#you can just TELL that his family loves him from that name | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

estrellacercadelvolcan · 17 hours ago

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I LOVE them!!! Bucky is so hot and the way she handles everything is awesome!

Oh and when you told us about how different the bond can feel to different couples, that was SO interesting.

Soft music drifted from the ballroom as you stepped into the lavish venue. You’d never been to a gala before. Your family wasn’t wealthy enough to receive an invitation, nor did your last name carry any influence. The only reason you were there tonight was because of the alpha on your arm, all thanks to your boss’s insistence that you accompany him.

I'm not even sure if I would want to be there. Because of her BOSS?! No, that doesn't sound good.

You had designed a few of the dresses and suits, but none of the people wearing them would recognize you. The alpha you worked for always took the credit. Complaining about it wouldn’t help. After all, you’d only sound like an ungrateful omega and hundreds of other omegas would beg to take your place. You couldn’t wait for the day you quit.

I knew that I don't like him

“Then keep smiling,” Chet ordered through his grin. “What you do or don’t do is a reflection of me.”

If you act like a decent human being, I will smile.

You did notice a few more men looking your way. A few women as well, not hiding that they were whispering about you. Trying to hide your vulnerability, you held yourself the way you thought a goddess would. You also held yourself with pride since the dress you wore was your own design. A sleeveless black dress with a middle slit, it was bold and alluring. The glitter throughout the fabric made you shine like stars in the night sky. The finishing touch was the matching collar, a tasteful way to protect you from any alpha who even thought about marking you.

YES, act like the Queen you are! Don't let them make you feel worthless or insecure. The fact that she's wearing her own design is such an lovely detail; love it. Wait, a MATCHING collar? That's even greater! And the wish to be seen as an equal (in a relationship)? Yes, yes, YES!🎆🎊

“You’re my date. It’s my right to touch you,” he sneered. He had no right. It didn't matter if he was an alpha and he was rich. The urge to slap him across his face was so strong your palm itched. “So, get the stick out of your ass.”

Excuse me?! 😡With every second I despise this man more. The audacity! That's right, I DON'T want to sleep with you! Can someone please tell him that Women/Omegas aren't just a piece of meat to play with.

Navy your writing is excellent! I really can't stand him.😤 Corretcion, Í can't stand THEM. And no matter what, I support her should she decide to throw a drink in their face.

Little question though - that growl, was that Bucky?👀

“And not that you’d have any extra cash to tip, but it’s taken care of,” he continues, your face hot at the assumption that you couldn't afford to tip the staff. “Just behave and try not to make a fool out of either of us, you got it? Wouldn’t want your boss to hear about it if you do.” Biting back a retort, you freed yourself from his grip. There wasn’t enough liquor at this party to get you through the rest of this evening. “Don’t worry about me, alpha. Go have fun,” you said, your eyes burning as he walked away.

Yes, please leave and you don't need to return either. By the way, I am able to pay my own drinks, thank you. And don't even get me started on those double standards.

An intoxicating scent hit you out of nowhere, making you grip the bar as you inhaled. Plums, whiskey, sandalwood. The blended aromas had your mouth watering, and a whimper threatened to slip out. Your heart pounded against your ribs. Desire burned in your stomach. As quickly as the scent excited you, it seemed to wrap itself around you in a soothing embrace. How could a smell leave you hot and bothered and also feel like a hug?

Oh? He is here! Feeling like a hug? Aww, I love that.🥰

Studies over the years showed that not every bound pair was the same. Some couples felt the bond instantaneously like a firework exploding. Others felt it like a small burn that slowly consumed them over time. For a few, the spark took a long time to ignite. You couldn't ignore this burn if you tried.

That's SO interesting! Please tell me more. Please, please, please?

You welcomed the slight chill in the air as you stepped onto the large balcony. It was lit up with sparkling lights, yet it didn’t take away from the stars that shone in the sky above. The alpha who caught your eye stood by the railing, alone, like he was looking over a kingdom. You felt foolish for going out there to bother him.

So powerful, why does he look so powerful. This description is one of my favorite parts of this story!❤️

He didn’t look put off by your question, and he didn’t let go of your hand either. “I’ve come across a few delectable scents before, but I don’t think I’ve ever described anyone as divine,” he answered, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. An intense longing behind his eyes had your knees weak. “I haven’t smelled anyone like you.”

Divine? How can he be so...?

He is lethal and noone can convince me otherwise. He accepts what she says but asks to be able to really understand her point of view. Moreover, he dosn't pity her for what happend.

He parted his jacket so he could look you over. Unlike Shane leering at you earlier, Bucky seemed to take in the details of your design with a careful eye. “You made this? It’s stunning,” he said with pride that rivaled yours. You lost your breath when he ran the back of his finger along your torso, heat spreading through your body like a wildfire. “Like you.

Perfect, just perfect. She is right, he IS dangerous.

He looked almost impressed with your answer. “I appreciate your honesty,” he praised, his thumb sweeping over your lips this time. “And it won't be enough. Once I get a taste of you, I won’t let you go.” “I’m going to want you every night.” He tilted his head when you shifted in your seat. “You feel it, don't you?” The low growl Bucky emitted made the nearby guests move away, but you weren’t afraid. “Ignore it? I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone else. I would've fucked you right out there on the balcony if that couple hadn't interrupted us,” he said, your body hot and needy at the thought of him fucking you while you looked out at the view. “I’m lucky finally finding you didn’t send me into a rut.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he said. There wasn't even a whiff of fear, likely because he had nothing to lose. “In fact, I think you should quit your job and move in with me.

“And all that in exchange for what? Being your whore?" He snarled, and you were delighted to hear that sound. “Trust me, doll, you may want me to fuck you like a whore, but I’ll treat you like a goddess. Like my equal,” he replied, his promise touching something deep inside you and drowning out most of your fear. He looked vulnerable, too, as he moved closer. “I know it’s a lot to have to depend on me, but with me you wouldn't have to do this on your own. My finances don’t mean I have power. You’d have power, too,” he said. You wanted to believe you would. “In fact, I think you’re the only person in this entire city who could bring me to my knees. That’s power.”

Okay, wait that's a bit fast. I won't be depending on your money or mercy.

I love that during this whole conversation, he really listens and doesn't just brush her off.

“What the hell are you doing? I said enjoy the free booze, and do not embarrass me. You can't even follow a simple instruction,” he snapped. You refused to bare your neck when he showed his teeth. He wasn’t going to embarrass you either. “The only reason you can even step foot in this place is because of me. You fucking sl-”

No, please GO AWAY! And how dare you to call her a slut?!

“She’s my mate,” Bucky said through his teeth, making Chet’s eyes bulge out of his head. “Biology may say you’re an alpha, but you’re nothing. And I’m tempted to crush your windpipe for insulting her.” He squeezed harder and smirked when Chet wheezed. “When her boss asks how the gala went, you’re going to sing her praises. If you don't, I’ll hunt you down and make sure you can never knot anyone ever again. And that’s just the start of what I'll do to you.”

Yes, show him that he shouldn't mess with her. So hot 🥵

“Thanks for the free booze, Chet. And don't worry about me getting a ride home. I think you should worry if that omega still wants you after your… performance,” you smiled, linking your arm with Bucky’s. “Have a great night.”

“Just wait until I tie you to my bed and get a real look before I fuck you. It’ll be a shame to wreck something so pretty, but you’ll thank me for it,” he replied, looking back at the road as he sped up. Oh, you’d thank him over and over. “Touch yourself, but don’t put your fingers inside.”

You moaned, an image of you on your hands and knees flashing in your mind, Bucky’s strong hands pulling you back to meet every thrust until he locked your bodies in place. You could practically feel his teeth sinking into your neck to fully seal your fate. Or would he make love to you, linking your fingers together and kissing you with care as he tenderly pushed his knot in? It didn’t matter. He’d give you everything, and you wanted it all.

Wait what? He will what?😳

Ruind but also yes please

Okay, this is kind of long, but this story is so great!

Thank you so much for writing and sharing this with us!💜

Where Worlds Collide - Intro

Pairing: Silver Fox!Sugar Daddy!Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Female Reader

Summary: Your boss forces you to be eye candy for an alpha at a gala, but things take a turn for the better when you meet another alpha. Does it matter that you don't belong in his world?

Word Count: Over 9.2k

Warnings: Smut, v. fingering, possessive behavior, dirty talk, instant connection, A/B/O dynamics, talk of bonding, misogyny, unspecified age gap, insecurities, world building, choking (not our reader… yet), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: I'm pretty proud of the intro to this world, lovelies! @whisperlullaby, @targaryenvampireslayer, @tavners, here it is! Ant thanks to @queenoftheworldisdead as well. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was an evening of style, grace, and luxury, and you didn’t belong.

You held your breath as you walked deeper into the ballroom, the glittering chandeliers casting a refined glow over everything. A mix of alphas, betas, and omegas socialized and gossiped, their glamorous evening wear glittering under the lights. You had designed a few of the dresses and suits, but none of the people wearing them would recognize you. The alpha you worked for always took the credit. Complaining about it wouldn’t help. After all, you’d only sound like an ungrateful omega and hundreds of other omegas would beg to take your place.

You couldn’t wait for the day you quit.

Chet’s grip on your arm brought you back to the present. “Keep quiet and smile,” he ordered, a haughty expression on his face as he led you through the place. You didn't want to judge all men named Chet, but you had pegged him as a douchebag the second he went in for his fitting and he was proving you right. You couldn't even enjoy that he was objectively handsome since his personality made him less attractive.

“I am smiling,” you said. Wrinkling your nose at the overwhelming mix of scents and expensive colognes and perfumes, you did your best to make your smile look natural. The servers looked like they were doing the same as they served everyone. It was strange how a room so enormous could make someone feel so small.

“Then keep smiling,” Chet ordered through his grin. “What you do or don’t do is a reflection of me.”

“I know,” you muttered. Because it was all about him and you were just his omega arm candy. You really should’ve demanded overtime pay from your boss, but that conversation wouldn’t have ended well.

“As it stands, perhaps I made the right choice by bringing you,” he said, nodding to a few older gentlemen. “I can smell their envy.”

Reaching up instinctively to run a hand over your collar, you felt your heart ache. Your inner omega wanted a mark, but the thought of being tied to someone was somewhat terrifying. You respected omegas who wanted to go the traditional route by staying home and being submissive, but you didn’t want to be submissive outside of the bedroom. You wanted a partner who would view you as an equal.

Your false confidence didn’t last long when Chet’s grip on you tightened, your body immediately going stiff. You’d have to take a long shower and dry clean your dress just to get rid of his scent. “Loosen up,” he ordered.

“Maybe I’d loosen up if you weren’t digging your fingers in,” you whispered.

A shiver rolled down your spine when you heard a low growl come from another alpha. Glancing around, you didn’t see anyone looking directly at you. It probably had nothing to do with you because why would anyone care if an alpha was bossing you around?

Chet’s hold on you loosened nonetheless. “And just so we’re clear, you have no intention of sleeping with me?” he asked as an omega in a revealing dress sauntered by. Your date didn’t bother to hide how he was undressing her with his eyes.

“That’s right,” you said. You made it clear to your boss that sex wasn’t an option, and he was oddly on your side. Maybe he thought Chet could sway you if he tried hard enough. If he even thought of using some sort of alpha command on you, nothing would stop you from lashing out and making him sorry.

“Then you’ll have no problem finding your own ride home should I choose to leave with someone else,” he said.

“So, I can’t make you look bad, but you can leave with another omega?” you asked.

“You got it. You’re smarter than you look.” He tapped your nose with a condescending grin. “And here I thought you were just a pretty face.”

The prick was pushing his luck. “Listen you-”

“Chet, my boy! Good to see you!” A man interrupted, uncaring that you were speaking.

“Shane,” Chet smiled. “Always a pleasure.”

The bulky alpha shamelessly looked you over, his scent almost making you choke on your next breath. “And who might this be?”

“Pretty, isn't she?” Chet cut in before you could answer, puffing his chest out. “Doesn't say much, but I’m not exactly interested in her conversational skills, am I?”

You bit your tongue when they chuckled. Be seen and not heard. It was insulting.

“Come join me, but leave the omega,” Shane said unapologetically, taking another look at your chest. What would happen if you threw a drink in his face? “As entertaining as she would be, we have business to discuss, and we don’t need the distraction.”

“Of course,” Chet smiled, turning you toward the bar as Shane walked away. “Since he doesn't want you around, why don't you take advantage of the free drinks until I get back?”

“I’m not-”

Biting back a retort, you freed yourself from his grip. There wasn’t enough liquor at this party to get you through the rest of this evening. “Don’t worry about me, alpha. Go have fun,” you said, your eyes burning as he walked away. A few heads turned your way when your scent soured. It wasn’t enough that you had to attend an event where you didn’t belong, but your date just had to rub salt in the open wound by reminding you of such. “Fucking asshole,” you muttered, making your way over to the bar to order a drink.

Plastering a smile back on your face when you got the bartender’s attention, you ordered a whiskey on the rocks. You wanted something that would go down smooth but leave a little burn. You also preferred opting to watch the bartender make a drink in front of you instead of grabbing a glass of already poured champagne. The drinks were likely fine, but better safe than sorry. And like hell would you accept a drink from your sorry excuse for a “date” if he offered you one. He was lucky you-

No… It couldn’t be your mate.

You caught a small movement out of the corner of your eye, and you stopped breathing when you found a pair of blue eyes fixed on you that belonged to a devilishly handsome man. He leaned against the wall, his wool-blend black suit fitting his thick body like second skin. Streaks of gray lined his luscious brown hair and peppered his beard, too. He looked like the kind of alpha who would have omegas kneeling at his feet, and it frightened you how badly you wanted to get on your hands and knees and crawl toward him.

His. Mine.

Lifting his tumbler to his lips, he kept his eyes on you as he sipped the expensive liquor. You wanted to look away but couldn't as the air crackled between you. He had you under some sort of trance you couldn't snap yourself out of. As frightening as it was to have a scent hit you so strongly, a feeling like this hit you square in the chest, the thought of him staring at another omega that way nearly made you hiss because you didn't want anyone else on the receiving end of those blue eyes.

He smirked like he read your mind and pushed himself off the wall. You did whimper out loud when you realized just how large he was. Dominant, assertive, yet there was something almost playful in his smirk when he finally broke his gaze. You greedily inhaled with the hope of catching more of his scent when he strode toward the nearby balcony, smooth and fluid as a server quickly took the empty tumbler from his hand. The men at the gala were all posturing, but no one could match the confidence of that alpha.

So how were people not surrounding him, begging for a scrap of attention? Was he untouchable among those who deemed themselves untouchable? He certainly didn’t look like the kind of man who chased after anyone. No, people went to him.

He wanted you to follow him, right?

Downing your drink in one gulp, your feet moved before you could stop yourself. “I don’t need this alpha,” you whispered, the words bitter in your mouth as you followed his path. If you were smart, you’d walk the other way and not look back. Yet the thought of never seeing him again made your heart ache in a way you didn’t want to examine.

Does he know?

Steeling yourself with false confidence again, you walked over to stand beside him. You weren’t close enough to touch him, wanting to leave him a respectable amount of space. You could always use the excuse that you just needed some fresh air if he asked what you were doing.

Stealing a glance at him, you didn’t want to believe that you had a true connection with this man, that he could be your mate. No way would an omega like you be his match. Would he even want an omega like you? One with dreams to do more, be more?

“Beautiful,” he said, his voice thick like honey and the whiskey you drank. Of course, his voice would be a powerful weapon. But he wasn’t scenting you, or trying to tear your collar off, or doing anything to indicate that he felt the sort of spark you had. Maybe that was for the best.

“It is,” you sighed, looking out at the view. You couldn’t deny the beauty and how much easier it was to breathe since you weren’t surrounded by the suffocating bodies and scents. “It really is something.”

“I was talking about you.”

You whipped your head toward him so quickly you nearly hurt your neck. The flare of heat in his eyes hypnotized you again, but this time you didn’t want him to draw you in. A man of his stature, his power, he could chew you up, spit you out, and leave you a shell of yourself. But seeing him up close, his laugh lines, and the touch of softness in his gaze, you wanted to know all about him and the life he lived.

You were in so much trouble.

“Thank you,” you breathed.

“I don't think I’ve seen you at a gala before. I would've remembered you,” he stated. You weren't sure what to say to that. “I’m James, but you can call me Bucky if you’d like.”

You blinked a few times. “You’re James Barnes,” you whispered, not having to belong in the inner circle to know who he was.

James Buchanan Barnes. One of the wealthiest alphas in the city, his family came from money and it was no secret that Bucky, as he liked to go by, wasn’t bound to anyone. People assumed that he didn't want to share his wealth with anyone beyond his charitable donations, or that he was either extremely picky in choosing a mate. And here he was talking to you. This was the man you thought could be your mate.

You were in way over your head.

“I am,” he said, looking at you expectantly.

It took a moment, but your name tumbled from your lips as you shifted toward him. He inhaled when a breeze rolled in and you hoped your scent got to him the way his scent got to you. The way his eyes darkened, it had. Your inner omega wanted to purr with delight.

Time stood still when he took your hand and brought it to his lips. “It’s a pleasure,” he whispered, his lips brushing your knuckles. “I hope you don’t mind me being forward, but…”

“But what?”

You held your breath when he turned your hand and ran his nose along your wrist with a small growl. It was bold, intimate, possessive, and you got impossibly wet from the action. Had Chet or another alpha done that, it would've been a different story. “You smell divine,” he whispered against your skin.

You whined before your inner hackles went up, making him pull his mouth away immediately. He at least had some level of respect and sensed the shift in your stance. “How many omegas have you said that and done that to?” you asked when you had no right to feel jealous.

This alpha was telling the truth, but he wasn't a boy scout either. He knew how to fuck, you could tell, and he likely broke hearts without intending to. You didn’t want to be the next victim if a quick fuck was all he was looking for.

“I haven’t smelled anyone like you either,” you admitted, grudgingly pulling away. His heady scent made it hard to concentrate. And standing close to a man who wore a suit that cost more than half a year’s rent was another reminder that you were a girl playing dress up, nothing more. “I should go. I shouldn’t be here.”

Bucky stopped you from turning away, his grip on your arms tender so you wouldn’t feel threatened. “And why is that?”

“Because I don’t belong here, and I don’t expect you to understand that,” you replied.

It was bad enough to let your guard down by following him out there, and you couldn’t let him seduce you more than he already had. You were lucky the very presence of him didn't trigger your heat. And how would your story end? He was a rich alpha, and you were a struggling omega. Was happiness really in the cards?

Your eyes widened when you heard the rumble in his chest, his scent producing a soothing aura that wrapped around you. Your lip trembled slightly as the rumble faded. Bucky could’ve let you walk away, yet he was comforting you. It made you want to cry.

“I may understand better than you think,” he whispered. Did he? Did he feel alone in that crowd of people there? “But help me understand why you feel that way.”

You rapidly blinked to keep the tears at bay. What was there for him to understand? “Okay,” you whispered back. The fact that he wanted you to talk to him meant something. “For starters, that crowd is kind of… well, awful from the short time I observed and interacted with them. They think they’re better than everyone else because they have so much, but they have no right to look down on others.”

The people in the gala simply flaunted what they had without a second thought. Being there made you appreciate your friends and their genuine interactions more. They worked hard for everything they had. They wouldn’t have anything against people born with a silver spoon in their mouths if they showed a little humility.

Bucky's chuckle surprised you. “Money doesn’t equal class, and believe me when I say they aren’t worth taking up any space in your beautiful mind,” he said, giving you a small smile. “To be honest, I came out here to get away from them because, save a select few, they're fucking assholes.”

You found yourself smiling, too. No wonder he has been standing by himself. “Is that the only reason?” you asked curiously, reaching up to touch his perfect hair simply because you could.

He looked at you, a mixture of lust and something soft. Standing like this you felt like a couple. “I may have wanted you to follow me, and I’m glad you did,” he said, his tone calm and casual as butterflies filled your stomach. “You’re the first person I’ve considered approaching in a long time, but you looked a bit upset when you went to the bar. I didn’t think bothering you would win me any favors.”

You exhaled. Was he the alpha who growled when Chet gripped you too tightly? “I…” you shivered when another breeze rolled in.

He shrugged his jacket the moment he spotted you shivered. “May I?” he offered.

You hesitated. Bucky had a powerful scent, and how would it look to Chet if you wore another alpha’s jacket? Chet wasn’t your alpha, but he could run his mouth and get you in trouble with your boss. It didn’t matter that you wanted to quit one day. Today wasn’t that day because you financially weren’t ready. That was the excuse you made up in your head.

But your inner omega wanted Bucky’s scent to surround you and you replied in a small voice, “Yes, please.”

Bucky carefully placed the warm jacket around your shoulders. “I know the crowd bothered you for good reason, but who specifically upset you and how can I fix it?”

“My date,” you answered. You didn't have it in you to lie to him. It also wasn't up to him to fix it.

Bucky hummed, running his hands up and down your arms. It helped warm and relax you. “What’s his name?” he asked, his eyes landing on the collar around your neck. You wondered what he would do if your mating gland was exposed, and you had to push that thought away.

“His name is Chet and he’s discussing business with some alpha.” The change in his scent was subtle. He seemed too confident to be jealous, but he didn’t seem pleased either at the thought of you being with someone else. “They were extremely condescending, and I couldn’t exactly throw a drink in their faces or put them in their place since I’m just an omega.”

Bucky snarled quietly, his eyes blazing. “You’re not just an omega,” he said. He was upset on your behalf. Was he not like other older alphas who wanted omegas to be subservient? “Maybe I should have a chat with them.”

You purred before you could stop yourself. Bucky offering to stand up for you felt better than you wanted to admit. “You don't have to do that,” you said, running your fingers through his hair again. You wanted to soothe him the way he soothed you. “Besides, I’m not really on a date with Chet. He just wanted me to be eye candy for the night.”

Bucky almost snarled again, but raised an eyebrow instead. “And you agreed to that? I have the feeling you aren’t the arm candy type.”

You giggled. He was right about that. “Didn’t really have a choice thanks to my boss,” you told him.

“Your boss? What exactly do you do for work?” he asked carefully.

He asked a lot of questions, but you didn't mind since he seemed genuinely interested. Maybe he assumed you were an escort. “I'm a designer,” you answered, smiling to yourself. “At least, I want to be. I’m just an assistant at the moment.”

“Let me guess. Your boss is an alpha, makes you do the grunt work, and takes the credit?” he mused, humming when you solemnly nodded. “And he convinced you to come here tonight because Chet is a client?”

“Something like that. It was either that or I get fired,” you laughed bitterly. “And if he fired me I’d get blacklisted, then I’d have no job, no money at all, and I’d lose my tiny apartment and…”

His nose wrinkled when you trailed off. You were so embarrassed, and you couldn’t stop your scent from souring. Talking to one of the richest alphas ever about your problems wasn’t something you thought you’d experience tonight, but that soothing rumble and smell came out again to help you breathe easier.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with that,” he said with a touch of firmness so you knew he didn’t pity you. You could take a lot of things, but not pity.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you said, smoothing out some of the fabric on your dress and not wanting to dwell on the topic. “I actually made this,” you told him. It was silly, but you specifically wanted to hear something nice from Bucky to make you feel better, which was bad. You shouldn’t want compliments from him or want him period.

Your mind raced, the heavy weight of his gaze pinning you in place. The longer you stood there, the more you wanted him. You had to snap out of it. “You’re dangerous,” you whispered, shaking your head as his hand fell away. “I should go inside.”

He stepped back, his eyes searching yours. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you replied honestly. Some of his actions were forward, but he wasn’t pushy. He was the sort of predator who probably gently played with his food before he sank his teeth in, yet you weren’t completely afraid of the bite. “Though I’m wondering why you don’t have a date tonight. Keeping your options open?”

Maybe he really did want to live the bachelor life.

The corner of his lip tugged when you narrowed your eyes. “I come to these things to make a short appearance. That’s all,” he explained. Even the wealthy had obligations. “Unlike some alphas my age, I’m not interested in having a date for the sole purpose of eye candy. And because most of the people here are fucking assholes, I don’t usually find anyone to take home.”

“So, you aren’t interested in taking me home?” you tried to tease. If he said no, you could lick your wounds later since you’d likely never see him again. If he said yes, you… Well, you didn’t know what you’d do.

He reached out and placed his hands on your hips, pulling you close enough that you felt just how big he was. A shudder wracked your body, wanting nothing more than to have him inside you. “I’m very interested in taking you home,” he breathed.

You lifted your eyes to him, his desire matching yours. “I-”

A young giggling couple stumbled out to the balcony reeking of booze. They took a few steps forward and Bucky moved you out of the way before they could crash into you. The ferocious growl he let out made the laughter cease, but it had you purring like a bitch in heat. “Leave,” he ordered, keeping his arms tight around you. The underlying threat in that single word had the couple rushing back inside, but they had effectively ruined the moment.

“I think that alpha almost pissed his pants,” you teased to cut through the tension.

“He’s lucky he didn’t tumble over the railing,” he said, loosening his hold on you and taking in your expression. You felt naked under his stare. “You aren’t ready to leave with me just yet.”

“I’m still here with a ‘date’,” you reminded him to cover up any feelings or doubts in your mind.

Other than Bucky being wealthy, powerful, and smelling like a sinful kind of heaven, you didn’t fully know him. Something within you felt like you did, but going home with him for the night… What if you disappointed him? What if he decided he didn't want you?

He gave nothing away as he stared at you while you felt like your eyes told him everything. It wasn’t fair how in control he looked when you were close to spiraling. “Let’s go sit inside,” he suggested, finally cracking a smile when your face scrunched up. “No one will bother us, and I’d like to keep talking to you even if you don’t decide to leave with me.”

“I guess it wouldn't hurt to sit with you for a few minutes,” you said, especially if he would keep others away from you.

His hand on your hip felt like it belonged there as he guided you back inside. The scents and mindless chatter didn’t bother you as much now, likely because all you could really smell and concentrate on was Bucky. Did his kisses taste like plums or whiskey? Both?

He brought to a corner near the bar, far enough away from the mingling crowd that you still felt a bit of privacy. You kept his jacket around you though the room was considerably warmer than it was outside, not quite ready to give it back to him. “Drink?” he asked, angling his chair so that his knees were touching yours. There was no table in front of you. Anyone looking would see how close you were.

“No, thanks,” you said. You already downed a glass of whiskey and your head was spinning thanks to him.

You felt his gaze on you for a full minute before he spoke again. “Your ‘date’ isn’t the reason you’re hesitating to leave,” he said, scratching along his beard. You bet it would feel wonderful between your thighs. “Is it me? Am I too old for you?”

You had to laugh. “You’re a gorgeous silver fox, so that isn’t the problem,” you said. Beneath the suit you knew he was in great shape, too.

He smiled a gorgeous smile, appreciating the compliment. “So it isn't my age. Do you think I won’t treat you well?”

“I know you’ll treat me well,” you answered, avoiding his gaze. You knew that in your core. “But I’m afraid of what happens in the morning.”

He forced your gaze back to him with a large hand. “What are you afraid of?” he asked, his thumb brushing your cheek.

Everything.

“I’m afraid if I get a taste of you it won’t be enough for one night,” you said, your heart pounding as he stared into your eyes. Like he was staring deep into your soul. “And it isn’t fair that you have that kind of power over me.”

It wasn’t a matter of if with him, but when. “You couldn't possibly want me for more than one night,” you said. He knew you were just a struggling designer’s assistant and didn’t run with this crowd. You lived in different worlds.

“I’m going to want you every night.” He tilted his head when you shifted in your seat. “You feel it, don't you?”

You feigned innocence when he held your gaze, your heart racing. God, he had felt it. Was it an explosion, a slow burn, or something else? “Feel what?”

Bucky smirked, not at all fooled. “That you’re my-”

“Don’t say it,” you begged. Speaking the word would make it real and it wasn't something he could take back. “Because if you don’t want that or me, we can just go our separate ways and ignore it.”

He hadn’t marked you, and you hadn’t claimed him either. You didn’t know what it would feel like to have his knot, so you couldn’t possibly miss it. And neither of you would have to depend on the other. You could walk away with as minimal damage as possible, and you’d find a way to remain whole. So would he.

The low growl Bucky emitted made the nearby guests move away, but you weren’t afraid. “Ignore it? I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone else. I would've fucked you right out there on the balcony if that couple hadn't interrupted us,” he said, your body hot and needy at the thought of him fucking you while you looked out at the view. “I’m lucky finally finding you didn’t send me into a rut.”

You thought the same about your heat. “Bucky-”

“Our scents call to each other. We call to each other,” he said, placing his hand on your chest. How did your heart feel fuller from his touch? “Tell me you didn't feel a connection when you caught my scent and looked at me.”

“I felt something,” you admitted.

“And it compelled you enough to follow me outside, to open up to me,” he said. You couldn't deny that. “You may say you don’t belong here, but something inside you says you belong with me.”

“And that doesn’t bother you? Scare you?” you asked. Having mates could be wonderful, but what if he wanted that pull with someone who wasn’t you?

“No, it doesn’t,” he said. There wasn't even a whiff of fear, likely because he had nothing to lose. “In fact, I think you should quit your job and move in with me.

You looked at him like he suddenly grew another head. “Quit my job and move in with you?”

“Yes. Your boss doesn't deserve to have you as an assistant, and you wouldn't have to pay rent if you stayed at my place.”

You didn’t attempt to laugh off his request since he was completely serious. “You realize that sounds insane, right?” you added. It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary though. Some couples who took their time building their bond still moved in right away.

“Insane would’ve been marking you the moment I saw you and dragging you home the way some alphas do,” he said.

You bristled. “It’s too soon for you to mark me,” you said, even as your mating bond throbbed.

“Don’t worry. I won't mark you tonight,” he assured you. Hurt crept up for a split second before he ran a finger along your collar. You visibly trembled and realized that he did want to mark you. He just wasn’t doing so tonight out of respect for you. “But you can still be mine in every other way until that day comes.”

You opened your mouth to argue. He hadn’t marked you, but you still felt owned. “You really think people want you with an omega outside of your tax bracket?”

“You think I give a fuck what they think?” His handsome face twisted in a scowl as he looked around. “And if they even think about insulting you, I’ll ruin them. It’s that simple.”

“It isn’t that simple,” you said.

“Why not? I know you're meant to be mine and you know it, too.” He touched your collar again, your mating bond throbbing almost to the point of pain. “You won’t need to worry about money or a roof over your head because I’ll give it to you. And a space to design your own clothes and make your dream come true.”

It sounded too good to be true, and nothing in this world was free. “I have my rent. If I break my lease-”

“I’ll pay what you owe.”

Your rent was probably pocket change to him. At least you didn’t have a roommate you’d have to worry about. It was always too risky to rely on someone else to help with bills and utilities. “And all that in exchange for what? Being your whore?”

He snarled, and you were delighted to hear that sound. “Trust me, doll, you may want me to fuck you like a whore, but I’ll treat you like a goddess. Like my equal,” he replied, his promise touching something deep inside you and drowning out most of your fear.

You just wished the remaining would fade away.

“I want us to be equals, but do you realize that you’d have all the power until I get my designs off the ground, right? I’d have to rely on your money, your roof over my head,” you said, swallowing the small lump in your throat. Did he realize what he was asking of you? To push aside the small amount of pride and independence you had? “I’ve done fine on my own and to have to depend on you is something else altogether.”

You hoped he at the very least realized how vulnerable you were right now by opening up more.

He looked vulnerable, too, as he moved closer. “I know it’s a lot to have to depend on me, but with me you wouldn't have to do this on your own. My finances don’t mean I have power. You’d have power, too,” he said. You wanted to believe you would. “In fact, I think you’re the only person in this entire city who could bring me to my knees. That’s power.”

You smiled a little. Could you really bring him to his knees? “As flattered as I am that you want to take care of me, do I have to decide tonight?” you asked. He was saying all the right things, and it was tempting, but there was so much to figure out beyond the living arrangements.

“We can discuss it more tomorrow if you’d like,” he said, looking around as you let out a breath. He had no doubt in his mind that you would spend the night. “Have you seen your date?”

You looked around, too, not at all worried when you spotted him. A complete contrast to how you felt at the beginning of the evening. “He’s…” You gestured to the bar where Chet was flirting with the loosely dressed omega from earlier and staring right down the front of her dress.

Bucky growled and swept his eyes over you, no doubt catching how you pressed your thighs together from the sound. A growl really shouldn't be that sexy. “Not a very faithful alpha, is he?”

“Well, he isn't my alpha, remember?” you pointed out. Someone like Chet would never be. “My boss only ‘suggested’ that I go with him tonight, and I made it clear I wasn't going to sleep with him.”

There was another hint of a growl before he smiled. “Wait right here. I’m just going to tell the young pup that you’re going home with me.”

You gripped his arm as he tried to stand. “Easy, old man. I didn't say I was going home with you,” you teased, knowing full well you were in fact leaving with him.

“Old man?” he smiled.

You shrugged. “You called me ‘doll’, which sounds like something an old man would say.”

“I think an old man is exactly what you need.” His eyes flashed with a deliciously dark promise that he was right and you’d enjoy every single inch of what he’d give you. “And you didn’t explicitly say you'd go with me, but we both know I’ve swayed you to go to my place.”

“You alphas are so cocky.” You refrained from rolling your eyes since he was right in this instance. “But maybe I should just stay here a bit longer and make you work for it since you want me so badly.”

He chuckled. “You’d rather stay here? Fine by me,” he said, leaning in close. “I’ll just slide my hand up your dress here and now and feel just how wet you are for me. I doubt anyone would notice if I made you come on my fingers. They’re too caught up in themselves.”

Your eyes closed when he touched your thigh. “You think I'm wet for you?”

“I know you are. I can smell it. Can practically taste it. You’ll let me taste you, won't you?” he purred, and you could only tremble as his hand moved higher, your legs parting to give him more access. “In fact, why don't I drag your ‘date’ over and let him watch while I lay you out and feast on your cunt? Show him what you'll never give him a taste of?”

You weren't sure if the pool of arousal was from the thought of Bucky eating you like a starved man, making that sad excuse for an alpha watch while he got you off, or both. You wondered what it would be like to taste yourself on his lips. “And why would you let him see what I look like when I come?”

He seemed to consider your question. “That’s a good point. He shouldn't see how you look when you come.” Bringing his hand to your face, your breath hitched when he caressed your cheek with such care. “But you’ll never have to hide that beautiful expression from me.”

“Hey!”

You pulled away from Bucky in time to see Chet storm over. “Shit,” you whispered when he furiously looked between you and Bucky. You were shocked smoke didn't come out of his ears.

Bucky was out of his seat before you could blink, his hand wrapped tight around Chet’s throat and cutting off the remainder of his insult. A few patrons gasped and stopped to watch as Chet clawed at Bucky's hand, but no one stepped in to help. The anger that poured off your alpha was enough to deter anyone from getting involved. And you were loving every second of it.

It was almost humiliating how turned on you were by Bucky's dominant display. You thought you’d be an omega who wouldn’t want an alpha acting like, well, an alpha, yet his defense of you meant a lot. “Bucky.” You stood up and smiled when he looked at you, his anger shifting to something softer. “You can let him go.”

Chet fell to the ground and coughed once Bucky released him. Your alpha bared his teeth with a snarl and Chet showed his throat like an obedient dog. It was clear who the top alpha was.

“Apologize,” Bucky commanded. Not only did Chet cough out an apology while avoiding your gaze, a few others said “sorry” as well. That was how powerful this man was. And you wanted him more than anything.

There was no need to fake your confidence as you and Bucky walked out together. It didn't matter at the moment what they thought of you. All you could think about was how Bucky defended you, and how he called you his mate. It was out in the open. He…

Oh, God.

“Thank you for defending me, but you do realize you just told everyone that I’m your mate, right?” you whispered. That gossip would spread before the night was over.

“Is that what I did?” he asked, smirking when you hissed and glared. “And you don’t need to thank me. He had it coming.”

The smirk was still on his handsome face as the valet brought his car around. What the hell were people going to say? He didn’t care what they thought and neither should you.

“Listen, Bucky, just because you…”

Bucky held your face in his hands, leaning in so close you felt his breath against your lips. His mouth barely grazed yours, carefully teasing you with the promise of what was to come. “Just because I what?” he rasped, and you swear you felt more slick stain your already ruined panties.

“You better get me off before we get to your place,” you said instead of finishing your original statement because you truthfully forgot all about it when his lips touched yours.

Your insides tinged with more heat and desire when he nipped your bottom lip. “You better say my name when I get you off.”

“Should I say Bucky or James?” you smirked.

“Bucky. Reserve the name James for when you’re upset or extremely serious,” he winked, thanking the valet before helping you into his vehicle. You had never been in a car this nice.

“And you won’t mark me tonight?” you asked once he got up, touching the back of your collar to make sure it was still secure.

“We still have a lot to figure out before I mark you,” he said, leaning over as you sighed in relief. “But before we go…”

His mouth landed on yours, both strong and soft as he took possession of yours. The entire gala could've gone up in flames and you wouldn't have noticed since all you felt was him. You tasted his hunger when his tongue plunged inside, and there was a hint of desperation, too. He was starving for you and you moaned, deepening the kiss to show that you were just as eager.

You panted when he broke the kiss. “Don’t make me regret trusting you,” you breathed, your eyes once again giving everything away.

His nose bumped yours affectionately as he dragged his lips to your forehead. You didn't expect such a fond gesture from him, and you had to bite your tongue so you wouldn't blurt out how nice a kiss to the forehead felt. “You won’t regret it,” he whispered, sealing the promise with a kiss against your skin.

Your heart felt full, and your inner omega wanted to shout with joy. “Take me home then.”

Bucky sped off a moment later, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him. Your core ached as you looked at him, giving you a chance to once again take in his profile. The saying of aging like fine wine probably rang true for him. You imagined he was always good looking, but he was both rough and refined thanks to his age. People who said perfection didn’t exist clearly never saw him before.

“You like what you see?” he asked.

“I do, but you know that,” you answered, his jaw clenching when you pulled your dress up to reveal your legs. “And didn’t you promise to get me off before we got to your place?”

The sexual tension that had been building up spiked, and you sensed his need to claim you in some capacity was rising to the surface. “Give me your panties,” he ordered, giving you a sharp look. “Now.”

“You’re bossy,” you smiled, pushing your dress higher. He swore under his breath when you gripped your underwear and slid it off, your slick practically dripping from the flimsy fabric. No one ever got you that wet before. “But I kind of like it.”

He chuckled, licking his lips. “You like it because it’s me,” he pointed out, snatching the underwear out of your hand once it was within reach. You watched with a whine as he brought it to his nose and deeply inhaled. “Fuck…” he growled, bringing the fabric to the tent growing in his pants next and rubbing all over it in a filthy display. Watching him ruin his pants with the scent and slick of your pussy had you soaking the seat beneath you. “Spread your legs and show me that pretty cunt.”

You trembled when he took his eyes off the road. Pulling your dress over your hips, you obediently spread your legs and let him get a good look at what would soon belong to him. “You like what you see?”

Bringing your hand between your legs, you gasped at how sensitive you were. It was like you were in heat, but fully aware of your surroundings. “Like this?” you asked, moving your fingers along your folds.

“Just like that,” he whispered, his gaze darting between you and the road. You hoped one day he’d fuck your throat while he drove. “Now give me your hand.”

You presented your glistening fingers to him, giving him the opportunity to grip your wrist and suck the wet digits into his mouth. You felt his mouth water from your taste, the groan of arousal in his throat making you shake. He didn’t stop until he licked your fingers clean. “You taste just as divine as you smell,” he said, releasing your hand and reaching over to cup your mound. “And I need more.”

“I need more, too,” you moaned, his palm rubbing your clit and building that ecstasy within you. He teased your dripping hole with another finger, but didn’t push inside yet. You arched your hips, trying to get him to breach you. “Please.”

“That’s a good girl saying please,” he praised, finally pushing a thick finger inside. You clenched around him so tight, your body wanting more. “Fuck, you’re tight. And wet. Made just for me. Imagine how good you’ll feel once you’re stretched around my cock.”

“Want your cock,” you moaned, opening your legs wider. “Want your big cock inside me.”

“Yeah, you do. You want my big, bare cock in your soaked cunt,” he said, pushing another finger in, your slick coating them. You didn’t let anyone fuck you bare before, but you’d let him. “You want my knot, too.”

“Are you hard just thinking of fucking of me raw?” you moaned, the need to rip the top of your dress open to reveal your breasts strong. No… If your dress was going to get torn to shreds, he could do that himself. “Coming so deep inside me you’ll drip out of me days later?”

The next growl he let out was inhuman, his fingers curling until you cried out. “My good little omega has a dirty mouth on her,” he smirked.

“I do have a dirty mouth. You should fuck it sometime,” you smiled sweetly before your mouth fell open, his expert fingers fucking you deep. Talking dirty to him helped stamp down your emotions a bit, but they were threatening to surface the more he touched you. “Bucky.”

“That’s it. Say my name. Tell me who you belong to,” he demanded. Your back arched, gripping the leather seat until your hand ached. Your body certainly knew who owned you. “Tell me who’s going to take care of you.”

You bit your lip to hold back your whimper, your heart pounding out of control. No one took care of you. No one wanted to until tonight, and you hadn’t wanted that either.

He stopped moving his fingers, keeping perfectly still as you hissed in frustration. Was he really going to build you up and not let you finish? “Tell me,” he demanded again, gentler this time.

Your eyes burned, but you swallowed your pride. Again. “You, Bucky,” you whispered, trusting that he’d be an alpha of his word. “You'll take care of me.”

He cooed when you whimpered, slipping a third finger in and moving them again. “That’s my girl. My good omega. I know that wasn’t easy for you to say,” he praised, so proud of you. Part of you was proud of yourself, too. “Do you need to come?”

“Yes!” you cried out, desperately trying to ride his fingers as the pressure grew. You were so close. Just a little more…

“Then do it. Get that slick all over my hand and seat,” he said, pushing against your bundle of nerves once more as your body locked up. “And say. My. Name.”

Waves of pleasure rolled through you, colors blurring your vision as you cried his name. Your eyes rolled back as the squelching sound of your cunt filled the car, his fingers helping you ride it out. You were drowning, unable to breathe until you broke through the haze. You felt ruined already by his fingers. Oh, his cock was going to destroy you.

“Fuck, that’s it. Give it to me. That’s my good girl. Can’t wait to feel that all over my cock.”

He only removed his fingers when you whined and licked your essence away with a low moan. The beautiful bastard still looked so put together, and hadn’t swerved once while he drove. “Holy shit,” you exhaled, your walls still fluttering. The orgasm took the edge off while leaving you wanting more. “Did I… soak your hand?”

“You did,” he confirmed, your face hot. “Fuck, I’m going to need an entire weekend to eat your sweet cunt just to start,” he said, flashing you a smile. “And you make very pretty sounds when you come.”

You managed a smile as you slumped in the seat, your dress still bunched around your waist. “What do you sound like when you come?” you asked breathlessly.

“You’ll find out,” he promised.

You trembled again when he put his hand back on your thigh, your hand immediately covering his. You needed his touch to ground you, but didn’t want to say so. “I just realized something,” you said once you fully caught your breath.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“If you’re my mate but you haven’t marked me yet, and you plan to pay for… well, everything for me for the time being,” you said, a laugh bubbling up when you saw that your window was fogged up. You drew a little smiley face, making you laugh more before you glanced at him. “You’re kind of like my sugar daddy.”

The look on his face before he laughed made him look younger, the sound affectionate and happy. How many managed to make him laugh like that? “Does that mean you’re going to call me ‘Daddy’?”

“Don’t push it, old man,” you giggled. Though if anyone could sway you, it would be him. “Why don’t we just stick with ‘alpha’ for now?”

“That and Bucky,” he suggested, turning his hand so your palm rested against his. “I like hearing you say my name, doll,” he added in a whisper.

“I like saying your name, Bucky,” you said, your brows furrowing. “But who came up with that nickname?”

He chuckled again, your skin tingling when he lifted your hand to kiss it. “You don’t want to hear about that.”

“Yes, I do,” you said.

He stole a glance at you. Through the heavy scent of your orgasm, you detected joy seeping from him. It made you feel happy, too. “Okay,” he smiled, running his thumb along your hand. “I got the nickname a long time ago…”

You twisted more in your seat to face him as you listened, lost in his voice and smile. There was so much you had to learn about your alpha. His likes and dislikes. What he would be like before, during, and after his ruts. He had a lot to learn about you, too. You wouldn’t give up on your dream of becoming a designer, and accepting his help may not be such a bad thing.

And maybe accepting the fact that you had a mate to depend on wouldn’t be such a bad thing either.

So, what do we think so far? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat817 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #amazing writers #reading with Nerina

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madaqueue · 1 day ago

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gn!reader - 18+ MDNI (remember when i said i wanted to ride him? yeah - wk: 0.6k)

the first time you ride childe, you think your body wasn’t made for it. no, not with the way your legs burn, your knees ache and heart lurches. you want him - archons, do you want him - but something about these mortal chains demands to keep you from him.

ah, but comfort comes so easily to him, doesn’t it? (not with everyone, you know - just with his new recruits, scared shitless and shaking; just with his family, when they welcomed him home the first time, covered in dirt from his fatui training; and just with you, it would seem.)

“that’s it, you’re doing great,” he hums, and you nearly collapse at the way each word rasps from his throat. but you can’t, not yet, not when he twitches inside you and smiles that endearing smile you fell in love with, the one that kept you up staring at the moon hoping to see him in it, the one that had you running through the streets of liyue hoping to find him, hoping he’d feel the same.

(he did - he welcomed you inside with open arms and the same gorgeous, crooked smile.)

“c’mon darling, you can do it.” it pulls you back for a moment, just long enough to catch the ocean-blue of his eyes, the freckles dotting his cheeks like stars. surely, his body doesn’t feel like giving out, not when it contains the very earth itself, the land and its heavens held within his skin and bones. no, certainly not, not when he thrusts up into you and pulls a moan from your throat. when he laughs, it sounds like the fog that settles over the harbor each morning just before the sun.

“don’t tell me you’re giving up already?”

a weak shake of your head, and you roll your hips. fingertips dig into your sides, ones battle-scarred and burned, ones you’d fall asleep kissing each night if you could. “i’m not - i’m not giving up.”

“good.” his grin is immediate, some mix of satisfaction and hunger. it’s served him well, the desire for more, more, more - a harbinger must always want, you think.

another thrust, and your head falls forward, buried into the space above his collarbones. “ajax,” you whine, and this time you don’t get to see the way his cheeks warm at hearing his name fall from your lips.

“i know, i know,” he soothes like a river, ever rushing and constant, smoothing the pebbles caught in its current. “but you’re doing so good for me, aren’t you? so good.”

(he wouldn’t tell you he’s just as lost in it, in the way you weakly grind forward into him, in the way you claw at his shoulders and breathe against his neck. he wouldn’t tell you, no, but he bites his lip, and pulls you closer, and runs a hand up your spine.)

because he knows you can do this. again, a weak thrust, and he thinks he’s about to fall apart just from the way you clench around him. when you whine into his ear, it’s nearly too much - when you whisper his name, another strained call of “ajax, please,” he loses himself.

scarred hands grab at your waist and hold you as he fucks himself up into you. it takes a shockingly short time before he’s shaking himself, before he’s letting out nonsense, garbled sounds that could only barely be construed into cries of ‘i need you, i want you, i love you.’ (ah, but you hear it - even when words don’t come easily to him, you know what they’re supposed to mean.)

when you flutter around him, a sign of your own release, it’s enough to send him with you; he comes undone with a beautiful groan, one that morphs into a chuckle, one that twinkles like the stars over the sea. a beautiful thing, one just for lovers. one his body was made for.

a/n: yeah….. yeah

#q writes #drabbles #childe tartaglia ajax #ajax #ajax x reader #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #childe #childe x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #ajax genshin impact #tartaglia genshin impact #childe genshin impact #genshin smut #childe smut #tartaglia smut

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p1astr81 · 22 hours ago

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little Oscar blurb!

in which: you and Oscar experience first hand the hassle of parenting a teenager.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ * ‧₊˚ ‧

The vegetables for your dinner were half-cut. Your son—stood on the other side of the island—took your attention away from the green bell pepper. “No, Nick! You’re not taking my McLaren. Your bmw is a perfectly fine car.” The knife was pointed in his direction. You put it down once you realized as much. You loved to talk with your hands.

Nick grumbled, his head falling to his hands. “Mum, please.” He huffed.

“No. And why do you want it anyway?” You asked, voice lowered.

The conversation grabbed the attention of your daughter, sat in the living room. The oldest child of the two could be seen from where you stood, the open concept of the house allowing for that.

“Aw Nicky is Kayla going to be there?! Trying to impress her?!” Isla called from the couch.

Nick went red. “Oh my god Isla mind your fucking business!”

“Nickolai!”

He knew he messed up when he got the full name. Cursing at family is a big no. “Sorry Issy.” He grumbled.

“You’re not taking my McLaren. That’s final.”

To put an end to the conversation, you redirected your attention to the vegetables.

Nick stayed put, stubborn as ever. “Just for the night. I’ll be super careful. I’ll clean my room tomorrow! Just please.”

Your response was cut off by the front door opening. Oscar was home from training. He greeted you with a kiss on your cheek, an arm around your waist.

You shook your head. “Your room should already be clean.”

As you were still focused on cutting vegetables, Nick’s eye roll slipped by you. It didn’t slip by Oscar, though.

“What’s goin on here?” Oscar asked with a grin, feeling the tension in the air.

“Nickolai,” there goes the knife pointing again, “wants to take my McLaren to a party. Isla says it’s to impress some girl.”

Oscar grabbed the knife from your hand. “Okay, let’s not kill him.” He joked and squeezed your hip. “Who’s the girl, Nicky?” Oscar asked, a smirk on his face.

He strained up when he saw your unamused expression, and cleared his throat. “Right, I’ll tell you what. You can take mine.” Nick broke out in a big smile.

“Oscar!” You start to protest. He held up a hand.

“But only if you clean out your car, your room, the living room, the bathroom, and the kitchen.” Nick’s face fell. “And, for the next week you have to do all the laundry, the dishes, and take the trash out.”

“That’s not fair!” Nick protested.

Oscar grinned. “I suggest not rolling your eyes at your mother next time.” He shrugged.

Nick huffed a breath. “I’ll take my car.”

“With all that attitude, just be glad you’re still allowed to go!” Oscar shouted after him as he left out the door.

He turned back to you, arms encased around your body. He pulled you into him so you were chest to chest. “I’d say we handled that well.” He smiled.

“Very well.” You gave a small laugh. “Was quite hot of you, too.” You pecked his lips.

“Was it?”

“Oh, very.” You nodded.

Oscar reconnected your lips, kissing you deeply.

Isla faked a gag from the other room. “Get a room!” She shouted in anguish.

You pulled apart, laughing. You’d forgotten she was there. “Sorry, hon!”

#f1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 blurb #f1 fluff #op81 #f1 angst #f1 x you #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri blurb #op81 x reader

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emmg · 24 hours ago

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At nineteen, Emmrich proposed to a fellow student, a boy with hair so dark it drank the light. The age itself was incidental; a number, an illusion, a neat division imposed upon a life that did not yet know how to divide itself. But still, nineteen was good. Good because it allowed for certainty, for decisions made with the heedless bravado of someone who has not yet learned how time can warp them.

He remembered family in the way one remembers the texture of a childhood blanket: warmth not as an abstraction but as a sensation, something real enough to be retrieved at will, kneaded, reshaped, pressed into new forms. It was this warmth, this phantom of closeness, that he sought to recreate in the tender spaces of early love. No one stopped him. Nineteen was the age of indulgence, of watching without intervening, of murmured allowances. Let him. He will learn. He will unlearn. The world granted him this folly.

"Let’s wait until we’re no longer apprentices," the lovely boy said, and so they did.

Then Minrathous for one, Ferelden for the other. Cities that, on maps, seemed no more distant than the span of a hand but, in practice, required whole journeys to cross. The change was slow. Small gaps in the correspondence, a hesitation in the ink, an unfamiliar concision where once there had been excess.

The letters continued. At first, swollen with sentiment, words pressing against the margins, impatient, tumbling over themselves in their need to be read. Then, the same flourishes, the same intricate loops, but now with the care of one writing an alibi. The words became beautiful in a way that beauty becomes a substitute for feeling. Then, in the end, not at all.

At thirty, he tried again, though this time without the formalities of a question. A gesture here, a remark left to linger, an invitation just vague enough to be ignored or accepted without consequence. The art was in the waiting: nets cast, lines slack, the delicate balance between reeling in and letting the current decide.

Gifts, unobtrusive at first, then a shade too particular, too attuned. Plans, not for next week but for some fogged-over point just far enough ahead to suggest permanence. A quiet test, a way of observing whether the word we would slip into conversation naturally or require a pause, a conscious effort.

Some entanglements stretched across years, some unraveled in mere months, some never took shape at all. But the process remained the same, a practiced routine, less an act of pursuit than a habit of expectancy, of waiting to see who would mistake the drift for direction.

With Johanna, it had almost seemed possible. They were young, clever, bright enough to blind themselves. Where she rushed forward, he held back; where she burned bridges, he traced blueprints for new ones. They fit together, he thought. She chose him to fight with, to kiss, to mock, to fuck, to abandon, to retrieve, to champion when it suited her and dismiss when it did not. Out of all the others—so many others, so many better ones—it was him she turned to, and that was beyond exhilarating.

"You're a fucking idiot," she would tell him.

"Perhaps," he would agree, adjusting his sleeves, "but you still should not do this, Johanna." Or that. Or the next thing.

They did not balance each other. Balance suggested symmetry, some reciprocal give-and-take. Johanna was a force of nature; he, at best, a gust of wind. But in those days, he let himself believe they came close enough.

"I could stay with you forever," he confessed to her once, drunk on sentiment, on whatever else had been in his glass.

"Love. Romance," Johanna muttered, barely looking up from her notes. "Convenient, isn’t it? Always there when it suits you. Always such a lovely little supplement to whatever grand, important thing you’re doing. We could go anywhere, you and I. Climb every ladder, scale every rung. Publish together, argue in print, scandalize conferences, carve our names so deep into the spine of academia they’d have to chisel us out. For a while, it could even be fun."

Tap-tap-tap. Her cigarette met its end against his desk.

"And then, of-fucking-course, you'll be wanting more. Because you're a sentimental twat. It'll start with something small. A home, maybe. A study with matching desks. How adorable. Before I know it, I’ll be spending more time with you than without, and suddenly ‘we’ have ‘traditions.’ ‘We’ have ‘a life together.’ And the next thing out of your mouth will be that cursed, saccharine stupid word: family."

A wave of the hand, cutting off whatever nonsense he had been about to say.

"Tell me, Volkarin, when that moment comes, when the great balancing act begins, who do you think will tip the scales? Who will step back? Who will compromise, just a bit, just a fraction, just enough that it becomes a habit? It certainly won’t be you."

In the aftermath, he stopped collecting people—they had a way of slipping through, of vanishing between seasons—and turned to objects instead. Objects had the decency to remain where they were placed. Objects, too, could be tender. A frayed ribbon, a cufflink left behind in a hurry, the curve of a wine glass still faintly smudged. If flowers could be pressed between pages, why not the remnants of former closeness?

For a while, it sufficed. Once-beens do not grow cold. They do not tire of a familiar voice. They do not wake to discover that passion has gone.

Then, one day, sudden as a fairytale, a little thing followed. A little thing made entirely of curiosity, of unguarded wonder. It assembled itself from air and light, slipped into its chosen shape, donned a backpack, adjusted its goggles, and, most importantly, selected him. It let itself be named. It let itself become. First an it, then a he, then a wisp no longer but This is Manfred. And once again, he thought: this is enough. More than enough. Did he really need more? Did he really dare ask for it? To ask was to tempt, and he had lived long enough to know that nothing is punished more swiftly than wanting.

It is a graveyard, he thinks now, standing in the Lighthouse, frowning at the accumulated debris of a life, at the weight of what he has chosen to drag with him. The artifacts of his years; the trifles, the curiosities gathered not for use but for the fact of their gathering. Books he cherishes and books he detests, bought because, once, someone he desired mentioned them in passing. His grave gold has been carefully curated. Each piece first chosen for its shape and luster, its particular delight, but also bright enough, costly enough, to be seen. Gold so pure it warps under a careless grip, so soft that teeth would leave crescent-shaped wounds in its surface if one were to bite.

He wonders if Rook—whom he loves, though he will not tell her, not yet, not when love, spoken too soon, has the peculiar effect of making things disappear—might find some use for them. If she would accept one without knowing it was an offering. If she would take a second. If she would take them all. Books she cannot read, books she can set alight. If the gesture would amuse her, if it would tilt her just a hair closer, if, in some small, unnoticed way, it would make her stay after all is said and done and the gods are dead.

He is vain, naturally. If the wind disarranges his hair, he will pause before a reflective surface to smooth it down. He will scent the pulse points of his throat, darken his lashes, adjust the folds of his collar. But vanity, like intelligence, like charm, is an instrument. He has wielded it since youth, when prettiness earned him gifts, indulgences, the interest of those old enough to give what he could not take. In his prime, handsomeness made students linger too long at his desk, made colleagues tilt their heads toward his in the candlelit hush of evening. And now, past fifty, he is something else altogether.

Now he looks like a man who can provide. It is a new sort of attention, neither unpleasant nor pleasurable, merely a shift in expectation. He can no longer offer the prettiness of youth—fine, let it go. But there are other currencies. Stability, for one. A steady hand, a still point, a place to land when Rook, inevitably, falls. Because she will fall. It is in her nature to leap, just as it is in his to remain still, just as it was in Johanna’s to trespass.

He is tired. Not old, not yet, though the distinction is beginning to blur. A little past his prime, a few paces beyond what once felt limitless. Still, the weight of it settles; a fatigue not of the body but of anticipation, of wanting, of that feverish, grasping giddiness that used to propel him forward and now only leaves him breathless. He isn’t sure when it happened, when the thrill sharpened into something sweeter, something he dared to call love.

All he knows is that the Lighthouse has no hours, no division between night and day, only the endless lull of the in-between. And that in this strange, untethered time, he would very much like to kiss Rook for every second of it.

"You look very good there," she says, watching him rearrange his books.

Another night, when a tome slips, edges itself beneath his desk, and he is forced onto hands and knees to fish it out, she remarks, "I don’t like reading, but I like it when you read to me."

"I like this, and I like that, and I like this even more." Her voice is drowsy as she traces the lines of his face in the dark. He doesn’t know what this or that are, only that she is saying it, only that it undoes something in him. He turns his face slightly, breathes in, and without meaning to, without even noticing at first, he cries.

"Oh," she says, and then, "Hm." A pause. A brief assessment. Finally, a careless shrug. "It’s fine. That’s fine. I like this too."

Rook, Rook, Rook, he wants to say, you don’t need Rivain, you don’t need the sun. The sun burns you, always has, always will; your skin is too pale for it, you freckle, you scald. But Nevarra—

Nevarra is softer. Nevarra has clouds, long grey stretches of them, merciful and cool. Nevarra has catacombs and tombs, stone corridors humming with history, names carved so deep they outlast memory. And everywhere—flowers. Tangled over crypts, spilling down staircases, curling at the hinges of forgotten doors. He has seen them all. He's collected them, commissioned their likeness in ink, dried them between pages so they would keep, so he could say: look, here, this one, still perfect, still intact. You don’t need the sun because they don't either.

He feels selfish, but after all this time, surely, he is allowed. He is not certain if this is the love, grand and operatic, but it has the right proportions, the right density.

Then let him be selfish. Because one way or another, he will go before her. She is young; he is not. He will leave her everything—what he has made, what they will make together—let her wade through the excess of it, scatter it, burn it, gild herself in its remnants. Or perhaps it will be the other way around. Perhaps she will die first, and he will remain, the eternal, patient custodian of the Necropolis, throat slit in the name of lichdom.

He will visit her bones, speak to her as he speaks to his parents, his voice flattening against stone, words meant for no one but himself. He will not whisper. Not to her. Not the way he does to the others, not in the hush reserved for the dead. Because what if she does not answer? Worse—what if she cannot? What if there is nothing at all on the other side, just a severance so complete that every Rook-shaped, Rook-possessed, Rook-claimed thing is erased, like a hand wiping chalk from a slate? And he, undying, would remain to witness it. So no, he will not whisper. But he will talk.

He wants it, but he doesn’t want it, because he wants too much, all at once, all overlapping, all pulling in different directions. He wants to live, but he does not want to die. He wants to live with Rook, wants to kiss her, undress her, drag her down onto the floor of the Lighthouse, press her against familiar sheets in Nevarra, in Rivain, in places they have never been, in places that do not yet exist. He wants to pull her so close that the seam between them dissolves.

More than that, he wants to buy her grave gold, not just because she would relish it—because she is a dragon, a creature drawn to glittering things—but because when she wears it, when her wrists flash with bangles, when her ears are burdened with gold, when her fingers are swallowed in rings, people will see. They will see and know. Know that every piece was placed there, deliberately, by someone who cares for her in the way that gold cares for fire—devotedly, completely, until it melts.

"I love you so much," he tells her one night, after a sip of whiskey too many, after something in his chest has tipped over and spilled. "I love you so, so much, and perhaps, oh, just perhaps, we do not need to die."

She kisses his cheek, absently. She looks tired. "Not now?" she asks.

"Not ever," he insists, giddy again, grasping her hands, pressing his lips against her knuckles.

She exhales, leans back, undoes her braid, fingers brushing through. Inquires again, "How?" Not with disbelief, but with that particular indulgence she reserves for him. She humors, but she listens. She likes to listen. And so he will talk.

"Me, in lichdom. You... I do not know. Not yet. Not entirely. But I will. Through artifice, perhaps."

"Artifice?"

"You like gold, do you not?"

"I suppose."

"Then gold it shall be," he concedes. "Fed into your veins, threaded through capillaries, chaperoned along the corridors of your body. A patient infusion, drop by drop, until the filigree of your arteries is lined with metal, until the marrow of your bones drinks it in like water. When your heart beats—" he presses his fingers to the pulse at her wrist, measuring it, counting. "It will push gold through you, coil it around your sinew, stain your blood the color of amber. It will settle in the soft places, the hidden ones. Behind your ribs, along your spine, between the cords of your throat. You will be a reliquary, a thing preserved, untouchable." His grip tightens slightly, just for a moment, before he releases her, watching the light catch at the faint blue of her veins. "And if your skin were ever cut," he murmurs, "nothing would spill. No ruin, no red, no proof of mortality. Only the gleam of permanence seeping through."

Rook watches him for a long time, long enough that she seems older, the angles of her face sharpened by something he cannot name. Then he blinks, and suddenly she is younger; too young, younger than memory allows, younger than she has ever been. Paler, too.

She takes his glass, finishes it without hesitation, grimaces slightly. Still wordless, she cradles his face in her hands, presses a kiss to one cheek, then the other. Her lips brush his eyelids, and he closes them for her, yielding. She lingers there, warm and silent, mouth against the thin skin, long enough that the room begins to shift, long enough that he thinks, drowsily, that he might simply drift into sleep.

"I love you too," she murmurs, very quietly. Then, softer still, her lips moving against his temple, "But don’t speak like that again." Another kiss, this time to his jaw. "I will come to the Necropolis with you, if you like. In the next few days. You are not doomed, nor transcendent, nor anything half so tragic. You are homesick. That is all. You are simply homesick."

He knows himself to be a man of excess: of reaching too far, of wanting beyond reason, of pressing his hands too deeply into whatever is offered. That was why the others left, wasn’t it? But Rook, Rook is different. Rook takes. Rook wants. Rook gives, recklessly, and he, in turn, cannot help but take.

Bad jests, confessions that start careful and end careless. A first time beneath the covers, blood on the sheets, a kiss, the way her mouth moves against his, the way she lets herself be known in increments, in silences, in the cool of her palm against his cheek. Her favorite spot behind the waterfall. Because love, if it is anything at all, is the act of giving. Not just anything, not just for the sake of it, but precisely what the other cannot reach for themselves.

And so, he wants to give her gold.

In the morning, he will apologize. Will run a hand over his face, will mutter something about whiskey, about tiredness, about speaking without thinking. He will dismiss himself before she can. Will say that he does not know what possessed him.

But tonight, he will think of her throat gleaming with gold. He will dream, as he always does, in metal.

#this was supposed to be part of herbarium but i ended up rewriting it #and this version has just been sitting in my folder #might as well make it a oneshot #nothing grand just my purple prose-y ass being purple lmfao #emmrich volkarin #emmrich x rook #emmrook #rook x emmrich #emmrich dragon age #datv #emmrich the necromancer #emmrich romance #my stupid writing #shortstories

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heartsforvin · 2 days ago

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SO IN LOVE WITH YOU

requested by @hayden-christensen-verse !!! thank you for the request again <33

also happy late valentine’s day !!

pairing: vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, use of pet names, possible cussing

summary: you show vinnie how much you love him with a scrapbook you made over the years of dating

you and vinnie had been together for about four years now and the two of you couldn’t have been more happy or in love.

ever since the first date you’ve documented them. as time went on and you saw each other more, and got to know more about vinnie, your documentation also grew.

to others it might’ve seemed weird — documenting the early, early days of your time with vinnie before even dating, but you found it cute.

you saw it as, if you were to ever get married and grow a family, you could show your kids everything from your beginning days with vinnie.

it has anything and everything you can think of. dates, physical attraction — what you find attractive about vinnie — little things he does for you that you love, as well as things he just does, and so much more.

he claims all the time that he’s not romantic, but the big book you currently have out says otherwise.

you were in your shared room with vinnie currently writing down the past date you two had. he was in his streaming room, oblivious to what you were doing at the moment.

once you finished the page, you flipped back to previous ones, just reminiscing on dates you had in the past where he was over the top romantic with you.

one page caught your eye however. it was titled ‘vinnie’s cute quirks’, which immediately made you smile.

when you took a closer look, your smile grew as you read the words. the page was dated from when you and vinnie first got together, initializing when it started.

as you look through the bigger sized book, that's when you remember it all started with a smaller book.

you stand up from the bed and walk back over to the closet. when you reach it, you look up and reach for it on the top self.

walking back to the bed, you sit down and flip through the pages. most of them are filled with moments of the two of you when you first started hanging out together.

smiling, you decide to go into vinnie's streaming room, just to peak in, and because reminiscing like this makes you want to see him.

you walk in without him noticing, standing behind his gaming chair and warping your arms around him, resting on his chest.

his chat blows up like crazy when they see you. when you and vinnie went public, his fans were oddly supportive, of course in the best way possible.

"havin' fun?" you whisper into his ear, making him smile.

vinnie nods. "yeah, whatcha' up to?" he asks, tilting his head up to look at you with another smile.

you lean down and kiss him before telling him you were just hanging out in the room with hera.

vinnie doesn't know about the notebooks and scrapbook you have filled with everything about you and him.

he gets back into the game he was playing and you take a seat next to him, having pulled up a chair.

you read some things from everyone as well as answer some questions.

a comment about vinnie saying he isn't that romantic gets out and that makes you laugh quietly, seeing as he was dead wrong.

he checks the chat and sees someone had put a link to a YouTube video. vinnie stops the game and acknowledges the comment along with the link, and everyone asks to play it.

he knows what it is, he saw the comment, but he clicks on it anyways. its a clip from one of his previous streams, saying how he is not in any way, the romantic type.

"yeah, still true," he says with a soft laugh as he turns to you. "what?" he asks.

the look on your face is one he can't decipher. you look offended, that's all he can partially tell.

you don't respond, instead stand up from your seat and go back into the bedroom and grab the notebooks and big scrapbook. when you reenter the streaming room, vinnie's eyes widen at the things in your hands.

"tell me you're not romantic again." you say as you set the things down beside him.

he chuckles softly, utterly out of words, speechless as he looks at what's in front of him.

"baby," he whispers. he forgets everything around him for a second. "what is all this?" he asks.

you sit back down and open the spiral notebook first. "read it, then tell me you're not romantic again." you repeat your words.

vinnie takes the notebook in his hands and reads it, you look at the chat and watch s everyone gushes over the moment.

"vinnie's eyes are the most beautiful i've ever seen." he reads a line, making you smile.

as he continues to reads, he almost wants to tear up. he never knew you had any of this.

"when did you... sweetheart.." he can't help be at a loss for words. there's so much in that one notebook that he never knew about.

you grab the notebook from his hands and move it out of the way to show him the scrapbook. he opens it and skims the pages, reading and looking at everything you've done over the course of four years.

he's so in shock, so in awe of all of this. he gets to a page that has valentines day dated, it was your guys' first one together.

it read: "todays valentines day, our first together, and i think there might be many more with how this one turned out." that's all vinnie reads before turning to you.

"continue it." you gesture with a smile.

so, he does. "when i got home, vinnie had decorated my living room with flowers and red balloons, even going as far as to making us a special dinner. i couldn't ask for a better way to spend the day, couldn't ask to spend it with anyone else but him."

a heart was added to the end, making vinnie smile, he knew the was your thing.

"so, do you believe me when i say you are romantic?" I ask, he nods. "the minute you left that night i immediately scrapbooked about it. i couldn't believe you took time to do all that for me, for us."

vinnie pushes the book to the side and hugs you tightly, kissing your head. "i love you so much, so much you don't even know." he whispers.

when the two of you pull away, you kiss him softly, placing your hand on his jaw. "i love you just as much." you tell him.

the two of you looked back at the chat and saw everyone going crazy once again. you even saw vinnie's family say something which made you smile.

the two of you continued to talk to everyone for while longer before vinnie decided to end the stream. after he did, he picked you up and walked with you in his arms to the bedroom, where the two of you spent the rest of the night cuddled up watching movies until you fell asleep.

guys hey i’m back !!! i’ve been tryin so hard to be consistent im so sorry ): but i have some requests so hopefully that’ll motivate me !!

tags: @deansbeer , @nativegirltapes , @submattenthusiast , @khackerr , @slvthrs , @skye-44 , @0strawberrysorbet0 , @laylasbunbunny , @visualbutterflysworld , @jpg3 , @chrissturnslovergirlx , @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom , @bernelflo , @miilzzy , @hallecarey1 , @kayleighh , @leqonsluv3r , @defnotayonna

#vhackerr #vincent hacker #vvhacker #vinniehacker #vinnie hacker smut #vinniehackerfanfic #vinnie hacker blurb #vinnie hacker fluff #vinnie hacker imagines #vinnie hacker #vinnie x reader #vhacker #vinnie x y/n #vinnie hacker headcanon

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sturniolo04 · 1 day ago

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hii!!! i love your fics so much!! but could you do a longer one where chris and reader are in boston with his parents, nick, matt, and justin…..and chris and reader tell them that reader is pregnant…..doesn’t have to be pregnancy or doesn’t have to end like that at all just want something where their in boston?

Wife!reader x husband!chris

A/n: omg ofc! I absolutely loved writing this! I put just a little bit of a spin to you hope you enjoy it! If you don’t like the pre added name in my works you can simply put in your own or don’t read it, it up to you :)-Charli

Dividers by: @issysh3ll and @mintsturniolo

You and Chris were currently in Boston spending a little extra much needed quality time with his family. From the moment you Started dating Chris you loved his family like your own and now being married to him for a year now you couldn’t wait to start your own with him by your side.

“Oh my goodness look who it is”

Marylou squeals running up to you and Chris as you two pull up into the driveway of the triplets childhood home.

“Hi mom”

Chris greets her as she hugs him first and immediately coming to you next. By this time jimmy, Nick, Matt, and Justin had all made their way to greet you two in the driveway.

“How have you been”

Marylou trails off quirking a motherly eye up at you as you pull away from the hug. They say a mother always knows.

“Great great”

You giggle out in reply as she softly hums at your reply.

“That’s good well come on in”

She states as you all make your way into the house.

“Dude antisocial much”

Justin chuckles out as you and Chris enter the living room him, Nick, and Matt were in watching some tv show.

“We weren’t being antisocial”

You giggle out knowing exactly what you and Chris were doing in his room.

“What could you possibly be doing that was way more important than- actually never mind gross”

Matt begins cutting himself off towards the end of his question seeing Chris quirk a ‘you know’ look his way saying you better not ask this question if you don’t want the real answer. You and Chris giggle at the sudden disgust morphing on his brothers face.

“You know good for you Chris”

Justin chuckles out as Nick simply rolls his eyes.

Today you guys were taking a day trip into town to do a little shopping and sight seeing with Chris’ family. You were currently walking alongside Marylou window shopping at all the boutiques that you two passed with the boys walking a little ways behind you two.

You don’t know what is was but you felt the need to throw up wash over your body. You quickly scan for a trashcan unintentionally zoning out of what Marylou was saying in the moment.

“Are you okay honey’

She asks you softly as she places a loving hand on your back as you shake your head ‘no’

“I feel like I need to throw up”

You quietly gasp out as marylou’s face morphs into concern as she spots a nearby trash can for you.

“Oh here’s a trashcan sweetie ”

She states as you two finally make your way over to it.

“It’s okay honey let it out”

Marylou adds on whispering to you as You begin to pull your hair behind your back as Marylou helping you by holding it out of the way. Chris and the boys finally caught up to you guys spotting you at a random trashcan on the sidewalk.

“Are you guys okay”

Nick asks as he stands next to his mom on the other side of her and the trashcan. The pair didnt respond focused on you about to spill your guts in a public setting. Finally feeling the nausea rising to the surface after what felt like decades of waiting for it you heave over and throw up the lunch and what appeared to be breakfast you ate into the trashcan.

“Oh ew”

Matt groans out disgusted seeing he watched you throw up from start to finish. You quickly stand up, as Chris comes over and takes his mothers place rubbing your back.

“Did you get it all out”

He questions as you nod your head not wanting to talk about or remember what just occurred.

“Oh shit chris”

You whisper yell at him as you two are locked in the upstairs bathroom holding a positive pregnancy test in your hands. It had been a couple days since the incident in town and every morning you’ve had some sort of morning sickness.

“This was suppose to be a joke”

You continue setting the test down on the sink counter

it was suppose to be a joke. You, chris, Matt, Nick, and Justin were having a conversation moments after you third throw up incident.

“Are you okay girl seriously this is like the second time today you threw up”

Nick questions as you came back into chris’ room sitting on his lap since they were all hanging out in there.

“Yeah I’m fine I don’t rally know what going on”

You reply honestly.

“You could be pregnant”

Justin blurts out as everyone looks at him shocked.

“Justin gross”

Matt adds on.

“Well it’s true I mean think about it you aren’t allergic to anything, it happens only during the morning time, and not to mention you two haven’t been doing anything else beside fucking like rabbits so I mean it’s possible”

Justin concludes as you and Chris share a questioning look.

“ I guess Justin was right”

Chris huffs out scratching the back of his head holding the test in his free hand looking at the two lines intersecting making a plus sign.

“Apparently but it’s not like I’m mad about this news it just”

You trail off looking up at Chris from your sitting position on the tiled floored in the bathroom.

“Just what pretty girl”

Chris replies back to you kneeling down in front of you on the floor.

“I don’t know Chris are we ready”

You ask him genuinely scared out of your mind.

“I mean would we ever be ready if we fully planned it out but then again would we even be able to have it fully planned out”

Chris states simply as he brings his hand to Caressing your cheek in the process as you slowly shake your head ‘no.’

“Oh god How are we going going to tell everyone I mean I haven’t even told my parents”

You state beginning to ramble as Chris listens to you rant and spiral with an adorning look on his face.

“Well when do you want to tell everyone and do you want to tell them”

He trails off asking you the question as you let out a deep breathe.

“And as for your family we can tell them when we get back to LA but we are here in Boston with my family so we can tell them before we have to go back home or what are you thinking’

Chris states simple as you gaze into his blue orbs gently thinking about everything.

“Let’s just tell them tomorrow”

You sigh out as Chris simply nods his head in agreement with your decision.

The next day rolls around and you were beyond nervous to spit out the obvious announcement you and Chris agreed to share with everyone while you were here in Boston.

You are currently swirling your wedding ring on the slim of your finger standing in the living room with everyone sitting on the couch in front of you.

“Chris what is happening”

Matt cautiously asks as he looks as Nick sitting next to him shrugging his shoulders.

“Nothing we just have to tell you guys something we found out yesterday”

He simply states coming up behind you and rubbing his hands comfortingly along your shoulders easing the unknown tension you were displaying from the nervousness you were feeling in the moment.

“Is something wrong honey’

Marylou proceeds to ask crossing her legs over her other getting comfortable.

“No we well I took a test”

You quietly speak up cutting yourself off looking up at Chris almost as if to say finish the thought.

“Okay what type of test”

Nick asks cautiously unsure of where this is going.

“I’m pregnant”

You blurt out watching everyone’s face morph into a look of surprised and shocked but most of all excited. you nervously giggle reading the faces of Chris’ family in front of you.

“Congratulations you two this is excited we are going to have our first grandchild’

Marylou gleams coming up and hugging you gently. You couldn’t help but smile at how welcoming they were with the news.

“I told you”

Justin quickly quips out as everyone else stands up to hug you and Chris’ brothers dabbing him up in the process.

“Yeah you were right”

Chris chuckles out.

Taglist

@mintsturniolo @spicymuffins03 @ksturnz @stayingstromboli @wh0resstuff @courta13 @chaoswithus @emely9274 @ivysturnss

#sturniolo imagine #sturniolo triplets x reader #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris x reader #girlypopsquad🩵#nick sturniolo #charli’scornerspeaks🩵#charli'scornerrequests🩵#charli'scorner🩵

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autumndragon · 1 day ago

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i really love the idea of ryker being a "neutral" antagonist, just a guy working in the family business, has a wife and kids at home, accepted that he wasn't the best choice to become the chief/leader of the hunters so let his younger brother handle that, a "just doing my job" kind of man, a "i don't get paid enough for this" type guy.

the dragon riders start ruining operations and he's at home setting the table for dinner while complaining to his wife about work. he sees the riders in person and he gets a headache from how young they all are, bunch of toddlers on dragons. insufferable.

dagur joins the crew and ryker wants to file a workplace harassment complaint. he just wants to catch some dragons, earn some money, but now he has to deal with dragon riders and some maniac who's obsessed with one of them. why is he involved in this again??? they manage to capture some of the riders, but now he has a bunch of teens in the cells, and no idea what to do with them. they escape, so whatever, not his problem anymore. wait, they have the artifact? dammit.

i especially love if he's the only "normal" one in the room, like yeah of course he's pissed about the riders attacking his business, and he'll try to stop them, but he's nowhere on the level of alvin, dagur or krogan. he has hiccup captured and hiccup is very cagey around him, extremely wary, double snarky but hunched shoulders like he's expecting a punch. ryker is a bit confused about that, but hey, hiccup is a prisoner so of course he's gonna be wary, but then dagur tells him stories of what he and alvin used to do and ok yeah, he'd be cagey too if he was hiccup, because what the fuck.

i can just imagine the conversations between these two so well,

ryker: about the prisoner, any ideas?

dagur: we can toss him overboard near an island and watch him struggle in the cold water as he tries to swim to shore before dragging him back up like we're hunting him for sport

ryker:

ryker: i meant whether we would put him in the cells or the chambers, what in gods name is wrong with you

it's just we already have so many insane violent villains i just want someone to be Normal and have a stunned reaction to the shit the other bad guys are getting up to, and i feel family man ryker would fit that job perfectly.

#sorry it just lives in my head rent free #dagur proposes all kinds of crazy things and ryker is just like. no. wtf.#i just find that very funny #hiccup makes a comment he gets kidnapped a lot and ryker asks how it usually goes #and then regrets every asking bc wtf are these grown ass men doing #httyd #hiccup haddock #how to train your dragon #rtte #ryker grimborn #race to the edge #hiccup #httyd: rtte

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xoxoavenger · 1 day ago

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Hi! I saw your ask were open!!

I was thinking of Bucky with a fem!reader who's a time travelling witch. She's the old-fashioned, harry potter-esque kind and they meet in the 40s by accident after she heals pre-serum Steve but he never got her name.

He sees her again after a portal opened in the Compound where all the Avengers where reunited to discuss a plan. She gets spit out of the portal with her familiars and he recognises her immediately bc of the way she's dressed but she can't due to his arm/the longish hair and because she "just saw" him in her last time travel and him and Steve did not look like THAT.

Everyone's confused why Bucky insists he knows her and that she can help with their situation.

I LOVE this request omggg! I tweaked it a tiny bit to fit the plot, and also i've never seen/read harry potter lol. I wrote this in basically one sitting yesterday but I finished it at like 4 am and fell asleep proofreading it but now its here and I hope you enjoy!

Saved

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Witch!Reader

word count: 5122

warnings: reader does not call Bucky 'James' in this one (ik I just made the announcement but there is a reason I promise), Salem Witch Trials mention/explanation, Bucky's traumatic past mention

masterlist

"I told you to stay with me." Bucky says lowly as he wipes Steve's forehead with a cloth he had stolen from a nurses station. His best friend had picked another fight, except this time there was a knife involved. The doctors stitched him up the best they could, but his body is already so fragile, he's got an infection he's struggling to fight. Bucky feels so helpless, and even though Rebecca keeps telling him that short of kidnapping Steve, there was nothing he could have done.

Steve doesn't answer, eyes closed and mouth parted slightly as his shivers. He's sweating but freezing, and Bucky doesn't even want to look at the bloody mess that is the gauze covering the infected gash on Steve's malnourished body. Bucky feels guilty about this - he should have been there, he should have made sure that Steve wasn't in trouble. The kid loves to find trouble wherever he is, but Bucky never imagined this would happen.

Bucky's parents have come by, brought him food that's been left on the table untouched for hours, because Bucky feels sick just being in this room. But he can't leave, no, because this is his best friend, and his best friend doesn't have any family. Doesn't have anyone but him.

"You can't die on me, pal." Bucky whispers, emotion clouding his voice and making the words sticky as they climb up his throat. "I still need you."

It happens too fast for Bucky to figure out what exactly is going on. One minute, he's alone in the dark room, then next there's a bright purple light. A woman stumbles through, dressed in a long, dark lavender skirt that's high waisted, a white, pleated blouse tucked into it. She has a matching bow tied around the neck collar. There's a lace trim around the skirt, making her look old fashioned, even though she looks like she's probably his age. She's carrying a briefcase, and just when Bucky thinks this entire situation can't get any weirder, a black owl flys through the purple light and lands on the other chair that Bucky wasn't occupying.

The woman had been running from something, her momentum taking her forward until she hits the end of Steve's bed, dropping her briefcase and falling onto the floor. Bucky is frozen, not sure exactly what to do.

"Ow," She whispers, using the bed to stand up.

"Who the hell are you?" Bucky whispers, standing from his spot. He looks over at the owl, who's just staring there, then back at the woman, who now has her briefcase on the bed where Steve's skinny legs aren't taking any space.

"There's no time." She says, and Bucky looks over to see her briefcase filled with herbs and bottles and crushing tools. "Is he your friend?" She asks, finally looking up at Bucky. She's beautiful, her face seemingly timeless.

"Yes." He says, because he doesn't know what else to say. "Where did you come from?" He asks, watching her pull Steve's blanket down to get a better look at his wound.

"A portal." She answers, as if it was obvious.

"What?" He asks, and she takes a deep breath, before she looks at him. His brain is so jumbled, and his eyes keep going over to the owl, still just staring.

"I'm a witch. I time travel to places that need my help, and it seems your friend here is in desperate need." She answers, and Bucky can only blink as she moves Steve's hospital gown away to take a look at the gauze. It's already bloody, and puss is oozing from it, the infection making itself known. "What's his name?"

"Steve. I'm Bucky." He answers, without a second thought. "How-how does the portal know who needs help?" He asks, watching her begin to go to work. She pulls herbs out, and then begins to crush them together.

"The portal doesn't know that." She laughs, as if Steve isn't dying so bad that a time traveling witch came to save him.

Maybe Bucky's dying. That must be the only way to explain why an owl is sitting in Steve's hotel room.

"I made a spell that takes me to people who are meant to help the world that are dying. It seems your friend is important." She explains, but Becky's still lost.

"So you only save the important people?" Bucky asks. She adds a couple liquids that Bucky isn't familiar with, and then starts to spread it on Steve's wound. Bucky almost stops her, but he has a feeling Steve's gonna die without the help anyway.

"No," She tells him, smiling warmly as she finishes her spread. She moves over to Steve's bedside table, where a small roll of gauze is. "There are some people who need saving, because later on in life they do the saving. Your friend isn't supposed to die right now." She says, taking her tools toward the bathroom. Bucky checks on Steve, who already seems to be breathing easier, then follows her.

"So you just spend your life saving people?" He asks, watching her clean her tools in the sink.

"Yes." She says quietly, and Bucky frowns.

"What about your own time? What about your family? Friends?" He asks, and she blinks because damn, this guy asks a lot of questions. He's also accepted the 'witch' part of this story with surprising speed; if everyone reacted like this, she would tell them outright who she was instead of lying and saying she was a healer.

"Ya know, of everyone I've saved, no one ever asks this personal of questions." She says, turning the water off and looking over at him. "I just saved your friend, who is destined to do great things, and you're worried about my time?" She asks, and Bucky's stunned. This witch is telling him that Steve, skinny, defenseless Steve, is supposed to save people. His life is so important that it caused a magic potion to stop in their timeline to save him, out of all the other people in other times she could be saving.

"I guess, it just seems like a lonely life. Do you ever take a break?" He asks, causing the witch to scoff, passing him to go back to her briefcase.

"I mean, yeah, but my days aren't the same as yours. I can go from the middle of the night in the fourteenth century to broad daylight in the twenty first." She says, and Bucky is honestly shocked by this. She seems so put together for how much she's going through.

"Maybe you should stay here. Get some rest." He doesn't know why he offers, only that he doesn't want to see her go. He feels connected to her; she's someone who's only trying to do good, who feels out of place but is trying their best. He needs to know more about her, needs to know everything.

"Nice try," She says with a smile, and he hopes she knows that he means the offer genuinely. She takes something out of her briefcase before shutting it, looking up at him one last time. "But people need me."

"I want to see you again." He blurts out, because if he doesn't tell her, he knows that she'll be lost forever. She looks shocked, genuinely torn now, as if she hadn't expected him to say something like that. "Please," He realizes she never told him her name, and it makes his heart race with anxiety.

"Maybe one day, Bucky." She says, and it seems so sincere, so meaningful, that he could never guess what her next sentence would be. She throws the powder she was holding on the ground, a purple light appearing just like the one that did right before she came into the room. Her owl flies and finds a spot on her shoulder, so she looks over the other one, straight at Bucky as she stands before the portal. "But I really hope you won't need saving that badly."

And then the only witch Bucky had ever met was gone.

He stared at the spot for what felt like hours, but he couldn't be sure how long it really was. Soon, Steve woke up, no longer sweating and actually now hungry. The doctors called it a miracle, and Steve called him crazy when Bucky recounted the story, but Bucky knows what happened. He knows that there was more to her than she let on, and he knows there was a connection. But he also knows that he isn't important enough to be saved if he were to be hurt.

His fears are only confirmed when he's taken by Hydra the first time, dying underground. He prays to her, to that stupid fucking potion she had said that choses where she goes, but she never comes. He imagines it a couple times, but after awhile he knows it's not real. It's only worse when he falls off the train, when he cries out a mess of emotion, because he doesn't know her goddamn name. He stares at the blood soaking the snow, left behind like a phantom hand, and he knows that she meant what she said. She must have known that he didn't need saving, because he wasn't worth it.

The only good part of him getting his memories stolen was he was no longer plagued with the hope that she would rescue him.

As Y/N steps through the portal, she wishes she would have stayed in 1940 with Bucky. She is tired, she's been running through these portals for too long, and the job before Steve was risky. She doesn't even want to think about how she barely escaped, how she felt like she couldn't breathe the whole time. But she saved someone, and in doing so they're going to save many people, so it was a success. Even if right now, she feels like she just wants to curl up in her childhood bed and listen to the sounds of rain hitting the dirt outside.

As always, it takes her a moment to get acclimated with the scene around her. She's in a room, a bright one, so it must be some time in a newer century. It looks very much like the twenty-first century modern decorative take that she was afraid of the first time she was transported, but by now she's come to be familiar with many of the styles around the world. She doesn't go to the twenty-first century much, and it always scares her given that there is so much technology she doesn't quite understand.

"Who the hell invited Laura Ingalls?" A man says, and she turns to see him in a completely metal suit. It frightens her slightly, as she's never seen anything like it.

"Holy hell," A huge blonde man whispers from beside a bed. He's got a weird costume on as well, red white and blue. Y/N looks and sees everyone around her has weird costumes on, and she has no idea why she's here and who needs help.

"Where did you just come from?" An even bigger blonde with long hair asks, red cape dangling from his shoulders. She blinks at him, too overwhelmed to answer.

"And who are you?" The most normal of them all seems to be an archer dressed in all black, but even then she's not sure just based on the fact that he's hanging out with these people.

"Okay," She says mostly to herself, because this is just a group of crazy people. She can deal with them. She just needs to figure out who's hurt and what's wrong with them, and then she can go find somewhere to sleep. "I'm here to help. Is there someone who's injured, or maybe sick?" She asks, looking around the group.

"You're the witch." The blonde near the bed says, and Y/N blinks at him.

"Is it that obvious?" She asks, looking at Azio. Her owl just flys over to an empty shelf to perch, watching the group and making sure nothing bad happens.

"You know her?" A girl with dark red hair and a black suit asks.

"Look, if no one is hurt," Y/N started, but someone had to be at least ill. Sometimes, people didn't even know they were sick, and she had to diagnose them and give them the medicine she hoped would help cure them.

"No! No, we need your help." The man rushes, and Y/N feels slightly concerned by this. This man clearly seems to know her, but she would remember meeting someone so... large.

"Alright," Y/N started, looking around the group again. She paused when she saw a literal red man, and then turned back to them. The blonde man looked desperate, a lot like Bucky had just been. She hoped that Bucky was okay, wherever he was.

"What's she going to do? She looks like she doesn't even know what electricity is." Y/N turned to glare at one of the men, because she noticed there was only two women in this room besides her.

"She's a witch." The blonde repeats, and Y/N still doesn't remember who he is.

"I'm sorry, have we met before? I don't remember you." She says, and it's silent for a couple moments as everyone looks at them.

"Well, technically I haven't met you, but you healed me. In 1940." The man says it so matter of fact, but Y/N's sure he must be lying, or at least misremembering.

"What year is it?" She asks, a smile on her face because this must be some sort of prank.

"It's 2016." The man in the metal suit says. Y/N pauses, because that would make the blonde man around a hundred years old.

"Why are you lying?" She asks, walking closer. "I only healed one man in 1940, and he did not look like you." It's then that she notices the man laying on the bed. He has long, dark hair, and he looks like he's been through hell and back. She feels a sort of connection, but she's pretty sure she's never seen him before.

"I know. I'm Steve." He says from next to her, grabbing her attention back.

"Steve did not look like that." She says, looking down his large body. She turns back to the man on the bed, who seems to have a metal arm? She's pretty sure her potion keeps her in one universe, but she can't be too sure, especially with all these weirdos.

"Bucky told me about you." The man claiming to be Steve continues, and Y/N just puts her briefcase on the bed, opening it up. The name makes her pause, but she has to keep her cool. She needs to get out of this time. "He'd be so glad that you came to help him." Steve's words make her vision turn white with emotion.

"Stop!" She yells, because this man is implying that the person in this bed, who looks so horribly tortured, is Bucky. And he's not that much older than the Bucky that she just met. "Please, just let me heal this man, and then I can leave." There are tears in her eyes, because this is too much. Bucky reminded her too much of herself. She couldn't risk the connection.

"We had to knock him out, and he hasn't gotten back up. There's something wrong with his head." A woman with lighter red hair and a soft voice says, her costume completely and ridiculously red. Y/N nods, not wanting to know why they hit him that hard. She lifts his head, feeling around. She finds the problem, the large incision on the side of his head. She makes a fast acting concoction, using some of her own magic to help speed up the healing process. Just in case this is actually Bucky.

"How do you know Steve and Bucky from the 1940s?" The red head in the black outfit slides next to Y/N as she's packing her stuff up, ready to leave this shit-show.

"I just healed Steve in 1940, and he didn't look like that." Y/N whispers to her staring at the man in the bed. His face is bruised, and his hair is long, but she can't help but think about how this man may be the man she just had a connection with.

"Yeah," The woman laughs lightly. "He was injected with this serum that made him super strong, probably not too long after you left. He's still the same guy, though." Y/N turns to her, because she sounds honest but Y/N feels so conflicted.

"How would you know?" She asks defensively, making the red head chuckle once more.

"The serum just enhances everything that was there before. It makes good better, and bad worse." Her smile drops as she looks at Bucky. Y/N follows her gaze, because the man is starting to gain consciousness.

"What happened to him?" Y/N whispers, finally taking in that this is the same bright eyed man she saw what feels like moments ago. Even asleep, his face looks so scarred by life. She wishes there was a way for her to fix it, but she wasn't called to any time in between 1940 and now.

"He got the serum too. But a different version, from different people." The red head looks a lot less playful now, and Y/N wonders just how much Bucky has had to go through.

"How are they alive?" She finally asks the question that's been on her mind. They've got to be pushing a hundred years old, and yet Bucky doesn't look much older than the last time she saw him. Steve may look different than when she healed him, but he's still young.

"Steve crashed a plane carrying bombs into freezing water over the Arctic. Due to the serum, he was able to survive being frozen for about 70 years." She doesn't comment on Bucky, and just as Y/N is about to ask the man in question begins to wake up.

"Buck?" Steve is at his other side, watching Bucky open his eyes and blink against the harsh light.

"What happened?" Bucky rasps out, and Y/N fights her gasp. His voice is so much lower, so much more pained than the voice she heard in 1940. "What did I do?" He rephrases with wide eyes, looking at Steve and then at the man in metal, who stands at the end of the bed.

"Nothing we couldn't handle. It's not your fault." Steve answers. Y/N looks around for answers, but it seems no one has them. "We're just lucky you're okay."

"Yeah, well, Hydra at least had a good enough serum to keep me alive." Bucky grunts as he sits up, still not noticing the witch to his right.

"It wasn't the serum, Bucky." Another man in metal armor, one Y/N hadn't noticed before, steps up, arms crossed. He looks serious, and Y/N looks away like she's in trouble.

"What?" Bucky asks, confused. He looks around slowly until he finally lands on her. "It's you," He whispers, because he never got her name.

"Yes," She says, heart in her throat.

"You finally came." Bucky sounds so relieved, a little closer to the man she first met. "You finally saved me." He says it so soft that most of the people in the room can't hear it, but they all want in on this information. Bucky has never shown this much interest in anyone.

"Alright, we all have debriefs to fill out. Let's leave them alone." The red head says, forcing everyone out of the room. Steve is the last one to leave, smiling and winking at his friend.

"Told ya she was real." Bucky smirks, and Steve rolls his yes and mutters 'punk' before walking out of the room too. Y/N and Bucky are left alone, and while it's only been moments for Y/N, it's been years for Bucky.

"What's your name?" He finally asks, and Y/N smiles.

"Y/N." She answers, and Bucky gives a small, echo of a smile in return.

"I was starting to think that I just made you up, and that's why I didn't know your name." He tells her, and she chuckles a bit.

"You look... different." She says after a couple beats of silence. She watches his face fall, his eyes going to his metal arm. "I just came from 1940, so it was quite the jump for me." She tells him, and he flicks his eyes back to her.

"You mean, the last place you were at was Steve's hospital room?" Bucky asks for clarification, but he knows exactly what she's saying. He's lived a lifetime - two lifetimes - in the time that she walked through a purple light.

"What happened, Bucky?" She asks quietly, sitting on his bed but angling her body to face him still. He levels her gaze with a stare, unwilling the recount how he desperately prayed to a witch that he didn't even know the name of.

"You first." He counters, making Y/N furrow her brows. "Tell me what happened in your time."

"It's not important." The words are barely out of her mouth as she rolls her eyes before Bucky's speaking.

"It is to me." He says simply, and they stare at each other for a few seconds before she sighs, breaking eye contact and looking toward the window.

"My time was originally the seventeenth century. I had the misfortune of being born in Salem Village, Massachusetts Bay Colony. I knew that I was different from everyone else before the whole witch hanging was popular. And there were these girls, they were young and stupid, and they thought being a witch was cool. They called it 'possession.' But I am not possessed. I am a person." Y/N has to take a deep breath as she feels tears gather in her eyes, threatening to fall. "They accused everyone. Well, all the women, of course, because the men couldn't be tried for their wrongdoings. They pointed fingers left and right, and I know that these women were innocent. They didn't even know witches were real. They were just women." She pauses to wipe the tears that have raced down her cheeks, her heart pounding as she recalls the story. She looks down at her hands, unable to look at Bucky. "I was trying to keep a low profile. I had already been kicked out of my father's house, and I didn't have a husband. But there was this little girl, she couldn't have been more than five, and she was dying. She was going to die. I couldn't just sit there and let fear get the best of me." Y/N can remember it like it was yesterday.

"Y/N," Bucky starts, but she shakes her head. It feels good to finally tell someone, after years of meeting people and moving on immediately.

"Her dad turned me in. Said I had probably possessed her when I healed her. I saved his daughter, and he repaid me by throwing me in a cell." She watches Bucky's face change at this, but she doesn't know why. "I was held there for a month before they came to get me. They didn't feed me properly, gave me water in a bowl that they threw into the cell. I didn't even have a bathroom in there, and no one else had them in their cells either. There were times when I wouldn't eat, because I couldn't get over the smell, and I thought 'If I die of starvation, then at least I'll be free from here.' When they eventually did come, they put me in a cart, like an animal, and paraded me down the street to where my trail was held. But it wasn't actually a fair trial. Not for me, at least. I wasn't even allowed to speak. At my own death sentence!" She wipes her face again, wanting to wrap up the story. "I'm lucky on the walk to the hanging that there was some lavender and rosemary. I tripped into the bushes and crushed the plants so quickly, no one noticed. By the time I was saying the words, it was too late." She sniffles as she stares at her feet, a good point between her and Bucky so she doesn't have to look directly at him.

"You save the people who are destined to save others because you feel responsible for the women who were hung." Bucky says, reading her like a book. She snaps her gaze up to him, and he's just waiting for her to answer.

"If it weren't for me, no one in Salem would have even been thinking that witchcraft was a thing." She says, but Bucky shakes his head.

"You don't know that." He argues, and she just sighs.

"I have spent years moving around different times, saving people who are meant to be saved. And not one of those women have ever been apart of it. The only thing I've been able to do was help a woman who broke her ankle trying to run from her husband. And I almost got caught. Again." She almost shivers as she remembers helping Elizabeth right before she had helped Steve, how fast she had to go through the portal. "And now, I can never go back anyway, because they all know I'm a witch. They've seen me disappear. Twice." She thinks of all the women she was unable to save, who were hung publicly for no other reason but being a woman in Salem. It's quiet as they both take in what she's just revealed, and then Bucky starts talking.

"The first time I was taken by Hydra, it was right after you had come by. I joined the army, trying to do my part during World War II. But my unit was captured by Hydra, which was a Nazi group that largely worked underground. Steve eventually found me, but it took a month, and by that time Hydra had chosen me as their test subject. I didn't even know what they were doing, not until later, but they had given me a version of the super solider serum. I guess I should be lucky it didn't boil all my skin off or turn me green, but God, I was sick the whole time. They would take my blood, have me do certain tests, and sometimes, they'd just beat me until I was bloody." Y/N shudders as Bucky recounts his own story, feeling stupid for thinking that her starving in her cell was some sort of hell. That was just living compared to what Bucky was going through. "Steve and I formed a team after that, and we actually were pretty good. We were on a Hydra train, just trying to hijack it, when the wall was blasted off and I fell out. I should have died. But I lived, and of course, Hydra found me." He looks over at the silver arm, and Y/N figures that he must have lost it in the fall. "They wiped my memory. Made me into a killing machine. They gave me these trigger words, to keep me in line. They froze my body when they didn't need me to preserve it so I could be primed to go on missions. When Steve found me again, I didn't even know who I was. But somehow, he got through to me, and now I'm here, I guess." He doesn't seem too happy about being here, wherever it is. Y/N swallows back the tears from his harrowing story.

"Sounds like we have a lot more in common than I thought." Y/N says, and Bucky nods, jaw clenched. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you when you needed me. But I'm here now, which means you save people, Bucky. You are important. You deserve to be saved." She scoots closer with him, putting her hand on his.

"I just turned on my entire team because of ten stupid words. That's all it takes to trigger that part of my brain again." He tells her. She doesn't quite understand exactly what he's telling her, but she understands his emotions.

"They clearly care for you. They know it isn't your fault, Bucky. I promise, you are worth saving." She doesn't tell him that she thinks it may be her that will be saved. She's here for herself.

"So, are you gonna throw that magical powder again?" He asks, clearly upset at even the thought of Y/N leaving. She licks her lips, looking toward the window once more as she gathers her thoughts. She looks back at him, a small smile on her face.

"I was actually thinking that I may have some rest, finally." She says, just the thought of sleep causing her to yawn.

"Oh?" He's trying not to get too excited, he's only been dreaming of this moment for literal decades.

"I'm exhausted of running. Ever since that first portal, I've never stopped to catch my breath. I don't even know how long it's been, how much time I've spent doing this." She feels a little emotional even thinking about it, but Bucky seems to understand. "I want to live my life again. And I know I can still help, but maybe in a different way. Maybe in this century." She says, looking around before finally looking back at Bucky. He's grinning, looking so much more like the man she first met.

"I could help you, ya know." He says, and she laughs lightly as she moves around to lay in the bed with him.

"Sounds like a plan." She rests next to him, afraid to move, but he puts an arm around her and pulls her in, holding her tightly in his arms. She snuggles into his chest, feeling more content than she has ever felt in her life.

"Sleep tight." He whispers, and she sighs as she lets go of everything she's been holding onto.

"Where did Bucky come from?" She asks softly, wanting to know where that came from before she falls asleep in his arms. She wants to know a lot of things about him, but for right now, this small question will subdue her.

"My middle name is Bucahanan." He answers, smiling from this question.

"What's your first name?" She's almost slurring, sleep trying to take over quickly.

"James." He says, rubbing her side and trying to slyly untuck her pleaded blouse so he can slip a hand under her shirt to feel her skin.

"Yeah, I'm calling you James." She tells him, and he just laughs, unable to believe that the woman he'd been dreaming about is in his bed.

It may be too early to tell, but Bucky's pretty sure they're meant to be.

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @one-sweet-gubler @theoraekenslover @thefandomplace @mcueveryday @icequeen1371 @kenzi-woycehoski @multifandom-boss-bitch

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfic

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the-winter-spider · 2 days ago

Text

Yours, Always | Part Four

Steve x reader, Bucky x reader AU

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Grief, loss, angst, fluff

A/N: This ones short is kinda a filler to get things going! And to show case more of your relationship with steve ect!

also adding if you see the name Mary let me know so I can change it I originally had an original character and instead of y/n the name was mary!

Masterpost

----

Months pass.

The seasons change. Leaves fall, then snow, then the slow bloom of spring.

And life with your little family is picture-perfect, like it always is.

Your days are filled with warmth, with laughter, with the little joys of family life that should make you feel whole. Mornings start with sleepy kisses, with Lily climbing into your bed, giggling as Steve groans and pulls the blankets over both of you. Evenings are slow, wrapped in the glow of soft lamplight, the scent of dinner still lingering in the air as Steve reads Lily bedtime stories while you watch from the doorway, a smile on your lips.

It's perfect. It’s the all american dream. It is supposed to be your dream.

But deep down,you feel like you’re watching your own life instead of living it.

Like you’re moving through it on autopilot, like a ghost in your own home.

You don’t say anything, because how could you?

How could you look at this life, this love, this man who absolutely adores you, this child who calls you ‘Mommy’ and tell them that you feel like you’re sleepwalking? That you’re not strong enough to fight off this grief, this loss.

So you keep smiling.

You keep kissing Steve good morning. You keep twirling Lily around the kitchen. You keep playing the part of a woman who has finally found happiness.

And then one night Steve hands you a gift.

A notebook.

“I know you don’t like to talk about him much,” he says, his voice soft as he places it in your hands. “And I remember you telling me about what his Mom said and I think she was right, that maybe you should write to him.”

You look down at the leather-bound cover, fingers running over the single letter engraved on the smooth surface ‘B’ Your throat tightens, you feeling like your choking “I, Steve, I don’t—”

“I know,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But maybe it would help.”

His hands rest on your shoulders, grounding, steady. “You always look like you have so much you want to say, I know it's hard” He exhales softly. “But maybe it’s time you said it.”

Your chest aches. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Steve smiles. “Start the way he did.”

And so you do.

That night, after Steve has gone to bed and the house is quiet, you sit at the kitchen table. The notebook is open in front of you, the blank pages waiting, waiting, waiting, just like you have been for ten years.

You pick up the pen and you just write.

Bucky,

I don’t even know what to say.

I guess that’s not true. I know exactly what I want to say. I just don’t know if I can bear to write it down.

But both your Mom and Steve think this will help, and they’re both probably right (usually are) So here I am.

It’s been years, Buck. Years. And somehow, it still hurts like it happened yesterday. I can’t seem to grasp the fact you're actually gone you know? Like my Bucky, my best friend is no longer here, no longer alive, no longer breathing and it's such a final thing but at the same time they never found you and I never will know what happened to you, that hurts just as much because it doesn’t feel final to have some part of you not home.

I should have written back. God, I should have written back. I read every single one of your letters, memorized them, traced my fingers over the ink like I could feel you through the pages. I use to read them and pretend the voice in my head was you saying it to me, I miss your voice. I miss your laugh. I miss you.

But I never wrote back and you'll never truly know any of this.

And I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for that.

Yours, Always

Y/N

---

Bucky,

Lily lost another tooth today.

You would have loved her, Buck. She’s bright, stubborn, fearless. She has this spark in her, like she knows exactly who she is, like the world can’t shake her. Steve says that's exactly how Natasha, her Mother was and I can see it y’know? I've seen pictures of Natasha and she looked like such a spit fire and that's Lily in a nutshell. They’re twins inside and out.

She reminds me of you. I wish you could have met her. But I don’t think I would have ever met her if you were still here. It's such a hard concept for me to grasp, it hurts to think about never knowing her and Steve, if you were here and it hurts so much not having you here.

I wish you were here.

Yours, Always

Y/N

---

Bucky,

I had a dream about you last night.

We were kids again, running through the streets, laughing until we couldn’t breathe. I woke up with tears on my pillow.

I don’t think I’ve ever told Steve that I dream about you ever since my Mom sent that photo of us, I can't get you out of my head.

Sometimes I wonder if he knows. If he notices the way I get quiet, the way I stare at nothing for too long, the way I keep one drawer in my dresser full of things I can’t bear to throw away.

I realised something today, Steve, he's only ever seen one picture of you from when we were eight and I want someone else to know your face, so I think tonight I’m going to show him the last photo I took of you. I hope that's okay.

Yours, Always

Y/N

The house is quiet, peaceful.

Lily is spending the night at Steve’s mom’s house, which means, for the first time in a while, not that you would ever complain, it's just the two of you.

No tiny feet running down the hallway, no Fancy Nancy bedtime stories. No Spongebob playing softly in the background.

Just you and Steve and the kind of night that feels easy and warm and safe because that's what Steve is.

You had both decided on a movie night, something simple, your favorite films, a pile of snacks, the couch turned into a futon for maximum comfort.

Steve had gone all out, he spoiled you. While you were upstairs changing into pajamas, he had been downstairs making it perfect. Probably lighting candles, plugging in the heated blanket, typical Steve things.

The soft rustling of blankets being rearranged, the clinking of bowls being set down on the coffee table, the low hum of him singing something under his breath as he moves around the living room.

It makes you smile, because this is him, thoughtful, attentive. The kind of person who takes care of people without even thinking about it.

But right as you're about to head down your gaze catches on that goddamn box and your mind wanders to what you wrote today to him, to Bucky about wanting to show Steve a picture of him that wasn’t blurry and from when you were both eight..

Your breath catches. Slowly, without meaning to, your feet carry you toward it.

Your fingers tremble as they brush over the box and you open the box mindlessly digging for a specific photo, once you find it you gasp, seeing him always feels so surreal, your thumb skimming across the picture, across the familiar face staring back at you.

It was one of the last photos you ever took of him.

Bucky, standing on a rock in the middle of the woods, the golden light of late summer spilling over him. His smile is wide, easy, unguarded, his features sharp and perfect in the sunlight.

The photo doesn’t look like a memory. It looks like a ghost, a life that never got to be lived. You stare a moment longer before you head down the stairs.

“Hey, hon?” Steve’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, soft but warm. “You ready?”

You flinch slightly, realizing you're at the bottom of the stairs already quickly wiping at your eyes, tucking the photo against your chest like you need to protect it.

Steve notices he always does.

His brow creases as he sets down the last bowl of popcorn, turning toward you fully, his entire attention shifting. “What is it?”

You swallow hard, still gripping the photo. Your throat feels tight, but you force yourself to speak. “I… I wanna show you something.”

Steve straightens, his focus sharpening instantly. “Okay baby,” he says softly. “Show me.”

You take a slow, shaky breath. “I’ve been writing to Bucky.”

Steve’s face doesn’t change, but his expression softens in a way that tells you he already knew.

You start rambling, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I was telling him about you. About Natasha, about Lily. And I realized—” Your voice catches, but you push through. “I realized I’ve never shown you a recent picture of him before.”

Steve says nothing, but you can feel the weight of his attention, how much he’s really listening.

“It’s been over ten years,” you whisper, gripping the frame tighter, your heart aching. “And I just… I want someone else to know his face. I don’t want him to be forgotten.”

Your voice breaks on the last word and suddenly you’re crying.

Before you can even catch your breath, Steve is there, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest like he can physically hold you together.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, his hand running soothingly up and down your back. “I would love to see him.”

The relief is instant, sharp and overwhelming. You pull back just slightly, his arm still firm around your shoulders, his presence grounding.

You take another deep breath, still sniffling, before you gently hold the photo out to him.

Steve’s eyes drop to the photo his whole face changes.

His breath catches, his lips parting slightly, his brows pulling together. His gaze sweeps over every detail, taking in the boy in the photograph, the one who lived in the spaces of your past, the one who never got to come home.

“Wow,” Steve exhales, almost in awe.

You wipe at your face, watching him absorb Bucky’s image.

“He was good looking, like really good looking, wow,” Steve murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

A shaky laugh escapes you, a new tear slipping down your cheek. “Yeah. Yeah, he was.”

Steve’s words settle over you like a warm, steady weight, grounding you in the moment.

“Thank you for showing me,” he murmurs. Then, he leans in, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips.

When he pulls back, his hand stays on your cheek, his thumb brushing away the last trace of your tears.

“We should put him over there, if you want to.”

Your gaze follows where he gestures, the wall where all the people you love exist in frames. Photos of Lily’s bright, beaming smile. Of Steve and you on your first Christmas together, bundled up in coats, cheeks pink from the cold. Of Natasha and Steve at their college graduation.

A life carefully collected, curated, honored.

Your heart tightens, twists, aches. Bucky should have been there all along. “Okay,” you whisper, nodding.

Steve doesn’t hesitate. He moves toward the wall, opening a drawer, pulling out a spare frame, scanning for the perfect spot. His movements are gentle, deliberate, thoughtful, like this isn’t just a picture to him, but a person, a piece of you, something that belongs. He hands you the frame, you carefully and wordlessly put him in the frame. Steve takes the frame with your permission, placing the photo in its new home among the others. Your fingers linger on the glass for just a second longer than necessary.

“There,” Steve says, his hand settling on the small of your back. “Now he’s here, too.”

You let out a breath you didn’t remember you were holding.

Steve presses another kiss to the top of your head before nudging your shoulder lightly. “Now, come on. I have popcorn, candy, and an extremely comfortable futon calling our names.”

You laugh, watery and uneven, but real.

“Sounds perfect.”

And as you let him pull you toward the couch toward the warmth, the comfort, the life you’ve built you glance back at the photo.

Bucky’s smile stays frozen in time, bathed in the glow of a summer that feels like a lifetime ago.

---

Bucky,

Do you remember the time we skipped school and drove to the lake? We blasted music the whole way, rolled the windows down, let the wind tangle our hair? I recreated that playlist, I added some new songs I thought you would like.

I don’t even remember what we talked about. Just that we were happy. That it felt like we had all the time in the world.

I was so stupid. I hate myself so much.

We never had time, I miss you.

Yours, Always

Y/N

Bucky,

Am I horrible for wishing it was you? I am i know I am.

I love Steve. I do. He’s good to me. He’s good for me and Lily is… she’s my everything.

But sometimes, I close my eyes, and I see you.

Sometimes, I wonder what it would have been like.

I wonder if you ever imagined it, too.

Yours, Always

Y/N

Bucky,

I miss you.

I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.

God, Buck, I don’t know how to live without missing you.

I don’t know if I ever will.

Yours, Always,

Y/N

The words blur together as tears slip down your cheeks, staining the pages.

You squeeze the notebook shut, press your palm against the cover like it might steady the ache in your chest.

And then a deep, shaky breath.

The house is silent, the clock ticking softly in the background, the weight of everything pressing against your ribs.

You run a hand over your face, trying to ground yourself.

---

It had been weeks since you smiled, really smiled.

You had met Steve in the grief support group, exchanged quiet words over coffee, let him sit across from you in silence when you didn’t have the strength to speak. He never pushed, ever pried. Just sat there, stirring his coffee, existing alongside you in a way that made the weight on your chest feel a little less suffocating. The way he took interest in you in a way no one had before, not since Bucky. Awoke something in you.

One evening, as the sun was setting, he had walked you home. You had barely spoke, lost in your own thoughts, your arms crossed against the cold.

“You wanna know something embarrassing?” Steve said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You glanced up, startled by the shift in his voice. “Depends on how embarrassing.”

“Like, life-ruining embarrassing.” He looked at you, eyes playful for the first time since you met him. “But I feel like you could use a laugh, so I’m taking one for the team.”

You didn’t respond, but something in you softened.

He took a deep breath, like he was about to confess a crime, then.. “I used to be in a boy band.”

You stopped walking. “You’re lying.”

“Nope. I was fifteen. We were called The Brooklyn Saints. It was bad, Y/N. Like… frosted tips, synchronized dance moves, matching outfits bad.”

You blinked at him. Then….you laughed.

Not a polite chuckle, not a soft exhale. A real laugh, loud and sudden, bursting out of you before you could stop it.

Steve grinned, something like victory in his eyes. “There she is.”

You shook your head, still laughing. “Steve, that’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I know, and now you have to live with that knowledge forever.”

“I can’t believe you told me that.” Your smile was bright, beaming.

Steve just smiled, his expression so uncomplicated, so unguarded, so effortlessly warm “I’d do anything to hear that laugh of yours.”

And the way he said it, so simply, so easily, like it was the truest thing in the world.

It made something inside you stumble.

---

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Steve’s voice is soft, familiar, grounding pulling you from your thoughts as he steps into the kitchen, his sleeves pushed up, hands still damp from washing Lily’s water bottle.

You glance up from where you’re absently drying dishes, your fingers tugging at the towel like it’s the only thing keeping you anchored. “Hey yourself.”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering there just a second longer than necessary like he can tell that something’s weighing on you, even if you haven’t said a word.

“Long day?” he murmurs.

“Something like that.”

Steve doesn’t push. He never does.

He just watches you, his eyes full of something deep and knowing, the kind of knowing that comes from loving someone long enough to understand the things they don’t say out loud.

Then, without another word, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his chest.

“Dance with me.”

You blink up at him. “There’s no music.”

He grins, that easy, lazy, lopsided smile that always makes your stomach flip.

“Then you’ll just have to pretend.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t pull away.

Instead, you let him sway you gently, his hands warm against your back, his touch steady and sure.

The kitchen is quiet, just the soft hum of the refrigerator, the muffled sound of Lily’s cartoons playing in the other room.

Steve starts humming.

It’s barely more than a whisper of a melody, something low and comforting, something that settles in your chest like warmth on a cold day.

Your body melts into his, your cheek pressing against his shoulder, and for the first time all day, you breathe.

The tension in your shoulders eases, the tightness in your chest loosens, and for a moment, just a moment the world outside doesn’t exist.

It’s just this.

Just you and Steve and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear.

“I love you, Steve.” It comes out quiet, unplanned, but honest in a way that makes your throat feel tight.

Steve stills.

He just looks at you, like he’s trying to memorize the way you said it, the way your voice trembled just slightly, the way your hands are fisted in the fabric of his shirt.

And then, he smiles.

Not a grin, not something playful, something softer, deeper, something meant just for you. “I know.”

His thumb brushes gently over your cheek, his eyes searching yours like he’s seeing every part of you, even the pieces you try to keep hidden. “But I love hearing you say it anyway.”

Your breath catches, your fingers tightening in his shirt, and for a second, you think he’s going to kiss you.

But instead he just holds you closer. He presses his lips to your temple, lingers there for a long, quiet moment, then rests his forehead against yours. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

---

It had been slow.

Careful.

You weren’t ready for love when you met Steve.

And he knew that because neither was he.

But the first time he kissed you really kissed you, not just a gentle press of lips against your cheek, not just something fleeting and casual.

It had been different.

You had been standing in your living room, laughing about something stupid, and then suddenly he wasn’t laughing anymore. His gaze had shifted, soft but intense, full of something you didn’t know how to name yet.

And then, his fingers were on your jaw, tilting your chin up, his breath warm against your lips. “Tell me to stop.” His voice had been so quiet, so steady, but his hands were shaking.

And you didn't tell him to stop.

Instead, you had leaned in and you let yourself be held.

---

After Lily is asleep, after Steve has showered and climbed into bed beside you, you lie awake, staring at the ceiling.

His arm is draped over your waist, his body warm against yours, his breathing slow and even. But your heart still feels heavy.

You shift carefully, reaching for the notebook on the nightstand, flipping it open to a blank page.

And then, in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, you begin to write.

Bucky,

I had a good day today.

Steve is everything, I know he is. I feel horrible about how I can't be truly happy. But I’ve started to wonder if he is too, we never truly talk about it all. I wonder if he wishes I was her sometimes, Natasha. I’m sure he does and it doesn’t hurt to think that, because I get it. I know if I told him or even let him read what I wrote he would.

Lily lost another tooth. We made pancakes this morning, and she got syrup in her hair, and I spent twenty minutes trying to wash it out while she giggled like it was the funniest thing in the world.

And for a second, just a second, I almost felt like I was really here.

I wish you could see her, Buck.

I wish you could see me, the person I’ve become. I don’t know if you’d recognize me.

Some days, I don’t recognize myself.

I don’t know what I’m doing, Buck.

I love them. I love them so much. But sometimes, it feels like I’m living a life that was never supposed to be mine. Like I stepped into someone else’s shoes, and I’m too afraid to take them off.

I’m happy, I think.

I just wish you were here.

I wish I knew what you’d say.

I wish I knew what you’d want me to do.

I miss you.

Yours, Always,

Y/N

You stare at the page for a long time.

Then, slowly, you close the notebook.

Steve stirs beside you, pulling you closer in his sleep.

You let him.

And in the quiet darkness, you wonder if you’ll ever stop feeling like half of you is somewhere else.

---

The wine is making your head light and airy, and you feel like you’re floating in the best way possible.

You and Steve are curled up on the couch, legs tangled together, empty glasses on the coffee table, the world outside quiet and still.

It had been one of those perfect nights, the kind that feel golden, weightless, wrapped in warmth and safety. Lily had been asleep for hours, and the two of you had spent the evening talking about everything and nothing, the way you used to in the early days.

Now, you’re both tipsy and giggling, his arm lazily draped around your shoulders as he tilts his head back against the cushions, grinning at you like you’re the only thing in the world.

“You look happy,” he murmurs, eyes soft, warm, steady.

You laugh, nudging his knee with yours. “I am happy.”

His smile deepens, and for a long moment, he just watches you, blue eyes tracing every inch of your face. “Would you ever marry me?”

You blink.

The question comes so easily, so casually, like it just slipped out of him before he could stop it.

But there’s something real in his expression.

Something hopeful.

Something soft and unguarded.

Your heart swells, lifts, aches, all at once. “Instantly,” you say, without hesitation.

Steve blinks this time, eyes widening slightly, his whole face lighting up with surprise. “Really?”

You laugh again, grinning as you reach for his hand, squeezing it between yours. “Of course, Steve. I love you.”

His breath hitches, something raw and beautiful flickering behind his eyes.

“What would you want?” he asks after a moment, voice soft but eager, like he’s already picturing it.

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Nothing fancy.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“We could elope.” You shrug, biting your lip as you picture it. “No stress, no big parties, just us and Lily.”

Steve is grinning now, but you’re not done.

“And for our honeymoon?” You lean closer, your voice low and conspiratorial. “We take Lily camping. Like she keeps begging us to.”

His laughter is pure and golden, his head falling back against the couch.

“Our honeymoon is camping?”

“It would be perfect,” you insist, giggling, warmth blooming in your chest. “It would be us.”

Steve shakes his head, still laughing, still looking at you like he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

He reaches into his pocket.

You freeze.

Because suddenly, he’s holding a ring.

A simple, beautiful ring that you know he’s had for a while, just waiting, just hoping.

“So that’s a yes?” he asks, voice quiet, full of something too big for words.

Your breath catches, your heart stuttering in your chest, and suddenly you’re giggling again, shaking your head, covering your mouth in disbelief.

“No way.”

Steve is grinning so wide it looks like it hurts. “Way.”

You laugh, eyes stinging, chest too full “Yes,” you breathe.

And before you can say another word, he’s on you.

His arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest, spinning you onto the couch beneath him as he smothers you in kisses, your cheeks, your nose, your lips, anywhere he can reach.

“You’re my best girl, you know that?” he murmurs against your skin, voice breathless, full of love.

“Mmm,” you hum, smiling, laughing, kissing him back. “I better be.”

And for a moment, everything feels perfect.

Your mind flickers.

Just for a second. Just long enough for a different face to appear behind your closed eyes.

Just long enough for a memory to whisper through you.

A different voice, a different boy, a different life that never got the chance to exist. You tune it out like you always do, locking it away.

---

The drive to Sarah’s house is filled with laughter and music, the soft hum of the radio blending with Lily’s endless chatter from the backseat.

“And then, Mommy, guess what?!” Lily gasps, her little legs kicking excitedly against the booster seat.

You glance at her in the rearview mirror, smiling at how animated she is, her wide eyes glowing in the golden evening light. “What, baby?”

“I painted a unicorn! But Miss Martinez said it looked like a cow, and I said ‘No, it’s magic,’ and then, and then, Maddie spilled her juice, but it was okay ‘cause I shared my napkin—”

“Wow,” Steve cuts in, turning slightly in his seat to look at her. “So not only are you an artist, but you’re also a hero? That’s a big day, Lil’.”

She beams, her dimpled cheeks puffing up with pride. “I am a hero!”

You laugh, shaking your head as you pull into Sarah’s driveway. These are the moments that feel light, weightless, untouched by the past.

You get out first, opening Lily’s door, and she immediately reaches for you, her small hands wrapping around your hands as you walk to the front door.

“Are you excited for your sleepover with Nana tonight?” you ask her softly.

Lily pouts, playing with the sleeve of your sweater. “But I wanna go with you and Daddy.”

“I know, but we’re just gonna be boring grown-ups for a little while, and you’re gonna have way more fun with Nana.”

Steve ruffles her curls. “And if you’re extra good, she might let you have cookies before bed.”

Lily’s face lights up again, the betrayal instantly forgotten. “Two cookies?”

“You’ll have to negotiate with Nana on that one.”

Sarah appears at the door, arms open wide. “There’s my girl!”

Lily squeals, letting go of your hand and running up the steps. You and Steve exchange a look, fond and full of love, before following after her.

Sarah leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Go have fun. You two deserve a night out.”

The four of you are three drinks in, and everything is light. You're out with Steve and his childhood best friend Wanda, and Clint. Who'd you come to learn over the years was Natasha's best friend.

Clint is mid-story about a truly disastrous work event, Wanda is laughing so hard she has to clutch Steve’s arm for support, and for once, you’re actually having fun.

It’s loud and warm and full of life, the kind of night that should feel untouched by ghosts and for a while, it is.

You lean into Steve’s shoulder as you laugh, genuine, real, the warmth of the alcohol making everything a little softer, a little easier.

The music changes. The opening chords hit like a gut punch, you know this song. Your fingers tighten around your glass, then the lyrics start.

‘I'm coming out of my cage and I've been doing just fine, Gotta gotta be down, because I want it all’

It’s your song.

Yours and Bucky’s.

The one you blasted on your road trips. The one you screamed the lyrics to in his car. The one he promised that the two of you would tear down every club in New York when it came on.

The air thickens, the room suddenly too small, too loud, too much.

You push back your chair. “Be right back,” you mumble, voice strained.

Steve looks over at you, confused. “You okay?”

Wanda, ever perceptive, rests a hand on his arm. “She’s probably just going to the bathroom. Give her a sec.”

You don’t stop to hear more, you just walk.

Steve watches you disappear outside, his chest tight, aching, conflicted.

Something in him wants to go after you immediately, but before he can even move, Clint exhales sharply, shaking his head.

“She never really talks about it, huh? Never really came to terms with it?”

Steve turns to him, his expression unreadable, but Wanda stiffens slightly, already sensing the tension that’s about to unfold.

Steve is quiet for a long moment before he finally says, “I spoke to my therapist about it.”

Wanda and Clint both turn to him, waiting.

“He said that losing someone is harder when it’s not final.”

Clint scoffs. “But it is final. It’s been, what, six, seven years? That’s what you said, right?”

Steve’s jaw tightens.

“No.” His voice is low, even. “You don’t get it. There was never a body.”

The table goes silent.

Wanda’s brows pull together. “What do you mean?”

Steve shifts slightly, uneasy. “I really shouldn’t talk about this. It’s not my story to tell.”

“But?” Wanda presses gently.

Steve exhales, rubbing a tired hand over his face.

“Bucky wasn’t just killed in action. He went missing. They never found anything. Not his body, not his dog tags. Nothing.”

Wanda’s lips part slightly, her expression softening.

“That kind of loss… it doesn’t feel real,” Steve continues, voice quiet but heavy. “And it doesn’t help that they fought before he left. That she never got to say goodbye.”

Clint sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t know, man. I get it, I do. But dealing with her loss isn’t good for your loss.”

Steve’s brows pull together. “What does that mean?”

Clint leans forward, leveling him with a pointed, sharp look. “What I mean is you’re playing house with somebody else who will never be Nat.”

The words hit like a gut punch.

Steve’s expression darkens instantly. “Watch it,” he warns, his voice low, dangerous.

Clint shrugs, unfazed. “I’m just saying, man. You sit here talking about her grief, but what about yours? Huh? You think Natasha would want this for you?”

“You don’t get to talk about her,” Steve snaps, his entire body tensing, a fire burning behind his eyes now.

Clint’s jaw flexes, but his tone stays cool. “You loved her. I get it. But Y/N? She’s never gonna be able to give you what you had with Nat. She’s always gonna have one foot in the past, Steve. And you’re always gonna know that.”

Steve leans forward, his voice deadly quiet now.

“You think I don’t know that?” he says, his knuckles white against the table. “You think I don’t wake up every day missing her? You think I don’t look at Lily and see what she lost? That I don’t feel it every time I think about what Natasha should have had? But I didn’t get a choice, Clint. None of us did.”

Clint opens his mouth, but Steve cuts him off.

“And don’t you dare sit there and act like you know what’s best for me. You don’t get to judge how I moved forward. You don’t get to act like you wouldn’t have done the same damn thing if it had been me instead of her.”

Clint’s face hardens.

The two of them stare each other down for a long moment, the weight of grief and loss and love unspoken pressing between them.

Then, finally, Wanda sighs.

“That’s enough,” she says softly. “All of it.”

Steve shakes his head, muttering something under his breath as he pushes back from the table.

“I’m gonna go check on her.”

The air outside is cool and crisp, the distant hum of the city filling the quiet.

Steve finds you standing near the curb, arms wrapped tightly around yourself.

You don’t turn when he approaches, but he knows you hear him.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You let out a shaky exhale. “I don’t know.”You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “It’s so stupid. They were just playing our song.”

Steve’s brows furrow. “That’s not stupid.” Steve steps beside you, his hands tucking into his pockets.

You swallow hard, your throat tight, aching.

“I should be happy, right?” you whisper.

Steve watches you, his chest tightening. “There’s no right way to feel about this, sweetheart.”

Your throat tightens, your hands clenching at your sides. “What’s wrong with me, Steve? Why can’t I get over this? Why can’t I be like you?”

Steve freezes, caught off guard. “Like me?”

“You moved on. You let yourself be happy. I don’t—” Your voice cracks. “I don’t know what to do.”

Your jaw trembles slightly, but you shake your head.

“I just… I thought I was finally getting better. I thought I was moving on. But now? It’s like, I don’t know how to exist in this moment. I don’t know who I am if I don’t have to grieve him anymore.”

Steve exhales, looking up at the sky for a long moment before finally saying, “I still mourn her, you know.”

You turn to him then, finally meeting his gaze.

“I will mourn Natasha for the rest of my life,” he admits, his voice thick with something raw. “And it hurts every time I look at Lily. Every time I think about what she lost. What she’ll never have with her Mother.”

Your breath catches.

“And yeah,” Steve continues, voice quieter now, “she gained something incredible. She got you and I will never take that for granted. But that doesn’t mean the pain isn’t still there, it doesn’t mean I’ll ever truly move on from that and that's okay, I don’t have to.”

You stare at him, your heart aching for him, for Lily, for all of it.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you,” Steve says gently. “I just, I need you to know that this isn’t something you just get over. It’s not something you just let go of. But that doesn’t mean you don’t keep living.”

You swallow hard, your vision blurring slightly.

“How?” you whisper.“ Tell me what to do, Steve!” Your voice rises, desperate and breaking apart at the seams. “Tell me how to stop feeling like I’m drowning. I need to know, please, I need to know.” Your breath is ragged, uneven, frantic.

“I exist with it, I’m happy I got to know her, I’m grateful I got the chance to be loved by her and to love her.” He pulls you into his arms. “I think you need to talk to someone again.”

You press your face into his chest, your shoulders shaking.

“I think you need to let yourself heal.”

Steve watches you for a long moment before finally reaching for your hand, his fingers warm, steady, unwavering.

“One day at a time.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x steve #steve rogers x reader

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decentwritings · 1 day ago

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Chapter 6

Summary: At twenty-six, you never expected your life to look like this: a veteran, a college dropout, now running drugs to cover your late father’s debts. The military took you away for a brief moment, but now you're back in your hometown, keeping family at a distance to keep them safe. Your simple plan to clear the debt, one job at a time, unravels the moment Mabel steps into your life.

previous part <--> next part

You grip the railing tightly, the sea breeze blowing your hair out of your face as you stare bitterly at the waves. The idea of living at sea comes to mind, its simplicity calling to you—the freedom, the distance from all of this. But there's no escaping now. No amount of crashing waves can drown out the chaos you've gotten yourself into.

The world around you feels vast and endless, yet here you are, caught in a storm you never saw coming.

You try to cling to a simpler time. You remember that weekend your dad took you out to sea, teaching you the ropes. It wasn’t just a lesson; it was a glimpse into a life you dreamed of. You told him you wanted to stay out there forever, anchored in the middle of the ocean, free from the noise of the world.

He didn't shut down your dream but he did tell you that it's best to not wish for that. He said to just buy a boat and to take the trip here whenever you needed to. You swore you would do it; mostly to make it up to him and take him to the middle of the sea one day. On your own boat.

Your grip on the railing tightens as the salt air fills your lungs. That dream died the day you found out what he really did out at sea. The memory of your father lingers, clearer now than you expected. His voice, his lessons—they come back, one by one.

You were just a kid then, but what you remember most is his smile. Not his words, just that smile. Even when the rain poured as you both reeled in fish, his smile outshone the storm. Maybe he was just happy you’d tagged along. He could never convince your sister to join him, no matter how hard he tried.

Maybe that’s why he wasn’t thrilled when you joined the army. You’d always followed his advice, done what he asked. But the one time you didn’t listen, it was to make a choice that put you in danger. Looking back, it must’ve hurt him more than you realized.

You think about the lighthouse in the distance, the one he always looked for before bed when he was at sea. “It’s not just a light,” he’d said. “It’s a reminder. It doesn’t just mean safety—it means home.” He told you the same about your nickname: it didn’t just mean you; it meant home.

“Always look for it,” he’d said, “whenever you feel lost or need to find your way back.”

You’ve never felt more lost than you do now. Part of you wonders if there was a deeper meaning to his words, but all you know is that you wish he were here. You wish you knew what he’d do in your position.

You shake your head, forcing the thoughts away. The weight of your current situation presses down on you, heavy as a storm gathering on the horizon. But thinking about your dad makes one thing clear: he wouldn’t want you to be scared. He wouldn’t want you to let fear make your decisions.

"Aye, Faro," you hear as he joins your side. You lower your head, feeling the tears brimming your eyes. He pulls you into his side and rubs your back gently. "What do you need?" He asks, his voice above a whisper.

You sniffle, rubbing your face in the inside of your arm. You look at him and shrug. "I fucked up, Rudy," you tell him, shaking your head when you hear your voice crack. "I was selfish. And now it's putting the people I love in danger."

Rudy smiles sadly.

"I don't think I'll be able to make this right," you confess, swallowing thickly. "God, at least my dad didn't get any of us hurt. I should've been smarter–I'm a fucking Ranger. How didn't I see this coming?"

Rudy shakes his head. "Y/N," he says your name, catching you off guard. "You're not super human. You're human, just like the rest of us. We all make mistakes. It doesn't mean you're not capable or strong. It just means you're living life.

"Your dad wouldn't want you to beat yourself up over this," Rudy continues, his voice steady. "He'd want you to find a way through it, just like he taught you on those fishing trips. You can't control everything, but you can control how you respond."

You take a deep breath, feeling the warmth of his presence grounding you. "I just feel so helpless," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "He was right. Maybe instead of going to the army, I should've gone to college. I'd probably have the money in cash and paid it off in one go instead of having to work it off." Your jaw tightens at the thought.

Rudy chuckles, standing up straight. You follow his gaze and he nods, silently telling you to follow him. You follow him, but the path you take is familiar. Until you reach the back of his restaurant, this part of it is unfamiliar.

He unlocks the back door then pulls on a string, a bulb turning on, brightening up the room. You still, unable to believe your eyes. The room is filled with several of your accomplishments. From your first perfect attendance award in elementary school to the Medal of Honor you got for saving the lives of some children on tour.

You step further into the room, your heart swelling with a mix of pride and disbelief. It's a small gallery dedicated to you, a testament to your journey and achievements. The walls are adorned with framed certificates, medals, and photos of you in various uniforms—each one telling a story of resilience and courage.

"Rudy, I..." You struggle to find the words, overwhelmed by the unexpected display. "Did you..."

"This is your father's doing," Rudy informs you, admiring it all himself. He looks at you and shrugs. "He may not have showed it or said it, but he was proud. I caught him once raving to the crew about the Medal of Honor. I was on my way to give him an earful for not having picked you up at the airport but...then I heard him."

Your heart races as Rudy's words sink in. The realization that your father held such pride for you—despite the weight of your current situation—sends a surge of emotions through you.

"He never mentioned it," you whisper, your voice cracking. "He always acted like he wanted me to be something different. Like joining the army was a disappointment."

Rudy shakes his head. "You know how men like him can be. They don't always express their feelings the way we want them to. But trust me, he saw you as a hero, and he wanted everyone else to see that, too."

You turn back to the wall, studying the framed photos. One catches your eye—your younger self, beaming with pride as you held up your first award for perfect attendance. It feels like a lifetime ago, a reminder of a simpler time before the world got complicated.

"He was proud of me," you whisper, feeling a lump in your throat. You clear your throat, hoping to get rid of it. "You just let him do this here?" You asks after.

Rudy shrugs. "Your father needed a place to vent. He couldn't share his feelings with your mother because he knew she would disapprove so I told him to use this space. I thought he would make his own gym or something. But then he brought the perfect attendance, soon after your first photo in your uniform–I think he was glad you slowed down a bit because he was running out of space."

You chuckle, looking around the room and not finding a single empty space in the walls.

"I can't believe he kept all of this," you say, shaking your head in disbelief. "I thought he didn't care."

Rudy crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe with a knowing smile. "He cared more than you realized. Sometimes it's easier for people like him to show pride in other ways, even if it's not direct. This was his way of celebrating you without putting it all out in the open."

You scan the walls again, each item a testament to your journey, and a deep warmth fills you. It feels like a balm for the wounds you've been carrying. "I wish I had known," you murmur, swallowing hard. "I spent so much time feeling like I disappointed him."

"You didn't disappoint him, Y/N," Rudy says firmly. "He was proud of you every step of the way. You just couldn't see it through your own doubts."

You nod slowly, absorbing his words. The weight on your shoulders feels a little lighter. "I need to remember that," you say, taking a deep breath. "I've got to fight for Mabel. I can't let fear hold me back."

"Exactly," Rudy encourages. "Now that you're ready to act, we'll plan how to get that list from the police. You've got the skills to pull this off, and I'll help however I can."

You shake your head. "I have another idea." He raises a brow. "I need you, first, to get my mom, sister and nephew out of town. While you're at it, you and Jodie too. I can't do this knowing you guys are still close to danger."

Rudy nods, crossing his arms as he listens.

"I'll figure out a way to get Mabel to leave town, too," you say after, pausing to think. You meet his eyes and he sees them sparkle as your plan starts to come together. "Remember Erin?"

"Yes. The best tipper in the town."

You don't bother to argue right now. "She's a detective now. I know what I need to do."

His eyebrow raises again, so you step forward and decide to loop him in to your train of thought.

\\\\\

When you step into the police station, it eerily silent. The woman behind the front desk looks bored and chewing her gum obnoxiously. You sigh quietly, feeling something stir in your stomach. Your gut is screaming at you that this is a bad idea, but you fight against it and walk up to the woman.

You wait, hoping she would greet you in some form. When a minute passes with silence between you two, you clear your throat. She looks at you, bored and exhausted.

She sits up and grabs a slip of paper, slides it in front of you and says, "Fill out the form and an officer will get back to you as soon as they can," she recites, like she memorized it from a script.

You slide the paper back to her. "Umm, no," you say, clearing your throat. She looks up at you through her eyelashes. "I'm here to see Erin Holland—sorry, Detective Erin Holland."

The woman's expression doesn't change; she merely raises an eyebrow. "Detective Holland is busy. If you want to file a report, you can do it through the form," she replies, her tone flat.

You take a deep breath, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "I really need to speak to her," you insist, trying to keep your voice steady. "It's important."

She rolls her eyes and leans back in her chair, twirling a pen between her fingers. "Everyone thinks their situation is important," she replies dismissively. "Unless you have a badge or a court order, I can't just call her out of a meeting."

Oh she is lovely, you think to yourself bitterly.

You bite your lip, weighing your options. The knot in your stomach tightens, urging you to back down, but you push through. "Look," you lean forward, lowering your voice. Her interest piques and she does the same. "Between us ladies, I'm trying to surprise her. We used to date and I'm back in town–kinda wanna surprise her."

The woman's demeanor shifts slightly, her bored expression giving way to a hint of curiosity. "You're trying to surprise Detective Holland?" she asks, tilting her head.

You nod.

"And you think surprising her at her job is the right move to get back together with her?"

You shrug. "Can't know 'til I try," you retort, forcing a smile.

The woman shakes her head, but a hint of amusement flickers in her eyes. She studies you for what feels like an eternity, and you assume she's trying to gauge whether you're a threat. After a moment, she points to her left and presses a button.

"Her desk is somewhere in there," she tells you, returning to her earlier tasks. "Good luck finding it."

It doesn't take you long to locate it. The years you dated Erin taught you that she was the cleanest person ever, so finding her pristine desk in the far left corner, surrounded by cluttered ones, is easy. You know she must avoid being at her desk because of the chaos around her.

Now you have to wait for her to return. You chew on your nails, anxiety rising as your leg bounces restlessly. Your eyes dart around the room, taking in the bustling officers and the sense of order they embody. It's almost overwhelming.

You used to be Army, for God's sake—why do these guys intimidate you?

You immediately get on your feet when you see her. When Erin spots you, surprise flickers across her face.

"Faro?" she asks, walking around her desk. You rock back and forth on your feet, watching her secure her gun in its holster. You swallow thickly, the gravity of what you're about to say hitting you. "Everything okay?"

"I need your help," you say, taking the seat in front of her desk again. She eyes you, a hint of concern in her gaze, before settling into her chair. "It's bad, Erin. I fucked up big time."

Erin glances around the office, then nods. Without another word, she stands and gestures for you to follow. You quicken your pace, trying to keep up with her as she strides purposefully through the station.

She leads you to a secluded part of the building, into a room filled with boxes of files. The scent of paper and dust fills the air, and your curiosity briefly outweighs your nerves. You peek into one of the boxes but flinch when Erin places her hand over it, stopping you.

"Talk, now," she orders, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You swallow again, the weight of your confession pressing down on you. You start from the beginning—your father's reckless decisions, the bets he made, and his disastrous choice to run drugs to pay off those debts. You explain how he believed he was in the clear, how the money seemed to flow in and out easily, and how he got in deeper by making higher bets, thinking he was helping the family.

"And now I'm just as stupid as he was," you continue, the shame washing over you. "I did what he did, thinking I could pay off his debts, only to find out that I'm stuck in this mess."

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the worst part. "And now, I'm putting the people I love in danger. The first and last straw was that car crash—they hit me on purpose. I might have let it slide if it was just me, but my sister and nephew were in the car too."

"You idiot!" Erin's voice rises, her frustration evident.

As expected, she launches into a rant. "What were you thinking? How could you let yourself get caught up in this?"

Your shoulders slump, taking the reprimand silently.

But she appears to be done. For now.

"Who is it you're working for?" She asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Ronny." You answer. She quirks a brow, waiting for more. "Oh, yeah, I didn't ask his last name. I was too busy getting threatened." You add sarcastically, earning yourself a glare.

She shakes her head. "Look, I need more than that. And quit with the sarcasm, this is serious," you bite your tongue, having a sarcasm rebuttal on the tip of your tongue. "You want my help, so give me more."

You take a deep breath, nodding as you prepare to give her every detail you know about this crew. Her surprise of all your knowledge is shown but you don't question it now. You give her names you know, deals made, money exchanged, transactions made; hell, you think you may have even heard them kill someone. You're not sure.

"How did you retain all this?" Erin asks, looking at you in bewilderment. It occurs to you that she doesn't know about your photographic memory.

You shrug, trying to downplay it. "I've always had a good memory, I guess."

Erin narrows her eyes. "Good memory? You just rattled off names, dates, and details like you've got a dossier in your head. This isn't just 'good.'"

You rub the back of your neck, feeling a little exposed now. "I have a photographic memory," you admit reluctantly.

Erin stares at you, processing the new information. "And you never mentioned this before... because?"

You offer a weak smile. "Never really came up?"

"We dated for three years," Erin counters, raising a brow. You shrug and she shakes her head in disbelief, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Erin lets out a deep breath, as if she's recalibrating her approach. "You know, that's kind of important, Faro. It could've been useful. But no, you just kept that little talent to yourself."

You offer her a sheepish grin, trying to ease the tension. "It wasn't exactly first date material."

She rolls her eyes. "Right, because 'Hey, I can remember every embarrassing detail of our relationship' would've gone over great."

You chuckle lightly, though it feels out of place in the middle of all this mess. You never really thought of that. But the humor doesn't last. Erin's expression hardens again as she brings the conversation back to the gravity of the situation.

"Alright," she says, pacing slightly. "This Ronny guy and his crew—what's their next move? Did they say anything about escalating or coming after you again?"

You grimace, recalling the order they gave you. You should really explain everything; including Mabel. How exactly do you tell your ex about the girl you're in love with without it being awkward?

"So, um," you begin, scolding yourself for stuttering already. "I told them about my photographic memory–in hopes it would get the people I care about out of this world and they could just use me. Well, that backfired because they want me to get a list...from the police..."

She waits for you continue, hearing your pause.

"A list of CIs and UCs." Her eyes widen and you shake your head, letting her know you're not done. "I should mention I said I would do it because there's this girl–"

Erin groans. "Ugh, Y/N, you are such a simp," Erin finishes, pinching the bridge of her nose. Your jaw drops at the name calling. It's unnecessary. "You're telling me you volunteered to steal a CI/UC list from the police... because of a girl?"

You cringe inwardly, feeling the weight of your poor decision hanging in the air. "Not just any girl," you say quietly. "Her name's Mabel. She means a lot to me."

Erin shakes her head, exasperated. The conversation isn't awkward thankfully, but you wish it was if it meant less name calling. "Do you even realize what kind of trouble you're in? Do you know what happens if you get caught with something like that?"

You nod, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "I know, Erin, I know. But I didn't know what else to do. I thought maybe I could trade myself and keep everyone else safe."

Erin stands there for a moment, her eyes searching yours, trying to make sense of what you're telling her. "You're in over your head, Y/N. And believe me, I know you were in a war zone but that was in a different country–this is right in the middle of your hometown."

You look down at your feet, well aware of the circumstances. But it still stings to hear how dumb your decisions were.

"I get that you care about this girl, but putting yourself in the crosshairs like this... it's reckless."

You swallow, knowing she's right but unwilling to back down. "I couldn't just stand by and let them hurt her. Or my family. I needed to do something."

Erin exhales sharply, clearly frustrated. "You should've come to me sooner. You could've brought this to me without making deals with criminals, without putting yourself in even deeper shit."

"I didn't think you'd want to help," you admit quietly, avoiding her gaze.

"I'm a cop!" Erin shouts then lowers her voice when she remembers where they are. "I help people. It's my job. And had you come to me, I would've helped you despite our past."

The weight of Erin's words hits you hard, her frustration more palpable now. She takes a deep breath, regaining her composure, and looks you straight in the eyes. "Despite everything, I would've been there for you."

You swallow, your throat tight. "I didn't want to drag you into this," you mutter. "Not after everything."

Erin shakes her head, her expression softening but still stern. "Y/N, this isn't about us. This is about your life, your family, and this girl you care about. You can't handle this alone, and you don't have to."

The silence between you stretches, heavy and charged with unspoken tension. You shift in your seat, guilt gnawing at you. "I'm sorry," you finally whisper. "I didn't want anyone to get hurt, especially not you."

Erin lets out a sigh, running a hand through her hair. "Well, it's too late for apologies now. What matters is what we do next."

You nod, finally meeting her gaze. "What do we do?"

Erin straightens up, her voice steady and commanding again. "First, you need to stay out of Ronny's way. I'll dig into his crew and see if I can get enough to take them down. But you—" she points at you, her tone firm—"are done with this. No more deals, no more risky moves."

You nod, your heart pounding, hoping this plan works before things spiral even more out of control.

"But..." Erin raises a brow, and you chuckle nervously. "He gave me two days."

Erin clenches her jaw. She shakes her head and inhales a deep breath, calming herself down. "Then we should get started."

\\\\\

Mabel yanks the blanket off the boy, causing him to roll off the bed. He grunts when his body collides with the floor, groaning soon after when he tries to get up with the help of his injured hand. He glances up and his eyes widen, the sight of his ex-girlfriend towering him frightening him.

"What do you know?" Mabel asks him.

Charlie sits up and rubs his chest, confusion crossing his face. "About?" He asks, the question lacking any kind of specifics.

"About Y/N," Charlie tilts his head and she rolls her eyes. "Faro."

"Ooh," Charlie scratches the back of his neck. He shrugs and sits back against the wall. "I don't know anything."

Mabel tilts her head at him. He swallows thickly, not having received this glare from her in a while. "I'll give you a minute." She kneels to be eye level with him, glare much more intense than before. "And if you don't tell me what I need to know, I will make sure your hand stays broken."

Charlie hasn't seen this side of Mabel before. In the two years he's known her, or in the year he dated her.

Charlie swallows hard, his injured hand cradled against his chest. He's not sure if Mabel's bluffing, but the cold, determined look in her eyes tells him she means business.

"Mabel, I swear, I don't know much. Just... bits and pieces," he stammers, his voice trembling slightly. "Y/N, she's—she's in deep. She's mixed up with some dangerous people."

Mabel narrows her eyes, leaning in closer. "What people? What exactly do you know?"

Charlie shifts uncomfortably under her gaze, glancing toward the door as if hoping for an escape. But there's none. "I'm not sure who exactly," he finally admits, his voice a little shaky. "But I overheard her talking to Weeks' crew... something about debts. It sounds bad, Mabel. Real bad."

Mabel's jaw tightens, her eyes flickering with a mix of anger and concern. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" she demands, her voice low and dangerous.

Charlie looks down, guilt washing over his face. "I didn't want to drag you into it. You're better off not getting involved with them again." He sighs when he sees her face, a look of betrayal. "I warned her to stay away from you." He tells her.

Mabel's eyes narrow. "You're not my keeper, Charlie," she huffs. "I can take care of myself. I was in this life before I met you, and her."

Charlie frowns. "But you got out," he says quietly, like it's a secret. "I wanted you out of this. She said she would make sure you didn't get in this either."

Mabel stands up, her hands clenched into fists. "Well, now I am," she says, her voice laced with resolve. "And I'm not letting her handle this alone."

Charlie watches her, knowing better than to argue. This wasn't the Mabel he once knew—the one who stayed back when things got tough. This was a Mabel ready for a fight, and it scared him almost as much as whatever danger you were facing.

Charlie finally stands up, looking at her in worry. "What are you going to do?" He asks, following Mabel out of his room.

"Get you all out of this," Mabel says, sighing quietly as she pulls her phone out. She checks her messages again and scoffs when she sees you still haven't responded; to any of her messages. She even tried calling you, no answer. "Call your brother and the guys."

Charlie hesitates, standing in the doorway as Mabel moves with determination, already scrolling through her phone. "Mabel, calling my brother—" he starts to protest.

"Just do it," Mabel snaps, her frustration boiling over. "We need every advantage we can get. If she's already tangled up in Weeks' old mess, it's only a matter of time before things get worse."

Charlie sighs, reluctantly pulling out his phone, and steps aside to make the call. He glances at her, still worried, but knowing better than to question her any further. As he walks into the next room, Mabel leans against the wall, staring at the screen of her phone, her fingers hovering over your contact.

He comes back from calling his brother and sees her, sees how worried she is.

Charlie walks back into the room, his phone still in his hand, and pauses when he sees Mabel leaning against the wall, staring at her phone. Her expression is hard, but he can see the worry etched in the tension of her jaw and the way her fingers hover over your contact without pressing call.

"You really care about her, huh?" Charlie asks quietly, stepping closer but keeping his distance.

Mabel doesn't look up, her eyes still fixed on the screen. "Yeah, I do," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability in her tone is new to him, something he hadn't heard from her in the time they were together.

Charlie shoves his hands in his pockets, unsure of what to say. "Sorry," she looks at him, wondering what he's sorry about. He shrugs. "I wanted to prove we can be friends so I took you to the pier. Then I had to knock your bag into the ocean...kinda my fault you guys met."

Mabel smiles slightly, amused by his words.

"She's pretty tough," Charlie adds with another shrug. "Tommy said she saved their asses. Even Costa's. Bargained herself to get Costa out of the deal."

Mabel's small smile fades as Charlie's words sink in. "She bargained herself?" Her voice is calm, but her eyes darken with anger.

Charlie nods slowly, sensing her shift in mood. "Something about a photographic memory," he shrugs. He sees Mabel's jaw tighten and he regrets sharing. "Mabel, she didn't want you or anyone else caught up in it."

Mabel clenches her fists at her sides, trying to keep her emotions in check. "She's such an idiot. That's exactly why she hasn't been answering me," she mutters. "She's trying to handle this alone."

Charlie hesitates, not wanting to say the wrong thing. "She's probably doing what she thinks is best," he offers. "Protecting everyone."

Mabel straightens up, determination hardening her features. "Well, I'm done with people trying to protect me by keeping me in the dark." She pushes off the wall, her jaw set.

Charlie follows her out of his place. "What exactly is your plan?"

Mabel looks back at him. "I'll let you know when I have one. Be ready, okay?"

Charlie nods, watching her get in her car then drive off.

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #finestkind #mabel (finestkind)#lighthouse #mabel (finestkind) x reader

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stereopticons · 5 hours ago

Text

On This Day in Schitt's Creek: February 23

2019

photo crush [david/patrick, M, 1,651] by mihaly

Patrick has saved a lot of photos of David to his phone. Like, a LOT.

Pushing Roses [david/patrick, T, 5,238, CW: MCD (non-permanent)] by prose_apothecary

No one asked for a Schitt's Creek/Pushing Daisies crossover, and I delivered.

Right [david/patrick, G, 815] by thechargingsky

Patrick finally realized why it never felt right with her.

The Conditional Tense [david/patrick, G, 1,609] by thelightwitch

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I want to get married someday?” Patrick asks.The question takes David by surprise, because of course Patrick wants to get married. Even if he hadn’t literally been engaged to be married once already, everything about Patrick – from his embarrassing dad shoes to the way he ogles babies in the café – screams Family Man. It’s something David finds inexplicably, magnetically attractive about him – who knew he was so horny for little league dads? The point being, of course Patrick wants to get married. Doesn’t he? -- A quick little scene - David and Patrick discuss marriage. Hypothetically, of course.

2020

(Multifandom Fanvid) If You Wanna Be Loved [NR, vid] by Fannibalistic

[VID] Odds Are [G, vid] by Nestra

We're gonna be all right.

a rose by any other name [david/patrick, G, 1,109] by @banesapothecary

“This is coming out all wrong, I’m sorry,” Patrick whispers. He feels David shake his head no more than he sees it. “You don’t have to apologize,” David says in a patient voice, rubbing Patrick’s shoulder. “What are you saying?”

Clothes are the Worst [david/patrick, E, 3,172] by @mostlyinthemorning

David and Patrick compete to see who can take off the other's clothes the fastest.

happy endings are new beginnings [david/patrick, G, 1,447] by @wild-aloof-rebel

Thoughts on homes and happiness and having to say goodbye.

my heart is thrilled by the still of your hand [david/patrick, M, 4,990] by @hullomoon

A look at David and Patrick's relationship through the years through touch.

On the bed, on the floor [david/patrick/jake, E, 4,631] by anonymous

The night with Jake continues

Something a Little More [david/patrick, E, 1,294] by thegrayness

Patrick loves waking up to David's kisses, and he asks David if they can try waking up with something more. For prompt #18 from RosebuddWrites: morning lazy sex.

2021

A tea party with Moira [johnny/moira, G, 1,734] by slimexpuppy

AU – During their time in Schitt’s Creek, Moira finds herself pregnant, much to her and Johnny's surprise. The little tyke, Charlotte (Lottie for short) is now just over 2 years old. Moira let Johnny take the reins at the start, but after her time away in Bosnia, she realised that she was quite fond of her little replica. She missed her nearly as much as she missed Johnny.

All I Want for Christmas (is Quarantine to End) [david/patrick, M, 2,610] by @sspaz1000

It's November 1st during a pandemic, what will David do about the holiday season?

an open smile on an empty shore [david/patrick, M, 8,632] by @patrickredactedbrewer

When Patrick pulls into the marina parking lot, a huge garish sign over the dock entrance reads All A-Boat Love Cruises Welcomes Our Singles!“David,” Patrick asks, turning to his husband. “Do you have something to tell me about the romantic cruise you booked for us?” “Okay, in my defense," David starts, and Patrick settles into his seat and waits.

Broken Pieces Build the Best Foundations [david/patrick, E, 16,049] by Raelynn

David is a gallerist in NYC - until he learns that his parents have been "helping him." He enlists the help of attorney Patrick Brewer to help him transfer ownership of Rose Gallery to his assistant, Samantha. His best friend Stevie inherits a motel in the middle of nowhere Ontario and leaves NYC. With nothing holding him there anymore, David follows. But maybe he did leave something in NYC - or someone.

Croatia [moira & alexis, G, 300] by Rosey_Peach

Don't Look [david/patrick, T, 535, CW: Violence] by angelwiththebluebox

david and patrick watch a horror movie

If I Could Reach the Stars [david/patrick, T, 4,208] by BrandonStrayne

David decides to make the biyearly time change their signature event and throw a party. Patrick decides to surprise him with an appropriately ridiculous costume.

in calm or stormy weather [patrick & alexis, T, 4,441] by singsongsung, @landofsonlali

On National Siblings Day, Alexis spends the day with her favorite brother Patrick, and David bonds with Twyla. David: Why are you at our house, Alexis? Alexis: because i have a whole day planned for us david!! David: Why? Alexis: because it’s NATIONAL SIBLINGS DAY!

locks like the raven [david/patrick, T, 1,571] by @wild-aloof-rebel

First footing: The tradition of a tall, dark-haired man being the first person of the year to cross a home’s threshold, carrying symbolic gifts that bring luck and prosperity for the coming year

Making Change [david/patrick, G, 1,543] by @grapehyasynth

It’s only when he’s bundled the dirty laundry into three different machines and pulled out a ten dollar note he’d taken out of his dad’s wallet when he realizes he might have a problem. The thing only takes quarters. Or, David and Patrick meet at the Schitt's Creek Laundromat

right where you left me [david/patrick, T, 1,200] by patrickbrewer

Alexis is coming back to visit Schitt’s Creek for the first time since she moved away, and David has spent the past week readying the already-pristine house and guest room for her arrival. Of course they’ve facetimed and talked a lot in the space between, but now she’s so busy and extremely successful that David is lucky if he catches her on the phone more than once a week. Which is obviously what brought him to the whole not-drinking-all-day thing. The absolute last thing he needs right now is another oopsy daisy.

Valentine's Week [david/patrick, E, 29,082] by @pine67

The store is buzzing with energy. Everyday is a successful day and the two lovebirds are either working themselves to the ground or fucking themselves into the ground. And so, they don’t actually get around to booking their cruise trip until that weekend. David is going through his bedtime skincare routine in the en-suite with the door open when Patrick mutters a thick and enunciated, “Fuck.” “What is it?” David turns around slowly, massaging the under eye jelly mask into his skin while walking cautiously to the bed. Patrick is sitting cross legged over the covers with his laptop in one hand and tickets in the other. “It’s not a Valentine’s Day cruise for couples, David. It’s a singles week. All the activities are ice breakers and random blind dates and- it’s just that. It’s not for us.”

2022

don't you ever question my love for you [david/patrick, T, 5,243] by lucianowriter

When Twyla asks Patrick to help her cousin out with some queer questions they have it sends Patrick on a spiral. The thoughts and feelings he'd been pushing down for some time bubble to the surface. Will he find answers in conversation with his best friend and his husband?

Stuck in Traffic [david/patrick, T, 2,425] by @chelle-68

David is an account executive at a television station and doesn’t understand why Patrick in traffic hates him so much. Will they ever get along?

The Promise of a Coming Day [david/patrick, G, 1,726] by @fictasticvoyage

Captain Brewer hires David Rose as his first mate on his charter boat. They flirt, it's cute, they go on an amazing first date, they kiss.

The Window to Your Soul [david/patrick, G, 516] by @a-noble-dragon

Caramel coloured eyes, that was what first drew David's attention.

2023

Did You Hear About David Rose? [gen, G, 100] by mallpretzles

David never knew that whispers could be so loud until they were about him.

Some Hurts Never Heal [marcy & patrick, T, 7,776, CW: suicide] by elifisher96

5 times people were worried about Patrick's mental health, and one time he was upfront about his struggles.

Stats:

No fanworks for 2017, 2018, or 2024 2019: 4 fics/9,313 words 2020: 8 fanworks (6 fics, 2 vids)/16,660 words 2021: 12 fics/72,012 words 2022: 4 fics/9,910 words 2023: 2 fics/7,876 words Total: 30 fanworks (28 fics, 2 vids)/115,771 words

#on this day in sc #schitt's creek #sc fanfic #sc fanworks #david rose #patrick brewer #david x patrick #patrick x david #alexis rose #johnny rose #moira rose #marcy brewer

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saint-arya · 2 days ago

Text

yandere targaryen male x reader — you did what?

★⺌◞. yandere targaryen men x f! reader

drabble. ohhh, you married another? no worries!

cw. aegon the conqueror, maegor the cruel, daemon targaryen, aemond targaryen

a/n. i love my silly yandere targs

masterlist //

aegon the conqueror

it takes a lot to rattle aegon.

he's a man who conquered westeros with fire and blood. but you? you managed to do the impossible—marrying another man.

the throne room is silent as you stand before him. he stares at you, impassive, calculating, too calm.

“who?”

it’s not a question. it’s a death sentence.

“his name is—”

“i don’t care.” his fingers tighten around blackfyre, his knuckles turning white. “you are mine.”

and then, that’s it. he doesn’t even acknowledge it anymore. you’re not married. you never were.

by morning, your husband is gone. his house? gone. the marriage records? burned.

aegon only cups your cheek, voice gentle. “there. all better now.”

maegor the cruel

at first, he laughs. loud, sharp, unhinged.

then, he stops.

you take a step back. he doesn’t let you.

"you wed another?" maegor’s voice is low, dangerous, eerily calm.

“i—i thought you were dead.”

his smirk is all teeth. “ah. and instead of mourning me, you spread your pretty legs for another man?”

you don’t even get to answer. his hand wraps around your throat, not tight enough to hurt—just enough to remind you who you really belong to.

“shall i send his head to the high septon?” his lips graze your ear. “or would you rather watch?”

by nightfall, your husband’s head is on a spike outside the red keep.

maegor watches you closely, waiting for a reaction.

when you look away, he grins.

“you’ll learn, sweetling. i’m the only man you’ll ever need.”

daemon targaryen

daemon grins when you tell him. that’s the first sign that you fucked up.

"married, are you?" his tone is too sweet. his eyes, too sharp.

you swallow. "daemon—"

he raises a hand. shh.

"tell me, my love," he purrs, stepping closer. "did you think i wouldn't find out?" his hand tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "did you think you could just ... leave me?"

you blink, suddenly realizing you don’t know where your husband is.

daemon does.

"you—"

"dead," he interrupts smoothly. "sank right to the bottom of the river." his thumb brushes your lip. "what a shame."

"you’re insane."

daemon smiles. "and you’re still mine."

aemond targaryen

that’s all he says.

"i see."

then he turns and leaves.

you should feel relieved. you don’t.

because that night—your husband's home burns. the servants vanish. the entire family is gone.

and aemond? he returns to your chambers, calm as ever.

"there," he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "now, we can forget this foolishness."

when you try to shove him away, he only chuckles.

"do you think i would allow another man to have you?" his eye darkens. "no, sweetling. you are mine. and now—there is no one left to stand between us."

#ethel writes #saint arya #asoiaf x you #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf fanfic #aegon the conqueror #aegon the conqueror x reader #maegor targaryen #maegor the cruel #maegor x reader #daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye targaryen

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ariadnes-elixirs · 15 hours ago

Text

thinking about an isekaied reader and a yandere noble boy...

(gn reader x male yandere)

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6

tw: gaslighting, manipulative and just general yandere behavior

as oliver speaks, your intuition tells you that something is very wrong. you start by asking simple questions, such as how you began seeing each other, why you both kept it a secret from your parents, and so on.

the thing that unsettled you was his perfect response to every question you threw at him, even some of them didn't logically make sense.

after asking series of questions about your relationship with him, you decided to bring up a slightly different topic. your gaze shifts to your shoes, and you find yourself fidgeting with your hands. your voice wavers as you struggle to find a delicate way to bring up the topic.

"oliver... just... who are you?"

he momentarily looks surprised, before his expression shifts back to the kind and gentle mask of a face you've familiarized yourself with over his past couple visits. he gently brushes his fingers over your right hand, pulling it away from the other and close to his chest. the action causes you to shift the way you are sitting in order to face him. now fully facing him, he maintains eye contact as he replies with a smile, "i am oliver northwood, your childhood friend and lover."

your eyes dart away from his for a second. you feel that wave of guilt wash over you once again, but you just can't get rid of that seed of doubt. the beautiful words he speaks leaves a bitter aftertaste and you cannot rid the feeling of unease. the way he looks at you, his insistence on placing your full focus on him, the way he smiles oh so softly with eyes that look oh so... uncertain.

his eyes. his big blue eyes. filled with nothing but love and adoration for you. it made you feel guilty.

"i am aware, oliver, i just... who are you? i'm not asking about your name, your title, none of that... just... who are you?"

before he can speak, you keep talking, "you've mentioned our families, our relationship, our history, but nothing about yourself. just who is oliver northwood, and what does he want with... me?"

you've been in this world for a while now, you've dug through what feels like hundreds of textbooks and scrolls, asked your parents dozens of questions, but you cannot place who or where you are. no game, comic, movie, or book you can recall from your past life has ever contained an "oliver northwood".

everything about him just feels wrong. it's obvious that you don't belong here, but he hasn't questioned you at all. you know from the reactions of your parents and the staff of the estate that the way you act is clearly different from the way the person previously inhabiting this body acted. but even still, oliver either didn't notice or didn't care.

you thoughts are still racing as his soft, sweet voice brings you out of your anxiety induced trace.

"well, i am just a boy who is completely and totally in love with his best friend. nothing more, nothing less."

he smiles at you, and oh, he smiles so sweetly.

his smile almost makes you forget. forget the feeling of his hands on yours, the feeling of unease in your chest as he looks at you.

forget the other questions plaguing your mind. forget the questions like how he managed to make his way to your estate on a near daily basis with no one questioning who he is, how he got there, or why he is there.

questions about his lingering touch and unwillingness to talk about others while the two of you were together.

questions about where he is actually from or where he actually lives.

questions about why he holds your hands a little tighter than he should.

questions about how he knows way more about you than he should possibly know.

but his smile.

it feels like almost every doubt gets washed away by that smile. the unease in you chest never fades, even if your mind is mostly at ease.

oliver northwood.

a strange boy.

a strange boy that knows you a little too well and holds your hands a little too tight.

but it's alright.

even if you feel uncertain or you memory is spotty, he will continue loving you.

he will hold you oh so gently, and smile at you oh so sweetly no matter how many questions you ask or how anxious you become.

because he loves you.

he always will.

even if he has to start from scratch every now and then when you trust the feeling in your gut telling you to run.

but it's alright.

he would never purposely hurt you. he would never cause you pain.

he just wants you to love him like he loves you.

in the meantime, he will continue being patient and answering any questions you have.

as long as he gets to have his flower in the end.

a/n: :)

#oof sorry for the delays #life hit me like a truck #anyways here is the boy #ariadne's writing - 🩷#ariadne's ocs - oliver northwood #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #soft yandere #male yandere

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kissorkill16 · 21 hours ago

Text

They Don't Care: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: An AU where Nicky was born into the Peterson family,...but not cared for.

(P.S., inspired by @ghostly-writers ! For more info...)

👇

My name is Nicholas Michael Peterson, but you can call me Nicky.

My parents took care of me as a baby, but as I got older, they started to...stop.

Apparently, when I was a toddler, my dad began to act weirder and weirder. When I tried to ask him about it, he just growled at me.

"Get away from me."

He looked so scary, even as I got older. So I just did whatever he said. But as I left his office, I heard him mumble one small word.

"Omen."

I didn't know what that was, so I didn't think much of it. But when I asked my older brother, Aaron, about it, do you want to know what he told me?

"Omem means a source of bad luck. That's what Dad called you, huh?", he said. "Well, he's right. It's because of you that people die on the rides he builds."

My eyes filled with tears.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

My own dad and brother thought I was an omen.

But they weren't the only ones.

Before I went to bed one night, I gave my mom a hug. But she didn't hug me back. I looked up at her with my eyes filled with tears.

"Mommy, you don't think I'm an omen, do you?", I asked her.

She didn't answer my question, she just looked down at me. She looked tired, lifeless, almost like she wanted to say yes, but didn't want to hurt my feelings because I was still a small child.

She patted my head, "Go to bed, little wolf.", she said.

That night, I laid awake in bed, crying as I kept thinking about how I was an omen.

"It's my fault.", I said to myself.

Years later, after Mya was born, we moved to Raven Brooks, Missouri. Dad said he used to live there when he was younger, and our grandparents left him this old house in their will.

And during those years, my own family still believed I was an omen.

But I didn't cry myself to sleep telling myself it was my fault. Instead, I just kept telling myself "It's not my fault."

I only believed those words, because I was a dumb little kid. But now that I'm old enough, I'm starting to know better.

As me and my siblings started school, Dad began to work on a new ride for the Golden Apple Amusement Park. He called it the Rotten Core Rollercoaster.

It was big, so many twists and turns and long drops, it almost made me sick to my stomach just thinking about riding that.

I was hoping this ride wouldn't end up like all of the other ones. Where people died or got injured, and I was blamed for it, since I was considered the "omen" of my family.

But I heard that one of Mya's friends, Lucy Yi, got on that ride, and one of the carts flew off the tracks and right into a tree, killing her.

Ever since that day, Mya hasn't spoken to me.

I've tried so hard to tell her that it wasn't my fault, that I wasn't an omen. But she wouldn't listen.

Then one week after Lucy's funeral, she asked Mom if she could move in with our Aunt Lisa, and then she was just...gone.

Not only that, but Dad became more aggressive, Mom became more distant with me, and Aaron also hadn't spoken to me ever since the incident.

As time passed, I started to feel cold. I was starved for human contact. I wanted one of my parents to hold me tight like they used to when I was a baby, but no one even wants to get close to me.

In school, Aaron pretended not to know me. He always hung out with his cool, popular friends, Seth, Ruben and Enzo. Meanwhile, I signed up for an after school club to distract myself from my neglectful family.

I found myself having a growing love for science.

"Hi there!", said one of the boys in the club. "I'm Ivan Torre. Welcome to the Inventor's Club!"

Another boy stood behind him and waved at me, "Hey, I'm Delroy. I'm not an official club member, I just come here so Ivan can help me with my homework."

I shrugged and nodded.

"I'm Nicky.", I said.

"It's so nice to meet you, Nicky! Something tells me we're all going to be the bestest of friends!"

Ever since then, my friendship with Ivan and Delroy strengthened. I felt like I could talk to them without them thinking I was an omen. I was closer to Ivan, but I still hung out with Delroy. He was Ivan's best friend, even though he wasn't really that smart, Ivan made sure to make him feel included.

One time we did get a little closer was when he took me to the back of the school, and he showed me something that made my eyes widen.

Cigarettes.

"Swiped these out of my aunt's purse.", he said. He took one out, lit it, and inhaled it. When he breathed out, a huge cloud of smoke covered the air.

He handed one to me.

"I can't.", I said. "My parents would kill me."

"Dude, if they're okay with Aaron doing it, then they shouldn't have a problem with you doing it.", he said.

Yes, I also knew that Aaron sometimes snuck off to smoke cigarettes with his friends, and I didn't want to end up as irresponsible as he was.

And smoking was definitely irresponsible.

He shook the box, waiting impatiently. "It's not like your parents are gonna give a shit.", he said.

I hate to admit it, but Delroy had a point. My parents stopped caring about me the moment I could walk, and they treated Aaron and Mya like they were their only children, making me feel excluded.

They didn't even care about all those prize winning science dioramas I did back in middle school or freshman year of high school, and hadn't even bothered to show up when I signed up for a couple of school plays.

So why should they care if I picked up a few bad habits?

Without another thought, I took a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled it.

At first, I coughed, but after a little more inhaling and exhaling, I felt my throat relaxing.

Me and Delroy leaned against the wall of the school as we smoked our cigarettes.

"Next time, we'll try something stronger. Like alcohol.", he said. I looked at him incredulously, "Where are you even gonna get alcohol?"

"My dad's girlfriend."

After that, me and my friends kept meeting up in secret places. Normally, we'd just hang out in the science room to do homework and stuff. But when we were done with that, we'd just go somewhere no one could find us and just blast off to mars.

Sometimes I snuck out so I could meet them at a party or somewhere in the woods, and we'd run back home at the crack of dawn.

I tried to find a balance between all of that, because I was extremely tired of going home early in the morning or late in the evening and suffering painful hangovers and almost throwing up in class. So me and my friends just saved all the partying for the weekends.

I was starting to feel like my brother, Aaron.

Speaking of Aaron...

One night at dinner, me and my parents sat at the dinner table, and Mom was trying to call Aaron over and over again, but no one answered the phone.

Then just as I was finishing the dishes, the phone rang. Mom immediately picked it up.

When she hung up, she collapsed to the floor and cried her eyes out, and Dad went to her side to comfort her.

Then he turned to look at me and tossed me the car keys.

"Go start the car.", he said.

We drove to the hospital, where I saw Aaron and all of his other friends laying comatose in hospital beds.

From what one of the police officers told us, apparently, they were drinking while one of them was currently drunk. They swerved around in the car until they crashed into a bread truck.

My parents cried at his side, and I didn't know why, but I just couldn't seem to cry. The tears just weren't filling up my eyes at the moment, and here my brother was, comatose.

I just left and waited in the car.

After that night, my parents were still pretty shaken up. Whenever they weren't doing anything else, they were just driving as quickly as the speed limit would allow them to go to the hospital.

As I had the house to myself, I decided to check the mail.

When I flipped through it, I noticed an envelope with my name on it. So I opened it, and as I read it, my jaw dropped.

I scored high on my SAT, and I got accepted into one of the best colleges in Brooklyn, New York!

I practically flew out of my seat and started dancing around with joy. After I was done, I called my friends and immediately told them the good news.

"Guys, I got into college!", I said.

"ME TOO!", Ivan squealed. I could tell he was more excited than me right now.

"Me three, man. Ivan, you were right. All those years of tutoring really paid off!", said Delroy.

Even though we still had time, since it was only July, we immediately packed our bags and booked a flight to New York. As I packed, I was thinking about how I was going to tell my parents about this.

Oh well, they'll probably be happy I'm leaving. After all, I'm an omen.

The night of my flight, my mom and dad were in the kitchen, Dad was making dinner while Mom sat at the table, hands folded and looking at her lap.

I cleared my throat, and they turned to look at me.

"Mom, Dad, I have something to show you."

I took out my college acceptance letter from my pocket and sat it down on the table. Dad sat down next to Mom and took her time reading it, and then she handed it to Dad, who also took his time reading it. When he was done, they both looked at me.

"Why didn't you tell us?", asked Mom.

I rolled my eyes and scratched the back of my head, "Well, it was after the day Aaron was hospitalized. I wanted to wait until a better time."

It was silent for a moment, then Dad spoke up. "Is that why you've been packing a bag?"

I nodded.

Mom looked at me and smiled, "Honey, there's still time. Why don't you think about taking an online college?", she asked. "Or maybe you could take a gap year?"

I looked at her like she was insane. "Mom, what -"

"Nicky, we just think it's better if you just stayed here a little longer."

I got up from my chair, my hands on the table. "Where is this coming from?", I asked. "Why do you guys want me to stay so badly?"

"Honey, think about it. Lots of people who are unbelievably smart like you don't go to college. Besides, we just don't think you're...responsible enough to be out on your own. I mean, sneaking out late? Doing who knows what?"

"With hell knows who."

So they've noticed? They actually noticed my rebellious behavior during my high school years?

I rolled my eyes, "So? Aaron did shit like that, so why should it matter if I'm a little rebellious?"

"Exactly, Nicky! Aaron did stuff like that and look what happened to him.", said Dad.

I couldn't take it anymore. I slammed my hands on the table in anger. But before I spoke to them, I took a deep breath to calm myself down.

"Mom, Dad, I loved you both so much growing up. But when have I ever gotten that same amount of attention back? You favored Aaron and Mya, and treated me like I was some kind of insect. Now Aaron's in the hospital, Mya's still living with Aunt Lisa, and I'm the only one left. And now that I want to leave, you want to suddenly act like you two were the best parents in the world. Do you think I enjoyed being neglected for so long? Do you think I want to stay here and be the source of bad luck for the rest of my life? Hell no. I'm leaving this hellhole, I'm going to New York, and you can't stop me."

I closed my eyes and took another deep breath. When I opened my eyes, neither of my parents looked at me.

"When do you hope to leave?", asked Mom.

"As soon as I finish packing, you can pick up the car from the airport.", I said. I turned around to go to my room, but I looked back once more at my parents. I sighed, "If it means anything, I can always come back and visit to see how things are going."

Once I finished packing, I took my bag to the car. I drove to pick up Ivan and Delroy.

We still had a couple of hours before our plane left, so we decided to stop at a bar to grab a couple of drinks.

We drank so much, and ended up getting really carried away. I was still a little sober enough to walk my friends to the car, and I could still drive properly, but my vision kept going weird, and I could feel my stomach aching.

"Oh fuck! I think I'm gonna throw up.", said Delroy.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. "I do too, man. But I want to try and hold it until we get to the airport.", I said.

Ivan clutched his stomach and head, "It hurts too much!", he whined. "Nicky, pull over! I don't think I can hold it!"

I slammed on the brake pedal, but the car wouldn't stop. I slammed it again, and the car still kept going.

"I can't stop!", I screamed, starting to panic. "Damn it, I think the brakes are broken!"

But that's impossible! My parents always kept this big hunk of junk in perfect shape! So how were the brakes broken!

I was panicked, I was drunk, I was nauseous, it was absolutely hell. I couldn't stop the car, my friends and I were close to throwing up, and on top of that...

We suddenly crashed into something.

The last thing I felt before I lost consciousness was a pain in my arm, and my insides spilling out of my stomach and mouth and onto my pants.

I don't know how long I've been out, I didn't even know where I was or what day it was or anything. But when I woke up, I was laying on a bed that looked shockingly identical to the one I had back at home...

Because it was my old bed.

I looked around the room I was in, and I saw that all of the stuff from my room was right here. But this wasn't my room. It was dark, the only light that emanated the room was a couple of fake windows with chalk drawings.

I tried to move, but I felt a pain in my arm and my head. So I just laid back down, clutching my head and breathing heavily.

Then I heard a door open, and my parents walked into the room, and Mom was carrying a bottle of hangover medicine and some water.

She handed them to Dad and ran straight to me, wrapping her arms around me.

"Oh, honey! Thank God you're okay! We were so worried!", she said.

I wanted to ask what happened, where I was, and what happened to my friends, but Dad beat me to the punch.

"You crashed the car on your way to the airport. The police told us you were driving under the influence, several beer bottles were found in the front and back seats. Now our car smells like vomit and alcohol.", he said.

"You fractured your arm, but the doctor said with painkillers and plenty of bed rest, you'll heal in no time.", said Mom.

Dad sighed, "And you planned on going away to college?", he rhetorically asked. "You can barely take care of yourself, let alone your friends."

My eyes widened at the thought of my friends.

"My friends...", I said. "Ivan and Delroy. What about them? Are they okay? Did the police say anything about them?"

Mom and Dad looked at each other, then back at me, eyes filled with pity.

"Mom? Dad? Are they okay? Please tell me they're okay! Please!"

As I began to panic again, my mom hugged me again, and Dad joined in soon after her.

"Oh, Nicky. My sweet baby.", said Mom, "I'm so sorry."

I started to cry. This was enough to tell me that neither of my friends were okay, and it was my fault that they weren't okay.

Dad gently caressed my head as he began shushing me, "It's alright, Nicholas. Calm down.", he whispered. "How about you go back to sleep?"

They gently pushed me back down on the bed, but I didn't want to go back to sleep. "But...but what about my flight? I...we were supposed to leave for -"

"Honey, you're not going. Not while you're in this state.", Mom firmly said. "From now on, you're just going to stay home with me and your father. No more drinking, no more sneaking out, just us taking care of you."

As Mom spoke, she filled the small cup with medicine and handed it to me. I quickly swallowed it and immediately opened the water bottle, downing that as quickly as I could to get that nasty taste out of my mouth.

I laid back down onto the bed, and I felt Dad keep caressing my head and Mom gave me a kiss on my forehead.

I felt myself slowly falling asleep, and the last thing I heard was my parents leaving the room before I was all the way knocked out.

"My parents will take care of me from now on.", I thought. "They care about me now. I'm all they have left. I don't have to worry about anything else."

(Extra scene):

News Reporter: This just in, a car crash was reported on New Town Street. There was evidence of three young men in the car covered in vomit and alcohol substances filled the front and back seats. However, one of the boys, Nicholas Peterson, wasn't found anywhere near the area of the crash. His friends claimed that he was the one driving the car, and he said that he couldn't pull over due to the brakes not working. Once the police gave the car a closer look, they found that the brakes had been cut. Mr. and Mrs. Peterson have reported their son missing and the police are currently on the case as we speak.

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