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film-in-my-soul · 2 years

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Review: Manner of Death (2020)

Region: Thailand

Aprox. Length: 09h:27m:20s

Viewing Source: Tencent Video

Summary: Dr. Bunnakit is a medical examiner based at a provincial hospital. One day, after carrying out an autopsy on the body of a woman who had seemingly hanged herself, Dr. Bunnakit rules out suicide, as his findings point to homicide. His conclusion suddenly makes him the target of someone very powerful. When an anonymous man breaks into his house and threatens him to change his report to suicide, Dr. Bunnakit doesn't take this threat seriously. But all that changes when one of his friends, a prosecutor, suddenly disappears. Dr. Bunnakit quietly conducts his own investigation in order to get at the truth. All clues lead to one suspect, a man named Tan, who denies any involvement. Tan convinces Dr. Bunnakit to team up together in order to find the real murderer.

Overall Opinion: One of the strongest things about this show is the mystery element and the raw hate I feel for any and all antagonists. While the initial draw to this series for a lot of people will likely be Max and Tul (as it was for me) I think the story is what really keeps people hooked. You’re never sure who to trust, who to believe, or who might stab you in the back at the last minute, and full honesty I live for it. The BL romance aspect of Manner of Death also blends seamlessly into the overarching plot and anyone who has said that the show feels more like a mystery that just happens to have a MlM romance in it than a traditional Thai BL that just happens to be a murder mystery is completely correct. I think for me a lot of my appreciation stems from Manner of Death handling uncomfortable and ultimately adult situations in an interesting way as well as having a distinctive, almost dreary style that sets it apart from any other Thai BL I’ve watched before. My only suggestion for a potential watcher is to be mindful of any warnings you see at the start of an episode, while there is nothing graphic visually shown, to my memory, the topics and situations alluded to and talked about can get very heavy.

Technical Rating: ★★★★★★★★☆☆

Personal Rating: ★★★★★★★★☆☆

(See under the cut for a deeper analysis of character/plot/technical aspects. Beware of possible spoilers.)

Main Characters:

Dr. Bun:

Bun is a character where things just seem to happen to him half of the time. But then the other half is him actively making the worst possible choices to throw himself headfirst into deadly situations. Regardless, he’s a character I enjoy a lot even if at times he can feel a bit clumsy and useless. It only serves to show us just how out of his depth he actually is though, so even when he makes the wrong choice I don’t necessarily feel it makes him a poorly written character. He also actively stands against what he believes is wrong and is written with a strong conviction you feel in the face of all the opposition against him as he’s desperately searching for the truth of what happened to Jane and just what’s going on in the province. In regards to his relationship with Tan I actually really enjoy the fact that the show could have easily just made him immediately fall for him even against his better judgment and instead, outside of his drunken kiss in the first episode, really took the time to bring Bun to his breaking point and finally give in to the chemistry between them and let it happen, all while still not completely trusting Tan. All in all, Bun is a fairly dynamic character who has a vicious streak and needs a bit more sense of self-preservation.

Tan:

Tan balances being suspicious as hell and pretty much Bun’s only lifeline very well. He’s threatening in some way, by nature of the mystery and plot, but as he’s getting to know Bun more and showing the Dr. different sides of himself Tan is a surprisingly endearing character. It’s clear that he cares about Bun and wants him safe but also needs to keep him in the dark. Tan has a duality I generally enjoy, while also giving off ‘dumber than a rock’ energy at times. (I’m looking at you final episode proposal via gang chase through the woods.) Ultimately one of the more compelling aspects of Tan’s character is the fact that he’s so secretive, and the audience, like Bun, are unsure if we can trust him. He, of course, makes all the wrong choices in order to keep those he cares about safe instead of just telling the truth, but he gets there in the end.

Rating: ★★★★☆

Side Characters:

Inspector M:

Inspector M is, based on the conversations I’ve had around this show while watching it, almost everyone's fan favorite, and seeing how he fills out that uniform? I can tell why. Jokes about how hot Great Sapol Assawamunkong is in uniform aside, Inspector M is actually a really fantastic character. He’s someone who starts on the "wrong side" but through Bun and Tan’s investigation and continuous pestering, he himself has to face the reality of the corruption in his province. I also love that even when Inspector M is officially on the “good side” he still has an obvious dislike for our leads even though it’s softened slightly. Because of the nature of Inspector M’s character you’re always left wondering until towards the end if he is also in on the corruption among the governing bodies and it’s Great’s performance as the character that really sells it to the audience.

Pued:

Ah Pued, the start to our more complicated side characters. A big part of Manner of Death is who we trust and how much of the truth that’s been uncovered by Tan and Bun is the truth. I think one thing that the show does fantastically is exploring these characters who can read as more sympathetic while still maintaining that they are bad people. Pued is one of those characters. I still hate him, he’s still a bad person, but you can’t help but understand where he’s coming from with the terrible choices he makes. It’s also nice that he faces terrible consequences even if we’re still left feeling maybe a little conflicted on whether he suffered too much or got off easy for where his actions turned the plot, especially when the motive behind how he's killed isn't exactly the one I personally wish it was.

Rungtiwa:

This bitch really had me in the first half and the revelation of her treachery is one of the best twists in the show even if it felt a little hard to follow leading up to the explanation. She’s such a background character for most of the show that while you don’t necessarily forget about her, she’s never completely on your radar until the show puts her right in your path. It’s effective for the narrative and while I was cursing her the whole time in the last few episodes I found the reveal highly effective.

Dr. Oat:

Dr. Oat is, in my opinion, the unsung character of Manner of Death, he is comic relief, a potential red-harring, and an MVP when it comes to keeping our other characters alive. While he’s not as wildly used in the story as I think he could have been I really enjoy the levity he brings to the show as one of the softer characters who is also having to face the reality of the place he lives in and what that means for him as a doctor. I think I would have liked his character more if they’d implemented the same kind of suspicion they’d used for other characters with him. Overall he’s solid and serves his function in the story well. Also, love the cute moment between him and Inspector M in the last episode even though they had maybe a handful of scenes together. Though I suppose saving your life might inspire flirting with anyone.

That:

That, like Sorn, is a character that is meant to directly reflect another character. For That’s case, he is a mirror of Tan. He is, of course, his own character, but we are meant to draw the parallels between him and the lead and draw on the idea that That likely shows some of the same traits Tan had in his youth, thus filling us in on Tan’s character more. Outside of that, I have no big problems with That’s character. I like how at the start he’s appropriately stand-offish with Sorn and appears to desperately be seen as older and more capable than he is. He’s loyal and I appreciate the way that he can remain distinct within the story.

Sorawit / Sorn:

Sorn is a similar character to That in terms of what his purpose as a character is, but his counterpart is Dr. Bun. He’s gentle and naive, but wants the truth regarding his friend and will work to get it even at his own expense. Sorn and That’s story is meant to reflect the larger plot and poses a “what if” question to the audience that I thoroughly enjoy. He and That are used as a way to deepen the story while still maintaining their own individuals.

Rating: ★★★☆☆

Story/Plot:

There are so many aspects of this story I really like. The mystery of how Jane died and how it connects back to the larger corruption and mystery of the province is so interesting. We are forced, as many of the characters are, to uncover terrible secret after terrible secret, wondering who we’re meant to trust. There’s also something very interesting about the dark depths the show is willing to go, from the illegal abortion clinic (a moral grey area for many in how it's utilized for the plot), to the sex trafficking, to the police and political corruption there’s no one aspect of vile behavior that doesn’t feed into another. Nothing we’re presented as the audience is there for shock value, it all circles around each other and only serves to further character motivation and a search for where the end of the poison in the province lies.

While Manner of Death isn’t without its tropes I find I don’t have as many problems with them popping up as I might in other shows. Miscommunication or simply not talking is an element the plot has to rely on and makes sense within the context of the story. Bun wouldn’t trust Tan if he knew he does work for the local gang and Tan needs Bun to trust him because Bun is the only one actively putting himself in the line of fire trying to get the truth about Jane. The plot feels very condensed to the cast, each revelation has a resounding effect on each of them.

There were some moments, most choices that Tan makes, that made me want to pull out my hair, but ultimately it’s the frustration from those choices that keep you hooked. Locking Bun to the stair post? A terrible choice! Especially when you get almost murdered in the process and can’t actually go unlock him only to then unlock him and explain you both now need to fake your own deaths. It’s dramatic, highly unnecessary, but also, given everything we know about Bun, probably the only thing that would have worked to get him to stay put. Convincing your boyfriend that he’s being pursued by someone possibly acting in retaliation to you scooping the corruption out of your town only for you to end up at gunpoint and then because told “psych this is actually a marriage proposal,” Tan what the hell were you thinking?! In the fact of the rest story, it’s honestly the most baffling moment but god if it wasn’t entertaining.

Overall I really enjoy the story of Manner of Death and appreciate that it really feels like the main focus is on the mystery instead of the romance. It’s well balanced, has great twists, and satisfying villain reveals.

Rating: ★★★★☆

Technical/Visual Execution:

Technical/Visual Execution: One thing I really like about Manner of Death from a visual standpoint is that it is stylized, everything is muted colors, greys and greens, and dull rainy vibes. A lot of the time Thai BL are very flat in color or overly bright but Manner of Death chose a visual style that really reflects the dreary and seedy material it covers. Outside of that, I think it’s well produced in terms of editing and shooting.

Rating: ★★★★☆

INBOX - Any feedback is more than welcome or suggestions for further reviews.

Masterlist Navigation - Check out my other content if you'd like!

Thank you so much for reading!

#manner of death #manner of death review #maxtul #thai drama review #my review #film-in-my-soul review

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ryuzakemo128 · 2 years

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The Angel Of Death - Things Red would say

Various things I think Red would say to someone or just say in general. I hope you like what I have written here and anything else I might add onto this list in the future.

If you have any others for Red. Put them in the Red (Female Reader) tag. So I can get a peek at them all.

"I see only angels whenever I look at them. Angels that care more, feel more and love more than you or me. Angels that grace us their presence when we don't deserve it. Angels that make us feel loved when we don't deserve it. So you tell me, you tell me why devils like you and me deserve to walk the earth?"

"I might hate myself and everything about myself. But him, he deserves to be loved and adored. Not for the business or for the fear he instills into others. But for the raw emotion I see all over his face, even if hides it from you, it's there."

"Despite the numerous insults you have hauled my way, I haven't been angered or insulted. In fact I just pity you, I pity for not having the wit or the intelligence to come up with half decent insults. Let alone good enough insults to be insulted over."

"Thomas's bouts of rage don't bother me, Aberama's thirst for violence doesn't bother me, Alfie's shouting doesn't bother me, Polly's need to cut someone doesn't bother me, what bothers me, you really want to know what bothers me?"

"What bothers me is Fascist political people like you, what bothers me is that governments think they can fuck over their own people, what bothers me is that you march over to me thinking I'm going to let you hurt anyone with the last name Shelby, what bothers me is that you think you can haul over your god like a trophy and declare it to be only one to believe in, what bothers me is that people like you exist and there currently isn't a way to get rid of you without risking prison time or even hanging for it" (Red to Oswald Mosely, Jack Nelson and anyone similar to them.)

"I believe in my gods in the same amount as you believe in your god. My religious practice is no business of yours or anyone else's. Unless I make it known to them."

"I will defend each of them to my best of my ability. Which says more now that you're hear telling me to step aside, more like demanding that I step aside. What do you fear from hurting me Mister Changretta?" (Red to Luca Changretta)

"To live on earth is a privilege not a right. To remain existing as if you have a right to continue existing the way you are now is quite unnerving to my friends over there." (Red pointing to Thomas and Arthur.)

"I am on journey to find my own truth, no I'm not converting to any other religion so don't suggest it."

"I have had it up to here with you idiots!" (Red is slightly angry)

"Please tell me you have information worth using."

"Don't tell me to calm down, I'll calm down on my own terms, So fuck right off." (Red's Frustration level anger example)

"Knowledge is power, weak men like you would have known if you ever picked up a book and actually read it. Then again you'd be smarter for it and we can't have that now can we? Oh no, reading such an effort, I would rather boss lower paying workers to read it for me." (Red's Frustration level anger example)

"I have angels sitting over there, minds weary and aching for the sweet release of death. War does that to people, leaves scars on the brain and the mind. War crushes the soul, the mind, the body and leaves the empty shell that once was to rot on this earth. So explain to me why I shouldn't know what I know again and I'll drag you all the way to the ocean, fill your lungs with the salt of the ocean. Leave your shell of a body to rot in salts of the earth below the deep blue waves of the ocean." (Red's type of death threat)

"If I was threatening you, you would have known by now and you wouldn't be standing there as quiet as you are now. It's more of a promise now that you're standing in front of me right now Mister Changretta" (Red to Luca Changretta) (Red's Frustration level anger example)

"I haven't gotten close to getting who killed my parents. I fear I might die long before I get the chance to or find out they're already dead." (Red to Thomas Shelby)

"I don't pray to my gods, when I need help I pray to my ancestors as they are more than likely to listen and hear my words. As my gods are busy doing what they need to do." (Red to Thomas and Alfie)

"We can't have everything our own way, It's just how it is sometimes and sometimes it's not supposed to be nice or fair or kind. It's just supposed to be as raw and fresh as it is." (Red to Thomas Shelby after John's death)

"My mother would have loved to meet you, I know this for the fact that I see her more now than I ever had before." (Red to Thomas Shelby.)

"I'm unsure how to feel about it, if I'm being honest, I'm unsure and this is very unknown territory. Death hasn't shaken me, rattled me since I was fourteen and now, it just hurts just as much as it did before." (Red to Thomas about G's death)

"I have a certain condition that Galina was there to keep in check. But I'm fine honestly I'm fine."

"Don't bother her family, I already spoken to them about funeral arrangements and I paid for the funeral too. Last thing I want them to worry about is the cost of a funeral."

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder #peaky blinders au #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky fookin blinders #peaky fucking blinders #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #Alfie Solomons #Arthur Shelby #Luca Changretta #Aberama Gold #Polly Gray #Elizabeth Gray #oswald mosley #jack nelson #Red (Female Reader)

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ohgodnotanotheronenooo · 10 months

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Simon is known for his use of psychological manipulation in court. Among his tricks are flattery, suggestive persuasion, and implicit death threats. The latter especially comes in various forms, but one of his favorites is his use of iaijutsu with his fingers, causing a "slicing" effect that has been seen to slice a feather in half, and was even able to cut off a piece of Wright's hair. Although these threats are usually idle, they are part of a larger persona that he has built for himself, based off of his reputation as a ruthless convict on death row. This allows him to instill fear and uneasiness in others, including his prior primary target, the phantom.

A highly disciplined and focused man, Simon was capable of maintaining his false persona for seven years. Although his hands were in shackles, he could break them at any time, despite being fitted with stronger shackles every time he did so. His false testimony concerning killing Metis withstood several attacks by Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth without skipping a beat. However, underneath this act is a kind, lawful man who, despite his somewhat intimidating appearance, deeply cares about Athena, to the point of maintaining his guilt to the bitter end in order to protect her and keep the phantom guessing. When forced to testify about what he had really seen, he exhibited a raging whirlpool of emotions with Athena as the source. After the final resolution of the UR-1 Incident, he maintained many of his behavioral habits but finally showed his caring self again, thanking Aura for her efforts and apologizing for the suffering that he had caused her. However, despite caring about and believing in her, Simon isn't adverse to teasing Athena about her skill level and general lack of experience compared to her co-workers and himself. He also doesn't indulge in her occasional moments where her lack of confidence gets the better of her, preferring to instead make a good-natured snarky comment or directly telling her to pull herself together. The feeling is mutual, as Athena also cares significantly for Simon's wellbeing but also throws snark at his direction and pokes fun at his expense at times. Overall his approach can be best described as strict and akin to tough love, letting Athena work her way in and step in only when it is absolutely necessary for him to do so.

Simon has a dark and somewhat mischievous sense of humor that he mixes in with his intimidation tactics. He often tells larger-than-life stories of prisoners he has met, such as a surgeon or a captured ninja, usually to make a point. He also gives unflattering nicknames to just about everyone other than his rival attorneys, whom he addresses using the Japanese honorific "-dono". However, he has little patience for what he perceives as ridiculous, largely dismissing the many supernatural claims in the trial of Damian Tenma, being very reluctant to allow Wright to cross-examine the orca Orla and even leaving the courtroom after one witness gave a testimony he deemed "rubbish". Simon was also annoyed by Nahyuta Sahdmadhi's self-professed moral standing centered on his religion. Interestingly, he despised being called a panda.

For all his dangerous persona, Simon follows a code of honor. He believes trials to be duels in which prosecutors and defense attorneys wield "blades" to prove their respective cases, frequently preparing his finger iaijutsu while pressing the defense to present their arguments, further adding to his samurai moniker. He doesn't engage in illicit tactics contrary to his public reputation as a dangerous criminal, and his intimidation tactics, although questionable, are largely not deemed as underhanded. Conversely, he's disgusted by tactics he deems as cowardly or "cheap". For example, Sahdmadhi attempted to use Athena's emotional perception against her, both by swaying the gallery's opinion to break her morale, and by hiding vital information under the pretense of "witness privacy". Another was Professor Means's verbal harassment meant to inject insecurity and panic. In both instances, he actively sided with the defense to prove the opposing party wrong.

Simon has an affinity for Japanese culture, much like his mentor, Metis. He enjoys soba noodles and rakugo, a very traditional form of Japanese storytelling. His extensive knowledge on such subjects lead him to question whether or not Prosecutor Sahdmadhi was capable of taking on a case which revolved around both subjects.

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capisback · 3 years

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romance manga tend to be so bi-vibed because the girls tend to be attracted to girls a lot and sometimes it can get you a little giddy but then they say something incredibly homophobic and you’re like oh! forgot about that!

#italicised oh but in a very bad way #was reading some manga and noticed this again #main girl was like Oh no this girl is a total babe I'm getting distracted!!#and in another chapter she asked in an incredibly scared and shaky manner if perhaps her teacher was into men #only to be cut-off half way with the threat of death for even suggesting that #like haha wow thank you nice to be reminded homophobia's still a thing #cap talks

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yandere-daydreams · 3 years

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Title: Closed Casket.

Commissioned by the very lovely @99shadowcat99.

Pairing: Yandere!Demon Brothers/Reader (Obey Me).

Word Count: 2.4k.

TW: Toxic Relationships, Dehumanization, Codependence, Threats of Violence, Mentions of Death, Implied Imprisonment.

It was a closed-casket funeral.

For such a small detail, it bothered you more than it had any right to. You hadn’t been the one to arrange it, the one to speak to the undertaker and evaluate the damage – that was a responsibility that fell to her fiancé rather than you, a distant cousin, only brought up in conversations about postponed friendships and quickly thinning family trees. You’d done what you could to help, what a last living relative should do to help - paying for flower arrangements, speaking to financial advisors, sorting through her belongs and trying to guess at what might’ve held some sentimental value to someone more present in her life, but you never saw the body. No one ever offered, and you hadn’t known how to ask. She was gone, now, dead and buried, and you'd never gotten to see her, even if everyone who had said that it was probably for the best.

And it probably was. They were probably right. You wouldn’t feel any better, if you had.

And yet, you found it difficult to believe you could feel any worse than you did now, either.

Belphegor was curled around your arm. He had been since you came back from the Human World, slotted against your side, draped over your shoulders, and currently, splayed out on top of you, his face buried in the flesh just above your shoulder blade, his body forcibly tangled with yours in a way that was too awkward to be comfortable for both of you, a sacrifice he seemed more than willing to make on your behalf. You’d tried to shrug him off earlier, when he first decided there was enough space on the smallest loveseat in the common room for his strange, daily ritual, and when that failed, you’d tried to talk him into letting go, into loosening his grip enough for you to slip away when he fell asleep, into relocating to somewhere else, somewhere softer, somewhere with a pillow that could easily replace you when he was too busy tossing and turning to care, but Belphegor had always been so frustratingly picky when it came to where, how, and when he chose to sleep.

He’d chosen you, and he’d chosen like this, and he’d chosen now. There was little you could do to change his mind, after he’d already made it up.

Still, you tried. He wasn’t asleep yet, caught somewhere between permanently half-conscious state and a sleep deep enough to warrant medical concern for most living creatures, supernaturally inclined or otherwise. “Belphie,” You called, gently, pushing the temptation to try more forceful methods into the back of your mind. “Think you pick another spot? Just for today?”

“Can’t.” It was a simple response, his voice heavy with sourceless exhaustion, just as short and just as blunt as it had been the last time you asked. You weren’t sure what you’d expected, honestly. “You were gone. I can’t.”

Your frown deepened. You’d left for a week – nine days, at most. And Belphegor couldn’t have been awake for more than half of that. “That’s not--”

“He was lonely, sweetheart.” It was Asmodeus, this time, as he perched himself on the loveseat’s arm. He wasn’t any better than Belphie, nimble fingertips soon tracing aimless patterns over the side of your neck, the dip of your shoulder, taking up the space he could occupy since the space he’d like to was already in-use. “He’ll get better, in a few days. Once it sinks in that you won't be leaving again.”

You were out of practice. A month ago, you would’ve known better than to respond, than to ask questions to someone who took as much delight in festering doubts as Asmodeus did. A month ago, you would’ve brushed him off and found your way to Purgatory Hall for the rest of the night. But, it wasn’t a month ago, and you were tired. You were still thinking about that casket, and you couldn’t seem to think of much else. “What do you mean?”

“Oh?” There was a pause, a laugh, light and melodic and fluttering. You’d always liked his laugh. You could bring yourself to enjoy it, though, not right now. “No one’s told you, yet?”

“Don’t tease ‘em.” You hadn’t noticed how full the common room had gotten, not until Mammon spoke and you reflexively turned to face the sofa opposite to yours. He was standing, leaning against the back, his hands clasped in a way that’d put his anxiety on display far more transparently than his voice ever could. Beelzebub, too, his arms crossed over his chest as his attention shifted idly between you, the console in Leviathan’s hands, and the book splayed out in Satan's lap, his scowl serving as evidence of his annoyance. It always bothered you, how easily he grew frustrated by situations he chose to put himself in. It bothered you a little more, today. “Might as well spit it out, if you’re going to bring it up,” Mammon went on, shifting his weight, letting his eyes fall to the floor, then rise to the ceiling, then drift back to you. “There’s no point putting it off.”

“Weren’t you supposed to tell them, Mammon?” Beelzebub chimed in, absent-mindedly. If it'd been Satan, if it'd been Lucifer, it would’ve been pointed, malicious, purposeful. Beelzebub just sounded like he was trying to remind his older brother of something he’d forgotten. “You said you should be the one to do it, since you met them first. Then, when Lucifer said you wouldn’t be able to do it, you said that if the human threw a tantrum, you could just--”

“I didn’t say shit.” Mammon cut him off, his tone hostile, but it was a half-hearted anger, more petty than vengeful. “I said I could, not that I would, and Lucifer shot me down. If he hadn’t, there’d already be a deadbolt on every fucking door in the house. We wouldn’t be sitting around, talkin’ about it.”

“Every door?” Beelzebub looked confused. Then, he looked concerned. “I thought we agreed to just seal the exits.”

“I still think we should just use their bedroom,” Leviathan chimed in, never looking up from his hand-held. Something tightened in the back of your throat. Experimentally, you tried to pull yourself out of Belphegor’s arms, but he only held you tighter, and Asmodeus’ nails dug into your shoulder, rooting you back into place without a single word. “It’d be cool, kinda like a permanent save-point. We wouldn’t have to worry about baby-proofing the entire house, either.”

“We could use a leash,” Asmodeus suggested, never breaking his stare. He didn’t look away. You wished he would. You wished they’d, if nothing else, have the courtesy to wait until you’d left the room to start talking about things you didn’t know and didn’t want to know. “So we can make sure they’re always close by! Or, we could have Lucifer enchant a collar – having to hold a tether might get in way when I have to--”

“He’d never do it.” It was the first time Satan had cut in, but it was clear he’d been listening. His book was still open, his expression still concentrated, but he was tapping his foot, the disruption soundless against the thick carpeting, and you couldn’t remember the last time he thought to pretend to turn a page. He was listening, but he didn’t want to be. He was a part of this, but you doubted he’d every say as much out loud. You doubted he’d ever let himself admit he’d stooped to that level. “And if he did, we’d never hear the end of it. In a week, there’d probably be a new kennel in the catacombs, right next to Ceberus’.” He stopped, for a moment, shaking his head. For your own sake, your chose to believe the envy lingering behind his voice was his attempt at a bad joke. “You would prefer a bedroom, wouldn’t you, (Y/n)?”

He asked you a question. He was talking to you, now, directly, which was more than you could say for any of his brothers. It should’ve been an improvement. An opportunity, if nothing else, a chance to ask why Asmodeus was looking at you like that, why you could feel Belphegor’s careless smile pressing into your skin, but you hesitated, something catching in your chest. It felt too solid, too heavy, too rough and too jagged. It felt like it’d hurt to swallow down, later on, once the unease passed and you got over whatever scheme they’d planned out, while you were gone.

“I… What?” You weren’t sure what you wanted to say, but it came out as a question regardless, your reluctance blending messily with your confusion. “This isn’t funny. If you’re going to act like this every time I visit the Human World, I might have to stop coming back.”

Finally, Satan glanced up from his book. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve said he was smiling. “Right. Because you still think you're allowed to leave.”

The rest of the room fell silent. Or, maybe it didn’t, maybe it was louder than it'd ever been. You didn’t know. You couldn't hear anything, not over the sudden ringing in your ears. “I’ll have to, eventually. It’s not up to me.”

Beelzebub shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. “It’d be safer if you stayed in the Devildom. We can’t protect you in the Human World.”

Leviathan’s grip tightened around his console. In the background, you could hear the plastic shell start to crack. “We wouldn’t be able to see you. Not all the time. Not for more than a few weeks at a time.” He was quiet, for a moment. Then, he added, “It wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t… It wouldn’t feel like it does when you’re here.”

Mammon looked away, letting his head lull to the side. “You belong here, with us. You’re supposed to be here. We’re just doin’ you a favor. No one wants to watch you figure out how fucked you’d be on your own.”

And, finally, Belphegor groaned, exhaustion heavy in the gravely sound. He untangled himself from you, but the freedom was temporary, fleeting, his arms snaking around your waist, instead, his face soon gracelessly buried in your chest. His eyes flickered open, but barely, just enough to let him stare up at you through his eyelashes, a thoughtless grin pulling at the corners of his lips. He wasn’t divided, not like his brothers were. He didn’t try to pretend he was above holding you against your will. “You're not leaving again.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a threat. It was just a fact, to him. It was something that wouldn’t happen, that couldn’t happen, if only because his older brothers were willing to work so hard to make sure it didn’t. “We’re not gonna share you, anymore. We’re not gonna have to.”

You didn’t want to hear anything else. You didn’t want to be here, anymore, not if this was what it meant, not if it was going to feel like standing in front of that closed casket all over again, the urge to run and sob and scream silencing every reasonable thought you’d ever had. You didn’t bother trying to talk to Asmodeus and Belphegor, you didn’t bother trying to coo and edge and skirt around their anger, their unspoken threats, not anymore, not when your body was already standing on its own, shoving at Belphegor’s body and swatting at Asmodeus’ hand as he reached out, aiming to cup your cheek and tell you so gently to sit down and shut up. Beelzebub leaned forward, Mammon flinched, and you could’ve sworn you caught a row of long, pointed fangs flash across Satan’s sneer, but you didn’t care. You wanted to hit something. You wanted to yell. You’d wanted to ever since you came back to this damned house and its overly affectionate occupants.

“You don’t get to share me.” You couldn’t be shared. You weren’t theirs to share, even if they already seemed geared against the idea. You weren’t theirs to trap, either. You never would be. “I don’t need your protection, and you don’t need to see me, and the only place I’m supposed to be is the Human World. I don’t know what got into your fucked-up heads while I was gone, but you can’t just--”

“Sit down, (Y/n).”

You stopped mid-sentence.

Right. You’d almost forgotten Lucifer hadn't gotten a chance say his piece, yet.

He didn’t give you time to cooperate. There was already a fist curled around the back of your collar, dragging you back into your seat, the action so much more aggressive than Belphegor’s oppressive dead-weight or Amsodeus’ sweet, sickly temptation. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel Lucifer looming over you, standing tall, towering above his younger brothers as he took control of the room. You wondered if he’d been here the entire time, if he’d heard everything, rather than just your sudden outburst. You wondered if you should hope that he had.

“We missed you, while you were gone.” He didn’t sound mad. He didn’t sound mad, but none of them did, none of them sounded like they were plotting to keep you away from your home, your friends, the life you had outside of demons and angels and magic. None of them sounded dangerous, either, save for Lucifer. He’d always been easier to trust when he wasn’t pretending to be kind. “We’ve all been alive for centuries, and yet, you went and made a week feel like a small eternity. Do you know how difficult it is for a human to inflict that kind of suffering onto a demon?”

You didn’t answer. Across the room, Mammon laughed and Satan bristled. Belphegor melted back into your side, more than happy just to have his resting place scared into immobility.

“You’ll stay.” It was an order, this time. Not a suggestion, not a passing concern, but a command, something you would be expected to obey. He had the nerve to use that low, calm cadence, measured and pre-meditated. He didn’t want to let you convince yourself he was as prone to bluffing as his brothers were. “You’ll stay because we want you to. We’re willing to use force, but there’s no need for that. Is there, love?”

You nodded, your body tense and your eyes glassy, and Lucifer rewarded you with a breathy chuckle, a row of knuckles delicately pressed to your cheek. A miserable reward for such an unwilling sacrifice, but Lucifer didn’t seem to mind. It certainly didn’t stop him from leaning in, his lips brushing against the top of your head, his voice falling just low enough to make something sharp and cold shot down your spine, as he went on.

“It’s not like you have anything to go back to, anymore.”

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whirlybirbs · 3 years

Text

( this chapter’s gif by @august-walker from this beautiful set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 4/?

summary: you formulate a plan, meet steve rogers, and bucky goes on a date.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.8k, mother of pearl

a/n: this ended up being mostly a filler with a lot of romantic growth - i had to break this chapter up from the unce unce unce clubbing that coming up, so please enjoy!

( PREVIOUSLY | AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT )

MOSCOW, 1975.

In all the years that James Buchanan Barnes has had a heartbeat, he’d come to know the sounds of grief well.

War taught him a lot of things — that they were all just little boys playing with guns, and that no matter how many times you thought you’d be ready for the vomit-inducing pungency of violence, you never were. In the end, you’d do anything to save yourself; you’d crawl through the thick of death and debris a million times over if only to cling to the shredded tatters of your own humanity.

You would kill someone else’s son for the sake of your own mother.

War was disease that devoured every part of you — it was gunpowder snuff and carved flesh. That sickness — inky and desperate — had sunk deep into this heart during the war, and it crescendoed to the sounds of mothers clutching dead sons. The sounds that followed death were like a hollow opera. Waning and wailing.

In the raucous wake left by warborn grief, Bucky drowned everytime.

To the Winter Soldier, the operatic quality to the sounds of grief were as insignificant as a child’s rhyme.

He did not drown. No, he waded through the waves, comfortable in the cold and unphased by the stinging cut of loss. That was not something he could comprehend. After all, there were orders and there were targets, and everything in between was absolute.

He was the disease that devoured all.

He’s holding a gun to Andrei Kuznetzov’s head in a dining room with ornate trim — with silverware as delicate as scalpels that tinker against fine china. The carpets are red, the curtains are red, there’s blood on the table cloth. The guests continue to eat. Kuznetzov’s wife is screaming, red nails dug so deep into the dining chair’s arms it’s carving out the fabric. War dogs, like him, keep her rooted in her seat, and her tears find polished boots. She’s begging and bartering but the man with Kuznetzov’s life in his hands is not listening. He is eating his veal, bloodied meat dancing between his lips. He takes a sip of wine as his medal emblazoned chest glimmers in the light of crystalline chandaliers.

The spoils of war.

His smile is stained red.

There is no deal to be made.

The Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.

NOW.

His eyes are open.

Panic is the first emotion he feels, and it seizes him up quickly in its grasp. He doesn’t know this view, he doesn’t know where he is, not again, not again, not again —

Then:

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Did you know you snore?”

The relief that the sound of your voice brings is immediate, and just like that he remembers. He’s laying on the bed. You’re sat up across from him at that small desk in the corner. He reaches as he rubs his face to thumb the edge of the pillowcase. He exhales tightly.

He’s fine. His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He is not longer the Winter Soldier. He’s in his Brooklyn apartment. He is fine.

When’s the last fucking time he’s slept in a bed?

He sits up, scratching his neck as he does. You lean back, half rotated in the desk. Before you is a mess of papers and his laptop — and on top of the keyboard sits his notebook. It’s open to the page where all he’d been able to figure out about Innessa was scrawled in his chicken scratch.

Bucky swings his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately his back complains.

“How long was I out?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep. He moves to part the curtains. The room blooms with warm morning light.

You offer an apologetic smile into the vanilla sunshine. “Three hours. I wanted you to get some shut eye. You were starting to look a little overwhelmed last night—”

“You click too fast,” he waves, standing and immediately rolling his neck to the side. You watch as the man, before as peaceful as a sleeping pup, now regains his usual thinning veiled level of threat. Bucky is dangerous — it shows in the way he holds himself. He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, and groans. He exhales again, posture sagging a bit, “I couldn’t keep up.”

You’re standing now, socks padding against the hardwood as you eye his cowlick with a budding bloom of affection. With his notebook between your index and middle finger, you offer it out. You cling to your empty coffee cup in the other.

“I didn’t peek,” you say warmly, “Pinky promise.”

His laugh is more like a hot puff of air. Bucky manages a look that feels like an emotional dethaw.

“Thank you.”

You lead the way to the kitchen, stretching your own back as you go. You’d been up all night — this is your third trip out here for yet another cup of coffee. The pot has been on for too long, though, and you know the coffee sitting there is beyond bitter. You’re moving to dump it down the sink when Bucky grumbles.

“Don’t.”

“You want it?”

“No,” he mutters, reaching for a mug, “But I don’t want to waste it.”

“Wow,” you chirp, “The Great Depression just jumped out.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, yanking open the fridge to search for something to eat, “It does that.”

“Well, grandpa,” you hand him the steaming cup and set out to make another pot, “You’re also living on Depression Era rations — might I suggest some Dolly’s? Because I’m starving and I’ve been up all night and I think that means I get to decide where we get breakfast.”

Bucky’s look is soft — but you don’t see it. You’re too busy scooping sugar into your cup, too busy nudging him aside to grab the milk. He’s rooted there in the kitchen, watching you move about. You’re comfortable. There isn’t a trace of anxiousness in you, not in this moment, and he tries to remember what it looks like.

Your eyes find his and he clears his throat.

“Earth to Sergeant Barnes?”

“Don’t start,” he groans, albeit playfully, “It’s too early.”

“Oh, what? Too early for me to grill you on why you didn’t tell me that little laptop in there was on loan from the FBI? To one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th?”

His face falls.

“Don’t worry,” you raise a hand quickly, leaning against the counter as you sip your coffee, “I figured that out before I did anything massively illegal.”

Bucky rubs his face as he takes a sip of his coffee — the bitterness is enough to slap him awake. He winces, swallows it back, and remembers the taste of instant coffee made in helmets on the line in Bastogne. He can smell snow, and the acrid sting of mortar smoke. Suddenly, he’s craving a cigarette.

That hasn’t happened in a while.

Bucky clears his throat. “Did you find anything?”

You frown slightly, lips pulled as you hide your inward disappointment — you push off from the counter and shake your head as you brush past him. Like a loyal dog, Bucky follows. Into the bedroom you go, and Bucky’s again surprised he managed to get any sleep at all in that bed. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone else there, or the genuine exhaustion that had finally choked him out after hours of trying to understand what the hell you were even doing on there.

You plop into the desk chair and snatch up a piece of paper littered with notes.

“I couldn’t do much of my usual snooping,” you explain gently as you gesture to the chromebook, “This thing might have been given to you in good faith, but they’re watching you pretty closely. So, I worked a little magic and ended up running a virtual machine. Gave me enough wiggle room to avoid the malware and keystroke trackers. Even still, I wanted to be careful, so I just did a little looking.”

“Looking?”

“I can’t dig deeper on Innessa, I know where to dig, but I can’t,” you frown, “Not on this laptop, and definitely not on my personal machines. I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and the files I need to poke are very much off-limits.”

“So, what? We’re shit out of luck?”

“No, not entirely,” you stand up and motion to the paper in your hands; your tone is tight, “I know a few people who can help, but getting to them is going to be the hardest part.”

Bucky takes the paper, squinting at the writing as you settle on the edge of the bed next to him. You take a sip of your coffee and watch as his blue eyes dart across the notes; you point to the name scrawled across the top.

“There’s a club in lower Manhattan, but you’ve gotta know the right people to get in,” you mumble, scratching your cheek as a creeping sense of embarrassment bubbles up behind your words, “It’s in the basement of an old computer repair shop. It’s like a blackhat networking event, but with strippers.”

Bucky squints at the paper and reads the name. “The Glass Cannon?”

“Yeah,” you huff, crossing your arms tightly as you stand, “That’s the one.”

Bucky looks up from the paper, attention now rooted on the pacing you’ve begun to do across the room. Back and forth. You’re holding your coffee like a lifeline, gaze far away. That anxiousless way you’d been holding yourself before is gone. Now, he can see the tensing in your shoulders, in your fingers. You’re suddenly nervous.

Bucky stands. His voice is gentle.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you snap almost immediately, “Just, y’know. Worried. I spent a lot of time there when I was younger. Did stupid shit. And now I’m about to waltz in after six years like I haven’t put that part of my life behind me.”

“We don’t have to do this,” he says immediately, moving to stand closer and halt your pacing. The invasion of your space forces you to look at him. His fingers glimmering in the morning light. You follow the line of his figure up to his eyes. The emotion there makes your heart clench. You can’t pin it down, and it’s gone in an instant.

“It’s the only way we’re going to find Innessa.”

“You don’t need to put yourself in situations like this for me,” he says, stressing the for me part in both expression and tone. The depreciation makes you wince and you’re fast to shake your head.

“That’s what friends do, Bucky,” you stand your ground, but you know there’s more to your reasoning than that, “Plus, she’s a bad guy. And I know you said I technically wasn’t the sidekick, but—”

“You’re not the sidekick—”

“I know,” you huff, nudging him gently with your arm, “But, I wanna help. Do some good.”

“You do enough good,” he mutters, “You’re a good person.”

Your words fail you at that — and your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Bucky watches with an expression as solid as rock as you blink and look away. His hand, the one of flesh and bone, finds your wrist as you tighten your grip on your mug.

The touch, though far too tender for you to handle, feels like fire.

Like a slap in the face, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky is.

You slap that thought back, trading volleys, and remain quiet.

His tone is stern. “I mean it.”

“Well,” you finally muster, tone dipping sardonically into a cruel peel of humor, “Just wait until you see me in my natural habitat. Maybe the tequila shots will make you second guess that.”

“I didn’t know we were going out drinking,” he chirps as he raises an eyebrow, “Am I going to need to get you a leash?”

“We’re gonna have to try and blend in as best we can. People are going to know me — if they try to pin me with the GRC or the feds, we aren’t going to get anything on Innessa. They probably won’t even let me in the building if they suspect something’s up, after all not everything that goes down in Glass Cannon is kosher.”

“This is already sounding like a bad idea,” Bucky mumbles as he crosses his arms, “I’m stating that for the record, by the way.”

“Well, I think standing around and working ourselves up about this is even worse of an idea,” you chirp back, moving towards the door to muscle on your shoes, “So I say we feed ourselves and don’t worry about this until Thursday night.”

“Thursday.”

You nod.

All of a sudden, Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“Today is Sunday.”

You freeze, hand on the doorframe. You shoot him a wide-eyed look at the sudden flare of panic that’s shot up through him. “Yea, Bucky, today is Sunday.”

“Shit.”

“What?” you nearly cry as he disappears into the bedroom once more. You hear his closet open, then a clatter as he grabs something like keys — you nearly run directly into his chest when he strides back into the kitchen. He’s shouldered on his usual leather jacket, and in his hands is another.

He’s got keys in his hand.

“C’mon.”

He shoves the jacket into your arms and you frown.

“What the hell?” you cry, doubling back to snag your phone and bag as Bucky moves to the door, “What is this?”

“Put it on,” he says, holding open the door for you as you follow him into the apartment hallway.

You raise a brow and stand there as he locks the door.

“Why?”

“Because,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face as he widens his strides to the stairwell across the hall; before you know it, you’re desperately trying to keep up as he bounces down the steps — light on his feet like the boxer he is — towards the lower level of the apartment complex, “We’re late.”

You groan, trying to shrug on the jacket that smells like Bucky as you follow — a smell you’d come to know as clean laundry and sandalwood. Must be something for his hair. He never wore cologne, that much was apparent. The jacket is big on you, especially on the shoulders. You were swimming in it, trying not to trip as he held the door open to the garage.

Suddenly, the air is cooler. Immediately you wonder how much his rent is if he had access to a ground level garage. Call it NYC instinct.

“Bucky,” you nearly whine, throwing your head back, “Where are we going?”

Before you get a reply, you run straight into his back. Bucky grunts, moving to grab both of your hands and push you to the front of him.

Sitting in the spot is a motorcycle.

It’s a jet black Harley.

Bucky is handing you the helmet on the back seat as your mouth moves in disbelief. “No way— no, I’m not getting on that thing. I’d rather sell my kidneys. Stop, stop — ow, Bucky — you haven’t even said where we’re going!”

He’s muscling the helmet onto your head and through the flash of the visor you can see a real smile, the sort born out of his never-ending amusement towards your fickle sense of humor. His fingers are nimble against your chin. He takes the time to strap it on, adjust it, and give it a gentle tug. Bucky taps the matte black helmet twice, then flicks the visor down.

“We’re going upstate.”

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

It takes two hours to get to Elmwood Senior Living.

You spent the first forty-five minutes clinging to Bucky’s waist with your eyes closed — no fault of Bucky’s, really. It was different from riding in a car by miles, and you had your own qualms with driving. You couldn’t be in the passenger’s seat anymore. Not after the accident with Jaimie, when Mom disappeared. Being out of control made you itch; and it’s not until the fifty-minute mark that you ease up on the panic and remember who the man is that’s driving the bike.

You trust Bucky. You trust him with your life.

Once it’s open road, winding up towards the Northern part of the state, it gets easier.

Bucky can feel your grip around his waist loosen just a bit — and it’s enough reassurance that he stops looking back in the mirror every fifteen seconds. It’s enough permission to open up on the throttle, and the bike roars alive. Your immediate reaction is a gobsmacked yelp, the sort that’s pulled from a jolt of shock, but then comes the laugh.

Bucky’s own quiet chuckle rumbles against your chest. You hold on tighter, but this time with open palms against the thrum of his ribs.

Halfway through the trip, he pulls into a McDonald’s.

You drop your ass onto the parking lot’s curb as he leans against the bike and houses a burger. You laugh, eyeing him candidly as you take a large bite from your own lunch. Bucky is a mess with it — cursing quietly when he ends up getting ketchup on his jacket.

“Shit.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” you mutter, “Did you even taste that thing?”

“Barely,” he clears his throat and starts picking at his fries, “These things taste different now. First time I ever had McDonald’s was right before bootcamp.”

“How much was it? Five cents?” you snort, leaning back and dropping a fry into your mouth.

Bucky watches with a half-smirk. “Fifteen, but nice try.”

He spends the next five minutes on his hand with a wet nap, trying hard to get the grease out of the delicate plates along his palm. You watch, as you knock back the rest of your soda, as his eyes crinkle tightly in frustration. His mouth is pulled tightly into a fine line. For the second time today, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky Barnes is — and how fucking stubborn he is, too.

“Want help?”

“No,” he mutters, trying to get a spot between his thumb and index finger, “I got it.”

“I have smaller fingers,” you sing-song, gathering up his trash and your trash and crossing the parking lot to the bin; upon returning, you waggle them in his face, “Good for hard to reach places.”

Bucky absolutely hates that can feel his blush hit the tips of his ears at the comment.

He’s glad you’re too preoccupied with his hand to notice. You’re watching, like you always do, with respectful awe. To you, this part of him is a bit like a treasure — you find it beautiful and intriguing and incredible. It’s clear in the way you watch the mechanisms turn and tighten that you aren’t frightened by it.

It unsettles Bucky every time.

Finally, once he’s finished under your watchful eyes, he leans to muscle that helmet back over your head. You groan, squinting tightly.

“C’mon,” he knocks your helmet with his knuckles, “We’re almost there.”

The rest of the ride is wide open space, farm land and mountainous peaks looming far ahead. It’s warm, and the sun is hot on your back. The wind is howling around you and it sends your jacket collar flapping against your neck. Your chin rests neatly on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to get a view of the road ahead.

Elmwood Senior Living is tucked into the back of a suburb.

The two of you weave through a neighborhood or two, dancing under the shade of age old maple trees. They cast long, scattered shadows across the pavement as kids play on their lawns. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. Over the hill, church bells ring. Sunday service has ended.

Bucky rolls into the parking lot, past the large sign with swirling lettering. Suddenly, things make more sense. Suddenly, you’re struck with a sinking feeling of grief. Nostalgia. Mourning. But, happiness.

There are folks sitting outside, basking in the sun, tethered to walkers.

Bucky’s wrists crank back weathered knuckles, and slowly the bike rumbles into an open spot. Extending his legs, Bucky balances the bike with ease. You take that as your cue to swing yourself off the back clumsily, hopping a bit. Bucky leans, kicks the stand down, and with significantly more grace than you, swings his leg over.

You’re shrugging his jacket off when he speaks.

“He’s going to be different than how you imagine him.”

You exhale slowly, draping the jacket over the bike’s seat. You peel the helmet off.

“I’ve sort of pieced that together.”

You can see the slight discomfort hanging in his posture. You reach and touch Bucky’s arm.

“Come on,” you nod to the entrance, covered by a shady overhang where someone is helping a family member out of their car, “We don’t wanna be late, huh?”

His eyes soften. Bucky nods.

You walk side-by-side into the lobby of Elmwood Senior Living and it’s like time slows down. It halts in a warm, sunshine colored still — full of chatter, full of humanity, full of wisdom. The room is framed by big windows, by plants, by a man in a U.S. Navy ball cap. He’s stationed by the door, watching the comings and goings. The main desk, where a young woman watches, sits in the corner. You follow Bucky with a content little look. He notices.

He stands a little closer at the main desk. The girl, who looks like she’s incredibly out of place with her blue hair and piercings, is younger than you thought. Highschool, maybe. She offers Bucky an excited smile.

“Took you long enough,” she chirps, moving to sort through a bin to her side with key fobs.

Your brows raise. You spy calculus homework on the desk.

Bucky snorts. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He notices the same problem set you so, and purposely leans over the desk. Suddenly, you’re seeing flashes of a more boyish version of Bucky — one that reminds you of a man with siblings. Bucky taps the paper, jutting a chin to the girl as she tries to swat his attention away.

“How’d you do on that test?”

“I got a 96,” she chirps pridefully, laughing, “Thanks for the help, nerd.”

You’re watching the entire exchange with a smile, backing up a bit to toss a curious glance over your shoulder. There’s a dining room through open doors — and looks like lunch is just wrapping up. Folks are moving around, back to their rooms or upstairs where you can hear the beginnings of a seated aerobics class begin.

Bucky nudges you with his hand.

“Thanks, Sarah,” he says and waves the key she’d handed over.

The girl with the blue hair scoffs. “Say hi to grandpa for me, Bucket.”

You laugh out loud as Bucky quickly flips her off. She’s quick to do the same.

You follow him around the corner, grinning ear to ear. He spares you a sheepish look, then rolls his eyes.

“What was that?”

“She’s a good kid,” he offers, eyeing the key with the grey little fob attached, “Reminds me of my sister.”

Your face softens. “Sister?”

“Her name was Sarah, too,” he says quietly, boots landing softly on the blue carpet. He’s navigating the residential wing like he’s done it a million times. There are rooms with flowers outside, with holiday garb, with little photos and keepsakes. Each room holds a lifetime of personality — the sound of Jeopardy lulls along in the background.

You hum. Bucky sighs.

He meanders down a long hallway where a different door is — this one heavy and locked by the little keypad. Bucky raises the key fob to the device and the door buzzes.

This side of Elmwood is quieter.

Down the hall, Timmy Dorsey and Sinatra play quietly over someone’s record player.

There aren’t as many folks in the hall in this wing, but doors are open and nurses flit about. Around the corner, there’s a loud conversation going on about lunch — and you watch as Bucky weaves towards the nursing station. It’s a room overlooking the common area with windows. Inside are three women.

One of them immediately jumps when she sees Bucky.

“Oh, good! I was meaning to talk to you—”

“Everything alright?”

“About the same,” she breathes as she stands, moving to grab at a Bucky’s arm with a sense of motherliness that makes you smile, “But, meals have been a bit difficult lately.”

“No kidding,” he mutters, rubbing his chin, “He just doesn’t wanna eat?”

“He thinks Peggy is coming home,” the woman whispers with a pained smile as she begins to lead you both down the hall, “He thinks your grandmother made dinner for him.”

“Right,” Bucky nods, “Doesn’t wanna ruin his appetite.”

“Exactly.”

You take note of the conversation, muddling through your own confusion. You’re quiet, though. This isn’t really your conversation to have. Bucky seems to be relaxed more — even humming slightly to a song that plays across the hall from the room the nurse is knocking on.

“Mr. Carter?” she calls gently, “Your grandson is here to see you, and his…”

She looks expectantly at you. You bawk.

“Friend.”

“Right,” she smiles and pushes open the door.

It’s like a little slice of home.

Sofas, chairs, photos on the walls. There’s a record player in the corner, a television, a coffee table stacked with books on the second world war. There’s a dresser covered in baubles and warm light coming in from the window overlooking the street. It reminds you of your grandparents’ sitting room — everything looks so lived in, so comfortable, so alive.

And then, below the light of the window, is a hospital bed.

In it is Steve Rogers.

Not the one you know — no, this one has lived a full life. This Steve Rogers has fallen in love, owned a home, settled down. This Steve Rogers has years of wisdom settled into his face, years of well-fought fights in his joints. His blonde hair has gone shock white, but his smile is all the same.

“Bucky.”

The way Steve says his name is like the man beside you holds the world.

To Bucky, he can hear a new weakness. A new exhaustion.

“Hi, punk.”

The nurse offers a little wave to you as Bucky ventures into the room, stripping his jacket off and moving to scope out the minifridge in the small kitchenette beside the bathroom. She leaves the door open, and you smile to her softly. Bucky rummages, poking his head up.

“You want a drink, Steve?” he asks, tone almost like he’s feeling out the lucidity of the man across the room, “There’s some of that lemonade I brought last week in here.”

“Sounds good,” he says slowly, “Please.”

You feel out of place — not unwelcome, but… it’s clear that Bucky has come and gone from here a thousand times now. He knows to get the glasses out, to get a straw, to turn down the record player on his way over. Doris Day’s voice lowers to a soft croon. You watch with heavy eyes.

“I brought someone, Steve,” Bucky says, “She’s a big fan.”

“Oh?” Steve asks with a slow look to the corner where you’re standing, “That musta broke your heart.”

Bucky snorts as he moves to swing the hospital bed’s tray over Steve’s lap. He places the lemonade down, then the other glass on the nightstand. He’s quick to move the armchair closer to the nightstand, and gestures for you to come over. Bucky’s hands guide you by the shoulders as he plops you into the chair.

“She’s one of the good ones,” Bucky says, “Reminds me of you.”

“No kidding,” Steve says slowly, offering a hand that shakes, “Steve Rogers. It’s a pleasure.”

You exchange your name with a shy look, shaking that hand with reverence and gentility. “It’s an honor, Mr. Rogers.”

“Please,” he mumbles, moving to slowly take a sip of his lemonade, “Steve is fine.”

Bucky moves to take up a post on the opposite side of Steve, in the sun. “You’re losin’ weight, y’know.”

That earns him a wave of the hand.

Bucky leans back and sips his lemonade. He waggles a finger and you watch the two begin to go back and forth.

“No, no,” he swallows, “No, you don’t get t’ shrug me off—”

“M’fine, Buck,” a sigh, “Really.”

“Mhm,” he narrows his eyes, “You’re startin’ to look like the Steve I knew before the serum.”

You lean back, hiding a quiet smirk behind your hand.

“I was wondering when you were gonna show up an’ pester me,” he says with a tired look, “The only peace I get around here is when Peggy comes home.”

Your eyes jump to Bucky. He’s watching you.

“Peggy?” you ask gently, “Is that your wife?”

A proud smile washes over his face. “Still knocks me for a loop, too.”

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is gentle, “Peggy won’t be coming around for a while. Remember?”

There’s a look that flashes across Steve’s face, then. A mixture of sadness, of confusion, of panic. It’s clouded with a furrow of his brow, hidden by a tilt of the head. He looks at Bucky, mouth pulled in a fine line.

When he finally speaks, his voice is sad.

“That’s right. I forgot.”

“S’alright,” Bucky taps his head, maintaining an air of nonchalance, “That’s why you got me.”

“And why you’ve got her, no doubt,” he turns to you with a winning smile and offers his hand again, “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

You take it, you shake it, and you introduce yourself once more. Your smile is patient and understanding. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Steve.”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. Steve smiles, tossing Bucky a look that borders on mischievous.

He sips his lemonade and clears his throat. “How is Sam?”

“You ask every time,” Bucky mutters, “And every time I have the same answer.”

“Sam?” you ask slowly.

“Wilson,” Bucky finishes, “Bird man.”

“You mean Falcon,” you correct, shooting him a stern look, “The Falcon. Are you ghosting The Falcon?”

“I don’t know what that even means, so maybe,” Bucky leans back and crosses his legs, “I’ve been busy.”

You roll your eyes. Steve saw. He smiles.

“I’m gettin’ why he keeps you around.”

Your face is smacked with a look of pure joy.

“C’mon on now,” Bucky cries, nearly indignantly, “No flirting—”

“M’ not flirting—”

“I know that look, Steve—”

Steve is laughing.

Bucky has a stern look in his eye. “You always do this—”

“I’m not doin’ a damn thing—”

“And you better keep it that way, old man,” Bucky shirks, voice splintering into a laugh in a way that you’ve never heard before, “I swear, this is how it always goes.”

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, huh, Buck?” you ask gently, leaning your cheek into your hand.

Steve laughs loudly at that.

Bucky spares you a smile — the sort that’s drenched in good humor and sunlight. It makes your lungs flutter, and you ignore the buzz in your fingers at the sight. You hide your laugh into your cup of lemonade, resigning to be a quiet counterpart in the conversation.

The two of them go on to chat about small things, then chat about old things. From the Commandos, to HYDRA, to amends, to therapy, to Peggy, to the itch the starch of their old dress uniforms used to bring. It takes a bit, a few redirections on the way, but it’s clear by the end why Steve Rogers is in Elmwood’s memory unit.

It makes your heart ache.

And if a super soldier is bed-ridden…

The two of you say goodbye around three in the afternoon after Bucky helps Steve shave.

The walk back to the bike is quiet.

Bucky speaks first.

“He’s dying.”

You chew your lip, eyes on the pavement. You match his slow stride, bumping your elbow with his as you walk. It’s still warm, and the clouds hang high in the sky. When you look up, Bucky’s watching you. You sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you finally muster, “I am.”

“Don’t be,” he says, grabbing the jacket from the seat and holding it up, “He’s lived a long life.”

You let Bucky hold out the arm for you, and you press your hand through the sleeve. He helps the other side on, and you zip it up to your chin. When you turn around to face him, there are tears in your eyes.

They snuck up on you. You hadn’t realized it until Bucky’s face fell, until the first one fell along the weathered leather of the jacket. You blink, raising your brows as you swipe them away, and offer an apologetic look.

“I’m happy,” you say, “Y’know. He has you. But, he’s a man out of time. Even now. That makes me sad.”

Bucky’s quiet for a while. He’s leaned up against the bike as you turn and watch Elmwood from the back of the parking lot. There’s a big part of you that feels heavy with guilt — and though Steve was in good spirits when you left, you can’t help but ache to provide him with more company. It’s clear that seeing Bucky means a lot to him, and that in turn it means a lot to the man beside you.

“Come on,” Bucky says then, “Let’s go home.”

You nod, let him muscle that helmet onto your head one more time, and hold on a little tighter back to the city.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

You don’t see Bucky until Tuesday.

In all honesty, it feels weird to not hear from him for two days. At the very least, you expected some sort of phone call — but you remind yourself that you’ve been okay alone for a long time. There’s no need to throw all your work on being comfortable by yourself out the window for Bucky Barnes.

It’s tempting, though. God, it’s really tempting.

You hate the ache in your chest when you finally see him lumbering towards the cafe counter before your appointments. You hate this new feeling — so you shove it down and ignore the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you your latte.

He is ignoring it, too. He’s been ignoring it.

No use in thinking about it though.

“You got plans later?” you ask him in the elevator after your appointment, tilting your head, “Apparently there’s a Lord of the Rings marathon tonight on FX.”

Bucky stiffens — and immediately he can feel the hot sting of anxious regret flood his cheeks. He clears his throat, tucks his hands in his pockets, and toes the ground. You watch with a confused look. Then he speaks tightly.

“...I’ve got a date.”

You could have caught flies the way your jaw fell open.

“Oh. Oh!”

You blink, readjust your expression, and swallow down a sharp stab of rejection.

Bucky clears his throat. “It’s… I wasn’t going to but, Dr. Raynor—”

“No, no,” you wave your hands and shake your head and try to seem genuine, “No, I’m happy for you. Is this one of those Christian Minglers?”

Bucky groans. “Shut up.”

“Okay,” you say, “Okay! Just, uh, be careful. Y’know? And call if you need anything.”

The elevator doors open, and Bucky walks side by side with you through the well-lit lobby. He holds the door open for you, and you pass through with a pained look at the ground. He lingers, though, rubbing the back of his neck as you wait for him to say what’s on his mind.

“Thursday,” he says, “I’ll stop by.”

“Yea,” you say, waving your hand, “Whenever.”

But, that doesn’t end up happening.

No, Bucky Barnes shows up at your apartment doorstep at 10pm.

He’s clutching takeout and a six pack of beer and wearing a horrified expression that screams of guilt and exhaustion. No, Bucky buzzes the door to your apartment and basically croaks that he’s here — he’s asking if the marathon is still on while you buzz him up.

“Third floor,” you say into the buzzer with a smile, “Come on in, old man.”

When you open the door, you have to laugh — because his hair is a mess and there’s still a trace of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Whereas jealousy threatens to flare, his incredibly regretful expression tamps it down. You cock a hip, eye him up and down, and jut your chin out.

“Get laid?”

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised he didn’t break something.

He pushes past you, moving to drop the beer on the counter and place the takeout gently down by the basket of fruit.

“I’m here for the cat,” he grumbles, “Not your witty commentary, sweetheart.”

You’re moving quietly to the sink and gathering a paper towel with a smirk as Bucky looks around, admiring the decor and aliveness of your apartment. When you turn around, he’s already pried a beer from the pack and popped the top off with his vibranium palm.

He winces when you reach up to swipe the coral lipstick from the corner of his mouth.

Then Bucky settles, letting you clean off the mess.

“Mhm,” you hum, “Right. Was it at least fun?”

“She had fun,” he mutters into his first sip, “It was a lotta tongue for my first night out in nearly a century, though.”

You wince. He nods with a sardonic smile that tells you everything about how the date went down — and you’re relieved. “So, I take it you're not calling her in the morning?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “Nope. No, and I’ve decided no more dates. That was enough for me.”

You wince and pluck a beer from the pack. Wordlessly, Bucky gestures for you to hand it over. In one smooth motion, he twists the cap off with his hand.

“That bad?” you ask, eyeing him critically.

“I decided halfway through,” he says as he moves to take the takeout from its bag, “I’d rather be watching Lord of the Rings with you.”

That stops you into silence. It’s like someone’s taken your own words and gagged you with them — and you’re left floundering for breath you never even realize you lost. You know he means it. You know it because he won’t look at you, because that sort of confession isn’t easy for people like you two. So you take those words and you glue them in a lonely locket and keep them close to your heart.

Poke’s entrance saves you a mouthful of broken words — he comes in, trots up to Bucky, and hollers.

Bucky laughs.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he mutters, eyeing the cat that’s eagerly rubbing himself along Bucky’s leg.

You wipe your face, sip your beer, and move to the pantry across from the kitchen island. You come back out with a bag of salmon treats — the good ones — and offer Bucky the bag. He takes it, eyes still on the calico, and crinkles it a little.

You lean against the counter and watch Bucky kneel.

“If you keep it up long enough he might even let you hold him.”

He lights up at that.

You laugh.

You move to grab plates and forks and knives and groan when you open up the first box to see Pad Thai — you make a mental note to properly thank Bucky for this. You meager dinner of reheated pasta really hadn’t hit the spot. This will, though. You can tell from the smell alone.

By your knees, Poke chirps.

“He’s cute.”

“I never took you for a cat guy.”

Bucky snorts.

You make a plate and flick his head as you walk by. “You’re missing the start of The Two Towers.”

“I’m going to be confused, aren’t I?” he asks as he stands and begins making himself a plate. He watches as you settle onto the couch and sip your beer, “I was too busy being turned into a cyborg to read the books.”

You laugh out loud. It shocks you.

“Was that a joke? Did Bucky Barnes just make a joke?”

He’s smirking. He rounds the counter with his food and settles next to you. Poke is following him, eager to curl up next to his new friend.

“I can be funny.”

“Funny lookin’.”

He elbows you on purpose. You snort into your beer.

There’s a comfortable moment of quiet between you, and you clear your throat.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “No problem.”

More quiet, and he’s still watching you. Then, he asks what’s been on his mind for the last three days.

“You got a plan for Thursday?”

“I’ve got anxiety, Buck,” you exhale, swigging your beer and turning the television up, “I always have a plan.”

#vacant mirrors #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier imagine #tfatws imagine #marvel imagine #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes/reader #bucky/reader

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shurisneakers · 3 years

Text

harmless (xiii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, smidge of angst, guns, little bit of violence, obnoxious flirting, and kidnapping lol

Word count: 6.2k

A/N: welcome to chaos week >:) this is the first of three updates coming out this week (if i can finish the last one in time). big thank you to my love @no-shit-sherl0ck for the kidnaped!reader idea, and that one anon who suggested the inator that’s used here. i know you wanted to see it in a zoo but i couldn’t really figure out a way to use that so i referenced it a bunch in previous chapters. oh and also @ginevranights for this specific imagery

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Who the fuck kidnaps a villain in this day and age?

Saturday started normally enough.

Nat kicked Bucky’s ass in training, evening the score to 120 and 120. He blames it on the lack of sleep. She tells him that it’s his fault he stayed up late to binge watch 911 Lone Star.

He still thinks it was worth it.

The team’s sunshines and rainbows that morning. Someone had cooked up a batch of pancakes and fresh orange juice. Someone else burnt the bacon but left to feed his dog before anyone could complain.

Nat opened up the newspaper. Different sections went to different people until Bucky got stuck with the entertainment section. Fun, considering that he doesn’t even recognise half the names. He’d have to pretend to be interested until the next rotation.

He watches the orange juice levitate in front of him from the corner of his eye and just assumes that Wanda’s getting a refill even though she could have just asked him to pass it. He smells the next batch of bacon burning and figures that Clint is back.

Sam’s beside him, annoying him about how long it takes for him to read about which new celebrity relationship just ended and Bucky retaliates by reading even slower. Fuck you.

He’s on his second stack of pancakes absolutely drenched in maple syrup when the doors to the elevator open and Marie steps out, laptop in her hand.

An instant chorus of hello’s and invitations to have some charred bacon resound through the table. She politely declines them with a small smile, instead opening her laptop and placing it in front of Bucky without further ado.

He looks at her questioningly, slowly swallowing whatever was in his mouth.

“An email for you.” She tuts her head towards it. “It has a video attachment of your friend.”

Bucky has plans to not watch the video in front of everyone, given that the content could range anywhere from you reading out fanfiction about him to a deep-fake of him singing a Whitney Houston song.

Both of which you have done before and would do again, without any hesitation.

“Aren’t you gonna watch it?” Wanda asks from across the table.

He slowly shakes his head no, cutting his stack into smaller pieces.

“If what’s in it is real, it’s important,” Marie stresses.

“What’s in it?” he inquires instead, hoping that the team would stop staring at him. If Marie was implying strongly that he needed to watch then something was wrong.

“Just watch it, man.” Sam’s statement has everyone agreeing with him. Bucky can’t refuse now, and if the team makes fun of him for the next month about how he looks good belting Greatest Love of All, he’s going to personally assassinate you.

He clicks on the email, noticing it came from a throwaway address. Probably untraceable, if the cards are played right.

The video opens to grainy footage, which is stupid considering modern technological advancements. If this is one more of your stupid LARPing sessions, it could definitely wait till after lunch.

But, he instantly recognises your silhouette strapped to a chair and suddenly the room feels very cold around him. His hand automatically clutches onto a bead from the bracelet you gave him that still remained tied to his left arm more often than not.

“Speak,” someone commands off camera.

“About what?” You sound annoyed, exasperated even.

“Why you’re here.”

“I’m here because you have unaddressed feelings of childhood insecurity.”

“I warned you to take this seriously.”

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly but his body relaxes the minute he reads the situation.

The team’s crowded around him, he can feel it. His attention remains on the screen in front of him.

“Who even are you sending this to?” You don’t sound the least bit threatened. “My roommate’s not at home but my cat is and I don’t think she’d care.”

”You’ve made a complete joke out of villains everywhere. Fraternising with the enemies, the Avengers,” he spits the name with so much vitriol. “You’ve erased what it’s like to be truly evil. Turned us into a laughing stock.”

“If it takes one person to undermine your whole movement then maybe it wasn’t strong enough to begin with.” You look at someone outside the lens, face scrunching in distaste. “Also your costume’s ugly.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you trace this voice?” Bucky asks, receiving an immediate confirmation. “Figure out who it is.”

“On it.”

“Tell them. Tell them we are a serious threat and are to be feared.”

"No,” you say resolutely. “You’re an overgrown manchild. Go watch Teletubbies or something.”

“She does not give a shit,” Clint marvels at the situation, a piece of half eaten burnt toast between his fingers.

You didn’t. And if he knew you in the slightest, which he prided himself on at this point, you already had six different ways of getting out of there.

“She knows she’s going to be fine,” Bucky murmurs, returning back to take a bite of his pancakes. “She’s probably still there just to irritate him.”

He zeroes in on your wrist to see if the teleportation watch was still there but no, your wrists are bare. Guess you forgot.

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how a real villain does it.”

“A real villain- what are you, gatekeeping the villain community?” You scoff. “You sound like a fuckin’ incel.”

“Just send them a message,” the guy bellows, hitting a table.

“She’s going to frustrate them to death.” An accurate observation, Sam.

“Okay, jeez, fine.”

Bucky just knows that you rolled your eyes at that moment.

He had faith in you, or in your abilities at the very least. While every wisecrack could possibly inch you closer towards harm, you probably wouldn’t be making them unless you felt completely secure in your situation.

“Help, I’m totally kidnapped and in danger. Save me because I can’t do it myself. This man is too powerful and strong and sooo scary.”

“Do you think she has a strategy?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re not worried, James?” Wanda asks curiously. “I thought she was your friend.”

“She is my friend.” He reaches over to take the jug of orange from across the table. “That’s why I’m not worried.”

“Are you going to fight the Avengers?” you interrupt his endless tirade. “Because that’s a stupid plan. You get how that’s a stupid plan, right?”

“Let them come. I’m prepared.”

“With what? A stick you found outside? A Nerf gun? Man, you’ve tied my hands with fuckin’ zip ties, you can’t be serious-”

“Shut up,” he roared and the stand shakes slightly from where he stamps his feet. “Our army is enough.”

“Wow,” you exhale. “I wish I had your confidence, I really do. I want to study you under a microscope.”

“I have reinforcements.” It sounds like he turns to the camera to address it directly. “This is a warning. Your friends have an hour to find you or things are gonna turn ugly. This is what real evil looks like.”

“Evil dresses in a dollar store Speedo, apparently.” The man pays you no heed, instead picking up the camera. “Hey, sarge, if you’re watching this, don’t bother. I’m fine, it’s not even the real me-”

The camera cuts to black.

“When was this video sent?” Nat looks at Marie, eyebrows drawn together.

“About ten minutes ago.”

Bucky clicks out of the email, determined to get at least half his breakfast in him before he left to see what’s up with your situation. A notification pops up immediately.

[email protected] just sent you an email.

A video attachment.

“We got another one,” Bucky informs the team, drawing their attention back to the screen from the informal conversation that had erupted between them about what they could do.

This time, there’s a subject line included.

Attack on the Clone.

"Ain’t that a Star Wars movie?" he asks, craning his neck to look at Clint.

"That's Attack of the Clones," Sam corrects. "Probably autocorrect."

Bucky narrowed his eyes in suspicion at him, jaw sliding outward before falling back into place. Enough times had Sam called him Fucky in the group chat and gotten away with it for him not to be wary.

“Or a code,” Wanda suggests, too many crime thrillers read and podcasts listened in her spare time. She occasionally brought them over to Self Care Saturday, introducing him to the world of true crime as a bit of light content while they snacked on chocolate chip cookies he baked. “Like the Zodiac.”

“For what?” Bucky peers over at her.

“All I remember from that movie is them rolling around a field together,” Clint mutters. “Maybe that’s how you’re supposed to save her.”

“I’m not saving anyone. Look at her, she’s fine.” Is he the only one who saw it?

When he’s met with skeptical looks and no other useful suggestions, he presses play on the video.

This time it's clearer footage. It hardly takes him a second to ascertain where it was.

"That's her lair." It showed the pathway leading up to the flat concrete building, exactly where the intercom should be.

There was a black Sedan parked haphazardly outside, engine still on judging by the sound of the radio blasting an AC/DC song.

Within a few seconds, someone drags you from the entrance of the lair to the car, despite your very clear protests and opposition, shoving you inside before it takes off in full speed, tires screeching.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., track the car from that video. Check all the CCTV and surveillance footage from around the area that you can find," Bucky commands, taking a sip of orange juice.

"Why would they send us that?" Clint pipes up. "They make their email untraceable but send us a video of the fuckin' abduction itself?"

"I don't know." Bucky shakes his head, setting his glass down. "She probably convinced them to."

It was an unusual scenario, he realised that. But his eyebrows lower in contemplation, his lip caged between his lip before a thought suddenly occurs to him. A laugh in disbelief almost escapes his throat ad he pushes it down with some freshly cut strawberries.

"And they listened?"

"I don't think you realise how annoying she can be." He knows, though. He knows. "Bet they regret it, though. I should tell them to keep her for a little longer."

"Voice recognition registers voice to someone named Chad, better known by his alias Soul Crusher. Surveillance footage places the car about thirty minutes away. Exact location sent to your phone GPS."

Soul Crusher. That was worse than Dr. Strange.

"I can make that fifteen." Bucky shrugs, setting down his fork and knife. If his hunch is right, the team didn’t really have to get involved. “See you guys later.”

“Do you want any of us coming with you?” Wanda gestures to the crowd at hand.

“I got it.” He pushes away from the table, depositing his plate in the sink, dropping an extra piece of bacon on the ground for Clint’s dog. “She’ll be alright.”

They watch him trail out of the room briskly, heading up to his room to change.

“Is it just me or is he too casual about this?” Clint continues staring long after he leaves.

“Both of them are weirdos.” Nat pulls open the newspaper again, going back to the sport’s section. “Who knows what goes in their heads.”

“Can confirm that not a lot goes on in his.”

Without Bucky to retaliate or grumble, a Steve walking into the room, sweaty and shiny after training becomes the new subject of jokes that morning.

For the first time in months, he’s had to bring a weapon or two along with him. Two revolvers and a couple of knives kept out of plain view. He wouldn’t need more than that anyway.

True to his word, it takes only fifteen minutes to get there, thirteen if he didn’t stop for the chain of ducks that crossed the street.

He’s also dressed in a little more leather than he usually reserves for your meetings. A jacket that brings to act as a windbreaker and tightly laced up combat boots make him look like he either stepped off a runway, or more menacing than usual depending on who was looking.

The GPS points him to an old warehouse near a more subdued part of the city. It was abandoned by the looks of it, and had been for a while judging by the lack of upkeep. Prime real estate.

He pulls off his helmet, hanging it on the handlebar along with his backpack before kicking the stand into place. The bike’s a few metres away just in case they decide to blow something up.

Bucky looks up at the warehouse, assessing the most damage he could do to it if at all it was needed. That thing could barely stand on its own, a grenade would absolutely decimate it. That wasn’t good news for you.

He sighs once before putting on his death glare, straightening out his shoulders into a stature that screams stone-cold, and pushes the door open, gun raised.

A mini-army of people ranging from their early twenties to late thirties stood guard at the entrance, all with rifles pointed at him. He counts fifteen, maybe eighteen.

“Oh, hell no,” a voice erupts from the back, followed by the sound of his gun being thrown to the ground. “No one told me that he was coming.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, his death glare not shifting and Glock not lowering.

“I’m out.” The same guy raises his hands up to show he meant no harm, slowly brushing past Bucky as he squeezed out of the building.

“You got five seconds to leave before I shut this door,” Bucky gives the rest of them an ultimatum. Not like there was a point anyway. SHIELD was sending down some people to account for the one day rise in new morons.

They all looked at each other, swallowing thickly before raising their weapons.

“I hope he’s giving you good insurance.” The second he finishes his sentence they all cry out in what sounds like a fucking war chant, launching themselves at him.

______

“They’re here.” Someone presses his ear to the door as if the gunshots and screaming weren’t enough.

“Brilliant. We’re ready.” Chad picks up the knife, running his finger along the sharp end. You try to see if you can use your Twitter-ordained powers of manifestation for a paper cut.

“How much are you asking them for?” You put forth a query instead, when it disappointingly doesn’t work.

“Asking who for what?” Chad stops his dumb intimidation tactic for a second.

“You know,” you insist like it was obvious, “my ransom. How much did you ask them to pay?”

“We didn’t-” He looks around at the other people in the room for confirmation. “-we didn’t ask for any.”

“Because I’m invaluable?” Your head droops to the side in mock flattery. “Aw, you guys.”

“We didn’t think of it,” someone from the corner behind you speaks up, coming to the aid of their boss.

“Now that’s just rude.” You tut, shifting maybe an inch or two in your bounds to try and get more comfortable. “Leaving aside your lack of preparation, let’s just assume he bursts in here, desperate and ready to bargain. How much would you ask for?”

“Three million,” Chad says confidently, gathering a nod and sounds of agreement from everyone else.

“Are you serious?” Your jaw drops, a scoff escaping you. “That’s all?”

His self-assurance falters a little bit, you can see it under his 5 Minutes Craft mask.

“Three mill-” You stop mid-sentence. “With this wiring? Ridiculous. Make it ten, I demand it.”

“We’ll ask for fifteen mil,” Chad proposes, his teammates agreeing again, a little more delighted than last time.

“Ask for thirty, you coward,” you argued. “Thirty million and a jet.”

“You’re not worth that much.” The dipshit diagonal to you pipes up with his unwanted and, frankly, useless opinion.

“And you are?” You whip around the best you can. “Henchman number four?”

“Megedagik,” he informs, standing up a little taller now that he was given some importance. “It means ‘killer of many’.”

“Did you just say your name was Mega Dick?”

“Megedagik,” he corrects.

You stare at him hard before turning away. “Alright, other than Mega Dick here, does anyo-”

A knife lands right next to your feet, driven at least an inch into the ground. You look up at the guy you managed to piss off within four sentences, his face now a beet red.

“These are brand new, asshole,” you barked, shaking your shoes around. “You’re gonna pay if there’s even a scratch on it.”

“Permission to kill her?” Meg growls, casting a side eye at Chad.

The boss man looks at you thoughtfully, assessing the repercussions of what might happen. You raise an eyebrow.

“Slow and painful,” he settles.

A small smirk makes its way onto your face.

“Title of your sex tape,” you quip as the man in the corner storms towards you.

_____

It’s all a flurry, really. A bunch of inexperienced newcomers versus one of the most skilled assassins the world had ever seen? Ten minutes tops.

Bucky doesn’t do any serious damage. A couple of broken bones but only out of necessity, a lot of concussions, and maybe a bullet wound, or three, here and there.

Most of the time he spends thinking about things that have absolutely nothing to do with what was going on. He forgot to take his laundry out of the machine. There was a biscotti recipe he had been procrastinating on trying. His succulents needed watering but he could do that once he was back. Was he wearing his good combat pants or was it the pair that had a hole in the pocket?

His left hand thrust outwards to shove someone away while he stuck his right hand into his pocket to check if it had frayed away. The person he pushed slams into a wall with a loud groan and no, his pants didn’t have a hole in them.

He stops to take a breather, assess what was going on. There are bodies scattered all around, mostly writhing in pain from minor injuries. Someone very bravely stands up, hands posed in front of him in a regular fighting stance.

“You sure about this?” Bucky asks, reaching for one of the concealed knives he hadn’t had a chance of using yet. It twirls rather nimbly between his fingers for something so dangerous, the hilt finally landing in his palm for a sturdy grip.

The man takes one look at the knife before sitting right back down on the ground.

“Good choice,” his voice drops to an octave lower than his self-esteem. He’s tired of this old routine but it works like a neat little party trick, often getting him the result he wanted. “Where?”

A few fingers point down the hall to the only room whose door was closed.

He makes sure to step over everyone who was lying along the way, ears tuned in to even the smallest of noises just in case one of them decided to attack him from the back. It doesn’t come.

He doesn’t bother creeping down the hallway. With all the ruckus that just went on outside, he’s pretty sure it’s obvious that they had an intruder.

Bucky kicks in the large steel door with ease, given that it was barely hanging on its hinges. His gun’s raised, muscles tight, and senses on high alert for any immediate threats.

It lands with a large thud, reverberating through the room. He’s reminded of your first meeting with him.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room with a person tied to it by a mixture of rope and tape. Others found themselves slithering around on the floor in a similar fashion, trying to get out of their bondages.

“Hey, James,” you call out, drawing his attention to you. You were sitting atop a table, legs swinging back and forth without a care in the world, a blade in your hand.

“You okay?” He tucks the gun into his waistband when he realises that none of the henchmen are going to be going anywhere soon.

“All good.” You hop off the table with a little spring in your step. “Did you bring your bike? I need a ride back to the lair. I think I left the TV on when I was, you know, getting kidnapped.”

“You coulda teleported back home before all of this even happened.” Bucky does a quick assessment of your body to make sure there weren’t any bruises or anything of the sort. “Avoided the whole thing.”

“Don’t have the watch with me.” Odd, since he knows you consider it one of your essentials but it just fuels his theory further. “Besides, if I just quit before we started, they’d keep messing with me over and over again.”

“Do you want me to punch someone’s face in?” He glances around the room at the ones wiggling about on the floor like fucking worms. “I’d be happy to.”

“Nah, I got a few in myself.” You rotate your wrist, other hand still holding onto the knife. “You know what, maybe I’ll have another go.”

He simply makes a noise in acknowledgement before he places a hand on the hem of your shirt, gently reeling you back. “I think you fixed ‘em up real good. That’s enough for today.”

“Fine but only ‘cause you said so.” You huff, looking past him and at the weirdos on the ground. “You hear that? This man just saved your life. Say ‘thank you’.”

A muffled chorus of what sounded like appreciation echoed through the room. Bucky awkwardly looks around.

“Damn right.” You walk over to the guy in charge of the whole event, bending down to his level. “If you ever try to fuck with us again...”

You stare straight into his eyes, unblinking. You hold up the knife to his Adam’s apple. Chad doesn’t dare to move other than the thick swallow.

You raise your finger and flick him in the forehead. “Get a better costume.”

The corner of Bucky’s lip quirks upward.

“Let’s go, sarge,” you announce, standing upright again and making a motion to follow you. “D’you have an extra helmet I could use?”

“Yeah.” He had brought one along in his bag, assuming that you’d need one once he noticed the watch was missing in the footage.

“Yay.”

The only storage space on his bike was under his seat and it’s just enough for an extra revolver. Clint asked him if it was his way of flirting with someone, give ‘em a quick spin around the city and then show them his gun. If looks could kill, Clint would be 7 feet under.

“You sure you wanna ride it, though?” He cringes immediately when he realises what it sounds like, waiting for you to smack the innuendo in his face. “We could wait for SHIELD.”

“Don’t really have another choice, Bucky,” you say absentmindedly, strolling out the room as you tossed the knife behind you.

He frowns at your indifference but turns around for a second to look at Chad. The man in question looks back viciously, his grandeur from that morning basically deflated and left to die along with his reputation.

“Might wanna reconsider the name,” Bucky remarks, doing a quick sweep of the area once more. “Soul Crusher.”

He waits until both of you are outside the cell and the door is shut on the ringleader and his circus clowns, handlebar twisted out of place so that they don’t escape for the time being.

“One second,” he calls, touch gently lingering on your forearm to stop you without even thinking twice about it. A famously uncharacteristic move for him.

"Hm?” You don’t even look like you notice his action.

“You sure you’re good?” he asks seriously, actual concern slipping through the question. “Do you need medical assistance?”

“They couldn’t hurt me anyway.” There’s something strange about the way you say it, almost assuredly. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” he concedes, his hand darting back when he realises it was still on your arm. His eyebrows furrow when he realises how instinctively he had reached out in the first place. He didn’t touch anyone, ever.

“What are we gonna do about them?” you inquire, stepping over someone on the floor to get to the exit.

“Marie told Agent Hill. They’re sending someone over.”

“They’re sending SHIELD for these wannabes?” Someone groans in protest from somewhere and you elect to ignore them. “Ew.”

“Just to make sure confidential information isn’t compromised in any way.” There’s a large bang that comes from the room they just left. Maybe one of them shot their teammate by accident. They were more than capable of doing it.

“I would never,” you exacted a little more solemnly, pushing the door open with your elbow to let the sunlight flood in.

“I know.” He doesn’t realise how dark it was in the warehouse until he steps out into the noon sun. “I’m pretty sure this is more about the fact that you were abducted.”

“For me?” The smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes the way he kinda likes. Something definitely felt off. “I love being class favourite.”

He doesn’t reply, a small grunt as he twists the handle of the warehouse door upwards, effectively jamming it.

“Can I drive?” You bat your eyelashes at him innocently, disregarding the loud screaming that came from inside as those less injured probably regrouped for a last ditch attempt.

“No,” he doesn’t hesitate in replying, handing you a helmet and buckling his own securely.

“But I just got kidnapped,” you complained, watching him swing a leg over the bike and straddle it. Okay then.

“All the more reason for you not to drive right now.” He mentions for you to get on, squinting at the warehouse a few feet away.

“Fine, but next time I’m driving,” you grumble, climbing on the back.

“Do you even know how to?” His head is tilted to look at you from the corner of his eye, voice heavier on account of the obstruction on his face.

The door starts shaking violently and he knows for a fact that it won’t hold up for much longer. Some of those who he had knocked out probably had been shaken awake again for manpower.

“I can learn.” You take a pause, mischief seeping into your next words. “You can teach me.”

“No.” He didn’t exactly practice what was considered safe, law abiding driving. He just got from one point to another and that’s all he cared about.

“Then I’ll do it myself.” You sound determined. “I’m going to leave a note for us in the lair.”

“You do that.” He revs the engine when something solid hits the metal door. As guessed, their usage of props to push it down faster was coming into play. “Now, can you hold on to something? We need to go.”

If only those idiots just realised that the windows covered by newspapers were right there, ready to be broken.

“Only if you promise to let me drive next time,” you say defiantly, drawing this whole ordeal out.

“Whatever,” he urges. “I promise. Now can we go?”

“Wait for it...” There’s a devilish smile on your face. “One.”

There’s a loud creak as the door finally gives way.

“Two.” The same people you left tied up in the room burst out, almost stumbling over each other in the process.

“Three,” he completes it on his own, not waiting for you to finish because God knows how long you’d stretch it out just for the drama.

Your excited screech of laughter as he narrowly misses a rod that gets thrown at him like a fucking javelin temporarily distracts him from the brain freeze he gets when your arms wind around his waist to hold yourself in place.

There’s angry screaming and bullets that whiz past in an attempt to get him to stop but a swift turn around a corner, pulling the both of you out of their sight is enough to get rid of them.

“We should get a few weapons and go back,” you yell over the wind rushing by, barely audible.

“You do that in your own free time,” he shouts in response, yanking you through narrower lanes and less popular streets.

“Maybe I will, you bore.”

Still, you shut up for the rest of the ride, only grumbling when he stops the bike to tell you that no, you cannot let go just because you want to throw your hands in the air like in the movies.

You hop off when he finally pulls up on the street outside your lair, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. He waits patiently as you unbuckle the helmet, switching off the engine.

“You gonna drop me off at my door too, now?” You snicker, fingers pulling off the helmet.

He looks at you for a second before dropping the kickstand into place and dismounting from the motorcycle.

“I was kidding.” You laugh, handing him your headgear that he shoves into his backpack.

“You’re pretty capable of gettin’ abducted along the way.” An absurd notion, considering it’s a short path from the road to the door.

“Oh, how chivalrous.” You let him tag along anyway, for his peace of mind.

“My ma didn’t expect any less.” A couple of sharp lessons from Winifred Barnes and Bucky was nothing short of a damn angel.

You knock on the door three times, crossing your arms over your chest as you waited.

“Aren’t you the one with the key?” Bucky questions, one hand on his waist.

The door swung open in the middle of his sentence revealing... you.

Another you.

“Nah, she has it.” Ex-Kidnapped-You raises your head in acknowledgement at Doorway-You.

“Ah.” He fucking knew it. An unnatural sense of smugness blossoms in his chest.

“Hey,” the both of you said at the same time.

Doorway-You looked way more relaxed, a little less grimy and dishevelled but exactly the same.

“Buck, I see you met my other half,” the you from the doorway greets him. “Or other whole, actually.”

“Sure did.” He sends a glance at Ex-Kidnapped-You.

“You can go on in. Big first day, huh?” Doorway-You refers to the you beside him.

“You wouldn’t believe,” Ex-Kidnaped-You mutters, pushing past the entrance and disappearing inside.

“She gonna be okay?” His gaze trails after your clone.

“Oh yeah, just needs to recharge.” You turn around to make sure she’s fine. “She’s made of some pretty strong carbon, technically almost indestructible.”

No wonder ‘you’ said they couldn’t hurt you.

“Heya, sarge.” You draw his attention back to you. “Always good to see you.”

“Can’t really say the same about you.”

“Ever the emotional repressor, Mr Barnes. I like this little leather show you got going, did ya wear it just for me?”

He shifts his balance to his other foot, feet slightly wide apart. “Take it that the clone machine finally worked?”

“I was in the middle of celebrating.” You sigh, recalling the events of that morning. “Teleported home for a second to get some champagne and when I came back she was gone.”

“Irresponsible.” He tsks, head shaking in disappointment.

“Sorry I didn’t take amateur kidnappers into account for my risk factor analysis, Bucky,” you shoot back, pressing on his name for added annoyance. “Anyway, I did the responsible thing. I sent all the evidence I had to you guys.”

“Real clever.” Bucky looks at you in dry amusement. “Attack on the clone? Really?”

“Hey, always make time for a good pun.” You finger gun, lopsided grin on your face. “Did the team like it?”

“They thought it was a typo.” Or a code. He really had Wanda to thank for his big revelation. “Your video didn’t help either.”

“Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.” You laugh, crossing your arms over your chest.

He doesn’t reply, pursing his lip inwards in sympathy, but more so to conceal a smile.

The happiness drops from your face slowly, horror taking its place. “Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.”

“Good job, your machine worked,” he adds helpfully.

“C’mon, there were so many differences,” you whine, the success of your endeavour the last thing on your mind.

“That is your literal clone,” he points out, only to see you- clone you- walk into the giant box in the corner of the room, bright green light emanating from it like a xerox machine.

“How could they not tell the original apart from a copy?” You look genuinely offended. Insane. “Not even Sam?”

“Guess you’re not unique enough.” A rise and fall of his shoulders signify his attitude towards this whole thing. “Think I like your copy better, too, actually.”

“You’re so mean.” You puff in disbelief. “I’m a 100% original. How many mad scientist teachers do you know?”

“Two.”

“I don’t mean now, that’s not even the-” You poke at his rock hard chest. “You are so much more annoying than when I first met you.”

He thinks it’s good relationship development.

“I have to deal with you every weekend.” He watches your finger drop from his chest. “Picked it up along the way.”

“Boo hoo, talking like you don’t have deep, deep feelings for me.” You roll your eyes. “I see right through you, Bucky Barnes.”

“Can you see the part that couldn’t give less of a shit?” He gestures to himself. “It’s all of it.”

“You think you’re such a comedian, huh?” You narrow your eyebrows. “How did you know she was a fake then, huh?”

Busted.

“Probably ‘cause you didn’t talk as much today,” he dodges. “Actually had some peace of mind for a change.”

“You knew before you got there, you liar.” You push past his fabrications. “You figured it out before everyone else.”

“You literally put it in the title.”

“Yeah, but the rest of the team saw it too.”

“Rest of the team didn’t know you were building a goddamn clone machine for months.”

“You remembered that?” You pulled away, palm over your heart. “Oh, sarge, you paid attention to me.”

His nose twitches.

“You said it, like, eight hundred times.” He could use both his hands to count the number of references you had offhandedly made in the last three weeks alone.

“Why'd you go save me when you knew it wasn't real?” you continue to challenge relentlessly, knowing fully well that he was fibbing.

“Because you fuckin’ peer pressured me. Had the whole team around me when you sent your little video during breakfast.”

“Just admit it,” you coo, ignoring all his justifications. “You noticed it was fake me right away but showed up anyway because you’re wildly in love with me.”

“No,” he says stiffly.

“No as in you won’t admit it you have a crush on me, or no as in you didn’t know it was fake me?”

There was no winning this.

“Good day to you.” He pulls the motorcycle helmet on to hide the expression that plain as day screamed the former of your two options.

“Also,” you bring up indignantly, “she even got to ride the fucking bike and I’ve been asking to drive it for months now!”

“We-” he chooses his words carefully. “-compromised.”

“Oh, you did?” Your voice lowers at the newfound information, interest piqued. “I’m gonna hold you to that then, whatever it is.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Absolutely does,” you huff. “A promise is legally binding. Blue’s Clues taught me that.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

“You’re my knight in leathery armour,” you swoon, switching sides immediately, “Kinda.”

“See you next week,” he says in farewell, determined to leave before you made it worse. “Try not to get killed by then.”

“Why, so you can do it yourself? Protective much?” You pull him back when he starts walking away, laughing slightly. “Wait a second, you weirdo.”

He sighs, staying put anyway, arms crossed impatiently over his chest.

You pull out the pen tucked behind your ear and slowly tap him twice on each shoulder in a makeshift knighting ceremony. “For your sacrifice.”

He rolls his eyes at the ludicrousness, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth.

You ignore his lack of enthusiasm, pressing your fingertips to your lips in a small kiss and then to his nose, given that it was the only part of his face you had access to.

“That was for your bravery.” You grin brightly at him and he sure as hell is glad he’s wearing the stupid helmet because he can feel his cheeks light up a bright crimson.

“Thanks.” His voice sounds gruffer than a second ago. He clears his throat.

“Now you’re my knight in leathery armour,” you fawn, nearly falling over yourself dramatically. “Let’s ride into the sunset together. I love you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he calls out over his shoulder, turning away to return to his bike. “I despise you.”

“But you don’t.”

He really didn’t.

also i managed to fuck my phone up really bad so all proceeds from my ko-fi go towards getting it fixed

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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the-bau-quinjet · 3 years

Text

Plum Cobbler

Steve x Barnes!reader, Bucky x platonic!reader

Summary: What happens when Steve confronts the woman who's been sitting outside the compound every Saturday for a month?

Warnings: mentions parental death, some cursing

Word Count: 6315

a/n: This really took on a mind of its own. I was going to make it a series, but I feel like this is the whole story.

Masterlist

Nervous didn't even begin to describe how you were feeling. Sitting in your car, just outside of the entrance gate to the Avenger's compound was never somewhere you thought you'd be. Not until two months ago, when you found your grandmas old scrapbooks.

Of course, you don't know how to get inside. Honestly, you should have seen this coming. Why would just anyone be able to walk up to their door?

"Who are you?" The sudden question startled you, causing you to jump and hit your head on the roof of your car. You turned to look at the source of the voice, shrinking under her watchful gaze.

The one and only Natasha Romanoff was standing outside your car, glaring at you as if she was ready to drop everything to take you out.

"Oh, um. My name is Y/N L/N. I just wanted to talk to Bucky..." Her glare only grew stronger as you revealed why you were there.

"Barnes doesn't talk to strangers." Before you could explain why, she was gone. You watched her walk into the compound until she wasn't in your view anymore.

"Well, that went horribly." You mumbled to yourself. Now what? Should you just sit there until someone else comes out? Will anyone come out?

"So who is she?" Clint asked as soon as Nat got back inside.

"Why is she here?" Sam added on.

"Said her name is Y/N L/N, and she wants to talk to Bucky." Nat rolled her eyes.

"Friday, run a background check on F/N L/N." Tony asked of the AI. "What? You can never be too careful, and people shouldn't know how to get here." He explained given the questioning looks from the rest of the group.

"Y/N L/N, 27, daughter of the deceased Kathleen and Grant L/N. She owns a bookstore in Brooklyn, passed down through her family. No criminal record." Friday responded quickly.

"Sounds normal enough, probably a fan?" Tony suggested, looking around the room.

"A persistent one. She's been here for hours." Steve looked out the window, still seeing your car just outside the gate. "How did she find the entrance?"

Everyone shared similar looks, unsure how a seemingly normal civilian found the gate.

"Excellent question, Capsicle. Friday, got any ideas?" Tony, as usual, turned to the AI for answers.

"Based on GPS data from her car, she drove around upstate New York for eight hours every Saturday for the last 6 weeks until she came across the side road leading to the compound."

"Either she's really good at looking normal, or she's just normal." Nat added on, still slightly suspicious.

"Well, she just left. I guess we're not getting any answers today." Steve said from his position still looking out the window.

You came back every Saturday for a month. You didn't know if anything would come of it, but you'd be damned if you didn't try. After your parent's deaths, you thought you had no family left. Finding out you were related to Bucky gave you a lifeline. Something to cling to when you felt alone.

So far, nobody else had come to talk to you. You didn't even know if Bucky knew you were there for him.

The fifth Saturday, you pulled your car up to the gate at 9 am, sticking to your makeshift schedule of waiting outside for the entire day. They had to at least be curious as to why you kept coming back.

Unfortunately for you, the weather upstate today was not the same as the weather in Brooklyn.

Around 10:30, it started to rain. Just a sprinkling, nothing you couldn't handle.

You listened to music, read, ate the lunch you packed, played games on your phone, anything to pass the time. You weren't going to force your way inside, but you were definitely going to show that you were interested.

Typically, you would leave at 5:30. It gave you enough time to drive home and heat up dinner, plus you had to check in on your cat.

Today, however, was a different story. Around 5:15, it started pouring. Sheets of water were coming down around you, completely cutting off any visibility through the windshield.

You figured you'd just wait out the rain, but when it didn't let up by 6, you were getting nervous.

"She's still here." Steve walked into the kitchen, announcing his news to the room.

"I'm not surprised. It's not exactly peak driving conditions out there." Sam easily responded, glancing out the window.

"Aren't you the least bit curious as to why?" Steve asked again, pushing the same conversation as always.

Nearly everyone in the room rolled their eyes, sick of repeating the same things.

"Look, we figured if we ignored her, she'd eventually stop. Clearly, that might not be working. If you're so curious, feel free to go ask her." Tony gave in, eager to move on from the discussion of you.

Steve contemplated his choices for all of 2 seconds before grabbing an umbrella and walking down the driveway.

You had your head leaned back against the headrest, eyes closed, listening to the rain. Of course you would get stuck here. Why didn't you ever check the weather?

You shrieked when a knock sounded on your passenger side window, not having expected anyone, especially in the rain.

Mr. America himself pointed to the door, gesturing for you to unlock it. You sat up quickly, rushing to hit the unlock button.

He quickly opened the door, shutting his umbrella and lowering himself into the small car.

You were utterly speechless. After your brief encounter with Natasha, you didn't really expect anyone to come talk to you.

Sure, you came back every week, but it was more so to fill the lonely hours you would have normally spent with your parents at the bookstore.

You had other employees to run the shop on Saturdays, allowing you to come here instead.

"Why are you here?" He sounded more curious than anything. Clearly he didn't perceive you as a threat, which was good because you had zero fighting experience.

"To talk to Bucky." Your voice was quiet, unsure how much you should share.

"I know that. Why?" He had fully turned in his seat to look at you, his large frame filling nearly the entire car.

"Well, I found something a few months ago that I thought he should know." You stuttered through your response, mildly intimidated by the man in front of you.

"And that something is?" He questioned further, genuinely curious as to what you want to tell his best friend.

You hesitated, eyes flitting around the car, looking at anything but him. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair before speaking again.

"Look, if you ever want to actually talk to him, you should tell me. Buck's been through hell, he won't just talk to anyone. Especially if he has no reason to."

During your conversation, the rain finally let up. You decided to take that as a sign.

"Can I show you something?" You finally looked him in the eye, nearly forgetting why you were even here at the sight of his bright blue eyes.

"Is it the reason you've been out here every Saturday for over a month?" He joked with you, helping to calm your nerves.

You nodded in response, unsure if you could even speak while still looking into his eyes.

"Then please."

You tore your eyes from his face, throwing the car into reverse and backing out of the spot you've claimed as your own. You turned around, heading back to your apartment in Brooklyn.

"Wha- where are we going?" He's clearly surprised by your actions, but he doesn't seem worried.

"I'm going to show you what I found, and hopefully you'll let me talk to Bucky." You paused for a minute, thinking. "Although, really I guess it should be his choice. Maybe you can just give him a message for me, and if he doesn't want to talk I'll leave you all alone."

The idea of never getting to know Bucky, you're only remaining family, hurts, but it's got to be his decision.

Steve just nods in response, still slightly wary of your reasons for wanting to talk to Bucky.

When you're a few minutes away from your apartment, you decide to give him some context.

"You probably already know a lot about me, but let me explain a few things." He silently nods, encouraging you to continue.

"My parents died three and a half months ago." You immediately felt like crying, but did your best to hold it in. Of course, Steve didn't miss the break in your voice. "It was a car accident. The weather was bad. They lost control of the car. They were both pronounced dead on the scene." You parked the car, turning slightly to look at him.

"They were the only family I've ever had, and the were both just gone." You turned and opened the car door, taking a moment to wipe the tears from your eyes. You gestured for him to follow you, locking the car and heading inside your apartment building.

"We were really close. I spent every Saturday at the bookstore with them." You wiped the tears again as the elevator doors closed.

You didn't chance looking at Steve, knowing you would break down at the look of pity.

"I had to go through the stuff at their house. You know, decide what to bring here, what to put in storage, what to get rid of. I found some old scrapbooks, I think from my great grandma."

You lead him into your apartment, locking the door and immediately heading to the kitchen to feed your cat. After you set down the food, you moved to the couch. You had the scrapbooks on the coffee table, having taken every opportunity to look through them.

"I never knew her. My parents didn't talk about her either, I'm not sure if they knew who she was. Her name was Rebecca." You waited a beat, to see if he would understand. When he remained quiet, you handed him one of the books, open to a page with a picture of Steve, Bucky, and Rebecca. "Rebecca Barnes."

You waited again, letting the information sink in for him. After a few minutes he smiled.

"I remember this day." He looked at you, a wide smile on his face. "It was a few days before Bucky was enrolled. We had a picnic." He continued to reminisce, looking through the other pictures in the scrapbook.

"Maybe it's selfish, maybe he won't want to know me, but when I found out I had more family, I wanted to find him." Again, tears pooled in your eyes. "I, I just don't want to be alone."

Steve's smile faltered as he realized what you've been going through, and how you've been doing it alone.

"Hey, I'm sure he'll want to talk to you." He reached out to place a hand on your arm, trying to comfort you.

"Really?" Your eyes were still watery, but a small smile grew on your face.

"I think so. Bucky was really close with his sister when we were young." This time, Steve's eyes grew watery, memories of his youth playing through his mind.

You couldn't take the sight of him being sad, so you pulled him into a hug. He came willingly, letting you bury your face in his chest. He lowered his head so it was overtop of yours, relishing in the comfort of your hug.

You pulled away a few minutes later, not wanting to overstep, but the feeling of his arms around your waist didn't let you go far.

"Thank you for coming out to my car." You laughed, trying to lighten the mood. His face was so close to yours, you could make out the individual shades of blue in his eyes.

"Thank you for sharing your story with me." He whispered back, not wanting to break the moment.

You're not sure how long you would've stayed like that, but a loud crack of thunder jolted you apart.

"What the-" You mumbled, walking over to the window to look outside. Steve followed close behind you, also curious about the weather.

It was now pouring, lightning and thunder cracking overhead.

"I guess the storm followed us to Brooklyn." He joked, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I guess so." You looked at the clock, taking in the late hour.

Steve must've followed your line of sight, because he spoke up. "It's getting late, I should probably go."

You immediately shook your head, your fear of travelling in bad weather shining through. "I can't let you leave when it's like this. It's not safe. You, um, you can stay here tonight. You can sleep in my room. I'll sleep on the couch." You grew more confident as you kept talking.

"I couldn't impose like that." Steve shook his head, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

"Steve, it's not safe to travel when it's raining like that. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you." Your voice grew tighter, trying not to flashback to the day your parents died.

Steve seemed to realize why you were so worried about the weather, ultimately deciding to agree to stay so you wouldn't worry about him.

"Okay, okay. I'll stay here, but you sleep in your bed. I'll be fine on the couch." He refused your offer, not wanting to force you to spend a night on the couch.

"First of all, thank you. Second of all, you are sleeping in the bed. You're like two feet taller than me." You exaggerated your height difference, but you were trying to make a point. "You won't even be able to lay down on the couch. I take naps here all the time, it's super comfortable." You argued back, unwilling to allow Captain America himself sleep on your tiny ass couch.

"You know, I should've expected you to be this stubborn. You spent five weeks waiting outside the compound with no contact. Plus you're related to Bucky" He laughed to himself, slightly shaking his head. "Fine, I'll sleep in the bed."

You smiled victoriously, jumping up from the couch. "Yay! Do you need anything? I have spare toothbrushes under the sink, and I can probably find you some clothes to sleep in. There's some snacks in the kitchen if you get hungry. Oh! And Carrot might try to lay in the bed with you, but I'll try to keep her out here." You rambled, trying to make sure he was comfortable.

"Carrot?" He smiled at your rambling, finding it adorable.

"Yes! Carrot is my cat. She's a cuddler, so consider yourself warned." You paused, eyes growing wide. "You're not allergic to cats are you? I think there's probably cat fur all over my room."

He laughed again. "No, I don't think the super soldier serum left any room for allergies." He quipped.

You smacked a hand to your forehead. "Duh! Anyway, do you need anything?" You asked again, trying to calm your beating heart.

"Some clothes would be great, thank you." The way he smiled at you did nothing to soothe your nerves.

"Okay." You breathed out, finally taking a deep breath. "I'll go grab some, the bathroom is right here if you need it." You pointed it out on your way to your room. "I'm just gonna get changed real quick, and then I'll be back with your clothes."

He nodded again, watching as you turned and walked into what must be your room.

You quickly changed into a t-shirt and sleep shorts. It took a few minutes of searching through boxes, but eventually you found an old pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt for Steve to sleep in.

You made your way out of the bedroom, handing him the clothes.

"Here ya go. Like I said, there are extra toothbrushes under the sink in the bathroom, and don't hesitate to grab anything you need from the kitchen."

He eyed the clothes in his hands, wondering where they came from, but not wanting to ask.

Luckily for him, you could tell what he was wondering. "They were my dad's." A sad smile graced your face. "I- I sleep in them sometimes when I really wish I could talk to him."

"Thank you." Steve turned to go to bed, but changed his mind last minute. He set the clothes down on the couch, pulling you into another hug. "You know, I can tell your related to Buck. He always looks out for people too."

You blushed at the compliment, grateful he couldn't see your face. "Thank you, that really means a lot." You stayed like that until Steve pulled back to talk to you again.

"I can take you back to the compound tomorrow, if you want. Maybe introduce you to Bucky."

"Really?! You don't want to talk to him first? Or double check anything I told you?" You were shocked at how willing he was to introduce you to Bucky.

"I trust you. Plus, I think you should be the one to tell him." Steve didn't say it out loud, but he also thought you and Bucky would be good for each other.

Bucky had Steve to connect his past and present, but another person for him to rely on wouldn't hurt. And you clearly were looking for a family connection.

"I would love to. Thank you!" You hugged him again, although quicker this time. You jumped back, excited to collect everything you wanted to show him. "I have to find all the scrapbooks to show him!"

When you turned to start collecting things, Steve put a hand on your shoulder, essentially preventing you from moving.

"Why don't we get everything together in the morning? It's getting late and you should get some sleep." He understood how emotionally and physically draining it could be to relive a loss like yours.

"You're right. I should sleep." You tried to slow your mind down, but the prospect of meeting Bucky tomorrow filled you with a mix of excitement and nerves. You gathered your extra blankets and pillows, setting up a bed for yourself on the couch while he went into the bathroom.

You were snuggled in bed, ready to sleep when he came back out.

"Goodnight, Steve."

His heart contracted at how adorable you looked buried in blankets on the couch, but he did his best to ignore it. He'd only just met you after all.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

The next morning Steve woke up at 5, per usual. He didn't want to wake you up though, so, despite his natural tendencies to run 10 miles every Sunday morning, he stayed in bed.

That is, until he heard you shuffling around the apartment.

He poked his head out of the room first, trying to verify that you were indeed awake. When he saw you in the kitchen, he fully emerged intent on helping you with whatever you were doing.

"Good morning, you're an early riser?" His question was completely ignored. Granted you couldn't see him yet, but he didn't know why you would be ignoring him.

He made his way closer to you, tapping you on the shoulder to try and get you to interact with him.

You, in a mixture of surprise and fear, turned and threw an egg at him.

He looked at you in shock, while you stared in horror at what you had just done.

You took headphones out of your ears, explaining why you hadn't heard his question.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" You reached toward him with a dish towel, trying to wipe the egg off his (your dad's) shirt. "You just surprised me! I can get you another shirt!"

"It's fine, don't worry-" You ran out of the room anyway, grabbing another shirt of your dad's from the box in your room.

He couldn't help but laugh, oddly relieved that you weren't ignoring him.

When you reentered the kitchen, a shirtless Steve Rogers was washing your dad's shirt in the sink. You froze, taking in the sight of the man before you.

When he turned back around, your eyes took on a mind of their own, soaking in his toned chest and arms. You cleared your throat, shaking yourself out of your stupor to hand him the other shirt.

"Thanks." He smirked, but still blushed slightly before he put it on, ringing out the other shirt before handing it to you. "I didn't want the egg to stick to it since it was your dads, so i rinsed it off..." he trailed off, unsure if it was the right thing to say.

"That's really sweet, thank you. Especially because it was my fault there was even egg on it in the first place." You laughed, trying not to blush with embarrassment.

"Don't worry about it, really. I shouldn't have snuck up on you." He laughed as well, clearing any lingering tension. He took a look around the kitchen, taking in just how much stuff you had out.

"What are you making?" He smiled when you blushed again.

"Oh, I was making plum cobbler... I just, I read online that Bucky likes plums, so I thought I would bring him a cobbler." You blushed again, embarrassed by the admission.

"He does." Steve smiled, completely enamoured with your personality. "Did you want some help?"

"Actually, the cobblers are in the oven already. I was going to make breakfast next, though, so you can help with that." You smiled, noting how easy it was to spend time with him.

"Cobblers? I know Bucky's a super soldier, but one would have been plenty." He joked with you, moving to help scramble some eggs.

"Well, yeah. One is for him, but then I thought the other Avengers might be there and I didn't want to not have enough so I made three."

"You're too cute." The words slipped out before he could even think about what he was saying.

You blushed again, a frequent occurrence it seems when you're with Steve.

You uttered a quick thanks, trying to change the subject. "Do you always get up this early?"

He chuckled again. "Yeah, typically I don't need much sleep. I usually run in the mornings, try to clear my head."

The two of you fell into easy conversation, moving around each other effortlessly to make eggs, sausage, toast, and smoothies for breakfast.

When you finished eating, you collected the scrapbooks Bucky might want to see. You added his mom's wedding ring, the one your mom wore as well, to the box.

"What's that?" Steve pointed to the box, unsure if his assumption was correct.

You pulled out two scrapbooks, pointing to the near identical pictures of Bucky's mom and your mom after having been proposed to.

"My mom always told me her engagement ring was a family heirloom. I think it was his mom's ring too. I thought he might like to have it. As something to remember her by, ya know?"

You got teary eyed again. Thinking about how much he must miss his family combined with how much you miss your own parents was too much to handle.

You finished gathering everything, putting it all in a box to make for easier transportation. You took the cobblers out of the oven, packing them as well.

With a deep breath, you followed Steve back out to your car, ready to talk to Bucky.

"Where the hell is Steve?" Bucky nearly stormed into the kitchen.

"Whoa, calm down tinman. What's up?" Sam replied casually, pouring cereal into a bowl.

"Where is Steve? I was supposed to run with him this morning, but he wasn't in his room when I went to find him. I don't even like running this early. I literally only do it because it's what he prefers."

Sam laughed, enjoying anything that annoys Bucky. "Dude, chill. He probably just forgot you were going with him."

Tony walked into the kitchen as well, trying to tune out the whines coming from Bucky, but failing.

"That's what I though, but he's always back by now." Bucky huffed, annoyed with Sam for laughing.

"Who?" Tony asked, now slightly intrigued.

"Steve. I haven't seen him since yesterday." Bucky replied as he angrily ate an apple.

"Really?" Tony sounded mildly concerned, immediately alerting Sam and confusing Bucky.

"You don't think?" Sam asked, ignoring Bucky for the time being.

"I don't know!" Tony looked bewildered. "Friday, where is Capsicle?"

"Captain Rogers left yesterday evening with Y/N L/N." The AI easily replied.

"Who?" Bucky questioned the room, never having learned your name.

"You know the woman who's been sitting outside every Saturday?" Bucky nodded to Sam, unsure why he was bringing it up. "Well, Steve went to ask her why she was here last night."

"Nat told me she was just some fan, wanted to see you all." Bucky furrowed his brow, thinking over the new information on Steve's wearabouts.

"Well, yeah that's what we thought. Look, she said she wanted to talk to you specifically." Sam explained, ignoring the pointed glare from Tony.

"What? Why didn't you tell me?" Bucky rose from his chair, annoyed at everyone now. "Now she's got Steve?"

"Relax, Steve can handle himself. She cleared her background check. We really don't have any reason to believe he's in danger." Tony's words were more to convince himself than anyone else. He's the one who said Cap should go check it out if he was so curious.

"Steve's too trusting. What if it was a trap?" Bucky questioned, glaring daggers at the other two men.

Before they could respond, Friday chimed in with more information.

"Captain Rogers just entered the elevator from the parking garage."

"See, he's fine." Tony glared back at Bucky, secretly relieved that Steve was fine.

Bucky just rolled his eyes before leaving, heading for the elevators to yell at Steve for ditching him this morning.

When the elevator doors opened, however, Steve was not alone.

"Hey, punk, why'd you ditch me- Oh. Who are you?" Bucky eyed you suspiciously, looking between you and Steve.

Before Bucky interrupted, Steve was trying to reassure you that everything would work out. He had a hand on your back, rubbing up and down to soothe your nerves.

His other arm was occupied by the box of scrapbooks, or else he probably would have hugged you again.

You were holding a large sheet pan, three pie dishes sitting on top.

Steve was blushing, a surefire sign Bucky had seen something he wasn't supposed to.

"Oh, um. Hi. My name is Y/N L/N." You froze, not thinking you would have to see him so soon. You could see the family resemblance between him, your great grandma, and your mom.

"The car girl." He nodded, trying to piece together the events of last night.

"Yep, that's me." You laughed nervously, unsure of what he already knew.

"Buck, do me a favor? Let us out of the elevator." Steve eyed him, mildly annoyed with the ambush.

Bucky moved to the side, allowing you and Steve to exit the elevator. You followed Steve down the hall to the kitchen, where you put the cobblers on the counter.

Sam and Tony were still there, eating various foods.

"Well, hello there." Tony greeted when he spotted you, intrigued by the development. He looked at Steve for an explanation.

"Y/N made plum cobbler." Steve said instead, moving his hand back to the small of your back.

Bucky's eyes lit up at the mention of plums, enough to momentarily distract him from Steve's actions.

"Oh, right!" You took a cobbler out of the dish, moving toward Bucky. "This one's for you, because I read that you liked plums." You handed him the dish, quickly moving back to the others. "I also made a peach and an apple for everyone else." You smiled at Tony and Sam, unknowingly leaning slightly into Steve.

"Why does he get a special cobbler?" Sam whined, eagerly reaching for the other dishes.

Suddenly, all eyes were on you. Well, except Sam's who were on the peach cobbler.

"Oh, um, well, I was hoping I could talk to you." You looked at Bucky nervously, unsure of how he would respond.

"Anyone who bakes me a plum cobbler can talk to me, Doll." Natasha chose that exact moment to enter the room.

"Who made plum cobbler?" She looked around the room, eyes narrowing in your direction. "How did you get in here?"

"I brought her." Steve smiled at you before walking over to Natasha. He whispered in her ear, just loud enough for her to hear, but nobody else. "She's not a threat to your relationship, trust me."

Nat nodded her head, trusting Steve, although not for the reasons he thought. She could clearly see the blonde's affinity for you.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Bucky asked between bites of cobbler.

"It's really a private conversation." Steve answered for you, seeing how unsure of yourself you were.

"Then why do you know, punk?" Bucky countered.

"Well, I had to tell someone so I could finally talk to you. Steve's the one who asked." You smiled at Steve again, trying to convey how grateful you were with just a look.

Steve smiled back at you, while everyone in else just shared a knowing look.

Eventually, Steve cleared his throat. "Buck, can you just come with us?"

Bucky nodded, moving to follow Steve while still eating the cobbler. You followed the two of them as well, growing more nervous with each step.

Steve lead you to his room, placing the box of scrapbooks on the bed.

"Do you want me to stay?" Steve looked to you for an answer.

You took a deep breath, in all honestly you would love for him to stay, but you think you should probably just talk to Bucky first.

"No, that's okay. Come back in like, 30 minutes?" You scrunched up your face, unsure if 30 minutes was long enough, but knowing you would need the deadline if you were ever going to explain it all to Bucky.

Steve nodded, squeezing your shoulder as he passed you to leave the room.

"Um," you turned to Bucky, trying to think of where to start. "I don't know what you already know about me, but-"

"Nothing really. Except that you make a delicious plum cobbler." He smiled, helping to ease your nerves. Food really was the way to this man's heart.

"Oh, I guess I'll start where I started when I told Steve." You smiled at the mention of his name, unaware of your own actions. But Bucky noticed.

"My parents died a few months ago." Bucky's eyes went wide, trying to think of what this could have to do with him. "Um, it was a car accident. They both died on the scene." You took a deep breath, trying to push through the sad parts.

"I had to clean out their house, and I found some scrapbooks that lead me to you." You shifted closer to the bed, looking through the scrapbooks you brought.

You pulled out the one with the first picture you showed Steve, opening it and gesturing for Bucky to take it.

He set the cobbler on Steve's nightstand, cautiously reaching for the book. He looked at the picture for a long time before saying anything. And when he did talk, it was a whispered "Becca..."

He ran his fingers over the picture slowly, just staring. A few minutes later, he eagerly flipped the page. He spent a good 10 minutes just looking through all the books you handed him.

"Where did you get these?" He questioned, although not accusingly.

"I found them in my parents house. They were with a bunch of my grandma's stuff that she had from her mom." You wanted to ease him into it.

"So your great grandma..." He trailed off, disbelief clear across his face.

"Was Rebecca Barnes." You finished the sentence for him, nerves clear in your voice.

You weren't sure what to say next, so you waited for him to make the next move.

"So you're my... great-grand niece?" You nodded at his question, still unsure if he was happy with the news. "God, that makes me feel old."

You nearly cackled, surprised by the joke. He smiled when you laughed, glad to have cleared some of the tension.

"Why did you want to find me?" He questioned, the mood turning more serious again.

"Well, I was really close to my parents. They were the only family I had. When I found out you are family too, I just... I knew I needed to at least tell you." You shrugged at the end, unsure if you really answered his question.

"You wanted to tell me so badly that you sat outside the compound every Saturday for five weeks even after being ignored?" He was in shock that anyone would spend that much time and effort just to talk to him. You started panicking immediately.

"I'm so sorry if you didn't want to know! It was selfish of me to force this on you. I can go, if you want. You don't have to talk to me." You started questioning everything. You moved to put the books back in the box when he stopped you.

"Oh, um. I'm sorry, you can keep those. If you want!" Tears were threatening to fall down your cheeks when you remembered the ring. You froze with your hand in the box, not knowing if you'd want to part with it knowing you'd never see Bucky again.

"Y/N..." Something in the way he said your name made you look at him. "I- I'm glad you told me. Really glad. I, uh, I never thought I would have family, well besides Steve. You know what I mean." He ran a hand through his hair, and you noticed the tears in his eyes.

"I don't want you to go. It's just hard for me..." he paused, trying to figure out his emotions. "It's hard to believe that someone would care about me that much."

"Bucky, I don't know you." He frowned at your statement. "But, I would love to get to know you." You smiled at him, trying to be reassuring.

"I'm not so sure you would." His face was hard, staring at the ground.

"Bucky, you aren't a bad person. I mean, sure you've done bad things, but it wasn't your choice. You were forced to do those things. You can't let yourself be defined by them. You're here aren't you?"

"Here?" He questioned.

"Working with the Avengers, I mean. You go on missions to help save people. That's your choice. That's who you are. I would be honored to get to know that person."

You smiled, waiting for him to say something.

"Are you sure?" He still looked unsure.

"God, maybe I get my stubbornness from you." You both laughed at that. "I am 100% sure."

"Wow." He shook his head, still in shock.

A knock sounded on the door before Steve came back in. "Is now a good time?" He asked, still standing in the doorway.

You nodded appreciatively. "Thank you." You pulled him into a hug, needing the emotional support.

"Of course. I'm happy I could help." He rubbed your back, reciprocating the hug. "Did you give him the ring yet?" He asked when you took a step back.

You shook your head, reaching into the box for the last item. "I, um, I thought you might want this." You handed him the box, nerves peaking through again.

He opened it, a soft smile on his face when he recognized it. "My mom's engagement ring."

You smiled, happy that he recognized it. "It was my mom's as well."

The two of you stared a the ring for awhile, reminiscing on time spent with your parents.

Eventually, Bucky picked the cobbler back up, not wanting to let it go to waste.

Steve couldn't help but roll his eyes at his friend. "Wow, jerk. You're just gonna go back to eating."

"Yes, punk. My great-grand niece made me a plum cobbler, and I tend to fully enjoy it."

"Great-grand niece. Ha, that makes you sound so old."

It was fun for you to see the two interacting like this, especially after the emotional hurdles you just ran.

"It's fine, Stevie. Let him enjoy the cobbler." Your face went red, not having meant to use the nickname.

"Yeah Stevie, let me enjoy the cobbler." Bucky couldn't help but poke fun, knowing there was an unspoken attraction between the two of you.

Somehow your face got even redder. Steve just rolled his eyes.

"Fine, eat your cobbler. Only because I had some of the apple one and it was delicious. It would be a shame to waste any."

You smiled at the compliment, embarrassment subsiding a bit. Steve sat down on the bed between you and Bucky, eager to ask his friend about some of the pictures. Steve put his arm around you, squeezing your shoulder as he spoke to Bucky.

You felt your eyes growing heavy, exhausted since your nerves kept you up most of the night. You rested your head on Steve's shoulder, soaking in his warmth as you cuddled closer.

Steve just rubbed your arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Bucky narrowed his eyes at the interaction, realization dawning on his face.

"Oh my god. My best friend likes my great-grand niece. And she likes him." He said it so matter of fact, the two of you didn't bother denying it. You just smiled, and cuddled closer together.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x natasha #bucky barnes x natasha romanoff #tony stark #sam wilson #steve rogers #bucky barnes #marvel fic #clint barton #Bucky Barnes x platonic!reader

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 1

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Pairing: Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader Rating: T for teen for mild language. Later entries in the series will be more mature though, just a heads up Warnings: None this chapter. There will probably be canon typical violence/blood mentioned or referenced in future chapters though, cuz, ya know, vampire ladies? Notes: No beta reader, we die like Ethan Winters’ hands (repeatedly, and with odd frequency)

Chapter 1: Nocturne

Of all the tasks assigned to you, none were as bittersweet as that of dusting Lady Dimitrescu’s piano. Years ago, before you had been shuffled off to a remote European village, before you had been roughly snatched from your home, before… this, you had been taught to play music. From a young age it brought you comfort, entertained you on quiet days, and even made you your fair share of friends. Though you had experimented with a handful of instruments, none felt more natural than piano. Leaving your family’s heirloom piano behind was one of the hardest things you had ever had to do.

Until you arrived at Castle Dimitrescu, at least. Sweat often dropped off your brow as you spent endless hours scrubbing floors, carrying baskets of clothes or mysterious parcels of meat up and down flights of stairs, rushing to and fro rooms across the estate. Physical labor was no stranger to you, but no employer had ever been as demanding as those you now served. Hence part of why you always breathed a sigh of relief when you were chosen to dust the piano. It was hardly a demanding task, even when you had to take care not to accidentally let the keys make any noise. No one was allowed to play it without permission (and that was never given).

Which brought you an aching sensation at the core of your chest, balled up alongside past regrets, a hundred million thoughts of alternative realities where you didn’t hurt so much. There was no point in imagining what choices might have saved you from your fate… and yet you did so anyway. Sometimes you thought about barricading yourself in the room, just so you could play a couple songs, even if it would guarantee you a painful death. But you could never bring yourself to willingly disobey Lady Dimitrescu; not when you had heard the wails and screams of Maidens a few floors below.

Yes, you would never willingly, knowingly do such. That wasn’t to say you were incapable of mistakes. No, you weren’t that fortunate. It was such a simple error, really, just a misjudgment of the cloth held between your fingers. Your hand slipped. That was all. But that slip led to an accidental press of a key- f#, if you heard right- that sounded throughout the room with damning clarity. Just like that, you felt the pitiful thing you called life shatter to pieces on the floor. Inside your chest your heart started to pound, a metronome speeding this performance along to its end.

Had you not been paralyzed with dread, you might have accepted your fate with enough grace to sit down, play those last few tunes like you had daydreamed about so many times. But you didn’t, couldn’t. All you felt you could do was strain your ears and listen for the impending sounds of angry footsteps.

Instead your concentration was interrupted by a door flying open, hitting the wall with a slam you knew would leave a dent, as a swarm of insects burst in. Nearly jumping out of your skin you put a hand to your chest, half expecting not to feel a heartbeat anymore. The rhythm was off, for sure, and it skipped a beat when the swarm surged together to form a somewhat familiar figure: Daniela Dimitrescu. Leaning against the piano, one hand bracing against it, the woman pretended to examine her sickle, idly twisting it back and forth in her hand. When she spoke, she didn’t even bother to glance in your direction.

“I never understood why mother dedicated a whole room to this,” she muses, casually inclining her head towards the piano. “It’s not like any of our instructors lasted very long. Why not let this gather dust with the rest of the useless junk somewhere upstairs?” There’s a pause, and for a moment you mentally debate whether or not you’re supposed to respond. Apparently not, as Daniela soon turns to you and speaks more directly, which is grand, really, as your tongue felt as if it was glued to the roof of your mouth. “Maybe she knew someday someone would come along to serenade us. And you clearly know how to play, otherwise you wouldn’t have dared to make a sound.”

Stepping forward, she extends a gloved hand, cupping your chin so gently that you almost couldn’t feel her touch. Her gaze, however, was dangerously intense, unblinking, and filled with far less joy than her grin would suggest. The touch lasts only a few seconds. Just long enough to leave you shaking with anticipation. Daniela’s toothy smile only widens as she backs up, keeping her eyes on you even as she reclines into a chair in the corner of the room. You almost wished she would just get it over with and kill you. Whatever she had in mind would be worse in the end, yes?

“Well? Aren’t you going to play for me? Show me how much you love me? I don’t have all night,” Daniela says expectantly. She’s relaxed fully, sitting with one leg crossed over the other, spine pressed up against the back of the chair, but she hasn’t set her sickle down. There’s a clear threat in the way she holds it, grip tight enough to let you know that she’s still ready (and itching) to use it.

You couldn’t help but wonder if she’d be acting differently if she knew that you did, in fact, know how to play. Was this just a teasing start to your punishment? Or was there a part of her genuinely interested in hearing music? Obviously you hoped for the latter. Hell, you practically prayed for it as you slowly pulled out the piano bench, awkwardly sat down, and urged your body to remember a song. What genre would a vampire from the 1950’s even enjoy? All you knew were bits and pieces of a few classics, a couple chord progressions from early 2000’s hits, and a handful of songs you had written yourself.

There wasn’t much time to ponder, not with Daniela’s gaze burning a whole in the side of your head. So you simply pressed your fingers to the keys, took a deep breath, and let muscle memory take over. Your eyes became half lidded as you started to play, hardly paying attention to what you were doing. It felt like a single glance at your captor would result in the worst case of stage fright known to mankind. Instead you focused on the piano’s wooden frame, and the many grain marks twisting within.

All the while your fingers glided over the keys, delicately pressing here and there, starting with something simple. Little more than a chord on your left hand, followed with a few short notes on your right, repeating in different places up and down the scale. It was almost a test, a gentle showing to see what Daniela would do. You still refused to look at her, even when you heard what sounded like a bored sigh. A knot tied itself in your stomach, and you gulped, before you shifted mental gears. Evidently “soft and simple” wasn’t going to cut it. Hopefully you could please one Lady without earning the ire of any of the others.

So you paused, letting the notes suspend in the air for a moment, and came back swinging. The kiddy gloves were off, abandoned on the floor with your sense of caution. Grander things came back to mind as your fingers danced atop the keys, stretching chords and melodies alongside each other, the best of what you recalled pouring out of you without a sign of stopping. Out of the corner of your eyes you saw Daniela sit up, paying more attention then she had at the start. Confidence found itself growing at the center of your chest, and it managed to turn your lips up into a smile. How long had it been since you had been able to perform like this? Years? A decade, even? You didn’t know. It didn’t matter.

Minutes passed by like this, with your hands moving constantly, even as your gaze never shifted. It was heaven channeled on Earth. Whatever was to come after, death or dismemberment, you couldn’t care less. Let them take your blood, your life. They could never take this music from your mind, from your memories, or the joy it inspired in you. If you were to die soon, at least you had been given one last soliloquy.

Eventually the song had to end. It was a bitter moment, one you dreaded for its followup, but otherwise would have found pride in. After all, you were evidently the first maiden to give a performance (at least of this variety) to one of the Dimitrescu sisters! Certainly that was an accomplishment? Maybe your brain would let you celebrate later… assuming you survived. Daniela had stayed quiet since her earlier sigh, letting you play on without interruption thus far. Now that the song was over you didn’t know what to expect. Knowing Daniela, or at least knowing the rumors surrounding you, it was hard to imagine that anything you could expect would be accurate.

“How long have you been hiding this little talent of yours?” She coos, clapping her hands together with a short giggle. So far so good, you thought, clinging desperately to hope. Once more she rose to her feet, moving so smoothly she might as well have been gliding, and ended up by your side. This time her hand rested on your shoulder, putting enough pressure to keep you from moving. “Don’t tell me you’re shy, that would simply be too… precious.” With that said her hand trails along your shoulder, across your collarbone, up your neck, then rests for a moment on your cheek. The touch sends a shiver down your spine, which only encourages Daniela, and she tucks a strand of your hair behind her ear.

Before she can say more, or you could even attempt to form words, there’s the faint sound of someone yelling in the distance. A name, you think, although it’s not loud enough for you to make out who’s being called. The answer becomes evident soon enough, however, as Daniela pulls back from you suddenly, smile trading out for a scowl. Some part of you instantly misses her touch, leaving the rest of you confused more than anything.

“Get back to your work, then,” Daniela says, roughly, the playfulness in her voice now entirely absent. It was such a sudden change in demeanor that you didn’t know how to react. Thankfully her eyes were no longer on you, and she was already moving towards the door. Had you really managed to play your way out of a punishment? You knew for a fact that at least one other maiden had lost her life for making the same mistake you did, yet now Daniela looks ready to leave without so much as a slap on the wrist. But she does pause in the doorway, as if reading your thoughts, and throws you a look over her shoulder. Her eyes narrow for a split second before she gives you one last wicked grin. “Don’t worry, sweet thing, I won’t forget you anytime soon.”

Just like that she was gone, into a cloud of insects, out the door and into the corridor beyond. The tension in the room had left, you could finally breathe easy… and yet still your mind was racing. Those words she had left you with- were they a threat? Or a promise of something softer? Only time would tell.

#daniela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #the reader's gender isn't explicitly stated here #but is implied to be female cuz of that whole maiden thing #i might split up future chapters based on idk how to word it #version with dick and version without dick #2 for the price of 1 #for smut reasons obviously #i aint into that whole sex thing #but i have no qualms writing it lol

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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years

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Day 64: Shower

There were a lot of benefits to living in a muggle flat in London.

Draco never had to worry about being recognized, it was delightfully noisy (always an added bonus when you woke up from a nightmare, it was very grounding), and one of his neighbors was always leaving him baked goods just outside his door.

But there were definite downsides as well. Mostly that when things broke (which pretty much seemed to be always) he couldn't use magic to fix it and had to wait for the muggle repair man.

"You're sure you can't get here any sooner than Friday to fix the shower?" he asked the maintenance man over the muggle mobile he'd purchased shortly before moving in.

"I'll get there as soon as I can but it's Friday at the earliest," the man replied, "right now I have a busted toilet, a broken garbage disposal, a kitchen light repair, a cabinet door replacement, a window that won't open, a door knob that the lock sticks on, and an ac unit that is pumping in hot air."

Draco resisted the urge to tell him to hire some help and sighed, "Right. Thank you."

The man grunted in response and hung up.

After a moment of contemplating his options, he gathered up his bath supplies and marched down the hall. When he'd moved in a girl named Amelia had told him if he ever needed anything just to come knock on her door. She'd said that she and her boyfriend would be happy to help, and she had even mentioned a shower breaking specifically.

Steeling himself he knocked, "Amelia?" he called. "It's Thomas from 116," he added, he'd almost gotten used to calling himself that. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but my shower is broken and-"

"Just a minute!" a distinctly male voice called back.

And he waited, feeling more embarrassed since couldn't recall having ever met Amelia's boyfriend. He hoped that he wouldn't think that Draco was a creep.

"Sorry," the man called, and Draco heard the locks being slid from their places, "Amelia and I broke up but I'd be glad to help wi-"

The door opened and Draco felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. "Potter?" he spluttered

(Read more below the cut)

"Draco Malfoy, what the actual fuck?"

"What are you doing here?" Draco hissed.

Potter drew back like Draco had slapped him, "What am I doing here? What are you doing here?"

Before Draco could respond, Delores from the room between their rooms emerged and Potter grabbed him by the front of his tshirt and dragged him inside of his flat.

Draco barely had a moment to notice that his flat was surprisingly cozy before Potter was standing in front of him once more, arms crossed over his chest. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here!" Draco exclaimed. "I've lived here for six months!"

"Well I have lived here for almost a year!" Potter replied. "How did you find this place?"

"Do you know how hard it is to find a flat to rent in London?" Draco asked.

Potter paused, "Actually, yes," he replied. "And this place is enough of a shit-hole that there is a rotating tenant-base."

"Where's Amelia?"

Potter's brow furrowed, "How do you know Amelia?"

"I don't," he said with a shrug, "I met her when I was moving in and she told me if my shower ever broke I should just come knock on her door."

Potter sighed, "Damn."

"What?" Draco asked, feeling like he'd missed something.

"Oh nothing," Potter said, waving him off, "I'd just really been hoping that the guy I caught her cheating on me with was the only one."

Draco spluttered, "I was not romantically involved with your girlfriend."

"No," Potter replied, "No, I know. Just we worked opposite shifts so she was home in the day and I was home at night, and," he shrugged, "Well, you know how it goes."

Draco pinched his arm, he must be dreaming.

Potter turned and wandered toward his kitchen and Draco couldn't help but wonder if he was meant to follow him. "Tea?" Potter called over his shoulder.

And really, Draco had just meant to beg to use the shower but that little part of him that desperately loved gossip decided tea was a better plan. "Please."

The other man sent a smile at him over his shoulder, dimple popping up and Merlin, when had Potter gotten this attractive?

"So," he said as he put the kettle on, "What do you do?"

"I'm going to a muggle university, actually," Draco replied as he found a seat on a stool at the island, "studying to be a solicitor."

"Huh," Potter said, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose, "That suits you."

"I don't know what that's supposed to mean," he said, brow furrowed.

"Oh, nothing," Potter assured, "Just you're clever, good at arguing, and good at finding loop holes, I imagine."

At the earnest look on Potter's face, he decided not to take offense. "What is it that you do?"

Potter smiled at him, "I work at an animal shelter."

Draco blinked, he'd never expected that answer.

"I know," Potter laughed, "It's not what anyone expected but it makes me happy and it feels like good work."

The kettle whistled and Potter turned around to fetch down a couple of mugs and make them tea. "How long have you been living out of the wizarding world?"

"A little over a year," he replied. "It was just too difficult," Draco said, "I was mobbed everywhere I went, sent death threats," he added, "Not that I don't deserve them-"

"You don't," Potter said sharply, spinning around to face him. "Godric, Draco, you were just a kid. We all were."

He swallowed and looked down at the island, "Be that as it may," he said carefully, "I think it's easier for people." He made a vague gesture, "Not to have to see me."

"The pressure in the wizarding community is unreal," Potter said, setting a cup of tea along with the sugar bowl in front of Draco before he made his way to his refrigerator, "You still don't take cream, do you?"

"No," he replied with a little smile, pleased that he wasn't the only one to still remember oddities about the other.

"Why don't we go into the living room?" he suggested. "My furniture in there is much more comfortable."

Draco followed along behind him and settled onto what appeared to be the least squishy piece of furniture, a beige chair. Potter seemed to have no such qualms and sunk into a cozy rocking chair. Draco cleared his throat, "You've been gone for how long now?" he asked.

"Almost two and a half years," Potter replied before taking a sip of tea.

"Do you miss it?" Draco asked.

Shrugging one shoulder he answered, "Sometimes. I still go to the Weasley's most Sundays and I go for birthday parties and holidays. It's enough." He took another sip of tea, his eyes glued to Draco in that piercing way of his and it felt like it had been ages since someone had actually seen him. "What about you? Do you miss it?"

"At the beginning," he confessed, "But less now."

Potter hummed, seemingly waiting for Draco to continue

"Did you go to-"

Potter waved him off, "My life is exceptionally boring, I assure you. Tell me about you," he said. "Tell me about school, about what you want to do with your degree, tell me about acclimating to Muggle life," he chuckled, "tell me everything."

And so Draco did. He talked about his classes, talked about how difficult certain parts of living like a muggle were, talked about doing work with children, talked about doing a double major in law and in psychology. Draco talked, and talked, and talked while Harry listened; and he realized it had been a really long time since someone had done this with him.

He was in the middle of a story about how he hadn't understood how pens worked when Harry's mobile rang. With a wince he pulled it out of his pocket, "Sorry," he said, silencing it only for it to start ringing again a minute later. He huffed, "Sorry," he repeated. "It's Hermione and Ron. They'll just keep calling if I don't answer, give me just a minute."

"Of course," he said.

Harry gave him a little smile, "I'll get some more tea," he added before picking up.

Over the tiny little speaker Draco could hear cheering and hollering before a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday was sung and Draco felt the blood drain from his face. He pulled out his own mobile and clicked the wake button. July 31

He felt like such an arse, here he was blabbering away at the other man when Potter probably had a million things he'd rather be doing.

"Thank you," Potter said over the phone from the kitchen. "I'm a bit busy just now," he broke off to listen to some chatter. "Yes. I'll be by on Sunday to celebrate." Another pause, "Yes. Love you all, too. Kisses to Rosie and Teddy."

When he returned he said, "Sorry, you were saying about the pens?"

"I feel like an absolute clot," Draco said.

"What? Why?"

"It's your birthday!" he exclaimed, "and here I've sat for the past two hours talking your ear off about..." he trailed off, "Complete nonsense!"

"Oh, it's fine," he said, waving Draco off, "This is way better than the way I was planning to spend my birthday."

"Oh? Why don't I believe you?" he asked.

"No really," Potter said earnestly. "I was just going to go for a walk and then hang out around the house."

"But why? Don't your friends want to see you?"

"Oh, the Weasleys are away. They went on a trip to Spain; when they made the plans, I'd planned to be on a beach in the Galapagos with Amelia."

"I'm taking you to dinner," he said firmly.

"I couldn't impo-"

"I insist," he interrupted. "I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Well if you insist," Harry said with a laugh.

"Good. I'm going to use your shower and then go get dressed and we're leaving in twenty minutes."

He chuckled, "It's a date."

--------

And it really had felt like a date, Draco reflected as they strolled back toward their apartment building after a long dinner with multiple courses and dessert.

"Thank you, by the way," Harry said, his shoulder bumping lightly into Draco's when they were just outside of their building.

"Don't mention it," he replied. "It's the least I could do."

Harry stopped and looked over at him, so Draco stopped next to him, "It's not, though," he said. "You didn't have to do any of this."

"I wanted to," he huffed.

He started to lean in closer, "Tell me if I'm reading this wrong," he whispered.

"What?"

"This," he murmured before his fingers cupped Draco's cheek and his lips pressed, soft and dry, against Draco's lips.

Harry drew back, "Alright?" he whispered.

Draco's fingers clenched in the front of Harry's shirt and he tugged him back in, slotting their lips together once more. The fingers on Harry's right hand slid through Draco's hair and his other slipped around Draco's back, drawing their bodies flush against one another as Harry's tongue brushed over Draco's bottom lip.

They stood on the sidewalk and kissed for a long moment before Harry pulled back and murmured, "Come home with me?"

"Are you sure?" Draco asked, brow furrowing.

"Never been more sure of anything in my life," he replied, pecking Draco's lips again.

He couldn't help but smile as he nodded his consent and Harry grabbed his hand and dragged him inside and straight to his bedroom.

------

Later, when they were still lying in bed talking about whatever nonsense came into the heads, Harry said, "Draco?"

"Mmmh?"

"This was probably the best birthday I've ever had."

He rolled onto his side so he could see Harry's face illuminated by the moonlight. Harry reached up and brushed his forefinger over Draco's cheekbone and Draco responded, "You've not had many good birthdays, then, have you?"

Harry laughed, "I've had some good birthdays."

"Next year," Draco said before he could think through what he was about to say, "Next year I will give you the best birthday you've ever had."

"Oh?" Harry said, grinning widely at him.

At the sweet, innocent look on Harry's face, he let himself dream, let himself imagine what life could turn out like. He nodded, "I'll wake you up with lazy morning sex, you seem like the type to really enjoy that."

"I am," Harry affirmed, his dimples showing.

Draco leaned in and pressed a kiss to the nearest dimple and said, "Then, I'll take you to Paris for breakfast."

"Ooh, Paris?"

He nodded, "I'll get you strawberry crepes with mounds of whipped cream."

"Sounds delicious," Harry said.

"Then I'll take you to a beach somewhere, Bora Bora maybe," he added, enthralled by the pleased crinkle around Potter's eyes.

He hummed, "I've never been to Bora Bora."

"No?"

Harry shook his head.

"Right, then we'll spend the whole day there, I'll sit under an umbrella all day and pretend to get annoyed when you come to kiss me and get sand and ocean water all over me."

He laughed, "As long as it's pretend."

"Then," Draco said, "I'll bring you back to a little villa that you can see the ocean through the floor and I'll cook you dinner. We'll eat together, then go swimming in the dark."

"Sounds lovely," Harry sighed.

"And then we'll come back and try out the bed that's under the stars," he said, brushing a hand over Harry's waist.

"That sounds really nice," he murmured.

"It's a date, then," Draco said.

He smiled back and echoed, "It's a date."

-------

And, true to his word, one year later Draco took Harry to Paris for breakfast and then to Bora Bora for the rest of the weekend. Harry proposed to Draco the very next morning.

--------

Day 63: Hair | Day 65: Question

#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #drarry #getting together #fluffy #drarry drabbles #drarry ficlet #bisexual harry potter #send me an ask and i'll write you a ficlet #thanks for the prompt! <3

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luna-writes-stuff · 2 years

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CHAPTER VIII

A Kili X OC fanfic

Previous chapter // Next chapter

Tw: MORE ANGST. Thorin being a bitch, but that's kind of the main subjects now. Truly hurtful words. Raewyn being quiet for once. Stone giants, mentions of bruises and cuts, near-death situation, but you've seen the movies/books.

——————————————————————————

Let’s play two truths, one lie; 1. Raewyn carries a necklace for luck. 2. Raewyn could have been a great poet. 3. Raewyn might not hate Thorin that much.

"Be on your guard; We're about to step over the edge of the wild. Balin, you know these paths. Lead on." Thorin commanded, to which Balin responded with an 'aye'. "Master Baggins, I suggest you keep up." The leader remarked.

Raewyn had been right the night before; Thorin had been planning to leave just before the first light. Had it not been for Fili, he probably would've left Raewyn in Rivendell. With her foot restored to it's former condition, she would no longer have troubles keeping up with the company, yet part held her back as she watched Bilbo look back at Rivendell with a deep longing in its eyes.

"You'll come back here some day." She reassured the hobbit, planting a hand on his shoulder. She received a heartfelt smile in response, before the two continued walking at the back of the group.

Days passed as the company walked through plains and mountains, setting up a camp every night before leaving the next day, the moment sunlight hit the ground. Kili hadn't spoken to Raewyn ever since Rivendell. The only company she had herself, were Bilbo, Fili and, on occasions, Ori and Bofur. Bilbo walked beside her every single day, as she had been the closest he could find to Gandalf and a sense of security. Fili had been walking beside the two of them at least twice a day, keeping them company by telling them stories of his home or sharing information about old dwarven tales. Raewyn never did find the heart to tell him that she already knew them, and that Bilbo had already read half of the stories told.

Ori had joined her and Bilbo on a few occasions. At first, it was out of trouble keeping up with the rest of the group, but as he spend more time with them, he found himself asking questions about the hobbit and the ranger.

Bofur had only joined the pair out of his love for bringing cheer. Up front of the group, there were, according to the dwarf, the dull people, who never let him sing nor speak. Down the back, he brought a happy environment, although it had been for the hobbit mainly. Raewyn never did enjoy the awfully positive people, even though they were usually the ones who made journeys more bearable.

As Raewyn sometimes conversed with the dwarves, she could always feel Kili's eyes on her. Perhaps it was her dwarven stubbornness or her human pride, but she did not once look back at him. She had found herself immature for speaking about his uncle the way she did in Rivendell. It had not been remorse she felt, or even guilt.

On the contrary; she had let Thorin come off as reasonably kinder than she should have, but sharing those thoughts with his nephew, his kin, might not have been her best idea yet. It wasn't until five days that she realized that might have been the reason Kili stopped talking to her. Perhaps he had talked with his uncle, who obviously manipulated him in staying at his side, or maybe he just decided to give Raewyn the same treatment she gave Thorin, which he would be failing at miserably since he hadn't made any threats yet.

Whatever it was, it was starting to get on Raewyn's nerves.

The first day of silence, hadn't even been that bad. In fact, it had been welcomed and, almost, enjoyed. The second day, Fili had come for company, which wasn't the same as his brother's, but was appreciated nonetheless. The third day, Raewyn noticed her mood drop rapidly. Had it been the lack of cheesy remarks, or had it been the lack of shameless flirting attempts? She had never gotten any compliments before, but ever since the journey began, she had grown accustomed to them, which did terrible things to her self esteem. Still, somehow, she didn't really mind it. At first, it had been really weird and sudden, but after the first week, it had become Kili's way of greeting Raewyn. And, although she would never admit it - as she hadn't even thought of it that way yet -, she had begun to miss it. It wasn't until the fifth day that Raewyn decided to speak up about it.

"What's wrong with your brother?" She asked Fili, who was tracking beside her and Bilbo again. "He hasn't spoken to me in five days. He hasn't even acknowledged me when we switched for watch last night."

Fili smiled at her, before retorting her question. "Afraid he might not be interested in you anymore?"

Raewyn's face dropped, shaking her head in misunderstanding. "You know what? Forget I asked." She answered, now looking back towards the rest of the company, who had started to ascend onto the mountains.

Fili let out a laugh at her response, but spoke again. "I wouldn't know. I had the same question yesterday, but when I asked, he dismissed it and told me it was 'none of my business'." "That's not very nice." Raewyn mumbled with fake-sympathy, which caused the blonde-hair dwarf to smile at the woman.

"No, but if he doesn't want me to help, it's his own little problem." Fili said a-matter-of-factly.

"Well, it's mine too as I'm the one he's ignoring." "I wouldn't worry about it." Fili assured, pulling Bilbo up so they could resume the road that had begun to grow smaller every step.

"When we were dwarflings, he once ignored me for two weeks because he ate the last of my cookies and he was afraid I'd find out." Raewyn laughed Fili's words, shaking her head at the mental imagine. "He'll come around. Whatever it is." The blond dwarf spoke, bringing words of comfort to the young woman. With his statement, the pair grew quiet again.

For the remainder of the day, no other conversations were exchanged, as they just enjoyed each other's company. Bilbo was the only one who occasionally remarked something or took the courage to talk about the Shire, where Raewyn had found much interest in. There wasn't anything exciting about the Shire, yet it brought her a sense of peace, knowing that there still was a small part of Middle-Earth that had not been a victim of hate, rage and war. At the end of the day, Raewyn had even trusted Bilbo with her own story of Eryn Vorn, the forest where the Ashas used to live. She told him about pieces of her culture and the language of her people. The hobbit had appeared very fascinated when she told him about the clan of six, even though she had left certain parts out.

When dusk began, rain had began to pour out of the sky, alerting Raewyn of an oncoming storm. Quickly stopping her tale, she pushed through the dwarves, reaching Thorin up front.

"There's a storm coming. We need to find shelter." The woman warned him, but all she got in return was an ignorant huff, not paying heed to Raewyn's warning. She looked towards Kili, as if silently asking him for back up, but when he remained quiet she turned back to the company's leader.

"Listen, I understand you care nothing for my words, but I can promise you this; wind and rain on mountain paths often lead up to heavy injuries. I know you want to quickly finish this journey, but it'll serve you little when the dwarves you lead are in need of medical attention." She stared straight into his eyes as she finished her last sentence.

"You don't give the orders here." Thorin dismissed, causing a quick wish of pushing a certain dwarf lord off the paths to shoot through Raewyn's head.

"I'm not ordering anything, I'm advising you something. If you are only half the king these people claim you to be, you would be wise to listen to my words."

When Thorin gave no response, voice spoke up behind him. "Uncle, you should listen to her. She's a ranger. She knows much more about traveling than any of us do." Kili stated, yet didn't look towards Raewyn. A moment of silence passed before Thorin made his decision.

"The nearest cave is ours." He spoke, alerting the rest of the company. "Stay together and remain sharp." A few grunts of agreement were heard as the group wandered again. Thorin looked towards the ranger in an intimidating way, though Raewyn did not appear frightened at all.

"I suggest you will do well to shut up next time."

———

Thankfully, there were times Raewyn did know how to shut up. The rain was pouring out of the sky and many dwarves had complained about the weather, but not once had the woman stated 'I told you so'. Instead, she kept her comments to herself and stayed beside Bilbo, which she had her own personal reasons for;

One, it would make her feel better about protecting at least one like-able person on this journey, and two, if she was to keep walking up front, she might have pushed Thorin off the cliff and at the moment, she could not deal with the negative feedback she would get from the rest of the company afterwards.

How long the rain had been washing over them, she did not know. The mountains and clouds left her unable to see the sun, therefor leaving her without a sense of time. They might have been here for mere minutes, or a few hours; there was no telling.

She also did not know whether they had already passed a cave or not. Thorin might have heard her warning and had perhaps obeyed, yet the amount of walking they had done between that moment and the raging storm right now, left Raewyn distrusting towards their leader. The thunder that echoed throughout the valleys and mountains left a defying sound, constantly startling the hobbit and several dwarves, yet it did not usher Thorin to let the group get closer towards one another, something that Raewyn would have done. That way, it would've been easier to tell whether they had lost somebody or not. And combining this weather with these surroundings, losing a company member might not be such a crazy thought.

She remained silent nonetheless. Would she walk up to Thorin, he would dismiss her without a doubt, leaving her even angrier than she was now. And that was not a clever position to be in. So she stayed at Bilbo's side, occasionally dragging him closer to her while making sure the dwarves in front of her remained the same.

"Hold on!" She heard Thorin shout over the storm, probably speaking to the dwarves up front, who seemed to struggle with the heavy winds. Raewyn held onto Bilbo a bit tighter at the announcement, making sure he couldn't slip away.

But he did.

He took a misstep, getting his feet on a slippery piece, causing him to lose his balance. Raewyn quickly pulled him towards her, slamming him against the wall to ensure that he wouldn't fall off. She quickly sought his face for injuries, but when he only appeared shocked, she distanced herself from him and offered the hobbit a hand. He didn't dare say or do anything but accept the ranger's offer, as it was the only way he felt secured crossing the Blue Mountains.

"We must find shelter!" The leader yelled again. At the comment, Raewyn glanced towards the hobbit, her face in an exasperated look. The hobbit responded with forming his lips in a thin line, lightly shaking his head.

"Watch out!" Dwalin now spoke up, pointing towards a boulder in the sky that was nearing the group at a rapid speed.

Quickly, Raewyn ushered Bilbo behind her as she took a quick glance towards the other dwarves. The rock hit the concrete wall above them, causing multiple small pebbles and stones to fall down, crushing upon the company. Out of reflex, Raewyn held an arm above Bilbo's head, making sure none of the falling bricks would get to him. They got to her though. A sharp piece of rock cut her cheek in the progress, yet she did not yield. It wasn't until the last pieces fell into the cliff that she returned her arm. Looking up, she spotted movement amongst the mountains.

With a sharp intake of air, she turned to the hobbit. In one swift movement, she reached for her necklace, which consisted of a strong leather rope and a remarkable gem; completely blue and shaped as a small owl, and removed it from her neck, placing it around Bilbo's.

"Don't lose it. It'll keep you safe." She commanded sternly, looking into the hobbit's eyes. "Safe? Safe from what?" He asked worriedly, searching Raewyn's face. Instead of a verbal answer, the woman's eyebrows furrowed in hesitance.

From the distance, they heard Balin shout. "This is no thunderstorm; it's a thunder battle! Look!" Bilbo took one step to the side, looking towards the spot Balin had pointed to. From there, he could see a large creature, hurdling multiple rocks towards the mountains. His breath subtly quickened at the sight as the dwarves took cover yet again.

"Well, bless me! The legends are true; Giants! Stone giants!" Bofur yelled.

The hobbit looked back at Raewyn, whose eyes remained on her necklace. "From stone giants." She answered his earlier question. "They won't hurt us intentionally, but right now, we're in between the giant and its opponent. It will not spare us as long as we are here." With those words, she turned back to the company, which was still staring towards the creature in awe.

"Stay together! Stone giants can hit large surfaces. The less ground we'll cover, the less likely we'll be hit!" The ranger commanded, urging the dwarves to huddle closer to one another. She grabbed Bilbo's arm and shoved him in between the dwarves, much to his own protest.

"Be careful with each step you take! Stone giants are impressive, but lethal nonetheless" With these words, the company began moving again, a slower pace than before, but much safer. As Raewyn remained at the back of the group, Bilbo was being pushed forward by the herd of dwarves. She assured herself he'd be safe as she slowly followed the company, making sure they'd take safe steps. That was, until the giant on the left side threw a large Boulder towards the mountain they were standing on.

"Step away from the ledge!" Raewyn quickly warned, before the giant behind them stood back up. With fast movements, the woman grabbed onto the mountain itself, making sure she didn't fall off. The ground beneath them began to shake, the dwarves now shouting curses and warnings, moving towards the walls too. In front of Raewyn, she saw Ori struggle to find a hold onto the stones. When the shaking kept increasing, she grabbed the back of the young dwarf's shirt and pulled him against herself, ensuring his safety.

As soon as the giant they were standing on got knocked back, the ground split, resulting in chaos and panic amongst the company. She heard multiple members shout to one another, trying to stay together. The two giants resumed their fighting, causing multiple rocks and pebbles to fall down on the dwarves. The company had now split up thanks to the fight, ensuing much worry to flood across the group.

As Raewyn kept Ori next to her, she urged the rest to try to remain against the wall, and not walk around in order to jump across. Would one of the giants fall down, both groups would be in huge trouble.

But, of course, the moment this thought crossed her mind, a third giant appeared, knocking a huge boulder across the head of the giant het group was currently occupying.

The mountain began to shake violently as their platform rushed forwards at an alarming rate. Adrenaline started to pump through the ranger's veins as she prepared herself, sending a quick prayer to the sky. Ori was trembling against her, and for a first time, she couldn't find the words to soothe him. Instead, she turned him around, making sure Ori was facing the wall and she was facing the cliff. The hard impact of the walls clenching together caused the company to fall off. In a last attempt to calm down, she sought the group, trying to spot a familiar face among them, but time passed quickly and before she knew it, the group hit a harsh platform.

Silence struck the company for a few seconds. It wasn't until one of the dwarves let out a cheer of luck that everyone got back up. The ranger carefully rolled Ori off of her, who had a much softer landing than everyone else. Multiple rocks had come into hard contact with Raewyn's back when they collapsed, but thanks to her armor, bruises would be formed instead of scars.

"We're alright! We're alive!" Balin announced to the rest of the company, which had appeared around the corner. Raewyn slowly stood up, her back hurting with each movement, but she knew it would fade over time.

When her feet found the floor again, she let out a quiet sigh, the heat of the moment fading away again. Her breathing had grown heavy and her heart was beating rapidly, but at least they were safe. Fate had smiled upon them that day and she could not be more thankful. Her belongings were, surprisingly, still in place, meaning she hadn't lost anything. Seeing everyone up and standing, made her let out a quiet laugh, but she was cut short when something harshly impacted onto her once more.

"Thank Mahal." Two arms wrapped around her strongly, making Raewyn resist the urge to hiss when they came in contact with her back. Peeking over their shoulder, she could see Fili standing behind them, a tiny smile on his face. Drained off adrenaline, she tiredly reciprocated the hug, not questioning Kili's actions. She was grateful he didn't hate her, to say the least.

"Where's Bilbo? Where's the hobbit?" Bofur suddenly wondered.

Reality hit her like a ton of bricks, her breath now hitching in her throat. She had not seen Bilbo ever since she pushed him into the crowd. Anxiety filled her system, her heart rate suddenly picking up again.

Quickly, she broke her hug, her eyes frantically searching the group. She could count multiple dwarven heads, yet none of the familiar hobbit. Walking past them, she glanced over the ledge of the mountain. As her eyes scanned the dark abyss below, she was thankful not to see Bilbo dangling there somewhere. A silent sigh escaped her lips, but her anxiety had not yet been removed. Scanning the floor, she hoped to find something that belonged to the hobbit. Perhaps a bit of fabric or a form of footprints.

"He's here!" Raewyn heard Gloin announce. She ran up to him and looked towards the boulder the red-haired dwarf was pointing to.

"Poor bastard." She heard Oin say, his head already bowed down.

"The mountain must've taken him." Dwalin spoke glumly.

With a quick roll of her eyes, Raewyn walked up to the boulder, muttering something close to 'pessimists'. Getting a hold of the top of the rock, she tried to nudge it back. When it did nothing but create a small noise, she tried again, pulling harder this time. Little movement was made, yet change in position was visible.

"Move, you stupid brick." Raewyn mumbled, adjusting her hands around the boulder, preparing herself to drag it back again. When taking a quick look around, she noticed the dwarves conversing with one another while staring at the woman. A sigh left her lips as she focused on the obstacle in front of her.

"Sure, I don't need help." She whispered, already tightening her muscles.

With a final shove, the boulder started moving quicker, granting the hobbit the opportunity to slip out. Within a matter of seconds, Bilbo had crawled out of his spot, to which Raewyn immediately released the huge stone monstrosity. A few cuts has found their way to the inside of her palms and her fingers, but she ignored the feeling, looking straight towards Bilbo, who was clutching the necklace Raewyn had given him.

"I don't think it worked." Was the only thing the hobbit uttered.

A small laugh escaped the woman's mouth, a smile creeping onto her face. "No? You don't think it's luck that that boulder didn't crush you? Or that you didn't fall down?" With those words, Bilbo's face contorted into confusion, but he didn't reply to her questions.

"I thought we'd lost our burglar!" Dwalin spoke relieved, walking up to the pair and giving Bilbo a friendly pat on the back. One that nearly sent the poor hobbit into the mountain wall.

"He's been lost ever since he left home." Thorin suddenly countered, his brooding expression ever so prominent. "He should never have come. He has no place amongst us."

Those words were all it took for the ranger to march up to Thorin, her face now showing obvious irritation and annoyance.

"This never would've happened if you had just listened to me!" She spoke venomously, now standing face to face with the leader. None of them backed away, even though they both knew that this would, without a doubt, eventually reach a more violent turn. "Would we have done it my way, we would've been safe and you wouldn't have had to listen to my talk again! Instead you insist that your word is wisest, risking the lives of your kin; your family!"

Raewyn had expected a strong word from him now, but instead, he remained staring at her, his face not revealing anything. Would she have been smart, she knew she had to shut up, but she was fed up at this point. Rationality and common sense had been long gone.

"I can spoil this entire thing for you already, Oakenshield. There will be a time where you will be so close to reaching the mountain. And then everything will go downhill because you insist on making rash decisions! You lack all patience and honor. You would risk the lives of those who chose to follow you; those who believe you will change the world for them. You don't care about them. You only care about your own goddamn throne!" The woman opened her mouth to speak again, but Fili had already dragged her back, creating a bigger space between the two hostilities. She tried to slap his arms off, but his grip remained iron, barely budging for the woman.

Thorin had remained surprisingly calm the whole conversation, but the small tic under his eyes revealed himself to Raewyn. "When we leave these mountains, you will be on your own, Asha." Her eyes widened in wonder and disrespect.

"That's it? You won't even defend yourself?" She asked, a surprised laugh leaving her lips with her words.

"A king doesn't need to explain himself to people like you." Thorin stated, his face as stoic as ever. Raewyn's eyebrows furrowed in something that almost seemed like loss. "So, you'll go down that road?" She quietly mumbled. "I wonder how long your reign will last until the people will rebel."

"Unlike you, my people will know what is best for them!" He roared, stepping towards the woman violently, but Fili was quicker to shove the woman back and place himself in front of her. Not necessarily to protect her, but more so to ensure no more bloodshed.

"Death? That's what's best for them? Because that is what you will bring them, Oakenshield. Fire and death. And you will feel no remorse, for you are safe on your throne inside the mountain."

That did something to the lost king. He pushed his nephew aside and stood in front of the ranger's face. Both of them held their head high, nothing on their faces but anger. Raewyn had expected for him to shout at her, perhaps even lash out towards to her, yet he didn't.

Instead he did something the woman would have never expected from him. He leaned down slightly to even out the height balance, and with a low and quiet voice, he spoke words that she should have killed him for on the spot.

"I should have killed your father on that battlefield." The woman's face fell for a quick second, her eyes suddenly holding a deep emotion of grief and sorrow, but is was quickly replaced with more anger and venom when noticed the satisfied look on Thorin's face.

"You already did."

——

"Looks safe enough." Dwalin spoke upon entering the nearest cave.

Raewyn had stayed with Bilbo at the back of the company, not truly feeling the need for social interaction anymore. Not that she did before the whole stone giant debacle, but at the moment, she was not in the right frame of mind to talk to anyone. Bilbo had stood beside her, that much was true, but he made no effort to speak to the woman. It was obvious she needed to be alone and he would grant her that opportunity as much as he could.

"Search to the back. Caves in mountains are seldom unoccupied." Thorin commanded, following the dwarf's lead. Dwalin walked around in the cave for a short while, making the company halt outside. Fili had been keeping a closer eye on Thorin as Kili's gaze kept wandering from his brother's to Raewyn. She knew he had been watching, but she had too caught up in her head, Thorin's words taunting her with every thought. She ignored his eyes, instead, looking at the empty ravine in front of her.

"There's nothing here." Dwalin concluded, walking out of the, ushering the company in. Gloin threw down the wood he had collected during the travels, rubbing his hands excitedly.

"Right then. Let's get a fire started." He announced, but he was quickly stopped by the leader of the company.

"No, no fires. Not in this place." Thorin decided. "Get some sleep." He told the company. "We start at first light."

"We were to wait in the mountains until Gandalf joined us. That was the plan!" Balin defended, confused by his leader's words. Yet, as Thorin shot the older dwarf, he quickly shut up. "Plans change." The dark-haired dwarf concluded.

He turned to Bofur, who was in conversation with Bombur. Behind them, Thorin could see Raewyn checking on Bilbo, presumably making sure he had no injuries.

"Asha, take the first watch." He commanded, not sparing her a second look. Instead, he turned back around, trying to find a place for himself to rest.

When Bilbo was sure Thorin was out of earshot, he looked towards Raewyn's face, having to adjust his neck slightly, as the woman had been taller than the hobbit. "Why does Thorin hate you? Did you not give him your allegiance?" He inquired. The tension between Raewyn and Thorin had been nothing but visible the entire trip, and Bilbo, being the curious hobbit he is, had enough of it. In his eyes, Raewyn had been kind and helpful, and was willing to support everyone in the company, except for its leader. True, Bilbo had more knowledge about Raewyn's family than half of the dwarves had, yet this had been a question without an asnwer to him.

"I did not give him anything. My father did." The woman confided, her voice breaking slightly as she held his bead. "And all he got in return was betrayal. I would never be stupid enough to make that same mistake." With those words, she walked away, moving towards the entrance of the cave. As she sat down on a rock in the archway, Bilbo threw his bag off his shoulders, running back towards the ranger.

"But your father fought for his. He protected the family, did he not?" The hobbit resumed, standing in front of the woman, who lightly scoffed, removing the armor that had dug into her hands. "He did." She confirmed, setting down a leather glove.

"Then why would Thorin hate you?"

"Because he's an asshat." Raewyn spoke, her words not faltering once.

"That's not a real answer." Bilbo pressed. The woman shot the hobbit a glaring look. Not one of anger or confusion, a look that told the hobbit to stop talking. A look that silently told him to drop the subject.

But he didn't.

"What did you do to make Thorin hate you?" Bilbo questioned again. Raewyn shook her head, looking down at her hands, who were busy untying the wraps around them. "Nothing." She replied. "I did nothing."

"Thorin wouldn't hate you if you did nothing." The smaller creature objected.

"Bilbo, you're very likeable and clever." Raewyn began, looking the hobbit straight into his eyes. "Obviously you have figured out this is a subject I do not wish to talk about, why push me?"

"I wish to help you." He answered honestly. Raewyn formed a tiny smile at his response, but averted his gaze again. "You cannot." She assured, dropping her second glove.

"How certain of that are you?" Bilbo wondered, his head tilted slightly.

The woman rolled her eyes slightly, annoyance slowly creeping up on her. "So certain, that I promise you, the day you are able to help me, I will come to you."

Apparently, those words worked, because the hobbit finally began to shut up. "Now get some sleep. I don't think tomorrow will be better than today." Raewyn disclosed. Bilbo nodded silently at her words, now walking back to the bag he dropped earlier. He quietly pushed it over the floor, placing it closer to the Asha.

"I can't wait to be back home." He remarked, rolling out his blanket. "Don't you miss it?" He wondered, changing the earlier subject, trying to somehow find a way to talk to the woman again. "Miss what?" She asked, not having heard the hobbit's earlier words, too caught up in her own thoughts.

"Home." Bilbo clarified. Raewyn's face slowly fell, her fingers subconsiously reaching for the ruby ring around her pointer finger, fiddling with it lightly. Muffled shouts and pleas reached her ears, but she knew it wasn't there.

It was in her head. Again.

"Yes. I do." She mumbled.

"I cannot wait to lay back down in my armchair, in front of the hearth with a good book." The hobbit resumed, oblivious to Raewyn's shift in behavior. "What is your home like?" He asked, laying down in his make-shift bed, his head resting on his pillow.

"Home isn't a place, Bilbo." Raewyn explained.

"It's people."

At those words, Bilbo's head shot up, looking up at the ranger in wonder. "If you find the wrong people in a place, you can't call it a home, but if you meet those who love you as much as you love them, you found yourself a safe spot." She elaborated, answering his unspoken question.

"That's a home. Somewhere where you can drop your worries. Let your guard down for once. Where you can go to sleep without thinking you'll wake up alone again." The last words were a mere mumble. Bilbo barely heard it. Better yet, he did not even know whether he had heard her correctly. He knew better than to question it now. He would not try to get on Raewyn's bad side. Not when she had warned him. Instead, he bid her "That's beautiful.", followed by a kind goodnight. He had hoped Raewyn would have changed her shift before he left, yet he knew he could not wait the entire night. He'd just have to be patient and hope for the best. All that mattered now, was getting the dwarves to sleep first. He'd deal with the ranger later.

——

Taglist: @errruvande @m-sterboggins @justnerdystuffs @radbarbariancupcake @spidergirla5

#starcrossed losers #tolkien #kili x reader #the hobbit #fili and kili #kili durin #kili #thorin oakenshield #kili imagine #kili x oc #kili x raewyn #raewyn asha #the company of thorin oakenshield #the company #fili x reader #but platonic

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elementalwriter67 · 3 years

Text

Because I Care

Pairing: Klaus Mikealson x reader

Word Count: 6129

Summary: Klaus calls you to help you get the piece of the white oak stake out of him after Silas stabs him instead of Caroline, and the two of you end up having an argument that ends better than the two of you ever could have predicted.

A/N: So, I managed to stumble upon The Originals and it has now become my new love so please enjoy these while I still have the energy to write them.

“Nik! I’m here, I got your five million messages! Where are you?!” You shouted as you stepped into the foyer of the Mikealson family mansion. You dropped your bag to the ground as you kicked the door closed behind you scanning the area for any hint of the aforementioned hybrid. You assumed that Klaus would be waiting for you in the foyer after the flurry of texts and missed phone calls you had gotten from the man so the fact that he wasn’t waiting for you was a bit of a surprise.

“Go away!” Came Klaus’ faint response and you rolled your eyes before walking deeper into the house. ‘I swear if I skipped the rest of school just to hear about how Caroline was ignoring his romantic advances I’m going to scream,’ you thought to yourself as you headed towards his studio.

“Come on Nik don’t be like that I’m sure whatever Caroline did now isn’t actually all that- Jesus fucking Christ what the hell happened to you?” You cut yourself off as you stopped in the doorway of his studio. There Klaus was shirtless and sitting curled up on the floor against the piano with his arms wrapped around his knees, sweat was coming off of him in waves, and there was so much pain and fear and uncertainty in his eyes that you felt your heart break once again at the sight of him.

“Go away. I need more time. Stop hounding me!” Klaus growled out as he glared up at you and your brow furrowed as you looked at him. Shaking your head you walked towards him your hands held up in front of you in the least threatening manor as you could get it.

“Nik, I need you to clam down and tell me what the hell happened to you and why you look like absolute hell.” You responded still moving closer to him despite the death glare that he was giving you, hiding behind that familiar mask of anger and death threats. He shifted back from you slightly disbelief now joining the other emotions you could just barely see behind his mask and your heart broke just a little bit more when he cowered back away from you.

“(Y/N), is it really you?” He asked as you paused in front of him just a few feet away from him.

“Ah yeah? Who the hell else would I be?” You questioned him as you watched him struggle to pull himself together and up onto the piano seat besides him. His muscles shook as he forced himself to move and his breath shook as he sucked in a deep breath before finally meeting your eyes.

“Prove it.” He bit out. You dropped your hands slightly and your eyes widened significantly.

“I’m sorry… what?” Your voice came out a little harsher than you had intended it too, but you honestly couldn’t believe what had just come out of his mouth especially after he had just spent the past half hour blowing up your phone.

“Prove it. Prove that you’re actually (Y/N),” Klaus demanded and you stood there for a few more seconds just staring at him in a stunned silence as you processed what he had just said. He really did mean it, he wanted you to prove that you where actually who you where and you sighed heavily as realization dawned on you. Running your fingers through your hair you took a step back from him as you looked towards ceiling for a second. You weren’t just dealing with a clearly hurt Klaus you were now dealing with a paranoid and hurt Klaus and as much as you cared about Klaus, loved him, you did not want to deal with him when he was like this. If he was hurt that was one thing but him being hurt and paranoid was never a good combination especially not with all the shit you’ve been juggling lately. What with school, work at the grill, this search for a cure for vampirism, helping Rebekah find Katherina, and listening to him talk and complain about Caroline all while keeping your mouth shut on how you really felt about it him was all beginning to get to be too much.

“Listen Nik, I don’t know what the hell happened to you before I got here but let us not forget that you’re the one who blew up my phone telling me to get the fuck over here and I would be more than willing to help you right now but if you’re going to be like this then I’m going to leave you to fend for yourself.” You stated as you dropped your hands to your side and spun around, but you had only gotten a step away from him when you suddenly felt a hand wrapping around your wrist.

“No! Wait! (Y/N) wait please.” Klaus pleaded to you as he held your wrist in a weak, clammy grip. Looking over your shoulder at him you bit the inside of your cheek, the mask was gone and back was the Klaus you knew.

“I’m… I’m… It was Silas. He… stabbed me with the white oak stake and a piece of it is still inside of me.” Klaus bit out his voice thick with pain and his hand shaking just minutely around your wrist as he gave you a pleading look. Your blood ran cold as you turned around to face him fully your skin almost as pale as a vampire's.

“Th… that’s not good, that’s really not good Nik.” It was the first thing out of your mouth and mentally you were kicking yourself even as Klaus let out a dry, pain filled, chuckle as he let go of your wrist and took a step back from you.

“Yes love, I assure you I am well aware of that fact.” He bit out and you nodded your head as you began pacing in front of him.

“Right, yeah, of course you would know that I mean it’s only your one fucking weakness, of course you would know that this was a bad situation, how could you not know it’s a bad situation, I mean really what was I thinking in saying that, I honestly don’t know.” You rambled as you paced in front of him. You were too wrapped up in your own thoughts and making sure that you didn’t walk into any furniture to notice the small endearing smile that had come across Klaus face as he watched you freak out over the information that he had given you. And if this was any other day in any other situation he may have let you continue on because it was kind of nice to know you cared about him so much to get this freaked out over him getting hurt despite having seen him hurt multiple times before.

“Love, breathe, you’re starting to panic and I’m fairly certain I’m the one who should be panicking right now.” He grit out the sentence as another wave of pain hit him, this one nearly sending him to his knees and he had to resist the urge to scream and reach behind him to try and dig the bastard piece out. Klaus groaning had you spinning around to face him again, your panic momentarily forgotten upon hearing him. Closing your eyes you took a deep breath and let it out in a slow long exhale before opening your eyes again and facing him.

“Right. What do you need me to do?” You asked him as you stood up a bit straighter. He gave you a grim smile as he stood up as straight as he could get before gesturing to the coffee table besides him. Looking to the coffee table you frowned upon seeing a pair of already bloody plyers resting there.

“I need you to help me get it out.” You nodded your head slowly as you walked over to the coffee table and picked up the bloody plyers. Looking back at him he gave you as much of a reassuring smile as he could upon seeing the concerned look on your face. Turning around he went and walked back over to the piano leaning against it he breathed in deep and exhaled mentally trying to prep himself for the increase in pain he was about to fell.

You walked up behind him and took in a shaky deep breath of your own as you gripped the plyers tightly in one hand and placed your other on his good shoulder. There was no way this wasn’t going to hurt.

“Sorry.” You muttered out just seconds before you plunged the plyers into the wound. Klaus’ reaction was immediate as he roared in pain, his hands tightening against the piano top so much that wood splintered slightly. You felt the muscle under your other hand tense as he fought the instinctive urge to throw you off of him and rip the offending piece of metal out of him.

Biting your tongue you resisted the urge to apologize again, knowing that it wouldn’t do any good and instead focused on trying to find the piece of white oak that was still inside of him. However after a couple of minutes searching around with the plyers your frowned, surely from the way he had described it you should have felt something, anything, and yet you hadn’t. ‘Where the hell is this thing?’ you thought to yourself as you pressed in a little deeper into the wound causing Klaus to growl lowly in pain but you ignored him as you continued your search.

“Stop moving.” You bit out when he shifted around for the fifth time since you had started this, causing the plyers to press up on his wound which only made the pain all that much worse and had him growling out again.

“Well stop making it fucking hurt.” He fired back and you rolled your eyes as you pressed in a little deeper moving the tip of the plyers around to see if the white oak piece had somehow moved deeper into him as his body struggled to heal around it. You still couldn’t feel anything though.

“Well maybe if you didn’t want it to hurt you should have gone to a hospital where they have drugs and actually tools that are meant to pull things out of people’s bodies instead of plyers and no drugs.” You sassed back, and this time Klaus growled in annoyance as he glanced over his shoulder at you.

“And how would you suggest that I do that? By compelling the entire hospital to help me and then forget that I was even there, hmm?” You rolled your eyes at his response as you purposely pulled on the side of his wound.

“FUCK!” He shouted as he banged his fist against the piano, surely leaving dents in it from how hard he was hitting it.

“Don’t be an asshole.” You told him as you went back to digging around in his wound. He glared at you over his shoulder but you ignored him. If you were anyone else he would have killed you for what you just did, hell if you were even his sibling he most likely would have daggered you for your little stunt. But no you were (Y/N), brave, strong, caring, and kind (Y/N), you were his best friend, you were the one who he found constantly standing by his side no matter what he did because you saw something in him that even him and his family couldn’t see, you were the woman he found himself falling for, you were the woman who deserved so much better than him, so much better than the life he could give you. And so he let the comment go with a glare as he looked forward again gritting his teeth in pain.

“Are you even sure there’s anything in there?” You asked after a long moment of silence. Using the flat side of the pliers you pressed against the side of his wound as you used your other hand to pulled against the other side and tried to peer down into the blood filled and constantly moving muscle wound to see if there was anything in there.

“What are you talking about? Of course there’s something in there!” He shouted in response annoyed that you had yet to be able to find the piece of the white oak stake when it was so painfully clear as to where it was.

“I’m telling you Nik, I don’t think there’s anything in there.” You pulled the pliers out of his wound watching as the muscles contracted and writhed with the desire to mend, to heal, but for some reason they didn’t.

“Well then maybe you’re not-FUCK!” He cut himself off when you suddenly jammed two of your fingers into the wound causing the pain to flare anew and for him to punch the piano again. You rubbed your fingertips against the sides of the wound feeling for any hint of a splinter, or a shard of the stake, or hell even the piece he was going on about but all you felt was torn muscle desperately trying to heal but unable to.

“Yeah, no, there’s nothing in there Nik.” You stated as you pulled your fingers out of his wound and took a step back from him, and he spun around to face you.

“What do you mean there’s nothing in there? I can all but feel the splinters making there way to my heart and you’re telling me that there’s nothing in there?” He all but growled out. You stayed where you were looking him in the eye even as you wiped your fingers off on your black t-shirt.

“Yes I’m telling you that there’s nothing in there because there’s nothing in there, not even a fucking splinter so I don’t know what Silas did to you but he sure as hell didn’t leave anything inside you.” You told him as you kept wiping off your fingers trying to make sure the blood wasn’t noticeable when you got home. You had already incurred the wrath of your parents for skipping school you didn’t need them questioning why two of your fingers were bloody.

“Bullshit there’s nothing in there, do you think I’m in this much pain because I want to be?” He growled out and you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes as you looked at him. You loved him, some days you didn’t know why you loved him, but you really did love him but by the gods did you hate having to deal with him when he was like this.

“No Nik, of course I don’t think you’re in this much pain because you want to be but I don’t know what to tell you there’s nothing in there.” You reiterated hoping this time that he would get it through his head but all he did in response was snarl at you and you narrowed your eyes at him. He was on thin fucking ice.

“Well perhaps you didn’t look hard enough!” You scuffed as you took a step back from him crossing your arms over his chest as you looked at him with an incredulous expression.

“How much harder do you want me to look Nik?! Would you like me to flay open your back and dig around with a fucking vacuum to try and find the fucking piece of white oak?!” You shouted back fed up with the attitude that he was taking with you right now. You got it he was in pain, but christ that was no reason to treat you like you where fucking stupid not after everything that you had done for him these past few months.

“Yes! If that’s what it takes to find this bloody thing then yes! Honestly it’s almost like you want me to die.” A heavy silence fell over the two of you as both you and Klaus stared at each other you in disbelief of what he had said and him in shock that those words had actually just come out of his mouth.

You couldn’t believe him. You could not believe what he had just said to you, what he just had the balls to accuse you of. After everything that the two of you had been through together, after you spent night after night getting your heart ripped out as he complained about Caroline and how she just wasn’t accepting his advances, after you had dropped everything to come here and help him, after you had encountered the wrath of your parents, after you had stabbed him with a pair of cutters, endured him shouting at you for the past half an hour, after having jabbed our own fingers into his wounds in search of something that wasn’t even there. He had the nerve, no, the balls to accuse you of wanting him to die, your best friend, the man you loved despite all of his flaws, the man you still cared about despite everything that he had done since he’d come to this town. He had just accused you of wanting him to die, despite everything, and you couldn’t fucking believe him.

Klaus starred at you with wide eyes, he hadn’t even realized that he had said the words until he watched a disbelieving look cross your face. Regret instantly filled him upon seeing your face and he opened and closed his mouth but nothing came out, he didn’t know what to do. He was afraid that if he said anything else it would only serve to make the situation worse but he knew that if he didn’t say anything that that would make the situation worse. But, for the first time in his life he didn’t know what to do and that scared him more than the piece of white oak stake left in his shoulder. He opened him mouth to say something, anything to you but before he could you were speaking.

“No. No. You know what, you do not get to treat me like this. You do not get to yell at me for the past half hour and then accuse me of wanting you to die, not after everything that we have been through, not after every single time I have stuck by your side when I have every right to not have. You do not get to accuse me of wanting you to die you paranoid fucking hybrid!” You shouted at him your voice full of an anger that Klaus had never heard from you before and your eyes ablaze as you glared at him, not backing down from him no matter how angry he got. It was a trait of yours that he greatly liked, you not being afraid of him despite you being a normal human being that and your loyalty to him was something that he had never experienced before in his long long life time. Which was why he had no idea why he said what he said to you next.

“Then why are you still here, huh? If you think I’m not treating you right then why are you still here?” He shouted at you and you huffed out an annoyed sigh as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Because I love you! Because for some fucking reason I love you and yet it’s so very clear that you don’t love me, that you don’t even care about me!” You screamed back and a surprised look came across your face. That wasn’t what you had meant to say, it wasn’t what you had wanted to say and yet it was what had come out of your mouth. As quickly as the shock had come it was replaced by fear and you where taking a step back from him your eyes filling with fear and your body tensing with the desire to run, to get away from him, you weren’t ready to hear his rejection, you weren’t ready to hear about how he didn’t love you, about how he loved Caroline despite everything she had said to him, you weren’t ready for it. You had to get out of here, you had to get away from him, you couldn’t deal with this not right now. So you spun on your heal and ran leaving a stunned Klaus in your wake.

Klaus stood there his eyes wide, mouth agape, and his thoughts going a mile a minute as he stared at where you had just been standing. He fucked up, he fucked up, he fucked up, he fucked up, the thought raced through his mind as his body seemed to unfreeze and he started pacing the length of the room. Running his fingers through his hair he grabbed fistfuls of it along the way as he paced, he had fucked up, he had royally fucked up. Not only had he treated you like shit yelling at you and screaming at you and of accusing you of the worst possible thing he probably could have ever accused you of, but you had just professed his love for him. You had just told him you loved him, the thing he had only dreamed of you saying, and he had just stood there like a fucking idiot with his mouth open watching as you ran out of the room.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!” Klaus roared as he grabbed the nearest throwable object and hurled it against the wall watching as the vase shattered against the wall. Turning away from the wall he grabbed ahold of the table flipping it over as he went back to stalking the length of the room his chest heaving and hands clenching and unclenching as he mentally berated himself for being that much of an idiot. Picking up another vase he threw it against the wall before running his fingers through his hair gripping it tightly.

He needed to make this up to you, needed to do something to show you how much he regretted how he acted. He… he… he couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t lose you not you of all people, he couldn’t lose you, he could handle the lose of his siblings he would be angry, betrayed, and above all hurt, but he would move past it he would get them back eventually, but you, with you there was no guarantee that he would ever get you back. You were human, your life had an expiration date, if he didn’t get you back now then he quiet possibly could never get you back and he couldn’t have that. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he lost you, he wouldn’t be able to recover from that. So he had to fix this, he had to find a way to fix this. Maybe if he bought you dinner from your favorite dinner on the outskirts of town, some chocolates you always talked about how much you loved chocolate, and… flowers, yeah, yeah flowers would work what girl didn’t like getting flowers? Yeah, yeah that would all work, it would work, it had to, if it didn’t he wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

With his mind made up Klaus made his way to his room taking the stairs two at a time his face set with determination. It wasn’t until he was standing in his room rummaging through his dresser looking for a shirt to wear to your house that he realized the pain had stopped and he froze his hands still gripping the shirts as he looked up. Letting go of the shirts he walked into his ensuite bathroom, turning around so his back faced the mirror he looked over his shoulder to see that the wound had completely healed.

“Fuck.” Klaus breathed out before turning around and rushing out of the bathroom, grabbing a shirt at random he threw it on as he raced out of his bedroom. He was going to have to make this one hell of an apology now more so than ever.

~Later That Evening~

You sighed as you ran your fingers through your hair, falling back against the couch as you looked down at your homework that was spread out on the coffee table in front of you when you head a knock on the front door. Groaning you let your head fall back as you stared up at the ceiling, you really, really, really did not want to go and answer that door. You parents had just left for the evening to go enjoy a nice dinner that was supposed to be a family thing to celebrate your father’s promotion at work it was supposed to be a fun and relaxing night. Only you had skipped out on school so instead of it being relaxing your parents had spent and hour berating you about skipping school and how they expected better from you and then finally grounding you for the rest of the week before leaving in hopes of salvaging their night. So needless to say after all that, plus the earlier events, your desire for human interaction was severely lacking and you had every intention of ignoring the person until they went away however when the person at the door knocked again you knew you weren’t going to get off that easily. Huffing out another sigh you pushed yourself up off the couch and made your way to the door, your bitchy reply however died in your throat when you saw who was standing on the other side of the door.

There Klaus stood on the other side of the door way with, what could only be described as, a sheepish smile on his face. He was holding bag of take out food from your favorite dinner in one hand, and a box of chocolates from what you were sure was the fanciest and most expensive chocolate store that he could find, a bouquet of flowers in the other. You looked him up and down watching as he shifted nervously, for once in his life at a loss of words as he just watched you look him over before your gaze settled on his face. The two of you stared at each other for a long while neither of you knowing what to say.

“If this is anything but an apology then I don’t want to hear it.” It came out of your mouth before you could stop it and mentally you kicked yourself, you shouldn’t have said that yet it was out there and you didn’t entirely regret what you said. And judging by the look that flashed across Klaus’ face he didn’t entirely disagree with what you had said.

“It’s an apology.” He confirmed and you nodded your head stepping to the side you gestured with your hand.

“Come in.” You said and the corners of Klaus’ lips twitched up in a would have been smile as he stepped into the house. The invitation wasn’t necessary, it hadn’t been necessary for a long time and yet you still said it whenever he came over. It was a small subtle reminder that he was always welcome here and the fact that you had still said it even after everything that had happened today meant that he hadn’t completely fucked himself over.

Closing the door behind him you silently walked back to the living room sitting down on the couch as Klaus came to stand off to the side not sure if he should join you on the couch or stand in front of you. The two of you stayed there in awkward silence once again as Klaus tried to figure out the best way to start this conversation that wouldn’t end up with his foot in his mouth.

“I… um… here.” Klaus mumbled out as he held out what he’d brought for you to take. You raised an eyebrow at him, fighting back the sudden urge to smirk at him as you took the offered food. Setting the chocolate and flowers down on the couch next to you, you pushed your homework out of the way before setting the take out down on the table. However instead of opening the bag you sat back on the couch and looked up at him waiting for him to say anything, just because you’d taken the things from him didn’t mean you had accepted anything a fact that he knew all too well. Licking his lips Klaus looked away from you for a moment before he looked back at you taking in a deep breath before saying anything.

“I just wanted to say that I’m… that I’m… I’m…” Klaus muttered a curse under his breath as he looked away from you and took a step back from you rubbing his face with his hands before pushing his fingers through his hair. You watched Klaus only amazed at how nervous he was voluntarily being and you couldn’t remember a time in which he had ever looked this nervous before.

“I shouldn’t have treated you the way that I did, you were right about the fact that after everything we’ve been through together that you deserve to be treated better and I had no right to say what I did especially not when you were just trying to help me.” He stated his voice surprisingly steady. Your eyes widened slightly at his words, you honestly hadn’t been expecting that from him. When he had told you that this was an apology you thought that it would be a Klaus apology one where he handed you the gift and then just expected you to forgive him you hadn’t actually expected him to admit to what he did wrong that just wasn’t what Klaus did. And to be quiet honest you weren’t exactly sure what to say to that, luckily though he wasn’t going to give you a chance to try and say anything.

“But, you were also right about the fact that there wasn’t anything in the wound. Silas he… he got into my head made me believe that I was dying, that I actually had a piece of the white oak stake still inside of me but there was never anything there, you were right.” He said and your eyes widened significantly.

“Fuck.” You breathed out as you rubbed your face keeping your hand over your mouth as you looked away from Klaus for a moment. This wasn’t good, this really wasn’t good, if Silas could get inside of Klaus’ head and make him, of all people, think that he was dying then there was no telling what he could make the rest of you see. What he could make the rest of you do.

“So while you may revel in the fact that you were right about something over me,” He started out with and a scowl was instantly on your face as your gaze snapped back to him, and he winced at the look you shot his way. There was his foot and there was his mouth and he really needed to learn to control that cockiness. “You were wrong however about the other thing.” He finished off.

The scowl instantly fell from your face at his words as you remembered the last half of the argument that the two of you had. You felt your cheeks heat and you were sure that your face resembled that of a tomato as you absolutely refused to look at Klaus as you stared at the floor trying desperately to hide your blush. Of all the ways that you had imagined telling Klaus how you felt about him that had certainly not even been one that crossed your mind and there was nothing you wanted more than for the floor to swallow you whole right now. As if this night was bad enough you now had to add on the fact that Klaus had just told you that you were wrong about…

“W… w… wait what?” You stuttered out as you looked up at him in surprise and Klaus couldn’t help the small smirk that spread across his face and he gestured with his head towards the seat next to you and silently you moved the flowers and chocolates a confirmation to his question.

“You were wrong about me not caring about you, in fact I believe that you are the only person that I truly do care about you and I don’t just care about you (Y/N) I… I love you.” There was a vulnerability to way Klaus was holding himself, in the way that he had said his confession, a fear in the way that he refused to look at you as he all but handed him your heart to stake. You stared at him in complete and utter disbelief of what he had just told you and you couldn’t stop the hope from forming in your chest that he actually meant what he had just told you. There was just one big obstacle stopping you from fully believing what he had just told you.

“But what about… what about Caroline? I thought you fancied her?” You hesitated, afraid that he would confess that he was pulling your leg and you knew Klaus had the capacity to be an asshole but he couldn’t be that much off an asshole, could he? Klaus licked his lips as he ran his fingers through his hair glancing away from you quickly before looking back at him, making you even more nervous than before.

“Caroline was nothing more than a distraction for me, someone to focus on to distract myself from the fact that I believed I could never have you, that you could never love me, Caroline was never anything more than a distraction.” His voice was sincere and while your heart soared at that information and your brain berated you for taking joy out fo the fact that Klaus had all but used another girl. There was still this little voice in the back of your head that whispered, oh so annoyingly in your ear, that there was a chance that this was all just a lie, that you were the one Klaus was going to use as a distraction from his feelings for Caroline and that you two would only ever be friends. Klaus watched in confusion as the large smile that had spread across your face faded into a frown and he felt his undead heart speed up, this was where things went wrong, this was where the universe fucked over Klaus like it so often did.

“So is that all I am to you? A distraction until the next girl comes along or until Caroline starts returning your feelings? Because if that’s all this is to you Nik then this is really, really-” Klaus cut you off as he pressed his lips against yours his hands coming up to gently cup your face. Your eyes widened in shock and surprise as your brain shorted out. Klaus had just begun to pull away from you when your brain seemed to recover and in the next second you where grabbing a hold of the front of his shirt and pulling him towards you as you kissed him back. After what felt like minutes the two of you finally parted Klaus with a smug look on his face and you panting heavily.

“I assure you, love, that you are far more than just a distraction to me.” He muttered under his breath just loud enough for you to hear as he pressed his forehead against yours. You couldn’t stop the shy smile that spread across your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer which caused his smug look to morph into a grin.

“You really mean it?” You questioned him as you toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. He pressed a brief kiss to your lips, the two of you grinning into it glad to finally be doing something you had both fantasied about for months now.

“Yes.” Was his response when he pulled away and your smile only grew.

“Good.” You stated before gripping the back of his neck and pulling him crashing down on top of you as you kissed him with all the passion and fire that you had been hiding away. He kissed you back with just as much passion and fire his hands moving from your cheeks down to your waist as he laid you back against the couch. For a day that had started out so shitty you certainly couldn’t have asked for a better ending.

#klaus mikealson x reader #klaus mikealson #the originals #the vampire diaries #x reader #female reader #klaus x reader #klaus mikealson imagine #the originals x reader #the originals imagine #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson #klaus being klaus #maybe it's a bit OOC but honestly #it's sweet and fluffy

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katsukithme · 4 years

Text

First Aid

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x reader

Summary: Your pro hero boyfriend is annoyingly opposed to first aid, and you have to get a little persuasive.

Warnings: Language, suggestive themes, lil bit spicy!! Not smut but like I’m easing into it. Mentions of injury.

Word count: about 1.9k :)

A/N: idek what this is man I am just h word on main for angry blonde firecracker man

**Character is aged up to at least 20**

You've about had it with this man. This absolute stubborn child of a man. If his bottom lip weren't already split, right now you'd be very highly considering doing it yourself.

You both were crowded into your small bathroom in your apartment, first aid supplies strewn across what little counter space you had, a few knocked onto the tile floor. You'd learned very early on in your relationship that keeping a first aid kit on deck was essential to dating Katsuki Bakugou. If only the bastard would sit still so you could actually use it.

It was a feat in and of itself that you managed to get him in here for the first aid in the first place. It was like luring a cat into the bathroom right before a bath. He knew what was coming... and it took bribery of course. But he was here, hips leaning against the edge of the sink, arms crossed over his bare chest as he faces you. You were standing in front of him (conveniently between him and the door), antiseptic in one hand and a bandage in the other, desperately trying to clean the cuts that littered his skin.

"Katsuki, come on! Quit moving around!" You say sternly, trying once again to dab the cloth over the wide gash that reached from his collarbone to his shoulder. It had stopped bleeding a while ago, but it looked pretty gnarly. And you'd be damned if you didn't at least disinfect it.

"I told you, I don't need first aid! I'm not even hurt." He retorts, indignantly avoiding every move you make towards him. Finally you throw down the bandage with a loud groan.

"We do this every time! How many times do I have to tell you? If you don't clean them they could get infected!" You demand, hands on your hips.

"Tch. As if I'd ever let something like that happen to me." He was operating with one singular braincell, you were sure of it. And the braincell was sitting in the 'stubborn asshole' part of Katsuki's brain.

"You- it's not... Jesus christ. It's not something you let happen! It'll only take a minute to clean them up, I promise."

He doesn't seem the least bit convinced, brows drawn together in such a deep scowl. It was exactly the sort of face a mother would scold you for, saying it'd get stuck that way.

Sometimes for him, you really thought it did.

"You said it'd take just a minute last time. And it absolutely fuckin' did not." He gripes and you throw your hands up in exasperation. It was like talking to a brick wall.

"Because you kept moving!" He rolls his eyes and stands up from the counter, pushing past you gently to go towards the door.

"Whatever. I don't need first aid." He growls out. Your hands ball into fists and your face sets into a hard expression. You'd had enough... no more good cop.

Before he turns the door handle you say just one more thing- and it stops him dead in his tracks.

"Bakugou Katsuki, if you don't come over here and sit your ass down so I can treat your wounds, so help me god I won't fuck you for a month."

He freezes, hand still holding the doorknob. He turns slowly to look at you over his shoulder, expecting to find any sort of lie, a trace of a fracturing exterior so he knew you didn't mean it. Instead, all he was met with was a stone cold glare.

He scoffs. "You're bluffing." He tries, and your arms cross over your chest.

"Try me. Go ahead, leave the bathroom. Get used to fucking your hand, it'll be the only action you see."

He was tempted of course to just leave. The odds of you bluffing were pretty high... he wasn't stupid, he knew it was just as much of a punishment for you as it would be for him. But the look in your eyes– it was threatening. Kind of hot, but he'd keep that to himself. The threat of an agonizing dry spell was too risky for him to point that out.

"Fuck. Fine..." he relents. And he takes his hand slowly off the doorknob.

You smirk triumphantly as he trudged slowly back into the bathroom, scowl still set into his face with no signs of leaving any time soon. You take a few steps back, however many the right space would allow so you could direct him. As much as he despised it, your threat had him wrapped around your little finger. More than usual.

You jut out your chin once towards the toilet, which had the lid closed. "Sit, asshole. Lemme fix you up." You say, tone firm but just a little soft around the edges as he finally starts to do as you say.

He plops himself down on the seat with a grumble under his breath, something along the lines of 'this is cruel and unusual punishment, but he sits nonetheless. And he was almost pouting with that expression on his face. It was cute... even if he was acting like an child. You decide to make the ordeal a little sweeter for the man, even if he was being unruly. With antiseptic in one hand and a bandage in the other, you give a soft push to his chest so he'd sit back and make space for you.

It was a cramped sort of space, not super ideal for his comfort or yours. But he always had space for you. He cocks a brow curiously as you move him, but says nothing when he realizes you're going to take a seat. How could he say no? Even he'd admit, he liked having you so close. Even if you're tending to injuries that really weren't that bad.

You straddle his thighs as settle in on his lap, shifting just a little to get comfortable. His hands immediately find your hips, keeping you nice and close. Once he seemed contented enough, you get to work cleaning him up.

It's quiet in the bathroom as you tend to the wounds, the only sounds being that of your first aid ministrations and your mingled breathing. He watches you intently, taking in every little mannerism and facial expression, hands tracing absentminded circles into your hips. His fingertips were barely beneath the hem of your shirt, seeking out the warmth of your bare skin to keep him entertained while you treat his minor injuries.

Finally once most of the scratches and such were taken care of, you turn to the cut on his lip, eyes meeting that intense vermillion gaze. He was uncharacteristically quiet, but you knew it was much more than that.

Katsuki wasn't really a man of words. He didn't express his undying love every five minutes, and you didn't expect him to. Instead he showed it in actions, in unspoken words found shining in his eyes. In a small quirk of his lips when you laugh, or an affectionate eye roll when you do something dumb. Showed it in the way he kissed you. In the way he'd lay you down and give it to you nice and good, just the way you liked.

You lightly dab at the wound on his lip, being careful not to hurt him since it was still pretty fresh. He doesn't seem even slightly fazed.

"Gotta be more careful, and lemme do this for you. Can't have you getting more hurt because you're bein' stubborn." You mumble, averting your eyes from that deep stare to eye the plush of his split bottom lip while you cleaned him up. If you made eye contact any longer, he'd have the satisfaction of making you blush.

He grunts softly, pulling you a little closer on his lap. "I was gonna let you." He mumbles, and it makes you roll your eyes. And his lips quirk up just a bit.

"You were not. You were gonna walk right out that door if I didn't threaten to take away sex." You mumble, and one of his hands starts to trace up your spine, effectively arching you against his chest.

"Maybe. But if I hadn't, you wouldn't be on my lap, would you?" He snarks, but his voice is all soft. You put your first aid supplies down on the counter and turn your eyes back to his once again, and he was grinning. He almost looked smug.

"Ah, shut up. Didn't have to sit here. Did it for you." He snorts in response, strong arms wrapping firmly around your waist.

"Sure you were." He was sarcastic, but his tone was still fond. "You like bein' this close just as much as I do, ass." You wrinkle your nose at him and push at his chest in retaliation, but it only makes him draw you in closer.

"You're the ass. Wouldn't sit still, wouldn't shut up till I said I wouldn't fuck you. Think with your dick, huh?" You tease, and his lips raise in a half playful snarl. Large palms slide over your hips to grab handfuls of your ass, keeping you right up against him.

"Shut the fuck up. You like when I think with my dick. Gets you all hot for me." He mumbles, lips barely brushing yours when he leans in close. You could feel the heat in your cheeks at the comment, spreading to the tips of your ears. He always did know just what to say to get you wrapped around his finger.

"What," he continues, dragging your hips forward against his own and you choke back a gasp. "Suddenly you're all quiet? Bet t's'cause I'm right. But I dunno, maybe I'm just thinking with my dick." You have to struggle not to whine as his hands guide you back and forth across his lap, and by god the friction was going to kill you. Your hands clutch to hard muscled shoulders, aching to gain back some semblance of self control.

But it was hard to keep sane around Katsuki. Damn near impossible.

"Fuck... you..." you breathe, trying to give him a glare but it comes off a little more wanton than you intended. His teeth graze your bottom lip, biting it gently and tugging outward before letting it back into place. His hips cant upwards, rolling into yours as he keeps you rooted firmly in place, and it tears a moan from your lips.

"Yeah? You wanna?" His voice has dipped down dangerously low in his throat, rumbling through his chest and sleeping into your bones. Between the movement of his hips and his mouthing along your jaw you felt as if you were going to combust.

"You're gonna be the death of me..." You can feel that damn shit eating grin against your jaw, and when your eyes meet deep vermillion you know you're a goner. He had you, hook line and sinker.

"Complain all you want, but you're whipped for me," he mumbles, one hand leaving the plush of your ass to cup the back of your neck, dragging you into a kind of kiss that made your toes curl, your knees shake. Hot and heavy, tongue and teeth.

Yeah, you were pretty whipped for Katsuki Bakugou... but he was just as whipped for you.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #mha bakugou #bakugou fluff #katsuki bakugo fic #katsuki bakugou #my hero academy #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero x reader #my hero academia #bakugou fanfiction #bakugo x reader

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sneezefiction · 3 years

Text

attention

Miya Osamu x Reader

desc: you’re spending too much time fawning over a very fictional captain Levi and not enough time doting on your real boyfriend, Osamu.

a/n: @starrysamu dearest remy, this is for you. i only just found out that it’s your birthday and i felt like i needed to show my appreciation for you in a tangible way. this isn’t the best, but i laughed a lot while writing it, so i hope it’ll make you smile. so much love to you and happiest of birthdays!! you’re such a joy to speak with <33

warnings: mentions attack on titan (fictional deaths), language, suggestive towards the end

wc: 1.5k

---

“I bet you haven’t moved in hours.”

“Mm,” you hum absentmindedly.

Osamu stays silent for a moment, squinting judgmentally at you from the corner of the living room. He’s been standing there for ten minutes and you’ve not so much as acknowledged his existence. Granted, you already spent the entire morning with him, but you could at least greet him with your usual, “hey, babe.”

He’d even settle for a “what’s up, ugly” at this point.

However, your eyes are glued to the TV screen. Blue light and flashing colors reflect off of your skin while the blood-curdling screams of various animated characters fill the room. You gasp and a hand flies to your mouth. That’s the fourth time you’ve done that since he’d walked in the room.

Whatever it is you’re watching, your reaction seems reasonable. The show looks and sounds disgusting. Or at least to Osamu it does.

“You really should move around a little.” He coaxes, “You’re gonna cut off all your circulation.”

Osamu approaches the couch, but you continue to ignore him.

“Yeah, and?” you respond, eyes still fixed on the screen, “I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

You reach for the remote and turn up the volume a couple of notches. His brows furrow in contempt. Now, this is just plain rude.

“Well, if you lose a limb, don’t come cryin’ to me.” He says flatly.

“I won’t…” you start, “but-“

You point to the screen, singling out a few characters being hunted by hideous and… very naked titans. Gross, Osamu thinks.

“-they might.”

If you were known to watch shows for the plot, he wouldn’t mind your series marathons all that much. But he knows you too well.

Osamu flickers his gaze to the TV and steps in front of the screen, intentionally blocking your view. It’s an attempt to steal your attention away from all of these fictional characters you claim to keep “falling in love with.”

You whine and tell him to “get his ass out of the way,” while craning around his broad shoulders to see. It’d be a shame to miss out on Levi Ackerman’s hella sculpted jawline, even just for a second.

But your efforts are to no avail. ‘Samu (his ass included) refuses to move away from the screen.

You breathe out a white flag of a sigh, slumping back into the couch in defeat. Though you’d planned on this being a solo watch party, you know that the only way to get what you want out of this situation (Levi screen time) is by appeasing your actual boyfriend.

“Whatever ‘Samu. Just join me already.” You huff out.

Tossing open your blanket for him, you pat the empty space expectantly. If you’re going to give him any attention at all, he’s obligated to at least keep you warm.

And he won’t lie, you look very comfortable.

Seeing you cozied up in his apartment and lazily splayed out on his couch has always made him melt a little. Osamu is just a bit domestic like that.

But if you’re just going to use his Netflix account to fawn over fake (albeit incredibly sexy) men, then he’s less than thrilled to have you sitting there alone. Any good boyfriend would be at least a little agitated… right?

So for the sake of reining you and your wandering mind in, he decides to plop down next to you. The whole couch sinks when he sits and you tilt into him like a planet gravitating toward the sun. A really obnoxious, show-interrupting sun.

Osamu snakes an arm around your back, pulling you into his chest, and turns his head toward the TV. All is calm as you get comfortable and adjust yourself against him... until suddenly the screen splatters red. His arm tenses against your waist and a frown forms on his face. Apparently, something or someone just bit the dust.

“What exactly are ya watchin’?” He asks, tone drenched in disgust.

You whip your head toward him, an eyebrow cocked and lips parted. You’re looking at him as though he’d just gone and grown a third eye or called your mom a hoe. In terms of drama, Osamu is beginning to think you might actually rival Atsumu.

“You seriously don’t know?”

“Do I look like someone who keeps up with anime?”

“Well… no,” you admit slowly, “but that’s got nothing to do with you not knowing about Attack on Titan. I bet even Kita has heard of it.”

You wait for recognition to flicker in his grey eyes at the mention of the anime’s name. Instead, he gives you his signature blank stare. Should you be shocked or disappointed? Which emotion would bother him more?

“Yeah, it doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Have you been living under a rock?” You scoff, mouth still agape.

“No, but I basically live with you and that’s difficult enough.” He jests, poking you in the side.

His warm hands gives you a quick squeeze and you almost jump out of his hold. For someone who runs a restaurant, he’s got some well-toned arms. It’s unlikely you’ll be able to escape his grasp anytime soon.

“No! None of that shit!” You hiss as he tries to tickle you. “You’re just trying to distract me.”

Your back curls like a cat and you bat at his hands to abate any further pokes or prods. He only chuckles, smirking at your feeble attempts to stop him. You were the one provoking him in the first place, but he’ll let it slide just this once.

When Osamu no longer seems like a threat to your ticklish sides, you nestle back into him. Your hand rests lightly on his chest and your head finds a soft-ish spot on his shoulder.

Feigning a pout, you mutter, “Captain Levi wouldn’t treat me like this.”

He’s quick to respond.

“Well, Levi-” the name sounds uncharacteristically bitter as it leaves his lips, “-wouldn’t treat you like anything, sweetheart. Sorry, but he ain’t real.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Osamu beats you to it.

“And judging by the rate these people are dyin’, he probably won’t last long enough for you to even mentally date him.”

“Don’t underestimate me and my mental dating abilities, ‘Samu.” You warn, “Or Levi. He could totally beat your ass.”

With perfect timing, Levi makes an appearance, striking a lethal blow to another one of the babbling giants. Two giants. Now four of them. Okay, he might’ve spoken too soon.

“Mm… maybe. But he probably couldn’t put up with all of your bullshit. This Levi kid seems like a bit of a hardass,” Osamu responds after a few minutes of transfixed silence.

You jut your lip out, sinking further into the couch, “Crush my dreams, why don’t you?”

He rolls his eyes in response.

“But,” you continue, “you’ve gotta admit, he is attractive. I mean, just look at those eyes. That body, too…” you breathe.

You swoon and tease and clutch at your heart, but it’s all an act to get under ‘Samu’s skin. He is your number one, after all. Teasing is just a part of your relationship and you would try to milk it whenever you could.

However, you don’t get a verbal response from him this time. He just tightens his hold around you and buries his nose in your hair. Warm breath tickles your scalp and trails across your skin.

Is he pouting? Or is he finally watching the show without adding commentary to it? You can’t tell the difference.

Osamu stays like that for a moment and you revert your attention back to the screen, intent on catching the last couple minutes of this episode.

Though you hardly have a chance to re-invest yourself before Osamu is speaking again.

“Well, I’m just glad he’s behind a TV screen,” he sighs against your head, “and-”

A smirk works its way onto his lips and Osamu begins circling a thumb on your exposed thigh. Your breath hitches and you turn to face him. His fingers press against your skin and play at the hem of your shorts.

The warmth of his hand sinks deeply into you like poison. In a matter of seconds, you’re at a loss for words, rendered unfit for battle… even if that battle is just teasing the ever-living shit out of him.

Thoughts of the show, of Levi, of other fictional men, are long gone from your mind.

Damn him for still having this effect on you after all this time.

“-judging by the way you can’t keep your hands off of me-“

He glances at your hand, which is resting delicately on his abdomen. You’re pressed up tightly against him, tucked into his side and looking up at his face which seems dangerously close to your own. Then his eyes, heavy-lidded and a shade of grey far prettier than Levi’s, flicker down to your lips.

Your skin flushes hot and you grip the fabric of his shirt.

“-I’d say you’ve gotta be at least half as into me as you’re into general Levi or whatever the hell his name is,” Osamu murmurs, his breath fanning gently on your lips.

He leans in, planting a slow kiss at the corner of your mouth, effectively teasing the delicate skin.

With one calloused hand on your face and the other still stroking your thigh, you feel your mind going fuzzy. This was escalating much faster than you’d expected it to and you haven’t even had the chance to pause your show.

You glance over to the TV... and heaven seems to be shining down upon you. It’s the blessed Netflix “are you still watching” screen; your show is perfectly paused. Now you can focus on what’s right in front of you.

Osamu finally has your full, undivided attention. Just as he should.

“Just for the record, it’s captain Levi.” You whisper to him.

“Oh, shut up.” He says before crashing his lips into yours.

You do, in fact, shut up.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #osamu x reader #osamu miya #osamu #hq #hq imagines #hq scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #inarizaki #miya twins #remy <3

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