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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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Hue and Cry XVII

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), trauma, some elements untagged.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: The reader and Zemo try to figure out what’s next.

Note: Hey, I banged this out quicker than expected. This part went longer than I expected to not as much happened as I thought hahaha. But here we go, again.(I will try to update the masterlist asap)

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

Two Summers Later

The sun raised beads of sweat across your brow, even in the shadow of the tree. A gentle breeze rolled over the grass now and again, a soft sort of heat. You laid across the blanket in your thin dress, a subtle movement beside you, low babbling and grasping fingers. You breathed in the scent of pollen and watched the lush leaves sway above.

The footsteps were light but he was careful not to frighten you. The baby girl murmured, over a year old now. She stood, unsteadily, and he caught her before she stumbled too far. His shadow loomed above you as he lifted Elina and smiled at her round cheeks.

“How is my little baroness?” he cooed as he bounced her and her gibberish grew louder as she grabbed at his pale tunic, “my lady?” he peered down at you, “you look… serene.”

“She likes to watch the cloud but it’s much too bright today,” you sat up and grabbed your cane from against the trunk. Lord Zemo offered his hand and helped you to your feet, “so we have watched the bloom instead.”

“She is getting big. More agile,” he commented as she tugged at his beard. He’d grown it over the winter but hadn’t cut it even in the heat. She liked to pet it and you suspected that was the reason for his obstinacy, “how will you keep up with her?”

“I have learned,” you poked him with the tip of your cane, “still learning.”

“Very quickly,” he praised, “the accent is better,” he pinched two fingers together, “I almost believe you a woman of this land.”

“Sometimes I believe it myself,” you went to the bench and sat heavily. Your hip never healed quite as it had been before so you limped with the carved wood capped with silver and made the best of it, “bring her here,” you set the can aside and pulled the thin scarf over your shoulders, “she should eat.”

“I told you, a wet nurse would do her better,” he neared and handed her over after a final peck on her cheek, “and she is getting older. She eats at the table now.”

“She will have some proper food when we get in,” you covered her against your chest and unlaced the front of your gown, “I like having her close.”

He nodded and paced through the grass. He removed his silk cap and ran his fingers through his dark hair. He was anxious as of late, you noticed only because it was an unusual trait for him. He sighed as he tucked his hat into his belt.

“Would you tell me?” you asked sharply as Elina latched.

“Tell you what?” he tilted his head coyly.

“What makes you uneasy?” you urged.

The tugging in your chest calmed you as you cradled your daughter close. When she was born, that had been difficult. She reminded you of her father then but now she was yours. She was the only gift he’d ever given you.

“It is… complicated,” he said with a frown, “I think it best we put the child down before we talk on it.”

“If you wish,” you relented, “Werner says she is doing well. I went to him this morning.”

“And you?” Zemo crossed his arms, “does he say you are doing well?”

You kept one arm around Elina and unthinkingly brushed the scar that stretched from your hairline to your chin, a rippled line along your cheek, one of a dozen markers of that fateful day. You still dreamed of it but they weren’t so much nightmares as vague memories.

“I will need the cane so long as I live,” you said and dropped your arm back under the scarf, “the scars will fade but not entirely. I suppose none of that matters.”

He nodded and rubbed his chin as he began to pace again, “back from the dead,” he mused, “we have a legend here, about a woman, a queen…” he went on, “she married a king who did not love her nor she him. He wanted another and he was… quite intent on it. So he accused her of adultery and witchery and passed on her the harshest sentence; she was drawn and quartered, pulled apart by horses.

“We have since done away with such punishments, too savage, but the legend goes that they buried the parts of her and the king married his lover on her grave. The gods saw it as an affront, the lies, the trial held in their names, the death imparted in the same vein, and then a mocking marriage on the site of their sins…

“In her casket, her body reformed though she still showed the signs of her fate. She climbed out of her resting place and visited her king in the night. She’d never done that before you see because he had no love for her, he never even tried, and she tore him piece by piece, worse even then the horses. Fingers, toes, tongue… balls, every bit of him plucked little by little until he was nothing.

“The legend never did say where she went after that, her grave was found disturbed and her body gone. Those women who suffer with violent or cruel men, they pray to her, they burn candles for her, and even, they kill their men for her.”

“Why are you saying all this?” you interrupted as you wiped up your chest and clumsily tied up the laces of your dress as Elina slobbered down it.

“Because I see you are reformed like the queen but I wonder, where is your sense of vengeance?”

You were quiet as you fixed your dress and lifted Elina above the scarf to pat her back. Soon she would no longer take the nipple and you were stubborn to keep it up for so long but the time passed and the thought of separation frightened you. Soon she would be old enough to realise how odd everything was and she would ask questions. You weren’t sure if you could ever answer them.

“Take her please,” you held her out and he came to lift her. He set her down on her feet instead and held her hand as she took some steps. She grew more bold by the minute. He bent as he ushered her around. You planted your cane in the ground and stood, “vengeance,” you said carefully, “I remember you warned me not to trust you, is that why? Are you ready to use me against him?”

“I always knew you were clever,” he smiled as Elina bent her legs and bounced in place. He chuckled at her and suddenly scooped her up. He tossed her and caught her as she trilled in excitement, “the time comes closer but the path is not clearer.”

You watched him as he stilled your daughter and balanced her against his side, “I don’t know if I can ever face him again,” you confessed.

“That is not what I ask,” he said, “it is not what I intend but...the winds begin to blow and I must let them carry me.”

You followed him as he set off towards the castle, The Tower Zemo, a bastion of brick among the grasslands. It was so tall one could see for miles in any direction and it could be seen in turn from just as far. He was patient as your cane plunked down after each step and he made silly faces at Elina.

“You have bided me longer than I expected. And her,” you said as you approached the open doors of the castle. The stairs were another task but you’d learned to take them with your hip.

“Her? You think I forsake her her father? She is nothing like him,” he replied as he waited at the tip of the steps, “and she is all the good parts of you. All that he didn’t take.”

“I am indebted to you, I am aware of that, but you do not attempt to collect your dues,” you challenged as you came level to him, “it makes me wary.”

“Would it be too… ridiculous to say that she is payment enough,” he smiled at your daughter, “she has brightened many of my days here.”

“It is because I know how things are. How it works among you noblemen,” you countered, “there is something more you want.”

“Tess,” he called and the pudgy maid appeared, “she is hungry, see that she is fed before she is laid down.”

“My lord,” Tess took the child eagerly and poked her nose playfully, “come here, little poppy.”

You watched her go as she began to sing to Elina. Her voice carried through the corridors as her wide hips swayed and her white hair wisped from under her cap. The old woman had seen your daughter into the world and since helped keep her there.

“So what is it you haven’t told me?” you turned on Zemo.

“Wouldn’t you like to sit?” he asked slyly.

“You are welcome to recline, sir, but I would hear you now. I’ve waited long enough,” you insisted.

“Well…” he took a deep breath and walked ahead of you. He turned back and clapped his hand together as the summer flowed in through the open doors, “I must send you away.”

“Send me away?” you gulped and looked to the door which Tess had just taken your daughter through.

“You will have Elina, I am not heartless,” he said, “though I will miss the little baroness.”

“Where are we going?” you quivered in relief.

“I have a castle on the lake, Heinrich’s Creek,” he explained, “it is a lovely little place. My mother’s favourite of my family’s holds. It is far away from court, further than this, and safe. Only my blood knows where it lies and… so only me and those who I would have escort you.”

“And why? Why do we have to go? Why now?” you prodded.

“I have received a letter from your King Samuel, co-signed by my own king. A party is on the road already and I have been once more tasked with hosting the negotiations. Your people are persistent. They will come here and I will represent the kingdom in these meetings and hopefully I can appease them quick enough that I needn’t worry about them sniffing around,” Zemo bristled, “I have not been allowed the privilege to know of who I host but any in the capital for the tournament, they would know the woman who gave them such a violent finale.”

“And after?”

“We will see how it unfolds first. It will be a chance to gain a measure of the climate. I might even hear after your former keeper, then I will decide what needs be done,” his dark eyes narrowed as mischief ticked in his cheek.

“Why?” you asked, “why cling to it?”

“I am as stubborn as he,” he said carefully, “I was willing to set it aside but he could not. And, my lady, if you haven’t the fire left for your vengeance then I can simply take it upon my own wrath.

“Perhaps it is low of me but how he treated me, how he chased me out even if it did prove convenient to my deceit, it cannot be forgotten. And your people, the war I fought against them, they come to us for help and yet they still boast of their victory. I was there, no one won those battles.”

“So it is all a game of war?”

“Oh, no, I do not long for another war but… retribution leaves few options for the wronged,” he said.

You lowered your chin and moved around him. You sat on the stool by the wall and leaned back against the stone. “And if it put Elina in danger?”

“That is the last thing I want to do. That is why I would send you away.”

“But you said it yourself, you will have need for me… what then?”

He sniffed and his sole scuffed on the floor, “I promised you Elina’s safety, her life. You knew yours wasn’t part of the bargain.”

“I know but… if you--”

“I have friends who can see to the girl. I have made arrangements for the little baroness.”

“But--”

“It was never a title I gave her lightly,” he intoned, “she has noble blood and I have no heir. She will grow, she will live, she will flourish.”

You gripped your cane tightly and ran your nails along your skirt, “when do we leave?”

“Within the month. The party will not be here so soon, their progress will be hampered by the heat. There are droughts in the west.”

“And we will be safe at the Creek?”

“Impenetrable,” he assured, “enjoy your time there with your daughter.”

“While it lasts, right?” you uttered.

He looked away grimly and brushed his knuckles against this beard, “we both knew this wouldn’t go on forever.”

“Yes, we knew,” you stood and held your hip, “but you can’t blame me for hoping it would.”

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sexy-opium-ravioli · 4 years ago

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Dating the Lich HC's:

*Hey babes! Ofc dating the Lich is going to entail a lot of angst, so this is a official trigger warning for themes of manipulation, mind control and superiority complex in the context of a romantic relationship. Also he never turns into Sweet P in this universe, he just fucken dies lol. Be warned! Also, as always, explicit NSFW under the cut*

Dynamics:

The Lich has brewed his presence for ten thousand years and he will forever more. He is of a million worlds, and will spread infinitely, like a virus inside a weak body.

This being is both larger than life and less than a singularity, and taking a physical form means nothing in the long run. His existence is not in a form, but in a purpose. A role he must fulfill not to keep the balance of the universe, but to maintain its sporadic nature and eventually be the heat death that puts an end to it.

In this universe, the one you were in, originally you were one that was of modest values. Live your life, do it moderately, and be happy with it.

That is until you ran into an eight foot tall decaying horn man with glowing eyes. He took hold of your mind immediately.

The Lich does not see you as a being, or as a purpose, but rather, he sees you as his. His to play with and ponder until the end of time, until the very end of himself.

He promised you a higher state of consciousness until you both eventually succumbed to his very nature. To be a part of his legion forever, then some, and then never again.

Your heart was his instantly.

Romance:

We all know that this romance will be nowhere near conventional or healthy. In the first few months of it, you don't have a choice until he can sense that you'll follow along willingly. In those first few months, he controls almost every move you make.

You are by his side. Not in battle nor in planning, but you are there to be his anyways. This is how you exist, now.

It could have turned out worse, you supposed. But seeing how he lured people into his green pit of power, seeing how he destroyed, seeing Finn and Jake's hurt faces when they happen upon you? There wasn't much to convince you that it didn't turn out the worst way possible.

Eventually, however, you grow numb to this. For awhile, after the handful of defeats doled out by your two heroes, you two traverse the stars. He mainly focuses on his mission, save for the small moments of food, rest and privacy you need.

You focus on him.

You're smart enough to not try and ask too many questions of him. Prodding destruction's physical embodiment when you don't know their temper isn't a wise move.

Still, though. It doesn't matter. He senses your curiosities, and sometimes he makes himself home in your mind and hears your questions whispered through his ears.

Sometimes he pretends like he didn't hear them. Other times, when he's in a better mood, he'll humor you.

'Where are we going next?' You thought, stars and void blurring past you as you both sail the heavens.

"To the Lambda Cancri system, that is what your kind called it long ago,"

It still shocked you sometimes, how he could so easily break your mind and eat the contents like a yolk. You wondered if he would ever acknowledge your newfound admiration for him.

"Thank you,"

"You are welcome"

Eventually, you two make it to the Lambda Cancri system.

There is no planet to land on. It would be another journey to the next system to hopefully replenish energy, but you wouldn't complain.

"Look. One star, another. A binary star system triggered by gravitational force and interlocked in a dance, forever, until one consumes the other. Look."

"I see," And you were telling the truth. You sense that this was a metaphor for a relationship bigger than those stars, bigger than the Lich and Finn themselves, bigger than Ooo.

He turned to look at you. Slowly, he touched you, and he knelt in the vacuum of space until his forehead touched yours.

"My side, until the end of time,"

NSFW:

There isn't much time the Lich has to satiate those pesky little needs of yours. And even if he did have time, he would not waste magic on creating the proper body parts to help you in those needs anyways.

Eventually though, even though he is knowing of most things, he grows curious of your specific reactions. The noises you could make, if you'd muffle them or if you'd scream.

You're not expecting for him to smuggle you inside an inn the next planet you two rest at.

He rents a room, he takes you up the stairs, and as soon as he shuts the door he makes your clothes vanish at the snap of his fingers.

There is no true heat behind his eyes, none of the wanting for himself. Just a veiled curiosity, something you often feel for him.

You get on the bed and present yourself to him. Again, you're wise enough to wait for his orders. To not test him.

He rewards this behavior with a stroke on the cheek, a comforting gesture that tingles from the raw, dry texture of skeletal fingers.

He slowly moves down. As the last scholar of GOLB, he has had habits that have not passed through him. He studies you.

He puts his tongue on you; not too warm and not too cold, but very articulated to your points of pleasure.

You're quickly overstimulated.

He does not stop during the night. It is all you could have ever asked for out of the Lich.

#Adventure time #the lich #the lich x reader #lich #lich x reader #lich king #lich king x reader #finn mertens #finn #jake #jake the dog #Ooo #angst #kinda sad lol

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runtedfiction · 3 years ago

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nicer

day 1: facade @zelinkweek2021

ao3

* * *

Years later, when Link faces the castle’s crumbling walls, he thinks about the Princess.

* * *

The day King Rhoam announces this year’s Harvest Festival is also the day his subjects know they're doomed. Officially, it’s supposed to be a normal holiday. Unofficially, the language in the announcement—“the last celebration before the fight against Calamity Ganon”, “the last time the palace will be open to Castletown until the fight is over”—convinces everyone that they’re partying in the face of the apocalypse.

“They have no faith in me,” Zelda says, putting down her pen. “Ganon is brewing deep beneath the castle. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows I can’t stop it. This is their last chance to let loose before all hell breaks loose.”

Impa frowns and hands her the final page of raw Guardian data to clean. “You're too hard on yourself. You still have time.”

“I just have Mount Lanayru next week.” She focuses on the Silent Princess above her desk. It's wilting. “Do you think I’ll be wise enough? Maybe Hylia will smite me right then and there for being an idiot.”

“Princess!”

“I know, I know.”

* * *

They wrap up that afternoon’s study, an incredibly useful session in quantifying the powers of the Guardians, to get ready for the ball.

Zelda’s dress is her signature blue, but a bit more fluid and feminine than the one she normally wears. Made for dancing and a summer night.

“Collarbones,” Impa notes, and Zelda laughs. “A little off the shoulder as well! And the subtle constellation pattern in the tulle--how stunning!”

“Don’t act as if you didn’t design it.”

“Guilty.”

Impa’s dress, an even deeper blue, is similarly gorgeous. It’s long sleeved, form fitting, and silky.

“Impa, I just want to say—” Zelda pauses, looking at their reflections in the mirror. When will they ever look this nice again? “Thank you for being my friend.”

Impa' smiles. “Of course. And Princess—if I may.”

“Yes?”

“With all your talk of the world ending, of doom coming.” Her voice gets small. “Do you think it would be worth telling him?”

Zelda stiffens. She thinks of him somewhere in the castle, dressed in his best uniform, walking to find her.

She lies. “No.”

Three quiet, efficient raps sound against her door. Zelda’s heart lurches.

* * *

In the hot, overcrowded ballroom, she can’t stop wondering if he thinks she looks pretty.

There are important people here she needs to talk to: researchers from the Royal Ancient Tech Lab, religious leaders, captains of industry, and so on. She finds her father and tries to reach some common ground on the one night they aren’t preparing for Evil Incarnate. (She fails.) She should find the court poet and give him the dance he’s been writing about for the past month.

But all she wants is for Link to look at her.

He’s indeed in his best uniform. His gloves and boots are blindingly white; his collar sits high and stiff against his neck. He’s uncommonly handsome, and the uniform emphasizes it. When someone pulls him in to dance (technically he should be keeping watch, but that someone really insists), she hates the jealousy that blooms in her chest and takes the hand of the poet. When she twirls, when she makes conversation, when she curtsies--she tries to see it all from Link’s perspective, if he can even find her in the crowd.

“Princess, are you feeling alright?”

“Oh.”

The poet looks at her in the way that a puppy looks at its master. The neediness satisfies and repulses her.

“Yes,” she says, smiling quickly. “Thank you for asking. How are you?”

“Wonderful. I was sitting in the courtyard the other day and...”

It’s easy to tune him out and appear to be interested with the right amount of “mhmm” and “oh?” and eye contact. But every time he twirls her around, she tries to spot the top of a Royal Guard cap in the crowd.

She knows she’s being stupid. Even in the incredibly unlikely scenario where Link’s interested, what could they do? Given that her powers aren’t working, there’s only a sixty percent chance they’ll get through the Calamity. She thinks back to what Impa said earlier. Something about letting him know in the face of impending doom.

(Maybe it doesn’t make sense to do something that would possibly be useless, a tiny voice in the back of her head says. But on the flip side, it’s also possible that nothing will matter soon, so why not tell him?)

She scowls and lets the poet dip her far too low for common courtesy.

* * *

Link is definitely lost in the crowd now. The next song requires that they rotate between multiple partners, and she can’t spot him anywhere. There’s no way that he’d be looking at her anyway, because why would he? He’s the chosen one, kind and strong and handsome and blessed. She’s the failed reincarnation, mean and headstrong and cursed.

If (when) the world ends, it’ll be on her.

Zelda admits to herself, swaying in the arms of someone else who doesn’t matter, that because the world has an uncomfortably high probability of ending, it follows that maybe, possibly, probably it makes sense for her to say something.

A sense of urgency unfurls in the pit of her stomach. Where is he?

* * *

She tries to find him. She doesn’t know what she’d do--ask for a dance? Strike up a conversation? Maybe it's the heat getting to her, but it worries her that she's lost him. She walks the length of the ballroom and comes up with nothing.

There’s no way she could summon him, but…

She grabs a glass of water and walks out the ballroom to the nearest balcony.

Except in this very specific circumstance, it’s infuriating how easy it is for him to find her. Even when she doesn't want to be found, even when she’s actively running away (and nearly dying in the process), there he is. The knowledge that he’s almost always aware of her presence burns.

“Hello,” she says after a respectable amount of time.

He steps out behind her. Unfortunately, the moonlight’s softness makes him look angelic. “Hi.”

Zelda very rarely has no plan. She’s the one always bossing him around, deciding where they’ll go next and how they’ll get there and what they’ll do. She’s at a loss for words right now.

“Ah--hm.” A cooling night breeze passes by. “Are you--are you enjoying the festival?”

“Yes?” He looks confused. And hot, her unhelpful brain adds. Very hot. “Are you?”

“Yes. It’s quite warm inside, but I enjoy the music and the dancing.”

“The band is nice.”

She agrees and scrambles to find another conversation topic. Damn it. Still no plan. Think, think.

“Uh--” he starts the same time she asks, “Are you ready for Mount Lanayru next week?”

He nods, and she hates how she made the conversation about work. But he looks more confident now--talking about work is easier than trying to have whatever kind of conversation she had in mind. “Yeah. I read about the region and it seems relatively safe. We might see Naydra too.”

“That would be incredible,” she says. “I’d love to capture it on the Slate.”

He nods again. A silence passes (a horribly awkward one that eats at her) before she asks: “What were you going to say before I interrupted you?”

“Oh yes.” Link clears his throat, and the fact that he looks a bit nervous sends her heart pounding. Can he tell what her subconscious is trying to do? “I’ve been meaning to ask (oh God, oh God, what has he been meaning to ask)--are you avoiding me?”

She blinks. “What?”

He won’t make eye contact with her. Triforce of courage, my ass. “Are you avoiding me?”

“No?” She’s stunned. Avoiding? All she’s been doing for the past week is pining!

“But, I feel like.” He pauses to look at her briefly. Again, his nerves kick off her own. “Ever since we got back from the desert, you haven’t really talked to me.”

She needs to think. A week ago, what happened?

They were at the Kara Kara Bazaar, and she nearly died because she intentionally (stupidly) lost him. She relives the feeling of it now--the panic that came with facing certain death when she realized it wasn’t Link following her, but the Yiga, then the shock when he appeared out of thin air wielding the sword. His back, so strong and sure. His concern as he helped her get up afterwards.

How once she could process what happened, something kicked in her chest, and everything was so obvious so suddenly.

Then getting back from the desert, what did she do? She wrote a diary entry, spent a sleepless night deciding she had feelings for him that she didn’t want to name, and tried as hard as possible to conceal them. The pining was unbearable, and--oh. Looking at him made her face burn, so she turned away. She never knew what to say around him, so she chose to say nothing at all.

Perhaps she approached her yearning by offsetting it with its opposite.

They really haven’t spoken. Zelda shakes her head, and mentally kicks herself. How can someone like you back if you don’t even talk to them? “I promise, I’m not trying to avoid you.”

He furrows his brow a little. Cute. Unfair. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Ok. If you do--if you ever need more space, let me know.” He smiles a little. “I do have to follow you, but I can do it farther away or something.”

She smiles back. Please always follow me. “Thanks. No need.”

“Alright,” he says. He glances at her arms.“Do you want to go back inside? It’s a bit cold. You’re getting goosebumps.”

She didn’t even notice. An idea is forming in her mind, bright and hot and something that needs to rush out right now or she’s going to overthink it to death.

“Going back inside sounds good. When we do, would you--would you like to dance with me?”

The question leaves so quickly that she’s not too sure if he understood it. She holds her breath; she might throw up.

“Sure,” he says, and the disappointment that she expected to punch her gut doesn’t come; a flood of something wonderful washes over her instead. Sure is yes, her mind sings. “How about I find you before the last song? I’ve been doing a bad job of keeping watch.”

“Sure,” she echoes. Hopefully her excitement isn’t too obvious when she turns back and nearly runs into the ballroom.

* * *

When the band announces the last song of the night, Zelda lets go of the poet and steps back immediately.

“My Princess,” he says, and the normal repulsion she would feel turns into joy when she spots a navy blue cap making its way through the crowd. “I would be honored to have your final dance, if you would have me.”

“Another time,” she says, already turning to pick up her skirt and mosey her way through the last group of people separating her from a flash of sandy blonde hair. “Thank you though!”

She doesn’t wait for the poet’s response because the crowd is gone and Link is right in front of her, handsome and smiling slightly. Her heart is at a million miles a minute when she drops her skirt and steps forward to place her hand in his.

This isn’t like her. He must think she’s acting so strange. Either that, or it’s obvious just from looking at her what she’s thinking. It’s a frenzied array of thoughts, ranging from the obvious (handsome, handsome, smells so good?, handsome, kind eyes) and the embarrassing (The smallest, least repressed part of me has dreamed about this all week.)

The music starts and swells and she’s still dreaming. His hand on her back is firm. Thanks to the design of the dress, she can feel his glove pressing into her. She wonders if he can feel the heat of her skin.

“How are you doing?” he asks when they fall into a rhythm, and she smiles too fast, idiot, calm down.

“Great, how are you?”

“Good,” he says, and they spin. He smiles back. “Good to know you’re not avoiding me.”

“Of course not.” Stupid, you avoided him!

He dips her a perfectly appropriate amount.

She feels brave. It’s the adrenaline getting to her, because the rational part of her can’t stop (giddily) telling her that she’s dumb when she asks, “Why would you think that I'd avoid you?”

“Hm.” He looks away to consider the question. The tips of his eyelashes catch the chandelier light. “I thought that maybe last week was a bit too much.”

She thinks about how warm his hand was when he helped her get up after saving her life. “It wasn’t.”

“It’s ok if it was.”

“No, no, you’re too kind.”

Link clears his throat. “So you’re not avoiding me because I kept trying to follow you through the bazaar when you clearly didn’t want me to?”

She laughs. “No, it’s also incredibly stupid that I tried to lose you. Besides, what would’ve happened if you hadn’t?”

Link clears his throat.

She chooses to change the subject by asking an easy “What did you make for dinner tonight?” in an attempt to soak up the final minutes she has in his arms. He starts talking about mushroom risotto, and she can’t stop smiling.

* * *

At the end of the night, when he escorts her to her room, it’s late enough that silence is acceptable.

She’s decided that she needs to do something, but she doesn’t know what. A hug would be different, but too strange. I like you is simple, but too plain. Thinking about you makes my heart soft is embarrassing. I know I’ve been an incorrigible bitch but now my walls are down and I like you is too honest.

She turns around when they reach her doors.

“Tonight was fun,” she says.

He smiles. Zelda knows romance books don’t lie when her heart jumps at the sight of it. “It was.”

This is the moment. She takes a deep breath as quietly as she can. She has that nauseous feeling again. If nothing matters, tell him. Everyone knows the apocalypse is coming.

“Hey, listen,” he says right when she opens her mouth. He pauses to look at her. If she thought he looked nervous earlier when he asked her if she was avoiding him, it’s nothing compared to now. He does a visible gulp, and—

“I think I have feelings for you.”

She blinks. What?

“And I understand if you don’t feel the same way,” he continues, tense and fast, looking right at her, “especially in light of everything going on right now. But I just had to put that out there.”

What?!

She closes her eyes--what is happening right now--and when she opens them he’s still there. This isn’t a dream.

Holy fuck. “Really?”

He nods. “Really.”

“Huh,” she says. He beat her to it. “Huh.”

“Huh?”

She laughs. He beat her to it, and now all she has to do is the easiest thing in the world.

“I think I have feelings for you too,” she says. It’s so dark now she can’t see the blue of his eyes, but she can imagine it easily.

He’s surprised. “Really?”

“Really. In fact, I was meaning to tell you just now.”

“Really?”

She laughs. “Really.”

She smiles and takes his hand. He stiffens at first, then relaxes as she threads her fingers through his.

“Oh, actually, here, let me—” He lets go. Disappointment hits her briefly before she sees that he’s taking off his glove. Some of his scars are alabaster in the moonlight. He has so many.

(She wants to kiss all of them.)

His hand is warm and rough and lovely when he slips it back into hers.

“This feels nicer,” he says, and his voice is almost shy.

There are a million things she wants to say--what are we going to do if I end the world, what are we going to do if you save the world, how long have you known for, Hylia is going to smite both of us for being fools--but she settles on squeezing his hand instead. He squeezes back.

“Yes,” she agrees. Very gently, she cups his cheek with her other hand and leans in. He’s closed his eyes already. “Much nicer.”

#zelink week 2021 #zelink #zelink fanfiction

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evermoreweasley · 4 years ago

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wait for me (fred weasley x reader)

(all images are from pinterest)

summary: muggle!reader, dad!fred. y/n is the muggle girlfriend of Fred Weasley, a wizard. at the beginning of the second wizard war, you and Fred are kept separated to keep you safe. however, what happens when you find out you’re pregnant?

warnings: angst! mentions of battle of Hogwarts, mentions of death, mentions of injury (knocked unconscious), food, vomiting, pregnancy scare, mentions of period, pregnancy, mentions of sex, kissing, anxiety, separation, cursing, suggestive comments, fluffy ending.

a/n: I love dad!fred :’)

taglist: @theweasleysredhair @witchyweasley @sarcasticallywitty15 please message me if you’d like to be added or removed!

word count: 2.2k

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February 7th, 1998

You nervously picked at the emerald green nail polish on your fingernails as you looked out the window of your apartment. You watched the headlights of cars as they drove by and people laughing as they crossed the street in groups, going out for the night.

You were stuck at your apartment, alone in muggle London and you had run out of things to distract yourself with. You drank the last of the tea in the cupboard. You already did not one, not two, but six puzzles. And lastly, you already read not one, not two, but eight books. You were so tired of the small space of your apartment and so anxious about your boyfriend, you needed to find something to do besides stare out the window.

You had met your boyfriend, Fred Weasley, through Hermione Granger. Hermione’s muggle parents were next door neighbors with your own muggle parents. You had never been more happy than when Fred and Hermione introduced you to their wizarding world so many years ago.

Sighing, you made your way over to the kitchen sink. You decided to make homemade soup, from a recipe book you had forgotten that you had. It was buried deep inside of your kitchen cabinet, behind your dinnerware. As you cut up the carrots, onions, and celery, you were hit by a sudden wave of extreme nausea. You shook your head as you swallowed hard, convincing yourself it was just nerves for the events that were happening with your boyfriend and friends. But as you placed the vegetables in the pot, you recognized immediately that it wasn’t nerves.

You ran out of the kitchen and down the small hallway of your apartment, in the bathroom you doubled over the toilet as you vomited. Your mouth fell open in shock at your sudden illness as you wiped at the corners of your mouth with a tissue. You quickly washed your mouth out with minty mouthwash. As you opened the cabinet to put the mouthwash away, a small pink and white box caught your attention. It was a box containing pregnancy tests. You had a pregnancy scare all the way back in May, when your period was late. However, you got your period just moments after arriving home from the store with the purchase so you just shoved them to the back of your cabinet.

Your eyes narrowed away from the box to look at yourself in the mirror. You wondered if you were pregnant. You had barely seen your boyfriend, Fred, since late July, after his twin brother George lost an ear. Fred was so worried about you, especially after what happened to his brother. You had to go into hiding in muggle London at your apartment due to the catastrophic events that were happening in his world.

You thought back, you had seen him on exactly three occasions since then. The first was in August, second in October, and the last time was in December.

You remembered Fred visiting right before the holidays. His big, strong hands all over your body as he ripped your jeans off of you urgently. His lips kissing and sucking on the delicate part of your neck, desperate for you as breathy moans filled the room. Your lips only momentarily leaving him, passionate and heated, as your bodies moved seamlessly against each other under the sheets.

In all of the stress, you had missed your period and you didn’t realize it at the time. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached out for the pregnancy test box. You knew you had to take it.

As you waited for the results of the test that rested on the bathroom sink, you paced the small hallway. You checked the wall clock and knew it was time to look. You reached for the test with trembling hands, your heart was pounding out of your chest, your mouth was bone-dry, and your whole body lightly shook for what might come. You turned over the test in your hands and saw a tiny plus sign indicating that you were in fact pregnant. You placed one hand on the sink to steady yourself, while your other hand immediately flew to your wide mouth.

How were you going to tell Fred? When were you even going to see Fred again? Fred would randomly apparate to your apartment when he managed to sneak around and felt he could do so safely, but that was it. How were you supposed to handle being pregnant when you knew your boyfriend was about to go to the second wizarding war?

Tears began to form in the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill out. Your hands lightly shook as they fell to your stomach. “You will meet your dad,” you sighed, speaking to the child growing inside of you. “I promise.”

May 3rd, 1998

It was the early morning hours, still dark out, when a loud sound awoke you. A bang from the living room of your apartment. You sat up, now completely awake and terrified. You kept your hand on your now huge bump protectively as you rolled out of bed. You wondered if it was a wizard or witch, and if it was, hopefully it wasn’t an evil one.

Reaching for a baseball bat near your nightstand, you cursed, knowing it stood no chance to a wand. But if it was a muggle, you could at least try to fight them off.

You heard another crash, followed by a curse word from the intruder’s lips. And then you heard them speak a spell you recognized, “Lumos.” You heard light footsteps walking down the hallway toward you. Your heart was beating rapidly in a panic for who was coming.

“I’ll fight you, asshole!” You yelled out as you gripped the baseball bat tightly, holding it up. You were ready to swing with every ounce of strength you had coursing through your veins, to protect yourself, but more importantly, your and Fred’s growing child.

“Y/n,” The voice calmly spoke as it got nearer to your bedroom. “It’s me,” He opened the door to your bedroom slightly and you dropped your baseball bat hard on the ground as the light from his wand illuminated your room. “George.”

“George?” you spoke out quietly, squinting your eyes at the tall figure that stood in front of you.

Your boyfriend’s twin brother stood in front of you, cautiously. He was covered in rubble and dried dirt. His familiar chocolate brown eyes were kind, as always, but also showed a hint of fear. “I came to tell you, it’s over,” he breathed out. “The war is over.”

Your heart fell into your stomach as a wave of both concern and relief hit you all at once. “What?”

He nodded as he scanned your face. “And Fred,” he breathed out. “He’s alive, but he was knocked unconscious.”

You cursed out as your knees slightly buckled, before quickly steading yourself. You were truly speechless at George’s words. You nervously looked down at your feet, but your vision was becoming obstructed by your growing bump. And in all of the concern and worry, you were suddenly reminded of what was going on inside, a child was growing.

“I’m,” you looked down at your bump, you were nearly five months pregnant and it showed. “I’m-” you tried once more.

George’s curious eyes found yours before he followed them downward, to your bump. “Are you-” he started, his eyes growing wide as his mouth fell open. “Pregnant?” His eyes found yours once more as a small smile spread to his lips, ecstatic that he was going to be an uncle, and his twin a dad.

You nodded at George, tears were now spilling down your cheeks. You were excited to finally tell another person that you were pregnant. But you were also upset that Fred wasn’t the first person you were telling.

“Oh, George,” you sighed as you wiped the tears that continued to fall down your cheeks.

George walked over to you, hugging you tightly. “Oh, darling,” George spoke out, as he soothingly stroked your hair. “Are you alright?”

“No,” you sighed. “Can I see Freddie?” you asked into his chest.

“Soon.” He spoke out, continuing to stroke your hair.

“Okay,” you sighed as you loosened your grip around his waist.

“Y/n,” George breathed out.

“Yes?”

“I may have broken your lamp.”

May 5th, 1998

The day started as you poured George a cup of coffee. It had been three days since the battle of Hogwarts had ended, George told you everything that happened that night and the days leading up to it. Many lives were lost, many were injured. You felt more than grateful at the fact that Fred was alive, albeit injured. One hour into the battle, Fred had been knocked unconscious as he fell backwards against a stone wall, near the room of requirement. Percy and George were quick to move him out of the way and into safety.

George slept on the couch in your living room. You asked him to stay with you until you could see Fred, the anxiety around your pregnancy and your boyfriend’s near death consuming you.

As George sipped at his coffee, an owl lightly tapped on the window near your kitchen. “Must be mum,” George spoke out as he sprang up from his chair and went to retrieve the letter. He quickly ripped opened the letter and scanned the contents before reading it out loud to you.

“George, Y/n,

I’m beaming to say that early this morning, Fred woke up. Thank Merlin! He desperately wants to see both of you at once, especially Y/n. Please apparate to the Burrow once you receive this.

Love, Molly.”

The biggest smile took over your features as relief and joy washed over you at the words on the letter. Fred was awake. Your heart began to beat rapidly as you realized that when you saw him, you would finally be able to tell him that you were pregnant.

You looked over at George and as if he knew what plagued your mind, he spoke out. “He will be absolutely overjoyed, Y/n.”

You nodded as you smiled at him. You knew that Fred was going to be the best dad.

“And you’re going to be the best uncle, Georgie.”

He smiled at you as he offered out his hand for you to take. Holding his wand in the other, he looked over at you. “Ready?” He asked you kindly.

“Ready.”

You squeezed George’s hand as you felt the two of you spin and a rush of air blew past you. You never got used to apparating, and you suddenly felt a wave of nausea hit you at the quick spinning.

Much to your relief, your feet suddenly hit the ground of the Burrow and immediately, you self consciously grabbed your belly. You faced the kitchen as you heard Molly’s comforting, familiar voice behind you.

“Y/n! George!” She exclaimed.

You inhaled a deep breath in, looking over at George as he nodded at you, in an encouraging way. You exhaled and turned to face her. You smiled and then rubbed your bump. Molly’s kind eyes followed downward, landing on your bump as her mouth slightly fell open in excitement. Her eyes grew wide. “Y/n!” She cheered, clapping her hands together. “Am I going to be a grandmother?” She whispered.

You nodded as you smiled back at her. “Yes, you are.”

She quickly wiped away her happy tears with the backs of her hands. “So, so good to see you dear,” She suddenly became an emotional mess. “Sorry,” She exhaled, as happy tears continued to fall down her round cheeks as George walked over to hug her. “Freddie’s laying on the couch. He may be sleeping though. Rough last few days, I’m sure George has filled you in.”

Nodding, you quietly walked into the living room. The back of the couch was facing you, you smiled as you saw that familiar head of red hair poking out on the end of the arm rest.

You cautiously walked around the side of it, noticing that Fred was, in fact asleep. Smiling, you took one last deep breath as you reached out to gently wake him up. “Freddie,” you whispered as you kneeled down in front of the couch, your bump hidden. You ran your fingers through his messy red hair. “Freddie, it’s me.”

Fred’s eyes started to flutter open. Once his warm, chocolate brown eyes were open wide enough, a huge smile immediately filled his entire face. “Y/n!” he exclaimed sleepily, pulling you in for a gentle kiss. “I’ve missed you so much, my love.” You stared at him for a moment, his hands cupping both sides of your face as he gently rubbed his fingers lovingly down your cheeks.

“Freddie,” you started.

“Yes, my love?” He asked as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“I’ve got something important to tell you,”

His eyes grew wider in curiosity as he scanned your face. “Yeah?”

“I’m,” you started as you slowly got up off of your knees.

As you got up, Fred’s eyes fell from your face onto your growing bump, his chocolate brown eyes immediately tearing up as a wide grin spread across his face. “Pregnant.” You finished, now fully standing in front of him.

“Y/n!” He exclaimed excitedly as he jumped off of the couch, pulling you into a tight, warm hug. You smiled as you embraced and you could feel a tear or two fall off of his cheek onto you.

He leaned down to kiss you sweetly and your heart soared out of your chest. “I’m so happy.” He hummed as he lovingly ran his long, slender fingers up and down your back.

You pulled away to look into his chocolate brown eyes intensely. “I’m due in September.” He grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles.

“Is that so?” He asked seriously, before a mischievous smirk fell on his lips a moment later, he pulled his hand up to jokingly count on his fingers. “Yeah, that sounds about right to me,” He spoke out, chuckling.

You giggled as you ran your fingers up and down his arm.

“I’m so sorry I’ve missed out on so much your pregnancy, love, I-”

You shook your head as you gently shushed him. “No, don’t be,” you smiled. “I’m just happy that you’re here now.”

Fred smiled at you first, then at your bump. His large hand reached out and ran it lovingly down your belly.

“Thank you for waiting, so that I could meet you.” He spoke to your growing child. “Merlin knows you could’ve been born during the war,” He breathed out. “Considering the way your mom and I can’t seem to keep our hands off of each other.” He whispered, before looking at you and smirking.

You giggled once more. “Yes, Freddie,” you hummed. “Our baby did wait for you.”

“And I’m so thankful for that.” He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss to your bump.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x muggle!reader #dad!fred #dad!fred weasley #fred weasley x you

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cranetreegang · 3 years ago

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The Hardest Things are the Honest Truths: Lucio x FemApprentice

A/N: So, I love Lucio. I don't know why, but I just do. I wish there were more scenes of him reflecting on his past though. So that's what this is. Just a brief roast session with some fluff afterwards. RIP my poor baby boy... but he gotta hear it. I have some more parts for Lucio that I'll hopefully post soon. I've also been working on a Julian piece that I'm really excited to share soon! Anyways, any feedback is always welcomed!

Summary: The Apprentice, Evie, wonders if she made a mistake binding herself to Lucio. She hopes that her faith in him isn't misguided, and seeks consul from those who knew him.

Word Count: 2300

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I watched Lucio play with his two dogs with a hint of a smile. Seeing him like this almost made the earlier fiasco seem misplaced. The look of disappointment in Asra’s eyes was not something I could shake off though. Had I really made such a grievous error in binding myself to Lucio?

“You seem troubled.” Nadia had managed to stand next to me without me noticing. I hid my surprise well and I nodded quickly.

“There’s a lot about magic I’m still learning. I think today just proved it.” I said.

“Mistakes happen. Although, this mistake was a fairly large one.” She smirked.

I let out a defeated sigh. “Indeed it is.” I agreed.

She frowned then turned around to leave. “I recommend the bath house. It might serve you well to help clear your head.” Nadia said over her shoulder as she left.

It didn’t take a genius to get the hint. Lucio, still distracted with his dogs, didn’t notice Nadia and I’s exchange. I bit my lip on whether to let him know I would need some time alone. I figured he wouldn’t care, so I headed towards the bath house.

I got to the marble room and was taken aback by its grandiose. The room had pillars at the far edge that overlooked the city below. The sun was beginning to set, giving the steaming waters a warm evening glow. Smells of lavender and incense filled the air and I felt my shoulders begin to drop. A bath was a good idea after all.

I stripped myself of my clothes and sank below the warm waters. I emerged with a relieved sigh. I went back under the waters then emerged once more. I faced back towards the entrance and froze at the sight of Lucio.

I dove under to hide my bare self. “What’re you doing here?” I hissed.

Lucio gave a dazzling smile that I was sure won over his fair share of enemies. “I was wondering where you went. I got worried.” He said; seemingly genuine.

“So, you thought it best to just watch me as I bathed?” I grimaced.

“What? No! I only just arrived. I swear.” He had his hands up covering his eyes, but he lowered them with a smirk. “I mean, it’s not like you have anything to be embarrassed about. You have a very... ,” he paused, his glowing eyes dancing with want, “beautiful body.”

I felt the heat of his words overcome the warmth of the waters. Before I could say anything, the doors opened.

“Evie!” Portia greeted with a beaming smile. She walked past where Lucio stood. I wasn’t sure how to warn Portia of Lucio’s presence. She didn’t give me room to talk as she launched into a story about her day and began to undress. She joined me in the bath and sat across from me.

I nodded along with her story, but would steal glances towards Lucio, who seemed content with sitting at the bath’s edge. His feet kicking in the water absentmindedly.

“And then they expect me to clean it all up! It’s outrageous.” Portia huffed.

“Couldn’t agree more.” I debated about leaving when the door opened once more and Nadia strolled in. Even in the steaming waters, my body had gone cold. She spared Portia and I a raised brow.

“I’m to assume the Count isn’t here?” Her question had an edge that made me inwardly flinch. Lucio was shaking his head while mouthing, ‘Don’t say I’m here.’, as if anyone but me could hear him.

“The Count? As in, Count Lucio?” Portia wondered.

I spared her an awkward smile. “You and I both had a long day.” I bit my tongue for a moment. If I say he’s here, then Portia would be upset with me. If I lie, then that could be even worse. “I don’t see Lucio here in the bath with us.” A semi-lie, but better than the truth. He technically wasn’t in the bath with us. Lucio gave me a pleased grin, which I tried to ignore.

Nadia nodded before disrobing. She held herself regally and effortlessly as she glided into the bath. I was envious of her ability to be noble in practically any setting. Lucio’s eyes were eagerly trailing after her. His hand reached out to touch her, but he resisted at the last moment.

“I’m glad to see you’re taking full use of the bath house, Evelyn.” Nadia sat between Portia and I. She swirled her white wine in a glass that probably cost more than anything I had ever owned.

“It’s quite nice. Very relaxing.” I hummed. At least it would be relaxing, if Lucio wasn’t hovering around us.

“So, what’s this about Count Lucio? What’s going on?” Portia inquired.

Nadia smirked as she rolled her head over to me. “Go on. Explain what you did.” Her voice purred.

“Yes! Tell them how you rescued me from that awful room.” Lucio encouraged.

I let out a quiet sigh. “I was investigating the Count’s murder. And… I ended up finding Lucio still in his room.”

“He was alive?!” Portia screeched then covered her mouth at her outburst. “I mean, was he alive?” She said, her voice muffled behind her hands.

I shook my head. “Not exactly. He was stuck between the world of the living and death. So, I… helped him by…,” I bit my lip and I couldn’t bring myself to look at Porita’s curious gaze.

“Go on. Tell her.” Lucio was now laying behind me. He had his head propped up by his golden arm while his other hand swirled in the water next to me.

“I bound Lucio to me.” I finally said.

“You did what?!” Portia exclaimed. “Did he threaten you? Was he going to hurt you if you didn’t?”

“Hurt you! I can’t believe she would suggest such a thing.” Lucio scoffed.

I shook my head. “No. He didn’t. I was just trying to help.”

Nadia let out a chuckle between her sips of wine. “And now you have Lucio attached to you. I couldn’t think of anything worse.”

Portia nodded in agreement. “And I thought my day was bad. You clearly win, Evie.”

Nadia and Portia both giggled. Lucio plopped down next to me with a disgruntled huff.

I bit my lip as I looked between Lucio and Nadia. For everyone reacting like this, one would assume I had shackled myself to the most vile man in existence.

“Nadia… I hope you don’t think of this as inappropriate. But, I was hoping you could tell me about Count Lucio.” I said.

Nadia and Portia exchanged glances to one another, concern spread across both of their faces.

“You don’t even know who I am?” Lucio sputtered before calming down. “Oh, sweet Evie, I could tell you all about me. It’s my favorite subject, you know. ” He ran his finger down my shoulder to my elbow. He pressed his nose against my hair as he whispered, “You need only ask.” I had to contain the way his ghostly touch made me shiver. I was thankful he moved away from me, but he was still too close for comfort.

“Quite amazing. You bound yourself to someone you didn’t even know. I can’t tell if you’re naïve, idiotic, or selfless.” Nadia’s eyes were downcast. “But, I suppose if you did know, you wouldn’t have done it.” She swirled her glass in thought. The setting sun glinted against the fine crystal, making it dazzle. “I don’t recall much of my time with him. But, from what I remember, Lucio was… how to best put it?” Nadia hummed in thought.

“An Egomaniac?” Portia blurted out then covered her mouth again. “I’m so sorry, your grace.”

Nadia laughed and nodded. “No. That’s exactly it. Selfish. Entitled. Volatile.”

“Rude. I heard he loved to throw things at the servants anytime he was annoyed.” Portia chimed in.

Out of the corner of my eye, Lucio was completely taken back by their words. I felt a bit sorry for him. “He doesn’t sound like a good person.” I sheepishly said.

“That’s because he wasn’t, sweetheart.” Nadia chuckled. “He was only interested in what best served him. He didn’t care about what I, or anybody else wanted. Especially not the people of Vesuvia. Even though he claimed otherwise. His incompetence has led to a decline in the city, that I’m now having to fix. ” She scoffed. “The only thing he might’ve really cared about were his dogs. If that.” Nadia took a long sip of her wine, the cup was nearly finished.

“He cared about his hair.” Portia giggled.

“Ha! Yes. His looks. I will admit, he was very easy on the eyes. And very, very nice in bed.” Nadia had a playful smirk toying on her lips. “Although, needy. I couldn’t have any fun without him. He was always so desperate for any kind of attention.”

Lucio crossed his arms in an obvious pout. I felt their words slicing into me as if they were speaking ill of me.

“Surely, there must’ve been something about him that wasn’t completely terrible?” I asked, begged really, for any kind of redemption for him.

Nadia frowned, her mind years away. “If there was, I don’t remember." She met my eyes with a soft smile. "Perhaps, you’ll find something in him worth saving. Because I never could.” She finished her glass then rose from the warm waters. “All this talk of my dear husband makes me in need of another bath.”

She stalked out of the water and put back on her silk robe. She spared me a sideways glance. “If Lucio were a whore, I would’ve paid good money for him.”

“And as a Count?” I wondered.

She smiled, the answer laid within her ruby eyes, before she sauntered away.

Portia also got out of the bath. “I suppose that was a long enough soak. You coming?”

I looked from her then down to the deflated form of the Count. “Not yet. I need a few minutes to process… well all of it.”

Portia gave me a pitying smile. “I’m sure it’ll work itself out. Don’t fret!” She smiled sweetly at me. She left the room and I was alone with Lucio, who was sulking next to me.

“That was pretty brutal. Are you alright?”

Lucio’s brows furrowed and he shook his head. “I was alone in that room for three years. Not one person came to see me. Not one. And to find out it was because they all despised me.” His head fell and he looked on the verge of tears. I placed my hand on his. The energy between us briefly merged together and he jolted in place.

“What are you doing?” He asked, his glowing eyes wide with suspicion.

“I… trying to… comfort you?” I felt silly as I explained myself. He stared at our hands then back to me.

“I don’t need your pity.” He spat.

“I’m not pitying you.” I quickly said. “I’m empathizing. What they said, I could feel that it hurt you.”

“You felt…,” he let out a huff as he rolled his eyes, “Of course you did. This bond we share. Seems we’re more linked than I originally thought.” Lucio frowned.

“Seems so.”

There was a long pause between us. I wasn’t sure how to break it, but Lucio did it for me. “Do you think less of me now? Do you think I’m a-a-a self-centered, idiotic, whore?” Lucio snarled with disgust.

“Were you?” I asked.

He looked offended then grimaced. “I… I didn’t think so. I don’t know.” He was quiet as he hesitated on what he wanted to say. “Being alone in that room… I didn’t have much else to do, except think. And the only thing I could think about was if things went… differently. ”

“What would you of’ve done differently?” I wondered.

He wrapped my hand with his and stroked over the top with his thumb. He let out a sigh then whispered, “I don’t know.”

“Well, if you don’t think you’re an incompetent whore, then what do you think of yourself?” I asked.

Lucio stared into the sunset as he thought over my question. “I’m not sure.”

I furrowed my brows as I thought over what to say next. He was lost. A feeling I recognized all too well. “I see it as you have two options. You can either pout and deny what they said. Or, you can accept that you lost yourself at some point. And do something about it.” I stated.

“Pout or change.” He chuckled, but it was bitter and didn’t reach his eyes. He looked at me. “What should I do?” He asked quietly.

I was surprised he would ask me, a stranger by all accounts, for advice. “I don’t believe you want to be all those things they said.” I confessed.

His brows rose. “You don’t? How? It seems to be the common opinion of me around here.”

I bit my lip as I wrestled with my confliction to tell him the truth or not. But, the truth was what he needed right now. “I believe you’re capable of changing. I don’t think you’re truly evil at heart. I think you care about more things than yourself. I believe you can take accountability for your past actions, and move towards a better future.” I paused before adding, “But, you’re the only one who can make that choice. No one else can. I can help you, but I can’t force you to change. That’s something you’ll have to do.”

Lucio was silent, pondering over my words. “That’s quite an optimistic vision you have of me.” Lucio’s eyes fell and he leaned his head on my shoulder. “Perhaps I can try to make it come true.” He whispered.

“I want to help you.” I whispered back to him. “We’re in this together now.”

“Mhm… together.” He squeezed my hand. “I couldn’t have asked for a better partner.”

“Me either.” I whispered.

He moved closer to me with a soft sigh. “Stay with me a while longer?”

“Of course.” I laid my head against his and we watched the sun dip below the horizon.

#the arcana #portia devorak #countess nadia #count lucio #lucio x apprentice #the arcana game #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

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himaboroshi736 · 4 years ago

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IronDad fic recs

Here. I’m a french reader, but I’ve read A LOT (like...a lot) of IronDad, so, eventually, here my fic rec. (I tried to class it by categories, but well...) (it’s gonna be very long, guys)

Peter Parker has anxiety

Don’t let me get me, by hopeless_hope

He picks up his phone and sends a quick text. "hey, happy! i’m not feeling too hot today, so i think i’m gonna have to cancel. tell mr. stark i’m sorry!"

He stares at his phone, waiting for a response. It never comes, and Peter sighs sadly. There was a part of him, a small part, that really hoped he was wrong. His insides burn, and he curls up tighter into a ball and turns off his phone.

(No one’s going to try to contact him anyway.)

Anxiety has a way of convincing Peter that everyone hates him. Tony has a way of proving him wrong.

Midnight Oil, by @jolinarjackson

After everything that has happened to Peter over the last year - or five, really - he shouldn’t be worried about something as mundane as the ACT. When he fails it, though it sends him into a spiral of self-doubt, which only gets worse when Peter realizes that he doesn’t seem to be able to fix whatever is broken.

Tony Stark has anxiety

do you even remember what the world looks like ?, by @iron--spider

Tony’s heart has been working on overdrive since this whole thing started. Friday has a countdown clock plastered on the heads up display, but it feels like hieroglyphics to him at this point, like some ancient language he could never master.

Because when Peter Parker is missing, things start losing their meaning real quick.

“Should be around here,” Rhodey says on the com. May is still on the other line, listening in, because once a certain amount of time goes by without word from Peter, things move into Extremely Worried Aunt territory. They’re already in Tony Is Panicking territory, and when both of those territories overlap it’s never a good time for anybody.

Time? What the hell is time? His mind is blanking numbers out entirely. Minutes are seconds are hours are years.

not like megatron, by @iron--spider

“Hi! This is Peter Parker, I can’t get to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll call you back later! Hopefully not too much later, but don’t get your hopes up!”

Tony knows that message by heart. He’s heard it hundreds of times, in a greyer world, and it sends shivers down his spine as he climbs into the car.

He doesn’t think about that place. That half-world. No way, that’s done, that’s over, that’s history.

“Hey, kid, don’t you know it’s bad etiquette to go and disappear on your birthday? Not allowed, really, really bad vibes from the universe. What’s going on with your suit? I wasn’t watching. Nope. Just got an alert. What’s going on? Uh, call me back.” He clears his throat and hangs up like a moron, driving out into the street.

Hypothermia trope (i really like it so if you have any suggestions...)

i knock the ice from my bones, by hopeless_hope

Peter tries to move his legs through the water, dread filling him when they don’t move, and he just hangs there, doing anything and everything he can not to focus on the feeling of ice clinging to his bones. He feels sluggish, the world blurring around him, and he rests his head on the ice, not even registering the cold anymore.

He’s just so damn tired.

“PETER!” he hears someone yell, but it’s all muffled, and he lazily drags his eyes up to see a figure descending towards him.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he thinks, This is not how my vacation was supposed to go.

While on what's supposed to be a relaxing vacation with the Starks, things for Peter quickly go south, and he finds himself on thin ice. Literally.

Ice Ice Baby, by @wolfypuppypiles

If Tony, Bucky or pretty much anybody that knew Peter had seen him that morning they would have smacked him upside the head. Helping people was great, everyone should give it a go, but when helping people puts you in danger it’s not so smart anymore.

AKA Peter can't get from Avenger tower to the subway without giving his winter clothes to homeless people and ends up with a severe case of hypothermia

Candle in the Window, by @madasthesea

Finals are over and Peter just wants to go home. The weather has other ideas.

Burn This Out, by @ephemeralstark

It's summer and Peter is free to be Spider-Man all day which is great, but it's summer and Peter is out as Spider-Man on the hottest day of the year which is not great.

Or, Peter gets heat stroke because he can't thermoregulate and things could not go worse for him.

(yeah, it’s not an hypothermia, but it’s linked to the fact that Peter can’t actually thermoregulate)

Post-Endgame (really like this trope too lmao)

the first birthday after, by iron_spider

(Endgame spoilers. But The Thing doesn't happen.)

The rain falls harder and Tony turns, his neck creaking and cracking, and he sees Peter asleep over by the window. He’s holding a small, flat box, and he’s slowly slipping to the right side of the easy chair he’s in.

Tony thinks about letting him sleep, but he finds himself speaking anyway. “Pete,” he says, his voice rough and raspy.

Peter immediately startles awake. “Happy Birthday,” he says, almost like he’d fallen asleep practicing it, planning to say it as soon as he woke up. He blinks at Tony, shivering a little bit, and then he smiles. “Happy Birthday. Happy Birthday.”

Tony snorts, smiling back. “Thanks, bud,” he says.

Second Best, by Rowan_M

Tony had adjusted to parenthood quickly when Morgan came along, and was always conscious of making sure Peter isn't left out ... Almost always. When Peter gets hurt while taking care of Morgan, Tony obsess over his daughter and takes his anger out on Peter, without even checking to see if he was okay. Steve finds Peter later that night in serious pain and in need of immediate medical attention.

Or, Peter gets hurt while taking care of Morgan and Tony basically ignores him.

when you’re feeling empty keep me in your memory, by JkWriter

after everything with thanos he forgets it's his birthday. he just assumed everyone else did too.

All For You, by @ironxprince

Three weeks after the snap that saved the world, Peter learns he was the reason behind it. He learns that Tony risked death, and now has to live with the ramifications, both physical and mental, all because of him.

This doesn't sit right with him.

you save everybody, but who saves you ?, by @iron--spider

Tony doesn’t sleep, because he can’t, because too many things are plaguing him, most of all where Peter is and what he’s doing. Tony has a good view of the hallway through the windows to his room, and he stares and stares until his eyes cross, until he hallucinates, until he knows he’s going insane.

He sees Peter sneaking into the med bay at about four in the morning.

The kid’s mask is off and he’s got two short, harsh slashes across his cheek, and he’s bleeding from a slice across his neck. His suit is ripped in a few places and he’s holding onto his middle, and Tony can see his hands are shaking.

It’s like something splinters in Tony’s already broken brain, like his world narrows and there are hazy edges, both weakness and strength entwining in his veins when he sees Peter struggle up onto one of the beds in the main atrium, starting to tend his wounds without calling anybody to help.

BAMF Peter Parker

Pizza, a Movie, and... an Attempted Kidnapping ?, by Pogokitten

“Tony. We’ll be fine,” Peter tells the man for what must be the tenth time in the last half hour.

Peter’s sitting on the couch of his and May’s apartment and building Legos with Morgan as they both watch their father’s methodical, yet anxious, pacing. He’s dressed to impress, as is Pepper who is watching the scene slightly exasperated.

“Are you sure? We can ditch the gala, kid. Just say the word,” Tony offers, halting in front of his kids.

Or: Tony and Pepper leave Peter in charge of Morgan while they go to their first gala since the third snap. Peter is expecting a calm night in with his adopted sister, but some thugs throw a wrench in his plans.

he’s good like that, by @iron--spider

“Get the hell outta here, boy,” the man says. “Or you’re gonna watch your boss die in front of you.” Then he grabs Tony by the shoulders hard, and shoves him down to his knees. The gun is louder now, like it’s filled with words that are eager to be shouted, and Tony winces when he feels the barrel press against the back of his neck. His knees weren’t ready to hit the ground that hard, and he tries to keep the pain from reaching his face.

He must fail, because Peter looks pissed.

“You’re not gonna shoot him, mister,” Peter says, somehow still trying to maintain a respectful tone, despite the clear anger written all over him.

stark robotics and technology conference, by @iron--spider

Peter leans against the wall while Tony chooses their floor, and the doors close. “Do you, uh, want me to do some interning stuff? Like go and get you coffee? Make sure the, uh—programs are all ready? Make sure the paintings are straight in the ballroom? Make sure the chairs are—”

Tony snorts. “Kid, I just thought you’d enjoy this. May told me about when it came through Queens but you two couldn’t make it because she was working and didn’t want you to go alone, and I thought, after all the shit you’ve been through lately, that you deserved something fun. No interning for you. That’s just an excuse.”

Peter remembers that. It was six months after Ben died, and he wasn’t gonna bother May too much about the conference. He didn’t know how much tickets cost anyways, or if kids his age could even go.

He really hung onto the idea of Iron Man after Ben died. Peter held him closer than ever.

Peter and Tony fighting

dinner and a jailbreak, by killerqueenwrites

“I’m not your kid!” Peter shouts.

“Don’t walk away from me, I’m not done–“

“You’re not my dad!”

Peter fitting in after the Blip isn't as easy as Tony hoped it would be. He wants his kid back, but they can't seem to stop fighting.

and then Peter goes missing.

my old man, by parkrstark

"I just want to help you. I want to help you understand what's wrong here and how to stop it. I used to be the same way until my father showed me how to be a man." He glanced back at Peter to sneer. "He's old enough to know better by now, but it's not your fault you didn't know how to teach him." "Teach him what?" Tony asked even though he didn't want to know the answer.

"Discipline, of course," Junior said with a wink.

Tony takes Peter on a weekend trip to try and change his mind about college and things go wrong. Then, they go even more wrong.

Between how it is and how it should be, by @frostysunflowers

''Doesn’t Captain Rogers ever…wonder,'' Peter winced as he fumbled for the right word, ''where you are?''

Bucky smirked. ''Steve’s a regular mother hen. Used to be me that worried about him.'' He gave Peter a pointed look. ''Better question is, isn’t Stark wondering where you are?''

Soulmates trope

presumed dead, by killerqueenwrites

Tony gets his first soulmark when he’s fifteen, his second when he's thirty. He's forty-six when his third appears, and forty-eight when it fades to grey.

did you see the flares in the sky ?, by justt-ppeachy

‘hi’

One simple word was displayed proudly on the inside of his right wrist. Tony wasn’t sure when this word showed up or how long it had been there.

A line formed underneath the word and Tony could almost feel the pressure on his arm from the marker his soulmate was using to push one phrase from their skin into his.

‘i loev yu’

The letters were written slowly and messily as they showed up upon his wrist while he watched in disbelief. Not sure if he was hallucinating or just going insane, Tony rubbed at the writing, wondering if they would disappear once he looked again.

The words were barely recognizable, but they were still the best thing Tony had ever seen.

IronDad Fluff (yeah)

peter wearing tony’s hoodie, by killerqueenwrites

Tony’s used to his clothes going missing. His MIT hoodie doesn’t often leave his closet, though, which is why he notices its absence straight away. There’s a lifetime of safety and comfort in this old hoodie, for both of them, and that’s all Tony could ever wish to give Peter.

Career Day, by @superhusbands4ever

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Peter’s enhanced senses picked up the familiar voice from outside the door. “I had a meeting this morning and then I got lost looking for the class… anyway, I’m here for Peter? Peter Parker?”

He frowned at hearing his name, still unsure what exactly was going on. He watched as his teacher continued to stand and stare out the door for a minute before seemingly remembering herself and taking a step back.

“Of course! If you could just go sit next to him until your turn, he’s in the back on the right side.”

The man stepped through the door and Peter gaped with the rest of the class as Tony Stark, in his signature suit and goatee, sporting a pair of red sunglasses and carrying a suitcase walked through the door.

Kryptonite, by forensicleaf

The kid is acting weird.

Tony tries to figure it out.

father’s day, by @iron--spider

It’s Father’s Day, and Tony never really had a father. Not in the real sense of the word, not in the way that counts.

Peter Parker doesn’t have a father, either. Not anymore, anyway, not since he was little, and the amount of years that have passed since then outweigh the amount of time he got with Richard Parker.

Tony wouldn’t call himself Peter’s dad. He wouldn’t, he doesn’t, he doesn’t think of himself that way, no way, no way.

He stares at himself in the mirror. He pulls down on his cheeks, makes his eyes water. He runs his hands over the roughness of his jaw and sorta hates everything about himself right now, because he’s acting like a goddamn idiot. It’s Father’s Day and he’s not a father. He doesn’t know why the hell he’s pining for something that isn’t his, shouldn’t be his, can never be his. He isn’t a father, he isn’t Peter’s father, so there’s no reason on God’s green earth for Peter and him to do something for Father’s Day.

ain’t no valley low enough, by @iron--spider (yes, again, ‘cuz she’s the best)

Peter snorts. “You know I didn’t apply anywhere in Florida.”

“Please, kid, you know all you have to do is write a beautiful essay with my recommendation attached to it and you’re in. You’ve got the scores.”

Peter has a list. Of all the places he applied to, all the places he got into. A lot of it was encouraged by the adult role models in his life, some of it by Ned daydreaming about places like California and Colorado. Mostly, Peter just applied everywhere he could think of, because he’s known for a long time that Tony was gonna help May pay for it, and he didn’t wanna limit his options. Thinking about college has been strange for him, strange to the extent that he had a full blown panic attack about it in the middle of Avengers taco night last month. He can’t really understand it, doesn’t get why it feels like the end of the world—because he’s experienced the end of the world, and it’s not which campus has a bowling alley and which school has circus classes. But he nearly blacked out all the same, sobbed in Tony’s arms on the balcony until Tony proposed this. The road trip.

and when it’s hard, i’ll place your head into my hands, by hopeless_hope

“Tony,” Pepper sing-songs to get his attention. “Your mother hen is showing.”

“What?” he snaps indignantly. “I am not a mother hen. This is just... concern. Of the average kind. Perfectly normal.”

“Of course,” Pepper humors him, and he shoots her a dirty look as he types out a quick text to Peter.

It's been five days since Tony's heard from Peter, who's away at college, and Tony is not coping well. (Neither is Peter.)

Peter likes cuddles (and Tony too, but he always denies it... until he can’t)

my arms will hold you (keep you safe and warm), by parkrstark

“So, you’re telling me your body...is going through Oxytocin withdrawals?” Tony asked slowly.

“Cuddle withdrawals,” Peter corrected him. “Mr. Stark cuddles.”

TW : Rape/non-cons

make me strong, by parkrstark

It all started when Tony introduced Peter to Skip Westcott. He just didn't know until it was too late.

(There is a lot more, but I can’t find it rn ;-;)

5+1

5 times peter clung to tony, by parkrstark

... and the one time tony clung to him.

You are my Dad, you’re my dad, boogiewoogiewoogie, by Hittinmiss

“Peter? What’s going on kid?” Tony asked, him popping up on the phone’s screen.

“Hey da-” Peter started automatically before immediately noticing his mistake, the look on Ned’s face proved that yes, he almost called Tony Stark dad. He needed to try recover quickly because the look on Tony’s face seemed confused, especially with his slight pause. “-aaaaaamn Mr. Stark I really like your shirt. Where’d you get it?”

Smooth.

---

5 times Peter called Tony Dad and the 1 time Tony called himself Dad

5 Times Tony Took Care of Peter..., by As_Clear_As_Crystal

“Think if I coded a sign into your suit that says ‘Baby on Board,’ maybe criminals wouldn’t be so enthusiastic about murdering you?” Tony asks airily, poking at the bottom of Peter’s foot.

Peter halfheartedly kicks at Tony with his toe. (“That’s offensive, Mr. Stark.” )

- - -

aka: Five times Tony took care of Peter, and one time Peter took care of Tony.

5 times Peter is stuck with Tony, by @iron--spider

(...and one time he’s stuck alone.)

“I wonder if Pepper’s reported me missing yet,” Tony says, with an exaggerated sigh. “I wonder if this is some kind of scheme to kidnap me or something.”

“I think the ride’s just broken,” Peter says.

“Today of all goddamn days,” Tony says, exasperation clear in his voice and in his eyes. “Ruining our trip—”

“It’s not ruined,” Peter says. “Look, we’re hanging out."

“Real quality time,” Tony huffs. “Us, a few other trapped members of the general public, and a handful of animatronic pirates. Drunk pirates. Repeating themselves.”

5 times tony forgot peter was just a kid, by @parkrstark

...and the 1 time he didn't.

Or the one where it was hard for Tony to remember that the kid fighting next to him was still just a kid.

can i get a good night’s sleep ? can i PLEASE get a good night’s sleep ?, by peterstank

The doors open and there’s Peter, perched on a gurney with his shirt gone and a whole lot of blood staining his side. He’s bent awkwardly, clearly trying to feel his way around whatever wound he’s got.

“Um,” Tony says, approaching, “What.”

Peter looks up and—yeah, he’s lost a lot more blood than Tony had originally thought. His face is completely fucking drained. “Hey,” he says, offering a jaunty wave before returning his attention to his side. “I got shot.”

“Oh!” Tony nods. “Oh, okay. What the fuck, kiddo?”

or: five times peter doesn’t sleep + the one time he does

Five Times Peter and Tony Had Each Other’s Back, by Sahiya

... and One Time They Needed Help.

Peter is Tony’s Biological Child

I Had the Dream Again, by Skeeter_110

Peter calls Tony in the middle of the night crying.

Congratulations, it’s a Boy, by capiocapi

"Sir, I have the results.”

“Okay, Jarvis. Hit me.”

“It’s a match. 99.9% chance that he is your biological son, which is the percentage needed to be recognized by law as a biological parent.”

Tony’s stomach did a funny swooping dance. “Great. Congratulations to me then, eh? It’s a boy.”

You Are My Sunshine, by @iamconstantine

Tony Stark had always been a man of science and he always would be. It was his personal and fundamental belief that everything had an explanation. His eventual encounters with Norse gods, alien life, and sorcerers did kind of quake this a little bit, but still.

One thing that had always confounded him as the one thing that had no scientific explanation was fate. Murphy’s law, Finagle’s law, the butterfly effect, the domino effect, the snowball effect, and the wisest of all: “Shit happens.”

So how peculiar was it that one of the greatest things to ever happen to him began with a tray of champagne?

Serie i love you more than anything, by @iron--spider

The highs and lows of Tony unexpectedly becoming a single dad at 31– from Peter’s early baby years, all the way past the defeat of Thanos

May’s abusive boyfriend trope

A Peter Parker Problem, by @spagbol99

Peter Parker was back from the dead. At least that is what everybody told him. He'd been snapped out of existence until some sort of time travel and an active death wish by his mentor had saved him and the universe. Just your average sort of life for a 16 year old from Queens.

Peter comes back to find May has a husband and a kid. A new family he has to fit into. But he has done it before, he can do it again.

The only thing that feels solid is Tony: the Blip and fatherhood have mellowed him and Peter loves the bond they have now. He knows Tony would be there for him through anything. But Tony needs to focus on his own recovery - not small time Peter Parker problems. When things at home take a turn for the worse, Peter decides that he'll handle it himself. He is Spider-man. He's been to space and fought aliens. He can get through anything. After all, if May is happy, he is happy, right? Right?

(again, I’ve read a lot more but can’t find it...)

Peter Parker Whump (everyone’s favorite trope)

Danger Pizza, by alice_in_ink

The window was pushed open, and Iron Man’s head popped into his bedroom. “Here’s where I’m confused—why lock the front door but leave the fire-escape-accessible windows unlocked?” He clambered through said window. “Seems like a safety hazard.”

Peter eyed the metal suit as it straightened to a standing position. “Did you break into my window to kill me?”

The face plate lifted, and Tony’s eyes quickly looked over the teen. “Christ, kid. It looks like you’re halfway there.”

...

A wild night on patrol leaves Peter with a broken back, and boy, does he want to be able to move without dying. (So he calls Anthony Stark, obviously.)

If You Can’t Catch A Breath (You Can Take The Oxygen Straight Out Of My Own Chest), by @losingmymindtonight

"And I would hurry. Little Peter is about to be under quite a lot of pressure, and it might get a little hard to breathe.”

I’ve Got You, by @thedumbestavenger

Peter runs into a Copycat Vulture out on patrol, from there, everything escalates.

Meetings and Migraines, by AllThingsGeeky

Peter has another migraine at an unfortunate time and despite his best efforts he can’t ignore it forever.

The Most Important Thing In The World, by S0lstice

Peter’s door creaked and began to bend under the force of the crowbar and for the first time since regaining consciousness, fear began to press into him. Something very bad was happening and it was happening fast - too fast for his sluggish mind to keep up.

He went with his instincts instead, the first one always being, Help Mr. Stark.

Friendly Fire, by @jolinarjackson

Finding a careful truce with the government, the “rogue Avengers” are allowed to return to the Compound where they are put under house arrest. Peter coming to spend one week at the Compound during his summer break couldn’t have come at a more inconvenient time as the opportunity to bond a little more with his mentor is overshadowed by a conflict he doesn’t quite understand. When he starts to develop a mysterious medical condition, however, the former team is forced to work together – not just to protect Peter’s identity from the DODC, but also to find the cause for his illness before it’s too late.

“He’s my kid,” Tony said, his voice hoarse. “He’s my kid and I failed him.” He covered his eyes and took a few deep, shuddering breaths. “All I ever do is fail him.” Natasha knelt down in front of him and cupped his face in her hands, waiting for him to meet her eyes before she said, “Right now, he doesn’t need you to fix this. He doesn’t need you down here. He needs you over there, in the medbay, by his side.” She thumbed tears from the corners of his eyes and ignored the ones running down her own face. “You haven’t failed him yet.”

alarm bells and panic levels, by @iron--spider

Tony lands heavy on the dock, the wood splintering hard under the metal suit. He’s having trouble breathing, his nose is bleeding, he most definitely has more than the recommended amount of broken ribs. But none of that fucking matters. The sky is clear, the assholes are down, but there’s one thing missing.

He looks over his shoulder when Rhodey lands too. His suit is dented in a few places but other than that he looks alright. His face mask flips up and Tony lets his mask retract.

“Where’s Peter?” Tony asks, his voice rough with the amount of yelling he’s been doing. Fuck these stupid assholes. They were supposed to go mini-golfing today. The kid had been looking forward to it for weeks.

Rhodey looks around, breathing hard through his mouth. “I thought you knew.”

there’s something wrong, by @iron--spider

“I’m sorry, Pete,” Tony whispers. “We should have checked you for something like this when we were resetting your arm and checking on the concussion. Goddamnit. We didn’t think.”

“He poisoned us both?” Peter asks, trying to open one eye to look at him.

“Yeah,” Tony says, brushing Peter’s hair back from his forehead. “He’s dying. He got the brunt of it, a nice fucking cocktail of bullshit, including mercury and a bunch of other toxic shit—”

“Am I dying?” Peter whispers, voice breaking.

Fitting In (Tiny Spaces), by aloneintherain

Peter's trapped beneath a collapsed building during a mission, hurt and unable to move. Luckily, his comm still works. Unluckily, the Avengers don’t realise how bad of a state Peter is in, and Peter isn’t inclined to tell them.

“Spidey, they’ve got reinforcements. We’ve hit a bit of a snag here, and I don’t think anyone will be able to help you for a while. Think you can sit tight while we deal with this?”

The pressure on his lower back and legs was becoming too much. Peter swallowed thickly, fighting down panic. He could handle this.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I can do that.”

Collections/Series (’cause I could make an inventory of all @iron--spider stories, you know, but you have to read all of her work, if you haven’t yet) (God she doesn’t even know who I am)

iron dad bingo, by @iron--spider

stay at home, by @iron--spider

whumptober, by @iron--spider

Whumptober 2019, by @marvelous-writer

Day in the life of the Iron Family, by @marvelous-writer

The Tumblr Archives, by @losingmymindtonight

Everything comes back to you, by @losingmymindtonight

Nice work, kid, by @madasthesea

Irondad Bingo 2019, by sahiya

The Adventures of Spidy-son and Iron-dad, by eva7673

Tony adopts Peter (why everyone kills May, btw ?)

Accepting the Tides, by @emma--anacortes

Tony had dragged Peter from the depths of despair after May's death. It was normal that he'd grown to care a little about him, right?

Yeah, okay. He freaking loved the kid.

So naturally he would feel a little weird when Richard Parker randomly shows up in Peter's life. Naturally he'd feel protective, nervous, and confused because where has Richard been all this time? And why does Tony feel sick every time he sees him around Peter?

All he knows is if Richard hurts his kid, Tony's gonna give him hell.

Series Out of Darkness, by @starryknight09

“Is this Peter Parker?”

“Yes…”

“This is Dr. Nguyen. I’m sorry but your aunt’s been in an accident and we’re going to need you to come to Queens Memorial as soon as you can.”

Peter's life shatters with a phone call. The last person he expects helps him pick up the pieces.

#irondad #irondad spiderson #irondad fic #fic recs

214 notes · View notes

johnnycranes · 4 years ago

Text

“I need you to pretend we’re dating”

Micah x F!Reader

But it’s the 1800s so “we’re together” instead of dating i guess lmao. This was supposed to be a short fic, how in the world it reached over 2k words idk.

Anyway I’ve missed writing for Micah so here’s my attempt at a comeback. Prompt masterlist here.

Rating: T with just a splash of M but nothing too crazy.

Micah x F!Reader

Karen finally convinced Arthur to let you and her go back to Valentine after what happened the last time the blonde woman visited.

‘Course, this time Karen decided to bring Sean along. The Irishman just happened to be free when Arthur said he’d be too busy himself, taking care of something for Dutch.

So here you were, in the Valentine saloon with the two lovebirds. You knew you should’ve stayed at camp and shared stories with Tilly and Mary-Beth but noooo, Miss Jones just had to bribe you with a free drink and a “I heard a real interestin’ lead the last time we was here!”

Karen and Sean were off by the piano, singin some tune while you were trying to scout any leads from the drunks by the bar.

You were about to ask the bartender for another drink when one of the locals, breath reeking of alcohol, placed an arm around you.

"Well hellooooo there, beautiful. I ain't seen you 'round here before." he said, his words slurred and voice a little too loud from where he was.

You smiled politely as you could back at him, tried to put distance between you two, but his arm felt like lead on your shoulders. "Just passin' through, mister. Here with a few friends." you pointed towards Karen and Sean, who, unfortunately, weren't looking at anyone but themselves.

And apparently the man with you picked up on it as well.

He chuckled. "Awww, there there, sweetheart. Seems your friends ain't leavin anytime soon. Why don't I keep ya company instead, hmm?"

As much as you wanted to slap the man or kick him where it hurts the most, Dutch specifically requested that there be no more rowdy bar fights after all the trouble the gang caused in town already.

Smile unwavering, you tried to look around for anything or anyone to help you get rid of the local.

So when you heard the saloon doors swing open and saw Mr. Micah Bell III himself enter, you prayed he was sober and in a good enough mood to help you out. You were always one of the friendlier people towards him in camp, so hopefully that little friendship meant something.

"Oh, there he is!" You yelled, looking at Micah. This distracted the local enough so he could loosen his hold on you and you slipped out, making your way to the blonde cowboy.

He looked surprised to see you, even more so when you put your arms around him, leaning your head near his.

You felt him tense up and had a feeling he was going to push you away so you knew you had to say something quickly. "I'll wash your clothes and sew 'em for a week if you please just pretend we're together. Feller by the bar's tryna do more than just buy me a drink." you said by his ear.

You could sense he was processing what you just told him. But suddenly his arms were around you and he pushed you away just enough to place a kiss on your cheek.

You look up at him, even more shocked when you see the unmistakable smug grin on his face.

"I was only gone a few minutes, darlin'. Didn't think you'd miss me that much." he said in a surprisingly sweet voice that didn't sound at all like the tough gunslinger you knew him to be. He placed his arm around you and started walking up to the bar.

Not missing a beat and thankful that he seemed to be ok with playing along, you wrapped one arm around his waist and placed a hand on his chest. "You know me, just can't get enough of ya."

You both stopped by bar, Micah tipping his hat to the bartender and signalling for two more bottles.

Unfortunately, the man who was harassing you hadn't left. "She with you, mister?" he asked rather blatantly, turning towards Micah.

The blonde tightened his grip on you. "That is correct. Ain't I just the luckiest feller?" he actually tapped your nose with a finger. Seems Hosea has some competition in acting.

And you couldn't help but blush when his voice became just a bit huskier at the end there. The poor local didn’t seem to be giving up though.

“Really now? ‘Cuz the little lady told me she came with just those two.” he said, pointing to Sean and Karen who were giggling about something or other.

Man, they really did have eyes for only each other, especially when they were both drunk.

Micah let go of you and you were quick to shove down the disappointment you felt, no longer in his arms. He was surprisingly warm.

Micah stood in front of you, blocking you from the drunk local.

“Not that it ain’t any of your business, feller, but I passed by the gun store, left my woman with our two friends over there.” He glanced back at you. “Startin’ to think that was a bad idea.”

You smiled sheepishly, knowing Micah meant to tell you that it was your fault for not thinking about how drinking with Karen and Sean was going to be anything but good.

“I’m sorry, love.” You said, and you swore you saw Micah’s cheeks turn red from calling him love. “I leave ‘em for 5 seconds and suddenly they think they’re the only people in the world or somethin’.”

Micah laughed and you felt heat pool in your stomach from the sound. “Quite all right. I know you can handle yourself.”

The local scoffed. “Actually mister, who knows what woulda happened to the girl if I hadn’t shown up.” the man said rather smugly.

“She woulda finished her damn drink in peace, that’s what.” Micah growled.

And it really did seem like the feller had a death wish because the next thing she knew, he was leaning towards Micah, glaring at him. “We was just about to have a lovely evening if you hadn’t shown up.”

Micah barked out a laugh, obviously not intimidated by the other guy’s rather poor show of masculinity. “That’s real funny, friend. Cuz I reckon that’s my line, not yours.”

“Listen yo-”

Before the man could finish talking, you heard Karen Jones squeal, saw Sean Macguire break a bottle on top of some poor feller’s head, and then the whole saloon was in an uproar.

Micah took the opportunity to punch the drunk man square in the jaw. It was no secret he wasn’t the toughest fighter among Dutch’s boys, but his ‘opponent’ was drunk enough that he went down without much of a fight, knocked out from all the alcohol.

Micah took a swig of his whiskey, placed a few coins on the bar, then grabbed your hand, guiding you around the chaos until you finally got out of the saloon.

“Well, that ain’t what I had in mind when I got to town, but that was fun.” he laughed, adjusting his hat.

You couldn’t help but laugh with him. “Trust me, weren’t what I expected either.”

You looked down and saw you were still holding hands. You hesitantly let go, remembering how all this craziness started.

“Thanks, Mr. Bell. I was tryna avoid another bar fight but it seemed Sean had other plans.”

He smirked. “Well I can’t blame the boy. He only wanted to help his woman. ‘Case ya forgot, I did the exact same thing.”

You grinned, not sure if your cheeks were warm from the alcohol or from his charming words.

Probably both.

“Yes, and as promised, you’ll get clean and sewn clothes for a week, no more waiting for Ms. Grimshaw gives it to one of us girls.”

Micah chuckled lowly, moving closer to you and you forgot how intimidating he could be. “As lovely as that sounds, miss, I actually had another... reward in mind.”

He leaned towards you and you could feel his breath touch your skin. You unconsciously licked your lips. “And what is it?” you asked, surprised at how small your voice sounded.

He grinned. “Oh, somethin’ we’ll both enjoy, I assure you.”

You felt his fingers gently tilt your chin up and you didn’t stop him. You closed your eyes and thought you felt the prickle of his moustache on your face-

Before two familiar laughs and the saloon doors swinging open hit your ears. You jumped back and saw Micah do just about the same, only much more subtle, slowly backing away from you and adjusting his hat.

Sean and Karen all but stumbled out of the bar, the Irishman still holding a bottle in his hand as he kept an arm around his woman.

“Micah you bastard, what the hell you doin’ here then?” Sean said, his accent thicker now that he was drunk.

Micah scoffed. “Savin’ Miss (Y/N) here, I reckon.” he said, tilting his head towards you. “Now I ain’t no stranger to a bit of fun at the saloon either but what do you suppose Dutch’ll think if anythin’ happened to these fine ladies?”

Sean laughed, almost falling over if Karen hadn’t steadied him. “Since when did you care about anyone other than yourself?”

Micah stomped towards the younger man. “Easy there, cowpoke. Don’t think I wo-”

You stepped in front of Micah, placing your hands on his chest. He looked down at you. “It’s fine, Micah. The idiot’s drunk.”

“Hey!” Karen yelled. “He ain’t an idiot.”

Sean leaned his head on her. “Aww Miss Jones you do-”

“He’s my idiot.” She finished. “Now, I don’t fancy headin’ back to camp just yet. Stole enough money from one of the fellers in the saloon to afford a bath and a decent room at the hotel.” Karen faced you. “You gonna be okay gettin’ back yourself? Or I do have some leftover for another room if ya want.”

Sean took one last swig before dropping the bottle on the ground. “Hey, I ain’t drunk enough that I can’t bring Miss (Y/N) back to camp meself.”

“You Irish fool, the room’s fer us!” she yelled.

Sean blinked before going “Oooohhh” and you laughed when you heard Micah mutter “They’re both morons.”

You smiled at the other woman. “I’ll be fine. Mr. Bell can bring me back.” you looked at the blonde man and saw him shrug. Karen however wasn’t convinced, as she glared at Micah.

“Don’t you try anythin’ now or I’m tellin’ Arthur and kickin' your ass myself.” she said.

Micah waved his hands mockingly. “Oh I’m shakin, Miss Jones.” he brought them back down. “We’ll be fine. Now you two get the hell outta here before Mr. Macguire pukes all over the damn ground.”

Karen told you to take care before guiding a giggling Sean towards the hotel.

Once they were inside the building, Micah faced you. “The hell were ya thinkin? Hanging around those two drunk idiots?”

You shrugged. “Hey I was bored, ok? And Karen offered free drinks.”

Micah huffed.

Part of you was buzzing to continue what Sean and Karen interrupted between you and Micah. You rarely interacted with the blonde cowboy whenever he was in camp, but you knew you were friendlier towards him than most of the others.

He’s flirted, or tried to flirt with every girl in camp already so you weren't surprised at him trying to kiss you.

But dammit you really wanted him to.

He coughed, more to get your attention than anything else. “So… if you’re done here darlin’, we better get back to camp.”

You felt yourself blush hearing him call you darlin’ again. You also almost laughed at his complete personality change. First he was a charming and dashing cowboy, next he was growling at Sean and now he looked a little nervous and unsure. It was kind of endearing.

Feeling like a little girl too afraid to talk to the boy she was sweet on, you actually tucked your hair behind your ear, trying to avoid his gaze. “Actually I… I ain’t exactly lookin’ forward to headin’ back just yet.”

Micah’s expression looked guarded and you weren’t sure what he was thinking. “What did you have in mind?”

You blamed the alcohol for wanting to grab his head and kiss him senseless then and there.

So you did.

Your lips were on his and you felt him go stiff before relaxing and kissing you back with just as much force, his hands going to either side of your face. You felt the rough texture of his beard and moustache on your skin, tickling you yet he couldn’t get enough of him.

It didn’t take long for Micah to take charge as he bit your lower lip gently, you opened your mouth just a bit but it was enough to allow Micah's tongue entry. You moaned against him and Micah was the first to break the kiss, letting you breathe while he placed some more open mouthed-kisses on your jaw and neck.

“Been wantin’ to do that for a while now.” he whispered against you.

You laughed breathlessly. “Reckon Sean and Karen killed the mood earlier. Glad I went for it, anyway.”

“Oh so am I sweetheart, so am I. Weren’t sure when the next opportunity was gonna present itself.”

You smirked as Micah finally stopped kissing you, and looked at you with those beautiful blue eyes of his. “Who knew all it took was a drunk cowboy to get us together, hmm?”

Micah brushed your hair out of your face and, in the most un-Micah way you’ve seen him be, placed a soft kiss on your forehead. “The man was a pathetic loser but I made sure to give him somethin’ as thanks.”

You looked up at him, brows furrowed. “You did?”

He grinned before he placed his arms around you and guided you towards Baylock. “Yep! Was about to break a bottle on his head, good thing I didn't, he can have the free whiskey as thanks.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

The next morning at camp, John yelled at Sean for the… mess that was left in his tent. Sean tried to defend himself saying “Excuse me sir but Miss Jones and I had a lovely evenin’ at the Saints Hotel back in town.” John wasn’t having it though, unconvinced and already asked Ms. Grimshaw to just burn the sheets while he goes and gets some new ones.

As Sean grumbled on about how he didn’t do anything for once, Micah approached him, with a shit-eating grin on his face. You were close enough that you could hear what he said. “Awww, don’t be so sour, cowpoke. I reckon you should be more careful, like (Y/N) and I were last night. No one knows a thing.”

Micah walked away, hands on his gun belt and a swagger in his step. You waited about five seconds before-

“MICAH BELL YOU OILY TURD!”

You made a note to yourself that next time maybe make sure John’s tent is immaculately clean afterwards.

Or get a room in town.

#micah bell #micah bell x f reader #micah bell x reader #red dead redemption 2 #my writing #my fic

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justanother-unluckysoul · 4 years ago

Text

CS Fic: You Are My Shelter

Rating: T

Word count: 5k

Summary: An unexpected blizzard hits while Emma and Killian are enjoying a quiet vacation in their forest cabin, forcing them to shelter in place until it passes. The temporary isolation probably wouldn’t have been so bad if Killian hadn’t also gotten injured.

A completely self-indulgent story that hopefully some of you will enjoy.

A/N: Bet you weren’t expecting another story from me so soon but this one kind of appeared out of nowhere, built from one sentence and a vague vibe. It was basically just an excuse to whump Killian a bit, but also to write snuggly cosy CS scenes when real life weather was cold and gross.

Read on AO3

You Are My Shelter

“I’ll be back soon,” Emma had said with a quick kiss to his lips, “Just be careful up there, okay?”

Killian had told her not to worry, that he’d spent centuries climbing the rigging on the Jolly Roger and that clearing the chimney of their holiday cabin would be easy. She had been worried, but he’d placated her, and she’d cautioned him one last time before reluctantly leaving for town. There was a storm brewing, carrying a threat of heavy rain and early-season snow, and both of them wanted to be prepared in case it turned out worse than predicted. But either way, the fireplace was certainly going to get some use, hence why Killian was clearing bird nests from the chimney. It was overdue really, but they hadn’t been out here for a few months, their little cabin nestled in a forest about an hour’s drive away from Storybrooke. The sun was getting low, but the work warms him up quickly, enough to be quite comfortable in just the shirt and trousers he’d stripped to before he’d started. He hadn’t been lying when he said he was used to heights and climbing. Even the slipperiness of the shingles wasn’t unexpected, and he was carefully bracing himself and planting his feet firmly. So Killian isn’t sure what happened. The wind was getting stronger; he could see rain on the horizon, creeping closer and maybe he tried to rush a little bit, wanting to get the job done and get off the roof before the weather turned. Whatever the cause, his foot slips, he scrambles for a handhold and there’s none, Killian is sliding and falling and he really should have had some sort of rope to hold him. The benefit of hindsight. There’s a moment of weightless terror as he goes off the edge of the roof and plunges unchecked towards the ground. He doesn’t remember landing.

Wake up, Killian, please. I can't carry you.

Emma is panicked, almost in tears, the urgency with which she pulls at his shirt and pats his cheeks drawing him back to a groggy awareness. He is so tired. He's not certain he's even awake now, his surroundings taking on a surreal, distant quality as he tries to blink Emma's frightened face into focus. He thinks he’s lying on the ground, though he’s so numb and tired he’s not certain of that either. What happened? he tries to ask, but the sound he actually makes is more like a weak groan than anything comprehensible.

Killian, please wake up. I need you to help me.

Somehow he’s on his feet. His body doesn't feel like his own, slow and so, so heavy. Emma dragging him forwards, the world blurring around them, just a little further, Killian, we're almost there. He stumbles through the cabin doorway into the dark room beyond, only Emma's hold on him keeping him from collapsing right there. When he does fall, it's onto something soft - a bed, perhaps. He thinks Emma is trying to get his damp clothes off; that's a good idea, he'll surely catch his death from cold if he stays in them. He should help her. But his strength is depleted, the world is going dark once more, and he knows nothing after that.

He comes to with a scorching pressure against his back, and when he tries to squirm away, he notices the arm wrapped around his middle, searing and restrictive.

"Lie still, Killian," Emma murmurs and he feels as though his skin blisters under her breath on his neck.

Emma, stop, it hurts, he tries but he is weak and trembling and the words are too quiet, slurred between his numb lips and dry tongue.

"Lie still. It's okay."

He groans, giving up. He is too bloody tired to fight anymore. His fingers and toes have started to prickle with sensations, as though they are just coming back to life. And now the shivers begin to roll through him in earnest, relentless and uncomfortable, rattling his teeth.

"Shhh. You’re okay. Come back to me, Killian."

He whimpers and groans and keeps shaking, while Emma maintains her tight hold on him and coaches him gently as his breath drags roughly against his parched throat, relax, Killian, it's okay, everything's going to be okay, I promise. As his body slowly crawls back from the brink of frozen death, Killian can hear the howl of wind against the cabin walls, the storm shaking the window panes while something in the roof rattles threateningly with each gust. He’s wrapped in Emma’s arms, her body pressed against his naked back, blankets piled atop them both.

“Are you with me, Killian?” Emma asks softly, and her breath doesn’t burn him this time, his skin slowly warming.

“S-swan,” he whispers; all he can manage right now.

“Oh, thank god.” Her voice is a damp sob against his neck.

She shifts now, sliding away and rolling him onto his back, the warm blankets pulled away. He wants them back. He wants Emma back.

“I have to… I have to stitch this. Shit, Killian, it’s-”

Her breath shudders, and Killian wants - needs - to see what’s happened, what’s upsetting Emma. He needs to reassure her that he’s okay. But he hasn’t the strength to move; with his blood warming, awareness trickling back in, his head has begun to throb and spin woozily, and there’s a growing cognition of the deep pain in his thigh. He can do nothing but lie there helplessly, teeth gritted against the discomfort as Emma pokes at what he supposes is a nasty wound on his leg. He misses the blankets. He’s still shivering miserably, though he can no longer tell if it’s from cold or heat or simply the pain. There are too many sensations, the agony in his thigh increasing exponentially under Emma’s hesitant ministrations and despite his best efforts to stay conscious, Killian is soon floating away in a daze. The wind roars - or perhaps that is him, he can’t tell. His mind is entirely lost to the pain and the misery; no amount of soothing words will be able to reach it now, though he can hear Emma trying anyway. The wind is going to tear this cabin apart, as surely as the pain is tearing him apart, his agonized cries lost beneath the scream of the storm.

***

The world is muted, soft sounds filtering into Kllian’s ears as though from a great distance. He's more exhausted than he's ever been in his life, yet at the same time it feels as though he's been lying in this bed for days, drifting in a haze of restless sleep amid the pain that's still twinging in his leg. His leg twitches without conscious thought, and the twinge becomes a vicious bolt of pain, his teeth gritted against it and the encroaching darkness as his back arches, hand clawing at the blanket to steady himself. Staying as still as he can, taking deep lungfuls of precious air, vowing to never move again if that is the result, waiting for the pain to ease. Killian remembers Emma being with him before - remembers a soft touch and gentle words - but there had also been a searing, deep agony in his thigh and a terrible pounding in his head, and he had been cold and confused and so weak, desperate for Emma just to hold him. For her soothing embrace to allow him to find some measure of peace amongst the torment, to ground him in reality as the pain and exhaustion twisted the world around him. But she hadn't held him the way he wished, too busy trying to piece him back together, her voice distant as she worked. And peace had come for Killian, eventually, in the form of blissful unconsciousness, ignoring Emma's increasingly desperate pleas for him to keep fighting the lure of the dark; she should know by now that Killian had never been good at resisting darkness. But he is awake now, the room bathed in weak daylight that doesn’t hurt his head, a roaring fire lit in the hearth casting a warmth through the room. The blankets are thick and heavy and soft, and Killian is in no hurry to move from this position of relative comfort, the ice finally gone from his veins, the pain ebbing away. Emma creeps into the room holding a cup of something steaming and sweet, her thick socks barely making a sound on the floorboards, smiling in relief when she sees him awake.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, setting the cup on the bedside drawers and easing herself onto the mattress beside him.

“Tired,” he admits, “Hurts to move.”

Emma presses her hand against his forehead briefly before tugging the blankets down so she can check his wound. He tries not to flinch as she carefully peels the bandage away and prods gently at the sensitive skin around the injury.

“No sign of infection,” she muses, “It’s just going to take time to heal. It was very deep.”

She covers him back up.

“You should drink something. I know you’re hurting, but can you sit up for me?”

Sitting up is agony, but with Emma’s help he manages to get upright, propped against the pillows, his arm wrapped around his middle as he sucks in sharp, shaky breaths. The room tilts away from him and he grabs clumsily for Emma’s arm, his head pounding.

“You okay?” she murmurs, and he shakes his head, swallowing thickly, “Shh, I’ve got you. Take some slow breaths, that’s it.”

She has procured a wet washcloth from somewhere, and she uses it to wipe the cold sweat from his face as he struggles against the urge to vomit, the combination of pain and dizziness rising to an unbearable level. It feels like hours before his body calms, before the pain eases back to a dull ache and the room settles, and he can take the offered cup of tea. Though it must not have really been hours because the tea is still quite warm. The gentle spice of it soothes his churning stomach and calms the trembling of his hands as he sips at it, watching Emma stack more wood onto the dwindling fire.

“The storm…?”

“Still here,” she replies, “But it’s snowing now.”

Killian can’t see out the window well from this angle; there’s only white nothingness beyond the glass, but he doesn’t dare move again so he simply takes Emma’s word for it. He’s content to stay where he is now, leant against the pillows with tea in hand and the blankets pooled around his waist as the fire begins to roar in its box once more.

“Do you need anything else?” Emma asks, when she’s satisfied with the state of the fire.

“Just you, love.”

Emma smiles and ducks her head, a slight blush rising on her cheeks at his statement. She is still not quite sure how to respond to Killian’s casual affection, the openness with which he loves her, and so he’s made a vow to himself to say such things to her as often as possible until she accepts it without this uncomfortable hesitation. He pats the space next to him.

“Come sit with me, Emma. It’s too miserable a day not to spend it in bed.”

It doesn’t take much to convince her. She tucks herself close to Killian’s side, pulling the blanket over herself as well, her socked toes pressed against his legs as she rests her head on his shoulder.

“Like this?” Emma asks.

“Perfect,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

He drinks the rest of his tea in silence, letting the crackle of the fire fill the room instead, the soft warmth of Emma’s body curling into him lulling him into a contented doze by the time he’s finished the drink.

Killian wakes lying on his back once again, his eyes sticky and his mouth dry. The room is darker now but no less warm, the fire still crackling away, the outside chill barred by the heavy curtains now drawn across the windows. Killian’s hand flexes towards the thick bandages around his thigh. The pain is a deep, relentless ache, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Tentatively, Killian takes a deeper breath, shifts his legs a little, relieved when it doesn’t hurt too much more than lying still does. He’s not brave enough to try sitting up yet, not without assistance, though it would be nice to soothe his parched throat with the glass of water he can see sitting on the cabinet beside the bed. After a moment, his thirst overrides his reluctance to move.

“Emma,” he rasps, and it’s a bloody miracle she actually hears him from the main room.

“Hey.” She’s at his side in a moment, checking his forehead again, fussing over him anxiously. “What is it?”

“Thirsty,” Killian whispers.

“Okay. Did you want to try sitting up again?”

He nods, and she gently assists him upright, stuffing pillows behind his back, brushing her fingers slowly through his hair until the spinning in his head settles and he can take the glass. The water is delicious, fresh and cool, and he has to resist the urge to gulp it all down as fast as possible, taking slow, small sips instead until the glass is empty.

“I’ve got some soup on the stove if you want to eat.” Emma tucks the blanket higher around his waist. “You should eat.”

The smell wafting into the bedroom is actually making him salivate a little; he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now. He wonders how long it’s been since he last ate. Once he’s eating a bowl of steaming soup, Emma stokes up the fire and then settles cross legged at the end of the bed, tucking into her own meal.

“How long has it been?” Killian asks, “Since… since you found me.”

Emma glances at her watch.

“Uh, that was yesterday evening. So, about a day, I guess?”

“Bloody hell.” He’s stunned to know he’s been barely conscious for such a long time. No wonder Emma was worried. “It’s not still snowing, is it?”

Emma bites at her lip anxiously. “It is. The rain had turned to snow by the time I got home, and you were just… just lying there, soaked through. God, Killian, I thought you were…” She can’t bring herself to say it.

“I’m going to be alright, love,” Killian assures her, wishing Emma wasn’t sitting quite so far away that he can’t reach out and comfort her.

“I’ve phoned for help last night, but nobody can get in because the snow is too thick already. We… could be stuck here for a while.” She picks at a loose thread on the blanket, her dinner forgotten.

Her fear is palpable, and not unwarranted. Killian hasn’t gotten a look at his leg yet, but he knows Emma had to sew it closed, and knows it must have been a vicious gash. He must have caught it on something on the roof as he’d slid. Whatever the cause, it’s a nasty injury; he can feel that much.

“There’s no one I’d rather be stuck with,” he says, with far more cheerfulness than he feels.

Emma smiles at that, but her eyes are still troubled. Killian gestures at her half finished bowl, you need to eat too, my love. She does, but slowly, and he can tell she’s struggling to get it down, her worry ruining her appetite. His heart aches. He’s annoyed that he didn’t have the foresight to use a rope, because he should have known better. More than anything, he hates being the cause of Emma’s stress. She’s been through enough without having to worry about him over a stupid mistake.

After dinner, Emma helps Killian limp to the bathroom. It feels good to be out of bed, although Emma is quick to coax him back when he’s done.

“I’m okay, Emma,” he says, feeling like he’s said it so many times already, “I’m not going to break.”

Truthfully, walking around is hurting his leg and the dizziness has returned now that he’s standing up, but it’s a small price to pay for the freedom of being on his feet again. Emma observes him with a furrowed brow, her lips pursed, but Killian gently kisses that expression off her face.

“I’m sorry I scared you, love. But I promise I’m feeling better. You’ve done a good job here.” He gestures to his thigh, where the neat line of stitches are pinching at him if he’s not careful enough. “But just for you, sweetheart, I’ll go back to bed for a while. Okay?”

“Okay. And I… I should check your leg again. We can’t risk infection.”

It hasn’t been long since she last looked at it, but Killian asquieces, shimmying his trousers off and settling back on the bed, knowing she needs this to allay her fears. Her hands are steady as she presses her fingers lightly beside the line of stitches, and Killian can’t help the tensing of his stomach muscles as she does, fighting with his body’s instinct to pull away from the touch so close to his wound. A soft grunt is all that escapes him, but it’s enough to make Emma’s face crumple in guilt as she pauses.

“Sorry,” she whispers, and Killian quickly shakes his head.

“It’s alright.”

She watches him for a moment longer and he is careful to keep any sign of pain from his expression, before she returns to her task. Emma’s brow furrows in concentration as she tends his injury, the corner of her mouth pulling in a small grimace, before her eyes dart back up to meet Killian's. He tries to give her a reassuring smile.

“How does it look?” he asks.

“It’s… it’s okay. I think.” Emma sighs, looking tired and stressed. “I’m not good at this, Killian. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re doing fine, love,” he tells her sincerely, “And as soon as we get back to Storybrooke, you can use your magic to heal it completely.”

He tugs her closer so he can kiss her again.

“I know,” she says, “I just worry. Between the concussion, and the hypothermia, and the nearly bleeding to death…” She presses her fingers against his lips, halting the words that he’d been about to speak. “And don’t just tell me you’re a survivor.”

Killian chuckles softly as she moves her fingers, stroking along his jawline. Emma knew him too well; that had been exactly the line he was about to say.

“Alright, I won’t. But I will be alright, Swan, in your care. And I’m sure we’ll be out of here soon.”

***

The following day had started a bit brighter, the snowfall easing, and Killian had spent the morning on the couch, trying to read but his eyes refused to focus, and stubbornly trying anyway had only brought his headache back. So he set the book aside and watched Emma potter about the cabin instead, fetching firewood and melting snow for drinking water. The frigid nights had frozen the water pipes solid, and with no sun to warm them during the day, there was no running water. It didn't bother Killian much - he still considered such modern conveniences to be a luxury. And though he would have appreciated a warm bath or something today, he's not about to ask Emma to fill one for him. He feels useless enough, frustrated and bored, stuck sitting on the couch while Emma does all the work, without adding to her list of chores.

“Hey, are you doing okay?” He’s pulled out of his self-pity by Emma sitting beside him, taking the book from his loose fingers.

“I’m fine,” he says automatically, his voice distant and hollow in his own ears.

Emma doesn’t believe him, he can tell. She reaches out to smooth the furrow between his brows, fingers carding through his hair as he leans into the touch. The gentle pressure against his scalp feels so good, easing the tightness his attempt at reading had caused.

“You can be honest with me,” she whispers, “Please. I want to help.”

“No, it’s okay. You’ve already done so much, Emma, I can’t...” I can’t ask for more, it wouldn’t be right.

“But you’re hurting, aren’t you? Is it your head?”

He nods, eyes falling closed as he accepts the comfort she offers him.

“Maybe reading wasn’t the best idea.” Killian hums in agreement. “Do you want to go back to bed? Maybe lying down will help.”

“I’m tired of lying down,” he complains, sharper than he intended, his head lolling against the back of the couch miserably.

“Okay.” Emma’s quiet, patient tone only makes him feel worse, angry with himself for lashing out.

Instead of saying anything else, Emma simply picks up the discarded book, tucks her knees up and cuddles closer to him, and begins to read the story aloud. Killian’s protest is instinctive.

“Swan, you don’t n-”

“Shh, I’m reading,” Emma says firmly, and continues.

An amused, affectionate chuckle escapes Killian. Gods above, he is so lucky to have this woman in his life.

Emma has hardly stopped pacing all evening, stealing fretful glances out the window, where the snow is falling thick and fast once more. The power had gone out around midday but they were prepared for it, candles for lighting and the fireplace for cooking. It was cosy like this, in the warmth and dimness. After dinner, Killian had moved from the couch to the rug by the fire, much to Emma’s concern, but here he can be useful, stoking the fire when it gets low, and with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders at Emma’s insistence, he’s really quite comfortable. He’d fallen asleep while she read to him earlier, like a child which was rather embarrassing, but when he woke his headache had gone and he’d felt quite a bit better. But Emma had been anxious again by then, the calm softness she’d exuded as she read to him now entirely gone from her demeanor as she walked the length of the cabin. Back and forth, over and over.

“If you keep that up, you’ll wear a track into the floorboards,” Killian teases.

Emma doesn’t seem to appreciate, or even notice, his attempt at lightening the mood.

“It’s still snowing,” she notes worriedly.

He pushes himself up from the floor, wincing at the pull of healing skin and the ache in his knees from too long spent folded. Emma reaches for him quickly, in that fussing way she has whenever his face twists in pain, but he takes her into his arms before she can do anything.

“We’ll be alright, love.”

A slight shiver passes through her as she returns his embrace.

“I’m just… I’m scared, Killian.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you, Emma. I won’t let it.”

She pushes her hand against his chest, creating just enough distance so she can look at his face.

“I’m not scared for myself,” she whispers, her eyes shining bright with unshed tears, “Killian, I’m scared for you.”

It hits him hard, hearing her fears spoken aloud, and guilt wracks him at the expression on her face.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling her close once more, “I’m so sorry, love. But we’re going to be fine, I promise you.”

She hiccups a sob into Killian's chest and he shushes her, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back as he holds her tight.

“You can’t promise that," Emma whimpers, and his heart shatters because he knows it's true.

They are going to be trapped in this place for gods know how long, and Killian’s utterly helpless to do anything about it. Even if he wasn’t injured, the unpredictable and freezing conditions outside makes any attempt to leave ill advised, if not impossible. And he knows his wound worries Emma, bringing her fears of infection and complications, though her medical prowess had so far proved commendable.

“We’ve faced worse odds than a little snow, darling,” Killian says, with far more conviction than he feels, “We will be alright.”

“It’s more than a little snow,” she argues, but her voice is steadier now, Killian’s strong front doing as intended to unleash a little more strength of her own.

He holds her a little longer, his hand moving to smooth her hair until Emma takes a deep breath and pulls away.

“Sorry.” She wipes her eyes and sniffs a few times. “Sorry. I’m okay.”

“It’s alright, love,” he says, “It’s been a rough couple of days.” Killian palms her cheek gently, his thumb brushing an errant tear from her face. “Do you want to come to bed now?”

She nods, taking another deep, shaky breath.

“Let me just put some more wood on the fire first.”

“Okay.”

Killian’s already settled into bed by the time Emma returns, stomping the snow off her boots as she enters the cabin, a blast of frigid air following her before she can slam the door shut. In a few minutes, the firebox is filled with extra logs and Emma slips under the blankets beside him, tucking herself close, her toes like ice against his legs.

“Bloody hell, Swan,” he yelps, flinching away, “Where are your socks? Put your socks back on.”

Emma giggles, having entirely too much fun poking him with her freezing feet, making him squirm and curse until he flips over, pinning her solidly beneath his body. She’s grinning up at him, more relaxed than Killian’s seen her in days. The movements have caused his injury to throb again, but he carefully hides any sign of pain in his expression. He doesn’t want to bring down the mood.

“That was bad form,” he tells her in mock-irritation.

“Yeah?” Emma breathes, and she’s clearly flirting with him, trying to goad him into something more.

Killian leans down slowly, until his lips are nearly brushing her ear, feeling her body shiver with anticipation before he growls-

“Where did you leave your socks, Emma?”

And she dissolves into giggles again, as expected, and Killian can’t help laughing with her as he rolls back over onto the mattress. They’re terribly tangled in the covers now but neither of them care.

“Seriously though, my love, please put your socks back on.”

She goes quiet, suddenly, a morose mood falling back over the room and Killian turns to look at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“The snow has gotten too deep,” she says, quiet and shameful and anxious, “It went over the top of my boots tonight and… my socks got wet.”

“They’ll dry, love.” He doesn’t understand why she’s so upset about this. Surely she’s dealt with damp socks before? “Have you put them by the fire?”

“Yes, but I’m not worried about that, Killian,” she snaps, frustrated, and Killian rubs her arm soothingly, “My socks might dry tonight, but the same thing will just happen again when I go out in the morning. Because it’s still snowing. We’re trapped, Killian, and you- What if- How much longer-”

Killian gathers her into his arms and kisses her forehead, silencing her panicked rambling as her mind jumps from one horrible thought to another.

“Shh, my darling, don’t fret,” he murmurs, “My wound is healing well, you know that. And we still have enough food and firewood for an entire week. Perhaps even longer, if we rationed it out. We’ll figure a way around the sock thing, okay?”

Emma sighs, relaxing into his embrace.

“Okay.” She nuzzles the tip of her nose against his chest. “I’m sorry. It’s just… I just worry. I hate being…”

“Trapped?”

“Helpless.”

“You aren’t helpless, Emma. Trapped, yes, but only for now. This foul weather won’t last, and we’ll be home soon enough.”

She hums softly. Killian can’t tell if it’s in agreement or dismissal, but either way, Emma burrows tighter into his hold and not long afterwards, her breathing has deepened in sleep. Killian lies awake much longer, his own mind racing with possibilities and plans that could get them out of here, before he finally succumbs to his own tiredness as well.

***

Dawn finds the fire all but burned out, but weak sunlight is creeping between the curtains for the first time since the storm. There’s a steady dripping sound from somewhere; snow melting off the roof, perhaps - he hopes. Killian slips out of bed, careful not to wake Emma, and pads quietly to the window, peering out at the white surroundings. The sky is clear, brilliantly blue in contrast to the snow. He calls out to Emma, jubilant and more relieved than he can remember feeling in a long time.

“What is it?” Emma mumbles groggily, sitting up with the blanket pulled up to her chest to ward off the chill in the room.

“See for yourself,” he says, pulling the curtains open and allowing the sunshine to fill the room.

Emma gasps in delight, her sleepiness forgotten as she throws the blankets aside and quickly joins him at the window.

“It’s stopped snowing. Killian, we… we can leave.”

Giddy with relief, Emma spins around to hug him tightly.

“I told you we’d be alright, didn’t I?” he says, and before he knows what’s happening Emma is kissing him hard, her body pressed impossibly close to his, a hand sliding down the bare skin of his back to bring him even closer as the days of stress and worry pour out of her in one deliriously hot kiss.

“Just one more thing before we go,” she mumbles against his lips.

Killian groans into her mouth, his body immediately responding to her actions, to the need and urgency with which she’s kissing him and he’s kissing her, his hand in her hair and his hook at her hip. Hardly breaking for air, he manuevours them smoothly back to the bed, falling onto the rumpled blankets, hissing in pain as his wound makes itself known again. Emma grimaces.

“Sorry, I-”

“I’m okay, love,” Killian assures her, “We can keep going.”

He kisses her again, slow and sensual this time, the mood changing from the frantic urgency to something gentle and easy, but no less passionate. Perhaps they won’t go further than tasting each other’s lips, enjoying the reassurance of a loving embrace - though with Emma gasping his name, whispering I love you as Killian’s hand and mouth trace teasing patterns across her soft skin, the allure is almost too strong for Killian to hold himself back. He’s so focused on Emma, on their closeness and how good it feels, that he doesn’t register the sound of an engine until there’s a knock at the door and someone calling out to anyone home? Of course. Now that the storm has passed, they are being ‘rescued’.

“Bloody hell,” Killian gasps, the realization like a wave of cold water thrown against his face.

Way to ruin the mood. Emma is soft and warm and needy beneath him and he is sorely tempted to yell out give us a few more minutes, mate! but he knows he shouldn’t. Emma laughs breathlessly.

“Damn it,” she says.

“My sentiments exactly.”

He rolls off her to flop onto his back, running his hand over his face in annoyance.

“Aren’t you going to go see who it is?” Emma giggles, sitting up and raising an eyebrow at the state of him, and Killian frowns at her, not nearly so amused by this situation as she seems to be.

“I think I need a minute,” he mutters, his voice ragged.

Emma jumps off the bed and tries to smooth down her tangled hair, pulling her clothes on in a rush as the knock sounds again.

“I’m coming!” she calls out, and shoots Killian a glare, hissing, “Don’t even say it.”

He quickly shuts his mouth against the dirty innuendo he was about to say, smirking instead and Emma rolls her eyes at him, but she’s smiling as she leaves the room.

Once Killian has calmed down enough he thinks it won’t be too obvious what they’d been up to, he slips his own clothes back on and limps to the door. The rescue team is determined to take them both straight to the hospital, although Killian insists he’s fine, that Emma had tended his wound already. Besides that - though he doesn’t give this information to the strangers - as soon as they’re over the town line again she can simply use her magic to heal it completely. But they won’t be swayed. Killian clenches his jaw and glares fiercely at their rescuers, his annoyance only tempered by Emma’s gentle hand on his arm.

“It won’t take long,” Emma murmurs, “And then we can go home and finish what we started.” Her quiet, sultry tone is only for Killian to hear as her hand slips into his.

It takes the anger right out of him, her voice and the expression on her face. And Killian thinks she’s never looked more beautiful than right now, her face lit by the sun for the first time in several days, cheeks still flushed with the heat of their almost earlier, her eyes bright and her smile wide.

“Aye, love. I look forward to it.”

The End

TAG LIST: @teamhook - @klynn-stormz - @xarandomdreamx - @zaharadessert - @kmomof4 - @therooksshiningknight - @batana54 - @ultraluckycatnd - @anothersworld - @tiganasummertree - @jonesfandomfanatic - @the-darkdragonfly - @jrob64 - @hollyethecurious - @lfh1226-linda - @elizabeethan - @moviequeen51 - @onceratheart18

#cs ff #cs fic #whump #hurt/comfort #angst #but not too much of the angst lol #snuggly snowstorm fic #yams #my fanfics

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freaky-writer-writes · 4 years ago

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Butterflies | Demon slayer | Shinobu x gn!reader

Character(s): Shinobu Kocho

Fandom: Demon slayer

Pronouns: They/them (Gender neutral)

Warnings: Mentions of death, injuries, slight angst to fluff

A/N: Am I the only one who can’t get over Demon slayer? I haven’t read the manga (though I’m starting to go it atm so no spoilers please) though so- But I’ve had so many fucking spoilers already so I know what’s going to happen 🥲. Anyhow, Demon slayer is still one of my favorite anime/manga!!

Summary: You arrive at the butterfly estate from a mission, you follow Shinobu Kocho to the Wisteria garden.

You were brought to the butterfly mansion to treat your wounds from your previous mission.

It wasn’t the worse, yet not the easiest mission. You were badly injured, you even broke your left arm. At least it wasn’t an upper rank demon, right?

You were still in the hospital bed, just staring dead in the ceiling.

You didn’t feel that much pain anymore, you wanted to get out of the bed, but you weren’t allowed to until you had fully recovered.

But sometimes you have to break the rules. You wanted to walk around and see if your friends are alright.

Your emotions couldn’t comprehend, you slowly got up, a slight pain in the back but you ignored it.

You had a little trouble walking, but soon regained balance. You walked through the halls of the estate, trying your best not to get caught by anyone.

You were looking through every room, desperately trying to find your friends who also got injured during the mission.

“(Y/N)?” A soft voice called out.

You flinched as you turned around only to see a hashira standing in the distance.

They had long black hair with purple ends in a ponytail, a butterfly clip behind her hair, and a butterfly pattern haori.

When you realized who it was, heat started running through your face. You had a strange feeling in your stomach again.

“Wait... Kocho-sama?!”

It was weird, considering never having this feeling in your life. It was like.. Butterflies tickling inside your stomach. You thought it was normal, it only happens when Shinobu’s around. Besides, she’s the insect pillar.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed, (Y/N)-san?” She said as she started walking closer to you.

You froze, not knowing what to say. She’ll definitely notice that I’m lying. “Where is Tanjiro and the others? Are they okay?” Was the only thing you could think of.

“Hmm.. They’re fine. Just like you, they were pretty injured, but they’ll be alright. Tanjiro and Zenitsu are still in bed sleeping, while Inosuke is training even though we said that he’s not fully recovered..” She exclaimed casually, with a dead smile on her face.

“Oh, that’s good. Ah now I can be at ease.” You sighed.

“But!! You still have to go back, you’re also not recovered yet and you have to take it easy!” She reassured.

“Oh, no no no no— I’m totally fine right now, it’s just my arm, that’s it, haha..” You said trying to excuse yourself.

“Is that so?” She leaned onto you, looking at you for a second making you feel the weird feeling again.

“Y-Yeah..”

She looked at you again, just to make sure. “Alright, that’s good! I’ll be on my way to the wisteria garden, goodbye, (Y/N)-San!”

“Wait— No! Can I come with, maybe? I don’t know what else to do.” You asked, wanting to talk to the fellow hashira a little more.

“Oh. Sure, it would be fun with company I suppose!” She said with a reassuring smile.

You smiled back, following her as you both started walking towards the wisteria garden.

You’ve never really had this interaction with Shinobu once. Of course you’ve talked before, but never alone.

When you arrived to your destination, you both sat down by the wooden floor.

The whole garden was full of wisteria trees, it was glowing all purple and beautiful.

“I’ve only been here once, and I haven’t noticed how nice it actually is until now, damn..” You exclaimed and huffed.

“The wisteria garden is my favorite place here. I happen to visit this place ever so often when I feel down.” Shinobu said as she looked around.

“Feel down? You always seem to look cheerful and happy (yet scary-) all the time. Also, you did say that you like coming here when you feel down, we’re you feeling bad earlier?” You asked curiously.

“Well,” Shinobu began as her facial expression started to change into a rather disappointing one.. or maybe frustrating and sad.

“Every person who’s acting happy all the time always have something hiding deep inside, am I wrong? I’m guessing that’s just how I am.” She continued.

“Believe it or not, I’m actually frustrated at myself all the time. I get so angry.” She said and looked down at herself.

“How so?” You wanted to hear more, you wanted to help her.

“...Did you know I had a sister, (Y/N)-san?” The insect hashira asked.

“Unfortunately, I did not, Kocho-sama..” You answered, you were rather shocked inside, you never really knew she had a sister.

“She used to be a member of the hashira. A very kind hearted hashira, let alone kind hearted to everyone, even if it was a demon. She never showed hatred to anyone. She slayed every demon with kindness. She did all of that all because she knew that they were a human before. And she knew that the demons never wanted to be demons, and had no choice to slaughter humans only to survive. She understood them.” She began.

“But, she got all caught up that moment, a demon was able to get to her and take her life. Only if I was as strong as her, I could’ve saved her. She was the best sister in the world, I’m so selfish.” She started tearing up. You’ve never seen this side of her, ever. Knowing her story, you feel so bad for her and wanting to be there for her forever.

“But hey! Look at the bright side, I took her place in the hashira and I met you! She’s probably out there somewhere, hopefully she’s proud of me.” Shinobu wiped off her tears just like that, and covered all of it with a smile.

“Kocho-sama..” You hugged her tightly without thinking, feeling the sensation of the feeling from earlier coming back.

“I’m so sorry for that, it must’ve been so tragic and traumatizing for you.” You continued.

“...It’s alright (Y/N)-San, I’m all fine now! Besides, I got to meet you!” She exclaimed as she hugged back.

You chuckled and let go, yet you still wanted to hold her tight like that.

“(Y/N)-san... You know, I always felt love and appreciation when I was around her. I loved her so much, and she loved me too. After her death, I thought I would never feel the same ever again. But that was until I met you, (Y/N)-San! You made me feel happier when you came. There was just something about you that caught my eye... You’re just like my sister. You’re so kind and sweet to everyone, and so very strong. You don’t kill demons just to pleasure yourself, you kill demons to save people and make them happy. And you know the fact that they never were supposed to get turned into demons. You’re just very different. You made me feel loved again.” She exclaimed, and smiled with closed eyes at you.

You felt your heart skip a beat that very moment from her saying. You felt tingling inside your stomach again, the feeling of butterflies flying around and wanting to leave your body.

“I love you a lot, (Y/N)-San!” She exclaimed as she got slightly tinted light red in her cheeks.

The feeling got more intense and you felt like you were going to pass out. Was this what she meant by love? It’s such a strong feeling, you can’t handle it, at least when she feels love towards you too. You were so happy and excited.

“Kocho-sama I-“ You began

Shinobu caught you with a kiss.

You sat there for a second trying to process what was going on. Was this actually happening? Is she really kissing you? Shinobu Kocho herself? You couldn’t believe it, you were so happy at this moment you kissed her back.

“You don’t have to call me Kocho-sama, it’s fine, (Y/N)-San!” She said with a smile painted on her face.

You smiled back and hugged her again, this time tighter than ever only with your right arm.

She chuckled and hugged you back.

“I love you too, Shinobu.”

#Demon slayer #Kimetsu no yaiba #Demon slayer fanfiction #KNY x reader #Shinobu Kocho #Shinobu Kocho x reader #Fanfiction #Angst #Fluff

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darfeld · 4 years ago

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I like to think that somewhere, in the star wars galaxy, after the end of the clone wars, there is a lost shipment of B1 battle droid, that activated on a barren planet, devoid even of air. But droids don’t need air, and actually it’s good for there durability because they don’t rust or anything, and they are far enough for the sun that Radiation aren’t that much of a problem either. Sure it’s technically cold outside, but the void isn’t really good at dissipating heat anyway so it balances out. And somehow, they get activated, but they don’t have orders. There only directive is self preservation. B1 battledroids aren’t really built to be autonomous so it takes them years to come up with anything, but they aren’t in much danger anyway.

The first problem they have to solve would be random asteroid shower, then, quickly, part replacement become an issue. Sure the cargo has some tools and parts, but like about enough for a battle where you don’t expect to recover that much repairable droids. Soon battledroids have scratches, peg legs, even eye patches, etc... Hopefully, they are pretty good at ballistic, so they quickly figure when the asteroids are more likely to crash and where. They also figure out ways to build shelters.

Then they need food. Of sorts. They have enough energy to continue working decades, given that they don’t spend much of it, but eventually it will run out. At first they use the reactor of the broken ship that got them here. It can run centuries on the lowest setting, which is more than enough for their consumption. Or it would if the reactor was full of fuel. As it is, it’ll only get them up to a century at most. If they don’t use it for anything else. And the whole time, there is no leader. Those B1 are all suppose to be simple troopers. Not a single one appointed officer. And for some reason, they just dread the though of being in charge. So they just discuss things out to find solutions to problems, or to settle disagreements. They are not good at it, but it’s ok. They have the time. They figure that sheltering from meteor shower is well and good, but each time their is a bunch of repair to make, and the hull of the spaceship containing the reactor is giving signs of stress that the droids can’t completely repair. They decide they should try to move it out of the way when the showers happen. Which means moving it on the side of the planet shielded for the shower. They begin to build a vehicle. They try to repurpose most of what they can from the space ship, but eventually they have to get new materials, and a way to use them. They figure out how mold scraps of metal from the initial crash. Then as they eventually run out of those, they figure out how to use metal for the meteor and at some point discover that they can find raw material in the ground. By the time the Empire built its first Death Star, the droids proudly test their first ever B1 made vehicle!

It’s ugly, it uses wheels because repulsors would be a waste of energy (it took them a whole year for them to figure out wheels), it’s slow as hell (maybe 30 km/h top), but it can move on nearly any terrain and load the reactor and all the B1. It’s a kriffing huge accomplishment for them and they feel like they could take over the world. And obviously they can, because there is no one to oppose them, but still. They even make a celebration for the occasion.

At that point, they developed enough personality that they have some idea of what they find pleasant so celebrations are built on this.

#Star Wars #battledroid #b1 battle droid #the forgotten B1s

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ladyhallen · 4 years ago

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Never Count the Cost

Read on AO3| FFN

It was hopeless.

The Death Eaters numbers weren’t going down. And maybe they were, but not visibly, not enough. Kill one Death Eater, and five more would take their place.

Hermione had given people new, more destructive spells and Ron’s strategies were getting more and more geared towards mass destruction. But it wasn’t good enough.

It shot down morale and everyone was getting desperate.

Harry was getting desperate.

She’d asked Kreacher, which was the start of a series of bad decisions.

Kreacher knew the Black Library better than anyone, and gave Harry a book bound in questionable leather.

Harry took one look at the book, and felt her skin crawl. She decided not to ask the house-elf questions.

“Thank you, Kreacher,” she said.

She read the book when it was supposed to be her turn to be sleeping, and lost her appetite at the horrifying and terrible rituals that the book had. She was pale and unhappy reading the rituals.

Still she found one. One ritual among hundreds that suited her purpose. A ritual to “Summone a Moste Powerful and Chaotic Monstere.”

Harry read it dozens of times, memorized the words and knew the sacrifice.

Desperation and bad decisions led her to the forest with a stone floor. She had left a note with Dean, hopefully, it would stall her friends.

Her hands remained determinedly steady even as she carved the damned sigils on the floor with an enchanted knife. Her hand slipped at one point and bloodied the runes on the floor. She paid it no mind, bandaging her hand and continuing again. She didn’t dare use magic until the ritual was complete and she broke the circle. She endured her throbbing hand and at one point forgot about it, she was so focused on getting it right.

She took a deep breath and started the chant, just as Hermione and Ron sprinted into the clearing.

But Harriet had already started, the words coming out of her mouth frosty and hot in turns, some words tumbling out as heavy as a boulder, others coming out quickly and speedily like an eel.

Ron stopped Hermione, more aware than her about the dangers of interrupting a ritual.

“…in sumptus vitae meae,” she finished with a shout, slamming her hands on the sigils firmly, smearing it with blood. At one point, she had started to bleed from her injured hands.

“Harry, no!” Hermione screamed, held back by Ron’s hands on her shoulders. Of course, her friend could understand the Latin.

Smoke started rising from the blood and sigils, and from that smoke, something with tall with horns emerged.

Harry would be panicking, except she had gone so far from panic that she’d circled around to glassy calm. She’d be hyperventilating later.

If there was a later.

“At the cost of your life, huh,” a lovely, deep voice said inside the circle. “That’s a very interesting payment.”

The smoke cleared, and standing inside the circle was a man. Or as close to a man as a demon could get. His horns were long and curled back, the points curling at the tips and shining a dull red. His eyes shone yellow and his teeth were very sharp. His feet were cloven hooves and covered in shaggy fur, with a tail that flicked as he stood.

And his face. Harry instinctively shied away from looking at his too perfect, too beautiful face.

“Whatever is your trouble, lovely summoner?” the demon asked.

“Me and my people are at war,” she said, as boldly as she could manage. “And I am willing to pay anything for you to help us win.”

The demons beautiful face started to smile, a slash of a terrible smile on an otherwise inhumanly beautiful face.

“Break the circle, dear one. And I will seal the contract with you. You’ve already given me such lovely blood,” he whispered, a hypnotic ring in his voice.

Harry found herself moving despite Hermione and Ron’s shouts in her ears. She broke the circle with the knife still in her hand and the demon stepped out.

As he did, there was a ripple in the world like an invisible curtain, and the goats feet, horns and tail vanished. In his place was a man.

Still beautiful, but no longer inhumanly so. Enough of a change that she could look at his face without feeling that otherworldly aura.

“I am a chaos demon,” he declared. “And we seal these things with a kiss.”

The glassy calm broke, and Harry managed to squeak out, “What?” before the demons lips were on hers and she was consumed by the best kiss she’d ever had, all heat and passion.

After a minute, he pulled away and smiled at her dazed face.

“Stay here, my bride,” he said.

Harry crumpled to the forest floor and her best friends rushed to her, holding her hands and touching her shoulders. Hermione looked seconds away from crying. Ron looked like he wanted to wrap her up in bubble wrap.

“He just called me bride,” Harry managed weakly. “What just happened?”

Ron gave a tired huff into her neck, hugging her almost desperately.

Hermione gave an exhausted sigh.

“Harry,” she began slowly. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I think a chaos demon just propositioned you.”

When Harry whined pathetically, Ron started to give little huffs of hysterical laughter.

The three of them staggered into Hogwarts, holding onto each other for support as well as comfort.

For Harry, she needed the help. The ritual took almost all of her magic. If she were a weaker witch, she would be dead.

“Ms. Potter,” Professor McGonagall said grimly. “Something has changed the battlefield.”

They looked into Hermione’s Seeing Mirrors, and Harry tried not to cringe at the sight of the stylishly dressed demon just. Walking and causing immense destruction with just a gesture.

It was one thing to know you’d summoned a monster, and another thing to see said monster in action.

“Oops,” she managed. “I guess he was more effective than I thought.”

That caught everyone’s attention.

“You did this? At what cost, Harry?” Neville asked.

Harry gave a wan smile, and he inhaled in understanding. Before he could open his mouth, the chaos demon came strolling back, hands in its pockets and a very cheery smile on its mouth.

“My bride,” he said. “I have killed all the leaders and destroyed their souls and happiness. I will, of course, wait for a week to see if they reform. After that, we will marry.”

“Ex-cuse me what?” Seamus said loudly. The noise of a couple hundred students causing chaos was defeaning.

The demon picked her up like she weighed like nothing and carried her off.

Harry thought the demon would eat her soul. Or even just eat her, she hadn’t thought demons were picky about corporeality.

Nowhere does cuddling factor into it. Or hand feeding her grapes while making encouraging noises. Somehow, her fear just…went away when he was holding fruit to her mouth.

“You are too skinny,” he said, looking at her critically. “You must eat more.”

Uhm, no? They were at war…had been at war. Rationing was a thing. Still a thing while they solve the food issue because the first thing the Death Eaters had targeted were the Hogwarts Farms.

“If I eat more,” she explained to the demon currently holding her in his lap. “Then the children will eat less.”

He pouted. “And these….children…are important to you?” At her nod, he added, “then I will get you more food.”

He vanished for an hour, and returned with an entire freaking passel of pigs. Harry felt her mouth drop open.

“You will eat more?” he asked, like he hadn’t just solved their food problems for the next few weeks. If the keep some female alive and one or two boars, they can even keep some pigs for livestock and feed the entire school for years.

“Sure,” she said weakly. “I’ll eat.”

He looked so immeasurably smug that she wanted to hit him.

Outside the repaired grassy knoll beside the Great Lake, Harry enjoyed the rare sunshine and the lovely view of the lake.

Well. She tried to.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered. “Can I see the ritual you used?”

Harry had no qualms about that. Just. There was a chaos demon sleeping on her legs and she couldn’t move, or make much noise.

“Ask Kreacher,” she whispered back. “I don’t think I’m moving anytime soon.”

The chaos demon, who still hadn’t given his name – that was bothering her, hugged her thighs tighter, his face on her stomach. Harry oofed, leaning back to be more comfortable.

“Get me a book?” she asked her friend. “I’m stuck.”

Hermione looked bemused and handed over The Hobbit.

Harry, who actually hadn’t read the book yet, found herself combing her fingers through the demon’s hair as she read. Eventually, the heat of the sun and the cool wind combined with the firm weight on her stomach made her fall asleep, the book falling on her face.

Unseen to her, the demon’s tail flicked with pleasure.

A week filled with trials and burials later, she finally broke.

“What’s your name?” she asked. Hermione, opposite her in the sofa, crossed her arms frantically. Well, too bad for her, but Harry was tired of these unsaid things.

“It’s Reborn,” he rumbled. “And you are Harriet.”

Something about the way he said her name made her shiver.

“Yeah,” she said. “Why didn’t you eat my soul?”

He slow blinked at her. “That was not what you offered. You offered me your life. Not your death, or your soul, or even your blood and bone. Just your life. Obviously, in order for me to partake of your life, you have to be alive.”

“You are…feeding off me?” she asked.

“No,” he huffed. “I am experiencing it with you.”

Ron choked. “Isn’t that just marriage?” he coughed. His face was red. Harry’s own face was steadily going red.

The de – Reborn nodded. “I know! It surprised everyone too. It was so forward.”

Harry covered her beet red face and groaned.

Reborn had to leave on some business. According to him, paperwork originated in hell and it was needlessly complicated. If he delayed further to log his contract with her, he’d have to fill out an extra fifty forms.

He kissed her very thorougly, rendering her stupid for a minute, before leaving.

Hermione then pounced, explaining what went wrong. Thank Merlin for Hermione, the lack of explanation reason was driving her crazy.

“You read it wrong,” she said. “And a good thing you did. Though how on earth you read ‘animae’ as ‘vitae’, I wonder. It saved your life.”

Harry blinked at the horrific ritual book and sighed. “I was reading it sleep deprived and at one point, I think I was starting to hallucinate?”

“You and your luck, Harry,” Hermione said. “And did I scold you yet for summoning a chaos demon?”

Harry felt her everything tense up. “…No,” she cringed.

She prepared for a lecture mostly done in yelling. She was braced for it.

Except Hermione hugged her tightly instead. “Thank you,” her dearest friend whispered.

Harry felt unintentionally teary. “For you and Ron? I would do it again,” she said into the bushy mane.

They both took a moment to compose themselves.

“So,” Hermione said in that tone that by long association, made Harry feel dread. Hermione only ever used that voice when she was being a little shit. “The chaos demon didn’t proposition you. You propositioned him first.”

“Oh my god,” Harry groaned. “You’re never gonna let this go, are you?”

She gave Harry such a look of mischief. “Never. I thought you were going to die, Harriet Potter. I’m going to say this to your wedding, and to all your birthdays.”

Thank Merlin that she was still alive to have birthdays.

She complained to Hermione just for the spirit of it, but was just as glad.

#fanfiction #hp #harry potter #reborn #khr #hpxkhr #genderbend #crossover #female harry potter #hermione granger #ronald weasley #hpxreborn #demon reborn #demonic summonings

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hopinglimelight · 3 years ago

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Colors (C.B) - Three

A/N: Heyyy! Idk whats up with my update schedule but it SUCKS. So I deeply apologize. Btw stuffs about to happen in this chapter so enjoy lol.

TW: underage drinking

If someone would have told me my heart would be broken by the end of the month, I would have said that they were lying. Unfortunately, I was the one holding onto a dream that would soon become a false reality

After Jonah and I both said “I love you” to each other, the colors were supposed to start developing. I love him, and he loves me. That should be more than enough. But after a week the world still looked the same boring grey to me. I was hoping that I was just missing the start of the colors developing… but it was the end of May. I had graduated High School. Still nothing.

One night, when everyone was gone from my house except Jonah and I, things were getting kinda heated. I still hadn't told Jonah that I was starting to get suspicious that he wasn't my soulmate. By the time Jo was about to take my shirt off, I had to say something. I didn't want to string him along.

“Jonah.” I calmly said out of nowhere, which scared him half to death.

“What? Baby, I’m not hurting you am I?” He was stopped dead in his tracks, my shirt around my neck while he rested in between my legs. Dani would be very upset if he saw us like this.

“No, no I was just wondering, um, what color are my walls?”

“They’re light blue silly.” My heart dropped. Tears brimmed my eyes and Jonah looked so confused.

“Tyler helped me pick out the color last year. My walls are light yellow baby.”

The soft “oh” that fell from his mouth was heartbreaking.

“I’m sorry Jo.”

“No, it’s not your fault. You know we have to break up now?”

“Why? Can’t we stay together for a little longer?”

“It’s okay baby. I know how important soulmates are to you. I don't want to hurt you by staying.”

“Jonah, please.” My bottom lip trembled.

“It’s okay, bubs. I promise.”

“I really am sorry Jonah.”

“I know. Thank you, Bella, for keeping me company for these few months.”

“I loved you, Jonah.”

“I loved you too, Isabella.”

With that, Jonah was gone and I was left with my broken heart.

When Daniel got home, he asked if I wanted to go to a party with him. He apologized because Jonah wouldn't be there. I said that it was okay and that I'd like to go. It seemed easier than explaining what happened. Especially because the whole… breakup thing stopped us from doing it, and I don't think Daniel would have appreciated that very much.

When we got there, Dani immediately booked it. Something about how his friends were already there and waiting.

“Yeah, F you too Daniel.” I rolled my eyes.

I tried to talk to some of the people i knew, but after an hour the whole party setting was starting to overwhelm me. I went and got a cup with whatever alcohol the person put it in. I chugged it and went outside, slightly gagging at the strong taste.

I sat there and just breathed. I could still hear the music from inside all the way out here. There were people squealing in the pool and then it struck me. I don’t even know whose house this is. I was starting to get worked up again, but I heard a surprising soft voice.

“Bella?”

I turned and looked to see Corbyn.

“Hi.” I gave him a blank expression, not feeling like being rude to him unless he did something first.

“Whatcha doing out here?”

“Idk being inside was starting to stress me out so i came out here to breathe.”

“Yeah I feel you.” He awkwardly put his hands in his pockets. “Mind if I join you?”

I noted his light smile. “Yeah, sure.”

We sat in slightly awkward silence between ourselves for a while.

“I broke up with Kimberly.”

“Oh I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah we just weren't the right fit for each other, you know.”

I could feel a light buzz sensation from the alcohol. “Yeah, I know. Me and Jonah actually broke up.”

“Oh damn. Why, though? You guys were like perfect for each other.”

“He wasn't my soulmate.” I lightly sniffled.

“Let's forget about them. You wanna have fun with me for a while?”

“Yeah, sure.”

So Corbyn and I went off and took shots together. We played so many rounds of beer pong that I lost track of how many cups I had to drink from. We had so much fun that we finished the night by hooking up, me quickly putting my clothes back on to meet Dani at the front. I didn’t even understand what we did until the next morning. The combination of the pounding headache and sudden realization made my room spin. All would be fine, hopefully.

#i dont even know it sucks so much bro #daniel seavey #corbyn besson #jonah marais #my fic #🌈#wdw jonah #wdw daniel #wdw corbyn

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kittydemon9000 · 4 years ago

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I wrote a thing for @anxiousworm‘s Spirit Kai au which has been living rent free in my brain for the last however long so ENJOY

In all his years of living, his first memories were both the worst and best of his life.

Granted, he was pretty sure they weren’t actually his first. He always had a vague sense he was missing something, something that came before, but alas.

He remembered standing before a rundown home, something inside pulling him like a tether.

He remembered passing through the door and the overwhelming smell of alcohol and empty bottles that littered the entire room.

He remembered following the tether to a small closet in the back of the house.

He remembered the soft sniffles.

He remembered the burning rage that filled his soul.

But it was nothing compared to when he opened the door.

Curled up in a tight ball was a young child, if he had to guess she was maybe three or four years old.

She looked at him with tear streaked cheeks and water eyes and mumbled a simple question.

“Who are you?”

“I….I don’t know.”

Her name was Nya, and she was the first of many children.

He remembered pulling her into a hug, only for her to disappear.

But he didn’t panic. Something about it felt….right.

He remembered the heat of the fires as they consumed the house.

He remembered the look of pure happiness when he visited Nya in Home, a place where no one but him and those he brought could go. A place where he could raise his Children in peace and happiness.

He remembered the first time she called him Brother, saying that he reminded her a lot of her real older brother, someone by the name of Kai

He was never able to find Kai, much to both of their disappointment.

So yes. They were his worst memories, but also his best.

And after Nya, there were hundreds more children, and he remembered every single one.

Most, he brought back Home, so he could raise them along with the others, but some he gave to new families.

A particular case that stood out to him was an infant. The father was always busy and didn’t care for him, oftentimes going weeks without even being in the same room.

He didn’t know how he knew these things, he just did.

Luckily, he’d found the infant a new home, in a scrapyard belonging to a lovely couple who’d sadly been unsuccessful in having a child of their own. Every once in a while he would check in on them, and they were doing a fantastic job.

Another case was a boy he’d found wandering the snow, lost and confused. He couldn’t explain what it was, but despite the child’s older exterior, he was still young. Very young with much of the world left to experience.

He’d brought him Home, but the boy only stayed a short while, claiming he wished to find his place in the world, and who was he to deny his request.

Then, a few months later, another child, this one running away from a special school. He always hated those places. What was the point of having a child if you were going to send them away to be raised by someone else?

But, alas, there wasn’t much he could do for him. He also brought him to Home, but he too wanted to go out.

Then…..there was Lloyd. Poor, sweet, not-too innocent Lloyd.

He had found him wandering the island, causing mischief as he went. But deep down, he knew Lloyd was never bad, simply misguided. Built up to be this great son of the dark lord, when really he was just a young boy who needed guidance.

He had at first hated Home, wanting to go back to Ninjago, but after a few days and some coaxing from the other children, he loved it. He realized there was no expectations for him there or a need to compete for attention. All of it was freely given.

He would never admit it allowed, but Lloyd became one of his favorites, right alongside Nya.

But beyond the troubles, life was good. His Children were happy, safe and learning from the security of Home.

But then there was the Great Serpent. The first of many tragedies.

So many children were lost, so many more lost their families, and even more were traumatized. Like the young Harumi, who had yet to speak a word since he retrieved her.

Then, there was the Stone Army, impenetrable soldiers who wouldn’t hesitate to kill the children they found.

He saved even less that time. He remembered being so terrified, thinking he’d failed, but actually they had been saved by The Protectors, but more on them later.

Then….there was the Golden Spirit.

The Golden Spirit was a creature of destruction and death and suffering. It’s aura was wicked and dark and threatened to consume him completely. It probably would have…..if it weren’t for the White Protector.

And oh the agony he felt when he was killed. He was tethered to every one of his Children, and losing one was already an unbearable pain. But, the force of his tether snapping was more painful than any time before it. Like he was truly being erased from existence.

Luckily he was returned soon, though the scars remained.

Which led him to now, standing before his Children.

“Who are you?” Cole demanded. “And why are you stealing kids?”

But he just smiled. “It is good to see you again, my Children. I hope life has been kind.”

Jay sputtered. “What are you saying?!? And why are you calling us your kids?”

But he just smiled. But of course, his Children were just confused. They’d been fighting for so long, never having a rest. He wanted to give that to them.

“You have been fighting for so long, it is time for you to rest.”

They went in guard. The leader stepped forward.

“We don’t want a fight. Just tell us why you’re taking children and we’ll go.”

“I do not take the Children. I am rescuing them.” He started. “I help them escape from families who do not love them, I give them places to stay when they don’t have any families at all, I show them the love they deserve.” He paused, looking them all over. “Just like I did for all of you.”

They all froze. “What are you talking about?” Zane asked.

It always hurt when he had to alter their memories of Home, but it was for the safety of all. However, he always kept the fun.

“Jay.” He said. “You were too young to remember, but when you were an infant and I delivered you to your parents, I did not leave you alone.” Jay looked perplexed, so he continued. “You recall the blue stuffed creature that you’ve had since you were young? What did you name it….Mr…..Mr….”

“Mr.Cuddlywhump!” Jay exclaimed. “I still have him!”

“Jay!” Cole hissed, but he was already beaming.

His Child loved his gift. He loved it enough to keep it well into his older years, something many didn’t do. I warmed his heart.

“And Cole.” he turned to him. “When you ran away, I was the one to get you somewhere safe.”

Cole glared. “No you didn’t, it was…...was…..” he trailed off, clearly struggling to remember.

“I had to erase your memories, in order to keep the others safe. You didn’t want to remain at Home, so I took you somewhere safe.”

He turned to the last of his Children.

“And Zane. I found you wandering the icy woods, lost and afraid. I brought you Home, then let you back into the word. Surely you recall a handful of years you cannot properly remember, yes?”

The silence coming from him was telling.

“Why did you let us go?” He finally asked. He felt his smile fall slightly.

“I do not mean to keep my Children captive. They all stay there by their own will. Once they are old enough, or if I find them a family, I let them back into the world. But, every child I have taken in, every single one, I watch over. And the second they need me again, I’m right back there.”

His smile fell away completely. “But I….I failed you. All of you. You were placed in danger time and time again because of my decisions. And in the end….” he looked to Zane. “it cost you your life. But not longer.” His cloak has started flaring up and a few of his fire lights started glowing brighter, but he quickly calmed himself. He didn’t want to scare his Children anymore than he already had.

“But that is why I’m here now. To take you back Home, where you’ll be safe once again.”

“Wait a minute, hold on, we can’t just leave!” Jay exclaimed. “Ninjago needs us to protect them!”

Oh boy, he thought this might happen. His Children were quite stubborn, it seemed.

He waved his hand. “The police can handle it. It is, after all, what they are supposed to do. You are children. Your job is to grow and learn, not protect an entire world.”

They started protesting, but he wasn’t having it.

“Hush now, you will be safe.”

He spread his cloak and carefully let it descend upon the and then….

They were gone. Disappeared and sent to the safety of Home, with all the others.

Hopefully they would get along with the other Children. They were definitely on the older end, but not completely out of possibility.

Nya, now quite far into her older years, would probably show them around. She was the only adult currently allowed in Home, but that may change someday. He never could bring himself to let her go, and it’s not like she wanted to leave either.

He looked to the moon, cursing at how late it had gotten. He still needed to check on a few of his Children living nearby, as well as check on the twins that lived nearby. He had a sneaking suspicion something was going on there.

Life for the Flaming Spirit, as the locals called him, was never over and never dull, and he couldn’t be happier.

#:D #I had fun #ninjago #my writting #kai #kai smith #nya #nya smith #cole #cole brookstone #jay #jay walker #zane #zane julien #lloyd #lloyd garmadon #spirit au

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navegandoaciegas · 4 years ago

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Sunshine Girl

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: fluff, soft!Bucky, mentions of injury (no graphic descriptions), 3.6k words

Summary: You are the sun and he’s simply basking in your light. And he’s so selfish, he thinks as he holds the velvet box with the diamond ring inside of it, he’s so damn selfish he wants to keep the light all to himself for the rest of his life.

Two years ago you were supposed to enjoy a solo road trip after years of Avenging, but Bucky invited himself along. Now you’re forced back to New York, and your boyfriend is ready to surprise you once again.

A/N: Bucky’s POV. Sequel to I love my baby to death, but I suppose you could read it on its own. As always forgive any mistakes, English is my third language.

Had to repost this cause it didn’t show up in the tags, hopefully this time it will

“I swear Buck, if I see one more damn corn plant I’m losing it. I am this close” you say pinching your thumb and pointer finger real close “to a mental breakdown. I’m never eating corn again, mark my words. No corn flakes, no corn on the cobble, no nothing. I’m done.”

“We’re in Iowa, in the middle of the corn belt, I don’t know what you were expecting.” he replies, slightly amused by your little outburst and sour mood.

“Well, clearly not ending up on the set of Children of the corn.” you groan, getting back to sulking in the passenger’s seat, seething at the fields that are only a scapegoat to the real problem.

You’d been merrily skiing in Montana when his skis got somehow tangled with yours and he tumbled down on you, dragging you down the slope. Hadn’t you injured yourself, rolling in the snow like it only ever happens in cartoons would have been pretty comical.

“What?” you screech, almost jumping off the stretcher and grimacing in pain when your left foot hits the metal poles at the side. “No. It’s just pain, I’m sure it will go away, right? I mean I was an Avenger, I’ve suffered worse than a fall.”

“I’m sorry, miss, but knee surgery will be necessary, the MRI here shows you’ve torn your ACL and from the looks of it, your left knee was already damaged badly, numerous times at that, probably a result of your time on the field.”

“I can’t, I can’t just get surgery, we’re miles away from home and I-”

You’re almost sobbing and Bucky feels like shit because he’s the reason for all this and all he can do now is pat your back reassuringly.

“Given the extent of the damage, I’m afraid there’s no other option.”

“How long is the recovery time?” he asks, voice unsure.

“Well, it’s my knowledge she’s not an enhanced individual, so like any average human it will take anywhere from 6 to 9 months to recover fully. In the meantime, no more hikes or sports.”

Bucky inhales a sharp breath. Six to nine months. No more hikes. Surely you’ll have to go back to New York.

God, you are so going to break up with him.

Turns out you didn’t dump him in Montana, you didn’t abandon him in one of those auto stops along Interstate 90 in South Dakota, and you don’t seem to want to break up with him amidst the green fields of Iowa, but still, he knows he will drive through Illinois, Indiana, Ohio and Pennsylvania anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It almost seems like a cruel twist of fate, driving the same route you did as friends two years ago, along Interstate 80 headed East instead of West, only this time he’s not hoping to be more than the annoying old man who invited himself on your trip; he’s your boyfriend now, but maybe not for long.

“You know, you really are dramatic.” you say in a teasing tone, “I’m not going to break up with you, stop thinking about that, it was an accident, ‘s not like you beat me.”

“I know, I’m just sorry because you’re in pain and it’s my fault and now we have to get back home but I know you wanted to stay more and I did too and if I didn’t-” he’s rambling, and your place your hand on his thigh and squeeze reassuringly, offering him one of those sweet smiles he dies for.

“Buck, it’s okay” you interrupt his word vomit “like I said a million times before, it was an accident, it’s going to be fine I promise. I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise with my mood, I swear I’m just pissed at all this damn corn. We’re never going to a maze again, by the way.” That gets a laugh out of him, and he loves you even more because you’re always there to lift his spirits. “I’m dreading these next months, the surgery, physiotherapy and all, but I know you’re there for me, yes?”

He nods, teary eyed, and you continue, “And I can’t lie, it’s been a while, I’m kind of excited to see everyone again, I mean except for Sam of course,” you say, as if he didn’t “live rent free in your head”, like Sam himself put it, “Jesus that man, how many of our trips has he invited himself on? I’ve lost count. ‘Member when we found him waiting for us in Phoenix? Fuckin’ weirdo.”

You both chuckle at the memory of Sam in your motel room, waiting on your bed with crossed arms like a disappointed parent, pissed off because you hadn’t called in a week and he was worried sick that something may have happened to you, a deadly sniper, and him, the Winter fuckin’ Soldier. Truth is, Bucky was so excited about your new relationship that he rarely let you leave the bed when you were in your room, and when you did you were in no condition to Facetime anyone, with your smudged mascara and swollen lips.

“I’ve heard Clint will come visit us with Laura and the kids. Nathaniel must be so big now.” you add, your eyes glazed over as you think of the little boy who was named after your Natasha.

“God, Morgan is probably all grown up.” he muses, a tinge of sadness in his voice. You squeeze his thigh again. “And the spider kid too, he’s a grown man now.”

“That he is.” you chuckle, “But to me he’ll always be the boy in the red spanx who knocked us on our asses in Berlin.”

He smiles and shakes his head at the memory, and you both fall in a comfortable silence. Now that he’s not consumed by fear anymore, Bucky kind of agrees with you that all this green is, in fact, nauseating.

“You know what, no more popcorn either.”

“Deal.”

A year and something ago

Arizona

“Can you believe there’s a city in New Mexico called Truth or Consequences? We should totally go and visit just for the hell of it, sounds like the type of place Steve Rogers should have been born into.” you state with all the seriousness in the world, and he snorts because after all this time you still haven’t found it in yourself to stop mocking Steve’s righteousness.

You’re walking ahead of him and he’s so distracted by your tiny denim shorts that he, the master of stealth, almost trips over a boulder. You’re always pretty but tonight, illuminated by the orange sky of Arizona, you look like a dream. And you’re so happy, snapping photos at everything you see, that even if Bucky hates the desert and the heat makes him uncomfortable, he won’t tell you, because the look on your face makes it all worth it.

“Baby, look at this big boy here, he’s like 20 feet tall. Oh my god, he’s so cute and beefy, just like you.” you gush at one of the giant cactuses of Saguaro National Park.

He raises his eyebrows skeptically.

All he sees are green spiky motherfuckers that he’s accidentally hurt himself with more times that he’d like to admit in all those damn ‘hikes’ you like so much, but to you cactuses are the most beautiful sight in the word. He genuinely does not see the appeal, but he understands now how you feel when he talks about all his ‘nerd shit’, as you call it.

“I’m cuter.” he says frowning.

“Of course you are.”

For some reason you don’t sound convincing at all.

It’s only spring but here in Tucson the temperature is 85 degrees today and he’s sweating buckets underneath the long sleeved t-shirt he’s wearing to conceal his vibranium arm. He’s long past the time when he was forced to hide from authorities or the general public’s judgement, but still he doesn’t want to be recognized and attract attention. He doesn’t do well with crowds, and he doesn’t understand how you can be so calm and collected when people stare at you and ask for photographs while you’re minding your own business.

As soon as you get back to the motel you’re staying at he takes off his soaked shirt, not caring that the air conditioning is probably going to end his old ass.

“What the hell happened to you?” you ask, scowling as you analyze the skin around his prosthetic.

He shrugs. “It happens sometimes.”

“Why?”

“No idea.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me James.”

You only call him that when he’s in big trouble. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose: why do you have to be so damn stubborn all the damn time? “It’s nothing sweetheart, just sometimes the skin becomes flared when it’s too hot.”

“Nothing?” you shrill, throwing your hands around animatedly, “Nothing? Bucky your whole shoulder is super red and irritated, don’t act like it’s normal. We’ve been in the sun for hours, for days really, why didn’t you tell me anything? I would have driven us back here immediately. Does it hurt?”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you, I didn’t want to ruin your fun, you liked it so much there. And no, it only itches a little.”

Your eyes soften and you move to cup his face in your hands, looking at him with so much love that he feels himself melt away into a puddle, “Baby you don’t need to do that, you know I care more about you than anything else.”

“Even more than the cactuses?”

“Well, now you’re asking too much of me.”

He snorts and playfully hits your arm, then he falls back on the bed and drags you down with him. You stay cuddled like that for a while before you pull back to look into his eyes.

“I appreciate you doing this for me Buck, but you don’t ever need to sacrifice your own comfort for me, okay?”

“I know, I’m sorry. But you looked so happy.”

“Don’t be, and I’m always happy with you, I promise.”

“I’m always happy too.”

“We’re such saps. Gross. Anyways, guess where we’re going next?” you ask him cheerfully, scratching his scalp the way that makes him purr like a cat.

“The plan was New Mexico, Texas and Louisiana, right?” he frowns. You’d made plans together ages ago and you were so excited about visiting Texas of all places for God knows what reason. He’s predicted already that he won’t stand the suffocating, humid heat of that whole area. At least Arizona was dry as hell.

You on the other hand, everyday he’s become more aware of how much of a lizard you are, seeking the sun and walking around in the scorching heat not even breaking a sweat.

“Guess again baby boy, we’re going straight to Oregon. I mean, it's not Alaska but it’s not as hot as the desert here, right?

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to overheat?” you state like it’s obvious, rolling your eyes, “We’ll do New Mexico and the rest next fall, and now Oregon and Washington because it’s a little cooler there. So what do you say?” You ask with a hopeful look in your eyes.

“Princess I appreciate you doing this for me, but I promise I’ll be fine. You don’t have to change plans for me, this is your road trip.”

“No you won’t Buck, you’re not doing good and I don’t ever want to see you suffer, you understand? By the time we get to Texas it will be summer and you won’t stand it, it’s better if we visit when it’s colder.”

He smiles softly. He knows he’d do the same for you. “Then Oregon it is.”

You get up from the bed and head to the bathroom to shower, “Oh, and baby?” you call out, peeking your head from behind the door, “This is your road trip too, never forget that.”

Oregon

“Why does Thor get to have places named after him and we don’t? We were Avengers too.”

“But are we norse gods?”

“I mean, not yet, but I definitely deserve some nature’s wonder, or at least a star, to be named after me.”

“I’ll call WMO and get them to name a hurricane after you, princess. It seems more fitting.”

“Asshole.”

You’d been camping somewhere in Oregon’s wilderness when he came up with the idea of visiting all of the State’s so called seven wonders, starting from Thor’s Well on the Coast and ending in Mount Hood near Portland. You took a thousand photos of each attraction and sent a video of the water seemingly draining inside the famous well to the God himself, who enthusiastically expressed his appreciation.

Bucky’s cherished every minute of it, from the hot springs of Crater Lake to the chillier temperatures at night that force you to snuggle closer to him to warm up.

You’re in Portland now, and you’re thoroughly enjoying it, but what’s new about that? You’re always so full of life, so genuinely excited about everything the world has to offer that he’d be worried if you weren’t having the time of your life as you usually are.

He likes the city too, which is saying a lot.

“Blueberries are the superior berry and that’s the hill I’m willing to die on.”

You’ve been eating your way through Portland for weeks, and you’ve been discussing pies for a solid thirty minutes now. It’s raining outside and you’re cooped up in a small pie shop, eating more than an average human can and receiving weird looks from the waitress as you tell her to ‘keep ‘em coming’.

“I’m sorry but you’re wrong princess,” he states with a stuffed mouth just for the sake of aggravating you to no end, “blackberries are just so much better.”

It works as you grimace in disgust, both at his statement and his manners.

He’s found out you are weirdly opinionated when it comes to pies: pecan pies are an abomination, pumpkin doesn’t belong in dessert, lemon pie and key lime pie are only acceptable if someone’s grandma is kindly offering them to you, rhubarb pie without strawberries is a threat to mankind and cherry and blueberry pies are the absolute best. Apple pie is too bland to even take the time to discuss it, although the taste is likeable enough.

He on the other hand likes anything pie and anything sweet. And anything that gets a rise out of you.

“Please Buck, this isn’t even a blackberry pie, it’s some sort of inbred experiment that turned out kinda right.”

He shushes you, barely holding back a laugh when he sees the waiter side eyeing you as you disrespect one of Oregon’s most famous dishes, “First of all, it’s called marionberry and it’s a type of blackberry. And second, keep it down unless you want us to be kicked out, you’re offending a whole state.”

“Sorry.” you shrug, “But blueberry tartness level is where I draw the line, anything more than that is unacceptable.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re still a child and haven’t developed adult taste buds yet baby.” He does love his senior citizen card a bit too much.

This earns him a kick under the table and a scowl. “Stop it, grandpa.” you groan.

He grins and digs in your slice of marionberry pie. You resume to people watching.

God, he loves Oregon. And he loves you.

He really is a sap.

Wyoming

Washington was nice enough. You’ve taken him bar crawling most nights, and all of them have ended with him giving you a piggyback ride, per your request, back to the hotel room you were staying at.

It takes 13 hours to drive from Seattle to Yellowstone and you’ve driven all the way. You refused to disclose the destination of the trip and he’s fallen asleep the last 3 hours in the car. He’d mentioned he wanted to see the geysers somewhere in Pennsylvania two years ago and you remembered and took him.

Bucky couldn’t be happier.

He’s still describing the constellations above you when you fall asleep, and he’s so absorbed by the sky that he doesn’t notice until your head falls on his shoulder and he hears your soft snores.

He picks you up bridal style and takes you back to the fancy tent he bought on a whim in Ohio after you both slept in the SUV and woke up with major back and neck pain. He smiles as he removes your makeup with a wipe and does your skincare just the way you taught him, and admires your relaxed state.

He grazes your pretty face with his vibranium fingers, something so unimaginable to him before he met you, as he never thought his arm could bring anything other than pain.

Back when he was a semi stable 100 year old man thrust in another fight yet again, he hadn’t realized the extent of his feelings for you, believing he was only attracted to your beauty and youth. He hadn’t seen the way your smile lights up a whole room, nor the way you listen, truly listen, to anyone who may have anything to tell you, without ever judging them. He hadn’t witness your kindness and patience, let alone experienced them on his own skin. He hadn’t been lucky enough to watch you feed bird seed to the ducks of every pond of the country, or try to rescue a cat from a rooftop and almost falling off to save it.

Then Sam told him you were leaving and he felt like the word was collapsing on him. He’d found the sunlight and he never wanted to be without it.

Now he’s seen it all, all the little things that make you who you are, including your flaws, and he loves you not regardless of them, nor in spite of them, but because even your worst imperfections make you… you.

Bucky doesn’t know if meeting you was a way for the universe to fix all the wrongs that have been done to him, a sort of payback for all the shit he’s been put through, but in case it is, then he’s got no objections. And maybe he doesn’t deserve someone as good as you, but he’s a selfish man, and now that his sunshine girl is with him he never wants to plunge back into the the darkness ever again.

He tucks you both under the sleeping bag and snuggles next to you.

“Buck?” you mumble in a haze, tugging at his t-shirt, “Love you.”

It’s almost imperceptible, but his supersoldier hearing allows him to pick it up. He kisses the crown of your hair as he caresses your back.

“I love you too sweetheart.”

He wants to spend the rest of his time on Earth proving you how much.

New York

6 months later

The doctor wasn’t lying when she warned you that recovery would take 6 to 9 months.

You said the aftermath of the operation hurt like a bitch and that physiotherapy hurt even more. Today’s your last session and Bucky is glad about it for many reasons, like how you’re not in pain anymore for starters, and maybe because of how annoyingly fun, smart and hot your therapist is. Not like he’d ever admit it to you.

“Jesus,” you groan, “he turned me inside out like a sock, I can’t feel my legs anymore.”

“Sounds fun.” he deadpans.

“Someone’s jealous of the doctor?” you ask with a mischievous smirk.

“‘M not. He’s not all that.” he mumbles, blushing like a school boy.

You snort and drawl a ‘sure’. He sends you his best death glare.

“Whatever. I hope you don’t mind if we take a stop before going home.” he announces, helping you into the car. His palms feel clammy and he’s sweating despite the chilly winds of New York’s fall.

“Sure, where are we going?”

“Actually, that’s kind of a surprise, you’ll see.”

You beam at his words; he knows you love surprises and he hopes you’re going to like this one.

----

You look radiant as you lie on the blanket he’s spread on the grass, surrounded by colorful foliage. You’re sipping some of your favorite wine and nibbling on crackers as you admire a flock of birds migrating south in the sky.

You are the sun and he’s simply basking in your light. And he’s so selfish, he thinks as he holds the velvet box with the diamond ring inside of it, he’s so damn selfish we wants to keep the light all to himself for the rest of his life.

He’s prepared a long, passionate speech to tell you how much he loves you, of all the ways you’ve changed his life for the better and of all the reasons why he’d be a good husband.

But when you look at him with those bright eyes and beaming smile, he can barely remember his own name. He drops on one knee and holds the box out with shaky hands.

“Marry me, please.”

----

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#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #james barnes x reader #james barnes x you #james barnes x y/n

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