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indianamoonshine · 5 years ago

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Solo’s Copilot

*I don’t know whose gif this is so please let me know!*

SUMMARY: Ben Solo is a smuggler. You're a weapon's expert for the Resistance who hates flying but loves cocky bastards.

Against your better judgement, you accept Ben's invitation to be his copilot as he smuggles dangerous cargo around the galaxy - cargo that includes Hutt merchandise.

RATING: M/E

CHAPTER: 1

This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea.

You'd punish yourself for agreeing to this later. You hated flying. Space travel was simply not meant for human beings - this you were convinced of. Your feet belonged planted into the ground. Space was no place for someone like you. It was cold, desolate, and terrifying. You avoided it whenever you could, even if that meant attending meetings through holograms. Sure, it put a damper on your work, but at least you wouldn't risk choking to death.

Ben liked to the fly. A lot. And you liked Ben. A lot.

"Do you think it's ready?"

Poe Dameron, general of the Resistance, could never say 'no' to a challenge even if it meant breaking protocol. Late last night, just before the cycle began again, Ben had gotten finished with putting the finishing touches on Poe's beloved X-wing. Somehow, some way, he'd managed to create something no one had ever succeeded to do before. He'd attempted to explain the process to you, but you were an expert on handheld weapons - not starfighters. Nonetheless, you tried to follow his commentary, even if it sounded like he was speaking a different language.

"I'll bet you ten credits it is," Ben says proudly. "Chewie wouldn't let me use the Falcon as a test rat if it weren't."

The giant and hairy Wookie roars from the weapon's crate he's leaning against. You can't speak Wookie, but he doesn't sound as convinced as Ben had let on. Chewbacca gurgles something in his native tongue - it seems like he's reasoning with Ben - and then huffs through his nose when he's ignored.

Poe shifts in his stance dubiously, arms crossed against his chest, and teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek. You really didn't blame Poe for being skeptical. Ben was a great mechanic, but his "experiment" was reaching. If successful, however, he might have discovered a new way to train pilots. Personally, you hoped it worked; the news of beginners crashing to their fiery deaths was becoming too frequent.

The general understood the severity of this test. He shook his head, defying his better judgement. "Alright. Fine. But I wanna make it more interesting."

Ben raised an eyebrow, long fingers reaching for his jacket he'd draped across the crate next to Chewie. "Like...?"

Poe smirks a little. "A bet. We race from here and back again within ten parsecs."

Even Ben is taken aback. Chewie voices a forceful concern from behind, raising his arms in the air. But after a moment of deliberation, he shrugs with nonchalance.

"Alright. Bet," he says, reaching out to shake Poe's hand. They do, their grips tight around one another. You know Ben is showing off the strength Poe doesn't have by the way the general flinches when they pull away.

Ben turns his chin to you. "Come on, Petals."

Petals. The name gives you a warm, tightening feeling in your belly, sort of like if you'd just drank a shit ton of wine. You follow, grabbing the hand he's offered to you, and resist the urge to lean against him. But your eyes widen in shock when he lifts your intertwined hands and kisses the back of palm with closed eyes.

"What was that for?" you ask with a smile, blush creeping into your cheeks. So embarrassing.

He smirks a grin that could melt ice. "Does there have to be a reason?"

You blink away the lewd thoughts creeping into the shore of your conscious. The thought of him raising that same fist above your head and pinning you to the mattress, warm and plush lips sliding their way down your body as you moan his name in a whiny, almost pornographic, whimper...

That hadn't happened yet, you reminded yourself.

The two of you step inside the Falcon and he releases your hand. You almost whine at his separation, your palm growing cold without his warmth, but you keep quiet. It was still too early to pout like a touch-starved girlfriend. Even though you were touch-starved. Too touch-starved for your own liking. And he was right there; the man who wetted your dreams was right there and you hadn't even seen him naked yet.

Disappointment clouds your vision, but you walk to the cockpit anyway.

Nimble and long fingers dance around the controls you couldn't name if your life depended on it, and the Falcon roars to life. A button on the wall flickers and spits out a choking beep, but when Ben slams his fist against it, it stops. It was almost as if everything he does once seated in the chair is an instinct, like he was possessed by some all-knowing entity.

And while you had confidence in Ben, the fear of flying did not dissipate, even if drowning in a sea of lust. You raise your knees to your chest, the chair being so large that you had more than enough room to fold yourself in it, and begin to chew on your fingernails.

Ben looks over at you. "You don't trust me?"

But he's smiling. It's one of those cocksure smiles that feels objectifying, but still knots your stomach anyway. Maybe that's why it knots your stomach.

You nod your head. "I do," but it's shaky.

Ben hums in disagreement. "Then why do you look like you're headed to your execution?"

He was probably right. You couldn't see yourself, so maybe you did look a little too wound up from another perspective. Still, it was unavoidable.

"You know I hate flying," you say softly. "I belong on the ground."

Ben gazes at you for a moment, eyes twinkling with something you'd never seen in him before, and then leans over to whisper in your ear. "Petals, you belong among the stars..." his hot breath tingles your spine and you shiver as he buckles you in.

Fuck. The cockpit spins, air heated with desire. Your fingers curl into the meat of your palms and this time it's not from fear.

A switch is flipped and Poe's voice filters through the speaker - it jolts you back to reality. Suddenly, Ben isn't the only being in the entirety of the galaxy. "Solo, are we gonna go or what?" he complains.

Ben leans into the mic. "Yeah, ready to go."

The falcon lifts into the air and you flinch, eyes squeezing shut, and muscles turning to stone. This can't be happening. How stupid could you possibly be? You hadn't flown in years. It doesn't help when your ears pop as you reach the stratosphere, and then finally to the mesosphere where the base below turns virtually microscopic. Ben pulls a lever, which you can only assume is the thruster, and the ship lurches towards the blackness of space. Within two minutes, you're off the planet completely, but your nerves have somewhat calmed almost unnaturally. You allow yourself to open an eye and peer out the window, but gasp at the bleakness, and hide your face into your knees again.

"I think you underestimate how good I am at this," Ben chides, but it's playful somehow. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."

You peek at him through your lashes. "Promise?"

Something in Ben softens like marmalade. Maybe it was the pathetic way you squeaked, or the way your cheeks burned in humiliation, but he found something endearing enough to crane his neck over and kiss you gently on the lips. It's soft, warm, and it leaves you wishing it were more as he pulls away with one last peck to your temple.

"Promise," he mumbles in your hair.

Another forbidden image flickers through your head: Ben whispering gently in your ear as he rocks into you with tantalizingly slow thrusts, but deep enough to cause you to sob desperately beneath him.

Shit. Shut the fuck up, you berate internally while attempting to rebuke the scenario.

The speaker filters Poe's voice again. "Ready when you are."

"You trust me?" Ben says then, holding your gaze with his own.

You did. "Yeah."

He nods and faces the viewport while gripping the thruster and then says, "Hang on tight."

You knew the Falcon was fast. You'd been told of its legendary speed and noticed how people gawked like it was a living, breathing thing itself. People were enamored with the "hunk of junk" (as others so famously called it) and you'd never understood why. People liked the rush. People liked the stories. People liked the power. You'd felt this with weapons before; a few guns had really excited you over the years, but it was never on the scale of which the Falcon did for others. The Falcon was a war machine, riddled with battle scars from the Empire and the First Order. It was somewhat of a deity.

But to experience it was another thing.

You're jostled into the depths of space, body stumbling forward, but the restriction of the seat belt saving you from plummeting to the floor. Ben was enjoying this immensely, his face bright with exhilaration and fingers bracing for anything.

"Alright, you gonna hit me or what, Dameron?" Ben shouts to the speaker.

There's no reply from the other end and all is silent before there's a sudden...

Bang!

You shriek, desperately clinging to the arms of the chair, and peer out the viewport for any sign of Poe's X-wing. You hadn't even noticed how flawlessly Ben's ingenuity had proved until the general glides beside the Falcon with a thumbs up and a goofy smile. It'd worked. The stun blasters had succeeded on a ship for the first time in history. The controls of the Falcon have frozen, lights blinking erratically, but reported no damage to the hull. Within a few seconds, all the switches on the dashboard sputter back to life.

Ben lets out a joyful holler and presses the intercom again. "Fan-fuckin'-tastic! It worked!"

Poe laughs along with him. "Great job, Solo. You've just saved a lot of lives."

"Happy to be of service," Ben replies, still clutching the thruster. He turns to you and finds you've relaxed, legs now dangling off the edge of your chair. "How about that race now, Dameron?"

You gulp. Oh shit. You'd forgotten about that.

There's no warning before Ben jumps to lightspeed.

You may have not done much flying, but you knew this wasn't how lightspeed worked. At least, not when human decency was involved. Worlds whizzed past the viewport within seconds, the stars of the galaxy stretching into view in-between them. You scream, grasping onto whatever you could find, and wait for death. Ben's skipped to at least ten planets by now and it hadn't even been a couple of minutes.

You don't even think it's ever gone this fast before.

Ben chuckles a hearty laugh, something like a maniacal teenager would muster up, while skipping through the infinity of space-time. Landscapes of all imagination and color had dissolved in front of you, but when a water planet with a massive wall of a wave appeared before you, there was nothing that could stop you from screaming Ben's name in sheer terror.

But, of course, Ben had everything under control. Like breathing, his hands reached for the proper controls, and the Falcon managed to evade the mountain of ice water.

"BEN!" you yell, resisting the urge to slap him even when in lightspeed. Your hands tremble and you prepare for the next jump, praying to the Gods or the Force or whatever it was that controlled your fate, to arrive back home in one piece.

The Falcon rolls on its side, thrusting into another planet once more, until finally - finally - Ajan Kloss sweeps into view.

Ben looks more than satisfied. In fact, he looks like a lotha cat who got the cream. The smugness on his face is apparent, smirk lopsided while looking steady as ever. He folds his hands behind his head and leans back against the chair as you catch your breath, heart thumping randomly in your chest.

"It's never gone that fast before. I just beat my father's run. I can't bel...-"

Before he can even finish, you've pounced on him, desire coursing through your veins. The rush of adrenaline from a near death experience pools arousal between your legs while you swing them on each side of him. Gods, this man was going to kill you one day, and fuck all, if you'd let him. His calloused hands roam up your sides and then down to your ass to scoot you closer.

Your fingers weave through his thick locks, pulling him deeper into the kiss, and when you part your lips, his hot tongue slid against yours. It took everything - everything - in you to not tear off your shirt in that moment. And you would've, had Poe not interrupted so rudely.

"You son of a bitch. I can't believe you pulled that off!"

You growl at the intrusion, refusing to let Ben go. He smiles against your mouth, hands still cupping the meat of your ass with both hands; hands big enough to almost palm it completely. "You owe me ten credits!" Ben chuckles. You kiss against his neck with a hunger that felt foreign, still so heated from moments before. If Poe found you straddling Ben like this, so fuckin' be it.

Sure enough, Poe arrives next to the window and peers in. When he finds Ben meeting your open mouthed kisses, he groans in disgust.

"Get a room, you two. I'm going back to base."

Ben doesn't separate his lips from yours as he raises a hand in Poe's direction. He hums, "Mmm hmm..." against you as a reply. You allow a giggle that you'd been suppressing bubble from your mouth; Ben swallows it.

"I don't think you're afraid of flying anymore," he mumbles against you, eyes half-lidded, and then squeezes one of your ass cheeks roughly; you let out a yelp. "I think it turns you on."

You shake your head against him, pressing your knees upon the chair to raise yourself over him. More leverage. You needed more leverage. "No. You turn me on. How the fuck can you fly like that?"

"You've got a dirty mouth, don't you?" he teases, tongue entering your mouth once more. Gods, how you wished that tongue were in your pussy instead.

You hum against him as he'd done to you. "Just for you."

He laughs and pulls away from you, though by the way he hesitates you know he doesn't want to. You'd have to get home somehow, you suppose. Still, you weren't flying. Might as well continue indulging in something that doesn't happen very often. The excitement of being caught in an embrace, of being catapulted from one world to another at a dangerous speed...it was a rush.

Ben suppresses a deep laugh - how could he make a laugh sound sexy? - and starts up the falcon again.

#mw1 #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #ben solo x reader #reader insert #this took me way too long to write

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wkemeup · 6 years ago

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Guiding Light (5)

summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra and now, Bucky can’t breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 7.9k warnings: torture, angst™, a fluffy flashback bc it’s seriously needed 🖤series masterlist // series playlist

O N E M O N T H L A T E R

Bucky was covered in sweat. Blood dripped from the gash on his forehead and an awful pain in his left thigh from where a knife was currently embedded into the muscle. He let out a guttural shout, shoving the Hydra agent back several feet and straight through the wall, leaving a gaping hole in the foundation as particles of dust and drywall clouded around him.

The agent groaned, turning onto his stomach and attempted to crawl away, hands scrambling on the concrete, but Bucky was too quick, stalking over him with a quick yank to the knife buried in his leg and tossed it across the room. He reached down and grabbed a tight grip of the man’s collar, heaving the agent to his feet, then higher still as he held him off the ground. The man’s feet kicked at the air.

“Where is she?!”

“I don’t know what you’re—"

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” Bucky howled, shaking the agent as his hands grasped at Bucky’s left wrist, nails scratching over metal plates. Bucky slammed the agent against what was left of the wall. “Tell me where she is or I’ll end your pathetic little li-”

“Bucky!” Steve shouted as he emerged through the hole in the wall, holstering his weapon.

Bucky shot Steve a glare, turning back to the agent and pressing the grip of his hand around the man’s neck, watching as he started to turn red. It was satisfying to watch him squirm.

Steve groaned, half-jogging towards Bucky until he stood over his shoulder.

“Buck, stop it,” Steve demanded, voice stern though he didn’t make a move to force Bucky to stand down. “We need him for information. You kill him and he’s useless to us.”

“He’s pretty useless right now,” Bucky countered, pressing harder on the agent’s windpipe.

“We don’t know that for sure,” Steve warned, cautious eyes glancing over his friend. “We’ll bring him back with us and interrogate him. He might know something, even if he doesn’t realize it.”

Bucky growled, eyes narrowing on the man as his skin began to turn a light shade of blue, lips gasping for breath, eyes bulging, and then, Bucky released his grip. The agent fell to the floor, coughing and retching as he struggled to find air. Bucky rolled his eyes in disgust, stepping away just as Sam rushed in to restrain the agent on the floor.

As Bucky made his way through the hole in the wall, blood dripping from the open wound in his thigh, Steve put his hand on his shoulder, a soft touch though it brought Bucky to a cold stop.

“I don’t like what this is doing to you, Buck.”

Bucky shook his head, the flattened expression seemingly permanent on his features. “I left this one alive for you, Steve. That should be good enough.”

Without bothering to wait for the speech Steve usually gave at the end of every raid about how Bucky was coming dangerously close to winter soldier territory and how he should take a break from missions for a few days, Bucky pushed his way out of the room and towards the quinjet. There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d sit out another mission, not until they brought you home. He didn’t care if he fell right back into the cold, dark shell he barely existed in in the years before you came into his life. He'd put himself through the chair before he gave up on you. Consequences be damned.

The ride back to the compound was filled with the same uncomfortable silence it usually carried. With Steve attending to the pilot’s seat and Sam guarding the Hydra agent they had taken prisoner, Natasha swung her legs around the seat ahead of Bucky, eyeing him carefully as he kept his stare hardened on the flicker of the altitude light on the dashboard.

He could feel her eyes on him, studying him, and he curled his hands around the arm rests.

“Steve’s got a point, you know,” Nat said, leaning her right shoulder against the backrest of the seat. “Don’t think Y/n would like what all this is doing to you, either.”

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Y/n is being held captive by the people who tore me apart from the inside out. She knows what they could do to her and she'd want me to do whatever the hell it took to bring her home.”

Nat sighed, gaze dropping for a moment as her eyes flickered over to your empty seat, the one next to Bucky. “She wouldn’t want you to lose yourself in the process, James.”

She was right. Bucky knew as much. From his first mission back in the field following the clearance from his therapist and Dr. Cho, he’d been different; more aggressive, too quick to shoot on sight, a cold hollowness in his chest with every base they raided only to come up empty.

He was a far cry from the man you knew. The one who smiled often and teased you about the pillow crease marks on your cheeks in the morning and learned how to make banana bread just because he overheard you mention just once in passing how much you loved it. He lost his quick-witted jokes with Sam and flinched away from Steve’s touch. You’d be disappointed in him for closing up so easily without you around.

Bucky clenched his jaw, turning back to Natasha. “Yeah, well Y/n isn’t here, is she?”

Nat stared back at him, firm features on her face, though a sadness lingered being her eyes. She nodded carefully because there was nothing left to say and turned back around in her seat. Bucky felt no relief.

Hours later as the team debarked the jet, Tony was waiting at the edge of the hanger, arms crossed over his chest and a desolate look upon his face. Bucky could already fell the tightness in his chest, knowing exactly what that look meant.

“We got another tape,” Tony said flatly. Steve and Sam exchanged a worried glance and Bucky could feel the entire team’s eyes on him, searching for a reaction they wouldn’t find. He was too numb for that now. Tony gestured for everyone to follow him back into the compound.

“How many does this put us at, Tony?” Steve asked as they made their way to the living room on the eleventh floor.

“Five,” Bucky replied, interjecting before Tony could answer. Sam cursed under his breath.

Since the first video was played on live television, different news networks across the country had started to receive a new tape once a week.

The second time you appeared on the television, looking worse than the first with the infection on your cheek spreading in angry red veins down your face, and dark purple bruising under your eye, Bucky had been out on a run.

He’d returned to find the entire team gathered around the television in the living room. Nat’s hand pressed over her mouth. Steve pacing back and forth as he stole quick glances at the screen. Sam gritting his teeth, arms crossed over his chest. Tony sitting on the very edge of the couch, hands clasped, head dropped.

You’d been forced deliver some bullshit line about how Hydra was the real hero of the attack in D.C. and how SHIELD was an enemy of the people. You looked like you had taken a fresh beating before that recording and Bucky knew you had tried to resist reading those cue cards, but Hydra has an exceptional way of making even the strongest of wills cave. He was familiar with it himself and he was thankful you did, if it spared you even an ounce of pain.

Tony was somehow able to get a hold of the third video before it aired and he did everything in his power to keep the news network from releasing it. It was shock value, ratings, just to have your face on their screen, broken and beaten, reciting from cue cards with a voice so raspy Bucky could barely stand hearing it without tears welling behind his eyes. You swayed in the seat as you spoke, barely able to keep yourself upright. This time, Hydra had you talk about their technological advancements, how they were surpassing SHIELD in strategy and resources. Steve was taking notes.

The media started to speculate after that; throwing around commentary aimlessly about whether you were a traitor to the state or if you had been a double agent all this time. They had debates about if resources should be spent to find you at all, given the state of your appearance and the apparent ‘obvious’ fact that you’d given Hydra information on US defense programs. Bucky had nearly thrown an entire chair at the TV when he heard that. Even daytime talk shows and late-night hosts were talking about it, giving their two cents as if their opinion mattered.

The fourth video had been the worst. They didn’t bother with cue cards, or with strapping you to a chair. Instead, the entire three minute and forty-six second video was just a man in a black mask beating you. You were too weak, your muscles too deteriorated and brain too foggy to fight back. Blood splattered onto the camera lens when the final hit took you down, knocking you out cold.

Sam nearly lost his mind, calling down to the network himself for them to cut the feed to the damn video, questioning how they could even air something as graphic and violent as that. It always came back to the same answer: ratings.

The man in the mask, the same voice Bucky recognized from the first video, had said that this was a punishment for you as he held your unconscious body up for the camera to see. For what, Bucky didn’t know. He supposed it didn’t matter. He had gripped the edge of the counter so tight it broke into pieces in his hands.

Forty-five days you’ve been held captive by Hydra by the time the fifth video came in. Forty-five days.

Bucky knew exactly the kinds of horrors you would face. He knew they would beat you and starve you and torture you until you lost your will to live. He didn’t dare let himself imagine you like he had once been; crying and begging, so fucking afraid and cringing from every touch because pain was all he came to know. He didn’t want to imagine you as anything other than the impossibly sweet, bubbly, endearing woman that pulled him from the cold edge of darkness, the woman he came to love.

“This aired while you guys were somewhere over the Atlantic,” Tony said, turning the TV on and setting up the recorded segment. This time, a man sat behind the anchor’s desk, dark brown hair coiffed away from his face and a navy-blue suit. He was scribing with a pen as he spoke, keeping his hands busy.

“--received yet another recorded tape from members of the terrorist group known as Hydra,” the man stated as an image of your face appeared on the screen beside him. It was a still from the previous video, blood covering your face. Bucky cringed.

“This time, the tape had been left at our studio headquarters in Los Angeles. The random drop offs seem to be the culprit's main tactic in evading the police who have attempted to apprehend whoever is behind these recording.”

The anchor sighed. “Please be advised that what you are about to see may be graphic and difficult to watch.”

The warning that always proceeded these videos.

They didn’t have to show this. They didn’t have to put your pain and torture on display for millions to witness, but they did anyway. For what? Ratings? They were feeding into what Hydra wanted. To create fear and distrust amongst the people, to see their hero beaten and broken while the Avengers did nothing to save her.

Bucky felt sick.

The screen switched to the same dark room they usually filmed these videos in and sure enough, there you were, gazing at the camera under heavy lids, purple bruises and features gaunt. Bucky gripped at the edge of the couch as he leaned against it for support, dropping his head for only a second to catch his breath. Steve’s hand rested on his shoulder and Bucky took as much strength as his friend was offering and faced the television again.

You swallowed, eyes glazing over as you struggled to read from the cards. There was a clench in your jaw, a sniffle, and Bucky realized suddenly you were trying to keep yourself from crying. You glanced over at someone behind the camera, pleading, begging, and you closed your eyes shut at whatever his response was. A tear slipped down the side of your face. Defeated.

Bucky bit down so hard on his cheek he tasted blood.

“Bucky,” you choked out and his stomach plummeted, all eyes in the room turning to him, “they know you’ll-- you’ll be watching this and they have a message for you.”

You let out a shaky breath, hands curling against the arm rest, finger nails long been ripped from you, red angry skin in its place. Licking at your lips you shook your head subtly, so carefully that Bucky almost missed it, like you were trying to send him a sign beyond what your captors would notice. A tear passed over the dried blood caked on your cheek.

“This is—this is because of you.”

Then, your restraints were released and you were being thrown from the chair, body slammed against the wall with such force you let out a pained cried as you struggled to grab onto the arm holding you in place. A tall figure, muscular build, with that same black mask covering his face he wore in every video thus far, wrapped his hand around your neck.

Bucky clenched his hands, arms trembling, helpless, because there was nothing he could do. This had already happened. You’d already been beaten, already uttered his name in that helpless cry, all while he was completely unaware. It was only a recording. He couldn’t save you from what had already happened.

The man pulled you towards him, only to slam you against the wall again. When your face turned blue, he tossed your body carelessly across the room. You heaved through raspy breaths, desperate to find air and you tried to crawl away. The fear in your eyes was enough to break Bucky in two.

Then, the screen turned black.

“What the hell!” Bucky shouted, rushing towards the television, searching for the power button only to find it did nothing as he pressed it. He whipped around to face Stark. “What did you do!?”

“You don’t need to see that,” Tony replied calmly and Bucky nearly released a feral growl as he attempted to charge at Stark before Steve came up behind him and held him back.

Tony stood his head. “There’s nothing else in that video beside that asshole beating Y/n unconscious. Again. They’re doing it to torture you, Barnes.”

“So, let them!” Bucky shouted, struggling against Steve’s grip. He slammed Steve’s back against the television, though it did nothing to release his grip.

“I’ve seen the whole thing,” Tony snapped, shouting over the struggle between the super soldiers. “It’s ugly and I know for a fact Y/n wouldn’t want you to watch it. Its only purpose is to mess with you, don’t you get that? You saw how hard she was fighting even having to read that damn card! We all know you’d only use it as fuel to punish yourself again and again for her being where she is and I’m sick of it! Y/n would be pissed as hell that you’ve been so willing to jump right back into Winter Soldier mode at the first excuse you got!”

“Watch it, Tony!” Steve warned and Bucky threw himself from Steve’s hold.

To everyone’s surprise, even as Tony activated the extension of his suit on his hand from the pieces in his watch, as Sam and Nat readied themselves for a fight, Bucky remained completely still. Chest panting, hands clenching into painful grips at his side. A lull came over and everyone relaxed. Everyone but Bucky.

“What’s happening to Y/n is not your fault, Barnes,” Tony pressed and Bucky kept his gaze focused on the floorboards. “We all know that you did everything you could to save her that day. But Y/n is strong. Her body may be weak right now but her mind isn’t. She’s strong and she’ll survive this. Just... don’t be a different person when she gets back.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, looking up to Tony who was disarming the iron man armor on his hand. Tony was never someone Bucky expected to get along with, not after the history they shared, and he was okay with that. So, for Tony Stark, the man who Bucky deprived of his parents, to show him concern, to some him even some level of compassion, was too much.

He turned on his heels and left the room, disregarding his name as it was called.

***

“Let me talk to him.”

Forty-seven days since you’d been taken and Bucky stood outside of the interrogation room in the sub-ground level of the compound. Behind the thick layer of the one-way mirror, Bucky observed the agent he nearly beat to death in the abandoned Hydra base in Germany sitting smugly at the center of the room. The agent that now had an identity after FRIDAY was able to run facial recognition.

His name was Cal Jennings, a mid-level agent with a Hydra security clearance high enough to know more than what he said. Dried blood caked on his upper lip from where Natasha had broken his nose on day one of her interrogation. He wasn’t the same fearful mess he had been when Bucky had his hands on him. It was a front, a ploy, to lure Bucky into killing another one of their agents before they could be interrogated for information.

Jennings sat alone, arms tied behind his back, as he stared at the mirror. If Bucky didn’t know this was a one-way mirror, he would have thought Jennings was looking right at him.

“You know I can’t allow that, Buck,” Steve replied to his request as he turned away from the window to face his friend. “He knows something and--”

“That’s exactly why you need to send me in, Steve,” Bucky countered, growing desperate. “I can get it out of him. You know I can.” Steve hesitated, clearly thinking and Bucky continued, “If he knows anything about where Y/n is... Please, Stevie.”

Steve sighed, his shoulders slumping and he gave a slow nod.

Before Steve could change his mind, Bucky pushed his way out the door and into the hallway. The fluorescents were brighter out there, enough that he had to squint to avoid the harsh influx of light to his eyes. A few more steps and he was at the door. Right hand reached out and touched the cold metal of the knob, unclicking the locks until it swung open.

Jennings didn’t so much as turn in Bucky’s direction as he stepped into the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

Bucky studied Jennings, searching for weaknesses he’d been trained to locate in his Hydra days; fresh wounds to exploit, the slight dip of a bone broken years ago he could re-snap, the flicker of eyes to a vulnerable position. Jennings gave him nothing, kept his stare straight ahead on the mirror, admiring his own reflection, but Hydra had trained Bucky well. He would find something to make Jennings talk. He always did.

“I’m only going to ask this once,” Bucky grumbled, pacing around the room in slow, calculated steps, “where is she?”

Jennings chuckled and it made Bucky’s blood boil. “I thought I was... what did you say... ‘useless?’”

“An act,” Bucky spat, circling around the back of Jennings’ chair. “You wanted me to kill you so you wouldn’t have to sit where you are now. You knew what you would face if we brought you in alive and you cowered away.”

Jennings smirked, meeting Bucky’s eye in the mirror. “You think very highly of yourself, Soldat.”

Bucky flinched at the name, a chill sweeping through his spine. Jennings pursed his lips, taking note of the curl of Bucky’s hand at it clenched into a fist.

“Tell me, Soldat,” Jennings taunted, “does your whore know everything about your past with us? Does she know how many you’ve killed? How many civilians have been caught in the crossfire? Does she know how much you enjoyed it?”

He paused, snickering as he glared over at Bucky with a kind of disgust and amusement all mixed in one, eager to watch the former soldier fall apart at the mere mention of your name. Jennings smirked.

“Does your girl know she’s fucking a monster?”

A growl ripped through Bucky’s chest and his left hand was suddenly wrapped around Jennings’ throat. Pressing hard against his vocal cords, Jennings still managed to chuckle through the gasps of air.

It didn’t matter that he’d never touched you like that, that he’d never had the chance to so much as tell you how he felt, let alone show you in such a way. The very idea of this man talking about you like that, the clear picture in his head as his licked his lips even with Bucky’s hand wrapped tight around his neck, drew a burning rage from somewhere dark, deep within Bucky’s chest.

A hand slammed against the one-way mirror from the observation room; Steve’s warning to back off. Bucky released Jennings with a grunt.

Heavy coughs and a snicker under his breath, Jennings only seemed to grin wider at Bucky’s reaction. “Touchy...”

“Where is she?” Bucky demanded, voice low, even, and restraining the rage festering under the surface.

“Who?”

“You know the fuck who, asshole.”

“Oh,” Jennings feigned realization. A short shrug of his shoulders and then, “Agent Y/l/n?”

Bucky took in a breath that was hot in his lungs. He folded the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, exposing the cold metal of his left forward. Jennings laughed to himself.

“I remember her. Liked the way that stealth suit of hers clung to her ass,” Jennings jeered, shooting Bucky a watchful stare from the reflection of the mirror, waiting for him to break. Bucky clenched his jaw, curling his hands back into fists to keep them off of the man’s face.

“Enough,” Bucky spat. “Where is she?”

"You know, I see why you’re upset, Soldat. You know exactly what we will do to her because you’ve experienced it yourself,” Jennings said, too calmly, too arrogantly to stir up anything but a paralyzing dread in Bucky’s stomach. “You know that we’ll ruin her. You know we’ll rip her apart from the inside out. We’ll break her down so she becomes something so unrecognizable you’d wish we had killed her!”

Jennings yanked on his bindings, almost feral, and Bucky suddenly couldn’t move.

“She’s been beaten and tortured and mutilated just like you were!” Jennings continued with a malice in his voice Bucky had only heard in his decades under Hydra’s hold. “You won’t find her in time. You won’t save her. She’ll die in that cell the way you were supposed to! You’re never going to see her again!”

It was too much, the blood boiling in his veins, the pulsing in his head blinding his vision, and Bucky could hardly feel the ground beneath his feet. Jennings watched him from the mirror as Bucky stood in the back corner of the room, eyes on the floor, struggling to get ahold of himself and Jennings began to laugh, a sick kind of sound that only seemed to worsen the trembling in his hands.

“Tell me where she is!” Bucky yelled out, punching his fist against the wall enough to break off fragments of the concrete wall behind his knuckles. Jennings shrugged, unaffected.

“Why would I do that?” he sneered, a vicious grin curling up his thin lips. “It’s so fun to see the infamous Winter Soldier, the man who has killed presidents and taken out entire governments single handedly, reduced to a lovesick, pathetic little man over some cheap, worthless whor--”

Bucky’s fist collided with the side Jennings’ face, enough for blood to splatter from the sick curve of his grin to the pavement below. But he didn’t let up. No, he swung again, this time with the hard metal of his left fist and Jennings’ chair, bolted to the ground, lifted from the hinges and crashed to the floor on its side. Bucky couldn’t hear Steve as he pounded on the glass, warning him, not as he threw punch after punch into Jennings’ side, his face, his gut, as he grabbed a hold of Jennings’ leg and twisted until something popped and Jennings let out a scream.

Steve and Sam barreled into the room, arms snaking around Bucky to hull him off, blood dripping off of his knuckles as he shook Sam off easily, shoving Steve back against the mirror causing it to crack. Bucky charged back to the ground, grabbing a firm grip of Jennings’ collar, forcing him to meet his eye, even under layers of blood on his face and the swelling already forming over his features.

“I won’t ask again!” Bucky roared, fist held high, ready to strike, “Where is she?!”

Steve and Sam froze behind Bucky as Jennings began to snicker, blood sleeping out from behind his lips, pooling over his chin. He spat a thick glob of it to the floor, teeth red as he jeered up at Bucky.

“You will never find her, Soldat,” Jennings slurred through the blood pooled in his mouth. “Your final punishment is what we will do to her and she will never be the same.”

Bucky dropped his grip, stumbling back and Jennings collapsed to the ground. Sam rushed forward, hulling Jennings’ chair back on its legs and pressed his fingers to Jennings’ pulse. A sigh of relief as he looked back at Steve, a nod, and Bucky nearly fell to the ground. Steve’s strong arms snaked under Bucky’s and yanked him to his feet before his knees could buckle under him.

“You got this?” Steve asked Sam, nodding at Jennings whose chin was draped to his chest, knocked out cold.

“Yeah I can handle this piece of shit,” Sam grumbled back, resting his hands on his hips. He glanced back at Buck as he hung in Steve’s grip. “Get him out of here.”

Bucky allowed Steve to assist him out of the room, just long enough to regain strength in his legs, and he waved him off carefully, giving him an appreciative nod. Steve didn’t say anything, but he walked Bucky the entire way to the elevator. For good reason, Bucky assumed. He would have tried to sneak back into the interrogation room for another shot at Jennings if he thought Steve wouldn’t be able to stop him.

“You’re not thinking straight, Buck,” Steve said as they approached the elevator. He pressed the single button and it illuminated under his touch.

“Never really could without her,” Bucky shrugged.

“That’s not true. You’ve done so well and, sure, Y/n has been a huge help in your recovery and you’ve only gotten better since you guys have been, um... close,” Steve said awkwardly, scratching at the back of his head, “but, you can still be you without her. You’re strong enough for that.”

“What if I don’t want to be?” Bucky sighed dejectedly.

The elevator dinged as the doors opened, though Bucky didn’t move. He stared at the small scratches on the metal shine of the wall, tiny imperfections. An ache sat and festered in Bucky’s chest, like a boulder holding weight on his lungs, only able to alleviate when you were beside him.

“Please, don’t say that,” Steve exhaled sadly. “We all know what she means to you and I know this is killing you but... you’ll survive this, Buck. We’ll bring her home, you hear me?”

“It’s just, I...” Bucky let out a heavy breath, turning to his oldest friend as his clenched his jaw, trying to stop the lump building in his throat, “I love her, Steve, and... and I’m-- I’m afraid it’s the reason they’re doing this to her.”

The doors began to close and Steve stuck his hand out to hold them against the frame. Bucky stepped inside, pressing his lips into a thin line. It was the most he could manage. Steve only stared at him, trying to find the right words to say even if there were none. The doors tried to close again but Steve kept them open.

“We’ll bring her home, Buck,” he said again, though the hesitancy in his voice betrayed him.

“Okay,” Bucky sighed, unable to tear his eyes away from the ground. He wasn’t sure if he believed that anymore.

The doors rang out and attempted to close a third time and Steve let his hand fall away, stepping back into the hall. There was nothing left to say.

***

Bucky didn’t know how he ended up at the door to your room, but there he was. It was quiet on the floor. With Steve and Sam still in the sub-level interrogating Jennings and Natasha spending most of her time training, the private quarters were largely unoccupied. You shared a floor with Bucky, Sam, and Wanda, though Wanda has been off in Wakanda for the last few months working with Shuri and Vision on controlling her abilities.

Bucky wondered if Stark had assigned him to this floor on purpose, with his room just a few feet away from yours. He could have thrown Bucky into a floor all his own, secluded, away from everyone else, just because he could, as some frankly reasonable punishment for what he did to Stark’s parents, though, he must have figured Bucky would have preferred that. And yet, being so close to you, running into you every morning felt almost like fate.

Slowly, he twisted the knob to your door, cool under his touch, and stepped inside. The window was open, curtains flowing softly with the breeze as it swept through the room. Chills ran up Bucky’s spine and he crossed the room to close the window. As he turned around, he spotted your workout clothes from that morning still tossed over the edge of your bed, sneakers kicked off by the bathroom, and the hanger your stealth suit lying on the floor by the door.

It was untouched, like you were never gone, like it hadn’t been forty-seven days since he last saw you.

Bucky swallowed back the bile in his throat, glancing down at his right hand as he sat on the edge of your bed. His knuckles were covered in blood, red angry marks and broken skin upon his fist.

He closed his eyes and tried to bring himself back to the first time you had helped clean the wounds on his skin. Dr. Cho was busy tending to Steve’s injuries, with Sam closely next in line, and Bucky only had superficial cuts, ones he insisted would heal overnight, but you wouldn’t accept that.

You dragged him up to your room, demanded he sit on your bed, and you grabbed the first aid kit from your nightstand. He couldn’t quite tell if you were angry or just determined with that thin little crease forming on your forehead as you worked bringing a twist to his stomach. You didn’t say a word as you disinfected the open wounds on his hand or when he hissed at the alcohol on his skin. You didn’t warn him to be careful next time because you knew it would happen again. It was his job, after all.

Soft, careful touches as you wrapped his hand in gauze, offering him a sweet smile as you told him he was good as new like you actually believed that. It was one of the memories he held onto tightest. Just the ease with which you touched him, like he wasn’t made of broken fragments, like he was something whole. It was the first time he considered that you might be right.

Bucky stood and rounded the corner of your bed, pulling out the drawer of your nightstand. Sitting on top, just as he remembered, was the first aid kit. He pulled it from the drawer and set it on the bed, popping open the lid and grabbing the supplies he would need. He did his best to clean the mess on his hand, all the while knowing that you’d have done a better job because you always handled him with the kind of care he never gave himself.

After his hand was wrapped and the sting of the alcohol was fresh on his skin, he moved to set the kit back into the drawer when something caught his attention.

Carefully, he slipped his left hand into the drawer and pulled out a single polaroid. It took him a moment to recognize where it was from, but the moment he did, the memory came flooding back.

Bucky always liked running; the feel of the air sweeping through his hair, the burn in his lungs, the sore ache of his legs. It let him focus on something other than the thoughts rummaging in his mind. It gave him an opportunity to just... be.

You were on his left, a slight pant in your breath, and Bucky was cautious to take note of when it sounded like you were struggling to hold the pace for his sake and he’d slow down enough that you wouldn’t notice and your breaths came in a little easier. Then, he’d speed up when he thought you were ready again.

Seven miles around the property; the path twisting through the back field where the recruits did their field training, behind the lake, and through a section of the forest which helped to seclude the compound. It was a beautiful view, if Bucky was being honest. Upstate New York in the fall just as the leaves were turning colors, some crunching under his sneakers as he ran. The air was crisp in his lungs, cool on his skin.

It had been a while since he felt so relaxed. You had a habit of bringing that out in him. It had become part of his routine, getting up in the morning and throwing on shorts and a crew neck, tying his sneakers at the kitchen table as he waited for you to emerge from your room; that genuine look of surprise that always seemed to morph into something like relief as you spotted him.

Even after he warmed up a little, letting himself find his voice around you and reluctantly agreeing to follow you into the middle of Brooklyn, he still found himself incredibly nervous. It was foreign for him to feel such a way, like a heat could form in his cheeks if you asked him the right question and the sweat that lined in his right hand as you stood close to him without thinking much of it.

You were starting to breath too hard beside him, face burning red and sweat dripping down from your hairline, and Bucky slowly pulled to a stop. There was only a half mile back to the main building from here, and he figured you could use a cool down to stretch your muscles anyway.

You paused, leaning over and resting your hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath. You stole a quick glance up at Bucky, who was only watching you carefully. His heartrate was hardly elevated, hair dry and hanging by his shoulders, breaths even.

“You’re insufferable. You know that?” you teased with a growing smile, wiping your forearm across your hairline and shaking the excess sweat out into the grass. “Why even bother coming on these runs with me if they clearly do nothing for you?”

“I never said they did nothing for me,” Bucky replied softly, eyes squinting from the sun as he looked back up at the compound.

These runs may not challenge him physically, but they still had purpose. It got him out of his room and dressed in the morning. It got him using his body again for something other than destruction and survival. It got him pumping the blood back into his veins and out into the fresh air, something Steve had been trying to accomplish with him unsuccessfully in the month before he met you. It got him more time with you.

These runs were something Bucky looked forward to. It had been a while since he had something like that.

You narrowed your eyes on him, a purse of your lips as you studied him for a tell you wouldn’t find. A short laugh as you shook your head and exhaled, “ok fine! Run at a mortal's pace then, super soldier.”

Bucky chuckled under his breath as you started to walk back along the path, watching as you shot him a teasing smirk over your shoulder and he jogged a few paces to catch up to you. He always felt better by your side, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.

It was a slow walk up to the back entrance, with you stretching your arms behind you until they cracked, pulling a wince out of Bucky you found to be rather hilarious. You complained about your sore muscles and teased Bucky about his unfair advantage, all while tossing him those smiles that made his stomach weak.

He pushed a few steps ahead to grab the door for you as you walked back inside, giving him a casual salute as you passed by, causing him to chuckle softly.

“So, what are your plans this morning?” you asked off-handedly, like you genuinely believed he might have something on his schedule other than secluding himself to his room. You grabbed a water bottle from the kitchen and tossed one to him over the counter. He caught it easily in his left hand.

“Super busy,” Bucky shrugged as he twisted off the cap. “Thought I’d head back into the city and walk around for a while. Maybe see if Sam wanted to meet me at one of those coffee joints with cats hanging around and buy a novelty shirt from Times Square.”

“Wow, Buck, that’s--” you started, a little taken back and surprised at his answer. Though, when Bucky tried to suppress a laugh as he took a swig from the water bottle, you pouted, putting your hands on your hips. “You’re not going to the city.”

“No, I’m not,” Bucky confirmed with a slight shake in his head. “I’m a little shocked you thought I’d go anywhere with birdbrain, let alone back into the city.”

“Oh, it’s not entirely unrealistic! You had a good time when we went to Brooklyn last month, didn’t you?”

Bucky nodded, “yeah, but I was with you, wasn’t I? Different situation entirely.”

“Is it?” you asked curiously, the teasing nature absent from your voice and Bucky realized the implications of what he said. You were watching him too carefully, with a hopefulness behind your eyes that caught Bucky entirely off guard.

“Oh, well, I meant that, um,” Bucky stumbled over his words, his throat suddenly feeling dry, “I just... I don’t know... I’m more comfortable around you. I guess.”

Your lips slowly curved into the widest smile Bucky had ever seen, which was a feat within itself knowing you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, think so,” Bucky replied with a nervous laugh and you punched the air like you had just crossed the finish line of a marathon. The anxiety faded away as he watched you grin at him, like you had been hoping for this all along. He let himself laugh.

“Good! Well that means you’re free then,” you quipped, rushing from behind the counter and grabbing a hold of the wrist on his left hand, like it wasn’t made of metal, like it wasn’t something lethal, and tugged him towards your room. “Come on! I’ve got something I wanna show you.”

Bucky couldn’t help the smile pressing up on his cheeks as he followed you down the hall, your delicate fingers still wrapped around metal. He found himself fixated on it, so perplexed how you could touch this piece of him so casually, like it wasn’t something to fear, something to be disgusted by.

You pushed open the door to your room and shoved him teasingly to sit on the flood at the end of your bed. He watched as you raced around the room, grabbing a few books off the shelves and your laptop from the desk. You took a seat next to him, folding your legs under you and your shoulder brushed his.

“Prepare to get educated, Barnes.”

You showed him a few of the books he recognized from the trip to Brooklyn, ones you purchased after you had insisted he catch up on what he had missed. After careful consideration, you placed two of the five books on his lap, explaining the synopses and instructed him to pick one. He had just finished To Kill a Mockingbird, his first choice on the list you gave him. Of the two you laid out for him, he chose Fahrenheit 451. You, of course, got a kick out of that because it was Steve’s favorite on the list you had provided when you first met him as well.

Bucky couldn’t help the pang of jealousy at the thought of anyone else sharing these kinds of moments with you, curled up one the floor by your bed, rustling through old books, as you typed away on your laptop. Though, with the way you were stealing glances at him every few minutes, lip caught between your teeth as you typed away, it was easy to forget about anything but you and this moment.

"What are you doing?” Bucky asked as he glanced over the back cover of the book, flipping through the worn pages.

“Making you a playlist,” you replied, eyes still glued to your screen as you clicked and dragged songs over into a folder on the left side. “Your education doesn’t stop with books, Bucky! I’ve got a whole plan here. Music. Movies. Television. Food. Theater. Tourist traps.”

“Of course,” Bucky laughed, the very idea of spending more time with you like this making his stomach pleasantly weak. You grinned back at him and set the laptop in the space between you, clicking play on the first song of the playlist. Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You’re done already?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” you shrugged and Bucky’s lips curved up into a smile, wondering when you had decided to put the first song on the list and what moments made you think of him, what melodies or lyrics reminded you of him enough to put them together in a playlist. You shoved his shoulder, pointing to the laptop. “Listen!”

Bucky pressed his lips together, nodding as he stilled himself. The soft strum of the guitar filled the room, accompanied by what sounded like an old grainy texture he’d find on tracks from his time, only this sounded more like waves coming in along a beach. Then, a man’s voice came through the static and the acoustic strumming, soft, comforting, joined by the delicate pulsing rhythm of a tambourine.

‘Been traveling these wide roads for so long.

My heart’s been far from you

Ten-thousand miles gone’

Bucky sat back against the frame of your bed, letting the soft tones of the music relax in his muscles and carry away the thoughts in his head. He listened as the harmonies sang over the chorus, the familiar sound, the new sound, the somewhere in between, until it eventually slowed and a woman’s voice came through, lulling Bucky into a calm he could only drop his guard to find next to you.

The voices began to fade and tambourine chimed one last time, and you reached out and pressed pause before the next song could play, carefully looking to him for his reaction. Bucky didn’t know how you had come to learn him so well in the few months since he met you, how you had managed to get him to open up, even if in small careful steps, how you could possibly find a song that reminded him so much of his youth but ushered in a new era at the same time.

It was perfect. It was his new favorite song. He wanted to hear it twenty times over as long as you’d sit next to him.

“Do you like it?” you asked nervously, glancing back at the screen. “There’s others, too. I just thought, maybe you’d--”

“Play again, will ya?” Bucky interjected, smiling at you softly, enough for you to return it eagerly as a relief relaxed over your features. You nodded and restarted the song. The strum of the guitar filled the room again.

Bucky didn’t even notice you pull a camera from under your bed as he listened to the calming melodies of the song. You scooted an inch or so closer to him, enough that your hip touched his and Bucky sucked in a careful breath. You held the camera out at the end of your arm, lens facing you.

“Smile, Buck,” you requested, nodding to the camera when he shot you a confused look.

Bucky watched as you turned back to the camera, smiling as you leaned your head on his shoulder. He couldn’t imagine how easily it was for you to be so close to him, to want to be, after all that he’d done. You treated him with a kindness he never thought he’d see again. He decided he’d do just about anything you asked of him.

So, he took a deep breath, turning to the lens and allowing the smallest of smiles to curve on the edges of his lips, his head tilting until it rested on the crown of your head, soft waves under the subtle of his jaw.

The flash clicked and a square film printed out from the bottom of the camera. You pulled it out carefully and blew it on delicately. It was dark and Bucky could hardly tell if he was even in the image or not.

“It’ll develop, don’t worry,” you said with a wink. “In the meantime, I’ve got more songs for you. Get ready to be blown away.”

Bucky chuckled, settling in for the rest of the day if you wanted, resting his back on your bed and playing with the fibers of the carpet under his palm. Your thigh was still pressed up to his and you made no effort to move away. Bucky found he didn’t mind at all.

Three years later and you kept it all this time.

Bucky held the polaroid in his hand, gripped so tightly between his fingers it startled to crinkle in the corner. The curve of your smile, the lines by your eyes as you grinned for the camera, curling up against him. An innocence in his own eyes he hardly even recognized.

You changed him, pulled him from the darkness, helped him find his own footing to step into the light.

Bucky pressed the photo to his chest, tears welling in his eyes as a lump choked in the back of his throat. He didn't know if he could survive without you, without his light.

He didn’t know if he wanted to.

-------

If you didn’t notice up at the top, I’ve made an official playlist for this series! It has the one in the memory, some songs that will pop up later, plus just some stuff that inspired me as I wrote and songs that just complete the vibe of this fic. Check it out if you’re interested! 💕I am also working on one for The Witness and an upcoming mini series 🌸

feedback is always appreciated! 💖

tags 👟@sweetheartbarnes / @musiclover1263 / @pies-wands-and-more / @buckygrantbarnes / @mywinterwolf / @breatheeagainnnn / @jewelofwinter / @panic-naran / @fairislesheets / @kaliforniacoastalteens / @captain-hammer-of-asgard / @daydreamsquad / @deanssweetheart / @maybesomedaytho / @montypythonsholysnail / @saharzek / @jillybeaner13 / @chubby-dumplin / @searchingforbucky / @alohafromhell1 / @tabalugax / @shesalatesh / @whyamidoingthistomyselfhelp / @aliensbecameourstyle / @bucksgoat / @serpensortiaaa / @trash-rats-unite / @hungry-pasta / @nervosaa / @lbuck121/ @get0verit / @obama-mia / @imsoft-barnes / @this-broken-band-girl / @michelehansel / @itz-kira / @forever157 / @grey-water-colors / @sebastianstan-posts / @sarcastic-and-cool / @no-clue-whats-happenin / @capsgrl / @happyeyesandsunshine / @slithredn / @13sunken-ships13

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #marvel #bucky barnes x female reader #guiding light

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blanket-hole · 5 years ago

Text

Im calling this the faberry files cos I feel like a spy when I'm really just very gay

This is just basically timestamps of every faberry moment I could find as I was rewatching season 1-3. I don't know if anyone wants to see it but I just put it here cos why not. I wasn't really planning on posting it but here we are so it features my gay ass commentary. Anyway there u go.

gay ass looks-

-1x04- so far I’ve seen a gay ass look Quinn gives Rachel at 35:36

-1x05-39:50-not that gay but a little bit, also long

-1x09-43:02 she looks so adoring

-1x10-during endless love

-1x11-9:37 voiceover is mean but just look at those eyes and tell me I’m wrong,34:00 she literally looks so adoringly I can’t

-1x12-10:41 pretends not to see her only to look straight (or not) at her

-1x15-35:02 they’re even talking about love at the time and sitting weirdly close for enemies

-1x16-41:30

-1x20-43:06 I can’t really see where she’s looking under those long ass lashes but I think when Rachel does that little giggle she stares at her while smiling, might just be Faberry goggles tho

-1x22-9:05 I think thats like the cutest smile my little gay heart, 14:23 Quinn is fully checking her out rn like not even subtle they’re on stage

-2x04 16:12, 41:48 at Rachel singing

-2x07-23:19 that could in no way be regarded as a platonic look of enjoying the song, especially since its just started

-2x09- 43:04 part of dog days but its just so cute them holding hands also weird since they are still meant to hate each other lol

-2x10-6:03 this could just be my Faberry goggles but im counting it :D, 31:20 staring at Rachel while she looks sad

-2x11-11:04 could be at puck but she was looking at Rachel before when they were further apart so imma take the w also Diana looks really cute in this bit

-2x16- 4:27 is being kinda mean but also the way she looks at her <3<3<3 :DD also 5:21 if u don’t want to wait through a bit of a scene and the look then is suuuuper gay, 43:17 she looks so proud of her girlfriend :DDDDD

-2x18-52:49 she looks like such a proud girlfriend in this bit

-2x21-1:29 its only a quick look from Quinn tho

-3x06-28:26 Quinn gives Rachel the GAYEST lingering look at the end of the song (unless my eyes deceive me but I don’t think they do cos I’ve checked like 3 times :DDD)

-3x07- 25:00 this is possible the outright gayest look from Quinn ive ever seen, its during one of the songs but I had to put it in

-3x08- 41:10 the look of joy on Quinns face when Rachel touches her shoulder is just pure gay energy

-3x14- 17:27 ‘for the rest of my life’ looks at Quinn, ffs just get married already, 24:07 she literally bites her lip like wth how is this not canon

-3x19- 39:08 kind of but Quinn looks really happy when he says Rachel Berryand its so cute

Scenes together-

-before I had this idea- the “eavesdrop much” talk, and a couple of other things e.g. the ru Paul scene and the sweetie scene.

-1x05-41:59 during somebody to love weird foot tap thing

-1x06- 18:34 gay ass looks as well, 22:58

-1x07-21:45, 28:53 (the you obviously have a lot you need to express scene), 32:07 they just get wierdly closer for no reason

-1x09-26:09 not much but still

-1x13-3:06, 11:01

-1x15-34:18 sitting really close together next to each other when they’re meant to not like each other?

-1x20-5:42 they also sit really close and a bit of gay staring

-2x02 35:40 (on left of stage next to mike) they’re seen really close and talking, 38:55 standing unreasonably close and also in weird positions for a conversation, 31:28 Quinn looks really sad when Rachel sings to Finn (could also be a Fuinn thing tho so idk)

-2x04 28:11

-2x08-9:44

-2x13- 30:51

-2x14-8:19 its shortcut the level of gay panic on Quinns face is enough for its own spot

-2x15-0:03 how closeted is it to be the only two in the celibacy club fighting over a guy that neither of them want or need lmao I just think its really funny

-2x16-9:31 the level of gay panic on racehls face when she says she’s right is just a mood, 22:27 I think this is a scene about miscommunication and Quinn blatantly states that she thinks Rachel is much better than Finn and that she believes in her I have a lot of feelings about this scene but ill leave it at that

-2x17-16:20

-2x18-2:38 not much tho, 10:53 they’re being civil and touchy feely also leads into pretty/unpretty, 21:50 when it pans to Quinn it makes it seem like it would be a Fuinn jealousy scene but she doesn’t look jealous at all just a bit sad i think she possibly is worried about Rachel and while she understands (which is why she’s helping) she wants her to feel beautiful in her own skin sorry if I read a bit too far in lol

-2x20-29:42, 33:12, 35:30 I love how finn last episode said Quinn was so closed off with her feelings and then this scene like maybe she can be herself around Rachel idk

-3x01-10:57 Skank Quinn fully checks Rachel out as she’s leaving in this scene also right after a scene where she said she’s not interested in the boys

-3x05-22:55 talking about finchel tho

-3x08-0:00, 21:54, 37:48

-3x11-14:28,20:00 is also a gay ass look but shes talking to Rachel so I put it here

-3x12-13:09 she only taps Rachel tho

-3x13-15:43 Quinn is acting like the stereotypical ‘gentleman’ and its very Faberry canon esque, to put it the best can

-3x14-34:28 this scene I just can’t the way Quinn lights up when she see her and her voice softens a bit and what she said this is the gayest scene no-one can explain it it a hetero way just ahh

-3x15-10:28 they’re holding hands :DD

-3x19-31:48

-3x22-23:12 those tickets cost so much money I swear they should have been way better friends after high school pft, 40:15 Quinn looks so proud of her girlfriend

Possible scenes, could be just drama-

-1x09-29:27 could be at Rachel

-2x10-12:40 kind of about being sad about Finn but could be jealousy?

-2x16- 34:47 could be about Faberry but is framed as finchel or fuinn

-2x17- 37:28 probably just finchel drama but still Faberry jealousy

-2x18-17:16 they say how they’re ‘fighting about Rachel again’ and Im putting it in idc about finchel :DD

-2x19- 23:19 more about Fuinn like always in this category but Faberry jealousy

-2x22-2:27, 3:29, 8:25 finchel/fuinn/faberry jealousy

Sitting really close when they’re meant to not like each other-

-1x15-34:18

-1x19-32:33

-1x20-19:16 in the scene Quinn kinda checks her out but then they stand really close so I put it here

-2x02 23:24 sits really close to Rachel when she dresses in her Britney Spears costume and in the scene Quinn looks like she’s purposefully trying not to look at her and at 29:20 Quinn chose to sit right behind Rachel again, 39:52 seen sitting right behind her again

-2x10- 35:03 standing really close when it would make a difference if Quinn stood anywhere else (e.g. next to her friends or boyfriend) I just think its weird lol

-2x15- 6:28 (before Quinn starts plotting against Rachel, they’re in celibacy club together but all they do is argue so its still a bit weird)

-3x07- 4:54

I dont know where to put this-

-2x17- 35:10 they kinda just look a bit nervous and small interaction I just wanted to add this because I thought it was cute the way they moved around each other idk

-2x20- 14:46 Rachel knows Quinns eyes so well she knows the flower and colour of the ribbon (also gardenias are for secret love which it would surprise me if Rachel already knew)

-3x04-20:26 Rachel isn’t sitting near her boyfriend or anyone she’s even really friends with its a bit weird that shed be sitting in the corner right next to Quinn away from the other chairs

Songs- Ive probably missed a bunch of these but I tried lmao-

-somebody to love

-halo

-ride with me

-no air

-keep holding on

-bust a move

-proud Mary

-crazy in love

-imagine- there is a gay ass look

-you can’t always get what you want

-dont rain on my parade

-my life would suck without you

-gives u hell

-hello goodbye

-like a prayer

-home(kind of)

-give up the funk

-any way you want it

-faithfully

-dont stop delieving

-Empire State of mind

-ice ice baby

-toxic

-damn it Janet

-time warp

-sweet transvestite

-start me up/living on a prayer

-hot patootie

-forget you

-umbrella/singin in the rain

-I think I wanna marry you

-just the way you are

-ive had the time of my life

-Valerie

-the Dog days are over

-the most wonderful day of the year

-welcome Christmas

-heads will roll/thriller

-fat bottomed girls

-sing

-blame it on the alcohol

-tik tok

-do you wanna touch

-afternoon delight

-get it right

-loser like me

-pretty/unpretty

-born this way

-pure imagination

-New York New York

-Fix you

-last Friday night

-hit me with your best shot/one way or another

-I cant go for that/ you make my dreams

-I kissed a girl

-feed the world

-summer nights

-we found love

-gotta be starting something

-Im sexy and I know it

-stereo hearts (not technicaly but a lot of Faberry so I’m putting it in)

-fly/I believe I can fly

-heres to us

-its not right but its okay

-its all coming back to me now

-paradise by the dashboard light

-we are the champions

-tongue tied

-you get what you give

#faberry #rachel x quinn #quinn x rachel #rachel berry #quinn fabray #glee

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valorandgold · 2 years ago

Text

“Some people say my hair is white, some people say it’s silver.”

“I just say it’s sexy.”

“Yes, yes, darling, I’m sure you didn’t mean exclusively me, but really now, I’m sure I crossed your mind once...or twice...or several times while you were on the topic, now didn’t I?”

"When I say white hair is my favorite hair color on a girl that includes silver and ashen hair!"

#xanican-exile #~You Can Count On Me To Misbehave~ ;; Aversa #AVERSA YOU MUST S T O P I SWEAR TO NAGA #~Eyes Without A Face~ ;; Dashboard Commentary

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valorandgold · 1 year ago

Text

"Perhaps, one day, when I have the energy and summon enough of my ingenuity to the task, I shall come up with a tea that I feel can truly rival my best coffee brews. Until then, I suppose I shall have to pretend that this is satisfactory enough for me."

"What? No, that wasn't an open invitation to try th-...oh, fine, I'll pour you a cup, but don't expect a first-class drink."

#~on melancholy hill~ ;; dwyer #~eyes without a face~ ;; dashboard commentary #v: live to serve

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stevenismyboy · 5 years ago

Text

I like me better when I’m with you ~Part 5.

a/n: three parts to go, yay! I'm super proud of this piece, I hope you like it too! My masterlist is finally working properly, I solved the problem so you can find the previous parts there!

summary: based on ‘To All The Boys I Loved Before’. Y/N Henderson used to be in love a couple of times. This time she’s sure it’s something bigger, something serious. Her love for Jonathan Byers is unlimited, untamed and endless. At least she thought so.

warnings: mentions of alcohol, lightly drunk reader

Something's changed that night. You weren't exactly sure what, you didn't know what to call it, but that feeling was with you all the way to Steve's friend's house. You had the feeling that the electricity was flowing through your body, just like on those nights when a storm is about to come. And today the sky was completely cloudless.

Steve was driving a totally different way from Jonathan. He was driving with one hand, clenching his ankles loosely. The other hand was hanging lazy on the door from his side, the wind blew his hair when he opened the window. And although he looked more like he was lying on a couch than he was driving, he was completely focused, reacting to walkers and changing lights.

He was so focused that he didn't see you looking at him. Or he didn't want to see. He was sure that if he looked at you for a moment, he might not look away. He didn't have a 13-year-old girl sitting next to him anymore, but a lovely teenager. He'd rather focus on the road than on you, because, my God, he could swear he'd drown in your eyes.

“I don't know, Steve...” you said not so sure when the boy stopped in front of a house full of people. It's weird that he found a parking space when the street was completely covered in drunken kids' cars. You leaned forward, resting your hands on the dashboard, trying to see anyone you knew through the big windows of the residence. The music tried to break through the walls so you could hear it already in the driveway. “Are you sure you don't want to go with someone else? I don't know your friends...”

“Do I really need to remind you of our rules, Miss Henderson? You committed to something with your signature” Steve bent his head and looked at you insightfully. You nervously bit your lower lip. School was a necessity. You had to be there every day anyway. But a party? People really think there's something serious between you two. And what's worse... what if you feel something serious between you two? “I promise if you feel bad or don't like it, we'll go home”.

“I don't want to ruin your night” you moved your arm. Steve opened the door slightly. “Conversely. I'm sure I'm gonna have even better fun with you” he smiled. Your hand went to the handle, but before you opened the door, Steve circled the car to help you and did it for you. You were shocked when he gave you his hand. “My lady” he bowed slightly and you could see he was trying not to laugh. With his help, you got out of the car. You went up the stairs shoulder to shoulder, but before Steve opened the door, you stopped in front of them, taking some deep breaths to calm down. The boy turned to you and put his hand on your shoulders. Where his fingertips came into contact with your skin, goose bumps immediately appeared on it.

“I won't even leave you for a moment unless you want to, okay? They'll like you. If any of the boys... says or do something that makes you upset, tell me right away. I'll take care of it. And... have some fun” Steve smiled and pinched you gently on the cheek like your disliked Aunt Ruth, who visited you and Dustin on Christmas. But Steve's gesture was different, not annoying, not unnerving, more... adorable.

“I trust you. And that's the only reason I know I'm gonna have a good time” you said and you were the first to open the door. Surprised Steve let himself be dragged inside right behind you, into a whirl of bodies, music and alcohol. He greeted everyone with a broad smile, holding your hand. Everybody knew who you were, they sent you friendly smiles or jealous glances, but that doesn't matter. As long as Steve's hand held your hand, nothing could happen to you.

“Harrington! You made it!” Evan, the tall blonde boy who apparently owned the house and was the host, patted Steve on the back, almost pouring out his drink from red cup. His eyes were glowing at your sight, the corner of his mouth was up. “And you brought your fiancée! Nice to meet you. Harrington has been bothering us with stories about you after every training. Believe me, sometimes it was hard to believe you were real”.

“Really?” you asked surprised and you looked at Steve, who got nervous and his eyesight went somewhere above you. You did know that Steve had to tell the boys on the team something, but did he really talk about you as often as Evan said?

“Don't embarrass her, Y/N can be very shy” he finally said something got his arm around you. “It wasn't me who started blushing” you said, looking at his red cheeks. Evan laughed, and Steve looked at you. A small creature that clung to his side and smiled innocently, even though it was annoying him on purpose. He couldn't help but smiled, even though his cheeks were burning from the inside. Until then, only Nancy was able to embarrass him. He didn't expect anyone else to succeed.

“It's beautiful here. This is your new place?” he changed the subject quickly. Get yourself together, man. “Parents. But I take the credit” Evan touched his shoulder. “I guess I'd like a drink. You want something? A drink, coke, water?” Steve asked. His hand went down your back, stroking you along your spine. “Drink, please. But I'm begging you, don't be like Robin. I'd rather have more juice in the cup than vodka, or let the proportions be equal” you ask, and made puppy eyes.

“I'm feeling a little offended. I can not only consume but also prepare alcohol perfectly. Stay here, Henderson, and wait for me to bring you something, and then you'll feel like you're in paradise!” Steve started screaming as he was getting further and further into the crowd. You laughed quietly, standing on your toes to see his hand still waving at you.

It turned out there was nothing to be afraid of. The boys on the team turned out to be quite nice, at least those around Evan. Their girls sent you friendly looks, one complimented your outfit. Steve made you feel safe, but his friends didn't give you any cause for concern.

“Well, well. Nice to see you, Y/N. Outside the school” somebody's been talking to you, standing behind your back. You turned around seeing Becky, in fancy makeup and hair tied up in a tight ponytail. Becky had P.E with you and Robin. She was pretty fit, and you guys... well, let's just say running wasn't your strength. She's the one who threw a nasty commentary at your friend the day the letters suddenly disappeared from your room. And ... is it possible that that's who Steve was talking about when he said he liked her?

“I heard... and I saw that you and Harrington are a thing now” she added, shaking her arm. “Becky, pushing people was probably always your strong point. Give her a break” Evan asked. “You're right” you moved your arm towards her. “Me and Steve... we're dating”

“Since when? How did this happen? I didn't expect that... you might be friends” Becky wrinkled her nose as if talking to you was completely below her dignity. Once again, something that should be obvious has become a problem for you. Sooner or later, one of the girls had to ask. Nancy is different. Nancy is your friend, she's not pressing, she's not mean or sarcastic. But Becky? This conversation could end badly.

“How far has it gotten? I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Steve... Honey, I don't think he's looking for a permanent person. He's looking for someone with whom... who he could have a nice time with. I don't think you're willing to make that deal, do you?”

You swallowed your saliva, praying that Steve feels something's wrong. So that something would touch him in the kitchen, so he'd put down a bottle of vodka and come back here as soon as he could. “You're right, Becky. Y/N wouldn't be willing, but apparently you are, if you're trying to upset her and make her doubt” Evan said angrily.

“I'm only saying this because I know her. I don't want her to get hurt” the girl pouted out her lower lip. It's obvious that none of what she said was honest. “And I know Steve” you said quickly, even though Evan already gently pulled you away from the girl. “And I know he wouldn't do anything to hurt me or anyone else. So if you're only doing this because you're angry that he didn't come here with you... I'm sorry for you, Becky”.

The girl clenched her fingers so tightly on the cup that her ankles whitened and drops of alcohol splashed on the floor. She walked away mad as a wasp, without saying a word more. “Everything okay?” Steve spoke suddenly behind you. Evan left you alone, pointing his finger at Becky leaving, and then he made a disgusting face. Steve served you your drink. His dark eyes were full of worry. He didn't understand what was happening or what happened. He was starting to get angry at himself. For promising not to leave you, then he disappeared in the kitchen just to get a drink.

I know Steve. You smiled at yourself. Would you have been able to say that a couple of weeks ago? Of course not. But it took a few days in his company, really in his company, to see what he really is. Warm, tender, caring. It's not the Steve that Becky described. That's your Steve. The one you once knew.

“Nothing to worry about. Evan and I handled it ourselves” you said a smile and put your hand on his shoulder to calm him down. Steve relaxed by your touch, waiting for you to dip your mouth in a drink. The liquid flowed down your throat, smoking it from the bitter and spicy taste of vodka, which softened the sweetness of coke. Your eyes went wide, you licked your lips. “This is actually really good! What did you add here?”

“You don't want to know” Steve twisted his head, laughed and drunk himself. “I hope... it's not a beer” you said quickly. The boy twisted his head again. “I'm driving. It's just orange juice. Only your drink took me so long, so you'll have to forgive me” he shrugged his shoulder innocently. You laughed and drank the drink to the end. The cup landed on the coffee table, and your shoulders went into Steve's hand. You took his drink, dragged him into the crowd.

“I suddenly felt like dancing” you laughed, clenching your fingers on his shirt.

Steve swore to God, he didn't want you to get drunk.

He didn't drink a drop, knowing he had to get in the car and take you both home safely. When you asked him for another two drinks, he agreed without hesitation, but he didn't know you had such a weak head. You were on your feet, but everything started to be funny for you, your giggle mixed with the music, the words sometimes resembled gibberish in combination with the music played by Cutting Crew.

“Steve. Suddenly. Incredibly. I got hungry” you said suddenly, with a serious expression on your face, stopping to dance. So Steve didn't even wait a moment longer. He went into the kitchen, took so much food out of it that a few packs of crisps slipped out of his hands and went out with you before you could do it yourself.

You walked next to each other, laughing loudly at Evan, who was taking off his shirt in the living room. You held Steve's arm like a lifebelt, afraid that your legs would let you down and you were not wrong. As soon as you were both on the dewy lawn, your sneakers slipped on the grass, and you fell on your ass painfully, pulling Steve behind you. He landed on his back, looking up at the sky full of stars, and then he looked at you, writhing with laughter, in a dirty green shirt.

“Oops” you just managed to say, when tears flowed out of your eyes. “Oops? This situation doesn't qualify for 'oops'! That shirt was new!”. “I'm sorry” you said, desperately trying to stop laughing. You must've looked hilarious, holding on to your sore stomach, gagging in the wet grass in the driveway. “Whatever. You'll just wash it. I didn't expect you to be so strong”. “Hey!” you wrinkled your eyebrows and looked offended at him. Your face made him laugh again. “I'm small, but strong”.

“You don't even know what the top shelf looks like”. “Listen-” you tried to say something, but he quickly put a cake in your mouth to keep you quiet. You lay back on the grass, but Steve was too afraid you'd choke, so he helped you sit down.

“Dustin can't find out about this. He would laugh at me for the rest of his life”. “Because your ass is drunk or because you fell down with me in front of all the guests?” “Both. You can't tell him that. Otherwise... I'll be very, very angry at you”. “I will think about it. You ruined my shirt, I can ruin your life”. “You're really like that?” you asked, reaching over him for another cookie, but the he raised his hand so much that you couldn't reach the box. “I hope you trip into a puddle”.

“Well, I hope you fall of a ladder” he showed you his tongue, though it wasn't very mature. “Yeah?. Well, I hope you step on Lego” you added, and he opened his mouth. “Okay, that went way too far!” he said and threw the cakes on the ground when his fingers went to your sides. He couldn't remember where you were ticklish, but as soon as you laughed, he remembered where you were most sensitive. His fingers went up to your belly and then up to your neck. It all hurt from laughing. You got winded trying to free yourself from his hands, but he wouldn't stop until your pants were completely wet from rolling in the dew.

“I guess that's enough. Because you're gonna die right here” Steve took a deep breath, moving away from you. “Thank God” you said, trying to get up and rest your head on your knees. You laughed for a while until suddenly there was silence. Except for the music, laughter and conversations coming from the house, none of you made any sound. Your cheeks were red from laughter, warmed up from emotions. Steve fixed his hair and looked at you, laughing and amused like a child.

“You did good over there. Becky was furious” he confessed, when you both calmed down so much that you could actually tell each other full sentences instead of uncontrollable laughter. “I hope this was the first and last time you” you said, opening a pack of jellies. “I like the fact that you weren't afraid of her. You didn't even need Evan to help”. “She's scaring me. By the way, she's not the only one. Carol was always scaring me too”. “Carol?” Steve snorted in disbelief. “She was only strong in talk. She's such a coward when it comes to real confrontation”.

“But her presence is intimidating. Because of the way she treats other people. That's why everyone prefers to stay away from her” you said it quietly, raising your shoulders. The stars were shining so bright that you even squinted your eyes to get used to them. I'm only being honest with you.

“So be honest with me” Steve said suddenly, turning his head away from the sky to look at you. “Why... of all the people at school... you told Jonath that you love me?”

“I can't answer that question” you admited. Although the alcohol was still flowing in your veins, you could have sworn you were absolutely sober at that moment. “You were the first person that came to my mind. I didn't even have to work harder than that. I just... I thought of you. Maybe because you were the first boy in my life... the first boy I ever had feelings for. Before Ralph or Stanley showed up. Maybe you never really came out of my head and you're still sitting there, just... just not in the same way you used to”.

He sat there quietly for a while. He had to digest it, rethink what you said. In some way, he never forgot about you either. Maybe he just thought he did, because he preferred spending time with someone else, but somewhere in the back of his head he still remembered the smile of the girl you used to be. He remembered riding on bikes together, swimming in his pool, although his parents forbade you to do so. The memories that he had hidden deep in his heart came out and took over him completely, not wanting to be hidden again.

“You think that... when this is all over and we stop pretending... We're gonna let this whole show go... we can still be friends?” he asked, full of worries. Fear of your answer paralyzed him. He even stopped feeling the cold. He'll understand if you disagree, but will he be able to stop talking to you? Stop saying hello in the hallway, drive up to your house every morning? Will he be able to give it all up?

“I don't think it'll be easy to forget about you now, Steven Harrington” you said quietly. He turned around carefully to look you in the eye. His hand went to your cheek. He gently pulled the hair off your face to get a better look at you. “Yeah?” he asked. Your breathing mixed together. You smelled his hairspray, perfume and washing powder. If he does what he's definitely going to do now, he'll break the rules. You made it clear in the contract that you didn't want it. And as partners, you have to stick to the rules.

“Yeah” you felt like his lips are touching the corner of your mouth first, like he's waiting for an invitation, confirming that what he's doing won't make you angry. And you gave it to him. You opened your lips a little, deepening his kiss, digging your fingers into his long hair. Do friends do that too? You didn't know. But you knew that every day, Jonathan's place as a fairy tale prince in your head was replaced by Steve.

Taglist: @mochminnie @sydzygy @krazykatkay456 @ghostineleven @the-almond-dinger @l0ve-0f-my-life @jxnehxpper

#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #jonathan byers imagine #jonathan byers #dustin henderson imagine #dustin henderson #robin buckley imagine #robin buckley #nancy wheeler imagine #nancy wheeler #stranger things imagine #stranger things

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ukulelecal · 7 years ago

Text

Vlogger

In which you decide to make a little video for Calum while he’s on tour.

Warnings: just fluff my friends

Pairing: Calum Hood x Reader

Requested By: N/A

A/N: am i posting two imagines in one fucking night? wow who am i

Requests are OPEN!

*Gif not mine*

Continued

You wanted to do something special for Calum.

He had been on the road for almost two months, and you missed him like crazy. You texted, talked on the phone, and FaceTimed whenever you could, but it was hard considering time zone differences, him being incredibly busy all the time, and you having to go to work still.

You wracked your brain for ideas, wanting it to be the best possible thing you could create.

It came to you when you were out grocery shopping one day.

You could make him a little video. A day in the life type of thing, where you just filmed yourself going about your everyday life, making commentary. Kind of like those videos that YouTube vloggers make, just talking directly to Calum instead of a general audience. It was simple, just a little something to remind him of home. You knew he would love it.

So, a Saturday rolled around. You didn’t have work, or any plans for the day at all, really. You decided it would be a good day to film your video; you could just go with the flow and figure out your plans as you went.

You reached for your phone as soon as you woke up and opened the camera, flipping the screen towards you. Mentally channeling your inner vlogger, you started your video.

The day after you filmed, you turned to Google to learn how to edit videos. The task was a bit frustrating, trying to find the best parts to put in so it didn’t get too long or boring.

After it was all put together, you pasted the video into a new text to Calum, and hit send.

Calum was in an interview when he got the text. He checked his phone on the way back to the venue, which was a bit of a drive, and grinned to himself when he saw you sent him a video. Slipping his headphones from his bag, he plugged them in and put them over his ears, pressing play.

The first thing that came up was you, lying in bed. Your hair was a mess, face fresh, and Calum could tell you had just woken up. He also recognized the t-shirt you were wearing to be his, one you had hid from him before he left so he couldn’t take it on tour with him.

“Hey, Cal, it’s Y/N. I decided to make a little video for you, just going about my day and stuff, you know? Having tons of fun without you and all that. Just something for when you get homesick.”

The smile on Calum’s face was growing by the second, and he adjusted himself in the car seat so he was leaning his back between the end of the seat and the door.

The video cut to you rolling yourself out of bed, and then panned to Duke who was standing curiously by the bedroom door.

“Good morning, buddy,” you cooed, leaning down to pet him. “We’re making a video for Daddy today. Say hi to Daddy, Duke!”

The dog let out a bark, and you giggled, causing Calum’s heart to swell.

“How about some breakfast, yeah?”

You opened the bedroom door and Duke quickly scurried out, beating you down the stairs by a longshot. You met him there and opened up the fridge, camera showing all of the contents.

“I meant to get pancake mix at the store the other day. Totally forgot,” you commented, reaching for the carton of eggs. “An omelette will do.”

Cut to you attempting to balance your phone on the counter; you had a few glasses set up behind the device to keep it upright, and you carefully removed your hands. You pumped your fist in the air in victory, and Calum had to bite his lip to contain his smile. As you pulled out the pan to make your eggs in, you let out a yell.

“Alexa! Play 5 Seconds of Summer!”

Calum snorted as She Looks So Perfect started playing from the speakers, the boys all giving him confused looks. He ignored them, continuing to watch the video intently.

He wanted nothing more than to be with you; watching you sing and dance around in the kitchen wearing only a t-shirt while making breakfast, made him really ache for home. And he knew exactly what he would do if he was there. He would pick you up and spin you around until you squealed at him to put you down, and then he would kiss you, and you would lovingly card your fingers through his curls.

That sounded pretty fucking amazing.

“Youngblood! Say you want me, say you want me, out of your life!” You sang loudly as you transferred the completed omelette onto a plate, swaying your hips to the beat. The video then cut to you sitting at the island in the kitchen.

“Alright, I’m going to eat and get ready, and then figure what I’m going to do all day, I guess?” You quirked your eyebrow, shrugging to yourself. After a moment, you dramatically brought your hand to cover the camera, like the YouTubers do their fancy transitions, and then it cut back to you sitting in your car. You had a new outfit on, makeup and hair done.

“Okay, so I’m going to go to the mall for a while. I’m probably not going to buy anything, I just really want to go to Cinnabon,” you said, and Calum had to hold back a laugh. Every time you went to the mall together, you went to Cinnabon, without fail. It was a tradition.

You tried to set your phone up on the dashboard, succeeding for only a moment until it came tumbling down, a soft “god dammit” being heard from you as the device fell. You cut most of them out, but there were many failed attempts before you finally got it to stay balanced.

There were a few seconds of you driving, bobbing your head and doing little dances to whatever song was playing on the radio until you pulled into a parking spot at the mall.

“Here we are!”

The video cut to you inside the mall, starting to stroll around in front of all the stores. You eventually passed Victoria’s Secret, and Calum could hear you giggle.

“Look, it’s your favorite store.”

Calum took his bottom lip between his teeth. Whenever he’d go in there with you, he’d always complain that he was bored, but was secretly imagining you in all of the pretty lingerie. And, the best part, a trip to Victoria’s Secret usually lead to something even more fun at home.

You were suddenly inside the store, panning around all of the items. You stopped on a particularly beautiful set, and Calum could tell that it caught your eye. He knew you would like it just from looking at it himself. It was blood red lace with little black threads and embellishments.

You walked up to it, gently trailing your fingertips down the fabric.

“This is really pretty.”

You paused for a moment, as if thinking.

“Will I buy it? Find out when you get home.”

God, Calum really hoped you bought it.

The shot was now you walking into the food court, a soft grin on your face.

“I am so fucking excited for this Cinnabon, you don’t even know.”

Cut to you grabbing your food from the cashier, thanking them before turning away to find a table.

“It smells so good, I’m about to bust a nut.”

Calum had to hold back his laughter again as you took a seat at a table. The camera flipped so it was facing you, and you used your other hand to pop open the box.

“Oh damn, you are missing out, Hood.”

You showed the cinnamon roll that you bought, and Calum could practically taste it.

“Don’t know how I’m going to finish this. I usually split it with you.”

You paused a moment, your voice then getting softer.

“I really wish you were here so we could share.”

Calum wanted to cry, to fly his ass back to California so he could eat a damn cinnamon roll with you. You sighed softly, then sticking your fork in the food.

“Enough sap, I’m eating.”

The shot turned to you sticking a piece in your mouth, eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

“Good shit, I tell you.”

There was a few more seconds of you eating, making random comments, before you were suddenly back in your car.

“Alright, made a quick stop at the grocery store. Wanted pasta. As usual.”

Calum chuckled; of course. Pasta always seemed to be one of your go-to’s when you were deciding what to eat.

The video cut to you walking into yours and Calum’s house, the front door shutting behind you.

“Duke, Mommy’s home!”

The sound of little paws clicking against the floor sounded, and the little dog came into view. You bent over, scratching his head.

“Hey, want to go out, buddy?”

He yapped, immediately taking off towards the back door. You chuckled, dropping the grocery bag off in the kitchen before opening the door for Duke. He ran around, did his business, things that dogs do.

“Honestly, Cal? We have the best fucking dog ever.”

He smiled; his dog was his love, and it made it better that he got to share him with you.

You and Duke eventually went back inside, and one look at the clock made you realize it was about time you start making dinner.

“You’re probably sick of watching me cook and eat,” you mumbled as you again balanced your phone on the counter. “One more meal and I’m done.”

You yelled out for Alexa to play your playlist, specifically the one that you and Calum had playing in the house almost all of the time. The first song was Fallin’ All in You by Shawn Mendes, one of your personal favorites.

The video continued on; you made dinner and ate, played with Duke for a while, and the decided to call it an early night. You were now laying in bed, another one of Calum’s shirts adorning your body.

“Well, that was my little video for you,” you chuckled, smoothing the hair on top of your head. “It’s not much or anything, I just wanted to do something for you. And Cal, I really do miss you. Like, a lot. Today was a good day, but it would have been a million times better if you were here. I love you so much, bubba.”

Duke jumped into the shot, giving a lick to yourself, You giggled, pulling the dog closer to you.

“And Duke loves you too.”

You gave a wave to the camera, smiling sweetly.

“See you soon, Calum.”

With that, the video ended.

Calum was about to cry. It was an incredibly sweet gesture, and he was more than thankful to have you in his life.

He typed out a text to you.

Calum: You are amazing. I love you so much Y/N. So so much. I can’t wait to come back to you.

“What’s got you smiling like that, Cal?” Michael’s voice popped up, a smirk on his face. Calum shook his head, still looking at his phone.

“Just love my girl, that’s all.”

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theadmiringbog · 5 years ago

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I had a fragile but agreeable life: a job as an assistant at a small literary agency in Manhattan; a smattering of beloved friends on whom I exercised my social anxiety, primarily by avoiding them.

I wanted to make money, because I wanted to feel affirmed, confident, and valued. I wanted to be taken seriously. Mostly, I didn’t want anyone to worry about me.

Conversation with the cofounders had been so easy, and the interviews so much more like coffee dates than the formal, sweaty-blazer interrogations I had experienced elsewhere, that at a certain point I wondered if maybe the three of them just wanted to hang out.

They wore shirts that were always crisp and modestly buttoned to the clavicle. They were in long-term relationships with high-functioning women, women with great hair with whom they exercised and shared meals at restaurants that required reservations. They lived in one-bedroom apartments in downtown Manhattan and had no apparent need for psychotherapy. They shared a vision and a game plan. They weren’t ashamed to talk about it, weren’t ashamed to be openly ambitious. Fresh off impressive positions and prestigious summer internships at large tech corporations in the Bay Area, they spoke about their work like industry veterans, lifelong company men. They were generous with their unsolicited business advice, as though they hadn’t just worked someplace for a year or two but built storied careers. They were aspirational. I wanted, so much, to be like—and liked by—them.

It was thrilling to watch the moving parts of a business come together; to feel that I could contribute.

What I also did not understand at the time was that the founders had all hoped I would make my own job, without deliberate instruction. The mark of a hustler, a true entrepreneurial spirit, was creating the job that you wanted and making it look indispensable, even if it was institutionally unnecessary.

I wasn’t used to having the sort of professional license and latitude that the founders were given. I lacked their confidence, their entitlement. I did not know about startup maxims to experiment and “own” things. I had never heard the common tech incantation Ask forgiveness, not permission.

I had also been spoiled by the speed and open-mindedness of the tech industry, the optimism and sense of possibility. In publishing, no one I knew was ever celebrating a promotion. Nobody my age was excited about what might come next. Tech, by comparison, promised what so few industries or institutions could, at the time: a future.

“How would you explain the tool to your grandmother?” “How would you describe the internet to a medieval farmer?” asked the sales engineer, opening and closing the pearl snaps on his shirt,

Good interface design was like magic, or religion:

The first time I looked at a block of code and understood what was happening, I felt like nothing less than a genius.

Anything an app or website’s users did—tap a button, take a photograph, send a payment, swipe right, enter text—could be recorded in real time, stored, aggregated, and analyzed in those beautiful dashboards. Whenever I explained it to friends, I sounded like a podcast ad.

four-person companies trying to gamify human resources

... how rare the analytics startup was. Ninety-five percent of startups tanked. We weren’t just beating the odds; we were soaring past them.

While I usually spent sleepless nights staring at the ceiling and worrying about my loved ones’ mortality, he worked on programming side projects. Sometimes he just passed the time between midnight and noon playing a long-haul trucking simulator. It was calming, he said. There was a digital CB radio through which he could communicate with other players. I pictured him whispering into it in the dark.

At the start of each meeting, the operations manager distributed packets containing metrics and updates from across the company: sales numbers, new signups, deals closed. We were all privy to high-level details and minutiae, from the names and progress of job candidates to projected revenue. This panoramic view of the business meant individual contributions were noticeable; it felt good to identify and measure our impact.

Was this what it felt like to hurtle through the world in a state of pure confidence, I wondered, pressing my fingers to my temples—was this what it was like to be a man?

I was interested in talking about empathy, a buzzword used to the point of pure abstraction,

The hierarchy was pervasive at the analytics startup, ingrained in the CEO’s dismissal of marketing and insistence that a good product would sell itself.

He just taught himself to code over the summer, I heard myself say of a job candidate one afternoon. It floated out of my mouth with the awe of someone relaying a miracle.

As early employees, we were dangerous. We had experienced an early, more autonomous, unsustainable iteration of the company. We had known it before there were rules. We knew too much about how things worked, and harbored nostalgia and affection for the way things were.

The obsession with meritocracy had always been suspect at a prominent international company that was overwhelmingly white, male, and American, and had fewer than fifteen women in Engineering.

For years, my coworkers explained, the absence of an official org chart had given rise to a secondary, shadow org chart, determined by social relationships and proximity to the founders. Employees who were technically rank-and-file had executive-level power and leverage. Those with the ear of the CEO could influence hiring decisions, internal policies, and the reputational standing of their colleagues. “Flat structure, except for pay and responsibilities,” said an internal tools developer, rolling her eyes. “It’s probably easier to be a furry at this company than a woman.”

“It’s like no one even read ‘The Tyranny of Structurelessness,’” said an engineer who had recently read “The Tyranny of Structurelessness.”

Can’t get sexually harassed when you work remotely, we joked, though of course we were wrong.

I was in a million places at once. My mind pooled with strangers’ ideas, each joke or observation or damning polemic as distracting and ephemeral as the next. It wasn’t just me. Everyone I knew was stuck in a feedback loop with themselves. Technology companies stood by, ready to become everyone’s library, memory, personality. I read whatever the other nodes in my social networks were reading. I listened to whatever music the algorithm told me to. Wherever I traveled on the internet, I saw my own data reflected back at me: if a jade face-roller stalked me from news site to news site, I was reminded of my red skin and passive vanity. If the personalized playlists were full of sad singer-songwriters, I could only blame myself for getting the algorithm depressed.

As we left the theater in pursuit of a hamburger, I felt rising frustration and resentment. I was frustrated because I felt stuck, and I was resentful because I was stuck in an industry that was chipping away at so many things I cared about. I did not want to be an ingrate, but I had trouble seeing why writing support emails for a venture-funded startup should offer more economic stability and reward than creative work or civic contributions. None of this was new information—and it was not as if tech had disrupted a golden age of well-compensated artists—but I felt it fresh.

I had never really considered myself someone with a lifestyle, but of course I was, and insofar as I was aware of one now, I liked it. The tech industry was making me a perfect consumer of the world it was creating. It wasn’t just about leisure, the easy access to nice food and private transportation and abundant personal entertainment. It was the work culture, too: what Silicon Valley got right, how it felt to be there. The energy of being surrounded by people who so easily articulated, and satisfied, their desires. The feeling that everything was just within reach.

We wanted to be on the side of human rights, free speech and free expression, creativity and equality. At the same time, it was an international platform, and who among us could have articulated a coherent stance on international human rights? We sat in our apartments tapping on laptops purchased from a consumer-hardware company that touted workplace tenets of diversity and liberalism but manufactured its products in exploitative Chinese factories using copper and cobalt mined in Congo by children. We were all from North America. We were all white, and in our twenties and thirties. These were not individual moral failings, but they didn’t help. We were aware we had blind spots. They were still blind spots. We struggled to draw the lines. We tried to distinguish between a political act and a political view; between praise of violent people and praise of violence; between commentary and intention. We tried to decipher trolls’ tactical irony. We made mistakes.

I did not want two Silicon Valleys. I was starting to think the one we already had was doing enough damage. Or, maybe I did want two, but only if the second one was completely different, an evil twin: Matriarchal Silicon Valley. Separatist-feminist Silicon Valley. Small-scale, well-researched, slow-motion, regulated Silicon Valley—men could hold leadership roles in that one, but only if they never used the word “blitzscale” or referred to business as war.

“Progress is so unusual and so rare, and we’re all out hunting, trying to find El Dorado,” Patrick said.

“Almost everyone’s going to return empty-handed. Sober, responsible adults aren’t going to quit their jobs and lives to build companies that, in the end, may not even be worth it. It requires, in a visceral way, a sort of self-sacrificing.”

Only later did I consider that he might have been trying to tell me something.

Abuses were considered edge cases, on the margin—flaws that could be corrected by spam filters, or content moderators, or self-regulation by unpaid community members. No one wanted to admit that abuses were structurally inevitable: indicators that the systems—optimized for stickiness and amplification, endless engagement—were not only healthy, but working exactly as designed.

The SF Bay Area is like Rome or Athens in antiquity, posted a VC. Send your best scholars, learn from the masters and meet the other most eminent people in your generation, and then return home with the knowledge and networks you need. Did they know people could see them?

I couldn’t imagine making millions of dollars every year, then choosing to spend my time stirring shit on social media. There was almost a pathos to their internet addiction. Log off, I thought. Just email each other.

All these people, spending their twenties and thirties in open-plan offices on the campuses of the decade’s most valuable public companies, pouring themselves bowls of free cereal from human bird feeders, crushing empty cans of fruit-tinged water, bored out of their minds but unable to walk away from the direct deposits—it was so unimaginative. There was so much potential in Silicon Valley, and so much of it just pooled around ad tech, the spillway of the internet economy.

Though I did not want what Patrick and his friends wanted, there was still something appealing to me about the lives they had chosen. I envied their focus, their commitment, their ability to know what they wanted, and to say it out loud—the same things I always envied.

I wanted to believe that as generations turned over, those coming into economic and political power would build a different, better, more expansive world, and not just for people like themselves. Later, I would mourn these conceits. Not only because this version of the future was constitutionally impossible—such arbitrary and unaccountable power was, after all, the problem—but also because I was repeating myself. I was looking for stories; I should have seen a system. The young men of Silicon Valley were doing fine. They loved their industry, loved their work, loved solving problems. They had no qualms. They were builders by nature, or so they believed. They saw markets in everything, and only opportunities. They had inexorable faith in their own ideas and their own potential. They were ecstatic about the future. They had power, wealth, and control. The person with the yearning was me.

could have stayed in my job forever, which was how I knew it was time to go. The money and the ease of the lifestyle weren’t enough to mitigate the emotional drag of the work: the burnout, the repetition, the intermittent toxicity. The days did not feel distinct. I felt a widening emptiness, rattling around my studio every morning, rotating in my desk chair. I had the luxury, if not the courage, to do something about it.

As I stood in the guest entrance, waiting for the stock plan administrator to collect the paperwork, I watched my former coworkers chatting happily with one another in the on-site coffee shop and felt, wrenchingly, that leaving had been a huge mistake. Certain unflattering truths: I had felt unassailable behind the walls of power. Society was shifting, and I felt safer inside the empire, inside the machine. It was preferable to be on the side that did the watching than on the side being watched.

#uncanny valley #books #best of

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side-effect-of-the-meds · 6 years ago

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Okay!!! Desperate for twinyards :D!!! Will Aaron ever found out that erin takes care of him when he is drunk? And will he find out that Aaron cares for him and will there ever be a point where the things he said when he is drunk would be said when be isnt? Gosh im such trash for your fem!andreil

I’m so sorry these asks keep taking so long! They take me thirty years to get to and then they turn out really bad. One day I’ll start creating quality content. Until then, have this.

In honor of Spoopy Month, it’s Halloween themed!!!!! (I borrowed a big chunk of it from my canon compliant fic Love of my Life but I just really like that part of the story. Sorry :))

“I never thought Crowley and Aziraphale would ever return to Eden,” Ronnie said as the Monsters made their way to the bar. Ania smiled. Erin scowled. “Aw don’t scowl at me like that, Angel.” Ronnie barely dodged the heels Erin chucked at her. With a broad smile, Ronnie turned her attention to Aaron. “I’m sorely disappointed to see that you’re not the Archangel Micheal.” Aaron glared at her but his annoyance didn’t last.

Aaron could never stay mad at Ronnie for long. For the longest time, Ronnie had been the only ray of sunshine in Aaron’s dreary life. The middle child and only daughter of a rich widower, Ronnie was free to do as she pleased while her father groomed her brothers to inherit his fortune. Having four brothers would be more than enough for most people but Ronnie hadn’t hesitated to adopt Aaron into her little band of miscreants. In the years before Erin’s arrival, it was Ronnie (and at times, her brothers) that had been looking out for Aaron. She was just as much his sister as Erin was. That was what made their relationship so hard for him to wrap his head around. He’d given up trying to make sense of how they could have gone behind his back like that long ago but on nights out at Eden’s he couldn't help but feel a little betrayed.

“Earth to Mikey,” Ronnie said, waving a hand in front of his face. “Come on, we’re toasting you’re little cheerleader. To Katelyn,” Ronnie cried as she raised her own shot. “For breathing -or maybe blowing- some life into Aaron!” Aaron shrieked at the crude joke as his family laughed, downing their shots. Aaron’s brain short-circuited at the sight of Erin downing her shot to the toast. She just wants to drink, Aaron told himself as he regained control of his thoughts. Curling himself into his shoulders, he stood apart as Ronnie caught up with the others.

“Aaron,” Josten said as she nudged his foot with her boot. “Erin said to grab a table.” Aaron nodded and headed off to search for one. Despite the pounding music, he heard Josten following him. He risked a backward glance only to find her watching him. He growled but Josten’s face remained blank. She’s been spending too much time with Eri, he thought as he went back to shouldering his way through the crowd. Finally, he found a table in the back of the club with just enough chairs for them. Without hesitating, he sank into one only to find it covered in something sticky and white.

“Oh Hell no,” he screamed as he leaped up. Josten peered over at his seat before doubling over in a fit of laughter. “Fuck off, Josten.” He snatched the paper towels she offered him out of her hands and did his best to clean himself off before kicking over the chair.

“I see temper tantrums run in the family,” Josten remarked. Aaron looked over at her. She was staring out across the dancefloor, a soft smile on her face. Following her gaze, he spotted Erin flickering in and out of view from where she still stood at the bar. A pang shot through his chest. Ania looked at Erin the same way Erik looked at Nicky- the same way Katelyn looked at him.

“Damn you, Josten,” he said, more to himself than her.

“I’m already damned,” she replied anyway. “I’m damned to spend the rest of eternity in love with your sister but if that isn’t damnation at its best, I don’t know what is.”

The world tilted beneath Aaron’s feet. Love. Ania had said she loved his sister. His Erin. His Little Doe. Tears spilled from Aaron’s eyes. “If you hurt her…” he said, his voice breaking before trailing off entirely as he gulped for air.

“She’ll kill me herself,” Ania answered easily. She reached a hand out and carefully wiped a tear from his face. “Don’t cry. Eri’ll skin me alive if you do.”

“Does she even care?” he asked. Aaron tried to smile as he asked it but he knew it came out as more of a grimace than a smile. A wave of sadness crashed down over him at the sound of his own words.

"Of course she cares, you cracked walnut," Josten snapped. As the strobing lights passed over her countenance Aaron could see the fury on her face. "I've only known her a year. You've known her for three? Four? How the hell can you not-" Josten stopped short. "It's because you're always drunk," she said quietly.

"No. That's Kevin," Aaron said.

"Whenever we're here. Whenever we go home, you're too drunk to remember."

"Remember what?"

Josten worried her lower lip, weighing her words "Don't drink tonight." She clamped a hand over his mouth before he could protest. "Trust me. You'll see."

"Trust a liar?"

"I wouldn't lie about Erin." It sickened Aaron to know she was telling the truth. For the remainder of the night, to Kevin's delight, Aaron discreetly pawned his drinks off to him. Where Erin excelled at faking the drug-induced mania she’d lived with for the last two years, Aaron excelled at faking a drunken stupor. Or at least, he usually did. Keeping up the act was much harder than Aaron anticipated. He was far too preoccupied keeping an eye on his sister to fully concentrate. A few rounds in, he gave up watching her in favor of retreating to the dance floor. At least there, he wouldn’t be under her constant scrutiny.

He was wrong. Each time the crowd parted enough for him to have a clear view of the ledge where he’d left them, he found Erin’s eyes trained on him. No matter where he went or what he did, she was watching him. Beads of sweat formed along his forehead. Had she seen through his ruse? Did she know he was faking?

There was nothing Aaron could do now but pray. He passed the remainder of the night on the floor with Nicky. Around 11:50, Ronnie called out for the final round. Josten was by Aaron’s side in an instant.

“Throw your legs onto Nicky’s lap in the car. And talk to Kevin about something- anything. Make him laugh.” Aaron broke his facade to shoot a confused look at her. “Just do it,” Josten pleaded. Aaron ground his teeth together as he considered his options. After a moment he gave her a sharp nod and made his way over to the counter with her to collect the final round.

In the car ride home, Aaron did as he was told. He threw his legs over Nicky’s and leaned heavily against Kevin. Kevin wrapped an arm around Aaron, who tensed immediately. Kevin Day was not known for his compassion nor for his affection. Catching the warning look Josten shot him as she buckled her seatbelt, he forced himself to relax. For once in his life, Kevin wasn’t talking about Exy. Instead, he was giving a lecture on the unabridged history of the LGBT community. Aaron tentatively slid his own commentary into the lesson. To his relief, both Kevin and Nicky laughed. He choked on the soda he was drinking when he saw the upward curl of Erin’s lips in the dashboard mirror.

Nicky got out of the car first as it rolled to a stop on the drive. He toppled face-first into the grass and laughter burst out of Aaron. He felt something pressing at his back and before he knew it, he toppled out of the car too.

“You drunk bastard,” Erin said. Aaron’s heart stopped as he rolled onto his back. Erin was standing over him, a brilliant grin plastered to her face. “That’s what you get for drinking so much” She bent down and scooped him up in an easy, obviously practiced, motion. Aaron was too shocked to say a word.

Aaron was suddenly thirteen again. He was sitting curled up on his mother’s bed with the handset pressed to his ear. A woman's voice drifted through it. She was talking about a girl named Erin. The woman was gushing about how happy she was to have found Erin’s birth mother, and her brother too. Brother, Aaron thought. He felt his heart racing in his ribcage. I’m- I’m a brother! A twin brother! Aaron had been over the moon at the very thought of meeting his sister.

The voice of his mother sent him crashing back down to earth. She hissed at the woman to keep her fat mouth shut. She didn't want to know anything about Erin. She wanted nothing to do with her and she certainly did not want Aaron seeing her again either. She slammed the phone down so hard that Aaron jerked the phone away from his face. Silently, returned the phone to its cradle and crawled back to his own room. Drawing his legs in, he tried to hold in his grief. Hot tears streaked down his face as his shoulders shook. Anger coursed through his veins. Clenching his jaw, he unfurled himself and stalked into the kitchen. He grabbed a notebook and pen from the kitchen and ran out of the house. He raced down the block to the park. Seated at one of the picnic tables, his pen flew across the page. He wasn't quite sure what he'd written, only that he had to send it before his mother ever found out. He stopped by the fountain on his way out of the park. He would need money to send the letter. With a grimace, he peeled his shoes and socks off. Wading through the fountain, he collected every penny, nickel, and dime he could find. This isn't stealing, he told himself. They threw their money in here. Even if it is, it doesn't matter. This is for my sister. This is for Erin.

Every day for the next two weeks, Aaron checked the mail in the hopes of finding a response to his own letter. When it came, Aaron nearly had a heart attack on the spot. He sat down on the steps in front of the house. With shaking fingers, he carefully opened the letter. A brilliant smile plastered itself across his face when he saw the chicken scratch that filled the page. It looked just like his own handwriting. Unfortunately, his smile had been quick to fade. Erin had only written back to tell Aaron that she didn’t want him around. She was more than happy to remain with Cassidy and her new brother, Drake. Aaron grabbed desperately at his chest. It felt as though some hand had forced its way into his ribcage and ripped his heart out. New brother, Drake. Tears fell onto the page. Ink ran, blurring the words into one another. Aaron ripped up the remnants of the letter up and hurled them in the bin. He collapsed on the kitchen floor, sobbing. Great, he thought. Fucking great. It doesn’t matter. I don’t need her. I don’t need anyone. I hope I never meet Erin or her new brother Drake.

But Aaron had. He had been sat down across from her in a juvenile detention facility, three feet away from her, separated by a four-inch pane of bulletproof glass. Looking at Erin was like looking through a funhouse mirror, it was him but something wasn’t quite right. Sure, Erin’s hair was longer than his, ending harshly at the edges of her jaw and she had a few more moles than he did but that wasn’t it. Maybe it was the seemingly permanent downwards tug of her lips. Maybe it was the bold set of her shoulders that exuded a confidence Aaron could only dream of.

Maybe it was her eyes. They were the same brown as his but where his were full of pain and fear, hers were empty. Two empty pits stared back at him from across the table. The glass may have been designed to protect him from Erin’s fists but it did nothing to save him from her eyes. So empty. So soulless. Aaron had once heard that there had been a time when people had refused to take photos for fear that they stole the souls of the photographed. At the time, Aaron had scoffed at the people for being so stupid. Now, Aaron understood. Sitting before his sister, he feared that if he stared too long into her eyes, she might steal his to replace the one she lacked. They were so cold. So empty. So loveless. On the plane back from Cali, Aaron closed his eyes only to find his sister engraved on the back of his lids.

Back in Columbia, Aaron stood before Nicky’s full-length mirror. He’d tugged a skull cap down over his head. His bangs poked out from beneath, matching Erin’s to a T. He blinked and it really was Erin staring back at him in the mirror. Reaching a hand out, he traced a finger down her cheek. Her cold eyes stared back at him and realized why he couldn’t look directly at them. They were their mother’s eyes. When Tilda Minyard wasn’t drunk or high, she was empty.

There wasn’t very much Aaron knew about his father other than the fact that his mother had eloped with him once she’d learned of her pregnancy. Tilda was three and a half months pregnant when Micheal Minyard died in a car crash. Depression coaxed Tilda back into old habits that Micheal had helped her break. She began drinking and chain-smoking despite the twins she bore within her. Both twins were born with fetal alcohol syndrome, manifesting in their stunted growth, ADHD, and Aaron’s dyslexia. Erin had developed a nicotine addiction as well. It wasn’t until after Aaron had found out about his twin that Tilda had told him this.

“I didn’t even want you,” Tilda mused as she took another swig from her whiskey bottle. “I wanted Erin but your names sound so similar that the shitty ass nurse fucked up and gave me the wrong one. You never stood a chance with me,” she said. “I was never going to love you.” Tilda swung the bottle at the side of Aaron’s head. It connected with his skull and rattled his brain but it wasn’t enough to dislodge the words from it.

Aaron pressed his forehead up to the mirror. Up to Erin’s forehead.

“Do you know why Mom doesn’t love us?” he whispered. “It’s because no one loved her. No one but Dad but he’s long gone. It’s his fault, you know? Luther’s, I mean. Mom is the way she is because her own brother didn’t love her enough. He didn’t love her enough to let her stay once she got pregnant. He didn’t love her enough to help her take care of us. He didn’t love her enough to protect you.” Tears slid down Aaron’s face as his grip on the mirror’s frame tightened. “Luther might not have loved his sister, but I’ll love you til the day I die.” Looking in the mirror, Aaron saw himself again but it wasn’t the same Aaron he’d grown accustomed to seeing. This one had fire. This one had fight. This one would protect his sister, no matter the cost. This one was going to save his sister from devolving into the monster their mother had become.

That Aaron failed. Erin was just as cold and empty as their mother had been. That Aaron failed. Erin was forced to face Drake all on her own. Every night, he lay awake wondering what horrors his sister faced behind the pristine white walls of Easthaven. No amount of kisses and cuddles from Katelyn were enough to bury the weight of Aaron’s broken promise. Guilt and regret intertwined, winding around Aaron and choking the life out of him. He broke down constantly, reduced to a sobbing mess by the weight of his woes.

Aaron loved his sister more than life itself. Erin was indifferent to him. Upon her return from Evermore, she hadn’t even spared him a passing glance. Instead, she’d fixated upon the child Josten had brought home. Aaron had never expected his sister to fawn over him. It wasn’t in her nature. Or so he had thought. It was because of this that Aaron couldn’t help the spike of jealousy that shot through him as he watched his sister’s shoulders soften when she held the baby. He could barely contain the scowl he felt tugging at his lips as Erin brushed her lips against the backs of Cleo’s hands.

Cradling Cleo close he asked her, “What makes you so special? I know why Erin lets Ania have what she wants but what about you? You’re just a baby. I’m her brother. Am I not good enough for her?” Tears splashed down onto Cleo’s face and he hurried to wipe them off of her. As he did, he felt Cleo’s tiny hand wrap around his little finger. It was just barely big enough to encircle the single finger. “Oh,” he said. “That’s why.” He sat down on the couch and lay Cleo in his lap. She looked up at him curiously before her face split into a wide grin. “No wonder Mom wanted a daughter.” Cleo babbled at him and he chuckled softly. “You’re right. Maybe Luther was jealous too. I won’t be like him,” he swore again. “I’m not going to abandon Erin. Or you either.”

Aaron loved his sister more than life itself. If Josten made her happy, then so be it. If Cleo was the one she showered with love, then fine. But a small part of him wasn’t fine. Erin didn’t love him. His sister, his own flesh and blood, didn’t love him. It left a hole in his heart, one that even Katelyn couldn’t fill. Aaron hadn’t known what he’d have to give up to Katelyn but what he did was far worse than anything he could have imagined. There weren’t enough words in any language to express the anguish that washed over Aaron when Erin had picked Ania over him. He’d used Josten as bait for Erin to break her promise but a small part of him had wanted her to refuse. He’d wanted Erin to pick him over her. He’d wanted Erin to do the unthinkable and tell him that she loved him more than she wanted Ania. He’d wanted her to wrap her arms around him and hold him close.

He wanted her to hold him the way she held him now as she carried him to the front door. Josten was already unlocking the door. She turned at the sound of Erin’s footsteps. A bright smile of her own burst out across her face.

“Shut up, Ania,” Erin swore.

“Haven’t said a thing,” Josten replied. She pushed open the door and let Erin pass. “Erin?” she asked as she followed them into the house. “Why do you only do these things when Aaron’s drunk?” To anyone else, it may have seemed like an innocent question. To Erin though? Getting anything from her was like pulling teeth. For half a second, Aaron didn’t expect her to answer. Then he remembered that it was Josten asking not him. A pang of bitterness pierced his heart as he felt his sister’s chest swell at the intake of a breath.

“Because he’s nice to me,” she said. Aaron’s head jerked up but Erin wasn’t paying attention. She’d stopped walking. Her eyes were trained on a spot on the wall. “After I killed Tilda, he stopped talking to me entirely. Aaron loved Tilda, even if she didn’t deserve to be loved, and I took her away. I hate when you say you’re fine because that’s what I told myself whenever he ignored me. I told myself that I didn’t care. I did. Aaron’s favorite color is navy blue. Half of my closet is navy blue. Aaron’s favorite song is Young Blood. It’s on every one of my cassette tapes in the car. I hate cool ranch chips but I buy three bags every time I go to the store because Aaron loves them. Tilda didn’t deserve Aaron’s love but he loved her anyway. I don’t deserve Aaron’s love either. I-” A shaky breath rattled through Erin. “I just wanted him to love me too.”

“I do,” Aaron blurted out. Erin snapped out of her trance at the sound of his voice.

“You’re not drunk,” she said. Her voice was dangerously quiet. Her eyes were dark and stony but this time Aaron didn’t look away. The longer he stared, the more apparent it was to him that they weren’t empty. Staring into them, he saw something flickering deep down inside.

The truth about cameras is that they don’t steal your soul. They show you yours. No matter how perfect a picture may seem to others when a person looked too hard at their own, they saw what lurked beneath. It wasn’t that Erin had their mother’s eyes. It was that she had his. When Aaron looked too hard at his sister’s eyes, he saw too much of himself. He saw the sad, empty creature he’d become. He saw the defeated, lonely creature he still was. Most people hailed Aaron as ‘the normal twin’, the Dr. Jekyll to her Mr. Hyde. No one realized how wrong they were.

Erin was a fatalist at heart. To her, everything, every single thing, was predetermined. If the world believed her to be a monster, then that was what she’d be. She played her part and lived exactly the way people thought she would. It was all an act though. Behind every one of Erin’s monstrous acts, was a lonely little girl trying her hardest not to get left behind again.

Unlike his sister, Aaron didn’t believe in fate. Every man made his own way in life, no matter the circumstances he faced to make it there. If that was true, then didn’t that make Aaron responsible for all the things that he’d done? Growing up, Aaron had done many things he wasn’t proud of. It didn’t matter who suffered so long as it wasn’t Aaron. If there was no fate, then wasn’t Aaron responsible for all the people he’d hurt? It wasn’t Erin who was a monster. It was him. When Aaron looked too hard at his sister’s eyes, he was forced to face the monster he had become and it scared him.

Aaron felt the support go out from under him and he hit the floor, hard. Erin spun on her heel and shoved past Josten. Neither of them moved until they heard the door to her bedroom slam shut.

“I told you so,” Josten whispered. There were tears shining in her eyes. “It’s over, isn’t it?” she asked herself.

“What do you mean?” Aaron asked.

“I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone about this and now… she’ll never trust me again.” Her voice broke.

“Ania-”

“Don’t, Aaron.” She turned on her heel and marched out of the house, nearly knocking over Kevin who was dragging Nicky in.

“What the hell have you done to her?” Kevin snarled. Just the sight of a teary-eyed Josten was enough to sober him up. He abandoned Nicky and closed the space between himself and Aaron in the blink of an eye. Balling his fist in Aaron’s shirt, he shoved him against the wall. “I’m not asking again, Aaron.” This is what a brother should be, Aaron thought.

When Ania first arrived at Palmetto a year ago, she and Kevin were always at odds. No matter what she did, it was never enough for him. But that was because he knew she could be better. Nicky had made the mistake of mocking her once and Kevin and slammed him against the wall just as he held Aaron now. Erin intervened quickly, breaking them apart with a poisonous smile and a flash of steel but one thing remained: Kevin Day, a man afraid of his own shadow, hadn’t hesitated to square up the second someone dissed Ania. And that was before he’d found out who she really was.

Kevin and Ania weren’t bound by blood the way the twins were. They’d chosen each other. Ania had chosen to follow Kevin out to Palmetto and Kevin had chosen to have her back. But hadn’t the twins done the same thing? Erin chose to move to Columbia and Aaron had chosen to protect her. Why had they failed where Kevin and Ania had succeeded? The two of them were just as broken as the twins. In fact, they were worse. Ania had lived her life in the shadows, jumping ship the second anyone started to get too close. Kevin had lived his life in the limelight, denied anything even resembling a friend.

Even without knowing her, Kevin had looked upon the wretched creature that had been Ania Josten and wanted to offer her a future. He had wanted to offer her something to live for. Kevin would never be able to love Ania the way she needed to be but he wanted to give her the chance at a life where she could find someone who could.

And he did. Kevin brought Ania to Palmetto and gave her a reason to keep going. He brought her to Erin, someone who could care for her the way she needed to be cared for. But what had Aaron done for his sister? He’d pushed her away the second things got hard. He’d denied her of the love he’d promised himself he’d give. He’d made her lonely.

“How?” he croaked. “How do you do it?” Kevin frowned and his grip loosened.

“How what?” he asked.

“How do you always know what Ania needs?” Aaron had seen the way Ania ran to Kevin the second things fell apart. Too many times, he’d come back to the dorms to find her breaking down in Kevin’s arms. Each time he’d watched Kevin swaddle her shaking form in blankets and offer her things: a cassette player with only one tape, a bowl of vanilla ice cream drowning in chocolate syrup, his laptop with an exy game already loaded.

During Erin’s time at Easthaven, Aaron had found himself craving the smell of cigarette smoke. He wasn’t a smoker but the smell reminded him of Erin. One night, he finally caved and dragged himself to the corner store. He returned with a pack of cigarettes and another pint of strawberry ice cream. Every time Aaron passed by the corner store, he picked one up. He never ate a single one, though. Opening the fridge door, he realized there wasn’t any space left. Every inch of his fridge was filled with pints of strawberry ice cream.

It should be empty. The fridge should be empty. His breath came in short, ragged gasps. Aaron didn’t know when the tears started or how long he’d stayed knelt in front of the open fridge, only that Ania kicked it closed before sitting down on top of it.

“There isn’t enough strawberry ice cream in the world to fix her,” she said. She handed him a tissue box and waited for him to blow his nose.

“Then what will?’ he asked.

“That’s for you to figure out,” Ania said before unplugging the fridge. That was what Kevin said before he let go of Aaron entirely. With that, he left Aaron alone in the kitchen so he could lug Nicky up to his own room.

Aaron sat heavily in one of the dining room chairs, picking at the table mats. It was early the next morning when he finally decided what to do. Actually, he didn’t decide. He just kind of stood up and started for the stairs. He didn’t even remember taking a single step. One moment he was at the kitchen table, the next he was standing in front of Erin’s door. He reached a hand out, tracing the letters on the door. The memory hit Aaron like a train.

It had been a week after Erin had arrived in Columbia. Aaron’s name was already on the door and he had wanted to add hers to it too. Ever since he’d been old enough, Aaron had been working part-time just to keep himself and Tilda fed. In the months before Erin was set to come home, he’d picked up extra shifts to scrounge up the money he needed. With it, it went to the crafts store in the rich part of town. He picked out the four letters he needed and bought the highest quality paints he could find. On Friday, after practice, he’d broken into their mother’s liquor cabinet and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels. Downing a swig, he found the courage to present his haul to Erin. It took some coaxing but he managed to convince her to sit on the floor with him on a pile of newspapers. Together the two of them painted the wooden letters black. Once they were dry, Aaron watched as his sister painted constellations onto them.

“What’s that one?” he asked.

“Gemini,” she replied.

“Astrology,” Aaron said as he crinkled his nose in disgust. Erin glanced at him, her lips just barely curling up.

“Have you ever heard the story of Pollux and Castor?” she asked.

“No,” he replied.

“They were two brothers, twins, from Greek Mythology. They did everything together,” Erin said softly. “The two of them couldn’t live without each other. So, when Castor lay dying, Pollux called out to his father for help. Zeus saw his son’s pain and offered him a way to save his brother. Zeus offered Pollux the ability to share his immortality with his brother. Doing so would mean that neither of them could live normal lives again. They would no longer live here on Earth and they’d only have each other as company. Pollux agreed immediately. To him, his brother was more important than anything else in the world. So, Zeus turned the brothers into stars. Together, the two of them live side by side in the sky.”

“Wouldn’t you get lonely if you had only one person to talk to?” Aaron asked.

“Not if it was you,” Erin replied. With that, she picked up the letters and moved them to the desk beneath the window. The two of them climbed into their respective beds and fell asleep.

Aaron took a deep breath and knocked softly at his sister’s door. He stood there, his heart hammering in his chest. What if she didn’t answer? Aaron took a deep breath. He’d just try again later. Ania was right. What they’d done tonight had betrayed a great deal of Erin’s trust in them. If she didn’t answer, it was because he’d hurt her, just like he always did when he was sober. Aaron leaned his forehead against the door. “I’m sorry, Eri,” he whispered. Just then the door opened and Aaron toppled forward again. Erin neatly sidestepped his falling form but caught him with an outstretched arm. “Eri-” he began. He stopped short, realizing he didn’t know what to say.

Erin gave up waiting for him. She righted him and stepped back. Aaron took it as an invitation and entered her room. Aaron had never been inside his sister’s room. In the pale glow of the first rays of sunlight, he saw the dead roses suspended from her ceiling. A thousand photos covered the surface of the mirror. Upon closer inspection, he found that they were pictures of the Monsters. There was one of Nicky smiling brighter than the sun as Erik pressed a kiss to his cheek. There was one of Aaron shoving Matt, the two of them smiling. There was one of Wymack with his head resting on Abby’s shoulder. There was one of Bee dressed up as a bumblebee. There were a lot of photos of Ania. One of them had been kissed with black lipstick. Erin was the only Fox that owned black lipstick. As Aaron inspected them he was aware of Erin at his back.

“There aren’t any with us in it,” he said as he dragged his fingers over them.

“Yes, there is.” Erin wrapped her hand around his wrist and guided it to one all the way in the bottom corner. Its sides were crinkled from being taken out and replaced too many times. There was a fold down the center from when it was been folded in half, probably placed between the folds of a book.

It was a photo featuring a pair of babies. Both of them had wispy blonde hair, most of which had been tucked beneath a little beanie. They were dressed in matching white onesies patterned with little sharks. They were two perfect, identical little babies. Erin laced her fingers through Aaron’s and he suddenly saw it. The two babies were holding hands too. Eyes closed, unable to even see one another, they had taken hold of each other’s hands. Babies didn’t have much strength, but the two of them were clinging to one another like their lives depended on it.

“Eri-” he croaked.

“Yes or no?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. Erin turned him to face her. She wrapped an arm around him and drew him close. Tentatively, he wrapped his own arms around her. “Erin?” he asked softly. She pulled back just enough to look at him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t better.”

“You were the best,” she said. “You still are.” For once, Erin’s eyes weren’t empty or angry. Instead, they were hard. Resolute. If anyone else had said it, Aaron wouldn’t have believed it. Erin wasn’t a liar. Every word she said, she meant.

“I can be better,” he offered. He watched as she worked her jaw, searching for what to say.

“I think I can be, too,” she said. Time seemed to stop. Aaron watched as the smallest of smiles tinged his sister’s lips. The rays of the rising sun filtered through Erin’s thick curtains, illuminating the fading freckles that danced across her face, forming constellations of their own. It turned her pale hair, bound in a messy bun atop her head, into a halo of pure gold. Erin might have been dressed as an angel last night, but she looked more like one now than she had then.

#just a pipe dream #fem!andreil asks #erin minyard #ania josten #aaron minyard hc #aaron micheal minyard #aaron minyard #wholesome twinyards #fem!andreil #the monsters #kevin day #the foxhole court au #the foxhole court #all for the game au #all for the game #all for the gay

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the-captains-ayebrows · 7 years ago

Note

I am curious about the Fall for CS story.

Hi there, Nonny! Thanks for the ask!

It was/is a grocery store meet cute between single mom Emma and Children’s Book author Killian. I had the beginning going fairly well, but I couldn’t ever figure out where the plot should go from there.

Here’s the (unedited) part I actually wrote in case anyone is interested - with a cut so as not to clog dashboards:

“I’m hanging up now. I need both hands to park.” Not a complete lie, Emma thinks. Her ancient Volkswagen does require both hands, both feet and a little bit of Jesus-take-the-wheel to maneuver through the overcrowded parking lot. The real reason she wants to hang up on Ruby, however, is because she’s so tired of hearing--

“So whatcha buying at the grocery store today? More chocolate? You know it’s been scientifically proven that chocolate produces the same brain chemicals as an orgasm, so why not just--”

“Ruby, no.”

“You can’t argue with science, Emma.”

“I’m not arguing with science, I’m arguing with you. For the millionth time, I do not need to get laid. I’m fine. Not to mention I don’t have time for a guy, between work and Henry and--”

“You’re telling me you don’t have six minutes for scientific purposes?”

“No, I do not have--Wait, six minutes?”

Emma can actually hear the leer in Ruby’s voice. “If you’ve got a partner who knows what they’re doing.”

“I don’t know whether to be horrified or impressed right now.”

“Both. Definitely both.”

“Okay, but the thing is, I’m parked now. Gotta go. Bye.”

“Fine, fine. Go buy a mountain of chocolate. I hope it keeps you warm at night.”

“Hey, the chocolate is for Henry’s school carnival!”

“Sure, girl. Whatever you have to tell yourself. Bye!”

With a frustrated grunt and grinding of gears, Emma shifts her beloved yellow Beetle into park. Not that kind of frustrated. Ruby’s wrong. Very very wrong.

She continues to muse on how wrong Ruby is as she yanks a shopping cart free from the cart barn just inside the sliding glass doors. Emma Swan’s life is full, overflowing even. Especially this year when Henry finally has Mary Margaret for a teacher after years of wishing to be in “Aunt M&M’s” class, because of course, when one of your best friends is your son’s teacher you find yourself volunteering for all sorts of school activities. Almost as if your name appears on the parent sign-up sheet by magic. Kinda like how she’d found herself responsible for buying all the candy for the 5th grade class booth at Storybrooke Elementary’s Halloween Fest.

Emma swerves at the last second to avoid smashing her cart into a card table set up at the end of an aisle, and whose bright idea was it to put that thing there? She mutters an apology to the vaguely man-shaped individual sitting there, but doesn’t give him much more thought. Probably a poor schmuck getting paid minimum wage to annoy people into changing their cable provider or some such bullshit. She takes a hard left and continues on her way. The guy might have said something to her as she passed, but it didn’t register. All she wants to do is grab a gluttonous amount of candy--most of which is definitely for Henry’s school carnival--and go home. To a nice glass of wine. And to not thinking about Ruby’s commentary on her love life.

Emma dutifully loads bag after bag of “fun size” candy bars into her cart. Maybe she grabs a few extra of her favorites, but those aren’t for her. It’s for the kids. She’s a damn saint. Henry should be happy with her at least. Operation Sugar Coma or whatever catchy little name he’s come up with for his class booth ought to be a complete success.

As Emma strolls down to the end of the aisle before making her way back up the next toward the check out, she falls into that a special kind of supermarket trance that only a mom who’s finally getting to do the shopping without her kid along can understand. Eyes glazed over. Colorful packaging and fellow shoppers passing by all strangely out of focus. Actually able to hear her own thoughts. That is, until--

“I’m coming to your house, love.”

The voice snaps Emma back to alertness, her wide-eyed stare finally landing on the guy at the table she is now passing for the second time. Her instincts put her immediately on the defensive, ready to maul this creep who is… who is…

Who is mischievously grinning at her with perfect white teeth and a wry tilt to his full, sensuous lips. And if he were just a pretty mouth, it’d be bad enough, but the rest of his face is pretty damn pretty, too. He dips his chin, looking up at her through unfairly long eyelashes and raises his dark eyebrows encouragingly. Her reply, when she finally remembers to make one, is a profound and very badass-

“Huh?”

He leans back in his cheap, plastic folding chair and gestures lazily to her cart. “You’ve got the good candy. I’d surely enjoy a piece.”

Her pulse jumps. She isn’t even really sure why. He said it completely straight-faced, but there was just… Just a little quirk of his eyebrow or flicker of his tongue behind his teeth or… Nuh-uh. Nope. She’s in no mood for nosy best friends or flirty cable guys. She tightens her grip on her cart handle.

“Nice try, but these goodies aren’t for you.” She puts as much sneer into her voice as she can and stalks off, the sound of his laughter behind her eventually fading into the ambient noise.

She’s halfway to the register when she realizes there are a few more items she should probably pick up while she’s at the store. Bread, milk, toilet paper, Lunchables. You know, actual non-chocolate groceries. Still, she forces herself to walk all the way down to the produce section before turning her cart so the smart-mouthed stranger doesn’t get the idea she’s hiding from him or something.

Because she’s not hiding. Emma Swan does not hide. Avoid maybe, but not hide. Honestly she’s not even thinking about him anymore, not much anyway.

Maybe his stupid smirky face popped into her head while she internally debated whether Henry would notice if she bought generic mustard and funnelled it into the empty French’s bottle. And maybe while she grabbed a week’s worth of lunches from the frozen section, it occurred to her that he must be freezing sitting so close to the ice cream with the top buttons of his shirt undone like that. God, man-cleavage is so cheesy. That’s probably why the cable company put him there. Some flirty, enticing little treat to lure in all the female shoppers. Or hell, maybe the male ones, too. Who was she to judge?

Well, it wouldn’t work on her. Emma had a will of iron and a Netflix subscription, so she didn’t need anything this guy had to offer. And if he tried to chat her up again she’d tell him so. Again. Except that…

She realizes that what she thought were pamphlets on his table are the wrong size. They look more like… books? Kid books, probably, if the brightly colored cover art is anything to go by. The closer she gets to the table, the more apparent it becomes that the guy is a) attempting to sell said books and b) not doing a very good job of it. Most of the shoppers that pass don’t even look at him (like how?) and the few that do just wave him off and go on their way.

He seems really bored and kinda lonely and it tugs at something in Emma’s gut. She remembers feeling alone and invisible. Nowadays she has a son she loves to pieces and a handful (yeah, Ruby is definitely a handful) of well-intentioned if meddlesome friends, but she still remembers. So, she decides to go talk to the guy. Throw him a bone, or whatever. Not that kind of bone.

He doesn’t look up as she approaches, focused instead on the sharpie he’s fiddling with. Admittedly the rolling movement of his fingers as the pen twirls from knuckle to knuckle is distracting as hell, and it takes some effort for her to redirect her attention to the cover of a book.

“Killian Jones?”

He perks up instantly. “Ah, so you’ve heard of me?”

His smile is dazzling and his eyes are a little too blue. It does weird fluttery things to Emma’s stomach. She’s not about to stand for that. She glances pointedly at a stack of books.

“Just reading the cover.”

His smile dims and the hand holding the sharpie reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “Ah. I see. I’d honestly be surprised if you had. We self-published types rarely attain much in the way of name recognition. Otherwise I wouldn’t be hawking my wares in a grocery store.”

Well, shit. Now she feels even more awkward. She came over here to… Well, she’s not really sure why she came over here, but it wasn’t to be a buzzkill. She tries again, picking up the top book in the stack and turning it over in her hands without really looking at it.

“So, you’re the author then?”

He nods. “Indeed. Though, erm, you’re not exactly the target demographic of that particular work.”

It’s then that Emma notices the cutesy drawing of a puppy dressed as a pirate, complete with a little hook on one paw and a trick-or-treat bag clutched in the other. It’s actually pretty adorable and Emma finally lets a tiny hint of smile break through.

“Jolly Roger, huh? So the puppy decides to be a pirate for Halloween?”

“Aye. You see, it’s a bit sad at first because Roger doesn’t want to go to his friends’ Halloween party. They’re all dressing up as superheroes and he doesn’t think he can be a hero because he’s missing one paw. Fortunately he has a big brother puppy to set him straight and teach him that he doesn’t have to be like everyone else. It might even be more fun to be a little different. So they decide on Captain Hook for a costume, Roger goes to the party and wins the costume contest.”

Okay well that’s charming. She’s officially charmed. Dammit. She can hear Ruby’s voice cackling somewhere in the back of her mind. “You know, my son may be a little old for picture books, but I do have a best friend who’s an elementary school teacher. She might be interested in some of your books for the school library. Do you have a business card, or…?”

Now his original smirk is back in full force as he stands and withdraws a card from the pocket of his very, very well-fitted jeans. He leans closer holding the card between two fingers, and Emma eyes can’t to decide where to look. At the card, which is conveniently located right next to the open placket of his shirt, thus putting an enticing view of chest hair in her line of sight. Or into his eyes which seem to be twinkling at her. Or worst of all at his lips which seem to be saying something… Oh right, she should probably be listening right now.

“If you wanted my number love, you needn’t stand on ceremony.”

Emma snatches the card from his hand and rolls her eyes. “Does that routine work on all the moms?”

#captain swan #ask box games #captain swan fan fic #cs ff #WIP game #maybe I'll actually finish this one day #Anonymous

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