#I think Brooklyn “death” broke their group. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-oblivious-writer · 10 months

Text

Let The Light In |2|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Chapter Two: Alamort

Summary: You've been struggling to sleep the past few weeks, a late friend of yours not leaving your mind and on top of that you get stuck with Tara for a group project

Warning(s): Swearing, mentions of death, grief and underage drinking

Notes: Was able to put some Sam appreciation in this chapter cause I love her sm, also I would like to clarify that in this au ghostface will not be making a return so dw worry about our girl Anika

Masterlist|Previous Part|Next part

It’s been a long day and you were absolutely exhausted. You felt like you were going to pass out, you quickly changed into your pj’s and as soon as your body hit your bed you practically melted. Not too long after that you fell asleep, if only you would have enjoyed it.

—

Your right leg bounced as you stared at your phone, you bit on your nails and your younger brother gave out a huff. “Staring at the phone isn’t going to make him call. You’re just making the waiting ten times worse,” your younger brother said, taking the seat beside you. You sighed and rubbed your hands anxiously up and down your thighs.

“He said he’d call as soon as they were done. It’s been forever! Why the hell hasn't he called yet?” You knew the possible answer but couldn’t bear to say it out loud.

“I’m sure he’s fine, fighting ghost face doesn’t seem like a five minute type of thing.” You had gotten a call from Dewey earlier saying he was going to the hospital because ghostface was there and reassured he’d call you right after if he got back safely. If. You didn’t like that if he snuck in there. He talked to both you and your younger brother, it was like he was saying goodbye. As if he knew this would be the last time he’d talk to either of you. They must’ve arrived at the hospital because you could barely get a word out before he gave one last “Bye, I love you guys” and hung up the call.

You had thought about going to the hospital yourself but your brother was strongly against it. He blocked the door when you tried to leave, not wanting you to fall victim to ghostface. It had happened before in your family and he refused to let history repeat.

An hour later was when you found out. When you got the call you immediately took your brother and rushed down to the hospital. You felt numb as you watched Dewey’s lifeless body being covered by a tarp. I should’ve been there, you thought to yourself repeatedly. You looked over to your brother, his eyes never pulled away from the tarp that covered Dewey. He broke out into sobs as you held him close, still in shock that this was actually happening.

As soon as you and Gale made eye contact, she ran up to you and hugged you both tightly. You couldn’t stop thinking about how you just sat there, safe and sound in the trailer while Dewey was gutted in cold blood.

You woke up, covered in sweat. You rubbed your eyes before frantically looking at your surroundings. You weren’t in Woodsboro anymore, you were in your apartment in New York. You sat up in your bed while breathing heavily.

You’ve been having the same dream– or well, nightmare ever since Dewey’s passing. Your mind refused to let you forget the day you just sat there as the closest thing you had to a father figure was taken from you.

—

You were exhausted. You barely got two hours of sleep last night, constantly being met with the same memory. With Dewey’s death anniversary getting closer and closer, the nightmares were only getting worse. It was now five am, there was still a lot of time to pass before class started. You took a shower to wash off all the sweat you made from tossing and turning. By the time you finished getting ready it was only six am.

The rest of your morning was spent watching Brooklyn Nine Nine while enjoying a bowl of cinnamon toast crunch. You eventually left your apartment, making your way to your first class. Unfortunately, you had history which meant you were stuck with Tara once again.

No matter how many seats were vacant, she always chose to sit next to you. It put your teeth on edge but you knew she was doing it solely to piss you off. Goodness, she was annoying.

When you arrived you sat down and immediately put your head down. You almost fell asleep until there was a loud slam by your head. Tara had slammed down one of her books and sat down in the seat beside you.

Your head shot up as you rubbed your eyes. “Morning to you too, princess.” You mumbled, still rubbing your eyes in an attempt to rub away the exhaustion.

“You look like shit,” she commented, putting down her bag. “You don’t look too good either.” You were already growing even more tired due to her presence.

The rest of the class went on like this, Tara making a comment and you returning it. It truly wasn’t that much different from Woodsboro. Always picking fights and at each other's throats. But if you were being honest with yourself, it was a nice distraction. Guess she was good for something but you’d never tell her that.

You were writing something down when a crumpled up piece of paper hit the side of your face. You turned to give Tara a scowl before opening up the paper.

I need to copy your notes, the note read. You rolled your eyes and turned to Tara. She was still facing the front of the class, you turned back and wrote your reply on the piece of paper. You threw it to Tara before going back to writing.

Fuck no, why can’t you just write them on your own?? Tara annoyingly exhaled before aggressively writing something else on the paper. She chucked it at you and it hit you near your eye. You huffed and read the paper once again, I can barely understand the words coming out of his mouth on top of him talking too fast!

You sighed and rubbed your temples, your sleep deprivation was starting to catch up. “After class.” You mumbled in defeat. Tara took the victory until she got lost in her own head.

This wasn’t like you. Usually you’d give up more of a fight, she had noticed your drained expression when she walked in. She decided not to dwell on the topic too much, this was you after all. It wasn’t like she knew you knew you. Just enjoy the win, Tara she thought to herself.

—

After you finished all your classes, you finally got back to your apartment in one piece. Your eyelids were heavy as you fumbled with your keys. Eventually you inserted your key and unlocked the door, you could barely feel your legs as you walked inside and your brain was all foggy. You nearly knocked over a lamp when you walked in. Anika noticed this and immediately rushed over to your side.

“Shit, Y/N. When was the last time you slept?” You mumbled something she couldn’t hear before landing on the couch. You let out a long sigh and put your hand over your eyes to block out the light that was directly above you.

“This micro-sleeping crap that you’ve been trying clearly isn’t helping,” Anika sighed while putting a couple pillows behind you.

“I’m fine.” You murmured even though it was a blatant lie. “I’m gonna go make you grilled cheese and heat up the leftover tomato soup.” Anika stated before walking off to the kitchen. You had previously mentioned to her how that combo always made you fall asleep when you couldn’t as a child. Anika noticed how in the past few weeks, you’ve been losing more and more sleep. She was worried about you but also knew you were too stubborn to accept help.

Fifteen minutes later, she came back with a bowl of tomato soup with a diagonally cut grilled cheese sandwich on the side. “Eat.” You whined in response but Anika wasn’t having it. She forcefully sat you up and pushed the coffee table closer to you. “You’re eating. No complaints. You can’t just live off of Cereal and Ramen Noodles.”

You reluctantly brought a spoonful full of tomato soup to your mouth. “Says, who?” you mumbled with the spoon in your mouth. Anika only rolled her eyes and brought you a water bottle. Choosing not to argue any further, knowing she already won since you were eating.

You switched over to the sandwich when Anika sat across from you and asked,“Okay, what’s been going on with you?” She interrupts you before you can respond. “And don’t say ‘nothing’ cause it’s obvious it’s not nothing.” You looked back down the sandwich in your hand.

“I don’t feel like talking about it.” You answered honestly. Anika looked at you for a second before nodding in understanding. “That’s okay. But just know that I’m here for when you do feel like talking about it,” she put her hand on yours for a moment before getting up and walking to her room, knowing that you needed time to yourself.

You put down the sandwich and sighed to yourself. You stayed there on the couch for a bit, alone with your own thoughts. Each one telling you the same thing. You should’ve been there.

—

A few days have passed and a few weeks have passed since you’ve gotten a proper night’s rest. You were in history, Tara scoffed at a comment you made before you both heard the words “...group project. Pair up in two’s.” You and Tara looked around to see everybody else already pairing themselves off with other people.

And that was how you ended up at the Carpenter-Bailey residence. Even though you had insisted to your professor that you should work alone, he shook his head and told you that wasn’t an option. You made sure Tara knew you weren’t interested in starting the project last minute.

You sat down on their couch as you waited for Tara to come back from whatever it was she was doing. “Finally, let’s begin.” You said when she came back into view. “Still as patient as ever,” Tara quipped as she sat down a couple cushions over.

“Whatever, let’s just get this over with so I don’t have to be here any longer.” Just then Sam walks through the door, she kicks the door closed with her foot due to her hands being full from carrying groceries.

She looked up, unexpectedly to not just her sister but also you. Sam opens her mouth but before she gets a word out, one of the bags she’s carrying drops. You immediately get up to go help her. Tara furrows her eyebrows at your action.

“Thanks,” Sam mumbled as you both placed the bags down on the coffee table. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Tara, you didn’t tell me you were having people over.” She said, turning to her little sister as you sat down in your previous spot. “It was a last minute thing. We have a group project and unfortunately I got stuck with her as my partner,” Tara responded which pulled an eye roll from you.

“Love you too, Tar.” You quipped as you took out one of your notebooks. Tara elbowed you before continuing. “I’d introduce you but supposedly you two have already met,” Tara recalled that you’ve mentioned meeting Sam before.

“Yeah, I remember her now. She can stay, but if you go to your room make sure to keep your door open–” Tara blushed as you looked up from your notebook, moving your stare to Tara then to Sam then back to Tara.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Sam. Trust me.” Tara answered quickly. Sam looked between the two of you suspiciously. “Okay, but I still want the door three inches open.”

“Okay, okay” Tara sighed as she tilted her head back. Goodness, Sam could be so embarrassing sometimes.

A few seconds later, Sam finally left to put away the groceries. You bit your lip, trying not to laugh about what just happened. You found embarrassed Tara very amusing. “Shut up,” Tara said, elbowing your side again. “Let’s start, unless you plan to continue flirting with my sister.”

This caught you off guard. You turned your head to Tara and raised an eyebrow. “What?” Tara rolled her eyes, “I’m not stupid. You obviously like her and it’s so gross. That’s my sister, asshole.”

What made her think you liked Sam? Sure you noticed how she was tall, attractive and her arms- wait where was this going? Oh yeah, you did not like her like that.

“Tara, I don’t like your sister. Not like that.” She wasn’t meeting your gaze, choosing that the pages of her textbook were more interesting. “Sure. Can we just start? You were the one who wanted to get it over with.”

“Whatever.” You two started and throughout the duration you both argued over stupid things and chucked notes at each other as if you were still in class. After two hours, Tara started to get bored and hungry. You were in the middle of writing something when she let out a dramatic huff. “What now, princess?”

“You’re not the least bit tired or bored?” She asked, leaning back on the couch. You sighed and answered without looking up from your writing. “Tired? Yes, but that’s nothing new. Bored? It’s history. I’m not bored.”

“You always were such a nerd when it came to history. What was that thing you always said? Learn by making history or something?” You rolled your eyes, “You make history by learning history.” You finally looked up to see her slight smirk. She got the reaction wanted.

She always liked seeing you worked up. But specifically when it came to the things you were passionate about. Sometimes she would purposely miss-quote something from The Office or tell a historical event completely wrong just to get a reaction out of you.

You would furrow your eyebrows and get all grumpy and you knew she was just doing it to get on your nerves. And you had the same expression now as you did then. Tara took note of this and smiled to herself.

“I can tell you’re enjoying this very much.” You state before turning back to your writing. “Oh, very much,” Tara replied. As you were turned away from the girl and focusing on the project, Tara was still inspecting you. She noticed how you still held a slight furrow in your eyebrows while your nose was a bit scrunched up.

“You gonna keep staring at me, weirdo or continue working on the project?” You commented without looking up. Tara gets a bit flustered when you call her out. “Actually I’m getting something to eat from the kitchen…without getting you something,” Tara responded while getting up and walking to the kitchen.

“Oh, woman, why must you wound me?” You call out, your voice laced with sarcasm.

—

It was now ten thirty and you and Tara were at least ninety percent done with the project. You both decided to call it a night and just finish it up next time.

You let out a tired sigh as you closed all your books and placed them in your bag. Sam walked in and noticed you packing your stuff. “Hey, Y/N I was just about to order some food. Would you like to stay for dinner?” She noticed you hadn’t eaten anything since you’ve been over and barely touched your water.

“She’s goo-” Tara started but you interrupted her. “Of course! I’d love to, thank you.” Staying meant pissing off Tara and you were all for it.

“Great, any food allergies?” Sam asked as Tara glared at you. “Nope.” You answered with a polite smile, feeling the younger Carpenter burn holes at the side of your head. Sam nodded and walked off to her room. Tara then immediately smacked your shoulder.

“Ouch.” You let out with a deadpan expression. “Cry me a fucking river. You’re just staying to piss me off,” Tara accused, still holding a glare.

“I’m neither confirming nor denying. But what I will say is that I enjoy getting you all worked up,” You replied with a smirk. You and Tara looked at each other, almost like you were in a staring contest.

“You know, you’re extremely infuriating.”

“Just for you, princess.”

Just then the doorbell rang and Tara got up to answer it. Sam came out of her room after Tara came back inside carrying the bags of food and walking over to the dining table to place them. You followed Tara and sat down after Sam and Tara did.

After five minutes of silence, Sam decided to try and make conversation. “So, Y/N,” You softly hummed and looked up from your food. “How’s college going?” Sam asked.

“It’s going.” You answered, pushing the food around on your plate. Sam nodded before asking another question. “So, you and Tara have history together?”

“Unfortunately.” Tara responded before you could. “She’s just a peach,” you added while giving a wry smile.

Then it got silent again. It was awkward, at least for Sam it was. You and Tara death glaring at each other from across the table wasn’t helping the tension. To be entirely honest, Sam wasn’t sure what to do. She knew you and Tara weren’t on good terms but she also knew you weren’t a terrible person. So, she had to be the bigger person and be at least decent to you.

You looked at your watch and put down your fork. “It’s late so I should get going. Thank you so much for dinner, Sam.” You started as you stood up.

“Of course, Y/N.” As soon as you left the apartment Tara went to scold Sam. “What the hell Sam?” Sam closed her eyes and sighed before turning her head to her sister. “Tara-”

“You seriously just let the most insufferable person to ever exist stay over for dinner,” Tara huffed while crossing her arms.

“You’re such a baby sometimes, Tar.” Sam said before getting up to put away her food. Leaving Tara to pout to herself. “I’m not a baby…” Tara mumbled to herself, her arms and legs were crossed.

“She’s just an ass.”

—

“Where are you going?” Anika asked as she saw you looking for your keys. “Out.” She rolled your eyes at your one word answer.

“Obviously but where? It’s Saturday, you should be taking that to your advantage and try to get some sleep,” your roommate elaborated.

“I’m fine. I had coffee—” You found your keys on the kitchen counter and grabbed them, “—I’m just gonna hang out with Henry. You wanna join? Henry said he doesn’t mind you coming.”

Anika sighed. “No, I’m good. I’ve got plans tonight.” She knew you weren’t going to budge no matter what she said. “But please, call me if anything happens. Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah ‘course,” you said before leaving and shutting the door.

It was supposed to be a quiet night that consisted of video games, drinks and food. That’s all it was…according to Henry. But when you walked in it was packed with people. You felt like the music’s volume would bust your eardrum and everybody was either knocking into something or someone.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope, you thought to yourself before turning around in an attempt to leave. But then a pair of hands gently turned you back around to face them. You were met with Henry’s face and he could tell you were not happy with him.

“Just hear me out!” Henry shouted in order to be heard above the music. You rolled your eyes at him before responding. “How do you expect me to do that with this music blasting?” You started, matching his volume. “You said it was just gonna be us, what the hell happened to the plan!”

“Jason’s apartment flooded and I had to take over hosting the party!” He answered, still seeing how pissed you were. “I’m sorry, man! This was a last minute thing, I’ll make it up to you! I swear!” You thought to yourself for a second before sighing. “Fine!”

Henry convinced you to stay by bribing you with drinks and that’s how you ended up hiding out in his room. Playing on his nintendo with a red solo cup on his night stand that you occasionally took a sip of.

While you were in the middle of beating Link’s ass the door abruptly opened. You looked up to find Tara who seemed to be flipping somebody off before turning to you. “Don’t.” Was all she said before collapsing on the bed, not far from your feet.

“Wasn’t gonna say anything.” You murmured before looking back at the nintendo. “You just did.” She responded in a muffled voice due to her laying down face first.

“What’s the matter, princess? Long night already?” You started, going against her wishes. She sat up, holding herself up by her arms. “Why do you care?” Tara narrowed her eyes at you as you simply shrugged.

“I don’t. Just…curious is all.” Tara crawled over to sit next to you, leaning her back against the headboard. As she started playing with her hands you looked down at them for a moment, noticing the scar on her left hand.

“What?” Tara asked with annoyance in her voice. “Nothing.” Was all you responded with before taking another sip from the red solo cup near you. Tara looked away and scrunched up her face slightly. As if silently scolding herself before speaking again. “Um, Sam told me by the way. What it is in a few weeks,” she started as you froze. You thought there’d be at least one person who wouldn’t bring it up.

“If you like– need anything or whatever, you can talk to me about it. Not a lot of people have been through what we have.” You continued to look down at the nintendo, you hated when people tried to comfort you. You hated feeling like the victim.

“Could you quit that?” Tara furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “Quit what?” You let out a huff before answering her. “Quit being so nice to me. It’s weird. I don’t like it.”

“Would you like me to verbally harass you instead? Cause’ I’ll gladly do so.” Tara quipped with a deadpan expression. “Aww, there’s my girl.” You reached over and pinched her cheeks. “You’re an idiot,” she said as she shoved your hand away.

“But seriously, stop with this mushy shit.” Tara scoffed at you before responding. “It’s not my fault emotions make you uncomfortable.” It was your turn to scoff. “Accusations, false accusations.” You shook your head a little as you said this.

Tara noticed how you avoided the previous subject but didn’t say anything. Sam said she should try to talk to you about it. And that’s what she did, she tried.

A pillow flew to your face, “Oh, real mature.” You grabbed the pillow and threw it back to her. “I’ll remember that the next time your guard is down while I’m near a pillow.”

“Sure you will, Y/L/N.” Tara quipped. “You’ll see.” You continued as you started getting up. “Where are you going?” She asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Why? You gonna miss me?” You remarked with a smirk. Tara rolled her eyes, “God, you couldn’t leave this room soon enough.”

“You love me.”

“I hate you.”

“Correction, you hate how much you love me.”

Tara threw a pillow at you again as you stood by the door, “Get out!” Tara shouted, trying to fight back her laughter. Geez, I’m tipsy, Tara thought.

Eventually you left the room and left Tara alone with her thoughts. She let out a deep sigh as she laid down on the bed. “She’s such an idiot.” Tara mumbled to herself. But something was different about this idiot. About her idiot.

But you were still an asshole, she reminded herself. No matter how cute you may be.

Oh.

Maybe she’ll keep that thought to herself. Whenever she had these thoughts about you she reminded herself about all the things you’ve done and said to each other. She still found you insufferable and incredibly annoying, that was a fact. That doesn’t mean she hasn’t ever noticed you being objectively attractive before. Objectively of course.

She knew she hated you, she knew she hated your smug attitude, the stupid remarks you threw and how much of a control freak you could be. Tara also hated how you could charm your way out of most situations. It was unbearable but also brought her satisfaction that she was the few people you couldn't do that with.

You were an intolerable asshole who’s always gotten on her nerves.

—

Monday came by quick, when you got to history you sat at your usual spot. You were met with a hungover Tara, unsurprisingly. “Two nights in a row? What a rebel.” You quipped as she groaned, rubbing her temples.

“You’re not helping.” She mumbled with her head down. You leaned closer to her and whispered, “Wasn’t trying to.” You leaned back in your seat and took out your notes.

“Alright!” Your professor walked in. “Let’s get started,” He said before loudly clapping his hands together which caused Tara to jump as her hands flew to her ears. You laughed a little which earned you a shoved from the younger Carpenter.

Class went on and you and Tara did your usual routine which consisted of shoving each other, making petty comments and note passing.

Once class was over you got up and closed your books and started to make your way to meet with Anika for lunch. You were only a few feet away from the classroom when you felt a light tug on your shirt. When you turned around you saw Tara.

“Yes, princess?” You asked, looking down at her. She looked kinda cute looking up at you. Over the years you noticed she had these puppy dog eyes without even trying. It’s even more amusing when she’s trying to be serious.

“I’m free tomorrow night if you wanna finish the project then.” She states, still looking up at you with those damn eyes. You nodded, “Alright, see you then.”

“No flirting with my sister though,” she said with an appointed look. “No promises.” You teased which got you a shove to the shoulder.

"Gross," Tara mumbled before walking away from you.

Guess you had to add “flirting with Sam” on the list of things that pissed Tara off.

-----------

A/N: If you'd like to get tagged in future chapters, lemme know in the comments!

#jenna ortega #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x you #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #scream #scream 6

853 notes · View notes

hellcab · 2 months

Text

Roth's new bio ( VER-1 )

Hey, I'm just working on revising Roth's bio. So please, give me some time and read this if you want. I would love to have feedback.

Among the living, Roth ( Marion ) Kruger was a mordacious, contemptuous jerk. Damnation made him worse.

Roth’s life was a nightmare of circumstances, outside his control. Abandoned by his parents, Roth became a ward to the state at eight years old. He spent his childhood at Saint Emiliani Orphanage, in New York City. Eventually, Roth was aged out from the system, thrusting him into the world. Despite his rough upbringing, Roth wanted to make something out of himself.

Yet, failure was his only option. The first domino was being framed for plagiarism at New York University, by someone he once considered a friend. Despite his pleas, Roth’s protest fell on deaf ears. He was ushered out, blacklisted to further his humiliation. From there, Roth’s life spiraled out of control.

Struggling for work, Roth found employment with the checker cab company. The job, though grueling, kept Roth above water to survive. Around this time, he collected a group of friends, notably Nina Roberston and Scott Holden. Nina was a self-made fashion designer living in Harlem, whom Roth dated. Nina was the light in his life, a reminder that there’s still good. Scott was a troubled veteran, who was disgraced after it was revealed he shared information with his North Vietnamese captors. This “betrayal” was to save a wounded comrade, whom The Vietnamese were withholding medicine from. It was Scott’s fate that eventually broke Roth.

After a heated argument, Roth abandoned Scott at a bar. Scott was forced to walk home, where he was accosted by two NYPD officers. Without much provocation, the officers started beating Scott for “resisting arrest”. Scott though, managed to fight back and try to escape, not wanting to hurt anyone. For his trouble, he was shot. The bullet pierced his back and paralyzed him.

Nina was the first to tell Roth, which devastated him. Unable to process the grief and regret, Roth suffered a nervous breakdown. In his madness, he took out his pain and frustration out on Nina. The result left her heartbroken. On that night, Roth lost all his friends and his religion. Proclaiming that, there’s no God. Roth’s erratic behavior saw him fired from his job, losing his apartment and becoming an outcast.

In 1979, of that same year, Roth was murdered.

At night, Roth was on the Brooklyn bridge. He had nothing left, no friends, no home, and no hope for the future. There, he struggled to jump. Someone came along, to choose for him. The Wire, an infamous serial killer, ambushed Roth on the bridge. Despite the surprise, Roth fought back with every inch of his life. Unfortunately, The Wire won in the end.

Roth was thrown over the bride, landing into the freezing waters below. The impact didn’t kill Roth, but the drowning took him. A week later, Roth’s corpse was found by harbor workers. Police ruled his death a suicide. Nina, still heartbroken, had Roth buried with money she earned through her shop.

In Heaven, Roth arrived well ahead of time. He was shown in, thinking he somehow made it. Roth’s delusions were soon crushed, as he was put on trial. A committee of angels decided Roth’s fate, while his guardian Angel defended him. For prosecution, Dearie made the argument for Roth’s damnation. The committee sided with Dearie, much to Roth’s horror. Out of desperation, Roth blindly thought he could escape the courtroom. At the door, he was greeted by an Exorcist.

The Exorcist subdued Roth, dragging him away as he screamed and begged. He was soon thrown into Hades, into Hell.

In Hell, Roth was surprised. It wasn’t the inferno described by Dante, but a world of excess and vice. It reminded Roth of New York’s seedier parts, all condensed into one and overexposed. But Roth was still frightened beyond belief. Even more so, he was horrified by his demonic appearance. Slowly and surely, Roth got his bearings around Pentagram City. By wits and gut instinct, he survived.

In 1983, Roth landed a job with The Gehenna Cab Company, one which provided enough to afford his own apartment. To this day, he still works for Gehenna Cabs, mostly by doing the bare minimum. Still, to this day, Roth remains the same mordacious jerk that was damned. Still, a sleazy scumbag, who blames others for his own problems.

There’s more however, than meets the eye.

Roth, however, isn’t any ordinary Sinner. In Hell, Roth has learned many forms of magic, most notably Chaos Magick. He’s adept with black magic and will use it to his advantage. Though limited by the rules of magic, Roth is dangerous.

But, then again, his magic comes at a price. His own sanity is slowly and surely being drained. Resulting in Roth becoming more and more unhinged.

There’s also on important Rule, Roth has broken in magic.

A knocked door cannot be unknocked.

#roth kruger.#tw: suicidal thoughts.#tw: murder #tw: incredibly sad shit.

3 notes · View notes

buck-buck-boose · 3 years

Text

I'll Love You 'Til I Die

Masterlist | Playlist

Summary: A Brooklyn schoolgirl fell in love with James Buchanan Barnes at the tender age of nine. With this love she made a vow, promising to love him until her very last breath.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC

Warnings: Language, pining

Word Count: 2.1k

Author's Note: Thank you for all the patience and support! I love love love seeing replies and reblogs :,)

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Journey to Azzano

October 24, 1943

Yet another sleepless night. A night spent away from the nurse’s tent, handkerchief in hand, with eyes cast towards the heavens. The stars stared back, silent watchers from above; the petrified audience to a grotesque display of gore, violence, and inhumanity. Lottie knew that they were nothing but balls of gas, great masses of fire that drifted in that infinite chasm of space millions of lightyears away. Somehow, her heart still broke for them.

How painful it must be to be a star, she thought, To see the Earth, to see its people, to see the love and hope. To be forced to watch its destruction, its pain. Oh, how the stars must weep, gazing down at the broken bodies of men and boys, women and children, all victims of such a cruel war.

Still, the pain of a star could never come close to the pain of a nurse. The stars would never hold those bodies in their arms, they would never fumble for a tourniquet as blood spilled from a fresh wound, the stars would never have to slide a man’s eyelids shut, his skin cold to the touch.

Lottie was becoming quickly acclimated to the smell and feel of death. It never seemed to leave her skin, no matter how thoroughly she washed her hands. Though they were constantly rubbed raw, she could not rid them of death’s stench or its thick grime that seemed to coat every inch of her skin.

After they’d left Pantelleria, the SSR had scrambled to stay afloat, constantly caught in the crossfire of other Italian campaigns. The Germans had weaseled their way into northern and central Italy, with carnage in their wake, the nurses of the SSR were left to care for their victims. Lottie had come to know death as intimately as one knows the curves of their lover’s body, all the dimples, ridges, and edges.

“No number of bandages would’ve saved him, Lottie,” Gladys would whisper, “We’re nurses, not miracle-workers.”

“If I remember correctly, folks at the SSR sure love to rant about that ‘miraculous’ serum we developed.” “Betty, you know what I mean.”

Lottie wished she could be a miracle worker. The men that she managed to save definitely thought she was, but who wouldn’t think so highly of the woman who saved them from certain death? It would have been a comfort to visit them in the recovery ward, but the SSR would whisk them away, further north and closer to Hydra before she had the chance.

The SSR found themselves in Siano, a village an afternoon’s trek away from Salerno. At another time, it would be quite lovely. The quiet little community was nestled between small mountains, far too grand and looming to be called hills. The greenery was lush and the air was crisp, mingled with the saltiness from the nearby sea. A cool, sweet breeze kissed Lottie’s cheeks and became entangled in her curls that had finally been loosed from her strict bun. With every graze of the breeze against her cheeks and every rustle of the grasses beside her, it seemed that the very earth was breathing beneath her. Every movement was a great inhale or exhale that emanated around her; the only calming element to an otherwise restless night.

Their camp was just outside the town, stationed in an expansive field which was quite likely an abandoned pasture. Camp had been sloppily thrown together, after a horrifically bloody day in Salerno, morale was low and they knew their stay would be short-lived. Agent Carter had mentioned that they were urgently needed in Azzano; there was a POW situation up there that involved Hydra. Their stop in Siano, as Colonel Phillips had explained, was merely for recuperation. With a day of bloodshed behind them and several days’ worth of traveling ahead of them, rest was needed by all.

But she couldn’t really rest, could she? Lottie would always be on edge, on high alert, until she had her boys by her side once more. At every camp, in every campaign, she searched for the 107th. For any sign of a USO show. So far, she had come up with nothing. Nothing but disappointment.

All that she could do was gaze up at the stars and wonder if a pair of clear blue eyes were doing the same.

Somewhere in Azzano

Liquid fire in his veins. Muttered words in German. Leather straps that dug into his skin; they kept him from writhing in pain. Days bled together and he could barely find the willpower to stay conscious, blurring the lines between his dreams and reality.

Bucky didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know what was going on, either. All he knew was agony, frustration, and a girl. His best girl, Little Lottie. The first time he’d seen her, he was sure that she was real. He had just undergone the first round of… whatever this was, and all of a sudden, she’d appeared before him, dressed just as she’d been when he last saw her— white uniform, thick stockings, and a heavy coat that seemed to swallow her whole.

He’d tried to yell at her, warn her about how dangerous this place was, but he could only muster a choked groan which had earned him a blow to the head. After that, she kept appearing— every time he was poked or prodded at, she stood in the corner of the room and watched over him with a smile on her lips. His head would loll to the side with exhaustion and their gazes would connect; it was the only glimmer of hope in the midst of his torture.

His Little Lottie would only speak to him in his dreams, but she wouldn’t speak, really. No, she’d do this thing he’d seen her do to Stevie hundreds of times when he was sick in bed. With gentle hands, she would smooth his hair away from his forehead, freeing the sweaty, bloodied strands that clung to his skin. She quieted his groans of pain with soft sounds and breathy hums of her favorite songs— mostly from the musicals they had gone to see in the thirties. Little Lottie was fondest of numbers by the Gershwin brothers, he’d noticed, as she was always humming one of their tunes in his dreams.

Any anger toward her was forgotten, but the fear remained. Fear for her safety devoured him from the inside out; if Hydra ever got their hands on her, there would be hell to pay.

Siano, the next day

“Y’know if you’re gonna make a habit of this, I might as well take your pillow for myself.”

Lottie blinked her eyes blearily, taking in the figure of Betty before her. Apparently, she’d fallen asleep outside. Again. The first time it had happened, they’d been camped out in Salerno and while her companions had gone to bed earlier, she’d attempted to calm her nerves with a midnight cigarette. Suffice to say, the cigarette had done its job, though she’d woken up with a terrible pain in her neck.

This time, the pain was located in Lottie’s lower back, probably due to the uneven ground she’d fallen asleep on.

“Believe me, Betty, I don’t intend to make this a habit,” Lottie gritted her teeth in pain as she attempted to maneuver herself off of the ground.

Betty sighed and grabbed her hands, heaving her up, “C’mon, we don’t have all day. Colonel Phillips wants the tents down as soon as possible.” She jerked her head in the direction of the other three nurses a few yards away, they were evidently having a difficult time with the canvas and poles of their tent.

The two of them rejoined their group and Gladys tossed a pack to her with a smile, “Your stuff’s all good to go. Figured you needed the extra sleep.” Lottie squeezed her shoulder in thanks and observed Nancy and Mary as they argued over the correct way to pack up their tent.

“First we need to disassemble the poles, then we wrap up the canvas and—”

“No, we need to take care of the canvas before we can—”

Agent Carter stalked toward them with a rather agitated look on her face; only she could look powerful crossing an uneven field in heels. Lottie bundled up some poles in her arms, trying to stow them away in a pack before they could be berated for being the last ones to finish.

“Ladies,” Agent Carter began, voice firm, “You did not go through a year of training just to be the last ones done packing up your tent. We need more speed from you five to reach the one hundred and seventh in time.”

Lottie nearly dropped the metal poles in her arms and choked out a gasp, “The one hundred and seventh?” That was the regiment with the POWs? The POWs that had fallen victim to Hydra? Her heart was suddenly beating a mile a minute, her stomach was all in knots.

Agent Carter furrowed her brow, likely confused by her reaction, “Yes, they were vastly overpowered in a recent battle. We’ve been summoned to provide medical care to the survivors as well as to assist in a reconnaissance mission for information regarding the whereabouts of the POWs.”

She was tempted to ask about Bucky, to see if she’d heard anything about their survivors, but she ultimately decided against it. It was unlikely that they already had extensive knowledge regarding those who had been saved or lost.

“We’ll be done in a jiffy, Agent Carter,” Nancy nodded, removing the poles from Lottie’s grasp.

After another minute or two, their tent was packed away, and each nurse was outfitted with a hefty pack that carried their belongings. Together, the nurses and the rest of the SSR agents began their trek through the Italian countryside, keeping close in their groupings. It would have been far easier to be transported by plane, but the agents had to take as much caution as possible with Hydra's threat level. If traveling by foot kept the lowest profile, then that was what needed to be done.

Lottie’s four companions broke out into quiet conversation to pass the time while fearful thoughts weaseled their way into her mind. What if Bucky really had been taken by Hydra? What would they do to him? Would they kill him? She’d heard of their horrors from Erskine, and she’d even seen their ruthlessness at his assassination. The dark thoughts that began to swim around in her head made her want to be sick. Lottie wanted to double over and retch, to alleviate the sick feeling that crept into her at the thought of Bucky in Hydra’s clutches.

“You alright there, Lottie? You’ve been awfully quiet,” Gladys sidled over to where she was walking, only a foot or two away from the rest.

“I don’t think so,” Lottie began, her voice strained, “I mean, with the one hundred and seventh and everything, I just, I don’t know how to—”

Gladys nodded, a sad look on her face, “I know, it’s a dreadful situation, isn’t it? I can’t imagine how those survivors must feel. Having your comrades stolen away from you in a bloody battle.”

“It’s not just that, it’s also—”

“Oh yes, definitely more than that. Not only the mental anguish but the physical, too. I mean, we’re here for a reason, we’ve got to be prepared for the worst when we get there. I’ve heard they’re in absolute shambles.”

Lottie fisted her hands in frustration, “Gladys. Bucky’s a member of the one hundred and seventh. That’s his damn regiment. And I haven’t a clue of whether he’s dead, alive, or barely holding on in some dingy cell, so I would really appreciate it if you would spare me the monologue about how terrible their situation is.”

Gladys stared at her, a look of shock painted on her face, “Lottie, I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I— gosh, I feel absolutely awful now, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Lottie grabbed Gladys’ hand to squeeze it, their arms knocked together as they walked side by side, “I just need to think optimistically right now. If I start thinking about all the atrocities, I might go crazy.”

Gladys squeezed back, a faint smile growing on her lips, “You’re right. Think optimistically. I bet he got out of it just fine, with a few scratches though. But he’ll be waiting for us real patiently, waiting for the fine nurses of the SSR to patch him right up.”

She found comfort in Gladys’ words. It was much nicer to picture him that way, sitting in a medic tent cot, wounds scabbed over in blood, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Maybe he'd be cracking jokes with the other poor souls stuck in that tent, his eyes alight with humor and that lopsided grin threatening to send that cigarette straight to the ground. He would be a bit battered and bruised, but he’d be there waiting. Waiting for her.

59 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 3 years

Text

smoke and fire (11)

word count; 12,58

summary; following the tragic events of your last call, Vince has given the team a few days off, covered by other shift rotations, and coping alone can be hard.

notes; prepare for a few tears, but a lot of smiling and blushing.

warnings; reference to death, mentions of a funeral service, mentions of panic attacks, reference to injury, fire & arson.

The first tear fell the second your front door closed behind you. It was like a weight had been sitting on your chest, crushing you slowly for hours, from the very second you’d woken up this morning.

It had all been numb, seeming detached from who you really were, meeting members of Chuck’s family, introducing yourself, answering questions from the medical side of it all as they all stood confused as to what had happened to their son, and having to remind yourself on a mantra that you hadn't been at blame, as the unwarranted guilt threatened to topple over you at any given moment.

A beautiful ceremony of life, words that made the back of your throat sting as you sat in the church pews and listened to tributes, and the slight smudge of mascara under your eyes that you’d tried to clean up as your eyes watered, but you’d held strong throughout the entirety of the funeral. The dress sticking to your body felt too tight, like it was clinging to every inch of your skin, pushing in on you and crushing you from the outside.

He’d had a fireman’s funeral, the team deciding that despite never getting the chance to pass his exams, he would be sent off the proper way, and Vince had offered no argument. The morning started at the firehouse, nine o’clock sharp, the lights on the van flashing silently with the sirens turned off. The hurst had guided the pathway, lines of firemen along the edges of the cemetery as his family had arrived, and Newt’s hand had found your own to squeeze tightly as the black car had rolled to a stop.

His father, his uncle, his brother, a childhood friend, his best friend, and Thomas. Those six men carried the wooden box holding your friend to the front of the church for the gathering, respectful and calm, his mother offering a speech dedicated to the team, and you’d almost broken on the spot. There was something mentioned about all of you, about how proud Chuck made them all every day, and how much he loved what he did. Apparently, he spoke about you all to his family, at every chance he got. You felt like they were an extension of the team by the end of it.

Your social battery was drained; the simple small talk and polite exchanges you’d shared with everyone, but it had been overwhelming. You were no stranger to funerals or death, but you’d never lost someone so close to you before. It was utterly terrifying, to care so deeply for a group of people, to allow your walls to come down and let them in, only for the ever-looming threat of losing them to always be hanging over your head, and yet, somehow, it only made you stronger.

You suspected Chuck himself had something to do with that.

You’d placed a rose the same shade of red as the fire engines down on the top of his coffin, and whispered your thanks to him, for being your first friend in firehouse ‘21. You wouldn’t be who you were without him, you weren’t even sure whether you would have been able to stick it out there without his support, and without him, you certainly wouldn’t have the family you did today. You had him to thank for all of it, and you’d never be able to repay him.

You were invited out with them all, the family had booked a small conference room to go to, to share memories and chat, but the idea of it seemed like it might throw you over the edge, and you didn’t feel like having any more public breakdowns for a while. Your team had seen enough of you crying in recent weeks, and you felt like you’d done enough of that. You knew that Chuck wouldn’t want you to cry, he’d want you to make a cup of herbal tea - something stolen from Gally - and to watch a movie with Adam Sandler in or a rerun of Brooklyn 99, and he’d want you to smile, because that’s what he’d encouraged every other time you’d been sad.

He had never wanted anyone to do anything but smile, he was a ray of pure sunshine, warm and friendly and enough to light up any room or mood. You’d been sure to tell his mother that, and she’d held you in a tight hug that left you feeling weak, like you were being pulled down to the ground, the emotions overwhelming.

And so, you’d denied their request to join them as respectfully as you could, because you didn’t want to mourn surrounded by people. You didn’t want to do your mourning in a formal black dress that was smart enough for the occasion and heels that made your feet ache, watching as Newt pulled at the collar of his dress shirt, and the rest of your team wander around in the formal firemen’s uniform that was usually reserved for special occasions with a happier undertone, breaching on being tarnished, and you wouldn't let that happen.

So, you’d driven yourself home, eyes blurring a little and the clock tickling just past midday before the dam finally broke and you were slamming the front door shut a little harder than necessary. One gasping breath as you stood still, a second to follow, and then you were kicking off your shoes. The tears fell freely, hot and salty and unending as you sobbed, shoes abandoned and soles aching as you reached up to try and roughly jerk the zipper on the back of your dress down.

As you peeled it away from your body, you felt like you could breathe again, the pressure having been the opposite of soothing and you worry you were going to tear it in your haste to get it gone. It was chucked across the room, haphazardly into the laundry basket in the corner, and your stockings did rip as you tried to shed them from your skin. Elegant and professional, your appearance had been perfect, but you had felt the opposite. You felt broken, damaged and wounded and messy, like your emotions and inner feelings were leaking out for everyone to see, your deepest and darkest fears on display to be gawked at, your innermost worries open for public viewing.

It was a churning pool in your stomach, one that chilled you from the core, blood running cold in your veins, and you shivered a little. The smell of your perfume felt wrong where it lingered on the air from where you had sprayed it before, and you collapsed down in the seat at your dresser, hating the face that was staring back at you in the mirror.

It was wrong, you looked so professional, pointed eyeliner and a flick of lipstick, more makeup than you’d worn in a long time, but it was a mask, a shield to hide behind as you put up your defences against the pain you were experiencing, armour to wear to hold the pain at bay for long enough, but now it felt heavy. You grabbed for a makeup wipe, two coming loose and then a third, before you were scrubbing at your face. Flawless skin and artful designs were scrubbed away, your flesh blotchy underneath and flushed from the day’s events already, and it was only growing sorer as you scrubbed your skin clean.

The tears kept running, silent and slow as they flowed, and you struggled to even find the strength to push yourself back to standing up. The cold air in your apartment made you shiver, the simple but comfortable underwear was already feeling uncomfortable on your skin, everything did, now. Your fingers were shaking as they turned on the tap, trembling as you washed your face free of any remaining grime until you felt fresh, and you managed to get a handle on your tears.

They stopped somewhere between brushing your hair up out of your face and rubbing some moisturising cream onto the skin that was red and raw from salty tears. Tugging on your sweats and rolling them at the ankle away from your feet. Unclipping the bra from behind your back, it felt like the final restricting garment that was binding you to the pain of the day. It was left dropped to the floor, alongside torn stockings, kicked into the corner. You were fishing out a long-sleeved shirt from your dresser, the comfortable maroon coloured one with the hole in one sleeve for your thumb to slip through, when there was a knock at the door.

Nothing too startling, it wasn’t too quiet with the traffic outside, neither was it dark as light poured in from the sun outside, but you were one edge, and so the sudden intrusion on your quiet was shocking. Tugging the fabric over your head as you walked, and adjusting it across your front, you stuck your thumb through the hole and wiggled your fingers a little to grow comfortable, before you were opening the front door.

You were a little surprised to see who was on the other side. You had expected a neighbour, possibly the grumpy woman that lived a floor below, but you hadn't expected the towering frame of a familiar firefighter. He’d changed too, smart navy uniform swapped out for some jeans and an oversized jumper that would make him look smaller than he was if it wasn’t for broad shoulders and tall stature you knew lived underneath. Soft brown hair was freed from a white cap, and his face held equally as much sorrow as yours did.

“Thomas.. what are you doing here? How did you even know..?”

“I remembered. From the night we went to the vets. You pointed out which window was yours, I counted the floors, and tried to work it out. The resident two doors down told me where to find you.” Pink tinged his cheeks at the confession, and you laughed lightly, his hands rubbing together as he moved to stand up fully from where he’d been leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. “I thought you might need a friend right now.”

“You didn’t want to go to the little get together his family arranged?”

“Absolutely not.” He grimaced, shoulders sagging a little more. “I loved Chuck, I did, but I don’t think he’d be mad at me for not being able to handle another few hours of his crying relatives looking at me like I was the one who failed them, because I was supposed to be his lieutenant.”

“You’re not allowed to blame yourself if I’m not.” You whispered, his eyes sparkling a little in amusement as he let out a soft huff of a laugh, before his gaze was dropping down again.

“Look, I know my presence is unannounced, and that I am crossing all kinds of boundaries right now, but you were the first person I thought of when I got home and started feeling alone, and so I got changed and drove here without really thinking about it. I know it’s wrong, and you probably need time for yourself, and so I can go if you want me to, b-”

“Don’t go.”

He let out a relieved sound as you cut off his rambling, rubbing a hand over his forehead, and daring to look you in the eye. “Are you sure? I mean, my company right now, are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure about ninety-nine percent of the things going on in my life right now, but I’m pretty sure you’re one thing I’m absolutely certain of.” He smiled a little at your words, something soft and adoring flickering over his features, and he held his arms out a little wider for you.

“C’mere, sweetheart.”

You didn’t wait, letting yourself topple forwards into his grip as your hold on the door to keep you steady and upright in your weakened state moved to him, letting him support you as your arms wrapped around his neck, his around your waist to pull you flush up to his body for support, and you felt like you’d finally found your comfort as his warm breath washed over your cheek, before his face was burying in your neck, and a sweet kiss was being pressed to the skin there briefly.

His hands dipped a little lower, no doubt feeling you tremble against his hold, knees buckling as you relinquished the last of your self-control and stability to him, to hook under your ass, and lift you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, feeling him hold you a little tighter as he stepped blindly into your apartment, kicking the door shut and leaning back against it as he held you, and the presence of wet tears and muffled sniffles against your shoulder wasn’t missed.

You raised a hand, brushing through his hair gently, and taking the time to comfort him this time. You pressed a kiss to his temple, and again, before squeezing yourself around him a little tighter and letting him reciprocate the actions in silent acknowledgement of your comfort, as he let himself break down now he was behind closed doors, much like you had.

Your feet slipped back to the floor a few minutes later, when his heart had slowed and breathing calmed, and the moment of insure weakness had passed, leaving you to lean against him, staring up at red-rimmed eyes as his hands rubbed circles onto your hips, silence being all that was needed.

“Thanks for letting me in.”

“Thanks for coming over.” Your words were barely even audible, shared into the space between you both, and he nodded his head, licking over dry lips, and clearing his throat slightly.

“It was really no trouble. Like, at all.” You smiled, forehead bumping against his chin as you leaned forward, before your cheek was pressing to his shoulder, and his arms were circling more fully around you for the hushed conversation. “I was hoping you’d let me take you to lunch, or something? We could hang out, try not to think about it all for a few hours.”

“God, it is lunchtime, isn’t it?” You rubbed at your eyes, gaze flickering to the clock on the wall overhead the open-plan kitchen counter. “I haven’t even had breakfast, yet, I felt too nauseous this morning to even consider eating something.”

“You’ve not eaten yet?” He pulled back a little further, his hands coming up to sit over your jaw, allowing his thumbs to sweep gently over your cheeks as he directed your eyes back to meet his own, and you shrugged, a smile on your lips.

“Oh, c’mon, Tommy. It’s not exactly anything new for us to miss meals in our line of work. I swear, that siren waits until I make something to eat to ring.” He chuckled, nodding his head, before pulling you forwards to press a kiss to your forehead, your hands bunching up in the fabric of his jumper around his waist, holding onto him tightly and hoping it conveyed what you couldn't say with words, a silent offering in gratitude for simply having his presence. “My body would probably be more shocked at a regular eating and sleeping schedule than it would one missed meal and a day without needing to nap to get through it.”

“Well, I guess we’d better start with breakfast, then.”

“You haven’t had breakfast?” You questioned, hopping up onto one of the bar stools beside the kitchen counter, and you watched with some form of amusement as Thomas moved across the room to open your fridge, clearly making himself comfortably at home in your home as he rooted through the contents.

“No, I’ve had breakfast.” He hummed, beginning to pull things out and stack them on the counter. “Well, kinda’. I picked up coffee on the way to the.. on the way, and I got a couple of muffins to go, too.”

“Muffins do not count. I bet they were chocolate chip ones, too.”

“Only one of them was chocolate chip!” He defended himself, the fridge rattling a little as the door closed and he turned to stare at you from the other side of the counter, eyes narrowing a little, before a teasing smirk was appearing on his face once again. “They only had one chocolate one left, the other was blueberry, which is fruit, so it’s basically like eating an apple.”

“You’re so full of shit, I can’t even begin to tell you how wrong that is, and how unhealthy that is, for a lieutenant of a fire station, no less.”

“Yeah, well, I have to live life a little unhealthily. If I didn’t how would I get cute paramedics to fuss over me?” He winked, the moment slipping away from you both for just a second as you gaped at him, feeling a warm blush race over your skin to find a home on your cheeks, and he chuckled to himself cheekily at his ability to make you so flustered, your eyes rolling but it was out of fondness as your head dipped. “So, pancakes? I’m really good at making pancakes.”

“You sure? Something about you just screams ‘I-cannot-cook-for-shit’.”

“I take that as a raging insult. I’m an excellent chef. An excellent and usually healthy chef, actually. I mean, I’m a lieutenant at a fire station, I’ve gotta’ stay in shape.” You scoffed, your words used against you again, and your eyes trailed along broad shoulders and arms for a second, taking in the muscles you knew to exist there that were hidden under a baggy jumper. “Are you checking me out right now?”

“No.”

“You totally are, you’re checking me out.” He gasped the words, reaching up to grab at his pecs like a woman would grab her tits, and you grinned at his actions, lips pursed together to try and contain it as your heels ached, and his jaw dropped, as though he was utterly modified and disgusted at the idea. “I feel so violated right now. Take your eyes off of me, this is disrespectful, my eyes are up here, you know.” He pointed up to his face, and you raised a brow, hopping down from your seat to around the counter, his gaze following you as you moved past him.

Pressing the button on the small countertop coffee machine and placing a mug underneath, you turned back to him, hands wrapping around his wrist to bring them down, your eyes dragging purposefully slowly over his chest, up to his face, and he there was a more serious look on his face as you did this time. Leaning up a little, his breathing hitched, eyes fluttering to sit hooded as he leaned in enough to bump his nose against your own, and you let out a breathy laugh. “It ain’t nothing I haven’t already seen, big boy.”

You pulled back, laughing at the shocked look on his face as he blinked to clear his mind, and you turned away to face the coffee machine, the man behind you stuttering a little bit. “You little tease.”

“Not a tease, maybe I’m just playing hard to get.”

You replaced the mug, making him a freshly brewed coffee too as soon as yours was finished, and Thomas was rooting through your cupboards to find the equipment he wanted. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or excited. Insulted, because, after all we’ve been through, I figured I’d at least have a place in the runnings, but excited, because you just admitted that I at least have a shot.”

“I thought you already knew you did.” You blew the steam from your coffee mug gently, and he found the mixing jugs he was looking for, his eyes twinkling a little as he glanced at you, turning back to the pile of ingredients he had made.

“Yeah, maybe, but it’s nice to hear you say it.”

“Hm.” You took a sip, settling yourself back in your seat, and watched as he began to crack eggs, clearly working on mental estimates rather than an actual recipe as he created a batter. “Well, for the record, you have a really great shot. Good ranking in the runnings, or whatever. Go for the gold.”

“Are you my top prize?”

“I could be.” You tried to convince yourself the blush on your cheeks was simply a bodily reaction to the heat steaming from the mug.

“Then I’m in it to win.”

“I hope so.” You whispered, the coffee machine beeping again as another cycle came to an end, and you nodded towards it, letting the moment be carried away, left on a high note, and not allowing yourself to overthink it or start to become doubtful of your decisions. “That coffee is for you, I made you a cappuccino.”

“I love cappuccinos.”

“I know, you like the foam on top so you can lick it off your upper lip.” He paused, glancing up at you, something you were unfamiliar with flickering across his features, before he was nodding his head.

He didn’t say anything, and for a second, you worried you had messed up somehow, that you’d done something wrong or freaked him out, or made an error, but you were certain you were right, you remembered Thomas telling you about his love for the frothy drink a few months ago when the station coffee machine had broke and you’d all had to make coffee from a kettle, and you’d seen him lick the froth from his upper lip with a grin every time he had one of the drink, when he thought nobody was looking, and he could be a child again for just a few seconds.

Then, though, you caught sight of the smile he was trying to hide, the way his face was lit up a little as he stared into the recipe, beating the eggs with a fork, a variety of other utensils laid out before him. He turned, placing a pan over the hob and starting it up on it’s lowest flame, before dropping a large wedge of butter into the pan to start melting, the lump sliding across the metal surface slowly as it began to heat up.

“So, these pancakes might be a little off. I normally use protein powder instead of flour, so, go easy on me.”

He added a large scoop of flour to the mix, milk being splashed in by eye-measurement only and some butter added, the pan popping a little behind him as it heated up, and you raised a single and slightly judgey brow at the unusual mix of quantities he was adding before mixing it. It seemed to work out for him, because somewhere along the line, it had formed a decent batter, and he was scooping out enough to slowly drop into the pan.

It sizzled at it cooked, his back to you as he worked at the hob, and you twisted a little more in your seat, facing forwards to the counter and resting your elbows on it, to be able to balance your chin on the top of your hands. Scanning your eyes over Thomas slowly, your cheeks flushed with heat a little as you realised you were very definitely checking him out, but you couldn’t help it.

His broad shoulders couldn't be hidden, no matter how big his jumper was, filling his frame widely. The muscles of his back became evident occasionally as he moved, the soft cotton of his jumper pressing to them but never becoming stained, and he’d rolled his sleeves up to cook as butter and oil in the pan popped, the veins along his forearms becoming a little more prominent each time he flipped a pancake over, or served it up onto a plate.

He was humming a song to himself, hips swaying a little as he occasionally mumbled a word or two, barley even audible to you as you listened in and you didn’t recognise the song but it sounded like something that would have been made in the 70s, your lips sneaking up into a soft smile. It was unusually domestic, it had been years since you’d ever had anyone to cook for in your own home, and you couldn't remember ever having anyone cook for you.

Well, bar when you’d been living at home, and a child, but that didn't count.

You weren’t blind to how attractive Thomas was; he was attractive in a beautiful kind of way. Soft chocolate-coloured locks and golden eyes that seemed to change shade with his mood, skin imperfect with constellations of pretty moles that only made him seem more like a piece of art. Of course, being the lieutenant of a firehouse team had its perks, he was often fitting in workouts at the firehouse on slow days between calls and you’d seen the stretch of his shirt across biceps and lean pectorals, and you’d been caught staring when he had comforted you after Chuck’s death. You’d been close enough to him so many times now that you were no stranger to the hard muscle under his clothes and soft but warm skin to cover it, or the long fingers on calloused palms that often found their way to you.

You’d just never really allowed yourself to be affected by any of it before now, putting up walls meant shutting out anything that might cause you to connect to someone, including physical attraction. Now, though, you’d been forced to take those walls down. You were happy about it, even if you weren’t happy today, but it meant noticing the more intimate things. It meant you noticed the scar on the side of his nose, almost indistinguishable until you’d been allowed close enough to see it, or the way the moles on his face continued all the way down along his flesh, but were more heavily grouped on his left side.

He turned, a plate for both of you in hand as the heat had been turned off, pan sitting there to cool, and he wandered over, pushing the condiments he’d assembled from your cupboards into the middle of the table, and you chuckled at the small collection of fruits he’d chopped on a separate plate; strawberries and apples, all you had, but he’d slipped something healthy in there.

“You want me to get the cutlery?”

“I found it. Third drawer across from the fridge.” He smiled, turning, and grabbing a matching set of knives and forks for each of you, before settling himself on the opposite side of the kitchen island, and you were already reaching for the syrup as he placed a piece of apple into his mouth, a satisfyingly loud crunch sounding out as he chewed it. Grabbing the knife and fork from the counter, your hands hovered over the plates, holding in mid-air before your first cut, and you could feel Thomas’ eyes on you. “Is it okay? I can make something else.”

“It’s perfect. Nobody has ever really cooked for me before.”

“You and Fry cook at the house all the time! He’s always making you meals.” He looked confused, brows pulling together and he sliced off a piece of pancake, stabbing it through a strawberry and sweeping it through some syrup, before chewing happily, and waiting for you to explain.

“No, that’s different. I mean, nobody has ever cooked for me before. Just made me food, in my own kitchen, for the sake of it. When I cook with Fry at the firehouse, that's cool, but we’re making lunch for everyone and he’s testing recipes. This is different. You didn’t have to come over and see me, or cook for me, or comfort me, but here you are.”

“Here I am.” He whispered, a sweet expression on his face as he chewed, eyes flicking between you and his food, and you finally chopped off your first piece, bringing it to your mouth.

You didn’t need to thank him, he already knew, just from your words, how much it meant and the message you’d been trying to convey had been shared. Every experience you made with Thomas was like something entirely new, you weren’t sure why or how it had happened, he was never someone you thought you’d end up in such a situation with, and if someone had told you six months ago that he was the person you’d be turning to in your grief, you’d have laughed.

It was good food, the two of you sitting quietly for a few moments, a grin on his face as you approved of his cooking, warmth spreading over his cheeks at the compliment, and it was well-deserved. You wondered why he didn’t cook at the house more often. The fruit between you was dwindling, though he had eaten the majority of it, and you were at least a third of the way through your food before he spoke again, this time, his eyes fixed on his plate, voice barely above a whisper, but it seemed to fit the delicate mood. “You looked beautiful today.”

You paused, swallowing your mouthful thickly, and Thomas’s fingers were tapping at the counter as the other one navigated his fork around his plate, watching it intensely as though it was the most intense action in the world, but he seems to sense your gaze, his lips pursed as he looked up, one shoulder rising and falling in a shrug.

“I think you always look beautiful, even right now when you want to cry, but you looked really beautiful today. Sad, heartbroken, but beautiful, too. In an epic Ancient Greek tragedy kind of way.”

“So did you.” You murmured, heat washing over your face and burning at you as his brows raised a little, and you let out a frustrated exhale through your nose. “Handsome, I mean. You looked really smart. And good. In your formal suit.” The word vomit was starting again, the beginnings of a smirk forming on his lips as he stared at you, but the hole was already being dug and you were just falling deeper, unable to stop it. “Not that your normal fireman stuff doesn’t look good, you look really good in that, too. Fuck, are you going to shut me up any time soon or are you just going to let me continue embarrassing myself?”

He grinned, toothy and wide, a sight that made your guts twist a little, and your stomach feel like you’d lost gravity for a second, his eyes sparkling as he looked at you. “I think it’s cute when you ramble.”

You were even more flustered now, cursing a little under your breath, and staring back down at your half-eaten meal, poking the top pancake angrily with your fork like it was to blame for your embarrassment.

“I also think it’s pretty cute when you get embarrassed about rambling, and you blush, and you get all flustered because of me. I like knowing I can make you flustered.”

“Shut up.” You scowled, and he chuckled, but gave in, quieting his laughter with another mouthful of his food, and silence took over again.

It was a few more minutes before the heat bled away, and you were able to look back up to meet his eye, finding the amusement in the situation now that it had passed, but the dark cloud of the day was still hanging over you both.

You poked at your food, stirring it around the plate for a while, and eventually, you had finished your meal, moving on to snacking on what was left of the fruit in the middle of the table. You appreciated the gesture, because you were certain that had you been left to your own devices you wouldn’t have eaten, you probably would have spent the whole day moving around in some kind of daze, wallowing in your pity before eventually dropping into bed. Tomorrow would have been a mess, and yet, it was looking a little more promising now.

“So, do you want to talk about how you’re doing?”

You paused mid-chew, looking up to face him as you felt more like you were choking down the bite of apple, rather than swallowing it, and you sighed, your bottom lip finding itself being worried between your teeth as you thought about it, before eventually shrugging. “There’s not much to say.”

You stood, moving around him, breaking away from the bubble you had created together in order to start loading up the dishwasher, any kind of menial task to avert yourself from the conversation, but he clearly wasn’t letting it go that easily. He stood, his empty plate following, slipping it onto the rack beside your things, and reaching for the pan next. “I know you’re not okay, but you’re not alone, because I’m not really okay either.”

“Tommy, it’s different.”

“No, it’s not. Don’t shut me out.” You closed the machine, loading it up with a capsule and pressing a series of buttons, the machine humming to life, and you turned around, leaning against it, arms crossed as you stared at the floor. It was more like a glare, as though the tiles of the kitchen had personally offended you, but it softened considerably when a finger hooked under your chin, dirty sneakers filling your vision as he stepped in front of you, forcing you to look up at him. “Stop blaming yourself, sweetheart. You can’t, because it’s not your fault. It was a whole load of unfortunate incidents that all came together, and you couldn't have known any of them. You did your best, you did everything you could, and sometimes even when you try your hardest, bad things still happen, but that's not your fault.”

You sniffed lightly, a soft sob leaving you before tears were beginning to slip free, and he wiped them away gently with his thumbs, both hands now cupping your cheeks, and you allowed yourself to once again be weak with him. Your hands were shaking, finding his forearms, smoothing along until you reached his wrists, the back of his hands, pulling his touch away from your face until you could wrap his arms around yourself and press your face into his chest.

He didn’t resist, instead, he lifted a hand to cup the back of your head, his cheek coming down to press softly to your crown as the other slipped around your waist to hold you close, and your cries were muffled as you clung to him. As you did, as you sought comfort from him and let your pain out, you couldn’t help but settle, decide that you were far too comfortable in his arms and with this team, too comfortable at this house to ever let it go. You’d always wanted a family, the bond that came with finding a group of people you could bare your very soul to, to find someone who would see you in your worst state as well as your best and still stick by your side, and you’d found it all.

Holding him a little tighter, you found the tears were slowing, misery was still weighing heavy on your heart, but it was a little easier to carry when you let them help you.

“Can you stay?”

“Stay?” He echoed, letting you pull back to wipe at damp cheeks, before you were nodding, and giving him the best smile that you could muster in that moment.

“Like, here, with me. If you don’t have anything else to do today.”

“Only thing I have to do today is you.” He smiled, and you knew there wasn’t supposed to be an innuendo in the words, but he seemed to realise the same moment you did, a laugh breaking free from your lips as his face flushed with a pink blush, sitting up on his cheekbones and spreading right to his ears, a shocked look forming. “That didn’t come out the way I wanted it to.”

“I gathered that.”

“What I meant to say, is that I don’t have any plans except being with you, for as long as you want me to be here.” You smiled, letting the moment go rather than teasing further, because the colour on his cheeks was already too much.

“Wanna’ watch a movie? I’m pretty sure we could get all the way through one without any distractions, there’s no alarm going off today. Hopefully.”

“Knowing our luck, your building's fire alarm will go off.” He teased, his arm lifting up to tuck you into his side and settle back over your shoulders, guiding you through the space to the couch and living room only a few metres away.

“Well, if it does, I know that I’m the safest I could possibly be since I’m here with you.” You tapped the tips of his nose as you settled down, Thomas slumping into the cushions and spreading out a little as you sat beside him, legs crossed under yourself as you reached for the remotes, trying to reset your emotions as you scrolled through the comedy section, deciding that it was definitely the time for something light-hearted and fun. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Whatever you want is fine by me.” His hand found a place on your thigh, just above your knee, casual and relaxed, and you paused for a second. Glancing down at it, you realised your pause hadn't been from insecurity or anything unsure, but simply from the overwhelming shock of being so comfortable in the action. You didn’t feel put on edge, or tense, it just felt right, and you rested your hand over the top of his, his fingers spreading out to lace loosely with your own, and turning over to hold onto you properly. Pulling the appendage a little closer, your joint hands sat connected in your lap as you scrolled the movies.

You settled on something easy, something with a lot of laughs and giggles, and enough to boost your mood without even having to think about it. You shifted, spending a while sitting up, playing with the fingers of a hand that didn’t belong to you, before he’d seemingly had enough of that. Thomas lifted that arm about thirty minutes in, forcing you to settle back into the couch but wrapping that arm around your shoulders and pulling you backwards, tucking you into his side.

His fingers played with your hair, and you let a hand splay out over his stomach, and he felt like he was a permanent part of your life. It wasn’t a comparison to a piece of furniture, he wasn’t an essential but taken-for-granted piece of house-ware like a frying pan or a kettle, but instead, he was a comfortable addition that you didn’t feel like letting go of.

He was like a throw pillow or a blanket that went on the end of your bed, something for comfort and accessorising, something you could live without but would fight to have taken away if someone tried. He’d wormed his way in, you weren’t sure when or how, but he’d gone from hating you, to tolerating you, to accepting you, to caring for you, to something else. His nose brushed along your hairline every so often, soft smiles and muffled laughter as he kept his voice low, like the comments he made would shatter the mood if spoken above the whisper.

You never moved away from him. He never made you.

Rather, he held you close, and if there were a few times when the emotions all became a little too much, when the tears came again, when the crushing guilt you were working on dismantling threatening itself again, you would let the edge of his jumper soak up the tears and he wouldn't say anything, simple holding you close, and tracing patterns onto your skin as his fingers ran up and down your arm or held onto your shoulder, and if he got a little emotional partway through, or if at the only point in the movie when his arm unwrapped itself from around you, it was to wipe at his cheeks, or cover his face as he tried to protect what he had left of his emotional stability, you only squeezed him a little tighter.

You watched a second movie, one that you assumed was supposed to be a sequel to the first one you had watched, but you hadn't been able to follow the plot that much. Your mind was spinning, your thoughts like a tornado, ricocheting from every side of your brain.

You wondered how Newt was doing, whether he was still with Chuck’s family, whether he was sick of having his cheeks pinched and shoulders squeezed in a tight hug by older family members and swooning relatives. He had a way with words, he had a way with charming people; charismatic and cheeky. He was able to find a joke or a story for any situation, and something about him put you at ease just to be around. He was like medicine for the soul, patching you up from the inside out and making flowers bloom in spaces that had been cold and frozen. Maybe he’d had enough, maybe he’d gone home, or perhaps he’d called Derek for support. You hoped it was the latter, you had high hopes for the two of them.

Your mind also brushed over Brenda and Minho. You had no doubt that the two of them were together, that they were comforting each other. You would see her soon, you made a note of it. Calling people up and asking them to hang out wasn’t something you were used to, but you’d make the effort for her. You’d take her for coffee, or lunch, or simply show up with a bottle of wine and her favourite snacks, and take a girl’s night that you were in desperate need of.

You were picking at a loose thread that was dangling from the inside of his hoodie, a different colour to the pal jumper, it was more of a khaki green shade, and you suspected it wasn’t a thread from his jumper but from the t-shirt he wore underneath, and you jumped a little as you realised that there was a voice in your ear, closer and sharper than the television, which seemed or have been turned down and had become muffled, and you startled slightly, a chuckle following it as you moved to sit up.

Your eyes had been drooping a little, you’d been close to nodding off, not having even realised it as you absentmindedly toyed with a loose thread and let your thoughts take over.

“You haven’t heard a single thing I’ve said, have you?”

“Not even one.” You mumbled, glancing around, before rubbing a hand over your eyes, and noting the late-afternoon sun that was beginning to lower towards the horizon, fading light as the hours ticked on, and you sighed, shaking yourself down a little and his arm slipped free from around you to let you stand as you wobbled a little on legs that hadn't been used in a while. “I was thinking. I got wrapped up in my thoughts.”

“That’s okay, I wasn’t saying anything important, I was talking about the movie.”

“I’ll be right back, just, hit rewind. And pause. I’ll focus, I swear.” He nodded, legs popped up on your coffee table and you weren’t aware of just when he’d made himself at home, an air of domesticity that he seemed comfortable in. The image was burned into your mind as you wandered away, closing the bathroom door and taking a deep breath. The cushions were spread out around him, he was nestled among them, head lolled back against the edge of the couch, feet popped up on the table, shoes kicked off by the couch somewhere and an obviously wrinkled patch on his jumper where you’d been leaning.

You didn’t want to let it go.

You flushed, the sound drowning out the occasional shuffling noises Thomas made as he adjusted himself, the squeaky springs in your couch, and then the sound of the tap to follow, lavender overwhelming your senses as your hand wash flooded the room with the pleasant scent.

You caught sight of yourself in the mirror, red-rimmed eyes and cheeks a little raw from salt, and you switched hot water to cold, cupping your hands under the faucet and bringing your hands up to your face as you leaned over, trying to ease sensitive skin and wash your eyes, wash away where eyelashes were still clumped together, washing away the residual pain. Like a cold shock, waking you up from the hazy slumber you were threatening to fall into once again, and the emotional turmoil of the day had been just too exhausting.

You snapped the scrunchie from your hair to sit around your wrist instead, the dull ache on your scalp eased as you ran your fingers over it, your hair sitting in odd shapes that only a hairbrush would be able to truly tame, and Thomas was looking at you already. “I want to take a nap.”

“I can head out.” He rubbed his hands along his jeans, reaching from the remotes as he lifted his feet down from the coffee table to the floor and switching the television off. You padded your way across the polished wood towards him, taking his hands in your own, and his brows furrowed a little. “What?”

“I want us to take a nap.”

A myriad of emotions moved across his features. He started with confusion, before he was moving to something between bashful and shy, a sweet smile following that and his expression smoothed over until he was simply staring at you, nodding his head slowly and twisting his hands more to lace the fingers of one hand together, and letting you guide him through the halls.

He followed after you, feet scuffing on the floors, and sliding in his socks, and he paused outside of the bedroom door as your fingers found the handle, pulling you to a slight stop, and there was a nervous look on his face.

“Are you sure?” You weren’t sure what he meant, and he seemed to sense it from the shifting in your expression, because his eyes left yours, flicking up to the closed bedroom door long enough to signal what he meant. “I just, well, I mean.. your bedroom. It’s a private space, y’know, and I know there’s this thing between us, but I just want to be sure you really want it.”

You only pushed the door open, stepping into it backwards and taking him with you, and his lips inched up at the edges into a fuller smile, gaze leaving yours to take in the room. It was still a little messy, you hadn't bothered to properly tidy up from before when he’d arrived and the blankets on your bed were still pulled haphazardly tidily from when you had crawled out of bed this morning with barely enough energy to face the day. He took it all in, observing the space that was so intimate to you, taking in every detail, and he watched as you pulled the curtains shut, blocking out some of the light to cast a darker atmosphere over the room.

His fingers were running over the books on your shelf, and you settled down onto the bed, edging your way up it and tucking yourself down underneath cold blankets, shuddering a little and peeling them back to make a space for him when he was finished observing. He took the hint, turning to see you, and stepping a little closer to the bed.

He rested a knee on the edge of the mattress, a hand reaching behind his head to peel his jumper up and over his head, and you didn't even bother to hide the lingering of your eyes on the skin that was revealed, before you were watching him shake his hair free and throwing his jumper away to rest on your dresser chair.

He crawled his way up towards you, pressed a prolonged kiss to your forehead, before flopping down onto the mattress beside you. You lifted the blankets up, tucking them around him as he made himself comfortable, one hand resting under his pillow beneath his head, and facing you as his legs crooked, and he adjusted the blankets more securely around himself. His eyes found yours once he was settled, something that was both awkward and comfortable at the same time, and he sighed as the feeling washed over you both.

You waited a moment longer, his other hand resting just above the edge of the covers that were sitting around your middle, before you gave in to the temptation swelling within you, and you reached out. Smoothing your hand over the top of his own tentatively, he smiles, turning his hand to weave your fingers together once again, like magnets, your hand now only having a home as long as it was wrapped with his own.

“Was Chuck your first loss?” His words barely reached your ears; they were spoken so quietly, and you were certain that in the entirety of the day, you’d yet to actually use your voice at the volume it usually was, in fear of damaging an already fragile aura.

“No.” You mumbled, swallowing thickly, your eyes sliding shut to hold back fresh tears that may threaten to rise, his hand squeezing yours a little tighter in support. “He was the first friend I lost, though.”

It went silent for a moment after that, enough time for you to get a handle on your emotions, before you were opening your eyes back up to meet swirling honey-brown that were watching you through a somewhat sleepy gaze. “The first loss of someone I really cared about was hard. His name was Ben.”

His voice cracked a little as he spoke, and you dared to shuffle an inch closer across your pillow towards his, the bedding barely even making a sound as you moved minutely. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“I want to. I want you to know about me.” He let out a shaky breath, and you realised that this was perhaps the first time he’d spoken about it since it had ever happened, and so it was just as therapeutic for him as talking about Chuck was for you, even if you didn’t want to. “It hit hard, I liked him, he seemed like a cool guy. He was a lieutenant candidate with me, we were training together. It was competitive but all in fun and games, nothing serious. He was better than I was, he’d been preparing longer, he was definitely going to get the promotion when our house lieutenant retired. He’d been there years, I’d only been there for three months, but it felt like three days.”

You chuckled a little at his words, his expression brightening a little at the sound, seeming to perk up just slightly, and he tugged you a little closer, your cheek pressing to the end of your pillow as his own head remained firmly planted in the centre of the opposite one.

“We got trapped, burning building, it was all coming down. Nothing new. I was trained for the situation, and I tried so hard to get to him, but I couldn’t, he took a piece of debris straight into his abdomen, he was dead before I’d even made it across the room.” He choked down a lump in his throat, and your heart cracked a little in your chest at the broken look that flicked across his features. “I blamed myself for so long. I kept going over the moment, so sure there was something I could have done, that I could have run faster, asking myself if I hesitated just because of the job I wanted that he would have gotten.”

“Tommy..”

“I did all I could. I did my best. I know that now, and I don’t feel guilty, but sometimes it just hurts to think about it.”

“Thank you for telling me.” You could see that it was hard for him, and that he was reopening old wounds just to make you feel better, and it was a silent promise, something more permanent and solid, a confirmation that he was here for you, and that he wouldn't let you fall. That he was inside of those walls now and that he didn’t plan on leaving any time soon, his thumb playing gently with your own as you fell quiet once again.

“Newt’s first loss was a guy called Alby.” He eventually spoke, and you looked up to him again, brows raising slightly. “Before I even joined this firehouse. I remember Newt telling me about him, though. It took Newt a long time to get over it. He was new, basically a candidate, if they have that thing for paramedics. Do you? Have that kinda’ thing for paramedics?”

“We call ‘me greenies. Because on their first few cases, they usually look a little green, and throw up.”

“I like that. Greenies. That’s good.” He chuckled, and you shrugged one shoulder, letting him continue when he was ready. “He was the greenie, I guess, and Alby was the house chief. He took Newt under his wing, fresh outta’ the academy, early graduate at just twenty, and they became good friends. About a year in, they got in some trouble, Newt never really told me the full story, but Alby died on the stretcher to the hospital. Newt tried to pump his heart all the way there, he was sure that if he just kept pumping, his heart would start beating on its own again. It didn’t.”

You didn’t have anything to say to that, a pang of sadness for your best friend racing through your veins, and your eyes flicked over the edge of his pillow, contemplating getting a little closer, but he seemed to make that decision for you, shuffling himself up further toward you until his face was balanced on the edge of his pillow like yours, the soft pants he let out occasionally able to felt against the tip of your nose.

“Then, of course, there’s Brenda.” Your heart sank at the mention, and you knew she had to have lost someone along the line somewhere, but you hated the tone in his voice. “Arguably, the worst of them all. She really was the candidate, at a firehouse a few miles over, with her brother. He was a couple of years older, his name was George, he inspired her to become a firefighter. Apparently, they played firemen together ever since they were little, she followed in his footsteps.”

“I never even knew she has a brother.”

He lifted your hands up, instead of stretched out between your bodies, they were folded up near your faces between you both, resting on the mattress and holding tightly. “He was on Squad, she was on Truck - of course - and the Squad team got trapped on an upper floor. Everyone but her brother made it out. She finished her candidacy, passed her exams, and transferred to a new house, our house, she needed a fresh start.”

“Not that I don’t want to know, but, why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because I want you to know that you’re not to blame, and that everybody blamed themselves after a loss, but we all moved on, because we found each other and we let ourselves grieve without holding onto it.” He lifted your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, and you watched his lips move slowly along your hand, dragging along your skin.

“My first-ever loss on the job was a patient, in my first month. A stab wound victim, he died on the way to the hospital, while I was trying to hold the wound shut. I considered quitting, it hurt, not like this does, but it hurt because I felt like a failure.” Your smile only widened as his kisses moved as far as your wrist, his face inching ever closer to your own, able to taste the sweet syrup still on his breath from your shared late-breakfast hours ago.

“I’m glad you didn’t, because if you had then I wouldn’t get you now.”

His nose bumped against your own, his lashes tickling your cheek as lids lay closed and your own followed, darkness surrounding you as every other sense went into overdrive on him. The smell of his cologne, the feel of his nose brushing against yours and his breath tickling your lips, the tingle that shot along you at the barely present brush of his lips that you wondered if you were imagining it as so light when he adjusted himself on the cushion, but the connection you were waiting for never came.

Instead, you caught the sound of a soft sigh, and his hand squeezing a little tighter around yours, before he was letting go, and begging his hand up to sit over your waist under the covers, fingers spreading out until they reached your spine.

“Tommy?”

He hummed, nose nudging a little more roughly against yours as he’d begun to fall away. “Yeah, angel?”

“You’re not gonna’ kiss me?” Something breathy resembling a chuckle left him, and the hand from your waist ran up along your body, evading goosebumps in his wake until he was cupping your cheeks. When your eyes opened, it was to find he had already taken that step, watching you fondly, pulling away enough to rest on his pillow once again.

“No.” He eventually gave in, seeming to be lost in thoughts, and you felt your features rumple with confusion and disappointment. “Oh, sweetheart, I want to. I really, really want to. Have for a while, actually, but not now and not like this. You’re sad and I’m sad. Every moment we’ve had so far that brought up the chance to kiss you has been stressed, depressed and near-death.”

“But you are going to kiss me, at some point?”

A sleepy smirk, that had way more of an effect on you than it should be allowed to have, and he seemed to know it too, because it only got wider. “Oh, definitely. But when I kiss you, it’ll be amazing, and breathtaking. When I kiss you, you’re going to feel it. It’ll make you a little weak in the knees, but that’s okay, because I’ll hold you up. It’s going to be perfect, it’ll be a kiss you’re never gonna’ forget, so I don’t want our first kiss to be when we’re sad.”

You didn’t know what to say, a long beat passing, before your lips were pressing together, and you were unable to contain your grin. “Well, okay, then.”

You moved forwards, his laughter only increasing as your face pressed into his neck, rolling him onto his back as you let your full body weight fall against him, his arms wrapping tightly around your back. You pressed a kiss to his neck, any spot you could reach, and the deep and rumbling laughter he let out was replaced with something softer and cracking, lighter pitch as he bordered on giggling, squirming a little as you kissed just above the patch, sensing a weakness in him.

You moved up, before eventually, he was giggling without restraint, squirming at the tickling feeling over the featherlight kisses you pressed to his jaw.

“Alright, alright, cut it out, before I lose all of my masculinity.” He was pink along his cheeks when you propped yourself up over him to get a better look at his flushed face, sparkling eyes peering up at you with messy hair and a dopey smile to match, and that sight was definitely something you could get used to seeing.

This was all new to you, it was ever-changing and constantly evolving, it was unsteady and unsure and it made you feel nauseously anxious and yet ecstatically excited all in one, and you leaned down, the promises he’d made were you giving you the confidence to so so as your forehead pressed to his. “Nap?”

“Cuddle?”

“Yes.” He beamed, twisting his body like you weighed nothing until you were on your side against the mattress again. He pulled you over, adjusting you on your side to face away from him, before pulling you back into his body.

His arm wrapped around you, one spread out under the pillow to support your head, and you weaved your fingers with the other, bringing it up to your mouth to kiss the back of his hand like he’d done for you. He was resting behind you, legs tangled together as your bodies sat snugly to one another and he held you tight in a gripping hug, and you were able to drift off to the steady beat of his heart against your back and the feel of his body surrounding you.

“You know, it’s rude to text when you’re having dinner with someone.” you jibed, his gaze flicking up from his phone as his elbows rested over the empty plate on the counter, lamps making his skin look more golden and highlights in his hair seeming to stand out as the light outside had faded, the evening meal being the next thing the two of you shared; chicken nuggets from the bottom freezer drawer and homemade wedges as he refused to eat curly fries.

“It’s not my fault you’re taking ages to eat.” You scoffed, swiping another nugget through some of your tomato ketchup, and lifting it on your fork to take a bite. He picked up his discarded fork, stabbing it into one of your nuggets, stealing a smear of ketchup that left a mess on the plate, and putting the whole thing into his mouth at once, winking as you protested weakly. “Besides, I’m talking to the group.”

“How are they all doing?”

“They’re good. As good as they can be. They want to meet up for drinks in a little bit, they’re headed down to the bar we like.” You finished your food, placing your knife and fork down to match his, and chewing the rest of your mouthful, considering it all, and his attention was back on his screen as he typed away.

“Can I come?”

He paused, looking at you over the device, before turning it off and putting it down on the counter, the buzzing and lighting up going ignored as he stared for a second. “Seriously? I just, I mean, you’re up for it?”

He stumbled over his words a little, he didn’t mean to come off as rude and you knew it, and so you let it slide, shrugging and smiling a little as you hopped down from your seat to put the plates in the sink to be washed later. “You said that everyone else got past their sadness by being together. I’ve never had anyone before, but I would like to be with you all now.” His seat scraped along the floor, and a second later, arms were wrapping around your waist from behind in a tight squeeze, shocking you a little as he did, and you straightened up, twisting in his hold to face him. “Is that really so shocking?”

“A little bit. We’re kinda’ used to being shut out. They’re all going to be surprised.” He tapped the end of your nose. “A good surprise, though.”

“Well, I can go change into something that isn’t sweatpants, and we can go.”

His eyes dropped down, taking in your outfit as he let you go, seeming like he’d only just noticed your attire, and you wandered away, leaving him to whatever he was going to do, confirming his arrival to the rest and getting his shoes on, while you tried to find some suitable clothes.

Once you had pulled on a pair of jeans and a more comfortable and bar appropriate top to replace your pyjamas, you folded them, resting them on pillows that had only just gone cold, before straightening the sheets out, erasing all evidence of the nap you’d taken as your bed was reset. A pair of shoes came next, hopping about a little bit to get them on, before running a brush through your hair and checking you looked presentable enough to go out. There was no doubt that Brenda would look like a supermodel, she always did, grieving a friend or attending movie night, she could put everyone else to shame, but it was just another thing you loved about her.

As soon as you stepped out of the room, there was a whistle meeting your ears. Thomas had found his jumper again and pulled it back on, his shoes too, phone tucked into his pocket as he beamed at you, and you rolled your eyes, walking straight past him to the coat rack to find your belongings as you got ready to go.

“Oh, shut it.”

“Why? You gonna’ get all cute and flustered, blush for me a little bit? Sweet and shy?” He was teasing now, and you scowled, pulling on your coat and hiding your face from him as you grabbed your keys, batting yourself down for everything you’d need and finding it already in your pockets.

“I’m kicking you out.”

He laughed, wandering past you and into the halls of the building, letting you flick the lights off before locking up, and he offered his arm to you for you to link your own through, before guiding you down the corridors to the elevator.

A short car ride, Thomas holding the door of his car for you to let you in before opening it for you again when you arrived, commenting both times about something gentlemanly, before his hand was finding yours as the car lights flashed to signal it’s locking, and a fresh wave of anxiety was washing over you.

You wanted to see your friends and be with them, you truly did, but that didn’t make it any easier to take yourself into a crowded place when you were in such a vulnerable place. The opening of the door made muffled snap into sharp surroundings, the bar filled with people, crowds weaving among one another, and Thomas took the lead, shouldering through the people milling around the entrance politely. The cold air of the outside was overwhelmingly different from the stuffy inside, the smell of liquor and sweat overwhelming your senses, but it wasn’t a smell you were unfamiliar with. The music pumping through the floor was vibrating right up along your bones, pooling in your gut, and you squeezed Thomas’ hand a little tighter as the crowds cleared once you passed the high tables and the dance floor.

You could just about see your friends, gathered around the largest booth with extra chairs pulled up, bodies constantly weaving in and out of your sights, blocking them from your view. Lips brushed your ear, a jolt of electricity making you jump, before you turned to find Thomas, his head ducked to speak to you but eyes flittering over the scene.

“I’m going to go buy everyone another round. What d’you want to drink?”

“Uh..” Your words died out, a little overwhelmed at the sight before you, and he squeezed your hand reassuringly. “Just something cold and refreshing, maybe fruity. I don’t know.”

“I got you, don’t worry. Why don’t you head over to the table?” He gave you a final lingering stare as you nodded, before the two of you were parting, and you were left to try and make your way toward the table. Luckily for you, it was only a few metres upon leaving Thomas’ side that Brenda spotted you, her entire face lighting up and glass slamming down onto the table, before she was practically climbing over the men to get out of the booth, and all but pushing people out of the way to get to you.

A tight hug as she rocked you from side to side, clearly tipsy as she spoke faster than she normally would while mumbling into your ear about how happy she was to see you. The story Thomas had told you came back to mind, and you didn’t mention it, but you wrapped your arms around her just as tight and held her to you, a show of your love for her, belated sympathy for the tragedy, and comforting her as she needed it, weak inside even if she didn’t show it right now.

Newt followed, cheering a little, hair messy and cheeks flushed with warmth from the drinks he’d had and the temperature in the bar, and you were already beginning to grow overheated. He hugged you next, walking you backwards to the table as you giggled, and settling back into his seat as several other welcomes and greetings echoed in their place. You couldn't help it, the smile that broke free, the way you fitted in so perfectly, your anxiety melting away just from being with them.

“You’re here!”

“Is that okay?” You teased, Brenda shuffling back into her seat at the back of the booth, nodding avidly as she sipped at a glass of gin through a thin straw.

“Of course! We just didn’t expect you, you haven’t been answering your phone all day.” Your brows furrowed, hands digging into your pockets to find it. “I was worried about you.”

You located it, metal cold to the touch from where it had been abandoned for so long, and you realised that the last time you’d checked it had been before turning it off as you entered Chuck’s service, not having a chance to turn it back on before Thomas had arrived, and stole all of your attention solely and unwilling to share.

Turning it on at the side, the device flashed back to life, and you waited a few moments, before it reset itself, and all the notification you had missed began to flash through one by one. Multiple missed calls from various members of the team, the oldest of which begging Thomas, probably calling to let you know he was coming over, before alerts from only a few minutes ago, the groupchat you all had with recent notifications, and you chuckled at the volume of them all.

“Sorry, my phone had been turned off all day. I wasn’t ignoring you, I swear.”

She shrugged it off, and you placed your phone down to be able to shuck yourself of your coat, the heat growing stifling with the extra layer on.

“How’d you know where to find us? How’d you know we were here?” Newt piped up, and you let your cat hang over your arms, turning to face him.

“I, um, Thomas. He told me you’d all be here.”

“But I thought your phone was turned off, so-” He cut himself off, brain seeming to catch up in his slightly inebriated state, and you were grateful that the heat in the room would hide your blush as your skin was already flushed. “Were you with Tommy today? All day?”

An undeniably cocky grin split his face open, matching expressions following gasps that echoed around the table, and you scoffed, placing your coat down on the heap that had been built. “Maybe. It’s not a big deal.”

“He told me he was going to check up on you. I figured he meant, like, call you or something. He came to see you?”

You shrugged, the questions suddenly being shot at you, among teases and winks that made you stare at the floor, bombarded with gentle humour from your team. Newt was through the roof, Brenda was yelling louder than all of them about her ‘ship’, some gazes being given over to her from strangers, and Minho was trying to shush her while laughing. Gally was simply grinning like the Cheshire Cat into his beer, and your head was spinning too much to even process anybody else’s questions or remarks.

“Alright, well, I’m not drunk enough to start this conversation with you all.”

“Well, where is lover boy, anyway?” You rolled your eyes at Newt, before tipping your head back towards the bar.

“He’s getting you all a fresh round of drinks.” Your retort resulted in a cheer from them all, hands banging on the table in excitement; empty bottles, glasses, and cans rattling as the surface shook. “I’m going to go and see if he needs any help.”

“You spent the whole day with him, can’t we keep you for a little while?” Newt pouted, and you stepped away, sticking your lower lip out to mock him a little, before flipping him off, and making sure to wave the gesture at the rest of them for good measure, chuckles taking up all around.

“No, because you’re teasing me, and I need at least two shots to handle that.” He raised a brow, a mumble of ‘touché’ spoken into his beer and he smirked, before you were turning and weaving to the bar.

He wasn’t hard to find, tall and messy hair unmissable once you were set on him, and as you got closer, you realised it wasn’t the bartender he was talking to. A woman, not too far from your own height, dark curly hair and tight jeans, a blue eyes that were piercing as she spoke to him, and it seemed to be a hushed conversation as she leaned on the bar against him, two trays of drinks stacking up beside Thomas, his wallet sitting out on the bar.

You considered turning back, letting him have his privacy with whoever he was speaking to, and you paused in your path, ready to turn before his eyes were moving from her face to you, lighting up a little as he smiled, and there was no way you could backtrack now. He’d seen you, you had to at least go over and explain yourself, his attention moving back to the woman.

Her words went silent as you approached, and you smiled politely, her gaze dragging over you, before she was offering a polite smile herself upon realising you were stopping by their sides, and not just passing by.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, I just realised you might need a hand with the drinks.” You pointed to the two trays building, an empty laugh leaving you all, but the atmosphere was still tense. “You want me to come back in a few minutes, instead?”

“Yeah-”

“No, now’s fine, we’re pretty much ready,” Thomas promised, the woman by his side frowning, and you grimaced at the tension continuing to rise, gaze moving between them for a second. Thomas turned, paying for the drinks with a swipe of his card, and nudging a try toward you, while picking up the other himself. “I appreciate the help.” He mumbled, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple as you tried to balance the drinks, and you smiled softly, eyes catching his, hoping the affection was returned without you having to lean up and actually return it, risking toppling all the drinks you were holding. “I gotta’ go. I’m sure we’ll catch up or something another time.”

You stepped away from the pair, at least trying to give them a second's privacy without lingering, slow steps away from them and back to the table. “My number is the same, still. Call me, alright?”

He didn't reply, not verbally at least, Thomas falling into step with you a second later, and you couldn't bite back the curiosity on the tip of your tongue as no introductions had been made. You didn't know many other people in town, and if you were going to stay, it was probably wide that you got to know your neighbourhood; “She seemed polite. Who was she?”

He glanced at you, a complicated look on his face, and you realised it must be deeper than you thought, a list of names and suspicions moving through your mind, before he sighed away his worries and shook his head lightly. “Nobody important.”

You placed the drinks down on the table, accepting his answer, and the group shuffled up to make room for you all, greeting their lieutenant and thanking him for the refills as they grabbed their drinks. A bottle of something fruity and fizzy was placed in front of you, and it seemed satisfying enough, you weren’t overly picky about it, and it tasted fine as you took a sip. Perching on the leather booth, an arm you had grown familiar with throughout the day returned to sitting over your shoulders, and you settled into him without hesitation.

Resting your head on his shoulder, you couldn’t help but smile, feeling at home as you sought comfort with your friends, moving on together, and letting your burdens be carried by friends and not just yourself for the first time in a long, long time.

#thomas #thomas the maze runner #ff!tommy #firefighter!tommy #the maze runner #thomas/reader #thomas x reader #smoke and fire #SAF #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien x reader smut #dylan obrien/reader smut #thomas x reader smut #thomas/reader smut

219 notes · View notes

plaidbooks · 3 years

Note

Hey 🥰 could I request working with Sonny and you two used to date but broke up, you remained friends but never really got over each other and your end up going through a pretty bad time with work or personal stuff and you’re struggling mentally and not eating etc and when he realises he comes over to your place to check ur ok and you just breakdown and he tells u he still loves u and that it’ll always be u 🥺

Some Space

A/N: I am so sorry that this took so long! I was so burnt out of writing, but I'm here now! I hope that this makes up for the wait!

This takes place before Sonny joins SVU--and his timeline is a little wonky to make this fic work, but oh well.

Tags: death, shootings, blood, disassociation

Words: 2590

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @redlipstickandplaid @reading--mermaid @dreamlover31 @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell

“So, do you wanna move in together?” Sonny asked while you cuddled on his couch. You turned to look at him, and his face fell as he saw your expression. “…you don’t?”

You sighed. “It’s not like I don’t love you, Sonny, because I do. It’s just…I mean, we’re still in our mid-20s. I want a little more, uh, freedom before I settle down, you know?”

“I’ve known since we started dating in high school that I was in for the long term. I was thinking of maybe…I don’t know, getting married…having kids…. Now that we’ve settled into patrol, I thought it would be the perfect time to take the next step,” he muttered.

You sat in silence, debating. You loved Sonny, and you did want to marry him…someday. Not right now. You’ve barely lived any of your life; hell, you lived at home still. Sonny had his own apartment, but you didn’t want to go from living with your parents to living with him. You wanted space, time to figure out who you really were. And you didn’t think you could do that with Sonny. If he couldn’t give you your independence, if you both wanted different things, then you were going to have to break up with him, as much as it would break your heart to do it.

“Listen, Sonny, I need to live my own life for a little bit, discover myself. I-it’s nothing wrong with you, I promise—”

“Are you breaking up with me?” he asked softly.

Hearing the words out loud made tears form in your eyes. “I…yes, I guess I am. At least until I find myself…. I’m so sorry, Sonny. I’ll always care about you. We can still be friends?”

“Y-yeah…okay, sure. I…yeah…” he trailed off, unwrapping his arms from around you. You both sat there awkwardly, and the tension was thick. You stood, moving to grab your jacket, and Sonny followed you to the front door.

“This isn’t…goodbye. I promise you, Sonny Carisi. It’s just—”

“See you later?” he finished.

You gave him a smile, and a kiss on the cheek. “Yeah. I’ll see you later.”

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

That was months ago now, and you had transferred out of Staten Island patrol, unable to see Sonny every day, those big, sad blue eyes trying to avoid your gaze. Now, you worked for Brooklyn, an officer in their Homicide department. You settled in quickly, and you found a cheap-ish apartment in Brooklyn.

It was nice living by yourself, and you highly enjoyed it. You missed Sonny dearly, but you thought it was too soon to reach out. Your heart still strained when you thought about the breakup, so you kept your distance. But it was getting easier and easier to let those feelings fade away in your new line of work. Brooklyn Homicide was a lot busier than Staten patrol, and you got along great with your partner, Drew Zimmer.

“We keep making these busts, and we’re gonna make detective in no time,” Drew said, grinning at you.

You smiled back as you shoved a cuffed perp in the backseat of your squad car. “Then we get paid halfway decently for doing much of the same as we are now.”

“Plus, normal clothes! Not this suffocating police uniform.”

You agreed, then moved to the front seat, Drew sliding in behind the steering wheel. You and Drew were close, but you never crossed a line. He was engaged to his high school sweetheart, something that made you slightly sad. Sonny was your high school sweetheart, and you wondered how different your life would’ve been if you moved in with him.

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

As Drew predicted, you both made detective later that year. You were officially the youngest detective, having moved up the ranks so quickly. You both went out for drinks to celebrate, and you had the wild impulse to invite Sonny. It had been almost a year since you broke up, and you could finally think about it without tearing up. But would he be okay with it? You fought the idea, putting your phone back in your pocket.

“Everything okay?” Drew asked, seeing the look on your face.

You shot him a fake smile. “Fine, fine. Just…thinking. Don’t worry about it.”

He gave you a hard, knowing look, as if he could read your mind. You had told him about Sonny, but you didn’t want to bring the celebration down. Instead, you took your glass and cheers him before taking a sip.

You jumped when your phone rang, and you pulled it out of your pocket. Your Captain’s name flashed across the screen, and you answered with a brisk voice. Drew watched and listened, then sighed when you said that you were both on your way.

“What do we got?” he asked, putting money on the table and standing.

You pulled your jacket on, heading for the door. “Body found in Prospect Heights. You okay to drive?”

“Sober as a fox.”

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

You both showed up quickly, seeing the officers who called in the body. Drew parked, and you made your way over. One of the officers started walking you both through the details when a gunshot rang out from down the alley that the body was in. Instinct took over as you hid behind a wall of the building, grabbing the closest officer to you and pulling them with you. Gunshots echoed in the alleyway as someone—or someones—unloaded on the entrance to the alley.

Drew was on the other side of the alleyway, and one of the officers was flat on their back, blood leaking from a bullet hole in their head. You ordered the officer next to you to call for backup, then waited until the gunfire stopped. Taking a chance, you snuck a quick peak. There were three individuals at the end of the alley, making their way quickly towards you.

You motioned to Drew, letting him know, before you reached your hand around the corner, firing blindly in an attempt to at least slow their advance. With the cover fire, Drew came halfway around the wall, actually aiming his gun as he fired.

“You got one of them,” he informed you. He got a few shots off before a bullet went through his neck, knocking him off his feet.

“Drew!” you screamed before whipping around the wall, shooting with deadly precision. There was only one man still standing—Drew must’ve got one before going down—and you shot him quickly. Then you dropped to your knees by Drew’s rasping form. You ripped off your jacket, pressing it to the bloody wound.

“Stay with me Drew, do you hear me? You have a fiancée to go home to,” you ordered, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. “Call a bus!” you yelled at the officer, who was staring in shock.

Drew reached up, grabbing your wrist. “T-tell Steph I—I love her…please,” he gasped, voice weak.

“You’re going to tell her yourself when you see her, okay?” you said, trying to smile at him.

He shook his head. “Tell her…please. I-I—” Drew let out a death rattle before laying still.

“No! No! Live, damn you! You can’t die on me, Drew! W-we’re partners!” you screamed. But he was gone. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you leaned over him.

Time meant nothing as you knelt there. You had no idea when the ambulance arrived, nor when your Captain showed up. You’re not sure who moved you away from Drew’s lifeless body, and you didn’t notice how you ended up at the hospital. You were still covered in Drew’s blood as the nurses ran tests, making sure you were uninjured. Your Captain ordered you to take time off, and you didn’t hear him, didn’t argue. You blinked and you were home, sitting on your couch, a bottle of whiskey in front of you.

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

IAB had been delayed by your Captain, but eventually, you had to face them. You couldn’t recall what they asked, or what you answered. The first emotion you felt in days was fleeting anger; the body that you had been called to investigate was left as bait. The men who shot at you, who killed your partner and an officer, were part of a gang, attempting to become cop killers. It was all a ruse to kill whichever cops arrived on the scene. Drew, one of the nicest, most genuine people you’ve known, was killed for street cred. But your anger soon disappeared, just like everything else.

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

It had been a week since Drew died in your arms. You visited his fiancée—she had already been informed of her love’s death—but you had to see her, pass on his final words. You held her as she cried, but you had no tears left. You felt nothing; you were just a shell. You stopped eating, stopped showering, stopped drinking, even water. You stopped sleeping; you just passed out nowadays, at any and all times of the day, wherever you happened to be laying. Your Captain called you a few times, trying to get you into therapy, but you never left your apartment.

One night, there was a knock on your door. You moved on phantom feet, unlocking and pulling your door open. You felt a dull punch to the gut as Sonny stood on your doorstep.

“H-hey doll…. I heard about your partner, and I thought I’d check up on you,” he said softly.

You nodded, not even attempting to fake a smile. “I’m fine,” you said in a monotone voice, ready to close the door on him. But Sonny was quicker.

“No, you’re not.” And with that, he pushed into your home. “When was the last time you’ve eaten? Washed? Brushed your teeth? Anything?”

You had no answer for him, and he quickly went to your kitchen, pulling open your fridge. Normally, you’d follow him, but instead, you went and collapsed on your couch, your legs unable to hold you up anymore.

Sonny came out with a glass of water. “Drink that,” he ordered, then stood there until you did. “Most of your food has gone bad; I’m going to run to the store. While I’m gone, I want you to shower, okay?”

You didn’t nod, made no indication that you had heard him. He ran a hand through his hair, hating seeing you like this.

“Okay…if you can shower, please do. Otherwise, just at least…drink another glass of water, okay?” He took the glass from your hand, refilled it, then came back and handed it to you. “I’ll be right back.”

You were unsure for how long he was gone; you dimly heard him come back. Sonny went to your kitchen with full grocery bags, and soon, the sounds and smells of cooking emanated from within. He came out soon after—or maybe it was longer, who knows?—with a plate of food.

When he noticed the full glass of water in your hand still, he shook his head, then sat next to you. You didn’t fight him as he fed you small bites, nor as he raised the glass of water to your lips. You tasted nothing as you ate half the plate. Sonny was afraid to make you sick with too much food at once, so he put the rest back in the kitchen. Then, he pulled you to the bathroom. He undressed you, then himself, before guiding you into the shower. The hot water brought you partly to your senses, just enough to feel Sonny’s hands washing your hair and body.

“You may have to get your hair cut short—it’s pretty damaged from lack of care,” he muttered, trying to work the knots out with his fingers. You nodded gently, letting him care for you. Once done, he wrapped you in a towel, patting you dry. Then, he took your toothbrush and put paste on it before handing it to you, lifting your hand to your mouth.

“Brush,” he softly ordered, and you did.

After finishing up in the bathroom, Sonny tugged you to your room, where he dressed you in your pajamas. Then he pushed you down into the bed.

“Sleep, okay? I’ll stay here with you until you fall asleep,” he promised.

You laid on the pillow, and fresh tears came to your eyes. “He died in my arms,” you muttered.

Sonny’s expression softened. “I heard, doll. There was nothing more you could’ve done. Just rest now.”

As promised, he sat next to you until you drifted off, your hand in his.

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

Sonny practically moved in with you after that, just until you could take care of yourself. He took you to a therapist, and a hair salon. He made you meals and made sure you drank water. At first, he would shower with you and made sure you brushed your teeth; those were the two things you started doing yourself the quickest. It took you a few weeks to break out of the shock-induced disassociation you were experiencing. Eventually, you started helping Sonny cook in your kitchen, and doing small chores around your apartment.

“Thank you, Sonny, for everything,” you said one night while you were eating dinner.

He smiled at you. “Of course, doll. I care about you.”

“I care about you, too. I—I should’ve called you earlier. I was just afraid that it was too soon.”

His smile faltered slightly. “I understand. I…it’s probably still too soon….”

“What do you mean?”

Sonny put his fork down, looking everywhere but at you. “Look, I’ve…I thought that enough time had passed, especially when I heard about your partner—” you flinched at the mention of Drew— “but when you opened the door and I saw how much it affected you, I realized that…I still love you, have always loved you. You were literally wasting away, and I couldn’t stand by and watch.”

You froze, not in shock at him, but at yourself. Because hearing the words out loud, you knew that you loved him, too.

“I’m sorry; you don’t need this right now. The last thing you need on your mind is—”

“I love you, too, Sonny. God, I love you so much,” you replied, throwing your arms around him, and leaning against his side.

He hesitated a moment before he wrapped an arm around your back. “Are ya sure? You’re going through some pretty traumatic stuff right now. Your emotions going a little haywire.”

“I’m sure. I-I was afraid to call you because I couldn’t handle seeing you. Because I never got over you.”

Sonny nodded. “I never got over you, either. Look, if you still want your space, I can live with that, as long as I don’t lose you again. I never want to lose you again.”

“I don’t want to lose you, either. I love you; I want to marry you one day. Let’s just…see how it goes, okay? I’ve learned a lot just in the year we’ve been apart—”

He cut you off with a kiss, his lips soft against yours. He felt so familiar, so much like home, and you realized how much you had really missed him. You kissed him back, holding him to you. He leaned his forehead against yours, lips brushing over yours.

“We’ll figure out the details later. Right now, I just want to get to know you again,” he breathed.

You nodded. “Please, yes. I want to remember you, Dominick.”

He pulled you closer, promising his whole self to you in a searing kiss.

#sonny carisi x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfics #fanfic #my writing

65 notes · View notes

it-fits-i-ships · 3 years

Text

Combing through every single episode of Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous for Yasammy moments to write meta analysis about part 2 (parts 1, 3, and 4)

After Yaz breaks her ankle we have this moment of Sammy expressing her gratitude and admiration, Sammy wants to let Yaz know she sees how strong, brave, and deeply caring Yaz is but, as Brooklyn points out, Yaz isn’t in a place to hear her and needs time and space to process her feelings about Sammy’s secret double life as a spy, she goes into self-defense mode and pushes Sammy away again Just as a side note, I find it really interesting how Brooklyn reaches out to Sammy to give her advice about Yaz, Brooklyn is the one who caught Sammy spying and it’s Brooklyn’s phone that Sammy stole and accidentally broke so I think it’s very cool of Brooklyn to step in because she can see that Sammy is hurting over her fallout with Yaz and is in desperate need of a supportive friend Sammy definitely backs off trying to talk to Yaz but continues to show her care and concern in little ways like asking the group if there is another way to get to the dock besides going on foot so Yaz doesn’t hurt herself more, on the monorail when Ben gets carried off by Pteranodons and they assume that he’s dead it hits all of them really hard, Sammy starts to panic and Yaz forgets for a moment that she’s supposed to be mad and instinctively comforts her before remembering all of their circumstances, Sammy can’t help herself when she sees Yaz fall as they’re running for the dock after the group has to abandon the monorail and rushes over to check on her, Yaz is clearly still angry and refuses Sammy’s help, but by the time they actually reach the dock we can see that Yaz has realized she really does need Sammy’s help and support (both physically and for emotionally) and that there are worse things that could happen than Sammy telling some lies for her family’s sake, at this point we can see that Yaz has decided to work on forgiving Sammy and trusting her again because she initiates contact with her by casually placing her elbow on Sammy’s shoulder at the dock This trend of re-establishing their bond continues as the show enters season 2, in which the group is still stuck on the island and has to find the emergency beacon, we can see Yaz and Sammy huddling together for comfort and to keep each other safe when they have to hide behind a fallen tree from some dinosaurs, we also see Yaz lean on Sammy and give a relieved sigh once Darius gives the all-clear and she stays there for a while, when Yaz accidentally brings up Ben we can see that she’s still processing how much his apparent death has affected her and the rest of the group, Yaz is now clinging to Sammy not because she is afraid Sammy will stop liking her or talking to her like she was in season 1 but because she needs the positivity, support, and encouragement that Sammy brings to her life in order to help her through all of the emotional turmoil that being on the island is putting her through Also, Sammy helping Yaz up, helping her walk, and otherwise supporting her in any way she can is just so sweet, I know Sammy is a very positive and helpful person and she does what she can for everyone in the group but she has always gone above and beyond when it comes to Yaz, she even convinces Yaz to stay at camp and rest while she, Brooklyn, and Darius go look for supplies (with such a gentle tone and soft expression that Yaz has no choice but to embrace the love and care that Sammy is putting out there), Yaz clearly wants Sammy to stay with her but I think Sammy realizes that it’s not good for Yaz to only depend on her so she gives Yaz a warm smile before she goes but she still leaves with the others so Yaz can grow and Sammy can contribute to the whole group, this sets up the beginnings of a much healthier dynamic between Yaz and Sammy in which they can have their own lives and friendships outside of each other Yaz has clearly forgiven Sammy at this point as we don’t see any kind of bitterness in their interactions at all and after the group makes their tree fort and they have some time to rest and relax away from the pressures of constantly running from dinosaurs I think Yaz really starts to

process her deeper feelings for Sammy, she wants to spend more time with Sammy and get even closer, we can see how eager she is to join Brooklyn and Sammy on their venture out into the jungle to locate the weird frozen flower patch that Brooklyn stumbled upon a while back, Yaz definitely strikes me as the type of person who has never been in love before so with everything else going on (and with her mind full of much stronger fears of losing the others in the group, especially Sammy, which I will talk about more later in this post series) her feelings are bound to manifest strongly We can see that Yaz is now actively playing that question game with Sammy, getting to know her better, and exchanging witty banter back and forth, obviously Yaz cares about all of the people in the group on some level or she wouldn’t have been so upset when they thought Ben died but notice how she is much more interested in talking to and learning about Sammy than she is in talking to and learning about Brooklyn, however she does try her best to loop Brooklyn into the conversation once Sammy cues her to Can we just take a second to appreciate the silent conversations that Yaz and Sammy have? I’m a sucker for some good non-verbal communication because it means that the characters are very close and feel connected with each other, there’s also the fact that since Yaz wants to be around her again Sammy spends so much time making physical contact with her, touch is clearly one of Sammy’s main love languages Yaz goes to help Sammy when the gun case falls on her only to be stopped by Tiff (who tries to prevent Yaz from running away to get help) and Sammy tackles Tiff to the ground to get her to let go of Yaz, honestly I know that Sammy realizes that Yaz getting free is their best chance of getting the help they need but I think it’s really telling that she went so hard, Yaz is clearly her favorite person on the island and Sammy isn’t about to let Tiff hurt her, I also find it really telling that when Yaz sees Sammy and Darius on the security camera monitors she looks relieved and excited and then we get a set of shots that imply she’s looking just at Sammy, this is followed by such a soft, warm, loving expression from Yaz that it melts my gay heart, and of course she’s incredibly concerned when she sees Tiff and Mitch approaching During their organized stampede, Yaz has to abandon the Jeep and, without hesitation, she leaps from the car into Sammy’s waiting arms, this is a mark of a great amount of character growth for Yaz because she not only trusts Sammy now but literally trusts her with her life, we also get an adorable moment when they are dismounting in which Sammy helps Yaz get down and holds both of her hands, when they all go in for a group hug we see Yaz place her hand on Sammy’s waist (as I mentioned in part 1 of this post series, that seems like an unusually place to put your hand on a friend and neither Sammy nor Yaz do that with anyone else in the group), when Sammy is listing her favorite people in the group as she and Kenji are hanging out in their gondola she mentions Yaz first while in Yaz's own gondola she is visibly longing to be over with Sammy (especially seeing how much fun Sammy and Kenji are having pushing on the sides of the gondola) instead of having to face Brooklyn and the fact that they are not close at all, just like when Sammy left Yaz with Kenji this feels almost like a deliberate move on Sammy’s part to get Yaz out of her comfort zone and forming closer bonds with the others (though I think it’s also an excuse for Sammy to spend some quality time with Kenji who definitely seems like he’s become a brother figure) We also get this moment a jealousy in which Yaz seems a little salty that Sammy is hanging out with Kenji (though on the surface it is about how they are messing around instead of helping, Yaz’s comment is definitely tinged with jealousy), this feels very much like the reaction of someone who has romantic feelings but doesn’t have the experience to properly interpret them and who has not been able to

talk about them or put a name to them, she clearly wants a closer relationship with Sammy but Yaz is unable to thoroughly define the relationship she wants which leaves her feeling like her needs aren’t being met in situations like this, in that sense she has fallen into a bit more of an insecure attachment again, she feels threatened by Sammy’s other friendships because she and Sammy haven’t differentiated their relationship from that of the friendships they have with the others I would just like to point out the lingering hug they share in which Yaz is clearly nuzzling Sammy’s neck and the fact that Yaz goes over to stand next to Sammy when she moves to hug Brooklyn, there’s no heterosexual explanation for that, or the way Yaz holds and comforts Sammy after pulling away from that dinosaur (if you look closely you can see Yaz rubbing Sammy’s arm with her thumb) And the scene where Yaz explains that Bumpy likes her so much because she keeps snacks in her pockets and then shares some of the snacks so Sammy can feed her too? Absolutely precious, we love to see Yaz being so soft with Sammy, like the way she calls out to her when part of the group goes to search Kenji’s dad’s penthouse for gas to put in the boat, or the way Yaz checks on Sammy while Ben’s siphoning gas from the limos in the penthouse’s garage, it’s clear here that Yaz also wants Sammy to be able to rely on her sometimes, to confide in her, Yaz doesn’t have time to respond in that moment because of yet another dinosaur attack (I also think that she was having a hard time responding because on some level Yaz is also afraid to go home) but the fact that she asked in the first place shows a lot of character and relationship growth, she even goes to check on Sammy later once they’re back on the boat, Sammy does the talking then and uses Yaz more as a sounding board but the gentle smile Yaz gives when Sammy walks away with the solution to her problem is absolutely priceless

#jwcc #yasammy #longpost

27 notes · View notes

gabrielkahane · 3 years

Text

Heirloom

Short form:

Heirloom (concerto for piano & chamber orchestra) premieres with Jeffrey Kahane & the Kansas City Symphony under the baton of Michael Stern, September 24-26. Tickets are here.

I’ll play a solo show at Rockwood Music Hall on Tuesday, September 28th. My dear friend and colleague, Johnny Gandelsman, will open with a solo violin set. Johnny’s on at 7pm, I’ll go on around 8pm. Tickets are $20 and are here. This will be my only NYC appearance this year!

Applications for Luna Lab with Oregon Symphony are now open! If you are a female-identifying, non-binary, or gender-nonconforming composer between the ages of 12 and 18, and live in Portland or Southeast Washington, please apply for your chance to study for a year with the incredible Nathalie Joachim!

Long form:

Several years ago, my friend Eric Jacobsen started pestering me about writing a piano concerto for my father, Jeffrey Kahane. It was an intriguing (and natural!) idea, but I kept putting it off in large part because I’ve never felt comfortable with large-scale instrumental composition. I think of myself first and foremost as a songwriter, and while I love to write for instruments in the context of vocal music, I feel almost entirely unmoored when voice & text are taken away. But Eric was persistent, and, well, here we are. Next month, the Kansas City Symphony will open its season with Heirloom, after which the piece will be heard in the coming years in performances presented by the co-commissioners who’ve rounded out the consortium: the Oregon Symphony, the Aspen Music Festival, the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra, the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra, and Eric’s Brooklyn-based group, The Knights.

Heirloom is an aural family scrapbook, exploring, in its three movements, a series of inheritances. I’m incredibly excited to witness its birth September 24-26 in Kansas City. You can find the program note I’ve written to accompany its premiere at the end of this email.

The following Tuesday, September 28th, I will play my first concert in New York City since our lives were individually and collectively turned upside down by the pandemic. Most of the evening will be devoted to a new slate of songs drawn from thirty-one composed in October of 2020, the final month of a year-long, complete internet hiatus. Johnny Gandelsman, violinist of Brooklyn Rider, opens with what promises to be a ravishing solo set. Tickets are here.

Lastly, in 2019, I took on the position of Creative Chair with the Oregon Symphony. I’m very pleased to announce that this season, we’ve begun a partnership with Luna Lab, the brainchild of composers Missy Mazzoli and Ellen Reid. Luna Composition Lab offers mentorship and professional training to female-identifying, non-binary, and gender-nonconforming composers between the ages of 12 and 18. We at the Oregon Symphony are incredibly grateful to partner with Luna Lab to offer one student a year-long period of mentorship with Grammy-nominated flutist, composer, and songwriter, Nathalie Joachim, who happens to be one of my all-time favorite humans, and who will be giving the world premiere of Suite from Fanm D’ayiti with the Oregon Symphony in the spring of 2022. What makes this even more amazing is that another all-time favorite human, the violinist Pekka Kuusisto, will be playing Nico Muhly’s concerto Shrink, on the same program. Oh, but we were talking about Luna Lab. If you or someone you know wants to apply, you can find more info & the application form here; you just have to submit one score & a recording (MIDI is acceptable). I will be reviewing submissions along with Nathalie. Applications are due on September 7th.

Obligatory capitalism appeal: I know it’s been a while since I’ve put out new music. It’s coming. I promise. In the meantime, may I remind you about this gorgeous limited edition vinyl record?

That’s it for now, folks. Stay safe. Try to lead with love, even when it’s hard.

All my best,

Gabriel

Heirloom program note:

Tucked away in the northernmost reaches of California sits the Bar 717 Ranch, which, each summer, is transformed into a sleep-away camp on 450 acres of wilderness, where, in 1967, two ten-year-old kids named Martha and Jeffrey met. Within a couple of years, they were playing gigs back in L.A. in folk rock bands with names like “Wilderness” and “The American Revelation.” They fell in love, broke up, fell in love again. By the time I was a child, my mom and dad had traded the guitars, flutes, and beaded jackets for careers in clinical psychology and classical music respectively. But they remained devoted listeners of folk music. Growing up, it was routine for dad to put on a Joni Mitchell record when he took a break from practicing a concerto by Mozart or Brahms. That collision of musical worlds might help to explain the creative path I’ve followed, in which songs and storytelling share the road with the Austro-German musical tradition.

That tradition comes to me through the music I heard as a child, but also through ancestry. My paternal grandmother, Hannelore, escaped Germany at the tail end of 1938, arriving in Los Angeles in early 1939 after lengthy stops in Havana and New Orleans. For her, there was an unspeakable tension between, on the one hand, her love of German music and literature, and, on the other, the horror of the Holocaust. In this piece, I ask, how does that complex set of emotions get transmitted across generations? What do we inherit, more broadly, from our forebears? And as a musician caught between two traditions, how do I bring my craft as a songwriter into the more formal setting of the concert hall?

The first movement, “Guitars in the Attic,” wrestles specifically with that last question, the challenge of bringing vernacular song into formal concert music. The two main themes begin on opposite shores: the first theme, poppy, effervescent, and direct, undergoes a series of transformations that render it increasingly unrecognizable as the movement progresses. Meanwhile, a lugubrious second tune, first introduced in disguise by the French horn and accompanied by a wayward English horn, reveals itself only in the coda to be a paraphrase of a song of mine called “Where are the Arms.” That song, in turn, with its hymn-like chord progression, owes a debt to German sacred music. A feedback loop emerges: German art music informs pop song, which then gets fed back into the piano concerto.

“My Grandmother Knew Alban Berg” picks up the thread of intergenerational memory. Grandma didn’t actually know Alban Berg, but she did babysit the children of Arnold Schoenberg, another German-Jewish émigré, who, in addition to having codified the twelve-tone system of composition, was Berg’s teacher. Why make something up when the truth is equally tantalizing? I suppose it has something to do with wanting to evoke the slipperiness of memory while getting at the ways in which cultural inheritance can occur indirectly. When, shortly after college, I began to study Berg’s Piano Sonata, his music— its marriage of lyricism and austerity; its supple, pungent harmonies; the elegiac quality that suffuses nearly every bar—felt eerily familiar to me, even though I was encountering it for the first time. Had a key to this musical language been buried deep in the recesses of my mind through some kind of ancestral magic, only to be unearthed when I sat at the piano and played those prophetic chords, which, to my mind, pointed toward the tragedy that would befall Europe half a dozen years after Berg’s death?

In this central movement, the main theme is introduced by a wounded-sounding trumpet, accompanied by a bed of chromatic harmony that wouldn’t be out of place in Berg’s musical universe. By movement’s end, time has run counterclockwise, and the same tune is heard in a nocturnal, Brahmsian mode, discomfited by interjections from the woodwinds, which inhabit a different, and perhaps less guileless, temporal plane.

To close, we have a kind of fiddle-tune rondo, an unabashed celebration of childhood innocence. In March of 2020, my family and I were marooned in Portland, Oregon, as the world was brought to its knees by the coronavirus pandemic. Separated from our belongings—and thus all of our daughter’s toys, which were back in our apartment in Brooklyn—my ever resourceful partner, Emma, fashioned a “vehicle” out of an empty diaper box, on which she majusculed the words vera’s chicken-powered transit machine. (Vera had by that point developed a strong affinity for chicken and preferred to eat it in some form thrice daily.) We would push her around the floor in her transit machine, resulting in peals of laughter and squeals of delight. In this brief finale, laughter and joy are the prevailing modes, but not without a bit of mystery. I have some idea of what I have inherited from my ancestors. What I will hand down to my daughter remains, for the time being, a wondrous unknown.

Heirloom is dedicated with love, admiration, gratitude, and awe, to my father, Jeffrey Kahane.

#jeffrey kahane #kansas city symphony #piano concerto #pekka kuusisto #nathalie joachim #oregon symphony #st. paul chamber orchestra #los angeles chamber orchestra #aspen music festival #missy mazzoli #ellen reid #rockwood music hall #johnny gandelsman #folk music #classical music #the knights #eric jacobsen

29 notes · View notes

silverarmedassassin · 3 years

Text

Home For the Holidays (1)

Bucky x Reader | Words: 8,608 | Warnings: None

A/N: Happy holidays and happy December 16! This is my holiday submission for @wonderlandmind4 Fall/Winter challenge. My prompt was: B is very enthusiastic to introduce A to all their traditions, but tries to be sensitive when A seems like they’re struggling to fit in/enjoy themselves.

I’ve been working on this guy for so long, so I decided to split this up into two parts. Part two will be posted this weekend! I’m so happy to finally be sharing this bad boy with you all! If you feel so inclined, I would love to hear what you think. Happy reading!🎄

From the time he was a young boy, Bucky has had an aversion towards the elderly. Which is ironic considering since, technically speaking, he is the elderly now. It’s not that he doesn’t like old people; it’s just that they make him uncomfortable. Which is why, on a balmy Sunday in October, when he walks into the Brooklyn Manor nursing home, he feels his skin crawl.

This trip has been a long time coming. Two years on the run, a voluntary deep freeze, a universal war, and the obliteration of half the earth’s population and its subsequent return, to be exact. But no amount of time would ever prepare Bucky for the visit he was about to make. But it was “essential to his healing,” as Sam so often liked to say. This, along with therapy and the establishment of a place of his own outside of the Tower, was meant to help him move past what had happened to him, help him see that he was a victim and that people still loved him despite what he was forced to do for all of those years.

"Good morning," a cheery redhead says from her spot behind the front desk. "Can I he-" She cuts herself off when she looks up from the computer screen and sees who is looming over her.

"Er, hi," Bucky says, suddenly convinced this is a terrible idea. He should expect nothing less, considering his line of work, both current and past. "I was told Rebecca Proctor lives here..."

It took a second for the woman to register what Bucky had said, but then she jumps into action and begins to type into her computer. "Of course! Are you a relative?"

"Brother."

Her eyes go wide for a second before it clicks. "Oh my goodness, of course." The woman grabs a sticky note from the pad next to her keyboard and scribbles down a series of numbers before handing it to him. "Her room number is 117. This is the code to get into the residence portion of the building. If you need help finding the room, there should be a nurse's station in every hall."

Bucky offers a tight smile and nod of appreciation as he takes the slip of paper from the woman. As he makes his way deeper into the facility, he can feel his nerves waxing and waning with each step. He shouldn't be nervous. It was just Becca, just his little sister, one of the last living ties to his life before all of this. But it had been so long, who knew if she would even recognize him?

When Bucky recruited Sam to help him find out where, or even if, his sister was living, he figured it would be a fruitless quest. He was surprised, however, when Sam came to him a week later with the address of the building he was currently attempting to navigate, shyly dipping his head every time he would pass an older woman in a wheelchair or a group of men concentrating on a board game. Sam had managed to hunt her down with a little help from his Avenger title. The nurse couldn't give him much information since he wasn't a relative or listed on her medical files, but what she could share broke Bucky's heart.

At 102 years old, technically a little less since she was a Snap victim, Becca's memory was less than stellar. Her children had made the tough decision to place her in a home after her mind had started to slip, and she was no longer able to care for herself. It makes Bucky feel guilty because he wasn't around to help.

But today, hopefully, that would change.

After a little wandering and a helpful point from a nurse, Bucky finds himself standing in front of the oversized, thick oak door with a golden plaque in the center proudly displaying "117." He waits a moment, listens for any sign that someone is in the room, but all he hears are the general noises of a nursing home just after lunchtime. He raises his hand to knock but stops short of making contact. Should he knock? What if she’s sleeping? He wouldn't want to wake her. He decides to slowly press the door open instead.

He enters the room slowly, unsure of what he will be greeted with when he reaches the end of the short hall blocking his view from his sister's bed. What he sees, however, thoroughly surprises him. Instead of finding a small, frail body lying in a too-sterile hospital-grade bed, he finds his sister sitting in one of the two armchairs in front of her window, quietly looking out into the garden just outside. After a moment of shifting back and forth on his feet, Bucky clears his throat in an attempt to catch Becca's attention.

The woman slowly turns her head to eye the intruder, and, to Bucky's amazement, a slight look of recognition flashes across her face. Despite her age and sunken appearance, her bright blue eyes still shine as brilliant as they did when she was a little girl. He focuses on those eyes as he slowly crosses the room to her.

"Hey, Becca. Do you," Bucky grimaces as the falter in his voice caused by the tears that are starting to form in his own blue eyes. "Do you know who I am?"

To save his sister from having to crane her frail neck to look up at him, he settles himself into the chair across from hers. The smooth velvet is cool on his overheated skin, and he could sink into the feeling of comfort it gives him. Another piece of home, he thinks as a picture of his family's home flashes across his mind, the two chairs nestled in a similar position to how Becca has them now.

Rebecca studies her brother for a moment before a thin but bright smile spreads across her aged features, and Bucky lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. "You're from the pictures. Just over there."

Bucky watches as a boney finger points to the dresser, the top neatly cluttered with picture frames and trinkets, a sign that his sister had lived a full and happy life after he'd gone. He gets up and makes his way to the piece of furniture to better look at the mixture of black and white and colored photos scattered together. It's strange, he thinks, seeing his sister's life play out across the years in the span of just a few short seconds. When he lands on a black and white photo in an aged frame, he freezes. Smiling back at him are his parents, Bucky himself sitting in front of them on their home's front steps, and Becca nestled snugly in their mother's arms. From when they first brought her home, Bucky thinks to himself as he reaches out and caresses the delicate glass. He moves on to another older photo, this one depicting the two Barnes children dressed in their Sunday best with a scrawny Steve Rogers thrown into the mix. Bucky shakes his head at the sight of his best friend, remembering all the trouble he used to get the two of them in.

The last photo he sees, though, causes a lump to rise and settle in his throat. Frozen in time in the cracked and fading film is the last time he ever saw his family. Bucky, Rebecca, and their parents stand on the dock just in front of the boat he was to ship off on. Becca and his mother have a tight grip on him, and his father only offers a tight smile to the camera. Looking at the image of his younger self, not too different from what he looks like now, is a heart-wrenching moment. The man in that photo has yet to see death first-hand, feel the visceral need to kill or be killed. That man was still innocent, naive to the world, and convinced he was invincible.

Bucky remembers that day and how, despite the nerves, excited he was to see someplace other than dinghy Brooklyn. Yeah, that war wasn't one he signed up to fight, but he'd made a promise to himself he would do what he needed to keep his ma and sister safe.

As he reaches for the frame, a soft knock on the door startles him from his thoughts. "Mrs. Proctor!" a sweet voice sing-songs as the door is pushed open once again. "I hope you didn't fill up at lunch. I brought-Oh!"

Standing in the doorway, both hands full of reusable bags filled to the brim with goodies of all sorts, is a young woman. Her smile, one of the prettiest Bucky's ever seen, he thinks, falters just a little when she sees his towering form taking up so much space in Becca's room. However, she recovers quickly and nudges the door shut behind her as she makes her way deeper into the room.

"I didn't know you were expecting company this afternoon," the woman says and deposits the bags onto the bed. "Who is this?"

Bucky studies the woman in an attempt to figure out who she is to his sister. She couldn't be a daughter or granddaughter, right? She looked nothing like them. Plus, she was calling her Mrs. Proctor. Bucky also felt confident in his ruling that she was not a nurse or staff member at the facility, considering she wasn't wearing scrubs or donning a facility badge.

The only indication that she even belongs in this facility is the sticker she wears proudly just above her heart, with "Y/N" scrawled in bright red letters.

"The pictures," Becca finally says with a smile, pointing towards Bucky. "He's from the pictures."

Their visitor looks between Bucky and Rebecca with a soft look somewhere between pity and a faint sense of joy. "Bucky," the frail old woman says, and Bucky instantly feels the lump that had settled into his throat not ten minutes earlier begin to grow again.

Y/N must sense the energy shift in the room because she quickly pulls out a few homemade goodies wrapped in cellophane and places them on the rolling table next to Becca's bed. "Well, I'll let you be with your visitor, Mrs. Proctor," she says as she shoulders her bags again. "I'll see you Tuesday evening, okay?"

Becca simply nods as she watches the younger woman make her exit, then shifts her attention to Bucky as he steps back towards her and crouches down.

"Bec, you remember me?"

She says nothing at first but brings her hand up to rest on Bucky's freshly shaved cheeks, a fresh set of tears gathering in their twin blue eyes. "You came back."

Bucky sits with his sister for two hours after they reacquaint themselves. The nurse that spoke with Sam was right; it was difficult to be around her, as she often slipped up with her memory. She couldn't remember the names of her grandchildren, nor her great-grandchildren, but when she saw their smiling faces looking back at her in the pictures, she knew they belonged to her. Her fragile mind, however, seemed to favor older faces and memories. She could recall events from when she was a teenager and even got some details right from when Bucky shipped off. The remembrance came with a repeat of the same stories two or three times, but Bucky didn’t mind. He was never around to bear witness to some of these stories, and it was just good to hear his sister’s voice again.

It's around 3 o'clock when Rebecca begins to grow tired, and so Bucky takes that as his cue to take his leave. He helps his sister into her bed for a pre-dinner nap, then quietly makes his exit when he is sure she is fast asleep. For a visit he was hesitant to make, he can't think of a better way to have spent his Sunday afternoon.

As Bucky makes his way back through the winding halls of the facility, a jaunty tune he recalls from his teenage days plays through his head, and he feels like he could face the world if needed, which is why he finds himself doing the unimaginable as he reaches the redhead at the front desk.

“Excuse me,” he says with a renewed sense of confidence that had been absent earlier in the day. “I don’t know if you can give me this information, but there was this woman...Y/N I think her name is. I don’t think she was a nurse, but maybe someone else that works here? Would you be able to tell me if she was still around?”

The woman smiles gently back at him but shakes her head. “We’re such a large facility, I’d need to see a face to know exactly who you’re talking about.”

There’s a momentary lapse in his confidence, realizing just how weird the question could come off. He’s suddenly very glad she had no idea who he was talking about and hopes she doesn’t mention it to anyone else.

“Uh, thanks anyway,” he mutters as he gives a small nod. “Have a good rest of your day.”

Oh well, he thinks to himself, at least I could make it out my door this morning.

The Snap impacted each and every person differently. While most think the Vanished had it the worst, people tend to forget about those left behind. Many lost their jobs due to closures and shortages, others were evicted due to insufficient funds for rent. The uncertainty of it all, the not knowing what happened to family and friends, not knowing when you’d find your next job, if you’d have money to buy groceries this week, took a harder toll on some than others.

You had been a relatively fortunate one. Since moving to the city, you hadn’t quite made a large group of friends yet, which meant there were fewer people for you to lose. Your family had somehow lucked out as well. Due to an abundance of workers suddenly gone without a trace, you’d been able to snag a corporate position that you managed to hold onto even after the Snap was reversed.

However, the one downside was the aftermath of families coming back to their homes only to find that someone new was living in their space. That, unfortunately, happened to you. Two days after everyone reappeared, you had a knock on your front door. When you opened it, you found a lovely couple who had just been married before the Snap and had just started renting the apartment you were living in. And, even though you’d called this building your home for the past five years, you did what any half-decent individual would do and moved out. Goodbye state-of-the-art gym and central location, hello paper-thin walls, and a forty-five-minute one-way commute.

At least you were able to take a few days off of work to get your belongings out of the old apartment and into the new one. Most of the larger furniture had been the couple’s, which meant you only had to carry a few pieces into your second story Brooklyn brownstone apartment. The problem, however, was that there was no elevator in this renovated building, which meant you had to find a way to carry your low-quality Ikea TV stand up the too-narrow stairs without busting a wall or your furniture. The only thing you were close to bursting was a nerve because it was turning out to be more of a two-person task, and you were the only one participating in this moving process.

“Fuck you,” you groan as one of the stand’s legs gets caught on the stairs again. Despite the chilly breeze that was blowing in from the building’s front door you had propped open, you were perspiring more than would be deemed ladylike. With the rate you were going, you would need to need to take another full day off just to get your stupid furniture into your apartment.

“Do you need some help?” a voice calls from above you. You peek over your shoulder to find a rather tall, rather bulky man standing at the second-floor landing. It hadn’t even occurred to you that people might actually need to use the stairs to, you know, go about their daily lives. What doesn’t go over your head, however, is the fact that the man standing at the top of the stairs was not a complete stranger like you originally thought, but someone you knew almost too well for not actually knowing him at all.

“That would actually be wonderful,” you huff out a laugh, attempting to be nonchalant about the fact that Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier - soldier turned assassin turned Avenger - was standing just feet away from you for the second time in twenty-four hours, this time in your new apartment building. Maybe this place wasn’t as safe as you had thought?

He makes his way halfway down the stairs, and you attempt to shimmy out of the way so that he can grab the corners you had been holding up. “If you could just get this thing back down the stairs, I could-” Your meager offering of help is cut short when Bucky manages to slot his arms into place and life the entire piece like it was nothing. A metal arm will do that to someone, you suppose.

You awkwardly direct him to your apartment, shoving open the door to 2B and waving your arm to give him a vague idea of where you want the stand. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver. I thought for sure I was going to have to take the thing apart to get it up here.”

“It’s no problem, really,” Bucky says as he stuffs his hands into his jacket’s pockets, the stiff leather shifting and rubbing as he does so. When he looks at you for the first time, his bright blue eyes light up even more with recognition. “Hey, you were visiting my sister’s place the other day.”

“I was,” you laugh as you extend your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

There’s a brief moment of hesitation before a warm, leathered hand slips into yours. “Bucky,” he says as if you wouldn’t already know who he is. "Do you, uh, need help bringing anything else up?"

You watch him as he slowly glances around your small apartment, void of much except for a few boxes and the stand he just carried up and your mattress you've yet to shimmy into the bedroom. “Oh! No,” you laugh, realizing how pathetic your new home looks at the moment. “I have movers bringing the rest of my things from storage tomorrow. But thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“It’s really no problem. If you, uh, ever need anything, I rent the unit above you. Not sure how often I’ll be home, but for whatever it’s worth,” he shrugs as you follow him back out your front door.

“I’ll keep it in mind. I guess I’ll be seeing you around?”

Despite his nod of agreement, you don’t see Bucky for another two weeks. You try not to let the unexplained but forewarned absence weigh on your thoughts. With the exception of listening for the creaks of his floorboards that never come and the brief visits with his sister, you find yourself doing everything you can to not fixate on the Grecian god of a man you have somehow come to call a neighbor.

It’s not until you receive a call from Rebecca’s daughter that you finally admit he was home.

“Oh, I’m...I’m so sorry…” you choke out when Mary informs you her mother had passed away in the early hours of the night. Despite having no real relation to the Proctor family, you’d known them for a handful of years due to your time spent at the nursing home. In that time, they’d come to be like family to you, so their loss affected you just as strongly as the passing of your own family member would. “Have you told her brother?”

“No. We have no way to contact him. I know he’d spent some time with Ma at the nursing home, so I left a message for them to pass the news and my number on if he came in or called. But I haven’t heard anything.”

“I actually have a way to reach him. I’ll tell him to give you a call, okay?”

When you get home the following day, you’re greeted by the sound of Bucky’s shower turning on. Five minutes later, it shuts off. You give him another ten before you make your way up to his apartment. The idea of telling this man, a practical stranger who you knew nothing about other than what you’ve read in books and seen on tv, that his sister passed away leaves you feeling nauseous. This isn't exactly what you pictured when you said you’d see him around.

He’s quick to answer his door. You’re taken off guard when his door is pulled open to reveal his broad chest covered in a blue Henley that is clinging to his still-damp skin. It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts and remember exactly why you were here.

“Is everything okay, Y/N?” he asks as you drag your eyes up to meet his own.

You clear your throat and shake your head in an attempt to gather your thoughts. “Uh, yeah. No? I’m sorry to bug you, but I, uh...You haven’t heard from Mrs. Pro-er, I mean Rebecca’s daughter, have you?” When he says no, you sigh. You knew that was the answer you were going to get, but a part of you still hoped you weren’t going to have to be the one to deliver this information. “Mary called me yesterday. She, uh...She wanted you to know...uh...Rebecca passed away...early yesterday morning…”

You can visibly see Bucky shift through several emotions - shock, grief, anger, to finally an almost expressionless mask. You unintentionally stiffen at the sound of metal shifting and grating together, which seems to break Bucky’s haze. You can tell he’s struggling to find words in that moment, so you continue on, hoping a coherent sentence will come out.

“I know I’m probably not the person you want to hear this news from, but I couldn’t really give her a way to contact you and...Here!” You shove your hand out towards him, the small piece of paper you wrote Mary’s number down on resting in your palm. “I told her I’d give you her number. So you could call her or whatever.”

Bucky just looks at the slip for a moment before you clear your throat. “Listen, I’m really sorry. I wi-”

“Thanks, Y/N,” he cuts you off and grabs for the paper. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go call her.”

Before you can respond, Bucky is turning his back. “Yeah, okay,” you whisper to the dark oak of his door before making your way back down to your own apartment.

“The service was beautiful, Mary,” you say as you hug Rebecca’s daughter. “She would have loved it.”

“It’s all thanks to Bucky. He paid for everything.” Mary says as she sets her gaze over your shoulder. “Or, I guess Uncle Bucky is more appropriate to say…”

You turn and follow her gaze to where the man in question is, his great-great nieces and nephew using him as their personal jungle gym. You can tell, even from across the room, that his face is absolutely glowing, eyes crinkled in the outer-corners with delight as Bridget, the youngest of the bunch, wraps her tiny arms around his neck and demands a horsey ride.

“I’m glad they’re taking it so well,” Mary says as she watches her grandchildren. “It’s almost like he’s been a part of their life this entire time instead of just appearing out of nowhere.” There’s no hostility in her voice when she says this. Rather, she sounds remorseful. “I went my entire life hearing stories about my uncle. My dead uncle. Yet, after all these years, he shows up looking exactly like he does in the pictures I’ve been looking at since I was a little girl.”

You felt for Mary and the rest of the family. You couldn’t begin to comprehend how difficult and confusing it must be to find out that the man you’d come to know as just a ghost story was alive and real and more than willing to be a part of even the most difficult moments in life. It’s a testament, you think, to how good of a man Bucky really is. Despite the horrors of his past and the apprehension he’s likely still faced with every day, he’s still willing to put himself out into a world that has been less than kind to him.

As if your thoughts summon him, Bucky looks up and over to where you are standing. When he catches your eye, his smile grows. You’re sure there has never been anything as beautiful as Bucky Barnes flashing a megawatt smile at you. “At least you’re in good hands.”

You decide not to stick around for the luncheon after the service so, after snagging a few refreshments and a quick chat with a few of the family members you recognize, you begin to inch your way closer to the exit. You hadn’t seen Bucky since you’d spoken with Mary, and you were in the middle of trying to figure out why that left you with a hollow feeling in the pit of your stomach when you’re abruptly stopped on your way to the doors.

“You can’t leave before I get the chance to apologize for the other day,” Bucky says, a small smile gracing his face. He cleans up well, you decide as you get a better look at his lightly stubbled face. He has his hair tied back in a neat, low bun, which allowed his eyes to stand out more than they usually did, and a black-on-black suit is stretched just right over his broad chest. If you didn’t know better, you would think he was a model on loan to add some cheer to the rather dreary day.

Bucky quirks his head and shifts his body weight when it takes you a bit too long to answer, and it’s only then that you realize you’re ogling him. His sister just died, Y/N, you chastise yourself, this is not the time to be checking him out.

“I, uh,” you clear your throat, hoping he can’t feel the heat that is rapidly clawing up your neck radiating from you. “I don’t want to intrude on family time,” you say rather lamely. It was true, but for whatever reason, Bucky left you feeling almost guilty.

He lets out a humorless laugh and crosses his arms. “If anyone is intruding, I think it’s me,” he says as he looks over your shoulder back into the banquet room the rest of the family is in.

You turn to follow his line of sight and can’t help but smile when you see one of his great-nieces twirling around, showing off her dress. “Nah, don’t say that. The little ones seem to love you,” you laugh, hoping to lighten the mood just a little.

Bucky chuckles and then sighs. “Yea, but I just...don’t feel like I belong.”

Hearing Bucky, this man who had his entire life ripped from him multiple times, who, after spending just a few short hours in total with, you ardently believed deserved every good thing in the world and then some, say that he feels he doesn’t belong among those who are supposed to love him most broke your heart. You know that it’s likely untrue that Rebecca’s family was anything but unwelcoming, but that Bucky even felt that way caused a pit to open in your stomach.

“Oh, Bucky…” you say softly, trying to avoid sounding full of pity. “I’m so sorry this all has happened to you.” He averts his gaze and shrugs. “You know what? I could probably stay for a little while longer…”

At that, Bucky looks back at you, eyes as bright as when his own sister recognized him on that very first day. You knew then that, no matter what, you’d do anything to keep that look on his face.

“I promise it won’t be for nothing. They have a ton of food, and I guess there are some famous deviled eggs that, not to sound awful but...are to die for.”

You stifle a laugh and shake your head as Bucky leads you back into the banquet room, excitedly rambling on about the various food items his relatives have to offer. After piling your plates full and grabbing a coffee, you follow Bucky to a small table conveniently tucked away in the corner. Over the next hour, you watch Bucky’s perfectly constructed walls begin to crumble just a little. You quickly uncover which topics make him uncomfortable, particularly those revolving around his current line of work and those he can talk about endlessly. You learn the ins and outs of what it was like being friends with Captain America before he was the size of a brick house. You also discover that Bucky is someone you could listen to talk for hours on end.

“I don’t think it ever came up,” Bucky says as he takes a seat back at the table, two fresh cups of coffee in hand, “how did you know my sister?”

You hum your thanks and take a sip before answering. “Well, a few years ago, or I guess a few years before the Snap, I started volunteering at the nursing home. You’d be surprised how many families just shove their parents or grandparents in those homes and forget about them. They get lonely and just want someone to talk to that isn’t a nurse or whatever. It got worse during those five years. Rebecca never really needed me to sit with her; her family visited all the time. However, she was still one of my favorite residents.

“She talked about you all the time, you know. Even when she couldn’t remember her own children’s names, she always had a story to tell about you. She was immensely proud of you.” Bucky grunts, and you playfully roll your eyes at him. “She was a good storyteller. Sometimes it was hard to tell if she was trying to pull my leg or not. She...she was something else, but she’s going to be dearly missed.”

A somber sort of silence falls between the two of you then. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s the kind charged with a unique sense of melancholy. It’s so strange, you think, to share a common heartbreak with someone you still barely know. Loss and grief have a curious way of bringing those once unknown together.

“Uncle Bucky,” a high-pitched squeal cuts through the moment and brings with it the excited, flushed face of an excited great-niece. “Uncle Bucky, I made you something!”

Bridget worms her way up onto Bucky’s lap, a piece of paper with her hand traced to look like a turkey in its center. “To Unkle Bucky, Luv Bridget” was written sloppily across the top.

You watch as Bucky’s expression goes from one of strain to that of absolute joy. “Thank you so much,” he smiles as he takes the paper and examines it as if it were a piece on display at the Louvre. “I know exactly where I’m going to hang this as soon as I find a frame.”

The little girl, who bears a striking resemblance to her long-lost great-uncle, beams as she wraps her arms around his neck and squeezes. You catch Bucky’s eye, causing him to break into an even wider smile. You hope he can see how truly and unconditionally he is loved.

You watch as she scrambles off back to where her brother and cousin are sitting, coloring away. You nod at the sweet drawing. “Planning on spending Thanksgiving with them?”

Bucky smooths his hand over the paper in front of him and thinks for a moment. “They invited me. I guess they, we, have family in Indiana that they usually visit for the holiday. I just...I don’t think so. I don’t want to be that far from where I’m needed most, and I think meeting a whole new set of family would be a bit much, ya know?”

You hum in response, fully understanding the dilemma. It’s unfortunate, though. “Well, I’m sure I could never compete with a real home-cooked meal, but I’m staying home because I don’t...really agree with the holiday and will be heating up a nice frozen turkey TV dinner if you would like to join. I might just throw in a pumpkin pie, too.”

Bucky looks up then, a soft, small smile turning up the corners of his lips. “Thanks, Y/N, really. But I’m not sure. Might not even be home,” he shrugs.

“Well,” you say as you look at the time on your phone, “the offer stands just in case you change your mind. But, hey, I think it’s time for me to leave for real now. I have some work to catch up on before I go back to the office tomorrow.”

You can tell he’s disappointed, but Bucky offers to walk you out anyway. He wants to stay and help his family clean up, or he would offer to walk you home. You make your rounds to say goodbye to the family you were familiar with and, when you reach the kiddie table to say goodbye, Bucky’s great-nephew Jackson refuses to let you go.

“Will I ever see you again even though we can’t come to visit Grammy no more?” he wails as he buries his little face into your stomach.

“Jackson, please,” his mother says as she comes to diffuse the situation. The little boy lets out one last sob into your dress before letting his mother pull him into her arms. “Y/N will still be around,” she smiles mischievously, directing her gaze over your shoulder to where Bucky waits at the front doors. “I’m almost sure of it.”

You can feel the heat of embarrassment as it claws up your neck, and you quickly give another round of hugs and goodbyes to the children before heading back to Bucky. “Is everything alright,” he asks as he hands you your coat.

“Fine. Jackson is just…” you slip on your coat and refuse to meet Bucky’s probing eyes, “dramatic sometimes.”

The weeks following Rebecca’s funeral saw Bucky locked away in his apartment. Calls from Sam and Wanda went unanswered, and the curtains were scarcely opened. He’d even ignored your attempts of delivering some semblance of comfort. The pasta dish you dropped off was left mostly untouched in his fridge, and he’d only managed to eat half a slice of a pumpkin pie you’d left for him on Thanksgiving. He knew that hiding away was doing nothing for his mental health, would do nothing to help him move past the loss and pain, but it was all he knew. How he reacted was all he could control, and Bucky liked to be in control.

His control, like most things in his life, came to an end far too quickly when Sam decided he’d finally had enough. Bucky knew that he couldn’t hide from his friends forever, but he would have liked to come out on his terms.

“Man, I know you’re in there,” Sam shouts as he knocks on the door of Bucky’s apartment. He’d been there for five minutes now, and, at this point, Bucky was testing to see how long he could keep the man waiting. “Seriously, Buck, open the door, or I’ll use Redwing to knock it down. And I won’t pay for repairs or reimburse your security deposit.”

Bucky sighs before hauling himself off of the couch. “What?” he deadpans as he opens the door. It takes everything in him not to slap the toothy grin off of Sam’s amused face.

“I was beginning to think I was going to have to call the Smithsonian - tell them to get your exhibit ready because, as far as any of us knew, you were dead,” Sam says as he pushes past Bucky into the apartment.

“What do you want?” Bucky asks again as Sam looks around the scarcely decorated apartment. From the discontent on his face, Bucky could tell Sam was less than thrilled with the state of his apartment. It was dark, the only furniture being a couch, a small coffee table, and an old TV he’d stolen from the Tower. Not exactly what one would consider a "space of their own."

“Listen,” Sam says as he moves to push open the curtains, “you’ve spent enough time locked up in here. You need to get out, see the sun, get some air. Plus, Wanda misses you, and that spider kid has been coming around asking for you.” Bucky grimaces at that. Peter Parker had asked his fair share of questions about his arm, and Bucky didn’t feel like entertaining the teenager anymore.

“Don’t give me that look,” Sam continues as he flops down on the couch. “Go get dressed. You can hang out with the crew for a few hours today. I promise if you have the worst time of your life, I’ll let you sit in your own filth and wallow for the foreseeable future, okay?”

After a moment of contemplation, Bucky agrees. Despite his dwindling interest in seeing anyone outside of his own reflection, he knew that seeing his friends - his chosen family of mix-matched misfits - would make him feel at least a little better. So, he allows Sam to tidy up the apartment, put away the dishes Bucky has been neglecting, and open the rest of the windows while he goes to get dressed. Bucky will never admit, however, just how much lighter he felt when he emerged from his room to the man he reluctantly called his best friend, smiling back at him.

December creeps up in a flurry of deadlines and personal obligations. The two-week break your company gave you every holiday season was a welcomed reprieve to the daily hustle and bustle of life, but it also meant long hours at the office in the weeks leading up to the holiday. Plus, the holidays were always a sour topic around the nursing home, as many of the residents were left to their own devices instead of being a part of family celebrations. That meant, in addition to staying until six or seven o’clock at work, you were spending hours afterward crafting decorations, cards, and personalized goodies for each of the residents you visited each week. This all, understandably, left you with little to no free time.

So, when the first of the month came rolling in, and you were yet to have played a single Christmas song or even thought about pulling your tiny table-top tree from storage, you felt deflated. You’d never been so thankful for online shopping and overnight shipping because, by Saturday afternoon, you had a brand new artificial Christmas tree waiting for you on your building’s front steps. In your excitement of getting into the holiday spirit, however, you completely overlooked just how you were going to get this tree up your narrow stairwell. It was like moving day all over again, except for this time you were sure a knight in shining vibranium armor was not going to show up to save the day.

To your dismay, you hadn’t seen Bucky since his sister’s funeral a month ago. It’s not like you hadn’t tried to make contact. You had prepared him a small meal the day after and had even left him half of the pumpkin pie you picked up from the market down the block. The only way you could tell he was even inside his apartment was the fact that, when you went back up to check, the items were gone. That or one of your other neighbors had taken them for themselves. Either way, you were missing Bucky. Even though you’d only had one proper conversation the entire time you’ve known him, you enjoyed just knowing Bucky was around. The thought of him suffering to any extent made your heart twist into unmanageable knots.

You sigh as you prop the building’s front door open, bringing your attention back to the task at hand. You were strong and independent, and you were more than capable of getting this hefty box up to your apartment. With that mindset in tow, you’re pleasantly surprised to turn around and find Bucky and another man making their way towards the building.

“He’s alive,” you exclaim, unable to hide the smile that blooms across your face. You’d feel embarrassed at the overexcitement that laced through your greeting, but you were genuinely happy to see that he had been out of his apartment and with a suspected friend.

“Uh, hey, Y/N,” Bucky says as he looks down to his boot-clad feet. Despite his quiet demeanor and tendency to be closed off, you’d never seen Bucky so...shy.

So you turn your attention to the second man standing in front of you. “I’m Y/N,” you smile as you bound down the stairs to the men, hand out and waiting for Bucky’s friend to shake, “Bucky’s neighbor!” You hope that whatever icy tension that had settled over Bucky would thaw if you directed the spotlight away from him.

“Sam,” the man says as a toothy grin breaks across his face. “Bucky didn’t mention he had neighbors.”

“It’s an apartment building, bird brain, of course I have neighbors,” Bucky mumbles as he buries his hands in his jacket pockets. He looks at you then or rather looks past you at the tall box leaning against the brick building. “What’re you up to?”

“Well, I just got a new Christmas tree delivered,” you say as you bite your lip and try to hide your desperation for help. “I was just getting ready to take it up.”

Bucky looks from you to the tree before settling his gaze on you. “Do you need some help,” he asks coyly.

You don’t even attempt to mask your smile as you guiltily nod your head. As Bucky turns to look at his friend, Sam puts his hands up. “Nah, man, I was getting ready to leave. Plus, heavy lifting is more your thing,” he says before looking at you. “Plus, Bucky is still learning how to play nice with others. And it’s my day off.”

You chuckle and playfully roll your eyes. “You better go relax, then. I’m sure a day off is rare for a superhero.”

As Sam starts backing up towards the way they came, he nods. “I like her, Buck. She really gets it. It was nice meeting you, Y/N!”

“Bye, Sam,” you wave as you watch him make his way down the sidewalk. “He seems really nice,” you say as Bucky hauls the tree box over his shoulder.

“He’s a pain in my ass,” he grumbles as he nods towards the front door.

All you can do is laugh and lead the way to your apartment.

“Thank you so much, Bucky,” you say as he finishes up pulling the faux tree from its too-small confines.

“It’s not a problem,” he shrugs and takes a step back to look at the tree. It’s in pretty rough shape, but once you’re done with it, no one will ever be able to tell it’s lived most of its life in a cardboard box. “You know, I haven’t had a Christmas tree since 1942.”

You stop shuffling around in the bin of ornaments and turn to look at him. “You’re joking,” you say, absolutely appalled. When Bucky shakes his head, you make a decision. “Stay and decorate with me, then.”

This obviously takes Bucky off guard, and before he can even attempt to come up with a reason to say no, you’re busting out your best pout, absolutely determined to share some holiday cheer with him this afternoon.

“Fine,” he sighs, but you can see the hint of a smile twitching on his lips.

You put Bucky to work immediately, pointing at boxes and bins full of ornaments, tinsel, and other holiday goodies. To your delight, he has quite the eye for placing ornaments, a skill he attributes to having a best friend who forced him into art classes and design lectures as teenagers. You’re almost certain he’s enjoying himself, a suspicion that is all but proven when he starts cheerfully humming along to the Christmas station you have playing on your phone.

“I’m really happy to see you out and about today,” you say as you hand him a sparkling orb to hang on one of the taller branches.

Bucky falters in his movements just a little before delivering the ornament onto its new home for the season. “I’m sorry I disappeared for a little bit…”

“Oh, Bucky,” you say as you place a hand on his metal forearm. You'd been surprised when he took his jacket off to reveal his metal arm with little more than the sleeve of his t-shirt covering it. You try not to think of the implications behind the small but seemingly intimate action. “Never apologize for how you grieve. We all process and deal with things differently.”

A moment passes in silence, though it’s not awkward. It’s simply a moment where both of you seem to process what was said. Surprisingly, it’s Bucky who breaks the silence. “That pasta thing you left me, that was really good,” he chuckles.

“Remind me, and I’ll write the recipe down for you. It’s one of my favorite comfort foods.”

Time passes easily with Bucky. Despite what Sam said early, Bucky is an excellent companion to decorate with. He cracks jokes every now and then and comments on your collection of antique ornaments. You even manage to get him to try some of that crockpot wine you had attempted to make earlier in the day. By dinner time, your tree is fully dressed and situated in its corner, and you’re tipsy on holiday cheer and alcohol. As you make your way towards the couch with a fresh glass in your hand, Bucky begins to hum along to Bing Crosby’s “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” as the beginning notes start to float through your apartment.

“God, I remember when this song came out,” he says quietly as you take your seat. “They played it nonstop at camp. Dunno what they were trying to do, raise our spirits, maybe? It just made me think about how Ma and Becca were going to be all alone that Christmas.” He pauses then, likely lost in the memory. You’re about to say something to pull him back from wherever he drifted off to when he adds, “I couldn’t help thinkin’ that this was a song I’d ask a girl to dance to, too.”

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you laugh as you set your wine glass down.

“Oh sweetheart, I had girls lining up outta the hall to dance with me back in the day. I wasn’t always so…” he turns to look at you and gesticulates with both arms to make his point, whatever that may be.

You squint your eyes in a challenging glare and stand. “You have to show me these moves, Bucky Barnes.” He opens his mouth to protest, but you quickly cut him off. “I’ll sing along if you don’t. I know you can hear the concerts I put on for my shampoo bottles in the shower. Save you and the neighbors the show, come on.”

Bucky gives you a mock grimace before giving in. You’re not sure if it’s the wine that’s causing time to feel so slow or if it’s the fact you want to savor the image of Bucky standing over you, flesh hand outstretched for you to take. You don’t question it, though, and simply step into his warm, welcoming embrace. It’s all too easy to melt into Bucky’s arms and allow him to guide you around your tiny living room.

A few moments pass with little more than Crosby’s melodic crooning drifting around the two of you. You hope that, despite how close you are, Bucky can’t hear how rapidly your heart is beating. When you finally muster the courage to look at him, you find that he was already looking at you. He squeezes your hand a little and gives you possibly one of the most tender smiles you’ve ever seen.

“Nice to know I still have it,” he exclaims as he winks, and you smile and shake your head before resting it on his shoulder.

When the song ends, Bucky ends his effortless glide across the antiqued hardwood floors, and you pull back from his chest enough so that you can look into his eyes. If your gaze lingers a little too long on his plump, pink lips, you’ll never admit. Despite the impossibly low lighting of the room, you can see the way Bucky’s crystal blue eyes sparkle and dance when they catch the lights from your tree.

“Thank you for helping me today,” you say, barely above a whisper.

“‘Course,” Bucky replies and, as the seconds pass, you’re pretty sure that he begins to lean towards you, eyes flicking between yours and your lips.

Just as you’re about to close the small distance, a disorienting ringing begins from somewhere. Bucky pulls away, irritation quickly taking over his expression. “Goddammit,” he practically growls as he pulls his phone from his pocket. “What, Sam?”

You watch as a range of emotions flash across Bucky’s face before a seriousness shadows his features. He barks out a gruff, “See you in a few,” before quickly ending the call. “We’re, uh, needed. Immediately.”

“O-oh,” you mummer, disappointed that he has to leave so quickly. You watch from where Bucky had stopped the two of you as he gathers his jacket and scrambles to put his boots on. He’s almost to your door when your brain finally catches up to what is going on, and, in that moment, you’re appreciative for how small your apartment is because you’re able to get to him before he is fully out of the apartment.

“Wait, Bucky,” you call as you grab for his arm. When he turns to look at you, you almost back out of what you’re about to say, but you persevere, knowing that the world will continue to turn if he rejects you. “Come to Christmas with me. My parents only live two hours away. We’re pretty low-key, no big party or anything. Please?”

Bucky considers you for a moment before he visibly softens and nods. “You know what, sure. That...that sounds great.”

You smile so wide when you hear him accept the invitation, something you thought for sure would be for not. Before you can even consider your actions, you’re leaning up to place a chaste kiss on his rough and prickly cheek. “Stay safe out there,” you say gently. Bucky simply nods, a blush begins to work it’s way up his neck.

You stand in your doorway until you hear the front door of your building click shut behind him. You’ll never confess to it, but when your own apartment door is securely shut behind you, you do an excited, happy dance.

#bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #Wonderland4SeasonalWC

70 notes · View notes

rocking-chairr · 2 years

Text

I posted 188 times in 2021

46 posts created (24%)

142 posts reblogged (76%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 3.1 posts.

I added 79 tags in 2021

#ninjago - 25 posts

#hetalia - 12 posts

#camp cretaceous - 6 posts

#ninjago season 15 - 6 posts

#harumi ninjago - 6 posts

#ns15 - 6 posts

#ninjago harumi - 5 posts

#teen beach movie - 5 posts

#hetalia character songs - 4 posts

#jttw - 4 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#i cant be the only one who thought the pre chorus of russias song was the actual chorus and became a little disappointed but then the actua

My Top Posts in 2021

have some harumi and nya

47 notes • Posted 2021-11-28 20:21:49 GMT

I need to talk about Seabound

Seabound's two final episodes made me feel everything. I hadn't felt this upset since Zane's death, and even that was triggered by the memories that flashed in front of the screen like a sad music video. I wake up in the morning and think about how upset Jay was and I become upset.

Firstly, these two episodes didn't have to rely on flashback music and flashbacks for the emotions to hit. Yes, the music did play a part in it, but unlike Zane's death, these episodes relied on the sheer connection and tragedy of Nya's depart and the raw emotion in the voice actor's performances and sacrifices. The muted 'I love you' and their shared look at the window before Nya went to defeat Wojira was just 👌👌

Additionally, I want to talk about Jay's everything here. When he screamed and leaped onto Wojira to fight Kalmaar with sensei's staff I was in complete awe. This was the scene where Jay didn't care if he died or not to save Nya, not him powering the sub earlier in the season. His voice actor did a phenomenal job. For the first time in a while, I was scared and genuinely attached to Jay. He was never my favourite, and he used to be my least favourite ninja. This entire scene changed everything. When he begged Nya not to leave at the end of the finale I was on the edge of my seat because I didn't realise how much I cared about them. The emotions in his voice were so raw and it broke me.

There were so many stellar moments in these episodes, from Bentho's fight with Kalmaar to Wojira being sick of Kalmaar and devouring him (I love Kalmaar but damn was that satisfying) and the little jokes throughout made this season so amazing. I wasn't even angry that the water dragon was only featured in the last episode because it was executed and handled so well. (can we talk about how pretty Nya is in her final form???)

The animation for these episodes was really cool too , and the shots of Nya on the water pads running through the sky were so clever. I must say, the fight and more active scenes were definitely done better in s11 onwards, it's just the lighting and textures that need work.

I think I prefer episode 15 to 16, but 16 is definitely an amazing finale. I sobbed when I saw how many people came to the memorial, but I was a little angry at the lack of Kai moments in this season. I am confident to say that Nya will return, not because 'they can't kill a character and make them stay dead' but because it wouldn't make sense narrative-wise.

52 notes • Posted 2021-05-01 14:10:59 GMT

i'm loving the attention they're giving yaz's ptsd like it's shockingly good but does this season ever touch on whatever the fuck darius is going through? This mf 12 year old is the one leading this group and we haven't really seen...much insight on what he's thinking or feeling this season so far.

74 notes • Posted 2021-12-05 18:06:36 GMT

putting on my clown costume as i foolishly expect kenji and brooklyn to break up in the next season

62 notes • Posted 2021-12-03 21:41:26 GMT

i love how the ninjago fandom either headcanons or draws morro with really nice hair like REALLY nice flowy hair that everyone's jealous of and looks like he uses 45 different products on or greasy messy so flat he may be balding dirty ass hair and there is no in between.

its me I'm the ninjago fandom

67 notes • Posted 2021-10-07 20:23:49 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

swag as hell did not expect to be here this long

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

4 notes · View notes

sugarfreecapsicle · 4 years

Text

the library card

A/N: Okay so two of my faves had amazing challenges out: @cake-writes & @bitchassbucky and how could I not join?? Please go follow them, they are brilliant and lovely and all things good in the world. I am so grateful to know them both and to call them my friends. I hope you both enjoy!!

bitchassbucky’s holiday writing challenge

cake’s 1940′s challenge

warnings: mentions of war and war-related things such as weapons and wounds, pining, fluff, kissing, injury

pairing: bucky x reader

Even at camp, Bucky can’t escape the frigid cold - a fire of any significance to comfort would alert any number of civilians, army, Nazi to their location in a radius of three to five miles. Kilometers here in Germany. Not that it matters to his numbing fingers under the obscured task of fixing his damn buttons. Visible breath fogs his view, resulting in a few too many pokes through sensitive fingertip skin before the dull void crept through them.

Surrounded in olive green, muddy brown, midnight he can take this risk. The final stitch in place, he pulls his lighter close enough to light the wrinkled, seamed letter.

I got the job, my darling! Tomorrow your girl will be a real librarian in Brooklyn - can you believe it? They even let me register you for your own library card. Now you have obligations to get back home safe to me. You’ve got so much reading to do!

Instead of a photo, you’d enclosed a little paper card with all his pertinent information included - his full name, an identification number, the name and address of the Brooklyn Public Library. A bona fide reader even here in the wilderness.

The card’s ink had smudged a bit, as present and intimate as the dog tags on his neck. You, he kept specifically in his left breast pocket. Every letter, every telegram.

The tune starts quiet and soft in the back of his throat, dry lips mouthing the words to no one but himself.

You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

Fresh tears well at the corners of his eyes, spill one by one down grimy cheeks and unshaven stubble. Then, he hears the low hum of approaching planes, and his stomach lurches.

—-

Banners danced along the fresh walls of the Brooklyn Public on your first day of the job. Posters encouraging citizens to do their part, support the men overseas, fight the good fight emblazoned every space unoccupied by shelves of books.

Leather and vanilla, fresh ink. Even the pleasant thud of rubber stamps became the equivalent of the heartbeat of your library. One of many librarians, your team took pride in a job well done, a child’s awed expression with a new book in hand.

After lunch you’d be reading to a small group of almost-school-aged children. You sighed happily, if a little longingly.

One day. One day your soldier would come home. Until then, you’d hum his favorite song.

—-

Mortars and bullets littered the air, ground, his friends. Each thud of a body churned in his gut, his gun held close as a baby to his body. Distance. He needed distance.

Deep in the trenches, far from the bird’s eye view preferred by a skilled sniper, Bucky’s chest heaved in gulps of mossy air.

A scream, a wail, a battle cry. Pure adrenaline in his veins. His legs surged him onward as his ears rang, deafened to all other noise except her sleep-heavy morning voice.

You make me happy when skies are grey

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please don’t take my sunshine away

—-

You couldn’t read the Daily Eagle anymore, not with the headlines touting the worst of men, the death, the cruelty of nations. Doubt weighed your heart - an anchor, broke it day after day.

The facade of optimistic determination aged like soured milk. Watching families torn apart by selfishness and greed and hate day, even in your pretty library.

Not enough of the soldiers came home.

Yours hadn’t yet, and he promised.

The soup you had for lunch only gurgled in your stomach. You hungered for his presence, the reassurance that your Bucky was safe. The not knowing of it all wrecked you so completely.

Then came a letter.

Coming home. Safe. Bucky.

—-

The terror haunted him still - Bucky could smell the muck and lead and blood every morning when he woke. More than once already, he’d fallen out of bed with a phantom limb, the left arm from his shoulder down now gone.

For once, Steve saved him from an unfair fight. He owed Steve everything anyway, all the love and brotherhood any guy could hope for between them. Steve had helped him pin the sleeve of his coat, too, on the way over to Brooklyn Public Library.

Busy for a Tuesday so close to Christmas, Bucky thought as he surveyed the various patrons milling through the glass doorways. Heart thudding the same as his newly polished boots, the doors scared him almost as much as the face of his former captor.

Inside, the world changed into something other. War no longer existed - calm quiet, studious, polite. Not tense quiet of night in hiding, watching, waiting for the enemy to appear from the dim light of camp. No need for a rifle. No need for a blade.

“Can I help you?”

She wasn’t you. Part of him wished for this to be so easy.

“I need help finding someone, if that’s alright,” he muttered, right hand flexing nervously in his pocket. Another heartbeat in his hand.

He said your name out loud for the first time in months, whisper quiet as if to keep you sacred as a secret between friends. She beamed and ushered him quickly to the children’s section near the back of the right side of the expansive room.

Murmurs bounced off the wooden shelves, cushioned thoughts and wishes on donated oak. Bucky tried not to wince, his skin itching all over with nerves and what-if’s.

Then he saw you.

And oh.

What a vision.

Boots scraped on the new floor, heels touching, posture at full attention. A boy again.

A periwinkle dress, cut and layered just the way you’d always liked. Your makeup done simply, accenting the peaks and valleys of your face, and those pearl earrings. Faux pearl, but nobody who mattered could tell the difference. Bucky wanted to buy you a real necklace, eventually real earrings. And a ring. Anything with potential to make you glow like the sun.

The way you glow when you’d seen him standing there like a dope. Tears fall before you were able to get to your feet and rush to him, arms around him as if he might dissipate if you let go. His right arm hooked around you, tight and unyielding, face pressed close to your ear.

You sobbed, taking inventory of every minuscule part of his face. Violet bags under his eyes, making the blue all the more stunning. Bucky, your very real and tangible Bucky, looked beaten and as worn as the army-issue boots he wore. He cried, he wriggled with sobs in your arms, leaned where your hands brushed.

“Darling, you made it home for Christmas!”

He choked, head down, lips pressed between angry teeth. Your hands draped over his shoulders at the back of his neck, moved forward, and -

Bucky flinched in shame. No left arm. Less of a man. The worst of it, your hand moves instead to his face again and urges his eyes upward.

“Sarge, I think you may have some stories to tell me instead.”

He didn’t hold back the watery scoff, the salty kiss to your lips or the tender I love you.

#abitchassholiday #cake’s 1940s challenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff #bucky angst #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader

371 notes · View notes

trillian-anders · 4 years

Text

amor de mi vida - 1944

pairing: bucky barnes x latinx!reader

warnings: racism, prejudice, fluff, angst, graphic descriptions of concentration camps/gore

word count: 2686

description: Bucky Barnes is a sweet young Brooklyn boy, just on the cusp of manhood, a hopeless romantic that falls in love with almost every girl he sees. when he sets his eyes on a young girl fresh off the boat from Cuba he finds out how hard love can really be.

for @cake-writes 1940s challenge.

note: in this year’s letters bucky goes into detail about what he sees out on the war front, it might be upsetting.

In the middle of Harlem, almost an hour on the train from Brooklyn there was a movie theater you could go to. One that showed the movies of the war effort. Moving pictures that showed Captain America and the Howling Commandos. You could see him there, large and in black and white. Your husband. You cried the first time you saw him in action.

You wrote to him about seeing it. His hair was a little longer than he’d kept it at home. His face was more serious. You could see the dark circles under his eyes that sparked the memory of how he wrote to you about the lack of sleep. How he was always tired now. How the first thing he was going to do after getting home, aside from kissing you and eating dinner at his Ma’s, was sleep.

He’d lost weight. You knew he wasn’t able to eat enough. Not like when he was home. You knew it was something he had to deal with. His last letter talked a little about hunger. The chocolate bars they gave them in their rations, he wrote, were chalky but the sweetest thing he’d had in a while.

He asked if you’d make the dulce de leche you’d made not long before he’d left. Your Mother’s guilty pleasure. He said he could taste it in his dreams. That’s what he wanted, that and his Ma’s spice cake. He wrote about boliche and his Ma’s roast chicken. He wrote about getting ice cream at the soda shop, having a burger at his favorite diner.

You watched a man you couldn’t believe was actually Steve lay out plans on the hood of a war vehicle. Laying out plans for a mission already completed. Your husband, a man you hadn’t seen in two years, fighting tirelessly beside him. You only hoped he would continue to do so. And that this war will end and he will be home soon.

“I wanted to apologize.” Winnie lay her hand over yours, “I was taken off guard by what she said,” Winnie stopped by in the morning bearing a loaf of banana bread wrapped in cloth, still warm from the oven. “I shouldn’t have let her say those things about you.” Truth be told you’d already forgiven Winnie. You could understand that it’s hard, but times were changing. Slowly. But they were.

“Thank you.” For the apology. Winnie cried when you opened the door, it broke your heart a bit. George conveyed her sorrow to you a bit earlier in the week. And the girls came over once or twice to check in and brought food with them each time, undoubtedly made by Winnie.

Bucky and Steve. The Howling Commandos. He didn’t outright say it, but he was doing dangerous work. That you knew. These side missions, these bases they were infiltrating, something to do with a cell called Hydra. A brutal underbelly of the Nazi regime. Something deeper, more sinister with worse intentions.

It made your heart leap in your chest every time there was a knock on the door. The fear that it would be someone from the government coming to tell you that Bucky was gone. That he wasn’t coming home.

But his letters kept coming. Fewer in number than they had before.

It’s harder to write when they’ve got us in the middle of nowhere. He says. They ship the commandos all over Europe. Chasing after Hydra cells. He sends out the letters in a thick stack when he can. Steve met a woman, he says. Margaret Carter.

Bucky says you’d like her. And how when they get home the four of you should go out. A double date. Some realm of normalcy after the horrors he sees out there.

He talks about something truly horrible. They were skin and bones, these kids. These people. Starved half to death. Flies on their bodies as though they were already dead. Taken from the concentration camps and put in these Hydra facilities to be experimented on. Bodies left to rot in the cells with them.

The smell, he says. He doesn’t think he will ever forget that smell.

These aren’t in the letters he sends to his family.

He said he started having nightmares. He couldn’t understand how someone could do something so evil. To hate someone so passionately for what they believed. For who they were. But then again, he hates them for what they believed, for who they were. These monsters who ripped people from their homes and starve, beat, and kill them.

He just wants to be home. He sends a pressed peony on your anniversary.

I love you, he says, more than anything. I can’t wait to see you again.

He acts like he’s not afraid, because he doesn’t want to worry you. He says that the allies are winning, that he’ll be home in no time.

“Are you Y/N Barnes?” Usually you don’t get bothered while out. Most women who shopped at this grocery store ignored you, the rumors of whether you were hired help or housewife circulated, but they were all too afraid to ask. It was impolite after all. And most believed you were the Help regardless.

“Yes, can I help you?” Your english had gotten better but was still heavily accented. The woman behind you had a soft smile, you didn’t recognize her as someone you knew but the younger girl behind her looked to be Becca’s age. The Mother blushed,

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Her voice soft, so those around could not overhear, she stepped closer to you, “My daughter is infatuated with the dress Rebecca Barnes was wearing last Sunday in church and Rebecca says that you’re the one who made it.” You did. It was a soft blue for the oncoming spring. Yellow daisies hand stitched into the skirt.

“I did.” The basket in your hands was growing heavy with the fresh peaches they’d recently gotten in, you weren’t sure where this woman was going with this.

“Would you be able to make my daughter a dress just as fine?” The woman asked, “I’d be happy to pay you.” The young girl, fourteen, looked hopeful behind her mother. “A dress like that would probably be ten dollars in the store? Does that sound fair?”

“What color would you like?” Ten dollars was good money for a dress. You couldn’t say no and the woman and her daughter were both very sweet. You’d worked hard on the dress for seven days before she came to pick it up. Her daughter cooing over the fabric and turning around in the mirror as you made final measurements. The blush pink and white stitching, blush pink roses soft in the hem.

“Thank you very much.” The Mother, handing you the money as payment for the dress now zipped in a garment bag they’d brought. “I’m sure once I wring a little more out of my husband's pockets we will be back for more.”

One dress became another, and another Mother wanted a dress for her daughter, and then the other girls in Becca’s class asking for dresses. Suddenly you were making your own money, not in the factory this time, but enough to keep your fingers busy and give you something to do during the day with the help of Winnie.

Winnie would help you measure and fit the girls. She would help you with the basic stitching when the orders piled up, you would work on the finer details. The small stitching. The tug and pull of forming flowers.

You excitedly wrote to Bucky about it.

Once you were married he didn’t want you working at the factory anymore. “It’s a death trap.” He explained. But people could get away with a lot when it came to immigrants. Poor working conditions, not having the proper ventilation, and the long hours. You were doing the very thing he encouraged you to do all along.

But making dresses for family was vastly different than making dresses for strangers. When prom season came around you were up to your ears in tulle and velvet.

It seemed a little arbitrary, but he praised you for it anyway. You imagined him covered in dirt, out in the heat of summer, blood on his boots and an empty belly, writing this letter telling you how proud he was that you were doing something you loved doing. It felt heavy in your stomach.

Like it was unfair.

But his checks went into the same account you put this money into. And it was good money. A plan for the future.

A woman brought her baby once. A sweet fat little thing. Yes, she wailed and cried, she tugged on your hair and just about ripped the earring out of your ear but it gave a new craving. You wanted to start a family.

You thanked God that you hadn’t gotten pregnant before Bucky left, a baby was hard to handle alone. And with the stress and heartache with him being overseas you weren’t sure you could have handled having a baby going on two years old now. But when he got home, it was something to be brought up. A maternal craving you didn’t know you had.

The summer brought backyard barbecues and trips to the beach. For Bucky it was a little different.

He wrote about some nice things. The countryside. Steve rambling incessantly about his new girl. A village that made them a decent meal. He said that he’d forgotten what good food tasted like. He wrote about how he got to sleep in an actual bed for the first time in a while. About how he got to meet Howard Stark. That Steve knew him. That Stark helped him become whatever he is now. Stronger, faster, a super soldier.

Stark was talking about starting an organization to deal with people like this, Hydra. To keep groups like this from taking root. He offered Bucky a job when he gets back to New York. But that would be a conversation for another day, he writes, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do.

He also wrote about the Russians liberating a camp, how they felt like they were getting closer to the goal. He said this time next year he should be home with you the way it’s looking now. There were a number of hydra bases left, but they’ve spent the better part of a year eradicating them.

These letters that were being read by you now, albeit slowly, but Suzy was no longer looking over your shoulder became brazen, a little racy.

Bucky wrote about how he dreams of you, every night. How you feel against him. How you taste on his tongue. You felt heat grow in your cheeks reading about it. He talked about how he looked at your picture every day, how he craved your lips. How your hair felt in his hands. How your body felt under his.

You wrote back about tracing your fingers over his back, trailing your lips there. The closeness that sex brought you. How it made you feel. A breath apart and panting with it. The reunion was craved by both sides. The longing in the letters was clear. But it quickly turned sour.

There was a husband, he wrote, in one of the villages. He’d gotten to safety. But his wife was taken. There was a Hydra base nearby. These men, he wrote, come whenever they want, whatever time of day they want, and they rob these people who have no means to defend themselves. When they found the base, it was similar to the others. He didn’t want you to know what conditions he was put under, so he never described it to you. But you could assume it was terrible with the way they found the people there.

The man’s wife was dead. And he described how this man fell in the street. The emotion of it, raw and powerful. It broke your heart. He lamented about how the man told him that he’d met his love as a child. He spent his entire life with her. And now she’s gone. He asked what he should do. Because he didn’t know. And he wasn’t the only civilian who experienced loss that day.

The sorrow was palpable, he wrote, there were no songs of victory by the campfire that night. There was no celebration. The village was small enough that everyone lost someone, and it was felt.

The summer closed with the boys back in London, seemingly the home base for whatever missions they’d been working on. And there was something big, or so Bucky eluded to. He couldn’t say to compromise the mission, but it was something big. He didn’t know exactly what would happen, but it was the beginning of the end, the real end. Of Hydra and Nazi Germany.

It gave you hope. Maybe he’ll be home soon. Maybe this war will finally be over and he’ll be home, safe.

Communication was tight for the rest of the year. Something you chose to ignore by making the girl’s fall and winter dresses. Throwing yourself into your dress orders, an entire room in the house, one that would, god willing, be a room for one of your future children, covered in crushed blue velvet and rich greens and reds. You’d gotten a beautiful champagne colored tule you couldn’t help but buy along with some frivolous ribbons and playful buttons to change up the looks of the back of the dresses.

It was something easy to focus on, mindful and relaxing tasks that took your mind off of the fact that letters were fewer than ever and your husband was thousands of miles away doing truly dangerous work.

The Barnes household was buzzing with activity. All morning preparations for Christmas dinner, straight after Church you found yourself in the Barnes’ kitchen peeling potatoes, cutting carrots, and trussing a turkey.

Softly in the background was a memory of last year. I’ll Be Home for Christmas. The optimism of last year drowned with the optimism for next year. Bucky said he feels like it will be over soon. And hopefully it will be.

There was a stack of presents accumulated from last year's Christmas and birthdays, and the year before’s. Waiting for him to open.

“Maybe he’ll be home by his birthday.” Ginny was twenty and beautiful, now with a steady boyfriend you were sure would propose any day now.

The room was light and hopeful. George Barnes was stringing cranberries with Rebecca and Suzy, and now eighteen-year-old Ruth was reading a letter that had just arrived for the family.

“They got to see a USO show before going back out.” Ruth reads, “Dinah Shore.” You looked at her confused. You didn’t know who Dinah Shore was. “She sings ‘Yes, My Darling Daughter’, she was in ‘Thank Your Stars’.” You shake your head, never having heard the song or seen that movie before. Ruth shrugs, a smile on her face, “She’s blonde and pretty.” As an explanation to why they would have Dinah Shore try to raise the morale of the troops. A laugh was shared. “He said that he’s never going to eat another can of beans for the rest of his life.”

You focused on placing the turkey in the oven. There was some unfound jealousy at the thought of your husband screaming and shouting, hollering at a woman sent to perform for them. It was dumb, but it was there.

You tried to remind yourself about his last letter, the one he’d written before he left for his mission. He’d written enough to stagger out some letters, but you were afraid they were going to stop coming all together. You felt like you were being silly having jealousy about some woman who you didn’t even know. And it quickly went away as you thought about maybe this time next year. Maybe it’ll be all over. And that extra spot at the table will be filled.

You could only hope.

taglist // @corneliabarnes @bookish-shristi @saturnki @jennmurawski13 @geeksareunique @albinotigerpython @cake-writes @iheartsebastianstan @000bananaclip000 @shadowbusiness @sprinkleofbooty @gifsbysimplysonia @vhsbarnes @loseralert @wendaiii @mcueveryday @alwaysbenhardysgirl @beck-alicious

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #latinx!reader #latina!reader #1940s!bucky barnes #1940s au #the falcon and the winter soldier #steve rogers #captain america #sebastian stan

73 notes · View notes

fletcherr · 4 years

Text

hi ! i’m maren and i’m bad at intros ! and bios ! and things in general ! ... why am i here again ? uhm. anyway ! this is fletcher and uh ... he hates it here askdjfs like i can’t lie i’m so sorry but for the time being it’s ... lowkey the truth ? i’m writing this part of the post first so fingers crossed i manage to keep this short and to the point. if there’s no tldr it’s because this was supposed to be it. ( spoiler ; i failed. it’s so fucking long you literally do not have to read it i am so sorry. ) i’m super excited to be here and cannot wait to get to know you and your muses and be a part of this amazing group !!

THE APP !

˖ °╰ ⌜ [ MUSE TEN, ROBERT PATTINSON, 31, CIS MALE, HE/HIM ] hey, have you seen FLETCHER DUNCAN ? last time i saw them i think they were hanging around THE ROOFTOP. they can kind of be VEHEMENT but can also be pretty HAUGHTY. they’re often caught listening to SUPERSTAR SH*T - DOMINIC FIKE ! they also tend to remind me of cheap cigarettes put out in still half full glasses of rare bourbon, flipping off paparazzi, showing up to important meetings bleary-eyed and twenty minutes late, wearing sunglasses inside and black hoodies on the hottest day of summer, feeling uninspired for months then writing three albums worth of songs in two weeks ! let me know if you’ve seen them around, they’ve been working at the championship around FOUR MONTHS and they’re late for their shift !

THE BASICS !

full name: fletcher ralph duncan ( born fletcher ralph irvine )

nicknames: prefers fletcher, but is okay with fletch or duncan

date of birth: november 18th, 1989

gender: cis male

pronouns: he / him

height: 6′1

tattoos: some stupid ones without any deeper meaning to them on his arms and thighs, for sure

THE ( VERY ) IN - DEPTH ! tw for mentions of abuse of drugs and alcohol, terminal illness, hospitals, and death

after years of marriage, fletcher’s parents had him when they were both about to enter their forties, as one last, final attempt to find back to the love they’d had for each other when they started dating way back in high school. it didn’t work. his father left when fletcher was four; leaving divorce papers on the kitchen table two weeks before christmas. him and his mother, winnie, moved from one of the suburbs to a smaller, more affordable apartment in brooklyn. they were never quite comfortable, money-wise, but they didn’t struggle either. two years after the move, his mother started seeing a guy she’d been introduced to through friends from work. fletcher adored richard from the first time they met, and as the years went by he came to consider him more of a dad than he ever did the one who left. that’s probably why he didn’t mourn when his father passed suddenly and unexpectedly the summer he turned ten. the following summer, winnie and richard married, and both her and fletcher completely rid themselves of the man who walked out on them when they both changed their last name from his to richard’s - duncan.

when richard moved in, he’d brought an electric guitar and a sparse record collection with him. these were fletcher’s first real introduction to music. he dove in head first. there’s no telling how many evenings they sat in the living room, records playing, or fletcher practicing on the guitar until he was caught up with his dad’s guitar skills. turns out, he was actually a bit of a natural. after he’d mastered his first instrument, he moved onto another. his mother - who’d been a classically trained, lifetimes ago - taught him to the best of her ability on a keyboard they got from a yard sale. he spent hours at a time in record stores. championship vinyl had always been richard’s favorite, and it wasn’t long until it was his favorite too. consuming music wasn’t enough, though. by the time he was in high school, fletcher was writing his own songs; creating his own music. of course - none of it was ever remotely up to par with the songs he kept discovering, but it didn’t matter. him and two kindred spirits he met at school formed a band, performing covers and the stuff he wrote. to afford actual gig gear - not that they ever booked many of those - fletcher applied for a part time job the only place he could think to; championship vinyl. though he'd been a regular for the better part of a decade by that time, he was still in disbelief and awe when he got the job.

fletcher thrived at championship. he took on all the shifts his schedule would allow him, and even skipped class to cover for anyone that asked. even when he was off the clock, he’d hang around. if he wasn’t flicking through new inventory or catching up with the whoever was at work, he’d be sitting on the rooftop with his guitar, a pen and a roll of receipt paper - scratching down song ideas and testing out new material. things were looking up; he was a creatively fulfilled high school senior with a job he loved, parents that supported- and loved him unconditionally, and he’d just been accepted into nyu. therefore, it rocked his world when his dad stopped by during one of his shifts, only to collapse while fletcher had his back turned to find a rare vinyl he’d set aside for him as a surprise.

the diagnosis was a death sentence. months flew by in the blink of an eye, and he watched the only dad he’d ever truly known wither away before his eyes. weeks shy of a year to the date of the diagnosis, on the day richard duncan passed away, his son brought the old record player and the by now weathered records from the brooklyn apartment to the hospital room. he drew his last breath surrounded by the music and the family he loved.

not recently having gone through the same kind of world crumbling sorrow and the revelation about not wasting away and following your dreams that walks that’s bound to follow, his bandmates weren’t all that keen on the plan fletcher presented them with; movin to la and making it in music. really making it. with one of three members hellbent on leaving, the band broke up. they never could agree on a name, anyway. he turned in his resignation at championship, and jokingly promised james namsen to not come back until he’d won a grammy. winnie, though heartbroken to first lose the love of her life, and now having her son move away, had nothing but support and encouragement to offer when he announced he’d be dropping out of college to pursue music.

the first two years, nothing happened. he was living and working in downtown la; the apartment he shared with four roommates was just shy of being a shoebox, and the franchise record store he eventually scored a job at lacked the soul and the hum of energy he was used to from championship back in new york. just as ambition and hope was wearing thin, things were starting to look up for him. he was meeting the right people in the right places, at the right times. after opening for a few up and coming acts, he was approached by a manager, who in turn introduced him to a few labels. though he was very aware he wasn’t a strong vocalist, he was confident in himself as a musician and a songwriter, and it seemed so was the internationally renowned label that ended up offering him a contract. his first single dropped not even a year later, soon followed by his debut album.

though his star was slowly rising, the album made only a miniscule splash. he toured it as an opening act and played a handful of shows on each coast. going back into the studio to work on the next album felt different. making the first one hadn’t felt authentic. not the process, nor the result. he’d been too agreeable; too eager to please and too eager to show he was worth everyone’s time and money. this time around, he was more assertive and demanded more control over the creative process. less co-writers were brought in, and he now had a say in which producers he worked with. his sophomore album released to generally positive reviews and ratings, but it seemed that would be it. then, almost over night, his shit was doing numbers. big numbers.

sure - his label was running some promo for his sophomore album, but it seemed most people were catching wind of his stuff by word of mouth. people were actually buying his albums. both of them. when tickets to his second headline tour went on sale, they sold out in days. dates were added and venues were upgraded to answer the growing demand for tickets as more and more people found his music. he was playing famous venues now; legendary venues. festivals with hundreds of thousands of attendees. all over the country. all over the world. if he didn’t have a microphone or a guitar in his hand, he had a beer. or vodka. maybe whiskey. sometimes a joint, sometimes pills. he was at parties, then he was hosting parties. then he was at parties hosted in his honor. for the first time in his life, he had money. hard, real, fuck you money. he paid off the student loan he’d racked up during his one year stint at nyu, and the mortgage on the apartment he’d grown up in. he bought a house in beverly hills, and a two story apartment in brooklyn - both of which had shelves custom made for the gilded statuettes and trophies declaring him to be the best in a slew of categories. he’d done it. he was twenty-six and on top of the world. invincible. and then his mom's heart gave out.

for the three years that followed, his career suffered as he partied harder. friends he’d known for years disappeared, and were replaced with new faces that all blurred together. there were scandals, but they too were all a blur - leaked pictures and videos; shows he decided last minute he didn’t wanna do; shows he couldn’t do because he showed up too far gone to stand upright. people who got too close to him on one of the bad days, who’s faces he scarred forever. arrests, and settlements made outside of court. the label was getting antsy too, and when it passed the two year mark of the last time he’d set foot in the studio, his team - headed by the same manager that been with him through it all; that’d seen potential and believed in him all those years ago - pleaded with him to get help. begrudgingly, fletcher agreed. after a few months at rehab, he returned - clean, and determined to get back to work. the process was longwinded and intense, but the finished product was, in his eyes, solid gold. and - luckily? surprisingly? - the world at large agreed.

he toured the album with dates booked at relatively smaller venues this time around, but everywhere was packed full to the brim with people. throughout the time working on the album he’d been doing okay; staying sober and surrounding himself with good intentioned people. but being back on the road took a toll on him he hadn’t expected, and it didn’t take long for him to turn to alcohol when it was so easily accessible all around him, at all times. still, things were fine, and he was even relearning to appreciate the electric energy of performing live in front of an audience. to celebrate the last show of the us leg of the tour, the label threw an afterparty for the band, the team, the crew, and their friends. as people were starting to leaving the venue, fletcher sent some members of his band and a couple of their friends ahead with a key to his suite at a hotel nearby, while he thanked the label executives that’d been at the show. when he showed up, a glass was shoved into his hand, and as the party picked back up, someone got out the pills they’d kept at the bottom of their pocket all night. when offered, fletcher - on top of the world once more - accepted.

someone snitched. and to the media, no less. when confronted by his team, he denied it. after being open about his struggle to overcome addiction, something like this would be damning for the reputation he’d rebuilt over the last two years. which is why he lied through his teeth. but then the videos from the suite appeared online, and his ruse was up. the rest of the tour was cancelled, and after completing a thirty day program, he was back in brooklyn.

it took some convincing, but he eventually went along with the ‘find back to your roots by returning to where it all started’ plan his team had cooked up. he also agreed to let someone else run his social media accounts for the time being. how his manager had gotten him a job at championship, fletcher didn’t know. he suspected a monthly bribe the size of his paycheck and then some was involved. but then again, he’d never known james namsen to be that kind of guy. for the first few weeks, he showed up for his shifts - sometimes on time, sometimes not - kept his head down, tried to engage with as few customers and co-workers as possible, then ditched as soon as he was off the clock. but there’d always been something special about the record store on the corner of bedford and sterling. soon enough, he began occasionally going up to the rooftop once his shift was over. approaching customers to offer his service before they approached him. show up early to catch up with whoever was working the shift before him. if he was having a particularly good day, he’d stop by to hang around even if he wasn’t on the schedule. he was well aware he wasn’t always easy to be around - years of living the high life and putting up walls having made him cynical, and standoffish, and discourteous. even if the boy he’d been when he walked out of there years ago was long gone, championship vinyl had stayed the same. and though fletcher’s yet to admit it, being back felt like being home.

#smoking tw #got restless n fed up towards the end so that bit's Particularly bad sorry abt that #and i didn't proofread #you think i'm reading all that? no way #also sorry abt there not being like.. anything concrete abt his personality #feel free to deduce bc you'll probably be right #if you catch me mixing past and present tense no u didn't #mind ur business !!

9 notes · View notes

ryan-spinel · 4 years

Text

CHAPTER TWO

“Perri's Letter and Spinel's Revenge”

It was another boring day at school. Today I avoided Steven and Connie, at least until things cool down. Now Perri and I are walking to her house, later going to see Lexi. I suggested we go right after school, but poor Perri had a meltdown when that phone addicted bitch Sophie teased her about liking Lexi. Saying “A spaz like you can't date someone like Lexi Joel. You have a better chance at hooking up with your catnapping psycho of a friend.”

I would have said “go fuck yourself and stuff your mouth with a dumb jocks cock.”But I kept silent to avoid more trouble. Even though she's a threat to my relationship with Steven, she went too far attacking my wittle buddy. After today, she will pay.

“So. How you feeling bud.” I comforted

“A little better Spinel, thank you, for walking with me.” Perri lamented

She didn't seem any better, so I stopped walking and placed my hands on her shoulders. She jolted a little bit, she does that when someone touches her without her knowing, I need to stop doing that.

“Perri, please don't worry about Sophie. She will never bother you again.” I reassured Perri

“You don't know that Spinel, you can't just make her disappear.” Perry doubted

The truth is I can, and I will.

“Just, please trust me okay. She won't hurt you anymore.” I asserted, starting to get annoyed

“I-,hmm. Okay Spinel, I trust you. Now can we please go to my place.” Perri faltered, noticing me getting annoyed.

Even though Perri and I been friends for a while, there were times I lost my shit. One time in elementary 5, Perri had this cute green alien head chewy. Back then Perri would chew on the collar of her shirt, so Brooklyn got it as an alternative. Later, a boy by the name of Ronaldo ask if he could play with it. Perri didn't say anything, she looked away from the fat little shit. He started to get annoyed and grabbed her arm. When I saw tears running down the poor kids face, I said. “Don't touch my fucking friend, she doesn't want to share. So piss of you bitch-ass comic book reading fat pussy.” After I stand up for my nerdy buddy, the little shit started to ball his eyes out. So I got detention for the weekend, and then Grandmother Whitney put a bar of soap in my mouth. She's an amazing Grandmother, but if you push her buttons she can be a mean old hag.

We finally arrive at Perri's place, it's a cute little cabin-like house. With a more rustic style unlike my home, a traditional Japanese minka. Once we walked to the door, we were greeted by the outgoing Brooklyn Fitzgerald. A fierce and friendly soul, who looks out for her friends. She works as a lumberjack at the local saw mill, fell in love with the stubborn lawyer Pearl Harpor and once one first place in the wood chopping competition at the county fair. Brooklyn was always that person you feel comfortable around, she is a great role-model for Perri and always wants the best for her. She's like the cool aunt I never had, and the only adult I feel comfortable around that isn't my family.

“How you doing kids, I made a tray of onigiri for an afternoon snack.” Brooklyn greeted

“Thanks mom, we're here just to get a bite to eat, spinel and I are going to a study group at the library.” Perri replied

Perri doesn't lie often, but she's surprisingly good at it. It's scary if you think about it.

“Well okay Perri, but remember. Always have your phone, come back home before six, and don't walk in Black Hawk Clan territory.” Brooklyn directed

“Well of course mom.” Perri acknowledged while to two of us walk inside

Their house interior was like one of the those shacks in the movie Friday the 13th. Brooklyn kept it very well maintained, she may be a lumberjack but she's a amazing carpenter.

“I'll be back Spinel, I'm just getting some things from my room.” Perri called, going to grab the letter

“Alright Perri.” I concurred while eating some homemade onigiri

“So, umm. Spins, how's Perri doing.” Brooklyn worried, she's not always the serious type. But when she is, you need to listen and shut up.

“She's, okay. Why do you ask?” I denied, having a good feeling what she's going to say.

“I got a call from the school, saying that Perri had a meltdown.” Brooklyn took a deep breath and continued. “Spinel, I know your aware that Perri is a little different than the other kids. She thinks in a different way and does things differently.” Brooklyn fretted

“I think you are aware of this Spinel, but Perri has Autism.” Brooklyn said looking that she's not finished speaking.

I was aware that Perri isn't like other kids, that why I like her. I love that she would ramble on and on about robotics, AI and Elon Musk. I love that she has that burning passion to expand her learning, even if it's just one topic. In a way, Perri's like a little sister to me. I love her because she's unique, not mediocre like those bimbos at school. She's her own person and doesn't follow a crowd.

“There were many incidents that kids would tease her because she's on the spectrum. They would tease her for being jumpy, they would pick on her because she wouldn't play with the other kids. And let's not forget the time a student grabbed her over a god damn chewie.” Brooklyn bawled, on the verge of tears. Even someone as strong as her can feel defeated sometimes.

“I'm scared spinel, I'm scared that my little girl will get herself hurt. After the diagnosis her father couldn't take it and left. Saying that he wanted a normal child with a normal life. Pearl has a hard time dealing with Perri sometimes, but she still cares about her. All I ask is Spinel, please look out for her.”

“Brook, things won't be like this forever. There's a lot of people with autism and live great lives. Overtime they grow and learn how to cope, Perri's still a kid. She's going to be an amazing person one day. Building robots or something. The point is that sometime people outgrow these problems, it's sometimes doesn't bother them or they cope with it. Your very lucky to have a daughter like Perri. You just have to remember that every successful person had those days that they want to give up. But they keep pushing until they reach their goals. Just like Perri.” I monotoned

“You maybe right Spins, Perri has been growing up. It just seems like yesterday she didn't need her chewy anymore.” Brooklyn hoped

“See, everything's going to be okay. Sophie won't bully her anymore, I promise.” I concluded

“Alright Spinel, lets go to the library now. ” Perri intrupted

“Be safe girls, look out for one another.”

It took us 30 minutes by bus to arrive at the Black Hawk clan's main nest, I don't know why they would call it a nest but whatever. Their nest was a giant old warehouse outside of town, it had a barbed wire fence all around the headquarters. Like those fences you see in prisons. There was a giant chain link fence for the entrance, two bikers were guarding it carrying AK-47s.

“Yo what the fuck, you can't be-, ohhhhhh. It's the catnapper. What business do you have with the Black Hawks.” Thug one marveled

“Is that what they're calling me now, it was psycho bitch last week. We don't what any trouble, we just want to see the road captain.”

“Wait are you talking about, Lex. Hah,well Spins, we can't let you just see the road captain. You have to talk to the founder first, she decides not us.” Thug two announced

“Oh for the love of god.” I whispered to myself

“Well, can we see. Fucking, Jasper or someone.” I badgered

These biker act so tough and fearless. But really, their just a bunch of leather-wearing douches.

“Ahhhhh, if it'll make you shut the fuck up then sure. ” thug one complained

The two annoyed thugs opened the gate, Perri and I walk cautiously into the nest.

Inside the warehouse wasn't any better than the outside. On the left side, there was a bar with tables, chairs and stolen arcade game machines. The right side was their business operation, with safes, factory equipment and a security system. Every biker gang has their source of income. It can be drugs,weapons, cigarettes or anything valuable on the yami-ichi.

The Black Hawks are the kingpins in the drug industry, but they don't just sell any type of drug. They created their own drug that is booming in the Japanese black market. It's called Menohoyō, meaning eye-candy in Japanese. Menohoyō is made just like regular eye-drops, because it is eye-drops. The only reason why it's addictive and illegal, is because it's made of 45% of diethylamide. A main chemical component to make LSD. There's been cases all across the world, reaching places like Brazil, United States and even Russia. There has been many gangs and drug cartels trying to replicate this drug, but all of them failed. Today, the Black Hawks dominate the drug industry, even bribing politicians to keep their business running. It's greasy business, that's why I want Lexi to get out when she still has the chance.

In front of us are the three masterminds of the whole operation.

Jasper Alder, the founder of the gang. Sitting on an old puke green recliner and smoking a five inch Pyramid cigar. She was born in Tokyo and was a target for bullying because she has vitiligo. Due to the bullying she became a mean bitch, once she broke a kids arm because she called her giraffe. Later in life, Jasper got into bodybuilding and motorcycles. Causing her to follow the wrong crowd. She got involved in a lot of crazy shit involving rival gangs. Once she turned twenty-three, she created the Black Hawk Clan. She called it that because one day, her father and her were hunting hawks. A giant common black hawk attacked her father and scratched his throat, causing him to bled to death in the middle of the woods. Jasper manage to shot the hawks wing and flew off. For three nights she was searching that hawk. Later found it on the ground near an old Japanese Wisteria. Jasper chose not to put the bird out of its misery, instead she watched it bled out for three minutes. So long story short, she's twenty-five and runs a drug cartel now.

On her left was the president of the clan, Eleanor Monsoon. She was Jasper right-hand gal, those two used to rob gas-stations when they were teens. Eleanor was also known for her great grandfather being in the Imperial guard divisions during WW2. That's where she gets her fierce comanding attitude.

On the right was the Vice President of the clan, Persephone Windsor. Nothing to special about her, all I can say is she's a snobby bitch born in a very rich family, she supply's most of the equipment and weapons. She's a narcissist and a manipulator who will destroy lives to get her way.

“(Puffing a smoke) Well, I didn't expect to see the pip-squeak and the catnapper today. ” Jasper snarled while inhaling on her cigar.

“Let me do the talking Perri, I got this.” I whispered to Perri

“Hi Jasper, hows the gang and so. Also can we talk to Lexi.” I urged, trying to convince the butch

“(Puffing a smoke). Well Spins, if you have business with the road captain you have business with me. Now spill the beans crazy.” Jasper chided

“It has nothing to do with.Business. We want to see Lexi, because-”

“Because I want to get to know her better, and hopefully she'll get out of this dirty, greasy motorcyclist club you call a business.” Perri interrupted me and dared Jasper

Thanks a lot Perri, we're fucked.

“How dare you, a worthless pest like you speaking to the founder like-” Persephone chastised

“Wait. Hold on your saying you want to hangout and bond, with the black hawk clan road captain. Out of all the nerds at your snobby school. You choose an angsty, hot-headed, with drugged up parents and possibly slept with more guys than you know how many bones are in the human body. So tell be spaz, what makes you think a nerd like you, can ever be with someone as fucked up as Lex. Because honestly, you can do better.” Jasper insulted

I saw that Perri was starting to get upset, but instead being sad, she got mad.

“You, you don't know anything. How dare you talk to someone like that, your not any better you, you, you f-f-fucking clod.” Perri exploded

It would take a tiny miracle to get us out of this shit.

However, the three bikers looked at each other with confusion. There was a silent pause, until.

“...............Haaaahahahahahahahaha.hhaaaaaaahaaahahahaahahahahhaaaahahah.” The three clan leaders burst with laughter

Perri expression turned back to sadness, trying to hold in her tears.

“Hahahaaahhaa, is,haha, is that the best you got tiny,hahhahaha. That's fucking pathetic, hahaha. Oh look at me, I WUV Lexi, hahaha.” Jasper mocked

I could see Perri starting to sob, I wanted to say something but that would be a suicide mission.

“Perri and Lexi sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-” the three clan leaders laughed and mocked

“What the fuck is happening, it's like a fucking circus in here. ” Lexi interrupted

Thank God she's here

“Perri, Spinel. What are you guys doing here.” Lexi gasped

“We were going to see you, until these donkey's stop us from doing so.” I explained

Lexi then turned her attention to the brainy-baby.

“Hey, hey, hey. Perri, my dude. I'm here, it's okay.” Lexi tried comforting Perri

“(Whimpering) it's good to see you again rockstar.” Perri sniffled

“It's good to see you to buddy.” Lexi sympathized

Lexi then turned her attention to the three douches

“What the fuck did you three do.” Lexi accused

“Lex, know your place. You do not bark at me, or I'm sending you back on the streets like the runt you are. ” Jasper retaliated

“Well I guess you have to put be back on the fucking streets, because no one talks to my friends like that.” Lexi condemned

It warms my cold heart to see Lex care so much for Perri, it's so sweet.

“Ah you fucking bitch, alright. You can see your, friend now.(inhaling on her cigar).” Jasper said in defeat

“Come on Perri, is there something you wanted to tell me.” Lexi adviced

“One second Lexi.” Perri protested

She turned her direction towards me, running up to me and giving me a hug. It was a tight hug, like a bear hug.

“You are the greatest friend in the world, I'm so lucky to have met you.” Perri chirped

I still didn't understand this platonic affection, this is the second time in a row, and I don't feel anything. My heart feels heavy and silent, there's no emotion. Why am I like this.

But to make her feel better, I hugged her back.

It lasted for 3 minutes, everyone in the warehouse was staring at us. But I didn't care, as long as she's happy.

She finally let go and walk towards Lexi, both of them waving goodbye to me. I guess it wasn't such a bad day after all.

“Hold on Spinel, just a minute.” Jasper asserted

I spoke to soon.

“Even though I'm letting your friend hang with the road captain, you still have to do something for me in return. ” Jasper decided

“Jasper. I can't be your drug mule.” I stated

“Don't worry your panties off, your not delivering drugs. I've chosen something that you may like. Do you know Sophie Turner.” Jasper explained

“What about her.”

“She hasn't been paying her IOU's for the Menohoyō's she's been buying for her parties. She keeps saying “My dad is rich, I'll get your money, stop bugging me, bla bla bla.” So because of her I'm losing money, she's my top buyer in Akuma no tochi. So what I need you to do is, take her out.” Jasper offered

Well isn't that pure irony.

“I think I can do that Jasper, but I'm going to need some equipment.” I demanded

“Sure, anything. You just can't tell the clan was involved.” Jasper added

“I need a hacksaw, trash bags, bleach, cleaning supplies, nails and the key to the saw mill.” I listed

“Done. Go to our SGT at arms, Ruth. She'll get you what you need. Remember Spinel, this never happened.” Jasper concluded

Once I reached the exit, a familiar voice called out for me.

“Spinel, Wait. I want to talk to you!”

Well what do you know, I thought Ryan was the last person who would talk to me here.

“Listen Spinel, I did some thinking and wanted to apologize about yesterday. I took my frustrations out on you, it was wrong. I should have never called you runner-tits, your a beautiful, smart girl. One day, some very lucky guy will meet you. I'm sorry.” Ryan apologized

I didn't expect someone like Ryan to say that, it took a lot of guts to admit something like that. I respect that.

“I forgive you Ryan, no hard feelings.”

“Thank you Spinel, I'll let you go now. But remember, the Black Hawks have your back.” Ryan thanked

“Your welcome, I'll see you around.”

It is time, time to give that bitch what she deserves. Good thing I didn't give all that birthday cake to the meow-meows.

I finally arrive to Sophie's place, no ones home but her. I have everything I need to silence her for good. And it all starts with a piece of cake.

I walked to her door and placed a small pink box on the doorstep. I knocked on the door and hid behind a bush.

“Hello, is some out there. Justin you better not be fucking with me.” Sophie cautioned

“Oh, what's this. (opens the box) aww, it's a piece of cake. I guess Justin isn't a dick after all. ”

Sophie picked up the cake from the box and went back inside, without locking the door. I quietly snuck in behind her, when I found out that she took the bait. I always make the best cakes, thanks to Momma. But for this special occasion, I added my secret ingredient.

I saw her take the first bite, then the second, and finally the third. Until she took her fourth bite.

“Mmmh mhhhh- ACK,ACK. Gahh. Barf.” Sophie said while gagging and puking blood

That's right, the secret ingredient os nails. I placed a couple of small nails in the sweet-treat, hoping it would tear her esophagus apart.

“Aww, did poor wittle Sophie bit off more than she could chew.” I teased her while kneeling down beside her.

“Who's a spaz now bitch. I would have came for your ass later. But you had to pick on my wittle buddy. That's one step to far.” I rasped

I looked at her in disgust while watching her struggle to breathe. This was the first human I ever killed, I'm tired of releasing my pain on cats. Taking them from their owners, putting them in a bag, and slamming that said bag onto the concrete floor! Who ever knew inflicting pain on someone like her can feel so, pleasurable. Reliving. The pure horror in their eyes fills my desire, my desire to butcher these whores that stand in my way. I shouldn't have done this sooner.

“ACK ACK ACK, gahh. Fuck youu, you psychotic cun-(pukes blood). Barf. Huff, puff, huff, puff. Huff...ack....ack...ack.........ah.” Sophie cried her last words.

“Just so you know, it's homemade not store bought.” I joked

Well that took longer than I expected. I had to saw her in ten part, bag them, clean the floor, bleach the floor, dispose any evidence, take the body parts to the saw mill and shred them up. I also had to burn my cloths as well, at least I brought a spare set. But it all ended smoothly. I got my revenge, and now only five more rivals to go. Perri can now see Lexi anytime, I hope they worked out, they'll make a cute couple. Even though school sucked ass at least it ended on a positive note. Now time to go home, and great my amazing famil-.

“Hey. Spinel.”

Okay who could that be.

I turned around wanting to know whose behind me. And oh fuck I wish didn't. This day was perfect for Perri and I, and she's the last person I wanted to see, God damn it!

“Hello Spinel”

“Hello. Connie.”

To be continued

#steven universe #spinel #not hate aloud or risk being blocked #stevinel #my cute little psychopath au #yandere #inspiration #im truly sorry for anyone who is senistive to swearing #spinel x steven #spineven #this may not be suitable for all viewers #2020 #my first fanfic #positive look on autism #actuallyautistic #redinstead #smoking #don't smoke kids #don't do drugs kids

20 notes · View notes