#also i can never seem to get the volume in James' hair right no matter what i try 😭😭 forgive me moonie

[extremelyblackandwhite]

ascendance - 04

PAIRING: mob!bucky barnes x reader

WARNINGS: abduction, age gap (reader is 23, bucky is 37)

A/N: hello!! i hope you enjoy this new chapter as i dive more into bucky’s past. italics in this work symbolise a flashback in case anyone’s confused. hope you enjoy it xx

> NEXT CHAPTER | MASTERLIST

The entrance hall of the Barnes household was pilled up with people. Between his mum barking orders left to right and caterers bringing food in and out, the once silent room turned into a busy crossroads which meant James had retreated back to his room. He was sat down in his bed, cashmere black suit on and hair pushed back, Dead Souls opened on top his legs. He was lost in between the small black letters printed on the yellowing paper, so lost that the sound of his window opening went by him until a loud thump woke him up from his literary daze. Bucky looked up to see his younger sister, sat on the floor of his bedroom by the window with her dress partially on and hair messy due to the windy weather outside. He sighed, closing his book and putting it off to the side.

    - Can’t you climb into your own bedroom? - Bucky got up from bed, leaning down to help her back onto her feet.

    - Yours is closer. - she brushed the dirt off her baby pink dress picked by their mother. - Shouldn’t you be downstairs?

    - Shouldn’t you be in your bedroom? 

    - Touche. - she pointed. - Can you not tell mum? She’ll freak out if she discovers that I went out on dad’s big day. 

    - Go on, I’ll keep mum occupied while you sort out that bird’s nest hair. 

    - Thank you! - she smiled, giving him a short hug. - What am I gonna do when you go to Princeton? Who’s gonna cover for me?

    - I guess you’ll just have to form an alliance with the maids.

Y/N and Bucky were silent, barely speaking to each other if even looking into each other’s eyes. She merely remained there in her operatic costume, the corset doing the best of jobs at enhancing her female features and almost making her look like a femme fatale out of a classical movie in rich red and green fabrics decorated with what he guessed where heavy metal gold pieces resembling precious jewels and golden rings. He did not know which production they were putting on, he hadn’t even heard her sing before but she looked like she belonged in that stage, like she would have been showered in praise the moment the spotlight grazed her. 

She paced around the living room not exactly sure what to do, the beads which made up her skirt and would suddenly peak to show her legs making a slight rustling noise as her eyes studied the book shelf which was filled with tons and tons of books from the classics to mere economy books. Maybe she could read them whenever the tension between of them wasn’t so apparent. She couldn’t help but sometimes look at the badly fixed window and wonder if she could make it, maybe when he wasn’t looking, maybe when he was sleeping yet looking at him; tall, muscular, fast, definetely much stronger than her, she knew that even if she managed to get outside, he would easily get her back. Her mind battled her positive side as she wondered if this was it, if this was home now. Suddenly, her old flat no longer seemed old and she would give everything away if only she could go back, back to being told to do errands that really did not concern her, to stepping on bobby pins laid on the ground, to way too strong makeup which looked ridiculous in proper daylight. She would give everything, if she could go back to what her life had been. 

The man whose name he hadn’t even dignified himself to tell her yet was sat on one of the high chairs by the kitchen with his eyes trained on her. She briskly turned around, arms crossed under her chest with an almost child like pout of someone who had just been punished. In reality, I’m the one who’s being punished here, he thought to himself.

     - You could tell me your name. - she said, not looking into his eyes, instead rubbing her worn out ballet shoes against his hard floor. 

     - You don’t need to know my name. - he was quiet yet imposing. Y/N could not deny he seemed to have a strong presence despite barely raising his voice. It was almost magnetic as if he was made to be looked at, yet she felt he didn’t want to be seen. 

     - What if I need to call out for you? 

     - I would know. There’s no one else here, is it?

Y/N did not reply to this, instead rolling her eyes and sitting down on the couch. There was not much to do in the small one bedroom apartment other than pace around, eat and watch television. Her hand flew over to the remote, pointing it at the TV to turn it on which opened on the news channel. She guessed this was the way she had of now knowing what was happening outside the four walls she was being held captive in. There wasn’t much happening and even if it was, all the local news could talk about was about the upcoming mayoral election. It was a circus with advertisements and rumours flying around about each and every candidate and while it was almost painfully enjoyable to see men over thirty acting like gossip mean girls in school, everyone knew who was gonna win. 

She’d always been told that behind every great man, there’s a great woman and in this particular election it couldn’t be anymore true. The favourite candidate to win, Robert Moore, also known as Bobbie, was married to an senator’s daughter but not just any senator, Senator Barnes. She was too young to remember his policies or even his public persona, yet from what she knew, he had been a very well liked and well respected Senator, coming from a prominent family and building an even more prominent family. Being married to Rebecca Barnes, now Rebecca Barnes-Moore, was a one way ticket to a good career in politics. The two stood in the television screen, side by side in an almost JFK and Jackie Kennedy fashion with sunny smiles looking like the picture perfect Americana couple. It seemed all his ads showed him, his wife and their new born baby. High school sweethearts, it seemed.

    - Are you gonna watch that the whole day? - she turned her head around, looking at his annoyed expression, whiskey glass in hand. 

    - They look good together. 

    - It’s a circus. - he snickered, sitting by her side. 

    - What are you? An anarchist? - those words flew out of her mouth without any filter, mostly out of nuisance. - Her father was a great politician and he is young and likeable.  

     - Young and likeable ... sounds like great political traits. 

     - What do you know about politics?

     - What do you know about politics? Do they have a crash course in politics at whatever company you were in? 

She rolled her eyes, turning the volume up to listen to the broadcaster tell the love story of the future mayor and his wife. Her face softened as she heard what was probably a highly modified version of the actual truth yet she couldn’t help but slightly smile at the idea of it. They seemed in love and as someone who had a degree in pretending to be in love while singing, it warmed her heart to see it. She liked that idea, the idea of Ms and Mrs Americana, the idea of having someone to lean in. Well, she liked the idea of someone. Sure, maybe the man whose name she still didn’t know and was starting to believe was never going to learn was right, it was a circus, all elections are but she couldn’t help but be pulled by the myth of it, by the we against the world mentality no matter how morally wrong it was. 

She continued to watch the coverage of the election run as the man next to her got up from the couch to pick up a phone call. Her hearing slightly moved towards what he was doing, mind always thinking of escaping but even though he was talking on the phone, his gaze was trained of her as if she were his prey. He mumbled something on the phone before turning it off and moving his eyes to text someone yet after that his eyes were on her once more. 

    - Try not to escape for the next hour.

    - Do you have a nameless anarchy convention to attend?

    - Billy is coming to watch over you. No funny business. 

    - Will. - she corrected him. - He doesn’t like being called Billy. 

    - As long as you don’t pull a mission impossible on him, I will call him whatever you want. 

Will didn’t take long to arrive, dressed in a tennis-like outfit as if he had been pulled away from tennis which sounded like something he’d do. Bucky exchanged a few words with him before leaving the two of them together. He trusted Billy, or Will, was smart enough not to let her escape or run away. God, he didn’t even want to think about what John would do to him if she escaped, much less what he would do to her if she escaped. He made his drive to John’s condo in fifth avenue, parking his bike somewhere before making his way up. The condo was always weirdly filled with chatter talk yet he could see no people, it was as if the ghosts of the people he had taken out followed him in his own home and Bucky couldn’t say he pitied him. After all, he had his own ghosts too. 

He looked into John’s office where he was sat in the couch, the coverage of the election run on the television on low volume. John’s eyes immediately found Bucky’s figure looming at the entrance, never really entering, just standing behind the line which separated the hall from the office. 

     - How’s the roomie? - he motioned his hand for him to come in. - Still pretty?

     - What do you need?

     - I just got an invitation to a fundraiser. Zemo’s going so I want you to go. 

     - I can’t, I have her to watch over Y/N. She’s not very keen on remaining in the flat.

    - Chain her up for all I care. It’s in two weeks and I’ll be damned if I’m there by myself with Zemo. Besides it’s your sister’s fundraiser, I always love to see Rebecca. 

    - She’s not gonna be there. - his jaw locked. - A fundraiser for the mob? It’s mostly free alcohol and networking with them not showing up. 

    - Maybe you should bring your roomie. She’s pretty and if anything I’m sure she can sing and if not maybe she can entertain in another form. 

    - The NYPD is probably looking for her, it’s not wise ...

    - Do you make the rules? - John interrupted him, leaning against the couch with arms crossed. - You seem to have forgotten who makes the rules, soldat. 

    - I just don’t think ...

    - You don’t think. - he interrupted him once more. - This election is important and since I do not have the right person here to get ahead, I will make do with what we have. I don’t give a fuck about what you do when you’re at your flat but she is mine. She is my get out of jail card. Are we clear, soldat?

    - Yes. 

    - You can go now. - he dismissed him. Bucky turned around, eyes open wide yet emotionless face as if he were disconnected from his own consciousness. He guessed it was for the best to remain disconnected, to not know what was going on.

He drove himself back home, standing alone at night looking at his flat; the window still broken while the lights were flickering. He thought about running off, starting his bike and running off into the night and just drive until the tank was empty but he couldn’t. He had strings, strings which kept him tied to where he was right now. He guessed that now she was another string keeping him here. 

Bucky sighed as he walked back to his flat, opening the door to a rather serene sight. Will was by the kitchen watching the football game while Y/N was laid across the couch, book in hand which he recognised as one of his old ones. Her hair was different, she probably had taken off her wig and for the first time since those few minutes in the costume room. It looked soft, framing her face and getting in front of her eyes as she herself got lost in the room. Will excused himself, leaving just as he noticed Bucky before he could be yelled at by using his television. Yet again, Y/N and Bucky were alone in that small flat. She looked up from the book and at him before returning to read.

He left her with the book, walking to his bedroom which was probably now more hers than his to grab one of trousers and hoodies before returning back to the living room. Still reading. At least she wasn’t trying to break any more windows. He put the hoodie and trousers by her side, turning off the television as more screams for the football match came through. 

   - You can change into those. - he pointed at the clothing, getting her attention as she closed the book. - Those beads can’t be comfortable. 

   - Oh 

   - The bathroom’s there. - he pointed at one of the few doors in the flat. - You can shower too, there’s towels. 

   - Thank you. - she grabbed the things he had put out for her before leaving him in the living room by himself.

And then it was just him once more, alone, tied to this city which screamed everyone’s name but his.

TAGLIST: @lookiamtrying​ @buckyswillows​ @blossomslibrary​ @juliesland​ @iloveshawnieboi​ @unmagically​ @red-head011​ @poisonous00​ 

[hepalien]

Shrunkyclunks (Modern Bucky/Cap Steve) Fic Rec

Hate Sex & Hair Protocol by @maddiewritesstucky - Mature, 1.8k

SHIELD Agent Bucky, UST, Enemies to Lovers (in Steve’s head), Humor

They’re all full of shit, Steve decides.

His team don’t have a clue what they’re talking about, running their mouths about the way he and Bucky look at each other; the tension that seems to be at a constant near-snapping point between them.

'It’s called annoyance' Steve wants to yell in each of their faces, loud and one by one. It’s the pain of having to exist every day in close proximity with someone who drives you out of your fucking mind.

---

In which Steve discovers that ire and desire may just exist side by side in his brain.

Stop interrupting my grinding series by @rohkeutta - Teen, 2.5k

Nurse Bucky, Wrong Number, Fluff, Humor

“I tried to call Sam,” Captain America says, bewildered. He’s sprinting like Usain Bolt and doesn’t sound even a little out of breath. Fucker. “Who’re you?”

“Someone who’s watching you live on TV,” Bucky tells him as the tiny patriotic figure on the screen takes the turns like he instructed. Bucky should probably be a lot more freaked out about this, but honestly? After a tour in the Middle East and six years as a nurse in New York, even this isn’t enough to ruffle him. One sees a lot of shit in the ER. “Also, you better hang up now, that thing is behind the next bend.”

“Uh, okay,” Captain America says. “Thanks?”

“Whatever,” Bucky says, disconnects the call and turns the TV off to get ready for his shift.

Save a Horse, Ride a Captain by @galwednesday - Teen, 2.7k

War Vet Bucky, Meet Cute, Fluff, Humor, Modern Howlies

Bucky tapped him on the shoulder, swaying back and forth a little as he waited for the man to turn around. “Hello,” he said, and then promptly forgot what else he was going to say, because this guy was fucking beautiful. “Wow. Good face.”

Two of the guy’s friends, a man wearing a suit that fit so well it had to be bespoke and a man with a cute little gap between his front teeth, started cracking up. The petite redhead sitting next to them cocked her head to the side and pulled her phone out of her handbag. Beautiful Face just looked kind of pained, so Bucky redirected. He was a gentleman. He could take a hint. No hitting on beautiful guys who were uncomfortable with that sort of thing, no matter how lickable their jawlines were.

“Hello,” he repeated, doing his best to mind his manners. “I’m very sorry to bother you. Can I have a piggy-back ride?”

You Make My Heart Skip A Beet by @musette22 - Teen, 3.8k

Chef Bucky, POV Outsider, Fluff, Humor

“I made soda bread.”

Steve lets out the 6’2” supersoldier equivalent of a squeak. “Oh, I love soda bread,” he says eagerly, rolling forward on the balls of his feet like he does when he gets excited. “My mom used to make it all the time when I was growing up.”

The tips of Barnes’s ears turn red, and he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “I know.”

more under the cut

Cafe Au Écoute by @littlesystems - Teen, 3.8k

Coffee Shop AU

No matter where Steve goes, there's always the chance that he'll overhear a conversation about himself - or rather, Captain America. This coffee shop is no different. The fact that he keeps eavesdropping well past the point of plausible deniability is another matter entirely.

#TweetMeDaddy by StarSpangled - Teen, 4.1k

SHIELD Employee Bucky, Misunderstandings, Crack, Humor

Coulson, for his part, stares up at Bucky with such a betrayed look of frozen horror that Natasha actually goes the extra step and presses another button, capturing the moment and airdropping the photograph to her phone for posterity. When he speaks, his voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. “Why…?” He swallows and starts again, trying for some semblance of normality. “...Why would you tweet something like that?!”

“If you must know, sir,” and somehow he manages to make ‘sir’ come out with the same inflection most people reserve for ‘motherfucking son of a bitch’, “it’s because I have a difficult time doing my job when my job involves monitoring the man with the best fucking ass in the United States of America.” He slowly lowers himself back into his seat until he’s at eye level, making extreme eye contact with Coulson until Coulson turns away to make mortified eye contact in Natasha’s general direction through the one-way glass. Natasha would take another picture, if she weren’t too busy catching Steve’s red-faced sputtering. “Sometimes, I vent to my Twitter followers. Sometimes, it’s about hot men with washboard abs. Can I go now, or do you need a graphic description of how I pleasure myself at night?”

at first chance i'd take the bed warmed by the body by @spacebuck - Explicit, 8.2k

YouTuber Bucky

This close, Steve can see exactly how beautiful his hands are. He’s never really noticed before, or at least he’s never really had a reason to notice, but the man’s hands are large, tanned like he works outside all day. There’s an endearing callus on the heel of one of his palms, and Steve can’t quite work out when calluses became endearing.

Steve pauses the video. Swallows hard. Casts his eyes around for anything that’ll keep his mind off the hands on his screen, off the words inked into those hands, the delicate shape of a bird’s wing, the curling edge of a vine.

He looks down. The name of the channel is right there, blaring the man’s name right into Steve’s brain until it feels like he’s known it all along.

Bucky Barnes.

OR: the one where Bucky's a youtuber who solves puzzles on camera, and steve's smitten and horny

Came with my cool (I dropped it) by @liionne - Teen, 9.2k

Yoga Instructor Bucky

"When you said I need to loosen up, I didn't think you meant literally."

"I meant it every way. Mentally, emotionally, and physically." Natasha says, and thrusts a yoga mat at him.

there once was a diamond by bloobeary - Teen, 11.3k

Fluff, Thanksgiving

"You," Becca seethes, and hits him with a wooden spoon. "Could have told me," Hits him again. "You were dating Captain America." Final hit, Bucky laughs. He supposes he deserves it, giving her no more information than the fact he was bringing his boyfriend to Thanksgiving dinner at her house and then showing up with Steve.

Salt by littleblackfox @thelittleblackfox - Mature, 12k

Bakery AU

The cinnamon roll is gone in four bites. Four indecent, jaw-unhinging bites, and Steve sucks the last traces of lemon and icing from his fingers with a low, throaty sound of satisfaction. He glances up at Bucky, who is leaning against the counter and watching him with avid fascination.

“Um…” Steve says around his index finger. There’s still a little icing on the bed of his fingernail, and he stops trying to work it off with his tongue.

“You know those movies where the girl eats an eclair or something, and it’s really, like, sexually charged?” Bucky asks.

Steve pulls his finger out of his mouth. He’s never seen that kind of movie, but the thought of Bucky eating an eclair is certainly… well, it lingers. “Uh?”

“Yeah, well that was the exact opposite.” Steve scowls, and Bucky cackles gleefully. “You are something else, Steve.”

Leg Day by Brokenpitchpipe - Explicit, 12.1k

Gym Thot Bucky

“So talk to him,” Sam says.

“I can’t,” Bucky groans. “I can’t, Sam, I. He just.” He fluffs his hair up and stares at Sam, distraught. “I want him to bench press me.”

“Okay, so it’s serious,” Sam interprets. “Got it."

(Or: The one where Sam is Bucky's long-suffering roommate, Bucky is a hot mess of a millennial, and Hot Steve spends far too much time on the Lat Pull-Down machine.)

Art Nouveau by voluptuous_panic - Explicit, 12.2k

Bartender Bucky, Tattooed & Pierced Bucky

Steve's on the worst date of his life. At least the bartender's cute.

much tattoo about nothing by @deisderium - Explicit, 14.5k

Tattoo Artist Bucky

Steve Rogers gets a lot of email requests, but never one like this: James Barnes wants to use his healing factor to practice tattoos.

Turns out tattoos give Steve boners.

No Wonder There's Panic in the Industry by sprinkle_of_cinnamon - Not Rated (I’d say Mature?), 20.5k

Stark Industries Intern Bucky, Team fic, Humor

In which Bucky Barnes and his BFF, Clint Barton, are NYU interns for Stark Media Group competing to be Pepper's favorite.

Or alternatively, the time Bucky assisted the P.A. team on the Steve Rogers piece and ended up (adopted) with a contact list full of Avengers.

Life of the Party by @aggressivewhenstartled - Explicit, 21.6k

Superhero Impersonator Bucky, Mistaken Identity

“You know, kids,” Steve heard from the backyard, “one of the most common threats a superhero has to face is inside an active volcano! We’re going to have to work on your evasion skills, so for the next five minutes, the floor is lava!” This was met by a sudden spike in both volume and pitch from the small children as they scrambled onto every raised surface they could find and immediately launched themselves right back off.

“I’ve never seen actual lava in my entire life,” Steve said, vaguely offended.

“You got a superhero impersonator for The Falcon’s niece’s birthday party,” Sam said, incredulous. “The Falcon, who is an actual superhero.”

Trust Enough by @geneticallydead - Explicit, 23.3k

Misunderstandings

“Saturday. Yeah, that’s good,” Steve says, and actually scuffs his shoe at the ground. Like a ridiculous shy superhero damsel. “Say eight? I live-“

“Yeah, big building with the A on it,” Bucky says, and can’t help a big stupid grin. Steve stares at him, looking a little dazed, and after their whole conversation it’s only now that Bucky’s brain catches up and realises Steve finds him quite attractive. So. Win for Bucky.

“Let me get your number,” Steve says finally, after they’ve stared stupidly at each other for about three hours, taking out his phone.

So they exchange numbers, and then Steve says he should go, and Bucky agrees, and they kind of stare at each other for a bit more, then Steve actually does go, but not before taking Bucky’s hand and squeezing it warmly in a way that makes Bucky want to shiver all over. Then Steve is gone, and Bucky is standing alone in the alley, grinning to himself.

Right up until the moment he remembers that Steve thinks Bucky is an escort he’s just hired.

Well fuck.

The Roommate by layersofart, Niitza - Teen, 28.6k

War Vet Bucky, Roommates AU, Humor, Fluff, Angst, Team fic

In which Steven G. Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, gets a roommate. Who rapidly turns into his "roommate"—in the euphemistic sense of the word.

It takes SHIELD and the rest of the Avengers an absurd amount of time to notice.

Brooklyn Baby by sprinkle_of_cinnamon - Mature, 33.7k

Coffee Shop AU, Modern Howlies, Mistaken Identity, Team Fic

In which Bucky is just trying to live life and enjoy his unofficial official table at the obnoxiously hipster coffee shop but some guy named Steve stole his spot.

Or, the time that Bucky unintentionally befriended the Avengers and had no idea.

Never Talk to Strangers by mambo @whtaft - Teen, 40.4k

Grad Student Bucky, Slow Burn

Never Talk to Strangers: or; How a Forgotten Childhood Lesson Led Bucky Barnes to Appreciate Charlie Chaplin, Befriend an A.I., Slip on Soap Bubbles, Be Mistaken for a Succubus, and Try to Woo a Superhero.

Sinking Our Teeth In The Heart Of The Sun by fallendarlings @pressrestartwrites - Explicit, 102.8k

Single Dad Bucky, Kid Fic, Slow Burn, Domestic, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Steve has Autism

Bucky Barnes never intended to become a single father at 25. But life has always enjoyed kicking him while he's down and it's showing no signs of stopping. A chance meeting with a brick wall of a guy named Steve in the formula aisle of the grocery store leads to a friendship it seems like both of them need. If only Bucky could remember that's all they are- friends. If only Steve didn't slot into their lives so perfectly and look so good spoiling Bucky's daughter (and Bucky, despite his protests).

Oh, if only Steve didn't turn out to be Captain America.

Steve Rogers is wandering around a world that he doesn't fit into, fighting for a government that he doesn't trust, just because he doesn't know what to do with himself if he ever relaxes long enough to actually think about anything other than the next mission.

And then came Bucky Barnes and his newborn baby.

More recs

[spices-and-cherries]

Rampage (Chapter 4)

JAMES BOND X READER

This is a super short chapter... I hope y’all don’t mind? Also, the italics are a flashback.

I did not reference race, gender, sexuality, or physical appearance. If I missed something, please let me know so I can change it!

Warnings: implied concussion 

Masterlist:

Chapter 4: Underwater

He had just finished making love to you and was now laying on top of your chest, half asleep. Your fingers were playfully skimming the surface of his back and he sighs as one hand glides up to the nape of his neck and stays there. He could sense that you were pondering something. 

"What is it?"        

"Hm?"        

"What is it that you're thinking about."

"Fate." He could hear your heart and feel your voice. "Do you believe in it?"

"No."

"I thought so. Neither do I."

"Then why are you thinking of it?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm just wondering what it would mean if it were real. For us, I mean."

"...Are you worried?" He readjusts himself so he can look up at you. 

"No, I'm just trying to figure out if calling you my 'fated one' is too cliché or not." You giggle. 

"And what have you decided?" 

"Compared to my other options, I'm not sure."

"Well, let's hear them."

"I don't know..." You smile playfully. "I wouldn't want to inflate your ego anymore than I seem to already have..."

"Really? Well I think I've got some ideas you'll like."

"Oh, do tell." He smirks as you roll your eyes in mock exasperation. 

"How about your devilishly handsome boyfriend?"

"Devilishly what boyfriend?"

"Hey...!" He pretended to look offended.

"I'll think about it. What's the next one?"

"One true love?" He presses a kiss on the center of your chest. 

"Too cliché."

"Soulmate?"

"Again, cliché!"

"Husband?"

"That one's even more -" You stop and look at him. "Wait, what was that?" 

"What was what?" 

"What did you just say?" You sit up and he moves to accommodate, resting his head on your lap.

"I think you heard it perfectly clear." 

"...No way..." You whisper, eyes wide looking down at him. "Are you being serious right now?"

"When am I ever not serious?" And then suddenly you're leaning forward, hands cupping his face and pulling him up into a deep kiss. Without parting, he manages to sit up and prop himself over you. "So, I'm guessing husband isn't too cliché after all..." He chuckles. 

"Oh, shut up and kiss me." Your arms wrap around his neck and pull him back down. 

-----

His eyes open with some difficulty. His hand reaches out to the side but the lack of... anything startles him. He's not on his bed - or any bed for that matter - but a couch. He slowly sits up and looks around, confused. Little black spots fly around in the corner of his eyes and there's a dull throb at the back of his skull. 

Something made of metal is dropped in another room, providing him with one searing moment of clarity: this is not a place he's familiar with. This is not your couch or your coffee table. There were curtains drawn over the windows and you don't have curtains. 

"Shit! Ow!" Or is it? The voice is familiar, but it's not your voice. There is a radio playing somewhere, but it sounds like it's coming from underwater. You don't live underwater. 

Though getting up does make him feel like he's swimming. And moving his legs feels impossible - like he's walking through the shallow parts of the beach. Maybe you did live underwater after all and he'd just never noticed. 

He manages to make it to an open door. Then there's a voice scolding him and hands pushing on his chest. It's not you. He can tell it's not you because the wrist that he's holding - gripping - is not you. 

“Where...?" 

"You need to get some more sleep." The voice that's not yours is cutting in and out - like a child playing with the volume of the radio. 

And he's suddenly back on the couch. His feet are elevated and a blanket covering him. Any second now, he should be able to feel your hand running through his hair and your lips on his forehead and...

-----

I hope you liked this chapter! I feel like it’s a bit weird and short, but it’s setting up the next chapter. We are close to the end though! One to two more chapters! Then an epilogue! Please feel free to leave comments or constructive criticism. James Bond is honestly so hard to write for - especially romantically speaking. Any thoughts are welcome at this point. 

- Simpy

Tags: @crewman-penelope

[fruitcoops]

I don't know if you did this already (I'm sorry if you did) or somebody asked but could you do one where they supportive teammates reacts to homophobic teammates

Hello anon! This is a super interesting idea and I’ve been thinking about it for a couple days so I could get the vibe right--none of our boys would be homophobic, but new rookies on the other hand...

Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove, but this features a character who does not appear in SW (I’m not claiming him as an OC because he’s a dick)

TW for homophobic statements, no slurs

I

James caught sight of the new guy just as he was leaving the locker room, towel draped over his neck. “Rookie! Wait up, man!”

The other man paused, looking rather surprised as he jogged over. “Hey, you’re James, right?”

“Call me Pots.” He held his hand out and they shook. “Didn’t catch your name earlier, sorry.”

“Tanner Chase, nice to meet you.”

“Welcome to the team, Tanner.” James grinned. “You’re on my line, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’m a winger,” Tanner said with a good bit of pride. Oh, to be twenty again, James thought. “Giving you a run for your money.”

“Sure, kid,” James laughed. “You do that. You’d have better luck with me than Loops, though.”

Tanner’s smile turned a little sharp. “Nah, he’d be too easy, am I right?”

James paused. “What?”

“Y’know, since he’s…” Talker gave him a significant look and a stone sank in James’ gut.

“I think you lost me.” I hope this isn’t what I think it is. “Because he’s a rookie? ‘cause I hate to break it to you, but—”

“No, dude, because he’s a fairy,” he snorted, as if they were still joking around.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Tanner blinked and reeled back. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t get to talk about my friends like that. Don’t talk about anyone like that. It’s not tolerated on this team and I won’t hesitate to kick your ass if I hear it again.” James made sure his voice was as even as possible, but he could tell it shook at the edges. “You just used up your one free pass, Chase.”

 II

“Drive safe, Loops!” Talker called as Remus headed for the hall with his bag under his arm.

Sirius opened the door just as he reached it and his face broke into a smile. “Bonjour, mon amour, I was just looking for you. Ready to go?”

“Hiya, handsome.” He leaned up to peck him on the lips. “Yeah, I think I left my phone on the bench, though.”

Their conversation faded out as they wandered off together and Talker returned to his stretch, closing his eyes at the familiar burn in his hamstring. “Yikes,” the new rookie muttered under his breath. Tanner…something, Talker remembered.

“What’s up? You okay?”

Tanner glanced over at him. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Stretching? Not really, no. That’s why I do it.”

“No, not stretching. That.” He waved a hand at the slightly-open door.

“I can close it if you—”

“Dude.” Talker crossed his legs and faced him fully. “I mean Black and Lupin.”

Talker narrowed his eyes. “No. Does it bother you?”

“I mean, yeah, how am I supposed to respect a guy like that?” he scoffed.

Talker made direct eye contact with him; he wanted zero miscommunication about this. “You respect him because he’s your captain, which is a title he earned that has nothing to do with who he loves. And you respect Loops, too, or we’re going to have an issue. I don’t know what the fuck you’re thinking bringing that attitude to this team, but you better drop it right now.”

Tanner turned back to his stretch. With a shake of his head, Talker collected his stuff and left him alone on the mats.

III

“Hey, Harzy.” Tanner sat down next to Finn on the bench and passed him a waterbottle. There was a shout from the ice as Remus stole the puck from Sirius’ stick and raced toward the goal, laughing loudly.

“Tan-man, what’s up?”

“What’s the deal with them?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“Cap and Loops? They’re engaged, didn’t you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” There was a slight tone shift that made Finn’s skin crawl. “But what do you think about it? Isn’t it, like, a little weird being on the same team as them?”

“Uh, no.”

Tanner’s eyebrows rose. “You aren’t afraid they’re looking at you or something?”

“What part of ‘engaged’ don’t you understand?” Finn’s jaw tightened. What a little shit. “If this is some homophobic fuckery, I’d like to take this time to remind you I have two boyfriends before you say something that gets you punched.”

Tanner’s eyes went wide and he scooted away without a word.

IV

“Alright, everyone, Sid’s tonight?” Kasey shouted over the noise. The whole locker room cheered in agreement and he smiled as the buzz of victory filled his chest. “Knutty, since my team kicked your ass, I believe you owe me a pizza!”

“I still say Cap is a cheater!” Leo called back; within a few seconds, Sirius had him in a loose headlock as he ruffled his hair. “Alright, alright, I give!”

The volume level did not die down as they all flooded into the hallway—Kasey spotted a flash of mousy brown hair out of the corner or his eye and frustration lodged in his throat. In a smooth movement, he reached out and blocked Tanner from following the rest of the group out. “Not you.”

“But it’s a team dinner—”

“And you’re not part of the team until you get your head out of your ass,” he said coolly. The jumble of voices echoed around the corner. That was his team. “Don’t think I missed those looks you were shooting Cap and Loops. You’re not invited. Go home and think about what actually matters.”

V

They won the next game by a landslide. Arthur Weasley was furious. Every time an opponent came to check Tanner Chase, not a single Lion moved to help him. At one point, Pots had taken the puck right off his stick and skated down the ice for a goal, leaving him in the dust. Whenever Chase was on the bench, he was pointedly ignored by the rest and left to sit alone; Logan literally sat on Talker’s lap to avoid being within five feet of the rookie.

“Team meeting, everyone sit your asses down!” he barked as he entered the locker room. Immediately, the celebratory whoops quieted. “Anyone want to tell me what the hell is going on?”

Sirius looked up at him in confusion. “I thought we played pretty well, Coach.”

“You played fine, but Chase over here got the cold shoulder like I’ve never seen before. Even the fucking commentators noticed!”

“Good,” Finn muttered under his breath.

“Shut it, O’Hara, this is not good.” He took a deep breath to try and calm himself. “Once again, does anyone want to enlighten me on this sudden attitude toward rookies? Since when are we like this?”

“It’s not toward rookies, it’s toward him,” Kasey said, glaring at Tanner from his stall. “He’s a homophobic douchebag. You want to tell Coach what you said?”

Tanner stared at the floor.

Arthur’s fury vanished. “What? Chase, is that true?” The rookie stayed silent. “Hey, kid, I’m talking to you.”

“Yes, Coach.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Remus’ jaw tick and Sirius’ face grow stormy.

“How long has this been going on?”

“It started the first day of practice,” Pots said, crossing his arms. “Our first conversation, in fact.”

“Eyes on me, rookie.” Tanner winced as he looked up. “I know the organization has told you in the past that this kind of behavior is okay, but right here and right now, I’m telling you it’s not. If you’re going to continue with that, you can leave.”

“I just get uncomfortable when—”

“When what?” Remus asked, standing up and leaning on his stall. He looked overall unthreatening, but there was a stony look in his eyes. “Tanner, what did Sirius and I do to make you uncomfortable?”

Tanner floundered for a moment. “It’s just—the kissing, the cuddling, the nicknames, all that.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem when Lily came to visit,” Remus continued. “Or Natalie, or Noelle, or Celeste. Is that correct?”

“Yeah.”

“But it bothers you when I call my fiancé ‘baby’, or he calls me ‘sweetheart’?”

“It does.”

“Tanner, I hope you know I’m not going to apologize,” he finally said. “If this had nothing to do with us being gay, we would tone down the PDA, but that’s clearly not the case.”

Sirius sighed. “None of us want to alienate you, but you’re making judgements before taking the time to know us. That’s a shitty thing to do.”

“You’ve never met an openly gay person before, have you?” Remus asked. Tanner shook his head. “Hi, I’m Remus Lupin. I play a wing position on the hockey team that you were just signed to and my favorite color is green. I have a dog named Hattie and I’m engaged to a man. Nice to meet you.”

Sirius walked across the room; Arthur tensed for a moment, but he stopped in front of Tanner and held his hand out. “Sirius Black, team captain. I play center and I hate pineapple pizza. Also, I’m gay. Congrats on being signed to the Lions.”

Tanner’s eyes flickered up, and after a moment’s hesitation, he shook Sirius’ hand. “Nice to meet you.” He swallowed thickly. “Cap.”

“Nice to meet you, too. Are we done with the bullshit?”

“It—it might take me a bit to get used to it.”

“Make it quick. We’ve got games to win and nobody here has time to hold your hand through it.” Sirius turned to look at everyone else, his Captain Face in full effect. “That goes for everyone, got it? No more cold shoulders, we talk this through like adults as soon as it happens.”

“You got it, Cap,” Pots said.

“Black, Lupin, can we talk?” Coach beckoned them toward the door; just before it closed, he saw Talker walk over to Tanner’s stall.

“That’s why you respect Cap and Loops,” Talker said quietly. “Not because of threats or some shit—because of that right there.”

[littlest-dark-age]

since you’re taking a requests, could you write a bucky x reader where she goes with him when he makes his amends?

I hope you enjoy!

Taglist : @randomoutsiders @plzineedhelp

Mending the soul

Bucky wanted to right his wrongs, despite knowing that it wasn't him who did them. Guilt and anxiety always manage to claw at his mind and soul, trying to drag him deeper into the wallowing pits he's tried so hard to get out of.

But everyday they seems to get deeper and deeper, some days by an inch and others by feet.

It wasn't until you, that he realized that he can accept the help of others. Not shunned for the actions he had no choice but to commit, those who mattered knew that James Barnes would never willingly do such horrid actions.

In a sense, you threw him a lifeline. A line he grips with all of his might, fearing the day it might start to slip from his hands and drop him once more.

Which is why he brings you along with him, most of the time, to check off the names in his little black book. Most of the time, merely for moral support as he'd not know what to do with himself if he let you get hurt on these…..trips.

His eyes always fluttered back over to you if he needed the reassurance once more, knowing that no matter how the interaction went that you'd be waiting for him with gentle hands and a loving soul.

Bucky didn't want you to be there today, instead asking you to sit on the couch whilst he went out. Not wanting to stop him from doing something so important, you agreed despite the anxiety racking through your body at a breakneck speed.

You know he can take care of himself, you know that he probably won't get hurt but the little voice in the back of your brain keeps feeding you the little thoughts until they are all that swirls in your mind.

The what if's coming back stronger everytime you beat them back with the positive affirmations. Your hands developing a slight slick to them, stomach in knots as you sit on the couch. Phone on the table in front of you, volume all the way up. Waiting for the second a message would come through or the shrill tone of your ringtone.

Instead of your phone going off, you hear the door creek open following by the heavy thuds that sound like they could rattle your bones. As you stand, your eyes search Bucky's face for any emotion. All you find is a thick mask, slowly starting to crack under the wear and tear it just took.

His boots hit the floor heavy as he marches across the room to infront of you, shoulders slumped down. Carefully he slides his arms around your waist, shoving his stubble covered face into the crook of you neck. Seeking the comfort you always manage to provide, even when he seems himself unworthy of such a soft thing.

You quickly wrap your own around his neck, one hand tangling itself into the base of his hairline. Pressing gentle kisses to his hair and temple, you close your eyes as you feel his tears start to soak through the cotton of your shirt. Your free hand lightly scratching up and down his back.

"It's okay bub, I've got you" a soft and sullen whisper, causing bucky to grip you even tighter and pull you closer to him

A thousand thoughts running through his head, most berating himself. Your words slowly pulling him out of them just as you've done time and time before.

Bucky swears your touch and your words are magic themselves, and that you must have put the two of you under a love potion.

It's the only thing he could think of, to be so...interwoven with you now. To not want to put you in harms way but to also need you there for him, to never want to part from your side in fear that you'd simply crumble the moment he left and he'd be once again plunged into the dark and icy void.

[armylily]

It's Been A Long Time

A/N: I got an idea after listening to "It's Been A Long Time" by Harry James and Kitty Pryde, I listened to the lyrics and they made me think of a yandere scenario so here you go.

~

It's getting pretty late where you live, considering that the beautiful moon is up in the shape of a crescent. The stars are out in a few places but nonetheless, still hold beauty. Rain clouds were slowly rolling by your home, making you sigh with content. You have always enjoyed the rain. You loved to jump in the puddles, to feel the water running down your face, the soft tap-tap on your windows. It always seemed to calm you down, let you take a breather and enjoy the now.

You let out a big yawn and stretch your limbs, feeling relief as your bones pop. You decide that it's time for bed, the perfect time rather. You turn off all of the lights in your home before making your way to your bathroom. You do your night routine and feel ready for the comfort of your bed.

You began to walk back to your room when you hear a noise.

Tap, tap.

You look down your hallway to see nothing and brush it off, thinking it was just a mere tree branch moving in the stormy wind. You enter your room, changing into your comfortable sleeping attire. Why, you're practically already falling asleep before you laid down!

As you lay under the blanket, you realize that a bit of music wouldn't be so bad. You unlock your phone and find your music app, choosing a beautiful song to sleep to.

As the music starts, you feel more content and slowly but sure, fall into a deep slumber. The volume was not too high but it was just right where you can hear the rain. It felt perfect, dreaming of a reality you long to be in.

It's a shame you didn't investigate the strange sound in the hallway, although it could've ended badly if you were more curious than drowsy. As the figure slowly stepped closer to your door, they keep their gloves on as to not leave fingerprints. They then enter your room, their eyes immediately focusing on your sleeping body.

They sigh in relief and smile, realizing that you were asleep. They gently close your door and make their way to you when they suddenly recognize the music. They let out a soft chuckle as they remember this being one of your favorite songs. They decide to be quite bold and slowly stand closer beside you.

They feel as if they could spend an eternity staring at you, never tiring from the activity. They then began to hum softly along to the song, playing with your hair or moving it out of your face.

Never thought that you would be standing here so close to me, there's so much I feel that I should say~

It was true, they wish they were brave enough to speak to you in an actual conversation instead of a one-sided conversation. It does get tiring but your beauty makes up for it, seeing as the person can never tire of beholding your ethereal everything.

But words can wait until some other day~

One day. One day, they will gain the courage to say hello to you. But that is the future. What matters now is the present, the now. Because now you're clueless to the stalker near your bed simply admiring you but not from afar this time.

Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again~ It's been a long, long time~

They decide to briefly lay beside you, hoping not to disturb your sweet, sweet slumber. As much as they love your eyes and the beautiful irises looking at them officially, they can't make a mistake. They then ever so gently kiss your forehead not once, not twice but three times. Why, their heart was hammering into their chest!

Haven't felt like this, my dear since can't remember when~ It's been a long, long time~

They were on Cloud 9 from just being in the same room with you. They could feel your body heat radiating to them, making them want to just hold you close. The urge was quickly becoming to great but they resisted with ease. Oh, how they wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to show you how much they adore you. No, wanted is too small of a word. They yearned for it. They decide to sing along, barely holding your face with one hand.

You'll never know how many dreams I dream about you~ Or just how empty they all seem without you~

They were very patient or are known to have a great deal of patience but seeing you here, so vulnerable, so helpless. It's so tempting, so easy to just take you to your real home. With them, where you really can be happy. They almost feel pity as they continue their trance, wanting nothing more than to confess their love and expect a happy ending.

So kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again~ It's been a long, long time~

They then kiss your forehead three times, feeling happiness rush through them as they see you smile softly. Perhaps it was because of your dream, perhaps you knew that they were there but didn't mind or even loved them. Your admirer went with the latter and slowly risen from your bed, knowing that they were on a tight schedule.

The song was coming close to an end which means they need to leave as much as they detested the action. Ina rush of adrenaline, a decision was made. They would leave a little something to let you know that someone may like you.

They brought a red rose in advance, not wanting to leave your favorite flower as to scare you. They were wanting to leave it on your bed but realized it could be crushed because of how much you move. The mailbox was also an idea but you would immediately think of the mail delivery person leaving it behind. Finally, they decided to leave it in a not-so-creepy place; your doorstep. Sure, you may step on it by accident but you'll definitely realize it.

They shut the main entrance door and leave their mark, overjoyed to be able to spend time with you once again in a long, long time.

[imjustheretoseetheprivateblogs]

Qrowin Week 2021: 6/21-Childhood Friends AU

Two little snowbirds sitting in a row

 They met in the garden at one of her father’s lavish parties. She’d gone outside because little girls didn’t like being told to sit still and not talk nor do anything fun, so she decided she didn’t care if the dress daddy bought her got messy, she’d go outside and spend time in the hedge maze.

They’d gotten it installed, in the shape of the Schnee family crest no less, because the Marigolds had one in the shape of their family crest and daddy could be silly about when people had things he didn’t.

The white roses that grew from the foliage walls, fragrant and delicate, were always calming to her, especially on a cool and cloudless night like this when the moonlight was at its brightest.

For Winter, to get lost in its lush corridors and marble statuary, it’s hidden gardens and fountains would be enough to get the annoyance of her father’s party out of her mind.

Most of that went out of her head when she found a grungy boy in a cape stuffing his face with what looked like a rabbit.

He stared at her, like an animal in a vehicle’s headlights, bits of his meal hanging from his mouth.

He couldn’t be older than her, gaunt with gunsmoke-colored hair stuck up at odd angles and eyes like carbuncles.

The clothes he wore were grubby and layered and obviously used long before he’d begun wearing them, especially that tattered cape.

For a moment, neither spoke, merely staring at one another in the moonlight.

Finally, Winter broke the silence.

“That’s disgusting.”

The boy dropped the rabbit from his mouth.

“Sorry if I’m not fancy enough for you, Miss Uppity.”

Winter felt her cheeks heat with indignation.

“How dare you!”

The boy threw back his head and laughed, a sound that reminded Winter of a pair of birds she’d once heard fighting in the yard.

“Is that all it takes to get under that pale skin!” he laughed, a sound which soon died in his throat when his stomach made a loud groan.

Winter huffed as he reached for the dead rabbit.

“Wait here and don’t touch that,” she said, turning on her heel.

She returned with two plates piled high with hors d'oeuvres.

“I didn’t know what you liked,” she said, handing him one, “so I got you one of everything.”

The boy said nothing, just shoveling food into his mouth in a way that probably promoted choking.

“You’re welcome,” Winter said, sitting down and spearing a piece of salmon on a toothpick to eat.

The boy coughed, pounding his chest.

“You shouldn’t eat so fast,” Winter said, “you’ll get sick.”

“Well, some of us don’t know when our next meal is gonna be,” he said.

His words brought back to Winter the memory of her father sending her to bed with no supper when he found she’d invited a faunus over to play, with threats of no breakfast if she didn’t break it off with the girl tomorrow.

“You might be surprised,” Winter said.

The boy said something through a mouthful of hummace.

“What was that?” Winter asked.

The boy swallowed.

“I’m Qrow,” he said.

Winter smiled.

“I’m Winter.”

One named Winter

She saw him on days when it wasn’t raining or snowing after that. The family he lived with (his “Tribe” as he called them) were camped out in the woods behind their house, the ones nobody would let daddy cut down.

At night, he told her, they danced and played instruments and drank until the early hours of the morning.

Winter never really cared for people who drank (her mother’s growing dependence on liquor was a factor in this) but Qrow never really showed up smelling like wine, so she supposed associating with him was no trouble.

It was also refreshing that he never stood on ceremony.

He never rolled his eyes at her when she spoke of wanting to learn fencing or told her how things were supposed to be when she complained about how someone (usually daddy) was being unfair.

He also taught her new games that were much more fun than anything that the boys and girls daddy introduced her knew.

Kick the can, stickball, and he played hide and seek and tag with her. And he’d tell her all about the places he’d been. Mistral, Vacuo, Menagerie, his tribe had traveled all over Remnant.

And while he could be crass, she still remembered seeing the way he rescued a baby bird from a stray cat and returning it to its nest with the tenderest care.

Or how when she complained of how her father was so bossy and so dumb, that he listened. Didn’t judge, didn’t criticize, just listen.

And sometimes, it was enough to know that they’d meet once a week, at night, in the hedge maze.

One named Qrow

She wasn’t what he expected.

Sure, she told him annoying things like “don’t slouch, eat slower, no burping, don’t pull up the flowers—no! I don’t need them, put them back!”

But she never called him weak. She never said he should practice more like his sister did.

Winter gave him food, and listened to his stories and ideas, and never asked if he wanted to fight. Sometimes, they would even just sit together.

She even taught him how to read; starting with big letters scratched in the dirt with a stick, before lending him books that they could read together.

Mr. Bruin is a Shoe-in was the first he read all by himself. And he was so happy when she let him keep it afterwards.

And she never told him to stop being so dumb, like his sister did.

And sometimes, it was enough to know that they’d meet once a week, at night, in the hedge maze.

Fly away, Winter!

Their shouts bring the servants running. All they saw was Winter on her knees, face in her hands as she wept piteously.

If only they’d come a few minutes earlier, then they could have seen the argument in all it’s glory. Voices rough from the volume and occasionally cracking, tears streaming down their faces, they weren’t that little boy and girl anymore.

He’d grown lanky and lean, she taller and with longer hair.

But they didn’t care right then.

She’d told him she was joining the military.

He said his tribe would be moving and asked if she wanted to join them instead of some stupid army.

She said it was a noble profession.

He said only for assholes.

She defended her position.

He reiterated his opinion.

She shouted at him, asking why couldn’t he be happy for her.

He shouted at her what would be wrong with going with him.

She said something about duty.

He told her to shut up, that he didn’t want to hear duty again in his whole life.

She told him that if he was going to act like a filthy little boy, then he could go off and sulk like one.

He said he wished he’d never met her and hoped she enjoyed killing people.

Arguments like that, they learned, ended with no winners.

Fly away, Qrow!

 That was the end of the time Qrow considered himself happy. Life seemed to plan for him a long drawn out death, bracketed with disappointments and tragedy’s.

Transformation

The death of friends.

The death of family.

The horrors of war.

Secrets and betrayal.

Abandonment.

And the drink

So, so much to drink.

It didn’t fix anything. It didn’t make him feel more human. But it kept the nightmares at bay. It kept him as a predictable disappointment rather than an out-of-the-blue-never-seen-that-kind-of-train-wreck-before disappointment.

But the worst part of the drink, thought, was that no matter how many shots he took, no matter how many chasers. Black liquor, brown liquor, red wine, white wine, it didn’t matter. Melancholy brought back visions of that girl from that time he had been happy.

Come back, Winter!

First impressions had never come easy to Qrow. So really, it should be no surprise that impression number 15 the horrible sequel nobody wanted or needed.

But really, denying common sense by chucking an empty whisky bottle at James Ironwood’s head was not only pointless, it was utterly puerile. He was drunk. He was upset that his latest search for intel on Salem had turned up next to nothing, he was itching for a fight and if that pompous wannabe hero wanted to take it up with him, that was fine.

Except he hadn’t expected the woman by his side to turn out to be someone familiar. Someone he hadn’t seen since he was a dumb, romantic, fifteen-year-old kid.

Someone whose reappearance upset his stomach enough that he emptied it onto the general’s uniform and shoes. With enough force to make his eyes water.

The woman in the Atlesian uniform said she would take care of him and asked another girl, another white haired girl, where their room was.

As they walked towards Beacon, he thought he heard her say “Qrow Branwen, what has the world done to you?”

Come back, Qrow!

Qrow awoke to a cold rag on his forehead.

“Lie still,” she said, “I think you got a hold of some rockgut.”

“More like rockgut got a hold of me.”

Qrow’s attempt at humor was met with a scowl.

“Gee, you got frosty.”

“And you became an alcoholic,” she said, wringing out the cloth into a nearby basin.

Qrow looked away from her and to the wall, as if a better retort than her’s existed there.

“It eases the pain,” he said.

“No it doesn’t,” Winter said. She threw the rag into the basin, causing the water to splash.

“Qrow, my mother is an alcoholic. It doesn’t fix anything! It just makes you want more of what’s essentially fermented grass!”

“You don’t think I know that!” Qrow snapped. Tears pricked at his eyes and his heart sank when he saw the hurt in her eyes from his tone, something he hadn’t seen there since their last meeting.

“There are nights when no matter how much I drink, I still can’t forget the loss of all the people around me and how--”

He paused and swallowed.

“How everyone is just one day going to leave me!”

Tears were starting to fall as all the regrets he’d kept at bay with drink and fighting and everythng else he could find came rushing back into him and coiling around his lungs.

“I’m bad luck, Winter,” he said, “I lost my sister, my tribe, I lost the people I care about, and every day, it’s missions, missions, and missions to find an enemy I don’t even know exists.”

His shoulders were shaking and he remembered his sister, back when they were little, telling him how ‘boys don’t cry.’

God, Winter must think he’s so pathetic.

Instead, she took him by the shoulders and gently brought him into her embrace.

“It’s alright,” she said, “just let it out. Get it all out.”

Not knowing what else to do, Qrow gripped the back of her uniform and sobbed into her shoulder, years’ worth of pain and loneliness deep inside him rising to the surface and finally escaping. And the pressure went with it.

At some point, they ended up lying together on the bed (wait, were they in a bunk bed?), still in each other’s arms.

“We all have regrets,” Winter said, “things we said. Things we wish we could take back.”

Her hand tightens on his shirt and his hand closes around it.

“But, if you really want to know, if I could do it over...”

Please say it, he wanted to think, but every time he had thoughts like that, life saw fit to swat him down again.

“I would go with you. Even if after the first day, I went back home, I think I would go with you.”

Qrow felt his heart swell and suddenly, he didn’t feel so sick anymore.

“And... if you wanted to start over... I would like that too.”

“I still have Mr. Bruin,” Qrow said.

He didn’t know why he said that. She never asked about the book, never said “Qrow, what kind of literature do you normally read?”

Whatever the reason, Winter looked up at him, shocked.

“Still? I thought you would’ve thrown that away.”

Qrow looked down at her, eyes glassy.

“I tried a few times. But I just couldn’t get rid of something that reminded me of you. It’s missing the page where Mr. Bruin loses his boot, but I tried to keep it safe.”

Winter’s hand rises to his cheek and Qrow leans into it, the human contact easing the hole in his soul he’s tried to fill with booze.

“I’m sorry I didn’t turn out as someone you could be proud of.”

“The fact that you kept that book tells me everything I need to know.”

Later that night, Winter’s sister and Qrow’s niece would get the shock of their lives when they enetered their room and saw the two of them sleeping on Weiss’s bed together.

[shinymooncolor]

O'Knutzy centered chat?

Alright. Here’s a little thing for this. It’s centered on O’Knutzy but takes a detour to get to the point.

I’ve snuck in a nod to parks and Rec... lemme know if you spot it!

Thanks to @lumosinlove for giving us the gift of sweater weather!

@frombeauxbatons this is a little bit for you too!

—

James makes a group chat. Dumo doesn’t want to be the dad. Kasey knows a lot about sex. Sunny sees things. Leo is embarrassed. Logan gets a gift. Finn is a little proud of himself. The team has named O’Knutzy as the unholy trinity.

—

James created a group chat

James added kasey, dumo, Sergei, Sunny, Sirius, Remus

James: dumo we had a vote. You need to talk to the unholy trinity about this. There’s nothing wrong with some road trip action. God knows Nado literally has a booty call on hand in every city we visit. But there’s also the fact that walls are thin. @kasey already agreed to do the actual sex talk part. So it’s on you two.

Dumo: can someone tell me again why I am the one who has to do this?

Kasey: I’m doing the sex talk part you’re doing boundaries on road trips and pda. That’s the deal old man

Dumo: Sirius is the captain? He should do it or re he’s a doctor

Remus: I’m a therapist not a doctor and I already pushed them to admit their feelings. My part is done

Sunny: woah you’re the reason I now have to live with the vision of baby rookie bent over a bench in the equipment room?

Remus: I told them to not do anything at work

Kasey: aw let them be in love man. It’s cute. Also like either of you haven’t all done weird shit when you were still in the honeymoon phase?

Dumo: well. I know for certain that cap and loops have

Sirius: you made us share a bed. You get to give the talk to the boys. Also they’re like your sons so.

Sergei: u not Still honeymoon phase?

Kasey: they totally are. Remus is about to climb cap like a shaggy tree every time he scores. It’s cute.

Sunny: dumo you’re like the lAst person to complain.

Sergei: I walk in on u and Celeste so many times.

Dumo: well it’s not my fault you can sneak up. You should weAr a bell or something.

James: how did he walk in on you? You’ve never lived together?

Dumo: where do you think he sleeps when anya is mad at him?

James: anyways I bought a gag for Logan with the money I won and used the $500 they paid Sunny not to tattle to set up a jar for when they get caught again and we might have to bribe people not to say anything... the unholy trinity emergency fund...

——

Knutterbutter: I still hate this name. Also why does blizzard and dumo want to talk to us?

Tremendouzly: dunno. Maybe they caught you two in the gym?

Finnisagod: they didn’t. Sunny might have seen something but he just winked and walked out. Also I paid him $500 not to tattle...

Knutterbutter: and you trust him? He’s as bad as James. And he speaks Russian. You know him and Sergei are talking about us. Also I’m worried.

Tremendouzly: okay just let’s get through this. Wait why is kasey here?

——

Knutterbutter: that was the most mortifying thing I’ve ever experienced.

Tremendouzly: I can’t believe they all chipped in to buy me a gag. I’m not that loud...

Finnisagod: hahahah oh yes you are. But come on calm down boys. They just asked us to keep it down. Not to stop Doing things. Oh and to promise to apologize to Olli.

Knutterbutter: oh. Shit. Olli. Forgot about that. It’s like Casper the friendly ghost seeing you have sex 🥺

finnisagod: hahaha come on Olli lives with timmers and is like best friends with Kuny and nado. He’s even had Kuny chained to his bed, naked?

Tremendouzly: I can’t believe kasey talked to us about sex. I’m pretty sure my dick committed suicide

Finnisagod: if we weren’t on a bus I could check for you 😜💦😋😉

Knutterbutter: you’re not doing anything. This is already mortifying. Nado and Kuny high-fived me and offered suggestions. Also James betted on us and won about $500 on who came first....

Finnisagod: at least they didn’t fine us. And the $ 500 went towards Logan’s gag 😂

Finnisagod: also don’t be a bore knutty, like you wouldn’t love to watch me go down on Logan right here...

Tremendouzly: I wouldn’t mind. But stop Finn. Knut is unhappy

Knutterbutter: how are you all not more embarrassed?

Tremendouzly: come on, this is their way of accepting. Also we’ve got shit loads of crap on all of these idiots too and it’s only a matter of time before Kuny or Nado sends another nude or somehow fucks up...

Knutterbutter: I have to work with kasey. More than you two. I can’t ever unhear him talk about sex like that. He had a power point

Finnisagod: I found it very educational. Kasey is a serious guy. He didn’t even flinch and I’m pretty sure dumo was blasting willie Nelson on Max volume and pretending he was on a beach somewhere in the Bahamas? So no ones hurt

—-

Kasey: well we did the talk. They were embarrassed- Leo most. Though finn seemed very intrigued with the gag tho. Also dumo went to his happy place.

Sirius: you let him listen to country music and pretend they’re still just reading books and braiding Logan’s hair?

Kasey: yup.

James: alright we owe you two a dinner.

Dumo: dinner? I want a ‘04 la tour. And also dinner. And babysitting the next three evenings off

Kasey: hahahah hard bargain. We would be happy to babysit.

Sirius: practicing? 😉

Kasey; hell yeah. I’m gonna make some awesome babies with nat. Gonna take over the world.

Remus: I believe you. Sirius and I would be happy to babysit too 😌

Dumo: 😘 though Adele never quite forgave you for stealing Sirius. Though she’s still certain she’s going to marry Logan. Not sure how to break the news to her.

[jenomark]

OCTOBER

➔Pairing: Doyoung x Reader (Female) | Jaehyun x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: -.- ➔Genre: Plot (ft. smut, romance, angst, fluff etc.) ➔Warnings: Drinking ➔Word count: 5,300

➔Summary: You are dating handsome and lovable Jaehyun. You stay at his apartment all of the time, along with his roommate Doyoung. Doyoung has feelings for you, which he doesn’t quite understand. What begins as an innocent crush changes the lives of all three people over the course of seven months.

AUGUST SEPTEMBER

October 30, The Night Before Halloween.

  Doyoung’s eyes followed the sparklers tearing across the backdrop of night. The colors hurt his eyes, but he couldn’t look away from them. His eyes went in and out of focus, fairy lights joining in his vision, vibrant yellows and whites softening around the edges the longer he looked. He was acutely aware of his own breathing, the volume turned all the way up, and the noise of the party cancelling out. All of those things swirled round’ and round’, until the beautiful purple butterfly popped up in front of him.

“What did you say?” he asked.

  At once, the swarm of the Halloween party returned. The music was so loud that it vibrated his teeth. He could hear a distant drama playing out between a girl and her girlfriend, their voices feeling like they were swimming around in his brain. He could no longer hear his breathing, let alone his own thoughts.

“I said, do you want a drink?” 

  You stood before him, a sparkler in one hand, and a cup of alcohol extended like an olive branch. Dressed up as a butterfly in a lilac colored leotard, complete with a gauzy tutu and butterfly wings clipped to your back, you placed his drink in front of him. His eyes swept over your emotionless face before looking up at the antenna headband on your head. Your hair was curled, a fresh short haircut making you appear cute. Not that Doyoung had noticed, of course.

“Thank you.” he said.

  Doyoung was alone at the table. Everyone else was socializing around the backyard, tucked underneath the fairy lights or hanging around the empty pool. He watched a few people hovering around the food, their fingers digging into a bowl of pretzels before airplane-ing them into a cheese dip shaped like a pumpkin. In the corner, a couple dressed up as ketchup and mustard were dancing together, the tips of their bottles touching every time they moved. The yard was big, and it seemed that no matter where Doyoung looked, people were living.

“Why don’t you come join us so you’re not lonely?” you asked. “Me and Jaehyun could use some company.”

  Other than the expansive yard, the house had people occupying it. Doyoung hadn’t been to many Halloween parties, but it was exactly as he had imagined it. There were spiked punch bowls with floating hands of ice, jumpscare decorations and costume contests. Everyone had dressed to impress. It was exactly the kind of scene he avoided throughout his youth.

 Meanwhile, the little butterfly, though as pretty as she was, was one of the more chill costumes of the night. Doyoung looked down at his own and felt a shudder move through his body that wasn’t because of the cold. He felt embarrassment creeping up his neck the longer he sat and thought about what he was dressed up as. He didn’t like the attention whenever he stood up and moved, the odd ends of his costume bumping into things.

“I like sitting here. I’m not lonely.” Doyoung said, which was a lie. He was freezing, hungry, and he just wanted to go home and sleep. “I’m sure you don’t mean that you want me around, since you spend so much time with me.”

  You sat down in the chair next to him and huffed. “Is it the costume? I told you that you didn’t have to dress up in it.”

“I wanted to.”

You looked at him, narrowing your eyes. “Why?”

  The original plan was that you were going to dress up as a butterfly. You had picked it out at the tail end of September, and Doyoung could see how excited you were about it. For a few weeks after, he caught you looking at the costume, pulling it out of Jaehyun’s closet and letting your fingers work over the delicate beading on the wings. At that time, Jaehyun wanted to do a couples costume, which had worked out perfectly because there was a matching part to your costume: a butterfly net.

“Well, I wasn’t going to let the butterfly go without her net.” he said, his eyes not able to match yours.

  The more Jaehyun thought about being the net to your butterfly, the more he was terrified of being mocked by his friends. He gave up the costume after buying it, deciding to be a sexy James Bond instead. You never showed Jaehyun that it hurt you, but Doyoung was so observant when it came to you that he couldn’t help but see. So, within a week of the party, Doyoung shoved his original costume back into his closet and lied that he didn’t have one. He put on the head-to-toe black leotard that kept no secrets about his body, and put the net and tubing around his upper half. He was your safety net, literally and figuratively.

  You smiled briefly before reaching over and taking a sip of Doyoung’s drink that you’d brought. Seeing your smile in any capacity made Doyoung sure that he’d made the right choice. He felt like a fool unable to move, but it was worth it.

“I’m in a couples costume without my boyfriend.” you said. “There is a joke in there somewhere. You can take it off, Doyoung. You don’t have to wear it for me. I’m pretty sure you’ve already reaped all the embarrassment readily available.”

 Doyoung couldn’t help but laugh. You handed him his cup back and he drank from it, his lips touching the cool liquid, and his eyes boring into yours from over the rim of the cup. He set it back down on the table, picked up the netting from his costume and let it fall back down into his lap.

“Is there a bathroom in this place?” he asked. “I have to go,  but I’m not even sure how to get out of this thing.”

“You might have to take it all off.”

  Doyoung could feel his momentary good mood slipping. He thought about excusing himself to go home and use his toilet. He thought about the moment he’d pass through his front door and rip the leotard to shreds, taking all of his anger out on the fabric. He was deep in his thoughts of destruction when you spoke.

“I can help you. C’mon.” you said.

  You got up, holding your butterfly wings securely to your body so they wouldn’t get caught in anything. Since you were also wearing a leotard, Doyoung could see every curve of your body. He looked at your bare legs, which must have been so cold standing outside for more than five minutes. Before you turned around and held out your hand, his eyes were watching your ass and how the tutu lifted up just a little bit to reveal it.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re one net that won’t be catching this butterfly. Let’s go. I’ll help you take off this monstrosity before I go back to my boyfriend.”

  He took your hand, and you lifted him from his chair with little effort. It was really the bare minimum, but the thought of your strength turned Doyoung on. He shuffled forward, making sure his tubing didn’t catch on the end of someone's wig and pull it off. The last thing he needed was getting into a fight at a Halloween party dressed like an idiot. You kept hold of his hand, weaving your way through the yard, telling him whenever the grass was uneven so he didn’t trip. But when you saw Jaehyun, you dropped his hand.

“What is going on?” Jaehyun said, seeing your face. When he noticed that Doyoung was up and walking, he grinned. “Welcome to the party! You know, it’s really a shame that your girlfriend isn’t here, Do-ie. She would have giggled seeing you dressed up like that.”

“I’m taking him to the bathroom.” you said, getting on your tiptoes to peck Jaehyun on the cheek. “He needs help.”

“I’ll do it.” Jaehyun offered. 

“No,”you said. “It’s okay. I have to go, too.”

  You motioned for Doyoung to come along, but he didn’t see you. Jaehyun grabbed a little bit of net and shoved him forward, nearly making him trip up the steps. Once inside, you grabbed his hand again. To anyone who didn’t know either of you at the party-which was a lot- they would have thought you were the couple.

“It’s just upstairs.” you said, looking back at him.

  The party inside was more wild. People were jumping all around, bumping into him and getting in his face. Doyoung focused on his feet, on moving behind you to get to the bathroom. He felt a little bit like a child walking behind their mother, but one look at you erased that feeling. In your presence, he never felt more like a man in his entire life. When you went up the stairs, Doyoung followed, trying to keep his eyes on the ground, and not up your tutu. Looking at you without your consent wasn’t the kind of man he wanted to be, even though everything in him kept edging him to look.

“Fuck, there is a long line for the bathroom.” you said, stopping at the top of the steps. You got on your tiptoes to look over the crowd. “That’s the negative part of going to a party in a big house.”

“Whose party is this?”

You shrugged. “Someone from Jaehyun’s work. I only come for the free alcohol.”

  Doyoung wedged himself into the back of the line, his body blocking off the entire hallway behind him. You followed, standing to his side, your little butterfly wings impatiently wavering the slower the line moved.

“I appreciate you coming with me.” Doyoung said.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Mmm.” he mumbled. 

  You looked at him. In the artificial light, he could see a sweep of glittery purple eyeshadow on your lids. There was a light blush on your cheeks and a pink stain on your lips. You looked so beautiful that he couldn’t look away. Though people were chattering in the line, the both of you were silent. Even as the line inched forward, neither of you talked.

 Doyoung felt caught up in his mind. He remembered the last few weeks and how pleasant they were. He had stopped being angry about you inhabiting his personal space. He stopped putting so much effort into being unhappy. He watched Jaehyun come and go from work with a smile. He was always there for you during movie night. He even helped you find a job you loved. He had made the girl he was dating his girlfriend, and had finally sealed the deal with her. He thought maybe it was the sex with her that had made him loosen up and feel happy, but he feared that it was all because you had truly seen him. He had been buzzing ever since.

“Why do you do that sometimes?” you asked, leaning against the wall, your wings getting smushed.

“Do what?”

“Stare at me and say nothing.” you said. “It’s like you have a whole monologue going on in your mind.”

Doyoung moved forward with the line. “I do. A monologue about how miserable I am in every situation. It’s not much, but it keeps me from having a mental breakdown.”

“And how do I fit into this?” you asked. “Plotting revenge? I took your boyfriend and now I must suffer?”

  You were joking, but Doyoung could hear the seriousness in your voice. You smiled to keep it lighthearted. You took his net and pulled him forward when the line moved.

“I don’t hate you anymore.” Doyoung said. “Haven’t you heard? My new rival is boyfriends who break promises to their girlfriends.”

  Suddenly, it seemed like the room had stopped moving. You knew he was talking about Jaehyun. He knew you knew. If you couldn’t sense his annoyance at Jaehyun before, you could feel it now. If he wasn’t mistaken, he could also feel your own anger sitting in the stuffy hallway with all of the drunk people, lined up in place that felt foreign. 

“Well,” you said. “I’m glad I’m not the one you hate.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever hated you, truthfully.”

“No? I think it was touch and go for a while there.”

  Doyoung shook his head. You smiled at him and choked back some laughter. His eyes widened in fake anger, his eyebrows raising up an inch.

“What’s so funny?” he asked

“I’m sorry,” you said, releasing a laugh that was like music to his ears. “It’s just that, in this lighting, with the leotard over your head, you look like an egg.”

Doyoung closed his eyes. “I hate this. I’m also glad my girlfriend isn’t here to see this.”

  At the mention of his girlfriend, you had stopped laughing. You coughed and tried to regain your composure. Doyoung moved forward again, nudging your shoulder gently with his to get you moving. You weren’t too far from the front of the line. 

“Why didn’t she come?” you asked. 

“I don’t know.”

  Doyoung did know. When he found out about the Halloween party, he was excited to invite her to her first real event with him that involved other people. She hadn’t met Jaehyun yet, hadn’t really heard of you. She was excited, too. She wanted to be let inside of Doyoung’s life, not just hovering on the outside, spending time at her place, or in cafes and bars that he hated. Because of the whole costume fiasco, she bailed at the last minute.

 You weren’t buying the lie. He could read it in your eyes. Instead of talking about it more, you gently touched his shoulder. “Hey, I am really glad we’re friends now. I don’t know many people who would do what you did for me tonight.”

“It’s nothing.” he said. “You needed me.”

 Maybe choosing to wear a couple costume with his roommate's girlfriend was the wrong choice, especially since his real girlfriend had already picked one out for them to wear. 

“We’re up next!” you said, growing excited. You moved your wings away from the wall and brought them back to their full glory. When Doyoung realized he was staring again, he looked down at the floor.

  It was his turn to use the bathroom. He barely fit through the door. You had to push him inside. As you shut the door behind you, Doyoung heard people groaning about the couple going in to have sex in the bathroom. He blushed, hoping you hadn’t heard them.

You put your hands on your hips. “Okay. How are we going to do this?”

  He didn’t like that you were eyeing him up and down. It made him feel too exposed. Though his junk was covered with nothing but net, his closed fist went to block you from view.

“Oh?” you asked. “You can look at my ass, but I can’t look at your dick?”

“No I-”

You put your hands on his shoulders. “Do-ie, relax. Anyway, you’re going to have to get naked. This won’t work, otherwise.”

���Turn around.”

“But I need to help you.” 

  You grabbed at his tubing, bending it out of shape and pushing it down far enough to free his head from the black condom. You were being so rough with him that he again got turned on. You fixed his wild black hair before stretching and pulling the neck and leotard further down his shoulders. Before you went too far and brought it all the way down his body, his hands stopped you. His touch was gentle, his eyes firm.

“I can do the rest.” he said.

You turned around. “Do you want me to leave?”

  But Doyoung couldn’t wait. He pulled and pulled the leotard down, his earlier Hulk daydream coming true. The top of it was ripping, but he didn’t care. He pulled it down, along with his underwear, grabbed his dick and aimed into the toilet. The sound of his piss was louder than it needed to be, but the relief he felt kept him away from the embarrassment he would no doubt feel as soon as he was finished.

“You’re really pissing with me in the bathroom.” you said.

“Sorry, I couldn’t hold it.”

  You held your hand over your ears, but you were giggling too. The moment was humorous, even to Doyoung. He finished pissing but he had started laughing with you, so there were still little bits dribbling out.

“How.. much.. more do you.. h-have?” you asked, your voice coming out in wisps.

“Don’t make fun of me!”

  You crossed your arms over your chest, and when Doyoung said he was decent, you turned back around to face him. The leotard was halfway up his chest because it was all he could get back up by himself. 

“That was the best piss I’ve ever taken.” he said.

“Let me help you.” you said, ignoring him.

  You yanked up the remaining length of his costume but kept the netting, tubing and the part that covered his head free. He was sweaty, and as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he thought he looked kind of sexy. He looked at you to see if maybe you thought the same, but you weren’t looking at him.

“Move.” you said. “I have to go, too.”

“Here? With me?”

“Well, yeah. Where else will I go?”

“I can wait outside.”

“No need.’

You pushed past him and started taking off your wings. “Just turn around and don’t listen. I have a shy bladder.”

  But it was hard for Doyoung not to listen. He had seen you in indecent ways since Jaehyun started dating you, but somehow, hearing your clothes hitting the floor and your naked body sitting on the toilet, it was a new kind of intimacy he wasn’t prepared for. It was a moment Jaehyun wasn’t a part of, and Doyoung didn’t know how he felt about it.

“Don’t listen!” you hissed.

“I’m not.” he whispered.

  There was a hard knock on the bathroom door but he ignored it. He was concentrating hard on the tile covering the bathroom floor, trying his best not to hear you peeing into the toilet bowl. But he did hear, and it drove him crazy with a feeling he couldn’t describe.

“I’m done,” you said.

Doyoung started to turn around but you screamed. “No! I meant that I’m done peeing. Don’t look. I’m naked.”

“Naked.” he repeated. 

  He could hear you breathing behind him, hear the way the costume sounded sliding up your body. He imagined the thin fabric covering your breasts, your nipples getting hard. He heard the scratchiness of the tutu snap into place. You turned on the water to wash your hands, and he remembered that he hadn’t either, so he closed his eyes and followed your lead.

“It’s okay.” you said. “I’m dressed, but I need help with my wings.”

He looked at you. Without the wings, you looked like a ballerina. The curls in your hair were falling out from the humidity in the bathroom. He didn't realize how hot it was getting with two people in there at once. He turned off the water and shook water from his hands.

“You’re staring.” you said, turning around.

“Sorry.”

Doyoung dried his hands on a towel hanging on a hook. He took your wings and fixed them to your back, his fingers touching the softness of your skin longer than he needed to. When he was done, you turned back around and inhaled deeply. On the exhale, you gestured to the bathroom door. Leaning over you, Doyoung flushed the toilet and walked out of the bathroom to a bunch of people clapping.

“That was record time, bud.” someone yelled.

“We didn’t have sex.” Doyoung said.

“Fucked her good.” someone else yelled.

  All Doyoung could see was a sea of eyes that wouldn’t understand. Admittedly, he began to feel good that the crowd of people thought you were his. He didn’t believe he was ever good enough to get someone like you. He looked at you to make sure you weren’t upset by the accusation, but your face was lit up with joy. You took his hand and directed him into one of the bedrooms at the end of the hall.

“Yes!” a voice echoed. “Fuck her even better!!”

“Ignore them.” you said, unfazed. “Look at this.”

  In the room you had guided him into, there was an old piano sitting in the middle of it. It was dark in the room but there was no mistaking it. The lights you turned on only made it appear more beautiful and grand, its ivory keys itching to be touched.

“How did you know this was here?” he asked. “I thought you didn’t know anyone.”

“Jaehyun talked about his musician friend. He said he had a lot of instruments in his house.” you said. “I didn’t want to be in the hallway anymore, and my guess was correct. I didn’t know what I’d find when I opened the door, but I think that’s where the fun is.”

“And where is the fun for you?” Doyoung asked, approaching the piano.

“In the not knowing.” you said. “And I’m good at that.”

  He could feel you watching him over his shoulder. Your words didn’t settle in his brain like they would if he wasn’t preoccupied. All of his thoughts were about the baby before him, the beauty in the future. Once he put his fingers on the keys, he didn’t know what would come out, but he hoped it was beautiful.

“How come you never told Jaehyun that you sing or play?” you asked, circling him.

“I never told you I play, either.”

  He looked back at you. You had the good will to appear sheepish. But it didn’t matter. Doyoung was so head over heels for you that any kind of eavesdropping only felt like progression in your relationship. Doyoung pulled out the bench and sat on it. The legs wobbled, but they held his weight fine enough. 

“Can you play me something?” you asked.

  You gingerly sat beside him, your weight joining his. It was a tight squeeze on the bench, but Doyoung loved the feeling of your warm, bare thigh against his. There was also a magical feeling in the air that kept him weighted down where he sat, the future suddenly looking not too grim. Doyoung felt comfortable, content, and free. 

“What would you like to hear?” 

“Anything.”

  Doyoung’s fingers were on the keys. He tickled a few of them and smiled when they played the most gorgeous sound. The person who owned the old piano kept it in good shape. As he geared up ready to play, he hoped it wouldn’t be so loud. He could still hear the music pumping away downstairs and guessed that no one would come in and check on them.

“Close your eyes.” Doyoung said. “Just trust me.”

  When you did as he asked, Doyoung started playing. He never really played for anyone other than when he did recitals as a kid. Growing up, his parents didn’t want him to pursue music full-time, so the piano was meant for chance meetings at music stores and moments that never came but he wished for, like this.

 The song he played was his own. He remembered it, closing his own eyes to play what he had written on paper years ago. It was romantic sitting in the room next to you, your eyes closed, just feeling the music dance all around you. Getting lost in song was his true passion, and though he didn’t plan on it, he started singing. His voice shook, at first. As each second ticked by, it grew stronger and more stable. Doyoung sang his heart out. It made him nervous that he was singing to you, and only to you. The three minutes went by quickly, the end giving out only because he started to feel nervous at what you would say about the impromptu concert. All of the negative feelings flew away when he opened his eyes and watched you clap slowly, your eyes teary, your smile relaxed.

“That was beautiful, Doyoung.” you said. “I can’t explain it, but it felt like I was frozen in time, like I was watching us from above, and everything was perfect and nothing could touch us.”

He felt shy. He took his hands off the keys and set them in his lap. “Thank you.”

“Sometimes I feel like you should quit your job and do singing full-time.” you said.” You sound so good. And the way you play...you’re special.”

“Thank you.” he said.

“I wish I could play like that.”

“You can.”

“I definitely cannot.’ you said. “The only thing these fingers are good for is breaking pistachios open and-”

  You stopped talking when Doyoung took your hand. He pressed your fingers down into the cold keys, his hand guiding you. He held in a key with your hand while his foot put pressure on the pedal. He played his song with your fingers, diligently dragging your one hand and using his other to fill in the gaps. You leaned in closer, your body enchanted by the sound you were making. Your head was almost on his shoulder, and for a second, Doyoung swore he could feel you wanting so badly to rest it there.

“There is so much more about you I’ve yet to learn.” you said.

“I’m a pretty open book.”

You side-eyed him. “Another lie. Doyoung, we’ve essentially lived together for three months. When will you understand that I know you a lot better than you think. I know all your secrets.”

Doyoung let go of your hand. “Not all of them.”

 There it was again: The Silence. Doyoung wanted to close the lid of the piano and leave the room. He wanted to walk his way through the house, passing Jaehyun without saying anything, and he wanted to go home where it was safe. Instead, he looked at you, his gaze falling to your lips. You leaned in first, brave enough to grab the side of his cheek and pull him towards you.

 There was no music in the room, but as you kissed, Doyoung could hear every single note of every laughter you’ve ever spilled because of him, every gasp, every sigh. He moved closer on the bench and put his finger underneath your chin, tilting your head up just a little bit. The kiss that started soft was getting aggressive, the feeling of his tongue wanting to break through your lips. 

 It was the moment he had been thinking about for months. His head was mostly empty of thoughts. There were no regrets. There weren’t any distractions, any inner monologues guiding him. All that was there were your lips and the softness of your hand against his face. He tasted your breath, your tongue, your lips. Somehow, the silence didn’t seem all that bad anymore. 

 But, then, Doyoung’s elbow came down on the piano and the sharp sound broke both of you apart. You wiped your lips and he got up from the bench, his fist up against his mouth and his eyes darting back and forth.

“I should go.” you said, getting up too.

“Right.”

  You walked across the room, passing Doyoung without looking at him. You barely made it to the door before you walked briskly back to him and threw your body in his arms. Doyoung’s hands were up your back, crushing your wings. He welcomed your lips with an open mouth, pulling your body up against his until he felt like one person. You both stood swaying in one spot, making out, and clinging to each other.

“This is cheating.” Doyoung said. You went to kiss him again, but he stepped back. “I can’t do it to Jaehyun, or to my girlfriend.”

“It’s already done.”

October 31, Halloween.

  There were so many empty candy wrappers in the bowl. Doyoung sat on the couch with the plastic bowl in his lap that was meant for trick-or-treaters. No one had knocked on his door for over an hour, so he figured the rest of the candy was his to share with no one. You and Jaehyun were out at yet another Halloween party, and he was left alone to watch old-timey scary movies and think about the previous night.

  He had kissed you a lot. After he said he wouldn’t kiss you again, he had backed you against the wall and kissed you some more. If he were actually drunk, he wasn't so sure he wouldn’t have placed you on top of the piano and fucked you. Still, making out was just as sinful as all of the things he thought about doing to your body. 

  Afterwards, you both went downstairs to find Jaehyun playing beer pong. He was cocky and drunk, and he had no idea that either of you had been gone for awhile. Doyoung couldn’t stick around. He leaned in and let you know he was leaving. You didn’t try and stop him. Ever since, he was wondering if it was a good thing. The less interaction you had together, the easier it was for him to stop thinking about kissing you.

Not really. He still thought about it.

  Doyoung was grateful for the second Halloween party, which he was invited to. He politely declined, citing his need for rest after a long party. Jaehyun thought his roommate got really drunk. If only he knew Doyoung was drunk with love, maybe then he wouldn’t let him around his girlfriend so easily.

 So, sitting on the couch alone didn’t seem so bad in the grand scheme of things. He could stuff his face with candy and wallow in his own feelings. There was a sting of jealousy whenever he thought about you having a good time with Jaehyun, the tail to your little cat costume in his hands. When the worst got the best of him, he imagined Jaehyun tugging you to him and kissing you on the same lips he kissed last night.

 The doorbell startled Doyoung. He picked up his bowl and went to the door, swinging it open with a cheery smile on his face. There was no one there, which made him feel foolish.

“Do people still do that?” he called down the hallway. “Ring the bell and run away?”

  Doyoung shut the door behind him. He rummaged his hands in the candy bowl as he walked back to the couch, plucking out a milk chocolate bar. Before he made it to his safe haven, the doorbell sounded. Quickly, he made it to the door and swung it open. Again, it was empty.

“If I catch you, you won’t like what happens to you.” he called.

  He shut the door but didn’t move from behind it. He would catch the kids who were messing with him. He waited a few minutes but there was nothing. He set the bowl down on the side table and opened the door to see you standing there.

“Hi.” you said.

“Hello.”

Your cat tail was in your hands. You looked worn out, the pink makeup on your nose halfway rubbed away. You smiled, looking down at his empty hands.

“Where is the candy?” you asked. “I heard there was some candy left.”

  Not knowing how to respond, Doyoung looked behind the door and brought the candy bowl. It sat against his ribs, dividing him from you.

“Trick-or-treat.” you said, your eyes not wavering from his.

“Treat. “Doyoung said, dropping the candy bowl on the floor, crossing the threshold, and setting his lips on yours.

[star-spangledstud]

Webcam

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (female!)reader.

Word Count: 2800-ish

Summary: You and Bucky try something you’ve never tried before. 

A/N: Based on the song ‘Cyber Sex’ by Doja Cat. (I’M OBSESSED WITH HER RIGHT NOW, OKAY?!” also my first smut so be gentle ;)

Warnings: 18+ SMUT (don’t read if you’re a minor mmkay?); masturbation; cursing

For the fourth time in half an hour, you looked at yourself in the mirror. With one finger, you cleaned up your lip gloss, removing it from the edge of your lower lip before tousling your hair to give it more volume. You straightened out your dress next, blushing to yourself when you thought of what you wore underneath. Bucky had no idea what was coming to him, you were sure of it. After all, you’d never had cybersex before. The guy hardly knew how to work an iPhone 4.

“Can you see me yet?” 

You chuckled, adjusting your camera so he would be able to see you better. Staring back at you was a black screen with three dots in the center and a small cutout square in the corner in which you could see yourself waving your hand in front of the webcam. You wiggled in your seat and squeezed your thighs together, anticipation bubbling in your lower belly at the thought of what you were about to do. 

“No,” he muttered, “how the hell does this work again? Hang on, baby, the computer hates me.”

He pressed several buttons, thick fingers jamming the keyboard in quick motions. You doubted he had any clue what he was doing. Technology had never been Bucky’s strong suit. 

You rolled your eyes and snorted, “James, we went over this. You have to press the camera button and make your own screen smaller with the little arrows so you can see me.”

A picture suddenly replaced the blackness, causing your cheeks to heat up and your heart to skip. There he was, your man, staring at his screen with a deep frown on his forehead and his tongue sticking out of his mouth; his concentration face. He was still dressed in his tactile suit, streaks of dirt evident on his chiseled cheekbones. 

“I see you now,” he said, smiling at you, “can you see me?” 

You nodded and waved again, smiling wide when he returned the gesture. You’d never get tired of seeing that face, not in a million years. He’d always give you butterflies.

“Where’s Steve?” You asked to be safe, peering into the motel room behind him.

“Got his own room for the night,” he commented, “I wanted to be alone with my best girl.”

He got up, placing the gun that had been lying on the desk in front of his computer on the nightstand of his double bed. The entire room seemed to entirely be clad in 80s decor, from the wallpaper to the sheets and even the TV behind him. You watched as he took another weapon from his waistband and placed it beside the other one. Then a knife, which he collected from his right boot, ended up on the table as well. 

“How long have you been in?” You asked. 

“We just got back ten minutes ago,” he smiled, “I couldn’t wait to see your face. I miss you.” 

“I miss you too,” you said, “come sit down, big guy.” 

He did as told and took a seat after taking his jacket off and hanging it up over the back of the chair. His finger went out to touch the screen but recoiled when he realized it was silly. He really did miss you, it had been too damn long since he was able to touch you. 

Bucky and Steve left nearly two months ago. He knew it would be a long mission with endless stakeouts and not a lot of action, which made the time pass by even slower. Every day he’d sit in various hiding spots for hours, underneath bushes, behind trees and sometimes even high up inside them with weapons at the ready but nobody to shoot. HYDRA employees seemed to live in the underground facility he and Steve had been staking out for weeks now because neither of them had seen anyone go in our out so far and it was starting to become frustrating. 

“We’re thinking we might call it quits in a few days,” he said, rubbing his arms, “we haven’t seen shit and we both doubt things will change anytime soon. It looks like they’re laying low for now. All the cameras are almost set up anyway, so we can watch ‘em remotely.” 

You nodded happily, excited at the prospect of seeing your boyfriend again soon. You missed him terribly, missed having him by your side every day and in your bed every night. You missed pulling at his hair while his hands were on your hips, fingertips pushing into your bare skin as he drew profanities from your lips. Fuck, you missed him terribly.

“Speaking of cameras,” you grinned, “do you like my new dress? Haven’t had a chance to show you yet.” You asked, getting up from your chair. 

You pushed it back so your whole body could get in the frame, your hands slowly running down the length of the pastel gingham dress that made your skin tone stand out beautifully. You could see Bucky closing in on his computer screen to see better, lower lip between his teeth when you twirled for him, making the skirt lift to expose more of your skin. He looked down at the white knee socks that clad your legs and the black Mary-Jane pumps on your feet and his lip turned red from the biting. 

“I love it,” he said breathlessly, “really makin’ me miss you right now.”

“I’ve so been lonely without you,” you purred.

To say you’d planned how this would go be a lie. You’d never undressed on camera before and weren’t exactly confident in your abilities to sensually strip for a man, but it was Bucky who you were doing it for and just knowing that made you feel more at ease. Nevertheless, your heart thumped in your chest while your fingers went to the hem of the dress, which ended just above your knees. Bucky frowned as you began to lift the piece of fabric slowly over your thighs, his breath hitching when you looked up into the webcam.

“What’re you doing?” He asked breathlessly, “baby...” 

He knew damn well what you were doing, he could see what you were doing with his icy blues, but he was afraid, terrified to think they were deceiving him or that it was all a terribly wonderful dream. Either way, he didn’t want to wake up before having the chance to see it all unfold. Being away from you for so long was starting to remind him of going to war. To make matters worse, he couldn’t just easily jerk off with Steve’s supersoldier hearing. Bucky was itching for release.

“Wanna show you how much I miss you, James,” you cooed, “cause I miss you real bad.” 

Your hands left the hem for a moment, fabric dropping to just above your knees again. Then, they found the underside of your breasts, your sternum, your stomach, and your hips. You caressed yourself, flicking your own nipples and fiddling with the cotton straps slowly before you finally lifted the dress up again, further this time. He’d soon be able to see your new underwear, pretty, soft, and pink just like your pussy. 

As soon as the fabric of the dress exposed the line of your panties, Bucky was gripping the table in front of him like his life depended on it. He’d never in his life thought about using modern communication devices for, well, sexual purposes, but the growing pressure inside his tactile pants had him suppressing a groan he could hardly keep inside his hot mouth and he had to stop himself from bucking his hips forward in an attempt to create deliciously painful friction against his pants.

Your bra, brand new and the same shade of baby pink with red lace around the wire, his favorite color on you, came into view and he was like a puddle at your feet. You tossed the dress on your bed, allowing your hands to slide up and down your body while he watched you in silence, the only sound being soft jazz music that played through your surround-sound system. Just the thought of his eyes on you getting naked in your bedroom made wetness pool between your legs.

You sauntered back towards the camera, using your hands to lean against the desk so your breasts were pushed together. Your mind was consumed with thoughts of him, had been ever since he was roughly whisked away from you two months ago and Jesus Christ you needed him so bad. It was a fucking sin to be away from him for so long. How the hell did you survive before you met him? How did you get off without his dick?

“Is that new too? Did you buy that for me as well?” He asked, voice gruff and dangerously low. 

You nodded, showing off the fabric by coming even closer to the camera. Then, you turned around again, slightly shaking your ass when you showed him the back of your panties up close. Your thumbs hooked under the band on your hips and they smacked against your skin when you let it go again. 

“I can’t wait to see you in that in-person, baby. All the things I’m gonna do to you while you’re wearing it. Gonna rip it right off you.”

“Yeah?” you taunted, licking your lips while cupping your bra with both hands.

“You doubtin’ me?” he asked darkly. 

“Seeing is believing, Sarge.”

“You’ll see it,” he smirked, “feel it too, when I shove my fucking cock down your throat.” 

You sat back down in the chair, squeezing your legs together to stop the ache between them as you shivered. How bad you wished he would come barging into the room right then and there to make you his, how much you needed his hand around your throat while he fucked you mercilessly into the desk, the thoughts were driving you up the fucking wall. You inhaled deeply, a deep breath enough to suck in the courage for what you were about to say. 

“I’m so wet for you, James.” 

You could hear the sharp intake of breath through the microphone of your laptop. He remained silent for a moment, contemplating what to say. He’d never done this before, but he wanted to make you happy in any way he could. He’d do anything for you, even being thousands of miles away from you. 

“Are you now?” he huffed, “guess that since I can’t be there to help you, you’re gonna have to listen to what I tell you to do. Can you do that for me, baby? Be so good for me.” 

You nodded quickly, taking your index finger in your mouth and biting the skin in anticipation. He had you writhing in your chair without even touching you. You didn’t know what it was about him, but everything about him turned you on, from the way his jawline was covered in dark scruff to his metal arm, which gleamed beautifully in the artificial motel room light. Everything about him oozed masculinity. 

“Show me how wet you are,” he told you, “come on angel.” 

You did as told by placing both heels on either side of the desk. He could already see the wet patch in the center of your panties begin to form and this time, Bucky couldn’t help but to let out a throaty groan when memories of him fucking you harshly and relentlessly into the mattress behind you clouded his vision. 

“I’ve been so lonely without you, Bucky,” you said, rubbing your fingers across your inner thighs teasingly, “It’s just not the same when I do it.”

He palmed his cock through his pants en began to rub it slowly at the sight of you; one hand moving over your clothed pussy and the other disappearing inside the cup of your bra. You adored way his dark, long hair was tied in a messy bun and wished you could reach through the screen to touch it. You wanted to kiss him, to feel his lips trailing down between your breasts, along your stomach and to the place where you needed him most. 

“Take it off,” he grumbled as he undid the button and unzipped his pants, “all of it. Take it off right now.”

He didn’t have to tell you again. Your bra was on the floor in seconds, exposing your perked nipples to the cold air of your room and his wanting gaze. You wiggled out of your panties, dropping them on the ground in front of you. Then, your legs resumed their previous position, one on the left side of your laptop and the other on the right, heels clicking against the wood in anticipation. 

You swore you could hear him curse underneath his breath when he caught a view of your naked pussy, glistening with slick and pretty pink contrasted by dark tan lines. He pulled his straining cock free from his boxers at last. It’s hard and thick, so fucking thick it made you want to cry out in desperation. There was no way you could’ve waited another day without at least seeing him, it was downright torture.

“So pretty, baby,” he groaned into his microphone, “touch yourself for me.”

You did as told, placing a finger on your most sensitive place, “Like this?” 

You began to rub circles over your clit, finally allowing a moan to escape your lips while Bucky slowly rubbed his throbbing cock. 

“Jesus, I want you to come sit on my dick,” his eyes screwed shut, “fuck you ‘til you can’t breathe.” 

“Come home then,” you tease, licking your finger before placing it back on your nub, “I’ll sit on your dick all day long.” 

“All day? You sure you can handle that?” He asked, eyes opening again just in time to see you plunge your middle finger inside yourself. 

You were so hot, burning to the touch and your back arched involuntarily when you dipped your finger in and out of your glistening pussy, “I’ll sit on your dick and your face, Bucky. You’re my favorite seat.” 

He chuckled, his grip on his cock tightening in an attempt to mimic the way you felt clenching around him. He envisioned it, your pussy over his mouth, nose pushed against your public bone as his tongue dove in and out of you. He’d grip your ass and smack it red with his metal one while groping your tits with his flesh one, drinking you up as you came in his mouth, driven to near madness from the feeling of his scruff against your most sensitive area.

You couldn’t wait for him to be with you again so he could be the one whose fingers were inside you instead of your own, ready to cave under the pressure of his muscular body on top of you. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, plunging another digit in so your middle finger wouldn’t cramp up, “wish you could cum in my mouth.” 

“Jesus Christ, I will,” the velvet murmur of his voice reminded you to look up at the camera instead of down at yourself, “soon as I get back to you I’ll cum wherever you want.”

You began to pump faster, rubbing your clit in smaller and more intense circles than before. You could see him do the same, increasing the speed with which he jerked himself off. His face was red and gleaming with sweat, running along his temple and down his neck. Your moans echoed through his speakers and through your room, filling his ears with a sound so delicious it nearly drove him insane.

“Cum for me, baby,” he urged, “I wanna see you make yourself cum like my good girl.” 

Pleasure overtook you when his words rang in your ears on repeat, eyes screwing shut when you continued to plunge your fingers inside you at a fast pace. Your hips rolled inside the chair, desperate for as much friction as you could possibly get. It creaked under your jerky movements, but you didn’t pay it any attention when Bucky’s voice filled the room through the speakers. 

You tossed your head back in bliss, pressure building so fast and deep inside of you that you knew you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Keep going,” he urged, “don’t you dare stop, baby.” 

“James, fuck” you moaned loudly, “I’m gonna..” 

Before you could finish your sentence, you were cumming so hard you saw stars clouding your vision. Your walls clenched around your fingers while you continued to rub circles over your oversensitized clit in an attempt to ride out your orgasm as long as you could. The coil of pleasure inside your lower belly finally snapped, sending sparks before your eyes and your mind blanked. 

You shuddered and opened your eyes, watching Bucky stroke himself from tip to base, hair beginning to fall from the bun atop his head the more he tilted his head back. 

With a harsh pant, he came all over his stomach, coating the black tactile vest in glossy white spurts of hot cum. He’d have to clean it before tomorrow because his other one had ripped when trying to climb a tree, but right now, all he could think about was how good it felt.

He fell back inside his chair, hands falling limply to his sides while he watched you remove your fingers from inside you. 

“We should’ve done this two months ago,” he panted, “could’ve saved me a lot of lonely nights.” 

You smiled blissfully, wiping a strand of sticky hair from your forehead.

Still, you couldn’t wait to have him with you for real. 

[johnkrrasinski]

Midnight, I’m Not Leaving

full masterlist

Pairings: Biker!Bucky Barnes x female!reader (AU)

Word count: 1,995

Warning: fluff!!!! just a lot of feelings tbh.

Summary: you had your whole life planned out; work hard, move to new york and pursue your dreams... but what happens when a coquettish biker gang leader crossed your path and relentlessly asked you for a date?

a/n: this one’s written for @captain-rogers-beard​‘s “Flex Your Writing Muscles” challenge. i was inspired by the prompt “a late night bike ride under the stars” and i’ve been actually thinking of writing about biker!bucky for awhile!! so yeah, it was a perfect coincidence. please leave a like & comment! enjoy!

The crisp breeze felt piercing on your skin, your hair was blowing through all over your face barricading your sight, the soft hum of the engine that you had grown fond of reverberated in your ears, like midnight jazz cruising through the streets of Sunset Boulevard.

Bucky’s sturdy material of leather felt nice against your palm as you inhaled his musky scent, the smell soothed your nerves. But again, Bucky Barnes always soothed your nerves.

You had been dating the town’s most infamous bad boy slash biker gang leader, Bucky Barnes for over two months now. You were a persevering small-town girl who valued your independence and was determined to get out of this mundane place.

You wanted to migrate to the big city, preferably the Empire State, where you can be whoever you want to be, and there’s a seat for you and your big ambitions on the dining table. Not like this small-minded, incommodious small town where everyone seems to have a thing of sticking their noses in places they don’t belong and the most “noble” job you can have is being a waitress.

You didn’t have any desire in fulfilling this small town’s dreams for you by being a waitress but you had to fill in your bank account if you really wanted to leave and run to the big city. So you took a part-time job at a local bakery store, owned by Mrs. Potts, called “Potts’ Boulangerie,” where you get paid quite generously for someone who only works as a part-time waitress.

Life in Islesbury was anything but exciting and extraordinary during most days.

But all that changed since, a rainy afternoon, when the fearsome, James Buchanan Barnes, the leader of the notorious biker gang, “The Howling Commandos.” The bell above the door dinged as Bucky with his two most trusted men, Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson tried to fit their massive figures into the moderate-sized door that would fit the average people.

Bucky set his foot first as Sam then Steve trailed along. They were soaked with the droplets of rain that were clouding over the tranquility of Iselsbury but they didn’t seem to mind one bit. There was only you at that moment since Wanda wasn’t feeling too well so she worked only for half-day. The shop was a little slow too since it was raining and most people preferred to stay inside, and Wednesdays aren’t exactly the most casual day to stop by at the bakery store.

To say you weren’t a tad intimidated by the sight of these menacing men would be a deceit. You had heard the rumours, the small crimes that they did, the various members that had gone in and out prison, and the bars that they owned and ruled over. But you put on your professional facade anyway, and you did your job.

They immediately sat at the last table in the corner, where Bucky leaned against the window, whilst Sam and Steve sat next to each other at the opposite of his direction. You heard one of them say, “damn, it’s really coming down.”

You carefully walked over to them with your notepad and pencil, and you raise your voice meekly, “can I get you guys anything?” Bucky instantly turned his head and took a good look at you, shamelessly eyed you up and down. “Well, hello there, gorgeous.” Bucky winked.

You were taken aback by his blunt move. The fuck did he just call you? You weren’t an escort who was prying on your next potential client and on your way to seduce him. “Excuse me?” All the civility in you dissolved, your offence was on palpable.

“Whoa, what’s the matter, doll face?”

“Don’t call me that. I’m here to take your order, not to escort you.”

“Calm down, doll. I ain’t saying that at all. I’m just stating the obvious.”

“Well, you better keep your mouth to yourself because I don’t like those nicknames and if you’re not going to make an order, then I suggest you leave.”

“Well, this is a public place, ain’t it? Anyone can be here whenever they want as long as the sign on the door says open.”

He was right. You shouldn’t be rude to a customer, but again, you weren’t going to let him or anyone walk over you. But you tried to regain your composure and tried to act decently again, “fine, what would you like to order, sir?”

“Sir… I like that. I’ll take one cup of espresso, please, darling.” He winked at you and grinned a Cheshire cat smile. “Be cool, he’s a customer. Be cool, he’s a customer. Be cool, he’s a customer.” You reminded yourself. “Just serve his orders and you won’t have to deal with him ever again… At least for today.”

“Alright. What about you?” You directed your attention to Steve and Sam.

“Americano, please.” You noted down Sam’s order. “And you?” You moved to Steve. “Just black ma’am. Thank you.” You noted that down also.

“I’ll be right back with your orders.” You immediately walked away and went back to the kitchen where you were going to make their coffees. Only after a few steps away from them, you heard the faint, yet bold voice of Bucky. “Feisty... Think I like this one.”

-

Since that fortunate day, Bucky never stopped bothering you, even though you persisted on rejecting him, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He kept on visiting you at the bakery store, annoying you whilst you were busy taking customers’ orders or helping Wanda out in the kitchen. He even went as far as insolently knocking on your door at night whilst you were having a movie night with your parents in the living room.

“What the hell? What are you doing here?!” You spoke in a hushed tone, but you glared at him. How the fuck did Bucky find your resident?

“Wanted to see you, doll. Thought you’d give me a different answer if I had visited you at your place rather than the shop.” He leaned into the frame of the door. Meanwhile, your mother in the background was not making the situation any easier, “who is that, honey?”

“Nobody…”

“What? Is it a false address?”

“Yeah…”

Amidst the turmoil of trying to get rid of Bucky and convincing your mother, you didn’t notice that Bucky was audaciously eyeing you up and down for you were clad in nothing but a white tank top and pyjama shorts with a thin cardigan cloaking you as an outer.

“Never seen you in something so scanty before, you look better like this.” There is that presumptuous smirk again.

You realized he wasn’t going to leave anytime soon for the persistent douche he was, so you shut the door behind you and stepped outside to your porch. “What the hell? You can not just come into my house uninvited! And most importantly, how did you even know where I live?!”

“I have eyes in the sky and ears all over town.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes.

“If you want me to leave, you gotta say yes to a date. Just one date, doll.”

“No.” You resolutely gritted.

“Fine, then I’ll just stand here all night, maybe even flaunt my singing skill and wake the entire neighbourhood, until you say yes.” He started singing a song that you didn’t know, like a drunken teenage boy at a bar. He didn’t even hesitate in turning up his volume and it immediately made you panic.

“Shh! Okay, fine. I’ll go on a date with you. Just please, stop causing a scene. My parents will call the cops on you if they saw you here.”

“Of course, still the uptight rich people, I see.”

“You gotta leave. Now.” You started pushing him, even though he barely moved an inch for he was stronger and bigger than you.

“7 PM, tomorrow. I’ll pick you up on my bike.”

“Okay, go!” You shoved him mildly to get him off your veranda.

He yielded then began moving to where he parked. He hopped on his bike and revived the engine as took one last glance at you, “can’t wait to see you all dressed up for me, doll.” He winked and geared on the asphalt road.

And the rest was history.

And now, here you were, two months later, sitting on the back of his bike, with your chest pressed against his broad back, as he cruised through the open road under the glow of the moon.

You hugged Bucky tighter as he sped up. The feel of his warmth against you relinquished all the burden and the mundanity of the small-town life were omitted.

“Where are we going?” You gritted.

“You’ll see. If I tell you now, it ain’t going to be a surprise.” His tone detonated, trying to overpower the din of the wind.

Typical Bucky. Even after you were his for two months, he was still coming up with inventive ways to impress you. It’s the little things and modest ways he did that pulled you into him like a magnet. The sugarcoated words he effortlessly spoke, the kisses his ingenious lips left on you and the iniquitous way he touched you when you were making passionate love… It captivated you like a firework show.

Bucky took you that night to a secluded hill, in the outskirts of town where there were barely any people passing by. You had snuck out earlier, cautiously not to jolt your parents up as Bucky noiselessly waited for you outside. You felt like recalcitrant teenagers recklessly in love. And maybe you were at that moment.

“Let’s go on a ride tonight, doll. I’ll be here by midnight. Be ready, princess.” He urged you on the phone earlier.

The midnight was besieged by stillness and nothing but the sonances of crickets. Bucky lifted the seat of his bike and retrieved the plaid picnic blanket from inside.

He placed it on the lawn and he laid down with you in his arms. You placed your head on his chest as you curled up to him and fitted your entire height in the blanket.

“Look at those stars…” Bucky pointed at the sprinkled constellation adorning the royal blue sky. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, they are.” You paused. For a moment there was only the sound of you and Bucky’s slow breathing and steady heartbeat humming in your ear. Then you filled in the silence with the sentimentality of your childhood your mind recalled. It’s really difficult not to open up when you are this close to him.

“When I was a little girl, I used to pretend that those stars would follow me wherever I go like they were my little guardian angels. And whenever I’m sad or afraid, I’d look outside my window and feel safe.”

“You still do that?” He breathed into your hair as he played with some of the strands. He tenderly caressed the back of your head with his indurated fingers that you had memorized every inch of.

“Of course not.” You slightly chuckled in disbelief at his question.

“Good, cause as long as you got me, you don’t ever have to feel sad or afraid again, doll.”

“Is that a promise?”

“It’s an oath. And I’ve got a lifetime to prove my words to you.”

You thanked your lucky stars that night, as they watched over you and Bucky like the angels taking over the form of flickering stellar in the sky. You always thought you knew where your future was heading and had your plans laid out immaculately in front of you until Bucky came along like a whirlwind sweeping away all your scribbled notes and took your hand to walk through every second with him.

And for the first time in forever, you weren’t rushing to be in another place or calculating your next move. For the first time, you think you were content enough to stay.

[suntrastar]

abstract: chapter 3

 chapter 2!! you can also read it on ao3 :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word Count: 9520. i am deranged. someone euthanize me i beg you.

Author’s note: jesus fucking christ. this is so long for no reason. probably kind of poorly written. that is okay though. i really really appreciate the support you guys have given me for the last 2 chapters!! i was a bit iffy about joining tumblr but i’m glad to be here now :) please comment and reblog!! i appreciate it so much!!! ily all ok now enjoy this mess!!!

“You want to paint me?”

Rina looks at you, shocked, mouth agape, lone cherry tomato speared on her fork.

“Yeah,” you say, and smile with your straw still in between your teeth. “You in a field of flowers.”

“You want to paint me in a field of flowers?”

“Yes- that’s literally what I just said.”

The bustle of the restaurant is loud enough to drown out the rising volume of her voice. Thankfully. She’s being excessive, again- as if this is the first time she’s ever been the center of attention- but you’re fine with it today. You almost like it.

Today, her enthusiasm is almost contagious.

“I know,” Rina says “Duh. But, like, it’s just so crazy to me that you want to put me in your second solo show ever- I mean, why me?”

“Because,” you say, and almost leave it at that, just to mess with her. “Because you’re my best friend, and the whole thing is focused on people I know. And your hair would look so good with poppies, and-”

“I’m your best friend?”

“Obviously,” you say, even though to her, it might not be that obvious. “Who else?”

“That is so sweet,” she says, and leans back in her seat, dramatically clutching her hands over her heart. Rings sit on each of her fingers, gold and heavy stone. “You are too nice to me.”

She’s really milking it. But you’ll let it slide.

Rina gives you a self-satisfied smile, which you return without too much trouble. She’s so overwrought and showy with how she sits, limbs sprawled all over, like they’ve been blown into disarray by the wind. Her hair, still glossy red, is parted down the middle and made up in two French braids, tips just barely brushing her shoulders. The hair ties don’t match.

She has no best friend. She probably has, like, five other people just like you, who she calls on when she feels like it, whenever she wants company, when she feels like humoring someone. Or when she wants someone to listen to her talk.

It comes as part of the lifestyle- can you really blame her?

“I know,” you say, veering back on topic. “Bucky gave me the idea.”

You do it on purpose.

Her eyes go wide.

“Bucky?” She says, incredulously. Like she doesn’t believe you.

The feeling of being incompetent comes quick in a flash, and it takes too much to put it away.

You’re not incompetent- his number is in your phone, after all, isn’t it?

“The Winter Soldier, I mean,” you say, and the words feel all wrong in your mouth.

“No . Shut up. You are not on first-name basis with the fucking Winter Soldier.”

“Oops,” you say.

Her jaw drops.

You’re grinning too hard. She didn’t expect this from you- you didn’t expect this from you! You take a bite of your food, some garlicky chicken thing you can’t pronounce the name of, to delay your response. It gives you time to think of what to say next.

Rina waits, stunned into silence.

“We’re… talking, I think,” you say. “I asked him for his number.”

“And he gave it to you?”

“Yep.”

There’s a story there, that you won’t tell her.

You texted him a day after class, on Tuesday. Was that too soon? You didn’t care, your mind was too muddled with so many other things- icy blue eyes and different techniques for drawing wrinkles and this week’s shopping list and the best color that went with orange-red, and the laundry that you still hadn’t done.

You were too giddy to get smart with it- all you sent was a simple Hey.

All he sent back was a simple Hi.

Then, once you had read over his message too many times, you turned your phone off and pretended it never happened.

It’s too nerve-wracking. And pointless. You’re going to see him on Monday again, anyway! There’s plenty of time to text him- everything doesn’t have to be so immediate- you’ll get around to it before then, for sure.

You just have to stop thinking so much.

“I cannot believe you,” Rina gushes, and from her expression, you believe her. “You’re all grown up! I am so proud of you. That man is delicious, I cannot-”

“Do not describe him as delicious, oh my god.”

You burst out laughing as Rina raises one eyebrow, filled in dark. Her eye makeup always kills. “Am I wrong?”

“Well… no, but…”

***

Steve leaves, but Bucky stays back at the end of class to help you clean up. Acrylics again, and it’s the second-to-last class, so you had finally brought out the canvas.

Canvas means more fun, but more mess. More paint splatters on the tables, more brushes with clogged-up bristles.

Bucky doesn’t smile as he says bye to Steve, and it makes you feel a certain type of way , but you stick to business. Cleaning supplies are pulled out, paper towels are ripped from the dispenser. Bucky starts on the tables while you roll up your sleeves and start the sink, preparing to start on the brushes.

God- these brushes.

If these brushes were washed incorrectly, you would cry. They’re new, and high-quality, and the bristles are still soft and not yet frayed or discolored, and the handles are made of thick, clear plastic, and they come in different sizes and styles, and you can barely believe it, but they all even have rubber grips.

They’re really nice brushes.

“You didn’t text me back,” Bucky says.

You wish the sink was loud enough to swallow all sound, swallow you up within it.

Still, you look over your shoulder, giving him a pained smile while he scrubs at a spot of dried paint. He looks back at you, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Of course you didn’t text back- thinking less is way harder than it seems.

“I wanted to,” you say, “but I got nervous. Sorry.”

You turn back to the sink. It’s a little easier to breathe without having to look at him.

“You got nervous,” he repeats, voice still so unreadable.

Is he mad? He always looks mad, always sounds mad- you can’t ever tell if there’s anything behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, and shrug, like it’s no big deal at all, like you chicken out of things all the time, like texting is always such a cause for concern. “I didn’t know what to say. What was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.”

Ugh.

The sink water slowly circles the drain. You don’t look past it, only keeping your eyes on the sink and the remaining brushes- it helps calm your heart, a little. Bucky is probably on the last few tables. All of the paintings have been neatly propped up on the drying racks.

Bucky painted his entire canvas yellow.

You are so dumb.

“Um, okay” you say, shutting off the sink. The really nice brushes are all neatly piled up on the counter on top of a folded paper towel, washed and drying. “What if I was like, ‘hey, Bucky, after this class ends and I’m not your art instructor anymore, would you want to meet up sometime?’”

You turn back around and lean against the sink. It’s an effort that deserves applause- you look so collected, while your heart is beating way too fast, and Bucky, its forever opposite, just stands behind a table, spray bottle in hand.

Your hands are sweaty.

He nods slowly, and it’s a victory in and of itself- the action nearly has you weak at the knees.

“Meet up,” he repeats, voice low, like a halfhearted growl. Disdainful, kind of. “Like a date.”

You wipe your hands on your apron. It’s a totally normal, totally relaxed movement. But then you’re wishing that you wore something cuter- was this sweatshirt really the only thing you had? Do you not own, like, a blouse, or something? Didn’t you just do your laundry?

Fuck, you’re being annoying.

“We don’t have to call it that,” you say. “We can just… hang out. Eat something. Go on a walk.”

You say it casually, but honestly, you like nice dates. Dates at art museums, dates at fusion restaurants, dates at movie theaters showing indie films in foreign languages. Anything eccentric, haphazard. Spontaneous.

But you also like seeing him smile, and you like to talk, and you like to be listened to- and he is giving you that.

This is a different type of everything. It’s all upside down, inside out, twisted over in itself. You have to approach it all differently, maybe it’s because he’s too quiet or too famous or too dangerous or whatever the hell, but none of it matters.

What matters is that you want it.

You’ll realign your compass.

“Okay,” he says. “I like walks.”

“Great,” you say, and go on without hesitating, because long nights have you tired and hesitation is for the weak, “I like you.”

Bucky Barnes, real, unfitting name James, clutching dirty paper towels and a spray bottle, smiles at you.

It’s wrong, but you could just bite him.

A sudden, unprompted thought hurls through your mind- you want to paint him.

***

The last art class.

It was once long-awaited, but now, you’re actually sad to see everyone go.

You buy a tray of cookies. It’s the least you can do- everyone has been so nice to you, so respectful and cooperative. Everyone has made things fun. You don’t know if you were doing anything right, but it sure as hell has been enjoyable.

Crumbs might get in the paint, but’s a small price to pay.

“Knock yourself out,” you announce.

The tray is set out on the middle table. You forgot the package of napkins back at your studio, so you gesture to the paper towel dispenser.

Then you long for the kids in your Wednesday and Thursday classes, because unlike these people, they wouldn’t be looking so dead at the prospect of free cookies.

You shake your head and return to your perch, tucking your feet behind the legs of the stool.

Eventually the conversations trickle out, slowly turning the room warm and lovely and bright. You listen in, a little, savor it, and hop back up. There’s nothing to do- might as well make some idle chitchat, one last time.

Shonna uses a small brush to add purple highlights to the feathers of a pigeon. It’s gorgeous- and you don’t even like pigeons- but you like her painting style and the jewel tones she’s adding amidst the grey, and the orange beak, and the washed-out yellow background she’s painting over.

“Wow,” you say, and she adds another purple highlight with a flick of her hand. “I cannot stop looking at this pigeon.”

“Thank you, honey,” she says, without looking up.

She’s too focused for you to stay for too long- you have to leave the pigeon for others. Marcie waves you down and gives you the latest update about her son, abandoning her half-painted rose while she launches into a bit of a tirade- her son wants to pierce his nose, isn’t that ridiculous?

“Hey, I wanted to pierce my nose when I was his age, too,” you say, and spout something about self-expression that makes her frown.

Ahmed chimes in. You have no idea what the blob he’s painting is supposed to be, but you like it. “I’ve been trying to tell her the same thing! These kids are modern now- these are just the things they do!”

“These are just the things we do,” you echo.

Marcie heaves a heavy sigh.

***

You head over to a few more tables, and it goes by too fast and too slow, but then you’re suddenly there in the back, with your star student, and your…

With Bucky.

“I really like how this is turning out,” Steve says proudly, as you approach them.

Then, he adds, almost childishly, “Don’t look until I’m done.”

He has a half-eaten sugar cookie sitting by his paint water.

“I won’t look” you promise, and all at once, you’re almost emotional- he is such a nice guy. He’s like the human embodiment of a golden retriever. “Don’t worry.”

Steve nods, pleased and nervous at the same time. You pointedly look away from the painting as you slide into a seat, across from Bucky and his yellow canvas.

Yellow and black canvas. He’s hunched over with a fat-bristled paintbrush in hand, adding black stripes, blobby and unevenly spaced, but still unbelievably straight.  

It is all so cute.

“Very bumblebee-esque,” you say, and his forehead creases. “I like it.”

Steve smiles.

Bucky adds another line. He didn’t take a cookie. He should’ve- the chocolate-chip is so good.

“Thanks,” he says.

And Steve just smiles wider, and you almost kick him under the table, and Bucky gives you an unsmiling look that turns you to jelly.

Hat aside, he is looking exceptionally pretty today. All hair and eyes and bone structure- it makes you want to do something, like reaching out and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. Like running a hand over his jaw. Catching his stubble under your fingertips.

Parting his hair down the middle and French braiding it.

Taking a picture- it'll last longer.

“I'm going to miss seeing you guys around.”

Steve gives you a surprised look and shakes his head. He has one arm protectively curled around his canvas, even though you’re still not looking.

“Oh, I’m sure one of us will be seeing you around,” he says, and grins.

You glare at him.

Bucky laughs.

***

The goodbyes aren’t as bad as you thought they would be.

People leave with a simple goodbye and a brief thank you, shrugging on their coats and gingerly clinging to their still-damp artwork. Marcie makes you promise her that you won’t pierce your nose. One woman who would always come to the class with a huge coffee cup sets her painting aside to sweep you into a hug.

It’s very gratifying.

Steve and Bucky linger.

Shonna does, too, but for a completely different reason.

You want to give her Rina’s contact. She probably has some painting class available, if Shonna’s interested in that sort of thing, if she’s okay with being around so much personality.

And you also want to give her your contact- so she can keep on sending you pictures of those  birds.

“One sec,” you tell her, and reach for your purse, sitting on the counter.

Bucky is standing closeby, remarkably closeby, and you accidentally brush against him.

He goes rigid.

But you’re busy pulling out a pen and a scrap piece of paper, and then you’re using the counter as a hard surface to write against, shoulders angled away from him, and you’re talking all the while- you don’t have the spare second to be concerned.

“This is my email,” you say, adding a smiley face after the address. “Send me your art. And, like, talk to me. Send me your grocery lists, if you want- I don’t care. Here.”

Shonna takes it and gives you a smile. There’s a glimmer of something in it, a knowing.

“Thank you,” she says, and laughs a little, and you suddenly fiercely miss your mother. “I’ll keep the last bit in mind.”

She looks past you. Steve, standing a few feet away, holding the canvas he still hasn’t shown you, nods respectfully. And Bucky, standing near the counter, still near you, even though he’s looking at you like you’ve scalded him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says.

You almost ask, “to what?” But she’s already left- Shonna and her pigeons are gone.

Steve steps up fast to take her place.

You still have no time to think.

“So, this is the finished product,” Steve says with no preamble, and with a great flourish that makes you laugh in delight, he turns the canvas around.

Oh.

Wow.

You’re not dizzy.

But you will be, if you keep on looking at this- a tangle of vines on a wall, with blooming flowers in what should be the wrong colors, dappled in light from a window you can’t see, drawn from a strange perspective. The leaves are really big and the vines are really small, and then it’s flip-flopped, and he has a hot-pink underpainting that he didn’t fully cover, so there’s pink in the leaves, pink on the wall. Pink in the un-pink flowers.

“Fuck,” you say, and then go quiet.

Steve tenses.

Now you have two very strong men looking at you weird.

You should probably fix that.

“I don’t- I don’t know what to say,” you say, stumbling over your words, feeling cotton-mouthed. “There are no coherent thoughts going on in my head right now. I’m just- where did this even- how did you even come up with this?”

“I tried to do that thing you said,” Steve says, sounding uncertain. He shifts and the painting moves with him, sending pink flickering over your eyesight. “No empty space. Because it’s boring.”

What is this called, again? Artists supporting artists?

“It is boring,” you say in agreement, and your voice comes back to you, all at once. “And holy shit, you pulled it off so well. I’m obsessed with the pink underpainting- it’s everything. You literally invented pink. And can we talk about these vines? How long did it take you to draw them all tangled up like that? And the flowers- you even gave them little stems, ugh.  And all the colors! And this lighting- I’m sorry, I have too much to say.”

Like watching a flower bloom, Steve unfurls at your praise, blush deepening with each compliment. It’s so wonderfully endearing, and internally, you sigh in relief.

“Thank you,” he says, and bursts into the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. “Also, we have one more question.”

“We?” You ask, and Bucky clears his throat.

You turn to him.

Already, you have a whole slew of problems- you have to sketch out an emerging idea and place an order for new brushes, ones with rubber grips, and you have to cook dinner when you get home because lately you’ve been ordering too much takeout, and you have to organize your closet, and you have to give an adequate and peppy response to whatever Steve is about to say-

You’re bursting at the seams.

There isn’t much room for anything else. Any concern.

“You have something to say, Bucky?” You ask, and waggle your eyebrows.

He doesn’t crack a smile- just how you like it.

“I do,” he says, smugly, and then says your name in a way that ties your stomach up in knots, that has you thinking of flowers and chiffon.

“We were wondering if you’re free tomorrow,” Steve says, and then invites you out for drinks, for tomorrow evening.

So you’ve passed the initial threshold of friendship, and now you’re onto group drinking! That’s exciting- and you’ll get to see Bucky, and you’ll get to postpone that tedious process of planning out a date- a hang-out, and you’ll have an opportunity to show up in something besides jeans and sad sweatshirts.

There hasn’t been a chance to show it off to him, yet, but you can dress.

Steve mentions another friend named Sam, who might join, too, if that’s okay with you.

“I’m cool with it,” you say. “The more the merrier, right?”

He has to be a decent guy, if Steve associates with him, and you like new people.

But doesn’t Steve also associate with, like, Tony Stark?

That man is oh-so problematic. He rolls out with a new scandal every month. He’s had enough scandals that he could release a line of red-and-gold-themed calendars- with the dates of each scandal marked in. Each month could have its own photo, too, coinciding with the dates.

Tony Stark, making peace signs at a court hearing. Tony Stark, wasted on a yacht. Tony Stark, in the middle of an interview where he bashes people who have absolutely nothing to do with him.

“That sounds like fun,” you say, and Steve lets out a breath of relief, “but I have to ask, about Sam? Is he, like, a…”

An Avenger? A genetically-altered individual? A prominent public figure with a stupid amount of money?

“He’s a really nice guy,” Steve quickly says.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Bucky says, immediately after him.

***

As it turns out, Sam Wilson is not a pain in the ass.

He is really nice, but more importantly, he is funny.

Bucky texted you the address a few hours ago. You walk into the bar and at once, you’re assaulted by an excess of dark- dark floors, dark lighting, dark accents on the decor. None of it is dingy, just low-lit. It’s a nice place.

It might be a little too nice- nothing like the sticky-floored, rowdy sports-themed bars you usually hit when you’re in the mood to get hammered.

You catch the back of a head, wavy brown hair and thick shoulders, in a booth tucked into the corner. Steve, sitting opposite him, against the wall, catches your eye and waves you over.

Next to Bucky is a guy you’ve never seen before, Sam. Black skin, close-cropped hair, looking over his shoulder to flash a grin at you. Even in a simple shirt, you can tell that he is built.

He’s an Avenger, then. Maybe.

You’ve just barely slid in beside Steve, and you’re grinning and making some dumb comment about the disaster that is the New York subway system, when Sam fixes you with a gleeful look and leans forward.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, casting a side-eye at Bucky. “I’m not joking when I say this- I was starting to think that Barnes made you up. He’s always doing crazy shit like that. Anyways, you will not believe why I’m actually here.”

You humor him, because why the hell not? “Why are you actually here?”

Already, you can tell that he has that vaguely-ironic, purposely-stupid sense of humor, which you always find absolutely hilarious. And you want to know what he means by crazy shit.

Bucky looks up at you for a few charged seconds, telling you something you can’t decipher, and then ducks his hand back down to stare intensely at his drink. Something amber, with ice cubes.

“I’m here to make sure that you don’t feel bad. Because these two fossils,” Sam says, and Steve winces, “can’t get drunk. But I can! So if you wanna get trashed, I’m game.”

Under the dimmed lights, Sam’s teeth shine perfectly white. All of Steve’s friends seem to have perfectly white teeth.

“It’s because of the serum,” Steve says, and you just gawk.

They both can’t get drunk?  

Because of their fucking superhero vaccine?

“What the hell,” you say, and rest your elbows on the tabletop. Bucky’s gaze follows your arms, starting at the hems of the sleeves, trailing up to your shoulders. “That’s so… Steve, if you can’t get drunk, then why are you torturing yourself with that beer?”

“It’s for the feeling,” Steve says quietly, blushing pink, and Bucky is still quiet, and you have a feeling that this has something to do with nostalgia, or World War II, or something. The good old days.

Sam catches it too, so he buts in, quickly bringing the conversation back to something less layered, less wired.

He’s a man with nothing to hide. He tells you who he is with no hesitation, without trying to skip over or disguise anything- he’s open. He’s a war vet, too, and now an Avenger- he’s the Falcon. He has, he says, a pair of fancy-ass wings. And the coolest outfit.

“Wait,” you say, and you’re suddenly dying to know, “what does it feel like to fly?”

His eyes light up.

“You know when you’re trying to sleep, and then you randomly get that feeling that you’re falling, and your stomach does that thing?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that, but you can control it. It’s fucking amazing.”

He launches into a whole spiel, talking your ear off about the feeling of high-altitude wind on his skin and aerodynamics and some science-y things you don’t understand, and you get your own beer and enjoy the sweet feeling of getting buzzed on a weeknight, and as the edge you constantly have on yourself shifts, the seats shift, too.

You don’t know how, but you end up next to Bucky, in between him and the wall. Not touching, but close. Sam is across from you and Steve is next to him, and all of a sudden they’re talking about Chex Mix.

“If the Avengers were Chex Mix pieces,” Sam says, throwing the word Avenger around casually enough to make Steve’s hesitations seem horrendously uptight, “I would be the garlic chip. The best part of the whole damn bag. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, those chips are definitely the best part,” you say, adopting a mock-seriousness. “And Tony Stark would be one of those knobby-ass, crunchy little mini breadsticks.”

Sam mirrors your expression, nodding gravely, like what you’re both evaluating is a highly intellectual subject. “I completely agree. And for Rogers- man, you’re a pretzel.”

You narrow your eyes. “Square or circle?”

“Uh,” Sam says, turning to survey poor, unprepared Steve, looking equal parts bewildered and embarrassed. “Square.”

“Great choice. And Bucky?”

“Bucky…” Sam hesitates, and the briefest smile flashes over his face before he schools his expression back into objectivity, “Bucky is one of those original Chex squares. Sorry.”

“That’s cold,” you say, and Sam smiles again, and leans all the way back in his seat, bringing his hands behind his head.

“He’s not one of the yellow squares, though- those are actually good,” Sam starts, grin growing wider by the second, and you can’t tell if it would be rude to laugh. “He’s not one of those squares with extra seasoning, either. Bucky is just one of the plain brown squares. The wheat squares, or whatever the hell. Have you ever, like- have you ever wondered what the sole of a shoe tastes like? Or the eraser on top of a pencil? That’s what those taste like- that’s what he is. Just one of the plain Chex squares.”

Your jaw drops.

A roast like that from a halfway drunk man is absolutely scathing.

Bucky just levels a glare.

He’s used to this, you think. Is that his crazy shit? That he never reacts to anything?

You’re definitely a little tipsy- this is obviously no time to get wasted, but the edge has certainly been taken off, the corners of your world having gone hazy. In a lull, you watch a well-dressed man standing by the vestibule doors lean past your field of vision and receive what you think is a kiss on the cheek.

Without thinking, you lean close to Bucky and cup a hand over his ear.

Maybe he won’t react, maybe he will, but you’re not going to give him the time for either.

“I think that you’re the garlic chip,” you whisper loudly, and you’ll probably cringe yourself into oblivion over it when you're sober, but you think he shivers- and then he snorts.

“Thank you,” he says, and Sam putters out, giving you an amazed look.

***

“Heyyy,” you say later, turning to Bucky, when time has passed and you’re no longer on the subject of Chex Mix and he’s still a little too quiet. “What’s up?”

He’s quiet and troubled, drinking what might be whiskey like it’s water. Is it whiskey? You didn’t think that people actually drank whiskey- just kept it around in crystal decanters and silver flasks to look cool, like they’re main characters in a movie.

“The sky,” he says dryly, like you didn’t say that same exact shit when you were in middle school, hopelessly thinking that it was the slickest comeback.

“Very funny, James,” you say, and he huffs, and you feel a brief flash of panic, and then you’re almost apologizing, when he grins.

You know maybe three whole things about him, but you’ll press yourself up against him right here and now, under the low light of a fancy bar, with rain sliding down outside the window panes, with his friends right across the table. You don’t care.

His friends can tell.

“We’ll be right back,” Steve says suddenly, making a very showy display of getting up with Sam. Both of them send you obnoxious grins and suggestively raised eyebrows.

Bucky glares. You can’t stop smiling.

“You kids have fun,” Sam calls, and you laugh.

Just you and him, then. The mood shifts fast, turning from one thing to… another. Bucky’s eyes reflect the window outside, falling dark and darker, and you’re slipping, too.

“You look really nice,” Bucky says, and his eyes dip down in the slyest fucking move- you’re almost proud of him for it, for having such game.

A spark of heat flashes through you, as he takes you in slowly, like he’s trying to savor it.

You opted for a slightly tighter shirt, and a pair of jeans, but they’re your nice jeans. The ones without any weird streaks of paint on the thighs. And you wear a beaded necklace, and in your ears, a pair of fun, delicate hoop earrings, dangling with charms in the shape of crescent moons.

“Thanks,” you  lean back, into the wall, letting your voice drop to match the tone of his. “You do, too.”

He just stares at you, unamused. Still dark, and dangerous.

Purple chiffon, you think, and marigolds. The flower was meant for another friend, but she’ll have to manage, because now, you can only see Bucky with marigolds, with no room for anyone else.

“So,” you say, before the silence carries on and makes you do something stupid, “Done anything fun lately?”

He tenses. Again.

There’s all these things that you know you can’t ask him, things about his job and his hobbies and his metal fucking arm, which you still haven’t seen- which you’re fine with, but, like. It’s the fact that he has a metal arm in the first place- he is so detached from everything you know, and you aren’t sure if you know how to navigate it all. You don’t think he knows how to navigate it, either.

He’s hesitant, you think. But not unwilling.

You’re just going to roll with it.

”I watched a movie today,” he says, sounding so smooth that your clutch on your drink wavers. His eyes are raking you over, cold.

Red marigolds. Not the orange ones. Red marigolds with the little golden borders on the edges of each petal.

“Which movie?”

He shakes his head. “I forgot the name”

“Okay, well, what was it about?”

“Talking dogs.”

You laugh and he smiles, and then you feel light enough to float. “Talking dogs?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and he takes a sip. His mouth is very pink. Layers, you think, layers and overlapping, to make the fabric look hazy. Washed-out. “They talk when their owners aren’t home.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” you say, and you’re giggly and he’s all smiley and maybe you’re being embarrassing, but whatever, because he’s looking at you like he’s never been smiley with anyone else before, and you really, really want to lean in.

You’ll wait.

***

Sam comes back with Steve a little bit later, but it isn't until you’re getting ready to leave when he brings it up.

“You’re good for him,” Sam says, while Bucky and Steve have gone to pay. Your drinks are on him- how chivalrous. “Honestly, you’re probably too good for him.”

You laugh as you shrug on your jacket. “Doubt it.”

“No, I’m serious,” he says, voice dropping to an urgent whisper. You realize at once that he’s about to say something heavy, something concerning. “He has been through some fucked-up shit. It’s not his fault, obviously, but it’s always there. He’s never going to get over it. Sometimes he doesn’t sleep. He just stays awake, for like, three whole days at a time. Sometimes he just disappears. He never tells anyone where he goes. Sometimes he does this thing where he-”

“I get it,” you say quickly, and he must be able to see your sudden dread, because his face softens.

“I’m not trying to scare you. I just want you to know- that that’s what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Thanks,” you say, and zip up your coat, and then pat your pockets even though you know you have everything, just so you have an excuse to not say anything. Sam gives you a long look, before sighing and pulling out his phone.

Obviously, Sam is trying to tell you that Bucky is damaged.

You’re not in the business of fixing things, but you’ll take him as he is anyway, because...

“Sam?” you say, and he looks up from his phone.

“Sometimes,” you start, and swallow down whatever anxiety is starting to surface, “Sometimes he’s being all quiet and moody and angsty and whatever, I get that same feeling that you’re telling me. But then, like, he just does something. Like, he’ll make a joke, or say something, and then it’s like-”

You struggle with your words- it’s like everything you want to say is there, but you can’t reach it. Sam slides his phone into his pocket, and Bucky is coming back, with Steve in tow, moon and sun, peas in a pod. You wonder if Sam makes their duo a trio, if he’s the third invitee to their slumber party, or if he’s just on the fringes.

“It’s like- It’s like, okay. Like, I know who he is and it’s all okay.”

He nods, and smiles at you, and you sincerely hope that he isn’t just on the fringes.

***

The paintings of your parents are finished- and they are good. So good. Every detail is there, every color. Every line. The wrinkles and the flowers and the lace neckline of your mother’s dress. Looking at them makes you feel so proud- it’s been forever since you were able to properly convey your thoughts onto canvas.

They’re big, too. Larger than life. You’ll have to rent one of those orange U-Haul trailers to transport them.

On a new canvas is Rina, only halfway painted. She looks good too, even though right now she’s just a head and a torso and two floating feet, because getting the colors on her legs right is harder than you thought. It’s tricky to paint the shadows and contours without her legs just looking bruised- there’s so many flower stems overlapping with the skin, so you don’t have a lot of room to work with.

You’ll figure it out.

You might be a little in over your head, actually. Confident- a little too confident. You don’t even have this painting done, and you’re itching to start on another. A possible recipe for disaster, but every time you have a spare second, in the shower or on the subway or when you’re trying to fall asleep, you find yourself thinking about it.

Not in bits and pieces the way most of your thoughts are, but a fully formed concept; a real, true image brimming with fullness, already starting to spill over into everything you do.

You have it all figured out. You know what techniques you’ll use. What composition, what colors.

You text Bucky.

Nothing crazy. You know you could scare him off, or maybe not, not anymore- by the end of the night at the bar last week, you sat next to him and bumped up against him and whispered in his ear, and right before you left he flicked the charm on your earring, watched it sway, and then he smirked- and you almost died.

You text him Hey, and then set your phone on the farthest surface you can find, pointedly avoiding it. Rina’s calves need attention- you have paint to mix.

Ten minutes later, your phone rings.

You can’t help it, you’re weak-hearted- you drop everything and dash to your phone, dodging your carts of supplies and hopping over a stack of toppled canvases that you never bothered to pick up, and pick up on the third ring.

“Hi,” you say into the receiver, slightly out of breath.

“Hi,” he says, and he sounds slightly out of breath, too.

“Um,” you say, and laugh a little, with the heady rush of nerves flooding in, “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“I called because I’m a slow texter,” Bucky says.

You feel so fluttery. When was the last time you felt this fluttery?

“Oh. That’s okay. I was just wondering if you... wanted to meet up sometime soon? Tomorrow, maybe?”

Tomorrow is Saturday, a day off. For you, at least- do Avengers get days off?

“Okay,” he says, and you swear he sounds pleased. You want to cut straight to something else. Skip, jump, leap over all of these steps, so you can get to what you really want to tell him. “I think I can do that. Where are we meeting?”

“There’s this little cafe we can… we can head there first, I’ll text you the address, but I have this idea,” you say, and wait for his invitation to continue, with your heart beating dangerously fast, thrumming like it might just burst through your ribs.

“What’s your idea?”

Thank you, you almost say, but don’t.

The steps are skipped, formalities disregarded- you just tell him.

It’s the perfect time- there’s that currently rare, pretty daylight that grows with each passing day streaming in through your windows unfiltered, blocked by no blinds or curtains. You pace a little, at first, right in the sun, and then sit down on a stool, toeing the smooth wood floors beneath, cradling the phone.

You start it off simple, with the marigolds.

Red marigolds, you specify, because you feel like you have to. Then you delve deeper, into chiffon and lighting and this thing you want to try out with layering, where two elements that overlap go by a completely different color scheme. Like, you say, like the flowers are red and the clothes are black, but the places where they meet are electric pink or orange or blue or something else unusual and distracting.

Save for the sound of his breathing, Bucky is quiet. You can tell that he’s really listening, probably sitting down somewhere and focusing on you, not doing some other task with your voice as background noise. He doesn’t interrupt when you go off on a tangent about the importance of natural lighting or contradict yourself with opposing statements on color choice, or when your words start to deteriorate, when they start pouring out so fast that they slur together and become less than coherent.

Your mind is going even faster- you can see the image even when you blink.

Something at the back of your thoughts tells you to stop, to slow down. You need to chill out.  

But the idea is so vivid, so you can’t- you don’t, not until the idea is totally exhausted and you give a final sigh and go quiet, not until after giving what could count as an entire fucking speech.

When Bucky speaks again, he sounds tentative.

“I… like it,” he says, and maybe he’s holding his phone at a bad angle, because his voice is quiet.

“You do?” You say, instead of asking something else, with a sudden bad feeling in your gut.

“Yeah. But…”

You know what he says without him having to say it.

It feels like you’ve been punched.

The picture behind your eyelids burns brighter.

“That’s okay,” you say in response to his unsaid words, speaking too late, so that it's obvious that it’s not okay.

Your heart is sinking, as if it has any right to, as if he’s in the wrong. How did you go from high to low so fast?

You scared him. You put too much pressure on him too fast- it’s exactly what Sam said, that he’s all levels of wary and weird, and little things can set him off, because of everything that he’s been through-

Even if he was someone else, though, even if he was normal, he would still say no- anyone would say no to being given such a request out of nowhere.

Well, Rina didn’t, but she doesn’t count in this situation, does she?

“Sorry,” he says.

That hurts worse.

“Don’t apologize,” you say quickly. “It’s not like it’s not going to work now- I mean, it’ll be fine. Are you still down to meet, though?”

“Sure,” he says, too late.

***

Bucky Barnes does not like anything in his coffee.

He takes it black, black like his clothes, black like his soul, black like whatever other emo shit you can come up with.

It’s not that funny anymore.

Still, you keep up with it- you’re funny and talkative and charming and everything else, because you don’t know what else to do. The subject will be broached, it’s inevitable- you’ll broach it, even, but you still have to figure out how.

He’s subdued. And wearing his stupid hat, again, and you would give anything to knock it off so you could really see him, and he’s cautiously cradling his mug in a way that makes you ache everywhere.

The cafe is busy and decorated with a specific aesthetic, one that you would call manufactured bohemian. Potted plants and quirky photographs and drinks that all have fancy and ridiculous names. The baristas wear yellow aprons, and if you have a membership card, every tenth purchase gets you a free sugar cookie iced with a smiling sun.

Your cappuccino foam is dissolving. Sometimes, even though it’s mostly tasteless, you swipe it up and eat it with a spoon. Today, it seems like a bad idea- frivolous in the face of his silence and your unmotivated charisma and this stupid idea lingering between you two, like a friend that’s overstayed their welcome.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, and wonder why you feel so jumpy for saying it. “For bringing that thing up yesterday.”

To your own credit, you still sound confident.

He looks at you so darkly that you wonder if you should be afraid. Have there ever been others in your seat, afraid?

You’re not afraid.

“It’s fine,” he says, and continues staring at you like it’s not fine.

“I’m just- I was just thinking out loud,” you say. You feel like you have to explain yourself, prove something to him, so that you won’t wilt. “It was just an idea that I thought could be cool. I told you because, no , wait. I mean, I know that I- fuck. I’m sorry that it made you uncomfortable. That was really dumb of me.”

He tilts his head, eyes sliding over, and you shiver.

He looks bored.

Which is unnerving and terrifying as hell, because you have this carefully hand-crafted, precisely-cut image of who you are supposed to be, and it is not meant to be boring in the slightest, but he's bored, and you’re going to lose it.

“I said it’s fine,” he says, monotonously, giving the sudden impression that he’s about to leave. But he’s just sitting in his seat, unwrapping his hands from his mug and setting them on the table, while your hands are on the verge of shaking. “It didn't make me uncomfortable.”

If that was true, then you wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place. You wouldn’t be stumbling over yourself to say something so simple.

It takes considerable effort to keep your gaze steady. “Okay. But I still- I just want to say a thing really quick.”

“Say it.”

He’s being mean.

But this thing has been eating at you for a while now, so you don’t care.

“Um, so, we’re really different people,” you start, and before you second-guess it, you adopt your speaker voice, the teaching voice, the smart one. He has to know this about you- you’re smart. “And you obviously have all of your own things going on in your life that I can’t even imagine, and if you ever want to, like, talk about it, I’m here, but I also don’t care.”

He raises an eyebrow.

You push on.

“Like, it’s not important to me. If you want it to be, then it’ll be, but if not, then it’s whatever. I'm not- when I see you, I just see you. Does that make sense? Like, I don’t really think of any of that other stuff? If I’m supposed to, though, I’m sorry. I… I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

You don’t get nervous often, but you let out a small, nervous laugh.

It’s like your heart and head and lungs are suspended, frozen in ice while he takes your words in. The door to the cafe chimes and a large group of people step in. Middle aged women, all wearing athletic clothes. Devil’s ivy grows on the wall farthest from you- how chic- with vines snaking forward in your direction, reaching for you in green and streaky white.

He smiles.

All you see is teeth and creased eyes and a low, uncreased brow- you want to kiss him.

“Tell me the idea again,” he says, and leans back in his seat. He crosses his arms, and you watch his forearms shift and strain against his shirt, and then you clear your throat and look away and try to focus.

You inhale and gather everything, hoping that this time, you’ll be able to make it make sense.

***

One thing spirals into another. Your words were building and building, rising like a crescendo, overwhelming you to the point where you just said it outright, and-

He’s now in your apartment.

He is literally in your apartment.

You watch him survey the area- the clutter, the mismatched furniture, the crooked posters and photos and artwork hung up on the walls. The subpar paint on the walls that you didn’t choose, the cabinets made of old wood with newly replaced handles.

The entire place is creaking, becoming worse for the wear with each passing day. You could probably afford nicer, but it doesn’t matter, because you love it here- you’ve formed an emotional attachment that goes beyond sad paint and constant repairs. Your home is cozy.

But right now, with Bucky in here, it’s suddenly cramped.

“I want you to sit over here,” you say, and facing a great window, rounded on top with those gorgeous little decorative swirls, which is your favorite part of the whole place, is an armchair. It’s a steal you found at an antique store, with little tassels lining the back of the seat, upholstered with the tackiest floral print you’ve ever seen, but it’s perfect for what you’re trying to do.

The sun is shining strong and unfiltered- he’ll be lit up.

Bucky sits. He looks on edge, and beautiful.

You want to make this easy for him. But you might be too swept away in him to make any efforts- you’re still in shock that he agreed to this in the first place, so disoriented with him being here, in your place, that your trains of thought keep on derailing.

You’re closer than you wish you were, closer to losing it.

“Perfect. Give me one second.”

You go to your room, which isn’t really a room but a sectioned-off alcove with a bit of wall blocking it from view, no door- weird architecture, but whatever, to retrieve your supplies. Tape and the neatly folded swatches of fabric and your camera.

Photography isn’t your thing, but you need reference material.

When you return, he’s looking pensive, and dazzling. His arms fall tensely on the sides of the chair, but his hands dangle so gracefully, and the light catches his face and colors it golden- you are going to lose it when it comes to painting his eyes. They’re blue, but you see them as suns.

“You look great,” you say, and he blushes. You’re ready to pounce, right now.

The fabric is a little bit awkward. It has to be draped upon him- Bucky bristles at your actions in a way that tells you he’s never done anything even remotely like this before, but you persist, and he lets you.

“Get out of the chair really quick.”

“Okay.”

Bucky gets out of the chair. You hop up on it, to tape the corners of the fabric to the ceiling. It’s a flimsy attempt, but they hold and flutter just fine.

He takes you by the hand to bring you back down.

“Careful,” he says, as you make the daunting two-and-a-half-foot descent, and he squeezes your hand in his gloved one before you make him sit down again.

You are buzzing with electricity. Another point to him- that was smooth.

The loose ends of the fabric are tricky, You try at first to tape them to the back of the chair, moving back behind him to reach. Bucky’s head stays perfectly still, and the chiffon looks wrong. It looks weirdly stiff.

So you drape one on him like planned, sort of dripping down his shoulder in a bunched-up purple river, and let the other hang freely, swaying a little from the fragility of the tape.

You move back around to face him.

“This is perfect,” you say, and grin, because this is finally happening. “You look perfect.”

He’s staring all intensely again. You want to come close to him, tell him how lovely he looks, straight out of a dream. You’re so pretty, you almost say, but you have some semblance of rational thought left in you- and so you stay quiet.

The camera dangles from its strap around your neck. You take it in your hands and power it on. The settings are adjusted, and you fiddle with the shutter speed and focus and everything else before bringing it close to your eye, expecting this dream-

He’s all tense, again.

It’s the lens, you immediately think, even though that doesn’t really make sense. You look like- you look like him when he does his things. Lenses and targets and crosshairs. How is this thought so immediate?

You’re just trying to take a picture.

“Relax,” you say, and it does absolutely nothing.

“I am relaxed,” he bites out.

He’s really not. There’s something shifting in his face, something discontented, a brewing storm. His hands are starting to harshly curl into the armrests, digging at the upholstery, distorting the flowers.

The chiffon looms.

“Fix your hands. Like, move them- no, turn them back,”

You’re stooping over to fully capture him, almost ready to take a knee.

His hands flex and stay as they are, stressed and taut and not right, and the rest of him is still so-

You bring the camera down.

***

He’s in this ugly chair, surrounded by fabric, and you’re pretty and wearing a pale pink sweater, and you’re aiming a camera at him, for a picture, but he feels like a target.

White-hot adrenaline and cold and dark dread pull at both sides of him. He feels like a total mess.

Is this they all felt- how they all feel, when he is aiming at them? He tries to do things differently, now, but the tragedy still takes place, the trigger is still fired- the deed is still done. Karma, he thinks, retracing its path, coming back to bite him through you.

You’re frowning. He wants to apologize.

You take the camera down and let it dangle from the strap at your neck. He just had your hands in his- he wants them back and wants to get as far away from you as possible.

“This isn’t working,” you say, and straighten back up, placing your hands on your hips. You look powerful, and he might be trembling from clenching his jaw so hard. “You are not relaxed.”

“I’m not,” he agrees, and you sigh and fix him with a look that isn’t pity- he’d bolt if it were pity, but steely resolve.

You take the camera off your neck, and gently bend over to set it on the floor. Then you sit down beside it, wincing as your knee makes a noise, and giving him a bemused little smile that he wants to just-

Your head level with his knees as you sit, cross-legged. Hands splayed over your lower thighs, careless and carefree. Your posture slouches a bit, relaxing the way he is not, and it's relieving.

His hands grip the chair like a lifeline.

“Why isn’t this working?” You ask, more yourself than him. “You were so- nevermind. Or, Let’s… um, wait. Maybe- Can I?”

He’s always thought of you as so put-together, a born speaker, but now you’ve been stammering and stuttering all over his heart, and he doesn’t know what to do.

You reach out with your hand, hesitantly, wavering. The scar smiles pink.

He nods- his head nods, his body is moving outside of itself, and he feels sheltered and exposed, nearly covered in purple fabric and vulnerable and sitting above you, all of him bared for you to see. Hot and cold.

Your hand goes on his knee.

He’s so alarmed that he almost lashes out- he wants to think, but you’re giving him no time to-

Your other hand is reaching out, tugging at his own, and you bring yourself up to your knees and lean back on the balls of your feet, balancing. Your head is still below his chest and tilted so he can’t see your eyes, and you’re holding his hand like it’ll break.

There’s a dry-erase board fastened on the opposite wall, next to all of the other eclectic clutter. It’s filled in with a to-do list- the words COOK SOMETHING are scrawled at the top in angry red marker. He focuses on the words as you play with his fingers.

You gently trace a thumb over the ridges of his knuckles; he’s suddenly so ticklish that he flinches and chokes on a word that he doesn’t know how to say.

You nudge his hand over to the side, drape the fingers down, and your other hand is still burning his knee, setting him alight-

You’re molding him. Setting him to look how you want, manhandling him in the softest way possible. Should this feel violating? Rude? It feels good- purposeful. He’s letting you do this, and his heart is beating hard, but he can still hear your breathing and his breathing and the white noise of the traffic on the street below, stories away.

You take your hand off his knee, and nudge at his left hand, and he thinks now, how fucking stupid this is- if it’s his fucking hand, why does he wear this stupid fucking glove?

He goes to work it off and you understand, and if he wasn’t wanting so badly to be still for you, stay here as you take your picture, he would grab you by the necklace you’re wearing and drag you closer.

The glove is pulled off and dropped to the floor and the silver of his hand winks in the sunlight.

“Oh,” you say softly, and there’s a crack in your voice, and his voice would crack too, if you asked him to speak.

There’s this look on your face. He doesn’t know if you want to hold his hand or kiss it or put his fingers in your mouth, it looks like all three and he is all unfurled, too, because he is sitting back in this ugly armchair and you’re holding his hands again, and you’re backlit by the sun- like a vision sent straight from the sky.

You fix his hands.

This feels intimate- more intimate than kissing, or anything else. This feels like skipping steps.

After a moment, you pry your hands off of his, and lean back.

Wordlessly, you take the camera and stand up, and you fiddle it and back up, back to where you were at first, far away. Then you’re bringing it close to your eye, looking at him through a lens, and the shutter clicks once, twice.

You bring it back down.

“You got it?” He says, and his voice sounds rough- he sounds parched.

You look at its little screen and bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Can you come here for a second?”

You look up at him and he’s glad that he couldn’t see your eyes before- they’re dark. “Yeah.”

The camera is tossed to the side, again, and you walk like you’re floating. The steps have been skipped, but Bucky will have to go back to them anyway- he doesn’t like to leave any stones unturned-

And so he waits until you’re close enough, and then tugs you down by your sweater- he doesn’t want to hurt you, and he’s reaching and reaching-

You laugh or smile or do something else sweet, but he’s too caught up to tell. He pulls you down to him, and surrounded by you and sunlight and fluttering purple chiffon, he kisses you.

[real-jaune-isms]

RWBY Volume 8 Chapter 12 Review/Remix: Creation

For only having a couple major set pieces, this was one of the most plot dense chapters we’ve ever seen from this show. Some of those were a lot time coming and satisfying as hell, and some came right out of nowhere to massive speculation and theorizing to follow. But goddamn if I didn’t love every minute of it, so let’s mosey on through to see just why that is.

We open, as many of these chapters have been want to do, with shots of the Grimm causing chaos and destruction, in this case Teryx attacking airships. JNR fly by in a ship of their own, and looking rather concerned as they approach Atlas Academy. Why the shot was framed quite like this I’m not totally sure, because it looks like they’re approaching the city itself from quite far away when really they should have been approaching from the outskirts and flying over the city itself, considering where the Schnee estate is located. Ironwood is waiting for Penny at the landing site at the entrance to the Academy, just as he and Ruby had agreed on, and he’s got a new toy. Both pistols of Due Process have been slotted into the back sides of a larger firearm, a veritable hand cannon that needs both grips just to keep steadily aimed. I think it’s safe to call this the Gun-gun we had been joking would be coming eventually since the early Volumes. The Ace Ops are backing him up, and we see a few Atlesian Knight robots loading the bomb onto an airship so he can nuke Mantle at a moment’s notice just as he warned. The citizens of Mantle are out of the mines and looking very apprehensive about the whole thing, and we are right there with them. Just as the bots have finished loading the bomb and are about to leave they start getting shot down. Ironwood warns the Ace Ops to be ready for any altered state Penny might be in and any trouble her friends might try to cause. Harriet is all to ready to follow through on the general’s terms and put down any brat who tries to interfere, and this whole thing seems to finally give Vine pause. He’s not stopping now, how can he, but he’s reflecting on the path to get here and only now has some amount of remorse about it. Elm winces at the mention of that too, while my MCU fan mind had to stop and chuckle at a pale bald man with energy powers musing on philosophy and ethics so close after the end of WandaVision. Not intentional, obviously, but a great coincidence. Ironwood gets a ping that there are intruders in the hangar, and they all surmise that’s Robyn and Qrow trying to interfere with the bombing. Harriet is ready as hell for a chance to beat them bloody after all this time STILL believing they’re Clover’s killers, but Elm makes a good point that they can’t just leave to do that because Ironwood will need backup here. Lucky for all of them, Winter is here to provide the general just that, so the other three are free to deal with their fugitive problem. With a quiet moment between them, Winter tries to see if Ironwood can be talked down one last time. He doesn’t want to hear it, and she admits she knows it would be impossible to try.

Penny soars in and lands in front of them, surrendering herself to a pair of cuffs and surprising Ironwood a bit in actually coming alone. She says she’s obeying his order because above all she wants to stop further death and she must open the Vault. The virus coming back a little to compel her to this end, or just frequently repeated phrase for the sake of simplicity? Unclear. Ironwood finally lowers the gun-gun he was pointing at her and puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder to tell her she’s done the right thing. In a cadence very much not her own, she agrees she has, and all illusions are dropped. It Was Emerald All Along!~ And JNR as well as Oscar are standing a few yards behind her along with the airship she must have been masking the approach of with the sound of “Penny” flying in. As shocked realization dawns on his face, James is kicked in the chin by a backflipping Emerald. His gun flies out of his grasp and she catches it with a grin before disappearing. Damn she really has been getting good with her Semblance! Down in the hangar, the Ace Ops arrive to see the jailbirds slicing and blasting a ton of robot soldiers. Just as they’re about to join the fray Marrow is heard giving a command and his former teammates are left frozen under the power of a Semblance they never seemed to give its due diligence. The assembled Huntsmen and Huntresses start attacking Ironwood and he counters the first few attacks rather well. I’m sure he must be pretty damn shocked to see Oscar still alive after shooting him into a pit, and for that matter probably Jaune and Ren too with what Harriet told him about their mission into Monstra. That and how little sleep he’s probably gotten recently make it very likely willpower and his Semblance are the only things keeping him going at this point, so who are we to be shocked if he starts losing to their superior numbers? And start losing he does, because Winter is on their side and helps Nora bash him upside the head. Winter and Oscar charge at James on the back of a summoned Manticore, but he grabs it by the horns and stops it dead in its tracks. So they leap off and Winter hits him in the back with some ice while he’s busy destroying the summon. With another glyph she springboards Oscar back at James and he gives him the old rapidfire cane jab. It knocks his Aura pretty low by the looks of the flickers, but he still recovers and stops Oscar on the next swing. Before he can punch the poor boy any more than Hazel already has in the last 12 hours, Winter does the most anime move these series has yet to offer us and darts past her old boss to slice him at lightning fast speed. It’s a badass sight that I cannot describe with enough words so please just watch for yourself. With that, Ironwood’s Aura is broken and he passes out then and there. Qrow and Robyn apologize for freezing the Ace Ops like this, but these times call for hard choices. Emerald reappears to get uncuffed and Winter tells the five of them to move on to Phase 2.

We flash back to the end of the last episode where Ruby decides taking Penny to the Vault might be a risk worth taking, and we see Jaune and Ozcar immediately pick up on what she’s thinking. Why not try and use the Staff of Creation and hope it can work a twofold miracle of saving Penny and all the people of these two cities? Just then Weiss gets a text from Winter, and the gears start turning in our minds how this whole plan came together. We see Winter shoving Marrow into an elevator and looking very grumpy about the whole experience. He correctly guesses she’s not arresting him, but damn if he doesn’t get why she had to punch him to get him outta here. She rightfully tells him it was to make it look believable and she just saved his life thank you very much. He notices she’s texting someone and asks whom, and she says getting in touch with Weiss for some help is something she should have done a long time ago. Just then the elevator doors open and we get the payoff to who Robyn and Qrow were so surprised to see last episode: These two. Winter quickly sees this as a chance for even more help, and I think it is the happiest she’s ever been to see Qrow. Shifting back to Schnee manor, Weiss is going over the risks of this plan of theirs to the other 10 teens. Oscar pipes up with another danger, Atlas falling as soon as the Staff is used for anything new. The cover story about Gravity Dust keeping the kingdom afloat was only half wrong, there really is a large amount at the base of the landmass that will slow the descent a bit, but it will still be a cataclysmic landing. Jaune suggests using the Staff to get everyone in the danger areas to somewhere safe, possibly even another Kingdom, but Oscar says it doesn’t just work that easily. Especially not with HIM involved. The Staff has a sentient presence you have to deal with to make anything happen, but he’s a real card this one. He gives you what you ask for and only what you ask for, so you have to be specific and provide details or even blueprints for how to make what you’re asking for. Lucky for them Whitley has access to the layouts of Atlas and Mantle due to preparing for their earlier evacuation plan, so they’re off to a very good start. Oz still worries about Ironwood and the bomb at this point, but Weiss assures him they have a good plan for that. And we just saw what that was and how well it worked.

So now we get to see what Team RWBY is doing while ORNJ is handling Ironwood and whatever else Winter is having them do, flying an airship up to the hole Oscar left in the bottom of the Vault and having Ruby use her new Semblance skill to carry the rest of her team and Penny up through that and into the Vault itself. Klein and the other Schnees are also aboard the airship cuz someone needed to fly it and they weren’t gonna stick around in the mansion after the Kingdom starts falling. Ruby can basically fly now, no big deal it’s totally fine this doesn’t make her OP as hell, WHAT???? Okay I’m done. They get to the Vault door and with a shoulder to lean on and a few supportive words Penny opens it no problem. In the split second before Penny starts self-terminating now that this objective is completed, RWBY zooms into the grassy meadow inside this cold winter Kingdom’s vault on another Rose Express and Ruby grabs the Staff. Time stops as we see Winter escorting James to a cell in the brig right next to her other manipulative father figure Jacques, OJNRE are in front of some sort of computer monitor, and various other shots of what people are up to at this second are shown. In a cloud of blue mist emerges a man every bit as big blue and naked as Jinn was, but while she was thicc he is jacked. I don’t know how to describe his light blue hair but it’s got a ponytail so that’s fun. He seems charismatic af with a voice many assumed was Matt Mercer but is not, and seems he’s still a little steamed over how boring a request making Atlas float was. Ruby gets his attention and we learn his name is Ambrosius. When faced with a request to stop Penny from dying, Ambros informs them a limitation of his powers is resurrecting the dead. So everyone theorizing the Staff could bring back Pyrrha, or Clover, or any other beloved character were disappointed to be proven wrong. But bringing back the dead isn’t what Ruby is after, and once Ambrosius sees for himself just how atypical of a girl Penny is he understands their intention clearly. He lets them know of his rules, he is essentially a monkey’s paw and what you get may be exactly what you asked for but not what you hoped to get. They knew about this technicality problem too, so they brought Penny’s blueprints and ask him word for word to “Make a new version of her using her exact same robotic parts”. The robot parts are what have the virus, and once they use the Staff to make something new that infected robot Penny will cease to exist. But if he only removes the robot parts that will leave behind the life and soul that truly makes her Penny. It’s also not within his power to directly destroy, apparently, but it wouldn’t be killing her because it’s leaving her existing with just her soul. Yang flexes her prosthetic arm to illustrate their point that the mechanical parts are just extra. Ambrosius is enthusiastic to give this a try, but he has no idea what the finished product would be, so Ruby encourages him to get a little creative with it. He’s eager to give it a try but does warn them he can’t guarantee what the results will be, but they insist they have no other options and he does a sort of dance in the air like a full body orchestra conduction. Penny starts floating in swirls of blue mist, and in a flash of white light one becomes two. With his job done, Ambros fades away with a wink.

All of Atlas starts shaking, and ORNJE take that as their cue to start their next task: broadcasting to all of Atlas and Mantle a warning that Atlas is falling. Jaune is the one to deliver the message after some troubles figuring out how to get it working, but before he can offer any reassurance that a plan is in motion to save the masses... the broadcast is cut short along with all communications in the Kingdom. My money is on Watts being responsible, but maybe it was Atlas command on a hunch of what Ironwood would want them to do. James himself didn’t tell them to cut it off, cuz he’s still unconscious in a jail cell. Speaking of those cells, Jacques demands answers on what the hell is going on from his eldest daughter. She asserts that they will be getting everyone to safety and leaving the falling rubble to Salem for all the good it’ll do her, but Jacques is still worried he won’t be among those saved. Winter hesitates but tells him that yes he will be evacuated too. He thanks her profusely but she refuses to accept that credit. If he wants to be grateful he has to thank Weiss for deciding to free him, and that news shuts him up right quick. Weiss has been his least favorite child, yet she’s still the one to show him mercy and kindness because that’s the sort of woman she’s always been and he tried to stamp that humanity out of her. What an ass he must feel like.

Back down in the Vault, two Penny’s stand before RWBY. One looks like we’ve always known her, but starts moving and jerking around robotically with red eyes and sparks flying out of it as it collapses to the ground. The other has bare human legs, no gloves, no power sign on her neck ribbon, a natural fabric bow in her hair, and aside from that is every bit the sweet and good girl we’ve come to know. Some people say this was a mistake or a bad move to take away what made her such a unique character but... they really didn’t. She was able to grow outside of the limitations of the body she came into existence with and now lives purely as who she has always felt herself being inside. And that’s pretty cool. She’s naturally very disturbed to see another version of herself collapsing and dying right in front of her, but feels a lot better getting to hug Ruby. Penny never knew a hug could make you feel this warm inside, and gives hugs to the rest of Team RWBY. It’s very very cute and we’re all glad to see she’s doing so well now. 

With this taken care of it’s time to summon Ambrosius for the evacuation creation. He seems to have no concept of time because he doesn’t realize how little time has passed and is surprised to see they’re the ones who summoned him again. And considering how thorough they were with the last request he’s probably bummed he won’t get to pull a fast one on with a request this time either. They try and ask him to make doorways all over Atlas and Mantle that will all become a single doorway in Vacuo, but he requires too much complex metaphysics and space time bending to make that happen so they alter course. Make a central location all the doorways in Atlas and Mantle will open into, and then have a single door in that big new place that will open in Vacuo. He wants to know just what kind of central location they would have in mind, and Yang says he should make one that exists outside of Remnant’s reality just like the Vaults seem to. He commends them for being so smart about it, but acknowledges that could end up being foolishness instead. As a point of reference for the doorway system, or perhaps just for where in Atlas and Mantle they should be opening, Weiss shows him a series of blueprints for the layout of the Snowshoe shipping hub and how it connects to Atlas. Using that basis he makes dozens if not a hundred or two doorways all over the two cities. They’re big gold ovals with pale blue centers, and on the other side is a big empty black void with a series of narrow walkways without and sort of railings connecting all the portals to a single large one at the end of all the converging paths. Very dangerous if anyone ends up tripping or knocking anyone else over. People are very confused to see these things suddenly pop up, but we see Joanna hesitantly step through one and see just what the deal is. Realizing it’s their way out she seems to go back and tell the others. I gotta admit, the look of this large doorway in the midst of a barren rocky place like this gave me serious ending of Kingdom Hearts 1 vibes, and I half expected Mickey Mouse to be on the other side talking about the Door to Darkness. But that’s just me. Satisfied that the job is done, they thank Ambros who tells them they were indeed disappointingly thorough and they can go now. As they head out the broken robo Penny fades away to blue dust and real Penny is rather shaken to bear witness to that. Before he disappears into the Staff for who knows how long now, Ambrosius delivers one last warning about the world of doors and paths they just created. Do Not Fall. With that ominous warning ringing in their minds the five young women head into the doorway before them with the intent to go to Vacuo with everyone else and the hope in their hearts that they’re not forgetting anything important. We see Cinder wearing a hooded cloak in the midst of a crowd about to head into one of these portals, and it becomes very clear what important thing they may not have taken into account.

Time to wait 7 days to see what could possibly go wrong now!

[ericsonclan]

Within Their Eyes

Summary: AJ is worried about Telulah's idea of studying a walker with James.

Word Count: 4641

Read on AO3:

AJ’s eyes traveled up to the sky, watching the clouds lazily roll by one after another, hoping that it would calm his nerves. He had been nervous about today and no matter how many others told him otherwise, the feeling in his gut wouldn’t leave. AJ took a shaky breath and placed his arms behind him, putting all of his weight on them as his feet anxiously kicked back and forth against the picnic table. His mind remained in his worries until he felt a warmth appear on the top of his hand. Glancing over, he saw Telulah who gave her usual bright smile over his way. It was a smile that never failed to bring up his mood. As AJ looked at the smile and felt his heart settle a bit, he knew that the smile had done it again. Still, he couldn’t return the smile which made Telulah’s falter.

“What’s spinning in your mind?” Telulah’s hand gently took AJ’s while her other placed her pencil in her notebook before closing it. Her attention was no longer divided between her countless notes that she jotted down in her notebook and her boyfriend.

“It’s nothing, T.” AJ tried to brush it off but one look over at Telulah made it clear that she wasn’t going to take that as a legitimate answer. “I’m just worried,” AJ’s face fell and he focused on his worn out shoes before his focus turned to the zipper on his leather jacket that still seemed a bit loose on him. He wanted anything that would distract his mind and get this pit out of his stomach.

“Worried about today?” Telulah’s voice made AJ’s eyes travel over to his girlfriend’s who had a soft, reassuring smile on her lips. “AJ, it will be okay,”

“How do you know that though? I know you wanna study walkers more but this seems dangerous! You’re gonna be outside of Ericson where you could get bit, or hurt, or have a seizure!” AJ’s eyes shone with concern, concern which Telulah knew was valid.

“I know it's a risk, but James will be there to help us and I’ll have you,” Telulah guided both of AJ’s hands into her own. Her soft eyes made AJ’s heart calm a bit.

“I don’t like risks,” AJ mumbled, his thumbs gently brushing on the tops of Telulah’s hands. Telulah knew well what he was talking about. It was always a risk no matter who you were to wander out there, stumbling upon walkers and other dangerous things that could harm you or end your life.

“I know but if I can get more information on walkers and progress my findings...” Telulah took a deep breath. “I think it's worth the risk,”

AJ wanted to say something more but his attention was diverted when he heard the laughter of one of the youngest residents of Ericson. His eyes turned towards the sound and he saw Mitchie running around Allison again and again. His wild mess of black hair nearly covered his dark brown eyes, causing him to nearly stumble. His hyperness didn’t cease though as his voice grew in volume.

“Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!” Mitchie ran in circles while Allison sat in the rocking chair that had been moved outside to the front of the admin building. Her hands rested on top of her pregnant belly as she watched her son in amusement. Suddenly Mitchie skidded to a halt in front of Allison and held his arms out wide. “I love you!”

A soft, fairly large smile appeared on Allison’s lips at those words. As soon as the words had left his lips Mitchie began to run in a circle again and again until he stopped when he noticed Willy walking alongside Prisha. Mitchie bolted towards the staircase, not thinking of how he was still learning to master them while running.

Prisha and Willy’s eyes grew large and they ran over to the admin building. Willy scooped his son up in his arms and spun him around once. “Hey there, Mitchie! Have you been doing a good job keeping your mom safe?” Willy smiled brightly as his son shook his head wildly.

“Yeah!” Mitchie exclaimed, holding tightly onto his dad’s clothes while Willy walked over to check on Allison.

“You doing okay, Allie?” Willy smiled softly, his eyes holding some concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Allison took Willy’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You haven’t been overexerting yourself, right?” Prisha walked forward and looked over Allison’s way. Allison could see that Prisha was just as worried as Willy was. It made sense since it was nearing what Ruby guessed the due date would be.

“I’m fine. I’ve been sitting on my ass and rocking back and forth. I haven’t done any stupid shit, just hanging out with Mitchie,” Allison groaned in annoyance and leaned back in her chair, causing it to start rocking once more. She appreciated the concern, she really did, but she also didn’t want everyone hovering over her. It wasn’t like she was going to do anything reckless and she was clearly easy to spot and find.

“Alright, well perhaps you want some alone time for a bit,” Prisha placed her hand on her chin and began to try and brainstorm a possible activity that Mitchie would like.

“Prisha!” Violet’s voice called out to her wife, making Prisha spin around. Her eyes immediately brightened when she saw Violet and noticed that Violet’s eyes had done the same when she had seen Prisha. Jogging forward up the stairs, Violet stole a quick kiss from Prisha. Prisha smiled and deepened the kiss before giving another.

“I think some alone time would be nice,” Allison’s words pulled Prisha and Violet’s attention away from each other.

“Oh shit, sorry,” Violet messed with her glasses for a second. “I was just coming here to see if Prisha wanted to go fishing with me over at the pond.”

“Fish!” Mitchie screamed with excitement and squirmed out of Willy’s arms. Violet gave a light laugh as Mitchie scampered up towards her.

“I can take Mitchie with us too,” Violet offered, which Mitchie seemed very excited by.

“Sure, that would be great,” Allison smiled over at her mom and watched with amusement as Mitchie grabbed both Violet and Prisha’s hands and began to talk loudly about how much fun this was going to be. Violet and Prisha listened and shared a soft smile as they walked off, giving one final look back at Allison who waved goodbye.

“Do you want me to go too?” Willy glanced over at his wife who shook her head.

“No, you can stay,” Her words made Willy beam and he quickly knelt down and kissed Allison’s belly before stealing a kiss from her and sitting beside her. Immediately his hand took hers and he started to talk about this and that to pass the time while Allison quietly listened with a loving smile on her face.

“It seems like today is a good day for everyone,” Telulah commented with a smile. AJ nodded, giving a small smile over her way.

“Yeah,” AJ took a deep breath, his face animated as ever whenever he exhaled which made Telulah chuckle. AJ paused mid breath and looked at her, his eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“Nothing, you’re just cute,” Telulah leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to AJ’s lips. The romantic gesture made his heart do a small flip. AJ blinked in surprise before he hopped off the picnic table and did a little happy dance. “Okay! I’m ready! I’m gonna keep you safe!” AJ declared proudly with a confident grin as he placed his hands on his hips.

“I know you will,” Telulah smiled and got up from her spot. “Okay, I think I spotted James over with Jesse by the horses.”

“Okay,” AJ walked forward as Telulah grabbed her notebook, tucking it under her left arm. Telulah looked at her boyfriend, noticing the necklace that he was wearing, the one she had made to match hers. The simple red stone shone in the light and memories of that day flooded back into the forefront of Telulah’s mind, making her heart grow warm.

Her eyes traveled up and glanced at the scar on AJ’s cheek, the one he had gotten protecting Louis all those years ago on the night the Delta ship exploded. Her heart settled in a calming peace knowing that AJ would be by her side and do everything to keep her safe because that was who he was, a protector. Telulah’s finger brushed against AJ’s scar for a second, causing him to blush.

“Okay, onward to new discoveries!” Telulah crowed.

AJ gave a small nod then proceeded to boop Telulah’s nose. “Onward,” He smiled then quickly took Telulah’s hand in his. In a moment the two were off to where the horses were kept.

They immediately spotted Jesse who was sitting on the ground next to the horses, Adsila and Molly. Both horses looked happy now that their manes had been brushed and were content with the carrots James had recently offered them. James sat beside Jesse, his fingers intertwined with Jesse’s while his head rested on Jesse’s shoulder. His free hand was softly playing with Jesse’s hair as the two spoke about walking through the garden together where the flowers grew. It was only when Telulah and AJ were standing in front of them that the two got pulled away from their conversation.

“Guess time’s up,” Jesse sighed then leaned over and kissed James. He got to his feet, helping up James before looking over at Telulah and AJ. “It’s just going to be the three of you?”

“That's right! But don’t worry, I won’t let any walkers nibble on James,” Telulah smiled brightly, her words causing Jesse to give a faint chuckle.

“Sounds good to me but I know James can handle himself,” Jesse held James’ hand and smiled lovingly at him. “Be careful,”

“I will,” James cupped Jesse’s face and gave him a quick kiss, his eyes holding the same love that Jesse’s did. James gave Jesse’s hand one final squeeze then began to walk off with AJ and Telulah. The three of them quickly made their way over to the front gate where Omar was on watchduty.

James glanced over at Telulah. “So, the spot is ready if you are,” He gave a soft smile over Telulah’s way who returned the smile.

“Yep! I’m all set! I got my journal and everything!” Telulah held up her hand and moved it back and forth, displaying the journal.

“Oh shit! I forgot to get some things. Wait right here!” AJ kissed Telulah’s cheek quickly then sprinted off towards the dorm. Telulah watched AJ with curiosity as he ran off, wondering what he had forgotten.

“T,” Allison’s voice drew Telulah’s attention towards her friend who was making her way over with Willy.

“Allison, you shouldn’t be moving around so much,” Telulah smiled warmly at Allison who gave a small smile in return.

“Heh, I could say the same thing to you. Shouldn’t your ass be planted at the picnic table? We don’t want you getting a seizure while you’re out there,” Allison’s voice trailed off for a second.

“Don’t worry,” Telulah smiled brightly, her eyes glancing over at AJ who was sprinting back with the items he had acquired. “AJ is gonna be with me the whole time. He’ll make sure I’m safe and sound,” Telulah’s hand naturally slipped into AJ’s.

“True, AJ is tough, I’ll give him that,” Allison smiled over at her best friend who had a small frown on his face.

“I’m way more than tough,” AJ muttered before remembering why he had run off to grab the items in the first place. “I got you your helmet, T, in case your epilepsy strikes,” AJ smiled as he helped put a red bike helmet on Telulah, a small safety precaution to make sure that even if she had a seizure and fell she wouldn’t get any head damage. “Oh, and I got your journal carrier too,” AJ smiled proudly when he saw how happy Telulah was that he had remembered both of these things.

“You’re the best!” Telulah leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to AJ’s cheek then turned her attention on making sure her journal was secure.

“You better keep them safe, James,” AJ did his best tough guy impression which normally would be effective on anyone. Anyone it seemed except James who nodded his head eagerly.

“Of course!” James wanted to say more and explain that it wasn’t going to be that dangerous with the one walker he had guided to the spot. But before he could he noticed Lee Kenny scampering forward. Soon the young seven year old slid to a stop.

“T!”

“Yes!” Telulah responded with the same volume and energy that Lee Kenny had.

“You better make sure that my big brother comes back safe or else… or else you’re gonna have to deal with Maisy!” Lee Kenny puffed out his chest, trying his best to be intimidating.

Telulah gave a warm smile and knelt down in front of him. “I promise,” She held out her pinky which Lee Kenny immediately interlocked with his own. After he was sure he had done his job Lee Kenny started to head back.

“Lee Kenny, where are you supposed to be?” AJ’s question made his little brother’s eyes grow large for a second.

“The music room but Dad said it was okay for me to be the messenger and say goodbye,” Lee Kenny smiled proudly when he saw the look of approval on AJ’s face. Without another word he waved goodbye and headed back to the music room where Louis and Aasim were busy taking care of all the kids.

“Alright, well we should head out,” James’ whisper-like voice drew the others’ attention and with a few quick goodbyes James, Telulah and AJ were off.

James securely put on his gloves and mask made from walker flesh and whispered that it wouldn’t be too long of a walk. The three strolled through the woods with James leading the way to the spot where he had placed a single walker. He had been curious as to what Telulah was planning and was more than happy to have someone with a more positive outlook on walkers around Ericson. At least from the conversation he had had with Telulah she seemed more positive.

His gaze traveled over to the pair. AJ’s eyes were steady and trained on the environment. His knife was already out and ready to take down any walker that came across his path. James hoped that knife wouldn’t come to use today. He quickly returned his attention back to leading the way.

AJ’s eyes were focused on making sure no threats were nearby while sneaking small glances Telulah’s way. Telulah, meanwhile, was humming a happy tune, a tune she always hummed whenever she got super excited. The hunting knife that AJ had bartered for with a caravan a while back rested on her hip, the small Disco Broccoli keychain on it swaying back and forth with the movement. AJ’s mind went back to the day he had made that keychain for Telulah and saw how happy it had made her. But soon his attention returned to being on guard, only a faint part focusing on the fact that Telulah’s hand was in his. His heart felt more settled knowing that she was right beside him and if anything bad were to happen he could react the second it did.

“So, Telulah, you asked me to collect a walker today. Why?” James snuck a glance back her way.

“To study them. My hope is that if I get enough data that one day I can save someone from turning into a walker,”

Telulah’s statement made James pause for a moment and put all of his attention on her. “Really? You think that’s possible?”

“Sure! I think with enough research and studying you can make any dream a reality. This one is mine,” Telulah smiled brightly and patted her journal. “I’m hoping to get some really good notes today now that I have a chance to observe a walker up close. I’ve got you to thank for that,”

James was surprised by her answer and was quiet for a minute as he pondered it. A question began to burn in the forefront of his mind until he let it slip out. “Then what is your view on walkers?”

“My view on them?” Telulah raised an eyebrow and thought for a moment. “I guess I see them as creatures that have trapped humans,”

“Trapped them?” James walked forward, his mind solely on this conversation.

“That's right. How do I say this? I think that a part of who we are is still trapped inside a walker. You can sometimes see it in small aspects of their behavior or in other places like their eyes. What it feels like to be stuck in there, inside a decaying form, I have no idea but I’m guessing it's not so nice.” Telulah looked at James for a moment then glanced away, her eyes conflicted on whether to say what she wanted next. After a second she decided to elaborate further. “I want to be able to stop people from turning but that's not all. My hope, my goal, is to be able to change walkers back.”

James’ eyes grew large at those words, shocked by this news. A quick glance over at AJ, however, made it clear that he had heard this before.

“Years ago my brother Demetrius was bit and no matter how much he wanted me to end his life, I couldn’t.” Telulah took a shaky breath and felt AJ squeeze her hand, letting her know that he was still there. He had heard this story a while back and he knew how painful it was for Telulah to bring it up. But she wouldn’t bring it up if she didn’t trust James or feel like it wasn’t important to share. After a moment Telulah continued. “Not when there could be a way to change him back. So I’m going to keep researching walkers, studying them and understanding what makes them tick and one day I’m going to get my brother back!” Telulah smiled confidently even though her eyes were filled with sadness due to the painful memories.

“That's...” James was at a loss for words. “Amazing,”

“Thanks.” Telulah beamed and strolled forward with AJ, making James jog forward so he could walk alongside them.

“So then if you view them as people or something in between,” James took a deep breath, “If you see the life in their eyes like I do, then you must not kill walkers, right?”

“No, I still do. They’re a threat just as much as any human can be a threat. If they’re going about their way then I won’t go out of mine to kill them,” Telulah paused and picked up a few rocks, stuffing them in her pocket. “But if they try to hurt me or someone I care about, then I have no issue with killing them. I know my dream is lofty and it could help people but not everyone can be saved. I know that and I’m not going to risk my loved ones’ lives for a walker’s,”

Telulah’s answer seemed to sadden James somewhat. Still he seemed happy to have someone who valued walkers’ lives even if it was to a degree and in a way that was different from his. James began to lead the way once more, talking about how his ideals differed from Telulah’s. All the while his hands moved animatedly as he tried to shake off the social anxiety of the situation. A few times a walker crossed their path and James immediately threw a rock to guide it away before continuing forward.

After some time had passed James spoke up once more. “We’re almost at the barn,” He looked back at the pair for a moment then returned his attention back in front of him.

His words had made AJ’s anxiety come crashing back. Memories over a decade old invaded his mind, plaguing it with that awful night. The night he had to take Tenn’s life, the night Clementine’s leg had been bitten and the night where he nearly had made a fatal mistake. The cries of the walkers rang in his ears, the smell of blood overwhelmed his nostrils and his heart felt like it was beating way too fast to be safe. His breathing was uneven and his mind lost amongst memories of the past, causing him to stand frozen in place.

That’s when Telulah noticed AJ tense up. Immediately she stopped. “What's wrong?”

Telulah’s words snapped AJ out of his head space and his eyes wandered over towards hers. “Nothing, I’m fine.” he lied, quickly hiding his face so that Telulah couldn’t see his expression.

“Seriously, AJ, are you okay? I know I asked you before if this would be too much for you. If it is we can head back and I’ll come back another day. I can take someone else with me like Willy or-”

“I’ll be fine. I just gotta shake this off,” AJ cut off Telulah, trying to reassure her, but he could see that she was only focused on his well-being.

“I’m worried about you. I don’t want to bring back heavy memories for you,” Telulah’s words made AJ glance down.

“It’s fine,” AJ tried to calm down his anxiety but it wasn’t working.

Telulah was silent for a few seconds then turned towards James. “James, give us a few minutes, okay?”

James looked over at Telulah then at AJ. In an instant he seemed to pick up on what was happening. He gave a short nod. “Alright, let me know when you’re ready,” James walked off and leaned against a tree, taking the moment to enjoy the nature around him and giving the two the space they needed.

Telulah gave James an appreciative smile then grabbed onto AJ’s hand and guided him over towards another tree and sat down with him. She silently took both of his hands in hers before speaking. “AJ, just focus on my face. Forget about everything else for a moment and just focus on my face and your breathing,”

Telulah noticed AJ’s hesitation to do so. It wasn’t exactly the safest spot they were in. But once he saw her eyes and the calmness within them he decided to listen. Slowly he began to follow her deep breaths, his breath being as animated as usual. He focused on her small smile, the look of trust and concern in her eyes. He inhaled again, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling. He pulled all of his focus away from the world and on the fact that Telulah was here with him. Her presence became an anchor for him to hold onto as his mind and heart battled the anxiety. After a few minutes of deep breaths and focusing on Telulah, AJ felt his nerves lessen, even if it was for just a moment.

“Okay, I’m going to ask you again. Do you want to go back home?” Telulah gently rubbed circles on top of AJ’s hands. “Whatever you choose, I’ll support it,”

With that reassurance in mind AJ answered. “Let’s stay here. I want to be here with you. If I went back today and you still came back here...” AJ’s voice gew quiet for a second. “I’d still be worried so even if I’m anxious I wanna be with you,” AJ’s eyes locked with Telulah and she could see the determination burning within them.

“Okay, then let’s go,” Telulah’s usual bright smile returned and she helped up AJ, quickly guiding him back to James. “We’re ready,”

James nodded, leading the way forward, and gently pushed open the door to the barn.

The walker stood in the same spot, looking rather intrigued by the beam overheard. Its bald head shone in the sunlight that pierced through the barn and its clothes were slowly withering off its decaying body. As James, Telulah and AJ walked inside it turned around due to the sound, its milky white eyes looking off into the middle distance in between the humans, unable to pinpoint where each one was. A low, unearthly groan left its lips revealing that it had very little teeth and rather plump gums.

Telulah let out a low whistle then looked around for the best spot to safely study the walker. Her eyes quickly found  a stack of hay that would be high enough that she wouldn’t get harmed but large enough that if she did have a seizure she wouldn’t fall. “AJ, can you help me up there?”

AJ followed his girlfriend’s sight to the stack of hay and gave a nod. Using both of his hands for a spot that Telulah could step on, AJ worked to get her up there before accepting her hand and being pulled up as well. He immediately took out his knife and was on guard while Telulah got out her journal.

Flipping past pages from interviews with Clementine about her amputation and various other interviews with some of the other Ericson residents about their experiences with walker bites, Telulah found a new blank page. “Alright, Gumbo, let’s see what I can learn from you,” Telulah whispered with a smile, her eyes shining with the excitement of the potential new discoveries she could make. She immediately jotted down its physical appearance as her tongue stuck out in concentration as it always did whenever she was fixated on something. After the physical appearance was written down she then tested out the walker’s visual and hearing abilities.

Using the windchimes within the barn as well as the multiple rocks she picked up, Telulah began the series of tests. Her pencil scratched against the paper as she jotted down her findings as well as any peculiar features or behaviors that the walker she’d named Gumbo showed. Something about the walker’s eyes seemed to intrigue Telulah, the way they reacted to a certain test made her want to run more tests on the walker focusing on its eyes and so she did.

AJ sat by her side, ever vigilant in making sure she was completely safe. His grip remained tight and his breathing was still uneven which concerned Telulah greatly. After a while, Telulah yawned and mumbled that she had gotten enough notes for today before thanking James.

“I think these notes will be really helpful, but I’m going to stick to interviews and watching walkers from afar for a little while.” Telulah intertwined her fingers with AJ’s. “Thanks, for coming with me and for keeping me safe even if it meant you had to deal with memories from the past,” Telulah gave an apologetic smile.

“I’m just glad you’re ok. Now let’s get home where it's safe,” AJ gave a small smile then began to lead the way back. Soon he was lost in a conversation with Telulah on the topic of playing card games that evening.

James watched them as he followed behind. His eyes focused on Telulah and noticed her positive, bright energy. A small smile appeared on his lips. Even though she didn’t have the exact same views as him, she still agreed with him on things that most people wouldn’t. A warmness appeared in James’ heart at the realization that he had a new friend. He was curious though on whether her dream and research could ever lead to the future she was striving for. Whatever the case may be, James hoped that she would reach her goal even if it felt out of reach.

[let-it-raines]

For catch me if you can, I'd really love to see something about them having a second kid since I know you mentioned it before. Maybe something about how Emma's pregnancy is different now that Killian's retired! Thank you for all of your wonderful words!!!!!!

I am forever and always amazed by the love and support that the Catch Me If You Can universe receives, and I love that you guys let me get these words out of my head and onto the page...or the screen. 

So here’s just a day in the life for these two that definitely alludes to some things that happen in their future!

on ao3 | here | if that’s more your jam. 

-/-

July 2025

Killian doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He’s cleaned the house. Every damn floor. That includes dusting the shutters and scrubbing the baseboards and running the vacuum twice before cleaning all of the hardwood and tile.

All of the beds are made, which is not an easy feat for how many pillows Emma likes to put on their bed, and all of Jace’s toys are in their containers. Killian knows that they’ll all be dumped out later, probably as soon as Jace wakes up from his nap, but it’s nice for once to not be worried about stepping on something and for his living room to not be a disaster.

Jace is one of the best things to ever happen to him, but Killian is still not used to how everything is beyond messy all of the time.

But not now.

Though, if it was still messy, at least he’d have something to do.

He’s cleaned the house, worked out, paid bills, set out chicken to defrost for dinner, and now, all he has to do is watch the game.

That’s not necessarily what he wants to be doing right now.

Not when he’s not the one on the mound or in the dugout and not when he still recognizes over half the faces in Yankees uniforms.

He could still be playing. He could. His arm hasn’t hurt in awhile, but that’s because he hasn’t been pitching several days a week and doing training and playing games. He has given his body the rest it needs, but damn if he doesn’t still ache.

It was his decision. He wanted it. It’s for the best.

Watching this season, though, not having any kind of regular job or connection or part of the team, is fucking weird.

But he watches because he loves the game and loves Will and Eric and Robin and all of the other guys on the team.

He watches because he likes to listen to his wife kick ass as a commentator.

She does every single time. Sighing, Killian puts the vacuum on its dock in the closet and then walks over into the living room, plopping down on the couch and turning the volume up. They’re in the bottom of the sixth, the Yankees are winning, and he hears Emma telling some story about Will that he knows is one of the age-old tales that publicists feed commentators so they have something to say to fill dead air-time.

Emma hates having to use those, but she tries not to let too much of her own personal connection with the players in.

That doesn’t really work when fifty percent of what she’s asked about has to do with him. She says it doesn’t bother her, that she’s proud to be his wife and to get to tell stories of all of her seasons with him, but there’s this small part of him that will always hate whenever anyone makes her career about him. They’re intertwined, yes, but Emma has always stood out.

His phone rings in his lap, and Killian slides his finger across the screen.

“Hey, A.”

“Hey,” Ariel says, “did you get any of my emails today?”

“I haven’t checked. Why? What’s up?”

“I sent you some stuff about interviews. Fallon and Meyers both want you on. GMA and Kelly and Ryan want you and Emma on.”

“For what? We’re not promoting anything, and you know we’re keeping Emma away from as many cameras as possible.”

“She’s literally on TV right now.”

“You know they only shoot from the shoulders up most of the time, unless it’s a rain delay or something.”

“They can do that on these shows.”

“With all of the crew that’s on those sets?” Killian clicks his tongue and stretches his arms above his head. “I don’t know. I have to talk to Emma. Why do they want us on, again?”

“It seems the two of you have become very popular on the internet because of a Buzzfeed article.”

“What the hell?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know it’s weird, but it’s one of those where they talk about reasons to watch sports, and then they list a bunch of attractive athletes. You’re on the list, and the author attached a link or whatever to some article about you, Emma, and Jace. It’s kind of blown up into its own thing. How have you not seen it?”

“Woah, woah, woah, do these people not realize I’m retired? They can’t watch me play unless they want to watch old games.”

“You’re literally missing the entire point.”

“No, I got it, A.”

“So will you do the shows?”

“Eh,” he groans, running his hand through his hair, “that sounds a little too gimmicky to me, especially the morning show ones, and I told you I have to run it by Emma before I let you run with it.”

“Look, I get it,” Ariel sighs, and he has a feeling she’s about to do some of her famous convincing. “You’re a manager’s dream, Killian Jones, but you’re also my worst nightmare. I know you don’t like actually saying it, even though you just did, but you’re retired now. You’re going to have money coming in forever no matter what, but it wouldn’t help to grease the wheels a little bit, keep your star power alive while you stay under the radar figuring out the next big thing for you. I’m just saying that this could be good for the both of you. I’ll even make it so that the questions can’t be too invasive.”

“How are they not going to be invasive? They’re literally asking about my personal life. That’s why they want me on the shows.”

“I have my magic ways.”

Killian groans and leans back on the couch, running his hands through his hair and pinching his nose. “We’re keeping this pregnancy quiet as long as possibly can. The only way either of us would possibly agree to it is careful camera angles and no mention of the pregnancy.”

“How would they mention the pregnancy if they don’t know about it?”

“Well, someone could see. Look, I don’t know. I’ll run it by Emma tonight, okay?”

Ariel’s sigh is deep on the other end of the phone, and he knows that she gets it, even if she’s exasperated with him. It’s been happening a lot more lately with her trying to learn to manage him when he’s not always in the clubhouse or on the plane, and the adjustment period is still new.

All of this is.

“She’s going to say no.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know the two of you, I do. Is there any way I could convince you to do it, just you?”

Killian chuckles and rolls his eyes. He wouldn’t be opposed to going on a few late night shows. Those were always a good time. He’s just not going to have his life be put on a public platter without talking to his wife first. “Bye, A. Go bother your husband.”

“He’s kind of in the middle of a game right now in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I’m sure you can still find a way to bother him.”

She scoffs. “I will hear from you by the morning, you asshole. Goodbye.”

And then the line goes dead.

Bloody frustrating woman.

Emma’s voice echoes from the television, and Killian turns his attention back to the game. From all accounts, this seems like any other run of the mill game where everything has been average. It’s not a blow out, there aren’t any spectacular plays, and it’d be a good game to put on for a nap.

Maybe that’s what he should be doing with his free time.

He should have done that earlier, though, because he knows that Jace will be up soon.

“My husband won three World Series in what a lot of people consider a very short career for a pitcher. I don’t think you can say that’s normal. There’s only a handful of men born in the last few decades that can say that, actually.”

“Of course,” Isaac adds, “but with the way you say it, you act as if he won all of those on his own.”

Oh fucking hell. Isaac and James need to go to another team or another network. Killian’s never listened to them much since he used to watch games on mute, but damn, it’s like they don’t know how to talk positively about anyone. Is that what viewers want?

“I have never once said that,” Emma corrects, tense. “It’s always been a team effort. The starting pitcher doesn’t even play the entire game, but you implied that my husband was a mediocre player when he was anything but. Of course, he had help. Will Scarlet, for instance, helped Killian in every game. These teams are like puzzles, and you have to have all of the pieces to get the end goal. But, I mean, damn, can we go one game without you interrogating me on Killian’s stats? He was a damn good player, and nothing is going to change that.”

“You don’t have to get so emotional about it. I’m simply doing my job.”

Fuck you, Isaac.

“Alright,” Emma sighs, the camera now showing them in the booth. She’s smiling, and to the rest of the world, she looks like she always does, but there’s a tightness in the tug of her lips that he doesn’t like. “Let’s look at a play of the game presented by Chase.”

And then the screen cuts to a double play from earlier, and Killian mutes the television and stands up. What just happened isn’t going to go over well with the network, and he already knows Emma isn’t going to be home late.

Killian sighs and walks upstairs until he gets to Jace’s room. Jace is standing up in his crib trying to climb over it, and when he looks up and sees Killian, he plops back down and pretends that he wasn’t just trying to do some kind of Mission Impossible escape. They’ve got to think about moving the kid to a bed soon. All of the books say he needs to be a little older, but Killian thinks Jace might be ready.

He and Emma likely are not.

“What are you doing there, lad?” Killian laughs, leaning against the doorframe.

“Sleeping.”

“With your eyes open?”

Jace giggles and closes his eyes, cheesing like he does every time Emma tries to get him to pose for a picture. The blue of his eyes disappears into thin lines. “We play ball?”

“How are you going to play ball with your eyes closed?”

One eye slowly opens before the other joins in. “I play baseball.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Killian sighs, walking into the room and reaching into the crib to grab Jace, kissing his cheek before brushing his curls off his forehead. “We will go and play baseball, and then we’re going to cook some dinner for Mommy. Does that sound good? Dinner?”

“Pizza?”

“No, lad, not pizza. We can have some chicken though.”

Jace pouts.

“Yeah, I know. Pizza is better than chicken, but it’s all about balance, my boy.”

Killian and Jace go through their post naptime routine before Killian grabs the soft baseball they use with him and they walk out to their back patio. They have a little bit of green space back here, would have more if Killian would take the time to landscape and reorganize their furniture, and the thought has him making a mental checklist of that being his project for tomorrow.

Scratch that. Today is the end of the series, and Emma will be home for the next few days without having to go into the office or into the stadium. They could do it together, but he told her they’d have a day where they do absolutely nothing.

He intends to stick to that promise even if it’s nearly impossible for him to sit still.

He plays catch with Jace, which mostly consists of Jace tossing the ball up at such an angle that it immediately hits the ground and then drops dead. It’s that over and over again, but this tires the kid out and is something he genuinely enjoys. Killian will do absolutely anything in the world to make his son smile, and if that means chasing after a ball for an hour, he’ll do it.

That also means that when Jace gets exhausted while Killian is cooking dinner that he’ll deal with the meltdown and try to calmly explain to a toddler that it’s okay that the blue marker isn’t anywhere to be found because he can color with all of the others.

That doesn’t really fly when all he wants is a blue marker.

Obviously, he’s really knocking this whole dad thing out of the park.

The alert on Killian’s phone goes off, and he pulls up the camera to see Emma pulling into the garage. He opens his mouth, about to tell Jace that Emma’s home, but he decides to let it be a surprise. Maybe that way the kid will get out of his funk for a moment and be happier.

Or he’ll have a meltdown in front of Emma.

At this point it’s really a guessing game.

In a few minutes, Killian hears the sound of her footsteps on the stairs, and then she’s rounding the corner and moving into the kitchen. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, loose pieces around the front framing her face, and she’s not wearing any shoes. When she left the house today she was in heels and her hair was cascading down her back in waves, and if he couldn’t see the bags under her eyes and see the tightness in her smile, he’d know she was tired from her change in attire.

“Mommy,” Jace squeals when he looks up and sees her. Killian steps away from the salad he’s fixing and helps Jace down, and then he’s running toward Emma and waiting for her to pick him up. “Hi.”

“Hi, baby,” she sighs, kissing his cheek and brushing his curls back. “I missed you. Did you and Daddy have a good day?”

He eagerly nods his head, and Killian lets out a little sigh of relief. Maybe he’s not fucking this whole parenting thing up as much as he constantly thinks he is.

He’s not Brennan. He’s never going to be Brennan. But damn if he doesn’t still think he’s going to find other ways to screw his kids up.

Killian goes back to cutting up strawberries and Emma and Jace talk, and before he knows it, she’s walking over to him. He twists his head in anticipation, and Emma brushes her lips over the corner of his mouth before managing to plant a firmer kiss.

“Hi.”

“Hi. How was your day?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll tell you about it later. What are we having for dinner?”

“The Italian chicken and some salad. I can pop some bread in the oven if you want me to.”

“I really need the carbs.”

“Then bread it is.”

“Thank you,” she sighs before adjusting Jace on her hip and then setting him back down on the barstool. “Look at this beautiful drawing. You know, I found a blue marker in my purse today. I think it might belong to you.”

Emma Jones, always saving the day.

They eat dinner, exchanging their normal small pleasantries, talking about their days without really talking about them. It’s not unusual for Emma to still take awhile to figure out how she wants to phrase things and open up about them, but it’s been awhile since it’s been like this, especially because he knows she didn’t have a good day.

Maybe she doesn’t want them to have to talk in front of Jace.

So they don’t.

They eat and do the dishes and then settle down in front of the television. Jace will only watch the Trolls movie at the moment. It doesn’t matter what iteration, as long as it’s got brightly colored singing creatures in it, and Killian tries to pay attention. He really does. But he’s distracted by a group text with the team as they discuss dinner plans for tomorrow on their day off. He’s still included in the group, even when most of it doesn’t pertain to him anymore, and he gets caught up trying to convince them to all go for pizza since Jace mentioned it earlier and it sounds damn good. He doesn’t need to be eating that, but for all that he still works out, he might deserve it.

Emma will definitely want it.

Or maybe not. He’s not sure when food is going to repulse her or not.

“Hey, sweetheart, do you – ”

Killian looks up from his phone, and he sees that Emma’s slumped down into the couch cushions, her chest rising and falling, and she and Jace are asleep.

She’s going to kill her neck if she falls asleep like that.

“Love,” he whispers, nudging her until her eyes blink open. “Hey, let me have Jace, and I’ll put him to bed. You can go upstairs, yeah?”

She nods and helps get Jace off of her until he’s in Killian’s arms and Emma is sleepily walking upstairs. He follows, turning for Jace’s room while Emma heads to theirs, and even though it only takes him five minutes to get Jace down, Emma is already in bed when he makes it to their bedroom.

Silently, he crawls onto the mattress, raising the comforter and settling underneath it as he inches closer to Emma until her back is pressed into his chest and her feet are tucked between his calves. She’s got socks on, thankfully, so it’s not like there’s ice against is skin for once. Emma sighs back into him, reaching back and grabbing his arm to wrap it around the slight roundness of her stomach. It’s a feeling he’s not quite used to yet, but it’s something he’s searched for since the moment Emma’s test came back positive.

This time he feels much more prepared, like he knows far more than any book or class can teach him, but it doesn’t stop the ache in the pit of his stomach the contradicts the warmness of his heart.

Killian sighs and presses his lips to the side of Emma’s neck while his fingers trace against her stomach, his hand moving until he can maneuver himself under her shirt and feel the heat of her skin.

Emma places her hand over his, squeezing, and for awhile, he waits for her to speak, for her to set the pace and unfurl what’s on her mind.

As her breathing evens, he’s not sure that time will ever come.

“I am so tired,” she finally whispers. “I am tired down to my bones and keep waiting for that fucking second trimester energy to start, but it hasn’t. So I’m tired but I get up anyway because I have things to do here and a job, which I swear is sucking my soul out of me.”

“What happened, love?”

“Did you watch the game?”

“Bits and pieces, but I heard enough.”

She scoots back, more firmly pressing herself into him, and her hair tickles his nose, the scent of her shampoo surrounding him.

“Was I wrong to want to do this? Should I have stayed where I was? I had so much more control there. Yeah, I was basically just the pretty face they used for men to stare at, but I had a say in what I said and who I worked with. When people hated me, I didn’t have to hear about it because I wasn’t sitting in the booth next to them. How long am I just going to be the woman who doesn’t belong? The woman who is only there because of who her husband is? And I just know it’s going to go over fantastic when I finally tell everyone I’m pregnant. I have a feeling I’m not going to be able to hide it from anyone but Jace soon.”

Killian swallows and strokes her stomach as he kisses her neck again. He doesn’t know how to make this better. He never has.

“You got that job without me. You know that, right? You already had your foot in the door.”

“Killian, I know, but no one has ever seen me that way. I might as well be a star on the Real Housewives of New York.”

“That would technically be me in this situation.”

Emma laughs, and God, that’s a good sound to hear. “Ah, yes, I hear quite a lot about you being the one who is at home with our kid. It’s almost like you’re a dad.”

“Shocker, isn’t it? A dad spending time with his kid? Raising him? Being there?”

“It’s revolutionary,” she chuckles, turning and twisting around until she’s facing him and her nose is brushing against his. “I know I got the job on my own. I know I’m smart and capable and a damn badass, even if saying that makes me a little less of one. But sometimes I just wish that things were a little easier, that I worked with people I liked again. Babe, I think I would do horrible things to have you in that booth with me.”

“Hmm?”

“I mean, would it be so crazy?” She runs her hands up his side until she’s caressing one side of his face, nails curling back into his hair. “We’ve talked about it before. You expressed interest in it. And come on, I know you love staying home with Jace, but you can’t tell me you’re not itching to be doing something else.”

“Well, Ariel did call and ask if we’d go on several talk shows today.”

Her brows pinch together. “Why?”

“Apparently there was some list about attractive baseball players – ”

“Did that stroke your ego?”

“Eh, maybe a little,” he teases, kissing her nose. “But it’s something about the two of us now being in the spotlight again and a few people had reached out to her. I said I’d ask you, but I figured the answer would be no. Then today happened, and I knew it would.”

“Yeah, I’m not doing anything extra. You can go if you want.”

“I might like it, depending on what they ask and who the other guests are. Maybe I can go on one of the shows and see if they’re doing a cooking segment that day.”

“Oh, can you bring me back food?”

“Yeah, Swan, I can.” Her eyes flutter closed and Killian leans back a bit. “I will think about it, okay?”

“About what?”

“Seeing if the network would have any interest in me working with you. Not this year, I think. I want to be home with Jace and whoever this new little one is as much as I can. And Ariel has me doing events and still working with charities, and most weeks, I’m busy enough. I mean, today I was bored out of my mind, but I think working with you would be bloody wonderful. That way we’d be on a similar schedule and still have time for our family. And I guess it could keep me connected to the game, since I still haven’t quite figured out how I wanted to do that.”

“Whatever makes you happy,” Emma promises opening her eyes. “Don’t do it for me, yeah?”

“Emma – ”

“No, I’m serious, don’t do it for me. I only want it to be something you want. Killian, if you want to spend the rest of your life knitting with a group of old women, you can do that. Your career has allowed us that, but if you want to stay in this world of baseball, we can find a way for that.”

Killian blinks, swallowing the lump in his throat as his hand brushes over Emma’s hip, holding her close to him. “Are you happy, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, “I am. I’m also still exhausted. I think I’ll have to conquer sexism in sports tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is your day off.”

“Then the next day then.” She pats his cheek and dips her head down to lightly brush her mouth of his, a feeling as familiar as anything else in the world. “I love you, Jones. Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being there for me, no matter what. I have a lot of people who are like that for me now, but I haven’t always. I mean, you know. You get it.”

“Aye, I do.” Killian hugs her closer and feels her stomach press against his. It won’t be so small soon and so much will change, but for right here and right now, that’s a worry for another day. “Thank you for being that person for me, Emma. Are you ready to go to sleep? Or would you be up for some brownies I made earlier?”

“I would be up for you bringing me some brownies in bed.”

“You’re going to get crumbs on the sheets.”

“It’ll be worth it.” She kisses him again, this time slower, softer. “I’ll do the laundry.”

Killian lets out a low whistle. “You really know how to convince a man.”

-/-

-/-

@mrtinski @bluewildcatfanatic @killianswannn @sherifemma @onepunintendid @authorarsinoe @stunningswan @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @galadriel26 @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury @superchocovian @sals86 @iam2307 @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings @carpedzem @tornadoamy @captainkillianswanjones