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redgillan · 4 years

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Under Pastel Skies - 4

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 4,128

Warnings: none

A/N: This chapter is quite long, Bucky opens up a little and they discuss the possibilities of starting a sugar daddy relationship. Thank you for reading, I hope you’ll like this chapter :’) As always if you’re a wannabe sugar daddy, don’t interact with this post.

Bucky looked around the coffee shop, his knee bouncing up and down in an erratic rhythm. He looked over his shoulder at the restroom door and bit his lip in thought. You’d been in there for a couple of minutes and he was starting to worry you were going to leave through the back door.

Your jacket was still resting on the back of your chair. Surely you wouldn’t leave without it. Then again, it was freezing cold and you were only wearing a really light coat.

He took a sip of his hot chocolate and grimaced behind his mug. It was cold. Then, just as he was setting his mug back down on the table, you rounded the table and took your seat.

Tilting his head, he studied your face in the artificial light. Your eyes were glazed and you were avoiding looking at him. You picked up your mug of hot chocolate and set it down away from you.

Bucky’s eyes were drawn to your hands as you clasped them in front of you. The back of your hand had traces of red lipstick. With slightly furrowed brows, he raised his eyes to your face. Your lips were slightly puffy and completely bare.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yes, I was just thinking.” Your top teeth pulled at your bottom lip, worrying it. “The night we met, you told me you weren’t looking for a sugar baby. What made you change your mind?”

Bucky ran his hand over the two-day stubble on his chin and jaw, and sighed. “It’s... I don’t know. When Sam told me I was going to meet you, I panicked. I googled the words ‘sugar daddy’ and I didn’t like what I found.” He paused and looked around him. The café was mostly empty. “If I’m doing this, I want to do it with someone I can trust, someone who isn’t going to smile at me and check her watch every five minutes.”

“I don’t have a watch,” you replied with a smug smile. He laughed. “What makes you think you can trust me? We don’t even know each other.”

He shrugged. “I know you’re kind, passionate, talented, caring, and I have a feeling you don’t care about money.” He took something from his pocket and laid it on the table. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have slipped this into my pocket this morning.”

You glanced at the $300 on the table and sat back in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. It was a classic defensive posture, and he realized just how careful and nervous you were. He looked down at his lap, cursing himself for making you feel uncomfortable. This wasn’t off to a good start.

“Okay but I only know three things about you,” you said, enumerating them on the tips of your fingers. “Your name is Bucky, you really like breakfast and you’re an over-tipper. And I’m pretty sure Bucky is just a nickname so, really, I only know two things about you.”

He sat forward in his seat with his elbow resting on the table and his fist supporting his head. A slow smile spread across his face. He tried to hide it behind his fist but he could feel it reach his eyes.

“I’ll tell you everything you want to know, angel.” He watched you with a soft smile but your face remained expressionless. “Fine.” He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “My name is James Barnes. My middle name’s Buchanan... hence Bucky. I don’t know why my parents thought it was a good idea to name me after one of our presidents but they did.”

You huffed out a laugh, and you both chuckled quietly.

“No one remembers President Buchanan anyway,” he continued, straightening his spine. “I’m 36, 37 in March. I’ve never been married, and I don’t have any children. I do have a sister, though. Her name’s Rebecca, and she’s a single mom with two kids. They all live in Indiana where I was born.”

“Mhhh, persimmon pudding,” you hummed, closing your eyes.

“It worries me that this is what you associate with Indiana,” he teased, smiling wide. “Besides nothing can beat sugar cream pies.”

“There’s no accounting for taste,” you replied with a smug grin. “Even bad taste.”

Bucky felt his heart leap in his chest. It was as if his heart wanted to jump into your hands but couldn’t because his goddamn ribcage was in the way. He pressed his lips together and waited until the feeling passed.

It must have taken too long because the next thing he knew, your fingertips were gently grazing his fingers in an attempt to pull him out of his thoughts. He flinched. His first instinct was to pull his hand away from yours, but he resisted.

Your fingers were freezing cold while his own were burning hot. It didn’t bother him. He hooked his fingers over yours and let his heat seep into you. It felt so good to be touched, to touch someone.

He couldn’t take his eyes away from your hand, he could hardly breathe and it took all his willpower to force himself away from the edge of desire. He didn’t mean it in a romantic way. His heart and soul longed for someone to hold him, to feel the heat and heartbeat of another human being.

He looked up at you, longing and ache clouding his features. It was too raw, you had to look away. He felt like you understood just how badly he craved physical contact. Maybe you craved it, too.

“So, um,” you cleared your throat, “you were born in Indiana?”

He took a sip of his cold chocolate before answering. “Yes, but we moved to Brooklyn when I was five. I still live in Brooklyn actually.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You come all the way from Brooklyn every Friday just to have breakfast at a shitty hotel in Chelsea? You must really like our breakfast.”

His cheeks turned pink but his smile was teasing. “Best coffee in Manhattan. Can’t turn it down.”

“If you say so.” You playfully rolled your eyes. “So, Mister James Barnes, do you have a job or were you born wealthy?”

He looked you in the eye while he propped his elbow on the table and rested his chin in the palm of his hand. “I’m a writer.” Your eyebrows rose, eyes twinkling with interest. “I started when I lost my arm.”

He sighed and started moving his bad shoulder in a circle as if just saying it out loud brought back an unexpected pain.

“It was ten years ago, I lost it while climbing Mount Everest with my best friend. I won’t bore you with all the details but while I was recovering the doctors tried to teach me how to do simple things like buttoning my shirt or tying my shoelaces. All these things we take for granted, y’know?” You nodded. “I was angry and depressed, and it was just so frustrating to keep trying to make my left arm move even though it was gone. They suggested I wear slip on shoes or use Velcro fasteners. It made me feel like a goddamn five year old.”

He took a small pause, watching you process his speech. There was no pity in your eyes, only curiosity and attentiveness. He had told this story many times before, he was almost reciting it by heart.

“Back then there weren’t a lot of people who shared tips on how to do these things. Now with YouTube, it’s a little easier for new amputees. So every time I figured something out, I wrote it down in a little notebook. It really helped me, and I realized it could help others as well. Long story short, I found an editor and it became a best seller. I got my fifteen minutes of fame.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Some of it.” Bucky shrugged. “With the money I bought an apartment in Brooklyn and moved out of Sam’s guest room. It felt good to be independent again.”

“Ah!” you exclaimed sourly and he tilted his head in question. “I don’t know if you remember but I told you I was living with Natasha. Well, actually I sleep on her sofa.”

He saw the mournful look in your eyes and it instantly reminded him of himself- incomplete, socially inept, a burden. No one should ever feel that way. Ever.

“It’s been over a year now. She won’t kick me out but...,” you sighed. “I know that having me around all the time is difficult. I’m invading her privacy.”

“I stayed with Sam for four years,” Bucky said with a smile. “You move at your own pace. There’s nothing wrong with that. You want to let her live her own life, but don’t forget that you’re entitled to your own life and privacy, too. It’s okay to put yourself first.”

“Easier said than done.” You gave him a sad smile. “Is it okay if we continue this another time? I’m getting tired.”

“Of course but, angel, I can’t let you leave when you look so sad,” he said, reaching for your hand. “What can I do?”

You watched his thumb stroking lightly over the back of your hand. “Does your offer still stand?”

He recoiled in surprise, his eyes wide with incredulity. “You mean the, uh, mentorship?”

“Yeah, whatever you want to call it.”

“Y-yes, yes, my offer still stands.”

You raised your head and forced yourself to look him in the eye. A chill ran down his spine at the intensity in your eyes. “I’m in.”

You agreed to meet him for dinner the following night at his apartment. You were cautious by nature and never one to follow a man you barely knew home, so you asked if one of your friends could come with you. He suggested asking Sam and Natasha to join you.

It made you feel more at ease. Natasha was like a sister to you, and she had already been through the whole arrangement thing with Sam. Not that you or Bucky wanted to talk about it with them – not now at least- but it was nice to know they’d be there.

The next day, Bucky made his way to the store with a list of ingredients on his phone. He was reading it over when he remembered to send you a text asking if you had any allergies. He was almost done shopping when you replied. He looked at the bag of frozen broccoli in the freezer and decided to send you another message.

What are your thoughts on broccoli?

Love them *green heart emoji*

Great! Broccoli ice cream for dessert then. He chuckled to himself when you replied with a broken heart emoji. Jking see you tonight.

Bucky spent the rest of the day cooking, cleaning and getting ready for the night. Cooking and cleaning were easy enough tasks, especially considering that his apartment was already spotless.

Getting ready was proving more difficult than he had expected. It took him an hour to pick out the right outfit, finally settling on a light blue shirt and a pair of beige slacks. His hair was being – for lack of a better word- a dick. He had half a mind to shave the whole thing off.

He was glaring at his hair in the mirror when the buzzer rang. He checked his watch, it was just past five thirty.

“Who’s it?” he asked, pressing the button on the intercom.

“Hi, hey, it’s me. I’m a little early, sorry.”

His stomach did a little flip. “Take the elevator to the third floor.”

Bucky fussed with his hair one last time and checked his teeth in the mirror. He wondered if he had bad breath. He breathed into his hand and smelled it -peppermint toothpaste. Not bad.

The elevator doors opened with a ding, and he made sure his shirt was tucked in his slacks before he opened the door. You stepped out of the elevator and looked around. When you saw him, your face lit up with a smile so gentle and genuine that it stirred something inside him. He pushed the feeling down.

“Come on in,” he said, gesturing you inside. “Would you mind taking your shoes off?”

“Sure.” You bent down to take off your shoes but your hands were full. “Oh, I got you this,” you said, thrusting a bouquet of wildflowers and a bottle of wine at him. He smiled playfully and your eyes landed on his missing left arm. You grimaced and looked down at your feet, feeling like an asshole.

“Thanks, angel,” he said, taking the flowers. “I can’t remember the last time someone brought me flowers.”

You let out a relieved laugh and set the bottle on the floor while you removed your shoes. “I didn’t want to show up empty-handed.”

You followed him to the kitchen and glanced around the room. The kitchen had an industrial feel with a huge stainless steel sink and a countertop island in the centre that could act as a breakfast bar or just some additional counter space. There was a casserole dish on the island and a basket of garlic bread.

The dinner table was a little off to the side and had already been set for four with beautiful wooden placemats, gold-rimmed dinnerware and two silver candlesticks.

“It’s really nice,” you said, leaving the bottle of wine on the island.

“I can give you a quick tour if you’d like.”

“Yes, I guess it’d be helpful, especially if I need to use the restroom later.”

Bucky chuckled under his breath as he arranged the flowers in a vase. He gestured at the closed door next to the enormous stainless steel fridge. “The guest bathroom is right here.”

“Good to know.”

There were two bedrooms behind the dining room area. The first one had a bunk bed and posters on the walls. You didn’t enter the room, only looked from the threshold. Bucky told you that it was where his sister’s kids slept when they came to visit.

The second bedroom was a little larger. Against the wall, just below the window, was a bed. It was bigger than a single but not quite the size of a double. You entered the room and sat on the bed. It was topped with a fluffy white duvet and throw pillows in different shades of grey and white.

Bucky leaned against the door frame, watching you look around the room. You took in the duck-egg blue velvet armchair with the scalloped edges. It was without a doubt the most comfortable chair in his apartment.

There was also a dresser with a huge mirror, a wardrobe and a small desk.

“It’s where your sister stays, right?”

He nodded and pushed himself off the door frame and into the bedroom. “Occasionally.” He took a seat next to you on the bed. “They used to visit me a lot, now it’s just a guest room.”

“Well, this room is beautiful and the view,” you paused and looked out the window, “is just wow. I can see the One World Trade Center. It’s amazing.”

The kitchen-slash-dining room opened to a step-down living room with a high ceiling. You stared at the ceiling with wide eyes, unaware that Bucky was chuckling to himself behind you.

“Even gymnasiums aren’t this huge,” you said, pointing up to the eighteen foot high ceiling. “And the windows! My God, they’re almost reaching up to the ceiling.” You turned to him. “How do you clean those? Do you have a special ladder or something?”

He shook his head at your antics and crossed the room to sit on the sofa. Meanwhile, you continued exploring, marvelling at the view –“Oh my God! Is that the Chrysler building?”- and touching pretty much everything. The curtains were soft and light, the exposed brick wall felt grainy and rough, and the massive wooden desk was hard and coarse under your palm.

“I like your living room,” you said, running your hand along the back of the sofa. “It’s not cold or pretentious, I really like it.”

“Thank you,” he replied with an amused frown. “To be honest, I hired someone to decorate the place.”

You laughed. “Yeah, no offense but I could tell.”

“None taken,” he laughed with you.

You sank into the sofa and let it swallow you whole. A gas burning fireplace sat next to the entertainment area. It heated the place nicely, leaving you toasty warm.

“It’s too bad the view is behind us,” you remarked, rolling your head to the side to look at him.

He smiled. “C’mon, I’ll show you what’s upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” you repeated in faux surprise. “Okay, Mr. Fancy.”

It took some effort to actually get up but you managed to follow Bucky to the second floor. There was a room upstairs that overlooked the living room. The room was bare except for a large desk against the wall and a bookshelf.

“The realtor sold me this room as a bedroom but the windows open on to the living room. You can actually see what’s going on inside this room when you’re downstairs. Not ideal. It’s probably the brightest room after the living room though.”

“You could turn it into an office.”

“I already have an office.”

You turned to him, smiling teasingly. “Of course you do.”

“You know,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I always thought this room would make a perfect artist’s studio. What do you think?”

You turned your head to him so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. “Are you serious?”

“I am,” he said with a nod.

While you processed his offer, Bucky showed you the master suite and his office. His office was the messiest room so far. There were papers everywhere, post-it notes stuck to the wall above his laptop and several notebooks scattered on the desk.

You continued down the hallway, stopping to look at framed pictures of Bucky’s family and friends. He paused in front of a floor to ceiling mirror that led to his closet. You were curious and asked if you could take a look.

It wasn’t a regular closet, it was a walk-in closet with a round sofa in the middle of the room. You stepped inside and fingered the shirts hanging in front of you.

“Saint Laurent, Prada, Dolce Gabbana,” you read out loud, then whistled. “You have quite a collection of Henley, Mr. Fancy.”

“Is that my official nickname?” he teased.

You shrugged. “I’m experimenting, Mr. Big Bucks.” His whole face scrunched up in comical disgust and you made a similar grimace. “Yeah, no, I heard it. I don’t like it.”

You took the back stairs back to the kitchen and sat at the kitchen island while Bucky opened the bottle of wine to let it breathe. He asked if you wanted something to drink and you politely declined.

“Thanks for the tour,” you said. “I’m sorry I showed up so early. I think I was a little nervous.”

“It’s fine.” He took a seat next to you. “I like spending time with you and I'm glad that we can spend some time together.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded and smiled. “Yeah.”

You both fell in a contemplative silence, lost in your thoughts. Bucky watched you run your fingers along the edge of the table. He looked at his watch and realized Sam and Nat were probably on their way to his apartment now.

“So what do you think about my proposition?”

“To use your guest room as an art studio?” you asked, making sure you were talking about the same thing. “It’s very generous but I’m not sure it’s feasible. I mean, you live in Brooklyn and I live in Chelsea. My shift ends at four but I have to be up really early. I’m usually too tired to do anything.”

“Do you like your job?”

You shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. It’s only temporary.”

“I can pay you to paint,” he said, turning sideways on his stool to face you. “Isn’t that what the Medici family did back then? I can be your patron.”

“Well, it sounds better than sugar daddy,” you sassed.

“Think about it,” he urged. “If I pay you, you won’t have to worry about the money. You can paint whatever you want, whenever you want. You can even live here.”

“Woah, wait a second,” you cut him off. “You want me to live with you?”

“I told you a lot about me yesterday, but there are things that are... difficult to admit out loud.” He heaved a deep breath as he gathered his thoughts and searched for the right words.

“I’m a little broken,” he said with a faint smile. “After I lost my arm, I started pushing people away. I was rude to everyone. I became very comfortable with being alone, actually I preferred it. I felt like a completely different person. I had to relearn how to do everything and it was exhausting. I feel better now but there are things that I don’t like. I don’t like when people stare at me, or call me brave. I don’t like when people assume I can’t do something or help me without asking. Makes me feel like a child.”

He didn’t look at you while he spoke. He couldn’t. But if he wanted to make this work, if he wanted to gain your trust, he had to be completely honest. Even if it pushed you away.

“I have a therapist,” he continued. “She helped me cope with my anxiety, my nightmares, my depression. But at the same time, I also developed an obsessive-compulsive disorder. I’m scared I’m going to relapse, that my progress is only temporary. Cleaning rituals, intrusive thoughts, magical thinking... those are a huge pain in my ass. I started to believe that if I don’t follow my morning routine I’m going to have a shitty day. It’s stupid bu-”

“It’s not stupid,” you told him, understanding shining in your eyes.

He smiled at you. “It doesn’t really matter. What matters is that I broke my routine because I needed to see you and apologize. And I broke it again after that. I guess you could say that I created a new habit but that’s not important. It takes a lot of effort to break or create a habit so it’s still a win in my book. Do you know why I call you ‘angel’?”

“Because you can’t remember my name.”

He sighed your name with fond exasperation, and smiled when it made you laugh. “No, it’s because, and it’s going to sound corny, but I feel like you might be my guardian angel. You’re so patient and kind, you make things easy for me.”

“Yeah, you’re right, it’s super corny,” you teased, tapping the tip of his nose with your index finger.

He scrunched up his nose with a smile. “So you see, living with me isn’t going to be easy.” He looked around the kitchen with a frown. “This place is too quiet. It doesn’t have a soul. It’s like nobody lives here. I want it to be messy and loud but I don’t know how to do that.” He turned to you, his blue eyes pleading. “You may think I’m doing you a favor but you’d be doing me a favor. I need you more than you need me.”

You rested your elbows on the counter and buried your face in your hands. He knew you needed time to process all this information but at the same time, he mentally patted himself on the back for actually opening up to you. It was a big step for him, no matter the outcome.

“Bucky, what you’re offering me is incredible. It’s everything I’ve always wanted and more.”

“But.”

“But there are people who depend on me financially. My job at the hotel isn’t exciting or fulfilling but it’s a steady income. What will I do in three months when you get tired of me?”

His face fell. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry. Listen, I think it’ll be safer if we write a contract. We can discuss the terms and include a clause, maybe a 30 days’ notice. I won’t throw you out, I promise.”

“We should talk about this with Nat and Sam. They’ve been through this. I mean taxwise it’s gonna be a compete mess. Does this mean I’m self-employed?” you wondered out loud. “Ugh, never mind.”

Bucky laughed, his leg started to bounce with nervous excitement. He couldn’t believe this was really happening. He watched you nibble your bottom lip. You met his eyes and smiled.

“Okay, let’s do this!”

Part 5

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

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fortheloveoffanfic · 3 years

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One More Weekend With You

Keanu Reeves x Reader (A/n-Was gonna post another one from this set of fics, but this was oh so conveniently edited and forgotten in my drafts)

Summary- Inspired by Tis The Damn Season of the Evermore album

Masterlist

Warnings- Angst

It was hard to tell, it had been so long and maybe he'd cut his hair and started wearing his beard lower. Maybe he'd changed the way he dressed- no, not really. Did he always keep his hand in his pocket when he walked? He did, it was definitely him, and there wasn't a chance that her heart was going to let her avoid him. He still had a place there after all.

Rubbing the cool metal of the key between her fingers, Y/n inhaled deeply, trying to brush off her nerves before making her way through the department store to where Keanu stood. "Ke?"

And of course, he'd know her voice anywhere. So instead of just turning to see who it was, Keanu smiled despite the wave of pain that usually accompanied the thought of Y/n. Even if their end had been bittersweet, she was still his 'one.' One true love. One person he wanted to see after a bad day. One voice he wanted to hear when he picked up the phone. "Y/n?" He tilted his head, temporarily abandoning the shelves lined with glassware he was looking at, to hug her quickly. It was short, though, not short enough for it to mean nothing. "You're back”.”

"I'm back," she nodded with a soft huff, righting herself and pulling away from their awkward embrace. He’d felt different and the same; like returning to an old playground and realizing that the magic had gone from childish wonder to aching nostalgia. "Just for the holidays though, after New Years its……"

"Back," he determined as his face fell. Why'd he even let himself think she'd come back for good. Out there was her dream…..L.A…..was just him. And he wasn't enough. "Uh…how-how are your folks? I saw them a couple months ago, they were grocery shopping, but I was in such a hurry, I didn't really get a minute to catch up." What he really meant was that he didn't want to see the look on their faces when they had to stand in conversation with the son-in-law they never had and worst yet, he didn't want them to talk about her, so he could hear how well she was doing without him.

“They’re good. What about your family?” As she spoke, Y/n tried to fight the twinge of regret that accompanied Keanu’s presence. Regret because every time they spoke, the dormant love for him was always reawakened. He told her, a long time ago, that once you started loving someone, if it was real, then it would never go away. And she had learned that he was right the hard way.

Nodding absently, he stuffed his hands into his pockets again, just to occupy them, “They’re good….” they still ask about you. He inhaled softly, not knowing what to say next. It was uncomfortable, before, just a few years ago, Keanu always knew what to say to her, because he could say anything to her. “So how have you been? How’s work? The job?” The job that you left me for.

“I’ve been okay,” Y/n shrugged, trying to muster up a smile, only just realizing that she wasn’t half as happy as she’d been when they were together. “And work’s……its good, the job’s….” not everything it was cracked up to be, especially since it took me away from you, “Its amazing, still can't believe I got it. What about you?” She stuttered, moistening her lips.

Keanu observed her curiously, noting how Y/n’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes and how she’d kept anxiously toying with her car keys. She always fiddled when she was nervous. “You sure everything’s okay, Y/n?” It was quite likely that it was no longer his place to ask, worst yet to try to fix things if something was wrong, but Keanu hated knowing that something was bothering her.

He always knew when she was lying. “I…..” Taking a deep breath, Y/n prepared herself to lie anyway, “You know, I’m just….it’s weird to be back, its been a while.”

“Yeah okay,” it was obvious that Y/n wasn’t going to tell him what was going on, not that Keanu could blame her, they had been over for a while by then, she wasn’t obligated to tell him anything. Still, he craved her company and wasn’t willing to let their interaction on such a flustered note. “I don’t know if you have the time, but if you do, maybe we could grab coffee or something, catch up a bit.”

Staring up at him with agape lips and sad eyes, Y/n contemplated for a minute before submitting, she couldn’t imagine saying no anyway, “Sure, okay. I’d like that. The place we usually go to?” She cleared her throat, realizing her mistake as heat rose to her cheeks, “Went to.”

Grinning fondly at her comment, Keanu tried to shake off the memories that the mention of that little coffee shop brought up, they’d had some great times there. “Great,” he determined, deciding that gift shopping could be put on pause for a bit. “It’s not too far from here, we can walk if you’d like.”

“Sounds great.” As they walked, Y/n and Keanu kept a comfortable distance between them. It wasn’t much though, she could still compare his warmth to Los Angeles heat, which had toned down significantly since the start of the holiday season. For a while, the only thing traded between them was silence, though, when they got to the coffee shop, Keanu surprised her by remembering her order to the letter. “You remember,” she mused with a soft soiree, in awe of how he’d held onto the smallest shred of their past.

How was he supposed to tell her that he’d never forget? That he sometimes ordered it for himself, just so the smell could dreg up an innocent memory or two. “You ordered it every time we came here,” he shrugged, glancing away, “And we came here a lot.”

Her gaze weaved through the patrons, eventually finding a wicker table for two near the back of the establishment, with a window view. It was the perfect place for couples to get cozy without receiving judgmental glances and lingering stares. It used to be their table but that afternoon, it was occupied by two strangers who’d never know the history shared between two lovers that had let something so precious escape them. “We did,” she agreed absently, watching the pair share pecks between sips from steaming mugs. That used to be them.

Noticing her far away look, Keanu found what she’d been looking at. The reminder that holding Y/n in his arms like that was now nothing but part of the past stung and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of the unknown couple that sat where they once did. “Do you want to walk instead?”

Reluctantly, she nodded, “Sure, lets go.” As they left the shop, Keanu placed his hand on the center of her back in an unconscious gesture and Y/n suppressed a shudder, caught off guard by how instinctively her body had responded by leaning in before her mind could even permit it. “So,” she eased as they walked along the busy streets, shoppers and pedestrians too caught up in their own busy lives to notice that they were brushing shoulders with a celebrity. And it helped that he was wearing sunglasses. “What have you been up to?”

Shaking his shoulders, “You know,” he took a punctuating sip of his scalding coffee, thinking up ways to make his life sound more exciting than it actually was, “Work, hanging out, dating around, that kind of thing,” he offered nonchalantly, subconsciously trying to show her he’d moved on since their split. At least, he’d tried to.

At the mention of dating, Y/n almost choked on a mouthful of coffee, brashly replacing the cup at her lips with a napkin so she wouldn’t make a mess. Dating around, that wasn’t something she was expecting to hear. It was something she particularly wanted to hear either, because what was a casual mention for him brought a landslide of panic for her. Keanu was moving on and one day, he was going to find someone that would choose him in a way she hadn’t. One day he’d be someone else’s. “That’s…..uh….” exhaling loudly, she mustered up a fake smile, “That’s great! I’m….I’m happy that you’re- you’re um...that’s great Ke,” Y/n stuttered.

“Thanks, I think,” he huffed shyly, “But I’m…..I’m not seeing anyone right now.” Apparently he’d developed a habit of oversharing since he’d met with Y/n merely an hour earlier. Perhaps it was solely because telling her everything used to be habitual.

Her head snapped towards him, eyes wide and lips agape. “You’re not?” She breathed, hoping she didn’t sound too eager. When he confirmed, Y/n proceeded without thinking, “That’s great,” internally kicking herself as soon as she heard the words.

“What?” Keanu halted abruptly, only moving once more to step in front of Y/n. His brows were furrowed and he was starting to wonder if he’d heard her correctly.

“I mean….it’s….not great,” taking a deep breath, Y/n desperately sought to slow the erratic thumping in her chest, finding that the quickest remedy was meeting his whiskey orbs. “It’s….fuck,” she sighed, overwhelmed by the surge of buried feelings that had started welling up since they’d hugged. “I mean…..” Again, Y/n trailed off, at a loss for words, “It’s……”

Bringing his hand up to cup her neck, Keanu leaned down, kissing her slowly, letting instinct take over. He knew what she liked; the slow introduction of his tongue, the way it occasionally glazed over hers and a little nibble on her lower lip to keep things a bit rough. She was liking it then too, Keanu could tell by the way she’d stumbled closer, grasping a fistful of his jacket. “Is that what you were trying to say?” Keanu whispered as they broke.

“Yeah,” a glimmer of a smile tugged at her lips as an idea brewed. “What are you doing this weekend?” She asked softly, the tips of their noses still brushing as they held each other close.

“I’m supposed to spend Christmas at my sister’s,” his words said in a tone that was meant to protect their moment, “Why?”

Dragging her lower lip through her teeth, Y/n debated on whether or not she was about to make a fool of herself. But she had to try; returning to Los Angeles had left her craving Keanu’s company and the fact that they were both single had to mean something. “Spend it with me. We could be like this again….just for a little bit.”

“That’s not a good idea,” he resisted, not really wanting to but knowing that it might be in both their best interests if they didn’t go down that road again; she was leaving after the holidays anyway.

“I know,” Y/n sighed wearily, “But don’t you want to anyways? We could pretend that nothing’s changed,” her free arm rounded Keanu’s neck and her fingers twirled the ends of his hair. “Please, just think about it, okay?”

Conflicted and caught between wanting to be with her, if only for a bit and doing what was best for them both, Keanu took a step back, taking his hand off her and consequently urging Y/n to retract her hold on him. “You can’t come here and just expect me to go along with this.”

“I’m not expecting anything,” she argued, “You were the one that kissed me, and I’m just asking you to consider it. Don’t you miss me? Cause I miss you, Keanu.”

“I….” Mulling on her question, Keanu hit his fist to his thigh, shaking his head, “Doesn’t matter, Y/n,” turning, he walked away without saying goodbye, waving dismissively as he melded into the crowd.

Christmas Day Y/n had tried forcing herself into forgetting how things had gone down with Keanu earlier that week, when she’d asked him to spend Christmas together, the way they had when they were both convinced that they were going to be each other’s forever. But she couldn’t, he’d been on her mind constantly, and every time her phone rang, she’d snatch it up in hopes that he’d changed his mind, and every time, when it was work, or even on of her friends, Y/n felt the sting of disappointment dig at her heart.

Five whole days had passed and she was even starting to get used to it; accepting that she had crossed a line and Keanu was right, when on Christmas day, while she was caught in conversation with her father over very strong eggnog, her mother entered the sitting room, grasping the arm of a familiar figure. Her parents had always adored him, they’d hoped she would marry him, let him be the one that fathered their grandbabies and they were so disappointed when it hadn’t worked out. “Look who’s here!” She announced, squeezing Keanu’s bicep affectionately, broad smile plastered on her face.

“Keanu, son! Look who’s here Y/n!” Her father nudged as if she hadn’t already seen him, standing giddy in the doorway, flashing the room with that movie star grin.

“Yeah dad,” she breathed, not believing her eyes. He’d actually come, even after the way things had ended a few days ago. “What…..what’re you doing here?”

“I’m here to see you sweetheart,” Keanu beamed, slipping away from her mother, approaching Y/n and then bending to kiss the side of her lips. “I thought about what you said,” he whispered, only loud enough for her to hear, “And I miss you too,” he ended his words with another peck, easily wrapping an arm around her shoulders as her family eyed them with confusion. “Y/n invited me, and I was just wondering if that invitation is still open.”

“Of course it is!” Her mother cheered, clapping her hands excitedly, “You know we love having you here Keanu!”

“I’m glad you came,” Y/n shifted in his embrace, standing on her toes so she could peck his cheek, hugging Keanu at the waist. After that, things fell into the way they used to be; like Keanu was part of their family, and for the rest of the evening, he and Y/n had acted as if nothing had changed between them. As if they were still that couple that was so in love that it was hard to believe they’d ever break up. And it was easy to return to being those people too; within an hour together, it was easy to pretend that nothing had changed, to act as if there hadn’t been a fight a few nights before Y/n got on a plane that would whisk her out of his life or Keanu hadn’t called her a week later, drunk out of his mind only to pour his heart out and beg her to come back. It was as if a day hadn’t passed since their last good one and they were still each other’s future.

When presents and dinner was through, and after Keanu had brought a duffle bag up to Y/n’s room and the cool sun had set making way for the glowing moon, he and Y/n had slipped away from the family festivities to go on a walk around the block. They’d shrugged light coats on over their clothes and had linked arms as they strolled up the desolate street, absently staring at the homes illuminated with colorful lights and Christmas decorations. ��What made you change your mind?” Y/n probed, nuzzling his arm, subconsciously hoping he wouldn’t change it again.

“I don’t think I did change it,” Keanu mused, keeping his eyes forward, “I was always gonna come. You know me; I can’t seem to stay away from you,” he gently tugged her closer. Being with her like that, it felt like right, like things were finally the way they were supposed to be, “I miss us, you know?”

“Mm hmm,” he she hummed, resting her head on her bicep, letting Keanu guide them forward with complete trust, “I miss us too. You’d like it there,” she said, referring to where she’d started building her new life, trying to keep them from lapsing into silence.

“Yeah?” He kicked a pebble absently, wondering what it would be like if he ever did move. Could he do that? Leave his family back in L.A to be with Y/n? She was worth it, after all, she was the only woman he’d ever seen himself having a future with. “I think you’re the only person I’ve ever met that wanted to leave Los Angeles to make it big,” he changed the topic, too fearful to let the thought of leaving behind everything he’d built for himself in California cement itself. Maybe they were selfish, Keanu thought, that was why things couldn’t work out for them; cause neither of them was willing to adjust what they wanted outside of each other.

“I think you might be right,” Y/n chuckled and it wasn’t long before they'd fallen into what she’d dreaded; silence. Back at the house, she had the cover of menial chatter, but on the barren sidewalk, where there was nothing to shroud the heaviness of things that were kept guarded, it was different. The atmosphere was clumsy and she felt a way she never had around Keanu; uncomfortable.

“I’d gotten you something,” he broke the quiet, sounding unsure of himself, “Before you told me you were leaving for the job, I’d gotten you something. Well, technically, it was given to me, for you, I guess.”

Throwing him a curious glance, she urged him to slow down, “I don’t understand,” knitting her brows, Y/n silently pleaded with him to elaborate.

“Your mom,” he explained, “She gave me your grandmother’s ring…”

“You were gonna….” Maybe if she’d known before she would have changed her mind.

“Yeah,” he sighed heavily, reminiscing on how that night had gone. How’d they texted each other excitedly on their way home, how he’d insisted she go first, only to hold himself back when she broke the news that the job might threaten to tear her away from him. Long distance wasn’t for them and Keanu knew that moving wasn’t in the cards for him. “Were you mad at me?” She probed meekly.

Huffing a dry chuckle, Keanu shook his head, “No, when I saw how your eyes lit up when you told me about it, all I wanted was for you to be happy, even if that meant it wouldn’t be here, with me.”

“I was happy with you,” they stopped, and turned to face each other, hands still tangled, and unchecked tears threatening to spill over as her voice broke, “I think I was happier with you.”

“I know,” his tone was low and husky as Keanu stepped closer, muting the few inches of space between them. She didn’t need to ask how he did and Keanu had no cause to explain; they knew each other better than most ever would; he could pick up on her faked smiles from a mile away. “Would it be wrong if I asked you to stay?”

Still trying to fight the wave of emotion, Y/n looked at their interlocked fingers, frowning at how well they worked together. No other hands would ever feel like that, and she’d long made peace with the fact. “Would it be wrong if I asked you to wait?”

Closing his eyes, he bent lower to press his forehead to hers, letting her scent tickle his senses. It was as if he was trying to freeze himself in time, so he’d be forever basking in the sweet smell of her perfume and the comfort of her touch while the warmth that radiated between them, tethering him to her was one he was sure he could never remember to its exact perfection. Why couldn’t things be easier? “I’m sorry,” he shuddered, letting his breaths be captured by her quivering lips.

“It’s my fault,” Y/n exhaled, sniffling, “But at least we have right now, right?”

Keanu hugged her low at the waist, burning his face in Y/n’s hair while she sought refuge in the crook of his neck, “Yeah,” hot tears made their slow journey down his his cheek, and he could feel moisture soaking his t shirt where Y/n had buried her face, “At least we have now.”

Even if it would never be enough, for now, it was all they had.

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #tis the damn season #angst #john wick #holiday fic #kind of

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Note

Hmmm... Yandere big 3- Tamaki Nejire and Mirio- with an apathetic darling would be interesting... they’re so smothering, affectionate, so s w e e t, and no amount of spoiling or punishments seem to get through to the Darling. No matter how long they spend in that dark cold cramped closet or basement or in those chains or or or. Not acceptance or defiance, just existing in the wake of what life brings, in total apathy. Your thoughts?

I chose to go in a sort of ‘apathy caused by circumstance’ direction with this, if only because a good majority of the parties involved would have such a hard time accepting it. It’s nice to see them try, though.

Title: Indifference.

TW: Dehumanization and Mentions of Kidnapping

Nejire and Mirio hadn’t noticed, yet.

Tamaki couldn’t blame them. He cared for his companions, but he recognized that he was the most grounded one in their little group, too. They were caring and confident and doing their best to keep you happy, but they seemed hesitant to accept that you might not be just as devoted, not as willing to make ‘compromises’. He’d been worried, at first, dreading Mirio’s disappointment and Nejire’s disillusionment, but… that was a waste of time. They’d been fine, never indulging your cries for attention and making sure your compliance was treated as the expectation, not the exception. His concern had been useless, just as your defiance had been.

And yet, he couldn’t help but worry about you.

Even as you sat between his legs, your back slotted against his chest and your head lolled against his shoulder, you didn’t squirm, didn’t try to get away, not like you used to, when Tamaki showed his muted affection. Your attention was focused on the two figures standing at the foot of your bed, both elbow-deep in your closet and caught in an argument about specifics that, in Tamaki’s opinion, didn’t really matter. Why would it? You looked beautiful in everything, and he was sure the quantity of your accessories wouldn’t make a difference in that.

You didn’t seem to care, either. You were staring in their direction, but your concentration wavered every few seconds, your eyes soon glazed over, your lips pursing in an attempt to hide the thoughts that were running through your head. A few weeks ago, you hated it when they argued, whether it had to do with your outfit or welfare or latest outburst, back when that was still a point of concern. Now, you didn’t seem to care, remaining unresponsive when their voices grew more aggressive and their volumes raised, simply letting your gaze drop to the bedsheets. More out of boredom than aversion.

Unsteadily, Tamaki broke the silence in your corner of the room. He never liked being the one to speak first. “Are you alright, (Y/n)?” He asked, wrapping an arm around your midriff, pulling you as close as he dared to. You stiffened, but didn’t pull away. He took it as a sign to continue. “We can leave, if you’re uncomfortable. Hado doesn’t usually get tired of this kind of thing for another hours or two, and Togata isn’t any better. They might not notice, if we’re quiet.”

You didn’t answer, not immediately, toying with his sleeve as you bit the inside of your cheek. He wondered if you were considering it, but it was obvious you hadn’t reached a conclusion, by the time you opened your mouth. “If you want to,” You mumbled, your voice barely audible. Takami told himself you didn’t want the others to hear. “I don’t really care. I’m fine here, but I’d hate to leave you alone.”

A lie, blatant and unapologetic. You barely tried to hide it, no longer forcing a smile or attempting to meet his eyes. Takami grit his teeth, and distantly, Mirio suggested lending you a jacket from his newest merch line. “We’re not… They’re trying to do something nice for you,” He explained, hesitantly, unsure of how to put it as to best spare your feelings. “I shouldn’t be the one to tell you, but--”

“Tamaki!” You flinched when Nejire called out, shrinking into Tamaki’s chest, but you turned your head nonetheless, taking in her distress slowly. She’d overheard your conversation, judging from the fists planted on her hips and the scowl pulling at the corners of her lips, but she wasn’t mad, her frown eventually devolving into a trickling, unabashed laugh, one that only stopped once she’d made her way to the side of her bed, settling onto the edge of the mattress. She cupped your cheek, and you let her, accepting the affection with stiff acknowledgment. It seemed awkward to Tamaki, but if Nejire cared, she didn’t show it. Instead, she stifled another laugh, leaning forward to kiss your forehead before she spoke. “You weren’t supposed to tell ‘em, not before Mirio and I broke the news. I guess there isn’t a point trying to keep it a secret.” She sighed, sticking her tongue out in his general direction. He only shied away, burying his face in your shoulder. “We’re going on a date, today, a real date. You’ll be able to go outside and everything!”

“With supervision,” Mirio added, having joined the conversation after a second’s delay. He was still standing, but he threw an arm over Nejire’s shoulders, the two successfully forming a barrier between your form and the rest of the room, between you and space to breathe. Tamaki felt it too, even if the claustrophobia was subdued for him, and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the way you edged away from them, moving as far as his barriers would allow. “We still don’t want you running off, but you’ve earned this. It’s a reward, for how good you’ve been, lately.”

That seemed to catch you off-guard, your lips parting but no noise coming out. Tamaki’s reaction wasn’t much different. You’d stopped misbehaving, but you’d been less interactive than ever, less alive. What time you didn’t spend in their arms, you spent locked away, hidden, only coming out when you were called. Obedience clearly wasn’t your goal, and yet, Mirio seemed content to act as if it was. To pretend and go on with Nejire about their lovely little angel, and count the days since your last act of violence like they were anniversaries to be celebrated. Like it was evidence you wanted to be there.

Tamaki knew you didn’t. He wasn’t crazy. He knew no sane person would be happy, in your situation.

He wasn’t sure if he could say the same for Mirio and Nejire, though, sometimes.

“It should be their choice,” Nejire muses, tugging on the hem of Mirio’s shirt. After a moment, he nodded, and she turned towards you, her smile brighter than ever. “Where do you want to go, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t do anything, really. You looked forward, but you were staring ahead blankly, suddenly slack against Tamaki. Your nails dug into his wrist, but you didn’t seem to care, silent and confused and angry, even if he knew you’d never vocalize it. He could’ve told them. He could’ve said you needed time to think, and you were still adjusting, but… it’d break Mirio’s heart, Nejire’s, too. He was doing you a favor. He was sure you wanted to be rewarded, and accepting an unprompted gift would be easier than taking an unwarranted punishment. This would be better for you.

So, he smiled, propping his chin on your shoulder and taking over. “There’s a park nearby, and (Y/n) could use the fresh air. It shouldn’t be very crowded.”

Nejire clapped, and Mirio rested his free hand on Tamaki’s shoulder, both beaming. Neither paid any mind to your continued reticence, and for once, he was thankful for their disregard of your efforts.

They weren’t the most attentive. Sometimes, they were busy, or indulgent, and didn’t have time for your tantrums or your cravings or what you had to say. And you still weren’t used to having your praises ignored as often as your complaints.

But that didn’t matter. You had all the time in the world to adjust.

Tamaki was sure Nejire and Mirio were loving enough to make up for it.

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immortalcoelacanth · 4 years

Text

Between the Walls, Chapter 3: To Earn His Keep (Dream SMP fic)

*hits table*

I have so many wips, why is my muse just like this?

Word count: 5313

Summary: Jobs are assigned and questions are asked as to why the hell Tommy and Techno are still putting up with one another.

Tommy had been confused as to what Techno meant by him having to work to earn the right to stay in his house. What work could he possibly do that would benefit him?! He couldn’t chop wood, or mine any precious resources. Crafting was also out of the question since he could only make things that were good for someone his size, so that left…

Nothing.

There was nothing he could do. There was no possible job that would suit him that Techno would benefit from, so he honestly had no idea what would come of the deal they had made. Perhaps nothing at all, and he would be allowed

Yeah right, as if he had ever been that lucky.

“TECHNOBLAAAAAADE! YOU FUCKING DICKHEAD!” Tommy howled as he clutched the wooden bars of the makeshift cage he was in. It was practically a repurposed box, the gap between the bars being too slim for the borrower to slip through, but even if they were big enough, he wouldn’t dare escape.

Primarily because of the large pit of groaning mods below him.

Apparently, the “work” Techno had planned for him was nothing more than him acting as bait for a basic mob farm. He was suspended above a pit, his cage attached to a wooden outcropping, and the faint glowing of the strange, red and orange cubes below him allowed him to easily see the hoard of zombies, skeletons, and the occasional creeper milling about.

He glanced back at the house and scowled, knowing Techno was probably sitting inside, all safe and warm. The cage barely blocked out any of the freezing winds, and since Tommy hadn’t been able to grab a jacket before being put out here, there was nothing to protect him from the cold. He was stuck, freezing and yelling at the top of his lungs.

Damn that stupid pig-

… Or hybrid.

It was a term the borrower was vaguely familiar with, he had been eavesdropping when one of the farmers back in Borrowton mentioned “hybrid plants” and how useful they could be. From what he knew, hybrids were like a sort of mixture, two different things being used to make one. Two different plants producing a new one.

He guessed one of Techno’s parents really was a pig fucker.

Tommy snorted at the joke before shuddering in the brisk breeze, arms wrapping tightly around himself while he huddled up on the floor of the cage. It sucked, being out here with nothing but the mobs for company. At least when he had been with Techno, he’d been able to interact, to socialize. It was something that he had always craved, to be able to reach out and connect with people. Even Techno’s occasional barbs, jokes, and the anger he caused Tommy to feel was better than being stuck outside.

Bastard, going from acting like he wanted to protect him to sticking him out here.

… Speaking of which, it had been very strange to witness that exchange. See the way that Techno hesitated to reveal his presence, and the fact that he had tried to hide Tommy further after the librarian made it aware that he knew the borrower was there. Some part of him had cheered, recognizing that maybe the pig-hybrid actually cared about him in some way, even though they had only known one another for about a day, but Techno’s actions earlier-

“What’re you making?” Tommy hesitantly asked as tried to stare at the crafting table. He had basically been told, ordered, to wait on the table while Techno finished whatever it was that he was making. Not wanting to anger the pigman, he had reluctantly done his best to stay in place.

Fidgeting the entire time, of course. Staying put had never been his strong suit.

“Just something to help with your new job.” Techno explained before turning around and showing off the cage he had made. “Gonna make things a lot easier.”

“... What’re you gonna put in it, then?” Tommy questioned, not at all liking where this was going. Of course, the answer he got was one he had expected, but still never wanted to hear.

“You, duh.”

Techno grinned, and Tommy felt his heart drop.

“You’re gonna be the bait.”

Had obliterated the small sparks of that hope. Techno didn’t care about him and only saw him as a means to an end. Probably why he got so huffy when that other guy noticed him. Clearly no one was allowed to mess with or torment Tommy unless it was Techno himself-

Twang!

The borrower let out a startled yelp as an arrow slammed into the side of his cage, making it rock and sway. He scrambled to the side of the enclosure and tried to spot what had shot at him. His eyes scanned the empty yard, briefly landing on the empty stall that Techno must have built for some reason. It was weird to just have that structure sitting there, all empty and ready for some animal to inhabit it-

There!

Tommy shook himself out of his thoughts as he spotted the source of the arrow. A lone skeleton that had, somehow, not stumbled over and fallen into the pit, was aiming at him, bow drawn and another arrow pointed in his direction. He immediately backpedaled, arms flailing as the newest arrow was released, just barely missing the cage.

Shit, shit!

“Fuck off you stupid bitch!” Tommy howled as the skeleton readied another arrow. As it was aimed at him, his panic and the pitch of his voice increased until he was practically shrieking. “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU-”

Twang!

Another arrow slammed into the skeleton’s skull, bone shattering and turning to dust. The monster dropped to the ground, the fallen bow and arrows the only sign of it ever having been there, and he quickly looked over at what, or who, had shot the arrow.

Technoblade.

Of course.

“Couldn’t have shown up any sooner, you bitch?!” He shouted, internally cringing when those too bright, red eyes landed on him. He watched as the hybrid rested the crossbow he had used to kill the skeleton on his shoulder before making his way over to the wooden post. He glared down at Techno, more than aware of how not intimidating he looked as he shuddered in the cold. Although, his glare lightened up when he was finally removed from the post, less exposed to the winds as he was unintentionally sheltered by the hybrid’s body.

“I was just testing a hypothesis I had.” Techno simply responded. The borrower waited to see if he would elaborate on what that meant. A moment passed, then two, and then-

“Well tell me then! You don’t need to act so secretive!”

That tiny, near invisible smile on Techno’s face grew as he started to speak. “A hypothesis on whether your voice is annoying enough to instantly agro mobs, and it is from the looks of it. Congratulations-”

“Wh-you bitch!” Tommy sputtered as he raged and pointed aggressively at the amused hybrid. “I have the voice of an angel! It’s not annoying!”

As if trying to prove Techno’s point, and in turn prove the borrower wrong, another arrow was launched at the duo. Techno easily dodged it, hardly sparing a glance at the new skeleton as he returned fire and took it down, while Tommy was jostled about thanks to the sudden movement. He just barely managed to stop himself from smacking his head against the wooden bars, and that scowl on his face grew deeper.

For some reason, Techno possessed the uncanny ability to infuriate Tommy no matter what he did. Whether it was his occasionally smug, know-it-all attitude or how obtuse he could be at times, there was just something about him that never failed to upset the borrower.

… Not that he would ever tell him, of course.

Of course, his general unease and anxiety towards this new situation did not help in the slightest, leaving him on edge and ready to snap when something potentially bad happened. It was a miracle he had not been killed yet, and he quietly wondered how much longer his luck would last.

Not that such a thought would stop him from acting like how he typically did.

So, as was in his nature, Tommy immediately started shouting and cursing once more. “And why the fuck did you stick me up there for so long, anyways?! It was freezing up there-”

“You wanna go for round two?” Techno interrupted, lifting the cage up so Tommy could easily see the wooden post he had been hanging from. Immediately, the borrower backed up and started shaking his head.

“No! No, c’mon man! I was just teasing you!” He backpedaled. “Just a little joke, I swear!”

“The only joke here is your accidental pun.” Techno quipped, his smile growing as he watched realization, and then horror, cross Tommy’s face.

“Listen! It’s-it’s a crime to make jokes about me being small, because I’m not! Absolutely criminal!”

Techno let out another chuckle as he shut the door behind him and made his way towards the table. “It’s a good thing I don’t follow laws, then.”

Tommy didn’t dare ask what that meant.

Fortunately, a distraction soon appeared in the form of the cage being set down on the table, followed by one of the sides being removed. He quickly jumped out once there was enough room for him to move, stumbling a bit over the lip of the cage before he straightened himself out.

He ignored the amused snort he heard from beside him, not at all looking at Techno, and instead chose to bask in the sensation of finally being indoors, even if he was still freezing. Tommy shuddered as he wrapped his arms around himself, doing his best to heat up after being exposed to the cold for however long he had been stuck outside. The roaring fireplace definitely helped to chase away some of the chill, and he found his eyes lingering on the large pot that had been added to the fireplace. The air smelled… nice, and it looked like Techno had decided to make soup for himself.

Strange, since he swore the hybrid’s diet consisted of nothing but steak and the occasional, weird sparkly apple.

God, he’d been dying to bite into one of those and see what they tasted like…

He jumped in surprise as Techno placed a small, obviously handmade, wooden bowl filled with soup on the table. Curious, he slowly walked over and checked it out. It was still a bit too large for him to use, he’d probably drown himself if he tried to drink straight from it, but it was definitely much more manageable for him to use.

“Is… is that for me?”

The hybrid just nodded as he got himself his own bowl of soup. As such, he was unaware of how Tommy’s jaw dropped in pure shock, as he carefully traced the side of the bowl. The guy who’d spent the last twenty four hours tormenting him had made something for him, made something that would make his life easier!

He hadn’t been given any cutlery when he’d been kicked out of Borrowton, all he had were some basic tools and rations of food. The absolute bare necessities. And, instead of letting him suffer and search for something he could use, Techno had made it using his own two hands.

It dawned on him, in some strange, iconic twist of fate that he had unintentionally helped Tommy out more than his own people had. Invested more care into making sure he didn’t just survive, but was also comfortable.

… And not spilling soup all over the place-

Regardless, it was one of the last things he would have ever expected from Techno, and he quietly wondered if the hybrid had been working on the bowl while he had been stuck outside. Was this…

A reward?

Tommy’s breathing hitched and he quickly wiped his eyes before any of the budding tears could fall, idiot, crying over something as stupid as a bowl. By the time he had gotten his emotions under control, Techno had looked over to find him just staring at the bowl, appearing to be doing nothing.

“Did you expect me to spoon feed you or something?” He chuckled, waiting for Tommy to respond. When the borrower said nothing, his smile faded. “Bruh-”

“Don’t look at me like that!” Tommy objected, nearly knocking the bowl over as he turned his attention to Techno. “I’m just surprised! Big, bad, Blade making a bowl, never thought I’d see the day. Guess you’ve got little dainty girl hands for that!”

Techno rolled his eyes as the borrower continued rambling, tuning him out as he went about his supposedly dainty hands, and questions about if he made bird houses in his spare time. Eventually, Tommy got that he was done interacting, and the duo focused on their respective meals, with the borrower burning his tongue in his haste to try the soup.

“Fuck.” He hissed, waving a hand over the bowl to help it cool down as he cringed in pain. After waiting for the burning sensation to fade, as well as checking to see whether the soup had cooled down enough, he carefully tried again.

As he slowly sipped away at his soup, he watched as Techno made his way over to a chair, picking up the book that had been placed on it, as well as putting on his reading glasses. They were surprisingly worn, primarily held together by tape, and just barely managed to stay on the hybrid’s face as he sat down and cracked open the book. He then quickly realized that the book was the one he had gotten from the librarian.

The one about borrowers.

He felt… weird knowing someone was basically researching him, studying up on the supposed myths about his kind, and wondered to himself when he would get interrogated. Would Borrowton be mentioned in that book, or one of the other settlements? Tommy had never visited them, but he knew they were out there.

Knew about the rumours of the secret tracks that had supposedly connected each settlement to one another and was used to ship goods back and forth. He and Tubbo had tried searching for them one day and had only wound up with bruises and a stern scolding from the adult borrowers, telling them it was foolish to believe in made up stories.

But he never listened. Those tracks were there, had to be there. He and Tubbo had spent so many nights dreaming of how they’d get away, racing down the rails in a minecart. The angry yells and shouts fading as they raced off into their newest adventure.

They had planned to find a home using those rails.

And they would, Tommy promised himself as he grit his teeth. They would go on that adventure, they would find a home. He would get back to Tubbo, no matter what. All he needed was to figure out how to get back to Borrowton, and perhaps snag some supplies from Techno when he wasn’t looking.

… Maybe that book would come in handy after all.

Not that he had any hope in hell of stealing it, or even really reading it since the book was considerably larger than him, but it was the only chance he had at figuring out where Borrowton was and how he might get there.

It was ironic, to think he had spent so long dreaming about getting away from that hellhole and then ending up stuck in a situation where he needed to do everything he could to get back.

All in the name of Tubbo, of course.

He’d rather spend the rest of his life stuck with the annoying prick known as Technoblade instead of going back to Borrowton if it weren’t for Tubbo.

… He did need a proper plan, though. He had to survive, figure out how to escape the hellish tundra he was in, get supplies for his journey which would probably last several days, and figure out what path he needed to take to reach Borrowton. Plus he’d need to figure out how to sneak in and find Tubbo, too.

So many things… did he even have a chance at completing them all? He could easily freeze to death in the snow, get mauled by some monster, starve, get lost and never reach his destination-

Don’t think about it.

He let out a sigh and placed the bowl down, distantly noticing he had finished his soup. It was nice, tasted like potatoes and something else. Unconsciously, he started rubbing his thumb against the smooth rim of the wooden bowl. All in all, being exiled wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought it was going to be, aside from him missing Tubbo of course. Techno was a bastard, a prick through and through, but he was surprisingly…

Nice wasn’t the word. Less cruel than he thought he would be? He thought back to the discussion with that nerdy librarian and let out a snort. Borrowers and hybrids working together, living together, sounded like a load of crap.

… Even if he was technically doing that just now.

But it wasn’t like there was some mystical force making them act all soft! Like… like they were best friends or something! He and Techno weren’t buddies or allies, they were just stuck together until either Techno got tired of him and kicked him out, or he left.

Nothing more, nothing less.

With both his meal and mental contemplation finished, he stood up and made his way over to the edge of the table, attaching his grappling hook to the end and throwing the rope over the side. He didn’t bother to check on what Techno was doing as he slid down, bowl carefully pinned between his arm and his body, and felt no need to tell the hybrid he was leaving. The last thing he wanted was to piss him off or something.

As he made his way over to the hole in the floor that would lead to his home, he was unaware of the contemplative, glowing red eyes that followed him. Nor did he see how those eyes narrowed as they landed on the bowl he was still carrying.

The next day, Tommy jolted awake as the sound of knocking reverberated through the hollow he lived in. He yelped in surprise and promptly tumbled out of his makeshift bed, a pile of wool and other fabric he had managed to steal from Techno. For a moment he stayed on the floor, looking up at the carved ceiling as he contemplated whether it was worth it to get up or not.

The more trust you gain, the more you can get away with. Work. Take what you can. Find a way back to Tubbo-

Yup, that was enough motivation to get him moving.

Slowly, he pushed himself upright and got ready for whatever Techno had planned for the day. Since it was morning he doubted he’d be acting as bait again, nor did he think he would have to deal with any mobs. Perhaps he would get a chance to relax?

Maybe he might be able to scope out some of the more valuable items Techno had that could help him since he didn’t have to worry about sneaking around as much. Or he could always try and check that book out and see if he could actually move the pages enough to read it.

But before he could even consider doing that, he had to figure out what Techno wanted from him.

It didn’t take long for him to finish freshening up, and soon enough he was quickly making his way back through the tunnels towards one of the few exits he had made. Fortunately, the section of the tunnel that Techno had damaged had been replaced.

Of course, the hybrid had left it up to Tommy to actually carve out the replacement tunnel, which left the whole system feeling pretty disconnected since the walls no longer lined up.

The prick.

Eventually he made his way out of the tunnel, climbed out of the hole in the floor, and walked out into the open. Instinctively he shuddered, hating how exposed he felt. This feeling only increased as he felt the ground shake with each of Techno’s steps. In no time at all, he found himself in the hybrid’s shadow once more, reminded of just how vulnerable he was.

He hated it, hated it so damn much, but he did his best to swallow his fears and not retreat back into the comforting shadows of the shelf.

“So, what’s the plan for today, big man?” Tommy asked, rocking back and forth in place as he stared up, and up, and up, at the hybrid. Damn Techno and his stupid tallness, making his neck hurt with how far up he had to look.

He let out a startled yelp when he was picked up, the back of his shirt pinched yet again as he was moved from the ground and carried over to the crafting table. It took all of his willpower to stop himself from struggling, lest he was dropped, and he felt no small amount of relief when he was put down.

“The fuck was that for?!”

“I didn’t feel like watching you fumble with a rope.”

“Fumble?” Tommy scoffed and flexed his arms. “There ain’t no fumblin’ with manly muscles like these-”

“Are they just for show or do you actually know how to use them, then?”

Well that question definitely caught him off guard. The borrower paused, momentarily uncertain as to how to respond, before he that cocky smile appeared on his face once again. “I’ve won plenty of fights with these bad boys-”

“Great.” He didn’t miss the way Techno rolled his eyes, nor did he miss the heavy sarcasm that laced his voice. “Try this out.”

The item that the hybrid nudged over was… surprising to say the least.

“It’s… a stick.” Tommy blinked as he picked the stick up and looked it over. It was a bit longer than the length of his forearm, and if it weren’t for the lack of a sharpened end he would have assumed it was just a toothpick. “You gave me a stick.”

“It’s for practice, I’m not gonna give you a sharpened one and watch you trip and stab yourself with it.”

“I wouldn’t-practice?” All the anger Tommy felt at the implication of being a clutz, which he absolutely was not, evaporated as what Techno was saying registered. “For what?!”

“Self defense.” Techno shrugged. Upon taking note of the aghast expression on Tommy’s face, he elaborated further. “Not everyone you meet is gonna be as nice as me.”

Especially if I need you to spy on L’Manberg.

“Yeah, like you’re just the shining beacon of goodness.” Tommy scoffed while rolling his eyes.

“Beacon? Paragon has more impact to it. You really need to work on that lexicon of yours, kid-”

“And there you go makin’ up words again! Paragon! Lexicon! What’s the next word you’re gonna make up? Ontological?”

“... Tommy, that is a word.”

“Your mum’s a word, and that word is bitch!”

“Are you going to keep throwing a tantrum over the tiny dictionary you call a brain, or are you actually going to listen to me?”

Tommy grumbled and kicked at the ground before sighing and looking up at the hybrid. It was time for him to pay attention, no matter how reluctant he was about this whole practicing thing. “Yeah, so what should I practice, huh?”

“Stabbing me.”

A burst of high pitched, somewhat hysterical laughter escaped the borrower upon hearing Techno’s deadpan response. He slapped a hand over his mouth as he struggled to control his response, not wanting to piss him off further.

What a weird day this was turning out to be.

“You want me… to poke your hand? What the fuck, man.”

“Are you planning on just asking questions or are you going to use those manly muscles of yours?” The narrowing of Techno’s eyes combined with the immense amount of sass in that question told Tommy that his patience was running thin. The borrower quickly nodded and took a step forward.

As the hybrid’s hand stretched out in front of him, fingers uncurling and palm facing upwards, Tommy quietly realized this was the best look at Techno he had ever gotten. Previously, he had only ever really processed snapshots of the hybrid. The long braid, the glowing eyes, the sharp tusks that seemed to shine in the light, everything had only ever been pieces and not the whole.

But now here he was, and his situation felt far more real than it had before.

He could feel the heat radiating off Techno, the natural warmth his body produced reminding Tommy of the furnace he would huddle next to with Tubbo when the weather grew too cold. He could see the scars that littered the hand in front of him, and the callouses that covered the palm and fingers. He could also see the nails, dark in colouration and dangerously sharp, that tipped each digit.

He had been wrong about Techno having dainty hands, and for some reason this realization only made his appreciation for the gift he had been given grow stronger. It was so easy to imagine the hybrid hunched over with a tiny block of wood held in his hands, struggling to carve it and muttering curses when it accidentally broke. How long had he spent working on it-

“Tommy.”

Shit, he’d zoned out.

He could practically feel Techno’s eyes narrowing in disgruntlement, and he immediately looked up and threw his hands into the air in exasperation, nearly conking himself on the head with the stick in the process. “Don’t give me that look! It’s all so… so weird!”

Weird to be doing this! To be so close to someone who could kill me! It’s all wrong!

And yet, it felt right in its own way. The weight of the makeshift weapon in his hands, and the part of him that longed for some shield to hold up. Tommy had always been a fighter, using dirty tricks to get out of dangerous situations while quite literally throwing hands with anyone who threatened him or Tubbo, but this was another kind of fighting entirely.

A style that felt both familiar and alien at the same time.

The hybrid, choosing to not engage with the turmoil visible on the borrower’s face, decided switch tactics. Demonstrations would happen later when he was more settled and less likely to break down in borderline hysterical laughter, the time for basics was now.

For the next several minutes, Techno explained where it was best to attack in order to do the most damage and even disable his opponent for a short period of time. He was… strangely calm, and knowledgeable as he pointed out which parts of his hand were softer than the rest, more vulnerable.

It was unexpected, and Tommy could only ask himself one question.

Why?

Of course, he got no answer, not that he had ever asked the question to begin with. Rather, he just threw himself into practicing the maneuvers he had been shown over and over again, quietly thinking about how helpful they might be.

Tubbo, he might have to fight to get to Tubbo, and if practicing whatever Technoblade taught him would help, he’d do it.

Meanwhile, the hybrid silently studied the borrower as he thought about all that he had learned so far, from the book to his general observations of the kid. There was obviously something else going on with him, from the way he randomly spaced out at times, to that determined look that would sometimes appear on his face. Anger would occasionally appear, too. A kind of anger that Techno was intimately familiar with.

Tommy was expressive, too expressive.

At least that made things easier for him, but it also left him with far more questions than answers. Questions he didn’t really want to ask, but was still curious about.

It was obvious that the borrower had lived somewhere else before he had decided to invade his cabin. According to the book, most borrowers either stuck to a house they stayed in for their entire lives unless they were forced to move, or lived in community settlements. There were also the “wild” ones, but Tommy’s clear lack of any self-preservation instincts made it clear he did not fit in that category, and yet both of the remaining options made little sense as well.

There were no nearby houses nearby that he could have previously lived in, he doubted the kid would have been living in the village without the librarian’s knowledge, and a tundra biome was one of the last places he would expect to encounter a settle of tiny people. So, what had happened that wound up with him being out here in the first place? And why did he care so much?

Ah, the greatest question of all.

Why?

Why was he putting so much effort into this obnoxious kid? Sure he had his reasons, but were those reasons enough to justify the work he was going to have to do. Why had he let Tommy stay instead of throwing him out like he would have done to anyone else, aside from Phil.

Why had he gotten so protective of the kid at the library? It didn’t make sense-

“Look Techno!”

Tommy’s shout snapped Techno out of his thoughts, and the hybrid looked over to see that he was now holding one of the other practice sticks. He grinned and enthusiastically waved them.

“I’ve got two sticks!”

He raised a brow as the borrower started hitting some made up enemy, swinging the sticks through the air and letting out noises that he probably thought were intimidating, but only made Techno quietly laugh to himself. His laughter grew louder when, during one of his more enthusiastic swings, Tommy ended up smacking himself in the face.

“You’re supposed to hit other people with those.”

“Oh fuck off!”

Hours later, Tommy let out a groan as he flopped into his makeshift bed, burying his face into one of the pieces of fabric. The cloth was cool and soft, and he let out a happy little sigh as it helped him cool down. His muscles ached, and he wanted nothing more than to pass out for the next couple days, but his mind was abuzz with thoughts.

Techno was teaching him how to fight and was apparently making him armor. It sounded like such a horrible idea, teaching the person who was practically a pest in your house how to fight back, and it made Tommy wonder why.

Why was he being taught how to fight? Why was he being given weapons and armor? Was there something he needed to keep himself safe from? Someone?

“It’s a good thing I don’t follow laws, then.”

The hybrid’s “retirement”. The amount of weapons and armor Tommy had seen. The potions.

Was… was Techno a criminal? Had he unintentionally put himself in more danger by choosing to stay here? He knew nothing about him other than his dry sense of humour, his aloof personality, and how intimidating he was.

Dammit, this is why he needed Tubbo. Tubbo would have warned him about the possible dangers, discouraged his ideas, and brought reason to his chaotic thoughts.

It was at this moment that Tommy also realized that among the training and sparse breaks, he hadn’t been able to check out the book either.

Fuck.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ah yes, the slow development from “you’re a pain in my ass and I’m only putting up with you for personal gain” to “okay, you might be decent”.

Also, there are many things I'm gonna make Tommy kind of cry over. A bowl of soup is just one of the more out there instances XD

#my story #fanfiction #dream smp #dream smp fic #sleepy bois inc #sleepy bois inc fic #borrower au #dsmp tommy #dsmp techno #borrower!tommy

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solomonish · 3 years

Note

Hey! If you're up for it how about The Fool, The Hierophant, and The Tower for Solomon. And The Moon as a bonus for any character that strikes your fancy!

hell YES i am up for it! i would do the entire thing for Solomon in one go if asked (please don’t ask......let me pace myself lol)

major arcana headcanon requests!

SOLOMON

The Fool - what are your muse’s thoughts on new beginnings? does it frighten them or excite them?

Well, I think Solomon has a different opinion on new beginnings for himself than he does others, first of all. Considering all he’s seen and been through and what role he has in the universe now, it makes sense that he’d hold himself to a different standard.

I think for him, he doesn’t necessarily think there’s even the option? Like, he has stagnated. His power and knowledge grows, sure, but in terms of personal development he’s kind of stuck. (At least, that’s how I think he defaults to seeing himself. Can’t keep the realms under control if you’re distracted by trying to be a better person, you know?) He just has to move forward without any thought to “starting over.” Maybe there’s too many layers to get through to start from the top again. Maybe he can never have a new beginning because he cannot end. Maybe he just forgets to take a personal day and do some self reflection because he’s busy, haha. But I can kind of see him not really...thinking that’s an option for himself. The concept seems like wishful thinking, but if ever given the opportunity he’d definitely have some reservations about whether or not he could make it through the transition. Not scared per se, but...wary.

For others, though, I think Solomon definitely thinks it’s possible, especially for humans. Angels and demons have such a stiff role they have to fulfill, but humans? They can kinda do whatever they want. Even if he feels a bit detached from humanity, he still cares deeply for it (them? us?) and the ability to just decide you’re unhappy and completely reinvent yourself, especially with the little time we have, probably just adds to our charm, you know? It’s probably one of the things he’s jealous of or misses, if he thinks about it

The Hierophant - what are your muse’s morals / ethics? do they follow their moral code strictly?

oh boy, solomon and ethics....

Solomon’s ethics are better off described rather than labeled. If you labeled them, you’d start with “gray” and then you’d get nowhere else. I definitely don’t think he’s amoral, and I don’t think he’s immoral either. It’s very easy to determine a person void of morals or ethics when judging them based on a life where there aren’t many choices that would be “immoral” but necessary. Like, in the average life, the most immoral thing is easy to not do. But considering he’s got, ahem, large responsibilities on his shoulders, there’s probably quite a few times where the best course of action would be horrifying for someone to hear of him doing.

Overall, he prioritizes humanity above all else, along with its longevity and preservation. He definitely has a different internal attitude (at least) when interacting with angels and demons as opposed to humans, a combination of not really feeling as directly responsible for them and also knowing that if he ever is, he would have few to no qualms about giving them the short end of the stick in a situation that would benefit “his team,” if he could manage to pass it by Diavolo or Michael.

I don’t think his internal values change, things like autonomy and equality for all, free pursuit of knowledge, y’know, all the good stuff everybody wants. And in his day-to-day life, he doesn’t seem the type to pass quick judgement or have some inherent unwillingness to compromise. “Morals” and “ethics” seems to imply a more grand scenario, and as the “keeper of humanity” or however he sees himself, he wouldn’t exactly be hesitant or emotionally torn apart by having to hurt somebody if it meant he could protect and support humanity as a whole.

I feel like I spent however many paragraphs being extremely vague and I’m not sure if this makes sense or even says anything of importance, haha...

The Tower - what event drastically changed your muse’s life? do they resent that event or are they glad of it?

Well, I mean, there’s a few obvious answers here. You have his fall from the graces of the heavens, the exchange program, any number of biblical events, his discovery of magic and the path he took to immortality, the fallout with his apprentice....and to be honest, with the exception of the exchange program, i think he is resentful but also glad? He’s the type to see the good and the bad outcomes of the situation. He’s probably made peace with the sentiment that “oh it made me who i am today” but he does have days where he grapples with all he’s lost and must now deal with for practically eternity.

Though, and these aren’t drastic events that shatter him forever (but i think they can be mentioned here), I do think that he takes little pieces of the people he meets and cares about until he becomes a sort of mosiac of the people he loves. Not necessarily romantic love, either. He met a witch who he was close friends with who couldn’t put down cheesy teen romance novels from a specific author, so you can find a few copies of her favorites sandwiched between spellbooks and old archival texts in his room. He isn’t big on self care, but Asmo did teach him a quick and efficient way to wash his face and keep his skin clear. Simeon and Luke gave him an appreciation for finely crafted tea sets. Again, the event i guess would be “making a friend” (which for him very well may be a once in a lifetime kind of deal lol) and isn’t what the question meant, but idk. I think it was worth mentioning here because long-term, it does incorporate into him as a person.

LUCIFER (my other fave <3)

The Moon - what does your muse long for? is it a realistic desire?

Not to be surface-level and cheesy, but I think he longs for him and his brothers to feel like a family. Not that they don’t already, but I think he longs for the way they used to be in the Celestial Realm, how complete they used to feel. In that way, it’s probably the most unrealistic desire. The hole in their family isn’t one that can or even should be filled, and your addition is just that - an addition, not a replacement.

Something that could give him (kind of) what he craves is if he and his brothers could heal. They’re already on the right path, but they’re still all kind of dysfunctional. The complicated part of this is that a lot of their strife is due to the nature of demons, and the wholesome unity is a brand that has never really been found in he Devildom. That’s not to say it’s impossible - the brothers still love each other, they still are loyal to each other, but Lucifer can feel that there is some sort of rift between them that has not yet been fixed that he yearns to solve.

(If you ask me, the “rift” is probably something caused by trying to heal in an environment that will never offer mercy or forgiveness. If the brothers can find solace in each other, maybe that’ll get them a step closer. But sometimes their interactions still feel like walking on eggshells, and...I don’t know. I really do think Lucifer longs for the type of relationship they had when they were angels, and he’s trying to deal with the realization that maybe that type of relationship just isn’t in the cards for a demon.)

#i think maybe this is just me saying a whole lot of something #ask game #lucifer #solomon #obey me #obey me solomon #obey me lucifer #solomon hcs #lucifer hcs #asked and answered #elvishdork #mine #asks

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helahades · 4 years

Text

The Goddess and the Grocer

(Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Sappy and hopelessly romantic, the part time art student, part time grocery bagger, and full time fantasy creator Steve Rogers lives in his head, with you as his muse. Making puzzles out of your groceries, and portraits of your every curve and edge, he fears and craves every interaction, while living with you as a lover in his mind.

A/N: Well. I have struggled with motivation for the longest. Something hit me though, and by something I mean other supportive writers and great friends. Hugest shoutout to @threeminutesoflife for being a darling and @imanuglywombat for making TWO beautiful mood boards I stare at more than Steve stares at the Peggy compass.

Warnings: creepy, obsessive Steve. ideation of creepy thoughts. food focused talk. mention of overeating. dub-con concepts. two mentions of alcohol consumption.

New blog, new me! I’ll take this moment to say I’m taking requests, and I love feedback even more than Steve loves you! hope you enjoy

Word Count: about 3k

Now rain slicked, the sheen of oil and water twists the reflections of the tonights red, red, green—-“can I make the turn, no too late” on yellow—now red traffic lights into a twisted rainbow on the city streets.

Down those streets, and across a barren parking lot, parents, lovers, businesspeople and more squeak and clack and slap their rainy shoes on the old speckled tile at the entrance (that Steve had just mopped) as they do every week.

At the Potts Grocery Store, nothing ever changes. And never in the night.

It isn’t just night though, it’s dead night. The odd time after things have slowed for sleep, after the rush in between when people bumble in (promising themselves promises they won’t keep about doing the shopping sooner next month), after the ten minute period within which Dr. Banner wordlessly picks up the same array of bland teas.

The night has crawled beyond all the events that happen as they do, and entered the dead night.

Maybe Steve is too poetic—like his dad says he is—too tied up in fate, and hope in life’s mystique, but he holds hope for what happens where the night is dead.

When the night dies, and most are asleep, with it, facades die too. The only people to come in the dead of night, are drunks, doctors, various night shifters, and… you.

He hasn’t yet questioned your reason for showing up so late. Hasn’t really, technically, spoken to you at all, really.

Some part of Steve thinks, maybe if he startles you, says something that clangs too loud or awkward, all your pieces will blow away, like some agitated dandelion, and he will never know you again, if he ever even knew you at all.

No, Steve’s job isn’t to startle you, or to take up your space. It’s to try and meet your eyes as you hand him the reusable bags. It’s to try and figure out what meal you’re planning from what he’s bagging, and what he already knows lies unused in your kitchen. It’s to put the bags in your cart if you’ll let him.

He hasn’t seen you yet. It’s getting late, where are you?

Somewhere between cold fluorescent and neutral warm desk lamps, the lights of the grocery store seem to exist both to chase shadows on tired shoppers' faces, and to mock him, like a candle finally blown out by a stood up date.

Had he done something wrong the last time? If he had, that couldn’t be helped. You were wearing those shorts and looked like you had just gotten ready for bed and you had your hair pulled back, but just a little fell into your face anyway.

And your scent. It always wraps around him like the saccharine spice of pastries when he swings open the bakery door for his morning shift.

The moment you breezed by him after checkout was almost too much to bear. He caught the fresh damp scent of your tied up and deep conditioned hair. You smelled like fresh linens and a life he can only imagine having when he’s chasing orgasms alone and twisting up his sheets.

He could have devoured you.

But he didn’t.

Not even when your shoulder accidentally grazed him while you were rushing out in a frenzy.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” came your frantic whisper.

He dreams of making you that delicate again. He thinks he could shape your unsure apologies in his hands like clay, or spread you thin on a canvas when you whisper so soft. But he didn’t do those things at all.

Steve being Steve, he tried to make his large frame slouch, your aura wrapping him up into a double life Clark Kent shyness, despite your gentleness.

He didn’t say a word.

A wordless, mirthless stretch of his lips. An “It’s okay, walk all over me” grin. You regarded him with a flicker of an odd glance, and then you were out the door.

As he finishes up with the last shopper in his lane, his worn Converse squeak as he leans his frame against the bagging station at checkout.

Last class, last week, his art teacher dropped a big assignment. Stuffy and sadistic, the man seemed to only eat the pain of lovers kept from expression, so of course, he relished in the moment he told the class to try a new medium, with a subject they hadn’t previously captured.

He seemed to look directly at Steve as he delivered the blow.

Steve's problem certainly isn’t creativity. It isn’t talent or lack of effort. He surely is adaptable, he rarely tells on his love!

For the still life project, he captured the tree that blocks your kitchen window. Heavy strokes in his sketchbook.

He even painted the park in blooms on a paper towel—yes a paper towel—when you justified to a cashier one day that all the crackers and deli meats were for a picnic.

So he has a muse. But he’s not a fool. Sometimes he spends so much time trying not to look like a fool, and paints so much around you instead of you, that it’s a self portrait of his own obsession.

Your face. Your curves. The many separated sections where he tried to master the texture of your hair. All those traces of you live in his sketchbook. Only twice has he turned in a portrait of you.

Being told he can’t have you makes Steve feel like he’s been too obvious. You’re his little secret. And he is no fool. He’ll have to be more careful. So here he is.

The canvas is as bare as the walls of his studio apartment.

Three jobs and a potted plant from his mom just aren’t enough to decorate life. He wishes he could capture sleep in a picture frame and hang it on the wall. When he got too tired and caffeine stopped working, he thinks he’d pick up those frames and absorb the sleep in the way he can absorb nostalgia when looking at a real picture.

Then, he thinks, that’s the sort of thing art majors say when they haven’t slept in three weeks.

The canvas is still bare. It isn’t like Steve. He always knows where to go, what he feels, what he wants.

His teacher told him to try something different. Had the nerve to clap Steve on the back after class and say something about stretching creative wings and finding a new muse.

He thinks the guy should have punched him in the face instead.

There’s nothing stuck about Steve. He knows what he wants and how to get there.

He also knows that schooling ruins the intent of art, he knows how to put love into colors, that art teachers know the least about expression out of everyone on earth, and that he works two night jobs a week to barely afford to be taught by that man anyway.

Life is full of oddities.

Some of life’s oddities are right there in your cart as you approach. Steve notices the rain has frizzed your hair, the lovely heart shaped curve of your lips as they stretch into a smile, and the way you yawn before you say hello to the cashier.

He makes a mental note that your hair might have a warmer tinge when illuminated by the sun. You’re already his sun. His stars too. Maybe even his whole universe.

You’re always warm in his paintings. Anything to separate you from the dreadful scheme of this commercial death trap.

What’s for dinner this week?

Your groceries thump onto the counter in practiced succession. Perishables together at the front, and non perishables as neatly as possible following behind.

So thoughtful, my sweet darling.

Your produce today mostly consists of fruit. It reminds Steve of how practiced he is with a knife. How he’d slice up your apples just right for you. He has the practiced skills of an artist. He’d take care of you.

Bucky likes to tell him that cooking is the art and baking is the science. That’s meant to mean that it’s no surprise that Buckys got a perfect little life with a perfect little baker who smiles like the sun and only trusts Bucky in her kitchen.

...And it’s no surprise that Steve’s artsy streak has led him here. Thinking about folding mandarin slices between your perfect lips and letting the flavor explode across your tongue.

He thinks about kissing you. How you would taste tangy and sweet as you try not so hard to push him off so he gets back to cooking and doesn’t burn the house down.

The house. A house with you. A home.

He sees you’re wearing a sundress, and tries not to pity you for the irony. In the closet of some cookie cutter three bedroom, you might ask him how you look in it. He would beg you to wear it just for him a little longer, but ultimately, he would have been able to warn you about the rain.

You wouldn’t have listened though, my stubborn angel.

He thinks about your thighs beneath your dress, and the heat between them.

Sometimes, his dreams betray him, and he steps through the threshold to your shared home, not an artist, but a “Honey, I'm home” suit wearing prisoner.

He fears the simple life, but with you, he believes simplicity could be enough. Maybe he would be rich enough to buy you a million sundresses.

But without his art, he’d be powerless to show you how rich you look, bathed in color, divine from his perspective.

Without his art, he has no outlet for imagination. The only thing that gets him off these days is imagining what you look like under your clothes, and how it might sound if you spoke his name.

When you buy lotion, or a candle, he makes a mental note of the scent, and uses it to color his experience later. You like warm sugary scents, or natural outdoorsy ones, with no in between.

As you small talk with the cashier, your card slips from between your fingers and clatters onto the unswept floor. Finishing a thought, you delay in retrieving it, but by the time you’re leaning down, Steve’s already handing it back.

Eyes flitting up to meet the baggage boy standing up at full height, you melt into an easier smile.

You notice first that his eyes are incredibly blue behind the dark window frames, and second that his hands are incredibly warm as he hands your card back.

Frazzled, and just a bit smitten, you smile kindly.

“Thank you,” you say sweetly, regarding him fully, perhaps for the first time, and pausing only to let your eyes drift to the knitted cotton polo stretched across his broad chest—no, to the name tag resting on it…

“Steve,” you finish with a smile that makes it ring like an exclamation point. To hear you finally pronounce his name… it’s like church bells. But they’re muted because now he can only consider your eyes locked on his.

He’s never wanted to escape somewhere and go home with someone so badly. And would it be so wrong?

He could slice up fruit for you. He could bring sausages and deli meats and blocks of cheeses whole from the market where they slipped him things free. He’d slice them up nice and wrap them in cloth and surprise you with an old fashioned wicker basket picnic in the mountains.

He’d let you eat yourself round. And after you were full, he’d still offer to feed you grapes, to pour you more wine.

Steve never understood why the rich ate bread with olive oil, but God he wanted to be rich enough to give you that. All the things that sound ridiculous to people who work to live. He wanted to work so hard you’d never work again.

He wanted to kiss you dizzy, bunch up the fabric of your dress on your hip and tell you he loves you while you’re wine drunk. He’d carry you back to the car and surprise you with wildflowers in a bunch.

Later, he’d paint you nude with them in your hair, and he’d feed you more grapes.

He would tuck you in and wrap you up for later when you woke up missing him. Maybe he wouldn’t leave at all. Maybe you would want to spend the whole day with him too.

He’s got a twinkle of charm in his eye and just a bit of sadness that looks every bit like the starving artist people believe him to be. Bucky hasn’t stopped bringing him the leftover rolls at closing since he found out Steve spends more money on paint than meals.

And is it so wrong? As Steve looks into your eyes, he musters all that charm his mom said he was born with. He blinks brighter the twinkle in his eye.

“You’re welcome,” comes Steve’s gentle, but sure reply.

You pause at that, because really it’s nothing... But people always seem to say “Don’t worry about it!”, “It’s nothing”, or maybe nothing at all.

You pause at how the reaction seemed genuine, in a world of practiced replies, and on a day that you’re feeling shitty because the rain ruined your hair and happiness.

You smile at him again, grateful for a pocket of truthful kindness, and turn back to the cashier, effectively ending the interaction.

Steve’s mind is spinning in ways he just can’t bring himself to understand. So he bags your groceries. You forgot the reusable bags, he doesn’t pause to wonder why.

Click. Click. Click. Beep!

Tomatoes. He bags them with the apples. Double bags for good measure.

Beep.

Spaghetti. The good kind that most people overlook in favor of a more common brand. New bag.

Beep.

Frozen garlic bread. He adores you. You’ve got garlic and basil and more herbs than you’ll ever need at home. You’d probably make the spaghetti noodles and parmesan yourself if you could. But you love five minutes at 400 garlic bread.

He imagines your pretty little kitchen, with all its various knick knacks, smelling like garlic and tomato sauce. He can’t help thinking you’d be impressed with his chopping skills too. Just how his mom taught him.

He imagines cooking with you in the dead of night, instead of being here. He imagines you bending over with your legs straight and your back curved and the oven mitts on to get garlic bread out of the oven. You put the tray on the cold burners Steve’s not using.

Maybe he would ask you to try the sauce, he’d hold the spoon to your lips after blowing off for you. Your eyes always flutter closed to process the taste of things, and sometimes he swears he could read your mind.

Then they would open. Wide. The same way they did when you tasted the new product double chocolate brownie sample last Tuesday. You would tell him how perfect it is and praise how he finally isn’t shy about using garlic anymore. Turning off the burners, he’d pull you into his arms, he’d kiss you til you saw stars…

Walking you backwards, still entangled in the breathless kiss, he wouldn’t stop until you bumped the padded kitchen bench. Then he’d fall to his knees.

“Steve, honey”—

You’d cut yourself off with a breathy moan because he’d already be under your skirt.

Kissing up your thighs, flattening his tongue against you, kissing you gently, before sucking your clit, while working it with the tip of his tongue, he’d show you again, like always, how passionate of a lover he is.

You’d moan like heaven, because you are.

You’d lean back, propping yourself up on an arm and pushing the other hand through his golden hair. You just can’t stop your hips from rolling against his tongue that’s still worshipping you.

He won’t use his fingers. It wouldn’t be proper, he’s just been cooking. So instead, he uses those hands to pull your thighs up onto his shoulders.

Still swirling his tongue around your clit, Steve is drawing you closer, your body seeming to know it’s own ways to pull him to you too.

It’s electric. You can’t stop and you’d never want to. He’d make love to you every single—

That’s not where he is though. He grabs the paper bags he’s bagged up with your ingredients and some other oddities, and he places them in the cart you’ve pushed forward.

He tries not to think about the fact that you’re going home alone. He tries not to think about how he’ll be sleeping alone, and in cold colors. Tries to skip forward to later when he has all the time in the world to imagine the way things should be.

A quiet goodnight and you’re on your way. You’re careful not to graze him as you walk away, and he’s careful not to be obvious watching.

The cashier leaves the station, and Steve puts his head down as he passes, before looking up in your direction as he always does.

Except… when he looks up to see your sundress swishing, it isn’t. And you’re turned back looking at him with this funny little look.

You smile. A twinkle of embarrassment, nervous to have been caught looking. He tries not to chuckle for all the irony.

He watches you as you watch him just a bit longer, before your sundress swishes out the door, and the light of your halo fades into the distance, consumed by the rain.

By the time his shift is up, the rain has stopped and the sky is colored like a bruise. The sun knocks at a threshold unseen, just slightly feathering light through the sky.

Steve is dead tired, but he won’t sleep a wink. Once he arrives at his apartment, he begins the project.

A mixed medium piece. Acrylic paint, charcoal shadowed details. It’s a wicker basket, full of apples, grapes, and wildflowers.

Later, as the sun rises, and the painting is half done, he flops into bed, finishing up a stale roll from the bakery, and dreams about waking up to you.

He pretends there’s no job to be at in three and a half hours, but instead, that it’s a quiet Sunday, and he’s waking up to you in his arms...

Soft and ethereal.

Thank you for reading!

Whether or not this is your type of writing, or you liked it at all, I just want to tag some authors who generally inspire me and helped in some way to motivate me posting my first piece: @threeminutesoflife @imanuglywombat @sherrybaby14 @jtargaryen18 @heavenbarnes @tropicalcap @allaboardthereadingrailroad @thotty-tatertot @sapphirescrolls

#dark!steve #steve #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers #steve x reader #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve rogers #steve au #steve rogers au #civillian!steve #artist!steve

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shyinadarkplace · 3 years

Text

Ville Vallo & Taurean (OC)

warning: this is shameless smut so 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

All the guys are out of the house , away on work or just idk stuff, Taurean has had the house to herself for a few days and while she is glad to have the solitude she's got an ache that needs to be handled. So she decides to distract herself knowing that attempting to get herself off will only leave her frusterated and in a worse situation she does what any sane person does....opens the windows in her house, puts fans in the windows, closes the blinds at the top , connects her phone to the home entertainment system ( like Lucien hooked it up so every speaker will play what ever is synced) , turns on her favorite playlists and starts cleaning like a fucking mad woman. Now we aren't talking light cleaning this is like deep cleaning moving shit reorganizing all that, she's really out here trying to burn energy. All the while she is absolutely rocking out to every song, she's dancing around, jumping, headbanging all that. Evening is approaching and finally she has made her way to the kitchen, while doing dishes and her favorite song comes on, Wings of a Butterfly. She is belting every line, and she can't stop thinking about Ville Vallo. The man is a literal god...of music to be precise. She listens twice and the dishes are done. Four times and she is just drifting around, thinking how Ville would feel in...no no can't let herself go down that road but fuck...

By the time the intro starts for the sixth time she has butterflies, she feels that knot low in her belly aching and her mind wanders, would a god of music even...then she feels someone press up behind her. Before she can turn and attack, their hands pin her on the counter. oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck not good not good the guys are gonna kill me , shit! But then the person starts to sing....

"Heaven ablaze in our eyes

We're standing still in time...."

Taurean gasped . The next words to the song didn't play through the speakers but the melody continued…

"Hello darling." Ville softly rumbled pressing his lips into the crook of her neck inhaling deeply. "Oh sweet girl, you smell amazing....and your voice is rather stirring." Taurean moans arching into him as he presses a rather impressive member against her ass.

"The blood on our hands is the wine

We offer as sacrifice"

Ville trails kisses down her neck and shoulder grinding against her, while still keeping her hands pinned to the counter. For the moment anyway.

"Ooh fffuck. Ville ." Taurean grinds her hips back desperate for more friction. A lightning fast smack to her bare thigh (thanks to comfy short shorts perfect for cleaning) makes her yelp in surprise.

"Tut tut sweet girl. Be patient. I give you my word by the end of the song," he paused smirking noticing the delicate scarring that formed butterfly wings on her back, he decided he would trace every line with his tongue as he nipped right between her shoulder blades grinning at her mewling little moan,"every desire you have will be fulfilled."

"Now tell me sweet girl, do you want this? Do you want me to fill and stretch you, strum your body like I do an instrument.?" Taurean nodded her head. "I need words." Taurean's head was spinning but in the best way.

"Yes. Yes please. I want this." What happened next was nothing short of ecstasy.

The music surrounded Taurean; it was around her and in her. Her skin buzzed with the sensation. Ville loosened his grip on her hands and ran his hands up her arms circling one around her throat applying just the slightest amount of pressure. She felt the muscles in her thighs shake as her wetness began to trail down her inner thigh. As Ville's other hand caressed down her body, toying with her breasts, tracing the curve of her hips, all her clothes vanished. One second she was facing away from him the next they moved rooms, her back against a wall , her hands above her head, with Ville's bare thigh between her legs pressed against her heat. Her soft little moans made his cock jump.

“Come on, and show them your love

Rip out the wings of a butterfly

For your soul, my love Rip out the wings of a butterfly

For your soul

This endless mercy mile

We're crawling side by side

With hell freezing over in our eyes

Gods kneel before our crime"

"You want to cum sweet girl?" Ville's voice was electric, husky and full of erotic promises. Taurean nodded, not entirely sure when the knot in her belly had become so tight but she felt like she was already on the edge. And he'd hardly touched her at all.

Ville gripped her hip with one hand grinding her against his thigh, until she caught on and started herself. Then he leaned back slightly watching. She was certainly a sight. Her lips parted , waiting for him to dominate them. Her whole body flush from arousal, slightly glowing with a thin sheen of sweat as she worked herself furiously against his thigh. Her chest heaving as she panted, cursed and moaned all for him. Her perfect tits begging for attention. When Ville bent his head and took her nipple in his mouth while gripping her hip, grinding her soaking wet cunt harder against his thigh, Taurean's head hit the wall when she screamed in ecstasy even as her pussy clenched around nothing and ached to be filled. When he bit her other nipple, rolling it between his teeth then sucking to soothe the pain, another orgasm slammed into her and her body convulsed as she squirted , making a mess of them both. Ville felt like he was going to go absolutely feral.

"Come on lets show, them your love

Rip out the wings of a butterfly

For your soul,

my love Rip out the wings of a butterfly

For your soul...

Rip out the wings of a butterfly

Don't let go…

Rip out the wings of a butterfly

For your soul"

Taurean collapsed slightly against Ville as he released her hands once again . Her hands went to grip his shoulders as her whole body seemed to quiver.

"Ooh, fuck you," Ville said lifting her wrapping her legs around his waist holding her quivering body against him as he kissed and sucked every inch of skin he could currently reach. "You darling are absolutely ....breathtaking."

Taurean felt like she was sated until Ville cupped her face and took her mouth. There was a give and take. He both demanded and begged, craving the taste of her mouth and her moans. Taurean ran her fingers through his soft tresses tugging , he in turn rewarded her with groans. The sound of which sent heat straight to her core. As Ville kissed her, exploring her mouth, tasting and teasing, he walked toward a bed room he didn't give a fuck which one , he just needed somewher to lay her down and take her.

"Ville...please...fuck me." her plea was throaty and breathless. He kicked open a door and laid her on the bed taking her mouth again .

Ville lined himself up and Taurean arched into the feeling of his cock pressing into her, whimpering. Ville grabbed her chin, locking eyes with her.

"I can't hold back...can you take it all? Tell me now."

The only answer he got was Taurean wrapping her legs around him effectively pulling him balls deep inside her. Her moans were the sweetest thing he had ever heard as her tight little cunt adjusted to his length and girth. Ville groaned and growled against her neck . "Darling ...you feel...incredible...oh fuck"

Face still buried in her neck Ville slowly pulled his cock out, Taurean gasped at the sensation of every vein dragging against her velvety walls, when just the head of his cock rested inside her he stopped and looked deep in her eyes and slammed into her. She was lost . So high in her headspace that staring into his brown-black eyes it was like staring into the abyss, but instead of darkness there was music...his voice echos through her very bones. Ville's fingertips brushed up her abdomen as he plunged back inside her. Her whimpers and moans were nothing short of fucking angelic. He kept stroking her skin from her sensitive clit to the pulse point of her throat .

With each down stroke that matched the thrust of his cock she arched and writhed beneath him. Ville was a god . The number of women that he had pleasured since his youth numbered in the hundreds, but this little minotaur was by far the best. He felt a spark in his soul as her nails dug into his forearm, he kept strumming her as set a ruthless pace. Driving deep inside her.

Taurean could not explain how the fuck He was doing it , every stroke of his cock kissed her cervix in the most delicious way possible , every stroke of his fingers against her skin ignited every cell in her body, she constantly felt just on the edge of cumming . Tears stung her eyes and streamed down her cheeks....

"VILLE PLEASE" She needed to cum , needed it more than she needed to breathe.

Ville groaned the way she was milking his cock was driving him wild. Her poor little body would have cum at least three times by now if he hadn't stopped it...he had to have her at the same time he came. He was so close. Her tears of pleasure excited him, her whimpers made his cock throb, her pleas stoked his fire...an idea struck him ....he captured her mouth and devoured her in a kiss that would bring gods to their knees. It damn near brought him to his knees . She clung to him for dear life, her nails leaving angry red furrows in his skin. He tore his mouth away from hers and growled into her ear....

"....my sweet...little muse....sing for me..."

"Ville....I...Caaaann'tt.."

"....love...Please.....sing for...me.."

Taurean couldn't resist ...she took a deep breath…

Come on, I'll show you my love

Rip out the wings this butterfly

For your soul, my love

Rip out the wings this butterfly

Ville lost all control , as her words wrapped around him...oh fuck she improvised ... her voice sent chills up and down his spine...her dripping white hot tightness had a vise on his cock and fuck it felt so good…

"That's it sweet girl... fuck yes...go on.." He felt the tell tale tingling forming at the base of his spine...he was gonna cum before the song was over....he threw his head back groaning , slamming into her roughly simultaneously pulling her down to meet each thrust....

Taurean felt his cock throb... she moaned ...and got a wicked idea...he hadn't let her cum yet ...she'd return the favor…

For your soul...

Rip out the wings of this butterfly

Don't let go…

Her words struck him like a truck.... he felt like he was about to explode and yet couldn't ....wicked little minx ...he rolled her nipple pinching hard...smirking as her eyes widened, he knew and she knew that he did...fuck.

Rip out the wings this butterfly

For your soul

Rip out the wings of this butterfly

For your soul

"FUCK ! VILLE ....VILLE ...PLEEEEEAASEEE!!!!" And then she screamed the last line that she had omitted before…

"LET GO!!!!!"

As his cock kissed her cervix she arched and screamed in pure ecstasy with tears running down her face, her hot silky walls spasming around him. With one final brutal thrust his cock throbbed he threw head back and gave what can only be described as a roar as he exploded sending rope after rope of thick hot cum deep inside her.

Ville carefully thrust ever so slowly as brought them both down from a high neither had felt before and he caged Taurean beneath him, gently wiping her tears. Almost surprised when she pulled him down for a slow deep kiss nibbling his lip

"I feel.....light headed...ville..".

He groaned at the sultry sexed out sound of her voice feeling lightheaded as well

"little muse...so do I ...that was ...incredible..."

He gently pulled his softening cock from her twitched pussy. She whimpered at the sensation. He leaned back and admired the absolute mess they had made.

"Hold on a moment let me get you some water and a cookie..." as he spoke, the items appeared on the bedside table. He lifted Taurean and set her up against the pillows and gave the now opened water to her as well as the cookie. "Rest a moment , I'll get us both cleaned up.." before he could walk away Taurean grabbed his hand .

"Wait ..." she broke the huge cookie in half , offering it and the other bottle of water. " Doms need after care and you look about to crash ...please."

Ville was taken aback for a moment no one had EVER taken the time to notice or care about him after...he sat down next to her and took the cookie and water , eating and drinking in companionable silence . Once done got up and went to the bathroom he had noticed , found a washcloth cleaned himself ,then getting another he wetted it with hot water, keeping it warm in his hands he strode out and kelt by the bed...he looked up at Taurean . "Allow me ..." she nodded and whispered " thank you."

"of course ." Ville gently cleaned away the mess they had made aware of how sensitive she would still be.

Taurean noticed how loving and attentive his actions were and suddenly felt tears ...ah shit .

" V-ville...dropping..."

Without a thought he jumped up and climbed into the bed behind her bringing the thick warm covers up around her shivering body. He wrapped his arms around her and played with her hair humming something resembling a lullabye until her breathing deepened and evened out. Before he knew it he too fell asleep .

They both awoke to four men ranging from big as all fuck to slim athletic, standing at the side of the bed arms crossed , dangerous smirks and cocked eye brows.

The two largest looked at each other and grinned . The one with golden eyes spoke and sparks danced on his tongue...

" Oh Little One, that was quite the show."

"It really was Kitten." Said the one with storms in his eyes.

The one with emerald green eyes spoke next "Baby girl I bet you are starving"

"You know our little Sweetling is always hungry after a good fucking and a nap." said the one with maroon eyes.

Ville smirked and caged Taurean beneath him, she went to protest and he whispered appealing to her bratty nature, “If you are going to be punished little muse, might as well make it worth it. Yeah?” She shrugged and giggled, then he started kissing her hard and deep until she was moaning against his mouth and arching against his body. Ville almost laughed while Taurean smirked ever the brat at the sound of four alpha males growling ....

maybe there was yet more fun to be had..

#smutty #original writing

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trash-muse · 3 years

Text

Ask Meme: What Would You Know About Love?

WHO: John Constantine, Zatanna and Asmodel @dark-musngs - with special guests Adam Constantine and Lyla Rose WHAT: Ask Meme - [forehead touch] your muse rests their forehead against my muse’s WHERE: Various places WHEN: Various WARNINGS: None. Trying something a little different - with time jumps.

2040 - Star City

“What would you know about love, Constantine?”

The bar was full of rowdy patrons, all drinking their fill and creating a constant hum of noise so loud that one could barely hear themselves think. But Adam Constantine heard the woman sitting across from him just fine. She eyeballed him impatiently, lips pursed ready to demand an answer.

Lyla Rose was one of Adam’s nearest and dearest friends. She was also quite possibly the bane of his existence. Well, maybe her and his boyfriend were tied for that title. Sorry... ex-boyfriend.

Every time Adam thought things would finally work out, his ex would find some other reason why they couldn’t be together. However, like fools they would fall back into one another again. It was like they were stuck on the old carousel horses. Up, down. Round and round.

But then, it was like his Dad said...

“Love is complicated.”

2020 - Central City

The morning sun streamed through the point where the curtains met, sending a warm beam of light across the bed. Adam stirred, shifting and freeing a hand to try and rub the offending light out of his eyes. It took a few moments, but after opening his bright blue eyes, Adam realised it was morning.

Hopping out of bed, Adam shuffled over to his bedroom door, yawning as he opened it and exited out into the hallway. He could hear voices in the kitchen - the accented baritone of his Daddy’s voice and the slightly lower octave of Azzie’s were easily recognisable. They sounded soft as they chatted away, making breakfast, and Adam knew they hadn’t realised he was awake yet.

He didn’t know what made him stop and watch them for a moment. Why he didn’t just join them with a good morning hug. But with head tilted slightly, Adam paused at the end of the hallway and just watched the private moment between John and Azzie.

“... Zatanna would have stayed if you asked her to.” Azzie seemed to continue an earlier conversation as he brought three plates over to the stove. His Daddy was making bacon and eggs. Adam could smell the delicious smell filling the apartment.

“She has her own place, Az.” John replied, using the spatula to turn the food. He was such a good cook, especially breakfast foods. “And they’ve fixed it up real nice too after what happened. Don’t blame her for going back. It makes this place look utter rubbish.”

“John...” Azzie sounded like he didn’t agree. He put the plates down and moved closer to John, hugging him from behind and resting a chin on his shoulder. Adam had seen them cuddle like that a number of times. He liked to imagine that is wasn’t just Azzie’s arms wrapping around his Daddy but his wings too. Of course, Azzie didn’t have wings in that moment. But if they were there, Adam was sure his imagination was right.

His dad put down the spatula and turned toward Azzie, which Azzie responded to with dropping his head forward and resting his forehead against John’s. It was a tender moment Adam thought nothing of at the time but would later no doubt recall the love between them.

“You love her.” Azzie so low that if Adam hadn’t of crept closer he wouldn’t have been able to hear it.

John sighed and didn’t deny it. But he didn’t exactly admit it either. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?” Azzie didn’t sound like he was going to be convinced. A bit like the time Adam tried to lie and say he had brushed his teeth and he hadn’t. Azzie was very good at picking up on lies.

“Because love is complicated.”

“It’s not with us.” Azzie moved closer still, hands moving over John’s back. In turn, John hooked his arms over Azzie’s shoulders and the food sizzled away in the silent pauses.

“Not now. Hasn’t always been this easy.” His Daddy must have smiled because Azzie smiled back. They kissed gently and hugged tighter, not a gap between them. “Besides, Z doesn’t feel the same.” John jumped back to talking about Zatanna. Adam loved her too and wished she had stayed, but he guessed she wanted to go home. He was allow to visit but it wasn’t the same. “There’s too much that’s happened.”

“What happened?” Adam piped up before he could stop himself. Seeing no point in remaining hidden, he moved out into the kitchen, casting a curious looking in his dad’s direction.

Two sets of eyes shot toward him but Azzie was quicker to recover. “Don’t worry about it, kid.” He said, peeling away from his dad and coming over and picking him up. Adam giggled, he always loved being scooped up and hugged by Azzie. Maybe that’s why his Daddy loved him. Azzie gave the best hugs.

2040 - Star City

“Love is complicated. Love hurts. Blah, blah, you’ve said this all before, Constantine. Still doesn’t explain why you’re holding out for a bloke that won’t commit. That won’t share all his secrets until they show up and punch you in the gut.” Lyla wasn’t giving up and certainly wasn’t taking his answer without further explanation. Adam knew a certain white clad canary that had treated his dad with that same brash demand for less bullshit and more answers.

Adam rubbed a spot just below his ribs, right where his ex’s secret little half sister had punched him and winded him before he could ask her what she was doing in his apartment. His ex’s apartment. Adam didn’t blame her for the reaction. She had thought she was coming to an empty safe house. Adam thought he was surprising his boyfriend by coming home early. It was all a misunderstanding. Still it hurt that his ex had kept a secret sister and hid his involvement in the Canaries movement from him.

But, despite the hurt and the lies, Adam loved him. There would never be a moment he wouldn’t love him. The secrets hurt but Adam understood the reason for them. It was for protection. Still didn’t stop the words he lashed out with in anger. Didn’t stop him from walking out and seeking his best friend to go drown his stupidity and sorrows at the pub.

Maybe it was like what his Mum said...

“Love is forgiveness.”

2021 - Central City

The Van Geld Opera House in Central City wasn’t just host to the opera but a many number of stage performances. It was here the great magician, Zatanna Zatara, wooed her audiences with dazzling illusions and mesmerizing tricks. All eyes were captivated by her performance but none more so than the little blonde boy waiting in the wings.

As the red velvet curtains dropped and the crowd cheered, Zatanna rose from her bow and smiled at the little boy, giving him a wink that sent him scampering off backstage with a giggle. She waved off any stage hands and assistants that approached her with polite gratitude, and followed the sounds of childlike joy back to her dressing room.

“If I had known you wanted to bring Adam to see a show, I would have given you tickets.” Zatanna half scolded the man lounging on the dressing room sofa.

John took the mild chastisement with a smirk and a shrug, not put off that he might have been in trouble. “It was a last minute decision, love. You were all sold out.” He replied, watching Zatanna as she made her way to the vanity and placed her hat on the table.

“Mumma, are you mad?” Adam turned his bright blue eyes toward her, looking like he was ready to apologise for doing something wrong.

Zatanna laughed and shook her head, taking the few short steps back across the room to Adam and crouching to his level. “No, my little one, I could never be mad at you.” She offered a hug which Adam accepted eagerly. He really was a mumma’s boy. “I was just surprised by your visit, that’s all.” She rested her forehead against Adam’s, like she was sharing a secret with him. “Even if I was mad, I’d forgive you. Because love is forgiveness. And I love you so much.”

Adam giggled at the extra squeeze in the hug he was given, completely unaware of the look exchanged between his parents. The one that knew that message of forgiveness ran so much deeper. That if they hadn’t sorted out the complicated between them and forgiven their mistakes - mostly John’s mistakes, but who’s keeping score - then this family moment wouldn’t exist.

John watched the pair with unrestrained love in his eyes. Those before him plus the angel waiting for them back home - it was the family he had been missing and secretly craving all his life. “Besides, you still got a good view of Z pulling a rabbit out of a hat, right kid?” He asked with a chuckle.

“No Daddy!” Adam spoke up, excited once more and speaking a hundred mile a minute. “It was elephants. They were floating then PFFFT... they disappeared.”

“Wow, elephants, really?” John asked his son with the slightly false amazement a parent takes on to share in their wonder.

“Alright, boys. Home time.” Zatanna interrupted before the pair would go off on another tangent. She loved seeing their interactions - fatherhood really suited John - but she didn’t think they’d want to spend all night chatting. It was after Adam’s bedtime, after all.

2040 - Star City

“Love is forgiveness?” There was the ever present scoff in that question. The one that said Lyla thought he was off his rocker. “So what? He lied to you and you’re just going to forgive him?”

“I hope so.” A new voice approached the table.

“Will.” Adam looked up, noting the fact his ex looked more insecure and awkward in that moment then he had ever been in Adam’s presence. And Adam had bared witness to his poor attempts at flirting.

William Clayton stood rocking onto his toes with his hands shoved into his trouser pockets, looking extremely out of place and uncomfortable in the seedy bar. “Can we talk? ... In private.”

Adam nodded and rose from his seat, leading Will outside and into the side alley. They stood there, watching each other for a few moments before suddenly both speaking at the same time.

“I shouldn’t have gone off at you like that.”

“I should have told you from the start.”

Both men chuckled before Adam made a gesture for Will to say his bit first. Will nodded in thanks, wanting to get what he had to say off his chest.

“Adam, I should have told you from the start.” Will repeated, sounding utterly sorry. “I only just found out about Mia recently and thought it was safer to keep as many people in the dark about her as possible. I should have told you about her. I should have told her about you. I just... I was scared. I’ve already lost my family once. I didn’t want to lose it again.” He paused with a sigh, still standing out of arm’s reach. “But all I’ve managed to do is tear it apart anyway."

Adam looked at Will with a somewhat dumbfounded expression. Will, in his roundabout way had just admitted he thought they were family. That level of commitment was light years beyond what Will had expressed before. Maybe Mia had knocked some sense into him as well.

“I really hope you meant what you said about love being forgiveness.” Will continued, finally stepping closer and taking his hand out of his pockets. He reached out, hesitating to take hold of Adam’s hand. “I forgive you. And I love you so much.”

Adam drew in a long breath, unaware he was holding it until he heard those words. It was the first time Will admitted that he loved him. “I forgive you. And I love you too, Will.“ Adam replied, closing the gap between them and pulling Will into a kiss. “Love is complicated. But, I think we can work it out together.”

#c: asmodel #c: zatanna zatara #muse: john constantine #muse: adam constantine #past: 2020 #future: 2040 #ask meme: what would you know about love

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trantrumsfromthevoid · 4 years

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O hai derr fran, it's me ur hooman.

Anyway, this is probably definitely going to be long bc I have no self-control. But basically this isn't the first time I've looked for a buddy and it probably won't be the last, either. I've been role-playing since 2008 and have been on every imaginable server. I've hoped on every "trendy" site and played just about every kind of character. Well, I've played a lot of characters, anyway. In 2017 I decided to take a hiatus because I was dealing with some traumatic things at the time, as well as growing tired of the sites that were being offered. In the years since I haven't been able to fully get back into the swing of things (RP wise) and I haven't joined a site in awhile.

Because of the stuff that was going on in my personal life, I kinda grew out of the RPC. The sites that I see today all look similar and there seems to be a very specific order to become a "successful" member of a site. It's almost like you have to follow a formula or something? I don't mean to offend, that's just how I see it. I grew tired of doing the same thing again and again and again, and not being able to find fulfillment. At the same time, in order to appease my need to write and have a creative outlet, I created a site on Jcink (it's nothing fancy, especially given today's RP standards) where I write and do ... a bunch of whatever, I suppose. It's nothing fancy, but it achieves its purpose of providing a place for me to write online. Hopefully that makes sense to you? I'm not really sure how to explain it.

That all being said, occasionally I'll pop my head into various resource sites and see if anyone wants to join me on my wild and crazy ride. I get lonely and crave interaction, and would love to find a true "RP buddy"/friend. Now, if you've stuck with me and you're still reading (congrats first and foremost), here's a little bit about me, RP-wise.

x Real life/slice-of-life plots are probably my number one trope/source of inspiration. I love having a plot set in some cute little Mayberry-like town and that sort of thing. xx I love exploring the dynamics of older couples (35 and older), couples who've been together for many years, and/or couples who've been together for awhile and have older children. x Supernatural (vampires, werewolves, mermaids, etc) comes in at a close second. Vampires have a very special place in my heart, as the first character I ever created for an online RP was a vampire. xx While small towns are great, I also really enjoy the whole "Welcome to Night Vale"/"Twin Peaks" vibe. Not necessarily those fandoms specifically, but a town that's kinda odd; maybe has a little bit of a creepy vibe. A town where everyone and everything is odd and everyone accepts it. x I love familial plots, as well as friendship plots. Or anything that's non-romantic. "Found families" are awesome and deserve a lot more love. xx I think angels x demons, aliens, and mermaids are vastly under-served in the RPC and would definitely be down for doing something with said creatures. x I have a 60-40 male-to-female ratio (meaning I plan males more than females). My characters are usually heterosexual, but if a plot is interesting (or I get inspired), I have no qualms playing a LGBTQ+ character. xx Ages for my characters range between between 21 - 65. Anyone younger than 18 is treated as an NPC. I always use real life face claims. x As far as "triggers" go, the only thing for me is that I don't RP smut, as it makes me uncomfortable. I simply fade to black or skip to the next morning. I don't mind the "build up" (kissing, flirting, maybe a little dirty talk) but the actual deed itself is a no-go. Otherwise, I don't mind exploring the dynamics of other "taboo" topics, so long as it's discussed and agreed upon by both parties. xx WC is usually in the 300 - 500 range. Sometimes I can write more, it all depends on my muse and what I'm given to work with. x I love character development via pinterest, gifs, quotes, wardrobes, pictures of their home/vehicles, little blurbs, that sorta thing. Applications are evil in my humble opinion. xx I don't like to RP to many fandoms, but the ones that I have are near and dear to my heart. I love a good, dark HP plot; something set in the Marauder's Era or before. Or something set directly after the Battle of Hogwarts and/or Harry's death. Give me all the HP angst, bby. FYI, I'd love to do a dark!Durmstrang plot and I have a few ideas for such. Just saying. Other fandoms would include Percy Jackson and the Olympians, The Twilight Saga, and maybe a live action Avatar: The Last Airbender.

As far as me personally, I'm a thirty-four-year-old female who lives on the east coast USA. I would prefer that my partner be at least 25, or 21 at the absolute youngest. If nothing else, at least be an adult. I'd love for my partner to be on the east coast as well. This isn't a complete deal-breaker but it's definitely something I take into consideration if we're several time zones apart. I'm not willing to stay up all hours of the night (or day) in order to RP. Been there, done that. Plus, as someone who has to "adult" in the real world, I can't pull all-nighters anymore. Most nights I'm off the internet by about 8:30 pm and I'm not on my laptop (where I role-play) everyday. I am on my laptop about five days a week. I'm not exactly the most talkative person and I don't like having to discuss everything in minor, minute detail with my partner. As long as we're in agreement about "triggers", the plot, and we both have a basic sense of our characters, that's all I need to know. After that I'd prefer that our plots and/or other forms of character development do the talking. I realize I may sound a bit harsh, but I'm one of those "conceal, don't feel" types, ngl. But with time, consistency, and patience, I do open up.

Last thing, I promise. I would love to see some sort of writing sample from you. It doesn't have to be a post, I'd just like to see how you write; how you make words and ideas "flow." Is English your first language or is that something you need to disclose? Have you been writing for awhile or is this your first go 'round? Is it coherent? Like I said, you can submit whatever you like, as long as it allows me to get a clear sense of you and your writing. Whatever you submit, please make sure that it's at least 200 words. If you'd like a writing sample from me, that's fine, but ... I mean ... I've written like 97 pages for you. Hopefully you have a sense of my writing style already. But if not, I'm happy to give you something.

Ok, wow! That was so! many! words!!! I do apologize for the multitude of paragraphs but hopefully this will help you and I both in our search for a buddy. Feel free to PM me here, respond to this thread, or PM me for my discord. Thanks for reading and I hope you find what you're looking for. Live long and prosper.

#rp #roleplay #jcink #jcink roleplay #jcink rp #jcink rp buddy #buddy search #1x1 roleplay #1x1 rp #rp search #roleplay search #looking for rp

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redgillan · 5 years

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Under Pastel Skies - 3

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2,587

Warnings: none

A/N: I wanted to give Reader a family and this is the easiest way to do it. Btw Peggy’s husband isn’t Steve, I have other plans for him ;) Enjoy!

Wannabe sugar daddies don’t interact, idc if you have money, eat it and leave me be.

The rest of the week went by, and you kept hoping Bucky would come back. You hadn’t seen him since he’d left 300 dollars under his napkin after visiting you at work. You had tucked the bills into your bra, knowing they would be safe there, and walked home at the end of your shift.

Now it was Thursday afternoon and you were craving a day off.

Natasha’s apartment was spacious and the oversized glass window bathed the living room in natural sunlight. The apartment was a gift from Sam. Obviously.

You dropped your purse on the sofa –your bed- and laid out the bills on the coffee table. It was made of marble and brass, another gift from Sam.

You didn’t know what to do with the money, so you took it wherever you went, to keep it safe. You wanted to return it to Bucky. It was too much and you weren’t used to random acts of kindness.

You sunk into the cushion and blew out a sigh as you stared at the money. The persistent vibration of your phone against your thigh pulled you out of your thoughts. Half expecting it to be Natasha, you answered without looking at the caller ID.

The operator told you that Scott Lang was calling from Saint Quentin State Prison, and asked if you would accept the charges. You agreed. You always agreed.

“Splotchy, I need your help.”

Closing your eyes, you let your head fall back against the cushion. “I told you to stop calling me that, Scott.”

It was a silly nickname.

As a child, your mother dubbed you splotchy because of the colourful doodles you painted on the living room walls, and your siblings, who were roughly a few years older than you, had loved using that nickname. Especially since they knew you disliked it.

Their support and endless enthusiasm played a big part in your artistic journey, nurturing that spark into a flame. What started out as a childlike fascination with colours and shapes became your whole life. No one was surprised when you decided to pursue a degree in fine arts.

After the death of her husband, Peggy Carter adopted five children; a little boy from San Francisco, a little girl from Wakanda, twins from Sokovia and a little girl whose birth parents were still in high school. You were the last one, the only one she adopted as a baby.

“Is it offensive to call an artist splotchy?”

“It’s irrelevant. I haven’t painted in months,” you replied. “And we’re not kids anymore, you can use my name.”

“I’ve been calling you Splotchy for so long, I forgot your actual name.”

“You’re so funny,” you deadpanned. “What do you need, Scott?”

Scott’s tone changed suddenly, his voice grew agitated. “I need you to call Maggie. She isn’t picking up when I call her.”

“Scott,” you sighed.

“I haven’t talked to Cassie since her birthday,” he cut you off, pleading. “Please, I just want to talk to my little girl.”

Maggie was Scott’s ex-wife. Six months after his incarceration, she had filed for divorce. Natasha thought it was a real dick move but you didn’t blame Maggie. She was alone, her husband was in jail –for basically being a dumbass although the official charge was embezzlement and destruction of property- and she had a kid to raise.

Maggie wasn’t a saint but she was a good mother, and Cassie was a smart and healthy kid. Now you knew what to do with Bucky’s money.

“I’ll call her,” you said. “Listen, I’m going to put 50 bucks on your book. Buy yourself a bar of soap, I can smell you from here.” Scott interrupted you with a monotone ‘har har’. You chuckled. “I’ll buy Cassie a Christmas gift on your behalf, all right? I think she wanted a bike.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” he chanted over the phone, his voice muffled as if he was holding the receiver too close to his mouth. “Are you sure you can afford it? I know it isn’t easy for you. Between living in New York and paying for mom’s nursing home, you don’t have to-”

“It’s fine,” you said, cutting off the conversation. “I’m not alone, Okoye helps.”

“And Wanda?”

“She sends postcards from time to time.”

The line went quiet for a moment. “I want to get out of here so bad,” Scott groaned. “Everything’s gone to shit since I went to jail.”

“Everything’s gone to shit since Pietro died, Scott.” You both remained silent, remembering your late brother. Just thinking about him made your eyes start to prickle with tears, so you cleared your throat and ended the call. “I’ll talk to Maggie. You’ll be out soon, just... stay out of trouble. Love you.”

You left your phone on the table and kicked off your shoes before you lay down on the sofa for a well-deserved nap. In your dreams your brothers weren’t either dead or in prison, your mother hadn’t been diagnosed with Alzheimer, and you weren’t a burden to your friend.

If you were lucky enough, you wouldn’t even dream at all.

The next day, Bucky arrived at the hotel at six thirty and you playfully glared at him from across the lounge. He wasn’t stupid, he knew why you were glaring at him. At least he had the decency to look a little sheepish.

“Just so you know, you bought yourself about 30 breakfasts,” you told him, referring to the far-too-generous tip he had left the other day.

“A man’s gotta eat,” he replied with a boyish cockiness that made him look stupidly attractive. You were too flustered to find a good comeback.

You brought him his cup of coffee and let him enjoy his breakfast while you attended to your other clients. It was an unusually busy day, the room was packed with families who were getting ready to explore Manhattan. You didn’t have time to chat with Bucky and he didn’t stay long. You saw him flinch a couple of times; the muscles in his shoulders pulled tight and his eyes darting left and right.

He left another ridiculously generous tip, along with a handwritten note. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day x.

Bucky came back the following week, and even though it was a quiet morning, you made sure to find him a table in a secluded spot. He didn’t notice when you slipped the 300 dollars into the pocket of his coat. You could be pretty sneaky, too.

“Mmmh,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “I looked at your Instagram.”

“Oh,” you glanced at your shoes, embarrassed. “Wait, you’re on Instagram? I have a hard time imagining you scrolling through your feed.”

He laughed a little. “I’ll admit I’m not as tech savvy as you youngsters, but I’m not a fossil. I use it to look at the pictures my sister post of my niblings.”

“Cute,” you grinned.

“Anyway,” he said, pushing a hand through his hair. “I love your work. It’s very unique; a cross between Impressionism and Post-impressionism. It’s realistic, and yet there’s something different...” his face scrunched up as he tried to look for the right word. “There’s something in your paintings, something that isn’t here in real life but perhaps should be. It’s hard to explain. It’s a feeling, a color, a pattern; it’s indiscernible but it’s there.” He looked up at you, his cheeks red with embarrassment. “I’m not making much sense, am I?”

You blinked, suddenly stunned that someone had such strong opinions about your work. There was nothing but sincerity in his ocean-blue eyes, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words.

“I, um-” you cleared your throat, “Thank you, I didn’t know that. I look up to Monet, obviously. His work is phenomenal, and I also have a soft spot for Van Gogh.” You ran a hand across your face. “Sorry, I’m a little emotional. The people who compliment my art are usually my siblings, and Nat.”

“And now me,” he said with a warm smile. “And soon a lot more people.”

Flustered, you bit your bottom lip. “That would be nice.”

Bucky nodded. He gathered his silverware and set them on his plate, trying to buy time. You watched him hesitate before he turned to you. “I noticed that your last post was from almost a year ago.”

“Yeah,” you said with a casual shrug. “I don’t really paint anymore. I’m too tired when I get home and supplies are expensive.”

“Of course,” he pursed his lips in thought. “Are you free this afternoon? I was wondering if we could meet for coffee.”

You tried not to show your surprise but his words made the sleeping butterflies in your stomach crack an eye open, their interest piqued.

Was he asking you out? He’d come to your workplace every week since your brief ‘date’. He always gave you more-than-generous tips, and he listened to you with a combination of close attention and warmth that made you weak at the knees.

He’d made it clear he wasn’t looking for anyone but maybe he had changed his mind. Agh, down girl! He just wanted a friend.

You looked into his beautiful eyes, seeing a myriad of expressions cross his face before he smiled at you.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you, angel.”

It was an honest lie, just hearing him call you angel felt like a punch to the stomach. The butterflies were dancing around, reborn, and chanting the word ‘date’.

“If you don’t like coffee, we can have tea, or ice cream,” he said, “anything as long as you can sit down with me.”

You snorted. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated, smiling. “This is my number. Pick a place and I’ll meet you there.”

After breakfast, you closed the restaurant and started cleaning the Lounge. You brought everything back to the kitchen, stacked the dishes in the dishwasher and turned it on. Then you put away the unopened miniature jams, butter and whatnot, and gathered the remaining patisseries and fresh fruits in a basket that you would later bring to the reception.

You worked mechanically. It wasn’t exactly the most exciting job you’d ever had.

You couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky. It was easy to let your mind wander into the cosy and dangerous territory of this being a real date.

You decided to go to the Australian coffee shop near Natasha’s apartment. It was popular but not as crowded as Starbucks, which suited you fine.

After your shift, you removed your uniform and changed into the spare set of clothes you kept in your locker for emergencies. Emergencies being an impromptu date or a night out with Nat. You dug around in your purse for your lipstick; the nice one, the Carter Red as your mother called it.

You dabbed the lipstick on your lips, staining them. You only wore it on special occasions, and you weren’t sure Bucky deserved your full red pout.

You walked to the café with a little pep in your step and a confident smile on your face. The freezing temperature didn’t matter, you were too giddy to care. It was a date, it had to be, why else would he ask you to meet for coffee?

You smiled when you saw him through the coffee shop window. He was chatting with the waiter as the latter set two mugs on the table.

“Hi again!” You shrugged out of your jacket and took a seat.

“I hope you like hot chocolate. Carl, here, says it’s their best seller,” Bucky said, smiling kindly at the waiter.

“Enjoy, and if you need anything else don’t hesitate to call me.”

You carefully wrapped your cold hands around your mug while you watched Carl walk away. A moment of silence rose between you. Bucky watched you with an unreadable expression, making you fidget in your seat.

“I’m glad you came,” he finally said.

“Me too. I’m a little surprised you asked.”

He looked down at his mug and smiled; it didn’t reach his eyes. “I have something to ask you.” He paused. “The night we met, you said you agreed to see me because being in a... financial relationship felt like the only solution to your problems.”

Your smile faltered but he didn’t seem to notice. Oh. The butterflies in your stomach fell so suddenly that it felt like carrying a ball of lead. They went back into hibernation.

“If I had been a decent person and, I don’t know, bought you a drink, talked to you,” he paused, meeting your eyes. “Would you have been interested in this type of relationship? With me, I mean.”

You swallowed hard. “You want to be my sugar daddy.”

It wasn’t a question but a statement. You were slowly realizing that you had been wrong about his intentions. This wasn’t a date, it was a business afternoon tea.

He winced. “Do we really have to call it that? I was thinking mentorship. I can provide financial help, and in exchange you could be my friend.”

“I can be your friend for free,” you said, your throat tightening.

He shrugged, a small smile on his lips. “This way we’ll both get something out of it.”

You looked down at your hands, still wrapped around the mug, and pursed your lips in thought. You felt a sharp tingling sensation in your nose, a sign that you were about to cry. You closed your eyes and clenched your jaw, fighting against the flood that was coming.

You pushed all the emotion down and forced a smile to your face. “Do you mind if I use the restroom? I just took the subway, I’d like to wash my hands.”

Bucky watched you, momentarily stunned by your request. “Of course, take your time,” he quickly recovered.

“Thanks,” you croaked, pushing your chair back.

You picked up your bag and walked to the restroom, your legs feeling like cotton wool. You didn’t need to use the restroom, you had walked to the café, but you needed a moment alone to collect yourself.

A woman came out of the restroom, holding the door open for you. You picked up the pace and thanked her before closing the door behind you. You looked pretty sickly under the artificial light of the restroom. Your eyes were glassy with tears and your red lips were taunting you.

“Got your hopes up, uh?” You watched your lips move. A little humourless chuckle escaped you and you shook your head at your own idiocy.

You aggressively wiped the lipstick off your mouth with the back of your hand and sighed deeply as you looked at your reflection in the mirror. Now you felt like an idiot.

It wasn’t Bucky’s fault. He had been nothing but nice and kind, and perhaps you had mistaken his kindness for flirting. A naïve mistake. You had always been a little clueless when it came to men.

You ran your index fingers under your eyes to get rid of the makeup that had gathered there. It wasn’t the end of the world, you barely knew him anyway. It didn’t hurt any less, though.

Maybe it was time for you to do something out of character, to experience life no matter how crazy it seemed. You were dreading this conversation with Bucky, but you couldn’t hide in the restroom forever. With another sigh, you pushed yourself away from the sink and walked out of the restroom.

Part 4

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel imagine #bucky barns imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

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