet.” You answered and watched the light of the fireplace reflect on the ceiling. “I mean…I can´t live here forever…” You trailed of.

“Why not?” Tom asked and still tried to rub the knot out of his guts.

“I can´t…no I won´t bring dates over. And I know it will be awkward when you do.”

Toms’ brows furrowed. “How come?” Yeah, he really was the man of words tonight…

“We are not in our twenty’s any longer…The sock on the doorknob might actually scare your sophisticated dates off.” You quietly laughed. “And I won´t expose your address to anyone…so no dates for me…”

Tom gruntingly tried to find a more comfortable position. “You wanna date?”

God, his eloquence... he chastised himself.

“Dunno…I didn´t the last 2 years but…maybe…some day in the future I might want too again.”

“I think I am going to be sick…” came from the floor. You looked towards Tom and retorted. “Don´t you throw up my perfectly good food Hiddleston. My dating live isn´t that nauseating.”

“…´Cause it´s non-existent…” He huffed and tried to breathe through the weird feeling.

That actually made you laugh out loud and throw a pillow in his direction. “Doofus!” You wheezed and got up. “You are one to speak…When have you actually dated someone?” You asked and took the pillow you had thrown to lay down next to him.

Tom turned his head and said “You know it is not that easy for me anymore.”

“Semantics…” You shoot back. He gave it a good thought and spoke quietly. “I think I just concentrated on my carrier for the last years.”

Tom lifted his arm to make room for you to lay your head in the crook of it. He took in another deep breath. His free hand still rubbing his belly in slow circles while you moved closer to him.

“Still feeling sick?” You asked and put your hand on his moving one.

Tom nestled his chin against the top of your head, taking a sniff. “Slowly getting better now.” He smiled and closed his eyes, entwining your hand with his on his belly.

Two minutes of quiet contentedness later Tom started to chuckle.

“What?” You asked lifting your head to look into the blue depth of his.

Tom grinned smug and winked when he said. “In the end…you´ll always land in my arms.” He hugged you closer for a second. “Case in point…”

You laughed and swatted his arm.

“And I even didn´t have to drag you off the couch this time…”

“You are one hell of a magnet, Hiddleston.” You grinned.

“I thought I was a boomerang?!” He teased smirking.

You scrambled to get up.

“Where are you going?” Tom asked and lifted his head.

“As I said…” You stretched your back. “…we are not in our twenties any longer. My back hurts from your hardwood floor.”

Tom grunted when he got up. “Noted.”

“Sleep well Thomas.” You smiled and kissed his cheek before walking towards your bedroom.

“Good night…” Tom replied. “(Y/N)?” He said a bit louder before your door fell close. “..If you really want to look into new flats. I´ll help you find one. But you really don´t have to…I love having you here.”

You leaned in your doorframe and smiled. “I like being here too…” Then you closed your door.

Tom blew out a quiet breath. “Then don´t move out…” he whispered to himself and went to bed too.

Tags:

@delightfulheartdream @huntress-artemiss @chezagnes @donaweasley @kiliskywalker666 @catsladen @hawksugarbaby @lots-of-loki @traceyaudette @ellaenchanted91 @dr-kayleigh-dh @mrsstyles033 @usedtobegoodfriend96 @hiddles-thomas-blog @noplacelikehome77 @ladyblablabla @myoxiisbroken @lumoswinchesterkazy2y5 @viviandarkbloom06 @snoopy3000 @alexakeyloveloki @archy3001 @itscalledfandomsweetielookitup @faeriedelalune-blog @lil-mewlingquim07 @amazinggraces-world @tanishahka @coniumalces @emomemelordess @devilbat @usedtobegoodfriend96 @cest-le-temps-de-lamour @adefectivedetective @karnita-mexicana @marvelc00kie35 @stressedoutsteph @maggiefollows @bi-spider-noir @klbates22 @my-fuckin-problem @deathofmissjackson @vesper-lou @bluefrenchfries604 @maybell88 @moonstar86 @lokilvrr @wiczer @thisismysecrethappyplace @wiczer @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @geekwritersworld @kthemarsian @donaweasley @alexakeyloveloki @9osloki @tinchentitri @augustsnape @delightfulheartdream @loukisbuck

#always been you #tom hiddleston #thomas william hiddleston #tom hiddleston fluff #hiddlestoners #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fanfiction #damn hiddleston #tom x you #tom hiddleston x y/n #Tom hiddleston / you #twhiddleston #fanficton #british actor fanfiction #Tom hiddleston fluff #friends to lovers fic #you x tom hiddleston #reader insert

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milf-harrington · 3 years ago

Note

AU 12 trope 2 prompt 2

Babysitter!au, enemies to lovers, “fuck. fuck fuck fuck fuck this shit. Fuck.”

i don't think this is quite enemies to lovers but i tried

Izumi always got a little too excited whenever Zuko wouldn’t be home, because it meant he’d have to call her babysitter. And Izumi loved her babysitter.

Zuko didn’t.

(And it absolutely wasn’t because he was jealous that his daughter seemed to like this guy better than him, Mai, it wasn’t.

...Okay maybe a little, but come on, could you blame him? Whenever he had to part from his daughter she practically threw a party.)

But, he had a last minute work function that was apparently mandatory, and Sokka was basically his only choice whenever he had to be away because all of his friends worked with him.

And, as much as Zuko disliked Sokka, he still tried to be polite and always made sure the house was at least tidy when he was coming over. Unfortunately, when Zuko said the function was last minute he really meant last minute, as in i-was-going-to-watch-spiderman-with-my-kid-until-my-boss-called-to-tell-me-that-i-have-to-be-there-in-an-hour last minute. Izumi had even been upset when she’d heard, only managing a smile when he told her Sokka would watch spiderman with her instead.

So, Zuko was still trying to wash the dishes, get dressed, and put something on for dinner all at the same time when there was a knock at the door and he jumped in surprise, dropping the plate he’d been scrubbing back in the sink and splashing soapy water all over the shirt he’d just put on. And the bench. And the floor. Which of course he slipped on and barely managed to catch himself on the counter, where he promptly slammed his hip bone into it

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck this shit. Fuck.” He cursed, pressing a still-wet hand to his hip and feeling warm water soak through the material of his jeans, his hair coming out of the bun he’d carefully tied it into and falling around his face. The ends were damp, small foamy bubbles hanging on and smearing against his cheek uncomfortably. He could hear the faint hiss of bubbles popping in his ear.

Agni Zuko hated his life.

Distantly he heard Izumi letting Sokka in, the 11 year old traitorously admitting that “dad’s kinda stressed right now” but he didn’t really register it as he stubbornly swallowed back his tears of frustration and pain, finding himself wishing (not for the first time) that he wasn’t an angry crier.

He dropped his head onto the counter, wincing when his hair instantly soaked up any surrounding water and heaved a deep sigh, suddenly exhausted.

“Hey- woah, Zuko, you okay?”

Zuko didn’t even bother looking up, his hand still pressed to his hip despite the pain having faded to a dull throb. “I hate everything.” He mumbled, not sure whether to smile or scowl at the answering laugh.

“Do you need a hand?”

In an absolutely mortifying turn of events, the simple question had Zuko bursting into tears.

Agni, when was the last time someone genuinely offered to help him? Azula only ever seemed to come over to snark at him and judge his organization system, and Mai and Ty Lee had been busy planning their wedding so he didn’t blame them for not visiting.

“Hey, hey it’s okay.” Sokka’s voice was suddenly closer, warm and gentle, softening a bit when he asked Izumi to grab a towel for him, and maybe a fancy shirt.

But Sokka- Sokka was always helping.

Sure, Zuko kind of paid him to. But he paid him to make sure his daughter didn’t die or get kidnapped- not for washing the dishes when Zuko forgot to, or for helping Izumi change the sheets on her bed when she spilled water on them, or even for helping her put together a school project.

It had infuriated Zuko at first, feeling like Sokka thought he wasn’t capable of doing it himself, like it was some kind of passive aggressive way of saying “you’re a bad dad”. But after stumbling home one night, exhausted and cranky and hungry, and finding a plate of food that Sokka had made for him sitting on the bench, still warm like he’d made it in time for Zuko to get home, he’d had to admit that maybe Sokka wasn’t awful.

And now he was there, gently pulling Zuko into his chest and wiping the counter down with his other hand, and then asking Izumi something when she passed him a shirt.

“Hey Zuko? You grab this and go put it on okay?”

Zuko, feeling mortified and stressed, just took the shirt and left, peeling the wet one off once he was in the safety of his bedroom. Beneath the rustling of fabric and whispered curse, he could hear the clinking of dishes, water sloshing and dripping followed by the bright laugh of his daughter.

By the time he made it back out, shirt tucked into his almost-dry pants and hair a lot neater, the dishes were washed and put away, and Izumi was sitting at the bench, kicking her legs and chattering away about her science class while Sokka grated cheese - likely for the pasta Zuko had left on the stove.

Once they saw he was okay, and Zuko had awkwardly explained he’d just been overwhelmed, the two of them had practically shoved him out the door with promises to leave him some pasta for when he got home.

Several hours of boring small talk (and snide comments shared between him, Mai and Toph), Zuko finally crept back through the front door, tired and hungry because none of the food served at the function had looked edible. Other than the tv, the only light was in the kitchen, greeting him with a warm glow as he gently placed his keys down on the bench.

Sokka was curled up on the couch still when Zuko got there, saying something about pasta in the microwave and laughing when Zuko cringed at how loud the buttons sounded in the post-midnight quiet.

They sat next to each other in companionable silence, spiderman: into the spiderverse still in the process of wrapping up when Sokka shuffled a little closer.

"How was the work thing?"

Zuko looked up in surprise, fork paused part way to his mouth. "Uh- boring, mostly. Other than when my friend Toph tripped this jerk out of the door and pulled the blind card to get out of trouble."

Sokka snorted, shooting Zuko an amused look before turning back to the screen, the colours reflecting in his eyes and over his skin. Zuko was struck with the sudden realisation that Sokka was actually kind of beautiful.

Carefully, he turned his gaze back to his pasta, swallowing down the sudden unexpected yearning that filled him. It was almost jarring to go from hating someone, to kind of tolerating them because they were kind, to realising that they were beautiful and smiled nice and were willing to hug you just because you were crying over spilled dish water.

"Hey, uh, Zuko?"

Zuko looked up, raising an eyebrow at Sokka who was for some reason avoiding eye contact. Which, actually, was fair because Zuko fucking hated eye contact anyway.

"If this is totally out of line you can tell me to piss off but, uh, I was wondering if you'd maybe want to get lunch with me? Whenever you're free next. You can bring Izumi, obviously." Sokka glanced at him for a second before looking away again, clearly nervous. Zuko's heart tripped, and he realised he was just sitting there without answering.

"I-" yknow what? Fuck it. "Yeah, sure. I'd like that."

#yet another weak ending from yours truly #my writing #sorry it took so long to get to this i was struggling with how to end it before i just decided fuck it #zukka #zukka fic #zuko #sokka #izumi #babysitter au

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babyboibucky · 4 years ago

Text

Stages - Part 1

Pairing: AU!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1,072

Summary: Bucky slowly realizes that he wants to cross the line of friendship with you.

A/N: I started a new series and this is the result of listening to Lauv’s Feelings so y’all might want to listen to that. A good ‘ol classic friends to lovers trope...if they do end up together in the end lol

STAGES MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

ONE: REALIZATION

Bucky was sure that it was just platonic, his friendship with you. Being friends since your ugliest days back in college, it wasn't that hard not to keep it platonic. You sported the most hideous haircut back then, wore braces that made you spit on Bucky's face whenever the two of you argued and you cursed like a motherfucking sailor.

There wasn’t even a hint of sweetness in your entire personality. Bucky literally cried to you out of fear when he almost failed a major and you merely laughed at him, called him a pussy for getting emotional over something so trivial and bought him a bucket of beer to make him feel better.

"She's totally not girlfriend material." Bucky used to tell everyone and you always agreed without even feeling offended.

Why would you be anyway? Getting attracted to Bucky never crossed your mind even though he didn't seem to have that awkward teenager phase, that lucky bastard. He was already good-looking with his piercing blue eyes and boyish grin that made every girl in the university swoon. Sure, he had some baby fat back then but his goddamn charm was undeniable.

Too bad it never worked on you.

You’ve seen how Bucky flirted, heard his cheesy pick-up lines over and over again and they just made you cringe. You almost wanted to throw up when Bucky shamelessly engaged in phone sex while he hung out at your dorm. Thank god he didn’t whip his dick out and jerked off while you studied, he just groaned and cursed into the phone, talked dirty to whoever it was he was talking to and boy was Bucky terrible at it.

“You want me to fuck you with my 8-inch dick?” Bucky grunted into the phone as he laid on your bed.

You rolled your eyes and slammed your laptop shut, deciding to continue reviewing somewhere else. You left your dorm but not without grabbing Bucky’s phone, interrupting him in the middle of his disgusting sex talk.

“8-inch dick? More like 8 inches divided by 4. Good luck sucking his micropenis, sis.”

“You fucking, bitch!”

The both of you knew each other very well too, a tad bit too much at that. You knew each other's deepest darkest secrets like that one time in sophomore year when Bucky had food poisoning during a test and had to swallow back his vomit again and again until he finished the exam. Or when you went on a blind date for the first time, sharted, and braved through the entire day with shit in your underwear.

You also knew he wasn't one to settle down and all the times that he did commit, he always ended up breaking the poor girl's heart. Bucky was also aware of your trust issues given your family history. Having witnessed your parents fall out of love and into resentment, you refused to believe in relationships.

“I heard you rejected Tyler. He isn’t so bad you know?” Bucky asked as he sat next to you in the library.

“You know I don’t do relationships, Buck.” you told him, leaning your face against your palm as you flipped through the pages of your handouts.

“I heard you dumped Dot.” you asked back. “I thought she was the one. I mean, you sorta changed when you started dating her. Thought you stopped using your dick to think.”

Bucky shrugged, “I got bored of it.” he responded.

You snorted and turned to him, “Guys like you are the reason why I don’t do relationships.”

“Yeah well, girls like you are the reason why I don’t do commitment.” he snapped back. “You’re too cynical, I mean c’mon. Have fun, suck a dick without attachments.” he said out loud, earning a chorus of shushes from the other students engrossed in their books.

You rolled your eyes at Bucky in embarrassment and started gathering your things, preparing to leave the library.

“I already did.”

“What the fuck?! When and whose dick did you suck?!”

“Shush!!!!!”

It was pretty clear that romance was out of the books between the two of you.

Bucky was sure that it was just platonic, his friendship with you. Until he slowly began to realize that maybe, just maybe...you might be girlfriend material after all.

As the years went by, Bucky started noticing the little changes in you in all aspects...and as a man, it was the physical changes that he started to notice first.

Sleepovers weren't unusual for the both of you, in fact, the both of you were comfortable letting each other stay the night at each other’s dorms. Junior year in college, Bucky decided to stay at your dorm to work on a project. You had just finished taking a bath when Bucky knocked on your door and almost choked on his own spit upon seeing you in a tight cami top and the tiniest pair of shorts.

It wasn’t really the first time you paraded around Bucky wearing such, but for some reason, he couldn’t get his eyes to look away from your chest that night because fuck, when did they get that perky? Bucky felt bad for sexualizing so he decided to go through your old pictures (you with the ugly-ass hair and braces) to rinse his brain and fortunately, it worked.

For a while, Bucky managed to ignore the physical changes you were going through. It didn't last long though, because right after graduation Bucky started to notice a lot of things about you. Your hair had grown longer and for some reason, Bucky found himself wanting to run his fingers through your locks. He loved the natural waves in your hair, sometimes he'd tug at them to annoy you but truth was, he just wanted an excuse to touch it.

You had your braces removed in senior year too but it wasn't until your graduation that Bucky noticed how it totally changed your smile. You were pretty insecure about your teeth and when you finally got them straightened out, you learned to smile more and with confidence. Bucky remembered your habit of covering your mouth with your hands whenever you laughed so when he first saw you laugh freely, he thought you looked the most beautiful.

Were the changes in you that blatant for Bucky to start noticing them or was he just paying more attention to you?

Bucky didn't know why. At least, not yet.

Everything Bucky Tag List:

@ddowii @jessou893 @hersilencedscreams

#bbbwrites #stages #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky x you #bucky x reader #sebastian stan

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fockingnice · 4 years ago

Text

@franboos @to-enter-polaris @gucciboner and myself worked on a massive fic recommendation list with all our favourite sobbe fics classed by word count.. enjoy!

one-shots:

< 10k

- hold me close @sincerelysobbe (2,5k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23969836

Robbe is stressed because of a test and Sander comforts him.

- You make me feel like I am whole again @nbrook (2,7k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26937070

Robbe is having an awful day. But it ends in the best way possible.

- A Beautiful Night @Lwritings (3,6k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23428594

Sander has been friends with the Broerrrs for half a year and Robbe has been desperately crushing on him. A game of Never Have I Ever changes everything.

- Love potion no.9 @thekardemomme (3,8k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28923867

they’re best friends. and potions partners. or: it’s amortentia day.

- Croissants @bruisingknees (3,8k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22186195

Robbe thinks that maybe the guy working at the bakery has been flirting with him.

- Paper rings @thekardemomme (4k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27953645

When Sander’s nose twitches, causing him to make this soft little whimpering sound, Robbe can’t help himself. He leans forward enough to kiss Sander’s forehead again, and then he dots one on each cheek, and then finally on his nose. “I can’t wait to marry you,” he whispers.

- You’re an angel in disguise (you’re an angel in my eyes) @thekardemomme (4,1k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27570142

Robbe is Sander’s guardian angel.

- The sun came up and I was looking at you @allforyoumylove (4,2k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24647095

Robbe and Sander waking up on a quiet Sunday morning in June. Sander is a tease, Robbe is awestruck, and both are hopelessly in love.

- I’ve always wanted a (boy)friend @thekardemomme (4,2k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28496322

before sander, robbe never liked christmas. christmas is sander’s favorite holiday.

- Purple lips (underwater) @dottori (5,3k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22371688

it’s a sunny, warm friday at the beginning of march, and sander wants them to go for a swim.

- Day Fifty @beejohnlocked (5,7k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27987252

Robbe makes a plan to confess his feelings to Sander on Christmas.

- The blind date bomb @thekardemomme (5,8k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29073711

”He thinks of the gorgeous man in the picture, and he thinks of how Sander said his YouTube is cute, and how Britt—who hardly even knows Robbe—thinks that he and Sander would be a good match.And he decides… Fuck it. One date can’t hurt, right?” or: robbe and sander go on a blind date

- Let's dance @msleviss (6,2k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22092550

Robbe and his friends go to a club to check out Amber’s DJ cousin.

- 12 things I love about you @nbrook (6,3k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27636032

Sander can't spend the whole day with Robbe on their anniversary, but he still figures out a way to make him fall in love with him all over again.

- Love me while your wrists are bound @alsjeblieft (6,4k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27031636

the cabin trip but with a twist.

- Sun shining from pure desire @skamtrash (6,6k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27105727

Sander has been flirting with his student teacher, Robbe for months now who keeps reminding Sander that he's wasting his time but eventually the flirting and chasing wears Robbe down to where he cant deny his attraction to Sander. University TA/Student AU

- At ease with you @Skamtrash ( 7,7,k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26423596

robbe tells his mom he and his best friend, sander are dating to get her off his back.

He doesn't expect his mom to congratulate them by getting them tickets to join her on a cruise vacation.

Cue a week of pretending to be a couple.

fake relationship to lovers au

- Besotted with your love @Skamtrash (7,7k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25288000

sander has a photography project and decides to shoot at the skatepark where robbe is his subject. when he approaches robbe and needs him to fill out the release form, he's absolutely smitten from the start.

sander falling in love with robbe who's deaf.

- Taking pictures of you as the light came through @allforyoumylove (7,9k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27533866

Robbe photographs Sander in bed. Things take a steamy turn.

- My midsummer darling @robbesdriesen (8,2k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23702017

Robbe goes on a summer week-long retreat to his aunt's quaint, little villa in Genoa. He doesn't know he has a neighbor close by, one that would capture his entire soul.

Robbe and Sander fall in love in a whirlwind summer romance. One that would change their lives forever.

- Afterglow @Skamtrash (9k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28032300

On vacation in a small winter village during the holidays, Robbe meets one of the hotel's employees, Sander.

All it takes is two weeks. 14 days for them to fall for each other.

- Christmas Dreams @sonderthroughthestreets (9,6k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28272282

Robbe is stuck with his typical 9-5 job as an HR analyst until a conversation with Sander from IT on their company rooftop makes him reconsider his dreams. In the midst of it all, Adam from Accounting has a massive crush on Robbe and wants to ask him to the Christmas Party, so Sander offers to be his "date" to help him. Christmas fluff and flirting ensues.

> 10k

- Sander Driesen versus a mistletoe @dottori (10,1k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27976461

it’s not a fair match.

(or, sobbe go on a christmas date, and sander really wants a kiss under the mistletoe.)

- This isn't our first time around @noobishere (10,7k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25472953

One moment they are in the kitchen of their shared apartment, the next, they're in this strange but familiar room.

(a.k.a the au in which they accidentally go hopping through multiple universes)

- Our love story is my favorite @robbesdriesen (13k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25459867

a wedding fic for robbe and sander

- It’s an unrequited love @eggsntoast (14,1k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22854661

Sander works part-time at a museum every Sunday. Robbe is a frequent visitor.

- Agents Sliding Down The Chimney @berrevy (14,2k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28428840

The smile that twitches at the corner of Sander's mouth is like the tiniest opening, and Robbe takes that as a challenge. He’s always been good at slipping through small spaces.

“You wanna see a trick?”

Sander sizes him up for a moment, then swivels on his heel to face him fully. “Ok then, magic boy. C’mon.”

(aka a late Christmas fic)

- Come lie with me @allforyoumylove (14,6k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29089530

“When Robbe lifts the blanket and gently tugs on the leg of Sander’s sweatpants, silently inviting him in, Sander doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t hesitate, he just drowsily slips into Robbe’s embrace.”

(or the one where they both have a terrible relationship with sleep but find out that it gets a little better when nestled up against each other)

- Man on a mission @littleliefe (17k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27820564

The agency is under attack but Sander is just thirsty for Robbe. On the other hand, the rest of the agency is more concerned about helping Sander ask Robbe out for dinner.

- life was a willow and it bent right to your wind @nbrook (18k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28349892

Sander and Robbe became best friends before Sander made a move and then Robbe went and got himself another boyfriend, leaving him pining. And it’s fine, really, it is. Sander promised himself that he wouldn’t do anything about it for as long as Robbe was happy. But when Robbe’s boyfriend ridicules his love for everything Christmas, he decides to step in to give him the Christmas traditions he deserves himself.

- You're my stars...and everything in between @aurorawinds (19,7k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27862950

A Star-Crossed Lovers, Romeo & Juliet inspired, AU where Robbe and Sander are the sons of Antwerp’s two most rivaling families of tech companies, head over heels in love with one another as they find it more and more difficult each day to hide their relationship from their families. To hide their love.

- Lovers never lose @dottori (24k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27532636

twelve-ish kisses robbe and sander share at the trip to ardennes (and afterwards).

multi-chaptered:

5k - 20k

- In the middle of the night @Lwritings (complete | 9,3k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24133477/chapters/58105945

The Broerrrs go on holiday for a week to London. Robbe is very excited for it until there is something wrong in the hotel and he has to share a room with Sander. And not just Sander, no the guy he has been crushing on for 3 months ever since he joined their group. And not just a room, no there is only one bed as well. When it's just the two of them in the night, anything can happen..

- If a June night could talk it would probably boast it invented romance @allforyoumylove (complete | 14,7k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25264918/chapters/61250002?view_adult=true

Robbe and Sander are childhood best friends. They’re also secretly in love with each other. Confessions are made under a beech tree on a warm summer evening at the end of June.

- Drie @skamtrash (complete | 15,4k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22547221/chapters/53878474

Robbe stands up and finds the voice calling the name and fucking hell, the guy's well fit. He's only dressed in a black t shirt, black jeans and boots but the tattoos that layer his arms immediately entice him. And that platinum hair, his actual face, who looks that good. He gets himself together quickly, "I think Bowie's here."

The au in which Robbe finds a toddler hiding in a clothing rack at a store and ends up falling for his dad

- The way we feel @toskyandbeyond (in the works | currently 17,8k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26364451/chapters/64213597

It’s always been like that. Robbe and Sander, through thick and thin. There was not a thing they didn’t go through together. Moreover, they couldn’t even imagine living without each other’s presence.

The day they met it was almost like two old souls encountered once again. Like they were meant to find each other.

- The finest of the meadow @allforyoumylove (complete | 18,8k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26009740/chapters/63239776

The universe brings two lonely boys together in a flowering meadow. They fall for each other fast and hard among delicate daisies, warm summer breezes, and shooting stars.

20k - 40k

- Come closer I’ll give you all my love @sonderthroughthestreets (in the works | 22,6k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27249196/chapters/66568180

Robbe’s ex is a pain and Sander helps get rid of him. The problem? They’ve been friends for as long as they can remember and some point between the blurred lines, they fall in love.

- Put your head on my shoulder @Aniloracat (in the works | currently 24,9k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24079126/chapters/5795296

Because of some past mistakes and communication issues, Robbe and Sander can't stand each other anymore, until they are "forced" to stay in quarantine alone and face their feelings.

📌 Or the enemies to lovers, roommates, quarantine fanfic nobody asked for 😅

📌 Title based on Paul Anka's song 'Put your head in my shoulder'

- Waiting down at the station @ivy_seas (in the works | currently 25,5k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28995576/chapters/71160429

The world is winter, it’s the inconvenient snowfall on the walk to the six-thirty train, it’s falling for the stranger who happens to take the same train. When to take a risk becomes the same question of when to let go of something you’re not really sure you had in the first place. But maybe the world isn’t so cruel.

—strangers to lovers au

- Wings to Earn @to-enter-polaris (complete | 26,6k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28432749/chapters/69672963

After playing volleyball abroad for two years, Sander comes back home to fix his mistake of leaving in the first place, but Robbe isn't ready to forgive him.

- time may change me, but i can't trace time @abittersweetsong (in the works | currently 30,8k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27785878/chapters/68021533

“You’re my best friend and I love you.”

It’s a simple admission and it settles gently in Robbe’s soul.

Or Robbe and Sander find each other in every universe, but in this one they're best friends first.

- If You say Run, I'll Run with You @Aniloracat (complete | 32,8k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25970479/chapters/63133504

Robbe is having a terrible day and a hot, but annoying white-haired photographer that won't stop appearing everywhere is not making it any better. That's it, until sparks fly, and Robbe decides he's found the perfect distraction from his terrible day.

One-night stand AU that's not meant to be a one-night stand.

- Vrijdag 21:37 @wasteourdaysdreaming (complete | 34,8k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22002403/chapters/52504453

The same party one Friday night in February, told from different perspectives.

- You know i'm always at your shoulder (take your heart out of its holster) @wafflesofdoom (in the works (but can be read separate from each other) | currently 35,2k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21979630/chapters/52448740

“I must have been really good, in another universe, to deserve you,” Sander whispered, thumb brushing the line of Robbe’s cheekbone, the pad of his thumb soft against Robbe’s skin.

Robbe simply kissed the inside of Sander’s wrist, shaking his head. “You are good in this universe, too,” he said. “You found me, when I needed you the most.”

learning how to be in a real, actual relationship isn't the easiest thing in the world, and robbe is very new to it all, and he's got a lot to figure out when it comes to being in actual, everyday love with sander. the first six months of a relationship are the best - and they're some of the hardest, too. these are the first six months of robbe and sander's relationship.

- this rough magic @aholynight (complete | 36,4k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21760975/chapters/51919642

Though he’s a sixth-prefect and the newest member of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, Muggleborn Robbe can still hardly believe that he’s made of magic.

Sander is the seventh-year Gryffindor beater whose wild behavior and delinquent reputation precedes him.

Though Robbe desperately wants to believe in the angel-faced boy he sees in front of him—and ignore the rumors of Sander’s devilish behavior—he’s not sure his heart can afford the risk.

But when Sander and Robbe are left in a nearly-empty Hogwarts over the Christmas holiday, avoiding Sander might no longer be an option.

40k - 60k

- The night we met @themoongirl (complete | 42,8k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22189216/chapters/52975012

Robbe Ijzermans has a brain that won't let him sleep, a chest that feels far too heavy and thoughts that never stop.

During his first year of college he meets Sander Driesen. Robbe finds what he never went looking for.

AKA, a college AU.

- Visitations @lucidpantone (complete | 46,1k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22537474/chapters/53855452

Does Robbe and Sander's relationship survive into adulthood.

This fic takes place in two simultaneously timelines: the past and the present.

The present occurs in one entire day. Both timelines are completely out of chronological order. Everything is in clips.You can be dropped in at anytime of the day in any timeline. So clip by clip you will need to piece together what happen to Sander & Robbe and why the present looks the way it does and what happened in the past that got them there.

This love story is a journey. So be prepared.

In the words of one of our Even's. It’s a complicated love story between complicated people.

- look into my eyes, ignore the rest @robbesdriesen (complete | 47,4k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26230513/chapters/63842047

a story of how robbe and sander fall in love in front of the camera and behind it (which in their case, the camera isn't needed at all)

- rotten work @aholynight (complete | 50,5k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22239544/chapters/53102809

Robbe is a college freshman whose reckless habits and excessive drinking are starting to look an awful lot like calculated self-destruction—though his loneliness might be the thing that kills him first.

Sander is a visual arts major a few years above Robbe, with a face nobody can forget and a fuck boy reputation he can't seem to shake.

Everybody warns Robbe to stay away from the Sander, unless he wants to get burned. But Robbe's the kind of boy who likes playing with fire.

- just friends @sincerelysobbe (complete | 51k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27861626/chapters/68215882

Months ago, after a one-night stand that couldn't stay that way, Robbe and Sander made an agreement—the two of them, no strings attached. But, Sander's feelings for Robbe were strong, to begin with, and they're growing stronger with each passing day—and he knows that he is more in love with Robbe than he should be.

- run and score @robbesdriesen (complete | 59,8k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23372407/chapters/56000917

Robbe Ijzermans is the star goalie of Antwerp U’s football team, naturally blocking shots as if it were his sixth sense. Sander Driesen is their star striker, having an eagle eye for the goal at all times.

Robbe always had a distaste for his bleached-blonde teammate and the annoying way he carried himself, but Robbe can never mask how much he admires him from a distance.

When they finally begin to learn more about each other, there is no going back for either.

With the looming playoffs in jeopardy for their entire team, will Robbe & Sander be able to manage it together? All while falling in love with each other at the same time?

> 60k

- Eastwood liberty @fockinglevendcliche (in the works | currently 69,7k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24250837/chapters/58438588

Eastwood Liberty students had only one mission: to always be on top, at everything, no matter the cost.

It took Robbe just a day to realize that people there only cared about two things: money and power. But that was no surprise to him. What he didn't expect was to be confronted by this group of rich and spoiled boys, who used to always get what they wanted, especially their leader, Sander Driesen.

Sander made the rules, but unfortunately for him, Robbe had never been really good at sticking to them.

- Do i know you? @SrtaPepa (in the works | currently 88k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23340514/chapters/55913782

Robbe has lost his memory from the last three years. He doesn’t remember finishing school and start college with Yasmina; he doesn’t remember going to live to the flatshare, or move out to a new place, or being friends with Milan, neither coming out as gay. And the worst of all of this is that Robbe doesn’t remember meeting Sander or that he is, in fact, truly, madly, deeply in love with him.

Hopefully, sometimes feelings are stronger than memories.

- jij verliest @sincerelysobbe (complete | 104,1k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24445087/chapters/58986433

For the past three months, Robbe’s life—and what it once was—had been stripped away and rearranged. Now, if anything, his life had become a bit repetitive: homework, stream, ignore Thomas’s Instagram, repeat. But one Friday evening, Robbe meets a hurricane in the form of a platinum-haired tattoo artist who just might show him everything that he’s been missing.

- Remember my name @ijzermans (complete | 106,3k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24215371/chapters/58335259

The past few weeks, Robbe has noticed a new guy has attended his high school.

Nobody really seems to care about the strange bleached kid, yet Robbe on the other hand, can't help but feel intrigued by him.

The new guy happens to be Sander, and he's not that easy to connect with. He's quiet, distant, and has a past he'd rather not share.

Or will Robbe make a difference?

- Paint me in trust @themoongirl (complete | 116,2k)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24235861/chapters/58395625

“What are you looking for, Robbe?” Sander tilted his head, moving closer.

“A rush.” Robbe whispered, his lips brushing Sander’s.

Robbe Ijzermans has spent the better part of two years chasing the need to feel real again. Though being an adrenaline junkie is hardly a healthy coping mechanism, it’s one of the only things he has left.

Sander Driesen is a vampire with an unspeakable, dreadful past that won't seem to leave him.

When Robbe gets roped into Sander’s life he finds the feeling he has been chasing all along. But Sander's world has a different kind of risk, and it forces them to come face to face with the greatest danger of all. Fear of a life without the other.

#wtfock #we tried our best to remember as many fic as possible #sobbe fic #ao3 fic #fic recommendation #multi chapter #one shot #my posts #fave #my recommendations #masterpost

148 notes · View notes

nutty1005 · 4 years ago

Text

“A Dream Like A Dream” Fan Review Report by 十月息

Original Article: https://weibo.com/6574125081/KcrfzBjYL?type=comment#_rnd1619312989712 Original Author: 十月息

(TN: This is the translation of the famous 10,000 character repo on Weibo, so be warned that this is very long article. Permission to translate granted by OP.)

Part 1 – Review of Xiao Zhan’s Acting According to the Script

Finding Patient No. 5 B

At the start of the play, there were many people surrounding the stage, I was very frantically searching for Xiao Zhan. One of the ladies besides me patted me and said, that one with the messenger bag! After that I immediately found him. His legs were really long! So, at the start of the play, watch out for the messenger bag! (That was the look in the waiting photo.) After this, I was following him around using my binoculars, hahaha.

Patient No. 5 and His Wife’s Initial Encounter

This part was very interesting. No. 5 was queuing behind his wife, then still a stranger, and buying movie tickets, and his wife had an argument with her then lover on the phone, and rashly stuffed her other movie ticket and grilled corn cob into No. 5’s hands. When handed the movie ticket, No. 5 was still able to comprehend, but after he was given the corn cob, he was starting to get confused — Xiao Zhan’s No. 5 widened his eyes, stared at the corn cob in his hand, and then turned around and looked around, looked at the people queuing behind him. In the next second, the 7 or 8 people behind him magically took out their own corn cob, as though getting a corn cob at the movies was a perfectly normal thing to do, and if No. 5 did not have one he would be out of place. There was full comedic effect, the whole theater laughed, No. 5 was embarrassed as he turned around and entered the cinema holding the corn cob. Starting from here, we could see that No. 5’s body language had completely corresponded with that of a comedic trope, it was relaxed and lively, and even when he met with unexpected situations, it was clumsily adorable.

Patient No. 5 Eating Sushi with His Wife

This segment was at the stage left, which also happened to be my visual blind spot, so I could only see the projection from the big screen, which was very regrettable. His wife said the the person she just argued with on the phone was a pig, and she did not want to talk about it, so when No. 5 mentioned that person, he used snorting to represent him, “…. that *snort snort*…”, that snorting was in imitation of a pig, it was really too cute! Xiao Zhan had also snorted in “Our Song”, here, No. 5’s snorting was even more lively, to the point that I was stunned, took 2 seconds to react in my brain that, oh my goodness that was actually Xiao Zhan snorting! It was simply too cute!!

His wife had squeezed a large amount of wasabi on the sushi, No. 5 said “no one puts so much wasabi”, (TN: Chinese had their own term for wasabi, jiemo, but Xiao Zhan used the Japanese term instead), I really loved it when he used languages other than Chinese, I just felt that it encompassed so much cuteness, moreover it was with the Taiwanese accent that belonged to No. 5, it was even more adorable. Both of them ate that wasabi laced sushi, and coughed wildly due to the irritation, Xiao Zhan was coughing so vigorously, by the sound of it I thought he was going to cough out his lungs, just exactly as though he really ate a huge amount of wasabi. But amazingly, his voice was exceptionally clear while coughing, perhaps because his voice for lines had became deeper more robust, in comparison, he did not deliberately deepen his voice while coughing, so he sounded literally like a young man.

No. 5 continued to chat with his wife, in this conversation, No. 5’s Taiwanese accent was even more obvious, which once again became part of my adorable collection of “Xiao Zhan’s various accents”, I was quietly punching the air in my mind!

His wife told him that she had never seen her father before, and she was unable to face him, No. 5 then told his wife to close her eyes and give it a try, she was initially unwilling, No. 5 coaxed her gently, and then she closed her eyes. Thereafter, No. 5 started talking in a old man’s voice deliberately, “My girl! Turn around and look at Papa! Papa owed you too much, forgive Papa, I’ve also missed you terribly! My good child! Papa bought a very beautiful doll to meet you!” Everyone could attempt to see how you would sound like when you talk in an older voice deliberately, it would definitely be quite funny, when Xiao Zhan acted it live, it was even more funny, the audiences laughed heartily. What made me even more excited was that this was the only the beginning of No. 5’s story, but I had already heard Xiao Zhan snorting like a pig, Xiao Zhan speaking Japanese, Xiao Zhan coaxing people, Xiao Zhan talking like an old man, I felt as though I was exploring all the different voices of Xiao Zhan! When Xiao Zhan spoke like an old man, it was also very cute!

Almost forgot a very important point, that is from this old man act and the snorting previously, we could actually see that No. 5 was very good at flirting, and it was the sort that was very natural and well practiced! In the instant as he acted as an old man, besides laughing with the audiences, I also thought in envy, good job young man, you are flirting again and again! I just had to say this, Xiao Zhan’s No. 5 was really very charming in and out.

Patient No. 5 Begging The Doctor to Save His Child

This part seemed ordinary based on the script, but you would only feel the amazement when watching it live! When looking at the script, it seemed like only the wife was begging the doctor, but in fact I remembered that it was his wife who stood further away from the doctor as she carried the child, No. 5 was beside the doctor, just like the stage photo shared by XZ Studio. His wife was more emotional from start till end, No. 5 was initially more calm, and even looked back to signal his wife to calm down. But later on as the doctor kept rejecting him, No. 5 started to lose the controlled calmness on the surface: he turned around and kneeled before the doctor, begging pitifully, his voice full of hurt and pain, with an agonizing crying tone. In here, his emotional progression to explosive was not that long, but it was very excellent, that moment he was just a father of a child, with an unbearable pain of loss on his shoulders. The doctor continued to refuse, No. 5 said no more, and the whole theater went silent.

Patient No. 5 Getting His Wife to Pick Up the Phone

After the child passed away, the relationship between No. 5 and his wife drifted apart, and No. 5 contacted that strange disease. At the same time, he started receiving calls in the middle of the night, but no one spoke after he picked up. There was one night, it was rare that No. 5 was at home with his wife, and he picked up that call again. No. 5 yelled into the receiver for a long time but yet no one replied, so he yelled at it, “I’m going to fight it out with you… after all, the telephone fee’s on you!” His tone was incensed, but yet the words he used were exceptionally funny, it was supposed to be a scary suspense story, but it wore the cape of a comedy.

The lines following that were similar. No. 5 finally yelled at the receiver, “Fine, I’m done playing with you today!” Till then it was still quite normal, but unexpectedly before he hung up he suddenly yelled another line: “Good! Night!” This type of contrast continued to add comedic colors to the play, because No. 5 was actually speaking harshly, but in the end he still politely said good night, but yet that good night was still harsh and irate. I believed that no matter how unclear the image of No. 5 was in the audiences’ hearts, in this moment they would definitely feel that No. 5 had a cuteness stemming from the contrast in his personality, he was interesting, cute and lively.

I feel that this was something that was hard to control in performance. On a whole, “A Dream Like A Dream” was a very serious and standard play, and would occasionally use comedic tropes to balance the heavy keynote. Hence when actors were performing, they had to say those random lines in a serious tone, and if done too lightly, the audiences would not feel that it was funny, but if done too heavily, it would destroy the pace of the story. Whereas Xiao Zhan’s performance was simply just right, it allowed audiences to easily understand the funny bits, but yet it did not breakaway from the general tone of the story. I remembered when we studied or appreciated ancient poems in high school, there was this term called “using lively music to contrast sorrow”, in fact “A Dream Like A Dream” was like this. The more amusing the funny parts were, after the audiences were done laughing and continued to immerse themselves in the story, the heavier they would feel.

Following this was the part, which Xiao Zhan angrily yelled at his wife to pick up the call, that many reports had mentioned. There was actually a progression, the script as below, the parts in parenthesis was how I remembered it was acted out:

No. 5: It's your turn to pick it up. (His tone was quite calm）

His Wife: What for do I pick it up? No. 5: It could be for you. (He was starting to raise his voice)

His Wife: How could that be?

No. 5: Secret lover! You should pick it up. (You could hear the anger)

His Wife: Why?

No. 5: Because it is yours. (His tone had already went from questioning to factual) Every time he calls, not long after, you would return, I think he hasn't finished talking to you. (This looked like narration, but in fact when Xiao Zhan said this he was speaking hastily, already at the brink of exploding, his voice was very loud, and was starting to ring in the audiences' ears. In reality when someone hears a tone like this, we would subconsciously avoid it, as we feel that this person would explode the very next second.) You pick it up. (I was starting to shake)

His Wife: For what? It's not mine. (I was starting to fear for his wife, I mean was this not adding oil to the fire? Please don't... I was praying this in my heart, because the very next moment, lightning was going to strike!)

No. 5: PICK IT UP! [TN: The word used was a single syllable, jie.]

Just that word, the tone was so harsh, I could say that I have never encountered this in my life; the sound was so loud, it almost deafened me, the word was echoing within the hall, and gave me a feeling that when Xiao Zhan yelled out this word, he was also resonating with it. My father’s temper was not that good, and he would yell at me when I was a child, his voice was loud enough, but I actually felt that it was not as loud as a third of Xiao Zhan’s. Not only the voice was loud, the tone was very fierce, so fierce that if he was your boss, you would have kneeled before him, if he was one of your peers, you would have felt weakness in my legs and could not even run away if you wanted to. At that time in the theater, I was truly frightened, I felt as though my heart had frozen in my chest, and then there were palpitations, I felt as though all the yelling I had received previously were not worth mentioning. The whole theater definitely had a fright, because after Xiao Zhan yelled it, the whole theater was silent, not just ordinary silence when watching a play, but even the sounds of breathing stopped, the air was scarily quiet.

Patient No. 5 Searching for His Wife among the Passersby

No. 5 and his wife went to watch another movie, just like how they first met. When queuing, his wife went out to pick up a call, and suddenly disappeared, No. 5 started searching for her everywhere. Over here as well, I did not feel that it was very emotional when reading the script, No. 5 was like going through the process of looking for his wife, but when I actually watched the performance, it was another of Xiao Zhan’s highlight.

No. 5 was holding onto the grilled corn cob, and grabbed hold of a passerby, asked, “Sorry, can I ask if you saw my wife?” but this passerby did not hear him. No. 5 continued to run forward, the other passersby were stoic and slow, No. 5 frantically walked through them and seemed especially out of place. He grabbed the next passerby, continued asking, “Excuse me, did you see my wife?” The passerby continued to ignore him. I don’t know how to explain this specifically, as these two lines were similar, but the emotions in No. 5 was obviously changing, the sense helplessness and breakdown that was transmitted through his tone and his body language completely grabbed the hearts of the audiences.

No. 5 continued to grab passersby, asked, “Sorry, did anyone see a lady holding two grilled corn cobs? Her hair is slightly yellow, she’s very pretty, her eyes are very big…” “Excuse me, did you see my wife? She’s of mixed race, she never saw her father, our child died, she’s very upset… I’m really not feeling well… did anyone see?” I believe that even if I did not describe Xiao Zhan’s tone, we could see from the lines that No. 5 had already went from precise questioning to emotional rambling, the lines contained family background information unrelated to the search. In the final questioning, he was already in crying tones.

After countless of his question left ignored, No. 5 finally despaired, he stopped in his tracks, broke down and shouted, “Did anyone see my wife?! She just bought two grilled corn cobs!!!” This howl completely used all his strength and was even hysterical, it was filled with helplessness, despair and utter collapse. This lines actually contained comedy, since who would have brought up grilled corn cob at this point in time? But No. 5 did, and this was similar to what I said previously about “using lively music to contrast sorrow”, the more ridiculous the trope was, the better the contrast could highlight the sorrow in the reality, and in reality most of the tragedies did not happen like a Shakespearean story, but accumulated from the smallest and most ridiculous things.

In comparison to the doctor scene, I felt that this No. 5 broke my heart even more… Because he asked different people again and again, but he was ignored and tossed aside, bit by bit, he despaired and broke down… He used all of his strength but he could not do anything, except cry and howl helplessly…

Patient No. 5 and Jiang Hong at the Laundromat

This was a completely propless performance, with the exception of a laundry basket, there was no props, so Xiao Zhan was performing with the air as he opened the washing machine, took his clothes, folded them and placed them in the laundry basket. But his movements were very natural and ordinary, it was not deliberate, you could understand what he was doing with a look, i.e. that sequence of actions I mentioned previously. The way he folded (air) clothes was very cute, and there was the part that he did not know how to use the washing machine, and was poking poking poking at the air, that was also super cute! Haha.

Patient No. 5 at Jiang Hong’s Apartment

After No. 5 caught his disease, his posture, etc, had started displaying the weakness of his illness, Xiao Zhan very accurately portrayed this point, no matter whether it was his walking speed or his hunched back, as well was occasional coughing and panting, constantly reminded audiences that No. 5 was a terminal patient with not many days left. However in comparison to these, what best displayed No. 5’s illness was when he went up the staircase to Jiang Hong’s apartment, Jiang Hong stayed on the 7th floor, every time No. 5 went upstairs it felt like an ordeal and a massive challenge, he kept holding onto the handrails (which of course did not exist, there were no staircases onstage, he was acting with air), he would rest every 2 steps, panting, and made us feel that No. 5’s health was rapidly leaving his body.

After this was basically the envy inciting scene of the whole play. Jiang Hong’s apartment was very small, No. 5 could only sit on her bed. So we slowly watched how No. 5 and Jiang Hong got closer and closer… Amitabha. I do not want to describe it in detail, ｡･ﾟﾟ･(>д<)･ﾟﾟ･｡. There was this part that was very cute, Jiang Hong said, “No other person ever lived in this space. When I first moved in there wasn’t even space to have a cat, but now there’s a man, when he lies down, he uses up the whole bed.” After the line ended, Xiao Zhan basically laid on the bed in a 大 shape, instantly occupying the whole bed, both of his legs even extended beyond the bed. The audiences laughed at that moment, and I also directly understood even more that Xiao Zhan is really tall! Big sized! Before that when Xiao Zhan curled on his side on the bed, he was still very big.

Patient No. 5 and Jiang Hong’s Couple Details

It was not that moment of intimacy that made me envious, but it was the continued subconscious intimacy that really made me envious. No. 5 and Jiang Hong became a couple, they were like they had been together for a very long time, the intimacy was natural and well practiced. When she and No. 5 walked together, he would hold her hands; when they stood side by side, he would hold her waist; when they spoke face to face he would look down at her, very focused on her eyes, as though only she existed in the world, and would also gently stroke the back of her head, or smooth her hair; sometimes No. 5 would even slightly adjust her collar… etc, every detail was exceptionally natural.

When No. 5 and Jiang Hong went to see a gypsy with spiritual powers, that person told No. 5 to look at the crystal ball like how he would look at his lover, No. 5 turned around, looked up and looked lovingly at Jiang Hong standing behind him, saying coquettishly, “Yup, looking at my lover,” just like a willful boy in his first relationship who is unable to leave his lover. In that moment I became extremely envious.

Patient No. 5 and Jiang Hong at Normandy

This section is completely No. 5’s highlight!

At the start in the town’s hotel, the Grandpa gave No. 5 a flower circlet, No. 5 took it and placed it on his head. This was just right on stage left, which was my blind spot, I could only see it from the blurry screen, I was so angry and regretful! I could only imagine Tang San wearing the flower circlet, when Xiao Zhan wore it live it would definitely look a lot better, I could not see that with my own eyes, that was the biggest regret of my life ｡･ﾟﾟ･(>д<)･ﾟﾟ･｡.

When entering the hotel, the receptionist said it was 1,550 Francs per night, Jiang Hong immediately felt that it was too expensive and tugged No. 5, but No. 5 was instead very relaxed and yet unyielding as he said, “It’s almost the same, it’s all this price! It’s reasonable!” “No matter, I want it, I’m paying.” And then he pulled Jiang Hong into the hotel. That time I could only think, good job dude, that was how an unreasonable boss trope should be like!

No. 5 and Jiang Hong went to have a meal in the hotel, but however the rule of the restaurant was formal wear, but both No. 5 and Jiang Hong were in casual wear, so the host gave No. 5 a tie, No. 5 was to wear the tie and take a seat. In the script, it was No. 5 who tied his own tie, but in Xiao Zhan’s version, he did not continue to tie it himself, instead he raised his chin and leaned his neck over, signaling Jiang Hong to tie for him. My goodness, this part was seriously too sweet, I started complaining in my heart at this dude ｡･ﾟﾟ･(>д<)･ﾟﾟ･｡… I am not sure if everyone watched a behind-the-scenes from “Superstar Academy”, where Xiao Zhan finished a drink (or tidbits, I cannot remember), and he just waved the cup in his hand, requesting the co-actress beside him to take it, and then the actress simply took it. His sort of natural ability to influence the opposite gender really makes me fall head over heels for him.

No. 5 and Jiang Hong were mistaken for Japanese, the two of them went back to their room and started conversing in synthetic Japanese, this was really No. 5 at the peak of his cuteness!!! No. 5 gave Jiang Hong a gentlemanly bow, and said “Hi!” in Japanese accent multiple times, the tone was both serious and flippant at the same time. No. 5 also said “Ah li ga duo” for arigatou. When No. 5 was describing guns to the French waitress, he use the onomatopoeia “Bang bang!”, with finger guns action, super cute. He also said “Duo La A Mong” for Doraemon, “Sa yo na la” for sayonara, and most select phrases mentioned in countless reports were “Ka wa yi” for kawaii and “Da me da me” for dame dame, these phrases did not exist in the script, they were basically his own creation. My description of that scene was basically like this:

When he said “Ka wa yi”, he placed his palms on his cheeks like a flower shape, and dragged the “yi” sound, the tone was slightly coquettish; when he said “Da me da me”, he swished his hands around (similar to a orchestra conductor), his tone was coquettish but also lilting.

After he said these two phrases, the audiences were no longer calm, many of them were sniffing in envy and these sounds filled the hall. I almost fainted at the spot, blanked out and stared at the ceiling, wondering how lucky I was to be able to hear Xiao Zhan said “Da me”, and in a coquettish manner, who was I where was I, I must had been dreaming.

No. 5 also told Jiang Hong “Ah yi xi tie lu”, which was “I love you” in Japanese. This phrase in Japanese is actually very formal, because in normal circumstances, the Japanese would use “suki” to confess their affection, which meant “I like you”, “I love you” was very rare. Then No. 5 placed his arms on Jiang Hong’s shoulders and hugged her, looked lovingly down at her eyes, his expression full of emotion and tease, and said every syllable with a pause “Ah, yi, xi, tie, lu”. That moment I hated myself, I wondered why I had to understand Japanese, why!

Following this is another highlight of No. 5, when he was mistaken as an artist he gave a speech in the restaurant, in the script, there was this big segment of lines, it was slightly different from what Xiao Zhan said in the play, but in general it was the same:

"From that day when a disease that I don't recognize found me, everything changed. I had no choice! Did I know this virus? Why did it come to me? I don't know. But it just came! Just like you said that until now there are still children in Cambodia with a missing limb due to mines! The war had already ended for 25 years! Who placed the mines? Did he know that child? Where did such great hatred came from, that you had to blow up someone you didn't know? How different am I from that child? He is just like you and I, that one day, standing under the sun, standing on the road, and suddenly, bang! It's over! The 'freedom' we yell about everyday is just bullshit! How could we have choices?!..."

I felt that I had to type out this section in full because I felt that Xiao Zhan’s live performance had to be appreciated with this section. Frankly speaking, when I first saw the original script, I felt that here, No. 5 was just someone who was very adaptable to the sudden situations, able to talk his way out, so I did not really look into the contents of this section. At that point in time, there were people who also posted this part online, but I felt that it was making a mountain out of a molehill when we place Xiao Zhan’s personal experiences along side it, No. 5 appeared to be making up a speech without much deeper meaning. When I saw Xiao Zhan himself performing this part, I realized that I was too flippant then: Xiao Zhan really had the ability to help his audience empathize, when he said this section, it felt as though every word struck my heart, as though there were other hidden meanings, especially when he said these two lines “Where did such great hatred came from, that you had to blow up someone you didn’t know?” and “The ‘freedom’ we yell about everyday is just bullshit!”, I really had instant flashbacks to the unpleasant memories of 2020… I always felt that hardship is just hardship, there is never a need for us to be thankful to it, but I had to admit, for Xiao Zhan to walk to this stage, he had went through the trials and tribulations of hardship.

Patient No. 5 and Gu Xianglan’s Kiss

In the script there were no kissing scenes between Young Patient No. 5 B and Young Gu Xianglan (by Xu Qing), i.e. the video clip that was posted by Yanghua Theatre on the 22nd. So that day, the last scene of the upper half, everyone exclaimed (of course, a big part of it was that no one guessed that there would be other kissing scenes besides that with Jiang Hong). In the video clip, No. 5 and Gu Xianglan walked slowed to each other, their shadows overlapped, their faces slowly overlapping into a kiss, it told a story, and that sense was even stronger when watched live. Just that the live performance did not have the later half of the clip, that is after they kissed they slowly separated, during live the two of them kissed using the trick of positioning and then the lights dimmed, and with that, the upper half ended.

No. 5 wore a leather jacket with jeans, Gu Xianglan wore cheongsam; No. 5 was from modern Taiwan, Gu Xianglan was from the 1930s Shanghai. So as they slowly moved towards each other face-to-face, there was really the sense that two eras were slowly merging and overlapping, the feeling was very wondrous, almost as though there was a time and space disorder, yet there was also a sense of revolving fate that merged the past and present, East and West, and created this love story that transcended space and time. I had to say that this additional scene was really fantastic, it had such a sense of story and of fate that it could match the scene of 2 different Gu Xianglans walking in the long corridor of illusion and shadow, which would really stir the audiences’ curiosity and wonder.

Hence, I surmised that the script for this tour had made some changes, No. 5 would likely be Baron’s reincarnation, confirmed when the dying Old Gu Xianglan laid on her bed, holding Xiao Zhan’s No. 5 B’s hands, and directly called him “Henry”.

Patient No. 5 on the Hospital Bed

Over here I really wanted to punch myself, I clearly read the script, but yet I forgot that in the second half, the person on the hospital bed would be No. 5 B! I entered the hall early, and I long saw the doctor at the hospital bed aiding the patient’s breathing, but I really did not pay much attention, I was so regretful!! After the show started, No. 5 started talking, the whole hall started to exclaim as they realized that oh dear, that was Xiao Zhan!

Wearing the patient gown, Xiao Zhan seemed even more ill, looked especially frail, weak, and immediately reminded me of Xianxian in the red undergown, I believe when I said this, everyone would have the image in their mind.

Patient No. 5 with the Dying Gu Xianglan

Old Gu Xianglan laid on the hospital bed, Xiao Zhan’s No. 5 sat by it, his left hand had always been on Gu Xianglan’s back, gently patting and soothing Gu Xianglan, never stopped, I had been staring for a long while. I kept feeling that this was especially “Xiao Zhan”, because Xiao Zhan himself is just that gentle and considerate.

Gu Xianglan narrated her story until she was short of breath and passed away, No. 5’s gaze had never left her, and he held her hand. No. 5 was like just like that, quietly watching Gu Xianglan until she passed away, he did not say anything, but his compassionate expression, slightly furrowed brows, exuded a strong sense of unspeakable sorrow gushing out from his body. As I wrote this part, my mind would sometimes flash back to the scene of No. 5 sitting by the bedside, and suddenly I would feel like weeping.

Patient No. 5 Reading a Letter at Jiang Hong’s Apartment

No. 5 returned to the apartment where he and Jiang Hong lived, and from under the floorboards he found a letter, he was simply kneeling as he read the letter, and kneeled for a very long time. “Hi, the person with the fever…” As he kneeled there, I could only see his back, and I just kept watching his back, listening to him read the first few lines of the letter and after which Jiang Hong continued, I felt that there was nothing else in my heart, I was very upset, but yet my tears were locked in my eyes. I stared at his pointed toes and the long, long legs in jeans, stared at the hands that were grasping the letter. Once again, No. 5 encountered another separation of a lifetime, and I knew that I was going to bid farewell to him as well.

Before the Passing of Patient No. 5

Here, No. 5 A laid on the bed talking, while Xiao Zhan’s No. 5 B stood around 1m away at the left side of the bed, looking at No. 5 A. Here is the most obvious display of compassion from No. 5, because he stood for a long time, so I kept staring at him — his gaze was gentle and sorrowful, looking at the other version of him lying on the bed almost reaching the end of his life, I wondered what he was thinking of? Xiao Zhan’s eyebrows were especially good looking, I kept thinking that if I studied him from a certain distance, the first thing I would see would be his eyebrows, and that was something I did not think would happen when I looked at him via a video on my mobile phone screen. His eyebrows were just too good at conveying emotion, if it was relaxed I would feel relaxed as well, when it frowned I would feel upset as well. No. 5 kept his brows furrowed, it was melancholy and sorrowful, he did not need to have tears in his eyes, he could convey emotions with his brows.

Finally, No. 5 A stopped breathing, and the light on No. 5 B dimmed, he was slowly consumed by darkness, in that instant I felt as though my heart had been drowned by sorrow, I kept on staring at Xiao Zhan, and unwittingly as I wrote to this point, tears started brimming in my eyes.

Patient No. 5’s A Cappella

The lyrics to the song was like this in the script:

Did anyone, see my face before? I think I remembered, I think I forgot, You used to wander in my dreams; I think I remembered, I think I forgot, I used to sing in your story; I think I remembered, I think I forgot.

At this point, all the actors will take out candles, Gu Xianglan A would ring a bell, all the actors will blow out their candles, and the play ends. I wrote on Weibo that this part wrote a cappella: Xiao Zhan sang it at the end, I was literally shaking. It was clearly a cappella, without any instrumental music or sound effects, but it was particularly ethereal and pleasant. It sounded like I went to a tall and quiet church, and listened to the choir’s singing. His voice came with its own bass. There was really this sense of sanctity, which made you feel as though any stray thoughts would be a blasphemy. I was clearly seated at an elevated location, but spiritually I felt that I was looking up at him. It was almost surreal, a dreamlike illusionary existence.

When I was seated in the hall, I was more excited, because I remembered that there was still the curtain call and gratitude ceremony. Now, reviewing this with the script, I am completely immersed in the sorrowful atmosphere of the script, and as I recall Xiao Zhan’s a cappella, I am now especially upset, and I miss him terribly.

Part 2 – Praising Xiao Zhan from All Different Angles

What Was Xiao Zhan’s Role (DUH)

At the start, No. 5 was an architect, a salary man, as he hurried on the streets, the sense of salary man was really obvious. After he met his wife, he started his flirtation mode, which was a humorous and interesting young man. After he had a child and as he carried that child, he was really like a father, I almost yelled “Daddy” in my heart! After that he fell sick, and no matter where and when, he was able to portray the sense of someone who had an illness.

Xiao Zhan’s Lines

Before the start of the show, Xiao Zhan broadcasted the important notice, his voice was like a newscaster, the XFXs around me could not believe it was him. In the hall, the voice was especially vigorous and magnetic, which was quite different from how he was like in previous interviews, overall it was especially pleasant, it felt like he changed his vocalization method, there was probably more technique into it.

Secondly, his pronunciation was very clear and professional, I could hear every word clearly, and when he was at stage left where I could not see him, I pretended I was listening to a radio show. No. 5 was from Taiwan, hence Xiao Zhan specially spoke with a Taiwanese accent, very natural and very cute. His emotions were very very on point! When he was coquettish his voice slightly lingered, when he yelled it was fierce, when he was sad it was sorrowful… When he was joking, it was as though every sound he made had a smile, when he was stern it was very shocking! “Ka wa yi” and “da me” were my top favorite!

Xiao Zhan’s Body and Face

Xiao Zhan’s No. 5, his back was hunched, he occasionally coughed, and we could see that his style of walking was different from Xiao Zhan’s: No. 5 was ill, he frequently had fevers, and he would tire when he went upstairs. From the play, we could say that we could not see the healthy and strong Xiao Zhan at all, we would only feel that he was No. 5 with a terminal illness, that was acting and character portrayal from in to out. But when he bowed with his back facing me, I still could clearly see the lines from his back muscles pushing against his shirt.

His legs were especially long, his proportions were really extreme, I always felt that humans could not grow like this, did he steal Jianguo’s leg length (No). His face was particularly small, especially when viewed from my distance, it was outstandingly exquisite, as though I could pinch it with just a hand. This hairstyle really showcased his ears, which were pointed, completely elf-like!

Besides his outstanding eyebrows, his nose was also super magnificent! Even if you looked at him from the front you would feel that he really looks very chiseled! Even more so from the side! A miracle of beauty!

From my location, I had a lot of chances to look at his 70% side view, as the light shone on that face, it was like a sculpture, I wondered what kind of divinity would be able to sculpt that: that nose line, that lip and that melancholy eyebrows…

Xiao Zhan’s Compassion

The tone that Xiao Zhan’s No. 5 as a whole gave me as a whole was melancholic, or I could say it was his compassion. Previously, I frequently saw that everyone said that Tang San had a sense of compassion, but I feel that the compassion in No. 5’s aura was superior to Tang San’s. Firstly, he himself had a terminal illness, and then he experienced so many changes, the departure of his family and loved ones. Secondly, the inner aura of No. 5 himself came with a bit of compassion.

I saw at the back row, at times when I used the binoculars, his facial features would be slightly blurry, of course most of the time it was clear, so I always first spot the most obvious, the tightly furrowed eyebrows.

Accompanying that frown would be his exquisite facial features, his eyes, especially the line of his nose, it seemed almost supernatural. Hence I would really relate it to the Greek sculptures, as in their expressions were also solemn, as though they were looking down upon the emotions and pain of the world. And they themselves were the representation of human beauty.

I always felt that the reason why Xiao Zhan’s good looks were well accepted by the masses was because his good looks was universally acceptable.

Of course, for Xiao Zhan’s No. 5 to be able to attain this level of compassion, it not only depended on his innate aura, but even more so, his own hard work, which caused his looks to be able to give off this kind of aura. For example, he became even more thin, such that his cheeks were more protruding, and there were possibly shadows on his cheeks, this would make you feel that, truly, his melancholy and compassion was clearly affecting his body.

His aura, his physical shape, was completely in service of the character.

Xiao Zhan’s Acting Skills

I posted on my Weibo that Xiao Zhan’s No. 5 was very compassionate, and then there were comments asking if it was because of his past experiences, such that he was able to portray this kind of compassion, actually it was not that I did not agree completely, but it was something that I did not even think of.

Why? Because when you watched Xiao Zhan’s dramas and movies, it was the same, when you watched his play life, his performance was even more so — just that he was not deliberately acting, you would feel that he did not use any life experience, or very obviously using his experiences to aid his portrayal in the drama. He was not like this, he would give you a very very natural sensation.

Xiao Zhan’s acting was like spring water, naturally flowing down from the cracks on the hill side, and not like cracking a water pipe, which would come gushing out suddenly, it was not like this. Even if it was an explosive scene, it would also smoothly flow downwards like a waterfall tumbling from the top of a cliff.

Although I say that Xiao Zhan’s acting was very, very natural, so much so that you could not see any trace of deliberation, but in fact this did not mean that this skill came inborn, on the contrary, this acting skill required doubly effort to attain.

My Trance

I don’t know how to explain my feeling: that is when watching the play I would sometimes feel hazy, like I would suddenly break away from the play, and then stare at Xiao Zhan, thinking — wow, this is a real Xiao Zhan, a lively Xiao Zhan, and he’s under the same roof as me in this very second, moving and talking…

And then I would go into that trance.

The Ocean of Flowers in the Courtyard

So romantic, star chasing is so romantic, loving Xiao Zhan is so romantic.

The night of Wuhan, I stayed in the midst of the crowds, outside of my windows were the streaking colors of everyday life.

My heart remained sweet, because I knew that in that very moment, I was sharing the same sky with the one I love.

And yet my heart was weak, as soon as I saw that endless brilliance of red, I would feel that my tears would well up.

Walking through the ocean of flowers, I saw countless adoration, gentleness, admiration, well wishes…

In that second, I was in Wuhan, and I had a romance with No. 5 at the ends of the world.

Appendix: 2013 Version of “A Dream Like A Dream” Behind-The-Scenes Documentary Review

(Written on 23 Mar 2021)

Upper Half

Firstly, the documentary emphasized on its star-studded cast on its very first Mainland China premiere in 2000. Besides the well-known famous actor, there was also a renowned female singer crossing domains, as well as some familiar, well-known actors, such as Tan Zhuo, Xu Qing. Xu Qing was going to continue her role as one of the Gu Xianglans in the upcoming 2021 version of “A Dream Like A Dream”. At the same time I also discovered that Shi Ke was in the 2013 version of “A Dream Like A Dream”, she was the lead actress for Xiao Zhan’s “Heroes in Harm’s Way – Blessed Community”.

In the documentary, besides bringing more attention to this play, the star-studded cast also brought another challenge, because the group’s actors had to spend more than a year to break into this 8 hour play (that time when “A Dream Like A Dream” first came into Mainland China, everything had to be started from scratch, there were a lot to adapt, hence the timeline would be longer, 2021 version had the previous foundation, and therefore did not need this long for preparation), and singers would have to take a few months to prepare for their fan meetings and concerts, television and movie actors would have to take a few months to film their dramas. In rehearsing this play, the actors would have to reject many invitations, their “loss” in revenue could be up to millions or even more.

Xiao Zhan’s rehearsal period for “A Dream Like A Dream” appeared to be an empty period to the external world, but plays truly needed wholehearted participation into practice time.

Director and playwright Lai Shengchuan said, plays are even a greater challenge to these stars, because their capabilities, their acting skills, would be obvious to the audiences after 2 or 3 shows, and this will dictate the success of the play in Mainland China.

Hence for the first entry to Mainland China, all the preparation from all angles had to start from zero, the 2013 version encountered many difficulties in terms of location, props, etc. While the cast attracted a lot of attention, the strict control behind the stage, for example, prop preparation was actually done by a Year 4 Journalism student; the rehearsal initially started in a crude empty factory. Then, the in-charge of Yanghua Theatre, Wang Keran, was the main in-charge for bringing in “A Dream Like A Dream” into Mainland China, he and his team’s office was in a simple 3 bedroom apartment, he directly said that bringing in this play was to raise the influence of plays but he could not bankrupt the backstage, hence cost also had to be tightly controlled.

For the 2021 version, the documentary gave me the most anticipation was the process that in the 2013 version, the actors and the directors went through a lot of breakthrough and recreation process during their rehearsals. While rehearsing, Xu Qing gave a totally opposite view on her role to Lai Shengchuan (on Gu Xianglan’s love to Baron), the understanding and identity from the actors themselves were in fact the most important part to character creation. Finally, Xu Qing’s persistence convinced Lai Shengchuan, who specially added some scenes in Act 9, and allowed the character Gu Xianglan to be more logical. Lai Shengchuan was a renowned Asian Theatre master, “A Dream Like A Dream” was his 3rd script after his 10+ years of experience. Even so, when meeting a brand new acting crew, the script might still display its inadequacy or limitations with the times, etc. At this moment, it would require actors to use their acting experience to improve upon it, and perform character and scene recreation. We could say that, Xu Qing was a good actress who had her own opinions and thoughts, and was persistent about them, Lai Shengchuan was a good director who progressed with the times.

It just so happened today that Xu Qing praised Xiao Zhan, I believe that with my narration on this part, everyone would understand how much weight Xu Qing’s praise carried — there is no praise that is more encouraging than that from a fellow actress who is persistent and serious.

I believe that Xiao Zhan is also a hardworking actor who will seriously analyze his scripts, and have his own opinions and thoughts. Hence, I really look forward to fireworks that Xiao Zhan and “A Dream Like A Dream” would create, as well as the new soul this would bring to the role, Patient No. 5.

Lower Half

Firstly, the documentary introduced the costume designer for “A Dream Like A Dream”, renowned designer, Ye Jintian. Ye Jintian was the costume in-charge for many movies and dramas, the most famous ones were “A Better Tomorrow” and “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon”, he also won the Oscar for Best Costume Design for the latter movie. 2021’s Costume Design Executive was still Ye Jintian. When rehearsal conditions were unable to reach the performance conditions, actors would have to use costumes to find their entry into the character, and as such, it showed how important costumes were to the play.

The premiere in 2013, was such a major cultural event, in the press conference before the first show, they exhibited a shorter segment of the play. Lai Shengchuan wanted people to focus on the story itself, but the media placed their attention on the star-studded cast, the 8 hour long performance, the ring shaped stage, and other gimmicks etc. Lai Shengchuan said, that was the misguidance of the media focus. I felt that, that was unavoidable, since it was a challenge, it was even more so an opportunity, because everything would increase the attention on the play itself eventually. Lai Shengchuan hoped that people would not watch this play for entertainment or escapism, but instead, use this story to face their problems directly, to think about the meaning of life and death.

Surprisingly, the documentary then emphasized on the participating well-known singer’s influence. It said that she had millions of passionate fans, many of them entered the theater because of her, whereas in Lai Shengchuan’s vision, the audiences for “A Dream Like A Dream” were those who had watched many other plays before. We could even say that such a young and influential singer’s addition then truly changed the audience composition for such an elite form of art. On this, Producer Wang Keran expressed that it was something the production team was happy to see, because marketization was the nutrient for such highend art. Moreover, “A Dream Like A Dream” was 8 hours long, they had 400 over sets of costumes, as well as many innovative stage art design, the cost was very huge. Hence, the show for this type of play became a gamble, a gamble between art and market. After all, theater workers would have to eat, and audiences only cared about results, and they would not analyze the difficulties behind it.

The 2021 version that Xiao Zhan joined was built upon the mature experience of 7 years of public showing from the 2013 version, and definitely had lesser problems, but due to Xiao Zhan’s commonly known qualities, the 2021 version would carry the same mission as the 2013 version: using the actor’s huge influence and interest, attract more “first time goers” for theaters, and use the market to nourish the play. To Xiao Zhan personally, this was the rarest and best experience for an actor.

I would mostly skip through the following interview of the famous actor, but there was an important phrase within which he generally said, “To return to theater is to remove the burden of a celebrity.” I felt that this point was suitable to Xiao Zhan.

That time, the production company for “A Dream Like A Dream” (should be Yanghua Theatre) was actually not rich, we could see that the theater scene was still in its infancy. The Stage Designer Zhang Zhelong, was also very competent, he created many aesthetic and unique stage effects for “A Dream Like A Dream”, the most famous was the handover between 2 Gu Xianglans, 2 graceful figures, the former slowly absorbed into the light, blurry and vague, just like a dream. The 2021 version’s Stage Designer is still Zhang Zhelong.

Finally, it was the interview with the well-known actor Jin Shijie, who acted as Baron then. He said that now is the era for speed, everyone could use an electronic device to watch many shows in a night, they could even watch new technologies such as 3D. But, plays were like they carried many ancient rituals. You would need to leave the house, take a car ride, queue, and then sit in among a group of strangers, and watch the stage in the dark, and finally return home. These process were complex, but yet it also seemed especially ceremonious — hence Jin Shijie said that the stage was the most primitive. Whereas for me personally, I like this type of primitive art, this is a form of art that up close, without any misplacement in time and space, and the most realistic.

#xiao zhan #sean xiao #xiaozhan #肖战

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