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cheeeeseburger · 3 days

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Ilicit affairs

Sergio Perez x Reader

A/N: Hi, I'm not sure about this one! English is not my first language, apologies for the mistakes!

You and Sergio had just gotten into a fight. It was a big one, the kind that left you wanting space from the other. Since the hotel room forced you to be in the same space, you had gotten on a long walk around town. You had time to think, and although it hurt, your choice was made.

As soon as you walked in the hotel room, Sergio got up from where he was sitting on the bed. “Mi pastelito, I was worried you were not going to come back.” He pulled you in his arms. You hugged him back, taking care to note how he smells, the way it feels to be in his arms, how loved you felt. “This was a stupid fight. Let’s forget about it, okay?” he asked while carefully brushing your hair with his fingers. You immediately got teary eyes.

“Sergio, we need to talk.” You pulled his hand, so you were both sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked so concerned that it only made you want to cry harder. “¿Qué pasa?” You took a deep breath before saying out loud something that would break both of your hearts.

“I think we should stop seeing each other. I can’t be your mistress anymore.”

Every single word from those two sentences hurt. You had been his mistress for the last two years, ever since you had fallen for his charms at a GP. Since you were working for an F1 team, you were at all the races, and you and him naturally started and affair. You knew what you two shared wasn’t right, you knew you were the other woman, but you two shared something so special that you ignored all your moral judgement. You just listened to a lot of Lana Del Rey and cried whenever the urge to publicly show off your love was too strong.

Being his lover was a terribly beautiful thing. Nobody on Earth could ever feel as loved as you when you were with Sergio in private. He adored you and worshiped you for your mind, your body, your love. During those moments, you pretended he was your fiancé, your husband, the father of your children. You cosplayed as his wife. But your fantasy was always interrupted. In public, he had his wife and kids, and you stood to the side, pretending your heart was not longing for more, acting like you didn’t even know him. You let guys flirt with you since you were technically single. They all thought you were playing hard to get when you didn’t text them back.

But after two years of this illicit affair, your heart couldn’t take it anymore. The guilt was starting to be overwhelming. You were afraid of confessing everything anytime someone mentioned his name. This wasn’t fair to you or his family, and that’s why you had to stop seeing each other.

“What? Are you serious?” Unfortunately, you were. You batted your eyelashes to chase the tears away. “Sergio, this has been going on for too long. I can’t live with the thought that I’m possibly a homewrecker.” He looked at his ring finger that was always empty whenever you were together.

“Mi pastelito, you’re not a homewrecker, my wife doesn’t know about us, and she will never find out! We don’t have to stop, please don’t make us stop.” He was in agony, truly panicking when he thought about losing you. You caressed his face, trying to comfort him. You needed comforting too. “Baby, you know the truth always comes out, especially with your level of fame. This isn’t fair to your children or your wife. I can’t be the one to ruin your relationship with your family.” A selfish little voice inside of you was screaming at you to ruin his family, make him divorce his wife so he’d finally fully be yours. Mine mine mine mine

“I’ll divorce my wife. My children, they’ll understand. It will be fine!” The selfish voice roared at his words, but the rest of you didn’t. At this point, he was desperate, trying everything to make you stay. “Don’t say that. You don’t mean it. If you divorce your wife to be with me, one day, you will wake up and realize that this was all a mistake, that you should have stayed with her. You’ll start to resent me, I’m sure. I love you too much to let you do that,” you said softly, like you would to a child.

Sergio closed his eyes and let you comfort him. You continued: “I don’t want to be the other woman anymore. I want to be someone’s girlfriend in public, maybe even someone’s wife. I want to kiss you after a race, I want to go out in a restaurant with you, I want the whole world to know we’re in love, but I know you can’t give it to me.”

He immediately protested. “Mi pastelito, that’s what I’m saying! I’ll get a divorce, and I’ll marry you instead. I’ll get you a big diamond ring. We can have a big wedding, so everyone will see. Please, mi amor, give us a chance!”

You gave him a soft kiss. Saying yes would be so easy, and it was everything you wanted. But you could never live with yourself if he let his family down for you. “Baby, it’s okay. It’s all okay. In a few minutes, I’m going to leave this hotel room, and you’ll have to let me go, okay? We will probably see each other at the races, but we will look away and continue walking. The only thing I ask for is that you be the best version of yourself for your wife and your children. Please, work on your marriage, take care of your wife, be the perfect father for your children. You owe me that much.” You were both crying now, realizing that in a few minutes, you would never be in each other’s lives ever again. In a few minutes, you would walk out as a free woman, heartbroken but free, nonetheless.

“I promise. I’ll really try, even though you will always be in my heart. I will always look for you in a crowd, always wish that things had been different. I love you, mi pastelito.” It was his turn to comfort you. He took your hands and gently caressed them.

“I love you too, so much it hurts.” You smiled weakly through the tears. “When I’ll see you with you wife and children, I will be happy. I’ll know that we have done the right things. And when you see me in the paddock with some other guy, you’ll have to be happy, too.” He made a pained face at the last part.

“You know I could never be happy to see you with someone else. You should be with me.” He looked so sad, so hurt.

“Then you know how I have felt for the last two years, whenever I saw you with your wife. That’s why I must go, baby.” You kissed him, and Sergio and you knew it was the last kiss you two would ever share.

It was tender, filled with love and adoration for the other. It tasted like “maybe in another life” and “how come we can’t be together in this one?”. The kiss felt like heartbreak and love at the same time. When you pulled away, the look in his eyes almost crushed you to death. Leaving him was the most difficult thing you had ever done. When you stood up from the bed, he did not let go of your hand. He tried to pull you back, but you stood strong. When he realized you were actually leaving, he kissed your hand and laid his head on your arm. This was the final act of your story. You were the one that got away. If this was a movie, the director would get an Oscar for filmography and another one for screenplay.

He finally let go of you, after what could’ve been minutes or hours. You did not dare to look back as you stepped out of the room, because you knew the look of anguish and despair on his face would be the death of you. When you closed the door, you were not longer a mistress, but a lovesick woman. At least, you were guilt-free. Almost guilt-free.

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+

The next few weeks were hell. You were missing your lover like crazy, and apparently, so did he, because he had sent multiple texts asking to see you again. Even though the temptation was there, you did not reply to any of his messages. You did read them multiple times and cried a lot over them, but that doesn’t count, right?

The fact that you were working in F1 and attending all the races didn’t help. You wanted to swoon every time you saw Sergio’s face on a poster. On a few occasions you almost ran into him, but you always managed to hide before he could see you. Your heartbeat was so fast and so loud, you swore he would discover you because of it.

To distract you and to respect your part of the deal, you started seeing an engineer. It had been four months since you lost your title of Sergio’s mistress, and when he asked you out, you said yes. He was kind, gentle, and way more into you than you were into him. In other words, he was the perfect rebound.

It was the week of the Australian GP, and the guy who was now your boyfriend took you to a nice restaurant to celebrate your two months. Honestly, things were going great. You were taking things slow with him, and although your stupid heart betrayed you by beating fast every time you saw Sergio, you weren’t nearly as upset as you were three months ago. You felt good about yourself.

You excused yourself to go to the bathroom before dessert. It really was a nice place. You might have had one too many Aperol Spritz, though.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, please excuse me!” You apologized as you ran into a man. When you looked up, it was Mr. Sergio Perez himself, thankfully without Mrs. Perez. That would have been awkward, or at least more awkward than this already was.

“Mi pastelito, it’s you. It’s really you,” was all Sergio said. He wasn’t sure if you were real or not. Perhaps you were cake?

“Hi,” you avoided his gaze and tried to runaway, but he grabbed your arm. His touch immediately took you back to endless illicit nights spend together, where you had to restrain yourself from leaving marks on his body. Instead, he left love bites on yours.

“Are you really going to run away from me? Hide from me once again?” Oh, so he had seen you. Oops.

“Sergio, I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m on a date right now, we’re celebrating our two months” you confessed sheepishly.

He held on to your arm possessively. “Yes, I heard everything about that new boyfriend of yours. Congratulations, I guess.” He pulled you closer to him, so he could whisper in your ear. “But I don’t think you’ve truly moved on. I know I sure as hell haven’t. Mi pastelito, does he know you’ll never love him like you loved me? Like you still love me?” He pulled back then kissed you on each cheek, like you were old acquaintances meeting again. “It was lovely to see you. Have fun on your date, mi amor.”

He left you standing there, in shock and more in love with him than you had ever been. A five-minute interaction with him made you head over heels once again. How cruel was that for you, but also for your new boyfriend. When you went back to your seat, your boyfriend happily informed you that an anonymous gentleman had picked up your tab. You didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out who was the mysterious man.

The next morning, you broke up with your boyfriend.

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜

Oh, you were definitely tipsy. Perhaps even drunk? But that’s the Miami GP afterparties for you!

Hey baby, it’s me!!!!!!!

Sergio jumped when he saw your name pop on his notifications. It was like a siren call he had hoped for in vain since you left him. He replied immediately.

Hello, are you okay mi amor?

Are you alone?

Yes, why?

Can I call you?

“Hello?” Sergio picked up the phone, confused but happy that you were calling him at midnight.

“Hiiiiiiiiiiii baby, it’s me!” He chuckled when he realized that you were drunk. He would have preferred that you had called him sober, but when it came to you, he would take anything.

“Hello, mi pastelito. Are you alright?” He hoped you were not passed out somewhere. He heard people shouting your name in the background, so you were probably with friends, thankfully.

“Oh baby, I’m doing soooooooo good actually. These guys keep buying me shots. It’s great!” He definitely didn’t like to hear that.

“I think you should slow down. Tell these guys to back off.” You were pleased to hear his possessive tone.

“Are you jealous? Because if you are, that’s hot. All of this is your fault, anyway.”

“Really? How come? And when it comes to you, I am always jealous.” He heard you sigh.

“Well, because I saw you the other day, I had to break off with my boyfriend. It wasn’t fair to him. Now, I’m drunk in the club, and I keep telling people it’s because I just broke up with my boyfriend but really, I’m trying to get over you.” He softened at your words.

“I don’t want you to get over me, mi amor. In fact, I’m glad that you’re not with that other guy anymore. Why don’t you come over and we can talk about it?” You were drunk, but not drunk enough to forget why you shouldn’t see him.

“Checo, I really, really, really think that this is a bad idea. We were doing so good, we hadn’t seen each other in months.” You whined. “But I just miss you so much, I can’t help it.” He smiled at your words. This was the longest conversation you two had since you broke up.

“Don’t fight it, mi amor. Text me the address, and I’ll come pick you up.” Oh, he was good. It almost worked.

“I see what you’re doing,” you could hear him laugh. “Here’s what going to happen, okay? I’ll convince some guy in the club to buy me some shots, and if it works and I get drunk enough, I’ll call a cab to go see you. Text me the address of your hotel, please, just in case.” He wasn’t so sure about your plan.

“I don’t like this. Why don’t I just come pick you up?” He especially didn’t like the part that involved you flirting your way to free shots.

“Come on, baby, learn to live a little! It’ll be a surprise. I’m going to hang up right now, okay?” He tried to stop you, but it was too late. He texted you his location and kept checking his phone to make sure he hadn’t missed your call or a message from you.

Finally, at one in the morning, his phone rang.

“Hey baby, it’s me again!” He liked that you had started calling him baby again. “I’m on my way to your hotel, will you please let me in?” He was already sprinting down to the hotel lobby.

“Of course, mi amor, I’ll be there.”

“Also, the last guy that bought me a drink was pissed that I was not coming home with him, until I said that I knew Sergio Perez really well. He said he would forgive me if you sent him an autograph. Do you think you could do that?” He laughed.

“Yeah baby, I can do that. Are you nearby? I’m in the lobby.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.” You shrieked when you got to the hotel. “Okay, I’m here. Bye bye now!” You hung up the phone and practically jumped out of the car. Maybe you shouldn’t have drunk that last sex on the beach.

“Mi pastelito, you look gorgeous.” He smiled in appreciation. It’s true, you did look gorgeous, in your short dress that barely covered anything. You gave him a little spin.

“Thank you, baby, it got me so many free drinks!” He chcukled at that, even if he didn’t like the thought of other guys circling you like sharks. “Although maybe I should’ve toned it down, because if I wasn’t so drunk, I wouldn’t be here.” You sighed. He pulled you in a hug, and it was like coming home. It was like nothing had changed. The mistress was back.

“I’m glad you’re here, mi amor.” He kissed the top of your head. “Let’s go inside.”

You didn’t make it to the elevator before you were all over him. As soon as the doors closed, you were kissing him like a starved woman, which is what you were. You had cut him off your diet, but the craving was too strong. He made you sit on the handrail to get a better angle. This could have been a shot straight out of a porn movie, the way you were both desperate to touch the other, the sounds you made. Plus, an elevator scene is always a hit.

“I just missed you so much, baby. I can’t help loving you!” You said between kisses.

“That’s good, because I love you too.” The elevator doors opened. Thank God there wasn’t anyone else. He led to you to his hotel room, never breaking the kiss. Your lover was talented.

Once you were inside the room, he pushed you against the wall to stun you with kisses all over the skin your dress showed. So, basically everywhere on your body. You were already moaning.

“Baby, we have to think. We shouldn’t be doing this. We are supposed to stay away from each other, remember? I’m drunk, so I have an excuse, but you don’t!” He took his sweet time to answer you, as he was too busy marking you.

“It’s funny, I can’t remember anything, except that I love you. Oh well.” You protested weakly. His touch on your body after months apart felt too good for you to remember your morals. You forced him to remove his shirt. You still remembered the number one rule of being a mistress: never leave a mark. You were very careful not to scratch him, even if that’s all you wanted to do. You both made your way to the bed tangled with each other.

“I want to be on top of you, baby, so I can remember this moment. This is our last time, for real this time.” He sat against the headboard and let you straddle him.

“Mi pastelido, I don’t think there’ll ever be a last time when it comes to you and me.” You shut him up by removing your dress. He looked you up and down lovingly. “I missed this, mi amor. You’re way too beautiful for your own good.” He made you blush.

“Thank you, baby.” You started to move on top of him. He gripped your waist to help you move while kissing you. Oh, your affair was so back, whether you wanted it or not.

When he started to unzip his pants, you suddenly remembered one tiny detail.

“After I dumped my boyfriend, I stopped taking the pill. I know it sucks, but do you have a condom?” Sergio shook his head.

“No, mi amor, I was not expecting you to come here, I don’t have anything.”

A big neon sign with the word DANGER flashed in your head, but stupid drunk you decided to ignore it. Having him again was just too good.

“I’m clean, so that’s okay. But we’ll have to be really careful!” He nodded.

“I’m clean too. I’ll pull out, it’s going to be okay.” He started to make you move on top of him again. You continued kissing him. The sign still flashed in your head.

After that, things got hot very quickly. When he got inside of you, you couldn’t help but scream his name everytime he moved. You started to breathe rapidly. Still, you were watching him to make sure he really did pull out. You were already in a big enough mess, adding to it was unnecessary.

“Baby, I swear, I’m going to come very soon.” He was too busy pleasing you to comment, but he did make grunting noises. Why did you two every stopped seeing each other again?

Only a short while later, when you were arching your back, you had your orgasm. It was heveanly, You fell lifelessly against his shoulder, and your guard slipped. You heard him finish inside of you at that exact moment. You gasped, and immediately tried to get off him.

“Oh no, this is bad, like really bad.” He realized his mistake.

“I really tried, I swear!” You weren’t listening to him. You were too busy freaking out.

“I have to... I have to go!” You were scrambling to get dressed. He was freaking out too, more by the fact that you were preparing to leave him once again.

“Mi amor, calm down! It’s going to be fine! At least stay the night, we'll deal with it in the morning!” He was desperately trying to get you to stay.

You were putting on your shoes. “I’m really sorry, but I have to go.” You hadn’t noticed, but you were crying. “This was a mistake. It won’t happen ever again!” You got out of the hotel room. He tried to chase you, but you were running down the hallway, and you were surprisingly fast, even with how much you had drunk.

When you looked at yourself in the mirror in the elevator, you had mascara tears running down your cheeks. You were nothing but an illicit affair. You saw nothing but the other woman in your reflection. This was your Black Swan moment.

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 #f1 fic #formula 1 #sergio perez #sergio checo pérez #sergio perez x reader

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slayfics · 4 hours

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Hello! Do you think you can do a Bakugo x reader who genuinely has a hard time accepting gifts and being spoiled because they grew up in a low income household? Thank you!

Katsuki gives you a gift.

600 words

Katsuki burst through the door of your shared apartment and announced his return, “Hey brat I’m home!”

You came to the front room to greet him and were taken off guard by what was in his hands.

He had a large stuffed animal tucked under his arm with his work belongings in the other. He dropped his work bag and handed the stuffed animal out to you.

“I picked this up on the way home for ya,” he explained.

You hesitantly grabbed the stuffed animal, quickly realizing it wasn’t just any stuffed animal. It was a special edition Sanrio plush that had just came out in your favorite character. One that you recognized to be rather pricey, as you had been eyeing it the last few days.

You stared at the plush in your hands, overwhelmed by the mixed feelings that took over you.

“What? Ya don’t like it?” he asked, confused by your unenthusiastic reaction.

“No that’s not it!” You hurriedly replied.

“Then what? That’s your favorite character, right?” He further interrogated.

“Yeah, it is,” you confirmed.

“Then why are you looking like someone died?” He questioned.

You let out a sigh as you gathered your thoughts. You weren’t sure how to put how you felt into words. Yet, you knew it was a conversation you had to have. Lately Katsuki had been getting you more expensive and frequent gifts and it was triggering your past.

“I’m not used to this,” you explained. “Growing up we didn’t have a lot of resources. It was all my family could do to keep food on the table… Whenever they did buy me toys or extra clothes, I felt guilty… like they should have used that money for themselves instead. I love all these gifts you give me but- I can’t help but still feel guilty sometimes. I still have that instinct that I don’t need this, and money should only be spent on necessities.”

Katsuki clicked his tongue, “That’s why I buy you all this stuff idiot,” he huffed. “I know how you grew up; we’ve talked about it so- I want to make up for what you didn’t have back then. I’m a top pro hero now so you don’t ever have to worry about not having enough money for necessities. What good is being a pro hero if I can’t spoil my favorite person.”

You looked up from the plush with misty eyes. Katsuki’s expression was stern, but his eyes were full of affection.

“Look,” Katsuki continued. “I know I don’t… say all the right things sometimes… and I’m not good at expressing how I feel about you. This is how I make up for that. By providing for you and getting you any damn thing you want. So… you can’t take this away from me because… it’s how I say I love you.”

You squeezed the stuffed animal as a tear broke free and ran down your cheek. Katsuki was quick to wipe it with his thumb caressing your cheek.

“Damn it,” he sighed. “You were supposed to smile and kiss me when I gave you the damn plush not cry.”

You sniffled, “It’s a good cry though.”

“Yeah yeah, come here,” he mumbled pulling you into an embrace. You nuzzled into his chest, holding the plush to your chest. “I mean that,” he continued. “You want or need anything you just tell me. Your family too. Gonna take care of all of ya now.” He spoke holding you tightly.

“I love you Kats,” you hummed into his chest.

“I love you too, so… say ya like the damn plus already.” He urged.

“It’s perfect,” you smiled.

sinners: @queenpiranhadon @unofficialmuilover @maddietries @fiannee @i-heart-carlisle @derangedmango @matchat3a @bakugouswaif @reneinii @peachsukii @pastelbakugou @abadbitchblogs @deluluforcarlos55 @b134ch-m4h-ey3z @pinkpurpledreams @that-one-fangirl69 @dreamcastgirl99

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starfxkr · 2 days

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western nights III

pairing: older!trailer park!jj x reader

summary: jj maybank knows he's too old to be messing around with a young girl like you, but he does it anyways

warnings: freudian age gap, smut, some angst because yall can't have it too easy.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

it was crazy how jj could make you feel so special one moment, and like shit the next. he was an expert at it.

he'd continued to find reasons to come to your room--broken ac, wobbly ceiling fan, sloping vanity. and each time ended with your mouth on him, or his fingers buried in your cunt with the opposite hand clasped around your mouth. you'd been hoping he'd invite you back to his place again soon, without sneaking away while everyone's distracted, you always wanted to be one of the women he had coming and going so everyone would know you're his. but he always found a reason not to.

"it'd be weird," he would say, "people seein you come into my trailer like that ain't a good look sweet pea, trust me."

that's always what he called you, even when you were younger but now it felt different, it was both endearing and condescending and it drove you fucking mad. no matter how much of his cum you swallowed it was like he still looked at you like a little girl.

₊˚ෆ

jj threw you a bone, just this once, when he came home late from work and saw you wandering around the complex. you looked a mess--eyeliner smeared around your big bambi eyes, grass stains littered on your knees as you walked with your boots in hand.

"you alright there, sweet pea?" he watched you jump as he slammed the door of his truck closed, eyes wide in shock as he watches you subtly go through a range of emotions before settling on what you hope is cool indifference.

so you shrug, shifting your gaze away from his, "was just with some friends no big deal."

'hanging with friends' normally consisted of you getting drunk and high with them at the beach until you ended up in the back of someones car. this time was no different, you had just hoped you could sleep there but the guy woke up and brung you back home, where you were met with an unsurprisingly locked door.

if you didn't know any better you'd think jj was sympathetic when his gaze softened.

good thing he'd grown accustomed to hiding his disgust. you stirred too many uncomfortable feelings in him. it was like looking in a mirror at times--the anger buried deep within you, barely contained when jj came to your trailer at your mom's request and he took note of your hoarse voices and red rimmed eyes as you slammed your bedroom door shut. it made him sick watching you, watching your demeanor shift into coquettish flirtation the second you were alone only to give way to wide eyed desperation anytime he kissed you and he could see the soft, meek thing underneath.

and sometimes--like now--that's what he wanted.

"whew, we'll you're lookin a little rough there, hungry?" he was giving you the lead again, like the first time. just to see where you were at.

you shifted uncomfortably again, eyes darting as you shiver in the cooling air.

"cmon, i know you're cold, you're barely wearing anything come inside."

it felt like a trap, but what choice did you have? "o-okay, just for a little bit though i gotta go home."

jj knows you don't. but he lets you walk past him, studying you as you walked up the porch first and he followed behind, "door's locked, lemme get it." this time when you shiver it's from his body lightly nudging against yours as he opens the door.

it was different seeing his trailer like this, all homey and warm unlike the thick tension that permeated it during the party and you watched him from the doorway as he threw his jacket on the couch and took off his boots in his old recliner.

"y'gonna just stand there or do you wanna get comfy? gonna take me a while to cook."

"you don't have to be a dick." despite your response you make your way to the couch, sitting with your legs hugged close trying not to falter when he smiles at you.

"not bein a dick, just want you to relax that's all." with that he gets up while tossing you the remote, "you can put on what you want but i only got basic cable...shit i need to get groceries...how's burgers sound?"

in all honesty you feel like you're in shock, jj's never acted like this with you before, all caring and casual, "uhh...that's fine?"

luckily he takes the hint and starts cooking, leaving you two in a surprisingly comfortable silence for a while until he breaks it, "she kick you out often?"

again you jolt, "what?"

"your mom, she kick you out a lot?" jj beckons you to the kitchen and you pull up the stool to the small island as he loads you up--bacon, cheese, lettuce, pickles, all the condiments you may want and a mound of fries all hand cut. a cold glass of coke on the side. you're mouth waters and you struggle to think of the last time someone cooked for you.

"i guess, normally it's whenever she has a new 'boyfriend' but i don't know sometimes i think she just gets sick of me. like if she locks me out she can pretend she never had me." there's a distant look in your eyes as you stare at the plate, and jj takes control, watching your face expression as he adds or puts aside the various toppings until he makes the burger you want.

"it's not your fault you know, i remember when she got pregnant, didn't surprise anybody really, we knew it was gonna happen eventually." jj cuts the burger for you next and finally you start to eat.

"maybe so. maybe she's mad i didn't do the same. maybe one day i'll come home and she'll be gone."

that one hurt him, deep and low in the pit of his stomach because he knows that feeling, that morbid anticipation of coming home to an empty house, left to fend your yourself in a way you didn't have to before.

you're nonchalance is off-putting as you shovel down your food, smearing the rest of your lipstick until its on your chin and he reaches forward to wipe it off.

"you mentioned your mama and her boyfriends. thought you said she was sweet on me."

"she's sweet on anybody who looks at her instead of me."

there's a pause.

"i never looked at her."

"i know. neither do her boyfriends."

another pause and the two of reach an impasse, and he can see you slipping again, that veil coming down over your eyes and he stops you half way, "you're filthy sweet pea. go take a shower."

with that he shuffles you along, getting you towels from the linen closet and a pair of old clothes so you could shower and get dressed while he cleaned. and he spent the entire 30 minutes buried elbows deep into the soapy water trying to will himself not to step in there with you.

truth be told, jj's glad he didn't, because he wouldn't have gotten to see you when you stepped out--your short hair curled against your forehead, and you looked...soft. the dark makeup no longer caking your eyes making them look gentle and curious. the cherry sweet scent of your perfume had been scrubbed off, now he could smell the ivory soap clinging to your skin from the kitchen.

"i don't...know what to do with my clothes."

jj breaks out of his reverie, quickly coming to take them out of your hand, again trying to ignore the feeling of your still warm underwear in his hands, "don't worry bout it sugar, i'll take care of it."

it's late by now and he can't ignore how tired he is, and judging by the way you yawn and rub your eyes he could tell you were too. so he pulls out the futon, fully dressing the bed so you could lay down comfortably as he puts the pillow under your bed, again ignoring the now familiar desperation in your eyes as he tucked you in, clearing his throat when he pulls back to look at you. all he could see was your eyes peaking over the covers.

"you uh, you can have the remote, watch what you want just don't pay for nothin." jj's nose twitches and he watches you shift to your stomach so your plush cheek is pressed into the pillow.

"will you be mad if i do?" there you were, soft and gentle like he liked you.

"nah, nah i won't be mad." his hands flex.

an impish smile spreads across your face, one jj's never seen before and he hates how his heart skips a beat, knowing you likely never shown it to anyone else, "okay. i'm gonna buy a movie then."

jj snorts out a laugh cutting off the lights as you finally settle in, "alright then, make it a good one."

"you don't wanna watch it with me?" that lurch in his stomach again as you make one last ditch attempt but he ignores it.

"good night sweet pea." when jj closes his bedroom door behind him, he hears a soft good night.

that night he dreams about you in ways his mind hasn't conjured up in 20 years.

#✨.txt #jj maybank prompt #trailer park!jj

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cannellee · 1 day

Note

hiii you can totally ignore this if you want but today is my birthday! 🥳 and i was wondering if you could do mikey x reader where she wakes him up to go for a midnight motorcycle ride because she wants him to be the first to say happy bday to her and eat taiyaki together! and it’s all cute and cuddly 💕

THANK YOUU and i love your tr hcs btw!!!

TOKYO REVENGERS OMEGAVERSE ☆

୨୧ alpha! mikey x omega! reader

— celebrating your birthday with mikey

happy birthday to you!!

MY MASTERLIST: ☆

you gently nudged mikey, trying to wake him up without startling him. with how the moonlight glowed on his face, you were able to see how sound asleep he was.

"mikey," you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur. "mikey wake up."

he slowly fluttered his eyes open, looking up at you and your eager gaze, with a sleepy yet curious expression. "what is it babe?", he asked groggily, rubbing his eyes and blindly searching for your waist among the nest. "is everything okay?"

you smiled, your excitement barely contained, "it's my birthday in a few minutes. I want you to be the first to say happy birthday to me."

mikey's eyes widened and he sat up quickly, a grin spreading across his face. you watched him look at his phone for the time before he leaned in to kiss the top of your head, "I'd love to do that baby."

you snuggled closer to him, breathing in his comforting scent. he then pulled back to look at you, a tender look in his eyes, "do you want to do something while we wait for midnight?"

you bit your lip, eyes twinkling with excitement, "I want to go for a ride on your motorcycle. just the two of us."

his eyes lit up even more, "you want a midnight ride for your birthday?", he said, already swinging his legs out of bed. "alright babe, let's make this birthday special."

only a few minutes later and the both of you were fully dressed and sneaking out of the house. mikey led you to his motorcycle, gently guiding you with your hand in his and handed you a helmet. he helped you put it on before securing his own.

"ready?" he asked, swinging his leg over the bike and settling into the seat.

"ready," you replied, climbing on behind him and wrapping your arms tightly around his waist.

when mikey started his bike and took off into the night, you felt a thrill of anticipation and you instinctively hugged him tighter, seeking his warmth. the cool breeze whipped past your faces and you couldn't feel more grateful for the empty streets which made it feel like it was only the two of you right now.

after a while, mikey pulled over near a small, hidden shop that sold taiyaki. he turned off the engine and looked back at you with a mischievous smile on his face. "how about some taiyaki to celebrate?"

you nodded eagerly, "yes, please!"

you both walked to the shop, hand in hand, simply enjoying each other's presence. you waited quietly as mikey ordered your favourite flavour, and soon enough, you were sitting on a bench outside, enjoying the treats.

after a while, you saw him take a quick glance at his phone before kissing you profusely across the face, almost making you drop your food. "happy birthday, babe. I love you."

"thank you, mikey," you said, voice filled with gratitude. "this is the best birthday ever"

and he smiled, appreciating your merry pheromones which hugged the two of you, and reached out to wipe a bit of taiyaki filling from your cheek. "anything for you, babe. I'm glad you're happy."

you leaned in, kissing him softly, a gentle chirping sound leaving your mouth. "I'm always happy with you."

as you finished eating your snack, you felt mikey wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. you relaxed onto him, loving how safe he made you feel. you then let out a happy sight, knowing that with him by your side, it would be a birthday you'd never forget.

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bingsooow · 2 days

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you can do amab! Venture hate fucking fem!reader who works for talon 😇

W anon for requesting this I’ll make this one extra special

As Sloan finished up their excavation at Petra, they admired the artifact they found. All that time spent in the sun as it ruthlessly beat down on them was worth it. They were covered head to toe in dirt and sweat. They took a moment to wipe off the dirt on their cheek. Sloan gathered up their things and all the while had something lingering on their mind.

Earlier that day, they had a run in with Talon. More specifically as they would put it, one of their goons. But it didn’t feel like they were just fighting against any normal talon goons. This one in particular was smarter, more swift and aggressive. Judging by the body shape alone it had to have been a girl right? It was something they pondered. They couldn’t tell however. The individual was masked.

Sloan set up camp somewhere right by the ruins they explored at. As they finally got something to eat and had a chance to sit down and breathe they could hear something from outside. It sounded like rustling. They hummed before peeking outside of what they called home for the time being.

“Must have been the wind.” Sloan said trying to convince themselves that they were alone. Nobody was there with them. Except they were incorrect. As soon as they turned around there was the same talon worker from earlier. Sloan jumped in fear. What were they doing in their home?

Sloan didn’t have time to question it before they grabbed their drill, they held it up like a threat. “You’re not getting any of these artifacts.” They said proudly, trying not to express their fear from how they managed to sneak behind them. The person didn’t say anything, rather it looked to the side observing the artifact Sloan worked all day to obtain.

“Oh no not that one!” They lunged to get it, however the figure grabbed it. Sloan could begin to feel frustrated. All day in the heat finding this little important piece of history and they could possibly loose it. The only thing on their mind was getting it back.

Fighting this figure was harder than they thought. Having to avoid breaking other things they owned as they tried to get it back was harder than they thought. At some point they kicked off the helmet that the figure wore. And it was a woman. A beautiful one at that. But they couldn’t let themselves get wrapped up into her looks when she was trying to steal from them.

Once Sloan had their hands on the artifact it seemed to shatter from what it gone through moments prior. In that instant Sloan seen red. They weren’t the same they usually were as their hard work went to waste.

They tackled the woman, Sloan holding her down as they looked down at her. When she looked back at them she had a smirk. She hadn’t said much to them until that moment. When she laughed at them. It got them more frustrated.

“This isn’t funny! You just ruined almost 100 years of history and this is funny? My hard work is all gone!” They yelled at her hoping she understood what she just did. “That little piece of crap wasn’t worth much anyway nerd. You wasted your own time.”

Sloan never thought they would hear that in their life. That some relic that they found wasn’t worth much. “You’re wrong! It’s worth so much! And it’s so-“ “I don’t care. Are you going to let me go? Hit me? I’m so scared.” She seemed to say sarcastically.

If it weren’t for her pretty face Sloan would have already been done with her. However an idea clicked into their mind. A way for them to get their revenge without actually hurting her face. They liked looking at it.

“Actually no, I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to take it.” Sloan thought those words were foreign to them. Like it didn’t come from them and they forced themselves out of their mouth.

“Like you could.” She seemed to say with a laugh. Mocking them. Sloan hated being mocked and made fun of. It pissed them off some way they’ve always kept concealed. But with that they thought that they shouldn’t use the bed to prove to her their worth. They were going to leave her right on the ground.

“Just you watch.” And just like that Sloan had this beautiful woman uttering nonsense under them. Their fingers were softly squeezing her throat. A sinister smile across their face as they watched how she reacted. Sloan was just teasing her core with their cock. Moments before using their fingers.

“What was that you said earlier?” They asked as they inserted themselves into her. It wasn’t hard at all because she was already so wet under them. But for Sloan this was almost like heaven for them. Usually since they’ve been out here they’ve had to rely on their hand. This feels much better than that.

Sloan could hear her mumble meaningless apologies as they started at a slow pace. “You know..maybe I’m not sorry..you can’t-“ Y/n was cut off as Sloans pace got faster. Hitting deeper with each stroke. It left her speechless as she least expected it.

Sloan took out all their frustration and anger from earlier all on her in that moment. They were biting her, leaving soft pink hickies in the firelight that engulfed the room. Eventually they could hear her basically begging them, crying out for them. “S-so close…” But Sloan didn’t care. This wasn’t just for her. They cared about them and their release. It sounded selfish but again they didn’t care.

They could feel her tense up under them and tighten their core around Sloans cock. They bit their lip trying to prevent any whimpers from falling as they got closer and closer to their release. The talon agent on the other hand was moaning out, most likely from overstimulation.

Sloan then grunted out, the sound they tried to keep hidden came out of them as they pulled out in time to cum on her stomach. They closed their eyes as they panted. A couple moments passed, and Y/ns priority was getting cleaned up before she had to go back to report her failure to Talon.

The two didn’t say anything to each other after. She left as swiftly as she came. And dazed Sloan almost wondered whether they could see her again. They noticed something left behind from her however. A note, they questioned why it would have been left behind.

Once they read it she said that she wouldn’t mind coming back for them. Not for the artifacts or relics but for them alone. They didn’t know if they should be scared or excited but either way Sloan smiled reading it feeling something bubbling up in their stomach as they put the note in a safe spot.

Again thanks so much for requesting this and I enjoyed writing it :D I considered other versions of writing this before I settled on this one alone.

#overwatch venture #overwatch fanfiction #sloane cameron #venture overwatch #venture ow2 #venture x reader

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libby-for-life · 2 days

Note

Okay so I've been thinking about it more, I follow way too many fanfic writers with no time to update the ones i've started. (anyway..) For the Just Desserts AU Lucifer is under Adam's control, powerless, back home-to a home that never wanted him in the first place. So he's alone. He can't even explain himself to Adam since the first man hates him so much for ruining his peace. So he doesn't talk, he just takes it-some time he screams, knowing everyone in heaven has much as a blind eye as sinners in Hell. It's just pure torture for him, what the angels would call Just. It would take a while, but i almost can see Adam growing bored. Lilith never returned to Hell, it's not like her daughter will rage against Heaven, she doesn't care for Lucifer either. Adam hates them both, but when he sees how Lucifer looked at their ex. He sees the devil he thought he broke, look just as defeated if not more than he appeared in the golden chains at arrival.

I was thinking along the same lines. Adam had always wanted a servant. In fact, in this one, I've made a little piece in a discord server with some others of what Lucifer's reaction is to Lilith in Heaven. It won't be for a while until Adam feels any semblance of guilt or boredom.

Lute was seen as a hero for killing the devil and Adam watched as she was showered with praise. Lucifer was taken to Adam's house where he would make the ground rules. Lucifer was incredibly light, but he knew the collar and leash would be more degrading.

He paraded him through Heaven as everyone threw trash, hissed obscenities, and glared at Lucifer.

He ignored Lucifer's hiss when a stray rock scraped his cheek, leaving him bleeding.

He deserves much worse considering what he's done.

But as for hands, none were allowed to touch Lucifer except Adam. When they got to his house, he forced him to the ground at his feet. "Alright, snake. We're going over the rules."

First rule, talk of The Wives was completely Off Limits. Second rule. He can never talk with anyone alone. He has to stay with Adam. Third rule, listen to him. He trumps all others when it comes to instructions.

Adam even took him to see a certain special someone in Heaven knowing the outcome before the conversation even began.

When Lucifer saw Lilith, he tried rushing towards her, but the chain holding him prevented him from going far.

"Lilith!" He tried calling out but when she turned to him, she glared when she saw him.

"What the hell is he doing here?" She spat making him flinch. What was going on?

"Hey, bitch. Decided to bring my lap dog around."

"Lily?"

"Don't call me that." She snapped.

"I don't...I don't understand?"

"You still don't get it, do you? You're no longer powerful, I can tell." Why did that matter? "You were useless when we fell and you're even more useless now. At least before, you were the King of Hell. Now? You don't even have that."

Why was she saying this?

"...I love you." Lucifer tried saying.

"And that was your mistake. You have nothing to offer me anymore. You didn't when we Fell, and you don't now." She turned away to look at the ocean. "You're an eyesore." It was a dismissal.

Adam whistled. "Damn, I always forget how cold you are." He dragged a listless and crying Lucifer away.

"How does it feel to be abandoned, hu Lucifer? Hurts doesn't it?" Adam sneered.

Adam did not expect Lucifer to just shut down. It felt good to see him like that. Finally, Lucifer knew how it felt. Knew what it was like to be abandoned by the people you loved and trusted. Knew what it was like to have someone GLOAT about that hurt.

(Lilith never loved Lucifer and only used him for power. Now that he has none, she sees no reason to pretend for his fantasies any longer.)

#hazbin hotel #adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #Just Desserts au #send asks

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aster-oid · 5 hours

Text

To the stranger I knew too well

Summary: When your recurrent dreams about a puppet become out of hand, a reality check feels like the only way to get back to normalcy. Fate proves you wrong.

Pairing: Wanderer & gn!reader (post Irminsul), the relationship is heavily implied to be platonic

Content warnings: Reader is gender neutral, mentions of blood and murders but I don't go into details, slight angst, Wanderer is bad with feelings, platonic content

Word count: 7.2k | Soulmate AU

Comments: A special thank to my beta @ladyfocalors for always brainrotting with me about Genshin characters. We'll platonify the Genshin soulmate AU one work at the time /lh

It took you years to understand that your frequent lucid dreams about an Inazuman electricity-wielder leader were actually the memories of your soulmate.

To your parents' defense, every normal individual would have dismissed the idea. While your soulmate wearing an extravagant hat wasn’t impossible, your tales about a place shrouded in darkness and an Electro-user without a Vision sounded like a child's fantasy. There was no such thing in Teyvat.

You quickly got the reputation of an imaginative kid. Adults liked to ask you about your dreams.

"What a smart child you are!", they cooed once you finished recalling your visions. "You could write a storybook!"

Your younger self would shoot them the dirtiest glare they could muster. Unfortunately, adding that the protagonist was a puppet made hundreds of years ago was not the convincing argument you thought it was. To the layperson, your visions were nonsensical dreams.

But you knew what you saw. It felt real. Terribly, shockingly real. Most often that not, you woke up from these flashes with the taste of iron in your mouth, static filling your sight, your muscles locked into place. You were trapped in your own unresponsive body. Even your breath was stuck in your throat. But the worst part of your awakenings was the sticky feeling on your hands. No matter how many times you scrubbed, it lingered on your skin. You didn't know what it was at that time, just that it made you feel gross and that it would sometimes reappear if you washed your hands hard enough.

You learnt what blood was before you knew how to spell the color red.

When one is repeatedly told that they're wrong, they will come to believe it. You were no exception. As the years passed by, you pushed those fantasies in the back of your mind. The adults in your life must have been right. You were just a strange kid with gruesome dreams, that was all.

Despite knowing that they were figments of your vivid imagination, the sights of snow-covered plains and bloody massacres haunted you well into adulthood. They had grown more complex. Details you didn’t notice as a child seemed obvious now that you had more experience. You could also recall conversations better. That’s how you learnt the name of the body you inhabited. Well, it was more correct to say you learnt multiple names for them. Kabukimono, Kunikuzushi, Scaramouche, the Balladeer... It was like you could never make up your mind.

The puppet you temporarily inhabited was as elusive as the wind: no fixed name to call them and no face to match. They fled mirrors when they saw one, preventing you from seeing their appearance. The only thing you knew about them was their title: number Sixth of the Fatui Harbinger. A seat that was left vacant for centuries according to every Fatuus you asked.

Your constant daydreaming was annoying but manageable until you started having visions about Kunikuzushi taking over Sumeru. You saw them getting experimented on to become one with a robot, wincing in pain at the hands of a masked doctor, rambling about their birth-given right to access godhood, taunting a blonde traveler; a chain of events that could only make sense in a dream. The problem was that your reverie was affecting your daily life. You couldn’t go through a day without getting assailed by memories that weren’t yours. You had to stop halfway through any task, discussing became hard and sleep rarely came to you.

There was little you could do as you didn’t know what had worsened your visions. You were hoping it would go away by itself.

That was until a particularly haunting dream. As usual, you were but a spectator seeing through the Balladeer’s eyes. You saw a hand -their hand- reach for a chess piece, leaning forward as much as they could. Your blood went cold. They were about to fall over the edge of the platform! Your gaze darted everywhere. There was nothing on the distant ground that would break their fall. For the first time in your life, you realized that they could die. Scaramouche, the one you had observed for decades, could die.

You were the only one to realize how far they were leaning. They only had eyes for the violet pawn in front of them, begging and begging with a shaky voice. It had never sounded so frail, so raw with hurt and panic.

"Please, anything but the Gnosis!"

It’s not worth it! you tried to scream. Stop! You didn't know why this Gnosis was so important to them but it was nothing dying for. Alas, no matter how hard you tried to move your mouth, the body refused to answer to you. You were nothing but a witness of a tragic scene, a powerless ghost with a bleeding heart. Your throat was thick with emotions you were not allowed to express.

Your dream ended in a snap, quite literally. A tearing sound erupted from behind you before you were sent falling down, pain flaring in your back. You bit down a scream as the world turned to blurry shades of blue and fluttering black bangs. The increasing speed made your eyes water and your body burn. You clenched your teeth. The fall was inevitable. Maybe it made you a coward but you couldn't bear to see it. You didn’t want to see Kunikuzushi die. Muttering an apology to the stranger in your dreams, you squeezed your teary eyes shut.

The last thing you heard was a wet crushing sound, a mix between eggshells broken under the palm of your hand and a fruit being squashed. Your body jolted in your bed and you gagged, fighting the urge to throw up. You had never felt this sick. Not even when you dreamt of unfair massacres.

You sank to the floor, furiously wiping away the tears beading in the corner of your eyes. You couldn't do it anymore. You had to confront your dreaming problem. There was only one solution: if your brain was so adamant on obsessing over an imaginary character, you had to show it the harsh reality, to remind yourself that Kabukimono never existed.

Your trip to Sumeru was the most spontaneous project you ever planned. You were strolling through the busy streets of Sumeru city the very next day with barely enough money to get back to your nation. You had packed the bare minimum in your suitcase to carry it easily, meaning you wouldn’t be able to stay for more than just a few days.

That was, if you found a room for the night. You had no time to check what the usual prices were in the capital before leaving. Now that you were scouring the streets with your meager funds, unable to find a hotel within your budget, you were bitterly regretting your lack of foresight. You sighed. You supposed that the saying was right. Slow and steady wins the race.

As if it had felt your determination dwindling, the crushing sound echoed in your mind in response. You bit your lip, bile rising in your throat. You hadn't been able to forget about your last dream. It looped in your head like a broken record. Even if impulsively leaving your country was one of your worst ideas ever, the quicker you settled your daydream problem the sooner you'd be back to your normal life.

Your weary steps lead you to an indoor bazaar. The smell of fried food filled your nostrils, making your stomach growl. You winced. The small homemade sandwich you had earlier couldn't compete with the appeal of street food. Unfortunately you needed to save your funds for a room. You let your gaze wander in the crowded marketplace, trying to distract yourself from the appetizing smell. Colorful stalls were full of fresh fruits, potted flowers and intricate trinkets. If you stood on your toes, you could even see a small theater representation in the farthest part of the bazaar. It was a lively place that perfectly encapsulated Sumeru’s charm.

You were about to turn back when your eyes stopped on a blue silhouette near a candy stand. You didn't know how you missed them earlier. In the brown and green crowd, their traditional clothing and their ornamented Inazuman hat stuck out like a sore thumb. They were in deep discussion with the merchant. Turquoise fabric trailed behind them, floating in the wind.

Without a second thought, you cut through the crowd, never leaving the stranger from your sight. Your heart leaped in your chest when they left the small stall.

"Hey, you with the hat! Stop!" you yelled. To your dismay, the Inazuman did not even slow down. They must have been too far to hear you. Breaking into a sprint, you called again. "Hat guy!"

You breached the distance in a few seconds. Just as you were about to grab their shoulder, they turned around. A cold hand snatched your wrist, making you wince. When you looked at its owner, you were greeted with a deep scowl and narrowed indigo eyes.

"Don't." The man’s low voice warned you, his tone full of unspoken threats. You swallowed uncomfortably as your confidence melted away. He managed to be intimidating in spite petite stature and youthful appearance.

As he glared daggers at you, you were hit by a feeling you couldn’t quite place. You pressed your lips together, studying his messy black mullet and his glowing Anemo Vision. The word popped up in your head. Familiar. The stranger felt familiar.

Wiping the feeling of déjà-vu from your mind, you retreated your hand. "Sorry, I was just trying to get your attention."

"Well, now you have it," he huffed. Annoyance was written on his face. He crossed his arms. "What do you want?"

A good question, but not one you had an answer to. Running after the man was a spur of the moment decision.

Self-awareness striked you like a thunderbolt. Why were you even doing this? Your goal was to cure your daydreaming, not to throw yourself headfirst into the rabbit hole nor to annoy a stranger with the tales of an imaginary character.

He clicked his tongue. "Hurry. I don't have all day."

You huffed. It was true that you were taking too much time to gather your thoughts but he didn’t have to be rude about it.

"I'm looking for someone,” you said tentatively. It was the closest you could get from the truth without annoying him. Considering his foul mood, the stranger would have walked away if you told him you were looking for the lack of existence of Kunikuzushi, the Sixth Harbinger, the person who tried to become an Archon, someone that only existed in your mind.

The man didn't answer, encouraging you to continue with a movement on the head. His black bangs flew in the light breeze. Now that you had a clearer view of his face, the man seemed more bored than irritated. He wanted the conversation to be over with but he still had the patience to hear you out. This realization gave you the courage you needed to talk again.

"Their clothes are quite similar to yours, but they're red and black. They also have a hat. A huge one." You opened your arms in emphasis.

He scrunched his brows together, looking at you like you were an idiot. "Right. Because the length of their hat is the most important detail you could give me," he deadpanned.

You fight the urge to sigh. "I wasn't done. I don't know much about them, but they're linked to the Fatui." The stranger's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He was back to glaring at you, his face closed. Unsettled by this sudden tension, you quickly added. "Probably. I'm still not sure about that." There was no Sixth Fatui Harbinger, after all. Your brain had made it up.

"Of course." His voice was drier than earlier. What little interest he had in your discussion had melted at the mention of the Fatui. You scrunched your brows. You swore you could read another emotion than ire in his eyes, even if you didn’t know what. "Anything else I should know about that... Friend of yours?"

You racked your brain for more details. There was a lot to say about the person in your dream. Their lack of heart, their coup attempt in Sumeru, their bloody killings, the experimentations they underwent... Nothing you could talk about in public without looking crazy, in sum. The only thing you could still mention was...

"Their name is Scaramouche."

The man went rigid. "What did you say?" he gawked, his eyes wide with shock.

"Scaramouche. I think that's their name?" Truthfully, they were given so many names that it probably wasn't their real one. But it was the one that came up most in your dreams.

As if it caught onto the tense atmosphere, the wind abruptly stopped blowing. You barely noticed it, focused on the horror shining in the man's eyes. He couldn't believe what you had just said. His piercing eyes analyzed every inch of you with a newfound distrust.

“Nobody should be able to-” He interrupted himself with a gasp. Recognition flashed across his face. "Wait. You...!"

His face went from surprise to disgust in the blink of an eye. You had barely the time to react before he pulled his hat down over his head, his scowl peeking from behind the rim.

"Of course fate would string something like this..." He let out a bitter laugh. "Has it ever made anything easy for me?"

You watched as crossed his arms, lifting his head to glare at you as if you had purposely wronged him. You tried to appease him by apologizing. "Sorry, did I say something wrong?"

Despite your question, you knew you had done nothing worth this cold attitude. You didn’t know why he was overreacting, why he was looking at you like dirt under his soles. It’s as if he was personally offended by your description of the Balladeer. You blinked as pieces fell into place. An Inazuman with a strange hat and dark hair, just like the one you were looking for. Could it be…?

"Is that you? Are you Scaram—"

The man turned around before you could finish your sentence, the blue fabric tied to his hat smacking you in the face. You yelped in pain.

"Don’t use this name." You couldn't see what kind of expression he was making but his flat tone told you enough.

You were standing in front of the protagonist of your dreams.

Reality shattered around you. There were only two reasons for your dreams to be visions of the past. You either were a seer —which was unlikely considering you had no elemental affinity— or you were using your soulmate link. Realization sank in. You had a soulmate. Everything finally clicked together: why you had Scaramouche's memories, why he recognized you, why you never stopped having those dreams… It was because the universe had deemed you a perfect fit.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears. You were not an anomaly without a soulmate, like you were led to believe. You just didn't pay attention to the signs.

"Wait a minute," you gasped. No matter how happy you were about your discovery, it came a lot of terrible implications. "Does it mean that everything is real? The Fatui, the taking over Sumeru part, everything ?"

Kunikuzushi immediately clammed up. Not even bothering to look at you, he said without a trace of emotion. "This conversation is over."

Strong wind currents flared all around you with him acting as the epicenter of the small storm he invoked. You stared at him with wide eyes. He was getting away!

"Please!"

You grabbed his sleeve and tugged hard, adrenaline pumping through your veins. The man gave you the dirtiest glare from above his shoulder as the miniature hurricane intensified. But you didn't let him go. You sank your nails deeper into his arm.

"Listen to me!” you said through gritted teeth. “I'm not gonna pretend I know everything about you because that's not true. I only know glimpses of you. Parts of your past that don't make any sense."

You closed your eyes as the memories flooded your mind. The Gnosis, the laboratory, the crushing sound as he fell down... You didn't understand what those events meant to him. What kind of story they told. It was like you were in front of an incomplete puzzle where all edge pieces went missing. It was impossible to get the big picture no matter how many combinations you tried.

That didn’t mean the little bits of memories you had taught you nothing about him.

"You were hurt. That much is certain."

Your words only rekindled the fire of his ire. He bared his teeth at you. “Huh?! Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” He stabbed your chest with his finger, forcing you to take a step back. “Seeing glimpses of my past doesn’t give you the right to assume things about me, you worm.”

"But it’s not an assumption. You lived a very long and lonely life. A bloody one too.” You briefly wondered if contrary to you, he had grown accustomed to seeing his hands covered in crimson. You let out a shaky exhale. “But you cannot talk about your life to anyone. No one would believe you if you talked about the Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui or what you were doing centuries ago."

You had the experience to back yourself up. You still weren't sure what the Fatui thing was all about but if you could barely believe it after seeing his memories firsthand, no one else could.

"See, you’re just assuming things again out of pity," Scaramouche snapped. He tore himself from your grasp, sneering. "Guess what? I don't need you to feel sorry about me."

You shook your head. "I wasn't about to."

You were never going to forget the feeling of blood on your hands, the crackling of electricity as you saw someone charred alive, the coolness of a cadaver against your skin. You couldn't bring yourself to feel sorry for this man. It wasn't what someone like him sought.

Pity was for those forced to live under the ruling of unfairness, not able to object to its cruel laws. Forgiveness was for those that were mothered by this tyrant and dedicated their life to preach its teachings. For now, the Balladeer deserved none of them.

When you opened your eyes, Scaramouche had tipped his hat down, obscuring his expression. His grip on his crossed arms was so tight you thought he was going to break his fingers.

"You don't understand. You can't understand."

His voice was lower than earlier, almost like a growl.

It wasn't enough to scare you.

"You're right," you admitted. "I cannot understand you. But I really want to."

Maybe it was because you knew him on a deeper level than a stranger, but something had changed. You were starting to notice it. The hurt he masked behind a veil of fury. Until his words, you thought he was just an eternally angry man, bitter at the world and at his fate. Now, you wondered if he was just someone who lived through too much. Someone who was ready to beg and kill himself for a glimpse of a better future.

He snorted, disbelief written across his face. “A human like you, understanding someone like me? Don’t make me laugh.” He leaned towards you. You fought the urge to take a step back, withholding his stare with all of the courage you could summon. His mouth contorted into a twisted smile. “You’ve seen what I am capable of. Not only are you fundamentally unable to relate to a fraction of my existence, you’re also unable to withstand it. Understanding me will only bring you trouble.”

“You already do.” Scaramouche didn't utter a word, turning his back to you. You didn't let it get to you, instead squeezing your hand against your chest. "I spent my life stuck with visions I couldn't control. Seeing your memories at random moments robbed me from precious moments with the people I love. From enjoying a normal life, one where I don’t have to fear falling asleep."

Your hands were shaking. Whether from anger or sorrow, you didn’t know. Scaramouche was the one assuming things. You may only be a human, one similar to thousands that have come before you, but you knew how it felt to be misunderstood. How it felt not to belong. Nobody had believed you for decades, nor understood why you were so uncomfortable when it came to sleeping. Even your friends couldn’t wrap their heads about your constant worry of getting lost in the daydreaming. You might as well have been from a different species.

You took a deep exhale. Your anger faded away as quickly as it came. "I feel close to you, no matter how strange it sounds. You've always been a small part of me.” Determination seeped through your tone. “So I won't be able to move on as long as I don't know what's going on with my soulmate."

Soulmate. The word rolled strangely on your tongue. It was the first time you were saying it out loud.

Scaramouche gagged at your word choice. "I'm not looking for a lover." Disgust laced his voice. Seems like you were not the only one who felt weird about the whole situation.

You shook his concern with a wave of the hand. "Me neither. I'm looking for an explanation. A timeline in a chronological order, if possible."

Your attempt at a joke fell flat as silence fell between the two of us. Your face shifted into a frown. Had you been too insistent?

"It's alright if you find the situation strange," you said, trying to save the conversation. "I'm not sure how I feel about the fact that you saw glimpses of my life. This is quite embarrassing...."

You didn't have the most exciting life but there were private moments you wanted nobody to see. Especially not your soulmate.

He shot you an uninterested look, examining the dirt beneath his nails. "I could not care less about your mundane life."

You blinked. You didn't expect him to get interested in your life as much as you were in his, but was that supposed to be comforting? Unsure how to respond, your face contorted into a polite smile.

None of you said a word after that. You didn't dare move either. Weariness taking over you, you watched as the back of his hair fluttered in the breeze, joining the hypnotizing dance of the blue ribbons. The sound of animated conversations and the ringing of distant bells filled the otherwise tense silence.

You were about to leave when Scaramouche let out the heaviest sigh known to mankind. He finally turned to you, uttering a single word.

"Wanderer."

Whatever you were expecting him to say, it wasn't that. "Come again?"

He rolled his eyes but repeated it anyway. "Wanderer. That’s my name. Not Scaramouche or whatever name you heard in my memories."

You felt your entire face lit up. You could recognize an olive branch when you saw one. "I won't call you anything else, I promise!"

He sighed at your sudden excitement, shaking his head. You were starting to recognize when he was truly irritated and when he was acting annoyed by habit. This time, the look in his eyes didn't match his bored pout. It was not soft by any means, but he did not glare daggers at you anymore.

"I still don’t think someone like you can handle the tale of centuries of existence.” He clicked his tongue. “That being said, I suppose it would be entertaining to see you try. Come to the entrance of Sumeru city in two hours."

Your eyes widened. You thought that you wouldn’t get more than his name, and now he gave you the opportunity to explain his life ? You had half the mind to pinch yourself awake.

"Don't be late Wanderer!"

He scoffed, readjusting the position of his ginormous hat. “If I were, you'd scream my name in the streets of Sumeru until you get ahold of me. No thanks."

"I wouldn't do that!"

"Oh, really?" A smug smirk took place on his lips. He cleared his throat before taking a high-pitched voice. " 'Hey, you with the hat, stop right there ! I really want to talk to you! Stop, I say !' "

You gasped in shock. "So you actually heard me! Do you not stop when someone calls you?"

"I do. I just don't typically talk to pipsqueaks."

His grin deepened at seeing your offended expression. He even let out a short laugh. You playfully punched the cheeky bastard on the shoulder, not putting much force in the blow.

Wanderer didn't budge. He instead grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from him. His eyebrows were pinched together in irritation. "Don’t think you can punch me and get out unscathed, kid."

Despite his words, his grasp on you was light, as if he was careful not to hurt you. It was easy to slip from his hold. He was entertaining you, you realized. Considering how harsh he had been when you first had tried to touch him, a light scold was nothing.

Mimicking a fighting stance, you started shifting your weight from left to right.

"You're the one who's gonna bite the dust! I can knock out someone with a single blow!" You punched the air to demonstrate, a smile blooming on your face. "I can take anyone in a fight!"

Wanderer pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated by your playful attitude. "Celestia above, not another Childe..."

You pouted at his words. "Are you calling me a child again? I'll let you know that I'm a fully-fledged adult!" You may not be as old as the immortal puppet but you were no kid by human standards. You were only teasing Wanderer because you needed something light after your heavy talk. He couldn’t base his whole perception of you on a speech stemming from your sleep-deprived self…

He clicked his tongue in his mouth before looking at you directly in the eyes. "You talk big for someone I've seen fall in the stairs several times."

Horror washed over you. Every little embarrassing moment you lived flooded your mind. The fact that Wanderer had seen some of them sent warmth pooling in your cheeks.

"You said you didn't care about my life!" you said, absolutely mortified.

"It doesn't mean watching you was not mildly entertaining. Why would I focus on boring Fatui politics talk when I could be the witness to the mess of your teenage years?” Your expression was decomposing by the second, to his delight. "I especially liked it when—"

You cut him off with a nervous laugh. "Alright, alright, I get it. Aren't you busy?"

His gaze fell into a small pouch at his sides. "I do, actually. Buer must be looking for me."

"Buer? Who's that?" You didn't remember hearing this name in his memories.

"The Dendro Archon," he said like it was the most obvious thing on Teyvat.

"...Right. Of course.”

Maybe you were a bit too optimistic about his ability to open up to you.

Wanderer couldn't believe himself. Three betrayals should have been enough to teach him that closeness only brought pain. Whether because of misunderstandings, lies or the unpredictable and unescapable scythe of Death, the ending was always the same: he was fated to end up hurt. Alone. Cursing himself for loving too much.

He snorted. He knew all of that and yet here he was, wrapping his job up before his meeting with you. How pathetic.

Part of him was not surprised about this new twist of events. Fate liked to throw him in the most ironic situations. He was currently going on errands for Buer, the same Archon he had tried to supplant her months ago and who took him prisoner. Randomly meeting his soulmate in the middle of the streets was not the most unexpected thing to have happened to him. Far from it. At that point, he was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier.

When Wanderer entered the sanctuary of Surasthana, the Archon was sitting on her swing, humming to herself. The melancholic tune didn’t sound familiar but the lyrics in old Sumerian sang the tale of a love long gone. If he rolled his eyes at the song choice, he was polite enough to wait until the end of the song before clearing his throat.

Buer perked up, finally noticing him. She jumped from the swing and greeted him with a small wave.

"Hat guy!" He cocked an eyebrow at the oh so creative sobriquet, making her giggle. "I’m glad to see you. I was starting to think that you had forgotten about me."

"As if my memory would get faulty. I was held up by someone." Holding his hat to pin it into place, he sat on the lush grass. Reunions with Buer always took a while. He might as well make himself comfortable.

Familiar curious green eyes landed on him. "Was it a friend from the Akademiya?"

He rolled his eyes. "I had never seen them before."

He had expected this flow of questions. Buer was very invested in his relationships with other people– well, rather his lack of. She had made him participate in social events like the Interdarshan championship to socialize. She even enrolled him in the Akademiya. Her argument was that it would help him understand humanity better, as well as himself.

The results were arguably mixed. Wanderer admittedly tolerated people a bit better than before. They were predictable creatures but they could be entertaining. Sometimes. On the other hand, he had not grown close to anyone since he started attending classes. Sure, some students followed him around, gushing about the mysterious “hat guy” and throwing a birthday party for him, but he would not call them friends. They were classmates at most. It was for the best: it didn’t matter if Buer claimed he was progressing regarding socialization, talking to him was an experience he wished on no one.

She didn’t seem to agree with him. Excitement and pride shone in her eyes. "Every stranger is a friend in potentiality. That is what makes new meetings so exciting: you might be talking to your new favorite person in Teyvat," she beamed, taking place near him.

"If you say so."

Friendship was a human concept. Something he could neither fully understand or get. Melodramatic speeches and lengthy explanations meant nothing to him. That is why Wanderer didn’t try to counter her argument. There was no point in talking about something he knew nothing about.

What he did know was that Buer was wrong. You were no stranger to him.

His gaze fell to his hands. The first time he had seen your memories, Scaramouche had thought he was defective. He had never been able to dream until then. His creator didn’t see the interest in allowing him to do so. The only reason he knew what dreams were was because Niwa liked to recount his when they worked together in the forge.

One second he was lying down in the laboratory of the Fatui, the other he was in a small bed. Piles of toys were scattered around him, decorating what seemed to be a child’s bedroom. Why on Teyvat was he here? Scaramouche tried to move his arm but it did not move an inch. He cursed under his breath. For some reason, his body refused to listen to him. If it was Il Dottore’s scheme, the man was dead.

Without a warning, his head turned. He was greeted by the reflection of a small child in the mirror of the wardrobe. You.

His mind had been pure madness when he had come back to his senses. He had the time to zap five machines before the Doctor arrived, complaining that his research was being destroyed. The Tsaritsa, the stars, fate itself... He had cursed everything he could think of for giving him a soulmate. There was no other reason behind his sudden ability to “dream”. Fate had decided to intertwine your destinies together. The thought only made him more angry.

He couldn't be mad at the child you were, though. You were barely five. No matter how much of an unfeeling person he was, Scaramouche was not about to hold the situation against someone as young as you. A small part of him, one he had tried to bury for centuries, had even ached to hold your chubby hands in his when he had seen you reach for your reflection.

With the impossibility of breaking a soulmate bond, the Fatui Harbinger had been forced to watch you as you grew. He learnt about your favorite color, the school subject you liked best, the names of your childhood friends, the color of your bedroom, all the details of your ordinary life. He was a spectator to mundane moments, to victories and horrific failures alike.

You had transformed from a kid with shining eyes to a determined adult before his eyes.

If Buer was right and that all friends started as strangers, it meant that you would never be able to grow close to him. You already knew him.

Wanderer plucked a few strands of grass, watching how they fell to the ground. No, hoping for you two to be friends was wishful thinking. You had seen the atrocities he had done as a Fatui Harbinger. Once he filled the gap in your knowledge, you would not want anything to do with him. His erasure from existence didn’t excuse the actions of his past life.

He would not blame you. He deserved your hate. At the end of the day you were another name on the endless list of his victims. Because of your soulmate link, you had lived your entire life plagued by visions you didn't understand, othered because of things out of your control. You were the proof that Wanderer brought suffering just by existing. That he wasn't a fundamentally good person, like the one Buer and Traveler insisted he was. You had every right to loathe him.

That was why he accepted your offer. If he explained everything to you, if he confirmed that every "dream" of yours was true, you would move on. You would forgive Fate for giving you such an unloving person as a soulmate. Maybe you would even want to settle down with someone else... At the end of the day, you'd be free from the chain of destiny. So would he.

The world would let him do a good thing, for a change.

"While it's true that talking it out will appease both of your minds, you shouldn't only see them as a way to atone for the sins of your past life," Buer intervened.

Wanderer gave her an unimpressed look, throwing away the rest of the grass strands. "One day, you will have to answer for all of those breaches of privacy before the General Mahamatra."

"Talking about your thoughts with someone else can help you sort them out and gain new insight. I felt like you could benefit from it."

Her growing smile told him that she didn't feel sorry for reading his mind without his consent. He huffed. She was lucky he had grown accustomed to this habit of hers.

She hummed as she stepped in front of him. "Agreeing to a meeting to ease your guilty conscience is not a bad thing in itself. The problem is that you’re assuming that they can only hate you."

“What other reaction could they have?” The answer appeared in his mind before he finished his sentence. “Pity?” Pronouncing the word made his insides hurl. Wanderer would rather feel your wrath than your pity. The former didn’t feel as disgusting as the other;

Buer shook her head. “That’s not it either. It’s alright if you don’t yet understand Wanderer, you will see in due time.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. He preferred it when she used complex metaphors. At least he had the opportunity to understand what was going on in her mind, contrary to when she used vague words of wisdom like a drowsy prophet.

"If I can give you one more piece of advice, you should give this relationship a chance." Seeing his scowl of disgust, she explained herself. "I'm not telling you to pursue a romance with them. Just don't assume that tonight is the only time you meet. Keep your mind and your heart open."

Despite her smile, she had a serious look in her eyes. It was the face of wisdom in all of its assured glory. Wanderer closed his eyes. It was easy for him to forget she was not a young child, like the one he took care of all those centuries ago.

"There is a reason why they're your soulmate," Buer said. "Don't you want to discover why?"

"Someone like them has nothing in common with me."

Your memories told the tale of a simple life. In an ideal world, a normal person like you wouldn't have been paired up with him. How it happened in this one was a mystery. If he was inclined to pity others, Wanderer would feel bad for you. Being his soulmate only brought you experiences that you couldn’t talk about to anyone.

“You cannot talk about your life to anyone. No one would believe you if you talked about the Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui or what you were doing centuries ago.” Their hands shook as they lifted their head to meet his gaze. He stilled. He had expected to read loneliness and fire in their eyes. He only found the glow of loneliness. It was the same he had seen in your reflection all those years ago.

Wanderer hid his face behind his hand. He supposed he was wrong. He could see a few ressemblances between you and him. That didn’t necessarily mean you would become friends.

"Don't expect too much from this meeting. I only plan on retelling my story, not on learning more about them."

Gentle hands covered his, pulling them away from his face before lightly squeezing them.

“You don’t need to. You already know them better than anyone else.” Buer's voice was as soft as her expression.

He opened his mouth but no snarky counter-argument came to his mind. From what little insight Wanderer had gained on friendship over the course of his life, sharing experiences with a potential friend wasn’t enough. You also had to learn about the other person's personality, their taste, the little things they did… Such a process was too much work for a relationship that would eventually decay. But the man already knew you, more intimately than any person ever would.

If to be friends was to learn about someone, he had become yours a long time ago.

Wanderer fought the urge to shield his face behind his hat. It would be as good as admitting to Buer her words had struck a chord. No way he would embarrass himself like that.

“You're not going to give up, are you?" he sighed.

“While I do hope you will form a bond with them, I will not hold it against you if it doesn’t happen.” She took some time to think, trying to come up with a convincing imagery. “Fate is a tricky concept. It steers you in a specific direction but it cannot force you to follow it. No matter what, you can always make your own way.”

He let the words sink in as he laid down on the cool grass. From the Sanctuary, he could hear the entire city’s hustle and bustle. The sound of the streets mixed with the chirping of the birds and the rustle of the wind through the branches.

He felt Buer sitting next to him. Her voice interrupted his quiet reverie, sounding cheekier than usual.

"Don't I deserve something in return for my good advice?"

Her eyes were focused on the small pouch hanging at his side. He had forgotten about it, their conversation had distracted him. Wanderer shook his head in defeat. The Archon didn’t need to use her mind-reading powers to know about the actions of her subjects.

“If you want to be paid for giving lectures, you should think about becoming a teacher at the Akademiya.”

“I would deprive someone from the joy of educating young minds.”

His lips curled into a grin. “Right. Poor them.”

Feeling her gaze on him, he relented. He unclipped the package from his belt and gave it to her, not bothering to sit back up. Buer tried to open it carefully. It was so full that in spite of her efforts, morsels of candied Ajilenakh nuts spilled on the ground.

Wanderer frowned at the sight of the mess. Something churned inside him. If he had known it would be wasted, he wouldn’t have bought so much food.

“Be more careful,” he chastised her. “It’s expensive.”

Buer shot him a perplexed look. He scoffed in response, averting his gaze.

"I didn't buy them. The merchant gave free samples to bystanders and he couldn't take no for an answer."

Another white lie from him. He had noticed that Buer didn't have much candy left and since he had to go to the Bazaar anyway, he had decided to buy some. He watched as she inspected a piece of candy, rolling it between her fingers. He didn't get why she was head over heels for those disgustingly sweet nuts but he had to keep her in good spirits. Otherwise, she might decide to lock him back in his cell. That and seeing her smile so much sent warmth running in his chest.

Her eyes crinkled, amused. "A free sample? How nice," she said, popping one of the delicacies in her mouth. He supposed there was no fooling the Archon of Knowledge. She pointed at him. "Your friend hasn't had the opportunity to try food from Sumeru, have they? You could bring them to Lambad’s and keep some of the Ajilenakh nuts to snack on."

“We have other things to do than distract ourselves with culinary tourism.”

“It’s not a distraction! See it as a bonding experience that will allow you to grow closer.”

He arched a brow, unimpressed. “As if I needed something like this to become their friend.”

He stopped after his own sentence. He blinked, not believing what he had just said.

Wanderer didn't know how he ended up in this situation. Truly. He was never one to let Fate decide for him. He defied it at each opportunity, fighting with all he had. This shouldn't have been any different. He was a traveler, an outcast, an outsider. He had no use for a soulmate– a lover. Especially not a human one, one that would be gone in a blink of his immortal life.

He had no use for a lover, but he supposed that if he had to befriend a single person in the world, it may as well be you.

If you liked this work, please reblog and leave a comment or an ask!

#scaramouche x reader #platonic genshin x reader #scaramouche x you #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #gender neutral reader #scaramouche #Wanderer #genshin fanfic #Platonic genshin impact #Platonic genshin

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aita-blorbos · 2 days

Note

AITA for never coming home or writing letters?

Why, hello everyone. So, I am not usually the type to talk about stuff like this, so please bear with me if this isn't as coherent or easy to read as other posts here. It's just that after a younger friend of mine told me about this forum I got interested. Y'know, went some pent of feelings, get some outside perspectives… Might be nice.

So, I (M, late teens) don't live with my family. In fact, I haven't been for years. When I was in middle-school I had a, let's call it, 'revelation' that I just didn't feel happy at home. See, I don't wanna brag, but I've always had a certain talent for sorcery, and my parents did value that. Just… Not in a way I felt comfortable with, I suppose. Thinking back, the attention and expectations they placed on me felt suffocating. I was expected to invest a lot of my time into studying the family craft, specifically dark magic, which never really was my "thing" to begin with. And when they didn't have me study, they would have me fight exhibition duels against the heirs of other clans as a show of power. For a while, it felt like I had no control over my life whatsoever. I tried to lock myself in the manor's kitchen or run off into the woods to relief some stress by baking or feeding the forest animals, but… doing that would always net me severe scolding punishment. I'd rather not go deeply into that part.

I suppose one day I just couldn't take it anymore. I took the advice of a child even younger than I was and left the manor, traveling the continent with nothing but the clothes on my back until I managed to get myself enrolled in a magic academy far away from my family home. And, I'll be honest, I never really regretted doing so. Ever since that day, I've felt so much more in control of my own life, so much more alive than I ever did when I lived under my parents' roof. I've been able to make a name for myself using my magic the way I want to and specializing in the things I like, and I feel I've really done well for myself. In all honesty,nothing I've done would bring my clan name into disrepute, quite the opposite, actually! But… I wouldn't know how my parents think about that.

I haven't been in contact with them since I've left. Not even once. I've thought of sending letters, but I wouldn't know what to write. After all, even know that I'm fairly well-known as a sorcerer in my own right, I still have no intentions of inheriting the family estate or carrying on the legacy of dark magic our clan is known for. So if I tried to contact them, what would they do? Would they ignore my letters? Would they reply with anger? Would they send an envoy to attempt to retrieve me and bring me back? Frankly, I'm scared. I could probably fight any hired sorcerers they send my way off easily enough, but… That's not what I want. I don't want to go back. There's nothing I want to do less than go back to the way things used to be before.

I guess what I'm trying to say is… I never meant to cause my family grief. But lately, I can't help but wonder if that is what I'm doing. I was the only heir, after all. I am happy with the path I've chosen in life, and I'm convinced it's what I needed to do for my own sake. But I also find myself wishing I could share the happiness I've found away from them with the people I had to leave behind… And I hate the thought that they might be hurt because of me. And sometimes I wonder if I'm not a little at fault for how things turned out after all, in a way.

So… What do you people think? Please, don't hold back. I expect your honest feedback.

~L.

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

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marvelstoriesepic · 5 hours

Text

Tangled ropes

Pairing: Sailor!Bucky x reader

Summary: A new sailor arrives at the docks amongst Captain Barton’s crew. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, the way he carries himself, or perhaps it’s the way his eyes are the echo of the ocean in color and depth. But something about him makes you want to untangle the ropes that seem to choke his spirit.

Word count: 8.2k

Warnings: allusions to death, slight mentioning of illness, scared reader, a dog in distress (he’ll be fine)

Author’s note: okay so, I actually wanted this to be a one-shot, turns out that’s not gonna happen. I'm working on a second part, but I also didn’t forget about my series 'breaking chains'. So I can’t say what I'll be focusing on next. Let me know what you think, and please be kind because I love this! <3

Masterlist

The docks always held a special place in your heart. It was lively. The air hung heavy with the scent of brine and tar, a salty tang that clung to your clothes and hair long after you left, but you never really minded it - you embraced it. It was the scent of home.

Sun-bleached wooden planks groaned under the constant foot traffic. Wooden stalls lined the piers, their colors all varying and mismatching but it held an undeniable allure.

Fishmongers stood side by side, with hoarse voices from hawking their glistening displays of cod, oysters, plump lobsters, and perhaps the occasional octopus that writhed in wicker baskets. The lovely woman with the sun-kissed skin, who sold vibrant bouquets of wildflowers always greeted you with a beaming smile when you went to get some florals for your mother.

Dockworkers always bustled around, wrestling crates and barrels, their shouts punctuated by the rhythmic creak of ropes and the groan of timber under heavy loads. You held admiration for those men, watching them work all times of the day and weather, muscles sculpted and faces etched with sun and sweat.

Women in billowing skirts and sensible boots bartered with vendors or gossiped with each other, their baskets overflowing with fresh bread, glistening food, and colorful bolds of fabric; sometimes even some seashell jewelry or iron cookware.

You loved to watch the children running around and weaving through the people in glee, chasing after stray dogs or climbing rickety piles of rope, all while their laughter and shrieks echoed off the wooden planks. Seagulls cawed raucously overhead, swooping down for scraps or squabbling over morsels.

The best part, however, was the open ocean stretching before you, a cerulean expanse that mocked the limits of your vision, blurring into the hazy promise of a horizon forever beyond reach.

Your legs often guided you down to the docks on their own accord with an unbidden pull to let the untamed wind whip through your hair, nothing in its path to hold back, carrying the sharp and salty scent of the sea that would fill your lungs. You would usually close your eyes to take it in.

The rhythmic lap of the waves against the wood was a lullaby, a constant that soothed the ache in your heart. It was the closest you could feel to your father, the only connection that remained after the years of his absence.

But it was a strong connection.

Though time had dulled the edges of his memory, the warmth of his presence lingered in these salty breezes. You couldn’t recall the exact color of his eyes anymore, or the way his laughter crinkled the corners of them.

But the feeling of safety when he held you close, the love he held for you, and the endless blue expanse were etched into your soul.

Here, on the docks of your small port town, which had been a mere dot on the map for your father, a different kind of memory took root.

The sea became his domain, and so it became yours too. It was the anchor that held you fast - that vast emptiness that both echoed his absence and held the promise of a connection that could never be broken. It was a poignant yearning, a bittersweet symphony of salt and sorrow, that bound you to the rhythm of the waves and the memory of your father.

The sea held its secrets and you guessed it would hold your father's fate for eternity, ingrained into the indifference of the waves. He was a sailor even before you were born, exploring the ocean and the islands and cities that lay in their wake.

Every few months, sometimes years, he would return, his warmth and laughter filling the short gaps between his journeys. But those gaps grew longer, the laughter strained. Until the docks remained absent from his ship altogether.

Whispers and rumors had filled the void, twisting into conflicting narratives.

Some spoke of a terrible illness, a plague that had swept through his crew, claiming life after life until it finally took him too. Others muttered of a violent raid, your father perishing while defending his hard-earned goods. The most outlandish tales painted him a traitor, a man who’d abandoned his family and his life for the thrill of piracy, a black flag now his banner.

Your father was a well-respected sailor, having kissed the shores of countless countries, his name a murmur of respect in taverns across the globe. You had the evidence of that in souvenirs that cluttered your small home. A carved jade dragon from the East, a woven dreamcatcher from the West, polished seashells once laying on a beach - all from beyond the horizon.

So it was expected that people would talk and spread stories as to what might have happened to him. But no matter what they said and told you, your memories of him remained untainted.

He had shown you the art of knots, his patient hand untangling your fumbling attempts. You had practiced fiercely during the times he was gone. Perhaps he had wanted to give you a distraction. It had worked, because you one day helped him secure the ship to the dock, in recalling how to wove the ropes while he followed your instructions, since you weren’t able to do it on your own with your small and weaker hands. A triumphant grin had spread across your rosy cheeks as the ship was secured and your father had hoisted you up in the air, pride radiating from him in waves.

You would forever cherish the times he took you down to the docks, letting you wander around on his ship. You remembered his calloused hand guiding yours across the weathered deck. Your soft fingers had traced the grooves and marks in the wood, wondering how they made it there.

His voice was a blur in your mind, the cadence of his tone lost in time but you remembered how he would spin tales of adventures that made your eyes widen and laughter ring out across the open deck. He exaggerated monstrous waves, how he outsmarted the Kraken which was likely just a seagull, and described the creak of the ship as he fought a sea serpent - or so he had claimed.

All he wanted was to hear you laugh.

You had noticed how hard it was for him to leave every time, missing out on his daughter growing up. He carried around a heaviness, an ache burning in his eyes that mirrored the one in your mother's gaze whenever he set off again. It made you cling to him tighter when you could.

The image of him boarding deck and watching the ship shrink, shrink, shrink, until it was swallowed by the horizon had been a constant in your life. Unlike your mother, who couldn’t bear to watch him vanish, you had stayed until the last sliver of his ship disappeared, a tiny speck against the vast, indifferent canvas of the sea.

Those goodbyes had carved a hollow ache into your chest, a sorrow that had seemed to tear into your flesh and bones. You had felt his loss, mourned him even before the rumors of his death made their way to land. Yet, you had always wondered what really happened. Nightmares used to haunt you, showing you visions of him swallowed by unseen monsters lurking in the depths.

But as the years rolled by, a sense of peace bloomed alongside your grief.

The town itself became a living testament to your father. You had those souvenirs at home and the stories they came with. The people of the town spoke of his courage and kindness with a reverence that warmed your heart.

You even had him here, at this very moment, standing at the docks and watching the vessel of Captain Barton appear over the horizon.

Earlier, you had immediately perked up at the shouts and clanging from the lookout boy, announcing the arrival of the ship; dropping the unfinished basket you were weaving.

You had rushed down to the docks, joining the throng of merchants, ventures, dockworkers, and townsfolk already buzzing with anticipation, voices rising. The arrival of Captain Barton’s ship was an event, a chance to stock up on exotic goods your town wouldn’t otherwise see.

For years, Captain Barton’s crew had filled the void left by your father’s disappearance. While your father had ventured into the unknown, charting uncharted waters and bringing back exotic rarities, Captain Barton stuck to well-worn trade routes, providing your port town with silks, spices, tools, and trinkets.

You had never once missed the arrival of the crew, because it gave you a glimpse into the lifeline your father had sailed, even though it now was shrouded in mystery. It felt like a bridge across the endless of blue, strengthening the connection you had with him.

The ship grew closer and details came into view. It was nothing like your father’s had been, you could tell from the way it cut through the waves, a touch less weathered, a hint less daring. Captain Barton’s vessel boasted a newer sheen, the paint brighter, the sails crisper. But it carried the spirit of the open sea, the same spirit that had called to your father.

A smile spread on your face.

The wind whipped at your hair, carrying with it the tang of the sea and a thrill that danced in your stomach. You barely registered the young boy rocketing past you, your skirts billowing around your feet.

With each passing moment, the ship inched closer and your focus narrowed on the sailors scurrying about, mirroring your anticipation. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as a cannon boomed - a salute to the town.

Your heart thrummed inside your rib cage, matching the relentless pounding of the waves against the wooden piers. The shouts of the dockworkers, the excited chatter of the townsfolk, the thudding of feet on the weathered planks all became background noise for you, as you kept your stare on the ship.

Your intense focus shattered as you felt a tug on your hand. Snapping your gaze away from the approaching vessel, you looked down to see a small hand nestled in yours. “Papa is coming back!” Morgan shouted, her high-pitched voice ringing out in the din of the docks.

She tried dragging you through the sea of people, getting closer to where Captain Barton’s crew was about to dock. “Do you think he has something for me?” she asked you, blinking at you with wide eyes, laden with childish excitement.

You let out a soft laugh, squeezing her hand gently. “I’m sure he got you something, pumpkin,” you reassured her, laughing harder when she let out a delightful squeal, her eyes sparkling with pure joy as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

Morgan was like your little sister in all but blood. Her father, Tony, was amongst the crew mere feet away from the docks. He had once sailed alongside your father more than two decades ago. They grew up together, starting as cabin boys on the same vessel, and shared adventures for the years to come.

But a fickle wind that steered the course of lives had scattered them. There was an attack, one that had left Tony battered and scarred, physically and emotionally. He got away with his life, but only barely, and it was enough for him to choose calmer waters, a life under Captain Barton, away from the relentless call of the open sea. He had craved the security of a routine, in comparison to your father's love for adventures.

You never learned the exact details, never dared to asked, but your father never stopped speaking of Tony with a deep respect and a touch of melancholy, although they might have never crossed paths again.

Since your father's visits had ceased altogether and more people than not were sure he died on the open waters, Tony quickly became a second father figure to you, spreading warmth whenever he stayed on port.

Watching Morgan now mirrored your own childhood - a little girl waiting with wide-eyed wonder for a father who brought the world home with him, even if it was just for a fleeting visit.

You looked around for Pepper, Morgan’s mother, who likely stood amongst the bustling crowd. Like your own mother, she bore the weight of a sailor's wife; sharing whispered stories, anxieties calmed with the sight of a returning ship, and a love that stretched as vast as the ocean itself.

Thunderous cheers and shouts erupted around you once more and you couldn’t suppress your own cheers as they bubbled up in your stomach, watching the ship getting anchored. It loomed large now, its imposing shadow stretching across the docks. The rhythmic creaking of the ship as it settled against the pier exhilarated you, shivers running down your spine in waves.

Morgan craned her neck and you lifted her high in your arms, making sure she was able to see the spectacle. Her joyful excitement blended into the crowd.

You watched the crew on deck scurrying across the rigging, securing lines, and lowering gangplanks. The sails were being expertly furled.

You knew the process of the arrival by heart. As always, a team of dockworkers charged forward. Some were armed with thick ropes, attaching them to sturdy bollards lining the dock. Others used large hooks and secured lines flung down from the ship, ensuring it wouldn’t drift with the current.

Captain Barton stood on the quarterdeck of his vessel, waiting for the approach of the port officials, clad in crisp uniforms. They exchanged briefly, a verification of the ship's manifest - a detailed document listing the cargo and passengers onboard.

Then followed the health check. Another official, his demeanor seeming a little more gentle, stepped forward. He carried a satchel filled with vials and basic medical instruments. You didn’t hear what they said, but you knew the questions he would ask the Captain.

It were the same questions your father got asked, about any illnesses encountered during the journey, and if it were necessary to perform cursory examinations on some crew members.

Your father had always held his stoicism when talking to the officials, but you'd known him better than that. His eyes had shifted, subtly searching the crowd of onlookers for his family. His impatience was in the way his foot tapped on the wood and his hands adjusted his hat.

The curt nod of the official was the final permission for the sailors to enter the dock and once again, loud cheers went through the crowd. Captain Barton raised his hand in acknowledgment, a smile gracing his face and the gangplank was lowered, a sturdy wooden bridge connecting the ship to the dock.

The familiar crew began disembarking and you had to tighten your arms around a squeaking Morgan as her father stepped on the solid ground of the docks. You scanned the rest of the crew with a smile on your face. Years of Captain Barton’s arrivals had etched these men into your memory, their stories woven into the fabric of your life by Tony’s tales.

There was Bruce Banner, the ship's healer, always looking a little awkward at the attention they all received. He walked in the shadow of the hulking frame of Commander Odinson, who held the wisps of his long, blond hair in a red bandana. You spotted Gabe Jones, Dum Dum Dugan, and Jim Morita, who seemed to playfully wrestle with each other as to who would reach the docks first.

Other midshipmen followed, such as Steve Rogers, a gentle smile on his face as he looked out into the crowd. He looked stronger, you noticed. The shirt he wore was looser the last time you saw him, his shoulders now broader, and he carried himself in a way that made him look more masculine.

Joy bubbled within you, as you spotted the perpetually enthusiastic cabin boy, Peter Parker, bounding down the gangplank. His youthful grin was wide enough to split his face as he waved at the townsfolk.

Your smile faltered.

Behind Peter, an unfamiliar man descended to the wooden planks. He still looked younger than most men of the crew, maybe about Steve’s age, but in comparison to Steve’s gentle spirit, he carried himself with a quiet, almost stoic calmness. He didn’t seem overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of the docks, as if he was used to it by now, though he also didn’t look like he acknowledged anything around him at all, seeming indifferent. He wasn’t part of the crew the last time, you were certain.

There was a subtle tautness to his movements, a hint of a muscular build beneath the worn fabric of his shirt. You studied him as he disembarked to meet his crew. He wasn’t really smiling, you noticed. He wore more of an unreadable mask. It wasn’t a frown exactly but it looked detached, that made you wonder what burdens he might carry.

He barely even lifted his face to watch the crowd but you still caught glimpses of the sharp jawline and the contours of his nose. His hair looked a little unruly and windswept as a few brown strands fell onto his forehead.

As his worn boots met the solid ground as well, he clapped Steve on the shoulder, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. But before you could glean anything further, the throng of people surrounding you shifted, momentarily blocking your view.

A pang of disappointment burrowed in your stomach at the lost sight of the stranger. You craned your neck, hoping to catch another glimpse, but Morgan wriggled in your grasp and you managed to set her down gently before she launched herself at an approaching Tony.

He scooped her up effortlessly, her giggles muffled against the rough fabric of his slightly torn shirt as he twirled her around. With the unfamiliar sailor momentarily forgotten, you stepped forward yourself, a smile so wide on your face, it ached in your cheeks.

Tony beamed at you; shifting his daughter to one arm, her tiny fingers wrapping around his neck like a lifeline, and pulling you to his chest with the other.

“Well, well, look at you, all grown up, eh young lady?” he teased, his voice a warm rumble over the din docks. He leaned down, his salty beard tickling your hair as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

You rolled your eyes, though laughter spilled from your lips, despite yourself. “Grown up for years now, Tony,” you protested, your smile ever-present. Relief and a deep sense of contentment filled your chest and you took a deep breath so as not to let your emotions overwhelm you.

He smelled of the sea, with the hint of dust, wood, and sweat - a heady concoction that somehow felt like home.

He released you slightly, but not before holding you at arm's length for a closer look. “Still, you seem to have spouted a good inch or two since last I saw you, dear one. Are you eating properly? How fares your mother?”

“Mother is well, Tony,” you replied, your voice a gentle reassurance at the worry you read from his eyes. “And we are both well-fed. We manage to keep the food cupboard stocked.” His concern tugged at your heartstrings and you reached out to gently squeeze his arm. “No need to fret over us,” you added gently, though, with a hint of a playful drawl and it eased the lines on his face.

As Pepper joined you, hugging and kissing Tony with tear-filled eyes, you decided to let them have their moment and started pacing the docks, taking in the usual frenetic energy. Old Hughes, the gruff-looking but fair cobbler, unfurled his work canvas awnings, displaying a colorful array of boots and shoes for the sailors. Mrs. Cook, a stout woman with a booming voice, set up tables laden with fresh bread, glistening cheeses, and plump, juicy fruits.

The dockworkers had already swarmed the ship, lowering large wooden crates filled with the cargo. The gentle breeze carried the sweet perfume of exotic spices right over to you as you took another deep breath. The sailor's crew helped unload the crates. Some were hauled onto large flatbed carts pulled by dockworkers, while others, the smaller and lighter ones, were hoisted onto the shoulders of the sailors.

You watched with fascination how they all seemed to joke and tease each other while still working efficiently. Their grunts and laughter carried over the lively chatter of the townsfolk.

Your eyes swept through the crowd on their own accord, trying to find the unfamiliar sailor, not knowing exactly what made you so interested in seeing him again. But you also didn’t put much effort into trying to suppress that nagging curiosity that tugged at you.

Lost in your search for the guy, you completely missed the treacherous snag lurking beneath your feet. A thick hemp rope, used to secure a nearby crate, lay coiled and unsuspected. You were about to take a step forward but your boot promptly caught on its rough weave, sending a jolt through your leg and nearly toppling you over.

A startled gasp escaped your lips as you lurched forward, flailing for something to break your fall. Your hand quickly grasped a sturdy wooden post, one of many supporting the overhead awning of a nearby vendor. The worn leather of your boots met the worn wood of the planks with a resounding thud, echoing through the bustling dock.

You held your breath, bracing yourself for a painful collision with the ground. But luckily the post held firm, helping you regain your balance. A wave of relief swept over you, quickly followed by a pang of embarrassment.

You glanced down, wincing as your gaze fell upon the culprit. The hemp rope, still tangled around your boot, had caused a small tear in the fabric of your skirt. Taking a deep breath, you knelt down, fumbling with the coarse rope until it loosened its hold. With a sigh, you inspected the damage. The tear wasn’t major, but it was certainly noticeable, and your mother surely wouldn’t like it.

You rose to your feet and looked back up, just to meet the eyes of the brunette sailor, the unfamiliar man. You stilled in your movements, staring back at him. He still stood a little in the distance, a half-hoisted crate resting precariously on his shoulder as he was slightly turned in your direction. His gaze was pretty clear, but his expression was unreadable.

He didn’t seem to feel as uncomfortable as you, though. The way his eyes flit over your form, lingering on the part of your skirt you had just ripped wasn’t intrusive, but rather a quick assessment, as if gauging whether you were injured. He held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary and you almost could have believed he was able to hear your heart pounding over the distance. Perhaps he could see through you, watching the blood rush through your veins and up to your cheeks as they heated up.

He turned away then with a curt and subtle nod you wouldn’t have picked up if you weren’t watching him so intensely. You might even interpret it as satisfaction at seeing you regain your footing, or simply a confirmation that you were alright.

His gaze very well may have lasted for mere seconds only but you were flustered. You weren’t sure why his brief scrutiny had sent a jolt through you, or why you felt a curious mix of embarrassment and intrigue. Perhaps it was just the fact that you weren’t used to seeing a new face around here. Especially as handsome as his.

Absentmindedly, your hands brushed over your skirt as they had gotten a little clammy and you couldn’t help but steal another glance at him.

The mysterious sailor had returned to his work, carrying the crate on his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt strained across his back, revealing those broad shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick forearms, with a few veins running up and disappearing behind the fabric. Pale pink lines seemed to be marrying his left arm - scars, undoubtedly - though the details were blurred by the distance.

Your attention caught the couple rips in the fabric of his shirt, revealing skin on his shoulder and a little on his side. All your father's shirts had been adorned with similar tears. One day, you had asked about them and he had granted you with one of his gruff laughs. “Keeps the pirates at bay, my sweetheart,” he had said, with a twinkle in his eyes.

It wasn’t true of course. You always knew that, but your father's playful answer had instilled a sense of comfort back then, making you feel like he was safer out there than he actually was.

The brunette navigated the bustling docks with a practiced gait and you narrowed your eyes at him as your gaze followed him weaving between towering crates and barrels, his destination likely a designated storage area near the harbormaster's office, depending on the nature of the goods he carried. Your gaze remained fixed on him until he disappeared behind the market stands.

****

You had finished the basket you’d been weaving as the boy on lookout had announced the arrival of Captain Barton's ship - a sturdy work of woven reeds, perfect for carrying fresh bread or plump vegetables.

Your mother had insisted you could finish it tomorrow, but you still had a lot more to do and you needed the money.

The day had bled into dusk by the time you had sold it for a few coins down at the marketplace, the fiery orange of the setting sun replaced by the cool, silvery glow of the moon.

The rhythmic clatter of cobblestones beneath your worn boots echoed around the brick walls around you. The salty tang of the sea was now tinged with the smoky aroma of woodsmoke, wisping from chimneys.

Laughter, boisterous and male, spilled out from a nearby tavern - perhaps Captain Barton’s crew drowning their sorrows or celebrating their return in mugs of rum and ale. You made out raucous singing, sometimes punctuated by a heavy thump on the table. You could even glimpse a few silhouettes through the grimy windows, swaying and stomping to the tune of a jig played on a weathered fiddle.

The melody of a lone violin drifted from a brightly lit window a few steps further down the road, and you found yourself listening fondly.

You weren’t surprised to find your feet carrying you back towards the docks. The festive chaos of the arrival had subsided, leaving murmured conversations reaching your ears from people lost in the shadows.

The ache your father had left you with had dulled throughout the years, becoming a part of you. Most days, it resided peacefully in the background, a constant but manageable hum. But on these days, when the excitement of Captain Barton’s arrival ceased, your composure would usually fray at the edges.

A heavy fog rolled in, settling like a lead weight on your chest. It squeezed your heart, not with a fist, but with a thousand tiny, suffocating fingers. The air thinned in your lungs, replaced by a hollowness that echoed in your stomach. A hollowness no amount of food or water could ever fill.

So, the docks were the only place you could find a semblance of solace.

You knew better than to walk on the open docks at night, staying in the shadows of a few shops near the pier. You made out the rhythmic creak of rocking ships, the groan of a straining rope. Moonlight danced on the water, casting shimmering pathways that stretched out towards the inky blackness of the open ocean.

Gas lamps strung along the docks, casting pools of warm orange light that struggled to penetrate the bat darkness of the harbor. In their flickering glow, dust motes waltzed.

Further down the docks, you made out the rhythmic hammering of a lone shipwright, his work illuminated by a flickering torch.

A new sound pierced the night air.

It began faintly, a whimper barely audible over the creaking of ships and the distant shouts coming from taverns.

But with each passing second, the sound grew louder, a plaintive whine morphing into desperate cries.

It was a dog.

Your heart lurched. You scanned the dimly lit docks, your eyes flitting from shadowy figures to stacked crates. The whimpers and cries were frantic, leading you towards the easternmost pier, a relatively deserted area where a few neglected fishing boats lay moored.

There, half-hidden beneath the skeletal frame of an old, beached vessel, you spotted it. A dog - a scruffy mutt with a coat the color of dried mud and a desperate glint in his eyes.

It was entangled in a thick mess of rigging rope, the lines binding its legs and torso like cruel restraints. The dog's frantic struggles only tightened the knots, its whimpers turning into pained yelps.

Adrenaline surged through you. Your mother warned you enough times to stay away from the docks at night. They could be treacherous, a labyrinth of shadows and unseen hazards. Yet, the dog’s whimpers tugged at your heart, echoing the silent emptiness within you.

You pushed aside the trepidation that had coiled your gut and rushed towards the pained dog, without further thinking. The moonlight was the only glow you could lean on as you knelt beside the tangled animal.

“Hey there, fella,” you murmured, speaking in a soothing tone, probably more for your own reassurance than anything else, as you reached out a tentative hand. The dog flinched, knots tightening, a low growl rumbling in his chest. You kept your movements slow and deliberate. Your father had once told you to avoid eye contact as a sign of non-threat.

Taking a closer look, you assessed the situation. The ropes were wrapped around its front legs and middle in a haphazard manner. The knots, however, seemed more amateurish than sailor-made, a tangled mess rather than a secure bind. That’s why the poor thing must have gotten caught. This wouldn’t have happened with the right knots. You didn’t see any blood on the ropes, nor the dog, but it wouldn’t take much for the rough material to nick his skin.

So you slowly extended your hand towards the dog's head, whispering low and soothing. You avoided its gaze, aiming for the reassuring scratch behind his ear that most dogs craved. If the dog remained calm, you could assess the knots more closely and see if there was a way to loosen them without causing further distress.

The dog's whimpers grew softer, visibly settling with occasional shaky breaths. He watched your hand, as you reached behind his ear, a tentative sniff grazing your palm.

Your relief at the dog's response to your gentle approach was cut short.

A figure emerged from the shadows, tall and broad-shouldered, casting a long, distorted form across the moonlit wood as it moved in your direction. A sudden chill crawled up your spine, panic jolting through your body and you instinctively snatched your hand back, almost tumbling over in your haste.

The surprised yelp of the dog at your sudden movements pierced the air, a sharp bark that echoed like a gunshot in the stillness of the night.

The figure in the distance quickened its pace, its shadow dancing grotesquely on the pale wood of the pier.

You were frozen. Completely and utterly frozen on the ground. Your heart was pounding erratically, almost painfully, threatening to drown out the dog's frantic barking.

Broken nails clawed at the wood underneath and a whimper nearly escaped your own lips. You felt as trapped as the dog - only that the ropes binding you in place, scratching and clawing at your skin, taking your breath away the more you moved; were fear.

Each rasping breath you could take in felt like a struggle, your chest a tight cage around your rapidly inflating lungs.

The warnings your mother had ingrained in your head, that the docks were no place for a young woman at night, swirled around in your mind in sharp and mocking whispers.

The newcomer, perhaps sensing your panic, slowed his approach. He raised his hands high in the air, palms open, taking a few measured steps forward, as if taming a frightened animal. Like you had with the dog just moments before.

How ironic.

“Woah there, easy,” he called out softly, as he came to a halt at a respectful distance, hands still raised in placation. Only the moonlight helped you make him out, casting his face in an eerie half-light, revealing him only in fragments.

Yet, it was enough.

It was him - the brunette sailor that had caught your attention earlier, with the sharp angles of his jawline, the strong bridge of his nose, and a hint of a scar over his brow you hadn’t been able to see over the distance.

You didn’t know if it was relief that swept through your body since it felt numb to feeling anything anymore, but you were able to draw in a somewhat steadying breath again.

“I mean no harm. Didn’t mean to scare you, apologies for that,” he continued and it was then that his voice finally registered in your mind. It was a low rumble, rough around the edges and tinged with a hoarse weariness. Yet, there was a hint of concern and something like a soft reassurance underlying his tone and it cleared the fog around your eyes.

His gaze was solely fixed on you, somehow ignoring the barking dog beside you. There was a faint crease that furrowed his brows, his lips tugging into a frown and his fingers twitched as if wanting to reach out to you.

Your voice remained trapped in your constricted throat as you concentrated on getting the air back in your lungs. The man before you seemed to soften further.

“Heard that dog cryin' like a lost soul. Had to see what all the fuss was about. I reckon that’s what brought you out here too. Mighty brave of you, though these docks ain’t the safest place for a lady after dark.”

He cast a brief glance around, his hands slowly returning to his side as he swept the dimly lit area before returning his gaze to you. It was too dark to make out the color of his eyes but they glinted with something you couldn’t make out as he lingered on your form. He tilted his head slightly, a slow smile forming on his lips.

You might have found it charming, disarming even, if your mind hadn’t been running on scrambled eggs.

“I remember you,” he countered softly, seeming patient to wait until your voice found its way back to you. “Saw you when we docked.” His gaze drifted downwards, lingering on the still ripped section of your skirt from your earlier inattentiveness. A line etched itself deep in his brow as his gaze traveled back to your face, seeing the tear up close. “I hope you didn’t hurt yourself there.”

Maybe the calming tone of the sailor also had an effect on the dog, because his whimpers had softened, replaced by weak pants. Or perhaps his struggle had simply drained him.

Regardless, you finally managed to pry your voice loose from your throat as you cleared it, the sound a little scratchy. You brushed the dirt and dust from your hands on your skirt and rose to your feet. Your legs still felt a little wobbly, but you regained your footing.

“I-I’m fine,” you croaked out and watched the way his shoulders relaxed, relief etching the lines on his face. His own chest visibly deflated with a released breath and his posture softened further.

“Let’s see how we can help our furry friend here,” he exclaimed after a moment's pause, as if remembering what he came here for in the first place. He took a step closer and crouched down to the height of the dog, you now towering over his seated form.

It surprised you. His actions, the way he spoke to you with an easy respect and approval that wasn’t always afforded to a young woman.

Especially not to you.

Your family name took a hit after the many rumors about your father's disappearance cursed the seas. There still were people praising him and talking about his adventures, but those would throw you pitying glances whenever you walked past. Conversations would halt, in fear you might crumble under the weight of some words. Of hearing your father's name. They would treat you like a fragile child. Or perhaps a ticking time bomb ready to blow up at any second.

Some treated you as a victim, some as a ghost, and others saw you as a heavy reminder of the shadow that had overcome the town at the perceived betrayal of your father to sail under pirates.

You grew accustomed to it - the pity, the suspicion, the condescension.

It still took you by surprise as you watched that man lowering himself beside you, with you towering over his crouched frame as if it meant nothing. His gaze had lacked judgment as it lingered on the tear in your skirt you obviously hadn’t changed since you ripped it. He only held concern.

It was a respite from the heavy loads you normally had to deal with and you felt a flicker of warmth chasing away some of that chill that had settled in your bones.

You snapped back to the present as the sailor reached for a small knife tugged at his belt. The worn leather handle was dwarfed by his hand, its blade a dull silver under the moon's glow.

“Don’t,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself, squatting down beside him. His head twirled in surprise, a flicker of confusion crossing his features as his gaze met yours. The dog whined softly.

“He’s moving too much,” you explained, your voice regaining steadiness. “If you cut the ropes, you might nick him.”

A slow, amused smile spread across the sailor's face. It wasn’t a mocking grin, rather a playful challenge that crinkled the corners of his eyes. They were blue, you realized. “I’ve got a steady hand, doll,” he teased, his voice low and rich with amusement. “You doubtin' my skills?”

Heat flooded your cheeks, a blush creeping up your neck and you averted your eyes. “No, of course not! I didn’t mean-”

His warm chuckle cut you off, a deep sound that seemed to vibrate from the core of his being. His chin fell to his chest, brown strands falling onto his forehead as his shoulders shook slightly.

You hadn’t expected him to laugh but a strange sense of ease settled in its wake, making you suppress a smile of your own.

“No offense taken, doll,” he softly declared. “If you’re worried about the blade, then we will find another way to help the fella out.”

His voice was calm and gentle, a stark contrast to the gruff exterior he presented and the looming figure that had scared you as he had appeared from the shadows. Your heart skipped a beat, but not out of fear this time.

You decided to focus on the task at hand, to predict him recognizing the blush scorching your cheeks. “The knots are messy,” you assessed again, tracing the ropes with careful fingers. “We can untangle them if we find an opening.”

Scanning for any frayed ends, any loose thread that could serve as a starting point, your peripheral vision picked up on the sailor doing the same thing right beside you, letting his hands trace over the ropes. You worked in silence, the only sounds being the rhythmic creaking of the nearby ship, the gentle lapping of the waves, and a lone seagull's piercing squawk.

A smile grazed your face as you made out a frayed end peeking out from beneath a few knots. Deftly, you began to untangle the ropes, working with the kind of ease that came with years of weaving. You wound the excess rope around itself, creating a loose coil that wouldn’t snag on anything. The dog grew still as you neared his legs, whimpers replaced by shallow breaths.

As you worked the ropes against each other to loosen their hold, you felt your skin prickle with the gaze of the sailor on you. He had stilled his own movements, now watching you quietly, with an intensity that made it hard for you to focus. Perhaps it was some form of astonishment that radiated from him, you couldn’t tell, but it felt warm on your skin.

The brown mutt barely flinched as you unwound his legs, being exhausted by its ordeal. You worked your way to his middle, careful not to touch the sore parts of his body that had been squeezed. With a final tug, the last knot yielded, and the dog was free.

You breathed a sigh of relief, a soft smile curving your lips. “There you go,” you whispered, barely audible over the noises of the docks.

The little fella remained motionless for a moment, probably still in shock. But he quickly seemed to regain sense of his freedom and bolted away with a sudden yelp, disappearing into the shadows.

You were relieved he hadn’t gotten hurt in the process, still being able to run, but the sudden departure of the small dog left you a little disappointed.

Another comforting chuckle from the sailor, with a name you still had to learn, echoed beside you. “Consider him grateful,” he said, a lightness in his voice that made you laugh softly, tension easing from your shoulders.

You turned back to the discarded ropes, silence stretching for a few moments until you spoke up again. “He wouldn’t have gotten tangled up in those if they were secured properly,” you declared, your voice a quiet murmur, underlying a hint of resentment at the person who didn’t take his job very seriously.

The sailor looked at you for a few beats, then nodded to the heap of ropes. “And you know how to knot them correctly?” It wasn’t a challenge, nor was it laced with doubt or disbelief. There was a genuine curiosity in his tone, a spark of something deeper that caught you off guard.

Perhaps it was the way he had watched you work with that kind of amazement as your nimble fingers unraveled the knots. Or the way he looked at you with that glint in his eyes as if he already knew you would say yes. Maybe it was the satisfaction of helping a helpless dog in distress, or the intrigue this man had ignited within you, but a surge of confidence, unexpected and exhilarating, coursed through you.

“Are you doubtin' my skills?” You countered, mirroring his question from earlier, teasing in your voice.

A flicker of surprise, a delightful surprise, crossed his features, eyebrows shooting up. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards, and he bit his bottom lip to prevent it from spreading. He looked away from you for a few beats, schooling his expression into a semblance of composure, but the amusement still danced in the corners of his eyes as he met yours again.

You turned your attention back to the ropes, beginning to feel that heat creep up your neck again at the way he looked at you. Starting to weave the rope in the familiar motions your father had taught you so many years ago, calmed the jitters that had taken root over you.

Moments passed in a contemplative silence until he broke it.

“I’m Bucky.”

You momentarily stilled in your movements, lifting your head to look at him. A touch of bashfulness colored his features and he lifted his hand to brush against the shadow on his chin.

“Should have introduced myself before. Rude of me not to.” He huffed out a breath, wincing at himself and you found his sudden shyness endearing, a soft smile on your lips.

“Don’t worry about it,” you replied sweetly, “it’s nice to meet you, Bucky.”

You liked the way his name rolled off your tongue, testing its weight on the night air. Your focus returned to the knots you were weaving, contemplating to tell him your own name, when he interrupted the silence again.

“Who taught you that?”

You hadn’t noticed how intensely he was watching you, gaze following the movements of your fingers as you secured another knot, your hands seemingly working on their own.

Mastering the skills of knotting was never really a necessity for you, though you remembered that broad smile, that had split your fathers face as you’d told him you wanted to learn more than the simple basics he’d shown you. It had been like a game, a simple way to impress your father and make him proud.

It felt like a gift tonight.

The way Bucky asked the question, so intimate and soft, as if he was as concentrated as you, mesmerized by the way your fingers moved.

“My father,” you answered him, voice laced with a fondness that always appeared when you got the chance to talk about him.

Bucky’s gaze lifted, his eyes searching your face. Perhaps he heard the glimmer of grief in your voice, or maybe the quiet pride that intrigued him to study your expression.

“He a sailor too?”

You took a second to answer. “He was.”

Silence settled over you both once more, it was heavier than before. Out of the corner of your eye, you made out that Bucky dipped his head slightly, perhaps as a silent gesture of respect, or he was simply lost in thought.

“I’m sorry,” he then countered, the words sounding clear in the night air. His voice was gruff, however, laced with something else, something like understanding.

You met his gaze again, with a small smile grazing your lips. You couldn’t quite read his expression, but it was captivating, the depths of his blue orbs drawing you in. Blue, like the rich, inky tones of the ocean you had looked upon so many times already and never could grow tired of.

Your hands had stilled as the intensity with which he looked at you was the only thing you could focus on. You felt both exposed and strangely safe under his gaze. There seemed to be so much hidden behind those eyes, as there was behind the horizon.

“What’s your name?” The question was barely a whisper as if he was just as lost in this moment as you were.

“Y/n.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed slightly. “Y/n? As in Y/n L/n? So, your father…he is…”

You let out a sigh, the sound heavy with a burden you’d carried for far too long. It wasn’t a secret, not exactly, but the whispers that followed your name became a constant itch you couldn’t scratch.

Not noticing how he used the present form at referring to your father, you confirmed his suspicion with a curt nod. “Yes, that’s him.”

A shadow crossed over his eyes. The softness his gaze held just seconds before had vanished, replaced by something unreadable, something dark. A shudder ran over your spine, a chill settling in your bones as if your body only now became aware of the nightly breeze that swept by.

His features were hardened over, as his gaze left you, staring beyond your shoulder. His jaw was clenched, as if in silent contemplation. There was a war brewing behind his eyes, a storm beneath the surface that mirrored the exaggerated tales of your father.

There was a tension that crackled in the air and you knew now that the chill you felt had nothing to do with the night air.

Uneasiness squirmed your stomach, but before you could act on it, Bucky’s gaze softened again, the storm clouds parting to reveal the azure depths. He cleared his throat with a subtle shake of his head, ridding himself of whatever had plagued his mind.

“It’s a nice name,” he stated, voice as gentle as before, but something lingered and you couldn’t put a name on it. “Now let me help you finish that.”

He reached for a length of rope, his calloused fingers moving with an ease that indicated he had done this a thousand times already, knotting them alongside you.

You finished in silence, the earlier tension easing a little but it still remained a faint echo in the air. You suddenly felt incredibly aware of his presence beside you, almost watching his movements more than your own.

Questions swirled in your mind, you didn’t dare to voice. Somehow Bucky’s shift in demeanor hadn’t scared you off as you believed it would have. It spurred the intrigue that had already simmered beneath the surface, a new layer to a man who was already an enigma.

Earlier the day, as you had watched him walk down the gangplank to meet his crew on the wooden plank you had glimpsed it already. The guarded detachment in which he had carried himself, an unvoiced burden that seemed to have a tight grip on him.

Maybe he was as tangled as the dog had been, invisible ropes wounding around his body - binding him, squeezing him, choking the warmth that had glimmered in his eyes moments before.

Thankfully, your father had taught you how to untangle them.

“We learn the rope of life by untying its knots”

- Jean Toomer

#bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #james buchanan barnes #sailor Bucky #medieval #age of sail

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