#i was going on about how i could at least publish love letters/text replies but then that ended up being a lot for me bc my schoolweek- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thebawdybaldurian · 3 months

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BG3FicFeb Day 22

Down to the final week! The prompts have been so fun to go through, so my inbox is always open for something new. I'm hoping to soon move to some original works that I can eventually publish, as being a writer would be my dream job. Thank you to @writ3rstears and @mishtress for putting these together!

SFW: Tav receives a letter that drives her to sever a strained, but lifelong relationship, worried how the aftermath will affect her husband, Astarion. Their previous meeting.

NSFW: Tav helps Halsin to relax for a moment, taking him to see the wood elf courtesan at Sharess' Caress.

SFW: Tav has to give up something important to them

Background: Tav and Astarion have recently returned from a trip up north to follow up a lead on a vampirism cure in Luskan. On the way, they stopped in Neverwinter where Tav grew up, to finally introduce Astarion to her parents. Things ended on a sour note, in both respects, but they managed to acquire a pair of rings that allow Astarion to walk in the sun.

Tav finally remembered to check her post box, where any fan letters or other items she didn’t want sent directly to her cottage would arrive. She had been slowly receiving less and less as her status as one of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate began to fade. She didn’t mind it as much, as she always tried to respond in kindness to each letter, unless the letter in question was just glorified fanfiction involving herself or something more unsettling.

She began to sort through the stack of new letters on her walk home. There was a mix of short notes, longer screeds, a few scented with perfume, and one with a bright blue postal mark from Neverwinter. She frowned at her mother’s impeccably neat handwriting scrolled across the front.

To Clataedre Calthrenis, otherwise known as Chardonnay Brandywine et al.

She rolled her eyes, wondering what her mother had to say after their last visit. She stuck the letter on the bottom of the stack, wanting to leave it for last so she could hear from the people who actually cared about her life’s work. She set the letters in her errands basket as she unlocked the cottage. “Hello, love,” Astarion called from the couch, lounged and reading a book with a chalice of blood in his hand. “What’s all that?”

“More fan mail,” she smiled, sitting on the other couch and putting her feet up after kicking off her shoes.

“Anything for me?” He asked, taking a long sip of blood.

“At least one of them is heavily perfumed,” she sorted through the stack of them, looking for the letters addressed to ‘The Starry One,’ his character in the Tale of the Tadpoles play.

He’d been receiving several each week since the play premiered, begging to know his true identity, asking for his hand in marriage or a simple neck bite, among various other inquiries and love letters. They were mostly amusing, except for a few from supposed monster hunters, vowing to track him down and end his suffering. They scanned each other’s letters for anything inappropriate or threatening, for the sake of their own mental health.

Tav handed him all the letters addressed to her, aside from the one from her mother, which she would be saving for last, to read alone. She opened one of the heavily perfumed letters as Astarion opened one of hers. She quickly scanned over the swirling text, little hearts drawn over certain words. “Hmmm,” she laughed, reading a bit of the prose. “Another story about you…very…spicy,” she blushed.

“Maybe you can read it to me later,” he grinned. “This one is just useless criticism about some of your erotic stories,” he tossed it aside. “Apparently they want even more fucking in them and less story.”

“That’s fair,” Tav laughed, opening another letter, having set the erotic story for Astarion aside. “This one is short. They just want to know your hair routine, that will be easy to reply to.”

“Exactly, I’ll just write IT’S A SECRET on it,” he flicked his fingers through his perfect curls. “This one is quite sweet,” he smiled, setting the genuinely kind letter aside for her and opening another. “Looks like an erotic story for you as well, my dear,” he wagged the letter around.

Tav had opened the final letter in her stack, the one from her mother and read through it silently.

To My Only Daughter,

I wish you had not left so abruptly with your ‘husband’ during your last visit. You know your father and I are proud that you have made some sort of life for yourself, but you make it difficult to continue supporting it, when you allow yourself to be fooled.

As you know, I have a great deal of knowledge about important Elven lineages and families, hence why I was familiar with your ‘husband’s’ family name. The Ancunins have been in Baldur’s Gate for approximately 612 years, with several branches of the family scattered throughout the Upper City. Delise and Avaelin Ancunin DID have one son, named Astarion, but he died in 1268 DR.

Whoever your ‘husband’ is, he is impersonating a dead magistrate. It pains me to tell you, but I only wish to protect you. Needless to say, we want to protect your inheritance, when you eventually find need of it. We will be placing it in a trust with the local Counting House, until such time as you produce a divorce decree. I have also sent a letter to Lord Avaelin, so that he may know someone is using his son’s name for ill means. Your father and I hope to hear from you soon, under better circumstances.

Regards,

Saeara Calthrenis

8th Circle Sorcerer and Inventor of Saeara’s Agonizing Echo (Level 6 Enchantment)

Tav grabbed one of the cushions from the couch, screaming into it as loudly as she could. Astarion looked at her with wide, concerned eyes when she removed it from her face. “What is it, my love?” He could see her trembling with rage, the letter she’d been reading sitting in her lap.

“My…fucking…mother…I’m…I’m so sorry,” an angry tear slipped down her cheek. She handed him the letter, her hand shaking. “I’m going to fucking…kill her.”

He read through the letter, the cold tone of it making him feel ill. When he got to the part about himself and her contacting his father, he felt himself on the verge of his first disassociation in over a year. “Why…why would she do this…dig this all up?” He felt the room closing in on him, grabbing her hand to anchor himself.

“To prove me wrong...to prove herself better than me…because she’s a meddlesome bitch who will never be happy if I am,” Tav squeezed his hand tightly. “I could ride back up there right now and punch her right in her fucking face.”

“If she sent a letter to my father…that means she was able to find him…and...I could…” he let out a long sigh, closing his eyes to fight off the swell of emotions he felt.

“I know you’ve thought about trying to find them again, now that you are free from Cazador…and you could go to the records house now that we have the rings…” she gently stroked his hair, still squeezing his hand.

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “I wanted to wait for a cure…but…with all this…I just don’t know.”

“I’m so sorry, my love,” she hugged him close. “I’ll support whatever you decide…even if it includes ripping my mother’s throat out.”

“I think I just need some fresh air,” he sighed, pulling away from her.

“Of course, take all day if you need,” she got up to grab the rings from the ornate box they stored them in. She slipped the black gemmed ring onto her finger, the tiny spur pricking into her skin to begin the blood bond spell. She brought the yellow gemmed ring for him to wear, transferring his sunlight affliction to her. He slipped the ring on and kissed her goodbye, grabbing his coat, cloak, and gloves before he left.

It was a bright winter’s day, the sun melting the recent snow into a wet slush. He didn’t bother stepping around the puddles, his mind too preoccupied. By the time he reached his destination, his leather boots were soaked. He stood for a moment on the corner of the narrow Upper City street, staring at the house he grew up in. It was one of the few things he remembered from his old life. He’d avoided the entire area during his 200 years of hunting and little had changed aside from the trees getting taller and the fine stonework being a little more faded. He dared not get any closer, but could see smoke rising from the chimney that would be in the drawing room. He didn’t know if his parents still lived there or if another family now occupied it.

He pulled the hood of his cloak up, hiding his silver hair and shadowing his face slightly. He walked past the house, wondering if perhaps he might see someone in the window. They were all heavily draped, however, and most of them pulled close, including the one where his childhood bedroom sat. He wasn’t sure why he had come, knowing he would rather flee than let anyone see what he had become. He headed back to their cottage, his feet thoroughly frozen.

Tav had already penned a letter in response to her mother, scrawling only two sentences down before sealing the letter and setting it aside to send off.

Keep your fucking money, I don’t want or need it. I never want to see or hear from you again.

Tav didn’t ask where he had gone, only pulling off his boots and stockings to dry and warm his feet with her hands near the fire. They were both silent and contemplative the rest of the day, staying in for dinner and reading quietly on the couch until they went to bed.

“There was someone still living in my old home,” Astarion finally said as they nestled together in bed. “I can’t bear to know if it’s them, but if you want to know, just in case my father tries to contact you…”

“Okay,” she nodded, softly caressing his face. She was already coming up with a cover story in her head, in case that happened. She was slightly relieved to finally cut her toxic family out of her life, especially now that she had a new one.

NSFW: Oral sex

Content and Warnings: Female elf (2) x male elf. Oral sex, threesome, cum tasting, vaginal stimulation and penetration with a toy.

Background: Tav, Halsin, and Astarion are in a polyamorous relationship, their agreement to be intimate with only each other, unless they sought the services of a professional for any desires that couldn’t be fulfilled by each other. Tav’s previous interaction.

Tav and Halsin walked hand in hand as they strolled over the bridge that led to Wyrm’s Crossing. It was a busy afternoon and the bustle still made Halsin a little uneasy. Tav had dragged him out of their cottage to relax for a little bit, the city beginning to get on his nerves more than usual. He’d expected they’d go somewhere near Rivington, where they could enjoy a bit of untamed nature. He eyed her curiously as they ducked into the brothel, Sharess’ Caress. “This is…unexpected,” he looked around at the scantily clad courtesans, the loud din of negotiations not exactly relaxing to him.

“Is she ready for us?” Tav asked the mamzell, who greeted them both with a smile.

“She is…” Amira nodded, taking the gold Tav slid across the counter, eyeing Halsin up and down. “Though…if your companion is ever…interested in some work…I would love to chat with him first. I have a long list of clients who would love to get tossed around by such a…tree trunk of a man.”

“I work exclusively with Clataedre,” Halsin blushed, pulling her a little closer. “But thank you for the offer.”

“If you ever change your mind, I would pay you very well…the clients too,” Amira smirked, implying that even the mamzell would be interested in his services. Halsin nodded with a smile as Tav pulled him away.

“Good to know I am still desired, I suppose,” Halsin continued to blush as Tav led him up to the Nymph’s Grotto.

“That you are,” she pulled him closer. “More than ever.”

“I thought perhaps we’d be spending some time in nature,” He stopped her, bending down to kiss her. “But this is nice too.”

“Oh just you wait,” she knocked gently on the door to Naoise’s room. “By the time we leave, you will never feel so relaxed again.”

“Come in,” a voice called from much further inside.

Tav opened the door, revealing the beautifully furnished room, covered in plant life and other natural decor. The large bathing pool in front of them burbled softly. Halsin looked around with a smile, though it wasn’t quite the deep forest, it would do for now. He squeezed Tav tightly against him, giving her another kiss. “I’m just finishing up a few things,” Naoise called from the bedchamber. “Why don’t you get undressed and I will join you in the pool?”

They grinned and undressed each other, kissing as they did. They climbed into the shallow pool together, the water the perfect temperature. “Is this the wood elf you told me about?” Halsin smiled, his thick cock already hard and floating between his legs.

“It is,” Tav teased her fingers along it, looking up to see Naoise walk in.

“Hello Tav, I was so excited to see you on my schedule today…and this is your plus one?” She blushed as Halsin looked back at her.

“Hello, my beauty,” Halsin grinned widely, watching as she slipped off her robe, nothing underneath.

“So what did you two have in mind for today?” She climbed into the pool on the other side of Halsin. She slid her hand up his wet body, looking him up and down, her eyes lingering on his thick cock.

“Some extreme relaxation for him…and Rapture at the end of course…he’s not much of a fan of the city,” Tav circled her fingers around the trail of hair that led to his cock.

“Me as well, hence why I remain here most of the time, even outside of clients,” Naoise smiled, joining hands with Tav and planting a gentle kiss on Halsin’s chest.

Tav joined her as well, kissing along his body in wet smacks of her lips. Their joined hands drifted downward, scooping up his cock in their palms and pulling it partially out of the water. Naoise set her lips upon it, gently licking the head as Tav stared up at him. He smiled down at her, closing his eyes and letting out a low moan as she engulfed him in her mouth. Tav joined her again, letting her head go slightly under the water so she could lick down his shaft, her wet strands of hair swirling around his thighs.

They took turns sucking him, their mouths occasionally joining to kiss or engulf either side of his shaft with their lips. He moaned softly, his hands caressing them both or pushing aside the strands of wet hair that clung to their faces. They edged him several times, letting him tremble in anticipation, then moved their lips up to his body for a few minutes. He eventually pulled Tav up to kiss him, letting Naoise take full control with her mouth, though Tav’s hand remained cupping his balls. His breaths grew sharper as her head bobbed wildly against his cock, Tav nuzzling his nose so she could watch him come. He groaned loudly, Naoise making a little noise in her throat, as he filled her mouth completely full of his seed.

“Don’t swallow until I can taste him too,” Tav grinned, pulling Naoise’s head up, cum dripping from her chin. They kissed hungrily, swapping his cum between their tongues as he watched in delight.

“You are both so beautiful,” he sighed excitedly as they finally swallowed him, letting their lips linger on one another. “You must let me please you both now.”

“He’s a bit of a honey fiend,” Tav blushed, running her hand down his chest and nipping one of his nipples between her teeth.

They finally climbed out of the pool, drying each other off and caressing each other as they made their way into the bedchamber. The women lay side by side on the bed, with Halsin now between them. His kissed and caressed up their legs as they fondled one another. He eventually reached their deltas, both glistening and eager for him. He set a hand onto each of them, rubbing and caressing their slits, using his mouth on one or the other. He licked up their honey greedily, stimulating one and tasting the other, switching back and forth between the two of them as they came multiple times.

Naoise reached into her little cabinet above the bed as they neared the end of their hour. “Perhaps he would like to use the Serpent on both of us before we end,” Naoise smiled, pulling out the flexible, double-headed toy. “You enjoyed it last time we were together.”

“I did indeed,” Tav grinned widely as Halsin eyed the toy. Naoise imbued it with the magic that allowed it to vibrate, making Halsin chuckle slightly in amazement.

The women parted their legs a little more, lying slightly on their sides so he could insert both heads inside them. He teased the head of the snake along Tav’s clit, watching her squirm before sliding it into her hungry entrance. He did the same with Naoise, both women moaning softly when both vibrating heads had been inserted. He guided the toy in and out of them slowly, watching in delight as they made out and fondled one another, their bodies moving in fluid motion along with him.

He watched and teased them until the ten minute knock, bending over to share their mouths as they interlocked their legs and grinded together under him. They came together in an echo of moans, Halsin grinning above them as Naoise let forth her rapturous magic, joining them all for one final ecstatic event.

They were enclosed in pure nature itself, the smell of fresh petrichor, the sound of wind-rustled leaves, the gentle caress of the earth against their skin. They returned to themselves slowly, lingering in the rapture for as long as they could. Halsin had sunk on top of them a little more, easing the weight on his arms as he collapsed. His cock was hard anew, pressing against their hips as the last tremor of their shared climax eased.

“Incredible,” Halsin sighed happily as he pulled himself up, hovering over them again as they untangled their legs. He sat on his heels, seizing the toy from them as their hips parted, and licked every last bit of their arousal off it.

“Thank you for bringing him here,” Naoise grinned, watching as Halsin polished the toy with his tongue. “Though do we need another hour?” She looked down at the dribble of pre-cum on his wobbling erection.

“As much as I would enjoy that, I will be taking my lady straight to the woods to fuck her senseless,” he smiled, finally handing the toy back to her.

“Oh?” Tav purred, stretching her body out in front of him. He would be lucky to even get her to the woods, ready to have her in the middle of Wyrm’s Crossing if needed.

They found their way back to their clothes, dressing slowly as the five minute knock came. They shared one last kiss and embrace, Halsin’s robes barely concealing his excitement. “I don’t frequently take all day bookings,” Naoise glowed as they prepared to leave. “But I would happily for you…and at a deep discount.”

“We will keep that in mind,” Tav purred, stealing one last kiss from her.

“I am able to wild shape as well, if that is of any interest to you,” she grinned up at Halsin, whose eyes widened.

“When is your birthday?” Tav smiled at him, pulling him out the door so they could get to the woods as soon as possible.

#astarion #astarion x tav #bg3ficfeb #halsin x tav #halsin #naoise #bg3 fic

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some-kindofgnome · 4 years

Text

august slipped away

i. ii.

Otherwise known as the Thanksgiving fic.

characters: mirio x f!reader

wc: 2.6k

warnings: smut (18+ please!), quirkless AU, angst, Thanksgiving long-distance woes, mirio’s very ugly little subaru

notes: Happy Birthday @drapetomaniac! I’m so glad I was able to get this finished on time. I’m so grateful to have met you on this lil site, so consider this my birthday gift to you! 💖 This serves as a part ii to my Kinktober fic “with autumn closing in.” It got ANGSTY. I hope you love it.

on the prompt: “It’s November – the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines.” This beautiful line was written by Lucy Maud Montgomery, a wonderful Canadian writer, in her novel Anne of the Island, published in 1915.

MASTERLIST

Mini Prompt Event!

It’s November – the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines.

Despite the traffic, the drive into your hometown’s been remarkably quiet. You’ve hitched a ride with a friend, and with Starbucks in your cupholders and weeks worth of laundry piled into her trunk, you ride back in near-silence.

She knows what’s on your mind as she pulls off the exit, the all-too-familiar sign that marks your hometown sending a rush of anxiety straight to your gut.

You’re not looking forward to this weekend as much as you should be. You miss your family- your parents, your dog, your bedroom- but there’s another gaping question mark that fills the rest of the weekend, too harrowing to ignore.

Mirio.

After a very tearful goodbye at the end of the summer, things were good between you. You texted all the time and called him whenever you could. You even wrote letters back and forth in the first month of the semester. Mirio’s were never decked out in stickers or lavish penmanship like yours were, but they teared you up all the same.

But college is difficult. And you’re both starting this year, so it’s been a lot for both of you to adjust to. You and Mirio always kind of sailed through high school without too much extra studying, so the amount of work it takes to do well in college has been a massive wake-up call.

It’s putting a strain on your relationship with him. Slowly, at first.

You were too busy with papers and assignments to call during the week, but he was too busy with practices and games and training to call on the weekends. The letters dwindled in frequency and then ceased altogether. Now you’ll go days without hearing from each other at all.

There’s never been a doubt in your mind that long-distance was going to be difficult. But you’re pretty sure it’s not supposed to feel like this.

Your friend drops you off in the driveway and squeezes your tight shoulder. She promises you that it’s going to work out, one way or the other. Then she pulls away to continue to her own city and you climb up the front steps with two garbage bags of laundry in your hands.

You’re attacked by your ecstatic dog at the door, and your mother doesn’t follow far behind. The house is already fragrant with the spiced aroma of baking pumpkin pies, and your mother cries as she hugs you tightly. So do you.

A few minutes later, with your first load of laundry spinning away, you flop onto the couch. To your delight, there’s a text from Mirio. You’re kind of hoping to see him tonight, but you’re not sure what time he was planning on getting into town. Still, a text from him seems promising.

Home yet? It reads.

You’re trying not to let it show that you’re brimming with happiness.

Just got in, you text breezily, curling your knees to your chest with a little smile tugging at your lips. It feels so good to talk to him again here, knowing you’ve got nothing but time to spend with him this weekend.

You text back and forth a little bit, soft little messages about how good it feels to be home and how glad you are that he got home safe. The last message you type out feels indulgent but so good, and you send it with every expectation of an immediate response.

Wanna come over?

Read 7:12 pm

Dull silence persists from your phone. One hour goes by. Two hours. The temptation to send him another message is overwhelming. You’ve been well past the point of avoiding double texts for as long as you can remember.

But this feels… different. Like you shouldn’t bother him. Like, somehow, that’ll only make the silence worse.

So you don’t. Fair enough.

The next day, you’re up to your elbows helping your family get ready for dinner. Your mom has an unfortunate habit of pulling out the stops, but the meal turns out fantastic. Dealing with your extended family is as draining as always, but you’re texting Mirio every so often under the table and he seems happy enough to respond.

You think about bringing up his sudden disappearance last night, but figure he’d been preoccupied with his family. Tonight, his texts are in good spirits.

It’s not until you’re curled up in bed with a belly full of turkey that you try again.

Wanna do something tomorrow? I have brunch in the morning, but I could meet you after.

Read 10:36 pm

Nothing.

Fool me once, you don’t want to let yourself think. But Mirio’s pretty good at putting his phone down when it’s time for bed, so you tell yourself he’s just gone to sleep. He’s gone to sleep and in the morning you’re going to wake up to a sweet little text from him with fresh plans from the afternoon.

Unfortunately, the trend continues. You catch and hold his attention for a few messages a time every day, but every time you mention meeting up in person, you get radio silence. It’s gotten to the point where you know it’s on purpose, and yet every time you fail to confront him, your embarrassment deepens.

Mirio doesn’t play games with you. It feels wrong, to have him jerking your heart around like this. But you give him the benefit of the doubt all weekend.

Finally, it’s Sunday. Your washed, folded laundry is packed neatly in the hallway. You’re finishing up dinner and your family knows, at this point, to keep quiet about Mirio.

You’ve given up on seeing him entirely.

As your family cleans up, you try one more time. You know you shouldn’t. You have every expectation of being treated the same way you have all weekend- why should this time work out any differently?

But you do it anyway.

Hey… I know you might be busy with family stuff, but we’re both going back tomorrow so tonight’s kinda the last chance I can see you…

To your surprise, just a few minutes later, you get a reply,

Want me to pick you up?

Within half an hour, his familiar little Subaru is waiting for you in the dark. Your heart clenches tightly, watching him parked in the driveway. You haven’t seen him in months.

You’d expected a happier reunion.

Still, there’s a sort of lightness that tugs at your heart as you pick your way down the front steps. You tug open the passenger’s side door- the inside of the car is toasty from the rattling little heater that’s always smelled just a little bit burnt.

Mirio has a sad sort of tired smile on his lips, but you can see the relief in his gaze. You’ve almost forgotten what he looks like in real-time like this.

“Hi,” you gasp, almost shyly. You tug the door shut and he shifts the car into gear. You can’t help the little clench of anticipation you get when he puts a hand on the back of your seat to glance over his shoulder.

When he looks back at you, he looks a little brighter.

“Wanna get some coffee?”

He takes you through the Starbucks drive-thru and buys you both iced coffees. The ice rattles cold and sweet inside the cups as he drives you out of town, taking you up the winding road to the point. Neither of you says a thing. You haven’t planned a thing, but you don’t need to.

As you draw closer to the familiar little lookout, your stomach tightens.

Something feels very wrong about the way he’s treating you. By the time he pulls off the road and rolls along the battered gravel path, you’re almost in tears.

You should’ve seen this coming the first time he left you on read. Mirio’s never left you on read before.

“Well,” you mumble, your heart pounding in your throat. You know you’re going to regret this, but it’s killing you to sit in silence. You reach into the centre console and grab your coffee, shaking it weakly in front of him.

“At least you bought me a coffee before breaking up with me.”

Mirio reacts visibly in the dark next to you.

“What?” He looks over, dark eyes shining with betrayal. His blonde brow is firm and set, but there’s genuine surprise in his expression.

“Break up with you?” His voice is trembling. “W-why would I-“

Now you feel even stupider. The tears come, hot and fast and unrelenting. Your next words come in a pinched sob.

“Why wouldn’t you?” You’ve cried like this in front of him before, but this is the first time it’s ever seemed embarrassing.

“I tried to see you all weekend, all I wanted was to see you.” You’re sniffling wildly, and you knee open the glove box because you know he always keeps tissues there. “I missed you so much and-and you wouldn’t even talk to me.”

He whimpers your name, quiet as a prayer. He’s tearing up, too, gripping the steering wheel tightly with his face screwed up in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I was… I thought…”

He’s pausing like you’re going to interrupt him, but you don’t. He bows his head, continuing.

“I was afraid to see you,” he confesses, “because I thought you wanted to break up with me.”

The relief you expect doesn’t come. Instead, a deeper, sicker pain wraps itself around your heart.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you don’t talk to me anymore,” he ejects. “Not in the same way. I… I know you’re busy, and I know I’m busy, but… things just felt different. Ever since Homecoming, I-I just…”

Homecoming was the one weekend that Mirio had been to visit you since the summer. That was a reunion that felt as good as it was supposed to. You’ll never forget bounding out of your residence hall to find him there, leaning against the edge of his little car like it was a souped-up Harley Davidsen. You’ll never forget the way he laughed when you launched yourself into his arms.

But that was where the bliss had stopped.

Homecoming was a bad weekend for him to visit. You should have seen that coming. You were busy with your brand new friendships, hopping from party to party. And though you were both all smiles when he was climbing into his car again on Sunday night, you’d known he left feeling a little neglected.

“Mirio,” you sob, reaching for him. You pull his eyes to yours with a hand under his jaw- a little unshaven, scratchy- and his cheeks are wet with fresh tears of his own. “I missed you like hell. I love you. I mean that every single time I say it. And I-“

You hate this kind of thing with him. Neither of you takes conflict very well. And though there have always been fights, this is the largest reckoning you’ve ever had.

“I had so many plans for us this weekend,” you admit, and the hurt takes over. Because no matter how you resolve this, that’s time that you can never get back. “And now I have to go back tomorrow and so do you and this is all we’re gonna have.”

“I know,” he sniffles right back. His voice is weak. Trembling. You haven’t seen him like this since his dog died, right after you graduated high school. “God, I-I… I’m so sorry.”

He’s reaching for you now, winding his arms awkwardly over the centre console to pull you close. You have to lean way over but you do, burying your face into the chest of his jacket.

You both sob openly, for nobody but yourselves.

“I don’t want it to be like this,” you plead. “I don’t want to be fighting for things to feel right. I can’t take four more years of this, Mirio, I can’t.”

He’s stroking a palm down the back of your head now, burying his nose into your hair.

“It won’t be,” he promises. “I’m gonna try harder. I’m gonna- I promise.”

“It’s both of us,” you reply. Your voice drops as you start to, slowly, regain control. “It’s me too. I need to try harder, too. I don’t want it to end like this.”

You nose your way to the surface, peering up at him. You both look ridiculous, faces pinched and teary. But none of that matters when you’re leaning up and he’s leaning down and he’s kissing you, all soft and loving in that way that used to make you melt.

It still does.

You let it grow heated, let yourself grab him by the cheeks and pour all of the desperate longing you’ve been doing into this kiss. It becomes very clear to you that you’re not going to be getting out of this car a single woman. And relief spreads warm and gooey through your gut.

“I wanna,” you whisper, pulling back with your eyelashes fluttering. Mirio cups your cheeks and warmly swipes the last of your drying tears away. He leans in and nuzzles the chilled tip of your nose with his.

“You sure?”

You bite your lower lip and shoot him a quiet, sly little nod.

This time, when you climb into the backseat together, no blankets or pillows are waiting for you. But you don’t care. You let him splay you across the narrow back seat, hitching one knee up over the backrest and stretching the other one out alongside him.

It’s a good deal colder this time around. And you can’t wait to get to each other. Your clothes are barely shoved out of the way by the time he’s nudging his stiff tip against your folds. You’re pushing the long hem of his sweatshirt out of the way for him, and he looks down at you with such determined adoration that you wonder why you ever doubted his love in the first place.

He eases into you slow and gentle, just like the first time. Very unlike the second time, harried and rushed under the covers of your rickety dorm bed.

You drag his lips to yours while he bottoms out inside you, wrapping that free leg around his hips and keeping him buried tight.

He fucks you just like that, in deep, tiny little strokes that nudge the tenderest parts of your belly and send pleasure trickling right down your spine each time. He kisses every part of your skin that he can reach, whispering his devotion to you over and over and over again until his voice breaks. Until all he can do is grunt and sigh and shake above you as he pours his climax into you, bringing you to a quiet little peak beneath him.

You stay tangled for a long time, despite the cramps quickly developing in your forcibly angled limbs. He lays between your thighs, listening to your heartbeat as your lazy fingers drift through the sweat-damped strands of his golden hair.

“Hey,” he murmurs warmly, lifting his chin to find your eyes. “I wanna drive you back to school tomorrow, okay?”

“What?” You frown. “Mirio, that’s two hours in the opposite direction for you. Don’t-“

“Please,” he insists, and something in his tone makes you stop. He slides his hands up your sides. “I want to. I didn’t… I should’ve seen you more this weekend. Let me. Please?”

You give a breathy little laugh, laying your head back against the edge of the seat. Your heart throbs with that all-too-familiar warmth.

“My mom’ll be pissed,” you tease, and you feel him grin against your chest.

You’re going to be okay.

#mirio x reader #mirio togata x reader #lemillion #mirio togata #mirio #my hero academia #mha fanfic #boku no hero academia #lemillion smut #angst #bnha

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orangedodge · 3 years

Text

@dannybagpipesarecalling replied to your text post:

I didn't realize those were Destiny's diaries either. If you would be so kind, can you explain how Emma knows? Unfortunately I haven't read enough comics to know this backstory.

I am glad you asked about this, because it gives me an excuse to post about it while hopefully not sounding like a conspiracy blog. I've been slightly obsessed with this idea since Emma first turned up in House of X, so I'm rather excited that “maybe Destiny's Diaries still exist” isn't just my weird crack canon any longer.

Emma was, in short, the last person who can be established to have control over the whereabouts of the diaries. And as one of the top five telepaths in the world, who has expressly defended that secret from the likes of Exodus and Mr. Sinister, she is capable of preventing Professor X from just taking the information from her. So barring new retcons, if Moira has the diaries now, they had to have been obtained directly from Emma.

That's not enough to say that she turned them over to Moira specifically. She could have given them to Charles or Er—okay, no, she wouldn't give them to Charles. There could be a circumstance where she'd trust them to Erik though. But in that contingency, I think there's enough context to support Emma knowing why they'd want them and for who. To be clear though, I would be less confident about making that assertion if Emma hadn't just opened the “Dr. Moira MacTaggert Memorial Public Hospital” expressly to freak out Charles and Erik, and if HoxPox hadn't already linked them by showing Moira to be worried about what Emma was up to.

(This got kind of long so I thought it'd be helpful to say the important part up front before spiraling down the continuity rabbit hole)

The origins and resulting chain of custody for Destiny's Diaries are as follows: One January, decades ago, Destiny began recording visions of the future in a series of diaries. Filling one book per month, she continued writing for thirteen months. This process was described as auto-writing, and Destiny herself did not have a complete memory of what she had written, nor did she understand the meaning of much of what she wrote.

Nonetheless, the July diary contained a recording of the events leading up to the defeat of Apocalypse, and another diary contained information on the life of Hope Summers, so they've been very relevant to the events of the modern era. It's not explicit yet that Krakoa's founding is also in the diaries, but because we know Destiny had at least one separate vision of Krakoa, and because Moira is interested in reading them, it seems fairly likely that whatever Moira, Charles, and Erik have been doing behind the scenes is also in there.

In the decades since Destiny authored them, most of these diaries were lost, except for five that Mystique kept hold of, and a sixth that Irene hid away herself. After Mystique killed 'Moira,' she sent her five diaries to Professor X, hoping that the temptation of using them would consume his life and lead him toward a ruinous fate. Destiny meanwhile had entrusted the sixth diary to Shadowcat (who Destiny met in 1936, while she was time traveling and having an affair with Moira's grandfather don't worry about it), who eventually became so freaked out by something she read in it that she vanished on a mission, let her friends believe her dead for weeks, and had herself deleted from Cerebro, while leaving the diary to Rogue for safekeeping while she was away.

(That last chain of events isn't incredibly important, I just think it becomes kind of lol in light of current canon)

Rogue went on to take that diary and the research that had been done on it to Storm. Storm and Rogue then formed a splinter team of X-Men, to journey the world searching for the lost diaries, believing Professor X could not be trusted. Along the way a seventh book turned up with a treasure hunter named Vargas (don't worry about him), and an eighth was found by Gateway and given to Rogue in a dream. Eventually Storm tried to get Phoenix to collect Professor X's diaries for her, but they discovered that they had already been stolen (Shadowcat did it).

The rest of the diary hunt isn't really important, just that Kitty eventually ended up retrieving the full set, before she rejoined the X-Men, which only happened after Xavier had left Scott and Emma to run the school. This timeline is important for establishing that Xavier has never possessed the full set of diaries himself, and was not involved in collecting the lost books at any point, nor was he present at the time the diaries were brought to the school and fell under Emma's protection. This rules out the possibility that the set of diaries we've previously seen were somehow forged by Xavier.

Xavier would not return to the school until after losing his mutant powers, whereupon he departed for space on an adventure to another galaxy. He was unavailable, therefore, to have undertaken any telepathic shenanigans, so what happens next actually happened, and is not a psychic illusion. While Xavier was gone, Mr. Sinister recruited Exodus and Mystique, and began a campaign of hunting down precognitive psychics, time travelers, and any other sources of information on the future. Scott, Emma, and Kitty meanwhile predicted that they were going to be next, and came up with a bananas plan to keep the books safe.

X-Men volume 2 no. 203 by Mike Carey (Writer), Humberto Ramos (Penciler), Carlos Cuevas (Inker), Studio F’s Edgar Delgado (Colorist), Virtual Calligraphy’s Cory Petit (Letterer), Will Panzo (Assistant Editor), Nick Lowe (Editor), Joe Quesada (Editor in Chief), Dan Buckley (Publisher)

First they hid the diaries somewhere in parts unknown. Emma then altered the minds of “all of us” (everyone who lived at the mansion at that time) to perceive a bunch of decoy books as the real thing. She then erased Kitty's memory, and her own, so that no telepath would be able to extract the information by force, before they gave each other a series of post-hypnotic triggers so they could restore one another's memories if they ever needed the books again. When eventually Exodus attacked the school looking for the books, they restored their memories, and decided to send another team to the hidden location where they'd buried a mystery box. Emma gave this location to Sam and Bobby, who dug up the box, which was never opened, and which was destroyed by Gambit during a firefight with Sinister's forces before anyone could confirm its contents.

This was intended by author Mike Carey to be the end of Destiny's Diaries, a dropped plot from a previous creative run, that was vaguely useful at building up to the Messiah Complex crossover, but was a lot more trouble than it was worth to an author who was writing about the X-Men trying to avert a bad future. But there's a lot of room in the story he wrote for the diaries to have survived after all.

I think it's actually really suspicious that the box was accessible to Bobby and Sam at all. Why not drop it under a mountain? Why not bury it under the ocean? Why not keep it phased in a tree? And it's a big red box with a big red 'X' on it. I know the X-Men love their branding and all, but that's going pretty far.

No one actually opens the box before Gambit blows it up either. It could have contained more decoys, or nothing at all.

And when talking among themselves, Emma and Kitty never actually say that they're sending the X-Men to retrieve the diaries. They say that they know where the diaries are, and then send the X-Men to a place where they've buried something. The intent of the author is clear, but there's room in the dialogue for a later writer to decide that this just was another plan to keep the books hidden.

So for the entire period of time between assembling the complete collection of thirteen diaries, and their seeming destruction, they are never unaccounted for. Only Emma and Kitty knew the full extent of what they did to hide them, and where they were hidden. If fakes were destroyed instead of the real thing, no one would have known.

We could just be in retcon territory, but I don't think so, because it's fine on its own without any direct changes to canon. And really, faking the destruction of the books to cover up their real location makes a lot more sense than believing Emma Frost actually sent Sam to retrieve the incredibly suspicious looking red box that contained the most important object in the world, while half the super villains on the planet were chasing him.

Believing the diaries weren't really destroyed just requires the reader to accept that Emma would lie to the other X-Men, and keep lying to them for years, and that she'd be willing to put Sam and Bobby's lives at risk to protect that lie. Which she was already doing in that story anyway. She was already lying to everyone when she changed everyone's memories. And she—and Scott and Kitty—was already fine with risking everyone's lives when setting up a decoy trap in a school. So that's why I think this works better as a continuation of the existing, known, story of the diaries, and not a direct retcon to what happened.

In conclusion I think Emma knows about Moira because Moira got the diaries from somewhere, and Emma is the person she could have gotten them from. Nothing proves a direct hand-off in, like, a formal standard of proof or anything, but Emma having access to the diaries for so long, and having been wrapped up in this whole weird plot thread—which involves Moira and most of the Quiet Council—is enough to imply the connection in a story sense.

(ETA - For completion’s sake, there is also a weird story I didn’t go into called Chaos War that was published in 2011 where Moira is resurrected and finds a book in the ruins of the Xavier School that may or may not be one of the diaries, and touching it causes her soul to merge with Destiny’s, who then possesses her and guides her through a quest to destroy an evil god. This was an odd story to place in continuity at the time, and has only gotten stranger, given 1. that couldn’t be the real Moira, 2. Destiny is not merged with her soul. If this is in continuity (it’s been suggested that Moira’s golem was the character in this event), and all of the characters are who they say they are, and if the book in question was actually one of the thirteen diaries (and not some other book that Irene also wrote), then it requires Emma to have deliberately left one of the thirteen books behind for “Moira” to find, which if anything only adds to the likelihood that she knows what’s up)

#x-men #comics #marvel #wednesday spoilers #long post

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shotgun--rider · 4 years

Text

Rumor

A Jensen x Reader oneshot

Y/N’s never considered how many suspiciously snuggly photos there are of her and her best friend. Then they all come out in a Buzzfeed article, published just in time for everyone to grill her during her solo panel. Now what?

Word Count: 4000

Warnings: Really dumb fluff, everyone’s anxious, Jared and Briana are sick of everyone’s shit

A/N: This is dumb and fluffy and dangerously song-fic territory but it showed up and demanded to be written so here you go. I have no idea if this is actually any good. Enjoy?

---------* ---------

You were the epitome of normal, growing up. You had decent grades, run-of-the-mill hobbies, and an average high school cashier job. You could hop on your bike (and later, borrow your parents’ car) and take yourself to the coffee shop, or to a friend’s, and the only people that would look twice at you were drivers checking to make sure the kid on the bike didn’t steer into traffic.

You didn’t win any “most likely to” awards in the yearbook, your college major was undecided for an embarrassing length of time, and your 300-odd Instagram followers were comprised of friends and some polite acquaintances from welcome week. And you didn’t mind. You were perfectly happy to go through your day-to-day without turning heads and making waves.

That was all before you’d answered an open casting call on a whim, strapped for cash and mostly there because a sparkly website proclaiming “50 Easy Side Hustles!” had suggested spending your weekends as an extra if you lived in a big filming city. Before your three-episode contract in a show you’d never bothered to watch turned into a series regular.

Now, you’re pretty much guaranteed to have your face splashed across the internet every time you stick a toe off the end of your L.A. property line. Even if the paparazzi aren’t there to get you in Page Six with some wildly exaggerated nonsense, a fan somewhere will snap a blurry photo and upload it somewhere for people to shout about you in the comments section. You’ve never gotten used to being tagged in edits of your own face, or watching your follower count creep steadily upwards. You’re just… you. You’ve always been just the normal, average girl from a nothing-special hometown.

Even after your third year running on Supernatural, you still forget. You still make it all the way to the end of the block before you remember that the person shouting your name is the bodyguard you accidentally abandoned two errands ago. You still get confused when the restaurant wait staff stares at you, still get annoyed calls from your publicist begging you to at least try to appear in fewer coffee shop paparazzi pictures looking like a disgruntled zombie who’s never seen a hairbrush. (Sue you, you can’t be expected to be functional before a cup of coffee.)

You’re a brilliant actress, an unexpected fan-favorite, relatable to everyone in your autograph line...and you’re kind of a terrible celebrity. Unlike certain child models turned actors straight at 18 you may know, this isn’t a world you were trained in. Which is probably why it doesn’t even occur to you that being caught frequently in the company of your best friend might look like something until you’re staring at your own name in a headline on your phone screen, in line at Starbucks before your first panel of the con weekend.

Y/N L/N’s Secret Relationship With Co-Star Jensen Ackles, howls the bold-printed headline, and you blink stupidly at the letters, uncomprehending, until you realize that someone’s trying to get your attention. “Sorry, what?”

The barista looks impatient, suppressing an eyeroll and starting her spiel before cutting off halfway with a squeak. “Oh, my god, you’re her! I’m sorry, I’m just… you’re literally my favorite!” She’s blushing and stuttering and has a near-death grip on the empty coffee cup she was preparing to write your name on.

“Oh,” you reply, forcing the fog of confusion from your brain and slapping on a smile. “Hi, you caught me.”

“Can I...um…” the girl reaches into her back pocket and sheepishly produces her cell phone, complete with a flaming pentagram case. “Um, selfie?”

You smile indulgently, leaning over the counter. The fans are one of the best parts, really, and it’s never a hardship to make someone smile. (That is, when they’re not selling rumors and lies to the tabloids, you think grumpily.)

The barista girl pulls back with a wide smile and a full-face blush, and keeps glancing shyly up at you while she punches in your usual order, plus the second coffee Jensen texted you this morning to beg for. “So I guess Jensen’s around here too, then, right?” she asks perkily, taking your card.

“Uh...sorry, what?”

She shrugs like it’s obvious. “Since you flew in together,”

You blink rapidly, feeling stupid. You’re obviously missing the punchline somewhere. “We, uh...didn’t. I mean...I flew out of L.A.,” you say cautiously. Your home city is already public knowledge, as is the fact that Jensen lives in Austin, and you can’t imagine she doesn’t know this.

Her eyes pop wide with curiosity. “Wait, so you’re not staying with him?”

This conversation is too much for your poor, jetlagged, coffeeless brain. “No?” you try weakly, so far past confused at this point that you might actually be getting a headache. “Why would I…”

Not that Jensen’s Austin house isn’t lovely, and not that you’d object to staying there, and not that you haven’t stayed there plenty of times before, but you’re pretty sure you’re still missing the point.

The barista lunges forward over the counter, leaning in to ask in a hushed voice, “Did you guys break up?”

An emphatic “No!” leaves your mouth so loudly that the old man in line behind you starts grumbling. “No, you don’t--”

“Get a move on,” Old Man grouches in the background. “I don’t care who you are,”

“Oh, good,” the girl cuts you off with a relieved grin. “You guys are so cute, you know? I mean, I kinda figured you had to have something going on, but actually seeing it--it’s going to be so much cuter if Dean and Sierra ever kiss now, oh my god--”

She devolves into a squeal, and the we’re not actually dating dies on your tongue. You have better things to do this morning than correct the misinformation of one teenage barista, so you end up just shaking your head and taking the two cups of coffee wearily. “Right, well, I’ve gotta go, so--” you duck around the old man and beeline for the door before anyone can say anything else. Oh, god, your publicist is so going to kill you.

***

Jared and Jensen are both in the green room when you make it back to the convention hotel, and you groan softly as you walk into the room. Once Jared hears about your so-called relationship, you’re never going to hear the end of it. Then again, better he hear it from you than find it in the tabloids. May as well bite the bullet now before it comes up in a Q&A.

“Hey,” you slide up to Jensen’s elbow, holding out the requested coffee cup as a preemptive truce. “So, we’re apparently dating now,”

Jensen snorts, shaking his head and swapping the coffee cup into his other hand so he can wrap his arm around your shoulders in greeting. “Yeah, I saw that.”

“I think I may have given a barista the impression we’ve had a tumultuous breakup,” you say ruefully, tilting your head up to look at him in apology. “Sorry,”

Jensen’s green eyes are dancing, though, and he throws back his head and laughs, still keeping you tucked close enough that you can feel his whole body shake. “Of course you did, sweetheart,”

It’s pretty much the reaction you expected from Jensen, who’s so used to your antics at this point that he just gives you a fond smile and moves on to damage control. Jared, on the other hand, is...not commenting, and suspicion cuts short your quiet enjoyment of being hugged against Jensen. It took the boys a while to feel comfortable messing with you when you first got on set, but after they figured out you gave as good as you got, they’d never yet missed an opportunity to tease and prank you.

You squint at Jared warily. “Why aren’t you reacting?”

Jared’s lips immediately start twitching, but he makes a valiant attempt at a mock-concerned face. “Oh shit, sorry. Here, tell me again and I’ll pretend like I’m surprised this time,”

Unwilling to bother unwinding yourself from under Jensen’s arm, you extend a childish foot in the direction of Jared’s shins, scowling at him. He dodges easily, laughing, and tosses out, “Someone should really tell Buzzfeed they’re reporting really old news,”

“Shut up and drink your damn coffee, Padalecki,” you shoot back without any real venom.

“Oh, you mean my hotel coffee? The coffee I got stuck with because you only buy Starbucks for Jensen?”

Jensen straightens up proudly, no doubt making a face at Jared over the top of your head. “Y/N just likes me better. That’s why she’s my best friend.”

You roll your eyes, ducking under Jensen’s arm and a few steps away. “You both suck,” you deadpan, resisting an internal wince at the friendzone. “Now shut up and let me drink my coffee, I have to be on stage in fifteen minutes,”

And God, but your head is way too scrambled for a panel right now. Fifteen minutes is nowhere close to enough time to get your shit together, and you’re going to have to somehow walk out there and not let everyone know.

You take a seat halfway across the room, watching Jared and Jensen still standing there, heads bowed together, arguing quietly about something. Jensen’s starting to wear an annoyed expression and he still manages to look beautiful and goddamnit this is how you got in trouble in the first place.

You scroll listlessly through your phone, a headache beginning behind your eyes, and freeze when you realize that you left the damn article open. The headline photo is a picture of you and Jensen on a sidewalk in L.A., caught mid-conversation with Jensen’s hand on your back and a stupid, dopey look on your face while you stare up at him like he hung the moon. Fuck, you’re an idiot.

A hasty scroll through the rest of the article reveals more of the same, and you could kick yourself for making your dumb crush so obvious. The photo captions are practically mocking you, labelled with things like “an intimate evening for Ackles and L/N” and, under a picture of the two of you at a beach, “We might be a little mad that the two most attractive people are together”.

Well, at least now you know what every single question at your panel is going to be about. And somehow you have to figure out how to play this off like it’s nothing. Of course I don’t have a crush the size of a mid-sized whale on Jensen, hahaha, that’s such a hilarious idea!

Your only saving grace is that clearly, Jensen doesn’t think anything of it. It’s nothing more than a brief joke to him and Jared, and as much as that should bring you relief, it still stings to know that he’s obviously never bothered to think of you that way. And why would he? For all Buzzfeed’s nonsense about you making an attractive couple, Jensen Ackles miles above your league.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by Misha sitting down next to you, an easy smile on his face as he nudges your shoulder with his own. “So, welcome to the club,”

Typically, you and Misha are pretty close friends, but your patience is too short this morning for any of his shit. “What club?” you shoot back grumpily.

“People who the internet have declared in love with Jensen Ackles,” Misha returns, grinning like it’s obvious.

“Ha, ha. See, except when that happens to you, people think it’s funny,”

“It is funny,”

“Not for me!” you explode, belatedly wincing at your harsh tone. “You and Jensen fuck around on stage and that works for you. If I don’t get my shit together in the next five minutes, I’m getting my name dragged through stupid tabloids and laughed straight off the show because I couldn’t keep my goddamn stupid pathetic crush under control!”

“Hey,” Misha waits until you meet his blue eyes. “That’s not going to happen. Okay? It’s not,”

“Misha--”

“Y/N,” Misha returns firmly. “It’s going to be okay. Jensen would never let anything happen to you. And you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.”

You sigh softly, nodding. Rationally, you know he’s right. But mostly, as much as you’re worked up about the panel, your fear is that Jensen is going to be the one laughing at you, and you don’t know how to explain that. “Yeah,” you say dully, just as a convention worker comes forward to collect you.

“If it’s really going to shit, I’ll come distract everyone,”

“Somehow, I think that would be worse,” you shoot back over your shoulder as you start walking to the stage. Breathe, Y/N. You’re fine.

You wait for the introductions to finish and take your place on the stage, a slightly breathy laugh escaping into the mic as you look out at the crowd. That is a lot of eyes watching your every move. And they’re on your side, you remind yourself. It’s the fans who’ve been tireless supporters of you and your character, this whole time.

“Hey, guys,” you clear your throat. “What’s up?”

You chatter for a while about whatever you can think of, telling an edited version of the grumpy Starbucks man this morning and rambling a little about Jared’s latest on-set antics. All too quickly, though, you run out of things to say, leaving you with no choice but to ask for questions.

At first, to your great relief, they’re pretty tame. You spend a solid few minutes breaking down Sierra’s latest character arc, and the time she’s spending hunting on her own. You do get a few questions about whether she and Dean could get together when she gets back with the brothers, but as long as it stays firmly in the realm of your characters, you’re not worried.

“And what’s your name?” You ask gently, trying to reassure the nervous young woman at the microphone.

“Uh, Y/N…”

“I love that name!” you wink at her, rearranging yourself in the chair to be more comfortable. “What do you want to know, Y/N?”

“Uh,” she stutters, her face blushing pink. “You’re my favorite actress, and, I, um,”

“That’s very sweet,” you interject, nodding to encourage her.

“I just, uh, really want good things for you, and I just wanted to ask if, um, areyoureallydatingJensen?” she spits out all in one breath. “Cause you deserve him,”

You blink, shifting in your seat. You’d arrived at the elephant in the room. Damn.

“Uh,” escapes your mouth as you frantically try to construct a diplomatic sentence. “No, actually, no, we’re not.” I wish. “The, um, the article was a surprise to us too!” You added a little shrug in as punctuation, trying to play it off.

“But you guys look so cute together!” Other Y/N exclaims. “He looks at you like--” she cuts off, biting her lip so hard you can see the white from the stage. “Nevermind. Sorry.”

“No worries,” you assure her casually, like you’re not dying to know what she was going to say. “Next question?”

The next one up is another young woman, this time much bolder in her question. “But if you were given the opportunity, would you date Jensen Ackles?”

God, Chuck, literally anyone please kill me. “I don’t know how to answer this without getting in trouble,” you finally laugh nervously. “This is a dangerous question,”

The audience all laughs loudly, some of them throwing out comments and suggestions. “In the interests of not getting killed in my bed tonight,” you say lightly when they’ve quieted. “I’m going to skip that question,”

There’s really no saving you, though. After that first question, it’s like a dam has broken and everyone wants to know about your relationship with Jensen. What do you think of his house in Austin and does he cook for you and what do you do between takes and where’s your favorite place to go together. Someone even asks if you’re hooking up even if you’re not dating, which you’re positive turns your face completely purple before you get through redirecting that fan.

An hour later, you stagger off the stage mentally exhausted and thoroughly grumpy.

“Ouch,” Briana sympathizes, sliding up beside you as you grab a water bottle in the green room.

“Can’t wait for my dumb red face to trend on Tumblr,” you mutter, wondering darkly if you could just jump out one of the windows.

Briana laughs like she knows something you don’t, and rubs a hand over your back soothingly. “Come on, let’s get you out of your head before your photos,”

The two of you end up on a walk a few blocks from the convention hotel, fresh coffees in hand and Briana chattering away while you nod along. It’s not that you’re tuning her out, exactly, you’re just...overwhelmed. You do, however, notice when she stops talking.

“Are you listening to me?” she looks at you sharply.

“Sorry, B,” you mumble. “Got distracted. What?”

Briana shakes her head with loving exasperation. “I asked what you’re wearing to karaoke tonight,”

“I’m probably not going to--” you start.

“Oh, no you don’t. You can’t leave me there alone,” Briana interrupts, folding her arms across her chest.

“What do you mean, alone? Kim and Rich and literally everyone will be there,”

“You are not allowed to skip karaoke.” Briana says firmly, and you suddenly know how her daughter must feel when she’s misbehaved. “Besides, Jensen’s singing with Louden Swain beforehand. Don’t you want to see it?”

“Fine. But I’m wearing this,” you gesture to your plain black top and jeans. To be honest, you’re not sure if you actually do want to see Jensen perform, or bother with the rest of karaoke night. Mostly you just want to crawl into bed and put the covers over your head and pretend that you haven’t been making a fool of yourself all morning, but Briana is a force of nature when she wants something.

She smiles excitedly at your acquiescence, pulling out her phone for a moment to type something before you start heading back.

You nudge her teasingly with your elbow. “Your phone more exciting than me?”

Briana just slides it away hastily before you can read more than Jared’s name over her shoulder. “Just taking care of something.”

There’s something she’s not telling you, but you don’t feel like digging right now. You’re just focusing on getting to the end of this convention without spilling all your secrets and looking like an idiot.

By the time you’re sitting down in the seats for Louden Swain’s set, your face is indeed all over Tumblr. (You always deny having the stupid app, but sometimes a girl’s gotta know what people are saying about her and her hot costars.) There’s comments full of stupid speculation that you’re hiding your relationship, including a whole thread about how you’re clearly hiding your secret threesome with Jensen and Misha. Great.

“Uh, okay,” a familiar voice snaps you out of your thoughts. Jensen’s on stage in front of the microphone, holding his guitar. “This was not part of my original plan, so...if this goes badly, it’s all Jared and Briana’s fault.”

The crowd laughs good-naturedly as your gaze snaps immediately to Briana. Infuriatingly, your friend just shrugs.

“This is a cover of a song neither of us wrote,” Jensen continues, gesturing between himself and Louden Swain behind him. “But I thought it could be fitting,”

He’s nervous, you realize, watching the way he’s fiddling with his guitar strap while he talks. But you have no idea what he’s doing. And you have no idea why he didn’t tell you. The two of you always know what stupid thing the other person is planning, especially stunts in front of the fans. But clearly not this time. With a sinking sense of dread, you wonder if maybe he does hate you a little bit after today, and that article. Maybe that’s why he’s not talking to you. You swallow hard against the sting in your throat, and Jensen starts playing.

The opening chords are definitely from a country song you vaguely recognize from the radio, and you wonder why this is Jensen’s choice over one of his own songs.

“Girl, you know I've known you forever / How many nights we hung out together,”

Across the room, Briana has an enormous smile on her face.

“My boys are laughing and tap me on the shoulder / Making a motion like, ‘Could y'all get any closer?’” He punctuates the words with a little scowl in Jared’s direction.

“There's a rumor going 'round about me and you / Stirring up our little town the last week or two / So tell me why we even trying to deny this feeling / I feel it, don't you feel it too? / There's a rumor going 'round, and 'round, and 'round / What d'you say we make it true?”

There are a lot of people suddenly making noise around you as they come to the same realization that you are, but you’re frozen in your seat. The rumor is you. He’s talking about you. Jensen’s singing for you. And you should be elated but your mind is stuck on a loop of what the fuck there’s no way this is real.

You don’t even realize that the song is over until everyone is clapping and you’re still stuck staring with embarrassingly wide eyes, Jensen up on stage with an embarrassed dusting of red across his face and a slowly deflating expression.

“Hey,” Jared’s elbow digs hard into your ribs suddenly. “Please do something. I can’t take any more of him like this,”

“What--oh--shit!” spills out of your mouth as you stand hastily, your phone tumbling off your lap. “I’m just gonna--”

By some miracle, you make it through the crush of people and around to the backstage area, your heart racing unevenly in your chest. You have no idea what you’re supposed to say, or if Jensen will be there, or if you’re even interpreting this right. Maybe it’s all just wishful thinking. No, Jared wouldn’t have encouraged you if that were true. Would he?

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you end up plowing straight into Jensen’s chest, his arm sliding automatically around your waist as you wobble off balance. “Shit, I’m sorry!”

He steadies you, green eyes searching your face with a flicker of vulnerability. “Hey,”

“Hey,” you whisper back. You have no idea what happens now.

With his free hand, Jensen rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, if that was too much--”

“No!” you shake your head quickly. “I’m sorry, I was just...processing. I...it was really sweet, Jen,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “I just… me? Are you sure?”

“Why not you?” Jensen’s face wrinkles in confusion. He moves both hands to your waist, the warmth of his skin bleeding through your thin shirt as he tugs you closer. “Y/N,”

There’s something in you screaming that you might not get to do this again, that he’s going to come to his senses, that the whole thing is a dream, and before you can second guess yourself you launch yourself up onto your tiptoes and kiss him.

Your arms go around his neck while Jensen wraps you up tighter against his chest and it’s not fireworks, or earth shattering, or anything so dramatic. His mouth moving against yours just feels like home and love and of course. Of course you were going to get here, of course it was going to be like this.

Jensen lifts you off your feet for a moment before breaking the kiss, and he looks just breathless and flushed enough that you’re equal parts proud and turned on.

“Of course it’s you,” he murmurs, one hand under your chin to tilt your head up to him. “Of course I love you. You’re my best friend.”

------

Something ate my taglist! If you want to be tagged, please message me!

#supernatural #jensen ackles #supernatural rpf #jensen ackles x reader #jensen x reader #spn #rpf #x reader #reader insert #oneshot

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

summertime sadness .4.

tgif

Sequel to kiss me in the d-a-r-k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (masterlist under construction)

Warnings: dub con sex (oral)

This is dark!(dad)Steve and dark(professor!)Bucky explicit. 18+ only. I know they aren’t super dark, but like questionable so I’m keeping those tags just to be safe.

Summary: You settle into your new job but can’t get too comfortable.

Note: Okey, dokey. Here’s the fun part (for me at least). Still tryna figure out how exactly this one will pan out by part 6 but we’re all having a ride together, eh. Thanks everyone for their support and I love you all! 💋

<3 Let me know what you think in a reblog, reply, or like. I’m loving the feedback from y'all and the enthusiasm! Also as always, memes accepted.

💋💋💋

It had only been a few weeks since your last visit to the university but it felt longer as you walked onto campus. Just as planned, you were due to meet Bucky in his office. He texted you as you rode the subway. He was eager to start his ‘marking’. You smirked and wondered how long he’d last at that.

You entered the English Building, the elevator back in service and empty. Not many instructors were in their offices on a Saturday and most students were hungover or readying for another party. You knocked on Bucky’s door before you entered. He had a stack of essays on his desk as he sat behind them listlessly.

“Finally,” He said.

“I slept in.” You replied. “For the first time in a week.”

“Then you’ll have lots of energy,” He reached below his desk, the sound of his zipper discernible beneath it. “I’ve got about forty papers here.”

“Forty? And how many do you think you’ll get to?”

“Knowing that mouth, maybe one.” He snickered. “Come on, baby, I’m rock hard over here.”

He rolled his chair back as you neared and set your purse down behind his desk. He slapped your ass and you got to your knees. You grinned up at him as you ducked under his desk and gripped his thighs as he pushed closer. You pulled down his briefs and his cock sprung out. He groaned and grabbed his pen.

“Fuck,” He swore under his breath. “I can’t believe you’re actually doing this, baby.”

“You’ve got marking to do,” You reprimanded and stroked him. “Now get to work.”

You stretched your lips over his tip and he groaned. He slid closer and you could hear the clumsy scratching of his pen on paper. As he reached the back of your throat, his leg twitched. You pushed past your gag reflex and he nearly choked. You pulled back and felt the shiver in him.

“Mmm,” He hummed and flipped a page. “Just like that.”

The sloppy sounds of your mouth added to the flutter above, the scribbles of ink. You bobbed your head steadily, every now and then forcing him to your limit and holding him there. And then you stopped as a knock came at the door. You both froze.

“Shit,” He pushed himself against the desk entirely and trapped you underneath it. The front shielded you from view on the other side. “Keep going.”

“Buck---”

“Slowly, quietly.” He grabbed his dick and slapped it against your lips. “Now.” He cleared his throat and shoved your head down as he glided into your mouth again. “Come in.” He called and the door opened.

Your eyes widened as he pulled his hand away. You carefully dragged your tongue along his length.

“Hey,” He greeted in a smooth tone. “Tanya.”

“Sorry to disturb,” His visitor replied. “I was just grabbing some stuff from my office and I just remembered I still had this.”

A thump sounded on the top of the desk as you slobbered down his cock.

“Thanks,” He said and squeezed his legs around you. “I almost forgot myself if I’m being honest.”

“I owe you one,” She said. You recognized her voice. She taught the other section of journalism, though you had her for a social movements class in your first year. “Maybe a drink. I could hang around til you finish with those.”

“Ah, you know, I wish I could,” He lamented. “But I promised a buddy I’d swing around to watch the game.”

You kept from gagging and held your breath, afraid to give yourself away.

“You don’t seem like the sports type,” She countered.

“Not really but a few beers and I am,” He dismissed her easily.

“You sure you’re not avoiding me?” Her toe tapped impatiently just on the other side of the desk.

“Avoiding you?” He chuckled. A slight quaver in his voice as you swirled your tongue around his tip. “Why would I be doing that?”

“Well… Ever since our little… you know…” She hesitated to say it aloud.

“I thought we agreed that it was just a little fun.” He said and you stopped suddenly. He nudged you with his toe and you wrapped your lips around him once more. “A drunken bit of fun.”

“Hmmm…” She sounded disappointed. “You free tomorrow?”

“Sorry, maybe next weekend,” He said. “But I really gotta finish here.”

“Okay, okay,” She accepted with a trill. “We’ll sort out a time then.”

“Sure,” He confirmed unconvincingly. “Next weekend. See ya.”

“Bye,” Her voice was cheerier as her heels clicked back across the floor and the door opened and closed once more.

You tried to pull away but he caught your head and held you down as he emptied himself down your throat. You choked and smacked at his thigh as he cupped his sac with his other hand. He left your mouth salty and sore as he slipped out and rolled back with a sigh.

You spit his cum into your hand and crawled out from under the desk. “What the fuck?”

“Sorry, I had to-- fuck, I almost came with her right there.” He grabbed a tissue and handed it to you.

“You could’ve warned me,” You wiped your hand off with a grimace. “What was that anyway? Did you fuck her?”

“Why? You jealous?” He cleaned himself up and zipped up his pants.

“No,” You rolled your eyes. “But I did just suck you off within two feet of her as she obviously wanted to do the same.”

He laughed and pushed his shoulders back. “It was months ago. Before… us. There was a conference, there was wine, and I regret it.” He sighed. “And she looks back on it fondly but… lots of teeth and she was stiff as a fucking board.”

“Wow,” You said dryly and wiped your mouth. “You know, I’m barely surprised.”

“This… thing between you and I, it’s not--”

“It’s just a bit of fun. Trust me, I get it. I haven’t got time for anything but.” You tossed the kleenex in the small bin beside his desk. “Right? That’s what it is?”

“So much fun,” He assured you. “You wanna hang around till I’m finished?”

“Thought you already were,” You jibed. His brow furrowed and you grinned. “Sure,” You pulled up a chair. “I got nothing better to do.”

“Well, don’t sound so excited,” He said. “Besides, I might need some more help sooner than later.”

💋

You scribbled along the margin of your agenda and dropped the pen. The keys clacked beneath your fingers as you typed up a manic sentence. Your screen glowed back at you as the seconds ticked by with each letter. So enthralled by your task that the speck in your peripheral gave you a start.

You leaned back and turned your chair to face the man watching you. Loki’s lithe fingers swept up your golden pen and he admired the engraved letters beneath the fluorescent light. You watched him nervously as you pushed yourself away from your keyboard.

“Mr. Laufeyson.” You greeted him meekly. “I am just finishing the blurb you wanted.”

“Hard at work, as always,” He mused as he carefully set the pen back on your desk. “A beautiful pen…”

“A gift,” You smiled awkwardly.

“Well, I hate to interrupt you so I will let you finished,” His fingers brushed along your desk and he leaned on it as he casually cross his right leg in front of the other. “But when you have, I would like a moment in my office before you leave for the day.”

“Of course,” You affirmed. “It shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes.”

“As you will,” He stood straight and smoothed his jacket and buttoned it. “Then you are free to enjoy your weekend.”

“Okay,” You nodded and he turned away.

You watched him go, his strides long but lingering as he retreated to his office. The usual crowd had thinned out and Stacey was readying for her own departure. You spun back to your computer and resumed your work. Your second week down and not a stumble yet. You dared to be proud of yourself. Even, to be happy.

Another weekend ahead of you and you weren’t entirely excited. You liked being in the office; liked working with the other journalists, writers, and editors. Enjoyed your chance to shadow one of the most powerful men in New York publishing. And he had achieved it all at such a young age. You could only hope to achieve as much in the next fifteen years.

It was more than a bullet point for your resume, it was your own paradise.

So you finished up your blurb and attached it to an email. You logged out and packed up your agenda and pen beside your laptop. You pushed your chair in as you hooked your bag over your shoulder and trod tentatively to Loki’s office. You knocked on the open door and he looked away from his screen.

“Ah, there you are,” He beckoned you in with a wave. “Close the door behind you, please.”

You glanced back into the main office and did as he said. You stepped inside and sat across from him, your bag set down against the leg of the chair. His green eyes focused on you and he tilted his head as he absently traced his fingers over his phone. You fidgeted as you struggled not to shy away.

“I just wanted to check in,” He said. “And I was recently reviewing your references.”

“My references?” You wondered.

“Mmm,” He hummed. “Your professors speak highly of you. One of the reasons I even considered a second year, let alone one who had so suddenly changed majors, was a certain word on your behalf.”

“Okay?” You were confused and gripped the arms of the chair as you blinked at him dumbly.

“James Barnes has earned his tenure at the university and on occasion, he has written pieces for my own magazine. A respectable writer, admirable in his work both in teaching and otherwise. And when he proposed this workshop, the tours, I thought it was a charming idea. He proved me right so I had no doubt when he spoke to me of you.”

You gulped but said nothing. Your stomach churned and you brought your hands together and wrung them.

“You see,” He lifted his phone and blindly unlocked it. “You have lived up to his reference and your work is commendable…” He smirked as he flicked a finger across the screen. “But I still questions the veracity of his endorsement as I find his integrity has come into doubt.”

He set his phone down and slid it across the desk. He nodded for you to pick it up. You slid forward on your chair and took it. Your lips parted in horror as you stared at the screen. It was you and Bucky in the bookshop, your lips locked and his arms wrapped around you. You looked up, mortified, as the phone shook in your grasp.

“I…” The breath went out of you and you put the phone back on the desk before it could fall. “How did you--”

“It’s a quaint little shop.” He purred. “I venture in every now and then.”

You chewed your lip as your cheeks burned.

“You do realize that this could be… damaging. To you more than him.” He stood slowly and came around the desk to stand before you. “He has tenure, he is established. You, my dear, you’re barely getting started.”

You gaped up at him. The pet name unsettled you and you wiped your sweaty hands on your thighs.

“And aside from the ethical dilemma, I do wonder what a girl your age sees in a man his age. Especially when your work speak so boldly on its own.”

You shook your head, speechless.

“Surely there are boys your own age who would be delighted to offer you… companionship.”

“I never… I would never use him like that.” You insisted. “It’s all… my work. My own work.”

“Oh, I know it, dear,” He said as his lips curled. “But to risk that work on him? On an affair better fit to a dime store erotica?”

“Are you-- Are you going to report him? Me?” You asked. “Am I fired?”

“Well,” He leaned on the desk, his long fingers gripped it’s edge as he leered down at you. “That depends on you, my dear.”

“Me?” You squeaked.

“Oh yes, this is a very powerful secret, don’t you think?” He slithered. “And in our business, well, it would sell.”

“What do you want?” You asked.

He pushed himself away from the desk and reached to tickle your cheek. His fingers crawled along your chin and he brushed his thumb over your bottom lip.

“I haven’t yet made up my mind,” He bent so that his face was only inches from yours. “But when I do, my dear, you will appease me, won’t you?”

You shuddered but didn’t pull away. You were too frightened. A lock of his dark hair fell forward as his pale skin shone sinister in the lamp light. His green eyes bore into yours and you wanted desperately too look away.

“Y-yes,” You stammered weakly. “I--I will.”

“Very good,” He drew away slowly. “Now, darling, go enjoy your weekend.” He scooped up his phone and tucked it in his pocket. “And give the professor my regards.”

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nickelkeep · 4 years

Text

Stay a While

Pairing: Dean/Cas Rating: Teen Word Count: 2.7K Warnings: None. Written For: @winchester-ofthe-lord as a part of a Secret Valentine Exchange. On Ao3

It wasn't a hard decision for Dean when it came down to it. His lease was going to end in three months, the apartment always smelled terrible, Sam had moved out two months prior, and Cas had been his best friend for years. If there was anyone he trusted more in the world than Sammy, it was Cas.

So when Cas came to him and said that Jimmy and Amelia were expecting, and if he could have Sam's room, it had been a no brainer. If Cas moved in with him, it would have added 30 minutes to Cas' commute to work. Dean worked from home, working on his second novel, so he could live anywhere, as long as he could get to the publishing house once a month.

Cas stopped by one evening after work, at Dean's request. He let himself into the apartment, using the spare key Dean had given him years ago.

"Dean?"

"In the kitchen, Cas." Dean could barely make out his best friend's near-silent footsteps. "Have a good day at work?"

"As good as it could be." Cas dragged a chair from the dining room to the doorway and sat down. "Remind me again why I wanted to be a Librarian?"

Dean let out a chuckle. "You wanted to make sure my books got on the shelves."

"And here we are, years later, and you didn't actually need me." Cas slouched in the chair and lifted his legs, resting his feet against the doorframe.

"Comfortable?" Dean looked over from the pan, his eyebrow raised in amusement.

"Very. Marking my territory."

"Yeah, about that." Dean flipped a burger and looked at Cas. "I put in my notice for this place."

Cas' feet slid down off the wall as he shot up in his seat. "Wait, why? I thought I was moving in here with you?"

"Relax, Cas. I thought about it, and I had a better idea."

"Start speaking before I panic, Dean." Cas' eyes were wide in surprise. "I already told Jimmy and Amelia I was moving."

Dean chuckled. "We're still going to move in together if that's what you want." Dean placed a pair of buns in the toaster before walking over to the fridge and grabbing out toppings. "You move here, Cas, and you've just added 30 to 45 minutes to your daily commute. Between your income and mine? We should be able to find a place downtown and closer to the library."

"Wait, really?" Cas ran his fingers through his hair and looked at Dean with a look that Dean wasn't familiar with. "But you're all set up here, and my schedule won't let me go apartment hunting."

"Maybe not, but mine does." Dean winked before crossing over to grab the buns that just popped up in the toaster. "I can take pictures, text them to you, and we can talk about them. Hell, if you want to look them up on the internet, I'll go wherever you want to send me." Dean placed the burgers on the buns and set a plate on the counter. "Get over here and get your fixings."

"Dean, you didn't have to do that." Cas stood up and entered the kitchen. He started fixing up his burger and continued his train of thought. "I mean, I won't say no, but I was just happy moving in with you. We haven't lived together…"

"Since college. Yeah, I know Cas. And I'm thrilled to be living with you again too. But let's do it on our terms."

Cas exited the kitchen and moved the chair he stole back to the table before sitting down. Dean was behind him, two beers in hand. "Dean, I appreciate it. You thinking of me."

"Yeah." Dean sat down and looked at his food, trying to hide his blush from Cas. "So, how about, if you have no plans tonight besides eating my cooking, we come up with a list of what we want."

With the burgers devoured, and Dean and Cas moving on to their second beers, they set up shop in the living room. Dean grabbed a pen and notebook and started taking notes.

"We're not going to find two bathrooms downtown, Cas. Besides, that's twice the number of bathrooms we need to clean. Unless something's changed in the past seven years, we both literally keep a bottle of shampoo, a bottle of body wash and our shaving stuff each."

"What if we have a guest staying with us?" Cas leaned into Dean and tried to grab the pen out of his hand.

Dean blushed at the touch but quickly pulled the pen out of Cas' grasp. "Look, we can keep an eye out for it. But I'm not marking it as a high priority. Deal?"

"Fine." Cas pouted, before his lips turned into something more mischevious. "Can we at least put a porch or balcony higher on the list then? I was kinda looking forward to having a mini garden on yours."

"You know what, this is a compromise. I'll put it up higher."

Cas elbowed Dean in the side. "See, we can do this whole living thing together thing. It hasn't been that long."

"Well, I mean, if you want to do a month test, Sam's room is open." Dean blurted out before he thought. He almost wished he could take it back. Almost.

"I mean, how much have you changed in seven years?" Cas winked before turning serious. "I missed living with you, you know?"

"You mean living hundreds of miles away from me while getting your doctorate wasn't all that it was cracked up to be?" Dean smiled softly. "At least we stayed in touch."

"Like I wouldn't have kept in contact with you." Cas replied softly, before muttering something else Dean couldn't make out.

Dean playfully returned Cas;' elbow to the waist. "Hey, this is supposed to be a good time right now. You and me, back together again, taking on the world."

"One book at a time?" Cas met Dean's eyes, repeating a mantra from their youth.

"Don't you know it, Cas."

…

As the first week passed, Dean found himself apartment hunting in the day and writing at night. Cas had sent several apartments he was interested in, and Dean found a few that met their criteria as well. Cas had stopped by a couple of times, dropping off some bedding and some clothes for when they did a test run of living together again.

After work that Friday, Cas came back to the apartment. Dean had made dinner again and prepared burgers with sweet potato fries.

"That's going to be the biggest perk of living with you again." Cas commented as he walked into the dining area. "There was nowhere that made a burger as good as yours."

"Trying to butter me up so you can pick what to watch after we eat?"

Cas chuckled. "Do you not watch Jeopardy anymore?"

"I do. But you and your fancy documentaries. Save the bees! Deep Ocean Exploration. Fifty languages and how they evolved over time." Dean laughed as Cas stuck his tongue out at him. "Like I'm wrong."

"You're not. But I would like to see if I can kick your ass at Jeopardy now." Cas had walked up to Dean and, for a brief moment, Dean thought that Cas was going to wrap his arms around him. "We're just going to assume that all my fancy schooling made me smarter."

Dean tried to not let his shoulders fall as Cas stepped away and grabbed a pair of beers out of the fridge, and took them to the table. "Anything special you want for your burger, Cas?"

"To have it in my mouth."

"Yeah, okay." Dean snorted. "Burgers and sweet potato fries, coming up."

The duo ate their dinner and spoke about Cas' day at work, and the apartments Dean had gone to see over the week. Cas had liked two out of the eight apartments Dean had sent him over the week, and he was excited to see what the remaining apartments brought to the table.

After dinner, Dean and Cas plopped on the sofa, Dean still kicking Cas' ass at Jeopardy and Cas politely asking to watch a couple episodes of Parts Unknown on Netflix. About halfway through the second episode, Cas started drifting off. Dean watched with an amused smile on his face until Cas started slumping closer towards him.

Then he panicked.

Dean clearly remembered when he realized he was in love with Cas. It was the day that Cas got his acceptance letter to Boston University for their Master's Program. Dean was so proud of Cas, but for the first time in almost twenty years, he wouldn't be with Cas. Cas would be half a country away working to make his dreams reality.

It took Dean all of his willpower to not tell Cas that he loved him. There were so many reasons not to tell him. Dean never saw any hint of Cas loving him in return. His confession could ruin what they had. And what if Cas did love him too? Dean couldn't follow. He had to stay to make sure Sam got through school. He was going to work at the Garage while working on his novels. It would be too selfish to ask Cas to stay. Not when his future was there for the taking.

So Dean chose to stay quiet. They still texted every day, they got on Skype once a week. Dean and Cas called each other as they needed. And despite the fear of them falling apart, of going their separate ways, they somehow became stronger.

Cas finally drifted off completely, slouched over, his head resting on Dean's shoulder. Dean flushed at the contact, the warmth of the evening's activities fluttering through his chest. He could do this for the rest of his life, or as long Cas let him.

Dean gently brushed Cas' hair back out of his face. A small whimper escaped Cas' lips, and Dean's heart nearly burst. He had to get Cas off of him.

"Cas, buddy?" Dean gently lifted his shoulder to try and stir Cas awake. "Buddy, you fell asleep. Please don't make me move you."

"I love you too, Dean," Cas replied softly as he snuggled up closer to Dean in his mostly unconscious state.

Dean froze. That couldn't have been right. There was no way what he heard from Cas was true. Knowing that he wasn't going to be able to wake Cas up, Dean slowly slid out from under him, cradling Cas gently as he laid him back on the sofa. Dean stepped back from the couch and looked at his best friend below him. The words he had always wanted to hear, but were they even real? Dean went to Cas' room and grabbed his blanket, bringing it back out to cover Cas up with before heading to his own room.

…

The next morning, after getting very little sleep, Dean awoke to the smell of bacon frying. Confused, he stumbled out of bed and to the kitchen, where he found Cas at the stove. "You cook?"

"Morning, Dean." Cas looked over his shoulder and blushed. "Yeah, I learned while in Boston. I didn't have an amazing roommate to feed me, and it was too expensive to eat out every day. So I had to."

"Oh." Dean tried to keep his voice neutral, Cas' sleep-induced words and now this new revelation running through his head. "I always offered to teach you."

"You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone." Cas turned back to the pan and focused on the bacon.

"Cas, did you seriously just quote Cinderella at me?" Dean rubbed his hand over his face, wiping away his sleep stupor, before running it through his hair. "Any other secrets you wanna share about while you were away?"

Cas muttered something without turning around.

"Castiel Novak. Since when do you hide things from me?" Dean tried his best to keep his voice light and jovial. He hoped it negated the surprise that was rampant in his previous statement.

"I could ask the same of you." Cas turned off the heat and removed the last few slices of bacon from the pan. He turned around and looked at Dean. "I'm sorry I fell asleep on you last night. And I'm sorry for mishearing you."

Dean blinked blankly for a few moments. "Mishearing me? I don't understand?"

"You're going to make me do this all over again, aren't you?" Cas grabbed the plate of bacon and gestured to the dining area table for Dean to sit. "Maybe it would be better if I dropped it."

"Cas." Dean closed his eyes and swallowed down his fear as best he could. He reopened them, crossed to the table, and sat next to Cas. "What do you think happened last night?"

Cas looked at the table and grabbed a piece of bacon, shoving it into his mouth.

"Please, Cas. I know what happened. But I want to know what you think happened." Dean hesitantly reached across the table and took Cas' hand into his. "Please?"

"What I know happened is that I fell asleep during the second episode of Parts Unknown. What I think happened is that I drifted to the side and fell asleep on your shoulder."

Dean nodded, then realizing that Cas wasn't looking at him, squeezed his hand. "That did happen."

"I'm sorry."

"Dude, seriously? Wasn't the first time." Dean left the part about hoping it wouldn't be the last time unsaid.

"Then I think when you realized I did, you brushed my hair out of my face and said, 'I love you.' But I know I was dreaming that part."

Dean took a deep breath. "While I didn't say I love you, I did brush your hair out of your face."

"Oh, shit." Cas looked up, his face twisted in embarrassment. "Did I… Did I say what I think I said?"

"Yeah, Cas." Dean's eyes flickered to Cas' lips before flickering back up and looking him in the eyes again. "It was probably the best thing I ever heard." Dean leaned in and softly kissed Cas, a brief, fleeting touch of lips, allowing Cas a way out if he needed it.

But Cas chased after.

"Dean," Cas whispered against Dean's lips. "Am I actually dreaming this time?"

"Jesus, I hope not." Dean pulled Cas onto his lap. "'Cause I'd be dreaming too, and I'm sick of dreaming this. I need this."

Cas' breath hitched. "You've dreamt of this?"

"Yeah."

"Since when?" Cas pulled back in surprise.

It was Dean's turn to look down in embarrassment. "I've been crushing on you forever. But I knew I loved you the day I thought I was going to lose you."

"I don't understand…" Cas tilted his head and squinted.

"Everyone leaves me, Cas. And when you were going to Boston, I thought I was going to lose you too."

"You never said anything." Cas rested his forehead against Dean's. "I wouldn't have left." He wrapped his arms around Dean's neck. "Knowing that I was leaving? It killed me a little more each day. And when I got to Boston, I was lost. I didn't have my best friend, my pillar…" Cas paused. "I didn't have the guy I've loved since high school."

"I couldn't keep you from your dreams, Cas." Dean rested his hands on Cas' waist. "I'd never forgive myself. Now, look at you. You're a fancy book doctor."

Cas let out a chuckle. "That's not how that works, Dean." He pulled his arms back, resting his hands on the sides of Dean's neck. "You let me go. You sacrificed your happiness for me." Cas' thumbs lightly ran along Dean's jaw.

"What's that old cliche saying, 'If you love something, let it go?'" Dean melted into Cas' touch, his tension, his fears sliding away.

"'If it doesn't come back, you never had it. If it comes back, love it forever.'" Cas snuck a quick kiss. "Are you counting on loving me forever, Dean?"

"Absolutely." Dean pushed himself up, holding on tightly to Cas, and made the short trek back to his bedroom.

…

When they finally re-emerged later that afternoon, Dean grabbed the notepad and a pen. He sat on the couch, Cas curling up against him. Dean placed a kiss on his boyfriend's head before making a change to their wants in an apartment.

Two One bedroom.

#profoundnet #spncreatorsdaily #writersofdestiel #spnpetra #spn fic #destiel #au: modern #au: roommates #moving in together #rating: teen #nickel writes

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potteresque-ire · 4 years

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Writing Tag!

Tagged by @bounding-heart ❤️❤️❤️. Sorry for taking forever to reply! I also just realised there’s a “Statistics” page on AO3 to answer the questions. Yes, I’m hopeless 😅.

AO3 name: potteresque_ire

Fandoms: Harry Potter (Drarry), have also dipped my toes in Yuri!On Ice (Victuuri), Good Omens (Ineffable Hubbies).

Tropes: Hmm. I don’t think of fics by tropes -- I don’t search for fics by tropes or start writing with a trope in mind, but I do enjoy many of them and they do pop up in my stories every now and then. Enemies-to-lovers is always good. Yes to pining, hurt/comfort...

Number of fics: Leaving out drabbles and ficlets ... around 25 (I know it’s a small number * bows head in shame *)

Fic I spent the most time on: The fic that felt like I spent the longest on was Twelve Days of Christmas. Its premise, with Draco as someone who might or might not have lost his mind and Harry, who might or might not have got there before Draco, was kinda beyond my skills to execute at the time but I tried anyway 😊. It’s also the only fic I’ve written that I found truly depressing, because it’s got the worst fate I’ve given Harry by far (and I’ve assigned MCD to him several times)(sorry).

Fic I spent the least time on: For time-spent-per-word, The Kitchen Thieves (and the Kitchen Herself).

Longest Fic: Also The Kitchen Thieves (and the Kitchen Herself) (67k).

Shortest Fic: Among those I’ve given fic-level attention -- written with recipient in mind, edited and beta’ed — probably Owlcards and Letters from Beyond the Storm (~3.6k). Its time-per-word ratio was high though, because it was in a mixed media format and much time was spent on the images and fitting the text to them.

Most hits: Evolution, which has never ceased to surprise me. I assumed, at the time of posting, that this fic would be too event-less (opposite of eventful) to attract readership.

Most kudos: Evolution

Most comment threads: Owlcards and Letters from Beyond the Storm (published on LiveJournal; the fic is celebrating its 10th birthday this year.)

Most bookmarks: Evolution

Total word count: 362,612 according to AO3. It counts all the shorts and metas as well.

Favourite fic I wrote: Oh, this is difficult! My feelings towards my work tend to stem from the memories I have of the writing period, from who I was at the time, rather than from how the story turned out or how well it’s been received. Owlcards, for example, is highly significant for personal reasons but given the special circumstances of its birth, I doubt I can create something similar again even if I dearly wish I could.

From a more fannish perspective, I think my answer would be The Kitchen Thieves (and the Kitchen Herself), because I felt it best captured the Harry/Draco dynamics I was aiming for.

Why it was so, I think, is the same reason why this fic hasn’t been attractive to potential readers: its narration came from neither character of the main ship (it’s only after this fic that I learned it’s quite an unpopular thing to do). I’m not good at thinking like a person in love (deep-end aro-ace reporting here 😊) and while I’m getting better at “faking it”, I suspect there’s still a whole plethora of emotions I’m missing. But I’ve trained myself to read the signs of romance for years, taught myself how to approach people, real or fictional, caught in that whirlwind of emotions that leave me confused more often than I’d like to admit. Tumblr fandom is so much about pointing at a pair of characters and saying “they’re in love” (or, ”that’s gay”)... and I don’t really possess that drive, or insight, inherently. (For those who know Good Omens the series, I totally missed Aziraphale’s look after Crowley handed him back the books. That’s how bad I can be at picking up the signs of romance.) I’m therefore used to being a … somewhat removed observer of ships, sympathetic (hopefully) but not necessarily empathetic, and it’s easier for me to write about them that way. TL;DR: Kate the kitchen spirit in The Kitchen Thieves has a bit of me sometimes, staring at Harry’s and Draco’s crazy way of loving and going Whoa???

(Apologies for the TMI! I’ve got a super lovely string reviews on AO3 this week (thank you so much ❤️, V, I treasure all of them) and it got me thinking, it got me to notice that aside from the “you make me cry” comments, I also get a lot of reviews that mention the complexity, the ... heavy-handedness of my writing. I wonder if some of it is compensation. Because I don’t feel the romance of the story as much as many readers probably do, I layer on more emotions because I fear they don’t feel present, that they read inadequate. True? Not true? Something for me to think about. Regardless, I’ll probably keep layering because the emotions are there for myself, as well.)

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: The only fic I’ve ever had a sequel for in my mind is Memoria in Aeterna (yes, @bounding-heart, the bee fic!). The third Wizarding War would’ve broken out, and Draco, who’d long sequestered himself in the Water Quadrant, would’ve found the courage to re-enter society and join Harry for the fight. No happy endings for anyone. I don’t think I’ll write it up though; the climate of fandom has changed so much.

Share a bit of a WIP or a story idea you’re planning on: Here’s a bit from the (very) long Good Omens fic I’m currently struggling with:

===

Dead too, by the end of that snow shower, was any prospect of a future together between an angel and a human. Please forgive me for prying, Robbie would say to Aziraphale one day, while standing in front of the photo in the gentlemen club in Pall Mall. But I can’t be in love with someone I don’t even know the name of. Aziraphale would hold on to the books he’d been gifted, a collection of the Writer’s first edition works, nod and say lightly, I forgive you, before swallowing the words he’d practised saying over and over again in the bookshop.

My name is Aziraphale.

I’m an angel.

He wept that night, and several nights after, but unlike the many times he’d watched Romeo and Juliet, nobody was watching over him in the shadows.

Aziraphale was alone.

Meanwhile, a few districts down from Mayfair, the demon who’d known this all along, that mortals and immortals could never be mates without deceit and heartbreak, was stirring on a beam. The floor of the living room had disappeared under the letters her colleagues had slipped under the door over the years—commendations addressed to A. J. Crowley, DR letters complaining about the humanity of her new name. They’d piled high, and in twenty-four more years, one of them would reach high enough to tickle the demon’s nose.

She’d wake with a sneeze.

===

Tagging everyone who wants to do it!! :)

#pie memes

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badbookreviewclub · 4 years

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Compete Review - Stones to Abbigale, by Onision

Disclaimer: This review will contain spoilers… if you haven’t already watched the seven billion book reviews there are for Stones to Abbigale. I won’t be linking to where you can buy this book because I don’t want to support Greg… James… whatever the fuck he’s going by now. If you look hard enough, you can find it for free online.

Stones to Abbigale is the first book published by Onision. I’m sure we already all know about Onision and how horrible he is, if not I highly recommend going to Youtube and watching The Right Opinion’s videos on him. They’re very enlightening as to the kind of person that Greg is. Anyways, this review isn’t about Onision (kind of), it’s about his book. I couldn’t figure out where the book was published, aside from a small stamp at the very last page just saying it was published via Amazon.

The Summary: There isn’t one. Fuck. The Characters: James - Simp who likes to act like he’s the hero, but also the victim. Definitely Onision’s self-insert.

Abbigale (Abbi) - A very traumatized person who is written very poorly

Jason - The jock who’s there to make James look like the victim but also the hero

Davis - a character who has no impact on the story and could be completely written out. His presence affects nothing.

Ms. Robertson - The school counselor who could never actually be a school counselor Mr. Hanson - The history teacher

The Problems: Aside from a multitude of grammatical errors and some spelling errors, this book is just a mess. The characters are incredibly inconsistent to the point of being unrealistic (e.g. one moment Jason is the bad guy and the next he’s James’s best friend). Actually, in general, none of these characters are realistic. It’s really easy to read this story in Greg’s voice because it all sounds just like him. They speak with the same mannerisms that he does and like they all read a psychology book in fifth grade and now they think that they know everything about people and how they work. It’s annoying and incredibly frustrating, actually.

Another big problem that this book faces is that everything is written in big blocks of text, without regard for needing commas or periods. This makes reading dialogue incredibly difficult and at times can make it really hard to decipher just who is talking. I’m convinced after reading Stones to Abbigale that Onision doesn’t know what the enter bar is. Take this for example, “As we got closer to the gym Abbi was giving me a funny look, as I normally didn’t walk her that far, I said, ‘Don’t worry, I’m not stalking you, we have the same class now.’ She replied, ‘Manipulating your schedule to be with someone sounds like stalking Mr. Patrick.’ I said, ‘Not if you drop Mrs. Stanley.’ She pushed me playfully saying ‘Jealous!’” Let’s split the dialogue up now (and add in proper punctuation.

As we got closer to the gym Abbi was giving me a funny look; I normally didn’t walk her this far. “Don’t worry, I’m not stalking you. We have the same class now,” I said. “Manipulating your schedule to be with someone sounds like stalking Mr. Patrick,” she replied. “Not if you drop Mrs. Stanely,” I said. She pushed me playfully, “Jealous!”

This is a lot easier to read and aside from word choice, it’s not terrible. It could paint a picture a lot easier with better word choice, but this is Onision’s first book so I guess I can cut him a tiny tiny tiny bit of slack on that. Actually, no. This could use better word choice to paint a better picture and make them seem less like cardboard cutouts.

Another problem is the plot itself. The ‘climax’ of the book, if you will, happens almost at the beginning of the book, which is fucking absurd. It makes the rest of the book feel pointless and like it’s dragging on.

The Book:

Chapter 1

We meet our main character, James. Except we don’t know his name is James yet. We do know that he paints his walls, his ceiling, and even his bedframe a startling white however because he “likes to inflict mental torture” on himself. Not sure why he does this, but he does. I think I’ll be the first to say that in any white suburban neighborhood, you could walk into just about most children’s rooms and find white as the standard (at least, that’s how it is in my neighborhood). Why? Fuck if I know. White just looks nice with most furniture, I guess.

Anyways, our main character is late to school and rushes out the doors with a note he scribbled for an excuse as to why he was late. Yay, we finally get James’s name from Mr. Hanson, who couldn’t give less of a shit that James was late. He just wants to talk to him after class. James starts people watching to an almost creepy extent, trying to get into people’s heads and assuming what they were thinking. If you haven’t read any of my other reviews, you should know, I am not overly fond of when someone tries to assume someone else’s thoughts in this way. Where they psychoanalyze them without have a single hint of qualification. It’s annoying in storytelling. That’s not to say I’m not guilty of having a character do that at times, but I’m trying to be more aware of it and to stop writing like that. With how James is written, however, it’s clearly intentionally and gives off r/im14andthisisdeep vibes.

Anyways, James rushes off to art class so he can see Abbi. He has never talked to Abbi a day in his life but spends a lot of his time thinking about her and wanting to be with her and basically, just being a simp. He puts too much value on Abbi without ever having talked to her and having no reason to do it, his world revolves around Abbi and she has never so much as shared a word with him.

But he’s basically staring at Abbi, waiting to say something to her when his hand brushes up against some chewed up gum under the desk and he yells ‘EW’. This doesn’t stop Abbi from wanting to pair up with him however when the teacher gives them an assignment they need partners for. Abbi was originally paired up with Jason, who I guess makes Abbi uncomfortable. That’s understandable that Abbi would want to switch if that was the case, but Onision doesn’t lay it out like that. Instead, it’s laid out that Abbi wants to be paired with James just because.

Abbi has shown no care for James at the beginning of the book and seemingly before this even started she never seemed to care for or about James. Suddenly though, as soon as the story starts, she cares. She wants to, needs to be with and around him. Why? Because the main character always has to get the girl.

Anyways, Abbi gives James a piece of paper with ‘NISEONE’ written on it. Apparently, this is her phone number because, on a number pad (the ones with the letters), it is 647-3663. It doesn’t state this outright, so it took me looking at some other reviews before I figured this out.

We also learn in this chapter that the school is practically falling apart and is dripping with sludge or mold, or something, so I don’t know what kind of school James goes to, but it’s not a good one.

Chapter 2

James goes and talks to Mr. Hanson and it turns out that Mr. Hanson wants James for a TA position. Because ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? I guess James shows a lot of potential, even though he’s late like… all the time. Anyways, the night before Abbi and James decided to make, not a Frankenstein(‘s monster) teddy bear by combining two of their stuffed animals, rather, they’re making a zombie stuffed animal. And it turns out that Abbi wasn’t at class. For what reason? I don’t fucking know. The next day Jason comes to bug the class for some fucking reason because he got kicked out of his own class. There’s absolutely no reason for Jason to be there aside for James to stand up to him because Jason was ‘bullying’ Mr. Hanson. Anyways, Jason gets pissed off because of this and while James is on his way to the art class, Jason beats James up. I’m pretty sure this was only done to make James look like the victim (wonderful :P). James gets suspended for two days because he pushed Jason and Jason is suspended for nine days.

Before he can leave to go home, James sees Abbi and Seth having what I can only assume is a one-sided fight. Seth is yelling and being very aggressive towards Abbi, and Abbi is just taking it. So James walks her home after Seth gets pissed and leaves. I guess it was raining this entire time, so as they’re walking home, Abbi’s makeup runs and James sees the bruises on her face. When Abbi asks if James sees them, he says “I see a beautiful girl, who I very much enjoy walking with in the rain” (pg 31) (by the way I HAD TO NUMBER ALL THESE PAGES MYSELF). Anyways, cheesy romance, it’s clear Greg doesn’t read his lines out loud and I don’t think James does a single thing to try and help Abbi get out of her abusive situation. He just tells her that she’s beautiful. James is also absurdly upset about the suspension at this point. Like, ridiculously upset. Like you love school so much and the thought of not being able to go feels like the end of the world upset (I was that person in school). But… James has shown absolutely no reason for why he is as upset as he is? Like he genuinely is about to cry over this but he has shown absolutely no care about school before, so it’s just confusing.

Chapter 3

James has a dream that Abbi is being eaten by the ground. He wakes up and writes her a kind of creepy letter about how, despite having only had three conversations with her, he loves her and lives to be with her. He emails it to her and a few minutes later Abbi calls him. She wasn’t aware of the email but invites him to meet her at the Quick Shop. She says that she’ll read the email before she meets him there. She never meets him there (shocker). Chapter 4

James finally goes back to school and sees that Abbi isn’t in the art trailer still. But the mishmash stuffed animal bear thing is there. Under it is a note from Abbi asking James to meet her behind the church. Rather than stay for the class or anything like that, James bursts away to go to Abbi’s side.

Abbi tells James that the note weirded her out a little bit, but she was just nervous. She tells him that she has been absurd by Seth and that her mother abandoned her and that her father doesn’t care about her. The only comfort James is able to offer her is that every time he sees her, she’s more beautiful to him than she was before.

Chapter 5

James’ Mom has a boyfriend who comes out of fucking nowhere named Rick.

At school, James has his schedule rearranged so he can be Mr. Hanson’s TA and so he can still have a class with Abbi. Now he has gym with her. We meet Mr. Mack, who I guess is Jason’s uncle. He’s also the only teacher that James bonds with, I guess. Ms. Robertson, while reorganizing James’ schedule gives him an ominous warning that Abbi is no good and that he should stay away from her.

Abbi and James spend the rest of the night on the phone, talking to each other.

Chapter 6

A few days have passed. Rick and James’ mom announce that they want to move in together. James thinks his life is over and that he’ll never get to see Abbi again. Later that night James suggests to his mom that she just let him live in the house by himself with Abbi and she just agrees to it. Supposedly his mom doesn’t even have enough money to get him a shitty cell phone either, so I guess Rick must be fucking loaded.

Chapter 7

It’s the infamous school shooting. After figuring out that the school is being shot up by Seth, the bus driver does as any rational human being would do and drives away to get everyone to safety. Then he does something that nobody would do and lets James off the bus after James threatens to jump off (despite there being no way that he could?). James rollerblades to the school through the blur of his tears and bursts in. He sits in the puddle of blood in front of the school to get his rollerblades off before rushing in through his tears to find Abbi. He finds Seth first, but rather than being the one to save the day, it’s Jason who saves the day and beats the shit out of Seth. James finds Abbi after this and the two of them sit together while the paramedic patches up James’ feet because he ran through glass while looking for Abbi. Chapter 8

They’re back at school and a spokesman for the president gives a speech. They see Mr. Mack on a projector and he tells them in gruesome detail about how he tried to take down Seth and how Seth shot him. Definitely what a bunch of traumatized teenagers needed to hear and see. Chapter 9 James and Abbi go to her house, where Abbi’s father drunkenly stumbles out and starts threatening Abbi. A policeman who James claims probably sees too much of this on a daily basis stands to the side (because he just so happened to be nearby with is K-9 partner) and waits for something to happen. Something happens with Abbi’s father smashes James over the head with a beer bottle. The K-9 rushes forward and latches on to him and James claims that the officer is sadistic and likes to see people suffer. He then claims not even two paragraphs later that the cop is numb to what’s going on. Which is it? Is he sadistic or is he a dead-beat cop who sees too much of this shit?

Abbi’s father is arrested and James decides to press charges. This is how Abbi ends up staying with James.

Chapter 10

The president shows up and nothing comes of it. He promised that he would answer everyone’s questions and talk to everyone. He only talks to two people, James and another kid, named Chris. Chris just asked why the president was such a D-Bag and the president just says “that’s President D-Bag to you.” James asked what the president thought of what people said about him and the president goes on this long diatribe about freedom of speech.

Chapter 11

Abbi wants to talk to James but insists that they do it in the shower. For some reason, James agrees to this and Abbi comes out of the shower to show all of her self-harm scars. Once again, James does nothing than tell her she’s beautiful and that’s about it. They almost fuck after this, but don’t because James’s mom is home.

Chapter 12

James and Abbi stay home to help his mom pack. Later they go to the park to stargaze and affirm to each other that they want kids.

Chapter 13

Abbi leaves James a big long note for him to read in class about how she was raped by some boys. Mrs. Roberston helped to get those boys in jail, but after finding out that Abbi was pregnant, she insisted that Abbi keep the baby because she is very pro-life. Seth found out about the baby and punched Abbi in the stomach until she miscarried. James’ response to the note is to go straight to Abbi’s classroom and make out with her in front of everyone and on the desk. He goes back to history class and Mr. Hanson basically high-five’s him for doing this, despite the fact that he walked out in the middle of class to do it.

Chapter 14

It’s Christmas break. They fuck.

Chapter 15

James beats the shit out of Jason because Jason was groping Abbi. For some reason, when the principle comes out to confront everyone about this, Jason doesn’t rat on James.

Chapter 16

While driving somewhere with James and Abbi, Davis rushes out of the car into the middle of the freeway because he sees a man hanging from a rope from an overpass. Davis is killed. This is the only purpose that Davis serves in the entire story. It’s to die so James can be the victim once more because apparently if he was never born so he could never be in Davis’ life then this would have never happened. Survivor’s guilt is a thing, don’t get me wrong. But what Onision is using here isn’t survivor’s guilt. It’s James twisting the situation so he’s the victim still.

Chapter 17

Davis’s funeral. Nothing happens besides James playing the victim some more.

Chapter 18

Mr. Hanson and Mrs. Roberston confront James and they want him to become Class President. James doesn’t want to but it doesn’t seem like they’ll take no for an answer. A little while later Abbi, while walking with James, is pulled into the front office for some questioning by police. Mrs. Roberston shouts in front of everyone that Abbi was responsible for the school shooting. Because… you know… that’s a reasonable thing to do…

Abbi confronts James later that night and tells him that she wrote in a note to Seth, when she was in a really bad place, that she just wished everyone would disappear (not unreasonable and something I’ve done before). James, being the little bitchy drama-queen that he is, storms off to take a dramatic shower. While sitting in the shower though he realizes that Abbi did nothing wrong and comes back. Abbi immediately accepts him again and isn’t upset that he suddenly stormed off after she told him something rather hard for her to do. They make out (and probably fuck).

Chapter 19

Abbi gets a bucket of paint thrown on her while she’s coming into the school and James punches the kid who did it. The principle shows up and both intimidates and threatens the kid who threw the bucket of paint. He also calls Mrs. Roberston into his office after James tells him that she told everyone that Abbi was responsible for the shooting.

Chapter 20

Mrs. Roberstson was fired and burned down the entire school in retaliation. All the students get passing grades for the rest of the year (which is about 6 months of school left by the way). James ends off the book by saying “Well, I guess this means I won’t be running for President.”

The book drags and has a lot of pointless info in it. At one point it genuinely made me feel sick how he was using Abbi’s trauma throughout the book to write a very, very poorly conceived hero fantasy. All the characters are unrealistic and nobody means anything to the story other than Abbi and James. I’m just glad it was a fast read. There are huge info dumps in the beginning, but as you can see, the rest of the chapters can be summed up in less than a fucking paragraph. The climax of the book comes way too early (the school shooting) and in general, it’s just a poorly written plot. It feels like a first draft that should have been taken back to the drawing board to be reworked until the shooting could become the ultimate climax of the book. It was rushed, and because it was rushed, the rest of the book dragged on. 1/10 stars. I didn’t hate it as much as I’ve hated other books, but it wasn’t good by any stretch of the imagination.

#bad book #bad book reviews #stones to abbigale #onision #i'm numb #previous book reviews have numbed me to this pain #review #reviewblr #bookblr #complete review

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chubbydino · 4 years

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Hi! I finally gathered the courage to read concatenation (normally I don’t really read fics with unhappy endings) and I LOVED IT. I mean, it tore my heart out, threw it on the ground and stepped on it, but still. It made me feel so much, which is not something that a lot of stories are able to do. Just a question, I remember reading somewhere that you would maybe write a fix-it but I can’t find it anywhere, so was it just an idea or something you plan to do? Thanks!

hello! there was talk about a fix-it for it a few years ago, and i did start one, but i’ve since deleted it after only writing a few paragraphs. i couldn’t write a fix-it that did any justice to the story.

i did write an epilogue, tony’s letter, that you probably already read if you just read the series, just to kind of tie up tony’s thoughts on everything for people who wanted that. it was part of marvel trumps hate for 2016 i believe.

but yeah, no fix-it fi planned or published. i’m so happy you read the series though, and that it was worth it for you to have waited so long to read. :) it always makes me smile when i see someone new has left a comment or kudos or something. <3

i did find a little section of a fic i never published while i was looking for the epilogue i had started, so though it’s not a fix-it, it isn’t angsty (at least, not to me lol)! just some stony pining sass and quips.

below the cut!

Grey streaks of sunlight filtered through the missile-proof glass of the of an empty bedroom in the Avengers compound. Despite being unoccupied, the room was meticulously clean—the most unkempt part about it being the memory foam mattress on the floor, still wrapped in plastic. A low crackle of thunder echoed against the barren, muted-grey walls, and as the winds changed, the patter of rain against the glass could be heard from the doorway as Steve stood there, surveying.

The compound was much smaller than it appeared upon first glance. The living area was one of the biggest rooms, excluding the training facility that wasn’t attached to the compound itself. Steve was starting to see it as home, but it would take time. New faces were appearing faster than he could remember names, and he had a bit of trouble with that. So many of them were just kids. So many of them would be barely functioning human beings without powers, but here? It was impossible to expect them to meld perfectly. But they tried. Tony and Bruce spent hours designing things to be comfortable and accepting.

Steve just never anticipated himself being the one to feel out of place here. It wasn’t like it was that big of a surprise, but he’d just been so comfortable living at the SHIELD compound, then in the Tower. Upstate New York was a big jump from that.

“Captain,” Friday said, her voice coming in crystal clear as though she was standing right beside him. “Mr. Stark is able to see you now. Please make your way to the conference room, Sector Alpha.”

Despite being small on the first two floors, the compound had an extensive underground network that was large enough to warrant its own zip code.

“Thank you,” Steve said, glancing around the empty room once more. It would be filled within the month, he was sure. It was either a new superhuman, or a visiting one. The guest manifest was something of a joke nowadays.

Steve made his way down the hallways, eyes running over the photos hung on the walls. Various teammates with their arms slung around each other, laughing. Triumphant newspaper articles showing zero casualties and major victories. Graduations, awards—all kinds of things that made the compound feel more like a college campus than a house.

But the further along he went from the living quarters, the sleeker and more professional things became. Steve was more comfortable here, surrounded by expansive glass windows and minimalist metalwork. No photos, no art on the walls. Everything became sterile and transparent.

The windows to the conference room had already been tinted, effectively sealing the room from wandering eyes. Not that Steve had seen a soul since arriving, but it was barely five in the morning, so everyone was either asleep or training already.

The doors opened for him as he entered the conference room. An enormous oak table took up most of it, and several windows were actually seamless TV screens to watch something upwards of fifty channels at a time.

Tony sat with his back facing the main screens, sprawled in his chair, turning back and forth, back and forth. He fiddled at a tablet screen, two fingers curled at his mouth. He was working, but it was busywork. Steve knew the difference between a Tony in crisis and a Tony trying to distract himself. Either way, he didn’t acknowledge Steve’s arrival.

Steve took it all in stride, and rounded the table to take a seat beside Tony. He scooted back a bit, putting a healthy amount of space between them.

The sound of the rain didn’t reach them here. Natural light didn’t even reach them here. Everything was artificial and cold. A war room.

Steve leaned back in his chair, propping his head up with one hand. Silence ticked by, broken only by the quiet taps of Tony’s fingers on the glass of his tablet.

“You’re late,” Tony finally muttered, not looking up.

“Yeah,” Steve said, lifting his head from his hand in a casual motion. “I was looking around.”

Tony let out a snort. “I ought to clear out your room and give it to someone else, with how often you show up.”

“I’ve been busy,” Steve said quietly.

“Busy,” Tony repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Busy,” Tony said again.

With a final tap to his tablet, Tony tossed the piece of glass like a discarded magazine. It skittered across the table and settled a few inches from Steve. Steve glanced at it, expecting to see some sort of article or video, but it was blank.

“I wasn’t aware—“

“You can’t just leave me like that,” Tony growled. “In charge. You can’t just do that without warning me first.”

“Remind me to tell the mass murderers of the world to give me a heads up before they start killing people,” Steve replied easily, unfazed.

“That’s bullshit,” Tony shot back. Steve couldn’t see true anger in his eyes yet, though. “You’ve been stateside for three weeks. You can’t possibly think I didn’t know you’ve been stateside for three weeks—did you think I didn’t know?”

Steve blinked once. “I didn’t think you cared.”

Tony scowled at him, leaning forward in his chair. “What were you doing on your little vacation?”

Steve shrugged. “I had to clean my place out in Brooklyn. My lease was up a month ago and they held everything out of courtesy. I had to arrange to get it all shipped here.”

“Your storage unit,” Tony said tartly.

Steve frowned. “It arrived, didn’t it?”

“Of course it arrived. It arrived weeks ago.”

A shrug was all he could really muster in response. “Then I helped with cleanup for that Queens disaster—which I’m sure you saw on the news. After that I visited Bucky in Brooklyn for a few days, saw Sam on his leave weekend and helped out at the VA.”

Tony worked his jaw, and Steve cocked a brow at the flicker of anger he saw in his eyes now.

“You’re a real class act, Rogers,” Tony finally forced out. He stood abruptly, and Steve reflexively stood too.

“Hey, what’s going on? I didn’t warn you, I get it. I’m sorry. But I don’t always get a warning, Tony.”

He didn’t realize he’d reached out until Tony shrugged him off.

“Don’t,” Tony hissed. “Don’t start with that shit.”

Now Steve was genuinely confused. “Okay. Let’s—we can talk about this. Let’s talk about this. That’s what we’re here for, right?”

That response only served to piss Tony off all the more. “Oh please. Enough with that feelings crap, Steve. I’m done with all of that—I’ve been done since you—“

Steve hand came to rest on Tony’s cheek, effectively silencing whatever he’d been about to say. A warm understanding came to Steve’s eyes, and he moved closer, enough to feel Tony’s breath on his collarbone.

“You think I wasn’t thinking about you,” Steve said.

Tony jerked back, but Steve followed him, keeping close.

“Shut up,” Tony cut. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Sure. You’re just here to chastise me about my leadership.”

Tony slapped his hand away. Hard. Hard enough that Steve had to blink a few times to process, and that was enough time for Tony to snatch up his tablet and start toward the door.

“Welcome back, Cap. I’m getting some coffee, then you’re going to meet Vision, Natasha and I to bring you up to speed.”

He stormed toward the closer exit, and Steve thought momentarily to let him leave.

Of course, Steve Rogers never let anyone get the last word.

He jumped forward, cutting Tony off at the door and yanking him into a kiss.

He tasted like bourbon. Just a faint taste, like he’d sipped on some hours ago and hadn’t eaten anything since. Tony certainly hadn’t slept--judging by the bags under his eyes--so Steve knew better than to assume he’d fallen asleep with that taste in his mouth.

“You didn’t say anything,” Tony hissed when they broke apart. He gave Steve a frustrated shove.

“You said no favoritism.”

“Fuck you,” Tony spat. “That doesn’t mean you don’t show me some fucking decency.”

“Let me get coffee with you,” Steve murmured, hands settling at Tony’s waist.

Tony was quick to remove them. “No.”

“Tony,” he began, “Tones. Let me get you coffee.”

Tony just scowled at him. “I don’t know what I expected from you, if I’m being honest. I genuinely don’t. I don’t know what I expected. But I definitely didn’t expect you to treat me like a dick.”

A little flare of anger nibbled at Steve’s gut. “You laid the groundwork very clearly. You specifically told me you wanted no special treatment. You specifically told me you wanted this to be a working relationship. Professional—that was the word you used.”

“Because that’s what I want,” Tony cut. “But that doesn’t mean you ignore me!”

“I didn’t ignore you—“

“You didn’t so much as text me when you came back. I got a mission report five days later after two weeks of nothing.”

“If you were worried about me, you’re allowed to say it. Nobody’s here.”

“Fuck you.”

Tony tried to leave again, but Steve hooked him around the middle with one arm, blocking his path.

“We talk here or we talk over coffee,” Steve said evenly. “Those are the options. I don’t care which.”

“You don’t get to make those decisions. I’m heading the compound right now.” Tony chopped his arm with an elbow, and Steve relented. He slid away, and Tony shot him a glare. “I’ll see you when we meet with Nat and Vision. You know, our teammates? Red guy, weird looking? Girl, red hair? Short? Likes leather and spandex?”

“Tony—“

He didn’t get another word out before the door was closing and Tony was walking briskly toward the in-house coffee shop.

Steve watched him go, unsure of the sudden strain in his chest. What he and Tony did behind closed doors was nobody’s business, but apparently that special treatment he’d been so adamant about not receiving was something he’d actually wanted all along. This was something Bucky would laugh at him for, had Steve dared to break his promise not to tell. But he was pretty sure Bucky already knew anyway. The whole team knew, at least in some fashion.

With a heavy sigh, Steve stepped out and headed in the opposite direction, chewing the last of the bourbon taste from his bottom lip.

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

“There really isn’t much to report,” Natasha said, thumbing through digital pages of activity logs. “A few issues with telepathic powers, but Wanda and Vision handled that area. Combat training schedules are consistent, as is improvement.”

“T’Challa visited for several days and imparted some wisdom in a sort of ‘master class,’ if you will,” Vision added. “We saw a slight spike in improvement with several female students after his visit.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, but Vision continued, oblivious to his innuendo.

“All in all, very few issues to report that concern you, Captain Rogers. A few technical malfunctions with our security system, an attempted trespass by a belligerent ‘fan’ of ours, and two incidents of misconduct—all of which were handled appropriately.”

Tony was staring at him through a stylish pair of glasses, but Steve ignored him. “Sounds like everything went smoothly.”

Natasha leaned back, only briefly glancing between him and Tony. “So, you’re back to stay with us for a little while?”

“For now, yes,” Steve said with a nod. “I figure I ought to help out since I left so abruptly.”

Tony let out an indignant snort.

“Really, we need to get our advanced hand-to-hand classes back on track,” Natasha said. “I’ve been able to handle it, but I can only teach so many classes before fatigue sets in. If I’m called on mission, I don’t want to be worn down.”

“I don’t need the explanation,” Steve chuckled. “I’ll handle those, and I’ll start back in with the combat strategy too, if that’s okay.”

“You’re the best one for it,” Natasha replied with a shrug. She stood, gently tapping Vision on the shoulder. “Well, we’ll leave the two masterminds to discuss. As far as I’m concerned, this meeting is over.”

“Thank you for the update,” Steve said with a dip of his head. “I appreciate it.”

Natasha grabbed her bag and left, nearly closing the door in Vision’s face, but he passed right through it amyway. There was light music playing in the background, coming from the wet bar over in the far corner. Steve thought to ask if Tony wanted a drink, but he knew better.

“I wanted to apologize,” Steve said after an unsteady silence had lengthened between them.

Tony said nothing. He turned his face away, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“I should have contacted you. The reason I didn’t was because I didn’t know where we stood. Last time we talked, you made it very clear that you didn’t want any special treatment—hell, that you didn’t even want me to talk to you outside of ‘business hours.’ So how was I supposed to guess that you wanted me to text you?”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, but still wouldn’t look at him.

Steve had to fight every urge to keep pressing, but he held his tongue and leaned back instead, at a loss. Their relationship was complicated at best, and moments like theses made it even worse for them.

“Pick one word and tell me how you would describe what I mean to you,” Tony said, eyes still closed. “I want you to pick one word.”

Steve frowned, but began to rake his brain for the proper word. Surprisingly enough, a blank nothing came to mind. He could think of no word to describe Tony Stark. None that would accurately fit. Friend, confidant, partner. He trusted Tony more than anyone on Earth. More than Bucky at this point. Bucky was still too unpredictable in some instances.

“Everything,” Steve said decidedly.

Tony finally looked up at him, momentarily shocked. It quickly faded to anger, though.

“Well. Some way to show it,” he snorted.

“What do I mean to you?” Steve pressed, unaffected by Tony’s quip.

Tony’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he’d just discovered he’d been tricked

“Well?”

For a moment Steve thought that Tony wouldn’t respond. Instead, Tony let out a sigh. “I think we need to discuss what happens when one of us goes off on mission.”

Steve’s lips pursed, not allowing himself to show the hurt sucking a hole in his chest. That was how it went with Tony Stark. One minute he was snapping about being too public, the next he was chastising Steve for not showing him enough affection.

If he hadn’t been to infuriatingly handsome, Steve might’ve had a chance.

#steve/tony #stony #stony ficlet #tony stark #steve rogers

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shreddedparchment · 5 years

Text

Man and Wife Pt.05

The Two Lives

04/14/2019

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Word Count: 11,536

*Masterpost in Notes Warnings: angst, smut, language, jealousy, love triangles

A/N: I’m not going to make this long. I hope you enjoy this one. Things kinda blow up. Also, this story is becoming much longer than I anticipated. Damn. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

“You want some help?” Henry sidles up beside you, staring down at the box of manuscripts. There has to be at least thirty to forty stories, all of them riding on the hope that you might like one of them and then the process will commence.

Only one of the authors in this box will be picked for next year’s Spring publishing cycle and though normally this weight would be heavy on your shoulders, a different sort of worry weighs you down.

In this moment, standing in the small two-story office in town in front of your very plain wooden desk, the only thing you can think about is whether Bucky has gone back to the apartment yet.

Had he shown up and seen you gone? Would he have waited for you? Is he still waiting if he’d decided to? It’s a Saturday but you’d come in knowing that Henry would be here. He’s always here, working too hard.

You’d asked him once if he didn’t have a girlfriend or wife at home angry at him for coming into work on a day he could be spending with her, but he’d assured you that he was very single.

Although you and Henry have been coworkers—technically he's your boss—for a long time, the two of you have always avoided conversations about each other's love lives. For good reason.

However, today…today, you can't seem to control your mouth.

“If you were married…would you be here? At work?” You wonder, staring at the loaded box with dazed eyes.

“Me?” Henry reaches up and scratches the coarse hair on his scruffy chin. He shoves his left hand into the pocket of his gray slacks, the sleeves of his white button up rolled up around his muscular forearms, the dark blue vest stretched taut with very little wiggle room along his sculpted body. “Well, first off, it would take an amazing woman to get me to walk down the aisle.”

He lets that sit in the air between you. You’re not sure why, as out of it as you are. When you don’t respond to the comment, he turns around to semi-sit and lean against the edge of your desk. He reaches out towards you and wraps his hand around your wrist to get your attention.

“Y/N? Did something happen at home?” Of course, Henry knows all about Bucky. The fact that you have a husband is no secret.

Your phone flashes—almost as if on cue—with a new text alert and the picture of you kissing Bucky’s cheek is nice and visible for a second across the shattered glass.

Proof of your marriage is not only on your phone’s lock screen, but there’s a framed picture of you and Bucky at your wedding on your desk, and you’d also sent in a change of name email to Sana—who by herself represents the entirety of the HR department—so that everyone would know to call you Mrs. Barnes if they were going to refer to you by name. Your desk plaque was changed too and the Y/N Barnes, etched in steel, glints up at you as the sun from the open window hits it.

Of course, calling you Mrs. Barnes doesn't apply to Henry. He’s your boss. He can call you whatever he wants, within reason.

You look at him, away from the box and force a small smile. It's tight, disingenuous, and it makes the worried pucker between Henry's eyes more pronounced.

“When you get married, don’t leave your wife alone often. It’s important to make her feel like she matters.” You nod, agreeing with yourself.

“Did Bucky leave again?” Henry asks.

You give him a real smile this time, and shake your head. “I don’t know. He usually wakes me up when he has to go for a few days. I think he just went to work out with Steve. He wouldn’t leave on mission without telling me.”

Of this you are certain.

You reach for the box’s lid, pulling your arm out of Henry’s gentle grip and slide it onto the box.

You look up at Henry and see his eyes flit to your left hand. Your smile vanishes and with a small ache in your chest you pull that left hand up towards your chest where you place it and then cover it with your right hand.

“He still hasn’t bought your wedding bands?” Henry wonders.

“He’s been so busy.” The wedding had been so hastily planned that wedding rings, which should have been your first priority when planning, had slipped your mind.

You should have just gone out and bought the rings yourself but you've been wanting to go with Bucky to choose them.

“Too busy to go out and get your rings?”

“Henry, he was gone for a week. He just got back and-”

“And he’s already left you alone to go work out with his friends? People he just spent seven days with?”

Henry criticizing Bucky is pissing you off. You know that he’s right because you’ve been telling yourself these exact things since you and Bucky had that first discussion about calling when he got home so you wouldn’t worry.

“They’re more than just friends, Henry. They’re like brothers.” You protest, defending Bucky fiercely.

Silence fills the large space, but Henry doesn’t stop staring at you.

“No.” He says.

You’re so confused by the word that you look up to find his dark eyes. “What?”

“If I were married…No. I wouldn’t be here. I’d be taking my wife to the beach since this is probably the last we’ll see of some good warm sun. Cold front’s supposed to roll in the next couple days.”

Oh, that’s what he’s talking about. You'd already forgotten you asked him that. You shouldn't have asked him that question.

“The beach sounds nice.” You reply, suddenly distracted.

You smile, picturing Bucky and yourself having a picnic on the beach, the loud soothing roar of the ever crashing waves lulling you into a nap as you sit with your head on Bucky's stomach. He’s stroking your hair and you’re in heaven. He’s laying back, his metal hand under his head as he stares up at the sky and you stare out towards the ocean.

Your smile slowly shifts into a sad frown because while the daydream is nice, it fades and you’re pulled back to reality.

“So…let’s go? Right now.” Henry offers and he sounds serious, almost wistful.

You look up at him and can see the hope in his eyes.

So much has changed for you in so little time. As he searches your eyes, his brow still puckered and his gaze intense, you flash back to the day after your wedding when you’d come back to work.

~~~~~~~~~~

You'd left work a single woman. Having chosen to take two weeks paid time off for a long overdue staycation. When you returned, you were Mrs. Y/N Barnes.

The first thing you do when you sit down at your desk is power on your computer, sign in to your work email, and quickly shoot Sana a letter explaining how you are now a married woman and will be going by Y/N Barnes from now on.

As expected, because Sana tells Kim everything and Kim tells everyone everything, the word of your marriage spreads quickly.

Happy flutters fill your tummy all day as you receive well wishes and congratulations from your coworkers. Almost all of them seem genuinely happy for you.

Only Lyla, a fellow editor, seems almost smug and sarcastic in her congratulations. She walks up to your desk and drops a large marked up manuscript so that it falls with a loud heavy thud.

You jump, wrapped up in your own work, and when she speaks she speaks loudly. Everyone in the large room will be able to hear her.

How does she do that? How does she speak loud enough for everyone to hear but not make it a shout? Weirdo.

Maybe it's only weird because you can be so soft spoken? You should learn to project.

“So, I hear you got married? Congratulations, Y/N. I’m surprised you found someone who-" Suddenly Lyla stops in the middle of her insult as she spots the photo on your desk.

A beautiful silver frame, a picture of you and Bucky looking at the camera within. Bucky looks dapper in his black formal wear, his hair pulled back into a loose bun but carefully styled. His blue eyes are so bright that they aren’t steel blue but aquamarine, small flecks of green towards the center. Made more prominent thanks to the flash of the camera. His full beard, excited pearly white smile, and nervously flushed cheeks complete the breathtaking beauty that is James Buchanan Barnes.

You aren’t so bad either in your white, shiny satin dress, the lace on the bodice handmade according to Tony. However, Lyla doesn’t have eyes for you. She's looking at the handsome man beside you.

She grabs the frame and holds it closer to get a better look. She's going to smudge it!

“This is him? This is your husband?” You can see the disbelief in her eyes as she can’t fathom how anyone who looks like Bucky could want you.

You reach out and take the frame back, yanking it rudely out of her hands. You don’t care for the judgment and sheer shock on her face.

Bucky loves you! Although, you’re still kind of confused as to why.

“Yes.” You snap.

“How? Isn't he an Avenger? I’ve seen him before. On the news.”

“Can I help you with anything, Lyla? I really need to get back to work.”

Lyla opens her mouth to retort but just as she places her perfectly manicured left hand on your desk and leans in close enough to spit vile venom at you, Henry moves into his doorway. A large imposing figure with a scowl that contorts his usually bright expression.

“Y/N? In my office.”

You turn your chair, swiveling to look at Henry while Lyla shoots up, standing straight and at attention. She fiddles with her dark hair nervously and adjusts her pants.

“Lyla, don't you have work to do?” He's curt and hard with his words, focusing most of his scowl on Lyla but at the last second, as he turns to disappear back into his office, he turns it on you.

“Y-Yes, Henry. Sorry.” Lyla sputters, her disappointment is clear in the careful downturn of her lips.

You’re not sure what look she gives you as she turns to head back to her desk because you’re staring at the now empty doorway to Henry's office.

Had you fucked up already? You just got back. You hadn’t done much work yet. What could you have possibly ruined that he's mad at you? Damn. So much for a good first day back.

Afraid you’ve ruined something for a client you get to your feet.

With a shaking hand you carefully put the picture of you and Bucky back in its spot. You run your finger along the curve of his jaw as you sigh, terrified of a reprimand, and silently plead with him for courage.

You grab your little brown leather book, a journal where you keep notes during meetings, and proceed into Henry's office holding the journal against the black fabric of your pencil skirt on your lap.

Henry's office is sparsely decorated. There’s a large ficus by the window where the sun streams in, a picture frame of his favorite book, American Gods on the wall behind his desk, and two large red leather arm chairs in front of his modern maple wood desk provide one of the only splashes of color in the office.

Aside from those small touches, there's a computer on his desk. The wall beside his window is covered in filing cabinets, and there's a set of weights and a weight bench behind you.

You swallow hard, watching as Henry keeps his back to you, both hands in his pockets. He stares at the framed poster.

“Shut the door, please.”

Shit. You definitely fucked something up.

You do as he says.

“Have a seat.”

You do, choosing the red chair on the right as you worry your lower lip. You don’t dare look away from Henry. There’s a slump of disappointment in his shoulders and as he moves around his desk, his eyes dart to your hands. You’re still clutching your journal to your lap but now sitting, you realize how nervous it makes you look to hold it so tightly.

Trying to relax, you release a breath you weren't aware you’d been holding.

“You’re not in trouble.” Henry assures you and you wonder how he knows that's what you’re thinking.

He stops at the exact center of his desk then seems to change his mind about something. He turns towards the other red chair to your left and angles it to face you. He sits on the edge, then reaches out and takes hold of the arms of your own chair and turns it until you’re facing him too.

It surprises you but you keep your mouth shut and observe.

Henry is leaning forward, his shoulders still hunched so that he's right at eye level. He's still scowling but there's something else to his expression. Something like sadness.

There’s a question in his eyes but you can’t read what it is. In your alert curiosity, you sit up straighter.

“If I’m not in trouble then why the intrigue?” Four years of working with Henry come crashing down. Four years of late nights. Four years of laughter and long conversations about books and movies and anything and everything.

You smile, still nervous but relaxed.

“You’re kinda scaring me.”

“Is it true?” He asks, his hands still resting on the top edge of your seat's arms.

“What?” You ask, your smile vanishing in your befuddlement.

His eyes flit to your left hand on your lap then back up to your eyes and the same moment he speaks, you understand what he's asking.

“Are you really married? Did-did you get married while you were on vacation?”

He's breathless and your heart is hammering in your chest. Your mind isn’t sure why but your body is already panicking, clammy hands, shortness of breath, and a turmoil of tumbles in your stomach.

“Um…yeah.” You say, unsure.

Henry's hands grip the arms of your seat more tightly as he drops his head and looks down at his feet.

“Sorry I didn’t invite you. It was all short notice.” You laugh once. “It all happened so quickly I-"

“No.” He groans.

“Henry?”

“No. No. This-this can’t be happening. You weren’t even dating anyone before you left!” He looks back at you and you’re startled by the intensity of his eyes. You know that look because over the last two weeks, you’ve seen Bucky give you that look.

Fuck. You weren’t expecting this. Not after four years. Why now? Four years! Shit, Henry!

“You can’t be married yet, Y/N. I haven't even had a chance to-to tell you yet.” His voice is strained, pained, but there are no tears in his voice. It's more of a lamentation than a sobbing.

It still hurts to hear. Henry's your friend. Why does he choose to do this now when he had so much time before?

You don’t ask what he wants to tell you. You know very well what he's referring to so you turn your eyes down to his knees to hopefully deter what's coming.

“Y/N?” He's leaning down more, trying to catch your eyes to read you, to see you.

“Henry, please don’t do this.”

“I love you. I-I have for a long time. You can’t be married before I’ve even had the chance to try.”

You look up to meet his gaze, feeling upset now that he's said the words. Those words. Those three stupid words that mean everything when Bucky says them and now mean pain when Henry does.

There’s a small hint of pining in your chest as you consider Henry's confession.

Once upon a time, during your second year working here, Henry had caught your eye. You'd been like all the other girls in the office. Completely smitten by the six foot-one tall man, his dark skin supple against his tight muscles, his laugh easy and free.

In some ways, if you think about it, Bucky reminds you of Henry. Bucky's more serious but when it's just the two of you, he's like Henry. He makes you laugh and he's free with his smiles.

His beautiful smiles, only meant for you.

At the time, when Henry had been all you wanted, he'd been dating a beautiful model.

A literal model. He'd met her at a photoshoot for one of the raunchy romance books the company had published. What chance had you had against a perfect body and an endearingly demanding personality?

When she'd cheated on him and they'd broken up, you comforted him, as any good friend would. Secretly hoping that maybe now that he was single he might see you.

He never did. Or if what he says now is true and he has loved you for a long time, he let you torture yourself. He said nothing then so he shouldn’t get to do this.

No. He doesn’t get to do this to you now that you’re happy.

“Henry, I don’t want to hear that right now.” You assure him. “Why would you do this right now?”

“Y/N…?”

“No, Henry.”

“Please?” He reaches out and places his hand over yours.

“No!” You reply loudly, yanking your hand away from him and getting to your feet. “How dare you do this to me now.”

You drop your voice so that the gossips that linger by doors to listen can’t hear you.

“After all this time? Years! I have known you for years and not once have you even indicated that you wanted to see me outside of work.

“Bucky knew me for only two hours and he asked me to marry him." Okay, that sounded more romantic in your head. “You’ve known me for four years and you have said nothing!”

Henry stands, hands clenched into tight fists.

“What did you just say? Two hours?! You married someone who asked you to marry him after two hours?!”

“Yes!” You turn your chin up defiantly because although your voice is full of strength and passion, it’s still on the softer side. You don’t raise your voice often if ever. “Bucky is my husband now. And I’m happy. I’m so fucking happy and I will not let you ruin it for me. I love him-"

“Love him? How can you love him? You barely know him!”

“Keep your voice down.” You growl quietly, looking towards the door.

“You know me and I know you. I know how we work, Y/N. Us. We'd be great together! I know everything about you. Does Bucky know about how you say you don't have a favorite ice cream flavor but you always seem to go back to vanilla?”

You turn away from him, reaching up to press your hand to your mouth as you try to contain the sorrow and anger all at once.

“Stop.” You whisper. You had yearned for this man. You'd imagined what it would be like to kiss him, to have him hold you, to have him get down on one knee and ask you to marry him. It hurts.

“Does he know how you like your coffee? Your favorite pizza toppings? How old you were when you lost your parents and your grandpa?”

You shake your head, your anger growing. “Stop, Henry.”

“What about when you lost your virginity? Does he know you held out for so long?”

Fuck! “That's enough, Henry. Stop it!”

You turn to look at him, fuming because the ache in your chest has no right to be there. You'd given up this hope. The stern quality of your voice prompts Henry to listen and he stops talking, his mouth open as he breathes hard with emotion.

“You don’t get to do this to me. You don’t get to throw our friendship in my face and use it as justification for you thinking I shouldn’t have married Bucky. I love him.”

Henry begins to open his mouth to argue.

“I said, I love him, Henry. And nothing you say is going to change that. I…”

You see the sorrow in his eyes and guilt begins to gnaw at your chest.

“I'm sorry that this hurts you but you never said anything. If you really loved me, anywhere close to how I love Bucky then you would not have been able to stand being quiet.”

“I was waiting for the right time.” Henry explains, sadly.

“And when would that be? After I got back from vacation? Six months after that? Next summer? Fall? Winter? I waited for two years. You never said or did anything. How long was I supposed to wait for you to finally notice me? I liked you so much but I knew that you could never-”

Henry's eyes flash with hope. “You like me?”

“Liked. Two years ago after you and Iko broke up. Past tense, Henry. I liked you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He takes a step towards you and you take a step back, on the defensive.

“Why didn't you?! Why am I the one that has to put myself out there to be broken and trampled on? Why do I need to take that first step? You should have said something. You.” You shake your head, recalling your anger. “Look, I…I don’t want to fight. What's done is done and I’m happy. I love my husband and I’m sorry that hurts you and that you don’t understand that I feel closer to Bucky after knowing him only two weeks than I have to anyone else I’ve ever met—save for Casey. And if you’re my friend, then you’ll tell me congratulations and never bring this up again.”

Cruel? You feel like it a little. Henry is trying so desperately to understand what went wrong for him.

He's quiet for so long, staring at your face as you fix him with a determined gaze.

“Henry?”

He seems to snap out of his daze but his sorrow doesn’t relent.

After a moment of consideration and knowing you need to get out of this office, you offer him your left hand. “Congratulate me, Henry, and wish me good luck.”

He looks down at your hand and then takes it. He turns it over so that he can look at the back of it, searching.

“No ring?”

You yank your hand away angrily. “Ugh, I’m going back home for a few days. Paid. I don’t think my vacation was long enough.”

You march around him and the chairs, then move back towards the door. A few more days away from the office will be perfect. After today's shocking confessions, you need distance.

“Y/N?” You stop and look back at him, feeling worse. “Congratulations.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Henry,” You chastise him, and he caves immediately, relaxing his shoulders and turning that pleading gaze normal again.

As you shift uncomfortably, he sighs. “Sorry.”

You don’t want to deal with this on top of how shitty you’re already feeling at how Bucky left you alone again.

“I should go.” You make to lift the box but it's heavy and although you lift it well enough, you’re struggling.

Henry hurries forward, placing his hands on the handles of the cardboard box over yours.

“I’ll help you carry it home.”

“No, I’m alright. It's only two blocks.” A short walk and you’re home. A short walk and you’re at work.

It was one of the reasons Bucky chose this neighborhood. For you.

“It's heavy. Let me help.”

“No, I said I’ve got it.” You insist, trying to pull the box out of his grip. His hands are really hot over yours.

“Y/N,” The firm way he says your name halts your resistance. “I know you’re refusing to let it show how upset you are, for his benefit. I can see you're hurt. I don’t know what he did but, I can’t let you walk home alone while you have that look on your face.”

Startled by your inability to hide how you feel, you drop your hands and he easily takes up the weight.

“Besides, this box is heavy. Are you gonna let me feel like a douche? Or can I walk you home?”

You worry your bottom lip, hating the temptation of having him help you. You don’t see anything in the escort but Henry? He might think it means more than one friend helping another.

“I don’t know…”

He tilts his head, frowning at you as if to say, Come on. Stop being stubborn. You give in.

“Okay.” You still feel weird about it, but Henry walks you home, holding your box casually.

He walks you into your building. Up the stairs. And all the way to your door. You stop there, staring at the wood, wondering if Bucky is inside.

What are you gonna say? You really don’t want to fight but this isn’t okay. You can’t keep letting him think that leaving you alone as he has is alright. Because it isn’t. And it’s piling up into a mountainous problem. What if one of these days it gets so big that you can’t get over it?

“Y/N?” Henry gently urges.

You swallow hard then fish out your keys and unlock the door. He’s still not home. It wouldn’t have been locked if he were home. He never locks the door.

Your heart drops as you open the door into the empty apartment. Moving inside you move past the kitchen, into the large open room that makes up your living room and your dining room. You gesture Henry towards the large table with six chairs behind the sofa.

“Just drop it there.”

“Wow.” Henry moves in admiring the architecture of your home. “This place is nice.”

It really is beautiful. Art Deco curves and angles, swift sharp edges and then softly curved accents. The furniture is equally beautiful, and the only modern touches came from the items that you bought. The yellow throw pillows on the couch, the blue dishes sitting dirty in the sink.

Shit…you need to wash those. Bucky hates that.

As you’re caught up staring at the dirty dishes, you reach up and scratch the back of your neck.

“Thanks.” You say absentmindedly.

Suddenly, your attention is pulled to Henry, his large imposing form beside you. He’s not looking at the dirty dishes though. You find him looking at the large wedding photo of you and Bucky hung on the other side of the dining table.

“You looked beautiful, Y/N.” He says softly.

You don’t like the way his compliment makes your stomach shift.

There are more photos of you and Bucky on the end tables by the couch, on the empty shelves of the bookcase by the TV, there’s even one of you two cooking in the kitchen.

There is your life laid bare for Henry to see. You could show him your bedroom. There’s more in there. And then maybe if he saw the bed where Bucky fucks you, he might finally abandon his apparent love for you. You don’t need the reminder of it every time you go to work.

“You looked happy in those pictures.” Henry gestures only at the one in the kitchen sitting between two cabinets underneath the smoke detector and over the coffee maker.

Looked happy. You caught that.

“I am happy.” You insist.

“Right.”

“You should go.” You tell him and move towards the front door to open it up for him again.

He follows and stops just outside the doorway as you occupy the space in front of him, arms wrapped over your chest as you lean against the jamb.

Henry turns, shoving his hands into his pockets where he must be clenching them because you can see the strain of his veins on his forearms as he looks at you.

“I don’t know what’s upset you. And I know you won’t tell me. I…I took that away from you. Our friendship.” Henry sighs.

“Henry…please don’t.” You beg, you don’t want these words in your head when things are already so difficult.

“I need to say this.” He moves towards you, reaching to take hold of your arms just above the elbow. “I’m here, Y/N. I know that it might not be what it was but if you need to talk, or vent, or just not talk and spend a few hours doing something to get your mind off of whatever it is that’s bothering you—I’m here. I will always be here for you. As your friend…or…whatever you might need?”

The hopeful tone in his voice as he finishes what had begun as a comforting notion of having someone less aggressive than Casey to talk to, drives all the pleasantness of his words away.

You pull your arms away and he drops his hold on you.

“Thanks.” You tell him. “But I’m fine.”

Henry watches you for so long, you begin to feel exposed. He can see through you and you don’t like that or the ache that renews in your chest.

You’re slightly startled when you feel a warm flutter on your cheek as he presses a soft kiss to your skin. You freeze.

“I mean it. I’m here.” He pulls back and leaves.

You don’t watch him go. You stare at the spot he’d just been in, confusion washing over you in waves as you go back inside and shut the door. As if you’re on autopilot you wander into the kitchen, pull on your apron—a gag gift from Steve that looks like his Captain America uniform—and settle in front of the sink to wash the dishes.

You’re only at it for a few minutes. Enough time to get three plates washed, before the front door opens and shuts.

Your hands freeze for a moment, but you go back to washing when you feel eyes on you. You scrub hard. Too hard. You don’t care. You’re not really seeing the dishes. You’re gauging the room. You’re listening for his feet. You’re waiting for his words. Instead you smell soft soap and blue water musk as a warmth curls around your back.

He’s so fucking silent sometimes!

Shining metal reaches out and shuts off the sink leaving your hands soapy and wet. The hand retreats to the edge of the sink and holds the counter firmly.

“Where’d you go?” He asks and you see red. You’re so angry at him!

“Where did you?!” Not a shout. Never a shout. You don’t scream often. But your soft voice is stern. Hurt.

A heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I…I’m an idiot.”

“You keep telling me that, Bucky but it doesn’t seem to change anything.” You turn to look at him, but he doesn’t adjust his distance. He keeps you there in the tight circle of his arms as you meet his eyes.

There’s guilt in his expression. Good. At least he really means it.

“Why did you leave this morning?”

“I didn’t think.”

“I waited for you last night, Bucky. I-I cancelled plans with Casey and Jess because I wanted to see you. Because I was worried about you. And then I wake up this morning and you’re gone?” Now that you’ve let it all tumble out, it’s flowing quickly.

You’re not afraid of him getting angry because you’re so upset that you don’t care.

“I wasn’t thinking.” He admits, dropping his eyes to your neck and away from the hurt in your eyes. “I-I don’t even know what else to say. I’m an idiot.”

“Don’t you want to spend time with me?” You ask him, more hurt than anything else now.

“Of course! Of course, I do, Y/N. How could you think that I don’t-?”

“Because you’re never here!” Okay, this time you’re loud. You push him away and move towards the cabinets with the picture of you and Bucky cooking. You glare at the picture for a second then turn to look at him again, accusation and uncertainty flooding towards him. “You leave and you come back, and you don’t come home. I know that your job is demanding. I get that. That’s what you do, and I don’t want you to stop doing it because it’s who you are but when you’re not working at least for one day after you get back why can’t you just stay here? With me? I wake up and you’re gone. Sometimes I go to bed and you’re still not home. We go out and then we come back home, you leave again. You say that you want to be with me but everything that you do tells me that you don’t.”

He’s silent, staring at you with a wrinkled brow, that adorable pucker between his eyes not so adorable as you rage at him because of how you’ve been feeling. You need him to understand. Can you just say it? Maybe you should just say it?

“Sometimes…” You hesitate. You shake your head and convince yourself to not say it.

“What?” Bucky asks, closing the space between you again, and wraps his arms around your waist.

“No.” You pull away, but he tightens his hold and he keeps you facing him.

“Tell me. Please?”

“I-”

He pulls you closer and his body reminds you of what you’ve been missing and unfortunately what you’ve also been suspecting.

“Sometimes I think that maybe all I am to you is a guaranteed lay.” Your voice is almost dead as you say the words aloud. You never wanted to speak these words out and much less to Bucky himself. What if he confirms them? “You go away, and you come home, and you sleep with me and then you leave. Maybe I’m stupid for thinking it could be anything more than that since that’s how we started? Right? Sex in public before you even knew my name.

“That must be all I am. Spread legs whenever you need them and complacent silence when you leave?”

“No.” Bucky growls, suddenly pulling you into a crushing embrace. He reaches up and holds your head tenderly with his right hand while his left pulls you tight against his chest. “No, never think that, Y/N.”

The quiet that fills the apartment is deafening and you don’t wrap your arms around him. He holds you tighter, maybe feeling the distance you’re feeling because he’s almost desperate in how he clings to you.

“You’re more than a lay. Shit, Y/N, you’re all I think about when I’m gone.” He assures you and pulls back to cradle your face in his hands.

You look for the lie in his eyes but don’t find one. It brings you back to the pain you’ve been feeling, shoving the numbness away.

“Then, why?” You reach up and grab hold of his wrists as he holds your face. “Why do you always leave me? We could have done so much today. We could have gone to the park. Or the movies? Or the beach?”

A slight sting of guilt cuts you as you remember Henry’s offer but that memory sprinkles through your mind and vanishes quickly because Bucky is here, right in front of you, desperately clinging to what he thinks is a wife slipping through his fingers.

“I-I don’t know.” Bucky admits. “Yesterday I just…I-”

“You forgot about me?”

“No!” He says loud, deep booming voice starling you into jumping slightly. “I did not forget you, Y/N, I just forgot to look at the time. And last night you were so upset with me that when I woke up, I thought maybe you might not want to see me?”

“I always want to see you, Bucky. I don’t see you enough. Even when I’m angry at you I need to see you.” You sigh, frustrated with him. “Don’t you understand that when you aren’t with me all I can do is worry about you? I miss you. I want to be with you. You’re all I think about and for you to just leave me by myself especially when you’re here and you can choose to be with me but you don’t-?”

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else I can say except that I’m so, so sorry. I’m not setting out to make you feel like you’re not important. You are so important to me. Ask Steve! I’m day dreaming about being back here with you-”

“But you keep leaving!”

“I know!”

Now you’re both shouting.

You push his hands away and move around him, but he catches your wrist and pulls you back into the circle of his arms. You try to push him away, but he doesn’t let you go.

“My job-” He begins quietly.

“It’s not your job I’m talking about, Bucky.” You pull away from him and he lets you this time because you’re still shouting. “I already told you that I know your work is going to take you away from me. I’m not complaining about your work, I’m trying to understand why it is that when you aren’t on mission, you don’t seem to include me in your life? Maybe we did this too soon?”

“Did what?” He asks, anger flashing in his steel blue eyes turning them into ice.

“This. Us. Maybe we shouldn’t have gotten married so quickly?”

“How can you say that?” Bucky growls moving towards you, his hands cradling your face once more so that you can’t look away from him as he looks into your eyes, searching for the regret of marrying him.

He doesn’t find it. He won’t. No matter how much he searches because you will never regret telling him, ‘I do.’

“You don’t know how to fit me into your life, Bucky. And I can’t keep waiting for you in this apartment until you’re ready to see me. I feel like you don’t want me in your life, and you take absolutely no interest in mine. Is this what a marriage is supposed to be?”

Bucky sees that you’re right. He’s created this line in his life and kept you on one side of it and his Avenging and his friends on the other. Why did he do that? Why hasn’t he tried to take you and mingle you with the other half of his life? He’d been doing it a bit before the wedding but after the wedding it all just fell into two parts.

You were here, his perfect, beautiful, wife. You gave him a home and a family of the like he’d never expected to have. He loves you and he loves that you gave this life to him but how does he pair it with the one he leads at the compound?

He can’t see you around Sam’s snarky teasing or Steve’s serious focus when it comes to missions. He doesn’t want you to deal with Nat and her harsh observances or Vision’s lack of tact. He doesn’t want you exposed to anything that might hurt you but here he is, hurting you himself.

Then there’s your life. It’s true, Bucky doesn’t know what you do when he’s not home. He’s never thought about it because who cares? As long as you’re with him when he’s here, what does it matter what you do?

At least, it didn’t matter before today. Then he saw just how dangerous not only leaving you alone is but also how unexpectedly dumb he is to the possibilities of what your life might offer away from him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Who the fuck-?

Bucky slides back behind the wall into the doorway of the stairwell and hides, grabbing the knob to stop the door from shutting loudly. He peeks out and stares down the hall at a tall black man. He’s built like a house and he’s good looking. What the hell is he doing coming out of Bucky’s house?!

Then you appear in the doorway and Bucky’s mouth falls open because you know this guy. It’s so clear in the way you look at him that you know him. You’re also defensive, with your arms crossed tight across your chest. Did this guy hurt you? Bucky’ll kill him!

Instead he watches as the man turns to you with softness in his eyes. Fondness. What the hell is going on here?

“I don’t know what’s upset you. And I know you won’t tell me. I…I took that away from you. Our friendship.” Friendship? You’ve never told Bucky you have a friend who looks like that. What the hell?

“Henry…please don’t.” That tone…why are you so upset? Bucky doesn’t like that tone. It reminds him of…

“I need to say this.” The black man moves towards you, reaching to take hold of your arms just above the elbow. Bucky grits his teeth, squeezing his jaw so tight that his teeth creak and groan as he fights the urge to rush over to you and cut the man’s arms at the wrist so that he can never touch you again.

“I’m here, Y/N. I know that it might not be what it was but if you need to talk, or vent, or just not talk and spend a few hours doing something to get your mind off of whatever it is that’s bothering you—I’m here.”

Like fuck he is! Bucky thinks. What the hell would you two do for a few hours that would silence your mind?

Sex of course pops into Bucky’s head and he grabs the handle so tight with his left hand that it curves to the shape of his fingers.

“I will always be here for you. As your friend…or…whatever you might need?”

Bucky sees red and this time he takes a step out towards the hallway, intent on killing this guy because there was no question in what he meant. He’s offering you sex. Definitely. And from the hopeful tone he uses, love? Does that guy love you? Why? Who the hell is he? Why do you know him so well? Since when did you have a friend who looks like that?!

“Thanks.” Your voice stops Bucky and he quickly hides again. “But I’m fine.”

Bucky can hear it in just your voice that you aren’t okay. What has he done? Why would he leave you alone after what happened last night? He’s an idiot. He deserves to have you stolen from him for the way he’s been treating you.

The man—Henry?—seems to see this too because he just stares at you as you continue to look more and more uncomfortable.

Then he kisses your cheek and Bucky just about blacks out. Several scenarios play out in Bucky’s head. He could follow the man and pull him into an alleyway and strangle him to death. But that would be too quick.

Better to kidnap him, take him into that abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. Then he can starve him and cut at him for several hours. Maybe even days? Then he’ll sew his lips shut and slice them off just when he thinks that it can’t get any worse.

The violence of the images that flash through Bucky’s mind pull him from the haze. He hasn’t felt this way since his brainwashing, and he’s startled by the intensity of the emotions that brought it forth.

There is no doubt in Bucky’s mind—and there never has been but it’s so certain in him now—that he loves you more than even he might understand.

“I mean it. I’m here.” Bucky thanks God that this Henry leaves.

When you shut the door and go back inside, Bucky moves out and walks down the hall towards home.

As he passes him, he sees that Henry recognizes him, probably from the pictures in the apartment, and as much as Bucky wants to reach out and squeeze this Henry guy’s windpipe to crush it, he walks past him with his chest puffed and his eyes glaring death. It’s only when he knows that he’s gone that he shrinks and stares at the doorway for a few minutes hoping that he hasn’t done any kind of irreversible damage to your marriage.

~~~~~~~~~~

Unable to help himself any longer and since you’re the one that brought it up, he asks.

“Who was that guy I saw leaving?” He’s as gentle as he can be in his question. He doesn’t want you to see or hear the anger he felt when that idiot kissed you.

Your face loses all color and you look away from him to the curve of his neck.

“Henry. My boss.”

“That’s your boss?” Bucky demands, surprised and now cursing himself for never showing an interest in your work before today. He’s an idiot not only because now he knows there’s this dude, so clearly wanting you every day that he can’t be around, reminding you that if Bucky’s not there, then this guy surely is, but also because it took this kind of jealousy to make Bucky realize how little he knows about your life.

He understands what you’re saying now. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. The two of you should be living a life together. Not apart. How has he not seen this until now? Stupid hot Henry guy making Bucky all jealous.

It’s quiet between the two of you for several minutes. Bucky drops his hands, trailing them down the sides of your neck, along your shoulders, and then finally stops them on the sides of your arms. He squeezes them, relishing in the softness of your body.

So much of his life has been hard, cold, rough, sharp, and painful. You give him everything opposite; soft, warm, smooth, gentle, and love. So much love. Bucky needs to make this up to you, and he knows what the first step must be.

Bucky pulls you closer, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours as your hands trace the shape of his shoulder blades, straining and tense on his gray t-shirt.

“You’re right.” Bucky admits and your breath catches. “You’re so fucking right, and I’ve been so blind. I’m sorry. I haven’t been trying hard enough to build us a life together. I’m sorry I haven’t shown any interest in your work and the things that you do. This isn’t how it should be. You’re…you’re right, Y/N.”

You don’t want to hear that you’re right. That’s not why you’re angry.

“I don’t want to be right, Bucky. I just want you and me to be happy.”

You can see the pain flit through Bucky’s eyes at the implication that the two of you haven’t been happy.

Since that first problem you two faced with him calling you when he got home, small things have cropped up. Nothing serious. Small marks of irritation or annoyance as you two learn to live together. Bucky hates that you leave the dishes unwashed for a while. You hate how he doesn’t pick up his towels after he showers.

He complains about how you leave clean clothes piled on the chair in your bedroom instead of putting it up right away. Bucky doesn’t clean up his hair from the sink after he trims his beard. You don’t pick up your hair from the drain in the shower. Bucky forgets to put the toilet seat back down. You put your feet up on the coffee table. Bucky drinks straight from the carton of milk.

Small things piling up and making life just a little less easy.

But these aren’t the things that have made you unhappy. Though life is more real for the two of you now, the fact that you still feel like you’re living two lives is why you’re unhappy.

“I’ll do better. Next time we have a mission, I want you to come with me to the dinner we have afterwards.” Bucky promises and you feel bad because he’s not the only one that’s been messing up. Sure, he’s the one that’s been leaving you alone, but you should have spoken up much sooner.

“Really?” You ask, surprised and excited suddenly.

“Of course.”

“I’ll try harder too, baby. I’ll do better, too.”

“You’re perfect, Y/N.” Bucky insists, but you’re not.

“We’ve both been messing up. We’ll both do better. I love you. I don’t want to lose you.” You sigh, eager for this fight to be over. It does finally seem like Bucky gets it and that more than anything softens your anger.

“You won’t lose me, kitten. I’m not going anywhere.”

You lean up to kiss him because you need to feel his lips, but he pulls back and your heart clenches painfully.

“Hold that thought.” He smiles down at you and hurries back towards the door. When he comes back, he’s holding a bouquet of y/f/f.

You smile, heart fluttering. You really are too easy to woo. Some reassurance and an offering of flowers and you’re putty in his hands.

“I’d been waiting for a bit and I thought maybe I’d need some backup to apologize so I went out and got you these. Should I have got you a necklace instead?”

You laugh lightly and nod. “They’re beautiful, Bucky. This is perfect.”

When he offers them, you take them, and smell them before leaning back up towards his lips. Bucky pulls back again and this time you frown.

“Bucky…”

“It’s just, what you said-I don’t only want you for sex, Y/N. I need you to know that.”

“Ugh, that’s why I didn’t want to tell you about that. It was a fleeting thought after we had sex and you left the next morning to workout with Sam and Steve. It was a flash of a worry and then it was gone.”

“But it was still there. I love you, so much. Not just your body.”

You reach over and put your flowers on the counter as you move in close to press your body against Bucky’s. He looks down at you, intense and confused.

“But you do love my body, right?” You slide your hands up under his shirt, tracing your hands along the hot skin of his sides.

His eyebrows twitch upwards at your touch.

“Of course, I love your body.” He assures you. “But I love you too.”

“Okay. I get that, but right now, I need you to show me how much you love my body.” You explain. “It’s been a week, Bucky. I’ve missed you so much.”

There’s a groan in your voice as your hands move up along his bare back. They go about hallway up before they drop down to the small of his back and you slip the tips of your fingers down into the waistband of his jeans.

The curve of his bum is sudden and deep. He has a really nice butt. You trace it down, touching him with desire.

“You’re not angry anymore?” He asks, but his hands are already on your waist, slipping the strings of the apron you’re wearing off. He reaches under your puffed sleeve yellow top and traces the skin of your back, all the way up to the center drawing you closer.

You shake your head slow and mid-shake, Bucky dives down to meet your lips.

He swallows your sigh and you inhale his groan. Both of you melting into the other after such an exhausting fight. He pushes you back until you hit the counter and then he reaches down to lift you up by your waist and sit you on the cold tile.

He undoes the buttons of your dark gray; lace tiered shorts and you lift your butt as he tugs them down and off. He tosses them over the counter and into the dining room quickly followed by your underwear. He nudges your legs open and settles between them, with his right hand searching your folds for your nub.

You’re already dripping wet, having missed him in his absence and wanting nothing more than to have him touch you.

You shudder at his prodding and when he slips two fingers into you, you gasp and lean forward towards him. He wraps his left arm around you, catching you in a kiss as he pumps his fingers in and out while his palm presses hard against your nub.

His kiss slowly shifts and somewhere between finger pumps, he deepens it with feeling rather than lust.

You pull back, surprised and breathless by the shift because you can feel it in your chest. You can feel the ache of confusion and he doesn’t let you get far. He pulls his fingers from your core and lifts you from the counter.

He stares into your eyes as he carries you to the bedroom then lowers you onto the bed. You fall with a small bounce, but you watch as Bucky strips himself naked. There are bruises on his torso and you sit up, startled by the wounds you hadn’t found yesterday because you hadn’t been looking for them. You’d been so wrapped up in your feelings of neglect that you hadn’t noticed his hurt.

“Oh, Bucky…” There’s a gash along his left side, a faded pink puckered line. You know it’ll be gone by tomorrow but the thought of the cut that had been there before it sealed. The blood he must have lost and the sharp pain he must have felt?

“I’m okay.” He assures you then as you look up at him, still tracing the scar, he kisses you breathing you in as he opens his mouth to deepen it.

You shut your eyes as he hooks his hands into the bottom of your shirt, and he relieves you of it. Your breasts are freed shortly after and Bucky pushes you back to crawl over you. He reaches down to pull your legs apart, settling between them once more but this time sliding into you without warning.

You go still beneath him, your mouth open in a silent gasp as he stretches you. He watches you, enjoying the expression of surprise, pleasure, relief, and love you’re giving him.

Pushing your hair back, he bites his bottom lip as he begins to pump in and out of you, burying himself as deeply as he can. He blinks slowly, never breaking eye contact.

You see what he’s doing. What he’s saying. As your body jerks upwards, bouncing against the bed, he’s telling you that he loves you.

You don’t know why it happens now, maybe it’s because of the fight? Or the sheer intensity of his gaze? Maybe it’s because he’s still cradling your face, staring at you as if he’s already lost you and he’s just now realizing how much he loves you, but you start to cry.

“Oh, Y/N…” Bucky sighs, leaning down to lay on you completely as he wraps you up in his arms and his lips find yours to kiss you with feeling.

He moves slowly, his hips moving in soft waves as he pushes himself into you. Every time he bottoms out, his pelvis rubs against yours, pressing your button just right to draw a small moan from your lips. He’s like water in his movements, smooth and flowing.

This isn’t the sex that you two have when it’s lust that drives you forward. You had never been able to really tell the difference between making love and having sex. Not until you met Bucky. The first time this had happened after your fight about calling home, it had been similar but nothing like this.

The way he’s holding you against himself, clinging to you as he marks you as his, something’s changed.

He pulls up, tracing kisses along your jaw and neck before stopping beside your ear. “I love you.”

His whisper is warm and smooth. The flutter in your heart and the stretch of his cock war for dominance in importance. Together, they make your body hum.

“Bucky…Bucky…” You moan, sweet whispers as he takes you closer and closer to ecstasy.

His hips begin to move faster, he groans, pushing himself up as he angles himself to pound into you a bit more roughly. Despite the pace, his hands are soft, feather touches against your skin as he traces the shape of your breasts and then your ribs with the tender tips of his fingers.

His touch raises goosebumps and you whimper raising your knees and reaching down to grab handfuls of his bum to press him down harder against you.

“Tell me, baby.” He coaxes your desires forth, wanting to hear how much you want him just as much as you want to feel it. “Say it.”

“Harder, Bucky.” You plead, begging for contact. “I want you in deep.”

Your words make him growl and he leans down on his forearm as his metal hand reaches down to take hold of the right side of your ass. He holds it still as he shoves himself into you, roughly pounding into your nub.

You shut your eyes, your hands wandering up to his lower back as his movements become quick and wild.

“I love you so much.” Bucky gushes. “Come for me, kitten.”

You’re not sure whether it’s his declaration of love or the way he’s talking dirty—well, dirty for you, but your legs suddenly wrap around his waist and you pull him flush against your core as it explodes with fire and sparks.

Your head goes dizzy, whirling the world around you into fog.

Bucky keeps thrusting. Just a few more times before he groans and drops his head to your neck. He bites down, making you purr, as he erupts within you.

Ragged breathing, musty sex, and the fresh scent of soap fill the room. Sweating together, you cling to each other, desperate to hold on to this moment of bliss after the terrible low of your fight in the kitchen.

But reality comes crashing down as you wonder if you both forgot or just you? How could you let all the emotions get in the way of this one thing that you had sworn to keep in mind before you and Bucky had sex each time?

Bucky pulls out of you reluctantly and slides to the edge of the bed. You see him fumble between his legs as he pulls off the condom and tosses it into the wastebasket by his bedside table and a wave of relief washes over you.

For a moment you’d thought both of you had forgotten protection. Relaxed, you sigh. “Bucky?”

You reach for him, your fingers sliding along his lower back. He looks back at you and lays back down, turning to hover half over you and half on the bed. He kisses you lazily, still wrapped in the warm glow of his orgasm like you are.

“Tell me about your day.” Bucky says. “Why did your boss come here?”

You smile because you know he’s doing what he promised. It’s easy to do it right away, just after you had a fight about it. He’s taking interest in your life. Hopefully he’ll continue to do it when things are busier and time has passed.

“He was helping me carry the box on the dining room table home. It was heavy.”

“You should have called me.” Bucky argues lightly.

“I should have.” Yes. You really should have.

“What’s in the box?”

“Manuscripts. People send them in for publishing and I have to pick one to publish for the next Spring release. I’ll choose one in the next few weeks and then we’ll have the author come in to do edits. Then eventually we’ll publish it.” Bucky’s eyes sparkle with interest.

“Don’t agents have to send the manuscripts in? Or can anyone send them in?”

“Normally yeah, it’s agents. But we’re still a growing publisher so we take what we can get. If we ever get really big then maybe we’ll start to do it that way but if I’m honest, I like it this way.”

“Why?”

You shrug. “Because this way, I get to truly know the author. I call them. I talk to them. I set everything up. I get to see why they’re writing. What they want from it. I see the passion for what they do or lack thereof. It’s eye opening. Some people do it for the money which almost always means a shallow story. Some people do it because they really enjoy writing. Fusing words together in unique and beautiful ways. And others…my favorites…are the ones that like to tell stories.

“They’re not weighed down by the idea of perfect grammar or amazing prose.”

“Isn’t that important though?” Bucky wonders, relaxing beside you. You turn to look at him as he settles in, head on his pillow.

“Of course, you want to see that a writer has taken time to go back and fix things. Misspelled words are okay and sentence structure has always been flexible for me so long as it benefits the story, but when I read that first manuscript, I’m looking for a spark. A good story. Something people want to read. I’ve read some stories that are beautifully written that aren’t very interesting. Every once in a while, I find someone who’s good at what makes the writing pretty and also good at telling the story. But it doesn’t happen often.”

“Sounds like you love your job.” Bucky realizes, a small worry in his eyes.

“I really do.”

Speaking of jobs. On your bedside table, where Bucky’s phone is charging, it suddenly begins to ring.

You know that ringtone.

Bucky pushes himself up and rolls over you to reach for his phone. As he stretches towards it, you quickly react, and grab hold of his right wrist.

He looks down at you, slightly startled by your hold.

“Bucky,” You start, chewing your bottom lip. “Don’t answer it.”

Bucky stares at you then looks up towards his phone as it stops ringing and then shuts off. He meets your eyes again and slides his hand down until he can intertwine your hands together. He pulls both of your arms up over your head as he dips down to meet your lips in a clearly lustful kiss.

He reaches over, closer to his side of the bed than yours, and takes another metallic silver package in hand so that he can pound you into the bed once more.

You’d fallen asleep in Bucky’s arms, clinging to his strong torso, nestled in the nook between his metal arm and his side. He’s breathing heavily, fast asleep, and you’re only awake because you swear you just heard knocking.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

There it is again. Your eyes open a bit wider as you look up towards your bedroom door.

No. You think because you know what that is.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

Bucky shifts beside you, sitting upright, startled by the knocking. You’re already awake and you sit up with him.

He looks down at you, sleepy but happy to see you there.

Like instinct he leans down to kiss you, forgetting the knocking on the door, as if he needs to make sure you’re really there.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! “Buck!”

You groan and when Bucky pulls back, you whine. “No.”

Bucky sighs, hating to leave the bed but he does get up. He pulls on a pair of sweats then makes for the door. You rush to get to your feet, pulling your gray robe on. You quickly fasten it as you follow him but stop at the mouth of the hallway to glance towards the front door as Bucky pulls it open.

Sure enough, just as you’d first suspected the day after your wedding, if Bucky didn’t answer the phone then Steve would surely come and get him.

Here’s the proof that you were right. There’s Steve, looking serious, in full uniform.

“What is it, Steve?”

“We found him. I think we finally found him, Buck.”

Bucky’s relaxed body quickly shifts into mission mode and though you would normally admire the tight pull of his back muscles, the tension there means he’s already decided.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. We need you.”

“Give me five minutes.” Bucky leaves the door open for Steve to come in as he moves back towards you.

As he passes you, he gives you a quick look of apology as he caresses the right side of your face with his metal hand. You reach up to clutch it there but there is no holding him back when he’s decided to go.

He disappears back into your bedroom and you turn to give Steve a nice hateful glare.

How surprised had your neighbors been to spot Captain America walking up the stairs?

“Sorry, Y/N.” Steve apologizes, and it sounds like he means it.

You continue to frown as you move after Bucky and find him already dressed in his black Avengers garb. The spare that he keeps in the closet in case he should need it. It makes you feel better to see him at least appropriately armored but at the same time, you just want to keep him here with you.

He shoves a few more things into his duffel bag, reaches up to tie his hair up into a loose low bun, then after a minute he reaches into his duffel and pulls out a handgun. He places it on your bedside table.

You know that handgun. It’s the one he cleans on the dining room table. It’s got his name, Barnes, etched into the grip. It’s his favorite handgun.

“You keep that there. Steve is such an idiot, coming here wearing full uniform.” And you’re surprised at how angry Bucky sounds as he says Steve’s name.

“Why is he-?”

“Anyone who saw him walk in here will know that someone important lives here now. And when they see me walk out with him, it won’t be hard to guess who.”

You think back to the first week after you were married. News and internet articles had sprung up with stories about Bucky getting married. Everyone knew that he had a wife though no one knew who it was. They didn’t know where you lived with him, but they knew that somewhere out in the world there was a woman who’d married James Buchanan Barnes. Someone he loved.

Although the public still avoided Bucky, they gave him his space because he was—to some of them—still the Winter Soldier, they feared him. But Captain America? There would be pictures of him surfacing from this building within the hour.

“Why do I need the gun though?” You look at it, uncomfortable and worried about having to use it.

“I’ve been an idiot for not getting you ready for this possibility before. When I get back you and I are going to start training a bit. I’ll show you how to fight and how to shoot.” Bucky closes his duffel bag and throws it over his shoulder.

You’re too busy staring at the gun, suddenly terrified about someone showing up here to pick a fight with Bucky to find you alone.

Bucky’s in front of you, arms wrapped around you as he pulls you close. “You’re safe, here, Y/N. I’ll ask Tony if he can send someone to tighten up the security. Make it harder for someone to break in. The gun is just in case someone happens to get in. You point, hold the gun with both hands, Y/N, and squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull it. And don’t you dare close your eyes. You keep them wide open when you fire. Aim and shoot.”

“Bucky…” You’re suddenly scared of being here without him.

“I’m sorry I have to go so soon.” He sighs and pulls you into a mind-numbing kiss. When he pulls back, you’re breathless but your mind is alert and worried.

“Please be safe.” You beg. “I need you to come back to me, Bucky.”

“How can I do anything but come back to you when I’ve got such a beautiful and loving woman waiting for me?”

He hugs you, holding you tenderly to his chest as he tells you without words how much he doesn’t want to go either.

“I love you. And I’m so sorry I’ve been such an ass.”

“I love you.” You whisper back at him.

Bucky pulls away but takes your hand and walks with you into the living room. Steve gets to his feet and moves for the door.

“Sorry this is such a quick visit, Y/N.” Steve says.

“I hate you.” You tell him and Bucky smiles while Steve turns around just outside the door and looks offended.

“What did I do?”

You ignore him as Bucky stops at the door and turns to give you one last kiss. “Lock the door.”

After he and Steve are out of sight you shut the door and do it.

Thanks for reading!

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samanthajameswriter · 4 years

Text

Today’s post will be the tale of a royal exit written by guest poster Simone T. Whitlow from the blog History and Imagination. Whitlow discusses and tells the life story of Princess Sophia Dorothea and her exiting the royal family. The consequences were enormous. it is a story filled with an unhappy marriage and daring escapes.

I have taken a few shots at writing it under the auspices of a whodunit, but I don’t think there’s any doubt who the murderers are. I then had another run – this time as a faux fairytale, an OG soap opera? I had a line from John Wilmott, Earl of Rochester kicking round in my head about his patron Charles II, and thought what about riffing off that; this is an example of what a crazy, swinging place Europe’s courts were in the late 17th Century after all… but I abandoned all of these.

Then Megxit happened; The Sussexes – Harry and Meghan – announced they were leaving ‘the firm’. In some quarters there was shock, and I understand there was an urgent family meeting. Harry didn’t get thrown into a cell in the Tower of London. There was no clandestine dash for the English channel (like the aforementioned Charles II after his defeat at the Battle of Worcester in 1651). No disguising himself as a servant. No hiding in oak trees. Public discourse re-centred on whether you wished them well, or thought them a pair of spoilt brats. This brought me back round to this tale again… Imagine you’re a deeply unhappy royal, but it is 1694. Does Sophxit play out any differently?

This tale begins on the evening of July 1st, 1694. The setting, Hanover – a Germanic Duchy which would eventually be subsumed into a larger German nation, and whose first family would go on to be kind of a big deal. A young man, aided only by moonlight, sails along the Leine river till he reaches the Leineschloss – the palatial riverside home of the duke and his family. He moors his boat, then cautiously enters the property. The man is Phillipp Christoph, Count Konigsmarck – an aristocratic German born Swede from a long line of mercenaries. His father had served King Gustav II Adolph in the 30 Years War, rising through the ranks to Field Marshall. Phillipp himself had fought the Turks for Holy Roman Emperor Leopold I. At this point in the tale however, he was under the employ of the Elector of Saxony. Tonight he’s been summoned to met his paramour – Sophia Dorothea, princess of Celle – the very unhappy wife of Duke George Ludwig.

Count Konigsmarck

Princess Sophia Dorothea

Duke Georg Ludwig

Sophia, though surprised- she never summoned him – is ecstatic over his arrival. They haven’t seen each other for weeks. She is also a little perturbed and angered at ‘that woman’s’ gall. “Well, clearly she’s still spying on us” I imagine one saying “Never mind, in a day we’ll be out of this nightmare” the other may have replied. With rather less poetic license you can imagine the rest of their night – Konigsmarck had not come to play solitaire after all, nor Sophia to play old maid. I like to imagine Sophia enfolding the count in her arms as he left and whispering “keep safe, hell hath no fury and all” but that is a little anachronistic – Congreve would not publish ‘The Mourning Bride’ till 1697. This is the last time Sophia Dorothea would see Count Konigsmarck – in the following hours he would disappear from the face of the Earth, never to be seen again.

Joining ‘The Firm’.

To explain how Sophia Dorothea found herself in an unhappy marriage, I need to take us back a generation. The first fact worth knowing is there was no German nation in the modern sense until January 1871. People could be ethnically Germanic, but Germany was a collection of feudal states for most of it’s history. Until 1806, they were also overseen by a ‘Holy Roman Emperor’. From 1346 the Emperor was elected by a council from the Elector states – This is important to know later. The second fact is marriages of convenience were very much a thing in the 17th Century, particularly among the aristocrats. Third, this tale concerns two duchies, Brunswick- Celle and Brunswick- Luneberg, afterwards known simply as ‘Hanover’. These duchies were ruled over by two brothers. Fourth their leading citizens of the duchies wanted to see the two areas reunited one day. Now that is out of the way…

Sophia Dorothea’s father was a man named Duke Georg Wilhelm of Brunswick- Celle. Georg W had been engaged to a princess from the neighboring duchy of Rhineland Palatinate (her name was also Sophia, though she hardly gets a mention beyond this point), but he was desperate to stay a bachelor a little longer. He cancelled the engagement – passing her on to his brother, Ernst August, Duke of Brunswick Luneberg. The leading figures of Georg W’s duchy were furious, but when Georg signed a legal agreement stating he would never marry – and would pass his duchy to Ernst, (merging the duchies) on his death, all was forgiven. Georg was not exactly out of the firm, but was free to enjoy his newly acquired freedom. The problem was Cupid laid Georg W low after he crossed paths with the beautiful Frenchwoman Eleonore d’Olbreuse.

Georg immediately knew they must marry and start a family. His own duchy and brother Ernst were unimpressed, so Georg W approached Leopold I, Holy Roman Emperor for permission to marry Eleonore. Leopold gave his blessing, but many years after the fact– at this stage Georg and Eleonore had a child, Sophia Dorothea, now 10 years old. There was a caveat to Leopold’s blessing – Georg W had a daughter, Ernst a son (Georg L) – the two cousins would marry, uniting the duchies. This suited all, but the two cousins themselves, who detested each other.

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Georg Wilhelm

Eleonore d’Olbreuse.

Ernst August

Sophia Of Hanover

Complicating matters further, both Georg L and his father Ernst were openly having affairs outside of their marriages. Given what transpires it is worth mentioning Georg L’s double standards with affairs. The key fact to take on however is Ernst, Sophia’s uncle-stepdad, was involved with a lady named Countess Platen.

The Konigsmarck brothers.

We’ll come back to this lot in a second, but first let’s discuss Count Konigsmarck. He has quite a fraught backstory too. Konigsmarck was brought up at court, and knew the rest of this cast well. Both he and his brother, Karl, were sent to England in their mid teens, around 1680. They were sent off to learn courtly skills and mingle, but both brothers soon got into trouble. Phillipp’s trouble involved losing huge sums of money through gambling. Karl’s trouble was on a whole other level.

The two brothers began associating with several high society Britons- including Charles II. Karl had become smitten with Elizabeth Seymour, Duchess of Somerset. Elizabeth was – you guessed it – caught in a loveless, arranged marriage to a wealthy, cheating husband – the wealthy landowner and MP Thomas Thynne. On 12th February 1682, Thynne was travelling in a carriage through Pall Mall, when three men with pistols – Christopher Vratz, John Stern and George Borosky gunned him down. The three men were captured, and named Karl Konigsmarck as the man who hired them to make the hit. The assassins would hang, Karl walked free – but both young men were outcasts in England from this point on. Both returned to Europe and joined Leopold’s army. Karl would be killed in action fighting the Turks in Greece in 1686. As an aside, not long after Thomas Thynne’s murder, a poem circulated through London.

“Here lies Tom Thynne of Longleat Hall Who ne’er would have miscarried; Had he married the woman he slept withal Or slept with the woman he married.”

Let the Dangerous Liaisons begin.

In 1688, after eight years service in the wars with the Turks, Phillipp Konigsmarck returned to the court of what was then Hanover. The ladies of the court fell for this dashing, young soldier. He became a close friend and confidant of Sophia Dorothea – a sympathetic ear who would keep tales of Sophia’s horrible husband, hideous uncle/stepdad, and terrifying mistress of uncle/stepdad – Countess Platen, confidential. Konigsmarck also began an ill advised affair with Countess Platen himself.

The young count soon realized; one, he had fallen in love with princess Sophia – and two, Countess Platen is a dangerous lunatic he should have never become involved with. He took on a new military commission and left Hanover, hoping the countess would forget about him.

On his return to the court in the spring of 1690 he began wooing the princess. The countess, meanwhile resumed her wooing of the count. When left unrequited she hired spies to follow the couple, and intercept their letters. By 1693 Countess Platen stopped even attempting to repair the broken seals on the couple’s love letters. Phillipp resumed his affair with the countess, hoping to placate her; at the very least to stop her from spilling the beans on them. Phillipp and Sophia make the decision to run away together; to start a new life elsewhere- far away from courtly life. This presented a problem for the two. Phillipp was lousy with money, and currently broke – he had not been working, while wooing two ladies. Sophia, upon marrying Georg L, ceded all her possessions to her husband.

Phillipp took a commission with the elector of Saxony, in Dresden in May 1694. Sophia sat tight and waited for Phillipp to make some money. 1st July, at the urging of a counterfeit letter, Phillipp returned to Hanover. Possibly aware it was a trap, Phillipp had saved a month’s worth of wages. Most of the court were away at their summer house at the time – Georg. L included. Tomorrow morning they would run away – and begin a new, happier life together. The following day Count Konigsmarck was nowhere to be found. A distraught Sophia Dorothea eventually hears the scuttlebutt from the markets “the witches of Dresden…” lured Phillipp away.

So…. what happened?

Let’s work through the facts – and suppositions – of the case. There are at least five possibilities. It’s generally accepted the counterfeit letter came from the countess. She had spies watching the couple, who reported to her that the couple were planning to abscond the following day. It is established fact also that Countess Platen informed her other lover, the uncle/stepdad Ernst, of the two lovers’ plan. Ernst ordered four cavaliers to arrest Count Konigsmarck immediately. The four men caught him outside the palace, swords were drawn. When the men eventually faced trial they claimed the count had drawn his sword, a fight broke out, and the count got stabbed to death in the melee.

What happened to the body? Who the hell knows? That is the real mystery. The four suspects were never on record on this matter. One theory has his body thrown into the Leine river, or immolated, or buried on the property. There was excitement in 2016 when bones were dug up on the site, but DNA proved the bones belonged to five separate men (none Phillipp) and a selection of animals.

Possibility one is simple as this, manslaughter. Count Konigsmarck, the battle hardened soldier of fortune thought he could fight his way out of an awkward situation and the four men got the better of him. It was, at most, a case of manslaughter.

Two, when Ernst August sent the cavaliers out to stop Konigsmarck, did he give the order to murder him before the elopement uncovered his dalliances, causing him embarrassment? He may have wanted him out of the way for this reason. Besides personal embarrassment, Hanover had only just been appointed an elector state, who help choose the Holy Roman Emperor. A scandal involving their royals may have jeopardized that position.

Three, well that ‘hell hath no fury’ motive is also out there. Countess Platen was jealous, and involved in high level stalking behaviour. She had laid this trap for the couple, does it not make sense to go that one step further. Did she kill Count Konigsmarck, solipsisticly to say ‘if I can’t have him, no-one can’?

Four, did Georg Ludwig know of the affair, and order the assassination? An elopement certainly would have left him a cuckold. Working counter to this, Georg L seemed unaware of the affair till after the affair was exposed. As soon as he heard, he divorced Sophia Dorothea. He exiled her to house arrest in Ahlden Castle, another family possession. She was kept prisoner until her death 32 years later. Here’s my reason to doubt Georg as the mastermind – he divorced and imprisoned her six months after Count Konigsmarck disappeared. Perhaps Georg was an endlessly patient man? I doubt it.

Now, I want to put a fifth suspect on the table – I said I would not mention her again – but I need to in order to tie this to the Sussexes at the very least. Ernst August’s wife, Sophia the elder, scorned by Georg W, and in what one would imagine as unhappy a marriage as anyone else in this tale – Her husband was cheating on her with Countess Platen after all – well she had a dream.

Discontent with her lot in life, married to a petty duke of a tiny duchy, she daydreamed of a time when herself, or her son would run the larger archipelago to the north-west. This did not seem such a crazy daydream. Her grandfather had been James I of England. In 1685 Charles II died leaving 14 illegitimate children, but no heirs. The crown passed to his brother James II, who was deposed in the ‘Glorious Rebellion’ of 1688. This saw a joint rule by James II’s daughter Mary, and the Dutch Import William of Orange. The line of succession had gotten a little complicated of late, and Sophia the elder’s daydream was seeming less and less blue sky thinking, more a genuine possibility – just so long as a giant scandal didn’t break out about her cheating husband, cheating daughter in law, and surrounding rogues gallery. I can’t count her in, but I certainly can’t ignore she too has a motive.

By 1702 both Mary and William of Orange had died. The crown passed to Mary’s sister – Anne. Anne fell pregnant 18 times – and suffered six miscarriages, five stillbirths, and none of her remaining children lived beyond two years of age. When Anne died on August 1st 1714, the crown passed to one Georg Ludwig, of an obscure German duchy, henceforth known as George I of England, whose family sit on the throne of England to this day.

How do I feel about the Sussexes and Megxit? Well, I am glad for the couple that it is 2020, not 1694 – and I wish them well.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Simone T. Whitlow is a musician, history blogger, and occasionally a squeaky wheel, working for well oiled corporate machines. Simone is based in Auckland, New Zealand and writes most weeks for Tales of History and Imagination.Tales of History and Imagination is a collection of strange and eccentric stories from our collective past. From Victorian Boogeymen to forgotten wars in far flung nations, mysterious super-weapons to people who simply took a path less traveled – Tales of History and Imagination is a compendium of the stories never told in history class.

FOLLOW SIMON T. WHITLOW:

WEBSITE: https://historyandimagination.com/

FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/Talesofhistoryandimagination/

TWITTER: https://twitter.com/TalesofHistory1

PINTEREST: https://www.pinterest.nz/simonewhitlow/tales-of-history-and-imagination

The Deadly Sophxit of Count Konigsmarck and Princess Sophia Dorothea Today's post will be the tale of a royal exit written by guest poster Simone T. Whitlow from the blog…

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chungledown-bimothy · 5 years

Text

Trust Me: Chapter 9

I cannot thank y’all enough for your patience. Hopefully the fact that it’s a relatively big chapter a little bit kinda makes up for the wait? Either way, thank you so much for reading, and I love you <3

Chapter 1 Chapter 8 AO3 Chapter 10

Warnings: A brief mention of the wounds from previous chapters’ violence, very briefly implied nsfw/daddy kink (to skip it, just don’t read the text messages after “Aww, you’re so sweet!”

Author’s Note: Again, the cipher is crackable with the information you have. (I’d argue that this one might be a bit harder, because I gave you fewer/subtler clues, but if you get how it’s encrypted, decoding it is a lot easier.) Shoutout to y’all who got last chapter’s! <3

Word Count: 3,660

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"The truth, however ugly in itself, is always curious and beautiful to the seeker after it," Virgil muttered. Running his hand through his hair, he looked up to see that it was 8:30. He'd been at his desk staring at a copy of the note for over two hours. There was something familiar about the phrase; the feeling that he'd heard it before played in the back of his mind, just out of reach. He was sure that it was the key to solving the entire thing.

God, I wish I remembered more from that cryptology class I took in college. Okay, time for a new approach. Clean slate, let's go through what we know about him, Virgil thought.

He's a man in his late twenties or early thirties. He's highly intelligent and well-educated, likely with a medical background of some sort. He's a mission-based killer, set on punishing people he feels got away with things, things the system should have punished them fore. Before Jason Dean, it seems. That change in victimology must be connected to why he sent this note, so I'll put a pin in that for now; I'll talk to Vincent about the autopsy report when he's done with it.

He seems divided; some of the torture is methodical, but some of it seems more motivated by rage than purpose. And then there's how he treats them. Mission-oriented killers don't often torture their victims; the payoff is from the kill itself. But he's feeding them, keeping them alive for a while so he can torture them.

Does he want them to know what he's done? That's it. He wants them to recognize their 'sins', perhaps even repent for them. He needs the validation that comes from them acknowledging his power and that he is correct.

Everything he does has a literal meaning and a symbolic one, he continued. Nothing has only one meaning. On the surface, he's saying that he knows that what he's doing is wrong, legally at least, but he finds it beautiful. Interesting choice of wording. Not right, not just. Beautiful. It feels like he cares more about the torture than the mission. But then why the remorse with the pseudo-burial? He's so full of contradictions. And then there's the bit at the end. "Publish me", he said, not "publish this". Which goes back to the fact that he's got one hell of an ego; he wants the focus on him. Which directly flies in the face of most mission oriented killers- they want the focus on their message.

I would almost think that there might be two unsubs, but two people being this organized and methodical is extremely unlikely. He's way too egotistical to cooperate with a partner, however submissive said partner might be.

So, we've got an incredibly smart unsub who knows it and feels like he isn't getting the attention he deserves. A younger child, maybe? Not that that would help us find him. Round up every smart, egotistical younger son in the city. We'd get the founders of every tech start-up in the city; it'd be Gentrifiers-R-Us. Virgil shook his head to clear out the unhelpful thoughts. Focus, Virge. You're on a clock. So, what kind of encryption does someone like that send? What kind of encryption has each word represented by three numbers? It's not a trifid cipher; none of the numbers would be bigger than three, and these numbers range from 1 to 192. Most number ciphers assign a number to each letter; no way in hell all of the words are three letters, and 192 and 26 do not play well together mathematically. Think, Virgil.

Fuck. Okay, let's try another new angle. The series of numbers at the end. Clearly not part of the message. 10 digits, but clearly not a phone number. 055 certainly isn't a US area code, and the number isn't long enough for a foreign dialing code plus the rest of the phone number. Wait. Maybe it's backwards? 310 is Los Angeles.

Virgil took out his phone and dialed 310-053-3550, heart in his throat. It rang twice before an automated voice informed him that "the number you have dialed is no longer in service". Damn. His heart started beating in an entirely different way when he saw that he had some new texts.

6:22 [Patton]- Hi cutie! Are you free, by any chance? It's been a really bad day, and seeing you always makes me feel so much better. <3

6:50 [Patton]- I was thinking we could get some dinner and then watch a movie or something at my place

7:48 [Patton]- Virge?

Virgil's stomach dropped. Oh god do they think I'm ignoring them? Oh shit. He quickly typed out a reply.

8:53[Virgil<3]- Hey, Pat, I'm here. I'm so, so sorry you're having a bad day. I can't hang out tonight, though. :'( I'd be with you if I could, though. It's been a rough one for me, too. Wanna talk about what's been bringing you down?

Their reply was almost instant.

[Patton]- Virgil! :D Aww, stormcloud, it's okay. Life happens; it wouldn't be healthy for either of us if you dropped everything when I'm just a little down. Besides, it was nothing, really. Just me being dramatic lol

Virgil felt himself blush at the endearment, but his brow furrowed reading the rest of the message.

[Virgil<3]- You sure? It also isn't healthy to bottle up your emotions. I care a lot about you and am always here if you want to talk about anything.

[Patton]- God, you're the sweetest! <3 I care a lot about you too. I promise, though, I really am fine. Do you wanna talk about what's bumming you out?

[Virgil<3]- I really wish I could, but I actually have to get back to it. I'll message you later <3

[Patton]- okie dokie. Don't work too late, okay?

He chuckled as he put his phone away and looked back at the note on his desk. Heather and Kurt are obviously people, Ram probably is too. Who are they, and what do they mean to him? The phone on his desk started to ring; Virgil jumped.

"H- hello? Detective Mason here." Virgil cursed himself for the shaky greeting.

"Virgil! I'm glad you're still here. It's Vincent. You said you wanted to know as soon as the autopsy was done; I'm waiting for a couple of particulates to come back, but the bulk of it is ready for you."

"Vincent, you are a lifesaver. I'll be down in a minute."

"Did you know that the candy Life Savers was invented in 1912 as a summer confectionary alternative to chocolate, which has a melting point of approximately 86 degrees?"

"I definitely did not know that, but I did know that they started as mints and didn't become the fruity candy we associate most with the brand now until the mid-1920s."

"Fruit flavors were introduced in 1921, to be exact, but they did not have holes in them like the mints did until 1925, which is probably the date to which you were referring."

Virgil laughed. "Damn, I thought I had you. I'll be right down." He hung up the phone and left for the morgue.

Three minutes later, he found himself being hugged by Dr. Nigel-Murray.

"I'm as touch-starved as the next gay, but why the hug? We just saw each other, like, five hours ago." Virgil looked slightly down at Vincent with a small smile.

"I'm sorry, I'm trying to curb my workplace-inappropriate tendencies, but, barring once during a time of great stress, people in general don't respond in kind to my facts." Virgil's heart broke for the vulnerability and pain in his voice, and he made a mental note to learn as much trivia as possible.

"That's a damn shame. You're a great guy, Vince- let's get coffee or something once I've cracked this damn code."

"That sounds quite lovely, actually. What code, if I may ask?" Vincent's smile was appropriate for the fact that they were at work, but Virgil could tell that he was practically bouncing with excitement internally.

"Our killer sent a reporter a coded message. I've got about 21 hours to crack it if I want to get this guy to come to me."

"Not to overstep, but I've dabbled a bit in cryptography; perhaps I could be of some assistance?"

"I'd love another set of eyes on this, actually. Thank you! Here, give me your number, and I'll text you a picture of it once we've wrapped up here." Virgil pulled out his phone and unlocked it to find that his messages with Patton were still pulled up. He tried to stop himself from smiling, but he couldn't.

Vincent chuckled. "He must be pretty special, to get a smile like that out of you." Virgil blushed.

"Uh, yeah, they are. At least, I think so. I hope so." Virgil fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, refusing to make eye contact.

"Sorry about the pronoun flub. So, tell me about them!"

Virgil hesitated; opening up about his feelings certainly wasn't one of his strong suits, but he liked Vincent and wanted to be his friend.

“They’re incredible. Their name is Patton, and they run We Hart Coffee just a few blocks from here. They’re so funny and kind, and I’ve never seen a smile like theirs. It’s so genuine and infectious. The world genuinely is a brighter and happier place around them.”

“You really love them, huh?”

“I- What? No. No way. That’s way too cliche. We meet in a coffee shop and are in love within a couple of weeks? This is real life, and stuff like that only happens in movies and fanfiction. And completely unrealistic. What?" Virgil snapped, seeing the grin on Vincent's face.

"Trust me, Virgil. My first doctorate advisor, Doctor Brennan, was in deep denial of her love for her partner, Agent Booth. They're now happily married with two kids. I know what repressed love looks like, and you, my friend, have it in proverbial spades."

"I'm not sure that that's the right use for that cliche, and besides…" Virgil sighed, running a hand through his hair. "So what if you're right? Even if I did love them, which I don't, they don't love me back."

"Not yet, perhaps, but you're a great guy, Virgil. Smart, funny, caring, and quite handsome. If I were into men, I'm certain I would be half in love with you, myself. Just give them time."

"Christ, Vince, I'm gonna cry at work and ruin the tough-guy aesthetic I work so hard to maintain."

Vincent hummed his disbelief. "As much as I love chatting with you, I believe you're here about a murder. Follow me, if you will."

"Right. Murder." Virgil muttered before following him into the lab.

"So, you know who he is. 18 year old Mission High student Jason Dean. You saw the burns, frostbite, and acid damage. We were able to determine that the frostbite was caused by liquid nitrogen, and the killer used hydrochloric acid. We also found that while he was less dehydrated than the part victims, likely due to being held for only about a week, as opposed to two or three like previous victims, he was far more malnourished than the others."

"God, why is he changing so much? A kid, a shortened timetable, not feeding him. What was the cause of death?"

"Strychnine poisoning."

"See, that's a huge departure, too. All of the previous torture was from knives and hands. Why the sudden change to substances? Did he get injured, or is something else limiting his manual dexterity?"

"I don't know about any of that, but strychnine is a fairly popular poison in popular culture; Agatha Christie used it three times- in Mysterious Affair at Styles, The Coming of Mr. Quin, and How Does Your Garden Grow?, and Arthur Conan Doyle used it in-"

"Oh. OH. Vincent, I love you, you know-it-all." Virgil started pacing, running his fingers through his hair.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The Murder of Roger Ackroyd."

"What? Strychnine wasn't used in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd; Ackroyd was stabbed."

"Yes, I know. The note the killer sent. At the bottom of the code, he wrote 'the truth, however ugly in itself, is always curious and beautiful to the seeker after it'. It seemed so familiar, but I couldn't place it until you just brought up Agatha Christie. Poirot said it in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. The number. I'm an idiot."

"Breathe, Virgil. I assume that you just cracked the code?"

"Not quite. But I cracked our unsub. I knew it. I knew he'd hand me the answer. I can't believe it took me this long to figure it out."

"Okay, so how does The Murder of Roger Ackroyd help you?"

"Under the quote is a thirteen digit number. I'd bet my life that it's an ISBN for a specific printing of the book. It's an Arnold Cipher. Each series of three numbers is a page, line, and word. It was staring me in the face. I truly am Boo-Boo the Fool." Vincent was puzzled by Virgil's last sentence, but Virgil was far too agitated for questioning it to be prudent.

Virgil took a deep breath. "Okay, sorry about that. So, back to Jason?"

"Oh, right. Jason. Um, the only other thing of note that we have found at this point are fibers from a 1950s Volkswagen Beetle."

"That's gonna help a ton, as well. Vincent, you are my hero!" Virgil scooped him up into a big hug before leaving the morgue, leaving Vincent speechless for the first time in his life.

Virgil ran back up to his desk, furiously typing in his password. It took him three tries to correctly enter the number into the San Francisco Public Library website's search bar. He eventually got it, and there it was. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie. And two copies were available. The library didn't open until 12 pm the next day, however, so he went home after setting an alarm on his phone and sending a quick text to Patton.

9:52 [To:Patton]- Hey, wanna get dinner tomorrow night?

He was ecstatic to see a message from them when he got home.

9:55 [Patton]- Absolutely! You got the problem worked out? :D

10:10 [Virgil <3]- I found the solution, and will get it resolved by the end of the week. I'll pick you up on Friday at 7? We'll take a walk in the park and then House of Prime Rib, on me?

[Patton]- Are we celebrating something? Or are you trying to tell me you want to be my sugar daddy? ;P

[Virgil <3]- Trust me, Pat, if I had sugar daddy money, I'd love nothing more than to spoil you rotten. But nah, it's a combination of a small celebration and an apology for being unavailable today and for the next few days until Friday. (and i may or may not be buttering you up in hopes you'll share what's bringing you down)

[Patton]- Aww, you're so sweet! <3 (Can I call you daddy anyway?)

[Virgil <3]- Only if you want to be rewarded, baby. ;)

[Patton]- I'll be a good boy for you, daddy, I promise.

Virgil noted their preferred appellation and responded in kind with a wicked smile.

--------

The next morning, Virgil woke up half an hour before his alarm was set to go off, feeling more relaxed than he had in months. I'm finally going to get this guy.

Figuring there was no point in just waiting around, he got ready and went right to work. He knew Captain Sanders would want a breakdown of the previous night's findings before he could start following the leads he had gotten from Vincent the previous night.

He got to the station and immediately started looking into Jason Dean and the possible claim that he was a murderer. It didn't take him long to find that three Mission High students committed suicide 2 months prior named Heather, Kurt, and Ram. Virgil tracked down the police reports for the deaths. By all accounts, they appeared to be through-and-through suicides. If Jason did kill them, the killer would need to be quite close to either one of the victims or Jason himself. Linking the suicides would imply that he's close to all of them. Maybe through school? Science classes are more than likely to have liquid nitrogen and hydrochloric acid. Any teacher would have access, but I'll look more into science teachers in particular. He's displayed some anatomical knowledge as well.

Captain Sanders walked into the precinct, calling for Virgil to follow him into his office.

"So, what do you have?" he asked, after they'd arrived and shut the door.

"The note is a book cipher based on Agatha Christie's The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. The library has a copy of the specific edition I need to crack it, so I'm going to pick that up at noon, as soon as the library opens. Looking into the 'murderer' thing, there were three suicides at Mission High 5 months ago, whose names match the three not-coded words in the note- Heather, Kurt, and Ram. If they were murdered by Jason, that means the killer is close to one of them, most likely Jason himself. I think that's what the killer is alluding to in the note, but we'll see once I've decoded it. Add in the liquid nitrogen, and it points to a teacher, likely a science teacher. So I'm going to crack the code and look for other insights into him and look into Mission High science teachers. I have an updated profile, and I'll email that to you right away."

"That sounds wonderful, Mason. You've been doing excellent work; we're glad to have you."

Virgil shifted his weight from foot to foot. "I'm just doing my best, sir. If you'll excuse me, the library is about to open, and I'd like to get the book as soon as possible."

"Sounds great to me! Just send me that profile before you go."

"Will do, sir. Thank you." Virgil turned and left the room, hurrying to his computer before rushing to the library.

A short while later, he was back at his desk with a battered copy of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. It wasn't difficult to decode the message, but it did take a bit of time and a lot of counting and re-counting. Word by word, the message became clear: He killed Heather, Kurt, and Ram. Find the weapon; I know he had it. It is your evidence.

Virgil sat back in his chair once he'd finished, puzzled by what the note revealed that he hadn't already deduced. 'He' has to be referring to Jason. He knew we'd find out the reasons for him choosing the previous victims, but he needed to be sure we'd know why he thinks Jason deserved to die. I looked at the police reports for those deaths; the gun used to kill Ram and Sweeney was recovered on-site and is in police custody. He's obsessed with his mission, though. He wouldn't make this claim if he wasn't sure. I'll look into that once we've caught our killer. For my peace of mind, at least. Virgil cracked his knuckles and picked up his phone.

"Roman Prince, SFGate, how can I help you?"

"Roman, it's Detective Mason. Can you come down to the station right away?" The responding scream was so loud, Virgil had to move his phone away from his ear. "I'll take that as a yes?"

"Absolutely, Detective. I will be there as soon as physically possible."

"Don't break any traffic l-" The line went dead, cutting Virgil off.

Far sooner than could have been legal, Roman skidded to a stop in front of Virgil's desk.

"HelloVirgildidyoucrackthecode?DoIgettowritearesponse?CanI-"

"BREATHE, Roman." Virgil stood, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Yes, I cracked the code. Yes, you will publish a response tonight. But I'm writing it. I assume your laptop is in your bag?" Roman simply nodded- he knew that if he tried to speak, he'd start rambling again. "Fantastic. Let's get going."

45 minutes (and one call from Captain Sanders to Dan Humphrey about how not allowing it to be posted immediately would be obstruction of justice) later, a new post was live on SFGate's website. It was 4:02 pm, two hours before the deadline.

An Open Letter to U N Owen

It was a pleasure hearing from you. While I obviously cannot condone your methods, you are correct that our justice system is imperfect, and those imperfections need addressing. You gave me quite a puzzle, and I enjoyed solving it. It was clever, but not clever enough. I hope you'll forgive me for not following your directions; please let me know if this is inadequate.

Vq rwv kv dnwpvna, aqw'tg ytqpi. Jg fqgup'v jcxg kv, yg fq. Yg'xg jcf kv htqo vjg xgta dgikppkpi. Dwv aqw cntgcfa mpqy vjcv. Aqw'tg hct vqq engxgt vq jcxg pqv mpqyp vjcv. Wpnguu K'o qxgtguvkocvkpi aqw, yjkej ku c fghkpkvg rquukdknkva. Aqwt qvjgt cuugtvkqp jcu dggp pqvgf, cpf K uygct vq aqw vjcv K yknn rwtuwg vjcv qpeg yg ugvvng vjku ocvvgt dgvyggp wu.

Hqt pqy, vjqwij, aqw ujqwnf mpqy vjcv aqw'xg iqvvgp unqrra, cpf vjcv kv'u qpna c ocvvgt qh vkog dghqtg K hkpf aqw cpf tgrca aqw kp vjg ngicn hqto qh vjg eqkp aqw icxg vjgo. Aqw yknn (ogvcrjqtkecnna) jcpi hqt vjku.

Sincerely,

Det. Mason Poirot II

--------------------

Logan refreshed SFGate.com for the thirteenth time that day and was finally rewarded for his tenacity; the post was less than five minutes old. He read it twice, rage simmering in his chest and a smile on his face. "Detective Mason," he said to his empty apartment, "a worthy adversary indeed. The game is on."

#virgil sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #ts ff #roman sanders #patton sanders #moxiety #analogical #prinxiety #sanders sides #trust me #trust me fic #my writing #serial killer au

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years

Text

kiss me in the d-a-r-k .epilogue ii.

the weekend

masterlist

Warnings: dub con sex (oral, intercourse)

This is dark!(dad)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader meets Steve again.

Note: Okay, I kept going and here is the next part. I’m sorry if the following one doesn’t post as soon but I dunno. I’m feeling it. You’re feeling it. I’m the fic daddy over here giving you what your need so here you go! I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply!

...

Steve drove you home. It was past midnight and you were exhausted. He offered for you to stay the night but that seemed too much. You were glad you lived alone in the cramped bachelor. Your summer of work paid off your rent in advance. It was meagre but affordable and close to campus.

He kissed you goodbye. Hungrily. You imagined that if you spent the night in his suite, he'd not have let you sleep long. His stamina was surprising. You thought older men were supposed to be tamer. You bid him a quick goodbye and he idled outside your building until the door closed behind you.

You laid awake for an hour. You could feel him still. When you finally closed your eyes, you saw him in your dreams. It felt almost as good as the real thing. You woke in a sweat and the autumn clouds set grey shadows across your apartment. The kitchen, bedroom, and living all shared the same open space. It looked so dreary in the dim chill and after your evening in Steve’s lux suite.

You dragged yourself to the shower. You let the hot water wash away the filth and shame. Steve was in your head again. You thought of the summer. The night he’d removed your bathing suit and touched you; the first time he’d tasted you; the last night when he’d taken it all. Your fingers were between your legs as you snapped back to reality and the steam blurred your vision.

You stepped out onto the tile and sat for a moment as you gathered yourself. You had a long day of studying ahead of you. The scent of old paper and stale coffee in the uni library would help you focus. A typical weekend bent over a table full of textbooks and notes as Kylie pestered you to come over.

You stopped by the campus cafe on your way to the library and headed to the top floor where the tables were often empty. You parked yourself at one in the furthest corner and strategically set out your laptop, phone, and books. You rubbed your eyes and sipped from your latte as you started your weekly readings.

An hour, maybe two before you drew your eyes from the cramped text. You yawned and grabbed your phone as your stomach growled. Your half-toasted bagel had barely been enough. Your screen showed the usual texts from Kylie and the school emails piled up in your inbox. Another name flashed across the screen; well, a single letter as his moniker: ‘S’. Keying in Steve’s full name had seemed more sinful than your little tryst.

‘Meet me at the Beer Garden. 6pm.’ As always, to the point and more than just a request.

‘I’m studying for midterms.’ You replied.

‘All day? I know you’re probably nose deep in those books already, sweetie.’

‘7’ You replied.

‘That works.’ He accepted and you replaced your phone on the desk.

You were hoping he’d forget about you for the rest of the week. He said he had business and a friend he wanted to see. For a moment, you’d wondered if this friend was another woman but the worry quickly faded. You didn’t care if he had another woman, this was just sex. Easier to keep it that way considering. With another to keep his attention, you’d not be the centre of it. Maybe this thing would die quick enough that you’d both forget and you’d have nothing to hide from Kylie.

You stepped off the subway and rushed through the tunnels. You hated the underground. It was eerie and claustrophobic. Above ground, you checked your phone and stared at the map as it pointed you in the opposite direction. You didn’t travel far from the university and catching the right train had been enough of a chore to have you overwhelmed.

The Beer Garden was upscale and above your pay rate, which at the moment consisted of scholarship money and inconsistent cheques for amateur online articles. You entered the tinted glass doors and looked around the bar with dread. You checked your phone, you were right on time.

Your heart froze as you spotted Steve across the bar. You smiled at him as he looked up and saw you. As you stood dumbly in place, another ambled into you as they emerged from the hallway marked ‘restrooms’. You looked over at the man and gasped. Your heart sank as you stared up at him.

“Hello,” He steadied you with a hand on your arm. “Funny to bump into your here. Quite literally it seems.”

“I, uh, yeah,” You stuttered like an idiot. “I was just...meeting a friend here.”

“Oh, me too,” He smiled. “What are the odds?”

“Yeah, well, I don’t see my friend,” You said. “So I guess I’ll just wait outside.”

“Outside? Why don’t you join us for a drink while you wait?” He asked.

“Us?” You frowned. “Who are you--?”

“My friend,” He supplied, “Don’t worry, you’ll like him. And we don’t bite. We’re too old for that.”

“I dunno,” You wrung your hands and glanced over at Steve who watched you curiously. “Okay. One drink.”

“Great.” He turned and waved you along. “Just over here.” He led you across the bar and your nerves began to storm as you got closer and closer to Steve. When Professor Barnes stopped you at the same table, your head swelled in panic. “This is my friend, Steve. Steve this is Y/N. She’s one of my students.”

“Oh, nice to meet you,” Steve reached out cordially and offered his hand. You shook it and he smirked. “I can’t imagine having this know-it-all as my professor. You’re a brave one.”

“I couldn’t handle you as a student,” Barnes replied shortly.

“Heh, yeah,” You climbed up on a stool, “Professor Barnes isn’t too bad. I’ve had worse.”

“You can call me Bucky here,” He corrected you, “This isn’t a seminar.”

“Okay,” You smiled nervously as he waved over your head and a waiter appeared at the table.

“We’ll take a pitcher for the table. And another glass.” He ordered and the server went quickly to retrieve it.

“I...I’m not of age yet,” You said shyly.

“They won’t card you here, don’t worry.” Bucky flicked away your complaint. “You good for another round, Steve?”

“More than,” Steve assured him and his eyes peeked over at you. “So, are you failing or is he actually being reasonable these days?”

“She’s one of my best students,” Bucky retorted. “Don’t listen to him. He does this. He thinks he’s more successful than me because he lives out in the suburbs.”

“I know I’m better than you,” Steve returned and the waiter came back to set the pitcher and extra glass on the table. “Your stuffy little office and dozen degrees don’t mean anything.”

You laughed awkwardly as Bucky filled each glass and shook his head. “I don’t mind his class. Even if it is on Friday.”

“Ah, yes, I forgot the uni girls all love their weekends.” He pushed the third glass towards you. “And yet here you are with us geezers on your Saturday night.”

“There is wisdom in years,” You jibed, “As questionable as the source may be.”

Bucky chortled and took a drink. Steve chuckled under his breath and tilted his head as he considered you. You could see the thoughts behind his blue eyes as he glanced between the two of you. You stifled your nerves with a mouthful of beer. It was going to be a long night. If not disastrous.

You were done your drink. In fact, you were on your second. The night had worn on and you checked your phone. Two hours! You glanced over at Steve but he was distracted by whatever Bucky was saying. You found it hard to keep track as you tried to balance the two of them. Tried to keep boundaries with your professor and hide your secret crush from the man you were fucking.

“So what about that friend of yours?” You were startled by the question. You blinked and looked at your phone again.

“I...It looks like they’re not gonna make it,” You gave an exaggerated sigh. “It’s happened before. It’s whatever.”

“Aw, damn,” He frowned. His laugh lines showed beneath his thick beard and you couldn’t help but admire the way his blue eyes sparkled. “Well, at least you got to waste your time with us.”

“Uh, yeah, well,” You tapped your half-empty glass with your fingernail. “I think maybe I should just call it a night. I’ll have it out with my flaky friend tomorrow.”

“Finish your drink first.” Bucky said. “Might as well. Oh, you need a ride?”

“Oh, it’s cool. I don’t live too far and pass is subsidized through tuition.” You shrugged. “Really, I’m fine.”

“Alright, just be safe.” He warned. “Oh and don’t forget about Monday.”

“I won’t.” You promised as you drain the last dregs of your beer. You stood and pulled your jacket on. “Looking forward to it actually.”

“Monday?” Steve wondered.

“Writing workshop,” He explained. “A little extra experience for the students and some useful knowledge on how publishing actually works.”

“Oh, that nerd stuff,” Steve kidded and turned to you. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Good luck with this one.”

“Yeah, thanks,” You gulped. “Have a good night.”

“You sure you don’t need a ride?” Bucky asked.

“You sure you don’t? You’ve had your fair share.” You returned.

“Cab fare then?”

“I’m good,” You assured him one last time. “See ya Monday.”

You skirted away before they could suck you back in. They both seemed all too eager to keep you out all night. Steve didn’t surprise you but Bucky did. Rather, Professor Barnes. Always a laidback professor but you didn’t think him that friendly. You wondered how the odds had stacked up against you. The two of them; friends. Fate surely favoured you.

As you stepped out into the brisk evening, your bag vibrated and you stopped to check it. ‘Hotel. Lobby. Twenty minutes.’ You glanced back at the bar doors and texted your acquiescence. It’d take at least that to get over there on the subway. You wondered if Steve could beat you there.

He did. When you arrived he was in the lobby on a long leather chaise. He sat patiently. His eyes found you as you walked in and he stood to greet you. He held his jacket over his arm and held out his other hand for you to take. He pulled you to him and kissed you. His arm wrapped around you and you struggled to part from him.

“Steve…” You looked around. “Not here.”

“How many people do you know in the city, hmm? No one even cares.” He lowered his arm and squeezed your ass. “Let’s go before I lose all my self-control.”

He guided you to the elevator. His hand never left your ass despite your wriggling. He was warm against you and the beer made him irresistible. You leaned into him and your bag hung heavily from your arm. He led you down the hall and swiped his card at his door. He nudged you ahead of him and the door shut with a snap behind him.

“That whole time we were sitting there, I couldn’t stop thinking about your ass. About everything I wanna do to you.” He snarled. “Sweetie, you’re driving me wild.” He rubbed the front of his pants. “I need you naked. Now.”

You complied almost instantaneously. You wanted him too. Wanted to feel the same electricity as before. You were tired of denying yourself. Of burying that urge that grew so overwhelming as you fingered yourself in your bed. Your jacket was thrown over a chair, your shirt, pants, and underwear followed. Your shoes and socks littered the floor beneath and you stood before him expectantly.

“Jesus,” He inhaled deeply and unbuckled his pants. “Will you treat me nice, sweetie?”

You neared him as he undid his fly and ran you hand over his crotch. He groaned and let his pants fall open. You rubbed him through his briefs and he shuddered. He played with your hair and caressed your arm as he watched you. You dragged you fingers tantalizingly along his cock and relished the noises it drew from him.

You pushed his briefs down past his cock and got to your knees. You had only done it that one time. You were almost intimidated as you knelt down before him and he gripped the base of his cock. He bent his knees as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft just above his own. He let go and you flicked his tip with your tongue.

“Do you remember what I taught you, sweetie?” He purred and tickled along your cheek. “Just relax. Take it slow.”

You swirled your tongue around his tip and he twitched. You repeated the motion and he hissed. You stretched your lips around him and tasted his salty precum. His hands went to the side of your head and rested there lightly. He groaned as you took him deeper and pressed your tongue along his length.

You did your best not to gag as you pushed past your reflex. You still couldn’t take all of him and pulled back slowly so that your saliva coated his cock. Your hand followed your mouth and you did it again; again; again. Faster each time; hungrier. You’d never expected to like it so much and each stroke had you wanting more.

His thick breaths floated in your ears and you looked up at him. He was watching you intently, his blue eyes intent; hot. His fingers spread along the back of your head and he pulled you off him. He smiled at the small pop as his cock fell out of your mouth.

“Sweetie, you keep that up and I’m gonna cum already,” He purred. “Stand up.”

He tugged on your hand until you were on your feet. You were almost dizzy; the mixture of lust and beer had you wild.

“On the bed.” He directed. “Tell me how you want it.”

You blinked at him and pouted. “I don’t...I don’t know.”

“Go on. Show me what you want.”

You clamped your lips shut and turned to look at the bed. As you edged away from him you heard the rustle of his clothing. You peeked back at him as he unbuttoned his shirt. He nodded for you to continue.

You stepped up to the bed and touched the mattress. The first night you were together, you’d mostly been on your back. He used his mouth more than his cock. There was so much left undone. Perhaps that was why you were here now.

You climbed up on all fours and glanced back over your shoulder. His eyes sparked as he freed himself from his pants. You wiggled your ass and he grinned. You turned back as he stepped towards you and the city winked at you through the tall windows. The distant traffic and street lights so far away.

His hands surprised you as they gripped your hips and crawled down the back of your thighs. His hot breath was even more surprising and you looked back again. He was on his knees as he grabbed your ass. He leaned in and his cool tongue dipped between your warm folds. You gasped and your head spun back around. You closed your eyes and pushed your head back.

You moaned, a long relieved moan as he licked you. He played with your clit and sucked at it. His teeth tenderly grazed you and he drank you in. You grasped at the blankets and arched your back.

��S-S-Steve,” You came with a sultry stammer and he carried you through it with his mouth. “Oh, oh, oh god.”

“Yea, sweetie,” He parted and stood. “You want me to fuck you like this?” He slapped your ass.

“Yes, yes,” You were surprised by your desperate plea. You needed it more than ever. “Please.”

His hands were on your hips again. He held you steady and his cock poked your folds as he lined himself up. He plunged into you in a single motion. You squeaked at the sudden intrusion. It sent an overwhelming wave through you. His fingers kneaded your flesh as he started to thrust.

“Mmm, you’re so good, sweetie.” He brought his pelvis flush against you and you whimpered. You were so full. “Can you feel that? How tight you are. How good you feel around me.”

“Yesss,” You said breathily and dropped down to your elbows. You hung your head as he pulled back and kept his pace steady. You could hear how your walls longed for him; how they tried to cling to him.

“Tell me what you want, sweetie? How do you want it?”

“Faster,” You said without thinking. “Harder.”

You leaned into him and he impaled you. He sped up and you let out a delighted cry. His cock hit all the right spots as it filled you over and over. Your muscles tensed as you were drawn to the edge and you plummeted down to your orgasm with a roar.

“Yes, sweetie, that’s it.” He kept his hips moving just as quick. “Tell me where to cum.”

“On my ass. It’s...fine.” You gulped as your breathing turned erratic. “Oh. oh, oh, oh…”

Your chant continued as another orgasm followed. You’d never cum so easily. He pulled out suddenly and a warmth spilled down your ass and thigh. Your thighs quivered as he stroked himself to his peak and you slowly pushed your legs out from beneath you to lay flat.

He fell down beside you as the cum dripped down the side of your leg. He stretched his arm across your back and nestled closed. You turned your head to face him and gave a dopey smile. He smiled back but it was more than the afterglow.

“You wanna fuck him, don’t you?” He asked.

You blinked and shook your head against the mattress. “What?”

“Bucky.” He ran his fingers up your spine. “I can tell you want to. You should. If that’s what you want.”

“He’s my professor.” You stiffened and turned onto your side. You grabbed his arm so that his hand stilled.

“And? He wants to fuck you too. I know him well enough.” He chuckled. “He doesn’t socialize with students. Not like tonight. And the way he perked up when he ran into you.” He tutted. “He’s a dirty professor. Not that blame him.”

“I’m not going to fuck him,” You insisted and sat up, the cum sticky on your leg.

“Alright,” He said coolly. “Just...if you change your mind, don’t worry about me. I want you to explore yourself. Even if it’s not with me.”

“Please,” You laughed off his suggestion and bent to kiss him, if only to shut him up. “I’ve got enough to worry and not enough time to worry about it.”

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