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0097linersb · 4 years

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Pink Lemonade

CHAPTER 1

Pairings: Jaemin x Renjun x Haechan x Jeno x Mark x Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Humor (I guess), Slow burn af

Summary: The dreamies decide to spend some weeks at an Inn in the middle of the nature to relax and enjoy some outdoor adventures, far away from their crazy idol life. What they didn’t expect was the nice girl running said Inn.

Word count: 3k

You should read the intro first so this story makes sense <3

☼ previous / next ☼

A/N: Honestly guys this fic will probably be long and detaild af ‘cause I’m using it as a distraction from real life lol guess who just finished their engagement. If u would like it to be more straightforward and go right to the fun parts let me know, I’d really like some opinions! Also, it’s like 2 AM so I’ll proofread it tomorrow

As you woke up the next day, you were not shocked to find that the boys were not up yet. Last night you were surprised to come downstairs to an already fully cleaned kitchen and as much as it made you embarrassed, it also made you immensely grateful. You thanked them and told them to stop being so nice and doing your job for you, to which Mark only responded that seven guys could be really messy sometimes.

You had given them the folders that informed all the activities the Inn (well, you) offered and the ones they could book in the city a few minutes away, it made you smile at how excited they got reading the paper and planning their days. Haechan was already asking if they could go stargazing that same night but the rest of them groaned saying they were way too tired to move after the long trip (and you felt bad once again for having them clean the kitchen).

Everyone eventually agreed on a time for breakfast and you were just sure they wouldn’t wake up that early by the dark circles under their eyes and, turns out you were right. They did go to sleep pretty early the other night, showering after the meal you had and just going straight to bed.

You lazily stretched as you left your room with Koda and Kenai tracing after you, to find a very much awake Jaemin sitting on the living room’s couch holding a cup.

“Good morning, did you make coffee?” You yawned at the boy, scolding Koda so he would get off the couch.

“Good morning. Yeah, sorry for taking the liberty, I really needed to wake up,” He smiled at you, petting your disobedient dog with his free hand so he could get distracted from the way your shirt had ridden up. Damn morning horniness.

“It’s ok, smells good. Are the rest of the boys awake?”

“Nop, and probably won’t be for a while. I know we agreed on going to the lake at 8 but everyone’s dead, I can wake them up if-“

“No, it’s ok,” You laughed. “I imagined this would happen, not a fan of waking up early myself.”

“Oh, you can go back to sleep if you want, I can knock when everyone starts waking up.”

“Don’t worry. You just really made me want some coffee.”

“I left it downstairs, I can go get you a cup.”

“Jaemin, we’re playing opposites here, don’t make me feel useless,” You joked, already making your way to the stairs, missing how the man stared at your legs in your little pajama shorts. “Plus, I need to take the boys on a walk before they become too fidgety.”

“Can I come with?”

“Of course.”

Jaemin was quick to stand up and follow you downstairs, where you quickly poured yourself a cup of coffee and opened the door, the dogs running past you excitedly. You silently lead the way out of your property and into the unpaved road, warming your hands with the coffee mug – The days were hot but the nights and early mornings could be quite chilly, especially with all the trees surrounding you and blocking the sunshine from reaching you.

“Do they sleep with you?” Jaemin asked, pointing at the dogs who were sniffing around the bushes on the side of the road, like they didn’t do this same route every day.

“Sometimes, they often prefer to stay outside, lots of animals to chase when I’m not there to scream at them.”

“They don’t wear leashes?”

“No need to, there’s barely people here and they are really well-behaved. I trained them well, Koda just gets a little bold when we have new guests over,” You smiled, remembering not even 5 minutes ago said dog was trying to get on Jaemin’s lap on the couch. “Do you like tangerines?”

The boy looked at you confused but nodded.

“Wait a second,” You asked before leaving him, walking off the road and into the trees. After a minute or so, you were back, throwing one of the orange fruits at Jaemin. “I steal them from the neighbors sometimes.”

“Will we get in trouble?” He asked but was already peeling the tangerine with his hands.

“Nah, they are never here. These would just rot.”

“Seems only fair then.”

You walked for another few minutes in silence, eating happily as you appreciated the sound of your feet crushing the small rocks on the floor.

“Ok, tangerines do not go well with coffee,” You make a face after eating half of your fruit, only now stopping to pay attention to the actual taste in your mouth.

Jaemin laughs at you before putting his last slice into his mouth, “Cute.”

“There’s nothing cute about this flavor.”

“Didn’t bother me,” He shrugged, smiling down at you.

Damn that boy was too attractive for his own good. You meant, all of them were.

It was just unfair, really.

The two of you talked a bit more until you hit the end of the road and then made your way back, it was a light-hearted comfortable conversation and you liked the way it made you feel warm inside. You learnt that Jaemin likes to photograph stuff and you asked him to take lots of pictures during their stay so you could use them on the Inn’s social media, telling him you shared that hobby with him. You then started a discussion about digital vs. film photography, in which you two clearly didn’t agree on, but it kept you entertained for a long time.

“Listen, technology evolved to this point to make life comfortable and easier for a reason!” Jaemin whined as you two were entering your property once again. “Is there something worse than developing your pictures only to find out your film was ruined?”

“That’s the thrill of it!” You exasperated.

“I call that heartbreak.”

“It’s a raw form of art for the strong hearted,” You sigh dramatically, opening the door for the man.

After your half an hour walk, as you got back home, only Renjun was up, pouring himself some coffee and looking super sleepy.

“Good morning, slept well?” You asked as Jaemin made his way to sit down on the table after getting Renjun to pour him some more coffee.

“Yeah, this is the first time I dreamt in months,” He smiled at you but his eyes were still half closed. Like you, Renjun was still in his pajamas, light sweatpants and a wrinkled white t-shirt.

“Do you guys want to eat something before breakfast?” You asked, not knowing how long they would have to wait for the others.

“It’s ok,” Jaemin answered.

“If you change your mind just let me know,” You smiled, wondering on what to do now, since you had already prepared the food for today last night and didn’t have any other chores until everyone was up so you could make their beds.

You figured the boys would drink their coffees and go talk or lay down in the hammocks, maybe even try to nap a bit but you were proven wrong when Renjun pointed at the end of the table suddenly excited, “Are those cards?”

“Yeah.”

“Can we play?”

“Of course.”

The man was quick to pick up the little box and sit down across the table from Jaemin, who tapped the place next to him before you had the chance to leave. You happily took on the offer, content with finally spending some fun time with people your age. No, scratch that: Attractive men your age.

“Let’s play Rummy!” Renjun suggested, the sleepiness leaving his body at the simple thought.

“I have no idea how to play that,” You informed.

“It’s ok, I’ll teach you. Come closer,” Jaemin smiled at you and you obeyed, heart beating fast at your thighs suddenly touching. What were you? 12?

The game was way too complicated for your morning brain to understand so you basically just watched the boys play, giving your input here and there.

“Jaemin, here!” You excitedly pointed at one of the cards he was holding.

“Oh, I had missed that, smart girl,” He smiled at you, patting your thigh as a thank you or maybe a praise, making your heart almost leave your body through your mouth.

Freaking pet names dude.

After an hour or so playing, Jeno and Haechan appeared already fully clothed and awake. The second boy gave you and Jaemin a weird look, noticing how the boy’s right hand was just casually resting on your thigh. At some point it just happened and it felt comfortable (if you ignored your blood pumping through your body twice the normal speed, of course), it had been months since you had flirted with someone and you were enjoying the touch fully, thoughts of being professional nowhere to be found.

You greeted the boys and they sat down too, informing Mark and Chenle would be down in a second and Jisung would just skip breakfast to sleep. You decided then to get up and leave them to chat as you went into the pantry to organize the food you had prepared yesterday, into the baskets.

“Dude,” Haechan whispered to Jaemin.

Just by looking at the boy, Jaemin already knew what he wanted to comment on so he just, “Don’t.”

“Game on, bro.”

“What? This is not a game, we were just-“

“I said game on, bro.”

Jaemin sighed and gave up, knowing Haechan was just joking and being annoying as usual.

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After all the men (minus Jisung) were downstairs and ready to go, you guided them down to the lake, setting up one of those cliché plaid towels for everyone to sit on. As you and Mark organized the foods around, you smiled at the others running around the grass and taking pictures, impressed at the view. The lake really was pretty and your property had a privileged clearing to sit down and enjoy it.

“I would love to say they are normally not this energetic,” Mark smiled at you, placing the bowl with the grapes and strawberries down. “But I’d be lying.”

“It’s refreshing, I rarely deal with people my age around here. We didn’t add bingo to the activities’ folder for no reason.”

“There are no clubs or bars around here?”

“The biggest city around has barely 2.000 habitants so I’ll say no to that. Although this region is becoming really famous for the ecotourism these days, they opened a nice pub for the tourists like last month but there’s only ever people during the weekends.”

“Well, if you ever go to Seoul, let me take you out,” Mark offered before realizing what he had said and stiffening, cheeks going red like the watermelon juice in your hands. “I mean, like, to show you the places and-“

“That sounds fun,” You smiled at him, deciding to end his misery right from the start. He was cute. “Boys, the food is ready.”

Jeno excitedly dropped Haechan down (who he was holding for a picture) and ran over, leaving a very whiny boy on the floor. Jaemin took a picture of that and soon enough, everyone was sitting down on the picnic clot.

“Wow, it looks like we’re in a movie,” Renjun awed, looking around.

It really did, that’s why you liked bringing the guests to this spot on their first day. After everything was set, the scenery resembled a Renaissance painting and you loved it. It was a bit hotter than normally since it was a few hours later then the time the guests usually have breakfast, but the gentle breeze of the wind was enough to not make it unbearable.

The meal was fun, the boys made you feel so comfortable that it felt like you have known each other for a longer time than the actual truth. You all chatted, joked around and posed for pictures with the food. You had brought your analog camera just to tease Jaemin, asking him to take a picture with it for you.

“How do you want it?” The boy groaned, pretending to be annoyed.

“Here, I have an idea,” Haechan shared, excitedly, holding up one of the strawberries from the bowl in front of your face. “Bite it on the side.”

You accepted the advice confused, not understanding where he was trying to go with it but excited, you loved a good old-fashioned improvised picture. Jaemin pointed the camera at you and counted to three, and you smiled around the strawberry when on the count of one, Haechan bit on the other side of the strawberry and looked at you cross-eyed. After you saw the flash of the camera going off, you decided to take a big bite of the strawberry to play around with Haechan but apparently the boy had the same idea and your lips ended up touching, slightly. Since when has your life become a cliché teenage movie?

You quickly took the stem of the fruit from between your mouths, pulling away from the boy to tease him, “Damn. Didn’t even buy me dinner first.”

The others joined in on teasing Haechan but the man simply winked at you, “Would be my pleasure.”

You didn’t even have time to giggle before the other men pretended to puke and Renjun legit slapped Haechan.

_____________________________________________

The boys decided to not do any activities that day because Jisung would simply not wake up and after a while waiting, Chenle decided to join him on the hibernation. It made you feel sad for them, that their days were so busy and tiring that at the first sight of some time off, they would sleep for hours and hours to make up for it.

The rest of you decided to play some volleyball in the parking lot (which was not the best idea considering it was noon). As expected by the almost 40 degrees climate, one by one, every single boy started taking off their shirts, body dripping and glistening with sweat and you just felt in heaven. This could just not be real, you even looked around for cameras, scenes like that just didn’t happen in real life. One hot shirtless guy was the acceptable quota for normality.

But also, you didn’t miss the way they looked at you in your little shorts and top (equal rights after all). It made you feel powerful even though you knew it was just their hormones talking, yours were screaming too after all. If it was already like that on their second day here, you couldn’t imagine how you would survive for the next few weeks, you just wanted to cry every time Jeno (who was on your team) approached you to celebrate when either of you scored, high-fiving you with his huge arms (you would die a happy woman if you were choked by them).

After the game was over, the boys decided to go swim on the lake to cool off and you figured it would be a good time to shower and organize their beds, which you quickly did before starting to make some lunch for everyone. The youngest ones of the group didn’t even wake up to eat so you decided to leave them some food in the microwave in case they got hungry in the afternoon.

Unfortunately the Wi-Fi was being annoying as usual and refused to work, so you couldn’t even google about the boys yet, the curiosity was almost killing you. Maybe it was better like that, right now you were just seeing them as 7 young men living their normal lives and you liked it, it kept you from being nervous at the fact they were probably some big stars that had the world at their feet – They all just seemed so chill sprawled around the living room floor playing the bingo you had joked about earlier, it was hard to believe they probably had hoards of screaming girls around them daily.

They thanked you for cleaning their rooms and told you that you didn’t have to, which technically you did, considering it was literally your job and the whole reason you were there.

You could be wrong, considering you have known them for barely 2 days, but you quickly noticed some little things about them: Like how Jaemin liked to touch you, even if it was just a light brush of his hand on your arm (in his defense, he was touchy with everyone, but when he touched you, it just lingered for a bit longer), or how Haechan liked to playfully flirt with you, that boy just had no shame and you admired him for that. You saw how Renjun often stared at you but when you looked at him, he looked away (which could mean either he was shy or he just didn’t like you very much), but at least he was more subtle about it, as opposite to Mark, who became a blushing mess every time you caught his eyes (and you just wanted to squeeze him). You realized Jeno was a manlier guy, you hadn’t gotten what his deal was yet but you loved the way his eyes disappeared when he smiled and that was enough for you.

It was funny, really, how everyone decided to ignore the tension in the air and go on with the day normally – You did only meet the day before after all.

After getting bored with bingo, the boys told you they planned on going water skiing tomorrow and you agreed happily, telling them you could have a little barbecue party in the camping next to the docks where your parents kept the Inn’s water sports gears, which got them even more excited.

“Can we go camping too?” Jeno asked, receiving a groan from Haechan. Classic city boy.

“Like at night?” You asked and Jeno nodded. “Yeah, actually the stars here are crazy pretty since there’s no light pollution.”

“See?” The boy told Haechan excitedly, who only sighed, accepting his fate.

Barbecue, bonfire, alcohol and a beautiful sky: You were a city girl too but you were also a sucker for a good camping night.

taglist: @eggbutnotyolk @lauraneuuh @geeisaclown @jenotation @riemm @junguwuuu @prettychaeng @satanssugaraddiction @luvlyjaemin @sweetjaemss @oofimdumb @junglekooks @unknown5tar @rosedchae@

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psychewritesbs · 2 years

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the anon who asked about Megumi and Toji here, thank you so much for answering my question! I love your answers/posts with all that mental gymnastics and investigation, really!

I want to add something: Toji died in 2006, Megumi was even much younger the last time he saw Toji, so I understand if he doesn't remember everything about his father, especially if said father was absent. What made me think of 'repression/suppression' as you said, is the fact that he couldn't even "make the connection" with what happened in Shibuya, and we know Megumi is a smart boy. I mean ... he remembers that his father married Tsumiki's mother but it seems like he doesn't even remember his father's name? he can't make the connection between the name and the man who looks a lot like him? so I thought it could be somehing psychological? that's why I came to you with my question, to know your opinion about. I almost always see that Megumi's apparent disinterest in Toji is taken as a "normal" disinterest, and not as something deeper, with pain and anger behind it. thanks again!

P.S: the headcanon you brought up... it already hurt me to think about little Megumi, now even more.

P.S 2: sorry if there are mistakes, english isn't my language.

HEEEEEY anon! Welcome back. お帰り！

Thanks for the kind comments ;^; some times I do wonder if my mental gymnastics aren’t a bit on the deep end LOL, so I appreciate your comment a lot.

Man... all I'll say is that I'm glad I'm drinking coffee bahaha.

Put your thinking hat on because we either have a maths problem in the chronology of events or Gege has no clue about school-aged children.

Ok so... hear me out...

Regarding Toji dying in 2006, I've always wondered if that panel of baby Megumi looking all sad was Toji's last memory of him--it kind of feels like it.

It just didn't make sense in my head that it was the last time Toji saw him because Megumi looks younger than a 6 year old in the image.

Again, I am going by this idea that Toji married Tsumiki's mom when Megumi was 6 years of age (or in the 1st grade). And it’s not like one can make assumptions about 2D characters and their age.

If we do the maths, per the manga, Gojo is a second year (16/17 years old) during the Hidden Inventory Arc. Which means the events in the arc took place approximately 12 years prior to 2018, or as you say, in 2006.

(i.e. if Gojo is 28 in 2018, he would have been 16 in 2006)

BUT... if we do the maths again, per the manga, Toji married Tsumiki's mom when Megumi was in 1st grade, which would have been around 2009 (i.e. if Megumi is 15 in 2018, he would have been 6 in 2009).

Wait... what?

UNLESS, by 1st grade this is meant to be Kindergarten and not Primary/Elementary school? Which would have meant Megumi was 3 at the time, which would mean it was in fact in 2006 that Toji married Tsumiki’s mom.

Anon. either we just totally found a plot hole or I totally misinterpreted what "1st grade" is meant to entail.

It depends on whether the translators localized the text. So I went looking for Japanese raws (as I like to do in situations like these) aaaaaand.....

Nope... it indeed says “when I was in 1st grade” (shou ichi no toki).

So I did some more digging aaaaaaand....

According to romajidesu.com, it is a noun used for a first year elementary school student.

I also tried various google searches along the lines of “1st grade kindergarten Japan” but everything always came back to 1st grade = Primary/Elementary school.

Thoughts?

I have the feeling that since Gege revealed when Toji married Tsumiki's mom prior to starting the Hidden Inventory Arc, he probably did not think to double check his dates when he started the following arc.

It wouldn't be the first time he makes an honest mistake.

Maths aside...

Ya your train of thought makes a lot of sense!

If Megumi was indeed 3 when Toji abandoned him, then it would make all the more sense that Megumi does not remember him and we can just assume it’s because he was too young to create long-term memories about Toji (that hippocampus was still very much developing).

THIS TAKING PLACE IN 2006 WOULD EXPLAIN SO MANY THINGS TOO bahaha.

Also, I was totally thinking the same as you.

Like... Megumi, dude... you might as well be looking at your reflection in a mirror!

I look a lot like my either of parents depending on who sees me, but it’s not like I'd be able to recognize myself in them.

Honestly, your ask sent me on a goose chase because I have always seen Megumi as someone who represses himself. Part of it is my personal interpretation of some of the panels, and part of it is because that’s what the Jungian shadow is partly about--a storehouse for repressed materials.

So from that perspective, in my head, it makes sense that Megumi would repress memories of Toji. Repression is baked into his character from how I see it, and he learned it from daddy.

But alas, we don’t know that with certainty because Gege has not made a somewhat canonical explicit statement about it.

Megumi’s disinterest in Toji

Yeeeees, totally. I’ve seen that perspective about how Megumi truly does not care about Toji. Evidence of it is considered to be Megumi canonically saying “I don’t care where he is or what he’s doing”.

I may be contradicting myself here since I totally just wrote about what I consider to be canonical and how implied subtext is open to interpretation.

That said, my personal interpretation is very much based on real Psychological science:

From developmental research, I can tell you that a young child’s life completely revolves around their caregiver because it depends on them for EVERYTHING to survive in the world.

It isn’t until a child gets to be around school age (don’t quote me on the age, I could be wrong and I didn’t look it up this morning) that the child starts exploring relationships outside of the familial unit. This exploration of relationships outside of the familial unit becomes all the more obvious during the teen years.

So, honestly, it makes ZERO sense to me that Megumi might not have some sort of resentment or negative emotional associations to Toji since that period of time he might have spent with Toji is VERY formative emotionally and psychologically.

We’re talking about deep, archetypal emotional bonds and Developmental Psychology here. Needing to be looked after by our caregivers is baked into our human nature.

Consider how, from a Neuropsychological perspective, all of Megumi’s experiences with Toji were basically shaping his brain. And the only way Megumi would not care about Toji is if Megumi was truly unfeeling and unemotional since birth--in which case we would have a kid diagnosed with an antisocial personality disorder.

That’s also how you get a character like Tokyo Babylon’s Sakurazuka Seishiro shameless CLAMP namedrop, and Psychologically-speaking, even he is a conundrum.

But saying Megumi is, without a shadow of a doubt terrible pun intended, someone with antisocial personality disorder, is not an accurate assessment since Megumi is not without feelings or emotions. Quite the contrary, he’s shown to be very caring, compassionate and kind.

While I can’t confirm that what I just wrote is exactly what Gege had in mind, Gege appears to be someone who has an acute understanding of Psychology. What’s more, Jungian Psychology, which appears to have influenced jjk, is not mainstream Psychological science and is instead considered a Depth Psychology because it looks below the surface at the possible root causes of surface level thoughts and behaviors.

All that to say that, again, I can’t imagine Gege truly meant for Megumi to be truly disinterested in Toji.

Psychologically it just doesn’t make sense.

Personal side note: I remember several years ago, one of my best friends’ dad died in a car accident.

The image of my friend sitting on the floor, wearing a weird smile on her face and holding a glass full of red wine early in the morning as she tells me “my dad just died in a car accident” is burned into my mind.

I think she was heartbroken but was not sure how to come to terms with his death.

Now. This man was not a part of her life and whenever she talked about him she often talked about him being physically abusive and an alcoholic.

I think my friend could pretend all day long that she didn’t care about him, but in the end, when it came down to it, she couldn’t help but care.

Human nature.

p.s. 1 about my headcanon

AH SORRY ANON!!!! bahaha. I am a certified Angst Merchant TM. I either seem to have a lot of unresolved grief or I just have access to a deep pool of collective human grief that I like exploring from time to time because I am also a certified masochist.

tbh I came up with the headcanon one day when I wanted to write a fanfic and I was trying to come up with ideas to write about. The image I kept seeing in my mind’s eye was Megumi sitting alone in an almost empty room, the sun going down, and Toji nowhere to be seen.

Again, going back to this idea that a child should be completely unfeeling in this kind of scenario just makes ZERO sense. Even if it’s a headcanon, if you felt something when my headcanon conjured that image in your mind, just imagine how a child, Megumi in this case, might have felt living through that scenario.

p.s. 2 heeeeey, English isn’t my first language either. I appear to have mastery of English because I’ve been living in the US for the last 20 years.

Also, I would not have been able to tell that it isn’t your first language if you hadn’t said anything.

Cheers!

Great conversation. Thanks for reaching out :)

#a to the q!#off to adulting I go #and then to answer the ask of all asks #clamp ships fck yeah #fushiguro megumi

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bitchassbucky · 3 years

Text

.eps (explicit)

Word Count: 2k

Warning/s: dark!bucky x dark!reader, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, blood mention, gore and dismemberment/beheading, murder, toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, sedation/drugging/use of sedative, stockholm syndrome-ish, one very special character reveal

A/N: i told y'all there's more <3 the special character treat is for @sarge-barnes-sir mwah!

this is queued shdhhsh gonna fix the links in the mornin’

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS ABOVE, IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ THIS VERSION, GO AND CHECK OUT THE NON-EXPLICIT VERSION.

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

CTRL playlist CTRL moodboard

Safeness, comfortability, warmth are all but a false sense of reality.

When a prey takes down its walls, the predator moves in. Camouflaged in familiar colors, in words that you’re used to hearing, in praises, in lies. Most predators use the mask of the night to move in darkness—unyielding and calculated. Come morning, there will be only one left alive, tainted with victory and bloodshed.

You and Bucky have been engaging in a dance for two—a battle of who’s willing to take the leap of faith and unleash hell upon the other.

Stifled smiles and pursed lips.

The air is filled with unsaid irritants, little things that ticked away like bombs.

There was no time for pleading, no time for mercy, no rest for the wicked.

Did you still love each other?

How far are you willing to go to keep up with his… complacency?

Bucky’s mundane life already taking a toll on you. The endless nightmares of him feeling you. The swirling vision of Bucky being with you every waking—and sleeping—moment: it grates your soul to shreds.

“We’ll be together forever, right?”

“Yes, darling.”

“What about the day after forever?”

“That too, honey.”

Where was the man you loved so deeply? The man that broke his morals just to be with you?

Was he under this hull of a Yes Man? A poor little thing that says ‘yes’ to everything like a puppy.

The man you held so dearly now slipping away, chipping his humanity, shedding the once-human.

“Would you marry me tomorrow if I asked you?”

“Of course, baby, why wouldn’t I?”

“Would you kill for me?”

“I’m meant to do the same for you.”

It’s irritating how Bucky gave up too quickly. Too fast, moving too fast. The gazelle let the lion tear its neck as it lay there, unmoving, letting the blood seep into its hide.

When you first met Bucky, it was your own fairytale unfolding before your eyes. Kismet, reality, forgiveness from above. He was soft and shy, passionate, lively.

Far from what you expected from a man his age—you blame Steve for forcing you into his narrative before. That all men are out to get you. They will hurt you. They will use you and leave you for good. But Bucky? Bucky came in like a knight. He saved you from the carcass of your past. He saved you from the sins that you prayed and knelt for.

Bucky taught you how to love.

Bucky taught you how to live for yourself.

Bucky taught you that being alone doesn’t mean you have to be lonely.

“It was an unspoken little thing, wasn’t it?”

“What thing, baby?”

“Our love.”

“Yes, honey, it was.”

He worships you.

He worships you like a fucking God and you hate it.

Suffocating, too suffocating. You dove straight for the water and now you’re drowning.

Do you still love each other? The question hangs in the air, heavy with its weight, light as a feather.

It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault.

So you stand there with a syringe half-filled with a horse sedative. It’s a concern how easy it is to waltz into a pet store and pick up a general anesthetic. You make a mental note to look at it later.

Bucky’s body slumps forward, his forehead meeting the edge of the table with a dull thud. If the overdose doesn’t kill him, the weeping crack in his head will.

Holy fuck, humans bleed a lot. And fast. Good thing you already have that clear tarp taped down. Even with the hush money stuffed down your throat, it would take a good nick to regrout the kitchen.

“What is that for, honey?”

“I’m painting the cabinets.”

“Okay, darling.”

So you let him bleed, surprised that the liquid is redder than what you thought it would be. A soft gurgling noise came from Bucky, the last of air escaping his dead body. You stood there, syringe in hand, as you thought how to dispose of a six-foot-tall man without arousing suspicion.

Not that he’ll be missed anyway: the local news and the internet already branded him as a psycho and you as a victim. You were both victims in this fairytale. They reported his case as “skipped the town like the sicko he is.” So, no—no one’s going to look for him.

The sun was high up in the sky and there was a dead body in your kitchen.

A butcher and a surgeon walks into a bar for a drink. “What do you do for a living?” Said the butcher, “I save lives! What about you?” The doctor answers. “I save animals from dying slowly. We’re basically the same. You’re just very clean.” You see, the butcher comes into the bar covered in blood, reeking of death. The surgeon, on the other hand, wears his white coat with pride even though he’s surrounded by death every passing second.

Today was the day you learned that you have the tools of a butcher and the precision of a surgeon. Unlike before.

You carefully take Bucky’s fingers off of his left hand, leaving a skin flap on the edge of the last knuckle for you to stitch close later. Four promises. Four goddamn promises and he broke all of them.

It was his fault that he’s dead. He made you do this.

Starting with his left shoulder, you jab the knife between the bone and the soft flesh of his armpit, bringing the blade downwards. The sickening smell of blood swirled along with the image of muscle and fat being sliced made you gag.

Does the brain know that it’s seeing something it shouldn’t?

A rational part of you wanted to look away but the time is ticking, it’ll be much harder once rigor mortis sets in an hour.

You swing the knife down, cracking the bone once, and then again, and again, and again until the shoulder bone splinters and dislocates itself from the rest of Bucky’s torso. You had to switch knives and blades and a fucking bone saw to get through the rest of his limbs, leaving only his chest, head, and stomach untouched. After taping up and packing the arms and the legs, you work on putting the rest of Bucky into a nondescript suitcase.

The only problem being his head getting into the way of things.

Wanting to preserve even a shred of his dignity, you left his face untouched. Well, save from the crack in his skull.

You begrudgingly take a hefty chef’s knife and start cutting through the jugular vein, only stopping when the blade hits the spinal cord by his nape. The serrated blade of the bone saw sits on your blood-soaked gloves, scrape-scrape-scraping until it snaps into two.

The human head weighs around 10 pounds, kinda like a bowling ball.

An opaque black garbage bag containing Bucky’s head looks nothing suspicious as you put it inside a backpack—into a firepit you go.

His limbs—arms and legs alike—are going deep into the ocean, forgotten and to be used as fish food.

The limbless torso will be finding its home in a deep hole in the middle of a densely wooded area, far from the city.

But you’re not quite sure what to do with the mason jar of teeth though; the clinking noises of it remind you of the seashells you used to collect when you were a kid. Maybe you’ll stash it away with the torso.

Placing the bags into the trunk of a rental, you begin your journey to the end of your fairytale.

The drive to and from the places was tiring, to say the least. The internet connection of the diners was spotty at best. Locals were overly friendly with the city folks who came passing through their towns. The roads reek of roadkill and manure from the farm animals that were left to roam for fresh grass.

At least you get to come home in a spotless apartment, alone once again.

But not lonely.

Your space is yours again. No trace of anyone anywhere. Immaculately yours.

—

Humans are social creatures.

No one can truly be alone, especially in today’s world where we’re connected to everyone—whether we liked it or not.

Leaving your wretched job behind was an easy feat to do. No one can say no to the victim of such a vile crime. That’s all they saw you: a helpless little thing. So off you went; saying half-assed goodbyes and sending emails of courage and hope and fucking resilience.

Your resignation meant that the company’s free of any dirt from you, Bucky’s disappearance quickly becoming a joke and a rumor blending in one.

They let you leave: in your bank account a fat check ensuring that you’d shut up about the scandal for months until you can’t feed yourself no more. So you packed your bags and jet off without looking back. You never liked that apartment anyway.

Nevertheless, you found yourself looking into another dead-end job in one of the towns you stopped over before. It’s a charming place like time froze in their plaza while the rest of the world went on. You found a small studio apartment in a street tuckered away from the main avenue, you settled there as days became nights and nights turned into days.

You woke up one morning craving a healthy serving of coffee and pancakes, luckily the town’s local diner wasn’t far from your new home.

The coffee was too hot, the pancakes were amazing, fluffy, and just right. You’re sitting in a sunny booth, the warmth doing its wonders.

“Hi, can I get today’s paper, please?” Your voice is sweet as you call your server, giving her a quick smile.

A pair of Raybans adorn your face, unconsciously hiding behind its darkened glasses. The waitress gives you a thick stack of newspapers, refilling your cup with black coffee.

Upon opening the paper, you ignore the town’s headlines and went straight for the job postings. The door jingled open as patrons come in and go, waving to familiar faces.

Job Vacancy Announcements

Secretary to the Town Sheriff

You skimmed over the rest of the details, only noting the address of the office. The job looks quite lucrative for someone who would only take messages and organize files for the sheriff.

Looking over the job posting again, you read over the words walk-ins only. That shouldn’t be hard enough.

The diner looked deserted save from the man sitting behind your booth. Leaning over and tapping his shoulder, you put on a polite smile, “Hi, sorry, do you know how to get to the sheriff’s office from here?”

“Hello, darling.” The man croons in an accent, he looks over to you, “join me in my booth, will ‘ya?”

You’re in no position to reject his proposal, you’re the one who needed an answer.

Taking your coffee cup, you slide into his booth, “hi.”

“Just the face I wanted to see.” Clean-shaven, a hint of mint and smoke, and something woody; a worn leather jacket and white button-up shirt hugging his soft frame. “Some folks over on the apartment complex were talkin’ about a city girl wanting to rent a studio all by herself. That happen to be you?”

You look over to him, trying to understand how that small of news spread like a wildfire, “yeah. I moved in a week ago.”

He leans over, smiling sweetly as he unabashedly lets his eyes roam your features, “What’s a city girl like you doin’ in a place like this? I hope we ain’t too boring for you, gal.”

Chatty—he’s way too chatty.

“Just wanted a change of pace, really. Away from the bustle of the city.” You rustle the paper, clearing your throat to get back on the matter on hand, “so the sheriff’s office? Is it too far from here?”

“What business are ‘ya bringing into the office?”

“A job, actually. Says here that they’re looking for a secretary.” You might as well tell him everything, he seems too chatty to be dismissed over and over again.

“Well, darlin’, today’s your lucky day. No need to drive down the old road.” He reaches down to his seat, pulling up a brown hat, “Hi, I’m Sheriff Bodecker. Now, to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

You bite back a giggle, you’ve always wanted to be involved with the law.

#bitchassbucky writes #dark!bucky #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x reader smut #dark!bucky barnes x fluff #dark!bucky x reader angst #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader smut #dark!bucky barnes x reader angst

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soliavenne · 4 years

Text

Just Sand Sibling Things + Shinki: How do they deal with cooking?

Hi! I have been thinking of having Just Sand Sibling Things (+ Shinki now and then) as a series of works. :) I guess this is the first entry haha.

Hope you like it! <3

Excellent cook, obviously the most versatile out of the four. Appetizer, main entrée, snacks and dessert, you name it. Not very adventurous when it comes to recipes, but she’s well-rounded enough with the basics to tweak an ingredient or a two from the book if she knows she’ll be able to improve the taste.

Knows that she’s great at what she does, and she’s damn proud of it.

Very confident, but can actually be secretly conscious of what she serves, especially when it’s her first time cooking the specific food. She would rather start over again than serve something that doesn’t suit her standards.

Tries her best to mind her own business while eating but is stealthily inspecting her brothers, or her husband and son’s facial expression as they eat her food.

Very organized, every ingredient is in each separate plates. Not the type to leave a pile of dirty plates on the sink and wash it all at once by the end of cooking. She will wash some of them now and then if she could leave the cooking process alone on itself.

Praise her damn food, praise her cooking skills. She might not look like it but she’s a big, big sucker for appreciation. If you have been generous for the past few days with compliments, she’ll try her best to free up her schedule and proceed to serve a damn feast over the table.

If ever she ends up serving something that doesn’t taste good, she would understand a very faint grimace or two on your face. But that’s all, don’t bother telling her about it if she doesn’t ask you about it. She knows what’s wrong already and she’s already beating up herself about it.

Mostly cooks foods that are on the healthier spectrum, but would flat out bake herself her own pizza and brownies at 12 AM.

Would try to hide her midnight snacks as much as possible, but if she gets caught, she would huff and act all annoyed but is secretly happy to share it. She just likes riling people up a bit, but she’s very sweet and generous.

What reads above cannot be applied if she’s on her period or she had a fight with Shikamaru, you better fuck off and leave her alone.

He’s not that much keen to cooking, but this man is not dumb. Knows at least the very, very basic fundamentals around the kitchen.

It’s those common mistakes that usually happens if someone’s just starting to venture out on cooking. A little too much salt, a little heavy on the pepper, the meat is tad bit raw while the crust is already burned. Those kind of technical mishaps. He would not be unbelievably awful at it.

Tries his best to listen to Temari’s advices on cooking, but he ends up overthinking it. He’s best off learning on his own and figuring out for himself what went wrong.

Skilled at cooking instant foods and junk foods. Knows damn well how to elevate them. The type of food he ends up cooking are more on the indulgent side, mostly savory type of foods. Hamburgers, meat pizza, steak, and ribs, you name it.

Has been secretly saving up to buy his own pellet grill and personalize it.

Does not know exactly how to cook healthy-family based foods like vegetable stew or chicken soup or anything of the like. He either gets to eat it if Temari is cooking, or it’s a takeout.

Very messy cook. Spoons with unidentified sauces are everywhere, there’s even a plate on the living room that he’s not sure how it even got there.

Would probably wash it once a dirty pan had punched his face and Temari is screaming on the other end of the handle.

Don’t talk to him when he’s focusing, he’s going to get flustered about the whole thing.

Just as sensitive as Temari when it comes to feedback. He would laugh alongside a negative comment, but he won’t be cooking anything that isn’t instant food for the next whole week.

If you praise him so much he will end up being so worked up about it that he cooks the same thing tomorrow night. He would try so hard to hit the same note but he was overthinking it the whole time so it doesn’t end up as good.

A genuine praise could go such a long way for Kankuro. He might not look like it but he’s genuinely appreciative of it and finds it very encouraging.

Doesn’t necessarily hate cooking, but he just doesn’t know to pave his way around it.

Believes that cooking is a fundamental skill, but is still avoiding the opportunity to work on it. He had bought some cooking books and probably printed some recipes from Yahoo and allrecipes.com, but he’s secretly relieved whenever Kankuro asks if he wants something to eat from the store.

Very shy about asking for help, but if Temari or Kankuro does volunteer to teach him something, he would not refuse it.

Nearly passed out once because he has been letting his breakfast pass when Temari left for Konoha. Kankuro scolded him a bit, but ten minutes later they were already talking about sandwiches. When Gaara mentioned that he misses waking up to Temari cooking pancakes in their shared apartment, they surprisingly ended up having a genuinely-deep conversation about it; talking along the lines of how they really feel about their sister leaving Suna.

Kankuro told him that he’ll be letting him off easy but if he wants to be a much more effective Kazekage, he has to take care of himself. The epiphany had hit Gaara so hard he bought a new apron and a pan on his way home from work.

The first set of foods that he focused on was under the bracket of breakfast meals. A bowl of plain oatmeal and a little bit of sugar was okay, but it did get redundant and he swore to himself he’d throw the bowl out of the window if he had to make another one of it again for the 3rd week of that month.

Began to buy pancake box-mixes where all he had to worry about was adding eggs, water and oil. Once he had gotten the hang of it, he decided to follow a pancake recipe from scratch. He thinks it tastes better, but it wasn’t something he could do every day.

Thinks he had found his soulmate when he started making granola. He could prepare it in advance and stock it up. He finds it very convenient.

An understandable kind of messy, maybe a little smudge of batter on his cheek when he’s cooking pancakes. Dirty plates would be on a pile but he would arrange them by size and category before washing them all together after he ends up eating.

Takes cooking seriously that he even bought a hairnet. Kankuro caught him once wearing it and the ten-minute laugh he had out of watching his baby brother cook with a hairnet on just made Gaara opt to tie his hair instead.

Sometimes boils eggs at night in advance so that he could simply peel one in the morning for breakfast.

All in all, he mostly cooks usual, literally off the recipe book breakfast meals. Most of them are healthy.

It would take a lot of time before you get him to serve you the food he made. He doesn’t like disappointing people and as stoic as he may be he would also be just as sensitive about it.

Began to develop the drive to cook better when he adopted Shinki. He remembers vividly how happy he was whenever Yashamaru brings him a bento, so he decides to take the effort to study bento making now and then whenever he’s not that busy.

When he saw a small, cute apron from the store, he found himself buying it to give to Shinki. He still hasn’t built up the courage to ask Shinki to have a cooking bonding with him though because he’s not that confident about his skills just yet.

A very responsible kid. Has the self-awareness that basics of cooking should be developed in order to survive independently no matter where you go. He even knows how to start fire from scratch.

The first thing he had ask Gaara regarding preparing food is how Gaara makes his coffee. Ever since he was able to replicate it, he sometimes even gets up earlier than his father so that he could prepare the warm beverage beforehand. He doesn’t drink coffee everyday, but with a craving now and then sometimes, he likes adding a splash of milk to it. He and Gaara both share the same preference when it comes to the level of sweetness.

Not very adventurous when it comes to recipes. As long as it’s filling and easy to make, that will be his chosen route.

Has asked Gaara once about his special pancake mix, and he had been making it mostly everyday. The fluffy texture of it soon got a little tiring, so he started wondering what else he could eat for breakfast. Despite being very mature for his age, he’s still a kid who has the hint of wonder for foods that are still comfortable yet a little exciting now and then.

When Yodo took him and Araya once to a waffle stand on their way home from a mission, he started buying one almost everyday. He’s more of a savory-waffle kind of kid.

Gaara takes notice of this, and when Shinki woke up to a wafflemaker and printed waffle recipes on the kitchen counter one morning, he couldn’t help a very, very rare and genuine smile on his face.

He might not that be that much inclined to cooking, but on days where he’s not busy, he tries to read about it. His main drive about cooking is so that his father comes home to a much more healthier meal instead of having takeouts almost every night. He loves and respect his father that much, and he’s also health and fitness-conscious since he really does take his job as a shinobi very seriously.

The same as Temari in terms of cooking. Neatly organized, no dirty plates lying around the counter. Every ingredient is measured and calculated.

His face might not be anywhere near grinning but he’s actually happy whenever he dons the apron that Gaara bought him.

Doesn’t really care if you don’t like the food unless you’re his dad.

#temari #kankuro #gaara #shinki #gaara of the desert

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sukifans · 4 years

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KEEP THE CHANGE // sokka

SUMMARY: this very attractive guy comes in every night during your graveyard shift at the 24-hour diner you work at, always doing something on his laptop. he might be selling organs on the black market, but he tips, like, really well.

WARNINGS: language, mentions of sex, guns/robbery, panic attacks, generally darker themes, all characters are 20+

WC: 5.5k

A/N: anotha one. 5.5k words accidentally. i plan on doing a part 2 and maybe more at some point, but for now i just had to get this idea out

⇦ 𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛

Things I Know About Him:

1. He’s very attractive.

The bell above the door jingled and you looked up expecting to see an exhausted, slightly smelly middle-aged trucker like usual. When instead it was a cute guy around your age — tall, smooth tan skin, dark brown hair in a ponytail with shaved sides, wearing black joggers and a white t-shirt that showed tribal-style tattoos inked over the toned muscle of his arms — the smile you usually had to paint on for customers was genuine for once.

“Hey, how are ya?” you asked, standing from the table where you’d been rolling the cheap silverware in paper napkins.

“I’m fine, how are you?” he responded politely, shifting the weight of the backpack strap he had slung over one shoulder.

“Better now that there’s a new face in here. Just you tonight?”

“Seems that way.”

“Alright. Grab a seat wherever you’d like and I’ll bring you a menu.” You waved your hand out to gesture at all the open tables in the empty diner.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Just a coffee would be great, thanks,” he said as he made his way to a booth in the corner.

“You got it.” You moved behind the bar top to fill your pot with coffee and brought him over a chipped ceramic mug on a plate. You met his eyes when you set it down in front of him and you were almost struck frozen by how beautiful they were. They were the color of the sky on those perfect cloudless summer days when the sun seems to shine a little hotter; the color of the ocean in those tourist trap vacation agency promotional posters. You shook yourself to quickly recover, though given the opportunity you would’ve gladly stared into his eyes for the rest of your shift.

“Thanks,” he said, flashing you a small smile that revealed a peek of white teeth. The hell was a specimen like that doing in a place like this? He looked he belonged in one of those Calvin Klein ads.

“No problem. Let me know if you need something else.” You turned away when he nodded an acknowledgement as he pulled a laptop from his bag, hoping you didn’t look as flustered as you felt.

2. He takes his coffee weird.

The first time you saw him make his coffee you were horrified. You watched from behind the counter, amused at first, as he poured white sugar from the dispenser into the drink for a nonstop ten seconds. Sure, some people had a strong sweet tooth; that wasn’t too bizarre. You had to cover your mouth to stifle your irrepressible groan of disgust when he started drinking without even stirring to dissolve the crystals.

After some time it stopped being so horrifying and just became funny. You always had to avert your gaze to choke down your laughter when you spotted him crunching down on the undissolved sugar. If he hadn’t been so attractive it would’ve been creepy, but when he did it, it was... almost endearing.

3. He has money.

Every morning as the sun started rise you would turn to look at his table only to find him gone, leaving only neatly stacked dishes and a twenty-dollar bill behind. Even if he only drank coffee (total: $2.43, with tax, free refills), he would leave the bill. The first couple times he came in and did this you scanned the parking lot to look for him but it seemed like he’d vanished into thin air. After a week, you confronted him.

“You know, the coffee is only like two bucks,” you commented as you refilled his mug.

“I know,” he said.

“You’ve left a twenty here every night.”

“I know.”

You furrowed your brow. “We can give change here, y’know.”

“Keep it.”

“That’s a lot. Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He obviously wasn’t a man of many words, so you dropped it. If he had money to burn and decided to burn it on you, you’d take it. “Starving artist” isn’t just a saying, after all, and this shift didn’t exactly rake in the tips.

4. He has something either illegal or important (or both!) on that laptop.

He always sat in the same spot: a booth all the way in the corner with his back facing the wall, computer sitting close to his chest. It looked very suspicious, for someone who was probably trying not to look suspicious. No matter how many times you tried to sneak a glance at the screen while you refilled his cup you couldn’t catch anything. You’d have to practically be on his lap to see something and, well, it wasn’t that kind of establishment and you weren’t that desperately curious.

At least you knew it (probably) wasn’t some sort of freakish porn — he never wore headphones and his hands were always above the table either typing, lifting his mug, or scribbling something in chicken scratch in a worn moleskin notebook. It wouldn’t’ve been the first time someone had tried to use the diner’s free wifi for something like that. You would’ve hated to have to ban him for life.

Things He Might Be Doing:

1. Selling organs on the black market

2. Making a new-age tech startup selling GPS microchips to helicopter parents

3. Running the r/TheRedPill forum

4. Investigating conspiracy theories

5. Starting new conspiracy theories to hide The Truth

6. Solving crimes/murders online à la Don’t Fuck With Cats

7. Anonymous

8. Undercover detective trying to crack the cold case of a family member’s/close friend’s/lover’s suspicious and untimely death that was ruled an accident

9. Government whistleblower putting together a groundbreaking report

10. Robot gaining sentience and plotting uprising

11. Clone seeking revenge on his creator

12. Robot clone gaining sentience AND seeking revenge now that he can Feel

13. Studying/writing/doing a project/anything else realistic and boring

With a sigh, you looked up from your scribble-filled notepad. There he was in all his glory: laptop out, half-drunk coffee to his right, notebook under his elbow to his left, a pen stuck behind each ear and one in his hand that he tapped thoughtfully against his chin. What he didn’t realize was that the cap of the pen was off, leaving dark marks on his skin. The sight made you shake your head with a small smile. You turned to fill your pot with “fresh” (quotes added out of legal obligation) coffee for the trucker that sat at the bar top with a patty melt.

“Ah, fuck,” you heard from the corner booth. When you glanced over you saw him wiping his tongue with a handful of paper napkins, black ink all down his chin and the front of his shirt. The pen must’ve exploded while he was biting on it (a habit of his, you’d noticed). Even the trucker guffawed when he saw the mess. You headed over to his booth after refilling the other man’s coffee.

“I’d offer the Tide pen I keep in my purse, but I don’t think it’d do much for you,” you commented as you replenished his coffee. He glanced up at you with a grimace.

“I appreciate the gesture,” he sighed, huffing when he realized the napkin dispenser was empty. You scooped up the pile of ink-saturated paper.

“I’ll get a few rags.” He nodded in thanks and closed both his laptop and notebook, shoving them out of the way on the seat next to him. You brought out a couple rags soaked in warm water and wiped up the mess on the table while he scrubbed his face. Even after his skin was rubbed raw, there was a tinge of black around his mouth.

“Thanks-” his eyes flicked to the plastic name tag you wore on your chest, “-(Y/N).” He knew your name from how often he’d come in but he wanted to be extra sure.

“Sure thing,” you said, waving your hand. “I see you in here a lot but I’ve never gotten your name.” When he only hummed in agreement and didn’t provide a name you pursed your lips. “So, what is it?”

“What’s what?”

“Your name,” you giggled a little.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s not that important.”

Okay, weird. Maybe he had an odd name and he was embarrassed. “If I guess it will you tell me?”

“Sure.” He visibly seemed to relax a little. So definitely an uncommon name that he didn’t expect you to guess, then.

“Can I at least know what it starts with?”

He hesitated. “An ‘S.’” You smiled.

“Righty-o, Steven. Can I get you anything else while I’m here?” You pulled out your small notepad from your apron pocket and held your pen at the ready.

“Ah, no. I’m alright, thanks.”

“Alright, Shawn. Let me know if you think of something.” The corners of his mouth quirked up into a grin at your little game as you pocketed your notepad and walked away, soiled rags in hand. When you came back out from disposing of the rags, the trucker was gone and it was just the two of you left in the diner. Soft music crackled from the old speakers hung from the ceiling and he was back to typing away. You felt a little panic in your chest — he’d been coming in every night for the past month and a half and that was the most conversation you’d ever had with him. You had your in and you couldn’t let it go to waste now.

He looked up from his screen, eyebrow quirked, when you slid into the seat across from him. “What’s up?”

You shrugged. “Nothing. Just talking to my best customer named... Sam?” He shook his head and you groaned.

“Best customer?”

“Of course. I think you singlehandedly paid my utilities this month, Simon.” You folded and unfolded a paper straw wrapper idly as you spoke.

“Ah, I see,” he nodded. “Is that all it takes to get in your good graces?”

“Pretty much.”

“Sounds like you need a sugar daddy.”

“Are you offering?” You gave him a teasing grin that made his cheeks color pink.

“I, uh-“ he stammered and you laughed.

“Seth, I’m kidding.” You rolled the straw wrapper up into a little ball and flicked it at him around the laptop screen. It bounced off his chest and he chuckled nervously.

“Right, of course.”

“So, what do you do all night on that computer, anyways?” Self-consciously, he lowered the screen and you rested your cheek on your palm, propping your elbow on the table.

“Just some work,” he answered evasively. Right, illegal or important or both — the age old question with this guy.

“At night?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Well, you work at night.”

“Because I have a day job, too. And I like nighttime.”

“Me too.”

“Which one?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

You sat back in your seat, a little embarrassed at getting carried away and prying. “Sorry, I’m just curious. I don’t have a lot of regulars on this shift and I just think you’re... interesting.”

“Interesting? How so?” He smirked in a teasing, knowing way that made your heart flutter and your face burn.

“A cute guy that comes in at the same time, every time, to do work in the middle of the night and always leaves a massive tip is pretty interesting, at least by my standards.”

He faltered. “You think I’m cute?”

“You’re alright for a nocturnal weirdo, Sebastian.” You winked and stood up, smoothing down your uniform. “I should probably get back to work. If Mack sees me sitting down with someone he’ll watch back the security footage and clock me out for however long I was here.” You jutted your thumb out behind you to indicate the cook and manager of the diner who you could both hear clanging around in the kitchen.

“Sounds like a hardass,” he said as he pulled his screen back open.

“Yeah, well...” You shrugged again. “It is what it is, y’know? Anyways, just shout if you need anything. It was nice talking to you, Shane.”

When he left at sunrise as usual, there was an extra five dollar bill on his table along with the usual twenty. You grinned when you picked it up and saw that on it he’d written down a phone number and simply signed it from “S.”

5. His name starts with S.

“What are you so happy about?” Zuko asked when he saw Sokka’s grin as he came through the door.

“What? Nothing,” he said, purposefully setting his mouth into a neutral mask. Zuko rolled his eyes and sipped his tea, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“What did you do, Sokka?”

“Nothing! What, a guy can’t just be in a good mood?”

“No,” he deadpanned. Sokka scoffed.

“Right, I forgot I was talking to the guy who hasn’t had a good mood in like ten years.”

“Thirteen, actually.” Sokka shot him a look but Zuko’s face was serious. “Just tell me what you did. You’re usually tired and grouchy when you get back in the mornings, not smiling to yourself.”

“Christ, fine,” he huffed, yanking open the fridge to get a water bottle. “I gave a girl my number. The one at the diner.”

Zuko set his tea down and crossed his arms over his chest. “You did what?”

“Look-“

“Are you fucking stupid? With what we do, you’re just out and about giving your number to random women?”

“I’m sorry, we? You just got here, Prince Pouty. I can do what I want.”

“You’re putting everyone at risk, and for what? To get your dick wet?”

“I gave her a burner number for an app on my phone and she doesn’t even know my name. No one’s at risk.”

“You’re being selfish. This is bigger than you.”

“I’m allowed to have a life outside of this bullshit, whether you like it or not.”

“If it’s such bullshit then why do you still do it? No one’s forcing you to stay up all night digging for information and hacking people.”

“I can’t exactly do anything else now, can I? What am I supposed to tell employers I’ve been doing for the last few years, sitting with my thumb up my ass?”

“That is basically what you do, isn’t it?”

Sokka slammed his hands down on the counter angrily. “You can go fuck yourself, Zuko. You have Mai-“

“Mai is for appearances only.”

“-and Aang and Katara are together, and ever since Suki...” Sokka trailed off and then shook his head. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Just for your shitty attitude, I’m gonna take her out on a mind blowing date, and bring her back here, and fuck her on your stupid little trundle bed.” Zuko opened his mouth to respond but Sokka cut him off. “Don’t bother. I’m going home and going to bed. Tell Aang and Katara I stopped by,” he grumbled, slamming the door behind him as he left. He felt a little bad about probably waking up his sister and her boyfriend, but Zuko had been grating on his nerves since he got himself tangled up in their business and his misplaced self-righteousness about a little flirting was the last straw. The prick didn’t need to overcompensate for being Ozai’s son by meddling in his love life. He could do without that, thanks.

Sokka was still grumbling to himself as he jiggled the key in the door to his small and slightly dingy studio apartment a few blocks down from Aang and Katara’s. Once he was in, he kicked off his shoes and bag by the door, stripped down to his briefs, and flopped into bed to immediately pass out despite the slats of sunlight filtering in through his ratty blinds. As he fell asleep he couldn’t help but think of you; you and your playful banter and your pretty smile (the real one that made your eyes crinkle, not the fake one you gave to creepy travelers passing through) and your many questions that he had to carefully evade. One day maybe he’d be able to explain himself, even if it would take a while to get to that point. That is, if you gave him a chance in the first place. He couldn’t exactly blame you for turning down someone whose name you didn’t even know.

He just really hoped you wouldn’t.

The next night at the diner was as achingly slow as any other Tuesday. So far only “S” had come in and still he just sat in the corner, drinking his coffee and doing whatever he does. You had texted with him briefly once your shift ended in the morning, but you had to sleep and then get to your other job before your shift at the diner so there wasn’t much time for flirty messages. Instead, you sat at a table nearby to roll silverware, offering small smiles whenever he glanced up and met your eyes. The warmth in your cheeks whenever he smiled back was becoming achingly familiar. You vaguely wondered if your face might as well just get stuck like that.

Finally, someone new came in a few hours after midnight. He wore a ball cap and a large black jacket, hands stuffed in the pockets. You gave your usual spiel in your syrupy-sweet customer voice as you rose from the table to slide behind the counter and prep a cup of coffee for him. As you talked, you noticed he kept glancing around shiftily and had yet to remove his right hand from his jacket. There was something about him that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

Sokka had been half-listening to the one-sided exchange when a sharp intake of breath and the sound of shattering glass made his eyes snap to you. You stood frozen behind the counter, hands raised to your shoulders, staring at the men who held a handgun level with your chest. His stomach dropped as he took in the scene, blood running cold when your terrified gaze drifted to him and then shot back to the gun trained on you.

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna need you to empty the cash drawer for me, if you don’t mind,” he said in an eerily cool, level voice that made your skin crawl. “Don’t try anything, I just want to get the money and get out. I‘d hate to have to hurt you.” You nodded, trying not to let your hands shake, as you shifted over to the register. Out of the corner of your eye you could see “S” subtly reaching for his phone, hopefully to call the police. This also caught the man’s attention and he trained the gun on him now. “Don’t think I don’t see you, pretty boy. Give me your phone.”

“Alright, man. Take it easy,” “S” said as he stood slowly with his hands up, holding his phone in one. He carefully made his way over.

“Here,” you said to distract the man. He looked over at the paper bag you held that looked like it only had a couple hundred dollars in it at most.

“That’s it?” the man barked. “I know you have a safe somewhere, you bitch. Open it and give me the fucking money.”

You stared, wide-eyed, and willed the tears welling up in your eyes to go away. “I- I don’t have a key-“

“Fucking figure it out!” he shouted, making you jump. Sokka felt white-hot anger bubbling in his chest when he saw a tear slide down your cheek as the man unlocked the safety on the gun. Without pausing to think, he leapt the last few feet between himself and the guy to knock the gun away. You screamed and ducked down when a shot fired off, but the man missed widely when his arm was hit and instead blew out one of the panes of glass at the front of the diner. Sokka kicked the gun across the floor and grabbed the man by the collar of his jacket before slamming him against the bar top. While he was winded he yanked his hands behind his back and shoved him to the floor on his stomach, shoving a knee into his kidneys.

“(Y/N), call the police,” Sokka said, trying to keep his voice calm. You peeked over the edge of the counter and then jumped up when you saw the state of the two men.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll, um- I’ll do that.” You fumbled with your phone, struggling thanks to how badly your hands shook. You screamed again when Mack burst out from the kitchen wielding a sawed-off shotgun. “Jesus fucking Christ, Mack! Took you fucking long enough to get out here, didn’t it? Poor Stanley had to take care of it!” You gestured angrily to the situation in front of you and Mack rolled his eyes with a huff.

“I was calling the cops, kid. Relax, you’re fine,” he said and you balled your hands up into fists.

“Relax?! I swear to God-“

“(Y/N),” “S” interrupted gently and you whirled around to face him. “It’s under control now. You’re okay.”

“You could’ve gotten hurt or worse and I-“

“But I didn’t. See?” He gestured to himself as Mack secured the man’s hands together with some zip ties from the back office and then to one of the barstools that was bolted to the floor. You didn’t respond to that and instead furiously wiped away the few tears that had tracked down your face.

“After you give the cops your statement, go home for a few days,” Mack said, sitting heavily in a chair that faced the man and holding the shotgun in his lap. You opened your mouth to protest but he silenced you with a hard look. “You’re shaken up, kid; can’t have you working like this. Besides, it’ll take a couple days to get insurance to replace that glass.”

You relented with a sigh and dropped yourself into a booth seat, folding your legs against your torso and resting your forehead on your knees to hide your face. You squeezed your eyes shut and sucked in a few deep, steadying breaths to hopefully push out the panic that still pierced your chest. You tilted your head up when you heard someone sit down across the table from you to see “S” giving you a concerned look. Self-consciously you wrapped your arms around your shins and pulled yourself into a tighter ball.

“Hey,” he said softly, “I know you’re okay, but are you, like... okay?”

You put your head down again and shrugged. “I guess.” You knew it was obvious to him that you weren’t, but you were thankful he didn’t push. Both of you were quiet for a few minutes and you could faintly hear sirens in the distance. All you wanted was to give your statement and go home.

“My name’s Sokka,” he said, finally breaking the silence. He drummed his fingers against the table nervously. You looked up at him again and gave him a small, watery smile.

“That’s a nice name,” you whispered with a sniffle.

Once you gave your statement and the police had taken the guy away in cuffs, you left the diner and were surprised to see Sokka sitting on the curb in front of the doors. He looked around at you when the door opened and he stood.

“You didn’t have to wait,” you said as he dusted off his pants.

“I know. I wanted to,” he said and looked you up and down. “You sure you’re alright? I can sit with you for a bit.”

You shook your head. “No, that’s okay. Thanks, though.” You both looked up at the sky in silence. The horizon was starting to fade from the inky black into a rich purple, stars still glinting above your heads. Dawn would be coming soon. Without a word, you walked side-by-side to your cars that were parked next to each other. When you popped your door open he looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he just gave you a closed-mouth smile and a small wave. You gave him an affirming head nod and slid into the driver’s seat. He waited until you drove away, car disappearing around a corner, before getting into his own.

As you walked up the stairs to your apartment, keys clutched in your hand, your heart was pounding again. Your eyes started to sting and you quickened your pace until you were practically sprinting to your door. After fumbling with the lock for a second you threw yourself inside and slammed the door shut, breath now coming in hard gasps. You slid your back down until you collapsed onto the ground. You curled yourself into a ball again, pressing the heels of your palms harshly against your closed eyes and feeling the tears spilling from them. You were not okay, you were not alright, you were not fine. Not at all.

You could barely see your screen through your tears, but you made the call anyways. It made you feel silly and weak but, God, you were so fucking scared. You just needed someone’s voice to ground you back in reality and he was the first person you thought of.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sokka.” You winced at the way your voice cracked; how it wavered.

Obviously, he noticed. “What’s wrong? Did you make it home okay?” Guilt and regret panged in your chest when you heard how worried he was. You shouldn’t’ve called, you were being stupid.

“Yeah. I-I don’t know why I’m s-so upset but I’m really f-freaked out. It’s st-stupid, I’m sorry for b-bothering you,” you whimpered to the relative stranger on the other end of the line. You screwed your eyes shut and pressed a hand to your chest; you felt like you had been sprinting and you couldn’t catch your breath.

“You’re not bothering me, (Y/N), and it’s not stupid. What happened tonight was fucked up and you’re having a perfectly normal reaction. Just take some deep breaths, okay? You sound like you��re having a panic attack.”

Doing as he said, you tried to even out your breathing to bring your heart rate out of the stratosphere. “Okay, okay. I, um- Sokka?”

“Yeah?”

“Um, this might s-sound weird, but... do you think you could, um, come over? I‘ll make you breakfast.”

“Oh, uh-“ he hesitated and despite yourself you started to panic again.

“You d-don’t have to. I-I know you’re probably t-tired. I shouldn’t’ve asked, I just don’t want to b-be alone right now.”

“Hey, hey, stop that. It’s okay, (Y/N). I just don’t want to make you, like, uncomfortable or anything. Strange guy in your apartment, and all,” he chuckled nervously. “Not that I’m... strange, or anything.”

You giggled through your tears. “Oh, you’re strange, alright; but I like that about you. Besides, I know your first name now. We’re practically best friends.”

“You know what? You’re absolutely right.” He laughed a little and the sound made you feel a bit better. “Just text me your address and I’ll be there in a few minutes, okay?” The tenderness in his voice made your damp cheeks warm.

“Okay,” you sniffled. “Sokka?”

“Mhm?” You could hear him rustling around at the other end of the line along with the faint jingling of keys.

“Can you stay on the phone with me?” you asked sheepishly.

“Whatever you need, princess.” The pet name slipped so easily from his lips that he didn’t even notice. You, however, felt your face burn hotter and a twist in your belly. From anyone else’s mouth you would’ve thought you were being made fun of, but he said it so earnestly that you just felt warm and tingly, like you were talking with a grade school crush.

“What?”

“Hm?” he hummed distractedly and you cleared your throat.

“You called me princess.”

“Oh, sorry.” You hoped he was blushing as badly as you were. It sounded like he was, if one can sound like they’re blushing. “It’s just... something I call people sometimes. Habit.”

“It’s okay,” you said. “It’s nice. I like it.”

“Interesting,” he responded. You could hear the suggestive lilt to his voice and it made the corner of your mouth turn up a bit.

You used to think that Sokka was a quiet man. Now, you knew you were wrong and he had always been too heavily focused on his work those many nights at the diner to properly flaunt what a motor mouth he was. He had no trouble sitting on the phone with you while he made his way over to your building, chatting away about... something — many somethings, for that matter. The details weren’t important; all either of you cared about was his almost prodigious ability to keep your mind distracted with idle talk. Despite your state he even made you laugh a few times. You were feeling better by the time he softly knocked on your door, although your legs still felt wobbly and weak when you stood to let him in.

When he saw your puffy, bloodshot eyes and the tear tracks that shone on your cheeks he felt an odd squeezing in his chest that left him a little winded. You had changed into a large faded t-shirt and leggings, your hair loose and falling delicately around your tired face, which had been scrubbed clean of makeup. He realized this was the first time he had ever seen you outside of the context of your work. Even though you surely felt like shit, in the back of his mind he couldn’t help but think you still looked adorable. He felt a strong urge to wrap you up in a tight hug, but held off. This was still new territory for you both and he had no idea how you would react to physical affection from someone so new in your life.

You greeted him with a tiny smile and closed the door behind him. He suddenly became acutely aware of how sweaty his palms were now that he was alone with you in your apartment.

“Do you want any coffee or tea or something? Water?” you asked. “I- I started making waffles, if you want one. Or do you want something else to eat? I have-“

“(Y/N), please,” he chuckled. “You clocked out. You don’t have to serve me.”

“I know,” you sighed, twisting a strand of hair around your fingertips. “You came all the way over here, though.”

“It was less than a ten minute drive.”

“Still.” You stared at him expectantly and he rolled his eyes as he sat on your couch.

“Just make me one of whatever you’re drinking. I’m not picky.” You nodded and turned into the kitchen to prepare a second cup of lavender chamomile tea with honey. He accepted it graciously when you handed him the mug with some tourist location stamped on it. He took a sip and was surprised when he actually liked it – he had never much been one for tea. You sat down in the armchair adjacent to the couch and set your mug on the coffee table.

“Thanks, Sokka,” you murmured. He waved his hand dismissively.

“Seriously, (Y/N), it wasn’t any trouble. I’d rather be here and know that you’re okay than sit in bed and worry.”

“Not that. Well, yes; thank you for coming over, but... I was talking about at the diner.”

“What about it?”

You could feel tears pricking at your eyes again and you swallowed thickly. “You saved me. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been there.”

“I’m sure you would’ve handled it.” His eyebrows shot up when you shook your head aggressively.

“He might’ve shot me before Mack came out if you hadn’t knocked his gun away. And you didn’t even have anything to defend yourself with!”

“I was okay, princess; I’ve trained in fighting in stuff. I had to do something. I couldn’t live with myself if he’d hurt you and I hadn’t at least tried to help.” At this admission, your tears fell freely again and you choked out a sob. Sokka looked panicked and he leaned forwards, fluttering his hands uselessly. “Oh, fuck. Are you okay? Did I say something?”

You shook your head. “No, no. You’re just really sweet and I’m really emotional. And tired.”

“Do you want a hug?” he offered hesitantly. You looked over at him and saw his cheeks had gone pink. With a nod, you stood from your chair and curled up with him on the couch, letting his strong arms wrap around you while you cried into his shoulder. He squeezed you tightly against his chest and said nothing. He just closed his eyes and rested his cheek on top of your head, trying to ignore his own tears that threatened to spill when he felt the way your whole body shook like a leaf.

Even once your sobs subsided to sniffles you made no move to get up. Your very bones felt heavy with exhaustion and the way Sokka held you was warm and comforting. You both eventually fell asleep like that, embracing on your couch, your mugs of tea and the bowl of half-prepared waffle batter on the kitchen counter forgotten for now.

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sam-and-buck · 4 years

Text

At Home With Captain America

Fandom: MCU

Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes

Rating: G

Words: 7.7k

Also on AO3

“What can you tell me about how you got to know the Winter Soldier?”

Wilson chuckles. “The first time I met Buck—Sergeant Barnes—he ripped the steering wheel out of the car I was driving on the freeway. He got on the roof, punched through the windshield, pulled the steering wheel off. Just like that.” He mimes with his hands as he describes it.

This doesn’t sound like an auspicious beginning to me, but Wilson is laughing.

At Home with Captain America

By: Adrien Davis

Published: February 2, 2026, 3:35 PM

To say I’m intimidated by interviewing Captain America in his own home would be an understatement, and I would never have thought to ask if I could do that if he hadn’t personally invited me. Normally, I’d start one of these articles by describing the location, maybe even throw in an anecdote or two about how I got there, but that’s not going to be possible here.

Sam Wilson lives on [REDACTED] in [REDACTED]. It was a windy day.

Here’s what I can tell you: it’s an apartment. A nice one. Two bedroom, two bath.

“Am I allowed to describe the inside of your house?” is one of the first things I say to him, after getting his permission to turn on my recorder.

“Go right ahead,” he laughs, arms crossed over the worn USAF logo on his gray t-shirt. “Just don’t put the street name in there or anything.”

Wilson gives me a moment to poke around. Whoever decorated this place has good taste; it’s no haphazard bachelor pad. There’s an exposed brick wall in the otherwise slate blue living room, several plants (which I assume are fakes—albeit convincing ones—since Wilson is, by his own admission, not home as often as he’d like to be), a sturdy walnut coffee table, and a magnificently squishy-looking red couch.

It’s unmistakably lived in, though. I don’t get the sense that the place has been scrubbed spotless or particularly arranged for my visit. There are two abandoned mugs on coasters sitting on the coffee table, along with several different remote controls, and a stack of half-finished books with dog-eared corners. A pile of mail has been pushed to the side. Next to the door, a wall-mounted coat rack holds several leather jackets in shades of brown and black, and at least as many sweaters, mostly navy blue, charcoal and maroon. The shoe rack underneath houses multiple pairs of black combat boots, worn running shoes, house slippers. And next to that, on the floor, a large, gleaming silver case with red detail that could only contain Wilson’s Falcon wingpack. The legendary shield is propped up against it, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

I’m trying to imagine how it would be to leave the house for him. Got my keys, wings, phone, shield, wallet?

There are pictures on the walls and the mantle above the fireplace, under the television. People who I can only assume are Wilson’s relatives by their similarly gap-toothed smiles. Veterans. Wilson in full air force gear next to a blond man I don’t recognize. Then Captain Steve Rogers, in the 1940s with the Howling Commandos, and in the twenty-first century by himself. Wilson with Rogers, and Natasha Romanoff. One conspicuously empty nail where a large frame would clearly fit.

Scattered among these are several very old, dour black and white photographs of a dark-haired family. The first shows a mother, father and two small children, a boy and girl. The second is the mother and children only, taken some time after, judging by their apparent ages. The third is several years later still; the same children with light eyes and dark hair, but they’re teeangers now, and without parents. They look haunting and out-of-place among the glossy prints of Wilson’s big, happy family in matching 80s colorblocked tracksuits, or Wilson and his sisters in front of a Christmas tree, surrounded by wrapping paper and toys.

There’s also a wood-framed painting that stands out: an idyllic watercolor of a little farmhouse with a green roof and shuttered windows in a field. A small pile of lumber and a white mailbox make up the foreground. The most distinctive feature is the signature at the bottom: S.G.R. I know those initials.

“Captain Rogers painted this?”

“Uh huh,” Wilson nods fondly, hands now in his pockets. “Man of many talents. Maybe every talent. Having a hard time thinking of anything he wasn’t good at.”

I hear the unstated in that. A tough act to follow.

I think, for purposes of journalistic integrity, I should probably insert my bias before we go any further. We had never met before this interview, but I am and have always been enormously supportive of Captain Wilson and the work he’s done, and have written myriad articles and think pieces about him over the past several years. He’s shown himself time and again to be a man of unshakable integrity and endless emotional intelligence, and frankly, I’m more worried about the poor sucker who’s going to have to follow Wilson. Rogers did a lot of great things, but among the best of them was choosing a successor.

I tell him as much and he smiles, looking down at his shoes.

“Yeah, I know that’s how you feel,” he says. “I requested you for this piece, actually, because of that. People are going to accuse me of wanting a softball interview here, and maybe they’re right. For this one, I think that’s what I need.”

I’m not sure what he means by that, but he continues before I can ask.

“We should probably do this in the kitchen.” Wilson indicates behind us with his thumb, after I’ve stood silently in his living room for probably way too long. “That couch is too comfortable. I end up falling asleep every time I sit on it.”

The kitchen is, perhaps, a little cramped. There’s a large, dark marble-topped kitchen island that just fits in the center of the room with four bar stools tucked under it. The cabinets are tall, with glass doors showcasing a massive collection of healthy, but non-perishable food. The shelf nearest us holds several well-used bags of pantry supplies: chickpea flour, arrowroot starch, raw sugar. There’s a pasta shelf above it, but no Kraft Mac in sight; everything is lentil-based, chickpea-based, black bean-based.

“Have a seat,” Wilson says, inclining his head towards one of the barstools. “Can I get you something to drink?” He opens the refrigerator.

“We have…” he pauses. “Water. Sorry, just got back from Ecuador this morning. Sparkling or still?”

I accept a glass of still water from Captain America. He sits down on the stool next to mine.

His house, or what I’ve seen of it, is homey in a way I can’t imagine any of the late Tony Stark’s buildings ever were, and I mention this.

“I lived at the Avengers Tower briefly,” Wilson tells me. “Tony liked everything streamlined, really modern. Kinda sparse for my taste. I needed some real furniture when I got out of there, you know? Like, things that were made by human beings. Stuff with ‘character,’ that’s what Steve would call it.”

“So you decorated this place?”

“I think it’s about fifty-fifty,” Wilson says, indicated with vague hand motion.

This is my in.

This interview, as you may have read on the cover description, is actually intended to be an exposé about the working partnership between Wilson and Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, but I didn’t want to be the one who brought him up first.

All I knew going in is that they’re a package deal in the field, a unit. We’ve all seen the footage.

Also, Barnes lives here too, but evidently, he’s not home.

“What can you tell me about how you got to know the Winter Soldier?”

This doesn’t sound like an auspicious beginning to me, but Wilson is laughing.

“I hope he apologized to you for that,” I tell him, because I’m not exactly sure how else to respond.

“Oh yeah, of course he did, even though he knows I don’t blame him for it. He doesn’t remember it at all,” says Wilson. “There are a lot of gaps, to be honest. Most of it is gaps.”

What Wilson is likely referring to here is the decades-long period in which Barnes was under the complete mental and physical influence of the Nazi splinter group known as HYDRA. If you’re unfamiliar with the history of Sergeant Barnes, I’ll list a couple of great articles for you to read at the end of this one. I assure you, it’s worth your time.

Wilson has without a doubt been Barnes’s most ardent supporter. He’s spoken out many times about not judging Barnes based on the actions he couldn’t control, and has masterfully refocused the national conversation towards Barnes’s invaluable contributions in World War II and in the recent war to bring half the universe’s population back into existence. Wilson has been quoted as saying, “The least extraordinary thing about Sergeant Barnes is his vibranium arm.”*

But perhaps Wilson’s most effective act towards building public confidence in Barnes was his decision to designate him as an almost exclusive mission partner. Even if the general populace has been reluctant to trust the Winter Soldier, it is abundantly clear that Captain America does, absolutely. Barnes is a constant in the footage of Wilson’s exploits. The moment he touches down on the ground after a successful arrest or negotiation, Barnes is right there. He’s been sighted treating Wilson’s minor injuries, tightening straps on the Falcon wingsuit before Wilson takes flight, and he stands quietly behind Wilson during almost all of his many public appearances.

Despite his ubiquitous presence in Wilson’s company, Barnes has remained elusive for comment. He has no social media, and the only public statement he’s made to date was in November of 2023, in support of Rogers’s decision to pass on the legacy of Captain America. Barnes expressed his categorical agreement that Wilson is “the best and only choice for this job,” describing him as both “worthy of the honor,” and “equipped for the burden.”**

“Is it fair to say that Sergeant Barnes almost comes with the shield?” I ask.

Wilson makes a face.

“No, it isn’t,” he shakes his head. “The shield is an accessory; my partner is not. I really don’t like it when people lump him in with the shield. It sort of minimizes how Bucky and I have made a series of conscious choices to be the way we are now. Especially because he’s experienced being fully stripped of his personal autonomy—as a veteran, I can say I’ve had a taste of that, but nothing like what he’s been through—and I think it cheapens his choice to do what he does if we imply that he, as a person, is a package deal with my title, you know?”

The therapist in Wilson is showing. In addition to his decorated military history and service as Captain America, he has a background in psychology, and a Masters degree in Social Work with a focus on Veterans’ mental health issues. He’s worked extensively with the VA as a leader in group therapy.

“So Sergeant Barnes is by your side day in and day out because he wants to be?”

This, Wilson has another unequivocal answer for. “Yes. He wants to be there, and I want him there. And here at home.”

“Tell me a little more about that,” I say. “After the...steering-wheel-stealing incident. Once he was more or less himself. Did you two hit it off right away?”

Wilson laughs again. “Not at all,” he says. “I think there was this resentment, kind of, in the beginning. Like I’m Steve’s best friend and no, I’m Steve’s best friend. Real elementary school stuff. He really got on my nerves; just everything about him annoyed me, and the feeling was mutual. Looking back…”

And here Wilson pauses for a moment. He chews on his bottom lip, and I notice all at once how nervous his body language has become. His fingers are drumming on the table, the line of his shoulders is taut, his leg is bouncing. He clears his throat though, and seems determined to continue.

“Looking back, I can see where it was coming from. It wasn’t clear to me at the time, but now I get it. There was this one time, it was during the fight over the Accords. We barely knew each other at this point. Buck and I, we’re fighting Spider-Man—who neither of us had ever even heard of before, like, that afternoon—and he pins us to the floor of this hangar with that goo he shoots out of his wrist. Really gross. I manage to get Redwing [Wilson’s drone] to fling Spider-Man out the window. So we’re just laying there, me and Bucky, stuck. And he goes ‘you couldn’t have done that before?’ And I just turn to him, and I’m like, ‘I hate you.’”

At this, Wilson really starts cracking up. He relaxes visibly, just a little.

“Did you mean it?”

“I sure thought I did,” he says, still chuckling. “Like, I wasn’t about to take it back.”

He continues: “Anyway, so after Steve, you know, passed on the shield to me, that’s when things really changed. Actually, back up a second. After the whole Accords incident, we ended up sending Bucky to Wakanda for like… to hear him describe it, it’s like we sent him for a two-year spa retreat. They unscrambled his brain as best they could—and really, I think it’s a good thing they couldn’t do any more because I wouldn’t wish some of his memories on my worst enemy—and he spent like months meditating in a hut and milking goats and going to therapy every day. When I met up with him again, I barely would’ve recognized him.”

“So that’s kind of when you guys reconciled? The arguing stopped?”

“Oh, it never stopped,” Wilson says with a grin. “We still argue all the time, about all kinds of things. Just ask Rhodey [Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, aka War Machine] or Scott [Lang, Ant-Man] or anybody. But the dynamic shifted a little, I think. Bucky’s got… Like I can’t imagine some of the stuff he’s been through, but he’s just kind of learned to roll with it. He is hands down the most resilient person I have ever met. Easily. It was real hard to keep hating him when he was so dead set on getting me to like him, too.”

“Can you walk me through the process by which you two decided to live together?”

“Yeah,” he says, and the nervousness is back. He smooths his hands on his thighs over his jeans. “So, basically, once I got the shield, we’d just barely come back. Like everyone else who got… I—I still don’t know if this is like an okay question to ask people. Do you mind me asking if you were dusted?”

I don’t mind. “Yeah, I was.”

“So you get it,” Wilson says. “Might be the most vulnerable I’d ever felt. I got nothing. Nowhere to go, just the clothes on my back. Then Steve hands me this shield and this enormous legacy—and I look back and there’s Bucky, standing a couple of yards behind me, nodding like, yeah, it should be you. He was the first person who knew, and he’s been right by my side ever since.”

“So you decided to stick together?”

“The original conversation about it was pretty logistical,” Wilson says, rubbing his beard. “There was so much going on, it’s hard to remember exactly what was said, but I think it was along the lines of him offering to fetch the shield for me while I learned how to throw it, and stuff like that. Just easier to do when we’re together 24/7.”

“So rooming together didn’t actually grow out of field partnerships?”

“It was definitely the other way around,” says Wilson. “Basically, I’d get a call from the powers that be that there was something I had to go check out, and it was easier to just walk across the hall than to pick someone else, try to wake them up, and then have to rendez-vous and strategize.”

“I’ll bet,” I say.

Wilson nods. “Easier and faster. Bucky can go from dead asleep to fully geared up in under three minutes. The first few times were like that, with me just knocking on his bedroom door like ‘hey, I need—’ and he comes barreling out covered in knives thirty seconds later like, ‘where are we going?’ We just… clicked. And I’ll be honest; I was really surprised. He’s got my six, I’ve got his, and I never question it. I started asking for him specifically on all my assignments after that, and Fury [Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.] and everyone caught on quick that that’s how it was gonna be. I don’t have to ask anymore.”

“Do you see this continuing long term?” I ask.

Wilson doesn’t hesitate. “Definitely.”

“How would you describe your relationship with Sergeant Barnes now?” I ask. “Clearly you’re partners in the field, and roommates, but…”

Wilson takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking, but he clasps them together in front of him and looks me straight in the eye.

“As of last month,” he says slowly, “Bucky and I are married.”

In the spirit of my interview with Captain America, who stands for honesty and justice and integrity, I think you deserve to know the truth. I want to say that I didn’t drop my recorder, but I did. It clatters to the floor, luckily undamaged.

That startles Wilson into a laugh. For the second it takes me to retrieve my recorder from under my seat, I wonder if he’s kidding.

“Come on,” he says. “Say something. I’m getting nervous.” He’s smiling, but not joking.

“Congratulations,” I blurt out. “I...really?”

“Yeah.” The tension leaves his body in a rush. “We, uh, it’s official.”

I’m struggling for questions at this point. The talking points I was planning on hitting in this interview are all suddenly moot, and I decide to throw out my mental to-do list entirely. I finally settle on, “How long have you two been together?”

“A little over two years,” Wilson answers. “About three months after I took up the shield.”

“How did it happen?”

Wilson grins. “Uh, well. I had sort of been…having feelings about him, you know, for awhile. Actually, it’s more like I had noticed that I was having more-than-friendly feelings in the few weeks leading up to that. I think the main reason we had so much trouble getting along in the beginning is that it took some time to process those feelings as attraction. So in a way, I was interested on some level right from the get go.”

“Even if that person wasn’t...behind the wheel of their own brain, so to speak—” I start, but Wilson interjects.

“I see what you did there.”

“—I think it would take a lot for me to be attracted to someone who had previously tried to kill me.”

“Less than I would’ve expected, that’s for sure,” Wilson says. “But it’s not like I was checking him out while he was busy tearing my wings off my back; I’m talking about once he was mentally present in his body. That was like...two years after the whole steering wheel incident, and I hadn’t seen him at all in the interim. I didn’t even know where he was during that time.”

“So it had at least been awhile since he had tried to kill you?”

“Oh yeah. And plenty of other people tried to kill me in those two years, and they weren’t even sorry about it. You gotta adjust your standards, you know?” he says with a laugh.

“Anyway, if you ask him, he says he’s been all in since the moment he saw me back in Wakanda after his little vacation. Now we’re talking about four years since the steering wheel thing. Me, Steve, Nat and everybody; we landed in Wakanda and Bucky’s there. He and I look at each other over Steve’s shoulder, and like, bam, that was it for him.

“And then there’s five years where neither of us exist. We get back, we fight the monsters, Steve gives me the shield, and while all this is happening, apparently Bucky has come to the conclusion that he’s in love with me. After that, he was just waiting for me to catch up.”

“And he just knew you’d get there? Did you give him any indication that you were interested, or…?”

“I definitely did, but not intentionally,” says Wilson. “He’s very perceptive—like way more than I was giving him credit for—but I think it’s a combination of that and me not being as subtle as I think I am.

“Because, see there’s this invisible line I’ve drawn here—at least that’s how he was thinking about it—and I keep dancing a little closer to that line every day, the line being the no homo line; the point where you can’t take it back. The flirting, I mean. I, of course, think he has no clue and that I’m being slick about it. Actually, lemme ask—how much detail are you looking for here? Like do you want to know the whole story or just—”

“Lay it on me,” I tell him. “Just however you want to tell it.”

“Alright. Where was I? So I’m just there going back and forth on whether or not it’s a good idea to risk this roommate-partner-buddy thing we’ve got going here by trying to make a move that, frankly, I have no clue if he’s gonna be receptive to. You have to remember we’re talking about a guy from the Great Depression here, like that’s the time period he grew up in. I’m no historian, but I think it’s common knowledge that if you were a man who was attracted to men back then, you mostly kept that to yourself. The chances of him bringing up his sexual orientation unprompted are very low. And like, I’m 90% sure I’ve caught him looking before, but that’s never a guarantee, you know?

“So, instead of sitting down and having a mature conversation about my feelings, I keep doing this thing where, for example, say he’s trying something new with his hair, and I’ll say something nice about it. And then I follow up immediately with, ‘Almost makes up for your ugly mug,’ or whatever, which—I mean, he’s such a good-looking guy, like what ugly mug, obviously I don’t mean that. And he’s not stupid, he knows what he looks like. So he picks up on what I’m doing, doesn’t say anything, and lets this go on for months.

“Eventually, there’s one night… We’re on the couch, watching like, I don’t know, Seinfeld or something. Whatever was on. He’s reading a book on my tablet, looking all relaxed and handsome. I can’t have that, so I start egging him on like I usually do, and I guess I got close enough to the line that he just puts the tablet down, turns to me and says, ‘Sam, you know there’s no line, right?’

“And I’m going, okay, what does that mean? Like, is this a conversation I was previously a part of and forgot or...? Where is this ‘line’ thing coming from? And so I ask him—I think I just said, ‘What?’ At that point he looks me right in the eye, and he goes, ‘You can kiss me if you want to.’” So I did, and he was ready for it, like no hesitation. Like I said: waiting for me to catch up.”

This, as you can imagine, is far beyond the level of detail I could have ever imagined I’d get about Captain America’s love life in my wildest dreams. I decide to ask a new question, because I feel like I’d be pushing my luck to delve further when he’s already been so open about this experience.

“Who proposed and when?”

“Ooh,” says Wilson, “I guess technically I did, but I’m gonna go on record saying that one was a group effort.”

“Well, now you’re gonna have to explain that,” I tell him. “What’s a ‘group effort’ proposal look like?”

“Hmm. I backed myself into that one, didn’t I?” he says. “First, I want the record to show that before I called you guys to set up this interview, I specifically asked Bucky if there were any us-related topics or whatever that were off-limits to discuss and he said ‘No,’ and I said, ‘Are you sure?’ and he said ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ and I said, “You better be sure, because whatever I say is gonna be public knowledge after that,” and he said “I know, I get it, Jesus.” Then I dropped it because he sounded like he was getting kinda irritated. If he didn’t want me to tell you any of this stuff, that would’ve been the time to speak up, so here we go:

“We were at… Well, I can’t tell you exactly where we were, but let’s just say we were working. There was nobody else in the room, but we were getting ready to go out in the field; seemed like it was gonna be a pretty...intense situation out there. I had my whole suit on, he was calibrating his arm, and the conversation ended up at living wills. As you can imagine, that’s an important thing to have when you’re in this line of work. So he proceeded to tell me that the last time he’d updated his was never and that his next-of-kin was nobody. And I was like, ‘So what, your grenade launchers are all gonna go to the state? I don’t even get the red one?’ and I’m just giving him a hard time, you know, and he’s like, ‘Sam.’

“And then, my god, he just goes all the way off about how much he loves me and trusts me and I—we don’t usually go there. I mean, we’d been on the same page for a long time as far as, we’ve established that we’re in love, this relationship is going well, but it’s not something that we’d verbalized in any real depth. That’s just a level of like, exposure, vulnerability, I think, that doesn’t come naturally to most people, myself included.

“So he just keeps talking—and I think it’s fair to say he’s not a very talkative guy most of the time—and I’m standing there with my jaw on the floor because he is not holding back, and this is all clearly unrehearsed. Like, this is just how he really feels about me, apparently. By the time he’s finished, I’m crying, he’s crying, it’s a mess. And so I open my mouth, and I have no idea what I’m gonna say to all that, but what comes out is, “Will you marry me?” I wasn’t planning on it, but suddenly I just knew. Best decision I ever made.”

“And you’ve made some very important decisions in your life.”

“That’s right. I know which ones I’m leaving out by saying this was the best, and I stand by it.”

At that moment, as if on cue, the lock clicks, and Sergeant Barnes walks through the front door carrying two very full bags of groceries on his vibranium arm. He tosses a set of car keys into a little dish and locks the door behind him.

“Hey, babe,” Wilson calls out, catching his eye.

“You did it?” Barnes asks.

“Yeah.” Wilson tilts his head up.

Barnes rounds the corner, pecks Wilson on the lips with all the comfort and familiarity of a couple who have done it a thousand times. I hear him murmur, “Proud of you,” under his breath.

Barnes sets the groceries on the counter in front of me as Wilson introduces us.

“Call me Bucky,” says Barnes, reaching out with his right hand to shake mine. There’s a silver band on the fourth finger, and when I look back over at Wilson, he’s slipping his wedding ring out of the pocket of his jeans and putting it back on his left hand.

“Wasn’t sure if I’d be able to go through with all this,” he says, gesturing to me and my notepad. “I took the wedding pictures down in the living room too, before you got here.”

“I knew he could do it,” Barnes tells me. His voice is low, soft, and so quiet, a hint of an old Brooklyn accent underlying his words even now, despite everything he’s been through and everywhere he’s been. He shrugs out of his nondescript hoodie and tosses it on one of the unused stools, grabbing a kettle and putting it on the stove.

“Hibiscus or chamomile?” he asks me, pulling two boxes of tea bags from one of the grocery bags and letting me choose before turning to Wilson. “Bad news, hon. They were out of your whole wheat pita.”

“Again?” says Wilson, with feeling. “Really?”

“They only had the gluten free. I guess I could check the other store tonight, but it’s supposed to rain later, and I kinda don’t feel like going out again,” Barnes says, head buried in the cupboard as he stacks cans. “I was thinking maybe I could just try making ‘em. How does that sound? How hard can it be, right?”

“‘How does homemade pita sound,’ he says,” Wilson repeats, jabbing a thumb towards Barnes. “Can you believe this guy?”

“I honestly can’t.” It’s the truth. My brain refuses to reconcile this man with the supposed playboy I read about in my 11th grade history textbook, nor the internationally feared assassin.

“Is that a yes or no on the experimental homemade pita?” Barnes asks Wilson, still deep in the cupboard. “No promises on quality.”

“That’s a yes, Buck,” says Wilson, then he turns to me. “Don’t listen to him; he’s a great cook.”

The Winter Soldier is a great cook, I write in my notes. And then I realize this is my moment to shine.

“I actually know a good recipe for homemade pita,” I tell them. “It’s whole wheat.” That gets Barnes’s attention.

“You do?” he says, pulling out his phone. “Can you send it to—hmm.” He frowns. “Sam, it’s not showing the thing.”

“What thing?” Wilson asks, taking Barnes’s phone from his hand. “Oh, yeah, that’s cause it’s set to Contacts Only, Buck, you have to switch it to Allow Everyone.”

Wilson looks at me, smiling. “Bucky here hates technology—”

“—I don’t hate technology—”

“Oh yes you do, you won’t even let me get you an iPad—”

“Yeah, for what? What do I need it for? I wouldn’t even use—”

“You wouldn’t use one, huh? How about I stop letting you borrow mine for a couple of weeks, then we’ll see how you feel.” Wilson turns to me, passing Barnes’s phone back to him. “He should be showing up on your AirDrop now.”

Sure enough, I’m able to send the recipe link to Bucky’s iPhone. He thanks me and starts scrolling right through it, argument apparently totally forgotten.

As Barnes continues to read, periodically checking on the kettle; Wilson excuses himself to help put away the rest of the groceries, which are mostly produce.

“I hope you have like, immediate plans for these,” Wilson says, inspecting the avocados as he pulls them out of the paper bag. “They are ripe, man. Tomorrow’s gonna be too late for them.”

“Yeah I do, I was gonna make grilled chicken and avocado sandwiches for dinner,” Barnes replies. “I got tomatoes, swiss cheese—”

“What’s all this about pita then if we’re having sandwiches?” Wilson asks.

“No, the pita is the bread here,” Barnes explains. “You stuff everything in the pocket. I’m gonna have to get started pretty soon; probably gonna double the rising time since it’s cold out.” Wilson hums in apparent approval of this course of action.

I lose Wilson to the refrigerator for several minutes. He stands back up after arranging things in the crisper to his liking.

“Any chance I could get a peek at those wedding pictures?” I ask.

“Oh,” says Wilson. “That okay with you?” He turns to Barnes, who nods, carefully steeping bags of tea in three steaming mugs, and then leads me back to the living room.

Wilson has stashed two silver-framed pictures in a drawer of the coffee table, apparently in anticipation of my visit, and he pulls them out to show to me. Both are taken in front of a familiar-looking farmhouse, which I struggle with for a moment before placing it as the exact one in Captain Rogers’s watercolor painting that’s hanging to my left. Wilson’s suit in the photo is a matte but brilliant shade of cobalt; Barnes wears black.

One is of just the two of them, arms around one another and foreheads together. It’s almost too intimate to look at; I feel as though I’m intruding on something intensely private, even though Wilson is standing right here offering me a glimpse of it.

He puts that one back up onto the mantle.

The next is them in the center of a large group that consists of some people I recognize and others I don’t. Familiar faces include Dr. Bruce Banner [The Hulk], Clint Barton [Hawkeye], and Maria Hill [Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.]. Also present: King T’Challa of Wakanda and his sister, Princess Shuri. There’s a young girl in a white dress, carrying a flower basket and missing a front tooth, standing in front of [C.E.O. of Stark Industries] Pepper Potts. Next to them is a teenager with floppy brown hair doing an indescribably awkward double thumbs up.

“Who’s that?” I ask, pointing at him.

Wilson snorts. “Some punk. Family friend.”

That picture gets hung on the empty nail next to Captain Rogers’s painting.

Barnes knocks quietly on the doorway behind us. “Tea’s ready.”

An awkward silence settles in with us once we sit back down in the kitchen, Wilson and Barnes next to one another, and me across from them. I flip through my notes, taking a sip from my mug.. My drink is sweeter than I was expecting, because apparently the Winter Soldier has added agave to the hibiscus tea he made me. It’s delicious.

Barnes eventually breaks. “So whatcha go over so far?”

“How we got together, how we got engaged,” Wilson answers him. “In detail too, so if you don’t want that published, you’re gonna have to grovel at the journalist yourself, because you said—”

“Oh my god,” says Barnes, old-school New York sarcasm dripping from every word. “How dare you tell people about the best thing I ever did, huh? Now they’re gonna think I’m like, a sensitive, good guy, and here I’ve been coasting along on this murder cyborg image. What have you done, you dick?”

Wilson rolls his eyes.

“So...you’re okay with it?” I ask them, absolutely ready to scrub the record if he hesitates.

“You kidding me?” says Barnes. “Every other week comes up some new atrocity I committed against my will in like...the 70s, and you think I’m gonna be upset with people knowing that once in a while I say nice shit to someone I love? Write it. Please. Knock yourself out.”

Okay then. Since Barnes seems willing to talk, I ask them if I can throw them a few questions I have for them as a couple. Barnes looks as though he wasn’t anticipating this.

Wilson turns to him. “You wanna be here for this?”

Barnes nods slowly, hesitantly, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“You’re okay?” Wilson asks. “You decide you’re done at any point and I’ll end it. Or you can go hang out in the other room, your call.”

“I’m good for now,” Barnes decides. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“You can ask whatever you want,” Wilson says to me. “I can’t promise we’ll answer everything, but go ahead and shoot.”

“I guess the first question I have is: what’s the hardest thing about navigating your jobs as a couple? What bothers you the most about that?”

Wilson exhales loudly. “I mean, the obvious answer is the danger,” he says. “The nature of what we do is fundamentally unsafe. I think it goes without saying—I’ll still say it—that we’re always aware that one of us might not make it back from a mission, which is...” Wilson trails off for a moment, shaking his head. “You don’t get used to that feeling. The fear.”

“Mm hmm,” Barnes agrees, from behind his mug.

“And,” continues Wilson, “I’m also aware that by doing this interview, I’m putting Bucky in additional danger. I’m not naive enough to think that the people working against us won’t try to use my relationship with him as leverage against me.”

“That makes sense,” I say, because he’s absolutely right, and pretending that public knowledge of his marriage doesn’t put them both in a new kind of danger seems disingenuous. I face Barnes. “Your turn.”

“Racist assholes,” says Barnes immediately.

Wilson smirks and cocks his head in agreement. “Sometimes I think I’ve talked that subject to death, other times it’s like I could never hope to address it enough. Today feels like the first one.”

A diplomatic, but clear answer. Time to move on.

I’m about to ask the next question when he adds: “Another thing that gets under my skin is how it’s like Bucky’s image in the eyes of the general public is totally dependent on me hyping him up all the time. As far as I’m concerned, he’s proven himself a hundred times over, and yet if I’m not on T.V. reminding people of that every day, it’s suddenly like ‘oh, the Winter Soldier, can we ever really trust him?’

“I just… It bothers me. I want us to come to a collective understanding that everything that happened happened to Bucky, not because of him. It kinda circles back into another of the things I’m passionate about, which is mental health care and awareness. I think if we as a society were better about recognizing and addressing mental illness, and particularly Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, I wouldn’t have to keep having this conversation about my husband.”

Barnes’s face is getting pinker and he says nothing, but he’s smiling a little at Wilson, who puts an arm around his shoulders.

“Anyway, we can move on,” says Wilson, his expression going easy again. “Just had to get that out there one more time.”

“Hopefully this one’s a little more pleasant,” I say. “What inspired you to come forward about your relationship? I know you guys—” I gesture between them, ”—have been together for a couple years, so why now?”

“I want to go on a date in public,” says Bucky. “I haven’t been on a date since the 40s.”

“That’s right,” says Wilson. “We’re doing all this so I can take him Denny’s and hold his hand over a $6.99 Super Slam.”

When I finish laughing, Wilson continues. “Part of it’s because we realized it’s gonna get out there whether we like it or not. You already knew when you got here that we lived together, and that’s because that information got leaked to the public last week, so it was always just a matter of time before people found out anyway. I’d rather have some control over that narrative; better you hear it from me and Bucky, how we want to tell it, than in some tabloid.”

He’s right about that: they would undoubtedly have been outed one way or another. Their status as “roommates” was reported by TMZ a week and a half ago, and there was a Buzzfeed piece only yesterday, rife with gifs, entitled 15 Times Captain America and The Winter Soldier Made Us Wish We Were Their Third Roommate, that ended on the note of how Wilson and Barnes are “absolute BFF GOALS.” Wilson continues:

“But I think the biggest reason is that we decided, together, that we actually think it’s good for people to know. I’ve seen firsthand the impact that having a Black Captain America has had on the Black community and on the national topic of race, and we think—we hope—that a Captain America who is a member of the LGBT community will have a similar effect.

“The people who already hate me aren’t going to like me any better or worse for being bisexual, but some bisexual teenager out there is hopefully gonna read this article and feel a little bit better about themselves than they did before. That’s really the impact I want to have here. Got anything to add, Buck?”

“Actually, yeah,” says Barnes, staring at the counter in front of him and fiddling with his wedding ring. “I grew up gay in thirties. The idea of being able to just...tell people, that’s still amazing to me. The fact that I’m sitting here talking about it with a stranger and you’re not screamin’ in my face right now…”

“You do know I’m not straight either, right?” I ask him. I’m not exactly shy about that, it’s the kind of thing most people can tell just by looking at me.

“Even so,” says Barnes, finally looking me in the eye. “You fool around with a fella back in the day—or worse, you make a pass and he turns you down—then he knows about you, and then it’s like, what if he tells someone? Some of the worst shit I ever saw came from people who found out that way. So, other gay guys. Basically you never felt safe.”

“What about Captain Rogers?” I ask. “Did he know?”

“Oh yeah, Steve knew,” says Barnes with a dismissive wave of his hand, like that ought to be obvious. “He wasn’t gonna tell anyone; I got too much dirt on him.“

“Pfft. He’s messing with you,” Wilson interjects, directed at me. “There’s no dirt on Steve anywhere; believe me, I’d know by now if there was.”

“I want you to guess how many times I’ve had to clean up Steve’s puke,” says Barnes in a total deadpan, leaning forward. “Whatever number you think it is, the real answer is higher.

“This again,” says Wilson. “I keep telling you Buck, Steve throwing up on you at Coney Island isn’t the big scandalous story you seem to want it to be.”

“Sam wasn’t there, he didn’t see it,” Barnes insists. “We were with these girls and they just left us standing there by the Cyclone, covered in hot dog chunks. Actually, that part was kind of a relief ‘cause one of ‘em was definitely jonesing for me to kiss her before that, and I really didn’t want to.

“But seriously, after everything we went through together, I knew I could trust Steve with anything. And that made me luckier than most—at least I had one person. Lots of guys had no one.

“Anyway, my reasons for coming out with all this are probably more selfish than Sam’s. You know some of those Nazis—we’re callin’ ‘em something else these days, like ‘alt-right’ or whatever, but I know a Nazi when I see one—they have this crazy idea of what I was like back in the day. They’ve got this fantasy, like a golem of toxic masculinity with my face on it, and I just want to publicly shit on their dreams. Every date I ever went on with a girl was a total sham, and I was scared down to my bones that someone would figure that out. I fight because someone needs to and I’m good at it, but I hate hurting people and I’d much rather be sitting here cuddling on the couch with a man. This man.”

Barnes is grinning big and wide by the time he finishes—a real, genuine smile that brings out the sparkle in his eyes—and suddenly I feel like I’m catching a glimpse of what Wilson must be seeing in him. Wilson himself is laughing.

“I like how you snuck your little buzzword in there, baby,” he says. “Toxic masculinity. That’s one of Bucky’s things he learned about from his Wakandan therapist.

“Obviously super important,” Wilson adds, lest I think he’s making light of something serious.

“I think it’s great that we’re talking about it so openly now, especially with respect to the military.”

Barnes tilts his head in agreement, checking the time on his phone. We’re probably approaching the point at which he wants to get started on that pita bread, and I’m definitely in his way.

“So what’s next for you guys?” I ask.

“Isn’t that always the question?” Wilson asks, taking Barnes’s right hand in his left and resting them, intertwined, on the countertop. “Sometimes it’s aliens. Sometimes not. Who even knows anymore?”

“Hopefully, a whole lot more of this,” says Barnes, looking down at their hands.

Wilson smiles. “Well, that’s a given. That’s always.”

This is when Barnes gets up to pull a stand mixer out of one of the cupboards, and I read that as my cue to take my leave. I end my recording, Wilson thanks me for stopping by, I promise to give him an advance copy of my writing to make sure he’s comfortable with what I said, and I find myself standing back on the sidewalk of [REDACTED] moments later.

I’m not typically in the habit of including as many details about the dinner plans of my article subjects as I have here—and I’m certainly testing the limits of my editor’s patience with the word count—but in the spirit of Wilson’s wishes for what his coming out story will mean to the people of America, I wanted to emphasize how human his marriage is.

Barnes and Wilson have extraordinary jobs that they are undoubtedly uniquely suited for and that most of us will never fully understand, but they are also two people who have been through a lot of hardship and found happiness and peace in one another. And that’s something that most of us do understand: love, the human experience that transcends the divisions we give ourselves.

*From a press conference Wilson gave on May 7, 2025.

**From a statement written by Barnes and issued through a S.H.I.E.L.D. representative on November 1, 2023.

For further reading on Barnes, the author recommends:

1. Greatest Generation X: The Impossible Life of James Buchanan Barnes, by Ariel Guzman, published in 2025.

2. R.Y. Uhlencott’s column “The Wolf of Brooklyn” in the October 2024 issue of Time covers the basic timeline and trajectory of Barnes’s life.

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #winterfalcon #mcu #marvel #tfatws #sam(antha) tag #my fanfic tag #fanfic

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nerdycanible1 · 4 years

Text

The Healing Plant.

This is a story of Kya's and Lin's past. Of who gave Kya her betrothal necklace and why Lin has issues. This is my own little story so of course I will not have the facts lol. Also please be warned as this has some explicit content of fire and burns. Along with death. Please don't read if you are sensitive to such things. Please enjoy.

All art is mine.

Lin squeezed her pillow as a tear glided down her cheek. "Her last breath will always haunt my dreams. The echoes of her breath bounce around in my head and I cannot rid of it." Her lip trembled. "How can you forgive me?" She whispered. "I lost the only person dear to you." She whimpered. "I failed you."

Kya looked at Lin with a wince as her heart was still numb. Losing her wife only a few days ago didn't make her feel right. Her hand clenched as the water near them began to freeze. The betrothal necklace around her neck felt as if a million pounds of anvils were on her chest. Lin couldn't save her. Lin couldn't save the only person she has ever cared about. The only soul mate.

Lin was wrapped in bandages as her burn wounds was still raw, tender and still needed a lot of healing. Her hair was disheveled as tears glided down her face, her eyes puffy. Why does she get to cry? Not like she's the one that lost a lover.

"You did fail." Kya says barely above a whisper, clenching her fists. The bright smile Zhi always seemed to save for her. the tender kisses and the affectionate laugh that always made her join in. "How can you let her get hurt?!"

Lin flinched and whimpered. She began to push herself up and winced. "Kya let me explain what h-"

"No!!! Zhi Ruo is gone because of you!! You let her get hurt... you let her die! You let my wife die!!" Lin sniffled and covered her face ashamed. "I thought you were a protector of civilians. Of everyone." The water in the pans, bowls and cups trembled as Kya was getting more and more angry. Her grief getting the best of her.

Lin had no idea Zhi was Kya's wife. She didn't know. She tried to save her but instead she let the woman get killed. Be my wife Kya. I'll always be there for you.

Kya growled as she raised the water above her head ready to hurt Lin. Lin squeezed her eyes shut ready to for the pain but it never came. Instead she felt the ice water plop onto her as she saw Kya's retreating form leave the room.

[11 Years Later]

Lin sat in her apartment drinking her bitter coffee. it was already 3 in the morning and Lin was wearing her tank top. Tenzin breaking up with her after 13 years and Kya never seeing her was a harsh world to be in. Lin was a bitter woman, being the age of 39 and no suiters was not a way to go. Her finger subconsciously running over her burned flesh. The scars were permanent and she still felt the death of Zhi pretty hard. Kya still hasn't forgiven her and it only dawned to her that she may never see the woman again.

She was just finishing her last cup of the night before there was a tentative knock on her front door. She frowned as she looked up at the clock and saw that it was 3:47 am. She stood up with a sigh and stomped her way to the door and opened it up. "What do you wa-" Her words dying in her throat when seeing the waterbender. Lin went rigid when she heard the others words bounce in her head. Your fault! Your FAULT. Kya looked up at Lin with a smile but only furrowed her brows seeing the bad fire wounds on Lin and the look upon her face. "Lin, spirits you chan-"

Lin let out a strained sob and slammed the door in front of her, leaving the waterbender on her porch. Lin stumbled back and her hands trembled as her arm began to burn. "Lin are you okay? Linnie?"

Lin held onto her arm and cursed under her breath. The hurried knocks from Kya was agitating her along with her arm. Her heart ached at the memory. She wanted to explain herself to Kya about the whole situation but all she got was the sad stares from the family. Kya had packed up in the middle of the night and no one knew where she went. Lin growled and walked to the door. She stood up and held her chest up and swung the door open. Kya almost fell forward but began to gather her balance. "Lin-" she breathed in relief but Lin crossed her arms over her chest.

"What is it?" She snapped. Kya flinched hearing the harshness of the of Lin's words. The last time they talked, Lin was goofy and had kinder words. Kya frowned as she gulped and looked at her. "Can I com-"

"No you may not. State your business so I can head to bed. I have a early shift in the morning. Now what is it?"

Kya frowned and looked up at the other as her brows furrowed. "We need to talk. I thought you'd want to see me after I came back." Her heart ached. Just what had happened to her best friend. Lin always had time for her.

"Came back?" She barked. "How long ago was it you were gone? How many letters did you write? How many years?" Lin glared down at the woman and kept her arm from view the best she could. The burn mark was from the mid of her forearm all the up to the mid way of her neck. I burned part of her back and her stomach.

Kya felt her brows draw down as her eyes watered. "I would have... I thought we were over this. Lin that was, I was still a k-"

"Save it. I don't need your words of pity. If there's nothing else then let me head back to sleep." How can I get over it when your words haunt my dreams. The tears and the hate in your eyes. "Lin wa-" Lin didn't give her another chance as she slammed the door in her face.

{TIME SKIP}

It was a few days later before Lin was heading to the island to talk to Katara and Aang. The kids and her may have gotten on the wrong foot but that doesn't mean her and her aunty and uncle were on the bad foot. And she also promised to help them build a new set of stairs to help be easier to go up to the temple. She also wanted to catch up with Bumi till he was deployed again. The two were an unlikely pair but they became really close and were practically best friends.

Once Lin arrived she was greeted by the same acolytes that always greet her. She began to make her way up the make shift stairs and jog up them as she wanted to greet Katara before she got to work. Once she made it to the house she opened the door and ran right into the Waterbender. Lin grunted as she stumbled back and she looked up and was ready to apologize to Katara for running into her until she saw who it was and she stayed quiet. Kya and her were in a stare down before an arm hooked around her shoulders and she was pulled into Bumi's side. Lin groaned as she began to pull herself away from Bumi. "BUMI!!!" She growled as he would chuckle and hold her in his arms.

Kya frowned seeing the two act so familiar to each other. Lin wasn't like that with her. Lin punched him in the gut and he huffed and bent forward with a obnoxious laugh. "Your punch is the same." He grunted.

Lin chuckled and stood there watching as Bumi tried to regain his breath.

Lin chuckled tapped the others shoulder. "As much as I like beating you up Bumi I wanna say hi to your mother." Bumi smiled at Lin and followed after her as if he hadn't got his guts mushed. "Mom made some apple tarts and breakfast."

Lin could feel the others icy glare though she ignored it. She didn't want to talk to her. Her burn was irritating her again, it seemed to always burn around the bad memories and now Kya. Lin was wearing a long sleeved shirt that was a little too hot to wear during the summer but it looked as if it didn't bother Lin.

Once inside Lin greeted her uncle and aunty and hugged them both, though it be a one sided hug it didn't mean any less than love.

Lin listened to them talk while Bumi hung back with Kya. "What's wrong with the both of you? Lin used to always greet you first?" He looked down at his little sister and Kya rolled her eyes.

"Things change Bumi. It's been years since the last we saw each other." Kya muttered as she looked at the police chief. Lin laughed with them and stole a apple tart. Lin always loved sweets and always was spoiled whenever she came over.

"Can you get me some water Lin, I wanna make some tea to go with this." Katara said holding a bowl out to her. Lin smiled and finished swallowing her food before she grabbed the bowl.

"Of course." She began to walk out of the house and Katara made sure the other left the door before Katara threw a spoon at Kya, hitting her squarely on the forehead.

"You were supposed to talk to Lin last night!!" She grumbled. She began to walk towards her. "Why didn't you two talk?!"

Bumi started laughing loudly and holding his stomach as he did so. Kya rubbed her forehead and pouted towards her mother. "Mom let me explain. She slammed the door in my face." Katara glared at her and placed her hands on her hips.

"That shouldn't stop you. You're a master waterbender and you let a door stop you? When I was your age-no younger than you I sliced through a wooden cage with only my sweat. And you let a door stop you." Katara shook her head and went back to cooking. "Now go out there and set it straight." Aang gave his daughter a sympathetic look.

Kya chewed the inside if her cheek before she sighed and walked outside. Leaving Bumi's boisterous laugh inside and went to the well.

Lin grunted as she looked down in the well saw the water. She frowned as she saw the bucket down in the water without the rope tied around it. With a heavy sigh Lin began to crawl inside the well and braced herself against the wall. She began to slowly make her way down into the dark well. "Lin? Lin?" Kya began to look around for the woman and frowned not seeing her. Lin had just grabbed the bucket while she was trying to keep her balance against the wells walls.

With one last look around her grabbed a bucket and used her bending to bring water out of the well. A yelp left the well as Lin got soaked in the ice water and a loud splash was heard as Lin fell into the water. The Well wall wasn't structured properly and the rocks were loose.

Kya dropped the water and ran to the well seeing Lin at the bottom. Lin was floating in the water and Lin was glaring daggers at Kya. "Spirits Lin. You ok-"

Lin grunted and grabbed the wall of the well before she began to earthbend her wait up. Her clothes were all soaked. "Here let me help y-"

Lin swatted her hands away as she crawled out of the well with a huff and stood there letting the water drip off of her. "I'm fine." She knew it was her fault but that didn't mean she wasn't mad. With a heavy sigh, Lin unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it off. Lin was wearing nothing but the wraps around her chest. Lin was muttering sweet words under her breath as she began to take her shoes off.

Kya's eyes raked over her body and brows furrowed. She had no idea how Lin could stand the scars. It must have hurt her so badly. Her fingers subconsciously ran over the wrinkled scars. Lin tensed and went rigid, her body had froze and trembled.

"Zhi!! This is no time for you to act like a hero!! Kya can care for herself!" Lin grasped her arm and began to pull her out of the temple. The smoke was building up in the room, the logs blazing with fire were coming down.

It was only supposed to be a damn house fire but the team got split up and were each ambushed and attacked. Zhi fought against Lin's grip and shoved Lin away. "Shes in trouble! I can feel it!" Lin growled as she grabbed her hand again but Zhi slapped Lin across the face and pointed upwards. Kya was being choked while the man was ready to stab her.

With the burning, stinging sensation on her cheek Lin was ready to slap the other.

The smoke was filling Lin's lungs and she could barely breath. With a quick flick of her arm a rock flew towards the man. Lin didn't see the non bender run off and she continued to distract him from the first floor.

A scream rang in her ears and just like in slow motion she saw the pillar give way and was slowly falling to the ground. Her heart ached as she had to make a hard decision. She knew Kya can care for herself and a second later Lin was using her metal from her suit to hold the pillar up along with her right arm. It felt as if hot boiling, blistering water was being poured on the right side of her body.

A blood curdling scream left Lin's lips as she held the pillar up. She soon saw Zhi under her. The woman looked as white as a ghost but she was still breathing. But what wasn't right was the blood pooling around her. Her breath was shallow and had a small wheeze to it.

Part of the pillar was broken and stabbed the other in the stomach. Even if she did manage to get out from under the wood, the burn Mark's and huge hole in her stomach wouldn't let her live.

Tears filled her eyes as she was losing a friend and there was nothing she could do. With the fire on her skin, cooking her alive she felt as if she was gonna pass out at any given moment.

She clenched her jaw, her breathing getting shallower and shallower. Lin took a deep breath and she clenched her jaw. With all her remaining strength she pushed herself to her feet and lifted the pillar as high as she could. She needed to get her out of here. She couldnt burn in here. With another growl she threw the pillow behind her and lifted the woman in her arms. Her skin felt as if it was melting away.

Shakey, jello-y legs began to carry the woman out. Tears gliding down her cheeks as she could see the light of the door way. The body in her arms slowly getting colder and colder. Her heart barely beating.

"Stay alive. Stay alive. Stay alive." Lin chanted over and over. "Stay awake." Her sight was growing dimmer and dimmer.

"Tell... Kya I love her." She wheezed. Lin had laid the other a good few feet away from the collapsing house. She smiled and brought her hand up to her cheek. Tears filled her eyes as she stared into Lin's eyes. "Take care of her."

Lin shook her head and clenched onto her hand with trembling fingers. Her hand couldn't even give her strength. "Y-You have to do that. Please. Z-Zhi... please."

Zhi gave her a lightlsmile and caressed her cheek but her strength gave out and her hand dropped. Her head began to lean to the side and her breathing was all she heard. Lin held her hand and stroked it. She couldn't heal her. The least she could do was be there in her last moments. With one last ragged, deep breath she was gone. Lin squeezed her hand as she was losing her best friend. Her tears dropping on her arm.

Lin smacked her hand away and glared at her. "Don't touch me." She didn't yell it, she didn't squeeze her hand. She didn't do anything except utter the words.

But Kya felt all the emotions hit her hard. Feeling her aura felt as if she were in the saddest place on the world. Kya stumbled back and tears filled her eyes.

Lin stared at the other and watched her step back. Her hand pressed against her forearm, feeling the ugly burn marks. "What happened? I-It couldn't have been that bad." Kya breathed as she seemed to have regained herself.

Lin felt her lip raise to a scowl and she grasped the other by the front of her dress and pulled her close. She stared up into her eyes, not even caring for the obvious height difference. "Not that bad? NOT THAT BAD?!" Lin growled as she felt her grip tighten, her fingers going white, the joints in her fingers screamed under the pressure.

"Maybe if you didn't run off in the middle of the night then you would have known what actually happened." She barked. She began to walk forward and Kya took and alternating one back.

"L-Lin."she grimaced as she was shoved back. The little push wouldn't have hurt but the strong fingers of Lin Beifong was no joke. "I was just a kid. I-I just had lost my wife. I-I was hurting." Kya defended herself.

Lin's eyes blazed, the ground beneath them trembled. "Just a kid?" She clenched her jaw and glared at her. "I was a kid too!" She growled. "She was my best friend!" She snapped. The rumble of the Beifong's anger made the stone split. "I... I watched her die." The rumbling suddenly stopped and the broken Beifong stood there. "We were friends before you were her wife." She whispered. "I knew her before you."

Lin took a deep breath and finally looked into her eyes. "It was my fault she died I know t-that." Her voice cracked and she ran a hand over her scars, her nails digging into the scar. The sight made Kya wince.

"I just.... the pillar fell... I ran as fast, as I could." She felt the tear run down her cheek. "She loved you." She whispered. Lin's heart ached as she hung her head and hid her pained face. "She said... she loved you... I-I." She gulped and squeezed her eyes shut. But not me. She didn't... she didnt love me. "How can I let her die. I held the pillar... I made sure it didn't crush her..."

Lin's gut twisted and she turned and looked out to the waterview. "Her last breath hangs in my head, her bright amber eyes are forever burned in my mind."

"Lin I'm so sorry." Kya whispered. She walked over to the other but Lin stepped back. "Lin." She grabbed her by the hand and Lin took a shuttering breath.

"Zhi died. The pillar I held up was on fire, the fire burned so badly and I couldn't even hold it up." Lin looked up at Kya with furrowed brows. "I've never seen someone hate me so much." She gulped and gripped her hand. "For the first time in my life, I saw someone hate me so much you were willing to kill me."

Kya opened her mouth the say something but Lin shut her up with a look. She didn't want Kya to speak. Not at all.

"I know I should've protected her but... it hurt so much." She looked into Kya's eyes and her brows twitched together every now and then. "Why did you blame me for her death?" She whispered. "She was a grown woman and... and she made her own decisions." She glared at Kya before she sighed and just let her emotions fall into a numb impassive face.

"I'm tired of this Kya." She stepped back and rubbed her shoulder. Kya grabbed her and pulled her into a hug.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't think my words would hurt you this bad." She closed her eyes and pulled her in close. "I'm so sorry."

All Lin could do was stand there. She made no move to hug her back, her mind wondered back to the temple. Every night she relived the same dream. With the smell of burnt hair, the smell of flesh and the small hint of blood.

The smell never left Lin's nose, she always smelled and tasted the fire.

#nerds #art #queer artist #atla #legendofkorra #lesbian #lgbtq #lin beifong #kya ll #legend of korra kya #heart break #fanfic

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redhawtriot · 5 years

Text

Caught in The Act (Bakugou x Reader)

Tip Jar ☕- Not expected but always appreciated💞

Thanks for the patience concerning the links to vote!

As I am writing this right now there have been around 100 voters so thank you so much to all of you who participated, and to all of you who will:)

You guys really make this story so much fun to write with all of your comments and feedback! I really appreciate it. <3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Part 2

After waking up the next morning your dazed mind tried to make sense of the stiff and bizarre feelings of your body—the most pressing being the cracking dryness of your mouth and throat. Your dense tongue felt like sandpaper as you made your way out of your bed and towards the kitchen.

In your groggy state, you thoughtlessly swung your bedroom door open.

“What the–?” you gasped. A sudden startle in your chest caused you to take a slight stumble backwards, ‘Oh yeah, that happened.’ The startle immediately died and transformed into something limp and heavy enough to weigh down your heart at the sight of unfaithful Satan himself– Katsuki Bakugou.

He was droopily propped up against the wall as he rest with his back against it— his sleeping form facing you from across the hall.

In most other circumstances this scene would be hilarious as Kirishima’s body seemed to be the only thing keeping him from falling to the ground– his head uncomfortably jammed into Bakugou’s shoulder. His neck would be on fire when he woke up.

Yeah, this would be hilarious if it weren’t for the immense and sudden heartbreak you felt when you looked at Bakugou’s face. The calmness on his features made your stomach fold in on itself as you recalled just how contrastly expressive he was last night as he jammed his raw self into a stranger. A shiver ran down your spine.

In the corner of your eye, you spotted a mass of chunky liquid, and upon further inspection, your esophagus lurched at the sight and rancid smell of vomit.

You had to actively fight the urge to throw your hand to your forehead for a heavy smack.

God, it was entirely too sad that you knew exactly whose stomach this bile belonged to.

You slightly danced on the balls of your feet and tried to decide on what to do next. Waking Bakugou up was the last thing you wanted to do—you were absolutely not ready to face him just yet, but you couldn’t just leave Kirishima in this pitiful state. He wouldn’t ever do that to you.

“Fuck it,” You gave a short silent sigh and shook the anxiety from your hands before making your way over to the pair. You pressed your lips together to keep from making any noise as you awkwardly raised your hands and caressed the air in front of you. As you began to smoothly sway your hands, the air around Kirishima danced to your whim.

You made certain that a constant draft held Bakugou in the same position as you used your free hand to will Kirishima’s body upwards and onto your shoulder like a hug. You slowly released Bakugou to the ground before sharply grabbing onto Kirshima with both hands so that he wouldn’t slip away.

You had to fight the groan that almost escaped your lips as his full body weight rested against you suddenly, ‘Okay. Here we go.’ You cheered yourself on as you clumsily hobbled with him in your arms.

Making your way to his bedroom was easily the simpler part of your Kirishima heist, although you may have dropped him onto his bed a lot rougher than you had meant to, “Whoopsie!” you quietly squeaked as his ragdoll body flopped harshly onto his mattress.

As you made your way out of the room, Krishima was beginning to stir himself awake. He was already blinking his eyes open when you returned from the bathroom with a pot, hot cloth and ratty toothbrush in hand.

You just gave him your spare toothbrush last week, but it was already looking like a family heirloom passed from the dark ages. Both him and Bakugou brush so aggressively.

The thought caused an unexpected and painful jolt in your ribcage as you leaned over to wipe the vomit from Kirshima’s face.

“Hey… you okay?” his voice slurred.

How the hell was he still drunk? It’s been at least a few hours since his last drink. For some reason this thought caused your heart to flutter with hope. Maybe Bakugou really wasn’t in his right mind last night.

No. No.

No!

You immediately reprimanded this thought for existing as you pushed it into time-out in a dark space in your mind so that it couldn’t trouble you again. Drunk or not, he cheated on you. He completely disrespected your guys’ relationship—he completely disrespected you.

You looked down to Kiri with a stumbling grin and desperately tried to maintain this expression, “I’m not the one bathing in his own throw up,” you lamely retorted finally, causing him to reluctantly smile back at you before easing back into his slumber.

As soon as he closed his eyes again your smile faded out of existence and you continued to solemnly wipe him down with the cloth. You had always joked to Bakugou that Kirishima was great practice for when the two of you had kids. That was always the excuse that you had given him whenever he brought up ditching the redhead as a roommate.

But would the two of you ever even have children now?

All of the internal planning that you did; all of the dreams that you had built together seemed to reside on flimsy foundation, and they were all crumbling to dust right in front of your very eyes.

The weight of the situation seemed to finally lay fully upon you. You didn’t know if you could handle staying with a cheater. So, it really was over then?

Just like that?

You threw the back of your hand to your mouth as you felt an unexpected sob try to free itself form your body. You fought it back, but it seemed to run to your eyes for release instead. You lost this battle as a few tears fell down your cheeks.

“H-hey…” a hoarse voice suddenly snapped you out of your emotion. You snapped your head up to the open bedroom door and saw Bakugou staring at you with an unreadable expression. His eyes were slightly widened with his eyebrows coming in to meet each other. His typical scowl was present but seemed to be of a different flavor than usual.

He also seemed to notice his change of character and immediately corrected himself as he cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pants pockets, “I mean uh—good morning…” he hardened his face as he threw his soft glare away from you and towards the ground.

You couldn’t reply to him as your mind could only focus on replaying the repulsing events that you had witness only hours before. He was certainly unable to feel the surge of emotions that collided within you, so he continued talking anyway, “I tried to get the idiot into bed last night, but he wouldn’t listen,” he pointed to Kirishima.

Tried to get him into bed, huh? I wonder how long it took that bitch to try and get him into bed.

You still couldn’t bring yourself to speak to him as your face slowly began to shrivel into itself. The sight of him made you sick. You calmly got up and moved past him to make your way towards the kitchen. You needed to eat something. Your stomach felt physically ill.

His face became more annoyed as you continued to walk without making eye contact with him, “So anyway,” he roughly continued as you moved past him, causing your stomach to lurch as the sound of his nearby voice. He followed you regardless, “I couldn’t- uh- sleep a lot last night so I…” his voice gradually became softer as he spoke, “I made you breakfast,” he finally blurted.

You gawked at the sight of your kitchen. The bar was filled with breakfast foods including eggs, bacon, fruit salad, waffles, coffee, potatoes and your guys’ favorite—spicy gravy and biscuits.

“Get outta the way,” he softly commanded as he brushed past you and into the kitchen, “Let me warm it up for you.” You could only blankly stare as he prepared you a plate and slid it in front of you on the bar. You knew that he liked to cook, but this was a lot much for you at the moment,

“Katsuki, I—”

“Just shut up!” he barked, “It’s not a big deal. I was just up.” He angrily snapped his gaze from you before his eyes slightly widened at his own words. You silently blinked a few times in shock as he hurriedly tried to fix his phrasing, “I mean– I wanted to do something for you so… just let me do that,” he tried to calm his voice through slightly gritted teeth, “So are you gonna eat it, or what?” he snapped.

You raised one eyebrow, before sitting down and grabbing a fork full of biscuit and reluctantly placing it into your mouth. Pleased, Bakugou threw you a nod before heading back out of the kitchen, “You go ahead and eat that,” he ordered, “I’ll go run us some bath water, you like bubbles and shit, right?” he awkwardly shifted his weight. You clenched your fork as your hands instinctively made a fist.

A small, painful laugh emerged from your sore throat, “Bubbles and shit? That’s what you think it takes, huh?”

Your laugh stung against your vocal cords as it became wilder. Bakugou could only quietly harden his glare again as you continued, “Why did it take so much for you to start loving me?” You laughed crazily.

“What?” he finally snapped a response.

You stood up from your seat as you slid the pate away from you, all jokes aside, “Did it really take fucking another bitch in front of me to get you to be nice to me for once?” you stormed up to him and roughly prodded an accusing finger into his chest.

Surprise befell your expression as he smacked your hand way from him, “Look, I fucked up okay?!” his voice became suddenly loud, “Can we just fucking move past it?”

Your jaw dropped as anger erupted through your open mouth, “Are you KIDDING ME?!” you tried to usurp his volume, “Move past it!? The image is burned in my mind. The way you were looking at her. I…” your voice began to crack as tears once again paraded pathetically down your face, “You don’t even look that way at me anymore. It completely kills me Katsuki, that it took her two seconds to do what took me two years to do!” you cried.

He suddenly seemed very unsure of himself for once, “T-that’s not fucking true I—”

“Is it not?! Do you know the last time you even told me that you loved me? Not in a ‘I love you too’ greeting kind of way! I sure as hell don’t,” you threw your hands up and shook your head incredulously, “I mean, Katsuki, I don’t even know why you’re with me! My quirk?! Is that it?! We both graduated the toward the top of our class, right?” you mocked, “Are you with me to stroke your ego? Huh? Being with the strongest girl at U.A.??”

Every ounce of reluctance was immediately wiped from his expression and was replaced by pure rage, “DON’T BE FUCKING RIDICULOUS!” He roared as hurt flashed across his eyes.

“Then what is it then?” you crossed you arms and bounced on your heels as you waited for him to reply. Your heart fell as he tried to form words with his lips, but nothing came out.

The unsureness on his face once again returned, leaving your heart in absolute shambles, “T-that’s…” you had to fight back a sob, “that’s what I thought.” You wish you hadn’t.

“DAMMIT Y/N,” he roughly grabbed you by the arms and shook you slightly, his eyes filled to the brim with desperation, “What the fuck do you want me to do about it?! It’s already happened. I can’t take it back!” You snatched yourself away from him and sent a gust of wind in his direction to keep him at a distance.

“You’re damn right.” You lowly agreed as tears continued to roll down your cheeks, “But you can take this back,” your voice cracked as you fiddled with the ring on your left hand. You finally ripped the damn thing off.

The man in front of you froze, “What…” Bakugou could feel his heart tighten at the sight of your bare hand– it was like his lungs had forgotten how to breath.

“Take your stupid ass, fake ass ring back,” you chucked the silver band at the man in front of you, “It obviously means nothing to you.” You croaked as you sent a weakened glare at him.

“Wha.. Y/N, baby,” he reached out to grab your hand but a barrier of swirling wind had tossed his hand aside and prevented him from doing so.

Bakugou watched in horror at your face as it contorted in utter hatred for him. You had never looked at him that way before twelve hours ago. No matter that dumb shit that he said or did, you always lifted him up.

Bakugou knew that he was a raging mess of a man. He knew that he didn’t deserve you, but he never wanted it to get to the point where you knew that too. Seeing you watch him with such resentment was his greatest fear coming to eat him alive.

Maybe it really was over.

No, he could still fix this. He wouldn’t loose. He wouldn’t loose you.

“No—Don’t go, dammit!” he screamed at you as you turned to walk towards the front door– his voice cracking, “Y/N, I-I just fucked up okay!” he desperately tried to excuse himself. As he fought against your wind, the tears that formed in his eye were immediately blown away,

“Wait!” he croaked out as his shaking arm reached into your tornado of a barrier. He finally pushed his way in enough to grab a hold of your arm. He yanked you to him as he fell to the ground on his knees, “Please, don’t leave me…” he cried through gritted teeth as he buried his face into your stomach,

“I-I am so in love with you,” he begged as he painfully gripped your waist, “Don’t give up on me…” tears finally could freely roll down his cheeks as he sobbed loudly into your abdomen.

Should Y/N leave him? Or should she try to stay and work things out one more time?

YOU DECIDE!

Follow this link to vote on what happens next! (It literally takes two seconds)

#bakugou x reader #bakugou imagine #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha x reader #mha imagine #bnha imagine #katsuki bakugou #bakugou #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #interactive stories

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hillbillied · 4 years

Note

Loosier for the domestic ask meme?

DOMESTIC SHIP MEME - Loosier

who reaches out to new neighbours

neither. Leckie would rather die than turn up on someone’s doorstep with cookies only to find out he hates them. he’s a casing-the-joint kind of guy. he squints through his blinds and says shit like “You think Mrs. Henderson knows her ‘I <3 Jesus’ sign in the window is backwards?”. Hoosier prefers the traditional method; nodding at neighbours for ages then moving to casual conversation when the occasion arises.

who remembers to buy healthy food

Hoosier. Leckie is used to having someone else buy groceries or buying for a large family; big bags of snacks, everything must be in large quantities. (if you don’t buy 50 bags of chips, you get no chips.) Hoosier introduced him to the joy of buying the occasional solo vegetable.

who remembers to buy junk food

both. they pick their own ice cream specifically because then they get the exact flavour they like and don’t have to share.

who fixes the oven when it breaks

Hoosier. (Leckie didn’t notice it was broken.)

who waters the plants/feeds their pet(s)

Leckie waters the plants, it was one of his chores from childhood. he takes really good care of his exotic lilies. Hoosier feeds the dog; Leckie feeds the cat. which they have to do together because otherwise one will get sad. (the dog and the cat – Pavuvu and Banika respectively – are inseparable.)

who wakes up earlier

Leckie. Hoosier likes his lie-ins, even if he’s never enjoyed many of them. Leckie’s got that 8 AM clock from large family life. someone would be up at that time, to got to work or school or whatever. so he makes up early and groans about it for an hour.

who makes the bed

Hoosier. Leckie calls it “an outdated custom derived from the domestication of man” and that translates to ��I am very bad at corners”.

who makes the coffee

Leckie. he knows how to brew it properly and makes sure the pot’s always topped up. partially because he drinks more of it and partially because Bill would just dump raw beans in there if he thought they’d dissolve.

who burns breakfast

neither. Hoosier had to cook for his younger siblings and Leckie had to help his mum cook for the family. they’re both fairly competent in the kitchen.

how do they let each other know they’re leaving the house

Leckie will grab his keys and briefcase and such, then come find wherever Hoosier’s at. he’ll sigh heavily like leaving is a burden, rest his head on the man’s shoulder for a moment, and say “I’ll see you later”. often followed by a poetic addition like “every moment apart will be sweet sorrow” and that fox-like grin. then he’ll wink and head on out.

Hoosier’s more traditional, he’ll pop his head through the doorway of wherever Leckie is – normally his study – and let him know he’s leaving. he always asks if Leckie wants anything, and without fail; he’ll bring it home. Leckie has gradually started asking for more ridiculous things beyond milk or eggs. he asked for “something detrimental to society as a whole” and came downstairs to find Hoosier dragging a roadworks sign through the door because “How all them cars gonna know t’ swerve now, Bob?”

how do they greet each other when one of them gets home

Hoosier shouts “Welcome home, darlin’!” from wherever he is in the house. Leckie will then come and rest his head on him. either against Hoosier’s back if he’s standing or Leckie will lie down on his lap if he’s sitting. even if it was a good outing, Robert has to decompress. Bill won’t look up from whatever he’s doing but he will stroke Leckie’s hair and wait for him to speak.

Leckie will shout “Just a minute!” if he can’t get up immediately. (if he’s writing, for instance.) Hoosier always takes his time pulling off his shoes and coat so Leckie has time to come and greet him. Robert likes to run his fingers over whatever clothes Bill’s wearing, like he hadn’t seen Hoosier leave in them, and touch his cheek lovingly. Leckie will always follow that by kissing him and grinning, like he’s amazed his boyfriend came back at all.

who brings home little gifts like flowers/chocolates more often

Hoosier is little gifts. everything is a gift when it doesn’t matter if Leckie hates it. the man’s a spite-consumer, he’ll read books and he’ll eat chocolate and he’ll watch movies that all seem terrible to him because informed criticism is fun. so Hoosier can bring home anything he wants and fear nothing. (he does choose his flowers particularly and semi-regularly. those are always received with a quip from Leckie, who will never truly get over that little bullshit part of him that says he, A Man, should not be receiving flowers. he makes up for it when he puts them on the bedside table and quietly takes Hoosier’s hand, kissing his knuckles and whispering his thank you.

Leckie, on the other hand? grand gestures. “Put on a suit, we’ve got tickets to that musical you’ve always wanted to see!” and “Get out here, Bill, I’m freezing my cock off and I’ve got a car-shaped present that needs unwrapping!”. hopelessly romantic in a hallmark card kind of way. Leckie’s good at saving money, skating around what he needs himself so he can pull this kind of bullshit off.

who picks the movie for movie night

they take turns because they hate each other’s movie choices. Hoosier likes romcoms and action movies. Leckie likes classics and edgy thriller bullshit. they suffer through for love (and the sex afterwards).

their favorite kind of movie to watch

they both enjoy musicals, that’s the only true overlap. and it took a while to get to because Leckie kept pretending he didn’t ‘get’ the singing.

who first suggests a pillow fort

Leckie. he presents the idea like they’re in court and Hoosier needs convincing. (he does not.)

who builds the pillow fort

they build it together. Leckie’s the architect and Hoosier’s the constructor. for all the laughs they have with that psudo-formal dynamic, the result is actually incredibly well-built and cosy.

who tries to distract the other during the movie

Leckie. his commentary is constant. the game they play is ‘How Long Can Robert Keep His Trap Shut?’. Hoosier checks his watch when he presses play and times it. current record is 24 minutes and 15 seconds.

who falls asleep first

Hoosier. Leckie keeps himself up with overthinking. it’s nice to lie awake, though, safe and warm beside Bill.

who is big spoon/little spoon

Leckie’s the little spoon. if he wants to hold Hoosier, he’ll do it facing him or with Bill’s head on his chest. when they spoon, Hoosier’s the one wrapping around him, tangling their legs together. he’ll kiss Leckie’s curls and mutter some joke in his ear, squeezing him close and making sure Bob feels like he can’t escape. because that’s the point, to take away a little control. to make Leckie relax, breathe deep, and just let himself be held for a change.

#love me these two I'm so rusty with em!#thank you anon!!#the pacific #loosier

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maatryoshkaa · 5 years

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young god | chapter 10

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 3.9k

warnings:

description: finding momentary refuge in a cafe across town, Han Jisung is holding onto his facade by a thread, and a talk with Detective Bang Chan -- and Police Captain Kim Woojin -- leaves him more shaken than ever before. Things have changed, time is running out, and a sudden turn of events leads Jisung all the way back to your doorstep.

watch the trailer here!

10| dead end

Han Jisung sat facing the windows of a cafe whose name he neither remembered nor cared for, absently stirring a cup of coffee that had gone cold an hour ago.

From the moment he’d stepped out of your apartment, his feet hadn’t stopped propelling him in the opposite direction, actively putting as much distance between him and you as possible. This coffee shop -- the Third Eye, or something along those lines -- was far enough on the other side of town for Jisung to walk in, order the first thing on the menu, and plant himself down by the window seats.

If only he could get you out of his mind.

Every time he blinked, he saw the silhouette of your fearful, blood-drained face burning into his eyelids -- the warm laughter that had been stirred in his chest from making pancakes now felt like an ice burn, leaving his rib cage aching, raw, and cold.

Lies, lies, lies.

That’s all they were, really: those tender, precious moments didn’t belong to him, not really. No, he scowled -- they were stolen, they belonged to who he was supposed to be. Who you thought he was, who you wanted him to be. After all, there was no way you would still love him if you knew who he really was. He saw it in your faltering smiles, the nervous laughter filling the cracks in your conversations; he heard it when you called him that night, voice impossibly small and begging him to stay safe from the -- the killer.

To stay safe from himself.

Jisung let his head fall in his hands, fingers violently raking through his hair as he stared blankly through the window. How long was he going to keep this up? No -- how long could he keep this up? He was on bought time, and every stupid slip-up he made was a sufficiently painful reminder of this bitter truth. The memory of the middle-aged man, his rough grey hands and milky-white pupils, made the hair at the back of Jisung’s neck stand up. Somewhere, shambling through the streets of the town, his last victim was still alive.

And one living witness, Jisung thought, was one too much.

The cafe was fairly busy, but Jisung could still hear the incessant ticking of the clock on the wall. It made his skin crawl. It was a constant reminder that his time with you was running out -- and that no matter how hard he tried, how much he wanted his own facade to be real, it was too late.

Too much damage had already been done.

“Who’d you kill, Han Jisung?” Chan’s familiar voice nearly sent Jisung falling from his chair, his flailing arms knocking the coffee cup precariously close to the edge of the table. He looked up at the stern-eyed detective in utter shock, mouth falling slack like a fish out of water. Kill? Chan couldn’t know, could he? But then again, the lockdown--

Before Jisung could will his mouth to move again, the detective broke into his signature wide grin, clapping the younger boy on the back. “The look on your face, mate—you look like you’ve just murdered someone and can’t figure out where to bury the body. Loosen up.” Chan was laughing, and Jisung finally unfroze, a wave of relief making his entire body go weak. Chan held out a cup of something with a dollop of cream on top, motioning for Jisung to take it. It was warm in Jisung’s hands, and when he sipped it shakily, the thick, sweet taste of caramel flooded onto his tongue. “What’s this?”

Chan clicked his tongue, shaking his head at the cold cup of coffee Jisung had left untouched. “Caramel frappe. Since when have you drunk coffee? You’ve always had a bigger sweet tooth than most little kids.” Coming from anyone else, the words might have sounded condescending, but the detective’s tone was warm and fond — almost fatherlike. He took a swig of Jisung’s bitter drink instead, studying the younger’s expression with a look of concern. “What’s bothering you?”

Jisung’s mind raced. What was bothering him? Why did his head pound, his chest feel unbearably tight; why did he feel so...sad?

He glanced at Chan, whose eyebrows were still raised slightly, eyes blinking in confusion.

Why did everyone look at him like that? Like he was a puzzle they could never figure out, no matter how hard they tried.

“Ah, that look. I know.” Chan broke the long silence right before it got stifling, snapping his fingers with the comical flourish of a character in a sitcom. “It’s written all over you face.” He leaned in closer to Jisung, dark eyes glittering with mischief. “Which pretty girl stole Han Jisung’s heart, hm? Go on, tell Detective Bang—he’s seen them all. A cute freshman? Or another hot health sci major?” When Jisung only gave a halfhearted smile, Chan’s teasing expression softened. “Ah,” he breathed, leaning back and nodding sagely. “Y/N?”

Jisung turned away, wincing. The sound of your name made his ears ring. He felt the detective chuckle and sit down next to him, warm eyes studying the younger boy worriedly. “Relationship problems?”

“No, it’s--it’s a me problem,” Jisung mumbled, fingers anxiously tapping the frappe cup. “I keep having these headaches, and I just—I don’t know. I’ve never felt like this before.”

Pushing the coffee aside and humming in thought, Chan asked gently, “Felt like what?”

Jisung gestured vaguely before giving up and propping his head up with both hands. “Like—like I’ve become someone else? Every time I see her, my mind goes...blank. When she smiles, when she talks, I get all nervous, and whenever I’m with her, I—” he caught himself, the words ringing in his head. Whenever I’m with her, I start to remember everything. “Just—I don’t know, Chan.”

Chan gave a low whistle. “That’s love, mate.” He chuckled. “You’re serious about this one, aren’t you?”

“I don’t deserve her.” The words came tumbling from Jisung’s lips before he could stop them, and he cursed himself silently. “She could do so much better, I’m not--”

“Everyone deserves to be loved,” Chan interrupted slowly, and his sudden, soft tone made Jisung turn to look at him in surprise. The detective’s eyes were slightly narrowed, focused on the younger boy’s face. He looked like was examining a case file, Jisung realised — as if Chan had already sensed that there was something deeper, beyond what Jisung was telling him. Still, something in his expression remained unmistakably brotherlike; there was something about Chan that always seemed so comforting: his crinkling, droopy eyes, maybe, or the unfailingly kind smile on his lips.

If Chan noticed Jisung’s sudden loss of words, the detective didn’t mention it. “Everyone deserves to be loved, and you’re no different. There isn’t much that’ll change that — not a few mistakes, not a few imperfections…” Chan paused, as if thinking, then added, “And not a few of Hwang Hyunjin’s comments. You’re a good kid, Han Jisung, even if you don’t believe it yourself.”

Jisung looked away, a painful lump in his throat. Something ached in his chest, like an old wound left to fester — too familiar, too dangerous. “How do you know that?” He asked in a small voice.

He saw Chan smile faintly out of the corner of his eye. “Intuition?” The detective laughed. “I’ve known you since high school, ‘sung. You don’t open up a lot, granted — but deep down, you’ve got a good heart. Y/N’s lucky to have you, and you’re lucky to have her. So why this, all of a sudden?”

Before Jisung could reply, something caught his eye. On the other side of the window, a stone’s throw down the street, was a woman and her young son. The mother’s face was alight with amusement, the toddler teetering a few steps before his father swept him up into his arms. The little boy shrieked with laughter — laughter that Jisung couldn’t hear from the other side of the glass — as his father lifted him onto his shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” Chan’s eyes followed his gaze. The boy’s hands were held above his head triumphantly, like a king on his trusty steed, his father holding onto his legs firmly. Jisung slowly shook his head, staring after them. Something unpleasant burned in his chest — like poison, or a lost memory.

“They...look happy.”

The words seemed to hang in the air. Chan looked at him sideways for a long moment before he finally said, “You and Minho...grew up in the children’s home, right?”

Jisung gave a small nod. Around them, the shop was abuzz with the conversations of customers and the bustle of baristas making drinks, but it all sounded as if he were underwater—slipping further and further away with every tick of the clock on the wall. A sudden nudge to his shoulder made him jolt, and he looked up to see Chan grinning again, arms held open.

“Hey, now, no more moping. Here—how’s about I pick you up?”

Jisung’s mouth dropped open and the blond detective burst out laughing. Jisung felt his own smile tug involuntarily at his lips, the tension in his chest lightening slightly.

“Tell you what,” Chan continued, his tone serious but his eyes sparkling with playfulness, “I might not be able to carry you on my shoulders, but I have been told that I give some sick piggyback rides.”

As if on cue, the cafe’s doors swung open, a familiar man in black police gear making his way towards the counter. “Woojin!” Chan called out, waving him over. “Ah—Woojin can definitely pick you up,” he told Jisung, “he’s got more gains than me, I’m afraid. Police Captain Kim Woojin!”

A couple of heads turned in their direction and the older man shot Chan a look. “I didn’t expect to see you here. What are you two up to?”

Chan cleared his throat. “I have important orders for you. Captain Kim Woojin, would you please carry Jisung on your shoulders?”

Jisung opened his mouth to protest, expecting the stoic police chief to sigh deeply and walk back to the counter. Instead, Woojin’s questioning eyes flickered outside the window, where the toddler was still clinging to his father—and the next thing Jisung knew, the police chief’s arms hoisted him up onto his own back. Yelping, Jisung immediately tensed and flailed his arms before clinging onto Woojin for dear life. The police chief was laughing, he realised with a jolt— and Chan, too. Jisung felt his own incredulous smile form on his face, a tentative laugh breaking the tension in his chest. Woojin had always seemed like Chan’s polar opposite— stern and austere, what with his leading the police force with an iron grip— but in this moment, he looked younger, more boyish. Jisung could see how they had become such good friends in the first place.

Woojin carefully let Jisung slide down from his shoulders and back onto the ground, turning around to place a hand on the younger’s shoulder. As his warm, concerned eyes flickered across his face, Jisung felt a bittersweet feeling flare across his chest. “You okay, kid?”

He brought himself to nod, the smile feeling stiffer than a mask on his face. “Th-thanks. I’ve got to get going— my next class starts in twenty.” He felt both their eyes on him as he swung his bag over his shoulder, Woojin nodding before migrating back to the counter to order his coffee. Jisung waved at Chan, throwing on the most convincing smile he could muster, but just as he turned and pushed the cafe doors open, he felt the detective’s hand clasping his shoulder.

With a pounding heartbeat that had leapt to his throat, Jisung turned to face Chan, the detective’s eyes darkened and serious. After a long moment, Chan finally said softly, “You know I’m here for you, right, ‘sung? Anything bothering you at all, you talk to me or Woojin anytime. We’re still high school friends before detectives or police.”

Stunned, Jisung could only give a jerking nod again before stumbling out of the cafe doors, breaking into a brisk walk. He could feel the detective’s eyes boring into his back before he turned the corner, fingers shaking. What was it about Bang Chan, or even Kim Woojin, that made his chest ache? The warm, genuinely concerned eyes, the firm yet gentle words — it was almost fatherlike.

Well.

Was that what fathers were like? Jisung wasn’t too sure.

He wouldn’t know; his father had never been like that.

Jisung’s fingers reached into his back pocket, fishing for his phone—and frowned when he found them both empty. Patting all his pockets frantically, his head spun, trying to remember where he could have left it— the cafe? A class?— before it dawned on him.

He’d left his phone on your couch.

Cursing, Jisung paced back and forth—he had gotten up and left so suddenly; he could still imagine your hurt and confused face behind his eyelids. Still, it had been a couple of hours— nearing dinnertime. He nodded slowly— you wouldn’t suspect a thing. He’d apologize and leave, and both of you would pretend that this morning had never happened. Everything would go back to normal.

Right?

Feeling uneasy, he turned on his heel and headed for your apartment.

────────

Your fingers hovered above your phone the same way they had on your first blind date, although your heart was pounding for an entirely different reason now.

Why? Had been the first word you’d managed to punch out, before shaking your head and frantically deleting it.

Who are you? Had been the second, which you had erased just as promptly. Now, the white screen was burning into your eyes, your head spinning with questions but your fingers unable to form the right ones.

Taking a shaky breath, you carefully typed a third message.

You: You forgot your phone at my place, so I returned it to your dorm. When you see this, please call me. I|

You felt a wave of hysteria bubble in your throat and you shoved it back down.

You: I need to talk to you about something.

Send.

Stay calm. Stay calm. The ground seemed to be shifting beneath you, threatening to cave in at any moment now—from the therapy session to Jisung’s dorms, from the record shop all the way to the rooftop of the hospital. The moment you had slammed the door to Minho’s office, your legs hadn’t stopped propelling you far, far away from the hospital building. Only when you were back in your apartment again did they finally give way and you hit the ground, back sliding against your front door as you buried your face in your hands.

You were going to stay calm. There were so many possibilities—that’s right, you had always been taught that there were variables to every case study, different perspectives and hidden circumstances—you couldn’t immediately assume the worst, right? Your mind babbled on and on—Jeongin, Minho, murderer, murderers—until you felt like banging your head against the wall just to make the torrent of thoughts stop.

The curtains were drawn, casting grey shadows over your entire apartment. You were still gripping Jeongin’s cassette tape—the tape with his voice on it—in your hand. You were about to conjure up the strength to drag yourself into the living room and attempt to clear your thoughts when the doorbell rang, the sudden, high-pitched sound piercing through your chest like a gunshot. For a moment you stayed rooted in place, head stiffly turning to face the door.

Standing shakily, your fingers slipped around the doorknob. They fumbled for several moments before you finally managed to pull the door open, and you nearly slammed it back shut when you found yourself face-to-face with Han Jisung.

“Hey,” he said, voice as soft as it had ever been, smooth and sweet as honey. Your fingers tightened their grip around the doorknob, but a small breath betrayed your lips, the smallest sigh of relief. A part of you still clinging onto the possibility that this wasn’t happening, that something, somewhere along the way had been misunderstood, and that was what kept you from tearing your eyes away from his face, from pushing him away and locking the door.

“You...did you get my text?” Your voice cracked slightly, raw from disuse, and you quickly cleared your throat. Jisung blinked at you, puzzled.

“I...no, I don’t have my phone. I thought I’d left it here, but I—I guess I probably left it in class—”

“You did leave it here,” you interrupted, and Jisung, who had begun turning to leave, jerked his head back. “You left it, and I returned it to your dorm.”

His face grew unfathomable, like a cloud passing over a sunny pasture, darkened eyes studying your face. “Thank...you,” he finally managed. One of his hands raised slightly, as if meaning to touch the side of your face, but stopped when you flinched away. “I—I’ll get going, then, I...” He trailed off suddenly, eyes falling on the tapes you were holding.

You could feel your fingers trembling violently and clenched them, the plastic grooves in the tape digging into your palms, and you forced yourself to lift your gaze to Jisung’s face. Voice barely above a whisper, you asked, “What were you doing that night?”

He didn’t need to ask what night you were talking about. Instead, his dark eyes were cast to the floorboards as he replied without missing a beat, “I was in my dorm, studying for finals.”

Your heart twisted as if someone had plunged a knife into your chest. For what seemed like an eternity, all you could hear was your own short, ragged breathing and heartbeat thudding in your ears, louder and louder and infinitely louder until the words that had been clawing away in your throat and what was left of your composure finally burst.

“Then why—” you tried to steady yourself, but your breath caught in your throat, all rational thought, all previous reason disintegrating, the world as you knew it crashing to pieces at your feet. The words were tumbling from your mouth now, like beads falling from a snapped necklace. “Why is your voice on Jeongin’s tape? Why is there blood on the shirt you were wearing yesterday, why did you lie about your limp, why are your hands always bruised or cut and w-why do you always smell like smoke a-and g-gasoline—”

Jisung took a step forward, hands outstretched again—it was almost like it was instinctive, as if his first impulse was to pull you into his arms, to wipe the hot tears that had begun welling in your eyes and threatening to spill onto your cheeks—but you took two staggering steps back in response, shaking your head frantically.

“Minho t-told me,” you choked out, “Minho—he wouldn’t tell me much, but Han Jisung—” the sound of his name made Jisung flinch, jaw clenching. “I wanted so badly to believe that it was all a mistake, that none of it was real—but you k-k—” The ugly word caught in your throat like a bitter pill, and with a wince you spat it out. “You killed that man, didn’t you?”

Dead silence fell between you, the weight of your words quickly turning sour. Jisung’s eyes were still boring into the floorboards beneath your feet, pupils bottomless black pools. Your own gaze darted wildly, small details jumping out at you— his fists shaking, knuckles bruised and white; he was biting into his lip so hard a drop of scarlet blood was staining his teeth. All your worst suspicions, the thoughts that had been whispering at the back of your head all this time were burning in your throat like bile—bitter like venom, demanding to be thrown up before it ate away at you from the inside.

“The crime scene, the morgue, the park—and yesterday, the lockdown—this entire time, it was you? Answer me, Jisung —” You tried to grab his arm, to make him face you—but you had no strength left in your hands, your fingers feebly grasping at his jacket instead. “How much of what you said was real? What part of us was ever real?”

The words had barely left your mouth before Jisung’s eyes suddenly shot up to meet your gaze. Through your blurry veil of tears and the dizzying haze of hysteria you had worked up, you didn’t even register him leaning in until you felt his cool hand clasping over your trembling ones, until Jisung closed the infinite distance between the two of you and pressed his lips to yours.

For a fleeting second you felt your heart stop and you stiffened, his touch sending electric currents searing through your skin—but you couldn’t move away, no, this time, you didn’t want to move away. Because Jisung wasn’t kissing you to shut you up, to hurt you—he was kissing you with a softness that brought tears to your eyes. He was kissing you like it was the last thing he would ever feel, a dangerous balance between intensity and a genuine sincerity and the only thing you knew for sure was that it felt so, so right. With every touch, there was an unspoken promise, a reassurance; a silent you can tell me to stop, you can push me away, you can tell me to go, and that was what made you pull him in closer, your shaking fingers tangling in his hair as one of Jisung’s hands gently cupped your face while the other found your waist—before a bittersweet feeling suddenly tore through your chest and you pushed him away. It was like you had ripped yourself awake from a dream, the taste of Jisung and something faintly sweet—caramel?—still lingering on your lips. Your eyes stung, and when you looked up at Jisung you saw that his cheeks were shining with tears—his, or your own, you weren’t quite sure anymore.

“I can show you what happened,” he breathed, eyes clouded and voice flat. “I have—a camcorder, there are memory cards, I can—”

“I don’t want you to show me,” you interrupted, surprising yourself with how steady your voice sounded. Raw and scratchy and high-pitched, yes, but steady nonetheless. “I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you, in your own words, Jisung.”

He stared at you for a long moment before his gaze drifted behind you. The living room. “Come in,” you said softly, and lead him over to the sofa. Knees feeling weak, you collapsed onto the seat, Jisung sinking into the couch across from you. The peach roses he had brought you on your first date sat between the two of you, their petals withered and sunken. You tore your gaze from their drooping heads, fixing it instead on the boy in front of you. Hours ago, you remembered with a detached pang, this had been a therapy session, with Jisung avoiding your eyes, and your notebook in your lap. Now, you were empty handed—you had set Jeongin’s cassettes on the table—but Jisung was still looking away.

You heard him draw a shuddering breath before his dark eyes locked on yours, and it was as if something had shattered behind them — the last wall he had built around himself, or simply a fragment of his heart—and words finally freefell from his lips.

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kyotakumrau · 4 years

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2020.05.30 DIR EN GREY SPECIAL TALK - Q&A - Kyo and Kaoru - translation

(if you notice any mistakes, typos or have any comments, I appreciate them! ^ ^)

Joe (introduces the Q&A segment)- Question: Kinoko no sato or Takenoko no yama, which team are you? (it's a very popular question in Japan like are you a tea or a coffee person, or cream or jam first etc - those sweets are mushroom and bamboo shoot shaped, the chocolate content and cookie texture are different in each) Kyo- I prefer Kinoko (mushroom). Joe- Ah, you're Team Kinoko. Kyo- At first, I liked Takenoko (bamboo shoot) more, but I think everyone gets tricked by the cookie. Joe- The crunchiness of the Takenoko? Kyo- Yeah. But it's not about what's inside (?) Joe- I see, the chocolate part is more important. Kyo- Exactly. Joe- So as a result of thinking about chocolate, Kinoko wins. Kyo- Yeah. Joe- And how about you, Kaoru? Kaoru- Both are okay (laughing) Joe- (??) ok, both, thank you for the answer. A response of an adult. So many comments and questions.

Joe (reads)- 'You talked about getting tattoos earlier, please show us your new tattoos' (Kyo starts stirring) If possible. Kyo- How much will I get for it? Joe- How much? (in English) Depends on money. (=wanna see, pay...) (they laugh, a bit awkward) Kyo- Anyway, it's in a place you can't see. Joe- By the place you can't see you mean you shouldn't show it. Kyo- I would have to take my pants off. Joe- That would be a bit weird. Did you get any new tattoos, Kaoru? Kaoru- Nah. It's painful so nah. Joe- You didn't because it's painful? Kaoru- I'm paying for it, why does it have to come with pain? Kyo- That's how it is. Joe- Yeah... But talking with me on the radio, isn't that a torture? (laughing) Kyo- It is a torture. But I will write about tattoos in my post in Haiiro, so interested fanclub members should check it.

Joe (reads)- 'Kaoru, how many mugs do you have at the studio?' Kaoru- A lot. Joe- A lot. Okay. Next question, ah it's so fast, woah.

(he struggles with picking a question) Can both of you just talk together on your own? Go ahead! (... XD) Kyo- When you say 'go ahead'... (awkward chuckles XD) Kyo- Oh, I can read the comments here? Ah. I see.

Joe- Those two are not talking. Then, let's go with this. 'Kaoru, please tell us about some chords you just thought about' Kaoru- I don't know. Really. Joe- You're serious? Kaoru- Yeah, I can't think of any.

Joe- Actually, you both used to live together in the past, right? Kaoru- Yeah we did. Joe- When you were broke. Kyo- Eating beansprouts (=they are super cheap, even like 20~70 yen per pack). Joe- What did you talk about when you lived together? (he laughs to himself about eating beansprouts when broke) Kyo- When going to the studio we went together. Joe- So did you confirm like 'what time should we leave tomorrow'? Kaoru- What was it like? I can't remember anymore. Kyo- We probably did that. Joe- You lived on the same floor with a shared toilet right? In one apartment? KK- Yeah Joe- As fellow adults, after you came of age. Kyo- Yup. But, there was one more guy, from the company. We lived 3 guys together. Joe- Is there any story about that time you can share with us now? Kaoru- The living room was quite big. Because we had that space we had members' costumes (Kyo's painful reaction)there, preparing stage sets there and so on. There was a lot of stuff around. Joe- Hehe. So instead of a peaceful living space it was more like an office? Kaoru- But each of us had our own room. Joe- I see. So Kyo, can you share with us anything you remember from that time? Kyo- Costumes were by the window. And there were train tracks just in front of our windows. So you could see the costumes from the train. Joe- I see. So if by chance a fan saw that they'd know. Kyo- Probably. Joe- And the train passengers'd think 'what's that?'

Kyo- But at that time we really didn't have any money. I just remember being hungry. Joe- But beansprouts don't even cost 100 yen. Kyo- I think... we both got beansprouts... (?) Kaoru- We really couldn't buy much. We really didn't get much money then. Joe- Were you at least able to cook those beansprouts? You didn't eat them raw? Kyo- No, we cooked them. Joe- Which one of you did the cooking? Kyo- Each of us cooked. Joe- And each ate beansprouts. Kyo- That situation continued until around the time we did Nakano two or three day event in our indies period, maybe a bit after that. Joe- NO WAY. Kaoru- Yup, until around Nakano Sunplaza shows (=August 1998). It got slightly better around Shibuya Koukaido (=May 1998). Joe- ...oh. You were eating beansprouts until Nakano Sunplaza, that's some story. Kyo- I wasn't even able to buy McDonald's set. Really. I was so envious (of others). Joe- I see. So when you finally became able to feed yourselves as musicians, what did you eat then? As a 'finally, as a musician, I made it!' (KK both thinking) Kyo- Food...I don't have a memory like 'I can eat this because I finally made it', but there was a time when Tommy, our president now, learnt that we don't have money, he treated us to a meal and gave us some money. That time I had McDonalds. I only have this memory that I could die happily then it was so good. Joe- With the money you received you had McDonalds and it was delicious. Kyo- It was amazing.

Joe- How about you, leader? (watermelons are considered a bit expensive fruit, usually you buy a cut, not a whole watermelon) Kaoru- As for me... I got a whole watermelon and I was eating it by myself, that time I thought I'm not getting any income and felt really guilty. Joe- Like it was too expensive/lavish (?) Kaoru- As I thought that the watermelon started to taste bad. I finished eating it thinking 'I'm sorry mum'. Joe- Ah Kaoru- I thought it's much better to cut it into pieces and then eat. Joe- Yeah. That's also a good story.

Joe- There are so many comments. (reads) 'Kaoru and Kyo, what clothing brands are you wearing?' Kyo- I will make an instagram post later. Joe- What about you, Kaoru? Kaoru- Ah, it's something I received. Joe- Oh, a present. Is it a t-shirt? Kaoru- It's not a [cotton] t-shirt, it's hemp. Joe- Like linen? Kaoru- It's a type of folk clothing.

Joe (reads)- 'What do you usually talk about?' Kyo- About movies, mostly about the band, like 'this would be good for the next single' etc. Basically we talk about music a lot. Joe - About movies and music. Kaoru- Yeah. Joe- When was the last time the two of you talked together? Kaoru- It's been a while to actually talk. (not use messages) Joe- Really? Kaoru- Since Europe... yeah, no chance at the March show, the last time we talked properly was in Europe. So not since the tour. (silence)

Joe- Then as we have this opportunity, could you talk together for 2, 3 minutes? And I will pick up some questions. (he 'frames out' XD)

Kyo- Talking is actually not that easy... (We can hear Joe's laugh XD) Kaoru- Yeah. Joe talks a lot. Kyo- Yeah... (Joe laughs harder) Kaoru- Right? Just keeps talking... He enjoys having people at loss. Kyo- (laughs) I see.

Karu- Last week Toshiya was drunk, so it was quite interesting, right? Kyo- Ah, I didn't watch. Kaoru- I didn't watch after my part finished, but he was really drunk. (Kyo starts laughing) I felt sorry for Die (he laughs) Kyo- That's unusual. Kaoru- He was really drunk. Probably he was drinking while watching the show. (?) Toshiya can't really drink so much. Kyo- True, usually after we finish playing he will only drink a little. Kaoru- Usually until Shinya starts messing around. Shinya would poke fun at Fujieda. Kyo- Yeah. (he laughs) Fujieda, huh... ...silence >w< Kaoru- It's not easy to talk, huh! Joe! ( ??)

(Joe returns)- Sorry, you were troubled, but everyone wanted to see the members talking. I got some info from the staff that you're working on a project members produced (designed) t-shirts, but I don't know the details. Is it all settled? Kaoru? Kaoru- No, it's all settled. We will be selling t-shirts, each member making their own design. Just that. Joe- I see. Have you started designing? Kaoru- I've already finished, waiting for other members (?), but mine’s not printed yet, so I'm waiting. Joe- How about you, Kyo? Kyo- Just back side left. Joe- So the front design is done. Kyo (nods)- That's right. Joe- When will you start selling them? Kaoru- I don't know yet. Joe- Details will likely be posted on OHP. Or please check the fancub magazine. All members designing their own t-shirts.

Joe- So as you can't tour, can't play shows and fans can't see your shows, we all are getting restless. Kyo how do you feel about the current situation? Kyo- Hmm... I don't want to say anything inappropriate... there are so many things involved. I think that saying you want to do something is maybe not right. Forcing things is probably also not right, but saying that, it's also not good to do nothing... So, it will take some time until we can play shows, that's why, we all think about what we can do only at the time like this, all members think the same. Joe- I see. How about you, Kaoru? Kaoru- Right. One thing at a time. Next month baseball comes back, movie theatres will open. The possibility to hold shows will be after after after all those other steps. Joe- Like Kyo said, what you want to do and actually can do and what people will enjoy, you have to be able to make all three work well together. Kaoru- I'm doing everything with the mindset that we can do Pia Arena somehow, but there's still no announcement what will happen with the shows. If I didn't have this mindset that it’s possible, what then? But I'm thinking we should make an announcement. So. Joe- Of course there are many comments saying 'I want to go to the concert soon!' or 'We love you!' Kyo, are you checking the comments? (Kyo nods) Everyone, please stay strong a bit longer. What will happen with the July shows is something on everyone's mind. But at the current situation it's hard to say if they will happen or not.

Joe- There are many comments asking you to make masks. What do you think? Kaoru- Masks? Joe- Yeah, there are many comments, like that. Kyo- Yeah, I can see many. Kaoru- Joe- The pandemic situation might last for a long time. Right now you can buy masks in some shops fine, but seeing the masks used for example in France, most of them are quite distinctive. In Japan we only have white or some black, no other colours. So it'd be nice to have colourful masks or masks for summer. If anything it'd be great to have not only a t-shirt of your fav band but also a mask, as a message in a way. Look (at comments) DIR mask, DILL mask (laughing). Kaoru- But it'd be hard to fit ‘DIR EN GREY’ on a mask. Joe- But the same way you create tour t-shirts, do the same. Kaoru- Okay. In the end we will be wearing masks for quite some time. Joe- And when concerts start again it's very possible that fans will have to be wearing masks. So in the future t-shirt and mask will be a set for every concert goer. Kyo, did you see any interesting comments? Kyo- It's true that there are many comments asking about masks. So, if we have a chance to do it we will.

Joe- Will you do something like this special talk again? Toshiya said that in a situation there are no concerts for some time he doesn't mind doing it one more time. How about it, Kyo? Kyo- Well... I don't really want to do it. But before that, we had an audio stream, right? I wouldn't mind doing that again.

(bad connection time)

Joe- How about you Kaoru, would you do a talk stream again? Kaoru- Sorry, the connection is bad. (Joe repeats, probably) Well, once in a while... I will think about something we can do next.

(next Joe says musicians prefer to communicate with fans through concerts, but we can get some encouragement through special projects like this; but connection is bad again)

Joe- At the moment over 14969 people are watching us, can you [give us some message]? Let's start with Kyo.

Kyo- Huh, what should I say... We lost many types of freedom, all of us. It's tough. It's the same for me. Let's stay strong a bit longer. A bit more. Joe- And then, a message from the leader to wrap this up. Kaoru- The connection is still bad, can you hear me? Joe- Yeah, we can. Kaoru- It's a very tough time, but I'm really hoping we will be able to play concerts again soon. But, as I keep thinking about things we are able to do in this period, I'm waiting for the time we can all meet again on the stage.

Joe reads comments about all 5 members doing a stream together. Kyo- With 5 people... Kaoru- it would be hard to follow (?), it'd be hard to know who is talking at the time. It'd be difficult. Will all members.

(bad connection again, Kaoru repeats that with too many members it'd be difficult, 3~2 are better)

Joe- but there is a chance to have members create different teams. (bad connection, Joe thanks everyone for watching, he's also looking forward to the next dir show)

#dir en grey #kyo #kaoru #joe yokomizo #translation #DIRENGREYSP #薫 #京

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paodequeijofeliz-blog · 4 years

Text

Don’t you remember?

Bloodbound Fanfiction (characters and main story belongs to Pixelberry Studios).

Pairing: Kamilah Sayeed and MC (Annie)

Information: this takes place long after Bloodbound 3. In this scenario, MC was Turned only after giving birth to their daughter.

Summary: Thirty years after meeting Annie for the first time, now Kamilah is married and has a daughter who is about to get married as well. While preparing the wedding, they decide to remember Lysia’s childhood stories. This part 3 was inspired by an anon request and they’re the one who had this wonderful idea, thank you anon! You have all the credit for it! 💛

Warnings: just fluff and funny.

Part 1 Part 2

January 8th, 2049

The group was still having dessert and some coffee at the restaurant. Soon they would be leaving to take care of their tasks. Lysia had an appointment with the florist in the afternoon, where she would meet Drake so both could finally choose the flowers. Her attention was now captured by Lily showing some pictures of LA, until Adrian asked her a sudden question.

“Darling, do you remember when exactly did you fall in love with your fiancé?”

She fixed her posture, a little surprised. It was the first time Lysia ever thought about it. “Hmm… I guess… It was the day he met my mothers for the first time. When we were doing a school project together.”

“The night we made brownies? Really?” Annie’s eyes were sparkling of excitement. “I can’t believe it, I was there! And I noticed how he would smile at you.”

“All I remember is the stupid one.” Kamilah sighed, taking a sip of her espresso.

“Kyle! Oh my god, yes. He was hitting on you.” Lysia loved that part.

“WHAT?” Lily was almost finished with her dessert but dropped the spoon the minute she heard it. “Tell us. Please. I beg you.”

“Oh, my.” The Egyptian got back to her coffee, refusing to tell that story.

“Well, luckily I have a pretty good memory.” Annie couldn’t help herself. “It was a regular night…”

--------------------------------------

September 20th, 2041

Lysia wasn’t a shy teenager, but she could be quite reserved and just a little bit judgemental regarding people her own age. Therefore, for her to bring friends to the Penthouse, it took years and a lot of encouragement from her mothers. Well, from Anna, since Kamilah couldn’t care less about other mortal teenagers.

That’s why that night should go well, so Lysia would feel comfortable enough to bring them again. It was just a school project, but Annie knew how kids could be, so she was fixing some snacks in the kitchen and had a silly program going on the TV. Luckily, there would be a lot of laughs and not much of studying tonight.

“Mom, I’m home!” Lysia’s voice came from the living room as she entered, followed by three classmates.

“I’ll be there in a sec!” The woman was just finishing to heat up some Brazilian snacks that would certainly blow their minds. After putting all of it on a bowl, and taking another one of popcorn, she left to the living room and dropped it on the coffee table. “Here you go! Brain food.”

“Wow!” someone whispered under breath.

“Mom, these are…”

“Wait, wait, wait, let me get the soda first!” she ran back into the kitchen, leaving Lysia with a hand hanging in the air.

“Is that your mother? I mean… It’s…” the girl standing beside the armchair couldn’t blink. “She is so pretty!”

“I think Nina just fell in love with your mom.” One of the boys laughed, the blond jock.

Annie came back with a huge smile and a trade of glasses filled by some coloured beverage. “There’s pink lemonade, and some other different sodas here. But if you want, I can bring some juice, tea, coffee, water, we’ve got it all. Alright, who is who?”

Lysia sighed, getting back to introducing them. “So, this is Drake. The one with the jersey on is Kyle and that’s Nina. Everyone, this is my mother, Mrs. Sayeed.”

“Annie.” She dismissed the formalities, stepping forward to give each one of them two kisses on the cheeks. That made the girl next to the armchair blush and giggle. “Well, there’s soda, popcorn annnnnnnnnnd something else. It’s a Brazilian snack, we call it salgadinhos. Just imagine if someone took a bunch of raw French fries and stuffed them with cheese, chicken, meat, whatever you want, then fried it. I believe this is the closer I can get of explaining how it tastes like. Try it. You’re gonna love it.”

“Thanks, mom.” Lysia went to get herself the only glass that wasn’t soda, but iced tea. “Alright, let’s sit on the floor and start this project.”

While everybody got settled quickly, the woman left them alone, not even noticing how Nina’s eyes followed her. The girl sighed and turned back to Lysia, a goofy smile on her face. “Your mother is the most beautiful woman that has ever lived.”

“Oh, gee! This is awesome!” Drake was super excited about a chicken snack he took from the bowl.

“Coxinha. It’s my favourite.” Lysia smiled at him for a second, but dropped her gaze to the books, trying to hide the way her cheeks blushed.

“I swear, her eyes, and her lips, and the waves of her hair, it’s all just so…” Nina was still dreaming about Annie. “And the voice, that accent, where is she from again, Lys? I bet is a sexy country.”

“Brazil.”

“Told ya. Sexy country.” The girl popped one of those fried meat balls on her mouth.

“What makes Brazil a sexy country?” Lysia arched one eyebrow, a movement she learned with Kamilah over the years.

“Your mum.” Nina swallowed, eyes still lingering in the way to the kitchen.

“Oh, god. Alright, focus. Let’s get this project done.”

Slowly, the conversation started to fade away, as they got distracted by reading and writing. In a couple hours, Annie went to check the silent group to find out the food was gone, and so were the drinks. She took the bowls and glasses out, not risking making a sound, never even noticing how Nina sighed and blushed at her side. It was almost 8 p.m. by now, so Kamilah would be arriving soon. The woman stared at the clock in the kitchen, anxious about what to do. They all seemed so quiet and compenetrated, Annie didn’t want to interrupt, but…

“Mom?” Lysia called her at the door, an uneasy expression on her face.

“Hi, baby. Need some help?”

“No, no. Just… Wondering. We did a lot. Not all of it, as to be expected, but a lot.” The girl bit her lower lip, as she was still trying to decide whether to ask for something or not.

Annie knew that movement. It was like her daughter’s thoughts were being said out loud to her. She wanted to have fun, but her serious and committed little heart was telling her to stay focused on the studying.

“Hmmm, that’s good. But I think you should take a break. You don’t wanna risk writing a bad conclusion cause you’re too tired after doing a great introduction and development, do you?”

Lysia’s eyes sparkled. Excitement and relief. “I supposed not. What do you suggest?”

“Well, I was about to make us some brownies. Why don’t you call your friends here, and we make it together? We could put some music on too.”

“That sounds fun. Right?”

“It is fun.” Annie took that sweet teenager’s face between her hands. A seventeen-year-old girl, so incredibly smart and confident, yet so insecure about making friends. “Trust me. They’ll love it.”

She couldn’t be more right. In ten minutes, there was some pop music playing from a phone and a bunch of teenagers trying to figure it out how to make brownies. Mostly, they were just stealing the M&M’s, making jokes about the worst trash movie ever made and confessing the most embarrassing dates they had. Annie won their affection enough to pull Lysia into the conversation, then shrewdly distanced herself, concentrating on cutting the fresh baked brownies, so her daughter would have all the attention.

The entire house smelled like chocolate. That was the first thing Kamilah noticed when entering through the front door. All the unfamiliar voices were being heard even from the elevator, and for a moment The Vampire had forgotten all about that little gathering. She sighed, so tired. Left the purse on the table and high heels by the door, eager to have some brownies too.

Kamilah was jut crossing the hallway to the kitchen when a boy talking on the phone almost bumped into her.

“A… I’ll call you back later, dude…” Kyle’s eyes widened at that vision. “Holy crap, you’re gorgeous.”

“Excuse me?” the Vampire arched an eyebrow.

“Kyle Grant. You must be Kamilah.” He put a hand on the wall and a cocky smile on his face. “Heard a lot about you.”

There were so many answers crossing her mind now, but all she did was look down and pat his head. “I’m sure you did, little boy. Now why don’t you go sit with your friends, huh?”

And just like that, Kamilah removed his arm and entered the kitchen to look for her wife. Annie was cooking something by the stove, while the others already started eating the hot brownies. Lysia only gave her mother a cold glance, for she was still mad about a fight they had a couple of days ago. Drake was too distracted trying to impress the girl with good jokes to notice the tall woman, as was Nina, her entire attention captured by Annie’s explanation of what “brigadeiros” were.

“I swear, my love, one day everybody in New York will know all about Brazilian cuisine because of you.” The Vampire hugged her from behind, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“Nah, it’s just party food. I haven’t even started explaining our barbecues.” She relaxed on Kamilah’s arms for a second, still stirring the melted chocolate with condensed milk in the pot. “There’s more brownies in the microwave. I saved you some.”

“Now you may have my heart.”

“Hmmm I already do, sweetheart.”

The Egyptian gave her a last kiss on the cheek and went to take a few brownies, choosing only the ones that had nuts instead of M&M’s. Suddenly, she felt the shadow of a small figure behind her, together with the smell of cologne. “Oh, no.”

“So, a fan of chocolate, huh?” Kyle hopped on the kitchen’s counter, trying to get closer. “What about we go out for some ice cream after this? Let’s ditch them.”

“You know you’re a baby, don’t you?” Kamilah took a bite from one of the brownies, barely glancing at the child beside her.

“Thank you, hotstuff. But I prefer to be called ‘babe’ instead of ‘baby’.”

“So, Annie, my wife and love of my life, do you need help there?” she turned to the woman by the stove, who only laughed at the despair on the Egyptian’s eyes.

“Of course not, you keep Kyle company, I can see how much you’re enjoying it.”

Kamilah clenched her jaw, turning back to the small cocky teenager who just took some mint bubble gum out of his pocket. Before she could say anything, though, Nina jumped between them. “K! Your father is calling me, I think he’s waiting outside. Can I get a ride?”

“Shit. Fine.” He winked at the tall woman at the same time he pinched her cheek. “Guess I’ll see you around. Hey, Drake, coming?”

From across the kitchen, Lysia was trying not to laugh at the image of a confused Kamilah who just met a hormonal seventeen-year-old jock for the first time in a very long lifetime. By the girl’s side, the other boy just shook his head negatively. “Later, I have my bike downstairs. See you two on Monday.”

“Your call. Bye y’all!”

“Ahm. You. Nice. To meet. Farewell.” Nina blushed terribly, hesitating with the words, but melted when Annie gave her a quick goodbye hug.

After they were gone, the woman left the pot to cool off a bit, turning to see Drake’s silly smile to Lysia. She had been noticing how sweet he was around her daughter. “If you need, I can give you a ride home later. You can put the bike on the trunk.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Sayeed. But I’ll be fine. Let me take care of the cleaning.” The boy stood up and took the plates from the table, finally greeting Kamilah with a polite smile.

“Alright, if you insist. Kami, come with me?”

Annie took her wife by the hand, leaving both teenagers to talk while doing the dishes. The Vampire still had a last piece of brownie that she gladly parted in half to share with the short woman who was hugging her by the waist. Annie took a bite from Kamilah’s hand, her eyes sparkling in the hallway’s lights.

“You seem so happy, my love.” The Egyptian kissed her lips, feeling the chocolate taste on them.

“I am always happy when I’m around you two.”

“I see what you mean.” Kamilah lost herself in that tight hug, listening to the adorable sound of Lysia’s laugh coming from the kitchen. “It feels good to be home.”

#kamilah x mc #kamilah sayeed #choices: stories you play #choices: bb #choices kamilah #bb kamilah #hope you like it anon!#it got too big to be just an ask answer sorry

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