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crazypaperwasteland · 2 years

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How Geralt Lost Her-Part One

Summary: Geralt unknowingly hurt the person he loved most, leaving her feeling unwanted and forgotten by the people she cared for. Will he ever be able to make it up to her? Or will she leave him and never come back?

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Just a lot of sadness and Yennefer being a bitch (no hate to her, I love her. But in this story, she’s a bitch)

A/N: Just as a reminder, up until this post reaches 50 likes, Part Two will not be posted. Again, sorry about that.

Masterlist

Part 2 (Link will be attached when it’s posted)

I could see that she had Geralt under her spell from the moment he saw her. It was fine, I knew what she meant to him, I knew that he loved her. He’d told me as much, he told me that she was dead too, and that a part of him would always love her. I was fine with that. The one thing I wasn’t fine with was the way that Yennefer looked at Ciri, I could tell that Ciri was uncomfortable as well.

It made my blood boil. I could also see how Yennefer looked at me when Geralt turned his back, she tried to hide it, but she saw me as a threat. She’d been teaching Ciri witchcraft, in ways that I couldn’t teach her, and it seemed that she believed she was superior to me because she spent a lot of time with Ciri. I knew about Yennefer’s infertility, I knew that she had spent decades trying to have a child of her own. I also knew that she saw Ciri as a surrogate for that loss, that void she felt inside of herself.

For weeks, we’d been on the road, after Ciri’s little spill at Kaer Morhen. After learning about Yennefer’s betrayal, Geralt had been giving her the cold shoulder and really only talking to me, Ciri and Jaskier, albeit very little. Geralt seemed to think that he could just come running back to me when his first relationship was at odds with him. I, however, was not content with that little arrangement. So I would sleep near Jaskier, if Geralt set his bedroll down next to mine, I would move away from him and go over to Ciri. The poor man looked so confused. But I was not a toy, I wouldn’t play that game.

I never intended to let anyone in on the way I was feeling. Betrayed, forgotten, lonely, upset. However, eventually those things boil over. Especially with me. Yennefer was skilled in magic, there was no doubt about it. She’d singlehandedly turned the tide at Sodden with all of her flames and had not lost her life. But I was different. Once upon a time, I’d been at Aretuza, long after she’d left.

The mages of Aretuza were fearful of her because of how she’d weaponized flames at Sodden, but when they heard of my abilities, they were even more terrified. There would always be mages who were unlike others, who had greater limits than average humans. I was one of them. A woman with an affinity for fire, I used it everyday, I felt it rising up my throat like bile everyday, fighting to shove it back down everyday.

This day was one of the harder ones. Yennefer had put Ciri in danger. We had come across a monster, another monster after Ciri. While Geralt was incapacitated, Yennefer had tried to portal. But her magic was still…finicky. She had taken Ciri in her arms, trying to protect her, when in reality she’d opened a portal right into the creature’s path and nearly gotten Ciri snatched up into its jaws.

It took a split second for me to burn it into a crisp from the inside out. The work wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Yennefer had put Ciri in danger again. And I felt the familiar burn of fire in my stomach, rising up my throat as if I could spew it at her like my poisonous words.

Ciri had gone to check on Geralt, who was unconscious after being thrown into a tree and hitting his head, Jaskier went with her. “Do you realize that Ciri could have died just then?”

Yennefer glared at me while rubbing her arms, “yes.”

“She would have died all because of your mistake,” I knew Yennefer felt guilty, I could tell, but everything I’d been feeling was coming out now. The hatred I had for her ran deep, because she thought that she could steal everything from me. My best friend, my lover, my child.

“You think I don’t know that?” Yennefer snapped, her eyes blazing.

I felt heat rising in my clenched fists, “if you had simply left it to me, that thing would have been a pile of ashes in a moment. Instead you left me to knock you and Ciri out of the way because you decided you wanted to portal. You decided you wanted to test out your shaky magic when Ciri’s life was in danger!”

“I was trying to protect her!”

“No, you were trying to play house,” I shouted back, stepping up until there was no space between us. “Like you’ve been doing ever since you got here. Happy little family. Mother, father, daughter. With you as the dutiful wife.”

“That’s what this is about?” Yennefer laughed, “you’re worried that I’m going to take your place?”

“No, I want to make sure you understand some things.” I sneered, I grabbed her arms, she hissed as steam rose from between her skin and mine, my hands burned right through the fabric of her sleeves. Her eyes were frantic with mine at the pain I knew she was in. “I don’t give a shit if you buddy up with Jaskier, I couldn’t care less if Geralt chooses you over me. But let’s get one thing clear, Ciri is not your child. You can get close to her, you can teach her, you can love her, but she is not yours. She’s mine. And if you put her in danger one more time, I swear to the gods that I will burn you alive, you spiteful bitch.” I shoved her away and stormed off, twigs snapping under my boots.

I sat on a cliff edge for hours, my feet dangling off. How many times had I considered jumping off of a cliff since Yennefer returned? Three times. Once, when she first came back, I saw how Geralt looked at her. He looked at her like he loved her, he looked at her the way he looked at me before she came back into the picture. The second time was when Jaskier recounted her as his friend and slipped an arm around her, that wasn’t what did it. It was that she looked at me and smirked when he said it. And then the third time was when I heard her and Geralt speaking in hushed whispers while we were staying at an inn one night. I heard Yennefer giggling in delight and speaking in a sultry voice.

All I had left was Ciri, she was the only one that I hadn’t lost, that didn’t entertain Yennefer’s desire for the perfect family. I recalled what my father told me when he found out about my gifts. “You will always be alone. You are extraordinary, but you are also a wrecking ball. Everything you touch, you ruin. You aren’t worth the pain, and one day everyone you care about will realize it too.” For decades that echoed in my head, those words.

I felt tears slip down my cheeks, for a second I thought it was beginning to rain, but then I realized that it was just me. My lips trembled as I picked up a rock and chucked it off the cliffside, letting out a wail that I hoped no one could hear.

Alas, I never got that lucky. In fact, my entire life had just been a series of bad luck. A series I thought ended when I met Geralt and Jaskier, when I met Ciri. Turns out that it was only just beginning.

“Is this why you haven’t been speaking to me?” I heard Geralt ask in his usual gravelly tone, only this time it was softer, as if he was afraid to startle me. “I have no idea why you would think I’d leave-”

“You love her, Geralt,” I cut in, “I don’t need anyone to tell me that what I’m feeling is unjustified, I don’t need anyone to tell me that I’m crazy. You love her. You’re cross with her at the moment, but the moment you accept her apology you two will be all cozied up to one another. In fact, you probably already are.”

Geralt was silent for a long moment, “me and Yennefer are done, (Y/N). I made that very clear to her.” I heard his boots moving on the gravelly rock before he sat down next to me. “I love you-”

“You only love me because you can’t have her, Geralt,” I turned to look at him. He seemed to jump back at the sight of my tear stained face. “I am no one’s second choice. All I have ever done is help other people, all I’ve ever done is think of everyone else, put other people first. And yet no one ever does the same for me.” I stood up and started to walk away from him, but he grabbed my hand before I could get very far.

“You are not my second choice,” Geralt tugged me towards him until I looked at him again. “You should have just told me-”

“And what?” I shoved him away from me, “you would have told Yennefer to leave? You would have “listened” to what I had to say? Like you’re doing now?” I laughed, despair seizing me.

“I am listening.”

“No, you’re not. You’re trying to make it seem like I am at fault. You wouldn’t have listened, because you are unwilling to see the pain I’m in, the pain that I have been in, because you also know, deep down, that you are the cause.” Geralt lowered his head, and I knew I was right.

“Then explain it to me, explain so I can understand, because I truly don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.” Geralt’s voice was pleading.

I huffed a laugh, “it’s simple. She has her claws sunk so deep into your heart that you are blinded to any wrongdoing on her part. You have not seen the way she has looked at me or treated me, because you’d rather not see it.”

“How has she done wrong to you, (Y/N)?” Geralt snapped at me, “what exactly has she done to make you hate her so?” His tone was so…mocking that I flinched slightly.

I felt myself choke on my tears, “this, Geralt.” I gestured between me and him, “she is determined to destroy everything that I perceive as mine.”

“No, she isn’t!”

I let the tears in my eyes fall, my legs felt wobbly beneath me, I saw guilt flash on his face at the sight, but I cast that observation aside. “Fine, Geralt. I’m done….I’m just…I’m done.” I took a step back away from him, “she wins. You’re hers, Ciri is hers, Jaskier is hers. I’m done.” I threw my hands up in defeat and turned my back on him, and I left. I left it all behind, Geralt, Yennefer, Jaskier and Ciri. I left it all behind because I knew if I stayed, it would eventually kill me. So with teary eyes and an aching heart, I walked away from the love of my life, my child, and my best friend.

#jaskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt angst #the witcher #yennefer of vengerberg #yennefer #cirilla #princess cirilla #ciri #ciri x geralt #rivia #geralt fluff #fluff #angst #sadness #aretuza #kaer morhen

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potatoes83 · 6 days

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Dailywire Article

Hmm, now why might that be?

Understand that I grew up with Garfield... We're focusing on that because I have no idea what Furiosa is. I love Garfield. But I am 41 years old. And Garfield came out into syndication in the funny papers in 1978, meaning some of the lingering references, much like in the series Cathy, which came out two years earlier, were already dated as I was growing up. Tropes about dating and feminism, dieting, and so on, were very much a product of their time, and did not at all remain contemporary as the years went on.

There was also the animated series Garfield and Friends, done well before CGI had taken over all things animation, which first aired in 1988 and rolled through 1994. Basically my young childhood; that would have taken me from kindergarten to sixth grade or so. And there are people my age out there, quite a few of them, who have kids already in high school; we are now separated by nearly an entire generation.

Simply put, kids these days did not grow up with Garfield. At least, not in the iteration that made him a household name. They don't read the funny papers, nor did they grow up doing so. They are not clamoring to, and are in fact probably quite confused as to why they would want to see a generic computer generated blob who has an inexplicable penchant for lasagna. 20 years ago, you could have maybe pulled this off on the nostalgia train, packing theatres with 20 somethings out for a laugh, but for those of us who grew up with this universe, it's like the news of Happy Gilmore 2. We are not joyfully looking forward to reliving our youth, but rather mourning the desperate search for more money and actors' need for relevance which is turning a beloved vignette of our past into the next embarassing box office flop. For crying out loud, Adam Sandler is pushing sixty! What's next, Billy Madison 2? After his successful prostate surgery, Billy decides that life is short, so he's gonna go for his bachelors degree???

So my point is... hollywood has utterly pumped the last pump of running out of ideas. Everything remotely good has been sequeled, prequeled, and rebooted to death; the dead horse has been beaten into a fine powder. And this has been going on for some time, several years now, one bust after another. I used to love going to the movies, but I couldn't even tell you what this year's alleged blockbuster hits are supposed to be.

I touched on this before, either on here or my seldom-updated LJ, people turn to entertainment to be entertained. Not to be lectured to, not to be given a social justice lesson. They want to see actors who fit the role, not an academy award-pandering grab bag of ethnic and sexual checkboxes. Especially when you're dealing with an established universe, where things like race, gender, how people's voices sound, are already familiar to the legacy audience. Having Garfield played by, oh hell I don't know, Queen Latifah let's say, it's going to ruffle some feathers. Not because Queen Latifah is a bad actress, but because that's not what Garfield sounds like. That's not who Garfield is. And I'm not saying they did that in this case, I don't really care to look, it's an issue that is indicative of the problems with Hollywood today. Maybe Jon is a closeted gay, his lack of ability to get the ladies stems from his latent crush on his next door neighbor. Maybe Nermal is a transsexual, he thinks he's actually a cute female puppy instead of a kitten. And on it goes.

The only thing Hollywood has done in the last decade is destroy beloved characters and franchises, while shoving over engineered diversity and flash in the pan social justice messages down the audience's throats. And I think people are tired of being disappointed. Ultimately, to sum it up, Hollywood is telling the people what they want, instead of asking or listening to them. And that is not a winning formula. Who, for example, was sitting and lamenting that a comic strip cat from the 80s hasn't been put on the big screen as the must-see memorial weekend blockbuster??? Oh right. Nobody. 🥔

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savemefromanepicoftimewasted · 2 years

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Umm, Eddie?

Eddie Munson X Wife!Reader

He fell more in love with you each day, it was no surprise to anyone that he proposed after only six months of dating, eloping just a few months after that. Everyone had called the two of you young and dumb, but none of that mattered when you were together. a/n:this is my first Eddie fic! I hope you guys enjoy it! this is a modern day fic, but we love a long haired Eddie no matter the decade

Eddie loved seeing you in his clothes, and those tiny little shorts you wore around the apartment? They were the cherry on top of this perfect little sundae. Which is why he absolutely hated it when you had to leave for work, why couldn’t you just stay home with him all the time?

“Baby, I have to get ready and go to work, you have fun with your campaign,” You pressed a kiss to his lips, giggling as he pulled you into his lap.

“Just a few more minutes? The little shits here don’t believe we’re actually married,” Eddie always wore his ring, it was his badge of honor that he’d managed to marry the most amazing woman in his life.

“Not today baby boy, I’ll stick around for the next campaign, I promise,” You slithered your way out of his embrace, pressing one final kiss to his lips before heading off back towards the bedroom.

“Don’t forget! I made cookies for you and the boys to enjoy during your campaign,” You’d always insisted on making something for Eddie’s campaigns, wanting to make sure they actually ate.

“I won’t forget, I put a reminder in my phone,” Eddie was mindlessly scrolling through his photos on his phone, smiling at the pictures from your wedding.

“Alright, I’ll see you when I get home from work tonight, try not to make too much of a mess,” You pressed one final kiss to his lips before running out the door.

Eddie had just finished setting up when the boys all arrived, Dustin being the first person to walk through the door with a bag of snacks hanging off his arm. It was a decision everyone had agreed to, everyone brought different snacks to campaigns so no one left hungry.

“Alright boys, let’s get this party started!” Eddie turned on some music, keeping the volume low enough so he didn’t have to yell during the campaign.

They’d gone through four different albums, from Metallica, to Ozzy filtering through the room as everyone held their breath. It was the final roll, the make or break for the people surrounding Eddie’s table. The dice left Dustin’s hands, rolling until they came to a full stop.

“Dustin defeats Vecna!” Everyone cheered, high fiving one another excitedly.

Eddie laughed to himself, plopping down into his chair as he watched everyone celebrate their victory. It was nice, knowing that he could help give these kids something to enjoy for a lifetime, and himself of course.

“Wait! Almost forgot to give everyone dessert,” Eddie threw himself out of the chair, rushing into the kitchen to grab the container of chocolate chip cookies.

Mike and Will were slightly confused, Eddie had never baked a thing without burning it the entire time they’d known him. They were probably store bought, it was the only reasonable explanation.

“Meant to grab these earlier with the other snacks, but we ended up getting so caught up in everything I almost forgot,” Eddie came back into the room, placing the container onto the table.

Mike stared at the cookies afraid they would end up making him sick, however both Lucas and Dustin started to dig in right away.

“Holy shit, these are amazing! Where’d you buy them from?” Dustin held up one of the cookies, looking it over curiously.

“I didn’t, my wife made them for me,” Eddie grabbed one for himself, nearly shoving the entire thing into his mouth.

You had always chastised him when he did that, no matter what he was eating. It only ever pertained to your cooking though, as long as you two were inside the apartment.

“C’mon Eddie, you can stop with the whole wife act,” Lucas had never believed Eddie whenever he said he was married, it didn’t seem realistic.

“Yeah, if you were actually married why haven’t we met her yet?” Dustin had always said you never existed, that Eddie made you up so he didn’t sound like a loser.

Eddie was going to prove you existed, show him the wedding photos that lined the walls of your home when the sound of keys caught his attention. What were you doing home so early?

“Eddie! I come bearing dinner!” Your voice echoed throughout the apartment, gaining everyone else’s attention.

This was the perfect moment, now all those little shits would stop doubting that he was married to the most wonderful woman ever. Your smiling face was what greeted him, eyes sparkling in the dim light as you hoisted the bags up higher.

“There she is, how was work baby?” Eddie ran over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush to his own body.

“Good, finally got all my work done so I can take a couple days off finally,” You clearly hadn’t noticed the room full of teens, save for Eddie’s friends who were secretly just overgrown children.

“Even better! We have to plan something to celebrate,” Eddie knew how hard you worked, sometimes doing twelve hour shifts for times like this.

It was mainly due to the fact that you and Eddie wanted to own a home together, so you both worked more than you should to help save up for your first house. Something small, but big enough to hold D&D campaigns whenever the time allowed.

“Eddie, who are these people in our apartment?” You were sure the campaign was supposed to end nearly two hours ago, so what was going on?

Eddie pulled away from your embrace, suddenly remembering that everyone was behind him.

“Oh! These are the little shits I play D&D with, we’ve got Lucas, Mike, Will, Dustin, and you of course already know Gareth, and Jeff,” Eddie pointed out each person slowly, hoping you could remember their names.

It had taken him a few days to remember everyone easily, making sure not to call someone by the wrong name. And if he’d used a cheat sheet the first few times they played together that was no one else’s business but his own.

“Nice to meet you guys, Eddie’s told me so much about you,” While normally you’d be a little annoyed at not being able to eat your dinner in peace, it was finally time to meet the kids.

Dustin’s jaw dropped open, how the hell were you actually real, and standing in front of him! You were so pretty, maybe he shouldn’t have doubted Eddie afterall.

“You’re actually real?!” Mike blurted out, snapping his jaw shut at the glare Eddie threw his way.

You couldn’t help but laugh, that was the main thing that Eddie brought up whenever you came home after one of his sessions ended. None of the boys believed Eddie could be married, no matter how often he threatened to break out the wedding portfolio.

“Well, what if you just photoshopped those pictures? Doesn’t mean they’re real,” Mike had never believed Eddie, trying to bring up his own girlfriend from time to time.

“Yes, I am real, and Eddie and I are married,” You held out your left hand, showing the ring that sat on your finger.

Eddie was beaming as he wrapped his arm around your waist, they had no right to doubt him anymore, not with you standing there in the flesh. His band was starting to gain traction too, so he was able to contribute more to the bills. Things were slowly working out in their favor.

“Well unfortunately I didn’t get enough food for everyone, but I can order more?” You weren’t sure how much you’d be spending to feed the kids, plus Gareth, and Jeff.

Everyone began to disagree all at once, saying they had to get back home to their own families and eat dinner there. It almost looked as if Gareth was going to complain before Jeff punched his bicep, muttering a soft shut up before he too agreed he’d be leaving.

Eddie led them all out of the apartment, making sure that everyone was accounted for, and in their cars, before shutting the door with a soft click. While he’d had a blast during the campaign, he wanted nothing more than to cuddle with you on the couch and eat dinner.

“Mr. Munson, you have some explaining to do,” Eddie bit his lip nervously, maybe you wouldn’t be that upset.

He headed into the kitchen, grabbing his own food and a drink before following you into the living room. You’d turned on some reality show, though he wouldn’t deny they were definitely a guilty pleasure.

“What’d you throw on?” Eddie had shoved a forkful of rice into his mouth, watching the title screen pop up as you ate your own dinner.

“The challenge, rumor has it CT’s going to show up this season and be their biggest competitor,” Eddie never questioned your taste in television, not when he got hooked himself.

“Johnny’s gonna get his ass kicked if that’s the case,” He could see your gaze burning a hole into the side of his head, demanding answers he was suddenly afraid to give.

“Eddie,” Your tone left no room for argument.

Damnit.

“Our campaign went on a lot longer than I was expecting, and I almost forgot to give them the cookies you baked. So it’s not entirely my fault that they were here,” Eddie wasn’t sure how you’d feel about all those kids being in the apartment.

“Just make sure to warn me next time, I was ready to jump your bones the moment I got home today,” You’d say it so nonchalantly that Eddie was floored.

Why did the campaign have to go on for so long today of all days? It wasn’t as if you two didn’t have a healthy sex life, but damnit you were his gorgeous wife!

“So, does that mean sex is off the table entirely now?” He wasn’t above pouting, it always pulled a cute giggle from you.

“No, but it does mean you have to sit through three episodes of this with me,” You threw your legs over his lap, relaxing further into the couch.

Eddie sure as hell wasn’t going to complain, he’d sit through anything if it meant having you by his side.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x wife!reader #stranger things fic #lucas sinclair #will byers #dustin henderson #mike wheeler

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anamazingangie · 11 months

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The Rules | Daemon x Rhaenyra Targaryen

Rated E | 5.6k words | by AmazingAngie | Tags: modern AU, college setting, older man/younger woman, teacher/student relationship, professor!daemon, rough sex, love confessions, no incest (wow)

Summary:

She sat up, “You’re a really good professor.” He laughed, “I’m not, I'm an opinionated asshole who likes providing input early enough to change things.” She rolled her eyes, shoving the laptop off him and taking its place. She didn’t disagree with his statement—but it didn’t change the fact that he was a good professor in her eyes. He was a good person, too. 18. Good character alone makes any man worthy of love.

His class was at two PM on a Wednesday afternoon. Rhaenyra didn’t expect much from the two hour slot marked out as Medieval Works ~ Literature, Life, Love and Language. She liked medieval art, and she liked to read, so it had seemed like a more enjoyable elective than most, if not super relevant to her major. But she excelled at bullshitting her way through assignments, and essays were no different, regardless of the topic, so she wasn’t worried either.

But when she took her seat, she realized something odd. There wasn’t a single guy in the classroom. Like it was all girls. And Rhaenyra wasn’t great at math, but that seemed statistically unlikely to be a coincidence. Especially since the girls in question were wearing makeup, twirling their hair, and giggling as if they were at a high school mixer instead of inside the walls of a college classroom.

Of course, it all made sense when the professor walked in, giving them a wide smile before introducing himself as Daemon Targaryen.

She wasn’t proud of the fact she had sex with him, but it felt kind of inevitable given the month that followed the start of the semester. If she only saw him once a week from a safe distance in which her tongue couldn’t reach him, she was pretty sure she would have been able to resist.

But the world—or at least their shared place in society, seemed to push them together. The list of events her mother insisted Rhaenyra attend seemed to match his own, which he admitted came from his own mother.

She had laughed at that, “She still controls you?” It was nearly inconceivable, given his age and…swagger. She hated that word but it seemed accurate given the type of suave energy and charm that radiated from him.

“Some things never change.” He mused, but his smile was fond when he spoke of Alyssa Targaryen. Rhaenyra learned that after her husband’s death she had taken a backseat to charity work, and encouraged her son to take her seat at these events instead. It was sweet.

Rhaenyra liked sweet men.

Okay, maybe she just liked him.

Either way, she wondered if he would taste sweet, too.

They’d spoken a half dozen times since then, sometimes even sitting together. Despite the two decades between them, they were still younger than almost everyone else in attendance and had a good amount in common. But it was more than that, as cliche as it sounded, they just clicked.

She’d been forced to attend these events since she was old enough to talk and she’d never had this much fun. They would make ridiculous lip reading guesses based on the body language of people who were too far away to actually eavesdrop on. They would do crossword puzzles on his phone. They would take bets on what would be served for dinner (it was always salmon. Always.) And, perhaps regrettably, drinking games.

They had really underestimated the amount of times that woman would mention her dog while thanking people for their donations to a cancer foundation.

“I—guess, dogs can get cancer too?” She had said between giggles while they waited for an uber.

“It’s can-cer, not can’t-cer, anything can get it.” He said seriously.

“That is such a fucking dad joke! You haven’t earned the right!” She said with faux anger, shoving his shoulder but not putting any real weight behind it.

Maybe it was her hand on his chest. Or maybe it was her stupid comment that did it. It certainly got her thinking about how kids were made, which she figured got them both��thinking about sex. Because when they got inside the car, their lips were against each other and they were licking into each other's mouths with little restraint.

Rhaenyra wished she could blame it on being drunk, but she really wasn’t that drunk. She was just drunk enough to use that as an excuse for doing something she was too afraid to do fully sober.

They stumbled out of the uber and into his apartment, still kissing as they ripped at each other’s clothing. God it was hot hearing fabric tear and buttons fall. She hadn’t had rough sex in ages, her last boyfriend was the gentle giant type and that was nice but this was—her own thoughts were cut off by a moan as Daemon bit down on her shoulder.

It was a fast fuck, sort of brutal as he took her from behind, slamming into her in a way that would ache the next day but was so good. She didn’t expect to come from it, but his fingers slipped under her and managed to put pressure exactly where she craved it. The combination of that and the stretch of his cock was enough, she was gone and moaning and he followed close behind.

They lay side by side after, breathing heavily.

“That was good.” She said, too drunk on fucking and wine to think of much else to say.

“It was good.” He agreed. But then he turned to her, and cupped her cheek, “We can’t do it again, though.”

She nodded.

(The morning sex they had when she woke up definitely didn’t count, though, they both agreed.)

Things didn’t change much. She liked his class, the hours passing quickly as he spoke passionately about the first scholars in England and the theories they had left behind on paper. It wouldn’t make her overly devoted to the topic herself, she didn’t think, but it was a pleasant enough period in her schedule. And the eye candy wasn’t bad, either…especially now that she didn’t have to imagine what was beneath the crisp collared shirts he favored.

He really was handsome. And not in that generic way of being super tan and buff that CW shows had been shoving down girls' throats for the last decade. He was the opposite of all that in a way that made him all the more intriguing, too.

He had muscles, but they were softer—and she liked how they weren’t hard or bulky against her fingers when she rode him. She liked that they probably meant he had hobbies other than going to the gym. But he was more than a body, he’s a pretty face too, she thought with a snort. And the face in question was framed by light blonde hair that was streaked with silver. She wasn’t sure if they were a sign of age or time spent in the sun, but either way, it was hot, ok?

Outside of the classroom, they still saw each other at events. And things weren’t awkward, really. They were mature enough to separate sex from the other elements of their relationship, she thought.

And it was by that logic that they decided to keep having it.

She realized that if they were compatible in conversation, that they must be something else entirely when it came to this.

It was like they knew each other in a past life, how he seemed to know exactly where to stroke to make her cry or come. He found that rough spongy patch with his fingers in like a day, when it had taken her years of exploration with her own fingers before she realized it wasn’t a myth. He was generous with not just his fingers but his tongue, too, lapping at her until she was too tired to move much less have another orgasm, because yeah, with him she had multiple.

She tried to give it as good as he did, swallowing his dick every morning like it was a multivitamin. The aftertaste was probably about as unpleasant, too, but she liked the weight of it in her mouth and the feeling of his fingers in her hair as he roughly thrust against her lips.

She was growing used to this treatment, of being adored and driven to orgasm and then being fucked like she didn’t have to walk tomorrow, and it was, quite honestly, glorious. She liked admiring the bruises on her hips, and the fact he encouraged her to return the favor by dragging her nails down his back until scratches lingered.

There was something primal about the way they came together. How they both needed it to ache a little before they could fully let go and feel pleasure. Whether that came in the form of teeth digging into flesh, or nipples being twisted until the other sobbed, it didn’t matter, because it drove them closer.

Truly, social norms seemed to slip away as did her embarrassment when they were together. She’d asked him to spank her, for fucks sake, and he’d turned it around and begged her to choke him. They were truly mad for each other, feral when they were behind closed doors and had their hands on each other.

It was probably why they got sloppy.

His apartment seemed pretty safe, the second story of a brownstone in an area that wasn’t overly populated or close to school.

Rhaenyra’s apartment had a doorman, which they tried to avoid at first. But they reasoned he was unlikely to have a chance to tell her parents.

She had a roommate, too. But Alicent spent the weekends at home, so they turned the communal living room into a sex den during those two days.

They vetoed his office, of course. But… he had this fantasy about having someone over his desk, and that sounded pretty hot to her.

(For the record, it was pretty hot.)

And she had a fantasy about sucking him off in the classroom. So, that happened too.

And then there was a fundraiser with an unlocked coat room…

Ok, so perhaps they weren’t as careful as they should have been.

But things were so good, it was hard to imagine they wouldn’t stay that way.

Assignment:

Provide a rough draft of your essay by Oct. 3 for review. It should include a thesis statement with a comparative nature between two pieces of literature that have been selected from the list provided.

“I didn’t realize you were a masochist.” Rhaenyra said as she squinted down at her screen. She had never had a professor ask for a draft of anything, much less a rough draft. He peeked over her shouldering, seeing the familiar format of the ancient edu email system. He just shrugged in response, leaning back against the pillows and returning his gaze to his laptop.

“You know what rough draft means, right?” She said, seriously curious what justification he would have for allowing it. As his student she should have been delighted by the ask, but she cared about him as a person now, whether she should or not. And selfishly, she cared about his time too, and how much time he had for her.

He sighed, looking back at her. “I happen to like rough drafts. If they are bad, students are more accepting of criticism when it’s their first attempt. They tend to be more willing to shift their arguments if they haven’t invested as much time into polishing them.”

“And…there is just something about people being comfortable enough to share their ideas in that way. And you don’t get that when you demand perfection. Because sometimes people edit themselves away when they edit the grammar and structural issues.”

That was more answer than she expected, fuck. It made her wonder if she had edited away some of the best parts of herself because of the pressure to be perfect.

“When you remove that requirement, you get to see their thoughts unfiltered and whether they are stupid or not it gives you insight into their process that ultimately helps me guide them to something great.”

She must have been quiet for too long, because his foot nudged her. “You okay?”

She nodded, “I’m fine. It’s just,” she sat up, “You’re a really good professor.”

He laughed, “I’m not, I'm an opinionated asshole who likes providing input early enough to change things.”

She rolled her eyes, shoving the laptop off him and taking its place. She didn’t disagree with his statement—but it didn’t change the fact that he was a good professor in her eyes. He was a good person, too.

And fucking hot to boot, she thought with a dreamy sigh before she brought her lips to his.

They weren’t wearing much, and she was grateful for it when she slid onto his cock a mere minute later. It was such a stretch every time, no matter how wet she was. There was something so hot about the fact he was just a little too big, and she was a little too small, and to get them to fit they had to force themselves together.

The twinge of hips meeting was like penance for doing what their gods and bodies tried to prevent. They were choosing this, choosing to be with each other like this. And that fact made it better, even if it hurt a little. Or perhaps that made it better too. She rode him hard, fingers braced on his broad shoulders until the aftershocks were too much for her to control herself, much less her pace. This was evident in how her nails dug in when she came, leaving little crescents that would bruise by tomorrow.

Daemon squeezed her hips, setting a gentle pace that was more gyrating than thrusting, but it was enough, because she felt him come and heard his familiar groans in her ear.

After, her head was on his stomach, and his hands were running through her hair. She couldn’t imagine anything better.

She was late to brunch, but still there before her mother, which was a relief. Their relationship was… special. Rhaenyra was in the odd position of being a spoiled only child, and a reminder of her parent’s inability to have anothe r child.

Yes, in their quest to have a bigger family, Mr. and Mrs. Arryn had quite thoroughly neglected the daughter they did have. She was never lacking necessities, or clothing, nor accessories, but she had learned to be independent and a little bit bitter given her parents' apparent disinterest.

Things were better now. Her mother seemed to realize the error of her ways, finding time in her busy schedule of fundraisers and charity work to at least dine with her daughter. The food and company was usually pleasant enough, though Rhaenyra hadn’t really missed them in the months her mother had been away.

The twenty year wedding anniversary trip through the Mediterranean had lasted nearly two months. She looked tan and healthier than ever, but was clearly hungry for gossip, and had managed to find some relating to her daughter.

“ They said you were with a very handsome blonde man. And you left together. At many events.”

Rhaenyra coughed, not expecting Aemma to have heard. At least this act was easy to defend, she just had to act cool. But she was used to acting around her mother.

“That is Daemon Targaryen.”

“How did you meet?” Aemma asked, eyes sparkling as she leaned.

“A literature class.”

“He’s in your class?” Her mother said, cheerful. Fuck. Okay, that phrasing had been poor, but before she could correct herself her mother had moved on, “Are you dating? Is it serious?”

“No!” Rhaenyra insisted, though Aemma looked unconvinced.

“I do hope I get to meet him, now that I’m back and all.” She said with a sly smile.

Rhaenyra sighed. Her mother was progressive in many of her views, but she thought a girl who wasn’t married by eighteen was a sad creature likely to crumble to dust without a man to support her. Rhaenyra, being nineteen, was at dire risk, clearly.

Aemma had tried to pair her off with Laenor since they were both old enough to walk—and the fact that he was both her cousin and gay did little to deter her. She had openly made jokes about wedding bells when a poor panicked boy named Cristin took her to prom. And when Rhaenyra had dated Harwin last year…well, she was pretty sure Aemma was responsible for her birth control pills “accidentally” getting thrown out twice in a three month period.

So, there were a number of reasons she was not eager for her mother to meet Daemon. And the fact he was her teacher, though very much on the list, wasn’t at the top of it.

And though she had warned Daemon that her parents had returned and would likely try to hunt him down at the next event he attended, he hadn’t seemed overly concerned. He had admitted that he had literal privilege and figurative armor.

“From what?” She had asked, and he looked a little bashful as he mumbled something about being a rich-white-man. “I’m not proud of it, okay?” He said defensively. Her lips thinned because she knew he also wouldn’t change any of those things. Though neither would she, she liked him that way.

She showed him as much, and in doing so she kind of, forgot to tell him about her father.

It took approximately two minutes for Aemma’s eyes to latch onto Daemon in the crowd of dozens. With Viserys on her left and Rhaenyra on her right, she dragged them both to the unsuspecting man and extended her hand in greeting.

“I’m Aemma Arryn.” She said with a perfect society smile.

Daemon looked between her and Rhaenyra, clearly seeing the resemblance and putting things together. He took Aemma’s hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing the back of it like some sort of prince. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, but she could tell her mom was hooked .

“I believe the popularity of the comment has removed any sincerity from it, and I can use context to make other assumptions. But without that I would think you Rhaenyra’s sister, not mother, Mrs. Arryn.”

Rhaenyra had never seen her mom blush like that.

The grin Aemma gave Rhaenyra was nearly as predatory as it was delighted.

“This is my husband, Viserys Arryn.” Aemma said, nudging him forward so the men could shake hands. They did, but Daemon’s smile was stiff.

“We’ve actually already met,” Viserys said, clueless and jovial as usual. “Daemon is the youngest Chair of the English department we’ve ever had.”

With that Aemma’s smile tightened, “I thought you met in class, Rhaenyra?”

She swallowed.

“Yes.” Daemon said with a smile before speaking highly —but not too highly of her performance in his lectures. He played the part of teacher well, answering questions and charming them both until a polite amount of time had elapsed and he could dismiss himself.

“What a nice man.” Viserys said.

“Perhaps too nice?” Aemma asked, gaze fixed on Rhaenyra.

She just shrugged, not sure if she could keep her voice steady enough to answer.

Daemon, as she expected, avoided her for the rest of the evening.

The car felt very quiet on the way back to her apartment

The joy that usually followed these events was absent as she unlocked the door of her apartment. There was no kissing or giggling, no rough hands dragging down the zipper of her dress and pulling pins from her hair.

She kicked off her pumps, and tossed her lingerie on top before crawling into bed. It was bad for her skin to leave her makeup on but she didn’t care, she just wanted to sleep and have this day be over.

Still, she was responsible enough to set her alarm and check the reminders for tomorrow—one of which was in regards to her essay for Daemon’s class. She tapped on it, laughing without humor at the irony when she read the first few lines of her notes.

"Throughout all the ages, there have been only four degrees in love:

"The first consists in arousing hope;

"The second in offering kisses;

"The third in the enjoyment of intimate embraces;

"The fourth in the abandonment of the entire person."

After two weeks, she felt abandoned enough to visit him during office hours.

“It’s not against the rules you know.” She said, pushing a sheet of paper across his desk.

Relationships between professional staff or and an undergraduate, graduate/professional student, that pre-date enrollment as a student, are permissible provided that employee notifies their direct supervisor or department/unit head. The supervisor or department/unit head will work with the covered individuals to ensure that they are not in a direct supervisory or instructional relationship (and, if so, will develop a management plan for the employee), but there is no prohibition on maintaining the relationship.

“Did our ‘relationship’ pre-date your enrollment last semester? Because I don’t quite recall that.” He said, as he read over the paper.

“Okay, fine, we’d have to lie a little. But the rest of it is fine! You’re the department head, we wouldn’t have to tell anyone. And you said Mysaria was responsible for grading my work.” She said, hoping it was convincing. It was convincing to her, at least.

“Would your father agree with that?” Daemon asked, leaning back in his chair.

She rolled her eyes. “I really don’t care what he thinks. But if we manage a few more months without him finding out, it won’t matter. He won’t have the legal authority to fire you and he did, I doubt he would. That man fears public opinion more than anything else.”

Daemon looked surprised, “You’re sure he wouldn’t think I was taking advantage of you? Be too worried about your safety to think rationally?”

She laughed, even though it wasn’t funny. “I’m pretty sure he would think I was taking advantage of you. Trying to ruin your career or improve my grades out of spite or scholarly goals.” He’d certainly had no issues implying as much when she complained of his handsy colleagues coming onto her when she was barely through puberty.

“I wasn’t trying to hide this from you, I just don’t like thinking about him. Especially when I’m with you.” She admitted.

“It’s not because of rampant daddy issues?” He asked, but he was smiling a little now.

She stood, walking around his desk, until she could place her hands on his shoulders. “ If I had such a kink, it would be towards authority figures in general, Professor.”

He had her face down on his desk a minute later, skirt flipped up and underwear shoved aside in his desperation to have her. He came quickly, apologizing for it, before fingering her until her release followed. It didn’t last long, but she could already feel the ache from how he’d speared her unprepared cunt. It was good though, and she would treasure it on her way home. A reminder that they were back together…In whatever undefined way they were together..

They carried on in whatever undefined way they had before for a few weeks. Until she fucked up.

“I want to use all of these, they are so good.” She moaned, as she scrolled through her notes.

“It almost makes you realize why someone would devote their life to medieval literature, huh?” Daemon teased at his place from his desk.

“I think you’re in it for the illustrations of weird boobs, to be honest.” She sniped back. He opened his mouth to respond and she held up her finger, “If you say anything to do with me and weird boobs, so help me god…”

He laughed, “I would never.”

She went back to reading her notes. “Hm, perhaps this could be our affirmation, ‘The easy attainment of love makes it of little value; difficulty of attainment makes it prized.’” She wasn’t sure she agreed with it completely, but it certainly fit their relationship so far.

“Love, huh?” Daemon responded, sounding surprised.

“Love?” She asked, then retracted what she had said and—oh, fuck.

“I didn’t mean that!” She said, panicked.

Daemon made a tsking noise with his tongue. “It’s a shame, for I find myself quite enamored with the thought. They say when a lover suddenly catches sight of his beloved his heart palpitates, and I believe it’s true.”

She gaped. He stared, lips turned into a smirk.

“Do you mean that?” She asked, voice a little wobbly.

“A true lover is constantly and without intermission possessed by the thought of his beloved.” The words weren’t his own but the way he said them…he meant them.

“Then I think I may also be afflicted.” She said, with a wet laugh as she got up to kiss him.

She found out during a family dinner. They were all weirdly dressed up for the occasion, which was catered despite there only being three of them in the family dining room. Her mother, for all her domestic abilities, could not cook.

Aemma dominated the conversation, though not in a rude way. The topics were mindless, until Viserys spoke about work—”We had to fire three staff members this week.” He admitted, “They were all getting er, favors from the same girl in exchange for better grades. A fourth denied her, and the girl tattled in anger.”

Rhaenyra suddenly felt a little sick, “Has that happened before?” She asked, keeping her tone casual and picking at her salad but making no move to eat it.

“No,” he said, having no trouble eating himself and taking a generous length of time to chew before continuing.

“Not since we changed the employee policy. People used to claim relationships were pre-existing, but the marriage clause put an end to that.”

“How awful,” Aemma said. Her eyes caught Rhaenyra’s, “I’d be so devastated if someone I knew got caught up in that.”

Rhaenyra nodded, “Me too.”

She drove back to Daemon’s place after dinner, kissing him quickly in greeting before logging onto the student website she had grabbed the relationship policy from a few weeks ago. When she scrolled down to the bottom of the page, it distinctly said c.2019.

Fuck. It could be out of date.

“Do you have your employee contract?” She asked Daemon who was watching her glare at the computer screen with a strange look of adoration and confusion.

While she waited for the document to load he made an offhand joke about her using it to steal his identity and SS number. It would have been funny under normal circumstances, but she felt itchy and nervous. She was too impatient to even scroll, instead using ctrl-f to find marriage in the file and jump to the section she was really hoping did not exist when he was hired three years earlier.

Fuck.

She fell back against his couch, looking up at him with a frown, “They changed the policy. preexisting relationships are only considered exceptions if the relationship is a legal partnership or marriage.”

She was expecting him to throw her out, but he just shrugged. Apparently he had gotten over his fear of her father and the school's rules? That was her assumption at least, but then he spoke, “You know, it is not proper to love any woman whom one would be ashamed to seek to marry.”

She was pretty sure one day his quotes from 12th century texts were going to lose their charm. But today was not that day. It was such a him thing to say, such a perfectly strange proposal, and she loved it and she loved him, and she couldn’t resist springing up to kiss his handsome lips.

But after they had parted, she did make one complaint. “You didn’t even get on one knee.”

A minute later he was on both knees, with one of her legs thrown over his shoulder while he lapped at her cunt.

This was way better.

“I’m going to put this in my office next to the diplomas once you graduate.” He said proudly, as he held up their marriage certificate.

She smiled, “You think we’ll make it that long?”

He glared. “We better, till death do us part and we’re too young and pretty to die anytime soon.”

She nodded, “You’re right, and there is that list of castles you wanted to fuck in is incomplete.” Her tone was teasing, and he knew it, responding defensively because of it.

“Sex is one of the few acts you can perfectly recreate from the period! And doing it in front of walls that once housed my ancestors? That’s a beautiful thing. I think they’d want me to do it, too.”

Rhaenyra was not convinced. It was perhaps a testament to her love that she agreed to spend their eventual honeymoon that way. Though to be fair, sex on a damp castle floor with him was probably still pretty good. But even if it was a hardship, she would do it to make him happy.

She was pretty sure Aemma’s concerns about their relationship were washed away when she mentioned getting a C in his class. She had made a pitying noise, probably assuming he had denied her attempts at seduction and given her a shit grade.

“It’s not my fault.” Daemon said when he saw the print out. “And to be fair, Mysaria has no idea how good you are at giving head. If she did, who knows, maybe you’d have gotten a B.”

She glared at him, “You’re right.” She agreed, “Next semester I’ll fuck the TA.”

He grumbled something and she grinned.

“You know what they say, ‘real jealousy always increases the feeling of love.’”

“You know it isn’t cute when you use medieval literature against me.” He said.

She snorted, “That is a lie and you know it.”

He sighed, “You’re right, you are very cute.”

They managed to keep their relationship secret up until the week before spring break. They hadn’t been overly careful for the last little while—she wasn’t his student anymore, and with the marriage license on file they felt pretty safe. Not to mention their armor of being rich, white, nepo babies. No matter what happened they would be okay, and they would have each other.

Still, they could have at least locked the door.

The sound of it opening caught her by surprise, she had jerked, hitting her head on the bottom of Daemon’s desk. With her position given away, she crawled from her place between Daemon’s thighs and peaked over the desk. One of his students was there, and Rhaenyra stood up with hopes of explaining—forgetting her state of undress.

The door slammed shut.

“Let me do the talking,” she said.

Daemon eyed her skeptically.

They took their seats in front of Viserys and the HR rep, and Rhaenyra straightened her skirt which suddenly felt way too short in the presence of her father.

“There was a report made by a student about inappropriate conduct between you two.” The rep said dryly.

“I’m sure it was a misunderstanding.” Viserys said, “Right?”

The last word was followed by a glare in her direction. With a sigh, she launched into an explanation.

“I was in his class last year. We were catching up in his office and um, eating lunch. I’m clumsy, and knocked over a drink and uh, tried to clean it up with my shirt. And in doing so, I knocked the container of fries under his desk, so I was simply cleaning them up.”

She could feel Daemon’s look of amusement. She could see the look of disbelief from the HR rep. But most importantly, she could see her dad smile. “Of course, I knew there would be a reasonable explanation.”

He clapped Daemon on the back when they left his office, saying they should get a drink sometime.

“I told you we had nothing to worry about.” Rhaenyra said as they left the building.

It didn’t stop literally everyone else in the department from finding out about it, though. Or every female student (and honestly, a surprisingly large chunk of the guys) from glaring at her from time to time. They clearly hadn’t found her excuse overly believable, and honestly, Rhaenyra couldn’t blame them.

Three years later when Viserys actually found out about their relationship, he looked shocked, muttering something about how there were never any signs.

Aemma looked delighted. Rhaenyra had been hinting she was involved with someone for literal years. She wasn’t sure if her mother put the pieces togethers, but it seemed time had warmed her up to the idea of her dating Daemon. Now that Rhaenyra had graduated, scandal was less of a concern and she could be happy for them publicly.

“When is the wedding?” Aemma had asked, a few minutes after hearing the news.

“Well, uh, about that.” Rhaenyra said, looking at Daemon for help.

Once her mother got over the tragedy of them being already married she was delighted that her daughter was married! The medieval honeymoon of their [Daemon’s] dream was delivered to them as a late wedding gift in the form of a blank check.

The highlight was renting out an 11th century castle that belonged to his ancestors who ruled a corner of the coast for a time. It cost a small fortune, but it afforded them privacy that they made good use of. And the tapestries that lined the walls were truly inspired.

It turned out that rough sex was a bit hard, literally, to accomplish on the rough stone floors. But she didn’t have any complaints about what they did instead. She was pretty sure she would never complain when she had his dick inside her. It was perfect. Or at least pretty close. And their relationship was too. Or if not perfect, it was on its way and she had faith Daemon would guide them there.

After all, ‘love can deny nothing to love’

end

all quotes medieval quotes came from De arte honeste amandi by Andreas Capellanus

sources: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/De_amore_(Andreas_Capellanus) https://files.oakland.edu/users/clason/web/grm381/capel.html

I decided daemon was a Prof for Comparative Medieval Literature which is a real thing btw.

relationship policy was edited from here.

this was written for my summer snippet event and the prompt "rough"

more info about the event:

Rules / Ao3 Collection / #HotDaemyraSummer

and the dividers are by @firefly-graphics

#Rhaenyra Targaryen #Daemon Targaryen #daemyra #fic #a03 #romance #fluff #prompt #daemon x Rhaenyra #HOTD #house of the dragon #ficlet #fanfic #Angie writes #hotdaemyrasummer

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shamera · 7 months

Text

NaNo day 16

so previously i said fdb video game isekai since i was having a block with the time loop story but still need words

i lied. fbd modern hunter awakening au instead. in honour of solo levelling coming out next month. i have. an idea. dunno how far it will go, but i got pretty excited to write this today, so that's a win for me.

Man'er cameo, i'm so sorry to her. tw for blood and injuries, i guess. nothing fatal yet.

Fang Duobing still had his head in his hands when the loud thwack of files dropped right next to him, vibrating the office table.

“No,” he whined, already knowing exactly who it was that would do such a thing to him when he very obviously didn’t want to be bothered. If the ‘do not disturb’ sign he’d written and taped to the door hadn’t been the largest indication, him being the president’s son with the corner office that he didn’t even want would have been a deterrent for people to talk to him in the first place.

“I heard you tried joining Baichuan Court again,” his aunt’s annoying voice cut in. She sounded smug, and also right next to him, which was where she leaned when she was mocking him. “Don’t you already know you’re not going to make it in?”

“You shut up,” Fang Duobing mumbled out, slouching so that his arms started sliding down on the table as well, until his elbows were pushing the files away and he was nearly face down to scream incoherently into the wood grain. His words were the epitome of rudeness, but his aunt was only a few years older than him anyway, which meant she was the one who literally taught him every rude thing he knew. “They’ll have to accept me one day. I have all the qualifications; this is discrimination.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Tianji Hall, kiddo. What’s not to love here? You’ve got a good job, it pays well, it’s safe—”

It was nepotism, and the entire building knew it. Worse, Fang Duobing didn’t even want to be there in the first place, had tried running away several times the moment he hit legal age to do so, yet had always been dragged back home on the basis that he couldn’t make it out in the real world. Because everyone else took one look at his name, his face, his ID, and immediately backtracked.

Anyone else might look at the office provided to him and his bespoke suits and claim otherwise, but his family was ruining his life. He wasn’t made to work in an office! Fang Duobing trained half his life to fight, to defend, to help people and clear dungeons!

He just wanted to be a proper Hunter, and didn’t that make sense? Both his mom and aunt were Awakened as well, yet they worked in logistics and defence and wanted to keep him behind-the-scenes as well out of the dungeons where Hunters died on the daily.

It had been ten years since the laws that drastically changed how Hunters were allowed into dungeons, and Fang Duobing was still seething about them. Ten years ago, the two largest Hunter sects, Sigu Sect and Jinyuan Alliance, were decimated in a dungeon on the eastern sea, the two having turned against each other after the death of the dungeon boss and then caught in the collapse of the dungeon in one of the biggest disasters of the past decade. An entire neighbourhood had to be evacuated, and the fires burned for over a week before it could be put out.

It was, his mother would insist, one of the reasons why Tianji Hall was needed, because Hunters could not run rampant as they had anymore since the dungeons first began appearing in the world.

Since then, the government had also placed laws preventing individual or teams of Hunters from entering dungeons alone ‘for their own safety’, and enforced rules on how only sects could sanction dungeon raids. Which meant unless Fang Duobing registered with one of the remaining Hunter sects, no matter how hard he trained, he would be banned from dungeons.

His aunt reached in to yank at his ear, causing Fang Duobing to sit up again, yelling as she continued to pull even as his hands reached up to shove her away.

“Fang Xiaobao,” she said sternly, voice pitched with youth and her tendency to forgive him just about anything despite the amount of times she had been called into drag him home, “I understand you’re upset, but you’ll have to live with it! Why are you looking down on our Tianji Hall? Our work is just as important as the other sects!”

“We don’t raid!” Fang Duobing complained, still trying to pry her fingers from his ear. “We don’t even go into dungeons! Why even guard the gates? Even civilian children know better than to get near one, so at best we’re a logistics sect that deals with what people bring out from the dungeons— ow, ow! Okay, just let go already! Stop twisting!”

Thankfully, she did let go, although she sniffed disdainfully as he glared, cradling his red ear.

“It’s insulting for the heir of Tianji Hall to think we’re not doing anything.” She told him, leaning forward in a threat gesture until Fang Duobing leaned back from his aunt, appropriately scared. “Do you think Hunters can work without us? Without our gear and weapons, without our regulations and support teams? Their casualty rate would be much higher!”

“Then you can be heir,” he murmured, and winced when she moved to grab at him again, “Sorry, sorry! But I mean it!”

“Stop trying to go after the sects,” she advised him, standing straight from where she had been leaning against his desk, brushing off her skirt and straightening her blazer before pulling the wispy strands of her bangs around her face artistically. “I’m going to be busy this afternoon— where’s your lunch?”

“Stop stealing my lunch,” he complained, and then stared suspiciously. “You’re dressed up today. Are you wearing lipstick?”

“Physician Li is stopping by to help us deliver the latest reports to— oh, stop making the face. Just because he reported you twice—”

“Tattled,” Fang Duobing insisted, pushing himself from his chair in indignation. Twice, Fang Duobing tried to run away from his family, and twice he met Li Lianhua who eventually told his aunt where he was. Twice. Even a dog would learn better, and he was definitely better than a dog. “You’re not taking my lunch to give to him!”

“And why not? I’m not a fool, Xiaobao! He would have gotten it anyway—”

Fang Duobing flushed, and began shoving his aunt out of his office. “He’s not— I wouldn’t— go wash your face, your makeup makes you look old!”

Amidst her shrieking over how she was barely any older than him, he finally managed to close the door in her face and breathe a sigh of relief for the soundproofing installed in his office.

What a terrible morning. To think he personally made another trip down to the Baichuan Court tryouts with a (somewhat questionable) fake identity and a mask, and was almost accepted until they realised who he really was— it went to show that he had all the qualifications! He had the skills! They were banning him just because they were scared of his mother!

His only reprieve today might be Li Lianhua’s timely arrival, so that Fang Duobing could bully the man into eating a healthy lunch because everyone knew that Physician Li was chronically ill but also a terrible cook. Completely trash at cooking, with a tendency to not only skip meals but supplement them with candy like a child.

(Well, Fang Duobing knew that, having trailed Li Lianhua for weeks at a time the two times he attempted to hide from his family, and having to choke down the ‘creative’ recipes the man would come up with.)

Yes, it was just revenge, after all!

He was going to write another letter of complaint to Baichuan Court and then heat up his lunch, and Fang Duobing was going to make sure that the rest of his day would go better than his morning.

—

The shaking started subtly, like a truck driving too close to the building if it weren’t for the fact they were more than ten floors above ground level. Fang Duobing hadn’t even felt it at first, too busy on his phone until his assistant Li’er knocked on his door and stuck her head in, frowning when he scrambled to put his phone away and look like he was definitely busying himself doing something else.

“Sir?” She asked tentatively, arms clutched around several case folders. “Should we sound an earthquake warning, sir?”

It was only then he noticed that the glass of water on his desk had the slightest of ripples within. Earthquake? It was unusual for this region to get earthquakes, and the rumbling was likely from construction nearby, but there hadn’t been any construction scheduled nearby.

Fang Duobing thought for a moment and then figured, why not? It would be a good excuse to take the rest of the day off and also give the rest of the people some extra time to rest— “Yes, that’s a good idea, better safe than sorry—”

As if on queue, the slight rumbling increased dramatically that moment, starting to shake books from his shelves, and Fang Duobing gripped at his desk in shock before staring up at Li’er who screamed and dropped all her files. The scent of ions in the air like a sudden thunderstorm hit him, and despite never having been in close proximity to a dungeon, he knew the rulebook.

“Incoming gate!” He yelled out, hearing people screaming outside his office as the rumbling grew to be violent shaking, and then it felt as if the hold of gravity lessened on them, and items went tumbling every which direction in a surge of purple light, the feeling like static shock on the skin.

For several seconds, the world faded away and there was nothing at all, his vision brightening and then darkening, the air cold and then still and then like it didn’t exist at all, frozen in time. There was a terrifying moment where he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, but that passed quickly until he registered the ringing in his ears to be the sounds of people screaming and crying around him.

And then— cold.

Fang Duobing shivered as his palms hit the stone floor, grit and bits of sharp sand pressed against his skin as he blinked himself to awareness again. The ground was uneven, and he could still hear people around him, although the screaming stopped. Most were groaning in pain, some whimpering from fear, and the thunderstorm smell in the air was slowly fading into something like rainwater and algae. He fumbled a moment in the pitch black, and then reached into his pocket for the pocket he just shoved in, pressing a button to light up the screen.

The bright picture of a happy yellow furred dog sitting on a kitchen chair with both front paws held up by someone out of frame stared up at him, and Fang Duobing fumbled to thumb toward the flashlight app so he could better see his surroundings.

The light revealed a large cavern, too big to actually see with his phone light, and several other figures slumped across the cave floor a ways from him, some shapes obscured by various furniture that had been transported along with them.

Two others were also now fumbling for their phone light, and he could identify Wangfu and Li’er in the chaos.

“Is everyone okay?” He called out, and got some groans of confirmation in return. Fang Duobing pushed himself up, getting his feet beneath him and relieved that he hadn’t been injured in the transfer.

“Sir, I think… Man’er fell badly…”

Amongst the small handful of people who ended up where they were, there was a college age girl grimacing on the ground, a hand clenched tightly around her bleeding calf. Fang Duobing hurried over with his phone to see clearer, and saw her leg twisted in an angle that meant bad news.

There was a young man holding her shoulders to keep her up, although her complexion was pale even in the darkness.

Within the confines of the dungeon, blood was very bad news. Not to mention most of the office workers in Tianji Hall were not Hunters, and therefore would be unable to fight back against whatever came at them.

The young woman’s pale face only seemed to drain further at his severe expression, so Fang Duobing attempted to smile reassuringly. “We’ll have to bind that up somehow. Does anyone have…?”

Li’er came to his side, ripping off the white frills off the end of her dress with some difficulty, her eyes wide with both fear but also trust as she handed him the fabric.

The others were also all looking at him expectantly, and Fang Duobing felt a rush of fear, a different kind than finding himself in the dungeon, as he took the fabric. He wasn’t— this wasn’t… but he had lived with Li Lianhua for weeks at a time, and read through the medicinal books when he got bored, having turned off his phone so he couldn’t be tracked. While the books were more on herbal knowledge and energy pathways for traditional chinese medicine, there were also basics for handling and treating sounds.

As he came closer, Man’er whimpered and clutched harder at her leg, “Please don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” he told her, hoping the panic wouldn’t show in his voice. Then to the man standing behind her, he said, “Make sure she has something to bite on. We don’t know what’s here, and she might attract something by screaming.”

With the blood spilled, and what noise they already made, they would have to move, and move fast. There was a reason Hunters were only allowed into dungeons in experienced teams, and that was something the handful of them definitely were not.

The man nodded, his movements frenetic, and pulled a pen from his shirt pocket even as the young woman whimpered and bit back a sob, shoulders shaking at the pain.

There was a chance that Fang Duobing could make everything worse, but it was a chance he would have to take as there was no way Man’er could be moved otherwise. With her leg that twisted, every movement would be agony and they wouldn’t be able to bind her wound up. A wrong move, however, meant that he might nick an artery attempting to set her broken bone, and that would lead to even worse bleeding.

“Don’t worry,” he tried to soothe her as she bit down on the pen, tears flowing silently down her face even as she shook. He reached for her leg and she jerked away, immediately regretting the slight movement as her breath hitched. When he touched her leg above the wound, her skin was burning under his fingers. He grimaced and looked up at Li’er’s expectant eyes and said, “I need splints. Chair legs, wood— anything that can hold her leg straight.”

She and Wangfu immediately acknowledged his words and went around to search through the furniture that came along with them, taking their lights with them. Fang Duobing looked back at Man’er and attempted the reassuring smile again. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. This will feel like it sucks for a little while, but you’ll be okay once we get out of here.”

She just closed her eyes, leaning back into the man holding her up.

“Here!” Wangfu came back with a contemporary table lamp, the base and bulb taken off so that it was mostly just two long pieces of metal folded in the middle to allow for adjustments.

Fang Duobing accepted the pieces, thinking that it really was exactly the kind of thing he needed, and then thought, am I really going to do this?

There was so much blood, and he knew that it was best to not disturb the wound and leave it to professionals, but they were in a dungeon and no one expected a new gate to appear right in their office building, and no one was prepared and that meant that any rescue teams would need time to organise and get to them. Even minutes could mean life or death in a dungeon if they were unlucky.

“It’s okay,” he said again, feeling like he was reassuring himself. “It’s going to be okay.”

His hands were trembling as he took apart the metal pieces of the lamp to make two sections, and then set it down on the stone next to the girl’s broken leg, staring incomprehensibly.

Luckily, before he could gather up the courage to act, there was a voice behind him, “Move aside.”

He turned his head into the darkness, relief running through his veins as he recognised his aunt and Li Lianhua jogging up to them, both of them looking scraped up but otherwise uninjured. His aunt had blood running down her arm where she lost a sleeve, and a scrape against her cheek, but looked alright overall, features concerned rather than pained.

Li Lianhua had his hair tied back in a low bun, his usual baggy clothes dirtied but undamaged, although there was a cut running down his brow that hit the outer corner of his cheek, streaking blood down his face. Despite this, he looked unphased, frowning as he crouched down next to Fang Duobing to examine the girl’s leg.

“Physician Li,” the man behind Man’er breathed a sigh of relief. “She… is she…?”

“She’ll live.” Li Lianhua said curtly, his touch clinical without inciting any reaction from the girl like Fang Duobing’s had. “You got lucky here. The break’s not as bad as it looks, it’s still a closed fracture, you just happen to also have a deep cut above it. It really hurts, doesn’t it? The bone is dragging right against some nerves, so let’s—”

His hands were braced against her leg, and he moved, and the young woman didn’t so much scream as she wheezed out a breath around the pen between her teeth, ending the noise with a whimper before she slumped down further.

“Good, good,” Li Lianhua told her, tone soothing. He braced the metal pieces against the young woman’s leg and reached to pull the ruffle that Fang Duobing had been clutching onto tightly in his nervousness. The woman made sounds of pain and discomfort through the first two wraps, but eventually settled as her bones were wrapped tightly, with the fabric soaking up the blood from her cut. He reached into the shoulder bag he always carried with him and pulled out a powder packet. “Take this. It’s just a mild painkiller, but it will help. It won’t hurt as much from here on, but you’ll have to be carried, and you’re not going to like it.”

“You couldn’t have given it to her before that?” Fang Duobing asked, dismayed.

“It doesn’t work immediately.” Li Lianhua answered him, as Man’er shakily took the powder with a whispered thanks. “And it tastes bad. If she vomited from the pain, not only would she feel worse afterward, it would be a waste.”

“You—!”

“Xiaobao,” His aunt admonished, a hand coming to grip Fang Duobing’s shoulder tightly. “Let Physician Li work.”

Li Lianhua looked up, counting the heads there and frowning. “...This is a big group.”

They weren’t a large group, merely seven people in total, but Fang Duobing understood his meaning immediately.

Short of defeating the dungeon boss, the surest way of exiting a dungeon was defeating the creatures within. One kill per one person if they wanted to leave, as each monster within the dungeon had a core which could be used to transport them out of the dungeon. With it being illegal to kill dungeon bosses, that meant it was their only way out other than waiting for a rescue team.

Of the group, only Fang Duobing and his aunt were Hunters, which meant only they would be able to fight.

Neither of them had ever fought in a dungeon before.

(And, Fang Duobing would never say aloud, his skill was not… fighting oriented.)

“It’s best if we do this fast, then,” Li Lianhua said, “and get the injured out.”

“You know what’s in this dungeon?” Fang Duobing asked, surprised.

“They look like centipedes,” his aunt confirmed. “We passed a corridor while looking for you with several dozen of them together, so they would all attack at the same time. If we could take those down, we can get everyone out safely. But the numbers are…” she trailed off, her eyes flickering over to the injured young woman.

Li Lianhua pushed himself back to his feet, the phone light casting heavy shadows under his eyes.

“Someone will have to carry her.” He said. “Because we have to move or we’ll be swarmed very soon.”

—

In the end, the young man holding Man’er before ended up carrying her on his back, although Fang Duobing offered to do so as well and reassured him that they could switch when he got tired. Li’er revealed her injured wrist for Li Lianhua to wrap, and only Wangfu and Fang Duobing ended up without injuries entirely.

“I’m fine,” He Xiaofeng waved her nephew off from her bleeding arm, turning a flirtatious look over her shoulder. “Physician Li looked at it for me earlier. It’s unfortunate, but won’t hinder me. I can still fight.” Her Awakening as a Hunter gave her a skill that ensured almost all of her hits would connect with its target. It was a physical enhancement, meant to control minute fluctuations of her muscles for terrifying accuracy, but it wasn’t anything close to magic. If it wasn’t possible to make a shot, then she wouldn’t be able to do so.

With the deep cut in her arm, Fang Duobing worried that it wouldn’t be her accuracy affected, but the strength of her hits. With his aunt’s sniper-like reflexes, her greatest weakness would be not taking out her target on first hit.

And without weapons, they were practically sitting ducks.

“It’ll be fine,” Li Lianhua said to him, likely after seeing his woebegone expression. Thanks to their lack of injuries, it was Fang Duobing and Wangfu taking point, scouting out the area ahead little at a time to give others time to run if they attracted unfavourable attention. Li Lianhua was wiping away the blood from his cut with his sleeves and grimacing at the stain to his cream coloured clothes. Fang Duobing worried that the wound was still bleeding sluggishly, but Li Lianhua, like He Xiaofeng, waved his concerns off.

“The gate appeared in a high traffic area,” Fang Duobing observed as they moved along the cave, three of them with their phone lights out to illuminate the way in front and behind them. He stopped a moment to scan the light around, making sure there was nothing lurking along the walls or ceilings where they were. If they were in a dungeon with insects, it was better to be safe than sorry. “It shouldn’t take the closest sect longer than ten minutes to mobilise, and then… five minutes to get here?”

“Ten if you’re lucky,” Li Lianhua corrected in a tired murmur, wiping at his brow with a frown. “If a gate appeared, then traffic would be awful around the area. There might be accidents on the streets, and abandoned vehicles. That means more pedestrians, which means it might be hard to even get runners to the location for the first while. I’d add another twenty minutes, likely. Maybe half an hour.”

“And then they have to find us in the dungeon.” His aunt volunteered. She didn’t sound very enthusiastic. “As we haven’t seen anyone else so far, we don’t know how large this place actually is.”

“We’ll have to keep moving,” Fang Duobing deduced, brow furrowing as they continued to walk. The scent of blood would attract predators, and if they weren’t getting help very soon, their best option really would be to find monsters they could defeat, and acquire the cores to get out themselves.

This was an opportunity, Fang Duobing determined. So long as he could keep everyone safe and get them out, then that was absolute, irrefutable proof that he should be allowed to join Baichuan Court. He just had to… keep everyone safe.

He thought of another instance, a reassuring voice and a warmth surrounding him, and steeled himself.

“I’ll take point,” he said. “Wangfu’s with me. My aunt and Li’er at the rear, and we can keep Man’er safe that way.”

“Li’er’s wrist is injured,” his aunt protested. “It’d be best to have Physician Li with me at the rear.”

Fang Duobing gave her a dubious look, not at all convinced by that argument. Ideally, his aunt would take the lead as she could make use of anything to attack, but with the way things were, he was making do with what they had! Besides, he was also taking into account Li Lianhua’s unpredictable health, with his heart condition and all. “He’s the only one who knows what to do in case something happens to Man’er.”

His aunt made a noise in protest, but then pouted as Li Lianhua didn’t glance her way. Her lipstick was still the same dark shade of red from earlier.

“Keep against the wall,” Li Lianhua suggested. “It will be one less side for ambush.”

They did just that, slowly but carefully making their way through the cave and staying out of reach of smaller pockets illuminated by the light. Once they found another site of destruction, with various office equipment that had been transported into the dungeon, and Fang Duobing picked up a waiting room chair with steel legs, figuring it was much better than having no weapon at all. Wangfu found a water bottle, and they stopped for a minute to give Man’er a break and some water.

“She’s not doing so well,” the young man carrying her said, hitching her higher up his back as gently as he could, but she still gave a sharp inhale of pain.

“Broken bones don’t like being jostled,” Li Lianhua agreed, but couldn’t give any way of comforting the young woman.

“Don’t worry,” Wangfu told her quietly, “We’ll be out soon! And then the doctors can take a look at you… no offence, Physician Li.”

Li Lianhua merely shrugged with a slight smile. “I don’t often get patients with broken bones coming to me. If there’s still water left, you should use it to clean up some of the blood. We might be able to divert attention if we clean with a cloth and leave the cloth in other locations.”

“That’s a smart idea!” He Xiaofeng exclaimed.

“Of course, that could backfire depending on the monster in the dungeon,” Li Lianhua warned. “If there are other types of monsters than what we’ve seen. We’ve been lucky so far.”

“Yeah,” Fang Duobing interjected. “And we should get going again.”

The brief respite took less than three minutes, but all of them were too jittery to stay for long, understanding the type of environment they were in. That they hadn’t seen others… There should be dozens of people on the floor of that building, and there were only seven of them here now.

Li Lianhua lingered toward the back of the group this time as they left behind the ruined office furniture, his eyes lingering on the shadows behind them, moving and writhing just shy of the light.

#NaNoWriMo #mlc nano 2023 #look i will reveal what series this is actually inspired by after i get to the point #where revealing the title wouldn't be spoilers #but ya'll know the tropes #we got isekais in japan transmigration in china and hunters in korea #if not well next part is the explanation part so exposition time #I hope people are enjoying my daily writing pain haha #ha...haaaaa #December may be face down on the ground month for me

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scribblelegs · 1 year

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From 2007-2009 I was subjected to tons of porn and disturbing videos/images by my boss. I was18 he was 41. He taught me how to tattoo. He was a predator

He showed me things like mr. Hands, two girls one cup, meat spin dot com, one guy one jar, tons of gang bang videos (porn not real) and porn in general .

one that stuck out was a guy with hiv bragging about all the people he slept with with a bandanna over his face. I was a kid, like yea I been on rottendotcom and I had seen some things, but having a grown man subject me to this shit without my consent was FUCKED UP

On top of all that he would touch me or grab my ass from time to time and even shoved me in a closet once jokingly saying it was a “r@pe closet “ he called my pants “come get me somes” cos they were tight on my bottom…

The sites he liked most were Efukt and ebaums world, he smoked Marlboro reds INSIDE the shop & I saw him throw a vaccumme at my co worker once. Who was only like 140 lbs.. the reason? he wasn’t cleaning fast enough… the dude had just finished a tattoo!

But Idk he was fucked up fucked me up. Called my bf at the time racial slurs and cut my brother down for being gay… he hated woman sm he took all his anger out on me. Made me walk to get his coffee, cigs and food everyday cos at that time I couldn’t drive.

I didn’t get it then but I understand now he was getting off on subjecting a young very young woman to these sorts of things. Putting me down and making me do EVERYTHING was his power trip. He knew what he was doing. He only ever hurt me. Blamed me for the wrongs in the shop, had me do all the bitch work even after I got hired in. How pathetic for a grown man to bully a little girl like me. I fuckin hope I run into his bitch ass one day. But I haven’t seen him since he fired me from his precious shop cos I “made him look bad”

Ok, you were one of the ppl who set me into an episode and landed me in a mental hospital by 20 for nearly a month. And you were someone I feared for the following decade. & I madeYOU look bad? That’s laughable cos he done did that to himself

Only now I see he is a coward

But It was so weird but as always I brushed it all off cos I needed to do what I needed to do to be there. Karma is a bitch tho Rog and time catches up to all of us

And now it makes

Me so

Mad

I wish roger the worst

And that’s why I get so upset when people tell me “you should tattoo”

I did. And I would have been amazing if not for him.

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jodilin65 · 2 months

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I would have gotten my entry posted earlier if I wasn’t fighting the usual battle of fatigue. Again, better than anxiety, but anything that affects your daily activities or peace of mind is never good.

Tom was sent home from the plasma place after they said his arms were too bruised. He feels like that’s their fault for pressuring him to put heat on his arms when he’s noticed that this actually makes it take longer for the bruises to fade. He’s going to look and see how far another plasma company is.

Yesterday was painting day at the clubhouse and we painted manatees. Mine came out okay. Could have been better, but it wasn’t that bad.

I have a funny story about painting class but first, I’m so glad I had decent energy yesterday! I walked down in the warm sunshine and back and still felt good. The day before was horrible. I was just so tired to the point that it was really getting me down. I still think the main culprit is my thyroid, so I hope going back on multivitamins will eventually make a difference. There’s vitamin D in them and while it’s not as much as a typical adult dose there’s a bit of concern that it may go the opposite way and make my thyroid work a little too hard and make me anxious but I can skip the vitamins on some days if I have to.

It’s just frustrating because like I said, while I think my thyroid is the main culprit, I don’t know for sure. If not, then I don’t know if it’s something in the way I sleep or if I really do have chronic fatigue and this is just the way it’s gonna be for half of the time or more.

Tom says he doesn’t think I’ll have it for the rest of my life because my problems change.

Yeah, after nearly a decade, maybe.

I had burning down there yesterday that made me begin to doubt the soap. So because I have $25 of store credit every 3 months, I ordered a yeast infection kit. Could take a week to get to me, and I don’t know if I’ll have to fight with the applicators, but at least it’s free. For now, I took some leftover Monistat cream, put the biggest glob I could fit on my fingertip, and shoved it up there last night before bed (excuse my explicit description here, lol). I haven’t had any burning so far today, which now leads me to think that it was a yeast infection. I started to highly suspect this at the end of my day yesterday just by the symptoms and the fact that it had been several days since I used that harsh soap.

I don’t know why (to replace primary care visits?) but my insurance company will pay me $100 for someone to do a home check where they come to the house. They take your blood pressure and go over your meds, make sure you’re safe, etc. So I said sure, why not? So we’re gonna schedule that sometime soon. We have eye exams scheduled for the 4th.

Tom walked with me down to the clubhouse because he wanted to get more steps. I’ll admit that I’m glad he didn’t come in with me because it’s nice to have some things we do on our own like how he does the plasma thing on his own. We just don’t need to do every single thing together.

The redneck was actually kind of funny yesterday. He was coming up the street on his golf cart with Happy and as soon as he saw me he goes, “Oh no!” and puts a hand over Happy’s mouth, lol.

A surprising number of people turned out to paint and a few didn’t even show up. I ended up sitting next to a woman named Sandy and she was pretty nice. She was quiet and soft-spoken.

Behind me sat Debi, a rude Trump whore I never liked. She was rude to me in the group a couple of years ago as people who disagree with you often are instead of politely making their own point and leaving it at that. You know, the my-way-is-correct-and-your-way-is-all-wrong kind of thing.

Before class got going, Debi stood up to lower the speed of the fan between our two tables because it was causing a disco ball effect with flashing shadows as the blades swung under the recessed lighting. She looked at me and smiled and said I had it too. It was noticeable on our canvases but Sandy and I didn’t mind. I just wanted some air flow because it was hot in there.

So then Gail, who was leading the class had us all introduce ourselves. This was something I didn’t want to do because I was there to paint and not socialize. Also, because of my unique name, I knew Debi would know who I was. With a temper like mine, if she pissed me off bad enough, there’s no saying what I might have done.

So now the few people in the group who might not like me because I don’t always agree with them knew who I was but no one gave me any shit.

When Debi walked by me later on, she didn’t even glance my way. I had to fight the urge to stick my foot out in front of me just because I hate the little bitch. At the end of the class, when we were having our pictures taken with our paintings and I was talking to someone else, I thought I saw her looking my way with a contemptuous look on her face, not that it matters, of course. It was actually kind of funny.

The only thing I didn’t like about the class was that it wasn’t quite as structured as I thought it would be with Gail guiding us step by step but at least she was there to answer questions. It was nice to get out for the two or so hours I was out of the house.

And to leave my paper journal in the bathroom, lol. I always thought it would be interesting to see if it was mentioned in the group, but there’s been no mention of that or any pictures posted from the class yet.

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stormcallsimming · 1 year

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♦ Forget Me Not… (MSSS)

Theme: Forget Me Not

Challenge/Month: Monthly Simlit Short Story/March 2023

Genre: Angst

Word/Picture Count: 1,000 words/12 pictures

A/N: This is the first time in a long time that I’ve whipped up something for MSSS and I feel a bit rusty, to be sure. Why did this turn out as pure angst? I have no idea, that’s just where the prompt took me lol I also used Bluebells to represent Forget Me Nots because it’s the only blue flower that resembled it.

This is also the first new story that I’m posting on this blog. Hooray! Enjoy the unnecessary angst lol

_________________________________________

For as long as I can remember, there has always been a baby blue flower on my bedside table every morning. I have no idea where they come from and, when I asked my mom about it, she always said that I probably put it there and just forgot about it. At first, I was adamant that I had nothing to do with it, but she insisted. After years of being told this, I started believing it myself.

Was I sleepwalking? I had no idea, but it worried me because I knew it wasn’t normal. I tried staying up to catch the culprit multiple times, but sleep always claimed me. As I got older, life started to get harder and I started to forget about them, despite still finding them every morning. I was so focused on other things that the flowers became insignificant to me. I started to ignore them and they started to pile up on the table.

And then, one day, they just stopped. The flowers disappeared and no new ones appeared in their place. I was relieved at first but then I started to feel lonely. It felt like something important was missing from my life. It drove me nuts because I couldn’t figure it out. I became obsessed with trying to remember. My grades started to slip because I skipped class. My friends got tired of asking me to hang out only for me to tell them that I was too busy.

“If you want to be alone that badly, fine!” exclaimed my friend after turning down her invite again. “It takes two people to make a friendship work and I’m tired of chasing you.”

“I never asked you to chase me!” I snapped back.

But my heart ached as she stomped away angrily. For the first time in a long time, I was officially alone and it was my own doing. Why did I say that? Why did I push all of my friends away? I didn’t have an answer and I honestly felt like I was losing my mind but that forgotten memory kept clawing at the edge of my mind. It was just out of reach and every time I got close, it slipped farther away.

Eventually, I was kicked out of university, fired from my job, and kicked out of my apartment. I had to move back in with my mom which I absolutely hated because all we did was argue about the smallest things. No matter how hard I tried, she just knew exactly what buttons to press to upset me and there’s only so much a single sim can take before they blow up.

“Do you think you can manage to clean the attic this time or do I need to ask you five more times?” questioned my mother, giving me an attitude as she headed for the front door.

“I already told you, I didn’t clean it yesterday because I got called in for a job interview,” I replied, trying to keep my annoyance hidden to avoid another fight.

“Which you didn’t even get,” she scoffed, sending me a pitying look. “Try harder.”

I waited until she was out the door before I started to curse, releasing all of my frustration into the universe so it didn’t eat away at me. I had enough of that already.

With a sigh, I headed up into the attic and got to cleaning. I don’t think anyone had been up there in decades because everything was covered with a thick layer of dust. Cobwebs filled every corner and I could only pray to Gleb that there were no spiders lurking in the dark corners, waiting to pounce.

A few hours passed and I was nearly done cleaning when I came across a shoe box. It was shoved into the corner, half hidden beneath an old dresser. As soon as my eyes fell on it, I felt this… overwhelming sadness wash over me and I just wanted to cry. My hands trembled as I reached for the box and it took me a minute to steel myself before I could finally open it.

Inside lay a bunch of photographs. The rubber band that had been holding them together had broken over time, leaving them scattered around the box. I picked up the first one – it was a picture of me at the park, enjoying an ice cream cone despite it being the dead of winter.

I chuckled. Even back then I loved the cold. Some things never change, I guess.

I picked up another photo – it was me and my mom mid-argument. Yeah, some things really never change.

I shook my head, reaching for the third photo – it was a young boy looking for frogs. My brow furrowed in confusion. Who is this? From that angle, I could only just see the side of his face, but that pond… it’s near my house. I used to hang out there when I was younger, talking to the frogs.

Reluctantly, I set the photo down and picked up another – it was me and the young boy, standing side by side with our arms around each other and smiles on our faces.

It hit me like a freight train. Dylan Crowley, the only kid that made an effort to befriend me. He was my best friend, my only friend. The memories came flooding back to me, bringing with them a wave of sadness and pain. I remember now… Dylan died just a couple days shy of his 12th birthday. He drowned in that pond because he jumped in to save me…

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I shakily set the photo down. There was one left and taped to it was a dried, light blue flower. The picture was the two of us again but, this time, he was giving me the flower.

My heart ached as I cried out in pain. How could I have forgotten the most important person in my life?

____________________________________________

The house used in this fic is “Family Farmhouse” made by eggiebabe on the gallery with a few edits to better fit the story.

#simlit #short story #short stories #ts4 #simblr #the sims 4 #the sims #sims 4 #angst #creative writing #video gaming #forget me not #stormcall simming #all short stories

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cjsinkythoughts · 3 years

Text

In Need of a Breath

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 4007

Warnings: !FATWS SPOILERS!, Cursing, Zemo, Feelings, Another PTSD Flashback

A/N: So…Part 4 is going to have a couple parts to it. Maybe even three. I didn’t even make it half way through the episode on this one, mainly because I really wanted to fit in the Reader’s backstory and I wanted her and Sam to have a heart-to-heart again. I’m suuuuper tired, so I probably won’t be posting the next part for another few hours (it’s 5 am right now and I haven’t slept), BUT it’s my day off work and I won’t be doing anything I planned because my grandmother had a stroke a couple days ago so plans have changed and I’m staying in to help her, meaning I’ll mostly be writing all day.

This Part is kind of a mix between off-screen and shot-by-shots, but it’s mostly off screen/what’s going on inside Reader’s head.

I’m really excited about future parts and the characters that are being introduced! I will say that after these parts, I will be doing one shots of previous MCU movies with the Reader, due to the information that is being given about the Reader now. You kind of see more of how she was affected/how she affected the previous MCU movies and what she was doing during that time.

Like always, this hasn’t been beta’d, again it’s SUPER early in the morning, and I’m really tired, so please excuse any mistakes! I hope you guys enjoy this part! Stay tuned for more to come later today!

FATWS MASTERLIST

cjsinkythoughts MASTERLIST

!SPOILERS UNDER CUT!

“You know…I’m really starting to regret saying yes to this.” You huffed out, craning your neck and squinting your eyes against the sun as you stare at the facility in front of you, hating the skin-crawling feeling of being back.

“Would you relax? Whenever you’re nervous, I get nervous, and I don’t wanna be nervous about this.” Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Do either of you have a better plan?” Bucky grumbled, crossing his arms.

Gnawing on your lips, you finally take the lead and breathe out, “alright. Let’s go then.” You could feel the hesitance from your - what were they? Partners? Coworkers? Teammates? - the fellas before they started after you.

There was a sick twist in your gut as you entered the building, going through the lobby and security.

You had been there.

You had been there when Zemo impersonated Bucky. You had been there when Zemo unleashed the Winter Soldier at the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre Building in Berlin. You had been there during the battle at the airport. You had been there when Zemo turned Tony and Steve against each other in Siberia. You had been there when Zemo tore the Avengers from the inside out. Your family. The only family you’d ever known.

But you’d always been good about pushing your personal feelings aside for the sake of the mission. It’s what you’d been born to do. All you ever knew.

“Hey. Doll. You hear me?”

“Hmm. What?” You looked up from the ground to look into those enchanting blue oceans Bucky had for eyes, staring worriedly down at you, eyebrows pinched and forehead creased.

“I’m going in alone.” You frowned, opening your mouth to argue, but he shook his head. “Sam already agreed-”

“I didn’t necessarily agree-”

“You’re an Avenger, sweetheart.” Bucky tilted his head, speaking softly, those eyes of his worried. Worried for you. It made your stomach flip. “And you were there in Siberia, and that almost makes it worse. Especially considering you went after him. Just…just let me do this, okay?”

You cracked your knuckles nervously as you thought. It was a terrible idea. But it was an idea. And it was all they had. “Okay.” You finally relented, shrugging as your hands hit your thighs and slid up to your hips. “But don’t do anything stupid.”

“Steve took all that with him.”

Knowing about their little inside joke, you scoffed. “Sure he did. Go before I change my mind.”

You watched him walk down the hallway, hands fidgeting with excess nerves. “I think you’re the only one he actually seeks approval from.”

“Good thing I’m so lenient then, huh?” You joked, turning to Sam with a strained smile. Your smile slipped at the curious expression on Sam’s face, his eyes darting to each of your features. “What?”

“Are you doing okay?”

You groaned, throwing your head back. You thought you got out of talking about your feelings back in Baltimore. “Oh my God, Sam-”

“I’m serious. You…you just don’t seem like yourself.”

You shook your head, looking down the hall to where Bucky disappeared before turning back to him. It was weird to have a self that people recognized. Your whole life you’d been searching for it and when you finally found it…everything went to shit. “Honestly, Sammy, the only time I’ve ever felt like myself was with the team. Zemo took that away from me and now we’re here, practically begging him for help.”

Sam hummed, leaning against the wall. “Have you thought of taking a break?”

“What?”

“A break.” At your bewildered look, he rolled his eyes. “Cher, this time last year most of us were dead. This time a few months ago you found out about Wanda. This time last week you were out looking for her. Maybe you should just stop and take a breather.”

Shoving your hands in your pocket and looking at the floor, you couldn’t help but snort at his advice. “I haven’t taken a breather since I was eighteen.”

He clicked his tongue. “That’s my point. FBI academy as soon as you graduated. SHIELD recruit by 21, undercover operations leader by 24? Slow down. You’re in your thirties. Next thing you know, you’re gonna be ninety something, lying on your deathbed, wishing you had stopped to smell the roses.”

“If I live to be ninety, shoot me.” He chuckled in amusement. “I’m so fucking serious, Sam. I will not be put in an old folks home to play Bingo and be pushed around in a wheelchair. It ain’t happening.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” There was that infectious smile, which you unconsciously grinned back at. “Y/N…I’m serious. You’ve been in and out of missions since you were a teenager. What’s the shortest undercover operation you’ve done?”

“I dunno.”

He gave you an unimpressed look. “Yeah you do.”

Licking your lips, you turned away and shrugged. “A couple months. Seven weeks and three days, to be precise. September to October in 2012.”

“And the longest?”

“August 2007 to May 2009. Twenty one months.”

Letting out a puff of air through his nose, Sam pushed himself off the wall and caught your chin between his fingers to make you look at him. “That’s nearly two years under cover. And I’m sure you went right back under after-”

“I was sitting at a desk for four months doing paperwork on it.” You defended yourself.

He shook his head, brows knitting together, lips drawn down. “You say that as if four months is enough time.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Sammy. I’m out. I’ve been out since Ultron and Sokovia. I haven’t been under in almost a decade-”

“A decade half the world was dead for half of-”

“I wasn’t!”

“I never said you were.” Sam sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. You were always amazed at his ability to keep his emotions in check. To stay cool under pressure. Sometimes you forgot how experienced he was with dealing with other people’s trauma. It was no wonder why Steve thought he’d be good for Bucky. “Listen. All I’m saying is once this is done…don’t go diving back into searching for Wanda. Don’t go running to the kid every time he calls - and I know you’ve been doing that-”

“It’s just been homework and stuff-”

“Y/N.” You stopped, biting your lip at the stern look he gave you. “Go home. Order take out. Binge watch TV. Go for a jog through the park. Actually meet your neighbors. Go grocery shopping. Just…live. If only for a couple weeks. Don’t worry about anyone else. Don’t pick up the phone, don’t drop everything because someone needs you. You need you.”

“I-I…” You shook your head, looking at him, sincerely apologetic. “I can’t. I wish I could. But I can’t. I’ve never had one normal day in my life. I’ve never had someone to care for, never had someone to care for me. I can’t let people I’ve come to…I can’t let them think I don’t care. I don’t even know where I’d go.”

“Whaddya mean?”

You winced, not thrilled for his reaction to your next statement. “I, uh, I sold my apartment in D.C.”

He gaped at you in complete disbelief. “You got it in December!”

“I know, I know. I liked it. I really did, but…I dunno. Nomadic life has always suited me better. It’s what I grew up with.”

He took a breath, making you cringe again. You don’t think you’ve ever legitimately gotten on his nerves like this before. “Have you ever thought that, instead of going with the flow and jumping place to place, putting down roots might actually help?” He cut you off before you could say anything, holding up a finger to stop you from talking. “I can’t imagine going from foster home to foster home like you did. I can’t imagine not having a home for as long as you can remember. Louisiana’s my home. Always has, always will be. But I understand your life has been anything but stable. And maybe, just maybe, that’s why you need some stability.”

You clenched your jaw, crossing your arms. “The Avengers were my stability. Steve was my stability.”

“Because you loved him.”

“I’m not doing this with you again.” You turned to walk down to the lobby to wait for Bucky there, but Sam caught your arm.

“You were in love with him! It’s okay! You two were super close! No one would blame you! Why won’t you just admit it? I’m trying to understand! Why won’t you-”

You tugged your arm away, finally snapping at him. “Because he could never be mine, Wilson! Is that what you wanna hear?!” Sam took a step back at your exclamation. You closed your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat and pushing down the tears. “He could preach all he wanted about moving forwards, Sammy, but we all knew he was stuck in the past. He visited the museum every Thursday because her interview showed in his exhibit on Thursdays. He carried around that broken compass because her picture was in it.” You looked back up at him sadly, shrugging. “And I get it; it’s hard to move past your first love. I get it because…that’s what he was to me.”

There was a silence that blanketed the hallway, before he spoke up hesitantly. “What about Bucky?”

“I thought - I thought I was projecting my feelings for Steve onto him because I knew Steve couldn’t ever…”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You thought? What do you think now?”

You cleared your throat. “I’m still figuring that one out.”

“If you ever need to talk, I’ll be here.”

You chuckled, nodding slightly towards him. “Back atcha. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you not being yourself lately, either.”

“It’s…a tough topic.”

You nodded in understanding. “Just know that I’ll support every decision you make as long as you think it’s the right one. Because I trust you. Steve trusted you. It’s all we can do to try to do what’s right. That’s what makes you a good man, Sammy. He gave you that shield for a reason, and if you think what you did was right…I’ll stand by it.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, calming down in each other’s presences and taking comfort knowing you’d be there for each other through thick and thin. “Thank you, cher.”

“Of course, Sammy. Now let’s go see what’s taking the old grump so long.”

He laughed at that, nodding in agreement, taking your offered hand and squeezing it as you made your way down the hall.

****************

“What?”

Bucky eyed you as you spluttered, coughing on the water you were drinking. “Please don’t choke, doll.”

“Break him out of jail?!” You repeated his words and blinked at him, absolutely baffled by his plan. “Oh my God.” You groaned as Bucky and Sam started arguing, moving your flashlight around the room. “Where the hell are we?” There was no response as they kept going back and forth.

“Zemo’s gonna mess with our minds! Especially yours! No offense.”

“Heelllloooo!” You tried again. “Where the hell are we?!”

Bucky turned on the lights, giving Sam a look. “Offense.” Glancing at you he quirked an eyebrow. “Stop worrying your pretty lil’ head, sweetheart. You trust me, dontcha?” Your breath hitched at his words. You quickly recovered, huffing and pouting - although you’d deny ever pouting - and crossing your arms. You stood between the guys like that, eyes darting to whoever was speaking, waiting for them to stop so you could actually think.

“Look. Let me just walk you through a hypothetical. Can I walk you through a hypothetical?”

You and Sam exchanged glances. “What did you do?”

“I…didn’t do…anything.” Bucky shrugged.

“How is it that you, one of the most deadliest assassins basically ever, are one of the worst liars I know.” You tilted your head at him, an eyebrow quirking up in confusion.

“Shush it you. Just, okay. The weakest point in any system isn’t the software, the hardware, it’s the meatware. The human element.”

The more you listened to Bucky’s “hypothetical”, the stronger the gut feeling telling you this was a terrible terrible idea got. You brought your hands up to your head, eyes wide as he spoke.

“I don’t like how casual you’re bein’ about this. This is unnatural.”

You couldn’t help but agree with Sam’s words, your head falling back and your eyes closing. “Sweet Jesus. Listen, God, I know we don’t talk much these days, but please, please don’t let this not be a hypothetical. I’m fucking begging you.”

A noise to your right made your head snap over. “Oh hell to the fucking no!” You shook your head as Zemo himself walked in, wearing a prison guards uniform. “Uh-uh! No way! Bucky, this was not part of the plan!”

“What did you do?!”

“We need him!”

“You’re going back to prison.”

“If I may-”

All three of you faced him, simultaneously shouting, “no!”

You held your face in your hands as your head dropped, shaking back and forth, your eyes squeezing shut, tuning them out for just a minute to think. Bucky had a point. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that, and the Avengers were technically disbanded, which was Zemo’s whole objective in the first place, but…God. You were good at compartmentalizing, but not that much. You were willing to put your feelings aside for the mission so Bucky could talk to him. Not for you to work with him. But he had connections, you knew he did, and he had information…

“Doll?” You looked up, Bucky anxiously licking his lips as he met your gaze. “I need you to say something.”

You looked to Sam, who shrugged, gesturing to Zemo. “What do you think?”

What did you think? What did you think?! You thought that it was the worst idea in the history of ideas and you should turn back and find another way! But…you knew this was the fastest, probably most reliable way to get information that you needed.

Dammit, since when were you the deciding factor?

You sucked in a breath, looking over Sam’s shoulder at Zemo, who lifted his hand in greeting. You raised your eyes to the ceiling, pointing your finger accusingly. “This is why we stopped talking.” Gaze dropping to the still waiting fellas, you gnawed on your lip, before hissing out, “ffffine…” Running a hand through your hair, you threw your hands up as you shrugged. “Fine. Okay. Fine.”

“Okay.” Sam nodded, taking charge again.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Except, that was a lie. You could. You’d seen weirder. You’d experienced the impossible. Lived through the unbelievable. This…this was completely imaginable.

Which is why, with a lot of hesitation and very little confidence in this plan, you followed Zemo through the auto shop you were in until you reached a large room with a ton of different old cars.

Bucky’s hand found yours as Zemo explained what the plan was, rather vaguely, in your opinion, but at least he was explaining. Point for him. Not that it would make up for the level of distrust you held for him, but it was something.

You looked up at him, giving him a puzzling frown. He usually only grabbed your hand in front of other people when he was feeling anxious. Which, yeah, he had a right to be anxious right now, but it wasn’t the right kind. The type of anxiety caused by large crowds and loud noises, ones that startled him and threw him into a defensive mode.

But the look on his face made you squeeze his hand in reassurance. He was pouting, staring at you although he did something wrong - a puppy that tore up a pillow - and all you wanted to do was give him a hug.

“You’re mad at me.” He mumbled as the four of you headed out with Zemo in the lead.

“No I’m not.”

“Yeah you are.

“Bucky, I’m not mad.”

“Listen, if I had a better idea I wouldn’t-”

You brought your linked hands up to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his gloved knuckles. “I’m not mad.” You repeated more firmly. “It’s just…a lot for me, right now.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on, Buck, I-I just…” You thought about your and Sam’s earlier conversation and suddenly understood what he meant. “I need to breathe for a second.”

His features twisted into ones of uncertainty, eyes squinting as you stepped outside. “Do you…do you wanna leave?”

You shook your head, tugging his arm to stop him and grabbing the sunglasses on his collar, slipping them over his eyes. “No. I just need some time to think. Hopefully the plane ride to wherever the hell we’re going will give me that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, James. I’m sure.”

He lowered the glasses on his nose to scan you over the frames, before nodding and sliding them back up. “Okay. You ready for this, then?”

“No.” You breathed, turning back to where Zemo and Sam were still walking. “Let’s do this.”

*****************

Climbing onto the private jet, you raised an eyebrow at Sam, who shrugged, giving you a bemused expression. A Baron…huh…who knew? You feel like you should’ve, yet there you were.

You sat besides Bucky, across from Zemo, crossing your legs and leaning back while staring at him through narrowed eyes.

His butler seemed nice, which made you even more suspicious. You obviously didn’t know as much about Zemo as you wanted to. It was a habit you picked up after years of undercover work; once the mission was complete, that was that. There was no looking back on it. No sitting on it. It was over and you moved onto the next one. It was a bad habit in cases like this.

The moment you spotted the notebook over Zemo’s book you knew something was going to happen, yet you still flinched when Bucky lunged at him, grabbing his throat. You leaned back in your seat again, steadying your now racing heartbeat. You decided you were too tense, trying to relax your muscles as Bucky sat back down in his seat.

“I’ve seen that book. It was Steve’s when he came out of the ice. I told him about Trouble Man. He wrote it in that book.” Sam seemed so proud of himself that something he recommended was written in Steve’s little book and it made you smile.

You remembered that; Steve and you were supposed to meet up for coffee after his run, but Fury called him in so you rescheduled it for when he got back. He asked you about Marvin Gaye. For your opinion. You told him to check it out and make his own.

You remembered asking him about that little notebook of his, and he just shrugged you off telling you about his list. He would read items off to you, but he never let you read the book yourself. You never found out why, and you supposed you never would now. The thought made an ache behind your ribs that you’d come to familiarize yourself with appear.

You smiled a little more as Zemo and Sam told Bucky how awesome Marvin Gaye was. “C’mon, baby. Back me up.”

Chuckling, you looked at Bucky. “They’re not wrong. But,” you quickly added before Bucky could whine at you, facing Sam again. “Neither is Buck. I mean, c’mon. You can’t find music like the 40’s anymore. Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Benny Goodman, Fred Astaire. Ol’ Blue Eyes himself.”

“Thank you.” Bucky grinned at Sam, who rolled his eyes.

“Okay, okay. But, I mean, c’mon! Everybody loves Marvin Gaye.”

“I like Marvin Gaye.”

“Steve adored Marvin Gaye.”

Your face fell as Zemo started talking about Steve and icons and Red Skull, your mind once again slipping away from reality.

“Kids love you.” You giggled as you finally made it out of his exhibit. You’d wanted to show it to him since he moved to D.C., and you’d finally got an opportunity after coming back from being undercover for ten weeks. “You’re their hero, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just trying to do what’s right.”

You nudged him, scoffing at his answer. “You’re too humble. You’re a national icon, you know.”

Steve shrugged, looking around the museum at the planes surrounding them. “I never wanted to be.”

“Why not? Everyone loves you.”

“I’m sure not everyone loves me.” He rolled his eyes. “And…I just wanted to help. To fight. Protect my country and the people I cared about. I-I didn’t ask for…all that.” He waved behind his shoulder where his exhibit was getting smaller with each step they took away. “People were dying. Bullies were winning.”

You shook your head, spinning and walking backwards besides him to face him. “Sure, but you did that. And you became someone people could look up to in the process.”

He narrowed his eyes at you before asking, “why do you do what you do?”

“...because I’m good at it?”

“Honey.” He gave you a look. “Answer the question.”

You hummed in thought. “Because I couldn’t stand by, knowing there would be orphaned kids if I didn’t help any way I could.”

“Alright. Why do you do it in the dark?”

“Whaddya mean?”

He shrugged. “Why don’t you come out and take credit for all the lives you’ve saved?”

“Because that’s not why I do it. I don’t want that attention. I just want to know I’ve helped people. I’ve kept them safe.”

He gave you a soft smile. “I just wanted to beat the bully. I never wanted to be a dancing monkey, too.” You looked at him in a new light then, understanding where he was coming from. “Watch out, honey!” He grabbed you and pulled you aside before you could crash into a wall, arms wrapped firmly around your waist. He gave you that charming smile of his. “Wouldn’t want you hurting that pretty lil’ head of yours, now would we?”

“Y/N!”

You snapped back into the conversation, moving your eyes from the window to Bucky, who tilted his head, eyebrows pinched and eyes narrowed. “Sorry. So, Madripoor. That’s a fun place.”

You ignored the side eyed glances Bucky and Sam exchanged, Sam turning to you curiously. “You’ve been?”

“Once. Back in 2010 for a few months”

Zemo raised his eyebrows. “You’re lucky to have gotten out.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Lucky, maybe. Skills were a part of it, too, though.”

“Good.” Zemo nodded. “Because we’re going undercover…and if we blow it. We’re dead.”

You breathed out, shaking your memory away and getting your head back into the game. Because like the man you were severely wary of in front of you said, if you blew this, you were dead. And, sure, you didn’t want to live until ninety, but you weren’t even half way there yet. So dammit if you were going to die soon.

“Hey.” You looked over at Bucky’s murmur, his head tilting as he grabbed your hand and pulled you from your seat closer to him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Are you okay? You know you’re going to have to be-”

“I know.” He nodded. You watched his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed thickly. “I’ll be fine. Just…tell me right now if you need to step out for this one.”

You gave him a smile that you knew he didn’t buy, just by the slight narrowing of his eye, his lips pressing together. “No. No, I’m good for this. If you think I’m gonna let you two idiots go into Madripoor with him - alone - oil that cyborg brain of yours, because there’s no way.”

He squeezed your hand, eyes still filled with uncertainty. “Are you sure?”

“If there’s even a slight possibility that I can protect you, then yeah. I’m sure, Buckaroo.”

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whirlybirbs · 3 years

Text

( this chapter’s gif by @ransomflanagan from this beautiful set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 5/?

summary: your plan goes to asbolute shit.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 9k, please pray for my fingers

a/n: there’s action, there’s gunshot wounds, there’s canon appropriate violence! this one has a lot of plot, a lot of action, and i truly want to sleep for seven days after writing this. you should listen to the glass cannon’s club playlist while you read, though, for vibez.

( PREVIOUSLY | AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT )

You do have a plan.

Maybe it’s a little vague, a little messy, and a little up-in-the-air, but it’s a plan.

Get in, find Kiwi, avoid a handful of unsavory characters, and access the Alexandria Library.

Getting the hell out The Glass Cannon once you and Bucky were in was going to be a whole different plan entirely — one that was more improv than anything else. Hopefully, running a quick facial recognition program wouldn’t take long. With any luck, it would get a hit on any more recent aliases Innessa Sidrova was using after parsing the motherload of information Kiwi held onto with her life.

Kiwi wasn’t always known as Kiwi. She worked at SHIELD, like you, and back then she was known as Suji Awal. She stuck around longer — and she’d stayed on board during the active collapse to do heaven-sent work. It was an absolute Hail Mary, but while HYDRA had tried to purge all of SHIELD’s cloud data to protect their active agents and decades of progress, Suji had beat the hare in the race. Two steps ahead, she’d managed to pull nearly 97% of all confidential data including mission reports, agent profiles, and even electronic correspondence. While the metaphorical fire burned the documents behind her, she’d managed to salvage one of the only surviving, comprehensive looks at SHIELD before the curtain was pulled back to reveal HYDRA’s infection.

It had been used to try multiple HYDRA agents in the wake of it all in the federal courts. It was significant evidence, but after nearly all was reaped from the crop, Suji had taken the aptly named Alexandria Library and gone underground. Now, Kiwi was just another hacker in the thick of it and the Alexandria files were all but whispers.

It’s all about knowing the right people in the end.

Kiwi was a regular at The Glass Cannon. There was a nine out of ten chance you’d find her there. And if you didn’t find Kiwi, you’d probably find Climber and… Well, going to him wasn’t the most ideal situation, but out of the menagerie of acquaintances you’d gathered up throughout the years, you could trust Climber. He’d send you Kiwi’s way if you finally called in that favor he owed you. Either way, you’d find her and you’d get the files.

You just needed to avoid Alexei Gardzov.

Easy. Ish.

In truth, you barely get anything done Thursday — you’re too preoccupied in your head, running over the so-called plan even now as you fold laundry in the basement of your apartment complex.

You’d dug around in your closet, trying to find some semblance of an outfit. It was difficult. It wasn’t like the barely-there dresses and platform shoes were your thing anymore. Back then, your diet was mostly energy drinks and alcohol — in a way, it’s a relief to find that a good number of your staple outfits no longer fit. It made you feel like you really had put all this behind you.

You have.

Sure, it was the Rabbit you were going to have to be for tonight, but you’re not the Rabbit you were eight years ago. Good thing, too. You’re not too sure you and Bucky would have gotten along otherwise. Right now, your relationship with him was the biggest thing keeping you afloat — for the first time in a long time, you feel like you have some sort of purpose, even if it was a vague one at best.

You knew Innessa Sidrova was a threat — and you knew Bucky had to remedy that threat. You knew he felt responsible for creating her, for planting her in a position of power where she could manipulate and control. In truth, there was still a lot of vagueness surrounding his past. He’d made it clear he hasn’t been himself for a long time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wade through the muck of his trauma to pluck out your answers. It just felt wrong.

If you were to say you hadn’t been tempted to go out on your own and dig, that’d be a lie.

Even now, as you pull out the ink-black top from the dryer and fold it neatly on top of the other pieces of laundry needed for tonight, you can feel it sparking like a lighter in the back of your head.

He was keeping something from you.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You nearly jump six feet in the air.

It’s Miss Bonnie — and she’s laughing when her feet touch the cold concrete of the unfinished floor. Her basket of laundry is balanced neatly on her hip, and she walks with a smirk on her face. Her hair is piled neatly on top of her head, and as she bends to plop the basket down, she offers a wink.

“I could hear you thinking from upstairs,” she ruminates, paisley and dyed skirts kissing the ground, “Like a little steam engine.”

You laugh quietly into your task. You duck your head and heft a black bra and jeans from the dryer. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

She looks up, eyes moving carefully from the laundry pile to your face. Her eyes glimmer with quiet curiosity. “And a big night planned, huh?”

You snort. “What was the giveaway?”

“It’s always the lacey bras,” she chirps and slides a smirk your way as she waggles a finger at your pile, “And the strappy little bodysuit was a good hint, too.”

You exhale with a laugh, bracing a hand against the dryer. She’s not wrong — you’d really forgone comfort with this outfit lineup. It was temporary, though, and well worth the efforts if it meant helping Bucky tick off a name from his list of amends. You knew how much those meant to him.

“So,” she continues, voice muddled as she continues to load the washer, “I take it this friend of yours is really helping you out of your shell?”

“I guess so. Yeah. It’s — It’s sort of a mutual shell-cracking, I guess.”

“Mm,” a hum, “You sound troubled, though.”

Your mouth opens as your fingers trace the line of the bodysuit. You pause, and you rock back on your heels. Miss Bonnie notices.

She waits patiently, bent at the knees.

“You ever just…” you wave your hand, “Feel like — I don’t know. He’s my friend. My best friend, honestly, and that’s… Really saying a lot. But, there’s stuff under the surface and I know it’s not my business but…”

Out comes a strangled groan.

“What? Like a crazy ex-girlfriend?”

“No, no — I don’t think so,” you mutter, “Wouldn’t surprise me, though.”

“Handsome?” she asks, smiling.

You close your eyes and ignore the smile on your face as you reply. “Yea, handsome.”

“Well, have you tried asking?” she shrugs as she stands, “Not about the crazy ex, but about the stuff you’re worried about? It never hurts.”

“Problem is, I don’t really think it’s too much of my business.”

Miss Bonnie hums at that and presses the start on her washer. She’s quiet for a bit, swaying slightly as she weighs the conversation and you watch — enamored with the older woman’s calm wisdom. She gestures openly with ringed hands.

“I think it’s normal for us to want to know everything about those we care about,” she says, “We want to know how we can protect them, how we can comfort them. But… it comes in due time. All of it does. You’ll find a time when he does open up about the ex, or whatever it is on his mind. You’re friends, after all.”

You’re nodding, chest tight with thanks.

Miss Bonnie’s face is soft.

“You got a picture?” she chirps like a bird looking for a worm, “I wanna see who this little friend is. And if he really is as handsome as you’re suggesting...”

You scoff and lean to dig out your phone.

“Cut it out,” you mumble as she moves closer, “No playing matchmaker.”

“Sure, sure,” she waves, leaning to watch as you scroll through your camera roll.

The only photo you have of Bucky is there from Tuesday night — after he’d housed nearly an entire container of noodles and promptly passed out during the third Lord of the Rings movie. You’d woken up around one in the morning to find that Poke had unceremoniously curled up on top of the supersoldier’s chest. Bucky’s hand was still in the calico’s fur as he dozed, the colors of the TV painting his face all sorts of peaceful. You’d taken the photo, shoving it in his face after gently nudging him awake.

He’s laughed.

You gesture to show Miss Bonnie.

Like ice, she freezes.

You notice a microexpression dart across her face, but it’s gone in an instant. You can’t pin it, but the way she bends to pull the phone closer and zoom in on her face comes off as interest. You blink, label it as shock, and move on.

Her voice sounds different.

“Handsome,” she mumbles plainly, preoccupied with the sight, “I get it now. What’s his name?”

“Bucky,” you say as she hands the phone back, “He’s… He’s a good person.”

Miss Bonnie just nods.

You tuck your phone away and plop your laundry into your basket. Ignoring the sudden quiet that had crept between you both, you haul up the stack and offer her a gentle smile. She’s fiddling with the washer’s timer.

“Thank you, Miss Bonnie.”

“Of course,” she rushes out, smiling gently, “And be safe tonight.”

“I will.”

With your promise, you ascend the stairs.

In that basement, Bonnie McLayne is no more, and instead, Innessa Sidrova remembers that night in Moscow, back in 1975.

She remembers the Winter Soldier.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Bucky calls you three times with no answer.

Normally, he’d just give up — but it was Thursday, and you weren’t answering the buzzer to your apartment either. He tries his best to ignore the strike of panic that sparks in his chest. It could stoke a wildfire, really, but he pushes it down and remembers to breathe. He doesn’t let himself think about what he’d do if something happened to you.

After all, you’re probably fine. Sleeping, maybe. The both of you had a long night ahead.

(Longer than either of you realize, really.)

It’s nearly seven o’clock, and after trying your cell one more time from his perch on your apartment’s stoop, Bucky decides to say fuck it.

A well-adjusted person might frown upon what he was about to do, but Bucky wasn’t exactly well-adjusted, now was he?

He rounds the back alley with long strides and easily finds that, with a little maneuvering, he can hoist himself upwards on top of the nearest dumpster. With a well-timed hop, he can also snag the bottom of the fire escape’s ladder and haul it downwards. The rest is easy, and he’s scaling the fire escape to the third floor with ease before he even knows it.

There’s even a smug little smirk on his face the whole time he does.

Finding your window is a little harder, but Bucky eventually spots Poke’s round little body smushed against the glass — it’s a dead giveaway, and after some prowling, he finds the window to your living room and unceremoniously throws it open.

It’s unlocked, for whatever reason, and he makes a mental note to have a conversation with you about safety and security in the city. After all, you never knew when an ex-assassin supersoldier was going to break in and pet your cat.

Upon opening the window, he pieces together pretty quickly why you’re not answering. Could be the music coming from your bedroom, or even the singing that’s coupled alongside it. From the bathroom across the hall from your room, steam has settled above on the ceiling. The whole apartment smells like fruit and soap and perfume and Bucky’s not really sure how to parse through all the sensory experiences that greet him with he shimmies in through the window, legs first.

All in all, they make him smile.

Bucky shuts the window behind him as he’s quickly greeted by Poke — the calico offers a gratuitous little chirp when Bucky bends to scoop up the cat. Easily, he melts. Poke is purring loudly in his ear as Bucky takes a moment to survey your apartment a little bit closer. Mr. Poke Bowl rubs his face against Bucky’s stubble as the man weaves through the kitchen.

It’s very you.

He isn’t really sure what that means at the end of the day, but all he knows is that he feels at home here. He feels safe. He feels comfortable. He feels like he can be himself. Not James, not Sergeant Barnes, not The Winter Soldier. Not even Steve’s Bucky, but just… his Bucky. Himself. Sarcastic and exhausted and a little cynical.

Bucky lets Poke down on the counter and moves to the fridge.

There’s still beer from the other night in there, tucked in the back, so he makes easy work on popping open a bottle and busying himself with petting a very adamant Poke.

As he sips the Leinenkugel, it’s no small coincidence that his phone buzzes again — for what feels like the hundredth time today — with a message from Janelle.

She was nice — pretty, too. Once upon a time, she would have been his type.

That was before he met you, though.

There’s a little pinprick of mortification at that quiet confession that’s been slipping into his heart more and more in the last few days. You are, after all, his best friend. He’s your best friend. Guilt swims with the feelings that have begun to pluck his heartstrings and he has to admit he’s not too comfortable with the song they play.

His biggest fear is fucking this up.

Fucking you up.

Honestly, his track record isn’t great. The whole defrosted-international-threat bit made it a little difficult to date. Janelle seemed to think the date had gone well enough, though, hence the handful of texts he’d been getting every few hours asking if he’s free.

Like usual, he ignores them.

Exercising his own free will is hard sometimes. Especially when it comes to saying no.

Taking another swig of the beer, Bucky shoves his phone back into his pocket and tucks his fingers back into Poke’s fur. The calico’s tail swings patiently as he sits and watches — and it’s a little weird how human his eyes are for a second there. He mmrrps and lunges for Bucky’s hand when he comes close, bonking his head eagerly against the cool vibranium.

It’s a different sensation.

That’s another big adjustment — learning how things really feel with this new arm. It’s not just handling recoil or gripping knives or throwing punches. It’s the soft tickle of fur, the gentle pressure of a warm rag to clean the joints. Meticulous upkeep wasn’t something HYDRA did often. He doesn’t miss the twinge of pain and molasses-like stickiness that came with a dirty arm. Blood was the worst. Always sat deep in the cracks.

He flexes his fingers. Poke meows again.

He moves to plop down on the couch. Poke follows.

You’re singing, still, to some song that Bucky’s never heard, when you push open your bedroom door and move towards the living room.

You jump six feet in the air and scream when you see him just sitting there, clutching a beer and petting Poke like he fucking lives here rent-free.

Bucky’s reaction is muted, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with your outfit and your jewelry and the pink eye shadow that creeps up your brow-bone. There’s glitter on your eyelids and lip gloss on your mouth and he can smell some sort of candy-sweet perfume coming off you. The plunging neckline of the jet-black top is enough to leave him shifting his gaze back up to your startled expression with a tight jaw.

His face is blank.

Then he offers that stupid fucking smile he does. Y’know, the tight-lipped one where he somehow maintains a dead-eyed look the whole time. If you weren’t trying to calm your racing heartbeat, you might have laughed. You hate the white-hot flare it sparks in your chest.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” you hiss, waving your hands.

“We need to have a serious conversation about locking our windows,” he says as he kicks his feet up on the coffee table and wags a finger at you, “Also, what are you wearing?”

“You — You fucking broke in through my window?”

“Yea, well, you were too busy pretending to be Britney Spears to hear me try and buzz up, and my phone calls.”

Sheepishly, you cross your arms. “Nice reference—”

A shrug from Bucky. “Thank you.”

“—Also, what are you wearing?”

He looks down at his usual t-shirt, leather jacket combo. He squints back up at you.

“I’m sorry,” he chirps, “You’re talking to me? Did the department store run out of fabric, Rabbit?”

You self-consciously adjust the plunging neckline of the bodysuit as you frown deeply. “I think I’m gonna skip on the fashion advice from the man who lived in a time where ankles were seen as scandalous.”

“I was born in 1917,” he mumbles as he stands, actively avoiding another pass over your outfit because as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad look on you, “Not 1817.”

“Point being, we’re going to a club. And you look like you’re going to the local Home Depot,” you move to snag a set of dangly earrings that are sitting on the coffee table, “We’ve gotta look like we’re there to party, nothing more.”

Bucky sighs. He finishes the beer, places the bottle down and sheds his jacket. “So, what?”

You pry your eyes away from the flash of skin — his arm, flesh and blood, speaks to how strong he is. And, undoubtedly how easy it was for him to fucking scale three stories of the fire escape to bust in.

“So,” you mumble as you thread the earring in, “I have some of Jaimie’s old shirts. There’s probably something you can use… If they fit.”

Bucky exhales softly. “You kept them?”

“Didn’t have the heart to throw them out,” you reply as you gesture for him to follow you into your bedroom.

The back of your top is arguably more crisis-inducing than the front — it’s an open back, and Bucky settles on admiring the decor rather than the curve of your spine. He has to. For his own fucking self-composure.

Your bedroom is nice — and like the rest of your space, it makes him feel comfortable. It’s all warm colors and posters and plants in the corners. Across from your queen-sized bed, there’s a large desk with a triple monitor setup. That’s where the music is coming from. The little knick-knacks on your shelves and desk make him chuckle.

Then, he stops, halfway to the closet, and stares.

You blink over your shoulder as you bend, digging to the back of your closet to pull out the clear bin you’d piled most of Jaimie’s stuff into after the funeral. After you’d cleaned out his apartment on your own.

He’s looking at the poster — the one from Cap’s USO tour. It’s framed nicely, set up on the wall beside your desk. It’s got a gold frame, and Bucky can’t help but wander closer to look at the signature.

It’s Steve’s alright.

“How much did you pay for this?”

You scoff. Your necklaces tinker together. “Don’t even go there.”

“The jerk signed thousands of these,” he mumbles, crossing his arms as he leans closer, “And still, the fame didn’t go to his head.”

You smile softly, leaning back.

“Jealous?” you chirp, raising your brows as you pretend to swoon, “Oh, Sergeant Barnes, I’d just love to meet your dear friend—”

Bucky’s laughing as you swat at his knee, leaning back on the carpet like a damsel in distress.

“Shut up,” he snorts, “It’s a sore subject for me.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m serious — do you know how many dates I had to set up for the chump? And then, boom. I’m invisible.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter with a smile, unclicking the lid, “Some people just like blondes, Buck. I’m sure there were plenty of eyes on you. Stop being so dramatic.”

“Yea, the best friend, sure,” he mumbles at the poster, “Hell, he was taller than me. You know you don’t need to lie to me—”

“Listen, if I was some Lauren Bacall-looking nurse back then,” you wave your hands, “I’d have gone for you. Alright? Stop lamenting and get over here.”

He goes quiet and ignores the warmth in his cheeks. He squats by your side. “Shut up.”

“We seriously need to work on taking compliments,” you groan, throwing your head back, “I’m being serious, y’know, for once. And I’m not just saying it as your friend. You’re handsome and everyone knows it except you, apparently. My neighbor agrees that’s for sure.”

He squints.

You wave it off and gesture to your outfit. “She saw me doing laundry.”

“That explains nothing,” Bucky deadpans, “Literally nothing.”

“I showed her a picture,” you cry indignantly, moving to shuffle through some of the old t-shirts sitting on top of the bin, “Relax.”

He moves to plop down, crossing his legs beneath him. He decides to let the topic die — again, for his own self-composure more than anything. The compliment, though vehemently denied by the worst part of him, is tucked neatly in the homes of his heart. The idea of meeting you, before now, is a little intoxicating. What would it have been like?

Would you have even spared him a dance?

Bucky rubs his cheek. Poke meows and buts the door open with his head.

You’re wrist-deep in the bin when you speak. “He’s obsessed with you, y’know.”

Poke has already taken up a post in Bucky’s lap. Bucky smiles, petting Poke gently with his vibranium hand. The cat seems to like the cool metal. Bucky mumbles softly down to the calico, scritching his cheeks. “I like him, too.”

You pause long enough to try and remember the sight.

Bucky’s eyes find yours, and you’re quick to turn back to the bin.

“Here we go,” you exhale as you pull out the shirt you’d been looking for.

It’s a long-sleeve button-down, one that you can distinctly remember Jaimie wearing to his engagement party’s after-party — a real typical night of Jaimie being Jaimie. It’s black with a barely-there red floral pattern. It’s flashy enough that Bucky won’t look horribly out of place.

The only problem is Jaimie was a little smaller than Bucky.

“Try this on,” you mumble as you dig around trying to find something else in case it doesn’t do the trick.

Bucky catches the silk shirt and gives it a once over. He raises an eyebrow, and deciding against debating this, he simply nudges Poke off his lap and stands.

He moves to your bed, laying the shirt out. On your closet door is a full-length mirror. You want to snap it in half when you accidentally catch a glimpse of Bucky hauling off his black, cotton t-shirt and anxiously fumbling with the buttons on Jaimie’s old shirt. You have to breathe — and remind yourself that that’s Bucky.

Your Bucky. Your best friend Bucky.

When he calls your name, it sounds far away. You’re busy angrily sorting through old clothes.

“I look ridiculous.”

When you turn around, the first thing you notice is that it’s a little tight. Not in a bad way, but the buttons are gapping along his chest, and it’s tight around his arms.

Your eyes widen a little and you swallow. You tilt your head.

Bucky’s frowning.

“Let me see,” you offer gently, standing and moving close, “It’s not that bad.”

“You don’t sound too sure right now,” he mumbles as you enter his personal space.

You’re nimble with undoing the top three buttons — it gives him enough room to move his shoulders, though, and the dip of the shirt along his sternum brings dog tags into view. You reach, momentarily entranced, and read them to yourself.

You smell like vanilla and sugar.

Bucky shifts in his boots.

“Y’know,” you say, moving to the sleeves, “I think this works.”

You roll the sleeves, stopping at his forearm.

When you step aside, Bucky can see himself in the full-length mirror. He looks less than enthused.

It’s not an entirely bad look — he’ll admit that much — but he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s too much chest and skin and… Christ, this shirt is tight. He does, though, look like some of those trendy folks he sees at Izzy’s bar every now and again. Hipsters.

“I look like a douchebag.”

“That’s the point,” you chirp as you close the box and shove it back into your closet, “Now the outfit matches the personality.”

He swats at your head on the way by. You laugh.

You’ve got boots in your hand, and you land on the bed with a bounce. Bucky is busy fixing his hair in the mirror while you zip up the thigh-high boots. When he turns around, you’re about three inches taller. He blinks, yet again entranced by the outfit.

Then, you’re muscling on the jacket.

It’s neon pink — and shaggy and cropped. It falls just above your waist and swallows you whole. But, Bucky’s attention is mostly on the back.

There’s a large, white embroidered Playboy bunny there, with RABBIT written across the shoulders in a chunky, blackletter typeface.

His brows are high on his face when you turn around.

You freeze.

“...What?” you ask, “Something on my face?”

“Playboy bunny, huh?”

You could smack him. “Weren’t you busy being a frozen dinner when Playboy came out?”

“I’ll have you know,” he says tightly as he follows you out of your bedroom and to the living room, “The Russians enjoyed their fair share of editions.”

“The Russians? Sure, what’s that saying? There’s no sex in the USSR?” you chide, “You can just say Bucky Barnesenjoyed his fair share—”

The tips of his ears are red. You notice. It makes you split into a grin that worsens the pink shade that’s crawling up his neck.

He coughs. “Have you ever considered never opening your mouth again, Rabbit?”

You nudge his arm. “Nah. Bothering you is more fun.”

He shrugs on his jacket, sighs, and decides that keeping quiet is just easier.

However, that’s not entirely your plan — and you speak quickly as you pull your purse over your shoulder. You’re rummaging quietly, stacking your wallet and phone inside. You glance up at him.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he mumbles, bending to pat Poke one last time as you move to the door of your bedroom. He watches you flick all the lights off, and before you leave, you double check the calico’s food and water. He’s got enough for a few days. Bucky leans against the door frame, “Care to run me through the plan?”

Nodding, you move to open your front door.

“It’ll be easy,” you explain as you make room for him, “If we play our cards right—”

Bucky’s stopped, though, and is digging in his back pocket as his cell phone rings. You watch him exhale tightly, eyes on the screen the entire time he squeezes by you and starts down the hall. You make careful note of the delicate scowl on his face, only before you catch Miss Bonnie out of the corner of her eye.

Her door is half-cracked across the hall, and she’s watching.

She offers you a smile.

Bucky keeps walking.

You wave, lock your door, and jog to catch up to Bucky.

“Hey,” you call, “Earth to Mr. Claw Machine?”

His head snaps up. “Sorry.”

“Who was that?” you ask carefully, nudging his arm with yours, “Falcon?”

“I wish,” he mutters as he muscles the cellphone back into his pocket, “I wouldn’t feel so bad sending him to voicemail.”

“Yeesh,” you wince, “Lemme guess, was it the owner of the coral lipstick that was all over your face on Tuesday night?”

Again, that temptation to feel jealousy flares up in your heart. But, he’s here, isn’t he? With you. Ignoring her calls. And probably texts judging by the guilty look that’s on his face. You feel a little bad — but at the same time, Bucky’s a grown man. Maybe a grown man who needs to create some more transparent lines of communication with the poor woman, but still.

“Bingo. I mean — it’s not that she wasn’t great an’ all but…”

You raise both hands. “I’m not judging.”

He sighs raggedly as he bounces down the apartment’s stairs. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“What?” you ask with a laugh, “Dating? Yea, it’s pretty fucking terrifying, Buck.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

You hold the door open for him and slide him a pitying look.

“Because I am.”

The walk to The Glass Cannon is spent walking Bucky through the plan — and for the most part, he makes a point of nodding along and listening. His only real anxiety pops up at the mention of Alexei, which is relatable to say the least.

It’s dark, the streets are relatively quiet, and the spring chill has pricked your skin. Your heels click against the pavement, and you stalk along. Shoving your hands in your pockets of the pink, shag jacket, you huff.

You’re starting to feel the anxiety.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re both approaching the blue glow of the storefront.

Computers & Stuff was a family-owned and operated computer shop from the 90s that was taken over by a lesser-known hand of the Russian crime family in New York, the Gardzovs. Alexei’s father is the formal owner of the shop, and his son runs the lucrative activities of the underground club that lay beneath the graphics cards and motherboards.

Bucky, as you both near the entrance, speaks quickly. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Just follow my lead, okay?” you whisper.

The bell above the door dings when you pull open the glass door.

The lighting is sterile and if you’re real quiet, you can hear the dull hum of the fluorescents. The store is empty, save for one man behind the register.

You almost duck out the entrance at the sight of him.

Igor has been a bouncer at The Glass Cannon for as long as you’ve been a patron — and he’s also one of Alexei’s dogs. This part of the plan was something you’d considered only briefly, and for a second, you’re thankful you worried over the million and ten ways this would play out for days.

“Well, if it isn’t the little bunny.”

It’s said with malice. Igor’s tattooed hands land on the counter as he leans.

You, however, hold your head high. Bucky watches as something changes in your posture.

“Good to see you, Igor.”

“Is it?” he growls, stalking around the counter and quickly encroaching on your personal space, “Because I’m pretty sure you’re not welcome here, bunny.”

Bucky gets a good look at the man now — clearly an enforcer. He’s got prison tattoos, a shaved head. The long beard is a weak spot. Doesn’t seem to be armed. Blue eyes flick to you and the way you don’t even flinch when the man leans to breathe right in your face.

You just smile.

“I thought you’d say that,” you mumble, moving to swing your bag to the front and dig your wallet out, “But, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Suddenly, there’s a hundred-dollar bill slipping from your well-manicured nails into the vest pocket of the bouncer. There’s a tense pause, then, while the two of you size one another up.

“Fucking your way through college paid off, huh?” he hisses.

You stay quiet.

Bucky, though, moves between you both with a quick shove. Immediately, Igor’s attention goes to Bucky as he sizes him up — he laughs. His nose is nearly touching Bucky’s.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy?”

“You should watch your mouth,” Bucky says evenly, “Or I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.”

You’re careful to hide your expression; the feeling the words stir isn’t one that you’re happy about. This sudden protectiveness, though, makes you feel some sort of invincible.

Igor settles back on his heels.

He steps back.

He gestures to the back room with his head.

You keep walking when he calls out: “Careful, bunny, the dogs are going to be looking for you.”

You grit your teeth tightly and push through the fabric curtain.

He barks, taunting you.

Bucky is by your side in an instant, gaze still rooted over his shoulder at the hulking bouncer. He waits until you’ve settled down until you’ve said his name. His eyes fall to you, then to the stairwell before them.

Above it, in curled neon tubing, reads The Glass Cannon.

The windows are blacked out, but from his spot at the top of the stairs, Bucky can feel the rattle of a deep bass vibrate his ribs.

“Come on. We’re on a time crunch now.”

“Alexei?”

You nod as you lead the way down the stairs. “Word travels fast. We need to be quicker. Stick to the crowds. Remember, we just need to find Kiwi — then we bail.”

Bucky nods tensely.

Then, you open the doors.

Immediately, his eyes adjust to the darkness — neon and strobes and the pulse of purple and pink LEDs make his vision swim. It’s warmer down here, and the stairs leading down into the sub-basement is lined with people sipping drinks and chattering over the loud music. It smells like piss and beer and tobacco.

Again, Bucky watches as the person he knows melts away.

The Rabbit in front of him is different.

You reach, as if on reflex, for his hand.

When you turn around and flash him a smile, he has to swallow down a sudden rise of sheepishness.

The sea of people part around you, and Bucky realizes quickly that people recognize you. He can see their painted lips moving, muttering things into curious ears about the pink-clad woman in front of him; there are smiles there and frowns, and shock. You’re slow in your descent, making a show of the arrival — all while Bucky begins to piece together that The Glass Cannon is larger than he originally suspected.

As they near the bottom of the landing, he can see out across the floor.

There’s a square-shaped catwalk around the dance floor, laden with dancers on their designated poles. Tables line the outside of the cavernous room, and the bars along each wall are crowded — even still, these glimpses of his surroundings come in temporary flashes of light. The music coming from the center of the dancefloor is loud. The entirety of the scene is raucous.

He can’t imagine you finding solace here.

He tightens his grip on your hand. You squeeze back.

When both of you reach the bottom of the stairwell, the sea of people swallow you in a current of dancing and drinking and laughing, and you crawl into Bucky’s personal space to shout in his ear.

You’re still holding his hand tightly, pressed to his chest, as you lean upwards to brush your cheek with his.

“Follow me, okay?”

He nods.

You begin the methodical crawl through the dancefloor, working your way to the bar — there, you pause long enough to be served a drink that’s as pink as the glitter on your eyelids. The flecks dance in the lights, and Bucky graciously accepts a shot from the bartender who smiles sweetly like honey at you.

You bat your lashes, thank her, and stand gracefully from the barstool.

You take a pointed swig and scan the floor.

Kiwi would be in one of the private booths, you suspect — she was enough of a high roller here. But, with the crowded club bursting at the seams, it was nearly impossible to get to the other side. You sway a bit on your feet, still tightly gripping Bucky’s hand in your own. You refuse to let go.

For your sake and his.

Bucky is a silent shadow, eyes roaming the club — he watches a dancer dip down low and snag a green bill from a patron. Someone beside him laughs loud, another bumping into his backside as you continue to weave to the outer rim of the room. The music is so loud his heartbeat could be mistaken for an 808, and he feels the thrum in his bones.

If he wasn’t so overwhelmed, if he was drunk, maybe it could be fun.

Finally, out of the haze of bodies, Bucky can breathe.

You’re leaning over again, speaking quickly.

“I don’t see her.”

“I can’t see shit in here,” he calls back, eyes moving along the ridge of the room. He scans the booths set into the walls, set up on platforms, and roped off with velveteen, “Where would she be?”

“Hard to tell,” you mumble, “But I think I might need to go to Plan B.”

Bucky follows your solid stare.

In the booth directly across the floor from you, there’s a man in black — black everything, save from his hair. That’s the brightest blue Bucky has ever seen. He’s swallowed by a harem of men and women who are laughing and drinking and dancing, and he’s entertaining. Ringed fingers wave in the air, face split into a laugh so wide he swears it’s a mile long. He’s got glasses on and they’re tinted blue.

Bucky watches carefully as you move to his booth.

It’s like a prey surveying a trap — you’re careful.

Finally, when you stand before it, you let go of his hand.

“Hi there, Climber.”

The whole booth falls silent. The man stiffens, back turned to you totally. Bucky watches as his hands fall and slowly, the man you’d called Climber turns around.

His expression is stone cold.

His voice, however, is as warm as a hot poker.

“Oh my goodness, is that Rabbit?”

He ascends from the booth, platform boots leaving him to tower over you — he’s no small man, either. Bucky watches as he bends to kiss both of your cheeks and hug you tightly. He, however, doesn’t pull away entirely.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” he hisses, “You want to be roadkill?”

“I need to find Kiwi,” you whisper quickly, expression almost begging, “Please.”

He pauses, dimpled chin wavering a bit. Bucky watches him sniff, push his glasses back, and readjust his posture. Climber licks his lips and his eyes dart to Bucky. He’s thinking, Bucky realizes, and after a quick moment of deliberation, he seems to cave.

“Only because I owe you.”

“I know,” you say, raising your hands, “I know.”

In a dash, his demeanor changes once more. He’s flying over to his harem, waving his hands and blowing kisses and promising he’ll be back in a flash. They whine, they moan, but Climber appeases them with another round of jello shots from strobing syringes that a waitress is carrying by.

“Come on then,” he says, “And stop looking like such a prude.”

He begins to weave.

You follow hand returning to its spot in Bucky’s like a lifeline.

You’re sipping your drink, moving through the crowd easily. There’s a slight sway in your step now, and at one point you and Climber even get noticed by a pod of people who recognize your faces. It’s met with laughing and squealing and in the fray, the both of you slip back into the crowd. Bucky is taking it all in, desperately ignoring the tingle of a panic flaring in the back of his head.

Too many people.

Soon, though, Climber is moving towards a side entrance.

It’s a back room.

Suddenly, the dim lights and neon dissolve, and instead, Bucky is flashed in the face with the abrasive sting of fluorescent lights. It no longer reeks of spilled beer, and his boots don’t stick to the ground. No, there’s quiet chatter back here — Climber continues to lead the two of you through a maze of supply crates full of booze and soda.

Then, a right turn. And a left turn.

Someone is taking inventory.

“Kiwi, I know you’re going to hate me for this—”

The woman who turns around is beautiful. She’s in the midst of eyeing an open crate that looks just like the others but fitted with a hollowed center, marking off what looks like an inventory of burner cell phones. Her brown skin is decorated with glitter, her eyes streaked with the same green shade of her tightly shaved head. The green is bright and it reminds Bucky of summer.

Suddenly, her expression sours.

“What the fuck.”

“I know—”

“No,” she snaps, raising her hand and waving to the assistant beside her to take her tablet and make themselves scarce, “You need to get out of here.”

“I need your help,” you say finally, tone heavy.

It’s enough to make Climber sigh. Kiwi watches you, scratches her neck, and swallows.

She meets Climber’s eyes.

Then she breaks.

“Where the fuck have you been, Rabbit?” she asks, worries seeping into her eyes as she pulls you into a rough hug, “We thought you were dead.”

“No,” you shake your head, “But you know I couldn’t be around here anymore.”

“Yea,” Climber snorts, “Not good for your health, huh, love?”

“Alexei still wants your head,” Kiwi chimes in, crossing her arms, “Does he know you’re here?”

“Igor was on the door, so I’m sure he’s heard by now.”

Both of them curse.

Guilt flashes across your face as you screw your eyes shut and nod. “I know. I know, I just… I seriously need your help, Kiwi. It was worth the risk. It’s — HYDRA. I need to tap into the Alexandria Library.”

Immediately, the woman stiffens.

Her eyes flash to Bucky in the corner. He stares back.

“He waits outside.”

“You can trust him—”

“No,” she snaps, “I can’t. And I don’t. And I won’t.”

You give Bucky a pleading look. Between the two of you, a negotiation happens between your eyes. It’s a compromise, and finally, Bucky relents.

“Fine,” Bucky barks, tilting his head and giving you a tight-lipped smile, “Fine. I’ll wait out here.”

“He’s cute,” mumbles Climber as Bucky rounds the corner, long legs carrying him out of the supply room, “Boyfriend?”

“Shut up, Climber,” you mumble, waving your hand, “Just listen—”

“Who is he?” Kiwi asks, eyes still watching the doorway, “And why did you bring him along?”

You sigh, rubbing your brow. “He’s the one who’s trying to find this HYDRA agent. He knew her before.”

“So he’s HYDRA.”

“No,” you snap cooly, “He’s not.”

“So, just handsome, then?” Climber asks, hands waving, “Right. Great. Really making a case for yourself, Rabbit.”

“He’s trying to find a woman named Innessa Sidrova. She was one of the original agents who helped form the American HYDRA cell,” you explain quickly, “I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and… And he’s a good person. He’s my friend. I’m trying to help him, but I can’t do it without you. Both of you.”

Kiwi hums. She sighs. “That explains why you went MIA.”

“Aside from putting Alexei behind bars?” you scoff, “Yea, the GRC played a part in it.”

The three of you are quiet for a moment.

“Fine.”

You look up at Kiwi. Her hands are on her waist.

There’s an immense wash of relief that floods over you at that moment — and from the looks of it, Kiwi can tell. You move to grab her hand, and she grabs back. Both of you smile, and the hug that follows is warm. You’ve missed her. A lot.

“Thank you, Suji.”

Then, footsteps.

That relief is traded in for an anxious backfire of fear in an instant.

It’s slow. Dress shoes on polished cement.

Then:

“Oh, bunny, bunny, bunny. Tsk, tsk.”

Climber and Kiwi’s faces upturn to the doorway and they tell you everything you need to know.

So, you decide at that moment that you won’t be the prey tonight.

You turn around and come face-to-face with a man playing devil.

Alexei Gardzov is a handsome man — a beard and piercing grey eyes. His hair is tightly cropped, and intricate tattoos decorate every inch of his skin. Some of them are new, you realize, and there’s temporary pride that bubbles up at them. They’re from prison.

You almost smile.

Behind him, three goons loom.

“I’ve been wondering when you’d come hopping back,” he croons as he enters the room with the swagger of a man who trapped his dinner, “Well worth the wait, I think.”

His cologne hangs like smog in the air. He strolls up to you, and in a flash, he’s got your hair in a vice grip.

He yanks it back, you grit your teeth.

The barrel of a gun digs into your cheek.

“Climber, Kiwi, and Rabbit,” he sing-songs, “All in one room again like it’s NYU’s 2014 hack-a-thon. Isn’t that cute?”

Kiwi speaks. “Alexei—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, gun moving to flash towards Kiwi, “And stay out of my business, Sujina.”

The gun’s muzzle is cold. He’s rough, and you try to ignore the twinge of pain that comes with his unceremonious yank of your hair. Once more, he tsks. His breath is hot on your face. He smells like cigarettes and whiskey.

“I spent seven years behind bars,” he bites, “All because a’ you.”

“Me? I wasn’t the one trafficking girls—”

“SHUT UP!”

The pistol cracks across your cheek and the cement floor hurtles towards you. The gasp that falls from your lips is from shock; your fingers dig into the cold ground as you try to blink away the blurriness. Your ears ring. Blood drips from your cheek between your fingers.

Again, there’s a hand in your hair.

Now, the fight begins.

Climber and Kiwi are stuck, frozen in fear.

You don’t blame them, because Igor and the others have guns already drawn. One of them, one that’s young and you don’t recognize immediately, has a baseball bat in his hands.

Alexei drags you by your hair as you grimace, refusing to scream. Your heels scrape against the ground as you try to get purchase, but he’s quick to throw you back against the far wall.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he smiles, “I won’t kill you. Not right now.”

Then, a kick.

Right to the ribs.

You can’t breathe — you gasp earnestly at the white, hot shot of pain.

“Get up.”

You’re not listening, you’re too busy trying to catch your breath.

“I said,” comes a growl as he reaches, hand in your hair again as he drags you up the wall. Your legs buckle, and you try to hold your chin high as you stumble upwards, “Get up.”

Then, there’s a hand around your throat.

Tight. Too tight. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t get his hand off your neck, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t fucking think, can’t stand, can’t see, can’t breathe —

“Boss!”

A new voice.

The pressure is relieved for a second.

A new face has run into the room — he looks frazzled, hair askew and gun out. He’s eyeing the scene before him in a moment’s pause.

“Can’t you see I’m a little bit busy?” Alexei snags as you gasp, clawing at his hand. He swings his head to the figure in the doorway with an annoyed bark, “What is it?”

“The cops, boss,” he stammers, “They’re here.”

“What?”

“They’re here for her, boss.”

A slow turn to where his finger is pointing. His gaze lands on you. Alexei laughs.

“Well,” he says as the goon disappears, “Isn’t that just peachy, bunny?”

The choking starts again.

Then, a metal hand.

Vibranium.

You watch it swing, you watch it grab Alexei’s throat.

Suddenly, you can breathe.

Suddenly, Bucky Barnes enters the fight.

You make friends with the ground again as you duck, just as Alexei is rammed into the wall above your head by his throat. As you cough while Kiwi calls your name — you can hear a fight. But everything’s moving slow, and it’s not until the first gunshot that you’re kicked into action. It’s loud. Your skin pricks alive.

Someone screams.

You stumble to your feet, eyes finding Bucky’s form moving quickly between the three goons — the gunshot had come from the pistol that had somehow found its way into Bucky's flesh and blood hand. One of the men is on the floor, suit pants stained with a bullet wound through the thigh. He’s wailing. Bucky doesn’t notice. Or he doesn’t care. Maybe both.

His face is cold.

Another gunshot is fired off, this time richoting between you and Kiwi and Climber and embedding itself into the cement wall overhead. The three of you scream, ducking reflexively.

That’s when Bucky snaps.

“Now would be a good time to go!”

Kiwi’s hands are on your arm as you quickly break through the doorway through the storage room. Climber is following, checking over his shoulder at the carnage that Bucky begins to reap in the room.

He’s hysterical, trying to jog in his white platform boots. “What the fuck, Rabbit!”

Your voice is hoarse. You’re clutching your ribs. “Not now, Climber!”

“I’m parked in the back,” Kiwi says, ducking through plastic flaps as she helps you through the back of the club, “Come on, we’ll go through the trucking entrance.”

You hear Bucky call your name — he’s jogging to catch up, gun drawn in his hand. Seems like he made good work of the others, sporting nothing more than a split lip. You turn, pausing for a moment to take inventory of his well-being.

And that’s all it takes.

Alexei Gardzov, limping, steps in front of you and Kiwi and Climber at an intersection in the hallway.

There’s a gun in his hand.

The first thing you feel is the impact.

Like a truck slamming into you at full speed. For the fourth time tonight, you have the air robbed from your lungs. It’s instant confusion.

Then comes the pain. Hot. Hotter than the sun. Hot like white flames. It tears through your shoulder and all you can do is gasp; you’re sent into a stutter step — and while the world around you continues to move, you’re busy reconciling with the fact you’ve just been shot.

A bullet flies by your head.

Alexei Gardzov drops.

You’re grasping at your chest, staggering, when Bucky breaks into a sprint — but you’re okay. You’re okay, it’s just your shoulder, it’s just your arm, you’re okay, you can feel your fingers and you can breathe and the pain is nearly unbearable but you’re okay.

Then, a baseball bat.

It clocks Bucky directly in the skull. He’s clotheslined.

It’s Igor.

The gun from Bucky’s hands clatters across the ground to your feet, and you’re too busy trying to get to Bucky to realize — but, you’ve got tunnel vision and adrenaline and at that moment, you think a good sidekick doesn’t need anything else in this life.

Igor goes to swing at you, but you duck. Your stiletto crushes through the top of his shoe. He screams and in a flurry of pain and panic, you manage to snag the bat quick enough to turn and clock him under the chin with a roll of the wrist.

His teeth clack together and he falls backward, unconscious.

“God, I really wish you could have seen that, Buck.”

You spit. Blood paints the ground.

The bat clatters to the cement as you fight through the pain. Kiwi and Climber are by your side in an instant.

“No, no!” she screams, “We do not have time for this—”

“I am not leaving him,” you snap, nearly screaming at the woman, “Come on and help me with him. Now.”

After a sigh of resignation, Kiwi shoves the gun she’d snagged from the ground into the back of her jeans. You’ve got your hands around Bucky’s ankles as Kiwi and Climber take his torso — and the four of you make a break for the back entrance. You can hear the cops outside now, and there’s the chatter of Russian following you into the back parking lot.

“Hurry up!”

“He’s not exactly light as a feather, you know!”

“Shut up, Climber!”

You’ve got Bucky halfway into the back seat of Kiwi’s white Cadillac when another bullet whizzes by your head.

“Fuck.”

Kiwi hops into the driver’s seat as Climber scatters to hop the hood and throws himself into the passenger's seat. You lean, clinging to the door of the backseat as Kiwi peels out of the parking lot. It swings wide open and you curse loudly. You can see Alexei’s men watching from the back entrance, shouting in Russian — so you muster all your strength to pull back and throw the door closed as Kiwi’s car bounces over a speed bump and rams through the parking meter’s gate.

In the rear window, the front of the club is surrounded.

Red and blue lights illuminate the street — but Kiwi is quick.

No one follows.

And when she finally makes it to the Manhattan Bridge, you exhale.

Bucky’s head is in your lap. He still hasn’t come to — there’s blood coming from his nose and you’re worrying. You lace your fingers into his thick, brown hair and chew your lip.

Kiwi’s voice pulls you from him.

“When were you going to mention the vibranium arm, huh?”

You laugh. It’s more of a breath of air than anything. Your head rests back against the seat. Your shoulder is still on fire. You’re hot, but cold. You’re bleeding still. Your ribs aren’t right. You know that.

“I can’t believe he shot you,” Climber mumbles, “He fucking shot you.”

“And your boy toy shot him,” Kiwi says, sparing you a look in the rearview, “So you better pray he’s dead.”

You ignore the commentary.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe,” she says, accelerating into Manhattan, “Where I can get you those files and you can keep your head down.”

Sounds like a plan.

Better than the one you had, anyways.

#vacant mirrors #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagine #tfatws imagine #bucky x you #BOY OH BOY THE FORMATTING I WANNA SCREAM

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emeren · 3 years

Text

speed racer- eren jaeger

pairing: eren jaeger x fem!reader

word count: 6k

content warnings: nsfw, smut, 18+, smoking, degradation, overstimulation, breeding (w/o baby talk)

notes: 100% inspired by the official art, like mmm yes please. also i know absolutely nothing about how car racing works, but that’s not important. this is unedited because my brain turned to mush writing it. enjoy!! <3

SUMMARY: eren’s a semi-professional car racer, who has a tumultuous friendship with the reader. after losing a race, eren sets out to win something else in his life, much to the reader’s surprise.

“took you long enough!” sasha called out, holding her hand above her eyes in an attempt to block out the bright sun. you dished her a smile, weaving your way through the throngs of people in the stands, attempting not to step on anyone. your eyes briefly flitted to the track, the assistants distantly getting their cars ready. they were hardly visible from here; merely faceless figures idling around. you heaved out a sigh as you reached sasha, the brunette gingerly patting the spot next to her.

“you couldn’t have gotten better seats, sash?” you asked as you sat down, pushing your sunglasses on top of your head. sasha waved her large bag of popcorn in front of your face, an exasperated expression on her features.

“the line was long, and what’s a race without popcorn?” she grinned, offering you the bag. you rolled your eyes but took a fistful of the bright yellow snack nonetheless. “plus, if you really wanted that good of seats, you would’ve come early yourself.”

“i did come here early,” you retorted, your voice muffled by the popcorn. sasha raised a questioning brow, her elbow nudging you in the side.

“getting here early just so you can poke around the racer’s quarters is not the same thing,” she singsonged, a girlish smirk on her face. you scoffed, turning away from her as you felt heat race to your cheeks. “c’mon, everyone knows you and eren are totally into each other. i don’t understand why you guys don’t just go for it.”

“i wasn’t poking around, and i am not into eren,” you said, shifting uncomfortably as the words left your mouth. it was true, to some degree. the two of you had been friends in high school, back when eren was just some skinny kid with anger issues. now he was a semi-professional racer, and the rivalry between the two of you was palpable, to say the least.

you’d been in the same friend group and for some reason eren just loved to pick on you whenever he got the chance. you suspected it had something to do with his repressed daddy issues or whatever, and he’d known mikasa and armin far too long to be so catty with them. initially they were just playful taunts, but as you got older, they started to become more personal. with age came your own unchecked need to banter and argue with him.

somewhere along the way the arguments turned to sexual tension. a sexual tension that for the most part, the two of you were happy to ignore. it allowed room for a more sassy friendship, at least.

“uh huh, suuure,” sasha responded, seemingly unconvinced. she must’ve sensed your discomfort, deciding to change the topic. “who’s who?”

your eyes traced the track, analyzing each vehicle. “armin’s in yellow, mikasa’s in red, eren’s in white, and i believe levi is in green.”

“levi’s racing? isn’t he getting a little old for that?” sasha laughed, squinting. you chuckled.

“it’s just a small fundraiser race, plus he’s a crowd favorite over here,” you explained. sasha nodded as she processed the information. the sun was hot, beating down on your back. “i’m honestly surprised this many people came out.”

sasha tossed more popcorn in her mouth, halfway done with the bag despite the race still not having started. she offered it to you again. “mhm, this is the same type of crowd that we’d see in the underground.”

you thought back to your days of attending the illegal races, late at night and under the cover of darkness. though you were just a junior in college, it felt like those nights freshman year had been decades ago. that was before eren showed real promise in the professional circuit. it was also where levi scouted him out to be his successor.

as if on cue, you could see the figures of the racers emerging from the port, each headed for their respective cars. you couldn’t help the way your gaze immediately followed the tall, brown haired racer adorned in his white racing jacket, checkers on the side. the crowd erupted into cheers at the sight of the all the racers, one from each color of the rainbow. eren walked with a certain confidence, his adamant determination being one of the only things that followed him from high school.

though you couldn’t clearly see his face from where you sat, you knew he was smiling. eren had always loved the adrenaline rush before a race.

“alright ladies and gentlemen, we welcome you to the annual shiganshina fundraiser race!” the reporter boomed over the intercom. sasha squealed in her seat, excitedly gripping your arm and pointing towards your friends. you felt a mix of excited nervousness waft over you, giggling along with her. “today we’ve got racers from all over the circuit, and each one has volunteered their precious time for the cause. can we get a round of applause?”

the crowd erupted in yet another ear deafening round of applause as the announcer read off the names of each of the racers. you and sasha made sure to scream your loudest when armin, mikasa, and eren’s names were read off.

you hoped they knew it was you, your throat scratchy as you sat back down. there was no need to be loud for levi; the entire crowd went absolutely feral at the mention of his name.

the announcer read off the conditions of the race, as well as the reasoning for the fundraiser itself. you and sasha chatted quietly about the after party while the racers put their helmets on and got in their cars. before too long, the announcer was gearing up for the start.

“alright everyone, we’re about to start. get yourselves ready.”

you and sasha stood, hollering and cheering for your friends as the cars all lined up. you knew you’d be happy if any of them crossed the finish line first, but it was undeniable that it would be eren. it wasn’t armin or mikasa’s passion like it was eren’s; they viewed it more as as fun hobby. nevertheless, you dreaded how smug eren would be once he added another win to his already growing list. he really was a bastard sometimes.

“racers ready your cars. 3... 2... 1... go!”

they were off, levi’s green car easily settling into first place, cruising past the other cars as he whipped around the first curve. you held your breath, eyes scanning the other cars placements. eren was in fourth, armin in fifth, and mikasa in second. sasha yelled sporadically, reaching out and squeezing your wrist tightly.

as they rounded the circuit for the second time, eren passed the third place racer, coming up behind mikasa’s red car. you held your breath. “c’mon eren...”

“shit! he passed her!” sasha screeched, jumping up and down. you smiled as he whipped the corner, nearly cutting the edge of the median.

“levi is still so far ahead,” you commented, trying to pry sasha’s death grip from your wrist. your eyes glanced to the clock, realizing that the race was near its finish. levi was cutting the third corner and eren was quickly gaining on him.

“looks like it’s gonna be clo-” sasha’s voice was cut off as a large man tripped over the bleacher behind you, effectively shoving you into her side. “shit, the popcorn!”

you regained your balance, giving the man behind you a dirty glare as you turned to sasha. she frowned at the popcorn that’d been spilled all over the ground. “what a waste!”

looking back up at the track, the crowd broke into screams of excitement. you expected to see eren’s face on the big screen to the side as confetti streamed through the air, but were surprised to see levi’s unimpressed stare.

eren lost?

“you’ve gotta be shitting me,” sasha gaped, her face slack in shock. you shrugged, shaking the feeling of disappointment from your shoulders. serves him right.

people started to vacate the stands, shoving their way past you as you turned to sasha. “let’s go find connie and jean, sash.”

she nodded, still frowning. the two of you climbed down the steps, going against the flow of the crowd as you weaseled your way down onto the spectators path. you could see all of the racers shaking hands, congratulating each other. your mind briefly considered whether or not eren was going to be upset, but you decided not to dwell on it.

you watched as the racers disappeared into the tunnel, eren’s tall figure no longer in view. just then, connie and jean came walking out from the service booth, both wearing their maintenance coveralls.

sasha wildly waved her arm, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the remaining stragglers towards your friends.

“hey guys!” she smiled, the boys jogging to meet you halfway.

“why were you guys in such shit seats?” connie asked, skipping over a greeting. you let out a small laugh at sasha’s expense. she merely shrugged, turning to jean.

“we going to your place?” you questioned before she had the chance. jean nodded, adjusting the backwards baseball cap on his head.

“yeah, just gotta wrap some things up, then we can head out,” he replied. you grew happy at the thought of kicking back with your friends, enjoying a nice night of fun. parties at jean and connie’s place were always the best.

***************

“some race that was,” connie groaned, leaning back and bringing the beer bottle to his lips. so far it was just you, sasha, connie, jean, and a bunch of random drunk people who’d come from the track. sasha scoffed from her spot on the worn, brown couch.

“you could say that again,” she grumbled. “we didn’t even get to see levi cross the finish line ‘cause some guy rammed into us.”

jean looked at you from where he leaned against the wall, a bottle in his hand and his eyebrows raised. “wait, for real?”

“yeah,” you sighed, drinking whatever bitter liquid sasha had poured into your red solo cup. “didn’t even say sorry.”

“how many times do i have to tell you guys, just come work maintenance with jean-boy and i,” connie suggested, wrapping his arm around sasha’s shoulder and giving a squeeze. she rolled her eyes and shoved him off. “you guys would get to watch the race from the track itself.”

“i don’t know the first thing about cars,” sasha laughed, you nodding along with her.

“and you think we do? i just said that so we could get the best seats in the house,” connie snorted, taking another swig of his drink. you chuckled at his idiocy, unfazed by yet another one of their stupid stunts. “where’re the big racers anyway?”

“they should be here soon,” you responded, glancing out the window. jean was unironically blasting the fast and the furious soundtrack, something he’d done after every race for as long as you’d known him. by now the songs were ingrained in your brain.

“who wants to bet jaeger is in a pissy mood?” jean snorted as he moved to sit down on the arm of the chair you were planted in.

“when isn’t he?” you sneered. connie and sasha hummed in agreement. both you and jean loved nothing more than to push eren’s buttons. you knew jean’s motives stemmed from some boyish fun, whereas yours felt a little more personal.

the sound of clapping began to compete with the music, your neck craning to look past jean into the hallway. eren, armin, and mikasa came into view, people cheering them on and patting them on the back. they each wore their racing jackets over their street clothes.

you felt a familiar sensation burn in your stomach at the sight of eren. his dark hair was pulled back per usual, wispies framing his tan face. The white jacket stood out against his black t-shirt and black jeans; key necklace he always wore glinting against his chest. as your gaze travelled up from his body, you were startled to make contact with his teal eyes. you quickly glanced away in embarrassment.

“well, well, well,” jean cheered, raising his bottle to the trio. “how’d it feel to lose to a short, old man, eh jaeger?”

eren scowled, obviously peeved. “if i had to lose to anyone, i’m glad it was levi.”

connie snorted at that. “man, professional circuit has you soft.”

“whatever you say, baldie,” eren smirked mischievously as he came to sit down on the couch. connie defensively rubbed his head. “at least i’m making money in prof.”

“i still can’t believe you have people that actually want to sponsor you,” you snipped, a playful expression on your face. eren lazily looked towards you, the familiar irritation laced in his eyes.

“i’m sorry, what was that? i wasn’t listening to you,” eren retorted, looking as unbothered as ever. you glared at his words, but caught armin’s disapproving eye and decided to stay quiet.

as the night carried on, you watched your friends relax and reminisce about previous races and the days spent in the illegal ring. it seemed crazy that your life was so centered around car races, when you weren’t even a racer yourself. but you supposed you were just happy to be supporting your friends.

at some point you got up out of your chair to refill your cup. the large hoards of people had started to dance; the house feeling hot and humid as you shoved your way to the kitchen. luckily the room was empty, save for armin who was drinking water out of the kitchen tap.

“thirsty?” you asked, amused. his head snapped up, surprised by your voice. it took one look to tell he was absolutely trashed, face red and eyes half lidded. he smiled goofily and nodded his head before stumbling back out into the crowd of people.

you quickly filled your cup, following the direction armin had gone. as you stepped out of the kitchen, a body came out of nowhere and smacked into you.

eren jumped back, trying to avoid the liquid that sloshed out of your cup. “hey, watch it!” he hissed.

“you watch it, casanova,” you snapped, irritated by the sticky alcohol that dripped down your hand. eren’s eyes narrowed at the nickname, his arms defensively crossing his chest.

“i told you not to call me that,” he bit back, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. you rolled your eyes, instinctively bringing your hand to your mouth in an attempt to lick the drink off. eren watched you, his gaze clouded with an indiscernible emotion. you knew what you were doing.

“hm. too bad,” you quipped, dragging your tongue down the side of your hand, popping your pointer finger in your mouth. eren glowered at you as you let out a giggle. “see ya, loser.”

“whatever, brat,” he huffed, shaking the tension from his pants as you sauntered off into the crowd. he hated the effect you had on him.

you’d already decided not to get shit faced. while the rest of your friends had chosen otherwise, you danced alongside them, your resolve wearing thin much faster than theirs. jean and sasha bounced happily up and down, screaming the lyrics to whatever song it was blasting from the speakers. connie and mikasa were playing beer pong, and you had no clue where armin and eren had gone.

you heaved in a breath as a sharp pain shot through your side, signaling the end of your dancing career for the night. your two dance partners were too far gone to notice, waving goodbye to you as you stepped out of the sweaty crowd.

slipping your phone out of your pocket, your eyes nearly popped from your head at the time. two thirty?!

only slightly tipsy, you decided to find jean’s room and call it a night. he’d just have to sleep on the couch. with one hand dragging on the wall, you made your way through the house, past armin who was doing body shots with a couple of strangers, up the stairs and down the dark hall. it was quieter up here, but you could still hear the music and knew it’d be awhile till sleep visited you.

shoving jean’s door open, you were surprised to see none other than eren laid back on the bed, puffs of smoke coming from his mouth. the strong scent of weed hit your nostrils, nose scrunching up in reflex. he propped himself up on one arm upon your entrance, eyeing you.

“oh, sorry i’ll just- wait a minute,” you paused, narrowing your eyes at him. “you aren’t supposed to be smoking on your sponsorship.”

eren let out a loud laugh at that, more smoke spilling from his lungs. “thanks, mom. i know.”

you stood in the doorway, not really sure what to do. “jean’s gonna be mad if his room smells like weed tomorrow.”

“yeah, why do you think i chose to do it in here?” he leered, bringing the blunt to his lips and deeply inhaling, sharp cheekbones protruding with the action. you sucked in a breath, not wanting to acknowledge just how gorgeous he was. his jacket was off, black shirt tightly gripping his muscular yet slender arms as he propped himself up. he blew the smoke from his nostrils this time, making your face heat. “wanna hit?”

you sighed, weighing the options. jean’s bed was a lot more comfortable than connie’s. you could just wait till eren was done, and then pass out. “no, but i’ll wait with you till you’re done.”

“suit yourself, brat,” eren hummed, flopping back down on the bed as you shut the door behind yourself. you came to sit by him, looking down as he heaved in a sober breath. he really is beautiful, you thought.

your eyes scanned his face. “you really shouldn’t be smoking, you know. you could lose the sponsorship.”

eren rolled his teal eyes, giving you a side glance. “i’m aware. i’m also aware that you aren’t going to rat on me.”

“and what makes you so sure?” you asked playfully, your voice low. eren’s gaze shifted to you, placing the blunt between his lips as he sat up, face inches from yours.

“because. you can act like you hate me all you want,” smoke blew from his lips as he spoke, slowly inching his face closer to yours. you swallowed, eyes struggling to maintain contact with his dark stare. “but i know how badly you want me.”

you blinked, heart rate accelerating as he glanced at your lips. “speaking from experience?”

eren’s mouth quirked up in a smirk at your words. “something like that.”

you watched with desire as he brought the bud of the blunt up to his lips, deeply inhaling the toxic smoke. he lifted his free hand, pointer finger gently tracing your jaw as his thumb came up to caress your chin. he tapped softly against your face, as if asking you to open your mouth.

you weren’t sure what part of you was wanting to submit to his every move. maybe it was the alcohol. or maybe it was the accumulation of sexual tension. something told you it was a deeper itch that needed to be scratched. an itch only eren could reach.

you parted your lips, eyes fluttering as eren leaned forward and carefully brushed his own against yours, dumping his lungful of smoke into your mouth. you breathed it in, fighting the urge to cough and whine as he pulled away.

“good girl,” he breathed, leaning away to snuff the bud out on jean’s bedside table. you heaved out as much as you could, shocked by your own willingness. you were mainly surprised by how much you enjoyed whatever that was.

you stared at him expectantly as he turned back to you, a serious expression on his face. “eren.”

“yes?” he asked, leaning heavily on his arm, eyes unashamedly focused on your lips. his other hand came up again, lightly ghosting your jawline. you could feel yourself growing wet between your legs; the way eren was fucking you with his eyes sending an unwelcomed throb to your clit.

acting on impulse, you lurched forward, latching your lips onto eren’s slightly chapped ones. he wasted no time in kissing you back; hungrily pressing himself closer to your body. his lips were warm and tasted like weed and coca cola, his tongue wiggling its way into your mouth where you happily welcomed it.

you brought your hand up, wanting to run your fingers through his hair, but were stopped when they got caught in the bun. eren grunted, kissing you harder and bringing his own hand up to yank the tie from his locks, letting his soft hair fall to his shoulders.

your fingers were quick to glide through the brown strands, scratching his scalp in the process. some throaty sound emitted from his chest, the noise making your cunt ache in need. how is he so hot?

eren’s hands came to your waist, roughly shoving you down onto the bed, so that he hovered above you. your lips continued to meld together, saliva coated mouths wetly intertwined. you removed your hand from his hair, bringing both hands to run down the expanse of his arms that were on either side of your head. you squeezed his biceps, surprised when he suddenly pulled away.

“is this okay?” he panted, breaths labored. his pupils were dilated, all seriousness behind his gaze. you nodded your head without hesitation, practically begging him to continue. “words.”

“yes, yes. i want this just as much as you do,” you responded. eren smirked from above you, his dark hair swirling around his face as his key dangled in front of your chin.

“good, because,” he leaned down to your ear, lightly nibbling the lobe as the cold key rested against your throat. “i’m going to punish you for all these years of torture.”

your eyes widened, the words sending a desirable chill down your spine. “torture?”

eren’s hot mouth travelled slowly from your ear down the side of your neck, lightly peppering the skin with lustful kisses. his tongue came out as he reached your collarbone, dragging the wet muscle up the front of your throat, leaving a trail of saliva in its wake. a small whimper involuntarily left your mouth as he pulled back, grabbing your chin in his large hand.

“all of the nicknames,” he pressed a kiss to your lips. “the quips,” and another, your chest tightening. “the stunt you pulled earlier with your hand. oh god. it’s like you were practically begging me to bend you over and teach you a lesson.”

he pulled back, dark eyes boring into yours. the desire was palpable, your breathing shallow as he stared at you. it was like he was waiting for some silent agreement.

you held eye contact, tilting your chin back ever so slightly in his grip. “good thing i learn fast.”

your words flew straight to his cock, throbbing uncomfortably behind his jeans. eren let go of your chin, his lips hungrily reconnecting with yours as his hands pinned your wrists to either side of your head. his tongue was quick to invite itself into your mouth, warm and erotic.

you wanted to tug on his hair again; wanted to hear his primal groans and feel him vibrate against your mouth, but you were pinned to the bed. desperate to hear eren moan, your teeth grazed his bottom lip, the action making him yank his head back.

“tsk tsk, none of that,” he growled, wet lips glinting in the low light of the room. “this is your punishment. guess we’re going to have to do something else.”

you frowned as he let go of your wrists, lifting himself from the bed and standing. you propped yourself up on your elbows, eyes laced with desire as eren swiftly pulled the black shirt over his head, key pendant resting on his newly exposed chest. he was dangerously attractive like this; dark hair disheveled on his shoulders, only adding to the feral stare he was giving you.

he leaned forward, grabbing your thighs and yanking you to the end of the bed, legs dangling from the side. you watched in awe as he dropped to his knees, fingers coming up to toy with the button of your jean shorts.

“these little shorts make your ass look so good,” he grumbled, tapping the button. “be good and take them off for me.”

you wasted no time in lifting your ass off the bed, struggling to yank the denim down your legs without hitting eren in the face. he watched your every movement, licking his lips as you wiggled them off.

without thinking, your hands gripped the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head to reveal a black bra. eren’s pupils dilated further at the unexpected sight of your breasts.

he helped pull the shorts from your ankles, tossing them aside as you sat back down, just in your panties and bra. you paused for a moment, unsure of what he was planning to do.

“watch me,” he demanded, staring at you through his brows. you nodded your head, breath hitching as he placed an open mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh, tongue swiping against the smooth skin.

his eyelashes fluttered as he licked up your leg; just the way he looked at you being enough to have you creaming in your lace panties. your teeth tugged at your bottom lip, the burning in your face mirroring the way your clit throbbed along with your heart beat.

eren’s tongue trailed until he reached the edge of your underwear, eyes never failing to stay connected with yours. you swallowed as he lifted his head, placing his tongue flatly against your clothed clit.

it was a warm, muted feeling, your body all too aware of the beautiful man between your legs. eren brought his fingers up, hooking under the fabric and pushing it to the side.

“so wet for me already,” he hummed, a smile on his face. you blushed in embarrassment, the feeling of his breath on your glistening pool of moisture making you shiver. “’m gonna eat you so good, little bitch.”

you gasped as eren rapidly brought his face down, burying his head between your legs. the sensation was like no other; a swirling feeling in your stomach as his tongue hungrily swiped against your clit. your hands flew down to his hair, tugging as his lips wrapped around the bud, suckling softly.

a moan escaped your lips, the sound causing eren to groan out in reply. the vibration of his vocal cords against your center amplifying the pleasure.

a distinct feeling began to burn in your chest, the sloppiness of eren’s tongue licking up your slick causing your legs to squirm, tightening around his head. “fuck.”

eren pulled back at the pressure against his skull, a smack sounding through the air as he released his suction on your wet cunt.

“i told you to be good,” he hissed, lips coated in your sheen. you knew the image of eren’s face between your legs, hair disheveled and mouth swollen, eyes dark and lustrous, would be burned into the back of your brain.

flustered, you nodded your head, spreading your legs so they weren’t pressing against his face. he nodded in content, arms coming up to wrap around your thighs to keep you steady.

and he was back; eating your pussy like he hadn’t been fed in years, a primal desperation. he pressed his tongue down harder, the cry ripping from your throat at the sensation only egging him on. you struggled against his grip as he abused your clit with his mouth, sucking and tracing his teeth over it so good.

his tongue slid down to your entrance, shoving itself in without invitation. the fullness wasn’t like having sex; it was a heated, swirling feeling. the wet muscle circled around your spongey walls, your face beginning to burn and hands growing clammy in eren’s hair.

you threw your head back as his ministrations sped up, your hips attempting to grind into his face. the warmth in the pit of your stomach building like a loaded gun, ready to release itself.

all it took was the added pressure of his hand wrapping around your thigh so that his thumb could press against your clit, feverishly rubbing. you came crashing down, your eyes screwing shut as the wave of dopamine stretched to every part of your body, legs jerking against his hold.

eren pulled his head back again, a smile on his wet face as he licked your release from his lips. “tasted so good, so good for me.”

you breathed out in reply as he came back up above you, gently taking your chin and bringing his mouth down to yours.

the kiss was small and simple, your eye lids growing heavy. you could taste your bitter release on him, the unfamiliar flavor not completely unpleasant.

“sleepy?” eren mumbled against your lips, coming back to look at you. you nodded your head, eyes catching on the key that dangled from his neck. “too bad. we aren’t done with your punishment yet.”

you frowned, your body suddenly more awake than it was before. “huh?” you asked, sitting up as eren shifted to pull his jeans off.

you weren’t sure what you expected when he yanked both his jeans and boxers down; you guessed you’d always thought his anger issues were compensation for something. the realization dawned on you that eren had nothing to compensate for as his cock sprung from his pants, the sheer size making your mouth water.

a smirk crossed his face as he stepped from his jeans. “enjoying the view?”

“what? no,” you scoffed, averting your gaze. eren crawled back over you, his bare length pressing into your stomach as his hands came up to unclasp your bra.

“don’t be shy, this is your punishment after all,” he whispered, pulling the cups from your chest. his eyes unashamedly scanned your breasts, a smile tugging his lips as he gave them a generous squeeze.

you tried to ignore the imprint of him on your stomach; but it was nearly impossible. you could feel the spot between your legs grow wet again, arousal already weaseling its way back into your system.

eren brought his lips to yours once again, the kisses much sloppier and desperate than before. he grunted as you shifted to lay back down, his exposed dick rubbing against your stomach. “can’t wait to be inside of you,” he mumbled against your lips.

you whimpered at his words, his lips melding with your own while he simultaneously tugged your panties down your legs. he propped himself up with one arm, the other positioning the tip of his cock at the entrance of your already throbbing cunt.

you took a deep breath as he slowly eased himself into you; the sheer stretch making your eyes lull back in your head. eren moved his hips slowly at first, loosening you up. he was watching your expressions; his eyelids heavy and mouth slightly agape.

“shit, you’re so tight,” he groaned, hips starting to move faster as he gazed down at you. you swallowed, closing your eyes as he sent one particularly hard thrust, cock nearly ramming your cervix. “you good?”

“mhm,” you responded, bringing your hands up to grab his hair. “just so big.”

eren let out a breathy chuckle at that, eyes traveling down to your pelvis where his dick was visibly creating a bump with every thrust. he placed his hand on your stomach, pressing down as he bucked his hips violently forwards. he was so deep.

you cried out at the feeling of his length sliding in and out of your cunt, your walls clenching around him as your hands clawed at his muscular back.

he was filling you up so good, a moan leaving his lips as your enhanced arousal unexpectedly brought your second orgasm down, tears pricking your eyes. eren kept abusing your pussy, his thrusts growing senseless before he buried himself deep within you, releasing his load inside of your exhausted center.

both of your breathing was labored, eren looking up at the ceiling. his face was flushed as he recovered, you laying limply beneath him trying to regain your composure yourself.

“that felt so good,” you admitted, bringing your hand up from his back to caress his angular face. eren frowned at your words, large hand grabbing your wrist and removing it from his jawline.

“m’not tired yet,” he said seriously, your eyes widening as he placed a chaste kiss to your lips. your fucked out face beneath him had his dick already hardening again. “m’not gonna be tired till i win.”

he suddenly pulled up, hooking his hands under your knees and pushing your legs up by your head. the action strained your muscles, the feeling of eren’s cum dripping down your ass filling your head as he readied himself to fuck you senseless.

he stared at your cunt; at the way his cum was oozing out of it, the abused pussy ready to take him in again. he used his fingers to catch the drip, forcing it back inside of you. the thought of filling you up all nice and pretty sent him over the edge, his hand shamelessly guiding his cock back inside of you.

eren was meaner this time; each thrust was deep and deliberate, hitting your cervix and making you cry out in pleasure. the burning sensation in your clit was overwhelming, your mouth hanging open as eren slowly fucked you stupid.

“good, pretty girl” eren breathed out, ramming his hips into yours. “took her punishment like such a good girl.”

you tried to nod your head, but you couldn’t move. the feeling of hot, sticky tears rolled down your face, eren’s cock deep within you almost too much to bear. he grabbed your chin, tongue swiping up your cheek as he savored the salty flavor on his tastebuds. this man and his licking.

“tell me, did you learn your lesson?” eren grunted in your ear, hand still gripping your chin. you tried to form a sentence, fucked beyond words. “hm, use your words and i’ll let you cum.”

one more deep thrust and his dick stopped its strokes, pausing within you. “yes... yes.”

“yes what?”

your tongue was heavy in your mouth, pussy all too aware of eren’s length within it. “i learned my lesson, you won.”

he smirked, aggressively bucking his hips into your weak cunt, the action making you cry out as he rammed your cervix. the tears continued to roll down your cheeks as eren’s dick twitched, spurting the his seed into you. your third release followed his, your clit spasming from the overstimulation.

eren heaved himself out of you, collapsing deftly onto the bed. the two of you sat in a heated silence, your face sticky from the tears. eren glanced to you, eyes trailing down your body.

“i’ll get a rag,” he mumbled, shoving off the bed and walking into jean’s bathroom. you were beyond exhausted and knew that you’d be sore tomorrow. eren reemerged, quickly cleaning you up and handing you your shirt.

your eyes lazily watched him as he walked over and locked the door; brain too tired to form a sentence.

he must’ve noticed your concern. “we can sleep in here tonight; i don’t think you’re in any shape to move.”

you carefully crawled into the sheets, not even bothering to put your shirt back on. eren followed suit, climbing in behind you.

“night,” he whispered as he shut the bedside light off. your lids were growing heavy, a smile on your lips as you began to fall asleep.

“night, casanova.”

<3 <3 <3

#eren jaeger #eren jeager smut #eren jeager x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger x reader #eren #eren x reader #eren smut #eren yaeger x reader #eren yaeger smut #eren jäger #this is so bad im sorry

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taizi · 3 years

Note

Could you write something about natsume getting a hug?? Just, from whoever n for whatever reason. I keep thinking about how no one ever really hugs him n it makes me sad

The absolute last person Joji expected to see today was Natsume Takashi.

Joji slows to a stop on the corner of the street, a block away from the train station, and stares shamelessly.

It's been a decade since the last time he saw Natsume, but he recognizes him immediately. Of course he does. His light hair and eyes aside, Joji has thought about him on-and-off since junior high.

Joji remembers that rainy day when he was thirteen, an empty desk in the middle of his eighth grade classroom, Ito leaning over in his chair to whisper, "Did you hear? Natsume was in the ER. He almost died. The police are looking at his foster parents."

It was as if he'd been plunged into a pool of ice water. He sat there, frozen, while their teacher called them to attention for homeroom and announced that Natsume wouldn't be in their class going forward.

What was the last thing Joji had said to him? "It's no wonder your parents didn't want you." Why the hell had he said that? A book, if he remembers right. He'd lent it to Natsume and Natsume gave it back all water-damaged, like he'd gone for a swim with his backpack on. Natsume's eyes were on his hands, on the ruined book, and he'd tried to apologize, said he'd pay for it, but Joji just snatched it away, ticked off.

"This is what I get for trying to help you, I guess. It's no wonder your parents didn't want you."

Joji is almost twenty-four now. He's going into pediatrics. His fiance, Sakura, is a foster parent. She is currently the proud and fiercely protective mother of two beautiful twin girls.

Sora and Miu are terrified of adults and they go everywhere together and sometimes they make up stories. Sometimes they lie, about why their uniforms are torn, why they're home late, why their lunchboxes are covered in dirt. They have this look in their eyes sometimes like they're just waiting to get hurt again.

Sakura has the patience of a saint. She never raises her voice. She stitches their torn uniforms, replaces their lunchboxes, and, on more than one occasion, has marched into their junior high school and threatened the staff with physical violence if her babies come home with bruises one more time.

Needless to say, Sora and Miu adore her. It took them longer to warm up to Joji, but they're there now; no longer flinching when he moves in their direction, greeting him happily when he comes over for breakfast, smiling shyly when he staggers into the apartment underneath the weight of two giant stuffed rabbits that cost nearly half his paycheck, because it's their birthday, Sakura, they need them.

Joji tries to imagine someone telling them "this is why your parents didn't want you" and goes absolutely breathless with rage.

Natsume glances up from his phone to look right at Joji, as if someone had pointed him out. Caught staring, Joji shuffles in place for a moment, and then squares his shoulders and heads over.

He's expecting the Natsume of his memory; he's expecting him to curl his shoulders and duck his head, the way Joji's girls still sometimes do when a stern auntie wants to talk to them.

He's not expecting Natsume to level him with a clear, politely confused gaze. He pockets his phone, and shoves his hands into the front pockets of the cardigan he's wearing; a size too big, like something he borrowed out of someone else's closet, but it's a charming look on him. He's dressed well, in dark-washed jeans and white high-top sneakers, and his silvery hair is long, probably long enough to fall past his shoulders if he didn't have it piled up in a bun. There's a squat calico cat at his feet, glaring up at Joji with judgmental green eyes.

"Can I help you?" Natsume asks kindly. His voice is a shock to the system; Joji remembers him like it was yesterday.

"Oh," Joji says, stymied. It never occurred to him that Natsume might not recognize him in turn. "Um, I'm Watanabe Joji. We were classmates in eighth grade."

"That's right," Natsume says with gratifying quickness. He looks a little embarrassed now and returns Joji's short bow. "Sorry, it's been a long time."

And we weren't exactly friends, he doesn't say, but that common knowledge sits neatly between them.

"Ten years!" Joji replies with some forced enthusiasm. "Is that why you're here?"

"Sorry?"

"The, ah, reunion this weekend? Ito, from our homeroom back then, put together a whole thing. Our whole class is getting together for dinner and drinks."

It occurs to him that Natsume might not have been invited. Joji thinks that's less because he isn't welcome and more because Ito almost certainly didn't have his contact information. The few times his name has come up, Joji's friends have gone quiet and melancholy. A few of them are parents now, or aunts and uncles at least. All of them know better than they did when they were mean, shitty little teenagers.

Joji opens his mouth to assure Natsume that they'd love to have him, but Natsume cuts him off with a laugh.

It's not a mean laugh. It's not unfriendly in the slightest. But it stings anyway, because Natsume is laughing out of pure disbelief.

"No, no," he says, waving a hand, "god, no. Could you imagine?" he adds, glancing down at the cat. The cat huffs, settling a little more solidly against Natsume's ankle. "We're just passing through, actually."

"We?" Joji asks dumbly. Did he mean himself and the cat?

It's Natsume's turn to get cut-off, this time by a long, drawn-out shout of "Takashiiii!"

A short, russet-haired young man around Joji's age comes barreling down the sidewalk toward them at a flat-out run. Joji's first inclination is one of alarm, but Natsume steps forward with his arms outstretched, and the stranger collides with him in an embrace that looks like it hurts.

Natsume is laughing again, but it's softer this time. It's the warmest sound Joji has ever heard him make.

"What's this for?" Natsume is saying, patting him on the back.

"Just missed you," his friend replies.

"You saw him twenty minutes ago, Satoru," comes the exasperated call from further down the road, and Joji glances over to find a small group headed their way, laden with shopping bags.

"Yeah, exactly," Satoru says, leaning back without letting go, just enough to gaze up at Natsume with a cheeky grin. "I'm all Takashi-deficient. It's pretty serious."

"Sounds serious," Natsume replies, and agreeably keeps an arm wrapped around his shoulders as the rest of their group catches up.

A tall, dark-haired man stoops to pick up Natsume's cat, and it settles agreeably in the crook of his arm. The brown-eyed woman beside him lets out a coo, shifting all her bags to one hand so she has one free to scratch it behind the ears.

"We're being rude," the dark-haired man says in a soft, pleasant tone. "Who's this, Takashi?"

Natsume introduces Joji as an old classmate, giving absolutely none of their history away in tone or expression, but somehow all of his friends seem to clue in to something anyway. Their collective demeanor shifts, in an unidentifiable way, even if their polite smiles don't slip an inch as Takashi introduces each of them in turn.

All but Nishimura Satoru, still tucked up against Natsume's side, who gives Joji a positively poisonous look.

"Okay, Satchan, you're going to lose privileges if you can't be nice," Kitamoto says dryly, and extracts him from Natsume's person with a deftness that speaks of years of practice.

"Nooo," Nishimura says, but it's curbed quickly by Shibata shoving a bag at him and snapping, "Carry this! It's that stupid lucky cat statue you just had to have, and it's heavy!"

"It looks just like sensei! Tooru loves it, too!"

"I do," Taki admits.

It's a warm afternoon, right at the end of August, the sky turning golden with the beginnings of dusk. Joji still manages to feel cold.

He grew up, but Natsume did, too. He always regretted what he did, he always wondered if Natsume was okay, wherever he went, but Natsume hasn't seemed to spare him a second thought. He's got his own friends now; bright, kind people who look like they'd raise hell for him. Who run to meet him.

Joji missed the chance to have a place in Natsume's life. He's a footnote, now, and not a very good one.

"Jojojojo!"

The bright voices have him spinning around, forgetting everything else, and he lights up when he spots Sora and Miu waving at him from the other side of the street. Sakura has a firm hold on their jackets so they can't go spilling out into the street until the pedestrian crossing sign lights up, and then she releases them like a couple of eager hunting dogs.

Natsume's friends shuffle to one side politely, and Joji steps forward to catch his girls when they reach him. They're so beautiful and he missed them so much, this weekend they were away to visit Sakura's parents. He kisses them each on the head, and then kisses Sakura on the head in the name of fairness, and it makes all three of them laugh.

Taki coos just like she did with the cat, hands clasped together under her chin.

"What sweet girls!" she says. "Are they yours, Watanabe?"

"Yes," Joji says proudly, putting one arm around each of their shoulders. They've come so far, not hiding behind him from the group of strangers, even if they press into his sides shyly. "This is Miu, and this is Sora. We're adopting them."

Sakura shifts her weight imperceptibly, a barely-there tell. Waiting, he knows, for the surprise, or outright condemnation. She's dealt with a lot of bullshit for taking these kids in, from family and ex-friends and even total strangers. It rolls right off her, and she usually gives as good as she gets, but she hates when Sora and Miu have to hear it. They don't deserve to hear it.

Joji will have to explain it to her, later, why he brought it up. Why he knew it would be safe to bring it up in front of these strangers.

Sure enough, all their faces soften immediately, a gentle transformation. Natsume crouches, gazing at the twins with an expression that Joji remembers from his childhood. The delicate resilience, the willingness to reach out even if he got hurt.

The look on his face ten years ago when he handed back that ruined book, owning up to his mistake and trying to fix it, buying Joji a replacement even after Joji said something unthinking and cruel.

"I was adopted, too," he says.

"Really?" Sora asks quietly.

"Really," Natsume tells her. "My parents died when I was little. I wasn't an easy child to care for, even though it wasn't my fault, so I got passed around a lot. It took me a long time to find my place, but I found it. Did you find yours?"

"I think so," Sora says, glancing around Joji at her sister.

"Me, too," Miu adds.

Sakura clutches Joji's hand hard enough to bruise. She won't cry here and now, but he already knows it's going to be an ice-cream-for-dinner kind of night.

Natsume looks up to meet Joji's eyes when he says, "That's good. I'm glad to hear it."

It's forgiveness. Joji hears it plain as day. He didn't get a chance to ask for it-- isn't sure he deserves it-- but there it is, freely given. And it's reassurance, too.

When Joji's daughters used to curl their shoulders and duck their heads, it would always tug at the memory of a boy he used to know, who was as kind as he was desperate for kindness.

Now, he thinks, when his girls are making a mess of the kitchen trying to follow a pancake recipe with their friends, or dragging a stray cat inside with big, hopeful eyes, it'll remind him of this afternoon. Natsume's clear, bright eyes, and the protective cluster of friends surrounding him.

The world wasn't fair to him; it left a mountain in his life that he had to climb, complete with all its pitfalls and crumbling paths and bad weather.

And here he is on the other side, goodness intact. Smiling. Loved.

He found his place. Sora and Miu found theirs.

And god, if that doesn't give Joji hope for everyone else.

"It was nice to see you," he says thickly, hoping Natsume hears his honesty. "Don't come to the reunion, that was-- a stupid thing to say, but-- would you-- dinner?"

Natsume hears it. He tilts his head, considering, and then says, "We missed our train, anyway."

"And I'm starving," Tanuma says agreeably. Clearly, he says it more to agree with Natsume than anything.

Nishimura is the hardest sell, watching Joji with hard eyes. But then his gaze dips to Sora and Miu, and all his sharp edges go soft, like butter melting in the sun. After a handful of tense seconds, he visibly gives up on his anger with a huff. His friends, watching patiently, all give absurd little cheers when it's clear he's on board.

"Fine, but if you live farther than three feet away, we're getting an Uber," Shibata threatens, rustling the shopping bags in his hands with annoyed fervor.

They drift in the direction of Joji's home, and Kitamoto talks Shibata down from the Uber with the promise of ducking into a 7-Eleven for ice creams instead, and Taki and Sakura are fast friends, rolling their sleeves up to compare tattoos-- Taki's is a strange, occult-looking circle that Joji makes a mental note to ask about-- and Tanuma lets Sora carry the fat cat, while Miu pets it with reverent fingers.

Natsume walks beside Joji, calm and unhurried, with Nishimura on his other side. He grew up with so much grace.

"Can I add you to the class groupchat?" he asks without thinking.

"Good luck with that," Nishimura butts in, not unkindly. "He's the most unreliable texter you've ever met. He left me on read for like two days once, and we live together."

"You'd have better luck with an email," Natsume says apologetically.

It's more than Joji thought he'd get; they exchange contact information, in the middle of this chaotic, noisy group making its way down the street toward the well-lit combini on the corner and then, beyond that, home.

Natsume doesn't seem to have any interest in reconnecting with his old classmates, and Joji doesn't blame him for that. Even though it will certainly piss Ito off to be kept in the dark, even just for a few days, Joji decides it's for the best.

Nishimura's goodwill can't be stretched that far.

#natsume yuujinchou #natsuyuu #natsume takashi #nishimura satoru #tanuma kaname #shibata katsumi #my writing #prompt #natsuyuu fic #cha-lii #wanna find a home (wanna share it with you)

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wkemeup · 4 years

Text

Sunrise (1)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 3.5k warnings: heavy focus on Bucky’s PTSD/anxiety, the first splinter in the wall around Bucky’s heart 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

This was a bad idea. A monumentally bad idea.

Bucky closed his apartment door behind him, pausing for a moment at the top of brownstone steps as a chill of autumn air swept by. Brittle to the touch, cool on his skin, it nestled into his spine and ached deep in his bones— in ones that had been long abandoned, too. The sun reflected against the shine of the pavement from last night’s rainfall, forcing Bucky to squint his eyes.

Was it always so bright outside? Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t left his apartment for nearly a week before Sam threatened to turn him over to Steve that he’d forgotten how unpleasant the streets of New York could be. Loud. Cold. Chaotic.

He stepped onto the sidewalk, slipping out of the path of a jogger who nearly ran him over and had the gull to flip him the bird. Bucky groaned, curling his right hand into a fist and digging it deep into his pocket as he tried to calm the sudden racing in his chest. The free arm of his army jacket swung down by his left side, empty.

Not even a few steps outside the sanctuary of closed curtains, warm bedsheets, and the unattended static of a decade old television, and Bucky was already regretting ever knowing Sam Wilson.

Bucky turned towards the busy street ahead, staring up at the hustle of pedestrians and rush of taxis for a moment longer before he dared to take a step. His feet felt remarkably heavy and he had more than half a mind to tell Wilson to shove it and head back up to his apartment. He had better things to do than make a completely unnecessary trip to the VA.

What those things were, he couldn’t say, but they didn’t make his heart feel like it was about to beat straight out of his chest. He could stare at a wall for a few hours, for example – see if he could find the crack in the drywall again and follow it to the ceiling.

“Don't be a coward, Barnes,” Bucky grumbled to himself, earning a strange look from an elderly woman as she passed by. Her eyes held on him longer than she should; clearly a woman who had little shame in her degradation of strangers.

He gritted his teeth and commanded his legs to move. Those worked, at least.

As he made his way to the main street, his palm started to sweat inside his pocket. He could see his breath in every tense exhale, and still, he was boiling hot under his jacket. There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d remove it, because even with a sleeve hanging loose off his shoulder, he could at least keep up the pretense there was something inside. People would have to look twice before they realized. Wasn’t so easy to hide a missing arm in a short sleeve shirt.

Still—he was thankful as he weaved his way upstream through the crowd that he wasn’t as broad as he used to be. A couple months' worth of weight loss, diminished muscle mass, and one less limb will do that do a guy.

He used to be the sort of man that women would glance at as he passed by. Charming smile. Infectious energy. He could make a woman bite shamelessly at the edge of her bottom lip with a single trail of his eyes along her figure. Extend a hand, offer a drink and a dance. He used to hold confidence in every ounce of his body.

Now, he kept his eyes on the pavement. He hid from the sun and the curious looks of strangers under the brim of a baseball cap. No one looked twice in his direction. He was invisible these days and that was just the way he liked it.

By the time he reached the VA, he was surprised to find it a little less than pristine. The windows were dirty with handprints and smudges, the window panes covered in soot. A few of the roofing panels were missing from harsh New York winters. Even some of the outer brick wall had seen some weathering.

Though, if he were honest, it wasn’t usual at all. Made some sense that the VA was left to wash and wear on its own, deteriorating in front of a busy street of onlookers, right out in plain sight. It was how Bucky felt after he’d come home from his last tour— discarded. Placed upon a pedestal, but only as long as you wear the uniform, only as long as you’re staring down the other end of a barrel. Once you’re shipped back home and cast out from desert, you’re made to fend for yourself. Pull up your bootstraps. Adjust.

Bucky wasn’t sure how to do that anymore. Sam insisted this would help. The people at the VA were good, he’d said. They were like him. They’d understand.

While Bucky was suspicious, it was enough to drag him a couple blocks from his apartment. It was more than he’d done in weeks anyway. Sam would put on his makeshift shrink hat and call that a meaningful step. Bucky would call it pathetic.

He stared at the double doors, focusing on dark red rust on the metal hinges. He wondered if he put enough pressure on the latch if it would snap clean off. It looked sharp on the edges, too. Someone could easily cut themselves on it if they weren’t careful—

BEEEEEEP!

A jolt surged through Bucky’s chest enough to nearly knocked him off his feet.

Sudden flashes of a sweltering heat, the unnatural vibration of the desert under his feet. The car horn echoed into the back of his head, longer than it should have, and his ears started to ring. His vision felt tunneled and Bucky quickly stumbled his way through the double doors just to escape the blare of the horn outside.

It took a minute to adjust to the dim lighting. It was darker inside than what he was expecting. He blinked a few times, hand resting on the wall to hold his balance as he looked around, shaking himself from the memories.

Lamps were spread throughout the common room to offset the abrasive overhead lighting left untouched. Bucky started to wonder if he maybe it was on purpose, if he wasn’t the only one who had become sensitive to these things, when Sam walked into the room.

He froze.

“Holy shit!” Sam’s mouth rose up into that goddamn know-it-all smile, wide enough to show teeth and the dimples in his cheeks, and Bucky winced. Sam started to laugh as he crossed the space to where Bucky was standing. “I didn’t think you’d actually come!”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky shrugged, “I’m here. Don’t make this a big thing.”

“Who me?” Sam scoffed, feigning offense. “You know Steve’s the one who’s going to blow this up. He might throw a welcome party if you ever show up to the support group.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “That’s not happening.”

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Sam nodded, though he was still smiling. He looked almost... proud? It didn’t sit well in Bucky’s stomach. “Still, got you out of that cramped apartment, didn’t I? You open those curtains yet or are you still living like a vampire?”

Bucky glared at him. Sure, Sam was right... but he didn’t need to know that.

“Come on, I’ll show you around.” Sam put a hand on Bucky’s back to guide him down the hall.

He was only one of two people Bucky tolerated touching him at all and he was lucky he didn’t flinch anymore. Even an innocent touch from his own mother when she tried to hold his hand after he came back from his final tour had nearly left him in a panic attack. She’d cried as Bucky desperately tried to gather his breath, shoving her away as if she’d burned him.

Sam and Steve didn’t give him much of a choice. They didn’t handle him with kid gloves or treat him like he was about to break. Even if he was splintering at the seams, you’d never be able to tell with how Sam and Steve were around him; like old times, like nothing had changed, like they were still three kids dressed in fresh uniforms with chips on their shoulders and a whole new world ahead of them.

After a while, the small pats on the back and the nudges in his side became a small comfort; not that he’d tell them. It was a strange feeling to both be repulsed by touch and crave it. But the topic didn’t come up much these days outside of his friends anyway. No one tried to touch him and he didn’t seek it out. It was easier that way.

“The kitchen’s over here,” Sam said as he pointed into a room that had likely once been covered in white tiles and appliances, though now resembled more of a pale yellow. Two men were hunched over at the table, nursing coffee out of Styrofoam cups as a woman waited eagerly by a toaster.

“Everything in there is free rein,” Sam added. “Always stocked with food from donations, though I would make sure to check the expirations on the milk before adding it to your coffee.” He shivered at an unpleasant memory and Bucky found the edge of his mouth curl, though he suppressed it rather quickly.

The next room was mostly empty save for the wooden lined floors and chairs folded up against the wall. A sheet covered the small window peering inside that read ‘group in session when closed.’

“I know what you’re thinking,” Sam started, to which Bucky narrowed his eyes, “but I’m not going to force you into the support group, Buck. You go when you’re ready. If you ever are. Talking about this stuff, or even listening to it... it isn't for everybody. Steve will get that, too. We all find our outlets eventually. You’ll find yours, too.”

Bucky nodded, a swell of relief in his chest. He’d been forced into a mental evaluation by the army docs shortly after his discharge; something about routine testing, but he knew what they were looking for – what all those shrinks were looking for – Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

The nightmares came first, soon after he’d returned to the States. It started in screams that burned deep into his throat, waking up neighbors at two in the morning, finding blood in his bed from injuries he’d caused in his sleep. Lately they’d manifested into sweat drenched in his sheets and a heart rate that couldn’t seem to even out until the sun rose.

Then came the jumpiness – the flinching at every loud noise, thinking it was a bomb or the latch of a safety. He’d broken more glasses than he cared to admit, knocking them straight of his hand at the sound of a gunshot on the television.

Then the paranoia settled in, then the hypervigilance. The anxiety in crowds and tight spaces was new, though. Add it to the list, he supposed.

Through all of it, he never let the shrink catch on. He’d put on a smile and tell them he was proud of his service, that he’d serviced his country with honor and he was thankful to return to the civilian side of things for a change.

It was bullshit.

He was pissed. He lost an arm and half his mind to a war that recruited him young and idealistic right out of high school, when he was looking for a better life than what his neighborhood could offer, to put food on the table for his ma and sister. Pissed was understated.

He wouldn’t find himself in Steve’s group; of that he was certain. You don’t talk about those things after you leave the desert. Hell, you barely acknowledge them while you’re there. It’s just how it works. It’s how you deal with it. Bucky didn’t allow himself to consider whether his method was doing him much better.

Sam walked him through the common areas, the lounge space, even a room with a pretty decent sized television and a shelf filled with DVDs. It was a nice enough place. Quiet. But so was his apartment.

“Now this is the best room in the house.” Sam opened a door on his left, the hinges squeaking under an old wooden frame as he stepped inside.

Bucky followed in closely behind and was surprised when a subtle scent of pine brushed his senses. A small candle was burning at the center of a coffee table, surrounding it were a few couches, all with mismatched fabrics, laid upon a carpet that looked to have been donated from an estate sale. The walls around him were lined with shelves, though they were completely empty. Cob webs hung in the corners and dust lined the wood.

What caught his eye was a single cart at the edge of the room. It was filled with books, all in bright colors on the binding and tags from the Brooklyn Public Library piled high on top of one another, far beyond the confines of the cart itself.

“Y/n? Where you at, kid? We got a newbie!” Sam called, nudging Bucky in the side with a playful wink he did not return.

A figure suddenly jumped from behind the couch with a book in hand covered in layers of dust and crumbs. The sudden movement forced a flinch deep in Bucky’s chest, his breath held tight in his lungs, though he kept himself firm on the surface, like stone. It took a minute before he realized how tight he’d barreled his fist and he slowly released his grip before Sam could notice.

“Been looking for this one for over a year!” you exclaimed, holding up the book for Sam to see. You brushed off the cover, restoring the original vibrant hue of the artwork. “Can’t even imagine the overdue fees I’ve racked up on this sucker...”

There was a strange lightness in your voice Bucky didn’t expect, a tenderness and a sunshine that didn’t belong amongst the dark overcast of the men and women who occupied these rooms. It certainly sat in dangerous contrast to the gravel and stone in Bucky’s voice and the clouds that usually followed in his wake.

He glanced down at his clothes as you approached; a pair of old ripped jeans from a few years ago, a faded t-shirt, and his army jacket hung over his shoulders. Dull and raggedy, ripping at the seams.

But you? Dressed in the warmest shade of a red knit sweater, a gentle glow on your cheeks, a softness about your movements, you resembled the sort of sunset at the end of a highway one would stop the car to capture on film. Inviting. Tender and ethereal. Lovely.

You stepped closer and he noticed the knees of your jeans were covered in dust, your palms too. Messy in the pursuit of happiness, like a child on a playground. You didn’t seem to mind the dust as you brushed it off your knees, holding the found book close to your chest like an extension of your own heart.

“Blame it on Lang. He's always losing stuff around here,” Sam offered as you set the book on the cart. You started to laugh and swatted Sam in the arm. A pout perched on your lips, though it didn’t seem to last long. Your laugh was infectious.

Bucky swallowed as he watched you; the way your smile wrinkled up into your eyes as if a face like yours was drawn and designed to curve at the lips and push dimples to your cheeks. It shined into the bright hues in your irises and Bucky wondered if you would keep smiling like that forever, if it were possible that he could stare into the sun and not be burned; if instead, he could find warmth in its embrace.

His heart stammered, his breath shallow, but it wasn’t unpleasant like it had been on the busy streets. It was something new, a sensation he hadn’t had since before he signed his name to a cause that took his arm and his dignity.

Y/n, Sam had called you. It was a beautiful name. He didn’t know if he could even find things beautiful again after what he’d seen overseas. You were the first, he supposed.

He must have been staring too long, because your lips were moving to words he didn’t hear, and suddenly two pairs of eyes were on him. His heart skipped, frozen in embarrassment.

“This must be your first day of school,” you teased, extending your right hand to him.

Bucky stared down at it, heart pounding, and before Sam could politely tell you that Bucky didn’t really do that sort of thing, he pulled his hand from his pocket and shook it. You had a firmer grip than he was expecting, but still soft. Your fingers were like ice and it was a nice contrast to the swelter he felt under his jacket.

Sam raised an eyebrow, surprised by Bucky's sudden willingness to take the hand of a stranger, though thankfully he didn’t say anything. A shit eating grin curved up upon his lips and that, Bucky could have done without.

“Thought it was time I checked it out,” Bucky said, his voice a little dry. You let go of his hand and Bucky found he missed the contact almost instantly.

“Dragged him here by the skin of his teeth is more like it,” Sam interjected and Bucky’s ears burned red. He shot Sam a glare, who only shrugged, unbothered by his humiliation of his friend. “Been trying to get his sorry ass through the door for a few months now.”

You nodded, though your smile never wavered. Your eyes remained on Bucky, listening to Sam, but intently studying the lines on Bucky’s face. It left him feeling exposed, but somehow, even as his own gaze trailed to the floor, he didn’t mind you watching him like that, like maybe you found worth in what you saw. He adjusted his stance, suddenly remembering the startling absence on his left.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here now,” you said, brushing Sam off in his teasing. “I’ve been volunteering at this place for a little over a year. We got good people here. I’m sure you’ll fit right in...” you paused, biting on your lip.

“Bucky,” he offered because he could tell you were waiting for it. You smiled at his name and a sense of pride burned bright in his chest. God, if he could just make you smile like that again...

“Bucky’s a cool name,” you grinned, though Sam rolled his eyes. “That short for something?”

“Don’t lie to the new kid, Y/n. We all know it’s corny as hell,” Sam interrupted playfully before Bucky could get a word in. You wacked Sam on the shoulder and Bucky felt the edges of his lips curve. It felt strange, achy, like he hadn’t done that in a while. Maybe he hadn’t.

“Buchanan,” Bucky answered, though he quickly added, “but my first name’s James. James Barnes.”

“Well, James Barnes,” you started, exchanging a knowing look with Sam that made Bucky’s stomach twist in knots, “I run a book club of sorts on Sunday evenings around six. You should swing by. We’re always looking for new members.”

“Y/n works at the Brooklyn library most days,” Sam explained. “We’re lucky to have her. Never thought I’d see so many tattooed men with biceps the size of my head sitting in a circle talking ‘bout books, but Y/n works magic. Everyone loves her. Helps that her book club is pretty unconventional.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Unconventional?”

Sam started to say more, but you pouted your lips at him and he left the words on the edge of his tongue. He held up his hands in defense and took a step back, returning the smile to your face.

“Don’t listen to him,” you said, laughing so sweetly Bucky was sure his knees might give out at any second. “It’s a good time, I promise. No pressure at all.”

Bucky nodded, considering his options. The idea of seeing you again could make the walk down to the VA worth it, but he wasn’t sold on the concept of sitting in a room full of ex-combat vets probably using a shared book as a proxy for a support group. He wondered if you had them reading something about PTSD or adjusting to civilian life or a memoir of some guy embellishing his time overseas to make a quick buck.

But he wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, so he asked, “what are you reading?”

You shrugged. “Depends on who you ask.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, confused.

“Just think about it,” you suggested as you unclicked the lock at the bottom of the cart. The front wheel was broken and you struggled to get an angle to move in the direction you pushed it. “I should head back to the library. It was really nice to meet you, Bucky. I’ll see you later, Sam.”

Bucky nodded, finding himself searching for something else to say, some kind of excuse to get you to stay longer, but came up empty. You smiled at him, all bright and starry eyed, and his knees felt weak again. Shit.

“Don’t let Stark talk your ear off on the way out,” Sam warned, a laugh in his voice.

“I think I know my boys around here by now, Samuel,” you teased back. Bucky couldn’t quite tell if it was a pang of jealousy in his stomach or an eagerness to be included. It was a strange rush of feelings he hadn’t tapped into in years; not necessarily unpleasant, but certainly unfamiliar.

You paused by the door, turning back and capturing Bucky’s eye one last time. “Sunday at six, alright? I’ll see you there.”

He didn’t say anything, but you seemed to take his silence as confirmation. You gave him a final wave before you disappeared into the hallway. He could hear the click of the broken front wheel on your cart echoing down the hall.

Bucky and Sam followed you out of the room and hung back by the makeshift library doors.

“What did I tell you!” Sam cheered, nudging Bucky hard enough on the side to knock him off his balance. He was too fixated on watching grumpy old men and stone-faced women pass by in the hallway with smiles on their faces as they saw you.

“It’s, uh, it’s not bad.” Bucky waited until you disappeared out the front doors and onto the busy sidewalks before he turned to Sam. He was watching him with a sort of I-told-you-so look that made Bucky want to slap the dimples straight from his face. “...what?”

“Nothing, man.” Sam shrugged, though there was something lingering in the smirk he wore, like maybe he knew something Bucky didn’t.

He didn’t care for that one bit.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

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