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cheri-translates · 3 years

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[CN] Gavin’s Sky Date - Prologue

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date prologue, 云霄之约, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Do note that you have to read this before embarking on the actual date, because it contains background information and sweet domestic bliss you wouldn't want to miss :>

[ This date was released on 14 April 2021 ]

[ Part One: A Dream About to Take Flight ]

MC: Ahhh! My life is up to me. Not. Up. To. Fate!

The small dice in my furled hand is tossed around several times. When I loosen my grip, it rolls quickly on the map -- ‘2′.

Gavin: Hahaha--

Gavin laughs, but hurriedly retracts his smile when he senses my murderous gaze.

Gavin: It’s okay, things will definitely take a favourable turn in the next round.

Sulky, I let out of a huff. I watch as he picks up the dice, casually rolling a '5′. Then, he cheerfully shifts his own plane on the map by six spaces.

[Note] In the game of Aeroplane Chess, your plane can only leave the starting point if you roll a ‘5′ of ‘6′!

MC: ...

It’s a Saturday afternoon. Gavin and I had nothing to do after eating, so we randomly grabbed a set of Aeroplane Chess from the supermarket to play. But I didn’t expect to have such a terrible gaming experience!

Although it’s been the sixth or seventh round, I just can’t the ‘6′ I need to get my plane out of the hangar. On the other hand, Gavin has always been able to get it to take flight smoothly, and very quickly reaches the goal.

MC: Gavin, with your kind of luck, there’s no need to waste it on playing games with me.

After pondering for a long while, I offer him a serious suggestion.

MC: Let’s head out to buy a lottery ticket?

Gavin: Why don’t we play something else? The paper model from last time was only half done. Since we have time today, we could get it done at one go.

At this moment, the phone on the floor beside me rings. Seeing the familiar number, I tap on the hands-free function.

Nurse: Miss MC, the physical report done at our hospital is ready. Please bring your receipt and collect it within fifteen working days.

MC: Mm, got it, thank you.

Gavin is currently storing the Aeroplane Chess pieces into the box. Hearing this conversation, he gives me a puzzled look.

Gavin: Haven’t you already gone for a physical examination this year? Are you feeling unwell?

MC: No, no. I’m using the report for the registration.

I deliberately pretend to be secretive, leaning towards him. Then, I show him the registration form that I had submitted online beforehand.

MC: I’m going to get a Private Pilot License.

[ Part Two: First Day of School ]

On the first day of aviation training, I set the alarm to wake me up at 6.30am. Even Gavin is stunned at the level of enthusiasm I have for learning.

Gavin: The courses for the aviation license can get pretty dry. You have to be mentally prepared.

MC: Are you referring to things like meteorology, aircraft structure, air traffic regulations?

Gavin: Mm. Aside from the exams, such knowledge is necessary for aircraft pilots.

While he speaks, he lifts his head to give me a smile.

Gavin: But they definitely won’t stump you.

After packing my things, I grab a random jacket and prepare to leave.

The classes take place in the suburbs, and it takes an hour to get there. Despite waking up early, I’d be late if I don’t hurry up.

But Gavin is clearly not too worried about this matter. He holds a slice of bread in his mouth while looking at his phone.

Gavin: Since I’m sending you there, you won’t be late. Before your first official lesson, I’ll give you a flight class.

I walk over to him, pulling up the zipper of his uniform, and also picking up the motorcycle helmet from the table.

MC: To prevent this from being a mere flash in the pan, I want to leave the joy of flight to the end of the course. But if going by land would make me late...

Gavin rolls the bread into his mouth, taking the helmet from my hand.

Gavin: No matter the route, you won’t be late. Oh yes, what class are you taking today?

[ Part Two, Option 1: Principles of Meteorology ]

Instructor: I’ll ask some small questions to test your foundation and see if you take note of knowledge in this area.

He opens the PowerPoint presentation, then uses a laser pointer to point at the image on the first page - it's a cumulus cloud with a flat bottom layer and a high, upward curve at the top.

Instructor: Does anyone know what this cloud is called?

MC: Cumulus congestus cloud.

Instructor: Correct. The next question - when the International Civil Aviation Organisation observes cloud volume, how many segments do they divide the sky into?

MC: It should be eight segments.

I recall that Gavin brought this up before.

Instructor: Not bad, miss. You did preparatory work beforehand, didn’t you?

MC: No no, I have a friend who has a better understanding in this area, so I was just influenced.

After saying this, chuckles drift from the surroundings. The instructor nods in understanding.

Instructor: In that case, you won’t have a problem during the exams.

MC: ...I’ll do my best.

After all, my confidence is limited when it comes to exams.

Just as I’m thinking about this, I receive a notification on my phone. Gavin has sent me an incredibly large document file.

Gavin: I don’t know how to teach, so I compiled some materials you might need for the exam.

I grip my phone, suddenly feeling like the weather is so good that it makes one carefree and relaxed.

It’s just an exam. I’ll definitely be fine.

[ Part Two, Option 2: Aviation Regulations Class ]

At 2pm in the afternoon, the sun shines from above. I had a full meal, so fighting against the sleeping bug is a difficult challenge.

Instructor: Before the flight, the captain has to carry out the necessary inspections of the aircraft. Until the inspections are complete, you can’t take off. This regulation is easy to understand. In fact...

When the dullness of the course matches how fine the weather is, the entire classroom gets immersed in a drowsy atmosphere.

I take a few deep breaths and pat my face... but I still feel like sleeping.

Instructor: Okay, we’ll take a 10 minute break. You students look sleepy, so go wash your faces to freshen up.

The moment he finishes speaking, the sound of heads plopping down on the tables can be heard all around.

Just as I prepare to stand up and stretch, my phone suddenly vibrates.

Delivery boy: Hello, I’ve placed your take-out at the main counter.

MC: Take-out?

But I didn’t order take-out...

While I’m puzzled, the young lady from the main counter very politely brings the item to the classroom - it’s a cup of coffee.

There’s only one simple line on the note of the take-out: Persevere for a little longer. Gavin.

I retrieve the coffee from the bag, taking a tiny slip. The instructor walks past, giving me a glance from the side.

Instructor: Are you drinking coffee or milk tea? You’re smiling so happily.

MC: Being able to swim in the ocean of knowledge is always meant to be a happy thing.

The instructor gives me an expression which says, “like I’d actually believe you”.

MC: Instructor, let’s continue with the lesson. I’m not drowsy anymore. Learning for another four hours is no problem at all!

[ Part Three: Being Your Co-pilot ]

Gavin: Do you want to head out for a stroll after dinner? It seems to be really cooling outside.

I’m currently taking out plates from the kitchen drawer, subconsciously craning my head to glance outside.

MC: It’s going to rain, isn’t it...

Gavin: Really? I’ll check the weather forecast. Earlier in the afternoon, Eli mentioned taking out some time to wash his car at night. I even thought today would be a good day.

I step into the living room, setting down plates on the dining table.

MC: There are just some cumulonimbus clouds in the sky. It might not really rain.

Gavin scrolls through the real-time weather, then gives me a smile.

Gavin: It’s really going to rain.

He gets up, opening the rice cooker and scooping a full bowl of rice for me.

Gavin: At first, I even thought you’d find such theoretical knowledge boring. I didn’t think you’d learn them so earnestly. Looks like you really want to get the license.

MC: Of course. I want to be your co-pilot.

Although Gavin hasn’t even scooped rice for himself, he’s already served me a huge pile of vegetables.

Gavin: Sure. I’ll wait for the day you get your license.

Just as I’m about to talk about how assured I am about getting the license, I realise that the plate on my hand is becoming fuller and fuller.

Before I can even voice my question, Gavin responds.

Gavin: Learning is tough. You need to eat a little more. I also bought you ice-cream. It’s in the second compartment of the freezer. I remember you mentioning that as long as you eat something delicious during difficult times, you can press on easily.

MC: ...hahaha! Mm! After having this meal, I’ll complete all my post-class homework!

[ Aviation Terminology Class ]

MC: Calling for the control tower. Number N8596 has arrived, and is requesting for a landing gate.

Gavin (through the phone): Number N8596, you may use aircraft Gate Number One.

Gavin’s light-hearted laughter drifts from the phone.

Gavin: Shouldn’t your class end at 7pm? It’s only 6pm.

MC: The plan was to be dismissed at 7pm, but... for some reason, those in my class were really interested in the Aviation Terminology class, so they did their preparatory work in advance. The three hour class was over in one and a half hours. The instructor said that we already grasped all the key points, so we were dismissed early. What about you? How much longer till you’re off work?

Gavin: For me... less than half an hour. You could think about what to do with this unexpectedly free hour. I remember that there’s a new dessert shop opposite the cinema.

MC: You remembered? I never even told you about it. How could you remember? Officer Gavin, you better tell me the truth. You didn’t remember it - you specially searched it up.

Gavin: Mm, I specially searched it up. I even found that there are claw machines along the shopping street on the ground level of the cinema.

MC: Looks like what I’m going to do in the next hour has already been scheduled.

Gavin: Wait for me at the office first. I’ll look for you once I’m done with the work on hand.

[ Part Four: Flight Practice ]

Today’s the first flight practice class. The instructor is sitting in the co-pilot seat, watching my every move throughout the entire journey.

I wasn't nervous at first, but each time he glances at me, I involuntary wonder if I’ve done something wrong.

In an instant, I recall the fear of taking the aviation exam...

Until the plane successfully takes flight, I keep feeling as though the thing suspending in the air isn’t the plane, but my heart.

Instructor: It’s rare for you to make a trip up here. What’s there to be nervous about? Come, lift your head and look at the sky.

At this moment, countless gripes flash across my mind: What’s so nice about the sky? I’ve seen all kinds of skies. Right now, all I want is to fly the plane...

But the moment I lift my head, I’m rendered speechless.

Instructor: How is it? The first time I saw it, I was so stunned that I couldn't speak either.

MC: It’s really beautiful.

Sunlight casts a layer of golden hue on the soft and white clouds, blending the colours of gold and crimson.

I’m unable to describe how the scenery before me makes me feel.

It’s a feeling which... makes one feel that life has meaning.

All of a sudden, another thought surfaces in my mind: I wonder what went through Gavin’s mind when he saw such a sight for the first time.

The instructor sitting next to me glances at me from the side.

Instructor: Thinking about your boyfriend again?

MC: [blushing] ...no!

Instructor: It’s normal. Each time I’m flying, I can’t help but think of my wife. There isn’t a reason to it. It’s just a sudden thought, an involuntary reaction.

The instructor laughs as he gives me advice with a contagious smile.

Instructor: If you’re thinking about him, just do it. It’s fine. It’s a normal thing. When you see certain things, your natural reaction is to think of someone.

MC: ...Instructor, I usually can’t tell, but you’re actually quite philosophical.

I grab the joystick of the plane, watching as countless clouds drift past leisurely.

All I want to do is take a photograph of this moment for Gavin.

Date: here

Gavin watching as I drool over the thought of Eli scrubbing his car in the rain while wearing a singlet:

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin #summary of the prologue: gavin is the perfect boyfriend

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sunmoonandeddie · 4 years

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marriage story

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5,641

summary: Fake marrying Bucky was only supposed to be a means to an end.

prompt: college au, fake marriage au, and enemies to lovers

warnings: swearing, talk of past sexual abuse

a/n: This was written for @broadwayandnetflix for @bucky-smiles‘s Secret Santa! SURPRISE!!!! I’m so sorry I’m a day late, I just wanted to make sure it was as good as I could make it!! I really hope you enjoy!!!

You weren’t sure how you ended up staring at divorce papers.

Hell, you’d just graduated college three weeks ago and had miraculously landed your first job that was conducive to your career.

And now, you were a divorcée at the age of twenty-one.

Granted, your marriage had lasted much longer than a lot of those that happened when the two people were teenagers.

It had also been fake, but that’s beside the point.

You read over the divorce papers for the eightieth time since they’d arrived. Both of you took your individual things, no need for lawyers…

It had all seemed so simple when it first began. A means to an end.

You were eighteen and stupid. Desperate. You had no idea what the consequences would be.

You had no idea that you’d actually fall in love with your husband.

He’d needed to live off campus since he couldn’t afford the on campus housing. At a minimum of seven thousand dollars a school year, it was ridiculous. You couldn’t really afford it either, but the school had a rule that you couldn’t live off campus until your junior year, and the two of you were still second semester freshmen.

Then there was the issue with your FAFSA. You weren’t exactly on good terms with your parents. And by not on good terms, you meant that you didn’t speak to them. At all. Getting their tax information wasn’t going to happen, and it wasn’t like they were helping you pay for college.

But FAFSA wouldn’t let you fill it out as an independent student until you were twenty-one. Apparently, being cut off from your parents wasn’t enough of a ‘special circumstance’ to allow it.

But, there was one little thing that could fix all that.

Matrimony.

If you were married, you’d have to file independently. No questions asked about parents.

And the university would allow you to live off campus, too.

It was a perfect solution. A quick little trip to the courthouse.

Living together had seemed logical. A little two bedroom apartment was much cheaper than seven thousand dollars for nine months in a dorm room you had to share.

Plus, you had to keep up the illusion to the school and the government that you were married.

Outside of living together though, there wasn’t much needed. Each of you wore a fake ring when you went to your meetings with your advisor and your classes. It kept the rabid frat boys away from you, at least.

And then there were the scholarships. Turns out, there are scholarships specifically for married college kids, and your advisor thought you were just perfect for it because she’d never met such a wonderful couple.

It was all perfect. Until it wasn’t.

First off, you and Bucky didn’t even really like each other when all of this started. You only knew each other because you were best friends with Natasha, who was his best friend’s girlfriend. It had actually been the two of them that had gotten the idea in the first place.

“So, I’m sure you’re wondering why we gathered you here today,” Steve said, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Steve, this is my room.”

This was not how you wanted to spend your Saturday night. You’d worked a double that day, from eight in the morning to ten that night.

The perks of working at a bar that did Mimosa Mornings on the weekends. The worst part was that you weren’t even allowed to take a shot or two to help you get through it since you were eighteen.

Stupid fucking law. If you could work in a bar, you should be able to drink to deal with the customers. Because fuck, they’re horrible.

But you made more than you’d be making at Buffalo Wild Wings, that’s for sure.

“Can we just get whatever this is over with?” Bucky asked from across the room. He definitely wasn’t keen to be stuck in a room with you for any longer than necessary. “I have work in the morning.”

“Same here,” you added, narrowing your eyes at the two who sat in front of you.

Natasha was your best friend and your roommate, but fuck were you ready to put out a ‘New Friends Wanted’ sign. You could take applications.

Requirement number one: Must not be dating the best friend of the most annoying prick in the world AKA Bucky Barnes.

Requirement number two: Must not be waiting to ambush you in your own dorm room with said prick.

“So, both of you are having issues with the university,” Nat said as she took out a bunch of papers. “The dorms are crazy expensive and you’re not allowed to live off campus. Also, FAFSA is ridiculous.”

“And we have a solution,” Steve said, a grin on his face. He was such a giver. He loved his friends more than anything in the world and would literally give anything for them. Seriously. You’d once watched him actually give the shirt off his back to Bucky when the latter had gotten drunk at a party and puked all over his.

He’d also gotten it on your shoes, and Bucky had just burped and said, “They look better now.”

The disgusting asshole.

“Well, spit it out,” you said, rubbing your temples. You were still in your uniform, a pair of cut off jean shorts and a tank top. Your hair smelled like cigarette smoke and someone’s beer that they spilled on you. “I’d like to go to sleep before sunrise, please.”

“You two could get married.”

Both you and Bucky stared at them like they’d grown two heads.

“I’m sorry… What the fuck did you just say?” You asked, standing up.

Natasha rushed to continue, still grinning. “If you two get married, the university will let you live off campus, and FAFSA will let you file as independent!”

“And it’s cheap! A marriage license only costs like… fifty bucks? Something like that!” Steve said.

Well… It wasn’t… a horrible idea, even if you and Bucky might end up killing each other before then.

“I don’t know...,” you said, the whole idea making you nervous. Marriage? Come on.

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “I really don’t want to be married to her. We’d kill each other before we hit our six month anniversary,” he mocked, shooting a glare your way.

“It would only be until you graduate!” Natasha said. “And then, you two get divorced and it becomes a funny story to tell at parties!”

You shared a look across the room with the brunette. It would solve your problems…

“Fine.”

Turns out, getting married was a lot easier than you thought it would be. All four of you went to the courthouse that next Tuesday when all of you had a break in between classes.

You wore a sweatshirt and leggings, your ratty sneakers that were covered in mud along the bottom. Bucky wore jeans and a university hoodie.

Not exactly usual wedding attire.

Natasha, ever the optimist ever since she met Steve, had shoved a daisy she’d picked in your hair.

And an hour later, you’d walked out as Mrs. Barnes.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you stood up from the couch and walked around the little place you’d called home since you were eighteen.

It had been quiet the first few months. You signed a lease on an apartment a few blocks from campus and had moved in right at the end of the school year, but he went home with Steve to Brooklyn, New York.

You were alone the entire summer except for the few weekends that Natasha managed to come visit. The only time you and Bucky spoke was when he texted you to let you know when he was moving in.

And that’s when the fighting had started.

As you stared at a picture of the two of you on the wall, you couldn’t help but laugh. In the photo, you two were sitting on the couch, holding a cake that Natasha and Steve had gotten you as a joke. HAPPY 2ND ANNIVERSARY! was written across it in bright blue icing.

It was a far cry from when you two had first moved in. Everything was an issue. You didn’t do this, he did that, the both of you wanted to watch different movies and he had brought the television but you’d brought the DVD player. Everything. Hell, you’d sleep on the bean bag in Natasha’s dorm some nights because even being in the same apartment as him was too much.

Eventually, there was compromise. An understanding grew between you and with that, a truce. You couldn’t keep living like you were.

You were pretty sure the war had finally, silently ended one late night in October. It was the weekend before Halloween, and you’d had the worst shift of your life.

Your keys clanged as you unlocked the front door, trying to open it as quietly as possible. Even from where you stood, you could see the clock above the stove that read 1:42 AM. You were supposed to be off at ten, but that clearly hadn’t happened. One of the other girls working had gotten sick and you were forced to cover the few hours she was supposed to work alone until close.

And to add onto that, you made less the entire weekend than you had last Friday night. You’d been hit on, groped, yelled at. Fuck. You just wanted to collapse in your bed.

“You’re home late.”

“Fuck!” You jumped in shock, your heart pounding in your chest. God. Your anxiety had just spiked and the exhaustion you’d been feeling was replaced with your fight or flight instinct.

Bucky was standing in the hallway entrance, brows furrowed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He had on those gray sweats that he looked so good in…

No! Down girl! Bad!

It didn’t matter that he was hot. He was a total dick.

Though, lately he’d be rather kind. Nice. There’d been less fights in the past few weeks.

You cleared your throat, looking away from him. “Yeah, Wanda got sick, so I had to close.”

“There’s dinner in the microwave,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Oh. Thank you.”

He nodded, before disappearing down the hall. It surprised you when you heard the bath start, but whatever. Whether or not he took baths was none of your business.

You were surprised to find a huge bowl of vegetable soup in the microwave. Huh. You’d just been talking to Natasha about how much you missed your mom’s homemade version.

Whatever. It wasn’t like you’d ever be having that again.

You let your head rest on the counter as you waited for the soup to heat up. Fuck. Your entire body ached.

“Hey, do you want epsom salt?” Bucky called out from the bathroom.

“Uh, what?” You said as you raised your head. Even just moving that little made your head pound.

He poked his head out of the doorway, his long hair pulled back in a bun. “For your bath? Do you want epsom salt?”

“My bath? What the hell are you talking about?” You asked as the microwave beeped.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe. “The bath that I’m currently running you. Do. You. Want. Epsom. Salts?”

There was a long pause as the two of you stared at each other. “Yeah,” you said finally, your voice coming out a lot smaller than you expected. “That would be nice.”

Once he’d disappeared back into the bathroom, you pulled out your phone and texted Nat.

To: Tasha

Why is Barnes acting weird?

From: Tasha

Which one of you?

Get it?

Cause you’re married?

To: Tasha

Yeah

I got it.

But he’s being fucking weird.

From: Tasha

How so?

To: Tasha

He made me dinner? At least, he poured vegetable soup from a can into a bowl and left it in the microwave.

And he’s running me a bath???

V V strange.

If I don’t text you tomorrow

It’s probably because he killed me

From: Tasha

Oh that

To: Tasha

What do you mean

“Oh that”????

NATASHA

ANSWER YOUR PHONE

From: Tasha

Sorry, was talking to Steve

He mentioned you’d been working a lot and how tired you were so I told him he should do something nice.

And I may have told him that you missed your mom’s vegetable soup.

So that probably explains that.

“Hey, it’s ready,” Bucky said as he came into the kitchen. “I’ve got some towels in the dryer going, so they’ll be all warm when you’re ready to get out.” He seemed so… laissez-faire about it. Like you two didn’t fight on a daily basis usually. He watched as you took a bite of the soup, his blue eyes zeroed in on you. “Do you like it?” He asked. “I tried following my ma’s recipe. Don’t know how well it went.”

You couldn’t help but moan around the spoon as the warm soup went down. Even reheated, it was amazing. “This is your mom’s recipe? It’s amazing.”

His cheeks flushed as he tried to hide a grin. “Thanks. I’ve missed her cooking.”

It was silent as you finished up the soup, the only sound being the spoon clanging against the bowl. It wasn’t until you set your dishes in the sink to wash the next day that he spoke again.

“Oh, I got you this,” he said as he pulled out a box. “I saw my advisor and he knows that we’re married and he mentioned that we still don’t have rings, so I just went and grabbed a ring from a thrift store.”

It was then that you noticed the simple silver band on his left ring finger, glinting in the low light.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said as you took the box. But your breath was stolen from your lungs as you opened it, revealing a gorgeous diamond engagement ring with a matching diamond wedding band. “It’s… It’s beautiful… Thank you…”

“You’re welcome,” he said softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, you go ahead and get in the bath. I’ll bring you the towels when they’re done.”

As you sat in the bath, you couldn’t help but stare at the rings that now resided on your left hand. They glinted in the low light of the candles that had been placed in various places around the bathroom, most likely lit with Bucky’s lighter from the local smoke shop.

They were absolutely stunning.

Maybe… just maybe… this marriage wouldn’t be as bad as you first thought it would be.

You glanced over at the table as your phone buzzed, running to it. Maybe it’s Bucky…

But your hope was dashed as you realized it was Natasha calling you.

You hadn’t realized you’d been crying until a drop of water fell on the screen. Wiping your eyes, you brought it up to your ear. “Hey, Tasha! What’s up?” You couldn’t help but wince. You sounded like a fucking real estate agent. Perfect and peppy and… not you.

“Hey, I just wanted to call and see how you’re doing,” she whispered, as though she was trying to keep someone else from hearing. “Bucky got the divorce papers today and I figured that meant you did, too.”

Ah, another thing. He’d been staying at Steve and Natasha’s place since all of you had graduated, and the time had come for the divorce. He’d gotten all of his things out within two days, except for the hoodie you were currently cocooned in and your wedding rings.

“I know how much you love this place,” he’d said with a wry smile. “So you can have it in the divorce settlement.”

It had been a joke. The divorce settlement. Like you two had actually been in love and things just hadn’t worked out.

“You aren’t gonna change the Netflix password on me, right?” You asked as you stood in the doorway of Bucky’s room, arms crossed over your chest. “Because I’m still paying for half of it.”

Buck grinned at you as he taped the last box shut. “I don’t know… Might change it up on you. Have it all to myself. Then my suggested movies and shows won’t be so fucked up,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, glaring at him. But there was no heat behind it. “We have separate profiles on there, you dumbass. So if Gossip Girl is on your suggested, that’s your fault.”

The laugh that erupted from his mouth made him throw his head back, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Seeing Bucky Barnes laugh was one of the Seven Wonders of the World. It was better than the Great Pyramids of Giza, the Taj Mahal, and the Great Wall of China all rolled into one.

“We’re still gonna have Thursday night movies, right?” You asked, trying to ignore the way your voice cracked.

In the three years since you’d gotten married, Thursday night had become your sort of fake Date Night. You two would order takeout and watch movies until the both of you passed out of the couch. You both changed your availability at your jobs to let them know that you couldn’t work Thursdays. Not even Natasha and Steve were allowed to intrude. It was just your special night to hang out.

“I’ll bring the food. Do you want Thai or Mexican?” He asked, his features a little softer.

“I’ll text you what I want,” you said. Biting your lip, you toyed with the rings on your left hand. “I guess I should give you these back, huh?” You started to slip them off, but he stopped you.

“They’re yours,” he said, his hand closing over yours. His blue eyes shimmered in the light as you swallowed. “Keep them… as a reminder of your former husband.” The corner of his mouth twitched, but you couldn’t tell if he was going to smile or frown.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you said, suddenly surging forward to hug him. “Even though you’re super annoying.”

Bucky laughed as he wrapped his arms around you just as tight. “I’m gonna miss you, too.”

“How’s he doing?” You asked as you moved to what had formerly been Bucky’s room. It was now completely bare, except for a single gum wrapper on the floor. You sank down against the wall as you stared at it. Extra wintermint gum. Because he absolutely hated spearmint.

“About as well as you, I imagine,” she said slowly, choosing her words ever so carefully. “I don’t know. He went out for a walk a few minutes ago. But he locked himself in the guest room for hours after getting the papers.”

You let your head fall back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling as you tried to stop another onslaught of tears. “This is what we wanted,” you said, your voice cracking.

A pause. You could feel the tension even through the phone, a can of worms Natasha was about to open. “Is it? Is this what you wanted?”

“This was always the plan!” You retorted, the tears coming in a wave now. “We’d stay married until after we graduated and then we’d divorce. No drama, no court, no lawyers. Just a means to an end.”

You could hear her whispering to someone that you knew was Steve on the other end for a few seconds, the sound muffled. She’d probably covered the speaker. “Do you want me to come over?” She finally asked.

“No,” you said with a sigh, rubbing the hell of your palm against your eyes. “I just wanna… curl up in bed and watch cheesy movies and never come out.”

You didn’t understand. Why did this hurt so bad? He was just a friend. You two had never even kissed, for crying out loud. This wasn’t some fanfiction where you two fell into bed one drunken night and then woke up with feelings. This wasn’t an ‘Oh no, there’s only one bed’ type of deal with 100K+ words on AO3. You two were just friends. Really. There was no happy ending for the two of you waiting.

“Are you still gonna go to the Barnes’s Fourth of July party?” Natasha asked, her voice softer.

You pulled your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on your knee caps. “There’s no point. We’re not married anymore.”

“Sweetheart,” she chided. “You know he’d want you there. So would his family. You’re still a Barnes, even if you change your last name back.”

“I don’t know,” you said, chewing on your bottom lip. “I like the last name Barnes better. It’s not like I have any connection to my old last name. Maybe…” You swallowed. “Maybe I should keep it. It costs money to change it back, after all. It’s on my license now.”

Ah, yes. Because your license had expired while you were married and you’d had to get a new one.

“You’re a Barnes now and forever, hon,” she teased. You could hear her smile through the phone. “And you know Winifred would be pissed as hell if you didn’t go. You’re her daughter now just as much as Bucky is her son.”

God, the tears came on like a tsunami when you remembered the Barneses. George, Winifred, Becca, all of them. Especially Winifred. Sweet, sweet Winnie that had become your mom in the years since you’d met her.

“Bucky, I don’t know about this,” you said as you walked up the steps to his place. Or, rather, his parents’ place. “I should just go home.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed as he searched for the right key. “I’m not letting you drive the way back just to spend Christmas alone.”

Truthfully, it was stupid to even suggest. Your apartment that you shared with him now was over eight hours away, and it was two days before Christmas Eve.

God, how the hell did you end up here? You’d been planning on spending it alone, just like you had Thanksgiving.

But when Bucky had come back from the break and realized that you hadn’t gone anywhere, it’d prompted him to ask why, which had then resulted in him insisting on you accompanying him to New York City for Christmas with his family.

“What if they don’t like me?” You asked, barely audible. In truth, you were terrified. This was your first holiday season that you were away from your parents. Thanksgiving had been strange, and you had certain it wasn’t going to get any better up until a few weeks ago.

Bucky stopped suddenly, looking at you with big blue eyes. “Sweetheart, they’re going to adore you,” he said, more sincere than he’d been since the two of you had gotten married. “How could they not?”

“You didn’t!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t like me either. And then we got to know each other.”

He had a point.

You grumbled, staring down at your boots. They were still covered in snow.

“And besides, Ma hasn’t shut up about meeting you ever since she found out about you,” he muttered as he finally found the right key. “Dad said she’s been obsessively cleaning the house since she found out you were coming.”

As soon as the opened the door, you were hit with a wall of sound. A woman with the same shade of hair as Bucky rushed forward, trapping the six foot man in a hug. “YOU’RE HOME!”

“Winnie, come on, don’t suffocate the boy.” A man with Bucky’s eyes appeared, his hands shoved in his pockets. He was trying to appear nonchalant, but the second he was free of his mother’s grasp, he was dragging him into another hug. “I’ve missed you, son.”

“And you must be his wife!” Winifred Barnes said, suddenly turning on you.

“Ma, she has a name.”

“I know that!”

“Winnie–”

You were pulled into a hug, and you were suddenly overwhelmed with feelings. Maybe it was just the fact that you hadn’t hugged your own mother in so long, or maybe it was just because Winifred was that lovely of a person. Either way, you were tearing up as she hugged you tightly. You gave her your name as she pulled back, looking over your face.

“Oh, you’re even prettier than Jamie said!”

Your cheeks flushed as Bucky grumbled out a quiet “Ma…”

It was then that you were swept into the apartment, finding it bustling with people. You were then introduced to the rest of his family: his younger sister, Becca, who was going to be a senior in high school and was SO grateful to have a new sister, his aunts, his uncles, his parents. The entire apartment was bursting with people even days before the actual holiday.

It wasn’t until after dinner (which was absolutely delicious) that you were able to capture a quiet moment in the kitchen, helping Winifred wash dishes.

“Thank you for having me over,” you said, to break the silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, surprisingly, you just felt like you needed to vocalize your thanks for what was probably the third time. “It means a lot.”

“Any friend of Jamie’s is a friend of ours,” she said as she rinsed off a plate. “And we’re so grateful for what you’re doing. He mentioned that it helps you, too, but… Our family can’t afford to pay for his housing. We can barely make his tuition.” She looked at you with crystal clear eyes that seemed to bore into your soul. “We’re so happy to have you.” She then paused, glancing over at the side of the sink, where you’d set your wedding rings just to make sure they didn’t slip off in the water. “You know, I was so happy when he asked for my ring. He’s always dreamed of giving it to a girl.”

“What?” You asked, looking at her in shock.

Winifred paused, her brows furrowed in a way that really reminded you of your husband. “Did he not tell you? The engagement ring is mine. But he saved up over the summer to buy a matching band for it.”

Your heart raced in your chest as you stared at the rings. Bucky had gotten his ma’s ring for you? But… why? You two were barely friends at this point.

“I would’ve been spending Christmas alone if it wasn’t for him inviting me,” you said, breaking her stare to look down at your soapy hands. “He found out I spent Thanksgiving at home and almost shit a brick.” You rushed to cover your mouth, to apologize, but she just snorted.

An easy smile tugged at her lips. “Holidays are a big thing for our family, and I guess we passed that down to Jamie. Everyone comes to town for about a week and we spend it drinking and shooting the shit, baking. We can’t afford much, so our gifts are usually just spending time together,” she said.

“It sounds nice,” you whispered as you scrubbed absentmindedly at a pan. “My family… even when I still talked to them, we were never big on holidays.” Winifred had gone quiet beside you. “It was always just us. We’d eat dinner together and sometimes I’d get a present, but mostly it was just spent like any other day.”

She took a deep breath, setting a plate on the drying rack. “What… happened? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“I… confronted my parents about the sexual abuse I went through as a kid,” you said slowly, swallowing around the lump that had suddenly formed in your throat. “My cousin… He, uh… He’s only a year and a half older than me. From the time I was… four or five, I think, to about twelve, he would… you know.” The kitchen felt deadly silent, and you were so glad that the rest of the Barnses, including Bucky, were in the living room. Even though he knew the basics of what had happened, you never told him details. “And my parents would punish me for it when he got caught. They blamed me. They’d ground me or spank me or… whatever.” You let out a weak laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “They didn’t really take it well. It doesn’t matter though. I’m fine.”

You were shocked when you were suddenly pulled into a tight hug. Winifred’s arms formed a cocoon around you and you could feel her tears on your face. She was only an inch or two taller than you. “That was not your fault,” she gasped out, holding you to her. “That was not your fault.”

Before you realized what was happening, you were clutching onto her as hot tears streamed down your cheeks.

You didn’t know how long she’d held you before she leaned back, wiping away your tears. Or at least, trying to before they were replaced with more. “You are not what he did to you, you hear me?” She asked, wiping at her own face. “You are always welcome here. We’re your family now.”

“What’s going on here?”

The both of you turned to see Bucky in the doorway, his sea blue eyes wide. He was holding a few extra plates that had been left behind.

“Nothing,” she said with a watery grin. “Just… talking.”

“Here,” he said as he walked over and put the dishes inside the sink filled with soapy water. “I’ll finish up with my wifey here, and you go clean up before dad freaks out because you’re crying.”

She barked out a laugh, nodding. “Fine. Fine. You know how he gets if I’m upset,” she said, kissing your forehead before leaving.

“So… You actually okay?” Bucky asked as he took over rinsing the dishes you washed.

The smile that found its way onto your lips was real, surprisingly, as you said, “Everything’s great, Jamie.”

And even though he let out a groan, he was smiling, too.

It was after that trip that you’d started calling him Jamie. It just… felt better rolling off your tongue than Bucky ever did. It was also when holidays in Brooklyn became a permanent thing. Anytime Bucky went home, so did you.

They were your family.

But now… Now what? Did you lose them like you lost your parents?

Granted, losing your parents wasn’t exactly the worst thing.

“Sweetheart? You there?” Natasha asked, bringing you back to the present.

“Yeah,” you said, shaking your head to clear out the cloudiness of your memories. “Yeah, I’m–” You broke off as you heard a knock at the door, a frown tugging at your lips. “Hold on, Tasha, I’ll call you back…” You hung onto your phone as you walked to the front door, peeking through the peephole.

Bucky?... What the fuck was he doing here?

You opened the door wide, shocked to find him crying. His eyes were puffy and red, his nose running. “Jamie? What’s wrong?” You reached forward to touch his shoulder, shoving your phone in your back pocket.

“Don’t sign those papers.”

“Wait… What?” Now you were even more confused. Your brows furrowed as you pushed his hair back from his face. God, he needed a haircut. Maybe you could… No. Not the focus right now.

He stepped toward, half inside the apartment that had been his, too, just two weeks before. His large, calloused hand caressed your face. “I don’t want to not be your husband,” he said, his voice cracking.

Your heart thundered inside your chest and you were half sure this was some kind of trick of your mind to soothe its aching. “What do you mean?”

“I want to make this work,” he said as he cupped your face in his hands. “I… I want to actually have Thursday night Date Nights and take you out and when we go home for the holidays, I want to kiss you under the mistletoe my ma always hangs up, and I want you to wear my ma’s ring. I want to be your husband. Please.”

You didn’t realize you were crying–yet again, fucking damn it–until he wiped them away. “I don’t want to not be your wife, either,” you said, your voice shaking. “I love you, I love you so much.”

His lips met yours in a blazing kiss, holding you closer than you thought possible. “I love you more,” he whispered against your lips. “I’m never letting you go.”

You dragged him inside, shutting the door before kissing him again. “You’re staying here. None of this bullshit of you staying with Tasha and Steve.”

“Gladly,” he chuckled, holding onto your waist. “But only if I get to sleep in your bed.”

“Only if we can shred those divorce papers.”

The moment was interrupted by his phone ringing, and you couldn’t help but giggle when you saw it was Winifred. He shot you an apologetic look as he answered it. “Hey, ma.”

She was speaking so loudly you could hear her clearly. “Well?! How did it go?! Did you ask her?!”

“Yes, I asked her,” he said slowly, squeezing your side. “She said yes. I’m with her now.”

Both of you flinched away as she screamed in excitement. “GIVE HER THE PHONE! GIVE HER THE PHONE!”

You smiled as you pressed it to your ear. “Hi, mom.”

“BABY! I’M SO HAPPY! NOW WE CAN HAVE A REAL WEDDING!” She was speaking at a hundred miles an hour. “Do you want a summer or fall wedding? I think it might be too late to do summer, but I’m sure we could scrounge something together!”

You giggled as Bucky stole kisses from you while she was speaking, distracting you.

“Sweetheart? You there?”

“A late summer wedding sounds perfect,” you said, unable to wipe the grin from your face. “Absolutely perfect.”

#cmmsecretsanta #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

Text

Day 21: Prinxiety (pt 2)

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 21: Combine two soulmate prompts. (This will make sense soon, I promise.)

It’s the sequel you’ve all been waiting for! This is the second part to day 16 (read that first!!!!!), and y’all finally get to see what happened to Virgil! Please heed the trigger warnings below.

TRIGGER/content WARNINGS!! Anxiety, food mention, crappy foster system/group homes, implied past abuse, religious guilt/negative view of religion, homophobia, conversion therapy/abuse, starvation, sneaking medication (antipsychotics/side effects), electrocution, seizure, ambulance. I’m sorry.

Word count: 3.8k

Unlike most kids in the foster system, Virgil didn’t know his birthday. He knew it was sometime in December, but that didn’t do much. Technically, birthdays weren’t really a huge thing anyways, not when the group home he rarely left was awfully underfunded, and a party came second to little things like working sinks and clothes without holes. Even still, all the other kids at least got a little cupcake and a half hearted birthday song on their special day, and his festivities were pushed onto Christmas. He didn’t get a weak excuse for a celebration, because the other kids ‘found it unfair’ that he got that and Christmas in the same month. To prevent an upheaval, the workers told him that he’d just have to be happy with what he got.

But it wasn’t fair, because some kids got Easter and a birthday, or Halloween and a birthday, or New Years and a birthday, and poor Virgil didn’t. The fact of the matter was, they plain didn’t like him. The other kids didn’t like that he got extra free time because of his anxiety, or was allowed to leave the table when they weren’t, and they especially didn’t like he was the youngest of the bunch. The youngest had the highest chance of getting adopted, it was just facts, so they had seemingly decided that if his stay here would be the shortest, it would be the most tortured.

It wasn’t the shortest stay, though. With his barrage of anxiety related issues and group-home-toughened demeanor, no foster home wanted to deal with him. He was snarky, ran away, regularly got in fights with the biological children of the parents, and was promptly labeled a problem child. Eventually, it was deemed easier for him to just stay in a group home until he outgrew the system, since he seemed set to escape every other place. Virgil tried to pretend it didn’t hurt as much as it did; it was his fault, after all. As he watched all his older tormentors grow out of a crooked system, he resigned himself to the same fate. After all, he was almost sixteen now, and he knew his chances were out. So he stayed stuck in his group home, lashing out at his caretakers and therapists, refusing to eat unless it was alone in his room (technically, three kids slept in there, but he so rarely left it, and they wanted to avoid him, it was unofficially deemed his room), and listening to music on his phone.

He’d been given the phone on his fifteenth birthday, a gift from one of his caretakers. It was the cheapest piece of crap he’d ever seen, glitched out every other minute and needed to be charged at least three times a day, but it was a phone nonetheless. Granted, he had no one to text. But he had access to a computer, a totally one hundred percent legal music downloading website, and a strong sense of determination, so he’d soon filled the phone’s entire measly storage with all the music he could cram on the thing.

That’s what he was doing on the night of December 18th, listening to his “Emo Playlist” on a pair of $4 Dollar Store earbuds, laying on his bed and finding shapes in his popcorn ceiling as the moon shone through the window. In the bunk beds across the room from him, his two other roommates were fast asleep, but he couldn’t follow suit. It was sadly normal for Virgil to have sleepless nights where no matter what, his anxious brain just wouldn’t shut off, and it just felt like one of those nights. His hands shook and his eyelids flinched every few seconds for no reason, so he turned the music just a little bit louder and tried to calm his breathing.

It was just past 1 am when his life changed forever.

He was on the fourth cycle of his playlist, eyes no more heavy than hours before and just as flinchy. It was just entering the “existential crisis” time of the night where he started questioning reality, and he was about to give in and start letting his mind drift to darker places, when a song distinctly not his began to play in the midst of a song switch.

How can you miss someone you’ve never met?

Because I need you now but I don’t know you yet,

But can you find me soon, because I’m in my head,

Yeah, I need you now but I don’t know you yet.

He froze, eyes suddenly wide open, and yanked the earbuds out of his ears. The song continued; not in his headphones, but in his head. It didn’t take an idiot to realize that it was his soulmate, responding, and as an afterthought, Virgil suddenly identified that today was probably his birthday. Both amazing revelations, but one was slightly more time sensitive.

Desperately scrolling through his playlists as the song stopped after the chorus, he tried to find a song that would be an adequate introduction to this new person. When his eyes landed on a song from his Adele phase (he didn’t talk about that time) that he hadn’t had the energy to delete yet, he simultaneously groaned and grinned. Subtly meme-y, heartfelt like the song his soulmate had played, a decent greeting. He tapped play.

Hello,

It’s me.

He hoped his soulmate had the same sense of humor of him and had actually given a laugh, since he was trying to stifle laughter behind his sleeve to avoid waking the sleeping kids. He paused after the first verse, since he didn’t really want to remember that phase of his life more than he had to, and waited for the other to play the next song. Hopefully they could work out some sort of rhythm, play songs back and forth. He for sure wouldn’t be able to sleep now.

(The next song his soulmate played was an almost atrocious obviously-musical-theatre song that almost made Virgil hit his head against the wall, so he retaliated with a favorite of his, the most ear assaulting screamo he could find on his playlist.)

The clock had just passed four in the morning when there was a small pause in the routine, before his soulmate played a children’s lullaby. It definitely wasn’t something you’d listen to in everyday life, so Virgil could only assume it was the other’s way of indicating that they had to sleep. As if I’m going to let you go that easily, Virgil smirked, opening YouTube and begging that the video he’d chosen would play without an ad.

It did, filling his crackling, cheap earbuds with the opening chorus of Baby Shark. Fight fire with fire, he decided, chuckling to himself as he turned off the song just before the ‘mommy shark’ verse. Silence filled his head and he mentally wished the other a good night, turning onto his stomach and screaming into his pillow, grinning madly.

Eight months later, their new way of life was deeply imbedded into him; getting woken up at asscrack o’clock in the morning by a worker who wanted to be there as much as he did, and either playing his morning playlist to get himself slightly more ready to face another monotonous day or waiting in silence until his soulmate woke up and played their own music. He’d begrudgingly started to even enjoy the showtunes. Everyone around the home had noticed his gradual shift in attitude, and he couldn’t help the natural smiles that pulled at his cheeks when a new song played out of nowhere. It got to the point where his therapist noticed his lifted mood, and the other kids stopped avoiding him and, unknown to Virgil, his social workers decided that he was ready to try another foster home.

That’s why, eight months later, there was a knock on his bedroom door and his main worker poked in her head, asking him to come downstairs. He’d been playing music for his soulmate, so he silently apologized and joined her at the dining room table, giving her a half hearted smile.

“Virgil, we’ve found a new home for you. A foster home that specializes in… harder to place cases. They’ve opened their doors to you, and we’re hoping to get you into a trial period there within the next week.”

At first, Virgil vehemently refused. No. He didn’t want to go back to foster homes, not after… everything he went to in the first few. The ones that hurt him, the ones that were more densely crowded than group homes, the ones that turned him into the angry shell he was before he had met a sign of a possibly happy future. He didn’t want to lose the progress he’d made.

But Bev looked so hopeful, so pleadingly at him, that he gave in after three days of denying. He said goodbye to the kids he’d unfortunately grown attached to, threw his few belongings into a black garbage bag, and got into his worker’s car for the first time in years. Just rebuckling that seatbelt caused a shudder to run up his spine.

------1 month later------

“Virgil, what are you doing? Do you have earbuds in? We’ve made it abundantly clear that you are not to have technology at the table.”

Virgil fought every urge in his body to roll his eyes, flicking his hair behind his ears to show they were empty. It had gotten long and shaggy, just reaching his jaw in the back. “No earbuds. My soulmate’s listening to music, and it’s catchy.” Frankly, he was surprised he hadn’t been caught bopping along to silence before by the stiflers.

They were nice enough, a woman and a man and their two biological children, but they were too religious for Virgil’s liking. He’d never had qualms with religion before, but he had grown tired of spending Saturdays and Sundays (his only days off from their homeschool regime) in a church, surrounded by older people singing repetitive songs and being yelled at by a guy on the pulpit. Faking being sick only worked so many times before they refused to listen to his excuses. They also insisted he go to a specialized youth group on Tuesdays, but that was easy enough to escape. He just waved by and booked it to the closest 7/11 when they left, making sure he was back at the church by the time it was over and made up some bullshit about the gathering. Jameson, the attendant at the gas station, was becoming the closest friend he’d ever had.

“Your soulmate?” One of the children asked around a bite of toast, spitting a decent amount onto Virgil’s sleeve.

“Like daddy and I, Mariam.” The woman explained briefly, not bothering to chastise her about speaking with her mouth full.

“Yeah.” Unlike most of the kids at his old group home, he wasn’t warming up to theirs. They were too spoiled, too bratty. One had even bit him in his first week here and he was still bitter about it.

“When did you connect with yours, Virgil?” The question wasn’t asked kindly, more for the sake of being polite, and he assumed if he didn’t answer in an equally polite tone, they’d probably make him paint a fence or something.

He knew they cared about his bond about as much as he did about theirs. Which was approximately none. The mom took her children’s empty plates and placed them in the sink, Virgil quickly following suit. No use losing more computer time because he didn’t clean his plate.

“Last December. I didn’t even know it was my birthday, and they started playing music out of nowhere. It was pretty cool.” He finished rinsing off his plate and was confused at the sudden stillness in the room.

“‘They’?” The mom asked, giving her husband what she must have believed to be a subtle glance.

“Uhm… yeah?” Virgil said slowly, “I’m bisexual. So I’m not sure if my partner’s a guy or a girl or… something in between. So… they?”

He stared with rising anxiety as the two parents had a silent interaction over the kitchen island, before the dad stood up. “Kids, plates in the sink and then go get ready for church. Virgil, you too.”

There was minimal whining as the younger ones did as they were asked, racing each other up the stairs. Virgil followed, slower, listening to hushed beginnings of a conversation, unable to fight the feeling that he’d just royally fucked up.

------------------------

“Virgil, may we speak with you for a moment?”

He froze, slowly turning from where he’d been half way up the stairs. They’d just wrapped up lessons for the day (Virgil never thought he’d miss an actual school building before, but alas) and the kids had been excused, leaving just him and the parents behind. It had been almost a week since the incident, and a part of him had been hoping they’d just drop it. There wasn’t much they could do, anyways; if their religion conflicted so badly with his sexuality, the worst they would do is send him back to the home anyways. In all honesty, he kind of hoped they would. He was sick of being here, and it was better for his record if he didn’t run.

Not that it mattered much anymore. He was almost aged out of the system anyways.

He took a cautious seat back at the dining room table, which they had just cleared from classes. The mom sat back in her chair, eyeing him carefully, as the dad began to speak.

“We spoke with our pastor the other day, and we think it would be best if we put you in therapy.”

“I don’t…” He’d stopped regular therapy at the group home almost a month before coming here, and he couldn’t imagine why he’d need to go back. He definitely wasn’t happy here, but he didn’t figure a grumpy mood was enough to warrant counseling. “I don’t understand.”

“After… what you told us? About your… urges-”

“Urges.” He couldn’t help his own disgusted tone. Of course they were homophobic.

“Yes. Our pastor suggested we try conversion therapy.”

Virgil scoffed, but he couldn’t ignore the way his heart started pounding, “Right. As if you could ever get my social workers to approve that. Ward of the state, remember?” He tapped his chest a couple times.

“Fortunately, we already talked to your social worker, Virgil. We had it approved just this morning.” The man finally stopped, as if waiting for a response.

Virgil’s eyes grew wide as he looked frantically between the two of them, the woman quickly avoiding eye contact. That wasn’t normal.

“There’s no way in hell that you-”

“Profanity, Virgil!” The man barked and Virgil shrank back in his chair, impulsively ducking to avoid a fist that didn’t come. They hadn’t hit him so far, but old habits die hard. “We’ve already signed you up. Your first session is tomorrow. First thing’s first-” He stood up, reaching a hand out to a still-shaking Virgil, “Hand over your phone.”

-------------------------

His hair was short now. Shorter than he could ever remember it being. He missed his bangs, he missed the tiny boosts of confidence it gave him when the rest of his appearance disgusted him. Now there was nothing for his hands to run through. There was no style to it, just an electric razor in the hands of his silent foster mother. He should have fought it, he really should have, but he was shaking far too much to try to move.

He didn’t like hands so near his throat.

------------------------

Surely, his social worker didn’t approve of this. The only explanation Virgil could possibly rationalize was they’d lied about the purpose of the therapy, or the method, or something. But any type of change in a foster kid's life had to go through about a million different levels to get approved, so how the hell were they getting away with this?

It wasn’t too bad. A lot of it was using religious guilt, something Virgil did not have much of, saying he was immoral and inhumane. The rest of it was just his new therapist trying to dig into his supposed ‘trauma’ that made him ‘this way’, as if there was something that caused it. They talked a lot about his old foster homes, and his therapist seemed positive something there had to be the root to everything. It made his blood boil.

It didn’t help that they still hadn’t given his phone back, and they confined him to his room when he wasn’t doing school work at the kitchen table. He could hear the way his soulmate was losing morale, the longer he didn’t respond. The songs were darker, and were few and far between. They still refused to play songs on what he’d called ‘his days’.

--------------------

His ‘therapy’ had ended hours ago, and yet he couldn’t stop twitching. Every time he closed his eyes in a vain attempt to sleep, it was like the electrodes were attached to him again. The images they’d shown him flashed before his eyes, of men kissing, holding hands, and were quickly followed by the sharp sting of electric shocks. He couldn’t close his eyes without flinching violently, no music to calm his nerves.

Virgil didn’t sleep that night.

----------------------

He held to the music like an anchor, soaking in every rare song his soulmate played like a sponge. It was his only relief from the hunger pangs in his stomach, reminding him that he hadn’t been allowed to eat at all in the day leading up to another therapy session. Apparently they wanted to put him on some kind of medication, try to increase the intensity of his sessions. It was getting to the point where Virgil was tempted to pretend it was working just to make them stop.

He missed his soulmate.

----------------------

No. He’d said no to the drugs. They wanted to put him on anti-psychotics, claiming he was severely mentally ill, and he’d downright refused. There was no way in hell he was going on anti-psychotics. Finally, after days of their demanding being met with stubbornness, they’d given in.

That had been a month ago. Maybe. Time had gotten kind of funny, like in that limbo between Christmas and New Years, or in the depths of summer break. It had been a while, for sure. They still fed him so rarely a growling stomach was more common than a full one, claiming it was part of his new therapy. He couldn’t help wonder why he was gaining weight, though. He’d been underweight for a majority of his life, thanks to a constantly overworking metabolism and genetics, along with the nasty food they served at group homes that he gladly avoided, but he was starting to fill out slightly. His ribs were barely showing.

That would be a symptom of being on antipsychotics, he knew from previous research. But he wasn’t on them, so why…?

He took another sip of his apple juice his foster mom had brought him, trying to focus on his homework. Had apple juice always tasted that bitter?

-----------------------

They’d gone too far this time, Virgil knew that much. Curse his stubbornness, his inability to just lie and go along with it. He could have just claimed the conversion therapy was working, ‘oh golly, I’m healed!’, and go on with his life, finally talk to his fucking social worker, but no. He wasn’t capable of that.

They’d shown him more pictures, shocking him more frequently, refusing to stop the session even as tears streamed down his face. It just hurt so bad. Then he remembered a shout (maybe his own?), blinding pain, and the next thing he knew, he was in his foster dad’s car. He said he’d had a seizure, but he was okay now, so they were heading home. A cup of water was forced down his throat and he was laid down in bed, commanded to rest. He was so confused, but also so tired, so he let his eyes drift shut.

Just before he lost consciousness for the second time that day, he heard a soft melody drift through his mind as his soulmate played another song. It had been so long since the last time he’d heard them play music… despite his exhaustion, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

--------------------

The days had been a bit of a blur since his seizure. It was probably because his brain had done the human equivalent to ‘Have you tried turning it off and back on again?’, but even that was hazy in his mind. All he wanted to do was sleep, to rest, to not have to do the school work that they were still shoving down his throat. From where he was laying motionless in his bed, he watched the slowly setting sun dip below the horizon.

There was a knock at the door downstairs. Virgil flinched from the noise, triggering a series of twitches down his spine and into his limbs. People were talking downstairs. He could distinctly hear the voice of his foster parents, but the others were unfamiliar. They were getting louder, near shouting, and there were pounding footsteps echoing up the stairs and down his hallway.

He couldn’t even find the energy to be scared as his door was thrown open and a man’s voice shouted, “He’s in here!”. A flurry of people stormed into the room, the ones in the lead dressed in blue.

Clambering, people shifting to make space, a woman holding his hand. She was asking him questions as they loaded him into a stretcher and he tried his best to answer, but he was just so tired. His name was said multiple times, as well as the names of his foster parents, but it was hazy, so hazy…

“We were just trying to help, I didn’t want this to happen, I don’t-”

“Quiet, woman!”

She raised her voice but it was growing farther away. Virgil realized with a start that he was looking at the sky, bumping along on the gravel path, the bright lights of an ambulance flashing across his vision.

The husband shouted again, trying to silence his wife. That was the last thing Virgil heard as the doors slammed shut, and he finally allowed his eyes to close.

Part 3 HERE

Taglist:

@sapphic-satan

@anxious-logic

@wigsnatchedhoteltrivago

@extraintrovertedalien

@punk-academian-witch

@ray-does-stuff

@chimneychimney

@i-cant-find-a-good-username

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@korsaromantic66

@astraheart04

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #abuse tw #conversion therapy tw #ts soulmate au #sanders sides fanfiction #sanderssides #sanderssidesfanfiction #sanderssidesau #sanders sides au #sanders sides

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buckyswheezes · 3 years

Text

Perfectly Fine (Pt. 5)

Premise: “You know why I don’t like you? It’s because you’re a natural. You’re naturally kind, naturally good-looking; you can wear trash bags and still look perfectly fine. You’re naturally intelligent and excellent in everything you do. It’s like you naturally get what you want, you don’t have to work hard for it. You don’t have to pretend because people naturally like you.”

Or Bucky found out that the new oh-so-perfect Junior Accountant of Stark Industries isn’t as perfect as everyone thinks.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

It was only eight in the morning, but you found yourself busy as a bee. You woke up early that Saturday to somewhat clean up your apartment because Wanda would drop William off before her flight to DC. You promised her you’d look after the boy while she was gone, and you meant it.

An hour and a half later, the doorbell rang, and you wasted no time opening the door, knowing who it was.

“Hey, co-“

“Mornin’ doll.”

Your smile immediately vanished at the person in front of you, turning into a scowl. “The fuck are you doing here, you peasant?”

Never mind that he looked hot as hell in that black shirt. You loathed it when he shows up unannounced.

“Can’t I visit my girlfriend on weekends?” James retorted with a smirk and pushed past you to get inside. You did not miss the way his eyes widened in surprise. “Wow, this place is pristine.”

“Shut up, James.” You said as your trailed behind him towards the living room, annoyed at the apparent jab at your moment of cleanliness. “First, I am not your girlfriend, and second, I don’t have time for your blackmail shitshow today because Wanda and William will be here soon.”

“I’m gonna let that first one slide, doll since I know how grumpy you can be in the morning.”

You decided to ignore his statement, content with shooting eye daggers towards the back of his head. He went straight to the kitchen to make coffee, you knew, because that’s what he always does when he shows up unannounced and pesters you in your house.

Minutes later, the doorbell rang again, and you briefly hoped that this time, it’s Wanda and William behind the door. You got up from where you were seated on the couch, but James beat you to the door.

“I’ll get it.”

Alarmed, you ran towards him before he could open it. “No!” You lowly hissed. “I don’t want Wanda to know you’re here. Go hide in the kitchen.”

He raised a brow at you. “Wanda already knows we’re dating. What I got to hide for?”

“Yes, but I don’t want her to think that we’re… you know.” You flushed at the thought. You’ve always known that couples who go to their partner’s houses are doing it -not that you think you and James are couples. You just didn’t want Wanda to have the impression that you two are having sex as well.

You dropped your gaze from his face, and it fell on his chest. You didn’t miss the way how the dark fabric clung to him. He was well-built, no doubt; it was the first time you’ve seen him wearing clothing other than his suit and tie. His usually sleek brunette hair is tousled, but he still looked handsome as hell. The image will be etched in your mind for a while, you know it.

Bucky saw your face heat up and instantly knew what you were referring to. “We’re what, doll?” He smirked as he leans closer to your face.

Your breath hitched. “Nothing, just get to the god damned kitchen, please.”

“As you wish, sweetheart.” He conceded, which actually surprised you.

When James finally disappeared into the kitchen, you tried to calm yourself down before opening the door, greeting Wanda with a sweet smile.

“Thanks again, y/n. I owe you.”

“You’re welcome, Wanda. And don’t worry, Will’s in good hands.” You assured her.

The redhead turned to her son, who now stood beside you, your arm draped over his shoulder. “Now, you be good, okay. Don’t give y/n a hard time.” She reminded before giving him a peck on the cheek. She bid the both of you goodbye, and you both watched as she hailed a cab and climbed as soon as she got one.

You led the boy inside, noting how he got excited at the sight of James. You weren’t aware that they know each other.

“Hey, Will. Wanna go biking today?” James asked as he walked towards you two.

Your jaw dropped. No, that wasn’t what you planned to do today. You and Will were gonna binge watch Paw Patrol on Netflix, maybe munch on some sweet snacks, play a little, then hit the sack when night came.

“I don’t think tha-“

“YES!” William yelled enthusiastically, then looked at you, eyes pleading. “Can we go biking, y/n?”

“Oh, sure, Will. If that’s what you want.”

“Yay! Thank you y/n!”

Once again, you turned to James with a scowl, but he only grinned at you. If looks could kill, this man would be dead. “Go and get dressed, doll. We’re gonna have so much fun today.”

———

Bucky cast a worried glance at you. “You okay, doll?” He asked. You’ve been unusually quiet since you got in the car. You weren’t blessing him with your curses, and he thought it was because you’re censoring your words because of William, but he noticed that you weren’t even shooting him your virtual daggers.

You just sat there on the passenger seat with a blank face, and it got him concerned.

“Doll?” He called again when you didn’t respond the first time, and you finally looked at him as if broken from a trance.

“Huh?”

“You good?”

You bit your lip in trepidation as you recalled what James said earlier.

“We’re just like a family, bonding over the weekend. It’s gonna be fun.”

Family? Bonding? You sat there staring at his side profile but not really seeing him. You were lost in your thoughts. How do you bond with your family?

You were in second grade when you noticed that you were different from the other kids. You didn’t have a mother, and they did. And that’s what a family is, your teacher said. There’s a mother, a father, and their child or children. And the family has fun on the weekends, and they call it bonding.

You were shocked, scared, and you panicked. You didn’t have a family, and you certainly didn’t bond during weekends. No, what you did since you were six was helping around your father’s small repair shop after school. When the weekend came, he would spend the entire day drinking while you listen as he rants on about all his life’s problems.

You remembered asking yourself why? Why were you different? Maybe there’s something wrong with you? Maybe you didn’t really have a family, you didn’t have a mother, and you didn’t bond during weekends.

“I’m fine.” You finally said.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” You squeaked. You know James wasn’t buying it, so you decided to change the subject instead. You turned to William, who sat in the back, seatbelt strapped on.

“What do you wanna do after biking, Will? Wanna go to the arcades?”

The boy’s eyes lit up at your suggestion. “Can we?”

“Of course! Then after that, we’ll grab pizza and ice cream. How’s that sound?”

“Can I have cotton candy too?”

You chuckled, a genuine smile finally gracing your lips. “Sure!”

True enough, the three of you went cycling by the park with rented bikes, after that, you rented rollerblades and went skating (you, failing miserably so while the two boys laughed at the way you fell on your butt cheeks but James was always there to help you out). Then you went and grabbed pizza and ice cream and cotton candy, and when you’re all full, you beelined for the arcades.

The night rolled in, Will is asleep on the back seat while you and James sat in front.

“Is this what you did with your family when you were a child?”

“Yes, my dad taught me how to ride a bike. Sometimes we’ll go to the movies, swimming, hiking. How about you?”

You shifted in your seat, heart beating loudly. You thought you’ve gotten over it, for fuck’s sake, it was a very long time ago! “No, we don’t… we didn’t do any of those things.” You glanced away.

You felt something warm envelope your hand. You turned and saw James leaning close. “It doesn’t really matter what you do, doll. It doesn’t matter if what you did was different; what’s important is you had a connection.”

You nodded at his comforting words.

“Now, let’s go home. I bet you’re tired.

Part 6

author's notes: This story's ending soon. Don't worry tho, if you want more AU Bucky, I have a couple stories lined up. I got you, fam.

Taglist: @crowleyqueenofhell

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes

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the-girl-in-the-box · 3 years

Text

Ghost Queen II

A/N: And here’s Part 2, finally, as promised! It’s a little more lengthy than Part 1, because I was struggling to figure out exactly how I wanted to end it, but... I eventually figured it out, and here it is! I’m actually really happy with how this turned out, and I hope all of you who read this enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Next on my posting schedule is another chapter of Not Today- still due out on Friday night/Saturday morning as always! And, until then, dear readers, thank you for indulging this idea until I got it out! Skål!

Pairings: Ivar x Katia, Ivar x Freydis

Word Count: 3,222

Summary: Ivar believed he killed Freydis in Kattegat, but fate seemed to have other plans for the Viking King and his wife. She survived, and sought refuge far in the North, where she is captured by the Kievian Rus, and offered sanctuary and a new identity- in exchange for information, and the marriage of a Norse Queen to Prince Oleg. (AU where Freydis really is Katia)

Warnings: Childbirth (not graphic), possibly the fluffiest thing I’ve ever written.

Masterlist

—-

Months and months passed, and Katia no longer cared if she remained disguised. She sat Igor down one day, when she was close enough to giving birth that he’d begun to visit her in her chambers so she’d not have far to go, and sighed, telling him she had to explain something to him.

Igor’s brows creased together as he prepared to listen to whatever it was Katia had to say. He’d noticed the way her hair was beginning to turn blonde from the top, how the dark black was growing out, and now started around the base of her skull. Needless to say, the boy had questions.

“Igor, come and sit,” she said gently, and patted the edge of her bed. “You know I came here after you and Ivar both had already arrived, yes? You remember?”

Igor nodded, answering, “Da, I remember.” He moved to sit beside her, and she reached an affectionate hand up to brush her fingers through his hair. He already looked so much older to her than when she’d first met him. How could that be? The smile on her face was clearly reminiscent of this time, and she sighed a little.

“I have a confession to make,” she began. “I was introduced to you, and to Ivar, as Princess Katia, but… The truth is, my name is not Katia. I am not a Rus Princess, and… clearly, you have seen over the last few months that my hair is not even black. It is blonde.”

Igor watched her with creased brows, the shock not quite registering on his face as he heard her say she wasn’t a Princess, and wasn’t even called Katia. He knew her well enough that whatever she was telling him, it was because she thought it would benefit him to know, and she wasn’t going to hurt him- no matter what she said. He didn’t believe she was a different woman than he knew her to be, just because her identity wasn’t the same as he had first thought.

“You must have heard Ivar speak of his wife, hm?” she prompted. “Freydis?” The name almost felt foreign in her mouth now, after having been Katia for so long. But when Igor again answered affirmatively, she took a deep breath. This was it. “Well…” Her voice shifted a little as she stopped speaking as a Rus Princess, returning to the natural timbre it once had, higher pitched, a little sweeter. “I am Freydis, Igor. I did not die in Kattegat.”

The shock showed on his face this time, his eyes widening entirely as he stared at her. The closeness to Ivar now made sense, he figured. The willingness to do whatever the Viking had asked. She was his wife, and obviously, she loved him. That didn’t mean everything was cleared up for the boy, however, and so he asked, “Then… Oleg? Was he never your husband?”

Katia- Freydis- grimaced slightly. “That is… no. I did not ever consider him to be my husband. I am a Viking, Igor, not Rus. The ceremony I was in that was meant to bind me to Oleg required vows to be made to the Christian God. I know those beliefs are yours, but they are not mine.”

Her hand came to cup his cheek affectionately, and she kept a warm smile on her face. This was likely to be jarring for him, and the more he considered her words, the more he began to wonder if… maybe he did have her wrong. He was safe, there was no doubt, but did this mean he had never really known her? Were there other things she had lied about and kept from him?

“I want to ask you something,” he said. Freydis recognised the more assertive way he was saying that as something Ivar must have taught him, though she also imagined Ivar would not have asked to ask anything, or even announced it. He’d have just asked. But, Igor- for all the things he’d learned from Ivar- was still Igor. She was glad for that.

“Of course,” she replied. “Ask me anything. I know I have left you with… much to consider.”

Igor nodded, and took a deep breath. “How much of… everything, was a lie? You say you did not consider yourself married to Oleg. You were married to Ivar. So you did not love who you claimed to, and loved who you claimed not to. What about…”

Freydis knew what he was asking, even as his voice drifted off, and he shifted uncomfortably. “You?” she finished, and he nodded. “Oh, Igor… Come here, my love.”

She opened her arms to him, and he shifted so she could hold him like she did so long ago at dinner with Ivar and Oleg, the night Oleg had busted up his puppet of the King. Ivar had held him the same way later that night, and with that added to how Katia- no, Freydis, he reminded himself- had held him earlier… It had cemented his view of them in his mind, as the parental figures he’d missed for so long. And though he missed Ivar, missed the man he saw as a father, Freydis’s arms around him felt the same as always. Her name was different, as was the story of her life, but the woman… she was the same.

And, as he came to this conclusion, she actually began to voice this to him. “Whatever lies I have told to save my own life, I have never once lied about my affections for you, sweet child. Not to you, nor to anyone else. You have my word, in the sight of the gods, that this is true.”

After that day, Igor had come to call her Freydis, had grown used to the Norse accent in her voice, the one that sounded so much more like Ivar’s than Oleg’s, as opposed to the Rus, and he realised the truth had not changed that he still loved her like she was his own mother. And she still played that role in his life. She cared for him more than any maid or servant in Kiev, and he liked it that way.

It could have only been made better by Ivar’s presence.

It wasn’t until a month later, so close to Freydis’s time to have the child that seemed to grow daily in her womb, that she finally came to a decision. Ivar had been gone for eight months now, and with every passing day she would look out over the horizon, picture him with some new woman- a new wife, perhaps- in Kattegat, and her heart would ache.

She missed Ivar the Boneless with her very soul, and she wanted nothing more than to have him at her side when she had their baby. So… she decided to do what she’d once believed was unthinkable.

Freydis sat down, and she wrote a long, detailed letter to Ivar. She told him everything in that letter. The truth about her identity, everything that had brought her to Kiev, and all the ways and reasons she hid her identity from him through the duration of their relationship in Rus.

She also confessed to him how she had come to love him once more, how her heart ached for him, and how she missed him so much she would often imagine him walking through the gates of Kiev, coming to find her once more.

After debating on whether or not to actually send the letter, Freydis eventually came to the decision that he did deserve to know. After all, she would be having his child so soon she could feel it. The baby was moving and kicking in her womb, and she spent long hours at night talking to the child, already telling them of their father’s adventures and triumphs. The night she sent the letter, she told the child what she’d done, and how she hoped at least that Ivar would come to meet their baby.

And hope for that she did.

Nothing came of the letter for a month at least, not until she’d even been feeling labor pains that weren’t yet signalling the baby’s arrival. In fact, nothing came of that letter until Freydis had screamed and cried for hours on end, pain ripping through her body and causing her shrieks to be so jarring that Igor, outside the room, was beginning to wonder if she would survive.

He’d never heard a woman give birth before, but he couldn’t believe what he was hearing was normal or healthy. Something had to have been going wrong. (Even after the birth, when Freydis could assure him all had gone well, and she’d endured this once before, he was convinced that she was only saying that so he wouldn’t worry.)

But he smiled as he looked at the sleeping girl she held to her chest, and eventually, he asked Freydis, “Can I hold her?”

Freydis grinned, and she nodded, handing the baby over to Igor. He was beaming as she reminded him to support the baby’s head, and hold her close, making sure not to drop any part of her. “She is perfect, is she not?” the woman asked, and Igor nodded slowly.

“I always hoped I might have a sister,” he confessed to her, and if Freydis was shocked by Igor revealing to her- entirely subconsciously- that he saw her as his mother, she didn’t show it. Instead, she simply smiled, and tucked the blanket up around the baby’s chin.

“And now you do,” she said. “The gods have been good to us all, Igor.” He smiled, and nodded his agreement.

“What will you call her?” he finally asked, and Freydis gave a small hum.

“I have not chosen, I don’t think,” she admitted. “Nothing I have thought of sounds quite right. But it will come to me, I am certain.”

Another few days passed, and as Freydis was walking through the market, cradling her newborn daughter to her chest and talking to Igor, she was beginning to feel frustrated. She had allowed Igor to help her try and think up a name, and yet nothing had really satisfied either of them. Still, nothing would come to them.

But that day, the perfect name would come.

It came in such a way that Freydis had gone white from shock, looking up at the gate that opened, seeing the man who passed through it. When Igor saw her face, he didn’t yet turn to look and see what she was seeing, instead commenting, “You look as though you have seen a ghost.”

“I have,” she answered.

His eyes finally followed her gaze as she began walking towards the gates, and they widened, before a grin broke out across his lips and he hurried to catch up with his mother- for that really was what they both knew her to be, now.

Ivar the Boneless had an easier time walking through the markets of Kiev when there was no snow on the ground, during the summer months. During his battle in Wessex, he’d thought of nothing more than wanting to live, so he could return to Kiev to Freydis, and Igor, and the- hopefully healthy- child he hoped would be there with her.

When he saw the baby in Freydis’s arms, his heart dropped into his stomach. He didn’t know if he was ready to be a father- the thought terrified him to no end- but his wife stood there, with the boy he thought of as his own son, and a new child. Whether he was ready or not, it didn’t matter. His destiny was upon him.

And his eyes began to burn as he finally came to meet her. She looked up at him with an adoring smile, her heart pounding, as she said, “Hello, Ivar.” His heart melted.

“Hello, Freydis.”

If not for the baby in her arms, Ivar would have kissed her right there in the middle of that marketplace. After all, she was his wife, wasn’t she? And he’d been away from her for nine months. The people would have had to have gotten over it.

His fingers brushed over the baby’s head slowly, as if afraid he might break her just by touching her, and when he blinked, water began to leak from his eyes. Freydis’s own eyes reflected this as she watched his face. The smile on her face had only warmed, grown softer, and she seemed to be melting inside as she watched him with the little newborn girl.

“Ivar,” she eventually said, and he gave a small, “Hm?” to show he was now listening. “Do you want to hold your daughter?”

He finally looked at Freydis again, the words sending a sort of chill down his spine.

His daughter…

“She is too perfect to be mine,” he said softly, and Freydis shook her head.

“She is yours, I assure you,” she promised. “She’s ours.”

With that, she offered the baby to Ivar, and he reached out to take her, a quiet, almost choked cry coming from the Viking as he cradled his baby girl in his arms for the first time. He had once told Freydis that he’d only ever loved her, and his mother. And though that remained true, as he also knew he loved Hvitserk, and Igor as well, he realised he’d never felt a love quite like this.

The girl’s eyes opened, and she squealed with delight as she looked at her father’s face for the first time. Right then, Ivar knew he’d bring the world to heel for her, if it were in his power. Anything she wanted, he would give her. If he had to bring the sky to the earth at her request, he would give it everything he could.

“What is her name?” he asked, his voice soft and almost cracking under the emotion he felt in his chest.

“We haven’t yet chosen,” Freydis began to explain, but he cut her off before she could finish.

“Katia,” he said. “Because that is the name of the woman who brought her mother back to me.”

Freydis smiled a little, and even Igor thought it was right as he watched her nod.

“Katia,” she agreed. “Katia Ivarsdottir.”

This brought a wide grin to Ivar’s face, and he and Freydis both laughed a little when Igor stepped up to look at his sister again, and greet her properly for the first time. “Hello, Katia,” he said. “I am Igor, your brother.”

Ivar gave Freydis a curious look when Igor called himself Katia’s brother, and she smiled. “It is true, isn’t it?” she whispered to him while the boy was occupied, and Ivar realised… it really was.

And so, he handed Katia over to Igor to hold her and fuss over her as he’d taken to doing, so he could wrap an arm around Freydis, pulling her close to himself. She smiled up at him as her hands came to rest against his chest.

“You have been very busy, my love,” he told her, and chuckled as if to himself. “I would have never imagined such mischief to be anything you were capable of.”

“It was not mischief, it was survival,” she said, teasing him with the Rus accent she had put on when disguised as Katia, and he chuckled.

“Well, there is no need for this now,” he said. “You are my wife, and your children are my children. I will guarantee your survival, along with our son’s and daughter’s. You are my family, and I will protect you all.”

Freydis smiled at him, and nodded a little. Without all the change she’d seen in him there in Kiev, she’d have doubted that statement. But now, on the other side of all they’d gone through together, she was honestly able to tell him, “I know you will.”

Ivar leaned down then to finally kiss his wife, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. Oh, this felt like the most right thing in the world to him.

He didn’t kiss her for as long as he’d have liked to, but only because he wanted now to properly greet the boy who would now be his son. So, he turned to Igor, who was now handing Katia back to Freydis, and caught the boy off guard in a tight embrace.

Igor grinned and laughed happily at the slight ambush. He was more grateful than anything for them to have all come back together, especially with the added fact that he now had a little sister. “Will you stay this time?” he questioned, looking up at Ivar even as he hadn’t let the Viking go just yet.

“Who am I to tell the gods I do not accept my fate, hm?” Ivar asked him with a playful grin. “Of course I will stay. And you have had to take care of your mother for long enough now. It’s time I finally take that responsibility from you, don’t you think?”

Igor grinned and hugged his father tightly once again. He didn’t think he’d ever be happier than he was in that moment.

The family had retreated back into their palace, and Ivar and Freydis never spoke again of what had happened between them in Kattegat. Both had changed drastically since then, and it was understood that they’d become different people entirely.

But Ivar still saw the ghost of that woman from Kattegat, whenever he saw Freydis acting as the Queen of Rus, mother to the King, and yet he saw the ghost of Princess Katia whenever the family would sit around the dinner table, and Igor would come and sit up against her.

Truly, his wife had evolved into an enigma, with two lives living in and shining through her at once, resulting in a type of… ghostly queen, almost. In fact, because of this, he took to calling her his Ghost Queen, who could be the ghost of either woman at any time, while still being fully her.

It would have been a difficult thing for him to have tried to explain, but he knew he didn’t have to. Freydis understood each time he called her that, what he meant.

Igor and Katia grew, and they weren’t the last children Freydis and Ivar had together. He was proud to say he never missed another birth, and he was proud to remain in Kiev with his family, which only ever seemed to grow.

Hvitserk came to visit often- more often than not- though he was still busy ruling Kattegat, after unseating the woman who’d claimed, as the widow of Björn Ironside, it had been her right. But his claim went undisputed by the population, when he reminded them that he was the only brother of Björn who was left to take the throne, and the only Son of Ragnar as well.

And so for many years into the future, Norway and Rus enjoyed a beneficial and prosperous relationship with each other, all because of the queen who’d vanished from thin air in Kattegat, and appeared in the same way in Kiev. Ivar’s title for her became the name history would remember her by, and just as the name Ivar the Boneless would never be forgotten, neither would the name of Freydis, the Ghost Queen.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius

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capriciousvisage · 3 years

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I think my breaking point at work was today. I told my boss at like 7 pm in multiple long ass texts that I don't know how long me or anyone else is going to be able to keep doing this. One of the other shifts is pregnant and they aren't making accomodations for her on the schedule (like she's at the point where lifting boxes is getting painful). So many people left for college but didn't tell ANYONE until the week before they had to leave. So now my boss is just hiring anyone but they all just suck. it's not even a matter of them just needing more time or better training, it's just that they don't care to put a little effort in, even on the one position they can do somewhat okay. I know this because no matter how many times I tell them to do something they will keep not doing that.

But that leads to there being a Saturday morning where 3 people call off and then you're stuck with just all new people who can only do one or two positions (both of which are the same position for all of them, because they are the "easy" positions) and only 2 good people on bar, including yourself. This happened yesterday to me

And just nothing is able to get done. The fact that you have so many new people scrambling around OR not moving at all with nothing being done just makes it look like you can't run a shift. Both me and the shift who is pregnant expressed this today. Like it's not my boss's fault for the most part, but the new bitch of an ASM is yelling at everyone about dress code and threatening to write people up after just one warning about dress code rather than focusing on people just coming to work.

When I got promoted I watched a really long module specifically on balancing the floor so no one is doing more work than anyone else. But I can't do that when I have 6 people at 10 am, only 1 of which is good on bar, and myself, but oh no I'm the only one who can do inventory now because it's all auto shipped for some goddamn reason and all the money stuff. I hate asking the same people to stay on bar for SIX TO EIGHT HOURS straight because literally there is no one else who could keep up with the volume or even just make drinks correctly at all.

It's just so frustrating. We're the highest volume store in the district by a long shot, but we were only scheduled 4 people from 3pm to close today. Insane

#this doesnt get into me being misgendered btw #whenever i correct certain people they dont even acknowledge me #one girl will just misgender me to my face on purpose #despite being really nice to me otherwise and considering me her friend #told my boss about that too tho lol he made me feel better by saying he thinks i pass though #cosmic choir

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venusofthehardsells · 5 years

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Dreamgirl [part 2]

ReaderxBucky Barnes [Part 1] Summary: Bucky tries to adjust to his new life in the Avengers compound. One day he meets a girl who might be everything he needs in order to move on, but is his past really that far away? Warnings for this chapter: none, a bit of flirting (general series warnings include noncon, violence, mental illness, feels probably) A/N: Wow, I can’t believe the all the love chapter one of this story got! Thank you so much! ♥ I hope you will like this one as well. It’s the last “fluffy” chapter before things start to get chaotic dark, so you can all still jump ship if it’s not your thing. Extra special thanks to @cake-writes for beta-reading this for me! You’re the best ♥ Let me know what you think ~

Bucky can tell she recognises him from the way her face lights up in a perfectly glowing smile. "Hi," she beams at him. She is wearing makeup now, lips perfectly painted and eyes expertly defined with mascara and shadows. Her hair is no longer the unruly bedhead she had sported in the park earlier. In fact, she looks thoroughly put together, and pretty in an entirely different way. This type of beauty is right in his face, shining out harshly through her lipstick and wide, practised smile. "Hi," is all he manages to answer, but he quickly follows it up with a smile of his own. "Thank you for, you know, before," she says and he can practically feel the heat radiating off her face. Or is it his own? Shit. "Oh, it was... it's no problem," he answers, somehow sounding more casual and confident than he feels. "Well, it would have been if I'd lost them, so... thank you. Really." There is a change in her face that makes him want to heave for breath. She is still smiling, but it is as if the overly honeyed, slightly aggressive customer service mask vanishes. Bucky imagines that this smile is somehow more... her own.

"Anytime," he manages with a weak imitation of his confident pre-war smirk, but it seems to do the trick because she chuckles and looks down nervously. His superhuman hearing picks up on the fact that her heart is racing in her chest and it makes his own body an all too heated place to be all of a sudden. "So…" She bites her lip and he doesn't know if it's intentional, doesn't care, because all he can suddenly think about is if that mouth tastes as sweet as it looks. "What can I get you, Mr...?" Bucky has to swallow thickly before he can even think of anything to say that doesn't include all the inappropriate images that are now parading through his mind. "Bu-James," he quickly amends. It feels right to give her his old name. His legal name. It's not as heavy as the nickname he has borne all his life, the one loaded with guilt and horrors enough to make anyone lose sleep. "It's James. And I'll have a black coffee, please." She laughs again, as if that's exactly what she expected him to order. "To stay or to-go?" There is a hopeful edge lining her words and Bucky swears he hears her heart stop for just a second. A smile he has absolutely no control over falls onto his lips. "Haven't got any plans this morning, might as well sit down." It's a lie, but he is pretty sure Steve will forgive him for skipping their morning workout this once. He will have to. "All right James, black coffee to stay coming right up." “Hey, uhm… what’s your name?” He feels warm all over and he's sure it's not because of his sweatshirt. She tells him and he repeats the name, slowly, carefully, savouring the feel of it in his mouth. When he takes out his wallet to pay for the coffee, she shakes her head at him. "On the house." She winks before turning around to get the coffee maker going and Bucky can't help but be just a little bit relieved, seeing as all the blood in his body is divided between his face and his crotch. The way her work-trousers hug her ass doesn't help. He can't remember the last time another person made him feel this way. It's uncomfortable and disorientating and exhilarating all at the same time. A part of him, a huge part in fact, tells him to get out now and hope he never sees her again. The last seventy years of his life have taught him how precious control is, in any situation. It is what kept him alive through decades of firefights and infiltrations and other covert missions for HYDRA. And right now, looking at the cute barista, he doesn't feel very much in control at all. Bucky mentally kicks himself and gets his face back in order before she turns back around. He didn't have any control in the claws of HYDRA. He wasn't even human for all those years, just a weapon, a tool... an asset. A mindless thing created by a ruthless organisation, walking around in the shell of a dead man, whose own life was over in the blink of an eye. The Asset controlled him, but Bucky Barnes has probably never had as much control in his life as he currently has. And now that he's officially back from the dead, he just wants something that makes sense. Not unlike his time in Wakanda. Even though goat-farming with one arm had its disadvantages, it was still the closest thing to peace he remembers feeling post-enlistment. There are not a lot of goats in New York, but something else could surely make him feel the same way and he doesn’t mind. It's not as if he ever really got to try ‘normal’ back before it all went to hell. Steve might have left those kinds of wishes behind in the ice if he ever really had them in the first place (Bucky is beginning to think there is only ever gonna be the next fight or the next mission when it comes to his old friend), but Bucky can't give up the hope that now that he has been given this second chance, there might somehow be a life for him here. A life, a job, a home, happiness - and someone to share it all with. “Here you go, James.” Her voice shakes him out of his thoughts. “Thanks, doll.” He makes sure to softly brush his fingers against hers when he takes the cup she holds out to him, lets his touch linger for just a second longer than necessary. She swallows when the cup and its warmth is out of reach along with his hand and he realises that she has been holding her breath. He shoots her another crooked half-smile now that he’s sure he’s affecting her too and he has to fight back a moan, because the faintest trace of arousal finds its way to him in the mix of coffee and floral perfume. She’s wet for him. The knowledge makes his cock twitch and he’s infinitely grateful for the counter separating them. His loose sweatpants don’t hide much. God, he wants to lean over, bury his face in her neck, take a long, deep breath of her scent. It’s maddening. He takes a sip of the coffee and licks his lips a little, slowly, deliberately, without breaking eye contact with her. Her sweet smile is still in place, but he might as well have licked her cunt with the way her composure stiffens and he can tell she is rubbing her thighs together behind the safety of the counter. “Damn, you make a mean cup of coffee.” Bucky mostly says it to have a reason not to sit down, just to keep talking to her and she doesn’t seem to mind the least. “I suppose the last few months haven’t been a complete waste then,” she chuckles. Despite it being morning, peak time, they’re still the only two people in the coffee shop. Normally, it means Bucky doesn’t have to suffer through standing in line and waiting through another ten orders, and he likes that, but today it means he can linger by the till and play the part of the man he used to be so many years ago. Even if it isn’t really him anymore, just pretending not to have a care in the world feels good. “How come I haven’t seen you here before?,” he asks lightly, taking another sip of coffee. He likes to think he would have noticed her before or at least remember her now if she had served him coffee in the past. “Do you usually come in around this time?” He nods. “One of my colleagues had to go home rather urgently yesterday. Something about a family crisis; I don’t think he’s coming back. My manager asked me if I could take his shifts and I couldn’t really afford to turn down the extra hours. So here I am I suppose,” she says with a laugh. “Making coffee full time in a second-rate chain-café.” She sighs for dramatic effect. “What am I supposed to do during the weekend then? If I need a good morning coffee, that is,” Bucky adds with a chuckle and he can feel himself blush again, but he’s getting used to the sensation. And it’s worth it, he thinks smugly, when he hears her sharp intake of breath. Oh, how he’s missed this. “Well, I… I might find myself near the park sometime Saturday morning. And if I happened to be in the right mood, it’s possible that maybe I’d bring coffee enough for two…,” she trails off, biting her lip and he wants nothing more than to bite it for her, to suck on that perfectly shaped bottom lip of hers that she’s so infuriatingly flaunting in front of him. “It would be a lucky coincidence then, if I were to run through that very park on Saturday morning, too. Maybe around eight…” It’s later than his usual routine, but he figures it would be pushing his luck to ask her to meet him any earlier on her day off. “It certainly would. I really hope I can be persuaded to go.” “Oh, I can be very persuasive, doll…” There it is again, that scent of arousal gathering beneath her skirt and the sound of her heart beating a million miles a minute. “I’m counting on it.” Her own boldness seems to surprise her and he can tell she is about to blabber something about not usually being so forward or, god forbid it, maybe even an apology, but the bell above the door chimes just then and her gaze jerks towards the two newly arrived customers, a pair of women in workout clothes. “Persuasion will have to wait, it seems,” he smirks and leaves the counter to sit down with his cup of coffee while she takes the orders from the two women, one of whom Bucky actually recognises as the hot blonde who sometimes walks her dog around the area in the mornings. He studies her discreetly over the edge of the coffee cup. She is still undeniably attractive, but he quickly finds that her face eludes him the moment he closes his eyes. What remains to him though, are the sparkling eyes and contagious smile of the barista. The way she bit her lip, looking up at him through her mascara-coated lashes, has him completely forgetting the taste of the coffee. He is so distracted by the thought of her that he doesn’t notice his phone until the second ring. The device almost slips from his hand as he stubbornly fumbles it from the pocket of his sweatshirt with his flesh hand, never lifting his metal fingers from the safety of his pocket. “Hello?,” he asks quietly. “Hey Buck. I was just wondering where you were,” comes Steve’s voice, carefully adjusted to sound casual. Bucky almost groans at his friend’s tone. Steve is only trying to show that he cares, he knows that, but he can’t shake the feeling that America’s golden boy is turning into a helicopter parent when it comes to him. “Just getting coffee,” Bucky mumbles guiltily. He knows Stark has a tracker in both his phone and his arm, hell, Stark probably has trackers sewn into Bucky’s clothes just to be on the safe side, so it’s not like Steve doesn’t actually know where he is. “I… I needed more time today. Sorry.” “Oh. Bad night?” Bucky is half a breath away from kicking the table through a window. He only trusts Steve to wake him up when his nightmares get unbearable, no one else. He almost sent Wanda flying into the next hallway once when she heard him cry out in the night and came in to check on him. If it hadn’t been for her powers, his metal arm would have broken all of her ribs when he lunged at her still half asleep. He still feels bad about it whenever he sees her. With Steve, however, it is as if his sleeping mind can sense who enters his room. His is the only comforting face Bucky knows and he’s grateful to have someone around who takes all of his issues in stride. The only problem is Steve’s damn saviour complex, that he thinks everything is his fault and thus, his responsibility. “Could’ve been worse,” Bucky answers reluctantly. An outright lie is not the way to go about it. “Sorry I wasn’t there, pal. I didn’t hear you.” “’s fine.” He wants nothing more than to shrug it off and hang up. “I’m fine. But I, uhm… took longer than I thought. Think I’ll have to skip the morning routine.” “Bucky…” There is a pause on the line that Bucky doesn’t like; his hand curls into a fist in his pocket. “It’s almost noon. You’ve been gone all morning, Tony’s gonna freak if you miss the briefing and you know…” The rest of Steve’s words is a distant mutter that drifts further and further away as he slowly places the phone on the table not to drop it. His fingers are shaking. His entire arm, hell, his entire body is shaking. There is no way it could have been later than seven or eight when he came into the coffee shop. He risks a glance at the clock on the wall. 11.45. Where did all that time go?

[TRANSMISSION] ALHABOR: MADE CONTACT WITH THE ASSET. DOESN’T SUSPECT ME ORION: WHAT OF THE SEQUENCE? ALHABOR: SAFEWORDS SEEMINGLY INTACT. FURTHER TESTING NEEDED ORION: I WANT DAILY REPORTS ALHABOR: UNDERSTOOD ORION: HAIL HYDRA ALHABOR: HAIL HYDRA

Tags will be added in reblog

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #dark!bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #inthedark!challenge #marvel writing challenge #marvel fanfic #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky angst

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emospritelet · 5 years

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Twisted Fate - chapter 10

39: “Please, just let me help you.

It’s a moment of relative calm for our babies. Please send me a prompt from this list or this list to fuel the angst and smut

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Part 9] [AO3]

The following day dawned with a clear sky and a cold breeze, and Belle turned her face up to the sun as she walked to the diner where she worked. She felt something approaching relief following her conversation with Gold. There had been so much pain festering away inside her since their break-up, and it was good to let some of that go, to let him understand just how much he had hurt her. After he had left, she had slept well for the first time in weeks, and she felt as though they were at least starting to turn a corner in their relationship. If she could get through the next two months without wanting to kick him in the balls, she would consider it a win.

It was satisfying to be able to give her notice at the diner, and she was fairly certain Ed was just as relieved as she that he wouldn’t have to fire her. She agreed to work the rest of her shifts for the week, and was due to leave on Friday. Jasmine tentatively suggested going out after their final shift together, but Belle shook her head.

“By the time seven p.m. rolls around, I’ll just want to take a shower and fall asleep,” she said, as she wiped down a table. “We could maybe have lunch, though. Are you free on Saturday?”

Jasmine scrunched her nose, shaking her head.

“Can we make it Sunday?” she asked. “Ariel’s supposed to be taking me apartment-hunting. We’ve seen four so far, and all of them had something wrong with them. Why is it so hard to find decent accommodation in this city?”

“Yeah, definitely don’t take anything in my old building,” said Belle, with feeling. “You’re looking for something near the university, right?”

“If we can,” said Jasmine glumly. “No luck so far, but I guess it’s early days. Hopefully we’ll get a place before either one of us graduates.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something.”

She began clearing the next table, and Jasmine helped, stacking dirty glasses on a tray. She eyed Belle curiously, dark eyes gleaming.

“So,” she said delicately. “Your ex is in town. How’s that going?”

Belle shrugged, brushing a coil of hair out of her face.

“Well, he’s stepping up,” she said. “He wants full involvement with the baby. He’s giving me everything I could ask for. Even things I wasn’t going to ask for.”

“So that’s good, right?”

“Yeah,” sighed Belle, leaning on the table for a moment. “Yeah, it’s great, don’t get me wrong, but I’m kind of waiting for the punchline.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” She picked up her tray, pushing away from the table and heading for the kitchen. “It’s hard to trust him, you know? I think he’s serious, I really do, but there’s still a part of me that thinks this whole thing is too good to be true.”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

“Although he’s coming over later to talk about healthcare options and child support,” added Belle. “So there’s that.”

“Service for table six,” snapped Ed, shoving a plate containing a large burger and fries at her. “You two talk about your personal lives on your own time.”

Jasmine smiled sweetly at him, grabbing another two plates of chicken from the side, and stuck out her tongue as soon as his back was turned. Belle made her way back into the diner, shoving the kitchen door open with one hip as she passed through.

“How are things with you and Ariel, anyway?” she asked, over her shoulder.

“Oh, really good! I mean apart from the not being able to move in together thing.” Jasmine set down her plates and took a breath, eyes scanning the diner before she strode off towards an empty table with yet another pile of dishes. “Her father’s driving her crazy over her study choices, but she’s holding her ground.”

“Yeah.” Belle chewed her lip as she thought about her own father. “Families, huh?”

She pulled a pad from her pocket to take the order of an old man seated by the window, and returned to the kitchen to hand it over and take out another order. It seemed that there was a brief lull, the customers all eating, and so she wiped down the bar before Ed could come out and accuse her of slacking. She knuckled her back as she stood there, a dull pain already starting to develop. Jasmine began stacking glasses, rolling her shoulders tiredly.

“How did you two leave things?” she asked, and Belle pulled a face.

“I - I kind of got a few things off my chest,” she admitted. “Told him exactly how much he’d hurt me. It actually felt - not good, but at least sort of a relief. I think I needed to do it. I think it helped.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing,” said Belle flatly. “He just stared at me with his usual bloody expressionless face like I was reading a bloody shopping list. I mean yeah, he did try to say something at one point before I cut him off, but I was kind of on a roll, and once I was done - nothing. I have no idea whether he was even listening, but if he was, he didn’t react. The guy should play poker for a living.”

She scrubbed at a sticky patch where someone had spilled hot chocolate, frowning.

“Maybe he has difficulty with emotional stuff,” suggested Jasmine.

“What, like every other guy I’ve ever met?” said Belle, in a wry tone. “Spare me.”

Jasmine smirked.

“Couldn’t agree more.”

“Yeah, well,” sighed Belle, leaning on the counter. “As I told him last night, I’m pretty much stuck with him for at least the next eighteen years. Probably longer. Eighteen years of parent-teacher nights and Christmas handovers and agreeing on discipline and boundaries.”

“Well, look on the bright side,” said Jasmine. “Eighteen years gives you a good long period to try and get over him.”

Belle shot her a look.

“I am over him!” she insisted.

“Mhmm.”

“I am!”

Jasmine set the last of the glasses on the shelf, and straightened up, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Yeah, you know who really shouldn’t play poker professionally?” she said.

She pointed a finger at Belle before sashaying off to the kitchen, and Belle stared after her in outrage.

“I am!” she called.

She caught the bus back after work, but it was still seven-thirty when she returned to the apartment, and her body ached from a day of lifting and carrying. The last thing she felt like was another battle of wits with the father of her child, but she took a quick shower to try to lift some of her tiredness. Gold turned up at eight sharp with a large folder under one arm, while she still had her hair wrapped in a towel, and she took a deep breath, determined to be civil. His eyes were looking darker than usual, his face a little drawn.

“Hey,” she said.

“Belle,” he said calmly, and she put her head to the side.

“You okay? You don’t look so good.”

Gold inhaled through his nose, and there was a sudden flash of what looked like bone-deep weariness etched across his face. It was gone almost immediately as he let out the breath he had taken, and he was his usual impassive self.

“I was awake most of the night,” he said.

“Something on your mind?” she asked. His lips twitched.

“I don’t recommend the Arendelle Hotel, for future reference.”

“Well, not like I could ever afford to stay there, but duly noted.” She stepped back to let him in. “Tea?”

“Please.”

He stepped past her, and she closed the door and followed him through to the kitchen. The bright lights were shining on his hair, highlighting the threads of silver that were running through it. She wondered how long he had been cutting it, whether it had been something he had done the moment she left town, the mark of a new chapter in his life. She wondered how his life had changed since she had left, if at all.

He placed the folder he was carrying on the kitchen table, and shrugged out of his heavy coat, pulling off leather gloves and unwinding the scarf from around his neck. The motion released a rush of scent: spicy cologne and his own musk, and she found herself inhaling deeply before she realised what she was doing. The silk shirt beneath his jacket was dark blue, and her breath hitched as she remembered the last time she had seen him wear it. The time he had driven her to his cabin and spent hours making her come. The first time she had told him she loved him. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and his brow creased a little.

“I could make the tea, if you like,” he said, and she started.

“No no, I was just - I was miles away. Let me do it.”

She could feel her cheeks heat as she crossed to the sink, and she kept her back to him as she filled the kettle and got out cups. By the time the tea was brewing, she was able to face him, and Gold had seated himself at the kitchen table with his jacket off, gold sleeve garters pushed up above his elbows as he tapped his fingers on the folder in front of him. Belle carried the tea things to the table, sliding into a chair opposite him.

“Right,” she said. “What did you bring?”

He opened up the folder, taking out a sheaf of documents and pushing it across the table.

“Forms for the medical insurance,” he said. “If you could fill those out today, I’ll arrange everything.”

“Okay.”

He fished out another document.

“I also need your bank account details, for the child support payments.”

“Weren’t we going to have an agreement drawn up?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said patiently. “But I told you I’d start paying you straight away, remember? The agreement will come, as soon as we’ve hammered out all the terms, but in the meantime I don’t want you to have to go on working all hours.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Would you prefer to be paid weekly or monthly?”

“Uh - monthly, I guess.” Belle looked down at the form, eyes running over it and taking nothing in. “Although - I kind of gave my notice at work, so if we could make it weekly for the first month? Things are gonna be pretty tight otherwise.”

“Understood.”

He reached into the folder again.

“The only other thing I have for tonight is this,” he said, and handed over some glossy booklets from upmarket decorators. “I thought you might want to choose some colours for your new home.”

“Right.” Belle couldn’t help smiling as she started leafing through them. “I don’t mind doing the painting, if you get the colours.”

“I could pay someone, it’s not a problem.”

“No,” she said decidedly, looking up and meeting his eyes. “No, I think I want to do it.”

Gold smiled briefly.

“As you wish.”

She returned the smile, and glanced down at the booklet in front of her, running her eyes over the swatches of colour. Perhaps a lavender tone for the nursery.

“What are your plans tomorrow?” he asked.

Belle looked up again, and he picked up the teapot and began pouring for both of them.

“Well, I have class in the morning,” she said. “I have a medical appointment at two.”

“And after that?”

She shrugged.

“No more class. I guess I’ll come back here and get some study done. Why?”

Gold put down the teapot, glancing at her.

“Well, I was going to suggest that I take you shopping.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she said hastily. “I could get Emma to drive me. I mean, if you’re busy—”

“I’m not,” he interrupted. “We’re already meeting to go to see the doctor, so why don’t we kill two birds with one stone and take a look at nursery furniture afterwards?”

Belle chewed at her lip, and he spread his hands.

“If you’ve picked out colours, we could even get the paint,” he added.

“I’ll need brushes and everything.”

“We can get those too.”

Belle sent him a wry look.

“And you’re ready for this minimalist paradise to be turned into a riot of colour, are you?”

“My house is pink,” he said bluntly.

She giggled at that, surprising herself, and his eyes twinkled for a moment, but then he sat up, threading his fingers together as he met her eyes.

“It’s only a shopping trip, Belle,” he said quietly. “You’ve been dealing with more than enough on your own already. Please, just let me help you.”

Belle took a breath, and nodded.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Good.”

He pushed a cup of tea towards her, and Belle added a little milk and stirred. Gold sat back, watching her over the rim of his cup.

“I saw your father while I was in Storybrooke, by the way,” he said. “I thought I should tell him face to face that I intended to support you and the baby.”

Belle put down her cup, her good mood stealing away again.

“Yeah, I gathered you’d spoken to him,” she said, her tone flat. “Before I called you about the test results, right?”

“What?” He looked puzzled. “No, after. It was actually the call from you that made me think perhaps I ought to speak to him. I - I had no idea he’d cut you off.”

Oh. Well.

“Did you give him this address?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “He told me he’d hear it from you, not me.”

“Right.” She wanted to shrink in her chair a little. “Well, I’ve not heard from him in five months, so I guess he’s not too concerned about my living arrangements.”

“It seems not,” said Gold, in a cold voice. “I did let him know exactly what I thought of that, but I have a feeling it may have had the opposite effect to the one I intended.”

Belle shrugged uncomfortably.

“I doubt it would make much difference either way,” she said. “He told me from the start I should get rid of the baby.”

“Did he now?” Gold’s voice was ominously flat. “Well. Luckily for me, you didn’t agree.”

“Of course not.”

She hung her head a little, still hurt by her father’s rejection, and there was a moment of silence.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” he said quietly, and Belle raised her head.

“No, it’s - it’s not your fault,” she said, and his mouth quirked.

“Well, that makes a change.”

She returned the tiny smile, although her lip wobbled a little.

“Try to keep it up,” she said decidedly, and his smile grew.

“I’ll do my best.”

More silence, but it was a little more comfortable. Belle sipped at her tea before setting down her cup and getting a pen to fill out the forms he had given her. Gold sat in silence as she did it, refilling their cups as soon as they were emptied.

“What happens at this appointment tomorrow?” he asked, and she glanced up.

“Oh, nothing major. I get weighed and measured and my blood pressure taken, that kind of thing. It’s probably not very interesting.”

“I still want to go with you,” he said. “I’d like to go to all of them.“

He hesitated, fingers stroking the cup, and his eyes met hers as he seemed to choose his words carefully.

"What are your feelings on me attending the birth?” he asked.

Belle sat back, surprised by his uncertainty.

“Oh,” she said. “I - I guess I just assumed you would. Is that right? Do you not want to?”

“No no, I want to,” he said. “I just wasn’t sure I’d be welcome.”

She reached for her cup again, cradling it in her hands.

“Well, like I said, it’s your baby too,” she said. That brief smile again.

“Thank you.”

“Plus it means I get to scream and swear at you for hours,” she added. “Probably better than a therapy session.”

Gold’s smile grew.

“Did you say there was an ultrasound?” he asked.

“Oh. Yeah, let me get it.”

She pushed to her feet, going through to the bedroom to take out the envelope she had placed in her nightstand. When she returned to the kitchen, Gold was sitting upright with his elbows on the table and his fingertips tapping together, nervous energy coming off him in waves. She reached into the envelope, pulling out one of the pictures there and handing it over.

“They said I wouldn’t need another one unless anything out of the ordinary happened,” she said. “It’s healthy, no worries there, they said. Everything where it should be.”

Gold had gone very still. He was staring at the photograph she had given him, an unreadable look in his eyes.

“It was - kind of weird, seeing the baby for the first time,” she added. “It made it real, you know?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, it’s real.”

His fingers were shaking a little, clutching the edges of the photograph, and she put her head to the side, curiosity building in her. What was he thinking? Was he as overwhelmed as she had been on first seeing the picture of their child? She couldn’t blame him, if so, but she hadn’t expected it.

“You can keep that one,” she said, reaching for her tea again. “They gave me two.”

He glanced up at her, and there was an expression in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. Softness, and something that was almost vulnerable. His lower lip trembled a little, but he smiled.

“Thank you, Belle,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

#fic: twisted fate #rumbelle fic #my fic #rumbelle #rumbelle angst

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iliketowrite1996 · 4 years

Text

Blind Dates part 1 sneak peek

Sneak Peek Part 5/10 of Steve Rogers x Reader saga.

Part 1:https://iliketowrite1996.tumblr.com/post/614617294578089984/his-best-girl

Part 2: https://iliketowrite1996.tumblr.com/post/614969499334197248/meet-the-music-teacher

Part 3: https://iliketowrite1996.tumblr.com/post/616114724817584128/lunch-buddies

Part 4:https://iliketowrite1996.tumblr.com/post/616328582794493952/why-not

TRIGGER WARNINGS AND THEMES- Blind dates, mentions of loved ones dying, angst, mention of death of parent

‘’No, DeShawn. You are not going to see any robot butlers.’’

‘’But he is Tony Stark. He should have robot butlers!’’

Steve sighs and shakes his head good naturedly as he and the children wait for Pepper or Tony to come open the door.

It’s Saturday evening, around 5 o’clock, and Steve, Jasmine and DeShawn have arrived at Tony Stark’s place or dinner while Deshawn’s mother goes on her date.

‘’Well, now that you mention it, I do have the blueprints for one of those in my lab.’’

The trio turn to see none other than Tony himself behind them, carrying a bag of groceries, with Peter Parker trailing behind him.

‘’Y-you’re Tony Stark,’’ DeShawn gapes.

Steve and Jasmine exchange a look and a smirk, knowing that DeShawn is meeting one of his personal heroes.

‘’Tony, good to see you. This is DeShawn. He’s spending the day with us while his mom goes on her date,’’ Steve explains as Tony shifts the bag to shake DeShawn’s hand.

‘’It’s nice to meet you, DeShawn. This is my intern, Peter Parker,’’ Tony introduces the teenage boy, who waves.

‘’Nice to meet you, DeShawn. Mr. Rogers, Jazzy, always good to see you. Jasmine, you’re wearing the new sweater you told me about.’’

‘’Mhm!,’’ Jasmine beams, examining the red and blue knit sweater beneath ehr open jacket.

‘’Awesome, we almost match,’’ Peter points to his red and blue sweatshirt.

‘’Oh,’’ DeShawn narrows his eyes a bit, ‘’So you’re Peter.’’

‘’Yes, Peter is my tutor,’’ Jasmine looks at DeShawn pointedly, silently reminding him about his agreement not to spoil the fact that she has a crush on Peter.

As if Peter doesn’t already know.

‘’I hope you don’t mind the extra house guest,’’ Steve speaks up as Tony moves past them to get to his door, unlocking it.

‘’Not at all. Pepper’s on her way. And we’ll get dinner started then. I just had to run to the store, and Peter tagged along. Besides, my goddaughter will be joining us,’’ Tony insists as they enter the house.

‘’Ah, so this was your plan to set me up.’’

‘’Can’t set you up if it’s just a friendly dinner gathering,’’ Tony shrugs, the others following him to the kitchen, ‘’Jazzy and DeShawn, would you mind setting the table? Peter, can you go get the sodas out of the garage?’’

‘’Sure thing, Mr. Stark,’’ Peter shrugs, taking the key to unlock the garage.

‘’Okay, Uncle Tony. Come on, DeShawn, I’ll show you where the silverware and plates are.’’

When Tony and Steve are left alone, Steve turns to Tony.

‘’You could have confirmed that she’ll be here tonight.’’

‘’I told you she was. You're just getting nervous. Suck it up, buttercup.’’

‘’Now you know who you sound like,’’ Steve chuckles,fondly removing Petra’s catch phrase.

‘’I know,’’ Tony grins gently, ‘’Listen. Are you really okay with me setting you up? Because if not, we can always-’’

‘’No, no. I’m fine. I... I’m ready to try again. My date Thursday was awful, but that doesn’t mean that this should be, too. Jazzy understands. I actually think she’s more for me dating than I even am. But she’s a prime factor in this, you know?’’

‘’I understand. Listen, Sharon is great with kids. I really think you’ll like her.’’

‘’I don’t make promises, but I’ll try. For Jazzy’s sake at least.’’

And Steve Rogers is a man of his word.

‘’Good. Now, let’s say we get dinner started so we actually don’t have to wait an hour after they get here to eat.’’

‘’That should be Pepper and Sharon now. She picked her up from work today,’’ Tony speaks as he places the last of the dinner on the table.

It’s quite a spread- spaghetti and meatballs (with vegetarian sauce for DeShawn), garlic bread, salad. Wine for the adults, soda for the kids, water for everybody.

‘’Can I get the door, Uncle Tony,’’ Jasmine questions, springing to the front door when he nods.

From where they are, Steve can hear her scream, ‘’Hi, Auntie Pepper!.’’

‘’Hey, honey! Where’s everybody at?’’

‘’In the dining room. DeShawn is here. It’s gonna freak him out seeing you outside of school, ‘’ Jasmine says, causing Steve, Tony and Peter to laugh as DeShawn face palms.

‘’Every day,’’ he sighs, shaking his head, reminding Steve of Bucky’s reactions to him when they were kids.

Speaking of which, Jasmine’s been begging to see her uncle and aunt. He really should set up a day.

‘’Hello, everyone,’’ Pepper enters, ‘’Sharon’s taking off her shoes.’’

‘’Tell her she doesn’t have to do that,’’ Tony rolls his eyes, ‘’Nobody else does.’’

‘’Now, Tony. You know Aunt Peggy literally taught both of us better than that.’’

Steve looks away from where DeShawn and Jasmine are thumb wrestling over who gets to have the biggest slice of cake to see a very familiar face.

‘’Hey you live across the hall from us,’’ he grins, glad to the woman who helped get into his apartment while he carried his sleeping daughter.

‘’You two know each other’’ Tony states.

‘’We do. Well, we met very briefly. He lives across the hall from me,’’ Sharon looks to Steve, ‘’It’s nice to meet you.’’

‘’Well, ten, introduce yourselves,’’ Tony gently nudges Steve towards the woman, who sticks out her hand as the other guests take their seats.

‘’I’m Sharon Carter.’’

‘’Steve Rogers,’’ Steve nods towards his daughter, ‘’That’s Jasmine Allen-Rogers, my daughter. And her best friend DeShawn.’’

‘’Hello. Peter, always a pleasure to see you,’’ Sharon sits across from Steve and Jasmine.

After hands are washed , prayers are said and drinks are poured, dinner conversation flows freely. Jasmine talks to Peter and DeShawn, Tony and Pepper converse amongst themselves, so Sharon and Steve are left speaking to each other.

‘’So, what do you do exactly,’’ Steve questions, handing her the bread basket.

‘’I’m a nurse,’’ Sharon informs him before thanking him, ‘’For the last seven years, eight in December. Tony tells me you’re a teacher.’’

‘’Yes, for over ten years now,’’ Steve speaks up, beginning to twirl some pasta on his fork, ‘’I started there about a year before Jazzy was born.’’

‘’And it is so nice to meet the infamous Jazzy,’’ Sharon grins brightly at the ten-year-old, ‘’Tony talks about you a lot.’’

‘’Uncle Tony says I’m his favorite ten-year-old,’’ Jasmine smiles.

‘’Tony says that you are very, very smart,’’ Sharon supplies, causing Steve to beam with pride as Jasmine thanks both Tony and Sharon.

‘’So you had to work today,’’ Steve questions, ‘’I mean, you obviously did. I guess I’m asking how work went.’’

‘’Well, I work as a nurse, so… there’s never a boring day. I imagine that I can say the same for you as a teacher?’’

‘’You could,’’ Steve agrees wholeheartedly, ‘’There never is a dull moment. What made you decide to become a nurse?’’

Dinner continues with pleasant conversation and laughter. As dessert is being cut by Pepper, Sharon and Steve clear the table.

‘’Your daughter is beautiful. So smart and funny, too,’’ Sharon tells Steve as they place the dinner dishes in Tony’s sink.

‘’Thank you so much, I appreciate it.’’

‘’Is DeShawn your son?’’

‘’’Oh, no, but his mother is a good friend of mine. I’m watching DeShawn while his mother is out for the evening,’’ Steve runs hot water to make dish water, ‘’Normally Jazzy would still be with her aunt- she spends the night over there on Friday’s and comes back on Saturday. But I have her today because, well, she wasn’t going to miss a chance to see Peter. And she just really wanted to spend time with me.’’

‘’You seem like a good dad,’’ Sharon nods understandingly, ‘’It’s clear that you two adore each other.’’

‘’She’s the apple of my eye,’’ Steve runs a hand over his head, ‘’And... you now , being her only parent…’’

‘’Tony told me about your wife. If you ever need to talk, we can,’’ Sharon gently touches Steve’s hand, ‘’Listen, I know what Tony is trying to do. I don't want you to feel pressured. I know that you think about Jasmine first.’’

Sharon is the first woman that has encouraged putting Jasmine first, and encourages him to do so. She’s smart, she’s kind, she’s beautiful.

And maybe that’s why Steve finds himself driving DeShawn and Jasmine back to his apartment with a smile on his face, excited for his date with Ms. Sharon Carter next Friday.

The next week comes, and everything goes normally. Steve makes sure that Jasmine practices for the fall concert next week, and Peter comes to tutor her on Monday and Wednesday. She gets a D on her next math test, and it's a small improvement, but Steve knows she’ll do better.

He continues to spend time with you, balancing a friendly work relationship while also trying to choke back his ever-growing attraction to you.

Friday, Steve finds himself closing the door to his car that he oh so rarely uses, going around to the other side so that he can drive to the restatuent.

‘’You look beautiful,’’ Steve tells her, glancing sideways at the long sleeved, black dress that Sharon’s waiting for in the evening.

‘’Thank you. You look very handsome,’’ Sharon chuckles, ‘’Stop being so generous, Steve.’’

‘’I just haven’t been on a date in a while that hasn’t had me regretting agreeing within the first fifteen minutes..’’

‘’Well, it’s only been about 9 and a half ,itunes, so let’s just see where this night takes us.’’

Steve laughs- genuinely laughs- at this, and, for the first time, he’s not so worried about what will happen next.

The two arrive at the restaurant, and it’s nice. Steve got the recommendation for Tony, who is friends with the chef. Now that they’re sitting at the table, Steve is lookingat the prices…

And he’s ever so grateful for the $20 that he knows Tony tried to surreptitiously slip into his wallet last weekend.

‘’So, how was your week,’’ Sharon ask later after they’ve ordered and their water is being delivered, ‘’Thank you.’’

‘’Thank you. Uh, it went well. I mean, Jasmine’s not allowed to go to glee practice until she brings her grades up. And that’s harsh, I guess, but grades are more important and it will motivate her, I hope.’’

‘’She might not appreciate it now, but she will one day. My parents were hard on me,and look how well I turn out,’’ Sharon exaggeratedly flips her hair.

‘’You are pretty great,’’ Steve takes her hand, squeezing gently, ‘’I am so glad that you agreed to go out with me this evening.’’

‘’How could I say ‘no’ to those eyes,’’ Sharon smirks, watching Steve’s face turn pink.

‘’Don’t do that.’’

‘’Why? It’s cute,’’ Sharon shrugs, and teve laughs nervously.

‘’Sorry. I’m trying here,’’Steve fixes huis collar, ‘’I haven’t really liked someone this much in a while.’’

Well, okay, that’s a lie. But, as you made it clear in your conversation this week, you're busy.

And why chase after something with you that doesn’t exist?

‘’And you’re doing well. Just relax, Steve. It’s fine,’’ Sharon gently takes his hand once more, rubbing her thumb along the back of it.

Steve does this, too…

Even if only for a minute, Steve relaxes and allows himself to enjoy his date.

But it’s the first time that he’s done that in over ten years.

And maybe it’s just what he needs.

‘’I had a great time tonight, Steve,’’ Sharon remarks as she leans against her doorway.

‘’I did, too. Would you… Do you want to maybe go out next Friday?’’

‘’I would, but my friend asked me to go with him to the Fireman’s Ball. Saturday?’’

‘’Jazzy’s recital is then and I promised I’d take her out to eat afterwards. Sunday?’’

‘’I work a double shift. Listen… I usually go to my aunt Peggy’s for Sunday dinner but she’s visiting her grandkids. How about you and Jasmine come over for dinner?’’

‘’I think he’d like that. Sounds like a plan. Well, good night,’’ Steve offers a hand for her to shake.

‘’Good night, Steve,’’ sharon smiles a bit disappointedly, half expecting a goodnight kiss.

‘’Sharon, is it alright if I kiss you?’’

So Steve leans in, Sharon’s eyes close, and…

He kisses her on the cheek.

And he doesn't know why, because He had every intention of kissing her on the lips. But he didn’t.

‘’I’m sorry, I-’’

‘’Don’t apologize, Steve. We can… if you decide that you’re interested, let’s take it slow. But for now, we can be just friends.’’

‘’Just friends. Thank you. Oh, uh, a better get into my apartment. Jazzy’s plans for the weekend fell through so I had to find a babysitter. I’ll see you on Sunday for dinner.’’

‘’See you Sunday, Steve. Good night.’’

‘’Good night.’’

And, after calling to check on Jasmine, changing into pajamas, grading some art, brushing his teeth and heading to bed…

Steve decides that it is.

@ashanti-notthesinger @destinio1 @afraiddreamingandloving @airis-paris14 @syreanne @chaneajoyyy @90sinspiredgirl @shemiahsmelanin @zillmonger @skysynclair19 @marvelpotterlove @constantlycravingtheunknown @imaginewhoever @wakanda-inspired @pocmarvelworks @theunsweetenedtruth @dreampovx @adrioola21 @supremethunda @thisiskayesworld @mcusocialimagines @priya212 @kumkaniudaku @airis-paris14 @alexundefined @fonville-designs @dramaqueenamby @mellowjellow6 @oceanscorazon @nerd-lovely @fonville-designs @akimi-youngblood @yoyolovesbucky @fd-writes @areubeingserved-too @areubeingserved

#steve rogers x reader #black reader #black reader insert #singledad!steverogers #single dad steve rogers fic #single dad steve rogers #steve rogers x black reader #reader insert #fanfic #series

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kiritella · 5 years

Text

The Long and the Lost [9.5]

Title: The Long and the Lost [9.5]

Words: 1.8k-ish

Pairings: Father!Bucky x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: none

A/N: This one sucks and I am so sorry. It is mostly just details and not really necessary. This series is updated every Saturday at 12 pm CST.

--------------------------------------------

Previously…

The sound of a recording being turned off draws your attention back to the other side of the room where Steve is looking proudly at his phone screen before back up at the two of you, “I’ll send you a copy,” he says to Bucky before walking down the hallway to his room to upload the video to his computer, Sam following behind him.

“Forgot we had an audience,” you mumble, slightly embarrassed but not regretting a single second.

Bucky laughs lightly and looks back at you, “Yeah.”

Shaking your head slightly, you bring yourself back into the present, “Well, what’s the plan for today? Work?”

“Actually, I finished my reports yesterday, so I was thinking we break into Sam’s secret candy stash and have a Star Trek marathon?”

“You grab the goods and I’ll make the popcorn.”

--------------------------------------------

Now…

A smirk forms on Bucky’s lips as he watches you spin on your heels and into the kitchen, damn, you’re even his partner in crime. He slips his way down the hall and around the corner to the very end and lifts a picture frame off the wall, revealing the little, candy-filled cubby-hole Sam had made a few months ago. He grabs and stuffs the items into his pocket as he hears the popping coming from the kitchen before placing the picture back carefully and making his way into the living room and leaving the apartment, heading to the common room to set up the TV.

With your nightmares happening less and less, there have been fewer movie nights. Not that he’s complaining about it, you are getting better. You’ve been sleeping and you haven’t needed to talk to Sam about the nightmares or memories as much, and although you still have panic attacks now and then, they aren’t as frequent or severe. You still flinch a lot, though, loud noises, sharp movements, you’ve even lashed out a few times on accident, left a few bruises on Sam and him, hell, even Nat, but no one can really blame you, especially when you nearly break down in tears apologizing. However, because you are getting better, he’s had less time with you, now that he isn’t needed at your side every minute of the day, he has more time to work, go on more missions. So, he misses you and enjoys these few times that he can just spend the day relaxing with you, getting to know you better outside of your fear.

You shuffle into the common room with a bowl of popcorn and a couple sodas, setting them on the coffee table before plopping onto the couch next to him, “Which one we on now?”

“VI: The Voyage Home, it’s weird, but still a good movie.”

“Hmm, we’ll see,” you mumble while stuffing a handful of popcorn in your mouth as the intro to the movie starts playing. Bucky smiles in amusement when he hears you humming along to the music. He grabs the assortments of candy from his pockets and lays it on the couch between the two of you, Hershey’s, Reese’s, mints, Snickers, Milky Ways, the whole nine yards.

Several hours and a few movies later, you and Bucky are cleaning up your mess, which may or may not include scattered popcorn from when you had a little food fight after a disagreement in the best characters. When you are finished, you both head back to the apartment, grabbing some actual food before settling on the couch, each with a book in hand.

Bucky’s eyes are on the page, but they flick back up to you every now and then, too focused on how relaxed you look to actually be reading, the gentle crease of your brows as you drown in the book, your slightly puckered lips that he swears makes you look like your mom. You’ve come so far since they found you, hell, it’s been almost seven months since you both were prisoners at Hydra, and here you are, becoming a happier person every day, becoming you, not some tool or weapon. His mind drags back memories and he sees you being thrown into the room, blood soaking your clothes and fresh bruises shining on your face. His stomach twists and his grip on the book tightens, he has to remind himself of the present, the reality happening right now. Right now, you are both at the compound, and you’re sitting right on the other side of the couch, safe. Something keeps poking at the back of his mind though, you can move and react better in the dark than he’s ever seen anyone capable of, you can’t stand harsh sunlight, which he could blame on the fact you were isolated in a Hydra base for most of your life, but something is nagging in his gut telling him that’s not the case. Bucky knows you were trained in extensive ways, and according to you, it started very shortly after you were kidnapped, he just doesn’t know the details. No one does, except probably Sam…

“Hey, Doll?” Bucky asks and you hum in response, “Could we talk ‘bout something?”

You peel your eyes from the book and up to Bucky, there is a certain wariness in his eyes that tells you it’s about your past. It has been something you haven’t really spoken to him much about, not that you don’t want to, but you notice how tense he gets, the pain in his eyes when you do, and you figure it would be easier for him not to know. You answer all his questions, however, sometimes giving fewer details, but you don’t want to leave him guessing about certain things.

“Sure…” you say as you rest the book in your lap and move your legs from their curled up position so you could see him a little better.

Bucky shifts and faces you better, a hesitance in his voice as he speaks, “It’s about your training…” he pauses and you nod for him to continue, “You mentioned the Midnight Project, what is that?”

You tilt your head a little and think a second before answering, “The Midnight Project is a training program designed for black-op missions, primarily stealth. The training starts out like any other program, martial arts, endurance, weapons differentiation, examination, and accuracy, then it moves into the stealth aspect. Training to move swiftly and silently, how to incapacitate your enemy in the most efficient and quietest manner, lighting angles, behavioral manipulation, but one of the things that set it apart, was what they called midnight sight. They place a disc behind each of the trainee’s ears,” you say as you move some of your hair and show him the circular scar, two branches breaking off, one leading behind your neck and the other just slightly over the tip of your ear, “When activated, they unravel and a form a protective shield around their eyes and secures itself behind the neck, blinding the trainee until the device is shut off. They will leave it on a few months at a time, forcing the body’s other senses to heighten. They continue the training until the agent can perform blind, it optimizes efficiency for the missions, which were almost always at night. There weren’t many that survived the process, but those that did became some of the most lethal agents Hydra possessed, next to the Winter Soldier program.”

Bucky keeps his eyes set on you the whole time, sometimes nodding with the information, but you notice the darkness and tension in them grow as you speak, “How many others were there?”

“Besides me, there were eight. I was the first and highest ranking agent, so that’s why I received the Midnight name. But in the end, each of us could have torn apart organizations in the dead of night while everyone was sleeping. There were a few attempts at a new generation of Midnight agents, but I hear they didn’t turn out as well as Hydra had hoped. A lot of files were lost after the Howling Commandos and later Shield took out testing bases resulting in a loss of techniques and specifics of the program. As for the originals, Jones, Miller, and Raftire were sent out on a few long-term undercover missions before they were decommissioned. By the time I woke up next, Venhine and Piltor were nearly seventy, I’m not sure what happened to Xander and Tulman, and Alex was…He, uh…” your heart sinks as the image of the ceiling collapsing on the blonde-haired, green-eyed boy resurfaces and you pause a second before clearing your throat, “He died on a retrieval mission.”

Bucky watches as your face flashes from a neutral discomfort to pain then to a walled-up heart, and he recognizes the faraway look in your eyes, “Hey, C’mere,” he says so you scoot closer to him and he wraps an arm around you, “He was important to you, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, he was…”

Bucky tightens his hold around you and presses a kiss into your temple, “You okay?”

You nod, “Yeah, talked to Sam ‘bout it. Still hurts, but I’m okay.”

“You know you can talk to me if you want to, right?”

A smile forms on your lips, “I know, Dad.”

Bucky’s heart warms when you call him Dad, it seems so simple, but it is something he never thought he was going to be able to hear again. To have you here in his arms is more than he thought was possible after so long and he has missed it more than he ever realized.

The ring of his phone calls the two of you out of your trance and Bucky groans when he sees Stark’s drunk face pop up on the screen before swiping the answer button, “It’s my day off.” Some muttering is heard on the other end and Bucky’s face twists in disgust, “No, I don’t—Stark—Stark!” The line goes dead and Bucky nearly throws his phone across the room, “That goldfish-brained Romulan.”

You remove yourself from his grasp despite his little pout and look at him curiously, “Gotta go to work?”

Bucky shakes his head before muttering, “Might as well be, Stark is throwing a party tomorrow night and is ordering all Avengers to be there.”

The idea of a party doesn’t seem that bad, if it is like what you’ve read about, so it is a little confusing as to what the problem is, “It’s a party, it can’t be that bad...right?”

A sarcastic chuckle and a shake of his head has your face lighting in confusion but amusement, “You’ve never been to one of Stark’s parties…” he says as he smiles at you but his face falls after a moment, “Wait...you haven’t been to a party.”

You shrug and almost laugh as your Dad’s face lights up instantly, his voice losing every ounce of disdain as he speaks, “Wanna come with me?”

“I-I don’t know…” you stutter, eyes blown wide.

“C’mon, you’ll have fun, and you being there will make it bearable for me. If you don’t like it, it’ll just be a reason to leave early. How ‘bout it?” Bucky practically pleads, his best puppy-dog eyes making it really hard to say no...you thought that was supposed to work on couples, not fathers and daughters.

Your teeth bite into your lower lip and your nervous fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt, “We can leave if it gets too much?”

“You say the word and we’re gone.”

The anxiety builds in your stomach at the mere thought of going, but you want to see what the fuss is about. Why Stark likes them, why your Dad hates them, why Steve is always on Sam patrol on those seemingly common parties, “Okay.”

--------------------------------

Okay, I know this one was lame, but I have been sick and school is a real pain right now, I am really sorry...

Tags:

@darkphoenixrisingwrites @afictionaladventure16 @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @stop-talking-about-supernatural @avngrsinitiative @death-by-viola @sunnyshoes @jsmith509 @alicat-life

#the long and the lost #bucky #buckybarnes #bucky x abused!reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james buchanan barnes #james barnes #bucky x reader protective #father!bucky x reader #fluffy bucky #bucky x reader fluff #bucky fic #dad!bucky x daughter!reader #father!bucky daughter!reader #dad!bucky

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smkkbert · 5 years

Text

Mothers know best

Summary: Since they have been kids, they have been best friends. Since they have been friends, their mothers wanted them to be together. After coming back from the east coast, Felicity takes over a position at Queen Consolidated, the company her best friend will soon take over from his father. Their mothers still push for them to be together, and they seem closer to that goal than ever because wedding bells are ringing. The only problem is that they both plan to get married to someone else.

Rating: Explicit

Previous chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Chapter 12 of 22: Won

= The reluctance of a person’s part to let go of an illusion (Korean)

Mondays were always hard, but this one was particularly hard on Oliver.

With a deep sigh, Oliver turned around to the sink and poured away his coffee. He had barely taken a sip from it, unable to take in anything. His stomach was protesting at the prospect of any food or drink right now like it had been protesting at the prospect at taking in anything for the last couple of days already.

Since Saturday morning, he hadn’t been able to eat anything. He hadn’t been able to sleep. He hadn’t been able to be productive. Even going out for a run hadn’t helped as he had barely been able to run before he had had to stop. His running had been uneven since he hadn’t been able to focus on keeping his pace. Within a couple of minutes, he had felt out of breath and he had had to stop.

Less than forty-eight hours had passed since he had left Felicity’s new home after a night of passionate sex, followed by a morning of a wonderful redo. Ever since it had happened, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Even though he had tried to ban those memories from his brain, they had snuck their way back into his thoughts.

Grabbing the edges of the countertop tightly, Oliver squeezed his eyes shut. Shaking his head slowly, he let his chin fall onto his chest. A long breath of defeat escaped him as his fingers tightened around the wooden top of the kitchen counter.

He had hoped that keeping his eyes squeezed shut would help him to keep his thoughts focused. He wanted to focus on the black he saw in front of his closed eyes. He wanted to focus on nothing at all. All squeezing his eyes shut did was take him back to that night that had probably changed everything he had thought he had known in life.

Since Felicity had stepped into his life, suddenly living with him and his parents in the mansion and stealing his father’s attention and playing with all of his toys, she had been his best friend. They hadn’t exactly grown up like siblings, but it was very close to that and Oliver had always considered Felicity to be as close to him as a sister. It wasn’t blood that made them family though. It was a choice their souls had made upon meeting, the choice to be best friends for a lifetime.

Best friends were what they had always been. Best friends were what they were supposed to be. Best friends were what they would always be supposed to be.

And best friends shouldn’t have sex with each other.

Oliver released another deep sigh. Resting his elbows on the kitchen counter, he hid his face in his hands and thought back to that night and that morning.

Oliver knew that what they had been wrong had been a thousand times of wrong. It should have never happened because it had probably just destroyed everything that he and Felicity had built over the last twenty years. And for what?

Sleeping with her, everything inside of him at screamed at him that it was wrong to do this. At least for a while it had. It hadn’t taken long for his thoughts to be drowned by the sensations of being so close to Felicity and touching her in all the new ways.

It hadn’t felt exactly right because there had always been a little voice in the back of his mind, reminding him that this couldn’t be right. He hadn’t completely understood it, but it had kept him from feeling too comfortable , but it had never felt wrong either.

Well, it hadn’t felt wrong until the moment McKenna had called.

A wave of nausea hit Oliver with a force that didn’t really surprised him, not after these last hours. His stomach cramped badly and he groaned in response to the feeling.

“Everything alright?”

Oliver almost flinched at the sound of McKenna’s voice. He turned around quickly, finding her walking down the stairs towards him. She was wearing one of her sexy negligees. The hem of the steel blue silk played around the mid of her thigh. The neckline was deep enough to usually get his imagination spinning.

Today, Oliver doubted that anything could get his imagination spinning. His head was spinning, but it was a completely different kind of spinning. It only made his head ache.

It took a lot of Oliver to take in a deep breath and straightened back up. The movement made his muscles tense and he was sure that it caused the smile that he tried to shoot McKenna to look terribly stiff. He hadn’t been able to be anything but tense and stiff since her call had ripped him from the illusion of whatever he had thought he had had with Felicity. At least for that one brief moment.

“Hey,” he said, his voice breathy from emotion. “Why are you awake?”

McKenna had come home from her shift two hours ago. He had been lying awake, unable to sleep like he had been unable to sleep the night before already. His thoughts had been spinning, and he had just stared at the ceiling. As soon as he had heard McKenna, he had closed his eyes and pretended to be fast asleep though. He had waited until her breathing had evened out next to him, telling him that she had been asleep before he had escaped their bed to get ready for work.

He had hoped that he wouldn’t have to talk to McKenna again before heading out for work where he would have to see Felicity and deal with the consequences of their mistake. He had that tiny hope that maybe he and Felicity came to some kind of understanding, agreeing that all of this had been a mistake that they could just laugh about once the words were out in the air. Maybe if that happened, he could finally look McKenna in the eyes again.

“I just… woke up I guess,” McKenna said, frowning slightly. She shook her head with a low chuckle soon though. “I figured since we won’t see each other as long as I am working the night shift, I could interrupt my sleep for five minutes to get a kiss.”

She stopped only a couple of feet away from him, cocking her head and puckering her lips.

Usually, Oliver would chuckle at that. He would frame her face with his hands, make a joke about never wanting to make a cop angry and kiss her. None of that felt like the right thing to do right now though. He felt too guilty.

McKenna was looking at him intently, waiting for him to lean in and kiss her. As much as Oliver knew it was wrong to pretend like nothing had happened, he couldn’t have any conversation about how weird he had been acting the last few days. At least he couldn’t have this kind of conversation right now.

Clearing his throat, Oliver took a step forward. He rested a gentle hand on McKenna’s hip and leaned in for a kiss. He meant it to be a peck, a sweet little kiss to her lips. The moment their lips touched, McKenna framed his face with her hands and held him right there though.

Everything inside Oliver was screaming that this was wrong. He felt so guilty that he couldn’t bare McKenna’s touch never mind her kiss. He didn’t feel worthy of it because he hadn’t done anything to deserve this kiss in a long time.

When McKenna pulled back, she smiled at him softly. Oliver tried to smile back at her, but he didn’t think that it reached his eyes. If the way McKenna’s facial expression changed was any kind of indication, she could look right through it though. He lowered his eyes quickly.

These past days, he had tried to hide his confusion and his guilt from McKenna. As long as he hadn’t talked to Felicity, he hadn’t been able to talk to McKenna about what had happened. He knew that he had to tell her eventually. It wouldn’t be fair to leave her in the dark about what had happened as it would take away her change of deciding how to deal with his mistake.

So far, Oliver just hadn’t found the right time to tell her though. He hadn’t been ready to yet as he hadn’t been able to completely fathom what had happened yet.

There was a small part in Oliver that was shaking its head at his thoughts, already knowing that there was a not too small chance that maybe he would never tell McKenna about that night at all.

When Oliver finally met McKenna’s eyes again, she almost expected her to ask what was going on with him. He knew he wouldn’t be allow to look her in the eyes and lie to her, saying everything was okay. Maybe he wasn’t ready to say the truth just yet, but he knew he couldn’t lie about it either.

He could lie by omission. That was it.

“Are you going to shave before our wedding?”

Oliver had to bite back a breath of relief that threatened to escape him. McKenna wasn’t suspecting what was going on with him. She was caught up in her pre-marital bliss like Oliver should be too.

With a low groan, Oliver scrunched up his nose. Losing his stubble was not really something he considered. He liked it like this, especially because he looked incredibly young and weird without. McKenna might not agree with that, but he knew that Felicity-

“I have to head out to work now,” Oliver said quickly and cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” McKenna said with a soft smile. She pecked his lips once more and took a step back. “Are you home early enough for us to have dinner together? I could cook a little something or-“

“I don’t think I will make it in time.” Oliver massaged the back of his neck with one hand. “I have some late appointments and I really need to meet John for some training. I am going crazy if I don’t get a chance to clear my head soon.”

McKenna cocked her head. “Is everything alright?”

No. No, nothing was alright.

“Sure.” Oliver smiled briefly and pecked McKenna’s lips once more. “Just a lot of work to do. We will talk as soon as you are changing back into some other shift and my work schedule lightens a little.”

McKenna hesitated briefly, before she smiled. “Alright.”

“Alright.” Oliver nodded his head. “See you.”

With that, he turned around. He grabbed his briefcase from where he had left it next to the door and slipped out of the loft before either of them could say anything more.

As the door fell shut behind him, a long breath he hadn’t known he had been holding escaped Oliver. With closed eyes, he leaned back against the door for a moment to recover from this conversation.

He had no idea how he was supposed to live with this guilt. He felt terrible looking McKenna in the eyes and pretending everything was alright, but he didn’t feel courageous enough to tell her the truth about what had happened either. Just thinking about Felicity made him incredibly nervous, thinking he could get caught any second.

Oliver sucked in a deep breath and straightened up. He had to focus on getting through this day and maybe, just maybe he was lucky enough to find a solution. He kind of doubted it though.

On the way down into the underground parking, Oliver pushed the thought of Felicity and McKenna and everything that had and probably would happen aside. He had an important day ahead of himself, so he had to focus on work. If he just focused on it enough, maybe it would help him to forget about the crappy situation he had gotten himself into at least for a short time.

His hope didn’t last long though. While he was heading towards Queen Consolidated in his car, trying to recall his schedule and the mental to-do list he had made for himself, pieces of memory flashed through his mind. As much as he tried to push them out and just focus more on what he had to do at work, it didn’t help at all. He was powerless when it came to those memories.

Eventually, Oliver decided to just allow himself to think back to that day. It wasn’t like he had any choice anyway.

As much as he had tried to wrap his head around what had happened, Oliver still didn’t entirely get it. He remembered walking Felicity home and feeling as comfortable around her as he always had. He remembered that they had teased each other after what she had said about Carter’s suspicion that there was something more going on between them.

Suddenly, the situation had shifted. He had been looking at Felicity and there had been a heavy moment like there never had been between them before. Oliver still hadn’t found the right words to describe what exactly had been going on inside of him. All he knew was that he had been drawn towards her and her lips soon. Then their lips had brushed together and as he had kissed her.

Kissing her, he had immediately known that he wanted more.

Oliver’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel when he remembered the feeling of passion running through his body. Every cell in his body had been filled with that feeling, driving him to deepen the kiss, to touch her in ways he had never had and to move in unison with her in all the ways they never had.

There had been a thousand different feelings taking hold of Oliver. He couldn’t name a single one of them. He couldn’t even understand a single one of them. They had just been a confusing mess inside of his chest.

Looking back, Oliver didn’t know what to think of that night. The sex had been awesome, more than awesome. Oliver had no words to say how great sex with her had been. All he could say was that it had been great enough for him to want her again as soon as he had woken up the next day.

Still, it hadn’t been right. As right as it might have felt in that moment, it hadn’t been right. How could it have been right given the promise he had made to McKenna weeks ago and given all the plans they had made together these last weeks?

Directing the car into the parking lot of the underground parking of Queen Consolidated, Oliver turned off the engine. Resting his head back against the headrest of the seat, he closed his eyes and rubbed his hands over his face.

He felt incredibly tired and unfocused. He had no idea how he was supposed to get through the day. He didn’t know if he wanted to run into Felicity or avoid her either. He didn’t know anything right now.

Oliver knew he wouldn’t get any better, but he couldn’t go back either. Going back would only make McKenna know that there was something going on. He couldn’t have that.

Taking in the umpteenth deep breath today, Oliver got out of the car and headed towards the stairs. He greeted some of his employees briefly, barely able to manage a smile. Reaching the ground floor, he considered taking the rest of the stairs to the executive floor at the top of the building. He didn’t want to run into certain people yet and maybe the climb up there would help to get rid of some of the tension.

He doubted that the people he would have to meet today would be happy if they had to sit through a meeting, smelling his sweaty clothes. Straightening his shoulders, he opened the door to the large foyer.

He could see at least ten people he didn’t want to talk to right now. His gaze shifted to the executive elevators. The doors were just about to close, so he sprinted over towards them and pushed in through the gap by the last second.

“Sorry, I-“

The moment his eyes met Felicity’s, he felt his breath getting caught in his throat. His heart skipped a beat before it started racing in his chest and pounding against his ribs. The sound seemed to fill the small cage of the elevator.

He could see the same kind of shock he was feeling being mirrored in her eyes. Felicity sucked in a deep breath, every muscle in her body tensing visibly. She was just as prepared to talk to him as he was prepared to talk with her which was not at all.

“I- I forgot-“

Oliver gestured back behind his shoulder for a moment, and not even he himself was sure what it was supposed to mean. When he turned around to get away out of here and away from Felicity as quickly as possible, the doors closed right in front of him. He pushed the button to make the door open several times. It didn’t work though. He was locked into the small cage with Felicity.

For a long moment Oliver stared at the digital display over the doors. The numbers were increasing terribly slowly while the elevator was taking them upstairs in what felt like slow motion. Looking at where Felicity was still standing frozen into place from the corner of her eyes, Oliver swallowed down hard.

Quickly, looked back at the display. The numbers had always arrived at 28 which just couldn’t go fast enough. Oliver already knew that the moment the doors would open, he would mumble some apology and walk away as quickly as possible. He would need at least an hour to recover from this encounter.

The digital numbers had just changed to 25 when the elevator came to an abrupt stop. A shrill sound rang through the small cage. As if the sound alone wasn’t bad enough to endure, Oliver felt his stomach twist and turn painfully at the meaning of it.

“The elevator got stuck,” Felicity stated the obvious, her voice sounding nervous.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Oliver leaned over to the panel and pushed the emergency button. He shot a prayer to heaven that the control room was staffed and someone was taking care of this quickly.

“Good morning, Mr. Queen. Good morning, Ms. Smoak,” the friendly voice of their facility manager echoed through the small cage of the elevator. “I am sorry for the inconvenience. I am sure this won’t take long. It never does. We are already working on getting the elevator to work again, and I called a mechanic to finally find a longtime solution for this.”

It wasn’t what Oliver had hoped for, but he guessed it was the best news there could be. They could as well be stuck here all day. It wouldn’t be the first time the executive elevator was playing its random game of locking people in here for hours.

“Thank you, Harrison,” Felicity said.

“Yeah, thank you,” Oliver repeated and nodded his head.

For several minutes, Oliver stayed where he was. Felicity, who hadn’t moved an inch since he had stepped into the cage with her, was standing so close to him that he could almost feel her breath against the back of her neck. It made his heckles rise and his fingers rubbing together in his usual nervous tick.

Watching Felicity from the corner of his eyes to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally touch her, Oliver started moving back. He made a weird movement that almost caused him to twist his muscles. He just tried to move around Felicity as far as possible. He didn’t want to make the situation any more awkward than it was already.

When his back bumped against the cold wall of the cage, Oliver stopped moving. He took in a deep breath, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. He felt like even a little sound that was too loud could make this situation even more awkward. Hell, everything could make this situation more awkward although it already felt like it should have reached the peak of what should be possible.

The silence between them continued, growing heavier with any second.

Oliver had lost all sense for time. He didn’t know if they had been sitting there for hours or if only some seconds had passed since the elevator had gotten stuck. Either way, Oliver felt like he couldn’t endure the silence any longer. Doing nothing would make this only more awkward, just like doing the wrong this would be. Actually, Oliver doubted that there was a right thing to do in this situation.

“I-“ Oliver had to clear his voice, but it didn’t help to make it sound more like him through the hoarseness. “I didn’t tell McKenna yet.”

The moment the words had fallen from his lips, Oliver wanted to tear out his hair. Of all the things he could have possibly said, this had probably been the most stupid one to say. Oliver wished he could take them back and try a second time, but he knew there was no second chance here.

Silence spread between them once more. Oliver almost believed that Felicity hadn’t heard him because she showed absolutely no reaction. She continued standing there, silent and unmoving.

“Felicity?”

Felicity turned her head slightly, tuning it back just enough so she could probably see him from the corner of her eyes.

“I thought we agreed never to talk about this again. To anyone.”

Oliver sucked in a deep breath. Just like his voice before, Felicity’s didn’t sound like herself either. She sounded tired and breathy like he had barely ever heard it before. He was sure that he hadn’t been the only one who hadn’t found sleep these last nights.

“So, I am not going to tell her?”

Another stupid question, Oliver thought to himself. This shouldn’t have been the question he asked. There were at least a thousand other questions that were better to ask. He had never been good with words though. If there were two possibilities to reply, Oliver always chose the wrong one. It had always been like that and Oliver doubted that it would ever change.

Felicity turned her head forward again, so he couldn’t see her face. She had her face lowered to the floor slightly, and Oliver was sure that he could see her trembling slightly. Felicity was just as nervous as he was.

“What good would it do?” Felicity asked in an urgent whisper. “You love each other, and you want to get married in a couple of weeks. What happened that night was a mistake, and it was meaningless. We were just drunk.”

We were just drunk.

Her words echoed through his head as Oliver thought back to that night. He had had a fair share of drinks. The party Felicity had planned for him had been the kind of party where you always had a drink in your hand. At least Oliver had never missed a drink that evening. Maybe the reason for that was just that he had taken his time with the drink and hadn’t just knocked them back like a lot of the guests there had.

The flashes of memory about that night were replaced by his memories of what had happened that morning in her bed. He had woken up and he had just known that he had wanted and needed her. Nothing could have stopped him from kissing down the side of her neck that moment, exploring what her soft skin felt like against his lips once more. When Felicity had woken up, they had just given into whatever there had been between them.

“We haven’t been drunk that morning.”

Maybe for the first time Oliver said something wrong. He said those words and they sounded incredibly loud in the small cage of the elevator. Still, they didn’t make his stomach clench so badly that he felt like he needed to throw up.

“We haven’t,” Felicity agreed, her voice so quiet that Oliver didn’t dare to move because he was sure that any sound would be louder than her voice. “We were drunk when we first had-“

Felicity stopped. The words she couldn’t say were echoing through the small room between them nonetheless. They didn’t have to be said out loud to be heard between them.

“We were drunk that night,” Felicity continued eventually. “When we woke up that morning, our brains were just spinning from the amazing se- from the things we did the night before. We weren’t thinking clearly, so it happened again. It doesn’t matter that we weren’t drunk that morning because at the end it just comes back to the alcohol of the night before.”

In all the years Oliver had known Felicity, she had always been the rational one. She had tried to make sense even into the most irrational situations and she had always managed to do so. This was the first time that Oliver felt she was making a huge mistake in her rational explanations, the kind of mistake that made all the explanations illogical.

Oliver wondered whether he should tell Felicity about this or if he should just ignore it. He knew how much safety she gained through logic. She was afraid of things she couldn’t explain logically because they were out of anyone’s control. While Felicity believed in a God, Oliver knew she had trouble giving him the power of her life. He understood that feeling.

Still watching Felicity closely, Oliver knew he had to say the words. Right now, there was just the two of them here. This might be the last possibility he had to tell the truth because he knew, as soon as they were leaving this elevator, neither of them would ever talk about that night again. It was the deal here.

“I wasn’t that drunk.”

He said the words slowly. He knew he needed to say them, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted anyone to hear them. There was too much that could forever be destroyed just because he was saying the truth.

Although Felicity tried to hide her reaction, he knew that she had heard him. Her fingers were rubbing together the same way his were, the thumb moving back and forth over the tip of the other fingers. She had been the first to ever point this nervous tick of his out to him, and she had adapted it from him years ago.

“Neither was I.”

Felicity’s voice made Oliver’s breath hitch for reasons he couldn’t really understand. He stared at her, trying to find any reaction, but she kept her back turned towards him and her face hidden. All he could see was the back of her head with her neatly done ponytail that had become a symbol for her a long time ago.

When Felicity finally showed some reaction, it was a deep intake of breath. Oliver could hear how much she was struggling to take that breath in. Her breath was trembling and he almost believed that he could see her shoulder shaking slightly.

“It doesn’t change anything though.”

It was the first time that Felicity’s voice was firm today. There was no doubt that she believed in what she was saying.

Oliver nodded his head. He knew Felicity was right. She always was. This was no difference.

“You’re right,” he whispered eventually. “It doesn’t change anything.”

For the first time since the elevator had gotten stuck, Felicity turned her head back over her shoulder enough to lock eyes with him. Their eyes met, and Oliver could see the toll that night and this conversation had taken on Felicity. Her face was almost white. Her bottom lip was trembling slightly.

Felicity looked at Oliver’s face closely. For a second, he wondered if she was looking for any doubt in his face. While Oliver might not be entirely convinced of Felicity’s logic, he sucked in a deep breath and nodded his head slowly. What had happened that night had been bad enough as it was. He didn’t want to make it any worse for her by taking away the logic she was clawing onto the desperately, especially given how little he really knew what was going on here either.

Eventually, Felicity seemed to have find the lack of doubt she had been searching for in his face. She nodded her head slowly, nodding it again and again. She shot him the slightest of a smile before she turned back and away from him.

Time passed on. For the umpteenth time, silence spread between them. It was a heavy silence, one that would need at least a million words to fill it. Oliver and Felicity both stayed silent though, not knowing what they could possibly say to fill this silence and taking away from the heavyweight it was leaving them with.

The elevator stayed stuck. It didn’t move. Neither did Oliver or Felicity move. Everything stayed still like the world had stopped turning.

Oliver pressed his lips together and rolled them into his mouth. He didn’t know what else to say. All words that needed to be said had been said already or they couldn’t be said anymore now.

Continuing to look at Felicity’s ponytail, Oliver felt a thousand thoughts flashing through his mind. Not for the first time since that morning he had left Felicity’s home, Oliver wondered what would happen with their friendship now. They had found an agreement how to deal with this situation, but Oliver wasn’t sure if that was enough to save their friendship.

These last two days had been weird. He had been thinking about Felicity nonstop. Still, not seeing her and not talking to her had just been incredibly hard. He had gone through several weeks of not talking to Felicity and through years of not seeing her. The feeling that he couldn’t see her and couldn’t talk to her had been knew to him though.

As much as Oliver knew that it was a bad idea, he took a step forward. His chest wasn’t yet touching Felicity’s back. Still, it was close enough for him to feel the warmth of her skin. He times his breathing with hers and when they took in a breath at the same time, her shoulder blades brushed against the top of his chest slightly.

Looking over her shoulder, Oliver could see Felicity biting down on her bottom lip. She was struggling with the decision what to do now. There was a fight in her face that Oliver recognized all too well. He was feeling it burning in his chest too.

With some hesitation, Oliver moved his hand forward until his fingers brushed against Felicity’s. He could feel her moving out of reach and he was about to pull his hand back, regretting his decision to touch her, when Felicity moved her fingers back against his and laced them through his.

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut and took in a deep breath of relief. It felt incredibly good to touch her again. Her skin was as soft as he had remembered it, and it let his calloused thumb stroke over the back of her hand in small circles.

Still, neither of them said a word. They didn’t even look at each other. Their fingers just held onto each other while they were breathing in synch with each other.

Life wasn’t the same without his best friend at his side. These last two days had reminded him of all the time he and Felicity had spent at different sides of the US after she had left to go to college. Only this time it had been a thousand times worse because he hadn’t even been able to just call her and ask her what was going on in her life just to hear her voice.

When Felicity had come back to Starling, he had thought he’d get his best friend back forever. Now it felt like he might have lost her forever. And for what?

Oliver rested his forehead on Felicity’s shoulder and he could feel her taking in a deep breath in response. Her fingers grabbed his even more tightly like she wanted to comfort him though Oliver got the feeling that Felicity didn’t have much energy to comfort him either as she was fearing for their friendship too.

“I miss you.”

Oliver whispered the words, mumbled them against her shoulder.

While Felicity had traveled the country and tried to gain as much experience in IT as possible, he had missed her too. She had been so far away from her, and he had missed the possibility to just climb into bed with her and have quiet pillow talks all through the night. He had missed seeing her and talking to her on a daily basis. He had missed the chance to just wrap his arms around her and hug her.

Now Felicity was standing right here with him. He could do all the things he had missed those years of being apart from her. Yet, she felt more unreachable than ever and Oliver had no idea what to do about it.

“We need to stop this,” Felicity whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “This is crazy.”

Felicity was right. This was crazy. All those years their parents and other people had said there was something between them, he and Felicity had rolled their eyes and made fun about it. They had always been the closest best friends the earth had probably ever seen and they were destined to be exactly that.

Everything else was just crazy.

“We need to find our way back to being the good friends we were,” Felicity continued after a moment. “We are friends. We are best friends. That is what we are supposed to be.”

Oliver nodded his head against her shoulder slightly though he wasn’t sure if that was possible. As much as he knew it was right, he just felt like they might have crossed some borders that they couldn’t get back from now. He couldn’t allow that thought and its consequences to spread in his head though.

The silence between them continued for a long moment as they were both making a promise to themselves to find their way back to their friendship. It was the only way for them to still be in each other’s life. They had to remember what they were supposed to be and focus only on making it back to that.

When the elevator continued moving with a yank, Oliver and Felicity moved apart quickly. Oliver’s back hit the wall at back of the cage. The noise the bump created, made Felicity turn her head back over her shoulder and look at him. He smiled soothingly and though a small furrow built between Felicity’s eyebrows, she turned her head back with a small nod of her head.

Only two seconds later the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. Felicity stepped outside quickly, bringing as much room between her and Oliver as possible. He followed her after a beat, stopping right outside the doors to keep his distance.

Felicity had her back still turned towards him, but she wasn’t moving away. She was taking deep even if still trembling breaths.

Oliver cleared his throat. “I’ll see you in the conference room in twenty minutes. Right?”

“No.” Felicity sucked in another deep breath before she turned around to him. Her eyes were reddened slightly like she had cried or like she had at least been very close to it. “I- uhm… I am just here to grab some stuff I forgot. I’m basically already on my way to Metropolis to meet Lena Luthor. Your father’s private jet is waiting for me.”

“Right.”

Oliver nodded his head slowly. He remembered that she had told him about meeting Lena Luthor. Felicity wanted to negotiate with her about joining a project they had discussed a couple of weeks ago. He just hadn’t had in mind that it would happen today already.

“When will you be back?”

“By the end of the week,” Felicity replied, shrugging her shoulders. “I guess.”

“Okay, so…” Oliver cleared his throat. “Have fun.”

“Thanks.” Felicity flashed him a brief smile. “I will call you when we get to an agreement.”

Oliver nodded. “Alright. Thank you.”

Now it was Felicity’s turn to nod. “Sure.”

The entire situation was awkward, even more awkward than the moment in the elevator. Just looking at each other and talking to each other but missing the usual familiarity that was between them, was just a hundred different kinds of awkward.

Not even the realization that awkward seemed to become the most frequent word he was using now elicited a smile from him today.

“So… I’ll see you later this week.”

Felicity nodded her head once more slowly. “Yeah. See you.”

They continued looking at each other for a long moment and for the first time Oliver felt like maybe he couldn’t actually read what was going on inside of her. Usually, he had always been able to read what she was thinking in her eyes. Today it was different though. He had no idea what was going on in her head.

Maybe it was because he wasn’t even completely sure what he was thinking and feeling right now.

Sucking her bottom lip between her front teeth, Felicity lowered her eyes and turned around. With her face still lowered, she walked away.

Oliver stood in the hallway for some time, watching her leave. Even when Felicity was out of sight, disappearing in her office, Oliver stayed where he was, staring at where Felicity had been seconds ago. He could almost feel the void she had left.

He repeated Felicity’s voice in his head again, once more realizing how right she was. They needed to find their way back to their friendship, or they might lose each other forever. It was their only chance, so maybe bringing some distance between them was the best that could happen to them. It might be exactly what they needed for their hearts and souls to anchor themselves and to remind themselves of the friendship they needed to maintain.

Nodding his head slowly, Oliver turned around and left to head to his own office. He should bury himself in work as long as Felicity was gone. If it helped her, maybe it would help him too.

* * *

Oliver wasn’t sure what he had thought how long it would take to forget about that night with Felicity. In the depth of his heart, he had probably known that it wasn’t done quickly. Still, his anger about the little process he had made through the week still drove him crazy.

With quick and strong movements, Oliver hit his bo-staff against John’s as hard as possible. His friend tumbled back a step, allowing Oliver to follow his movements. John just got the chance to lift his bo-staff over his head to fight off the next of Oliver’s hits, once harder than the next.

The loud noise of the bo-staffs hitting together filled the gym. In Oliver’s head, the sound was soon drowned out by the low moans that were falling from Felicity’s lips as he thrusted into her in slow, rhythmic movements.

When the memory of her face all screwed up in pleasure flashed in front of his eyes for a moment, Oliver lost his tact. It gave John just the time he needed to go from defense into offense. With a quick movement, he started going back at Oliver.

“Strength alone is not enough,” he told him quietly while he was hitting his bo-staff against Oliver’s firmly, making him back away. “You need to keep your head in the game.”

Oliver couldn’t count how many times he had heard this sentence lately. While he had been training like crazy these last couple of weeks, he had indeed used a lot of muscles and less of it head it seemed. His mind had just been preoccupied, unable to focus on what he was doing here though he knew it was half of the game.

Today was even worse than most other times lately. His head was still full of all those memories of his night with Felicity and the morning that had followed.

There last couple of days, Oliver had believed that he had made at least some process. He had been able to sleep again though he had woken up a lot of times, his clothes damp from sweat and his breathing heavy. During the day, he caught himself thinking about Felicity from time to time. He was able to push those thoughts away more easily than before though.

Oliver tried to push those thoughts away now, but he didn’t succeed. He could hear Felicity’s moans in his ear. He could still see her face screwed up in pleasure in front of his inner eyes. He could almost feel the softness of Felicity’s skin beneath his fingertips. taste the sweet taste of Felicity’s tongue on his lips. She was invading all of his senses, and there was nothing he could do about it.

The realization hit him so hard that he got distracted by it. John used the moment to hit his bo-staff against the back of Oliver’s knees and push at his shoulders, making Oliver stumble back and end up flat on the floor with a groan.

“You are unfocused.”

“Thank you,” Oliver said with raspy voice. “I don’t need to be told that.”

Staring at the ceiling of the gym, Oliver thought back to his night with Felicity and the moment they had shared in the executive elevator of Queen Consolidated earlier this week. They had been so close, close than they had ever been. At least for a while it had been like that even if it hadn’t lasted for long.

It seemed like they were drawn to each other. When they were alone, there was just them and it created the most intense intimacy Oliver had ever felt. That was even the case when it had been awkward between them.

Whenever reality had hit back in, it had all fallen apart though. The moment they had gotten aware of their surroundings and the situation they were in, they got reminded of how much of a mistake all of this had been. When they did, they always backed away from each other as much as possible.

Oliver didn’t know what was wrong with him that he couldn’t really get this thought to manifest itself in all of his body. It was in his head, but there were still some doubts that he couldn’t really name or put his finger on.

He and Felicity were just friends. They couldn’t be more than that.

“Everything alright with you?”

Only now Oliver noticed that John was standing right next to him, his hand reached out for him to help him up. Oliver had to blink several times to see his friend’s face clearly. He put his hand in John’s and let him pull back up onto his feet.

“Everything alright?” John repeated his question.

Nodding his head without saying a word, Oliver went over to the bench where his towel and his bottle of water were placed. He dried his face from the sweat that was dropping down from his forehead and took some gulps of his water.

Even without looking back over his shoulder, he knew John was watching him. He could feel it in the back of his neck. John’s gaze had always been incredibly intense, making it hard to miss it even when he wasn’t seeing it.

“You do know that I don’t believe that, right?”

Oliver bit down on his tongue. He knew that he could trust John. If he told him the truth, he would tell him what he was thinking without trying to spare Oliver. Telling him the truth of what he was thinking about this didn’t mean that he wouldn’t keep it for himself though. John was always honest to him, but he was keeping his secrets.

“I know,” Oliver whispered. “I just can’t talk about it.”

Oliver closed his bottle of water and sat down on the bench. He wrapped his towel around the back of his neck and lowered his face, staring at his feet.

A part of him believed that it would help him to talk about this. If he could just say the words out loud and talk to John about it, maybe it would help him. He and Felicity had decided never to tell anyone about this though, and he wouldn’t break that promise. Too much of their friendship had already been broken.

“Maybe you can’t talk about it yet,” John said, “but you have to talk about it eventually. Otherwise, it’s going to kill you.”

With that being said, John clapped his hand on Oliver’s shoulder, grabbed his bottle of water and left the gym, leaving Oliver alone with his misery. And, God, this misery refused to let go of him!

* * *

None of this should have happened. These last couple of days, it was all Felicity had been able to think. None of this should have happened because it had all been a terrible mistake.

Even when she had been in Metropolis with thousands of miles separating her from Oliver, that thought had echoed in her head the entire time. She had tried to focus on her conversation with Lena Luthor, knowing how important it was for the company, but it hadn’t helped. The thought hadn’t let itself be pushed away easily.

Being gone for a couple of days had certainly been a good thing. Distance from Oliver was helping her to get some distance from what had happened even if her own realization had been that it really had been a terrible mistake. She had just felt even more guilty.

She couldn’t remember who had made the first step. She didn’t know who had kissed the other first or who had deepened the kiss first. All she knew was that she shouldn’t have allowed this to happen. She should have been the one to keep a clear head and realize that this was wrong and they shouldn’t do this.

Felicity felt terrible for letting it happen. All the things that had gone well lately felt like they had turned to shit now. Oliver’s relationship with McKenna was footing on unsound ground it seemed, threatening to fall apart like a house of cards. Her partnership with Oliver at Queen Consolidated was tense and a lot less effective than it had been before that night. Most importantly though, her friendship with Oliver was struggling, and she wasn’t sure if she could ever get it back.

The thought made Felicity’s stomach clench painfully.

In all the years, Oliver had been the anchor in her life. He had been one of the few constants she had had, and he had been the only person she had felt she could really rely on. She didn’t know what to do now.

The last time she had seen Oliver in the elevator of the company and the last time she had spoken to him on the phone while she had been in Metropolis, everything had been awkward. They had barely gotten a word out when talking to each other, never mind looking the other in the eyes.

Felicity didn’t know how to fix that.

“Is everything alright?”

At the sound of her friend’s voice, Felicity flinched. Like so often these past days, she had completely forgotten where she was. As she found Tatsu approaching the couch, a small tray with two cups and a teapot in her hands, Felicity forced a smile onto her lips.

“Yes, sure,” she lied thought it made her stomach twist painfully. “Of course it is.”

Tatsu sat down on the couch next to her and placed the tray on the couch table. Her eyes stayed on Felicity’s face the entire time, watching her closely though.

Felicity avoided Tatsu’s eyes, afraid she could find out about what had happened. She couldn’t tell her though since she and Oliver had agreed not to tell anyone. She had actually been the one to suggest that because she had thought it was what was best. Rationally, she still believed it was best because as long as only she and Oliver knew about this, it was easy to forget about it. The more people would know, the harder it would get to pretend that night had never happened.

“You do know that I can see that something is wrong, right?” Tatsu asked, pouring the tea into the cups. “I mean it’s obvious that something is wrong.”

Felicity swallowed down hard and lowered her eyes to her hands in her lap. As much as she wanted to tell Tatsu because she felt like the words wanted to get out and they were strangling her throat as long as they didn’t, she knew she couldn’t say them. It wasn’t just the fact that she and Oliver had found that agreement. It was also about the fact that she just felt like saying those words out loud was only going to make it more real and she wasn’t ready for that.

“I-“ Felicity sucked in a deep breath. “I can’t talk about this.”

Tatsu handed Felicity one of the cups of teas and shot her a meaningful gaze. When Felicity took the cup of tea from her friend, Tatsu replied, “I doubt there is anything a person can’t talk about. Talking always helped.”

Felicity bit down on her tongue even harder than before. Usually, she was always talking. Since her childhood, she had learned to fill silence with babbles because she hadn’t been able to endure the silence her father’s absence had left the house with. She had been afraid of it. Right now, she felt there were no words to fill the silence she was feeling deep in her soul at the bare thought that she might have ruined her friendship with Oliver.

Tears welled in Felicity’s eyes as she thought about it, but she swallowed them down quickly. If she started crying now, Tatsu would leave her no choice but to talk about what was going on.

“I-“ Felicity had to clear her voice as it sounded so hoarse that it was almost unrecognizable. “I did something that I shouldn’t have done and now I feel terrible. It’s all going to be okay though. I mean it has to be okay and- yeah, it will be okay at the end.”

Felicity wasn’t sure if she believed her own words, but she knew she had to be optimistic. If she let on the possibility that she had lost her friendship with Oliver forever, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to recover from it anytime soon.

“Hey, I got an idea by the way,” Felicity said, quickly forcing a smile onto her lips. “You know, I always wanted to have a dog, so maybe now was the right time. Since I am basically my own boss, I can certainly take the dog to work with me and… yeah… it might be a good time now.”

Felicity could see Tatsu’ hesitation. She knew something was going on that Felicity wasn’t telling her about but obviously didn’t want to tell her about either. Eventually, she decided to just let it go.

“Well, I am sure that you will become Akari’s most favorite person then.” Tatsu smiled. “Akari always wanted to have a dog.”

“Most little girls do I guess.”

Felicity smiled, remembering how she had begged her mother to get a dog when they had moved into their own home here in Starling. Donna had denied Felicity her wish though.

The closest Felicity had ever gotten to have a dog had been when Oliver had bought her a puppy. Some guy had sold like a dozen puppies. He had kept them in a paper box and bought then for 50 dollar each in front of the supermarket. Felicity would never forget the proud smile on Oliver’s lips when he had showed up on her doorstep, the sleeping puppy in his arms.

Of course Donna hadn’t allowed her to keep it, so Robert had given the puppy away to one of his employees who had been looking for a puppy to adopt. Still, Felicity had incredibly grateful for Oliver’s gift.

She and Oliver had so many stories connecting them with each other. Their friendship was a mosaic of a thousand little memories, some happy and some sad, but they made a beautiful image altogether. The thought that she might have lost this made her stomach clench so painfully that Felicity had to suck in a deep breath.

She couldn’t have lost Oliver. Her friendship with him was the most precious thing she had in life. She’d be lost if it was lost to her.

* * *

@fannaz @promiseyoullbepatientwithme @bytemegeekette @felicity-said-just-in-case @phanseptiic @orangeisorange @mspotatohead14 @whentheheavenfades @emmaamelia95 @smoakingskye @seaolicity @ourwritinginvein @1022bridgetp @felicityqueenforever @leagueofolicity17 @yryssss @myhauntedblacksoul @sherlock44 @sinceriouslybea @arrowsalways @olivyflavescentdeer @olicitys-castle @ofnothingcharming @vaelisamaza @smoakedandcharmed @alexisa1206 @mysaudadespt2 @florence-bubbles @addictiontelly @queens-of-arrows @memcjo @hysterical-for-joshifer @oswinelevenforever @olicitylovemaking @bandanab310 @mymusiclove101 @lynslogic @scarletqueen23 @olicityshipper19 @alex-wesley @arrows-4ever @unabashedlynerdypatrol @louehmysoul @ligiapimenta @chattyyana @charlie-leau @coal000 @samcrowleys @ishippolivia @julianegomesqueen @malafle @miriam1779 @charlinert @melaux @ontheolicityship @myshipperlife @wrightainsley @lexi9515 @ladygreenwood @multi-fandom-crazy-fangirl @morinamel @mje-thomas @kebarry @canadianheartgirl @nannett2307 @almondblossomme @paarti12 @kathrynelizabeth89 @imdfabulous @cutearrowgirl @mrt2501 @mecha1330 @arsipaci14 @mzminx @salasvia @brandis91 @cainc3 @morganmiguess @pr0fessi0nal-fangurl @iamisalima @nessafrancis-blog @jonhdiggle @niki-is-amazing @universed-posts @hopeful-warrior @senoritaswiftie @bellemmie @green-arrows-of-karamel @iheartarrow @olicityovereverything @oliverfel4 @navyaarsha @fandoms-breathe-life @simone4mcswarek @olicity-in-the-heart @fullychippedcreation @geemarie @everything-but-normal-cat @myarroworld @tjmartinez @pleasantfanandstudent @itsmagnoliagirl @j69confessional2 @scentedcolorpirate @icanica74 @javinancupil @tjmartinez98 @certainmentalityface @tatianadamaceno @ryelew @wildwillowzepplin @missafairy @letsplaymurde-r @lipizette @positivepiper @nuttymilkshakehologram @laksagirl @turnupthemusicandscream @pumpernickle93 @onceuponanolicity @1106angel @jaspertown @fadinglands @morganashimi83 @mochababychristy @omglovechrissie @mariejr88-blog @thetaufactor @onceuponanolicity @speakandseethetruth @bri206 @aglasgo @thats0klaroline @geemarie @pineprincess @nerdgirljen @peterpanslostgirl666 @eternal-olicity14 @allyouhadtodowas-stay-stay-stay @lovelycssefan @tsseract @flowerandsunshine @dcnmarvelgamergeek @blondeeoneexox @monetsmark @soaring-cities @bb-olicity @mashamarty @rulerofsilence @erika-amber @felicity087 @i-claim-only-emily @pattid1 @westallenandolicityshipper @babyolicityandwestallen @nothingmorethanmyotps @kayleenyc @tonto16 @olicityfluv @olicitea1990 @olicity5ever @haahaaa2408 @pattid1 @faegal04 @24karatgem @wrldtravler @readerkas @valery6488 @lemmyeatspeaches @olicity-beliver @greencoffeecups

(If you want to be tagged or untagged, just let me know. :))

#arrow #olicity #olicity fic #olicity fanfic #mothers know best

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thisismandee · 5 years

Text

The Rebel and The Criminal

Chapter 2) Barry Manilow

I watch from my seat as Vice Principal Vernon walks into the library. He looks just as unimpressed to be here as we do.

"Well...well..here we are. I want to congratulate you for being on time..." He had started to say when Claire decided to open up her mouth.

"Excuse me, sir? I think there's been a mistake. I know it's detention, but...um... I don't think I belong here..."

I did all I could to hold back my laughter at her comment. Of course she couldn't comprehend why she was there. She probably thinks that the whole world should revolve around her. That's something I never liked about her kind. They all thought that everyone should kiss their shoes.

Vernon ignored her comment and continued on his speech.

"It is now 7:06. You have exactly eight hours and fifty-four minutes to think about why you're here. To ponder the error of your ways."

From the corner of my eyes I could see the Criminal in front of me spit into the air and catch it in his mouth. I was both disgusted and impressed at the same time. I looked over and saw Claire looked mortified by his act. Vernon continued.

"And you may not talk." he pointed to Claire. "You will not move from these seats." he then pointed at the Brain who was in the middle of shifting to the seat next to him, but decided against it. Vernon then glaces at the Criminal in front of me and points at him.

"And you" he pulls the chair that he was using as a footrest, "will not sleep" The Criminal looked at him with an expression of annoyance. I had a feeling that Vernon knew the kid in front of me all too well. I could only begin to imagine how many Saturday detentions he had had in his life time so far.

"Alright people, we're gonna try something a little different today. We are going to write an essay, of no less than a thousand words, describing to me who you think you are"

"Is this a test?" I heard the Criminal speak up.

Vernon was passing out paper and pencils to all of us. When he put the supplies infront of me, I couldn't help but give him a look of 'what the fuck'. I was not about to spend my Saturday writing a paper. I don't think any of us were thrilled about this concept.

"And when I say essay, I mean essay. I do not mean a single word repeated a thousand times. Is that clear Mr. Bender?" He directed that last part to the Criminal that was sitting in front of me.

"Crystal" He responded.

"Good. Maybe you'll learn a little something about yourself. Maybe you'll even decide whether or not you care to return." As he said this I was screaming a 'Hell no' in my head. But then I saw the Brain standing up. 'Oh this should be great' is all I could think.

"You know, I can answer that right now sir. That'd be 'No', no for me. Cause..."

"Sit down Johnson"

"Thank you sir" The brain sat back down. What did he think that was going to accomplish? I really was curious. Vernon looked all of us over and began talking again.

"My office" he points out the door way, " is right across that hall. Any monkey business is ill-advised. Any questions?"

"Yeah...I got a question." Bender says. Oh this is going to be good, I was all of a sudden very intrigued in the conversation. "Does Barry Manilow know you raid his wardrobe?"

I couldn't hold in my laughter. Bender took a quick glance at me, I looked at him but couldn't help but smile. That was a good question. I directed my stare back at Vernon. You could tell he was very angry.

"I'll give you the answer to that question, Mr. Bender, next Saturday. Don't mess with the bull young man, you'll get the horns. And if you think he is so funny Miss. Marano, then you can join him next weekend."

My mouth dropped. Are you kidding me. All because I laughed, this was ridiculous. Bender looked back at me and smiled and all I could manage was giving him a scowl. I am glad one of found this so amusing. Vernon looks over all of us again and then finally leaves the library. Thank god, I didn't know how much more I could have taken from him.

"That man is a brownie hound" Bender says and looks back at me, I agreed with that statement. But I was still annoyed, so all I could manage was an annoyed smile.

#breakfastclub #john bender #john bender x reader #john bender x oc #andrew clark #allison reynolds #brian johnson #richard vernon #fanfiction #original #therebelandthecriminal #claire standish #the breakfast club

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let-it-raines · 5 years

Text

Betting on the Bullseye (Ch. 17)

Summary: Emma Swan loses a bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush to be her date to her office's annual fundraising gala. Killian Jones is that celebrity crush. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost. What she doesn't expect is for him to say yes.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Happy Saturday! I hope you’re all having a great weekend! Maybe make someone’s day and do a kind gesture, whether that’s sending a kind messages or cleaning up the dishes after dinner :D

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tag List: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @artistic-writer @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @galaxyzxstark @lifeinahole27 @andiirivera @ultimiflos @hollyethecurious @thejollyroger-writer @superchocovian @cs-forlife @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64

“Oh my God,” she giggles, absolutely despising the sound that’s coming out of her mouth with every harsh rub of her calf and massage of her foot. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just…I have weirdly sensitive feet.” “And this is exactly why I never take you out to do this,” Ruby sighs in the chair next to her while they get their feet massaged and their toes painted.

“Hey, at least I’m not making sex noises like Marg over there.”

“I am nearly eight months pregnant,” Mary Margaret protests, cradling her stomach with her hands while letting out the slightest moan as her foot is massaged. “I have swollen feet that hurt. This is like bliss.” “That’s what a lot of people say about sex.”

“Damn right,” Ruby agrees, making all of their technicians laugh. When she thinks about it too much, having people work on her feet while she has weird conversations with her friends is, well, weird, but it does feel so good after she gets used to her entire body tingling with the touches.

But one of Mary Margaret’s students gave her a gift card before they let out for summer break at the end of May, and she insisted on taking Emma and Ruby out after they finished with work since she still hadn’t used the card. Ruby hasn’t wanted to go a lot of places since she and Victor broke up, usually liking going to work and then simply going home, but she and Mary Margaret have made a conscious effort to make sure that Ruby gets out. Ruby has absolutely known what they’re doing, and while at first she would get kind of pissed at them, as the weeks have passed, she’s gotten back to being herself.

It probably helps that they let her have an entire night to bash Victor and the fact that he had stopped making time for Ruby, picking up extra unnecessary shifts just so that he didn’t have to come home, and spending more time with his coworkers than Ruby to the point where they basically weren’t seeing each other at all. It was an asshole move, and while she’s never been Vic’s greatest fan, she was such a big fan of how good they were for each other.

Until they weren’t.

If he’s going to be an asshole and not put an effort into the relationship then Ruby deserves so much better. She just does.

Emma hates that she hasn’t been around to help as much as she should have. She really does. Ruby didn’t tell her that they were having issues, didn’t talk about it at lunch, didn’t call and ask to hang out on the weekends when Emma was in town, and the guilt nags at her for not being the best friend for Ruby. She doesn’t abandon people, not when they’ve been so good to her for all of these years, and even though she knows Ruby would tell her that it’s not necessary, she kind of feels like she’s trying to make up for lost time.

Ruby and Mary Margaret have been there for her for the past decade, and she will always be there for them. No question.

Even if that means dying a little inside while getting her toes painted.

“So does our new little friend have a name yet?” she asks to change the subject while pulling her hair up into a messy bun on the top of her head, sure that there’s some weird loops in there since she didn’t use a mirror. “Or are you guys keeping that a secret again?”

“I’m kind of leaning toward Brody,” Mary Margaret tells her, which is not what she was expecting. She was fully expecting to have to wait until the kid was born to know his name. “David likes George, but I don’t know…that just seems – ”

“Like it’s only cute for babies or old men?”

“Exactly. It’s like you have to think of names that work for when they’re babies, when they’re old, and when they’re middle aged. Like, no one wants to walk around talking to a fifty-year-old woman named Bunny.”

“Okay, but Bunny doesn’t work. Ever.”

“It does if you’re a stripper. You could wear a little cotton ball on your – ”

“Rubes,” she laughs, sticking her hand over to Ruby’s seat and squeezing around her palm, “there are some things that should just never be said out loud.”

She shrugs, the brightest smile on her face that makes Emma’s lips tug up in the corners until she’s smiling as well. She’s happy. That’s all Emma wants for Ruby. “I’m just saying. It’d be a great little get up. I bet you could do, like, specials for the spring time and make a lot of extra money.”

“Anyways,” Mary Margaret says as the blush rises on her cheeks, “so I’m thinking Brody William Nolan. It’s solid, not too weird, and I don’t think it’ll make anybody make fun of him when he gets older.”

“That’s the most important thing. Kids are cruel.”

“They make fun of you but in an accurate away.”

“Amen.”

Walking out of the nail salon in those awful flip flips, the three of them make their way down the sidewalk of the shopping center, real shoes in their hands, and let the warm mid-July sun beat down on them as they make their way to the café that’s down the street. It’s already pretty crowded, the dinner rush filling the tables, and she lets Mary Margaret and Ruby settle down at a table outside while she goes in and get their orders, grabbing the buzzer that always scares the crap out of her when it loudly goes off on the table.

Every. Damn. Time.

If their paninis weren’t so good, she’d really question her choices of coming here so often. They all practically inhale their food, even going back inside to get dessert for Mary Margaret, and with the sun setting over all of the surrounding buildings, the sky a blurred swirl of deep orange and light blue, she revels in how good of a time that this has been. If it wasn’t so damn expensive to eat out all of the time, they’d definitely do this more often instead of sitting at one of their apartments or at the Nolans’ house.

Or sadly eating cereal alone in her apartment.

And she is getting better at cooking, she swears. She’s been making the effort to eat out less and cook more. She bought a cook book and everything once she finished learning to make all of the recipes Killian left for her.

Her life is going in directions she never thought it would, and her buying cook books is definitely just one of those things even if it’s normal to literally everyone else.

Her grilled cheese recipe has really improved.

It’s a nice summer evening though, one of those where you really just want to be at a baseball game eating junk food with your feet propped up on the seat in front of you while you get horrible tan lines from your shoes and your shorts. She thinks she’s gone to more games in the past few months than she has in her entire life, but then again, so has all of Boston because they just won the World Series last year.

That had been a good time.

This is nice even if it’s not a game, maybe even better than the game, and by the time she loads up in her car to go home, she can feel a slight heat on her cheeks despite the sunscreen that’s built into her foundation.

After she’s showered, washing off the sweat and the day, she changes into her pajamas and settles down onto her couch with her laptop ready to spend the next few hours mindlessly scrolling through Twitter and Pinterest, doing anything to just not have to think for the rest of the evening. Sometimes she just needs to be able to decompress, to let herself relax and rest so she can finish out the last two days of the week.

The air conditioner had broken in her office today, and she thought she was absolutely going to die from sweat. It was awful. Absolutely awful.

She never would have made it before air conditioning.

A message pops up on her computer screen, Killian’s name scrolling across the top, and she clicks on it. It’s a picture of him staring intently into the screen followed by one of him with a goofy grin on his face next to his name on a door. He’s doing the press junket for Highland Waters right now. He’d spent last week in LA doing all of the talk shows that are based out there, and he’s just flown to New York to do more press on this coast. Yesterday there’d been a question asked about her on James Cordon (the late late late show, maybe? How many lates are in the name? All she can think of right now is Carpool Karaoke and how she would never be able to focus with Paul McCartney in the passenger seat), which was weird enough as it is, but it was weirder that Killian was almost communicating with her through the television screen since they hadn’t had much time to talk. “So how does your girlfriend feel about the love scenes you have in this show?” “Who says that one,” Killian begins, his jaw ticking in the way that she knows that it does when he’s trying to keep a straight face when irritated, “I have a girlfriend, and two, that I have love scenes in the show? This is all classified information.” “Oh come on, mate. As one handsome British man to another, we both know that the ladies love us.” “I believe it’s the accent.” “I believe it’s our smoking bodies.” Killian chuckles at the bad joke, and she can tell it’s genuine even if it’s a bit awkward. The joke was a bit awkward. “But seriously. I’ve been told I can’t let you off this stage unless you talk about your girlfriend, these sex scenes, or if you sing acapella while hopping on one foot.” “Well okay then,” Killian begins, standing up and jumping on one foot while the audience cheers and she laughs until he sits back down on the couch with a smile on his face. “Yes, there are some intimate scenes in the show.” The crowd wolf whistles, and she can practically feel how hot Killian’s face is through the screen. She can definitely see how red the tips of his ears are, especially since he just got his hair trimmed again. “And while I’m sure my girlfriend doesn’t love them, she understands that this is simply my job. She’s my real life.”

She shakes her head back and forth, wishing that she could talk to him through the screen even though she knows that this was filmed hours ago. God, he’s ridiculous, but he makes a good point. She’s not exactly thrilled about some of the scenes she’s seen previews to, but he’s acting. That’s all. It’s not real. “Aww, look at that, he’s a romantic in real life too.” The crowd really does “aw” and she wonders how the hell Killian does this without melting into the couch out of embarrassment. She hasn’t seen him in nearly two weeks, and while she absolutely misses him like something mad, this is weirdly helping. “So if I can prod you a little more about your life…I know you’re pretty private, but we asked Twitter to send us some questions for you and we picked out our favorites.” “Oh boy,” Killian laughs, bouncing on the couch and scratching behind his ear. “Hit me with your best shot, James.” “@Solangeisanorange wants to know if the hair on your face is incapable of being shaved off or if you have it insured for millions of dollars?” “Is that even possible? Can I do that? Because I will. It seems like an easy way to make some money, and then I’d never have to work again. But no, the hair on my face can be shaved off. I clean it up every few days, but I won’t shave it off. I like it this way.” “What about one of those long beards? Ever thought about one of those?” “God, no. Can you imagine the maintenance?” Killian laughs, reaching down and taking a sip of the water in his mug. “And I’m far too much of a neat freak for that.” “Hear that, ladies,” James begins, “he’s a freak.” Killian waggles his eyebrows before James speaks again. “Okay, so @Superior_woman has a question that says: Will you marry me?” “Only if you buy me a bloody fantastic engagement ring.”

“So it’s all about the jewels?”

“Family and otherwise, aye.”

“Oh my God,” she groans to herself, covering her face with her hands and peeking through her fingers. “That was so bad.”

“Alright, alright, alright then. Well, we’ll do two more. Honestly, Twitter, I know it was short notice, but you’ve really got to get more creative in your questions. You can ask Killian Jones anything you want, and you’re asking him if he has any nicknames. Come on, @HannahBG. You should know better.”

“It’s a valid question,” Killian answers, most likely relieved that he can answer something normal. “Um, well, I don’t really think so. My girlfriend calls me KJ and arsehole a lot. Those two are pretty interchangeable in her eyes.” The entire room laughs while she mutters “asshole” under her breath. Oh shit. She really does do that. “But I think KJ is probably about it. My nephew does call me something that resembles Killy, though, but I think that’s simply because he can’t say my name. He’s only got a few words down.”

“So I have to ask, and this isn’t for myself, I promise. It really is for the audience. How did you meet this girlfriend of yours? Because lack of creativity in nicknames aside, she sounds great. And I’ve heard it’s quite an interesting story.”

“Ahh,” Killian sighs, clicking his tongue, “so I think it’s pretty public how we met. She actually…she lost a bet with her best friend who really likes to mess with her. So the friend made Emma record a video asking me on a date to a charity gala for her work with The Children’s Shelter, which is a really great organization that I love to support. But we hit it off, I guess, on the first night, and while we didn’t immediately get together, she doesn’t have to ask me out through Youtube anymore.”

“So you’re saying that all anyone has to do to go on a date with you is ask you out on Youtube?”

“No. That’s all she had to do. No one else gets to ask me out on dates through the internet. I’m not doing that anymore.”

She scrolls back up to look at the pictures he just sent, noticing the way he needs to button down his collar but figuring he undid that after he filmed Fallon this afternoon.

Emma: Hot stuff right there. Hope you’re having fun!

She goes back to scrolling through Pinterest, getting into a deep rabbit hole of how to do a double dutch braid and absolutely failing time and time again until she gives up and twists her hair into a regular braid that falls over her shoulders.

Damn, her arms hurt after having them lifted in the air for that long. Is that pathetic?

Killian: I am, love. Exhausted. Isabelle and I are going to be on GMA tomorrow and then do a few others together. Then Friday I’m back to doing solo interviews.

Killian: There’s a lot of fake smiling.

Killian: I think my mouth may be stuck this way.

Emma: Well, I have absolutely no use for you if you can’t use your mouth.

Killian: Rude and totally untrue.

Killian: I’m about to go to bed. Can I call you during your lunch break tomorrow?

Emma: Sure. No guarantees that I’ll answer, though.

Killian: Love you, Swan. xx

Emma: Love you too. xx

She was completely joking when she said there were no guarantees she would answer. She fully intended to answer, to talk to him, but she missed his call. And then he missed hers. And it was like a revolving door of calls.

Phone tag. That’s the name for it. It’s phone tag. They’re playing phone tag.

And it’s definitely not the first time they’ve done it. It happens a lot. He calls, and she doesn’t answer. She calls, and he doesn’t answer. Her voicemail gets filled with messages full of the same kind of “I’m sorry I missed you. Call me when you can, love” messages nearly every time. She’s never been in a long-distance relationship, never been in a relationship this committed on both sides, and she doesn’t know what she was expecting, but she doesn’t think it was this.

Mostly, she thinks that they do a good job, that they do make time for each other. She knows that she gets to see Killian a lot more often most people in her situation do simply because he doesn’t work a normal job and has the means to fly to her pretty often. The tickets aren’t exactly cheap, at least for her, and despite her not really wanting to, she has let him pay for her last few simply so that he’s not spending all of his time in Boston.

They miss so much of each other’s lives, of their families’ lives, and it’s so damn hard that she just wants to cry sometimes.

She does cry. A lot. Like, probably more than she ever has before. And while she still sometimes struggles with showing emotions, with having emotions, she knows that crying doesn’t make her weak, that being vulnerable isn’t a bad thing. It’s actually a really good thing, and she cries because she’s allowed herself to be vulnerable to someone else, allowed herself to want to be vulnerable to someone else, and sometimes she just fucking misses him.

Like right now.

She misses him a lot right now and wishes that he could be finished in New York and be on his way here today instead of on Saturday.

But he can’t. He has to work, she has to work, and after not seeing each other for several weeks, she’s honestly just glad that he’s going to be here at all.

It’s a vicious cycle, but they’re handling it. They’re handling it because they have to. They’re handling it because they want to.

She just wishes she didn’t have to miss so many things.

The rest of her day inches by slowly despite how busy it is, another quarter ending next week meaning that she’s got to start prepping the financials for the donations so they can be renewed. It’s always hell, and someone from accounting should really do it, but she’s always the one who does it for some reason. It’s honestly a miracle they haven’t been audited simply because she knows that she screws up a lot.

Hopefully accounting does review her documents after she turns them in.

She skips the gym, calling Killian instead, and by some miracle, he actually answers, even if it’s only for a few minutes before he has to run off to dinner with Isabelle and Robin. It’s nice, though, just to get to talk to him for a little while, and she’s not going to complain when she’ll see him in just over a day.

Just one more day.

-/-

“Bloody fuck,” Killian mutters as her front door opens and he stumbles inside, shaking out his foot and rolling his suitcase behind him. He looks up at her and grimaces, though she thinks it might honestly be an attempt at a smile. “Hello, darling. I promise I’m excited to see you, but I’ve stubbed my toe and it hurts like hell.”

“The great Killian Jones,” she monotones, rolling her eyes and getting up from the couch to close the door behind him, her heart beating wildly in her chest simply because he’s here, “is brought down by what I assume were the front steps outside.”

“You assume right,” he grits, reaching down and pulling off his sneaker before massaging his toe.

“I’m sorry, babe,” she sighs, standing in front of him and pushing his hat off of his head so that she can glide her lips over his and feel the soft warmth that she’s been craving for so long. “That happens every now and then, and it hurts every time. I don’t know why, but it does.”

“Believe it or not, but I think I’ll survive.” He places his hands on her hips and tugs her closer so that she has to tighten her arms around his neck. “Hi, Swan. I am so glad to be back here.”

Her breath hitches, the intensity of his gaze taking her back a bit, but she adjusts, letting her lips form a smile. Why wouldn’t she? She’s so damn happy that he’s here. “I’m glad you’re here too. It’s not quite the same watching you fumble in interviews.” She can feel the gentle slap on her hip, and it makes her chuckle under her breath almost as much as the way Killian’s staring at her with his lips parted, offense clear in his features. “I absolutely aced those interviews. Probably my best set of promotions yet.”

“You had a pie thrown in your face on Thursday because Isabelle knew more about your character than you did.”

“I didn’t remember his father’s name, which isn’t my fault because that’s honestly more in Isabelle’s script than mine, and it’s been a long time since I even filmed the brief scene where he was mentioned.”

“Mhm, sure. But you did do a great job describing Ezra’s journey without giving too much away. I was impressed by that.”

He dips his head and quickly captures her lips again, and she loses all of the breath in her lungs from the way it surprises her. She should have been expecting that, but she wasn’t. He’s got to stop literally taking her breath away because she’ll suffocate. And that won’t be romantic.

“I’ve gotten very good at not telling the truth without actually lying.”

“I feel like that is the absolute last thing that you want to be saying to your girlfriend.”

“Probably, but according to the last two weeks of my life, I’m very swoon-worthy. I can get away with things like that.

“Yeah, that’s definitely not how that works.”

She presses up on her toes again, capturing his lips with hers and tilting her head to deepen the kiss. He tastes like that mint tea that he likes and she hates because of the weird smell, but she can’t say that she minds the taste right now, especially with the way his tongue moves over hers in a warm slide that makes her spine tingle more than the pedicure did the other day.

Making out with her boyfriend is obviously much better than getting a pedicure.

“So, like,” she giggles, a smile breaking out across her face while Killian continues to chase her lips, “you know, I just did laundry this morning. I washed my sheets and everything, so they’re really soft. I even bought some new pillow covers the other day.”

“This is quite the roundabout way to ask me to fuck you.”

“Who said anything about that? I just want you to see my new pillow covers.”

-/-

The world hazily comes back to her as she wakes up, the only light stemming from the brightness of Killian’s laptop as his fingers tap away, the keys clicking with each movement.

“What are you doing?” she mumbles, rubbing her fists into her eyes and flopping over onto her stomach so she can wrap her arms around her pillow and nuzzle into it more. “More importantly, why the hell are you awake this early?”

“Woke up to use the restroom and couldn’t go back to sleep. I figured I’d pay some bills and answer some emails. I’m reading through a few scripts.”

She props herself up on her elbows and reaches over to grab Killian’s wrist, looking at his watch that he didn’t take off last night and being shocked that it’s not even two in the morning until she remembers that Killian is three hours behind. Still, waking up before five on a Monday morning is not exactly what she would call pleasant.

“Babe, go back to sleep.”

“Not tired,” he mutters, still typing away. “But you should go back to sleep, love. You have work in a few hours.”

“Turn off the laptop, and I will.”

“Just a few more minutes.”

It’s not a few more minutes. It’s for the next hour, and she eventually gets up and goes into her bathroom, taking a cold shower even though she absolutely hates the way the water feels on her skin. She’s tired, though, wishes that she could have gone back to sleep, but she couldn’t. And she can’t get any of that time back no matter how much she wants to.

Work today is going to be a hell.

By the time she leaves the bathroom, her makeup applied and hair dried, the sun is peeking through her windows and Killian is nowhere to be seen, his laptop closed and resting in the middle of the mattress. She can’t help but shake her head. She’s honestly a little pissed at him, even if she has no real reason to be, but she’s tired and irritated and Killian may get some of the blame for that for the way his typing made enough noise to wake her up and keep her up.

She needs coffee. She just needs some kind of caffeine and maybe to take a nap on the couch in Ruby’s office. That sounds like the dream.

She quickly grabs a dress out of her closet, throwing it on and letting the skirt hit just above her knees before she finds the sandals that match. They’re practically falling apart, the straps buckling, and she really needs to get some new shoes.

These were good shoes.

She buckles them and walks out of her bedroom only to immediately smell coffee. God bless Killian Jones because he may have pissed her off this morning by inadvertently waking her up, but at least he’s smart enough to make her coffee.

“Figured you might need this,” he tells her as he hands her swan mug. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“I was just going to eat cereal.” She shrugs, taking a long sip of her coffee and sighing a bit even though she knows the caffeine will take awhile to kick in. “And you’re probably so tired that you are a liability when it comes to the stove anyways.” “I can make you an omelet, Swan. I’m not going to burn your apartment down.” “I don’t care. Just make what you want.” She waves her hand at him goes back to drinking her coffee and opening up her phone to check any of the messages she missed throughout the night. There’s not really anything, but she’s honestly just trying to wake up.

Killian slides her a plate with an omelet on it, nudging it in front of her phone, and she puts it down before looking up at him. How much time passed without her even realizing it?

“Thank you. It smells good.”

“No problem.” He takes a bite of his own, wiggling his fork around before popping it in his mouth. “I’m sorry that I woke you up. I should have gone in the living room, but you’re such a deep sleeper…I didn’t even think about it.”

“Killian,” she sighs, sitting up in her stool as she cuts up some of her food, “it’s fine. Yeah, I’m tired, and yeah, I wish I hadn’t woken up when I did. But honestly, it’s not a big deal. I sleep through the cars blaring their horns outside, so it’s weird that your typing woke me up. Why do you have so much stuff to do anyways?”

“I’ve basically worked for two weeks and spent the past two days with you. I haven’t had the time. Figured I’d get it all out of the way. I was reading this bloody brilliant script, though. It’s, well, it’s about this man who’s lost his wife and is going through the grieving process while also raising his young son. I don’t know, love. It’s just…I know it’s been done before, but this one is different.” “Yeah?”

“Absolutely. Brilliant, I tell you. They’re filming next spring if they get all of the contracts and such down. I obviously don’t have the role, but I need to set up a meeting with the producers.” “That’s fantastic,” she promises him, taking another bite of her food. “I bet you’ll get it, especially if they’re already interested in you.” “I mean,” he starts, reaching up and scratching behind his ear while his tongue clicks, “maybe. I hope so.”

She doesn’t want to ask, but she has to. “Do you know where they’re filming?”

“Canada, I believe. Rob didn’t have the city or anything, but I think that’s where it’s projected.”

She lets out a little sigh of relief, holding her mug up above her lips so that she doesn’t look too relieved. She feels selfish wanting to keep him here when she could never ask him to give up his job for her. He’s already done it once, and as much as that made her heart swell, made something inside of her twist at realizing just how much he loves her, she can’t let him do it again. She just can’t. He’s already so excited for this role, and all she wants is for him to get it.

They can figure out them when the time comes.

Maybe she can go to Canada. She’s always wanted to go.

“Let me know when your audition meeting thing is. I can run lines with you.” “Love, you were absolutely horrendous the one time we tried that.” “Hey,” she protests, sticking her fork up at him as she chews on her eggs, “I was okay. Obviously acting is not my calling.”

He winks. “Maybe with a bit of practice, my love. Are we still on for lunch at your office?”

“Yep. But you’ve got to bring something since I probably have to work and talk. It’s like a mad dash for the next week.” “I believe I can do that.” “Bring coffee too.” “Obviously.”

Her head is heavy throughout the rest of her morning, the caffeine only helping to keep her functioning. She didn’t even lose that much sleep, but two hours can make such a difference when she didn’t get a lot of rest this weekend. Plus, it’s Monday, and sometimes they just suck, especially if you have a really good weekend.

She had a good weekend. She and Killian literally just stayed in her apartment and did nothing. Usually they like to go out and do something, but hoarding themselves away just…it’s what worked for them this time. Besides, he’s going to be here for a few more days. They have time to do whatever they want. It’s a nice luxury that they don’t always get, the weekend trips still continuing to be nothing but a tease, so it’s a nice thing to have a little more time than a jet lagged Saturday.

“What’s up, little bird?” Ruby asks as she steps into Emma’s office, sitting down in one of her chairs before kicking her heels off.

“Little bird? That’s a new one.”

“I was just texting Marg and called her little mama. Figured you needed to be called something different than little mama unless there’s something going on over there that you haven’t told me about. And if there is, I’m going to take away the coffee you were chugging away on this morning.”

She’s glad she just saved her file because she definitely just slammed down on her keyboard. “God no,” she sputters, heat rising in her cheeks that she just can’t stop, “that is not happening right now.” “What’s not happening, Swan?”

She looks up to see Killian standing in her doorway, takeout bags in hand, and a part of her really does wonder if sometimes she’s living in a movie or something with the timing that sometimes happens. Looking down at her computer, though, she does see that it’s exactly one, and she shouldn’t be surprised that Killian is on time.

Exactly on time.

“You haven’t knocked her up.”

“Rubes,” she groans, rolling her head back so that all of her hair falls off of her shoulders and down her back, “sometimes a filter is a good thing.” “I am simply commenting on the fact that you guys use safe sex practices, and I applaud you for them.”

“Ah, I feel like I’ve walked in on a rather odd conversation here.”

“It’s nothing, KJ.” She tries to calm the heat that’s still in her cheeks as she rolls her chair over to the other side of her desk. “Ruby is just being Ruby. I think she’s been cooped away in her office for too long. What’d you bring for lunch?”

“Coffee, as you requested, milady, and then I figured I’d indulge you and give you your favorite greasy foods as an extra apology for this morning.”

“Ooooh,” Ruby hums, “what happened this morning?”

“Well, you see,” she begins, trying to figure out the best way to mess with Ruby, “our sex was so rough this morning that it required more than just a condom as protection. There was also a helmet involved, maybe some knee pads, but none of it really helped when the kitchen cabinet opened and all of my pots and pans crashed down around me, banging me far worse than Killian was.”

“You almost had me going until you acted like you have a bunch of pots and pans because you don’t.” “Bloody hell, lass,” Killian sputters, walking into her office and shutting the door behind him before putting the food on her desk, “you believed any of that?”

“Emma’s not the most vocal about her sex life. She could be into some freaky stuff.”

“You’re so weird, Rubes,” She laughs, shaking her head as she rolls her chair back toward the desk. “You can share my – ” She peeks into the bag, pulling out a box of onion rings. “ – onion rings with me.” “I got some for Ruby too, love.” “Bless you,” Ruby groans, getting up from her chair and coming to stand next to them all the while she goes back to working as well as eating. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

“Because I bring you food?” “Exactly. You didn’t even know I was going to be here, and you brought me food. That is a good man.”

“You and Emma are kind of a packaged deal at work.” Ruby waves a fry in Killian’s face all the while Emma watches the two of them go back and forth with each other, a bright smile on her face that she can practically feel stretching into her eyes.

“And don’t you forget it, Jones.”

#betting on the bullseye #cs fanfic #cs ff #cs fic

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