#James would say literally anYtHinG else than a curse word. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

graces5169 · 1 year

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Title: Monster

Warnings: mentions of blood, cursing, injuries

Word count: 3246

A/n: This is an updated version from my second account

Summary: Remus doubts himself in being good enough for Y/n, his friend since year one, and once she finds them in the forest after a transformation he at the end of the night has no choice but to confess

Y/ns POV

"Good morning." I greeted to the four boys before me who were already devouring their breakfast. "Morning." All of them groaned. I chuckled before taking my usual spot near Remus.

"Hey." He sheepishly murmured to me as I sat. I smiled warmly at Remus. "Hi." I replied and filled my plate with toast and eggs. "You okay?" I whispered.

It was definitely a lot quieter than normal and that was scary. It was like when a toddler went radio silent when you were in the next room. It always meant trouble.

The three other boys peeked there heads up staring at me and Remus as he murmured back a response. "Perfect." He said as his best attempt at a smile which warmed his face.

I decided to ignore the weirdness amongst everyone today and brought up topics of upcoming quidditch games, new books from the muggle world I had found, and literally anything else that would peek the interest of someone here.

After breakfast I caught up with the marauders who were headed back up to the common room.

"Hey guys wait up, why don't we head down to Hogsmeade today?" I suggested. It seemed to perk there interest. "I'll pay." I added which sealed the deal for Peter, james and Sirius but Remus still insisted on lounging back today and hanging behind.

I waved a small sad goodbye. It felt stupid to be upset over something so small, but I could tell when my friend had something bugging him and it always tore me to shreds when they didn't allow me to help.

"He's fine, just a tough day." Sirius randomly stated. I looked up at him and linked his arm with mine.

"What happened? Was it Snivellus or Malfoy again because I swear I'll hex them to an oblivion!" I snarled as my voice suddenly raised.

"No no! Nothing like that just personal problems." It was suspiciously vague and it made me mad. "Care to be specific?" He shook his head rather fast. "He must be the one to tell you."

The four of us finished up a few hours later after we filled the time with Butterbeers and laughter. Time had snuck by us and it quickly became seven at night. The boys seemed frantic to get back home and I was startled and worried at there rush.

"What's the hurry?" "Homework." Sirius replied which caused me to snort. "You three? Homework? Bullshit." "Look we just don't wanna leave Remus alone tonight, it's just family stuff and we feel bad leaving him to suffer the whole night." James stated it almost as a question as he looked around at Sirius and Peter who gave affirmative nods confirming his story.

"Family problems?" I questioned as guilt started to nip at me. "His grandpa passed away three days ago and it's taken a toll on him." James sighed.

"What? His grandpa died four years ago." Confusion clouded my thoughts. "It's what he told us." Sirius lamely argued. As soon as we reached the castle the three rushed upstairs but I was hot on there tails and followed the whole way.

When we reached the common room remus was the last one there. He sat near the fireplace with his knees tucked up to his chest.

"Rem." I whispered and went to sit right next to him. I cradled him in my arms and wrapped him in a tight hug. He accepted the gesture but once my grip was loosened his head snapped over to James, Peter and Sirius who all shook there heads.

"Sorry mate, we felt bad not saying anything. She knows your grandpa passed." Sirius apologized emphasizing his words.

"Oh right!" He frowned. "You should've told me." I whispered holding him close in my arms again. "Do you want me to stay tonight?" I asked. "No!" Remus quickly blurted.

My eyes clouded with hurt. "No! Not like that it's just you need rest to and I don't want you to get in trouble for being here." He assured unconvincingly.

"Okay." I stood up and let my hand linger in his another second before giving smiles to all and walking to my dorm where soft snores already filled the silence. I smiled sadly to myself.

Remus's POV

"Seriously! That's the best excuse you could find?" I snapped as Y/n left the room. "Sorry Mate but would you rather have let the fact your a werewolf slip?" Sirius asked raising an eyebrow. "Shhh!" I was quick to silence him not wanting any lurking ears to hear in. "No, your right I'm sorry." I mumbled.

We snuck away and made our way down to the forbidden forest where I stood impatiently with the tears already clouding my sight.

"It'll be okay." James assured giving a reassuring squeeze to my shoulder. I offered a smile and could slowly feel the pain begin.

My body had started to change slowly but surely. I was screaming in pain until I'd lost all control and howled into the night.

6:00 am

Y/ns POV

"Hey guys." I whispered. I snuck my way into there dorm only to find all empty beds. My heart clenched from worry.

"Where are you?" I whispered to myself and ran over to James side of his bed.

I felt underneath until I could grasp the rolled paper from underneath. I unrolled the map and found there locations within the forbidden forest.

I fought everything in me telling me not to go and snuck outside and into the forest.

"It hurts." I heard a whimper from an all to familiar voice and all of a sudden my feet took control. I was now sprinting desperately trying to find the voice.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." "It's okay bud, we're gonna get you help." The voices got louder and I ran and ran. "Shh." Remus shushed. "Someone's here." I could hear leaves crunching and I knew they had stood up ready to fight. I still ran.

I was close and my legs were burning in pain but my feet kept going. Until I saw him.

Remus was a bleeding, sobbing mess on the floor and Sirius and James were awkwardly stood with there wands in hand also bloodied and bruised.

"Remus!" I cried and in and instant I let my legs give out and sunk next to him hugging him carefully. I panted. "What the hell happened?" "Why are you here?" We both blurted at the same time.

"I came to check on you and you weren't there, so I took the map and followed you guys." I could hear James mutter saying something about not touching his stuff. I brushed it off and stared at remus waiting for an answer.

"Nothing important." Was all he could mutter. I sighed and decided not to press just yet. I pulled out my wand and stood up guiding James and Sirius to the floor next to remus.

I held Remus's hand as I focused on his wounds first seeing he had it the worst. "Vulnera Sanentur." I whispered and it physically hurt to hear the whimpering and cries coming from remus.

I latched onto his hand tighter and finished healing the deep wounds. The spell had cleaned the wound and healed it to what he needed but all left massive scars which made him sigh.

Now that I realized it his whole stomach and arms held loads of scars I had never noticed before. I gently placed my hand over them and slightly brushed over them with my fingers which made him flinch away.

"Sorry." I said instantly feeling I had crossed boundaries that were not meant to be crossed. He was now huddled up against a tree with his hands covering the scars on his stomach. I felt tears well in my eyes as I saw the tears stream from his.

I stood up and walked back over before crouching down to his level. I held his arm up and whispered another spell. "Episkey."

That would heal his wrist that was without a doubt fractured. "Ferula." Within an instant the rest of his wounds were covered with bandages.

I stared at him as he repositioned his hands to cover his scars again.

I sighed and let a tear slip. I placed my hand on his face and cradled his cheek. I stared at him and looked at him as if I was asking for approval.

He stared at me unsurely and I could've sworn he was considering it.

Although when he flinched away again and I saw no sign he wanted me to do what I do desperately wanted to I embarrassingly scrambled away to Sirius.

He was laying on the floor groaning in agony but still managed to shoot me a smirk, which I would've so gladly smacked from his face if he wasn't already hurt. "Shut up." I breathed.

I quickly whispered two simple spells healing up the little cuts he had and bandaging the rest.

"Hey where'd Peter go?" I asked as I made my way to James. "Slimy little git ran away, I swear he almost pissed himself, again."

I shot him a glance that made his cheeks burn red and his eyes bulged out in terror.

"Again? Is this some usual occurrence that happens amongst you idiots!" I snapped. James sheepishly looked at remus whom was now glaring daggers at him.

"No, no I just ummm." He sputtered. I placed a hand on his shoulder to wave it off. The interrogation could wait until they were all back safely.

I whispered the same two spells as I did with Sirius and helped them all stand up. I stood in between James and remus with both arms around there shoulders as best I could considering the insane height difference wal Sirius stood on the end with his arm around James shoulder.

"Almost there." I said softly. The three were now trying there best to hide there whimpers and cries of pain.

"Ah fuck it." I whispered and grabbed my wand out again. I huddled up the boys in a circle who were to tired to ask any question. "Apparition." I whispered and shut my eyes tight hoping this went right.

It was a hard spell to perfect and could end dangerously terrible if done wrong.

And thank god it hadn't. All four of us were now inside there dorm. Teleportation at its finest. I smiled proudly to myself.

Though I quickly jumped back into action at helping. I sat them down on the couch and filled up three waters and ordered them to drink. Wal they sipped there waters I grabbed clothes for them.

I took the empty glasses and placed them in the sink before helping Sirius up and taking him to the bathroom to quickly help his limp self get changed, I did the same with James and all went well with the two of them besides there obnoxious snarky comments.

Even half unconscious and they were still the same annoying gits they were every other day.

I sat both of them back on the couch and went to help remus but he grabbed his clothes and insisted he could do it himself.

I hesitated to let him do so but handed over the clothes and helped Sirius and James to there separate beds and covered the two of them pressing kisses to both of there foreheads. "Goodnight." I whispered.

Remus's POV

I winced as the fabric scratched over my skin. A burdening guilt sat in my stomach. She saw me. She saw them. Scars.

They decorated my whole body and while I was used to it I also had the advantage of long sleeve shirts and covering them with makeup.

But Y/n saw them, ripped t-shirt nothing to cover the hideousness of them. I was disgusted with myself. She must've been repulsed and I couldn't blame her. I was hideous in every way and my scars made me ten times more of the monster I already was.

My heart started to race at the thought of Y/n finding out what I was, and then my head went to the dreaded unimaginable, What if she came earlier? I could've killed her, I could've hurt her. I would've proved to her that I was a monster.

God I was a coward and in no way good for

Y/n. Unfortunately feelings didn't matter if you were bad for someone or in no way deserving of them.

It didn't matter if I was a beast and she was the princess, I still fell for her.

I finished pulling my shirt over my head and fought the urge to look away from the mirror.

In an instant images of Y/n on the floor with blood pouring from her and me standing over her. My breath got heavy and I forgot how to breathe.

I heard a knock or at least I thought I did. It was forgotten about rather quickly however as I dropped to the floor wal clutching my chest. The door handle shook and I heard Y/n whispering a spell under her breath which allowed the door to swing open.

She was by my side in seconds and held both my hands whispering me to breathe and I was safe. "Rem, look at me, hey."

I couldn't it was impossible. My breathing kept picking up its pace and before It had any chance to increase anymore Y/n kissed me. She was kissing me.

It took me a second to realize what was happening but once I comprehended, I kissed her back.

She pulled away and I was staring at her with nothing but confusion. "Wha- I-I." I stumbled on my words. Her face flushed a bright red.

"I heard holding your breath could help with panic attacks." It clearly had worked. My breathing seemed to slow and I was so focused on what just happened that I wasn't as panicked as before.

"What happened Rem?" I sighed.

No. She would leave and I didn't want her to go. Was that selfish? Holding out on the truth just to keep her for longer. Maybe, but I wasn't ready to let go.

"Please not right now." I begged. My voice trembled. Y/n didn't ask any other questions and helped me up.

She walked me over to my bed and laid me in it, covering me up she whispered a small goodnight. I closed my eyes hoping to stop the tears that were threatening to fall.

Why did I have to be a monster that everyone hated? I just wanted one good thing. And if Y/n found out she'd leave, she was my good thing. She was my everything and I couldn't have her. I couldn't keep her forever.

With that thought of knowing she wasn't mine and couldn't be, I dozed off.

"No no no!" I cried, now human, I stood over Y/ns body holding her in my arms. Sirius and James stared at me with shock.

She was bleeding out and crying for help. "Why'd you do this?" James asked demandingly.

"What? No I-I didn't mean to she was, I." Sirius interrupted me. "Monster. You killed her. Sick, and you wonder why everyone leaves." Peter appeared from behind a tree and all looked at the now limp body before chanting. "Monster, monster, monster-."

I shot awake in a cold sweat. "No!" I cried scanning my surroundings. I had found Y/n on the bed shaking me until she saw my eyes open.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry." I apologized, hugging her as tightly as one could. "Remus? What happened?" I sighed and dreadfully pulled out of her embrace.

"I had a nightmare, I killed you." I uttered embarrassed. "Rem you could never hurt me!" Y/n quickly assured. "I could!" I snapped back. "Why do you think that."

My eyes filled with a fresh wave of tears. "Y/n I'm a werewolf."

I closed my eyes and waited. I waited for the stinging in my cheek, I waited for the sounds of running on the floor and a door slamming, I waited for a scoff of disgust. I waited for her to go.

But when i peeked open an eye like a kid at a scary movie I found all my fears to be just that, fears.

Y/n was still here. Right in front of me with a soft smile.

"So?" It was a question no one ever asked. Everyone assumed the worst before asking why it was such a horrible thing. "So? Y/n I could've killed you if you came any earlier to that forest!"

"But you didn't." She sat down on the bed right in front of me in between my legs and stretched her legs out past me. "But I could have." Y/n out a hand out signaling me to stop.

"Remus we could go back and forth all night. But in the end, you could never hurt me, you never will, because I know you, you could never hurt me not even when out of control. I trust you and you need to learn to trust yourself to."

I cried. "Y/n, I'm a monster and-and what about the scars? They don't go away." My voice broke.

"So what about the scars Remus they make you, you. They make you the boy that I love." I stared at her in shock not in understanding of what way she meant "she loved me."

I placed my hands on her face and stared into her eyes. "Can I kiss you?" Y/n laughed and nodded.

I slowly and hesitantly brought my face closer to hers, I could feel her breath on my face, and my heart raced.

My lips hovered inches from hers. "Are you sure?" I whispered.

Though instead of speaking Y/n wordlessly brought a hand behind my head and smashed her lips against mine.

I immediately kissed her back and our lips found a rhythm. The kiss was passionate and hesitant and gentle.

When I pulled away I placed my forehead against hers with my hands still on her face. "And Remus, don't ever refer to yourself as a monster again." I nodded.

"Please never leave?" Her hand rested on my knee. "Promise." "I love you." I whispered. "I love you to. So much."

Y/ns POV

"You think they did it?" "Ay mate shut up they'll hear you." "Does she know?" "How would I know?" "She definitely knows."

I opened my eyes and saw Sirius and James bickering over top of me. "I know." I whispered with my cheeks tinted pink.

My face turned a deeper shade of red once I realized Remus had both arms wrapped around me holding me tightly.

"And you stayed?" Sirius asked, you could tell he was shocked and it broke my heart knowing that no one ever stayed for him. "Why would I have any reason to leave?" I smiled up at Remus.

Who could think he was a monster?

#james potter #sirius black #the marauders #marauders #remus lupin

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fanfic-scribbles · 3 years

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Crash Pad

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You’re just minding your own business when the Winter Soldier crashes into your life. Literally.

Quick facts: Romance – established past Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes leading into Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, slight mention of blood

Words: 7801

A/N: I started writing this a few months ago and almost finished when my life got fairly shook up. Still, I’m quite proud of being able to eke out an ending. For anybody who only cares about this story, feel free to skip this note, but for anybody following my other stuff: writing is going to be slow for the time being. My mom died and things are pretty topsy-turvy right now. Writing is still a comfort, but head to hands isn’t working the same right now. Thanks for your patience; I hope this is a pleasant read for you in the mean time <3

You’re getting ready for bed and have just turned off the living room light when you hear a clatter on the fire escape. You haven’t gotten over to shut the window yet and you wince at the thought of maybe coming face to face with a giant rat, or a raccoon, although you haven’t yet seen a raccoon and you’re pretty sure they don’t live in the city but it would probably be better than a rat the size of a raccoon–

What you get is much, much worse as a fully grown man falls through the curtains, knocks over a side table and potted plant, and crashes onto your living room floor with a wheezed (but emphatic), “God damn it!”

You freeze, unsure of whether to run or yell or maybe both. However the man flounders on the floor, unable to otherwise move much as he holds his side and– is that blood on your floor?

“Are you okay?” you ask despite everything.

He yanks his head back to look at you and grimaces. “Fuck, I–” He tries to get up, slips in what you are almost positive is blood, and slumps over with a little sigh and a handful of muttered curses that might be in another language. “I am really sorry about this,” he says lowly, like he's embarrassed to be bleeding out in a stranger’s living room. Then he shifts a little more and moonlight gleams on his arm. His very…shiny…completely metal arm, and you find a whole new way to be concerned.

You should have known the reasonable rent was a goddamn trap.

You take a few steps back, barely avoid hitting the counter, and flick the light back on without taking your eyes away from the man on your floor. He squints at the brightness and shows you a face that is, both fortunately and unfortunately, familiar. Fortunately because Captain America and the Avengers somehow got him pardoned for potential war crimes and treason even without him being present for any of that circus of a trial. Unfortunately because…war crimes. And treason. And that is definitely blood.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out and looks a little woozy. “There were sheets– I thought the building was empty.”

“The sheeting is for the building right next to us,” you say and sigh. “I’m going to guess you are not in favor of me calling an ambulance?”

He just blinks at you a few times. Maybe he is secretly a raccoon.

“Please don’t,” he says, some life returning to his eyes, and he looks you up and down. The rubber duck pajamas must put him at ease because, while he is still tensely holding his midsection, his shoulders relax a little. “I’m so–”

“Sorry, yes, I know.” You point at the bathroom. “I’m going to get the first aid kit and hopefully I won’t have to explain to the coroner’s office why Captain America’s boo bled out on my floor.”

You’re just opening up the cupboard that hopefully contains at least some band-aids when he calls out, “What the hell is a ‘boo?’”

Two old t-shirts, one and a half rolls of dusty gauze, and his own homemade stitch kit later, the man is finally all patched up. “How are you not passing out from blood loss?” you ask, eyeing the mess on the nice hardwood that has definitely just lost you your deposit. But there’s no corpse to deal with, so at least things aren’t as bad as they could be.

“I’m built pretty hardy.” He sits up a little more and groans. Before you can beg him not to split his side again, he extends his hand. “James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

You shake his hand (gently) and tell him your name. “Do you let everybody call you Bucky, or just the people whose floor you bleed all over?” Something moving catches your eye and you sigh at the sight of your inexpensive (but still nice) curtains blowing slightly, showing off their new stains. “Floor and drapes…”

“I’ll clean it,” he says. “I can get blood out of anything.” He winces. “I…that sounds worse than it is.”

“I imagine getting blood out of anything is a good skill for an international spy-assassin to have,” you say.

Bucky scowls. And, you think, blushes a little, though how he has enough blood to do that you don’t know. You look at the spot again. It looks big to you but maybe you’re making a fuss over nothing. No, wait, there’s still dried blood on your floor. You’re allowed a fuss. “So you know who I am.”

“Your boy made it hard to miss,” you say.

He grumbles to himself, then says, “He’s always such a drama queen. I didn’t need to be pardoned.”

“Really,” you say and look at the bloodied handkerchief wrapped around a bullet he dug out of himself. “Looks like at least one other person disagrees with you.”

“This was Steve’s fight, not mine.” He huffs. “Story of my goddamn lif–”

He suddenly falls back and you reach out instinctively to catch him. He recovers quickly, wild-eyed and stiff and you scoot back just in case. He takes a few deep breaths and seems to force himself calm. It doesn’t look very effective and you’re honestly starting to worry. “You really–”

“I did not faint,” he snaps and maybe he has more blood than you thought, or maybe absolutely all of it has come to collect in his face.

“I was going to say you really need a hospital,” you say. “But yeah, you did.”

He grumbles under his breath and then, as if predicting your protests, stands up quickly enough to waver. Serves him right, you think, but when he scowls at you, you wonder if maybe he’s psychic too. “Try not to pass out on your way home,” you say, because if he wants to leave there’s really nothing you can do to stop him.

“Funny,” he says. He clears his throat and adds, much more sincerely, “Thanks.”

For the t-shirts, for the first aid kit, for not calling the cops, for not calling the Avengers so Captain America can hone in on him like a cartoon hound, for not bitching about the floor too much– the list is many and varied and so you give him a simple nod and hope you can get even a little bit of sleep tonight because work tomorrow is going to be hell without it.

He goes back to the window and before you can point out you have a perfectly good door, Bucky slips out onto the fire escape again. You shrug to yourself and go over to firmly flip the lock. You’ve done your part– in the event he slips and hits his head, someone else can be the good Samaritan. You’re going to bed and tomorrow this is going to feel like a weird dream, if there is even a single good deity in existence.

You’re not sure if it’s proof of or a mark against the existence of said single good deity when Bucky shows back up in your fire escape the next evening and taps politely against your open window before he lets himself back in, scooting your new plant just an inch out of the way.

“I have a door,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

“Your hallway’s too well lit,” he says, much more hale and hearty and obviously not suffering major blood loss. His hair even looks like he just got out of the shower, all soft and shiny and bouncing a bit as he twists his upper body to start pulling stuff out of a backpack hanging off one shoulder. “I got stuff to clean the floor, and a replacement first aid kit. You outta keep it better stocked, so I got you one of the good ones.”

“O…kay,” you say, for lack of anything better. There’s a hysterical laugh building up in the back of your throat as the Winter Soldier brings out some rags and a cleaning solution for your bloodstained hardwood floor, but you cough it out and say, “Thanks,” when the formerly-feared international assassin looks at you like you’re crazy before he gets on his hands and knees and starts scrubbing.

It’s not fair no one would believe you. You’re not quite sure this isn’t an elaborate daydream, but then, you like to think you’d imagine something more fun than this. You clear your throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks,” he grunts, glaring at the floor and rubbing at the stain like it has offended him personally. It’s a little worrisome when he goes at it hard enough to maybe rub a hole right through the floor– you’d rather deal with the stain– but there’s a hard edge to his eyes that make you think maybe it’s a good idea for him to work it out in a productive, non-violent way. And if it turns violent, hopefully he has some home repair skills to make up for it.

You busy yourself with making tea, using the nice pot and the nice cups you never get to break out, and by the time it’s almost done steeping Bucky isn’t rubbing quite so hard and, in fact, seems to have made the stain do a disappearing act.

“Nice,” you say. “You want some tea? I made plenty.”

He lifts his head and tilts it as he squints at you, like he’s still not sure of you. But he shrugs, says, “Sure,” and stands up, rolling his shoulders. He looks down at the floor and nods appreciatively before coming to sit on the other side of the counter. “It’s almost gone; just a little bit more and it’ll be like I was never here.”

That last part could have been a decent joke, but he said it so seriously you just clear your throat. “Thanks,” you say and start pouring. “My landlord is going to have to find some other excuse to try and keep my security deposit.”

Bucky snorts but otherwise makes no noise. At first it’s nice, if a bit awkward, as you don’t really feel the need to fill the silence, but it becomes clear by the way Bucky glares at the plant sitting in front of him on the counter that something is eating at him. You’re not sure whether or not to pry, but it seems polite to at least ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he grunts and leans even lower to the surface of the counter.

You stare at him. “I appreciate what you did, but you didn’t have to come back,” you say gently, because a pissed-off former-assassin isn’t really a problem you want to have on your hands. “I’m not awful enough to actually expect you to clean up your own blood the day after you nearly bled to death.”

“What?” He blinks and then scowls and shakes his head. “No, it’s not that; it’s…” He picks up his cup and downs all of it, despite the fact that it was still steaming. Tentatively you pour him another cup, to which he says, “thanks,” before loading it with sugar again. “It’s good,” he says and this time he sips it.

“It’s one of my favorites. Very soothing,” you say. “Normally.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I wish anything was soothing. You know Steve almost ran into a goddamn minefield today?”

You didn’t know that, you don’t think anything the Avengers do is any of your business, really, and where does one even find a minefield in New York City– you don’t say any of that, but you apparently don’t need to, because Bucky is off like a shot saying more words than you’d have thought possible for him. All of it is ranting about what a reckless dumbass Captain America is, and a Brooklyn accent increasingly comes through, egged into existence by sheer aggravation. You sit and listen, transfixed not so much by the details (they’re too fleeting and sparse) but by how annoyed Bucky is with Captain Amer- with “Steve goddamn pain in the ass Rogers” and you’re never going to be able to see him again without snickering.

Bucky sighs heavily and rests his chin on the table. He looks very tired, all of a sudden. Maybe a relaxing tea and enthusiastic rant wasn’t the best combination. Then again, he also looks less tense, so perhaps it’s fine. “Why don’t you stop for the night and go get some sleep,” you say and take away his cup. “You can finish up tomorrow.”

He squints at you, squints back at the floor (that you honestly can’t tell is any different from the rest), and looks back at you. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” you say and stack the cups. “When you come back refreshed you can tell me why Steve Rogers can never walk past that animal shelter without ducking his head in shame.”

Bucky’s smile is lopsided and he shakes his head. “Maybe,” he admits and hops off the chair. “I’ll just…leave the stuff here then, if that’s okay?”

You nod and he quickly picks up and puts the supplies in the empty bottom space of your side table. He goes for the window.

“I have a-!”

And he’s gone. You roll your eyes. If Steve Rogers really is as much of an asshole as Bucky says he is, then those two deserve each other.

For all that the Captain America mythos has been debunked for you, you’re still brought up short when you suddenly encounter Steve Rogers the next night.

On your fire escape.

He knocks his head against the railing in his scramble to simultaneously get up and face you, curses, and lifts his hands defensively. “I can explain.”

You rub your face with both hands. They definitely deserve each other. “I doubt that,” you mutter and sigh heavily. Thank goodness there haven’t been any actual fires; you don’t know how you’d get out with all these buff superheroes hanging around outside your window. “Have you lost something?”

Captain America looks at the ground for a moment, and then flashes you a smile. “…Yes?”

God, he is a smartass. “Do you want to come inside or do you want to risk some Nosy Nancy from the building across the street seeing a big shadow and calling the cops?”

That would never happen, but he slips inside almost immediately and then there he is, in all his uniformed, shield-holding glory. It’s too weird to think about, and you step back to give him (and you) space while you close the curtains. “Thank you,” he says politely and looks around. “Your apartment is lovely; it’s very…green.”

You’re not sure why he hesitates, until you see him looking at your yellowing majesty palm. “He’s coming back,” you say and go to adjust the plant for lack of anything else your nervous hands can do. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you,” he says and stands with his feet shoulder wide and his hands clasped down in front of him. It is perhaps the least comforting thing he can do and for one ridiculous moment you wish Bucky was here to be in between you. You wish the Winter Soldier was here. To protect you. From Captain America.

You clear your throat. “So,” you say and grab yourself something. “Do you lurk outside everyone’s apartment at some point, or am I just special?”

For all his military posturing, Captain America squirms like a schoolboy. “I swear I wasn’t– okay, I guess I was but not intentionally? I was…looking. For something.”

“Something you dropped?” you ask him.

“A person,” he says, staring elsewhere. For a moment you have a paranoid thought he’s staring at the space where Bucky had fallen in that night, but no, he’s just looking at the window. At least you remembered to change the curtains.

“Pretty sure you can see one of those without squinting into the grates,” you say.

“He might have passed through on his way somewhere else,” Captain America says. “Have you seen a man outside?”

“Other than you?” you ask. He blushes even harder than Bucky does– and think of the devil, you have a moment where you’re not sure what you should say, but quickly come to realize that whatever is going on between the two of them, you do not want to get stuck in the middle.

You’re prepared to lie your ass off, but he apparently takes your response as a rebuke. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make you feel unsafe.”

“It’s fine,” you say. Despite his previous answer, you lean into the fridge to get him a bottle of water. “I’m pretty sure Captain America isn’t going to murder me. And if you decided you wanted to, well, there’s nothing I could really do about it.”

He chokes on the drink he’s just taken. You instinctively lean in so you can slam his back but after a couple of hits he covers his mouth and waves you off. “Sorry, sorry,” he says and grabs a nearby dishcloth to wipe up what he just spit on the counter. “That was just…really dark.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not the one lurking on fire escapes,” you say.

He rolls his eyes. The nerve. You laugh and he actually grins. Asshole. His smile softens though and he says, “I’m really–”

“Sorry,” you finish for him.

“Am I that predictable already?”

You shrug. You want to tell him it’s because he and Bucky seem very much alike in that respect. You want to but…you don’t. Whatever Bucky’s problem is, he seems to want to deal with it himself, and it’s not your place to get in between them and start snitching. “You seem the type. Don’t worry about it so much. You…look pretty worried. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Thank you.” His lips turn into a sad sort-of smile and he takes a slower drink. “I guess I am pretty worried. This man I’m looking for, he’s…important to me, and he’s been through a lot, and I just want to know he’s okay.”

You stare at him. He looks down. And looks down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to babble like that,” he says and glances at you with a strained smile. “I don’t normally do that.”

“Hm.” You stare at him for several seconds and notice he is blinking an awful lot. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m a little tired,” he says, quietly, and some of the posturing seeps out of him and he lets himself slump a little more. He suddenly shakes his head and sits up straight again. “Thanks again for…” He looks around and settles for shaking his water bottle.

You hold back a laugh. “Sure. I uh…do you need me to call you a cab?”

He shakes his head firmly and, to his credit, he’s pretty excellent at pretending to be okay. You almost believe him. “I can get home all right.”

“Well, please make sure you do. I can think of a lot of people who’d be sad to think of you collapsing on the way home because you wore yourself down to the bone,” you say. “And from how you seem to worry about your friend, I bet you can think of at least one.”

He blinks, like he’s surprised, but a smile curls onto his face, warm and true. “Good night,” he says, and because you’re so nice, you don’t stop him when he goes back out the window. At this point, it’s beginning to feel like a lost cause.

“What did you say to him?”

“I know you don’t like the door,” you say, not even turning away from the plant you’re watering. Any time you put down the canister you forget where you left off and you are not going to kill these plants by overwatering. Not again. “But maybe you could at least tap on the window when you decide you’re going to enter my apartment.”

“Why do you leave your window open?” Bucky huffs. You can hear him sit at the counter behind you. “You know what kind of creeps can take advantage of that?”

You finish watering the last plant and turn to stare at him. “I’m starting to get an idea.”

Bucky scowls. “I’m not a creep,” he mutters.

“Polite society encourages doorways instead of windows,” you say. “It’s okay. Captain America, apparently, is also a creep.”

Bucky sits up straighter. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” you say. “He was squatting on the fire escape like he could make you spontaneously materialize. I invited him in for an explanation and after a little while he went on his way.”

“After a little while,” Bucky repeats and squints at you suspiciously.

You shrug. “He likes to vent to complete strangers, apparently. But I didn’t tell him anything about you, it doesn’t seem fair to tell you anything about him. If you want to know, I get the feeling you can go ask him.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but he stands up and stretches. “You said I bled on the drapes?”

“I already scrubbed that out, if you can finish the floor,” you say and go for the tea pot. “Do you like green tea?”

“As long as you do it right,” he says and starts scrubbing again. “I hate it all bitter.”

You go for the good matcha and start preparing it while he works out his frustrations on your floor. You glance at him a couple of times but he seems fully focused on his task, until you finish the tea and call him back to the bar.

“Steve Rogers is a pain in the ass and don’t let anyone tell you different,” he grumbles, but it’s soft and there’s a troubled look on his face as he takes his cup.

“Do you miss him?” you ask and blow gently across your drink.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Just as you're about to apologize for overstepping, though, he speaks. “It’s hard to go back when you’ve done the shit I have, you know?”

No. You have absolutely no idea what it’s like to live as a free man after decades of literal objectification and being used as a murder weapon for fascists. But it doesn’t seem very helpful to say that, so instead you say, gently, “I can’t even imagine.”

Bucky bobs his head and takes another sip of his drink. You’re delighted he seems to be drinking it fairly quickly, but also a little dismayed because a good matcha latte takes a decent amount of work and it’ll take a little time if he wants another cup. “I want to go back but I can’t yet. I wish he wouldn’t be so goddamn stubborn about it is all. Just because he thinks I didn’t do anything wrong doesn’t make it true.”

You nod, like any of this makes any goddamn sense to you. But maybe– maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe Bucky’s saying all this because you’re an outside entity with no personal stake in, or knowledge of, what counts as treason, or what’s needed to lack culpability, or what it means to be an absent friend.

He rambles, a little bit, and though about half the words are proper nouns you don’t recognize, you nod along, and when he finishes his latte you make him another one, and when he leaves, you don’t mention the door. Even though you want to.

You’ve actually forgotten how nice it is to have someone come through the door. Case in point–

“Um, I hope this is all right,” Steve Rogers, dressed in casual civilian fare and holding a small pot of flowers, says as you can do nothing but stare at him. “I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for being so understanding. May I…come in?”

That snaps you out of your funk and you quickly stand aside. “Of course; sorry, I just…wasn’t expecting you.”

“I was just going to leave the plant with a note if you weren't here, but I’m glad you were,” Captain Rogers says and walks in, and sets the pot down on the counter.

You walk over to the fridge. “Would you like something to–” As you turn to finish the question you see him glance furtively at the window. Ah, of course. He looks down guiltily and you can’t help but roll your eyes and laugh. Well, he did come through the correct entrance and brought some pretty flowers. “All right, you did knock on the door this time; go sniff around the fire escape all you want.”

“I’m just checking something I forgot,” he says quickly and goes to the window. He’s only outside long enough for you to brew some tea and he comes back in just as you’re pouring his cup. It isn’t until he’s about to take a sip, however, that he says, “Oh– I know it looks bad, but Bucky– sorry, James Barnes– I swear he isn’t dangerous.”

“I know. I saw some of the trial stuff,” you lie. Well, you did see some of it, but it wasn’t until you heard Bucky mutter “Martha Stewart was right,” while fussing at some of the blood on his shirt that you felt safer. Strange as it is to think.

Steve relaxes his shoulders like some of the weight is off of them. “You have no idea how good that is to hear. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people say to me. I can’t really punch people anymore because I’m so much stronger now but it’s so tempting sometimes. At least when it’s online I can mime punching them.”

His annoyed tone allows you to laugh a little. “Maybe imagine the block button is a punch in the face?” you suggest.

He grins. “My friend Clint suggested printing out the most irritating comments and taping them to a punching bag. It didn’t really work but the thought was nice. The block button as a punch to the face though…”

The guy doesn’t really need more violence in his life, but he genuinely seems pleased with the idea, so you let it be. And when he starts ranting in detail about some of the comments he gets about Bucky, you make a new pot of tea– chamomile. For the both of you.

You don’t know how the flowers are dead already– it seems like Steve just brought them and they were so pretty you immediately looked up care instructions and followed them to the letter. Or so you thought. But now, only days later, you have a pot of dirt and withered petals.

And Bucky sulking at your counter.

“I told him I was fine,” he says petulantly.

You sigh and bring the pot over to the sink and think about what to do. “Did you tell him in person?”

“In a letter. He knew it was from me.”

The soil looks nice, so you’ll dig out the remains and try to plant some replacement seeds. Maybe that was the problem– maybe the flowers were sick or something. “Well reading and seeing are two different things.”

“He knows I cover him in fights.”

You slowly look at Bucky. His oh-so intelligent response is to bristle like a cat and go, “What?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s desperate to see you, knows you’re near when he’s fighting, and you wonder why he’s “so goddamn reckless?’”

Bucky just glares. Yeah, these two morons absolutely deserve each other.

You hope Bucky figures it out sooner rather than later.

He doesn’t, but he keeps coming by, as does Steve, and you resign yourself to hosting two pining idiots who keep dancing around each other.

Bucky drinks anything you give him without complaint. However he drinks the lattes and almost anything green tea a little quicker, though he tries to hide his cup from you when he does. Whether he’s ashamed of going through them so fast or embarrassed you don’t know, but you start to give him bigger cups, and that seems to help.

The first time you give Steve a cup of apple pie spice, he gives you a severe glare– which he then completely undermines by liking the blend immensely.

“I swore the next person who offered me apple pie would get popped,” Steve says, an amusing mixture of half-bluster and half-shame as he sips from the classic teacup you hope not to regret handing him.

“Lucky for me it’s not actually apple pie,” you say. “Do people really make that joke?”

The eyeroll Steve gives that is 200% sass. “You have no idea,” he says, deadly serious, “–how funny people think they are.”

This becomes…oddly normal. Listening to Steve talk about anything that’s on his mind, giving Bucky new tea blends just to see how he reacts to them; your apartment is no longer just you and a bunch of greenery that seems to wilt more often than not. Everything seems warmer, and better– even your plants seem healthier. (For that, though, you suspect Bucky is giving them a special mixture of something after you catch a glance of him messing with one of the pots. You want to ask him what he’s doing, but you don’t want to admit that he’s better at taking care of them than you are.)

It’s so normal, that you feel the silence only after the first few nights without a visit. They don’t visit every night, but they visit often enough that you know they’re off somewhere even without them telling you. For a couple of weeks you try to pretend the quiet doesn’t bother you, but you check the fire escape twice every night, and then once more before you go to bed.

The next time you see Bucky is during one of these checks. There was no tapping, no noise to otherwise alert you, he’s just suddenly back, sitting next to the window, hunched over in black clothes nearly blending into the darkness and staring out at nothing in the night.

“What’s wrong?” you ask and crawl out to kneel next to him. “Are you hurt again?”

“No,” he mutters and continues to glare at some imaginary point in the distance. “Steve was, though.”

It’s a little harder to swallow. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles and buries his mouth further against his arms. “He’s fine, strutting around the hospital like a- like a- …” He huffs and sits back to wave his arms before he curls back in on himself. “But it was close, and he’s an asshole.”

“Mm,” you say. “Chamomile mint?”

He sighs heavily but he gets to his feet and starts to enter, only to stop and hold open the curtains for you.

“Thank you sir,” you say with only a hint of sarcasm and go on ahead to get the tea started. Bucky snorts but doesn’t say anything and you use the time the water needs to heat up to take care of some of your plants.

“Stop it.”

The snap comes so fast from Bucky you immediately stop what you’re doing. He doesn’t look as angry as he sounded, but he’s frowning pretty hard. “You're overwatering that one; jade plants are succulents. You don’t need to drown it.”

You look at the plant and set the watering can down. “Oh.” You knew that. You think. You’re just nervous. “Did you see him? In the hospital?”

“Briefly. I didn’t talk to him; just made sure he was all right,” Bucky says. “And he is. I wouldn’t leave him if he wasn’t.”

That does assuage some of your concerns. Steve is nice. You want him to be okay. And Bucky is– also nice, but god, they’re both so fucking frustrating. “You couldn’t have just–”

“Don’t start with–”

“I’m just saying–”

“And I’m telling you not to say–”

“I pay the rent for all that you sublet my fire escape; I’ll say what I want,” you manage to finish to Bucky’s consternation. You lift your head proudly and he frowns to one side. And then he…smirks. You’re not sure you like that.

“Crappiest space in the city,” he says and sits up. “You could at least get a chair.”

You roll your eyes and dole out the tea, fixing it the way Bucky likes. No sugar for this one, but plenty of honey. “If I ever have to leave for an actual fire, I’ll be in enough trouble trying to get around you.”

“Nah. I’d carry you out,” Bucky says and lifts his cup in a silent ‘cheers.’ He takes a sip and the sigh sounds content, so you assume you did it right. For a few moments a comfortable silence settles between the two of you as you sip warm drinks surrounded by greenery (that is mostly green) and life goes on in faint sounds outside the confines of your home.

Bucky sets his empty cup down with a sigh. “Do you think, if I show up to throttle him, that he’ll actually start watching his own fucking back?”

You give that some serious thought. “Will you give him time to moon at you first?”

Bucky sighs with disgust and flumps back onto the counter. “This is stupid. This all feels so stupid.”

You open your mouth because you do have a lot of opinions about honest communication and using innocent civilian apartments to dance around each other, but Bucky shoots you a glare to let you know that a, he knows, and b, he doesn’t appreciate it. You roll your eyes and go back to drinking your tea. It is a very good blend, and you’re not going to let it go unappreciated because two early 20th century boys can’t get their shit together.

Not that you’re complaining, really– you’re starting to feel like less of a disaster by comparison. Or maybe letting two strange men into your apartment makes you just as bad by default. You rub the bridge of your nose. Yeah, no one is getting out of this looking sane. You feel like that should bother you more than it does, but it’s just a fleeting thought before you go back to worrying about Steve and pouring Bucky’s cup back to full.

The next night when someone knocks on your door, you’re only mildly surprised to see Steve on the other side. And most of that surprise is because you can see fading bruises on his face, and also because he is holding a fairly big potted plant with tall green and yellow-edged leaves.

“Hi,” he says and lifts the pot slightly. “I got you a present.”

“Uh, wow; thanks?” you say and quickly step back to let him in, momentarily forgetting he can probably carry it around with ease. Steve places the plant on the floor near the end of your couch, where it actually looks fairly nice. He gestures at it proudly. “It’s a snake plant. The man at the nursery said it’s very hard to kill.”

“You’re not funny,” you say but you look at it appreciatively. It is nice, and you could do with ‘hard to kill’. Speaking of– “Should you be up? You look like you should be in a hospital.”

He shrugs and his face goes neutral. “I’m healing well enough that there’s nothing a hospital could do for me. And I felt so…restless.”

You nod. “Want some tea?”

“Please. I really like what you make,” he says and immediately takes a seat at the counter. Oddly enough, it’s not the one Bucky always takes. You don’t realize you squint at the space for too long until Steve looks curious and asks, “Is everything okay?”

You squint at the countertop. “Yeah, just…trying to figure out if that’s a stain or a spot.”

Thankfully there is a spot of spilled something and you quickly grab a towel and wipe it away. You think it’s a pretty good save, but Steve looks at you with a raised brow, like he’s figured something out. You freeze. “What?” What are you going to say? How is he going to react? What will you–

“Was that a coffee ring?”

You blink a few times, and then roll your eyes as your chest practically deflates. He smiles and winks. “I can’t believe you.”

“I am a layered human being who can drink many things,” you say defensively. “And if you want coffee you’ll have to ask another time. I’m not giving you anything with caffeine in it when you look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Train,” he corrects absently. “It barely clipped me.”

You sigh and go for the sleepy blend. One of you is going to have to bow out of this conversation due to exhaustion and at this point you don’t care if it’s you. However it might truly come in handy as Steve keeps looking out the window and shaking his foot. You set the cup in front of him and before you can ask what’s wrong, he takes the cup in both hands and blurts out, “I think I saw him.”

You look at the window and squint. “Seriously?”

“Not here.” Steve rolls his eyes. Like you’re the crazy one. He blows gently across the surface of the liquid and says, “Though it’s strange you’d think I saw Bucky out of your window.”

“Isn't that why you started showing up here in the first place? I distinctly remember someone with a big red, white, and blue shield lurking on my fire escape.”

“Oh, right,” he admits sheepishly, hunched over his cup. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he looks up at you through long lashes and asks, “Did I ever apologize to you for that?”

You’re brought up short by the amount of boyish charm this giant walking wall of muscle manages to pack into that look and you have to find your tongue to say, “I– y-yeah…”

Steve chuckles to himself and you give yourself a mental slap on the face. “Troll,” you mutter and sip from your mug. The liquid is piping hot and burns your tongue, giving you an excuse to grimace when Steve flashes you a beautiful smile.

You’re in trouble.

Not physically, not immediately, and perhaps someone on the outside might say you’re being dramatic about it, but they wouldn’t know shit about the situation. They wouldn’t know about how your hands felt as they slid over Steve’s when he handed you a new small pot of flowers; they wouldn’t know about the feeling of serenity that settled over you when Bucky abandoned some of his oh so careful control and rested his head on your shoulder for four long seconds; they wouldn’t know how it feels like you’re missing something until someone shows up at your door or taps at your window.

You’re falling in love with two people who have always been, and still are, desperately in love with each other.

Isn’t that just your luck.

In the end, Bucky takes your advice more to heart than you ever expected he would– you and Steve are quietly enjoying each others’ company, with you standing in the kitchen and Steve sitting at the counter as per usual, when the curtains move dramatically for Bucky to slip in, which makes Steve whirl around, and your hands jerk so hard from all the sudden surprise that your cup slips out and crashes to the floor.

“Shi-” You forget to watch your step and immediately catch a jagged shard that embeds itself right under the ball of your foot. “Ow, fuck!”

Your name is said in different voices but very similar tones of alarm and you suddenly find yourself gathered into Bucky’s arms, bridal style, and he carries you over to the couch. “Wh-” You swallow at the close proximity to Bucky’s chest and the way he holds you so effortlessly but so securely. “I’m fine; it’s just a little–”

Bucky sits down on the couch and doesn’t move you, which means you are basically sitting cross-wise in his lap. This is not something you need after your recent revelation, and it doesn’t get any easier when Steve comes back with the heavy duty first aid kit Bucky got you and gingerly takes your foot to examine the injury. His sympathetic look towards you gives you the warning you need to brace yourself before he pulls the shard out. It doesn’t hurt too terribly and he’s almost tender as he cleans your foot.

“Look at us, matching blood and all,” Bucky says lightly.

“It’s my floor I’ll bleed on it if I want,” you grumble, but you’re too distracted by how focused Steve is on fixing you up. “You…seem to be taking this well.”

“I knew he had been here since the first time I came,” Steve admits as he rolls the gauze around your foot. “There was a bloodstain on your floor still.”

“Seriously?” You had thought Bucky was being overdramatic about the supposed stain and humored him, but it…makes sense. Why else would he come back the next night. Why else would Steve continue to come by. And because Steve had kept coming, Bucky had kept coming, and…they won’t need to come back anymore, will they? They now have what they’ve wanted. Each other.

Someone says your name and you force yourself back to neutral as much as you possibly can. Steve looks curious though and Bucky says, “What’s with that look?”

“There’s no look,” you say. “And if there is, it’s only because you two have devised the weirdest meet-cute ever– decades after you actually met.”

“Hm.” Bucky continues to stare at you, but doesn’t say anything else.

They come back. And they both use the door.

You don’t know what you’re more shocked by– that Bucky and Steve, having come back to each other, are still coming around to you, or that Bucky is actually walking through the designated threshold. You don’t have a lot of time to think about it though because the place is…a mess.

“What happened here?” Steve asks as Bucky’s shoulders go up to his ears and he looks around the place like he’s going to find something unpleasant.

“It’s not that bad,” you say and glance around. You’ve cleaned out a few of the pots already and stacked them away in the closet, but some of the plants are still…slightly alive, for a little while. A couple are even doing fairly well– one of which being the snake plant Steve got you.

“What happened to the jungle?” Bucky asks, looking around shrewdly. You don’t like the sound of that. It feels so…probing, and raises your hackles. Why should he care?

“I wasn’t keeping them alive for very long.” You flick a yellowing leaf and keep your tone light. “I just got tired of it. What are…what are you doing here?”

You don’t look at Steve, but he clears his throat and his tone is similar to Bucky’s when he asks, “Is now a bad time?”

“For what?” You square your shoulders and face them. Like an adult. Like an adult who had two other adults just sort of crash into their life one day and start sharing space until such time as the two window-crashers decided they…didn’t need to come around anymore. “I’m happy you both found each other. You didn’t have to come back.”

Steve looks…well, he looks hurt. You don’t know any other way to describe it; it doesn’t show in his face so much as in his eyes, in the feeling you get watching the line of his shoulders lower. But before he can say anything, before you can explain yourself, Bucky speaks up.

“It isn’t like that,” he says.

You look down. It’s easier than looking at a man who feels rejected, and a man who has you completely pegged.

“What?” Steve asks.

“It’s okay,” you say, in perhaps the biggest bald-faced lie you’ve ever told.

“That’s not– no,” Bucky insists and lifts your chin. His fingers are warm and gentle and linger too long.

You pull back from his touch before you can embarrass yourself further. “You guys were literally circling each other.”

“Please.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I don’t need to keep coming back here to be near Steve. I know where he lives.”

“And I leave my window unlocked,” Steve says. He aims a cheeky grin at Bucky and adds, “Guess I should have left it open though.”

“Shut up,” Bucky tells him but looks at you and says, “Point is: we weren't using you.”

Steve blinks. “Oh– no, of course not!”

“It’s all right,” you say, trying as hard as you can to assuage their discomfort even though you can’t put much into it. Even though you did very much want this meeting to happen, somehow you don’t feel very ‘all right.’

“No,” Bucky says and takes your hand in his. The flesh hand, which he runs up to the middle of your forearm. His touch is gentle and light, even when he grips. You can break away, but you don’t– you let him pull you in, close and closer, until there’s barely any room between you.

Steve crowds from the side and puts one arm behind Bucky, and one arm behind you. “If you only think we’re here because of each other, then it’s not all right,” he says softly.

“I know it isn’t– I know you weren't ‘using’ m–” You swallow hard. “And I know it’s not–”

They both swoop in for a kiss– for a kiss with you. Somehow they avoid bumping heads and the lip-lip-lip contact is barely there, with Steve at the corner and Bucky barely catching one side of your upper lip, but they're both there for a glorious moment that leaves you stunned.

“Oh…” you say, dumbly. You try to fight it, but a smile pulls at your lips. “Oh.”

“That good already, huh?” Steve asks quietly, slowly forming a small smile of his own.

You let out a little sigh that is immediately undermined by an uncontrollable laugh that swells from a bubble of relief at the base of your throat. “Bucky’s right, you are insufferable,” you say but you reach out to sweep your fingers in a gentle touch down Steve’s cheek and under his chin.

“You get used to it,” Bucky says.

You think about that. Even with how you’ve been, entertaining these two rotating planets over the last however many weeks or months, this would be an entirely new normal.

You think you can’t wait to get used to it.

#steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #captain america fanfic #reader insert #stucky x reader #mcu reader insert

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startanewdream · 3 years

Text

Five Stages of Starflower

Summary: James is oblivious, Lily is mostly okay with her unrequited love and Sirius has a few plans about this situation. For @keepingupwithpotters,@sunshine-marauders, @cellularphoneexplosion and @zephyrcove who all gave me the most Jily prompt of all time (“Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?”) and for @magixbeans (“I refuse to stop irritating you until you give me attention.”). Thanks for helping me celebrate this day ❤

Warning only for a few f-words every now and then (Lily curses when she is upset).

Sirius knows it.

Sirius fucking Black knows it.

Lily had been careful ever since last semester when she started to realize the signs of those things. She’d tried to back away, to avoid more contact despite the fact they had exchanged letters through Summer (just normal conversation, talking about what was going on and their families and discussing their friends – it didn’t mean anything), and that they had seen each other (they just happened to be on Diagon Alley on the same day to shopping, which was smarter and safer—and also didn’t mean anything), and Lily had convinced herself that her feelings for him were entirely friendly and would remain so—if only they hadn’t become Heads together.

There was no way her feelings could remain amicable when she was required to stay together with James Potter for hours at a time, alone in the Prefects Room as they worked and planned, their hands brushing against each other sometimes; or when they would run away to share a hot chocolate at the kitchen, enjoying the fact that as Head Boy and Head Girl they could ignore a little more the curfew, and he’d make her laugh and would help her wipe off the chocolate out of the corner of her mouth.

Lily had fancied someone before, and she knew how to identify the signs, as pale as those previous signs seemed when it came to James. Still, she knew what meant the way she would shiver whenever he’d touched her, or how her heart would skip a beat when their eyes met without planning and he would grin deviously at her or how she would sit closer to him than she needed, just to catch a sniff more of that wonderful scent.

She was falling for James Potter and the worst part was that she’d totally missed the timing in which he fancied her back.

Because all those signs she saw in herself were unfortunately absent from him. James had apparently mastered the art of considering her as nothing more than his friend, because when he’d touched the corner of her mouth—and she had blinked to him, she really had, a blink that said we are alone now and you are touching my mouth can you just kiss me?—James had done nothing but smile nicely, friendly, drawing away.

And she absolutely knew he was treating her as just his friend when the very next week he’d asked her if she didn’t mind changing her Friday patrol rounds with Leanne Diggory. Fridays were the day they patrolled together until late in the night. Fridays were the days where they would go to the kitchen and share a drink and talk about life and it was their moment.

‘Sure,' she had said, acting as if she didn’t understand what his request meant for them. ‘Any particular reason?’

James had flushed then, his hand automatically flying to his hair like he did when he was nervous and after a moment he glanced at Leanne across the Prefects Room. Lily had followed the direction of his gaze; Leanne was smiling back at James and Lily understood even more.

‘Well,’ she said then, keeping her voice carefully light even as a crushing weight had taken residence in her chest. ‘It’s a pretty reason.'

She couldn’t fault James for not being interested in her anymore, but she couldn’t also just stop feeling that thing for him, not since there was no way for her to avoid him completely. So she resigned herself to having a platonic crush on James Potter, one that she administered very well until the day of the first Quidditch game of the season.

Lily had been so diligent that none of her friends had noticed her feelings for him—and she knew that because there was no way Mary or Dorcas would keep it silent if they suspected. She had been careful not to gasp when they were on the grounds and James had been dropped at the lake by Sirius, stepping out of the water and taking off his shirt to dry himself (but she had taken that memory to her heart and lost herself in dreams about him); she had not frowned when she saw James leaving his group at the last Hogsmeade trip to go talk with Leanne, flashing that dangerous grin of his to her (but she had punched her pillow in anger lately, wishing James had come to her).

And then there was the first Quidditch match and Gryffindor had won and in the post-game euphoria, Lily had made the tiny mistake of hugging James and keeping that guilty longing smile on her face when they had broken apart.

That’s when her gaze had met Sirius, and he had widened his eyes in surprise, taking in all that her smile meant—by the time Lily had rearranged her face into a normal expression, Sirius was smirking knowingly, that moron.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He knows. Lily knows he knows. Sirius knows Lily knows he knows.

It could be worse if it were any of other James’ friends, she reasons dismayingly. Remus would have come to talk to her and urge her to share her feelings with James; Peter would spill the word to James, unable to keep a secret from him.

But it doesn’t look like any of these other scenarios is really worse as she sees Sirius’ eyes shining with a predatory look, like a wolf that knows it got his prey.

She considers running away. But Lily is no coward, there is no place for her to go permanently and she believes in keeping her enemies closer, if Sirius could be considered as one, at any chance. That’s why she keeps her ground, pretending everything is nice and not at all bothered when she sees James is near the fireplace talking with Leanne Diggory.

It won’t fool Sirius, but Lily can keep her dignity at least.

And remaining alone at the drinks table allows for him to get closer to her, which is important for her to check how much damage she did today.

‘Enjoying the party, Evans?’

Lily nearly sighs. Nearly one year of friendship with the Marauders told her they only call her by the last name when they are in full teasing mode.

James calls her a lot by Evans, though, but it sounds nice and she rather likes it.

‘Same as always. Nice party.'

‘Oh, I thought you’d be feeling… too crowded.' Sirius throws a glance towards the fireplace and Lily doesn’t need to follow the direction of his gaze to know what he is talking about. ‘Maybe you wish you were at one of those Head meetings.'

Lily pretends to be amused. ‘Heads can enjoy parties too.'

‘One of the Heads is certainly enjoying the party if the party is happening back at the throat of Leanne Diggory—’

She can control her eyes enough to not look in their direction to confirm how literal Sirius is being right now, but she cannot stop the grimace on her face fast enough; it is a spasm of hurt and anger and jealousy, and it becomes obvious that Sirius saw all these emotions when his grin just increases.

Well, too late to still save her dignity.

‘Good for him. Now, if you excuse me—’

‘Oh, I don’t,’ he replies gladly. ‘Why, you seem a little green to me, Evans.'

‘It’s my eyes, maybe you didn’t notice their colour before.'

‘Well, I never particularly cared, but I remember a young bloke reciting that your eyes were pure emerald bestowing grace upon that poor bloke’s heart.'

‘Jade,’ she corrects before she can think better of it. ‘He compared them to jades.'

Sirius’ grin is criminal now. At least, it’s making her want to murder him.

‘My, Evans, for someone that threw a hex at him you seem to have memorized his words.'

‘He kneeled to recite that poem to me in the middle of the Common Room, what else could I do?’

‘Snogged him?’ Sirius suggests, arching one eyebrow when Lily shakes her head. ‘Just imagine, if you had snogged him back then, he might not be snogging someone else right now.'

It’s a fair assumption, but this time Lily doesn’t have to disguise any particular emotion. She doesn’t regret not going out with James before; they were far too different back then. He matured a lot since those days when he would ask her out when he would be so infatuated with her that it was annoying mostly…

Unfortunately, in the list of things he changed since growing up, his feelings for her were included.

That makes her frown.

‘He is free to do whatever he wants,’ she says, a safe mid-term.

‘Or whoever he wants.’

She closes her fists, wanting to punch something; most likely Sirius’ face, though she will settle for her pillow too.

‘Are you here for any reason or you just want to piss me, Black?’

‘Mentioning that James’ hands are all over Diggory’s bum would piss you?’

‘Ah, fuck off, Sirius,’ she says, not bothering anymore to pretend anything.

He laughs—a loud carefree sound that seems like a dog’s bark to warn that something is happening; in this case, that Lily Evans is making a fool of herself.

‘I will leave you alone—if you just admit it.’

‘Admit what?’

'Are we really playing this game, Evans? Let's not go through the five stages of Lily Evans' acceptance of her undying love for James Potter, shall we?'

Lily blinks, fighting not to splurge over her drink.

'I have no idea what you are talking about, Sirius.'

'Have it your way then. I just thought you should know, I was kidding. James' tongue is carefully kept inside his mouth.'

And he indicates the fireplace. Lily looks at it now and, sure enough, though James is still talking to Leanne, he is fairly apart from her, hands untouching, in a friendly stance.

When she looks back, Sirius is not there anymore, but wherever he is she knows he is smirking, that prat. Continue reading on AO3 :)

#Jily #Jily Fanfiction #Canon Jily #Sirius Black supports Jily #sirius and lily #this is all self-indulgent #written as a love statement to Sirius and Lily's friendship #And also because Sirius was the original Jily shipper #and he called them Lames no question about it #posted now because somewhere in the pacific is already my birthday #and since I am half-japanese I can post in Japan Time #it is known

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pippytmi · 3 years

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Howdy! For the little au trope prompt ask. 2, 2, 39. Supercorp please. Thank you! (Hope it helps your writer's block!)

Everyone knows that when the Quidditch season starts, rivalries begin.

As a general rule, Lena doesn’t mind the Gryffindors. If she had to pick a house she hated, the Slytherins would be the unfortunate lot; Veronica Sinclair and Andrea Rojas alone give the group a bad name. (That could be Lena’s own personal bias, given the fact that both girls have broken her heart, but she maintains it goes far deeper than that). But the point stands—Lena isn’t a hateful person. Generally.

There is just something about Kara Danvers that brings it out of her. The one and only Gryffindor that Lena despises is that moronic, reckless Chaser who scores nearly every single goal she takes. The Ravenclaw team is nothing to sneeze at either, but Lena hates that of all people to throw her off her game, it is a girl who blew up her broom when attempting to fly on it during her first year. Seven years that she has known Kara, and still Lena is annoyed at the mere sight of those perpetually-askew glasses, those untucked robes, that undone tie; Kara Danvers is never expected to be poised and perfect, even with all the expectations on her shoulders. She’s just so...blasé. People talk about Kara like she is destined to join a Quidditch team straight out of Hogwarts and all Kara does is stroll into the Great Hall on game day with her head in the clouds.

So far up the clouds that she apparently can’t watch where she is going, either. Lena throws Kara the nastiest glare she can muster when they just about knock each other’s heads together, but all Kara does at the sight of it is grin. She always grins, not in a way that is arrogant or snide, but stupidly amused. Stupidly amused, as if everything Lena says or does is a bloody laugh, like Lena’s simmering hatred is nothing more than an inside joke.

“Hey, Luthor,” Kara says cheerfully, and there she goes, pushing those crooked glasses up her nose. There is a scratch on one lens, and Kara has either not noticed or not bothered to repair it. “Trying to take out the competition a little early, even for you.”

“You were the one in my way, Danvers,” Lena replies tightly.

“Was I?” And here is the kicker, that golden girl charm that fools everyone: bright blue eyes peeking out beneath those eyelashes, hand rubbing at the back of her neck, undone tie slipping an inch further. Kara tilts her head unassumingly as if that is even an actual question.

It makes Lena furious. “Here’s a tip,” she says, “for here and the Quidditch field. Maybe if you got your head out of your ass, you could actually see where you’re headed.”

Kara has the audacity to look affronted. “Is this because of the Brainy incident during training? Because he and I agreed that it was a joint effort. Joint…blame. Whatever you call it.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “Just keep your aggression to yourself, Danvers,” she mutters, and then she resolutely brushes past. She has no time for blank, witty banter, especially when this is the year’s first game and she has a team to rally.

“My—? Hey,” Kara’s voice rings out, louder than necessary, and that idiot is actually following her. “Hey, wait. Lena. Do you seriously think I’m aggressive? It was an accident! Both times!” A beat. “I mean both the Brainy thing and right now. I didn’t knock into Brainy twice. I did knock James off his broom once, but you probably don’t care about that since he’s not from your house, so…well anyway, just so you know, that was also an accident.”

“I have zero interest in your training squabbles,” Lena says exasperatedly, “and you’d do well to keep that in mind.”

“Oh so this is about the Brainy incident,” Kara says. “How many times do I have to say that the training pitch was ours?”

“According to you,” Lena counters. With that she whirls around, nearly colliding into Kara’s chest, but she still manages to lift her head up high and stare down that egotistical jackass. “I know you might think you’re entitled to any space you waltz into, but some of us mere mortals actually schedule training sessions. You know, like we’re supposed to.”

“I did schedule the—!” Kara has a tendency to become flustered mid-argument, it seems, because her mouth opens but no words come blustering out. Finally she settles on scowling when she declares, “You are a piece of work, you know that? Would it kill you to apologize to me once in a while?”

“That would imply that you have apologized to me at some point,” Lena scoffs. “Which you haven’t, for the record.”

“Yes I have,” Kara is quick to disagree.

Lena crosses her arms; it’s a challenge, and Kara immediately stands a little straighter when she notices. “Oh?” Lena prompts. “Like when?”

“Like…when I knocked into Brainy.”

“I fail to see how I fit in that scenario,” Lena says, “since you didn’t break my nose.”

Kara gives a little huff, as if this back and forth is all so inconvenient right now; as if she hasn’t instigated it. “Okay, but I apologized for disrupting your practice, remember? I took complete responsibility even though it was your fault you couldn’t keep track of when your team was scheduled—”

“That was not an apology. You literally said ‘Sorry Luthor, we need this more than you do’ and then refused to leave for the next half hour!”

“But I said sorry in there, ergo, it is an apology.”

“Well then, when my team beats yours to dust I’ll be sure to apologize properly for that in that exact same sympathetic manner,” Lena sneers.

Somehow, trash talk only makes that dumb, signature Kara Danvers grin come back, completely wiping away any sign of vexation. “Oh yeah? Tell me more, wise old Ravenclaw—”

Before Lena can even begin to dissect that childish comeback (and stupid sing-songy imitation of the Sorting Hat), other students come filtering down the hall and they are practically swept up in the masses. One kid completely shoulders Lena before she even realizes what’s happening; she stumbles to the left, nearly collides with the wall, and opens her mouth to shout, but then:

“Hey!” Kara is already brandishing her wand with one hand and catching the boy’s collar with the other. “Ten points from Hufflepuff! You could’ve hurt someone, walking around without looking where you’re going.”

Lena bites her tongue to stop from making a quip on how ironic that statement is, because Kara is engrossed in a stare-off with the pimply sixth year who is demanding to see her prefect badge to prove Kara can even take points. She would normally side with the kid—anything to knock Kara Danvers down a peg—but, well. For once, Lena can’t be bothered to actively hate someone getting into a heated argument on her behalf.

Two minutes later and the boy stomps off with ten points gone from his house and a detention to boot. Kara, meanwhile, is still frowning as he leaves. “Are you okay?” she asks absentmindedly, still tracking the kid’s every movement with her eyes. “I swear, if there weren’t so many witnesses I would’ve hexed him.”

“Winning move for a prefect, I’m sure,” Lena says dryly, and Kara turns towards her with that slow-growing buffoonish smile and another sheepish nudge of her glasses. Her next words kind of just fall out, almost as if she’d never formed them in her mouth but in the deep recesses of her subconscious alone: “You know, you confuse me.”

“Huh?” Another nudge. The smile slips a fraction, but just enough to show Kara is slightly confused by the change in subject.

You confuse me, Lena wants to repeat. You are the opposite of self-aware. You are messy, and reckless, and selfless whenever it counts and it’s confusing because all I can really hate you for is being able to get away with being imperfect and still be adored by everyone.

But none of those words, thankfully, leave her head. All she says is, “Your approach to discipline confuses me. It’s not like he purposely tried to run into me—ten points might have been too harsh.”

“This coming from the girl who once threatened to curse me into oblivion for tripping her when we were twelve?” Kara’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who are you and what have you done to Lena Luthor? No, hold on, I know. You’re really Jess in disguise, right?”

“Hilarious, Danvers. I wouldn’t quit Quidditch, it might be the only place you’re suited for,” Lena mocks, but all Kara does is laugh.

“Nope, definitely Lena,” Kara says, and the way she says it is almost…fond. Come to think of it, Lena can’t remember a time where Kara actually called her Lena. It’s always Luthor and Danvers and stop breaking the faces of my best players and never—never anything else.

Lena clears her throat and looks away; she can’t take another second of those warm, bright eyes. “Whatever,” she says. “I…guess I’ll see you on the pitch.”

“Sure thing,” Kara says, and she takes a step back, tucking her wand into her pocket. “I’ll be the one rocking the winning team uniform.”

Slowly, Lena begins to feel the corner of her mouth twitch. Completely unbidden, completely unpredictable. “Dream on, Danvers.” She allows the space between them to grow, but their eyes remain locked, and the air feels heavy—thick—and the weight of their shared gaze holds a meaning Lena can’t possibly unpack right now.

But Kara’s tongue pokes out between her teeth cheerfully, and she doesn’t appear half as bothered by this development. “Always, if you’re in them,” she says, twists a little on her heel to walk away, but she pauses while she is still in earshot. “You know—next time you can just thank me for defending you.”

“You mean abusing your power as a prefect,” Lena replies automatically even as her head is running a mile a minute; even as Kara is getting farther and farther away and the scratch on her glasses lens catches the light.

“That too!” Kara shouts as she gets lost in the crowd, and damn her, Lena has to put her hand over her mouth to hide the absolute idiotic smile that has formed on her own face.

(Joint blame indeed, Lena muses, and she figures that she might as well form a rivalry with the Slytherins instead of the Gryffindors after all).

#this is both a threat and a reminder that im still working on these #😌😌😌#supercorp #supergirl #bisexualgoof #i need a fic tag #disclaimer that i still do not know anything about hp #im doing more research on harry potter than i do writing smh

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dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years

Text

Persephone's Symphony | Day One | Persephone

Hey lovelies— so as per my usual shenanigans I've decided this will have no schedule and that I will play god to my own creation because what is life without some chaos? The pros are you might not have to wait a week between updates, the cons are you might have to wait a week between updates. In all seriousness, please enjoy my lovelies!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: Mentions of death, at times semi-graphic, eventual smut

Word count: 3.1k

Previous | Next

Master List

She can’t hear what the man in the truck says to him— the walls of this house are surprisingly thick. She supposes that’s a good thing. It means she will be able to go about her days normally while cooped up here. Well, as normal as possible. She doubts she’ll be able to get away with her three am rom-com marathons and ice-cream binges. She doubts she’ll get away with screaming in her sleep— and in the shower and at the breakfast table and when doing any, little thing that makes her remember that her life is one, constant nightmare.

It’s only three days— all she has to do is stay awake for three days.

While his head— her body guard’s head— is turned she leans against the kitchen sink, inching back the white lace curtain for what feels like the hundredth time. It’s like a little game at this point. She peeks at him, his eyes snap to hers, and she squeals and drops the curtain. Thank god the walls are thick. It’s almost unnerving how tuned he is to every little movement— not almost, it is unnerving but she supposes that is what makes him a good fit for this job. A good fit for keeping her alive. Like she has been doing for months now, she ignores the way her chest squeezes painfully.

Through the little strip of window that she allows for herself, she traces over his features one last time. Cropped black hair, a square jaw, at least two days worth of stubble. He looks like a bodyguard— rough, dangerous, manly— and that’s before taking into account the sheer size of the man. She is on her tiptoes, one hand pushing against the stainless steel below her for dear life, and she still has to crane her neck to properly see his face. She refuses to let her eyes wander any further than that— she had already glimpsed at the rest of him when he had made the short walk from the truck to the house. She already knows he’s massive.

His eyebrow twitches and she drops the curtain— she may not be as fast as he is but she’s a quick learner. Had she held the curtain open longer she is sure his eyes would have flicked to hers again. Those are the rules of the game, after all. She hears a muted thumping and the door handle jiggle from across the room, spinning towards the faded farmhouse door. She watches as the door handle turns, her throat tight, wondering where all the air in the room went— it was there a second ago.

The door pushes open and she jumps away from the sink, only just realizing what it’ll look like if he comes inside to her still hunched over the window. Of course, he’s already seen her but that’s beside the point. Part of the game is not talking about the game. A boot comes into view— the black, military grade kind— and it hits her like a punch to the gut that this is real— there really is someone out there trying to kill her. Now she really can’t breath. She can only force her lungs to expand to draw in some oxygen before her bodyguard finds her sprawled in an unconscious heap on the ground.

The boot is quickly followed by a leg, which is then, by default, followed by a torso and a head. A head that turns and watches her freeze, red handed like a bandit, in the middle of the kitchen. Gods, she should have just kept leaning against the sink— this is worse! Her hands are up and everything, shot out in front of her like she’s about to jump him or something. Yes, her— the girl currently in a hoodie that pools around her legs, displaying her knobby knees and bad posture— about to jump him— the man who had to practically duck to get through the doorway. She could laugh. In fact, she almost wishes he would laugh at her. She wishes he would do anything but look at her with that blank expression and those ice blue eyes.

“Uhm—” she blinks, trying to think of something to say other than holy shit you’re a giant— which, for the record, is what she wants to say— “hi?”

Are you serious, y/n?

He tilts his head at her and she almost cries. Not the same fear ridden, heartbroken, panicky cries of late. More so the awkward, why the fuck would you say that to the man charged with keeping you alive brand of cries. The normal kind. She drops her hands to her sides, slipping them into the pouch of her hoodie and tangling her fingers together. She can only allow herself to display one embarrassing thing at a time.

The man stays silent for a moment, each second of which makes her cheeks flame hotter and hotter, before finally opening his mouth. “Hi.”

Her chest deflates— some of the heat subsiding. He copied her. Whether purposefully or mockingly it alleviates some of the stupidity she’s feeling. She takes a few steps backwards, her bare feet pittering rather loudly over the worn hardwood. Well, that didn’t last long— there’s that embarrassment again.

“I’m y/n,” she squeaks out— gods, is Mickey Mouse in the building? “I guess you already know that though, huh?”

It was a stroke of genius putting her hands in her pocket— at least now he can’t see the way they shake furiously. She has to resist smashing her head against the sink. Nothing about this situation is optimal, to say the very least. Here she is making small talk with a man who could tear her in half. Her eyes drift to where his red henley pulls taut around his biceps— are they bigger than her head?

“James—” her eyes flick back up, face hotter than the sun, both from her blatant staring and the deep gravel of his voice— “but most people call me Bucky.”

Her eyes widen. She doesn’t know why, probably because she’s an idiot or because she isn’t expecting him to say more than three words. He seems like the strong, silent type. Maybe that is just the rom-coms though. Maybe her brain is just mush now.

“Okay,” she all but whispers, backing further into the sink. His piercing eyes have yet to leave her— something which makes her knees knock together and fingers clench. “Which should I call you?”

He tenses, his dark eyebrows pulling together, and she has to swallow the bile that rises in her throat. It’s day one and she’s already offending him. She pulls her lip between her teeth, biting down until the tangy, metallic taste that she has grown too familiar with these past months floods her mouth. She tells herself that she does it to keep from cursing. Lying to herself is another game she likes to play.

The longer he remains quiet, the more she regrets asking the question. His blue eyes are still latched on her, drifting over the space between her eyes and her busted lip, but somehow they also seem miles away. She can’t tell if he’s looking at her— seeing her— or if he’s seeing something else entirely. It isn’t until she pushes off the counter, taking a hesitant step forward, her foot slapping against the wood like it’s trying to embarrass her again, that he blinks. She pulls one of her hands from the puddle that is her hoodie, sliding it over her hair. Can he see the way it shakes?

Probably.

“Nevermind, forget I asked. It was a dumb ques—”

“Bucky,” the word is rushed out, falling over her own stuttered babbling. He slows after that, his face remaining stoic but his cheeks dusting with the slightest hint of pink. “Call me Bucky.”

She doesn’t point it out— she doesn’t have a death wish. Her being here right now, standing across from a literal giant, barefoot and shaking, is proof enough of that. Instead she nods gently, lowering her hand slowly. He’s not going to attack her— he isn’t a wolf— but still she takes the precaution. Better safe than sorry.

“Bucky it is then.”

He nods stiffly and she pretends like it doesn’t make her hands shake harder. She waits for him to speak, eyes drifting over the blue cupboards and the breakfast nook, taking in the applications of the home and trying not to scream. She feels so out of place, not used to the warmth in the room— the lingering smell of yeast and the flowers in the vase on the table. She used to bake all the time. Now she can barely bring herself to microwave frozen dinners. The sun that filters through the crack in the curtains and lands against her cheek feels like pure fire. She spends her days in the dark— she wouldn’t be surprised if she was allergic to the sun itself now. Allergic to all the things she used to enjoy.

The silence is too much— she has to speak to keep her throat from closing. If she doesn’t then it may not open again.

“So—” she draws the word out, her eyes flopping to the floor where her toe scuffs against a particularly worn board— “we just kinda follow each other around then?”

His face doesn’t change, his lips remaining in the same, expressionless line— a master of one trade. “Pretty much. I follow you.”

“And make sure I don’t die.” She fills the rest in— there’s no point not to. He’s definitely seen the pictures.

Finally his expression shifts, his lips pressing together tersely. It’s an answer in it’s own right— he pities her. He shifts his weight between his feet, the floorboards creaking below him. It could just be her but the sound slices through the room— loud and unforgiving— and she can’t stop the way she flinches. He freezes, obviously noticing her reaction. She almost slaps herself. Leave it to her to make an already tense situation worse. Is it going to be this awkward the entire time?

“You’re not going to die.” His voice is softer than his boots, barely reaching her ears as it cuts through the rigid atmosphere.

She doesn’t know what to say— how do she tell her bodyguard that she doesn’t believe him? He’s supposed to be the one saving her life. It feels risky to suggest that he wouldn’t be able to do that. Like telling the universe that she wants to die. She doesn’t want to die. It’s just hard not to think about death when it follows her everywhere she goes. For twenty-four years she was just y/n. Now look at her.

The queen of death.

She doesn’t know what to say so instead she changes the subject.

“Are you hungry?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She makes grilled cheese for lunch. It is nothing special but the smell of the butter alone makes the energy she has to scrape together to make them worth it. She can’t remember the last time she cooked like this— the last time she tasted anything but freezer burnt macaroni and lumpy gravy. A couple times she almost drops the spatula, her fingers not used to having to be so coordinated, but the promise of melted cheddar has her fighting through the tremors. That and the audience of one, standing next to her with his arms crossed like he’s judging her culinary skills rather than looking for snipers.

It’s all in her head. That’s what she tells herself at least.

“You want extra cheese?”

She can feel Bucky’s eyes on the side of her face— is there something on her cheek? “Sure.”

It’s all in her head.

She flips the sandwiches, watching as the fluffy white bread is replaced with a perfect, golden brown toast. Her stomach growls, the sound somehow louder than the sizzling pan in her hand. The scream bubbles in her throat again— fuck. Why must everything she does be so humiliating? Why can’t she just keep it together for three days!

“Bacon?” Cue the voice crack.

“Bacon?” He repeats the word back like he hasn’t the faintest clue what a pig is— like somehow he’s a giant of a man but has never touched a piece of meat in his entire life.

Like it’s the dumbest question he has ever been asked. She swallows— hard— her cheeks pooling with heat again. She’s starting to wonder if it ever even left. If he asks she’ll blame it on the steam rising off the pan or her hoodie or both. But he won’t ask— he won’t speak until he has to. It did not take her long to gather that fact.

“You’ve never had bacon on grilled cheese?” It feels like he’s glaring at her.

It’s all in her damn head.

The floorboards groan underneath Bucky again and instead of flinching this time she tries to imagine what they might be saying. Save me, he’s crushing me! She flicks her eyes down, glancing at those military grade boots and then at her own toes, tiny and feeble compared to the size of his gear. One wrong step and her foot would likely be broken. She isn’t too worried about that though— he seems careful. His movements thus far have been slow and calculated, skirting around her and leaving at least a few feet between them at all times. Maybe that isn’t to keep from stepping on her though— maybe he just doesn’t like her. She wouldn’t blame him.

“You say it like that’s unheard of.” He doesn’t say it angrily but there’s no exuberance in his voice either— just the monotone she’s come to expect. It’s been one hour and she can already see how the next seventy-one are going to play out.

“Where I’m from it is.”

There’s a pause— the sound of butter crackling against the pan and of the steady picking up of rain against the kitchen window as it eats away at the sunshine— and she’s expecting the conversation to drop there. He isn’t there to entertain her, after all. That’s what the TV is for— what Leonardo DiCaprio is for.

But then there’s an answer. “Where are you from?”

The corner of her mouth lifts— an action so foreign she can practically see the dust shedding from her rusty smile— and she turns from the frypan long enough to meet his icy eyes and to throw out an arm, putting the front of her hoodie on display for the stoic man.

“SoCal.”

Her mouth lifts higher when Bucky raises an eyebrow, nodding slowly. He could be mocking her but she chooses to believe he’s interested. She chooses to believe that they are making progress and that she won’t have to spend three days talking to the walls. She turns back to the sandwiches, flipping them for the last time before laying down a few strips of bacon next to them.

She isn’t expecting him to keep going but she also isn’t complaining when his voice tickles her ears again. “Caltech, huh? S’that Pasadena?”

She tries to keep her smile from morphing into a full blown grin— she isn’t sure if her poor lips would be able to handle it. It’s been too long since she last used her mouth this much; both for smiling and talking. “Yes sir— born and raised.”

He hums and she watches from the corner of her eye as he leans to the window, peering out of it for a moment. There’s no one out there— at least she strongly doubts there is. This place is in the middle of nowhere. She hasn’t even heard a car since the truck that dropped Bucky off drove away. It’s supposed to be peaceful. She doesn’t see it. All she sees is the dreadful but necessary silence— at least hopefully that way they’ll hear someone coming.

“How about you? Where are you from—” she flips the bacon, pushing it around the pan, her mouth watering at the thought of the greasy, gooey goodness she’s about to consume— “You mind finding some plates?”

She hears him rummage through the cupboard above his head— well, above her head, in front of his— before two mismatched pieces of dishware appear before her nose. Grabbing them, she lets the corners of her lips tick up just the tiniest bit further.

“Indiana— but spent most of my time in Brooklyn.”

“It shows.” She muses, not turning to see whether or not he appreciates the comment.

It’s true regardless— she can hear some of the mannerisms of New York in his voice. Not many. He hasn’t said enough for her to truly gauge just how strong his accent is. Still it’s there, in the gruffness of his tone, just like she’s sure the SoCal shines through in her. At least it normally does— lately she hasn’t exactly been the picture of sunshine.

She removes the sandwiches from the pan, layering them carefully onto the plates. After staring at them for a moment she settles on the one that she wants, handing Bucky the bigger of the two. It’s only fair— he could probably eat at least four. She watches as the giant gives it a glance, rolling her eyes when he hesitantly lifts it to his lips, taking the smallest of bites. Is he afraid of a sandwich?

“I promise I’m not trying to poison you— I need you to stay alive, remember?”

He only grunts.

She has to turn away when he takes a bigger bite, her eyes refusing to detach themselves from his lips. Unprofessional and inappropriate. The orphan and the bodyguard. She takes a bite of her own sandwich, shoving the thought to the back of her mind and replacing it with the heavenly taste of gooey cheese, melted butter, and greasy bacon. She doesn’t have to dissect the thoughts of her delicious food like she would have to the other ones. Cheese doesn’t require a checklist about whether or not her grief quota is up to code. Clearly it’s not— clearly she’s just sick in the head. She takes another bite.

The two eat in silence for a couple minutes, the tension in the room melting for the first time since she introduced herself. Thank gods for cheese.

After a few more moments Bucky sets his plate down, turning back to the window. At first she thinks she is hearing things— like her mind is now also playing tricks on her as well as making her feel like a terrible person— but then it registers and she has to fight back another inappropriate smile.

“You were right about the bacon.”

Maybe three days won’t be so bad.

____________

Tag List: @xhollycowx @remembered-license

#Bucky Barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fic #bucky imagine #mcu fic #mcu imagine #marvel cinematic universe fic #marvel cinematic universe #Persephone's Symphony

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hello-everyfandom · 4 years

Text

"But, you did insult my boyfriend, and that simply won’t slide.”

Warnings: Horrible, horrible language and bad words.

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Words: 1.2k

Summary: Remus Lupin has a short, fiery girlfriend who isn’t afraid of telling someone off.

(Y’all I’m 4′10 and I literally dream of being Remus Lupin’s short girlfriend)

Remus Lupin wasn’t necessarily quiet nor shy. He spoke out in classes and made snarky comments to the boys. He’s made conversation with at least more than half of his year and made a lasting impression on his teacher’s that would surely give him good marks on his papers. However, compared to you, his lovely girlfriend, he might as well be considered silent. Remus loved the way you resembled a firecracker, loud and ready to explode. It was both endearing and entertaining to see your hot temper and rather an eruptive self as you were also quite short. Compared to your large and lanky boyfriend, he could easily tuck your head under his chin; and you had, sadly, to go on your tippy-toes in order to give him a right kiss. Nevertheless, you had quite a fiery personality and had a way of capturing a room with your words. Heaven should bless any daft bloke who dares piss you off, because not only were you extremely skilled in hexes and jinxes, you were also skilled in the most dangerous of all: words. Remus feels an immense amount of pride swelling in his chest, pounding against his ribs when he sees you standing up for what’s right. Earlier this year, you stood your ground against Nathanial Vincents, a Slytherin in the year above you, who was unrightfully picking on a Hufflepuff. He remembered hearing a commotion come from the Grand Courtyard and Sirius turning from the crowd giving him a holler,

“Mate, get over here. Your girlfriend is about to murder Vincent!”

Remus pushed forward, saying a polite excuse me before standing between his group of mates and staring at the scene in front of him. He gaped as he saw you, hair pulled up into a ponytail with strands flailing about, wand out, and an infuriated look on your face.

James slapped Remus’ shoulder with amusement, “This Lil one’s a firecracker, huh?”

Remus barely heard him as he watched you yell, “You slimy, absolute arsed-faced, foul botched piece of sperm. If I hear you ever even utter that word again, I will rip off your balls and shove them down your bloody throat!” Remus could tell you were absolutely enraged as he watched your fist clench and unclench rapidly.

“You’re nothing but a blood traitor. You think you’re so brave for standing up for this disgusting mudblood.” Vincent pointed at the first-year Hufflepuff who was fighting back tears. The crowd gasped, and a few people in the crowd even yelled at him. Remus watched your eyes narrow and your cheeks become red with fury,

“How dare you!” you raised your wand, and before you could utter a devastating jinx, Remus rushed from the crowd and grabbed your arm.

“I know you’re upset,” he whispered in your ear softly, “but don’t give him your time of day. He’s nothing but a prat anyways.”

You huffed and sank closer to Remus, keeping an eye on Vincent who seemed to have fright glimmer in his eyes. You glanced at the small Hufflepuff near you who stumbled a small ‘thank you’ before disappearing into the crowd. Sirius, Peter, and James all joined you with praise and a pat on the back.

“I thought the poor man was going to piss himself, then I would’ve likely pissed myself from laughing so hard.” Sirius wrapped an arm around James who said,

“Look at our little Firecracker! Remus, you’ve got a handful here.”

Remus blushed and scratched the back of his neck. He grabbed your hand and began to lead you away from the Courtyard when Vincent yelled with shaky newfound bravery formed from embarrassment,

“Go on then, maybe after you’ve given your bitch of a boyfriend a shag, you can give the rest of us a turn. We all know you’re nothing but a blood traitor slag,”

All four marauders turned around immediately, gripping these wands. Remus gritted his teeth whilst the boys cursed twisted words at Vincent’s face. You were still facing the wall, letting out a bored sigh.

“Normally, I’d hex you into oblivion. However, I have come to the realization that you, Vincent, have a small penis.” Gasps and giggles spread across the crowd as Vincent’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, “How do I know that, you ask? Not because I’m a slag, no, but because why else would someone go through all the effort into being such a shitty person? Truthfully, you can insult me, I can’t be arsed to give a second thought about you. But, you did insult my boyfriend, and” you tutted your tongue, “that simply won’t slide.”

Before anyone could really comprehend anything that happened and before Vincent could even pick up his limp little wand to defend himself, you had whipped around at such a speed, your hair nearly came loose from your ponytail. You snapped your wand at him and with extreme gusto, you shouted,

“Furnunculus!”

The boys and your amazed boyfriend watched Nathanial fly backward into some shrubs and land with a thud. His Slytherin friends rushed over to help him up and slightly dispersed enough so the crowd could see the horror you had placed upon him. On top of his greasy, disgusting face laid a thousand boils filled with yellow puss. A smell emanated from his pimples and covered not only the entirety of his head, but also his neck as well. Nathaniel let out a shriek of curses before storming away.

“Moony,” Peter said slowly, “I think you may have to marry this woman.”

Remus swallowed and agreed, “Wormtail, I couldn’t agree more.”

Sirius and James were too busy rolling around on the grass, holding their stomachs to say anything. Wheezing and huffing, Sirius tried to stand up only to fall on his arse.

“Anyways, boys, shall we head to Dinner?” you put your wand back in your robe and asked innocently, “Oh, sweetheart,” you said, reaching up to wipe Remus’ lips, “You have a little chocolate on your face,”

Remus blushed and reached to hold your hand, he bent his knees and lowered his head to press a kiss on your awaiting lips, “You’re amazing,” he breathed.

“More than amazing!” James finally stood, desperately catching his breath, “This woman is godly.”

When classes started on Monday, you had forgotten all about your moment as a hex Goddess and walked the hallways with Remus. Hand in hand, you pointed at numerous things and made some particularly crude jokes that while Remus laughed at, found to be too inappropriate to be told anywhere else but Remus’ bed.

“Oh bloody, fucking, shit balls. I forgot my extra parchment. Buggering asscheeks and tossing bird shite, I think I may have to go back to the dorm to grab some.” You said quite loudly. Remus had gotten used to apologizing for you to the people around you, he sent a friendly nod to the fellow students who turned to see who was cursing like a sailor and a small apology to the Professors who so unfortunately overheard you.

“Sorry,” he mouthed at a second-year Ravenclaw who stared with shocked wide eyes.

“Love, calm down, yeah? Here,” He reached into his bag to pull out a few slips of parchment, “not a problem.” He slipped it into your bag making you smile happily.

“Remus, I swear if you asked me to chop off my tits, I’d do it. That’s how much I love you,”

Your boyfriend hummed, again used to your silly language, and said “I love you too, Darling.” pressed a small kiss to your cheek and continued to walk down the corridors to class.

#remus lupin imagines #remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin oneshot #harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #marauders imagine #marauder imagine #jame potter imagine #sirius black imagine

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lyallblacklupin · 3 years

Text

His wish, My wish.

Remus realized after two years that it wasn’t a crush, it was love. He was going to have his love in his life by granting him his wish. And it was just loving him back.

Four-poster beds with their backs to the scarlet walls of the dormitory, a table and a chair spilling ink-blotched parchments, creating a happy mess, and a faint aroma of coffee and home. Something an eleven year old Remus Lupin had thought he would never get enough of, until one day.

One day when he was seventeen, something else was clouding most of his area of thinking. It was like a thick mist surrounding his mind, mixture of the scent of musky sweats and cigarettes. Then a certain vision gradually takes shape. Long hair. Damp, mostly. Thick dark eyebrows. Eyes, silver dissolving into a deceiving blue. Sharp grin with teeth glowing like pearls. The tiny creases near the corner of those eyes, a vivid twinkle lingering about him, making his presence more discrete.

“Remus…” And that voice. That silky youthful voice, which deserved to be savored with his closed eyes. With Deep and long breaths, inhaling every ounce of softness of it.

“Remus?”

“Remus!”

He bolted upright from his resting position, and found a very confused looking Sirius. Parted lips, flushed cheeks on his bright and snowy skin. Remus swallowed down the lump that had formed in his gullet.

“Uh, Sirius?” He wanted to kick himself for being barely audible, but apparently, Sirius was staring at him. There was a strange tension between them, but then finally the other spoke.

“You were…smiling the entire time,” Sirius’ face was unreadable, “Were you daydreaming about someone?”

“What? No. I was…I didn’t know I was smiling…”

“Maybe, must be a hallucination.” Sirius replied stiffly.

Silence. Tension. Uncomfortable breathing.

“You wanted to say something?” Remus asked.

“Oh, yeah!” Sirius’ face suddenly lit up, “I was wondering if you wanted to come with me. I was going to the Astronomy Tower.”

Remus thought this was a very intimate question because Sirius would usually go to Astronomy Tower if he wanted to be by himself.

“You want me to?” He asked hesitantly.

“Yes.” Sirius grinned, and Remus was pulling himself from swooning into him, “I feel like ever since we have returned from Hogwarts, I think we haven’t had a chance to talk.”

“Talk?” Remus never intended to say that out loud, so internally he was cursing himself.

“Yeah, I mean not something specific, of course. Just you know hangout…” Sirius smiled coyly, and this was a brand-new smile. Remus witnessed something very different about him. Was he blushing?

“Yeah, I think I’ll like that.”

----

That was not an exaggeration. Definitely not. The stars were luminous and more than millions in the sky. There was no moon, but Remus felt that their haven was illuminating by the shining stars. Their haven. Only theirs’. He looked at Sirius’ serene face, and he felt like he was drunk, even though they didn’t have any alcohol around them. Sirius turned his face to him. His eyes went slightly wide and, his mouth quirked up in an almost smile when he saw Remus staring at him.

“Hey…” He whispered. And a rapid shiver ran down Remus’ spine.

“Hi.” Remus whispered back.

“You are staring.”

“No.” He didn’t turn away his gaze.

“You are.”

“No.” Still not turning.

“You are.”

“No.”

A tranquil silence of two seconds.

“I love you.”

“No—what?”

Sirius didn’t look away, but his eyes were sad. Their faces mere centimeters away from each other.

“Why does that surprise you?” Sirius asked him, fake smile curling his lips.

“No, it doesn’t. I mean you love me like you love James, and Peter, right?” Remus didn’t move an inch, even though he wanted to. But then, Sirius did a very strange thing. He lifted up his right hand, his fingers coming near Remus’ face. He didn’t move away. It was more like, he couldn’t move away. It was like he was hexed to be grounded, literally.

Sirius’ slender fingers traced the bumps on his face. He realized that he was touching his scars. He was curious why Sirius chose to do that instead of answering his question. Maybe he didn’t have an answer.

He started humming. Or maybe he did have an answer, but chose not to say it.

“Remus…”

“Why are you calling me Remus?”

“Because it’s your name.”

“You call me Moony.”

“I do. Moony.” Sirius chuckled, and his breath hit Remus’ face, “You are so…”

“Weird? Daft? Stupid?” Remus suggested.

“I was going to say magical, but yeah you are so stupid.”

They both laughed together. They were sitting too close. Remus knew that Sirius was sad because this was the version of him he had never seen. He was not loud in this very moment, he was not reckless, he was not whiny, arrogant, self-centered, egoistic—

“I wish you never leave me.”

Remus thought he was hit by a something large and heavy. His heart took a fall. Falling in the pits of nowhere.

“What?” He asked under his breath because he was unsure if his vocal cord would help him scoop up words after what Sirius had said.

“I wish I could be around you all the time.” Sirius’ eyes were glistening. Remus could see the sky reflecting in those eyes. The stars sparkling in there. “I wish I could comprehend what I feel about you. I wish it was easy. I wish it didn’t have to be so complicated.”

“You wish for a lot of things.” Remus finally spoke, but Sirius laughed.

“Yeah, I guess. I shouldn’t.” The hint of smile was still there, but his gaze was now lifted up to see the stars again.

“Yeah, you shouldn’t.” Remus saw Sirius’ hands sitting in his own lap. So white and pink even under their dimly emitted haven. He picked it up, and heard Sirius gasp by the touch. He didn’t intertwine his hand with his. He just held it and covered it by his other hand. He watched Sirius. He looked so small and vulnerable, but so open and raw. This was how he looked.

Remus was sure now in the moment, that he was the only one who had seen this Sirius. He didn’t know to do with him. He just wanted to make sure that he was loved, and NOT abandoned. He partly knew why Sirius wanted him to never leave. He wanted something. Something he was not sure Remus would ever give him. Meanwhile, Remus also wanted something. Something he was not sure Sirius would ever give.

Remus guessed they were both wrong.

“You shouldn’t.” He repeated, “But you can wish for only one thing. Just one. Will that be enough?”

“More than enough.”

“Then, make a wish, Sirius.”

He closed his eyes for few seconds, and then opened it.

“Did you?”

“Yes.” Sirius replied.

“I promise I will never leave you.” Remus leaned in, closer enough that his lips were almost brushing Sirius’ cheekbone.

“You are not even close.” Sirius inhaled sharply, but not loudly.

“I promise I will never let you be alone.”

Remus held the other face in his hand now.

“My hand is cold now.”

“But you face isn’t.” Remus tittered, and so they both shaking with laughter, again. It was a stupid thing to laugh at, but that stupidity was so meaningful and beautiful.

“I promise that I will love you, no matter what, if you let me.”

And then, Silence. It happened so fast. Remus had said all of that as if it came straight from his heart, without any hesitation or doubts. He opened his eyes. He didn’t realize he had his eyes closed. He held Sirius’ gaze. Tears were still swimming within those brims. Remus wanted him to spill them. It was a weird desire. But then they did, as if the tears heard him. As if Sirius heard him.

Tears rolled down his cheek, and Remus kissed them away. He didn’t know it was going to be more heartwarming than he the thought it would be. Sirius didn’t stay in his place now. He was leaning in, shifting closer.

He wanted this.

As Sirius put in hands on Remus’ shoulders, Remus took the opportunity to wrap his arms around his delicate torso, and made him sit on his lap. He landed on Remus with a thud that bubbled out a sweet chortle from him.

They held each other just like that. Sirius’ head on Remus’ shoulders, while Remus rubbed soothing circles on his back. He could feel his spine there, and ribs too. He could feel them as parts of his own body. Every time Sirius sniffled, he would squeezed him a little tighter.

“What are you thinking?” Sirius murmured.

“A lot of things.” Remus said.

“Tell me one.”

“The fact how different you feel.”

Sirius pulls gently away to look him in the eyes.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, it’s not.”

Remus was thinking that all of the past two years, he had been attracted to Sirius because he was beautiful, defiant, smart, and talented. Everything was perfect about him. Everyone was attracted to Sirius. However. However. However.

Remus was attracted to him even more, as if he had just known a new Sirius Black. A real one. He was not just attracted to him. He was in love with him. His heart was still falling. It was falling in love. He was falling in love.

A soft brush of thumb wiped the tear that Remus didn’t realize had rolled down his own cheek. Sirius was fondly looking at him. Everything about him was different. Remus knew that all of this was just for him.

“This doesn’t have to make sense, huh?”

“It doesn’t.” Remus replied.

“We can be ourselves.” It sounded more like a reassuring question, than a reassurance itself.

“We can be anything we want to be, Sirius.” He tugged down the thick black lock behind his ear, “We can love each other as much as we want to.”

Remus knew that this world was too cruel to peculiarity. Queerness was one of those things.

“We are living for ourselves. We are not living for the world.” Again, Sirius sounded like he needed reassurance.

“I’ll take care of you, if you let me.” Remus pulled him closer than he already was. He nodded.

“I love these stars.” Sirius spoke after a while, “And I love you.”

“You are my star.” Remus smiled at him.

“That’s more than ‘I love you’”

That made them both laugh. Harder.

Who would have thought that few hours ago, a scrawny boy who was daydreaming about falling in love with his best friend, had now not confessed, but was told that his best friend loved him more than he ever did?

“You made my wish come true, Moony.”

#wolfstar #Wolfstar fanfiction #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #remus x sirius #sirius x lupin #Sirius x Remus #SIRIUSxREMUS #hp marauders #hogwarts #Harry Potter

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engie-ivy · 3 years

Note

do you have a fic where remus confronts Sirius of believing he was the spy (like maybe canon divergence - they all live) and refuses to agree that just because there was a war doesn’t mean he should’ve not trusted him or used the excuse that he’s a werewolf not to believe him

Hi!

I have fics that deal with the suspicions and false accusations during the war! But these do take on a more Fluffy path, and eventually lead to them being understanding and forgiving of each other's behaviour😅

You might like the confrontation in

If Tomorrow the World Crumbles

“Well, what am I supposed to bloody think, then?” Sirius shouted back. “You’re obviously keeping things from me! How is this sketchy behaviour going to make anything better? Why couldn’t you just come talk to me, so you could have proven that you’re not-”

“Because I shouldn’t have to proof anything to you!” A hint of pain was seeping through in Remus’s frustration. “All my life I’ve had to proof myself to everyone, and all my life I’ll have to continue proving myself, simply because of what I am, but not to you. Never to you. You’re supposed to believe in me! You’re the one person who’s supposed to be on my side.”

And here's an excerpt from my longer fic

If Only You Knew the Whole Story

He’s sitting in a chair. His arms are handcuffed behind his back and his ankles are chained to the legs of the chair. Protective spells are placed around him, making it impossible to come any closer than half a meter in his vicinity, though there isn’t much he could even do without his wand. His long, dark hair is tied in a messy bun with loose strands falling over his face, and he still has the muggle clothes on he was wearing when he got arrested.

He’d been wearing muggle clothes a lot. When James teased him about it, he told him to go try and ride a motorbike in flapping wizarding robes and then come talk to him. No one particularly minded seeing him in tight fitted muggle clothes anyway, as the man has always been unfairly good-looking.

He looks up as Emmeline enters the room, his grey eyes empty and emotionless.

Sirius Black.

“I didn’t think you’d come back. You seemed rather pissed off when you left the last time.”

“I’m pissed off at you by default. But I did some fact-checking on your previous claims.”

Black rolls his eyes. “If you looked him up in the Animagus register, I could have told you-”

“Actually, I went to a more direct source.”

“Hello, Black.” Remus steps in the room, his eyes focused somewhere on the logo on Black’s worn-out band shirt, deliberately not meeting Black’s eyes, his mask of indifference firmly in place. Emmeline understands his need to not show any emotion in front of Black.

Black’s face, on the other hand, is a whole different story. It’s hard to imagine his eyes were so void of emotion just a moment ago, as a variety of emotions passes over his face.

Disbelief. Hope. Fear. Guilt. Pain.

When he speak, soft and barely audible, his voice sounds so broken that it sends a shock through Emmeline’s body. She can tell Remus feels the same, as his eyes snap up to Black’s face.

“Remus? Please...”

“I messed up, Remus. I messed up so bad. But if only you knew the whole story-”

“You’re going to tell me the whole story,” Remus interrupts, his voice cold and bitter. “The real story.” He opens his palm to reveal the small flask of Veritaserum.

Now, Emmeline was expecting anger. Anger as Black would realise he wouldn’t be able to make up stories anymore. Anger as he saw his plans of manipulating Remus with his lies go up in smoke. Emmeline may have understood shock, that they would actually dare to force him to take the truth potion, or maybe even panic, now that his ploy is officially over.

What Emmeline did not expect, however, was the look of sheer hope on Black’s face, like he’s a dehydrated man who has been wandering the dessert for days and Remus is holding a glass of fresh, cold water.

“Yes,” he says pleading. “Yes, please...”

It completely catches Emmeline off guard, and she can tell Remus is also thrown off. He stares at Black dumbfounded and seems unsure what to do next. He fumbles with the flask, opening it and sliding it across the table towards Black.

As they can’t get near Black with the protective charms surrounding him, Emmeline doesn’t know what they would have done of he had simply refused to drink the potion, but then again, that would have said enough of itself, wouldn’t it? Now, however, Black wastes no time in bending forward, taking the flask between his lips and throwing his head back, gulping the potion down.

After Black has dropped the empty bottle back on the table, he sits motionless in his chair, his eyes closed. Remus is staring at him intently, his mouth in a hard line and his knuckles turning white where he’s gripping the edge of the table. The moment can’t have lasted more than a few minutes, but it feels like an eternity. Despite all her talk about only doing this for Remus, not believing anything will come of it, Emmeline feels nerves coursing through her body. There’s a heavy tension hanging in the room and the air feels thick. Emmeline can only imagine what this moment must be like for Remus.

After what seems like hours, Black slowly opens his eyes. “It wasn’t me.”

So few words hardly more than a whisper, but their impact couldn’t have been greater if he had shouted them in their faces.

Remus’s legs threaten to give out from under him and he supports himself on the table, staring at the wood while gasping for air.

“It wasn’t me, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t me.” Black repeats the words like a mantra.

Remus lifts his head, and upon seeing the pain, hope and confusion on his face, Emmeline wants to run to him, support him and start questioning Black, but at the same time she feels like she needs to stay out of it for now, this needs to be between them.

“What wasn’t you?” Remus breathes. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Everything. Any of it. The murders, the betrayal. Rem, I wasn’t even the Secret-Keeper!”

“But... But...” Remus tries desperately to order his thoughts. “Peter?”

Black nods silently.

Remus shakes his head. “No, no. James insisted! He would never choose anyone but you!”

“No, he wouldn’t.” Black replies as he shifts his gaze downwards, sadness reflecting in his eyes. “Not until I convinced him to. Merlin, I thought I was so clever! A perfect way to throw them off track. Who would even consider it being anyone else?”

“But you told me it was you! Those evenings we spent talking about it...”

“I lied! I lied to you, Remus.”

Remus stares at him for a while. “You didn’t trust me.” It’s not a question.

“We knew there was a spy,” Black says, looking absolutely miserable. “We just didn’t know who.”

“And I was the logical choice,” Remus states. “I assume because I’m a dark creature?”

“Yes. It was because you’re a werewolf.” Black looks Remus straight in the eyes. “Because you have fifteen years of experience keeping secrets and hiding who you are. And you’re so damned good at it! Better than anyone I know. Dumbledore always chose you for the most secret missions. You were the only one amongst us no one had any idea of where they were going or what they were doing.”

“That wasn’t by choice!”

“I know, I know. Remus, you have to understand. We didn’t think you were the traitor, we just couldn’t be absolutely sure that you weren’t the traitor.”

Remus swallows and looks away. “What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that I felt with every fibre of my being that I could trust you and you would never hurt us!” Black speaks. “But at that time, I couldn’t allow myself to feel, I had to think. And logical thinking, shutting off all emotion, said that none of us could say with one hundred percent certainty that it wasn’t you. With Harry’s life at stake, we couldn’t afford to take any chances. It was best not to tell.”

Remus nods, but he’s still not meeting Black’s gaze.

“Remus, please look at me,” Black says earnest. “I need you to know this. We still would have died for you in a heartbeat, Lily, James and me. We still thought the world of you.”

“But I thought the worst of you!” Remus’s breath hitches. “I despised you, wanted to hate you! If I had found you that night, I would have...”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, doesn’t need to.

Black doesn’t look shocked, or even angry. He just looks immensely sad.

“Why wouldn’t you have? I fucked everything up, Remus. I lied to you, I trusted the wrong people, I distrusted the wrong people, I convinced James to take a path that lead straight to his death. And I can’t even do the only thing James asked me to do in case the worst would happen! I can’t even take care of Harry, like I promised I would. I abandoned him in my failed attempt at revenge, another one of my numerous mistakes. I literally can’t think of a single thing I haven’t screwed up these last weeks.”

Remus just stares at him. Only after a long silence, he speaks.

“You really are... you.”

Black just blinks at him.

“I mean, the boy who snuck out of the dorm to keep me company in the hospital wing, the boy who bribed the house elves to make my favourite chocolate cake on my birthday, the man who wanted me to stay with him when I had no place to live and never let me go, the man who once attacked five Death Eaters on his own because one of them had tried to use the Cruciatus curse on me... That person was not a facade, an act or a lie. That person was really you. You’re really that person.”

“Telling you I was the Secret-Keeper was hard for me, as it was the first and only time I ever lied to you, I promise.”

“I know,” Remus slides down in the chair across from Black. “And it’s okay, Sirius. It’s okay.”

Sirius closes his eyes for a moment. As he opens them again to look at Remus, they’re filled with relief.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “It’s just... You’re the only person who I couldn’t bear to see me as a monster.”

Remus smiles softly. “Yeah, I know that feeling.”

I hope you still like it, though it might not be exactly what you're looking for!

#thanks for the ask!#wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #first wizarding war

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sebstanseabass · 3 years

Text

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 8

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

CHAPTER EIGHT

Bucky entered the bar wearing a neat, black expensive suit, a Rolex sticking out of his left sleeve. He unfastened two buttons by his waist and flung both sides of the suit in the air before sitting down on the stool. He rolled up his sleeves, his lean forearms in plain sight under the incandescent lights hanging by the counter.

Your eyes lingered longer than they should have so you shook your head and ignored his gaze, getting back to work.

"Fancy seeing you back here, James." Out of nowhere, a slight giggle came out from your mouth, pushing the tap handle up and briskly pushing Bucky's hand away. Your eyes found his, whilst you waited for the liquid to fill the beer mug. "I'll get back on you later. I have to give this beer to that son of a bitch over there."

You glanced at the man from earlier who was still giving you a death-like stare.

Bucky responded with a short chuckle and waited for you to finish. You opened your mouth to call Nick but decided against it, calling for Nat instead, who was holding a tray of chicken wings. Nat usually only had three shifts a week but since you were understaffed this week, she had the decency to help out.

"By the way, is Peter here?" Bucky asked.

You glanced at Peter's briefcase. "Yes, he came here straight from an urgent work thing. He just needed to go to the toilet."

"Good, good, that's good." He kept nodding his head, staring at absolutely nothing at all.

You waved your hand in front of his face. "Bucky? You okay?"

"Yeah, no, I'm good." He answered but you weren't convinced. He looked at Peter's briefcase and the beer bottle beside it. "Is that Peter's drink?"

The realization dawned on you once those words slipped out of his mouth. You pursed your lips then nodded. "I tried talking him out of it before but he never listened. You know how Peter is. Stubborn as a damn rock."

"That he is."

"Are you going to talk to him about it?"

"I think so, but not now. I think now's not the right time." He replied. "So, how about that drink, doll?" He asked, swiftly changing the subject.

You ignored the shivers starting to slither on your skin when you heard his little nickname for you. You have been called other nicknames in the bar, including doll, but not one had an effect on you.

Except Bucky.

While grabbing a glass on the counter, you continued to stare at him you felt absolutely nothing. "I feel like you're more of an old-fashioned guy." you commented.

Bucky didn't say anything but a smile formed on his pink plump lips as you made him a glass of old-fashioned. Besides, you can never go wrong with the original cocktail.

Once you were finished, he held the glass near his face, his nose hovering above the drink.

"You know, I've had so many old-fashioned. Smells nothing like this." Then, he took a tiny sip, released a puff of breath and clicked his tongue. "But damn, if it isn't the best old-fashioned I ever had."

You suppressed a giggle. Instead, you smirked at him. "You're not the only one who can make a mean drink, Bucky Barnes."

He chuckled and went on to say that his was still better since it was his own drink and not a classic one. You weren't much of the condescending type so you agreed with him. You could never make your own drink; only the ones you've learned from Steve from the past year.

By the time Bucky devoured the whole drink, Peter had arrived. He was so loud that everyone in the bar turned their heads towards Peter who practically jumped on Bucky from a feet from where he was standing.

"Parker, keep it the fuck down." You scolded Peter like how a mother scolds a child. But with the curses.

Peter gave you an apologetic look as he sat down on the high stool. "Oh, wait, guess who came by the office today," before he could even let you guess, he jumped straight to the answer, "Wanda."

Your actions stopped the moment you heard Wanda's name but moved on eventually. You ignored Peter's eyes while you wiped the counter table, even though it was already squeaky clean. "Maximoff?"

"Yes, Wanda Maximoff! Our team got her as the head photographer for the clothing line account we landed on." He stated.

"Who's Wanda?" Bucky interrupted, curious about the whole thing.

"She's this friend of y/n's who used to tag along with her almost everyday in NYU." Peter replied. "She's also a photographer."

Peter went on about the whole clothing line account for a few minutes. It was mostly about how he and his team landed a "cool photographer" like Wanda. Sunday was the only time Wanda was free so they took an opportunity to talk to her.

Must be nice to be so busy all the damn time.

Peter proceeded to talk so highly of her and all the work she'd done in just a shy of a year in the industry. If you remembered correctly, the only time Peter and Wanda ever spoke to one another was when Wanda came to borrow something of yours and asked Peter if you were home. Now, he talked about her as if he'd known her for years.

Your eyes lazily wandered to the photographs you've shown Bucky this morning on the wall. Suddenly, it was eerily silent inside your head. No jukebox noise, no television noise, no rowdy noise; nothing.

It had been three years and you haven't accomplished anything that could fill your heart's content. No photos in magazines, not even on the damn streets. They were just here on the bar, camouflaged among the walls.

When your eyes found Peter and Bucky's, Peter had just finished his little story with Wanda starting to work with them for the next few weeks. "This is the biggest account my team has ever gotten. I am so excited!"

"I'm glad everything has been working out for you, Peter." Bucky placed a hand on Peter's shoulder, patting him.

"I just want to be like you, Buck."

Bucky glanced at you for a second. He let go of Peter's shoulder. He didn't respond to him. He just offered Peter a smile.

The two talked the whole night while you were pulled in every direction as more people came. You were making drinks left and right. The people by the counter had their eyes set on somewhere else. The television right above the counter. The billiards table. The jukebox. People dancing by the jukebox. Good-looking ladies being jeered at by single men, and vice-versa.

But only a pair of eyes was watching you move around: Bucky's.

You had caught him staring quite a few times the whole four hours you were working at the bar even though he was conversing with Peter. The whole time making and handing drinks to people, you kept thinking if Peter and Bucky were talking about you. Usually, you would eavesdrop in other people's conversations — of course, these were strangers. You didn't think you could do that to both Peter and Bucky. You shut your ears whenever you'd come near them but it wasn't as if they could be heard, anyway. You could barely hear the conversation with the television on, the jukebox playing and all the people buzzing in the bar — but you did catch some words like "Stark", "White Wolf", "home", and some country names.

All of a sudden, you stopped obsessing on the subject of their conversation. Your mind was then wrapped around with thoughts on Wanda and how, in just one year, she had already accomplished so much in her career whilst you were still here, juggling two jobs. You weren't the jealous type but the more you thought about it, the more those ugly feelings grew. Your photos on the damn walls were not much of a help. They just reminded you that you were a failure, that this was what you get for being a mediocre photographer and for settling for a menial job.

But you had to do what you needed to do in order to survive in this cruel world.

You did try and apply for some big advertising and business companies while working in the bar but luck was never on your side. There were always better ones, or ones who had connections. The latter one was just one of the many reasons why you hated big corporations.

"Who's the rich guy?" Whisking you from your train of thoughts was Nat. She was holding a tray full of canned beers and some fries, and caught up with you.

You walked towards the booth together.

"That's Bucky. Peter's stepbrother." You and Nat gave the food and beverage to the people in the booth.

"He'd been eyeing you for the past few hours." She hugged her tray on her chest as you walked back to the counter. "And you know what I think, y/n?"

"Nat — "

"He wants a piece of you."

You and Nat weren't as close as people would think you were. You only hung out in the workplace. And by hang out, you meant talking (even gossiping) while working.

"Please, he's so much older than me."

"That's what makes it hotter, dumbass."

"When was it ever hot?"

"Duh, those lingering stares he'd been giving you." She raised an eyebrow, stopping at the edge of the counter. "I'm telling you, he wants you."

"He's Peter's stepbrother, Nat. It's inappropriate!"

"It's not like he's his biological brother. And besides, I think it's..." She leaned in and whispered. "Thrilling."

You rolled your eyes. "And I think you're delusional."

"Think whatever you want to think." Nat chuckled. "But the facts are right there. He wants to get a taste of you, and you of him. Ciao, bitch."

And with that, she spun around, her red hair lost in the sea of strangers.

By the time your shift was ending, you removed the apron and hung it on the coat rack near Steve's office at the back. Your instinct was to go to Steve's office and let him know that your shift was over but you just remembered that he was in Rhode Island with his family. You lost the grip on the knob then went back to the counter and tapped Peter's shoulder, interrupting his conversation with Bucky.

"Already?" Peter asked in disbelief. "Wow, it's true what they say. Time flies by when people are catching up."

You squinted your eyes at him. "I literally have never heard someone say that, Parker."

"Really, never?"

"Never." You replied, opening the passthrough. "Now, let's go."

"Wait," Peter said, "I have to go to the toilet real quick."

"Our apartment is right above this bar. You can just go there."

"Sorry, y/n. This can't wait." He sped towards the toilet, practically flying. You sighed and took his seat, facing Bucky.

"Hey, doll." He said in a voice that could make any woman swoon and fall on the floor. Bucky's voice was raspier than you remembered, breath with a hint of whiskey mixed with beer. "Haven't spoken to you in a while."

"Sunday nights can be busy as well."

"So, I've seen." He hummed. "This is your everyday life, huh?"

"Except Mondays. We're closed on Mondays. And except when I have some photography gig." You replied then whispered the next part: "Which I haven't been getting lately."

"Isn't Sunday," he laughed, "supposed to be a rest day?"

"In our bible, it's Monday."

Before Bucky could even speak, Peter came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. "If you just accepted that job offer at our company, we would've been working together, y/n."

You playfully shrugged him off. "You were thinking about that while peeing? Weirdo. Plus, Wanda has a lot more experience than I have."

"But — "

"Come on, let's go. You're drunk." You lifted off his arm and turned towards Bucky. "You take him. He's a bit hard to handle when he's this drunk."

Bucky walked ahead, guiding Peter towards the door. Before you could even follow the two, Nat patted your shoulder. You spun around, meeting her suggestive eyes. Without even a second thought, she pulled your tight v-top even lower and spilled some drink on your exposed cleavage.

"Nat, what the damn hell!" You hissed.

"Trust me on this, babe." She scrunched up her nose. "Go get some rich dick." She twirled your body so easily then slapped your ass. You wanted to shout at Nat but you didn't want to cause a scene in the bar and the moment had already passed as she disappeared amongst the crowd once again.

You caught up towards Bucky and Peter, opening the door for them.

The walk towards the apartment unit was tedious and was accompanied by Peter's hilarious commentaries about every little thing he saw on the way. As Bucky's arm was getting sore, you helped lift Peter up as the elevator doors closed behind you.

You felt Bucky's eyes on you as you lifted Peter's right arm, slinging it across your shoulders. You came face to face with Bucky, his eyes somewhere underneath your neck. You cleared my throat to get his attention.

"Uh," he stammered, "you got some alcohol on your... uh..."

"Oh, yeah. Don't mind that. Some idiot spilled on me." Nat really was some idiot.

A genius idiot.

Peter immediately hugged his pillow once we placed him on his bed. You leaned in and kissed his forehead good night. "I hope you have a heavy hangover tomorrow, Parker."

You turned around only to be blocked by Bucky's towering figure. "Sorry." You mumbled, looking down on your feet.

"It's alright, doll." He replied, making some space for you to walk on.

You headed towards the kitchen to grab a glass of water and Bucky followed suit, tossing his suit jacket on the couch as if he was living in your place.

"You should go get changed." He spoke.

You rolled your eyes, finishing up your water.

"Okay, daddy." Of course, you meant it as a joke as it sounded so much funnier in your head — not so much said out loud.

Bucky's eyes lit up with curiosity, walking towards you. "What did you say?"

"Nothing." You replied quickly. "I absolutely said nothing."

He just continued to stare as he strode towards you. You just stayed frozen in your place, unable to process what was about to happen. You backed away from Bucky as he neared you, your back hitting the fridge. He stopped right in front of you. He looked so much different when you first saw him. His eyes had become darker and stared with so much intensity and intention.

"You know, you're something else." He licked his lower lip.

"I don't know what you mean, Bucky."

He traced your jawline with his finger and tilted your chin up. "I can't quite put my finger on you, doll, but you're really something else."

You weren't ready for something to happen so you walked as quickly as you could towards your bedroom, locked the door behind me and leaned against it. Your breathing was quite uneven and your heart thudded like fast bullets on the ground.

You looked down on your sticky chest that reeked of vodka. You pursed your lips together. "Natasha Romanoff, you son of a bitch."

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lovelyirony · 4 years

Text

the much anticipated second part for the amnesia-related fic.

A wedding ring.

This doesn’t mean that he and Tony are married except that he hasn’t seen Tony with a wedding ring and he hasn’t mentioned a wife and he doesn’t sound like he has a wife and if Rhodey-if Jim had a wife, then wouldn’t he know about her? Wouldn’t they have met by now? He may not know Tony yet, but he doesn’t think that he would be that cruel.

“Colonel Rhodes-”

“Friday, don’t,” Jim says, swatting at the air. “What-why did you hide that from me?”

“Sir believed it would be best,” Friday answers, tone almost quieter. “He...wasn’t sure that you would understand.”

“I don’t understand,” he says. “Why would I marry him of all people? He’s not exactly my type.”

“Since I am a learning program, I cannot say for sure. Humans do a lot of illogical things.”

He’s trying to wrap his head around it and avoid Tony at the same time.

Friday won’t let him see any wedding pictures, not until he remembers more.

Even though he’s been (mostly) successful at avoiding Tony for about a week and a half, the man is still so nice.

He’s still operating under the assumption that Jim has no idea that they’re married, and he does stuff like leave out a cup of coffee and offer breakfast up or ask if he wants pizza for dinner.

Jim reads too much into it.

And he doesn’t know why, because it’s not like anything has really changed, except for the fact that Tony won’t call him Rhodey.

Jim gave him permission to, saw how much it killed him with every correction and every reminder. Told him “you can call me Rhodey, if you want.”

And he doesn’t.

Tony never does.

He still almost says it, but Jim is quicker on the tongue, and he doesn’t make a move to try to push any memories at all.

(Even though he remembers how happy Tony was to hear that memory about grocery shopping and Dum-E’s code source.)

He does want to remember. He wants to remember why he apparently married Tony and was genuine about it, why Pepper and him are best friends and never were anything more, why he’s...why he’s so different from what he wanted.

Tony knows that Jim’s acting differently. He’s not sure why. He’s not sure he wants to know why, because that might complicate everything.

And he doesn’t want another thing to be wrong. Everyone’s walking on eggshells around him except for the one damn person that probably should be, but Rhodey’s never been good at following rules. (But he’s good at fooling people.)

Pepper talks to Tony a lot. Asks him how he’s doing, if there’s anything she can do.

Repair someone’s memory is a little bit outside of her area of expertise.

“It’ll be okay,” she says, putting her tiny hand over his. “Things will work out.”

They both know that in Tony’s life, luck has never been quite what it seems. Or existent at all, at times.

Ironically, it’s their anniversary of the wedding when Jim remembers something else. It actually comes in the form of looking in the fridge and not finding his apples.

“Quit leaving honey-crisp off of the list just because you don’t like them you asshole,” he calls to Tony.

Tony almost yelps.

“Out of everything in your life and that’s what you remember? Your stupidly sweet apples?”

“Are you gonna get them?”

“Why don’t you come with me?” Tony asks, “just so that you can get your apples and maybe get out of the house for once.”

“Hmph. Fine,” Jim answers. “Where’s my coat?”

“Uh...” Tony trails off, trying to find the words. “Third peg on the...right, I think?”

“You’ve known me for years, and you don’t know where my coat is?”

Rhodey is always the one to hang up his coat, and then put his arms out for Tony’s.

“To be fair, I am important and fancy and a big deal,” Tony scoffs. “Come on, go get your coat and then I’m going to show you what horrible things you buy from the store.”

“It’s not that bad. And what, you don’t like good apples?”

“As sour as can be, sourpatch. As sour as can be.”

Grocery shopping with Tony is...interesting. He didn’t think it would take so long.

“This is why you don’t usually come,” Tony teases him. “I take so long and you end up sitting in the car and cursing at Pepper or Happy about how much time I spend dedicated to snack-judging.”

“And I put up with that?”

“You do,” Tony says, grabbing the cart. “Because you love me and you deal with a lot worse from me.”

“Like what?”

“Best not to talk about it,” Tony says. “We’re in public after all, honey.”

“Ugh, boo,” Rhodey teases. “Give me the list. I bet I can speed-run this.”

“How? Technically, you don’t think you’ve ever been to this store before!” Tony exclaims with a gigantic, shit-eating grin.

“Way to rub it in you bastard,” he says with a laugh. “Now come on, I wanna see what kind of salad you think we’re gonna get.”

“Not you thinking you’re going to be eating junk food,” Tony sighs.

“I lost my memory!”

“That would’ve worked, like, two weeks ago. Now I know better.”

Grocery shopping is...fun. They make fun of foods and different products, and Tony shows him which things he might like.

“I like...I like fruit salad?”

“Yes, yes you do Rhodey-dear,” Tony says. “Your favorite thing in the world for fruit.”

“Seems suspicious.”

“You’ll have to try it again, then.”

Rhodey watches him as they’re shopping. He’s easy to be around, honestly. He has that sort of energy that makes you feel like he’s just happy to be in that moment.

Tony also has very questionable taste in everything.

“Quinoa?”

“What? You’ve eaten it before! It’s not your least favorite thing that I’ve cooked?”

“How is it not? Is it because I’m old?”

“No, not because you’re old,” Tony scowls. “When you’d come back from the service, you’d eat literally anything I put in front of you. I once gave you a block of cheese and you just sat there. Eating it.”

“There’s no way I did that.”

“You did! Ask Pepper, she has a picture of it!”

He goes back to quiet after that, remembering the picture.

Jim isn’t even sure he wants to bring it up. He’s not even sure if he could love Tony again, and somehow that thought makes his head hurt.

He knows that apparently, he fell in love once.

So he needs answers.

Jim had talked to his parents, but he hadn’t really had an opportunity to talk about anything important. Try as he had to get more information out of them, they weren’t giving much up, except for parts about his military achievements and funny stories that he’s written to them about.

When he gets back home and he sees Mama, she knows.

“Come here baby,” she says, putting him into her arms. “Let me answer your questions.”

“Why him?”

Mama laughs, grinning up at him from her place on the couch.

“You reacted like this when you first started rooming together, too. I was worried that I’d be involved in a court case for attempted murder!”

“And you weren’t?”

“No,” Mama answers. “Instead, I get no phone call from you for three weeks, until the day before your holiday break started, and you told me that you were bringing who you used to call ‘the biggest nuisance since fruit flies’ home to Thanksgiving.”

“Why did I...why did I bring him?”

“I didn’t get that answered until he fell asleep,” she says. “I’m making you some coffee, alright dear?”

“Okay, so long as I get an answer.”

“So impatient,” she mutters as she makes her way to the kitchen, Jim following.

He watches how easily his mom pours the coffee, and remembers in a brief flash that Tony always would bring the fancy, flavored creamer to the holiday events.

“Oh come on,” Tony said. “You have gotten too used to my kindness, and there’s no reason to stop being kind. Besides, remember last year when you nearly cried because I bought creamer from the store? Yeah, not having a repeat of that.”

“And would that be so bad?” he teased Tony, wrapping an arm around his waist, and-

He blinks.

That was...that was definitely a new kind of memory.

“James, are you alright?” His mother is looking at him, and maybe she knows, maybe she doesn’t know that he just remembered something. He’s honestly not sure.

“Uh, yeah. Fine. I’m good.”

Mama looks across the room, smiling.

“He was a timid little thing when he got here. Fixed up the washing machine when it broke, just in time. Nearly wore a suit to dinner, said you didn’t tell him what kind of ‘casual’ we were going for...”

He snorts as he slowly remembers that one.

“What do you mean you didn’t mean a suit?!” Tony had wailed, gripping Rhodey’s shirt. “You said I had to dress nice!”

“I meant literally anything but your Black Sabbath shirt!”

“Why would I have worn my Black Sabbath shirt? Your mom would probably think I was a Satanist!”

They both look at each other for a moment, and Rhodey’s the first one to break and laugh.

“Listen you idiot, it won’t be so bad. We can just ditch the coat, ditch the tie, and you’ll be...okay. A bit nicer than most of us, but hey. That’s what I get for not telling you that suits are weird.”

“Suits are not weird, you’re just uneducated in what is sophisticated,” Tony says, turning his nose up as Rhodey rolls his eyes.

“Oh yeah, sure, because knowing which one is the dessert spoon is going to help me save people abroad. My bad.”

Tony looks back at him, and his heart skips a beat. It does. Really, it does.

It almost feels like someone’s reading back to him what he already knows at this point.

His mom squeezes his hand, smiling.

“You remember at least some of it, don’t you?”

“Well...uh, yeah? I-I do.”

“Does Tony know that you know that you’re...married?”

“No,” Rhodey says. “I know some, but not enough.”

“Give him a chance,” she says. “And get back home, I’m sure he’s missing you.”

Rhodey embraces his mother, and prepares for the drive home.

Being missed is a weird concept to deal with.

He also did not exactly think of that. So he’s currently driving back and checked his phone to seven missed calls from Tony, three from Pepper, and one text from Happy that simply reads “lol ur dead hahaha good luckkkkk”

Well shit.

Tony, understandably is pissed and scared and a tad upset.

Not a tad.

“Where were you?” He says as soon as Rhodey appears back in the kitchen. Tony’s hands wander close, and he almost leans in.

Almost.

“I was visiting my parents,” he responds. “Sorry, forgot to text.”

“Please remember next time, your-well, Tony’s annoying when you leave,” Pepper says.

(Okay Rhodey doesn’t know how they got away with this for so long, it’s really, really obvious that they’ve been covering it up.)

“I will,” Rhodey says. “Did I miss anything?”

“I’ve elected that we’re going to cook tonight,” Tony declares. “I am absolutely sick to death of takeout, and I’m pretty sure that with your lack of knowledge on recipes now, I have you beat in the kitchen.”

“I can still read recipes, you dumbass. Besides, I just remembered your stupid ‘bake’ hack for your stupid casserole dish, so...”

“Out of everything, and that’s the thing you remember today?!”

“Well, I also remembered that apparently you wore a suit to my house for Thanksgiving!”

Tony stops.

“What else you remember from that, or was it just that?”

He doesn’t want to say anything in front of Pepper, doesn’t want to say anything just yet.

“I remember that you were weird about your suit!”

Tony deflates a bit, but still smiles.

God, he looks gorgeous.

Rhodey blinks. Shakes his head out of the thought.

“So. What are we cooking?”

Tony and cooking is a very interesting concept because it shouldn’t work.

He never stops moving, can lose interest quickly, and Rhodey would think that he could burn water.

But he doesn’t. Tony hums along to music, and he tells him all about his favorite songs and why.

It’s not any rock music, any heavy metal.

“I don’t listen to that all the time,” Tony says. “You always think I do!”

“Oh right, because someone who personally has Angus Young’s number just casually isn’t someone who listens to the band all the time, sure,” Rhodey says sarcastically.

Tony grins, and it’s probably the best damned thing he’s seen all day.

His heart zings at the realization that Tony smiling is what makes him smile now, what makes him want to stay and learn so much more about how they came to be, what they’ve done together.

Dinner is fun. Tony tells him all about college and what they used to do, and what Rhodey had done.

Memories are coming back easier.

“You totally emailed the professor really petty responses!” Tony cries, laughing.

“It wasn’t that petty,” Rhodey said, huffing. “He was an asshole anyway, he hated whenever we would come late because we wanted coffee, and your order was too complicated!”

“It wasn’t that complicated!”

“Oh I’m sorry, them having it written down behind the register for when you come in?”

“Oh, like they didn’t have a description of you.”

“Yeah, as your long-suffering companion,” Rhodey teases.

“You’ve always been,” Tony says. “Because you’re the best.”

Rhodey stops stirring the pot for a moment.

“Rhodey? What is it?”

“I...”

Tony stands there, grinning. He’s nervously fidgeting, and it’s his move to say the vows.

“You know, I wasn’t ever sure you’d be up to marrying someone like me,” Tony confesses. “Especially since I almost burned down our dorm room one time.”

“Wasn’t just one time,” Rhodey teases. “But carry on.”

“You loser,” Tony says. “Even now, interrupting my heartfelt moment.”

There’s a ripple of laughter from the small crowd that’s gathered. Rhodey smiles at him, feels tears prick up around his eyes.

“But I knew that I loved you ever since you would always buy my favorite ramen even though you hated it, and you were the one to get the pizza when I was sad. I knew I wanted the chance of seeing you every day, coming home to you at the end of the day. You’re home, Rhodey. You’re it. No one else could ever possibly hold a candle compared to you.”

Rhodey startles, looking at Tony.

“I...I remember. I remember!”

“Remember what?” Tony asks cautiously.

(He can’t be let down. Not again.)

“You smashed cake in my face at our wedding!” Rhodey yells. “And we got married! We got married! Where the fuck is my ring?”

Tony laughs, scooping Rhodey into a hug.

“I can’t believe you remember.”

“Well I was bound to at some point,” Rhodey says. “I can be smart, doofus.”

“Don’t call me ‘doofus’ during an emotional outburst you absolute nimrod!”

“I’ll call my husband whatever I want,” he teases, “although I still wanna know where my ring is.”

“Come with me and get it,” Tony says. “I hid them in my room, just in case.”

It’s all coming back, the steps they take, the way that Tony supports him as he moves slower.

Iron Man, for one. War Machine the next. The dates they went on, the proposal.

The rings are simple. They’re also not wedding rings.

The class rings.

Rhodey remembers getting them, remembers getting his initials and Tony’s on the inside, remembers how Tony made some “adjustments” after they received them.

“You know that you got me,” Tony had told him.

It slides on, and it feels right. Feels like something was missing.

He looks up at Tony, smiling.

“Show me the pictures, Tony.”

Pepper walks in to find Rhodey absolutely terrorizing Tony about the decor choices from the reception.

“So I agreed with red and gold? I had no problem with it?”

“Well, I did do some major convincing, so...”

“What does that mean?!”

"You’ll remember later and be sad,” Pepper says. “Or happy. But please don’t tell me if you remember it.”

“You loved the color scheme,” Tony says. “Because you love me!”

“Now I am doubting,” Rhodey declares. “I loved you enough to have those colors?”

“You lost a bet, Boss,” Friday interjects. “That’s why there were those themes.”

“Friday,” Tony whines. “Why snitch on your creator like this?”

“I am not programmed to have loyalty, Sir.”

Rhodey laughs, taking Tony’s hand in his.

“Well, I guess I’ll still love you. Even if our wedding theme was weird.”

“It wasn’t that weird!”

It takes about another month before all of the memories are all back to normal, and in that time Rhodey learns (and relearns) a couple of things:

1.) The best feeling in the world is waking up to Tony, who sleeps very lightly and also wacked Rhodey in the face a total of ten times. (That’s not a new thing, he remembers.)

2.) He special-orders peppermint-flavored coffee creamer.

3.) Tony was lying when he said that Rhodey’s new favorite movie was The Goonies.

(He mostly forgave him for that one.)

#lovelyirony writes #rhodeytony #ironhusbands #part two!#rhodey has amnesia #tony stark #rhodey #pepper potts #also yes the use of 'jim' in the beginning and then transitioning to rhodey a bit is intentional #sorry if it is a bit confusing but i like how i formatted that one so that's what we're getting with this one #i hope you all like it!

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xxmackenziexx · 3 years

Text

Chapter One

Chapter Summary: We meet Bucky and reader in their junior year of high school and get a glimpse into their relationship as they lose a bet. Certain events reveal that perhaps both reader and Bucky feel something a little less innocent than just friendship.

Warnings: Lots of swearing, sexual tension, confusion, implied masturbation

Word Count: 3,544

A/N: So this is my first ever fanfiction, and I'm nervous to post a different version of a much-loved character, things will become more canon later on though. I'm new to writing in general, but especially various POVS, so hopefully it all makes sense.

****Takes place in September of their Junior year of high school. They're both 17 but turn 18 on March 10th.****

Your best friend is James Buchanan Barnes, you call him Bucky. Your best friend since birth, seeing as the two of you were born on the same day, 30 minutes apart. And damn those 30 minutes too, because he liked to act like he was eons older than you and would tease you about it constantly. You grew up together, lived next door to each other all your lives because your mom was best friends with his mom. You celebrated birthdays together, even when you were upset with each other. You shared a party every year, blew out your candles together, took turns opening gifts but always waiting until the end to open the gifts you gave each other.

“Man, this is bullshit.” He hollered while slinking down on the small couch sheepishly, barely even on it anymore.

“MOTHERFUCKER!!!! Goddammit, Barnes, I told you we had a sniper on us. I told you not to go for the loadout yet!” You huffed at him while the sniper took you out after trying to revive him. The screen showing you placed 3rd. You quickly stood up and angrily pressed the buttons on your controller to get out of the game lobby before plopping down on your back on his bed.

“I told you. I fucking told you, Buck!! Now we owe Steve 50 bucks.”

He didn’t reply. Only staring in your direction on his bed with mixed emotions. You played Call of Duty: Warzone frequently. Either together or alone and you were good. Hella good. So good that Bucky’s friend from the football team made a bet with you guys. The bet was that him and his friend Tony would place 1st and have a higher kill count than you and Bucky, whoever made it the longest got 50 bucks, whoever got the highest kill count got to choose a new bundle with weapons and stuff that the loser had to pay for. You and Bucky placed 3rd, but Steve and Tony were still alive, so they automatically won the 50 bucks. You spectated them while they played still to see the ending kill count. You had the highest.

Bucky finally spoke. “I’m sorry y/n. That was totally on me.” He sighed and moped towards you and plopped onto the bed face first next to you.

You turned your head to him. “Your damn right it was. You have to pay him the whole 50 bucks, I’m not paying half for your fuck up.”

“Ugh. Fine. Just shut up about it already.” Closing his eyes.

You crossed your arms under your breasts and taunted “No, I don’t think I will.”

He lifted his head and looked your way with a smirk. Then he began to try to shove you off his bed. You squealed and tried to hang onto something or roll over to the other side or anything to keep you from hitting the floor. Giggling and screaming you grabbed his pushing hand and rolled over closer to him, ending up laying prone on his back while he was still face down on the bed. Both of you stilled for a moment to catch your breath. He bent his arms to use his hands as pillows when he started half rolling side to side to get you off his back. You squealed again and clung to him as best you could. You squeezed your thighs on him, and your hands clung to his arms that pillowed his head, noticing the hard planes of muscles you hadn’t really cared to notice before. You knew he was muscular, he was on the football team and trained and worked out regularly. But something inside you changed with this newfound knowledge of what his biceps felt like under your tight grip. No…it’s not that you never noticed his muscles before, you just never appreciated them like you were now. You stilled, about to get off him when he lifted himself off the bed, with you still on his back. You let out a startled cry and wrapped your arms around his torso and legs around his waist from behind in fear of meeting the floor with your face.

Bucky was laughing the entire time, now breathing heavy, he lifted up more and put one knee on the edge of the bed and the other foot on the floor and violently turned to the side to shrug you off him and onto the bed. Your body was thrown, and you bounced as your back landed on the mattress. You laid there, chest heaving from laughing and something else you were unsure of, your hair fallen from your messy bun splayed onto the bed and smiled up at him.

He looked down on you grinning wide and laughed. “You done now you jackass?”

You silently nodded yes, still laying on the bed trying to catch your breath and calm your nerves. He moved to the couch to start a movie when his phone notification went off. He grabbed it and sighed after seeing it was from Steve.

*Guess your girl ain’t as good as she thinks she is huh? I’ll hold up my end once I get what I earned. See you at the game tomorrow bitch. *

Bucky groaned and threw the phone down on the couch and sighed. You went over to read the text and sat down next to him on the small sofa that barely fit the two of you. Reading the text pissed you off. Steve could be so cocky sometimes. He thinks because he finally made varsity that he’s tough shit, when Bucky has been varsity since sophomore year. “God, he’s such a dick.”

Bucky took his phone from your hands. “Yeah, but a bet is a bet. I’ll pay him myself tomorrow at the game. Don’t worry about it.” He leaned back to get comfortable, pressing play on Top Gun. It was a favorite for both of you, something y'all have watched a million times but still enjoyed it.

You crossed your legs under you and tried to get comfortable. “You better. Also, make sure you leave an opening tomorrow for someone to tackle his ass.”

Bucky snickered. “I’ll do my best.”

Sitting next to Bucky in such close proximity like this never used to be a problem. In fact, more often than not you leaned on each other’s shoulders or put your legs or head in each other’s laps when you watched movies or played video games. This time was different though. You were slightly uncomfortable. Maybe it was the frolicking on the bed with Bucky’s hard muscles from earlier or the fact that, despite frontward appearances, you felt some type of way when Steve essentially called you Bucky’s girl in his text. It was weird for something that simple to set you on edge. But here you were, sitting next to Bucky like you have a million times before, feeling….weird. Watching the same movie you have a million times before but again….feeling weird. So weird in fact that once the infamous Take My Breath Away scene was about to happen you shot up to your feet like the couch cushion personally offended your backside. You moved so fast you made Bucky jump and clutch his chest.

“Jesus y/n, where’s the fire?” He exhaled.

You took a deep breath and didn’t even try to hide the fact you didn’t have an excuse. “I’m gonna go home, I’ll…text you later.” And you walked out of his room, down the stairs, out his front door, down the handful of steps on the porch, onto the sidewalk then turned right and walked a few feet, then up your porch steps, through your front door, up your stairs, into your room and planted yourself face first in your bed to muffle the “What the fuck?” that escaped your mouth.

That was fucking weird he thought to himself once y/n left. But he could finally relax and he was honestly more than a little thankful. For some reason every since he fucked up and cost her the bet, he’s been tense. He felt bad, yeah, but it all started when she went and laid down on his bed. He wasn’t sure why it bugged him, but it did. And then when she laid on his back. He enjoyed it a little, feeling the pressure of her body on top of his. That’s why he started moving, to try and get her off of him, only to realize how strong she was when she clung to him the way she did. Looking at y/n, nobody would think she had such a strong grip, let alone the power her thighs held. The places his mind went when she put her legs around him were involuntary, but not exactly unwelcome. He knew he had to get her off of him. This is y/n for crying out loud he chastised himself. He’s never imagined her that way, never let his mind wander about her. That was until he looked down at her on his bed. Breathing so heavy it made her breasts bounce ever so slightly. Her hair a mess all around her and smiling up at him. After teasing her he had to get some distance from her, not realizing the couch was not the best place for that when Steve texted him.

*…your girl…*

Seeing those words made him groan. Out loud. He played it off as frustration at the text and threw his phone for good measure. Silently cursing himself as the action only brought her to his side. He tried to distract his wayward thoughts with a movie they had watched so often they could say every line by heart. He noticed y/n didn’t seem comfortable. Her body rigid and she didn’t invade his personal space as much as she usually did. But then again, he didn’t either. Then he heard the opening chords to Take My Breath away, knowing what scene was about to take place and his heart rate picked up speed, he was nervous. Then y/n shot up like a bullet from a gun and jolted his mind back into reality. And then she left.

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Bucky and y/n had been friends for all of their lives. Literally. They shared a bed on family vacations, took baths together as toddlers, grew to love the same TV shows and movies, played baseball and football together, went on hikes together. There wasn’t much they haven’t done together. All their lives they had each other. No matter what.

With a sigh, he looked at the time on his phone and decided it was late enough to consider going to bed. He stood up and walked to the bed, taking off his shirt and jeans and getting into bed. He rolled over and let out a pained groan into the pillow when he smelled the combination of her perfume and shampoo. Y/n is his best friend. His best friend that he was now thinking of as his briefs began tightening. Why? Why of all people is this his body’s response to? He had had sex before, a few times actually. He’s had a few girlfriends and was not shy about his capabilities in that regard. But he would be lying if he said the images his hormone-driven brain conjured of y/n didn’t make him blush.

Much to his dismay, his fist found its way into his briefs to relive some of his frustration. After his thoughts ran rampant he finally found his release. Covered in sweat, his breath ragged when his phone buzzed with a video chat incoming. Seeing her name and photo, he contemplated whether or not he should answer it, deciding to answer it despite his current state.

“Hey, did I leave my wallet over there? I can’t find it anywhere” she asked before the video even connected. When it did he saw her hair was wet, leaving wet marks on the Mandalorian t-shirt he had bought for her after they watched the show together. He also noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra, probably getting ready for bed.

Finally seeing his end of the video chat after looking for her wallet some more and not hearing a response from him, she saw that he was laying in bed, his hair sticking to his forehead, his chest glistening, and breathing a little heavy. “Hey…are you okay?” She stopped roaming around and sat on her bed.

“Yea….I’m okay. Just….uhh…yeah, I’m okay.” He sat up and did his best not to make a bigger mess. He made sure to hold the phone in a way that didn’t put the evidence of his previous activities on display for her. “Just…hold on….gimme a sec.” He grunted as he set the phone down to show y/n the ceiling as he got up and cleaned himself up a bit.

After donning a pair of pajama pants, making sure to hide the mess he grabbed his phone and searched for y/n’s Batman wallet.

“I’m not seeing it doll, did you take it out here at all or do you think it fell out somewhere?” He looked by the couch, his computer desk, the bookshelf, and the little table by the TV and didn’t see anything.

She was silent and just stared at him for a minute before sighing “I don’t remember. Between losing the bet and you assaulting me I can’t remember taking it out of my back pocket. I’ll just come by tomorrow before the game to look, I wanna sleep in a bit in the morning” she let out a breath as she laid down in her bed and rolled to the side. His mind wandering again, seeing her like this.

“Yeah….okay. I’ll…umm.. I’ll keep looking but I’ve gotta get to sleep soon. Big game tomorrow.” He chuckled under his breath, getting back into bed and laying the same way y/n did. They both just smiled at each other for a second, neither saying anything.

“Okay…well I’ll be there when I wake up. If you’re already gone for the game I’ll look myself and meet you at the field. I’ll be on the sidelines as always.” She responded, smiling softly.

Bucky smiled at her. “Okay…if you can’t find it I’ll buy you dinner tomorrow night after the game. And drive you to DMV and all that other bullshit.”

“Okay, but just so you know…I’m not getting a fucking salad.”

Raising his eyebrows “Oh I know, I’ve seen you eat y/n. You eat more than I do” He chuckled. “Where do you hide all that food anyway? I’m not convinced you actually eat it, you’re too small.”

“Too small my ass!” She snorted.

“Nah…your ass is just fine.” He smirked, not realizing what he just admitted.

Y/n was silent.

Bucky yawned and groaned while stretching “Alright doll, I need to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow. Night.”

“Goodnight Buck.” She whispered before ending the video chat.

Bucky sighed. Dammit. He was being weird. Doll? What is wrong with him? He plugged his phone into the charger and set it down, rolling over and forcing y/n out of his thoughts so he could attempt sleep.

When you got home earlier you decided to take a shower, somehow settling on a temperature cooler than that which you usually enjoyed. With the cool water running over your hair you thought back on the way Bucky felt underneath you. You had been in close proximity to his body before but this time, you really took notice. He was strong and hard beneath you, his arms flexing as he moved beneath you.

You angrily grabbed your shampoo and lathered your hair, not wanting to think about his body. Rinsing out the shampoo you found the combination of the cool water and the soapy remnants of your shampoo sliding down your chest sent a shockwave straight to your core. Feeling your arousal growing you made quick work of conditioning your hair and grabbing your body wash, you lathered and scrubbed your body, reluctantly imagining bigger and rougher hands roaming your body instead of your own. After rinsing off you felt your hand slide downwards and decided to let your imagination run wild. Just this once.

The water from your shower was now ice cold. With your breathing still labored you quickly washed your body again, trying your best to imagine you washing away the dirtiness of the things you just did, hoping it would ease your mind. It didn’t.

Getting out of the shower you quickly dried your hair in a towel, scolding yourself of thinking of Bucky that way. He was your friend, it was wrong to imagine him in anything but that context. You felt like you betrayed him, corrupted your friendship with your dirty thoughts.

After putting on a shirt and some underwear you went in search of your wallet, and the small picture of the two of you at the state fair last fall when you both piled into the smallest photo booth you’ve ever been in, still smiling and laughing after he won a stuffed animal from one of the games. You tried to beat him because you really wanted that Pikachu plushie, but he knocked the tin target down before you. He chose the Pikachu, teasing you about it all the way to the cotton candy vendor. After admitting defeat, you paid for two cotton candy sticks and then proceeded to slowly eat yours and handing him his, only to grab it out of his reach in the last second and eating it all in a matter of seconds. You both laughed so hard you were crying. He called you a pig and took your sticky hand and lead you to the photo booth, tears still in your eyes. It was one of your favorite memories of him and you each got a small set of three pictures from the photo booth. You saved them in your wallet so you could look at them as often as you wanted. Smiling every time you did.

In your room, you noticed your wallet was nowhere to be found. You checked everywhere. You were actually really upset about it. Maybe you forgot it at Bucky’s, or it had fallen out of your pocket after the incident on the bed. You grabbed your phone and initiated a video call while still looking in your room for your wallet. At the sound of the line connecting, you asked him if your wallet was over there, not bothering to look at the screen. When he didn’t say anything, you finally saw the state he was in. He wasn’t wearing a shirt so you could see his broad chest heaving up and down, his hair plastered to his forehead, you saw the sweat collecting at the hollow of his neck and your imagination took off. Remembering the reason behind your call, you asked Bucky if he was okay, he looked worn out and…weird. You couldn’t place the expression on his face and when he replied his voice was rough and gravelly, finding that it pleased you in a way you didn’t like to think about.

When he set the phone down all you could see was the ceiling, but you heard him grunt and rummage around. He picked up the phone and began searching. Then he called you doll. And your heart simultaneously stopped and beat out of your chest. You didn’t know what to say. How do you respond to that? You laid down on your bed, rolling to your side and Bucky did the same. You explained you’d just go over tomorrow to look yourself because he was so clueless sometimes, keeping the reasoning why to yourself. You had a spare key to his house so even if he left for the game by the time you got there it wouldn’t be an issue. The team had to get ready and be at the field way before the gates opened anyways. Bucky offered to buy you dinner and help you get everything squared away in the event you truly did lose your wallet. After your joke about a salad and some snarky remarks, he complimented your ass with that shit-eating smirk he used when flirting with the cheerleaders. You again were stunned into silence again, worsening your shock when he called you doll…again.

After you ended the call, you laid there, replaying everything since losing the bet over and over in your mind, trying to figure out what changed. Because there was something different now when you and Bucky spoke. Something that made you a little excited and nervous, mostly nervous. Long gone was the friendship you once had. You weren’t sure how, but you knew there was a change now.

Deciding not the think about it anymore, you settled in for the night. Telling yourself everything was fine. It was just a weird day. Things would go back to normal. No big deal. You forced your mind to quiet, to erase all the wanton thoughts in your mind of Bucky until finally, you fell into a fitful sleep.

Next Chapter

#fanfic #alternate universe #bucky barnes #friends to lovers #first fanfic #a/u bucky x reader #teenager bucky x teenager reader #slow burn #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #james buchanan barnes

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 2

Rating: Explicit. 18+

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it’s own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You’re Peter’s classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don’t know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you’re lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Bad girls are sad girls! Always wondered what goes through the mind of a spoiled, rich but intelligent and perceptive teenager? Have you found yourself craving that adrenaline rush, the danger of a forbidden fruit? Okay. That was cheesy as hell. Gross.

Let’s try again. Sarcasm? Check. Vine references? Hell yes! Crude humour? Check. Blunt honesty? Double check. We’re living in a Lana del Rey song, ladies.

The author doesn’t actually condone codependent relationships in real life. This is a filthy little fantasy. Enjoy, deviants.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @vozit @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! She deserves all the love 💙

Peter woke me up at eight AM the next morning like the little shit that he was, demanding I make him pancakes. It wasn’t the first time I’ve had the joy to experience him in the morning and he knew exactly how to antagonise me enough to make him the special pancakes he liked so much. They had become kind of a ritual whenever he stayed over at my house, which was quite often - teachers liked me enough to pair me up with one of the most sensible kids for any projects that couldn’t be done alone by yours truly on her own.

I put on my yesterday’s dress, applied moisturizer and obediently trotted behind an excitedly mumbling Peter. The kitchen was large, beautiful and delightfully empty of any resident superheroes. I’ve indirectly crossed paths with all of the tower’s residents hanging around Tony, but I’ve yet had to speak more than polite niceties to any of them.

Spying a bowl of boiled eggs and some sort of weird salad alongside half burned toast on the counter, I suddenly understood why Peter demanded his pancakes. I strictly instructed the disaster child to stay away from my cooking process and set to work with one ear listening to his ramblings and a headphone in the other.

A set of thumping footsteps appeared behind me as I was pouring the batter for the first pancake. Their owner loudly sat down next to Peter, sighing, groaning, generally making “I’m not a morning person” sounds.

“Good morning, Mr. Barnes,” Peter’s tone was way, way too chipper.

“‘mrng,” The Sergeant grumbled. “Who’s this and why is she making pancakes?”

I turned around, spatula at the ready. “It’s me,” We’ve actually met before, but Barnes had left before I could even come over from my side of the work bench to say hello.

He nodded in acknowledgement after giving me a suspicious once-over. “One of Stark’s science children. I’m James but you can call me Bucky,” His voice sounded rough and gravely, and he clutched a coffee cup half the size of my head.

I snorted. “Science child, sure,” It wasn’t half-bad actually. I wisely choose to ignore the part of being Tony’s. No matter how hot the man was, I wasn’t anybody’s but my own, thank you very much. “Go get the bananas, Nutella and maple syrup, fellow science child.”

Peter scrambled to follow instructions as I plated the pancakes and cut the bananas into neat little rings to fill the sweet circles with. A tablespoon of Nutella, half a sliced banana, wrap, garnish with powdered sugar and pour maple syrup generously on top. I really didn’t see how this could be difficult but any and all attempts to teach Peter how to recreate my masterpiece always ended up in an absolute mess. I turned around to ask Bucky if he wanted any. The look of a man starved answered all my questions.

“You’re a goddess,” Peter moaned around his mouthful, nose smudged white with the powdered sugar.

“Gross, chew first then talk, you neanderthal,” I scoffed, prepping more batter for the second batch of pancakes. I wasn’t sure if everybody would show up but figured it would be rude to exclude them from the sheer magnificence that were my pancakes. I was just that good.

The music in my ear drowned most of Peter’s disgusting chewing noises, thankfully. My second batch vanished into thin air, inhaled by the two males like the garbage disposals that they were. Peter, in particular, ate an alarming quantity of food and I was surprised how he managed to stay so skinny. His daily eating schedule resembled the Hobbits.

More people appeared, this time acting less surprised regarding me standing at the stove. Hawkeye, Black Widow, Scarlet Witch and her brother, all of them wandered in wearing sleep attire with various amusing prints. Thankfully, they mostly kept quiet or chatted with Peter - I would have definitely grumbled if someone tried to talk to me. As far as my body was concerned it was still the middle of the night.

“PANCAKES,” A booming voice announced and I shuddered at the sheer intensity and devotion contained in that one word. Thor.

“Please use your indoor voice,” I snapped reflectively. My brain caught up with what I just did so I hastily backtracked. “Sorry, I’m a bitch in the mornings.”

The blonde man chuckled, coming over to poke his nose into my flurry of pour-flip-fill sequence. Then, with all the grace and manners of a prince, he dipped one (1) large finger into the jar of Nutella and wandered off with it stuck in his mouth. With this turn of events the Nutella was bound to run out sooner than expected.

I turned around, annoyed confusion in plain sight. “The fuck?.. That’s gross, don’t do that,” Finding his brother (adopted!) sitting next to Thor, wearing a haughty smirk, finger still in his mouth. So Loki turned into his brother to steal Nutella from a jar. I sighed. Nobody even batted an eye. “Your alien germs are in there now, double ew.”

“Alien germs? Where?” Bruce entered the kitchen with a tablet under his arm, wearing Hulk themed pajamas, Captain America in tow. I was honestly on the verge of breaking down into hysterical laughter. Domestic Avengers wasn’t something I’d expected to see or experience, ever, much less be a part of. It took a moment for me to remind myself that they were people, too, and each of them was entitled to their own quirks.

“America, egg-splain,” Peter muttered under his breath, giggling. “Loki stuck his hand in the Nutella jar,” He pointed at said jar. “She got grumpy,” Peter pointed at me. “Don’t make her grumpy, please, I want more pancakes,” And turned his pleading puppy eyes in my direction again.

“This is indentured servitude,” I pointed my spatula at the little shit. “You just had, like, ten.” But I made more batter nonetheless. I must admit it was kind of cool, seeing the earth’s mightiest defenders so relaxed. And Pete being happy, that was just… The best. I don’t know how to explain it. His eternal cheerfulness was highly contagious.

Chuckles filled up the room, the adults chatting and bickering amongst themselves while they patiently waited for their own breakfast.

“Do you need some help?” Bruce approached me after stopping to fetch himself a cup of tea. It smelled strongly of tangy herbs and honey.

“I need more Nutella and bananas,” I admitted, surveying the sheer amount of people I had to feed. I didn’t doubt the Captain and two Asgardians had an appetite to match Peter’s which meant a literal extra set of condiments was required. Thankfully, Bruce fetched them for me, coming to a stop next to me. “Anything else?”

“You know, I tried making these with Peter and he just ended up with powdered sugar and chocolate all over himself,” I mused, noting the way Banner was carefully observing the assembly of a pancake. “You think Doctor seven-phds can manage to add a few toppings to a pancake without causing a disaster?“

Bruce rolled his eyes fondly, bumping me with his hip. "I’m no Clint Barton when it comes to cooking but at least I don’t burn my toast like Steve,” True to his word, his hands made swift motions of filling, wrapping and plating each individual pancake. They were almost as good as mine albeit more messy. I had lots of practice though. We finished off a batch in companionable silence, sounds of the team and my music playing in the background.

I didn’t notice when I started swaying to the rhythm, catching a confused look from Bruce. I brushed back my hair, revealing a wireless headphone in my ear and he chuckled in understanding. “What are you listening to?”

“Right now? Kings of Leon,” I said, leaning towards him so he could hear the chorus “Use Somebody” currently occupying my right ear.

“I like them, too,” He said, his cheek gently touching mine. His hands slowed on the pancake, a soft hum vaguely reminding me of the song’s melody emanating from his throat. “What else do you usually listen to?”

“Mostly heavier stuff, but I have a whole separate playlist dedicated to mid-2000s bops,” I answered. “I’ve heard I’m quite old school when it comes to music.”

“Well, I am an old man, so…” Bruce grinned mischievously. “But my guilty pleasure is Lady Gaga,” He admitted with a laugh.

I laughed, too. The image of his dancing in his lab to Born This Way was too much for my brain and I hung my head, fighting giggles. Bruce bumped me with his hip again, faking a pout. “Okay, okay, that was a fucking hilarious image, you go dude,” I finally powered through my struggle to contain laughter. “My own guilty pleasure would be… Umm… Lana Del Rey, I guess.”

Bruce made a vague noise of confusion. I took a brief break from mixing the batter to dig out my second headphone, presenting it to him and switching to a song. “This is what makes us girls”. Despite the fact I have never stolen a car or had a close female friend, the nostalgia was real. “Carmen” followed after the first song and I silently thanked whatever deity that “You can be the boss” was taken out of Spotify - I don’t think I was prepared to share that kind of information with a lab partner. An older, handsome lab partner. Wait… Where did that come from?

“I like it,” He said after the song ended and my more usual stuff began playing. “It suits you, I think.”

I groaned. “Really? I think it’s edgy,” Hiding away the embarrassment, I passed him a tray of freshly baked pancakes, occupying his immediate attention.

“You’re an old soul,” He gave me a lopsided smile. I saw a very faint blush tinting his cheeks, the kind of blush that had me wondering about the meaning behind his words.

I gave an attempt at a smile in response, the left corner of my mouth barely tilting up. We talked some more about the rock music we shared in our earphones. I had a lot of 80s hair metal and 90s grunge in my playlist. Bruce was not a Curt Cobain man but enjoyed the works of his legacy, Marcy Playground.

A tan hand wormed its way between me and Bruce, snatching a handful of banana slices and disappeared just as swiftly. “Tonyyy,” Bruce groaned, picking up another banana to replace the stolen pieces.

The spatula in my hand became a weapon as I blindly aimed at the target behind my back. A loud “ow” indicated I hit it. When I turned around, Tony was clutching the side of his face, a hurt look in his eyes and cheeks stuffed full of stolen goods. I stared him square in the face, absolutely refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was shirtless - the arc reactor glowed brightly in the middle of his toned chest. Fuck.

His chest was honestly what I was aiming for. I constantly kept forgetting how short he actually was. There was this one time when Tony had to put his arms around me to steady a piece of tech - he felt huge, hard and enormous around me.

“What’s that for, Princess?” He finally chewed through his food and found his voice.

“For being a Tony,” I retorted. “Stay away from my workspace and wait for your breakfast like everybody else.”

“Hey! This is my kitchen,” He whined immediately, like the adult man that he was. I nearly cried from how adorable his face became, eyebrows scrunched up. “I don’t want to wait! And why does he,” Tony’s finger accusingly pointed at Bruce, “Get the bananas?!”

“Because he’s Brucie-bear,” I stuck my nose up in the air when Bruce’s arm wrapped around my waist. “He’s my science father,” I stuck my tongue out at Tony, seeing Bruce’s triumphant smile. Banner used every opportunity to get back at Tony’s incessant sass.

The gleaming in Tony’s eyes should have alarmed me. “But he’s not your science daddy,” Tony’s flirting was accompanied by a salacious eyebrow wiggle and Peter’s screech of “OH MY GOD!"

It took me every ounce of willpower to not flush. It was one of those rare times that I was at a complete loss of words. Thinking on the spot, I gave a very meaningful look to Bruce - thankfully, he got the gist and returned an equally filthy smirk back. Tony gaped.

"Is this how they are in the lab?” The Captain’s quiet voice leaked horrified amusement.

“All.The.Time.” Peter’s resonating groan was followed by Romanoff’s laughter.

We went up to the lab after breakfast. Thankfully Tony stopped his dramatic bitching when I served him my pancakes, scarfing them down much like everybody else. So me and Pete were accompanied by one (1) happy engineer, all three of us tinkering away on a robot that we were supposed to present in our science class in a month. The focus that was required to solder was immense and our usual banter was missing, replaced by an occasional request for a specific tool or a water bottle.

It took a few hours to get the dirty job done even with Tony’s help (technically he wasn’t supposed to but neither me nor Pete had the heart to forbid him from it when the man looked so content and happy soldering away). By the time I uncurled from my spot on the bench, my back was in knots and my dress had oil stains and holes all over it. I immediately went to the nearest water bottle, finishing half of it in seconds, picking up my phone to see if I had any important messages from my mother.

None.

Just a message from Bruce.

I tapped on my phone, idly scrolling through the Instagram app, liking some pictures of people I barely knew and keeping up a general appearance of being very busy. When the ringtone started playing, it took me a whole five seconds to understand it was, in fact, coming from my phone - I certainly wouldn’t put something so… Outrageous as my main tone.

Banner had discovered the power of the internet. You Can Be The Boss played loudly, and it played from my phone and Bruce was calling me. I picked it up, turning around, fighting the incoming laughter. “Yes, Brucie?"

To say that Tony’s and Peter’s faces were scandalised was nothing. The boy’s face was such a deep shade of red, I started worrying about his blood pressure and Tony’s mouth hung open limply, like he was witnessing the second coming of Christ.

"Is Tony sufficiently traumatized?” Judging by the breathless tone of his voice, Banner was resisting a mighty laughing fit of his own.

“Oh, absolutely,” I happily chirped.

“Good, keep it up. Come to my lab before you leave,” Banner snorted and then, realising what he’d done, promptly hung up, the tell-tale beginning of a giggle fit abruptly interrupted by a dial tone.

I put the phone in my bag, gathering the rest of my things with a look somewhere between innocence and indifference. At least, I hoped it was - my mind kept jumping between the engineer’s ridiculously scandalised face and the way his mouth went slack, lips moist and soft and plush. That’s a very dangerous trail.

A very dangerous trail I couldn’t resist exploring in the solitude and privacy of my own bedroom, at home.

#bun writes #party favours #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x reader #Stephen Strange x y/n

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moldisgoodforyou · 4 years

Text

lost time (chapter eight)

MASTERLIST

pairing: rafe cameron x oc

warning: cursing

wordcount: 4.2k it’s been a while buckle up

gif from @poguemackin

Rafe showed up to class on Monday with more nerves than he ever had, unsure of what Sophie’s reaction would be. After having a long heart-to-heart with James and Colin (though he would never call it that), he had come to terms that maybe, just maybe, he liked Sophie Flint more than a friend. He was determined to try, telling himself he would be patient when she would try to argue like always and that he would give it a chance. For once.

Sophie didn’t seem to get the memo.

She barely greeted him, only offering a half-smile when she sat next to him - unusually late, only there one minute until class was meant to start. “Running late today?” Rafe elbowed her with a grin.

“Guess so.” She shrugged, head down as she started scrawling into her notebook while their professor started teaching.

He frowned, caught off guard by her cold demeanor, given that they were cuddled together in a bed just under 48 hours ago. “Just teasing, Soph.”

She nodded, keeping her eyes down. “I know.”

The rest of the class continued like that, Rafe resisting every single urge in his body to tear off a piece of paper and slide her a note. (She’d probably find it annoying, and it wasn’t middle school, anyways.) At the end of class, she didn’t even bother to pack her bag, just gathered her things into her arms and hurriedly left before he even had a second to say goodbye. As promised, he met James to walk to their next class together, looking completely lost.

“How’d it go?” James asked Rafe with a grin, reaching out to knuckle his fist against Rafe’s hair.

Rafe ducked out from under him and shoved his arm away, scowling. “Not good. She barely even looked at me, let alone talked to me.”

“Oh.” James frowned. “Maybe she was just tired? It is kind of early.”

“Nah, she at least smiles at me. Or have some smart comeback and she didn’t even try today.” Rafe rubbed the back of his neck, thinking about how she avoided him.

“Huh. Text her and see if she’s okay.” James urged.

“She probably wouldn’t like that.” Rafe hesitated, but took out his phone anyways. “I don’t want her to think I’m annoying.”

“Then wait and text her later today. It’ll be fine, dude, don’t stress about it.”

“I’m not stressed!” Rafe argued.

James rolled his eyes and grabbed Rafe’s wrist, not letting go when Rafe objected and shoved up his sleeve. He inspected the peeling leather on Rafe’s watch band and dropped his arm, shaking his head. “You scratch up the leather on this when you’re stressed out. And those are new marks.”

Rafe yanked his sleeve back down over the watch. “I didn’t think you picked up on that.”

“Well Colin pointed it out first, but now I notice whenever you do it.” James shrugged. “It’s Sophie. She’ll come around.”

“How are you so sure about this?”

James shrugged again. “Like we said yesterday. You two are like, magnetic or some shit. There’s no way it won’t work out.”

“He didn’t say a single thing to me all class!” Sophie exclaimed the second she walked through the door, huffing as the door slammed shut behind her.

Both Allie and Julia lifted their heads from their work at their desks, completely unfazed by her loud entrance. She had recapped the events of the night (that she could remember, at least) yesterday morning over brunch, several mimosas, and they both had to talk her down from marching over to the Delt house right that second and asking for answers from Rafe.

“Not one thing?” Julia asked, skeptical.

Sophie flopped down dramatically onto the beanbag in the corner. “Well, okay, maybe a few things, but that was it. It’s like he didn’t even try.”

Allie raised her eyebrows and shut her laptop. “What exactly did he say, Soph?”

“He asked if I was running late, because, you know, I showed up later -”

“So you wouldn’t have to talk to him.” Julia pointed out.

“Only because he didn’t text me at all!” Sophie cried out, shooting a pointed glare her way. “And then he said he was just teasing and that was it.”

“Did you give him room to respond?” Allie asked gently, trying to get her to see through her flawed logic.

Sophie huffed, crossing her arms. “Probably.”

“Oh, probably, that’s a solid answer.” Julia rolled her eyes. “Look, do you want something with him or not?”

“I…” Sophie faltered, thinking. “I mean, maybe, but not if he can’t even text me after we slept together.”

“Well how big is he?” Julia grinned.

Allie reached across the desk, swatting her arm. “Jules!”

“What?!”

Sophie groaned, covering her face as a blush bloomed on her cheeks. “I don’t even know, guys, I told you I can’t remember anything after we got back to his house. I just remember trying to kiss him and then I woke up in his t-shirt.” She gasped. “Oh my god.”

“What’s wrong?” Julia frowned.

“What if I was that bad? Oh god, what if I was genuinely so terrible that he literally never wants to talk to me again? I can’t really walk when I’m drunk, so I’m probably not even good at fucking -”

“Stop, stop!” Allie laughed, throwing a pencil at her from across the room. “I don’t want to hear the details. Are you even sure you hooked up?”

“Yeah, why else would I be wearing his shirt?” Sophie reasoned. Her phone chimed and she froze, holding it up. “It’s Rafe. Should I open it?”

“Yes, stupid, open the text!” Julia exclaimed, scooting her chair closer to see the phone.

“Be nice!” Sophie scowled, unlocking her phone - and her jaw dropped. “Oh no.”

“You are so dramatic.” Allie giggled, walking over to see. “What’d he say?”

“Um...I might have made a mistake.” Sophie groaned, turning her phone to show two texts from Rafe yesterday, and one that had just been sent.

Rafe, 8:30am Sunday: Everything okay? You didn’t need to leave

Rafe, 4pm Sunday: Hope you’re feeling alright today

Rafe, 10:15 Monday: Are you okay?

Julia snorted. “Way to leave him on read, Soph.”

“Jules.” Allie chided, frowning.

“This is bad, isn’t it.” Sophie bit her lip, embarrassed.

“It doesn’t look great.” Allie admitted. “But hey! He still checked in on you just now! You can make up for ignoring him.”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” Sophie defended, already typing back a message.

“Wait, don’t look too eager.” Julia tried grabbing at the phone and Allie swatted her hands away.

“Don’t listen to her, you’ve been playing hard to get for two and a half years. Eager is fine.”

Sophie paused, glancing between the two of her friends, then sent the text. “Al, if I regret this, I’m blaming you.”

Allie rolled her eyes. “I’d expect nothing less.”

After a moment’s pause with bated breath, her phone chimed again and she grinned, turning the phone away to hide the screen. “Okay, okay, you two can go back to studying.”

Julia laughed, moving away with Allie. “Don’t forget to be nice for once.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sophie stuck out her tongue at Julia, but smiled anyways.

Sophie: yeah I’m good, just tired. sorry I didn’t see your other two texts

Rafe: I was beginning to think you were ignoring me haha

Sophie: no of course not

Rafe: Good

Rafe: Do you want to come study at the house tomorrow night? We can be in the formal room it just seems silly to go all the way to the library when we live so close

Sophie: what do we have to study for?

Rafe: Tomorrow’s Tuesday, did you forget about our running study date lol

Sophie: date huh

Rafe: You know what I mean

Sophie: yes I’d love to come over, I’ll see you at the same time

Once Rafe got Sophie’s final reply, he liked the message then let out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t paid attention to a single thing in his economics lecture, focusing more on texting Sophie and her responses. As their professor dismissed the class, Rafe shut his laptop with a grin, turning to Colin. “Can I -”

“Yes, you can have my notes.” Colin rolled his eyes, walking out with Rafe. “You texting Sophie the whole time?”

“Yeah, she replies slow - wait, how’d you know?”

Colin laughed. “You were grinning like an idiot at your computer during the whole lecture, and you hate this class.”

“Oh.” Rafe tried his best to fight the smile on his face, then shrugged. “We have a date tomorrow.”

“Really, you actually asked her out? Good on you, man,” Colin said.

“Well.” Rafe hedged, rubbing his neck. “Not exactly. She’s just coming over for when we usually study for our class together.”

Colin groaned and shoved Rafe’s arm. “That’s not a date, idiot. Do better.”

“I gotta take it slow!” Rafe protested.

“You’ve had your time taking it slow. Make a real move for once.” Colin said, shaking his head.

Sophie showed up to the Delt house dressed a little nicer than usual, just enough so Rafe would notice, in a sweater and a skirt. She was more nervous than ever, fidgeting with the ends of her hair as she waited on the front porch. Rafe hustled down the stairs the second he got her text, greeting her at the door with a huge grin. “Soph, hey!” He glanced over her appearance, immediately regretting his t-shirt and sweatpants attire.

His grin put her at ease and she relaxed, following him into the house. “Got a hot date after this or something?” He teased, leading her to the formal room where a few other boys were out studying.

“And what if I do?” She challenged, taking a seat opposite him at a table.

He raised his eyebrows, trying his best to not show any sign of disappointment. “Do you?”

She blushed a little but kept his gaze. “I - no. I had a presentation for class.” She lied, embarrassed she had even tried so hard.

“You look good.” Rafe paused. “Really good.”

Sophie bit back a smile, shaking her head a little. “Thank you. Um, we should study, I don’t want to keep you busy for too long.” She slid out her notebook, showing him a few pages of meticulous notes for their debate topic.

His notes, albeit messy, rivaled hers. “You actually prepared.” She said, impressed as she flipped through the pages.

He frowned a little. “I’ve been prepared every time. I’m not gonna let you down, Soph.” The words held more meaning than just talking about the group project and she did her best to ignore it, nodding as she skimmed over his notebook.

She paused, finger on a small note scribbled in the margin. “You wrote down my coffee order?”

Rafe blushed, embarrassed, and snagged back the notebook. “Well yeah, I had to remember it somehow.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Less about us, more about the ethics of time travel.” He flipped to a fresh page, ready to take down more notes. The two kept up easy conversation for a while, not noticing the time passing as they worked. When Sophie realized she’d been there for over an hour and the conversation was still surprisingly dry, given what had transpired on Saturday, she reached across the table and snapped Rafe’s book shut.

“Look, we should just talk about it.”

“It?” Rafe repeated, raising his eyebrows cluelessly.

“You know.” Sophie hinted, then huffed when he just looked more confused. “You’re gonna make me say it? Fine. Okay, since we slept together, you haven’t - what the fuck are you smiling for!” She scowled, crossing her arms.

He was grinning ear-to-ear but leaned back in his chair, clearly amused. “Sorry, sorry go on.”

“This isn’t funny, Cameron.”

“That’s Mr. Cameron to you.” He teased.

She ignored him, rolling her eyes. “Since we slept together you haven’t said a single thing about it. And whatever, I know I was drunk, but if I was really that bad -"

Rafe couldn’t keep the act up anymore and started cracking up, hardly able to keep eye contact. He doubled over, almost wheezing as he laughed.

“It’s not funny!” Sophie hissed, embarrassed as his loud laughter drew attention from boys walking by.

He swiped his hand across his eyes, shaking his head as he let out a few more chuckles. “Soph, we didn’t sleep together. Not like that.”

Sophie frowned and it was her turn to be confused. “Wait, what?”

“You called me when you were drunk, I picked you up and you wanted to come back here, then you asked for clothes to change into to sleep.” A small blush crept up his neck and he looked a little shy. “Then, um, you asked me to come cuddle but I accidentally fell asleep when you did. And I woke up and you were gone.”

She sat back in her chair, reeling as she processed this new information. “I didn’t sleep with you.”

“Not in anything other than the literal sense, no.”

“Oh.”

“See? Nothing to worry about. You were drunk, I wouldn’t have - you know. I just wanted you safe.”

At those words, she remembered him saying them that night. “And you practically saved my life.”

Rafe paused. “Huh? I mean, you almost stepped out into traffic. But wait, you were hammered, how do you remember that?”

She rolled her eyes. “I remember practically everything even when I’m drinking, what do you mean?”

“Practically everything…” he repeated, slowly. She could practically see the wheels turning in his head at her confession. His jaw dropped. “So you lied! About our first kiss!”

“I...yeah.” Trapped in her lie, Sophie winced. “I don’t know why. I’m sorry, I just didn’t want you to think I go around letting just anyone kiss me when I’m drunk.”

Rafe laughed, shaking his head. “You kissed me, Sophie Flint. Not the other way around.”

She scowled at the name. “Oh, not the full name now, you’re making it sound like I’m in trouble.”

He hesitated, glancing down at his notes before looking back up at her. “Why’d you lie?”

“I was nervous.” She admitted, biting her lip. “Maybe I thought you’d think less of me or something, I don’t know.”

He softened, reaching out across the table to take her hand. She let him, brain fogging over as he rubbed gentle circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’d never think that, Soph.”

She took a moment too long to reply, distracted by his touch. “Okay. Good.”

“Should we finish?” He asked, not letting go of her hand.

She was the first to let go, reluctantly pulling her hand back to her book. “Yeah. Um.” Sophie blushed, flipping through a few pages randomly to give her a moment to think. “Page 54, yeah?”

The second Rafe waved goodbye to Sophie and let the door shut behind her, James and Colin practically ambushed him in the foyer. They had been ‘studying’ in the corner of the formal room, not-so-subtly giving Rafe multiple winks and thumbs up from behind Sophie’s back as they tried eavesdropping on their entire conversation. James clapped Rafe on the shoulder, grinning. “Ask her out yet?”

“No.” Rafe responded, still confused from their conversation. They had gotten nowhere, yet they had also gotten...somewhere? “I held her hand.”

“For two seconds.” Colin rolled his eyes.

“Still something!” James interjected, ever-positive. “But dude, if you want something, you actually have to make a move. Like…” He pretended to lean in with puckered lips and Rafe shoved his head away, rolling his eyes.

“I know, dude. I gotta take it slow.”

“You keep saying that.” Colin pointed out. “When are you actually going to do something about it?”

Rafe scowled. “Get off my back.”

She couldn’t do it. She really couldn’t.

Every single bone in her body wanted to just give in, be nice to Rafe, see if they could be a thing. But that would require letting someone in, being vulnerable, and Rafe Cameron of all people was not who she could do that with. (At least that’s what she told herself.) She could feel herself falling for him, and that freaked her out.

Their study dates had gone from once a week at the library to twice a week at the Delt house. Never at Theta, she wasn’t prepared for the rumors that would fly and hearing girls speculate about a possible relationship. The reality check for her came when Julia called her out for waking up early for class just so she could put on a little extra makeup or make sure her hair wasn’t just thrown in its usual ponytail. “If you like him, just say something.” Allie had encouraged her, trying to give her the push she needed.

Sophie resisted, as usual. “There’s nothing between us.”

They really only needed thirty minutes, max, to knock out their prep for their debate class, but Sophie found herself stretching out the time to an hour and a half, sometimes two. Rafe never seemed to mind, eager to keep discussing the merits of their side of the debate and to just see that spark in her eyes for a little bit longer as she spoke about something she was passionate about.

Today had to be different. She set a timer on her watch the second she stepped through the doors at Delt, following Rafe through to their usual study spot. Sophie told herself she was only allowed to stay the thirty minutes, nothing more, and keep the conversation strictly to work. Maybe even be a little mean, if she had to, to push him away again. (It always worked before.)

“How was your day?” He greeted her with his signature grin and she visibly winced, already feeling herself cave. She sat across from him and glanced at her watch. Twenty-nine minutes. God. She could do that.

“Fine.” She replied shortly, not reciprocating.

He nodded, unaware, and tapped his foot nervously under the table. “That’s good. So I was thinking, if you wanted to, maybe, after studying -"

“I can’t.” She cut him off. “I can’t stay long, I’m busy. Let’s just get this done.”

“Oh - oh. Okay. Sorry.” He apologized needlessly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s whatever.” Sophie dismissed. “So I was thinking we focus our argument on these three main points…”

He tuned her out and just skimmed over the notebook she slid over to him, eyes tracing over the words but not truly reading any of them. Rejected. Huh. He didn’t even get the chance to get the words out, ask her to go get ice cream after. Maybe that would have been a stupid move anyways, considering it was the last week of October in Ohio and only forty degrees outside. Next time he’d think of a better plan, next time he’d -

“Rafe.” Sophie’s annoyed voice snapped him out of his reverie.

He jerked his head up. “Huh?”

She rolled her eyes. “God, were you even listening? Pay attention.”

He resisted a frown, halfway paying attention now as she spoke. Did he do something wrong? He thought they were getting along, flirty even. Maybe he misread the signs. “What’s up with you today?” He asked, more concerned than irritated.

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure? Because your attitude seems like something.” He couldn’t resist pressing her buttons, just once.

“I don’t have an attitude. Just trying to get this stupid homework done.” She snapped back.

He raised his hands in defense, a little taken aback. “Whoa, chill. We can get it done, you don’t have to be rude.”

Sophie softened, just a little, and glanced at her watch again. 23 minutes. Maybe she didn’t have to entirely be an asshole. “Right.”

Rafe held her gaze for a moment, as if trying to read the thoughts running through her mind. “Okay. So I was thinking…” They kept a somewhat civil conversation, strictly related to their class, though Rafe could tell something felt off. She didn’t have the usual teasing lilt in her tone and he was too nervous to even try his typical flirting - his hand grazing against hers, or a sly comment here and there.

After a few minutes of reading together from a new article on Rafe’s laptop, he spoke up. “Hey, Soph -” he started with a hint of a frown.

“Sophie.” She corrected, keeping her eyes trained on the computer.

Rafe’s face fell flat and he pressed his lips together into a thin line, nodding once. “Never mind then.”

“What is it?”

“I said never mind.” He repeated, shaking his head.

The rest of the time was fairly quiet as they scribbled out notes for their arguments, sharing a relevant piece of information every few minutes.

“Why’d you choose architecture?” Rafe asked after a few moments of silence, both of them reading over their textbooks.

“Study, Rafe.” Sophie reprimanded him with a bored tone, keeping her eyes on her book ‘til she finished the page. He glanced over her expression, trying to decide if she was serious or not, then went back to his book.

“I thought it was cool. I like seeing the way things work, how buildings are crafted. Everything has a purpose.” She spoke after a moment.

He smiled. “That’s cool. I can tell you like it.”

“You hardly know me,” Sophie pointed out.

(Not true. He could read her like a book after all these years, knowing exactly when she was about to snap. She could do the same.)

He frowned, feeling her putting up a wall, her typical defense mechanism when she didn’t want to admit the truth. “I think I do.” He argued, keeping her gaze. She rolled her eyes and broke eye contact first, dropping her eyes back to her book.

He sighed, quietly, and returned to pretending to read.

Sophie broke the silence this time. “Why are you studying film?”

He looked up, a little surprised she was taking interest. “Uh…” he trailed off, trying to think of how best to phrase it. “Movies were always my escape. If my dad was busy with work, y’know, like usual, he’d just throw on a movie for me and my sisters.” He smiled, thinking back. “I’m pretty sure I have Hercules memorized by heart now.”

“That’s cool. My favorite Disney movie was Robin Hood.” Sophie mused, scribbling a couple notes in the margins of her book. She tried her best to keep an impassive composure, although she wanted nothing more inside than to spend hours just talking about his interests and seeing the way he beamed when she was interested too.

“I never really liked him. Didn’t he steal from people?”

“Not really, he stole from the tax collector and gave the money to the poor people.” She pointed out.

“Oh.” Rafe paused, not sure if he wanted to continue the argument. “System’s in place for a reason, right?”

Sophie wrinkled her nose, annoyance creeping into her tone. There was something about his indifference that made her just want to reach across the table and shake some sense into him. “Not when the government is creating an illegitimate tax system.”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Guess I never watched that closely.”

“Well I’m right, anyways.” She declared, lifting her chin a little in a challenge.

“It doesn’t matter anyways, Flint, it’s a cartoon.” Rafe replied, slightly exasperated. There it was - back to last names. For some reason, it made Sophie madder than ever. She hated the way it rolled off his tongue so easily, like he knew her by nothing else.

“It does matter, Cameron, it’s the principle of the thing.” She turned up her nose haughtily toward him, crossing her arms. She knew she was doing exactly what she shouldn’t do, chipping away at their already rocky relationship built on a foundation of uneven stone. “But I’m not surprised you wouldn’t care.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He retorted, mimicking her pose from across the table.

“It means you’re a dick. Always relying on daddy’s money.” Sophie stood her ground, jaw set. The way she said it, it was too sure, too carefully crafted to hit just where it’d hurt. Casual, almost, as if it meant nothing to say that. Like she’d been waiting to use that line for ages.

That stung more than he expected, even though he’d heard it before - just not from her lips. He shot his response back quickly, too quickly, and regretted the words the second they left his mouth. “At least I don’t have to work two jobs just to pay for college.”

Her face turned to stone as she felt the heat creeping up her neck, threatening to expose her embarrassment. Sophie gathered her things quickly, carelessly shoving them into her backpack, then paused before leaving to look him straight in the eye. “That’s fucking low, Rafe, even for you.” She said quietly. The words hung in the air between them as she turned sharply on her heel and strode calmly away, trying to beat the tears on the verge of spilling over her cheeks.

Her watch vibrated on her wrist just as she stepped outside, hot tears welling up in her eyes. Thirty minutes. Timed perfectly.

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#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron imagine #frat rafe #college rafe #college obx #rafe x sophie #mine

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