#gotta turn out all the lights and open the window I won’t go outside because it’s late and if I don’t have to get wet I won’t

[pebblezone]

I want her.

[riality-check]

This is not how Wayne was expecting to come home from work.

He had expected, as usual, that Eddie would be asleep, and he’d be free to watch the 5:00 AM news. He’d have a bowl of cereal for dinner (or was it breakfast at that point?), and then he’d be out like a light while Eddie did whatever it was he did before noon. Usually, that was sleep.

The exact opposite of what Wayne was expecting is happening right now. 

He didn’t even get his keys out of his pocket before Eddie whips the door open. He looks a mess: hair tied back loosely, pajamas off kilter, panic mixed with exhaustion on his face.

“Oh, thank Christ,” he croaks. “Wayne, I need your help. I have no idea what to do.”

Wayne can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Eddie panic like this. He shoulders past him into the trailer and is greeted with the sight of Steve Harrington standing in the middle of his living room.

“What on God’s green earth,” he murmurs. He blinks, then blinks again, but Harrington is still there, in pajamas, the tire iron Eddie still keeps under his bed in his hands. He’s breathing real heavy, and he stares out the window, stock-still.

“The hell happened?” Wayne asks, keeping his voice low.

“I don’t know,” Eddie whispers desperately. “I don’t know what happened, but he got up and grabbed the iron and just stood here-”

“How long?”

“Ten minutes, maybe.”

Wayne doesn’t like where this is going. “Has he responded to you at all?”

“No-”

Shit.

“-but I can try again?”

Wayne eyes the white-knuckled grip Harrington has on the tire iron. He’s ready to swing, and Wayne knows he’ll swing hard if given the chance.

No way he’s risking Eddie. No way he’s risking Harrington. Wayne doesn’t know him well, only met him a few times in passing, but he knows he’d never forgive himself if he hurt Eddie.

“No. Don’t try again.”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“Didn’t ask you to. All I’m saying is don’t go near.”

Eddie is very good at following instructions to the letter and to the letter only, much to Wayne’s fond annoyance. So, he doesn’t go near.

Instead, he says, voice strangely soft, “Stevie, sweetheart.”

Harrington doesn’t respond, but he turns a little in the direction of Eddie’s voice. Wayne takes that as a good sign, even if he can see the tension on his face now.

“Will you come back to sleep? Please?” Wayne hates hearing Eddie’s voice crack the way it is right now.

Harrington faces them a little better, and Wayne sees what he was expecting.

He’s staring through them, not at them. Wherever Harrington is, it sure ain’t here.

“I don’t know how much that’s gonna help, Eddie. He’s having-”

“I know he’s having a flashback, Wayne!” Eddie snaps. “I’m not stupid. It’s usually just not this bad, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Alright,” Wayne says because snapping back won’t help anyone. That and because he’s trying to process the fact that Eddie has had to deal with this before. “Let me try.”

He takes a few steps toward Harrington, keeping his hands up and his movements slow.

“Harrington,” he calls, keeping his tone light. “You’re at Eddie’s place right now. It’s almost five AM on a Friday night.”

Harrington blinks, and it looks like his eyes are coming back into focus.

“You’re safe right now. Eddie’s safe right now.”

Harrington shakes his head and lifts the tire iron a little higher. Christ, his arms must be aching by now. “No. I saw the lights flicker, and I heard a thud outside, and it got cold.”

“Stevie, the gate’s closed,” Eddie pleads. “You saw it happen. Nothing got out. You’re safe.”

Wayne doesn’t know what any of that means, but even though it was supposed to reassure Harrington, he just shakes his head again.

He hears Eddie sigh behind him, and he knows without turning around that he’s trying not to cry.

Guess he’s gotta try something different, then. “You just wake up?”

Harrington blinks, and for a minute, Wayne thinks this won’t get them anywhere. But then he whispers, just loud enough to be heard, “Yeah.”

“Okay. I just got off work.”

Harrington stares at him, confused.

“So, I think I’m a little more awake than you. I’ll take what you’ve got in your hands, and I can stay up.”

Harrington shakes his head. “It’s fine. I stay up most of the time when I’m alone.”

Alone. Wayne knows from experience, both personal and witnessing this shit, that alone is the last thing anyone should be when they’re having a flashback. Harrington says it like it’s the only thing he’s ever known.

He dismisses his questions - why is Harrington having flashbacks, why is he alone - and focuses on getting him to put down the tire iron and go to bed.

“You’re not alone this time,” Wayne says. “You’ve got Eddie here, too, and I think both of you would feel better if you were together.”

Harrington looks over Wayne’s shoulder. Wayne doesn’t turn around, but he can imagine the pleading look on Eddie’s face just fine.

Wayne holds out his hands for the tire iron, and after a minute, or maybe a month, Harrington sets it there. Immediately, he looks lighter and heavier.

Eddie walks up next to Wayne and murmurs, “Come on, sugar.”

Harrington goes to him and just rests his head on his shoulder. Eddie holds him there, just standing in the middle of the living room, sunrise just starting to peek in through the windows.

Thank you, he mouths to Wayne.

Wayne nods, but he’s got a hell of a lot more questions than answers - what the hell brought this on, what exactly is Harrington to Eddie. That can wait for morning, though.

For now, he just hopes Harrington will be okay by then.

No, not Harrington. Steve.

After something like this, Wayne has learned, you start using first names.

[moonstruckme]

Hey bestie! I hope your day is going great! If you're open to it could I get some comfort from Steddie? I hate storms, always have and I unfortunately live in the Midwest. We are under tornado watch right now and could use something else to focus on. I wanna live vicariously through my beautiful Indiana boyfriends 😩. If you're too busy I totally understand. Thank you!!!

~😈

Hope your day is going even better ml!

cw: reader get anxious during storms

Steddie x fem!reader ♡ 717 words

You flinch when a piece of hail hits the window, and Steve tucks you closer against his side. 

Eddie shakes his head. He jiggles his keys as he stands from the couch. “I’ve gotta go get the van.” 

“No, no way,” Steve says, not for the first time tonight. “We’re all staying here.” 

“The closest tornado’s way off.” Eddie waves a hand, getting his boots from by the stairs and pulling them on. “I’m just gonna bring her here to take cover in your fancy garage so she doesn’t get fucked by the hail all night.” 

“So what, you think you’re gonna walk home and drive back?” Steve is incredulous. “Tornadoes can form anywhere, dipshit. On the road’s the worst place to be.” 

You tense as the winds pick up outside, and he tightens his grip on you as if he can contain your panic. You’re all holed up in Steve’s basement, the constant drone of the weather channel covering up the whine of tornado sirens outside. It’s probably overkill to have gotten out of bed to come down here this early—because Eddie’s right, the tornadoes are nowhere near you yet, you’ve only got the storm that the weatherman on channel 4 says comes before them—but there was no way you were going back to sleep after the sirens started anyway. Steve knows you feel safer down here, where the only windows are small and nearly at the ceiling, restricting your view of the outside to rain-pelted grass and occasional flashes of lighting. You get a bit freaked about this stuff. 

“Don’t go,” you say to Eddie, pleading. 

Eddie hesitates by the stairs, and Steve looks right at him as he says firmly, “He’s not.” 

The other boy heaves a great, dramatic sigh, kicking his boots off and tromping over to flop back down beside you. You’ve got your legs curled up underneath you, and Eddie lays his head on your thigh, looking up at you with his eyes extra big. 

“You’ll help me take care of the dents tomorrow, won’t you, hot stuff?” 

“Mhm.” You nod readily. Steve thinks you’d agree to anything right now if it’d keep him from going outside. 

He watches Eddie realize this, the other boy’s expression sobering slightly before he doubles down on the teasing. His eyes flick up to Steve. 

“Or I guess you could always pay to get any damage fixed, huh?” 

Steve scoffs, using his free hand to brush a curl away from Eddie’s eye. “Yeah, right.” 

“What? Is my old gal not in the budget?” 

“Your gal’s sitting right here.” 

Eddie’s gaze moves back to you, and Steve thinks he sees you going a bit shy as Eddie makes a show of taking you in. Good. You could use a distraction. 

“Nah,” he says after a minute, quiet in an intentional way that makes Steve grin and you squirm. “That there’s my girl. Don’t insult her like that, Harrington, I’m talking about my old gal.” 

You turn to hide your smile in Steve’s shoulder, and he and Eddie share a look. It’s knowing, contented, grateful on one end and shit-eating on the other, and because you can always tell when they’re conspiring without you you mumble a not-unhappy, “I’m too tired for flirting,” into Steve’s skin. 

“Liar,” Steve accuses fondly. You’re basically flirting with him right now, the way you’ve got your arm snaked around his middle, anxious fingers fiddling with the hem of his pajama bottoms. “Why don’t we just spend the night down here?”

“Ooh.” Eddie turns onto his side, getting comfier on your thigh. “I like it. Whaddya think, baby? We can put on a movie, and that way you can stay here and keep feeling Harrington up.” 

You sigh. “That’s not what’s happening.” 

“Sure.” Steve drops a kiss on your head, and when you try to let go of him he holds you close.

Eddie gives your thigh a conciliatory pat. “We’ve all been there.” 

“If we watch a movie,” you say, and Eddie grins at your obvious attempt to change the subject, “can it please be something not scary?” 

“Sure, honey.” Steve rubs your arm, shooting Eddie an apologetic look when the other boy pouts. “Your pick.” 

When the next strike of lightning flashes in the window, you don’t seem to notice. 

[mediumgayitalian]

part one

———

Finding parking is, as expected, hard, largely in part because Michael wants to get them all killed.

“— yeah, that’s right, shitwad! Back off! We were here —”

“Will you please shut the fuck up,” Lee hisses, jamming the switch for Michael’s window. Unfortunately, Michael is sticking his fucking head out of it, so it won’t close.

“This fucking guy! This fucking guy thinks he can swoop up to our spot —”

“Motherfucker we’re in Wilmington, do you want to get fucking shot —”

“He can wait his godsdamn turn like everybody else! Hey, fucker —”

He succeeds, finally, in yanking his brother back in by the scruff of his neck and speeding away from the shitwad in question.

“I can’t believe you let him walk all over us!”

“If I end up with a bullet hole through my windshield, I am kicking your ass, Michael. I won’t need to worry about some trigger happy mortal taking you out. I’ll kill you.”

“Drama queen. Now we’re never gonna find a damn spot.”

They do, in fact, find a damn spot. Within forty-three seconds of Michael saying that, actually, Will points out not just a parking spot but a pull-through, which Lee takes, smirking. Michael aims a kick for his knee.

“Go help Will unbuckle, you bitter bitch. I gotta grab something.”

Ignoring both Michael’s grumbling and Will’s insistence that he can unbuckle himself, thank you very much, Lee jogs over to the trunk. He grabs his and Michael’s bows, just in case, and carefully grabs the bundle of roses he bought from the stand across from his apartment. The stems are a little crushed, but the flowers all seem fine, full and bright, sunny yellow. Even the paper is relatively uncrinkled, folding delicately around the thorny leaves.

Michael nods when he sees them. “Nice.”

“Thanks.” Lee tosses him his bow, slinging his own over his back. It flickers with his quiver under the Mist, settling eventually to look like a small backpack. “Got ‘em this morning.”

“Can I hold them?” Will asks.

“Sure, kiddo.”

He lays them gently in his arms, the same way Cass has taught him to bundle herbs and plants when they gather for poultices. Every step is suddenly much more deliberate, avoiding potholes and cracks in the pavement so he doesn’t trip and crush them under his body. When he nearly walks in front of a car, not paying attention, Michael plants a hand on his head, guiding him around like a claw machine.

“Okay,” Lee says, holding open the door. “Let’s find Diana.”

The lobby is crowded. There are people everywhere — families, grandparents, and of course dozens of dancers, shining hair pieces glinting in the low lights, tutus and rhinestones peeking out of studio sweatsuits. Faces heavy with stage makeup bleed into each other. The building is abuzz with sound, chatter and laughter and shouting and twenty different songs playing at once. Lee can hardly believe they’re all fitting in the same building, and almost convinces himself it’s actually enchanted, smaller on the outside. He glances down when Will backs into him, flowers clutched tighter to his chest, and rests a firm hand on his shoulder. He hooks his finger around Michael’s hoodie, too, and for once he doesn’t complain.

“You see her?” he shouts over the noise. Or, well, Lee’s pretty sure that’s what he said. He shakes his head, anyway, and Michael scowls, standing uselessly on his tiptoes. Even if that didn’t put him just barely over most people’s shoulders, the throng of people is too thick to see much. People elbow and push each other around to meet up with family members, and groups of dancers do their best to practice their routines in what limited space is available. Lee has felt less claustrophobic in Times Square at Christmas.

In a stroke of brilliance, in his very humble opinion, he lets go of Will’s shoulder, puts both hands under his arms, and hauls him over his head, settling him on his shoulders.

“Keep an eye out,” he shouts.

Will grins, tugging on Lee’s hair with his free hand in confirmation.

One hand clamped over Will’s knees, the other still hooked on Michael’s hoodie, Lee starts to wade through the crowd. He can start to see, as he gets farther from the door, the entrance to the stage, the ticket stands, the coat check. Several banners hang temporarily from the ceiling and stick to doorways, welcoming them all to the Twenty-Sixth Annual Believe Dance Comp!, and a table laden with trophies sits proudly by the stage doors.

Sitting under one of the banners, Lee notices a group of girls of varying ages, all wearing the green and purple Stage Lights Dance Academy Cass sometimes wears. He guides them closer, scanning each stage makeup-ed face to try and find his sister, but stops short before he gets too close.

Two girls, sitting at the head of the group, mime twisting their hair, exaggeratedly anxious looks on their faces. The rest of the girls roar with laughter.

Lee feels something heavy settle in his stomach.

“You think anyone will come for her?” a younger girl asks, hushed so that Lee can barely hear her over the crowd.

One of the older girls snorts. “Are you kidding? The only way her mom will come is if there’s an open bar!”

Lee is reminded of the one and only time he’d fought a group of empousai. There’d been a trio of them a Central Park, on a field trip he’d gone on with his ninth grade class, surrounding one of the oak dryads. They’d crooned at her, tugging on her leafy hair and trailing clawed fingers down her handmade dress, calling out backhanded compliments. But Lee’s skin felt like it was crawling, he remembers, and the dryad had been tense, green tears building in her eyes. Every bleat of their laughter had grated his ears, and he’d snapped, eventually, ripping off his bow and picking them off one by one. The third one had seen him, chasing him away from his group, but he’d been so mad that he wasn’t even scared. The dryad hadn’t done anything. They got nothing from poking at her. They’d just done it to be cruel, because it was fun for them.

“I don’t even know why she has the gall to show up. She missed the final practice.”

“Miss Breanna likes her, that’s why,” one of the girls scoffs. “Of course she can skiff off practice and still compete. She thinks she’s so much better than us.”

Michael shifts forward. Lee throws out an arm to stop him, shooting him a warning look.

“You think anyone’ll take your side?” he murmurs.

“They’re talking about —!”

“I know, Michael.”

“They can’t talk about her like that!”

“I know, Michael.” He forces his jaw to unclench. “I know.”

“Yeah, well, favourite or not,” another dancer says wickedly, “her seats will be empty again. And she’ll walk out empty-handed and alone, like she always does.”

Most of the adults milling about the lobby hold flowers, like they do. Except unlike them, their bouquets are large, unlike them the stems are not crushed, unlike them they are wrapped in ribbons, in embroidered banners. One is, even, shaped as a ballet slipper, and Lee notices the oldest girl in the group, the one who made the joke about Cass’s mother, eyeing it, smirking.

He pictures Cass holding it next to all the other girls from her studio. With their big, normal families, their wide smiles, their fancy cameras, their beautiful, expensive bouquets. Pictures the smirks that will be sent her way, the whispers. They can’t — gods, what was he thinking?

“What time is it?” he asks.

Michael glances at his watch. “Quarter to.”

“Hm.”

In her frantic IM, yesterday, Diana had ordered them to be here by noon. From what little he knows about dance competitions, Cass’s performance will be sometime after that, nestled among the many. When exactly, he doesn’t know.

If they leave now, wagering, they could miss it. And that would be the worst thing of them all. But…

“Will,” he says, suddenly getting an idea. “C’mere.”

He reaches up and sets Will back on the ground, clutching his hand as he weaves through the crowd, beelining for the far corner. He stops at a sign with a little stick person on it, gently taking the flowers from Will’s hold and passing them back to Michael.

“Listen to me carefully.” He crouches to Will’s level, meeting his eyes. “Diana is — somewhere, in there, getting Cass ready. Michael and I can’t go in there. We need you to go in and act really confused.”

“That will be very easy, because I am confused,” Will protests. “Why do I have to go in there? I don’t even really know why we’re here!”

“Just — go in,” Lee insists. “Trust me. If I give you more instructions, it’ll ruin it.”

Huffing, Will goes.

“Brilliant,” Michael mutters. “Lose the kid and Diana. Great plan, Lee.”

“Come on, does no one trust me?”

“No one knows what you’re doing, dude! You hang around Carter for five minutes and suddenly you think you’re Mr. Plan Guy —”

Lee flushes. “That is not what this is about!”

“I am not missing this! I swear Lee, if we’re late —”

“We’re not gonna be late!”

“Why is it that every boy on Earth is actually stupid,” hisses a new voice. The change room door busts open, damn near cracking under the heel of a heavy boot, and Diana comes striding out behind it, Will perched on her hip. Her short dark hair sticks out in every which way, shoulders tense as a line, mouth twisted in a scowl. Immediately, Lee and Michael snap their mouths shut.

“Hey,” Will complains, pouting.

She adjusts her hold on him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Not you, sweetpea. Only Thing One and Thing Two, over here.” She glares at them. “Why did I find him wandering around in the change room? I told you to wait for me in the lobby! I swear you two want to — ruin this!”

“Hey,” Lee says, flinching back. “You know we don’t, Diana. That’s not fair.”

She scrubs a hand down her face, sighing. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. It’s just —” She presses another kiss to Will’s cheek and sets him down, leaning on the doorframe. “It’s been a rough morning. She keeps trying to call her mom, and — well.”

Lee hates that those girls were right. He hates it. He hates that they’ve been right before, that Cass has walked off the stage, face blank, alone. Hearing their giggling, probably. Twisting her hair around her fingers as she tries to hold it together.

His jaw tightens.

Not this fucking time.

“What time is Cass on?” he asks

“…Her solo at one-thirty,” Diana says. “But —”

“Great.” Lee grabs each brother’s shoulder, pulling them back. “We won’t be late, Diana, I promise.”

“Wait! Lee — dude, what are you —”

“We’ll meet you inside! Save us seats!”

“Lee! Get back here!”

“Seats!” Lee calls, glancing back. He makes a vague gesture in return to her incredulous, spread-wide hands, trying to convey the Situation. “We won’t be late! Promise!”

“I’ll kill you if you are!” she relents. “Be fucking back on time!”

———

In hindsight, it would have been smarter to take the car.

For whatever reason, both Lee and Michael assumed there would be a flower stand just outside the theatre. Neither of them had seen one on the way in, but it made sense. If Lee had a flower business, he’d probably put it next to a theatre. Where else would you put it?

Regardless, there isn’t anything close across the street, or even on the whole block. Will sits on his shoulders again, because it’s easier than trying to guide him, and every so often he glances at the watch Beckendorf made him, calling out the time.

“Will,” Lee begs, veering around a street corner, “you are not helping.”

“I am so!” He checks his watch again. “Twenty-seven minutes ‘til Cass starts. That’s why we’re here, right? To watch Cass dance?”

“So long as we make it in time,” Michael stresses. “Shit, Lee, maybe we should just head back. The flowers we have are fine —”

“Cass deserves more than fine.”

Michael snaps his mouth shut. “I know that.”

Lee slumps. “I — know you know. Sorry.”

Their steps fall in synch, footsteps making level prints in the light dusting of snow. On occasion a passing car drowns them out, but for the most part the only sound is their breathing, and Will picking at his nails. The shifting of their jackets.

“You’ll never undo it, Lee.” The road cross button makes a heavy click noise under Michael’s fist. The countdown for the walking man is loud, four, three, two, one. Three of the little lights are broken, making it look like its chest is cracked open. “There’s some shit you just can’t fix.”

“I’m not trying to — fix her,” he argues weakly. “I’m just…”

He can’t push away the horrible ache in his chest. The rapidly expanding feeling, the sinking chasm of expecting and hoping and being disappointed. Of looking out into the crowd to find a familiar face and not finding one. Of hearing giggles as you walk past and clenching your teeth, knowing. It balloons, pushing out on his ribcage, forcing its way up his throat.

Michael stops, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed. Lee stares at a spot at the air above his shoulder, swallowing roughly, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood.

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, Lee. You think competing with those assholes is gonna — go back? Gonna magically bring her fucking — hell, bring Dad?”

Lee looks away. “Of course not.”

“We’re going to be there. That’s what matters, isn’t it? That’s what’s really important.”

“Oh, to hell with high horses, Michael. I’m fucking tired of — of pretending it’s okay!” He starts forward again, ignoring the twinge of pain in his skull when Will grips his hair, yelping at the sudden surge forward. Michael jogs to keep up. “It’s — fight these monsters, train these kids, lead your cabin. Ignore the fact that your dad couldn’t be assed to visit a few times a year, he’s an Olympian, after all, you understand. Well, I’m tired of it! I’m tired of —” he trips over a crack in the sidewalk, barely catching himself — “I’m tired of being so damn understanding!”

For a moment Michael says nothing. Lee’s breathing is heavy, shakey, and it takes effort to still the tremble in his hands.

“The girl,” Michael says eventually. “The prissy one, who sat closer to the door.”

“…What about her?”

“I just.” He chews at his bottom lip. “I’m not saying I disagree with you, dude, but you have issues, dude, and shit you need to work out. For real. Besides just —” he gestures broadly at the mostly empty street — “ranting into the air.” Slowly, a smirk spreads across his face. “It would be really, really funny to see her face if Cass walks out with a bouquet three times the size of hers, wouldn’t it.”

Lee matches his grin. “It would be.”

“Betcha she’d seethe.”

“Probably turn purple.”

They turn to each other, finally back in synch.

“Nineteen minutes,” Will pipes up.

Lee startles. He checks his own watch. “Oh, shit. Let’s go.”

———

part three

[foreverdolly]

𝐈 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 |80's mechanic!austin x best friend!reader

summary: it's starting to look like he might never make it out of the friend zone. austin has been in love with you for as long as he can remember, and he's terrified that you'll never see him as anything more than a best friend and protector. with the fear of you one day outgrowing him fresh on his mind, he's now hell bent on getting you to view him in a different light. madly in love and terrified to lose you, austin butler is playing for keeps.

pairings: 80s mechanic! austin x childhood best friend!reader

word count: 4.8k

notes/warnings: SMUT! in part two, virgin!austin. . . need i say more?, i love pining and this fic is testament to that, shaky/hurried hands, who doesn't love a good best friends to lovers fic, he has a deep southern accent, austin is the small town's metalhead and he's swelteringly hot without even trying. (this is going to have to be two parts because it turned out too long after editing. the smut alone is like. . . five pages on google docs.)

The incessant metallic clinging and loud mechanic whirs echoed against the cement flooring of the auto body garage. The sun was peeking just over the trees right outside the open garage doors, the spring sky slowly burning gold and pink. Most of the men were rushing to finish up with the vehicles that they were working on, eager to get home to their families after a long day of work. There was one mechanic though -who might be young, but made up for it with skill- was still elbow deep under the car’s hood, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. He’d only been looking at the car for five minutes and knew exactly what was wrong with it. The elderly woman had gotten her car towed all the way to Travis’ shop after the damn thing stalled out in the middle of the Winn-Dixie parking lot. The young mechanic could see her through the lobby’s windows watching him, her tiny wrinkly hands balled up into nervous fists.

“Aye- Austin?” Travis jogged right up to Austin, placing his hand down on one of the side mirrors as he waited for the diagnosis. 

“It’s not the engine. The transmission,” He pointed towards the old hunk of junk, leaning his head back under the hood to show his boss. “It’s completely shot. She said it will jerk when she accelerates and the wheel will sometimes shake when she’s goin’ fast enough. What’s happening is that it’s slippin’. The damn thing won’t stay in gear. This car is ten years out of date- I mean. . . It's a ‘74. So even if we order the parts-” 

“It’s gonna cost more to fix than it would be for her to just buy a whole new one.” The boss finished for him, sighing when he saw Austin nod his head in agreement. 

The long haired blonde blinked his eyes against the burning sunset, shooing a gnat away from his face as he leaned his hip against the car. He crossed one booted foot over the other as he waited patiently for the man to make a decision. While Travis enjoyed making money, Austin knew that the bastard was above stealing it from little old ladies. With a small huff of defeat the middle aged man began walking back in the direction of the lobby, most likely to break the bad news. He stopped just before he opened the door, pointing a quick finger-gun in Austin’s direction. 

“Are you comin’ over to Mark’s cookout tonight? You can bring your girl.” He called out over the loud noise. 

Austin shook his head before flashing the man a little face of distaste. 

“I’ve gotta go to my dad’s house to grab some of my old shit. Besides- I don’t have a girl to bring.” 

Travis shot him “a face” right back, but one of disbelief. “Yeah, right. A girl doesn’t just bring her friend a hand packed lunch every other day unless she was hopin’ for somethin’ to happen between them..” And before Austin could even defend himself the man was gone, sauntering solemnly over to the corner where the elderly woman was sitting. 

You weren’t the one that was hoping for a chance at romance, but Austin was. He’d rather die than admit it, but his co-workers' words lit a small fire in his chest; a hopeful pyre that didn’t dim. 

The wooden stairs were old and weather worn, the nails rusted with age. Austin always felt a sense of dread when he heard the familiar creaking under his feet, and the fact that he could hear the television droning on from inside of the trailer didn’t make it any better. It meant that he was home, and the blonde knew what that meant. A fight was sure to ensue, and after the shitty day that he had at work, that was the last thing that he wanted to endure. He found that the door was unlocked, per usual. The inhabitant of the rickety death trap didn’t have anything worth stealing. 

“Why are you here?” The middle aged man looked terrible for his age, though Austin blamed that on the endless supply of alcohol and drugs that ran through the man’s system. 

Austin cleared his throat, closing the door behind him with a grimace. He didn’t want to be here, but there were still a few boxes back in his old room that he needed to grab. After that he’d be gone for good, or at least that’s what he told himself anyway. His no-good father was used to relying on other people to save the day, one of those people being his own son. 

He blamed his strong sense of duties on the fact that he was raised in the deep south. “Being a man” was hammered into his skull from the moment of his very conception. Taking care of your family, especially when they are unable to do it for themselves, was considered a must. Austin had always hated his father. In fact, he couldn’t remember a single time in his life when he had felt gratitude or love in any magnitude towards his father. Still, he was a man and needed to provide for his family. . . right? He didn’t want anyone to think less of him for abandoning his father. More than anything, he didn’t want the wrong kind of gossip ending up in the wrong people’s ears.

What was important to him now was getting the hell away from his abusive father. He was old enough to start thinking about what he wanted for himself in the future. He’d always craved companionship with a certain person. . . children were on his radar too. The last thing he wanted was for his druggie father to be in his own kid’s lives. 

The lanky man didn’t fit in the small home anymore, and he hadn’t for years. Both physically and emotionally, he had outgrown his prison many moons ago. He took a few seconds to look around the living room. Now that he wasn’t there to clean up after the grotesque man, the house smelled absolutely putrid. Austin’s nose wrinkled in disgust, eyes dancing along the empty beer cans and overflowing sink. 

“Jus’ gettin’ the last of my stuff.” Austin grumbled, his bulky black boots sticking to the dirty linoleum floors as he tried his best to breeze past the older man’s old recliner. 

A hand reached out, gripping at his wrist to stop him. Austin looked down, the muscles in his sharp jaw clicking as he held back the urge to rip himself out of the man’s reach. He knew that he was too big for the man to intimidate now, but his body still remembered the pain his father had put him through as a kid. 

“Ya talkin’ bout that toolbox?” The man’s voice was gravely, all thanks to the menthols he religiously smoked. Austin could smell the Miller Light and smoke coming off of him now. It was nauseating. 

The blonde ripped his eyes off of the man’s face, peeking off down the hall to see his old bedroom door wide open. He had locked it from the inside and crawled out the window the last time that he was here, taking the spare key with him. It was still tucked away safely in his wallet. His breathing stuttered when he realized that the doorknob had been taken off completely. 

“I need it for work. What did you do with it?” Austin tried to school the deep southern accent out of his voice. He got into the habit of doing that around his father from a young age, desperately wanting to seem as different from the old man as possible. 

“If that’s what yer here for, don’ bother. I sold it.” The young adult’s heart sank to his ass, and this time he didn’t hesitate in ripping his wrist out of the man’s hand. 

“To who? Where is it?” Austin questioned heatedly, staring daggers into the old man’s face. 

The sandy haired man was staring back at the television now, watching old reruns of some shitty old Western movie that must have come out in the sixties. He didn’t answer Austin, too drunk to care and too high to listen. 

“Dad!” Austin’s deep voice boomed, echoing around the filthy trailer. “Where the fuck did you take it? The pawn shop off’a Assembly Street?” That was where his father often sold stolen shit for a few extra bucks. 

That got the other man’s attention. He didn’t take kindly to being yelled and cursed at, especially not by his son. He could always deal it out, but refused to take it. Ray Butler had stopped beating on his son during his Junior year in highschool though, realizing that the boy was now bigger than him. Out of a cowardly fear for his own safety, he stuck to the emotional abuse instead, which only got worse once he didn’t have a true outlet for his frustrations. Austin bristled as he watched the old man glare up at him, taking a long swig from his beer before answering. 

“I took it to Keith’s. If ya needed it so bad, why the hell didn’t you take it with ya in the first place? It’s in my house, so I can do whatever the fuck I want with it.” It was surprising how coherent the man was, especially since he must have been drinking all day long. 

Austin’s father hadn’t had a job in the last seven years, but still managed to scrape by somehow. He was a petty thief whose criminal record stretched all the way back into his boyhood. He had raised the blonde to be the exact same way, but the only thing Austin had truly adopted from his “teachings” was a shared hatred for cops and a scrappy sort of resourcefulness. The other kids that he was forced to interact with at school were the ones that taught him how to fight. They enjoyed taking turns trying to beat the shit out of the town’s poor kid, but once he finally hit his growth spurt in the summer after sixth grade the roles were largely reversed. Nobody messed with him by the time that he had entered high school. He was feared by his peers and just as hated. 

The negative image that he had created served him well though. Not only had he made a name for himself, he had also gained the ability to protect his best friend, which was the only thing he really cared about. Getting the dog shit knocked out of him was one thing, but seeing boys and girls teasing her was a different story. He remembered storming into the girl’s bathroom during his junior year very vividly, yanking up one of popular blonde’s by the back of her shirt. 

“I’m a Butler, so don’t think that I’m above hittin’ a girl.” 

He’d constantly ask you if the bullying persisted even after that, but you always went out of your way to tell him that they had stopped their teasing. Austin was made fun of because he lived in a trailer that should have been condemned long since they originally moved in and barely had enough money to get school supplies every year, but you were picked on because you were perfect. It didn’t make any sense to him, but girls are strange creatures. You made good grades, was the nicest person he had ever met without even trying, and your natural good looks made matters even worse for you. Getting the mean girls to steer clear of you wasn’t the hard part, but keeping the male pervert’s away was an entirely different story. 

It didn’t help that after a long day of putting up with the constant glares, rumors, and telling boys to back off, he’d be forced to come home to incessant tongue lashings. He barely had time to study after taking care of the forty year old drunkard, hence his rotten grades in school. You could only do his homework for him so many times, but hey- you tried. He graduated because of you, at the very least. 

He had landed a job as a mechanic straight out of high school, having been skilled for his age. Who knew that driving a shitty lemon of a car that he constantly had to fix up would lead to a career? He had gotten lucky, which was a rarity in his life. 

Getting his own place was one hell of an achievement, but his past always found a way to come back and haunt him. 

Austin stormed through the connected kitchen and down the hall, sucking in a deep breath before he entered the room. All of the boxes that he had stacked in the corner had been ransacked and picked clean. It was Austin’s fault for thinking that a simple locked door would keep his father out. The blonde could scream over his stolen Iron Maiden and Dio tapes later, for now he needed to focus on the important thing: his tools. 

“You sold them to your crackhead dealer? For what? A bag, right? That was over a hundred dollars worth’a tools!” He screamed from the backroom, kicking an old wooden chair that had been junking up his old room for ages. The thing went flying, hitting the opposite wall with a resounding cracking noise. 

Austin was covered in car oil, smelled like gasoline and sweat after a long day of work, and all he had wanted was to slip in the trailer undetected and grab his things. He had hoped that his father would have been passed out in his room by now so that he could have been in and out without being forced to converse. Nothing ever seemed to go his way. The blonde reached for the metal baseball bat that he still had stuffed under his childhood bed, knocking it against his boot a few times before storming out of the room, pushing past his father and heading straight for the front door. 

“Austin, wait,” The male knew what was coming. The only time his father ever referred to him by his name was when he wanted something. “Can you give me twenty dollars? I need’a pay the power.” 

The baseball bat felt heavy in his hand. He balanced the weight for a second, his jaw clicking as he imagined just how good it would feel to bring it down on top of the other man’s head. If Ray ended up dead, he was sure that he could blame it on a handful of people who he had stolen from or cheated. Austin didn’t need that on his conscience though. So instead of barking back a reply or even pulling out his wallet, he yanked his hand away with a grunt, storming out the door. 

“Jus’ use the money that you got from sellin’ all’a my shit.” He called out before slamming the door behind him, the small and dingy diamond shaped window vibrating with the force of his anger. 

“Is your mama home? If not then I’m gonna use your shower.” Austin gently pushed his way into the house, kicking off his dirty work boots before bounding up the familiar carpeted stairs. 

You blinked in the entryway, slowly closing the front door before turning around to watch him go, the chain from his wallet jingling with his movement. With a small sigh you locked it behind you, following up after him. 

“Well hello to you too.” You teased, watching him open up the linen closet so that he could grab a towel. He was caked with grease, his sun kissed cheeks speckled with black and gray. His black work shirt fit snugly on his form, having shrunk in the wash. At his hip, swinging around with every step that he took, was his black handkerchief. It was also wrecked with engine grease, having been used to clean his hands one too many times that day. He looked devilishly handsome, but he always did. Nothing new. 

“Sorry. Really bad day. Just got back from Keith’s place- he had some of the shit that I left at my dad’s.” He left the bathroom door open as he slipped off his socks, then hurriedly took his shirt off and threw that into the dirty clothes hamper. His small apartment didn’t have a washer and dryer hookup, so he had been doing his laundry at your place for the last two months. 

You didn’t mind, and your mother and father hadn’t noticed either. You sucked at your teeth, turning around to give him privacy. You heard the shower turn on, then the familiar clanking of his chain wallet hitting the side of the sink. Once you heard the shower curtain open and close you turned around, seeing the room empty, his dirty clothes piled neatly in the hamper. You closed the bathroom door behind you as you stepped inside, jumping up on the counter so that you could swing your legs back and forth as you spoke. He seemed frustrated, and you could tell that he needed to talk about it. 

Growing up in a tragically tiny town meant that everybody was always in each other’s business. From preschool to your senior year in high school, every moment was spent with the same exact children. You could count the newer families to move into the small community over the last five years on one hand. Life was slow moving in the old south, and things were horrifically monotonous. You and the blonde had been stuck together like glue ever since primary school, and you didn’t see it changing in the future. 

To say that you knew Austin like the back of your hand was an understatement. Every flaw, quirk and triumph had either been discovered by you, with you at his side, or involved you in some way. In a town filled with mostly elderly folks, kids often found a group of likeminded people and stuck with them for the entirety of their lives. It was horribly predictable of the two of you, yet here you two were, connected at the hip. The bond between you and Austin went above just being best friends. It was something tied to your soul. It wasn’t just hard to imagine a life without him in it, rather it was impossible. 

He didn’t have to tell you that he was angry for you to know that he was beyond aggravated. The restlessness was plain to see. Whether he would be upfront and tell you about the reason or not, you could tell that he needed someone to just sit and listen. Austin wasn’t the kind of person to talk in depth about the things that really upset him. He was more of the “suffer in silence until I inevitably blow up” type. You, on the other hand, weren’t afraid to whine and cry to him about even the slightest of inconveniences. The two of you were polar opposites, and yet it just worked. 

“Keith let you in the house?” You asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow as you watched the steam beginning to curl up and over the curtain. 

Austin let out a humorless laugh, and you could imagine him shaking his head back and forth. You smiled despite the situation, bringing your hand up to your mouth so that you could bite down on your thumb nail. You instantly regretted it, pulling away to see that you had already chipped your freshly painted fingers. 

“A’course he didn’t. I broke into the fucker’s place. Got my tool box back, but the damn thing had been ransacked already. The bones picked clean. I’m out over fifty dollars in tools- checked it once I got back into the car.” 

“Jesus- did he see you? That guy is absolutely insane.” Thankfully, you’d only met the man in passing a handful of times. He was the crazy townee that everybody knew and feared. Keith was the kind of person that you point out to your developing teens to scare them away from drugs and alcohol. “If you don’t want to end up like Ole’ Keith, you better not touch that stuff.” He had a bunch of handmade signs outside of his house with bible scriptures on them, meanwhile the man was dealing meth and coke to make a living. As was the deep south, filled to the brim with religious and moral hypocrisies. 

Either you were a devout Christian or just another local crackhead. Thankfully, you and Austin didn’t fall into either of those categories. You seemed to have made one of your own over the years. 

“He wasn’t home. His truck was gone. The dude left his bedroom window unlocked, so I just ripped the screen off.” 

You used to worry for Austin on a daily basis. The burns and bruises he’d come to school with broke your heart, but no matter how many times you begged your parents to let the blonde come and live with you, they always let you down. You were happy that he finally had somewhere safe to lay his head at night, though he still hadn’t broken the habit of spending most of his down time with you (and you prayed he wouldn’t ever grow out of that habit). As soon as he got off work he was making his way up to your bedroom, often dead tired down to his bones or pissed off. Your parents were gone most of the time anyway though. Your father was a hotshot business man who was away for work most of the time, and your mother insisted on following along with him after the “incident” that happened when you were twelve.

Men who spend most days without their wives and children breathing down their neck usually take advantage of the opportunity. Your father was no different. He was no saint. Then again, neither was your mother. She took most of her frustration out on you after that, and though you knew that her outbursts weren’t a direct cause of anything that you had personally done, that didn’t make it any better. 

Austin was just as much your therapist as you were his. Maybe that was the cause for your codependency. . . either way, neither of you regretted it. It only strengthened the bond, really. 

After Austin was showered and dressed in an outfit that he had left at your house some weeks ago, the two of you found yourselves sprawled out on your bed. You were busy finishing up some homework for one of your classes, and he was reading one of your magazines. He had his head hanging off the side of the mattress, ankles crossed up on one of your pillows. His wet hair was dripping onto your floor. The constant droplets hitting your outdated shag carpet lulled the two of you into a comfortable silence. The two of you didn’t need to talk 

“Where’s a newer one? This one’s a year old.” He suddenly dropped what he was reading onto the floor next to his head, sitting up so that he could face you again. 

You scrunched up your nose, dropping your psychology textbook beside you. 

“That is the newer one.” You told him, to which he scooped it up and off of the floor, turning it over and pointing at the date. 

He was right. It was old. 

It was the June twenty-first issue, the date clear to see on the front: nineteen eighty-four. Bob Dylan was posed on the front in all of his tambourine-man glory. 

“Shit. Sorry, Aus. I thought I handed you the Beatles Anniversary edition.” You started to stand up, but he waved you off. 

“I should probably get going anyway. I have to try to cook myself something. If I don’t eat now then I’ll jus’ go to bed hungry.” 

You had hoped that the two of you could order pizza tonight, but you kept your mouth shut. Lately you found yourself clinging to him a little bit harder than usual. Maybe it was the stress of your sophomore year in college, but you couldn’t be certain. You tried to school the disappointment off of your face as you nodded, standing up to walk him back to the front door. 

“Are we still driving down to see Dave’s show? His band sucks, but he’ll be disappointed if we miss it.” He asked you at the front door, shoving his sock clad feet into his work boots and tying them up haphazardly. 

You slapped your forehead with the palm of your hand, eyes wide. You’d completely forgotten about your friend’s show tomorrow. You’d planned to stay after class and study in the library, but you didn’t mind cramming for next week's test. Austin laughed, the sound causing you to smile to yourself. His laugh was deep, rich and completely contagious. He reached out, his large hand wrapping around your wrist to pull your hand away from your face. 

“You forgot, didn’t you?” He leaned down so that he was at your height, his smile practically blinding. 

You sucked in a breath, but nodded your head anyway. It was hard not to notice his beauty in moments like this. He’d always been handsome, but lately you’d been looking a little too closely at that. A sick twinge of guilt soured your stomach, a feeling of what could only be categorized as “betrayal” causing your face to flush. He was your best friend, and if he knew that you were looking at him like that he would probably be disgusted with you. Hell, you were horrified by your own thoughts recently. You tried to blame the odd feelings on your long-standing lack of romance, but you were starting to believe that was just an excuse.

“I completely forgot.” And you felt bad about it. You’d been so busy with your school work, the recent fight that you had with your mother and. . . well. . . Austin. You cleared your throat softly, kicking at an imaginary pebble on the tiled floor to try and distract yourself. 

Austin seemed to notice the change in attitude and put his hand on the top of your head, ruffling your hair in the way that he knew you despised. He chuckled when you slapped his hand away, instead moving his hand to the base of your neck so that he could pull your much smaller form against his in a tight hug. He’d always been lean and tall, but his physically demanding job had caused his muscles to fill out. He felt warm and strong, smelling of your shampoo. 

“I’ll drive us tomorrow, alright? Maybe you can get some studying done in the car.” And with that he removed his arms from around you. 

You felt the loss of his warmth like a slap in the face. You let him go though, watching as he bounded down the steps towards his van, his keys jingling in his hand with the movement. He was in higher spirits after spending a few hours in your presence. He felt lighter, like some of the crushing weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. You leaned against the doorframe, peeking your head out just to watch him. 

“I love you! Drive home safe, alright?” You called out. 

Austin couldn’t fight off the blush that raised to his ears, but he turned around and quickly returned the sentiment. You had told him that you loved him every day, but his heart still pounded like it had the very first time. Only these days he wished that you really meant it. 

That you loved him the same way that he loved you. 

[m45wood]

Break My Heart

Sal x Male Reader

Summary: You’ve grown distant with Sal after you figured out about what you’ll do after this school semester. (College)

WC: 2k

Warnings: Smoking of Cannabis, Mention of tobacco use, Hurt No Comfort, Character Death, Reader overthinks, Sal Comforts, Depression, Loss, Suicide 2x, Reader Comforts. NOT PROOFREAD.

A/N: Was high when I wrote this. First post hope you enjoy!!

Sal rests on your legs. Your hands trancing his arms up and down. You currently lay on the ground smoking weed while he lays and sleeps. Larry is sat across to you two smoking a blunt. You’re all watching a random movie on one of the channels. You aren’t paying attention to it more focused on the blue haired boy on your lap. A small corner window is open. Let some of the smell out you Sal doesn’t want to get second hand high. Sal wasn’t by means a goody two shoes. He’s smoked a cigarette every once in a while but doesn’t like how weed makes him feel. Alcohol also made him feel off. You understood that, never did anything in front of him but Larry. Well it’s Larry, it’s quite usual for him.

“Your dad was over last night” Travis says exhaling softly. Sal grunts eyeing Travis. The subject of Larry’s Mom and Sals dad getting together was quite an odd subject matter. Sal was always out on edge. You could tell by his shoulders hiking up. You softly stroked Sals hair. “Want to go get slushies?” You asks wanting to get out of the cramped basement. He nods. He sits up and you pull yourself up as well. You usually do this to just take a walk. Larry denies the request to go and continue watching the random action movie sequence. As you get ready to leave the house you see Sal going without his mask. You smiles at him and close the door behind him after he steps outside. You both begin a small walk. The wind blows a bit causing your hair to move in different directions. “Windy. Hope your hair doesn’t get caught in a branch like that one time” You say to him. He chuckles. His hood is up covering most of his face with his hands inside his jacket pockets back hunched over. “Gotta fix that posture man” As you approach a cross section you pull out a cigarette and slowly begin to light it when you cross the road. “Want some?” you ask passing it over. He nods his head now. You nod and continue.

You both finally arrive nodding at the cashiers greeting. You both grab a big cup and fill it to the top. You grab a couple snacks and send Larry a text to see what kind of gummies he wants (the shark ones). Head down, sal follows you to the worker. “How’s your night going?” The worker says in politeness. “Well, how about you?” You reply as the worker continues the small talk and gives the bag of goods. You both give a thanks and walk out. You pass the slushie to him and grip the bag tighter. “Do you know what you’re going to do after this semester ends?” He asks you.

This is a subject neither of you have talked about. You both know that Sal is going to stay and you want to leave. You haven’t planned anything because you don’t want to leave him. You don’t want it to become a reality. You shrug. “I don’t have any plan really” You lie. He can tell. You won’t face him. You look up whenever you’re uncomfortable. He looks down at his face. “Same” The walk back is silent and almost a clear wall between you two.

“Here are the sharks” You say throwing the bag to Larry as it hits his face and his nose scrunches. “Thanks” He grabs the bag off his face and tears it open. Sal sits on the couch. You frown at this action knowing he’s ignoring you now. You lay on the ground this time.

Too much time has passed. It’s time to tell Sal what you’re going to do. “Sal, can we talk?” You say at his door. He turns to you. “Yeah what’s up?” he ask leaning on his elbows. You take a deep breath and close the door. “I finally know what i’m going to do” You state looking at him. His mask is still causing you not to know what his reaction might be. Just solely by his eye and body language. You’ve learned to read his expression and body language after years of dating and being friends. He nods encouraging to go on. You stare at him and then stare at your shoes. “I’m planning on going out of state. I got an opportunity to study elsewhere and I really want to go. I won’t be home for long time but it will be a while considering it’s 2 semesters” You stare up at him. He’s emotionless. Not because of his mask. His body is still. Breathing normal and his eyes are just glossy. “Sal?”

“I felt this coming” He says staring at you. “We’ve been distant don’t you think?” He questions. You nod. “It’s like you don’t want to see me. Like you feel guilty. I hate that” He says. It’s something he’s talked to you about. He doesn’t want peoples guilt or pity. He just wants to be treated normal. You always understood. Always did your best. Until now. You’ve grown distant and your eyes stare how you feel about him. How your eyes divert every where. Never catching his eye. Magnets with the same poles. Repelling each other. The distance growing stronger with the energy growing. “I’m sorry. I’m just scared. I don’t want to lose you” You say. “You aren’t going to lose me over something simple” He says leaning over to look at you. “I think my brain is just thinking of the worst,” you say eyes filling with tears, “what if you find someone better while i’m gone?” You state. He smiles at you. You can tell by his eye. “No one is better than you. I should be the one scared” He says. “Don’t say that. I would never do that” You say grabbing his hands. “Okay i won’t but see. You care so much how could i ever leave you” You stare at him knowing he’s right. Your love for him is stronger than distance. You love him so much it’s suffocating. It wraps you two so tightly together you can’t even believe to think about someone else. You smile. “Can i kiss you?” You ask. He nods. You place your lips onto his cold masks lips. He lets out a small giggle and unhooks his mask. “Better?” “Better”

Your studying has gone great. The program you’re in thankfully covered everything. Housing, food, finances, and classes. Every weekend you had either school work to do or could go and explore the big city. It was quite pleasant. You called Sal when you could. It wasn’t often but you did send letters to each other. They were sweet and handwritten. It smelled like him and it smelled like you. It was always the highlight of your week. The closer you got to the first semester the more busy you got. You wanted to finish everything early to show up early. You wanted to surprise Sal. You had bought many things for him, and of course your other friends, but many reminded you of Sal. You missed Sal so much. Your heart would ache.

“Hey Sal,

I hope you are doing well! I found a cat yesterday. He was missing an eye just like you. He really reminded me of you.”

You were writing Sal a letter when your phone began to ring. It was Ash. She called you every once in a while as she also went out of state so you both could relate. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Larry’s Dead”

Those were the first words you heard from Ash. They rung in your ear. A constant ring. You had finally made it back to your hometown. You made an emergency call to your professors and educators. Once you had everything settled you rushed back. You have your condolences to Larry’s mom. To Sal’s dad. Next was to visit Sal. You had talked to Ash when you arrived and when she called. You rushed to Sals home. “Sal!” You say opening the door. You run towards his bedroom and knock. You open it and see Sal in bed. His face is wet. His pillowcase is soaked. “Sal…” You say softly walking to him. He eyes you. “(Name) Why?” he croaks, “Why would he do something so stupid?” You hold him as he sobs into your shirt. You rub his back as your eyes starts to cry.

You didn’t just lose one of your best friends. You lost those around you. The happiness of those around you. Those you care about experience loss. Once again. You all have felt loss but somehow this one was different. Larry was everything to everyone. To his mom he was sanctuary. Pleasant reminder of the past and how it does get better. For Sal his first friend in a new town after his tragic loss. He was your best friend. He was Ash’s best friend. He meant so much to those around him. Him being gone never felt real. It all felt like you were living in a nightmare. Nothing was real. Nothing felt authentic. It was all imitating reality. As if there had been a glitch and Larry somehow managed to disappear.

With time people healed. As much as they could. Ash went back to study. Larrys mom tried her best to move on. She got a new job and moved somewhere with Sals dad. Sal though, he stayed. He stayed and you knew you had to stay with him. But you still had school. You were, once again, stuck. With Larry’s loss you both grew apart once again. You both grieved differently. You tried to find peace with his decision. Sal tried to understand it.

“You don’t get it. If i don’t know why he did it i’ll live my life with regret and guilt” Sal says facing away from you. “Sal, your healing is your own but even if you don’t know the reason it isn’t your fault. None of us could’ve guessed he was going to do it. If we had we would’ve done something. You know this better than anyone” You say getting up from the dinner table. “You don’t know that” He says softly, inaudible to you. “Sal, sweetie” You say and he interrupts you. “You weren’t there! You don’t know that!” He burst out on you. You stare shocked as his eye widens and face contorts into displeasure. “You weren’t even here” He says tears running down his cheeks. “Sal, i came here as soon as i could” You say staring at your shoes. “You left me. You left me and Larry.” He says crying by this point. “How could you just leave us?” He says sobbing sitting back down into his chair. “You left me. Me!” He says flipping his face towards you. “You don’t understand me” He pushes his face into his arms. He lets out sobs. “Sal” Your voice croaks as tears fall down your cheek. You wrap your arms around him and he begins to thrash. “Stop! Stop! You’re not him. You’re not him…” You let go immediately watching his figure thrash aggressively. “Sal please…I’m sorry” Sal continues to sob. “You weren’t here you weren’t here” You stare at sals trembling frame. “Leave! LEAVE” He yells at you. His face once again contorted with anger. Tears in your eyes you walk out.

Sal hasn’t spoken to you in months. You decided to not bother him. Maybe he was right? Why did you leave? If you stayed would Larry still be alive? Would you and Sal be happy together? Would you and Sal be falling in love even harder than before? All these questions. The nagged you. Made you want to rip your skin off. Made you want to plunge out your eyes. You decided to stay where you were studying. You began to rent an apartment. It was a studio. One bath. There wasn’t much to your room. A bed, TV, table, chairs, dresser, and cabinet. After your “break up” with Sal you thought on what he talked about. What if you figured out what happened to Larry? Would he come back to you? Will the boy who gave you reason to live, to breath, want you back? To the man who ran in your blood. Made you want to live take you back. Love you again?

“Hey Sal, I love you”

Sal looks at the note. It’s from a week ago. It reads about your day. About the cat you saw. The bagel you had, and the book you had just boughten. It had grown wrinkled with the tears decorating it. Sals face hunched over it. He loves you, he really does. He never stopped loving you. No matter how hard he tried to forget about you. The feeling in his heart grew empty and emptier with the time without you grew. He never would’ve said what he said. He doesn’t know why he said it. He knows it wasn’t your fault. He knew that. He just wanted someone to blame. It could’ve been anyone that day. But it just so happened to be the man he loved the most.

“You never deserved him” Sal heard from behind him. He turns and sees Ash. The last time he had seen her was Larry’s funeral. She cut her hair really short. “I know” He says voice raspy. “Your hairs long” He looks at the strands of hair covering his mask. He nods. “His last few months was him figuring what happened with Larry. His head was always in a book about suicide or depression affects on the brain. He probably grew suicidal with always reading about the effects.” Ash says. Sals guilt grows heavier. It’s like a 800 lb boulder on top of him. He loved you. He really did. He was scared, he was hurting, he was…a hypocrite. “You broke his heart”

Cause of death: Takotsubo cardiomyopathy

[passivenovember]

“You know how I used to have a crush on you?”

Steve looks up from his math homework, sort of. Stuck in that space between awake and swimming. 

Billy won’t look at him. The end of his pencil has been chewed to shit, his rough draft for Erickson’s American History seminar laying blank and discarded on the lush green carpet of Steve’s bedroom floor.

“I guess so,” Steve tells him. Only, he doesn’t know. 

They’ve never talked about it. But, with Billy, it’s best to go along with what he says, most of the time. Unless Steve’s looking to get his head chewed off, and. 

Consequently, Steve needs his head for midterms.

There’s a powder-pink flush across Billy’s cheeks. An edge to his voice when he says, “I made a list,” 

Like Steve’s supposed to know what that means.

"You did?” Steve asks. Because he doesn’t know. He leans back against the footboard of his window seat, legs stretching like a bridge between them. “Is it a good list?”

Billy shrugs. His cheeks get redder, somehow.

He’s pretty. Like a sugared lollipop.

Steve leans forward, “It’s a pros and cons list?” 

Steve’s cocky. knows from dating Nancy that his pros outweigh his cons by a couple lines. Mentions of his cock and chest hair. 

He’s nervous, all of a sudden.

Doesn’t admit that even though there’s no way he’s getting into college, he hopes that someone as bright and magnetic as Billy will still want to neck at the drive in. 

Billy crosses his arms. Frowns. Says, “It’s a list of Icks,” all pissy, like Steve has control over that stuff.

And it makes sense Steve would find out that all his dreams are coming true when they can’t take a minute to celebrate. He feels like a shooting star, anyway. His head takes a break from swimming in equations and backstrokes through insurmountable joy.

He grins. “What’s an ‘ick’?”

“It’s something you do that makes my stomach turn,” Billy rumbles, so low Steve imagines rocks and pebbles jumping like popped corn on the ground outside. 

He sticks his legs out in front of him, leaning back a little so Billy’s faced with the long, lean line of him. 

One of Nancy’s pro’s. Tall.

“Tell me about ‘em,” Steve says. 

There’s every possibility that Billy hates him for stuff he can’t change. Like the way he smiles or how he laughs, but. Nobody’s perfect, right? 

"Fuck you, Harrington,” Billy says, baby blues tracing the bulge of Steve’s thighs, “I’m not--”

“You brought it up.”

“You’ll get your feelings hurt. Run crying to mama so I won’t be invited over anymore, and then who’s gonna help you get into college?”

Steve snorts. “I’m not getting in, anyway,” He uses his toe to poke at Billy’s knee cap, smiling when he rocks a little with the force. “C’mon. I wanna know what’s wrong with me so I can change and be perfect.”

Billy mumbles under his breath but he reaches around to his backpack, shirt riding up around his belly so Steve gets a peek at his stomach muscles. 

When he turns back around he’s got a piece of crisp, quartered notebook paper in hand. In the light from the window, Steve can see that it’s full, which.

Isn’t great for his esteem. 

Billy clears his throat. “Number one--”

“You numbered them?”

“From least disgusting to most,” Billy snaps. Like, duh. “Number one. When you do your Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonation and you dribble spit on your chin.”

“I gotta use my full range of motion to get the vowels right.”

“It’s gross,” Billy says, but he smiles. And giggles, happy like the Gerber baby and he’s so fucking cute Steve’s gonna die. “Can I keep going, or--”

“Be my guest.”

Billy smooths his list, mouthing the next line before reading aloud. 

Steve wants to add that to his own list, just to be spiteful.

“Number two,” Billy reads, “That time you went to the barber and he had to pump the chair a little to get--”

Steve laughs, bright and sudden.

He shuts right the fuck up when Billy glares.

“Number three,” Billy tells him, the paper shaking a little in his grasp. “The sound you make when you eat something spicy. Number four, any time you open an umbrella and the wind makes it pop inside out. Number five, when you tie your shoes too efficiently and the bow is really big--”

“I’m a present. The bow is essential,” Steve sits up straight, suddenly worried. “Let me see that fucking--”

Billy blocks him with a strong arm to the chest. “C’mon, let me get through it,” He says. Like it matters. 

Like it’s important to him. Billy’s continued survival hinges on this moment, so.

Steve settles down and listens to Billy read, all the way down to number twelve: when we play crack the egg with the kids on Dustin’s trampoline and you’re the egg.

And Steve has to ask, “How long have you kept this list, man?” Because that was last summer. 

And Steve remembers his stomach tying itself into knots when Billy dropped Max off and stayed until the sun set. He remembers going home after the kids fell asleep, Billy tagging along. Smoking pot and blowing clouds into the twinkling night sky. He remembers Billy laughing at his jokes staying up all night to catch fireflies with him. 

Steve remembers the sunrise, its first lavender rays bringing with it a sunburn across Billy’s freckles. He remembers falling in love. Or realizing it.

Billy shrugs, “I wrote the first one to help me get over you.”

Steve frowns. Hopes it didn’t work and says, “What’s the first one?”

Because if he knows, maybe he can change it. Maybe he can cheat the system and get Billy’s love focused on him again, burning hot and heady.

Billy stares at him for a long, breathless moment. “You dress up for Halloween,” He admits. “The way your nose supports the weight of sunglasses wigs me out.”

And.

Steve’s belly swoops low, like he’s been at the peak of the highest hill on a rollercoaster. Now he’s plummeting down to Earth. Right now, he’s a crash dummy colliding with the realization that--

“That was love, the first night we met,” Steve says bluntly. Billy’s cheeks look like apples, fresh and embarrassed. “That night, at Tina’s Halloween party--”

“I didn’t say I was in love with you--”

“I know, I’m saying I’m in love with you,” Steve admits, like. Leap.

A lot of things happen at once. 

Billy’s whole face cracks open. His eyes look like swimming pools overflowing with emotion until they turn into lakes and rivers and oceans, pulling Steve under with all their sincerity.

Outside Steve’s window, the sun shines.

It casts a halo of golden love around Billy’s head. He looks like an angel.

Steve’s never going to let him go. 

He leans forward, “Keep reading,” Steve asks softly. “C’mon, I wanna hear.”

Billy jerks into motion, tearing his eyes away to scan the page in front of him. “Number thirteen,” He tries, swallowing until his throat clicks, “When we’re swimming in the pool and you’re trunks inflate so it looks like you’re wearing a diaper.”

Steve chuckles, allowing his fingers to wrap playfully around the ends of Billy’s hair.

Now that the truth is out, he’s going to touch. 

Billy shivers. “Number fourteen, when you put on Chapstick and you’ve sharpened the applicator so it looks like a sword or a baby finger.”

Steve cups the back of Billy’s neck. 

Pulls himself forward.

When they kiss, Billy’s notebook paper glides to the floor. 

[littlemissaddict]

Christmas Cheer - Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader just wants to spread some Christmas cheer to Eddie.

Word Count: 983

This was a bad idea. Sitting in her car mere feet from Eddie's trailer with a trunk full of christmas decorations and a mini christmas tree mocking her from the passenger seat. She’d been here for all of ten minutes and she was still yet to get out of the car, she could have sworn that she saw the curtains in the trailer moving a couple of times and it had to be Eddie because Wayne’s truck was nowhere to be seen.

As if sensing something was up Eddie had somehow made his way out of the trailer without her noticing and had managed to knock on the drivers side window before she had even noticed he was there. “Jesus Eddie, don’t scare me like that” she complained, hand over her chest feeling the way her heartbeat had sped up as she dropped the window so she could speak to him.

“Well if you’re going to sit out here like a creep then I gotta find out what you’re doing” he teases, drawing a laugh out of her, “and I wasn’t expecting to find you’d robbed the town of their christmas decorations, who are you the grinch?” He is very confused as to why she’s sat outside his home with a car full of christmas.

The light amusement that had filled her with Eddie’s teasing was taken over by the dread in a second as she remembered why she was sat out there in the first place. “I uh remembered how you said that you don’t decorate the trailer for the holidays and well I just wanted to help spread the holiday cheer” she paused seeing no change in Eddie’s expression and her stomach drops, “but now I realise that it’s stupid and you probably don’t for a reason so I should just go” she sighs beginning to roll up the window but Eddie’s hand stops her.

“It’s not stupid to want to spread a little happiness” he reassured her with a smile, faltering slightly when he revealed the only reason they don’t decorate is because of the cost of decorations. She nods in understanding, the Forest Hills trailer park was not an affluent part of the town that a lot of the rich folk looked down upon but it didn’t bother her how much people had, she looked for how they treated people instead, “So are you coming in or are you going to sit here some more?” he asked with a raise of his brows.

Turning off the car and waiting for Eddie to move so she doesn’t hit him with the car door, she climbs out and heads to the trunk. Pulling it open she hears Eddie’s voice beside her, “Jesus H. Christ, how much did you bring?” 

She looks over at him and can’t help but let out a chuckle at his shock, “This is nothing compared to mom’s collection so trust me when I say she won’t miss any of it”. Eddie doesn’t look convinced but he helps her bring the boxes of decorations into the trailer, setting them down before going back out for more until she follows him in with the tree.

Taking a seat on the couch in the crowded area at the front of the trailer Eddie looks amused at how even half of this is going to fit in the trailer without it looking as cramped as it already does. “So where do we start?” he asks, looking at the mess of boxes with no idea what’s in them.

“Well these two are for the tree but there maybe too many because it’s quite small” she points out only now realising that she may have gone overboard with the thought of surprising him, “Lets just go through and see which ones you like and we’ll put them on the tree” she suggests with a sigh.

It takes about an hour to go through the boxes and decorate the tree, Eddie constantly asking where he should hang it but she just shrugs and tells him wherever he thinks is best because it's all for him, and Wayne and she’s a little worried that he's not going to like any of it. 

“So what’s in here?” Eddie asks curiously, looking at the last two boxes and pulling out what looks like an inflatable snowman, “If this is what I think it is I don’t think Wayne will thank us for it” he says, turning back to face her and she nods. She didn’t think that they’d want it but she wanted to give them the option anyway.

“I think there's a few string lights in there as well if you did want to put some outside but the tree looks good” she smiles, stepping back to look at his handiwork as Eddie looks for said string lights.

“Let’s do it” he laughs, getting excited and taking off with the lights trailing behind him. She laughs following behind him to make sure that he doesn’t hurt himself somehow.

By the time Wayne gets home, the string lights are up and lit, the tree is sitting pretty by the couch and the excess decorations are packed away back in her car. The first thing he notices is the decorations, which look nice after so long of not having any but the second thing he notices is her and Eddie curled up on the couch asleep with a long forgotten movie playing on the tv. The content look on his nephew's face brings more joy to him than the decorations that he guessed were intended to do the same job. Not that he’d tell them that because as long as Eddie is happy so is he, so as he quietly switches the tv off he steps back outside to sit on the deck with a cigarette he casts one last grateful glance to the two on the couch.

[libraryofloveletters]

Crazy In Love

Eddie Diaz x Reader 

Warnings: mentions of injuries, Eddie can’t do math or cook for shit, friends to lovers :))) 

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 2.1k

Author’s Note: takes place after Stuck (2x04) when abuela breaks her hip. Also, this was supposed to be for 911 readers week but I didn’t finish it in time sooooo just take it now instead :) 

-----

The phone rang, your arm stretched over the pile of dishes on the counter. “Hello ?” you answered, putting it on speaker and setting it back down.

Eddie’s voice rang through the speaker, echoing through the empty apartment. “Hey, can you do me a huge favour ?”

“If you're gonna ask me to bake a cake, I have literally no time, honey. I’m really sorry but I need to finish this order-” Eddie sounds like he cut himself off before saying something as you explain that you’re busy.

“Eds? Are you there ?”

“Yeah- yeah, I'm here.”

“What’s up?”

“You’re busy, I don’t want to bother you.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes because no matter how busy you are, you always made time for Eddie. He sighs heavily, so much so that you can hear him thinking.

“Eddie, what is it ?”

“Can you pick Chris up from school ? I know you’re busy but if you can’t, that’s ok-” “of course I can pick him up!”

The sound of a breath being released before a feminine voice called out for him. “I gotta go, Abuela needs me but he’s off at 3. Thank you, y/n - really.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Eddie.”

He mumbles something before hanging up. You glance at the phone screen - 2:24. You had enough time to change and shove the dishes in the dishwasher before having to head out so you did just that.

You had picked up Christopher from school a million times. His teachers knew you well enough that Eddie no longer had to call and let them know he wouldn't be picking up Chris but that you would be.

Standing outside of the school, the PTA parents were gossiping within their little bubbles, talking about the other members behind their backs but smiling in their faces. You bit back a smile before walking towards the gate. The students were lined up by the door, waiting for the bell to ring.

The moment it does, the students come running out with their teacher a few feet behind them in an attempt to keep up with them. One by one, their teacher lets them out, Christopher finally spotting you and this teacher waves hello as they open the gate for him.

“Y/n! What are you doing here!?” his little face lights up with a smile.

“Your dad asked me to come get you, he's with abuela.”

The two of you start making your way back to the car when Christopher asks you what his plans for the afternoon were. Soon you realized that Eddie didn’t give you any explanation as to where to go or what to do after you picked up Chris.

“How does ice cream and then abuela’s sound ?”

“Can we take some for her and dad too?” Chris asks as you help him into the car.

“Of course we can.”

----

Christopher was lugging his backpack over his shoulder when you knocked on the door, two containers of ice cream in hand. Eddie opens the door, grinning at his son whose face matches his father’s.

“Hey kiddo” Eddie kneels, wrapping the boy in his arms. Christopher’s arms extend around his father, “hi dad, we bought ice cream” he points out the obvious.

Eddie glances up at you, the ice cream tucked under your arm - he flashes you a smile.

“Oh yeah?” he lets go of Chris. “Did you have any?”

“No,” he shakes his head, his hair flopping around as he snickers. Eddie pushes the hair from Christopher’s forehead. “So what’s this on your face?” swiping his finger on Chris’s chin, a little smudge of brown on his finger from the leftover ice cream.

“Paint.” Chris smiles at his father sweetly.

“Uh huh, paint.” he chuckles, stepping aside for Chris to come further into the house.

“Thanks for picking him up,” he leans on the door frame, stretching and his arms lift above his head as he does. You can’t help but glance down at the area of exposed skin - eyes glued to the man in front of you.

“Y/n?” Eddie’s waving his hands in front of you, eyes raising from their previous spot to his face - the blush was creeping up on your face whilst that stupid smug smile of his was on his.

“Would you like to come in?”

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t be.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Stepping in, you take in the house. You had been by Isabel’s once or twice before but you had never come inside the house. The walls were painted a warm yellow colour, the furniture was spotless as was the rest of the house. Isabel sat on the couch with Chris beside her as he told her about his day at school.

“Chris, did you wash your hands?” Eddie calls, the door shutting. Chris doesn't answer which is an answer in itself. “Go now, please.” Eddie’s voice sounds closer, glancing behind you to see him beside you.

Chris grumbles but gets up, Isabel turns her attention to you and Eddie. “How are you feeling ?”

“As well as someone can with a broken hip” she gives you a smile.

“I’m glad you’re okay, you gave Eddie a scare” giving him a playful shove. “We got ice cream, vanilla and toffee. Chris said toffee was your favourite” handing her the small container. “It is, thank you. That’s so sweet of you.” she smiles, pulling the top off.

“No need to thank me, it was Christopher’s idea.”

“Ah, well I'll thank him when he comes back out.” she says smiling, “Eddie, a spoon please ?” she glances at the man beside you. He hums, stepping away for a moment to get her a spoon.

Chris comes running back in after washing his hands. “Dad! Can we stay over? Abuela said it was okay” he’s beside his father now, looking up at him with his big brown eyes that were practically begging him to let him.

You, Eddie and Isabel all knew that Christopher had his father wrapped around his finger and would ultimately get his way but Eddie had to give him a fatherly response and say no, they should go home. Isabel doesn't usually butt in but this time she did.

“Mijo, stay. I could use the company.” She says, patting the spot beside her and Chris makes his way over to sit beside her.

Eddie sighs, if he had a soft spot, it was for the two people on the couch. “Fine, just tonight then.”

Isabel smiles, satisfied with his answer. “y/n, stay for dinner darling. Eddie’s cooking” “Yea- who said I was cooking?” Eddie butts in, shocked at the assumption. “I did, mijo. Don’t worry, I'll tell you what to do.”

“Buddy, why don’t you finish up your homework so you can relax for the rest of the night ?” Eddie calls out to Chris, who again groans. He loved school but despised homework - as did most kids.

“I have math, I need help so I can’t do it because you’re busy.” Chris says plainly, thinking his statement will get him out of his math work because Eddie can’t do math for shit.

“I can help.”

“Y/n, you don't have to-” “no, it’s fine. C’mon kiddo” Chris grumbles, making his way to the dining room table, the two of you taking a seat when Eddie helps Isabel up and to the kitchen.

You can hear them talking and her telling Eddie to cut things a certain way or not to put too much of something into the pot. It only took 20 minutes for Christopher to finish his math homework, he brought it into the kitchen to show his dad.

“Look! I’m done! Math’s easy when you understand it.” that last bit was a little dig at Eddie and his math skills. You ruffled Chris’s hair as he walked back into the living room.

“Did he just-” Eddie watches his son make his way to the couch.

You hold back a laugh,“Mhm hm” Eddie shakes his head, chuckling. “Here, taste this.” he picks up some sauce from the pot, holding the spoon over his hand before handing it to Isabel.

Her face twists when she tastes it, “Eddie, I love you honey, but that’s terrible.” you press your lips together, holding back a chuckle.

“What?” he pouts, sighing. “I swear it tasted fine ten minutes ago.” sitting beside Isabel in defeat.

You pick up another spoon and taste some for yourself, your expression matching Isabel’s from moments ago. Eddie had remembered to put everything in, except the paprika and the salt, you add a bit of both and stir the pot. Taking the spoon from Eddie, you pick up a bit of the sauce and hand it back to Isabel.

“Ah, that’s better.” she hums, making you smile as she hands you back the spoon. Eddie sighs, letting you know that he was still there.

"Why don’t you go see if Christopher wants to watch something or if he wants a snack ?” his grandmother nudged him, a signal for him to leave the kitchen. “y/n can take over for you”

“Abuela, you can’t invite them in and have them work for their dinner.” he says, making her laugh.

“It’s okay Eds,” waving him off. “I don’t mind, really.”

Eddie left the kitchen and made his way over to the couch, listening as Chris told him about his day. He glanced back to see if everything was alright but he noticed that the two of you were laughing as you told Isabel something. Eddie would be lying if his heart didn’t skip a beat.

He stopped seeking his parents’ approval of who he dated- for a matter of fact, it went out the window when he brought Shannon home the first time but seeing you with an abuela made him so warm and happy, he couldn't help but smile.

---

Eddie’s hand slipped onto your hip, his chest against your back. “Can I help you, Eddie?” you mumble, your eyes on the dishes in front of you.

He hums, hands coming around and arms now wrapped around your waist. Eddie felt your wet hands pull his hands off of you, “Isabel and Chris are in the other room, stop it”

His head tilted, that innocent look on his face, “stop what?”

“Eddie,” turning to face him, “shh I don’t want to hear it” he cuts you off, hands back on your waist.

“I don’t think I've ever loved someone the way I love you.” His words come off so sweet and loving but hit you like a ton of bricks.

You loved Eddie, more than anything but you had never actually told him nor did you ever feel the need too. It was always implied that as friends, you loved and cared about each other.

Eddie always knew he loved you, there was never any question about that but something about you, seeing you with an abuela and how great you were with Christopher (as you always were) just pushed him over the edge.

He had to tell you.

“Y/n, you know I love you- and before you say anything, I know I’ve never actually said it to you but I didn’t feel like I had too, you knew I did.”

“I know.”

“Yeah.”

You were still gathering your thoughts, trying to come up with the words to tell him you loved him too but Eddie’s expression changed. His brows furrowed, eyes studying your face - the worry had set in.

What if you didn’t feel the same way ? God, he’d feel so stupid if he embarrassed himself like that.

The years of friendship were enough for you to realize how he was feeling. You were lacking words and you know what they say, actions speak louder than words.

Your hands reach for his face, now cupping his cheeks. Your lips meet his, he pulls you closer to him- if that's even possible. It was a few moments before you pulled away.

Eddie smiles lovingly at you and you’re sure you have the same expression plastered on your face. “Um- I think that says it.” you hum, smiling at him.

“Doesn't mean you can't say it,” he pokes fun at you, making you roll your eyes playfully.

“Eddie?”

“Y/n,”

“I love you.”

---- 

taglist: @advicefromnixxxx @spencersendgame @keenmarvellover @beth-winchester21​ @fernandaweasley2​ @yikesyikesyikes95​ @hotchsdarling​ @duhbar1975​ @wowitsel​ @mrspeacem1nusone​ @jillys-feral-fandoms​ @alexandrianicolegrey-oc​ @hailsstormthings @averyhotchner​ @captainxholmes​ @mrs-dr-reid​ @aficwhore​

[metalbuckaroo]

Okay so I’m a sucker for protective/possessive moments with Bucky so I was thinking something like either dbf! Bucky or biker! Bucky knows the reader’s ex wasn’t great and while they are on a date or something, he sees the reader’s ex harassing her and the ex gets a little physical (nothing super serious)?? Maybe the reader goes to get them concessions or goes to the bathroom and that’s when her ex sees her and tries to like corner her and get her back?? Idk you can have fun with it I’m not picky. Also congrats on almost hitting 1k followers!! :) xx

Diner

Summary: a night meant for just Bucky and his girl doesn't go as planned

Warnings: gross, toxic ex, unwanted attention, lil angsty, lil fluffy, lil smutty, cursing.

AU: Biker!Bucky x F!Reader

AN: Since I've done so much dbf bucky the past couple days and haven't done biker bucky in a hot minute I chose biker, and this also may be a little peak into a new biker!bucky series I've been planning out for awhile.

MASTERLIST

Gif not mine

Bucky patted at his pockets, shifting around in his seat to feel his back ones. "I forgot my wallet in the truck." He sighed, going to stand from the booth.

"I'll go get it, just sit back down." You said, giving him a soft smile. He didn't argue, just nodded and leaned back into the seat. "It's in the glove compartment."

Going to the single cab truck that was parked a few spots down from the front door of the diner, you pulled the creaky door open, the dome light flicking on to light the dark space.

Bucky kept everything but gloves in the compartment. Unopened packs of cigarettes, extra lighters, gas receipts; the gloves usually stayed on his hands or in his back pocket.

You quickly grabbed the brown leather wallet and shut the truck door, seeing the waitress walking towards the table Bucky was at through the large windows.

"Hey, you. Been awhile." You froze from the familiar voice talking behind you, not taking your hand from the door. "Hi, Jason." You mumbled, glancing at him when you went to walk back towards the entrance of the diner.

He walked closer, blocking your path and making you back towards the truck again. "How have you been? Heard you moved away but, here you are."

You cleared your throat and looked to the windows where Bucky was sat, looking down at his gloved hands. "I'm, uh, here with my boyfriend. So, if you'll just let me-"

Jason blocked you from going around him, holding his arm out so you couldn't pass. "Boyfriend? Please, hun. No other man could want you after I had you."

Your blood went cold, skin crawling from his words. "Well, you can tell him that. I'm sure he'll appreciate it." You spat, pushing pass him.

Bucky looked out just in time to see Jason grab your wrist and jerk you back towards him. The action making him push out of the booth and shove the glass door open.

"Get the fuck off, Jason." You seethed, trying to pull your arm from his bruising grip. "That's such a pretty dress, though. You never wore dresses when we were together. Let's try again." He said with faux innocence. "You never let me."

A gentle, yet grounding touch to your sides from behind eased your nerves; Bucky's gruff voice filling your ears. "I don't like people touching what's mine. Especially my girl."

Jason sneered at him, releasing your wrist. "Your girl? You let her out in a dress like that?" He scoffed. Bucky pulled you closer to his front, trying to put as much space between you and the man as he could. "Most know better than to touch or even look at her. Now, move." Bucky's voice was chillingly calm as he glowered at the shorter man.

"Must not have fucked her yet, she's ruined. All because of me." Jason said with a low chuckle. "Get in the truck, cherry." Bucky said, his tone softer towards you as he urged you to walk away. "Buck-"

The hard look he gave made you shut up and walk around to the driverside, jumping slightly when Jason was shoved into the side of the truck's bed.

You looked over you shoulder to see the much larger brunette stalking towards him, expression on his face that would make anyone with some sense slither away in cowardice. "I don't know who you think you ruined, but it's not her. I suggest you stay as far away from her as possible, she's mine and I don't share."

You scooted to the passenger side and cranked the handle to roll the window down, poking your head out to look at Bucky. "Buck, please. Can we just go somewhere else?" You pleaded, wanting out of the situation as quick as possible.

Bucky backed away, glaring at Jason for a moment before turning around. "Yeah, better listen to your whore. It's all she ever w-" Jason was cut off by a swift right hook knocking him to his knees.

"Dumb fucking bastard, that's not how you talk about a lady." Bucky spat through gritted teeth, looking down at the man who was holding his bleeding nose. "Anything but a fucking lady. Let her out in a dress like that and she'll cheat on you with the first guy who gives her a compliment."

Kneeling in front of Jason, Bucky cocked his head to the side. "I know how to take care of my girl, unlike filth like you." He spat through gritted teeth.

"Bucky Barnes, truck, now." You ordered, Bucky standing and looking at you, a softer look to his face as he made his way to his side of the truck.

"Sorry, baby." He mumbled, shoving the keys in the ignition before tugging you to the middle seat.

Tonight was suppose to be a night without club and bar talk, and jackets. Just you and Bucky, at a small diner just outside town. Now, Bucky felt like it was ruined and could tell you were still stressed by the way you fiddled with the glove on his hand.

"Want it off." You huffed, getting a nod from Bucky who took the velcro strap between his teeth and pulled it; taking his hand from the wheel just long enough to tug it off.

His warm hand went back to your thigh, thumb pressing soothing circles into the skin. "We're taking the back way home." He exhaled, his grip on the steering wheel not letting up.

You looked over at his stern expression, knowing exactly why he wanted to take the back way home. The reason making you squeeze your thighs together.

"I shouldn't have let you go get it. I'm sorry." Bucky mumbled, giving your thigh a light squeeze. "You don't have to say sorry for every little thing." You said, shaking your head at him.

His jaw clenched, the way your ex had looked at you replaying in his mind. It made his stomach churn.

The truck was suddenly pulled to the side of the dark road and jammed into park. "C'mere, wanna talk to you." He said, pulling the lever to tilt the steering wheel as high as it could go. "You can talk to me from here."

"No, I need you to listen to me fully. Come here." His tone had a demanding edge to it as you shifted around to straddle his lap.

Leaning his head back against the headrest, Bucky took a slow, deep breath, hands on the outsides of your thighs. "I don't want you listening to a damn thing he said. Got me?"

You nodded, toying with one of the buttons on his shirt. "What he says doesn't matter. I've got you, Sarge." You said softly, fingers moving to wrap around his dog tags. "Hm, that's how you wanna play?" He chuckled, hands gliding further up your thighs.

"Maybe." You shrugged. A gasp passed through your lips when the thin fabric of your underwear was ripped at the sides. "You gotta quit doing that, won't have any left."

"If you'd quit wearin' 'em, I wouldn't have to rip 'em."

You lifted your hips long enough for him to shuffle his pants down enough to free his erection, lips engulfing yours as your fingers carded into his thick hair.

Bucky's thumb pressed to your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles as he pulled away. "Want you to make yourself feel good. Alright, baby? Do whatever takes your mind off of it, I'm all yours and you're all mine." He purred, both of your chests heaving from the kiss as his metal hand lifted your hips. "Right?"

You nodded, biting back a whimper from the stretch he caused when you lowered onto him. His hand held your jaw, pulling your face closer so he could nudge your nose with his. "Say it, sugar. I wanna hear it."

You popped open the buttons on his shirt, gliding your hands up his muscular abdomen and chest before leaning to his ear. "All yours, Sarge."

A low groan pulled from his chest, you lips ghosting across his scruffy jaw. "There's my girl." He cooed, hands guiding your hips in a grind.

"So tight and wet for me. Take me so perfectly." He groaned, rolling his hips up into yours as you bounced as much as you could in the cramped space.

"Fuck, James" you panted, already feeling the pressure building in your lower stomach with each movement. "Already, cherry? I knew I was good but damn- can feel you milking me."

Bucky moved his thumb to press sloppy circles to your clit, your fingers digging into the skin of his chest as warmth took over; making him groan and snap his hips up.

You felt the muscles of his abdomen tense before he let out a low groan, rolling his hips into yours through both of your highs.

Thick arms wrapped around you and held you close, Bucky's lips brushing your shoulder and stubble scratching your skin. "I'll always take care of you, sugar."

[fuckingthefictional]

Hi! I would like a request about Derek from teen wolf, please. The reader is trying to approach him, taking care of him "because Derek is too busy taking care of the others", BUT IT'S BEING SO HARD because of all of his past. Derek and the reader argue one night because of the overprotective nature of the reader about him, and when she tries to leave the loft, completely upset with Derek, he tries to fix things between them. Could you do this with a lot of angst and, then, tons of fluff? Thanks!

Ignored

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader

Warnings: Angst bbyyyy, and some fluffy goodness at the end, not checked over (so probably a crap ton of spelling errors)

A/N: hello hope you enjoy, sorry it took forever! I’m so busy with work, college and personal issues that writing has been put on the back-burner.

When the name Derek Hale was mentioned- one immediately thought of the broody, salty, sarcastic young man who lived by himself after the tragic Hale house fire.

Nobody would ever associate the name Derek Hale and caring. It just wasn’t in his nature. Because under no circumstances could Derek be remotely kind, caring or soft in any way possible.

That’s what people thought of Derek. But not you- or the majority of the pack for that matter.

Yes, you saw where others came from with their ideas and judgement (Derek’s lack of colour in his wardrobe obviously didn’t help either).

But to you when you heard the name Derek Hale, you immediately thought of the kind hearted man who would give up anything for the safety of his friends and family (as much as he claimed otherwise).

You knew him differently, you knew him like the back of your hand. You knew that his favourite food was Spagetti Carbonara without the mushrooms, that he didn’t like Coca Cola, that he secretly loved watching trashy tv shows like keeping up with the kardashians, and most importantly that he was running himself ragged.

He had bitten off more than he could chew when it came to helping everyone out. He was the one giving lifts and helping with homework and hosting pack nights, and handling Isaac’s nightmares, all of this happening at the same time as some supposed lizard creature being on the loose.

You had been ignored by Derek Hale for approximately 72 hours. Now this wouldn’t be bad if it weren’t for two things.

1. He wasn’t aware that he was actively ignoring you.

2. The idiot wasn’t your husband of 2 years.

Over 68 hours ago you hadn’t minded, you had even brushed the silence and distance off- knowing that Derek liked to have a little time to himself.

But when it hit the 5 hour mark of the 4th day, frustration and disappointment had begun to set in.

There was one more thing that made the whole situation worse. He was blatantly ignoring you- and only you.

It hurt. You could admit that to yourself easily without any qualms at all. It hurt.

Whether that was to do with the whole ‘mate’ side of things you didn’t know- all that you did know was that Derek Hale was drowning and he wasn’t going to swim until everyone else was okay.

-

Thud, thud, thud, creaak

“Der please sit down”

“I can’t. I gotta figure this shit out before the school finishes for the day.” Derek grunted from his spot in the middle of the room. His head firmly stuck in the thick, dusty book that he had been pouring through for the majority of the afternoon.

“Der please, take a break.” You pleaded with him, begging him to just stop for a second and relax.

“I can’t,” Derek murmured again, before he pivoted in his heel and walked away up the staircase.

His heavy footfalls retreated upstairs, the musty book still clutched in his grasp.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you willed the tears in your eyes to stay put and to not roll down your cheeks in fat drops.

Why couldn’t you be enough for him?

-

The next plea came around 2 hours later, when you brought a bowl of homemade pasta and garlic bread up to Derek. Hoping that just maybe it would strike up a conversation, that maybe he would utter more than two short sentences to you.

“Babe- I made you lunch.” You elbowed your way into the room, balancing the bowl and plate in your hands.

“Just leave it on the desk.” He motioned to an empty slot on the overcrowded surface.

“I just thought that maybe we could have lunch together, have some time with each-other.”

“Y/N/N’s I would- but I have so much to do. Stiles and Scott are already on my ass about the damn lizard freak in town.”

“Der, you need to take a break.” You placed your hands on his shoulders. Instead of feeling them relax you could feel his muscles tense up.

Shrugging your hands off, he pushed the fresh plate of food away, “I can’t.” He spoke simply.

“But-“ you tried to object in protest, trying to plead with the broad shouldered man in front of you- hoping that maybe, just maybe he would come to his senses.

He did not.

“I said no Y/N.” Derek ground out, “I’m busy. Please for the love of God stop bothering me.”

The words stung you, causing you to stumble back in shock. Derek had a hard exterior, everybody knew that. But he had never spoken like that to you.

He had promised on your wedding day that he would always be kind, that he would be your biggest supporter and largest source of love.

But all those words felt like lies now. You felt alone, like an empty shell of yourself. Why couldn’t you just be enough?

-

Hours flew by, the watch on Derek’s wrist occasionally beeping to signify the new hour. If he were being honest- he had lost track of what the time was.

The only signifier was that Stiles, Scott and the others were in his presence- meaning it was at least 4pm

And judging by the sky outside of his office window, it was late evening, as the sky itself had melted from cool blues into a fantastic array of oranges and purples.

But besides the low chatters and bickering coming from Isaac and Stiles, the house felt almost too quiet.

There was no tv hum coming from the living room, no occasional flush or running of water from the restroom, no sizzle from food coming on the oventop, no sound of a page in a book turning. Nothing. Just silence.

“Hey Derek,” He looked up to see Scott staring at him, “Where’s Y/N?”

“Well-“

“Yeah, I haven’t seen her yet today.” Isaac chimed in.

“I’m not actually too sure.”

Derek was met with a sea of blank stares.

“I’m sorry- there’s a kanima out there roaming Beacon Hills, the very same kanima that is killing more people by the day. And you don’t know where your wife is?” Stiles asked incredulously, “Are you kidding me.”

“Well I’ve been so caught up on this research that I haven’t been spending as much time with her.” Derek attempted to defend himself.

“Derek, please tell me that you haven’t been ignoring your wife.”

Everybody had there eyes on him again.

“Well-“

There was an uproar of protests, all of which were yelling at Derek for ignoring and deserting his wife.

“You better find her Derek, before something happens and you regret it for the rest of your life.”

-

You really didn’t know how long you had been out here for. All you knew was that the night was closing in and the chill was setting in your bones.

But you didn’t want to go back to the loft, you honestly didn’t think you could handle seeing Derek after his outburst earlier.

The cold, damp ground soaked into your body- sucking all the warmth out of your body at a creeping pace.

The spot you sat in, hadn’t changed much since your first date with Derek. It was still isolated and it gave off the best views in Beacon Hills. Nobody knew about it but you and Derek.

Sighing deeply, you looked out over the viewing point- watching the tiny specks of light flicker in the distance. Every single light showed a different life that was being lived, each one with their own struggles. Beacon Hills was something else to say the least.

“I knew I could find you here.” A familiar voice broke your train of thought.

You kept silent, staring straight ahead, willing that your bottom lip wouldn’t start trembling and the flood gate wouldn’t open in your eyes.

“Look I’m sorry.”

You sniffed, still unable to look your husband in the eyes, “Are you though?” You briefly shut your eyes to stop any tears from breaking through, “or are you just saying that to get on my good side.”

You could feel Derek’s presence settle down besides your own. His breath creating little puffs of mist under the dark sky.

“I didn’t realise you were trying to help me, until it was too late and you’d left the apartment” He muttered, “It’s my fault, I should’ve taken your advice, I should’ve listened to you.”

You listened intently, knowing his words were sincere and heartfelt, “Why didn’t you listen to me then Der?” You responded bitterly.

“Because accepting help means showing weakness, and showing weakness is something I haven’t done since before the fire.” Derek’s voice was small now, “Before I met you, accepting help was off the table- I was a lone wolf, with no pack or family. And now I’ve found you and I’m desperate to not lose that again, I can’t lose you to this new threat in town- I can’t be alone again.”

Silence hung heavy in the air as your husband’s words set in. It made sense to you; why he was studying non-stop, why he had barely slept or ate.

It was apparent that while he was trying to protect his loved ones, he was also pushing them away in the process. That needed to change.

“You won’t be alone Der,” You lay your head down on his shoulder, “I promise that much- it’s you and me forever.”

“Through every supernatural event that happens in this town?”

You giggled softly, “Yes, and every single thing in between.”

[rebelwrites]

The Last….Donut

Dominic Toretto x Reader

Requested By @withmyteeth // Okay - so I have a request that I’m not sure how to put into words but I am going to do my best okay? So you have your favorite food place - probably a donut shop or something with limited product - and a routine. You always show up at the same time every day right before close and they have one of your favorites left for you until this fool (Dom) whips around in front of you and orders YOUR DONUT. And this happens like every day for a week until you pull up next to him at the intersection like - excuse me SIR - that’s My - and you want to complain but maybe your mouth starts watering and it’s not just because of the donut he’s taking a bite of.

Join The Group Chat Here - If You Want Tagging Manually Let Me Know 🖤

Dominic Toretto Masterlist

This Months Writing

A/N this was so fun to write 😂

Everything about today made you want to scream, nothing had gone right from the moment you opened your eyes. It had been the day from hell but you knew there was one thing that would go right, and would make the day better.

Cruising through the streets, you let the breeze blow through the car as you made your way to your favourite coffee shop, this was your daily routine. You finish work, head to the donut shop about five minutes before they close, get a coffee and your favourite donut, which was always the last one.

But luck wasn’t on your side today, as a black Dodge Challenger cut you up. Stamping on the brakes, you stopped a couple of inches off the bumper, throwing your hands in the air, flipping the idiot in front off. This wasn’t the day to be pissing you off. You narrowed your eyes at him, even though he probably wouldn’t see you, it made you feel a bit better. As the lights turned green, he sped off.

You wanted to scream as you watched him park in your spot outside the coffee shop.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” you huffed as you drove around the block to find somewhere to park.

It wasn’t long before you walked into the coffee shop, running your hand over your face, letting out a long sigh.

“Hey Mary,” you said, trying not to show the mood you were in. “Can I get my usual please?”

“About that, someone just beat you to the last Caramel Biscoff donut,” she said softly.

“Brilliant,” you laughed, as you looked to see what was left. “I will take the salted caramel cookies then.” You nodded.

It was official this was the worst day ever.

Over the next week, the same thing happened. The black Dodge Challenger would cut you up at the lights, at the same time everyday, parking in your space, taking your fucking donut. It was starting to piss you off now. It was such a dickhead move and all you wanted to do was find out who was fucking with you and punch them on the face.

Running into the shop, you knew the donut would be gone but you needed to know who was fucking with you. Grabbing your coffee and cookies you quickly made your way back to the car, seeing that the Challenger had just got caught at the lights.

You wasted no time, getting into the car, not bothering to put your seatbelt on as you sped up to the lights. Rolling your window down, you looked across to see the culprit, just about to take a bite into the donut.

“Excuse me dickhead,” you snapped, “I believe that is my fucking donut, you have been taking all fucking week!”

The guy didn’t look over, and continued to take a bite out of the treat, slowly licking his lips as he did. Before looking over to you with a smirk on his face.

“And just what are you gonna do about it?” He smirked, his voice was deep, making your body tingle.

“Fuck,” you muttered, as you looked at the man that was fucking your days up, you couldn’t help it as your mouth started to water and not just over the donut.

“Good fucking donut this,” he smirked again, watching you get all flustered as he took another slow bite.

“You like to race right?” You said taking a few deep breaths, trying not to get flustered. You knew exactly who this was, and the moment the words left your mouth you mentally cursed yourself. This was Dom fucking Toretto of course he liked to race.

“Maybe,” he laughed, glancing up at the lights as they went green. Neither of you moving, causing traffic to build up behind you as.

“Okay, I’m fucking sick of this game you are playing,” you snapped. “It’s like you know my routine or something but I’m done. So what do you say we make things interesting,”

“What you got in mind sweetheart?” He asked, raising his brow at you.

“We race,”

“For a donut?” He laughed.

“Yes for a donut, you donut,” you laughed “Every day at quarter to five, we race. Light to light, that’s gotta be a quarter mile. Winner gets the last donut, loser pays.”

“Game on sweetheart,” he winked. “See you tomorrow, and don’t forget your purse.” And with that he sped off as the lights turned green again.

Rolling your eyes, you made your way home, you needed to calm down.

For the next month, the daily donut race as you called it happened, at the same time every day, both of your cars were as quick as each other’s so it was always close as to who won each day.

Smirking to yourself as you parked up, you beat Dom today, it was the first time in a couple of days and your mouth was watering over the thought of the donut.

“Come on then Mr, time to pay up,” you giggled, leaning on the wing of the car.

“How many times? Do not lean on the car sweetheart,” he said, pushing your shoulder.

“You lean on mine so,” you shrugged, as you both walked into the coffee shop. “Mary I will take my usual today please, that donut is mine. Oh and make my coffee extra large please. I’m not the one paying today.”

“You know, the two of you have been causing quite a scene recently,” she laughed as she made the coffees. “But you do realise I can make more of these donuts right?”

“That’s not the point!” Both you and Dom said at the same time.

“I mean that’s fine by me, the more you race over a donut, the more business my little shop makes,” she laughed.

Soon enough you were outside with your coffee and donut in hand, as you leant against the hood of the Challenger, just to piss Dom off.

“Move,” he grumbled.

“Make me,” you winked.

“Don’t start a game you won’t win darling,” he hummed, standing in front of you , making your heart rate rise.

“Who said I won’t win,” you said but it came out as a whisper.

“Your body language is saying everything,” he said, dipping his head closer to yours. “Tell me something, is your heart racing right now?”

“No,” you said, trying not to let him see how he was affecting you as he moved his head closer to yours.

“I know you are lying sweetheart,” he chuckled, moving closer, was he going to kiss you right now? Just as he was nearing your lips, he dipped his head down, taking a bite out of the donut. Leaving you extremely flustered. “Did you think I was going in for a kiss?” He smirked.

“No” you breathed, not making eye contact with him.

“You so did,” he chuckled, licking the caramel off his lips. Before he gently took the coffee out of your hand, placing it on the roof of the car, alongside his and the donut.

Without any warning, his hands were on your hips, and his lips were pressed against yours, leaning you back so you are lying against the hood of the car as your lips moved in sync. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you let yourself get lost in the kiss.

“Well that was unexpected,” you whispered against his lips, keeping your eyes closed.

“Yeah well I’m just full of surprises,” he chuckled. “Now come on eat your donut and then follow me, I think it’s about time I brought you dinner.”

“Must be my lucky day,” you breathed, as he helped you up off the car. “Donut, coffee and dinner, I have a question though, what made you start cutting me up and beating me to the donut?”

“I needed an excuse to talk to you,” he said nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Your car stands out and you drive by my shop every day, at the same time, so I decided to follow you and saw you went to the same coffee shop every day, always coming out with the same things.”

“So you thought you’d fuck with me?” You laughed, sipping your coffee.

“Something like that,” he laughed.

“Good job you are cute,” you winked, pulling your keys out, unlocking your Mustang.

“You did not just call me cute,” he huffed.

“What are you gonna do about it Toretto?” You winked climbing into your car.

@chibsytelford @phoenixhalliwell @galaxysanduniversesinmymind @withmyteeth @jessprins13 @rightwhereiwantyou @jasonbabymama @pumpkin-spice-hate @garbinge @zozebo @pancakeisreading

[startanewdream]

James and/or Sirius laughing at Harry for growing (or trying to) grow a beard 🧔

That’s it

That’s my comment

Ahhh, it's midnight for me I work early tomorrow but I just *had* to write something along these lines!

Set during winter break at Year 6 (or my fave pining Harry time). Warning for some slang and also that I edited on the phone

________

“Fuck. No, no, it can’t be… fuck!”

The first slang would have made Sirius stop on his way down the hall, but the tone of desolation that follows it, added by the most hopelessness he has ever heard in Harry's voice, makes him open the door to his godson’s bedroom without waiting for an answer.

(Always risky when it comes to teenagers, but it seems to be an emergency)

The first thing he notices is the rotten smell, then the smoke coming out of a cauldron with the fire beneath still lit; sparkles are coming out of Harry’s wand, which he holds high (underage magic? That he won’t tell), but then Sirius’ gaze falls on Harry’s face and he ignores anything else.

Because on Harry’s face there is something so horrendous that Sirius won’t dare to call it a beard. It’s hair.

Harry’s chin spots the same hair as in his head. It’s a dark messy beard that makes him look as if his hair grew all around his mouth.

“What the hell?”

“Don’t laugh!” Harry tells him immediately, a little bit threatening, but Sirius is truly too shocked to even break a smile. This thing is too ghastly for even him to crack a joke about it. “I… I messed up, okay?”

“Kid, that’s an overstatement,” Sirius says, getting closer to his godson slowly. He touches his beard. “How did you get hair on your chin? That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Ugh.” Harry throws a guilty look to the cauldron on the floor. “It’s Grandpa Monty’s fault.”

“Unless his ghost came back to screw your face, it seems as if you did this to yourself, kid.”

“No, I… Look!” He picks a scroll, waving it in front of Sirius’ nose. “I found his old notes in the attic. Five-Second Eazybeard! I swear I brewed the potion exactly as he wrote.”

Sirius eyes the smelly potion.

“Are you sure it was your granddad’s notes? This doesn’t seem like Monty's style at all.”

“Well… I thought so. He was the potioneer in the family, right? And he invented Sleekeazy!”

“And then he didn’t launch anything else,” Sirius reminds him, looking at the potion instructions.

“Because he was rich enough and didn’t need more money?”

Sirius laughs. “Nah, Monty was curious enough to keep inventing. This was probably an attempt that didn’t work.” Sirius shakes his head, smirking. “Look, I am not trying to pull a Lily here, but trying untested potions? That’s a bad idea, Harry.”

"I haven't had problems so far," Harry mumbles to himself. As Sirius is about to ask him what he means by that, Harry grabs his hand suddenly. "I learned the lesson, ok? Now you gotta help me!"

Sirius lifts an eyebrow. "The only thing that would help you is a scissor."

"I've tried! The bathroom is full of this thing, but it just grew back! I've tried to cut it magically, and it's all the same. You are the adult here, do something!"

"What do you want me to do? I can't do an antidote just looking at the ingredient list! You need Lily, just call her—"

"I…" the part of Harry's face that is not covered by hair flushes. "I can't. She is at the Burrow now, helping Mrs Weasley with the New Year's party."

"Then let's go, I am sure it will be easy for her—"

"No!" Harry looks in panic now, his eyes widened. "She cannot know what… what happened."

"Lily will know as soon as—"

"Not… not Mum, it's… look, that's fine. Mum will be back tomorrow, I will just spend the New Year hiding in my room pretending I don't exist."

"Harry… there's nothing to be embarrassed about. You know, growing hair body is perfectly normal at your age—"

"Ugh, stop teasing me."

"I wish I could, but you look truly horrible." Sirius winks at him, sitting on Harry's bed. "What prompted you to do this?"

Harry's flush intensifies.

"I was trying to grow a beard."

"Oh, really?"

"It's… it's stupid, okay? But Ginny was… I mean, I heard some girls saying that they enjoyed guys with a beard and I can only grow that stupid stubble and—argh—I just thought I could give it a try but now I have hair growing all around my head and—"

"You are babbling, kid, I got it."

"No, you don't." Harry runs his hand through his hair, looking very much like James when he is most nervous. "You get to grow a beard when you want it. You get this whole shining hair. You get women to sigh for you and I… I am just this stupid teenager who can't even have a full beard."

Sirius blinks. "You are worrying way too much, Harry. And, well, if you want to be assured, you are nice—girls have taken a fancy to you, haven't they?"

"That's just the Chosen One thing, it's not really… me."

Sirius fights back a smile. Harry seems really desolate.

"Look, you've grown well. You are still growing. I am sure people notice you. You have your mother's gorgeous eyes and you do look like James—if there is any comfort in this, I remind you that James got Lily to feel attracted to him, so you can't be that bad." Harry frowns, and Sirius isn't sure if it's because he doesn't want to think of their parents being attracted to each other or if because he doesn't trust Lily's opinion on this matter. "I am sure Ginny thinks you are attractive, beard or no beard."

Harry jumps.

"Who said anything—"

"Oh, are we still pretending you don't fancy her?"

Harry looks away. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Yeah, sure. So you don't mind going to the Burrow now and showing up like this?"

"Of course I do! I mean… Ron would tease me."

"Ron."

"And the twins. I mean, look at this!"

"Yeah, I would be upset if they didn't. So many joke opportunities. You are hairy, Harry."

Harry puts his hands in front of his face. Sirius refrains from telling him this doesn't hide his beard at all.

"So… what do I do now?"

"We truly need Lily's help on this… we need to go to the Burrow."

"I can't—"

"Don't worry." Sirius breathes heavily. "Your godfather won't leave you alone on this."

_________

"It was an accident, Lily," Sirius tells her, his hand playing with the hair over his chin. His new grown hair beard reaches his chest and Sirius is almost finishing a braid by now. "I was trying some old potion, and then Harry was close and it just splashed in both of us."

Lily lifts her eyebrows, her eyes moving from Sirius to Harry and then back.

"An accident?" she repeats, incredulous.

"I am so sorry," he says, the portrait of innocence. "Could you help us with an antidote? And before you say anything, I know I shouldn't have tested an unknown potion. But do this for Harry, not for me. Poor kid doesn't deserve to spend the night hiding. It's a New Year's party after all!"

Lily shakes her head, amused.

"Fine, because you asked so eloquently. I will grab my potion kit, a hair inhibitor should be enough."

"You truly are the best, Lily," Sirius tells her, beaming.

Harry waits until his mother is out of the room to let out a relieved breath.

"Thanks so much, Sirius," he says.

Sirius nods, still messing with the hair on his chin. It's so weird and it looks as ghastly in him as it does on Harry.

He doesn't regret applying that potion to his face. His sacrifice worked just as he planned to: with two people having hair growing out of their chins, the attention was divided and with Sirius taking the blame, people felt sorry enough for Harry to not mock him much.

"Hey," they turn around to see Ginny coming closer, holding a tray with some sandwiches for them. "Mum thought you would be hungry while hiding here."

"Thanks," Sirius says, because Harry seems too busy pretending to look outside the window, anything so he can try to avoid Ginny looking at his beard.

Ginny nods at Sirius, but she approaches Harry anyway.

"Your mum is already working on the antidote, don't worry," she tells him gently. "Look, it's not as bad as that time Percy tried to grow a moustache, remember?"

Harry chuckles. "You are so lying."

"I would never," she assures him, voice light. "Look at me."

Harry turns to her almost as if he can't control it. His eyes soften as he gazes upon her, and Sirius is suddenly reminded of how Lily always looks when she sees James.

Ginny raises her hand slowly, giving Harry plenty of time to back away, but he just stays quiet as she touches his beard, her fingers running through it. Sirius suspects Harry isn't even breathing anymore.

"It's soft," she tells Harry and for a moment they just stare at each other. Sirius decides that he is really witnessing a moment that he doesn't want to, but his attempt to quietly leave the room only alerts them to his presence. Ginny's hand falls back as if she got electrocuted. "Anyway, you look better without it."

Harry grimaces. "I guess that stupid stubble is better than this."

"Stupid stubble?" Ginny blinks, evidently surprised. "It's not stupid, I… I mean, girls love it on you."

"They do?"

"Yeah, well, just thinking about your stubble brushing my skin—I mean, their skin, as in other girls' shoulders, or holding your face while… never mind, I just… I just heard it, that's all. You are drawing a lot of attention."

"I know, all this Chosen One stupid thing—"

"It's not it... you are really oblivious to your charm, Harry."

"You think I am charming?" Harry asks, longing evident in his voice now.

"I…" Ginny hesitates, turning away as if she doesn't want to answer this while looking at Harry, and her eyes meet Sirius. He smirks at her, knowing perfectly well her answer. Ginny's face reddens even as her jaw sets in a protective instance. "Yeah, with the stubble. Everyone knows it. It's common knowledge. I… I have to go, I think I heard Mum calling me."

Sirius could point out that Molly didn't call her at all, but he opts for just letting Ginny go, his smirk more than enough to let her know she didn't fool him.

At the other corner of the room, Harry's face is spotting a huge grin, watching the door with a dreamy expression.

"She likes my stubble!" He declares happily. "Oh, I need to take off this stupid long beard now."

Sirius shakes his head at Harry, amused. At least Harry won't ever complain about his inability to grow a beard again.

[tricksters-captain]

Bucky Barnes imagines - Some Sunny Day Part 2

AN: I’m splitting episode 3 into two chapters because so much happens. 

Summary: Before the Blip, you and Bucky were close. After you both returning and Tony’s funeral, you decided to go back to your home town to spend time with your family. When duty calls, you return.  

In this chapter: Despite your protests, Bucky seeks out Zemo (Based on S1 EP3)

(PART 1 HERE)

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, Sam Wilson x Platonic!Reader

Word Count: 5,196

Warnings: Spoilers for episode 3, violence, strong language. 

You watched Bucky as he sat beside you on the aircraft. 

“Do you mind?” Bucky’s side eye didn’t make you look away. 

“I’m just trying to see what’s going through that head of yours.” You confessed. You were all on your way to Germany to visit Zemo. It wasn’t a plan you were happy with but it was the plan. 

“Don’t bother.” Bucky frowned, looking down at his hands on his lap. “And don’t ask me if I think this is a good idea again.” 

“I wasn’t going to ask that.” You turned away from the man.

“What was it then?” Bucky asked. 

“I was going to ask if you were sure you wanted to do this.” It was another question you had already asked 20 times or more but you couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling of anxiety about this trip. 

“She has a right to be worried, Buck. The last time you were alone with Zemo, you ended up putting (Y/n) through three windows.” Sam reminded you both of what happened the last time you were in Berlin. 

“It won’t happen this time.” Bucky tried to reassure you both but you still felt uneasy. 

After another hour or so Sam announced that you were almost there. 

It was a short drive to the prison from the airport but once you were inside, you felt your chest begin to tighten again. 

“He’s just through that corridor.” The German guard gestured up ahead and that’s when Bucky stopped you. 

“Alright. Give us a sec.” Bucky instructed the security guard before turning to you and Sam. “I’m gonna go in alone.���

“Why?” Sam asked, 

“You’re Avengers. You know how he feels about that.” Bucky said as he looked between the two of you. 

“It’s not like you two were known for frolickin’ in the sun together.” Sam felt he needed to remind Bucky of the past again. However, Bucky stood his ground. 

“He was obsessed with HYDRA. We have a history together. Trust me. I got it.” 

“Buck...” You started, 

“I got it.” He repeated himself before you could say anything else. 

You watched Bucky head through the doors alone. 

“Let’s wait outside. This place gives me the creeps.” Sam encouraged you to follow him to which you didn’t do without hesitation. 

Sam brought you a hot drink as you sat on a bench outside. 

“I forgot how worried he can make you.” Sam admitted as he sat down beside you.

“I’ve seen what he went through, Sam. All of it leading up to Zemo. I just... I don’t want it happening to him again.” You knew you couldn’t explain the extent of why you cared for Bucky. 

“You love him.” Sam said. It wasn’t a question but rather a statement. “I can see it clear as day. Anyone could if they stuck around long enough.” 

“Why are you bringing this up, Sam?” You sighed, looking away from him. 

“Because it’s also obvious that he loves you too. You run around driving each other crazy with worry but you have none of the good stuff that comes with being in love with someone.” 

“What do you know about love, Don Juan?” You chuckled as you tried to lighten the tone.

“I know it when I see it.” Sam smiled but there was a sadness behind his eyes. 

“Things are complicated, Sam.” You muttered, “You already know that.” 

“Well I also think that if Bucky got some he’d be a whole lot less angsty all the damn time.” You knew Sam only said it to make you laugh but you still gave him a whack for the comment. 

“Shut up, Sam.” You shook your head, trying not to smile at the inappropriate comment. 

Sam kept you entertained by a couple of silly games of rock, paper, scissors before Bucky returned. 

“Come on, I got some information. We gotta go.” Bucky hurried you and Sam along. 

“Just like that?” You were surprised that Zemo even spoke to Bucky at all. 

“A location. I’ll explain everything once we get there.” Bucky wasn’t giving you much information and it was making you a little suspicious. 

“Hey, hey, hey...” Sam ran after Bucky, stopping him. “You gotta give us a little more than that.”

“Zemo agreed to help us after hearing that there were more super soldiers. It was his life ambition to stop the winter soldier programme and he’s given us a lead.” Bucky explained. 

“And you’re just gonna trust his word?” You probed. 

“There’s not much else we can do.” Bucky did make a point. 

It didn’t take long to reach the large warehouse/garage that Bucky wanted to go to. 

Bucky on the way had started rambling about breaking Zemo out of jail in order to help you guys which sounded ridiculous to you. 

“Tell me you’re joking, Buck.” You pleaded, unsure whether he had lost his mind entirely. 

“He’s our best shot at finding who is making the serum and he’d be a lot more useful out than in.” Bucky opened the door to the building and you followed him inside.

“What are you talking about? You wanna break Zemo outta jail? Where are we, Buck? Have you lost your mind?” Sam was just as lost as you were as he shot questions at Bucky. 

“We have no leads, no moves, nothing.” Bucky sighed as you made your way in with your flashlights. 

“What we have is one of the most dangerous men in the world behind bars.” Sam argued. 

“We also have eight Super Soldiers that are loose.” Bucky retorted. 

“Anyway, I thought this was a lead?” You tried to look around but the place was badly lit. There were mainly mechanic tools and lots of storage scattered around. 

“It’s complicated.” Bucky frowned.

“What’s complicated is Zemo. He’s gonna mess with our minds. Especially yours. No offence.” Sam shone his flashlight at Bucky as he spoke. 

“Offence.” Bucky didn’t look impressed as he found the light switch. “Super Soldiers go against everything he believes in. He is crazy, but he still has a code.” 

“I’ve been on the wrong side of that code and so have you. He blew up the UN, he killed King T’Chaka and framed you for it. Did you forget that? You think the Wakandans forgot about it? It’s a rhetorical question. They didn’t. I know why this matters to you, but it’s pushing you off the deep end.” Sam stepped closer to Bucky. You couldn’t deny that Sam had a point. Zemo was the one who tore the avengers apart by framing Bucky.  “We don’t know how they’re gettin’ the serum. We don’t even know how many of them there are.” Bucky couldn’t give up. “Let me just walk you through a hypothetical. Can I?”

“What did you do?” Sam narrowed his eyes at Bucky. 

You were busy looking inside the car that was revealed by the lights coming on. 

“I didn’t do anything.” Bucky shook his head before he continued with his ‘hypothetical’. 

“The weakest point in any system isn’t the software, the hardware, it’s the meatware. The human element. Now, in this lockup, it’s nine to one, prisoners to guards. And if two prisoners start fighting, then the protocol says four guards have to respond.”

“So why would two prisoners randomly start fighting at that moment? Who knows?” Sam questioned. 

“There could be many reasons…” Bucky shrugged. “But the point is, these things escalate. Lockdown procedures would have to be initiated, and with all those bodies flying around left and right, wouldn’t be hard to slip down a hallway or two.

At this point, you stopped looking around and looked over at Bucky with your arms across your chest. You weren’t liking how thought out this plan was sounding. 

“And if the fire alarm got tripped while the prisoners were being separated someone could use the chaos to their advantage.” Bucky continued. 

“I don’t like how casual you’re bein’ about this. This is unnatural. Are you… And where are we, man?” Sam gestured around the place with confusion locked on his face. 

“Bucky, I’m with Sam on this one. I’ve got a bad feeling and–––” A door opening behind you cut you short. 

You turned around to see Zemo walk through the plastic door curtains. 

“Woah, woah, woah!” Sam jumped forward instructively. Bucky managed to stop him but he didn't stop you. 

You rushed towards Zemo and held the tip of one of your knives to his Adams apple as he held his hands up. 

“What are you doing here?” Sam shouted at Zemo before snapping back to Bucky.

“I didn’t tell ’cause I knew you wouldn’t let this happen.” Bucky admitted. 

“What did you do?” Sam pointed at Zemo in shock.

“We need him.” Bucky stated to which you chuckled harshly, pressing your knife a little harder. 

“You’re going back to prison!” Sam called over. 

“If I may..? “ Zemo tried to speak but you all shut him up with a unanimous ‘No.’

“Apologies.” Zemo mumbled. 

“(Y/n), put the knife down.” Bucky came towards you and wrapped his hand round your wrist. “Please?” 

You did. Slowly. 

“Look, when Steve refused to sign the Sokovia Accords, you both backed him. You broke the law, and you stuck your neck out for me. I’m asking you to do it again.” Bucky looked back and forth from you to Sam. 

“I really think I’m invaluable.” Zemo spoke again. 

“Shut up.” You rose the knife again to which Zemo took a step back and pretended to zip his mouth shut. 

“Okay.” Sam sighed after a moment of contemplation. “If we do this, you don’t make a move without our permission.”

“Fair.” Zemo nodded. 

“Bucky... You understand what this means right? If they find out we took Zemo, specifically you. We’ll be on the run again and I don’t know if there will be a pardon this time either.” The concern in your eyes made Bucky frown. 

“It’ll be alright. He's the only shot we got to stop these guys.” Bucky wasn’t sure if he believed his own words but he was praying that this was the best thing to do. 

“Alright.” You turned to Zemo. “So where do we start?”

Zemo gestured for you to follow him before taking you into another dark room. You kept your knife in your hand just in case.

He reached for the light switch to reveal a mass of classic cars. 

“So our first move is grand theft auto?” Sam cocked his eyebrow at the impressive collection.  

“These are mine. Collected by family over the generations. I spent years hunting people HYDRA recruited to recreate the serum. Because once it’s out there, someone can create an army of people… like the Avengers.”  Zemo entered one of the cars and pulled out a bag. “I ended the Winter Soldier program once before. I have no intention to leave my work unfinished. To do this, we’ll have to scale a ladder of lowlifes.”

“Well, join the party. We’ve already started.” Sam told the man.

“First stop is a woman named Selby. Mid-level fence I still have a line on. From there, we climb.” Zemo took his bag and headed into another room. 

“Jesus... How big is this place?” You looked around to see it was full of clothes. 

“First I change and then we head to Selby.” Zemo placed the bag down before filing through one if the rails of clothes. 

“How are we supposed to get anywhere with Zemo on our hands? We can’t exactly call Torres and ask for a ride but please ignore the fugitive that’s coming with us.” You looked between the boys. 

“I will get us there.” Zemo told you. 

“Great.” You pressed a fake smile onto your face which Zemo chose not to acknowledge.

Before you knew it you were at the airport at Zemo’s private jet.

“So all this time you’ve been rich?” Sam’s eyes went wide at the sight of the plane.

“I’m a Baron, Sam. My family was royalty until your friends destroyed my country.” Zemo spoke as if it was well known information. You felt a pang hit you in the chest, it happened every time you thought of Sokovia... it was guilt. 

You watched Zemo greet an elderly man in a suit before you entered the jet. 

You sat furtherest away from Zemo, still feeling very uncomfortable about him being free and under your custody. 

You watched him sip on a glass of champagne like he had no worries in the world. 

“You don’t know what it’s like to be locked in a cell. Oh. That’s right you do.” Zemo reminded you of the time Tony had locked a lot of the avengers up. 

“Why don’t you tell us about where we’re going?” Sam suggested. 

 “I’m sorry. I was just fascinated by this. I don’t know what to call it, but this part seems to be important. Who is Nakajima?” 

Before you could blink, Bucky had lunged forward and taken Zemo by the neck.  

“If you touch that again, I’ll kill you.” Bucky kept hold of Zemo for a second longer before sitting back down. You had fought the urge to get up and take hold of his arm to calm him down.  

"I’m sorry. I understand that list of names. People you’ve wronged as the Winter Soldier.” Zemo made no attempt at a sincere apology for the invasion of privacy.  

“Don’t push it.”  Bucky warned him.

“I’ve seen that book. It was Steve’s when he came out of the ice. I told him about Trouble Man. He wrote it in that book. Did you hear it? What’d you think?” Sam smiled as he thought back on the memory. 

“I like ’40s music, so…” Bucky shrugged. 

“You didn’t like it?” Sam seemed more shock to hear this than when he saw Zemo. 

“I liked it.” Bucky proclaimed. 

“It is a masterpiece, James. Complete. Comprehensive. It captures the African-American experience.” Even Zemo had to get involved. 

“He’s out of line, but he’s right. It’s great. Everybody loves Marvin Gaye.” Sam turned back to Bucky after giving side eye to Zemo. 

“I like Marvin Gaye.” Bucky repeated. 

“Steve adored Marvin Gaye.” Sam couldn’t drop it but you didn’t bother getting involved. 

You looked at the book in Bucky’s hands. You knew Steve had given it to him before but seeing it again after all this time brought up a hundred thoughts. You remembered the many things you had told Steve to watch or eat or listen to like ABBA, Mochi ice cream and pranking him by suggesting the twilight movie as must see. 

“You must have really looked up to Steve.” Zemo mentioning Steve made you look up again. “But I realised something when I met him. The danger with people like him, America’s Super Soldiers, is that we put them on pedestals.”

“Watch your step, Zemo.” Sam warned him. 

“They become symbols. Icons. And then we start to forget about their flaws. From there, cities fly, innocent people die. Movements are formed, wars are fought. You remember that, right?” Zemo looked over at Bucky. “As a young soldier sent to Germany to stop a mad icon. Do we want to live in a world full of people like the Red Skull? That is why we’re going to Madripoor.” 

“What’s up with Madripoor? You talk about it like it’s Skull Island.” Sam asked but you already knew of Madripoor. Anyone with links to the underworld of crime knew of Madripoor. 

“It’s an island nation in the Indonesian archipelago. It was a pirate sanctuary back in the 1800s.” Bucky informed him. 

“It’s kept its lawless ways. But we cannot exactly walk in as ourselves. James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone.” Zemo looked down at his duffel bag of clothes that you had watched him pack before.

“What do you mean by that?” You finally chimed into the conversation. 

“James will have to retake the person of the Winter Soldier. You both will have a role to play also.” Zemo explained, turning to face you as you sat in the chair by the back wall of the jet. 

“Bucky, can I speak to you privately?” You looked past Zemo to Bucky. Bucky gave you a look to ask where would you go so you stood and opened the cabin toilets door. 

Bucky huffed before following you in.

“Bucky I’m not okay with this.” You whispered as you pressed yourself up against the wall so you could try and fit both you and Bucky a little more comfortably. 

“This isn’t up to you.” Bucky sighed. 

 “Everything about this situation is making every nerve in my body scream this is a bad idea.” You folded your arms across your chest as you stared up at Bucky. 

“How many times do I have to tell you that this is the only plan we got?” 

“I don’t trust him.” You kept your voice low as you threw your hand up in the direction of the door. 

“Do you trust me?” Bucky asked. 

“I’m starting to question it.” You muttered. 

Bucky just stared at you in response. 

“Yes, I trust you.” You grumbled, caving in. 

“Anyway I have you if things go bad.” Bucky tried to make light of the situation but you weren't impressed. 

You left the bathroom and remained silent until you drew closer to Madripoor. 

Upon your arrival in Madripoor, you were handed some clothes to change into. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” You held up the small material dress that you were meant to wear. 

“I had to choose a disguise that would cover your face. Too many people here would know you from your days before the avengers and after.” Zemo defended his choice of ‘costume’ for you. 

“So I’m assassin barbie?” You scoffed before taking to the bathroom to change. 

You slid on the black leather playsuit and boots, along with the mask that Zemo gave you. 

You felt exposed and uncomfortable. You managed to hide a few knives in your boots and you slid on a thigh holster to hold some more to make you feel like you were protected at least. 

“Loose the knives.” Zemo instructed. 

“Are you serious?” You were growing more agitated by the minute with this man. 

“You are playing an escort. You can’t have knives on show.” Zemo pointed to your holster. 

You bit down on your cheek as you removed it. 

“Fine.” You then left the plane to Sam and Bucky waiting outside. Bucky’s eyes went wide at the sight of you but he tried to hide it by clearing his throat and looking away. 

“We have to fix this. I’m the only one who looks like a pimp.” Sam was wearing a red patterned suit and chains. He didn’t look too bad in it either.

“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward Black man looks like a pimp. You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing. The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.” Zemo handed Sam his phone revealing a picture of Conrad Mack.

“He even has a bad nickname. Hell, he does look like me, though.” Sam took the phone and looked down at the picture. 

“(Y/n) is playing your partner for the night. Conrad is known for his appreciation for the finer things in life and often has a woman on his arm Therefore, (Y/n), you must be attached to Sam’s hip the entire night.” Zemo filled you all in on the reason behind your disguise. 

“Excuse me, what?” Bucky almost choked at the idea of you having to be Sam’s woman for the night. 

“Well it is the only disguise that makes sense. She can’t be your girlfriend as you are the Winter Soldier. She can’t be mine as everyone knows I am loyal to my wife. She has to be the smiling tigers current whore.” 

“Watch your mouth.” Bucky hissed. 

“We all must play a part.” Zemo defended his choice of words. “You smell this?”

“Yeah, what is that? Acid?” Sam asked. 

“Madripoor. No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There’s no margin for error. High Town’s that way. Not a bad place if you wanna visit, but Low Town’s the other way.” Zemo gestured across the city as a car approached you all. 

“Let me guess. We don’t have any friends in High Town.” You sighed as Zemo opened the car door for you. 

“Not if we want the answers we are looking for.” Zemo climbed into the car after you and then the boys followed. 

It didn't take too long to find the way to low town. You had been to Madripoor before but it had been years ago. 

You did as you were ordered when you all exited Zemo’s car. You stuck by Sam, walking in the middle of Sam and Bucky. 

The air wasn’t cold but it felt thick, you could feel it sticking to your bare skin which gave you the desperate urge to take a long shower. 

“Here we are.” Zemo had brought you to a bar. It was busy and filled with a lot of men.  

“Ready to comply, Winter Soldier?” You heard Zemo ask Bucky in Russian. 

You heard whispers around you questioning if Bucky was who everyone thought he was. It made your gut clench with nerves but you didn’t let it show. 

“Hello, gentlemen. Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.” The bartender greeted Sam and Zemo but barely brushed a glance over you.

“His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby.” Zemo spoke for Sam. You then felt Sam wrap his arm around your waist. You leaned into him, batting your eyelashes first at Sam and then the bartender. 

“The usual?” The bartender asked Sam. He nodded, afraid that if he spoke then it would give away the facade. 

You were thankful you were wearing a face mask when you saw the drink made for the Smiling Tiger. You grimaced at the dead snake being cut open and then again when one of its organs was dropped into Sam’s shot. 

“Ah, Smiling Tiger. Your favourite.” Zemo picked up his own drink as he looked down at Sam’s. 

“I love these.” Sam forced himself to speak. 

“Cheers, Conrad.” Zemo and Sam touched glasses before Sam hesitantly shot back the drink. You could tell Bucky enjoyed watching that. 

“I got word from on high. You ain’t welcome here.” A man suddenly approached from behind and tapped Zemo on the shoulder. You felt Sam’s grip on you tighten protectively. 

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me...” Zemo held his hand out to show his new bodyguard. 

“New haircut?” The stranger looked Bucky up and down. 

“Or bring Selby for a chat.” Zemo gave him the other option. The man retreated. 

“A power broker? Really?” Bucky spoke once the stranger had left.

“Every kingdom needs its king. Let’s just pray we stay under his radar.”

“Do you know him?” Sam asked. 

“Only by reputation.” Zemo admitted honestly.

“In Madripoor he is judge, jury, and executioner. You can’t visit low town without appearing on his radar.” You spoke up as you let yourself look around the room and take in just how many threats were around. 

“And you know this why?” Sam looked down at you. He must've forgotten your past. 

“I was a free agent before the Avengers. I've been here undercover a few times especially when I was a young teenager. Surprise Surprise evil guys like little girls.” You kept quiet in case anyone around was listening. 

Zemo suddenly spoke a command for Bucky in Russian once again and that’s when another stranger put his hands on Zemo. 

You watched Bucky follow orders and he didn’t hold back. 

He grabbed hold of the strangers wrist and pulled him off Zemo before attacking him and several others around. 

You took notice of those around with their phones out. Cameras...

You went to step forward when you felt Sam squeeze your side. He gave you a look that told you no. 

“Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.” Zemo muttered to you and Sam. You wanted to punch him. 

Bucky slammed another man onto the bar and that’s when you heard the wave of guns cocking. 

Sam took hold of Bucky’s arm when Zemo told him to stay in character. 

Instead Zemo told Bucky to stand down once you were informed you could see Selby. 

Sam took hold of you hand and dragged you along side him as you all left the bar. 

“She isn’t welcome.” One of the guards stopped you before you could enter the room. 

“Excuse me?” Sam scoffed at the guard. “She’s with me and so she is welcome.” 

“Let her in!” You heard an English accent call from ahead. 

“You should know, Baron. People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.” Selby was an older woman with a white pixie cut and a sly grin. Sam remained stood and so did Bucky but Sam had commanded you to take a seat next to Zemo. 

“Not a demand. An offer.” Zemo was impressing you by how cool he was playing this. It also worried you. 

“A lot has changed since you were here last. By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?“ Selby asked. 

“People like us always find a way, don’t we? I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for.”

“You’re taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger.” Selby ignored Zemo as she eyed up Sam.” What’s the offer?”

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum. And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.”Zemo had risen from his seat and held Bucky by the chin. 

“Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately. Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right. The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank...Or condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but… things didn’t go as planned.” Selby fed you what she knew. 

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” Zemo questioned. 

“Oh. The bread crumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron. And before you get all cute, don’t think you can find Nagel without me.” Selby pushed herself from her seat and walked across the room. 

That’s when Sam’s mobile went off. 

“Answer it. On speaker.” Selby ordered. The gun behind Sam made him pull out his phone. 

“Hello?” He answered. 

“Hey, um, we need to talk about this situation. It’s been drivin’ me nuts.” A woman’s voice came through. 

“What situation exactly are you talkin’ about?” Sam tried his best to keep up his persona. 

“Are you high? You know what situation, it’s the only situation me and you have.” The woman’s attitude was not helping Sam’s case. 

“What situation, Sarah? Say it.” Sam demanded. 

“The damn boat. And watch your tone. Okay? I let you slide at the bank.” Sarah snapped back. 

“The bank. Yeah. Laundered so much...” Sam chuckled. “Yeah, they’ll come around.”

“If that was the case, then why’d they dog you out, Big Time?” Sarah asked. 

“Yeah, you damn right I’m Big Time. You’ll see when I have that banker killed.” Sam tried to seem intimidating but at that moment you knew you were screwed. You reached down into your boot to take a knife just in case. 

“Cass! What’d I tell you about the Cheerios? I don’t have time for this! Sam, I’m sorry. I’ll call you back.” Sarah had used Sam’s name and that was the end of it. 

“Sam? Who’s Sam?” Selby looked pissed. “Kill them!” She ordered but before her hired men could react, a bullet came through the window and shot Selby down. 

You snatched two knives from your boot and sent them into the guard behind Sam. 

Bucky immediately reacted with taking out the other guard. 

“They’re gonna pin this on us.” You took the knives from the body as the boys took the guns. 

“We have a real problem now, so leave your weapons and follow my lead.” Zemo’s order made the boys put their guns down but you just wiped your knives and placed them back in your boot. 

You left the club in a hurry. Text chimes went off around you and you knew the power broker had seen what happened. 

You were well and truly fucked. 

“This is not good.” Zemo’s last words before the shooting started. 

You took off alongside Bucky and Sam, cursing the fact that Zemo had put you in the most uncomfortable shoes on the planet. 

“I can’t run in these heels!” Sam shouted which almost made you laugh. 

“Down here!” You took a turn into an alley to get off the road as two mopeds appeared behind you. 

Before you could spin around to fight, a shooter had taken them out. 

“You seem to have a guardian angel.” Zemo looked just. as confused you felt. You weren’t aware you knew anyone who was in Madripoor at the moment. 

“Well, this is too perfect. Drop it, Zemo.” A familiar face soon revealed itself from the shadows. 

“Sharon?” Sam furrowed his brow at the woman. 

“You cost me everything.” Sharon ignore Sam as she spoke to Zemo. 

“Sharon, wait. Someone recreated the super-soldier serum and Zemo had a lead.” Sam stepped ahead of Zemo to protest him. 

“That explains why you guys are here. And Selby’s dead.”Sharon glowered at the four of you. 

“So what are you doing here?” Bucky asked the question on everyones mind. 

“I stole Steve’s shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass, so that you could save him from him. I didn’t have the Avengers to back me up. So I’m off the grid in Madripoor.” Sharon informed you.

“Don’t blow smoke. Both (Y/n) and I were on the run, too.” Sam didn't bother with feeling pity. 

“Was. Is. Big difference. I don’t speak to my family anymore. I can’t. My own father doesn’t know where I am.” Sharon shot back. 

“Listen, Sharon, we need your help.” Bucky interrupted her before she could say anything else.  

“Please.” You added. You and Sharon were friendly for a time before the world went to hell. You figured she’d help you at least. 

“This isn’t over. I have a place in High Town. You’ll be safe there for a while.” Sharon sighed, giving in and lowering her gun. 

“Thank you.” You pressed a small smile onto your face but Sharon didn’t reciprocate. 

She managed to get you to a car safely and you headed out of low town for the night. 

(PART 3 HERE)

Bucky Barnes Tag List 

@florencxs @mystictimetravelcolor @yourphotographyteen16 @shannon-posts @darkbluenovember @sexwithhiddlesbatch @thefandomimagines @mydarkness-itsnotmyfriend @sad-huffle-nerd @glitchingghosts​ @themaddies-obx​

[redorich]

Eventually the Hermits get their hands on the one shulker box. They give it back a day later, filled with goodies as an apology for stealing, because they just needed it briefly so Doc could set up a shulker box duplicator.

(2/2) To expand on the shulker box ask I sent: It's cheating. They know it's cheating. They debate for a while over wether or not they should build it. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and dammit they need shulkers. Mules and Llamas can only get them so far.

---

(this takes place before the fic where puffy finds zedaph.)

---

The Hermits put up with mule highways and caravans of spitting llamas because they think they have no choice. At least one person complains about the lack of sophisticated storage transportation daily. Mumbo tries to create a system which will ferry items between bases, but it turns out to be more of a Rube Goldberg machine than anything, considering the items only travel at the speed of the water which carries them. Zedaph creates an actual Rube Goldberg machine for item transportation, but the only people who use it are himself and his neighbors, Impulse, False, and Tango. It’s more for prank transportation and snail mail anyway.

Things change when Stress, on a covert surface run, comes a bit too close to other humans on accident and catches sight of a blond man in a hoodie furtively checking his surroundings. Stress immediately does as she’s been trained, hiding herself behind tree cover and checking how long her invisibility potion will be in effect for. It says four minutes. As long as he leaves soon, she won’t have an issue.

The man surveys the muddy clearing with a keen eye, keeping watch for any evildoing interlopers. He places down an Ender chest, reaches his hands into it, then looks around once again to make sure no one’s there. Stress’s heart beats like a drum-- not the style of drums she usually plays, but rather the percussion of one of Xisuma’s favorite black metal bands. As the man’s gaze passes right over her, she feels the machine gun fire of her heart against her chest peak, breath catching in her throat.

He doesn’t see her. Quickly, he pulls something out of the Ender chest. A shulker box!

Stress’s breath stops for an entirely different reason. The things the Hermits could do with even one shulker box..! Item dupers are a thing, right? If anyone knows how to make an item duplication machine, it would be Doc. And a shulker box might be useful for an item duping machine! 

She’s getting ahead of herself. Should she steal from this person? Can she steal from this person? Even disregarding the moral dilemma, the members of the Dream SMP are fighters through and through. She’s got the advantage of surprise because she’s invisible and this man doesn’t know she’s here, but how long will that last? Even if she manages to take it, what if the blond man (Punz, she thinks is his name) kills her and takes the shulker box back from her?

As Stress weighs the risks and the rewards, she knows she’s running out of time. Punz breaks the shulker box. Right as he’s about to put it back in his Ender chest, Stress, who can see the window of opportunity closing, springs into panicked action.

She sprints right past Punz, hoping with every fiber of her being that her invisibility potion will be enough to save her. Snatching the box right out of Punz’s hands, Stress takes off running. Punz shouts, swinging his sword wildly at the air. He’s so close that a few strands of hair, just barely the tips, get sheared off of Stress’s fluffy mane and become visible as they flutter to the ground.

Punz’s eyes narrow, tracking the potion particles that he can just barely see. Unfortunately for him, the invisible thief takes off into the mob-infested forest. He gives chase, but the thief gains on him every time he has to stop to fight a mob.

Stress knows she can’t outrun Punz. She’s not bad, but he’s really good. Stress absolutely cannot lead this man back to the canyon. Allowing the hostile mobs of the forest to buy her time by slowing Punz down, Stress looks around rapidly, searching for something, anything she can do to lose the hunter on her trail.

A lone cow catches her eye. Thinking fast, she bites her lip as she dumps her only water bucket out into a nearby pond where it won’t be noticed, then milks the cow. In the distance, a zombie groans as Punz takes it out. Stress hyperventilates, frantically digging at the ground beneath her feet with a silk touch shovel. Once she’s created a hole just barely big enough for her to hide in, she hops in and puts the grassy dirt she dug up just seconds ago above her head and immediately downs the milk, so that there won’t be any potion particles to track her by.

Slowly, carefully, and as quiet as she possibly can, she digs up the dirt beneath her feet in absolute darkness. Logically, Stress knows that Punz won’t be able to see the light from her torch, but she’s too terrified to think logically. What has she done?!

Her shovel stills as angry feet stomp above her. Dirt crumbles into her hair when Punz walks directly above her. Caustic mutters faintly reach her ears through the loamy earth, fading farther and farther away as Punz searches in vain for the invisible thief. Stress waits with bated breath for minutes on end, hands shaking like leaves in a hurricane. 

Tentatively, she digs up the diorite block below her with a pickaxe. A mob shifts aboveground and Stress, paralyzed with the paranoia that it might be Punz, spends another five minutes in immobile silence. Burying her face in her hands, she sucks in a breath and continues digging. Once she hits a decently low y-level, she digs forward, taking care to place all her blocks behind her exactly as they were before she mined them.

After a solid three hundred blocks, she begins to staircase back up. On one unfortunate swing of her pick, water floods into her staircase. She must be under a lake or a sea. She can make out some kelp, though, so hopefully that’ll be enough cover for her to go up and check her surroundings.

Stress takes a deep breath and plunges into the cold water. Swimming up, she catches sight of wood-- no way. There is no way she’s made it to the docks just outside of the canyon. Eagerly, she swims back down into her staircase for a breath of air and the chance to down an invisibility potion, then back up to the surface.

On the entire journey from the bottom of the sea to the elevator on the other side of the canyon, she expects someone to catch her, to notice the water she’s dripping on the ground, to somehow sense the guilt emanating off her in waves. It doesn’t happen. Stress makes it to the elevator and pushes the down button eagerly. Every foot the elevator descends down is another thousand pounds of weight off her shoulders. She’s exhausted, and so close to home base. If she can just make it into the Atrium, she’ll have succeeded.

The elevator dings, rousing Stress from her daydreaming. “I really am dead on my feet, ain’t I?” she murmurs to herself.

She makes her way into one of the village houses, avoiding the pressure plates and tripwires which she knows like the back of her hand by now. In the house, she presses a button, which opens a door which leads to a tunnel. Sagging in relief, Stress practically melts across the floor as she traverses the short tunnel and finally makes it into Atrium 1-- a large circular room with a rounded ceiling and plenty of light.

“Woah, Stress!” Ren exclaims, running to support her. The dark circles under his eyes make him look as exhausted as she feels. He’s been working round the clock at the tree farm to churn out enough wood to meet the demands of twenty-four Hermits.

“Stress?” Ren asks with concern in his eyes, gently shaking Stress’s shoulders.

She laughs, high-pitched and wild. She’s done it. She’s really gone and done it!

“I got a shulker box,” she breathes.

Ren gasps. “What?! No way, they’re not even a thing on this server!”

“Yes they are,” Stress sing-songs, “because I have one.”

She tosses him the cyan shulker box with a look of pride on her face. Ren looks at the box in his hands, then back up at Stress with wide eyes.

“We gotta go show Xisuma, my dude.”

---

The Hermits convene in the small meeting room in the residential district, then realize that the room is in fact small and twenty-four Hermits aren’t going to fit in it. Xisuma’s having a good day, so he decides to hold the meeting in Atrium 1.

There are many different opinions on the acquisition of the shulker box, which sits innocently in the center of the room. Some people like Wels believe that even if it’s a great boon, it was stolen and therefore the Hermits don’t have the right to use it. Things were different when they first arrived in the canyon; they stole small things in order to survive. A shulker is nice to have, but the Hermits won’t die without it. On the other hand, there are people who side with Grian, who believes that since the Hermits already have the shulker box, they might as well use it.

Doc rumbles a deep hm, indicating that he’s debating with himself whether he should say something or not. Finally, it seems that the side of him which wants to tell his fellow Hermits wins out.

“Have you guys considered shulker box duping?” he says. Immediately, there is a clamor of outcries, both for and against, as well as just plain disbelieving.

Tango speaks up: absolutely not. It’s cheating. False tentatively rebuts, though, that sometimes cheating is acceptable when it's for a good cause. After all, part of her season 7 base was dug out using TNT dupers. Mumbo awkwardly raises his hand and waits for someone to acknowledge him, which Grian does.

“Er… what if we give it back after we’re done with it?” Mumbo says. Tango still looks unhappy, but the idea seems to appease Wels.

“Friends,” Xisuma says softly. Everyone quiets down immediately. “Should we have a civil vote, or shall I decide?”

Immediately, everyone gets shamed into behaving. “We can vote,” Bdubs says. “Everyone in favor of not cheating?”

“Wait, what are our options?” Grian asks.

“Er,” Scar speaks up. “Keeping the box but not duping it, giving the box back, duping it then giving it back, or duping it and not giving the original back. Is that right?”

Bdubs nods. “Yeah! So, all in favor of keeping the one original box?” A few hands go up, maybe five or six.

“Giving the box back?” More hands go up.

“Duplicating the box, then giving it back?” Nearly a dozen hands go up.

“Well then,” Bdubs says, “I guess I don’t have to finish the options; dupe-and-return wins.”

Doc strides into the center of the room and mines up the shulker box before anyone can change their mind; Tango grumbles good-naturedly at having lost the vote. Meanwhile, while everyone discusses the vote, Joe ferries Xisuma off to his quarters.

“So who’s going to give the shulker box back when we’re done with it, my dudes?” Ren asks the room at large.

“I will,” Stress says immediately. “I stole it; it’s only right that I give it back.”

---

Two days later, Punz wakes up to a noise in his house. He reaches for a knife under his pillow; just because there is no one to be seen doesn’t mean that no one’s there, as Punz is well aware given the theft of his shulker box, which he is still smarting over.

He gets out of bed, treading softly. Right there, in the doorway, is the same shulker box he lost! He looks around. This has to be a trap. No one is around… Punz might as well spring this trap.

He opens the box. Nothing is missing. In fact, there are more items inside than there were when it was stolen from him! A totem of undying, four diamond blocks, two ingots of netherite, and a note which reads, Sorry I stole your box! I only needed to borrow it, but I felt bad so I left some extra goodies in. xoxo

“...Huh?” Punz says to himself. This is the weirdest prank ever.

He puts the box back into his Ender chest and resolves to think about it in the morning.

[infernal-fire]

TAU (1/2)

Summary: Steve Rogers traps you inside his mansion. Your only means of escape? The naïve A.I., Bucky, that is designed to kill you if you ever step out of line. 

Pairings: Dark!CEO!Steve x reader, A.I!Bucky x reader, Bucky x reader

This is part of a series of works (not interconnected). I highly suggest you read the description of the series master list to better understand the premise of this story. 

Warnings: swearing, kidnapping, mention of sedative, technical Lima syndrome, psychological abuse, violence, blood, character deaths, injuries, mention of depression, suicide & poverty

The chair was on the brink of collapsing, yet Martha folded her arms and leaned back into it anyway. You internally grimaced, waiting for her to fall flat on her ass or give you the bad news. It had to be bad news. You had done this enough times to know that she periodically bounced her right leg only when there was bad news. These days, that was often. 

You huffed once, loud enough for her to hear, hoping to hint that you were hanging by the threads of your patience. She took the hint, finally throwing open the drawer in front of you with excessive force. Pens rolled and a notebook slid towards her amid the force. Again, another piece of furniture that was ready to give in. For someone as stingy as her, you aren’t surprised that it hasn’t been replaced - just wondering why she’s treating it like it won’t disintegrate any second now. 

Martha’s plump fingers slapped a couple of bills onto the table, her seedy eyes challenging you to pluck them from under her hand. You wrestled the bills out of from under her palm and diligently counted them, only to shake your head defeatedly. 

“That’s it?” you snarled.

“Steal better shit next time,” she replied, shrugging. 

You slowly sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose, refusing to open your eyes and face her.

“I really need the money.” 

When you open your eyes again, it’s because you hear the roll of her weathered chair. Now standing full height, the middle-aged woman shook her head softly, a hint of a smirk playing out on her lips. 

“Like I said; steal better shit.” She turned to leave before facing you again. “You could always come and work with our girls.”

She glanced through the door that was cracked open, eyes resting on the table situated in the corner of the adjacent room. Around it, a group of girls set down cards while pushing poker chips around. 

“Sell my body? I’d rather die,” you scoffed. 

“Suit yourself. Now, get out.”

“Was planning to.” You flipped her the bird, knowing that she was watching you leave.

“Real classy,” she called after you. “You gotta come back here for your next week’s dinner, you whore!”

“That’s all you,” you smiled at her before slamming the door closed on your way out. Oh, the satisfaction of pissing someone off; unparalleled. 

Placing your measly wage into a makeshift purse, you made your way back home. You hugged your frame tightly, keeping your head down and pacing through the dilapidated neighbourhood. 

Once upon a time, when you were new to the shadier areas of town, you affirmed to yourself every day that this situation was temporary. The hope for a better job, better apartment and better tomorrow kept you going for a long time. Deep down though, you knew it wasn’t temporary, and now you were being proven right every day. What was keeping you going these days? Multiple times, you delayed the contemplation of that question, knowing that if you thought about it… well, it’s better to not go there. 

You were careful to double-check the lock on your door and windows when you stepped into the cramped shower. Today, you thanked God for hot water, even though you were sure he didn’t exist. Mind empty like a brand new chalkboard, you shuffled around your one-room housing and put together something edible to appease the churning stomach.

Your ear perked up at what sounded like the creaking of the fourth floorboard from your bed. You locked the door. You were sure of it. 

Still, you peeked over the short dividing wall that hid the view of your bed from the kitchen. Nothing. You shook your head at your paranoia and turned back to get to the less-than-appetizing meal waiting for you. 

Steve jammed the needle into your neck, expecting you to fall back into his arms. Instead, your forehead hits the edge of your counter and you slump onto the floor. Your eyes shutting down and head throbbing, you reach out to feel your attacker and touch Steve with saucy fingers. He groans in annoyance as he picks up your whimpering form. 

Thump, thump, thump.

The nightclubs you frequent were full of snobby, rich kids who didn’t know the value of wealth. You stole to survive. They could survive without their wristwatch for one night. 

Thump, thump, thump.

Music turned the speakers inside out, deafening those closest to it, but the youth are resilient to damage in any form. For you, though, it was too loud; too much. It wasn’t uncommon of you to walk away from the scene with a pounding head. 

Thump, thump, thump.

The inside of your head resembled the thumping of club speakers. Jaw slack and eyes foggy, you tried to rub your temples. But your arms wouldn’t move. 

Sitting up the best you could, you looked down at your hands to see them bound by zip ties, sitting on your lap. It was joke-worthy how your captor thought they could bind you with zip ties, of all things. He would have to do better than this. 

You tugged on the end of the tie using teeth and tightened it some more before huddling your knees up to your chest. Bringing your hands down as hard as you can against your kneecap, you awaited the snapping sound of the zip tie. Nothing came. You look at your hands again, realizing that they were still bound.

“Don’t do that,” a voice piped up from the dark corner of the room. Startled, you look to the source of the voice but no light fell in that direction. For the first time, you took in your surroundings: half of the room was divided by a set of bars. The other side had large machinery with wires running towards the jail section. As you trailed your eyes across the wires, you noticed a closed door. 

At least you knew it was possible to escape now. 

Quickly turning to the place the voice came from, you scooted backwards some more and anticipated the arrival of your captor. 

A woman crawled forward slowly with bounded legs and arms like yours. 

Seeing that it was just another prisoner, you tightened the strap of your zip tie again and tried breaking it one more time. It snapped. Rubbing your wrists where they were bound, you got straight to undoing the bind on your legs. Beside you, the girl moved closer and repeatedly begged you not to free yourself. 

“Shut up, Brit,” you mumbled, referring to her accent.

The bind on your legs gave away and you stood up and stretched. Tentatively stalking around the cell, you noticed the toilet and sink. Why would he have those amenities in here if you were tied up anyway? When you went to touch the bars separating the room, the girl cried out again. 

“Stop! Don’t!” 

You rolled your eyes and touched it anyway. Electricity surged through you and you yelped, pulling back immediately. 

“Could’ve told me it was an electric gate,” you snapped. 

“Don’t try to escape.” 

You looked at her incredulously. “And sit here like ducks, waiting for him to kill us?”

“Someone will find us!” she pleaded. 

“Look at me! Look at you! No one is looking for us. The police won’t blink twice if people like us are gone. And he knows that.” You eyed the door that was inside your cell and looked to the other one outside the bars. 

“Do you want me to remove your binds or not?”

The girl sheepishly looked down before sticking her arms out for you. 

“My name is Peggy,” she offered as she stood up. She held your arm for support when blood rushed to her head. You shot her a withering look in response and she took her hand off. 

“I don’t think we can leave. He can probably hurt us with these implants.” Peggy pulled her hair to one side and showed you the nape of her neck. A glowing red triangle shone from under her skin. 

Your eyes widened, immediately reached for the back of your head. You felt around and touched the area that stung a little when you touched it. You compulsively hissed, realizing that your implant was fresh and the skin around it had not healed yet. 

“Has he done anything to you using the implant?” you held and shook Peggy’s shoulders while you questioned. 

“No, no, but he said it collects brain data and that it was connected to my spinal column, so I shouldn’t try anything.”

“He spoke to you?”

“Once. It’s Steve Rogers, the inventor guy on the cover of all the Forbes magazines.”

“Brain data,” you silently repeated as you look to the other side of the cell again. 

“I have an idea. Rip your clothes like this,” you demonstrated.

Using the rags ripped off from both of your prisoner uniforms, the pair of you created a long rope-like contraption with a loop on the end. You stuck your hand through the gaps in the cell and tried to fling the loop to a nook in the machinery. Failing hurt, your arm accidentally brushing against the metal once or twice before the loop finally caught onto a crevice. 

“That’s the wrong part,” your fellow inmate breathed.

“Yeah, but that’ll work too.” You pulled as hard as you could and a section of the machine broke off, sparks flying from the source. It crackled and caught on fire. 

Peggy was pulling the cell door open, grunting as she tried her best. It gave way and you both looked at each other briefly before dashing out of the room. The jail room went up in flames behind you. Peggy looked over her shoulder, but you yanked her arm, signalling her to keep running. 

You flew up stairs and through doors, finally making your way into a clearing. Peggy rushed to what seemed to be the entrance door and frantically banged on it. 

“HELP!”

“That’s not gonna work!” you rushed to the door and inspected the lock. On the right side, there was a screen that displayed a handprint. 

Do not try to escape. Only Steven can leave the premises. 

“What?” you whispered. The new voice was coming from all around you, seemingly through fixtures in the ceiling and walls, but you couldn’t be sure. The situation was tense and you were scared the whole house was going to burn down.

Before you could catch her, Peggy planted her hand on the screen which scanned and turned red. Suddenly, all the lights emanated red, accompanying a booming alarm that blared through the house. 

In the distance, what you assumed was a statuesque décor piece, came to life. It reminded you of the spiders from the Maze Runner. A motorized killing machine. It stalked towards Peggy and you with pincers appearing from its side. 

Screaming, Peggy ran. So did you, but you weren’t sure if you were screaming. You couldn’t hear through the noise your friend was making on top of the deafening alarm. 

The spider machine stuck out its knife-like hands, trying to stab you. As you ran into another room, you frantically searched for an exit. Right now, your priority was to survive this thing.

You pulled open a cupboard in what appeared to be the study and instructed Peggy to climb in. The monster was coming. There wasn’t much time to hide. 

You shut the closet door and hid behind a lounging chair in the corner. 

The machine came in and scanned the room, looking for your heat signatures. It could see Peggy.

The cupboard door flung open and Peggy shrieked, crawling out of it in attempts to move out of the line of attack. She took 4 steps on her knees and looked straight into your eyes. 

“HELP ME-”

You screamed when she was dragged back towards the machine. You couldn’t save her anymore. You mobilized and ran back to the living room area, not even turning back to address blood that splattered across your back. It wasn’t in your best interest to find out how she was killed. 

“Aries!”

Frozen in fear, you look to your right to see the entrance door open. There stood your captor, staring at the machine that was now hovering over you. 

“Stop,” he muttered and set down his briefcase. 

Aries retracted its pincers, making its way back to the little pedestal it was perched on before. It powered down just as the CEO stepped into the house and glared at you.

For a split second, the doors were open, and you considered tackling past him. 

“Don’t even think about it.”

You collapsed onto the floor where you were already lying down. Getting out was going to be a lot harder than you anticipated. 

Your hands were bound again, but this time, behind you. You were seated on a pedestal like the one Aries was on, except this one had an ugly glass décor piece that extended to the ceiling. You tugged on the bonds, hoping for some leeway, but Rogers had learned his lesson. 

You shook your head side to side, trying to get pieces of hair and blood off your face. Eventually, you had to give up, slumping into the post your arms were tied to. 

“You cost me 7 million dollars worth of tech,” Steve’s voice sounded from another room. 

“If you let me go, I swear on my life I won’t tell anyone. They won’t believe me anyway.” 

He appeared in front of you and placed both hands on either side of your thighs. 

“Things will work out for you, if you just… shut up.” 

You exhaled and turned your face to the right, hoping he’d stop invading your personal space. 

“Just… please, untie me.”

He stood back and considered your request before rounding the side of the pedestal and untying you. 

“Bucky?”

Yes, Steve.

“Activate Aries if she moves a single inch from her spot.” He eyed you at the end of his command and sauntered away to god-knows-where. 

You hoped it wouldn’t be pushing your luck to stand up and stretch, so you did. You mentally considered the various stretches you did as a child, during gymnastics. It had been years since you recalled those, so you did them to the best of your ability. It’s funny how life works. One day you were among a row of girls, learning how to do a cartwheel and before you know it, you’re in a psycho’s mansion as a lab experiment. 

About 30 feet away from this pedestal was Aries.  

Cautiously, you took a few steps away from your place. No reaction from Aries. That meant ‘Bucky’ and Aries weren’t the same thing. You could also deduce from Steve’s command, Bucky was capable of conversing.

Do not take another step forward, Subject 10. I have been told to inflict pain if you move from your position.

You took another step anyway, wondering how much you could test the limits of this A.I. 

Do not take another step forward, Subject 10. I have been told to inflict pain if you move from your position. 

You considered making a run for it but reconsidered. Aries would activate in less than 5 seconds and Steve was still in the house somewhere. You needed to play this better. Besides, you didn’t even have an exit point. 

You went back to your pedestal and sat down, drawing patterns on the ground with your feet. It would help to know the time or date. A part of you wondered if anyone was looking for you, but you yourself had answered that question long ago. No one looks for people like you or me. 

It could’ve been hours or minutes, but finally, Steve called you into a different room. You observed your environment as you stalked towards the kitchen area where the inventor was seated. 

“Sit,” he motioned at the chair that was on the other end of the table. 

As soon as you sat, tiny robots flew to your seat and placed food in front of you. It was some sort of soup with a side of bread, the only utensil he gave you being a spoon. Smart bastard. 

You wanted to hold off on the food; you really did. But you didn’t even get to eat the sandwich that you were putting together before the kidnapping. So you began devouring the meal, ignoring his pointed stare at your lack of table manners. It was only when you were halfway through the meal did you realize that the food may be drugged. Too late now.

“You killed my only other test subject and rendered her data useless.”

“I didn’t kill her.”

Steve dropped his steak knife and fork, shooting daggers into your eyes.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he began. Clasping his hands together, he leaned forward, supporting his weight on his elbows. You could tell by the way he talked that he was used to getting what he wanted. He relished in it.

“Every day, for the next two weeks, I’m going to leave for work. And every day, you’re going to complete the puzzles and tasks that Bucky tells you to do.”

“And if I don’t?”

“It won’t take me more than 10 minutes to kill you, clean up the mess and dispose of your body.”

“If you could kill me, you probably would’ve. I know you considered it,” you remarked, leaning back into your chair and folding your arms.

“Now, why would I waste a perfectly good test subject?” It was his turn to mimic your body language. 

“If you want me to do what you need me to do, I need three things,” you announced. 

“It’s funny how you think you have any leverage in this situation.”

You kept your face stoic, trying to prove that you were serious about the negotiations. If he didn’t allow you these requests, you would never escape. 

“Okay, go on,” he said, clearly amused. 

“I need clothes. Regular clothes, not prisoner uniforms. I need to shower. And I need proper food, like what you’re eating.”

“That’s quite the list.” he laughed. Abruptly, his features turned serious. “I hope you know that you don’t hold any cards against me right now, and if I allow any of those things, it’s out of the kindness of my heart.”

It was your turn to laugh. “The kindness of your heart,” you wheezed between laughs. “Sure, okay. Yeah.”

He swallowed the last piece of his meal and gestured towards the sofas. 

“Bucky will be guarding you throughout the night. Don’t think of trying anything.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you beamed at his sour expression right before leaving the table.

Masterlist