#but i drew these conclusions with what i picked up from their behavior | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aerosiderwrites · 3 years

Text

Archery Practice ... Yandere Childe x Harbinger!Reader

warnings for genre typical portrayals of unhealthy relationships... ngl childe is kinda tame in this one tho

Word Count: 2k

Mid-evening tended to be an unpopular time to train. Most were having dinner, finishing their work day, and getting ready for as restful night as possible in the frigid climate of Snezhnaya. You typically would as well, but with a lot to reflect on and frustrated energy, you brushed off the snow on your person as you entered a Fatui training facility. You gave a quiet greeting to the guards who manned the building, who stood at attention at your arrival. You paid them no second thought as you began to navigate the pristine building.

You followed a path down the corridors you knew by heart, as even years before your ascension to being a Harbinger you found yourself here more than at home whenever your weren’t on assignment. Most windows into the various gyms were dark, and the ones with people in them had young recruits of little consequence to you.

You turned a corner when you heard someone calling for you. You processed the distinct voice as Childe, the most recent addition to the Harbingers. You ignored him, hoping that your increase in pace would not catch his attention. You mentally pleaded that he would avoid the archery range in favor of the other combat gyms.

He didn’t stop, as he never did, as his voice continued to come your way. You closed your eyes in weak attempt to hide your wince as he addressed you by name, by your real name, not your Harbinger title as the other nine would.

You stopped dead and turned to where he was trailing behind you and gave him your attention, unfortunately rewarding his bad behavior, “Titles only, Childe.”

“I wasn’t sure you could hear me” Childe responded, now standing tall right in front of you, his smile still the same, ignoring or otherwise completely unbothered by the standoffishness on your end. “I wanted to see if you wanted to spar while you’re here.”

Like clockwork. Every damn time you came in here and he was here too he’d ask. Each time you’d say no. Each time he’d hover around you until one of you had to leave. It had worked for the other Harbingers, as he now paid them no mind but for whatever reason, he still engaged with you. Tonight, you hoped your verifiable excuse and unfriendly aura would be the last straw for him.

“I’m just going to be doing target practice today,” you said, hoping to deter him. “I don’t want to do anything too strenuous today.”

“Oh you are? Do you mind if I join you?”

You blinked, “I didn’t know you knew how to use a bow,” you verbally dug your heels into the ground, even though you knew he could just walk into the range and practice along side you if he so wanted. There were no restrictions to who could use what when, but you desperately wished he would take a hint and leave you alone.

“I’ve been practicing on my own more recently, actually,” explained Childe, “And considering you’re the best archer among us, I can’t imagine having a better training partner.”

You narrowed your eyes at his compliment, while delivered earnestly, you couldn’t help but interpret his words as being subtly facetious. Since Childe sidestepped your frustrated hint with ease, you relented with a sigh, “Do as you please.”

The two of you headed to an archery range, Childe walking along side you, while you stewed in silent annoyance. So much for introspection time.

No one quite knew how to pester quite like Tartaglia. It was the popular opinion among the other Harbingers that the 11th was obnoxious. While you and your contemporaries preferred to work in the shadows and keep the often extreme extents of your servitude to your Archon hush-hush, Tartaglia, or Childe, as he preferred, ended up with a style that was far more akin to a performance. However, unlike most performers, he would make sure that his performance would be the last his audience would ever see.

You stopped in front of a door to the small range, opening it up unceremoniously, and Childe followed close behind. The room lit up, and illuminating the long room with three suspended targets, at three distances. Even with the unwanted company, you stretched and warmed up on autopilot, the silence between you and Childe surprisingly comfortable.

You glanced over, Childe having gone through his warm up routine faster than you. He had called his bow already, and you found yourself gawking at the absolutely abysmal posture he held as he aimed at the closest target, the one on the far left.

His shoulders were hunched and his bow hand gripped the bow in such a way that seemed entirely unsustainable. The arrow sat flimsy in his drawing hand, the only saving grace of the shot being the strength with Childe drew, which was borderline disturbing. You weren’t sure if he was showing off, or if he genuinely didn’t know to hold back.

You held your tongue as you watched him fire the shot, your eyes barely able to follow as the arrow swiftly embedded itself deep into the target, although the hit was only one by the smallest of margins

You watched him fire two more arrows, the second being a ring outside of the bullseye, and the third a near miss from the top. Both would be a challenge to pull from the targets as the fletching of the arrows were barely all that stuck out.

“See, I have a problem with being consistent in the hits I land,” Childe sighed, aware that you were observing, “What would you recommend?”

You took a deep inhale, “I think most children who pick up bows for the first time don’t have posture as bad as you.”

Childe flinched, his body language exaggerated, a pout resembling a kicked puppy having formed on his face, “Cut me some slack, I’m self taught!”

You remained unrelenting in your onslaught, “That’s obvious,” you scoffed, “You put way to much strength into the draw, especially when you can barely hold the bow itself. I’m amazed you hit the target at all.”

As as satisfying as it was to drag his form through the mud, Childe’s hurt expression only seemed to deepen, and you let yourself be worn down. “Draw the empty string, I’ll tell you what you need to fix.”

He did as you asked, and you rationalized to yourself that you were ultimately helping the Tsaritsa if you assisted Childe here. If he were ever stuck in a situation where he could only use a bow, you didn’t want him to be caught with his pants down. As invasive as he was, you didn’t want him to die or anything.

You lightly tapped his upper back, “Don’t hunch.” He fixed himself quickly. You moved his elbow up on his drawing arm, and went around to bend his elbow on his bow arm, going in quickly, and touching his as little as possible. You gave explanations for why each mistake would be detrimental for any kind of combat, and how to develop instinctive shooting, while making him maintain proper posture.

You were surprised how well he seemed to internalize what you explained, and you didn’t stop yourself from going into more detail than was feasibly retainable, but he stayed attentive, and showed a passion you weren’t expecting. You eased into a comfortable rhythm, and with rudimentary fixes, Childe was able to improve.

Time passed quickly, your engagement far more than either of you had expected. Childe had been trying to gauge you for a long time, but your persistence into giving him as little as possible became entertaining in and of itself. He enjoyed the open resentment of the other Harbingers, and before you had let your shell crack, he had enjoyed yours just as much.

Your patience with any mistakes was unexpected, your exasperation and irritation with his presence having dissipated entirely as you focused on helping him despite yourself. It was endearing seeing this side of you, a side that showed itself with surprisingly little prodding or string-pulling. It felt… natural, and unfortunately for you, it was also very endearing.

“Hey, [Y/N],” he started, interrupting a demonstration you had started about sights, earning a surprised look from you as he got your attention.

It took a split second, but you noticed he used your name instead of your title, your guard went back up, and you narrowed your eyes at him, “Don’t speak informally with me, use my title, Tartaglia.” You hissed out, using his official title instead of his preferred to emphasize your distance.

“Why? You can call me Ajax,” he offered, testing the barrier you set up. He hid his surprise when you hesitated, pursing your lips. He saw through how you tried to treat him apathetically, and forced yourself to be unkind to him. You were so much softer than you wanted anyone else to be privy to, and Childe was excited to exploit it.

In your own head, you had reached a conclusion that you weren’t sure he had reached, or if he even noticed in himself. You could have been way off, but as someone so at odds with his peers, seen as a tool by his superior, and feared by enemies and underlings alike, the pieces fit in your head and spelled out the fact that Childe was probably lonely.

Realizations clicked together quickly upon this conclusion, but you kept them to yourself.

“I won’t,” you maintained, refusing to let up. You couldn’t stop sympathy and understanding from now changing the tint of your interactions or how you viewed them, but you didn’t have to let him know any of that. Childe wasn’t your business, no matter how much he wanted to be.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Childe cooed, holding back a patronizing urge to pinch your angry cheeks, “I just wanted to ask why you’re helping me, since you seem to dislike me so much.”

You shifted your weight where you stood, “I don’t think you’d leave me alone either way.”

“That hasn’t stopped you from ignoring me before.”

Resentment bubbled in your chest, “So you are aware that you’re a pest.”

“Only because I like you.”

You were baffled that he could just say something that familiar, and you hoped any warmth that showed itself on you wouldn’t be interpreted as anything other than embarrassment on his behalf. “Well, stop.”

Childe seemed more amused than anything at your words, it only feeding into his idea that you’re just playing hard to get, “Am I really so unlikable?”

“You have no idea.” Any understanding you gained during your interactions being emotionally tossed to the wayside as your couldn’t bring yourself to care about someone with such a deliberate lack of regard for boundaries.

You disarmed yourself and made way to the door, pulling it open only for it to shut fast before you could blink. Your eyes followed the gloved hand that slammed it shut, Childe now far closer than you have ever let him get before.

You didn't want to turn around, and when you did you found yourself regretting it. His eyes were cold, completely unamused at your intent to leave while he was enjoying your company so much. He didn't mind a chase, but he needed you to realize that he was serious, and very difficult to deter.

If being pleasant and fun wouldn't get you to loosen up, he could change his approach until you changed your mind.

It had been a very long time since you felt this small. You’ve always been aware of Childe’s strength, but at the end of the day, despite his irritating nature, he was an ally. Or was. In that moment you looked up to see his lighthearted facade disappear so completely, you understood that regardless of your allegiance to your Archon, he was a threat.

“Don’t go, I still have so much I’d like to learn from you, [Y/N].”

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader #aerosiderwriting #ive been sitting on this for a while... sorryyy #its a lil messy n self indulgent but this was for Me anyway so [blows kisses to myself] for u beloved #see yall in another 4547589 months /j (hopefully)

449 notes · View notes

hanatiny · 3 years

Text

[4:04] Heart Not Found

a/n // disclaimer: I’d like to make it clear that I neither condone nor endorse any of the behavior described in this fic. Each of the characters acknowledges that it is beyond unacceptable and unjustified; this is merely meant to be an experimental look at the psychological processes within a yandere’s mind. Furthermore, this work is purely fictional and I do not claim to personally know exactly how any of the ateez members behave.

a/n: If there’s anything potentially triggering that I have forgotten to list in the warnings, please let me know and I’ll fix my mistake asap!! thank you <3

pairing: yandere!San x genderneutral!reader x pianist!boyfriend!Hongjoong

genre: angst

word count: 2602

warnings: non-idol AU, murder, descriptions of injuries, mentions of blood and death, mentions of knives, San is highly obsessive in this, he threatens the reader but doesn’t actually hurt them, kidnapping, trespassing, swearing, I did my best to keep the violence as vague as possible

-----

It was around 3am and you had yet to return home, and to say San was unnerved about this fact would be a massive understatement.

It wasn’t unusual for you to get home when it was already dark outside but it was never after midnight, much less in the early morning hours it was approaching now.

San tapped his fingers against the glass of his window anxiously as he watched the streets below attentively. You had turned off your phone a while ago, or at least that was the conclusion he drew after he stopped getting a signal from the tracker he had secretly managed to install on your phone.

3:12... why weren't you home yet?

His jaw went tense when he finally caught sight of you a few excruciatingly long minutes later, and he absolutely fumed as he saw you holding hands with another man he had never seen before in his life- he paused.

He did recognize the man, as none other than the pianist Kim Hongjoong who had been gaining quite a bit of popularity in the recent months. Kim Hongjoong, who he had gone to high school with until the older dropped out to focus on his career instead.

San didn't care much for that though, because a pretty face and a talent like Hongjoong's didn't mean he could love and care for you like you deserved it.

San believed that only he could give you everything you needed and wanted, and everything beyond that. Which was exactly why he was seeing red, punching the wall next to himself angrily. It caused his knuckles to bleed from the force behind the action, but the rage he felt overshadowed his pain.

Why didn’t you realize you were destined to be his and his alone? That you shouldn’t go whoring yourself out to other men? That only he should be the one to hold you in his arms, the one to protect you from everyone and everything.

He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why you couldn’t feel his attraction to you, why you insisted on turning a blind eye to him and found him “weird.” That’s what he assumed to be the case, at the very least.

San loved you, why was that so damn difficult for you to understand?

His narrowed eyes flickered over to the knife resting on his bedside table, and he had it clutched tightly in his bleeding hand within the blink of an eye.

He darted down the stairs without a second thought, blinded by the rage he felt deep within himself.

Meanwhile, outside, you were hugging your boyfriend goodbye for the night. His dark eyes shone innocently as he kissed your nose affectionately, causing you to giggle while still having your hands intertwined.

“So I’ll pick you up at 10 tomorrow for brunch, yeah?”

“Sounds good, Hongjoongie~ I’ll see you then.” You playfully blew him a kiss before he turned and walked off into the night, rounding the corner shortly after.

It was San’s time to strike, using your distracted state of mind to creep up behind you and tightly wrap an arm around your torso while he held the knife to your throat in warning.

You didn’t recognize his voice at first when he whispered into your ear, your brain much too clouded from the feeling of fear filling you, “If you make any sound at all, I’ll personally slit your throat and cut your vocal cords. You don’t want to lose an angelic voice such as yours, do you~?”

Realizing your situation was hopeless due to the unexpected amount of strength the man holding you possessed, you stopped trying to kick him and wrestle yourself free. This was the only answer he needed, starting to take slow and deliberate steps backwards from your house over to his. His hold on you remained tight, borderline suffocating even, just in case you would dare to get bold and try something.

He had left his door slightly ajar, kicking it shut behind him once he had finally brought you inside of his living space.

You still found yourself unable to figure out the identity of the man who had burst into your comfort zone out of nowhere but you didn’t want to find out what he was capable of doing to you if you attempted to resist whatever he was in the process of doing and pinpoint who he was, considering the amount of ease with which he snuck up and took hold of you just a few minutes ago.

Casually dropping his knife onto a nearby cupboard, he led you down the hallway of his house to a spacious bedroom. It was then a figurative lightbulb went off in your head and the fog clouding your mind cleared, upon seeing certain pieces of furniture he had placed in the room.

You had been here before. You had been in this house before when he had just moved in and his furniture was all over the place, he was the ‘cute neighbor’ who had offered you some coffee and invited you over to ‘get to know each other a little.’ Now all you needed to do was remember his name- it clicked. You remembered.

His grip on you (probably purposely) loosening, you whirled around and took a few steps away from him. San didn’t seem all too fazed by it though, simply grinning knowingly at you and crossing his arms while you did your best to subtly gain proper awareness of your surroundings.

It seemed like he noticed, however, because that was when he finally spoke up again.

“I was wondering how long it’d take you to recognize me, love. You know who I am, don’t you~?” His tone was so calm that it unsettled you to the point of having to avert your eyes, your head hanging low as you nodded hesitantly, hardly even noticing his use of the pet name.

“I knew it...~” San’s voice trailed off into a purr that you weren’t sure how to feel about, deciding that being wary was likely the smartest thing you could do in your current situation.

Too lost in thought, you didn’t realize he had stepped closer to you while you were internally debating with yourself, pleased that you seemed to remember what he said about speaking.

“Now, I have something to take care of for a little bit... I trust that you’ll be good and not leave this room.” Although a smile was painted on his features, it didn’t make his tone sound any less threatening. Not willing to find out what might happen if you didn’t react, you nodded once more.

“That’s my good dove~” All of it disgusted you - from the way he cooed at you, over the way his lips twitched upwards into a grin, to the way he looked at you like you were the only person in this twisted world.

You hated it and yet there you stood, in the middle of this sicko’s bedroom, frozen with uncertaintly and fear. You only scarcely resisted the urge to punch him in the face, watching closely as he left a few moments later and closed the door behind himself.

You heard him lock it as well, heaving a shaky sigh when you believed him to be out of earshot.

Your body shook with rage, how did he have the audacity to just kidnap you like that and walk away like he didn’t commit a goddamn felony? Your first instinct was to break something, and you figured that the window might be the first best thing - just in case it’d give you an opportunity to escape.

Looking around, you were quick to find a small hammer in a drawer. You swung it against the glass with every bit of force you could muster, only for the object in your hand to bounce back without leaving even so much as a crack. Dumbfounded by the fact that San had even reinforced his windows to keep you from leaving him, clearly having planned this for a while, you dropped the hammer next to you and sank to your knees.

You curled in on yourself, sobs wracking your body as you were forced to come to terms with the reality that you were trapped. Trapped in this room, trapped with your not-so-innocent-and-sweet neighbor.

Meanwhile, San’s steps were hurried as he sought out your boyfriend’s house, knife in hand while he occasionally glanced at his phone. It probably wasn’t very smart of Hongjoong to have his personal address publicized for fan mail purposes, considering how easily it could be exploited by people like San.

He should’ve been freezing out in the cold air at 3:35 in the very early morning, but the blood practically boiling in his veins kept him from being affected by it much. It was almost too easy for him to trespass onto the desired property when he finally reached it, breaking the lock on the door effortlessly with the blade of his knife.

Hongjoong had a habit of staying up as late as it was humanly possible, and it was rather common knowledge that he sometimes didn’t even sleep at all. As such, San was not the least bit surprised to faintly hear someone playing the piano when he stepped into the house as quietly as he could.

He followed the sound, eventually coming to a large room filled with a variety of instruments of different sizes. In the middle was, as San had to begrudgingly admit, a beautiful piano. Its seat was occupied by his very target, Hongjoong, who was aware of the younger man’s presence and let his fingers press against the black and white keys once more.

The sound the action produced was so disharmonious that it made San physically cringe as he stared the young pianist down, the latter of whom finally lifting his head with a deep, exasperated sigh.

“This is about y/n, isn’t it? I’ve noticed the way you look at-”

“You saw nothing! You know nothing! Do you have any fucking clue how painful it is to see the one you love with someone else, to not even have them spare you a single glance because of how little they care about you?” San was furious at this point, blinded by his rage, Hongjoong flinching and recoiling in his seat at the harsh tone employed by the other male as he continued, “I know you don’t. You were always the prodigy and excelled at what you did, got everything you wanted so easily... including the one thing I wanted too. I can’t live with that, and neither will you.”

“I-I didn’t- That’s not-” Hongjoong stammered, trying to defend himself before quickly realizing it was a futile endeavor when he saw San lunging at him with his knife clutched tightly in his hand. His reflexes were fast as he tried to reach for a nearby violin to whack the latter unconscious with but the crazed younger was, to his demise, much faster and pinned him to the surface of his piano while the keys beneath him produced another dissonant sound.

It didn’t exactly help that San was not only taller but also more muscular than Hongjoong, so the latter’s tries to wiggle and struggle free were for nothing. He groaned in pain as the wooden edges of his instrument forcefully dug into his skin; he clawed at it, but to no avail. He had no chance against San.

Despite knowing how hopeless it was for himself, Hongjoong refused to go down without a fight and proceeded kick and scream in San’s hold, “You’re making a huge m-mistake-”

His vision spun before going black, his pleas going silent while his body went limb. Everything stopped, except for San. He continued to stab and mutilate the older until he deemed it enough and was satisfied, stepping backwards after. He got what he came here for. Taking a quick picture with his phone to show to both you and the police what had taken place (although he’d come up with an alibi for the authorities, of course), he backtracked his steps and left the house as fast as his feet would take him.

Still under the safe and dark blanket of the night, he made his way back to his own house. Making sure to hide the bloody knife where no one would find it, he cleaned himself off briefly before he got an idea for how he could use the ‘souvenir’ he brought for you.

You jumped slightly in your spot on San’s bedroom, curled up and hiding your face behind your knees even now, when you heard him slam the front door shut which signalled you that he had returned from whatever he was out doing. You feared the worst as you listened carefully, presuming the noise he was making to be coming from his kitchen.

You looked up when the bedroom door clicked open and San entered, a smug and satisfied grin on his face as he moved to set a jar on the bedside table before crouching in front of you.

“I’m home, bunny. Did you miss me~?” His falsely innocent, sweet tone was still something you despised, although you felt genuine fear for what he could do to you simply by looking at the tiny smudge of blood lingering on his cheek, so you nodded obediently.

“Good. I just had to have a little chat with your pretty boy, and look what he gave me~!” San cheerfully nudged his head towards the bedside table, and the sight you were met with made you feel sick to your stomach.

What you assumed to be Hongjoong’s bloody heart. In a jar. You kept glancing back and forth between him and the object, gaping at him in both shock and disbelief of what he had done.

“What do you think of it, love? Pretty, isn’t it~? Go on, tell me.” He encouraged you softly, "You told him he had your heart right? Now you have his forever!” He chirped, and your voice was shaky as you spoke.

“Y-you monster!” You exclaimed, cursing yourself internally for your stuttering as you cursed at him, “You heartless bastard, you didn’t have to kill him!”

“I didn’t want to kill him,” he admitted softly, looking down as if he felt any sense of remorse for any of his actions within the last hour or so, “but he left me no choice. He refused to break up with you. He refused to let me love you without... all this.” He gestured vaguely, pulling out his phone to show you the photo he took, “He refused to let me have even one thing I wanted for myself, even though he always got whatever he wished for. Desperate times require desperate measures, I had no choice...”

San trailed off, your own face paling at the realization that Hongjoong had been murdered because of a petty rivalry of sorts from the past that San had yet to let go of.

Feeling lightheaded by the abundance of information swimming in your already aching head, you blacked out. When you came to your senses again, it appeared to be morning and San was making noise in another room.

Tears wet your face as you shakily reached for your phone, wishing you hadn’t because the very first notification you opened was a headline you had prayed wouldn’t be reality, accompanied by the very picture San had taken the previous night.

“Up and coming pianist Kim Hongjoong brutally murdered in his home last night; investigations still ongoing”

----- Taglist (tell me if you wanna be added):

@cometoceantrenches @ddeonghwva @galaxteez @innosintsan @latte-fairytaekwoon @little-precious-baby @multidreams-and-desires @nightqueennyx @twancingyunhoe @vocalyunho @yunhoiseyecandy

Network tag:

@8makes1teamnet

#8makes1teamnet #ateez fanfic #ateez angst #hongjoong angst #san angst #ateez hongjoong angst #ateez san angst #just- just don't ask where the idea for this came from. I swear I'm not crazy-#hanatiny writes

288 notes · View notes

raewritez · 3 years

Text

Still | Pt. 2

continuation of this request: I’m thirsty for a love triangle. Maybe Sokka and Zuko fighting for the reader’s affection. And she chooses ____!

warnings: simping, jealousy, obliviousness, she/her pronouns

Sokka’s ending

Zuko felt guilty.

The Water Tribe boy had been sulking for days now, grumbling under his breath and sending pointed glared Zuko’s way. The jokes he would’ve usually made around the campfire remained unspoken, replaced instead by uncomfortable silence and heavy sighs. Zuko knew Sokka well enough to know this wasn’t normal, and though Sokka had denied any accusations of moodiness or changes in behavior, Zuko had a hunch as to the reason for his despondency.

He’d recognized it when he’d first arrived. The affection that seemed to follow the two of you like an aura didn’t go unnoticed by the Firebender, and though he’d tried to ignore it he knew that wasn’t fair. Not to Sokka, not to you. Zuko knew you were upset - he saw your worried stares that lingered after the boy and the way your fingers extended towards him as if they were pulled. You’d been quieter, too, Sokka’s hostile demeanor wearing you down and inflicting you with endless confusion and longing. Zuko saw, and he knew. No one could deny it, the care you had for him. It was as obvious as Sokka’s care for you.

Zuko rose early - with the sun, as he liked to say - awakening with birdsong and peeking sunlight. He strained his eyes open with a yawn and a stretch, rubbing his palms along his face. Exiting the tent, he was surprised when his eyes fell on a figure perched atop the cliffside. They were hunched over, their head in their hands and their hair loose from its usual tie. Zuko exhaled, sparing a glance towards your tent before heading Sokka's way.

The awkwardness crept up on him, growing with each step and seizing his limbs in the way it would feel to walk through cold water. The ground crunched under his boots and the sound drew to him blue eyes that darkened upon sight, turning away and returning to their gaze resting upon the valley. Standing behind Sokka, Zuko shuffled on his feet before deciding to sit. His legs hung over the rocky terrace, hands prickled by gravel. Mustering up his courage, he spoke.

"Um, you're up early."

Sokka barely spared a glance, opting to focus on the array of pebbles lining the ground. "Yeah, I guess," he said. "Couldn't sleep."

Zuko nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, for sure."

A moment of silence, and Zuko felt like caving in on himself. It hadn't been this tense between the two boys for a while, not since before Zuko chose good. They were friends, choosing each other's company on errand runs or fishing trips, bonding over sparring and the mere companionship of another friend like themselves. There hadn't been this awkwardness, this distance. But that was before, before you became something more and playful banter had become unspoken competition. But it wasn't ever a competition, not really, and Zuko had realized that. Because the means of your affection were unchallengeable, and Zuko knew who they belonged to. And though the heart of his childhood self may have once longed for yours in return, it simply was not him.

"Sokka," he said, shaking away his uncertainty. "There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about."

Sokka's eyes met his, and Zuko became aware of the soft resignation in his expression. He mustered a smile, that charming grin that always managed to sooth the group's worries, that could put any mind at ease.

"Hey, don't worry about it, Zuko. If this is about what I think it's about, then there's really nothing to talk about. It's all you, buddy."

Zuko's eyes widened. "Wait, what?"

"It's all you. You know, you don't have to fight me or anything. I get that you guys have history and I can respect that, you don't -"

"Sokka, what are you talking about?"

His brows furrowed, confusion glossing over him. "We - we're talking about Y/n, right?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Then it's fine. You can go and tell her how-"

"Sokka."

"-you feel and it'll be totally fine. I mean, I don't care like, at all. If she's happy I'm happy, y'know? And besides, you guys-"

He was talking rapidly now, hoping his words could make up for the hole in his chest. He was loosing you, he just knew it. And to Zuko, no less. Spirits, he did not want to see you with him, didn't want to see you with anyone but himself alone. But you were more important than how he felt, and if you loved Zuko then that's-

"Sokka!"

His rambling was cut short, and he found himself panting a bit from the lack of air. The look on Zuko's face was disbelieving - some sort of stupidity-laced astonishment accompanied by a mischievous grin.

Sokka swallowed. "Yeah?" he croaked out.

"It's not me."

He shook his head. "Zuko-"

"It's not," Zuko spoke. His words were firm, final. His prince's voice. "Maybe at some point I wanted it to be, but it's not me. I know how you feel about her, Sokka. And I know she feels the same."

His mouth fell open at his commanding tone, at the puncturing decisiveness of his words. The meaning of them set in a moment later. "Are you- are you..."

"Yeah," Zuko smiled. "I'm sure, Sokka."

His blue eyes stared once again across the valley, gleaming with vulnerability and cautious hope. After a moment, he grinned, a breathy laugh escaping his lips. "She feels the same." He spoke it like a child, giddy with excitement and whispered like a prayer. Zuko couldn't help the tug of his lips.

"O-kay, buddy," he said, standing and stifling a chuckle at Sokka's dreamy expression. "I'll leave you to it, then."

He began his way back to the campsite, his friends finding their way out of their tents and filling the air with the beginnings of morning greetings. A second, then a call.

"Zuko!"

He turned, finding Sokka appearing much more like his old self. "Thank you."

Zuko nodded, and with bittersweet content walked down the slope.

///

The sun was a red shadow across your eyelids, and the muscles fought to strain it out. You could make out faint chattering, scuffling feet and an aroma emanating from the fire that lured you to your feet. You stretched and yawned, muscles sore from days of traveling and mind clouded with an exhaustion that went deeper than could be made palatable by the nourishment of sleep. You were tired of Sokka's attitude and you had half a mind to excuse him from the luxury of your kindness. Whatever. You weren't going to let him ruin your morning.

Mornings with your friends always held a certain domesticity that never failed to bring a smile to your face. Katara stood, as she usually did, above a pot that no doubt held some delicious combination of fruit or steaming rice. Aang was tending to Appa, sending a smile and a wave your way with a call of "Good morning, Y/n!". You smiled and waved back, offering a call of your own. Toph was still sleeping, and Zuko...was talking to Sokka? Strange...you could've sworn they were fighting at the moment.

You walked over to Katara, winding your arms around her waist and placing your head on her shoulder. "Morning, 'Tara," you mumbled sleepily. "Whatcha making?"

"Rice, and some meat we got from town," she replied, chuckling a bit at your affection.

"Sounds good."

From atop her shoulder your eyes met Zuko's, and he offered you a smile. You peeled yourself off of her and made your way over to him, sparing a glance at Sokka's figure still hunched over the cliffside. "Hey," you said.

He stopped in front of you. "Hey."

You peered over his shoulder. "Sokka's up early."

He straightened up suddenly, eyes brightening. "Uh, yeah! You should go talk to him! You know, just the two of you."

You raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because! You guys are friends, and friends should talk to each other. Maybe he has....something really interesting to say?"

He was just about bouncing on his feet now, and you were extremely confused as to why he was pushing you to go talk to Sokka. Sure, you wanted to, but he definitely didn't. And...why was Zuko acting so weird?

"I guess?"

He nodded reverently, placing his hands on your shoulders to steer you behind him. "Yeah! So go, um, have fun!"

He walked away briskly, and you were left in confusion. You turned to where Sokka sat, leg bouncing and hair loose, just how you liked it.

You guessed it couldn't hurt, right?

Walking up the sloping hill, the view of the valley below pooled out in front of you. Endless green kissed by sunlight, sounds of glistening streams playing like a far-off song. Your eyes fell on Sokka, and your heart tugged. You missed him. You had longed to speak with him, to be alone together in perfect contentment like you used to, but he 'd either shut you down or you'd loose the energy to try again. But maybe Zuko knew something you didn't, so you mustered up the courage and sat down next to him.

His eyes darted to you instantly, widening as he sat up straighter.

"Hi," you muttered, picking gravel from the earth to sift through your fingers.

"Hi," he breathed.

You turned to him and he stared, heart beating rapidly in his chest. He wondered if you could hear it. Your eyes were curious and hesitant, and he felt suddenly shy under your gaze.

"How're you doing?" You asked him, absent-mindedly drinking in the sight of him cloaked in all his morning glory.

"Good," he answered quickly, sharply. "H-how're you?"

"I'm good," you said softly. He stared, seemingly lost in thought, before shaking his head as if in awakening and turning away. You sat there next to him, bathed in silence and uncertainty. For once, you didn't know what to say to him. A moment, then another, and you began internally berating Zuko for his "advice". You were reaching the conclusion that maybe this wasn't a good idea, when an intake of breath from beside you stilled your thoughts.

Sokka's mouth opened and closed, and a war was painted on his face. He wanted to say something. He looked to you, and at meeting your eyes he seemed to grow more secure. He scooted closer, shuffling across the ground so that your knees were but a breath away and you could feel the enchantment of his warmth.

"Y/n," he bit his lip, searching. Spirits, how was he supposed to do this? These were not the conditions in which he'd imagined the truth would arise, but here he was. "Yes?" you questioned, and he calmed. You would listen, you always did. You wouldn't leave, you never had. Finally, he breathed. "I'm sorry."

Those words were out, and everything else followed after.

"I'm so, so sorry. I've been awful to you. I didn't mean to be, but I guess I was just...jealous? I mean, you and Zuko....no, that's not fair. I know you guys are friends and were friends for a long time, but I guess I just...I mean, you were my friend, and then he came and I only realized it then, and then I was upset because you were with him and not with me, and I couldn't even tell you that I realized it because I was being so stupid, and-"

"Realized what, Sokka?"

He paused, mouth snapping shut. Your expression was questioning, a bit lost from his ranting, and he was implored to confess.

"Y/n, I-" He met your stare once again, those e/c eyes that he had fallen so deep into. Deciding words were not for him, he did the only other thing that could possibly convey what he felt, and how much he felt it. He moved forward, grasping your face between his palms. He leaned in slowly, awaiting any signs of discomfort or rejection. When he found none, he pressed his lips to yours.

It was surprising, how soft his lips were. They seemed to carry every bit of warmth that he'd ever shown to you, every ounce of love he carried in his body. He moved smoothly against you, and you melted. Your eyes slipped shut, arms winding around his neck and fingers running through his hair. He kept you pressed firmly against him, and you would have no complaints if you were told you were trapped there forever. His palms cupped your cheeks, thumb stroking the skin. Air was not thought of until it had to be, and you pulled away, though not more than a whisper.

He kept his forehead pressed against yours and you smiled, a laugh pulling forth from your lips. His chest rumbled with yours, stealing another peck from you with a wide grin.

"That's why you were ignoring me? That's dumb, Sokka."

He chuckled. "I know, I'm sorry."

You smiled, leaning up to press against him once again. "It's ok," you said. "You can make it up to me."

—————-

taglist: @satans-bae-and-queen

#avatar the last airbender #prince zuko #atla #fire lord zuko #aang x reader #legend of korra #avatar #avatar: tla #sokka x reader #zuko x reader #sokka #sokka x y/n #sokka x you #zuko x y/n #zuko x you

104 notes · View notes

lancermylove · 3 years

Text

Mixed Signals (Oneshot)

Fandom: Obey Me

Pairing: Barbatos x fem!Reader

Warning: N/SFW! I MEAN IT! Kinda slow burn.

Requested by: Anon

Prompt: Hi. Could I request a one-show with a female reader and Barbatos (Obey Me). It's holiday themed so if it's not you cup of tea I understand. Both are attracted to each other but never said anything, though they have friendly banter often and think the feelings are mutual. There's a party going on and they end up under the mistletoe. She thinks it's going to give them an opportunity to open up to each other but he is reluctant to do it (fearing she likes one of the brothers). After he pecks her cheek she thinks she read the signs wrong & feels down. After the party she decides to find his room. She confesses her feelings, he explains why he acted the way he did. He didn't want to do it just because of tradition, he wanted it to mean something. Maybe he mentions wanting to know a side of her the brothers don't & keep it to himself. I'd like it to be cute but spicy so you can go as n.sfw-ish as you feel comfortable. I hope it's not too long/confusing. Thanks.

A/N: I know you said n.sfw-ish, but it turned into n.sfw...no wait, DETAILED N.SFW. XD Also, I know Barb’s bedroom is filled with door, but I’m just going to pretend he has another room that’s like a normal room. 😂

Word Count: 2,973

———————————————

Your first day at Devildom was completely unexpected. Aside from being teleported into a different world, and that too hell, you didn't expect to meet such good looking men.

As time passed, you met all the brothers, angels, Solomon, and Diavolo. You found each one attractive in his own way, but you never considered dating any of them. That is until you attended the party at Diavolo's castle and met Barbatos.

When you saw the butler, you couldn't take your eyes off him. Was it his looks? His calm demeanor? The sense of mystery about him? You couldn't put your finger on it, but you were drawn to him.

Unfortunately, since you lived at the House of Lamentation, you rarely saw the butler. Your eyes yearned to catch a single glimpse of the green-haired man, and one day, your wish was granted by none other than the demon king himself. Diavolo invited you to his castle to ask about your stay and experience at RAD thus far. On top of that, he informed you about your weekend meetings with him.

"(Y/N), I would like you to visit me every weekend to share your experience and progress in Devildom." Diavolo flashed a friendly smile, "Also, if you don't mind, I would like to hear stories about the human world. Your world intrigues me."

You immediately agreed to his invitation and took it as an opportunity to meet Barbatos.

At first, Barb simply greeted you while serving you refreshments and then excused himself. As you visited the castle more frequently, the demon butler became friendlier towards you. He started to converse with you, asking about your day and classes. To your surprise, he even asked about your favorite foods, so that he can prepare them for your next visit. You merely took as his kindness, not realizing that Barbatos began to develop feelings for you.

Even the Ruler of Devildom noticed the changes in his trusted butler when you were around. Diavolo wholeheartedly supported Barbatos's feelings for you. Every weekend, he made excuses to show up late for the meeting, allowing you to spend more time with the demon butler. Slowly, the two of you began chatting about topics other than food and Devildom.

Your friendship grew to the point where Barbatos invited you to help him in the kitchen as an excuse to spend more time with you. More than anything, the demon enjoyed teasing you - smearing flour on your cheeks, dabbing icing on the tip of your nose, playfully arguing about Devildom food being better than human food. His actions made you think of him in a different light. No man would tease and banter with you to this point if he didn't like you, right? You didn't get the answer to your question until Christmas came around.

Diavolo planned a grand party for all the important people of Devildom, and of course, he invited you. You donned your finest outfit, picked by none other than Asmo. The Avatar of Lust knew about your feelings for Barbatos and supported you.

"Sweetie, when I'm done, you'll look so beautiful that Barb won't be able to take his eyes off you." Asmo winked while applying blush to your cheeks.

The fifth-oldest brother was not kidding. When you entered the party, everyone stared at you in awe, including the demon brothers, angels, Solomon, and Diavolo. Unfortunately, Barbatos was nowhere in sight, so you exited the party in search of him. Though you looked and looked, there were no signs of your crush anywhere, not even the kitchen.

You returned to the party once more, hoping to find him there; instead, you found yourself standing under a mistletoe. As you stared at the green branch overhead, you wished that by some miracle, Barb would join you. Unbeknownst to you, your partner in crime noticed you staring at the mistletoe and immediately found Barbatos, dragging him in front of you.

"Sweetie, I found him! Barbatos, (Y/N) has been looking for you everywhere." Asmo chuckled, "Hm? Why are you blushing, (Y/N)?"

The Avatar of Lust moved his eyes to the branch above you and gasped, pretending he never saw the mistletoe above you. He glanced at Barbatos before shifting his eyes up, clapping his hands together. "Barb, please do the honors of fulfilling the Christmas tradition!"

This was the happiest moment of your life. To think that you were going to kiss the man of your dreams, all thanks to your fairy demon. While you indulged in the thought of how the kiss will feel, you failed to notice Barbatos hesitating. He slowly leaned in, but instead of kissing your lips, he pecked your cheek. The butler quickly excused himself, leaving both you and Asmo in shock.

Your chest tightened, making it difficult for you to breathe. You instantly walked out of the party with Asmo following in your trail.

"Sweetie, please wait," Asmo gently held onto your arm and pulled you closer to him, turning your body to face him. The demon cupped and wiped your tear-stained cheeks.

"I...am stupid," you began and bit your lower lip, fighting the tears threatening to escape your eyes, "I thought he liked me, but I misread everything."

"Don't say that, dear." Asmo drew you into a hug and rubbed soothing circles on your back. "Please calm down and don't jump to any conclusions. Talk to Barbatos first."

You weren't sure why, but a strong feeling told you that you didn't misread the signals. Barbatos was not the type to get friendly with just anyone. You thanked Asmo for comforting you before rushing to find your crush, knowing well that your heart was not going to be at peace until you got the answers to your questions.

After a while, you found yourself standing in front of his bedroom door. You raised a shaky hand to the door and took a deep breath before hitting your knuckles against the wood. The butler was stunned to see you but stepped aside and invited you into his room.

"Did you lose your way?" He questioned, closing the door behind you.

You weren't sure if he meant 'lose your way' in a literal direction or figuratively, but you pushed on. "Barbatos, do you have time to talk? I need to tell you something."

The butler studied your averted eyes and red cheeks as he nodded. "What would you like to tell me?"

"When I first came to Devildom, I was surprised to see the men here. I found them all to be attractive in one way or another, but none of them tugged on my heartstrings. That is...," your voice turned into a whisper, "until I met you."

Upon hearing your words, Barbatos's eyebrows tugged up as his body stiffened. He remained silent and waited for you to continue.

"I felt drawn to you and wanted to spend more time with you. That's why I always looked forward to the weekend." You couldn't bring yourself to look at his face, so you continue speaking with your eyes glued on the stone floor. "When you started to spend more time with me, I was very happy. Um..."

You gathered the courage to lift your head and look at the handsome demon. Barbatos stared, expressionless, but you didn't let that faze you.

"I thought you liked me. Your behavior around me was different, bu-but...," you curled your damp hands into a fist, preparing yourself for the worse as you asked, "why didn’t you kiss me properly under the mistletoe? Did I misread your signals?"

You felt your eyes stinging, but you dug your nails into your palms to hold back the tears. Barbatos didn't expect you to ask him such a direct question, but much to your shock, he smiled.

"You did not misread my signals. I presumed that you held feelings for one of the brothers, considering you seem to be quite attached to them." he paused to see your reactions and chuckled. "As for the kiss, I apologize for hurting your feelings. I want our first kiss to hold meaning, not for the sake of tradition. Also, I did not want to kiss you in public."

Barbatos stepped closer to you, delicately wiped away the tears collecting in the corner of your eyes, and whispered, "I apologize for causing your pain and bringing tears to your eyes."

“Y-You like me?” You couldn’t believe your ears and weren’t sure how to react. You always dreamt of this moment, but now that it arrived, you were at a loss.

“I do.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead and looked into your eyes. "Might I be selfish enough to ask for a favor?"

"S-sure."

"I always considered the brothers lucky for being able to get friendly with you. How I wished my lord had asked you to stay in this castle instead." The demon butler gave a small smile. "Would you be kind enough to show me a different side of you? A side that not even the brothers haven't seen."

It took several seconds to digest his words, and you weren't sure what exactly he meant. So, you pursed your lips and closed your eyes, waiting for him to kiss you. Barbatos held a finger to his lips and chuckled, finding your action adorable. He rested his hand on your cheek delicately as if he was touching glass.

"I am not familiar with the traditions in the human world, so forgive me if my words frighten you. Physical intimacy holds a deep meaning for me, so my love, would you permit me to hold you? Would you be mine?" Barbatos held out his hand in front of you and waited patiently for your reply.

You stared at him with your lips ajar. ‘Be his...what does he...?’

A deep shade of crimson covered your cheeks as you gasped, clamping one hand over your mouth. Your heart jumped with joy as your head spun slightly from the sudden rush of blood. Only when you nodded did the demon plant a tender kiss on the back of your hand.

Barbatos placed butterfly kisses on your face before capturing your lips. He gently pulled away from the kiss, his hot breath tickling the lower half of your face. Barbatos slide the tip of his tongue along your lower lip, waiting for you to part your lips. A shade of red once again spread across your cheeks, but you granted him entry. The demon impatiently thrusted his tongue into your wet cavern while his hands stroked the curves of your waist. He explored your mouth and rolled his tongue on yours.

You dug your fingers into his jacket as his hands began to roam freely around your heated body. Barbatos drew his tongue out and wiped saliva running down your chin. He ran a finger up your back, tracing the zipper of your fitted dress before tugging down the pull tab. Not breaking off eye contact, Barbatos helped you out of your clothes and undergarments. Feeling the cold air against your warm skin, you shivered and crossed your arms over your chest.

"You look breathtaking," he complimented, scooping you in his arms and walking towards the bed.

The red on your face grew darker as you nuzzled your face in his warm neck. He gently set you on his bed and straddled your body. Barbatos tugged his gloves off with his teeth while giving you a teasing smile.

"You are such a tease." You mumbled and tried to pry your eyes from his face in vain. He chuckled at your statement and continued his venture.

Taking hold of your hand, he kissed your fingers, the back of your hand, and up your arm. Barb trailed wet kisses to your shoulder, neck, and up to your lips. He pecked your lips before tenderly kissing down the other side of your neck and to your chest.

You watched him examining your mounds, finally realizing that your dream was coming true. The man you yearned for was in bed with you, physically showing his feelings for you. ‘This isn’t a dream, is it? This is...really happening.’

The demon butler rolled his tongue on your perked nipple before taking the bud into his mouth and sucking on it. Gasping loudly, you closed your eyes as your heart pounded against your chest. You ran your fingers in his hair and dug your nails into his scalp, prompting Barb to take your whole breast into his mouth as his free hand massaged the other mound. Your muffled cries only added to his desire.

After leaving both your breasts sore, the green-haired man processed to kiss down your stomach while caressing the side of your hips. His touch was even more satisfying than you had imagined in your fantasies. He pushed your legs apart only to have you press them back together.

Barb brushed your pelvic bone with the tips of his fingers and smiled tenderly, "Let me see how beautiful you look."

Though you were nervous, you gave in to his request and slowly parted your legs. He sat in the middle, taking hold of your right leg and ghosting his lips over your ankle. The entire time his eyes stayed glued to your glistening womanhood. Barbatos trailed his lips up your leg, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

"My love, you are beautiful." He whispered, his hot breath caressing the area between your legs. He sunk his teeth on the side of your thigh, marking you as his before pressing his lips deeply between your legs.

"A-ah, Barb." You groaned, arching your back.

Your voice was music to his ears. Barbatos slowly ran his tongue up and down your slit, drawing more lewd sounds from you.

“You taste so sweet,” he groaned, pressing the tip of his tongue to your clit, sliding it down to your entrance. Shifting his eyes to meet yours, Barbatos shoved his tongue inside your entrance.

"Oh my god," you exclaimed in a breathy voice, earning a witty reply from your lover in return.

"There is no god here, my dear."

Barb teasingly thrusted his tongue in and out a few times, earning a series of moans from you in return. He licking up to your slit, and without warning, he pushed two digits into your entrance, wiggling his fingers to get a feel of the soft flesh inside. You yelped, gripping the bedsheet with both your hands.

"B-Barb. A-at least wa-warn me."

"Where's the fun in that?" He chuckled as he gently began stretching your insides with his fingers.

Barbatos withdrew his long fingers, earning a disapproving groan from you. He brought his digits to his face and licked them clean of your essence. "I could get used to this taste."

You averted your eyes and bit down on your lower lip to suppress a groan.

Maintained eye contact, he stood up and started to undressed. The butler took his time, peeling each layer off one-by-one until you cried, "Barb...hurry!"

"My, someone is impatient." He teased while pushing his pants down to his ankles. You stared hungrily at his precum-soaked erected manhood.

Barbatos positioned himself between your legs and pressed his tip at your entrance. "My love, are you sure about this? If you are not ready, then I do not want to pressure you into this. We can always-"

Not being able to take it any longer, you shot your eyes to his face, "Barb, I want you NOW!"

The butler let you a small laugh at the unexpected reaction as he gripped your hips. Little by little, he pushed his length inside, taking care not to hurt you. You cried as your inside stretched to accommodate his large size, tears collecting in the corners of your eyes.

"Are you alright?" He asked, concerned by your pained expression.

"Y-Yeah," you managed to answer.

"You are taking me in quite well." He stole passionate kisses while cooing words of praises as you adjusted to his size. When you gave him the green signal, Barbatos slowly started to move inside you. You held onto his arms as your body gave into the intense pleasure. He studied you with a smile, watching you melting under him. Barbatos was truly happy to finally become one with you.

The butler hovered over you, sweat bead rolling down his face. He kissed you hungrily as he changed his angle to hit you deeper. His focus was on you, and his only goal was to please you. Barbatos took note of every expression, movement, and sound you made.

"There! B-Barb h-hit t-there." Your voice drove him mad, but your words made him crazier, "ugh...g-go f-faster."

The butler pinned your trembling hands next to your head, pulled out his length, and slammed into you. He hit your sweet spot with enough force to make you scream his name. Though he had picked up his pace, Barbatos tried not to be rough with you. He wanted your first time with him to be passionate and memorable.

As you got closer to your climax, Barbatos moved his hips faster against yours, leaving you a moaning mess. The sound of your bodies slapping against each other and your mewls filled the room. Not long after, your vision went white as your body shuddered under the demon. Your head was spinning as your essence coated his length. Barbatos held you closer to him, his thrusts losing their rhythm. Soon after, he pulled out and released on your body, coating you with his essence. The butler rested his forehead against yours as he caught his breath.

"Thank you for agreeing to this," Barbatos whispered in a breathy voice, "I promise to always be there for you and love you till your last breath. N-No, continue to love you even after your last breath."

———————————————

➣ Obey Me Masterlist ➣ Buy me a Ko-fi or Commission?

#obey me #obey me barbatos #barbatos x reader #obey me diavolo #obey me asmo

175 notes · View notes

rekquiemredstar · 3 years

Text

Victims

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings:Fluff,mention of trauma,rape(not by Bucky), torture. (No mention of rape in this chapter but will be in future ones)

Description: You discover you may have misjudged Bucky.

This is my first Chapter of an idea I’ve been wanting to play out for a while now. More to come very soon.

Chapter 1: Sleep

Bucky didn’t talk much.

Especially not to you. “He wasn’t always like this.” Steve had said to you once in passing, his keen senses picking up on just how tense your shoulders got whenever Bucky had blatantly ignored you. Good old Steve, not a bad word to say about anyone. You tried to brush it off, but you really hated being ignored. It made you feel like a pathetic, over excited puppy dog nipping at everyones heels for attention. You were loud, and blunt, and very aware of how much social space you took up when you engaged in conversation. You had no doubt it was annoying. Many times you tried to curb your hyper behavior, but that was exhausting, and eventually you had to come to the conclusion that that was just you. You were who you were, and everyone-save Bucky-adored you. That was on him, you couldn’t change how he felt.

You weren’t quite sure how to approach Barnes, having only ever known him as The Asset before you all came to the compound. The first time you met, he’d lifted you off the ground with a metal hand to your throat. He would have snapped your neck if Steve hadn’t gotten him off of you. You really hated that, too. You wanted so desperately not to need saving, ever. You were strong, but you were no Super Soldier, and the overly competitive parts of you reeled against that with everything they had. You did not need to be saved. Not by Steve or anyone.

You weren’t the only one on the team without powers. You learned from shared experience it didn’t make you any less essential. Just hurt like a son of a bitch sometimes. Like Bucky, you had been taken by Hydra against your will. Unlike Bucky-you hadn’t been brainwashed. Just tortured. No matter how hard they pushed, no matter how many times you had been left bruised and bleeding on the icy concrete floor you never lost sight of what was right. When Hydra’s infiltration of Shield was out in the open, and they released the Winter Soldier into the world again you felt like it was the moment you had been waiting for. Suddenly everything they had taught you about weapons and hand to hand became a brutal mistake on their part. When Nick Fury learned about the things you had done, what you knew, seen you in action, he made sure you and Steve Rogers got acquainted. After that, you never had to look for a job a day in your life. Now you were here.

It wasn’t yet light out when you headed down the stairs, dressed in a black running gear from head to toe, all the way down to your shoes that were propped against the wall in waiting. Your socks were actually the only colorful thing you had on, red white and blue donning the captain America shield, an ongoing joke between you and Steve.

You were always up before anyone else, craving the silence and peace you felt in the early morning, beginning your usual run just as the sun crested the hilltops. Your workout regimen was insanely strict, you beat yourself up whenever you ran late, often feeling guilty about it the rest of the day. Absentmindedly, you bobbed your head to the song playing in your headphones, doing your best to keep relatively quiet as you mixed up your pre-workout in a shaker bottle. You spun to set it on the counter beside you, jumping when you noticed the outline of a figure sitting across from you.

“Jesus,” you said more to yourself than to him, lowering your headphones to around the base of your neck. You popped the cap of your bottle and rolling your shoulders. Taking your first sip of caffeine, you held his stare.

“You scared me, man.”

Bucky said nothing, though his eyes widened slightly- the only indication that he had heard you at all. He sat straight and rigid behind the marble countertop, but he looked…softer somehow. His lips parted slightly, exhaling a short breath, then pressed together gently. His grey henley was wrinkled and disheveled, his hands laid flat on his thighs, as though he was awaiting his next order.

“Are you going for a run?” He asked in such a tender tone that you blinked twice before you processed that it was even him speaking. You weren’t even aware that he knew you ran. You weren’t even aware he knew you existed half the time.

“Uh-yeah.” You responded cautiously, swirling the contents of your bottle to incorporate the undissolved powder at the bottom. Bucky gave a small nod, greasy strands of dark hair falling into his eyes as he did so. Dark circles plagued in under-eyes, while the glass blue of his irises looked dull and worn. He looked rough, even for him. You always thought he was the best looking one here, but it’s a little hard to appreciate someones looks when all they ever do is disregard you. Now that you got a really good look at him, even with the obvious sleep deprivation, you could see just how handsome he really was.

“You go every day?” The Soldier’s next question pulled you from your drifting thoughts and you had a question of your own; why did he care? The longest conversation you had ever had with this man was the time he asked you to pass the A1 and that was a month ago.

“Six days a week,” you started, with caffeine running through your brain you were unable to keep yourself from over-explaining.

“Wednesdays are my rest days, It’s the only day I get to sleep in but I usually don’t. I hate taking rest days, but it’s better for your body if you do.”

You finished your drink and set the bottle in the sink for now, you would wash it later. You were ready to abandon this weird fucking conversation. Sliding your headphones back over your ears, you pulled out your phone and started to search for a song to run to when you glanced up and noticed the look on his face. You hadn’t been through anything close to what he had, but you knew a thing or two about trauma. You definitely knew that look from all the times you’d seen it in your reflection.

You paused your music and took the headphones down again, setting them on the counter this time.

“Are you okay?” You asked, pressing your hips against the ledge, leaning your palms on the counter, ready to listen. The sincerity of your voice threw him off. He was so used to being on the outside looking in, watching you make your sarcastic quips to everyone, chuckling to himself when no one was looking. He was always blown away by just how clever you were, and how quick your mind worked. He didn’t think he could keep up in a conversation with you in a million years. It wasn’t often Sargent Barnes was intimidated. You were fiery, and tough, funny as hell-and you didn’t take shit from anyone.

Bucky had heard from Steve that you had a big heart, but he had never seen the softer side of you.

His eyes were shiny when he looked up at you, his voice echoed with defeat.

“I don’t know how I got here.” He said quietly.

“I don’t want to move. I-“ His voice choked a little.

“I don’t know where I’m supposed to be.”

You felt your heart squeeze in your chest. God, what this poor man had endured. He had been told where to go, what to do, what to say- for years he had been controlled. Now he was free, and he was confused, scared. Hydra was no walk in the park, but you get used to the routine of torment and control. You knew better than anyone what that was like.

“How long have you been down here?” You asked. He was still, then he responded.

“A few hours, I think.” He didn’t look at the clock, just stared straight ahead. He must have gotten up in the middle of the night from a bad dream.

You sucked in a small breath through your teeth, then exhaled, letting the tension release from between your shoulder blades.

“Okay,” You said quietly, setting your phone down and rounding the side of the counter. Your run could wait a little while.

“Okay. That’s okay. Do you want me to help you back to you room?” Bucky shook his head.

“I think I broke a mirror. Glass everywhere.” You nodded, making a mental note to clean it up when you got back.

Bucky’s breath hitched slightly, increasing in rhythm. “I don’t know where I’m supposed to be.” He repeated, and you slid your hand toward him on the counter, leaning on your elbow so you were face level with him.

“Hey,” Your voice was soft, calm, even. It encouraged him to stay the same by your example.

“It’s alright, I’m going to help you.”

You had your mission now, heading back to the kitchen you put the tea kettle on, then opened the freezer, taking out the frozen eye mask Tony sometimes used for hangovers. You dug into the cabinet taking out two peppermint tea bags from your hidden stash, dropping one in the nearest mug, and tucking one in your sweatshirt pocket.

You were beside him again, moving the ice pack toward his forehead. Bucky jerked backward with a quick inhale, and you drew your arm inward. You remembered his mask. “I’m just going to put it on your forehead.” You murmured. Bucky’s bottom lip quivered. “Don’t put that on me, please.” Your fingers curled, and you nodded in understanding.

“Okay, okay, one sec.” You jogged back into the kitchen and traded the ice pack for two large chunks of ice.

“Let’s try this instead.”

Bucky watched you carefully, your well muscled legs flexing as you busied yourself in the kitchen. He had been distantly aware that you were in good shape, but your normal black cargo pants must have hid a lot from view, because now that he was seeing you in the leggings you wore to run-he couldn’t stop looking. God damn, you really took care of yourself. His eyes snapped back up when you turned around again. You were careful to switch the stove off before the kettle wailed, pouring hot water into the mug and sliding it in font of him. Steam swirled from the cup and the soldier caught a whiff of mint.

You were in front of him again, conscious not to make too many sudden movements. “Turn toward me.” You instructed, and he followed orders, allowing you to stand between his legs as you soothed a cube of ice over each of his temples. His eyes fluttered slightly, the frozen temperature sent a shock of relief down his spine. He couldn’t hold back the pained groan as it erupted from his chest when you moved your fingers in slow circles, applying just the right amount of pressure.

“Y’know,” You began. “Before I was here, before any of this, I worked at a mental facility for at-risk teenagers.”

Bucky’s brow knit. He had always assumed that with your skills with firearms and combat that you had always been in some sort of covert ops position. He was realizing just how little he knew about you. Steve talked about you sometimes, but his jaw had always been real tight when it came to your past. “Drugs, alcohol, suicide, abuse-I hated it, it was too hard on me mentally-but I learned a lot. Most importantly, I learned that when you press something cold to your temple or forehead, it sends a shock to your neurotransmitters. Basically telling your system that you’re in pain, countering panic by releasing chemicals into the body that slow down the release of cortisol and adrenaline.”

The dark haired man soaked in every word you said . He knew you talked a lot, but you’d never talked this much to him before, and he was eating it up. Bucky had always like the sound of your voice. He didn’t even mind the melting water running down his neck, soaking into the collar of his shirt.

“You can also bite down on a lemon wedge. ” You offered, taking the cubes of ice away and tossing them into the sink. You pulled your sweatshirt sleeve over the heel of your hand and dabbed the water away, he leaned into your touch this time.

“Or smell strong peppermint.” You said, gently lifting his metal arm by the wrist and snatching the packet of tea from your pocket, dropping it in his shiny palm.

“It’s called grounding.” You stated, motioning for him to try.

Hesitantly, the soldier brought his hand to his nose, inhaling deeply. He looked back at you with one grateful nod. It helped. You pointed curtly to the cabinet by the fridge.

“I always keep a box of tea in there, it’s shoved way in the back because someone keeps taking it, probably Sam, but you’re welcome to as much as you’d like.” You slid the now perfect temperature tea into his free hand.

“Drink it, It always helps calm me down.”

Bucky took two greedy gulps, downing about half it’s contents in one go and making you giggle. It made his eyelids heavy.

“C’mon, Sergeant Barnes.” You coaxed, beckoning him to follow you into the other room. When he stood, you had to take a step back. You weren’t exactly the shortest person, but even so, had always worn tactical boots around him and they added a couple inches to your height. With you just in socks, you realized how much he towered over your five foot seven stature. It both scared and excited you. You edged a foot backward, circling it behind yourself and swaying your weight on it as if you were ready for him to take a swing at you. He eyed your stance momentarily before you broke and softened again, shaking out fists you hadn’t even realized you’d clenched. You didn’t trust him yet.

Wordlessly, you led him to the couch. His footsteps behind you were lighter than you thought they would be, but of course he had both stealth and brute force on his side. That sent a tingle down your stomach that you chose to ignore.

“Lay down.” You said as you dragged the coffee table closer to the couch. Bucky did as he was told, his burned out mind thankful to have some sort of direction. His eyes were half lidded and languorous, the long forgotten feeling of sleep pulling at the edges of his bruised psyche. His eyes tracked your every move. His stare somewhat lazy with fatigue, but right on target like the skilled sniper you’d seen in action so many times.

“Try to get some sleep.” Your voice was still soft, but brimmed with anticipation for your upcoming workout. Bucky felt a sudden pang of guilt for keeping you back an extra half hour. He glanced over his shoulder at the window, seeing through the gap in the shades that the sun was already up.

“I’ll check in with you when I get back.” You added, taking a large cashmere blanket from the nearby armchair and draping it over him. He hadn’t been tucked into bed in over 70 years.

You scampered back to the kitchen to retrieve his mug, but when you set it down on the table and looked at his face, he was already asleep.

“Sleep well, Sergeant.” You said quietly.

Bucky’s eyes were open the minute you turned your back, watching as you pulled your shoes on and jogged out the door. He craned his neck so he could watch you take off down the neatly paved road.

It was only when you were completely out of sight that he finally let himself fall asleep.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel #avengers #sebastian stan #Bucky barnes romance #Bucky #bucky barnes angst #the winter solider x reader

25 notes · View notes

isimp4hawkz · 3 years

Text

The Apothecary

(Hawks x Reader)

100% inspired from this beautiful artwork I found on pinterest ^^

This is my first time publishing any of my fics. I hope it’s enjoyable.

*Skimmed for any mistakes but I may have missed a few*

Words: 2.5k

———————————————

"Tell me something birdbrain. Did you come here in search of a remedy or did you come here to snuggle with my owls?" You scold aloud, brow lifted at the scene before you. It temporarily drew your attention away from the herbs you were blending for the person in question. If he really even needed them that is.

The man was bent over, hovering over the counter and barely burying his entire face into the soft plumage of Gamma's snowy collar, rubbing his nose into its depths, small chuckles resounding from him in his own apparent delight. Simultaneously, Thaddeus perched himself daintily onto the golden locks of his hair, managing to keep himself in place as the man's head moved about beneath him.

What shocked you is that they seemed to be genuinely enjoying his company, whereas they hardly acknowledge your existence throughout the day. It was much unlike how they'd usually act whenever someone walked into the shop. As soon as they heard that little bell chime from the entrance, both birds would take off towards their high perches on opposite ends of the room, making it in their best interest to avoid anyone new.

You didn't mind, nor question their habit. They only preferred your lone company either way, though they'd hardly show it. Much like you'd rather be with their company rather than some other person.

On that slow, peaceful evening, you'd discovered that maybe you don't know your beloved companions as well as you thought. For some reason, Hawks was some sort of an exception to them. Much more than an exception, at that.

For crying out loud, he was snuggling into Gamma and cuddling her as if she were a puppy! And she was letting him.

And Thaddeus. Thaddeus' behavior baffled you on an entirely different level. That was a bird who never permitted you any petting privileges, any time you'd insinuate a head rub, he'd screech at you and fan his wings. Very territorial, he was. At least you thought he was.

Yet here he was, God damn nesting in the hair of a complete stranger as if he'd known the man for years. As if you weren't the one who took him in when he was but a weak, fraile hatchling on the brink of death.

"I think your owls like me." Hawks chuckled, his huge crimson wings ruffling giddily when Gamma had begun to coo at his nuzzles, adoringly.

Jealousy. Blatant jealousy is what you felt. You weren't even going to attempt to hide it. You've tried endless times to get those birds to see you as their loving caretaker, showering them with love and treats and sating their every need, but to no avail. If anything, you think they see you the way a caged tiger would view its neglectful keeper, just a source of food.

You huff out a breath, subconsciously putting in more effort to mash the herbs together with the mortar and pestle than you wished.

Hawks noticed your subtle change in behavior. The way you slammed a small jar onto the counter, flicked off the cap, and aggressively shook out whatever was inside onto the cutting board. Or maybe it was the way you were mashing those herbs with a force that made him wonder if they'd somehow wronged you.

Of course; being him, he'd jumped to a brash conclusion. "Oh? Are you jelly that I'm giving the birds more attention than you?"

You stop your relentless mashing of compounds, staring ahead blankly for a moment before shaking your head. "Don't be ridiculous, I-"

"Awoh, it's nothing to be ashamed of, I completely understand."

"I'm jealous of you, actually."

Hawks blinked in confusion, lifting his head away from the owl's downy feathers and looking over at you.

"Seems like they fancy you more than they could ever me." A half-hearted smile tugged at your lips, the morose tone in your voice was inevitable.

Gamma's wide, intelligent eyes shifted to stare at you. It was like she understood every word you said. Her wings lifted, and with a few swift flaps, she was in the air. You flinched when she landed gracefully into your hair, her sharp talons clenching your head as gently as she could.

Hawks chuckled at how frozen you were in that moment, bringing up a hand to scratch Thaddeus on the chin as he stared. He marveled at the way your cheeks faintly turned a darker shade when Gamma had cooed. She'd began to pick at your head softly in a grooming mannerism.

Thaddeus shifted in Hawks' hair, suddenly growing restless.

"Wanna get closer?" Hawks asked him aloud, rhetorically, obliging to the small hoot he received in response and carefully sauntering over to you, wary of the unstable balance Thaddeus had while being on his head.

By the time he got close, you'd managed to settle Gamma down onto your outstretched bicep, but the stubborn owl only flapped back onto your head. The look on your face almost made Hawks laugh out loud, you were distraught. Torn between salvaging the rare chance at bonding with your companion, and continuing the preparation of a remedy for a paying customer.

He knew how much you cared for those birds, so much that he was willing to let you relish in the moment completely.

The smile on his face was somewhat solemn. "Don't fret witchy. I'm sure I can find some other witch who can cook up what I need."

Your brow ticked at the way he addressed you. "Excuse you. I am not a witch. I'm an Apothecary."

Hawks blinked. "Same difference."

You ignored that. "And even if you could somehow find another suitable Apothecary in the general area, I've been told by several patrons that I am the best of the best." You stated proudly, chin held up high in accordance. "The odds of finding someone more skilled than I are low to say the least."

He always enjoyed how confident you were in your craft. That confidence stemmed from true experience and skill, mastery even. You were right for claiming your profession to be deemed that high of a level, there hasn't been a single time in the past where your restoratives had let him down, no matter what their purpose served. He's glad that your clientele have spread the word of your little place, though they're restricted to hushed exchanges of whispers and secret notes passed in inconspicuous areas, out of the sight of any authorities.

The way you obtained some of your ingredients could be considered illegal if thorough investigation was to prosper, but luckily for you, that was yet to happen. No one was dubious of the little flower shop secluded between two towering office buildings at the farthest corner of the longest street in Kyushu. Hawks wouldn't dare run his mouth about its true nature to anyone, he would much rather heal his battle wounds naturally with one of your blends rather than the harsh steroids they'd stick into his body back at the commission.

"Can't deny that fact." Hawks chuckled, looking at you with apparent appreciation gleaming through his hooded eyes. "You've helped me through some tough calls, I don't think I-" He cut himself off in realization of something.

"I...I don't think I've ever thanked you."

You were quick to bring up the fact that he in fact spoiled you. Tipping you thousands over whatever price you'd ask for, as if money was nothing but a nuisance to him and he needed to get rid of as much of it as possible, it had you wondering if he would flaunt it around so carelessly wherever.

"That's different. Of course I'm gonna pay you in exchange for your meds, I'm not some shitbag. But I've never thanked you before."

Now that you think about it, it's true. The majority of times times he's come here, it's been in an urgent burst through the door, with little time on his hands to so much as greet you. You really can't recall a single time where he's thanked you, since he's usually in such a rush. Here one second, gone the next. His reputation stands firm.

Rarely have there ever been situations like this, where he's able to hang around the shop and wait patiently for you to get his order ready firsthand. You'd looked over your shoulder at him while he was appeasing the owls earlier. He had looked so calm, so sweet and tender in that moment, totally relaxed. It warmed your heart to see him like that.

His concern brought a smile to your face, how adorable to think that it would trouble him this much. "Hawks, trust me, you're fine. I know you're thankful. The proof is in the way that you pay literally five times as much as I could ever ask you for—more than that at times!"

Yup. That sounds like something he'd do, even he'll admit it. He distinctly recalls throwing a fat stack of cash at you in several of his hurried instances, not even bothering to ask for the price, or check how much was in the stack. He tilted his head aside and stuck out his lower lip in consideration of his own antics.

But that doesn't stop him from genuinely thinking that you deserve way more than what you make. You're taking one hell of a risk every time you sell another product to some shady person. He thinks you deserve to be appreciated more for that fact alone.

"Well, for what it's worth, thank you Y/n. Really, I mean it. What you do means a lot to me, more than I can put into words." He held your gaze with an adoration in his eyes that you didn't quite understand.

You've never seen seriousness cross that man's expression as well as it did right then.

He's perpetually cheerful and carefree, flirty more oftentimes than he should be. It surprised you seeing him so lacking in that notorious, glowing charisma. Maybe you'd go as far to say that in that moment, it looked like true joy was something he'd never experienced before. You couldn't even form words, rendered a gaping fish.

And maybe you would've actually taken his word for it, if it wasn't for you being reminded of the fact that the two of you had two big ass birds on your heads when Gamma and Thaddeus unexpectedly hooted in unison.

You and Hawks simultaneously broke eye contact to glance up at each other's birds, locking eyes with one another again.

It went silent for a few seconds.

Hawks' hard expression wavered hesitantly, his lip twitching in a futile attempt to remain serious. You then snorted quietly, biting your lip, and that's all it took for the two of you to burst out into a laughing fit that made you to bend over to clutch your sides, causing Gamma to flee from your head hastily and settle on her perch, Thaddeus following suit towards his respective stand when Hawks stumbled backwards a bit.

They'd managed to both ruin the moment and save it all the same, made it into something you didn't quite know you needed until it happened. A good laugh, one that had your face heating up and your cheeks beginning to hurt as the two of you only grew breathless with glee, struggling to keep your balance as you pressed your weight onto nearby objects to avoid toppling over.

The old Grandfather clock at the back of the shop had begun to chime, signaling the passing of another hour.

The sound caused Hawks to gradually come back down from his laugh-high. He submitted to that professional state of mind that subconsciously clawed at his back at times like these, once he was reminded of where he was supposed to be.

It was like someone snapped their fingers and all happiness was wiped from his face. Other than the faint pink still dusting his cheeks, it looked like the laugh that the two of you shared had never transpired.

You didn't even need to hear him say it. After you'd wiped a tear of joy from your eyes and regained your breath, you'd whirled around, right back to where you'd left off before.

A strange atmosphere settled into the shop. It grew peacefully silent, the rays of the setting sun stretched generously into the stop, accentuating gliding specs of dust in their path and lighting the room in a warm honey glow.

Hawks rolled his shoulders, wings reaching out to their maximum length in a comfortable stretch, as you bagged his things.

He'd requested a strong set of numbing-based remedies and other blends crammed with sedatives. It reminded you of the prep for some sort of illegal surgery, but you weren't one to meddle in the business of your customers.

You'd turned to hand him his bag, but were surprised when there was no sight of the man where he'd previously been.

It took a few glances around the room, you almost missed him at first, but there he was, standing before the display window, gazing distantly at the outside world under the evening glow.

Sometimes you'd catch a deep-rooted hardship in his eyes that was nearly impossible to detect. A flicker of something more, something lost long ago that he longs to have again. At times it looked like he was carrying the weight of the world in his wings and nobody knew it.

Or maybe your seclusion in your craft has run you crazy and you're just imagining it all. That's way more believable, anyway.

You'd walked up to his side, eyes trained on the lively cityscape. The city never slept, always bustling with some sort of commotion, but it was oddly calm on that evening. Nothing but nature in all its shapes and forms, like the gentle autumn breeze that shook the trees, like the songbirds softly jittering in a musical dialect only they understood, plus the ocasional car that would stroll by barely exceeding fifteen miles per hour.

Your gaze drifted back on Hawks, who has yet to notice your presence beside him.

Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that man’s mind, what challenges the relentless day brings him, and how he manages to come out smiling in the end.

#bnha hawks #hawks #anime #built different #keigo takami #my hero academia #oneshot #fanfic #apothecary #keigo #fanfiction #idk what else to tag #hawks x reader #y/n apothecary #the apothecary

113 notes · View notes

prurientpuddlejumper · 3 years

Text

Hopelessness of Wanting [Part 2]

<- Part 1 | Part 3 ->

Frederick Chilton x Reader

Continuation of an angsty dark fic request.

Warnings: suicidal thoughts/attempt (I made myself real sad with this one so be warned if you’re vulnerable to negative thinking), NSFW, smut (gender-neutral), unhealthy relationship, depression, neurodivergent reader. Melancholy rambling.

3,200 words

“Don’t worry about what Dr. Chilton thinks,” Nurse Clerval advised as soon as he was out of earshot. “He’s an asshole.”

“Yeah, but”—you tugged the hem of your scrubs—“He’s right. I keep messing up. I think he hates me.” You stopped there, too ashamed to admit you were the biggest fuck-up on the entire staff, new or not, or that you could tell Dr. Chilton regretted his decision to hire you.

“And the rest of us hate him. Just keep doing your job, learn the ropes—he’ll back off.”

You nodded silently and continued your rounds, delivering meds and checking in on patients. Amy had to be restrained again when she wouldn’t stop biting. Julianne seemed more confused lately, though you hadn’t known any of them long enough to tell what was normal.

Clerval’s words hung over you. It didn’t seem right that everyone hated Dr. Chilton. He was a little brusque, yes, but intelligent. Wickedly sarcastic. Posturing and puffing himself up whenever people he admired came to visit the hospital, and he wanted badly to impress them. Lonely.

Your cheeks heated at the thought of those intense bursts of green under his brow—the first thing you noticed when he conducted your interview. His eyes almost matched the light green scrubs you wore at the hospital you trained in, though the uniform here was white (as if leaning into the One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest vibe.)

But what drew you in wasn’t that his eyes were beautiful—though they were—it was the way they made contact with yours. Staring you down with fake confidence, as if he were forcing it. That stare must have been off-putting to most people, but it made your spirit leap with that particular spark of connection one only feels when finding a kindred spirit.

“Hey! Still sulking? Hurry it up,” Clerval called, jolting you to attention. You trotted after.

It was nice having a mentor on the staff, but at the same time, it just felt like having another person to eventually disappoint.

“Here! What’s next?” you beamed.

***

Dr. Chilton didn’t back off over the next few weeks as Nurse Clerval suggested. The more you thought you were getting the hang of routines at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, the more mistakes you seemed to make, and the harder its administrator came down on you. And the more the handsome, scarred Dr. Chilton hated you, the more nervous mistakes you made.

In nursing school, you aced everything technical. Every written test. Every memorized statistic, sterilization procedure, medication instruction, and anatomy diagram. But when it came to interacting with patients and families—being compassionate yet professional—nothing came naturally. As a child, you learned how to fake eye contact by staring at the bridge of someone’s nose. How to smile bright and encourage others so they don’t reject you. So they don’t see you as cold or weird. But sometimes, you felt like an alien just parroting human behavior.

The guy you had been dating when you started working at the BSHCI said something similar to you when he broke it off. That you were “unavailable” and never understood what he needed.

There was a reason your first choice job was at a hospital where the only patients were mentally ill murderers.

Dr. Frederick Chilton was the same way. Just better at hiding it, or braver about not caring when his mannerisms rubbed people the wrong way. He didn’t fall apart like you did. He was… incredible. As soon as you met him, you knew you wanted the job. His smile was forced but friendly that first day, and you went home dreaming about getting to know him better.

But as soon as you were hired, the friendliness went out of his eyes. On your very first day, you passed him in the hall and smiled. He frowned and informed you that you were five minutes late clocking in. Everything—every forgotten ID card and typo on a patient file—was proof to Dr. Chilton that you were incompetent.

Worthless.

He even pointed it out when you couldn’t stand up for yourself and let Nurse Clerval defend you.

Pathetic.

Why did you ever think someone like him might like you?

He wasn’t an asshole. The constant reprimanding and disciplinary write-ups were no more than you deserved. It just hurt coming from someone you admired and wished things could be different with.

God, you wished just once he would smile at you again. Tell you that you did a good job.

Your fist hovered over the dark mahogany of the carved doors to Dr. Chilton’s office, poised to knock. To tender your resignation. You hadn’t seen the extravagant interior of his office since your interview, but you could imagine him in there: laying back on the leather couch sipping a Scotch, surrounded by tall shelves of medical books and sculpted wall molding. The air filled with the library smell of old paper.

In your imagination, his cold green eyes would soften, and he would ask why you were leaving. Apologize for being so hard on you. The Chilton in your mind clasped your hand, and you both blushed, wondering if the gesture was merely a show of professional support, or if it held a deeper meaning. He clasped tighter instead of dropping your hand, knowing— understanding—the heat behind your gaze.

A dull thud came from inside the office, followed by footsteps and a muttering voice, muffled through the door. The footsteps started heading your way, and you walked briskly down the hall toward the exit, not looking back when a moment later, the mahogany doors creaked open.

Coward.

There was no point quitting, anyway. You would never find another hospital job as slow-paced, where you rarely had to speak with outsiders—only the regular long-term patient-inmates, and a small staff of orderlies, guards, nurses, and psychiatrists.

Sometimes you thought you should quit nursing altogether, but then what would you do? Flip burgers? You’d be bad at that, too. There was nothing you wouldn’t be a failure at.

A fog hovered over you, creeping its tendrils into every thought, turning every tiny setback into the end of the world, and making every success unimportant. Leaving BSHCI wouldn’t make it better. Nothing would make it better. You were the fuck-up. Anywhere you went, the problem would always be you.

Every smile you gave was forced, but you kept smiling as if everything was normal. So long as nobody could see you drowning, it wasn’t real. There was still hope that you could get your shit together, and no one would be the wiser that you were actually a disgusting piece of human trash. So long as you could smile like you were fine, you weren’t a complete failure.

But the more you pretended to be upbeat—pretended to be someone likable—the more you were certain your coworkers didn’t like you. They must have been sick of covering for you by now.

A week later, the nurse you were replacing grunted, “Finally,” as you sprinted through the door three minutes after your shift started. That one unremarkable interaction was the final proof of a theory you had been nursing for a long time:

Everyone’s lives would be easier without you.

That was the final conclusion, the final, creeping thought the suffocating fog wormed into your head. The crescendo of a distorted symphony that had been subtly building to this from the beginning.

You couldn’t force yourself to smile anymore.

***

You didn’t have authorized access to the medication supply room, but you swiped a key from Dr. Tenley’s office. For a secure facility, the doctors of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane were lax about locking their own offices. She would notice it was missing by Monday morning, and there would be serious repercussions for stealing it, but you weren’t concerned. You wouldn’t be around to face them.

With the high-potency drugs available in a hospital and a working knowledge of pharmacology, ending a life could be quick and relatively painless.

The key clicked in the door. You glanced up and down the hallway to make sure no one was coming. But the coast was clear.

A halfhearted breath puffed from your nose. Part of you wanted to find it funny how easy this was, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to laugh.

You stealthily opened the windowless metal door, stepped inside, and shut and locked it behind you without making a sound. Once inside the small room, you let out a silent sigh of relief (or despair). Only a handful of people had a key, so you were unlikely to be interrupted, especially at night with only a skeleton staff on duty.

There were three rows of tall storage shelves crammed into the walk-in closet with clean tile in the few places wall was exposed. The whir of a climate-control system drowned out the pulse in your ears as you scanned for the drugs you were looking for.

You found them faster than expected. They could have at least been hidden. The universe could have put a few more obstacles in your path, but instead, the universe was giving you a big fat sign it wanted you dead.

You picked up the packaging. Turned it over in your hand.

Just a handful of these, and all the problems you cause would be over. No more reprimands. No more disappointing everyone you meet. No more wrenching in your gut every time Dr. Chilton looks at you with contempt when you long to see a smile. No more trying so hard every minute of every day.

It wasn’t like too many people would be sad you were gone anyway. Most of them will be relieved.

Your eyes stung.

Wasn’t someone going to walk in and stop you?

Your lip trembled. Why would anyone want to stop you?

Tears rolled down your face as the reality of your plan set in. Survival instinct kicked and clawed at the cloying fog of twisted logic that promised you would be helping everyone if you stopped existing, but it was losing the battle.

And then you heard someone call your name.

You sniffed and looked up. No… not someone calling your name. Moaning it. You crept to the last row of shelves at the back and gasped—Dr. Chilton had his laptop tucked onto a shelf and was watching a clip of security feed on loop. His red, glistening erection thick in his hand as he masturbated, whimpering your name over and over.

You watched silently—he was so engrossed he didn’t notice your shadow falling over the aisle. It was only when the package of drugs slipped from your hand and clattered on the floor that he jumped with a shriek, covering himself, though his massive erection was still conspicuous in his pants. His eyes bugged out at you, face red with embarrassment—but then they quickly narrowed to anger.

“What are you doing in here? You are not authorized to be in this room,” he barked.

All you could think about was what you heard—the name gasping from his lips. It overpowered every other thought. “Were you… imagining me?”

His nostrils flared. He hastily shut the laptop which was looping security footage of you outside his office door.

Then he laughed—forced and cruel. “What I imagine is not your concern. Do not read into it. I have never shown you special treatment, have I? Do you think that I could have feelings for an incompetent nurse?”

“I know that!” Your lip trembled again now that the briefest spark of hope you had was shattered. Of course he didn’t like you. He was just a pervert who jacked off to all the nurses. “Don’t you think I know that I’m worthless? You’ve made it abundantly clear.”

Fresh tears rolled down your cheeks, and Chilton’s eyes softened, as if for the first time realizing that all his attempts to hurt you had succeeded. You were hurt. And he did not enjoy it as much as he thought.

“You are not worthless,” he said quietly. Then his eyes flicked down to the floor, at the medication you dropped. He picked it up, read what it was. His expression fell. “What were you doing in here, nurse?” he swallowed.

“Nothing. I just… needed something for a patient.”

“Lie,” he said.

You looked away. Everything was numb. It barely even occurred to you that someone stopped you after all. A handsome, awkward, cruel doctor you admired was in the same room with you and had said his first kind words since the day you met.

He took a slow step toward you. Then another. His hand—slender and surprisingly large—pressed your arm in an attempt at a comforting gesture. An alien parroting human behavior.

“You are not worthless. I assure you, none of your mistakes have been grievous. You are certainly not the least competent of my staff. Far from it. So don’t…” He swallowed. “…Do not do anything rash.”

“Sure,” you scoffed. “Then why am I the one you’re always reprimanding? The one always being called to your office?” You knew what he thought of you; he was just trying to talk you down.

“That…” he began in a broken voice, “That must be painfully obvious now.”

Your eyes peeled away from the floor and found his face, and the storm of emotions flashing over it. Shame. Trepidation. A faint light of hope.

“You like me?” Your voice sounded far away. The analytical part of your brain was whirring away above the swamp of depression bogging you down with lies that nobody could like you. But it made sense. As the words spilled from your mouth, it was like a veil lifted.

Pulling pigtails. He was pulling your pigtails because he liked you. A middle-aged psychiatrist ought to have more emotional maturity handling a crush than a third-grader, but there was a reason he worked at a hospital where the only patients were mentally ill murderers. There was a reason his staff hated him. Why he was lonely, and why you desperately wanted to be the one to fill the empty space by his side.

Frederick Chilton was a lot like you.

You could understand each other and be less alone in this world, together.

***

His eyes were closed and he was muttering something self-flagellating and vaguely apologetic when the kinetic sense of you moving closer caused Frederick Chilton to look up.

No longer out at arm’s distance, you were within each other’s breathing space. And now, he was genuinely terrified—terrified you were going to return his feelings. Of the joy it might bring crashing down on him like an airplane. He read something he never expected to see in your body language, and it shook him deeper than being walked in on with his cock in his hands.

You should have reported him for ethics violations.

If you made the case to the hospital board that he created a hostile work environment because he wanted you sexually, he would lose his job and do everybody a favor.

But this—the intention in your body—this was the farthest thing from what he deserved. You confirmed his fear when your soft, perfect lips melded against his. Yet, as always when he knew a thing was wrong, he did not push you away. Did nothing to stop you. He let you deepen the kiss slowly, and you were warm, the taste of you sweeter than he imagined in all his lonely nights of fantasizing.

His cock twitched, your closeness awakening his urges again. He moaned as your lips parted, his lips parting with them, and your tongue gently probed inside. You were tentative at first, investigating only the nearest reaches of his inner lips, and then his hand spasmed on your arm, and with a low growl, he pulled your closer—then you became ravenous. All the turbulent emotions churning within you broke free in that kiss. You sobbed into his mouth, your tongue, hot and fervent, explored and assaulted the depths of him, your hands weaving into the hair behind his neck, and he could taste your salt. It was all his tongue could do to keep up—to let himself be consumed.

Dear god, if only that passion would have ended him then and there. The moment your lips met his in an unexpected act of reciprocation was the fulfillment of every want, every tattered and twisted hope—the highest delight a man such as him could achieve. And he knew—rightly so—that all that could follow was suffering of his own design.

Dear god, let me die before I see this in ruins. Let me die with my happiness.

***

The sex wasn’t all that good. But then again, you had gone into that supply closet intending to never come out, so overall, being fucked by the man you had been pining for was a positive turn of events.

It wasn’t how you’d imagined your first time with Dr. Chilton, pressed against a cold tile wall. A hungry kiss led to his clothed erection pushing against your thigh, led to you unbuckling his belt.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he whispered hoarsely, nervous eyes darkened with lust—and you nodded, sliding down your scrub pants, which stuck on your sneakers, hobbling your ankles. He was in too much of a rush to let you take them off—he only opened up his slacks and pulled his cock out of the fly of his briefs. And then he was thrusting into you from behind—frantic, desperate. Your ankles being bound only added to the thrill of him being in control. Dr. Chilton wanted you after all—fantasized about you—and now he was taking you, and all you had to do was surrender to his desire.

His breathy moans rose with each snap of his hips, his hands traveling up your chest under your shirt, fingers curling around your neck, possessing you. Touching every inch of skin he could get his hands on. And that noise that saved your life, your name on his lips, he chanted in your ear.

He was fast—hips racing as if this were his only chance, and if he waited, you would disappear—and he finished fast. You didn’t spend long with your face pressed to the cold tile when his moans broke into a shattered scream, and his head slumped, sweaty, against your back.

Then he turned you around to face him and got on his knees. Heedless of his own mess that he’d left sticky and bitter inside you, he pumped his fingers into you and sucked like he was fulfilling a duty. Clinical about the task, and efficient. It didn’t take him long to bring your arousal to a climax in his mouth.

After, he was quiet. When you had cleaned up, he looked at you like you were a mistake… only you weren’t certain what kind of mistake. If you reached out to reassure him, would he jerk away and tell you to never speak of this again?

“Was it… all you expected?” you asked robotically. Your arm crossed your body, hugging yourself.

And then he kissed you again, softly. He ran his fingers over your hair and pulled back just far enough to study your face. His eyes were wet, clouded with a million thoughts and regrets you would only learn about later.

“You are perfect,” he whispered.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Since I went some places this chapter... Please don’t bottle up your feelings if they’re telling you horrible things about yourself. They aren’t true, I promise. You matter. ❤️

Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255

Online chat: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/

Help via Text: https://www.crisistextline.org/ (Text HOME to 741741)

List of additional resources: https://www.healthline.com/health/mental-health/suicide-resource-guide

Tags:

@beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @dreamlover31 / @stormtrooperofficerbrowneyes / @barbasimp / @storiesofsvu / @welcometothemxdhouse / @feedthemadness-sweetie / @law-nerd105 / @amelia-song-pond / @michael-rooker / @xecq

#frederick chilton #Frederick Chilton x reader #dark fic #angst #This was supposed to be a oneshot! *sobbing* A oneshot!!!#my writing

82 notes · View notes

cotncandyboifics · 3 years

Text

1989 [High School AU]: Chapter 1

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6 ~ Chapter 7 ~ Chapter 8 ~ Chapter 9 ~

Pairings: slight Logince, eventual Prinxiety & Logicality

Word count: 1,780

Story summary: Roman Prince is your stereotypical Jock, with everyone swooning after him. Every day a crowd of people follow him around, only to disperse at his personal whim. In reality, he's lucky to have such good acting skills that help him cover up the disdain he has for his life. He only wishes he could use his skills properly.

Patton Whitelock's always there to lend a helping hand, no matter who you are. If you need a favor or just need someone to talk to, go to him. In reality, he's been taught from a young age that kindness should be held above all else. No one suspects that he took it the wrong way.

Logan Montgomery is the smartest boy in the Senior class. He's stern, and most people are too intimidated to speak to him. In reality, he despises most all of his fellow students. He sticks to his studies and doesn't stray, for fear of being stuck in his father's shadow his whole life.

Virgil Black is the most emo kid in school, let alone 12th grade; everyone knows to leave him be. In reality, he's very fortunate. He has two parents who love him dearly. But everything beyond his life, everything within his mind, is utter chaos and turmoil.

what will happen when they're assigned a biology project together?

General CW: food, swearing, implied s-lf h-rm, non-graphic descriptions of s-lf h-rm scars, graphic and non-graphic descriptions of anxiety attacks and panic attacks, drug abuse, minor character intoxicated on heroin, non-graphic drug overdose description, sickness/description of sickness, blood, non-graphic descriptions of needles, (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: <none> (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: hook chapter go brr

...

Nice to meet you, where you been?

I can show you incredible things

Magic, madness, heaven, sin

Saw you there, and I thought

"Oh my god, look at that face

You look like my next mistake"

Love's a game, wanna play?

Roman checked his watch discreetly as he walked down the hall toward his first class. 7:58. He was almost late, but not quite. As he walked in, earning a glare from Mr. Berry and a few students, he glanced at the whiteboard. It read: "Tuesday, September 3 / Classwork: OT essay workday / Homework: OT Analysis and Essay due FRIDAY". The word "Friday" was written sloppily large and underlined. Roman just kept his sleepy poker face and walked to his desk, in the second-to-last row in the middle. He'd not noticed the shrunken figure at the desk next to him, whom everyone knew but no one liked. Virgil Black.

New money, suit and tie

I can read you like a magazine

Ain't it funny, rumors fly

And I know you've heard about me

So hey, let's be friends

I'm dying to see, how this one ends

Grab your passport, and my hand

I can make the bad guys good for a weekend.

Virgil shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets as he glared in Roman's general direction from behind bright purple bangs. His scowl deepened as Roman pulled out his notebook but didn't take his single earbud out, proceeding to doodle on the margins of his notebook.

Roman propped his head up on his right palm, tilting his head carelessly as he drew stars around a stick man's head. By this time, the plump red-faced man known as Mr. Berry, teacher of English 12, had taken his respected place at the front of the class for a quick lecture before they began classwork.

So it's gonna be forever,

Or it's gonna go down in flames

You can tell me when it's over,

If the high was worth the pain

Got a long list of ex-lovers,

They'll tell you I'm insane

'Cus you know I love the players,

And you love the game

"Good morning students," He said in a blubbering gritty voice, the sagging skin below his chin bouncing comically as he did so. "I trust you completed reading the rest of the book. Now, as I'm sure you've noticed, the Analysis and quotes along with your essay's final draft are due - both printed - on Friday. If you turn it in on Monday, it'll drop two letter grades, and any time after that is a zero. I should hope this first assignment will get you in the punctual mindset for my class." The large man was walking about the room, between desks checking for cheating or kids working ahead. He was strict, and didn't tolerate out-of-line behavior. As he completed his sentence, his eyes fell on Roman, who was still slouched apathetically, doodling, earbud in. The students watching Mr. Berry saw his face somehow achieve a deeper hue of red and his eyes bulge, as a bull does when it spots it's target. Roman however, didn't notice; a pale-faced Virgil tried to get his attention without the teacher noticing.

'Cus we're young and we're reckless,

We'll take this way too far

It'll leave you breathless,

Or with a nasty scar

Got a long list of ex-lovers,

They'll tell you I'm insane

But I've got a blank space baby...

And I'll write your name.

"Psst. Roman." he hissed in vain. Roman's earbud was in his right ear, the same side Virgil was sitting on, so quiet noises from that direction were inaudible to him. Despite the class's uneasiness as Mr. Berry made his way to Roman's seat, and though Roman was fully aware of the fat fuming man advancing on him, he made no change in expression or focus; merely, filled in the dark half of the yin yang he had sketched next to his name as he lightly mouthed the words of the song.

Mr. Berry stopped right in front of Roman's desk, looking down at him furiously. When Roman ignored him, he took further action. Just as Roman had completed the yin yang, a fat red hand came down loudly on his desk and a sudden "MR. PRINCE!!" Erupted from the old man's gullet.

Cherry lips, crystal skies

I can show you incredible things

Stolen kisses, pretty lies

You're the king baby I'm your queen

Find out what you want,

Be that girl for a month

Wait, the worst is yet to come... oh no.

Roman looked up at him slowly, but no trace of fear could be found on his face. Even, a slight smirk hinting at the corners of his mouth. But, not enough for the old man to notice.

"What sort of media is emitting from those... earphones?" Mr. Berry said, bug-eyed.

Roman held up the earbud that wasn't in his ear, looking at it. "You mean these?" He said.

Mr. Berry simply sighed and rolled his eyes frustratedly. "Yes, 'in those', Mr. Prince. You'd better have an adequate response."

Screaming, crying, perfect storms

I can make all the tables turn

Rose garden filled with thorns

Keep you second guessing, like

"Oh my god, who is she?"

I get drunk on jealousy

But you'll come back each time you leave

'Cus darling I'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream.

Roman held the old man's gaze, as if searching for something within his grey-brown orbs. After a moment, he sighed quietly and said, "Taylor Swift."

His response earned a few snickers from other students, to which Mr. Berry scanned the room to see if he could bust two students in one go.

Most of the students thought he looked like Napoleon from the 1954 animated movie based on Animal Farm, a fair comparison. His balding head and fat body gave him an appearance that was quite comparable to a pig.

After a moment of glaring at a few of the known renegades of the class, he returned his focus to Roman. But, this time, he didn't appear as angry; rather, he was smiling gently, but his eyes still held an angry glow. "Since you see no point in listening to my lecture, I'm sure you wouldn't mind showing the class a sufficient outline for your first draft essay? Along with the requirements, of course," the senile man's smirk curled up into a grin as he spoke, tilting his head a bit. Roman merely smirked himself, and stood.

So it's gonna be forever,

Or it's gonna go down in flames

You can tell me when it's over,

If the high was worth the pain

Got a long list of ex-lovers,

They'll tell you I'm insane

'Cus you know I love the players,

And you love the game

Mr. Berry watched in moderate surprise as Roman walked swiftly past the rows of desks to the whiteboard, uncapped an expo marker, and began writing in neatly printed lettering. "Ok, so the final draft is due on Friday," He began, "So you should have your first draft completed by tonight. The essay must have at least five body paragraphs, a minimum of two quotes each-" Virgil watched, shocked, gripping his pencil so that his knuckles paled. "So I hope you've picked out your quotes already. The thesis needs to answer the prompt, obviously. Conclusion should be at least five sentences. So overall, about two or three pages. I'd recommend using this class time to create an outline in your notebook, and typing up a first draft. Have your second draft done tomorrow, and final details on Thursday. And because Mr. Berry is too... behind the times to use Google Classroom, you'll need to print it out and hand it in physically. I'm sure Mr. Berry isn't partial to the trees we're killing, so if you're in Environmental club, I'd not bother complaining." And with this final sentence, Roman touched up his writing on the board and walked back to his seat, never taking out his earbud.

'Cus we're young and we're reckless,

We'll take this way too far

It'll leave you breathless,

Or with a nasty scar

Got a long list of ex-lovers,

They'll tell you I'm insane

But I got a blank space baby...

And I'll write your name.

Mr. Berry was still standing over Roman's desk, now staring down at him with large eyes. He opened his mouth slightly to say something, but was interrupted by another student asking a question. From then on, Mr. Berry ignored Roman, which was an easy feat, as Roman did the same.

After a little over half an hour, the bell rang, and Roman slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked out. Mr. Berry considered asking him why he'd only doodled for the entirety of the class period and not worked on his essay, but his pride got the best of him, and he watched as the young man walked out of the room confidently.

Virgil had slipped out before Roman, and was now pretending to exchange things in his locker, which was unfortunately right next to Roman's. The tall jock walked up to his own locker, earning a scowl from the darker boy.

"What? Enjoy the show I put on in Mr. Diabetes' class?" Roman said, leaning against the lockers as Virgil shut his own. The dark boy just grunted and walked off, feeling Roman's eyes watching as he turned a corner. Roman smirked for the hundredth time that morning when he was gone and turned to open his own locker. When a few girls from the cheer team started to linger, flipping their hair and puffing out their chests, and Roman actively ignored them until he walked past close enough that a few of them let out squeals. He heard the usual murmurs from behind him, "he's so hot," and "I'd kill to be his date to Homecoming." He smirked to himself again, making his way to his Physics class.

...

Virgil spotted is best friend Patton in his usual seat as he walked into his second period Economics class. The boy smiled at Virgil up on seeing him, and waved happily.

"Hello Virgil!! how are you feeling this morning?" He said cheerily as Virgil took the seat next to him, sliding his backpack under the desk.

"Alright I guess." He thought about telling Patton about Roman, but thought better of it; Patton had enough on his plate to worry about as it was.

As for Patton, he had already taken to pulling out his notebook, preparing for a long class of note-taking. Economics was one of the most note-heavy classes either of the boys had, and usually required all their focus. As the teacher stood from his desk and turned on his projector, Virgil could've sworn he saw Patton staring at someone, but as soon as he looked, Patton focused on the teacher, readying his pencil. But, Virgil being the parano- vigilant person he was, followed what he thought was Patton's line of sight to... Logan Montgomery? What? Upon realizing who he had thought Patton was looking at, he brushed it off. There's no way Patton would be looking at him. is there?

#logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #ts patton #ts roman #ts logan #ts virgil #thomas sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #prinxiety #logicality #slow burn #virgil x roman #logan x patton

22 notes · View notes

gretavanfanfic · 4 years

Text

Thin Line

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x (F) Reader

Word Count: 5600ish

Warnings: Attempted sexual assault, language.

Summary: You and Sam share all the same friends, but he hates you...or so you think.

Note: This was inspired by #5 on this prompt list.

Sam Kiszka hates you. You’re sure of it. You don’t quite know what his reason is for disliking you, but you can feel his disdain for you every time you’re in the same room together. Which is pretty awkward, considering you’ve been in the same friend group since the beginning of college.

When a mutual friend first introduced you to Sam and his brothers during your freshman year, you instantly felt comfortable around Jake and Josh and became fast friends. You even connected with and became close with Sam’s best friend, Danny, in a short period of time. But despite putting in what you felt was a significant effort to get to know Sam as well, he was totally uninterested in getting to know you.

At first you thought maybe he was just slow to come out of his shell, but to this day, Sam has never seemed to warm up to you. There’s just something in the way he treats you that’s different from how he treats your other friends. He’s colder, almost as if he resents you. Where he greets everyone else with smiles and hugs, you receive chilly stares and uninterested waves. Where he makes conversation and engages with everyone else, you receive minimal responses in a flat, bored tone. While you and Sam each hang out individually with all of your other friends, the two of you have never spent time together one on one.

You’ve tried your best not to let his behavior upset you, but truthfully, it does hurt your feelings. Because, in spite of his chilly attitude towards you, you quite like Sam. He’s loud and opinionated; goofy and incredibly intelligent. He’s talented, hard-working, and driven; quirky in an endearing way. Not to mention, he is extremely beautiful, with his long, wavy locks, chiseled features, and brilliant smile. Throughout the time you’ve known each other, you’ve wished for nothing more than for him to give you a chance, but you’ve resigned yourself to the fact that there are just some people in the world who will never like you. And Sam Kiszka was apparently someone who would never like you.

Sam’s contempt for you has seemed to go unnoticed by the rest of your friends, and you feel no need to mention it to any of them. Bringing it up would just make everything even more awkward. You’ve decided that you would much rather continue to feel comfortable around your other friends with some mild unease when Sam is there, than isolate yourself from the group by throwing accusations around haphazardly.

Ever since you came to the conclusion that Sam hates you, you’ve been a bit preoccupied with him. Now, as you sit on a couch in a stranger’s packed living room chatting with Jake over the sound of blaring music, you can’t stop yourself from glancing over at Sam periodically. He’s leaning against a wall across the room, having an animated conversation with Danny, a smile bright on his face, head tipping back with laughter every now and again. Your friend, Erin, joins them and Sam welcomes her into the discussion enthusiastically. You feel an unmistakable spark of jealousy in that moment, wondering what it is that Erin has and you lack that allows her to connect with Sam.

You must have let your stare linger for a little too long, because suddenly, Sam’s eyes flick up to meet yours. You panic and flash him a timid smile, hoping you come off as friendly. However, he just studies you for a brief moment and you see his lips pulling down into a frown. Then, just as quickly as this little moment between the two of you began, it ends as he turns his focus back to his conversation with Danny and Erin. You too return your attention to Jake and try not to read too much into what just occurred.

A little later, you leave your spot on the couch with Jake to find a drink in the kitchen. You drove to the party, so you can’t drink much, but you figure one cocktail can’t hurt. You’re in the middle of mixing a rum and Coke when you’re approached by a guy you don’t know. He’s cute, but he seems sleazy. You know all he wants is to hook up, and you’re not the type of person to sleep with just anyone.

He introduces himself as Drew, and then, as you predicted, immediately asks you if you want to go somewhere more quiet to, “talk.” Uninterested, you mutter a quick, “No, thank you,” pick up your drink, and proceed to leave the kitchen in search of a bathroom.

Much to your dismay, he does not take the hint and follows you into the hallway you’ve just entered. Noticing his presence, you speed up your pace, but are pulled to a halt when he reaches forward and takes hold of your wrist. Your fight or flight response kicks in instantly, heart rate accelerating and the hair at the back of your neck standing on end. Wrenching your wrist free, you spin around and glare at him.

“Can I help you?” you spit, venom in your voice. It’s at this moment that you realize that you’ve ventured into a mostly empty area of the house. Only a few people are around, but they’re too wrapped up in themselves to notice the conflict occurring just a couple of feet away. You cautiously take a few steps back, trying to distance yourself from this man who has suddenly become threatening.

Drew laughs and continues moving toward you. You try to inch even further backward, but your back hits the wall, making it sink in that you’ve been cornered. With his much larger frame, he boxes you in by putting both his palms on the wall on either side of your head.

Bending down, he smirks and says, “Come on, baby, don’t be like that. I just wanted to talk, get to know you a little better.”

Truly panicking now, you try to keep your voice steady when you counter, “And I declined. Now let me go.” You attempt to dip down and slide out from under his arm, but he’s too quick, shoving your shoulder back against the wall. Your drink slips out of your hand at this point, hitting the ground and splashing all over the carpet, walls, and your pants.

Leering at you with the same creepy smile on his face, he runs his fingers down the entire length of your arm, causing you to shiver. Stepping even closer, you feel his hot breath on your face as he taunts, “I’m just being nice, baby. Maybe you should learn to be a little more polite.”

You try to formulate a plan to escape this dilemma, but you’re so scared that your mind is blank. His hand has wandered to your back and settled on your ass, and you feel tears forming in your eyes. You try to look around for someone, anyone that may be able to help you, but the barricade he’s created with his arms has made that impossible. The only thing you can think of to do is scream, and you’re about to do it when you hear someone shout from behind his large body.

“Hey man, what the fuck are you doing? Get off of her!”

The voice sounds familiar, but you don’t register who it belongs to due to the overload of adrenaline coursing through your system. Your brain will not allow you to focus on anything for more than a millisecond, the feeling of terror consuming you. Trying to direct any of your brain power to identifying the person attempting to help you isn’t even an option.

Despite the unknown person’s protest, your assailant does not move an inch, continuing to hold you against your will. You attempt to wiggle out of his hold again, to no avail. Closing your eyes, you try to center yourself and prevent your breathing from increasing to the point of hyperventilation.

And then, he’s gone. The weight leaning up against you disappears and the air around you becomes cooler. It should be easier to breathe, but you still feel like you’re suffocating.

Eyes snapping open, you’re greeted by the sight of someone’s back. Sam Kiszka’s back, you quickly determine, given the long brown hair and slim frame. He has somehow shoved his way between you and your attacker, and is now shielding you with his body. Even though he is much smaller than Drew, you instantly feel safer, and very, very grateful that he intervened.

Drew’s face portrays his anger at Sam for preventing him from getting what he wanted from you. “You should mind your own fucking business, man!” he practically screams, trying to glare a hole through Sam.

“You don’t get to fucking touch her without her permission, you son of a bitch!” Sam growls, not backing down.

You don’t hang around to hear anything else. You desperately need some fresh air and to be out of this dark hallway.

Slipping out from behind Sam’s body, you speed walk away as fast as you can, only turning to look back at the scene once you reach the end of the hall. Drew and Sam, still exchanging anger-laced words, do not notice your exit, and for that, you are grateful. You hastily find your way back to the living room and out the front door, not bothering to even stop and tell your other friends that you’re leaving.

Once you step foot outside, you greedily suck in the cool Autumn air, a stark contrast to the warm stuffiness you felt as Drew was holding you against the wall. The whole encounter lasted maybe two minutes, but it felt like you were being held underwater for an hour and are just now surfacing.

Wiping the tears that you realize are still flowing down your cheeks, you dig your car keys out of the pocket of your jeans and locate your vehicle parked on the street. You feel a little bad for abandoning Erin since you drove her here, but you know she’ll find a ride back to her dorm with one of your other friends.

Speaking of your other friends, your phone vibrates in your pocket right before you put the car in drive, and you pull it out to see a text from Jake.

everything okay? saw you leave…

Apologizing to him for not saying goodbye, you come up with a ridiculous lie about getting your period and carefully pull out onto the street to begin your short journey home. Your phone buzzes again, but you don’t bother to check it.

The car ride passes by in a blur of sniffling and wiping tears, and soon you’re in your bathroom, cleaning off the little bit of make-up left on your face and taking a shower to try to clear your head. You stand under the hot stream of water for longer than usual, processing everything that happened and calming yourself down.

When you finally emerge several minutes later and dress yourself in your comfiest pajamas, you feel a little better, but still not exactly okay. To distract yourself, you pour a bowl of cereal and turn a mindless comedy on the TV in hopes of cheering yourself up.

Instead of paying attention, however, you find yourself staring blankly at the screen, consumed by your thoughts. The encounter has shaken you to your core. And while it ended before Drew could cause you any actual physical harm, you know that it will take some time for you to recover from the emotional and mental damage that he has caused you. He had no right to lay his hands on you, and the fear you felt when he did is not something that is easy to forget. You remind yourself that you are not overreacting, and that your feelings are perfectly valid.

And then there’s Sam. You feel incredibly thankful for him, but also a little surprised that he was the one who stepped in. You’re not sure why you’re surprised though. At his core, Sam is a good person. Even though the two of you have your differences, you know he would never stand by while someone else was being hurt. Including you. You sincerely hope nothing else transpired between him and Drew after you left. You would feel terrible if he ended up in harm’s way for trying to protect you.

Realizing that you will do nothing but obsess over the incident if you continue to stay awake, you make the decision to crawl into bed and try to get some sleep. Even though it takes a bit for your mind to stop racing, exhaustion eventually sets in and you’re able to get a much needed break from your thoughts.

⏭

The following Saturday, your friends send a group text making plans to go to another party that night. Normally, you would be happy to join them, but now, a party is the absolute last place you want to be. You know that if you just tell them that you don’t want to go, they’ll ask questions. You’d managed to avoid any sort of interrogation about your abrupt disappearance last weekend up until now, and you don’t really feel like reliving the experience by having to tell the story.

So, you don’t even think twice before texting them that you’re sick and are planning on staying home all weekend. You get texts back from everyone but Sam telling you to feel better, and then mute the thread when they continue planning their evening.

Over the past week, you’ve felt a little better everyday. Your anxiety has lessened and you’re able to concentrate on things that don’t involve Drew. Still, you’re definitely not ready to be in a house full of crowded people, some of which may have questionable intentions.

Since you don’t have much else to do, you decide to be productive and spend your time catching up on school work. You have quite a bit of reading to do for an exam in one of your classes next week. Surprising yourself, you get into the zone and read without interruption until close to 8 PM, when your stomach reminds you that you haven’t eaten anything since the peanut butter and jelly sandwich you made yourself around 11:30 AM.

Not in the mood to cook dinner, you pull up Uber Eats on your phone and scroll through the endless options, trying to choose between a local soup and salad place and your favorite pizza joint. You’re just about to place your order when there’s a knock on the front door of your apartment. You have no idea who it could be, since you gathered from your friends messages that they had made dinner plans for before the party and would more than likely be eating right now.

Skeptical, you rise from your seat at your kitchen island and check yourself in the mirror, making sure your hair isn’t too messy before making your way to the door. You really wish the doors in your apartment building had peep holes so you could vet your unexpected visitors before showing yourself, but alas, you’re forced to open it if you wish to know the identity of the person on the other side.

Curiosity getting the best of you, you undo the latch and swing the door open, the sight that greets you making your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Sam Kiszka, clad in a white t-shirt, the tiniest blue shorts you’ve ever seen, and Birkenstocks, stands on your welcome mat, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. His hair falls to his shoulders in perfect waves, and he is holding a round Tupperware container in his hands. He startles a bit when your form appears in front of him.

“Hi?” you say, more of a question than a statement. Why is he here? I didn’t even know that he knew where I lived...

Releasing his lower lip from his teeth, he clears his throat and responds, “Hey. Can I come in?” There’s a small, barely there smile on his face, and the only reason you notice it is because you’re so used to the cold stare that he’s usually giving you.

Wordlessly backing up, you open the door wider and allow him entrance. When he steps through the door frame, he kicks off his Birkenstocks and glaces around, getting his first look at the place you call home.

Unsure of what to make of his surprise appearance, you cautiously ask, “What are you doing here? I thought you would be out with everyone else right now.”

Sam contemplates your query for a moment, then thrusts the Tupperware container towards you. You reach out to take it from him, and when it touches the skin of your palms, you discover that the contents inside are still hot.

“I uh- I got your message that you weren’t feeling well, so I made you some soup. Loaded baked potato. Then I realized that you’re probably not like, sick, sick, that you may just not feel comfortable going out after what happened last weekend. And I figured if that was the case, then soup may still help you feel better, so I thought I’d stop by…” he trails off and gives a tiny shrug.

You’re touched by his thoughtfulness, so you give him a small smile of appreciation. “I was literally just about to order some soup. And loaded baked potato is my favorite. Thank you.”

His lips pull up at the corners even more and he sounds almost bashful when he says, “Yeah, no problem.”

The two of you stand in your small entryway, looking each other over for a second before you turn your back and walk into the kitchen, getting a spoon out from the silverware drawer. You feel his eyes watching your movements the whole time. Once you retrieve the utensil, you walk past him to your sofa, then offer, “Do you want to sit down?”

Sam doesn’t respond, just follows you into the living room and sits on the opposite end of the couch as you.

Removing the lid from the container in your hands, your nose is instantly met with the delicious aroma of the soup inside. Sticking your spoon in the bowl, you comment, “I hope you don’t mind if I eat this now, I’m starving.”

Turning to face you, Sam pulls his long, lanky legs onto the couch so his knees are practically to his chin, then wraps his arms around them. The position doesn’t look comfortable at all, and you let out a little giggle before taking your first taste of the soup.

“I don’t mind,” Sam acknowledges.

The two of you sit in silence for a few moments, you eating soup and him watching you. What’s weird about it is that it isn’t uncomfortable at all. You’re not sure you’ve ever been alone with Sam before, but you always imagined if you were, it would be awkward.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Sam breaking the silence. “So…are you okay?” There is concern evident in his tone, and it shouldn’t catch you off guard since you’re sitting here eating soup (delicious soup, by the way) that he cooked to make you feel better, but it does.

You shovel more soup into your mouth as you consider how to answer his question. You swallow, and decide it’s best to just be honest. He’s the only person who really knows what happened, so if you can’t tell him how you’re feeling, who can you tell?

“Well, I’m not like, sick, sick,” you start, “But I wouldn’t say I’m okay. I feel a little better every day, but I’m definitely not ready to go to a party.”

He nods at your answer, then sympathizes, “That’s understandable.”

Pausing for a moment, you decide this is a good time to express your gratitude to him. You’ve been meaning to text or call him all week, but chickened out each time, figuring he wouldn’t want to talk to you.

“Thank you, by the way. For what you did. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there. I just- I really appreciate it.”

At your words, Sam recoils and his face scrunches up in dismay. Voice slightly elevated, he fumes, “You don’t have to thank me! That fucking asshole shouldn’t have put his fucking hands on you! He’s lucky I didn’t beat the shit out of him…”

His face is red in anger by the time he finishes his rant, and you’re shocked at how heated he became by you thanking him. You’re also shocked that he was upset enough by what happened to you that he wanted to cause someone actual physical harm. You never would have thought that Sam Kiszka would go that far to defend you.

Choosing your words carefully, you reply, “I know that you’re not the kind of guy to just stand by and let something like that happen, it’s just- I realize that we haven’t exactly gotten along super well in the past and I just wanted to make sure you know that I’m really grateful that you helped me in spite of that. And it was really nice of you to make me this soup. You didn’t have to do that.”

Sam looks genuinely perplexed by your assertion. He has a habit of clearly displaying his emotions with his facial expressions, you’ve noticed. Eyebrows furrowed, he asks, “What do you mean we haven’t gotten along in the past?”

Now it’s your brows that are furrowing in confusion. Is he kidding? How can he not know what I mean?

Peering at him nervously, you say, “Sam. Come on...we’ve had the same friends for a couple of years now and I don’t think we’ve ever talked this much. Everything between us has always just felt so...uncomfortable. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if you even like me...it sure feels like you hate me sometimes.”

Sam balks at your answer and lets out a humorless laugh. He bows his head and shakes it back and forth a few times, then gazes up at you with a pained look on his face. “You think I hate you?” he questions, voice unsteady.

You’re taken aback by how devastated he sounds. For years now, you’ve been living under the assumption that Sam hates you. That you had done or said something or acted in a certain way that made him not want to be your friend. But he’s looking at you like he has no idea what you’re talking about. Did I misinterpret his cold stares and lack of interest in interacting with me? Did I imagine it all?

“Well…�� you hesitantly begin explaining your point of view. “It’s just that, you act differently around me than you do around everyone else. You don’t- you don’t talk to me or even acknowledge anything that I say when we’re all together. You’re so nice to everyone else and it seems like you just barely tolerate my presence. And sometimes it feels like you look at me like you actually want to kill me. So I don’t know, I guess it was just hard for me to come up with any other reason for it besides you hating me…”

You wish they hadn’t, but tears have formed in your eyes during the course of your little speech. You didn’t expect to get so emotional airing out your long-held beliefs regarding Sam’s feelings towards you, but here you are, trying to prevent the watery drops from falling down your cheeks. You didn’t realize how strongly your strained relationship with Sam has impacted you until now. Embarrassment makes you avoid looking at him for his reaction.

Though you’re staring at the bowl of soup in your hands instead of him, you know Sam moves closer to you because you feel the cushion next to you dip down with his body weight. “Y/N,” he says, trying to get your attention. When you look up at him, you catch him anxiously running his hand through his hair.

“I- I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you at all. God, I- I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” he stutters, shaking his head again in shame. “It’s just, I uh-“ The tension in the room is palpable as he stops and gazes at you with a conflicted look on his face, obviously having an internal debate with himself on if he wants to continue his sentence.

He must decide that the pros of vocalizing his thoughts outweigh the cons, because he stammers, “It’s just that I- I’ve been in love with you for awhile now and I guess I just didn’t know how to deal with it? You make me nervous…”

Nothing could have prepared you for the bombshell Sam just dropped on you. By the time he finishes speaking, your jaw is nearly touching the floor and your eyes are wide. He could have told you he was a werewolf and you would have been less shocked than you are right now. The thought of Sam having any positive feelings towards you at all seems unlikely, but love? Never in a million years would you have imagined that Sam Kiszka loves you.

Your heart in your throat and your palms sweaty, all you manage to sputter is, “You love me?”

Sam scratches his nose a few times, which you’ve learned is a nervous habit of his, and chuckles tensely. “Yeah...I um- I started liking you when we were in that class together Freshman year and it just kind of spiraled from there.” He blushes as he carries on with his explanation. “I really wasn’t trying to be an asshole to you, I swear. I just, I kind of had this idea in my head that you liked Jake and I didn’t want to make things weird, so I just started avoiding you. I thought maybe if I distanced myself from you, it would go away, but so far, that hasn’t worked…”

As hard as you try, your mind cannot process everything Sam is revealing to you as he says it. You feel like you’re just gaping at him blankly for an hour before it clicks that he’s been putting on a facade to hide his feelings for you. And it worked, because it never once occurred to you that his attitude may have been a mask to prevent himself from being hurt by you, intentionally or unintentionally.

What Sam doesn’t know is that you have no romantic interest in Jake. In fact, you’ve been so hung up on overanalyzing Sam’s behavior, that you haven’t paid attention to any other guys at all. You realize now that the reason for this is because you’ve had your own crush on Sam for as long as you can remember. Before tonight, he was always so unattainable. You always thought that you just craved for him to treat you the same way he treats everyone else, but really, you wanted even more than that. You never wanted to admit to yourself just how much you liked him, because you thought you would just be setting yourself up for heartbreak. But now that he’s bared his soul to you, his closeness is making your face feel hot and causing goosebumps to appear on your arms, both telltale signs of your epiphany.

Sam’s watching you intently, waiting for any sort of reaction whatsoever. He looks more and more dejected with every second that passes by and you have not broken your silence.

Feeling guilty for invoking so much anxiety, you end his misery by simply stating, “I don’t like Jake.”

Sam frowns and croaks, “Oh.”

He again runs his hand through his wavy tresses and his eyes shift around the room.

“To be honest,” you confess, setting your soup on the coffee table in front of you, “You’re the only guy I ever really pay any attention to. I’ve kind of been obsessed with trying to figure out where I stand with you for a long time now. Because even though I thought that you literally couldn’t stand me, I um, I’ve always really liked you. I think I was actually a little jealous of everyone else because you’ve always gotten along so well with literally everyone but me…”

Head hung low, Sam peers up at you and apologizes. “I’m sorry…I feel like such a fucking idiot…”

Hesitantly, you take hold of one of his hands and find that his palms are just as clammy as yours. “No, no I- I get it,” you comfort him. “We all deal with feelings differently.”

He nods and squeezes your hand, appreciating your understanding, but then insists again, “Yeah, but that was no excuse for being such an asshole to you. You were nothing but nice to me all the time and I cared too much about myself to even realize I was hurting your feelings. God I’m such a dick, I’m-”

Having heard enough of him tearing himself down, you cut him off before he can say anything else. “Sam, stop. I forgive you. Maybe...maybe we should try to forget about how things have been in the past and just, like, start over. Things were weird before, but they don’t have to be now.”

Sam thinks over your suggestion for only a second, a shy smile forming on his lips. “I think that’s a good idea,” he agrees, then playfully reaches out to shake your hand, both to seal the deal and to symbolize your reintroduction.

You laugh softly at the gesture, but instead of accepting his outstretched hand, you throw your arms around his neck and pull him into a hug. Almost immediately, his arms wrap around you in return and he gives your body a tight squeeze, pouring all of his emotion into the embrace.

You’ve always had a feeling that Sam is an amazing hugger, and he’s proving you correct right now. His body is warm and he smells faintly like spicy cologne and his hair is silky against your skin. And the soothing motion of his hand rubbing up and down your back has you feeling more relaxed than you have since what happened last weekend. Truth be told, you could cling onto him like this forever and be content.

Unfortunately for you, Sam attempts to break the embrace far more quickly than you would have liked. You feel his hands drop from your back and the heat of his chest dissipating and you know you need to stop him from moving too far away from you.

Clutching onto his shoulders, you pull back until you’re face to face with him, foreheads almost touching. The tension in the room is palpable as you stare at each other, wordlessly daring the other to make a move. You’re not sure what you’re hoping to happen, but you aren’t mad when his palms find the side of your neck and he presses his forehead to yours.

Looking directly into your eyes, you see him gulp before he admits, “I really want to kiss you right now.”

Your pulse hammering at what feels like a million beats a minute, you smile shyly at him and whisper, “Me too.”

That’s all that he needs to hear before he touches his lips to yours. Right away, you feel a spark that you haven’t felt with any other boy you’ve kissed before. Even though the kiss is chaste, sweet and quick with no tongue involved, it makes you feel more feelings than you would have ever thought possible. At the forefront is happiness, causing a huge grin to form on your lips and your eyes to sparkle as you both pull away. An identical grin is on Sam’s lips and he leans in to plant another light kiss on your cheek before settling back on the couch next to you.

Your stomach rumbling reminds you that there is still a nearly full container of soup sitting in front of you, so you pick it up and take a bite, then propose, “Do you want to stay and watch a movie?” You’re not ready for him to leave.

Sam readily agrees, so you give him the remote to select a film while you resume eating. He finds one, but before he presses play, he asks, “Hey, would you maybe want to go out to dinner with me sometime?”

Deciding to tease him a little, you respond, “I don’t know, Sam...this is some of the best soup I’ve ever had. I think I’d much rather have you cook for me than go out anywhere.”

Sam’s face lights up and he nods rapidly, clearly overjoyed that you think he’s a good cook. “Yeah, for sure! Are you free tomorrow?”

He looks so excited, and it makes butterflies flutter in your stomach. “Yeah, tomorrow works for me,” you answer, probably looking equally as excited.

Satisfied with your response, Sam presses play on the movie, then leans back into the sofa and gets comfortable. You think to yourself that you could get used to the sight of him in your living room.

Unable to resist, you quickly finish your soup and rid yourself of the bowl so you can scoot closer to Sam and curl up into his side. His arm instantly comes up to rest on your shoulders, and you’re delighted when his fingers start playing with your hair.

At the beginning of this day, you never would have expected to be finishing the night cuddled up to Sam Kiszka. If someone had told you that the guy who you thought hated you was going to bring you homemade soup and confess that he actually loves you, you would have thought they were crazy. But sometimes life works in mysterious ways, and you’re looking forward to seeing where it takes you and Sam next.

276 notes · View notes

justjessame · 3 years

Text

Starting Over Chapter One

Sitting on a park bench, earbuds firmly lodged in my ears with music turned just this side of uncomfortably loud, my book opened to the same page it’s been on for the past week - the week that I’ve been back from - well I’d rather not think about where I was before. Where at least half the population of this giant ball of gas and bullshit disappeared to for years with no warning and then POOF here we were, back again, unchanged while every fucking thing we left behind was changed. Five years gone, five years lost to us, while the people we left behind had continued to move and grow.

Maybe that’s why I couldn’t focus on my music, or my book, or the scenic park laid bare before me. Why flashes of darkness and light would hit me without warning and crippling fear would strike me with no urging. My parents had died of natural causes while I was snapped into the void. No one was waiting to greet me or was excited when I returned. Friends and family scattered, the earth kept turning, but everything was upside down and inside out, or so it seemed to me.

I was the same as I’d been when the snap happened. Twenty-five years old, still searching for something, but no closer to the answers than I’d been before - and with less guidance now that two of my compass leads were gone. I had a house, thank God for the retroactive inheritance bills that were activated for people like me, whose family died and their property was put into question. I had some cushion, but I knew it wouldn’t last. I had to find something, some means to keep my head afloat and hopefully not make my mind numb to the point that I’d wish for another snap.

I shouldn’t be wasting time in parks with earbuds and books, I should have my feet on the ground looking for a job. What was I even qualified to do? I went to college and got a degree in liberal arts. Yeah, that’s marketable. I loved to read, notwithstanding my current attention span. I earned extra cash during college editing my fellow classmates’ papers, but I didn’t actually have a background in editing. I was considering how best to pad my resume that I hadn’t used for a full five years when he ran past.

A touch faster than the other joggers, a slightly different gait, his left side seemed heavier? I was studying him without actually thinking about it, his dark hair and the chiseled jawline would have been enough to draw anyone’s attention, but there was something I couldn’t quite put my finger on that marked him as different -

My head tilted as I watched him run, his hands were encased in gloves. Maybe that’s what drew my attention, it wasn’t cold after all. He didn’t look like he was running because he was a health nut, not like the other joggers dotting the jogging track, more like he was running for the routine of it. And I had no idea how I came to that conclusion.

I shook myself, watching a stranger run was creepy, verging on stalkerish. It didn’t matter that he was attractive or that he seemed to radiate some type of magnetic attraction that drew my gaze, that was probably just boloney that my mind was cooking up to make it alright for me to stare at him. Banging around in the nothingness for five years was NO excuse for this type of behavior, I told myself while my eyes were still following his course. Round and round he went, hardly breaking a sweat, and not breathing heavily either.

He glanced up and his eyes met mine and I could feel the blood drain from my face. Not because he scared me, but because I was caught being a creeper. And his eyes were like steel, gray and I shouldn’t have been able to tell that from the distance between us. But I could.

Evenings were always loose ends for me. Five years, dead parents, and I know people are going to say “but you have to have SOME friends around.” Of course I do, and most of them are now in their thirties and they don’t know how to handle that I’m not. Or how to handle that I was GONE for five years, while their lives went on, and I have what would have been godchildren and honorary nieces and nephews, but I wasn’t here. And if you don’t think that shit is awkward, well, you clearly haven’t experienced it.

They got to be at my parents’ funerals. They lived through my parents’ grief at the loss of ME. They said their goodbyes to ME. And now here I am. Yeah, it’s much easier to let go. Even if letting go means that I have to start over.

The choices are, make my own dinner - which I am more than capable of doing, or go out on the off chance I could meet and make new friends. Usually I pick option one. Safer, quieter, easier. But after the day I’d had in the park, I thought perhaps I’d give option two a go.

Going for a walk, thinking that I’d choose along the way, I started out with my phone, earbuds, and book. Habits. Old habits die hard.

I know what most people are thinking. A woman alone, nighttime, after everything that had happened and continues to happen, wasn’t I just asking for trouble? Not really. I’m not one of those people that automatically assumes that bad things happen to people because of size, shape, gender, and on and on. I don’t think I got snapped into the void or whatever because I happened to be a petite woman. I don’t think I’ll end up snatched off the street because of it either.

Also, my parents spent a fair bit of extra cash to make sure I was taught self defense, so I felt at least confident in my chances against regular freaks. It was the extra-enhanced freaks I might have issues with.

I bypassed sushi places and burger spots. Ignoring the sub sandwich shops that almost seemed to glow in the dim light of the early night, I was thinking that Italian was what I was craving, and if it hadn’t closed, my favorite spot wasn’t far. So focused on my purpose, now that I had one, I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings and crashed into a steel wall.

“Ow,” I bounced back, rubbing my right shoulder and thinking that maybe I’d been too quick in my bitching about the padding in bras. Looking up I realized it wasn’t a steel wall OR door, but shockingly the jogger from earlier. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t decide if he was surprised by or uncertain about me. His lips were working to form something, and finally managed a sort of smile. “Nothing to be sorry about.” His eyes were in a squint and I wondered how weird he’d think I was if I rubbed my right breast, because DAMN if it didn’t hurt like fuck. “I should get out of your way.”

I blinked again, words, use your words. “Right, I was on my way to dinner.” You’re not fucking stupid. Just socially inept. “I’m sorry I ran into you?” Did I run into him? I mean, I’ve heard about muscles of steel, but REALLY?

“Oh,” he stepped back and cleared the path. “I hope you aren’t late.”

“Late?” He was more attractive up close and I swear it made it a thousand times harder to make words form. His eyes were almost silver and if I’d thought his jaw was chiseled as he jogged, well, holy hell up close? He could cut bread with it. He was waiting and I ran the conversation through my brain again. “For dinner, right. Dinner for one, so I’m only late if I don’t arrive at all.” Shit, now I sound lonely and sad. My eyes snapped shut. “And now I’ll go and disappear into my spiral of shame.”

“Shame?” He sounded so confused that I had to open my eyes, and sure enough his brow was fully furrowed and he looked as confused as a puppy. “Why would you -”

“You’d never understand,” I huffed out a chuckle and shook my head. “I’m sorry for talking your head off, I should go.”

“Wait,” his gloved hand touched my arm, the briefest touch to get my attention. “I’m Bucky -” he took a deep breath like he was really unsure of himself, which was bizarre. “Bucky Barnes.”

Something twitched in my stomach, something I hadn’t felt since long before the snap. And that name, wasn’t it a touch familiar? Butterflies and nerves fought for dominance, and as I bit my lip, I took my own deep breath thinking maybe this was it. The first step since coming back. “It’s nice to meet you, Bucky, I’m Brooke Ashley.”

#bucky barnes/oc #the falcon and the winter soldier #alternate universe #slow burn #fluff

9 notes · View notes