#please note that none of these are about coming out or finding your identity | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marvelstoriesepic · 2 months ago

Text

Wake up (part 3)

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: You are awake but Bucky’s nightmare hasn’t ended yet.

Word Count: 9.5k

Warnings: lots of talk about Bucky’s past; Hydra; brainwashing; mind control; loss of autonomy; panic attacks; emotional and mental breakdown; medical trauma; experiments; depersonalization; identity struggles; sedation; power imbalance; dissociation; crying; mentions of vomiting; severe angst; comfort

Author’s Note: We’re here guys, this is part three of wake up. It does have a happy ending, but I'm still going to give you a heads up because this is going to get intense. Themes and events ahead may he heavy, and I strongly encourage you to check the content warnings carefully before proceeding. Your well-being comes first, so if anything feels like too much, please take a step back. Read at your own pace and take care of yourself. That said, I hope you enjoy! ♡

part one part two

Angstober Masterlist | Masterlist

The room stops.

The alarms still scream, the monitors still beep, but for one suspended second, no one moves, no one breathes - because you are awake.

Bruce’s hands falter mid-air. Cho’s fingers freeze over the screen. Tony, usually the first to crack a joke or spit out some sharp remark, is silent. Even Steve, ever the composed, looks stunned.

But none of that matters.

Bucky is not aware of any of those things.

Because your eyes - those eyes that have always held the soft glow of recognition, the warmth of you, the love for him - are staring right through Bucky.

And they are blank.

Not confused, not dazed, not disoriented from sleep - no, something about them is wrong.

Bucky doesn’t realize the way his body is trembling. Doesn’t register the way his lungs have locked up, the way his grip on you has loosened, as if he’s afraid to touch you now.

Your pupils are wide, too wide, swallowing their color whole, leaving only black voids behind. You don’t blink. Don’t move. Just watch him.

“Sweetheart?” Bucky breathes, his voice a ghost of itself, the sound roughly shattering in his throat. His fingers twitch where they rest against your cheek. “Baby, can you-?”

The second he speaks, your body reacts.

Like a string has been pulled.

Your spine straightens, muscles locking into place like a marionette finding its tension. Your erratic and ragged breathing just moments ago evens out with a precision that seems unnatural.

A response. A reaction.

But it’s not you.

Bucky feels shot all over again. Not once. Not twice. Not even a third time. He can’t even count that high, not here, not now, not ever. And all those bullets land where his heart once belonged.

Something so utterly cold sweeps through his veins, turning movement into something impossible. Winter is settling deep in his chest, freezing him from the inside out. He doesn’t even feel numb anymore.

Because this isn’t just the fog of waking up after whatever the hell Hydra did to you.

This is something else.

A sharp, unresolved noise scrapes out of Bruce’s throat, his finger still hovering. “That’s not right.”

Cho shakes her head, blinking rapidly as if she can make herself see something different, to give this a sense. “She shouldn’t-” She cuts herself off, exhaling hard through her nose. “This isn’t a normal response.”

“Okay,” Tony interjects, voice a shade tighter than usual. “Yeah, I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.”

“Y/n?” Steve tries carefully, stepping closer, but Bucky doesn’t see him, doesn’t hear him, doesn’t fucking care.

Because he is frozen.

Because this is so goddamn wrong.

You are looking right at him but there is nothing in your eyes. Nothing. No life.

A dry, aching squeeze inches up his neck. It constricts his throat, it leaves any desolate sound trapped inside him.

He has seen this before.

Too many times. In the mirror. In his memories. In the cold, unfeeling gazes of other soldiers.

And it’s killing him - killing him to the point where he might just drop to the floor in the matter of a second - to now see it in your eyes.

The world inside the medical wing doesn’t restart at once.

It comes back in pieces with everyone still in shock.

The turbulent, shrieking alarms dull down, monitors resetting to their normal beeping. Hushed voices return, everyone still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Bucky still doesn’t take his eyes off you. He doesn’t think he ever will.

You’re awake. That should be a good thing. That should be everything.

But his stomach feels like it’s caving in on itself. He would love to wrap himself up, fold over twice, three times - until he’s nothing but a tight, trembling knot.

Bruce speaks up, voice professional. But it holds something strained. Something uneasy. “Y/n?”

No response.

Cho tries next, moving closer, her eyes scanning over you with clinical focus. “Can you hear us?”

Still, nothing.

You don’t move.

Don’t blink.

Don’t react.

Bucky swallows hard, harder, the hardest, but his throat is closed, voice dying before it can form.

Bruce looks dismayed just the slightest bit. “Okay, that- that’s okay-” He cuts himself off, taking a slow breath. “Her vitals are stable.” He looks over at Cho, who is already checking the readings on the monitor.

“Brain activity is…” She trails off, frowning. “It’s fine. Everything is fine.”

It sounds almost accusatory like she doesn’t believe her own words.

“Then why isn’t she saying anything? Why isn’t she reacting?” Steve asks, stance stiff and voice holding something sharp.

No one has an answer.

Bucky doesn’t notice the way Bruce and Cho are moving around you, the way Tony mutters something under his breath that no one listens to. Because he can’t look away from you.

From the way, your pupils track only him.

Not Bruce. Not Cho. Not Steve or Tony.

Just him.

Bucky’s lungs pull in a sharp breath but nothing actually seems to reach them.

It’s nothing, he tells himself. You’re just waking up. You’re just a little dazed. Just trying to make sense of what is running through your veins.

But then, if he truly believes that, why isn’t his voice working? Why can’t he breathe? Why can’t he take his hands away from you?

“Y/n,” Bruce tries again, adjusting the IV in your arm. “I need you to tell me how you’re feeling. Can you do that?”

Nothing.

Cho’s frown deepens. “Try squeezing my hand.” She moves closer, resting her fingers lightly against yours. “Just a little pressure, okay?”

Nothing.

A new kind of silence floods the room now. Heavier. Suffocating.

Bucky’s pulse won’t stop hammering in his ears.

“She’s awake,” Tony states flatly. “So why does she still look-” He waves a vague hand, looking almost daunt. “Out of it?”

Frustration begins to seep into Bruce’s expression, a slow breath slipping from his nose. “Y/n, if you can hear me, just- move a little. Anything.”

Another beat of silence.

Bucky can’t take this anymore.

He moves closer, his hand intertwining with yours instinctively. His voice is hoarse, rough and so, so desperate.

“Sweetheart,” he croaks out, just for you. “C’mon, baby, just- just give us something.”

You move.

It’s small. Barely anything at all.

But your fingers twitch.

Bucky doesn’t take in another breath for too long.

Something slow and dreadful sinks into him. It closes its grip around something vital.

Bruce exhales in something close to relief. “That’s good, Y/n. That’s good.”

Encouraged, Cho steps in again. “Alright, let’s try something else.” She looks at you, her voice gentle but firmer now. “Can you try moving your leg?”

Silence.

Stillness.

Bucky’s stomach turns.

“Y/n,” Bruce presses, more insistent now. “Try for me, alright?”

Nothing.

The tension is a thin string.

Bucky shifts, fingers brushing over your palm in a touch so soft.

“Baby,” he chokes out. “Please.”

Your leg moves.

A shudder ripples through Bucky’s whole body.

Nobody speaks.

Nobody breathes.

Then, finally, Tony says what they are all thinking.

“Okay,” he exhales. “That’s weird.”

It is.

It is wrong.

Cho is staring at her monitor as though it’s betrayed her. Bruce’s brow is furrowing deep in concentration, but there is a glimmer of something else behind his eyes now.

Bucky’s mind is reeling, his pulse pounding so loud, the sound crashing over everything, washing it all into nothing.

This can’t be a coincidence.

You only moved when he spoke.

Not anyone else.

Just him.

Bucky’s mouth is dry.

No.

No, no, no-

He wants to rip that aching thing out of his chest and twist it in his metal grip and throw it on the clinical floor and stomp on it with his boot.

Because deep, deep down, something agonizing in him is already understanding.

And he can’t take it.

It seems that nobody really wants to acknowledge it.

Because acknowledging it means understanding it.

And understanding it means stepping into something far, far worse.

But it’s everywhere in the room, floating around in the air, waiting to be breathed in, sinking its fangs into every pause, every silence, every failed attempt at making you respond to anyone but him.

Bucky can’t let go of you. His flesh fingers wrap carefully around yours, his metal arm braced protectively around your back. You don’t acknowledge his touch. But he also can’t help the staring. Eyes fixed on your face. Bracing himself for an answer he already knows he won’t be able to stomach. He probably should be looking for that waste bin again, but he can’t take his eyes off you.

Because this isn’t just exhaustion. This isn’t just confusion.

Something inside you is listening. Waiting.

And only for him.

Steve clears his throat quietly and speaks up again. “Try again,” he says, though there is something cautious in his voice now. “Y/n?” He takes another step closer, lowering his head slightly, like maybe you just need to see him properly. “Can you hear me?”

You don’t react.

Nothing in your shifts.

A sharp breath escapes the nose of the blonde and he glances at Bruce and Cho, in question of an answer but they don’t have one.

Cho’s expression is drawn tight, eyes scanning the monitors, because what else can she do? Bruce’s face is unreadable, but his knuckles are pressed against his chin in a way that suggests his mind is racing.

“We should test motor function,” Cho suggests, but it’s not that confident. More like she just needs to say something, anything to fill the wrongness all around them.

Bruce nods slowly. His tone is even. “Y/n, lift your left hand.”

The silence drags.

The tension is so thick, Bucky can hear it crackling. He is not breathing.

“Y/n,” Bruce says again, slower, placing his words with care. A small waver snakes into his voice. “Lift your left hand.”

Nothing.

Bucky’s stomach is a single, dense, ball that sinks heavier each second passes.

Cho adjusts something on the monitor. “Maybe- Maybe it’s still too early-”

“Buck,” Steve suddenly exclaims.

And it makes Bucky freeze.

Because there is something behind it. A test. A hesitation. Sympathy.

Bucky doesn’t even look up.

He swallows, something punching his ribs.

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, voice so rough, it’s almost intelligible. “Your left hand. Let me see it.”

Your hand lifts.

Bucky’s stomach drops so hard, he descends with it, down to the ground, down to the earth beneath the fundamental structure of the compound.

No one speaks.

No one moves.

Your hand is still in the air.

Cho stares. Bruce’s lips are parted and he rubs the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

Steve is rigid, lips pressed tightly together.

Their stares press against Bucky, against his shoulders, his skull, but he can’t look away from you.

Your face hasn’t changed.

No recognition. No emotion. No indication of independent thought.

Just that same blank, empty stillness.

Until he tells you to move.

Until he tells you what to do.

Bucky feels sick.

Nausea grows, rolling, roiling, a tide rising within, murky and sour, spiraling up his throat in a way that threatens.

Heat prickles at his skin, a damp, clammy sheen forming at the base of his neck, invasively cascading down the channel of his spine.

His head is shaking before he even realizes it. He has to be imagining this. This is one of his nightmares.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tries forcing him to wake up, to snap out of this, but then Bruce’s voice comes through again.

“Y/n,” Bruce tries again, voice thick. “Put your hand back down.”

Your hand stays in the air.

Bucky’s fingers flex around yours, grounding himself.

“Baby,” he wheezes, almost unwillingly, his voice a broken whisper. “Put it down.”

Your fingers lower.

And the chill that floods Bucky’s system knocks him off balance.

His ears are ringing.

His mind is splintering, breaking off into a thousand jagged thoughts he can’t grasp all at once, he doesn’t want to grasp at all because no.

No.

Utterly powerless, he looks up. Steve’s face is hard, Tony is pale, and Natasha - where did she come from - has her hand over her mouth in shock.

Bruce clears his throat. “That’s-” He glances at Cho, at Steve; and Bucky would see the war in his mind if his vision allowed him to see more than just silhouettes.

Everybody is hesitant. Everybody is unwilling to be the first one to say what they are all thinking.

It’s Tony who does it.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, voice hollow, stunned. “She’s only listening to you.”

It sounds worse when spoken aloud.

His body is rejecting, resisting, recoiling from all of this.

Bruce is watching him now, too, something entirely pained on his face, not able to deny what is happening.

“We should-” Cho pushes out a sharp breath at the choked noise Bucky is letting out and she stops talking.

This is too much.

Tremors rack through his whole body. It’s attacking him, his lungs, his bloodstream, his bones. He is weak. On the ground. Eyes pressed together. Because he can’t look at you any longer. Can’t look at the way you are watching him.

You aren’t just listening.

You are waiting.

For his voice.

For his command.

There is nothing but obedience in your gaze.

Bucky sways on the ground, but he can’t let go of you. His grip tightens because if he lets go, he will break.

But your fingers are so loosely tangled with his, resting limply against him. They are warm. Too warm. Too soft and delicate and human to be connected to something so immensely wrong.

Bruce and Cho are talking.

Their voices are low, hushed, methodical. The cadence of their words is a tightrope between the beeps, adding more to the strain of the already fraught atmosphere.

Bucky doesn’t hear any of it.

The incessant thrum of his heart is a trapped and wild animal that scratches at the walls of his arteries and reverberates in the darkness behind his eyelids.

Because no.

This isn’t happening.

Not to you.

Steve rubs a palm over his mouth, the other on his hip, exhaling a shuddering breath, trying to process it all but he can’t.

Tony doesn’t say anything. This is bad and he is well aware. This is worse than anything any of them could have prepared for.

Bruce clears his throat, looking at Bucky. “We need to assess the extent of this,” he says carefully, words a test on his tongue before he lets them out. “There’s a possibility that this is temporary, but we-” He hesitates. Adjusts his glasses. “We need to know how deep this goes.”

Nobody speaks.

“What do you mean?” Bucky’s voice doesn’t sound like his own.

Bruce hesitates again. “We need to see if she’s responding to just motor commands, or if-” Another pause. “Or if it’s beyond that.”

Beyond that.

The words tumble into the depths of Bucky’s core.

He swallows, blinking down at you. Your breathing is even. Your expression so still. You don’t seem to be aware of anything happening around you. Only attuned to one thing. Him. Waiting for him.

Bucky clenches his jaw so hard, gritting his teeth until he tastes iron in his mouth.

Cho cuts in more firmly. “We need her to speak.”

Silence.

Bucky can’t breathe.

Tony shifts his weight, crosses his arms. “And how exactly do you propose we do that?” His voice is flat. “Seeing as she’s only listening to him.”

Bucky flinches.

Cho and Bruce exchange a glance.

“We need you to try,” Bruce says softer. “We need you to ask her to speak.”

It’s worse when it’s phrased like that.

Like a test. Like and order.

Like something he should not be doing.

His fingers tighten around yours, but you don’t react. Not yet. Not until he tells you to.

His chest constricts. He hates himself.

There is no way out of this.

Bucky exhales shakily, taking a few moments.

He swallows hard.

“Sweetheart.” His voice cracks. He clears his throat. “I need to- I need you to say something.”

Your lips don’t part.

A spike of panic lances through his chest.

“Baby, come on. Say something. Anything.”

Nothing.

Bruce’s eyes dart between the two of you, then back to Bucky. His expression is pinched, calculating. “Try again.”

Bucky’s body feels wrong, his skin too tight, his stomach threatening to heave.

This is familiar.

And it is dangerous.

He wets his lips, closes his eyes for a second, letting his head drop before lifting it again.

“What’s my name?”

The room is silent.

Your lips part.

And Bucky’s blood stops flowing.

The moment drags.

Agonizingly slow.

“Soldat.”

Your voice is distant, automatic.

Bucky breaks.

His lungs lock, the walls of his throat all connect together, his mind fractures.

The room tips, crashing into the floor.

Your voice circles his mind, going round and round and round, sounding so soft and obedient and wrong, so fucking wrong.

“No,” he gasps, shaking his head so fast, hands jerking. “No, no, no.”

Steve’s hands clench at his sides, his throat working as though he wants to say something, but what can he say?

Bruce’s expression is stricken.

Tony looks dazed.

Bucky gasps for breaths but none are coming.

And suddenly, all those years of struggling to escape Hydra's grasp feel completely pointless

Every breath Bucky takes feels like it’s being ripped out of his chest before he can fully inhale. Every sound is static. Tremors crawl along his arm, punching into his ribcage like something cold and crushing.

The people around him are talking about you but he can’t hear a thing. He can’t hear Banner and Cho discussing tests, or Tony insisting they need to figure this out now. The way they say it - analytic, pragmatic, like you’re some broken thing they need to fix - makes his stomach lurch violently. He has to press his jaw together to keep from retching again. The panic is worming through his veins, digging in, pulling him under.

They want to put you under observation. They want to run tests.

Like Hydra did to him.

His mind is tearing through memories he doesn’t want, old phantoms forcing their way to the surface. He sees himself strapped to a table, bright lights burning his retinas, faceless men in white coats murmuring about what they could do to him, what they could turn him into. He hears his young voice, wrecked and broken, whispering in Russian words he doesn’t understand but knows - commands drilled into him, obedience hammered into his bones.

And now he’s the one giving commands. To the love of his life.

And his friends want to do to you what has been done to him.

“No.” The word is gravel, scraping him raw on its way out.

“Bucky, we don’t have a choice,” Bruce says, rubbing a hand down his exhausted face. “She’s only responding to you. That’s not normal. We have to figure out why.”

“You’re not running tests on her,” Bucky growls, voice shaking as he grips you firmer, protectiveness boiling hot in his gut.

Steve steps in, hesitant but resolute. “We need to find out what Hydra did to her. We can’t just-”

Bucky’s breath is completely lost in pattern. „You think I don’t know that?“ he spits, voice wild and harsh. “You think I don’t want to fix this? That I don’t fucking want my girl back? But I am not-” He falters, his throat too tight, his chest heaving. His vision is a tunnel with no lights.

There is a sharp pain in his right palm. His metal fingers are clenched into a fist so tight that his right hand has to let go of you to mimic it. Nails drive into his flesh. He forces himself to breathe. To stay here. But it’s not working. The room is shrinking. His head is full of cotton. Buzzing.

“I think you’re too close to this,” Tony warns, and it’s too sharp, too fast, it sends Bucky over the edge. “You’re compromised, Barnes. We don’t even know if this is something you caused. Maybe you’re making it worse-”

Bucky doesn’t remember getting up and lunging, but suddenly Steve is between him and Tony, a hand pressed to his chest, and his breath is all but gone.

“She is not your experiment,” Bucky hisses, trying to shout, but his voice is barely holding together. His heart is pummeling against his ribs, trying to break out. “I will not let you strap her to a fucking table like some thing you get to study.” He is shaking in fury.

Steve’s hand stays against him. “That’s not what they’re trying to do, Buck.”

But Bucky can’t think rationally. He can’t think at all.

“I fucking know what this looks like, Steve.” His voice crumbles, tremors splintering them. It sounds like something trying to remember how to exist. But Bucky doesn’t care about anything other than you. “I fucking remember, alright? And I won’t let her go through this!”

“Soldat.”

It’s your voice. So dutiful. So even. So not you.

Bucky flinches. Terribly.

The sound that rips out of him is something destroyed, something that never should have existed in the first place.

He turns back to you and his knees hit the floor, but he doesn’t feel it. Shaking hands are cupping your face, desolate and desperate.

“No,” he chokes, tears breaking free. “No, baby, no. Don’t- don’t call me that.”

But you just blink at him, awaiting something. Expecting something. A command.

Bruce’s voice is distant, but he is saying something urgent. Steve is stiff, his head dropped. Tony has shut his mouth. Natasha’s quickly retreating footsteps are lost to him. The entire room has turned to stone.

Bucky’s hands slide into your hair, shaking so badly he can barely hold on. “It’s me, sweetheart. Y/n, it’s me,” he pleads. “It’s Bucky. Say my name. Please, my love. Say Bucky.”

No words come from you. Not until Bucky gives them to you.

He’s going to die. He’s going to pass out.

Because he knows this. He’s lived this. But not like this. Not you.

“Y/n,” Steve says and Bucky hates him for trying again. “Do you know where you are?”

You don’t look at Steve. You don’t move. Your breath stays controlled.

Sickening devastation pools in Bucky’s gut.

“Doll,” he whispers, voice completely shattered. “Answer him.”

And then, like a machine coming to life, you turn your head slightly. You blink once. And then you speak.

“I am in the Avengers Compound.”

No hesitation. No emotion. Just compliance.

Bucky sways on his knees. Steve’s hand lands on his shoulder, keeping him from collapsing.

Tony releases a heavy breath.

Bucky doesn’t hear the rest because he’s still looking at you. At the way you wait. At the way you listen.

You are waiting for him to tell you what to do.

And Bucky Barnes has never been as mortified as he is now in his entire fucking life.

****

Bucky didn’t go down easily.

It took three men to hold him back, Steve’s arms a steel cage around him while Tony was shouting and Bruce plunging the needle in with a guilty and troubled expression.

His fight was animalistic, desperation keeping him up longer than it should have been, but the drugs worked.

The last thing he saw before darkness engulfed him was you.

Silent. A body waiting for instruction.

Now, he wakes up violently. A gasp tumbles up his throat, his body lurching forward as if he can outrun the crushing weight that bears down on him the second consciousness floods back in.

His head pounds, his hands shake, his chest heaves. He doesn’t know where he is. Doesn’t look around. Doesn’t care to find out. His mind is already screaming for you.

Everything crashes back.

The way your lips parted on a breath but not a name. The way your limbs moved, not out of will, but command. The way you looked at him - not with relief, not with love - but with obedience.

The horror knocks in as he stumbles to his feet, his entire body revolting against itself. His knees nearly buckle, but he pushes forward. He has to find you. No matter how hard it pains him to see you like this.

He is sprinting down the hallways, feet pounding against the floor, muscles protesting. Passing agents give him startled looks, Steve is calling his name. But his heart is shedding itself apart inside his chest and he won’t stop.

Because he is realizing something.

This started before you even opened your eyes.

You only opened your eyes after he pleaded for you to wake up.

“I’d go anywhere with you. I’d follow you to the end of the world. But you gotta wake up, baby.”

That’s when you did.

Because he told you to.

That was the command you were waiting for.

Bile burns its way up his throat, that he nearly collapses mid-stride.

If they think, if they dare to treat you like an experiment, to poke and prod and study you like some object, he’ll-

He doesn’t know yet. He doesn’t even have words for the fright wringing his rips out.

But he knows he has to get to you.

****

The room is sterile. Too bright. Too cold. A place of observation, of examination.

You sit on the medical bed, motionless, exactly where they placed you. Machines drone softly around you, monitors tracking your vitals - though there is nothing irregular about them. You should be fine. But you aren’t.

Bruce and Dr. Cho move carefully, their voices quiet. Constrained. Every test they’ve run, every scan they’ve conducted, all of it comes back normal. Physically, there is nothing wrong with you. But it’s clear as day, that you aren’t here.

Not fully.

You don’t respond to their questions. You don’t react when Cho waves a light in your eyes, when Bruce takes your pulse, when Tony calls your name. Nothing. You sit, hands on your lap, back straight, waiting. Waiting.

And then the door slams open.

Without thinking, Bucky shoves past Tony, past Steve’s reaching hand, past Bruce’s protest - straight to you. The second he sees you his breath stutters, his heart cracks open. It didn’t get a tiny bit easier. Your posture is so still, it’s unnatural, your face is slack.

“Let her go,” he growls, voice shaking with anger and panic.

Bruce raises his hands, placating. “Bucky, we’re not- we’re trying to help.” Then he heaves a heavy sigh. “But she won’t react to us.”

Bucky’s whole body trembles. His jaw is tight. “She’s not some- some science project,” he spits out, voice sharp but breaking. “She’s-” His chest rises and falls harshly. His hands flex and clench. “She’s mine.”

Silence.

Cho speaks up, formal but careful. “That’s why we need you.”

He jerks his gaze to her, vision swimming with tears. “What?”

“She only listens to you.”

He knows that but he feels like he’s just been shot in the chest again.

Bruce nods solemnly. “She hasn’t done anything since you were gone. But when you walked in-” He glances at the monitor - your heart rate spiked. “She knows you’re here, Bucky. But, she’s waiting for you to tell her what to do.”

Bucky is afraid his legs will stop holding him up.

You are waiting for his command. Just like he used to.

His stomach clenches, nausea twirling through it.

“Bucky,” Bruce tries again, insistent. His tone is heavy. “Try it. Please.”

The very idea makes Bucky want to scream. But he looks back at you - his girl, his angel, his whole damn world - sitting there, looking so empty.

And the trepidation in him is so bone-deep that he has no choice.

He swallows, kneels in front of you, hands quivering as they ghost over your knees. “Sweetheart,” he breathes, and the others remain silent. “Look at me.”

Your head snaps to him so quickly it almost makes him rear back. Your eyes are on him and he wants to vomit.

A choked noise catches in his throat.

Bruce watches intently, making notes. “Try something more complex,” he suggests carefully.

Bucky hesitates. He hates this. He’s forced to feed into what Hydra did to you and he hates it.

“Stand up,” he breathes. It’s just a croaked whisper but you stand. Effortlessly, fluidly, like there was never any doubt that you would.

Bucky breathes roughly.

The others are waiting, you are waiting, but Bucky can’t continue.

His eyes press together tightly, head dropping.

“Bucky,” Cho voices, a little gentler. “We can’t help her if we don’t know the rules of this.”

The rules.

As though you are some equation to be solved.

He swallows. His throat is sore and blistering. His heart is a fractured thing.

Slowly, he forces words from his mouth, but they burn on his tongue. “Take three steps forward.”

You do.

Gracefully. Like a soldier. As if you’ve done this million times before.

Dr. Cho looks up from her clipboard. “Make her sit down again.”

Bucky grinds his teeth. His hands flex. He takes a second to compose himself.

“Sit down.” His voice is guttural and broken.

You do.

Every cell in his body is to simply tell you to run and leave but that won’t help anybody.

Bruce nods, mumbling something about autonomous commands. But Bucky doesn’t listen.

He feels like he is standing in the middle of a nightmare, watching himself from the outside, stuck in a loop that Hydra is responsible for.

Bucky owns your movements.

And it’s killing him.

“Try something even bigger. Make her-” Cho says.

“No.”

“Bucky-”

“No.”

They don’t understand.

They don’t get it.

This is not just an experiment to see how much control he has.

This is Hydra, ripping through you, ripping through him.

And he can’t be the one to do it.

Bruce steps forward. “We need to know if she’ll perform an action without you watching. If she’ll listen even if you leave the room. If-”

“If she’s really gone.”

They don’t say it, but that’s what they think.

Bruce looks concerned. “Bucky, I know this is hard-”

“Hard?” Bucky laughs but it is a miserable sound. “Hard is losing your fucking arm. Hard is clawing your way out of your own damn head. But this?” He gestures wildly to you, still waiting, still watching him with hollow submissiveness. “This is fucking sick - and I won’t do it anymore.”

Because they are asking him to cross a line.

A line that has been crossed before.

Not by him, but through him.

By them. Hydra.

And he doesn’t want you anywhere near that.

He can’t be the one to steal your independence.

Not when he knows exactly what it feels like.

Not when you are the one thing in his life that made him a better person.

Not when you are the one thing in his life that is truly and wholly good.

He hears the voices in his head, voices from the past that aren’t really past pouncing in his mind, telling him that he’s done this before and that this is nothing new.

Bucky squeezes his hands into a fist and shoves the thoughts down so deep he hopes they never see the light again.

Bucky was not their scientist. He was not their programmer.

He was their weapon.

And he knows exactly how far this goes.

He knows how much a single word from a commander can do.

Bucky takes a step back. And another. His breaths are coming way too fast, his lungs ache, his vision is a hot and messy blur. He is in two places at once, here in this room, and there, in that cold metal chair, ears ringing with words meant to shatter a mind.

His mind places you in that metallic and rusty thing, meant to scorch your memories, making you scream, making you forget, making you-

He stumbles, his body fighting itself.

“Bucky,” Steve calls out and his hand lands on Bucky’s shoulder.

But he doesn’t feel it.

His body is trembling. Everything. Metal and flesh and every defeated thing in between, shaking, breaking.

Because they are wanting and waiting for him to keep this sick game going. To finish what Hydra started. To slip into a role and make you perform. He can’t do it.

A strangled and grating sound rushes out of his mouth.

He jerks away from Steve’s hand, knocking over a tray of medical tools. They clatter against the tile with a sharp clang. His fingers tangle into his hair, clutching, pulling, as if he can rip himself out of his skin.

He turns blindly, heart slamming into his ribs, chest turning inward.

Tony steps forward.

Wrong move.

The moment is too much, too fast, too fucking much.

Tony’s voice is sharp. “Barnes, pull yourself together-”

He gets closer, almost touching Bucky and he really should not have done that.

You move.

Swiftly. Too swiftly.

A blur, a strike, a threat eliminated.

Tony is on the ground before anyone can stop you.

There’s a heavy, shattered silence.

Bucky freezes.

No, no, no.

His heart slips up his throat. Then it stops.

He looks at you, standing in front of him, shielding him from Tony, hands still half-raised from where you struck him down, muscles tensed, like a soldier defending her commander.

Like you are his.

Like he is yours.

He never told you to move but you did it anyway.

This is loyalty.

Every inch of him is drowning in horror.

In your broken, conditioned mind, Bucky is your handler.

And you are protecting him.

Bucky staggers back, body moving out of sheer shock. If he stays too close he will suffocate. In the shame, the self-loathing, the fear that he is the one keeping you like this.

Nobody speaks. It’s a silence so thick it sucks the air out of the room, drags the world into a vacuum where nothing exists except this.

You.

Standing like an asset between Bucky and a man you saw as a threat to him.

On the ground, Tony is groaning, already pushing himself up with a curse, clutching his ribs.

Bucky feels only sick, wrenching numbness.

He doesn’t know how long he’s standing there, staring at you, staring at what you just did. He feels like he’s lost time again. Sliding through cracks he thought he’d sealed shut, falling back into something that should have stayed dead.

Steve is speaking, Tony is swearing, Bruce is moving, and Bucky is still staring.

“Bucky.”

It’s Bruce. His tone is a warning.

Bucky takes a step back and you shift with him.

His knees grow weak. He wants the floor to open up so he can let himself fall into the depths of the unknown.

He can feel their eyes on him. Steve. Bruce. Tony. Cho. He doesn’t look at them. He can’t.

Because he knows what they are seeing.

A room filled with people and only one person you will listen to.

And once again, he is back in that cold chair, arms bound, mind split wide open for them to rewrite.

Once again, he watches himself from the outside, being a handler who forces his puppet onto the very same chair. Watching his sweet and brave girl writher and scream while her will is taken from her.

He himself is screaming internally.

His voice strains as he pushes the words out, even as his throat tries to close around them. “Stand down.” He doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s hoarse, throaty, gutted.

You obey.

Bucky watches as the tension in your frame bleeds out in a way that is too immediate. Too conditioned. Like a wire was pulled, a switch flipped, a button pressed.

Like this is just another mission.

Bile rises. His face is cleanly sucked off any color.

Steve moves closer, tentatively. “Buck-”

“No,” he snarls, his voice raw. “Don’t.”

Steve's going to tell him it’s gonna be okay.

He’s going to tell him they’ll figure this out.

He’s going to tell him you’re still in there.

But Bucky already knows you are.

You’re still there. You’re there with every command he gives you.

Bucky’s breaths are shallow and broken gasps. He has to get out of here. He has to get you out of here. Has to stop whatever this is before it turns into something he can’t ever get back.

Bruce and Cho are murmuring. He catches bits and pieces - neurological imprinting, post-hypnotic triggers, synaptic conditioning.

Words that are too impersonal. Too detached. As though you are not the most important person in his life.

And he snaps.

His feet are moving. Straight to you. Straight to the one thing in this room that is his.

You blink up at him. Tilt your head the tiniest bit. But he knows. You are waiting again.

Bucky exhales, sharp and shaking. “Come with me.”

You follow.

Because you have no other choice.

And Bucky can feel it, all of it, this thing you’ve become, this thing he’s made you.

And it’s enough to put him to an end.

You walk behind him like a shadow.

You don’t take in the hallways you once knew, the place you called home. Your gaze stays steadfastly on his back.

An ugly, queasy gnarl grows in his stomach.

He tells himself this is progress. That getting you out of that sterile, white-washed room is a step forward. That walking through the compound with you means something.

But whatever Hydra did to you remains in effect.

You are not walking beside him and swinging his hand between your bodies, laughing freely.

You are glued to his back, watching his every step with hollow eyes.

And you aren’t asking where he is taking you.

You don’t react to the feel of the air shifting, to the faint smell of coffee in the halls, to the voices in the distance.

You just watch him.

As if nothing else exists.

As if he is all there is.

And usually, he loves it when you look at him like he is everything. All that matters to you. But never, never in all his years on earth and beyond, did he want it to be like that.

He swallows back the bile in his throat, but he nearly chokes on it.

He reaches the common area with you.

He doesn’t even know why he brings you here. Maybe because it’s lived in. Warm. Maybe because there are blankets still piled on the couch from the last movie night. Maybe because there are still used pans sitting on the counter by the dishwasher. Maybe because he needs to see all that for himself.

You stopped walking when he did. Standing perfectly still, shoulders relaxed, back straight. Too straight.

And your eyes - your too-wide, too-focused eyes - never leave him.

His fingers jerk at his sides.

“You know this place.” The tightness in his throat fights him, but he shoves the words out. They sound rough and thick. Exhausted. His hands press against his thighs, his whole body stretched to the breaking point. “You live here.”

Nothing.

He drops his head for a moment, closing his eyes, to keep the tears from falling. Then he turns his head, pointing toward the couch. “We sit here a lot of times,” he sniffs. “You’d curl up next to me, and we’d fight over the blanket.”

You do not look.

Not even a glint of acknowledgment.

He swallows hard.

Bucky gestures toward the kitchen. “You love cooking,” he continues, voice strained. “We do it together. Breakfast. Dinner. You love breakfast food. Pancakes. I make them for you every morning. You tease me about burning them every time I'm too damn distracted by you to look at the pan.”

You don’t even glance toward it.

His heart pounds.

It’s not just that you’re unresponsive. It’s that you’re responding to the wrong thing.

You are waiting for something he has to give. For something he has to command.

His breath trips out of him. His voice sounds like it is scraping its way free. “Look at the couch.”

You do immediately.

His lungs feel like they are collapsing.

“Look at the kitchen.”

Your head turns.

His fingers curl into fists.

He’s shaking, metal hand twitching, flesh hand clenched so tight his knuckles turn white.

This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t you.

But then your eyes snap back to the couch. It’s so fast, they are fixed on the kitchen counter again when he blinks, but he saw. He saw that they shifted. Just for a millisecond.

His breath catches. Hope flares. It’s a fragile and small flame caught in the wind, a breath away from being snuffed out. But it is there.

His lungs burn with the force of his held breath. He doesn’t dare to exhale, doesn’t dare to move too fast, or say the wrong thing. You are still here. Somewhere. He just has to reach you.

Timidly, he reaches for your hand. It’s warm and soft. Limp.

He squeezes gently, his touch featherlight. “Come with me, doll,” he whispers.

You do not respond in words, but you follow again.

Another tremor is sent through his being, but he has to push through.

He doesn’t take you back to the medical wing. He doesn’t lead you to the labs or around the common area. He takes you somewhere safe. Somewhere yours.

Your shared room.

His hand tightens around yours as he guides you down the hall. Every step feels unstable. He is scarcely keeping it together, scarcely keeping himself from shattering apart at the seams. His body is exhausted, but his mind is in overdrive, running over every single memory the two of you built in that room.

The nights tangled in the sheets.

The mornings where neither of you wanted to get up, staying cuddled together.

The whispered confessions at 2 am.

The way you always fit against and around him so perfectly.

He swallows.

He hesitates at reaching the door. His fingers shake against the handle before he tugs it open and steps inside.

The air is still. The scent of you is everywhere.

The blankets are still rumpled from when he tried to wake you up but couldn’t. Your clothes are still tucked into the open dresser, your favorite sweater draped over the chair. Little things - your things - are scattered across the nightstand, untouched since the last time you were here.

He turns to you, his heart thumping so loud he can hear it in his ears.

Please, he thinks. Remember this. Remember me.

But you only stand in the doorway, rigid, still.

A breath shivers through his lungs and he moves. He doesn’t ask this time. Doesn’t think. Doesn’t hesitate.

He pulls you forward, into his arms.

And you go. Easily.

Your body folds against his. Malleable. Pliable. Not how you should be.

With a stifled gasp, he buries his face into your hair. His fingers tremble against your back, pressing into the fabric of the hospital shirt they forced you into. He hates this. Hates that it reminds him of a patient.

He wants you in his shirt. Wants you tangled in his arms, his sheets. Wants you to look at him like you.

His throat is sore.

He presses closer, desperate, needy, ruined.

Then his hands go to cup your face, tilting it upward, trying to make you meet his gaze without having to tell you to. “Doll,” he chokes, voice cracking, breaking, falling apart. “You- you’re safe. I swear. You’re here, with me.”

Your eyes are still locked onto him in all the wrong ways.

They don’t shift to your surroundings. Not to the bed. Not to the room. Just him.

His forehead lands on yours almost roughly and he squeezes his eyes shut, his grip tightening just a little. A tear falls onto your skin, but you seem entirely indifferent to it.

“This is our home,” he wheezes through his tears. “You’re living with me.” His fingers brush against your cheek, still trembling. “You chose me. Because you love me. And I love you. I love you so fucking much, baby. It’s killing me.”

You don’t give him anything.

His ribs feel like they might splinter.

He feels like he is losing you.

No. No.

He pulls back, enough to see your face properly. His eyes sting, red-rimmed, desolate. He won’t lose you.

“You’re in there, I know it,” he continues and he doesn’t know how his voice is still working. “You know me, sweetheart. You know me better than anyone.” His thumbs sweep your cheek.

But you don’t react to his touch. And it wrecks him. Because you used to lean into him. You would tilt your face into his palm like you were drawn to him, nowhere else in the world you’d rather be.

There is a tilt of your head.

But it destroys him.

Because this is instinct. Not you.

His words taste like ash. “Remember when I brought you that stupid bear from Coney Island?” A humorless and tiny chuckle falls out of him but it only makes him feel drier. “The one with the crooked smile? You loved that thing.”

You stare at him unblinking.

His fingers trace along your temple, down to your jaw. So softly. So hypnotic.

“I love when you’re wearing my shirts.” The pressure in his throat tries to steal his voice but he pushes through. “They’re too big on you. Always make you look so endearing. So perfect. You don’t like me call you cute when you’re wearing ‘em but you keep stealing them anyway.” He has to pause to let his tears fall. “God, I love seeing you in my clothes.”

A strangled sound bolts up his throat, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“You’re always bossin’ me around, doll.” His forehead is back to yours. His eyes burn. “You’re the only person in this world who can boss me around. And I let you. ‘Cause I love you. ‘Cause I’d do anything for you.”

His fingers skim quickly over your jaw, your cheek, tracing the curve of your lips like you are something fleeting.

“I know you’re there. I know I can get you out. Y/n, please,” he begs, wantonly, the roughness of his voice all over the place. “Come back to me. Come back.”

Desperation is not a strong enough word for what is happening inside Bucky. Not even close.

It is deeper. Darker. It is a force that grabs at his rips and wrenches. A gaping, bottomless chasm inside him that is growing wider by the second.

And you stand in the eye of the storm.

Not lifeless. But not alive.

Bucky is breaking rapidly. His hands are all over you - cupping your cheeks, holding your wrists, squeezing your shoulders, smoothing through your hair. If he stops touching you, you might vanish into that void Hydra left behind.

His quivering fingers are at your jaw. “Come on, doll,” he whispers, his voice so unbelievably undone. “Please. Please just- just say something. Anything.”

Nothing.

Bucky sobs.

Bucky shifts closer, chest against yours, forehead pressed firmly to your temple. His breathing comes in short bursts, stuttering over every inhale. “You’re okay,” he cries, over and over and over again. “You’re here. You’re safe. I’ve got you, baby. You just- you just gotta come back to me.”

Your muscles don’t shift. Your breathing does not change. You only watch him.

Not seeing. Not processing, just observing.

His panic nearly makes him double over. His vision is foggy, his body fights with the effort to stay upright.

“Come on,” he whimpers. He tugs and crushes you further against him, forcing your body to mold against his own. His nose drags along your hairline, his lips moving over your ear. “You love me,” he pleads. “I know you do.”

His arms are a vice. A shield. A cage.

The air is too thick. It clogs his throat, his chest, a heavy hand squeezing his rips together, determined to extinguish his breath. His lungs seize with the force of it, panic rising in his throat, bending tight and tight and tight until he is sure it will strangle him.

“You love me,” he repeats as if trying to remind you. As if you simply have forgotten.

A sob escapes his mouth.

He cannot do this. He cannot lose you like this. He’s not strong enough.

His body is curling over yours, shielding you from everything. He clings to you.

But when he goes to look at your face again, to continue pleading, he halts. Stalls. Stops. Freezes.

Because you are not looking at him.

Your head is tilted, gaze wandering past his shoulder. Fixed on something.

Something small. Something yours.

A mug.

Bucky sucks in a sharp breath.

It’s your favorite mug. The one you use every morning, the one you refuse to replace even though the paint is chipping at the rim. The one Bucky gifted you in his first year at the compound, before you got together.

It sits abandoned on the nightstand.

And you are looking at it.

Not at him. At it.

A slow, almost undetectable furrow forms between your brows.

Bucky’s entire body is on edge. Focused so insanely.

His breath is stolen, his fingers dig into your sides.

Oh, god.

Oh, god, please.

His lip trembles. His face crumbles.

“Tea,” he breathes.

A glint. A twitch of your fingers.

Bucky sobs. It’s short and uncontrollable and it startles from his body in an almost aggressive way.

He doesn’t dare disturb your fixed gaze, but he presses in closer again.

“You remember,” he beseeches, his lips parting in something between a cry and a prayer. “You- you know that mug, don’t you? It’s yours, doll. You drink tea from it every day.”

You blink.

Bucky laughs. It is a gruff, uneven, broken sound, and it hurts.

But you blinked.

And he saw it. He saw it. Because it happened. You did it.

He clutches you to his chest, laughing and crying, sobbing and gasping, trembling and breaking all at once. His entire body feels too tight, too much, too everything.

But you blinked.

You saw something that wasn’t him.

And you frowned.

A reaction. A real, actual, human reaction.

“Okay,” he lets out shakily, his fingers threading through your hair, clutching, gripping, grounding. His heart is hammering, his lungs are burning. But he does not care. You are still here.

And now he knows how to find you.

His hands are on your face now. “You got this, baby. You can do this. You’re the strongest fucking person I know, and you will snap out of this.”

You look back at him and Bucky crowds into you, terrified to let even an inch of space remain between you.

“You’re gonna come back to me, you hear me?” he tells you with a strained voice. His eyes move over your face so rapidly, fingers wiping at your skin.

There is something in your eyes.

A fight.

And Bucky starts nodding. He gasps. “Yes, that’s it, baby. That’s it! God, I'm so proud of you. Fuck, I'm so proud of you. You’ll make it, Y/n. Come on!” He laughs wetly. It verges on hysterical.

He sees it beginning.

Like the first crack of sunlight over the horizon. Like the slow, agonizing change of winter to spring. Like life struggling to emerge from a place it was never intended to leave.

Your mouth parts. Just a little bit. Your lashes lower, then rise again. And Bucky watches - watches like a man starved, like a dying thing gasping for air.

“Doll,” he pleads, forehead pressing to yours but he keeps his eyes on yours, thumbs stroking frantically over your cheeks, trying to memorize everything. “Please, sweetheart. Come on. Come back. Come home.”

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

And the third time is different.

The third time, there is recognition.

Faint. Flimsy. Almost not there. But Bucky sees it, and it hits him.

A vehement shudder ripples through his chest, vibrating you as well.

You are coming back.

Piece by piece, tiny fraction by tiny fraction, you are coming back.

“Come on, baby. You’re almost there. We’re almost there. You got this.” His eyes are so intensely fixed on you, his voice hoarse. He doesn’t sound like himself, doesn’t feel like himself. He doesn’t care. “Feel me. Feels my hands. My body. It’s me, baby. It’s Bucky.”

He needs you.

God, he needs you.

You breathe.

And the sound is so normal. So absolutely, painfully, beautifully normal that Bucky almost doesn’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late.

Your lips part.

Your eyes start moving over his face, studying, seeing.

“Bucky.”

A sound punches out of his throat - something agonizing, something animal, something beyond human comprehension.

His knees buckle.

He goes down - hard, his entire weight dragging you with him, hitting the ground with an impact he barely feels. Because you just said his name.

You spoke. And you know who he is.

His arms wind around you, pressing you close, cinching tight. His hands clutch at your back, at your shoulders, at your hair - clinging, grasping, as though he needs to feel your heartbeat to remember his own. As though he is bracing against a storm and you are the only shelter he’s got.

Because you are something he can’t afford to lose. But he almost did today.

He gasps incoherent, cracking words into your hair, your neck, burying inside it. They barely make it past the ragged breaths and shudders tearing through him. It only sounds something like you’re here on a loop.

His chest heaves. His fingers are digging into you, pressing you against him, needing you closer, closer, closer.

Your arms move immediately.

Your hands rise.

Without him telling you to.

And for the first time since you woke up, you actually touch him.

Your palms press against his back, against his neck, against him.

And it is everything.

It is the dam breaking, the world shifting back onto its axis, the breath of air after drowning.

Bucky cries.

The tears don’t stop. They just keep coming, breaking past every wall, every defense, every piece of him that ever tried to hold anything in.

And you are watching him.

Seeing him.

Holding him.

Speaking to him.

“Buck-”

His name.

And this time it sounds even more like you. So soft. So incredibly concerned. You.

He collapses deeper into you, losing himself completely.

He feels your hands trembling against him, but they are moving.

Not because he made you.

Not because of an order coming from his mouth.

Because you want to.

Because Bucky is falling apart in your arms and you cannot let that happen.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, fisting the material. Your other hand slides into his hair, cradling the back of his head, pulling him in, as close as he can get.

He is gasping, sobbing - breaking. His whole body quakes. His breath stutters between cries, hauled from the deepest part of him.

And you don’t hesitate.

Your lips press to the top of his head, over and over, again and again and again. Whispering into him. Murmuring soothing nonsense, anything, anything.

“I’m here, baby. I’m here.” Your voice is soft, achingly tender. A touch in the darkness.

His grip almost hurts, almost suffocates, but you don’t pull away.

And he clings to you like he will never let go.

Because he is afraid. Afraid that if he lets go, if he blinks, if he breathes too hard - you will be gone.

Even with your hands on him, even with your voice in his ears - your real voice - even with your lips brushing against his skin, he is still afraid. So fucking afraid.

It’s an abyss of fear, not a momentary plunge, but an endless descent into the very structure of his being.

It’s a poison seeping into his system, crystallizing in his bones, becoming a part of him.

He doesn’t think it will ever go away.

So he clutches you tightly.

And you hold him right back.

Your fingers card through his hair, smoothing, soothing. Your lips press to the part of his temple you can reach.

“I’m here. I’m okay, honey.” Another soft whisper against his skin. “It’s okay.”

Still, he sobs.

Still, he shakes.

Still, he clings.

His chest heaves wildly against yours. His pulse is unstable. He can’t tone it down. He can’t control himself.

His forehead presses deeply into your neck. His breath is hot, damp, shaking.

And you keep holding him, keep murmuring, keep soothing.

“It’s okay, Bucky, it’s okay,” you hush, so patient, so loving, so sweet - everything he’s missed so incredibly bad. A kiss to his hairline. Your hand trails up and down his back. “Breathe, baby. Breathe.”

A painful and gravelly wail bursts from his chest. His fingers twitch frantically against you.

And he hears the way it’s hurting you. It’s in your voice. He hears how concerned you are. And he hates himself for it. But there is nothing he can do but crumble.

His frame shudders so violently you think he might collapse in on himself.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. I’m right here.”

He believes you.

Because otherwise, he would not survive.

“You are my heart, my life, my one and only thought.”

- Terry Pratchett

Taglist: @cheekybarnes @gotminho @rlphunter @normanreedus-blog @winterelfqueen @hello-lisa1026 @lilulo-12 @nikt-wazny-y @reemoony @orangeheliophile @seolahhh @oikawasbuddy @dancer3205 @yourstupidblues @greatmistakes @inf4ntdeath @hoe-for-writing @sept3mberchild @mrsnikstan @augustjoy

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societyfolklore · 4 months ago

Text

Dangerous Notes – Part 2

Title: Dangerous Notes – Part 2

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Singer!Female Reader

Fic Summary: Reluctantly agrees to fill in for her sick friend at a prestigious jazz club The Armoury. Thrust into a world of old-world glamour and unknown danger now that the club’s owner, Bucky Barnes, has set his sights on making you a permanent fixture on his stage—and in his life. Chapter Summary: You takes the stage and come to face to face with the owner of the Armoury.

Word Count: 3.9k

Fic Warnings: // Explicit Content // Mature Themes.18+, Minors DNI,Dark Romance, Slow Burn, Possessive/Obsessive behaviour, Violence, Smut (eventually) NO BETA (please forgive any mistakes) Chapter Warnings: None.. We’re fine.. Bucky just being..Bucky you know.. all starey and stuff...

A/N: I have been obsessed with this cover, and while it’s more rock-ish then how it’s portrayed later on.. you all get the idea.. You step onto the stage, the lights dimmed to an almost comforting low, and you’re grateful for the momentary anonymity it offers. The smattering of polite claps helps as you take your place out front, your hands gripping the microphone stand tightly to steady their slight trembling. The spotlight is still low, casting a faint glow that feels more like a protective shield than an intrusion. Kara had always been the showman, all about the drama of an entrance, and you silently thanked her for that detail tonight.

The murmurs of the crowd seemed deafening, the sound swelling and blending with your own racing pulse. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, drowning out everything but the steady mantra in your mind. You can do this. You’ve sung countless times before. You made this cover. But something about the energy of the room tonight feels different. The weight of the audience's anticipation presses down on you, making you feel exposed, as though every vulnerability is laid bare under the low light.

Maybe it’s the dress. Yelena had said it was perfect, and she’d been so sure that her confidence in your appearance had felt contagious at the time. But now, standing here, it feels more like a costume, a borrowed identity meant to bridge the gap between who you are and the performer you once were. You adjust your grip on the mic stand, your fingers brushing the cool metal as you silently remind yourself to breathe. Yelena had been right about one thing, though-that whiskey had helped. The slight warmth it left in your chest was the only thing keeping your nerves from spiralling completely out of control.

The band begins to play, their soft, steady notes filling the air like a gentle tide washing over you. The piano and bass weave together seamlessly, creating a melody that feels familiar and grounding. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the music guide you, drawing you into its rhythm. And then, as you take a deep breath, you begin to sing.

"Day to night to morning, keep with me in the moment… I'd let you had I known it, why don't you say so?"

Your voice starts softly, trembling with the nerves you haven’t quite shaken, but as the melody swells, so does your confidence. The lyrics spill out of you, carried by a voice that feels smoother and steadier with each passing note. You’d never been so thankful for Kara’s carefully chosen setlist. The opening of this song hangs in the air like smoke, subtle and intoxicating, giving you room to find your footing. "It's been a long time since you fell in love..... You ain't coming out your shell, you really ain't been yourself.." The crowd begins to shift. The low murmur of conversation fades, and the room grows still. All eyes are fixed on you now, their attention undeniable and electric. "Didn't even notice, no punches left to roll with. You got to keep me focused, you want it, say so.." Even the clinking of glasses seems to pause, the usual sounds of the club giving way to the notes and words weaving their way through the air. Your voice fills the room, commanding it without effort, and for the first time tonight, you begin to feel like you belong here. It’s not just a performance; it’s a reclamation of something you thought you’d left behind. "He ain't never seen it in a dress like this. He ain't never even been impressed like this."

#*#*#*#* Upstairs, Bucky Barnes sits at a polished mahogany table surrounded by his trusted lieutenants, Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers. The atmosphere is heavy with tension, the weight of his growing empire pressing down on every word spoken. A sprawling map of the city dominates the table, its surface marked with pins and annotations representing months of careful strategy. The Queens boundary is a glaring weak spot, several areas circled in red-wounds on the map where rival encroachments are testing his limits. Bucky’s sharp blue eyes remain fixed on the map, his jaw tightening as he processes the careful measures required to protect his territory and maintain his fragile dominance.

“This section here,” Sam says, his finger tapping against the map. “It’s going to be a problem if we don’t reinforce it soon. If anyone decides to push, we’ll be spread too thin to respond.”

Steve nods, leaning in with his usual focus, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair. “We need to shore up these weak spots now before they become an invitation. Queens is already watching, waiting for an opening. We can’t let them get a foothold.”

Bucky’s fingers tap a steady rhythm against the edge of the table, the sound faint but insistent, betraying the restless energy simmering beneath his composed exterior. Every decision he makes feels like moving a pawn in an unforgiving chess game, where one wrong move could cascade into disaster. Heavy is the crown, and tonight the map before him feels more like a battlefield than a plan for stability. His empire stretches across the boroughs, a web of alliances and delicate balances, and the mounting pressure of defending it weighs on him.

Sam leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he shoots a pointed look at Bucky. “We can’t keep sitting on this, Buck. If we wait too long, someone’s going to make a move-”

“I know,” Bucky interrupts, his voice low and sharp, carrying an edge of irritation. His eyes stay fixed on the map, but something shifts in his focus. His ear tilts slightly toward the door, his sharp features softening for just a moment, as though catching something the others haven’t.

Steve notices the flicker of distraction and frowns. “Everything alright?” he asked.

Bucky didn't answer immediately, his head tilting further as he listened. Then, he raises a hand, signaling for silence. A faint sound drifted into the room, cutting through the tension-a voice. Soft at first, but as it grows stronger, it carried a rawness and vulnerability that makes the world around him blur and fade. It’s like nothing he’s heard before, a haunting thread of melody that feels both foreign and familiar. For a moment, he’s entirely still, captivated by the unexpected intrusion.

Sam exchanged a curious glance with Steve. “You hear that?” he asks, but Bucky was already rising from his seat, his movements deliberate and smooth.

“Who’s on stage tonight?” Bucky asks, his tone calm but commanding, the curiosity in his voice unmistakable. He knows how his regular performers sound, and this is different-stunningly, strikingly different.

Sam looks up, a little surprised that Yelena hadn’t filled their boss in on the change. “Kara’s out sick. She sent a replacement. Someone she vouched for.”

Bucky’s gaze sharpens, suspicion flickering alongside intrigue. “Stay here,” he orders, his tone clipped, leaving no room for argument. The timing of a 'new girl' felt almost too convenient, unsettling him in ways he can’t fully articulate. Why now, when their borders are being tested and every small disruption feels like it could signal a larger threat? His empire is stretched thin, weak spots glaring at him from the map. And yet, that voice-it tugs at him, like some damn siren song that refuses to let him focus. The meeting can wait, but this development can’t. Whoever this "new girl" is, she’s not only managed to grab his attention but also raise a question he couldn't afford to ignore.

Bucky strode toward the door, his sharp blue eyes glint with something rare-a flicker of curiosity and intrigue that even Sam and Steve can’t help but notice. “This should be interesting,” Sam mutters, leaning back in his chair as the door closes behind Bucky, leaving them both to wonder what-or who-has drawn his focus so completely.

#*#*#*#* It took more songs than you would have liked before you felt the tension in your shoulders finally begin to ease. The crowd had been surprisingly responsive, their murmurs softening and their attention sharpening with every note. The band, professionals to their core, seemed to pick up on your subtle cues, seamlessly following your lead as you added your own accents and flairs to the songs. Each successful phrase, each perfectly held note, sent a small swell of endorphins rushing through your system, filling you with a sense of control and exhilaration you hadn’t felt in years.

For the first time, you allowed yourself to relax just a little, your grip on the microphone loosening as the music carried you. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Just one week of this-one week of rediscovering what it meant to perform, to share a piece of yourself with an audience that was actually listening. The warmth in your chest wasn’t just from the whiskey anymore; it was the realization that you might actually enjoy this, that stepping back into the spotlight didn’t feel as foreign or impossible as you’d feared.

Your eyes scanned the room briefly as you prepared to transition into the next song, and that’s when you noticed him. Standing near the back wall, not far from the bar, his broad shoulders framed against the dimly lit backdrop, was a man who could only be described as commanding. His dark hair and piercing blue eyes seemed to cut through the haze of the room, his gaze fixed solely on you. He wasn’t clapping like the others; instead, he was standing perfectly still, his arms crossed, his head tilted slightly as if assessing you.

Next to him, Yelena, leaned in to speak to him in hushed tones, her expression composed but her gestures subtle, though you could make out that small knowing smile she seemed to never quiet loose. As she handed him a drink, he took it without breaking his focus, his piercing blue eyes locked solely on you. The intensity of his stare was palpable, making the room feel smaller, as though the spotlight wasn’t the only thing illuminating you.

The weight of his attention sent a shiver down your spine, making you feel exposed in a way that had nothing to do with the stage lights. Your heart skipped a beat, your grip on the microphone tightening briefly before you forced yourself to relax. You kept singing, letting the rhythm of the song steady you like an anchor, even as his presence settled over you like a heavy, invisible weight, impossible to ignore.

#*#*#*#* Bucky stood near the wall, his arms crossed and posture casual, though his piercing blue eyes betrayed the weight of his thoughts as they tracked your every move.

Yelena’s voice cut through his concentration as she approached, handing him a glass of whiskey. "She’s pretty good, da?" she asked, her tone carrying a note of amusement as she leaned closer, her usual knowing smirk in place.

Bucky didn’t immediately respond, his eyes still locked on you. "We sure she’s someone Kara really knows?" he asked, suspicion edging his voice.

"Apparently, they’ve been friends for a while," Yelena replied, straightening as she studied his expression. "Kara vouched for her. Said she’s just another singer, music teacher too if I remember what Kara said over the phone, you couldn't get cleaner." Yelena joked fiddling with the cuff of her shirt.

He let out a low hum, his jaw tightening. "And why didn’t Kara let us pick her replacement? Seems risky to bring in someone new when..." He didn’t finish the thought, though it lingered in his mind. Kara was just 'club staff' why would she even know about the details of the 'other side' of operations? Yelena shrugged, unbothered. "You worry too much Boss. Look at the crowd. Everyone happy." She gestured subtly toward the captivated room. "Doesn’t seem like Kara was wrong."

Bucky nodded absently as Yelena moved away, leaving him alone to observe. He took a sip of his whiskey, letting the burn settle in his chest, and finally allowed himself to relax just slightly. Maybe the singer wasn’t a threat after all. Maybe Kara’s choice wasn’t as reckless as it seemed. As his sharp eyes followed the subtle way you leaned into the microphone. The way your fingers ran down the stand like you were caressing a lover. How lost in the music you seemed when you shut eyes, a thought crept into his mind-if you weren’t a danger to him, then maybe having you here was exactly what he wanted.

His focus on your sharpened, he didn’t like the tug of war going on in his head, it was his nature to be suspicious, but he still couldn't stop the tickle of admiration. The way you sang was unlike anything he’d seen in his club before-raw, yet profoundly captivating. It stirred something unfamiliar in him, something that wasn’t just curiosity but also a deep pull he couldn’t ignore. No matter what Yelena said, timing of your presence gnawed at him. You were here for a week-maybe longer, depending on Kara’s recovery. That lingering question-who you really were- the thought refused to fade entirely, keeping his guard up even as something within him softened.

Watching you stand on stage in the dimly lit club, your voice rich and soulful, carrying a vulnerability that felt almost too real. It wasn’t just a performance; it felt like an unguarded moment, as though you were sharing something deeply personal with every note. His suspicion wavered, though it didn’t disappear entirely. If you were truly harmless, then why did he feel so compelled to keep watching, to analyse every detail?

He caught himself taking all of you even the slight sway of your hips as you moved along to the melody held such effortless allure. Everything about you seemed both seductive and unguarded, a contradiction that unsettled him in a way he couldn’t entirely articulate. You were nothing like the polished performers he was used to, and he liked perfect, but your imperfections made you feel more real, you seemed to have dangerous in their ability to draw him in. He felt like he could stand here and listen to you for hours.

Part of him clung to his doubts, wary of the risks of letting his guard down when his empire teetered on the brink of conflict. But the other part-the quieter, persistent part-began to wonder if having you here might not be a threat at all but something else entirely. Something he didn’t yet have the words for, but that he couldn’t deny.

When the song ended, the room erupted in applause, a sound so sudden and overwhelming it momentarily startled you. Bucky watched your retreat with a mix of emotions tugging at him. His jaw tightened, suspicion still threading through his thoughts. Who exactly were you? Yet, despite his wariness, something about you stirred a pull he couldn’t ignore. You didn’t belong here, not in this world of shadows and unspoken rules, and yet, watching you, he couldn’t shake the thought that maybe you did. Maybe you belonged more than you even realized.

He made a silent decision: until he worked out the truth, you weren’t going anywhere.

#*#*#*#*

You opened your eyes, blinking against the lights, and offered a shy smile as you quickly retreated backstage. Your cheeks were flushed, your chest rising and falling as the adrenaline of the performance buzzed through your veins. Each step away from the stage felt conflicted-an escape from the vulnerability of being in the spotlight, but also a parting from the exhilarating rush it had given you.

The small dressing room welcomed you with its quiet intimacy, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy of the stage. You braced your hands against the edges of the vanity, catching your breath as you stared at your reflection in the softly lit mirror. Your face was still glowing, your eyes bright with an energy that hadn’t faded yet. You felt alive, buzzing with an endorphin-fueled thrill that made your hands tremble slightly.

For a moment, you reached for your phone, your first instinct to call Kara. She would want to know how it went, how the audience had responded. But as your thumb hovered over her contact, the late hour gave you pause. With a sigh, you placed the phone back on the vanity. Tomorrow. You’d talk to her tomorrow.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned as it opened to reveal the bandleader. He stepped in with an easy confidence, his bleached hair slightly dishevelled and a mischievous grin already playing on his lips.

"Hey there," he greeted, his voice warm. "Pietro, Maximoff. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself earlier. Things got a little hectic before the set."

You returned his smile, though a touch of nervousness lingered did everyone here have an accent but her? "Oh, it’s okay. I… I hope I didn’t throw things off."

Pietro waved off your concern with a laugh. "If it wasn’t you, my sister would’ve had to fill in, and trust me, she’d still be reminding me about it ten years from now." His light-hearted tone eased some of the tension you hadn’t realized you were holding.

"Still, I…" you hesitated, glancing at the vanity before looking back at him. "I didn’t mean, Kara called and-"

He shook his head, leaning against the doorframe. "Trouble? Are you kidding? You killed it out there. The crowd loved you, and the band…" he gave an exaggerated shrug, "...we like having someone who knows how to make a set shine."

His genuine enthusiasm brought a small smile to your lips, and you felt yourself relax slightly. "Thanks," you murmured. "That means a lot." It was rather humbling in the best way to hear someone speak highly of the arrangements you'd made with Kara.

"Don’t sweat it," Pietro said, straightening up. "You’re here for the week, right? If tonight’s anything to go by, it’s gonna be a good one." With a friendly wink, he stepped back into the hallway still holding the door. "If you wanted to add anything new to the set, really make it your own. Let me know ok? We're all normally practicing in here during the afternoons. You should come by, meet everyone-it’s more relaxed during the day."

His head turned slightly, and the easy grin faltered for just a moment as the sound of approaching footsteps filled the hallway. "Boss," he greeted, stepping aside and holding the door as Bucky entered the room. "Didn’t think you slummed it with the entertainment."

The darkhaired man gave Pietro a sharp look, his expression unreadable as he stepped fully into the small dressing room. Whatever exchanged between the two men was silent and unspoken, though the slight tension in Pietro’s posture didn’t go unnoticed. "She did good," Pietro said finally, his tone carrying a hint of defensiveness. "The band’s thrilled to have someone who knows what they’re doing for a change."

His gaze flicked to you briefly before returning to Pietro. "We’ll see," he replied, his voice even, but the weight behind it made the air feel heavier. Pietro hesitated for a moment, then gestured toward the burnet male, a small, slightly sheepish grin. "By the way, meet Bucky Barnes. The boss."

Your stomach dropped as you looked between the two men. Pietro gave you a reassuring nod before stepping toward the door. "Don’t worry," he added with a wink, "Don't look so scared, he’s not as scary as he looks... Most of the time. Try not to scare the little songbird away Sir."

With that, he gave you a small wave and slipped out, leaving you alone with the man whose piercing gaze had been fixed on you for most of your set.

The door clicked shut, and the room felt immediately smaller, the air thick with the weight of his presence. You could feel the tension rise as Bucky stood there, silent for a moment, his sharp blue eyes trailing over you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. You couldn’t help but straighten under his scrutiny, the memory of Kara’s worried voice echoing in your mind. It wasn’t just your chance to perform-it was Kara’s job, too, and you felt the unspoken stakes like a heavy weight pressing down on your shoulders. Every breath, every movement, felt like it was being judged.

There was something about him-something in the way he stood, perfectly composed but radiating power-that made the rumors click into place. You understood now why Kara had been so worried, why her voice had carried that edge of panic when she called you. This man wasn’t just in charge; he commanded the room without saying a word, and every inch of him seemed to demand respect-or fear. The pressure was suffocating, and yet there was an undeniable pull, something magnetic in the way he filled the space.

"You’re not new to this. Performing," he said, his voice low and steady, breaking the silence and making you jump slightly.

You swallowed, your throat dry as you turned to face him fully. "Oh, um… No, I used to sing at weddings," you replied, your tone wavering. You weren’t sure if it was meant as a compliment or a veiled critique, and his unreadable expression offered no clues.

His head tilted slightly, his gaze sharpening as he considered you. "That wasn’t a compliment," he added, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. "More of an observation." His eyes flicked to the garment bag hanging near the door before settling back on you. "So, you’re going to be with us for the week? Until Kara’s better?"

The question hit like a challenge, and your stomach twisted. "I… I’m here for the week," you began carefully, trying to keep your voice steady. "I know you probably wanted someone you knew for this, but Kara-"

"Pietro said his sister-" you added quickly, hoping to deflect. The weight of his stare didn’t ease, and you felt the words tumbling out faster. "I'm just helping out a friend. That’s all."

Bucky nodded slowly, but his intense gaze didn’t waver, his hands shifted in his pockets. "Kara’s a good girl," he said finally, stepping closer, each movement deliberate and controlled. His presence filled the room entirely now, and it was impossible to focus on anything but him. "Let’s hope you’re the same. I don’t like strangers in my space. We keep things very in-house here."

Each word hung heavy in the air, the subtext clear: you were being tested. Every movement, every word, felt scrutinized under his piercing gaze. Kara’s vouching had gotten you through the door, but it was obvious that whether you stayed-or whether Kara’s job remained safe-was up to him. His words weren’t just a warning; they were a promise.

Your chest tightened, and you had to consciously remind yourself to breathe. Beneath the tension, however, there was something else-a magnetic pull that unsettled you. His presence was overwhelming, commanding, and yet you couldn’t quite look away. The rumors didn’t seem so outlandish anymore; they felt like the truth wrapped in whispers, amplified by the undeniable power he exuded.

"Don't be late tomorrow," he said finally, his voice cutting through your thoughts.

Just as suddenly as he’d entered, Bucky turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him. You exhaled shakily, realizing you’d been holding your breath. Staring at the closed door, you felt his presence linger, like a shadow that refused to leave.

"No." You turned to look at the mirror as you felt your hands shake. "I won’t."

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13uswntimagines · 11 months ago

Text

Rainbowfish (Leah X Alessia X child!r)

Request: R calls Leah mom for the first time.

Part of the Big Emotions universe- find more here.

Warnings: none. Cute Kid Fic.

Author's note: TBH I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this one, and the ending is a bit short, but I wanted to get it out. Also, I know in the UK it's Mum and not Mom, but that's a plot point I want to explore later Lol. Please enjoy and let me know what you think.

Your bedtime story was very important business in the Russo-Williamson household.

It was the one part of your routine that never ever changed. The one part that you would refuse to sleep without (aside from a few weeks during the World Cup).

It was your absolute favorite part of the day, being cuddled into your Mama’s side with Squirt as she read you the book of the night. She did all the little voices and gently scratched your back. it never failed to send you straight to sleep. Most of the time you didn’t even make it through the book.

Alessia treasured it.

No matter how busy your days were, she made sure she got to read you your story. In the days with Manchester United, it had been the only time she really got to spend with you regularly. Things were better with Arsenal and since you had moved in with Leah, but your routine had stuck, and Leah respected that it was your special time with your mama.

“‘Thank you! Thank you so much!’ The little blue fish bubbled playfully, as he tucked the shiny scale among his blue ones,” Alessia read, watching as your tiny fingers traced the tiny shimmering scale on the blue fish on the page, made of a different material than the rest.

It was your favorite part of The Rainbow Fish.

His scales were different from the pages, so they shimmered in the fairy lights around your room.

“Is Leah Rainbow Fish?” You asked, running your fingers over the fish.

Alessia’s eyebrows pulled together, a crinkle forming between them (identical to the one you always got). “What do you mean bug?”

“Is that why people always stop her?” You glanced up at your mama, meeting eyes that were identical to your own. “So she give them a shiny scale,”

You wondered how she hid them all under her clothes. Maybe that was why people always wanted her and your mama to take their shirts off, to see their shimmery scales.

Alessia hummed, rubbing her hand through your messy curls. “Leah is kind of like a Rainbowfish, but instead of giving away scales, she reminds people that they’re special too,”

A little crease appeared between your eyebrows as you processed the thought, and you dragged your little finger from the Rainbow fish towards the larger fish on the page. “Is Leah my mommy like Rainbow fish has mommy?”

Alessia eased another curl from in front of your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. “Do you want Leah to be your mommy?”

You nodded. “She does bath time, and plays with me, And never forgets the popcorn for movie night,”

“She does,” Alessia agreed, her lips turning into a fond smile.

“And she loves us,” You continued, meeting her eyes.

They shined in the fairy lights of your room, glimmering with an innocence that Alessia would protect until the day she died.

You mama hummed. “Very very much,”

“Then that means she’s mommy because she does all the mommy things,” You said, with a sense of finality, and understanding that was far beyond what Alessia thought a 2-and-a-half-year-old could understand.

“Hmm,” She paused, brushing a curl from in front of your eyes. Her and Leah had never fully discussed titles, but she could see that you were right. That the defender had slotted perfectly into the role. That Leah had earned it. “I think Leah would be happy with whatever you decide to call her,”

You nodded like it was a done deal. “Finish story now?”

Alessia swallowed, unable to stop the fond smile from curling across her lips. “Yeah bug, well finish the story,”

She would let you be the one to tell Leah about the discussion.

She was sure the defender would appreciate it more coming from you anyway.

******

“Come on bug, the sharks are this way,” Leah said softly, adjusting the ear defenders that accompanied you on most outings as you stared at the tank of Seahorses.

These were painted with tiger sharks, sea turtles, seahorses, and jellyfish, a perfect accomplishment to the atmosphere of the aquarium, and the reason Alessia had them made.

It was probably a toss-up between the aquarium and the zoo for your favorite one-on-one activities with Leah. The carefully selected outings that weren't too loud, or overstimulating that Leah could take you on to distract you while Alessia had an obligation you couldn’t accompany her on.

The seahorse tank was just inside the entrance to the building, small and lit with a variety of colorful LEDs. It never failed to catch your attention, and you could/would stand in front of it for hours if Leah let you, listening to her read off the information plaque several times.

She would usually let you, but she spotted a school group bustling through the coral-shaped entranceway. She didn’t fancy being shoved aside by a bunch of screaming schoolchildren, and she knew you wouldn’t either.

You didn’t enjoy crowds unless there was a barrier between you and them.

You dragged your eyes away from the tank to meet hers, your head tilting as you squeezed Squirt more tightly to you.“Turtle?”

“And the turtles,” Leah agreed, catching your hand. “We can’t go through without seeing Rocky, Bella, and Culver now can we,”

You nodded seriously at the names of your favorite turtles, holding her hand tightly as she guided you past the seahorses and to the next tank.

It was smaller, filled with 20 little fish milling about, their scales glinting off of the artificial light in the tank.

“Rainbow fish?” You asked, looking up at Leah for confirmation.

Leah squinted at the familiar plaque. “It says that these guys are Flame Angelfishes. They come from Hawaii, and they like to hang out on coral reefs,”

You frowned, turning back to the tanks as one of the smaller fish swam by.

You knew they weren’t called rainbowfishes, but you still asked Leah each time, hoping for a different answer.

“No rainbow fish?” You pouted, leaning closer to the tank, but not touching it.

You knew it was important not to bang on the glass so you didn’t scare the fish. They wouldn’t be your friend if you scared them.

“We can call it a rainbow fish,” Leah said, squatting down next to you. “I don’t think they’ll mind,”

You made a low sound, your fingers creeping their way past your lips.

“Hey, none of that,” She scolded gently, pulling your fingers from your mouth. “We don’t know where those little fingers have been,”

It was a bad habit her and your mama were fighting hard to break, how everything from your fingers to your shirt collars ended up in your mouth.

“Does rainbow fish give out his scales?” You asked, looking away from the tank to briefly meet her eyes.

“Hmm,” Leah hummed at the familiar question, glancing back at the little fish curiously swimming in front of you. “I think they would share their scales if one of their needed friends needed one,”

“Like you give out your scales?” You asked, your eyes never leaving the tank.

Leah frowned. “What do you mean bug?”

“You’re mama’s Rainbowfish,” You said earnestly, turning away from the fish to meet Leah’s eyes again.

“I’m your rainbow fish too,” She said with a very soft smile, running her hand through your messy curls.

You nodded, as though her words confirmed something for you. What, Leah wasn’t entirely sure.

Several fish swam by, and you watched in wonder as they did circles around each other, and Leah felt herself fall a little more in love with you.

In the beginning, she hadn’t been entirely sure how things would go when Alessia warned her that you two were a package deal. She always wanted kids, but she didn’t know if she was mother material now.

Then she met you, and you wrapped your little hand around her finger and she knew you had her hooked.

Now, she couldn’t imagine her life without you, or Alessia. She treasured getting to see your excitement and wonder at simple things, like fish swimming circles around a tank.

She would stand here all day if that’s what you wanted.

You did for a long second before you looked back up at her. “Turtles?”

She smiled down at you. “Yep, let’s go see the turtles,”

You looked back at the tank, waving to the fish.

One of the little fish swam across the face of the tank as though he was waving goodbye to you.

You waved back at him, and Leah refrained from telling you that he probably didn’t understand what bye-bye rainbow fish meant.

You took Leah’s hand and let her lead you deeper into the aquarium.

********

Leah could tell you were getting tired as you finally made it all the way through the shark tunnel. Your little legs were dragging, and your fingers kept trying to find their way past your lips with increasing frequency.

You had skipped your nap, and she knew you had a limited amount of time before you got grumpy, even if you were at one of your favorite places. It was always a balance of letting you experience the things you wanted and keeping you from getting overtired.

“How about we see the rays and then go get some lunch?” She asked you, wiggling your hand.

“Otay,” You mumbled, leaning into Leah and letting her pull you through the shark-shaped archway and into one of your favorite parts of the aquarium, the stingray touch tank.

“Hello miss Y/n!” The peppy blonde worker smiled widely at you as soon as you rounded the corner and sent a wave to Leah.

The two of you came here often enough that she knew you quite well.

You sent her a small wave, making sure Squirt didn’t slip from under your arm. “Ello Kara,”

“Do you want to feed the stingrays today?” She asked you, gesturing towards the touch tank that you always visited. “Rocky and Dibs are in a very friendly mood,”

She knew you well enough to know that there were days when you liked to pet the rays and ones when you just wanted to watch.

You perked up, nodding excitedly, turning to Leah and holding out your stuffed turtle. “Mommy, hold squirt so he no get wet?”

Leah blinked at you, making no move to take the turtle. “Say that again my darling?”

“You hold Squirt so I feed Rocky and Dibs?” You repeated, holding out the blue and green stuffed turtle.

Leah blinked again and squatted in front of you, bringing her hands up to cup your jaw.

“No bug, what did you call me?” She asked, her thumbs brushing your cheeks softly.

“Mommy,” You said, your eyebrows furrowing. “Mama said be ok cause you my Rainbow fish,”

Leah hummed.

Of course, you had talked it over with Alessia first. She would have been more surprised if you hadn’t.

“It’s very ok,” She assured you, swallowing away the lump in her throat, and pulling you close so she could kiss your forehead. “I’m your Mummy and your rainbow fish,”

You tolerated her lips against your hairline for a very long second before you pulled away, holding your turtle out for her. “Hold squirt so he no get wet?”

It amazed her how… casual you were about all of this. How you said it as if it just made sense. She swallowed down the swelling in her chest, knowing you wouldn’t react well if she started crying, even if the tears were happy.

“Sure, bug,” She smiled gently at you, taking the offered toy and holding him close as she released you. “Do you need help washing your hands?”

You shook your little head, turning back towards the blonde Stingray keeper. “No, Kara help me,”

She watched you as you toddled towards the sink, immediately talking to Kara about how the Rays were doing.

She would watch over you forever.

She was your Mum and your Rainbow fish.

#woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #woso imagines #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo x leah williamson x reader #leah williamson x reader #big emotions universe

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fyxestroll · 3 months ago

Text

E Lucevan Le Stelle

pairing: fulgrim x reader (fem.)

description: the duel and the moment that lead up to it.

warnings: descriptions of blood. inaccurate descriptions of someone getting shot

prev<<|| >>next

notes: my english stopped englishing halfway through. sorry english isnt my first language my bad guys :>

My dearest, Lady Dittersdorf.

I hope this letter finds you and the child well. The journos are relentless when it comes to their reporting and I understand that their inquisitive nature can make you uncomfortable but please refrain from cursing them out in public. It is unbecoming of a lady such as yourself.

Anyway, I did not send this letter to berate you for your decline in etiquette in recent times. Once again my lady, I plea for your rationality.

Though you have yet to reveal the identity of the father officially it is already known. Lord Fulgriim is a man who is of great importance to our Imperium and by your behaviour, an amazing bedmate. The excitement you feel in carrying a child with Imperial blood is understandable but it is important to remember that you are unmarried. In the eyes of the law, that child will be a bastard and I am sure you understand what that entails. Acknowledged or preferred bastards will never stand to inherit anything. Do not heed Lord Fulgrim’s promises they are lies and you are not the first to be fooled. There was a noblewoman from the Realms of Ultramar who claimed to have sired a bastard of his during their affair. He refused to acknowledge the child and even went as far as to claim he did not know the mother.

There are likely several similar cases that have been swept under the rug. The worst case scenario is that your life may be in danger, my Lady so once again, I plead for you to let reason lead. If not for your pride or child, then for your safety, please marry me. I am no son of the Emperor but my house and bloodline are still illustrious and you will be a fine First Lady.

With care, Waldemar Freidreich

This is the fifty-fourth letter sent by the planetary governor’s son. Nobles of lesser houses have sent similar missives but none were as incessant as Lord Freidreich. In the course of two months since that article’s fateful release, he has sent a letter nearly every single day, rehashing the same arguments over and over again.

Frankly, you got sick of it.

Have it not been for the foolish hope that the senders would be punished for some form of treason without the rest of the planet suffering you would’ve tossed the letters into a fire long ago.

But because of pride, you do something worse.

You challenged the governor’s heir to duel.

The revolver in your hand is an old-fashioned thing, serving little use other than as fancy baubles for military officers. The embellished crest of your house on its frame gives a glimpse of its storied history.

Right now, however, that is of no importance.

You feel the gun in your hand, the shaky Lord Freidreich standing behind you back to back and the hot white anger coursing through your veins. Right now, those are the only things that matter, not your reputation, not your house and definitely not–

None of that, now.

A crowd has gathered despite the early morning eager to see the grand conclusion to yesternight’s spectacle…

“How is the child, my lady?”

“Excuse me?!”

Lord Freidreich gestures to your lower abdomen. Many view the son of the governor as a clown—you included and his actions neither help nor better his ill reputation. “I hear that alcohol should not be drunk by pregnant women.”

“Once again, I am not pregnant.”

“No one here believes that lie, my lady, ”The ugly heir shakes his head, fixing a faux expression of pity, “and you are bound to show sooner or later.”

Without permission or care he steps closer, leaning in to whisper in ear. You scrunch your nose as you catch a whiff of his stink. “As I’ve said, my lady, you should be concerned about the child’s status. It will be a bastard with what many perceive as a whore and a mistress for a mother.”

You step back, uncomfortable and unwilling to hear what he has to say. He grabs your arm, anchoring you and continues, “The child’s paternity is…dubious at best and your family’s backing alone will not erase that stain. So if I may—”

You hit him underneath the chin with the butt of your fan and he crumples, letting out a cry that resembled a swine’s. You should’ve stopped there.

But you don’t.

Instead, you grab Freidreich by the collar and punch him again…

And again…

Two words that he all but said echo in your mind.

Desperate whore.

You shake your head at the memory.

It took several men from that party to pull you away from the governor’s son. You nearly beat him into a pulp and in all honesty, you don’t know why. Hell, you hadn’t even realised what you’d done until you were pulled away from Freidreich’s bloody face.

It was a slip in rationality but it had hurt that arsehole’s pride so he challenged you to a duel.

And you accepted.

Which…leads to now…

Six.

You and your opponent take a step. The crowd holds their breath.

‘Just aim at the sky…’

Seven..

The doctor invited by Freidreich’s second turns around, shaking.

‘Just aim at the sky…’

Eight…

Duels are commonplace among young men; while it wasn’t unheard of for women to duel, it was rare. The last one was two, maybe three years ago. It was a sabre duel and they fought topless.

It caused quite a scandal.

‘Just aim at the sky…’

Nine..

Deaths by duelling are non-existent. Most disputes die before anyone draws first blood. It was mainly a matter of honor, a test of courage.

For sabres, it was to first blood.

For firearms, the pistol is aimed at the sky.

‘So. Just aim at the–-’

“TEN PACES! FIRE”

‘---!’ You turn and squeeze the trigger.

Pop!

You fall to the ground as if punched by a power fist. For a brief moment, you lie there dazed, confused at what happened. It wasn’t until you heard a terrified shriek from the crowd that you felt the warmth oozing from your collarbone.

You’d been shot.

Freidreich hadn’t aimed for the sky.

‘Am I going to die?’ It feels like it. It’s getting harder to breathe, your vision is blurring and your heart feels like it will beat out of your chest. It won’t be long before your remaining strength is sapped away.

Above, the stars shine uncharacteristically bright. Those diamonds of light could be barely seen within the city thanks to the light pollution but now…They shine brighter than ever. Somewhere among these stars is Sol and with it is Terra, humanity’s cradle.

‘Right now he should be…’ You don’t know. You don’t know what he does outside of his visits and the occasional news. Perhaps, Freidreich’s letters had held a crumb of truth and you were getting your heart toyed with but you can’t find it in yourself to hold that against him.

A memory of his smile comes to mind.

You really wouldn’t be able to hold it against him. You’d never be able to.

Because?

‘Because I…I love him.’

And your consciousness finally slips away.

The last thing you see before feeling the cold embrace of darkness is a blanket of silky white hair.

#warhammer x reader #fulgrim x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #fulgrim

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emeritusemeritus · 7 months ago

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Hi,it's nice to find your page! Especially someone who also adores and admires the Weasley twins (together or not together stories)

Can you make a drabble about vulnera-sanentur,it's 19 years later. Since you were already pregnant and with only little Henry at home,while your other children were at Hogwarts. Can you do,Henry accidentally walking in on you three,making love. It was kinda you threes fault,you guys were to loud,and left the door unlock after getting too excited. And since little henry was still a kid,he didn't understand and the twins just told him to get out,give mommy and daddies some privacy. Then,while you guys "continue",Henry started writing to his siblings,saying he was scared and that daddies were hurting mommy in the bedroom.

Immediately the other children came off,ready to defend their mother.

You can twist some parts💝 please and thank you,have a nice day

Hi love! This has been an absolute pleasure to write, it’s been so nice to dive back into the Vulnera Sanentur universe. I hope it’s okay that I set it around Christmas, hope you enjoy! 🖤

Warnings: Mentions of sex, sexual references, threats, illusions to abuse but no actual abuse takes place, nothing graphic.

Word count: 3.4k (I got carried away)

As a note this is set during the epilogue: 19 years after the Vulnera Sanentur story (here if you want to read)

Fred, George and Reader have 4 kids and another on the way. Aurora (Rory) is in her fifth year, twins Griffon and Finn are third years and Henry is 8.

Vulnera Sanguinem

"Oi Griff! Isn't that Owlbert?" Finn nods to his twin across the table in the great Hall towards the Owl approaching rapidly as a number of various others disperse mail to their recipients over breakfast.

Just a few seats up from them, their older sister Aurora cringes at the awful name of the family bird, hoping none of her friends heard and mentally regretting her youngest brother's honour of naming him.

The twins look with identical confusion as the bird comes to a close stop just before them and drops off an unfamiliar letter before nicking a piece of abandoned bread crust from Finn's plate and flying off towards the Owlery for a rest. The twins give each other a look, confused and a little concerned at the hastily scribbled writing on the front. Rory peeks over, the letter peaking her interest but she plays it down, not wanting to spook her brothers. All three of the Weasley kids know that their parents always sent Mail out on a Monday, one each for all their kids and never shared so one single letter arriving is most suspicious, especially considering it was the last Friday of school before Christmas break. They'd all be home tomorrow, why would a letter come now?

"Open it mate," Griff says, thrusting it into Finn's hands but he refuses, instead handing it back to Griffon who sighs, accepting the task.

"It's from Henry," Griffon says with a scrunched up face. He reads in silence, growing more and more confused and concerned as he tries to make out Henry's scribbled writing. Apparently all he had on hand when he wrote the letter was a red crayon, not making it easy for his brother to read.

"Common room, now," Griffin suddenly says to Finn who looks on in concern as his twins suddenly seriousness, something that never happened. They rise quickly from the table and Finn nods to Rory who's watching closely, urging her to follow them.

Once they are back in the deserted common room, they huddle in a corner and take turns passing around the letter, each observing the ominous words. Rory's hand shoots to her mouth in disbelief, tears already welling in her eyes as DH reads her youngest brother's words over and over again.

"Surely not," Finn says, in complete denial, his face stricken. "You really think dad would hurt mum?"

"Which dad though?" Griff says, hunched over as he sits on the arm of one of the sofas.

"Does it matter?" Rory bursts angrily, "none of our daddies would do this!"

"Not what it says there," Griff defends, feeling sickened he'd even have to say those words.

"Then Henry's wrong!" Finn stands, his arms dramatically rising as he makes his point, the usually quieter twin standing his ground and making his point clear. It falls silent between the three siblings for a moment as they consider the options, Finn's outburst making them pause.

"But what if he's not?" Rory says quietly, her eyes rising to the two boys who look nearly identical to her dad's, causing another painful stab to her heart as she's reminded once again of the situation.

——

There's a spring in your step as you bounce around the kitchen, listening to Christmas music and preparing the twins' favourite chocolate cake ready for your oldest three coming back home tomorrow, ready for Christmas break. You were planning on making a selection of everyone's favourite food, double chocolate cake for the twins, a mini apple crumble for Rory and a big roast dinner for everyone with Henry's favourite crispy roast potatoes. You'd even nipped to got some knotgrass mead for your husbands especially and had cooked a batch of Christmas cookies ready for everyone to share. You knew you wouldn't have a lot of time to prepare everything tomorrow, having to pick the kids up just after midday as they arrived back to King's Cross.

"Oooh something smells good in here," you hear George say, stepping into the kitchen. You try to turn towards him but he's behind you in moments, hips pressing into your behind as his lips ghost over the skin of your neck, your hair having been thrust up into a bun when you started baking. Your eyes close with the sensation, already worked up just at the feel of your husband behind you, his semi-excited crotch rubbing against the curve of your bum as his left hand cups your prominent bump, taking a little bit of weight off of it. His right finger drags through a bit of the extra icing, scooping it onto his finger tip as he brings it to his mouth, tasting the chocolaty sweetness with a little moan of satisfaction. You reach to turn off the radio, not wanting anything to spoil this moment, your full attention on George.

"Want to take this into the bedroom?" He says quietly, leaning down to seductively whisper into your ear as he taps the metal mixing bowl. "I could cover you in this delicious icing and lick every single bit off, your choice of where."

You struggle to remain composed at the idea, very invested in the idea of George's tongue on your heated skin.

"Didn't you get enough last night Mr Weasley?" You purr, reaching your hand up to stroke his hand as it rested on your bump. Your body was throbbing already for this, the wonderful surprise of George turning up feeling like the most fortunate timing.

"Never enough Mrs Weasley," George counters in a deep voice, thrusting his crotch into your bum so you could feel the hardness of him against you, hoping he'd be able to tempt you.

You spin around in his arms, a considerably difficult feat thanks to your large bump but George doesn't care, his arms staying firmly around you as his gaze travels to your cleavage where your shirt is considerably stretched across your growing breasts.

"Merlin you look so fucking good pregnant," he growls before capturing your lips in a blazing kiss that forces you to reach out for the counter to stabilise yourself.

You break apart in shock when you hear the front door open, both of you looking towards each other in concern as you scramble to look for the time.

"Mummy?" You hear Henry shout and even more confused, you check the clock on the wall and see that it's only half 2, definitely not when you were expecting him.

"Hi sweetheart, what are you doing home so early?" You call out, waiting for him to appear as you trying to fix yourself to look like you weren't just fooling around with George, who tries equally hard to adjust himself. You walk to the fridge to get him a drink ready and wait for him to appear, inevitably wanting a drink and a snack.

"Last hour was just watching films, we've got films at home why would I stay there when there's," Henry calls out and you can hear him moving through the house, his voice moving closer until he makes an abrupt stop upon seeing you and George in the kitchen. He freezes upon seeing George and quickly looks to you before running up and giving you a tight hug, which is not entirely out of character but something didn't seem right with you.

"Hey watch the baby bud," George says, his face scrunched up at seeing his son be a bit rough.

Henry doesn't let go as you expected and you look down at him, trying to see if there was something wrong.

"Errr I need you, my room, something to show you," he simply says, dragging you along by the hand as you protest, knowing you need to finish the cake but he seems so upset that you couldn't deny him.

He seemed off for the rest of the evening, keeping a watchful eye on you when he thought you weren't looking and almost entirely keeping away from George who was as bewildered as you at your son's strange behaviour. Usually he was all George, much to Fred's displeasure, but it seemed today that he was mummy's best friend. Naturally you assumed it was because of the baby, the youngest struggling to cope with the idea of not being the baby of the family anymore and having to share his parent's attention but when you'd say him down to talk, he'd dismissed it entirely.

Fred tried when he got back from work but nothing seemed to work and he seemed as distressed by Fred as he did George.

You were back in the kitchen again, starting to prepare dinner for the four of you and still hoping for the last night of relative peace before the others get back tomorrow when you heard a deep rumble from behind you, your heart racing as you investigate.

"Fred!" You scream out, not knowing who to call out for first in your panic when you see the mostly unused fireplace knocking from the living room knocking about from the inside, rumbling and groaning. Fred's by your side in mere seconds with George following only moments later, half undressed in only his shirt, tie and boxers getting ready for a shower, sporting a very concerned expression. Fred ushers you gently to the side, with George instinctively placing his hand around your waist in protection as you all pull out your wands and raise them towards the fireplace. You think of Henry alone upstairs and your stomach lurches, not knowing what to expect.

Faint voices appear like an ominous whisper and you hold your breath as they become louder and clearer. The fireplace suddenly illuminates in vibrant green, flames erupting from the base and you jump back in surprise, the floo network having always been temperamental in this fireplace. Who would come here at this time, especially unannounced?

"I told you it wasn't this one!" You heard a somewhat familiar voice say in a clear but irritated voice.

"Well we're here aren't we? Technically." A second but equally as familiar voice counters.

You all seem to lower your wands in sync, letting out long sighs of relief as the situation becomes less ominous with every passing second, realisation settling across all three of you who the voices belonged to.

"You two are the stupidest sodding-." A girls voice cuts out as all three figures appear in the fireplace, suddenly finding their way out of the apparently convoluted floo.

"Mum!"

Rory runs to you, hugging you closely and avoiding your bump as the boys move quickly over to you aswell, flanking each side and nearly towering over you already.

"We're here as well you know!" Fred calls out from the side, the three kids apparently forgetting their two dads were standing in the same room, completely overlooked.

"What are you doing here?" You beam, trying to touch and hug all of your kids individually whilst still being wrapped around all three. "What a surprise!" You couldn't believe they were here, that they'd come to surprise you early. You weren't prepared for them but it didn't matter, too happy in the moment that all your kids were back under one roof.

"Griff! Finn! Rory!" Henry squeals in delight as he runs straight past his daddies to join the cuddle pile, with Finn enthusiastically scooping him up in his arms.

"You do realise you all have two other parents right?" George says jokingly from beside Fred, though their amusement is slowly fading as time passes, their children not acknowledging them at all. The complete joy in your being also begins to fade as the tone suddenly shifts to a much darker, uncomfortable one.

"Okay what's going on?" Fred says suddenly, moving over to you, catching on to the children's weird behaviour. As he moves closer, the twins pull away from you, as does Rory and then Henry who all face their dads with matching looks of hurt and anger.

"Griffon Frederick Weasley!" You scold with fearful surprise as Griff pulls out his wand, pointing it directly at Fred, whilst Aurora does the same to George.

"Aurora Rose, put that wand down this instant!"

You watch in complete astonishment as Finn also pulls out his wand from beside you, pointing it in the vague direction of his dads, whilst Henry pulls out his own faux-wand made from a carved twig that he now wields in an almost threatening motion.

"Woah!" Fred says with complete dread in his eyes as he watched each of his beloved children pointing their wands at him, whilst George looks on in anguish, hurt by very notion.

"Move away from mummy!" Henry shouts, tears welling in his eyes as he looks at his daddies, his twig still pointed at them.

"Guys," he tries to argue but complies, never even thinking about pulling out his own wand on his own children. Both him and George move away with evident pain in their eyes as they comply, hoping all this is just a skit. Griff doesn't relent even for a minute and begins shouting at George and Fred as they still naturally protest what's happening.

"That's enough!" You shout, pulling out your wand to extinguishing the still roaring fire behind you. With another flick of your wand, you magically close the blinds, turn off the radio and suddenly create an harmless explosion above which catches all of them all off guard. You take the opportunity to leap forward and snatch their wands out of their hands, not having the conscience to magically expel their wands from their hands and march over to where Fred and George stand shell-shocked. The kids cry out for both their wands being taken and in protest of you moving forward but you silence them with a simple harsh stare.

"Sit down," you say calmly but forcefully, though you are fuming underneath the surface at their foolishness. "If you all have an issue, we're going to talk about it like civilised humans not brainless creatures." Your harsh glare softens as they do as they are told, even Griffon who is always the most resistant.

"Who wants to go first?"

Silence follows as you look between your kids, all of them looking sheepish but not forthcoming.

"We don't want you to get hurt again," Finn mumbles, averting his eyes and sounding so much like George in that moment that it makes you pause, your mind whirlingnwith his words.

"Me get hurt?" You ask in bewilderment, more confused than ever. "I'm not hurt darling."

"You were," Rory says quietly, tears beginning to build in her eyes, the anger fading from her beautiful face and the emotions now coming out.

You walk over to where they sit, bending down in front of them, hiding the slight sense of your aching hips and burdening bump as you do so. You shoot a glance towards your husbands, telling them to stay there which they surprisingly complying with.

"What's really going on here? I'm fine, I've been fine, no one's hurt."

"But Henry said!" Griff says, still a little more wound up than his siblings, the only one without the sad, forlorn expression on his face.

"Henry?" You ask, turning to your youngest, imploring him with a look of openness. "When? How did you? That's not important," you say with a shake of your head, realising there's a much bigger picture here.

"Henry, sweetheart please tell me everything."

He takes a long shaky breath and looks up at you, trying to judge if you were mad but finds nothing in your face to assume. "I heard daddy and dad hurting you last night."

Your face scrunches up in confusion, brown knitting tightly together as you search through your kind to figure out how in the world he could come to that conclusion.

"Hurting me? Sweetheart your dads have never hurt me and they never ever would," you say gently, your heart breaking at the thought. You can't even look at your husbands, knowing they would look distraught by Henry's words.

"But you were crying, it was loud," he mumbles, picking at the thread of his jumper.

"Honey I," you begin to say only to stop yourself abruptly when you realise exactly what he's talking about.

"Oh no, no no no no," you say, the shocking and quite frankly mortifying realisation hitting you as it all becomes clear. You slowly stand, reaching for the sofa arm as you do so to help you up until you can turn around to Fred and George with wide eyes. They look completely heartbroken, sorrowful looks in their eyes and shoulders slumped. You slowly walk over to your husbands, silencing Rory's protests with a single held up finger as you try to very quickly explain what Henry had actually heard. George looks utterly mortified and Fred doesn't look much better, both of them horrified at your conclusion

"Honey, what you heard last night," you begin to say, turning back and addressing Henry specifically.

"Your daddies weren't hurting mummy."

"We would never ever hurt your mummy," George interjects, voice breaking slightly with the emotion filled vow.

"What you heard," you pause, trying to find the right words in your embarrassed state, suddenly finding your mind void of any comprehension.

"What your mum is trying to say," Fred steps in, finding your lost words. "Remember when we had that little chat about the birds and the bees? About where babies come from." He leaves a moment of silence after his words, waiting for Henry to nod slightly in acknowledgement.

Rory suddenly gasps, her hand shooting up to cover her mouth as she realises quickly what her dad is trying to say. Henry's gaze shoots towards her, unnerved by her loud gasp, not quite clicking on to what Fred was trying to explain.

"Oh no," Finn suddenly says, mind whirling as he fills in his twin brother with a whisper, who instantly pales and looks sickened.

"What? That's disgusting! Henry!"

You wish right then that a portkey could carry you away anywhere but here, wishing for the ground to swallow you up.

"I don't get it!" Henry says, lip wobbling as he realises he's the last one to know.

"Darling, you remember how babies are made right? A mummy and a daddy," you try to calm him, watching him nod. "Special cuddles and all that? That's what you heard last night darling, they weren't hurting me at all."

It suddenly dawns on him and he looks between his three parents to get confirmation as the three other kids look positively ill at the conversation happening in front of them.

"But you've already made a baby," he suddenly says, eyeing your bulging stomach with suspicion. You hear Fred snicker from behind you and fight to hold back your own chuckle at his straightforward thinking.

"Yes darling that's right, but sometimes it's just what mummies and daddies do."

"This is awful, I'm going to my room," Rory says suddenly, almost looking queasy as she stands and attempts to walk off.

"You will do no such thing," you command, face suddenly hardening as you look between your children and raising an eyebrow. "Forgotten about the wand pointing have we?"

It's late now and with a hardly contained sigh, you place the last plate down onto the coffee table and walk back to the kitchen to retrieve some napkins for everyone. After your little chat, everyone had seemed to calm down and you'd watched with rapt anticipation as each of your kids apologised to their dads, giving them tight hugs filled with regretful tears. It had been an eventful and exhausting night, much different to what you had originally planned but you wanted to end it on a high, finding that original joy of your kids arriving home. You'd ordered Chinese takeaway for tea, void of all further energy and had put on a Christmas film for everyone to watch together.

You paused for a moment and looked at the living room in front of you, smiling as you do so at the scene before you. Henry is cuddled up next to George on one sofa, returning to his usual spot and Aurora is nestled into his other side. Griffon and Finn are on the floor by Fred’s feet, whispering and giggling in their own way. Fred’s arms are outstretched on the back of the sofa with an empty spot waiting for you. They tuck eagerly into the food and you watch with abundant fondness at the life you’d created around you, one hand on your bump as you feel the littlest Weasley rolling and kicking inside of you.

Maybe not right now, but you knew that someday you’d laugh about all of this- and remember to use a silencing charm in the bedroom next time.

#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley masterlist #george weasley #george weasley x you #Weasley twins x you #Weasley twins x reader #fred weasley x reader x george weasley #vulnerasanentur #requests completed #requests

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sombrashe · 1 year ago

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hii!

can you pretty please write something for Norm MacLean x reader?

ty, and i love your blog!

content fluff, just so much fluff and a little angst if you squint, childhood friends to lovers, reader is a breeder and its their wedding day, gn!reader, chubby!reader

note(s) hiiiiii :3 im so happy you like my blog!! i hope you enjoy this little but of fluff | i didnt know how to end it so it might seem a little abrupt

"Norm?"

Your voice bounces off the concrete walls and back into your ears. Your heels click with every step, your shoes are nice and shiny for the occasion. He wasn't home, at Chet's, or in the fusion room. A long shared hiding spot. You frown as you turn down yet another hallway. A sea of copy-pasted doors muddle together in your eyes as you huff. Maintaining your peppy smile you grip the bouquet tighter. When you noticed Lucy, but no Norm to accompany her you had to pause everything. A much disagreed decision which led to Overseer MacLain chastising you for your decision. It wasn't a good idea to make Vault 31 wait but you couldn't care less.

"Norman."

Your voice grows in pitch as you backtrack out of the hallway and into an identical one. One furthest from your wedding and who do you find sitting with his back to you? Cleaning the connection line of the vault floor.

"Oh! Norm, there you are."

He doesn't turn back and simply gives you a quick hand raise and a simple, "Busy. Be done soon."

You give a soft giggle and crouch down behind him.

"Norman MacLean. It's rude to ignore the person being married. Especially on their wedding day."

He finally turns at that. Almost as if he just realized who was talking to him. Your smile is unrelenting a stark contrast to the stony expression he gives you in return.

"Well, are you coming?"

You stand and extend your hand only to frown when he simply glances at your palm.

"What's wrong?"

You start to worry as he takes his time replying. You never felt this before, the feeling of your stomach becoming a giant knot. Like all your intestines became worms and got themselves tangled in each other. You did not like this feeling.

"You're making my stomach hurt, Norm. What's going on? You said you would be there when I met my partner."

"I got assigned cleaning duty."

You scoff and roll your eyes, a smile gracing your lips again as if you solved one of the riddles in the vault newspaper.

"It's my wedding day. I'm sure Hank would understand. You're my best friend after all, he would want you to be there with me."

Hands on your hips you can't help but notice as your cheeks start to sting with all this frowning and smiling.

"Best friend. Yeah, okay."

He repeated you again.

"Norman, what's going on? Are you sick?"

Bending over at the waist you place the cool back of your hand to his warm forehead and chew on your bottom lip. He feels fine. So why is he acting like this?

"I'm fine. It's nothing."

He swats your hand away. Using his hands he pushes himself to stand.

"Let's just go."

"No. Not until you tell me what's going on. Why you're acting like this. You've never repeated me twice. You only do that when you're upset. Three times and I would have to call security."

You try to give him a smile and laugh, but he just pushes past you. Hurrying you catch up to him as he goes to turn the corner out of the hallway. Reaching out you're able to grab ahold of his suit before he makes it.

"I don't want you to get married."

His words are rushed and he refuses to look at you. You give a small laugh hoping he was joking. You didn't go through all this... all this moving on just for him to confuse you.

"Norm, you said you were excited when I told you I was chosen."

"I lied."

I lied echoes throughout the corridor. Your grip tightens on his suit as you soak in his words.

"You told me-."

"I lied. About everything. It wasn't just practicing for me. None of it was practice. You need this, I know. Now you know so you can move on. What are you hoping they look like?"

He gives you a false smile and it looks out of place especially with you mimicking his stony expression from before. Dropping your hand you furrow your eyebrows and slam the palm of your hand into his chest.

"You... jerk! All this time I thought you wanted to be just friends. Thought you regretted everything. Fudge, Norm. Why didn't you tell me? I would have never gone to the council and convinced them to let me get married."

He gives you a genuine smile and you want to hit him again. Maybe yell at him some more until he's cupping your cheeks. His eyes are intense as they stare into yours.

"I know how important fulfilling your job is, I would never ruin that for you. I thought it would be easier if I didn't show up."

"That's stupid. You're more important to me than any job. I would be just as fulfilled and happy scrubbing floors."

His eyes search yours. His fingertips press into the soft flesh of your cheeks. You can tell he wants to lean in closer. Do as you always did ever since you were children. You don't give him the chance to back away. Not again. Leaning forward you rest your forehead against his, nose smushes against each other making it difficult to breathe. As if you could breathe clearly given the circumstances.

He takes the initiative this time and closes the minuscule gap between your lips. Years as the Overseers son gave him access to anything he ever wanted and you can tell he uses it to take care of himself.

"Strawberry?"

"They figured out how to make this stick that makes your lips soft and they gave me one to try."

You giggle and kiss his soft sweet lips again and again. Breaking away to smack your lips covered in the foreign flavor. After a good thirty minutes, you hear your name being called from a dot down the hallway.

"Lucy." You whisper as your heart starts to rise and you fear you might throw it up.

Taking your hand he squeezes it tightly before letting it fall beside the fabric of your wedding gear.

"I don't want to get married anymore, Norm. What do I do?"

"We explain to Lucy and see what she has to say. She's the older sister for a reason."

#fallout #fallout prime #fallout tv series #norm maclean #norm fallout #norm x reader #norm maclean x reader #vault dweller writes

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foolsocracy · 1 year ago

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Hi, hello, I’m new to your blog. I’ve made myself at home. Lovely carpet.

Can I please know more about your spider Robbie pie? Can’t seem to find the silverware.

but of course, kind anon

Spider Robbie is an au in which Robbie Robertson takes up the spider mantle after the death of the one before him. He is the third, following Ben Urich and, most notably, Peter Parker.

This au is very much canon divergence from Eyes Without a Face, where Peter makes it in time to save Robbie from his original fate but dies in the process. Peter is shot while rushing Robbie and the others out. In his panic and elation at finding Robbie physically unharmed, Peter outs himself as the Spider Man to his best friend. Robbie stays with him as he bleeds out and resolves to continue to hide Peter's identity.

Peter is buried and remains that way for... an undetermined amount of time.

Robbie is left with a mask, a jacket, and the question of just who was this other half of his friend. As he learns more of who this... Spider Man was, he gets more and more involved in the spider's cases and conflicts. Robbie gets more sure of his own abilities and makes a bit of a name for the Spider Man within his own community, though the people of Harlem are largely unaware that the appearances of a masked vigilante match the interests of one Robbie Robertson.

It is to be noted that none of these aforementioned abilities are spider-god-induced powers like Peter's. Robbie, especially at the beginning of his spidering career, leans more into Urich's role than Parker's. To me, Robbie has been passionate about the press and journalism in a way that Peter never was. For Pete, his job as a photographer and reporter was a job he took until he could get into college and study science. Robbie has a way with words and communication that Peter frankly lacks. Of course, that isn't to say that Robbie won't be kicking ass, because he will. It will just take him a bit of time to get some of those skills as he's, well, a normal guy. Not everyone can get their biology scrambled like Pete.

And just because Robbie hasn't been scrambled doesn't mean he's completely separate from all things supernatural either!

I think the marvel noir universe is at its best when there's a magical, supernatural undercurrent. This concept isn't super prevalent in the actual comics, but HoplesslyLost on ao3 has done some really cool world building with it.

I think in Robbie's case, where he would be the narrator, "magical realism" would be an interesting avenue to take it. I use this term in particular because I most closely relate it to Toni Morrison in my head, when I first learned about it through her work in high school. For Morrison, the concept was inseparable to blackness and I think for Robbie, where his blackness is so central to his character and his motivations, drawing on that could be more of a service to his character. It feels better to do that than ignore how incredibly racialized his society and story is. It will make his relationship with the spider god, Peter (who I will get to very very shortly), his community, and his own mythos as The Spider Man really interesting and complex.

So it's been established that Robbie doesn't have spider powers. And we all know that Peter did-- or should I say does. One of the spider god's abilities is to bring Peter back to life. She does this in the comics, but not in any of the runs from 2008-2010 (the runs that make up this au). When Peter dies on Ellis Island, he does not think he is coming back from that. Waking up again is a surprise.

Here's where I think the au really takes a left turn. Do I think the Spider God is purely evil and spiteful and has it out for Pete? No, not really. Will I be ramping said traits up to 11 for the au? Yeah, I guess I might. This is because I love a little bit of horror and the came back wrong trope. I will hopefully be fleshing the spider god out in the near future, but I really haven't given her the many hours of thought I have the other characters. For that I'm sorry spider god </3

Peter digs himself out of his grave, more spider than he ever has been. For much of his new, waking life he is more animalistic than not. There is clearly something wrong with him; his joints are too flexible and loose, he's got some eye-shine going on, his skin is pale and his veins are starkly dark beneath it. He's possessed. Someone is puppeteering him, someone who knows a lot-- almost everything about him, but it's clear that the someone isn't him.

And Peter--- the body, it can't be Peter. At least, that's what Robbie thinks when the figure catches his eye the first time. Because Peter is dead and buried, and he has been dead and buried for weeks.

#WOAH this is long #while still not saying much... mweh heh heh #other notes that i don't know how to add in w/out derailing the main vague explanation of the au:#the trio shifts from Peter & Robbie & MJ to Robbie & MJ & Gloria #robbie and his girl gang #and u all know me for my robbienoir shipping well.... Peter's romantic feelings for Robbie are a major point of some parts of this au #get possessed gay boy #Toni Morrison might be a bit out of left field here but I love her work so much and I actually listen to her interviews #to get a grasp on how I want robbie's language to flow. I am NOT eloquent but she has such a way w words when she just SPEAKS #her and the rapper Milo lol #i should give this a read through but im not. ill see all my mistakes tomorrow LOL #spider robbie au #spider noir #my art #peter benjamin parker #robbie robertson #ben urich #asks #anon #thanks for the ask!!!#hope you find your utensils alright

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theamberfist · 1 year ago

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How I Met Her Mother | Part 3 | Tighnari x Reader

Romantic: Tighnari x Collei's Parent! Reader

Description: When Collei and the traveler discover Tighnari's feelings for her adoptive parent, they make it their mission to get them on a date together through a (maybe unnecessarily) elaborate plan.

(Notes: none) (gender neutral reader) (reader is Collei's adoptive parent) (Part 3 of How I Met Her Mother)

Words: 2526

Part 1, Part 2

"Y/n!" Aether called as he came into your medical tent, looking like he had some important things to talk about. You stood from where you'd been mixing new medicines at a table.

"What is it?" You asked, a little worried he'd gone and gotten himself badly hurt again. Luckily, that didn't seem to be the case and you sighed in relief at the fact that he had no blood visibly on his person.

"We heard news! Big news!" Paimon exclaimed like she was about to burst if she didn't tell you what it was.

"Tell me!" You ordered with a smile.

"We heard Tighnari is throwing a party this evening!" The pixie explained, "For you and Collei!" At this, you frowned in confusion.

"Me and Collei?"

"Yes!" Paimon replied, "It's supposed to be a surprise but we couldn't let you show up to a party not looking your best so we thought we'd tell you anyway! Just please don't tell Tighnari we told you!" Aether had to admit that her acting had gotten better throughout the day; he almost wanted to applaud her for this performance.

"Why would he be throwing a party for us?" You asked, "Doesn't he already have so much to do as head forest ranger?"

"He said there's no better cure than celebration!" Paimon replied, knowing full-well the fox-eared ranger would never say that, "Plus, he wants to thank you both for all you've done as a trainee forest ranger and doctor here! We already told Collei, so we wanted to let you know to look your best this evening and come to this location at sunset!" She handed you a map with a marked area on it that was just outside the village but on the opposite side from your medical tent; near yours and Collei's hut.

"Oh, thanks!" You exclaimed, "I promise, your secret is safe with me. I'll take this to my grave." Your tone was dead serious but there was a smile on your face as Paimon nodded in agreement.

"Us too!" She decided.

"I guess I'll have to wear one of my nice outfits tonight," you decided, "And find a host-gift for Tighnari! I don't think he's ever hosted a party that I've been to before, so what do you think he'd like as a gift?"

"Flowers!" Paimon exclaimed, "Potted plants, to be specific! Paimon thinks that's a common tradition in Gandharva Ville at parties, too." Aether gave her a knowing glance but said nothing, simply nodding in confirmation.

"Good idea!" You replied. You hadn't been living among the forest rangers for very long, so any advice these two could provide was very valuable. They nodded, letting you get back to work now as they headed out of your medical tent. The second they were fully out of your sight, they turned to one another and high-fived over a job well-done. Things were almost ready to go.

..........

Meanwhile, Collei was having an almost identical conversation with her mentor.

"Master Tighnari," She spoke casually, "did you hear about the party this evening?" This made him arch an eyebrow as he set the box of Padisarah's near your medical tent. They always left herbs outside in case you had sleeping patients there; the process of moving them in could be rather loud.

"I didn't." He admitted, "Who's throwing it? Is it here?" Parties were not his think but you'd always seemed to enjoy them enough; even during your Akademiya days. He'd gone to a few with you and Cyno and always found that you were a surprisingly good friend to have around for them; respecting everyone's boundaries when it came to social situations and making sure they all stayed safe. As a result, he'd had a shockingly pleasant time whenever he did agree to go with you.

Collei gestured towards your medical tent silently now and the fox-eared forest ranger immediately seemed to get more interested. Collei lead him far enough away so that you wouldn't be able to hear from inside before speaking.

"Between you and me, they're throwing it for you." She admitted, "I'm not supposed to say anything but I know surprises like this make me nervous so I thought you might appreciate a warning beforehand." Tighnari could practically feel his heart melt at that but he kept his cool in front of the trainee.

"I see," he replied, "But why is Y/n throwing a party for me? They don't need to do anything extra for anyone around here when they already work so hard-"

"I think they just want to show their appreciation for you," Collei smiled, ignoring the fact that she'd just interrupted her teacher for one of the first- and likely only- times in her life. "You help us both a lot, Master Tighnari, and we're really thankful for it!" The forest ranger had to look away to hide his touched expression.

Finally, he composed himself before turning back to the girl. "Thank you for letting me know, Collei." He told her with a smile, "I'll be sure to get Y/n a gift for their trouble and attend the party I'm not supposed to know about on time." Collei nodded, taking out a map where she'd marked the 'party' location.

"It'll be here at sunset!" She informed him before heading off to get back to her work. Then she stopped, "Oh, and they love flowers, as a suggestion!" With that, she was gone before he could say anything else.

Tighnari chuckled and shook his head. Flowers, huh? For anyone else, that might have helped give him an idea of what to give you. But as a botanist, that did not narrow the choices down at all.

Away from everyone else's sight, Collei met back up with Paimon and the traveler, silently high-fiving them. They'd done everything they could to set up a date between you and Tighnari; now all that was left was to wait and hope it all turned out alright.

..........

Tighnari checked the map Collei had given him one more time to make sure he was heading for the right location. It looked like this party of yours was supposed to be not far from your home, which made sense; given that it would make it easier to set everything up.

He still wasn't sure how you'd expected him to end up in the right location at the right time if he wasn't supposed to know about it, though. No one had come and asked him to do anything that might be related- was he just supposed to have read your mind and shown up?

Either way, he wasn't about to question your intentions. Kind acts like this had always been your specialty, and despite how stressed you might have been, he wouldn't have put it past you to do one now. However, when he finally arrived at the location with potted flowers in hand and the very green suit he'd conveniently bought today, there was no one else around.

The place Collei had told him the party would be at was by the river just outside of Gandharva Ville but right now it was completely void of decorations or any other typical party-related items. And on top of that, you didn't seem like you were anywhere to be found.

"Tighnari, hey!" A familiar voice finally spoke behind him, making relief wash over him like a wave. He turned around to see you in attire equally as formal as his own; the colors would even look perfect together if you two stood next to one another. "Am I too late? Is the party over already?" A look of confusion bloomed over his face.

"...I was going to ask you the same thing?" He admitted, glancing back at the map provided by his trainee, who had also written down the time by which he needed to be here.

"What do you mean?" You asked, though there was a hint of knowledge behind your eyes; as if you'd somewhat expected this outcome when you arrived, "Aether and Paimon told me you were hosting a surprise party here tonight."

"Collei told me you were doing the same thing..." The forest ranger replied as he crossed his arms. There was a pause, but then your smile widened.

"I think I know what's going on here." You admitted as you headed over to a few boulders that rest by the river. Careful to avoid getting your nice clothes dirty, you took a seat on one of them.

"Oh?" Tighnari asked with slight amusement. Though he didn't know what was going on, the fact that you still seemed happy was likely a good sign. "Do enlighten me then, Y/n." Your grin widened.

"I heard Collei chatting with the traveler early this morning," You explained, "She'd gone outside in the middle of the night, and as her parent, of course my instincts kicked in and I went to listen. I wasn't sure what they were talking about then, but it makes more sense now..." You trailed off but the forest ranger just arched an eyebrow, urging you to continue. "They mentioned something about a plan, and then both Collei and Aether made sure we would be here at the same time."

"...This was their plan." Tighnari finally said, feeling his cheeks heat up slightly in embarrassment. He couldn't believe he'd been played so easily by his own student.

"It seems that way." You chuckled, shaking your head as your gaze lifted up to the sky, "I suppose when those three get together, they become quite the meddling bunch." The forest watcher rolled his eyes at that.

"No kidding," he replied, "We'll need to talk with Collei about not getting involved in other people's private affairs later." You nodded as he took a seat on the boulder next to you and looked out at the river, which seemed to sparkle in the setting sunlight.

"Definitely," you replied, "But I suspect she still had good intentions."

"I'm sure," Tighnari told you, "Though, going as far as to set the two of us up on a date was still an overstep." As soon as he said it, he regretted it. He didn't even need to see the surprised, slightly red look on your face to know he'd messed up. So, rather than having to look over, he immediately stood from the boulder he'd been resting on and cleared his throat. "I should be going," he said quickly, "I wouldn't want to keep you from your patients with something this trivial."

"Actually," You spoke up before he could walk away, "They're all taken care of. I had a suspiciously small number coming into the medical clinic today." This made the forest ranger's ear perk.

"Really?" He replied, "That's interesting; I had a suspiciously small amount of work to handle today, as if someone had gone out of their way to get it done for me."

"...How peculiar." You grinned, knowing exactly whom was behind that. Tighnari let out a dramatic groan but plopped down on the boulder again. He couldn't help but feel more and more like an idiot with every part of Collei's plan that came to light.

"If it helps, you don't have to actually consider this a date," you spoke up now, turning your gaze back to the pretty river, "You don't even have to stay, if you don't want to." Despite the fact that you were trying to take as much pressure off him as possible, you still felt a flutter of hope in your chest at the idea that he might see this situation the same way.

"I didn't say I didn't want to..." He replied finally, still not meeting your eyes, "But a first date planned by someone else- the daughter of my friend, no less- feels insincere." You chuckled at that.

"Fair enough." You paused for a moment, "Then we could call it a...Half-date, if that makes you feel better." By now, it seemed to have become clear how you both felt about one another and you weren't about to back down from making this happen if he wanted it too.

"A half-date?" Tighnari repeated with an unamused expression but you could tell he didn't hate the idea.

"Yes," you told him with a grin, "Like a trial run. That way, I can properly ask you on a real date later." His face grew red at that but he immediately shook off his nerves.

"Who says I won't ask you first?" Your smile widened.

"Well, then I guess we'll just have to see who beats who to the punch." You decided. Tighnari crossed his arms at that but a playful look rested on his face nonetheless.

"You're on, Y/n." He replied and you laughed.

After that, conversation started to flow much easier. You two had been close friends for years now; since even before you'd adopted your daughter. Despite the initial awkwardness of admitting you both had feelings for one another, you fell back into your regular dynamic and ended up spending much longer by the river than expected.

You didn't come home until late that night when the forest ranger insisted on walking you back to your house. Luckily, the lights were all off so it seemed like Collei was already asleep and wouldn't see you returning from a half-date the way a teenager might have.

"Well, I'd say that was an enjoyable experience." You grinned as you and Tighnari stopped in front of the door to your home, "I'd go one a half-date with you again." His own smile, though still a little awkward, widened.

"What about a full date?" Your heartbeat quickened but you feigned thinking the idea over.

"Hmm...I suppose a full date with you wouldn't be so bad either." You decided finally, "I accept, but I'm not happy that you asked me before I could ask you!" This made the forest ranger chuckle.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Y/n." He said, letting go of your hand that he'd been holding this whole time.

"Bye, Tighnari!" You replied quietly enough that you hopefully wouldn't wake your daughter before opening the door to your home and stepping inside. You closed it silently behind you, once again feeling like a teenager that had snuck out of the house when they weren't supposed to, but the second you turned around you were startled by the sight of a green haired girl laying on your couch.

She seemed to wake up now that you were back and rubbed her eyes sleepily. "You're back..." She whispered. Your heart melted, as it always did around your kid.

"Have you been waiting out here for me this whole time, sweetheart?" You asked, going over to the nearby closet to grab her another blanket since she was shivering slightly. Collei just nodded but then seemed to realize what time it was because she looked out the window seeing it so dark.

"Were you on your date with Master Tighnari this whole time?!" She asked excitedly, seemingly not tired anymore.

"So it was you that was behind that." You commented, gently tossing the blanket her way. Seeing that you didn't deny it, her excitement seemed to grow.

"Is Master Tighnari going to be my new dad?!" She asked eagerly as your face turned beat red.

"Collei!"

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin tighnari #tighnari #tighnari x you #tighnari x reader #gender neutral insert #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader #gender neutral #collei #genshin collei #parent reader #fanfic #genshin fanfic

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callixpene · 3 months ago

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L&DS Future Lifetime Series - PART 3: THE CHASE BEGINS

Note: We are back to the individual POVs of the Love Interests for Part 3😁

MASTERLIST - For PART 1(Completed), PART 2(Completed) & PART 3(Ongoing) of this series

L&DS Future Lifetime Series - PART 3: CALEB X OC - THE CHASE BEGINS

Caleb X OC.

Set in Future Timeline. All Love Interests have no memories of their past lives. All of the MCs(5 Sisters) all have memories of their past lives. Very persistent LIs. Avoidant MCs. Love at first sight. Soulmates.

Genre: Fluff, Some Angst, Slightly Suggestive

Caleb could barely recognize himself as he gazed at his own reflection.

He had on a fringed platinum blonde wig, gold-framed spectacles and a dark blue suit. Then, to add another layer to his disguise, his eyes were a pale blue shade - he was given these eye drops that made his irises shift into this color. It was said to last about a day. He looked almost as princely as Xavier did when he first met the guy.

'Victor Sterling' was the name of this person he posing to be - it was quite a mouthful.

According to Xavier and his assistant, the 'Sterling' family was a very distant relative of Philos' royal family. They were very private, and often kept to themselves. Therefore, the public had no idea what any of them looked like, other than they shared the same blonde hair and pale-blue eyes of the royal family.

What was known about them however, was that the Sterling family had four sons, so Jeremiah, Xavier's assistant, made certain that Caleb would be able to use the youngest son's(Victor) as his identity for the Kingsley's business party this evening.

Caleb strode around, there were too many people at the main party hall.

How was he going to find Lilian, when he didn't even know where to start looking for her?

She could be anywhere...

As he walked along the room, he unintentionally started garnering the attention of so many young women who found him in this disguise, to be thoroughly irresistable.

"My goodness! What is your name?"

"I overheard the guard at the door when he had his identity verified, his name is Victor Sterling! He's basically royalty back at Philos!"

"So he's like a real prince?! No wonder why he looks so dreamy..."

When his entire circumference was completely surrounded by all these ladies, prying for his attention, Caleb half-raised both his arms as if in surrender. "Ladies, please...I really have somewhere I need to be..."

But they wouldn't relent. Caleb was in the process of coming up with another plan for an escape when suddenly, someone cleared their throat loudly.

"Ladies...please refrain from disturbing this guest. If you don't stop this rude behavior, then I'll be forced to call security to escort you out the venue." A feminine voice said.

A voice that he knew by heart.

There she was, his Lilian, clad in a stunning, peach floral gown. She stood in front of him and all the nosy women. Her arms were crossed and she had a stern expression plastered on her lovely face.

Caleb's gaze immediately softened. He was so overjoyed to see her again.

"Sorry Miss Lilian!"

"We'll leave now...."

"Please don't get security!"

In no time at all, every single one of the ladies causing a disturbance ran off. Seems none of them wanted to be kicked out of the party in such an embarrassing way.

Lilian strode towards Caleb and carefully looked at him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm alright...." He was better that alright, actually. "Thank you Lilian..." He paused and pondered for a couple of seconds. Then, when he made up his mind, he stated in a low voice: "It's me, Ca-"

"Yes, I know you. Mr. Victory Sterling, from Philos." Then, she elegantly curtsied before him. "We are very grateful for your attendance, Your Grace."

Caleb blinked. Seems this disguise was working a little too well. "Miss Lilian, I'm not actually-"

"I apologize for the rudeness of those ladies earlier." She smiled sweetly at him. "It must be difficult being as handsome as you are, such things must happen to you all the time."

Caleb flushed as he was taken aback by the sudden compliment. "You...think I'm handsome?"

Lilian tilted her head and giggled.

That was so darn adorable, he thought.

"Well...yes Your Grace, I think so. And I think the crowd of ladies here a couple minutes ago thought so too."

On the outside, Caleb smiled at her. But on the inside, he suddenly felt insecure.

Did she only think he was handsome because he had this disguise on, and because of his fake persona as a psuedo-royal?

Was that the type of man she liked?

Lilian continued to gaze at him. "Your Grace, is everything fine?"

Before Caleb could answer though, she spoke again. "Oh, sorry. You're probably still agitated because of what happened earlier, right? Then come with me, I'll take us somewhere without people so you can relax a bit."

Then, to his surprise, Lilian offered her hand to him. "Only if you want to come with me, of course." She beamed at him.

Caleb's heart skipped multiple beats. He was certain his face was flushed right now.

How could he refuse her, when she smiled at him like that?

With absolutely no hesitation whatsoever, Caleb took Lilian's hand, then she led him away from the party hall until they had ended up in a small private room. The interior design of the room was very girly, it had pastel orange, flowerly wallpaper and a fluffy white sala set in the middle of the room.

Lilian gestured towards the largest sofa. "Please rest here for now, Your Grace. Or...will it be alright if I call you just 'Victor', instead?" She said, her voice tinged with a bit of shyness.

Caleb paused for a bit and pondered again. Then, he simply replied: "Of course, Lilian." And smiled charmingly at her.

At this point, Caleb determined that this was not the right time to tell Lilian who he really was.

She was so very comfortable around him in this disguise.

During the time he flew her home as himself, as Caleb, she seemed terribly uneasy around him the entire time, even as he did his best to make her comfortable.

But as Victor, she was all smiles and giddy. She was being herself.

And Caleb wanted to see that, tremendously. He wanted so badly to get to know her. To know everything about her. So he could take care of her properly, and so he could avoid doing things she didn't like. That's why he wanted to befriend her first, before courting her.

But how was he supposed to do that, when she seemed uncomfortable with his real self?

"Victor! Thanks so much." She smiled again at him, then she bashfully scratched her head. "I'm sorry, it's just that you remind-" Lilian cleared her throat. "When I first saw you, I sort of got the feeling that you're a really sweet, caring person..." She paused, then looked him in the eye. "You see, there is someone...someone I want to forget." She said, her tone now was downcast. "Someone I love very much, but I can't be with him. I've unintentionally caused him a lot of pain, and I feel as though I don't deserve him at all..."

Caleb's eyes widened.

She was in love, very much so....with someone else.

His heart clenched as multiple emotions surged through him. But one much outweighed the others.

Jealousy.

He was so damn jealous of the bastard Lilian was in love with.

His felt both his hands involuntarily form fists at his sides and they shook in a quiet rage.

The bastard had everything he wanted, and he was causing Lilian pain too.

How dare he. How dare he steal what belonged to him, and also cause pain to who he loved most?

Lilian stood up. "I'm so sorry Victor. I don't know why I said that all of a sudden. I'll leave now to check on the other guests at the party. You're free to rest here for as long as you-"

"Lilian." In one swift motion, Caleb stood up as well, and pulled Lilian into an embrace. Then, he carefully lifted her chin with his fingertips. "Do you want to forget about that bastard causing you pain?"

Lilian looked astonished, but she nodded in response.

Caleb smirked. "Good."

Then, he kissed her.

She gasped in surprise, but after a bit, Lilian embraced him back and responded.

Her lips tasted like cherries. Her hair and neck smelled like vanilla.

Somehow, they ended up lying on the large sofa. Caleb was on top of her, their kisses were getting more and more heated. He couldn't hold back his moans when Lilian started sucking on the side of his neck. It seems this was his weak spot, and Lilian was taking full advantage of it.

"That's it...right there..." Caleb let out another breathy moan. He could barely think straight. It was like heaven. "Lilian...the door..."

"It's locked." She said. "The doors here automatically lock when they're closed...."

She didn't have to say anything else.

It was a damn good thing this blonde wig was practically weaved into his actual hair. Still, through breathy whispers and in between passionate kisses, he told Lilian not to touch his hair too much as they went on, as an extra precaution.

They were too far gone now, and neither of them wanted to stop this anytime soon anyways.

One by one, their clothing made its way onto the floor as they continued to explore every inch of one another.

*****

"What are you thinking about, Victor?"

Caleb caressed Lilian's cheek. It was morning.

They had just shared an intensely passionate, and blissful evening together. Caleb felt like he was floating in the clouds. It was a night he would treasure forever.

Their chests were still heaving in unison as they lay in each other's embrace on the sofa.

"I was just thinking of how beautiful you are...."

"You're such a sweet-talker."

Lilian went silent for a bit, as if she recalled something.

"What's wrong, Pipsqueak?" he asked her.

Lilian suddenly froze, her eyes widened as big as saucers.

Caleb giggled. "Sorry, do you not like that nickname? I can come up with a different one for you..."

Just what would his lover want to be called? he pondered, merrily.

But to Caleb's surprise, Lilian abruptly got up and swiftly started putting on her clothes.

Caleb sat up on the sofa. Now he was alarmed. "Lilian! What's wrong-"

She stopped. She was facing towards the opposite direction. Her shoulders were shaking.

"Caleb?" She said, her voice cracking.

This time, it was Caleb who froze. "H-how did you know-"

"I'm such an idiot!" Lilian put her hands on her head. "There were so many signs. Just when I thought I found someone else I could be with...It's like faith really wants to mess with me, huh?"

She was crying now. Streams of tears fell from her face.

Caleb started putting on his clothes as well. Then, he reached out to her as soon as he was done.

"Lilian, I'm really sorry. I didn't want you think I was someone else. I just needed a disguise to get into the party, and I tried to tell you earlier last night-"

"Don't." Lilian said. And Caleb stopped. "Please just, stay away from me from now on, Caleb."

Then, she rushed out of the room.

Caleb followed right after her.

"Lilian! Lilian wait, please, let me explain."

"You don't have to explain anything. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm the idiot here." Lilian responded.

"You're not an idiot, tell me what's wrong please...." He pleaded to her.

Lilian stopped, then turned to face him. Her face was stained with tears.

Caleb reached out to wipe them away, but she swatted his hand away.

He was hurt by that. Did she not want him to touch her anymore? After they had made love last night?

That would destroy him.

"Caleb please..." She managed to say, as she shook. "I just feel so humiliated. Please do me a favor. Please just leave me alone for now. When you take us all home later, and when we get back to Nexus....just pretend last night didn't happen."

Caleb's heart dropped. Last night was the best night of his entire life, and now Lilian was saying she regretted it?

But it was a request from her. And he knew he could not deny her anything.

"Yes...of course."

Lilian gave him a sad smile. "Thank you, Caleb. And I'm sorry." She gave him one last look, then, she walked away until she was out of his sight.

Caleb stood there, heartbroken, but still determined.

Last night, he approached her the wrong way.

He wanted to pull this damn wig off right now, he should have told her who he was when he got the chance...

This time, he'll approach her right. As himself, as Caleb.

And he would do everything in his power to make her forget about that bastard she was in love with.

I'm sorry Lilian, but this is not the end.

He knew she was the only one for him. It was either her, or no one. And he was willing to do anything to have her.

Zayne's will be up last🩵

Thank you so much to everyone who has kept reading this series up to this point🥹

Please tell me your thoughts in the comments what you think about this series so far💜🩵🩷🧡❤️

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colettebronte · 9 months ago

Text

Presumptuous, Chapter 9

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Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Checkout Day has sadly arrived. Saying goodbye comes with some revelations that pose just as many questions as they do give answers

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: 18+ as always for the overall fic. But aside from some angst, there are no real warnings for this chapter. Minors DNI. I will put this up on Ao3 so please do not repost my work elsewhere

Author’s Note: Well, here we are at the penultimate chapter, my friends. After this there is one final chapter and an epilogue to follow. Thank you as always to @fayes-fics for betaing. I was nervous about this part and your enthusiasm let me know I was on the right track

Ch 9: Checkout Day Revelations

You reluctantly close the door to your suite for the final time. You touch the room number plaque beside your door and with a regretful smile, turn away, carry-on bag and luggage in tow.

The previous night you had sat in Antony’s lap, arms entwined for a good hour before he left so you could finish packing. You silently followed him to the door, where he flashed you one final, sad smile and a small wave before departing.

You have no expectations of seeing him before you leave the resort.

You’re near the main lobby when something catches your eye in the window of one of the resort’s gift shops. Entering, you make a beeline for a display of small, stained glass paperweights. You find an identical pair of sea turtles and bring them to the register. You ask to have one gift-wrapped as you pick out a small note card. While the salesperson is boxing them up and wrapping one, you compose a simple sentiment.

Dear Anthony,

This has been a week I’ll never forget. Thank you for everything.

Yours,

Y/n

The salesperson attaches your card to the small wrapped box and you carefully tuck the other into your carry-on.

Wrapped box in hand, you enter the lobby and head to the front desk. Michaela is there and she motions for you to go to her workstation.

As you stand before her, she takes note of the gift-wrapped box in your hand. “Is that for me?”

You shake your head. “No, but this is.” You pull out an envelope full of cash. You try to give it to her but she refuses.

“Please, we’re friends. I will not accept any gratuity from you.”

You try to protest, but she has none of it, so you put it away. You fiddle with the box a moment before saying, “Actually, this is for another guest.” Michaela gives you a knowing look as you continue, “I’m sure there are rules about giving out guest info but if he hasn’t left yet, is it possible for you to give this to him?” You place the box down on the desk between you.

Michaela picks it up. “You’re right. I’m not allowed to share information about guests. But I will say this; I am able to get this to him.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” you say softly. Michaela nods and puts the box beside her. You clap your hands together and say, “I suppose it’s time to settle up all my incidental charges. Let me see the damage.”

Michaela looks uncharacteristically sheepish. “So about that, I can show you the folio if you like but the truth is, all your incidentals have already been paid for.”

You gape at her. “But how? And by who?”

Michaela gives you that knowing look again and you realize . . . Anthony.

Swallowing thickly, you say, “Right well, if that’s taken care of, all that’s left is for me to catch the shuttle to the airport. When does the next one leave?”

Michaela checks her watch and then does something on a tablet. She looks back at you and smiles. “So the next shuttle leaves in a half hour but then you’ll be sitting in the airport for hours before your plane departs. I do have a few private cars free this afternoon if you’d like to have lunch first and then head to the airport.”

Shaking your head and laughing at the idea of having a limo at your disposal, you have to admit, one last meal at the resort is infinitely better than whatever you would have eaten at the airport food court, so you agree.

Michaela taps a few more times on her tablet and then comes around the desk to give you a hug. “Keep in touch,” she says.

“Just try and stop me,” you say before adding, “I’m going to be texting you so much, you’ll want to block me. Plus I still owe you all those fictional children.”

Michaela laughs and with a final pat to your back, steps back behind the desk. “We own a sister hotel in London and I go there every once in a while to train new staff.”

Smiling, you say, “Let me know when you’re in town. We’ll get lunch or better yet, drinks!”

**********

Having left your luggage with Michaela, who assured you that she would see that it gets to your limo, you head to one of the restaurants for lunch. It’s the same one you had dinner at on your first night there, where you had met Anthony properly.

A familiar hostess approaches you, recognition in her eyes. She smiles brightly. “You! I haven’t seen you all week.”

You’re about to say hello back when you notice her name tag is different from the last time you met. Where it previously read ‘Bess’ it now says a different name.

“I’m sorry, but aren’t you Bess?”

She laughs at your question and looks down at her tag. “Oh! No. My name is Siena. We’re not allowed on the floor without our name badges and I forgot mine that night so I borrowed hers. We swap them all the time when the other forgets.”

She takes a menu and leads you to a table. Once seated, she does as she did the last time and takes the empty seat across from you.

“It’s funny,” she muses. I haven’t seen you all week, but I also haven’t seen him either.”

Your stomach drops because you know she’s referring to Anthony. It’s odd that she’s so concerned about him.

“I hope you avoided him,” she continues on, oblivious to your thoughts. “You seem very sweet and he’s ,” she pauses to then say, sotto voce, “a complete and utter fuck boi.”

You blink at her. After a moment you say, “You mean that literally, right?”

She stares at you for a minute and then laughs. “Oh that! I nearly forgot about the Escort thing.” She stops as your face falls but then she says, “He’s not really an Escort, quite the opposite actually. He comes here for a few weeks at a time and sometimes he goes upstairs with a woman, sometimes he doesn’t, but when he does, it’s never the same one twice.” She huffs out a rueful laugh. “He’s uncaring and unromantic. Believe me, I know. I dated him years ago. Honestly, I did you a favor.”

And then she’s standing, flitting off to help seat more guests, completely unaware that she’s just wholly upended your world.

**********

You arrive at the airport, still slightly numb from the revelation Siena laid out for you. You make your way through the security line and as you pull out a few things from your carry-on to put in the tray, you find an envelope with your name on it, written in Anthony’s hand and a sticky note attached from Michaela explaining he had left it with her to give to you.

Clutching it in your hands along with your boarding pass, you make your way to check in with the airline. Once there, you hand your documents to the desk agent who glances between your boarding card to something on her computer and then back at you. Dread flows through you as you wonder if you’re about to be bumped from the flight.

Instead, they print out a new boarding pass and hand it back to you saying, “Congratulations Miss, it seems you’ve been upgraded. You’ll board with the first group called.”

Nodding you take back your documents and step away from the desk to sink down into a plastic chair. In an attempt to save a little money, you had booked a seat in economy, despite the long flight. But as you study your new pass, you realize you’ve been upgraded to a first class pod.

After the morning you’ve had you can’t help but giggle at this stroke of good luck.

Later when you’re tucked into your pod and enjoying a glass of pre-take off champagne, you pull out the envelope from Anthony. You run the embossed logo through your fingers and ponder if you should open it or not.

In truth, you had suspected Anthony was not merely an Escort. The “small boat” notwithstanding, the clues were there from your first night spent together. Not just anyone could gain access to a spa after hours. And that private restaurant just for two where you danced on the beach? How much did it cost to have it fully staffed plus get a four piece quartet to play for a private audience?

But then, why did he go along with Siena’s lie and never once correct you? You sigh, knowing the answer most likely lies in whatever is contained in the envelope.

Soon enough, it’s time to take off and watch all the safety videos and put in your meal and drink orders. So when at last you’re 40,000 feet in the air, you switch your phone back on and carefully open the envelope. It’s a card with a sea turtle on the front and you can’t stop yourself from smiling, despite the myriad of emotions you’re feeling.

You hold it close and get a whiff of cool water and lilacs, and you nearly want to cry at how much you miss Anthony despite everything. Steeling yourself, you open the card and start to read.

My Dear Y/n,

First and foremost I must thank you for everything. I certainly never expected to meet someone like you. You are a rare and special woman, please believe that. This week has truly been the best of my life and I will forever be grateful for getting to spend it with you. Convincing the airline to upgrade your seat is the least I can do to thank you.

Now the unpleasant part. My hope is that by the time you’re reading this you have figured out the truth. I am not an Escort. I am simply another guest at the resort, granted one who, as I mentioned, spends a lot of time there.

From what you told me the other night, my best guess is that you were told by the hostess I was an Escort. She is an ex-girlfriend of mine who to my shame, I must admit, I did not treat that well. I’ll spare you the details and just say that it was several years ago and we were toxic together, but I was lost and seeking something at the time.

As for your charge that I would never spend time with you if you hadn’t paid me is simply not true. What is true is the night we met in the bar I was instantly attracted to you, just as dare I say, you were to me. But I have a terrible habit of not wanting to get too attached to anyone and I knew right away that if I were to spend time with you, that is exactly what would happen, so I let you walk away, knowing you were better off not getting to know the real me, for surely you would not like him.

But then the following day at brunch, when the opportunity to spend time with you presented itself again, well, I am a weak man and you are an amazing woman. I thought that if I could allow whatever happened between us to be framed as transactional, I could safely spend time with you and not become attached.

However, I am, as one of my brothers is so fond of telling me, a great big bloody fool. From our first night together in the spa I was gone for you and by the time we danced together in the ocean, I knew it would be damned near impossible to let you go.

But I did. Because my lie still sat between us, as you rightly surmised there was more I wasn’t telling you. And there may be more still.

I truly, deeply apologize for deceiving you. You deserve to love and be loved by someone you can trust and I know that can never be me.

I wish you all the best, for you truly deserve it.

Love,

Anthony

You blink, not sure how to feel as you stare at his letter. Your phone pings and you look to see you’ve received a refund on Venmo from Anthony of all the money you sent him. A moment later a text comes through that simply says, I’m sorry

Spurred on by the realization you have his number, you type out, I would like to talk about this with you. Please call or text me.

But for the rest of the flight, you hear nothing back.

And when the car sent for you from Ben takes you to your new flat, you hear nothing.

As you spend the weekend buying groceries, doing laundry and getting out of vacation mode and back into the swing of real life, you still hear nothing.

And before you know it, it’s time for you to head into your first day of work at the Bridgerton Family Charitable Trust, but still, you hear nothing from Anthony.

Next Chapter

taglist: @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @faye-tale @cosmiclove330 @abridgerton @fiction-is-life @kmc1989 @alexandrainlove @ietss @itsyagirlmeee @multi-fandom-lover7667 @turtle-cant-communicate @liliac-dreamer @daphne-daisy @hottytoddyhistory @queenofmean14 @syraxnyra @chelseyyouraverageluigi @jtheteenagewitch

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #presumptuous

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cornflakes7 · 1 year ago

Note

*Crawls over to you, badly beaten* Please do Koga and any other enstars boys of your choosing finding out reader is actually Ado when they walk into them singing... *Passes out*

𝙒𝙊𝘼𝙃 𝙔𝙊𝙐’𝙍𝙀 𝙒𝙃𝙊 𝙉𝙊𝙒?

Your secret identity is no longer a secret 😞

Characters include: Koga Oogami and Chiaki Morisawa x Ado reader (separate)

notes: *wakes you up* i love this request it was so funny… THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING!!!!!

warnings: none

𝙆𝙤𝙜𝙖 𝙊𝙤𝙜𝙖𝙢𝙞

the scream he scrumpt when he found out who you were!!!! 😭😭😭

he has always been a fan of powerful and loud songs especially when the singer has a powerful voice

not in a million years would he think someone like YOU would be the voice behind one of his favorite music artists!!

DONT GET ME WRONG hes always admired you for who you were and his feelings didn’t change after he saw that day

you were in the studio recording a song or maybe rehearsing some lyrics

koga didn’t know this and decided to walk in thinking the room was unoccupied

bro just wanted to practice some guitar but was met with ado’s voice. YOUR voice

deadass dropped all his belongings in shock while you stared at him dumbfounded, who knew your cover would get blown so easily like this

koga definitely wanted to tell other people but you kept him from doing so sadly 😞 (#imetacelebrity)

𝘾𝙝𝙞𝙖𝙠𝙞 𝙈𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙖𝙬𝙖

found out about ado’s music through tetsu and started listening to her occasionally after that

definitely not as big as a fan like koga but still thought your voice, songs and covers were amazing

he thought your personality was so cool when he first met you but never thought you would be an idol too

like koga, he walked into you singing

he thought that there was a ryuseitai unit meeting in one of the recording rooms and accidentally walked into you recording a cover (now who gave him the fake news)

to say he was STUNNED was an understatement but secretly kept listening because he thought your voice was so passionate and amazing

you got embarrassed and tried to chase him out of the room, which he does immediately. he comes back later to compliment you though <3

after this incident, he swore to start listening to your songs more… mightve been the top 0.01% percent of listeners on spotify

#→ Hikaru writes !#ensemble stars #enstars #ensemble stars x reader #enstars x reader #koga oogami #koga oogami x reader #undead #chiaki morisawa #chiaki morisawa x reader #ryuseitai

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7ndipity · 2 years ago

Text

Telling Him You're Demisexual

Yoongi x Reader

Warnings: mentions of sex and past relationshis, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to @captainorangegoose for this request! I went with coming out, just as an opener for any future topics, if you want them. (Please note that everyone's experiences and identities are different, so I'm sorry if this doesn't quite fit for you!)

Masterlist

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

"Can I talk to you for a second?" You asked, standing hesitantly in the doorway of Yoongi's home studio.

"Sure." He said, slipping off his headphones and nodding to the sofa for you to sit. "What's up?"

You and Yoongi had been dating for several months, and so far everything had been going great. But as things continued to progress between you, you knew that you needed to have a conversation with him about the fact that your were demi, ideally sooner rather than later.

You'd been trying to find a way to bring it up casually, but no such opportunity had made itself available, so you had decided to just bite the bullet and put it out there.

"So, um, there's something I've been wanting to tell you but I didn't know how to bring it up, but I think it's important that you know about me." You took a breath to steady your nerves. "I'm demisexual."

"Oh," His blinked, brows raising slightly in surprise. "Okay."

"Do you know what that means?" You asked.

"A little? I've head the term before." He said "But what does it mean, like, for you specifically?"

"Basically, it means that I don't feel sexually attracted to people unless I have a really close emotional connection with them."

"That makes sense." He nodded along as you explained.

"Are you okay with that?" You asked.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

"I just- I didn't know if it would be a problem for you." You said awkwardly.

"Why would it be a problem?"

"Because it means that we might not have sex for a long time?"

"That's fine." He shrugged

"Really?" You asked, stunned by his nonchalance about the whole thing. In the past, when you'd told other people, they'd been less than understanding about the subject.

"I'm not an animal, y/n." He scoffed. "I'm not dating you for sex, I'm dating you because I like you and I like being with you. You make me happy." He took you hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "None of that changes because of this, okay?"

"Okay." You whispered, your eyes misting over at his words. "Thank you."

"Thank you for telling me." He said, smiling.

"Can I hug you?" You asked.

"Anytime." He immediately opened his arms to you.

#yoongi fluff #yoongi imagine #yoongi scenarios #yoongi reader #yoongi reaction #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x reader #yoongi x demi reader #bts x demi reader #bts scenarios #bts reaction #bts x y/n #bts x reader #yoongi blurb #bts x demisexual reader #bts requests #7ndipity

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vodika-vibes · 1 year ago

Note

congrats on 650!!!!! could I get a regency AU with Fives? I've been obsessssedddd with bridgerton lately and why not smash my two favorite things rn together! you can do whatever you want with the story!

Let's Fly

Summary: After the untimely deaths of your father and older brother, you find yourself living in a home that is both cold and unwelcoming. Convinced that your father and brother were murdered, you reach out for help. This is how you meet Private Investigator Fives.

Pairing: Pre-ARC Trooper Fives x F!Reader

Word Count: 1923

Warnings: None

Prompt: Regency AU

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So, when you said Regency AU, you definitely meant Murder Mystery a la Sherlock Holmes right? Because that's what this is. Anyway, this does end on a cliffhanger, it gives me something to come back to if I feel like it, and it lets the readers decide what they want to happen. I hope you like it! The name came from the song I was listening to when I started writing it.

“I am very sorry about your husband and stepson, Lady Harride.” Father Paul says as he takes your stepmother’s hands in his own, trying to offer comfort.

“Thank you, Father.” Your stepmother, Cassandra Harride, says quietly. She hasn’t cried once since the deaths of your father or brother at the beginning of the week.

You know that people grieve differently, but you’re pretty sure she’s not grieving at all.

Not that you’re crying either. You’ve long since run out of tears.

You don’t look at your stepmother or Father Paul as they speak next to you. No, you keep your gaze locked on the identical coffins at the front of the church. Coffins identical to the one that you buried your mother in three years ago.

You can’t help but wonder if you’ll be buried in an identical coffin too.

“Mistress Harride,” Father Paul kneels at your feet, and you slowly turn your gaze to the man who’s watched you grow up, “I am so sorry for your loss.”

You feel numb. Numb and empty.

“Thank you, Father.” You say automatically.

“If either of you need anything,” He continues as he looks from you to your stepmother, and then back again, “Please, don’t be afraid to let the church know. We are here for you.”

“Thank you, Father. I’ll let you know.” Your stepmother says politely, “Are you ready to go?” She asks as she lightly touches your shoulder.

You’re quiet for a moment, and then slowly get to your feet, “Yes. I suppose there’s nothing left here for me.”

Father Paul stands as well, “Will we see you both this weekend?”

“Of course, Father. We wouldn’t miss it.” Your stepmother says quietly, “Excuse us.”

She leads you through the church, and then out to where the family carriage is waiting. The footman helps her into the carriage first, and then you, and shuts the door with a very final-sounding click.

“That was a very nice service,” Cassandra notes thoughtfully, “Reminds me of your mother’s service.”

“They were identical.” You reply numbly, “Same flowers, same sermon, same mourners—”

“Ah. Yes, of course.” She falls silent and adjusts her skirt, “So, I was thinking,” She begins, “How would you feel about moving into the East wing?”

The East Wing. Where your brother lived.

“If you like, Cassandra.” You say quietly.

“I think it’ll be for the best.” She continues, “Maker knows that the balcony outside your bedroom needs to be repaired.” The older woman pauses, “I would hate for something to happen to you.”

“...of course, Cassandra.”

Your father paid for you to attend the nicest boarding schools on the continent. He paid for tutors and lessons and everything in between. He felt that your education was one of the most important things that he would ever gift you.

As a result, you are not a stupid woman.

You know that your father’s and brother’s deaths were not an accident. They were killed. And, if you were a suspicious person, you might wonder if your mother was murdered as well.

And, really, there’s only one person who would benefit from all of their deaths. The same woman who you now live alone with.

“Cassandra?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I was thinking of going into the city later today.” You murmur, “If you have no qualms about me borrowing the carriage?”

“Today?”

You don’t look at her, your gaze locked on the trees racing passed the carriage instead, “I’m finding the house… stifling, these last few days. I believe that getting out will be good for me.”

Cassandra nods slowly, “Of course. I felt much the same after my father died.”

At that, you pull your gaze away from the window, “How long did it take you to feel normal again?”

She drops her gaze to her lap, “Years. And even now, I wake up some mornings expecting to hear his voice.” There seems to be genuine concern in her voice, “The pain never really goes away. I know that’s not what you wanted to hear, though.”

“No. Not really.”

Cassandra nods, “I think a visit to the city will be good for you. Will you change out of your mourning gown?”

“I’ll change into a lighter one.”

“And you’ll wear your mourning veil.”

“Of course.” Your veil is much shorter than your stepmother’s, as the widow, hers is much longer. You allow your gaze to drift back out the window, and the carriage descends into a stilted silence.

Harride Manor has been in your family for seven generations. Built by one of your ancestors as a wedding gift for his wife. It houses over 80 people, half of them related to you.

Your stepmother believes that the house is hers.

That couldn’t be further from the truth.

With the death of your father and brother the house and title now belong to your uncle, Mariano Harride.

Uncle Mariano seems to have aged twenty years over the last week you note as he helps you out of the carriage and then ignores your stepmother. “My dear girl,” He places his hands on your shoulders, “How are you holding up?”

“As well as can be expected, uncle.”

“Yes,” He looks deeply pained, “I never expected to outlive your father. He’s always been healthy as a horse.” Uncle Mariano sighs deeply, “No matter, nothing will change now that the house is mine.”

“What?” Your stepmother asks as she approaches.

Your Uncle glances at her dismissively, “The house reverts to me with the death of my brother. You’ll be moved into the West Wing, Cassandra, with the rest of the extended family.”

Your stepmother flushes an ugly shade of red, “I just lost my husband and now I have to move?” She demands.

“Yes. You do.” He turns his back on her, and focuses his attention on you, “Of course, you’ll be allowed to keep your room.”

“I told her she needed to move into the East Wing.”

“It’s not your home anymore.” Uncle Mariano says sharply, “She can remain in her room until such time that she decides to marry.” He exhales slowly, “What are your plans for this afternoon, dear?”

“I was going to change and head into the city, Uncle. The house feels stifling these days.”

“Of course.” He lightly hugs you, “You’ve lost so much these last couple of years. You deserve a break.”

“Thank you, Uncle.” You pull away from him and head into the house.

All you need is to change clothes, and then you can leave.

Just a simple change of clothes, and then you can go and get help.

Private Investigator Fives sits in the living room in his brownstone, absently sorting the case files of the cases that he’s worked on in the past month.

He owns this practice with his twin brother, though Echo has been away on a case of his own for the last two months. He knows that his twin is fine, Echo sends letters every other day after all, but he does miss him.

Fives pauses, mid-filing, when the doorbell rings.

He sets his filing to the side and jogs over to the door, pulling it open with a polite smile. However, that polite smile is replaced with confusion when he sees the young woman on the doorstep.

She’s younger than him, probably by a couple of years. Her hair is covered with a black veil of mourning, and she’s clad in a mourning dress. And Fives realizes that he recognizes her.

“Mistress Harride,” He greets, “This is a surprise. Come in, come in.” He opens the door wider and escorts her into the home, and over to one of the plush chairs.

“Thank you,” She folds her hands on her lap, “You’re the lead detective here, correct? Fives?”

“Yes, that’s me.” He sinks into a seat across from her, “Forgive me, Mistress Harride, but as I understand, your father and brother’s funerals were today—”

“You’re right. They were.” She agrees, “I…” She pauses and her hands curl around the dark material of her dress.

Fives frowns, “You can tell me.”

She lifts her chin, and there are tears in her eyes, “I think my father and brother were murdered. And I fear that I might be next.”

He leans back in his seat, absently stroking his goatee, “As I understand, your father and brother were killed in a hunting accident.”

“No.” She pauses, “I mean, that is what the local authorities determined. But—”

“You don’t agree.”

“No.”

“Okay, tell me why.”

“My father and brother have been hunting their entire lives. They’ve always been careful. Especially after mom died.”

“Miss Harride, there’s no proof that your father and brother were murdered.” Fives says kindly.

“I know that.” She retorts, “I know there’s no proof. But I’m telling you, this wasn’t an accident.”

He sighs, “Miss Harride—”

“Detective.” She interrupts, “I lost my entire family in under three years. My father married my stepmother seven months after she died. And then my father and brother died less than two years later. There’s something not right.”

“Sometimes bad things happen.” Fives points out.

“Detective, if you don’t help me, the next time you see me will be in the news after I die in an accident.” She says quietly.

Fives leans back in his seat and stares at her, “You really think you’re in danger?”

“If not me, then someone else in my family.”

“...okay.”

“Detective?”

“I’ll take the case.”

Her entire face brightens, “You will?”

“I will. Is there anything else you feel like you need to tell me?”

She ducks her head and twists her skirt between her fingers.

“There is, isn’t there?”

“I…yes.” She shifts uncomfortably, “I don’t have any proof, but—”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for. Let’s hear it.”

“I think Mother was murdered too.”

“How did she die?”

“The doctor said she had a heart attack.”

“How old was she, when she died?” Fives asks.

“Late thirties.”

“Young for a heart attack. Did she have a heart condition?”

“No. The Doctor thought it was strange too, but he said that it happens sometimes.” She replies.

“Hm.” Fives taps the arm of the chair he’s sitting in, “You know, there are some poisons that can mimic heart attacks.”

“You think my mom was poisoned?”

“I think it’s possible, but I have no proof. Yet.” He stands, “Do you have a carriage?”

“Yes. It’s waiting at the station.” She replies.

“Wonderful.” Fives moves around the living room, gathering his go-bag and pulling his jacket on, “Well then, shall we?”

“You have no idea how much I appreciate this.” She says as she stands and follows him to the front door.

“Don’t thank me yet.” He opens the door and lets her out of the house. “However, this is my promise to you, Miss Harride.” Fives says as he takes your hand and brings your knuckles to his lips, “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

“You mean it?”

“I swear on my life.” Fives promises as his gaze locks with hers.

“Well, that’s something for me to thank you for then, isn’t it?” She asks with a small smile.

“I suppose it is.” Fives agrees, he releases her hand and motions for her to walk with him, “Now, I need you to tell me everything you can about your parents and brother. And all of the players in this game.”

“I can do that, where would you like me to start?”

Fives grins at her, “Tell me about your Stepmother, Miss Harride.”

#star wars #tcw #star wars au #vodika vibes 650 event #arc trooper fives x reader #fives x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks #Regency AU

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