#the guy really blew up his halo didn't he | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chadillacboseman · 1 year ago

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Summary: Part of the Vampire!Graves AU that @gloombride and I are currently going insane over. My original/first snippet is here. Graves is back from the dead and needs to find you. 141 has taken you for interrogation after hearing reports that the commander might be alive. Graves doesn't take kindly to your imprisonment. Reader is gender neutral, but the pet name "baby" is used.

Word Count: 5.1k!!!

Warnings: Oh boy! Major character death, blood, dismemberment, broken bones, vampirism, consumption of blood. The least offensive part of this is the use of guns lol. The moment Price and Graves interact, some pretty graphic descriptions of injury take place and continue until the end.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

"What do you know about Phillip Graves being alive?" Captain Price stood before you, his figure looming above your seated form, hands resting on his rifle.

"Nothing."

That was the truth. You'd spent the last two weeks mourning his death after his second in command had came to your door to notify you.

"Bullshit-" Soap piped up from across the room, his voice tinged with barely contained rage. Soap had been one of the few to know about you- Graves had pulled a weathered photo of you from his pocket to show him the night before they'd taken down El Sin Nombre.

"That's my whole world right there," Graves grinned and ran a thumb absentmindedly over your face in the photo, "Gonna make it home safe just to see that face again."

"Didn't peg ya for one to settle down, Graves," Soap raised an eyebrow, "But I can see why."

Graves chuckled and shoved the photo back into his pocket, "I'm gonna hang it up soon, give the Shadows over to Oz- sit my ass behind a fuckin' desk and call the shots from there."

"I don't know anything!" you hissed; tears were threatening to well up in your eyes now.

"Let me clue you in here," Price knelt down in front of you, eyes laser fixed on yours, "You are not leaving this room until I get an answer."

"Fuck you."

"Shepherd told me you were dead," Oz's back was against the wall, eyes following Graves as he paced.

"Maybe I was," there was a new glint in the commander's eye that made Oz uncomfortable. His irises were glowing in the dim light, two halos of amber bobbing just above his shark-like grin, "Now I'm gonna ask you one more time, where are they?"

"Those British fucks came knocking-" Oz paused, eyes screwed up, as if he was trying to conjure the memory up in his mind, "They know you're alive. Took 'em in for questioning. That's all I fuckin' know, Graves."

He didn't need any more than that.

"Do me a favor, Osmond," Graves glanced over his shoulder as he exited the room, "Don't tell Shepherd about this conversation. I'd like it to be a surprise."

Your house was deserted. Lights were still on, and your phone was sitting at the table. Graves knew you didn't go voluntarily. He inhaled deeply, letting the scent of the place dance through his nostrils and across his tongue. Each scent was a thread, a way to trace back to the source- a way for him to find you.

He got a lock on it, pulled it from the others that surrounded it until it was all he could smell, all he could taste. From there, it was easy- like a bloodhound on the trail he could retrace your every step.

The other scents made his fangs throb, anger welled up in his chest- Soap, Ghost, and two others he couldn't quite place.

It was easy to follow the trail once he had a lock on you. Graves could see the scent now, like a faint fog that hovered in the air.

You were close. And so were the others.

"Do you really think he's alive?" The soldier Gaz was posted with was chatty. He hated that.

"Dunno. Price seems to think so," Gaz traced a circle in the dirt with his boot, hoping to avoid further conversation.

"Yeah, but, they fuckin' blew that tank sky-high, right? No shot he lived."

"Maybe he wasn't in it."

The soldier seemed surprised by the suggestion, "Yeah? That could be. Probably put some low level guy in there, made him get blasted."

Gaz simply grunted in response, praying that the man took the hint. He didn't want to be part of the interrogation, in fact, he thought the whole thing was a farce. As if Graves would be foolish enough to tell you he was alive, let alone where he was.

So, Price stuck him outside on "guard duty" with some chatty nobody until they were through.

"I'm gonna do a walk-around, make sure nobody is up to anything," The soldier had clearly taken the hint, uncomfortable with the silence that was left hanging between them.

"Knock yourself out," Gaz leaned back against the cool metal of the wall and watched as the man disappeared into the darkness.

The night was quiet and Gaz could hear the faint sounds of the highway in the distance, muddled with crickets chirping in the field just outside the gate.

The minutes ticked by and Gaz began to wonder if the other soldier had abandoned him. He wouldn't complain if he had, but Price demanded two on the door at all times.

"Oi, you done fucking around out there?" Gaz called into the darkness.

No response.

"Jesus, mate-" He cupped his hand around his mouth and yelled once more, "If I have to come find you, I'm tellin' Price and he'll kick your ass."

Silence.

"Fuckin' hell," Gaz muttered as he flipped the flashlight to life on his rifle and aimed it into the distance.

He wandered between the shipping containers in the warehouse yard, flashlight beam bobbing from shadow to shadow.

"You out here takin' a piss or are you-" Gaz stopped mid-sentence as his beam fell on something dark pooled on the concrete. From it, drag marks had been formed in the liquid, leading off into the darkness. Gaz knelt beside the puddle and examined it closely; he realized with a sudden jolt that it was blood. A lot of it.

"What the fuck-" He lifted the beam of his flashlight, following the drag marks until the dark overwhelmed it.

A thud in the distance, just beyond the reach of the light made him jump; he lifted his rifle to his shoulder and tried to calm his racing heart.

"Somebody out there? Come out with your hands up." Something to his left rustled and Gaz spun on his heel in search of the source.

Gaz had never met Graves in person. He only knew him from photographs and from a brief glimpse of him during their raid of the Fuerzas Especiales base.

But, the man standing before him was undoubtedly Phillip fucking Graves.

Something was off about his uniform, it seemed to shine in the light. It took Gaz a moment to realize that the fabric was covered in blood.

"Gaz, right?" Graves grinned as he drawled on, "Never had the pleasure of meeting you, but I'm sure you know who I am."

"Price is gonna have your fuckin' head."

"We'll see about that. Now look, I think you know what happened to your buddy," Graves nodded to the pool of blood, "But it doesn't have to happen to you. You answer my questions, you walk away. Pretty simple."

Gaz swallowed, hard, and flexed his fingers on the grip of his rifle, "No shot."

Graves sighed and ran his tongue over his teeth, "I know you're smarter than this, Garrick. Tell me where they're at and we go our separate ways."

"I promise you, I'm a man of my word."

"Gaz, we're calling it a night. Everything clear out there?" Price released the button on his radio and waited for a response.

Silence.

"Fuck's sake, Gaz," Price shook his head and made his way toward the entry. Gaz was good at what he did, but he never turned his fucking radio on.

Price flung the heavy metal door open and found the entry unguarded. Gaz's rifle was leaned neatly against the wall, and there was no sign of Krieger anywhere.

Graves watched Price from the shadows, listening as his heartbeat grew more rapid with every passing second, no doubt worrying about Gaz's safety. He didn't have to worry- Graves was, indeed, a man of his word. The kid had left without a scratch on him, but he'd made him leave his radio behind; he knew Gaz would try to warn Price. He'd probably gone to circle back and do it anyway, but Graves didn't care.

It would be more fun if they knew he was coming.

Graves waited until Price turned his back and made his move, lunging out of the darkness and shoving him to the concrete. Price grunted as the air was forced from his lungs, thrashing beneath the other man's weight.

"Hello again, Captain," Graves shoved his knee into Price's back and used his weight to keep him pinned, "Long time no see."

"Graves-" Price growled as he tried to free himself from his grip, "What the fuck did you do to Gaz?"

"Nothing," Graves said simply, "The other one, though," he whistled for emphasis, "Let's just say he retired early, hm?"

"I'll fucking kill you-"

Graves used his free hand to shove Price's face into the concrete, silencing him.

"No, no, I think you misunderstand the situation here, hoss," Graves leaned down until his face was just inches from Price's, "See, your little lapdogs thought they killed me down in Mexico. Hell, I thought they did too. But somethin' out there had a different idea, and now-" he flashed his pointed teeth and Price's eyes widened, "I'm gonna make you and your little 141 regret it."

Graves adjusted his weight so he could wrestle one of Price's arms out from under him, easily overpowering every attempt he made to pull it away.

"I'd love to take my time with you, but I don't want the boys inside to get worried and come lookin'- that'd ruin all my plans," Graves angled Price's arm until he felt resistance, the bones trying to prevent him from moving them beyond their limit, "Doesn't mean I can't have a little fun first."

A sickening crack radiated under Graves' grip and Price cried out through gritted teeth as his radial bone gave way, followed by another crunch when the ulna followed suit.

"Hope that wasn't your shootin' arm," Graves joked as Price panted in pain beneath him, "Not that that matters much."

Graves reached for his other arm, wrenching it back despite the other man's efforts against him. This time he twisted, savoring the way Price cried out in earnest when his bone spiraled into pieces, skin already beginning to discolor as blood gathered beneath the surface.

Graves dropped the now limp limb, feeling Price's heartbeat, erratic and racing, thrum in his ears. Oh, how he wanted to break every bone in his body, to make his death as slow as he could. But he didn't have time for that.

Instead, he reached down, taking Price's head in his hands and lifting his face from the pavement, "Take a real good look at the stars, Captain," Graves grinned as he felt the race of blood just under the skin, "At least die lookin' at something pretty."

Price opened his mouth to retort, but Graves wrenched, hard, twisting his head until he felt a pop reverberate through his fingers. Price's body went limp, and Graves stood up, pausing to dust himself off before making his way to the door.

Your back ached from the hard metal chair, and the dim lighting was threatening to give you a headache before long. You'd told Price over and over again that you knew nothing, and yet he still persisted.

He'd left you in the room with Soap, who was watching you from the shadows, a look of pure hate painted across his face.

"You can keep lyin' all ya want, but eventually we're gonna get what we want," his Scottish accent grated on your ears after hours trapped in that fucking room.

"I don't know how else to tell you this, you thick-skulled moron-" you shifted in your chair so he could better see your face, "I don't know fucking anything. You telling me that Phillip is alive is just as much of a shock to me as it is to you!"

"Bullshit."

"If he is alive, I can tell you this much-" you were mad now, some kind of volatile mix of anger and grief that had you feeling bolder than you ever had before, "he's going to tear the place apart looking for me."

Soap didn't respond, which only irritated you further.

"And from where I'm sitting, you look like a prime fucking target right now!"

That made him laugh, which sent a jolt of rage through your chest, "Even if your little boyfriend is still alive, he's not making it ten steps into this country-"

His cellphone began to vibrate, interrupting his tirade; when he pulled it from his pocket, you could see Gaz's name on the screen.

"Gaz- what? Slow down, man. What are you talking about?" Soap's brows were furrowed, and you could hear the other man shouting frantically, "I can't- did you call Price? What do you mean he didn't answer?"

Your heart hammered as you strained to hear what Gaz was saying on the other end, you caught bits and pieces- "killed Krieger" and "I ran"; before Soap hung up, you heard "You have to get everyone out."

Soap hammered the call button on his radio, "Ghost, you got ears on?"

There was a pause before his radio crackled to life, and Ghost's gruff voice responded in the affirmative.

"Listen, Gaz just called me- I dunno if he's off his rocker or what, babbling on about Krieger being dead and-" he paused and looked down at you before continuing, "Just...could you go outside and see what the fuck is going on?"

"Roger."

Ghost made his way silently through the hallways toward the front entry. This whole affair annoyed him- if Graves was alive, how far could he possibly have gotten? He wasn't an idiot, he'd have kept his status from you for as long as he could for his safety and yours.

But Price's ego was bruised and you were an easy grab- it didn't matter if everyone agreed or not.

Where the hell was Price, anyway?

Ghost flung the heavy metal door open and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness- the small light that had hung just above the frame seemed to have been broken.

Ghost cursed and thumbed the flashlight on his rifle to life, sweeping it over the concrete.

"Price-" he spotted the man, lying limp on the pavement just a few feet away. There was something wrong with the way he was positioned, something unnerving about his neck, "Captain?"

Ghost crouched low to the ground and approached, "Captain?" Once he was closer he realized what was wrong- Price's neck was twisted beyond its limit. His eyes were wide and bulging, bloodshot and full of ruptured vessels.

"Fuckin' hell," Ghost stood straight and hit the call button on his radio, "Soap, we have a problem. Lock the door to that cell and meet me out here."

"Roger."

"Ghost?" Soap turned the key in the lock on the cell door as he peered down the hallway, "Ya there, LT?"

Silence was his only answer.

Soap made his way toward the exit; his heart was hammering- what had made Gaz go into hysterics like that? Where was Price?

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud thrum as the power went out in the warehouse, sealing him in total darkness.

"Fuck!" Soap jumped in surprise and fumbled in the darkness with his rifle until the flashlight came to life.

The bright white beam bobbed as he continued his trek in darkness toward the door, "Comin' LT! The fuckin' power went out," he called, hoping Ghost could hear him through the metal.

The door rattled, hard, and Soap stopped in his tracks, "Soap, open the fuckin' door," Ghost's voice echoed over the radio.

"Locked yourself out, eh, LT?" Soap chuckled.

"Fuck off."

Soap approached the door and swept his flashlight over it, confusion taking root in his mind as he took in the chains that were wrapped around the bar.

"LT, something...something is going on with the door-"

Graves watched from the rafters, feeling Soap's pulse grow more rapid by the second, savoring the thrum of it in his ears. He had wanted to save the Scot for last, but fate had other plans.

Soap examined the chains, running his gloved hand along the metal, "LT...there's chains on the door."

"What?"

"There's chains, keeping the door shut."

"What the fuck are you on about, Johnny?" Ghost sounded annoyed; the door rattled as he put his full weight into it once more.

Graves was tired of the pathetic display below him- while Soap fumbled in the darkness, he was able to see everything in perfect totality. Every finite detail, every color. Another benefit of his new condition.

Graves dropped from the rafters, silent as a predatory cat, moving as if he was one with the shadows until he was behind Soap, close enough to hear his every breath.

"Hey Soap, long time no see."

Soap was quick, Graves had to give him that much. He swung his rifle, nearly connecting with Graves' head, and managed to strangle out "GHOST, GRAVES IS-" over his radio before it was ripped from his vest.

"Soap? Johnny??" Ghost's voice faded away on the abandoned radio as Graves dragged the Scot down the hall.

"Wakey wakey, Soap," Graves brought his hand down, hard, across Soap's face, the sound ringing through the empty room.

The Scot's eyes fluttered as he regained consciousness, eyes flitting around the room frantically. He was seated, his wrists bound to the arms of the chair he was in. His ankles were bound as well, held tightly in place with some kind of cord.

The room was dark, save for one single bulb that hung above his head, casting harsh shadows on his figure.

"What the fuck-" Soap hissed as his eyes struggled to adjust to the pitch blackness, limbs straining against his bindings.

"You wanna know something, Soap?" Graves paced around the chair, his Southern drawl echoed off the walls of the room, "I wanted to like you. Hell, I did like you. But you just couldn't let it go."

"You took Alejandro's base!" Soap spat, "You wanted us to just 'let that go'?"

"I'd be willing to let bygones be bygones, too. Bury the hatchet. When I crawled outta that tank, I was just happy to be alive."

Graves reached for the crowbar that hung from the back of his tac vest, wrapping his fingers around the cool metal and snagging it from the loop that held it.

"But then I come home to find that you and your little gang of assholes had the gall to use someone I love to try and hunt me down," he brandished the crowbar, its silver finish glinting in the harsh light, "And I can't forgive that."

The crowbar came down swiftly, connecting with Soap's knee, its clawed head dragging the flesh and connective tissue with it. Blood splattered to the floor and Soap let out a pained cry through gritted teeth.

Graves raked his eyes over the soldier's panting form, calculating where he should strike next. This time the blow came to his chest with the blunt side, taking the air from Soap's lungs with a dull crack.

The Scot coughed, a faint wheeze at the crest of his next breath. Graves grinned wolfishly, waiting for him to recover, the crowbar tapping absentmindedly against his flattened palm.

"Ghost...." Soap wheezed, his head lolling slightly, "Is going to fuckin' kill you."

"Better give him a good reason, then."

Graves brought the sharp teeth of the crowbar down, with his full strength, onto Soap's right fingers. The metal cut through in one motion- muscle, tendons, and bones giving way easily under the blow. The force was such that the teeth lodged themselves into the wood of the chair as blood oozed from the two severed fingers in thick rivulets.

Soap let out a genuine cry of pain, his muscles flexing on instinct, struggling against his bindings. Graves gave him no time to recover, swinging the weapon upward and striking him in the jaw with a wet whacking sound that reverberated through the metal.

Blood gushed from his cracked jaw, spilling down his fatigues and pattering to the floor. He let out a pained groan as more blood rolled over his lips and down his chin.

Another blow landed on the side of his head and for a moment, he danced on the edge of unconsciousness, his skull throbbing in time with his pulse.

"Ghost-" blood clung to his lips as he spoke, weak pleas falling on deaf ears, "Simon, please-"

Graves laughed outright at that, "He's not coming to save you. By the time he gets in this building, you'll be long gone."

"Fuck....you," Soap wheezed. His face was covered in blood now, caked in his stubble and soaked into his uniform.

His other hand took the abuse this time. The crowbar's sharp clawed end ripped through two of his fingers, sending a spray of crimson to the floor. Graves waited until blood had pooled on the metal, then raised the weapon to his mouth and ran his tongue along it, pointed fangs glinting in the harsh light.

Soap could barely muster a cry of pain this time, instead making a pathetic moaning sound as the fresh blood joined the rest on the floor at his feet.

"Aw, come on now, buck up, sport-" Graves positioned the crowbar under Soap's chin and tilted his face upward, "Don't be blacking out on me just yet. I'm not done havin' fun!"

He tossed the crowbar to the side and Soap's head dropped to his chest once more, his breaths coming in shallow waves. Graves unsheathed his combat knife and fidgeted with the blade, contemplating.

"You wanna know something, Soap?" Graves paced around the chair slowly, mapping out his next target, "I really respected you. It's a shame it had to go down like this."

Soap groaned in response, a wet, gurgling sound that fell flat in the empty room. Graves rolled his eyes and slid the knife under the shoulder straps of the Scot's tactical vest, slicing the fabric and letting the heavy kevlar fall away from his chest.

"Let's wake you up, shall we?" Graves laced his fingers in Soap's hair and yanked, hard, bringing his face upward. He gripped the blade tightly and brought it to the Scot's cheek, dragging it down the flesh and leaving an angry cut in its wake.

Soap gritted his teeth, choking back a cry of pain as blood flooded down his jaw and neck.

Graves tutted, unsatisfied, and instead brought the blade to Soap's stomach, "Guess we'll go big then."

The knife pierced through the Scot's skin just above his navel; blood gushed around the blade as Soap thrashed, a new, more urgent sound escaping his lips.

"That's more like it!" Graves grinned, delighted. He pulled the knife upward, shredding the flesh and muscle until he hit the resistance of bone in the ribcage.

"Simon!" Soap cried hoarsely, his mind struggling to comprehend the new pain, "Ghost, please- it hurts."

Graves watched as the blood flooded to the floor, enough to make Soap grow pale, his eyes going in and out of focus.

"Sorry, hoss," Graves cocked his head and took a step back to avoid his boots getting tinged with blood, "I know your ol' pal Ghost has got to be close to getting in. Couldn't have him interrupting."

Soap slumped forward, his form going limp; a few disjointed words still fell from his lips as he faded from consciousness, "Simon", "please" "Help me".

Graves grabbed Soap's dog tags, clutching them firmly in his fist before ripping them from the Scot's neck, "No hard feelings, Johnny boy." He watched, amused, as the Scot convulsed and then went limp.

From down the hall, Graves detected another heartbeat, racing, filled with rage.

Ghost.

Graves prowled along the rafters, watching Ghost move through the warehouse. It would be hard to break him- he'd read the files. The man had a psych profile a fucking mile long.

"Lookin' for your buddy?" Graves called down from the ceiling, watching as Ghost pointed his rifle skyward, eyes under his mask narrowed as he stared into the darkness, "Got some bad news about that."

Ghost swung his rifle wildly, aiming into the rafters; Graves could hear his heart hammering, a sweet melody of anticipation that made him grin in the darkness. He took one last look at the bloodied dog tags clutched in his fist before tossing them to the ground.

Ghost spun on his heel at the sound of metal connecting with concrete, eyes widening as they fell on Johnny's dog tags, dented and covered in blood.

"Y'know it's a damn shame, Ghost," Graves drawled from somewhere above him, "Soap died all alone, screamin' your name. Should'a heard him when I cut his gut open-" he paused to chuckle at the memory, "he was beggin' like a dog."

"Come down and fight me, Graves!" Ghost snarled, his rage fighting the overwhelming grief of losing Johnny.

"Careful what you wish for."

Before Ghost could turn to the source of the voice, pain erupted in his lower back. There was a momentary heat as he felt fingers push through the fabric of his gear, then into his flesh. He tried to pull away, but Graves had a hold of something inside him. Instead, he turned as well as he could, swinging the rifle to take aim at the other man's chest.

Graves grinned and clenched his fist until he felt a crunch. Hot, coppery blood ran down his arm and mixed with a viscous fluid that poured from Ghost's now shattered spine.

When he released his grip, the masked man crumpled to the floor, his legs now immobile beneath him. Graves took advantage of the momentary shock to grab the rifle from Ghost's hands and toss it across the room.

Ghost was panting under his mask, trying to process the lack of feeling in his legs.

"You know, I always wondered what you look like under this-" Graves took a fistful of the fabric just above the skull and pulled, prying the mask from Ghost's face and letting it fall carelessly to the floor.

"Now, I don't know what the hell Soap saw in you," Graves paced around the downed soldier, watching his eyes follow him; there was no fear there, just anticipation, "Gotta say, I respect the dedication to the badass bit you've got going here."

Ghost said nothing in return. He could feel the blood pooling beneath him, soaking through the hooded sweatshirt he wore under his flak jacket. He'd been through worse- Graves would have to do better than this.

"Johnny boy, though, he dropped the act pretty quick," Ghost's mouth twitched at those words, "Wish you could have heard the way he begged for you to help him right up until the end."

Graves retrieved his crowbar once more, and Ghost's eyes flicked to the dried blood caked on the hooked claw.

"Just know you won't be very far behind him," Graves lined up his crowbar and brought it down with the entirety of his strength, onto Ghost's right arm, just under the elbow. The bones gave way easily, shattering under the weight of the metal.

Ghost didn't make a sound, and his face barely changed; he merely stared up at Graves, his jaw set.

"Like I said, pretty impressive-" Graves tapped the blunt instrument against his palm. Ghost was lying flat on his back now, unable to support himself with his arms any longer, "Just wish I had a little more time."

Ghost's left arm was next. The crowbar came down, teeth first, the force of it cleaving straight through the flesh and bone and striking off the concrete beneath it.

This time, Ghost made a sound, a guttural groan from somewhere deep in his chest. He was growing more pale by the minute as blood began to spread in a halo around his form on the floor.

Graves was growing bored of the interaction.

"Don't worry, Ghost" Graves moved behind him, shoving him upright and bringing the crowbar to his neck, "Soap won't be alone for long."

The crowbar went tight against Ghost's throat, cutting off his air. He tried to move, tried to thrash away from the pressure, but Graves was stronger.

"Look at that! There is some life left in you," Graves sneered as he pulled the metal even tighter, eliciting a choked gasp from Ghost, whose head thrashed weakly, trying in vain to relieve the pressure.

Graves pulled with more force, grunting against the soldier's struggles, until he felt the man go grow weaker before becoming still entirely.

Graves rose to his feet and let Ghost fall to the floor in a heap, watching with amusement as the light went out in his eyes. He paused to dust himself off and replace his crowbar on the back of his vest before exiting the room and making his way toward you.

You strained your wrists against the bindings, struggling helplessly to free yourself in the pitch blackness. The power had gone out what seemed like hours ago, and Soap still hadn't returned.

Was this some new trick? A vain effort to make you talk by playing on fear?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the distinct sound of the door on the far side of the room opening- no light flooded in from outside, which meant the power outage stretched at least into the hallway.

"That you, Soap?" you tried to sound casual, but the darkness and your immobility were starting to wear on you, "Neat trick with the lights."

No response.

"Ever figure out what Gaz was so worked up about?"

You could feel someone getting closer to you- not hear, feel, like the air shifted around whoever it was. The hairs on the back of your neck were on end, your heart banging out a rhythm in against your rib cage.

"Hello?" Your voice sounded very small, dwarfed by whatever presence was hovering near you in the darkness.

"Hey baby," a distinctive southern drawl purred near your ear and you felt as if your heart was going to leap out of your throat. There was a coppery smell to his breath that you couldn't quite place.

"Phillip?" You choked back a sob as he cut the bindings on your wrists and ankles.

"It's me," you felt his hand cup your chin and his forehead touched to yours.

"How-" your voice cracked and you felt tears spill down your cheeks as you struggled to find the words.

"Shhh, it's alright. I'm here," Graves pulled you in close and you buried your face in the crook of his neck. His shirt felt wet, and the metallic scent persisted on him, almost overwhelming, "I'm gonna walk you outta here, okay? But you gotta promise me something-"

"What?"

"Keep your eyes closed."

#phillip graves x reader #ns/fw #injury tw #dismemberment tw #blood tw #death tw

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snek-eyes · 1 year ago

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just binged all ur meta content on ao3 (so well-written and well-thought) and i think i have an addition to the two Job parts: u said crowley is gloomy and acts cold and distant, tries testing aziraphale's trust in him etc but. hear me out. in the end of the minisode when the angels arrive at Job and Sitis', we see the true actual crowley, all goofy midwife/cobbler and way more himself again and i believe it's because as u said he isn't just as alone anymore. aziraphale has done the right thing and on top of that he saw crowley and trusted him and crowley was a little less alone. and that change of demeanour from all you've - rightfully - stated in the first two parts of analysis melts a little to show the actual crowley, the kinda goofy one. he would've done the right thing and saved the kids and the goats anyways, of course, but for the first time he didn't have to do it alone. he had help, and even someone who trusted and saw him. he's tentative with it but definitely a little happier. maybe he found a little something to - carefully, hesitantly, briefly - believe in after losing faith in god. maybe there's still goodness to be found. maybe even in an angel.

Anonymous asked: Ello ello ello! Since youre my fav meta writer on here, I figured I might ask: I've seen people say Crowley was mean laughing about Aziraphale in the Job minosode when he thought he was a demon now, and in the last episode when Azi told him about using his halo. Do you see it that way, too? I always thought the latter one was surprised and kinda proud. And in the Job minisode, when Crowley noticed Azi was truly upset, he immediately stopped laughing and started comforting him. I don't think Crowley ever meant it in a mean way when he laughed about Azi, and I think it's part of Azi's charm for Crowley is how lovably clumsy he is. Crowley is oftentimes amused by Azi but in a loving, not condescending way. Thoughts? 🤔 Have a good day/evening! ❤

Hey you guys! ❤ I wanted to answer these two messages together, because I think there are some good dots to connect. Both times, Crowley is feeling abnormally good about the situation he's in, and then Aziraphale says something completely off the wall, and Crowley is like "😂 WHAT did you just say?? 💕" I really don't think either time he means to be condescending.

In general, Crowley is delighted by Aziraphale because he keeps doing surprising things. Crowley thinks humans are great because they keep coming up with wacky things demons could never expect, and he likes Aziraphale in large part because that wacky angel keeps doing things like insisting Good is Good and Bad is Bad and then giving away his sword and lying to angels and declaring war on hell.

Keep in mind that during Job, they're still getting to know each other. Crowley in that scene is trying to make Aziraphale feel better, but he also doesn't know what works yet. He's never actually had a friend before.

By contrast, I think the problem in the halo scene is that they know each other too well, or at least they think they do, to the point Crowley's making assumptions.

(This may have ballooned into an analysis of both scenes, but I promise we include the laughing thing. Stick with me!)

I think Crowley is kind of giddy by the end of Job. Overall, things have really just taken a turn for him. You're right, this is the first time he's feeling like he's not completely alone anymore. To a degree he absolutely did not expect! Not only did Aziraphale, in private, trust him beyond being a demon, try food, almost admit he doesn't trust God... but in front of the other angels, Aziraphale backs up Crowley's Bildad ploy. And that was Aziraphale's decision to do so, when Crowley first runs into room, it really doesn't seem like he's counting on Aziraphale to help him out at all. He just throws himself in front of Sitis and starts improvising, and it's the other angels he's looking at.

Anon 1, I like your idea that this is a more real Crowley peeking through here. Compare how he acts as Bildad in this scene to how he acts in S1 when he's tricking Hastur into the phone.

Crowley is a theater kid loves when he's taking charge of a situation and spinning people around on his own terms, and here Aziraphale gives him everything he needs to keep the angels fooled.

One part that's kind of funny and also pretty telling is when Job starts blowing it, Crowley decides this is a fantastic time to not be standing in the Angels' direct line of sight anymore! and goes to hover casually next to the other exit instead.

And Anon1, here's where I'm going to quote you because this made something click for me:

he would've done the right thing and saved the kids and the goats anyways, of course, but for the first time he didn't have to do it alone. he had help, and even someone who trusted and saw him. he's tentative with it but definitely a little happier. maybe he found a little something to - carefully, hesitantly, briefly - believe in after losing faith in god. maybe there's still goodness to be found. maybe even in an angel.

Crowley might not believe in Good and Bad, but he does believe in right and wrong. Crowley started this whole thing pissed off, alone, seemingly the only one operating under none of heaven's illusions about whose fault this is. This is God's fault, heaven might not want blood on their hands but that's where Crowley knows it belongs.

So when Aziraphale comes through for Crowley several times in a row, culminating in him breaking form with the other angels to lie and save those kids, I think yeah, it gives Crowley faith in Aziraphale. This angel might be coated in all heaven's brainwashing, but when it comes down to it, he knows what right and wrong is, and more importantly, he'll do something about it. Aziraphale is the angel. Put a pin in that.

So after everything's over, Crowley goes to find Aziraphale, looking to work out their new arrangement. Not the Arrangement yet, but to get a feel for how things are going to be between the two of them now that this has happened. Probably wanting to check this didn't all scare him off too badly. And uh, it turns out it kind of did, the angel is full on weeping by the sea over here. But he doesn't regret what he did! This is salvageable.

So here Crowley comes, trying to balance Aziraphale out by playing it cool. He really wants this to work.

The first time I heard him say this it knocked the wind out of me. This is Crowley returning the trust the Aziraphale showed him in that barn, and doubling down on it infinitely. Crowley sits down and looks away and makes himself as non-threatening as possible, and he tells this angel, I have no intention of ever being a danger to you as a demon. He's presenting it in a way that is begging the angel not to make a big deal of it, but it is huge.

(This is also, in my mind, where 'angel' becomes a pet name.)

[I realize this has gotten a little far afield but I wanted some groundwork first, and look we're here now!!]

(Also before I get to be funny, can I point out that for "I'm like you now" below, they're occupying the same part of the screen? rad.)

SO, right as Crowley's really settled into this whole 'no, really, you're an angel, you're like THE angel,' thing, and he's tensed up because he just dropped his undemonic bombshell part 2, 'I never killed the goats and now I don't want to drag you to hell...' How is the angel going to react?

Well, here comes Aziraphale, insisting "No, you have to!" okay why, because I'm a demon, are we doing that? "Because no no look, I'M a demon, really!!"

and. Look, Crowley tries, give the guy some credit.

HE IS TRYING NOT TO LAUGH. BUT THEN JUST. LOOK AT AZIRAPHALE. HE IS THE CUTEST MOST PATHETIC (affectionate) THING EARTH HAS EVER SEEN.

Crowley just had what started as the absolute worst day at work, that turned around beyond his wildest dreams, and then he's hit in the face with the most ridiculous, sweetest thing he's ever heard. TELL ME YOU WOULDN'T BREAK WHEN YOU'RE ALREADY RIDING HIGH AND THIS FLUFFY LITTLE BUNNY RABBIT LOOKED YOU IN THE EYE AND INSISTED "BUT I'M A DEMON." YOU LOOK AT ME AND YOU TELL ME YOU'D HOLD IT TOGETHER ANY BETTER.

And Crowley apologizes twice while laughing! Once during his first laugh, even. He knows he's being a dick, but he's got the giggles. It's just so absurd to him, it's like he doesn't know what to do but try to explain what he's seeing. Which is uhh, not the right move, Aziraphale is not ready to laugh about this. But hey, they're learning each other.

And then. in the rest of this scene I think we see Crowley adjusting his expectations in real time. This isn't going to be fully as great as he was hoping, but it can still be good.

They make a point of showing him sighing, then looking small and alone.

I remember someone pointing out (especially in retrospect) how sad a line "Then nothing has to change" is. And I'm thinking now this is Crowley settling them into what's going to be their status quo going forward, in an effort to make Aziraphale comfortable.

(This was about Crowley laughing, how did we get sad. Dammit, Job minisode. MOVING ON.)

You blew up your halo?

OKAY SO. It's a similar giddy situation in 2.06 at the end of Crowley's little field trip to heaven. He's been so stressed all week about the danger they've been in, but now? Look at all he's getting away with!

He's a dorky James Bond, his heaven outfit's even got the tactical turtleneck. He LOVES feeling like he's gotten one over on heaven (his stupid disguise is such a beautifully petty insult), and he's found a huge break in the Gabriel case. He finally got to DO something that wasn't just being trapped in the bookshop or his car. This is peak chaos demon enrichment.

He might not have all the answers yet, but he's got the pieces they'll need. It's starting to feel like they'll be able to solve this all soon and get back to their lives. The only thing now is whatever new trouble Aziraphale's gotten himself into. So Anthony J(ames Bond) Crowley comes swooping back in and…

Angel you absolute madlad, that's fucking fantastic!

From Crowley's perspective, Aziraphale's done what Crowley just did: Got one over on hell like he did on heaven. On the scale of everything Crowley's been worrying about, this is barely anything, he can talk them out of this! They're going to be fiiine! And okay, Aziraphale's being a little glareful about it, but not any more than he was when Crowley was teasing him over his out-of-date music opinions. This is just how they are!

Except. Except with everything that happened, it's not exactly like that right now for Aziraphale. He looks tired, he's maybe embarrassed/ashamed it got this far, AND. He's been worried sick all night, where have you been???

Remember, while Crowley's been worrying about what Heaven will do to Aziraphale, Aziraphale's been freaked out about the threat hell poses to Crowley. And the last time he saw Crowley, he was walking into a crowd of demons and promising Aziraphale he'd come back. And then he didn't.

And now Aziraphale's pissed hell off even further.

And here comes Crowley! Waltzing back into the bookshop, completely fine, with a bunch of angels in tow (?!?!), aaand the first thing he does is tease Aziraphale.

Yeah, Aziraphale is just not in the mood. I think normally, this wouldn't be much of a problem. We don't always react perfectly, sometimes we're just trying to annoy the people we love a little and misstep into actually hurting them, because we mean to say one thing and it lands as another. When my loved ones do that to me, I know them well enough to know they'd be mortified if they realized they were actually hurting my feelings, and that alone soothes the sting most of the time. When it doesn't, that's a thing we can deal with.

Same thing with Crowley here, he doesn't mean anything by it! He's just trying to tease Aziraphale a bit, not laugh at him. He loves him, he respects him, he finds what he's doing charming! What he's trying to communicate that isn't coming across is: 'You're absolutely not a demon, don't even worry' and 'I'm proud of you.'

Someday, Aziraphale will do something wildly unpredictable and Crowley will get to be delighted and laugh freely about it, and Aziraphale will get be annoyed but in a way that's warm underneath, because he knows he's loved and they're not in danger anymore. Let's look forward to that.

#vee replies #Anon and on and on #Thank you both for the kind messages! I really appreciate it #tumbl stop messing up my formatting augh #good omens meta #a companion to owls #job flashback #good omens 2

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meatballlady · 1 year ago

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I'm going full on conspiracy theory mode. It's probably just that my brain is scrambled right now and trying to find as much hope as I can but

End of GOs2 episode 6 spoilers under the cut

The miracle noise when Metatron gives him the coffee?? I did not notice this but others have pointed this out

I mean Checkov's coffee amirite? Unless Metatron was just buttering him up, which, sure.

Metatron says: "You're a leader. You're honest, you don't just tell people what they want to hear" which is WRONG IT'S SO WRONG. AZIRAPHALE IS NOT A LEADER. HE'S NOT HONEST, LIKE, AT ALL. HE ALWAYS WANTS TO TELL PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT TO HEAR.

The fact that we didn't see the end of the conversation at the coffee shop????

We didn't see Aziraphale's true reaction to the suggestion of Crowley Rising????

AT ALL??

NO REACTION AND NO END OF THE CONVERSATION

METATRON COULD HAVE THREATENED AZIRAPHALE OR WORSE

Aziraphale apparently hadn't decided what to do at the end of the conversation. (Metatron's "you don't have to answer immediately. take all the time you need") but then he goes, after That Conversation???

No wrap up or explanation for the large scale miracle in the bookshop at the beginning of the season??????

Also the halo thing was never really explained, but Az, what, blew up his halo??

Aziraphale and Crowley switched sides (of the frame) after Crowley's "confession"

Aziraphale and Crowley were on the wrong sides of the screen at the end

AZIRAPHALE WAS ON THE RIGHT AND CROWLEY WAS ON THE LEFT

FOR LIKE 3 WHOLE MINUTES

DURING THE ENTIRE CREDIT SEQUENCE

THEY WERE DELIBERATELY SHOWN ON SCREEN FOR SEVERAL MINUTES ON THE "WRONG" SIDES

WTF, PRODUCTION TEAM

Aziraphale's little smile at the end???????

I mean seriously, did Crowley and Aziraphale not discuss contingency plans for the "all of us vs all of them?" I get that Aziraphale still has a long way to go, but I thought that was a big part of his journey in s1. To accept Crowley as he is. And ofc he's allowed to make mistakes, so maybe I'm wrong. But like, did they pull a "Choose your faces wisely" again? The "look like a bee" thing, was that foreshadowing? I mean, come ON. Aziraphale and Crowley are stupid, but they're not THAT stupid. Right???

My partner says that maybe they're on the wrong side because, metaphorically, they are literally wrong? like that something is wrong? not actually a situation as above? and that might be it too.

but that last scene rubbed me the wrong way SO MUCH FOR SO LONG. "Of course you said no to Hell, you're the bad guys" I mean what???? That is such different phrasing than what he's been saying all season?? Aziraphale being oKAY WITH LEAVING THE BOOKSHOP???? Sure, he was sad about it but: "nothing lasts forever"???? what???????????????????????????

#gos2 #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #gos2 spoilers #good omens spoilers #I'm insane here #conspiracy time #gos2e6 #go2.6 #go2e6

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freebooter4ever · 1 year ago

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youtube

"he's not even a celebrity, why are you so freaked out about this?"

Not a celebrity to you maybe. But okay, too late to respond to my friend's comment i thought of this example: imagine a signed hockey stick your favorite hockey blorbo used to score the most amazing goal of their career, or that puck, or something. That relatively mundane, meaningless item suddenly has significance because of the value you put in it.

Now in this case, the guy passed around his sketchbooks for the audience to look through. This blew my mind. Like A) he didn't treat his sketchbooks like precious commodities and B) he trusted the crowd not to...I dunno break them? Anyway the minute I realized I could potentially touch a sketchbook i was like, holy shit i need to touch a sketchbook (i didnt. The books never made it all the way over to me in the back lmao). But it was like 'wow i understand sports fans better now, because touching this sketchbook that he probably has hundreds of feels like the holy grail'. Like if i could just look through those pages i'd be blessed with some kind of halo light of art.

Anyway, my point being: 'celebrity' is in the eye of the beholder, really. And also it shows how little people really understand of social anxiety. In certain circumstances I am equally terrified of famous people and non famous people alike. For example, last halloween I went to a sculpting demonstration by a random artist I never heard of. I watched in awe, and then spent an hour at the reception getting up the courage to talk to him. I'd never even heard of the guy, I didn't know who he was, but I was still shaking in my shoes trying to say a single damn sentence.

I'm tired of people judging me for this, I'm tired of this being seen as a lack of 'skills' issue - as if I can 'practice' enough to rewire my brain chemistry or personality or whatever. I wish people would instead try to understand a little, and not look down on people like me who just can't fucking network as if we aren't trying hard enough so therefore don't deserve anything LOL.

#Journal shit

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notasapleasure · 2 years ago

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Sunday six(es)

1) Inchoate (I really need to get on with it actually...)

"He's a good boy, Lali, you tell me yourself often enough."

Lali grunted and folded her own arms. "He's often out late."

Elizabeth sighed. It had been a long day, as Irakli had pointed out, and she didn't have the appetite for questioning Lali's motives - surely this criticism of Irakli, whom Lali always spoke so highly of over the phone, was just displaced criticism of Elizabeth.

"He looks after his grandmother, and that's enough for me," she said.

Lali nodded curtly.

Elizabeth could imagine what she was tempted to say: He wouldn't have to if you knew your duty.

2) Jerott band AU ashram whump

Geetesh smiled at Jerott's concern over a minor foible. "No one else uses the studio yet, Vadan, the tape will wait." He paused in the doorway and turned to Jerott. His expression was hidden by the bright sun outside, his body a silhouette revealed within the rosy halo of his thin clothes. Despite the way he stooped a little, despite his unthreatening body language, he was tall and broad and well-muscled, and with the sun behind him like a corona, he seemed otherworldly.

Maybe it was the effect of Francis' music, some poetic inspiration rubbing off on him - Jerott had a moment's confused vision of a benevolent visitor from outer space, an angel or prophet or a teacher, and he wondered why someone like Geetesh had chosen Jerott as his disciple.

3) ATWD/band AU crossover

Irakli tilted his head back and, laughing, blew a plume of smoke up at the muddy orange glow of the night sky. "Aleko would have hated that dance so much."

"I enjoyed it."

"Yeah, I know - so did I."

Irakli's grin was too much for the defensive tone Merab had slipped automatically into. Overcome, Merab laughed as well.

"Oh but - this hand of mine..." he held the back of it up to his face with a camp flourish, his cigarette hanging from between his lips, and was delighted by Irakli's instant and genuine amusement.

"What did you think of them?" Merab asked when their laughter had faded. "This guy Lymond and the others."

Irakli raised one shoulder to his ear and puffed on his cigarette thoughtfully. "They're not like how I imagined rock stars would be, that's for sure."

#sunday six #atwd fic #my wips

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doubleshotofsomething · 4 years ago

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To Hell & Back

Part Four: “My wings are frayed and what’s left of my halo’s black”

Summary: Your exit strategy involves your neighbour... Well, it is your neighbour.

Prompt: "I don't want to live on this planet anymore."

Warnings: swearing. (Typos that will be fixed). That's it??

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

-----

Series Masterlist

-----

You weren't always this...angry.

You weren't always this spiteful and short tempered, and malicious enough to deliberately poison muffins.

At one point in life, you were everything you'd ever wanted in a friend. Kind and compassionate. Even patience was a virtue you had an abundance of.

Then, one day, some guy from Asgard came with an army of aliens and ripped a hole through your father's finances. Apparently damaging a bunch of buildings, including the one your father worked at, was bad for business and so it closed down.

Just as your mother's job had barely managed to get your family out of the red, her boss gets murdered at some important meeting that blew up – along with some world leaders. In her boss's place, the son took over and ran the company into the ground.

Luckily, your sister had a bakery that made just enough to cover your parents' costs and your summer jobs had saved you enough to get you through college. Then, some other guy came with another alien army, and decided to take half the world with him – or whatever he did

The wrong half of the world, in your opinion. You could have lived without watching your sister's husband run her business into the ground. And life would have been a little easier if you didn't have to stretch yourself thin, to make sure your mother saw the next day.

"Then half the world came back," you continue, eyes focused on the cat. "And some random family showed up in my apartment. I'm pretty sure the husband had a heart attack when he saw me–"

Bucky places another beer in front of you. You hate the taste, but coffee on an empty stomach has never worked well for you.

"–so I moved," you take a final sip of your second beer, before placing it down and reaching for the one he just placed in front of you. "Now, I'm here. Stuck with a nosy neighbour and his cat."

"You can keep her." Bucky sighs, leaning against the wall next to you. Your shoulders brush. "I don't know the first thing about cats."

You frown and look up at him. "Barnes... You are cat. And I already have you, why would I want another one?"

He scoffs, blue eyes meeting yours. "I am not that kind of lady."

"Oh god," you roll your eyes.

"Gotta buy me dinner first, doll–"

"Not a doll."

"Maybe take me dancing," he continues, lips twitching at the sight of your scowl. "If you're lucky, I might invite you in for tea."

You glance at the coffee machine, still boxed, sitting on his counter but don't comment. You know what it means, you know why he bought it, and the thought alone makes you queasy.

So you look back at the cat, curled on your bare lap, and sigh. "Sorry I came in without pants."

You don't say anything else and he chuckles. He found you in nothing but an old shirt and socks that night, so he's not really surprised.

"Sorry I helped you without a shirt." He replies. He would've answered you immediately, the second you said his name, but he had to find pants first.

Silence falls between the both of you, and it takes actual effort for Bucky to look away from you. Tempering down the disappointment that has the audacity to knaw at you, at your stubbornness, you turn back to the screen of his laptop.

He was reviewing CCTV footage of your building's basement garage. Two hours into the viewing and he heard you calling him from the balcony, so he had to pause.

Now, four hours, three beers on your side and a weird trip down memory lane later – you're helping him sift through footage at a faster rate.

"So," you begin, eyes glued to the screen. "I have a question, about that whole serum thing."

"Hmm?" It's the first question you've ever asked about that part of him, that part of his history.

"How does it work when it comes to diseases?"

Blinking, Bucky has to pause the video to look at you. "Diseases?"

You nod. "Like flu, chicken pox, tonsillitis. You know, that stuff."

"I'm confused–"

"Do you not get it or does it run through you like water?"

"What?"

"Or does your immune system just basically butcher it within the hour?" You blink at him, eyes wide with curiosity. "'Cause like, I had this friend with one helluva immune system. He never got sick, so does it work like that?"

He pauses, lips pursing as he considers you. "Do you wanna know if my blood cells can cure AIDS?"

"If that were the case, you'd be in a CDC off-site lab right now–" you put down the beer you've been cradling. "–so, no. I wanna know what kind of illness can knock a super soldier out long enough for me to use it as an excuse."

He blinks. Once. Twice. "Huh?!"

"Saturday is in a few days."

Oh.

"What does that have to do with me?" His face scrunches up into the most confused expression you've ever seen.

"As we both know," you narrow your eyes at him. "Ever since you saved my life, like the asshole you are, my parents have taken a liking to you. And since I poisoned their favourite couple last week, I'm in deep shit this week unless I can find a good reason to not show up."

"I'm not gonna apologise for saving you."

You raise an eyebrow. "Of course not. That would mean admitting it was very selfish of you."

This is not how he expected this conversation to go. Or how he wanted it to go. So, he decides to turn back to the screen and continue watching the footage.

You know you struck a nerve, and it would be easier for you to blame it on the beer, but you can't. You want answers, just as much as he does.

You want to know what gave him the right to knock down your door, or the audacity to have his friend fly you to the hospital. He won't straight up tell you, you tried when you woke up in the ICU and found him there, and it pisses you off that he might not ever tell you.

Bucky frowns at the screen. "The camera's get switched off right after I leave–" he glances at you. "Did you bribe security to switch them off?"

"We have security?"

"The guys at the front desk?"

You frown at him. You know those guys, you bring them baked goodies from work three times a week.

"Hang on," you place the cat on the couch next to you, cross your legs and turn to move closer to him. "Let me get this straight."

Your knees gently press into his thigh and he forced to look at you.

"You're telling me that Laurence with sinuses, down in the lobby, and Percy with the three-legged rabbit. Those guys–" of course you'd know that. "–they're security? For this apartment building? We have security?"

"You can't be serious–"

"We have a biometric system at the door and like cameras, and a patrol car that frequents this neighbourhood–" you're pressing a little to hard on your fingers and he's worried you just might snap one off. "–what the hell do we need security guards for?"

You continue rattling off all the safety measures the building has, which means your fingers have to suffer throughout the list, unless he does something about it.

Which he does. Almost as if instinct, his hands are clasping yours before he can make the decision to reach for them. They're warm and cold against yours, but the right kind of warm and cold that makes you frown at them.

His hands swallow yours, which isn't something that surprises you. It's the way you're not pulling away, the way you're not fighting it, the way you can't blame the alcohol because it almost feels...normal.

You haven't felt normal in such a long time.

"You gonna stop tryna break your fingers?" Bucky starts. "Or do I have to stay like this 'til you knock out?"

You blink. "Does a concussion knock you out long enough to warrant an excuse?"

"You're relentless."

"Says the guy watching CCTV footage because of a cat."

"It's... For a good cause."

"Me missing Saturday dinner is a good cause, Barnes."

He sighs. "Doll–"

"–I'll owe you one."

Bucky is about to argue, his mouth was halfway open before your words registered. That's really what happened.

It's not like he was looking for an opening or anything. A way of asking you, that wouldn't resort in an argument or anything.

It's not like those were the words he's been waiting for, for quite some time now.

Not at all.

Of course not.

But, who is he to argue with the mysterious workings of a universe.

The room you're in is dimly lit, the only light originating from the kitchen and the streetlights. But you can still see that dangerous glint in his eyes.

He grins. "Is that right?"

You swear you heard yourself gulp.

-----

"Okay–" you're fidgety and anxious, and can't seem to stand still as the elevator doors close. "–now, let's go through this again. What's our exit strategy?"

Bucky turns to fully face you. He's been trying to keep you calm ever since the parking lot, but even he can admit that he was far too distracted to be helpful.

It wasn't even his fault he was distracted, it was completely yours. When he invited you to Sarah's party , the party celebrating the expansion of the success revamp of the boat business, he had said to dress comfortably.

Not dress like you were put on this Earth to be the end of him.

He was waiting in the parking lot, the same one that had the camera's switched off right after he left, when you came barrelling towards him.

You had narrowly escaped your sister. She was getting off the elevator just as you were nearing it, so you quickly opted for the staircase beside it. You were a flurry of floral black and white and pink in a summer dress, your hair barely in place – you tried using pins and thought about ribbons, but then forgot about them when you couldn't find your other shoe – as you basically pushed him inside the car.

You used the passenger window to try and fix your hair, as best as you could. And he spent the drive trying to reassure you that you looked fine.

You looked more than fine, but he couldn't seem to muster up the words.

"Doll–"

"Not a doll." Is your automated response.

"You look fine, " sweet as sugar, is what he wants to say. "And, well, there is no exit strategy."

You gape up at the mammoth of a man in front of you. His words, a ballad of heathens in your book, echoes in your head.

"No exit strategy?" You whine, fisting his shirt as you desperately meet his eyes. "Bucky, no. Please. You can't do this."

The elevator doors open before he can respond to you. Sam is waiting on the other side of the doors, champagne glasses in both hands.

Hands still gripping into Bucky's shirt, hair almost presentable, Bucky's face flushing from hearing you say his name, and your expression portraying pure fluster. You and Bucky both turn to find Sam staring at the scene in front of him.

His eyebrows shoot up, golden brown eyes lighting up at the sight. "Okay. This definitely makes up for you being late."

Bucky blinks, seeming to snap out of his stupor. "Wait, wha–"

"No–" Sam cuts in. "–I know how you 40s guys are about kissin' and telling. I won't pry."

"Hang on, Sam–"

"Bathroom's on the next floor," he has the audacity to grin. "Just be quick about it. The speech's in twenty minutes."

With that, he steps away from the elevator, gives a curt nod and – with a Cheshire grin – walks away.

You slowly peel your hands away from Bucky and take a few steps back.

Bucky clears his throat. "So, about the exit strategy..."

---

TAGS :D : @sunflowerxbarnes , @ginger-swag-rapunzel , @arctic-duchess , @sltwins , @thewayilookatbacon , @buckyisperfect , @paryl

#bex's 1.5k meme challenge #bucky barnes #reader insert #sam wilson #x reader #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky fluff #mcu x reader #bucky x you #marvel fic #neighbour!bucky #neighbours au #enemiestolovers au #bucky barnes x reader #marvel masterlist #to hell and back #part 4 #bucky x y/n

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